plays [41]
I . . . You know
the world.
FENWICK. I know, sir, that the world contains much cowardice.
To find Mr. Austin afraid to do the right, this surprises me.
AUSTIN. Afraid, child?
FENWICK. Yes, sir, afraid. You know her, you know if she be
worthy; and you answer me with - the world: the world which has
been at your feet: the world which Mr. Austin knows so well how
to value and is so able to rule.
AUSTIN. I have lived long enough, Mr. Fenwick, to recognise that
the world is a great power. It can make; but it can break.
FENWICK. Sir, suffer me: you spoke but now of friendship, and
spoke warmly. Have you forgotten Colonel Villiers?
AUSTIN. Mr. Fenwick, Mr. Fenwick, you forget what I have
suffered.
FENWICK. O sir, I know you loved him. And yet, for a random
word you quarrelled; friendship was weighed in vain against the
world's code of honour; you fought, and your friend fell. I have
heard from others how he lay long in agony, and how you watched
and nursed him, and it was in your embrace he died. In God's
name have you forgotten that? Was not this sacrifice enough? or
must the world, once again, step between Mr. Austin and his
generous heart?
AUSTIN. Good God, sir, I believe you are in the right; I
believe, upon my soul I believe, there is something in what you
say.
FENWICK. Something, Mr. Austin? O credit me, the whole
difference betwixt good and evil.
AUSTIN. Nay, nay, but there you go too far. There are many
kinds of good: honour is a diamond cut in a thousand facets, and
with the true fire in each. Thus, and with all our differences,
Mr. Fenwick, you and I can still respect, we can still admire
each other.
FENWICK. Bear with me still, sir, if I ask you what is the end
of life but to excel in generosity? To pity the weak, to comfort
the afflicted, to right where we have wronged, to be brave in
reparation - these noble elements you have; for of what besides
is the fabric of your dealing with Colonel Villiers? That is
man's chivalry to man. Yet to a suffering woman - a woman
feeble, betrayed, unconsoled - you deny your clemency, you refuse
your aid, you proffer injustice for atonement. Nay, you are so
disloyal to yourself that you can choose to be ungenerous and
unkind. Where, sir, is the honour? What facet of the diamond is
that?
AUSTIN. You forget, sir, you forget. But go on.
FENWICK. O sir, not I - not I but yourself forgets: George
Austin forgets George Austin. A woman loved by him, betrayed by
him, abandoned by him - that woman suffers; and a point of honour
keeps him from his place at her feet. She has played and lost,
and the world is with him if he deign to exact the stakes. Is
that the Mr. Austin whom Miss Musgrave honoured with her trust?
Then, sir, how miserably was she deceived!
AUSTIN. Child - child -
FENWICK. Mr. Austin, still bear with me, still follow me. O
sir, will you not picture that dear lady's life? Her years how
few, her error thus irreparable, what henceforth can be her
portion but remorse, the consciousness of self-abasement, the
shame of knowing that her trust was ill-bestowed? To think of
it: this was a queen among women; and this - this is George
Austin's work! Sir, let me touch your heart: let me prevail
with you to feel that 'tis impossible.
AUSTIN. I am a gentleman. What do you ask of me?
FENWICK. To be the man she loved: to be clement where the world
would have you triumph, to be of equal generosity with the
vanquished, to be worthy of her sacrifice and of yourself.
AUSTIN. Mr. Fenwick, your reproof is harsh -
FENWICK (INTERRUPTING HIM). O sir, be, just be just! -
AUSTIN. But it is merited, and I thank you for its utterance.
You tell me that the true victory comes when the fight is won:
that our foe is never so noble nor so dangerous as when she is
fallen, that the crowning triumph is that we celebrate over our
conquering selves. Sir, you are right. Kindness, ay kindness
after all. And with age, to become clement. Yes,
the world.
FENWICK. I know, sir, that the world contains much cowardice.
To find Mr. Austin afraid to do the right, this surprises me.
AUSTIN. Afraid, child?
FENWICK. Yes, sir, afraid. You know her, you know if she be
worthy; and you answer me with - the world: the world which has
been at your feet: the world which Mr. Austin knows so well how
to value and is so able to rule.
AUSTIN. I have lived long enough, Mr. Fenwick, to recognise that
the world is a great power. It can make; but it can break.
FENWICK. Sir, suffer me: you spoke but now of friendship, and
spoke warmly. Have you forgotten Colonel Villiers?
AUSTIN. Mr. Fenwick, Mr. Fenwick, you forget what I have
suffered.
FENWICK. O sir, I know you loved him. And yet, for a random
word you quarrelled; friendship was weighed in vain against the
world's code of honour; you fought, and your friend fell. I have
heard from others how he lay long in agony, and how you watched
and nursed him, and it was in your embrace he died. In God's
name have you forgotten that? Was not this sacrifice enough? or
must the world, once again, step between Mr. Austin and his
generous heart?
AUSTIN. Good God, sir, I believe you are in the right; I
believe, upon my soul I believe, there is something in what you
say.
FENWICK. Something, Mr. Austin? O credit me, the whole
difference betwixt good and evil.
AUSTIN. Nay, nay, but there you go too far. There are many
kinds of good: honour is a diamond cut in a thousand facets, and
with the true fire in each. Thus, and with all our differences,
Mr. Fenwick, you and I can still respect, we can still admire
each other.
FENWICK. Bear with me still, sir, if I ask you what is the end
of life but to excel in generosity? To pity the weak, to comfort
the afflicted, to right where we have wronged, to be brave in
reparation - these noble elements you have; for of what besides
is the fabric of your dealing with Colonel Villiers? That is
man's chivalry to man. Yet to a suffering woman - a woman
feeble, betrayed, unconsoled - you deny your clemency, you refuse
your aid, you proffer injustice for atonement. Nay, you are so
disloyal to yourself that you can choose to be ungenerous and
unkind. Where, sir, is the honour? What facet of the diamond is
that?
AUSTIN. You forget, sir, you forget. But go on.
FENWICK. O sir, not I - not I but yourself forgets: George
Austin forgets George Austin. A woman loved by him, betrayed by
him, abandoned by him - that woman suffers; and a point of honour
keeps him from his place at her feet. She has played and lost,
and the world is with him if he deign to exact the stakes. Is
that the Mr. Austin whom Miss Musgrave honoured with her trust?
Then, sir, how miserably was she deceived!
AUSTIN. Child - child -
FENWICK. Mr. Austin, still bear with me, still follow me. O
sir, will you not picture that dear lady's life? Her years how
few, her error thus irreparable, what henceforth can be her
portion but remorse, the consciousness of self-abasement, the
shame of knowing that her trust was ill-bestowed? To think of
it: this was a queen among women; and this - this is George
Austin's work! Sir, let me touch your heart: let me prevail
with you to feel that 'tis impossible.
AUSTIN. I am a gentleman. What do you ask of me?
FENWICK. To be the man she loved: to be clement where the world
would have you triumph, to be of equal generosity with the
vanquished, to be worthy of her sacrifice and of yourself.
AUSTIN. Mr. Fenwick, your reproof is harsh -
FENWICK (INTERRUPTING HIM). O sir, be, just be just! -
AUSTIN. But it is merited, and I thank you for its utterance.
You tell me that the true victory comes when the fight is won:
that our foe is never so noble nor so dangerous as when she is
fallen, that the crowning triumph is that we celebrate over our
conquering selves. Sir, you are right. Kindness, ay kindness
after all. And with age, to become clement. Yes,