MRS KNOX. If it"s not proper for her to say, it"s not proper for a man to say, either. Mr Doovalley: youre a married man with daughters. Would you let them go about with a stranger, as you are to us, without wanting to know whether he intended to behave honorably?
DUVALLET. Ah, madam, my daughters are French girls. That is very different. It would not be correct for a French girl to go about alone and speak to men as English and American girls do. That is why I so immensely admire the English people. You are so free--so unprejudiced--your women are so brave and frank--their minds are so--how do you say?--wholesome. I intend to have my daughters educated in England. Nowhere else in the world but in England could I have met at a Variety Theatre a charming young lady of perfect respectability, and enjoyed a dance with her at a public dancing saloon. And where else are women trained to box and knock out the teeth of policemen as a protest against injustice and violence? [Rising, with immense elan] Your daughter, madam, is superb. Your country is a model to the rest of Europe. If you were a Frenchman, stifled with prudery, hypocrisy and the tyranny of the family and the home, you would understand how an enlightened Frenchman admires and envies your freedom, your broadmindedness, and the fact that home life can hardly be said to exist in England. You have made an end of the despotism of the parent; the family council is unknown to you; everywhere in these islands one can enjoy the exhilarating, the soul-liberating spectacle of men quarrelling with their brothers, defying their fathers, refusing to speak to their mothers. In France we are not men: we are only sons--grown-up children.
Here one is a human being--an end in himself. Oh, Mrs Knox, if only your military genius were equal to your moral genius--if that conquest of Europe by France which inaugurated the new age after the Revolution had only been an English conquest, how much more enlightened the world would have been now! We, alas, can only fight. France is unconquerable. We impose our narrow ideas, our prejudices, our obsolete inst.i.tutions, our insufferable pedantry on the world by brute force--by that stupid quality of military heroism which shews how little we have evolved from the savage: nay, from the beast. We can charge like bulls; we can spring on our foes like gamec.o.c.ks; when we are overpowered by reason, we can die fighting like rats. And we are foolish enough to be proud of it! Why should we be? Does the bull progress? Can you civilize the gamec.o.c.k? Is there any future for the rat? We cant even fight intelligently: when we lose battles, it is because we have not sense enough to know when we are beaten. At Waterloo, had we known when we were beaten, we should have retreated; tried another plan; and won the battle. But no: we were too pigheaded to admit that there is anything impossible to a Frenchman: we were quite satisfied when our Marshals had six horses shot under them, and our stupid old grognards died fighting rather than surrender like reasonable beings. Think of your great Wellington: think of his inspiring words, when the lady asked him whether British soldiers ever ran away. "All soldiers run away, madam," he said; "but if there are supports for them to fall back on it does not matter." Think of your ill.u.s.trious Nelson, always beaten on land, always victorious at sea, where his men could not run away. You are not dazzled and misled by false ideals of patriotic enthusiasm: your honest and sensible statesmen demand for England a two-power standard, even a three-power standard, frankly admitting that it is wise to fight three to one: whilst we, fools and braggarts as we are, declare that every Frenchman is a host in himself, and that when one Frenchman attacks three Englishmen he is guilty of an act of cowardice comparable to that of the man who strikes a woman. It is folly: it is nonsense: a Frenchman is not really stronger than a German, than an Italian, even than an Englishman. Sir: if all Frenchwomen were like your daughter--if all Frenchmen had the good sense, the power of seeing things as they really are, the calm judgment, the open mind, the philosophic grasp, the foresight and true courage, which are so natural to you as an Englishman that you are hardly conscious of possessing them, France would become the greatest nation in the world.
MARGARET. Three cheers for old England! [She shakes hands with him warmly].
BOBBY. Hurra-a-ay! And so say all of us.
_Duvallet, having responded to Margaret"s handshake with enthusiasm, kisses Juggins on both cheeks, and sinks into his chair, wiping his perspiring brow._
GILBEY. Well, this sort of talk is above me. Can you make anything out of it, Knox?
KNOX. The long and short of it seems to be that he cant lawfully marry my daughter, as he ought after going to prison with her.
DORA. I"m ready to marry Bobby, if that will be any satisfaction.
GILBEY. No you dont. Not if I know it.
MRS KNOX. He ought to, Mr Gilbey.
GILBEY. Well, if thats your religion, Amelia Knox, I want no more of it.
Would you invite them to your house if he married her?
MRS KNOX. He ought to marry her whether or no.
BOBBY. I feel I ought to, Mrs Knox.
GILBEY. Hold your tongue. Mind your own business.
BOBBY. [wildly] If I"m not let marry her, I"ll do something downright disgraceful. I"ll enlist as a soldier.
JUGGINS. That is not a disgrace, sir.
BOBBY. Not for you, perhaps. But youre only a footman. I"m a gentleman.
MRS GILBEY. Dont dare to speak disrespectfully to Mr Rudolph, Bobby. For shame!
JUGGINS. [coming forward to the middle of the table] It is not gentlemanly to regard the service of your country as disgraceful. It is gentlemanly to marry the lady you make love to.
GILBEY. [aghast] My boy is to marry this woman and be a social outcast!
JUGGINS. Your boy and Miss Delaney will be inexorably condemned by respectable society to spend the rest of their days in precisely the sort of company they seem to like best and be most at home in.
KNOX. And my daughter? Whos to marry my daughter?
JUGGINS. Your daughter, sir, will probably marry whoever she makes up her mind to marry. She is a lady of very determined character.
KNOX. Yes: if he"d have her with her character gone. But who would?
Youre the brother of a duke. Would--
BOBBY.Whats that?
MARGARET.Juggins a duke?
DUVALLET._Comment!_DORA.What did I tell you?
KNOX. Yes: the brother of a duke: thats what he is. [To Juggins] Well, would you marry her?
JUGGINS. I was about to propose that solution of your problem, Mr Knox.
MRS GILBEY.Well I never!
KNOX.D"ye mean it?
MRS KNOX.Marry Margaret!
JUGGINS. [continuing] As an idle younger son, unable to support myself, or even to remain in the Guards in compet.i.tion with the grandsons of American millionaires, I could not have aspired to Miss Knox"s hand. But as a sober, honest, and industrious domestic servant, who has, I trust, given satisfaction to his employer [he bows to Mr Gilbey] I feel I am a man with a character. It is for Miss Knox to decide.
MARGARET. I got into a frightful row once for admiring you, Rudolph.
JUGGINS. I should have got into an equally frightful row myself, Miss, had I betrayed my admiration for you. I looked forward to those weekly dinners.
MRS KNOX. But why did a gentleman like you stoop to be a footman?
DORA. He stooped to conquer.
MARGARET. Shut up, Dora: I want to hear.
JUGGINS. I will explain; but only Mrs Knox will understand. I once insulted a servant--rashly; for he was a sincere Christian. He rebuked me for trifling with a girl of his own cla.s.s. I told him to remember what he was, and to whom he was speaking. He said G.o.d would remember. I discharged him on the spot.
GILBEY. Very properly.
KNOX. What right had he to mention such a thing to you?
MRS GILBEY. What are servants coming to?
MRS KNOX. Did it come true, what he said?
JUGGINS. It stuck like a poisoned arrow. It rankled for months. Then I gave in. I apprenticed myself to an old butler of ours who kept a hotel.
He taught me my present business, and got me a place as footman with Mr Gilbey. If ever I meet that man again I shall be able to look him in the face.
MRS KNOX. Margaret: it"s not on account of the duke: dukes are vanities.
But take my advice and take him.
MARGARET. [slipping her arm through his] I have loved Juggins since the first day I beheld him. I felt instinctively he had been in the Guards.
May he walk out with me, Mr Gilbey?
KNOX. Dont be vulgar, girl. Remember your new position. [To Juggins] I suppose youre serious about this, Mr--Mr Rudolph?
JUGGINS. I propose, with your permission, to begin keeping company this afternoon, if Mrs Gilbey can spare me.
GILBEY. [in a gust of envy, to Bobby] Itll be long enough before youll marry the sister of a duke, you young good-for-nothing.