Part 5
VOICE. 'Oo yer talkin' to? I ain't your man.
MR. P. Lucky for me! There seems to be a _gentleman_ 'ere who doesn't think women ought to 'ave the vote.
VOICE. _One?_ Oh-h!
(_Laughter._)
MR. P. Per'aps 'e doesn't know much about women?
(_Indistinguishable repartee._)
Oh, the gentleman says 'e's married. Well, then, fur the syke of 'is wife we musn't be too sorry 'e's 'ere. No doubt she's s'ying: "'Eaven by prysed those women are mykin' a Demonstrytion in Trafalgar Square, and I'll 'ave a little peace and quiet at 'ome for one Sunday in my life."
(_The crowd laughs and there are jeers for the interrupter--and at the speaker._)
(_Pointing._) Why, _you're_ like the man at 'Ammersmith this morning. 'E was awskin' me: "'Ow would you like men to st'y at 'ome and do the fam'ly washin'?"
(_Laughter._)
I told 'im I wouldn't advise it. I 'ave too much respect fur--me clo'es.
VAGRANT. It's their place--the women ought to do the washin'.
MR. P. I'm not sure you ain't right. For a good many o' you fellas, from the look o' you--you cawn't even wash yerselves.
(_Laughter._)
VOICE (_threatening_). 'Oo are you talkin' to?
(_Chairman more anxious than before--movement in the crowd._)
THREATENING VOICE. Which of us d'you mean?
MR. P. (_coolly looking down_). Well, it takes about ten of your sort to myke a man, so you may take it I mean the lot of you.
(_Angry indistinguishable retorts and the crowd sways._ MISS ERNESTINE BLUNT, _who has been watching the fray with serious face, turns suddenly, catching sight of some one just arrived at the end of the platform._ MISS BLUNT _goes_ R. _with alacrity, saying audibly to_ PILCHER _as she passes, "Here she is," and proceeds to offer her hand helping some one to get up the improvised steps. Laughter and interruption in the crowd._)
LADY JOHN. Now, there's another woman going to speak.
JEAN. Oh, is she? Who? Which? I do hope she'll be one of the wild ones.
MR. P. (_speaking through this last. Glancing at the new arrival whose hat appears above the platform_ R.). That's all right, then. (_Turns to the left._) When I've attended to this microbe that's vitiating the air on my right----
(_Laughter and interruptions from the crowd._)
STONOR (_staring_ R., _one dazed instant, at the face of the new arrival, his own changes_).
(JEAN _withdraws her arm from his and quite suddenly presses a shade nearer the platform._ STONOR _moves forward and takes her by the arm._)
We're going now.
JEAN. Not yet--oh, please not yet. (_Breathless, looking back._) Why I--I do believe----
STONOR (_to_ LADY JOHN, _with decision_). I'm going to take JEAN out of this mob. Will you come?
LADY JOHN. What? Oh yes, if you think---- (_Another look through her glasses._) But isn't that--_surely_ its----!!!
(VIDA LEVERING _comes forward_ R. _She wears a long, plain, dark green dust-cloak. Stands talking to_ ERNESTINE BLUNT _and glancing a little apprehensively at the crowd._)
JEAN. Geoffrey!
STONOR (_trying to draw_ JEAN _away_). Lady John's tired----
JEAN. But you don't see who it is, Geoffrey----!
(_Looks into his face, and is arrested by the look she finds there._)
(LADY JOHN _has pushed in front of them amazed, transfixed, with glass up._ GEOFFREY STONOR _restrains a gesture of annoyance, and withdraws behind two big policemen._ JEAN _from time to time turns to look at him with a face of perplexity._)
MR. P. (_resuming through a fire of indistinct interruption_). I'll come down and attend to that microbe while a lady will say a few words to you (_raises his voice_)--if she can myke 'erself 'eard.
(PILCHER _retires in the midst of booing and cheers._)
CHAIRMAN (_harassed and trying to create a diversion_). Some one suggests--and it's such a good idea I'd like you to listen to it--
(_Noise dies down._)
that a clause shall be inserted in the next Suffrage Bill that shall expressly reserve to each Cabinet Minister, and to any respectable man, the power to prevent the Franchise being given to the female members of his family on his public declaration of their lack of sufficient intelligence to entitle them to vote.
VOICES. Oh! oh!
CHAIRMAN. Now, I ask you to listen, as quietly as you can, to a lady who is not accustomed to speaking--a--in Trafalgar Square--or a ... as a matter of fact, at all.
VOICES. "A dumb lady." "Hooray!" "Three cheers for the dumb lady!"
CHAIRMAN. A lady who, as I've said, will tell you, if you'll behave yourselves, her impressions of the administration of police-court justice in this country.
(JEAN _looks wondering at_ STONOR'S _sphinx-like face as_ VIDA LEVERING _comes to the edge of the platform._)
MISS L. Mr. Chairman, men and women----
VOICES (_off_). Speak up.
(_She flushes, comes quite to the edge of the platform and raises her voice a little._)
MISS L. I just wanted to tell you that I was--I was--present in the police-court when the women were charged for creating a disturbance.
VOICE. Y' oughtn't t' get mixed up in wot didn't concern you.
MISS L. I--I---- (_Stumbles and stops._)
(_Talking and laughing increases._ "Wot's 'er name?" "Mrs. or Miss?" "Ain't seen this one before.")
CHAIRMAN (_anxiously_). Now, see here, men; don't interrupt----
A GIRL (_shrilly_). I like this one's _'at_. Ye can see she ain't one of 'em.
MISS L. (_trying to recommence_). I----
VOICE. They're a disgrace--them women be'ind yer.
A MAN WITH A FATHERLY AIR. It's the w'y they goes on as mykes the Government keep ye from gettin' yer rights.
CHAIRMAN (_losing his temper_). It's the way _you_ go on that----
(_Noise increases._ CHAIRMAN _drowned, waves his arms and moves his lips._ MISS LEVERING _discouraged, turns and looks at_ ERNESTINE BLUNT _and pantomimes "It's no good. I can't go on."_ ERNESTINE BLUNT _comes forward, says a word to the_ CHAIRMAN, _who ceases gyrating, and nods._)
MISS E. B. (_facing the crowd_). Look here. If the Government withhold the vote because they don't like the way some of us ask for it--_let them give it to the Quiet Ones_. Does the Government want to punish _all_ women because they don't like the manners of a handful? Perhaps that's you men's notion of justice. It isn't women's.
VOICES. Haw! haw!
MISS L. Yes. Th-this is the first time I've ever "gone on," as you call it, but they never gave me a vote.
MISS E. B. (_with energy_). No! And there are one--two--three--four women on this platform. Now, we all want the vote, as you know. Well, we'd agree to be disfranchised all our lives, if they'd give the vote to all the other women.
VOICE. Look here, you made one speech, give the lady a chawnce.
MISS E. B. (_retires smiling_). That's _just_ what I wanted _you_ to do!
MISS L. Perhaps you--you don't know--you don't know----
VOICE (_sarcastic_). 'Ow 're we goin' to know if you can't tell us?
MISS L. (_flushing and smiling_). Thank you for that. We couldn't have a better motto. How _are_ you to know if we can't somehow manage to tell you? (_With a visible effort she goes on._) Well, I certainly didn't know before that the sergeants and policemen are instructed to deceive the people as to the time such cases are heard. You ask, and you're sent to Marlborough Police Court instead of to Marylebone.
VOICE. They ought ter sent yer to 'Olloway--do y' good.
OLD NEWSVENDOR. You go on, Miss, don't mind 'im.
VOICE. Wot d'you expect from a pig but a grunt?
MISS L. You're told the case will be at two o'clock, and it's really called for eleven. Well, I took a great deal of trouble, and I didn't believe what I was told--
(_Warming a little to her task._)
Yes, that's almost the first thing we have to learn--to get over our touching faith that, because a man tells us something, it's true. I got to the right court, and I was so anxious not to be late, I was too early. The case before the Women's was just coming on. I heard a noise. At the door I saw the helmets of two policemen, and I said to myself: "What sort of crime shall I have to sit and hear about? Is this a burglar coming along between the two big policemen, or will it be a murderer? What sort of felon is to stand in the dock before the women whose crime is they ask for the vote?" But, try as I would, I couldn't see the prisoner. My heart misgave me. Is it a woman, I wondered? Then the policemen got nearer, and I saw--(_she waits an instant_)--a little, thin, half-starved boy. What do you think he was charged with? Stealing. What had he been stealing--that small criminal? _Milk._ It seemed to me as I sat there looking on, that the men who had the affairs of the world in their hands from the beginning, and who've made so poor a business of it----
VOICES. Oh! oh! Pore benighted man! Are we down-'earted? _Oh_, no!
MISS L.--so poor a business of it as to have the poor and the unemployed in the condition they're in to-day--when your only remedy for a starving child is to hale him off to the police-court--because he had managed to get a little milk--well, I _did_ wonder that the men refuse to be helped with a problem they've so notoriously failed at. I began to say to myself: "Isn't it time the women lent a hand?"
A VOICE. Would you have women magistrates?
(_She is stumped by the suddenness of the demand._)
VOICES. Haw! Haw! Magistrates!
ANOTHER. Women! Let 'em prove first they deserve----
A SHABBY ART STUDENT (_his hair longish, soft hat, and flowing tie_). They study music by thousands; where's their Beethoven? Where's their Plato? Where's the woman Shakespeare?
ANOTHER. Yes--what 'a' they ever _done_?
(_The speaker clenches her hands, and is recovering her presence of mind, so that by the time the_ CHAIRMAN _can make himself heard with, "Now men, give this lady a fair hearing--don't interrupt"--she, with the slightest of gestures, waves him aside with a low "It's all right."_)
MISS L. (_steadying and raising her voice_). These questions are quite proper! They are often asked elsewhere; and I would like to ask in return: Since when was human society held to exist for its handful of geniuses? How many Platos are there here in this crowd?
A VOICE (_very loud and shrill_). Divil a wan!
(_Laughter._)
MISS L. Not one. Yet that doesn't keep you men off the register. How many Shakespeares are there in all England to-day? Not one. Yet the State doesn't tumble to pieces. Railroads and ships are built--homes are kept going, and babies are born. The world goes on! (_bending over the crowd_) It goes on _by virtue of its common people_.
VOICES (_subdued_). Hear! hear!
MISS L. I am not concerned that you should think we women can paint great pictures, or compose immortal music, or write good books. I am content that we should be classed with the common people--who keep the world going. But (_straightening up and taking a fresh start_), I'd like the world to go a great deal better. We were talking about justice. I have been inquiring into the kind of lodging the poorest class of homeless women can get in this town of London. I find that only the men of that class are provided for. Some measure to establish Rowton Houses for women has been before the London County Council. They looked into the question "very carefully," so their apologists say. And what did they decide? They decided that _they could do nothing_.
LADY JOHN (_having forced her way to_ STONOR'S _side_). Is that true?
STONOR (_speaking through_ MISS LEVERING'S _next words_). I don't know.
MISS L. Why could that great, all-powerful body do nothing? Because, if these cheap and decent houses were opened, they said, the homeless women in the streets would make use of them! You'll think I'm not in earnest. But that was actually the decision and the reason given for it. Women that the bitter struggle for existence has forced into a life of horror----
STONOR (_sternly to_ LADY JOHN). You think this is the kind of thing---- (_A motion of the head towards_ JEAN.)
MISS L.--the outcast women might take advantage of the shelter these decent, cheap places offered. But the _men_, I said! Are all who avail themselves of Lord Rowton's hostels, are _they_ all angels? Or does wrong-doing in a man not matter? Yet women are recommended to depend on the chivalry of men.
(_The two policemen, who at first had been strolling about, have stood during this scene in front of_ GEOFFREY STONOR. _They turn now and walk away, leaving_ STONOR _exposed. He, embarrassed, moves uneasily, and_ VIDA LEVERING'S _eye falls upon his big figure. He still has the collar of his motor coat turned up to his ears. A change passes over her face, and her nerve fails her an instant._)
MISS L. Justice and chivalry!! (_she steadies her voice and hurries on_)--they both remind me of what those of you who read the police-court news--(I have begun only lately to do that)--but you've seen the accounts of the girl who's been tried in Manchester lately for the murder of her child. Not pleasant reading. Even if we'd noticed it, we wouldn't speak of it in my world. A few months ago I should have turned away my eyes and forgotten even the headline as quickly as I could. But since that morning in the police-court, I read these things. This, as you'll remember, was about a little working girl--an orphan of eighteen--who crawled with the dead body of her new-born child to her master's back-door, and left the baby there. She dragged herself a little way off and fainted. A few days later she found herself in court, being tried for the murder of her child. Her master--a married man--had of course reported the "find" at his back-door to the police, and he had been summoned to give evidence. The girl cried out to him in the open court, "You are the father!" He couldn't deny it. The Coroner at the jury's request censured the man, and regretted that the law didn't make him responsible. But he went scot-free. And that girl is now serving her sentence in Strangeways Gaol.
(_Murmuring and scraps of indistinguishable comment in the crowd, through which only_ JEAN'S _voice is clear._)
JEAN (_who has wormed her way to_ STONOR'S _side_). Why do you dislike her so?
STONOR. I? Why should you think----
JEAN (_with a vaguely frightened air_). I never saw you look as you did--as you do.
CHAIRMAN. Order, please--give the lady a fair----
MISS L. (_signing to him "It's all right"_). Men make boast that an English citizen is tried by his peers. What woman is tried by hers?
(_A sombre passion strengthens her voice and hurries her on._)
A woman is arrested by a man, brought before a man judge, tried by a jury of men, condemned by men, taken to prison by a man, and by a man she's hanged! Where in all this were _her_ "peers"? Why did men so long ago insist on trial by "a jury of their peers"? So that justice shouldn't miscarry--wasn't it? A man's peers would best understand his circumstances, his temptation, the degree of his guilt. Yet there's no such unlikeness between different classes of men as exists between man and woman. What man has the knowledge that makes him a fit judge of woman's deeds at that time of anguish--that hour--(_lowers her voice and bends over the crowd_)--that hour that some woman struggled through to put each man here into the world. I noticed when a previous speaker quoted the Labour Party you applauded. Some of you here--I gather--call yourselves Labour men. Every woman who has borne a child is a Labour woman. No man among you can judge what she goes through in her hour of darkness----
JEAN (_with frightened eyes on her lover's set, white face, whispers_). Geoffrey----
MISS L. (_catching her fluttering breath, goes on very low_.)--in that great agony when, even under the best conditions that money and devotion can buy, many a woman falls into temporary mania, and not a few go down to death. In the case of this poor little abandoned working girl, what man can be the fit judge of her deeds in that awful moment of half-crazed temptation? Women know of these things as those know burning who have walked through fire.
(STONOR _makes a motion towards_ JEAN _and she turns away fronting the audience. Her hands go up to her throat as though she suffered a choking sensation. It is in her face that she "knows."_ MISS LEVERING _leans over the platform and speaks with a low and thrilling earnestness._)
I would say in conclusion to the women here, it's not enough to be sorry for these our unfortunate sisters. We must get the conditions of life made fairer. We women must organise. We must learn to work together. We have all (rich and poor, happy and unhappy) worked so long and so exclusively for _men_, we hardly know how to work for one another. But we must learn. Those who can, may give money----
VOICES (_grumbling_). Oh, yes--Money! Money!
MISS L. Those who haven't pennies to give--even those people aren't so poor they can't give some part of their labour--some share of their sympathy and support.
(_Turns to hear something the_ CHAIRMAN _is whispering to her._)
JEAN (_low to_ LADY JOHN). Oh, I'm glad I've got power!
LADY JOHN (_bewildered_). Power!--_you?_
JEAN. Yes, all that money----
(LADY JOHN _tries to make her way to_ STONOR.)
MISS L. (_suddenly turning from the_ CHAIRMAN _to the crowd_). Oh, yes, I hope you'll all join the Union. Come up after the meeting and give your names.
LOUD VOICE. You won't get many men.
MISS L. (_with fire_). Then it's to the women I appeal!
(_She is about to retire when, with a sudden gleam in her lit eyes, she turns for the last time to the crowd, silencing the general murmur and holding the people by the sudden concentration of passion in her face._)
I don't mean to say it wouldn't be better if men and women did this work together--shoulder to shoulder. But the mass of men won't have it so. I only hope they'll realise in time the good they've renounced and the spirit they've aroused. For I know as well as any man could tell me, it would be a bad day for England if all women felt about all men _as I do_.
(_She retires in a tumult. The others on the platform close about her. The_ CHAIRMAN _tries in vain to get a hearing from the excited crowd._)
(JEAN _tries to make her way through the knot of people surging round her._)
STONOR (_calls_). Here!--Follow me!
JEAN. No--no--I----
STONOR. You're going the wrong way.
JEAN. _This_ is the way I must go.
STONOR. You can get out quicker on this side.
JEAN. I don't _want_ to get out.
STONOR. What! Where are you going?
JEAN. To ask that woman to let me have the honour of working with her.
(_She disappears in the crowd._)
CURTAIN.
## ACT III
SCENE: _The drawing-room at old_ MR. DUNBARTON'S _house in Eaton Square. Six o'clock the same evening. As the Curtain rises the door_ (L.) _opens and_ JEAN _appears on the threshold. She looks back into her own sitting-room, then crosses the drawing-room, treading softly on the parquet spaces between the rugs. She goes to the window and is in the act of parting the lace curtains when the folding doors_ (C.) _are opened by the_ BUTLER.
JEAN (_to the Servant_). Sh!
(_She goes softly back to the door she has left open and closes it carefully. When she turns, the_ BUTLER _has stepped aside to admit_ GEOFFREY STONOR, _and departed, shutting the folding doors._ STONOR _comes rapidly forward._)
(_Before he gets a word out._) Speak low, please.
STONOR (_angrily_). I waited about a whole hour for you to come back.
(JEAN _turns away as though vaguely looking for the nearest chair._)
If you didn't mind leaving _me_ like that, you might have considered Lady John.
JEAN (_pausing_). Is she here with you?
STONOR. No. My place was nearer than this, and she was very tired. I left her to get some tea. We couldn't tell whether you'd be here, or _what_ had become of you.
JEAN. Mr. Trent got us a hansom.
STONOR. Trent?
JEAN. The Chairman of the meeting.
STONOR. "Got us----"?
JEAN. Miss Levering and me.
STONOR (_incensed_). MISS L----
BUTLER (_opens the door and announces_). Mr. Farnborough.
(_Enter_ MR. RICHARD FARNBOROUGH--_more flurried than ever._)
FARN. (_seeing_ STONOR). At last! You'll forgive this incursion, Miss Dunbarton, when you hear---- (_Turns abruptly back to_ STONOR.) They've been telegraphing you all over London. In despair they set me on your track.
STONOR. Who did? What's up?
FARN. (_lays down his hat and fumbles agitatedly in his breast-pocket_). There was the devil to pay at Dutfield last night. The Liberal chap tore down from London and took over your meeting!
STONOR. Oh?--Nothing about it in the Sunday paper _I_ saw.
FARN. Wait till you see the Press to-morrow morning! There was a great rally and the beggar made a rousing speech.
STONOR. What about?
FARN. Abolition of the Upper House----
STONOR. They were at that when I was at Eton!
FARN. Yes. But this new man has got a way of putting things!--the people went mad. (_Pompously._) The Liberal platform as defined at Dutfield is going to make a big difference.
STONOR (_drily_). You think so.
FARN. Well, your agent says as much. (_Opens telegram._)
STONOR. My---- (_Taking telegram._) "Try find Stonor"--Hm! Hm!
FARN. (_pointing_).--"tremendous effect of last night's Liberal manifesto ought to be counteracted in to-morrow's papers." (_Very earnestly._) You see, Mr. Stonor, it's a battle-cry we want.
STONOR (_turns on his heel_). Claptrap!
FARN. (_a little dashed_). Well, they've been saying we have nothing to offer but personal popularity. No practical reform. No----
STONOR. No truckling to the masses, I suppose. (_Walks impatiently away._)
FARN. (_snubbed_). Well, in these democratic days---- (_Turns to_ JEAN _for countenance._) I hope you'll forgive my bursting in like this. (_Struck by her face._) But I can see you realise the gravity---- (_Lowering his voice with an air of speaking for her ear alone._) It isn't as if he were going to be a mere private member. Everybody knows he'll be in the Cabinet.
STONOR (_drily_). It may be a Liberal Cabinet.
FARN. Nobody thought so up to last night. Why, even your brother--but I am afraid I'm seeming officious. (_Takes up his hat._)
STONOR (_coldly_). What about my brother?
FARN. I met Lord Windlesham as I rushed out of the Carlton.
STONOR. Did he say anything?
FARN. I told him the Dutfield news.
STONOR (_impatiently_). Well?
FARN. He said it only confirmed his fears.
STONOR (_half under his breath_). Said that, did he?
FARN. Yes. Defeat is inevitable, he thinks, unless---- (_Pause._)
(GEOFFREY STONOR, _who has been pacing the floor, stops but doesn't raise his eyes._)
unless you can "manufacture some political dynamite within the next few hours." Those were his words.
STONOR (_resumes his walking to and fro, raises his head and catches sight of_ JEAN'S _white, drawn face. Stops short_). You are very tired.
JEAN. No. No.
STONOR (_to_ FARNBOROUGH). I'm obliged to you for taking so much trouble. (_Shakes hands by way of dismissing Farnborough._) I'll see what can be done.
FARN. (_offering the reply-paid form_). If you'd like to wire I'll take it.
STONOR (_faintly amused_). You don't understand, my young friend. Moves of this kind are not rushed at by responsible politicians. I must have time for consideration.