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GEORGE BERNARD SHAW >> Press Cuttings
Etext prepared by Eve Sobol, South Bend, Indiana, USA
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: The edition from which this etext was taken
lacks contractions, so it reads dont for don't and Ill for I'll, for
example. The play has been reproduced exactly as printed.
PRESS CUTTINGS
Bernard Shaw
1913
The forenoon of the first of April, 1911.
General Mitchener is at his writing table in the War Office,
opening letters. On his left is the fireplace, with a fire
burning. On his right, against the opposite wall is a standing
desk with an office stool. The door is in the wall behind him,
half way between the table and the desk. The table is not quite
in the middle of the room: it is nearer to the hearthrug than to
the desk. There is a chair at each end of it for persons having
business with the general. There is a telephone on the table.
Long silence.
A VOICE OUTSIDE. Votes for Women!
The General starts convulsively; snatches a revolver from a
drawer, and listens in an agony of apprehension. Nothing happens.
He puts the revolver back, ashamed; wipes his brow; and resumes
his work. He is startled afresh by the entry of an Orderly. This
Orderly is an unsoldierly, slovenly, discontented young man.
MITCHENER. Oh, it's only you. Well?
THE ORDERLY. Another one, sir. Shes chained herself.
MITCHENER. Chained herself? How? To what? Weve taken away the
railings and everything that a chain can be passed through.
THE ORDERLY. We forgot the doorscraper, sir. She laid down on the
flags and got the chain through before she started hollerin. Shes
lying there now; and she says that youve got the key of the
padlock in a letter in a buff envelope, and that you will see her
when you open it.
MITCHENER. Shes mad. Have the scraper dug up and let her go home
with it hanging round her neck.
THE ORDERLY. Theres a buff envelope there, sir.
MITCHENER. Youre all afraid of these women (picking the letter
up). It does seem to have a key in it. (He opens the letter, and
takes out a key and a note.) "Dear Mitch"--Well, I'm dashed!
THE ORDERLY. Yes Sir.
MITCHENER. What do you mean by Yes Sir?
THE ORDERLY. Well, you said you was dashed, Sir; and you did look
if youll excuse my saying it, Sir--well, you looked it.
MITCHENER (who has been reading the letter, and is too astonished
to attend to the Orderlys reply). This is a letter from the Prime
Minister asking me to release the woman with this key if she
padlocks herself, and to have her shown up and see her at once.
THE ORDERLY (tremulously). Dont do it, governor.
MITCHENER (angrily). How often have I ordered you not to address
me as governor. Remember that you are a soldier and not a vulgar
civilian. Remember also that when a man enters the army he leaves
fear behind him. Heres the key. Unlock her and show her up.
THE ORDERLY. Me unlock her! I dursent. Lord knows what she'd do
to me.
MITCHENER (pepperily, rising). Obey your orders instantly, Sir,
and dont presume to argue. Even if she kills you, it is your duty
to die for your country. Right about face. March. (The Orderly
goes out, trembling.)
THE VOICE OUTSIDE. Votes for Women! Votes for Women! Votes for
Women!
MITCHENER (mimicking her). Votes for Women! Votes for Women!
Votes for Women! (in his natural voice) Votes for children! Votes
for babies! Votes for monkeys! (He posts himself on the
hearthrug, and awaits the enemy.)
THE ORDERLY (outside). In you go. (He pushes a panting Suffraget
into the room.) The person sir. (He withdraws.)
The Suffraget takes off her tailor made skirt and reveals a pair
of fashionable trousers.
MITCHENER (horrified). Stop, madam. What are you doing? You must
not undress in my presence. I protest. Not even your letter from
the Prime Minister--
THE SUFFRAGET. My dear Mitchener: I AM the Prime Minister. (He
tears off his hat and cloak; throws them on the desk; and
confronts the General in the ordinary costume of a Cabinet
minister.)
MITCHENER. Good heavens! Balsquith!
BALSQUITH (throwing himself into Mitchener's chair). Yes: it is
indeed Balsquith. It has come to this: that the only way that the
Prime Minister of England can get from Downing Street to the War
Office is by assuming this disguise; shrieking "VOTES for Women";
and chaining himself to your doorscraper. They were at the corner
in force. They cheered me. Bellachristina herself was there. She
shook my hand and told me to say I was a vegetarian, as the diet
was better in Holloway for vegetarians.
MITCHENER. Why didnt you telephone?
BALSQUITH. They tap the telephone. Every switchboard in London is
in their hands or in those of their young men.
MITCHENER. Where on Earth did you get that dress?
BALSQUITH. I stole it from a little Exhibition got up by my wife
in Downing Street.
MITCHENER. You dont mean to say its a French dress?
BALSQUITH. Great Heavens, no. My wife isnt allowed even to put on
her gloves with French chalk. Everything labelled Made in
Camberwell. She advised me to come to you. And what I have to say
must be said here to you personally, in the most intimate
confidence, with the most urgent persuasion. Mitchener: Sandstone
has resigned.
MITCHENER (amazed). Old Red resigned!
BALSQUITH. Resigned.
MITCHENER. But how? Why? Oh, impossible! the proclamation of
martial law last Tuesday made Sandstone virtually Dictator in the
metropolis, and to resign now is flat desertion.
BALSQUITH. Yes, yes, my dear Mitchener; I know all that as well
as you do: I argued with him until I was black in the face and he
so red about the neck that if I had gone on he would have burst.
He is furious because we have abandoned his plan.
MITCHENER. But you accepted it unconditionally.
BALSQUITH. Yes, before we knew what it was. It was unworkable,
you know.
MITCHENER. I dont know. Why is it unworkable?
BALSQUITH. I mean the part about drawing a cordon round
Westminster at a distance of two miles; and turning all women out
of it.
MITCHENER. A masterpiece of strategy. Let me explain. The
Suffragets are a very small body; but they are numerous enough to
be troublesome--even dangerous--when they are all concentrated in
one place--say in Parliament Square. But by making a two-mile
radius and pushing them beyond it, you scatter their attack over
a circular line twelve miles long. A superb piece of tactics.
Just what Wellington would have done.
BALSQUITH. But the women wont go.
MITCHENER. Nonsense: they must go.
BALSQUITH. They wont.
MITCHENER. What does Sandstone say?
BALSQUITH. He says: Shoot them down.
MITCHENER. Of course.
BALSQUITH. Youre not serious?
MITCHENER. Im perfectly serious.
BALSQUITH. But you cant shoot them down! Women, you know!
MITCHENER (straddling confidently). Yes you can. Strange as it
may seem to you as a civilian, Balsquith, if you point a rifle at
a woman and fire it, she will drop exactly as a man drops.
BALSQUITH. But suppose your own daughters--Helen and Georgina.
MITCHENER. My daughters would not dream of disobeying the
proclamation. (As an after thought.) At least Helen wouldnt.
BALSQUITH. But Georgina?
MITCHENER. Georgina would if she knew shed be shot if she didnt.
Thats how the thing would work. Military methods are really the
most merciful in the end. You keep sending these misguided women
to Holloway and killing them slowly and inhumanely by ruining
their health; and it does no good: they go on worse than ever.
Shoot a few, promptly and humanely; and there will be an end at
once of all resistance and of all the suffering that resistance
entails.
BALSQUITH. But public opinion would never stand it.
MITCHENER (walking about and laying down the law). Theres no such
thing as public opinion.
BALSQUITH. No such thing as public opinion!!
MITCHENER. Absolutely no such thing as public opinion. There are
certain persons who entertain certain opinions. Well, shoot them
down. When you have shot them down, there are no longer any
persons entertaining those opinions alive: consequently there is
no longer any more of the public opinion you are so much afraid
of. Grasp that fact, my dear Balsquith; and you have grasped the
secret of government. Public opinion is mind. Mind is inseparable
from matter. Shoot down the matter and you kill the mind.
BALSQUITH. But hang it all--
MITCHENER (intolerantly). No I wont hang it all. It's no use
coming to me and talking about public opinion. You have put
yourself into the hands of the army; and you are committed to
military methods. And the basis of all military methods is that
when people wont do what they are told to do, you shoot them
down.
BALSQUITH. Oh, yes; it's all jolly fine for you and Old Red. You
dont depend on votes for your places. What do you suppose will
happen at the next election?
MITCHENER. Have no next election. Bring in a Bill at once
repealing all the reform Acts and vesting the Government in a
properly trained magistracy responsible only to a Council of War.
It answers perfectly in India. If anyone objects, shoot him down.
BALSQUITH. But none of the members of my party would be on the
Council of War. Neither should I. Do you expect us to vote for
making ourselves nobodies?
MITCHENER. You'll have to, sooner or later, or the Socialists
will make nobodies of the lot of you by collaring every penny you
possess. Do you suppose this damned democracy can be allowed to
go on now that the mob is beginning to take it seriously and
using its power to lay hands on property? Parliament must abolish
itself. The Irish parliament voted for its own extinction. The
English parliament will do the same if the same means are taken
to persuade it.
BALSQUITH. That would cost a lot of money.
MITCHENER. Not money necessarily. Bribe them with titles.
BALSQUITH. Do you think we dare?
MITCHENER (scornfully). Dare! Dare! What is life but daring, man?
"To dare, to dare, and again to dare"--
WOMAN'S VOICE OUTSIDE. Votes for Women!
Mitchener, revolver in hand, rushes to the door and locks it.
Balsquith hides under the table.
A shot is heard.
BALSQUITH (emerging in the greatest alarm). Good heavens, you
havent given orders to fire on them have you?
MITCHENER. No; but its a sentinel's duty to fire on anyone who
persists in attempting to pass without giving the word.
BALSQUITH (wiping his brow). This military business is really
awful.
MITCHENER. Be calm, Balsquith. These things must happen; they
save bloodshed in the long run, believe me. Ive seen plenty of
it; and I know.
BALSQUITH. I havent; and I dont know. I wish those guns didnt
make such a devil of a noise. We must adopt Maxim's Silencer for
the army rifles if we are going to shoot women. I really couldnt
stand hearing it.
Some one outside tries to open the door and then knocks.
MITCHENER and BALSQUITH. Whats that?
MITCHENER. Whos there?
THE ORDERLY. It's only me, governor. Its all right.
MITCHENER (unlocking the door and admitting the Orderly, who
comes between them). What was it?
THE ORDERLY. Suffraget, Sir.
BALSQUITH. Did the sentry shoot her?
THE ORDERLY. No, Sir: she shot the sentry.
BALSQUITH (relieved). Oh: is that all?
MITCHENER (most indignantly). All? A civilian shoots down one of
His Majesty's soldiers on duty; and the Prime Minister of England
asks Is that all? Have you no regard for the sanctity of human
life?
BALSQUITH (much relieved). Well, getting shot is what a soldier
is for. Besides, he doesnt vote.
MITCHENER. Neither do the Suffragets.
BALSQUITH. Their husbands do. (To the Orderly.) By the way, did
she kill him?
THE ORDERLY. No, Sir. He got a stinger on his trousers, Sir; but
it didnt penetrate. He lost his temper a bit and put down his gun
and clouted her head for her. So she said he was no gentleman;
and we let her go, thinking she'd had enough, Sir.
MITCHENER (groaning). Clouted her head! These women are making
the army as lawless as themselves. Clouted her head indeed! A
purely civil procedure.
THE ORDERLY. Any orders, Sir?
MITCHENER. No. Yes. No. Yes: send everybody who took part in this
disgraceful scene to the guardroom. No. Ill address the men on
the subject after lunch. Parade them for that purpose--full kit.
Don't grin at me, Sir. Right about face. March. (The Orderly
obeys and goes out.)
BALSQUITH (taking Mitchener affectionately by the arm and walking
him persuasively to and fro). And now, Mitchener, will you come
to the rescue of the Government and take the command that Old Red
has thrown up?
MITCHENER. How can I? You know that the people are devoted heart
and soul to Sandstone. He is only bringing you "on the knee," as
we say in the army. Could any other living man have persuaded the
British nation to accept universal compulsory military service as
he did last year? Why, even the Church refused exemption. He is
supreme--omnipotent.
BALSQUITH. He WAS, a year ago. But ever since your book of
reminiscences went into two more editions than his, and the rush
for it led to the wrecking of the Times Book Club, you have
become to all intents and purposes his senior. He lost ground by
saying that the wrecking was got up by the booksellers. It showed
jealousy: and the public felt it.
MITCHENER. But I cracked him up in my book--you see I could do no
less after the handsome way he cracked me up in his--and I cant
go back on it now. (Breaking loose from Balsquith.) No: its no
use, Balsquith: he can dictate his terms to you.
BALSQUITH. Not a bit of it. That affair of the curate--
MITCHENER (impatiently). Oh, damn that curate. Ive heard of
nothing but that wretched mutineer for a fortnight past. He is
not a curate: whilst he is serving in the army he is a private
soldier and nothing else. I really havent time to discuss him
further. Im busy. Good morning. (He sits down at his table and
takes up his letters.)
BALSQUITH (near the door). I am sorry you take that tone,
Mitchener. Since you do take it, let me tell you frankly that I
think Lieutenant Chubbs-Jenkinson showed a great want of
consideration for the Government in giving an unreasonable and
unpopular order, and bringing compulsory military service into
disrepute. When the leader of the Labor Party appealed to me and
to the House last year not to throw away all the liberties of
Englishmen by accepting universal Compulsory military service
without insisting on full civil rights for the soldier--
MITCHENER. Rot.
BALSQUITH. --I said that no British officer would be capable of
abusing the authority with which it was absolutely necessary to
invest him.
MITCHENER. Quite right.
BALSQUITH. That carried the House and carried the country--
MITCHENER. Naturally.
BALSQUITH. --And the feeling was that the Labor Party were
soulless cads.
MITCHENER. So they are.
BALSQUITH. And now comes this unmannerly young whelp Chubbs-
Jenkinson, the only son of what they call a soda king, and orders
a curate to lick his boots. And when the curate punches his head,
you first sentence him to be shot; and then make a great show of
clemency by commuting it to a flogging. What did you expect the
curate to do?
MITCHENER (throwing down his pen and his letters and jumping up
to confront Balsquith). His duty was perfectly simple. He should
have obeyed the order; and then laid his complaint against the
officer in proper form. He would have received the fullest
satisfaction.
BALSQUITH. What satisfaction?
MITCHENER. Chubbs-Jenkinson would have been reprimanded. In fact,
he WAS reprimanded. Besides, the man was thoroughly
insubordinate. You cant deny that the very first thing he did
when they took him down after flogging him was to walk up to
Chubbs-Jenkinson and break his jaw. That showed there was no use
flogging him; so now he will get two years hard labor; and serve
him right.
BALSQUITH. I bet you a guinea he wont get even a week. I bet you
another that Chubbs-Jenkinson apologizes abjectly. You evidently
havent heard the news.
MITCHENER. What news?
BALSQUITH. It turns out that the curate is well connected.
(Mitchener staggers at the shock. Speechless he contemplates
Balsquith with a wild and ghastly stare; then reels into his
chair and buries his face in his hands over the blotter.
Balsquith continues remorselessly, stooping over him to rub it
in.) He has three aunts in the peerage; and Lady Richmond's one
of them; (Mitchener utters a heartrending groan) and they all
adore him. The invitations for six garden parties and fourteen
dances have been cancelled for all the subalterns in Chubbs's
regiment. Is it possible you havent heard of it?
MITCHENER. Not a word.
BALSQUITH (shaking his head). I suppose nobody dared to tell you.
(He sits down carelessly on Mitchener's right.)
MITCHENER. What an infernal young fool Chubbs-Jenkinson is, not
to know the standing of his man better! Why didnt he know? It was
his business to know. He ought to be flogged.
BALSQUITH. Probably he will be, by the other subalterns.
MITCHENER. I hope so. Anyhow, out he goes! Out of the army! He or
I.
BALSQUITH. His father has subscribed a million to the party
funds. We owe him a peerage.
MITCHENER. I dont care.
BALSQUITH. I do. How do you think parties are kept up? Not by the
subscriptions of the local associations, I hope. They dont pay
for the gas at the meetings.
MITCHENER. Man; can you not be serious? Here are we, face to face
with Lady Richmond's grave displeasure; and you talk to me about
gas and subscriptions. Her own nephew.
BALSQUITH (gloomily). Its unfortunate. He was at Oxford with
Bobby Bassborough.
MITCHENER. Worse and worse. What shall we do?
Balsquith shakes his head. They contemplate one another in
miserable silence.
A VOICE WITHOUT. Votes for Women! Votes for Women!
A terrific explosion shakes the building--they take no notice.
MITCHENER (breaking down). You dont know what this means to me,
Balsquith. I love the army. I love my country.
BALSQUITH. It certainly is rather awkward.
The Orderly comes in.
MITCHENER (angrily). What is it? How dare you interrupt us like
this?
THE ORDERLY. Didnt you hear the explosion, Sir?
MITCHENER. Explosion. What explosion? No: I heard no explosion: I
have something more serious to attend to than explosions. Great
Heavens: Lady Richmond's nephew has been treated like any common
laborer; and while England is reeling under the shock a private
comes in and asks me if I heard an explosion.
BALSQUITH. By the way, what was the explosion?
THE ORDERLY. Only a sort of bombshell, Sir.
BALSQUITH. Bombshell!
THE ORDERLY. A pasteboard one, Sir. Full of papers with Votes for
Women in red letters. Fired into the yard from the roof of the
Alliance Office.
MITCHENER. Pooh! Go away. Go away.
The Orderly, bewildered, goes out.
BALSQUITH. Mitchener: you can save the country yet. Put on your
full-dress uniform and your medals and orders and so forth. Get a
guard of honor--something showy--horse guards or something of
that sort; and call on the old girl--
MITCHENER. The old girl?
BALSQUITH. Well, Lady Richmond. Apologize to her. Ask her leave
to accept the command. Tell her that youve made the curate your
adjutant or your aide-de-camp or whatever is the proper thing. By
the way, what can you make him?
MITCHENER. I might make him my chaplain. I dont see why I
shouldnt have a chaplain on my staff. He showed a very proper
spirit in punching that young cub's head. I should have done the
same myself.
BALSQUITH. Then Ive your promise to take command if Lady Richmond
consents?
MITCHENER. On condition that I have a free hand. No nonsense
about public opinion or democracy.
BALSQUITH. As far as possible, I think I may say yes.
MITCHENER (rising intolerantly and going to the hearthrug). That
wont do for me. Dont be weak-kneed, Balsquith. You know perfectly
well that the real government of this country is and always must
be the government of the masses by the classes. You know that
democracy is damned nonsense, and that no class stands less of it
than the working class. You know that we are already discussing
the steps that will have to be taken if the country should ever
be face to face with the possibility of a Labor majority in
parliament. You know that in that case we should disfranchise the
mob, and, if they made a fuss, shoot them down. You know that if
we need public opinion to support us, we can get any quantity of
it manufactured in our papers by poor devils of journalists who
will sell their souls for five shillings. You know--
BALSQUITH. Stop. Stop, I say. I dont know. That is the difference
between your job and mine, Mitchener. After twenty years in the
army a man thinks he knows everything. After twenty months in the
Cabinet he knows that he knows nothing.
MITCHENER. We learn from history--
BALSQUITH. We learn from history that men never learn anything
from history. Thats not my own: its Hegel.
MITCHENER. Whos Hegel?
BALSQUITH. Dead. A German philosopher. (He half rises, but
recollects something and sits down again.) Oh confound it: that
reminds me. The Germans have laid down four more Dreadnoughts.
MITCHENER. Then you must lay down twelve.
BALSQUITH. Oh yes: its easy to say that: but think of what theyll
cost.
MITCHENER. Think of what it would cost to be invaded by Germany
and forced to pay an indemnity of five hundred millions.
BALSQUITH. But you said that if you got compulsory military
service there would be an end of the danger of invasion.
MITCHENER. On the contrary, my dear fellow, it increases the
danger tenfold, because it increases German jealousy of our
military supremacy.
BALSQUITH. After all, why should the Germans invade us?
MITCHENER. Why shouldnt they? What else has their army to do?
What else are they building a navy for?
BALSQUITH. Well, we never think of invading Germany.
MITCHENER. Yes we do. I have thought of nothing else for the last
ten years. Say what you will, Balsquith, the Germans have never
recognized, and until they get a stern lesson, they never WILL
recognize, the plain fact that the interests of the British
Empire are paramount, and that the command of the sea belongs by
nature to England.
BALSQUITH. But if they wont recognize it, what can I do?
MITCHENER. Shoot them down.
BALSQUITH. I cant shoot them down.
MITCHENER. Yes you can. You dont realize it; but if you fire a
rifle into a German he drops just as surely as a rabbit does.
BALSQUITH But dash it all, man, a rabbit hasnt got a rifle and a
German has. Suppose he shoots you down.
MITCHENER. Excuse me, Balsquith; but that consideration is what
we call cowardice in the army. A soldier always assumes that he
is going to shoot, not to be shot.
BALSQUITH (jumping up and walking about sulkily). Oh come! I like
to hear you military people talking of cowardice. Why, you spend
your lives in an ecstasy of terror of imaginary invasions. I dont
believe you ever go to bed without looking under it for a
burglar.
MITCHENER (calmly). A very sensible precaution, Balsquith. I
always take it. And in consequence Ive never been burgled.
BALSQUITH. Neither have I. Anyhow dont you taunt me with
cowardice. (He posts himself on the hearthrug beside Mitchener on
his left.) I never look under my bed for a burglar. Im not always
looking under the nation's bed for an invader. And if it comes to
fighting Im quite willing to fight without being three to one.
MITCHENER. These are the romantic ravings of a Jingo civilian,
Balsquith. At least youll not deny that the absolute command of
the sea is essential to our security.
BALSQUITH. The absolute command of the sea is essential to the
security of the principality of Monaco. But Monaco isnt going to
get it.
MITCHENER. And consequently Monaco enjoys no security. What a
frightful thing! How do the inhabitants sleep with the
possibility of invasion, of bombardment, continually present to
their minds? Would you have our English slumbers broken in the
same way? Are we also to live without security?
BALSQUITH (dogmatically). Yes. Theres no such thing as security
in the world: and there never can be as long as men are mortal.
England will be secure when England is dead, just as the streets
of London will be safe when there is no longer a man in her
streets to be run over, or a vehicle to run over him. When you
military chaps ask for security you are crying for the moon.
MITCHENER (very seriously). Let me tell you, Balsquith, that in
these days of aeroplanes and Zeppelin airships, the question of
the moon is becoming one of the greatest importance. It will be
reached at no very distant date. Can you as an Englishman, tamely
contemplate the posssibility of having to live under a German
moon? The British flag must be planted there at all hazards.
BALSQUITH. My dear Mitchener, the moon is outside practical
politics. Id swop it for a cooling station tomorrow with Germany
or any other Power sufficiently military in its way of thinking
to attach any importance to it.
MITCHENER (losing his temper). You are the friend of every
country but your own.
BALSQUITH. Say nobodys enemy but my own. It sounds nicer. You
really neednt be so horribly afraid of the other countries.
Theyre all in the same fix as we are. Im much more interested in
the death rate in Lambeth than in the German fleet.