C. Haddon Chambers

“ Gunning.
Of course you would be the last to discover that your secretary was personally pleasing.
Parbury.
You’re a sinister scoundrel, George, and coarse to a fault. Now, tell me what you’ve been doing all these years—shedding your illusions apparently.
Gunning.
I’ve had none to lose since I grew up. I got rid of mine about the time of measles and whooping-cough.
Parbury.
It’s a pity.
Gunning.
Not at all. One can’t attain the proper philosophical attitude towards life while one nourishes illusions; one can never gain perspective. ”

“ Parbury.
No, no. There are things one can’t get over. Perhaps you can explain why it is that Miss Woodward’s presence doesn’t disturb you, while mine does?
Parbury.
Easily. Miss Woodward is a mouse.
Mrs. Parbury.
I hate mice!
Parbury.
I mean she is a table—a chair—a desk—a dictionary—a something useful that is always in the right place at the right moment, and yet of whose presence one is pleasantly unconscious. She is a triumph of the negative. ”

“ This, he sees at once, is a picture of pink and white tyranny, the triumph of the weak. Domestic life has been caught and fixed at the culmination of a strain: one of those dramatic moments when the cord snaps because it has been for a long time fraying. One party to the contract has drawn up a code and imposed it upon his mate. The tyrant has some piquancy; she disarms suspicion because, although a despot, she is masquerading as something else. ”

“ Gunning.
Just what one sees on this side; there is always a man—and a woman.
Parbury.
I know you were adventuring in Upper India last year, for the papers were full of a rather fine thing you did—saved a lot of miserable lives—an ordinary, manly, commonplace, heroic, English sort of thing.
Gunning.
Oh, don’t mention that; one was carried away by impulse.
Parbury.
And so we keep our impulses even when we lose our illusions; I’m glad of that anyway. [Then he comes behind Gunning’s chair, takes him by the shoulder, and shakes him.] Old fool! I can’t help liking you as much as ever!
Gunning. ”

“ Do you think such cases rare? Every rank of society has its examples. Do you think such a couple have deliberately sought their hell? Oh no; they may have started as fairly as we did. Their love has not been slain by a blow, it has been pecked to a cupboard skeleton by littlenesses—little jealousies, little selfishnesses, little insults, little tyrannies, little intolerances.
Mrs. Parbury.
Clement, you terrify me. ”

“ Miss Woodward.
You have unconsciously shown me to-day that I was wrong.
Parbury.
Indeed! I would be glad to know how. Oh, how weary one gets of mysteries! [Miss Woodward’s head droops lower.] [He walks the stage, then looks at Miss Woodward and pauses; he goes to her and speaks more gently.] I beg your pardon, I fear I spoke impatiently. Do understand that I only wish for your own good. I admit in our relations I’ve hitherto been rather selfish. I’m afraid writing men are prone to be so. ”

“ Parbury.
Which now I am not! What does a man want with a Club when he has a home of his own?
Gunning.
Excellent sentiment; but neither the sentiment nor the words are your own, Clement. [Their eyes meet and they burst into laughter.] I know, I know; “and what does a man want with men friends when he has a wife of his own,” and “the husband’s old friends are the wife’s worst enemies,” and “what I say about Clubs is, down with them!” ”

“ J. Ranken Towse, in the New York Evening Post, says: “Mr. Drew played Parbury with his accustomed neatness and dexterity. . . . The play, perhaps, may not be quite highly seasoned enough with dramatic incident for the great mass of the public, but its ingenuity, its simplicity, its truthfulness and its humor will commend it strongly to connoisseurs.”
It was afterwards given in the principal cities of the United States with Mr. Drew as the victimized husband, and met everywhere with the same enthusiastic favor. ”

“ Miss Woodward.
But we don’t love each other.
Gunning.
Another big advantage. Love is the rock upon which so many well-intentioned young persons split. They engage to marry each other while the intelligence is perverted, the reason unbalanced, and the judgment obscured by an overpowering sentiment. They enter into a solemn life-binding contract in a highly emotional and altogether unnormal moral condition. The disastrous results of such folly we see examples of daily. ”

“ Miss Woodward.
I’m glad you’re not angry.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Still laughing.] It’s impossible to be angry. And so because you thought his wife bored him, you gave his photograph a nice motherly kiss. That was very sweet of you, I’m sure.
Miss Woodward.
It was well meant, Mrs. Parbury; and you must always remember that I didn’t know you were looking.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Laughing, sits on sofa.] Why do you make me laugh when you must know that my heart is breaking—that I have lost my happiness for ever. [Pause. She begins to laugh again. Rises.] ”

“ Gunning.
You are very good.
Mrs. Parbury.
That wretched girl is in love with Clement.
Gunning.
[Starting from his chair as if shot.] What!
Mrs. Parbury.
Sit down! Sit down!
Gunning.
Miss Woodward is in love with——
Mrs. Parbury.
Sit down, please, Mr. Gunning.
Gunning.
[Laughs—sitting.] No, no, no; I simply can’t believe it.
Mrs. Parbury.
Why not?
Gunning.
It seems such a monstrous absurdity.
[Laughs.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Drawing herself up.] I see nothing monstrously absurd in any one falling in love with my husband. I did! ”

“ A sly humor runs through the piece like a warm-colored thread, a humor always faithful to those universal traits that make us kin. It asserts itself robustly from time to [Pg iii] time, once, for a notable instance, in the fact that Parbury is moderately well content in his fool’s paradise until Gunning appears to beckon him out of it. ”

“ Parbury.
Perhaps it ought to be, but somehow I don’t feel it acutely. I feel only a dull pain. It’s a terrible thing, Miss Woodward, for a young married woman to suddenly realise that her happiness is gone. I feel that I have aged many years in the last few hours. ”

“ Here are no sky-rocketings to make the hearer gasp at the playwright’s cleverness, while at the same time they accentuate the difference between his own world and the world as it glitters from the stage. ”

“ Behold her! a soft-cheeked, gentle-handed ministrant, who would have husbands happy, provided they show the chivalrous courtesy of becoming so in woman’s way. She knows the rules of the game according as her sex interprets them, and it never enters her ingenuous mind that “in marriage there are two ideals to be realized.” ”

“ Wit it has in abundance, but not in superabundance—wit, that is, that obviously belongs to the speaker and does not delusively suggest the author. Truth, too, it has, but always simple, straightforward, fundamental truth, truth that comes home to men’s business and bosoms, not the far-fetched truth which costs a headache to master it. ”

“ This man generalizes, and Parbury at once perceives that husbands are not the victims of special visitation, but of an epidemic. The thing is universal. It can be classified; it can even be attacked. He stands shoulder to shoulder with his suffering brothers, and makes his stroke for liberty.
This is everyday life and the dialogue expresses it; the lines are neither too bright nor good for any drawing-room. ”

“ During the following, she slowly picks it to pieces, dropping the petals on the ground.
Parbury.
[Coming down to back of table and speaking very gently.] I suppose there must soon come a time to every girl of heart who goes out alone into the world—a time when life seems to press hardly upon her and weariness of the unaccustomed stress makes her heart falter, and when she longs to take rest for a time in the old childhood, in the home she perhaps once thought to be dull and dreary, in the mother’s arms that have always been ready to open with love for her.
Miss Woodward. ”

“ It is a group of sharply differentiated types: Parbury, honey-combed with something that passes for amiability; his charming ruler; worldly-wise Gunning, fitted like a glove with amiable cynicisms; the Colonel, clad in rejuvenescence like the spring; and Miss Woodward, an original piquing to the intelligence of any actress ambitious to “create a part.”
“The Tyranny of Tears” was first produced at the Criterion Theatre in London, April 6, 1899, with the following
[Pg iv]
The comedy made an instant and striking success, and ran to enormous business until the end of the season. ”

“ The germ of it, a matter of fortunate selection, is a human foible so universal that if a man is not conscious of it in his own proper person, he has not failed to smile over it among his neighbors: that combination of fondness and egoism out of which tyranny is legitimately born. ”

“ I’d like to sell it this morning. Do you know, Clement, I’m not quite certain about that whisky of yours.
Parbury.
I am. It’s fifteen years old.
Enter Evans, L., with, breakfast-tray.
But you always had a way of mixing your drinks over-night and growling in the morning.
Gunning.
[Drawing up his chair.] Put it at that, if you like. I do know that I always had a way of disliking you particularly in the morning. I regret I don’t appear to have grown out of it.
Parbury.
I’m so glad. I hate being too popular. [Evans offers bacon to Mr. Parbury. He pushes the dish away.] Take it away. ”

“ It is the talk to be expected out of the mouths of admirable yet matter-of-fact persons with whom we are quite at home. This is the man you meet at any corner, who is living his life as he conceives it, and is vaguely discomfited when the pattern comes out wrong. ”

“ There is a long pause. At first Parbury doesn’t appear ill-pleased. He looks down at the rose in his buttonhole, and begins to raise it half-tenderly to his face. Then his face becomes grave, and he slowly removes the flower from his coat, and places it on the table against which Miss Woodward is standing. He takes one of her hands.
Parbury.
I don’t ask anything—I don’t guess anything, my dear child—my little sister. I was wrong to press you to tell me your trouble; for what could a [Pg 123] hardened, rough-natured man do with the secrets of a young girl’s heart? ”

“ Parbury.
[Crosses to L.] Clement vain indeed!
Gunning.
No, no; a mistake. Do sit down again.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Crosses to R.C.] You might, with advantage, look for vanity nearer home, Mr. Gunning.
Mr. Gunning.
Perfectly true, perfectly true.
[He places her chair for her.
Mrs. Parbury.
As for the sort of weakness you were good enough to credit my husband with——
Gunning.
Nothing but a slip of the tongue. Do sit down.
[Pg 108]
Mrs. Parbury.
No doubt you have accustomed yourself to judging other men from your own standpoint.
Gunning.
That’s it; quite true! You are always right. Won’t you sit? ”

“ Gad! they do like their own way, don’t they? Well, no doubt she’ll be more reasonable to-morrow. I think I may trust you.
Parbury.
You may—absolutely.
Enter Mrs. Parbury. She has put on a hat and a cloak.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Going to Gunning.] You’ll forgive me, I’m sure, Mr. Gunning. Good-night. You’ll have Clement all to yourself.
Gunning.
Good-night, Mrs. Parbury.
[They shake hands. Parbury joins her, C.
Parbury.
[In a low voice.] Don’t go, Mabel. It’s very foolish.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Softening.] You could prevent me if you wished.
Parbury.
I’m opposed to all violence.
Mrs. Parbury. ”

“ Parbury is the only picture on the walls, which otherwise are mostly hidden by bookcases.
[For a few moments before and when the curtain rises the noise of street singers is heard. Miss Woodward and Evans are discovered. Miss Woodward is dressed with severe simplicity in a costume of dark colour, with linen collar and cuffs; her dark hair is drawn back from her forehead. Her costume, being well cut, does not conceal the graceful outline of her figure. She is a handsome, innocent, yet determined-looking girl of twenty. She is at the window looking out.
[Pg 2]
Evans. ”

“ Parbury.
You hear, George; what’s it all about?
Gunning.
[Down R., almost angrily.] Now, how the deuce should I know? Colonel, you would be very kind if you would use your authority to prevent Clement dragging me into his domestic difficulties. Married men have a cowardly way of endeavouring to involve their friends. Perhaps you have noticed it.
Colonel.
I have, Mr. Gunning. My experience of married life extended over a period of twenty-six years.
Gunning. ”

“ Gunning.
[Laughing.] Yes, well?
Miss Woodward.
[Speaking in an even, emotionless way.] Two other of my sisters run a Kindergarten, and one other is a governess. Personally I would rather be a domestic [Pg 54] servant. The others remain at home, help in the house, and await husbands. I fear they will wait in vain, because there are so many women in our part of the country and so few men. ”

“ ACT III Scene.—The Rose Garden at Parbury’s house. A garden table, seat, and chairs. The next morning.
[Enter Miss Woodward. She is dressed simply, but less severely than before. Her hair is dressed more loosely. She carries a little basket full of roses. She places some roses upon the table, which is laid for two for breakfast. She plucks more roses and fastens them in her dress. Meanwhile she hums an air and conveys the impression of being happier than in the previous Acts.]
[Enter Gunning, R. He wears a light morning suit, a round hat and brown boots, and carries a stick and gloves.] ”

“ Parbury with the tea service.
Parbury.
[To Miss Woodward in a low voice.] I think I can finish the article in three sentences. Take your notes into the other room; I’ll join you in a moment.
[Miss Woodward gathers her notes and exits R.]
Mrs. Parbury.
[Pouring out a fresh cup of tea for Gunning.] But of course it’s not in the nature of things that college friendships, however strong, can last always. Time estranges, doesn’t it, Mr. Gunning, and fate drives people into different—well, different ways of life, doesn’t it? Some men marry soon. Are you married, Mr. Gunning? ”

“ I do think a woman is wise who does her crying in private, [Pg 42] and yet—I wonder—they know best—millions to one they know best. I must write something about it.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Rises, goes to top of table, R. She is wiping her eyes, her back to him.] Of course, you’re going all the same?
Parbury.
[Affecting great pre-occupation.] Going? Going where?
Mrs. Parbury.
With Mr. Gunning.
[Pause. She continues to cry gently.
Parbury.
Gunning—Gunning!—who’s Gunning? Oh—George—yachting, you mean! Not I! I’m staying here.
Mrs. Parbury.
[Comes towards him gladly, her arms extended.] Clement! ”

“ Miss Woodward.
[Speaking into telephone—very sweetly.] Yes, are you there?—yes—who are you? Speak a little louder, please. Oh!—Well? Yes—I don’t know—Mr. Parbury’s just coming in now—he’ll speak to you—keep the line.
[She returns to the desk.
Enter Mr. Parbury from garden. His hair is untidy; he is flustered and cross. He is an agreeable-looking man of about forty.
Parbury.
Thank heaven, they’re gone! This house is a mistake! With the nerve force one expends in [Pg 3] swearing at street singers one might do some good work. Make a note, please—look for house in secluded part of country. ”

“ Parbury. I think you might be more lenient.
Mrs. Parbury.
[At fireplace.] I’m very sorry for you, Miss Woodward; but I owe a duty to myself and to my husband. You must go in the morning.
[She moves to return to garden.
Miss Woodward.
[Crosses to L.C.] Mrs. Parbury!
Mrs. Parbury.
Well?
Miss Woodward.
I suppose I ought to be a lady and go, because you, the mistress of the house, wish me to. But I [Pg 60] don’t feel a bit like a lady just now. I only feel like a poor girl whose chances in life are being ruined for a very small and innocent folly.
Mrs. Parbury. ”