George Bernard Shaw

“ Now, in the eyes of a phoenix, a prize-fighter is a hero in comparison with a wretch who sets a leash of greyhounds upon a hare. Imagine, now, this poor phoenix meeting with a man who had never been guilty of self-analysis in his life—who complained when he was annoyed, and exulted when he was glad, like a child (and unlike a modern man) —who was honest and brave, strong and beautiful. You open your eyes, Lucian: you do not do justice to Cashel's good looks. He is twenty-five, and yet there is not a line in his face. ”

“ His attempts to reach his enemy's face were greatly to the disadvantage of his own; for Cashel's blows were never so tremendous as when he turned his head deftly out of harm's way, and met his advancing foe with a counter hit. He showed no chivalry and no mercy, and revelled in the hardness of his hitting; his gloves either resounding on Paradise's face or seeming to go almost through his body. There was little semblance to a contest: to Lydia there was nothing discernible but a cruel assault by an irresistible athlete on a helpless victim. ”

“ Do you recollect his saying 'Mellish is mad'?"
"That is possible," said Lydia. "At all events we have got a topic; and that is an important home comfort in the country."
Just then they reached the castle. Lydia lingered for a moment on the terrace. The Gothic chimneys of the Warren Lodge stood up against the long, crimson cloud into which the sun was sinking. She smiled as if some quaint idea had occurred to her; raised her eyes for a moment to the black-marble Egyptian gazing with unwavering eyes into the sky; and followed Alice in-doors. ”

“ Lydia, for the first time in her life, screamed. Then she saw Cashel, his face fully as fierce as Paradise's, get his arm about his neck; lift him as a coal-heaver lifts a sack, and fling him over his back, heels over head, to the ground, where he instantly dropped on him with his utmost weight and impetus. The two were at once separated by a crowd of managers, umpires, policemen, and others who had rushed towards the ring when Paradise had taken off his gloves. ”

“ Cashel laughed cunningly, and shook his head. "Don't you make any mistake about that," he said. "You don't want anybody to be quite as clever as yourself; it isn't in human nature that you should. You'd like people to be just clever enough to show you off—to be worth beating. But you wouldn't like them to be able to beat you. Just clever enough to know how much cleverer you are; that's about the mark. Eh?"
Lydia made no further effort to enlighten him. ”

“ Lord Worthington hesitated, looked at Lucian, seemed perplexed and amused at the name time, and at last said,
"You really wish it?"
"Of course," said Lydia. "Is there any reason—"
"Oh, not the least in the world since you wish it," he replied quickly, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he turned to his companion who was standing at the carriage door admiring Lydia, and being himself admired by the stoker. "Mr. Cashel Byron: Miss Carew."
Mr. Cashel Byron raised his straw hat and reddened a little; but, on the whole, bore himself like an eminent man who was not proud. ”

“ But Lydia set great store by the high northerly ground and open air of the park; and Alice found almost perfect happiness in driving through London in a fine carriage and fine clothes. She liked that better than concerts of classical music, which she did not particularly relish, or even than the opera, to which they went often. The theatres pleased her more, though the amusements there were tamer than she had expected. Society was delightful to her because it was real London society. ”

“ You do whatever you like; and I'll do whatever you like. You have a conscience; so I know that whatever you like will be the best thing. I have the most science; but you have the most sense. Come!"
Lydia looked around, as if for a means of escape. Cashel waited anxiously. There was a long pause.
"It can't be," he said, pathetically, "that you are afraid of me because I was a prize-fighter."
"Afraid of you! No: I am afraid of myself; afraid of the future; afraid FOR you. ”

“ Supposing a fighting man has as good manners as your friends, and is as well born, why shouldn't he mix with them and be considered their equal?"
"The distinction seems arbitrary, I confess. But perhaps the true remedy would be to exclude the vivisectors and soldiers, instead of admitting the prize-fighters. Mr. Cashel Byron," added Lydia, changing her manner, "I cannot discuss this with you. Society has a prejudice against you. I share it; and I cannot overcome it. Can you find no nobler occupation than these fierce and horrible encounters by which you condescend to gain a living?" ”

“ Cashel."
"Mrs. Skene!" said Lydia, reproachfully.
Mrs. Skene understood all that Lydia's tone implied. "I know, ma'am," she pleaded. "I know well. But what could I do but come to you? Whatever you said to him, it has gone to his heart; and he's dying."
"Pardon me," said Lydia, promptly; "men do not die of such things; and Mr. Cashel Byron is not so deficient either in robustness of body or hardness of heart as to be an exception to THAT rule."
"Yes, miss," said Mrs. Skene, sadly. "You are thinking of the profession. You can't believe he has any feelings because he fights. ”

“ But Cashel is as honest and high-minded as a king. You saw for yourself the trouble he took. He couldn't have spared himself less if he had been fighting for a thousand a side and the belt, instead of for a paltry ten guineas. Surely you don't think the worse of him for his honesty, miss?"
"I confess," said Lydia, laughing in spite of herself, "that your view of the transaction did not occur to me."
"Of course not, ma'am; no more it wouldn't to any one, without they were accustomed to know the right and wrong of the profession. ”

“ Else I should have stood my ground."
"I am quite satisfied," said Lydia, a little coldly, as she left the room.
"How long you have been!" cried Alice, almost in hysterics, as Lydia entered. "Is he gone? What were those dreadful noises? IS anything the matter?"
"Dancing and late hours are the matter," said Lydia, coolly. "The season is proving too much for you, Alice."
"It is not the season; it is the man," said Alice, with a sob.
"Indeed? I have been in conversation with the man for more than half an hour; and Bashville has been in actual combat with him; yet we are not in hysterics. ”

“ If I might just tell him—"
"Nothing," said Lydia. "Absolutely nothing. The only assurance I can give you is that you have softened the hard opinion that I had formed of some of his actions. But that I should marry Mr. Cashel Byron is simply the most improbable thing in the world. All questions of personal inclination apart, the mere improbability is enough in itself to appal an ordinary woman."
Mrs. Skene did not quite understand this; but she understood sufficiently for her purpose. She rose to go, shaking her head despondently, and saying, "I see how it is, ma'am. You think him beneath you. ”

“ I was a nice boy to let loose in a school. I could speak as well as an actor, as far as pronunciation goes; but I could hardly read words of one syllabile; and as to writing, I couldn't make pothooks and hangers respectably. To this day, I can no more spell than old Ned Skene can. What was a worse sort of ignorance was that I had no idea of fair play. I thought that all servants would be afraid of me, and that all grown-up people would tyrannize over me. I was afraid of everybody; afraid that my cowardice would be found out; and as angry and cruel in my ill-tempers as cowards always are. ”

“ If that gentleman that laughed know how to fight, and his neighbors all knew how to fight too, he wouldn't need to fear police, nor soldiers, nor Russians, nor Prussians, nor any of the millions of men that may be let loose on him any day of the week, safe though he thinks himself. But, says you, let's have a division of labor. Let's not fight for ourselves, but pay other men to fight for us. That shows how some people, when they get hold of an idea, will work it to that foolish length that it's wearisome to listen to them. Fighting is the power of self-preservation ”

“ The luck is against me. I hope, Miss Carew, that you'll excuse me for making such an ass of myself. It's all my blessed innocence; I never was taught any better."
"I have no quarrel with you except on the old score of hiding the truth from me; and that I forgive you—as far as the evil of it affects me. As for your declaration of attachment to me personally, I have received many similar ones that have flattered me less. But there are certain scruples between us. You will not court a woman a hundred-fold richer than yourself; and I will not entertain a prize-fighter. ”

“ Only think, dear Miss Carew, of the infinite patieuce with which you must tend a child, of the necessity of seeing with its little eyes and with your own wise ones at the same time, of bearing without reproach the stabs it innocently inflicts, of forgiving its hundred little selfishnesses, of living in continual fear of wounding its exquisite sensitiveness, or rousing its bitter resentment of injustice and caprice. Think of how you must watch yourself, check yourself, exercise and develop everything in you that can help to attract and retain the most jealous love in the world! ”

“ Alice, who was a better horsewoman than might have been expected from the little practice she had had, appeared to advantage in the saddle. She had just indulged in a brisk canter from the Corner to the Serpentine, when she saw a large white horse approaching with Wallace Parker on its back.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, expertly wheeling his steed and taking off his hat at the same time with an intentional display of gallantry and horsemanship. "How are you, Alice?"
"Goodness!" cried Alice, forgetting her manners in her astonishment. "What brings you here; and where on earth did you get that horse?" ”

“ That pleases me, Lydia, because I believe you. But such things are better left unsaid. They seem to belong to the art of pleasing, which you will perhaps soon be tempted to practise, because it seems to ail young people easy, well paid, amiable, and a mark of good breeding. In truth it is vulgar, cowardly, egotistical, and insincere: a virtue in a shopman; a vice in a free woman. It is better to leave genuine praise unspoken than to expose yourself to the suspicion of flattery. ”

“ He shook his head dejectedly.
"I am at least grateful to you," she continued, "because you have sought me for my own sake, knowing nothing of my wealth."
"I should think not," groaned Cashel. "Your wealth may be a very fine thing for the other fellows; and I'm glad you have it, for your own sake. But it's a settler for me. It's knocked me out of time, so it has. I sha'n't come up again; and the sooner the sponge is chucked up in my corner, the better. So good-bye."
"Good-bye," said Lydia, almost as pale as he had now become, "since you will have it so." ”

“ Cashel caught Lydia's anxious look, and checked himself. He paused and got away a step, a cunning smile flickering on his lips. "No," he said; "it's just playing into your hands to lose temper with you. You think you know me, and you want to force the fighting. Well, we'll see. Make me angry now if you can."
"There is not the slightest reason for anger," said Mrs. Byron, angry herself. "Your temper seems to have become ungovernable—or, rather, to have remained so; for it was never remarkable for sweetness."
"No," retorted Cashel, jeering good-humoredly. ”

“ Lydia did not retort. She waited a minute in pensive silence, and then said,
"Why do you not marry Alice Goff?"
"Oh, hang Alice Goff!"
"It is so easy to come at the man beneath the veneer by expertly chipping at his feelings," said Lydia, laughing. "But I was serious, Lucian. Alice is energetic, ambitious, and stubbornly upright in questions of principle. I believe she would assist you steadily at every step of your career. Besides, she has physical robustness. Our student-stock needs an infusion of that." ”

“ Most of the laborious people think they have made themselves what they are—much as if a child should think it had made itself grow."
"You are the first artist I ever met," said Lydia, "who did not claim art as the most laborious of all avocations. They all deny the existence of genius, and attribute everything to work." ”

“ Which way did he go?"
"I will show you where I saw him," said Lydia, quietly rising and going with the man to the door, outside which she found a crowd of rustics, and five policemen, having in custody two men, one of whom was Mellish (without a coat) , and the other a hook-nosed man, whose like Lydia had seen often on race-courses. She pointed out the glade across which she had seen Cashel run, and felt as if the guilt of the deception she was practising was wrenching some fibre in her heart from its natural order. ”

“ All that about science was only a joke—at least, it's not what you call science. I'm a real simpleton in drawing-room affairs; though I'm clever enough in my own line."
"Then try to believe that I take no pleasure in making you confess yourself in the wrong, and that you cannot have a lower opinion of me than the contrary belief implies."
"That's just where you're mistaken," said Cashel, obstinately. "I haven't got a low opinion of you at all. There's such a thing as being too clever." ”