36 THE INNOCENCE OF BERNARD SHAW your remarks. It doesn't seem in keeping. Either there is something wrong with your voice, which you cannot possibly help ; or there is something wrong with your estimate of my hearing. In either case — who is to be blamed ? I feel there must be something wrong with your credentials. Perhaps your voice is not the voice of the Universe after all. Or perhaps you are not a very good judge of other people's hearing. Myself, I favour both views. I don't fancy a Universe talking falsetto ; and I don't think you are a good judge, not a particularly good judge of other people. These thoughts are meant kindly to you. A blind leader of the blind will probably bring about disaster — but at least he will consider his poor com- panion's shortcomings. How much wickeder, waste- fuller, more shameful and ludicrous, would be the case of the clear-sighted leader who broke his client's neck because he couldn't be bothered to remember his afflictions. Good-day, Mr. Shaw. Here's your fee. We part friends." So, in his humble way, says Everyman. And his complaint brings us naturally to the cul- minating scene in our Comedy. We are now going to contemplate Mr. Shaw being compelled to proclaim and believe himself a dramatist, and, at the same time, by the self-same power and process, being carefully un- fitted for the role. PART II I The first half of this epitome, the way Shaw's early pose of rebel insolence placed him on a track which propelled him implacably towards play-writing, is easily traced by simply jotting down some dates. Recapitulate rapidly the early facts of his life in a straightforward string, and you see chronology creeping
