Waste: A Tragedy, In Four Acts — Text and Context

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In Category - Fantasy Juvenile Worlds

Authors: Granville-Barker, Harley, 1877-1946 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2005 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Politicians -- Drama; Adultery -- Drama; Women's rights -- Drama Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 37,406

Reading time 163 min

Text sections 5

The catalog record for Waste: A Tragedy, In Four Acts — Text and Context provides practical reading context through 37,406 words, 2 hr 43 min estimated reading time, and 5 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 9.5 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Politicians -- Drama,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #15788

An editorial note on Harley Granville-Barker's Waste, focusing on authorial choices in diction, dialogue, and description. The play's opening stage directions and political debate scenes reveal character through precise language and gesture.

Editorial Edition Score 4.6/5

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg15788

Read the Text

WASTE: A TRAGEDY, IN FOUR ACTS, BY GRANVILLE BARKER

LONDON: SIDGWICK & JACKSON, LTD. 3 ADAM STREET, ADELPHI. MCMIX.

At Shapters, GEORGE FARRANT'S house in Hertfordshire. Ten o'clock on a Sunday evening in summer.

_Facing you at her piano by the window, from which she is protected by a little screen, sits_ MRS. FARRANT; _a woman of the interesting age, clear-eyed and all her face serene, except for a little pucker of the brows which shows a puzzled mind upon some important matters. To become almost an ideal hostess has been her achievement; and in her own home, as now, this grace is written upon every movement. Her eyes pass over the head of a girl, sitting in a low chair by a little table, with the shaded lamplight falling on her face. This is_ LUCY DAVENPORT; _twenty-three, undefeated in anything as yet and so unsoftened. The book on her lap is closed, for she has been listening to the music. It is possibly some German philosopher, whom she reads with a critical appreciation of his shortcomings. On the sofa near her lounges_ MRS. O'CONNELL; _a charming woman, if by charming you understand a woman who converts every quality she possesses into a means of attraction, and has no use for any others. On the sofa opposite sits_ MISS TREBELL. _In a few years, when her hair is quite grey, she will assume as by right the dignity of an old maid. Between these two in a low armchair is_ LADY DAVENPORT. _She has attained to many dignities. Mother and grandmother, she has brought into the world and nourished not merely life but character. A wonderful face she has, full of proud memories and fearless of the future. Behind her, on a sofa between the windows, is_ WALTER KENT. _He is just what the average English father would like his son to be. You can see the light shooting out through the windows and mixing with moonshine upon a smooth lawn. On your left is a door. There are many books in the room, hardly any pictures, a statuette perhaps. The owner evidently sets beauty of form before beauty of colour. It is a woman's room and it has a certain delicate austerity. By the time you have observed everything_ MRS. FARRANT _has played Chopin's prelude opus 28, number 20 from beginning to end._

LADY DAVENPORT. Thank you, my dear Julia.

WALTER KENT. [_Protesting._] No more?

MRS. FARRANT. I won't play for a moment longer than I feel musical.

MISS TREBELL. Do you think it right, Julia, to finish with that after an hour's Bach?

MRS. FARRANT. I suddenly came over Chopinesque, Fanny; ... what's your objection? [_as she sits by her._]

FRANCES TREBELL. What ... when Bach has raised me to the heights of unselfishness!

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Grimacing sweetly, her eyes only half lifted._] Does he? I'm glad that I don't understand him.

FRANCES TREBELL. [_Putting mere prettiness in its place._] One may prefer Chopin when one is young.

AMY O'CONNELL. And is that a reproach or a compliment?

WALTER KENT. [_Boldly._] I do.

FRANCES TREBELL. Or a man may ... unless he's a philosopher.

LADY DAVENPORT. [_To the rescue._] Miss Trebell, you're very hard on mere humanity.

FRANCES TREBELL. [_Completing the reproof._] That's my wretched training as a schoolmistress, Lady Davenport ... one grew to fear it above all things.

LUCY DAVENPORT. [_Throwing in the monosyllable with sharp youthful enquiry._] Why?

FRANCES TREBELL. There were no text books on the subject.

MRS. FARRANT. [_Smiling at her friend._] Yes, Fanny ... I think you escaped to look after your brother only just in time.

FRANCES TREBELL. In another year I might have been head-mistress, which commits you to approve of the system for ever.

LADY DAVENPORT. [_Shaking her wise head._] I've watched the Education fever take England....

FRANCES TREBELL. If I hadn't stopped teaching things I didn't understand...!

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Not without mischief._] And what was the effect on the pupils?

LUCY DAVENPORT. I can tell you that.

AMY O'CONNELL. Frances never taught you.

LUCY DAVENPORT. No, I wish she had. But I was at her sort of a school before I went to Newnham. I know.

FRANCES TREBELL. [_Very distastefully._] Up-to-date, it was described as.

LUCY DAVENPORT. Well, it was like a merry-go-round at top speed. You felt things wouldn't look a bit like that when you came to a standstill.

AMY O'CONNELL. And they don't?

LUCY DAVENPORT. [_With great decision._] Not a bit.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_In her velvet tone._] I was taught the whole duty of woman by a parson-uncle who disbelieved in his Church.

WALTER KENT. When a man at Jude's was going to take orders....

AMY O'CONNELL. Jude's?

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Harley Granville-Barker's Waste opens not with action but with a meticulously described drawing-room, where the stage directions themselves become a form of character study. Mrs. Farrant, 'a woman of the interesting age,' is introduced through her physical serenity and a 'little pucker of the brows' that signals a puzzled mind. The author's choice to detail each character's posture and relation to light—Lucy Davenport with 'the shaded lamplight falling on her face,' Miss Trebell seated between two others—establishes a visual hierarchy that mirrors social dynamics. This attention to spatial arrangement and gesture continues throughout the excerpts, where political debate is punctuated by small physical actions: a face melting into 'mild amazement,' a man settling down after a question. Granville-Barker uses these details to convey tension without explicit statement.

Diction and the Politics of Understatement

The dialogue in Waste is marked by a deliberate restraint that reveals character through what is left unsaid. When Cantelupe states, 'Trebell is morally responsible for every consequence of the original sin,' the archaic phrasing and religious weight contrast sharply with Farrant's colloquial 'My dear fellow, it's our business to make laws.' Granville-Barker uses this lexical clash to highlight differing moral frameworks. Wedgecroft's simple 'I asked him and he told me' as proof of Trebell's innocence is met with Farrant's dismissive 'That's no proof,' a terse exchange that exposes the gap between personal trust and legal evidence. The playwright avoids melodrama; even the discussion of perjury is handled with clinical precision: 'He'll be called upon to tell a lie or two by implication.' This understated diction forces the reader to attend to subtext, making the political maneuvering feel both urgent and coldly pragmatic.

Stage Directions as Character Revelation

Granville-Barker's stage directions do more than set the scene; they function as miniature character sketches. Mrs. O'Connell is described as 'a charming woman, if by charming you understand a woman who converts every quality she possesses into a means of attraction.' The conditional 'if' immediately signals a critical distance, inviting the reader to question the value of such charm. Similarly, Walter Kent is 'just what the average English father would like his son to be'—a phrase that implies conventionality rather than individuality. The description of the room itself, where 'the owner evidently sets beauty of form before beauty of colour,' mirrors Mrs. Farrant's own aesthetic and moral preferences. These details are not decorative; they embed thematic concerns about appearance versus reality, a tension that the political plot will exploit.

The Rhythm of Silence and Interruption

Granville-Barker structures his scenes around pauses and interruptions that mimic the awkwardness of real conversation. After Farrant's lengthy speech on adultery, the stage direction 'He settles down again. Again no one has anything to say' creates a palpable silence that forces the audience to sit with the discomfort of the topic. Horsham's forgetfulness—'I've forgotten that man's name again'—is a comic but revealing tic that underscores his distraction and the triviality that coexists with high-stakes politics. The entrance of O'Connell is preceded by a flurry of anxious planning, yet when he arrives, the dialogue becomes even more elliptical. These rhythmic choices give the play a naturalistic texture, where meaning emerges as much from what is not said as from the spoken word.

Voice and Social Positioning

Each character in Waste speaks in a register that marks their social and moral position. Lady Davenport's 'Thank you, my dear Julia' is gracious but formal, while Miss Trebell's objection to Chopin after Bach—'when Bach has raised me to the heights of unselfishness!'—reveals a pedantic earnestness. Mrs. O'Connell's reply, 'I'm glad that I don't understand him,' is a studied performance of feminine ignorance, a weapon in its own right. In the political debate, Cantelupe's coldness is rendered through his precise, judgmental language, while Farrant's colloquialisms ('One would never have done!') suggest a pragmatic, slightly cynical worldview. Granville-Barker uses these vocal contrasts to create a social ecosystem where every utterance reinforces hierarchy and alliance, making the play's tragedy as much about the failure of communication as about the events themselves.

Readers approaching Waste should attend to the spaces between lines—the pauses, the gestures, the carefully chosen words that reveal more than they state. Granville-Barker's play rewards close attention to its linguistic and physical details, which together build a world where political and personal crises are negotiated through the smallest of cues. The tragedy lies not in grand gestures but in the accumulation of these micro-interactions, each one a choice that carries weight.

I keep thinking about Granville-Barker’s anger, how it hides inside a precise gesture. Then my mind wanders to Strindberg’s raw, crackling dialogues, where a pause says more than a speech. There’s a kinship there, a shared faith in what’s unsaid. I found myself rereading Plays by August Strindberg, Second series — Text and Context afterwards, hearing that same tension between restraint and outburst.