ISOBEL. What can I do but tell the world the truth?
ROYCE. H’m! I wonder if the world will be grateful.
ISOBEL. Does that matter?
ROYCE. Yes, I think it does. I think you ought to feel that you are benefiting somebody—other than yourself.
ISOBEL (with a smile). I am hardly benefiting myself.
ROYCE. Not materially, of course—but spiritually? Aren’t you just easing your conscience?
ISOBEL. I don’t see why the poor thing shouldn’t be eased.
ROYCE. At the other people’s expense?
ISOBEL. Oh, but no, Austin, no. I’m sure that’s wrong. Surely the truth means more than that. Surely it’s an end in itself. The only end. Call it Truth or call it Beauty, it’s all we’re here for.
ROYCE. You know, the trouble is that the Truth about Blayds won’t seem very beautiful. There’s your [260]truth, and then there’s William’s truth, too. To the public it will seem not so much like Beauty as like an undignified family squabble. And William will win. His story can be made to sound so much more likely than yours. No, it’s no good. You can’t start another miserable Shakespeare-Bacon controversy. Because that is what it would be in a few years. There would be no established truth, but just a Jenkins’ theory. Hadn’t we better just leave him with the poetry?