THE COCKTAIL PARTY

by Eliot · Cluster: Spiritual Emptiness · Waste Land (Sterility) · Greek Tragedy

Abstract

Eliot’s drawing-room comedy with a spiritual core, loosely modelled on Euripides’ Alcestis: a psychiatrist-guardian (Reilly) directs the Chamberlaynes toward reconciliation in ordinary marriage and Celia toward a vocation of sanctity and martyrdom.

Connections

Archetypes: Mentor, Martyr Saint Motifs: Wine and Drink, Concealment Hidden Identity Themes & Concepts: Grace and Redemption, Martyrdom, Spiritual Emptiness, Marriage and Fidelity, Alienation, Identity, Conversion, Common Man Forms & Genres: Verse Drama, Comedy Historical References: Greek Tragedy Settings: London Characters: Edward Chamberlayne, Lavinia Chamberlayne, Celia Coplestone, Sir Henry Harcourt-Reilly

Testo integrale / Full text

THE COCKTAIL PARTY Persons EDWARD CHAMBERLAYNE JULIA (MRS. SHUTTLETHWAITE)

CELIA COPLESTONE ALEXANDER MACCOLGIE GIBBS PETER QUILPE AN UNIDENTIFIED GUEST, later identified as SIR HENRY HARCOURT-REILLY LAVINIA CHAMBERLAYNE A NURSE-SECRETARY TWO CATERER’S MEN The scene is laid in London

Act One. Scene 1

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	The drawing-room of the Chamberlaynes’ London flat. Early evening. EDWARD CHAMBERLAYNE, JULIA SHUTTLETHWAITE, CELIA COPLESTONE, PETER QUILPE, ALEXANDER MACCOLGIE GIBBS, and an UNIDENTIFIED GUEST.
ALEX	You’ve missed the point completely, Julia: There were no tigers. That was the point.
JULIA	Then what were you doing, up in a tree: You and the Maharaja?
ALEX	My dear Julia! It’s perfectly hopeless. You haven’t been listening.
PETER	You’ll have to tell us all over again, Alex.
ALEX	I never tell the same story twice.
JULIA	But I’m still waiting to know what happened. I know it started as a story about tigers.
ALEX	I said there were no tigers.
CELIA	Oh do stop wrangling, Both of you. It’s your turn, Julia. Do tell us that story you told the other day, about Lady Klootz and the wedding cake.
PETER	And how the butler found her in the pantry, rinsing her mouth out with champagne. I like that story.
CELIA	I love that story.
ALEX	I’m never tired of hearing that story.
JULIA	Well, you all seem to know it.
CELIA	Do we all know it? But we’re never tired of hearing you tell it. I don’t believe everyone here knows it. [To the UNIDENTIFIED GUEST] You don’t know it, do you?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	No, I’ve never heard it.
CELIA	Here’s one new listener for you, Julia; And I don’t believe that Edward knows it.
EDWARD	I may have heard it, but I don’t remember it.
CELIA	And Julia’s the only person to tell it. She’s such a good mimic.
JULIA	Am I a good mimic?
PETER	You are a good mimic. You never miss anything.
ALEX	She never misses anything unless she wants to.
CELIA	Especially the Lithuanian accent.
JULIA	Lithuanian? Lady Klootz?
PETER	I thought she was Belgian.
ALEX	Her father belonged to a Baltic family — One of the oldest Baltic families With a branch in Sweden and one in Denmark. There were several very lovely daughters: I wonder what’s become of them now.
JULIA	Lady Klootz was very lovely, once upon a time. What a life she led! I used to say to her: ‘Greta! You have too much vitality.’ But she enjoyed herself. [To the UNIDENTIFIED GUEST] Did you know Lady Klootz?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	No, I never met her.
CELIA	Go on with the story about the wedding cake.
JULIA	Well, but it really isn’t my story. I heard it first from Delia Verinder Who was there when it happened. [To the UNIDENTIFIED GUEST] Do you know Delia Verinder?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	No, I don’t know her.
JULIA	Well, one can’t be too careful Before one tells a story.
ALEX	Delia Verinder? Was she the one who had three brothers?
JULIA	How many brothers? Two, I think.
ALEX	No, there were three, but you wouldn’t know the third one: They kept him rather quiet.
JULIA	Oh, you mean that one.
ALEX	He was feeble-minded.
JULIA	Oh, not feeble-minded: He was only harmless.
ALEX	Well then, harmless.
JULIA	He was very clever at repairing clocks; And he had a remarkable sense of hearing — The only man I ever met who could hear the cry of bats.
PETER	Hear the cry of bats?
JULIA	He could hear the cry of bats.
CELIA	But how do you know he could hear the cry of bats?
JULIA	Because he said so. And I believed him.
CELIA	But if he was so … harmless, how could you believe him? He might have imagined it.
JULIA	My darling Celia, You needn’t be so sceptical. I stayed there once At their castle in the North. How he suffered! They had to find an island for him Where there were no bats.
ALEX	And is he still there? Julia is really a mine of information.
CELIA	There isn’t much that Julia doesn’t know.
PETER	Go on with the story about the wedding cake.
(didascalia)	[EDWARD leaves the room]
JULIA	No, we’ll wait until Edward comes back into the room. Now I want to relax, Are there any more cocktails?
PETER	But do go on. Edward wasn’t listening anyway.
JULIA	No, he wasn’t listening, but he’s such a strain — Edward without Lavinia! He’s quite impossible! Leaving it to me to keep things going. What a host! And nothing fit to eat! The only reason for a cocktail party For a gluttonous old woman like me Is a really nice tit-bit. I can drink at home.
(didascalia)	[EDWARD returns with a tray]
JULIA	Edward, give me another of those delicious olives. What’s that? Potato crisps? No, I can’t endure them. Well, I started to tell you about Lady Klootz. It was at the Vincewell wedding. Oh, so many years ago! [To the UNIDENTIFIED GUEST] Did you know the Vincewells?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	No, I don’t know the Vincewells.
JULIA	Oh, they’re both dead now. But I wanted to know. If they’d been friends of yours, I couldn’t tell the story.
PETER	Were they the parents of Tony Vincewell?
JULIA	Yes. Tony was the product, but not the solution. He only made the situation more difficult. You know Tony Vincewell? You knew him at Oxford?
PETER	No, I never knew him at Oxford: I came across him last year in California.
JULIA	I’ve always wanted to go to California. Do tell us what you were doing in California.
CELIA	Making a film.
PETER	Trying to make a film.
JULIA	Oh, what film was it? I wonder if I’ve seen it.
PETER	No, you wouldn’t have seen it. As a matter of fact It was never produced. They did a film But they used a different scenario.
JULIA	Not the one you wrote?
PETER	Not the one I wrote: But I had a very enjoyable time.
CELIA	Go on with the story about the wedding cake.
JULIA	Edward, do sit down for a moment. I know you’re always the perfect host, But just try to pretend you’re another guest At Lavinia’s party. There are so many questions I want to ask you. It’s a golden opportunity Now Lavinia’s away. I’ve always said: ‘If I could only get Edward alone And have a really serious conversation!’ I said so to Lavinia. She agreed with me. She said: ‘I wish you’d try.’ And this is the first time I’ve ever seen you without Lavinia Except for the time she got locked in the lavatory And couldn’t get out. I know what you’re thinking! I know you think I’m a silly old woman But I’m really very serious. Lavinia takes me seriously. I believe that’s the reason why she went away — So that I could make you talk. Perhaps she’s in the pantry Listening to all we say!
EDWARD	No, she’s not in the pantry.
CELIA	Will she be away for some time, Edward?
EDWARD	I really don’t know until I hear from her. If her aunt is very ill, she may be gone some time.
CELIA	And how will you manage while she is away?
EDWARD	I really don’t know. I may go away myself.
CELIA	Go away yourself!
JULIA	Have you an aunt too?
EDWARD	No, I haven’t any aunt. But I might go away.
CELIA	But, Edward … what was I going to say? It’s dreadful for old ladies alone in the country, And almost impossible to get a nurse.
JULIA	Is that her Aunt Laura?
EDWARD	No; another aunt Whom you wouldn’t know. Her mother’s sister And rather a recluse.
JULIA	Her favourite aunt?
EDWARD	Her aunt’s favourite niece. And she’s rather difficult. When she’s ill, she insists on having Lavinia.
JULIA	I never heard of her being ill before.
EDWARD	No, she’s always very strong. That’s why when she’s ill She gets into a panic.
JULIA	And sends for Lavinia. I quite understand. Are there any prospects?
EDWARD	No, I think she put it all into an annuity.
JULIA	So it’s very unselfish of Lavinia Yet very like her. But really, Edward, Lavinia may be away for weeks, Or she may come back and be called away again. I understand these tough old women — I’m one myself. I feel as if I knew All about that aunt in Hampshire.
EDWARD	Hampshire?
JULIA	Didn’t you say Hampshire?
EDWARD	No, I didn’t say Hampshire.
JULIA	Did you say Hampstead?
EDWARD	No, I didn’t say Hampstead.
JULIA	But she must live somewhere.
EDWARD	She lives in Essex.
JULIA	Anywhere near Colchester? Lavinia loves oysters.
EDWARD	No. In the depths of Essex.
JULIA	Well, we won’t probe into it. You have the address, and the telephone number? I might run down and see Lavinia On my way to Cornwall. But let’s be sensible: Now you must let me be your maiden aunt — Living on an annuity, of course. I am going to make you dine alone with me On Friday, and talk to me about everything.
EDWARD	Everything?
JULIA	Oh, you know what I mean. The next election. And the secrets of your cases.
EDWARD	Most of my secrets are quite uninteresting.
JULIA	Well, you shan’t escape. You dine with me on Friday. I’ve already chosen the people you’re to meet.
EDWARD	But you asked me to dine with you alone.
JULIA	Yes, alone! Without Lavinia! You’ll like the other people — But you’re to talk to me. So that’s all settled. And now I must be going.
EDWARD	Must you be going?
PETER	But won’t you tell the story about Lady Klootz?
JULIA	What Lady Klootz?
CELIA	And the wedding cake.
JULIA	Wedding cake? I wasn’t at her wedding. Edward, it’s been a delightful evening: The potato crisps were really excellent. Now let me see. Have I got everything? It’s such a nice party, I hate to leave it. It’s such a nice party, I’d like to repeat it. Why don’t you all come to dinner on Friday? No, I’m afraid my good Mrs. Batten Would give me notice. And now I must be going.
ALEX	I’m afraid I ought to be going.
PETER	Celia — May I walk along with you?
CELIA	No, I’m sorry, Peter; I’ve got to take a taxi.
JULIA	You come with me, Peter: You can get me a taxi, and then I can drop you. I expect you on Friday, Edward. And Celia — I must see you very soon. Now don’t all go Just because I’m going. Good-bye, Edward.
EDWARD	Good-bye, Julia.
(didascalia)	[Exeunt JULIA and PETER]
CELIA	Good-bye, Edward. Shall I see you soon?
EDWARD	Perhaps. I don’t know.
CELIA	Perhaps you don’t know? Very well, good-bye.
EDWARD	Good-bye, Celia.
ALEX	Good-bye, Edward. I do hope You’ll have better news of Lavinia’s aunt.
EDWARD	Oh … yes … thank you. Good-bye, Alex, It was nice of you to come.
(didascalia)	[Exeunt ALEX and CELIA]
EDWARD	[To the UNIDENTIFIED GUEST] Don’t go yet. Don’t go yet. We’ll finish the cocktails. Or would you rather have whisky?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Gin.
EDWARD	Anything in it?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	A drop of water.
EDWARD	I want to apologise for this evening. The fact is, I tried to put off this party: These were only the people I couldn’t put off Because I couldn’t get at them in time; And I didn’t know that you were coming. I thought that Lavinia had told me the names Of all the people she said she’d invited. But it’s only that dreadful old woman who mattered — I shouldn’t have minded anyone else,
(didascalia)	[The doorbell rings. EDWARD goes to the door, saying:]
EDWARD	But she always turns up when she’s least wanted.
(didascalia)	[Opens the door]
EDWARD	Julia!
(didascalia)	[Enter JULIA]
JULIA	Edward! How lucky that it’s raining! It made me remember my umbrella, And there it is! Now what are you two plotting? How very lucky it was my umbrella, And not Alexander’s — he’s so inquisitive! But I never poke into other people’s business. Well, good-bye again. I’m off at last.
(didascalia)	[Exit]
EDWARD	I’m sorry. I’m afraid I don’t know your name.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	I ought to be going.
EDWARD	Don’t go yet. I very much want to talk to somebody; And it’s easier to talk to a person you don’t know. The fact is, that Lavinia has left me.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Your wife has left you?
EDWARD	Without warning, of course; Just when she’d arranged a cocktail party. She’d gone when I came in, this afternoon. She left a note to say that she was leaving me; But I don’t know where she’s gone.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	This is an occasion. May I take another drink?
EDWARD	Whisky?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Gin.
EDWARD	Anything in it?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Nothing but water. And I recommend you the same prescription … Let me prepare it for you, if I may … Strong … but sip it slowly … and drink it sitting down. Breathe deeply, and adopt a relaxed position. There we are. Now for a few questions. How long married?
EDWARD	Five years.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Children?
EDWARD	No.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Then look at the brighter side. You say you don’t know where she’s gone?
EDWARD	No, I do not.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Do you know who the man is?
EDWARD	There was no other man — None that I know of.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Or another woman Of whom she thought she had cause to be jealous?
EDWARD	She had nothing to complain of in my behaviour.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Then no doubt it’s all for the best. With another man, she might have made a mistake And want to come back to you. If another woman, She might decide to be forgiving And gain an advantage. If there’s no other woman And no other man, then the reason may be deeper And you’ve ground for hope that she won’t come back at all. If another man, then you’d want to re-marry To prove to the world that somebody wanted you; If another woman, you might have to marry her — You might even imagine that you wanted to marry her.
EDWARD	But I want my wife back.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	That’s the natural reaction. It’s embarrassing, and inconvenient. It was inconvenient, having to lie about it Because you can’t tell the truth on the telephone. It will all take time that you can’t well spare; But I put it to you …
EDWARD	Don’t put it to me.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Then I suggest …
EDWARD	And please don’t suggest. I have often used these terms in examining witnesses, So I don’t like them. May I put it to you? I know that I invited this conversation: But I don’t know who you are. This is not what I expected. I only wanted to relieve my mind By telling someone what I’d been concealing. I don’t think I want to know who you are; But, at the same time, unless you know my wife A good deal better than I thought, or unless you know A good deal more about us than appears — I think your speculations rather offensive.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	I know you as well as I know your wife; And I knew that all you wanted was the luxury Of an intimate disclosure to a stranger. Let me, therefore, remain the stranger. But let me tell you, that to approach the stranger Is to invite the unexpected, release a new force, Or let the genie out of the bottle. It is to start a train of events Beyond your control. So let me continue. I will say then, you experience some relief Of which you’re not aware. It will come to you slowly: When you wake in the morning, when you go to bed at night, That you are beginning to enjoy your independence; Finding your life becoming cosier and cosier Without the consistent critic, the patient misunderstander Arranging life a little better than you like it, Preferring not quite the same friends as yourself, Or making your friends like her better than you; And, turning the past over and over, You’ll wonder only that you endured it for so long. And perhaps at times you will feel a little jealous That she saw it first, and had the courage to break it — Thus giving herself a permanent advantage.
EDWARD	It might turn out so, yet …
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Are you going to say, you love her?
EDWARD	Why, I thought we took each other for granted. I never thought I should be any happier With another person. Why speak of love? We were used to each other. So her going away At a moment’s notice, without explanation, Only a note to say that she had gone And was not coming back — well, I can’t understand it. Nobody likes to be left with a mystery: It’s so … unfinished.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Yes, it’s unfinished; And nobody likes to be left with a mystery. But there’s more to it than that. There’s a loss of personality; Or rather, you’ve lost touch with the person You thought you were. You no longer feel quite human. You’re suddenly reduced to the status of an object — A living object, but no longer a person. It’s always happening, because one is an object As well as a person. But we forget about it As quickly as we can. When you’ve dressed for a party And are going downstairs, with everything about you Arranged to support you in the role you have chosen, Then sometimes, when you come to the bottom step There is one step more than your feet expected And you come down with a jolt. Just for a moment You have the experience of being an object At the mercy of a malevolent staircase. Or, take a surgical operation. In consultation with the doctor and the surgeon, In going to bed in the nursing home, In talking to the matron, you are still the subject, The centre of reality. But, stretched on the table, You are a piece of furniture in a repair shop For those who surround you, the masked actors; All there is of you is your body And the ‘you’ is withdrawn. May I replenish?
EDWARD	Oh, I’m sorry. What were you drinking? Whisky?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Gin.
EDWARD	Anything with it?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Water.
EDWARD	To what does this lead?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	To finding out What you really are. What you really feel. What you really are among other people. Most of the time we take ourselves for granted, As we have to, and live on a little knowledge About ourselves as we were. Who are you now? You don’t know any more than I do, But rather less. You are nothing but a set Of obsolete responses. The one thing to do Is to do nothing. Wait.
EDWARD	Wait! But waiting is the one thing impossible. Besides, don’t you see that it makes me ridiculous?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	It will do you no harm to find yourself ridiculous. Resign yourself to be the fool you are. That’s the best advice that I can give you.
EDWARD	But how can I wait, not knowing what I’m waiting for? Shall I say to my friends, ‘My wife has gone away’? And they answer ‘Where?’ and I say ‘I don’t know’; And they say, ‘But when will she be back?’ And I reply ‘I don’t know that she is coming back’. And they ask ‘But what are you going to do?’ And I answer ‘Nothing’. They will think me mad Or simply contemptible.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	All to the good. You will find that you survive humiliation. And that’s an experience of incalculable value.
EDWARD	Stop! I agree that much of what you’ve said Is true enough. But that is not all. Since I saw her this morning when we had breakfast I no longer remember what my wife is like. I am not quite sure that I could describe her If I had to ask the police to search for her. I’m sure I don’t know what she was wearing When I saw her last. And yet I want her back. And I must get her back, to find out what has happened During the five years that we’ve been married. I must find out who she is, to find out who I am. And what is the use of all your analysis If I am to remain always lost in the dark?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	There is certainly no purpose in remaining in the dark Except long enough to clear from the mind The illusion of having ever been in the light. The fact that you can’t give a reason for wanting her Is the best reason for believing that you want her.
EDWARD	I want to see her again — here.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	You shall see her again — here.
EDWARD	Do you mean to say that you know where she is?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	That question is not worth the trouble of an answer. But if I bring her back it must be on one condition: That you promise to ask her no questions Of where she has been.
EDWARD	I will not ask them. And yet — it seems to me — when we began to talk I was not sure I wanted her; and now I want her. Do I want her? Or is it merely your suggestion?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	We do not know yet. In twenty-four hours She will come to you here. You will be here to meet her.
(didascalia)	[The doorbell rings]
EDWARD	I must answer the door.
(didascalia)	[EDWARD goes to the door]
EDWARD	So it’s you again, Julia!
(didascalia)	[Enter JULIA and PETER]
JULIA	Edward, I’m so glad to find you. Do you know, I must have left my glasses here, And I simply can’t see a thing without them. I’ve been dragging Peter all over town Looking for them everywhere I’ve been. Has anybody found them? You can tell if they’re mine — Some kind of a plastic sort of frame — I’m afraid I don’t remember the colour, But I’d know them, because one lens is missing. UNIDENTIFIED GUEST [Sings]. As I was drinkin’ gin and water, And me bein’ the One Eyed Riley, Who came in but the landlord’s daughter And she took my heart entirely. You will keep our appointment?
EDWARD	I shall keep it. UNIDENTIFIED GUEST [Sings]. Tooryooly toory-iley, What’s the matter with One Eyed Riley?
(didascalia)	[Exit]
JULIA	Edward, who is that dreadful man? I’ve never been so insulted in my life. It’s very lucky that I left my spectacles: This is what I call an adventure! Tell me about him. You’ve been drinking together! So this is the kind of friend you have When Lavinia is out of the way! Who is he?
EDWARD	I don’t know.
JULIA	You don’t know?
EDWARD	I never saw him before in my life.
JULIA	But how did he come here?
EDWARD	I don’t know.
JULIA	You don’t know! And what’s his name? Did I hear him say his name was Riley?
EDWARD	I don’t know his name.
JULIA	You don’t know his name?
EDWARD	I tell you I’ve no idea who he is Or how he got here.
JULIA	But what did you talk about Or were you singing songs all the time? There’s altogether too much mystery About this place to-day.
EDWARD	I’m very sorry.
JULIA	No, I love it. But that reminds me About my glasses. That’s the greatest mystery. Peter! Why aren’t you looking for them? Look on the mantelpiece. Where was I sitting? Just turn out the bottom of that sofa — No, this chair. Look under the cushion.
EDWARD	Are you quite sure they’re not in your bag?
JULIA	Why no, of course not: that’s where I keep them. Oh, here they are! Thank you, Edward; That really was very clever of you; I’d never have found them but for you. The next time I lose anything, Edward, I’ll come straight to you, instead of to St. Anthony. And now I must fly. I’ve kept the taxi waiting. Come along, Peter.
PETER	I hope you won’t mind If I don’t come with you, Julia? On the way back I remembered something I had to say to Edward …
JULIA	Oh, about Lavinia?
PETER	No, not about Lavinia. It’s something I want to consult him about, And I could do it now.
JULIA	Of course I don’t mind.
PETER	Well, at least you must let me take you down in the lift.
JULIA	No, you stop and talk to Edward. I’m not helpless yet. And besides, I like to manage the machine myself — In a lift I can meditate. Good-bye then. And thank you — both of you — very much.
(didascalia)	[Exit]
PETER	I hope I’m not disturbing you, Edward.
EDWARD	I seem to have been disturbed already; And I did rather want to be alone. But what’s it all about?
PETER	I want your help. I was going to telephone and try to see you later; But this seemed an opportunity.
EDWARD	And what’s your trouble?
PETER	This evening I felt I could bear it no longer. That awful party! I’m sorry, Edward; Of course it was really a very nice party For everyone but me. And that wasn’t your fault. I don’t suppose you noticed the situation.
EDWARD	I did think I noticed one or two things; But I don’t pretend I was aware of everything.
PETER	Oh, I’m very glad that you didn’t notice: I must have behaved rather better than I thought. If you didn’t notice, I don’t suppose the others did, Though I’m rather afraid of Julia Shuttlethwaite.
EDWARD	Julia is certainly observant, But I think she had some other matter on her mind.
PETER	It’s about Celia. Myself and Celia.
EDWARD	Why, what could there be about yourself and Celia? Have you anything in common, do you think?
PETER	It seemed to me we had a great deal in common. We’re both of us artists.
EDWARD	I never thought of that. What arts do you practise?
PETER	You won’t have seen my novel, Though it had some very good reviews. But it’s more the cinema that interests both of us.
EDWARD	A common interest in the moving pictures Frequently brings young people together.
PETER	Now you’re only being sarcastic: Celia was interested in the art of the film.
EDWARD	As a possible profession?
PETER	She might make it a profession; Though she had her poetry.
EDWARD	Yes, I’ve seen her poetry — Interesting if one is interested in Celia. Apart, of course, from its literary merit Which I don’t pretend to judge.
PETER	Well, I can judge it, And I think it’s very good. But that’s not the point. The point is, I thought we had a great deal in common And I think she thought so too.
EDWARD	How did you come to know her?
(didascalia)	[Enter ALEX]
ALEX	Ah, there you are, Edward! Do you know why I’ve looked in?
EDWARD	I’d like to know first how you got in, Alex.
ALEX	Why, I came and found that the door was open And so I thought I’d slip in and see if anyone was with you.
PETER	Julia must have left it open.
EDWARD	Never mind; So long as you both shut it when you go out.
ALEX	Ah, but you’re coming with me, Edward. I thought, Edward may be all alone this evening, And I know that he hates to spend an evening alone, So you’re going to come out and have dinner with me.
EDWARD	That’s very thoughtful of you, Alex, I’m sure; But I rather want to be alone, this evening.
ALEX	But you’ve got to have some dinner. Are you going out? Is there anyone here to get dinner for you?
EDWARD	No, I shan’t want much, and I’ll get it myself.
ALEX	Ah, in that case I know what I’ll do. I’m going to give you a little surprise: You know, I’m rather a famous cook. I’m going straight to your kitchen now And I shall prepare you a nice little dinner Which you can have alone. And then we’ll leave you. Meanwhile, you and Peter can go on talking And I shan’t disturb you.
EDWARD	My dear Alex, There’ll be nothing in the larder worthy of your cooking. I couldn’t think of it.
ALEX	Ah, but that’s my special gift — Concocting a toothsome meal out of nothing. Any scraps you have will do. I learned that in the East. With a handful of rice and a little dried fish I can make half a dozen dishes. Don’t say a word. I shall begin at once.
(didascalia)	[Exit to kitchen]
EDWARD	Well, where did you leave off?
PETER	You asked me how I came to know Celia. I met her here, about a year ago.
EDWARD	At one of Lavinia’s amateur Thursdays?
PETER	A Thursday. Why do you say amateur?
EDWARD	Lavinia’s attempts at starting a salon, Where I entertained the minor guests And dealt with the misfits, Lavinia’s mistakes. But you were one of the minor successes For a time at least.
PETER	I wouldn’t say that. But Lavinia was awfully kind to me And I owe her a great deal. And then I met Celia. She was different from any girl I’d ever known And not easy to talk to, on that occasion.
EDWARD	Did you see her often? ALEX’S VOICE. Edward, have you a double boiler?
EDWARD	I suppose there must be a double boiler: Isn’t there one in every kitchen? ALEX’S VOICE.                                 I can’t find it. There goes that surprise. I must think of another.
PETER	Not very often. And when I did, I got no chance to talk to her.
EDWARD	You and Celia were asked for different purposes. Your role was to be one of Lavinia’s discoveries; Celia’s, to provide society and fashion. Lavinia always had the ambition To establish herself in two worlds at once — But she herself had to be the link between them. That is why, I think, her Thursdays were a failure.
PETER	You speak as if everything was finished.
EDWARD	Oh no, no, everything is left unfinished. But you haven’t told me how you came to know Celia.
PETER	I saw her again a few days later Alone at a concert. And I was alone. I’ve always gone to concerts alone — At first, because I knew no one to go with, And later, I found I preferred to go alone. But a girl like Celia, it seemed very strange, Because I thought of her merely as a name In a society column, to find her there alone. Anyway, we got into conversation And I found that she went to concerts alone And to look at pictures. So we often met In the same way, and sometimes went together. And to be with Celia, that was something different From company or solitude. And we sometimes had tea And once or twice dined together.
EDWARD	And after that Did she ever introduce you to her family Or to any of her friends?
PETER	No, but once or twice she spoke of them And about their lack of intellectual interests.
EDWARD	And what happened after that?
PETER	Oh, nothing happened. But I thought that she really cared about me. And I was so happy when we were together — So … contented, so … at peace: I can’t express it; I had never imagined such quiet happiness. I had only experienced excitement, delirium, Desire for possession. It was not like that at all. It was something very strange. There was such … tranquillity …
EDWARD	And what interrupted this interesting affair?
(didascalia)	[Enter ALEX in shirtsleeves and an apron]
ALEX	Edward, I can’t find any curry powder.
EDWARD	There isn’t any curry powder. Lavinia hates curry.
ALEX	There goes another surprise, then. I must think. I didn’t expect to find any mangoes, But I did count upon curry powder.
(didascalia)	[Exit]
PETER	That is exactly what I want to know. She has simply faded — into some other picture — Like a film effect. She doesn’t want to see me; Makes excuses, not very plausible, And when I do see her, she seems preoccupied With some secret excitement which I cannot share.
EDWARD	Do you think she has simply lost interest in you?
PETER	You put it just wrong. I think of it differently. It is not her interest in me that I miss — But those moments in which we seemed to share some perception, Some feeling, some indefinable experience In which we were both unaware of ourselves. In your terms, perhaps, she’s lost interest in me.
EDWARD	That is all very normal. If you could only know How lucky you are. In a little while This might have become an ordinary affair Like any other. As the fever cooled You would have found that she was another woman And that you were another man. I congratulate you On a timely escape.
PETER	I should prefer to be spared Your congratulations. I had to talk to someone. And I have been telling you of something real — My first experience of reality And perhaps it is the last. And you don’t understand.
EDWARD	My dear Peter, I have only been telling you What would have happened to you with Celia In another six months’ time. There it is. You can take it or leave it.
PETER	But what am I to do?
EDWARD	Nothing. Wait. Go back to California.
PETER	But I must see Celia.
EDWARD	Will it be the same Celia? Better be content with the Celia you remember. Remember! I say it’s already a memory.
PETER	But I must see Celia at least to make her tell me What has happened, in her terms. Until I know that I shan’t know the truth about even the memory. Did we really share these interests? Did we really feel the same When we heard certain music? Or looked at certain pictures? There was something real. But what is the reality …
(didascalia)	[The telephone rings]
EDWARD	Excuse me a moment.
(didascalia)	[Into telephone]
EDWARD	Hello! … I can’t talk now … Yes, there is … Well then, I’ll ring you As soon as I can. [To PETER] I’m sorry. You were saying?
PETER	I was saying, what is the reality Of experience between two unreal people? If I can only hold to the memory I can bear any future. But I must find out The truth about the past, for the sake of the memory.
EDWARD	There’s no memory you can wrap in camphor But the moths will get in. So you want to see Celia. I don’t know why I should be taking all this trouble To protect you from the fool you are. What do you want me to do?
PETER	See Celia for me. You know her in a different way from me And you are so much older.
EDWARD	So much older?
PETER	Yes, I’m sure that she would listen to you As someone disinterested.
EDWARD	Well, I will see Celia.
PETER	Thank you, Edward. It’s very good of you.
(didascalia)	[Enter ALEX, with his jacket on]
ALEX	Oh, Edward! I’ve prepared you such a treat! I really think that of all my triumphs This is the greatest. To make something out of nothing! Never, even when travelling in Albania, Have I made such a supper out of so few materials As I found in your refrigerator. But of course I was lucky to find half-a-dozen eggs.
EDWARD	What! You used all those eggs! Lavinia’s aunt Has just sent them from the country.
ALEX	Ah, so the aunt Really exists. A substantial proof.
EDWARD	No, no … I mean, this is another aunt.
ALEX	I understand. The real aunt. But you’ll be grateful. There are very few peasants in Montenegro Who can have the dish that you’ll be eating, nowadays.
EDWARD	But what about my breakfast?
ALEX	Don’t worry about breakfast. All you should want is a cup of black coffee And a little dry toast. I’ve left it simmering. Don’t leave it longer than another ten minutes. Now I’ll be going, and I’ll take Peter with me.
PETER	Edward, I’ve taken too much of your time, And you want to be alone. Give my love to Lavinia When she comes back … but, if you don’t mind, I’d rather you didn’t tell her what I’ve told you.
EDWARD	I shall not say anything about it to Lavinia.
PETER	Thank you, Edward. Good night.
EDWARD	Good night, Peter, And good night, Alex. Oh, and if you don’t mind, Please shut the door after you, so that it latches.
ALEX	Remember, Edward, not more than ten minutes, Twenty minutes, and my work will be ruined.
(didascalia)	[Exeunt ALEX and PETER]
(didascalia)	[EDWARD picks up the telephone, and dials a number]
EDWARD	Is Miss Celia Coplestone in? … How long ago? … No, it doesn’t matter. CURTAIN

Act One. Scene 2

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	The same room: a quarter of an hour later. EDWARD is alone, playing Patience. The doorbell rings, and he goes to answer it. CELIA’S VOICE. Are you alone?
(didascalia)	[EDWARD returns with CELIA]
EDWARD	Celia! Why have you come back? I said I would telephone as soon as I could: And I tried to get you a short while ago.
CELIA	If there had happened to be anyone with you I was going to say I’d come back for my umbrella…. I must say you don’t seem very pleased to see me. Edward, I understand what has happened But I could not understand your manner on the telephone. It did not seem like you. So I felt I must see you. Tell me it’s all right, and then I’ll go.
EDWARD	But how can you say you understand what has happened? I don’t know what has happened, or what is going to happen; And to try to understand it, I want to be alone.
CELIA	I should have thought it was perfectly simple. Lavinia has left you.
EDWARD	Yes, that was the situation. I suppose it was pretty obvious to everyone.
CELIA	It was obvious that the aunt was a pure invention On the spur of the moment, and not a very good one. You should have been prepared with something better, for Julia; But it doesn’t really matter. They will know soon enough. Doesn’t that settle all our difficulties?
EDWARD	It has only brought to light the real difficulties.
CELIA	But surely, these are only temporary. You know I accepted the situation Because a divorce would ruin your career; And we thought that Lavinia would never want to leave you. Surely you don’t hold to that silly convention That the husband must always be the one to be divorced? And if she chooses to give you the grounds …
EDWARD	I see. But it is not like that at all. Lavinia is coming back.
CELIA	Lavinia coming back! Do you mean to say that she’s laid a trap for us?
EDWARD	No. If there is a trap, we are all in the trap, We have set it for ourselves. But I do not know What kind of a trap it is.
CELIA	Then what has happened?
(didascalia)	[The telephone rings]
EDWARD	Damn the telephone. I suppose I must answer it. Hello … oh, hello! … No. I mean yes, Alex; Yes, of course … it was marvellous. I’ve never tasted anything like it … Yes, that’s very interesting. But I just wondered Whether it mightn’t be rather indigestible? … Oh, no, Alex, don’t bring me any cheese; I’ve got some cheese … No, not Norwegian; But I don’t really want cheese … Slipper what? … Oh, from Jugoslavia … prunes and alcohol? No, really, Alex, I don’t want anything. I’m very tired. Thanks awfully, Alex. Good night.
CELIA	What on earth was that about?
EDWARD	That was Alex.
CELIA	I know it was Alex. But what was he talking of?
EDWARD	I had quite forgotten. He made his way in, a little while ago, And insisted on cooking me something for supper; And he said I must eat it within ten minutes. I suppose it’s still cooking.
CELIA	You suppose it’s still cooking! I thought I noticed a peculiar smell: Of course it’s still cooking — or doing something. I must go and investigate.
(didascalia)	[Starts to leave the room]
EDWARD	For heaven’s sake, don’t bother!
(didascalia)	[Exit CELIA]
EDWARD	Suppose someone came and found you in the kitchen?
(didascalia)	[EDWARD goes over to the table and inspects his game of Patience. He moves a card. The doorbell rings repeatedly. Re-enter CELIA, in an apron.]
CELIA	You’d better answer the door, Edward. It’s the best thing to do. Don’t lose your head. You see, I really did leave my umbrella; And I’ll say I found you here starving and helpless And had to do something. Anyway, I’m staying And I’m not going to hide.
(didascalia)	[Returns to kitchen. The bell rings again. EDWARD goes to front door, and is heard to say:]
CELIA	Julia! What have you come back for?
(didascalia)	[Enter JULIA]
JULIA	I’ve had an inspiration!
(didascalia)	[Enter CELIA with saucepan]
CELIA	Edward, it’s ruined!
EDWARD	What a good thing.
CELIA	But it’s ruined the saucepan too.
EDWARD	And half a dozen eggs: I wanted one for breakfast. A boiled egg. It’s the only thing I know how to cook.
JULIA	Celia! I see you’ve had the same inspiration That I had. Edward must be fed. He’s under such a strain. We must keep his strength up. Edward! Don’t you realise how lucky you are To have two Good Samaritans? I never heard of that before.
EDWARD	The man who fell among thieves was luckier than I: He was left at an inn.
JULIA	Edward, how ungrateful. What’s in that saucepan?
CELIA	Nobody knows.
EDWARD	It’s something that Alex came and prepared for me. He would do it. Three Good Samaritans. I forgot all about it.
JULIA	But you mustn’t touch it.
EDWARD	Of course I shan’t touch it.
JULIA	My dear, I should have warned you: Anything that Alex makes is absolutely deadly. I could tell such tales of his poisoning people. Now, my dear, you give me that apron And we’ll see what I can do. You stay and talk to Edward.
(didascalia)	[Exit JULIA]
CELIA	But what has happened, Edward? What has happened?
EDWARD	Lavinia is coming back, I think.
CELIA	You think! Don’t you know?
EDWARD	No, but I believe it. That man who was here —
CELIA	Yes, who was that man? I was rather afraid of him; He has some sort of power.
EDWARD	I don’t know who he is. But I had some talk with him, when the rest of you had left, And he said he would bring Lavinia back, tomorrow.
CELIA	But why should that man want to bring her back — Unless he is the Devil! I could believe he was.
EDWARD	Because I asked him to.
CELIA	Because you asked him to! Then he must be the Devil! He must have bewitched you. How did he persuade you to want her back?
(didascalia)	[A popping noise is heard from the kitchen]
EDWARD	What the devil’s that?
(didascalia)	[Re-enter JULIA, in apron, with a tray and three glasses]
JULIA	I’ve had an inspiration! There’s nothing in the place fit to eat: I’ve looked high and low. But I found some champagne — Only a half-bottle, to be sure, And of course it isn’t chilled. But it’s so refreshing; And I thought, we are all in need of a stimulant After this disaster. Now I’ll propose a health. Can you guess whose health I’m going to propose?
EDWARD	No, I can’t. But I won’t drink to Alex’s.
JULIA	Oh, it isn’t Alex’s. Come, I give you Lavinia’s aunt! You might have guessed it. EDWARD and CELIA. Lavinia’s aunt.
JULIA	Now, the next question Is, what’s to be done. That’s very simple. It’s too late, or too early, to go to a restaurant. You must both come home with me.
EDWARD	No, I’m sorry, Julia. I’m too tired to go out, and I’m not at all hungry. I shall have a few biscuits.
JULIA	But you, Celia? You must come and have a light supper with me — Something very light.
CELIA	Thank you, Julia. I think I will, if I may follow you In about ten minutes? Before I go, there’s something I want to say to Edward.
JULIA	About Lavinia? Well, come on quickly. And take a taxi. You know, you’re looking absolutely famished. Good night, Edward.
(didascalia)	[Exit JULIA]
CELIA	Well, how did he persuade you?
EDWARD	How did he persuade me? Did he persuade me? I have a very clear impression That he tried to persuade me it was all for the best That Lavinia had gone; that I ought to be thankful. And yet, the effect of all his argument Was to make me see that I wanted her back.
CELIA	That’s the Devil’s method! So you want Lavinia back! Lavinia! So the one thing you care about Is to avoid a break — anything unpleasant! No, it can’t be that. I won’t think it’s that. I think it is just a moment of surrender To fatigue. And panic. You can’t face the trouble.
EDWARD	No, it is not that. It is not only that.
CELIA	It cannot be simply a question of vanity: That you think the world will laugh at you Because your wife has left you for another man? I shall soon put that right, Edward, When you are free.
EDWARD	No, it is not that. And all these reasons were suggested to me By the man I call Riley — though his name is not Riley; It was just a name in a song he sang …
CELIA	He sang you a song about a man named Riley! Really, Edward, I think you are mad — I mean, you’re on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Edward, if I go away now Will you promise me to see a very great doctor Whom I have heard of — and his name is Reilly!
EDWARD	It would need someone greater than the greatest doctor To cure this illness.
CELIA	Edward, if I go now, Will you assure me that everything is right, That you do not mean to have Lavinia back And that you do mean to gain your freedom, And that everything is all right between us? That’s all that matters. Truly, Edward, If that is right, everything else will be, I promise you.
EDWARD	No, Celia. It has been very wonderful, and I’m very grateful, And I think you are a very rare person. But it was too late. And I should have known That it wasn’t fair to you.
CELIA	It wasn’t fair to me! You can stand there and talk about being fair to me!
EDWARD	But for Lavinia leaving, this would never have arisen. What future had you ever thought there could be?
CELIA	What had I thought that the future could be? I abandoned the future before we began, And after that I lived in a present Where time was meaningless, a private world of ours, Where the word ‘happiness’ had a different meaning Or so it seemed.
EDWARD	I have heard of that experience.
CELIA	A dream. I was happy in it till to-day, And then, when Julia asked about Lavinia And it came to me that Lavinia had left you And that you would be free — then I suddenly discovered That the dream was not enough; that I wanted something more And I waited, and wanted to run to tell you. Perhaps the dream was better. It seemed the real reality, And if this is reality, it is very like a dream. Perhaps it was I who betrayed my own dream All the while; and to find I wanted This world as well as that … well, it’s humiliating.
EDWARD	There is no reason why you should feel humiliated …
CELIA	Oh, don’t think that you can humiliate me! Humiliation — it’s something I’ve done to myself. I am not sure even that you seem real enough To humiliate me. I suppose that most women Would feel degraded to find that a man With whom they thought they had shared something wonderful Had taken them only as a passing diversion. Oh, I dare say that you deceived yourself: But that’s what it was, no doubt.
EDWARD	I didn’t take you as a passing diversion! If you want to speak of passing diversions How did you take Peter?
CELIA	Peter? Peter who?
EDWARD	Peter Quilpe, who was here this evening. He was in a dream And now he is simply unhappy and bewildered.
CELIA	I simply don’t know what you are talking about. Edward, this is really too crude a subterfuge To justify yourself. There was never anything Between me and Peter.
EDWARD	Wasn’t there? He thought so. He came back this evening to talk to me about it.
CELIA	But this is ridiculous! I never gave Peter Any reason to suppose I cared for him. I thought he had talent; I saw that he was lonely; I thought that I could help him. I took him to concerts. But then, as he came to make more acquaintances, I found him less interesting, and rather conceited. But why should we talk about Peter? All that matters Is, that you think you want Lavinia. And if that is the sort of person you are — Well, you had better have her.
EDWARD	It’s not like that. It is not that I am in love with Lavinia. I don’t think I was ever really in love with her. If I have ever been in love — and I think that I have — I have never been in love with anyone but you, And perhaps I still am. But this can’t go on. It never could have been … a permanent thing: You should have a man … nearer your own age.
CELIA	I don’t think I care for advice from you, Edward: You are not entitled to take any interest Now, in my future. I only hope you’re competent To manage your own. But if you are not in love And never have been in love with Lavinia, What is it that you want?
EDWARD	I am not sure. The one thing of which I am relatively certain Is, that only since this morning I have met myself as a middle-aged man Beginning to know what it is to feel old. That is the worst moment, when you feel that you have lost The desire for all that was most desirable, Before you are contented with what you can desire; Before you know what is left to be desired; And you go on wishing that you could desire What desire has left behind. But you cannot understand. How could you understand what it is to feel old?
CELIA	But I want to understand you. I could understand. And, Edward, please believe that whatever happens I shall not loathe you. I shall only feel sorry for you. It’s only myself I am in danger of loathing. But what will your life be? I cannot bear to think of it. Oh, Edward! Can you be happy with Lavinia?
EDWARD	No — not happy: or, if there is any happiness, Only the happiness of knowing That the misery does not feed on the ruin of loveliness, That the tedium is not the residue of ecstasy. I see that my life was determined long ago And that the struggle to escape from it Is only a make-believe, a pretence That what is, is not, or could be changed. The self that can say ‘I want this — or want that’ — The self that wills — he is a feeble creature; He has to come to terms in the end With the obstinate, the tougher self; who does not speak, Who never talks, who cannot argue; And who in some men may be the guardian — But in men like me, the dull, the implacable, The indomitable spirit of mediocrity. The willing self can contrive the disaster Of this unwilling partnership — but can only flourish In submission to the rule of the stronger partner.
CELIA	I am not sure, Edward, that I understand you; And yet I understand as I never did before. I think — I believe — you are being yourself As you never were before, with me. Twice you have changed since I have been looking at you. I looked at your face: and I thought that I knew And loved every contour; and as I looked It withered, as if I had unwrapped a mummy. I listened to your voice, that had always thrilled me, And it became another voice — no, not a voice: What I heard was only the noise of an insect, Dry, endless, meaningless, inhuman — You might have made it by scraping your legs together — Or however grasshoppers do it. I looked, And listened for your heart, your blood; And saw only a beetle the size of a man With nothing more inside it than what comes out When you tread on a beetle.
EDWARD	Perhaps that is what I am. Tread on me, if you like.
CELIA	No, I won’t tread on you. That is not what you are. It is only what was left Of what I had thought you were. I see another person, I see you as a person whom I never saw before. The man I saw before, he was only a projection — I see that now — of something that I wanted — No, not wanted — something I aspired to — Something that I desperately wanted to exist. It must happen somewhere — but what, and where is it? Edward, I see that I was simply making use of you. And I ask you to forgive me.
EDWARD	You … ask me to forgive you!
CELIA	Yes, for two things. First …
(didascalia)	[The telephone rings]
EDWARD	Damn the telephone. I suppose I had better answer it.
CELIA	Yes, better answer it.
EDWARD	Hello! … Oh, Julia: what is it now? Your spectacles again … where did you leave them? Or have we … have I got to hunt all over? Have you looked in your bag? … Well, don’t snap my head off … You’re sure, in the kitchen? Beside the champagne bottle? You’re quite sure? … Very well, hold on if you like; We … I’ll look for them.
CELIA	Yes, you look for them. I shall never go into your kitchen again.
(didascalia)	[Exit EDWARD. He returns with the spectacles and a bottle]
EDWARD	She was right for once.
CELIA	She is always right. But why bring an empty champagne bottle?
EDWARD	It isn’t empty. It may be a little flat — But why did she say that it was a half-bottle? It’s one of my best: and I have no half-bottles. Well, I hoped that you would drink a final glass with me.
CELIA	What should we drink to?
EDWARD	Whom shall we drink to?
CELIA	To the Guardians.
EDWARD	To the Guardians?
CELIA	To the Guardians. It was you who spoke of guardians.
(didascalia)	[They drink]
CELIA	It may be that even Julia is a guardian. Perhaps she is my guardian. Give me the spectacles. Good night, Edward.
EDWARD	Good night … Celia.
(didascalia)	[Exit CELIA]
EDWARD	Oh!
(didascalia)	[He snatches up the receiver]
EDWARD	Hello, Julia! are you there? … Well, I’m awfully sorry to have kept you waiting; But we … I had to hunt for them … No, I found them. … Yes, she’s bringing them now … Good night. CURTAIN

Act One. Scene 3

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	The same room: late afternoon of the next day. EDWARD alone. He goes to answer the doorbell.
EDWARD	Oh … good evening.
(didascalia)	[Enter the UNIDENTIFIED GUEST]
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Good evening, Mr. Chamberlayne.
EDWARD	Well. May I offer you some gin and water?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	No, thank you. This is a different occasion.
EDWARD	I take it that as you have come alone You have been unsuccessful.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Not at all. I have come to remind you — you have made a decision.
EDWARD	Are you thinking that I may have changed my mind?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	No. You will not be ready to change your mind Until you recover from having made a decision. No. I have come to tell you that you will change your mind, But that it will not matter. It will be too late.
EDWARD	I have half a mind to change my mind now To show you that I am free to change it.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	You will change your mind, but you are not free. Your moment of freedom was yesterday. You made a decision. You set in motion Forces in your life and in the lives of others Which cannot be reversed. That is one consideration. And another is this: it is a serious matter To bring someone back from the dead.
EDWARD	From the dead? That figure of speech is somewhat … dramatic, As it was only yesterday that my wife left me.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Ah, but we die to each other daily. What we know of other people Is only our memory of the moments During which we knew them. And they have changed since then. To pretend that they and we are the same Is a useful and convenient social convention Which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember That at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.
EDWARD	So you want me to greet my wife as a stranger? That will not be easy.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	It is very difficult. But it is perhaps still more difficult To keep up the pretence that you are not strangers. The affectionate ghosts: the grandmother, The lively bachelor uncle at the Christmas party, The beloved nursemaid — those who enfolded Your childhood years in comfort, mirth, security — If they returned, would it not be embarrassing? What would you say to them, or they to you After the first ten minutes? You would find it difficult To treat them as strangers, but still more difficult To pretend that you were not strange to each other.
EDWARD	You can hardly expect me to obliterate The last five years.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	I ask you to forget nothing. To try to forget is to try to conceal.
EDWARD	There are certainly things I should like to forget.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	And persons also. But you must not forget them. You must face them all, but meet them as strangers.
EDWARD	Then I myself must also be a stranger.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	And to yourself as well. But remember, When you see your wife, you must ask no questions And give no explanations. I have said the same to her. Don’t strangle each other with knotted memories. Now I shall go.
EDWARD	Stop! Will you come back with her?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	No, I shall not come with her.
EDWARD	I don’t know why, But I think I should like you to bring her yourself.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Yes, I know you would. And for definite reasons Which I am not prepared to explain to you I must ask you not to speak of me to her; And she will not mention me to you.
EDWARD	I promise.
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	And now you must await your visitors.
EDWARD	Visitors? What visitors?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	Whoever comes. The strangers. As for myself, I shall take the precaution Of leaving by the service staircase.
EDWARD	May I ask one question?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	You may ask it.
EDWARD	Who are you?
UNIDENTIFIED GUEST	I also am a stranger.
(didascalia)	[Exit. A pause. EDWARD moves about restlessly. The bell rings, and he goes to the front door.]
EDWARD	Celia!
CELIA	Has Lavinia arrived?
EDWARD	Celia! Why have you come? I expect Lavinia at any moment. You must not be here. Why have you come here?
CELIA	Because Lavinia asked me.
EDWARD	Because Lavinia asked you!
CELIA	Well, not directly. Julia had a telegram Asking her to come, and to bring me with her. Julia was delayed, and sent me on ahead.
EDWARD	It seems very odd. And not like Lavinia. I suppose there is nothing to do but wait. Won’t you sit down?
CELIA	Thank you.
(didascalia)	[Pause]
EDWARD	Oh, my God, what shall we talk about? We can’t sit here in silence.
CELIA	Oh, I could. Just looking at you. Edward, forgive my laughing. You look like a little boy who’s been sent for To the headmaster’s study; and is not quite sure What he’s been found out in. I never saw you so before. This is really a ludicrous situation.
EDWARD	I’m afraid I can’t see the humorous side of it.
CELIA	I’m not really laughing at you, Edward. I couldn’t have laughed at anything, yesterday; But I’ve learnt a lot in twenty-four hours. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience. Oh, I’m glad I came! I can see you at last as a human being. Can’t you see me that way too, and laugh about it?
EDWARD	I wish I could. I wish I understood anything. I’m completely in the dark.
CELIA	But it’s all so simple. Can’t you see that …
(didascalia)	[The doorbell rings]
EDWARD	There’s Lavinia.
(didascalia)	[Goes to front door]
EDWARD	Peter!
(didascalia)	[Enter PETER]
PETER	Where’s Lavinia?
EDWARD	Don’t tell me that Lavinia Sent you a telegram …
PETER	No, not to me, But to Alex. She told him to come here And to bring me with him. He’ll be here in a minute. Celia! Have you heard from Lavinia too? Or am I interrupting?
CELIA	I’ve just explained to Edward — I only got here this moment myself — That she telegraphed to Julia to come and bring me with her.
EDWARD	I wonder whom else Lavinia has invited.
PETER	Why, I got the impression that Lavinia intended To have yesterday’s cocktail party to-day. So I don’t suppose her aunt can have died.
EDWARD	What aunt?
PETER	The aunt you told us about. But Edward — you remember our conversation yesterday?
EDWARD	Of course.
PETER	I hope you’ve done nothing about it.
EDWARD	No, I’ve done nothing.
PETER	I’m so glad. Because I’ve changed my mind. I mean, I’ve decided That it’s all no use. I’m going to California.
CELIA	You’re going to California!
PETER	Yes, I have a new job.
EDWARD	And how did that happen, overnight?
PETER	Why, it’s a man Alex put me in touch with And we settled everything this morning. Alex is a wonderful person to know, Because, you see, he knows everybody, everywhere. So what I’ve really come for is to say good-bye.
CELIA	Well, Peter, I’m awfully glad, for your sake, Though of course we … I shall miss you; You know how I depended on you for concerts, And picture exhibitions — more than you realised. It was fun, wasn’t it! But now you’ll have a chance, I hope, to realise your ambitions. I shall miss you.
PETER	It’s nice of you to say so; But you’ll find someone better, to go about with.
CELIA	I don’t think that I shall be going to concerts. I am going away too.
(didascalia)	[LAVINIA lets herself in with a latch-key]
PETER	You’re going abroad?
CELIA	I don’t know. Perhaps.
EDWARD	You’re both going away!
(didascalia)	[Enter LAVINIA]
LAVINIA	Who’s going away? Well, Celia. Well, Peter. I didn’t expect to find either of you here. PETER and CELIA. But the telegram!
LAVINIA	What telegram?
CELIA	The one you sent to Julia.
PETER	And the one you sent to Alex.
LAVINIA	I don’t know what you mean. Edward, have you been sending telegrams?
EDWARD	Of course I haven’t sent any telegrams.
LAVINIA	This is some of Julia’s mischief. And is she coming?
PETER	Yes, and Alex.
LAVINIA	Then I shall ask them for an explanation. Meanwhile, I suppose we might as well sit down. What shall we talk about?
EDWARD	Peter’s going to America.
PETER	Yes, and I would have rung you up tomorrow And come in to say good-bye before I left.
LAVINIA	And Celia’s going too? Was that what I heard? I congratulate you both. To Hollywood, of course? How exciting for you, Celia! Now you’ll have a chance At last, to realise your ambitions. You’re going together?
PETER	We’re not going together. Celia told us she was going away, But I don’t know where.
LAVINIA	You don’t know where? And do you know where you are going, yourself?
PETER	Yes, of course, I’m going to California.
LAVINIA	Well, Celia, why don’t you go to California? Everyone says it’s a wonderful climate: The people who go there never want to leave it.
CELIA	Lavinia, I think I understand about Peter …
LAVINIA	I have no doubt you do.
CELIA	And why he is going …
LAVINIA	I don’t doubt that either.
CELIA	And I believe he is right to go.
LAVINIA	Oh, so you advised him?
PETER	She knew nothing about it.
CELIA	But now that I may be going away — somewhere — I should like to say good-bye — as friends.
LAVINIA	Why, Celia, but haven’t we always been friends? I thought you were one of my dearest friends — At least, in so far as a girl can be a friend Of a woman so much older than herself.
CELIA	Lavinia, Don’t put me off. I may not see you again. What I want to say is this: I should like you to remember me As someone who wants you and Edward to be happy.
LAVINIA	You are very kind, but very mysterious. I’m sure that we shall manage somehow, thank you, As we have in the past.
CELIA	Oh, not as in the past!
(didascalia)	[The doorbell rings, and EDWARD goes to answer it]
CELIA	Oh, I’m afraid that all this sounds rather silly! But …
(didascalia)	[EDWARD re-enters with JULIA]
JULIA	There you are, Lavinia! I’m sorry to be late. But your telegram was a bit unexpected. I dropped everything to come. And how is the dear aunt?
LAVINIA	So far as I know, she is very well, thank you.
JULIA	She must have made a marvellous recovery. I said so to myself, when I got your telegram.
LAVINIA	But where, may I ask, was this telegram sent from?
JULIA	Why, from Essex, of course.
LAVINIA	And why from Essex?
JULIA	Because you’ve been in Essex.
LAVINIA	Because I’ve been in Essex!
JULIA	Lavinia! Don’t say you’ve had a lapse of memory! Then that accounts for the aunt — and the telegram.
LAVINIA	Well, perhaps I was in Essex. I really don’t know.
JULIA	You don’t know where you were? Lavinia! Don’t tell me you were abducted! Tell us I’m thrilled …
(didascalia)	[The doorbell rings. EDWARD goes to answer it. Enter ALEX]
ALEX	Has Lavinia arrived?
EDWARD	Yes.
ALEX	Welcome back, Lavinia! When I got your telegram …
LAVINIA	Where from?
ALEX	Dedham.
LAVINIA	Dedham is in Essex. So it was from Dedham. Edward, have you any friends in Dedham?
EDWARD	No, I have no connections in Dedham.
JULIA	Well, it’s all delightfully mysterious.
ALEX	But what is the mystery?
JULIA	Alex, don’t be inquisitive. Lavinia has had a lapse of memory, And so, of course, she sent us telegrams: And now I don’t believe she really wants us. I can see that she is quite worn out After her anxiety about her aunt — Who, you’ll be glad to hear, has quite recovered, Alex — And after that long journey on the old Great Eastern, Waiting at junctions. And I suppose she’s famished.
ALEX	Ah, in that case I know what I’ll do …
JULIA	No, Alex. We must leave them alone, and let Lavinia rest. Now we’ll all go back to my house. Peter, call a taxi.
(didascalia)	[Exit PETER]
JULIA	We’ll have a cocktail party at my house to-day.
CELIA	Well, I’ll go now. Good-bye, Lavinia. Good-bye, Edward.
EDWARD	Good-bye, Celia.
CELIA	Good-bye, Lavinia.
LAVINIA	Good-bye, Celia.
(didascalia)	[Exit CELIA]
JULIA	And now, Alex, you and I should be going.
EDWARD	Are you sure you haven’t left anything, Julia?
JULIA	Left anything? Oh, you mean my spectacles. No, they’re here. Besides, they’re no use to me. I’m not coming back again this evening.
LAVINIA	Stop! I want you to explain the telegram.
JULIA	Explain the telegram? What do you think, Alex?
ALEX	No, Julia, we can’t explain the telegram.
LAVINIA	I am sure that you could explain the telegram. I don’t know why. But it seems to me that yesterday I started some machine, that goes on working, And I cannot stop it; no, it’s not like a machine — Or if it’s a machine, someone else is running it. But who? Somebody is always interfering … I don’t feel free … and yet I started it …
JULIA	Alex, do you think we could explain anything?
ALEX	I think not, Julia. She must find out for herself: That’s the only way.
JULIA	How right you are! Well, my dears, I shall see you very soon.
EDWARD	When shall we see you?
JULIA	Did I say you’d see me? Good-bye. I believe … I haven’t left anything.
(didascalia)	[Enter PETER]
PETER	I’ve got a taxi, Julia.
JULIA	Splendid! Good-bye!
(didascalia)	[Exeunt JULIA, ALEX and PETER]
LAVINIA	I must say, you don’t seem very pleased to see me.
EDWARD	I can’t say that I’ve had much opportunity To seem anything. But of course I’m glad to see you.
LAVINIA	Yes, that was a silly thing to say. Like a schoolgirl. Like Celia. I don’t know why I said it. Well, here I am.
EDWARD	I am to ask no questions.
LAVINIA	And I know I am to give no explanations.
EDWARD	And I am to give no explanations.
LAVINIA	And I am to ask no questions. And yet … why not?
EDWARD	I don’t know why not. So what are we to talk about?
LAVINIA	There is one thing I ought to know, because of other people And what to do about them. It’s about that party. I suppose you won’t believe I forgot all about it! I let you down badly. What did you do about it? I only remembered after I had left.
EDWARD	I telephoned to everyone I knew was coming But I couldn’t get everyone. And so a few came.
LAVINIA	Who came?
EDWARD	Just those who were here this evening …
LAVINIA	That’s odd.
EDWARD	… and one other. I don’t know who he was, But you ought to know.
LAVINIA	Yes, I think I know. But I’m puzzled by Julia. That woman is the devil. She know’s by instinct when something’s going to happen. Trust her not to miss any awkward situation! And what did you tell them?
EDWARD	I invented an aunt Who was ill in the country, and had sent for you.
LAVINIA	Really, Edward! You had better have told the truth: Nothing less than the truth could deceive Julia. But how did the aunt come to live in Essex?
EDWARD	Julia compelled me to make her live somewhere.
LAVINIA	I see. So Julia made her live in Essex; And made the telegrams come from Essex. Well, I shall have to tell Julia the truth. I shall always tell the truth now. We have wasted such a lot of time in lying.
EDWARD	I don’t quite know what you mean.
LAVINIA	Oh, Edward! The point is, that since I’ve been away I see that I’ve taken you much too seriously. And now I can see how absurd you are.
EDWARD	That is a very serious conclusion To have arrived at in … how many? … thirty-two hours.
LAVINIA	Yes, a very important discovery, Finding that you’ve spent five years of your life With a man who has no sense of humour; And that the effect upon me was That I lost all sense of humour myself. That’s what came of always giving in to you.
EDWARD	I was unaware that you’d always given in to me. It struck me very differently. As we’re on the subject, I thought that it was I who had given in to you.
LAVINIA	I know what you mean by giving in to me: You mean, leaving all the practical decisions That you should have made yourself. I remember — Oh, I ought to have realised what was coming — When we were planning our honeymoon, I couldn’t make you say where you wanted to go …
EDWARD	But I wanted you to make that decision.
LAVINIA	But how could I tell where I wanted to go Unless you suggested some other place first? And I remember that finally in desperation I said: ‘I suppose you’d as soon go to Peacehaven’ — And you said ‘I don’t mind’.
EDWARD	Of course I didn’t mind. I meant it as a compliment.
LAVINIA	You meant it as a compliment! And you were so considerate, people said; And you thought you were unselfish. It was only passivity; You only wanted to be bolstered, encouraged….
EDWARD	Encouraged? To what?
LAVINIA	To think well of yourself. You know it was I who made you work at the Bar …
EDWARD	You nagged me because I didn’t get enough work And said that I ought to meet more people: But when the briefs began to come in — And they didn’t come through any of your friends — You suddenly found it inconvenient That I should be always too busy or too tired To be of use to you socially …
LAVINIA	I never complained.
EDWARD	No; and it was perfectly infuriating, The way you didn’t complain …
LAVINIA	It was you who complained Of seeing nobody but solicitors and clients …
EDWARD	And you were never very sympathetic.
LAVINIA	Well, but I tried to do something about it. That was why I took so much trouble To have those Thursdays, to give you the chance Of talking to intellectual people …
EDWARD	You would have given me about as much opportunity If you had hired me as your butler: Some of your guests may have thought I was the butler.
LAVINIA	And on several occasions, when somebody was coming Whom I particularly wanted you to meet, You didn’t arrive until just as they were leaving.
EDWARD	Well, at least, they can’t have thought I was the butler.
LAVINIA	Everything I tried only made matters worse, And the moment you were offered something that you wanted You wanted something else. I shall treat you very differently In future.
EDWARD	Thank you for the warning. But tell me, Since this is how you see me, why did you come back?
LAVINIA	Frankly, I don’t know. I was warned of the danger, Yet something, or somebody, compelled me to come. And why did you want me?
EDWARD	I don’t know either. You say you were trying to ‘encourage’ me: Then why did you always make me feel insignificant? I may not have known what life I wanted, But it wasn’t the life you chose for me. You wanted your husband to be successful, You wanted me to supply a public background For your kind of public life. You wished to be a hostess For whom my career would be a support. Well, I tried to be accommodating. But, in future, I shall behave, I assure you, very differently.
LAVINIA	Bravo! Edward. This is surprising. Now who could have taught you to answer back like that?
EDWARD	I have had quite enough humiliation Lately, to bring me to the point At which humiliation ceases to humiliate. You get to the point at which you cease to feel And then you speak your mind.
LAVINIA	That will be a novelty To find that you have a mind to speak. Anyway, I’m prepared to take you as you are.
EDWARD	You mean, you are prepared to take me As I was, or as you think I am. But what do you think I am?
LAVINIA	Oh, what you always were. As for me, I’m rather a different person Whom you must get to know.
EDWARD	This is very interesting: But you seem to assume that you’ve done all the changing — Though I haven’t yet found it a change for the better. But doesn’t it occur to you that possibly I may have changed too?
LAVINIA	Oh, Edward, when you were a little boy, I’m sure you were always getting yourself measured To prove how you had grown since the last holidays. You were always intensely concerned with yourself; And if other people grow, well, you want to grow too. In what way have you changed?
EDWARD	The change that comes From seeing oneself through the eyes of other people.
LAVINIA	That must have been very shattering for you. But never mind, you’ll soon get over it And find yourself another little part to play, With another face, to take people in.
EDWARD	One of the most infuriating things about you Has always been your perfect assurance That you understood me better than I understood myself.
LAVINIA	And the most infuriating thing about you Has always been your placid assumption That I wasn’t worth the trouble of understanding.
EDWARD	So here we are again. Back in the trap, With only one difference, perhaps — we can fight each other, Instead of each taking his corner of the cage. Well, it’s a better way of passing the evening Than listening to the gramophone.
LAVINIA	We have very good records; But I always suspected that you really hated music And that the gramophone was only your escape From talking to me when we had to be alone.
EDWARD	I’ve often wondered why you married me.
LAVINIA	Well, you really were rather attractive, you know; And you kept on saying that you were in love with me — I believe you were trying to persuade yourself you were. I seemed always on the verge of some wonderful experience And then it never happened. I wonder now How you could have thought you were in love with me.
EDWARD	Everybody told me that I was; And they told me how well suited we were.
LAVINIA	It’s a pity that you had no opinion of your own. Oh, Edward, I should like to be good to you — Or if that’s impossible, at least be horrid to you — Anything but nothing, which is all you seem to want of me. But I’m sorry for you …
EDWARD	Don’t say you are sorry for me! I have had enough of people being sorry for me.
LAVINIA	Yes, because they can never be so sorry for you As you are for yourself. And that’s hard to bear. I thought that there might be some way out for you If I went away. I thought that if I died To you, I who had been only a ghost to you, You might be able to find the road back To a time when you were real — for you must have been real At some time or other, before you ever knew me: Perhaps only when you were a child.
EDWARD	I don’t want you to make yourself responsible for me: It’s only another kind of contempt. And I do not want you to explain me to myself. You’re still trying to invent a personality for me Which will only keep me away from myself.
LAVINIA	You’re complicating what is in fact very simple. But there is one point which I see clearly: We are not to relapse into the kind of life we led Until yesterday morning.
EDWARD	There was a door And I could not open it. I could not touch the handle. Why could I not walk out of my prison? What is hell? Hell is oneself, Hell is alone, the other figures in it Merely projections. There is nothing to escape from And nothing to escape to. One is always alone.
LAVINIA	Edward, what are you talking about? Talking to yourself. Could you bear, for a moment, To think about me?
EDWARD	It was only yesterday That damnation took place. And now I must live with it Day by day, hour by hour, for ever and ever.
LAVINIA	I think you’re on the edge of a nervous breakdown!
EDWARD	Don’t say that!
LAVINIA	I must say it. I know … of a doctor who I think could help you.
EDWARD	If I go to a doctor, I shall make my own choice; Not take one whom you choose. How do I know That you wouldn’t see him first, and tell him all about me From your point of view? But I don’t need a doctor. I am simply in hell. Where there are no doctors — At least, not in a professional capacity.
LAVINIA	One can be practical, even in hell: And you know I am much more practical than you are.
EDWARD	I ought to know by now what you consider practical. Practical! I remember, on our honeymoon, You were always wrapping things up in tissue paper And then had to unwrap everything again To find what you wanted. And I never could teach you How to put the cap on a tube of tooth-paste.
LAVINIA	Very well, then, I shall not try to press you. You’re much too divided to know what you want. But, being divided, you will tend to compromise, And your sort of compromise will be the old one.
EDWARD	You don’t understand me. Have I not made it clear That in future you will find me a different person?
LAVINIA	Indeed. And has the difference nothing to do With Celia going to California?
EDWARD	Celia? Going to California?
LAVINIA	Yes, with Peter. Really, Edward, if you were human You would burst out laughing. But you won’t.
EDWARD	O God, O God, if I could return to yesterday Before I thought that I had made a decision. What devil left the door on the latch For these doubts to enter? And then you came back, you The angel of destruction — just as I felt sure. In a moment, at your touch, there is nothing but ruin. O God, what have I done? The python. The octopus. Must I become after all what you would make me?
LAVINIA	Well, Edward, as I am unable to make you laugh, And as I can’t persuade you to see a doctor, There’s nothing else at present that I can do about it. I ought to go and have a look in the kitchen. I know there are some eggs. But we must go out for dinner. Meanwhile, my luggage is in the hall downstairs: Will you get the porter to fetch it up for me? CURTAIN

Act Two

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	SIR HENRY HARCOURT-REILLY’S consulting room in London. Morning: several weeks later. SIR HENRY alone at his desk. He presses an electric button. The NURSE-SECRETARY enters, with Appointment Book.
REILLY	About those three appointments this morning, Miss Barraway: I should like to run over my instructions again. You understand, of course, that it is important To avoid any meeting?
NURSE-SECRETARY	You made that clear, Sir Henry: The first appointment at eleven o’clock. He is to be shown into the small waiting-room; And you will see him almost at once.
REILLY	I shall see him at once. And the second?
NURSE-SECRETARY	The second to be shown into the other room Just as usual. She arrives at a quarter past; But you may keep her waiting.
REILLY	Or she may keep me waiting; But I think she will be punctual.
NURSE-SECRETARY	I telephone through The moment she arrives. I leave her there Until you ring three times.
REILLY	And the third patient?
NURSE-SECRETARY	The third one to be shown into the small room; And I need not let you know that she has arrived. Then, when you ring, I show the others out; And only after they have left the house….
REILLY	Quite right, Miss Barraway. That’s all for the moment.
NURSE-SECRETARY	Mr. Gibbs is here, Sir Henry.
REILLY	Ask him to come straight in.
(didascalia)	[Exit NURSE-SECRETARY]
(didascalia)	[ALEX enters almost immediately]
ALEX	When is Chamberlayne’s appointment?
REILLY	At eleven o’clock, The conventional hour. We have not much time. Tell me now, did you have any difficulty In convincing him I was the man for his case?
ALEX	Difficulty? No! He was only impatient At having to wait four days for the appointment.
REILLY	It was necessary to delay his appointment To lower his resistance. But what I mean is, Does he trust your judgement?
ALEX	Yes, implicitly. It’s not that he regards me as very intelligent, But he thinks I’m well informed: the sort of person Who would know the right doctor, as well as the right shops. Besides, he was ready to consult any doctor Recommended by anyone except his wife.
REILLY	I had already impressed upon her That she was not to mention my name to him.
ALEX	With your usual foresight. Now, he’s quite triumphant Because he thinks he’s stolen a march on her. And when you’ve sent him to a sanatorium Where she can’t get at him — then, he believes, She will be very penitent. He’s enjoying his illness.
REILLY	Illness offers him a double advantage: To escape from himself — and get the better of his wife.
ALEX	Not to escape from her?
REILLY	He doesn’t want to escape from her.
ALEX	He is staying at his club.
REILLY	Yes, that is where he wrote from.
(didascalia)	[The house-telephone rings]
REILLY	Hello! Yes, show him up.
ALEX	You will have a busy morning! I will go out by the service staircase And come back when they’ve gone.
REILLY	Yes, when they’ve gone.
(didascalia)	[Exit ALEX by side door]
(didascalia)	[EDWARD is shown in by NURSE-SECRETARY]
EDWARD	Sir Henry Harcourt-Reilly —
(didascalia)	[Stops and stares at REILLY]
EDWARD	REILLY [without looking up from his papers]. Good morning, Mr. Chamberlayne. Please sit down. I won’t keep you a moment. — Now, Mr. Chamberlayne?
EDWARD	It came into my mind Before I entered the door, that you might be the same person: But I dismissed that as just another symptom. Well, I should have known better than to come here On the recommendation of a man who did not know you. Yet Alex is so plausible. And his recommendations Of shops, have always been satisfactory. I beg your pardon. But he is a blunderer. I should like to know … but what is the use! I suppose I might as well go away at once.
REILLY	No. If you please, sit down, Mr. Chamberlayne. You are not going away, so you might as well sit down. You were going to ask a question.
EDWARD	When you came to my flat Had you been invited by my wife as a guest As I supposed? … Or did she send you?
REILLY	I cannot say that I had been invited; And Mrs. Chamberlayne did not know that I was coming. But I knew you would be there, and whom I should find with you.
EDWARD	But you had seen my wife?
REILLY	Oh yes, I had seen her.
EDWARD	So this is a trap!
REILLY	Let’s not call it a trap. But if it is a trap, then you cannot escape from it: And so … you might as well sit down. I think that you will find that chair comfortable.
EDWARD	You knew, Before I began to tell you, what had happened?
REILLY	That is so, that is so. But all in good time. Let us dismiss that question for the moment. Tell me first, about the difficulties On which you want my professional opinion.
EDWARD	It’s not for me to blame you for bringing my wife back, I suppose. You seemed to be trying to persuade me That I was better off without her. But didn’t you realise That I was in no state to make a decision?
REILLY	If I had not brought your wife back, Mr. Chamberlayne, Do you suppose that things would be any better — now?
EDWARD	I don’t know, I’m sure. They could hardly be worse.
REILLY	They might be much worse. You might have ruined three lives By your indecision. Now there are only two — Which you still have the chance of redeeming from ruin.
EDWARD	You talk as if I was capable of action: If I were, I should not need to consult you Or anyone else. I came here as a patient. If you take no interest in my case, I can go elsewhere.
REILLY	You have reason to believe that you are very ill?
EDWARD	I should have thought a doctor could see that for himself. Or at least that he would enquire about the symptoms. Two people advised me recently, Almost in the same words, that I ought to see a doctor. They said — again, in almost the same words — That I was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. I didn’t know it then myself — but if they saw it I should have thought that a doctor could see it.
REILLY	‘Nervous breakdown’ is a term I never use: It can mean almost anything.
EDWARD	And since then, I have realised That mine is a very unusual case.
REILLY	All cases are unique, and very similar to others.
EDWARD	Is there a sanatorium to which you send such patients As myself, under your personal observation?
REILLY	You are very impetuous, Mr. Chamberlayne. There are several kinds of sanatoria For several kinds of patient. And there are also patients For whom a sanatorium is the worst place possible. We must first find out what is wrong with you Before we decide what to do with you.
EDWARD	I doubt if you have ever had a case like mine: I have ceased to believe in my own personality.
REILLY	Oh, dear yes; this is serious. A very common malady. Very prevalent indeed.
EDWARD	I remember, in my childhood …
REILLY	I always begin from the immediate situation And then go back as far as I find necessary. You see, your memories of childhood — I mean, in your present state of mind — Would be largely fictitious; and as for your dreams, You would produce amazing dreams, to oblige me. I could make you dream any kind of dream I suggested, And it would only go to flatter your vanity With the temporary stimulus of feeling interesting.
EDWARD	But I am obsessed by the thought of my own insignificance.
REILLY	Precisely. And I could make you feel important, And you would imagine it a marvellous cure; And you would go on, doing such amount of mischief As lay within your power — until you came to grief. Half of the harm that is done in this world Is due to people who want to feel important. They don’t mean to do harm — but the harm does not interest them. Or they do not see it, or they justify it Because they are absorbed in the endless struggle To think well of themselves.
EDWARD	If I am like that I must have done a great deal of harm.
REILLY	Oh, not so much as you would like to think: Only, shall we say, within your modest capacity. Try to explain what has happened since I left you.
EDWARD	I see now why I wanted my wife to come back. It was because of what she had made me into. We had not been alone again for fifteen minutes Before I felt, and still more acutely — Indeed, acutely, perhaps, for the first time, The whole oppression, the unreality Of the role she had always imposed upon me With the obstinate, unconscious, sub-human strength That some women have. Without her, it was vacancy. When I thought she had left me, I began to dissolve, To cease to exist. That was what she had done to me! I cannot live with her — that is now intolerable; I cannot live without her, for she has made me incapable Of having any existence of my own. That is what she has done to me in five years together! She has made the world a place I cannot live in Except on her terms. I must be alone, But not in the same world. So I want you to put me Into your sanatorium. I could be alone there?
(didascalia)	[House-telephone rings]
EDWARD	REILLY [into telephone]. Yes. [To EDWARD] Yes, you could be alone there.
EDWARD	I wonder If you have understood a word of what I have been saying.
REILLY	You must have patience with me, Mr. Chamberlayne: I learn a good deal by merely observing you, And letting you talk as long as you please, And taking note of what you do not say.
EDWARD	I once experienced the extreme of physical pain, And now I know there is suffering worse than that. It is surprising, if one had time to be surprised: I am not afraid of the death of the body, But this death is terrifying. The death of the spirit — Can you understand what I suffer?
REILLY	I understand what you mean.
EDWARD	I can no longer act for myself. Coming to see you — that’s the last decision I was capable of making. I am in your hands. I cannot take any further responsibility.
REILLY	Many patients come in that belief.
EDWARD	And now will you send me to the sanatorium?
REILLY	You have nothing else to tell me?
EDWARD	What else can I tell you? You didn’t want to hear about my early history.
REILLY	No, I did not want to hear about your early history.
EDWARD	And so will you send me to the sanatorium? I can’t go home again. And at my club They won’t let you keep a room for more than seven days; I haven’t the courage to go to a hotel, And besides, I need more shirts — you can get my wife To have my things sent on: whatever I shall need. But of course you mustn’t tell her where I am. Is it far to go?
REILLY	You might say, a long journey. But before I treat a patient like yourself I need to know a great deal more about him, Than the patient himself can always tell me. Indeed, it is often the case that my patients Are only pieces of a total situation Which I have to explore. The single patient Who is ill by himself, is rather the exception. I have recently had another patient Whose situation is much the same as your own.
(didascalia)	[Presses the bell on his desk three times]
REILLY	You must accept a rather unusual procedure: I propose to introduce you to the other patient.
EDWARD	What do you mean? Who is this other patient? I consider this very unprofessional conduct — I will not discuss my case before another patient.
REILLY	On the contrary. That is the only way In which it can be discussed. You have told me nothing. You have had the opportunity, and you have said enough To convince me that you have been making up your case So to speak, as you went along. A barrister Ought to know his brief before he enters the court.
EDWARD	I am at least free to leave. And I propose to do so. My mind is made up. I shall go to a hotel.
REILLY	It is just because you are not free, Mr. Chamberlayne, That you have come to me. It is for me to give you that — Your freedom. That is my affair.
(didascalia)	[LAVINIA is shown in by the NURSE-SECRETARY]
REILLY	But here is the other patient.
EDWARD	Lavinia!
LAVINIA	Well, Sir Henry! I said I would come to talk about my husband: I didn’t say I was prepared to meet him.
EDWARD	And I did not expect to meet you, Lavinia. I call this a very dishonourable trick.
REILLY	Honesty before honour, Mr. Chamberlayne. Sit down, please, both of you. Mrs. Chamberlayne, Your husband wishes to enter a sanatorium, And that is a question which naturally concerns you.
EDWARD	I am not going to any sanatorium. I am going to a hotel. And I shall ask you, Lavinia, To be so good as to send me on some clothes.
LAVINIA	Oh, to what hotel?
EDWARD	I don’t know — I mean to say, That doesn’t concern you.
LAVINIA	In that case, Edward, I don’t think your clothes concern me either. [To REILLY] I presume you will send him to the same sanatorium To which you sent me? Well, he needs it more than I did.
REILLY	I am glad that you have come to see it in that light — At least, for the moment. But, Mrs. Chamberlayne, You have never visited my sanatorium.
LAVINIA	What do you mean? I asked to be sent And you took me there. If that was not a sanatorium What was it?
REILLY	A kind of hotel. A retreat For people who imagine that they need a respite From everyday life. They return refreshed; And if they believe it to be a sanatorium That is good reason for not sending them to one. The people who need my sort of sanatorium Are not easily deceived.
LAVINIA	Are you a devil Or merely a lunatic practical joker?
EDWARD	I incline to the second explanation Without the qualification ‘lunatic’. Why should you go to a sanatorium? I have never known anyone in my life With fewer mental complications than you; You’re stronger than a … battleship. That’s what drove me mad. I am the one who needs a sanatorium — But I’m not going there.
REILLY	You are right, Mr. Chamberlayne. You are no case for my sanatorium: You are much too ill.
EDWARD	Much too ill? Then I’ll go and be ill in a suburban boarding-house.
LAVINIA	That would never suit you, Edward. Now I know of a hotel In the New Forest …
EDWARD	How like you, Lavinia. You always know of something better.
LAVINIA	It’s only that I have a more practical mind Than you have, Edward. You do know that.
EDWARD	Only because you’ve told me so often. I’d like to see you filling up an income-tax form.
LAVINIA	Don’t be silly, Edward. When I say practical, I mean practical in the things that really matter.
REILLY	May I interrupt this interesting discussion? I say you are both too ill. There are several symptoms Which must occur together, and to a marked degree, To qualify a patient for my sanatorium: And one of them is an honest mind. That is one of the causes of their suffering.
LAVINIA	No one can say my husband has an honest mind.
EDWARD	And I could not honestly say that of you, Lavinia.
REILLY	I congratulate you both on your perspicacity. Your sympathetic understanding of each other Will prepare you to appreciate what I have to say to you. I do not trouble myself with the common cheat, Or with the insuperably, innocently dull: My patients such as you are the self-deceivers Taking infinite pains, exhausting their energy, Yet never quite successful. You have both of you pretended To be consulting me; both, tried to impose upon me Your own diagnosis, and prescribe your own cure. But when you put yourselves into hands like mine You surrender a great deal more than you meant to. This is the consequence of trying to lie to me.
LAVINIA	I did not come here to be insulted.
REILLY	You have come where the word ‘insult’ has no meaning; And you must put up with that. All that you have told me — Both of you — was true enough: you described your feelings — Or some of them — omitting the important facts. Let me take your husband first. [To EDWARD]                               You were lying to me By concealing your relations with Miss Coplestone.
EDWARD	This is monstrous! My wife knew nothing about it.
LAVINIA	Really, Edward! Even if I’d been blind There were plenty of people to let me know about it. I wonder if there was anyone who didn’t know.
REILLY	There was one, in fact. But you, Mrs. Chamberlayne, Tried to make me believe that it was this discovery Precipitated what you called your nervous breakdown.
LAVINIA	But it’s true! I was completely prostrated; Even if I have made a partial recovery.
REILLY	Certainly, you were completely prostrated, And certainly, you have somewhat recovered. But you failed to mention that the cause of your distress Was the defection of your lover — who suddenly For the first time in his life, fell in love with someone, And with someone of whom you had reason to be jealous.
EDWARD	Really, Lavinia! This is very interesting. You seem to have been much more successful at concealment Than I was. Now I wonder who it could have been.
LAVINIA	Well, tell him if you like.
REILLY	A young man named Peter.
EDWARD	Peter? Peter who?
REILLY	Mr. Peter Quilpe Was a frequent guest.
EDWARD	Peter Quilpe. Peter Quilpe! Really Lavinia! I congratulate you. You could not have chosen Anyone I was less likely to suspect. And then he came to me to confide about Celia! I have never heard anything so utterly ludicrous: This is the best joke that ever happened.
LAVINIA	I never knew you had such a sense of humour.
REILLY	It is the first more hopeful symptom.
LAVINIA	How did you know all this?
REILLY	That I cannot disclose. I have my own method of collecting information About my patients. You must not ask me to reveal it — That is a matter of professional etiquette.
LAVINIA	I have not noticed much professional etiquette About your behaviour to-day.
REILLY	A point well taken. But permit me to remark that my revelations About each of you, to one another, Have not been of anything that you confided to me. The information I have exchanged between you Was all obtained from outside sources. Mrs. Chamberlayne, when you came to me two months ago I was dissatisfied with your explanation Of your obvious symptoms of emotional strain And so I made enquiries.
EDWARD	It was two months ago That your breakdown began! and I never noticed it.
LAVINIA	You wouldn’t notice anything. You never noticed me.
REILLY	Now, I want to point out to both of you How much you have in common. Indeed, I consider That you are exceptionally well-suited to each other. Mr. Chamberlayne, when you thought your wife had left you, You discovered, to your surprise and consternation, That you were not really in love with Miss Coplestone …
LAVINIA	My husband has never been in love with anybody.
REILLY	And were not prepared to make the least sacrifice On her account. This injured your vanity. You liked to think of yourself as a passionate lover. Then you realised, what your wife has justly remarked, That you had never been in love with anybody; Which made you suspect that you were incapable Of loving. To men of a certain type The suspicion that they are incapable of loving Is as disturbing to their self-esteem As, in cruder men, the fear of impotence.
LAVINIA	You are cold-hearted, Edward.
REILLY	So you say, Mrs. Chamberlayne. And now, let us turn to your side of the problem. When you discovered that your young friend (Though you knew, in your heart, that he was not in love with you, And were always humiliated by the awareness That you had forced him into this position) — When, I say, you discovered that your young friend Had actually fallen in love with Miss Coplestone, It took you some time, I have no doubt, Before you would admit it. Though perhaps you knew it Before he did. You pretended to yourself, I suspect, and for as long as you could, That he was aiming at a higher social distinction Than the honour conferred by being your lover. When you had to face the fact that his feelings towards her Were different from any you had aroused in him — It was a shock. You had wanted to be loved; You had come to see that no one had ever loved you. Then you began to fear that no one could love you.
EDWARD	I’m beginning to feel very sorry for you, Lavinia. You know, you really are exceptionally unlovable, And I never quite knew why. I thought it was my fault.
REILLY	And now you begin to see, I hope, How much you have in common. The same isolation. A man who finds himself incapable of loving And a woman who finds that no man can love her.
LAVINIA	It seems to me that what we have in common Might be just enough to make us loathe one another.
REILLY	See it rather as the bond which holds you together. While still in a state of unenlightenment, You could always say: ‘he could not love any woman;’ You could always say: ‘no man could love her.’ You could accuse each other of your own faults, And so could avoid understanding each other. Now, you have only to reverse the propositions And put them together.
LAVINIA	Is that possible?
REILLY	If I had sent either of you to the sanatorium In the state in which you came to me — I tell you this: It would have been a horror beyond your imagining, For you would have been left with what you brought with you: The shadow of desires of desires. A prey To the devils who arrive at their plenitude of power When they have you to themselves.
LAVINIA	Then what can we do When we can go neither back nor forward? Edward! What can we do?
REILLY	You have answered your own question, Though you do not know the meaning of what you have said.
EDWARD	Lavinia, we must make the best of a bad job. That is what he means.
REILLY	When you find, Mr. Chamberlayne, The best of a bad job is all any of us make of it — Except of course, the saints — such as those who go To the sanatorium — you will forget this phrase, And in forgetting it will alter the condition.
LAVINIA	Edward, there is that hotel in the New Forest If you want to go there. The proprietor Who has just taken over, is a friend of Alex’s. I could go down with you, and then leave you there If you want to be alone …
EDWARD	But I can’t go away! I have a case coming on next Monday.
LAVINIA	Then will you stop at your club?
EDWARD	No, they won’t let me. I must leave tomorrow — but how did you know I was staying at the club?
LAVINIA	Really, Edward! I have some sense of responsibility. I was going to leave some shirts there for you.
EDWARD	It seems to me that I might as well go home.
LAVINIA	Then we can share a taxi, and be economical. Edward, have you anything else to ask him Before we go?
EDWARD	Yes, I have. But it’s difficult to say.
LAVINIA	But I wish you would say it. At least, there is something I would like you to ask.
EDWARD	It’s about the future of … the others. I don’t want to build on other people’s ruins.
LAVINIA	Exactly. And I have a question too. Sir Henry, was it you who sent those telegrams?
REILLY	I think I will dispose of your husband’s problem. [To EDWARD] Your business is not to clear your conscience But to learn how to bear the burdens on your conscience. With the future of the others you are not concerned.
LAVINIA	I think you have answered my question too. They had to tell us, themselves, that they had made their decision.
EDWARD	Have you anything else to say to us, Sir Henry?
REILLY	No. Not in this capacity.
(didascalia)	[EDWARD takes out his cheque-book. REILLY raises his hand]
REILLY	My secretary will send you my account. Go in peace. And work out your salvation with diligence.
(didascalia)	[Exeunt EDWARD and LAVINIA]
(didascalia)	[REILLY goes to the couch and lies down. The house-telephone rings. He gets up and answers it.]
REILLY	Yes? … Yes. Come in.
(didascalia)	[Enter JULIA by side door]
REILLY	She’s waiting downstairs.
JULIA	I know that, Henry. I brought her here myself.
REILLY	Oh? You didn’t let her know you were seeing me first?
JULIA	Of course not. I dropped her at the door And went on in the taxi, round the corner; Waited a moment, and slipped in by the back way. I only came to tell you, I am sure she is ready To make a decision.
REILLY	Was she reluctant? Was that why you brought her?
JULIA	Oh no, not reluctant: Only diffident. She cannot believe That you will take her seriously.
REILLY	That is not uncommon.
JULIA	Or that she deserves to be taken seriously.
REILLY	That is most uncommon.
JULIA	Henry, get up. You can’t be as tired as that. I shall wait in the next room, And come back when she’s gone.
REILLY	Yes, when she’s gone.
JULIA	Will Alex be here?
REILLY	Yes, he’ll be here.
(didascalia)	[Exit JULIA by side door]
(didascalia)	[REILLY presses button. NURSE-SECRETARY shows in CELIA]
REILLY	Miss Celia Coplestone? … Won’t you sit down? I believe you are a friend of Mrs. Shuttlethwaite.
CELIA	Yes, it was Julia … Mrs. Shuttlethwaite Who advised me to come to you. — But I’ve met you before, Haven’t I, somewhere? … Oh, of course. But I didn’t know …
REILLY	There is nothing you need to know. I was there at the instance of Mrs. Shuttlethwaite.
CELIA	That makes it even more perplexing. However, I don’t want to waste your time. And I’m awfully afraid That you’ll think that I am wasting it anyway. I suppose most people, when they come to see you, Are obviously ill, or can give good reasons For wanting to see you. Well, I can’t. I just came in desperation. And I shan’t be offended If you simply tell me to go away again.
REILLY	Most of my patients begin, Miss Coplestone, By telling me exactly what is the matter with them, And what I am to do about it. They are quite sure They have had a nervous breakdown — that is what they call it — And usually they think that someone else is to blame.
CELIA	I at least have no one to blame but myself.
REILLY	And after that, the prologue to my treatment Is to try to show them that they are mistaken About the nature of their illness, and lead them to see That it’s not so interesting as they had imagined. When I get as far as that, there is something to be done.
CELIA	Well, I can’t pretend that my trouble is interesting; But I shan’t begin that way. I feel perfectly well. I could lead an active life — if there’s anything to work for; I don’t imagine that I am being persecuted; I don’t hear any voices, I have no delusions — Except that the world I live in seems all a delusion! But oughtn’t I first to tell you the circumstances? I’d forgotten that you know nothing about me; And with what I’ve been going through, these last weeks, I somehow took it for granted that I needn’t explain myself.
REILLY	I know quite enough about you for the moment: Try first to describe your present state of mind.
CELIA	Well, there are two things I can’t understand, Which you might consider symptoms. But first I must tell you That I should really like to think there’s something wrong with me — Because, if there isn’t, then there’s something wrong, Or at least, very different from what it seemed to be, With the world itself — and that’s much more frightening! That would be terrible. So I’d rather believe There is something wrong with me, that could be put right. I’d do anything you told me, to get back to normality.
REILLY	We must find out about you, before we decide What is normality. You say there are two things: What is the first?
CELIA	An awareness of solitude. But that sounds so flat. I don’t mean simply That there’s been a crash: though indeed there has been. It isn’t simply the end of an illusion In the ordinary way, or being ditched. Of course that’s something that’s always happening To all sorts of people, and they get over it More or less, or at least they carry on. No. I mean that what has happened has made me aware That I’ve always been alone. That one always is alone. Not simply the ending of one relationship, Not even simply finding that it never existed — But a revelation about my relationship With everybody. Do you know — It no longer seems worth while to speak to anyone!
REILLY	And what about your parents?
CELIA	Oh, they live in the country, Now they can’t afford to have a place in town. It’s all they can do to keep the country house going: But it’s been in the family so long, they won’t leave it.
REILLY	And you live in London?
CELIA	I share a flat With a cousin: but she’s abroad at the moment, And my family want me to come down and stay with them. But I just can’t face it.
REILLY	So you want to see no one?
CELIA	No … it isn’t that I want to be alone, But that everyone’s alone — or so it seems to me. They make noises, and think they are talking to each other; They make faces, and think they understand each other. And I’m sure that they don’t. Is that a delusion?
REILLY	A delusion is something we must return from. There are other states of mind, which we take to be delusion, But which we have to accept and go on from. And the second symptom?
CELIA	That’s stranger still. It sounds ridiculous — but the only word for it That I can find, is a sense of sin.
REILLY	You suffer from a sense of sin, Miss Coplestone? This is most unusual.
CELIA	It seemed to me abnormal.
REILLY	We have yet to find what would be normal For you, before we use the term ‘abnormal’. Tell me what you mean by a sense of sin.
CELIA	It’s much easier to tell you what I don’t mean: I don’t mean sin in the ordinary sense.
REILLY	And what, in your opinion, is the ordinary sense?
CELIA	Well … I suppose it’s being immoral — And I don’t feel as if I was immoral: In fact, aren’t the people one thinks of as immoral Just the people who we say have no moral sense? I’ve never noticed that immorality Was accompanied by a sense of sin: At least, I have never come across it. I suppose it is wicked to hurt other people If you know that you’re hurting them. I haven’t hurt her. I wasn’t taking anything away from her — Anything she wanted. I may have been a fool: But I don’t mind at all having been a fool.
REILLY	And what is the point of view of your family?
CELIA	Well, my bringing up was pretty conventional — I had always been taught to disbelieve in sin. Oh, I don’t mean that it was ever mentioned! But anything wrong, from our point of view, Was either bad form, or was psychological. And bad form always led to disaster Because the people one knew disapproved of it. I don’t worry much about form, myself — But when everything’s bad form, or mental kinks, You either become bad form, and cease to care, Or else, if you care, you must be kinky.
REILLY	And so you suppose you have what you call a ‘kink’?
CELIA	But everything seemed so right, at the time! I’ve been thinking about it, over and over; I can see now, it was all a mistake: But I don’t see why mistakes should make one feel sinful! And yet I can’t find any other word for it. It must be some kind of hallucination; Yet, at the same time, I’m frightened by the fear That it is more real than anything I believed in.
REILLY	What is more real than anything you believed in?
CELIA	It’s not the feeling of anything I’ve ever done, Which I might get away from, or of anything in me I could get rid of — but of emptiness, of failure Towards someone, or something, outside of myself; And I feel I must … atone — is that the word? Can you treat a patient for such a state of mind?
REILLY	What had you believed were your relations with this man?
CELIA	Oh, you’d guessed that, had you? That’s clever of you. No, perhaps I made it obvious. You don’t need to know About him, do you?
REILLY	No.
CELIA	Perhaps I’m only typical.
REILLY	There are different types. Some are rarer than others.
CELIA	Oh, I thought that I was giving him so much! And he to me — and the giving and the taking Seemed so right: not in terms of calculation Of what was good for the persons we had been But for the new person, us. If I could feel As I did then, even now it would seem right. And then I found we were only strangers And that there had been neither giving nor taking But that we had merely made use of each other Each for his purpose. That’s horrible. Can we only love Something created by our own imagination? Are we all in fact unloving and unlovable? Then one is alone, and if one is alone Then lover and beloved are equally unreal And the dreamer is no more real than his dreams.
REILLY	And this man. What does he now seem like, to you?
CELIA	Like a child who has wandered into a forest Playing with an imaginary playmate And suddenly discovers he is only a child Lost in a forest, wanting to go home.
REILLY	Compassion may be already a clue Towards finding your own way out of the forest.
CELIA	But even if I find my way out of the forest I shall be left with the inconsolable memory Of the treasure I went into the forest to find And never found, and which was not there And perhaps is not anywhere? But if not anywhere, Why do I feel guilty at not having found it?
REILLY	Disillusion can become itself an illusion If we rest in it.
CELIA	I cannot argue. It’s not that I’m afraid of being hurt again: Nothing again can either hurt or heal. I have thought at moments that the ecstasy is real Although those who experience it may have no reality. For what happened is remembered like a dream In which one is exalted by intensity of loving In the spirit, a vibration of delight Without desire, for desire is fulfilled In the delight of loving. A state one does not know When awake. But what, or whom I loved, Or what in me was loving, I do not know. And if that is all meaningless, I want to be cured Of a craving for something I cannot find And of the shame of never finding it. Can you cure me?
REILLY	The condition is curable. But the form of treatment must be your own choice: I cannot choose for you. If that is what you wish, I can reconcile you to the human condition, The condition to which some who have gone as far as you Have succeeded in returning. They may remember The vision they have had, but they cease to regret it, Maintain themselves by the common routine, Learn to avoid excessive expectation, Become tolerant of themselves and others, Giving and taking, in the usual actions What there is to give and take. They do not repine; Are contented with the morning that separates And with the evening that brings together For casual talk before the fire Two people who know they do not understand each other, Breeding children whom they do not understand And who will never understand them.
CELIA	Is that the best life?
REILLY	It is a good life. Though you will not know how good Till you come to the end. But you will want nothing else, And the other life will be only like a book You have read once, and lost. In a world of lunacy, Violence, stupidity, greed … it is a good life.
CELIA	I know I ought to be able to accept that If I might still have it. Yet it leaves me cold. Perhaps that’s just a part of my illness, But I feel it would be a kind of surrender — No, not a surrender — more like a betrayal. You see, I think I really had a vision of something Though I don’t know what it is. I don’t want to forget it. I want to live with it. I could do without everything, Put up with anything, if I might cherish it. In fact, I think it would really be dishonest For me, now, to try to make a life with anybody! I couldn’t give anyone the kind of love — I wish I could — which belongs to that life. Oh, I’m afraid this sounds like raving! Or just cantankerousness … still, If there’s no other way … then I feel just hopeless.
REILLY	There is another way, if you have the courage. The first I could describe in familiar terms Because you have seen it, as we all have seen it, Illustrated, more or less, in lives of those about us. The second is unknown, and so requires faith — The kind of faith that issues from despair. The destination cannot be described; You will know very little until you get there; You will journey blind. But the way leads towards possession Of what you have sought for in the wrong place.
CELIA	That sounds like what I want. But what is my duty?
REILLY	Whichever way you choose will prescribe its own duty.
CELIA	Which way is better?
REILLY	Neither way is better. Both ways are necessary. It is also necessary To make a choice between them.
CELIA	Then I choose the second.
REILLY	It is a terrifying journey.
CELIA	I am not frightened But glad. I suppose it is a lonely way?
REILLY	No lonelier than the other. But those who take the other Can forget their loneliness. You will not forget yours. Each way means loneliness — and communion. Both ways avoid the final desolation Of solitude in the phantasmal world Of imagination, shuffling memories and desires.
CELIA	That is the hell I have been in.
REILLY	It isn’t hell Till you become incapable of anything else. Now — do you feel quite sure?
CELIA	I want your second way. So what am I to do?
REILLY	You will go to the sanatorium.
CELIA	Oh, what an anti-climax! I have known people Who have been to your sanatorium, and come back again — I don’t mean to say they weren’t much better for it — That’s why I came to you. But they returned … Well … I mean … to everyday life.
REILLY	True. But the friends you have in mind Cannot have been to this sanatorium. I am very careful whom I send there: Those who go do not come back as these did.
CELIA	It sounds like a prison. But they can’t all stay there! I mean, it would make the place so over-crowded.
REILLY	Not very many go. But I said they did not come back In the sense in which your friends came back. I did not say they stayed there.
CELIA	What becomes of them?
REILLY	They choose, Miss Coplestone. Nothing is forced on them. Some of them return, in a physical sense; No one disappears. They lead very active lives Very often, in the world.
CELIA	How soon will you send me there?
REILLY	How soon will you be ready?
CELIA	Tonight, by nine o’clock.
REILLY	Go home then, and make your preparations. Here is the address for you to give your friends;
(didascalia)	[Writes on a slip of paper]
REILLY	You had better let your family know at once. I will send a car for you at nine o’clock.
CELIA	What do I need to take with me?
REILLY	Nothing. Everything you need will be provided for you, And you will have no expenses at the sanatorium.
CELIA	I don’t in the least know what I am doing Or why I am doing it. There is nothing else to do: That is the only reason.
REILLY	It is the best reason.
CELIA	But I know it is I who have made the decision: I must tell you that. Oh, I almost forgot — May I ask what your fee is?
REILLY	I have told my secretary That there is no fee.
CELIA	But …
REILLY	For a case like yours There is no fee.
(didascalia)	[Presses button]
CELIA	You have been very kind.
REILLY	Go in peace, my daughter. Work out your salvation with diligence.
(didascalia)	[NURSE-SECRETARY appears at door. Exit CELIA. REILLY dials on house-telephone.]
REILLY	REILLY [into telephone]. It is finished. You can come in now.
(didascalia)	[Enter JULIA by side door]
REILLY	She will go far, that one.
JULIA	Very far, I think. You do not need to tell me. I knew from the beginning.
REILLY	It’s the other ones I am worried about.
JULIA	Nonsense, Henry, I shall keep an eye on them.
REILLY	To send them back: what have they to go back tc? To the stale food mouldering in the larder, The stale thoughts mouldering in their minds. Each unable to disguise his own meanness From himself, because it is known to the other. It’s not the knowledge of the mutual treachery But the knowledge that the other understands the motive — Mirror to mirror, reflecting vanity. I have taken a great risk.
JULIA	We must always take risks. That is our destiny. Since you question the decision What possible alternative can you imagine?
REILLY	None.
JULIA	Very well then. We must take the risk. All we could do was to give them the chance. And now, when they are stripped naked to their souls And can choose, whether to put on proper costumes Or huddle quickly into new disguises, They have, for the first time, somewhere to start from. Oh, of course, they might just murder each other! But I don’t think they will do that. We shall see. It’s the thought of Celia that weighs upon my mind.
REILLY	Of Celia?
JULIA	Of Celia.
REILLY	But when I said just now That she would go far, you agreed with me.
JULIA	Oh yes, she will go far. And we know where she is going. But what do we know of the terrors of the journey? You and I don’t know the process by which the human is Transhumanised: what do we know Of the kind of suffering they must undergo On the way of illumination?
REILLY	Will she be frightened By the first appearance of projected spirits?
JULIA	Henry, you simply do not understand innocence. She will be afraid of nothing; she will not even know That there is anything there to be afraid of. She is too humble. She will pass between the scolding hills, Through the valley of derision, like a child sent on an errand In eagerness and patience. Yet she must suffer.
REILLY	When I express confidence in anything You always raise doubts; when I am apprehensive Then you see no reason for anything but confidence.
JULIA	That’s one way in which I am so useful to you. You ought to be grateful.
REILLY	And when I say to one like her ‘Work out your salvation with diligence’, I do not understand What I myself am saying.
JULIA	You must accept your limitations. — But how much longer will Alex keep us waiting?
REILLY	He should be here by now. I’ll speak to Miss Barraway.
(didascalia)	[Takes up house-telephone]
REILLY	Miss Barraway, when Mr. Gibbs arrive … Oh, very good. [To JULIA] He’s on his way up.
(didascalia)	[Into telephone]
REILLY	You may bring the tray in now, Miss Barraway.
(didascalia)	[Enter ALEX]
ALEX	Well! Well! and how have we got on?
JULIA	Everything is in order.
ALEX	The Chamberlaynes have chosen?
REILLY	They accept their destiny.
ALEX	And she has made the choice?
REILLY	She will be fetched this evening.
(didascalia)	[NURSE-SECRETARY enters with a tray, a decanter and three glasses, and exit. REILLY pours drinks.]
REILLY	And now we are ready to proceed to the libation.
ALEX	The words for the building of the hearth.
(didascalia)	[They raise their glasses]
REILLY	Let them build the hearth Under the protection of the stars.
ALEX	Let them place a chair each side of it.
JULIA	May the holy ones watch over the roof, May the moon herself influence the bed.
(didascalia)	[They drink]
ALEX	The words for those who go upon a journey.
REILLY	Protector of travellers Bless the road.
ALEX	Watch over her in the desert. Watch over her in the mountain. Watch over her in the labyrinth. Watch over her by the quicksand.
JULIA	Protect her from the Voices Protect her from the Visions Protect her in the tumult Protect her in the silence.
(didascalia)	[They drink]
REILLY	There is one for whom the words cannot be spoken.
ALEX	They can not be spoken yet.
JULIA	You mean Peter Quilpe.
REILLY	He has not yet come to where the words are valid.
JULIA	Shall we ever speak them?
ALEX	Others, perhaps, will speak them. You know, I have connections — even in California. CURTAIN

Act Three

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	The drawing-room of the Chamberlaynes’ London flat. Two years later. A late afternoon in July. A CATERER’S MAN is arranging a buffet table. LAVINIA enters from side door. CATERER’S MAN. Have you any further orders for us, Madam?
LAVINIA	You could bring in the trolley with the glasses And leave them ready. CATERER’S MAN.              Very good, Madam.
(didascalia)	[Exit. LAVINIA looks about the room critically and moves a bowl of flowers.]
(didascalia)	[Re-enter CATERER’S MAN with trolley]
LAVINIA	There, in that corner. That’s the most convenient; You can get in and out. Is there anything you need That you can’t find in the kitchen? CATERER’S MAN.                                  Nothing, Madam. Will there be anything more you require?
LAVINIA	Nothing more, I think, till half past six.
(didascalia)	[Exit CATERER’S MAN]
(didascalia)	[EDWARD lets himself in at the front door]
EDWARD	I’m in good time, I think. I hope you’ve not been worrying.
LAVINIA	Oh no. I did in fact ring up your chambers, And your clerk told me you had already left. But all I rang up for was to reassure you … EDWARD [smiling]. That you hadn’t run away?
LAVINIA	Now Edward, that’s unfair! You know that we’ve given several parties In the last two years. And I’ve attended all of them. I hope you’re not too tired?
EDWARD	Oh no, a quiet day. Two consultations with solicitors On quite straightforward cases. It’s you who should be tired.
LAVINIA	I’m not tired yet. But I know that I’ll be glad When it’s all over.
EDWARD	I like the dress you’re wearing: I’m glad you put on that one.
LAVINIA	Well, Edward! Do you know it’s the first time you’ve paid me a compliment Before a party? And that’s when one needs them.
EDWARD	Well, you deserve it. — We asked too many people.
LAVINIA	It’s true, a great many more accepted Than we thought would want to come. But what can you do? There’s usually a lot who don’t want to come But all the same would be bitterly offended To hear we’d given a party without asking them.
EDWARD	Perhaps we ought to have arranged to have two parties Instead of one.
LAVINIA	That’s never satisfactory. Everyone who’s asked to either party Suspects that the other one was more important.
EDWARD	That’s true. You have a very practical mind.
LAVINIA	But you know, I don’t think that you need worry: They won’t all come, out of those who accepted. You know we said, ‘we can ask twenty more Because they will be going to the Gunnings instead’.
EDWARD	I know, that’s what we said at the time; But I’d forgotten what the Gunnings’ parties were like. Their guests will get just enough to make them thirsty; They’ll come on to us later, roaring for drink. Well, let’s hope that those who come to us early Will be going on to the Gunnings afterwards, To make room for those who come from the Gunnings.
LAVINIA	And if it’s very crowded, they can’t get at the cocktails, And the man won’t be able to take the tray about, So they’ll go away again. Anyway, at that stage There’s nothing whatever you can do about it: And everyone likes to be seen at a party Where everybody else is, to show they’ve been invited. That’s what makes it a success. Is that picture straight?
EDWARD	Yes, it is.
LAVINIA	No, it isn’t. Do please straighten it.
EDWARD	Is it straight now?
LAVINIA	Too much to the left.
EDWARD	How’s that now?
LAVINIA	No, I meant the right. That will do. I’m too tired to bother.
EDWARD	After they’re all gone, we will have some champagne, Just ourselves. You lie down now, Lavinia No one will be coming for at least half an hour; So just stretch out.
LAVINIA	You must sit beside me, Then I can relax.
EDWARD	This is the best moment Of the whole party.
LAVINIA	Oh no, Edward. The best moment is the moment it’s over; And then to remember, it’s the end of the season And no more parties.
EDWARD	And no more committees.
LAVINIA	Can we get away soon?
EDWARD	By the end of next week I shall be quite free.
LAVINIA	And we can be alone. I love that house being so remote.
EDWARD	That’s why we took it. And I’m really thankful To have that excuse for not seeing people; And you do need to rest now.
(didascalia)	[The doorbell rings]
LAVINIA	Oh, bother! Now who would come so early? I simply can’t get up. CATERER’S MAN. Mrs. Shuttlethwaite!
LAVINIA	Oh, it’s Julia!
(didascalia)	[Enter JULIA]
JULIA	Well, my dears, and here I am! I seem literally to have caught you napping! I know I’m much too early; but the fact is, my dears, That I have to go on to the Gunnings’ party — And you know what they offer in the way of food and drink! And I’ve had to miss my tea, and I’m simply ravenous And dying of thirst. What can Parkinson’s do for me? Oh yes, I know this is a Parkinson party; I recognised one of their men at the door — An old friend of mine, in fact. But I’m forgetting! I’ve got a surprise: I’ve brought Alex with me! He only got back this morning from somewhere — One of his mysterious expeditions, And we’re going to get him to tell us all about it. But what’s become of him?
(didascalia)	[Enter ALEX]
EDWARD	Well, Alex! Where on earth do you turn up from?
ALEX	Where on earth? From the East. From Kinkanja — An island that you won’t have heard of Yet. Got back this morning. I heard about your party And, as I thought you might be leaving for the country, I said, I must not miss the opportunity To see Edward and Lavinia.
LAVINIA	How are you, Alex?
ALEX	I did try to get you on the telephone After lunch, but my secretary couldn’t get through to you. Never mind, I said — to myself, not to her — Never mind: the unexpected guest Is the one to whom they give the warmest welcome. I know them well enough for that.
JULIA	But tell us, Alex. What were you doing in this strange place — What’s it called?
ALEX	Kinkanja.
JULIA	What were you doing In Kinkanja? Visiting some Sultan? You were shooting tigers?
ALEX	There are no tigers, Julia, In Kinkanja. And there are no sultans. I have been staying with the Governor. Three of us have been out on a tour of inspection Of local conditions.
JULIA	What about? Monkey nuts?
ALEX	That was a nearer guess than you think. No, not monkey nuts. But it had to do with monkeys — Though whether the monkeys are the core of the problem Or merely a symptom, I am not so sure. At least, the monkeys have become the pretext For general unrest amongst the natives.
EDWARD	But how do the monkeys create unrest?
ALEX	To begin with, the monkeys are very destructive …
JULIA	You don’t need to tell me that monkeys are destructive. I shall never forget Mary Mallington’s monkey, The horrid little beast — stole my ticket to Mentone And I had to travel in a very slow train And in a couchette. She was very angry When I told her the creature ought to be destroyed.
LAVINIA	But can’t they exterminate these monkeys If they are a pest?
ALEX	Unfortunately, The majority of the natives are heathen: They hold these monkeys in peculiar veneration And do not want them killed. So they blame the Government For the damage that the monkeys do.
EDWARD	That seems unreasonable.
ALEX	It is unreasonable, But characteristic. And that’s not the worst of it. Some of the tribes are Christian converts, And, naturally, take a different view. They trap the monkeys. And they eat them. The young monkeys are extremely palatable: I’ve cooked them myself …
EDWARD	And did anybody eat them When you cooked them?
ALEX	Oh yes, indeed. I invented for the natives several new recipes. But you see, what with eating the monkeys And what with protecting their crops from the monkeys The Christian natives prosper exceedingly: And that creates friction between them and the others. And that’s the real problem. I hope I’m not boring you?
EDWARD	No indeed: we are anxious to learn the solution.
ALEX	I’m not sure that there is any solution. But even this does not bring us to the heart of the matter. There are also foreign agitators, Stirring up trouble …
LAVINIA	Why don’t you expel them?
ALEX	They are citizens of a friendly neighbouring state Which we have just recognised. You see, Lavinia, These are very deep waters.
EDWARD	And the agitators; How do they agitate?
ALEX	By convincing the heathen That the slaughter of monkeys has put a curse on them Which can only be removed by slaughtering the Christians. They have even been persuading some of the converts — Who‚ after all, prefer not to be slaughtered — To relapse into heathendom. So, instead of eating monkeys They are eating Christians.
JULIA	Who have eaten monkeys.
ALEX	The native is not, I fear, very logical.
JULIA	I wondered where you were taking us, with your monkeys. I thought I was going to dine out on those monkeys: But one can’t dine out on eating Christians — Even among pagans!
ALEX	Not on the whole story.
EDWARD	And have any of the English residents been murdered?
ALEX	Yes, but they are not usually eaten. When these people have done with a European He is, as a rule, no longer fit to eat.
EDWARD	And what has your commission accomplished?
ALEX	We have just drawn up an interim report.
EDWARD	Will it be made public?
ALEX	It cannot be, at present: There are too many international complications. Eventually, there may be an official publication.
EDWARD	But when?
ALEX	In a year or two.
EDWARD	And meanwhile?
ALEX	Meanwhile the monkeys multiply.
LAVINIA	And the Christians?
ALEX	Ah, the Christians! Now, I think I ought to tell you About someone you know — or knew …
JULIA	Edward! Somebody must have walked over my grave: I’m feeling so chilly. Give me some gin. Not a cocktail. I’m freezing — in July! CATERER’S MAN. Mr. Quilpe!
EDWARD	Now who …
(didascalia)	[Enter PETER]
EDWARD	Why, it’s Peter!
LAVINIA	Peter!
PETER	Hullo, everybody!
LAVINIA	When did you arrive?
PETER	I flew over from New York last night — I left Los Angeles three days ago. I saw Sheila Paisley at lunch to-day And she told me you were giving a party — She’s coming on later, after the Gunnings — So I said, I really must crash in: It’s my only chance to see Edward and Lavinia. I’m only over for a week, you see, And I’m driving down to the country this evening, So I knew you wouldn’t mind my looking in so early. It does seem ages since I last saw any of you! And how are you, Alex? And dear old Julia!
LAVINIA	So you’ve just come from New York.
PETER	Yes, from New York. The Bologolomskys saw me off. You remember Princess Bologolomsky In the old days? We dined the other night At the Saffron Monkey. That’s the place to go now.
ALEX	How very odd. My monkeys are saffron.
PETER	Your monkeys, Alex? I always said That Alex knew everybody. But I didn’t know That he knew any monkeys.
JULIA	But give us your news; Give us your news of the world, Peter. We lead such a quiet life, here in London.
PETER	You always did enjoy a leg-pull, Julia: But you all know I’m working for Pan-Am-Eagle?
EDWARD	No. Tell us, what is Pan-Am-Eagle?
PETER	You must have been living a quiet life! Don’t you go to the movies?
LAVINIA	Occasionally.
PETER	Alex knows. Did you see my last picture, Alex?
ALEX	I knew about it, but I didn’t see it. There is no cinema in Kinkanja.
PETER	Kinkanja? Where’s that? They don’t have pictures? Pan-Am-Eagle must look into this. Perhaps it would be a good place to make one. — Alex knows all about Pan-Am-Eagle: It was he who introduced me to the great Bela.
JULIA	And who is the great Bela?
PETER	Why, Bela Szogody — He’s my boss. I thought everyone knew his name.
JULIA	Is he your connection in California, Alex?
ALEX	Yes, we have sometimes obliged each other.
PETER	Well, it was Bela sent me over Just for a week. And I have my hands full I’m going down tonight, to Boltwell.
JULIA	To stay with the Duke?
PETER	And do him a good turn. We’re making a film of English life And we want to use Boltwell.
JULIA	But I understood that Boltwell Is in a very decayed condition.
PETER	Exactly. It is. And that’s why we’re interested. The most decayed noble mansion in England! At least, of any that are still inhabited. We’ve got a team of experts over To study the decay, so as to reproduce it. Then we build another Boltwell in California.
JULIA	But what is your position, Peter? Have you become an expert on decaying houses?
PETER	Oh dear no! I’ve written the script of this film, And Bela is very pleased with it. He thought I should see the original Boltwell; And besides, he thought that as I’m English I ought to know the best way to handle a duke. Besides that, we’ve got the casting director: He’s looking for some typical English faces — Of course, only for minor parts — And I’ll help him decide what faces are typical.
JULIA	Peter, I’ve thought of a wonderful idea! I’ve always wanted to go to California: Couldn’t you persuade your casting director To take us all over? We’re all very typical.
PETER	No, I’m afraid … CATERER’S MAN.               Sir Henry Harcourt-Reilly!
JULIA	Oh, I forgot! I’d another surprise for you.
(didascalia)	[Enter REILLY]
JULIA	I want you to meet Sir Henry Harcourt-Reilly —
EDWARD	We’re delighted to see him. But we have met before.
JULIA	Then if you know him already, you won’t be afraid of him. You know, I was afraid of him at first: He looks so forbidding …
REILLY	My dear Julia, You are giving me a very bad introduction — Supposing that an introduction was necessary.
JULIA	My dear Henry, you are interrupting me.
LAVINIA	If you can interrupt Julia, Sir Henry, You are the perfect guest we’ve been waiting for.
REILLY	I should not dream of trying to interrupt Julia …
JULIA	But you’re both interrupting!
REILLY	Who is interrupting now?
JULIA	Well, you shouldn’t interrupt my interruptions: That’s really worse than interrupting. Now my head’s fairly spinning. I must have a cocktail.
EDWARD	[To REILLY]. And will you have a cocktail?
REILLY	Might I have a glass of water?
EDWARD	Anything with it?
REILLY	Nothing, thank you.
LAVINIA	May I introduce Mr. Peter Quilpe? Sir Henry Harcourt-Reilly. Peter’s an old friend Of my husband and myself. Oh, I forgot —
(didascalia)	[Turning to ALEX]
LAVINIA	I rather assumed that you knew each other — I don’t know why I should. Mr. MacColgie Gibbs.
ALEX	Indeed, yes, we have met.
REILLY	On several commissions.
JULIA	We’ve been having such an interesting conversation. Peter’s just over from California Where he’s something very important in films. He’s making a film of English life And he’s going to find parts for all of us. Think of it!
PETER	But, Julia, I was just about to explain — I’m afraid I can’t find parts for anybody In this film — it’s not my business; And that’s not the way we do it.
JULIA	But, Peter; If you’re taking Boltwell to California Why can’t you take me?
PETER	We’re not taking Boltwell. We reconstruct a Boltwell.
JULIA	Very well, then: Why not reconstruct me? It’s very much cheaper. Oh, dear, I can see you’re determined not to have me: So good-bye to my hopes of seeing California.
PETER	You know you’d never come if we invited you. But there’s someone I wanted to ask about, Who did really want to get into films, And I always thought she could make a success of it If she only got the chance. It’s Celia Coplestone. She always wanted to. And now I could help her. I’ve already spoken to Bela about her, And I want to introduce her to our casting director. I’ve got an idea for another film. Can you tell me where she is? I couldn’t find her In the telephone directory.
JULIA	Not in the directory, Or in any directory. You can tell them now, Alex.
LAVINIA	What does Julia mean?
ALEX	I was about to speak of her When you came in, Peter. I’m afraid you can’t have Celia.
PETER	Oh … Is she married?
ALEX	Not married, but dead.
LAVINIA	Celia?
ALEX	Dead.
PETER	Dead. That knocks the bottom out of it.
EDWARD	Celia dead.
JULIA	You had better tell them, Alex, The news that you bring back from Kinkanja.
LAVINIA	Kinkanja? What was Celia doing in Kinkanja? We heard that she had joined some nursing order …
ALEX	She had joined an order. A very austere one. And as she already had experience of nursing …
LAVINIA	Yes, she had been a V.A.D. I remember.
ALEX	She was directed to Kinkanja, Where there are various endemic diseases Besides, of course, those brought by Europeans, And where the conditions are favourable to plague.
EDWARD	Go on.
ALEX	It seems that there were three of them — Three sisters at this station, in a Christian village; And half the natives were dying of pestilence. They must have been overworked for weeks.
EDWARD	And then?
ALEX	And then, the insurrection broke out Among the heathen, of which I was telling you. They knew of it, but would not leave the dying natives. Eventually, two of them escaped: One died in the jungle, and the other Will never be fit for normal life again. But Celia Coplestone, she was taken. When our people got there, they questioned the villagers — Those who survived. And then they found her body, Or at least, they found the traces of it.
EDWARD	But before that …
ALEX	It was difficult to tell. But from what we know of local practices It would seem that she must have been crucified Very near an ant-hill.
LAVINIA	But Celia! … Of all people …
EDWARD	And just for a handful of plague-stricken natives Who would have died anyway.
ALEX	Yes, the patients died anyway; Being tainted with the plague, they were not eaten.
LAVINIA	Oh, Edward, I’m so sorry — what a feeble thing to say! But you know what I mean.
EDWARD	And you know what I’m thinking.
PETER	I don’t understand at all. But then I’ve been away For two years, and I don’t know what happened To Celia, during those two years. Two years! Thinking about Celia.
EDWARD	It’s the waste that I resent.
PETER	You know more than I do: For me, it’s everything else that’s a waste. Two years! And it was all a mistake. Julia! Why don’t you say anything?
JULIA	You gave her those two years, as best you could.
PETER	When did she … take up this career?
JULIA	Two years ago.
PETER	Two years ago! I tried to forget about her, Until I began to think myself a success And got a little more self-confidence; And then I thought about her again. More and more. At first I did not want to know about Celia And so I never asked. Then I wanted to know And did not dare to ask. It took all my courage To ask you about her just now; but I never thought Of anything like this. I suppose I didn’t know her, I didn’t understand her. I understand nothing.
REILLY	You understand your métier, Mr. Quilpe — Which is the most that any of us can ask for.
PETER	And what a métier! I’ve tried to believe in it So that I might believe in myself. I thought I had ideas to make a revolution In the cinema, that no one could ignore — And here I am, making a second-rate film! But I thought it was going to lead to something better, And that seemed possible, while Celia was alive. I wanted it, believed in it, for Celia. And, of course, I wanted to do something for Celia — But what mattered was, that Celia was alive. And now it’s all worthless. Celia’s not alive.
LAVINIA	No, it’s not all worthless, Peter. You’ve only just begun. I mean, this only brings you to the point At which you must begin. You were saying just now That you never knew Celia. We none of us did. What you’ve been living on is an image of Celia Which you made for yourself, to meet your own needs. Peter, please don’t think I’m being unkind …
PETER	No, I don’t think you’re being unkind, Lavinia; And I know that you’re right.
LAVINIA	And perhaps what I’ve been saying Will seem less unkind if I can make you understand That in fact I’ve been talking about myself.
EDWARD	Lavinia is right. This is where you start from. If you find out now, Peter, things about yourself That you don’t like to face: well, just remember That some men have to learn much worse things About themselves, and learn them later When it’s harder to recover, and make a new beginning. It’s not so hard for you. You’re naturally good.
PETER	I’m sorry. I don’t believe I’ve taken in All that you’ve been saying. But I’m grateful all the same. You know, all the time that you’ve been talking, One thought has been going round and round in my head — That I’ve only been interested in myself: And that isn’t good enough for Celia.
JULIA	You must have learned how to look at people, Peter, When you look at them with an eye for the films: That is, when you’re not concerned with yourself But just being an eye. You will come to think of Celia Like that, one day. And then you’ll understand her And be reconciled, and be happy in the thought of her.
LAVINIA	Sir Henry, there is something I want to say to you. While Alex was telling us what had happened to Celia I was looking at your face. And it seemed from your expression That the way in which she died did not disturb you Or the fact that she died because she would not leave A few dying natives.
REILLY	Who knows, Mrs. Chamberlayne, The difference that made to the natives who were dying Or the state of mind in which they died?
LAVINIA	I’m willing to grant that. What struck me, though, Was that your face showed no surprise or horror At the way in which she died. I don’t know if you knew her. I suspect that you did. In any case you knew about her. Yet I thought your expression was one of … satisfaction!
REILLY	Mrs. Chamberlayne, I must be very transparent Or else you are very perceptive.
JULIA	Oh, Henry! Lavinia is much more observant than you think. I believe that she has forced you to a show-down.
REILLY	You state the position correctly, Julia. Do you mind if I quote poetry, Mrs. Chamberlayne?
LAVINIA	Oh no, I should love to hear you speaking poetry …
JULIA	She has made a point, Henry.
LAVINIA	… if it answers my question.
REILLY	Ere Babylon was dust The magus Zoroaster, my dead child, Met his own image walking in the garden. That apparition, sole of men, he saw. For know there are two worlds of life and death: One that which thou beholdest; but the other Is underneath the grave, where do inhabit The shadows of all forms that think and live Till death unite them and they part no more! When I first met Miss Coplestone, in this room, I saw the image, standing behind her chair, Of a Celia Coplestone whose face showed the astonishment Of the first five minutes after a violent death. If this strains your credulity, Mrs. Chamberlayne, I ask you only to entertain the suggestion That a sudden intuition, in certain minds, May tend to express itself at once in a picture. That happens to me, sometimes. So it was obvious That here was a woman under sentence of death. That was her destiny. The only question Then was, what sort of death? I could not know; Because it was for her to choose the way of life To lead to death, and, without knowing the end Yet choose the form of death. We know the death she chose. I did not know that she would die in this way; She did not know. So all that I could do Was to direct her in the way of preparation. That way, which she accepted, led to this death. And if that is not a happy death, what death is happy?
EDWARD	Do you mean that having chosen this form of death She did not suffer as ordinary people suffer?
REILLY	Not at all what I mean. Rather the contrary. I’d say that she suffered all that we should suffer In fear and pain and loathing — all these together — And reluctance of the body to become a thing. I’d say she suffered more, because more conscious Than the rest of us. She paid the highest price In suffering. That is part of the design.
LAVINIA	Perhaps she had been through greater agony beforehand. I mean — I know nothing of her last two years.
REILLY	That shows some insight on your part, Mrs. Chamberlayne; But such experience can only be hinted at In myths and images. To speak about it We talk of darkness, labyrinths, Minotaur terrors. But that world does not take the place of this one. Do you imagine that the Saint in the desert With spiritual evil always at his shoulder Suffered any less from hunger, damp, exposure, Bowel trouble, and the fear of lions, Cold of the night and heat of the day, than we should?
EDWARD	But if this was right — if this was right for Celia — There must be something else that is terribly wrong, And the rest of us are somehow involved in the wrong. I should only speak for myself. I’m sure that I am.
REILLY	Let me free your mind from one impediment: You must try to detach yourself from what you still feel As your responsibility.
EDWARD	I cannot help the feeling That, in some way, my responsibility Is greater than that of a band of half-crazed savages.
LAVINIA	Oh, Edward, I knew! I knew what you were thinking! Doesn’t it help you, that I feel guilty too?
REILLY	If we all were judged according to the consequences Of all our words and deeds, beyond the intention And beyond our limited understanding Of ourselves and others, we should all be condemned. Mrs. Chamberlayne, I often have to make a decision Which may mean restoration or ruin to a patient — And sometimes I have made the wrong decision. As for Miss Coplestone, because you think her death was waste You blame yourselves, and because you blame yourselves You think her life was wasted. It was triumphant. But I am no more responsible for the triumph — And just as responsible for her death as you are.
LAVINIA	Yet I know I shall go on blaming myself For being so unkind to her … so spiteful. I shall go on seeing her at the moment When she said good-bye to us, two years ago.
EDWARD	Your responsibility is nothing to mine, Lavinia.
LAVINIA	I’m not sure about that. If I had understood you Then I might not have misunderstood Celia.
REILLY	You will have to live with these memories and make them Into something new. Only by acceptance Of the past will you alter its meaning.
JULIA	Henry, I think it is time that I said something: Everyone makes a choice, of one kind or another, And then must take the consequences. Celia chose A way of which the consequence was Kinkanja. Peter chose a way that leads him to Boltwell: And he’s got to go there …
PETER	I see what you mean. I wish I didn’t have to. But the car will be waiting, And the experts — I’d almost forgotten them. I realise that I can’t get out of it — And what else can I do?
ALEX	It is your film. And I know that Bela expects great things of it.
PETER	So now I’ll be going.
EDWARD	Shall we see you again, Peter, Before you leave England?
LAVINIA	Do try to come to see us. You know, I think it would do us all good — You and me and Edward … to talk about Celia.
PETER	Thanks very much. But not this time — I simply shan’t be able to.
EDWARD	But on your next visit?
PETER	The next time I come to England, I promise you. I really do want to see you both, very much. Good-bye, Julia. Good-bye, Alex. Good-bye, Sir Henry.             [Exit]
JULIA	… And now the consequence of the Chamberlaynes’ choice Is a cocktail party. They must be ready for it. Their guests may be arriving at any moment.
REILLY	Julia, you are right. It is also right That the Chamberlaynes should now be giving a party.
LAVINIA	And I have been thinking, for these last five minutes, How I could face my guests. I wish it was over. I mean … I am glad you came … I am glad Alex told us … And Peter had to know …
EDWARD	Now I think I understand …
LAVINIA	Then I hope you will explain it to me!
EDWARD	Oh, it isn’t much That I understand yet! But Sir Henry has been saying, I think, that every moment is a fresh beginning; And Julia, that life is only keeping on; And somehow, the two ideas seem to fit together.
LAVINIA	But all the same … I don’t want to see these people.
REILLY	It is your appointed burden. And as for the party, I am sure it will be a success.
JULIA	And I think, Henry, That we should leave before the party begins. They will get on better without us. You too, Alex.
LAVINIA	We don’t want you to go!
ALEX	We have another engagement.
REILLY	And on this occasion I shall not be unexpected.
JULIA	Now, Henry. Now, Alex. We’re going to the Gunnings.
(didascalia)	[Exeunt JULIA, REILLY and ALEX]
LAVINIA	Edward, how am I looking?
EDWARD	Very well. I might almost say, your best. But you always look your best.
LAVINIA	Oh, Edward, that spoils it. No woman can believe That she always looks her best. You’re rather transparent, You know, when you’re trying to cheer me up. To say I always look my best can only mean the worst.
EDWARD	I never shall learn how to pay a compliment.
LAVINIA	What you should have done was to admire my dress.
EDWARD	But I’ve already told you how much I like it.
LAVINIA	But so much has happened since then. And besides, One sometimes likes to hear the same compliment twice.
EDWARD	And now for the party.
LAVINIA	Now for the party.
EDWARD	It will soon be over.
LAVINIA	I wish it would begin.
EDWARD	There’s the doorbell.
LAVINIA	Oh, I’m glad. It’s begun. CURTAIN The tune of One-eyed Riley (page 137), as scored from the author’s dictation by Miss Mary Trevelyan. The Cast of the First Production at the Edinburgh Festival, August 22–27, 1949 Directed by E. MARTIN BROWNE Settings designed by ANTHONY HOLLAND Produced by SHEREK PLAYERS LTD. in association with THE ARTS COUNCIL THE CONFIDENTIAL CLERK Characters SIR CLAUDE MULHAMMER EGGERSON COLBY SIMPKINS B. KAGHAN LUCASTA ANGEL LADY ELIZABETH MULHAMMER
MRS	GUZZARD

Act One

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	The Business Room on the first floor of SIR CLAUDE MULHAMMER’S London house. Early afternoon. SIR CLAUDE writing at desk. Enter EGGERSON.
SIR CLAUDE	Ah, there you are, Eggerson! Punctual as always. I’m sorry to have to bring you up to London All the way from Joshua Park, on an errand like this. But you know my wife wouldn’t like anyone to meet her At Northolt, but you. And I couldn’t send Colby. That’s not the way to arrange their first meeting, On her return from Switzerland.
EGGERSON	Impossible, Sir Claude! A very delicate situation — Her first meeting with Mr. Simpkins. But I was glad of the excuse for coming up to London: I’ve spent the morning shopping! Gardening tools. The number of things one needs for a garden! And I thought, now’s the moment to buy some new tools So as not to lose a moment at the end of the winter And I matched some material for Mrs. E., Which she’s been wanting. So she’ll be pleased. Then I lunched at the store — they have a restaurant; An excellent lunch, and cheap, for nowadays. But where’s Mr. Simpkins? Will he be here?
SIR CLAUDE	I had to send him to the City this morning, But he’ll be back, I hope, before you leave.
EGGERSON	And how’s he getting on? Swimmingly, I’m sure, As I’ve heard nothing since the last time I came.
SIR CLAUDE	Well, of course, Eggerson, you’re irreplaceable …
EGGERSON	Oh, Sir Claude, you shouldn’t say that! Mr. Simpkins is far better qualified than I was To be your confidential clerk. He was finding his feet, very quickly, During the time we worked together. All he needs is confidence.
SIR CLAUDE	And experience. With a young man, some readjustment is necessary. But I’m satisfied that he’s getting the hang of things, And I think he’s beginning to take a keen interest.
EGGERSON	And getting over his disappointment? Of course, I never mentioned that: It’s only what you told me.
SIR CLAUDE	About his music. Yes, I think so. I understand his feelings. He’s like me, Eggerson. The same disappointment In a different form. He won’t forget That his great ambition was to be an organist, Just as I can’t forget … no matter. The great thing was to find something else He could do, and do well. And I think he’s found it, Just as I did. I shall tell him about myself. But so far, I’ve left him to his own devices: I thought he would fall into this way of life more quickly If we started on a purely business basis.
EGGERSON	No doubt that’s best. While he’s still living With his aunt in Teddington, and coming up daily Just as I used to. And the flat in the mews? How soon will that be ready for him?
SIR CLAUDE	They have still to do the walls. And then it must be furnished. I’m trying to find him a really good piano.
EGGERSON	A piano? Yes, I’m sure he’ll feel at home When he has a piano. You think of everything. But if I might make a suggestion: window boxes! He’s expressed such an interest in my garden That I think he ought to have window boxes. Some day, he’ll want a garden of his own. And yes, a bird bath!
SIR CLAUDE	A bird bath? In the mews? What’s the point of that?
EGGERSON	He told me he was very fond of bird watching.
SIR CLAUDE	But there won’t be any birds — none worth watching.
EGGERSON	I don’t know, Sir Claude. Only the other day I read a letter in The Times about wild birds seen in London: And I’m sure Mr. Simpkins will find them if anybody.
SIR CLAUDE	Well, we’ll leave that for the present. As we have a little time Before you start for Northolt — the car will be ready — Let’s think what you’re to say to Lady Elizabeth, Coming back from the airport, about Colby. I think, you ought to give her warning Of whom she is to meet on her arrival.
EGGERSON	How would you like me to approach the subject?
SIR CLAUDE	Of course, she knows you were wanting to retire, As we had some discussion about replacing you. But you know she regards you — well, completely As one of the household.
EGGERSON	That’s a great compliment.
SIR CLAUDE	And well deserved; but rather inconvenient When it comes to appointing a successor. Makes it very difficult to replace you. She thinks she ought to have a hand in the choosing; And besides, she is convinced that she, of all people, Is a better judge of character than I am.
EGGERSON	Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Sir Claude! She has too much respect for your business genius. But it’s true she believes she has what she calls ‘guidance’.
SIR CLAUDE	Guidance. That’s worse than believing in her judgment: We could argue about that. You can’t argue with guidance. But if she appears to be puzzled, or annoyed At my making the appointment during her absence, You must say you had to leave under medical orders. She’s always been concerned about your state of health, So she’ll be sympathetic. And as for Colby — Say that Mr. Simpkins was highly recommended, And say that I had to make a quick decision Because he’d had another very tempting offer. Something like that. Don’t make too much of it. And I rather hope that she will take to him at once: If so, she is certain to come to believe That she chose him herself. By the way, don’t forget To let her know that he’s very musical. She can take him to concerts. But don’t overdo it!
EGGERSON	I’ll remember that. Music.
SIR CLAUDE	And by the way, How much have you actually told him about her? You remember,1 asked you to prepare him a little; There are some things you could say better than I could, And ways in which you could reassure him Better than I. He’s more at ease with you Than he is with me.
EGGERSON	Oh, you mustn’t say that! Though I’ve done my best to gain his confidence. I did mention her interest in Light from the East.
SIR CLAUDE	And the Book of Revelation? And the Wisdom of Atlantis?
EGGERSON	Well, to tell the truth, Sir Claude, I only touched on these matters, They’re much too deep for me. And I thought, Mr. Simpkins, He’s highly educated. He’ll soon begin to grasp them. No, I haven’t told him much about Lady Elizabeth. But there’s one thing I should like to know — If you don’t mind — before I go to meet her. How soon do you propose to … explain Mr. Simpkins? Regularize his position in the household? You told me that was your eventual intention.
SIR CLAUDE	When — or indeed whether — I reveal his identity Depends on how she takes to him. This afternoon She will only learn that you have finally retired And that you have a young successor, A Mr. Colby Simpkins.
EGGERSON	Merely Mr. Simpkins.
SIR CLAUDE	The reasons for starting him during her absence Are perfectly clear. But beyond that point I haven’t yet explained my plans to you. Why I’ve never told her about him, The reason for meeting him as merely Mr. Simpkins, Is, that she has a strong maternal instinct …
EGGERSON	I realise that.
SIR CLAUDE	Which has always been thwarted.
EGGERSON	I’m sure it’s been a grief to both of you That you’ve never had children.
SIR CLAUDE	No worse, Eggerson, Than for you and your wife, to have had a son Lost in action, and his grave unknown.
EGGERSON	And you’re thinking no doubt that Lady Elizabeth Would be put in mind of the child she lost.
SIR CLAUDE	In a very different way, yes. You might say mislaid, Since the father is dead, and there’s no way of tracing it. Yes, I was thinking of her missing child: In the circumstances, that might make her jealous. I’ve explained all this to Colby — Mr. Simpkins.
EGGERSON	I see what you mean.
SIR CLAUDE	She must get to like him first: And then, Eggerson, I am not unhopeful That, under the impression that he is an orphan, She will want us to adopt him.
EGGERSON	Adopt him! Yes, indeed, That would be the solution. Yes, quite ideal.
SIR CLAUDE	I’m glad you agree. Your support will be helpful.
EGGERSON	I’m sure I shall be very happy to commend him.
SIR CLAUDE	You mustn’t overdo it! But your approval matters. You know she thinks the world of your opinion.
EGGERSON	Well, I believe that once or twice, perhaps … But I’m afraid you overrate my influence. I have never been able to make her like Miss Angel; She becomes abstracted, whenever I mention her.
SIR CLAUDE	But she knew about Lucasta — Miss Angel, from the start. That was one difficulty. And there are others. For one, they’re both of them women.
EGGERSON	True.
SIR CLAUDE	But I don’t think she takes much notice of Miss Angel. She just doesn’t see her. And Miss Angel Will soon be getting married, I expect.
EGGERSON	And so I hope. A most suitable arrangement. But will you tell me this: if it comes to the point At which Lady Elizabeth wants to adopt him — An admirable solution — then what follows? Will you let her know, then, that Mr. Simpkins Is actually your son?
SIR CLAUDE	That’s where I’m in the dark. I simply can’t guess what her reaction would be. There’s a lot I don’t understand about my wife. There’s always something one’s ignorant of About anyone, however well one knows them; And that may be something of the greatest importance. It’s when you’re sure you understand a person That you’re liable to make the worst mistake about him. As a matter of fact, there’s a lot I don’t know About you, Eggerson, although we worked together For nearly thirty years.
EGGERSON	Nearly thirty-one. But now you put it so convincingly, I must admit there’s a lot that I don’t understand About my wife.
SIR CLAUDE	And just as much She doesn’t know about you. And just as much You don’t know about me — I’m not so sure of that! My rule is to remember that I understand nobody, But on the other hand never to be sure That they don’t understand me — a good deal better Than I should care to think, perhaps.
EGGERSON	And do I infer That you’re not sure you understand Mr. Simpkins, either?
SIR CLAUDE	A timely reminder. You may have to repeat it. But he should be back by now. And then I’ll leave you. I must telephone to Amsterdam, and possibly to Paris. But when you return with Lady Elizabeth I’ll be ready waiting to introduce him.
(didascalia)	[Enter COLBY SIMPKINS with briefcase]
SIR CLAUDE	Ah, Colby, I was just saying to Eggerson It was time you were back. Was your morning satisfactory?
COLBY	I’ve got what you wanted, Sir Claude. Good afternoon, Mr. Eggerson. I was afraid I’d miss you.
EGGERSON	I’m off in half an hour, Mr. Simpkins.
SIR CLAUDE	I’ll leave you now. But when Eggerson comes back With Lady Elizabeth, I will rejoin you.
(didascalia)	[Exit SIR CLAUDE]
COLBY	I’m glad you don’t have to leave just yet. I’m rather nervous about this meeting. You’ve told me very little about Lady Elizabeth, And Sir Claude himself hasn’t told me very much: So I’ve no idea how I ought to behave. B. Kaghan has told me something about her, But that’s rather alarming.
EGGERSON	Mr. Kaghan is prejudiced. He’s never hit it off with Lady Elizabeth. Don’t listen to him. He understands Sir Claude, And he’s always been very grateful to Sir Claude, As he ought to be. Sir Claude picked him out And gave him his start. And he’s made the most of it — That I will say. An encouraging example For you, Mr. Simpkins. He’ll be a power in the City! And he has a heart of gold. But not to beat about the bush, He’s rather a rough diamond. Very free and easy ways; And Lady Elizabeth has never taken to him. But you, Mr. Simpkins, that’s very different.
COLBY	I don’t know why it should be so different. I like B. Kaghan. I’ve found him very helpful And very good company apart from business.
EGGERSON	Oh yes, Mr. Kaghan is very good company. He makes me laugh sometimes. I don’t laugh easily. Quite a humorist, he is. In fact, Mrs. E. Sometimes says to me: ‘Eggerson, why can’t you make me laugh The way B. Kaghan did?’ She’s only met him once; But do you know, he began addressing her as Muriel — Within the first ten minutes! I was horrified. But she actually liked it. Muriel is her name. He has a way with the ladies, you know. But with Lady Elizabeth he wasn’t so successful. She once referred to him as ‘undistinguished’; But with you, as I said, it will be very different. She’ll see at once that you’re a man of culture; And besides, she’s very musical.
COLBY	Thank you for the warning!
EGGERSON	So if you don’t mind, I shall mention at once That you are a musician.
COLBY	I’ll be on my guard.
EGGERSON	Your music will certainly be a great asset With Lady Elizabeth. I envy you that. I’ve always sung in our voluntary choir And at the carol service. But I wish I was musical.
COLBY	I still don’t feel very well prepared for meeting her.
(didascalia)	[A loud knock. Enter B. KAGHAN]
(didascalia)	Enter B. Kaghan. Hello Colby!
KAGHAN	And hello Eggers! I’m glad to find you here. It’s lucky for Colby.
EGGERSON	How so Mr. Kaghan?
KAGHAN	Because Lucasta’s with me! The usual catastrophe. She’s come to pry some cash from the money-box. Bankrupt again! So I thought I’d better bring her And come upstairs ahead, to ease the shock for Colby. But as you’re here, Eggers, I can just relax. I’m going to enjoy the game from the sidelines.
(didascalia)	[Enter LUCASTA ANGEL]
LUCASTA	Eggy, I’ve lost my job!
EGGERSON	Again, Miss Angel?
LUCASTA	Yes, again! And serve them right!
EGGERSON	You have been, I presume, persistently unpunctual.
LUCASTA	You’re wrong, Eggy. It’s rank injustice. Two months I’d gone on filing those papers Which no one ever wanted — at least, not till yesterday. Then, just by bad luck, the boss did want a letter And I couldn’t find it. And then he got suspicious And asked for things I’m sure he didn’t want — Just to make trouble! And I couldn’t find one of them. But they’re all filed somewhere, I’m sure, so why bother? But who’s this, Eggy? Is it Colby Simpkins? Introduce him, one or the other of you.
EGGERSON	Mr. Simpkins, Miss Angel. As you know, Miss Angel, Mr. Simpkins has taken over my duties.
LUCASTA	And does he know that I’m one of his duties? Have you prepared him for taking me over? Did you know that, Colby? I’m Lucasta. It’s only Eggy calls me Miss Angel, Just to annoy me. Don’t you agree That Lucasta suits me better?
COLBY	I’m sure they both suit you.
LUCASTA	Snubbed again! I suppose I asked for it. That’s what comes of being cursed with a name like Angel. I’m thinking of changing it. But, Colby, Do you know that I’m one of your responsibilities?
COLBY	No, I’m afraid I didn’t know that.
EGGERSON	You mustn’t give way to her, Mr. Simpkins. I never do. I always say That if you give Miss Angel an inch She’ll take an ell.
LUCASTA	L. for Lucasta. Go on, Eggy. Don’t mind him, Colby. Colby, are you married?
COLBY	No, I’m not married.
LUCASTA	Then I don’t mind being seen with you in public. You may take me out to dinner. A working girl like me Is often very hungry — living on a pittance — Cooking a sausage on a gas ring …
EGGERSON	You mustn’t believe a word she says.
LUCASTA	Mr. Simpkins is going to believe all I say, Mr. Eggerson. And I know he’ll be nice to me When you’re out of the way. Why don’t you let him speak? Eggy’s really quite human, Colby. It’s only that he’s terrified of Mrs. Eggerson; That’s why he’s never asked me out to lunch.
EGGERSON	We will leave Mrs. Eggerson out of this, Miss Angel.
LUCASTA	That’s what he always says, Colby, When I mention Mrs. Eggerson. He never fails to rise. B.! What have you told Colby about me?
KAGHAN	It’s no use telling anybody about you: Nobody’d ever believe in your existence Until they met you. Colby’s still reeling. It’s going to be my responsibility, As your fiancé, to protect Colby from you. But first, let’s cope with the financial crisis.
LUCASTA	Yes, Eggy, will you break the sad news to Claude? Meanwhile, you’ll have to raid the till for me. I’m starving.
KAGHAN	I’ve just given her lunch. The problem with Lucasta Is how to keep her fed between meals.
LUCASTA	B., you’re a beast. I’ve a very small appetite. But the point is, that I’m penniless.
KAGHAN	She’s had a week’s salary in lieu of notice.
LUCASTA	B., remember you’re only my fiancé on approval. Can I have some money, Eggy?
EGGERSON	I’m no longer in charge And that duty has not devolved on Mr. Simpkins: Sir Claude intends to deal with these matters himself. You will have to ask Sir Claude. But I’ll speak to him When I return from Northolt.
LUCASTA	You’re going to meet Lizzie?
EGGERSON	I am meeting Lady Elizabeth at Northolt.
LUCASTA	Well, I don’t propose to be on the scene when she comes.
KAGHAN	And I don’t propose to leave you with Colby. He’s had enough for one day. Take my advice, Colby. Never allow Lucasta the slightest advantage Or she’ll exploit it. You have to be tough with her; She’s hard as nails. Now I’ll take her off your hands. I’ll show you how it’s done. Come along, Lucasta, I’m going to make a day of it, and take you out to tea.
LUCASTA	I’m dying for my tea. The strain of this crisis Has been too much for me. Another time, Colby. I’ll ring you up, and let you take me out to lunch.
(didascalia)	[Exit LUCASTA]
KAGHAN	Take it easy, Colby. You’ll get used to her.
(didascalia)	[Exit KAGHAN]
COLBY	Egg … Mr. Eggerson!
EGGERSON	Yes, Mr. Simpkins?
COLBY	You seem to me sane. And I think I am.
EGGERSON	I have no doubt on either point, none at all.
COLBY	And B. Kaghan has always seemed to me sane.
EGGERSON	I should call him the very picture of sanity.
COLBY	But you never warned me about Miss Angel. What about her?
EGGERSON	Oh, Miss Angel. She’s rather flighty. But she has a good heart.
COLBY	But does she address Sir Claude Mulhammer As Claude? To his face?
EGGERSON	She does indeed.
COLBY	And does she call Lady Elizabeth Lizzie?
EGGERSON	Well, not in her presence. Not when I’ve been there. No, I don’t think she would. But she does call her Lizzie, Sometimes, to Sir Claude. And do you know — I think it amuses him.
COLBY	Well, perhaps I’ll be amused. But it did make my head spin — all those first names The first time I met her. I’m not used to it.
EGGERSON	You’ll soon get used to it. You’ll be calling me Eggers Before you know it!
COLBY	I shouldn’t wonder. I nearly did, a moment ago. Then I’d have been certain I’d lost my reason: Her influence is perfectly frightening. But tell me about Lu … Miss Angel: What’s her connection with this household?
EGGERSON	Well. A kind of fiduciary relationship. No, I don’t think that’s quite the right term. She’s no money of her own, as you may have gathered; But I think her father was a friend of Sir Claude’s, And he’s made himself responsible for her. In any case, he’s behaved like a father — A very generous man, is Sir Claude. To tell the truth, she’s something of a thorn in his flesh, Always losing her jobs, because she won’t stick to them. He gives her an allowance — very adequate indeed, Though she’s always in debt. But you needn’t worry About her, Mr. Simpkins. She’ll marry Mr. Kaghan In the end. He’s a man who gets his own way, And I think he can manage her. If anyone can.
COLBY	But is she likely to be a nuisance?
EGGERSON	Not unless you give her encouragement. I have never encouraged her.
COLBY	But you have Mrs. Eggerson.
EGGERSON	Yes, she’s a great protection. And I have my garden To protect me against Mrs. E. That’s my joke.
COLBY	Well, I’ve never met anyone like Miss Angel.
EGGERSON	You’ll get used to her, Mr. Simpkins. Time works wonders, that’s what I always say. But I don’t expect you’ll have to see much of her: That responsibility’s not on your shoulders. Lady Elizabeth, now, that’s different.
COLBY	At least, I don’t suppose Lady Elizabeth Can be quite so unusual as Miss Angel.
EGGERSON	O yes, Mr. Simpkins, much more unusual.
COLBY	Oh!
EGGERSON	Well, as I told you, she really is a lady, Rather a grande dame, as the French say. That’s what Sir Claude admires about her. He said to me once, in a moment of confidence — He’d just come back from a public luncheon — ‘Eggerson’, he said, ‘I wanted a lady, And I’m perfectly satisfied with the bargain.’ Of course it’s true that her family connections Have sometimes been useful. But he didn’t think of that: He’s not petty-minded — though nothing escapes him. And such a generous heart! He’s rather a Socialist. I’m a staunch Conservative, myself.
COLBY	But is Lady Elizabeth very unusual In any other way, besides being a lady?
EGGERSON	Why, yes, indeed, I must admit she is. Most of her oddities are perfectly harmless. You’ll soon get used to them. That’s what Sir Claude said: ‘Humour her, Eggerson,’ he said, ‘humour her.’ But she has one trait that I think I did touch on: She’s very absent-minded.
COLBY	I hope you don’t mean, She has lapses of memory?
EGGERSON	I didn’t mean that. No. She hasn’t very much memory to lose, Though she sometimes remembers when you least expect it. But she does forget things. And she likes to travel, Mostly for her health. And when she’s abroad She is apt to buy a house. And then goes away And forgets all about it. That can be complicated And very costly. I’ve had some rare adventures! I remember long ago, saying to Mrs. E., When we’d bought our house in Joshua Park (On a mortgage, of course) ‘now we’ve settled down All the travel I want is up to the City And back to Joshua Park in the evening, And once a year our holiday at Dawlish’. And to think that was only the beginning of my travels! It’s been a very unusual privilege To see as much of Europe as I have, Getting Lady Elizabeth out of her difficulties.
COLBY	Perhaps she won’t even arrive by this plane.
EGGERSON	Oh, that could happen. She sometimes gets lost, Or loses her ticket, or even her passport. But let’s not be crossing any bridges Until we come to them. That’s what I always say. And I’m sure you’ll like her. She’s such a lady! And what’s more, she has a good heart.
COLBY	Everybody seems to be kind-hearted. But there’s one thing I do believe, Mr. Eggerson: That you have a kind heart. And I’m convinced That you always contrive to think the best of everyone.
EGGERSON	You’ll come to find that I’m right, I assure you.
(didascalia)	[Enter SIR CLAUDE]
SIR CLAUDE	Hello! Still here? It’s time you were off.
EGGERSON	I’m just going. There’s plenty of time.
(didascalia)	[Looks at his watch]
EGGERSON	I’ll arrive at the airport with minutes to spare, And besides, there’s the Customs. That’ll take her a time, From my experience. LADY ELIZABETH MULHAMMER’S voice off.* Just open that case, I want something out of it. Unwrap that — It’s a bottle of medicine. Now, Parkman, will you give it to the driver? He tells me that he suffers from chronic catarrh.
SIR CLAUDE	Hello! What’s that?
(didascalia)	[Opens door on to landing and listens]
SIR CLAUDE	She’s here, Eggerson! That’s her voice. Where is she? Oh, she’s gone out again.
(didascalia)	[Goes to the window and looks down on the street]
SIR CLAUDE	She’s having a conversation with the cabman. What can they be talking about? She’s coming in! LADY ELIZABETH MULHAMMER’S voice off.* No, Gertrude, I haven’t had any lunch, And I don’t want it now. Just bring me some tea. Nothing with it. No, I forgot: You haven’t learned yet how to make tea properly. A cup of black coffee. Is Sir Claude at home? I’ll speak to him first.
SIR CLAUDE	Good heavens, Eggerson, what can have happened?
EGGERSON	It’s perfectly amazing. Let me go down to meet her.
SIR CLAUDE	Where ought we to be? What ought we to be doing? EGGERSON [at the open door]. She’s speaking to the parlourmaid. She’s coming up.
SIR CLAUDE	Colby, sit at the desk, and pick up some papers. We must look as if we’d been engaged in business.
(didascalia)	[Enter LADY ELIZABETH MULHAMMER]
SIR CLAUDE	EGGERSON & SIR CLAUDE [simultaneously]. Lady Elizabeth! Elizabeth!
SIR CLAUDE	What on earth has happened?
EGGERSON	Lady Elizabeth! This is most surprising.
LADY ELIZABETH	What’s surprising, Eggerson? I’ve arrived, that’s all.
EGGERSON	I was just starting for Northolt to meet you.
LADY ELIZABETH	That was very thoughtful of you, Eggerson, But quite unnecessary. And besides, I didn’t come by air. I arrived at Victoria.
SIR CLAUDE	Do you mean to say that you changed your ticket?
EGGERSON	Yes, how did you manage to change your ticket?
LADY ELIZABETH	I went to the agency and got them to change it. I can’t understand why you’re both so surprised. You know I’m a very experienced traveller.
SIR CLAUDE	Oh yes, of course we know that, Elizabeth. But why did you change your plans?
LADY ELIZABETH	Because of Mildred Deverell. She’s been having the treatment with me, And she can’t go by air — she says it makes her sea-sick; So we took the night train, and did the Channel crossing. But who is this young man? His face is familiar.
SIR CLAUDE	This young man is Eggerson’s successor. You know that Eggerson’s been meaning to retire …
EGGERSON	Under medical orders, Lady Elizabeth: The doctor made it very imperative …
SIR CLAUDE	Mr. Simpkins had very strong recommendations …
EGGERSON	And at the same time, he had another tempting offer: So we had to make a quick decision.
SIR CLAUDE	I didn’t want to bother you, during your treatment …
EGGERSON	And Mr. Simpkins is much more highly qualified Than I am, to be a confidential clerk. Besides, he’s very musical.
LADY ELIZABETH	Musical? Isn’t this the young man I interviewed And recommended to Sir Claude? Of course it is. I remember saying: ‘He has a good aura.’ I remember people’s auras almost better than their faces. What did you say his name was?
SIR CLAUDE	Colby Simpkins. LADY ELIZABETH [counting on her fingers]. Thirteen letters. That’s very auspicious — Contrary to what most people think. You should be artistic. But you look rather frail. I must give you lessons in the art of health. Where is your home, Mr. Colby?
COLBY	Simpkins.
EGGERSON	Mr. Colby Simpkins.
LADY ELIZABETH	I prefer Colby. Where are you living?
SIR CLAUDE	His home’s outside London. But I want to have him closer at hand — You know what a bother it’s been for Eggerson — So I’m having the flat in the mews done over.
LADY ELIZABETH	But all in the wrong colours, I’m sure. My husband Does not understand the importance of colour For our spiritual life, Mr. Colby. Neither, I regret to say, does Eggerson. What colour have you chosen, between you?
SIR CLAUDE	I thought a primrose yellow would be cheerful.
LADY ELIZABETH	Just what I expected. A primrose yellow Would be absolutely baneful to Mr. Colby. He needs a light mauve. I shall see about that. But not today. I shall go and rest now. In a sleeping-car it is quite impossible To get one’s quiet hour. A quiet hour a day Is most essential, Dr. Rebmann says.
SIR CLAUDE	Rebmann? I thought it was a Dr. Leroux.
LADY ELIZABETH	Dr. Leroux is in Lausanne. I have been in Zürich, under Dr. Rebmann.
SIR CLAUDE	But you were going out to Dr. Leroux In Lausanne. What made you go to Zürich?
LADY ELIZABETH	Why, I’d no sooner got to Lausanne Than whom should I meet but Mildred Deverell. She was going on to Zürich. So she said: ‘Come to Zürich! There’s a wonderful doctor who teaches mind control.’ So on I went to Zürich.
SIR CLAUDE	So on you went to Zürich. But I thought that the doctor in Lausanne taught mind control?
LADY ELIZABETH	No, Claude, he only teaches thought control. Mind control is a different matter: It’s more advanced. But I wrote you all about it.
SIR CLAUDE	It’s true, you did send me postcards from Zürich; But you know that I can’t decipher your writing. I like to have the cards, just to know where you are By reading the postmark.
LADY ELIZABETH	But Claude, I’m glad to find That you’ve taken my advice.
SIR CLAUDE	Your advice? About what?
LADY ELIZABETH	To engage Mr. Colby. I really am distressed! This is not the first sign that I’ve noticed Of your memory failing. I must persuade you To have a course of treatment with Dr. Rebmann — No, at your stage, I think, with Dr. Leroux. Don’t you remember, I said before I left: ‘Trust my guidance for once, and engage that young man?’ Well, that was Mr. Colby.
SIR CLAUDE	Oh, I see. Yes, now I am beginning to remember. I must have acted on your guidance.
LADY ELIZABETH	I must explain to you, Mr. Colby, That I am to share you with my husband. You shall have tea with me tomorrow, And then I shall tell you about my committees. I must go and rest now.
SIR CLAUDE	Yes, you go and rest. I’m in the middle of some business with Mr….
LADY ELIZABETH	Colby!
(didascalia)	[Exit LADY ELIZABETH]
SIR CLAUDE	She actually went and changed her own ticket. It’s something unheard of.
EGGERSON	Amazing, isn’t it!
SIR CLAUDE	If this is what the doctor in Zürich has done for her, I give him full marks. Well, Eggerson, I seem to have brought you up to London for nothing.
EGGERSON	Oh, not for nothing! I wouldn’t have missed it. And besides, as I told you, I’ve done some shopping. But I’d better be off now. Mr. Simpkins — If anything should turn up unexpected And you find yourself non-plussed, you must get me on the phone. If I’m not in the house, I’ll be out in the garden. And I’ll slip up to town any day, if you want me. In fact, Mrs. E. said: ‘I wish he’d ring us up! I’m sure he has a very cultivated voice.’
COLBY	Thank you very much, I will. It’s reassuring To know that I have you always at my back If I get into trouble. But I hope That I shan’t have to call upon you often.
EGGERSON	Oh, and I forgot … Mrs. E. keeps saying: ‘Why don’t you ask him out to dinner one Sunday?’ But I say: ‘We couldn’t ask him to come All the way to Joshua Park, at this time of year!’ I said: ‘Let’s think about it in the Spring When the garden will really be a treat to look at.’ Well, I’ll be going.
SIR CLAUDE	Goodbye, and thank you, Eggerson.
EGGERSON	Good day, Sir Claude. Good day, Mr. Simpkins.
(didascalia)	[Exit EGGERSON]
SIR CLAUDE	Well, Colby! I’ve been calling you Mr. Simpkins In public, till now, as a matter of prudence. As we arranged. But after two months — And as my wife insists upon your being Mr. Colby — I shall begin to call you Colby with everyone.
COLBY	I’m sure that will make it easier for both of us.
SIR CLAUDE	Her sudden arrival was very disconcerting: As you gather, such a thing never happened before. So the meeting didn’t go quite the way I’d intended; And yet I believe that it’s all for the best. It went off very well. It’s very obvious That she took to you at once.
COLBY	Did she really think That she had seen me before?
SIR CLAUDE	Impossible to tell. The point is that she’s taken a fancy to you And so she lays claim to you. That’s very satisfactory. She’s taken it for granted that you should have the flat — By tomorrow she’ll be sure it was she who proposed it. So I feel pretty confident that, before long, We can put matters onto a permanent basis.
COLBY	I must confess, that up to this point I haven’t been able to feel very settled. And what you’ve had in mind still seems to me Like building my life upon a deception. Do you really believe that Lady Elizabeth Can ever accept me as if I was her son?
SIR CLAUDE	As if you were her son? If she comes to think of you As the kind of man that her son would have been — And I believe she will: though I’m perfectly convinced That her son would have been a different type of person — Then you will become her son, in her eyes. She’s like that. Why, it wouldn’t surprise me if she came to believe That you really are her son, instead of being mine. She has always lived in a world of make-believe, And the best one can do is to guide her delusions In the right direction.
COLBY	It doesn’t seem quite honest. If we all have to live in a world of make-believe, Is that good for us? Or a kindness to her?
SIR CLAUDE	If you haven’t the strength to impose your own terms Upon life, you must accept the terms it offers you. But tell me first — I’ve a reason for asking — How do you like your work? You don’t find it uncongenial? I’m not changing the subject: I’m coming back to it. You know I’ve deliberately left you alone, And so far we’ve discussed only current business, Thinking that you might find it easier To start by a rather formal relationship In adapting yourself to a new situation.
COLBY	I’m very grateful to you, for that: It is indeed a new and strange situation, And nothing about it is real to me yet.
SIR CLAUDE	But now I want it to be different. It’s odd, Colby. I didn’t realise, till you started with me here, That we hardly know each other at all.
COLBY	I suppose there hasn’t been the opportunity.
SIR CLAUDE	When you were a child, you belonged to your aunt, Or so she made me feel. I never saw you alone. And then when I sent you both over to Canada In the war — that was perhaps a mistake, Though it seemed to have such obvious advantages That I had no doubts at the time — that’s five years; And then your school, and your military service, And then your absorption in your music …
COLBY	You started by asking me how I found this work.
SIR CLAUDE	Yes, how do you find it?
COLBY	In a way, exhilarating. To find there is something that I can do So remote from my previous interests. It gives me, in a way, a kind of self-confidence I’ve never had before. Yet at the same time It’s rather disturbing. I don’t mean the work: I mean, about myself. As if I was becoming A different person. Just as, I suppose, If you learn to speak a foreign language fluently, So that you can think in it — you feel yourself to be Rather a different person when you’re talking it. I’m not at all sure that I like the other person That I feel myself becoming — though he fascinates me. And yet from time to time, when I least expect it, When my mind is cleared and empty, walking in the street Or waking in the night, then the former person, The person I used to be, returns to take possession: And I am again the disappointed organist, And for a moment the thing I cannot do, The art that I could never excel in, Seems the one thing worth doing, the one thing That I want to do. I have to fight that person.
SIR CLAUDE	I understand what you are saying Much better than you think. It’s my own experience That you are repeating.
COLBY	Your own experience?
SIR CLAUDE	Yes, I did not want to be a financier.
COLBY	What did you want to do?
SIR CLAUDE	I wanted to be a potter.
COLBY	A potter!
SIR CLAUDE	A potter. When I was a boy I loved to shape things. I loved form and colour And I loved the material that the potter handles. Most people think that a sculptor or a painter Is something more excellent to be than a potter. Most people think of china or porcelain As merely for use, or for decoration — In either case, an inferior art. For me, they are neither ‘use’ nor ‘decoration’ — That is, decoration as a background for living; For me, they are life itself. To be among such things, If it is an escape, is escape into living, Escape from a sordid world to a pure one. Sculpture and painting — I have some good things — But they haven’t this … remoteness I have always longed for. I want a world where the form is the reality, Of which the substantial is only a shadow. It’s strange. I have never talked of this to anyone. Never until now. Do you feel at all like that When you are alone with your music?
COLBY	Just the same. All the time you’ve been speaking, I’ve been translating Into terms of music. But may I ask. With this passion for … ceramics, how did it happen That you never made it your profession?
SIR CLAUDE	Family pressure, in the first place. My father — your grandfather — built up this business Starting from nothing. It was his passion. He loved it with the same devotion That I gave to clay, and what could be done with it — What I hoped I could do with it. I thought I despised him When I was young. And yet I was in awe of him. I was wrong, in both. I loathed this occupation Until I began to feel my power in it. The life changed me, as it is changing you: It begins as a kind of make-believe And the make-believing makes it real. That’s not the whole story. My father knew I hated it: That was a grief to him. He knew, I am sure, That I cherished for a long time a secret reproach: But after his death, and then it was too late, I knew that he was right. And all my life I have been atoning. To a dead father, Who had always been right. I never understood him. I was too young. And when I was mature enough To understand him, he was not there.
COLBY	You’ve still not explained why you came to think That your father had been right.
SIR CLAUDE	Because I came to see That I should never have become a first-rate potter. I didn’t have it in me. It’s strange, isn’t it, That a man should have a consuming passion To do something for which he lacks the capacity? Could a man be said to have a vocation To be a second-rate potter? To be, at best, A competent copier, possessed by the craving To create, when one is wholly uncreative? I don’t think so. For I came to see That I had always known, at the secret moments, That I didn’t have it in me. There are occasions When I am transported — a different person, Transfigured in the vision of some marvellous creation, And I feel what the man must have felt when he made it. But nothing I made ever gave me that contentment — That state of utter exhaustion and peace Which comes in dying to give something life … I intend that you shall have a good piano. The best. And when you are alone at your piano, in the evening, I believe you will go through the private door Into the real world, as I do, sometimes.
COLBY	Indeed, I have felt, while you’ve been talking, That it’s my own feelings you have expressed, Although the medium is different. I know I should never have become a great organist, As I aspired to be. I’m not an executant; I’m only a shadow of the great composers. Always, when I play to myself, I hear the music I should like to have written, As the composer heard it when it came to him; But when I played before other people I was always conscious that what they heard Was not what I hear when I play to myself. What I hear is a great musician’s music, What they hear is an inferior rendering. So I’ve given up trying to play to other people: I am only happy when I play to myself.
SIR CLAUDE	You shall play to yourself. And as for me, I keep my pieces in a private room. It isn’t that I don’t want anyone to see them! But when I am alone, and look at one thing long enough, I sometimes have that sense of identification With the maker, of which I spoke — an agonising ecstasy Which makes life bearable. It’s all I have. I suppose it takes the place of religion: Just as my wife’s investigations Into what she calls the life of the spirit Are a kind of substitute for religion. I dare say truly religious people — I’ve never known any — can find some unity. Then there are also the men of genius. There are others, it seems to me, who have at best to live In two worlds — each a kind of make-believe. That’s you and me. Some day, perhaps, I will show you my collection.
COLBY	Thank you.
SIR CLAUDE	And perhaps, some time, you will let me hear you play. I shan’t mention it again. I’ll wait until you ask me. Do you understand now what I meant when I spoke Of accepting the terms life imposes upon you Even to the point of accepting … make-believe?
COLBY	I think I do. At least, I understand you better In learning to understand the conditions Which life has imposed upon you. But … something in me Rebels against accepting such conditions. It would be so much simpler if you weren’t my father! I was struck by what you said, a little while ago, When you spoke of never having understood your father Until it was too late. And you spoke of atonement. Even your failure to understand him, Of which you spoke — that was a relationship Of father and son. It must often happen. And the reconcilement, after his death, That perfects the relation. You have always been his son And he is still your father. I only wish That I had something to atone for! There’s something lacking, between you and me, That you had, and have, and always will have, with your father. I begin to see how I have always thought of you — As a kind of protector, a generous provider: Rather as a patron than a father — The father who was missing in the years of childhood. Those years have gone forever. The empty years. Oh, I’m terribly sorry to be saying this; But it goes to explain what I said just now About rebelling against the terms That life has imposed.
SIR CLAUDE	It’s my own fault. I was always anxious to avoid the mistakes My father made with me. And yet I seem To have made a greater mistake than he did.
COLBY	I know that I’m hurting you and I know That I hate myself for hurting you.
SIR CLAUDE	You mustn’t think of that.
COLBY	I’m very grateful for all you’ve done for me; And I want to do my best to justify your kindness By the work I do.
SIR CLAUDE	As my confidential clerk.
COLBY	I’m really interested by the work I’m doing And eager for more. I don’t want my position To be, in any way, a make-believe.
SIR CLAUDE	It shan’t be. Meanwhile, we must simply wait to learn What new conditions life will impose on us. Just when we think we have settled our account Life presents a new one, more difficult to pay. — I shall go now, and sit for a while with my china.
COLBY	Excuse me, but I must remind you: You have that meeting in the City Tomorrow morning. You asked me to prepare Some figures for you. I’ve got them here.
SIR CLAUDE	Much depends on my wife. Be patient with her, Colby. — Oh yes, that meeting. We must run through the figures. CURTAIN