THE CONFIDENTIAL CLERK

by Eliot · Cluster: Child · Orphan

Abstract

Eliot’s drawing-room comedy after Euripides’ Ion, turning on mistaken parentage and disputed identity: Sir Claude, Lady Elizabeth and the clerk Colby discover who is whose lost child, while Colby seeks a true vocation over an inherited one.

Connections

Topoi: Sleeper Awakes Archetypes: Orphan, Child Motifs: Garden Themes & Concepts: Identity, Appearance vs Reality, Self-Knowledge, Artist and Society, Deception, Faith, Grace and Redemption Forms & Genres: Verse Drama, Comedy Historical References: Greek Tragedy Settings: London Characters: Colby Simpkins, Sir Claude Mulhammer

Testo integrale / Full text

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

Act Two

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	The flat in the mews a few weeks later. COLBY is seated at the piano; LUCASTA in an armchair. The concluding bars of a piece of music are heard as the curtain rises.
LUCASTA	I think you play awfully well, Colby — Not that my opinion counts for anything: You know that. But I’d like to learn about music. I wish you would teach me how to appreciate it.
COLBY	I don’t think that you’ll need much teaching; Not at this stage, anyway. All you need at first Is to hear more music. And to find out what you like. When you know what you like, and begin to know it well, Then you will want to learn about its structure And the various forms, and the different ways of playing it.
LUCASTA	But suppose I only like the wrong things?
COLBY	No, I’m sure you’ll prefer the right things, when you hear them. I’ve given you a test. Several of the pieces That I’ve just played you were very second-rate, And you didn’t like them. You liked the right ones.
LUCASTA	Colby, I didn’t know you were so artful! So the things I liked were the right ones to like? Still, I’m awfully ignorant. Can you believe That I’ve never been to a concert in my life? I only go to shows when somebody invites me, And no one has ever asked me to a concert. I’ve been to the Opera, of course, several times, But I’m afraid I never really listened to the music: I just enjoyed going — to see the other people, And to be seen there! And because you feel out of it If you never go to the Opera, in the season. Though I’ve always felt out of it. And can you realise That nobody has ever played to me before?
COLBY	And this is the first time I’ve played to anyone …
LUCASTA	Don’t be such a fraud. You know you told me The piano was only delivered this week And you had it tuned yesterday. Still, I’m flattered To be your first visitor in this flat And to be the first to hear you play this piano.
COLBY	That’s not what I meant. I mean that I’ve not played To anyone, since I came to the conclusion That I should never become a musician.
LUCASTA	Did you find it a strain, then, playing to me?
COLBY	As a matter of fact, I think I played better. I can’t bring myself to play to other people, And when I’m alone I can’t forget That it’s only myself to whom I’m playing. But with you, it was neither solitude nor … people.
LUCASTA	I’m glad I’m not people. Will you play to me again And teach me about music?
COLBY	Yes, of course I will. But I’m sure that when you learn about music — And that won’t take you long — and hear good performers, You’ll very quickly realise how bad my playing is.
LUCASTA	Really, Colby, you do make difficulties! But what about taking me to a concert?
COLBY	Only the other day, I invited you …
LUCASTA	To go to see that American Musical!
COLBY	Well, I’d heard you say you wanted to see it.
LUCASTA	But not with you!
COLBY	You made that very clear. But why not with me?
LUCASTA	Because you don’t like them — American Musicals. Do you think it’s any compliment To invite a woman to something she would like When she knows you wouldn’t like it? That’s not a compliment: That’s just being … patronising. But if you invite me To something you like — that is a compliment. It shows you want to educate me.
COLBY	But I didn’t know That you wanted to be educated.
LUCASTA	Neither did I. But I wanted you to want to educate me; And now I’m beginning to believe that I want it.
COLBY	Well, I’m going to invite you to the next concert …
LUCASTA	The next that you want to go to yourself.
COLBY	And perhaps you’ll let me tell you beforehand About the programme — or the things I want to hear. I’ll play you the themes, so you’ll recognise them. Better still, I’ll play you the gramophone records.
LUCASTA	I’d rather you played me bits yourself, and explained them. We’ll begin my education at once.
COLBY	I suspect that it’s you who are educating me.
LUCASTA	Colby, you really are full of surprises! I’ve never met a man so ignorant as you Yet knowing so much that one wouldn’t suspect. Perhaps that’s why I like you.
COLBY	That’s not quite the reason.
LUCASTA	Oh, so you believe that I like you? I didn’t know that you were so conceited.
COLBY	No, it’s not conceit — the reason that I’m thinking of. It’s something quite simple.
LUCASTA	Then I wish you’d tell me. Because I don’t know.
COLBY	The first time we met You were trying very hard to give a false impression. And then you came to see that you hadn’t succeeded.
LUCASTA	Oh, so I was trying to give a false impression? What sort of impression was I trying to give?
COLBY	That doesn’t really matter. But, for some reason, You thought I’d get a false impression anyway. You preferred it to be one of your own creation Rather than wait to see what happened. I hope you don’t mind: I know it sounds impertinent.
LUCASTA	Well, there’s one thing you haven’t learnt yet, And that is, to know when you’re paying a compliment. That was a compliment. And a very clever one.
COLBY	I admit that at first I was very bewildered By you … and B.
LUCASTA	Oh, by me … and B.
COLBY	Only afterwards, When I had seen you a number of times, I decided that was only your kind of self-defence.
LUCASTA	What made you think it was self-defence?
COLBY	Because you couldn’t wait to see what happened. You’re afraid of what would happen if you left things to themselves. You jump — because you’re afraid of being pushed. I think that you’re brave — and I think that you’re frightened. Perhaps you’ve been very badly hurt, at some time. Or at least, there may have been something in your life To rob you of any sense of security.
LUCASTA	And I’m sure you have that — the sense of security.
COLBY	No, I haven’t either.
LUCASTA	There, I don’t believe you. What did I think till now? Oh, it’s strange, isn’t it, That as one gets to know a person better One rinds them in some ways very like oneself, In unexpected ways. And then you begin To discover differences inside the likeness. You may feel insecure, in some ways — But your insecurity is nothing like mine.
COLBY	In what way is it different?
LUCASTA	It’s hard to explain. Perhaps it’s something that your music stands for. There’s one thing I know. When you first told me What a disaster it was in your life When you found that you’d never be a good musician — Of course, I don’t know whether you were right. For all I can tell, you may have been mistaken, And perhaps you could be a very great musician: But that’s not the point. You’d convinced yourself; And you felt that your life had all collapsed And that you must learn to do something different. And so you applied for Eggerson’s position, And made up your mind to go into business And be someone like Claude … or B. I was sorry, Very sorry for you. I admired your courage In facing facts — or the facts as you saw them. And yet, all the time, I found I envied you And I didn’t know why! And now I think I know. It’s awful for a man to have to give up, A career that he’s set his heart on, I’m sure: But it’s only the outer world that you’ve lost: You’ve still got your inner world — a world that’s more real. That’s why you’re different from the rest of us: You have your secret garden; to which you can retire And lock the gate behind you.
COLBY	And lock the gate behind me? Are you sure that you haven’t your own secret garden Somewhere, if you could find it?
LUCASTA	If I could find it! No, my only garden is … a dirty public square In a shabby part of London — like the one where I lived For a time, with my mother. I’ve no garden. I hardly feel that I’m even a person: Nothing but a bit of living matter Floating on the surface of the Regent’s Canal. Floating, that’s it.
COLBY	You’re very much a person. I’m sure that there is a garden somewhere for you — For anyone who wants one as much as you do.
LUCASTA	And your garden is a garden Where you hear a music that no one else could hear, And the flowers have a scent that no one else could smell.
COLBY	You may be right, up to a point. And yet, you know, it’s not quite real to me — Although it’s as real to me as … this world. But that’s just the trouble. They seem so unrelated. I turn the key, and walk through the gate, And there I am … alone, in my ‘garden’. Alone, that’s the thing. That’s why it’s not real. You know, I think that Eggerson’s garden Is more real than mine.
LUCASTA	Eggerson’s garden? What makes you think of Eggerson — of all people?
COLBY	Well, he retires to his garden — literally, And also in the same sense that I retire to mine. But he doesn’t feel alone there. And when he comes out He has marrows, or beetroot, or peas … for Mrs. Eggerson.
LUCASTA	Are you laughing at me?
COLBY	I’m being very serious. What I mean is, my garden’s no less unreal to me Than the world outside it. If you have two lives Which have nothing whatever to do with each other — Well, they’re both unreal. But for Eggerson His garden is a part of one single world.
LUCASTA	But what do you want?
COLBY	Not to be alone there. If I were religious, God would walk in my garden And that would make the world outside it real And acceptable, I think.
LUCASTA	You sound awfully religious. Is there no other way of making it real to you?
COLBY	It’s simply the fact of being alone there That makes it unreal.
LUCASTA	Can no one else enter?
COLBY	It can’t be done by issuing invitations: They would just have to come. And I should not see them coming. I should not hear the opening of the gate. They would simply … be there suddenly, Unexpectedly. Walking down an alley I should become aware of someone walking with me. That’s the only way I can think of putting it.
LUCASTA	How afraid one is of … being hurt!
COLBY	It’s not the hurting that one would mind But the sense of desolation afterwards.
LUCASTA	I know what you mean. Then the flowers would fade And the music would stop. And the walls would be broken. And you would find yourself in a devastated area — A bomb-site … willow-herb … a dirty public square. But I can’t imagine that happening to you. You seem so secure, to me. Not only in your music — That’s just its expression. You don’t seem to me To need anybody.
COLBY	That’s quite untrue.
LUCASTA	But you’ve something else, that I haven’t got: Something of which the music is a … symbol. I really would like to understand music, Not in order to be able to talk about it, But … partly, to enjoy it … and because of what it stands for. You know, I’m a little jealous of your music! When I see it as a means of contact with a world More real than any I’ve ever lived in. And I’d like to understand you.
COLBY	I believe you do already, Better than … other people. And I want to understand you. Does one ever come to understand anyone?
LUCASTA	I think you’re being very discouraging: Are you doing it deliberately?
COLBY	That’s not what I meant. I meant, there’s no end to understanding a person. All one can do is to understand them better, To keep up with them; so that as the other changes You can understand the change as soon as it happens, Though you couldn’t have predicted it.
LUCASTA	I think I’m changing. I’ve changed quite a lot in the last two hours.
COLBY	And I think I’m changing too. But perhaps what we call change …
LUCASTA	Is understanding better what one really is. And the reason why that comes about, perhaps …
COLBY	Is, beginning to understand another person.
LUCASTA	Oh Colby, now that we begin to understand, I’d like you to know a little more about me. You must have wondered.
COLBY	Must have wondered? No, I haven’t wondered. It’s all a strange world To me, you know, in which I find myself. But if you mean, wondered about your … background: No. I’ve been curious to know what you are, But not who you are, in the ordinary sense. Is that what you mean? I’ve just accepted you.
LUCASTA	Oh, that’s so wonderful, to be accepted! No one has ever ‘just accepted’ me before. Of course the facts don’t matter, in a sense. But now we’ve got to this point — you might as well know them.
COLBY	I’d gladly tell you everything about myself; But you know most of what there is to say Already, either from what I’ve told you Or from what I’ve told B.; or from Sir Claude.
LUCASTA	Claude hasn’t told me anything about you; He doesn’t tell me much. And as for B. — I’d much rather hear it from yourself.
COLBY	There’s only one thing I can’t tell you. At least, not yet. I’m not allowed to tell. And that’s about my parents.
LUCASTA	Oh, I see. Well, I can’t believe that matters. But I can tell you all about my parents: At least, I’m going to.
COLBY	Does that matter, either?
LUCASTA	In one way, it matters. A little while ago You said, very cleverly, that when we first met You saw I was trying to give a false impression. I want to tell you now, why I tried to do that. And it’s always succeeded with people before: I got into the habit of giving that impression. That’s where B. has been such a help to me — He fosters the impression. He half believes in it. But he knows all about me, and he knows That what some men have thought about me wasn’t true.
COLBY	What wasn’t true?
LUCASTA	That I was Claude’s mistress — Or had been his mistress, palmed off on B.
COLBY	I never thought of such a thing!
LUCASTA	You never thought of such a thing! There are not many men who wouldn’t have thought it. I don’t know about B. He’s very generous. I don’t think he’d have minded. But he’s very clever too; And he guessed the truth from the very first moment.
COLBY	But what is there to know?
LUCASTA	You’ll laugh when I tell you: I’m only Claude’s daughter.
COLBY	His daughter!
LUCASTA	His daughter. Oh, it’s a sordid story. I hated my mother. I never could see How Claude had ever liked her. Oh, that childhood — Always living in seedy lodgings And being turned out when the neighbours complained. Oh of course Claude gave her money, a regular allowance; But it wouldn’t have mattered how much he’d given her: It was always spent before the end of the quarter On gin and betting, I should guess. And I knew how she supplemented her income When I was sent out. I’ve been locked in a cupboard! I was only eight years old When she died of an ‘accidental overdose’. Then Claude took me over. That was lucky. But I was old enough to remember … too much.
COLBY	You are Claude’s daughter!
LUCASTA	Oh, there’s no doubt of that. I’m sure he wished there had been. He’s been good to me In his way. But I’m always a reminder to him Of something he would prefer to forget.
(didascalia)	[A pause]
LUCASTA	But why don’t you say something? Are you shocked?
COLBY	Shocked? No. Yes. You don’t understand. I want to explain. But I can’t, just yet. Oh, why did I ever come into this house! Lucasta …
LUCASTA	I can see well enough you are shocked. You ought to see your face! I’m disappointed. I suppose that’s all. I believe you’re more shocked Than if I’d told you I was Claude’s mistress. Claude has always been ashamed of me: Now you’re ashamed of me. I thought you’d understand. Little you know what it’s like to be a bastard And wanted by nobody. I know why you’re shocked: Claude has just accepted me like a debit item Always in his cash account. I don’t like myself. I don’t like the person I’ve forced myself to be; And I liked you because you didn’t like that person either, And I thought you’d come to see me as the real kind of person That I want to be. That I know I am. That was new to me. I suppose I was flattered. And I thought, now, perhaps, if someone else sees me As I really am, I might become myself.
COLBY	Oh Lucasta, I’m not shocked. Not by you, Not by anything you think. It’s to do with myself.
LUCASTA	Yourself, indeed! Your precious self! Why don’t you shut yourself up in that garden Where you like to be alone with yourself? Or perhaps you think it would be bad for your prospects Now that you’re Claude’s white-headed boy. Perhaps he’ll adopt you, and make you his heir And you’ll marry another Lady Elizabeth. But in that event, Colby, you’ll have to accept me As your sister! Even if I am a guttersnipe …
COLBY	You mustn’t use such words! You don’t know how it’s hurting.
LUCASTA	I could use words much stronger than that, And I will, if I choose. Oh, I’m sorry: I suppose it’s my mother coming out in me. You know, Colby, I’m truly disappointed. I was sure, when I told you all I did, That you wouldn’t mind at all. That you might be sorry for me. But now I don’t want you to be sorry, thank you. Why, I’d actually thought of telling you before, And I postponed telling you, just for the fun of it: I thought, when I tell him, it will be so wonderful All in a moment. And now there’s nothing, Nothing at all. It’s far worse than ever. Just when you think you’re on the point of release From loneliness, then loneliness swoops down upon you; When you think you’re getting out, you’re getting further in, And you know at last that there’s no escape. Well, I’ll be going.
COLBY	You mustn’t go yet! There’s something else that I want to explain, And now I’m going to. I’m breaking a promise. But …
LUCASTA	I don’t believe there’s anything to explain That could explain anything away. I shall never Never forget that look on your face When I told you about Claude and my mother. I may be a bastard, but I have some self-respect. Well, there’s always B. I think that now I’m just beginning to appreciate B.
COLBY	Lucasta, wait!
(didascalia)	[Enter B. KAGHAN]
(didascalia)	Enter B. Kaghan.
KAGHAN	To see the new flat. And here’s Lucasta. I knew I should find she’d got in first! Trust Kaghan’s intuitions! I’m your guardian angel, Colby, to protect you from Lucasta.
LUCASTA	You’re my guardian angel at the moment, B. You’re to take me out to dinner. And I’m dying for a drink.
KAGHAN	I told Colby, never learn to mix cocktails, If you don’t want women always dropping in on you. And between a couple of man-eating tigers Like you and Lizzie, he’s got to have protection.
LUCASTA	Colby doesn’t need your protection racket So far as I’m concerned, B. And as for Lizzie, You’d better not get in her way when she’s hunting. But all that matters now is, that I’m hungry, And you’ve got to give me a very good dinner.
KAGHAN	You shall be fed. All in good time. I’ve come to inspect the new bachelor quarters, And to wish Colby luck. I’ve always been lucky, And I always bring luck to other people.
COLBY	Will you have a glass of sherry?
KAGHAN	Yes, I’ll have a glass of sherry, To drink success to the flat. Lucasta too: Much better for you than cocktails, Lucasta.
LUCASTA	You know I don’t like sherry.
KAGHAN	You’ve got to drink it, To Colby, and a happy bachelor life! Which depends, of course, on preventing Lizzie From always interfering. Be firm with her, Colby; Assert your right to a little privacy. Now’s the moment for firmness. Don’t let her cross the threshold.
LUCASTA	As if you weren’t as afraid of her as anybody!
KAGHAN	Well, at least, I’ve always managed to escape her.
LUCASTA	Only because she’s never wanted to pursue you.
KAGHAN	Yes, I made a bad impression at the start: I saw that it was necessary. I’m afraid Colby Has made a good impression; which he’ll have to live down. — I must say, I like the way you’ve bad the place done up.
COLBY	It was Lady Elizabeth chose the decorations.
KAGHAN	Then I’m not sure I like them. You must change the colours. It’s all a bit too dim. You need something brighter. But otherwise, it looks pretty comfortable. If I was as snug as Colby is, Lucasta, I’d never have thought of changing my condition.
LUCASTA	You’re always free to think again.
KAGHAN	Marriage is a gamble. But I’m a born gambler And I’ve put my shirt … no, not quite the right expression — Lucasta’s the most exciting speculation I’ve ever thought of investing in. Colby’s more cautious. You know, Colby, You and I ought to be in business together. I’m a good guesser. But I sometimes guess wrong. I make decisions on the spur of the moment, But you’d never take a leap in the dark; You’d keep me on the rails.
COLBY	That’s just nonsense. You only pretend that you’re a gambler. You’ve got as level a head as anyone, And you never get involved in anything risky. You like to pretend to other people That you’re a gambler. I don’t believe you ever gamble On anything that isn’t a certainty.
KAGHAN	Well, there’s something in that. You know, Lucasta, Colby is a good judge of character.
LUCASTA	You’d need to be a better judge of character Yourself, before you said that of Colby.
KAGHAN	Oh, I’m a good judge. Now, I’ll tell you the difference Between ourselves and Colby. You and me — The one thing we want is security And respectability! Now Colby Doesn’t really care about being respectable — He was born and bred to it. I wasn’t, Colby. Do you know, I was a foundling? You didn’t know that! Never had any parents. Just adopted, from nowhere. That’s why I want to be a power in the City, On the boards of all the solidest companies: Because I’ve no background — no background at all. That’s one thing I like about Lucasta: She doesn’t despise me.
LUCASTA	Nobody could despise you. And what’s more important, you don’t despise me.
KAGHAN	Nobody could despise you, Lucasta; And we want the same things. But as for Colby, He’s the sort of fellow who might chuck it all And go to live on a desert island. But I hope you won’t do that. We need you where you are.
COLBY	I’m beginning to believe you’ve a pretty shrewd insight Into things that have nothing to do with business.
KAGHAN	And you have a very sound head for business. Maybe you’re a better financier than I am! That’s why we ought to be in business together.
LUCASTA	You’re both very good at paying compliments; But I remarked that I was hungry.
KAGHAN	You can’t want dinner yet. It’s only six o’clock. We can’t dine till eight; Not at any restaurant that you like. — For a change, let’s talk about Lucasta. LUCASTA [rising]. If you want to discuss me …
(didascalia)	[A knock at the door. Enter LADY ELIZABETH]
LADY ELIZABETH	Oh, good evening. Good evening, Mr. Kaghan. Good evening, Lucasta. Have you just arrived, or are you just leaving?
LUCASTA	We’re on the point of leaving, Lady Elizabeth.
LADY ELIZABETH	I’ve come over to have a look at the flat Now that you’ve moved in. Because you can’t tell Whether a scheme of decoration Is right, until the place has been lived in By the person for whom it was designed. So I have to see you in it. Did you say you were leaving?
KAGHAN	We’re going out to dinner. Lucasta’s very hungry.
LADY ELIZABETH	Hungry? At six o’clock? Where will you get dinner? Oh, I know. It’s a chance to try that Herbal Restaurant I recommended to you. You can have dinner early: Most of its patrons dine at half past six. They have the most delicious salads! And I told you, Mr. Kaghan, you’re the type of person Who needs to eat a great deal of salad. You remember, I made you take a note of the address; And I don’t believe that you’ve been there yet.
KAGHAN	Why no, as a matter of fact, I haven’t. I’ve kept meaning to. Shall we go there, Lucasta?
LUCASTA	I’m so hungry, I could even eat a herbal salad.
LADY ELIZABETH	That’s right. Just mention my name, Mr. Kaghan, And ask for the table in the left hand corner: It has the best waitress. Good night.
LUCASTA	Good night.
KAGHAN	And thank you so much. You give such good advice.
(didascalia)	[Exeunt KAGHAN and LUCASTA]
LADY ELIZABETH	Were those young people here by appointment? Or did they come in unexpectedly?
COLBY	I’d invited Lucasta. She had asked me to play to her.
LADY ELIZABETH	You call her Lucasta? Young people nowadays Seem to have dropped the use of surnames altogether. But, Colby, I hope you won’t mind a gentle hint. I feared it was possible you might become too friendly With Mr. Kaghan and Miss Angel. I can see you’ve lived a rather sheltered life, And I’ve noticed them paying you a good deal of attention. You see, you’re rather a curiosity To both of them — you’re not the sort of person They ever meet in their kind of society. So naturally, they want to take you up. I can speak more freely, as an elderly person.
COLBY	But, Lady Elizabeth …
LADY ELIZABETH	Well, older than you are, And a good deal wiser in the ways of the world.
COLBY	But, Lady Elizabeth, what is it you object to? They’re both intelligent … and kind.
LADY ELIZABETH	Oh, I don’t say they’re not intelligent and kind. I’m not making any malicious suggestions: But they are rather worldly and materialistic, And … well, rather vulgar. They’re not your sort at all.
COLBY	I shouldn’t call them vulgar. Perhaps I’m vulgar too. But what, do you think, is my sort? I don’t know, myself. And I should like to know.
LADY ELIZABETH	In the first place, you ought to mix with people of breeding. I said to myself, when I first saw you, ‘He is very well bred’. I knew nothing about you, But one doesn’t need to know, if one knows what breeding is. And, second, you need intellectual society. Now, that already limits your acquaintance: Because, what’s surprising, well-bred people Are sometimes far from intellectual; And — what’s less surprising — intellectual people Are often ill-bred. But that’s not all. You need intellectual, well-bred people Of spirituality — and that’s the rarest.
COLBY	That would limit my acquaintance to a very small number, And I don’t know where to find them.
LADY ELIZABETH	They can be found. But I came to have a look at the flat To see if the colour scheme really suited you. I believe it does. The walls; and the curtains; And most of the furniture. But, that writing-table! Where did that writing-table come from?
COLBY	It’s an office desk. Sir Claude got it for me. I said I needed a desk in my room: You see, I shall do a good deal of my work here.
LADY ELIZABETH	And what is that shrouded object on it? Don’t tell me it’s a typewriter.
COLBY	It is a typewriter. I’ve already begun to work here. At the moment I’m working on a company report.
LADY ELIZABETH	I hadn’t reckoned on reports and typewriters When I designed this room.
COLBY	It’s the sort of room I wanted. LADY ELIZABETH [rising]. And I see a photograph in a silver frame. I’m afraid I shall have to instruct you, Colby. Photographic portraits — even in silver frames — Are much too intimate for the sitting-room. May I remove it? Surely your bedroom Is the proper place for photographic souvenirs.
(didascalia)	[She sits down, holding the portrait]
COLBY	What was I going to say? Oh, I know. Do you believe in reincarnation?
COLBY	No, I don’t. I mean, I’ve never thought about it.
LADY ELIZABETH	I can’t say that I believe in it. I did, for a time. I studied the doctrine. But I was going to say, if I believed in it I should have said that we had known each other In some previous incarnation. — Is this your mother?
COLBY	No, that is my aunt. I never knew my mother. She died when I was born.
LADY ELIZABETH	She died when you were born. Have you other near relatives? Brothers or sisters?
COLBY	No brothers or sisters. No. As for other relatives, I never knew any, when I was a child. I suppose I’ve never been interested … in relatives.
LADY ELIZABETH	You did not want to know your relatives! I understand exactly how you felt. How I disliked my parents! I had a governess; Several, in fact. And I loathed them all. Were you brought up by a governess?
COLBY	No. By my aunt.
LADY ELIZABETH	And did you loathe her? No, of course not. Or you wouldn’t have her portrait. If you never knew your parents … But was your father living?
COLBY	I never knew my father.
LADY ELIZABETH	Then, if you never had a governess, And if you never knew either of your parents, You can’t understand what loathing really is. Yet we must have some similarity of background.
COLBY	But you had parents. And no doubt, many relatives.
LADY ELIZABETH	Oh, swarms of relatives! And such unpleasant people! I thought of myself as a dove in an eagle’s nest. They were so carnivorous. Always killing things and eating them. And yet our childhood must have been similar. These are only superficial differences: You must have been a lonely child, having no relatives — No brothers or sisters — and I was lonely Because they were so numerous — and so uncongenial. They made me feel an outcast. And yet they were so commonplace. Do you know, Colby, when I was a child I had three obsessions, and I never told anyone. I wonder if you had the same obsessions?
COLBY	What were they?
LADY ELIZABETH	The first was, that I was very ugly And didn’t know it. Then, that I was feeble-minded And didn’t know it. Finally, That I was a foundling, and didn’t know it. Of course, I was terrified of being ugly, And of being feeble-minded: though my family made me think so. But you know, I actually liked to believe That I was a foundling — or do I mean ‘changeling’?
COLBY	I don’t know which you mean.
LADY ELIZABETH	However that may be, I didn’t want to belong there. I refused to believe That my father could have been an ordinary earl! And I couldn’t believe that my mother was my mother. These were foolish fancies. I was a silly girl, And very romantic. But it goes to show How different I felt myself to be And then I took up the Wisdom of the East And believed, for a while, in reincarnation. That seemed to explain it all. I don’t believe it now. That was only a phase. But it made it all so simple! To be able to think that one’s earthly parents Are only the means that we have to employ To become reincarnate. And that one’s real ancestry Is one’s previous existences. Of course, there’s something in us, In all of us, which isn’t just heredity, But something unique. Something we have been From eternity. Something … straight from God. That means that we are nearer to God than to anyone. — Where did you live, as a child?
COLBY	In Teddington.
LADY ELIZABETH	Teddington? In what county?
COLBY	It’s very close to London.
LADY ELIZABETH	Still, you were brought up, like me, in the country. Teddington. I seem to have heard of it. Was it a large house?
COLBY	No, a very small one.
LADY ELIZABETH	But you had your aunt. And she was devoted to you, I have no doubt. What is your aunt’s name? Is it Simpkins?
COLBY	No, a married aunt. A widow. Her name is Mrs. Guzzard.
LADY ELIZABETH	Guzzard? Did you say Guzzard? An unusual name. Guzzard, did you say? The name means something to me. Yes. Guzzard. That is the name I’ve been hunting for!
COLBY	You may have come across the name before; Although, as you say, it is an uncommon one. You couldn’t have known my aunt.
LADY ELIZABETH	No. I never met … your aunt. But the name is familiar. How old are you, Colby?
COLBY	I’m twenty-five.
LADY ELIZABETH	Twenty-five. What became of your father?
COLBY	Well … I didn’t have a father. You see … I was an illegitimate child.
LADY ELIZABETH	Oh yes. An illegitimate child. So that the only relative you knew Was Mrs. Guzzard. And you always called her ‘aunt’?
COLBY	Why not? She was my aunt.
LADY ELIZABETH	And as for your mother — Mrs. Guzzard’s sister, I suppose …
COLBY	Her sister — which makes Mrs. Guzzard my aunt.
LADY ELIZABETH	And are you quite sure that Mrs. Guzzard’s sister — Who you say was your mother — really was your mother?
COLBY	Why, Lady Elizabeth! Why should I doubt it? That is not the kind of story my aunt would invent.
LADY ELIZABETH	Not if she is your aunt. Did Mrs. Guzzard And Mr. Guzzard — have any children?
COLBY	They had no children of their own. That is to say, they had had one little boy Who died when I was very young indeed. I don’t remember him. I was told about him. But I can’t help wondering why you are so interested: There’s nothing very interesting about my background — I assure you there isn’t.
LADY ELIZABETH	It may be more interesting Than you are aware of. Colby …
(didascalia)	[A knock on the door]
LADY ELIZABETH	Who’s that?
(didascalia)	[Enter SIR CLAUDE]
SIR CLAUDE	Elizabeth! I was told that you were here with Colby. So I came over instead of telephoning, Just to give him these notes. They’re notes for my speech At the dinner of the Potters’ Company.
COLBY	That’s tomorrow night, I believe.
SIR CLAUDE	Yes it is. But you know that I’ll have to have my speech written out And then memorise it. I can’t use notes: It’s got to sound spontaneous. I’ve jotted down some headings. Just see if you can develop them for me With a few striking phrases. It should last about ten minutes. And then we’ll go over it tomorrow. COLBY [looking at the notes].                 I’ll try.
SIR CLAUDE	It’s just in ways like this, Elizabeth, That Colby can be of greater help than Eggerson. I couldn’t have asked Eggerson to write a speech for me. Oh, by the way, Colby, how’s the piano?
COLBY	It’s a wonderful piano. I’ve never played On such an instrument. It’s much too good for me.
SIR CLAUDE	You need a good piano. You’ll play all the better.
LADY ELIZABETH	Claude!
SIR CLAUDE	What is it, Elizabeth?
LADY ELIZABETH	I’ve just made a startling discovery! All through a name — and intuition. But it shall be proved. The truth has come out. It’s Colby. Colby is my lost child!
SIR CLAUDE	What? Your child, Elizabeth? What on earth makes you think so?
LADY ELIZABETH	I must see this Mrs. Guzzard. I must confront her. This couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. It seems incredible, doesn’t it, Claude? And yet it would be still more incredible If it were only a coincidence. Perhaps I ought not to believe it yet, Perhaps it is wrong of me to feel so sure, But it seems that Providence has brought you back to me, And you, Claude, and Eggerson have been the instruments. I must be right. Claude, tell me I am right.
SIR CLAUDE	But Elizabeth, what has led you to believe That Colby is your son?
LADY ELIZABETH	Oh, I forgot In my excitement: you arrived the very moment When the truth dawned on me. Mrs. Guzzard! Claude, Colby was brought up by a Mrs. Guzzard.
SIR CLAUDE	I know that. But why should that make him your son?
LADY ELIZABETH	It’s the name I’ve been hunting for all these years — That, and the other name, Teddington: Mrs. Guzzard of Teddington. That was all I knew. Then Tony was killed, as you know, in Africa, And I had lost the name. Mrs. Guzzard.
SIR CLAUDE	I’m beginning now to piece it together. You’ve been asking Colby about his family …
LADY ELIZABETH	And when he mentioned Teddington, there was a faint echo — And then Mrs. Guzzard! It must be true.
SIR CLAUDE	It is certainly a remarkable coincidence — If it is a coincidence. But I’m afraid, Elizabeth, What has happened is that, brooding on the past, You began to think of Colby as what your son would be, And then you began to see him as your son, And then — any name you heard would have seemed the right one.
LADY ELIZABETH	Oh Claude, how can you be so sceptical! We must see this Mrs. Guzzard, and get her to confess it.
SIR CLAUDE	I’m sorry, Elizabeth. If Mrs. Guzzard comes To make her confession, it will be very different From what you expect. I’m afraid, Colby, It seems to me that we must let her know the truth.
COLBY	It seems to me … there is nothing for me — Absolutely nothing — for me to say about it. I must leave that to you.
SIR CLAUDE	I should have told you one day. I’ve always loathed keeping such a thing from you. I see now I might as well have told you before, But I’d hoped — and now it seems a silly thought … What happens is so like what one had planned for, And yet such a travesty of all one’s plans — I’d hoped that you would become fond of Colby, And that he might come to take the place of your own child, If you got to know him first — and that you’d want to adopt him.
LADY ELIZABETH	But of course I want to adopt him, Claude! That is, if one’s allowed to adopt one’s own child.
SIR CLAUDE	That’s not what I meant. Elizabeth, Colby is my son.
LADY ELIZABETH	Quite impossible, Claude! You have a daughter. Now you want a son.
SIR CLAUDE	I’d never want to take your son away from you. Perhaps you have a son. But it isn’t Colby. I ought to have told you, years ago. I told you about Lucasta, and you told me About your own … misfortune. And I almost told you About Colby. I didn’t. For such a foolish reason. Absurd it sounds now. One child each — That seemed fair enough — though yours had been lost, And mine I couldn’t lose. But if I had another I thought you might think — ‘and how many more?’ You might have suspected any number of children! That seems grotesque now. But it influenced me. And I found a better reason for keeping silent. I came to see how you longed for a son of your own, And I thought, I’ll wait for children of our own, And tell her then. And they never came. And now I regret the decision bitterly. I ought to have told you that I had a son.
LADY ELIZABETH	But why do you think that Colby is your son?
SIR CLAUDE	Colby is the son of Mrs. Guzzard’s sister, Who died when he was born. Mrs. Guzzard brought him up, And I provided for his education. I have watched him grow. And Mrs. Guzzard Knows he is my son.
LADY ELIZABETH	But where were you, Claude, When Colby was born?
SIR CLAUDE	Where was I? In Canada. My father had sent me on a business tour To learn about his overseas investments.
LADY ELIZABETH	Then how do you know that the sister had a child? Perhaps Mrs. Guzzard invented the story….
SIR CLAUDE	Why should she invent it? The child was expected.
LADY ELIZABETH	In order to get money from you, perhaps. No, I shouldn’t say that. But she had a child Left on her hands. The father had died And she’d never been told the name of the mother; And the mother had forgotten the name of Mrs. Guzzard, And I was the mother and the child was Colby; And Mrs. Guzzard thought you would be happy To think you had a son, and would do well by him — Because you did care for the girl, didn’t you?
SIR CLAUDE	Yes, I did care. Very much. I had never Been in love before.
LADY ELIZABETH	Very well then. That is the way it must have happened. Oh, Claude, you know I’m rather weak in the head Though I try to be clever. Do try to help me.
SIR CLAUDE	It could have happened. But I’m sure it didn’t.
LADY ELIZABETH	Oh, Colby, doesn’t your instinct tell you?
SIR CLAUDE	Yes, tell us everything that’s in your mind. I know this situation must be more of an agony To you, than it can be even to … us.
COLBY	I only wish it was more acute agony: I don’t know whether I’ve been suffering or not During this conversation. I only feel … numb. If there’s agony, it’s part of a total agony Which I can’t begin to feel yet. I’m simply indifferent. And all the time that you’ve been talking I’ve only been thinking: ‘What does it matter Whose son I am?’ You don’t understand That when one has lived without parents, as a child, There’s a gap that never can be filled. Never. I like you both, I could even come to love you — But as friends … older friends. Neither, as a parent. I am sorry. But that’s why I say it doesn’t matter To me, which of you should be my parent.
LADY ELIZABETH	But a mother, Colby, isn’t that different? There should always be a bond between mother and son, No matter how long they have lost each other.
COLBY	No, Lady Elizabeth. The position is the same Or crueller. Suppose I am your son. Then it’s merely a fact. Better not know Than to know the fact and know it means nothing. At the time I was born, you might have been my mother, But you chose not to be. I don’t blame you for that: God forbid! but we must take the consequences. At the time when I was born, your being my mother — If you are my mother — was a living fact. Now, it is a dead fact, and out of dead facts Nothing living can spring. Now, it is too late. I never wanted a parent till now — I never thought about it. Now, you have made me think, And I wish that I could have had a father and a mother.
LADY ELIZABETH	Stop, Colby! Something has come to me. Claude! I don’t want to take away from you The son you thought was yours. And I know from what you said, That you would rather he was ours than only yours. Why should we make any further enquiries? Let us regard him as being our son: It won’t be the same as what we had wanted — But in some ways better! And prevent us both From making unreasonable claims upon you, Colby. It’s a good idea! Why should we not be happy, All of us? Already, Claude, I feel as if this brought us closer together.
SIR CLAUDE	I should be contented with such an understanding; And indeed, it’s not so far from what I had intended. Could you accept us both in that way, Colby?
COLBY	I can only say what I feel at the moment: And yet I believe I shall always feel the same.
SIR CLAUDE	Well?
COLBY	It would be easier, I think, To accept you both in the place of parents If neither of you could be. If it was pure fiction — One can live on a fiction — but not on such a mixture Of fiction and fact. Already, it’s been hard For me, who have never known the feelings of a son, To be disputed between two parents. But, if we followed your suggestion, I know, I know I should always be haunted By the miserable ghosts of the other parents! It’s strange enough to have two parents — But I should have four! What about those others? I should have to live with those ghosts, one indignant At being cheated of his — or her — parenthood, The other indignant at the imputation Of false parenthood. Both mocked at.
SIR CLAUDE	Then what do you want, Colby? What do you want? Think of the future. When you marry You will want parents, for the sake of your children.
COLBY	I don’t feel, tonight, that I ever want to marry. You may be right. I can’t take account of that. But now I want to know whose son I am.
SIR CLAUDE	Then the first thing is: we must see Mrs. Guzzard.
LADY ELIZABETH	Oh Claude! I am terribly sorry for you. I believe that if I had known of your … delusion I would never have undeceived you.
SIR CLAUDE	And as for me, If I could have known what was going to happen, I would gladly have surrendered Colby to you. But we must see Mrs. Guzzard. I’ll arrange to get her here.
LADY ELIZABETH	And I think you ought to get Eggerson as well. SIR CLAUDE [rising]. Oh, of course, Eggerson! He knows all about it. Let us say no more tonight. Now, Colby, Can you find some consolation at the piano?
COLBY	I don’t think, tonight, the piano would help me: At the moment, I never want to touch it again. But there’s another reason. I must remind you About your speech for the Potters’ Company Tomorrow night. I must get to work on it.
SIR CLAUDE	Tomorrow night. Must I go to that dinner Tomorrow night?
COLBY	I was looking at your notes — Before you brought me into the conversation — And I found one note I couldn’t understand. ‘Reminiscent mood.’ I can’t develop that Unless you can tell me — reminiscent of what?
SIR CLAUDE	Reminiscent of what? Reminiscent of what? ‘Tonight I feel in a reminiscent mood’ — Oh yes. To say something of my early ambitions To be a potter. Not that the Members Of the Potters’ Company know anything at all About ceramics … or any other art. No, I don’t think I shall be in a reminiscent mood. Cross that out. It would only remind me Of things that would surprise the Potters’ Company If I told them what I was really remembering. Come, Elizabeth.
LADY ELIZABETH	My poor Claude!
(didascalia)	[Exeunt SIR CLAUDE and LADY ELIZABETH]
LADY ELIZABETH	CURTAIN

Act Three

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	The Business Room, as in Act 1. Several mornings later. SIR CLAUDE is moving chairs about. Enter LADY ELIZABETH.
LADY ELIZABETH	Claude, what are you doing?
SIR CLAUDE	Settling the places. It’s important, when you have a difficult meeting, To decide on the seating arrangements beforehand. I don’t think you and I should be near together. Will you sit there, beside the desk?
LADY ELIZABETH	On the other side, with the light behind me: But won’t you be sitting at the desk yourself?
SIR CLAUDE	No, that would look too formal. I thought it would be better To put Eggerson there, behind the desk. You see, I want him to be a sort of chairman.
LADY ELIZABETH	That’s a good idea.
SIR CLAUDE	On the other hand, We mustn’t look like a couple of barristers Ready to cross-examine a witness. It’s very awkward. We don’t want to start By offending Mrs. Guzzard. That’s why I thought That Eggerson should put the first questions. He’s very good at approaching a subject In a roundabout way. But where shall we place her?
LADY ELIZABETH	Over there, with the light full on her: I want to be able to watch her expression.
SIR CLAUDE	But not in this chair! She must have an armchair …
LADY ELIZABETH	Not such a low one. Leave that in the corner For Colby. He won’t want to be conspicuous, Poor boy!
SIR CLAUDE	After all, it was he who insisted On this … investigation. But perhaps you’re right.
LADY ELIZABETH	Claude, I’ve been thinking things over and over — All through the night. I hardly slept at all. I wish that Colby, somehow, might prove to be your son Instead of mine. Really, I do! It would be so much fairer. If he is mine — As I am sure he is — then you never had a son; While, if he were yours … he could still take the place Of my son: and so he could be our son. Oh dear, what do I want? I should like him to be mine, But for you to believe that he is yours! So I hope Mrs. Guzzard will say he is your son And I needn’t believe her. I don’t believe in facts. You do. That is the difference between us.
SIR CLAUDE	I’m not so sure of that. I’ve tried to believe in facts; And I’ve always acted as if I believed in them. I thought it was facts that my father believed in; I thought that what he cared for was power and wealth; And I came to see that what I had interpreted In this way, was something else to him — An idea, an inspiration. What he wanted to transmit to me Was that idea, that inspiration, Which to him was life. To me, it was a burden. You can’t communicate an inspiration, Like that, by force of will. He was a great financier — And I am merely a successful one. I might have been truer to my father’s inspiration If I had done what I wanted to do.
LADY ELIZABETH	You’ve never talked like this to me before! Why haven’t you? I don’t suppose I understand And I know you don’t think I understand anything, And perhaps I don’t. But I wish you would talk Sometimes to me as if I did understand, And perhaps I might come to understand better. What did you want to do?
SIR CLAUDE	To be a potter. Don’t laugh.
LADY ELIZABETH	I’m not laughing. I was only thinking How strange to have lived with you, all these years, And now you tell me, you’d have liked to be a potter! You really mean, to make jugs and jars Like those in your collection?
SIR CLAUDE	That’s what I mean.
LADY ELIZABETH	But I should have loved you to be a potter! Why have you never told me?
SIR CLAUDE	I didn’t think That you would be interested. More than that. I took it for granted that what you wanted Was a husband of importance. I thought you would despise me If you knew what I’d really wanted to be.
LADY ELIZABETH	And I took it for granted that you were not interested In anything but financial affairs; And that you needed me chiefly as a hostess. It’s a great mistake, I do believe, For married people to take anything for granted.
SIR CLAUDE	That was a very intelligent remark. Perhaps I have taken too much for granted About you, Elizabeth. What did you want?
LADY ELIZABETH	To inspire an artist. Don’t laugh.
SIR CLAUDE	I’m not laughing. So what you wanted was to inspire an artist!
LADY ELIZABETH	Or to inspire a poet. I thought Tony was a poet. Because he wrote me poems. And he was so beautiful. I know now that poets don’t look like poets: And financiers, it seems, don’t look like potters — Is that what I mean? I’m getting confused. I thought I was escaping from a world that I loathed In Tony — and then, too late, I discovered He belonged to the world I wanted to escape from. He was so commonplace! I wanted to forget him, And so, I suppose, I wanted to forget Colby. But Colby is an artist.
SIR CLAUDE	A musician. I am a disappointed craftsman, And Colby is a disappointed composer. I should have been a second-rate potter, And he would have been a second-rate organist. We have both chosen … obedience to the facts.
LADY ELIZABETH	I believe that was what I was trying to do. It’s very strange, Claude, but this is the first time I have talked to you, without feeling very stupid. You always made me feel that I wasn’t worth talking to.
SIR CLAUDE	And you always made me feel that your interests Were much too deep for discussion with me: Health cures. And modern art — so long as it was modern — And dervish dancing.
LADY ELIZABETH	Dervish dancing! Really, Claude, how absurd you are! Not that there isn’t a lot to be learnt, I don’t doubt, from the dervish rituals. But it doesn’t matter what Mrs. Guzzard tells us, If it satisfies Colby. Whatever happens He shall be our son.
(didascalia)	[A knock on the door. Enter EGGERSON]
SIR CLAUDE	Good morning, Eggerson.
EGGERSON	Good morning, Sir Claude. And Lady Elizabeth!
SIR CLAUDE	I’m sorry, Eggerson, to bring you up to London At such short notice.
EGGERSON	Don’t say that, Sir Claude. It’s true, I haven’t much nowadays to bring me; But Mrs. E. wishes I’d come up oftener! Isn’t that like the ladies! She used to complain At my being up in London five or six days a week: But now she says: ‘You’re becoming such a countryman! You’re losing touch with public affairs.’ The fact is, she misses the contact with London, Though she doesn’t admit it. She misses my news When I came home in the evening. And the late editions Of the papers that I picked up at Liverpool Street. But I’ve so much to do, in Joshua Park — Apart from the garden — that I’ve not an idle moment. And really, now, I’m quite lost in London. Every time I come, I notice the traffic Has got so much worse.
SIR CLAUDE	Yes, it’s always getting worse.
LADY ELIZABETH	— I hope Mrs. Eggerson is well?
EGGERSON	Pretty well. She’s always low-spirited, around this season, When we’re getting near the anniversary.
SIR CLAUDE	The anniversary? Of your son’s death?
EGGERSON	Of the day we got the news. We don’t often speak of it; Yet I know what’s on her mind, for days beforehand. But here I am, talking about ourselves! And we’ve more important business, I imagine.
SIR CLAUDE	Eggerson, I’m expecting Mrs. Guzzard.
EGGERSON	Indeed! Mrs. Guzzard! And why are we expecting her?
SIR CLAUDE	I have asked her to come. Lady Elizabeth Is sure that she knows the name of Mrs. Guzzard.
LADY ELIZABETH	Mrs. Guzzard, of Teddington.
EGGERSON	Ah, indeed! I shouldn’t have expected her name to be known to you.
SIR CLAUDE	She’d been questioning Colby about himself, And he mentioned the name of his aunt, Mrs. Guzzard. Now she’s convinced that Mrs. Guzzard Of Teddington is the name of the person To whom her own child was entrusted.
EGGERSON	What an amazing coincidence!
SIR CLAUDE	That’s what it is, Unless she is mistaken …
LADY ELIZABETH	Now,Claude!
SIR CLAUDE	And she came to the conclusion that her child must be Colby, So I told her the truth. But she cannot believe it.
LADY ELIZABETH	Claude, that’s not quite right. Let me explain. I am convinced that Sir Claude is mistaken, Or has been deceived, and that Colby is my son. I feel sure he is. But I don’t want to know: I am perfectly content to leave things as they are, So that we may regard him as our son.
SIR CLAUDE	That is perfectly correct. It is Colby Who is not satisfied with that solution. He insists upon the facts. And that is why I have asked Mrs. Guzzard here. She doesn’t know that.
EGGERSON	A natural line for Mr. Simpkins to take, If I may say so. Of course, we might discover Another Mrs. Guzzard …
LADY ELIZABETH	Two Mrs. Guzzards?
EGGERSON	I agree, it is a most uncommon name, But stranger things have happened.
LADY ELIZABETH	And both in Teddington?
EGGERSON	I agree, that would be most surprising. And at the same address?
LADY ELIZABETH	I don’t know the address. Mrs. Guzzard of Teddington, that’s all I know, And that I could swear to.
EGGERSON	It does seem unlikely That there should be two Mrs. Guzzards in Teddington. But assuming, for the moment, only one Mrs. Guzzard, Could there not have been two babies?
LADY ELIZABETH	Two babies, Eggerson?
EGGERSON	I was only suggesting That perhaps Mrs. Guzzard made a profession Of … looking after other people’s children? In a manner of speaking, it’s perfectly respectable.
SIR CLAUDE	You’re suggesting that she ran a baby farm. That’s most unlikely, nowadays. Besides, I should have noticed it. I visited her house Often. I never saw more than one baby.
EGGERSON	She might have taken in another one As a temporary accommodation — On suitable terms. But if she did that, We must enquire what became of the other one.
SIR CLAUDE	But this baby was Colby.
LADY ELIZABETH	Of course it was Colby.
SIR CLAUDE	But Eggerson, you really can’t ask me to believe That she took two babies, and got them mixed.
LADY ELIZABETH	That seems to be what happened. And now we must find out What became of your child, Claude.
SIR CLAUDE	What became of my child! The mother of my child was Mrs. Guzzard’s sister. She wouldn’t dispose of him. It’s your child, Elizabeth, Whom we must try to trace.
EGGERSON	If there was another child Then we must try to trace it. Certainly, Sir Claude: Our first step must be to question Mrs. Guzzard.
SIR CLAUDE	And that’s what we are here for. She will be here shortly. And when she arrives I will summon Colby. I wanted you here first, to explain the situation: And I thought I would like you to conduct the proceedings. Will you sit at the desk?
EGGERSON	If you wish, Sir Claude. I do feel more at ease when I’m behind a desk: It’s second nature.
SIR CLAUDE	And put the case to her. Don’t let her think that I have any doubts: You are putting the questions on behalf of my wife.
EGGERSON	I understand, Sir Claude: I understand completely.
(didascalia)	[A knock on the door]
SIR CLAUDE	Good Lord, she’s here already! Well … Come in!
(didascalia)	[Enter LUCASTA]
LUCASTA	Is this a meeting? I came to speak to Colby. I’m sorry.
SIR CLAUDE	Colby will be here. But you’re not involved in this meeting, Lucasta. Won’t it do another time?
LUCASTA	I came to apologise To Colby. No matter. It’ll do another time. Oh, I’m glad you’re here, Eggy! You’re such a support. In any case, I’ve an announcement to make, And I might as well make it now. If you’ll listen.
SIR CLAUDE	Of course I’ll listen. But we haven’t much time.
LUCASTA	It won’t take much time. I’m going to marry B.
SIR CLAUDE	To marry B.! But I thought that was all settled.
LUCASTA	Yes, of course, Claude. You thought everything settled. That was just the trouble. You made it so obvious That this would be the ideal solution From your point of view. To get me off your hands. Oh, I know what a nuisance you’ve always found me! And I haven’t made it easier. I didn’t try to. And knowing that you wanted me to marry B. Made me determined that I wouldn’t. Just to spite you, I dare say. That was why I took an interest In Colby. Because you thought he was too good for me.
SIR CLAUDE	In Colby!
LUCASTA	Why not? That’s perfectly natural. But I’m grateful to Colby. But for Colby I’d never have come to appreciate B.
SIR CLAUDE	But Colby! Lucasta, if I’d suspected this I would have explained. Colby is your brother.
EGGERSON	Half-brother, Miss Angel.
SIR CLAUDE	Yes, half-brother.
LUCASTA	What do you mean?
SIR CLAUDE	Colby is my son.
LADY ELIZABETH	That is what Sir Claude believes. Claude, let me explain.
SIR CLAUDE	No, I’ll explain. There’s been some misunderstanding. My wife believes that Colby is her son. That is the reason for this meeting today. We’re awaiting Mrs. Guzzard — Colby’s aunt.
LUCASTA	Colby’s aunt? You make my brain reel.
SIR CLAUDE	I ought to have made things clear to you At the time when he came here. But I didn’t trust you To keep a secret. There were reasons for that Which no longer exist. But I ought to have told you.
LUCASTA	Well, I don’t understand. What I do understand Is Colby’s behaviour. If he knew it.
SIR CLAUDE	He knew it.
LUCASTA	Why didn’t he tell me? Perhaps he was about to. Anyway, I knew there had been some mistake. You don’t know at all what I’m talking about! But if he knew that he was your son He must have been staggered when I said I was your daughter! I came to thank him for the shock he’d given me. He made me see what I really wanted. B. makes me feel safe. And that’s what I want. And somehow or other, I’ve something to give him — Something that he needs. Colby doesn’t need me, He doesn’t need anyone. He’s fascinating, But he’s undependable. He has his own world, And he might vanish into it at any moment — At just the moment when you needed him most! And he doesn’t depend upon other people, either. B. needs me. He’s been hurt by life, just as I have, And we can help each other. Oh, I know you think of him Simply as a business man. As you thought of me Simply as a nuisance. We’re suited to each other: You thought so too, Claude, but for the wrong reasons, And that put me off. So I’m grateful to Colby.
SIR CLAUDE	I don’t know what’s happened, but nevertheless I’m sure that you have made the right decision.
LUCASTA	But the reasons why you think so are the wrong ones.
LADY ELIZABETH	And I’m sure too, Lucasta, you have made a wise decision.
LUCASTA	And I know very well why you think so: You think we’re suited because we’re both common. B. knows you think him common. And so he pretends To be very common, because he knows you think so. You gave us our parts. And we’ve shown that we can play them.
LADY ELIZABETH	I don’t think you ought to say that, Lucasta; I have always been a person of liberal views — That’s why I never got on with my family.
LUCASTA	Well, I’m not a person of liberal views. I’m very conventional. And I’m not ashamed of it.
SIR CLAUDE	Perhaps you are right. I’m not sure of anything. Perhaps, as you say, I’ve misunderstood B., And I’ve never thought that I understood you; And I certainly fail to understand Colby.
LADY ELIZABETH	But you and I, Claude, can understand each other, No matter how late. And perhaps that will help us To understand other people. I hope so. Lucasta, I regard you as a … step-daughter; And shall be happy to accept Mr. Kaghan as a son-in-law.
LUCASTA	Thank you. I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. But that reminds me. He’s waiting downstairs. I don’t suppose you want us at your meeting.
EGGERSON	Allow me. May I make a suggestion? Though first of all I must take the occasion To wish Miss Angel every happiness. And I’m sure she will be happy. Mr. Kaghan Is one of the most promising young men in the City, And he has a heart of gold. So have you, Miss Angel. We have this very important interview, But I’m sure that we want to greet the happy pair. It’s all in the family. Why not let them wait downstairs And come back after Mrs. Guzzard has left?
SIR CLAUDE	That’s not a bad idea. If Colby agrees.
LUCASTA	I trust you, Eggy. And I want to make my peace with him.
SIR CLAUDE	We’ll get him now.
(didascalia)	[Reaches for the telephone]
(didascalia)	[A knock. Enter COLBY]
COLBY	Have I come too soon? I’m afraid I got impatient of waiting.
LUCASTA	Colby! I’ve not come to interrupt your meeting. I’ve been told what it’s about. But I did come to see you. I came to apologise for my behaviour The other afternoon.
COLBY	Apologise?
SIR CLAUDE	I’ve told her.
COLBY	But why should you apologise?
LUCASTA	Oh, because I knew That I must have misunderstood your reaction. It wouldn’t have been like you — the way I thought it was. You’re much too … detached, ever to be shocked In the way I thought you were. I was ashamed Of what I was telling you, and so I was expecting What I thought I got. But I couldn’t believe it! It isn’t like you, to despise people: You don’t care enough.
COLBY	I don’t care enough?
LUCASTA	No. You’re either above caring, Or else you’re insensible — I don’t mean insensitive! But you’re terribly cold. Or else you’ve some fire To warm you, that isn’t the same kind of fire That warms other people. You’re either an egotist Or something so different from the rest of us That we can’t judge you. That’s you, Colby.
COLBY	That’s me, is it? I simply don’t know. Perhaps you know me better than I know myself. But now that you know what I am …
LUCASTA	Who you are, In the sense I’ve been told that you’re my brother; Which makes it more difficult to know what you are. It may be there’s no one so hard to understand As one’s brother …
COLBY	Or sister …
LUCASTA	What’s so difficult Is to recognise the limits of one’s understanding. It may be that understanding, as a brother and a sister, Will come, in time. Perhaps, one day We may understand each other. And accept the fact That we’re not necessary to each other In the way we might have been. But a different way That reveals itself in time. And perhaps — who knows? — We might become more necessary to each other, As a brother and a sister, than we could have been In any other form of relationship.
COLBY	I want you to be happy.
LUCASTA	I shall be happy, If you will accept me as a sister For the happiness that relationship may bring us In twenty or thirty or forty years’ time. I shall be happy. I’m going to marry B. I know you like B.
COLBY	I’m very fond of him; And I’m glad to think he’ll be my brother-in-law. I shall need you, both of you, Lucasta!
LUCASTA	We’ll mean something to you. But you don’t need anybody.
EGGERSON	And now may I interrupt, Miss Angel? Why shouldn’t you and Mr. Kaghan wait downstairs And rejoin us when this interview is over? I’m sure Mr. Simpkins will concur in this proposal.
COLBY	Of course I’d like them … Can’t B. come up now?
EGGERSON	Better wait till afterwards.
SIR CLAUDE	Quite right, Eggerson.
LUCASTA	Good-bye, Colby.
COLBY	Why do you say good-bye?
LUCASTA	Good-bye to Colby as Lucasta knew him, And good-bye to the Lucasta whom Colby knew. We’ve changed since then: as you said, we’re always changing. When I come back, we’ll be brother and sister — Or so I hope. Yes, in any event, Good-bye, Colby.
(didascalia)	[Exit LUCASTA]
COLBY	Good-bye then, Lucasta.
EGGERSON	And now, how soon are we expecting Mrs. Guzzard? SIR CLAUDE [looking at his watch]. She ought to be here now! It’s surprising, I hadn’t been aware how the time was passing, What with Lucasta’s unexpected visit. She ought to be here. It wouldn’t be like her To be late for an appointment. She always mentioned it If I was late when I went to see her.
(didascalia)	[Enter LUCASTA]
LUCASTA	I’m sorry to come back. It’s an anti-climax. But there seems to be nobody to answer the door. I’ve just let someone in. It’s the Mrs. Guzzard Whom you are expecting. She looks rather formidable.
SIR CLAUDE	It’s Parkman’s day off. But where’s the parlourmaid?
LUCASTA	I thought I heard someone singing in the pantry.
LADY ELIZABETH	Oh, I forgot. It’s Gertrude’s quiet hour. I’ve been giving her lessons in recollection. But she shouldn’t be singing.
LUCASTA	Well, what shall I do?
EGGERSON	Let me go down and explain to Mrs. Guzzard And then bring her up.
SIR CLAUDE	No, I want you here, Eggerson. Will you show her up, Lucasta?
LUCASTA	I’ll make B. do it.
(didascalia)	[Exit LUCASTA]
SIR CLAUDE	I wish you could arrange the servants’ time-table better. This is a most unfortunate beginning.
LADY ELIZABETH	She’s been making progress, under my direction; But she shouldn’t have been singing.
SIR CLAUDE	Well, are we ready?
(didascalia)	[A quiet knock. Enter KAGHAN, escorting MRS. GUZZARD. Exit KAGHAN]
SIR CLAUDE	Good morning, Mrs. Guzzard. I must apologise: I’m afraid there has been some domestic incompetence. You should have been announced.
MRS	GUZZARD.                                  I believe I was punctual. But I didn’t mind waiting in the least, Sir Claude. I know that you are always much engaged.
SIR CLAUDE	First, let me introduce you to my wife. Lady Elizabeth Mulhammer.
LADY ELIZABETH	Good morning, Mrs. Guzzard. You don’t know me, but I know about you: We have more in common than you are aware of.
MRS	GUZZARD. I suppose you mean Colby?
LADY ELIZABETH	Yes. To do with Colby.
SIR CLAUDE	Elizabeth, you know we are to leave that to Eggerson. This is Mr. Eggerson, Mrs. Guzzard: My confidential clerk. That is to say, Colby’s predecessor, who recently retired. Now he lives … in the country. But he knows the whole story: He’s been in my confidence — and I may say, my friend — For very many years. So I asked him to be present. I hope you don’t mind?
MRS	GUZZARD.                  Why should I mind? I have heard about Mr. Eggerson from Colby. I am very happy to make his acquaintance.
SIR CLAUDE	And I thought he might … conduct the proceedings: He’s the very soul of tact and discretion.
MRS	GUZZARD. Certainly, Sir Claude, if that is what you wish. But is the subject of this meeting — I suppose to do with Colby — so very confidential?
EGGERSON	Yes, that is what I should call it, Mrs. Guzzard. I take it, Sir Claude, I should open the discussion?
SIR CLAUDE	If you please, Eggerson.
EGGERSON	Then let’s make a start. The question has to do, as you surmised, with Mr. Simpkins. It also concerns a problem of paternity.
LADY ELIZABETH	Or of maternity.
SIR CLAUDE	Don’t interrupt, Elizabeth.
MRS	GUZZARD. I don’t understand you.
EGGERSON	It’s this way, Mrs. Guzzard. It is only recently that Lady Elizabeth Heard your name mentioned, by Mr. Simpkins. She was struck by your name and your living in Teddington. And now we must go back, many years: Well, not so many years — when you get to my age The past and the future both seem very brief — But long enough ago for the question to be possible. Lady Elizabeth, before her marriage Had a child …
LADY ELIZABETH	A son.
EGGERSON	Had a son Whom she could not, in the circumstances, acknowledge. That happens not infrequently, Mrs. Guzzard.
MRS	GUZZARD. So I am aware. I have known it to happen.
EGGERSON	— Who was taken charge of by the father. That is to say, placed out to be cared for Till further notice by a foster-mother. Unfortunately, the father died suddenly …
LADY ELIZABETH	He was run over. By a rhinoceros In Tanganyika.
SIR CLAUDE	That’s not relevant. Leave it to Eggerson.
EGGERSON	The father died abroad. Lady Elizabeth did not know the name of the lady Who had taken the child. Or rather, had forgotten it. She was not, in any case, in a position In which she could have instituted enquiries. So, for many years, she has been without a clue Until the other day. This son, Mrs. Guzzard, If he is alive, must be a grown man. I believe you have had no children of your own; But I’m sure you can sympathise.
MRS	GUZZARD.                                  I can sympathise. I had a child, and lost him. Not in the way That Lady Elizabeth’s child was lost. Let us hope that her son may be restored to her.
EGGERSON	That is exactly what we are aiming at. We have a clue — or what appears to be a clue. That is why Sir Claude has asked you to be present.
MRS	GUZZARD. You think that I might be able to help you?
EGGERSON	It seems just possible. A few days ago, As I said, Lady Elizabeth learned your name; And the name struck her as being familiar.
MRS	GUZZARD. Indeed? It is not a very common name.
EGGERSON	That is what impressed her. Mrs. Guzzard Of Teddington! Lady Elizabeth is convinced That it was a Mrs. Guzzard of Teddington To whom her new-born child was confided. Of course she might be mistaken about Teddington …
LADY ELIZABETH	I am not mistaken about Teddington.
EGGERSON	I am only suggesting, Lady Elizabeth, There are other places that sound like Teddington But not so many names that sound like Guzzard — Or if there are, they are equally uncommon. But, Mrs. Guzzard, this is where you can help us — Do you know of any other Mrs. Guzzard?
MRS	GUZZARD.                                             None.
EGGERSON	Whether, I mean, in Teddington or elsewhere? Now I must ask a more delicate question: Did you, at any time, take in a child — A child, that is, of parents unknown to you — Under such conditions?
MRS	GUZZARD.                Yes, I did take in a child. My husband and I were childless … at the time, And very poor. It offered two advantages.
EGGERSON	And did you know the name of the father Or of the mother?
MRS	GUZZARD.         I was not told either. I understood the child was very well connected: Otherwise, I should not have taken him. But he was brought to me by a third party, Through whom the monthly payments were made.
EGGERSON	The terms were satisfactory?
MRS	GUZZARD.                                            Very satisfactory — So long, that is to say, as the money was forthcoming.
EGGERSON	Did the payments come to an end?
MRS	GUZZARD.                                                     Very suddenly.
LADY ELIZABETH	That must have been when Tony met with his accident.
MRS	GUZZARD. I was informed that the father had died Without making a will.
LADY ELIZABETH	He was very careless.
MRS	GUZZARD. And that the heirs acknowledged no responsibility. The mother, I suppose, could have got an order If she could have established the paternity; But I didn’t know who she was! What could I do?
LADY ELIZABETH	Oh, Claude, you see? You understand, Colby?
SIR CLAUDE	Don’t be certain yet, Elizabeth.
LADY ELIZABETH	There is no doubt about it. Colby is my son.
MRS	GUZZARD.        Your son, Lady Elizabeth? Are you suggesting that I kept a child of yours And deceived Sir Claude by pretending it was his?
SIR CLAUDE	That is just the point. My wife has convinced herself That Colby is her son. I know he is my son. And I asked you here so that you might tell her so.
EGGERSON	Don’t take this as a personal reflection, Mrs. Guzzard. Far from it. You must make allowances For a mother who has been hoping against hope To find her son. Put yourself in her position. If you had lost your son, in a similar way, Wouldn’t you grasp at any straw That offered hope of finding him?
MRS	GUZZARD.                                  Perhaps I should.
LADY ELIZABETH	There isn’t a shadow of doubt in my mind. I’m surprised that you, Eggerson, with your legal training, Should talk about straws! Colby is my son.
MRS	GUZZARD. In the circumstances, I ignore that remark.
EGGERSON	May I pour a drop of oil on these troubled waters? Let us approach the question from another angle, And ask Mrs. Guzzard what became of the child She took in, which may have been Lady Elizabeth’s.
SIR CLAUDE	That’s a very sensible suggestion, Eggerson. A breath of sanity. Thank you for that.
MRS	GUZZARD. We parted with it. A dear little boy. I was happy to have him while the payments were made; But we could not afford to adopt the child, Or continue to keep him, when the payments ended.
EGGERSON	And how did you dispose of him?
MRS	GUZZARD.                                                  We had neighbours Who were childless, and eager to adopt a child. They had taken a fancy to him. So they adopted him. Then they left Teddington, and we lost sight of them.
EGGERSON	But you know their name?
MRS	GUZZARD.                                       Yes, I know their name: Like mine, a somewhat unusual one. Perhaps it might be possible to trace them. The name was Kaghan.
SIR CLAUDE	Their name was Kaghan!
MRS	GUZZARD. K-A-G-H-A-N. An odd name. They were excellent people. Nonconformists.
EGGERSON	And the child, I suppose he had a Christian name?
MRS	GUZZARD. There was nothing to show that the child had been baptised When it came to us; but we could not be sure. My husband was particular in such matters, So we had it given conditional baptism.
EGGERSON	What name did you give him?
MRS	GUZZARD.                                             We named the child Barnabas.
LADY ELIZABETH	Barnabas? There’s never been such a name In my family. Or, I’m sure, in his father’s. But how did he come to be called Colby?
SIR CLAUDE	But, Elizabeth, it isn’t Colby! Don’t you see who it is?
MRS	GUZZARD.                    My husband chose the name. We had been married in the church of St. Barnabas.
COLBY	Barnabas Kaghan. Is he the little cousin Who died? Don’t you remember, Aunt Sarah, My finding a rattle and a jingle-bell, And your telling me I had had a little cousin Who had died?
MRS	GUZZARD.      Yes, Colby, that is what I told you.
LADY ELIZABETH	So my child is living. I was sure of that. But I believe that Colby is Barnabas.
SIR CLAUDE	No, Elizabeth, Barnabas is Barnabas. I must explain this, Mrs. Guzzard. I have a very promising young colleague — In fact, the young man who showed you upstairs — Whose name is Barnabas Kaghan.
LADY ELIZABETH	Barnabas?
SIR CLAUDE	Yes, Elizabeth. He sometimes has to sign his full name. But he doesn’t like the name, for some reason; So we call him B.
MRS	GUZZARD.         A very good name. He ought to be proud of it.
LADY ELIZABETH	How old is this Barnabas?
SIR CLAUDE	About twenty-eight, I think.
MRS	GUZZARD.                                          He should be twenty-eight.
LADY ELIZABETH	Then I must be out in my calculations.
SIR CLAUDE	That wouldn’t surprise me.
LADY ELIZABETH	Yes, what year was it? I’m getting so confused. What with Colby being Barnabas — I mean, not Barnabas. And Mr. Kaghan Being Barnabas. I suppose I’ll get used to it.
COLBY	But he’s waiting downstairs! Isn’t this the moment For me to bring him up? And Lucasta?
EGGERSON	An excellent suggestion, Mr. Simpkins.
(didascalia)	[Exit COLBY]
EGGERSON	And now, if you agree, Lady Elizabeth, We can ask Mr. Kaghan about his parents; And if Mr. and Mrs. Kaghan are still living Mrs. Guzzard should be able to identify them.
LADY ELIZABETH	And will that prove that Mr. Kaghan — This Mr. Kaghan — is my son?
EGGERSON	It creates an inherent probability — If that’s the right expression.
SIR CLAUDE	I believe, Elizabeth, That you have found your son.
EGGERSON	Subject to confirmation.
LADY ELIZABETH	And to my being able to adjust myself to it.
(didascalia)	[Re-enter COLBY, with KAGHAN and LUCASTA]
COLBY	I have told them to be prepared for a surprise.
LADY ELIZABETH	Barnabas! Is your name Barnabas?
KAGHAN	Why, yes, it is. Did you tell her, Sir Claude?
SIR CLAUDE	No, B. It was Mrs. Guzzard who revealed it. This is Mr. Barnabas Kaghan — Mrs. Guzzard. And … my daughter Lucasta.
KAGHAN	But how did Mrs. Guzzard know my name?
MRS	GUZZARD. Were Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Kaghan your parents?
KAGHAN	Yes. They are. My adoptive parents.
MRS	GUZZARD. And did they at one time live in Teddington?
KAGHAN	I believe they did. But why are you interested?
MRS	GUZZARD. Lady Elizabeth, I believe that this is your son. If so, I am cleared from your unjust suspicion.
EGGERSON	Mr. Kaghan, are your adoptive parents living?
KAGHAN	In Kent. They wanted to retire to the country. So I found them a little place near Sevenoaks Where they keep bees. But why are you asking?
LADY ELIZABETH	Because, Barnabas, it seems you are my son.
EGGERSON	You will wish to obtain confirmation Of this interesting discovery, Mr. Kaghan, By putting your adoptive parents in touch With Mrs. Guzzard. It’s for them to confirm That they took you, as a child, from Mrs. Guzzard, To whom, it seems, you had first been entrusted.
KAGHAN	I really don’t know what emotion to register …
LUCASTA	You don’t need to talk that language any longer: Just say you’re embarrassed.
KAGHAN	Well, I am embarrassed. If Lady Elizabeth is my mother …
LADY ELIZABETH	There is no doubt whatever about it, Barnabas. I am your mother.
KAGHAN	But who was my father?
LADY ELIZABETH	He died very suddenly. Of a fatal accident When you were very young. That is why you were adopted.
KAGHAN	But what did he do? Was he a financier?
LADY ELIZABETH	He was not good at figures. Your business ability Comes, I suppose, from my side of the family. But he was in a very good regiment — For a time, at least.
KAGHAN	Well, I must get used to that. But I should like to know how I ought to address you, Lady Elizabeth. I’ve always been accustomed To regard Mrs. Kaghan as my mother.
LADY ELIZABETH	Then in order to avoid any danger of confusion You may address me as Aunt Elizabeth.
KAGHAN	That’s easier, certainly.
LADY ELIZABETH	And I shall wish to meet them. Claude, we must invite the Kaghans to dinner.
SIR CLAUDE	By all means, Elizabeth.
KAGHAN	But, Lady Elizabeth — I mean, Aunt Elizabeth: if I call you Aunt Elizabeth Would you mind very much calling me … just ‘B’?
LADY ELIZABETH	Certainly, if you prefer that, Barnabas.
LUCASTA	Why is it that you don’t like the name of Barnabas?
KAGHAN	I don’t want people calling me ‘Barney’ — Barney Kaghan! Kaghan’s all right. But Barney Kaghan — it sounds rather flashy: It wouldn’t make the right impression in the City.
LUCASTA	When you’re an alderman, you’ll be Sir Barney Kaghan!
LADY ELIZABETH	And I’m very glad you’re announcing your engagement. Lucasta, I shall take charge of your wedding.
LUCASTA	We’d meant to be married very quietly In a register office.
LADY ELIZABETH	You must have a church wedding.
MRS	GUZZARD. I am glad to hear you say so, Lady Elizabeth. But are you satisfied?
LADY ELIZABETH	Satisfied? What about?
MRS	GUZZARD. That your suspicions of me were wholly unfounded.
LADY ELIZABETH	Oh, Mrs. Guzzard, I had no suspicions! I thought there had been a confusion — that’s all.
MRS	GUZZARD. I feared there might be a confusion in your mind Between the meaning of confusion and imposture.
SIR CLAUDE	I don’t think there is any confusion now: I’m sure that my wife is perfectly convinced; And Mr. Kaghan’s … mother, I am sure, will confirm it.
MRS	GUZZARD. That is as much to my interest as anyone’s. But will your wife be satisfied, When she has the evidence the Kaghans will supply, To recognise Barnabas Kaghan as her son? [To LADY ELIZABETH] Are you contented to have him as your son?
SIR CLAUDE	That seems a strange question, Mrs. Guzzard.
MRS	GUZZARD. I have been asked here to answer strange questions — And now it is my turn to ask them. I should like to gratify everyone’s wishes.
LADY ELIZABETH	Oh, of course … Yes, I’m sure … I shall be very happy.
MRS	GUZZARD. You wished for your son, and now you have your son. We all of us have to adapt ourselves To the wish that is granted. That can be a painful process, As I know. And you, Barnabas Kaghan, Are you satisfied to find yourself the son Of Lady Elizabeth Mulhammer?
KAGHAN	It’s very much better than being a foundling — If I can live up to it. And … yes, of course, If I can make it right with my parents. I’m fond of them, you know.
LADY ELIZABETH	I shall see to that, Barnabas.
KAGHAN	B. — if you don’t mind, Aunt Elizabeth.
LADY ELIZABETH	B. — and I’m sure we shall become great friends.
EGGERSON	I’m sure we all wish for nothing better.
MRS	GUZZARD. Wishes, when realised, sometimes turn Against those who have made them. [To LADY ELIZABETH and KAGHAN] Not, I think, with you. [To LUCASTA] Nor, so far as I can judge, with you. Perhaps you are the wisest wisher here: I shall not ask you whether you are satisfied To be the wife of Barnabas Kaghan, The daughter-in-law of Lady Elizabeth, And the daughter of Sir Claude Mulhammer.
SIR CLAUDE	That is my concern — that she shall be satisfied To be my daughter.
MRS	GUZZARD.            Now, Colby, I must ask you now, have you had your wish?
SIR CLAUDE	Colby only wanted to be sure of the truth.
COLBY	That is a very strange question, Aunt Sarah: To which I can only give a strange answer. Sir Claude is right: I wished to know the truth. What it is, doesn’t matter. All I wanted was relief From the nagging annoyance of knowing there’s a fact That one doesn’t know. But the fact itself Is unimportant, once one knows it.
MRS	GUZZARD. You had no preference? Between a father and a mother?
COLBY	I’ve never had a father or a mother — It’s different for B. He’s had his foster-parents, So he can afford another relationship. Let my mother rest in peace. As for a father — I have the idea of a father. It’s only just come to me. I should like a father Whom I have never known and couldn’t know now, Because he would have died before I was born Or before I could remember; whom I could get to know Only by report, by documents — The story of his life, of his success or failure … Perhaps his failure more than his success — By objects that belonged to him, and faded photographs In which I should try to decipher a likeness; Whose image I could create in my own mind, To live with that image. An ordinary man Whose life I could in some way perpetuate By being the person he would have liked to be, And by doing the things he had wanted to do.
MRS	GUZZARD. Whose son would you wish to be, Colby: Sir Claude’s — or the son of some other man Obscure and silent? A dead man, Colby. Be careful what you say.
COLBY	A dead obscure man.
MRS	GUZZARD. You shall have your wish. And when you have your wish You will have to come to terms with it. You shall have a father Dead, and unknown to you.
SIR CLAUDE	What do you mean?
MRS	GUZZARD. Colby is not your son, Sir Claude.
COLBY	Who was my father, then?
MRS	GUZZARD.                                 Herbert Guzzard. You are the son of a disappointed musician.
COLBY	And who was my mother?
MRS	GUZZARD.                                 Let your mother rest in peace. I was your mother; but I chose to be your aunt. So you may have your wish, and have no mother.
SIR CLAUDE	Mrs. Guzzard, this is perfectly incredible! You couldn’t have carried out such a deception Over all these years. And why should you have deceived me?
EGGERSON	Mrs. Guzzard, can you substantiate this statement?
MRS	GUZZARD. Registration of birth. To Herbert and Sarah Guzzard A son.
EGGERSON	And what about your sister and her child?
MRS	GUZZARD. Registration of death. The child was never born.
SIR CLAUDE	I don’t believe it. I simply can’t believe it. Mrs. Guzzard, you are inventing this fiction In response to what Colby said he wanted.
EGGERSON	I’ll examine the records myself, Sir Claude. Not that we doubt your word, Mrs. Guzzard: But in a matter of such extreme importance You’ll understand the need for exact confirmation.
MRS	GUZZARD. I understand that, Mr. Eggerson. Quite well.
SIR CLAUDE	I shall not believe it. I’ll not believe those records. You pretend to have carried out a deception For twenty-five years? It’s quite impossible.
MRS	GUZZARD. I had no intention of deceiving you, Sir Claude, Till you deceived yourself. When you went to Canada My sister found that she was to have a child: That much is true. I also was expecting one. That you did not know. It did not concern you. As I have just said, my sister died Before the child could be born. You were very far away; I sent you a message, which never reached you. On your return, you came at once to see me; And I found that I had to break the news to you. You saw the child. You assumed that it was yours; And you were so pleased, I shrank, at the moment, From undeceiving you. And then I thought — why not? My husband also had died. I was left very poor. If I let you continue to think the child was yours, My son was assured of a proper start in life — That I knew. And it would make you so happy! If I said the child was mine, what future could he have? And then I was frightened by what I had done. Though I had never said ‘this child is yours’, I feared you would ask for the birth certificate. You never did. And so it went on.
SIR CLAUDE	This is horribly plausible. But it can’t be true.
MRS	GUZZARD. Consider, Sir Claude. Would I tell you all this Unless it was true? In telling you the truth I am sacrificing my ambitions for Colby. I am sacrificing also my previous sacrifice. This is even greater than the sacrifice I made When I let you claim him. Do you think it is a small thing For me, to see my life’s ambition come to nothing? When I gave up my place as Colby’s mother I gave up something I could never have back. Don’t you understand that this revelation Drives the knife deeper and twists it in the wound? I had very much rather that the facts were otherwise.
COLBY	I believe you. I must believe you: This gives me freedom.
SIR CLAUDE	But, Colby — If this should be true — of course it can’t be true! — But I see you believe it. You want to believe it. Well, believe it, then. But don’t let it make a difference To our relations. Or, perhaps, for the better? Perhaps we’ll be happier together if you think I am not your father. I’ll accept that. If you will stay with me. It shall make no difference To my plans for your future.
COLBY	Thank you, Sir Claude. You’re a very generous man. But now I know who was my father I must follow my father — so that I may come to know him.
SIR CLAUDE	What do you mean?
COLBY	I want to be an organist. It doesn’t matter about success — I aimed too high before — beyond my capacity. I thought I didn’t want to be an organist When I found I had no chance of getting to the top — That is, to become the organist of a cathedral. But my father was an unsuccessful organist.
MRS	GUZZARD. You should say, Colby, not very successful.
COLBY	And I wish to follow my father.
SIR CLAUDE	But, Colby: Don’t you remember a talk we had — So very long ago! — when we shared our ambitions And shared our disappointment. And you described your feelings On beginning to learn the ways of business; The exhilaration of finding you could handle Matters you would have thought so uncongenial; And the way in which you felt that you were changing? That conversation would have convinced me With no other evidence, that you were my son, Because you described my own experience, exactly. Does that mean nothing to you, the experience we shared? Heaven knows — and you know — I put no obstruction In the way of your fulfilling your musical ambitions — Had you been able to fulfil them. Believe, if you like, that I am not your father: I’ll accept that. I put no claim upon you — Except the claim of our likeness to each other. We have undergone the same disillusionment: I want us to make the best of it, together.
COLBY	No, Sir Claude. I hate to hurt you As I am hurting you. But it is very different. As long as I believed that you were my father I was content to have had the same ambitions And in the same way to accept their failure. You had your father before you, as a model; You knew your inheritance. Now I know mine.
SIR CLAUDE	I shall never ask you to think of me as a father; All I ask you is — to regard me as a friend.
COLBY	But you would still think of me as your son. There can be no relation of father and son Unless it works both ways. For you to regard me — As you would — as your son, when I could not think of you As my father: if I accepted that I should be guilty towards you. I like you too much. You’ve become a man without illusions About himself, and without ambitions. Now that I’ve abandoned my illusions and ambitions All that’s left is love. But not on false pretences: That’s why I must leave you.
SIR CLAUDE	Eggerson! Can’t you persuade him?
LADY ELIZABETH	Yes. My poor Claude! Do try to help him, Eggerson.
EGGERSON	I wouldn’t venture. Mr. Simpkins is a man who knows his own mind. Is it true, Mr. Simpkins, that what you desire Is to become the organist of some parish church?
COLBY	That is what I want. If anyone will take me.
EGGERSON	If so, I happen to know of a vacancy In my own parish, in Joshua Park — If it should appeal to you. The organist we had Died two months ago. We’ve been looking for another.
COLBY	Do you think that they would give me a trial?
EGGERSON	Give you a trial? I’m certain. Good organists don’t seem to want to come to Joshua Park.
COLBY	But I’ve told you, I’m not a very good organist!
EGGERSON	Don’t say that, Mr. Simpkins, until you’ve tried our organ!
COLBY	Well, if you could induce them to try me …
EGGERSON	The Parochial Church Council will be only too pleased, And I have some influence. I am the Vicar’s Warden.
COLBY	I’d like to apply.
EGGERSON	The stipend is small — Very small, I’m afraid. Not enough to live on. We’ll have to think of other ways Of making up an income. Piano lessons? — As a temporary measure; because, Mr. Simpkins — I hope you won’t take this as an impertinence — I don’t see you spending a lifetime as an organist. I think you’ll come to find you’ve another vocation. We worked together every day, you know, For quite a little time, and I’ve watched you pretty closely. Mr. Simpkins! You’ll be thinking of reading for orders. And you’ll still have your music. Why, Mr. Simpkins, Joshua Park may be only a stepping-stone To a precentorship! And a canonry!
COLBY	We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Eggers. Oh, I’m sorry …
EGGERSON	Don’t be sorry: I’m delighted. And by the way, a practical point: If you took the position, you’d want to find your feet In Joshua Park, before you settled on lodgings; We have a spare room. We should be most happy If you cared to stop with us, until you were settled.
COLBY	I’d be very glad indeed — if Mrs. Eggerson approved.
EGGERSON	There’ll be no one so pleased as Mrs. E.; Of that I can assure you.
MRS	GUZZARD.                    Mr. Eggerson, I cannot see eye to eye with you, Having been, myself, the wife of an organist; But you too, I think, have had a wish realised. — I believe that this interview can now be terminated. If you will excuse me, Sir Claude …
SIR CLAUDE	Excuse you? Yes.
MRS	GUZZARD. I shall return to Teddington. Colby, Will you get me a taxi to go to Waterloo?
COLBY	Get you a taxi? Yes, Aunt Sarah; But I should see you home.
MRS	GUZZARD.                         Home? Only to a taxi. Do you mind if I take my leave, Sir Claude? I’m no longer needed here.
(didascalia)	[Exit COLBY]
SIR CLAUDE	Mind? What do I mind?
MRS	GUZZARD. Then I will say goodbye. You have all had your wish In one form or another. You and I, Sir Claude, Had our wishes twenty-five years ago; But we failed to observe, when we had our wishes, That there was a time-limit clause in the contract.
SIR CLAUDE	What’s that? Oh. Good-bye, Mrs. Guzzard.
(didascalia)	[Exit MRS. GUZZARD]
SIR CLAUDE	What’s happened? Have they gone? Is Colby coming back?
LADY ELIZABETH	My poor Claude!
(didascalia)	[LUCASTA crosses to SIR CLAUDE and kneels beside him]
KAGHAN	You know, Claude, I think we all made the same mistake — All except Eggers …
EGGERSON	Me, Mr. Kaghan?
KAGHAN	We wanted Colby to be something he wasn’t.
LADY ELIZABETH	I suppose that’s true of you and me, Claude. Between not knowing what other people want of one, And not knowing what one should ask of other people, One does make mistakes! But I mean to do better. Claude, we’ve got to try to understand our children.
KAGHAN	And we should like to understand you … I mean, I’m including both of you, Claude … and Aunt Elizabeth. You know, Claude, both Lucasta and I Would like to mean something to you … if you’d let us; And we’d take the responsibility of meaning it.
(didascalia)	[LUCASTA puts her arms around SIR CLAUDE]
SIR CLAUDE	Don’t leave me, Lucasta. Eggerson! Do you really believe her?
(didascalia)	[EGGERSON nods]
SIR CLAUDE	CURTAIN The Cast of the First Production at the Edinburgh Festival August 25–September 5 1953 Sir Claude Mulhammer PAUL ROGERS Eggerson ALAN WEBB Colby Simpkins DENHOLM ELLIOTT B. Kaghan PETER JONES Lucasta Angel MARGARET LEIGHTON Lady Elizabeth Mulhammer ISABEL JEANS Mrs. Guzzard ALISON LEGGATT Presented by HENRY SHEREK Directed by E. MARTIN BROWNE Settings designed by HUTCHINSON SCOTT * Lady Elizabeth’s words off stage are not intended to be heard distinctly by an audience in the theatre. THE ELDER STATESMAN TO MY WIFE To whom I owe the leaping delight That quickens my senses in our wakingtime And the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleepingtime, The breathing in unison Of lovers … Who think the same thoughts without need of speech And babble the same speech without need of meaning: To you I dedicate this book, to return as best I can With words a little part of what you have given me. The words mean what they say, but some have a further meaning For you and me only. Characters MONICA CLAVERTON-FERRY CHARLES HEMINGTON LAMBERT LORD CLAVERTON FEDERICO GOMEZ
MRS	PIGGOTT
MRS	CARGHILL MICHAEL CLAVERTON-FERRY

ACT ONE

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	The drawing-room of Lord Claverton’s London house. Four o’clock in the afternoon

ACT TWO

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	The Terrace at Badgley Court. Morning

ACT THREE

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	The Same. Late afternoon of the following day

Act One

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	The drawing-room of LORD CLAVERTON’S London house. Four o’clock in the afternoon.
(didascalia)	[Voices in the hall]
CHARLES	Is your father at home to-day?
MONICA	You’ll see him at tea.
CHARLES	But if I’m not going to have you to myself There’s really no point in my staying to tea.
(didascalia)	[Enter MONICA and CHARLEs carrying parcels]
MONICA	But you must stay to tea. That was understood When you said you could give me the whole afternoon.
CHARLES	But I couldn’t say what I wanted to say to you Over luncheon …
MONICA	That’s your own fault. You should have taken me to some other restaurant Instead of to one where the maître d’hôtel And the waiters all seem to be your intimate friends.
CHARLES	It’s the only place where I’m really well known And get well served. And when you’re with me It must be a perfect lunch.
MONICA	It was a perfect lunch. But I know what men are — they like to show off. That’s masculine vanity, to want to have the waiters All buzzing round you: and it reminds the girl That she’s not the only one who’s been there with him.
CHARLES	Well, tease me if you like. But a man does feel a fool If he takes you to a place where he’s utterly unknown And the waiters all appear to be avoiding his eye.
MONICA	We’re getting off the point …
CHARLES	You’ve got me off my point … I was trying to explain …
MONICA	It’s simply the question Of your staying to tea. As you practically promised.
CHARLES	What you don’t understand is that I have a grievance. On Monday you’re leaving London, with your father: I arranged to be free for the whole afternoon On the plain understanding …
MONICA	That you should stop to tea.
CHARLES	When I said that I was free for the whole afternoon, That meant you were to give me the whole afternoon. I couldn’t say what I wanted to, in a restaurant; And then you took me on a shopping expedition …
MONICA	If you don’t like shopping with me …
CHARLES	Of course I like shopping with you. But how can one talk on a shopping expedition — Except to guess what you want to buy And advise you to buy it.
MONICA	But why not stop to tea?
CHARLES	Very well then, I will stop to tea, But you know I won’t get a chance to talk to you. You know that. Now that your father’s retired He’s at home every day. And you’re leaving London. And because your father simply can’t bear it That any man but he should have you to himself, Before I’ve said two words he’ll come ambling in …
MONICA	You’ve said a good deal more than two words already. And besides, my father doesn’t amble. You’re not at all respectful.
CHARLES	I try to be respectful; But you know that I shan’t have a minute alone with you.
MONICA	You’ve already had several minutes alone with me Which you’ve wasted in wrangling. But seriously, Charles, Father’s sure to be buried in the library And he won’t think of leaving it until he’s called for tea. So why not talk now? Though I know very well What it is you want to say. I’ve heard it all before.
CHARLES	And you’ll hear it again. You think I’m going to tell you Once more, that I’m in love with you. Well, you’re right. But I’ve something else to say that I haven’t said before, That will give you a shock. I believe you love me.
MONICA	Oh, what a dominating man you are! Really, you must imagine you’re a hypnotist.
CHARLES	Is this a time to torment me? But I’m selfish In saying that, because I think — I think you’re tormenting yourself as well.
MONICA	You’re right. I am. Because I am in love with you.
CHARLES	So I was right! The moment I’d said it I was badly frightened. For I didn’t know you loved me — I merely wanted to believe it. And I’ve made you say so! But now that you’ve said so, you must say it again, For I need so much assurance! Are you sure you’re not mistaken?
MONICA	How did this come, Charles? It crept so softly On silent feet, and stood behind my back Quietly, a long time, a long long time Before I felt its presence.
CHARLES	Your words seem to come From very far away. Yet very near. You are changing me And I am changing you.
MONICA	Already How much of me is you?
CHARLES	And how much of me is you? I’m not the same person as a moment ago. What do the words mean now — I and you?
MONICA	In our private world — now we have our private world — The meanings are different. Look! We’re back in the room That we entered only a few minutes ago. Here’s an armchair, there’s the table; There’s the door … and I hear someone coming: It’s Lambert with the tea …
(didascalia)	[Enter LAMBERT with trolley]
MONICA	and I shall say, ‘Lambert, Please let his lordship know that tea is waiting’.
LAMBERT	Yes, Miss Monica.
MONICA	I’m very glad, Charles, That you can stay to tea.
(didascalia)	[Exit LAMBERT]
MONICA	— Now we’re in the public world.
CHARLES	And your father will come. With his calm possessive air And his kindly welcome, which is always a reminder That I mustn’t stay too long, for you belong to him. He seems so placidly to take it for granted That you don’t really care for any company but his!
MONICA	You’re not to assume that anything I’ve said to you Has given you the right to criticise my father. In the first place, you don’t understand him; In the second place, we’re not engaged yet.
CHARLES	Aren’t we? We’re agreed that we’re in love with each other, And, there being no legal impediment Isn’t that enough to constitute an engagement? Aren’t you sure that you want to marry me?
MONICA	Yes, Charles. I’m sure that I want to marry you When I’m free to do so. But by that time You may have changed your mind. Such things have happened.
CHARLES	That won’t happen to me.
(didascalia)	[Knock. Enter LAMBERT]
LAMBERT	Excuse me, Miss Monica. His Lordship said to tell you Not to wait tea for him.
MONICA	Thank you, Lambert.
LAMBERT	He’s busy at the moment. But he won’t be very long.
(didascalia)	[Exit]
CHARLES	Don’t you understand that you’re torturing me? How long will you be imprisoned, alone with your father In that very expensive hotel for convalescents To which you’re taking him? And what after that?
MONICA	There are several good reasons why I should go with him.
CHARLES	Better reasons than for marrying me? What reasons?
MONICA	First, his terror of being alone. In the life he’s led, he’s never had to be alone. And when he’s been at home in the evening, Even when he’s reading, or busy with his papers He needs to have someone else in the room with him, Reading too — or just sitting — someone Not occupied with anything that can’t be interrupted. Someone to make a remark to now and then. And mostly it’s been me.
CHARLES	I know it’s been you. It’s a pity that you haven’t had brothers and sisters To share the burden. Sisters, I should say, For your brother’s never been of any use to you.
MONICA	And never will be of any use to anybody, I’m afraid. Poor Michael! Mother spoilt him And Father was too severe — so they’re always at loggerheads.
CHARLES	But you spoke of several reasons for your going with your father. Is there any better reason than his fear of solitude?
MONICA	The second reason is exactly the opposite: It’s his fear of being exposed to strangers.
CHARLES	But he’s most alive when he’s among people Managing, manœuvring, cajoling or bullying — At all of which he’s a master. Strangers!
MONICA	You don’t understand. It’s one thing meeting people When you’re in authority, with authority’s costume, When the man that people see when they meet you Is not the private man, but the public personage. In politics Father wore a public label. And later, as chairman of public companies, Always his privacy has been preserved.
CHARLES	His privacy has been so well preserved That I’ve sometimes wondered whether there was any … Private self to preserve.
MONICA	There is a private self, Charles. I’m sure of that.
CHARLES	You’ve given two reasons, One the contradiction of the other. Can there be a third?
MONICA	The third reason is this: I’ve only just been given it by Dr. Selby — Father is much iller than he is aware of: It may be, he will never return from Badgley Court. But Selby wants him to have every encouragement — If he’s hopeful, he’s likely to live a little longer. That’s why Selby chose the place. A convalescent home With the atmosphere of an hotel — Nothing about it to suggest the clinic — Everything about it to suggest recovery.
CHARLES	This is your best reason, and the most depressing; For this situation may persist for a long time, And you’ll go on postponing and postponing our marriage.
MONICA	I’m afraid … not a very long time, Charles. It’s almost certain that the winter in Jamaica Will never take place. ‘Make the reservations’ Selby said, ‘as if you were going’. But Badgley Court’s so near your constituency! You can come down at weekends, even when the House is sitting. And you can take me out, if Father can spare me. But he’ll simply love having you to talk to!
CHARLES	I know he’s used to seeing me about.
MONICA	I’ve seen him looking at you. He was thinking of himself When he was your age — when he started like you, With the same hopes, the same ambitions — And of his disappointments.
CHARLES	Is that wistfulness, Compassion, or … envy?
MONICA	Envy is everywhere. Who is without envy? And most people Are unaware or unashamed of being envious. It’s all we can ask if compassion and wistfulness … And tenderness, Charles! are mixed with envy: I do believe that he is fond of you. So you must come often. And Oh, Charles dear —
(didascalia)	[Enter LORD CLAVERTON]
MONICA	You’ve been very long in coming, Father. What have you been doing?
LORD CLAVERTON	Good afternoon, Charles. You might have guessed, Monica, What I’ve been doing. Don’t you recognise this book?
MONICA	It’s your engagement book.
LORD CLAVERTON	Yes, I’ve been brooding over it.
MONICA	But what a time for your engagement book! You know what the doctors said: complete relaxation And to think about nothing. Though I know that won’t be easy.
LORD CLAVERTON	That is just what I was doing.
MONICA	Thinking of nothing?
LORD CLAVERTON	Contemplating nothingness. Just remember: Every day, year after year, over my breakfast, I have looked at this book — or one just like it — You know I keep the old ones on a shelf together; I could look in the right book, and find out what I was doing Twenty years ago, to-day, at this hour of the afternoon. If I’ve been looking at this engagement book, to-day, Not over breakfast, but before tea, It’s the empty pages that I’ve been fingering — The first empty pages since I entered Parliament. I used to jot down notes of what I had to say to people: Now I’ve no more to say, and no one to say it to. I’ve been wondering … how many more empty pages?
MONICA	You would soon fill them up if we allowed you to! That’s my business to prevent. You know I’m to protect you From your own restless energy — the inexhaustible Sources of the power that wears out the machine.
LORD CLAVERTON	They’ve dried up, Monica, and you know it. They talk of rest, these doctors, Charles; they tell me to be cautious, To take life easily. Take life easily! It’s like telling a man he mustn’t run for trains When the last thing he wants is to take a train for anywhere! No, I’ve not the slightest longing for the life I’ve left — Only fear of the emptiness before me. If I had the energy to work myself to death How gladly would I face death! But waiting, simply waiting, With no desire to act, yet a loathing of inaction. A fear of the vacuum, and no desire to fill it. It’s just like sitting in an empty waiting room In a railway station on a branch line, After the last train, after all the other passengers Have left, and the booking office is closed And the porters have gone. What am I waiting for In a cold and empty room before an empty grate? For no one. For nothing.
MONICA	Yet you’ve been looking forward To this very time! You know how you grumbled At the farewell banquet, with the tributes from the staff, The presentation, and the speech you had to make And the speeches that you had to listen to! LORD CLAVERTON [pointing to a silver salver, still lying in its case]. I don’t know which impressed me more, the insincerity Of what was said about me, or of my reply — All to thank them for that.                                               Oh the grudging contributions That bought this piece of silver! The inadequate levy That made the Chairman’s Price! And my fellow directors Saying ‘we must put our hands in our pockets To double this collection — it must be something showy’. This would do for visiting cards — if people still left cards And if I was going to have any visitors.
MONICA	Father, you simply want to revel in gloom! You know you’ve retired in a blaze of glory — You’ve read every word about you in the papers.
CHARLES	And the leading articles saying ‘we are confident That his sagacious counsel will long continue To be at the disposal of the Government in power’. And the expectation that your voice will be heard In debate in the Upper House …
LORD CLAVERTON	The established liturgy Of the Press on any conspicuous retirement. My obituary, if I had died in harness, Would have occupied a column and a half With an inset, a portrait taken twenty years ago. In five years’ time, it will be the half of that; In ten years’ time, a paragraph.
CHARLES	That’s the reward Of every public man.
LORD CLAVERTON	Say rather, the exequies Of the failed successes, the successful failures, Who occupy positions that other men covet. When we go, a good many folk are mildly grieved, And our closest associates, the small minority Of those who really understand the place we filled Are inwardly delighted. They won’t want my ghost Walking in the City or sitting in the Lords. And I, who recognise myself as a ghost Shan’t want to be seen there. It makes me smile To think that men should be frightened of ghosts. If they only knew how frightened a ghost can be of men!
(didascalia)	[Knock. Enter LAMBERT]
LAMBERT	Excuse me, my Lord. There’s a gentleman downstairs Is very insistent that he must see you. I told him you never saw anyone, my Lord, But by previous appointment. He said he knew that, So he had brought this note. He said that when you read it You would want to see him. Said you’d be very angry If you heard that he’d gone away without your seeing him.
LORD CLAVERTON	What sort of a person?
LAMBERT	A foreign person By the looks of him. But talks good English. A pleasant-spoken gentleman. LORD CLAVERTON [after reading the note]. I’ll see him in the library. No, stop. I’ve left too many papers about there. I’d better see him here.
LAMBERT	Very good, my Lord. Shall I take the trolley, Miss Monica?
MONICA	Yes, thank you, Lambert.
(didascalia)	[Exit LAMBERT]
CHARLES	I ought to be going.
MONICA	Let us go into the library. And then I’ll see you off.
LORD CLAVERTON	I’m sorry to turn you out of the room like this, But I’ll have to see this man by myself, Monica. I’ve never heard of this Señor Gomez But he comes with a letter of introduction From a man I used to know. I can’t refuse to see him. Though from what I remember of the man who introduces him I expect he wants money. Or to sell me something worthless.
MONICA	You ought not to bother with such people now, Father. If you haven’t got rid of him in twenty minutes I’ll send Lambert to tell you that you have to take a trunk call. Come, Charles. Will you bring my coat?
CHARLES	I’ll say goodbye, sir. And look forward to seeing you both at Badgley Court In a week or two.
(didascalia)	[Enter LAMBERT]
LAMBERT	Mr. Gomez, my Lord.
LORD CLAVERTON	Goodbye, Charles. And please remember That we both want to see you, whenever you can come If you’re in the vicinity. Don’t we, Monica?
MONICA	Yes, Father. (To CHARLES) We both want to see you.
(didascalia)	[Exeunt MONICA and CHARLES]
(didascalia)	[LAMBERT shows in GOMEZ]
LORD CLAVERTON	Good evening, Mr…. Gomez. You’re a friend of Mr. Culverwell?
GOMEZ	We’re as thick as thieves, you might almost say. Don’t you know me, Dick?
LORD CLAVERTON	Fred Culverwell! Why do you come back with another name?
GOMEZ	You’ve changed your name too, since I knew you. When we were up at Oxford, you were plain Dick Ferry. Then, when you married, you took your wife’s name And became Mr. Richard Claverton-Ferry; And finally, Lord Claverton. I’ve followed your example, And done the same, in a modest way. You know, where I live, people do change their names; And besides, my wife’s name is a good deal more normal In my country, than Culverwell — and easier to pronounce.
LORD CLAVERTON	Have you lived out there ever since … you left England?
GOMEZ	Ever since I finished my sentence.
LORD CLAVERTON	What has brought you to England?
GOMEZ	Call it homesickness, Curiosity, restlessness, whatever you like. But I’ve been a pretty hard worker all these years And I thought, now’s the time to take a long holiday, Let’s say a rest cure — that’s what I’ve come for. You see, I’m a widower, like you, Dick. So I’m pretty footloose. Gomez, you see, Is now a highly respected citizen Of a central American republic: San Marco. It’s as hard to become a respected citizen Out there, as it is here. With this qualification: Out there they respect you for rather different reasons.
LORD CLAVERTON	Do you mean that you’ve won respect out there By the sort of activity that lost you respect Here in England?
GOMEZ	Not at all, not at all. I think that was rather an unkind suggestion. I’ve always kept on the right side of the law — And seen that the law turned its right side to me. Sometimes I’ve had to pay pretty heavily; But I learnt by experience whom to pay; And a little money laid out in the right manner In the right places, pays many times over. I assure you it does.
LORD CLAVERTON	In other words You have been engaged in systematic corruption.
GOMEZ	No, Dick, there’s a fault in your logic. How can one corrupt those who are already corrupted? I can swear that I’ve never corrupted anybody. In fact, I’ve never come across an official Innocent enough to be corruptible.
LORD CLAVERTON	It would seem then that most of your business Has been of such a nature that, if carried on in England, It might land you in gaol again?
GOMEZ	That’s true enough, Except for a false inference. I wouldn’t dream Of carrying on such business if I lived in England. I have the same standards of morality As the society in which I find myself. I do nothing in England that you would disapprove of.
LORD CLAVERTON	That’s something, at least, to be thankful for. I trust you’ve no need to engage in forgery.
GOMEZ	Forgery, Dick? An absurd suggestion! Forgery, I can tell you, is a mug’s game. I say that — with conviction. No, forgery, or washing cheques, or anything of that nature, Is certain to be found out sooner or later. And then what happens? You have to move on. That wouldn’t do for me. I’m too domestic. And by the way, I’ve several children, All grown up, doing well for themselves. I wouldn’t allow either of my sons To go into politics. In my country, Dick, Politicians can’t afford mistakes. The prudent ones Always have an aeroplane ready: And keep an account in a bank in Switzerland. The ones who don’t get out in time Find themselves in gaol and not very comfortable, Or before a firing squad. You don’t know what serious politics is like! I said to my boys: ‘Never touch politics. Stay out of politics, and play both parties: What you don’t get from one you may get from the other’. Dick, don’t tell me that there isn’t any whisky in the house?
LORD CLAVERTON	I can provide whisky. [Presses the bell]                                                              But why have you come?
GOMEZ	You’ve asked me that already! To see you, Dick. A natural desire! For you’re the only old friend I can trust.
LORD CLAVERTON	You really trust me? I appreciate the compliment.
GOMEZ	Which you’re sure you deserve. But when I say ‘trust’ …
(didascalia)	[Knock. Enter LAMBERT]
LORD CLAVERTON	Lambert, will you bring in the whisky. And soda.
LAMBERT	Very good, my Lord.
GOMEZ	And some ice.
LAMBERT	Ice? Yes, my Lord.
(didascalia)	[Exit]
GOMEZ	I began to say: when I say ‘trust’ I use the term as experience has taught me. It’s nonsense to talk of trusting people In general. What does that mean? One trusts a man Or a woman — in this respect or that. A won’t let me down in this relationship, B won’t let me down in some other connection. But, as I’ve always said to my boys: ‘When you come to the point where you need to trust someone You must make it worth his while to be trustworthy’.
(didascalia)	[During this LAMBERT enters silently, deposits tray and exit]
LORD CLAVERTON	Won’t you help yourself?
(didascalia)	[GOMEZ does so, liberally]
GOMEZ	And what about you?
LORD CLAVERTON	I don’t take it, thank you.
GOMEZ	A reformed character!
LORD CLAVERTON	I should like to know why you need to trust me.
GOMEZ	That’s perfectly simple. I come back to England After thirty-five years. Can you imagine What it would be like to have been away from home For thirty-five years? I was twenty-five — The same age as you — when I went away, Thousands of miles away, to another climate, To another language, other standards of behaviour, To fabricate for myself another personality And to take another name. Think what that means — To take another name.
(didascalia)	[Gets up and helps himself to whisky]
GOMEZ	But of course you know! Just enough to think you know more than you do. You’ve changed your name twice — by easy stages, And each step was merely a step up the ladder, So you weren’t aware of becoming a different person: But where I changed my name, there was no social ladder. It was jumping a gap — and you can’t jump back again. I parted from myself by a sudden effort, You, so slowly and sweetly, that you’ve never woken up To the fact that Dick Ferry died long ago. I married a girl who didn’t know a word of English, Didn’t want to learn English, wasn’t interested In anything that happened four thousand miles away, Only believed what the parish priest told her. I made my children learn English — it’s useful; I always talk to them in English. But do they think in English? No, they do not. They think in Spanish, but their thoughts are Indian thoughts. O God, Dick, you don’t know what it’s like To be so cut off! Homesickness! Homesickness is a sickly word. You don’t understand such isolation As mine, you think you do …
LORD CLAVERTON	I’m sure I do, I’ve always been alone.
GOMEZ	Oh, loneliness — Everybody knows what that’s like. Your loneliness — so cosy, warm and padded: You’re not isolated — merely insulated. It’s only when you come to see that you have lost yourself That you are quite alone.
LORD CLAVERTON	I’m waiting to hear Why you should need to trust me.
GOMEZ	Perfectly simple. My father’s dead long since — that’s a good thing. My mother — I dare say she’s still alive, But she must be very old. And she must think I’m dead; And as for my married sisters — I don’t suppose their husbands Were ever told the story. They wouldn’t want to see me. No, I need one old friend, a friend whom I can trust — And one who will accept both Culverwell and Gomez — See Culverwell as Gomez — Gomez as Culverwell. I need you, Dick, to give me reality!
LORD CLAVERTON	But according to the description you have given Of trusting people, how do you propose To make it worth my while to be trustworthy?
GOMEZ	It’s done already, Dick; done many years ago: Adoption tried, and grappled to my soul With hoops of steel, and all that sort of thing. We’ll come to that, very soon. Isn’t it strange That there should always have been this bond between us?
LORD CLAVERTON	It has never crossed my mind. Develop the point.
GOMEZ	Well, consider what we were when we went up to Oxford And then what I became under your influence.
LORD CLAVERTON	You cannot attribute your … misfortune to my influence.
GOMEZ	I was just about as different as anyone could be From the sort of men you’d been at school with — I didn’t fit into your set, and I knew it. When you started to take me up at Oxford I’ve no doubt your friends wondered what you found in me — A scholarship boy from an unknown grammar school. I didn’t know either, but I was flattered. Later, I came to understand: you made friends with me Because it flattered you — tickled your love of power To see that I was flattered, and that I admired you. Everyone expected that I should get a First. I suppose your tutor thought you’d be sent down. It went the other way. You stayed the course, at least. I had plenty of time to think things over, later.
LORD CLAVERTON	And what is the conclusion that you came to?
GOMEZ	This is how it worked out, Dick. You liked to play the rake, But you never went too far. There’s a prudent devil Inside you, Dick. He never came to my help.
LORD CLAVERTON	I certainly admit no responsibility, None whatever, for what happened to you later.
GOMEZ	You led me on at Oxford, and left me to it. And so it came about that I was sent down With the consequences which you remember: A miserable clerkship — which your father found for me, And expensive tastes — which you had fostered in me, And, equally unfortunate, a talent for penmanship. Hence, as you have just reminded me Defalcation and forgery. And then my stretch Which gave me time to think it all out.
LORD CLAVERTON	That’s the second time you have mentioned your reflections. But there’s just one thing you seem to have forgotten: I came to your assistance when you were released.
GOMEZ	Yes, and paid my passage out. I know the reason: You wanted to get rid of me. I shall tell you why presently. Now let’s look for a moment at your life history. You had plenty of money, and you made a good marriage — Or so it seemed — and with your father’s money And your wife’s family influence, you got on in politics. Shall we say that you did very well by yourself? Though not, I suspect, as well as you had hoped.
LORD CLAVERTON	I was never accused of making a mistake.
GOMEZ	No, in England mistakes are anonymous Because the man who accepts responsibility Isn’t the man who made the mistake. That’s your convention. Or if it’s known you made it You simply get moved to another post Where at least you can’t make quite the same mistake. At the worst, you go into opposition And let the other people make mistakes Until your own have been more or less forgotten. I dare say you did make some mistake, Dick … That would account for your leaving politics And taking a conspicuous job in the City Where the Government could always consult you But of course didn’t have to take your advice … I’ve made a point, you see, of following your career.
LORD CLAVERTON	I am touched by your interest.
GOMEZ	I have a gift for friendship. I rejoiced in your success. But one thing has puzzled me. You were given a ministry before you were fifty: That should have led you to the very top! And yet you withdrew from the world of politics And went into the City. Director of a bank And chairman of companies. You looked the part — Cut out to be an impressive figurehead. But again, you’ve retired at sixty. Why at sixty?
LORD CLAVERTON	Knowing as much about me as you do You must have read that I retired at the insistence of my doctors.
GOMEZ	Oh yes, the usual euphemism. And yet I wonder. It is surprising: You should have been good for another five years At least. Why did they let you retire?
LORD CLAVERTON	If you want to know, I had had a stroke. And I might have another.
GOMEZ	Yes. You might have another. But I wonder what brought about this … stroke; And I wonder whether you’re the great economist And financial wizard that you’re supposed to be. And I’ve learned something of other vicissitudes. Dick, I was very very sorry when I heard That your marriage had not been altogether happy. And as for your son — from what I’ve heard about him, He’s followed your undergraduate career Without the protection of that prudent devil Of yours, to tell him not to go too far. Well, now, I’m beginning to be thirsty again.
(didascalia)	[Pours himself whisky]
LORD CLAVERTON	An interesting historical epitome. Though I cannot accept it as altogether accurate. The only thing I find surprising In the respected citizen of San Marco Is that in the midst of the engrossing business Of the nature of which dark hints have been given, He’s informed himself so carefully about my career.
GOMEZ	I don’t propose to give you a detailed account Of my own career. I’ve been very successful. What would have happened to me, I wonder, If I had never met you? I should have got my First, And I might have become the history master In a school like that from which I went to Oxford. As it is, I’m somebody — a more important man In San Marco than I should ever have been in England.
LORD CLAVERTON	So, as you consider yourself a success …
GOMEZ	A worldly success, Dick. In another sense We’re both of us failures. But even so, I’d rather be my kind of failure than yours.
LORD CLAVERTON	And what do you call failure?
GOMEZ	What do I call failure? The worst kind of failure, in my opinion, Is the man who has to keep on pretending to himself That he’s a success — the man who in the morning Has to make up his face before he looks in the mirror.
LORD CLAVERTON	Isn’t that the kind of pretence that you’re maintaining In trying to persuade me of your … worldly success?
GOMEZ	No, because I know the value of the coinage I pay myself in.
LORD CLAVERTON	Indeed! How interesting! I still don’t know why you’ve come to see me Or what you mean by saying you can trust me.
GOMEZ	Dick, do you remember the moonlight night We drove back to Oxford? You were driving.
LORD CLAVERTON	That happened several times.
GOMEZ	One time in particular. You know quite well to which occasion I’m referring — A summer night of moonlight and shadows — The night you ran over the old man in the road.
LORD CLAVERTON	You said I ran over an old man in the road.
GOMEZ	You knew it too. If you had been surprised When I said ‘Dick, you’ve run over somebody’ Wouldn’t you have shown it, if only for a second? You never lifted your foot from the accelerator.
LORD CLAVERTON	We were in a hurry.
GOMEZ	More than in a hurry. You didn’t want it to be known where we’d been. The girls who were with us (what were their names? I’ve completely forgotten them) you didn’t want them To be called to give evidence. You just couldn’t face it. Do you see now, Dick, why I say I can trust you?
LORD CLAVERTON	If you think that this story would interest the public Why not sell your version to a Sunday newspaper?
GOMEZ	My dear Dick, what a preposterous suggestion! Who’s going to accept the unsupported statement Of Federico Gomez of San Marco About something that happened so many years ago? What damages you’d get! The Press wouldn’t look at it. Besides, you can’t think I’ve any desire To appear in public as Frederick Culverwell? No, Dick, your secret’s safe with me. Of course, I might give it to a few friends, in confidence. It might even reach the ears of some of your acquaintance — But you’d never know to whom I’d told it, Or who knew the story and who didn’t. I promise you. Rely upon me as the soul of discretion.
LORD CLAVERTON	What do you want then? Do you need money?
GOMEZ	My dear chap, you are obtuse! I said: ‘Your secret is safe with me’, And then you … well, I’d never have believed That you would accuse an old friend of … blackmail! On the contrary, I dare say I could buy you out Several times over. San Marco’s a good place To make money in — though not to keep it in. My investments — not all in my own name either — Are pretty well spread. For the matter of that, My current account in Stockholm or Zürich Would keep me in comfort for the rest of my life. Really, Dick, you owe me an apology. Blackmail! On the contrary Any time you’re in a tight corner My entire resources are at your disposal. You were a generous friend to me once As you pointedly reminded me a moment ago. Now it’s my turn, perhaps, to do you a kindness.
(didascalia)	[Enter LAMBERT]
LAMBERT	Excuse me, my Lord, but Miss Monica asked me To remind you there’s a trunk call coming through for you In five minutes’ time.
LORD CLAVERTON	I’ll be ready to take it.
(didascalia)	[Exit LAMBERT]
GOMEZ	Ah, the pre-arranged interruption To terminate the unwelcome intrusion Of the visitor in financial distress. Well, I shan’t keep you long, though I dare say your caller Could hang on for another quarter of an hour.
LORD CLAVERTON	Before you go — what is it that you want?
GOMEZ	I’ve been trying to make clear that I only want your friendship! Just as it used to be in the old days When you taught me expensive tastes. Now it’s my turn. I can have cigars sent direct to you from Cuba If your doctors allow you a smoke now and then. I’m a lonely man, Dick, with a craving for affection. All I want is as much of your company, So long as I stay here, as I can get. And the more I get, the longer I may stay.
LORD CLAVERTON	This is preposterous! Do you call it friendship to impose your company On a man by threats? Why keep up the pretence?
GOMEZ	Threats, Dick! How can you speak of threats? It’s most unkind of you. My only aim Is to renew our friendship. Don’t you understand?
LORD CLAVERTON	I see that when I gave you my friendship So many years ago, I only gained in return Your envy, spite and hatred. That is why you attribute Your downfall to me. But how was I responsible? We were the same age. You were a free moral agent. You pretend that I taught you expensive tastes: If you had not had those tastes already You would hardly have welcomed my companionship.
GOMEZ	Neatly argued, and almost convincing: Don’t you wish you could believe it?
LORD CLAVERTON	And what if I decline To give you the pleasure of my company?
GOMEZ	Oh, I can wait, Dick. You’ll relent at last. You’ll come to feel easier when I’m with you Than when I’m out of sight. You’ll be afraid of whispers, The reflection in the mirror of the face behind you. The ambiguous smile, the distant salutation, The sudden silence when you enter the smoking room.                                                                                      Don’t forget, Dick: You didn’t stop! Well, I’d better be going. I hope I haven’t outstayed my welcome? Your telephone pal may be getting impatient. I’ll see you soon again.
LORD CLAVERTON	Not very soon, I think. I am going away.
GOMEZ	So I’ve been informed. I have friends in the press — if not in the peerage. Goodbye for the present. It’s been an elixir To see you again, and assure myself That we can begin just where we left off.
(didascalia)	[Exit GOMEZ]
(didascalia)	[LORD CLAVERTON sits for a few minutes brooding. A knock. Enter MONICA.]
MONICA	Who was it, Father?
LORD CLAVERTON	A man I used to know.
MONICA	Oh, so you knew him?
LORD CLAVERTON	Yes. He’d changed his name.
MONICA	Then I suppose he wanted money?
LORD CLAVERTON	No, he didn’t want money.
MONICA	Father, this interview has worn you out. You must go and rest now, before dinner.
LORD CLAVERTON	Yes, I’ll go and rest now. I wish Charles was dining with us. I wish we were having a dinner party.
MONICA	Father, can’t you bear to be alone with me? If you can’t bear to dine alone with me tonight, What will it be like at Badgley Court? CURTAIN

Act Two

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	The terrace of Badgley Court. A bright sunny morning, several days later. Enter LORD CLAVERTON and MONICA.
MONICA	Well, so far, it’s better than you expected, Isn’t it, Father? They’ve let us alone; The people in the dining-room show no curiosity; The beds are comfortable, the hot water is hot, They give us a very tolerable breakfast; And the chambermaid really is a chambermaid: For when I asked about morning coffee She said ‘I’m not the one for elevens’s, That’s Nurse’s business’.
LORD CLAVERTON	So far, so good. I’ll feel more confidence after a fortnight — After fourteen days of people not staring Or offering picture papers, or wanting a fourth at bridge; Still, I’ll admit to a feeling of contentment Already. I only hope that it will last — The sense of wellbeing! It’s often with us When we are young, but then it’s not noticed; And by the time one has grown to consciousness It comes less often.                                  I hope this benignant sunshine And warmth will last for a few days more. But this early summer, that’s hardly seasonable, Is so often a harbinger of frost on the fruit trees.
MONICA	Oh, let’s make the most of this weather while it lasts. I never remember you as other than occupied With anxieties from which you were longing to escape; Now I want to see you learning to enjoy yourself!
LORD CLAVERTON	Perhaps I’ve never really enjoyed living As much as most people. At least, as they seem to do Without knowing that they enjoy it. Whereas I’ve often known That I didn’t enjoy it. Some dissatisfaction With myself, I suspect, very deep within myself Has impelled me all my life to find justification Not so much to the world — first of all to myself. What is this self inside us, this silent observer, Severe and speechless critic, who can terrorise us And urge us on to futile activity, And in the end, judge us still more severely For the errors into which his own reproaches drove us?
MONICA	You admit that at the moment you find life pleasant, That it really does seem quiet here and restful. Even the matron, though she looks rather dominating, Has left us alone.
LORD CLAVERTON	Yes, but remember What she said. She said: ‘I’m going to leave you alone! You want perfect peace: that’s what Badgley Court is for.’ I thought that very ominous. When people talk like that It indicates a latent desire to interfere With the privacy of others, which is certain to explode.
MONICA	Hush, Father. I see her coming from the house. Take your newspaper and start reading to me.
(didascalia)	[Enter MRS. PIGGOTT]
MRS	PIGGOTT. Good morning, Lord Claverton! Good morning, Miss Claverton! Isn’t this a glorious morning! I’m afraid you’ll think I’ve been neglecting you; So I’ve come to apologise and explain. I’ve been in such a rush, these last few days, And I thought, ‘Lord Claverton will understand My not coming in directly after breakfast: He’s led a busy life, too.’ But I hope you’re happy? Is there anything you need that hasn’t been provided? All you have to do is to make your wants known. Just ring through to my office. If I’m not there My secretary will be — Miss Timmins. She’d be overjoyed to have the privilege of helping you!
MONICA	You’re very kind … Oh, I’m sorry, We don’t know how we ought to address you. Do we call you ‘Matron’?
MRS	PIGGOTT.                    Oh no, not ‘Matron’! Of course, I am a matron in a sense — No, I don’t simply mean that I’m a married woman — A widow in fact. But I was a Trained Nurse, And of course I’ve always lived in what you might call A medical milieu. My father was a specialist In pharmacology. And my husband Was a distinguished surgeon. Do you know, I fell in love with him During an appendicitis operation! I was a theatre nurse. But you mustn’t call me ‘Matron’ At Badgley Court. You see, we’ve studied to avoid Anything like a nursing-home atmosphere. We don’t want our guests to think of themselves as ill, Though we never have guests who are perfectly well — Except when they come like you, Miss Claverton.
MONICA	Claverton-Ferry. Or Ferry: it’s shorter.
MRS	PIGGOTT. So sorry. Miss Claverton-Ferry. I’m Mrs. Piggott. Just call me Mrs. Piggott. It’s a short and simple name And easy to remember. But, as I was saying, Guests in perfect health are exceptional Though we never accept any guest who’s incurable. You know, we’ve been deluged with applications From people who want to come here to die! We never accept them. Nor do we accept Any guest who looks incurable — We make that stipulation to all the doctors Who send people here. When you go in to lunch Just take a glance around the dining-room: Nobody looks ill! They’re all convalescents, Or resting, like you. So you’ll remember Always to call me Mrs. Piggott, won’t you?
MONICA	Yes, Mrs. Piggott, but please tell me one thing. We haven’t seen her yet, but the chambermaid Referred to a nurse. When we see her Do we address her as ‘Nurse’?
MRS	PIGGOTT.                              Oh yes, that’s different. She is a real nurse, you know, fully qualified. Our system is very delicately balanced: For me to be simply ‘Mrs. Piggott’ Reassures the guests in one respect; And calling our nurses ‘Nurse’ reassures them In another respect.
LORD CLAVERTON	I follow you perfectly.
MRS	PIGGOTT. And now I must fly. I’ve so much on my hands! But before I go, just let me tuck you up … You must be very careful at this time of year; This early warm weather can be very treacherous. There, now you look more comfy. Don’t let him stay out late In the afternoon‚ Miss Claverton-Ferry. And remember, when you want to be very quiet There’s the Silence Room. With a television set. It’s popular in the evenings. But not too crowded.
(didascalia)	[Exit]
LORD CLAVERTON	Much as I had feared. But I’m not going to say Nothing could be worse. Where there’s a Mrs. Piggott There may be, among the guests, something worse than Mrs. Piggott.
MONICA	Let’s hope this was merely the concoction Which she decants for every newcomer. Perhaps after what she considers proper courtesies, She will leave us alone.
(didascalia)	[Re-enter MRS. PIGGOTT]
MRS	PIGGOTT.             I really am neglectful! Miss Claverton-Ferry, I ought to tell you more About the amenities which Badgley Court Can offer to guests of the younger generation. When there are enough young people among us We dance in the evening. At the moment there’s no dancing, And it’s still too early for the bathing pool. But several of our guests are keen on tennis, And of course there’s always croquet. But I don’t advise croquet Until you know enough about the other guests To know whom not to play with. I’ll mention no names, But there are one or two who don’t like being beaten, And that spoils any sport, in my opinion.
MONICA	Thank you, Mrs. Piggott. But I’m very fond of walking And I’m told there are very good walks in this neighbourhood.
MRS	PIGGOTT. There are indeed. I can lend you a map. There are lovely walks, on the shore or in the hills, Quite away from the motor roads. You must learn the best walks. I won’t apologise for the lack of excitement: After all, peace and quiet is our raison d’être. Now I’ll leave you to enjoy it.
(didascalia)	[Exit]
MONICA	I hope she won’t remember anything else.
LORD CLAVERTON	She’ll come back to tell us more about the peace and quiet.
MONICA	I don’t believe she’ll be bothering us again: I could see from her expression when she left That she thought she’d done her duty by us for to-day. I’m going to prowl about the grounds. Don’t look so alarmed! If you spy any guest who seems to be stalking you Put your newspaper over your face And pretend you’re pretending to be asleep. If they think you are asleep they’ll do something to wake you, But if they see you’re shamming they’ll have to take the hint.
(didascalia)	[Exit]
MONICA	A moment later. LORD CLAVERTON spreads his newspaper over his face. Enter MRS. CARGHILL. She sits in a deckchair nearby, composes herself and takes out her knitting.
MRS	CARGHILL [after a pause]. I hope I’m not disturbing you. I always sit here. It’s the sunniest and most sheltered corner, And none of the other guests have discovered it. It was clever of you to find it so quickly. What made you choose it? LORD CLAVERTON [throwing down newspaper]. My daughter chose it. She noticed that it seemed to offer the advantages Which you have just mentioned. I am glad you can confirm them.
MRS	CARGHILL. Oh, so that is your daughter — that very charming girl? And obviously devoted to her father. I was watching you both in the dining-room last night. You are the great Lord Claverton, aren’t you? Somebody said you were coming here — It’s been the topic of conversation. But I couldn’t believe that it would really happen! And now I’m sitting here talking to you. Dear me, it’s astonishing, after all these years; And you don’t even recognise me! I’d know you anywhere. But then, we’ve all seen your portrait in the papers So often. And everybody knows you. But still, I wish you could have paid me that compliment, Richard.
LORD CLAVERTON	What!
MRS	CARGHILL.                Don’t you know me yet?
LORD CLAVERTON	I’m afraid not.
MRS	CARGHILL. There were the three of us — Effie‚ Maudie and me. That day we spent on the river — I’ve never forgotten it — The turning point of all my life! Now whatever were the names of those friends of yours And which one was it invited us to lunch? I declare, I’ve utterly forgotten their names. And you gave us lunch — I’ve forgotten what hotel — But such a good lunch — and we all went in a punt On the river — and we had a tea basket With some lovely little cakes — I’ve forgotten what you called them, And you made me try to punt, and I got soaking wet And nearly dropped the punt pole, and you all laughed at me. Don’t you remember?
LORD CLAVERTON	Pray continue. The more you remind me of, the better I’ll remember.
MRS	CARGHILL. And the three of us talked you over afterwards — Effie and Maud and I. What a time ago it seems! It’s surprising I remember it all so clearly. You attracted me, you know, at the very first meeting — I can’t think why, but it’s the way things happen. I said ‘there’s a man I could follow round the world!’ But Effie it was — you know, Effie was very shrewd — Effie it was said ‘you’d be throwing yourself away. Mark my words’ Effie said, ‘if you chose to follow that man He’d give you the slip: he’s not to be trusted. That man is hollow’. That’s what she said. Or did she say ‘yellow’? I’m not quite sure. You do remember now, don’t you, Richard?
LORD CLAVERTON	Not the conversation you have just repeated. That is new to me. But I do remember you.
MRS	CARGHILL. Time has wrought sad changes in me, Richard. I was very lovely once. So you thought, And others thought so too. But as you remember, Please, Richard, just repeat my name — just once: The name by which you knew me. It would give me such a thrill To hear you speak my name once more.
LORD CLAVERTON	Your name was Maisie Batterson.
MRS	CARGHILL. Oh, Richard, you’re only saying that to tease me. You know I meant my stage name. The name by which you knew me.
LORD CLAVERTON	Well, then, Maisie Montjoy.
MRS	CARGHILL.                                                   Yes. Maisie Montjoy. I was Maisie Montjoy once. And you didn’t recognise me.
LORD CLAVERTON	You’ve changed your name, no doubt. And I’ve changed mine. Your name now and here …
MRS	CARGHILL.                           Is Mrs. John Carghill.
LORD CLAVERTON	You married, I suppose, many years ago?
MRS	CARGHILL. Many years ago, the first time. That didn’t last long. People sometimes say: ‘Make one mistake in love, You’re more than likely to make another’. How true that is! Algy was a weakling, But simple he was — not sly and slippery. Then I married Mr. Carghill. Twenty years older Than me, he was. Just what I needed.
LORD CLAVERTON	Is he still living?
MRS	CARGHILL.                                 He had a weak heart. And he worked too hard. Have you never heard Of Carghill Equipments? They make office furniture.
LORD CLAVERTON	I’ve never had to deal with questions of equipment. I trust that the business was very successful … I mean, that he left you comfortably provided for?
MRS	CARGHILL. Well, Richard, my doctor could hardly have sent me here If I wasn’t well off. Yes, I’m provided for. But isn’t it strange that you and I Should meet here at last? Here, of all places!
LORD CLAVERTON	Why not, of all places? What I don’t understand Is why you should take the first opportunity, Finding me here, to revive old memories Which I should have thought we both preferred to leave buried.
MRS	CARGHILL. There you’re wrong, Richard. Effie always said — What a clever girl she was! — ‘he doesn’t understand women. Any woman who trusted him would soon find that out’. A man may prefer to forget all the women He has loved. But a woman doesn’t want to forget A single one of her admirers. Why, even a faithless lover Is still, in her memory, a kind of testimonial. Men live by forgetting — women live on memories. Besides a woman has nothing to be ashamed of: A man is always trying to forget His own shabby behaviour.
LORD CLAVERTON	But we’d settled our account. What harm was done? I learned my lesson And you learned yours, if you needed the lesson.
MRS	CARGHILL. You refuse to believe that I was really in love with you! Well, it’s natural that you shouldn’t want to believe it. But you think, or try to think, that if I’d really suffered I shouldn’t want to let you know who I am, I shouldn’t want to come and talk about the past. You’re wrong, you know. It’s both pain and pleasure To talk about the past — about you and me. These memories are painful — but I cherish them.
LORD CLAVERTON	If you had really been broken-hearted I can’t see how you could have acted as you did.
MRS	CARGHILL. Who can say whether a heart’s been broken Once it’s been repaired? But I know what you mean. You mean that I would never have started an action For breach of promise, if I’d really cared for you. What sentimental nonsense! One starts an action Simply because one must do something. Well, perhaps I shouldn’t have settled out of court. My lawyer said: ‘I advise you to accept’, ‘Because Mr. Ferry will be standing for Parliament: His father has political ambitions for him. If he’s lost a breach of promise suit Some people won’t want to appear as his supporters.’ He said: ‘What his lawyers are offering in settlement Is twice as much as I think you’d be awarded.’ Effie was against it — she wanted you exposed. But I gave way. I didn’t want to ruin you. If I’d carried on, it might have ended your career, And then you wouldn’t have become Lord Claverton. So perhaps I laid the foundation of your fortunes!
LORD CLAVERTON	And perhaps at the same time of your own? I seem to remember, it was only a year or so Before your name appeared in very large letters In Shaftesbury Avenue.
MRS	CARGHILL.                 Yes, I had my art. Don’t you remember what a hit I made With a number called It’s Not Too Late For You To Love Me? I couldn’t have put the feeling into it I did But for what I’d gone through. Did you hear me sing it?
LORD CLAVERTON	Yes, I heard you sing it.
MRS	CARGHILL.                                                And what did you feel?
LORD CLAVERTON	Nothing at all. I remember my surprise At finding that I felt nothing at all. I thought, perhaps, what a lucky escape It had been, for both of us.
MRS	CARGHILL.                      That ‘both of us’ Was an afterthought, Richard. A lucky escape You thought, for you. You felt no embarrassment?
LORD CLAVERTON	Why should I feel embarrassment? My conscience was clear. A brief infatuation, ended in the only way possible To our mutual satisfaction.
MRS	CARGHILL.                       Your conscience was clear. I’ve very seldom heard people mention their consciences Except to observe that their consciences were clear. You got out of a tangle for a large cash payment And no publicity. So your conscience was clear. At bottom, I believe you’re still the same silly Richard You always were. You wanted to pose As a man of the world. And now you’re posing As what? I presume, as an elder statesman; And the difference between being an elder statesman And posing successfully as an elder statesman Is practically negligible. And you look the part. Whatever part you’ve played, I must say you’ve always looked it.
LORD CLAVERTON	I’ve no longer any part to play, Maisie.
MRS	CARGHILL. There’ll always be some sort of part for you Right to the end. You’ll still be playing a part In your obituary, whoever writes it.
LORD CLAVERTON	Considering how long ago it was when you knew me And considering the brevity of our acquaintance, You’re surprisingly confident, I must say, About your understanding of my character.
MRS	CARGHILL. I’ve followed your progress year by year, Richard. And although it’s true that our acquaintance was brief, Our relations were intense enough, I think, To have given me one or two insights into you. No, Richard, don’t imagine that I’m still in love with you; And you needn’t think I idolise your memory. It’s simply that I feel that we belong together … Now, don’t get alarmed. But you touched my soul — Pawed it, perhaps, and the touch still lingers. And I’ve touched yours. It’s frightening to think that we’re still together And more frightening to think that we may always be together. There’s a phrase I seem to remember reading somewhere: Where their fires are not quenched. Do you know what I do? I read your letters every night.
LORD CLAVERTON	My letters!
MRS	CARGHILL. Have you forgotten that you wrote me letters? Oh, not very many. Only a few worth keeping. Only a few. But very beautiful! It was Effie said, when the break came, ‘They’ll be worth a fortune to you, Maisie.’ They would have figured at the trial, I suppose, If there had been a trial. Don’t you remember them?
LORD CLAVERTON	Vaguely. Were they very passionate?
MRS	CARGHILL. They were very loving. Would you like to read them? I’m afraid I can’t show you the originals; They’re in my lawyer’s safe. But I have photostats Which are quite as good, I’m told. And I like to read them In your own handwriting.
LORD CLAVERTON	And have you shown these letters To many people?
MRS	CARGHILL.       Only a few friends. Effie said: ‘If he becomes a famous man And you should be in want, you could have these letters auctioned.’ Yes, I’ll bring the photostats tomorrow morning, And read them to you.                                           — Oh, there’s Mrs. Piggott! She’s bearing down on us. Isn’t she frightful! She never stops talking. Can you bear it? If I go at once, perhaps she’ll take the hint And leave us alone tomorrow.                                                    Good morning, Mrs. Piggott! Isn’t it a glorious morning!
(didascalia)	[Enter MRS. PIGGOTT]
MRS	PIGGOTT. Good morning, Mrs. Carghill!
MRS	CARGHILL.                                                   Dear Mrs. Piggott! It seems to me that you never sit still: You simply sacrifice yourself for us.
MRS	PIGGOTT. It’s the breath of life to me, Mrs. Carghill, Attending to my guests. I like to feel they need me!
MRS	CARGHILL. You do look after us well, Mrs. Piggott: You’re so considerate — and so understanding.
MRS	PIGGOTT. But I ought to introduce you. You’ve been talking to Lord Claverton, The famous Lord Claverton. This is Mrs. Carghill. Two of our very nicest guests! I just came to see that Lord Claverton was comfortable: We can’t allow him to tire himself with talking. What he needs is rest! You’re not going, Mrs. Carghill?
MRS	CARGHILL. Oh, I knew that Lord Claverton had come for a rest cure, And it struck me that he might find it a strain To have to cope with both of us at once. Besides, I ought to do my breathing exercises.
(didascalia)	[Exit]
MRS	PIGGOTT. As a matter of fact, I flew to your rescue (That’s why I’ve brought your morning tipple myself Instead of leaving it, as usual, to Nurse) When I saw that Mrs. Carghill had caught you. You wouldn’t know that name, but you might remember her As Maisie Montjoy in revue. She was well-known at one time. I’m afraid her name Means nothing at all to the younger generation, But you and I should remember her, Lord Claverton. That tune she was humming, It’s Not Too Late For You To Love Me, Everybody was singing it once. A charming person, I dare say, but not quite your sort or mine. I suspected that she wanted to meet you, so I thought That I’d take the first opportunity of hinting — Tactfully, of course — that you should not be disturbed. Well, she’s gone now. If she bothers you again Just let me know. I’m afraid it’s the penalty Of being famous.
(didascalia)	[Enter Monica]
MRS	Oh, Miss Claverton-Ferry! I didn’t see you coming. Now I must fly.
(didascalia)	[Exit]
MONICA	I saw Mrs. Piggott bothering you again So I hurried to your rescue. You look tired, Father. She ought to know better. But I’m all the more distressed Because I have some … not very good news for you.
LORD CLAVERTON	Oh, indeed. What’s the matter?
MONICA	I didn’t get far. I met Michael in the drive. He says he must see you. I’m afraid that something unpleasant has happened.
LORD CLAVERTON	Was he driving his car?
MONICA	No, he was walking.
LORD CLAVERTON	I hope he’s not had another accident. You know, after that last escapade of his, I’ve lived in terror of his running over somebody.
MONICA	Why, Father, should you be afraid of that? This shows how bad your nerves have been. He only ran into a tree.
LORD CLAVERTON	Yes, a tree. It might have been a man. But it can’t be that, Or he wouldn’t be at large. Perhaps he’s in trouble With some woman or other. I’m sure he has friends Whom he wouldn’t care for you or me to know about.
MONICA	It’s probably money.
LORD CLAVERTON	If it’s only debts Once more, I expect I can put up with it. But where is he?
MONICA	I told him he must wait in the garden Until I had prepared you. I’ve made him understand That the doctors want you to be free from worry. He won’t make a scene. But I can see he’s frightened. And you know what Michael is like when he’s frightened. He’s apt to be sullen and quick to take offence. So I hope you’ll be patient.
LORD CLAVERTON	Well then, fetch him. Let’s get this over.
MONICA	[calls] Michael!
(didascalia)	[Enter MICHAEL]
LORD CLAVERTON	Good morning, Michael.
MICHAEL	Good morning, Father.
(didascalia)	[A pause]
MICHAEL	What a lovely day! I’m glad you’re here, to enjoy such weather.
LORD CLAVERTON	You’re glad I’m here? Did you drive down from London?
MICHAEL	I drove down last night. I’m staying at a pub About two miles from here. Not a bad little place.
LORD CLAVERTON	Why are you staying there? I shouldn’t have thought It would be the sort of place that you’d choose for a holiday.
MICHAEL	Well, this isn’t a holiday exactly. But this hotel was very well recommended. Good cooking, for a country inn. And not at all expensive.
LORD CLAVERTON	You don’t normally consider that a recommendation. Are you staying there long? For the whole of this holiday?
MICHAEL	Well, this isn’t a holiday, exactly. Oh. I said that before, didn’t I?
MONICA	I wish you’d stop being so polite to each other. Michael, you know what you’ve come to ask of Father And Father knows that you want something from him. Perhaps you’ll get to the point if I leave you together.
(didascalia)	[Exit]
MICHAEL	You know, it’s awfully hard to explain things to you. You’ve always made up your mind that I was to blame Before you knew the facts. The first thing I remember Is being blamed for something I hadn’t done. I never got over that. If you always blame a person It’s natural he should end by getting into trouble.
LORD CLAVERTON	You started pretty early getting into trouble, When you were expelled from your prep school for stealing. But come to the point. You’re in trouble again. We’ll ignore, if you please, the question of blame: Which will spare you the necessity of blaming someone else. Just tell me what’s happened.
MICHAEL	Well, I’ve lost my job.
LORD CLAVERTON	The position that Sir Alfred Walter made for you.
MICHAEL	I’d stuck it for two years. And deadly dull it was.
LORD CLAVERTON	Every job is dull, nine-tenths of the time …
MICHAEL	I need something much more stimulating.
LORD CLAVERTON	Well?
MICHAEL	I want to find some more speculative business.
LORD CLAVERTON	I dare say you’ve tried a little private speculation.
MICHAEL	Several of my friends gave me excellent tips. They always came off — the tips I didn’t take.
LORD CLAVERTON	And the ones you did take?
MICHAEL	Not so well, for some reason. The fact is, I needed a good deal more capital To make anything of it. If I could have borrowed more I might have pulled it off.
LORD CLAVERTON	Borrowed? From whom? Not … from the firm?
MICHAEL	I went to a lender, A man whom a friend of mine recommended. He gave me good terms, on the strength of my name: The only good the name has ever done me.
LORD CLAVERTON	On the strength of your name. And what do you call good terms?
MICHAEL	I’d nothing at all to pay for two years: The interest was just added on to the capital.
LORD CLAVERTON	And how long ago was that?
MICHAEL	Nearly two years. Time passes pretty quickly, when you’re in debt.
LORD CLAVERTON	And have you other debts?
MICHAEL	Oh, ordinary debts: My tailor’s bill, for instance.
LORD CLAVERTON	I expected that. It was just the same at Oxford.
MICHAEL	It’s their own fault. They won’t send in their bills, and then I forget them. It’s being your son that gets me into debt. Just because of your name they insist on giving credit.
LORD CLAVERTON	And your debts: are they the cause of your being discharged?
MICHAEL	Well, partly. Sir Alfred did come to hear about it, And so he pretended to be very shocked. Said he couldn’t retain any man on his staff Who’d taken to gambling. Called me a gambler! Said he’d communicate with you about it.
LORD CLAVERTON	That accounts for your coming down here so precipitately — In order to let me have your version first. I dare say Sir Alfred’s will be rather different. And what else did he say?
MICHAEL	He took the usual line, Just like the headmaster. And my tutor at Oxford. ‘Not what we expected from the son of your father’ And that sort of thing. It’s for your sake, he says, That he wants to keep things quiet. I can tell you, it’s no joke Being the son of a famous public man. You don’t know what I suffered, working in that office. In the first place, they all knew the job had been made for me Because I was your son. They considered me superfluous; They knew I couldn’t be living on my pay; They had a lot of fun with me — sometimes they’d pretend That I was overworked, when I’d nothing to do. Even the office boys began to sneer at me. I wonder I stood it as long as I did.
LORD CLAVERTON	And does this bring us to the end of the list of your shortcomings? Or did Sir Alfred make other unflattering criticisms?
MICHAEL	Well, there was one thing he brought up against me, That I’d been too familiar with one of the girls. He assumed it had gone a good deal further than it had.
LORD CLAVERTON	Perhaps it had gone further than you’re willing to admit.
MICHAEL	Well, after all, she was the only one Who was at all nice to me. She wasn’t exciting. But it served to pass the time. It would never have happened If only I’d been given some interesting work!
LORD CLAVERTON	And what do you now propose to do with yourself?
MICHAEL	I want to go abroad.
LORD CLAVERTON	You want to go abroad? Well, that’s not a bad idea. A few years out of England In one of the Dominions, might set you on your feet. I have connections, or at least correspondents Almost everywhere. Australia — no. The men I know there are all in the cities: An outdoor life would suit you better. How would you like to go to Western Canada? Or what about sheep farming in New Zealand?
MICHAEL	Sheep farming? Good Lord, no. That’s not my idea. I want to make money. I want to be somebody on my own account.
LORD CLAVERTON	But what do you want to do? Where do you want to go? What kind of a life do you think you want?
MICHAEL	I simply want to lead a life of my own, According to my own ideas of good and bad, Of right and wrong. I want to go far away To some country where no one has heard the name of Claverton; Or where, if I took a different name — and I might choose to — No one would know or care what my name had been.
LORD CLAVERTON	So you are ready to repudiate your family, To throw away the whole of your inheritance?
MICHAEL	What is my inheritance? As for your title, I know why you took it. And Mother knew. First, because it gave you the opportunity Of retiring from politics, not without dignity, Being no longer wanted. And you wished to be Lord Claverton Also, to hold your own with Mother’s family — To lord it over them, in fact. Oh, I’ve no doubt That the thought of passing on your name and title To a son, was gratifying. But it wasn’t for my sake! I was just your son — that is to say, A kind of prolongation of your existence, A representative carrying on business in your absence. Why should I thank you for imposing this upon me? And what satisfaction, I wonder, will it give you In the grave? If you’re still conscious after death, I bet it will be a surprised state of consciousness. Poor ghost! reckoning up its profit and loss And wondering why it bothered about such trifles.
LORD CLAVERTON	So you want me to help you to escape from your father!
MICHAEL	And to help my father to be rid of me. You simply don’t know how very much pleasanter You will find life become, once I’m out of the country. What I’d like is a chance to go abroad As a partner in some interesting business. But I might be expected to put up some capital.
LORD CLAVERTON	What sort of business have you in mind?
MICHAEL	Oh, I don’t know. Import and export, With an opportunity of profits both ways.
LORD CLAVERTON	This is what I will do for you, Michael. I will help you to make a start in any business You may find for yourself — if, on investigation, I am satisfied about the nature of the business.
MICHAEL	Anyway, I’m determined to get out of England.
LORD CLAVERTON	Michael! Are there reasons for your wanting to go Beyond what you’ve told me? It isn’t … manslaughter?
MICHAEL	Manslaughter? Why manslaughter? Oh, you mean on the road. Certainly not. I’m far too good a driver.
LORD CLAVERTON	What then? That young woman?
MICHAEL	I’m not such a fool As to get myself involved in a breach of promise suit Or somebody’s divorce. No, you needn’t worry About that girl — or any other. But I want to get out. I’m fed up with England.
LORD CLAVERTON	I’m sure you don’t mean that. But it’s natural enough To want a few years abroad. It might be very good for you To find your feet. But I shouldn’t like to think That what inspired you was no positive ambition But only the desire to escape.
MICHAEL	I’m not a fugitive.
LORD CLAVERTON	No, not a fugitive from justice — Only a fugitive from reality. Oh Michael! If you had some aim of high achievement, Some dream of excellence, how gladly would I help you! Even though it carried you away from me forever To suffer the monotonous sun of the tropics Or shiver in the northern night. Believe me, Michael: Those who flee from their past will always lose the race. I know this from experience. When you reach your goal, Your imagined paradise of success and grandeur, You will find your past failures waiting there to greet you. You’re all I have to live for, Michael — You and Monica. If I lived for twenty years Knowing that my son had played the coward — I should merely be another twenty years in dying.
MICHAEL	Very well: if you like, call me a coward. I wonder whether you would play the hero If you were in my place. I don’t believe you would. You didn’t suffer from the handicap that I’ve had. Your father was rich, but was no one in particular, So you’d nothing to live up to. Those standards of conduct You’ve always made so much of, for my benefit: I wonder whether you have always lived up to them.
(didascalia)	[MONICA has entered unobserved]
MONICA	Michael! How can you speak to Father like that? Father! What has happened? Why do you look so angry? I know that Michael must be in great trouble, So can’t you help him?
LORD CLAVERTON	I am trying to help him, And to meet him halfway. I have made him an offer Which he must think over. But if he goes abroad I want him to go in a very different spirit From that which he has just been exhibiting.
MONICA	Michael! Say something.
MICHAEL	What is there to say? I want to leave England, and make my own career: And Father simply calls me a coward.
MONICA	Father! You know that I would give my life for you. Oh, how silly that phrase sounds! But there’s no vocabulary For love within a family, love that’s lived in But not looked at, love within the light of which All else is seen, the love within which All other love finds speech. This love is silent.                                 What can I say to you? However Michael has behaved, Father, Whatever Father has said, Michael, You must forgive each other, you must love each other.
MICHAEL	I could have loved Father, if he’d wanted love, But he never did, Monica, not from me. You know I’ve always been very fond of you — I’ve a very affectionate nature, really, But …
(didascalia)	[Enter MRS. CARGHILL with despatch-case]
MRS	CARGHILL. Richard! I didn’t think you’d still be here. I came back to have a quiet read of your letters; But how nice to find a little family party! I know who you are! You’re Monica, of course: And this must be your brother, Michael. I’m right, aren’t I?
MICHAEL	Yes, you’re right. But …
MRS	CARGHILL. How did I know? Because you’re so like your father When he was your age. He’s the picture of you, Richard, As you were once. You’re not to introduce us, I’ll introduce myself. I’m Maisie Montjoy! That means nothing to you, my dears. It’s a very long time since the name of Maisie Montjoy Topped the bill in revue. Now I’m Mrs. John Carghill. Richard! It’s astonishing about your children: Monica hardly resembles you at all, But Michael — your father has changed a good deal Since I knew him ever so many years ago, Yet you’re the image of what he was then. Your father was a very dear friend of mine once.
MICHAEL	Did he really look like me?
MRS	CARGHILL. You’ve his voice! and his way of moving! It’s marvellous. And the charm! He’s inherited all of your charm, Richard. There’s no denying it. But who’s this coming? It’s another new guest here. He’s waving to us. Do you know him, Richard?
LORD CLAVERTON	It’s a man I used to know.
MRS	CARGHILL. How interesting! He’s a very good figure And he’s rather exotic-looking. Is he a foreigner?
LORD CLAVERTON	He comes from some place in Central America.
MRS	CARGHILL. How romantic! I’d love to meet him. He’s coming to speak to us. You must introduce him.
(didascalia)	[Enter GOMEZ]
GOMEZ	Good morning, Dick.
LORD CLAVERTON	Good morning, Fred.
GOMEZ	You weren’t expecting me to join you here, were you? You’re here for a rest cure. I persuaded my doctor That I was in need of a rest cure too. And when I heard you’d chosen to come to Badgley Court I said to my doctor, ‘Well, what about it? What better recommendation could I have?’ So he sent me here.
MRS	CARGHILL.          Oh, you’ve seen each other lately? Richard, I think that you might introduce us.
LORD CLAVERTON	Oh. This is …
GOMEZ	Your old friend Federico Gomez, The prominent citizen of San Marco. That’s my name.
LORD CLAVERTON	So let me introduce you — by that name — To Mrs … Mrs …
MRS	CARGHILL.          Mrs. John Carghill.
GOMEZ	We seem a bit weak on the surnames, Dick!
MRS	CARGHILL. Well, you see, Señor Gomez, when we first became friends — Lord Claverton and I — I was known by my stage name. There was a time, once, when everyone in London Knew the name of Maisie Montjoy in revue.
GOMEZ	If Maisie Montjoy was as beautiful to look at As Mrs. Carghill, I can well understand Her success on the stage.
MRS	CARGHILL.                     Oh, did you never see me? That’s a pity, Señor Gomez.
GOMEZ	I lost touch with things in England. Had I been in London, and in Dick’s position I should have been your most devoted admirer.
MRS	CARGHILL. It’s Not Too Late For You To Love Me! That’s the song That made my reputation, Señor Gomez.
GOMEZ	It will never be too late. Don’t you agree, Dick? — This young lady I take to be your daughter? And this is your son?
LORD CLAVERTON	This is my son Michael, And my daughter Monica.
MONICA	How do you do. Michael!
MICHAEL	How do you do.
MRS	CARGHILL. I don’t believe you’ve known Lord Claverton As long as I have, Señor Gomez.
GOMEZ	My dear lady, you’re not old enough To have known Dick Ferry as long as I have. We were friends at Oxford.
MRS	CARGHILL.                       Oh, so you were at Oxford! Is that how you come to speak such perfect English? Of course, I could tell from your looks that you were Spanish. I do like Spaniards. They’re so aristocratic. But it’s very strange that we never met before. You were a friend of Richard’s at Oxford And Richard and I became great friends Not long afterwards, didn’t we, Richard?
GOMEZ	I expect that was after I had left England.
MRS	CARGHILL. Of course, that explains it. After Oxford I suppose you went back to … where is your home?
GOMEZ	The republic of San Marco.
MRS	CARGHILL.                                   Went back to San Marco. Señor Gomez, if it’s true you’re staying at Badgley Court, I warn you — I’m going to cross-examine you And make you tell me all about Richard In his Oxford days.
GOMEZ	On one condition: That you tell me all about Dick when you knew him.
MRS	CARGHILL [pats her despatch-case]. Secret for secret, Señor Gomez! You’ve got to be the first to put your cards on the table!
MONICA	Father, I think you should take your rest now. — I must explain that the doctors were very insistent That my father should rest and have absolute quiet Before every meal.
LORD CLAVERTON	But Michael and I Must continue our discussion. This afternoon, Michael.
MONICA	No, I think you’ve had enough talk for to-day. Michael, as you’re staying so close at hand Will you come back in the morning? After breakfast?
LORD CLAVERTON	Yes, come tomorrow morning.
MICHAEL	Well, I’ll come tomorrow morning.
MRS	CARGHILL. Are you staying in the neighbourhood, Michael? Your father is such an old friend of mine That it seems most natural to call you Michael. You don’t mind, do you?
MICHAEL	No, I don’t mind. I’m staying at the George — it’s not far away.
MRS	CARGHILL. Then I’d like to walk a little way with you.
MICHAEL	Delighted, I’m sure.
GOMEZ	Taking a holiday? You’re in business in London, aren’t you?
MICHAEL	Not a holiday, no. I’ve been in business in London, But I think of cutting loose, and going abroad.
MRS	CARGHILL. You must tell me all about it. Perhaps I could advise you. We’ll leave you now, Richard. Au revoir, Monica. And Señor Gomez, I shall hold you to your promise!
(didascalia)	[Exeunt Mrs. CARGHILL and MICHAEL]
GOMEZ	Well, Dick, we’ve got to obey our doctors’ orders. But while we’re here, we must have some good talks About old times. Bye bye for the present.
(didascalia)	[Exit]
MONICA	Father, those awful people. We mustn’t stay here. I want you to escape from them.
LORD CLAVERTON	What I want to escape from Is myself, is the past. But what a coward I am, To talk of escaping! And what a hypocrite! A few minutes ago I was pleading with Michael Not to try to escape from his own past failures: I said I knew from experience. Do I understand the meaning Of the lesson I would teach? Come, I’ll start to learn again. Michael and I shall go to school together. We’ll sit side by side, at little desks And suffer the same humiliations At the hands of the same master. But have I still time? There is time for Michael. Is it too late for me, Monica? CURTAIN

Act Three

Chi parla	Battuta
(didascalia)	Same as Act Two. Late afternoon of the following day.MONICA seated alone. Enter CHARLES.
CHARLES	Well, Monica, here I am. I hope you got my message.
MONICA	Oh Charles, Charles, Charles, I’m so glad you’ve come! I’ve been so worried, and rather frightened. It was exasperating that they couldn’t find me When you telephoned this morning. That Mrs. Piggott Should have heard my beloved’s voice And I couldn’t, just when I had been yearning For the sound of it, for the caress that is in it! Oh Charles, how I’ve wanted you! And now I need you.
CHARLES	My darling, what I want is to know that you need me. On that last day in London, you admitted that you loved me, But I wondered … I’m sorry, I couldn’t help wondering How much your words meant. You didn’t seem to need me then. And you said we weren’t engaged yet …
MONICA	We’re engaged now. At least I’m engaged. I’m engaged to you for ever.
CHARLES	There’s another shopping expedition we must make! But my darling, since I got your letter this morning About your father and Michael, and those people from his past, I’ve been trying to think what I could do to help him. If it’s blackmail, and that’s very much what it looks like, Do you think I could persuade him to confide in me?
MONICA	Oh Charles! How could anyone blackmail Father? Father, of all people the most scrupulous, The most austere. It’s quite impossible. Father with a guilty secret in his past! I just can’t imagine it.
(didascalia)	[CLAVERTON has entered unobserved]
MONICA	I never expected you from that direction, Father! I thought you were indoors. Where have you been?
LORD CLAVERTON	Not far away. Standing under the great beech tree.
MONICA	Why under the beech tree?
LORD CLAVERTON	I feel drawn to that spot. No matter. I heard what you said about guilty secrets. There are many things not crimes, Monica, Beyond anything of which the law takes cognisance: Temporary failures, irreflective aberrations, Reckless surrenders, unexplainable impulses, Moments we regret in the very next moment, Episodes we try to conceal from the world. Has there been nothing in your life, Charles Hemington, Which you wish to forget? Which you wish to keep unknown?
CHARLES	There are certainly things I would gladly forget, Sir, Or rather, which I wish had never happened. I can think of things you don’t yet know about me, Monica, But there’s nothing I would ever wish to conceal from you.
LORD CLAVERTON	If there’s nothing, truly nothing, that you couldn’t tell Monica Then all is well with you. You’re in love with each other — I don’t need to be told what I’ve seen for myself! And if there is nothing that you conceal from her However important you may consider it To conceal from the rest of the world — your soul is safe. If a man has one person, just one in his life, To whom he is willing to confess everything — And that includes, mind you, not only things criminal, Not only turpitude, meanness and cowardice, But also situations which are simply ridiculous, When he has played the fool (as who has not?) — Then he loves that person, and his love will save him. I’m afraid that I’ve never loved anyone, really. No, I do love my Monica — but there’s the impediment: It’s impossible to be quite honest with your child If you’ve never been honest with anyone older, On terms of equality. To one’s child one can’t reveal oneself While she is a child. And by the time she’s grown You’ve woven such a web of fiction about you! I’ve spent my life in trying to forget myself, In trying to identify myself with the part I had chosen to play. And the longer we pretend The harder it becomes to drop the pretence, Walk off the stage, change into our own clothes And speak as ourselves. So I’d become an idol To Monica. She worshipped the part I played: How could I be sure that she would love the actor If she saw him, off the stage, without his costume and makeup And without his stage words. Monica! I’ve had your love under false pretences. Now, I’m tired of keeping up those pretences, But I hope that you’ll find a little love in your heart Still, for your father, when you know him For what he is, the broken-down actor.
MONICA	I think I should only love you the better, Father, The more I knew about you. I should understand you better. There’s nothing I’m afraid of learning about Charles, There’s nothing I’m afraid of learning about you.
CHARLES	I was thinking, Sir — forgive the suspicion — From what Monica has told me about your fellow guests, Two persons who, she says, claim a very long acquaintance — I was thinking that if there’s any question of blackmail, I’ve seen something of it in my practice at the bar. I’m sure I could help.
MONICA	Oh Father, do let him.
CHARLES	At least, I think I know the best man to advise you.
LORD CLAVERTON	Blackmail? Yes, I’ve heard that word before, Not so very long ago. When I asked him what he wanted. Oh no, he said, I want nothing from you Except your friendship and your company. He’s a very rich man. And she’s a rich woman. If people merely blackmail you to get your company I’m afraid the law can’t touch them.
CHARLES	Then why should you submit? Why not leave Badgley and escape from them?
LORD CLAVERTON	Because they are not real, Charles. They are merely ghosts: Spectres from my past. They’ve always been with me Though it was not till lately that I found the living persons Whose ghosts tormented me, to be only human beings, Malicious, petty, and I see myself emerging From my spectral existence into something like reality.
MONICA	But what did the ghosts mean? All these years You’ve kept them to yourself. Did Mother know of them?
LORD CLAVERTON	Your mother knew nothing about them. And I know That I never knew your mother, as she never knew me. I thought that she would never understand Or that she would be jealous of the ghosts who haunted me. And I’m still of that opinion. How open one’s heart When one is sure of the wrong response? How make a confession with no hope of absolution? It was not her fault. We never understood each other. And so we lived, with a deep silence between us, And she died silently. She had nothing to say to me. I think of your mother, when she lay dying: Completely without interest in the life that lay behind her And completely indifferent to whatever lay ahead of her.
MONICA	It is time to break the silence! Let us share your ghosts!
CHARLES	But these are only human beings, who can be dealt with.
MONICA	Or only ghosts, who can be exorcised! Who are they, and what do they stand for in your life?
LORD CLAVERTON	… And yet they’ve both done better for themselves In consequence of it all. He admitted as much, Fred Culverwell …
MONICA	Fred Culverwell? Who is Fred Culverwell?
LORD CLAVERTON	He no longer exists. He’s Federico Gomez, the Central American, A man who’s made a fortune by his own peculiar methods, A man of great importance and the highest standing In his adopted country. He even has sons Following in their father’s footsteps Who are also successful. What would he have been If he hadn’t known me? Only a schoolmaster In an obscure grammar school somewhere in the Midlands. As for Maisie Batterson …
MONICA	Maisie Batterson? Who is Maisie Batterson?
LORD CLAVERTON	She no longer exists. Nor the musical comedy star, Maisie Montjoy. There is Mrs. John Carghill, the wealthy widow. But Freddy Culverwell and Maisie Batterson, And Dick Ferry too, and Richard Ferry — These are my ghosts. They were people with good in them, People who might all have been very different From Gomez, Mrs. Carghill and Lord Claverton. Freddy admired me, when we were at Oxford; What did I make of his admiration? I led him to acquire tastes beyond his means: So he became a forger. And so he served his term. Was I responsible for that weakness in him? Yes, I was. How easily we ignore the fact that those who admire us Will imitate our vices as well as our virtues — Or whatever the qualities for which they did admire us! And that again may nourish the faults that they were born with. And Maisie loved me, with whatever capacity For loving she had — self-centred and foolish — But we should respect love always when we meet it; Even when it’s vain and selfish, we must not abuse it. That is where I failed. And the memory frets me.
CHARLES	But all the same, these two people mustn’t persecute you. We can’t allow that. What hold have they upon you?
LORD CLAVERTON	Only the hold of those who know Something discreditable, dishonourable …
MONICA	Then, Father, you should tell us what they already know. Why should you wish to conceal from those who love you What is known so well to those who hate you?
LORD CLAVERTON	I will tell you very briefly And simply. As for Frederick Culverwell, He re-enters my life to make himself a reminder Of one occasion the memory of which He knows very well, has always haunted me. I was driving back to Oxford. We had two girls with us. It was late at night. A secondary road. I ran over an old man lying in the road And I did not stop. Then another man ran over him. A lorry driver. He stopped and was arrested, But was later discharged. It was definitely shown That the old man had died a natural death And had been run over after he was dead. It was only a corpse that we had run over So neither of us killed him. But I didn’t stop. And all my life I have heard, from time to time, When I least expected, between waking and sleeping, A voice that whispered, ‘you didn’t stop!’ I knew the voice: it was Fred Culverwell’s.
MONICA	Poor Father! All your life! And no one to share it with; I never knew how lonely you were Or why you were lonely.
CHARLES	And Mrs. Carghill: What has she against you?
LORD CLAVERTON	I was her first lover. I would have married her — but my father prevented that: Made it worth while for her not to marry me — That was his way of putting it — and of course Made it worth while for me not to marry her. In fact, we were wholly unsuited to each other. Yet she had a peculiar physical attraction Which no other woman has had. And she knows it. And she knows that the ghost of the man I was Still clings to the ghost of the woman who was Maisie. We should have been poor, we should certainly have quarrelled, We should have been unhappy, might have come to divorce; But she hasn’t forgotten or forgiven me.
CHARLES	This man, and this woman, who are so vindictive: Don’t you see that they were as much at fault as you And that they know it? That’s why they are inspired With revenge — it’s their means of self-justification. Let them tell their versions of their miserable stories. Confide them in whispers. They cannot harm you.
LORD CLAVERTON	Your reasoning’s sound enough. But it’s irrelevant. Each of them remembers an occasion On which I ran away. Very well. I shan’t run away now — run away from them. It is through this meeting that I shall at last escape them. — I’ve made my confession to you, Monica: That is the first step taken towards my freedom, And perhaps the most important. I know what you think. You think that I suffer from a morbid conscience, From brooding over faults I might well have forgotten. You think that I’m sickening, when I’m just recovering! It’s hard to make other people realise The magnitude of things that appear to them petty; It’s harder to confess the sin that no one believes in Than the crime that everyone can appreciate. For the crime is in relation to the law And the sin is in relation to the sinner. What has made the difference in the last five minutes Is not the heinousness of my misdeeds But the fact of my confession. And to you, Monica, To you, of all people.
CHARLES	I grant you all that. But what do you propose? How long. Lord Claverton, Will you stay here and endure this persecution?
LORD CLAVERTON	To the end. The place and time of liberation Are, I think, determined. Let us say no more about it. Meanwhile, I feel sure they are conspiring against me. I see Mrs. Carghill coming.
MONICA	Let us go.
LORD CLAVERTON	We will stay here. Let her join us.
(didascalia)	[Enter MRS. CARGHILL]
MRS	CARGHILL. I’ve been hunting high and low for you, Richard! I’ve some very exciting news for you! But I suspect … Dare I? Yes, I’m sure of it, Monica! I can tell by the change in your expression to-day; This must be your fiancé. Do introduce him.
MONICA	Mr. Charles Hemington. Mrs. Carghill.
CHARLES	How do you do.
MRS	CARGHILL.                  What a charming name!
CHARLES	I’m glad my name meets with your approval, Mrs. Carghill.
MRS	CARGHILL. And let me congratulate you‚ Mr. Hemington. You’re a very lucky man, to get a girl like Monica. I take a great interest in her future. Fancy! I’ve only known her two days! But I feel like a mother to her already. You may say that I just missed being her mother! I’ve known her father for a very long time, And there was a moment when I almost married him, Oh so long ago. So you see, Mr. Hemington, I’ve come to regard her as my adopted daughter. So much so, that it seems odd to call you Mr. Hemington: I’m going to call you Charles!
CHARLES	As you please, Mrs. Carghill.
LORD CLAVERTON	You said you had some exciting news for us. Would you care to impart it?
MRS	CARGHILL.                         It’s about dear Michael.
LORD CLAVERTON	Oh? What about Michael?
MRS	CARGHILL.                                                 He’s told me all his story. You’ve cruelly misunderstood him, Richard. How he must have suffered! So I put on my thinking cap. I know you’ve always thought me utterly brainless, But I have an idea or two, now and then. And in the end I discovered what Michael really wanted For making a new start. He wants to go abroad! And find his own way in the world. That’s very natural. So I thought, why not appeal to Señor Gomez? He’s a wealthy man, and very important In his own country. And a friend of Michael’s father! And I found him only too ready to help.
LORD CLAVERTON	And what was Señor Gomez able to suggest?
MRS	CARGHILL. Ah! That’s the surprise for which I’ve come to prepare you. Dear Michael is so happy — all his problems are solved; And he was so perplexed, poor lamb. Let’s all rejoice together.
(didascalia)	[Enter GOMEZ and MICHAEL]
LORD CLAVERTON	Well, Michael, you know I expected you this morning, But you never came.
MICHAEL	No, Father. I’ll explain why.
LORD CLAVERTON	And I learn that you have discussed your problems With Mrs. Carghill and then with Señor Gomez.
MICHAEL	When I spoke, Father, of my wish to get abroad. You couldn’t see my point of view. What’s the use of chasing Half round the world, for the same sort of job You got me here in London? With another Sir Alfred Who’d constitute himself custodian of my morals And send you back reports. Some sort of place Where everyone would sneer at the fellow from London, The limey remittance man for whom a job was made. No! I want to go where I can make my own way, Not merely be your son. That’s what Señor Gomez sees. He understands my point of view, if you don’t. And he’s offered me a job which is just what I wanted.
LORD CLAVERTON	Yes, I see the advantage of a job created for you By Señor Gomez …
MICHAEL	It’s not created for me. Señor Gomez came to London to find a man to fill it, And he thinks I’m just the man.
GOMEZ	Yes, wasn’t it extraordinary.
LORD CLAVERTON	Of course you’re just the man that Señor Gomez wants, But in a different sense, and for different reasons From what you think. Let me tell you about Gomez. He’s unlikely to try to be custodian of your morals; His real name is Culverwell …
GOMEZ	My dear Dick, You’re wasting your time, rehearsing ancient history. Michael knows it already. I’ve told him myself. I thought he’d better learn the facts from me Before he heard your distorted version. But, Dick, I was nettled by that insinuation About my not being custodian of Michael’s morals. That is just what I should be! And most appropriate, Isn’t it, Dick, when we recall That you were once custodian of my morals: Though of course you went a little faster than I did.
LORD CLAVERTON	On that point, Fred, you’re wasting your time: My daughter and my future son-in-law Understand that allusion. I have told them the story In explanation of our … intimacy Which they found puzzling.
MRS	CARGHILL.                       Oh,Richard! Have you explained to them our intimacy too?
LORD CLAVERTON	I have indeed.
MRS	CARGHILL.                           The romance of my life. Your father was simply irresistible In those days. I melted the first time he looked at me! Some day, Monica, I’ll tell you all about it.
MONICA	I am satisfied with what I know already, Mrs. Carghill, About you.
MRS	CARGHILL. But I was very lovely then.
GOMEZ	We are sure of that! You’re so lovely now That we can well imagine you at … what age were you?
MRS	CARGHILL. Just eighteen.
LORD CLAVERTON	Now, Michael, Señior Gomez says he has told you his story. Did he include the fact that he served a term in prison?
MICHAEL	He told me everything. It was his experience With you, that made him so understanding Of my predicament.
LORD CLAVERTON	And made him invent The position which he’d come to find the man for.
MICHAEL	I don’t care about that. He’s offered me the job With a jolly good screw, and some pickings in commissions. He’s made a fortune there. San Marco for me!
LORD CLAVERTON	And what are your duties to be? Do you know?
MICHAEL	We didn’t go into details. There’s time for that later.
GOMEZ	Much better to wait until we get there. The nature of business in San Marco Is easier explained in San Marco than in England.
LORD CLAVERTON	Perhaps you intend to change your name to Gomez?
GOMEZ	Oh no, Dick, there are plenty of other good names.
MONICA	Michael, Michael, you can’t abandon your family And your very self — it’s a kind of suicide.
CHARLES	Michael, you think Señor Gomez is inspired by benevolence —
MICHAEL	I told you he’d come to London looking for a man For an important post on his staff —
CHARLES	A post the nature of which is left very vague
MICHAEL	It’s confidential, I tell you.
CHARLES	So I can imagine: Highly confidential …
GOMEZ	Be careful, Mr. Barrister. You ought to know something about the law of slander. Here’s Mrs. Carghill, a reliable witness.
CHARLES	I know enough about the law of libel and slander To know that you are hardly likely to invoke it. And, Michael, here’s another point to think of: Señor Gomez has offered you a post in San Marco, Señor Gomez pays your passage …
MICHAEL	And an advance of salary.
CHARLES	Señor Gomez pays your passage …
GOMEZ	Just as many years ago His father paid mine.
CHARLES	This return of past kindness No doubt gives you pleasure?
GOMEZ	Yes, it’s always pleasant To repay an old debt. And better late than never.
CHARLES	I see your point of view. Can you really feel confidence, Michael, in a man who aims to gratify, through you, His lifelong grievance against your father? Remember, you put yourself completely in the power Of a man you don’t know, of the nature of whose business You know nothing. All you can be sure of Is that he served a prison sentence for forgery.
GOMEZ	Well, Michael, what do you say to all this?
MICHAEL	I’ll say that Hemington has plenty of cheek. Señor Gomez and I have talked things over, Hemington …
GOMEZ	As two men of the world, we discussed things very frankly; And I can tell you, Michael’s head is well screwed on. He’s got brains, he’s got flair. When he does come back He’ll be able to buy you out many times over.
MRS	CARGHILL. Richard, I think it’s time I joined the conversation. My late husband, Mr. Carghill, was a business man — I wish you could have known him, Señor Gomez! You’re very much alike in some ways — So I understand business. Mr. Carghill told me so. Now, Michael has great abilities for business. I saw that, and so does Señor Gomez. He’s simply been suffering, poor boy, from frustration. He’s been waiting all this time for opportunity To make use of his gifts; and now, opportunity — Opportunity has come knocking at the door. Richard, you must not bar his way. That would be shameful.
LORD CLAVERTON	I cannot bar his way, as you know very well. Michael’s a free agent. So if he chooses To place himself in your power, Fred Culverwell, Of his own volition to contract his enslavement, I cannot prevent him. I have something to say to you, Michael, before you go. I shall never repudiate you Though you repudiate me. I see now clearly The many many mistakes I have made My whole life through, mistake upon mistake, The mistaken attempts to correct mistakes By methods which proved to be equally mistaken. I see that your mother and I, in our failure To understand each other, both misunderstood you In our divergent ways. When I think of your childhood, When I think of the happy little boy who was Michael, When I think of your boyhood and adolescence, And see how all the efforts aimed at your good Only succeeded in defeating each other, How can I feel anything but sorrow and compunction?
MONICA	Oh Michael, remember, you’re my only brother And I’m your only sister. You never took much notice of me. When we were growing up we seldom had the same friends. I took all that for granted. So I didn’t know till now How much it means to me to have a brother.
MICHAEL	Why of course, Monica. You know I’m very fond of you Though we never really seemed to have much in common. I remember, when I came home for the holidays How it used to get on my nerves, when I saw you Always sitting there with your nose in a book. And once, Mother snatched a book away from you And tossed it into the fire. How I laughed! You never seemed even to want a flirtation, And my friends used to chaff me about my highbrow sister. But all the same, I was fond of you, and always shall be. We don’t meet often, but if we’re fond of each other, That needn’t interfere with your life or mine.
MONICA	Oh Michael, you haven’t understood a single word Of what I said. You must make your own life Of course, just as I must make mine. It’s not a question of your going abroad But a question of the spirit which inspired your decision: If you wish to renounce your father and your family What is left between you and me?
MICHAEL	That makes no difference. You’ll be seeing me again.
MONICA	But who will you be When I see you again? Whoever you are then I shall always pretend that it is the same Michael.
CHARLES	And when do you leave England?
MICHAEL	When we can get a passage. And I must buy my kit. We’re just going up to London. Señor Gomez will attend to my needs for that climate. And you see, he has friends in the shipping line Who he thinks can be helpful in getting reservations.
MRS	CARGHILL. It’s wonderful, Señor Gomez, how you manage everything! — No sooner had I put my proposal before him Than he had it all planned out! It really was an inspiration — On my part, I mean. Are you listening to me, Richard? You look very distrait. You ought to be excited!
LORD CLAVERTON	Is this good-bye then, Michael?
MICHAEL	Well, that just depends. I could look in again. If there’s any point in it. Personally, I think that when one’s come to a decision, It’s as well to say good-bye at once and be done with it.
LORD CLAVERTON	Yes, if you’re going, and I see no way to stop you, Then I agree with you, the sooner the better. We may never meet again, Michael.
MICHAEL	I don’t see why not.
GOMEZ	At the end of five years he will get his first leave.
MICHAEL	Well… there’s nothing more to say, is there?
LORD CLAVERTON	Nothing at all.
MICHAEL	Then we might as well be going.
GOMEZ	Yes, we might as well be going. You’ll be grateful to me in the end, Dick.
MRS	CARGHILL. A parent isn’t always the right person, Richard, To solve a son’s problems. Sometimes an outsider, A friend of the family, can see more clearly.
GOMEZ	Not that I deserve any credit for it. We can only regard it as a stroke of good fortune That I came to England at the very moment When I could be helpful.
MRS	CARGHILL. It’s truly providential!
MONICA	Good-bye Michael. Will you let me write to you?
GOMEZ	Oh, I’m glad you reminded me. Here’s my business card With the full address. You can always reach him there. But it takes some days, you know, even by air mail.
MONICA	Take the card, Charles. If I write to you, Michael, Will you ever answer?
MICHAEL	Oh of course, Monica. You know I’m not much of a correspondent; But I’ll send you a card, now and again, Just to let you know I’m flourishing.
LORD CLAVERTON	Yes, write to Monica.
GOMEZ	Well, good-bye Dick. And good-bye Monica. Good-bye, Mr…. Hemington.
MONICA	Good-bye Michael.
(didascalia)	[Exeunt MICHAEL and GOMEZ]
MRS	CARGHILL. I’m afraid this seems awfully sudden to you, Richard; It isn’t so sudden. We talked it all over. But I’ve got a little piece of news of my own: Next autumn, I’m going out to Australia, On my doctor’s advice. And on my way back Señor Gomez has invited me to visit San Marco. I’m so excited! But what pleases me most Is that I shall be able to bring you news of Michael. And now that we’ve found each other again, We must always keep in touch. But you’d better rest now. You’re looking rather tired. I’ll run and see them off.
(didascalia)	[Exit MRS. CARGHILL]
MONICA	Oh Father, Father, I’m so sorry! But perhaps, perhaps, Michael may learn his lesson. I believe he’ll come back. If it’s all a failure Homesickness, I’m sure, will bring him back to us; If he prospers, that will give him confidence — It’s only self-confidence that Michael is lacking. Oh Father, it’s not you and me he rejects, But himself, the unhappy self that he’s ashamed of. I’m sure he loves us.
LORD CLAVERTON	Monica my dear, What you say comes home to me. I fear for Michael; Nevertheless, you are right to hope for something better. And when he comes back, if he does come back, I know that you and Charles will do what you can To make him feel that he is not estranged from you.
CHARLES	We will indeed. We shall be ready to welcome him And give all the aid we can. But it’s both of you together Make the force to attract him: you and Monica combined.
LORD CLAVERTON	I shall not be here. You heard me say to him That this might be a final good-bye. I am sure of it now. Perhaps it is as well.
MONICA	What do you mean, Father? You’ll be here to greet him. But one thing I’m convinced of: you must leave Badgley Court.
CHARLES	Monica is right. You should leave.
LORD CLAVERTON	This may surprise you: I feel at peace now. It is the peace that ensues upon contrition When contrition ensues upon knowledge of the truth. Why did I always want to dominate my children? Why did I mark out a narrow path for Michael? Because I wanted to perpetuate myself in him. Why did I want to keep you to myself, Monica? Because I wanted you to give your life to adoring The man that I pretended to myself that I was, So that I could believe in my own pretences. I’ve only just now had the illumination Of knowing what love is. We all think we know, But how few of us do! And now I feel happy — In spite of everything, in defiance of reason, I have been brushed by the wing of happiness. And I am happy, Monica, that you have found a man Whom you can love for the man he really is.
MONICA	Oh Father, I’ve always loved you, But I love you more since I have come to know you Here, at Badgley Court. And I love you the more Because I love Charles.
LORD CLAVERTON	Yes, my dear. Your love is for the real Charles, not a make-believe, As was your love for me.
MONICA	But not now, Father! It’s the real you I love — the man you are, Not the man I thought you were.
LORD CLAVERTON	And Michael — I love him, even for rejecting me, For the me he rejected, I reject also. I’ve been freed from the self that pretends to be someone; And in becoming no one, I begin to live. It is worth while dying, to find out what life is. And I love you, my daughter, the more truly for knowing That there is someone you love more than your father — That you love and are loved. And now that I love Michael, I think, for the first time — remember, my dear, I am only a beginner in the practice of loving — Well, that is something.                                            I shall leave you for a while. This is your first visit to us at Badgley Court, Charles, and not at all what you were expecting. I am sorry you have had to see so much of persons And situations not very agreeable. You two ought to have a little time together. I leave Monica to you. Look after her, Charles, Now and always. I shall take a stroll.
MONICA	At this time of day? You’ll not go far, will you? You know you’re not allowed to stop out late At this season. It’s chilly at dusk.
LORD CLAVERTON	Yes, it’s chilly at dusk. But I’ll be warm enough. I shall not go far.
(didascalia)	[Exit CLAVERTON]
CHARLES	He’s a very different man from the man he used to be. It’s as if he had passed through some door unseen by us And had turned and was looking back at us With a glance of farewell.
MONICA	I can’t understand his going for a walk.
CHARLES	He wanted to leave us alone together!
MONICA	Yes, he wanted to leave us alone together. And yet, Charles, though we’ve been alone to-day Only a few minutes, I’ve felt all the time …
CHARLES	I know what you’re going to say! We were alone together, in some mysterious fashion, Even with Michael, and despite those people, Because somehow we’d begun to belong together, And that awareness …
MONICA	Was a shield protecting both of us …
CHARLES	So that now we are conscious of a new person Who is you and me together.                                                     Oh my dear, I love you to the limits of speech, and beyond. It’s strange that words are so inadequate. Yet, like the asthmatic struggling for breath, So the lover must struggle for words.
MONICA	I’ve loved you from the beginning of the world. Before you and I were born, the love was always there That brought us together.                                              Oh Father, Father! I could speak to you now.
CHARLES	Let me go and find him.
MONICA	We will go to him together. He is close at hand. Though he has gone too far to return to us. He is under the beech tree. It is quiet and cold there. In becoming no one, he has become himself. He is only my father now, and Michael’s. And I am happy. Isn’t it strange, Charles, To be happy at this moment?
CHARLES	It is not at all strange. The dead has poured out a blessing on the living.
MONICA	Age and decrepitude can have no terrors for me, Loss and vicissitude cannot appal me, Not even death can dismay or amaze me Fixed in the certainty of love unchanging.                                                                          I feel utterly secure In you; I am a part of you. Now take me to my father. CURTAIN The Cast of the First Production at the Edinburgh Festival August 25–August 30 1958 Monica Claverton-Ferry ANNA MASSEY Charles Hemington RICHARD GALE Lambert GEOFFREY KERR Lord Claverton PAUL ROGERS Federico Gomez WILLIAM SQUIRE Mrs. Piggott DOROTHEA PHILLIPS Mrs. Carghill EILEEN PEEL Michael Claverton-Ferry ALEC MCCOWEN Presented by HENRY SHEREK Directed by E. MARTIN BROWNE Settings designed by HUTCHINSON SCOTT