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 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, its strange, isn't it,
That as one gets to know a person better
One finds 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 ways 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 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.
[A pause]
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 your'e 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 your'e 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!
[Enter B. KAGHAN]
KAGHAN
Enter B. 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 your 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 had 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 …
[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.
[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.
[She sits down, holding the portrait]
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 …
[A knock on the door]
Who's that?
[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 credible
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!
[Exeunt SIR CLAUDE and LADY ELIZABETH]
CURTAIN
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