by T. S. Eliot
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.
[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.
[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.
[Exit GOMEZ]
[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
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.
[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.
[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.
[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,