The Complete Poems and Plays of T. S. Eliot

by By (author): T. S. Eliot

  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 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!

  [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 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 …

  [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 t
han 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?