The Complete Poems and Plays of T. S. Eliot

by By (author): T. S. Eliot

  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.

  [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.

  [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 t
his 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!