by T. S. Eliot
When there’s nothing to do but take the bull by the horns,
And this is one.
[Knock: and enter DOWNING.]
CHARLES
Good evening, Downing.
It’s good to see you again, after all these years.
You’re well, I hope?
DOWNING
Thank you, very well indeed, Sir.
CHARLES
I’m sorry to send for you so abruptly,
But I’ve a question I'd like to put to you,
I’m sure you won’t mind, it’s about his Lordship.
You’ve looked after his Lordship for over ten years . . .
DOWNING
Eleven years, Sir, next Lady Day.
CHARLES
Eleven years, and you know him pretty well.
And I’m sure that you’ve been a good friend to him, too.
We haven’t seen him for nearly eight years;
And to tell the truth, now that we’ve seen him,
We’re a little worried about his health.
He doesn’t seem to be . . . quite himself.
DOWNING
Quite natural, if I may say so, Sir,
After what happened.
CHARLES
Quite so, quite.
Downing, you were with them on the voyage from New York—
We didn’t learn very much about the circumstances:
We only knew what we read in the papers—
Of course, there was a great deal too much in the papers.
Downing, do you think that it might have been suicide,
And that his Lordship knew it?
DOWNING
Unlikely, Sir, if I may say so.
Much more likely to have been an accident.
I mean, knowing her Ladyship,
I don’t think she had the courage.
CHARLES
Did she ever talk of suicide?
DOWNING
Oh, yes, she did, every now and again.
But in my opinion, it is those that talk
That are the least likely. To my way of thinking
She only did it to frighten people.
If you take my meaning—just for the effect.
CHARLES
I understand, Downing. Was she in good spirits?
DOWNING
Well, always about the same, Sir.
What I mean is, always up and down.
Down in the morning, and up in the evening,
And then she used to get rather excited,
And, in a way, irresponsible, Sir.
If I may make so bold, Sir,
I always thought that a very few cocktails
Went a long way with her Ladyship.
She wasn’t one of those that are designed for drinking:
It’s natural for some and unnatural for others.
CHARLES
And how was his Lordship, during the voyage?
DOWNING
Well, you might say depressed, Sir.
But you know his Lordship was always very quiet:
Very uncommon that I saw him in high spirits.
For what my judgment’s worth, I always said his Lordship
Suffered from what they call a kind of repression.
But what struck me . . . more nervous than usual;
I mean to say, you could see that he was nervous.
He behaved as if he thought something might happen.
CHARLES
What sort of thing?
DOWNING
Well, I don’t know, Sir.
But he seemed very anxious about my Lady.
Tried to keep her in when the weather was rough,
Didn’t like to see her lean over the rail.
He was in a rare fright, once or twice.
But you know, it is just my opinion, Sir,
That his Lordship is rather psychic, as they say.
CHARLES
Were they always together?
DOWNING
Always, Sir.
That was just my complaint against my Lady.
It’s my opinion that man and wife
Shouldn’t see too much of each other, Sir.
Quite the contrary of the usual opinion,
I dare say. She wouldn’t leave him alone.
And there’s my complaint against these ocean liners
With all their swimming baths and gymnasiums
There’s not even a place where a man can go
For a quiet smoke, where the women can’t follow him.
She wouldn’t leave him out of her sight.
CHARLES
During that evening, did you see him?
DOWNING
Oh, yes, Sir, I’m sure I saw him.
I don’t mean to say that he had any orders—
His Lordship is always most considerate
About keeping me up. But when I say I saw him,
I mean that I saw him accidental.
You see, Sir, I was down in the Tourist,
And I took a bit of air before I went to bed,
And you could see the corner of the upper deck.
And I remember, there I saw his Lordship
Leaning over the rail, looking at the water—
There wasn’t a moon, but I was sure it was him.
While I took my turn about, for near half an hour
He stayed there alone, looking over the rail.
Her Ladyship must have been all right then,
Mustn’t she, Sir? or else he’d have known it.
CHARLES
Oh, yes . . . quite so. Thank you, Downing,
I don’t think we need you any more.
GERALD
Oh, Downing,
Is there anything wrong with his Lordship’s car?
DOWNING
Oh, no, Sir, she’s in good running order:
I see to that.
GERALD
I only wondered
Why you’ve been busy about it tonight.
DOWNING
Nothing wrong, Sir:
Only I like to have her always ready.
Would there be anything more, Sir?
GERALD
Thank you, Downing;
Nothing more.
[Exit DOWNING.]
VIOLET
Well, Charles, I must say, with your investigations,
You seem to have left matters much as they were—
Except for having brought Downing into it:
Of which I disapprove.
CHARLES
Of which you disapprove.
But I believe that an unconscious accomplice is desirable.
CHORUS
Why should we stand here like guilty conspirators, waiting for some revelation
When the hidden shall be exposed, and the newsboy shall shout in the street?
When the private shall be made public, the common photographer
Flashlight for the picture papers: why do we huddle together
In a horrid amity of misfortune? why should we be implicated, brought in and brought together?
IVY
I do not trust Charles with his confident vulgarity, acquired from worldly associates.
GERALD
Ivy is only concerned for herself, and her credit among her shabby genteel acquaintance.
VIOLET
Gerald is certain to make some blunder, he is useless out of the army.
CHARLES
Violet is afraid that her status as Amy’s sister will be diminished.
CHORUS
We all of us make the pretension
To be the uncommon exception
To the universal bondage.
We like to appear in the newspapers
So long as we are in the right column.
We know about the railway accident
We know about the sudden thrombosis
And the slowly hardening artery.
We like to be thought well of by others
So that we may think well of ourselves.
And any explanation will satisfy:
We only ask to be reassured
About the noises in the cellar
And the window that should not have been open.
Why do we all behave as if the door might suddenly open, the curtains be drawn,
The cellar make some dreadful disclosure, the roof disappear,
And we should cease to be sure of what is real or unreal?
Hold tight, hold tight, we must insist that the world is what we have always taken it to be.
AMY’S VOICE
Ivy! Violet! has Arthur or John come yet?
IVY
There is no news of Arthur or John.
[Enter AMY and AGATHA.]
AMY
It is very annoying. They both promised to be here
In good time for dinner. It is very annoying.
Now they can hardly arrive in time to dress.
I do not understand what could have gone wrong
With both of them, coming from different directions.
Well, we must go and dress, I suppose. I hope Harry will feel better
After his rest upstairs.
[Exeunt, except AGATHA.]
Scene II
AGATHA
[Enter MARY with flowers.]
MARY
The spring is very late in this northern country,
Late and uncertain, clings to the south wall.
The gardener had no garden-flowers to give me for this evening.
AGATHA
I always forget how late the spring is, here.
MARY
I had rather wait for our windblown blossoms,
Such as they are, than have these greenhouse flowers
Which do not belong here, which do not know
The wind and rain, as I know them.
AGATHA
I wonder how many we shall be for dinner.
MARY
Seven . . . nine . . . ten surely.
I hear that Harry has arrived already
And he was the only one that was uncertain.
Arthur or John may be late, of course.
We may have to keep the dinner back . . .
AGATHA
And also Dr. Warburton. At least, Amy has invited him.
MARY
Dr. Warburton? I think she might have told me;
It is very difficult, having to plan
For uncertain numbers. Why did she ask him?
AGATHA
She only thought of asking him a little while ago.
MARY
Well, there’s something to be said for having an outsider;
For what is more formal than a family dinner?
An official occasion of uncomfortable people
Who meet very seldom, making conversation.
I am very glad if Dr. Warburton is coming.
I shall have to sit between Arthur and John.
Which is worse, thinking of what to say to John,
Or having to listen to Arthur’s chatter
When he thinks he is behaving like a man of the world?
Cousin Agatha, I want your advice.
AGATHA
I should have thought
You had more than you wanted of that, when at college.
MARY
I might have known you’d throw that up against me.
I know I wasn’t one of your favourite students:
I only saw you as the principal
Who knew the way of dominating timid girls.
I don’t see you any differently now;
But I really wish that I’d taken your advice
And tried for a fellowship, seven years ago.
Now I want your advice, because there’s no one else to ask,
And because you are strong, and because you don’t belong here
Any more than I do. I want to get away.
AGATHA
After seven years?
MARY
Oh, you don’t understand!
But you do understand. You only want to know
Whether I understand. You know perfectly well,
What Cousin Amy wants, she usually gets.
Why do you so seldom come here? you’re not afraid of her,
But I think you must have wanted to avoid collision.
I suppose I could have gone, if I’d had the moral courage,
Even against a will like hers. I know very well
Why she wanted to keep me. She didn’t need me:
She would have done just as well with a hired servant
Or with none. She only wanted me for Harry—
Not such a compliment: she only wanted
To have a tame daughter-in-law with very little money,
A housekeeper-companion for her and Harry.
Even when he married, she still held on to me
Because she couldn’t bear to let any project go;
And even when she died: I believed that Cousin Amy—
I almost believed it—had killed her by willing.
Doesn’t that sound awful? I know that it does.
Did you ever meet her? What was she like?
AGATHA
I am the only one who ever met her,
The only one Harry asked to his wedding:
Amy did not know that. I was sorry for her;
I could see that she distrusted me—she was frightened of the family,
She wanted to fight them—with the weapons of the weak,
Which are too violent. And it could not have been easy,
Living with Harry. It’s not what she did to Harry,
That’s important, I think, but what he did to himself.
MARY
But it wasn’t till I knew that Harry had returned
That I felt the strength to go. I know I must go.
But where? I want a job: and you can help me.
AGATHA
I am very sorry, Mary, I am very sorry for you;
Though you may not think me capable of such a feeling.
I would like to help you: but you must not run away.
Any time before now, it would have shown courage
And would have been right. Now, the courage is only the moment
And the moment is only fear and pride. I see more than this,
More than I can tell you, more than there are words for.
At this moment, there is no decision to be made;
The decision will be made by powers beyond us
Which now and then emerge. You and I, Mary,
Are only watchers and waiters: not the easiest rôle.
I must go and change for dinner.
[Exit.]
MARY
So you will not help me!
Waiting, waiting, always waiting.
I think this house means to keep us waiting.
[Enter HARRY.]
HARRY
Waiting? For what?
MARY
How do you do, Harry.
You are down very early. I thought you had just arrived.
Did you have a comfortable journey?
HARRY
Not very.
But, at least, it did not last long. How are you, Mary?
MARY
Oh, very well. What are you looking for?
HARRY
I had only just noticed that this room is quite unchanged:
The same hangings . . . the same pictures . . . even the table,
The chairs, the sofa . . . all in the same positions.
I was looking to see if anything was changed,
But if so, I can’t find it.
MARY
Your mother insisted
On everything being kept the same as when you left it.
HARRY
I wish she had not done that. It’s very unnatural,
This arresting of the normal change of things:
But it’s very like her. What I might have expected.
&n
bsp; It only makes the changing of people
All the more manifest.
MARY
Yes, nothing changes here,
And we just go on . . . drying up, I suppose,
Not noticing the change. But to you, I am sure,
We must seem very altered.
HARRY
You have hardly changed at all—
And I haven’t seen you since you came down from Oxford.
MARY
Well, I must go and change for dinner.
We do change—to that extent.
HARRY
No, don’t go just yet.
MARY
Are you glad to be at home?
HARRY
There was something
I wanted to ask you. I don’t know yet.
All these years I’d been longing to get back
Because I thought I never should. I thought it was a place
Where life was substantial and simplified—
But the simplification took place in my memory,