Complete Poems and Plays

by T. S. Eliot

  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 go
ing 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.