The Complete Poems and Plays, 1909-1950

  MRS. CARGHILL. Oh, I knew that Lord Claverton had come for a rest cure,

  And it struck me that he might find it a strain

  To have to cope with both of us at once.

  Besides, I ought to do my breathing exercises.

  [Exit]

  MRS. PIGGOTT. As a matter of fact, I flew to your rescue

  (That’s why I’ve brought your morning tipple myself

  Instead of leaving it, as usual, to Nurse)

  When I saw that Mrs. Carghill had caught you.

  You wouldn’t know that name, but you might remember her

  As Maisie Montjoy in revue.

  She was well-known at one time. I’m afraid her name

  Means nothing at all to the younger generation,

  But you and I should remember her, Lord Claverton.

  That tune she was humming, It’s Not Too Late For You To Love Me,

  Everybody was singing it once. A charming person,

  I dare say, but not quite your sort or mine.

  I suspected that she wanted to meet you, so I thought

  That I’d take the first opportunity of hinting —

  Tactfully, of course — that you should not be disturbed.

  Well, she’s gone now. If she bothers you again

  Just let me know. I’m afraid it’s the penalty

  Of being famous.

  [Enter Monica]

  Oh, Miss Claverton-Ferry!

  I didn’t see you coming. Now I must fly.

  [Exit]

  MONICA. I saw Mrs. Piggott bothering you again

  So I hurried to your rescue. You look tired, Father.

  She ought to know better. But I’m all the more distressed

  Because I have some … not very good news for you.

  LORD CLAVERTON. Oh, indeed. What’s the matter?

  MONICA. I didn’t get far.

  I met Michael in the drive. He says he must see you.

  I’m afraid that something unpleasant has happened.

  LORD CLAVERTON. Was he driving his car?

  MONICA. No, he was walking.

  LORD CLAVERTON. I hope he’s not had another accident.

  You know, after that last escapade of his,

  I’ve lived in terror of his running over somebody.

  MONICA. Why, Father, should you be afraid of that?

  This shows how bad your nerves have been.

  He only ran into a tree.

  LORD CLAVERTON. Yes, a tree.

  It might have been a man. But it can’t be that,

  Or he wouldn’t be at large. Perhaps he’s in trouble

  With some woman or other. I’m sure he has friends

  Whom he wouldn’t care for you or me to know about.

  MONICA. It’s probably money.

  LORD CLAVERTON. If it’s only debts

  Once more, I expect I can put up with it.

  But where is he?

  MONICA. I told him he must wait in the garden

  Until I had prepared you. I’ve made him understand

  That the doctors want you to be free from worry.

  He won’t make a scene. But I can see he’s frightened.

  And you know what Michael is like when he’s frightened.

  He’s apt to be sullen and quick to take offence.

  So I hope you’ll be patient.

  LORD CLAVERTON. Well then, fetch him.

  Let’s get this over.

  MONICA. [calls] Michael!

  [Enter MICHAEL]

  LORD CLAVERTON. Good morning, Michael.

  MICHAEL. Good morning, Father.

  [A pause]

  What a lovely day!

  I’m glad you’re here, to enjoy such weather.

  LORD CLAVERTON. You’re glad I’m here? Did you drive down from London?

  MICHAEL. I drove down last night. I’m staying at a pub

  About two miles from here. Not a bad little place.

  LORD CLAVERTON. Why are you staying there? I shouldn’t have thought

  It would be the sort of place that you’d choose for a holiday.

  MICHAEL. Well, this isn’t a holiday exactly.

  But this hotel was very well recommended.

  Good cooking, for a country inn. And not at all expensive.

  LORD CLAVERTON. You don’t normally consider that a recommendation.

  Are you staying there long? For the whole of this holiday?

  MICHAEL. Well, this isn’t a holiday, exactly.

  Oh. I said that before, didn’t I?

  MONICA. I wish you’d stop being so polite to each other.

  Michael, you know what you’ve come to ask of Father

  And Father knows that you want something from him.

  Perhaps you’ll get to the point if I leave you together.

  [Exit]

  MICHAEL. You know, it’s awfully hard to explain things to you.

  You’ve always made up your mind that I was to blame

  Before you knew the facts. The first thing I remember

  Is being blamed for something I hadn’t done.

  I never got over that. If you always blame a person

  It’s natural he should end by getting into trouble.

  LORD CLAVERTON. You started pretty early getting into trouble,

  When you were expelled from your prep school for stealing.

  But come to the point. You’re in trouble again.

  We’ll ignore, if you please, the question of blame:

  Which will spare you the necessity of blaming someone else.

  Just tell me what’s happened.

  MICHAEL. Well, I’ve lost my job.

  LORD CLAVERTON. The position that Sir Alfred Walter made for you.

  MICHAEL. I’d stuck it for two years. And deadly dull it was.

  LORD CLAVERTON. Every job is dull, nine-tenths of the time …

  MICHAEL. I need something much more stimulating.

  LORD CLAVERTON. Well?

  MICHAEL. I want to find some more speculative business.

  LORD CLAVERTON. I dare say you’ve tried a little private speculation.

  MICHAEL. Several of my friends gave me excellent tips.

  They always came off — the tips I didn’t take.

  LORD CLAVERTON. And the ones you did take?

  MICHAEL. Not so well, for some reason.

  The fact is, I needed a good deal more capital

  To make anything of it. If I could have borrowed more

  I might have pulled it off.

  LORD CLAVERTON. Borrowed? From whom?

  Not … from the firm?

  MICHAEL. I went to a lender,

  A man whom a friend of mine recommended.

  He gave me good terms, on the strength of my name:

  The only good the name has ever done me.

  LORD CLAVERTON. On the strength of your name. And what do you call good terms?

  MICHAEL. I’d nothing at all to pay for two years:

  The interest was just added on to the capital.

  LORD CLAVERTON. And how long ago was that?

  MICHAEL. Nearly two years.

  Time passes pretty quickly, when you’re in debt.

  LORD CLAVERTON. And have you other debts?

  MICHAEL. Oh, ordinary debts:

  My tailor’s bill, for instance.

  LORD CLAVERTON. I expected that.

  It was just the same at Oxford.

  MICHAEL. It’s their own fault.

  They won’t send in their bills, and then I forget them.

  It’s being your son that gets me into debt.

  Just because of your name they insist on giving credit.

  LORD CLAVERTON. And your debts: are they the cause of your being discharged?

  MICHAEL. Well, partly. Sir Alfred did come to hear about it,

  And so he pretended to be very shocked.

  Said he couldn’t retain any man on his staff

  Who’d taken to gambling. Called me a gambler!

  Said he’d communic
ate with you about it.

  LORD CLAVERTON. That accounts for your coming down here so precipitately —

  In order to let me have your version first.

  I dare say Sir Alfred’s will be rather different.

  And what else did he say?

  MICHAEL. He took the usual line,

  Just like the headmaster. And my tutor at Oxford.

  ‘Not what we expected from the son of your father’

  And that sort of thing. It’s for your sake, he says,

  That he wants to keep things quiet. I can tell you, it’s no joke

  Being the son of a famous public man.

  You don’t know what I suffered, working in that office.

  In the first place, they all knew the job had been made for me

  Because I was your son. They considered me superfluous;

  They knew I couldn’t be living on my pay;

  They had a lot of fun with me — sometimes they’d pretend

  That I was overworked, when I’d nothing to do.

  Even the office boys began to sneer at me.

  I wonder I stood it as long as I did.

  LORD CLAVERTON. And does this bring us to the end of the list of your shortcomings?

  Or did Sir Alfred make other unflattering criticisms?

  MICHAEL. Well, there was one thing he brought up against me,

  That I’d been too familiar with one of the girls.

  He assumed it had gone a good deal further than it had.

  LORD CLAVERTON. Perhaps it had gone further than you’re willing to admit.

  MICHAEL. Well, after all, she was the only one

  Who was at all nice to me. She wasn’t exciting.

  But it served to pass the time. It would never have happened

  If only I’d been given some interesting work!

  LORD CLAVERTON. And what do you now propose to do with yourself?

  MICHAEL. I want to go abroad.

  LORD CLAVERTON. You want to go abroad?

  Well, that’s not a bad idea. A few years out of England

  In one of the Dominions, might set you on your feet.

  I have connections, or at least correspondents

  Almost everywhere. Australia — no.

  The men I know there are all in the cities:

  An outdoor life would suit you better.

  How would you like to go to Western Canada?

  Or what about sheep farming in New Zealand?

  MICHAEL. Sheep farming? Good Lord, no.

  That’s not my idea. I want to make money.

  I want to be somebody on my own account.

  LORD CLAVERTON. But what do you want to do? Where do you want to go?

  What kind of a life do you think you want?

  MICHAEL. I simply want to lead a life of my own,

  According to my own ideas of good and bad,

  Of right and wrong. I want to go far away

  To some country where no one has heard the name of Claverton;

  Or where, if I took a different name — and I might choose to —

  No one would know or care what my name had been.

  LORD CLAVERTON. So you are ready to repudiate your family,

  To throw away the whole of your inheritance?

  MICHAEL. What is my inheritance? As for your title,

  I know why you took it. And Mother knew.

  First, because it gave you the opportunity

  Of retiring from politics, not without dignity,

  Being no longer wanted. And you wished to be Lord Claverton

  Also, to hold your own with Mother’s family —

  To lord it over them, in fact. Oh, I’ve no doubt

  That the thought of passing on your name and title

  To a son, was gratifying. But it wasn’t for my sake!

  I was just your son — that is to say,

  A kind of prolongation of your existence,

  A representative carrying on business in your absence.

  Why should I thank you for imposing this upon me?

  And what satisfaction, I wonder, will it give you

  In the grave? If you’re still conscious after death,

  I bet it will be a surprised state of consciousness.

  Poor ghost! reckoning up its profit and loss

  And wondering why it bothered about such trifles.

  LORD CLAVERTON. So you want me to help you to escape from your father!

  MICHAEL. And to help my father to be rid of me.

  You simply don’t know how very much pleasanter

  You will find life become, once I’m out of the country.

  What I’d like is a chance to go abroad

  As a partner in some interesting business.

  But I might be expected to put up some capital.

  LORD CLAVERTON. What sort of business have you in mind?

  MICHAEL. Oh, I don’t know. Import and export,

  With an opportunity of profits both ways.

  LORD CLAVERTON. This is what I will do for you, Michael.

  I will help you to make a start in any business

  You may find for yourself — if, on investigation,

  I am satisfied about the nature of the business.

  MICHAEL. Anyway, I’m determined to get out of England.

  LORD CLAVERTON. Michael! Are there reasons for your wanting to go

  Beyond what you’ve told me? It isn’t … manslaughter?

  MICHAEL. Manslaughter? Why manslaughter? Oh, you mean on the road.

  Certainly not. I’m far too good a driver.

  LORD CLAVERTON. What then? That young woman?

  MICHAEL. I’m not such a fool

  As to get myself involved in a breach of promise suit

  Or somebody’s divorce. No, you needn’t worry

  About that girl — or any other.

  But I want to get out. I’m fed up with England.

  LORD CLAVERTON. I’m sure you don’t mean that. But it’s natural enough

  To want a few years abroad. It might be very good for you

  To find your feet. But I shouldn’t like to think

  That what inspired you was no positive ambition

  But only the desire to escape.

  MICHAEL. I’m not a fugitive.

  LORD CLAVERTON. No, not a fugitive from justice —

  Only a fugitive from reality.

  Oh Michael! If you had some aim of high achievement,

  Some dream of excellence, how gladly would I help you!

  Even though it carried you away from me forever

  To suffer the monotonous sun of the tropics

  Or shiver in the northern night. Believe me, Michael:

  Those who flee from their past will always lose the race.

  I know this from experience. When you reach your goal,

  Your imagined paradise of success and grandeur,

  You will find your past failures waiting there to greet you.

  You’re all I have to live for, Michael —

  You and Monica. If I lived for twenty years

  Knowing that my son had played the coward —

  I should merely be another twenty years in dying.

  MICHAEL. Very well: if you like, call me a coward.

  I wonder whether you would play the hero

  If you were in my place. I don’t believe you would.

  You didn’t suffer from the handicap that I’ve had.

  Your father was rich, but was no one in particular,

  So you’d nothing to live up to. Those standards of conduct

  You’ve always made so much of, for my benefit:

  I wonder whether you have always lived up to them.

  [MONICA has entered unobserved]

  MONICA. Michael! How can you speak to Father like that?

  Father! What has happened? Why do you look so angry?

  I know that Michael must be in great trouble,

  So can’t you help him?

  LORD CLAVERTON. I am trying to help
him,

  And to meet him halfway. I have made him an offer

  Which he must think over. But if he goes abroad