Pygmalion · Act III (2/2) (1/2)
It is between four and five in the afternoon.
The door is opened violently; and Higgins enters with his hat on.
Mrs. Higgins Dismayed. Henry! Scolding him. What are you doing here today? It is my at-home day: you promised not to come. As he bends to kiss her, she takes his hat off, and presents it to him.
Higgins Oh bother! He throws the hat down on the table.
Mrs. Higgins Go home at once.
Higgins Kissing her. I know, mother. I came on purpose.
Mrs. Higgins But you mustn’t. I’m serious, Henry. You offend all my friends: they stop coming whenever they meet you.
Higgins Nonsense! I know I have no small talk; but people don’t mind. He sits on the settee.
Mrs. Higgins Oh! don’t they? Small talk indeed! What about your large talk? Really, dear, you mustn’t stay.
Higgins I must. I’ve a job for you. A phonetic job.
Mrs. Higgins No use, dear. I’m sorry; but I can’t get round your vowels; and though I like to get pretty postcards in your patent shorthand, I always have to read the copies in ordinary writing you so thoughtfully send me.
Higgins Well, this isn’t a phonetic job.
Mrs. Higgins You said it was.
Higgins Not your part of it. I’ve picked up a girl.
Mrs. Higgins Does that mean that some girl has picked you up?
Higgins Not at all. I don’t mean a love affair.
Mrs. Higgins What a pity!
Higgins Why?
Mrs. Higgins Well, you never fall in love with anyone under forty-five. When will you discover that there are some rather nice-looking young women about?
Higgins Oh, I can’t be bothered with young women. My idea of a loveable woman is something as like you as possible. I shall never get into the way of seriously liking young women: some habits lie too deep to be changed. Rising abruptly and walking about, jingling his money and his keys in his trouser pockets. Besides, they’re all idiots.
Mrs. Higgins Do you know what you would do if you really loved me, Henry?
Higgins Oh bother! What? Marry, I suppose?
Mrs. Higgins No. Stop fidgeting and take your hands out of your pockets. With a gesture of despair, he obeys and sits down again. That’s a good boy. Now tell me about the girl.
Higgins She’s coming to see you.
Mrs. Higgins I don’t remember asking her.
Higgins You didn’t. I asked her. If you’d known her you wouldn’t have asked her.
Mrs. Higgins Indeed! Why?
Higgins Well, it’s like this. She’s a common flower girl. I picked her off the kerbstone.
Mrs. Higgins And invited her to my at-home!
Higgins Rising and coming to her to coax her. Oh, that’ll be all right. I’ve taught her to speak properly; and she has strict orders as to her behavior. She’s to keep to two subjects: the weather and everybody’s health⁠—Fine day and How do you do, you know⁠—and not to let herself go on things in general. That will be safe.
Mrs. Higgins Safe! To talk about our health! about our insides! perhaps about our outsides! How could you be so silly, Henry?
Higgins Impatiently. Well, she must talk about something. He controls himself and sits down again. Oh, she’ll be all right: don’t you fuss. Pickering is in it with me. I’ve a sort of bet on that I’ll pass her off as a duchess in six months. I started on her some months ago; and she’s getting on like a house on fire. I shall win my bet. She has a quick ear; and she’s been easier to teach than my middle-class pupils because she’s had to learn a complete new language. She talks English almost as you talk French.
Mrs. Higgins That’s satisfactory, at all events.
Higgins Well, it is and it isn’t.
Mrs. Higgins What does that mean?
Higgins You see, I’ve got her pronunciation all right; but you have to consider not only how a girl pronounces, but what she pronounces; and that’s where⁠—
They are interrupted by The Parlormaid, announcing guests.
The Parlormaid Mrs. and Miss Eynsford Hill. She withdraws.
Higgins Oh Lord! He rises; snatches his hat from the table; and makes for the door; but before he reaches it his mother introduces him.
Mrs. and Miss Eynsford Hill are the mother and daughter who sheltered from the rain in Covent Garden. The mother is well bred, quiet, and has the habitual anxiety of straitened means. The daughter has acquired a gay air of being very much at home in society: the bravado of genteel poverty.
Mrs. Eynsford Hill To Mrs. Higgins. How do you do? They shake hands.
Miss Eynsford Hill How d’you do? She shakes.
Mrs. Higgins Introducing. My son Henry.
Mrs. Eynsford Hill Your celebrated son! I have so longed to meet you, Professor Higgins.
Higgins Glumly, making no movement in her direction. Delighted. He backs against the piano and bows brusquely.
Miss Eynsford Hill Going to him with confident familiarity. How do you do?
Higgins Staring at her. I’ve seen you before somewhere. I haven’t the ghost of a notion where; but I’ve heard your voice. Drearily. It doesn’t matter. You’d better sit down.
Mrs. Higgins I’m sorry to say that my celebrated son has no manners. You mustn’t mind him.
Miss Eynsford Hill Gaily. I don’t. She sits in the Elizabethan chair.
Mrs. Eynsford Hill A little bewildered. Not at all. She sits on the ottoman between her daughter and Mrs. Higgins, who has turned her chair away from the writing-table.
Higgins Oh, have I been rude? I didn’t mean to be. He goes to the central window, through which, with his back to the company, he contemplates the river and the flowers in Battersea Park on the opposite bank as if they were a frozen dessert.
The Parlormaid* returns, ushering in Pickering*.
The Parlormaid Colonel Pickering. She withdraws.
Pickering How do you do, Mrs. Higgins?
Mrs. Higgins So glad you’ve come. Do you know Mrs. Eynsford Hill⁠—Miss Eynsford Hill? Exchange of bows. The Colonel brings the Chippendale chair a little forward between Mrs. Eynsford Hill and Mrs. Higgins, and sits down.
Pickering Has Henry told you what we’ve come for?
Higgins Over his shoulder. We were interrupted: damn it!
Mrs. Higgins Oh Henry, Henry, really!
Mrs. Eynsford Hill Half rising. Are we in the way?
Mrs. Higgins Rising and making her sit down again. No, no. You couldn’t have come more fortunately: we want you to meet a friend of ours.
Higgins Turning hopefully. Yes, by George! We want two or three people. You’ll do as well as anybody else.
The Parlormaid* returns, ushering Freddy*.
The Parlormaid Mr. Eynsford Hill.
Higgins Almost audibly, past endurance. God of Heaven! another of them.
Freddy Shaking hands with Mrs. Higgins. Ahdedo?
Mrs. Higgins Very good of you to come. Introducing. Colonel Pickering.
Freddy Bowing. Ahdedo?
Mrs. Higgins I don’t think you know my son, Professor Higgins.
Freddy Going to Higgins. Ahdedo?
Higgins Looking at him much as if he were a pickpocket. I’ll take my oath I’ve met you before somewhere. Where was it?
Freddy I don’t think so.
Higgins Resignedly. It don’t matter, anyhow. Sit down. He shakes Freddy’s hand, and almost slings him on the ottoman with his face to the windows; then comes round to the other side of it.
Higgins Well, here we are, anyhow! He sits down on the ottoman next Mrs. Eynsford Hill, on her left. And now, what the devil are we going to talk about until Eliza comes?
Mrs. Higgins Henry: you are the life and soul of the Royal Society’s soirees; but really you’re rather trying on more commonplace occasions.
Higgins Am I? Very sorry. Beaming suddenly. I suppose I am, you know. Uproariously. Ha, ha!
Miss Eynsford Hill Who considers Higgins quite eligible matrimonially. I sympathize. I haven’t any small talk. If people would only be frank and say what they really think!
Higgins Relapsing into gloom. Lord forbid!
Mrs. Eynsford Hill Taking up her daughter’s cue. But why?
Higgins What they think they ought to think is bad enough, Lord knows; but what they really think would break up the whole show. Do you suppose it would be really agreeable if I were to come out now with what I really think?
Miss Eynsford Hill Gaily. Is it so very cynical?
Higgins Cynical! Who the dickens said it was cynical? I mean it wouldn’t be decent.
Mrs. Eynsford Hill Seriously. Oh! I’m sure you don’t mean that, Mr. Higgins.
Higgins You see, we’re all savages, more or less. We’re supposed to be civilized and cultured⁠—to know all about poetry and philosophy and art and science, and so on; but how many of us know even the meanings of these names? To Miss Eynsford Hill. What do you know of poetry? To Mrs. Eynsford Hill. What do you know of science? Indicating Freddy. What does he know of art or science or anything else? What the devil do you imagine I know of philosophy?
Mrs. Higgins Warningly. Or of manners, Henry?
The Parlormaid Opening the door. Miss Doolittle. She withdraws.
Higgins Rising hastily and running to Mrs. Higgins. Here she is, mother. He stands on tiptoe and makes signs over his mother’s head to Eliza to indicate to her which lady is her hostess.
Eliza*, who is exquisitely dressed, produces an impression of such remarkable distinction and beauty as she enters that they all rise, quite flustered. Guided by Higgins’s signals, she comes to Mrs. Higgins* with studied grace.
Liza Speaking with pedantic correctness of pronunciation and great beauty of tone. How do you do, Mrs. Higgins? She gasps slightly in making sure of the h in Higgins, but is quite successful. Mr. Higgins told me I might come.
Mrs. Higgins Cordially. Quite right: I’m very glad indeed to see you.
Pickering How do you do, Miss Doolittle?
Liza Shaking hands with him. Colonel Pickering, is it not?
Mrs. Eynsford Hill I feel sure we have met before, Miss Doolittle. I remember your eyes.
Liza How do you do? She sits down on the ottoman gracefully in the place just left vacant by Higgins.
Mrs. Eynsford Hill Introducing. My daughter Clara.
Liza How do you do?
Clara Impulsively. How do you do? She sits down on the ottoman beside Eliza, devouring her with her eyes.
Freddy Coming to their side of the ottoman. I’ve certainly had the pleasure.
Mrs. Eynsford Hill Introducing. My son Freddy.
Liza How do you do?
Freddy bows and sits down in the Elizabethan chair, infatuated.
Higgins Suddenly. By George, yes: it all comes back to me! They stare at him. Covent Garden! Lamentably. What a damned thing!
Mrs. Higgins Henry, please! He is about to sit on the edge of the table. Don’t sit on my writing-table: you’ll break it.
Higgins Sulkily. Sorry.
He goes to the divan, stumbling into the fender and over the fire-irons on his way; extricating himself with muttered imprecations; and finishing his disastrous journey by throwing himself so impatiently on the divan that he almost breaks it. Mrs. Higgins looks at him, but controls herself and says nothing.
A long and painful pause ensues.
Mrs. Higgins At last, conversationally. Will it rain, do you think?
Liza The shallow depression in the west of these islands is likely to move slowly in an easterly direction. There are no indications of any great change in the barometrical situation.
Freddy Ha! ha! how awfully funny!
Liza What is wrong with that, young man? I bet I got it right.
Freddy Killing!
Mrs. Eynsford Hill I’m sure I hope it won’t turn cold. There’s so much influenza about. It runs right through our whole family regularly every spring.
Liza Darkly. My aunt died of influenza: so they said.
Mrs. Eynsford Hill Clicks her tongue sympathetically.
Liza In the same tragic tone. But it’s my belief they done the old woman in.
Mrs. Higgins Puzzled. Done her in?
Liza Y-e-e-e-es, Lord love you! Why should she die of influenza? She come through diphtheria right enough the year before. I saw her with my own eyes. Fairly blue with it, she was. They all thought she was dead; but my father he kept ladling gin down her throat till she came to so sudden that she bit the bowl off the spoon.
Mrs. Eynsford Hill Startled. Dear me!
Liza Piling up the indictment. What call would a woman with that strength in her have to die of influenza? What become of her new straw hat that should have come to me? Somebody pinched it; and what I say is, them as pinched it done her in.
Mrs. Eynsford Hill What does doing her in mean?
Higgins Hastily. Oh, that’s the new small talk. To do a person in means to kill them.
Mrs. Eynsford Hill To Eliza, horrified. You surely don’t believe that your aunt was killed?
Liza Do I not! Them she lived with would have killed her for a hatpin, let alone a hat.
Mrs. Eynsford Hill But it can’t have been right for your father to pour spirits down her throat like that. It might have killed her.
Liza Not her. Gin was mother’s milk to her. Besides, he’d poured so much down his own throat that he knew the good of it.
Mrs. Eynsford Hill Do you mean that he drank?
Liza Drank! My word! Something chronic.
Mrs. Eynsford Hill How dreadful for you!
Liza Not a bit. It never did him no harm what I could see. But then he did not keep it up regular. Cheerfully. On the burst, as you might say, from time to time. And always more agreeable when he had a drop in. When he was out of work, my mother used to give him fourpence and tell him to go out and not come back until he’d drunk himself cheerful and loving-like. There’s lots of women has to make their husbands drunk to make them fit to live with. Now quite at her ease. You see, it’s like this. If a man has a bit of a conscience, it always takes him when he’s sober; and then it makes him low-spirited. A drop of booze just takes that off and makes him happy. To Freddy, who is in convulsions of suppressed laughter. Here! what are you sniggering at?
Freddy The new small talk. You do it so awfully well.
Liza If I was doing it proper, what was you laughing at? To Higgins. Have I said anything I oughtn’t?
Mrs. Higgins Interposing. Not at all, Miss Doolittle.
Liza Well, that’s a mercy, anyhow. Expansively. What I always say is⁠—
Higgins Rising and looking at his watch. Ahem!
Liza Looking round at him; taking the hint; and rising. Well: I must go. They all rise. Freddy goes to the door. So pleased to have met you. Goodbye. She shakes hands with Mrs. Higgins.
Mrs. Higgins Goodbye.
Liza Goodbye, Colonel Pickering.
Pickering Goodbye, Miss Doolittle. They shake hands.
Liza Nodding to the others. Goodbye, all.
Freddy Opening the door for her. Are you walking across the Park, Miss Doolittle? If so⁠—
Liza Walk! Not bloody likely. Sensation. I am going in a taxi. She goes out.
Pickering* gasps and sits down. Freddy goes out on the balcony to catch another glimpse of Eliza*.
Mrs. Eynsford Hill Suffering from shock. Well, I really can’t get used to the new ways.
Clara Throwing herself discontentedly into the Elizabethan chair. Oh, it’s all right, mamma, quite right. People will think we never go anywhere or see anybody if you are so old-fashioned.