Complete Poems and Plays (40 page)

V
IOLET
.
Gerald is certain to make some blunder, he is useless out of the army.

C
HARLES
.
Violet is afraid that her status as Amy’s sister will be diminished.

C
HORUS
.
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.

A
MY’S
V
OICE
.
Ivy! Violet! has Arthur or John come yet?

I
VY
.
There is no news of Arthur or John.

[
Enter
A
MY
and
A
GATHA
]

A
MY
.
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
A
GATHA
]

[
Enter
M
ARY
with
flowers
]

M
ARY
.
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.

A
GATHA
.
I always forget how late the spring is, here.

M
ARY
.
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.

A
GATHA
.
I wonder how many we shall be for dinner.

M
ARY
.
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 …

A
GATHA
.
And also Dr. Warburton. At least, Amy has invited him.

M
ARY
.
Dr. Warburton? I think she might have told me;

It is very difficult, having to plan

For uncertain numbers. Why did she ask him?

A
GATHA
.
She only thought of asking him a little while ago.

M
ARY
.
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.

A
GATHA
.
                                                 I should have thought

You had more than you wanted of that, when at college.

M
ARY
.
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 a hard headmistress

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.

A
GATHA
.
After seven years?

M
ARY
.
                                    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?

A
GATHA
.
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.

M
ARY
.
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.

A
GATHA
.
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
]

M
ARY
.
                                               So you will not help me!

Waiting, waiting, always waiting.

I think this house
means
to keep us waiting.

[
Enter
H
ARRY
]

H
ARRY
.
Waiting? For what?

M
ARY
.
                                    How do you do, Harry.

You are down very early. I thought you had just arrived.

Did you have a comfortable journey?

H
ARRY
.
                                                    Not very.

But, at least, it did not last long. How are you, Mary?

M
ARY
.
Oh, very well. What are you looking for?

H
ARRY
.
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.

M
ARY
.
                                Your mother insisted

On everything being kept the same as when you left it.

H
ARRY
.
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.

It only makes the changing of people

All the more manifest.

M
ARY
.
                              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.

H
ARRY
.
                                     You have hardly changed at all —

And I haven’t seen you since you came down from Oxford.

M
ARY
.
Well, I must go and change for dinner.

We do change — to that extent.

H
ARRY
.
                                            No, don’t go just yet.

M
ARY
.
Are you glad to be at home?

H
ARRY
.
                                               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,

I think. It seems I shall get rid of nothing.

Of none of the shadows that I wanted to escape;

And at the same time, other memories,

Earlier, forgotten, begin to return

Out of my childhood. I can’t explain.

But I thought I might escape from one life to another,

And it may be all one life, with no escape. Tell me,

Were you ever happy here, as a child at Wishwood?

M
ARY
.
Happy? not really, though I never knew why:

It always seemed that it must be my own fault,

And never to be happy was always to be naughty.

But there were reasons: I was only a cousin

Kept here because there was nothing else to do with me.

I didn’t belong here. It was different for you.

And you seemed so much older. We were rather in awe of you —

At least, I was.

H
ARRY
.
                Why were we not happy?

M
ARY
.
Well, it all seemed to be imposed upon us;

Even the nice things were laid out ready,

And the treats were always so carefully prepared;

There was never any time to invent our own enjoyments.

But perhaps it was all designed for you, not for us.

H
ARRY
.
No, it didn’t seem like that. I was part of the design

As well as you. But what was the design?

It never came off. But do you remember

M
ARY
.
The hollow tree in what we called the wilderness

H
ARRY
.
Down near the river. That was the stockade

From which we fought the Indians, Arthur and John.

M
ARY
.
It was the cave where we met by moonlight

To raise the evil spirits.

H
ARRY
.
                              Arthur and John.

Of course we were punished for being out at night