Complete Poems and Plays (88 page)

You couldn’t have carried out such a deception

Over all these years. And why
should
you have deceived me?

E
GGERSON.
Mrs. Guzzard, can you substantiate this statement?

M
RS.
G
UZZARD.
Registration of birth. To Herbert and Sarah Guzzard

A son.

E
GGERSON.
And what about your sister and her child?

M
RS.
G
UZZARD.
Registration of death. The child was never born.

S
IR
C
LAUDE.
I don’t believe it. I simply can’t believe it.

Mrs. Guzzard, you are inventing this fiction

In response to what Colby said he wanted.

E
GGERSON.
I’ll examine the records myself, Sir Claude.

Not that we doubt your word, Mrs. Guzzard:

But in a matter of such extreme importance

You’ll understand the need for exact confirmation.

M
RS.
G
UZZARD.
I understand that, Mr. Eggerson. Quite well.

S
IR
C
LAUDE.
I shall not believe it. I’ll not believe those records.

You pretend to have carried out a deception

For twenty-five years? It’s quite impossible.

M
RS.
G
UZZARD.
I had no intention of deceiving you, Sir Claude,

Till you deceived yourself. When you went to Canada

My sister found that she was to have a child:

That much is true. I also was expecting one.

That you did not know. It did not concern you.

As I have just said, my sister died

Before the child could be born. You were very far away;

I sent you a message, which never reached you.

On your return, you came at once to see me;

And I found that I had to break the news to you.

You saw the child. You assumed that it was yours;

And you were so pleased, I shrank, at the moment,

From undeceiving you. And then I thought — why not?

My husband also had died. I was left very poor.

If I let you continue to think the child was yours,

My son was assured of a proper start in life —

That I knew. And it would make you so happy!

If I said the child was mine, what future could he have?

And then I was frightened by what I had done.

Though I had never said ‘this child is yours’,

I feared you would ask for the birth certificate.

You never did. And so it went on.

S
IR
C
LAUDE.
This is horribly plausible. But it can’t be true.

M
RS.
G
UZZARD.
Consider, Sir Claude. Would I tell you all this

Unless it was true? In telling you the truth

I am sacrificing my ambitions for Colby.

I am sacrificing also my previous sacrifice.

This is even greater than the sacrifice I made

When I let you claim him. Do you think it is a small thing

For me, to see my life’s ambition come to nothing?

When I gave up my place as Colby’s mother

I gave up something I could never have back.

Don’t you understand that this revelation

Drives the knife deeper and twists it in the wound?

I had very much rather that the facts were otherwise.

C
OLBY.
I believe you. I must believe you:

This gives me freedom.

S
IR
C
LAUDE.
                       But, Colby —

If this should be true — of course it can’t be true! —

But I see you believe it. You want to believe it.

Well, believe it, then. But don’t let it make a difference

To our relations. Or, perhaps, for the better?

Perhaps we’ll be happier together if you think

I am not your father. I’ll accept that.

If you will stay with me. It shall make no difference

To my plans for your future.

C
OLBY
.
                                       Thank you, Sir Claude.

You’re a very generous man. But now I know who was my father

I must follow my father — so that I may come to know him.

S
IR
C
LAUDE
.
What do you mean?

C
OLBY
.
                                             I want to be an organist.

It doesn’t matter about success —

I aimed too high before — beyond my capacity.

I thought I didn’t want to be an organist

When I found I had no chance of getting to the top —

That is, to become the organist of a cathedral.

But my father was an unsuccessful organist.

M
RS.
G
UZZARD
.
You should say, Colby, not very successful.

C
OLBY
.
And I wish to follow my father.

S
IR
C
LAUDE
.
                                              But, Colby:

Don’t you remember a talk we had —

So very long ago! — when we shared our ambitions

And shared our disappointment. And you described your feelings

On beginning to learn the ways of business;

The exhilaration of finding you could handle

Matters you would have thought so uncongenial;

And the way in which you felt that you were changing?

That conversation would have convinced me

With no other evidence, that you were my son,

Because you described my own experience, exactly.

Does that mean nothing to you, the experience we shared?

Heaven knows — and you know — I put no obstruction

In the way of your fulfilling your musical ambitions —

Had you been able to fulfil them.

Believe, if you like, that I am not your father:

I’ll accept that. I put no claim upon you —

Except the claim of our likeness to each other.

We have undergone the same disillusionment:

I want us to make the best of it, together.

C
OLBY
.
No, Sir Claude. I hate to hurt you

As I am hurting you. But it is very different.

As long as I believed that you were my father

I was content to have had the same ambitions

And in the same way to accept their failure.

You had your father before you, as a model;

You knew your inheritance. Now I know mine.

S
IR
C
LAUDE
.
I shall never ask you to think of me as a father;

All I ask you is — to regard me as a friend.

C
OLBY
.
But you would still think of me as your son.

There can be no relation of father and son

Unless it works both ways. For you to regard me —

As you would — as your son, when I could not think of you

As my father: if I accepted that

I should be guilty towards you. I like you too much.

You’ve become a man without illusions

About himself, and without ambitions.

Now that I’ve abandoned
my
illusions and ambitions

All that’s left is love. But not on false pretences:

That’s why I must leave you.

S
IR
C
LAUDE
.
                               Eggerson!

Can’t you persuade him?

L
ADY
E
LIZABETH
.
                  Yes. My poor Claude!

Do try to help him, Eggerson.

E
GGERSON
.
                                  I wouldn’t venture.

Mr. Simpkins is a man who knows his own mind.

Is it true, Mr. Simpkins, that what you desire

Is to become the organist of some parish church?

C
OLBY
.
That is what I want. If anyone will take me.

E
GGERSON
.
If so, I happen to know of a vacancy

In my own parish, in Joshua Park —

If it should appeal to you. The organist we had

Died two months ago. We’ve been looking for another.

C
OLBY
.
Do you think that they would give me a trial?

E
GGERSON
.
Give you a trial? I’m certain.

Good organists don’t seem to want to come to Joshua Park.

C
OLBY
.
But I’ve told you, I’m not a very good organist!

E
GGERSON
.
Don’t say that, Mr. Simpkins, until you’ve tried our organ!

C
OLBY
.
Well, if you could induce them to try me …

E
GGERSON
.
The Parochial Church Council will be only too pleased,

And I have some influence.
I
am the Vicar’s Warden.

C
OLBY
.
I’d like to apply.

E
GGERSON
.
                        The stipend is small —

Very small, I’m afraid. Not enough to live on.

We’ll have to think of other ways

Of making up an income. Piano lessons? —

As a temporary measure; because, Mr. Simpkins —

I hope you won’t take this as an impertinence —

I don’t see you spending a lifetime as an organist.

I think you’ll come to find you’ve another vocation.

We worked together every day, you know,

For quite a little time, and I’ve watched you pretty closely.

Mr. Simpkins! You’ll be thinking of reading for orders.

And you’ll still have your music. Why, Mr. Simpkins,

Joshua Park may be only a stepping-stone

To a precentorship! And a canonry!

C
OLBY
.
We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Eggers.