Complete Poems and Plays (69 page)

P
ETER
.
And what a
métier
! I’ve tried to believe in it

So that I might believe in myself.

I thought I had ideas to make a revolution

In the cinema, that no one could ignore —

And here I am, making a second-rate film!

But I thought it was going to lead to something better,

And that seemed possible, while Celia was alive.

I wanted it, believed in it, for Celia.

And, of course, I wanted to do something for Celia —

But what mattered was, that Celia was alive.

And now it’s all worthless. Celia’s not alive.

L
AVINIA
.
No, it’s not all worthless, Peter. You’ve only just begun.

I mean, this only brings you to the point

At which you
must
begin. You were saying just now

That you never knew Celia. We none of us did.

What you’ve been living on is an image of Celia

Which you made for yourself, to meet your own needs.

Peter, please don’t think I’m being unkind …

P
ETER
.
No, I don’t think you’re being unkind, Lavinia;

And I know that you’re right.

L
AVINIA
.
                                      And perhaps what I’ve been saying

Will seem less unkind if I can make you understand

That in fact I’ve been talking about myself.

E
DWARD.
Lavinia is right. This is where you start from.

If you find out now, Peter, things about yourself

That you don’t like to face: well, just remember

That some men have to learn much worse things

About themselves, and learn them later

When it’s harder to recover, and make a new beginning.

It’s not so hard for you. You’re naturally good.

P
ETER
.
I’m sorry. I don’t believe I’ve taken in

All that you’ve been saying. But I’m grateful all the same.

You know, all the time that you’ve been talking,

One thought has been going round and round in my head —

That I’ve only been interested in myself:

And that isn’t good enough for Celia.

J
ULIA
.
You must have learned how to look at people, Peter,

When you look at them with an eye for the films:

That is, when you’re not concerned with yourself

But just being an eye. You will come to think of Celia

Like that, one day. And then you’ll understand her

And be reconciled, and be happy in the thought of her.

L
AVINIA
.
Sir Henry, there is something I want to say to you.

While Alex was telling us what had happened to Celia

I was looking at your face. And it seemed from your expression

That the way in which she died did not disturb you

Or the fact that she died because she would not leave

A few dying natives.

R
EILLY
.
                           Who knows, Mrs. Chamberlayne,

The difference that made to the natives who were dying

Or the state of mind in which they died?

L
AVINIA
.
I’m willing to grant that. What struck me, though,

Was that your face showed no surprise or horror

At the way in which she died. I don’t know if you knew her.

I suspect that you did. In any case you knew
about
her.

Yet I thought your expression was one of … satisfaction!

R
EILLY
.
Mrs. Chamberlayne, I must be very transparent

Or else you are very perceptive.

J
ULIA
.
                                               Oh, Henry!

Lavinia is much more observant than you think.

I believe that she has forced you to a show-down.

R
EILLY
.
You state the position correctly, Julia.

Do you mind if I quote poetry, Mrs. Chamberlayne?

L
AVINIA.
Oh no, I should love to hear you speaking poetry …

J
ULIA
.
She has made a point, Henry.

L
AVINIA
.
                                              … if it answers my question.

R
EILLY
.
                            
Ere
Babylon
was
dust

The
magus
Zoroaster,
my
dead
child,

Met
his
own
image
walking
in
the
garden.

That
apparition,
sole
of
men,
he
saw.

For
know
there
are
two
worlds
of
life
and
death:

One
that
which
thou
beholdest;
but
the
other

Is
underneath
the
grave,
where
do
inhabit

The
shadows
of
all
forms
that
think
and
live

Till
death
unite
them
and
they
part
no
more!

When I first met Miss Coplestone, in this room,

I saw the image, standing behind her chair,

Of a Celia Coplestone whose face showed the astonishment

Of the first five minutes after a violent death.

If this strains your credulity, Mrs. Chamberlayne,

I ask you only to entertain the suggestion

That a sudden intuition, in certain minds,

May tend to express itself at once in a picture.

That happens to me, sometimes. So it was obvious

That here was a woman under sentence of death.

That was her destiny. The only question

Then was, what sort of death?
I
could not know;

Because it was for her to choose the way of life

To lead to death, and, without knowing the end

Yet choose the form of death. We know the death she chose.

I did not know that she would die in this way;

She
did not know. So all that I could do

Was to direct her in the way of preparation.

That way, which she accepted, led to this death.

And if that is not a happy death, what death is happy?

E
DWARD
.
Do you mean that having chosen this form of death

She did not suffer as ordinary people suffer?

R
EILLY
.
Not at all what I mean. Rather the contrary.

I’d say that she suffered all that we should suffer

In fear and pain and loathing — all these together —

And reluctance of the body to become a
thing.

I’d say she suffered more, because more conscious

Than the rest of us. She paid the highest price

In suffering. That is part of the design.

L
AVINIA
.
Perhaps she had been through greater agony beforehand.

I mean — I know nothing of her last two years.

R
EILLY
.
That shows some insight on your part, Mrs. Chamberlayne;

But such experience can only be hinted at

In myths and images. To speak about it

We talk of darkness, labyrinths, Minotaur terrors.

But that world does not take the place of this one.

Do you imagine that the Saint in the desert

With spiritual evil always at his shoulder

Suffered any less from hunger, damp, exposure,

Bowel trouble, and the fear of lions,

Cold of the night and heat of the day, than we should?

E
DWARD
.
But if this was right — if this was right for Celia —

There must be something else that is terribly wrong,

And the rest of us are somehow involved in the wrong.

I should only speak for myself. I’m sure that
I
am.

R
EILLY
.
Let me free your mind from one impediment:

You must try to detach yourself from what you still feel

As your responsibility.

E
DWARD
.
                          I cannot help the feeling

That, in some way, my responsibility

Is greater than that of a band of half-crazed savages.

L
AVINIA
.
Oh, Edward, I knew! I knew what you were thinking!

Doesn’t it help you, that I feel guilty too?

R
EILLY
.
If we all were judged according to the consequences

Of all our words and deeds, beyond the intention

And beyond our limited understanding

Of ourselves and others, we should all be condemned.

Mrs. Chamberlayne, I often have to make a decision

Which may mean restoration or ruin to a patient —

And sometimes I have made the wrong decision.

As for Miss Coplestone, because you think her death was waste

You blame yourselves, and because you blame yourselves

You think her life was wasted. It was triumphant.

But I am no more responsible for the triumph —

And just as responsible for her death as you are.

L
AVINIA
.
Yet I know I shall go on blaming myself

For being so unkind to her … so spiteful.

I shall go on seeing her at the moment

When she said good-bye to us, two years ago.

E
DWARD
.
Your responsibility is nothing to mine, Lavinia.

L
AVINIA
.
I’m not sure about that. If I had understood you