PICKERING. We're always talking Eliza.
HIGGINS. Teaching Eliza.
PICKERING. Dressing Eliza.
MRS. HIGGINS. What!
HIGGINS. Inventing new Elizas.
Higgins and Pickering, speaking together:
HIGGINS. You know, she has the most extraordinary quickness of
ear:
PICKERING. I assure you, my dear Mrs. Higgins, that girl
HIGGINS. just like a parrot. I've tried her with every
PICKERING. is a genius. She can play the piano quite
beautifully
HIGGINS. possible sort of sound that a human being can make--
PICKERING. We have taken her to classical concerts and to music
HIGGINS. Continental dialects, African dialects, Hottentot
PICKERING. halls; and it's all the same to her: she plays
everything
HIGGINS. clicks, things it took me years to get hold of; and
PICKERING. she hears right off when she comes home, whether it's
HIGGINS. she picks them up like a shot, right away, as if she
had
PICKERING. Beethoven and Brahms or Lehar and Lionel Morickton;
HIGGINS. been at it all her life.
PICKERING. though six months ago, she'd never as much as touched
a piano.
MRS. HIGGINS [putting her fingers in her ears, as they are by
this time shouting one another down with an intolerable noise]
Sh--sh--sh--sh! [They stop].
PICKERING. I beg your pardon. [He draws his chair back
apologetically].
HIGGINS. Sorry. When Pickering starts shouting nobody can get a
word in edgeways.
MRS. HIGGINS. Be quiet, Henry. Colonel Pickering: don't you
realize that when Eliza walked into Wimpole Street, something
walked in with her?
PICKERING. Her father did. But Henry soon got rid of him.
MRS. HIGGINS. It would have been more to the point if her mother
had. But as her mother didn't something else did.
PICKERING. But what?
MRS. HIGGINS [unconsciously dating herself by the word] A
problem.
PICKERING. Oh, I see. The problem of how to pass her off as a
lady.
HIGGINS. I'll solve that problem. I've half solved it already.
MRS. HIGGINS. No, you two infinitely stupid male creatures: the
problem of what is to be done with her afterwards.
HIGGINS. I don't see anything in that. She can go her own way,
with all the advantages I have given her.
MRS. HIGGINS. The advantages of that poor woman who was here just
now! The manners and habits that disqualify a fine lady from
earning her own living without giving her a fine lady's income!
Is that what you mean?
PICKERING [indulgently, being rather bored] Oh, that will be all
right, Mrs. Higgins. [He rises to go].
HIGGINS [rising also] We'll find her some light employment.
PICKERING. She's happy enough. Don't you worry about her. Good-
bye. [He shakes hands as if he were consoling a frightened child,
and makes for the door].
HIGGINS. Anyhow, there's no good bothering now. The thing's done.
Good-bye, mother. [He kisses her, and follows Pickering].
PICKERING [turning for a final consolation] There are plenty of
openings. We'll do what's right. Good-bye.
HIGGINS [to Pickering as they go out together] Let's take her to
the Shakespear exhibition at Earls Court.
PICKERING. Yes: let's. Her remarks will be delicious.
HIGGINS. She'll mimic all the people for us when we get home.
PICKERING. Ripping. [Both are heard laughing as they go
downstairs].
MRS. HIGGINS [rises with an impatient bounce, and returns to her
work at the writing-table. She sweeps a litter of disarranged
papers out of her way; snatches a sheet of paper from her
stationery case; and tries resolutely to write. At the third line
she gives it up; flings down her pen; grips the table angrily and
exclaims] Oh, men! men!! men!!!
ACT IV
The Wimpole Street laboratory. Midnight. Nobody in the room. The
clock on the mantelpiece strikes twelve. The fire is not alight:
it is a summer night.
Presently Higgins and Pickering are heard on the stairs.
HIGGINS [calling down to Pickering] I say, Pick: lock up, will
you. I shan't be going out again.
PICKERING. Right. Can Mrs. Pearce go to bed? We don't want
anything more, do we?
HIGGINS. Lord, no!
Eliza opens the door and is seen on the lighted landing in opera
cloak, brilliant evening dress, and diamonds, with fan, flowers,
and all accessories. She comes to the hearth, and switches on the
electric lights there. She is tired: her pallor contrasts
strongly with her dark eyes and hair; and her expression is
almost tragic. She takes off her cloak; puts her fan and flowers
on the piano; and sits down on the bench, brooding and silent.
Higgins, in evening dress, with overcoat and hat, comes in,
carrying a smoking jacket which he has picked up downstairs. He
takes off the hat and overcoat; throws them carelessly on the
newspaper stand; disposes of his coat in the same way; puts on
the smoking jacket; and throws himself wearily into the
easy-chair at the hearth. Pickering, similarly attired, comes in.
He also takes off his hat and overcoat, and is about to throw
them on Higgins's when he hesitates.
PICKERING. I say: Mrs. Pearce will row if we leave these things
lying about in the drawing-room.
HIGGINS. Oh, chuck them over the bannisters into the hall. She'll
find them there in the morning and put them away all right.
She'll think we were drunk.
PICKERING. We are, slightly. Are there any letters?
HIGGINS. I didn't look. [Pickering takes the overcoats and hats
and goes down stairs. Higgins begins half singing half yawning an
air from La Fanciulla del Golden West. Suddenly he stops and
exclaims] I wonder where the devil my slippers are!
Eliza looks at him darkly; then leaves the room.
Higgins yawns again, and resumes his song. Pickering returns,
with the contents of the letter-box in his hand.
PICKERING. Only circulars, and this coroneted billet-doux for
you. [He throws the circulars into the fender, and posts himself
on the hearthrug, with his back to the grate].
HIGGINS [glancing at the billet-doux] Money-lender. [He throws
the letter after the circulars].
Eliza returns with a pair of large down-at-heel slippers. She
places them on the carpet before Higgins, and sits as before
without a word.
HIGGINS [yawning again] Oh Lord! What an evening! What a crew!
What a silly tomfoollery! [He raises his shoe to unlace it, and
catches sight of the slippers. He stops unlacing and looks at
them as if they had appeared there of their own accord]. Oh!
they're there, are they?
PICKERING [stretching himself] Well, I feel a bit tired. It's
been a long day. The garden party, a dinner party, and the opera!
Rather too much of a good thing. But you've won your bet,
Higgins. Eliza did the trick, and something to spare, eh?
HIGGINS [fervently] Thank God it's over!
Eliza flinches violently; but they take no notice of her; and she
recovers herself and sits stonily as before.
PICKERING. Were you nervous at the garden party? I was. Eliza
didn't seem a bit nervous.
HIGGINS. Oh, she wasn't nervous. I knew she'd be all right. No,
it's the strain of putting the job through all these months that
has told on me. It was interesting enough at first, while we were
at the phonetics; but after that I got deadly sick of it. If I
hadn't backed myself to do it I should have chucked the whole
thing up two months ago. It was a silly notion: the whole thing
has been a bore.
PICKERING. Oh come! the garden party was frightfully exciting. My
heart began beating like anything.
HIGGINS. Yes, for the first three minutes. But when I saw we were
going to win hands down, I felt like a bear in a cage, hanging
about doing nothing. The dinner was worse: sitting gorging there
for over an hour, with nobody but a damned fool of a fashionable
woman to talk to! I tell you, Pickering, never again for me. No
more artificial duchesses. The whole thing has been simple
purgatory.
PICKERING. You've never been broken in properly to the social
routine. [Strolling over to the piano] I rather enjoy dipping
into it occasionally myself: it makes me feel young again.
Anyhow, it was a great success: an immense success. I was quite
frightened once or twice because Eliza was doing it so well. You
see, lots of the real people can't do it at all: they're such
fools that they think style comes by nature to people in their
position; and so they never learn. There's always something
professional about doing a thing superlatively well.
HIGGINS. Yes: that's what drives me mad: the silly people don't
know their own silly business. [Rising] However, it's over and
done with; and now I can go to bed at last without dreading
tomorrow.
Eliza's beauty becomes murderous.
PICKERING. I think I shall turn in too. Still, it's been a great
occasion: a triumph for you. Good-night. [He goes].
HIGGINS [following him] Good-night. [Over his shoulder, at the
door] Put out the lights, Eliza; and tell Mrs. Pearce not to make
coffee for me in the morning: I'll take tea. [He goes out].
Eliza tries to control herself and feel indifferent as she rises
and walks across to the hearth to switch off the lights. By the
time she gets there she is on the point of screaming. She sits
down in Higgins's chair and holds on hard to the arms. Finally
she gives way and flings herself furiously on the floor raging.
HIGGINS [in despairing wrath outside] What the devil have I done
with my slippers? [He appears at the door].
LIZA [snatching up the slippers, and hurling them at him one
after the other with all her force] There are your slippers. And
there. Take your slippers; and may you never have a day's luck
with them!
HIGGINS [astounded] What on earth--! [He comes to her]. What's
the matter? Get up. [He pulls her up]. Anything wrong?
LIZA [breathless] Nothing wrong--with YOU. I've won your bet for
you, haven't I? That's enough for you. _I_ don't matter, I
suppose.
HIGGINS. YOU won my bet! You! Presumptuous insect! _I_ won it.
What did you throw those slippers at me for?
LIZA. Because I wanted to smash your face. I'd like to kill you,
you selfish brute. Why didn't you leave me where you picked me
out of--in the gutter? You thank God it's all over, and that now
you can throw me back again there, do you? [She crisps her
fingers, frantically].
HIGGINS [looking at her in cool wonder] The creature IS nervous,
after all.
LIZA [gives a suffocated scream of fury, and instinctively darts
her nails at his face]!!
HIGGINS [catching her wrists] Ah! would you? Claws in, you cat.
How dare you show your temper to me? Sit down and be quiet. [He
throws her roughly into the easy-chair].
LIZA [crushed by superior strength and weight] What's to become
of me? What's to become of me?
HIGGINS. How the devil do I know what's to become of you? What
does it matter what becomes of you?
LIZA. You don't care. I know you don't care. You wouldn't care if
I was dead. I'm nothing to you--not so much as them slippers.
HIGGINS [thundering] THOSE slippers.
LIZA [with bitter submission] Those slippers. I didn't think it
made any difference now.
A pause. Eliza hopeless and crushed. Higgins a little uneasy.
HIGGINS [in his loftiest manner] Why have you begun going on like
this? May I ask whether you complain of your treatment here?
LIZA. No.
HIGGINS. Has anybody behaved badly to you? Colonel Pickering?
Mrs. Pearce? Any of the servants?
LIZA. No.
HIGGINS. I presume you don't pretend that I have treated you
badly.
LIZA. No.
HIGGINS. I am glad to hear it. [He moderates his tone]. Perhaps
you're tired after the strain of the day. Will you have a glass
of champagne? [He moves towards the door].
LIZA. No. [Recollecting her manners] Thank you.
HIGGINS [good-humored again] This has been coming on you for some
days. I suppose it was natural for you to be anxious about the
garden party. But that's all over now. [He pats her kindly on the
shoulder. She writhes]. There's nothing more to worry about.
LIZA. No. Nothing more for you to worry about. [She suddenly
rises and gets away from him by going to the piano bench, where
she sits and hides her face]. Oh God! I wish I was dead.
HIGGINS [staring after her in sincere surprise] Why? in heaven's
name, why? [Reasonably, going to her] Listen to me, Eliza. All
this irritation is purely subjective.
LIZA. I don't understand. I'm too ignorant.
HIGGINS. It's only imagination. Low spirits and nothing else.
Nobody's hurting you. Nothing's wrong. You go to bed like a good
girl and sleep it off. Have a little cry and say your prayers:
that will make you comfortable.
LIZA. I heard YOUR prayers. "Thank God it's all over!"
HIGGINS [impatiently] Well, don't you thank God it's all over?
Now you are free and can do what you like.
LIZA [pulling herself together in desperation] What am I fit for?
What have you left me fit for? Where am I to go? What am I to do?
What's to become of me?
HIGGINS [enlightened, but not at all impressed] Oh, that's what's
worrying you, is it? [He thrusts his hands into his pockets, and
walks about in his usual manner, rattling the contents of his
pockets, as if condescending to a trivial subject out of pure
kindness]. I shouldn't bother about it if I were you. I should
imagine you won't have much difficulty in settling yourself,
somewhere or other, though I hadn't quite realized that you were
going away. [She looks quickly at him: he does not look at her,
but examines the dessert stand on the piano and decides that he
will eat an apple]. You might marry, you know. [He bites a large
piece out of the apple, and munches it noisily]. You see, Eliza,
all men are not confirmed old bachelors like me and the Colonel.
Most men are the marrying sort (poor devils!); and you're not
bad-looking; it's quite a pleasure to look at you sometimes--not
now, of course, because you're crying and looking as ugly as the
very devil; but when you're all right and quite yourself, you're
what I should call attractive. That is, to the people in the
marrying line, you understand. You go to bed and have a good nice
rest; and then get up and look at yourself in the glass; and you
won't feel so cheap.
Eliza again looks at him, speechless, and does not stir.
The look is quite lost on him: he eats his apple with a dreamy
expression of happiness, as it is quite a good one.
HIGGINS [a genial afterthought occurring to him] I daresay my
mother could find some chap or other who would do very well--
LIZA. We were above that at the corner of Tottenham Court Road.
HIGGINS [waking up] What do you mean?
LIZA. I sold flowers. I didn't sell myself. Now you've made a
lady of me I'm not fit to sell anything else. I wish you'd left
me where you found me.
HIGGINS [slinging the core of the apple decisively into the
grate] Tosh, Eliza. Don't you insult human relations by dragging
all this cant about buying and selling into it. You needn't marry
the fellow if you don't like him.
LIZA. What else am I to do?
HIGGINS. Oh, lots of things. What about your old idea of a
florist's shop? Pickering could set you up in one: he's lots of
money. [Chuckling] He'll have to pay for all those togs you have
been wearing today; and that, with the hire of the jewellery,
will make a big hole in two hundred pounds. Why, six months ago
you would have thought it the millennium to have a flower shop of
your own. Come! you'll be all right. I must clear off to bed: I'm
devilish sleepy. By the way, I came down for something: I forget
what it was.
LIZA. Your slippers.
HIGGINS. Oh yes, of course. You shied them at me. [He picks them
up, and is going out when she rises and speaks to him].
LIZA. Before you go, sir--
HIGGINS [dropping the slippers in his surprise at her calling him
sir] Eh?
LIZA. Do my clothes belong to me or to Colonel Pickering?
HIGGINS [coming back into the room as if her question were the
very climax of unreason] What the devil use would they be to
Pickering?
LIZA. He might want them for the next girl you pick up to
experiment on.
HIGGINS [shocked and hurt] Is THAT the way you feel towards us?
LIZA. I don't want to hear anything more about that. All I want
to know is whether anything belongs to me. My own clothes were
burnt.
HIGGINS. But what does it matter? Why need you start bothering
about that in the middle of the night?
LIZA. I want to know what I may take away with me. I don't want
to be accused of stealing.
HIGGINS [now deeply wounded] Stealing! You shouldn't have said
that, Eliza. That shows a want of feeling.
LIZA. I'm sorry. I'm only a common ignorant girl; and in my
station I have to be careful. There can't be any feelings between
the like of you and the like of me. Please will you tell me what
belongs to me and what doesn't?
HIGGINS [very sulky] You may take the whole damned houseful if
you like. Except the jewels. They're hired. Will that satisfy
you? [He turns on his heel and is about to go in extreme
dudgeon].
LIZA [drinking in his emotion like nectar, and nagging him to
provoke a further supply] Stop, please. [She takes off her
jewels]. Will you take these to your room and keep them safe? I
don't want to run the risk of their being missing.
HIGGINS [furious] Hand them over. [She puts them into his hands].
If these belonged to me instead of to the jeweler, I'd ram them
down your ungrateful throat. [He perfunctorily thrusts them into
his pockets, unconsciously decorating himself with the protruding
ends of the chains].
LIZA [taking a ring off] This ring isn't the jeweler's: it's the
one you bought me in Brighton. I don't want it now. [Higgins
dashes the ring violently into the fireplace, and turns on her so
threateningly that she crouches over the piano with her hands
over her face, and exclaims] Don't you hit me.
HIGGINS. Hit you! You infamous creature, how dare you accuse me
of such a thing? It is you who have hit me. You have wounded me
to the heart.
LIZA [thrilling with hidden joy] I'm glad. I've got a little of
my own back, anyhow.
HIGGINS [with dignity, in his finest professional style] You have
caused me to lose my temper: a thing that has hardly ever happened
to me before. I prefer to say nothing more tonight. I am going to
bed.
LIZA [pertly] You'd better leave a note for Mrs. Pearce about the
coffee; for she won't be told by me.
HIGGINS [formally] Damn Mrs. Pearce; and damn the coffee; and
damn you; and damn my own folly in having lavished MY hard-earned
knowledge and the treasure of my regard and intimacy on a
heartless guttersnipe. [He goes out with impressive decorum, and
spoils it by slamming the door savagely].
Eliza smiles for the first time; expresses her feelings by a wild
pantomime in which an imitation of Higgins's exit is confused
with her own triumph; and finally goes down on her knees on the
hearthrug to look for the ring.
ACT V
Mrs. Higgins's drawing-room. She is at her writing-table as
before. The parlor-maid comes in.
THE PARLOR-MAID [at the door] Mr. Henry, mam, is downstairs with
Colonel Pickering.
MRS. HIGGINS. Well, show them up.
THE PARLOR-MAID. They're using the telephone, mam. Telephoning to
the police, I think.
MRS. HIGGINS. What!
THE PARLOR-MAID [coming further in and lowering her voice] Mr.
Henry's in a state, mam. I thought I'd better tell you.
MRS. HIGGINS. If you had told me that Mr. Henry was not in a
state it would have been more surprising. Tell them to come up
when they've finished with the police. I suppose he's lost
something.
THE PARLOR-MAID. Yes, mam [going].
MRS. HIGGINS. Go upstairs and tell Miss Doolittle that Mr. Henry
and the Colonel are here. Ask her not to come down till I send
for her.
THE PARLOR-MAID. Yes, mam.
Higgins bursts in. He is, as the parlor-maid has said, in a
state.
HIGGINS. Look here, mother: here's a confounded thing!
MRS. HIGGINS. Yes, dear. Good-morning. [He checks his impatience
and kisses her, whilst the parlor-maid goes out]. What is it?
HIGGINS. Eliza's bolted.
MRS. HIGGINS [calmly continuing her writing] You must have
frightened her.
HIGGINS. Frightened her! nonsense! She was left last night, as
usual, to turn out the lights and all that; and instead of going
to bed she changed her clothes and went right off: her bed wasn't
slept in. She came in a cab for her things before seven this
morning; and that fool Mrs. Pearce let her have them without
telling me a word about it. What am I to do?
MRS. HIGGINS. Do without, I'm afraid, Henry. The girl has a
perfect right to leave if she chooses.
HIGGINS [wandering distractedly across the room] But I can't find
anything. I don't know what appointments I've got. I'm--
[Pickering comes in. Mrs. Higgins puts down her pen and turns
away from the writing-table].
PICKERING [shaking hands] Good-morning, Mrs. Higgins. Has Henry
told you? [He sits down on the ottoman].
HIGGINS. What does that ass of an inspector say? Have you offered
a reward?
MRS. HIGGINS [rising in indignant amazement] You don't mean to
say you have set the police after Eliza?
HIGGINS. Of course. What are the police for? What else could we
do? [He sits in the Elizabethan chair].
PICKERING. The inspector made a lot of difficulties. I really
think he suspected us of some improper purpose.
MRS. HIGGINS. Well, of course he did. What right have you to go
to the police and give the girl's name as if she were a thief, or
a lost umbrella, or something? Really! [She sits down again,
deeply vexed].
HIGGINS. But we want to find her.
PICKERING. We can't let her go like this, you know, Mrs. Higgins.
What were we to do?
MRS. HIGGINS. You have no more sense, either of you, than two
children. Why--
The parlor-maid comes in and breaks off the conversation.
THE PARLOR-MAID. Mr. Henry: a gentleman wants to see you very
particular. He's been sent on from Wimpole Street.
HIGGINS. Oh, bother! I can't see anyone now. Who is it?
THE PARLOR-MAID. A Mr. Doolittle, Sir.
PICKERING. Doolittle! Do you mean the dustman?
THE PARLOR-MAID. Dustman! Oh no, sir: a gentleman.
HIGGINS [springing up excitedly] By George, Pick, it's some
relative of hers that she's gone to. Somebody we know nothing
about. [To the parlor-maid] Send him up, quick.
THE PARLOR-MAID. Yes, Sir. [She goes].
HIGGINS [eagerly, going to his mother] Genteel relatives! now we
shall hear something. [He sits down in the Chippendale chair].
MRS. HIGGINS. Do you know any of her people?
PICKERING. Only her father: the fellow we told you about.
THE PARLOR-MAID [announcing] Mr. Doolittle. [She withdraws].
Doolittle enters. He is brilliantly dressed in a new fashionable
frock-coat, with white waistcoat and grey trousers. A flower in
his buttonhole, a dazzling silk hat, and patent leather shoes
complete the effect. He is too concerned with the business he has
come on to notice Mrs. Higgins. He walks straight to Higgins, and
accosts him with vehement reproach.
DOOLITTLE [indicating his own person] See here! Do you see this?
You done this.
HIGGINS. Done what, man?
DOOLITTLE. This, I tell you. Look at it. Look at this hat. Look
at this coat.
PICKERING. Has Eliza been buying you clothes?
DOOLITTLE. Eliza! not she. Not half. Why would she buy me
clothes?
MRS. HIGGINS. Good-morning, Mr. Doolittle. Won't you sit down?
DOOLITTLE [taken aback as he becomes conscious that he has
forgotten his hostess] Asking your pardon, ma'am. [He approaches
her and shakes her proffered hand]. Thank you. [He sits down on
the ottoman, on Pickering's right]. I am that full of what has
happened to me that I can't think of anything else.
HIGGINS. What the dickens has happened to you?
DOOLITTLE. I shouldn't mind if it had only happened to me:
anything might happen to anybody and nobody to blame but
Providence, as you might say. But this is something that you done
to me: yes, you, Henry Higgins.
HIGGINS. Have you found Eliza? That's the point.
DOOLITTLE. Have you lost her?
HIGGINS. Yes.
DOOLITTLE. You have all the luck, you have. I ain't found her;
but she'll find me quick enough now after what you done to me.
MRS. HIGGINS. But what has my son done to you, Mr. Doolittle?
DOOLITTLE. Done to me! Ruined me. Destroyed my happiness. Tied me
up and delivered me into the hands of middle class morality.
HIGGINS [rising intolerantly and standing over Doolittle] You're
raving. You're drunk. You're mad. I gave you five pounds. After
that I had two conversations with you, at half-a-crown an hour.
I've never seen you since.
DOOLITTLE. Oh! Drunk! am I? Mad! am I? Tell me this. Did you or
did you not write a letter to an old blighter in America that was
giving five millions to found Moral Reform Societies all over the
world, and that wanted you to invent a universal language for
him?
HIGGINS. What! Ezra D. Wannafeller! He's dead. [He sits down
again carelessly].
DOOLITTLE. Yes: he's dead; and I'm done for. Now did you or did
you not write a letter to him to say that the most original
moralist at present in England, to the best of your knowledge,
was Alfred Doolittle, a common dustman.
HIGGINS. Oh, after your last visit I remember making some silly
joke of the kind.
DOOLITTLE. Ah! you may well call it a silly joke. It put the lid
on me right enough. Just give him the chance he wanted to show
that Americans is not like us: that they recognize and respect
merit in every class of life, however humble. Them words is in
his blooming will, in which, Henry Higgins, thanks to your silly
joking, he leaves me a share in his Pre-digested Cheese Trust
worth three thousand a year on condition that I lecture for his
Wannafeller Moral Reform World League as often as they ask me up
to six times a year.
HIGGINS. The devil he does! Whew! [Brightening suddenly] What a
lark!
PICKERING. A safe thing for you, Doolittle. They won't ask you
twice.
DOOLITTLE. It ain't the lecturing I mind. I'll lecture them blue
in the face, I will, and not turn a hair. It's making a gentleman
of me that I object to. Who asked him to make a gentleman of me?
I was happy. I was free. I touched pretty nigh everybody for
money when I wanted it, same as I touched you, Henry Higgins. Now
I am worrited; tied neck and heels; and everybody touches me for
money. It's a fine thing for you, says my solicitor. Is it? says
I. You mean it's a good thing for you, I says. When I was a poor
man and had a solicitor once when they found a pram in the dust
cart, he got me off, and got shut of me and got me shut of him as
quick as he could. Same with the doctors: used to shove me out of
the hospital before I could hardly stand on my legs, and nothing
to pay. Now they finds out that I'm not a healthy man and can't
live unless they looks after me twice a day. In the house I'm not
let do a hand's turn for myself: somebody else must do it and
touch me for it. A year ago I hadn't a relative in the world
except two or three that wouldn't speak to me. Now I've fifty, and
not a decent week's wages among the lot of them. I have to live
for others and not for myself: that's middle class morality. You
talk of losing Eliza. Don't you be anxious: I bet she's on my
doorstep by this: she that could support herself easy by selling
flowers if I wasn't respectable. And the next one to touch me
will be you, Henry Higgins. I'll have to learn to speak middle
class language from you, instead of speaking proper English.
That's where you'll come in; and I daresay that's what you done
it for.
MRS. HIGGINS. But, my dear Mr. Doolittle, you need not suffer all
this if you are really in earnest. Nobody can force you to accept
this bequest. You can repudiate it. Isn't that so, Colonel
Pickering?
PICKERING. I believe so.
DOOLITTLE [softening his manner in deference to her sex] That's
the tragedy of it, ma'am. It's easy to say chuck it; but I
haven't the nerve. Which one of us has? We're all intimidated.
Intimidated, ma'am: that's what we are. What is there for me if I
chuck it but the workhouse in my old age? I have to dye my hair
already to keep my job as a dustman. If I was one of the
deserving poor, and had put by a bit, I could chuck it; but then
why should I, acause the deserving poor might as well be
millionaires for all the happiness they ever has. They don't know
what happiness is. But I, as one of the undeserving poor, have
nothing between me and the pauper's uniform but this here blasted
three thousand a year that shoves me into the middle class.
(Excuse the expression, ma'am: you'd use it yourself if you had
my provocation). They've got you every way you turn: it's a
choice between the Skilly of the workhouse and the Char Bydis of
the middle class; and I haven't the nerve for the workhouse.
Intimidated: that's what I am. Broke. Bought up. Happier men than
me will call for my dust, and touch me for their tip; and I'll
look on helpless, and envy them. And that's what your son has
brought me to. [He is overcome by emotion].
MRS. HIGGINS. Well, I'm very glad you're not going to do anything
foolish, Mr. Doolittle. For this solves the problem of Eliza's
future. You can provide for her now.
DOOLITTLE [with melancholy resignation] Yes, ma'am; I'm expected
to provide for everyone now, out of three thousand a year.
HIGGINS [jumping up] Nonsense! he can't provide for her. He
shan't provide for her. She doesn't belong to him. I paid him
five pounds for her. Doolittle: either you're an honest man or a
rogue.
DOOLITTLE [tolerantly] A little of both, Henry, like the rest of
us: a little of both.
HIGGINS. Well, you took that money for the girl; and you have no
right to take her as well.
MRS. HIGGINS. Henry: don't be absurd. If you really want to know
where Eliza is, she is upstairs.
HIGGINS [amazed] Upstairs!!! Then I shall jolly soon fetch her
downstairs. [He makes resolutely for the door].
MRS. HIGGINS [rising and following him] Be quiet, Henry. Sit
down.
HIGGINS. I--
MRS. HIGGINS. Sit down, dear; and listen to me.
HIGGINS. Oh very well, very well, very well. [He throws himself
ungraciously on the ottoman, with his face towards the windows].
But I think you might have told me this half an hour ago.
MRS. HIGGINS. Eliza came to me this morning. She passed the night
partly walking about in a rage, partly trying to throw herself
into the river and being afraid to, and partly in the Carlton
Hotel. She told me of the brutal way you two treated her.
HIGGINS [bounding up again] What!
PICKERING [rising also] My dear Mrs. Higgins, she's been telling
you stories. We didn't treat her brutally. We hardly said a word
to her; and we parted on particularly good terms. [Turning on
Higgins]. Higgins did you bully her after I went to bed?
HIGGINS. Just the other way about. She threw my slippers in my
face. She behaved in the most outrageous way. I never gave her
the slightest provocation. The slippers came bang into my face
the moment I entered the room--before I had uttered a word. And
used perfectly awful language.
PICKERING [astonished] But why? What did we do to her?
MRS. HIGGINS. I think I know pretty well what you did. The girl
is naturally rather affectionate, I think. Isn't she, Mr.
Doolittle?
DOOLITTLE. Very tender-hearted, ma'am. Takes after me.
MRS. HIGGINS. Just so. She had become attached to you both. She
worked very hard for you, Henry! I don't think you quite realize
what anything in the nature of brain work means to a girl like
that. Well, it seems that when the great day of trial came, and
she did this wonderful thing for you without making a single
mistake, you two sat there and never said a word to her, but
talked together of how glad you were that it was all over and how
you had been bored with the whole thing. And then you were
surprised because she threw your slippers at you! _I_ should have
thrown the fire-irons at you.
HIGGINS. We said nothing except that we were tired and wanted to
go to bed. Did we, Pick?
PICKERING [shrugging his shoulders] That was all.
MRS. HIGGINS [ironically] Quite sure?
PICKERING. Absolutely. Really, that was all.
MRS. HIGGINS. You didn't thank her, or pet her, or admire her, or
tell her how splendid she'd been.
HIGGINS [impatiently] But she knew all about that. We didn't make
speeches to her, if that's what you mean.
PICKERING [conscience stricken] Perhaps we were a little
inconsiderate. Is she very angry?
MRS. HIGGINS [returning to her place at the writing-table] Well,
I'm afraid she won't go back to Wimpole Street, especially now
that Mr. Doolittle is able to keep up the position you have
thrust on her; but she says she is quite willing to meet you on
friendly terms and to let bygones be bygones.
HIGGINS [furious] Is she, by George? Ho!
MRS. HIGGINS. If you promise to behave yourself, Henry, I'll ask
her to come down. If not, go home; for you have taken up quite
enough of my time.
HIGGINS. Oh, all right. Very well. Pick: you behave yourself. Let
us put on our best Sunday manners for this creature that we
picked out of the mud. [He flings himself sulkily into the
Elizabethan chair].
DOOLITTLE [remonstrating] Now, now, Henry Higgins! have some
consideration for my feelings as a middle class man.
MRS. HIGGINS. Remember your promise, Henry. [She presses the
bell-button on the writing-table]. Mr. Doolittle: will you be so
good as to step out on the balcony for a moment. I don't want
Eliza to have the shock of your news until she has made it up
with these two gentlemen. Would you mind?
DOOLITTLE. As you wish, lady. Anything to help Henry to keep her
off my hands. [He disappears through the window].
The parlor-maid answers the bell. Pickering sits down in
Doolittle's place.
MRS. HIGGINS. Ask Miss Doolittle to come down, please.
THE PARLOR-MAID. Yes, mam. [She goes out].
MRS. HIGGINS. Now, Henry: be good.
HIGGINS. I am behaving myself perfectly.
PICKERING. He is doing his best, Mrs. Higgins.
A pause. Higgins throws back his head; stretches out his legs;
and begins to whistle.
MRS. HIGGINS. Henry, dearest, you don't look at all nice in that
attitude.
HIGGINS [pulling himself together] I was not trying to look nice,
mother.
MRS. HIGGINS. It doesn't matter, dear. I only wanted to make you
speak.
HIGGINS. Why?
MRS. HIGGINS. Because you can't speak and whistle at the same
time.
Higgins groans. Another very trying pause.
HIGGINS [springing up, out of patience] Where the devil is that
girl? Are we to wait here all day?
Eliza enters, sunny, self-possessed, and giving a staggeringly
convincing exhibition of ease of manner. She carries a little
work-basket, and is very much at home. Pickering is too much
taken aback to rise.
LIZA. How do you do, Professor Higgins? Are you quite well?
HIGGINS [choking] Am I-- [He can say no more].
LIZA. But of course you are: you are never ill. So glad to see
you again, Colonel Pickering. [He rises hastily; and they shake
hands]. Quite chilly this morning, isn't it? [She sits down on
his left. He sits beside her].
HIGGINS. Don't you dare try this game on me. I taught it to you;
and it doesn't take me in. Get up and come home; and don't be a
fool.
Eliza takes a piece of needlework from her basket, and begins to
stitch at it, without taking the least notice of this outburst.
MRS. HIGGINS. Very nicely put, indeed, Henry. No woman could
resist such an invitation.
HIGGINS. You let her alone, mother. Let her speak for herself.
You will jolly soon see whether she has an idea that I haven't
put into her head or a word that I haven't put into her mouth. I
tell you I have created this thing out of the squashed cabbage
leaves of Covent Garden; and now she pretends to play the fine
lady with me.
MRS. HIGGINS [placidly] Yes, dear; but you'll sit down, won't
you?
Higgins sits down again, savagely.
LIZA [to Pickering, taking no apparent notice of Higgins, and
working away deftly] Will you drop me altogether now that the
experiment is over, Colonel Pickering?
PICKERING. Oh don't. You mustn't think of it as an experiment. It
shocks me, somehow.
LIZA. Oh, I'm only a squashed cabbage leaf.
PICKERING [impulsively] No.
LIZA [continuing quietly]--but I owe so much to you that I should
be very unhappy if you forgot me.
PICKERING. It's very kind of you to say so, Miss Doolittle.
LIZA. It's not because you paid for my dresses. I know you are
generous to everybody with money. But it was from you that I
learnt really nice manners; and that is what makes one a lady,
isn't it? You see it was so very difficult for me with the
example of Professor Higgins always before me. I was brought up
to be just like him, unable to control myself, and using bad
language on the slightest provocation. And I should never have
known that ladies and gentlemen didn't behave like that if you
hadn't been there.
HIGGINS. Well!!
PICKERING. Oh, that's only his way, you know. He doesn't mean it.
LIZA. Oh, I didn't mean it either, when I was a flower girl. It
was only my way. But you see I did it; and that's what makes the
difference after all.
PICKERING. No doubt. Still, he taught you to speak; and I
couldn't have done that, you know.
LIZA [trivially] Of course: that is his profession.
HIGGINS. Damnation!
LIZA [continuing] It was just like learning to dance in the
fashionable way: there was nothing more than that in it. But do
you know what began my real education?
PICKERING. What?
LIZA [stopping her work for a moment] Your calling me Miss
Doolittle that day when I first came to Wimpole Street. That was
the beginning of self-respect for me. [She resumes her
stitching]. And there were a hundred little things you never
noticed, because they came naturally to you. Things about
standing up and taking off your hat and opening doors--
PICKERING. Oh, that was nothing.
LIZA. Yes: things that showed you thought and felt about me as if
I were something better than a scullerymaid; though of course I
know you would have been just the same to a scullery-maid if she
had been let in the drawing-room. You never took off your boots
in the dining room when I was there.
PICKERING. You mustn't mind that. Higgins takes off his boots all
over the place.
LIZA. I know. I am not blaming him. It is his way, isn't it? But
it made such a difference to me that you didn't do it. You see,
really and truly, apart from the things anyone can pick up (the
dressing and the proper way of speaking, and so on), the
difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she
behaves, but how she's treated. I shall always be a flower girl
to Professor Higgins, because he always treats me as a flower
girl, and always will; but I know I can be a lady to you, because
you always treat me as a lady, and always will.
MRS. HIGGINS. Please don't grind your teeth, Henry.
PICKERING. Well, this is really very nice of you, Miss Doolittle.
LIZA. I should like you to call me Eliza, now, if you would.
PICKERING. Thank you. Eliza, of course.
LIZA. And I should like Professor Higgins to call me Miss
Doolittle.
HIGGINS. I'll see you damned first.
MRS. HIGGINS. Henry! Henry!
PICKERING [laughing] Why don't you slang back at him? Don't stand
it. It would do him a lot of good.
LIZA. I can't. I could have done it once; but now I can't go back
to it. Last night, when I was wandering about, a girl spoke to
me; and I tried to get back into the old way with her; but it was
no use. You told me, you know, that when a child is brought to a
foreign country, it picks up the language in a few weeks, and
forgets its own. Well, I am a child in your country. I have
forgotten my own language, and can speak nothing but yours.
That's the real break-off with the corner of Tottenham Court
Road. Leaving Wimpole Street finishes it.
PICKERING [much alarmed] Oh! but you're coming back to Wimpole
Street, aren't you? You'll forgive Higgins?
HIGGINS [rising] Forgive! Will she, by George! Let her go. Let
her find out how she can get on without us. She will relapse into
the gutter in three weeks without me at her elbow.
Doolittle appears at the centre window. With a look of dignified
reproach at Higgins, he comes slowly and silently to his
daughter, who, with her back to the window, is unconscious of his
approach.
PICKERING. He's incorrigible, Eliza. You won't relapse, will you?
LIZA. No: Not now. Never again. I have learnt my lesson. I don't
believe I could utter one of the old sounds if I tried.
[Doolittle touches her on her left shoulder. She drops her work,
losing her self-possession utterly at the spectacle of her
father's splendor] A--a--a--a--a--ah--ow--ooh!
HIGGINS [with a crow of triumph] Aha! Just so. A--a--a--a--
ahowooh! A--a--a--a--ahowooh ! A--a--a--a--ahowooh! Victory!
Victory! [He throws himself on the divan, folding his arms, and
spraddling arrogantly].
DOOLITTLE. Can you blame the girl? Don't look at me like that,
Eliza. It ain't my fault. I've come into money.
LIZA. You must have touched a millionaire this time, dad.
DOOLITTLE. I have. But I'm dressed something special today. I'm
going to St. George's, Hanover Square. Your stepmother is going
to marry me.
LIZA [angrily] You're going to let yourself down to marry that
low common woman!
PICKERING [quietly] He ought to, Eliza. [To Doolittle] Why has
she changed her mind?
DOOLITTLE [sadly] Intimidated, Governor. Intimidated. Middle
class morality claims its victim. Won't you put on your hat,
Liza, and come and see me turned off?
LIZA. If the Colonel says I must, I--I'll [almost sobbing] I'll
demean myself. And get insulted for my pains, like enough.
DOOLITTLE. Don't be afraid: she never comes to words with anyone
now, poor woman! respectability has broke all the spirit out of
her.
PICKERING [squeezing Eliza's elbow gently] Be kind to them,
Eliza. Make the best of it.
LIZA [forcing a little smile for him through her vexation] Oh
well, just to show there's no ill feeling. I'll be back in a
moment. [She goes out].
DOOLITTLE [sitting down beside Pickering] I feel uncommon nervous
about the ceremony, Colonel. I wish you'd come and see me through
it.
PICKERING. But you've been through it before, man. You were
married to Eliza's mother.
DOOLITTLE. Who told you that, Colonel?
PICKERING. Well, nobody told me. But I concluded naturally--
DOOLITTLE. No: that ain't the natural way, Colonel: it's only the
middle class way. My way was always the undeserving way. But
don't say nothing to Eliza. She don't know: I always had a
delicacy about telling her.
PICKERING. Quite right. We'll leave it so, if you don't mind.
DOOLITTLE. And you'll come to the church, Colonel, and put me
through straight?
PICKERING. With pleasure. As far as a bachelor can.
MRS. HIGGINS. May I come, Mr. Doolittle? I should be very sorry
to miss your wedding.
DOOLITTLE. I should indeed be honored by your condescension,
ma'am; and my poor old woman would take it as a tremenjous
compliment. She's been very low, thinking of the happy days that
are no more.
MRS. HIGGINS [rising] I'll order the carriage and get ready. [The
men rise, except Higgins]. I shan't be more than fifteen minutes.
[As she goes to the door Eliza comes in, hatted and buttoning her
gloves]. I'm going to the church to see your father married,
Eliza. You had better come in the brougham with me. Colonel
Pickering can go on with the bridegroom.
Mrs. Higgins goes out. Eliza comes to the middle of the room
between the centre window and the ottoman. Pickering joins her.
DOOLITTLE. Bridegroom! What a word! It makes a man realize his
position, somehow. [He takes up his hat and goes towards the
door].
PICKERING. Before I go, Eliza, do forgive him and come back to
us.
LIZA. I don't think papa would allow me. Would you, dad?
DOOLITTLE [sad but magnanimous] They played you off very cunning,
Eliza, them two sportsmen. If it had been only one of them, you
could have nailed him. But you see, there was two; and one of
them chaperoned the other, as you might say. [To Pickering] It
was artful of you, Colonel; but I bear no malice: I should have
done the same myself. I been the victim of one woman after
another all my life; and I don't grudge you two getting the
better of Eliza. I shan't interfere. It's time for us to go,
Colonel. So long, Henry. See you in St. George's, Eliza. [He goes
out].
PICKERING [coaxing] Do stay with us, Eliza. [He follows
Doolittle].
Eliza goes out on the balcony to avoid being alone with Higgins.
He rises and joins her there. She immediately comes back into the
room and makes for the door; but he goes along the balcony
quickly and gets his back to the door before she reaches it.
HIGGINS. Well, Eliza, you've had a bit of your own back, as you
call it. Have you had enough? and are you going to be reasonable?
Or do you want any more?
LIZA. You want me back only to pick up your slippers and put up
with your tempers and fetch and carry for you.
HIGGINS. I haven't said I wanted you back at all.
LIZA. Oh, indeed. Then what are we talking about?
HIGGINS. About you, not about me. If you come back I shall treat
you just as I have always treated you. I can't change my nature;
and I don't intend to change my manners. My manners are exactly
the same as Colonel Pickering's.
LIZA. That's not true. He treats a flower girl as if she was a
duchess.
HIGGINS. And I treat a duchess as if she was a flower girl.
LIZA. I see. [She turns away composedly, and sits on the ottoman,
facing the window]. The same to everybody.
HIGGINS. Just so.
LIZA. Like father.
HIGGINS [grinning, a little taken down] Without accepting the
comparison at all points, Eliza, it's quite true that your father
is not a snob, and that he will be quite at home in any station
of life to which his eccentric destiny may call him. [Seriously]
The great secret, Eliza, is not having bad manners or good
manners or any other particular sort of manners, but having the
same manner for all human souls: in short, behaving as if you
were in Heaven, where there are no third-class carriages, and one
soul is as good as another.
LIZA. Amen. You are a born preacher.
HIGGINS [irritated] The question is not whether I treat you
rudely, but whether you ever heard me treat anyone else better.
LIZA [with sudden sincerity] I don't care how you treat me. I
don't mind your swearing at me. I don't mind a black eye: I've
had one before this. But [standing up and facing him] I won't be
passed over.
HIGGINS. Then get out of my way; for I won't stop for you. You
talk about me as if I were a motor bus.
LIZA. So you are a motor bus: all bounce and go, and no
consideration for anyone. But I can do without you: don't think I
can't.
HIGGINS. I know you can. I told you you could.
LIZA [wounded, getting away from him to the other side of the
ottoman with her face to the hearth] I know you did, you brute.
You wanted to get rid of me.
HIGGINS. Liar.
LIZA. Thank you. [She sits down with dignity].
HIGGINS. You never asked yourself, I suppose, whether I could do
without YOU.
LIZA [earnestly] Don't you try to get round me. You'll HAVE to do
without me.
HIGGINS [arrogant] I can do without anybody. I have my own soul:
my own spark of divine fire. But [with sudden humility] I shall
miss you, Eliza. [He sits down near her on the ottoman]. I have
learnt something from your idiotic notions: I confess that humbly
and gratefully. And I have grown accustomed to your voice and
appearance. I like them, rather.
LIZA. Well, you have both of them on your gramophone and in your
book of photographs. When you feel lonely without me, you can
turn the machine on. It's got no feelings to hurt.
HIGGINS. I can't turn your soul on. Leave me those feelings; and
you can take away the voice and the face. They are not you.
LIZA. Oh, you ARE a devil. You can twist the heart in a girl as
easy as some could twist her arms to hurt her. Mrs. Pearce warned
me. Time and again she has wanted to leave you; and you always
got round her at the last minute. And you don't care a bit for
her. And you don't care a bit for me.
HIGGINS. I care for life, for humanity; and you are a part of it
that has come my way and been built into my house. What more can
you or anyone ask?
LIZA. I won't care for anybody that doesn't care for me.
HIGGINS. Commercial principles, Eliza. Like [reproducing her
Covent Garden pronunciation with professional exactness] s'yollin
voylets [selling violets], isn't it?
LIZA. Don't sneer at me. It's mean to sneer at me.
HIGGINS. I have never sneered in my life. Sneering doesn't become
either the human face or the human soul. I am expressing my
righteous contempt for Commercialism. I don't and won't trade in
affection. You call me a brute because you couldn't buy a claim
on me by fetching my slippers and finding my spectacles. You were
a fool: I think a woman fetching a man's slippers is a disgusting
sight: did I ever fetch YOUR slippers? I think a good deal more
of you for throwing them in my face. No use slaving for me and
then saying you want to be cared for: who cares for a slave? If
you come back, come back for the sake of good fellowship; for
you'll get nothing else. You've had a thousand times as much out
of me as I have out of you; and if you dare to set up your little
dog's tricks of fetching and carrying slippers against my
creation of a Duchess Eliza, I'll slam the door in your silly
face.
LIZA. What did you do it for if you didn't care for me?
HIGGINS [heartily] Why, because it was my job.
LIZA. You never thought of the trouble it would make for me.
HIGGINS. Would the world ever have been made if its maker had
been afraid of making trouble? Making life means making trouble.
There's only one way of escaping trouble; and that's killing
things. Cowards, you notice, are always shrieking to have
troublesome people killed.
LIZA. I'm no preacher: I don't notice things like that. I notice
that you don't notice me.
HIGGINS [jumping up and walking about intolerantly] Eliza: you're
an idiot. I waste the treasures of my Miltonic mind by spreading
them before you. Once for all, understand that I go my way and do
my work without caring twopence what happens to either of us. I am
not intimidated, like your father and your stepmother. So you can
come back or go to the devil: which you please.
LIZA. What am I to come back for?
HIGGINS [bouncing up on his knees on the ottoman and leaning over
it to her] For the fun of it. That's why I took you on.
LIZA [with averted face] And you may throw me out tomorrow if I
don't do everything you want me to?
