READ STUDY GUIDE: Act I |
|
Act I
| Covent Garden at 11.15 p.m. Torrents of heavy summer rain. Cab |
| whistles blowing frantically in all directions. Pedestrians |
| running for shelter into the market and under the portico of St. |
| Paul's Church, where there are already several people, among them |
| a lady and her daughter in evening dress. They are all peering |
| out gloomily at the rain, except one man with his back turned to |
| the rest, who seems wholly preoccupied with a notebook in which |
| he is writing busily. |
| The church clock strikes the first quarter. |
| THE DAUGHTER [in the space between the central pillars, close to |
| the one on her left] I'm getting chilled to the bone. What can |
| Freddy be doing all this time? He's been gone twenty minutes. |
| THE MOTHER [on her daughter's right] Not so long. But he ought to |
| have got us a cab by this. |
| A BYSTANDER [on the lady's right] He won't get no cab not until |
| half-past eleven, missus, when they come back after dropping |
| their theatre fares. |
| THE MOTHER. But we must have a cab. We can't stand here until |
| half-past eleven. It's too bad. |
| THE BYSTANDER. Well, it ain't my fault, missus. |
| THE DAUGHTER. If Freddy had a bit of gumption, he would have got |
| one at the theatre door. |
| THE MOTHER. What could he have done, poor boy? |
| THE DAUGHTER. Other people got cabs. Why couldn't he? |
| Freddy rushes in out of the rain from the Southampton Street |
| side, and comes between them closing a dripping umbrella. He is a |
| young man of twenty, in evening dress, very wet around the |
| ankles. |
| THE DAUGHTER. Well, haven't you got a cab? |
| FREDDY. There's not one to be had for love or money. |
| THE MOTHER. Oh, Freddy, there must be one. You can't have tried. |
| THE DAUGHTER. It's too tiresome. Do you expect us to go and get |
| one ourselves? |
| FREDDY. I tell you they're all engaged. The rain was so sudden: |
| nobody was prepared; and everybody had to take a cab. I've been |
| to Charing Cross one way and nearly to Ludgate Circus the other; |
| and they were all engaged. |
| THE MOTHER. Did you try Trafalgar Square? |
| FREDDY. There wasn't one at Trafalgar Square. |
| THE DAUGHTER. Did you try? |
| FREDDY. I tried as far as Charing Cross Station. Did you expect |
| me to walk to Hammersmith? |
| THE DAUGHTER. You haven't tried at all. |
| THE MOTHER. You really are very helpless, Freddy. Go again; and |
| don't come back until you have found a cab. |
| FREDDY. I shall simply get soaked for nothing. |
| THE DAUGHTER. And what about us? Are we to stay here all night in |
| this draught, with next to nothing on. You selfish pig— |
| FREDDY. Oh, very well: I'll go, I'll go. [He opens his umbrella |
| and dashes off Strandwards, but comes into |
| collision with a flower girl, who is hurrying in for shelter, |
| knocking her basket out of her hands. A blinding flash of |
| lightning, followed instantly by a rattling peal of thunder, |
| orchestrates the incident] |
| THE FLOWER GIRL. Nah then, Freddy: look wh' y' gowin, deah. |
| FREDDY. Sorry [he rushes off]. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [picking up her scattered flowers and replacing |
| them in the basket] There's menners f' yer! Te-oo banches o |
| voylets trod into the mad. [She sits down on the plinth of the |
| column, sorting her flowers, on the lady's right. She is not at |
| all an attractive person. She is perhaps eighteen, perhaps |
| twenty, hardly older. She wears a little sailor hat of black |
| straw that has long been exposed to the dust and soot of London |
| and has seldom if ever been brushed. Her hair needs washing |
| rather badly: its mousy color can hardly be natural. She wears a |
| shoddy black coat that reaches nearly to her knees and is shaped |
| to her waist. She has a brown skirt with a coarse apron. Her |
| boots are much the worse for wear. She is no doubt as clean as |
| she can afford to be; but compared to the ladies she is very |
| dirty. Her features are no worse than theirs; but their condition |
| leaves something to be desired; and she needs the services of a |
| dentist]. |
| THE MOTHER. How do you know that my son's name is Freddy, pray? |
| THE FLOWER GIRL. Ow, eez ye-ooa san, is e? Wal, fewd dan y' |
| de-ooty bawmz a mather should, eed now bettern to spawl a pore |
| gel's flahrzn than ran awy atbaht pyin. Will ye-oo py me f'them? |
| [Here, with apologies, this desperate attempt to represent her |
| dialect without a phonetic alphabet must be abandoned as |
| unintelligible outside London.] |
| THE DAUGHTER. Do nothing of the sort, mother. The idea! |
| THE MOTHER. Please allow me, Clara. Have you any pennies? |
| THE DAUGHTER. No. I've nothing smaller than sixpence. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [hopefully] I can give you change for a tanner, |
| kind lady. |
| THE MOTHER [to Clara] Give it to me. [Clara parts reluctantly]. |
| Now [to the girl] This is for your flowers. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL. Thank you kindly, lady. |
| THE DAUGHTER. Make her give you the change. These things are only |
| a penny a bunch. |
| THE MOTHER. Do hold your tongue, Clara. [To the girl]. |
| You can keep the change. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL. Oh, thank you, lady. |
| THE MOTHER. Now tell me how you know that young gentleman's name. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL. I didn't. |
| THE MOTHER. I heard you call him by it. Don't try to deceive me. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [protesting] Who's trying to deceive you? I |
| called him Freddy or Charlie same as you might yourself if you |
| was talking to a stranger and wished to be pleasant. [She sits |
| down beside her basket]. |
| THE DAUGHTER. Sixpence thrown away! Really, mamma, you might have |
| spared Freddy that. [She retreats in disgust behind the pillar]. |
| An elderly gentleman of the amiable military type rushes into |
| shelter, and closes a dripping umbrella. He is in the same plight |
| as Freddy, very wet about the ankles. He is in evening dress, |
| with a light overcoat. He takes the place left vacant by the |
| daughter's retirement. |
| THE GENTLEMAN. Phew! |
| THE MOTHER [to the gentleman] Oh, sir, is there any sign of its |
| stopping? |
| THE GENTLEMAN. I'm afraid not. It started worse than ever about |
| two minutes ago. [He goes to the plinth beside the flower girl; |
| puts up his foot on it; and stoops to turn down his trouser |
| ends]. |
| THE MOTHER. Oh, dear! [She retires sadly and joins her daughter]. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [taking advantage of the military gentleman's |
| proximity to establish friendly relations with him]. If it's |
| worse it's a sign it's nearly over. So cheer up, Captain; and buy |
| a flower off a poor girl. |
| THE GENTLEMAN. I'm sorry, I haven't any change. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL. I can give you change, Captain, |
| THE GENTLEMEN. For a sovereign? I've nothing less. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL. Garn! Oh do buy a flower off me, Captain. I can |
| change half-a-crown. Take this for tuppence. |
| THE GENTLEMAN. Now don't be troublesome: there's a good girl. |
| [Trying his pockets] I really haven't any change—Stop: here's |
| three hapence, if that's any use to you [he retreats to the other |
| pillar]. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [disappointed, but thinking three halfpence |
| better than nothing] Thank you, sir. |
| THE BYSTANDER [to the girl] You be careful: give him a flower for |
| it. There's a bloke here behind taking down every blessed word |
| you're saying. [All turn to the man who is taking notes]. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [springing up terrified] I ain't done nothing |
| wrong by speaking to the gentleman. I've a right to sell flowers |
| if I keep off the kerb. [Hysterically] I'm a respectable girl: so |
| help me, I never spoke to him except to ask him to buy a flower |
| off me. [General hubbub, mostly sympathetic to the flower girl, |
| but deprecating her excessive sensibility. Cries of Don't start |
| hollerin. Who's hurting you? Nobody's going to touch you. What's |
| the good of fussing? Steady on. Easy, easy, etc., come from the |
| elderly staid spectators, who pat her comfortingly. Less patient |
| ones bid her shut her head, or ask her roughly what is wrong with |
| her. A remoter group, not knowing what the matter is, crowd in |
| and increase the noise with question and answer: What's the row? |
| What she do? Where is he? A tec taking her down. What! him? Yes: |
| him over there: Took money off the gentleman, etc. The flower |
| girl, distraught and mobbed, breaks through them to the |
| gentleman, crying mildly] Oh, sir, don't let him charge me. You |
| dunno what it means to me. They'll take away my character and |
| drive me on the streets for speaking to gentlemen. They— |
| THE NOTE TAKER [coming forward on her right, the rest crowding |
| after him] There, there, there, there! Who's hurting you, you |
| silly girl? What do you take me for? |
| THE BYSTANDER. It's all right: he's a gentleman: look at his |
| boots. [Explaining to the note taker] She thought you was a |
| copper's nark, sir. |
| THE NOTE TAKER [with quick interest] What's a copper's nark? |
| THE BYSTANDER [inept at definition] It's a—well, it's a copper's |
| nark, as you might say. What else would you call it? A sort of |
| informer. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [still hysterical] I take my Bible oath I never |
| said a word— |
| THE NOTE TAKER [overbearing but good-humored] Oh, shut up, shut |
| up. Do I look like a policeman? |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [far from reassured] Then what did you take down |
| my words for? How do I know whether you took me down right? You |
| just show me what you've wrote about me. [The note taker opens |
| his book and holds it steadily under her nose, though the |
| pressure of the mob trying to read it over his shoulders would |
| upset a weaker man]. What's that? That ain't proper writing. I |
| can't read that. |
| THE NOTE TAKER. I can. [Reads, reproducing her pronunciation |
| exactly] "Cheer ap, Keptin; n' haw ya flahr orf a pore gel." |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [much distressed] It's because I called him |
| Captain. I meant no harm. [To the gentleman] Oh, sir, don't let |
| him lay a charge agen me for a word like that. You— |
| THE GENTLEMAN. Charge! I make no charge. [To the note taker] |
| Really, sir, if you are a detective, you need not begin |
| protecting me against molestation by young women until I ask you. |
| Anybody could see that the girl meant no harm. |
| THE BYSTANDERS GENERALLY [demonstrating against police espionage] |
| Course they could. What business is it of yours? You mind your |
| own affairs. He wants promotion, he does. Taking down people's |
| words! Girl never said a word to him. What harm if she did? Nice |
| thing a girl can't shelter from the rain without being insulted, |
| etc., etc., etc. [She is conducted by the more sympathetic |
| demonstrators back to her plinth, where she resumes her seat and |
| struggles with her emotion]. |
| THE BYSTANDER. He ain't a tec. He's a blooming busybody: that's |
| what he is. I tell you, look at his boots. |
| THE NOTE TAKER [turning on him genially] And how are all your |
| people down at Selsey? |
| THE BYSTANDER [suspiciously] Who told you my people come from |
| Selsey? |
| THE NOTE TAKER. Never you mind. They did. [To the girl] How do |
| you come to be up so far east? You were born in Lisson Grove. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [appalled] Oh, what harm is there in my leaving |
| Lisson Grove? It wasn't fit for a pig to live in; and I had to |
| pay four-and-six a week. [In tears] Oh, boo—hoo—oo— |
| THE NOTE TAKER. Live where you like; but stop that noise. |
| THE GENTLEMAN [to the girl] Come, come! he can't touch you: you |
| have a right to live where you please. |
| A SARCASTIC BYSTANDER [thrusting himself between the note taker |
| and the gentleman] Park Lane, for instance. I'd like to go into |
| the Housing Question with you, I would. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [subsiding into a brooding melancholy over her |
| basket, and talking very low-spiritedly to herself] I'm a good |
| girl, I am. |
| THE SARCASTIC BYSTANDER [not attending to her] Do you know where |
| _I_ come from? |
| THE NOTE TAKER [promptly] Hoxton. |
| Titterings. Popular interest in the note taker's |
| performance increases. |
| THE SARCASTIC ONE [amazed] Well, who said I didn't? Bly me! You |
| know everything, you do. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [still nursing her sense of injury] Ain't no call |
| to meddle with me, he ain't. |
| THE BYSTANDER [to her] Of course he ain't. Don't you stand it |
| from him. [To the note taker] See here: what call have you to |
| know about people what never offered to meddle with you? Where's |
| your warrant? |
| SEVERAL BYSTANDERS [encouraged by this seeming point of law] Yes: |
| where's your warrant? |
| THE FLOWER GIRL. Let him say what he likes. I don't want to have |
| no truck with him. |
| THE BYSTANDER. You take us for dirt under your feet, don't you? |
| Catch you taking liberties with a gentleman! |
| THE SARCASTIC BYSTANDER. Yes: tell HIM where he come from if you |
| want to go fortune-telling. |
| THE NOTE TAKER. Cheltenham, Harrow, Cambridge, and India. |
| THE GENTLEMAN. Quite right. [Great laughter. Reaction in the note |
| taker's favor. Exclamations of He knows all about it. Told him |
| proper. Hear him tell the toff where he come from? etc.]. May I |
| ask, sir, do you do this for your living at a music hall? |
| THE NOTE TAKER. I've thought of that. Perhaps I shall some day. |
| The rain has stopped; and the persons on the outside of the crowd |
| begin to drop off. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [resenting the reaction] He's no gentleman, he |
| ain't, to interfere with a poor girl. |
| THE DAUGHTER [out of patience, pushing her way rudely to the |
| front and displacing the gentleman, who politely retires to the |
| other side of the pillar] What on earth is Freddy doing? I shall |
| get pneumonia if I stay in this draught any longer. |
| THE NOTE TAKER [to himself, hastily making a note of her |
| pronunciation of "monia"] Earlscourt. |
| THE DAUGHTER [violently] Will you please keep your impertinent |
| remarks to yourself? |
| THE NOTE TAKER. Did I say that out loud? I didn't mean to. I beg |
| your pardon. Your mother's Epsom, unmistakeably. |
| THE MOTHER [advancing between her daughter and the note taker] |
| How very curious! I was brought up in Largelady Park, near Epsom. |
| THE NOTE TAKER [uproariously amused] Ha! ha! What a devil of a |
| name! Excuse me. [To the daughter] You want a cab, do you? |
| THE DAUGHTER. Don't dare speak to me. |
| THE MOTHER. Oh, please, please Clara. [Her daughter repudiates |
| her with an angry shrug and retires haughtily.] We should be so |
| grateful to you, sir, if you found us a cab. [The note taker |
| produces a whistle]. Oh, thank you. [She joins her daughter]. The |
| note taker blows a piercing blast. |
| THE SARCASTIC BYSTANDER. There! I knowed he was a |
| plain-clothes copper. |
| THE BYSTANDER. That ain't a police whistle: that's a sporting |
| whistle. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [still preoccupied with her wounded feelings] |
| He's no right to take away my character. My character is the same |
| to me as any lady's. |
| THE NOTE TAKER. I don't know whether you've noticed it; but the |
| rain stopped about two minutes ago. |
| THE BYSTANDER. So it has. Why didn't you say so before? and us |
| losing our time listening to your silliness. [He walks off |
| towards the Strand]. |
| THE SARCASTIC BYSTANDER. I can tell where you come from. You come |
| from Anwell. Go back there. |
| THE NOTE TAKER [helpfully] _H_anwell. |
| THE SARCASTIC BYSTANDER [affecting great distinction of speech] |
| Thenk you, teacher. Haw haw! So long [he touches his hat with |
| mock respect and strolls off]. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL. Frightening people like that! How would he like |
| it himself. |
| THE MOTHER. It's quite fine now, Clara. We can walk to a motor |
| bus. Come. [She gathers her skirts above her ankles and hurries |
| off towards the Strand]. |
| THE DAUGHTER. But the cab—[her mother is out of hearing]. Oh, |
| how tiresome! [She follows angrily]. |
| All the rest have gone except the note taker, the |
| gentleman, and the flower girl, who sits arranging her basket, |
| and still pitying herself in murmurs. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL. Poor girl! Hard enough for her to live without |
| being worrited and chivied. |
| THE GENTLEMAN [returning to his former place on the note taker's |
| left] How do you do it, if I may ask? |
| THE NOTE TAKER. Simply phonetics. The science of speech. That's |
| my profession; also my hobby. Happy is the man who can make a |
| living by his hobby! You can spot an Irishman or a Yorkshireman |
| by his brogue. I can place any man within six miles. I can place |
| him within two miles in London. Sometimes within two streets. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL. Ought to be ashamed of himself, unmanly coward! |
| THE GENTLEMAN. But is there a living in that? |
| THE NOTE TAKER. Oh yes. Quite a fat one. This is an age of |
| upstarts. Men begin in Kentish Town with 80 pounds a year, and |
| end in Park Lane with a hundred thousand. They want to drop |
| Kentish Town; but they give themselves away every time they open |
| their mouths. Now I can teach them— |
| THE FLOWER GIRL. Let him mind his own business and leave a poor |
| girl— |
| THE NOTE TAKER [explosively] Woman: cease this detestable |
| boohooing instantly; or else seek the shelter of some other place |
| of worship. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [with feeble defiance] I've a right to be here if |
| I like, same as you. |
| THE NOTE TAKER. A woman who utters such depressing and disgusting |
| sounds has no right to be anywhere—no right to live. Remember |
| that you are a human being with a soul and the divine gift of |
| articulate speech: that your native language is the language of |
| Shakespear and Milton and The Bible; and don't sit there crooning |
| like a bilious pigeon. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [quite overwhelmed, and looking up at him in |
| mingled wonder and deprecation without daring to raise her head] |
| Ah—ah—ah—ow—ow—oo! |
| THE NOTE TAKER [whipping out his book] Heavens! what a sound! [He |
| writes; then holds out the book and reads, reproducing her vowels |
| exactly] Ah—ah—ah—ow—ow—ow—oo! |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [tickled by the performance, and laughing in |
| spite of herself] Garn! |
| THE NOTE TAKER. You see this creature with her kerbstone English: |
| the English that will keep her in the gutter to the end of her |
| days. Well, sir, in three months I could pass that girl off as a |
| duchess at an ambassador's garden party. I could even get her a |
| place as lady's maid or shop assistant, which requires better |
| English. That's the sort of thing I do for commercial |
| millionaires. And on the profits of it I do genuine scientific |
| work in phonetics, and a little as a poet on Miltonic lines. |
| THE GENTLEMAN. I am myself a student of Indian dialects; and— |
| THE NOTE TAKER [eagerly] Are you? Do you know Colonel Pickering, |
| the author of Spoken Sanscrit? |
| THE GENTLEMAN. I am Colonel Pickering. Who are you? |
| THE NOTE TAKER. Henry Higgins, author of Higgins's Universal |
| Alphabet. |
| PICKERING [with enthusiasm] I came from India to meet you. |
| HIGGINS. I was going to India to meet you. |
| PICKERING. Where do you live? |
| HIGGINS. 27A Wimpole Street. Come and see me tomorrow. |
| PICKERING. I'm at the Carlton. Come with me now and let's have a |
| jaw over some supper. |
| HIGGINS. Right you are. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [to Pickering, as he passes her] Buy a flower, |
| kind gentleman. I'm short for my lodging. |
| PICKERING. I really haven't any change. I'm sorry [he goes away]. |
| HIGGINS [shocked at girl's mendacity] Liar. You said you could |
| change half-a-crown. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [rising in desperation] You ought to be stuffed |
| with nails, you ought. [Flinging the basket at his feet] Take the |
| whole blooming basket for sixpence. |
| The church clock strikes the second quarter. |
| HIGGINS [hearing in it the voice of God, rebuking him for his |
| Pharisaic want of charity to the poor girl] A reminder. [He |
| raises his hat solemnly; then throws a handful of money into the |
| basket and follows Pickering]. |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [picking up a half-crown] Ah—ow—ooh! [Picking |
| up a couple of florins] Aaah—ow—ooh! [Picking up several coins] |
| Aaaaaah—ow—ooh! [Picking up a half-sovereign] Aasaaaaaaaaah— |
| ow—ooh!!! |
| FREDDY [springing out of a taxicab] Got one at last. Hallo! [To |
| the girl] Where are the two ladies that were here? |
| THE FLOWER GIRL. They walked to the bus when the rain stopped. |
| FREDDY. And left me with a cab on my hands. Damnation! |
| THE FLOWER GIRL [with grandeur] Never you mind, young man. I'm |
| going home in a taxi. [She sails off to the cab. The driver puts |
| his hand behind him and holds the door firmly shut against her. |
| Quite understanding his mistrust, she shows him her handful of |
| money]. Eightpence ain't no object to me, Charlie. [He grins and |
| opens the door]. Angel Court, Drury Lane, round the corner of |
| Micklejohn's oil shop. Let's see how fast you can make her hop |
| it. [She gets in and pulls the door to with a slam as the taxicab |
| starts]. |
| FREDDY. Well, I'm dashed! |
|
|
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