READ STUDY GUIDE: Act IV |
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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 happend |
| 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. |
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