Pygmalion
him: I heard him say so. Well, I ain’t come here to ask for any
compliment; and if my money’s not good enough I can go elsewhere.
HIGGINS. Good enough for what?
THE FLOWER GIRL. Good enough for ye—oo. Now you know, don’t you? I’m
come to have lessons, I am. And to pay for em too: make no mistake.
HIGGINS [stupent] WELL!!! [Recovering his breath with a gasp] What do
you expect me to say to you?
THE FLOWER GIRL. Well, if you was a gentleman, you might ask me to sit
down, I think. Don’t I tell you I’m bringing you business?
HIGGINS. Pickering: shall we ask this baggage to sit down or shall we
throw her out of the window?
THE FLOWER GIRL [running away in terror to the piano, where she turns
at bay] Ah—ah—ah—ow—ow—ow—oo! [Wounded and whimpering] I won’t be
called a baggage when I’ve offered to pay like any lady.
Motionless, the two men stare at her from the other side of the room,
amazed.
PICKERING [gently] What is it you want, my girl?
THE FLOWER GIRL. I want to be a lady in a flower shop stead of selling
at the corner of Tottenham Court Road. But they won’t take me unless I
can talk more genteel. He said he could teach me. Well, here I am ready
to pay him—not asking any favor—and he treats me as if I was dirt.
MRS. PEARCE. How can you be such a foolish ignorant girl as to think
you could afford to pay Mr. Higgins?
THE FLOWER GIRL. Why shouldn’t I? I know what lessons cost as well as
you do; and I’m ready to pay.
HIGGINS. How much?
THE FLOWER GIRL [coming back to him, triumphant] Now you’re talking! I
thought you’d come off it when you saw a chance of getting back a bit
of what you chucked at me last night. [Confidentially] You’d had a drop
in, hadn’t you?
HIGGINS [peremptorily] Sit down.
THE FLOWER GIRL. Oh, if you’re going to make a compliment of it—
HIGGINS [thundering at her] Sit down.
MRS. PEARCE [severely] Sit down, girl. Do as you’re told. [She places
the stray chair near the hearthrug between Higgins and Pickering, and
stands behind it waiting for the girl to sit down].
THE FLOWER GIRL. Ah—ah—ah—ow—ow—oo! [She stands, half rebellious,
half bewildered].
PICKERING [very courteous] Won’t you sit down?
LIZA [coyly] Don’t mind if I do. [She sits down. Pickering returns to
the hearthrug].
HIGGINS. What’s your name?
THE FLOWER GIRL. Liza Doolittle.
HIGGINS [declaiming gravely]
Eliza, Elizabeth, Betsy and Bess,
They went to the woods to get a bird’s nes’:
PICKERING. They found a nest with four eggs in it:
HIGGINS. They took one apiece, and left three in it.
They laugh heartily at their own wit.
LIZA. Oh, don’t be silly.
MRS. PEARCE. You mustn’t speak to the gentleman like that.
LIZA. Well, why won’t he speak sensible to me?
HIGGINS. Come back to business. How much do you propose to pay me for
the lessons?
LIZA. Oh, I know what’s right. A lady friend of mine gets French
lessons for eighteenpence an hour from a real French gentleman. Well,
you wouldn’t have the face to ask me the same for teaching me my own
language as you would for French; so I won’t give more than a shilling.
Take it or leave it.
HIGGINS [walking up and down the room, rattling his keys and his cash
in his pockets] You know, Pickering, if you consider a shilling, not as
a simple shilling, but as a percentage of this girl’s income, it works
out as fully equivalent to sixty or seventy guineas from a millionaire.
PICKERING. How so?
HIGGINS. Figure it out. A millionaire has about 150 pounds a day. She
earns about half-a-crown.
LIZA [haughtily] Who told you I only—
HIGGINS [continuing] She offers me two-fifths of her day’s income for a
lesson. Two-fifths of a millionaire’s income for a day would be
somewhere about 60 pounds. It’s handsome. By George, it’s enormous!
it’s the biggest offer I ever had.
LIZA [rising, terrified] Sixty pounds! What are you talking about? I
never offered you sixty pounds. Where would I get—
HIGGINS. Hold your tongue.
LIZA [weeping] But I ain’t got sixty pounds. Oh—
MRS. PEARCE. Don’t cry, you silly girl. Sit down. Nobody is going to
touch your money.
HIGGINS. Somebody is going to touch you, with a broomstick, if you
don’t stop snivelling. Sit down.
LIZA [obeying slowly] Ah—ah—ah—ow—oo—o! One would think you was my
father.
HIGGINS. If I decide to teach you, I’ll be worse than two fathers to
you. Here [he offers her his silk handkerchief]!
LIZA. What’s this for?
HIGGINS. To wipe your eyes. To wipe any part of your face that feels
moist. Remember: that’s your handkerchief; and that’s your sleeve.
Don’t mistake the one for the other if you wish to become a lady in a
shop.
Liza, utterly bewildered, stares helplessly at him.
MRS. PEARCE. It’s no use talking to her like that, Mr. Higgins: she
doesn’t understand you. Besides, you’re quite wrong: she doesn’t do it
that way at all [she takes the handkerchief].
LIZA [snatching it] Here! You give me that handkerchief. He give it to
me, not to you.
PICKERING [laughing] He did. I think it must be regarded as her
property, Mrs. Pearce.
MRS. PEARCE [resigning herself] Serve you right, Mr. Higgins.
PICKERING. Higgins: I’m interested. What about the ambassador’s garden
party? I’ll say you’re the greatest teacher alive if you make that
good. I’ll bet you all the expenses of the experiment you can’t do it.
And I’ll pay for the lessons.
LIZA. Oh, you are real good. Thank you, Captain.
HIGGINS [tempted, looking at her] It’s almost irresistible. She’s so
deliciously low—so horribly dirty—
LIZA [protesting extremely] Ah—ah—ah—ah—ow—ow—oooo!!! I ain’t
dirty: I washed my face and hands afore I come, I did.
PICKERING. You’re certainly not going to turn her head with flattery,
Higgins.
MRS. PEARCE [uneasy] Oh, don’t say that, sir: there’s more ways than
one of turning a girl’s head; and nobody can do it better than Mr.
Higgins, though he may not always mean it. I do hope, sir, you won’t
encourage him to do anything foolish.
HIGGINS [becoming excited as the idea grows on him] What is life but a
series of inspired follies? The difficulty is to find them to do. Never
lose a chance: it doesn’t come every day. I shall make a duchess of
this draggletailed guttersnipe.
LIZA [strongly deprecating this view of her] Ah—ah—ah—ow—ow—oo!
HIGGINS [carried away] Yes: in six months—in three if she has a good
ear and a quick tongue—I’ll take her anywhere and pass her off as
anything. We’ll start today: now! this moment! Take her away and clean
her, Mrs. Pearce. Monkey Brand, if it won’t come off any other way. Is
there a good fire in the kitchen?
MRS. PEARCE [protesting]. Yes; but—
HIGGINS [storming on] Take all her clothes off and burn them. Ring up
Whiteley or somebody for new ones. Wrap her up in brown paper till they
come.
LIZA. You’re no gentleman, you’re not, to talk of such things. I’m a
good girl, I am; and I know what the like of you are, I do.
HIGGINS. We want none of your Lisson Grove prudery here, young woman.
You’ve got to learn to behave like a duchess. Take her away, Mrs.
Pearce. If she gives you any trouble wallop her.
LIZA [springing up and running between Pickering and Mrs. Pearce for
protection] No! I’ll call the police, I will.
MRS. PEARCE. But I’ve no place to put her.
HIGGINS. Put her in the dustbin.
LIZA. Ah—ah—ah—ow—ow—oo!
PICKERING. Oh come, Higgins! be reasonable.
MRS. PEARCE [resolutely] You must be reasonable, Mr. Higgins: really
you must. You can’t walk over everybody like this.
Higgins, thus scolded, subsides. The hurricane is succeeded by a zephyr
of amiable surprise.
HIGGINS [with professional exquisiteness of modulation] I walk over
everybody! My dear Mrs. Pearce, my dear Pickering, I never had the
slightest intention of walking over anyone. All I propose is that we
should be kind to this poor girl. We must help her to prepare and fit
herself for her new station in life. If I did not express myself
clearly it was because I did not wish to hurt her delicacy, or yours.
Liza, reassured, steals back to her chair.
MRS. PEARCE [to Pickering] Well, did you ever hear anything like that,
sir?
PICKERING [laughing heartily] Never, Mrs. Pearce: never.
HIGGINS [patiently] What’s the matter?
MRS. PEARCE. Well, the matter is, sir, that you can’t take a girl up
like that as if you were picking up a pebble on the beach.
HIGGINS. Why not?
MRS. PEARCE. Why not! But you don’t know anything about her. What about
her parents? She may be married.
LIZA. Garn!
HIGGINS. There! As the girl very properly says, Garn! Married indeed!
Don’t you know that a woman of that class looks a worn out drudge of
fifty a year after she’s married.
LIZA. Who’d marry me?
HIGGINS [suddenly resorting to the most thrillingly beautiful low tones
in his best elocutionary style] By George, Eliza, the streets will be
strewn with the bodies of men shooting themselves for your sake before
I’ve done with you.
MRS. PEARCE. Nonsense, sir. You mustn’t talk like that to her.
LIZA [rising and squaring herself determinedly] I’m going away. He’s
off his chump, he is. I don’t want no balmies teaching me.
HIGGINS [wounded in his tenderest point by her insensibility to his
elocution] Oh, indeed! I’m mad, am I? Very well, Mrs. Pearce: you
needn’t order the new clothes for her. Throw her out.
LIZA [whimpering] Nah—ow. You got no right to touch me.
MRS. PEARCE. You see now what comes of being saucy. [Indicating the
door] This way, please.
LIZA [almost in tears] I didn’t want no clothes. I wouldn’t have taken
them [she throws away the handkerchief]. I can buy my own clothes.
HIGGINS [deftly retrieving the handkerchief and intercepting her on her
reluctant way to the door] You’re an ungrateful wicked girl. This is my
return for offering to take you out of the gutter and dress you
beautifully and make a lady of you.
MRS. PEARCE. Stop, Mr. Higgins. I won’t allow it. It’s you that are
wicked. Go home to your parents, girl; and tell them to take better
care of you.
LIZA. I ain’t got no parents. They told me I was big enough to earn my
own living and turned me out.
MRS. PEARCE. Where’s your mother?
LIZA. I ain’t got no mother. Her that turned me out was my sixth
stepmother. But I done without them. And I’m a good girl, I am.
HIGGINS. Very well, then, what on earth is all this fuss about? The
girl doesn’t belong to anybody—is no use to anybody but me. [He goes
to Mrs. Pearce and begins coaxing]. You can adopt her, Mrs. Pearce: I’m
sure a daughter would be a great amusement to you. Now don’t make any
more fuss. Take her downstairs; and—
MRS. PEARCE. But what’s to become of her? Is she to be paid anything?
Do be sensible, sir.
HIGGINS. Oh, pay her whatever is necessary: put it down in the
housekeeping book. [Impatiently] What on earth will she want with
money? She’ll have her food and her clothes. She’ll only drink if you
give her money.
LIZA [turning on him] Oh you are a brute. It’s a lie: nobody ever saw
the sign of liquor on me. [She goes back to her chair and plants
herself there defiantly].
PICKERING [in good-humored remonstrance] Does it occur to you, Higgins,
that the girl has some feelings?
HIGGINS [looking critically at her] Oh no, I don’t think so. Not any
feelings that we need bother about. [Cheerily] Have you, Eliza?
LIZA. I got my feelings same as anyone else.
HIGGINS [to Pickering, reflectively] You see the difficulty?
PICKERING. Eh? What difficulty?
HIGGINS. To get her to talk grammar. The mere pronunciation is easy
enough.
LIZA. I don’t want to talk grammar. I want to talk like a lady.
MRS. PEARCE. Will you please keep to the point, Mr. Higgins. I want to
know on what terms the girl is to be here. Is she to have any wages?