An Inspector Calls and Other Plays Read online

  EDITH [eagerly]: Yes, I was. And I don’t care what anybody says –

  FAWCETT [cutting in, alive now]: Wait a minute, before you start talking. I’ll bet the Professor doesn’t know –

  EDITH [cutting in, sharply]: Oh – I don’t mind telling him how it all began. It wasn’t our fault, not to begin with –

  FAWCETT [cutting in, louder]: Of course it was. If you girls hadn’t insisted –

  EDITH [cutting in, louder]: We had a perfect right to insist. Look, Professor Linden, this is what happened –

  PROFESSOR [firmly]: Miss Westmore, I don’t really want to know.

  EDITH [disappointed]: Oh – I thought you did.

  PROFESSOR: No, I only wanted to show you both what history really is. And among other things – it’s the row about the Union. And now it’s come to life, hasn’t it? It’s important. It’s serious. It’s urgent. And each of you is ready to talk for the next hour about it at full speed. Now remember what you felt when you were writing these things – dead as mutton – [indicates the two essays]. Let’s forget about them, shall we? [Tears them up neatly and drops them into wastepaper basket. Then he rummages in his pockets, finally producing a square invitation card.] This – is a ticket – to admit two – to a meeting – probably an Indignation Meeting – of the Burmanley Citizens’ Vigilant Society – to be held tomorrow afternoon in the Town Hall. Our friend Professor Crockett is among the speakers, and Crockett’s always worth hearing. Now I suggest you go together, note-book in hand, to this meeting, and each write an essay for me – On the Influence of Tudor England upon the Burmanley Citizens’ Vigilant Society.

  FAWCETT [astonished]: Tudor England?

  PROFESSOR [firmly]: Tudor England – and the Burmanley Citizens’ etc., etc.

  EDITH: But how can it? I mean, there won’t be any possible connexion between Tudor England – and – and this meeting –

  PROFESSOR: Well, if there isn’t, then say so. But I think there’s sure to be. Even without going to the meeting, I can think of several possibly important links.

  FAWCETT [who has risen]: We can try anyhow. [Hesitates.] Professor Linden, can I ask you something –?

  PROFESSOR: Yes. Charles the Fifth?

  FAWCETT: No, sir. What do you think’s the best for a cold?

  PROFESSOR: My dear chap, for sixty years I’ve been dosed with everything, beginning with eucalyptus and steadily progressing to sulphur drugs – M. and B. – this and that. I suggest prayer, fasting and patience – and don’t encourage the wretched thing by enjoying it, so to speak. Try to think about something else – European History, for instance –

  [Enter MARION, who stops when she sees the students.]

  MARION: Oh – I’m sorry, Father.

  PROFESSOR: No, come in, Marion. We’ve finished. I’ve cheated them out of fifty minutes tonight.

  [As MARION comes forward,]

  Two of my students – Miss Westmore – Mr Fawcett – my daughter, Madame de Vaury.

  [They murmur ‘How d’you do’, both students standing.]

  Now – Fawcett – here’s the ticket. Tomorrow afternoon, both of you. And if my subject still doesn’t make any sense to you, look in sometime after tomorrow afternoon and tell me about it. Borrow the portfolio if you like, Miss Westmore.

  EDITH [taking it, with her other things]: Thank you very much.

  PROFESSOR: And the same time here next week, if you don’t look in before – for help. [He goes to door, holding it open for them smiling.] And I liked your letter in the Rag, Fawcett. Quite wrong, every word of it, but I liked it. And keep taking a peep at old Breughel, Miss Westmore. Good night. Good night!

  EDITH and FAWCETT [as they go]: Good night, Professor Linden.

  [They go out. He closes the door and smiles at MARION.]

  PROFESSOR: Well – now.

  [She kisses him on the cheek.]

  MARION: Many happy returns, Father.

  PROFESSOR [holding her arm]: Thank you, Marion.

  MARION: And I’ve brought you a very nice present. Two bottles of very good Armagnac.

  PROFESSOR [delighted]: Armagnac! My dear girl, what a wonderful present. I haven’t tasted any Armagnac for six or seven years at least. Every single sip will be a holiday in France.

  MARION: It’s hard to get even in France now. But René managed it. He sends his love. He couldn’t possibly get away – he wanted to come, of course.

  PROFESSOR: And the children?

  MARION: Fat and flourishing. I’ve brought some photographs. You’ll see.

  PROFESSOR: Of course I shall see. [Looks at her appraisingly.] You’re looking well, Marion. Happily settled there now? The truth, mind. Just between us.

  MARION: Yes, I am happily settled now. It wasn’t easy at first – harder than I made it out to be – they were all very kind but they made me feel a stranger – French people of that class are terribly clannish and close –

  PROFESSOR: I know. It must have been like trying to push your way into a haystack. And René’s mother looked a cast-iron Balzacian terror to me – a grenadier of the Old Guard.

  MARION: Well, it’s all right now. And the Church part of it has helped a lot. That and the children. So now I’m one of them.

  PROFESSOR: I suppose that’s possible, if it’s what you want to be. And, I remember you always wanted something different – somewhere round the corner. And this must be it.

  MARION: Yes, and I feel even better about it now that I’ve come back here. [With sudden feeling] Oh – Dad, it’s no use – I must tell you. I hate it here. It’s so messy and drab and slovenly. I never liked it, but now it’s much much worse. Look at those two who just went out – they were bad enough before the war, but they weren’t as awful as that pair. I hate to think of you, being here, with that scruffy half-crazy Mrs Cotton slouching about the house – and trying to teach history to dreary, shabby little half-baked students like those two. Just the very look of them – !

  PROFESSOR [mildly]: They’re not my brightest. But they’re better than they look. Perhaps we all are now. I know something about them – where they come from – how they struggled to get here – the odds against their being any good at all – and – well, I can’t agree, my dear. This is Burmanley, you know.

  MARION: Yes, and I never want to see it again. No, never, never. You must come and stay with us from now on, Father. That’s what René says too.

  PROFESSOR: I’ll try, though holidays abroad aren’t easy.

  MARION: But Daddy you look so tired – and –

  PROFESSOR: And old. Go on, say it.

  MARION [gently]: Well, you do look much older, Dad – older than you ought to look. When I think of René’s Uncle Gustave, who’s years older than you really. It’s coming from Vaury – and the life there – [She breaks off, looks at him uncertainly.] Can I say this, Dad?

  PROFESSOR: You can say anything you like, my dear.

  MARION: Mother says you have some money coming to you now, from your endowment insurance. You could easily find some official excuse – health or a book or something – to drop everything here and come and live near us at Vaury.

  PROFESSOR: And why should we do that, Marion?

  MARION: Because it’s a much better life than you find here. Better in every way. It’s still part of the old civilized tradition, Father. Especially if you could do as I’ve done – and become a Catholic. I can see that Father Honoré was right – that’s the secret – the Faith. That – and the land – and all the old tradition of living. [Rather defiantly] I mean it, Father. At first I did it all for René, of course, but now I know it was worth doing for its own sake. I couldn’t live any other way.

  PROFESSOR [easily but with some gravity]: That’s your affair, Marion. I always said it was, and never tried to interfere, did I?

  MARION: No. Mother did a bit, at first. But not you.

  PROFESSOR: So if it’s what you want, and it satisfies you –

  MARION: More than that – makes me deeply happy –
/>   PROFESSOR: Then that’s all right. But you mustn’t try to give it to me. Or to most of us. We tried it once – the peasants – the proprietors in their castles – the priests – the whole tradition – and then it didn’t work. It doesn’t work now, except in spots here and there. And those places really depend on other places, like Burmanley here, for instance. There’s another side to the medal, Marion – a very dark side too. Sometimes as black as the shirts of Fascist bullies or the faces of the Moors let loose in Spain. You’re living a very pleasant life, no doubt, my dear, but it can’t solve a single major human problem –

  MARION: It’s solved mine.

  PROFESSOR: But not mine – not ours – not the world’s. No, my dear, I’d feel as if I were living in the Palm House at Kew. All right for a holiday – but –

  [JEAN enters. He turns and sees her.]

  Well, Jean!

  JEAN: Hello, Father. Many happy returns!

  [They kiss.]

  I’ve brought you some books, I left them upstairs. Beckel’s new social history is one of them.

  PROFESSOR: Thank you, my dear. I’ll enjoy disliking Beckel again – two parts Marx, one part Freud, a dash of Pavlov, and sprinkle well with sociological jargon. Now I spent half an hour this evening acquiring a bottle of what is probably not much better than cooking sherry. I’ll go and uncork the muck for us. [He goes out.]

  [JEAN goes and sits down.]

  MARION [after pause]: How do you think father is looking?

  JEAN [with professional calm]: Not too bad – he’s sixty-five, you know.

  MARION: You’ve seen him since I have. I had rather a shock. I think he looks tired – and older than he ought to look. I’ve just told him so.

  JEAN: That must have cheered him up.

  MARION [bitterly]: I suppose he’s probably another of the people you think might as well be dead.

  JEAN [angry, but calm]: Don’t invent stupid insensitive things like that and then put them into my mouth. Though it’s rather typical, that trick.

  MARION: Typical of – what?

  JEAN: Of you nice old-fashioned Christian souls. I’ve often noticed it.

  [They are silent for a moment, angry with each other, glaring.]

  MARION: I believe the only explanation is, Jean, that you’re jealous of me.

  JEAN: What? René and your stuffy little chateau –

  MARION: No. But jealous of what I’m feeling – my peace of mind.

  JEAN: We’ve got bottles and bottles of your peace of mind in the dispensary. We inject it into the bad cases –

  MARION [losing her temper]: Oh – don’t be such a conceited fool. And so childish!

  JEAN [angrily]: Well – really – after the infantilism you’ve treated me to, for the last eight hours –

  MARION [angrily]: Oh – shut up!

  [As they glare at each other, DINAH, who now looks tidier, enters with a tray with small glasses on it.]

  DINAH [cheerfully]: What you two ought to do is to take some whacking great wallops at each other – and then you’d feel better.

  JEAN: I don’t say you’re wrong, but for all that – don’t be cheeky.

  DINAH: All right, but don’t go and muck up Daddy’s birthday between you. And, look here, what’s the idea of everybody turning up for it this time?

  MARION: Well, can’t the family get together for once?

  DINAH: Yes, of course. But there isn’t somehow a nice Christmassy getting-togetherness about all this – it’s more like business – like characters in old plays and novels all coming to hear the will of the late Sir Jasper read out by Mr Groggins, the old family solicitor. So what’s the idea?

  MARION: It’s to clear up one or two things. About Dad retiring – and so forth.

  DINAH: He won’t retire – and it looks like a plot to me. There’s a plotty atmosphere about, particularly round Mother. [She looks at them, and suddenly laughs.]

  JEAN: Now what is it?

  DINAH: I suddenly remembered that time – oh, years ago when I was quite little – when we were staying in North Wales – and you two had a row about toothpaste or something.

  MARION [smiling]: It was cold cream stuff for sunburn – and we fought – do you remember, Jean?

  JEAN: Yes – and the stuff came out and went over everything.

  DINAH [sitting on arm of chair]: That was a heavenly place – it smelt of whitewash and cows, and had gigantic fluffy brown hens – and I was just part of it – magic. That’s what I don’t like about growing up. You stop being part of places like that. You just look at them as if they were in a shop window. You’re not swallowed up by them any more. And what do you get in exchange – by growing up?

  JEAN: Consciousness – a more highly developed ego.

  DINAH: I know. I can feel mine having growing pains. But I doubt if it’s worth it. Marion, Mother said if you really want to add a few fancy French tastings and touches to the dinner, now’s the time. And Rex is messing about in there trying to do something but I don’t know what.

  MARION [rising]: I can’t be worse than Rex.

  [She goes out.]

  JEAN [rising]: Dinah, where’s Dad?

  DINAH: Trying to find the corkscrew. He always loses it.

  JEAN [quietly and quickly]: I want to put through a call to the hospital. If I can get through, will you please rush out and hold Dad up a minute or two until I’ve had my call?

  DINAH: All right.

  [As JEAN goes up to the telephone,]

  I’ll bet this isn’t hospital work, though – but some love business – some man you’re miserable about –

  JEAN [at telephone]: Is that Trunks? This is Burmanley – Two Five Eight One Three – and I want Northern – London – Five Four Eight Four…. Yes, I’ll wait …

  DINAH: Isn’t it?

  JEAN: Yes, it is.

  DINAH [coolly]: I guessed it. I knew you were miserable anyhow. But this is more like Marion than you. I thought you considered this romantic sort of love a lot of silly old-fashioned rot.

  JEAN: I do. But that doesn’t make it any better, does it?

  DINAH: No, I suppose it might make it worse. Because you couldn’t enjoy being miserable.

  JEAN [bitterly]: And might despise yourself too. [To telephone] Is that the North Middlesex? Dr Linden here – put me through to Dr Shalgrove, please…. [To DINAH, urgently] Go on, Dinah. Hurry – please!

  [DINAH, who has wandered up towards door, hurries out.]

  [To telephone] Dr Shalgrove, please…. Oh, Dorothy, this is Jean. Yes, I’m speaking from Burmanley. I must know about Arnold. Has he gone? [With an effort] I see. And no message for me at all – not a word? … I see – just gone – like that…. No, I’m all right … tomorrow night, I hope…. [With a greater effort] By the way, Dorothy, I forgot to leave a message to Crosfield – that he ought to look at that child in Five … yes, that’s the one, and I’m not satisfied … yes … yes … goodbye, Dorothy. [She puts down the telephone slowly, and comes down rather blindly, fighting her emotions. She sits down, trembling, gives a choked kind of sob, clenching her fists, fighting hard.]

  [PROFESSOR LINDEN now enters carrying two different bottles, one of sherry, the other without a label. He gives a glance at JEAN, who has not looked round, and takes in her situation, so that we feel that his speech that follows is giving her a chance to recover. As he talks, he potters a bit with the bottles and glasses.]

  PROFESSOR [beginning as he enters]: Well, we’ve a choice of two aperitifs – my sherry, which may or may not be any good, and a mysterious concoction that Rex has brought, specially put up for him by one of his favourite barmen. It’ll probably make us all roaring drunk. Except Rex, of course, who probably has it for breakfast. [He pours out a little, and sniffs it.] It smells like something that probably goes with Big Business in Shanghai. We’d better try it, I suppose. [Slowly, while talking, he pours out several glasses of this stuff, of a dark amber shade.] It’s a curious thing about Rex. He does, with complete ease, all the t
hings I wouldn’t know how to begin to do – such as compelling important West End barmen to mix bottles of this stuff – hobnobbing with head-waiters – sitting up late with millionaires – and making money just by making it. All the things I’ve probably secretly wanted to do all my life. Rex is just busy representing my unconscious self. You too, in a way, Jean, for all that opening up of people, and cutting and stitching inside ’em, which you do without turning a hair, is precisely what’s awed and terrified me as long as I can remember. You and Rex – you’re the Lindens in reverse, so to speak. Not Marion – she’s too completely feminine. But there’s Dinah, though. Now she’s unblushingly blazingly happy, which is something most of us older ones haven’t dared to be for years and years and years. It’s as if human nature, which doesn’t propose to give in, is now producing a new race, like Dinah, who can’t be downed by anything.

  JEAN [not turning, muffled]: There’s a lot she doesn’t know yet.

  PROFESSOR: I don’t believe it’ll make any difference when she does. [Hands her a glass, holding one himself.] Now try this, my dear. And – your health, Dr Linden. [Drinking.]

  JEAN [doing her best]: And yours – Professor. [She takes a sip.]

  PROFESSOR: Got a warm disreputable flavour –

  JEAN [with an effort]: I’ve – had it before – once or twice. [She gives a sort of gulp.] Oh – damn! You know something’s wrong, don’t you?

  PROFESSOR: Yes. Tell me if you want to.

  JEAN [turning now, urgently]: I can’t. But I thought you guessed I wasn’t feeling – very bright. Oh – I get so impatient with myself. Why can’t we be as hard as steel?

  PROFESSOR: Because it would do us more harm than good. The dinosaurs had that idea – it was probably the only idea they did have – and so they grew more and more armour, thicker and thicker scales, bigger and bigger claws and spikes – all to be hard and tough and safe – until they were like hundred-ton tanks – and couldn’t move, couldn’t feed themselves, couldn’t mate – and were done for. Then came the turn of the soft little monkey people, who could adapt themselves – us.

  JEAN: And are we going to manage it?