An Inspector Calls and Other Plays

by J. B. Priestley

  PROFESSOR: Probably touch-and-go. On the whole I think – Yes. But not by wanting to be as hard as steel. That’s asking to be broken. [He puts a hand on her shoulder.] Jean, my dear – just take it easy.

  [Impulsively she turns and puts her cheek against his hand, and whispers.]

  JEAN: All right, Dad. I’ll try. And – thank you.

  [Enter REX, carrying a handsome case of pipes.]

  REX [holding out the case]: Here they are, Dad. And easily the pick of the market.

  PROFESSOR [who has turned, taking case]: Why – Rex, my boy – these are prodigious. Thank you – thank you. I didn’t know there were such pipes any more.

  REX [taking glass]: There aren’t. I had to comb London for ’em. Collectors’ pieces really. Been in that case for years and years, the chap told me. Well, Dad – cheers for the Birthday. [He drinks, then smacks his lips.] Very fond of this stuff.

  [Enter MRS LINDEN, MARION and DINAH.]

  MRS LINDEN: Mrs Cotton’s just dishing up, but we’ve time for one of these drinks we’ve heard so much about.

  REX [gaily]: There’s Dad’s sherry – or the stuff I brought, Later Than You Think.

  MRS LINDEN: What do you mean, dear?

  REX: That’s the name I gave it – the barman couldn’t think of one. From the old Chinese saying – ‘Enjoy yourself – it’s later than you think.’

  MRS LINDEN [gaily]: I don’t know what you’re talking about, darling, but give me just a little – please.

  MARION: And sherry for me, Rex.

  DINAH: Me too, please.

  [REX pours his stuff for his mother, while the PROFESSOR pours out sherry for the other two. REX then fills the glasses of JEAN and the PROFESSOR and his own again, throughout the following speeches.]

  MRS LINDEN [happily]: Well now, I call this a thoroughly sensible way for a family to behave –

  REX: You mean – all tippling, eh?

  MRS LINDEN [beaming on him]: I mean, being all together under one roof – instead of scattered all over the place. Well – now – [preparing to drink].

  DINAH: We all drink to Daddy.

  MARION: Yes, of course.

  REX [grinning]: To the gnarled old trunk of the Linden tree!

  MRS LINDEN: He’s not gnarled. And anyhow – what about me?

  REX: You’re not the trunk – you’re the roots –

  MRS LINDEN [who has had a sip]: It’s terribly strong – isn’t it?

  JEAN [standing now]: Yes, it always was. [Drains her glass in one go.]

  MRS LINDEN: Jean, are you all right?

  PROFESSOR [hastily]: Yes, she’s all right. And I thank you for the Toast – [burlesquing after-dinner speaker] both for the terms in which it has been proposed and the way in which you have received it –

  REX [similar burlesque]: Hear – hear!

  [MRS COTTON, wearing apron and looking hot and rather flustered, appears at door.]

  MRS COTTON: Well, I like to see everybody ’appy for a change – but you’d better go in an’ eat that dinner ’cos it’s in now an’ getting cold –

  [She disappears, and laughing a little, the others all turn and move towards door, as curtain comes down.]

  This is the end of Scene One.

  House lights do not go up, and curtain remains down only long enough for bottles and glasses to be cleared, curtains drawn across window R. and lighting to be changed, for night.]

  SCENE TWO

  [When curtain rises again, it is two hours later. Stage is empty a moment, then PROFESSOR, carrying tray with bottle of Armagnac and several glasses, enters with REX, who is lighting a cigar. After PROFESSOR puts down tray – during first speeches – he lights one of his new pipes. There is an intimate after-dinner atmosphere between the two men.]

  PROFESSOR: Rex, being a parent I have to pretend to understand you, but as a matter of fact I don’t. What do you do and what are you up to?

  REX [stretching out, comfortably]: It’s so simple that hardly anybody believes me. First, what do I do? Well, I make money – by buying stocks and shares – and then selling them at a handsome profit – all for myself, not for other people. I’m not a broker.

  PROFESSOR: You must have some kind of flair for it.

  REX: I have. But it’s easy, believe me. You work ten times as hard as I do. And now I’m worth, well, what do you think?

  PROFESSOR: I’ve no idea. More than I am, certainly.

  REX: At least a hundred and fifty thousand, at this minute.

  PROFESSOR: Good God! It’s incredible. But how have you managed it – in this short time?

  REX: Jock Mitchell was killed by the same mortar that knocked me out in Italy. He was my best friend. When I came home I found he’d left me all he had – but you know all this. I came in for a nice little packet of stocks and shares that poor Jock hadn’t bothered about. After I recovered and was sent to the War House, I began playing about with ’em. Made money. Made more money. Got in the know. Paid no taxes, don’t forget. Lived well, but still piled it up. Every time some bit of news made the fools in the City feel shaky, I bought. The minute they felt better again, I sold.

  PROFESSOR: It couldn’t be as easy as that.

  REX: It was. Plus some information and perhaps, as you say, a flair for it. As to what I’m up to – that’s quite simple too – I’m enjoying myself – while there’s time.

  PROFESSOR: You don’t see it lasting, you mean.

  REX: I don’t see anything lasting. If you ask me, we’ve had it. And you can take your choice between a lot of Trade Union officials giving themselves jobs and titles or Tory Big Business screaming to get back into the trough. All the same racket. Either way we’ve had it. We can’t last. And anyhow when the atom bombs and rockets really start falling, whichever side sends ’em, it’s about ten to one we’ll be on the receiving end here. I’ve sometimes thought of clearing out – South America, for instance, or East Africa – but somehow I feel that wouldn’t do. So I’ll take what’s coming. But before then I propose to enjoy myself.

  PROFESSOR [regarding him steadily]: I believe you’re quite serious.

  REX: Not a serious type as a rule – do a lot of clowning – but for once – and purely out of respect for you and this occasion – I’m in deadly earnest. What about some of Marion’s Armagnac?

  PROFESSOR: Sorry. I’d forgotten.

  REX [rising]: I’ll do it. [Goes to pour out brandy.]

  PROFESSOR: Thanks. I don’t agree with you, of course.

  REX: Naturally. I didn’t expect you to.

  PROFESSOR: But we won’t argue. That’s not the point. I simply want to understand. All this of course is a reaction, first, from what you were before the war, and then from soldiering – the usual dose of post-war cynicism.

  REX [handing brandy]: No doubt. But it’s not a mood. It’s permanent. For instance, not long ago, I broke with a young woman because she wanted us to marry and produce children. Nothing doing. So I broke it off – though I was very devoted to her. I wouldn’t mention that to mother, by the way. She’d want to know all about it, and start worrying.

  PROFESSOR: She would. And I could do a little worrying, myself. Doesn’t it occur to you, by the way, that if we’re drifting to disaster, you might try using some of your money and wits and energy in some kind of attempt to stop it.

  REX [after a sip]: Damned good brandy!

  PROFESSOR [who has also tried it]: Isn’t it?

  REX: You mean – politics, eh?

  PROFESSOR: If necessary – yes.

  REX [feeling in his pockets]: The other night I was reading some of Waley’s translations of old Chinese poems, and one of them particularly took my fancy so I copied it out. [He has found it now, and reads it out] It’s called The Big Chariot.

  ‘Don’t help on the big chariot;

  You will only make yourself dusty.

  Don’t think about the sorrows of the world;

  You will only make yourself wretched.

  Don’t help on the big chariot
;

  You won’t be able to see for dust.

  Don’t think about the sorrows of the world;

  Or you will never escape from your despair.’

  [Puts it away.] And I couldn’t agree with him more. I wish I could dig that poet out of his grave and ask him to stay with me at Huntingdon House for a few weeks – we’d laugh ourselves sick. Don’t look so depressed, Dad. You’re not responsible for me any more, and you did your best to turn me into a fine thoughtful public-spirited citizen.

  PROFESSOR: Perhaps I did it the wrong way. That’s what I’m wondering. I’m not depressed. I’m wondering. You’ve changed completely. What happened? That interests me.

  REX: First, losing Jock – and some of the other chaps. Then that spell at the War House – and war-time London. But even then I was still ready to put my shoulder to one of the back wheels of the big chariot – and be as dusty as hell – if somebody big enough had shouted ‘Come on, chaps. Throw in everything you’ve got. Either we’ll work miracles or go down fighting.’ Something like that. The words don’t matter. But the mood does, and the inspiration – just to have one good crack at it before the bombs came again – or perhaps they would never come if we showed the world a great example – gave ’em all hope again. Look – I’m talking too much – and most of it bullsh, I suppose –

  PROFESSOR: No, it makes sense to me. You were ready – if somebody gave you a lift –

  REX: Yes. But not a sausage. So I said to myself ‘All right, Rex, you pack it up – earn some easy – and play.’ And I do enjoy myself – don’t you believe those people who tell you that you can’t nowadays – they don’t know enough. Oh – you can’t in Burmanley but you can where I live – if you know a few chaps and have the money.

  [Enter JEAN. REX turns and sees her. Just in time for a little serious conversation.]

  JEAN [coming down]: There’ll be some coffee in a minute.

  PROFESSOR: Have some brandy, Jean?

  JEAN: Not just now, thank you. Is Rex telling you how to make money without working for it?

  PROFESSOR: No, he’s been explaining why he believes in making money without working for it. Eh, Rex?

  REX: Fair enough. Mine’s the Spiv philosophy now – only mugs work. It’s everybody for himself, isn’t it? Nobody’s shown me anything else for the last few years. Most of the place looking like a fourth-rate factory and a dingy fun-fair – a nasty little mess of silly cheap newspapers, greyhound tracks, football pools, squealing capitalists, trades unionists on the make, sleep-walking civil servants, kids wanting to behave like touts or tarts –

  PROFESSOR: Not much to enjoy then?

  REX: Oh yes – if you just push it all away and forget about it. And that’s where money comes in. You can buy a high wall or two – and bid for a little civilized amusement behind them. Look at Jean. I run into her now and again – with her boy friend – and they’d try to convert me. What’s his name – I mean, the surgeon chap at your place?

  JEAN [very carefully]: Arnold French. He’s just left, by the way.

  REX [looking at her curiously]: Has he now? I thought you and he –

  PROFESSOR [cutting in, deliberately]: Convert you to what?

  REX [grinning, to JEAN]: Tell him.

  JEAN [coldly]: It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to talk about it. And Rex wouldn’t want to talk so much if he didn’t know he was all wrong, with his delicious undergraduate’s cynicism and Epicurean muck. We – I mean, I happen to believe in science and a properly planned community – and discipline – and work –

  REX: And forced labour camps for anybody who won’t join in –

  JEAN [coolly]: Yes – and why not? I’ve no use for people who won’t face a few hard facts –

  REX: You haven’t much use for people of any kind, my dear Jean, except a few interesting patients – and your handsome Arnold –

  JEAN [suddenly furious]: Oh – for God’s sake – shut up, you fool!

  REX [staring]: Look – Jeanie – I’m sorry. I didn’t realize –

  JEAN: Oh – drop it. [She recovers herself by a great effort. Then speaks in a low, bitter tone] I’m just not going to run away and bawl in a bedroom.

  PROFESSOR: There’s probably something to be said for it, though. An old custom.

  JEAN [same tone]: I don’t like old customs. And I hate all the idiotic feminine fusses and tantrums – and I’ve seen enough of them. And what’s the use of asking for a disciplined scientific society, if I can’t even discipline myself – a woman with a good scientific training?

  PROFESSOR: All right, my dear. Only don’t imagine that a scientific training turned you into somebody from another planet. You’re still just one of us, you know – the same old muddled emotional gang, who’ve been here for a few hundred thousand years. And don’t try to fight all your feminine ancestors – there are too many of them. Better to come to terms with ’em.

  REX [getting up]: And have some Armagnac now – do you good.

  JEAN [with a faint smile]: All right, Rex. And – sorry for the outburst. [He gets some brandy for her.]

  PROFESSOR: We have a new Vice-Chancellor here – a Dr Lidley.

  REX: I know. What’s he like?

  PROFESSOR [gloomily]: He’s an educationalist. He educationalizes – in quite a big dashing sort of way. It’s something quite different from educating people – newer and much better. They’ll probably have machines to do it soon, when they can import them from America. Two of my oldest friends here – Tilley and Clark – have already resigned. I believe he’s hoping I’ll go next. I won’t say I see it in his eye, because he always gives me the extraordinary impression that he has two glass eyes, which must be wrong. But there it is.

  [REX and JEAN exchange glances, which PROFESSOR notices at once. He continues calmly.]

  Fortunately you two haven’t that kind of eye. Far more expressive. But what exactly did those glances mean?

  JEAN: We were wondering – at least I know I was – why you should think it worth while going on here.

  REX: Right. Dad, why not pack it up now?

  PROFESSOR: We can’t all pack it up, as you call it, Rex. And one packed-up man in a family is probably quite enough. As for you, Jean, who are not a packer-up, well, I’m surprised at you.

  JEAN [softly]: You’re sixty-five now, Dad.

  PROFESSOR: And one day, Jean, I hope, you’ll be sixty-five – and then you may know what I’m feeling now –

  JEAN [contrite]: Dad, please, I didn’t mean –

  PROFESSOR [cutting in, but gently]: I know you didn’t, nobody does. They just say it, but don’t mean what they think I think they mean. Mind you, I’ll say this. Sixty-five is probably oldish for science. But history’s different. You really know more about it – have the feel of it better – when you’re sixty-five than when you’re forty-five – or even twenty-five –

  [Enter DINAH, with a tray of cups filled with coffee.]

  Coffee, Dinah?

  DINAH [going to put tray down]: Coffee it is. And I made it myself while the others were finishing the washing-up – and all talking about babies. There must be something wrong with me – unwomanly or something – because I hate talk about babies. Mrs Cotton told a mad gruesome story about a baby that turned blue in the blitz. Mrs Cotton’s never come out of the blitz really. In a kind of way she loves it. [Looks at the three of them sharply.] You’ve been quarrelling here, haven’t you?

  REX [getting up to help with coffee]: No, we haven’t.

  DINAH: Well, that’s what it feels like to me.

  REX: You rather fancy yourself as the intuitive type, don’t you?

  DINAH [coolly]: Yes, I do. [She takes a cup of coffee to JEAN, gives it to her, then impulsively bends down and kisses her on the cheek.]

  JEAN [half-smiling]: But why, Dinah?

  DINAH: I just felt like it, that’s all. Don’t you go and imagine – just because you’re a doctor now – you’re high above all that sort of thing.

  JEAN [with a bitt
er smile]: It might be better if I did.

  PROFESSOR: No, it wouldn’t. Otherwise, in a few years you might easily go sour. I’ve known several good clever people who went sour. After forty’s the danger. If you’re a professor, you call it sound scholarship, integrity and fastidiousness – but really they’re old skim milk turned green. And then they begin to hate ordinary stupid people.

  JEAN: And is that such a bad thing?

  PROFESSOR [sipping his coffee now]: It’s fatal. Even if we don’t think we’re ordinary stupid people ourselves – and we probably are – we’re all rooted in ordinary stupid humanity. And try to cut your roots, and you’re done for. Quite good coffee, Dinah.

  DINAH [solemnly]: I added a pinch of salt.

  REX [who has tried his coffee]: And a pretty big pinch too, young Dinah.

  [Enter MRS LINDEN and MARION, who are talking hard.]

  MRS LINDEN: Well, that’s the trouble here now. Nobody cares how things are done – they just slop about and take the least possible trouble – and if you dare to complain, they don’t hesitate to be rude at once – yes, at once.

  MARION: I couldn’t help noticing the difference, particularly this time. I don’t say it’s much better in the French cities, but in the country there’s still a tradition – of taking trouble, and proper service, and politeness.

  MRS LINDEN: Well, it’s quite hopeless here now.

  DINAH [handing cups]: I don’t believe it is hopeless at all.

  MRS LINDEN: You don’t know what we’re talking about, child.

  DINAH: I do. People in shops – and waitresses – and all that. And I think they’re all right – nice and matey – considering.

  MRS LINDEN: You don’t remember anything better.

  MARION: Just what I was going to say. You’re too young to be in this, Dinah.

  PROFESSOR: I’m not, though. And I know what you mean. I remember when most of these people you’re talking about were terrified that one or two complaints would throw ’em out into the street and back to the Labour Exchange. You could see that fear in their eyes, hear it in their apologetic voices, and I hated it so much that I never dared to make any complaints.

  MRS LINDEN: You were always much too easy-going.