In forty years.
WARBURTON
Indeed, yes.
Even in a country practice. My first patient, now—
You wouldn’t believe it, ladies—was a murderer,
Who suffered from an incurable cancer.
How he fought against it! I never saw a man
More anxious to live.
HARRY
Not at all extraordinary.
It is really harder to believe in murder
Than to believe in cancer. Cancer is here:
The lump, the dull pain, the occasional sickness:
Murder a reversal of sleep and waking.
Murder was there. Your ordinary murderer
Regards himself as an innocent victim.
To himself he is still what he used to be
Or what he would be. He cannot realise
That everything is irrevocable,
The past unredeemable. But cancer, now,
That is something real.
WARBURTON
Well, let’s not talk of such matters.
How did we get onto the subject of cancer?
I really don’t know.—But now you’re all grown up
I haven’t a patient left at Wishwood.
Wishwood was always a cold place, but healthy.
It’s only when I get an invitation to dinner
That I ever see your mother.
VIOLET
Yes, look at your mother!
Except that she can’t get about now in winter
You wouldn’t think that she was a day older
Than on her birthday ten years ago.
GERALD
Is there any use in waiting for Arthur and John?
AMY
We might as well go in to dinner.
They may come before we finish. Will you take me in, Doctor?
I think we are very much the oldest present—
In fact we are the oldest inhabitants.
As we came first, we will go first, in to dinner.
WARBURTON
With pleasure, Lady Monchensey,
And I hope that next year will bring me the same honour.
[Exeunt AMY, DR. WARBURTON, HARRY.]
CHORUS
I am afraid of all that has happened, and of all that is to come;
Of the things to come that sit at the door, as if they had been there always.
And the past is about to happen, and the future was long since settled.
And the wings of the future darken the past, the beak and claws have desecrated
History. Shamed
The first cry in the bedroom, the noise in the nursery, mutilated
The family album, rendered ludicrous
The tenants’ dinner, the family pic-nic on the moors. Have torn
The roof from the house, or perhaps it was never there.
And the bird sits on the broken chimney. I am afraid.
IVY
This is a most undignified terror, and I must struggle against it.
GERALD
I am used to tangible danger, but only to what I can understand.
VIOLET
It is the obtuseness of Gerald and Charles and that doctor, that gets on my nerves.
CHARLES
If the matter were left in my hands, I think I could manage the situation.
[Exeunt.]
[Enter MARY, and passes through to dinner. Enter AGATHA.]
AGATHA
The eye is on this house
The eye covers it
There are three together
May the three be separated
May the knot that was tied
Become unknotted
May the crossed bones
In the filled-up well
Be at last straightened
May the weasel and the otter
Be about their proper business
The eye of the day time
And the eye of the night time
Be diverted from this house
Till the knot is unknotted
The crossed is uncrossed
And the crooked is made straight.
[Exit to dinner.]
END OF PART I
PART II
The Library, After Dinner
HARRY, WARBURTON
WARBURTON
I’m glad of a few minutes alone with you, Harry.
In fact, I had another reason for coming this evening
Than simply in honour of your mother’s birthday.
I wanted a private conversation with you
On a confidential matter.
HARRY
I can imagine—
Though I think it is probably going to be useless,
Or if anything, make matters rather more difficult
But talk about it, if you like.
WARBURTON
You don’t understand me.
I’m sure you cannot know what is on my mind;
And as for making matters more difficult—
It is much more difficult not to be prepared
For something that is very likely to happen.
HARRY
O God, man, the things that are going to happen
Have already happened.
WARBURTON
That is in a sense true,
But without your knowing it, and what you know
Or do not know, at any moment
May make an endless difference to the future.
It’s about your mother . . .
HARRY
What about my mother?
Everything has always been referred back to mother.
When we were children, before we went to school,
The rule of conduct was simply pleasing mother;
Misconduct was simply being unkind to mother;
What was wrong was whatever made her suffer,
And whatever made her happy was what was virtuous—
Though never very happy, I remember. That was why
We all felt like failures, before we had begun.
When we came back, for the school holidays,
They were not holidays, but simply a time
In which we were supposed to make up to mother
For all the weeks during which she had not seen us
Except at half-term, and seeing us then
Only seemed to make her more unhappy, and made us
Feel more guilty, and so we misbehaved
Next day at school, in order to be punished,
For punishment made us feel less guilty. Mother
Never punished us, but made us feel guilty.
I think that the things that are taken for granted
At home, make a deeper impression upon children Than what they are told.
WARBURTON
Stop, Harry, you’re mistaken.
I mean, you don’t know what I want to tell you.
You may be quite right, but what we are concerned with
Now, is your mother’s happiness in the future,
For the time she has to live: not with the past.
HARRY
Oh, is there any difference!
How can we be concerned with the past
And not with the future? or with the future
And not with the past? What I’m telling you
Is very important. Very important.
You must let me explain, and then you can talk.
I don’t know why, but just this evening
I feel an overwhelming need for explanation—
But perhaps I only dream that I am talking
And shall wake to find that I have been silent
Or talked to the stone deaf: and the others
Seem to hear something else than what I am saying.
But if you want to talk, at least you can tell me
Something useful. Do you remember my father?
WARBURTON
Why, yes, of course, Harry, but I really don’t see
What that has to do with the present occasion
Or with what I have to tell you.
HARRY
What you have to tell me
Is either something that I know already
Or unimportant, or else untrue.
But I want to know more about my father.
I hardly remember him, and I know very well
That I was kept apart from him, till he went away.
We never heard him mentioned, but in some way or another
We felt that he was always here.
But when we would have grasped for him, there was only a vacuum
Surrounded by whispering aunts: Ivy and Violet—
Agatha never came then. Where was my father?
WARBURTON
Harry, there’s no good probing for misery.
There was enough once: but what festered
Then, has only left a cautery.
Leave it alone. You know that your mother
And your father were never very happy together:
They separated by mutual consent
And he went to live abroad. You were only a boy
When he died. You would not remember.
HARRY
But now I do remember. Not Arthur or John,
They were too young. But now I remember
A summer day of unusual heat,
The day I lost my butterfly net;
I remember the silence, and the hushed excitement
And the low conversation of triumphant aunts.
It is the conversations not overheard,
Not intended to be heard, with the sidewise looks,
That bring death into the heart of a child.
That was the day he died. Of course.
I mean, I suppose, the day on which the news arrived.
WARBURTON
You overinterpret.
I am sure that your mother always loved him;
There was never the slightest suspicion of scandal.
HARRY
Scandal? who said scandal? I did not.
Yes, I see now. That night, when she kissed me,
I felt the trap close. If you won’t tell me,
I must ask Agatha. I never dared before.
WARBURTON
I advise you strongly, not to ask your aunt—
I mean, there is nothing she could tell you. But, Harry,
We can’t sit here all the evening, you know;
You will have to have the birthday celebration,
And your brothers will be here. Won't you let me tell you
What I had to say?
HARRY
Very well, tell me.
WARBURTON
It’s about your mother’s health that I wanted to talk to you.
I must tell you, Harry, that although your mother
Is still so alert, so vigorous of mind,
Although she seems as vital as ever—
It is only the force of her personality,
Her indomitable will, that keeps her alive.
I needn’t go into technicalities
At the present moment. The whole machine is weak
And running down. Her heart’s very feeble.
With care, and avoiding all excitement
She may live several years. A sudden shock
Might send her off at any moment.
If she had been another woman
She would not have lived until now.
Her determination has kept her going:
She has only lived for your return to Wishwood,
For you to take command at Wishwood,
And for that reason, it is most essential
That nothing should disturb or excite her.
HARRY
Well!
WARBURTON
I’m very sorry for you, Harry.
I should have liked to spare you this,
Just now. But there were two reasons
Why you had to know. One is your mother,
To make her happy for the time she has to live.
The other is yourself: the future of Wishwood
Depends on you. I don’t like to say this;
But you know that I am a very old friend,
And have always been a party to the family secrets—
You know as well as I do that Arthur and John
Have been a great disappointment to your mother.
John’s very steady—but he’s not exactly brilliant;
And Arthur has always been rather irresponsible.
Your mother’s hopes are all centred on you.
HARRY
Hopes? . . . Tell me
Did you know my father at about my present age?
WARBURTON
Why, yes, Harry, of course I did.
HARRY
What did he look like then? Did he look at all like me?
WARBURTON
Very much like you. Of course there are differences:
But, allowing for the changes in fashion
And your being clean-shaven, very much like you.
And now, Harry, let’s talk about yourself.
HARRY
I never saw a photograph. There is no portrait.
WARBURTON
What I want to know is, whether you’ve been sleeping . . .
[Enter DENMAN.]
DENMAN
It’s Sergeant Winchell is here, my Lord,
And wants to see your Lordship very urgent,
And Dr. Warburton. He says it’s very urgent
Or he wouldn’t have troubled you.
HARRY
I’ll see him.
[Exit DENMAN.]
WARBURTON
I wonder what he wants. I hope nothing has happened
To either of your brothers.
HARRY
Nothing can have happened
To either of my brothers. Nothing can happen—
If Sergeant Winchell is real. But Denman saw him.
But what if Denman saw him, and yet he was not real?
That would be worse than anything that has happened.
What if you saw him, and . . .
WARBURTON
Harry! Pull yourself together.
Something may have happened to one of your brothers.
[Enter WINCHELL.]
WINCHELL
Good evening, my Lord. Good evening, Doctor.
Many happy . . . Oh, I’m sorry, my Lord,
I was thinking it was your birthday, not her Ladyship’s.
HARRY
Her Ladyship’s!
[He darts at WINCHELL and seizes him by the shoulders.]
He is real, Doctor.
So let us resume the conversation. You and I
And Winchell. Sit down, Winchell,
And have a glass of port. We were talking of my father.
WINCHELL
Always at your jokes, I see. You don’t look a year older
Than when I saw you last, my Lord. But a country sergeant
Doesn’t get younger. Thank you, no, my Lord;
I don’t find port agrees with the rheumatism.
WARBURTON
For God’s sake, Winchell, tell us your business.
His Lordship isn’t very well this evening.
WINCHELL
I understand, Sir.
It’d be the same if it was my birthday—
I beg pardon, I’m forgetting.
If it was my mother’s. God rest her soul,
She’s been dead these ten years. How is her Ladyship,
If I may ask, my Lord?
HARRY
Why do you keep asking
About her Ladyship? Do you know or don’t you?
I’m not afraid of you.
WINCHELL
I should hope not, my Lord.
I didn’t mean to put myself forward.
But you see, my Lord, I had good reason for asking . . .
HARRY
Well, do you want me to p
roduce her for you?
WINCHELL
Oh, no, indeed, my Lord, I’d much rather not . . .
HARRY
You mean you think I can’t. But I might surprise you;
I think I might be able to give you a shock.
WINCHELL
There’s been shock enough for one evening, my Lord:
That’s what I’ve come about.
WARBURTON
For Heaven’s sake, Winchell,
Tell us your business.
WINCHELL
It’s about Mr. John.
HARRY
John!
WINCHELL
Yes, my Lord, I’m sorry.
I thought I’d better have a word with you quiet,
Rather than phone and perhaps disturb her Ladyship.
So I slipped along on my bike. Mostly walking,
What with the fog so thick, or I’d have been here sooner.
I’d telephoned to Dr. Warburton’s,
And they told me he was here, and that you’d arrived.
Mr. John’s had a bit of an accident
On the West Road, in the fog, coming along
At a pretty smart pace, I fancy, ran into a lorry
Drawn up round the bend. We’ll have the driver up for this: