THE PLAY’S THE THING
ACT ONE
_As the curtain rises a distant orchestra is heard playing
Leoncavallo’s “Mattinata.” The stage is almost dark. The only light
comes through two large French windows at the back. Through them we
see the moonlit Mediterranean far below, the vague outlines of the
precipitous coast, twinkling lights along quays and esplanades, and
here and there the faint glow from some lighted window. A lighthouse
blinks intermittently in the far distance. Within the dark room three
darker shadows loom against the moonlit windows; the lighted ends of
three cigarettes prick the blackness. There is a long pause. It is
almost embarrassingly long. Just before one wonders if anything is
ever going to happen a man’s voice breaks the silence._
THE MAN’S VOICE. When you stop talking, Sandor, for sixty consecutive
seconds, there’s something wrong.
[_One of the shadowy forms is seen to rise and cross to the right
wall. We hear the click of an electric switch and instantly the
stage is flooded with the warm glow of several electric sconces and
candelabra lamps. The light reveals a room beautifully furnished
in Italian Renaissance. At the back one shallow step leads up to a
raised portion which runs the whole width of the room. Behind it are
the French windows, now closed, with a balcony beyond them. To the
right a short flight of steps leads to a landing and a door to a
bedroom suite. To the left one step leads up to a door to the hall and
the remainder of the castle. Occupying the right wall of the lower
portion of the room is a great fireplace with a corbelled chimney. A
long table stands near it. At the left is a grand piano. Below the
piano in the left wall is a door to another bedroom. All these doors
are closed. Above the piano toward the center is a small stand with
a telephone on it. There are comfortable chairs here and there. The
ceiling is beamed and carved. The whole room reflects wealth and
beauty._
_The speaker, who has just lighted the room, is a large and portly man
of middle age. His name is_ MANSKY. _He is in a dinner jacket, as are
his two companions_, SANDOR TURAI _seated in the center, and_ ALBERT
ADAM _near the piano_. TURAI _is also middle aged, but younger-looking
and less portly than_ MANSKY. _A glance shows him to be a man of
consequence and dynamic personality. He is wearing a monocle._ ALBERT
ADAM _is a dreamy, handsome boy just over the threshold of manhood.
The distant orchestra has stopped playing._ MANSKY _reseats himself to
the right of_ TURAI, _and speaks again_.]
What’s on your mind, Sandor?
TURAI. I was just thinking how extraordinarily difficult it is to
begin a play. The eternal problem of how to introduce your principal
characters.
ADAM. I suppose it must be hard.
TURAI. It is--devilish hard. Up goes the curtain, there is a hush
all over the theatre, people come on the stage. Then what? It’s an
eternity--sometimes as much as a quarter of an hour before the audience
finds out who’s who and what they are all up to.
MANSKY. I never saw such a fellow. Can’t you forget the theatre for a
single minute?
TURAI. No. That’s why I’m such a great dramatist.
MANSKY. You can’t be happy for half an hour unless you’re talking shop.
Life isn’t all theatre.
TURAI. Yes, it is--if you write plays. You know what Alphonse Daudet
says in his Memoirs? When he stood by his father’s death-bed, all he
could think of was what a wonderful scene it would make for the stage.
MANSKY. It’s silly to let your job become an obsession.
TURAI. Well, that’s the theatre. Either you master it or it masters
you. And of all the brain-racking things in the world, beginning a play
is the worst. That’s where your technique comes in, my boy. Take this
scene here, for instance. We three--Curtain goes up on three ordinary
men in ordinary dinner jackets. How is anybody to know even that this
room we’re sitting in is a room in a castle? And how are they to know
who we are? If this were a play we would have to start jabbering about
a lot of thoroughly uninteresting things until the audience gradually
found out who we were.
MANSKY. Well? Why not?
TURAI. Think how much simpler it would be if we were to cut out all
that stuff and just introduce ourselves? [_He rises and addresses
the audience._] Ladies and gentlemen, good evening. We three arrived
to-night to spend a couple of weeks at this castle. We’ve just left the
dining-room where we did ourselves remarkably well with some excellent
champagne. My name is Sandor Turai. I am a playwright. I have been a
playwright for thirty years. I make a very good thing of it. I bow and
step back leaving the stage to you.
[TURAI _steps back and_ MANSKY _steps forward and addresses the
audience_.]
MANSKY. Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Mansky--I, too, am a
playwright, and this gentleman’s life-long collaborator. We are
probably the best-known firm in the business.
TURAI. Come to Mansky and Turai for all comedies, farces and operettas.
Satisfaction guaranteed.
MANSKY. I, too, make a very good thing out of it.
TURAI. Which brings us--
MANSKY. --to the remaining member of the trio.
[_They indicate_ ADAM _who rises and addresses the audience in similar
fashion but with more diffidence and none of their assurance_.]
ADAM. The last _and_ least. I, ladies and gentlemen, am Albert Adam. I
am twenty-five years old and I compose music.
TURAI. Very good music, too.
ADAM. I have done the score for the latest operetta by these two kind
gentlemen. My first effort. They discovered me. They got me invited
to this castle. Regardless of expense, they bought me a complete
wardrobe. Without them I am a complete nonentity. I have no parents, no
reputation, and no money.
TURAI. But--you’re young.
MANSKY. And gifted.
ADAM. And in love with the prima donna.
TURAI. Don’t bother to tell them that. An audience takes it for granted
that the young composer is in love with the prima donna. It’s tradition.
ADAM. Thank heaven.
TURAI. [_Again addressing the audience._] Isn’t that the simplest way
to begin a play?
MANSKY. Very crude. If that were all there was to it, any fool could
write plays.
TURAI. A great many do. But you see how absurdly easy it is--All you
have to do is--
MANSKY. All right, all right, all right. For heaven’s sake, stop
talking shop. I’ve had enough. Save it for to-morrow.
TURAI. Perhaps you’re right. Yes, it’s a treat to get a couple of hours
off for a change. Wonderful, that trip in the car--Italy!... And here
we are, free at last from the stuffy world of behind the scenes, out
of the reach of thin-skinned actors and thick-skinned managers. All
the year I’ve looked forward to these two weeks. A princely host and
a house full of smart people--just what men like ourselves need to
inspire us. And, mark this, my friends, nothing to worry about--for
our job is done. [_He goes to the window, opens it, steps on to the
balcony and speaks from there._] The operetta is finished and off our
minds. And, moreover, it is summer. The weather is perfect, the night
is gorgeous, the sea--is the sea, and the dinner was good. [_He comes
back into the room._] Yes, we must remember it. It’s been a great day.
August the 20th.
MANSKY. Friday.
TURAI. What of it?
MANSKY. I wish it wasn’t.
TURAI. Don’t be such an old woman!
MANSKY. No one ought to arrive anywhere on a Friday.
ADAM. [_Dreamily._] What difference does it make--Friday, Saturday,
Sunday--Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter--life’s always wonderful.
TURAI. [_Crosses to_ ADAM.] _My_ unlucky day is Tuesday. Among other
things--[_To_ MANSKY.] you were born on a Tuesday.
MANSKY. Well, look at it for yourself. Here’s to-day’s little bag
of bad luck. San Martino--mid-day--violent thunderstorm followed by
blow-out. Set us back an hour. Fiero--early afternoon--ran over dog,
surrounded by angry multitude, had to scatter money to every one in
sight to keep from getting mobbed. More delay, and we reach here at
ten instead of eight. Friday. And when we arrive, who is out? Our
princely host. Who else? Everybody. All gone off on a picnic. Friday.
And the beautiful, the one and only, the most vitally important member
of the whole house party--our adorable prima donna--where is she?
Also off on a picnic. Is she expected home to-night? No. When is she
expected? No one knows. Friday.
TURAI. Oh, she’ll be back.
MANSKY. Well, that won’t spoil Friday’s record, because it’s Saturday
now.
ADAM. And I’ve got to wait a whole night before I see her. It’s cruel.
MANSKY. Just Friday.
TURAI. Well, now listen to _me_. I’ll give you _my_ version of the
day’s proceedings. Friday, San Martino--mid-day--capital luncheon
including some really drinkable coffee. During the meal, a few passing
drops of rain. Result: perfect roads--no dust. Fiero--early afternoon--
Injured a dog and for a while it looked as though the populace were
about to injure _us_. But our Friday good luck held. The dog made
a miraculous recovery and when last seen was sitting up and taking
nourishment. And a few insignificant coins, judiciously distributed,
made the populace our friends for life. To resume. We arrived here some
hours late, but--what a bit of luck _that_ was. Everybody away, nobody
in the house to expect tired men to make conversation. Furthermore we
dine on a picturesque terrace of a wonderful old Italian castle and are
given as fine a curried chicken as I ever tasted.
MANSKY. I loathe curry.
TURAI. And in conclusion, let me tell you the crowning piece of good
fortune of this magical Friday. [_He indicates the door to the bedroom
at left._] The next room to this is Ilona’s.
ADAM. What!
TURAI. Yes, through that door is the room of the beautiful, the one and
only. And having a pull with the butler, I managed to get this suite
for ourselves. There’s luck for you.
MANSKY. For him.
TURAI. And for us. We profit indirectly. When a composer is happy
he writes song-hits. When a prima donna is happy, she stops singing
off the key. And the librettists gather royalties from the resulting
triumph.
MANSKY. Sordid brute. You’ve no poetry in your soul.
TURAI. But I have a balance in my bank--much more satisfactory. As for
Ilona being away, that’s good luck too. Think of the pleasant surprise
she will get. It is night. The little darling comes home from her
picnic. All unsuspecting, she goes to her little room, sinks upon her
little bed--
MANSKY. Why on earth must everything always be so little?
TURAI. Why not?
MANSKY. Damned sentimentalism. I know the house well. She has a _huge_
room and an _enormous_ bed.
TURAI. Immaterial. Quite immaterial. The point is that she comes home,
all unsuspecting. She doesn’t know we’re here. [ADAM _who has been
sitting dreamily at the piano begins playing softly_.] She doesn’t know
we’ve brought the finished operetta with us. She doesn’t know I’m going
to sing her the waltz song from Act Two--
MANSKY. God help her!
TURAI. ... the world-famous waltz--[MANSKY _looks at him skeptically_]
at least, it’s not world-famous yet, but it’s bound to become so ...
anyway, the ravishing theme-waltz upon which this infant genius has
poured out all the treasure of his love-bewitched soul....
[ADAM _stops playing_.]
MANSKY. Be quiet--never praise a composer. It unsettles him. [_Rises.
Looks at watch._] Do you know it’s after three--I have been thinking
and I’ve got an idea.
TURAI. Beginner’s luck.
MANSKY. Let’s go to bed. You can do any singing you want to-morrow.
If they’re not home yet, it means they’re staying out all night. I
know the ways of this house. We’ve been up since five and I’m all in.
Three hundred miles are chasing themselves through my head. As for your
infant genius with the love-bewitched soul, he’s asleep already.
ADAM. [_Who has been nodding over the piano, awakens with a start._]
I’m not.
TURAI. I’ve no objection to postponing the surprise-party. Suppose we
_wake_ her with the waltz.
ADAM. If only she doesn’t find out before.
TURAI. That’s all right. I particularly told my friend the butler that
nobody must know of our arrival till to-morrow morning. The butler is a
very important man. He practically runs this house.
ADAM. [_Rising._] Then I’m going to take a bath.
TURAI. I don’t follow your logic. What has the importance of the butler
to do with taking baths?
ADAM. I hate logic. [_Starts toward the door at right, but stops to
gaze out of the window._]
TURAI. Do you really intend to bathe at this hour?
ADAM. Yes.
TURAI. In the sea?
ADAM. [_Stands by balcony door._] No. In the tub. [_The sound of a
distant orchestra is heard playing Toselli’s Serenade._] When you’re
tired and sleepy and looking forward to something particularly nice,
it’s wonderful to lie in luke-warm water with your eyes closed.
TURAI. Hear! Hear! [_Sits in large armchair._] Well--Do as you please,
infant. When an artist is working he must pamper himself. [_To_
MANSKY.] You have to humor these composers. Did you ever know his
grandmother?
MANSKY. I had not that pleasure.
TURAI. [ADAM _comes down the steps and sits down again_.] She brought
him up when his parents died. She was about _so_ high. The littlest old
woman I ever saw in my life.
ADAM. Tiny, wasn’t she?
TURAI. And the very opposite of this dreamy boy. Always hustling,
always on the go. It’s her fault that our young friend here has
always remained such an unsophisticated babe. She not only mothered
him--she smothered him with her love. She was like a little witch in
a fairy-tale guarding hidden treasure. I’ll never forget the day she
brought him to me, for the first time.
ADAM. My goodness, I was scared that day.
TURAI. So was I. This little half-portion of a woman fixed me with
blazing eyes and fairly hissed: “This boy is a _genius_. You _must_
hear his _work_.” [_Pensively._] His mother was a gentle, beautiful
woman.
ADAM. I hardly remember her.
TURAI. I can see her--very clearly--_still_.... [_He rises and goes to
ADAM whom he pats affectionately on the shoulder_.] Ah, well, you’re
going to escape the struggles most young artists have before they reach
the top. No wasting of time and brain and nerve-energy for you. You’ve
got a very clever man behind you, pushing you on.
[_Music stops._]
MANSKY. [_Significantly._] _Two_ clever men.
TURAI. Two? [_Laughs._] Ah, yes, of course, two. [_To_ ADAM.] So run
away and have your bath and sleep and dream and love and enjoy this
beautiful world and all that there is in it. Happiness will make your
music all the sweeter.
MANSKY. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, encouraging him to be a
dreamer. He should be learning by this time that life isn’t all music
and roses and happiness.
TURAI. Why be in such a hurry to teach him that?
MANSKY. I’m not in a hurry.
TURAI. Then why must he be in a hurry to learn it?
ADAM. [_Who has run up the steps at right, pauses at the door._] This
is my room, eh?
TURAI. Whose else could it be? Have you forgotten who is sleeping or
about to be sleeping on the other side of that wall? [_He indicates the
left wall._]
ADAM. I should say I haven’t.
TURAI. It’s rather a good situation. Lovers--and separated by a wall.
Like Pyramus and Thisbe. What is that speech of Pyramus’s? [_Speaking
to the left wall._]
“And thou, oh wall, oh sweet, oh lovely wall!
Oh wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss!”
MANSKY. [_Impatiently._] Shop again! Always shop!
ADAM. And what about you two?
TURAI. We’re all right. Our room is on the other side of yours.
ADAM. Are you sharing a room?
TURAI. We have to. Real collaborators never separate for a moment, or
the most priceless ideas might be lost forever. Besides, I talk in my
sleep. I’m told that’s when I say some of my best things. Mansky is
a light sleeper, and he wakes up and jots them down. [MANSKY _rises
indignantly_.]
ADAM. I think I’m going to like this place. Well, gentlemen, before I
go, one last word. I am very fond of both of you. I am finding life
very beautiful. And I am very happy. [ADAM _goes out. Once again the
distant orchestra is heard. This time playing the Brise Argentine._]
TURAI. Which startling utterance seems to call for a glass of very old
brandy. [_He crosses to the bell rope on left wall and pulls it._]
MANSKY. Make it two.
TURAI. It’s nice to see the boy so happy. Now I’m on the shady side of
fifty, I find myself full of parental affection and nobody to lavish
it on. [_Reflectively._] Yes ... his mother was a gentle, beautiful
woman. [_He goes up to window, and looks down the cliff._] They’re
still dancing down there on the hotel terrace. With spot-lights on the
dancers. With that dark blue sky in the background and the coloured
lights on the water, that wouldn’t make a bad setting for a first act
finale. [MANSKY _who has just taken a cigarette from his case, snaps it
shut with irritation_.] Yes, I’m coming to think the boy’s right and
life is beautiful.
MANSKY. Sandor.
TURAI. Yes?
MANSKY. I didn’t like to tell you before, though it really belongs to
Friday, too.
TURAI. Tell me what?
MANSKY. [_Sits on bench with the unconscious relish of the confirmed
pessimist._] Something rather unpleasant. A little piece of news.
Rather unpleasant. [_The music has stopped._ TURAI _who has been at the
window, turns toward_ MANSKY.]
TURAI. You’re a queer chap. Just when a man’s feeling happy for five
minutes you have to come along and take the joy out of life.
MANSKY. It concerns you, too. It’s rather unpleasant.
TURAI. [_Going to_ MANSKY--_speaks ironically_.] Well, come on, old
friend. Ruin my evening. What is it?
MANSKY. I was looking in the visitors’ book downstairs, and I saw a
certain name. [_Puffs cigarette._] Yes, it’s rather unpleasant.
TURAI. Don’t sit there, making my flesh creep. What name did you see in
the visitors’ book?
MANSKY. Almady.
TURAI. The actor?
MANSKY. Yes.
TURAI. He’s here?
MANSKY. He is.
TURAI. H’m. This _is_, as you say, rather unpleasant.
MANSKY. You realize what this means?
TURAI. It means that you’re thoroughly happy.
MANSKY. Not at all. I may be a pessimist, but unfortunately I’m a
tender-hearted pessimist. When I am proved right, I do not enjoy the
fact. The fact is that Mr. Almady is here.
TURAI. But how? Why? He hasn’t been invited here for ten years. I
always understood he spent his summers with his wife and children at
Lake Balaton.
MANSKY. I suppose he fished for an invitation. He probably had his
reasons.
TURAI. Does our young friend know anything about that business?
MANSKY. He hasn’t an inkling of the part Mr. Almady has played in his
fiancée’s life.
TURAI. Well, hang it all, it wasn’t so much of a part. What does it
amount to? When she was starting on the stage he gave her lessons in
voice production. And then--well, it was just the usual business--the
romantic leading actor and the little pupil. The sort of thing that
lasts a couple of months at the outside. And, besides, it was all over
and done with long ago.
MANSKY. Apparently it is _not_ over and done with.
TURAI. Rot! Because by _pure_ chance he happens to be in the same house?
MANSKY. It isn’t pure chance. It’s impure intention. Use your
intelligence, man. Ilona was Almady’s discovery--he taught her all she
knows.
TURAI. That’s a thing of the past. Ilona’s intelligent. She’s in love
and she’s engaged to be married. And you know how whole-heartedly, how
passionately, an actress can be engaged when she _is_ engaged to be
married. I’m bound to say I’m not remarkably enthusiastic about this
match, but if it makes the boy happy that’s the main thing. My dear
chap, you’re crazy. She wouldn’t be such a fool ... with a worn-out
elderly actor--a father of a family--with four children. She’s got too
much sense.
MANSKY. I never said a word about that. I merely said I had seen
his name in the visitors’ book. That means he is staying here. Is
that pleasant? No. It is unpleasant. That was all I said. I now say
something more. We _ought_ to have _wired_ Ilona that we were coming
to-night.
TURAI. I admit it. You’re right again. So be happy. Never surprise a
woman. Always wire her in plenty of time. On several occasions in a
longish life I have prepared a joyful surprise for a woman, and every
time I was the one surprised. The telegraph was invented for no other
purpose than that women should not get surprises. [_There is a knock at
the door left._] Come in. [_A footman enters from the hall. He is an
elderly man in blue livery._] What do you want?
FOOTMAN. What do _you_ want, sir? You rang, sir.
TURAI. Oh, yes. Cognac.
FOOTMAN. Any particular brand, sir?
TURAI. [_To_ MANSKY.] Do me a favor, old man, and go up and keep Albert
talking for a few minutes. I want to have a few words with this fellow.
MANSKY. Don’t drink both the brandies. [MANSKY _goes out through door
at right_.]
TURAI. What’s your name?
FOOTMAN. Mine, sir?
TURAI. Yes, yours.
FOOTMAN. Johann Dwornitschek, sir.
TURAI. Johann?
FOOTMAN. Dwornitschek.
TURAI. Ah--Age?
DWORNITSCHEK. Fifty-two, sir.
TURAI. Born?
DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir.
TURAI. I should have said, where were you born?
DWORNITSCHEK. Podmokly. In Tcheko-Slovakia, sir.
TURAI. Nice place?
DWORNITSCHEK. No, sir.
TURAI. Ah--married?
DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir, thank you, sir.
TURAI. Wife living?
DWORNITSCHEK. Well, in a sense.... She ran away with a soldier two
years ago, sir--thank you, sir.
TURAI. Don’t thank me--thank the soldier. You’re new here, I think?
DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir.
TURAI. When did you come?
DWORNITSCHEK. Last summer, sir.
TURAI. Thank you.
DWORNITSCHEK. Thank _you_, sir.
TURAI. No, no. Thank _you_. You’ve answered my questions most patiently.
DWORNITSCHEK. Excuse me, sir, would it be taking a liberty if I
enquired why?...
TURAI. Why I have asked those questions? Not at all. You’ll find
that out later on. But don’t alarm yourself. I’m not a detective.
Now--Johann Dwornitschek. Here are more questions. That room next
door there is Miss Ilona Szabo’s? [_He indicates the door at left to
bedroom._]
DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir.
TURAI. Has she been gone long?
DWORNITSCHEK. I have not seen her come in, sir.
TURAI. Did you see her go out?
DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir. They left at six o’clock this afternoon.
TURAI. They? Who?
DWORNITSCHEK. The entire house-party, sir, including the master. They
were going to San Pietro, I think, sir.
TURAI. Is that far?
DWORNITSCHEK. The yacht would take them there in about an hour and a
half. Twenty-six persons in all, sir. Supper served on board. A nice
cold collation, sir.
TURAI. When do you expect them back?
DWORNITSCHEK. Well, sir--they took a considerable quantity of liquor
with them.
TURAI. The question I asked was “When do you expect them back?”
DWORNITSCHEK. That is the question I’m answering, sir. Hardly before
to-morrow morning at the earliest.
TURAI. I see. Who’s in the party?
DWORNITSCHEK. The core or center of it, if I may use the expression,
sir....
TURAI. Certainly you may use the expression. It’s a beautiful
expression.
DWORNITSCHEK. Thank you, sir. The core or center of it is an American
family, distant relatives of the master. Every time a holiday comes
around, they insist on a picnic.
TURAI. What holiday is to-day?
DWORNITSCHEK. I don’t know, sir. They have two every week here. They
always go off at night in the big yacht. They’re quite wild about the
young lady. She sings for them on the yacht. With the gypsy band.
TURAI. Oh, they have gypsies, too?
DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir. Four pieces. From the Hotel. But they’re not
much good. No--A gypsy’s not at his best, sir, on the water. Gypsies
need _solid_ ground.
TURAI. Solid ground--yes, of course. Well, passing over the subject of
gypsies for a moment, if you don’t mind--
DWORNITSCHEK. Oh, no, sir.
TURAI. Well, then lightly passing over the subject of gypsies, do you
know a Mr. Almady?
DWORNITSCHEK. Oh yes, indeed, sir. I know Mr. Almady. I know Mr. Almady
very well. He has been here three days.
TURAI. Here in the castle?
DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir. In the old wing facing the park.
TURAI. That would be on this floor?
DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir, on this floor.
TURAI. And--he’s one of the yachting party, you say?
DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir, along with the young lady.
TURAI. What do you mean, _along_ with the young lady?
DWORNITSCHEK. Well, sir, he escorted her to the boat. They’re--you
might say--sort of partners.
TURAI. How partners?
DWORNITSCHEK. I mean, sir--well, working together--like--like--as it
were, partners.
TURAI. I see. You mean partners.
DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir. Partners. Mr. Almady gives recitations on the
boat.
TURAI. How do you know that?
DWORNITSCHEK. They took me with them, sir, last Tuesday.
TURAI. Tuesday? It would be Tuesday.
DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir--Tuesday.
TURAI. All right--Thank you....
DWORNITSCHEK. Thank _you_, sir. Will that be all, sir?
TURAI. Yes, that will be all.
DWORNITSCHEK. Excuse me, sir, but you said that I would find out later
on....
TURAI. Why I began by asking you all those personal questions.
DWORNITSCHEK. Exactly, sir.
TURAI. Quite simple. It’s a little matter of psychology. When you
want a man to speak the truth, begin by making him tell you all about
himself. It gives him a feeling of responsibility and makes him afraid
to lie, later on. That’s from a detective-play by Mansky and Turai. You
can take the tip as some slight return for your trouble.
DWORNITSCHEK. Thank you very much, sir.
TURAI. Don’t mention it.
DWORNITSCHEK. And which shall I bring you, sir?
TURAI. Which? What which?
DWORNITSCHEK. Which brand of cognac?
TURAI. Which brands have you?
DWORNITSCHEK. All the best brands, sir. Hennessey, Three Star Martel,
Biscuit, Dubouche, Rivière--Gardrat.... [_A door is heard to slam
somewhere at left._] Excuse me, sir. I rather think ... if you would
be good enough to remain quite quiet for just one moment ... I rather
fancy that’s the young lady coming back now. [_They listen. From the
adjoining room at the left a soprano voice is heard singing casually
but clearly a well-known aria from an operetta._] Yes, sir. That’s the
young lady all right.
TURAI. [_Going up toward the door at right._] It is. It’s she.
Splendid. Then never mind the cognac. _Champagne_ is clearly indicated.
My favorite brand--Mumm’s Cordon Rouge. See that it’s iced and hurry it
along. Look sharp, man!
DWORNITSCHEK. You wish it here--sir?
TURAI. [_Going out at right._] Of course. Of course.
DWORNITSCHEK. Very good, sir. [_Exit_ DWORNITSCHEK. _He goes out
through the door at left to the hall. The singing grows louder._]
TURAI’S VOICE. [_In the room at right._] Hey! Stop that bath. You
haven’t time for baths now. She’s back! Sh! Hurry up. Quick, both of
you. [_The voices of_ MANSKY _and_ ADAM _are also heard_.] I tell you
she _is_. She’s in her room. Do be quick. I’ve ordered champagne.
Here, I’ll help you dress. [_The door at the right is closed from
the outside. From inside the adjoining room on the left the singing
continues until interrupted by_ ALMADY’S VOICE _raised in protest_.]
ALMADY’S VOICE. What do you mean by this singing? I believe you’re
doing it just to annoy me. [_She trills a few notes._] You’re trying to
torture me.
ILONA’S VOICE. Well--it’s pretty cool to come walking into my bedroom
at this hour.
ALMADY’S VOICE. I came with you.
ILONA’S VOICE. Now, listen. Everything’s over and ended. I’ve put you
out of my life forever. I’m engaged to be married and I intend to be a
good little wife. You’ve no right to behave like this.
ALMADY’S VOICE. No right? I, who made you? I, with whom you have lived
so many hours of madness--wonderful, unforgettable--
ILONA’S VOICE. Not unforgettable at all. Watch how quickly _I’m_ going
to forget them. Do go away, and leave me alone. Don’t touch me. [_A
pause._] Stop. I won’t let you kiss me. Can’t you understand my fiancé
will be arriving any day now?
ALMADY’S VOICE. I’ll kill him.
ILONA’S VOICE. You’ll do nothing of the kind. [ALMADY _sobs loudly_.]
Oh, stop _crying_! The idea--a grown-up man, the father of a family,
with four children.
ALMADY’S VOICE. But I love you so, Ilona. And you throw me over for
another man. Don’t you love me--still--just a little?
ILONA’S VOICE. You’re nothing but a great big baby. Cheer up, do.
That’s better. All right, then, you _may_ kiss me. [_A pause while they
kiss._] What are you doing? Don’t take off your coat.
ALMADY’S VOICE. I must. I want to say goodbye.
ILONA’S VOICE. Well, you don’t need to say it in your shirt-sleeves.
[_Pause._] _Now_ run away and let me get some sleep. I’m worn out.
ALMADY’S VOICE. I’m only waiting till you’re in bed. Is there anything
to drink here?
ILONA’S VOICE. You’ll find it in the ante-room. Take the whole bottle
if you want to--but _go_. [_Pause. Shouting._] Look on the sideboard.
And stay where you are till I’ve got my nightie on. Don’t come _in_
and don’t _look_. [_There is a silence during which the door right is
opened and_ TURAI, ADAM, _and_ MANSKY _tiptoe in like three mischievous
boys. They speak in whispers as they cross to the door to_ ILONA’S
_bedroom_.]
TURAI. Hush! She’s gone to bed.
ADAM. Do you think she’s asleep already?
TURAI. I doubt it. Come on. Faces to the wall as close as you can get.
[_They group themselves in a row as near the wall as the furniture will
permit._]
TURAI. [_Whispers._] Ready? Now ... Ilona, Ilona, Ilona ... take the
time from me. [_Raises his hand like a conductor; at the same moment_
ALMADY’S _voice is heard_.]
ALMADY’S VOICE. I worship you--I adore you. [_The three are riveted
where they stand, transfixed with amazement._]
ILONA’S VOICE. Are you starting all over again?
ALMADY’S VOICE. Yes, I am. All over again. I love you as the church
steeple loves the cloud that settles above it and floats away with the
first passing breeze. I can’t go on living without you. Not a week, not
a day, not an hour. [_The three men turn simultaneously._]
ILONA’S VOICE. [_contemptuously._] Just words.
ALMADY’S VOICE. It’s the truth. I’m crazy about you. And you--you’ve
used me up and squeezed me like a lemon, and now you want to throw me
away.
ILONA’S VOICE. I don’t want to throw you away, silly. Where’s the sense
in raving like this? Oh, come on, then. Come here and let me kiss your
beautiful classic brow.
ADAM. She said--did you hear what she said?
ALMADY’S VOICE. That’s not a kiss--that’s a tip--Nothing but a paltry
tip.
MANSKY. [_Sinks into chair._]
ILONA’S VOICE. Don’t shout like that.
ALMADY’S VOICE. I will shout. I’m a squeezed lemon. That’s what I
am--[_Sobs._] A lemon! The whole world shall know that I’m a lemon.
ILONA’S VOICE. Get off your knees. And, oh, please, do stop crying. I
can’t bear it. You know how fond I am of you. [TURAI _and_ MANSKY _clap
their hands to their heads_. ADAM _collapses on the piano stool_.]
ALMADY’S VOICE. Those nights of love--those flaming wonderful nights!
Have you forgotten them so completely?
ADAM. [_Looking up._] That’s Almady.
MANSKY. You can’t be sure.
TURAI. [_Turns to_ MANSKY.] Don’t be an ass. Don’t try to deceive a
musician about a voice! There’s no use talking--the thing’s a tragedy
and we’ve got to face it.
MANSKY. Friday!
ILONA’S VOICE. Stop! Control yourself.
ALMADY’S VOICE. You ask me to control myself--when I look at _that_--at
that perfect shape. The rose flush of that skin.
ILONA’S VOICE. Hands off!
ALMADY’S VOICE. My God! How round it is! How smooth, how velvety--and
how fragrant. [_A pause._]
ILONA’S VOICE. Don’t bite!
ALMADY’S VOICE. I must--I am _so hungry_....
TURAI. [_To_ ADAM _and patting him on the shoulder_.] I think you had
better go, old man. Go and turn in in our room.
ADAM. [_Bitterly._] And I thought she was a Madonna. Holding her in his
arms--stroking--[_rising in sudden fury and rushing to the door_.] God,
I could kill him!
TURAI. [_Restraining him._] Steady, old man, steady. [ADAM _covers his
ears with his hands_.]
ALMADY’S VOICE. Ah, well! I see I am nothing to you any more.
ILONA’S VOICE. Oh, for goodness sake. I swear that no man has ever
meant so much to me as you. From the top of your head to the soles of
your feet you are a _man_! Who should know that better than I?
TURAI. Come, come, my boy--let’s get out of this.
MANSKY. [_Goes to_ ADAM.] Come on, old chap. You’re going to sleep in
our room. [TURAI _and_ MANSKY _lead him to stairway_.]
ADAM. Sleep! [_He goes out at right._ TURAI _and_ MANSKY _are on the
landing_.]
ILONA’S VOICE. Oh! Don’t look so pathetic.... Well, come here--kiss me.
MANSKY. I was right-- We ought to have sent a telegram. [_He goes out
at right._ TURAI _comes down to table, lights a cigarette and sits on
edge of table_.]
ALMADY’S VOICE. I want you to remember that kiss forever.
ILONA’S VOICE. It was your old kiss. Sweet and burning--like hot punch.
But do be a dear and go away now. It was mad of you to come here. If
my fiancé ever hears of this I’ll kill myself. Oh, damn my idiotic
sentimentality for getting me into this mess. You must leave here
to-morrow on the first train. He’ll be here any day now. [TURAI _shifts
uneasily_.] Every day I’ve been expecting a telegram. [TURAI _groans_.]
Get out, I tell you, get out!
ALMADY’S VOICE. If you insist, dear heart, so be it! Your word is law.
I am going to bed now. Farewell, dear heart. But grant me one last kiss.
TURAI. [_To himself._] Damn all fools who don’t know when they’ve had
enough.
ILONA’S VOICE. Go _now_--
ALMADY’S VOICE. So be it. Good-night, dear heart.
ILONA’S VOICE. Good-night, you baby. [_Silence. A door is heard
closing._]
TURAI. [_To himself._] _At last!_ Good-night, dear heart! [_After a
moment he sits down in armchair. Pause._ MANSKY _re-enters_.]
MANSKY. [_With a gesture of inquiry toward_ ILONA’S _room_.] This
silence--what does it mean?
TURAI. This silence is a highly moral silence. The baritone hero has
departed. And the fair heroine has deposited herself in bed.
MANSKY. After depositing _us_ in the worst mess in my whole experience.
Wasn’t it awful?
TURAI. Awful!
MANSKY. Smooth, round, fragrant! And he wanted to bi-- oh, my God! [_He
sits._]
TURAI. Ten minutes ago we were three happy men. That poor boy! How is
he?
MANSKY. I got him to bed. Poor little Pyramus. A jolly wall, that,
isn’t it? Church Steeple! Lemon! The damned fool.
TURAI. I can’t look him in the face. That little old grandmother of
his--she’d let me have it with her broomstick if she were here.
MANSKY. It’s certainly the most appalling mess. You got it through your
pull with the butler! Marvelous luck! Pyramus and Thisbe! “Oh sweet
wall!” Well, I hope you’re satisfied!
TURAI. Oh, go to the devil.
MANSKY. I don’t want to be unkind, but whichever way you look at it
you’re to blame for this catastrophe. Why the deuce was it necessary to
put the boy next door to his lady-love? Friendship _is_ friendship,
but there are limits.
TURAI. I was merely trying to be sympathetic and helpful. I meant well.
MANSKY. Never mean “well.” It’s fatal. See what’s happened as a result.
Bride gone--love gone--waltz gone--operetta gone. All a total loss. On
the other hand, the dog didn’t die and the coffee _was good_. Well,
Friday has certainly made a nice clean, efficient job of it _this_ time!
TURAI. I’m only thinking about that boy.
MANSKY. And I’m also thinking about our operetta. The lady kissed the
lemon’s classic brow. After this, can you see her playing the part?
TURAI. Do stop jabbering about that side of it. I’m only interested in
the boy. Did he say anything?
MANSKY. Plenty. I wish I hadn’t heard it.
TURAI. What _did_ he say?
MANSKY. One of his remarks was “I’ll tear up the score and kill Ilona.”
The round and fragrant one. And the problem that presents itself to me
is this: if he tears up his music and kills the prima donna, what sort
of a _first night_ shall we have?
TURAI. [_Thinks a moment, then with emphasis._] We’ll have a first
night. I promise you that.
MANSKY. What, after all this?
TURAI. Yes, after all _this_. Don’t worry, we’ll have a first night all
right.
MANSKY. With that music?
TURAI. With that music and that composer and that prima donna. And I’ll
tell you some other things. We’ll have a hit, a wedding, and a happy
ending.
MANSKY. Well, of all the optimists! It’s just a suggestion, but
wouldn’t it be a good idea if you were to mention just what you propose
to _do_. This is where Sandor Turai, famous for his happy endings, had
better try to surpass himself. [_Turns toward stairs._] Get busy, my
play-writing genius, and let’s see how good you are.
TURAI. One can but do one’s best. [MANSKY _goes out at right. A
clock in the hall is heard to strike four._ TURAI _takes a blank
sheet of music from the piano. He paces up and down in deep thought,
occasionally glancing toward_ ILONA’S _room. He jots down a few words._
MANSKY _re-enters_.] Well, how is he?
MANSKY. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. That’s bad. He didn’t
even answer my question.
TURAI. What did you ask him?
MANSKY. I said: [_Plaintively._] “Feeling better now?”
TURAI. What did you expect him to answer to a damn fool question like
that?
MANSKY. Well, have _you_ solved the problem?
TURAI. If I have I’m not going to tell you. You’ve ruined enough good
ideas of mine already with your collaboration. This time I mean to work
alone. Without a partner. [_Goes to table. Sits on bench._] All I ask
of you is a little information. There are a few _facts_ I require.
MANSKY. [_Huffily._] That’s all I’m good for, is it?
TURAI. That’s all. Where are Almady’s wife and family now?
MANSKY. At Lake Balaton, I believe.
TURAI. Lake Balaton. Address?
MANSKY. Verona Cottage.
TURAI. [_Putting it down._] Verona Cottage. What’s Ilona’s mother’s
name?
MANSKY. Adele,--Alma, something.
TURAI. Well, it begins with an A?
MANSKY. Yes, I know that.
TURAI. Thank God! Mrs. A. Szabo. What’s her address?
MANSKY. 70 Elizabeth Avenue, Fured.
TURAI. Would she be there now?
MANSKY. [_Petulantly._] Oh God! How should I know? But,
listen--[_Points to_ ILONA’S _room_.] My own humble suggestion would be
to wake her up now and have a little chat.
TURAI. What about?
MANSKY. [_Starting across._] I’ll rout her out. [_Goes left._]
TURAI. [_Excitedly._] For heaven’s sake, no! The only thing a woman can
do is deny everything. What could she deny? Could she unsay those words
of hers? Gloss over that mad sensual outburst? Explain her half-hearted
resistance? Of course, she might point out that it was nice of her to
forbid the man to bite. No, I can’t quite see where denials come in.
MANSKY. Women have lots of other tricks. Falling on their
knees--fainting--bursting into tears--laughing hysterically--or just
going _rigid_ all over.
TURAI. That might be good enough for you or me. When you’re a
middle-aged dramatist, you welcome a chance to do the noble, forgiving
business. It’s good theatre. But that boy in there is twenty-five and
he isn’t a dramatist. So think again.
MANSKY. [_Collapsing hopelessly in armchair._] Then there’s no solution
to the problem.
TURAI. There’s a solution to everything--one has only to find it.
MANSKY. By Jove! Rather a good line, that.
TURAI. Not bad. Jot it down. [MANSKY _does so, on his cuff_.] And now
the most important thing is--be very tactful and understanding with the
boy. Sit by his bed till he falls asleep.
MANSKY. He won’t sleep to-night.
TURAI. Give him something to make him ... he must have sleep.
To-morrow’s going to be a big day. One false move and he will be the
center of a record scandal. It would break his heart. And on his peace
of mind depends....
MANSKY. Our success. Capacity business. A year’s run.
TURAI. Beastly words.
MANSKY. And yet only yesterday--how beautiful they sounded!
TURAI. Go away. I’ll take on this job. [_Rises._] Leave everything to
me, and base your confidence on past experience. Which shows the moment
_you_ stop trying to help me, I can solve anything.
MANSKY. [_Bows stiffly and turns toward stairs._] Thank you, my dear
fellow.
TURAI. Not at all.
MANSKY. Good-night.
TURAI. Good-night. See you to-morrow. Till then, don’t leave him for
an instant. That’s official. I’ve enjoyed our little talk so much.
Good-night.
MANSKY. Good-night. [_Goes out at right._ TURAI _goes to table, sits
and jots down some more notes. There is a knock at door left to hall._]
TURAI. Come in. [DWORNITSCHEK _enters with cooler and champagne, four
glasses on a tray_.]
DWORNITSCHEK. The champagne, sir. Mumm’s Cordon Rouge--just as you
ordered.
TURAI. [_Motioning it away._] ’M yes. But that was a long time ago. A
very long time ago. Since then the world has changed quite a good deal.
However, the motto of the Turais is “Never refuse champagne,” so put
it down. [DWORNITSCHEK _places tray on the table and the cooler on the
floor_.]
DWORNITSCHEK. Will four glasses be sufficient, sir?
TURAI. Three more than sufficient. [DWORNITSCHEK _leaves one glass on
the tray before_ TURAI, _he places the other three on the table. There
is a pause._ TURAI _stares at him_.]
DWORNITSCHEK. Something in the expression of your eye, sir, tells me
that you are trying to remember my name.
TURAI. Quite right. What is it?
DWORNITSCHEK. Dwornitschek, sir.
TURAI. Still Dwornitschek? Well, well! All right, Dwornitschek, you can
go to bed.
DWORNITSCHEK. At what hour would you desire breakfast, sir?
TURAI. What time is it now?--
DWORNITSCHEK. Quarter past four, sir.--
TURAI. Then let us say at seven--or perhaps six.
DWORNITSCHEK. Anything special that you fancy, sir?
TURAI. [_In offhand way._] No. Just ham, eggs, cold chicken, smoked
salmon, cold beef, bacon, butter, milk, honey, jam, rolls and tea.
DWORNITSCHEK. With lemon?
TURAI. [_Shouts with revulsion._] No! [_Quietly._] No--with rum.
DWORNITSCHEK. [_Starts to go._] Very good, sir. At six precisely.
TURAI. Tell me, Dwornitschek, when do you sleep?
DWORNITSCHEK. In the winter, sir.
TURAI. What are you waiting for?
DWORNITSCHEK. I was wondering if there were any more questions you
desired to ask me, sir.
TURAI. No, thank you.
DWORNITSCHEK. Thank _you_, sir.
TURAI. No, no, thank YOU.
DWORNITSCHEK. I love being asked questions, sir. It shows that
gentlemen take an interest.
TURAI. You mean in Dwornitschek, the man? As opposed to Dwornitschek,
the servant?
DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir. You are sure you have nothing more to ask, sir?
It would be a treat for me.
TURAI. Nothing more, thanks. My stock of knowledge for to-day is
complete. I wish it weren’t.
DWORNITSCHEK. Then I will bid you good-night, sir. [_Starts to go._]
TURAI. Good-night.... One moment! There is one other thing. Where is
the writing paper? And I’d like some telegraph blanks too. And ink, and
also a pen.
DWORNITSCHEK. The writing materials are in the library, sir, but I can
bring them to you here. [_Starts to go._]
TURAI. Don’t bother. I’ll do my writing in the library. It’s a good
idea. No chance of being interrupted. [_Rises and goes up the first
step._]
DWORNITSCHEK. I’ll go and turn on the lights, sir.
TURAI. One moment. [_Points to champagne._] That--can come too.
DWORNITSCHEK. Very good, sir. [_Takes cooler and one glass._]
TURAI. [_Pausing._] After you.
DWORNITSCHEK. Oh no, sir.
TURAI. My dear Dwornitschek, I insist. You’re sure that really _is_
your name?
DWORNITSCHEK. Oh yes, sir.
TURAI. I only wondered. Thank you.
DWORNITSCHEK. Thank _you_, sir.
TURAI. No, no. Thank YOU. [DWORNITSCHEK _goes out_. TURAI _puffs his
cigarette, gazes for a moment at the wall of_ ILONA’S _room, sighs and
then goes out at left as the curtain falls_.]
ACT TWO
_As the curtain rises a clock in the hall is heard to strike six.
Golden sunlight pours in the windows. The Mediterranean is as blue
as tradition has painted it._ SANDOR TURAI, _now jauntily attired
in white flannels is seated in the armchair at the center, with the
loose leaves of a manuscript before him. As the clock stops striking,
the door at left to the hall is opened by_ DWORNITSCHEK, _who comes
down to_ TURAI, _bringing a newspaper on a salver_. DWORNITSCHEK _is
followed by two lackeys in livery, each carrying an enormous silver
tray piled high with_ TURAI’S _breakfast. During the dialogue that
follows, the lackeys place the breakfast upon the long table at the
right. This done, one of them stands at attention while the other goes
up to the window, opens it, steps out on the balcony and lowers an
awning which shuts off some of the now too brilliant sunlight._
DWORNITSCHEK. Good morning, sir.
TURAI. Good morning. What’s this?
DWORNITSCHEK. Morning paper, sir.
TURAI. You’ve read it, of course?
DWORNITSCHEK. Oh yes, sir.
TURAI. Anything about me in it?
DWORNITSCHEK. No, sir.
TURAI. Then take it away.
[DWORNITSCHEK _gives salver with the newspaper to one of the lackeys
and motions both off_.]
DWORNITSCHEK. Let me see, sir, I _think_ it was ham, eggs, cold
chicken, smoked salmon, cold beef, bacon, butter, milk, honey, jam and
rolls that you ordered, was it not?
TURAI. Quite right.
DWORNITSCHEK. And tea with lemon.
TURAI. [_With revulsion._] Not lemon!
DWORNITSCHEK. There’s rum, sir--or cognac, if you prefer.
TURAI. Pardon my emotion--I loathe lemons.
DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir. Many people do. I had an aunt--
TURAI. Suppose we don’t talk about your aunt just for the moment.
DWORNITSCHEK. Very good, sir.
TURAI. Later on, perhaps.
DWORNITSCHEK. At any time that suits _you_, sir.
TURAI. You must make allowances for the artistic temperament. When I
have been sitting up all night writing, I somehow don’t feel in the
vein for discussing other people’s aunts. You understand, don’t you?
DWORNITSCHEK. I quite understand, sir.
[TURAI _has risen and crossed to the table, upon which he has put the
manuscript. He now goes round to the right side where his place is
set, he examines the breakfast with evident satisfaction. He lifts
the covers from several silver dishes, looks at their contents with
pleasure, and smiles at_ DWORNITSCHEK _with approval_.]
TURAI. You’re really a wonderful fellow. How on earth did you manage
not to forget anything?
DWORNITSCHEK. It was a labour of love, sir. My heart is in that
breakfast.
TURAI. [_Sitting down._] Your heart, _too_? [_After he has taken a sip
of tea._] Ah! that puts new life into a man.
DWORNITSCHEK. You must have had very little sleep, sir.
TURAI. Not much.
DWORNITSCHEK. I hadn’t any.
TURAI. Yes, I remember you told me you were essentially a hibernating
animal.
DWORNITSCHEK. Nobody else is stirring as yet. This is the time when I
sometimes manage to lie down myself for a few moments.
TURAI. Then you will get some sleep, after all?
DWORNITSCHEK. Just forty winks, sir. That’s the advantage of being
by the sea. Gentlemen stay in bed till noon. Very different from the
mountains.
TURAI. [_Who throughout this dialogue is eating and drinking with
relish and satisfaction._] They get up early in the mountains, eh?
DWORNITSCHEK. At about five or four-thirty. They like to go climbing.
But there’s always a bright side, sir; they go to bed at nine.
TURAI. You know, you’re broadening my mind tremendously. Every time I
see you, I learn something new.
DWORNITSCHEK. If it’s not a liberty, sir, I should like to say
something.
TURAI. I’ll bet it’s something good. Go on.
DWORNITSCHEK. You ought to take more care of your health, sir. You
don’t get enough sleep.
TURAI. _I_ don’t?!
DWORNITSCHEK. And you smoke too much, sir. I found at least fifty
cigarette-butts in the ashtray in the library.
TURAI. Wrong. Thirty-seven.
DWORNITSCHEK. Too many, sir.
TURAI. What’s your daily allowance?
DWORNITSCHEK. Fifteen, sir.
TURAI. You’ll live to be a hundred.
DWORNITSCHEK. Thank you--is that a medical opinion, sir?
TURAI. No--just a hope. This weary world needs men like you.
DWORNITSCHEK. No, no, sir. Like _you_.
TURAI. Well, shall we say like both of us?
DWORNITSCHEK. Would it be a liberty, sir, if I expressed the opinion
that you have a heart of gold?
TURAI. Not at all. Thank you very much.
DWORNITSCHEK. Thank _you_, sir.
TURAI. No, no. Thank YOU.
DWORNITSCHEK. It’s the way you take an interest that touches a man,
sir. I wish there was something I could do for _you_.
TURAI. At the moment, I think the best thing you can do for me is to
leave me alone. And if anyone asks for me, tell them I’m sleeping and
must not be disturbed. Understand?
DWORNITSCHEK. Oh, yes, indeed, sir.
[DWORNITSCHEK _starts to exit_. TURAI _stops him_. TURAI _pantomimes_
“Wait a minute. I must remember your name.” _He registers despair._
DWORNITSCHEK _smiles indulgently and whispers_ “Dwornitschek.”]
TURAI. Thank you.
DWORNITSCHEK. Thank _you_, sir.
[_He goes out at the left to hall._]
[TURAI _rises, listens at staircase, then goes to the telephone and
takes up the receiver_.]
TURAI. Hello. Will you give me Miss Ilona Szabo’s room?
[_He waits. Telephone bell rings loudly in the room at the left. After
a pause it rings again._]
ILONA’S VOICE. [_Sleepily._] YES???
TURAI. [_Speaks into telephone, very mildly._] Hello.
ILONA’S VOICE. HELLO!!!
TURAI. [_Softly._] Hello.
ILONA’S VOICE. WHO’S THAT?
TURAI. The unfeeling brute who has aroused you from your slumber is
known to the police as Sandor Turai.
ILONA’S VOICE. [_Changing in a flash, delighted._] Sandor! Dear old
Sandor!
TURAI. Well, and how’s the prima donna?
ILONA’S VOICE. Where are you speaking from?
TURAI. Next door.
ILONA’S VOICE. What!
TURAI. I thought you’d be surprised. I’m in the next room.
ILONA’S VOICE. How on earth?...
TURAI. My dear little Ilona, let’s postpone the explanations. I want to
see you at once--immediately.
ILONA’S VOICE. [_Anxiously._] You’re frightening me. What is it?
TURAI. [_Deliberately puts down the receiver and speaks toward the
wall._] Don’t get alarmed. [_Lights cigarette at piano._] Come in here
at once. This minute.
ILONA’S VOICE. This minute?
TURAI. This very minute. [_Taps door at left._] Open this door. Put
something on.
ILONA’S VOICE. What?
TURAI. Anything you have.
ILONA’S VOICE. Do what? I can’t hear. There must be something wrong
with the telephone.
TURAI. [_Goes to the wall._] Put something on and come in here at once.
Can you hear better now?
ILONA’S VOICE. Yes, I can hear beautifully now.
TURAI. Good.
ILONA’S VOICE. I’ll be right in. [TURAI _goes back to the telephone
and hangs up the receiver. There is a short pause. Then the door at
left to bedroom is thrown open and_ ILONA SZABO _enters. She is an
extraordinarily beautiful, blonde young woman. Having just got out of
bed and slipped a flimsy alluring negligee over her nightie, she is
somewhat dishevelled. Her golden hair is awry. Moreover she is, at the
moment, more than anxious, her apprehension and fright are close to
panic._] Sandor--what is it? I feel something terrible has happened.
What’s the matter? When did you get here?
TURAI. [_Calmly._] Sit down, my dear. You and I have got to do some
quick talking.
ILONA. But what’s _happened_? For heaven’s sake, tell me!
TURAI. Sit down.
ILONA. Why?
TURAI. Because if you don’t sit down now, you’ll sit down later on when
you hear what I’ve got to say--and you’ll sit down _hard_. Better do it
gracefully while you can.
[_He pushes her gently into the armchair at center._]
ILONA. I don’t understand.
TURAI. You will. My dear little Ilona, in spite of the fact that you
are engaged to my young friend Adam, you are still carrying on an
affair with Mr. Almady.
ILONA. [_With indignation._] It’s an outrageous lie.
TURAI. Good! I thought you were going to say it was none of my business.
ILONA. I couldn’t say that, because you’re Albert’s guardian, guide,
philosopher and friend and God knows what else. And you’re a friend of
_mine_ and write plays for me. So I simply say that it’s a lie.
TURAI. I’m glad you do, because it’s an observation which I can answer.
I’ve been in this room since last night and the walls in this new wing
are as thin as paper.
ILONA. [_Looks at walls. As the truth dawns upon her she is
horrified._] Good God!
TURAI. Lemon. [ILONA _hides her face_.] Lemon.... Church steeple. Well,
dear Ilona. Suppose we talk this over? Something’s got to be done--and
done quickly.
ILONA. If you heard, you heard what _I_ said too.
TURAI. Every word.
ILONA. Then you know that I told him to get out--and he’s _getting_ out
to-day. At twelve o’clock. So, if you don’t say anything--and of course
you won’t....
TURAI. Not quite so fast, please. If the thing were as simple as that,
you would never have known from me that I had overheard you. I regret
to say matters are much more unpleasant.
ILONA. [_Sinking back in chair._] My God! You don’t mean?...
TURAI. I see you’ve guessed.
ILONA. Did--did--I can’t say it.
TURAI. I will say it for you. Yes, the boy _did_ hear it, too.
ILONA. [_Looks at_ TURAI.] God!... He’s _here_ then?
TURAI. He is here.
ILONA. Where?
TURAI. Sh! He’s up in Mansky’s room--asleep. And last night he was in
this room--awake.
ILONA. [_Rises, goes toward her room._] I’ll take veronal, all there is
in my bottle.
TURAI. That’s not enough.
ILONA. [_Turns._] Ten ounces.
TURAI. I was not referring to the veronal. I mean suicide is no
solution.
ILONA. There isn’t any solution that I could survive. [_Dramatically._]
There are only two things I can possibly do--kill myself or deny the
whole story.
TURAI. Deny the whole story? Do you suppose if it were just a question
of telling lies, I would have troubled you? I’d have told them myself
long ago.
ILONA. Then we come back to the veronal.
TURAI. Exactly. We come back to the veronal--and find it safely tucked
away in its bottle.
ILONA. Well, what _do_ you suggest?
TURAI. I have my plan. And all I ask of you is not to hinder it.
ILONA. [_Almost crying._] You know I worship Albert. If anybody knows
that, you do. I’ve been a different woman since I met him. He looks
on me as a saint. [TURAI _gives her a quick ironic glance_.] And he’s
right. I _have_ turned into a saint since I began to love him. It was
the only thing I wanted to do in life--to keep straight for his sake. I
was so happy. [_She sinks into armchair crying._] I love him so.
TURAI. And yet you can’t be true to him.
ILONA. [_Indignantly._] You’ve no right to say that. It was nothing
but my damned sentimentality. You know very well that affair with that
beast Almady didn’t last a couple of months. First he gave me breathing
lessons and taught me how to throw my voice--
TURAI. [_With a significant glance._] Yes, he taught you that, all
right.
ILONA. I’m just a victim of my kind heart. I thought I was rid of him,
but he got himself invited here. And he’s always bursting into tears.
A woman hates to see a man cry. He stuck to me like a leech. [_Rises
and stalks about hysterically._] But why on earth would I want to start
in with him again? I give you my word, Sandor, that last night was
simply--like the last dying vibrations of a high note.
TURAI. You’d have done better to stop vibrating a little earlier.
Still, there it is. What we’ve got to do now is--get you out of the
mess.
ILONA. [_Runs across to_ TURAI _and throws herself on her knees,
clasping him beseechingly_.] Sandor! Sandor darling! Do you really
think you _can_?
TURAI. Yes, I can. But don’t think I’m doing it for your sake, my dear;
not for the sake of your beautiful eyes. You deserve to be drawn and
quartered. I’m doing it for that poor decent boy who still retains a
few ideals in this unpleasant world. Yes, my dear Ilona, I think I must
ask you to be a little ashamed of yourself.
ILONA. [_Bitterly._] Don’t worry. [_Rises._] I am. What can I do?
TURAI. [_Goes to telephone._] I am just going to tell you. And you
won’t enjoy it. Still, good medicine’s rarely pleasant. [_Picks up
receiver._] Hello. [_To_ ILONA.] What’s the number of Almady’s room?
ILONA. [_Apprehensively._] What do you want with him?
TURAI. [_Into the telephone._] Give me Mr. Almady’s room, please.
[_Pause._] Never mind about all that, my good man. I don’t care what
instructions he left--call him. And go on ringing till he answers. It’s
a matter of life and death.
ILONA. What are you doing?
TURAI. [_In telephone._] Mr. Almady? Yes, yes, I know you gave
instructions.... Will you please be quiet for a moment?... This is
Sandor Turai speaking. Here in the new wing.... Last night, by car....
Good morning--you were awake already! Capital! Would you mind coming
here at once. Room number four.... Yes, I mean NOW, right away.... Yes,
matter of life and death was what I said, but I made a slight error. I
should have said a matter of death--Yes, yes, this very minute--right.
[_He hangs up the receiver._ ILONA _starts to go_.] Where are you off
to?
ILONA. If Almady is coming here?...
TURAI. You will kindly stay just where you were.
ILONA. [_Looking toward_ ALBERT’S _bedroom at right, crying_.] He
looked on me as a saint. He thought I was everything that was fine and
pure. He called me his Madonna.
TURAI. You should have thought of that a long time ago.
ILONA. Tell me--what did Albert say?
TURAI. I wouldn’t ask that if I were you.
ILONA. God! What was the plan you said you had?... Can’t you speak?
TURAI. Patience.
ILONA. It’s too cruel.... Just because I hate hurting people’s
feelings.... [_She breaks off as a knock sounds on the door left to
hall._]
TURAI. Come in.
[ALMADY, _who enters is also in a state of nervous apprehension.
He is attired in elaborate, not to say loud, house pajamas. A tall
and but recently handsome man, now well into middle age._ ALMADY
_is first, last and always the actor. He dramatizes every moment of
his existence. He does not walk, he struts; he does not talk, he
declaims._]
ALMADY. Good morning. [_Sees_ ILONA, _surprised_.] Hullo. _You_ here?
TURAI. Yes, she’s here.
ALMADY. But what’s the matter? Has something happened?
ILONA. Oh, do sit down.
TURAI. [_Grimly._] He’ll sit down quite soon enough. I’m not afraid of
_his_ not sitting down.
ALMADY. [_To_ TURAI.] You’ll forgive me if I seem nervous....
TURAI. Glass of brandy?
ALMADY. Thank you. [_Deliberately._] _Never_ in the morning.
TURAI. Mr. Almady, you are a married man and the father of a family.
And you are forcing your attentions on another man’s fiancée.
ALMADY. [_Indignantly._] It’s an outrageous lie.
TURAI. Good. I thought you were going to say it was none of my
business. You would have been quite right. But a lie--no, I’m afraid
that won’t do.
ALMADY. [_Aggressively._] Mr. Turai, I would have you know--
TURAI. Shut up!
ALMADY. [_Outraged._] “Shut up!”
TURAI. [_Significantly._] Lemon! [ALMADY _sits down abruptly_.] I told
you he’d sit down. [ALMADY _looks at the left wall_.] Yes, quite
right. It’s as thin as paper.
ALMADY. [_Rises._] Now come, Mr. Turai, between two gentlemen....
TURAI. I beg your pardon?
ALMADY. As one gentleman to another, I ask your discretion....
TURAI. Sit down.
ALMADY. [_Sitting down anxiously._] Why? Is there something else coming?
TURAI. [_Crosses to right and listens at staircase._] Yes, there is
something else coming. Are you sitting down?
ALMADY. Yes.
TURAI. Then listen. I wasn’t the only one who heard everything. Her
fiancé was in this room with me at the time, and his hearing is
excellent.
ALMADY. [_Strangling._] Brandy!
TURAI. [_Pouring it out._] In the morning? [_Gives_ ALMADY _the
brandy_.]
ALMADY. I always take it in the morning. [_He gulps it down._]
ILONA. Well, what are you going to do now, you miserable idiot, you?
You see what you’ve done. You’ve driven me to suicide. Oh God! I shall
die. I shall die!
ALMADY. [_Rising melodramatically._] I’ll die with you!
ILONA. I don’t want you! I’m going to die alone.
ALMADY. [_Pompously._] I am ready to give him satisfaction.
TURAI. That’s the last straw. [_As_ ALMADY _starts to speak_.] I’ll
tell you what you are going to do. You are going to do just as I order.
ALMADY. [_Starting up._] Order?
TURAI. Sit down.
[ALMADY _sits down_.]
ILONA. Yes--order. [_To_ TURAI--_rapidly_.] Tell us, please. Never mind
how much he rants.
ALMADY. [_Indignantly._] Rants! You dare to criticise my diction?
TURAI. Oh! Damn your diction! Just thank your stars that I’m going
to get you out of this. A married man! Father of a family. With four
children at home--four little lemons! [ALMADY _rises_.] One word from
you, and this telegram, all ready and written, goes off to your wife.
[ALMADY _looks again at wall and groans_.]
ILONA. Look at him. Don’t look at the wall. Last night was the time to
have done that.
TURAI. In that room next door--last night--something occurred.
ILONA. [_Ashamed._] Yes, yes, _please_. We know what occurred.
TURAI. That is just what you don’t know. You are now going to hear.
What occurred was the rehearsal of a play. Do you grasp my meaning?
ILONA. In the middle of the night?
TURAI. In the middle of the night.
ALMADY. How do you mean--the rehearsal of a play?
TURAI. Your very loud remarks, so loud that they actually penetrated
the wall--were dialogue from a play. Now, do you understand?
ILONA. I do. [_To_ ALMADY.] Don’t you--idiot? [_Rises._] It’s the most
marvelous, wonderful idea, you old darling....
[_She is just about to embrace_ TURAI, _when she stops in
consternation_.]
TURAI. What’s the matter?
ILONA. It’s no good. He’d never believe it.
TURAI. Why wouldn’t he believe it?
ILONA. Where on earth is there a play with lines in it like those?
TURAI. Where? [_Picking up pile of papers from the table._] Here.
ILONA. What do you mean?
TURAI. [_Pointing._] Here you are. Here’s the play. This is it.
ILONA. Who wrote it?
TURAI. I did. Don’t stare at me, my dear child, with those starry eyes
of blue. [_Sits on bench._] Rather ask when I wrote it.
ILONA. When could you have written it?
TURAI. This morning--between four and six. After all, one is either a
playwright or one isn’t. Half of it I heard through the wall; the other
half I wrote to fit. In this life, everyone has to fight with his own
weapons. My weapon is the pen! And, on this occasion I hope it will
prove considerably mightier than the sword. I am feeling this morning
like an acrobat, who for once has the chance to use his skill to save
a life. I don’t suppose any play has ever yet been written with such
purely altruistic motives. Well, there you are. There’s the play. Read
it--learn it and play it.
[_He gives her the manuscript._]
ILONA. _Play_ it?
TURAI. Naturally you must play it. How else can you make him believe
without a shadow of doubt that what you were saying last night was
just dialogue? Off you go. Dress rehearsal early this evening. Opening
to-night.
ALMADY. To-night? But where?
TURAI. At the concert, of course. After dinner in the ballroom. [_To_
ILONA.] You’re down on the programme already for something or other.
ILONA. A couple of songs. [_Contemptuously._] He’s to recite some poems.
TURAI. Then there’ll be a slight change in the programme. He’ll act
with you instead--a one-act play.
ILONA. [_Looking at script._] But how on earth can I learn all this by
to-night?
[ALMADY _goes to window_.]
TURAI. Well, really! Last night you knew it well enough. [ALMADY _sighs
deeply_.] What’s the matter with you?
ALMADY. [_Comes down._] Mr. Turai, that was a sigh of relief. Do you
_know_ my wife?
TURAI. I do. Didn’t I tell you that it was a matter of death?
ALMADY. How can I ever thank you?
[_He holds out his hand._ TURAI _ignores it_.]
TURAI. Don’t bother to try. If you think I’m doing this for your sake,
my good man, you’re greatly mistaken. Unfortunately, my life-saving
apparatus is so constructed that you automatically have to be rescued,
too.
ILONA. Oh, but listen....
TURAI. Now what is it?
ILONA. What earthly reason could we have had for rehearsing at three in
the morning?
TURAI. That’s what I ask myself, but I answer myself--quite simple. You
had to play the thing to-night. You’d lost a lot of time on a picnic.
Every moment was precious. You were so conscientious that when you came
home you insisted on rehearsing even though it was three o’clock in the
morning.
ILONA. Well, we’d better go and start studying at once. I’m a very slow
study.
TURAI. One minute. Don’t get excited. Who’s supposed to be running this
concert?
ILONA. The Count’s secretary, Mr. Mell.
TURAI. We must notify him of this change in the programme. [_Goes to
telephone._] Hello.... Give me Mr. Mell’s room, please.
ILONA. But he’ll be asleep.
TURAI. Oh no, my dear. Not after this telephone bell has rung once or
twice. [_He hands_ ILONA _the receiver_.] There you are--ladies first.
ILONA. [_Taking telephone._] But what am I to say?
TURAI. Keep calm. I’ll prompt you.
ILONA. Hello! Is that Mr. Mell? Yes, it is early, isn’t it?
[_She looks at_ TURAI _for directions_.]
TURAI. Good morning.
ILONA. [_Into the telephone._] Good morning.
TURAI. How did you sleep?
ILONA. [_Her hand over the receiver._] I _can’t_ say that. The poor man
is furious.
TURAI. [_Shrugging._] Use your own judgment, then.
ILONA. [_Into the telephone in her most seductive manner._] Dear Mr.
Mell! [_Coos._] I’m so dreadfully sorry to wake you up at this hour,
but I wanted to tell you that there will be a little change in the
programme to-night. I’m sure the Count will be pleased. I’m sure you
will be pleased. I’m sure the audience will be pleased.
TURAI. Unanimous.
ILONA. [_Into the telephone._] Instead of working alone, I’m going
to appear with Mr. Almady. Yes, Mr. Almady. In an extremely witty,
charming, brilliant little duologue. [TURAI _bows_. ILONA _listens at
the telephone for a moment. Then she turns to_ TURAI _and asks, as if
she were still speaking to_ MELL.] What kind of a play is it?
TURAI. French.
ILONA. [_Into the telephone._] French. [_As before._] Who wrote it?
TURAI. Geraldy.
ILONA. Geraldy, I believe.... [_Pause._] Oh, isn’t that nice!
TURAI. [_Apprehensive._] What’s nice?
ILONA. [_Hand over receiver._] He says he knows every line that Geraldy
ever wrote.
TURAI. Then it’s by Sardou.
ILONA. [_Into the telephone._] No, I’m sorry. I’ve just been looking at
the script again. It’s not by Geraldy; it’s by Sardou.
TURAI. The Great Sardou.
ILONA. [_Into the telephone._] The Great Sardou!... Indeed?
TURAI. How is he up on Sardou?
ILONA. [_Covering receiver._] He says the only thing of Sardou’s he
knows is Hedda Gabbler.
TURAI. [_Delighted._] That’s the man for us!
ILONA. [_Into the telephone._] That’s the man for us.
TURAI. No, no, no! That last remark was supposed to be confidential.