sweet.... Oh, of course--as if we’d dream of having anybody but you as
a prompter!... The title?
TURAI. A tooth for a tooth!
ILONA. [_Into the telephone._] A truth....
TURAI. Tooth, tooth.
ILONA. A tooth for a tooth.... Yes, isn’t it? Quite snappy. [_Coos._]
Good-bye. [_She hangs up receiver and turns to_ TURAI.] Why a _French_
piece?
TURAI. Merely to ensure that nobody will know who wrote it. That’s the
beauty of French literature--there’s such a lot of it. Besides, one
has one’s conscience. I’ve stolen so much from the French in my time
that it’s only fair I should give _them_ something for a change. And
now that everything seems to be working out all right, let me say with
all the emphasis at my disposal--get out. Go and study! [_To_ ALMADY.]
And--so that no one will recognize my handwriting--_you_ have got to
copy out the script.
ALMADY. All of it?
TURAI. From beginning to end.
ALMADY. You think of everything.
TURAI. Unlike a certain Southern fruit.
ILONA. [_Who has been looking through the script._] Oh, but this isn’t
right.
TURAI. What isn’t?
ILONA. This line. You make me say “Your kiss is revolting to me.” What
I really said was....
TURAI. “That was your old kiss. Sweet and burning like hot punch.” I
know. My memory is excellent. But fortunately we got the boy out of the
room before you got that far.
ALMADY. And may I be permitted to inquire _why_ my kiss should be
described as revolting?
TURAI. The line occurs in the second part of the play, where I was
relying on my native inspiration.
ALMADY. You call my kiss revolting? I wish to know why.
TURAI. That is how I _see_ it. I am the author of this play, and that
is my opinion of your kiss.
[ALMADY _goes up stage in a huff_.]
ILONA. I do think you might have made some noise to warn us. Why
couldn’t you have coughed or something?
TURAI. Suppose I had, what should I have been able to do _now_? You
overlook the fact that your very first words, my dear Ilona, left no
room for misunderstanding. If I had stopped you then nothing could have
averted the tragedy.
ALMADY. [_Coming down mollified._] What a brain!
TURAI. You flatter me!
ILONA. No, he doesn’t. He’s right for once. Did this idea come to you
the moment you heard us?
TURAI. No, I got it from you.
ILONA. From us?
TURAI. Yes, stupid of me, I admit. You see, I always assume the best of
my fellowmen. And just for a minute I did think that you really were
acting. Later on, I realized my mistake.
ILONA. You thought we were acting. Why?
TURAI. Because it all sounded so artificial. No ring of conviction. I
refer particularly to the more erotic passages.
ILONA. I don’t wonder. Considering I don’t care one little bit for the
man....
ALMADY. What’s that?
ILONA. You heard.
ALMADY. You don’t love me?
ILONA. No.
ALMADY. [_Furious._] So you were lying.
ILONA. Yes.
ALMADY. Just to get rid of me?
ILONA. [_With loathing, vehemently._] Yes. I hate the sight of you!
ALMADY. [_Bitterly._] Serpent!
ILONA. I’d like to murder you!
ALMADY. [_Bursts into ludicrous sobs._]
ILONA. My God!--this is the limit!
TURAI. If you want to cry all over anyone, cry all over me. I like it.
It’s like a tonic to me.
ALMADY. What made you realize that we were not acting?
TURAI. The disgusting, sloppy way you began carrying on. No author
living would dare put slush like that in the mouth of an actor who was
supposed to be making love.
ALMADY. Sloppy?
TURAI. Beyond words.
ALMADY. [_With indignation._] Allow me to inform you--
TURAI. Shut up!
ALMADY. [_His dignity collapsing._] Oh, very well.
TURAI. My friends may be here any minute now. Please go and study
your parts. [_To_ ILONA, _who has been turning over the leaves of the
script_.] That’s a bit you’ll have to learn particularly well.
ILONA. Which?
TURAI. [_Pointing to manuscript._] These lines here. This loathsome
series of speeches--the ones we overheard last night. [_Points._] From
there to there.
[ALMADY _looks at script_.]
ILONA. [_Reads._] Odd--I hardly remember--
TURAI. I do. Nor is your fiancé likely to have forgotten.
ILONA. [_Reading._] “I worship you. I adore you. I love you as the
church steeple loves the cloud that settles on its summit.” [ALMADY
_turns away, embarrassed_.] Just words!
ALMADY. [_Takes script._] “You have used me up and squeezed me like a
lemon.”
ILONA. [_Takes script._] Yes, now I remember--
ALMADY. It’s all down, word for word.
[TURAI _takes script_.]
TURAI. Yes, the passage is underlined in red ink. Three
pages--here--from page sixteen. It goes on “Come here and let me
kiss that beautiful classic brow”--and then--this is the worst bit,
here--this mad outburst of sensuality--[_Reads rapidly._] “When I look
at _that_--at the perfect shape. The rose flush of that skin--Just to
stroke it!...”
ILONA. Yes, but I....
TURAI. I know, I know. [_Reads._] “Hands off!” you said. But he
couldn’t have obeyed you for he goes on “My God! How round it is! How
smooth! How velvety!” And then I’m afraid he must have got very close
indeed for he adds, “And how fragrant.” That’s right, isn’t it?
ALMADY. Quite right. It _was_ fragrant.
ILONA. But I....
TURAI. No, my dear, you did _not_. There was a complete silence until
you exclaimed, “You mustn’t bite....” [_Both turn away._] Yes, I
should think you _would_ be ashamed of yourselves. [_He gives_ ILONA
_the script_.] All right, then; copy it out and learn it. If you
ever studied parts in your lives, study these. We’ll have the dress
rehearsal at seven-thirty sharp, here in this room. I’ll give you a run
through. And after dinner, first performance. And now--?
ILONA. Out we go, eh?
TURAI. You took the words out of my mouth. And don’t forget, we’ve not
seen each other for three months.
ILONA. All right--three months.
ALMADY. [_Going out._] A colossal brain!
[_They bow._]
TURAI. I thank you.
[ALMADY _and_ ILONA _go into her room_. TURAI _sits down and resumes
his interrupted breakfast. Throughout the following scene he goes on
eating quietly, deliberately, and with a good appetite._]
[MANSKY _enters at right, also in white flannels, but looking more
doleful and dejected than ever_.]
MANSKY. Have you been up long?
TURAI. I couldn’t sleep. [_He goes on eating._] How’s our infant?
MANSKY. Woke up a moment ago. I left him dressing.
TURAI. You had breakfast yet?
MANSKY. Not a mouthful. Couldn’t touch it. _You_ seem to have no
difficulty in putting it away.
TURAI. [_With mock sadness._] One must keep up one’s strength.
MANSKY. I’m amazed, and, if I may say so, a little shocked. Sitting
there gorging as if nothing had happened. Can’t you realize we’re
absolutely ruined? I’m positively ill thinking about it.
TURAI. [_Mysteriously._] Shall I let you into a secret, Mansky?
MANSKY. [_With excited anticipation._] Yes. Tell me.
TURAI. [_With great deliberation._] I am a man who weighs his words. I
do not speak lightly. And I say to you solemnly, my friend, [_dramatic
pause._] that this is the best bit of ham I’ve ever tasted.
MANSKY. [_Furious._] Bah!
[_Crosses left to a mirror._]
TURAI. [_Continuing as before._] Juicy--nutty--positively good.
[_Solicitously._] Did the boy sleep at all?
MANSKY. He dropped off about daylight out of sheer exhaustion. [_Looks
in the glass._] I’m pale.
TURAI. Say anything?
MANSKY. Not a word. Just stared at the ceiling. You know, that’s bad.
TURAI. Ceilings aren’t so bad. Walls are much worse.
MANSKY. What I can’t understand is why a magnificent place like this
should have walls like tissue-paper.
TURAI. Ah! These are deep waters.
MANSKY. [_Irritated._] Do stop eating!
TURAI. But I haven’t finished.
MANSKY. Gobble--gobble--gobble! [_Looks in the glass._] My God! I am
pale!
TURAI. Suits you. Intellectual pallor.
MANSKY. [_Crosses to_ TURAI.] What about that solution you were hinting
at last night?
TURAI. There were several possibilities. I considered them all
thoroughly in the night watches--while you lay snoring in your bed.
Oh yes, I heard you while I was changing my clothes. [_Points to the
table._] Telegrams, letters, all ready. Finally I hit on the best and
simplest plan.
MANSKY. Which is?
TURAI. I’m going to do everything possible to make him break with her.
MANSKY. What for?
TURAI. Because that’s the surest way of bringing them together. If he
casts her off forever--in two weeks he’ll be rushing after her and
falling at her feet. The lady--after a little coaxing--will allow
herself to melt. He will coax a little more. She will melt a little
more. Finally she will melt altogether--and the curtain will fall on
the lovers’ slow embrace.
MANSKY. [_With cumulative contempt._] You thought of that in the night,
did you?
TURAI. I did.
MANSKY. All by yourself?
TURAI. All by myself.
MANSKY. Well!!! I’ve noticed all this past year that you’ve been
slipping. I realise now, that you’ve completely lost your grip. Our
last show died the death simply because you would write psychology
into it. And now you’ve become simply drivelling. It’s a great shock
to me. Do you know what’s happening? Little by little you’re beginning
to think--and that spells ruin for both of us. Haven’t you grasped yet
what a frightful knock-down blow last night’s affair was to that boy?
TURAI. Sh! Sh! [_Listens, pointing to door right._] Here he is!
[_Enter_ ADAM. _He is also in white flannels. Very solemn and
miserable. Pause. He passes them without a word and goes to balcony._]
Hullo! Not even a good morning?
ADAM. Oh, good morning.
[TURAI _rises_; MANSKY _looks longingly at breakfast things_.]
MANSKY. [_To_ ADAM _with his best bed-side manner_.] Had breakfast?
ADAM. No.
[MANSKY _goes above table and sits down; starts to eat_.]
TURAI. [_To_ ADAM.] Sleep?
ADAM. No.
TURAI. Nor did I. [ADAM _looks at left wall_.] No. Nothing from there.
Not another sound. He left and she went to sleep. _I_ didn’t on your
account. [_To_ MANSKY.] Hullo! Appetite picking up? Appetite picking up?
MANSKY. [_Starting guiltily and pushing his plate away._] No. I can’t
swallow. Too nervous. I’m a wreck.
TURAI. Try the ham.
ADAM. [_Goes to_ TURAI.] I--my dear Uncle Sandor--I don’t want to be a
burden to you two any longer--now that my life has been blown to bits.
TURAI. Come, come, come!
ADAM. I mean it. I know what I’m talking about. There’s a great crack
in my heart, and--
TURAI. Come now,--be a man. We had enough of that sort of talk last
night. Tell me just what is it you want to do?
ADAM. Before anything else, I want to get away from this place.
TURAI. Quite reasonable. And then?
ADAM. Then I’ll tear up the music I wrote for her--tear it into little
bits and burn it.
TURAI. Right. And after that?
ADAM. Don’t be so casual. You know I have nobody in the world but
you--you two. If you hadn’t been here, I’d have ended things long ago.
TURAI. [_To_ MANSKY, _who has once more started on the breakfast_.]
That’s right. Peck a bit.
MANSKY. [_Jumping up._] No. It’s no good. Absolutely can’t swallow. I’m
a very sick man.
ADAM. You see? I’m to blame for that.
TURAI. Now listen to me, my boy. Sit down. [ADAM _sits_.] What has
happened, has happened. It’s over, done with, a thing of the past. And
I’m going to say something to you now which no young person will ever
believe. You’re twenty-five and you’re gifted. The world’s at your
feet. And that world, let me remind you, contains a great many million
women.
ADAM. What good are they to me? I only wanted this one. [_Rises._]
Can’t we get away now--at once. I won’t see her!
TURAI. Oh yes, you will. No scandals, if you please. You arrived here
late at night; everybody knows she is your fiancée, you can’t run away
this morning. Now, I’m not going to urge--in fact, I--er--positively
forbid you to become reconciled to her,--but you must do the sensible
thing. In the course of the morning we will go to her and pay our
respects, and stay on here another day or two, and we will not breathe
a word of what happened last night. You will behave towards her quite
nicely and naturally. I know it will hurt. It’s a bitter pill to
swallow. But to-day you are a man.
ADAM. Yes. You’re right.
TURAI. Up with the head and out with the chin and damn everybody!
That’s the stuff. The day after to-morrow, when we leave, you shall
write her a letter, and let yourself go as much as you like. And, no
matter how it may hurt, you have finished with that woman forever.
ADAM. [_With an effort._] Very well. And if--it should hurt _too_ much,
don’t be afraid that I’ll go back to her. I’ll always have pluck enough
to put a bullet through my head.
MANSKY. There! See where you have got us to with your psychology.
TURAI. [_To_ ADAM.] You ought to be ashamed of yourself.
ADAM. [_Smilingly._] It’s all right. It was silly of me to talk
nonsense like that. I won’t let you down. You shall be satisfied with
me.
MANSKY. [_To_ ADAM.] Good. Then you won’t--er--tear anything up?
ADAM. No.
TURAI. You’ll behave towards Ilona as if nothing had happened?
ADAM. Yes. Honour bright.
[_He holds out his hand._]
TURAI. [_Rises._] I am satisfied.
MANSKY. [_Sitting down to breakfast, a completely changed man._] It’s
an enormous relief to me to see you getting hold of yourself again so
capitally. [_Eats rapidly._] Bless my soul, yes, an enormous relief. I
really feel a little better.
TURAI. I’m proud of you. [_To_ MANSKY.] Haven’t you finished breakfast
_yet_?
MANSKY. [_Delighted._] I can swallow.
TURAI. So I notice.
MANSKY. [_To_ ADAM.] Come and join me, my boy. You’ll find your
appetite steals back, little by little. [_To_ TURAI, _who is standing
beside him_.] He’s suffering. He can’t get over it.
TURAI. We must try to make him.
MANSKY. Come on, my boy--just a mouthful. Try a little of this
excellent ham.
ADAM. I don’t want any ham.
MANSKY. Well, a slice of chicken, then--and some nice hot tea with a
drop of brandy.
ADAM. Oh, all right. [_Sits down._]
MANSKY. [_To_ TURAI, _who is sitting deep in thought_.] Well, what’s on
_your_ mind?
ADAM. After trying to cheer _me_ up, are you going to be depressed
yourself?
MANSKY. Do you know what I think’s the matter with him? He’s got
another--
TURAI. You win. Another problem.
MANSKY. Theatre?
TURAI. As always.
MANSKY. Oh, my God!
TURAI. Last night, when we came into this room, I was saying how hard
it was to begin a play. I’m now thinking how hard it is to end a second
act.
MANSKY. Oh, come and end your breakfast.
TURAI. No, I mean it. It’s worrying me. Take this situation of
ours, for instance--just as we did yesterday--We have had a curious
experience. We arrived perfectly happy and immediately got a terrible
shock--a ghastly disillusionment. We’ve managed to survive it, and
we’ve got ourselves in hand again. But, suppose these things had
happened not in real life but on the stage--suppose this were not a
real room but a painted set--suppose we three were characters in
a play who had just passed through the experiences we have passed
through--
MANSKY. Well?
TURAI. Well, how would you end the act?
MANSKY. [_Impatiently._] My dear fellow! It’s ended already.
TURAI. In a way, yes. But don’t forget that, at the last moment, before
the curtain actually falls, you need something more--a new note of
suspense--a punch--both, if you can manage it. In fact, just what is
implied in that word “Curtain.” Curtain--Curtain. The act must end and
yet it must not quite end. The audience’s interest must be snapped
up--given a jolt. So, my distinguished collaborator, how about it?
You’ve often told me how good you are--try your hand at ending the
second act of this dismal adventure of ours.
MANSKY. My dear chap, simplicity itself. Come here. Sit down.
[TURAI _sits at table_.] Now then. I’m all for the quiet curtain.
One of those charming delicate things the French do so well. _You_
know--sophisticated--lightly sentimental--the smile behind the tear.
The three friends sit down to breakfast. Audiences always like to see
actors eating. The storm has passed. The skies are still a little
dark, but there is sunshine in the heart and all that sort of thing.
Let this sink in for a bit--everything very cozy and pleasant. Business
of eating--we each have a glass of wine. [_They all take up their
glasses._] For a moment--silence--their thoughts are busy with what has
passed. [_Pause._] Capital. And then--[_He raises his glass._]--you
want a couple of smart lines, spoken with something of a flourish.
[_Thinks._] Oh, well--[_Then as if he had thought of what he wanted to
say--to_ ADAM.] My young friend, to-day you have become a man--
TURAI. [_Pointing to where he was sitting at the time._] _I_ said that.
MANSKY. For--always remember--
TURAI. Yes, that shows ’em it’s coming.
MANSKY. [_Not heeding him._] Always remember that in affairs of the
heart it is not the first victory that makes us men, but the first
defeat. [_Lifts his glass._] To Woman’s Treachery, which has made our
child a man! [_Raises his hand toward the curtain._] Curtain. [_Curtain
starts to come down. They put their glasses down on the table,
simultaneously, untasted._ MANSKY _smiles complacently_.] How’s that?
TURAI. Rotten! [_Curtain slowly goes up again._] [_Gets up._] Tame.
Feeble. Nothing in the nature of a high spot. I’m not saying it isn’t
pretty and graceful. Charming even--but it lacks suspense. [_Pause._]
[_To_ ADAM.] How would _you_ do it?
ADAM. I? Feeling as I do now?
TURAI. Give us your idea.
ADAM. [_With tremendous intensity._] Very well, I’ll give you my idea.
We start from where Mansky gave that toast.
MANSKY. To Woman’s--?
ADAM. [_Rises._] Treachery. That’s it. I’d say--“No. I won’t drink any
toast.” [_Throws glass against the wall smashing it to bits._]
MANSKY. [_Approvingly._] Effective.
ADAM. [_Rapidly losing control of himself and becoming hysterical._]
That woman was not just an incident in my life. She was my first great
passion. I promised to act as if nothing had happened. I meant to keep
that promise. But when I remember that I gave her my life and that she
whispers words of love to another man--and--and kisses another man,
that’s such unbearable, burning torture, that the only right solution--
[_Grabs small game carving knife from table._]
TURAI. [_Leaping forward._] Hey! Stop that!
ADAM. [_Struggling with him._] No! No!
MANSKY. [_Rushing forward._] My God! You weren’t really--
ADAM. [_Struggling._] Let me go. I want to die.
[TURAI _has got knife away from him. He looks at it intently._ ADAM
_stands, pale and defiant_.]
TURAI. What the devil do you think you’re doing?
ADAM. [_Bitterly._] Just--finishing the act. [_He sits down._ MANSKY
_follows him and sits down, too. Smiles wanly._] Curtain!
[_Curtain starts to come down._]
TURAI. [_Putting the knife away._] Very bad. [_Curtain goes up slowly
again._] Quite impossible. Death’s all right for the end of a play, but
absolutely no good for a second act. Besides, the scene was too crude.
I don’t say the gallery might not like it, but think what the critics
would say. They despise melodrama. Suspense is what you want--suspense
and then a quick curtain.
MANSKY. And now, I suppose, you could show us how it really ought to be
done?
TURAI. [_Goes to telephone._] Hello. Will you give me Miss Ilona
Szabo’s room, please.
[_Bell sounds in_ ILONA’S _room_.]
MANSKY. [_Starting._] What on earth--?
ILONA’S VOICE. Hello.
TURAI. Hello. Ilona?
ILONA’S VOICE. Yes. Who is that speaking?
TURAI. Don’t you recognize my voice? This is Sandor Turai.
ILONA’S VOICE. Oh, how wonderful! Are you here, then? Where are you
speaking from?
TURAI. Yes, I’m right here in the castle. Next door to you. Number four.
ILONA’S VOICE. What a perfectly delightful surprise.
TURAI. We came by car last night. All three of us.
ILONA’S VOICE. You don’t mean Albert, too?
TURAI. Yes--and Mansky, if you think that worth mentioning. We’re all
three here in this room, and we’ve brought you the finished script of
the operetta.
ILONA’S VOICE. Marvellous! That’s something like a surprise.
TURAI. We were hesitating about waking you so early, but I particularly
wanted to see you about something. Can you come in here for a minute?
[_Replaces receiver and goes to door._ ADAM _and_ MANSKY _stand where
they are_.]
[_Enter_ ILONA _with assumed joy and excitement_.]
ILONA. Well, this is wonderful of you all. [_She kisses_ TURAI _lightly
and crosses quickly to_ ADAM _who kisses her hands_.] What a surprise.
Albert darling! This _is_ a surprise. [_She hangs onto_ ADAM’S _arm_.]
Sandor! To think that it’s--
TURAI. --three whole months--
ILONA. --three whole months since I’ve seen you. How brown you’re
looking. And younger than ever. Let me look at you. Wonderful! [_She
crosses to_ MANSKY _and kisses him on each cheek_.] And Mansky--how are
_you_, Mansky dear? I think this is too sweet of you all. You don’t
know how I’ve been longing to see you. When did you get here? [_She
returns to_ ADAM.]
TURAI. [_Very gravely._] Just a minute, Ilona. [_He looks through door
into her room._] Why, Mr. Almady! Of all people! Won’t you come in?
[_Enter_ ALMADY.]
ALMADY. [_Nervously._] Good morning.
TURAI. Fancy finding _you_ here after all these years.
ALMADY. [_Pompously._] Passing through. Just passing through. I only
wanted to say how-d’you-do to the Count, but they wouldn’t let me go.
The--er--the shooting-party you know, and the concert. They insisted on
my staying.
ILONA. I was _so_ surprised to see him.
TURAI. Pardon me for disturbing you and possibly casting a slight gloom
on what must have been a joyful reunion, but I have something rather
important to say.
[ILONA _drops_ ADAM’S _arm_.]
ILONA. [_Crosses to_ TURAI.] What do you mean? Nothing--nothing
unpleasant, I hope?
TURAI. Yes--extremely unpleasant. [ILONA _sits down, terrified. To_
ALMADY.] Please. [_He motions them to sit down._] Well, then. We
arrived here last night-- [_Long pause._] And just now we were sitting
having breakfast--we three-- [_To_ MANSKY.] Weren’t we?
ADAM. [_Puzzled._] Yes.
MANSKY. Well?
TURAI. Keep quite calm, please. We were sitting here, having
breakfast--all three of us. [_He lowers his voice and speaks very
earnestly._] I must entreat you all to hear what I am about to say
quite calmly-- Don’t lose your heads--
ILONA. For God’s sake--
ALMADY. [_Uneasily._] Well? What is it?
TURAI. [_Holds up his hand._] Please! [_Dead silence._] What I am about
to say--and I shall not detain you long now--must almost inevitably
have a shattering effect on the lives--both the private and the
professional lives--of all us five people. I have asked myself--is
it wise to speak? And I have answered myself--wise or not, it is
unavoidable. Ilona-- [ILONA _rises, gasping_.] I have a question to ask
you-- [_Breaks off. Dead silence. Then very simply to_ MANSKY.] How’s
that for suspense?
MANSKY. Yes. Yes. Well? What now?
TURAI. Nothing. That’s all. [_Smiles._] Curtain! [_Curtain comes down
quickly and rises immediately. He offers_ ILONA _his arm, as the rest
of the group breathe again and relax their tension_.] We’ve just been
having an argument about the proper way to end a second act. [_Leads_
ILONA _slowly to door, left to hall, the others following_.] I couldn’t
resist the temptation to show these colleagues of mine how, by the most
simple methods, you can make an act end on a note of suspense. You
see--
[_He goes out, talking, followed first by_ ALMADY, _then by_ ADAM
_and_ MANSKY.]
MANSKY. [_Going out; to_ ADAM.] Crazy. Absolutely crazy. Thinks of
nothing in the world but the theatre-- [_The curtain falls again._]
ACT THREE
_As the curtain rises it reveals the room lighted up by the electric
sconces and candelabra. A large and elaborately painted screen
in silver and green has been placed in front of the window. It
is painted to suggest an orchard. The screen shuts out the view
of the Mediterranean, but to the left and right of it we glimpse
the lighted esplanade, and many more twinkling lights than in the
first act, for it is early evening. There are two garden chairs in
front of the screen in the raised portion of the room; otherwise
the scene is unchanged._ MR. MELL, _the count’s secretary, and the
master of ceremonies, enters at left from the hall. He is a fussy,
pale young man with high pitched voice. He wears glasses and is in
evening clothes. He is carrying a wicker table, and carrying it with
difficulty and discomfort. He places it between the two wicker chairs
in front of the screen and stands caressing his hands where the table
has cut into them._
MELL. [_Calls._] Dwornitschek. [_To himself._] Where is that man?
[_Calls._] Dwornitschek.
DWORNITSCHEK’S VOICE. Coming, sir, coming.
[DWORNITSCHEK _enters from the hall, followed by a lackey. They are
both in formal, full dress livery of white with knee breeches, and
powdered wigs._ DWORNITSCHEK _carries a book, two letters, a scarf
and a woman’s hat. The lackey carries a tall brown hunting hat, whip,
gauntlets and a large, luscious peach._]
MELL. Oh, there you are at last. Why are you so late?
DWORNITSCHEK. I fell downstairs, sir.
MELL. Well, that oughtn’t to have taken you long. [_He fiddles with the
screen._]
DWORNITSCHEK. You should have let _me_ carry those things, Mr. Mell.
MELL. I couldn’t wait. You are so slow.
DWORNITSCHEK. Slow but sure, sir. [_He puts things on table._] When I
was a lad, my mother used to say....
MELL. I don’t want to hear about your mother.
DWORNITSCHEK. No, sir. Very few people do.
MELL. Have you got all the properties?
DWORNITSCHEK. Props, sir, is the more professional expression.
MELL. I was using the more technical term.... Well, properties or
props, have you got them?
DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir. Book....
MELL. ... Peach....
DWORNITSCHEK. ... Scarf....
MELL. ... Whip....
DWORNITSCHEK. ... Two letters and a pair of gloves.
MELL. Good. [_Mops his forehead._] Oh dear, what a headache I’m getting.
DWORNITSCHEK. What you want is an aspirin.
MELL. Have you an aspirin?
DWORNITSCHEK. No, sir.
MELL. You’re a great help.
DWORNITSCHEK. Thank you, sir. If I might be allowed to say so, you let
yourself get too nervous on these festive nights, sir. You _worry_.
MELL. How can I help worrying, with all the responsibility there is on
my shoulders?
DWORNITSCHEK. What I always say is-- Never worry too much to-day.
Things may be worse to-morrow, and then you can worry twice as hard.
MELL. It does make me so nervous when people want to alter the
programme at the last moment. First Miss Szabo says she’s going to
sing, then she says she’s going to act.... [_He breaks off as_ ALMADY
_enters, goes to_ ALMADY.] Good evening, sir, good evening. You are
first in the field.
ALMADY. [_Grouchily._] Good evening. The others will be here directly.
They’re dressing.
MELL. A wonderful shooting party to-day, sir. Capital sport, capital.
There is nothing like a good brisk day out in the open with the guns.
What a colour it has given you.
ALMADY. I wasn’t there.
MELL. Eh? Oh! Not there?
ALMADY. No. I’ve been in my room all day, writing.
MELL. Pardon my curiosity, but may one ask what you were writing?
ALMADY. No, one may not.
DWORNITSCHEK. [_Explaining._] I think the gentleman does not wish to
say what he was writing, sir.
MELL. Oh, are you still there?
DWORNITSCHEK. Yes, sir. Still here.
MELL. Then go away.
DWORNITSCHEK. Very good, sir. Really I shouldn’t worry, Mr. Mell. Look
on the bright side, sir.
MELL. All very well for you. You have no responsibilities, and the
guests give you big tips.
DWORNITSCHEK. That _is_ the bright side, sir. [_He goes out at left to
hall followed by the lackey._]
MELL. A secretary’s life is a dog’s life, Mr. Almady. Work, work, work
from morning till night, and never a word of thanks. [ALMADY _takes no
notice_.] You are very silent, Mr. Almady.
ALMADY. I sometimes find it soothing to be silent. Try it yourself one
of these days ... I take it the concert begins directly after dinner?
MELL. Immediately following the serving of coffee.
ALMADY. And when does this--this play of ours come on?
MELL. It is the last item on the programme. The place of honour.
ALMADY. Bah! [_Walks away upstage._]
MELL. Sir? [_Follows him._]
ALMADY. [_Absorbed in his part which he is studying._] Nothing.
MELL. Miss Szabo tells me that no scenery is required but two elegant
chairs and one elegant table.
ALMADY. Is that an elegant table?
MELL. Well, really--no. But what can one expect in a garden? Oh--if
only the scene had been an interior--there’s some perfectly lovely
furniture in the Count’s room--genuine Louis the Fifteenth. A very
elegant period, Louis the Fifteenth.
ALMADY. I don’t care a damn. They’re all the same to me. Louis the
Fifteenth or Louis the Fourteenth or Louis the Seventeenth.
MELL. But there isn’t a Louis the _Seventeenth_, and I’ve often
wondered why. Why, I’ve wondered, should there be a Louis the
_Sixteenth_ and a Louis the _Eighteenth_, but not a Louis the
_Seventeenth_?
ALMADY. [_Exasperated._] Oh, God. Ask a furniture dealer.
MELL. I did. I’m _always_ asking furniture dealers. But they only
know as far as Louis the _Sixteenth_. That’s where the Louis stop for
furniture dealers. Whenever I say Louis the _Seventeenth_ they say you
mean the _Sixteenth_, and I say no, I don’t mean Louis the _Sixteenth_,
I mean Louis the _Seventeenth_ and.... [_Breaks off and mops his
brow._] I’m afraid I’m talking a great deal, sir.
ALMADY. Oh, you’ve noticed that?
MELL. The fact is, Mr. Almady, I’m all of a twitter.
ALMADY. What have _you_ got to be nervous about?
MELL. I’m always like this on these big nights. You see I’m responsible
for everything and its terribly wearing on the nerves. [_During this
long speech of_ MELL’S, ALMADY _becomes bored and walks away_, MELL
_suddenly aware that he is talking to the air, follows him_.] I’m
stage manager, property man and prompter. I turn the music, show the
ladies to their seats, hand bouquets onto the stage--and I’m expected
always to applaud at the right moment. I assure you I have often gone
to bed after one of these entertainments with my hands so tender I
could scarcely hold my toothbrush. [ALMADY _does not answer_.] You will
pardon me for mentioning it, sir, but you don’t seem quite your merry
old self to-night.
ALMADY. I’m as cheerful as any man would be whose brain had been addled
from studying an infernal part all day.
MELL. But I thought you said you had spent the day writing?
ALMADY. Yes, I--I always memorize a part by writing it out.
MELL. What energy! What enthusiasm! Have you a nice part?
ALMADY. No. Rotten.
MELL. Dear, dear, dear! You’ll feel better when you hear the applause.
We’re great applauders here. We don’t care _how_ bad an actor is--
ALMADY. [_Offended; moves away._] Thank you.
MELL. [_Follows._] I beg your pardon. I--I don’t mean it like that.
[_Goes to door of_ ILONA’S _room and knocks_.] Miss Szabo, please. Miss
Szabo, please. Beginners, please.
[_Enter_ ILONA _in evening dress_.]
[_Enter_ ADAM _right, in dress clothes_.]
ILONA. Well, we seem to be all here. [ALMADY _bows_.]
MELL. Good evening, Miss Szabo, good evening, good evening.
ILONA. Well, we may as well begin.
ALMADY. Wouldn’t it be as well to wait for Mr. Turai? [_Bitterly._]
Seeing that he is being so kind as to give us his invaluable assistance.
ILONA. He’ll be here directly. Where is the prompter?
MELL. Present. Present.
ILONA. Here’s the script. [_Hands it to him._]
MELL. [_Goes to stage._] I hope this extemporé set meets with your
approval? [_Pointing to screen._] A little idea quite of my own.
ILONA. Charming. [_To_ ADAM _sincerely, deeply concerned_.] Albert--you
seem--you seem--very quiet--this evening.
[MELL _sits_.]
ADAM. Oh, no, not a bit. A little tired, that’s all. We had rather a
long motor drive and I didn’t get much sleep last night-- Please don’t
think-- [_Breaks off as_ MELL _shows signs of impatience_.] I’m afraid
our friend the secretary is getting restive.
ILONA. What on earth is the matter?
MELL. I’m all of a twitter.
ILONA. Well, do simmer down. [_To_ ADAM, _who has sat down_.] Surely
you’re not going to stay for this rehearsal?
ADAM. If you don’t mind.
ILONA. Oh, I don’t mind. But you’ll be thoroughly bored. A silly little
French piece. You’ll be seeing it after dinner. I should have thought
once would have been enough.
ADAM. Well, as a matter of fact, Mr. Turai asked me to stay and help
out till he came. And I promised him I would.
ILONA. Just as you please. [_Very nervous._] Can’t we begin? Are the
props here?
MELL. Nothing is ever missing when I am the property man. There they
all are--on the table. [_Points to table._ MELL _picks up scarf and hat
and helps_ ILONA.]
ILONA. [_Takes book and letter._] Those are yours. [ALMADY _pockets
the peach and the remaining letter_.] Now then--let’s start. The
Countess--that’s me--discovered alone. Seated in chair, reading book.
[_Sits down._] [_To_ ALMADY.] You’re not on yet. [ALMADY _stalks off to
the left_.]
MELL. Do we go on now?
ILONA. Don’t ask so many questions. Yes, go on. [_She reads book._]
MELL. [_Reading from the script._] Curtain rises on a glorious garden.
Period Louis the Fifteenth.
ILONA. You don’t have to read _that_.
MELL. [_Doubtfully._] I always _have_.
ILONA. You only have to give the actors the spoken lines.
MELL. Now, I never knew _that_ before-- Now, that’s very interesting.
[_He looks stupidly at script._]
ALMADY. [_Coming down._] What on earth’s the matter now?
ILONA. I’m afraid Mr. Mell is not much of a prompter.
ADAM. [_Taking script from_ MELL.] It’s all right--let _me_ hold the
book.
ILONA. No.
ALMADY. [_Simultaneously._] No, no.
ILONA. You mustn’t.
ADAM. What do you mean?
ILONA. I won’t have it--
ADAM. Why not?
MELL. [_To_ ADAM, _offended, sarcastically_.] No doubt Miss Szabo means
that it is beneath the dignity of such an important person. Please give
_me_ the book.
ADAM. Do stop fussing. Can’t you see you make them nervous.
MELL. Make _them_ nervous? What about _my_ nervousness?
ADAM. I tell you _I’ll_ hold the book. And you can do it for the
performance. Does _that_ satisfy you?
MELL. [_Deeply offended._] Oh, quite. Oh, perfectly--
ILONA. [_To_ ADAM.] Now you’ve hurt the poor man’s feelings. You’ve
insulted him--
MELL. Madam, I’m a secretary. I spend all my time receiving insults.
ILONA. Oh?-- Well, let’s begin. [_To_ ALMADY.] You’re off. [_Again_
ALMADY _stalks to left_.] Countess discovered seated in armchair,
reading book. [_Takes up book._ ALMADY _is wearing the brown hat,
gauntlets and carrying the riding whip_.]
ADAM. [_Prompting._] What a silly--
ILONA. [_Speaking her lines._] What a silly story. [_Closes book._]
Just like all novels.
ADAM. What _can_ I do--
ILONA. [_Yawning._] What _can_ I do to kill the time? The Count is
always out riding. Paris seems very far away amidst these sleepy fields
of Normandy.
ADAM. Hoof-beats heard off-- [MELL _imitates hoof-beats, by beating his
thighs with his hands_.]
ILONA. Hark! I hear him coming-- Can this be my husband? Surely he went
off on his horse to visit our old tenant, honest Jacques Benoit.
[MELL _makes the hoof-beats louder and louder_. ALMADY _comes into
the scene dramatically, ominously, but his entrance is completely
ruined by_ MELL _continuing the hoof-beats_. ALMADY _stamps his feet
impatiently and at last_ MELL _stops_.]
ALMADY. So, madame!
ILONA. Why, what is the matter? Why do you frown, my dear Count?
ALMADY. Why do I frown? That, madame, you will learn--and speedily, as
sure as my name is Count--Count-- [_He can’t remember his name._]
ADAM. [_Prompting._] Maurice du Veyrier--
ALMADY. As sure as my name is Count Maurice du Veyrier de la Grande
Contumace Saint Emilion.
ILONA. You frighten me, Maurice.
ALMADY. It is your guilty conscience that frightens you, madame.
ADAM. Traitress.
[ILONA _starts and looks at him nervously_.]
[ADAM _rises_.]
Traitress! No doubt you supposed me a credulous imbecile whom it was
simple to hoodwink--
[_Enter_ TURAI _and_ MANSKY, _both in evening dress from the right_.
ILONA _and_ ALMADY _confused by their guilt, for the moment believe
that_ ADAM _is accusing them_.]
ALMADY. [_Very embarrassed._] No doubt--you--I--
ADAM. [_Still prompting._] You thought that any story would do for me?
You imagined that I was fool enough to swallow anything----
TURAI. [_Coming down, horrified, thinking that_ ADAM _is making a
scene_.] What!!!!!
ADAM. Shhhh!-- [_Goes on prompting._] No doubt you supposed me a
credulous fool--
TURAI. [_Relieved; he grasps the situation._] O-oh! [_Takes the script
from him._] Let _me_ have that script.
ADAM. Why? [_To_ ILONA.] Aren’t I prompting well?
ILONA. No.
ALMADY. [_Simultaneously._] No.
ADAM. [_Ruffled._] Nothing like being frank.
MELL. [_Goes to_ ADAM _and pats his shoulder_.] Don’t take it to heart.
Even _I_ wasn’t good enough for them.
ADAM. Perhaps you’ll tell me where I went wrong?
TURAI. Don’t ask so many questions. [_Seats himself in_ MELL’S
_place_.] I’ll take on this job.
MELL. [_To_ ADAM.] Everybody is so rude.
TURAI. [_Looking at script._] All right. From where you stopped.
ALMADY. [_Glibly._] Traitress, you have deceived me. I have long had
my suspicions. I have now in my possession the proofs. No doubt you
supposed me a credulous imbecile whom it was simple to hoodwink. You
thought that any story would do for me? You imagined that I was fool
enough to swallow anything. Let me tell you, madame, that you are
mistaken. For a long time I have suspected that there was something
behind all these rides of yours with our neighbor the Marquis Jean
François Gilette de la Tour d’Argent. Day after day, for hours at a
time, you have made a practice of riding with him on the road from
Duvernois Sur Saône to Saint Sulpice de la Grande Parmentière--and
slowly at that!
ILONA. It’s a lie. Who told you?
ALMADY. Silence, woman! The proofs are in my pocket. Mon Dieu, is
there no gratitude in this world? When I married you, who were you?
A nobody. Your father, Brigadier-General Pierre Jean Bourmond de la
Seconde-Chaumière-Rambouillet, fell in battle at Grande-Lagruyère
Sur Marne, and you eked out a scanty living as a seamstress at your
mother’s home in the village of Saint Genevieve, in the Department of
Seine et Oise. So, madame! And then what happened? _I_ came. I gave you
name, rank, and wealth such as you had never dreamed of. You became
Madame La Countess du Veyrier de la Grande Contumace Saint Emilion.
I bestowed upon you not only my estates in Pardubien-Grand-Amanoir,
but also my two castles in Challenges-Debicourt de la Romanée and at
Rivalieux-Quandamouzières Sur Vantera-aux Alpes Maritimes. [_He stops
exhausted._]
TURAI. Don’t stop. What’s wrong? [ALMADY _takes off his hat and gloves,
puts the whip down on the table, and, stepping out of character comes
down to_ TURAI.]
ALMADY. It’s these damned _French names_, they’re perfectly frightful.
TURAI. I don’t see what we can do about it.
ALMADY. You surely don’t need them all?
TURAI. They’re in the script.
ALMADY. But I’ll go mad trying to memorize them. Titles with six
hyphens in them and names of places with a dozen ‘aux’ and ‘de la’s’
and ‘sur’s.’ And, damn it, they’re all in _my_ part. [_Choking with
fury._] It’s deadly. At least, let’s leave out that second castle.
TURAI. [_Coldly._] My dear fellow, have you no sense of dramatic
construction? If he had given her only one castle, the audience would
think her perfectly justified in deceiving him. If he had given her
three, they would look on him as a purse-proud fool who didn’t deserve
a faithful wife. No, two is exactly the right number. You can’t beat
Sardou when it comes to technique. Go on please.
[ALMADY _goes up hopelessly and replaces his hat and gloves and takes
up the whip_.]
ALMADY. I made you a countess and a wealthy woman. And what return
do I get? You betray me--yes, madame, betray me--with my best friend
and nearest neighbor, the Marquis Jean François Gilette de la Tour
d’Argent, lord of Perigord des Champignons and Saint Sulpice de la
Grand Parmentière. [_He breaks off, and removes hat and gloves as
before._] My God, it’s enough to give a fellow apoplexy.
TURAI. [_Surprised._] I beg your pardon? That doesn’t seem to be in the
script.
ALMADY. [_Down to_ TURAI _as before_.] I’m sorry. I can’t help it. It’s
these names.
TURAI. Well, I’m always open to suggestions. What would _you_ like to
call the gentleman?
ALMADY. Foche or Briand--or something short like that.
TURAI. [_Sarcastically._] Perhaps--Vichy! Get on, please. [ALMADY _goes
upstage more hopeless than before_.]
ILONA. [_Nervously._] Oh, do let’s get on. Count, you have said enough.
TURAI. So _he_ seems to think.
ILONA. I will not endure these shameful accusations. You are insulting
the woman who bears your name.
ALMADY. [_Again taking off hat and gloves and puts down the whip._]
It’s a damned shame.
TURAI. What is?
ALMADY. I always have to say the whole infernal thing from beginning to
end, and she just says “your name.”
TURAI. [_Coldly._] We’re wasting time.
ALMADY. Another word, madame, and I produce the proof.
ILONA. [_Laughing._] The proof? One is amused. One smiles.
ALMADY. [_Takes stage and turns._] A smile which I will make to die
upon your lips. Behold! The proof! [_He fuddles in his coat-tail pocket
from which he belatedly takes the peach with a sinister flourish._]
ILONA. [_With insincere terror._] Ah, gracious heaven! The peach!
[_Sits._]
ALMADY. [_Lays peach on table._] Yes, madame, the peach. The first
peach that ripened on the lovingly cherished, early-blooming, richly
bearing, East Indian dwarf peach trees in my orchard at Simarineux de
la Pomme d’Api, making a triumphant entry into the world days ahead of
any other peach in the whole of France. [_He turns and glares at_ TURAI
_resentfully_, TURAI _pays no attention_, _so he resumes his part_.]
You know what a passionate fruit-grower I am. You know that I have
tended this peach from its first budding--cared for it--watched over
it--wrapped it about with my love--kept a diary about it--and awaited
its ripening like the coming of a Messiah. And what happens? This
afternoon I go out riding. I am proceeding at a gentle jog-trot--
[MELL _imitates hoof-beats as before_. ALMADY _is incensed by his
stupidity_. MELL _subsides abashed, and_ ALMADY _resumes_.]
I am proceeding at a gentle jog-trot from Duvernois Sur Saône to Saint
Sulpice de la Grand Parmentière-- [_He breaks off with an anguished
look at_ TURAI.]
TURAI. [_Coldly._] Along the high road--
ALMADY. Along the high road. And whom should I see there, tripping
along, but Juliette--your maid. I speak to her. She betrays
embarrassment at seeing me. She stammers and ties her apron-strings in
a knot. I ask her where she is going. Terrified, she bursts into tears
and whispers, ‘My lady sent me to the Marquis Jean François Gilette de
la Tour d’Argent’--curse him!
TURAI. Right. This time that _was_ in the script.
ALMADY. Why, I ask the girl, did your mistress send you to the Marquis?
And then suddenly, happening to look closer, I see that she is trying
desperately to hide a little parcel from me. I take it from her, I
open it, and what do I see? [_Points to peach._] That peach! The King
of Peaches, the apple of my eye--my pride and joy, my firstborn, the
supreme peach from the orchards of Simarineux de la Pomme d’Api--the
last word in stoneless fruit which I have been guarding since birth
like a baby sister-- And, as if this were not enough, wrapped round
that glorious specimen of its kind, I discover a letter. [_He fuddles
in his inside coat-pocket, draws out a letter, sees it is the wrong
one, replaces it hastily, and draws forth the proper one._] This letter
[_He reads._] “My beloved. This is the first peach that has ripened in
France this year. I send it to _you_. Eat it reverently.” [_He holds
the letter under her nose._] There!
ILONA. Are you trying to make me smell it?
ALMADY. I am. For even if you were shameless enough to deny your
writing you cannot deny your perfume. Or are you proposing to deny it?
ILONA. No.
ALMADY. Ha! Then you admit it?
ILONA. Yes.
ALMADY. _You_ sent him this peach?
ILONA. Yes!
ALMADY. [_Again takes off his hat and gloves._ _To_ TURAI.] It’s simply
rank injustice. I’ve got to say yard-long speeches at the top of my
voice, and all her part consists of is little exclamations like ‘oh!’
‘no!’ and ‘yes!’
TURAI. Yes--I noticed that myself. These short crisp speeches are
characteristic of Sardou’s women! It can’t be helped. Go on, please.
ALMADY. [_Goes back, puts on hat and gloves, more miserable than
ever._] So! You accept from me everything--love, name, rank, riches,
estates--_two_ castles--and then you go about the place sending my most
cherished fruit to your lover!
ILONA. [_Rises, tragically._] No.
ALMADY. You have the effrontery to pretend that the Marquis is _not_
your lover?
ILONA. Yes.
ALMADY. You mean he is?
ILONA. No.
ALMADY. You mean he is _not_?
ILONA. [_Triumphantly._] Yes.
ALMADY. [_With a theatrical laugh._] A likely story. Madame, I am
a fruit-grower, the leading amateur horticulturist in France and
President of the Paris Peach Club. I know--I say, I _know_--that one
does not give fruit like this save where one has first given--the
heart. Madame, I despise you.
ILONA. You consider conduct like mine despicable?
ALMADY. I do.
ILONA. Good! Then I have one little question to ask you. In the early
Spring of this year there ripened in your orchard the first crop of
white-heart cherries. To whom did you send those cherries?
ALMADY. [_Turns away embarrassed._] To my mother. The Dowager Countess
du Veyrier de la Grande Contumace Saint Emilion.
ILONA. Indeed? To your mother? Then permit me to show you something.
You are not the only one who has discovered an interesting letter.
[_Takes letter from table._] Smell that! Do you recognize the perfume?
[_Holds it under his nose._]
MELL. [_To_ ADAM.] What a _situation_! Sardou at his best. There’s no
one like him.
ILONA. The perfume is that of Mademoiselle Emilienne, première danseuse
at the Folies Bergères, whom you honor with your friendship and
protection.
ALMADY. How--how did you get this?
ILONA. Never mind. Always remember letters are like sped arrows. You
never can tell where they are going to drop.
MELL. [_Applauds vigorously, to_ ADAM.] An epigram.
ILONA. Read it, please.
ALMADY. [_Reading._] “My dearest. This morning that doddering old idiot
of a count of mine--”
ILONA. You notice how your divinity writes of you? Go on!
ALMADY. [_Reading._] --“that doddering old idiot of a count of mine
sent me a basket of cherries. Did I tell you he was a famous fruit
grower? He says these are the first cherries that have ripened in
France this year and he sends them to me as a token of his love.
Drop in this evening, darling, and we’ll eat the old fool’s cherries
together. Your loving Emilienne, P. S. Ring twice as usual!” [_He
sobs._]
ILONA. You see, what you do to me, I do to you. An eye for an eye, a
_tooth for a tooth_, a peach for a cherry.
ALMADY. [_Brokenly._] Yes. It’s true.
ILONA. And now, leave my garden. This very afternoon I pack my boxes
and go back to my mother. And if you will question my maid you will
find that I told her to hang about till you came by--to blush and
stammer--and finally to give you the letter _and_ the peach. [_She
breaks into stage laughter._] Ha, ha, ha! Oh, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
ALMADY. Well, I must face it. I’ve lost.
ILONA. You’ve lost _me_.
ALMADY. [_Kneeling._] Yvonne! Don’t say that. See! I beg your
forgiveness on my knees ... overlook this one false step.
ILONA. The idea! A count, and an _elderly_ count--grovelling like that.
[ALMADY _gets up and turns away_.] All the same, you have touched me.
So I will forgive you. But you are not to get off without punishment.
Firstly, I forbid you to eat this peach.
ALMADY. My God! Not that!
ILONA. [_Firmly._] Yes.
ALMADY. So be it.
ILONA. Secondly, you will permit me to go to Paris alone--
ALMADY. [_Despairingly._] Yvonne!
ILONA. Not a word. Either you trust me or you do not! If you _do_, I
will return. If _not_, _not_.
ALMADY. Oh, heavens! And how long do you expect to stay in Paris?
ILONA. A week. [_Short pause._]
ALMADY. [_Suddenly bursting out._] No! I can’t live without you. I
worship you. I adore you. I love you as the church steeple loves the
cloud that settles on its summit, only to be wafted away by the first
passing breeze. I can’t live without you. Not a week, not a day. Not an
hour.
ILONA. Just words. [_At the word “church steeple”_ MANSKY _and_ ADAM
_have exchanged a glance of utter astonishment_.]
MANSKY. [_Rises._] But ... but ... but.... Just one moment.... _What_
was that you said?
ILONA. I beg your pardon?
TURAI. Now, listen, _please_. We can’t have these interruptions. Don’t
pull them up the moment they’ve got nicely into the swing of it.
MELL. I can’t wait to see how it all ends. [_To_ ADAM.] Will she leave
him? Or will the memory of their past love prove too strong?
MANSKY. [_Goes to_ ADAM--_Aside to_ ADAM.] This is devilish queer.
TURAI. Quiet, quiet, please. [_To_ ALMADY.] All right. Go on. Better go
back to “Not a week! Not a day! Not an hour!”
ALMADY. _Not a week! Not a day! Not an hour!_
ILONA. Just words.
ALMADY. It’s the truth. I’m crazy about you. And you--you have used me
up and squeezed me like a lemon, and now you want to throw me away.
[_At the word “lemon”_ MANSKY _and_ ADAM _again exchange glances_.
MANSKY _gets up, deeply agitated_.]
MANSKY. Sandor....
TURAI. What is it?
MANSKY. [_To_ ILONA _and_ ALMADY.] You’ll excuse me? I have something
very urgent to say to Mr. Turai. [_He crosses to_ TURAI _and drags him
over to the corner below the fireplace_.] Do you hear what they’re
saying?
TURAI. [_Feigning non-comprehension._] How do you mean, do I hear what
they’re saying?
MANSKY. I mean ... didn’t those last lines sound familiar to you?
TURAI. That’s right. Now you mention it. I did notice something, only I
thought it was my fancy.
MANSKY. [_To_ ADAM.] Come here. [MELL _tries to become a part of the
whispered conference, but_ ADAM _waves him away, and he withdraws
upstage disconsolate_.] [_To_ TURAI.] I give you my word, Sandor--those
lines were syllable for syllable the ones we heard last night through
the wall.
TURAI. [_Looking at script._] By Jove, you’re right.... This is uncanny.
MANSKY. Go on with the rehearsal, or they will be suspecting something.
I want to hear some more. [MANSKY _takes hold of_ ADAM’S _arm_. ADAM
_is very excited. Both listen intently._]
TURAI. Well, let’s get on. “Now you want to throw me away.”
ILONA. I don’t want to throw you away, silly, Oh, come on, then. Come
here and let me kiss that beautiful classic brow. [ALMADY _goes to
her_.]
MANSKY. [_Shouting out._] Great Heavens!
ILONA. [_Jumping._] What’s the matter?
MANSKY. [_Whispering._] Listen, you two. They’re saying word for word
what we heard them say last night. Do you grasp now what they were
doing last night? _Rehearsing!_ Simply going through their lines.
TURAI. [_To_ MANSKY.] I must admit ... this has come upon me as a
complete surprise.... Really, I’m quite shaken.
ADAM. Imitate _me_. If I can be perfectly calm, you can.
MANSKY. [_Pointing at_ TURAI.] And he never recognized it!
ILONA. Mr. Turai! What’s going on?
ALMADY. Yes. What’s all the discussion about?
TURAI. [_To_ ALMADY.] Well, it’s like this. Mansky says--and I’m bound
to say I agree with him--that for the actual performance to-night you
will have to dig up a classic brow from somewhere.
ALMADY. Dig up a classic brow?
TURAI. You see, it’s rather awkward. The script says ... “Kiss that
beautiful classic brow.”
ALMADY. Well?
TURAI. Well, you’ll have to get one somewhere.
ALMADY. [_Bitterly._] You think my own would not be convincing?
MANSKY. My God, no!
ALMADY. It has been so described.
TURAI. In this play, yes. But, if you’ll pardon my saying so, you
wouldn’t suggest that any woman of taste could say such a thing in
_real_ life?
ALMADY. [_Bitterly._] Very good. No doubt the property man will be able
to supply me with a face.
[MELL _is appalled at the prospect of having to get a “face” but he
dutifully makes a notation of it in his little book_.]
TURAI. Oh--my dear fellow. [_All go back to places._]
ADAM. [_Impatiently._] We’re wasting time. Let’s get on.
TURAI. Sh! Sh! We’ve only a few minutes more.
ADAM. No more interruptions.
MELL. Thank God!
ILONA. Where were we? Oh, yes. Come here and let me kiss that beautiful
classic brow. [_Kisses him on forehead._]
ALMADY. That’s not a kiss. That’s a tip.
MANSKY. Surely that line is a trifle vulgar.
TURAI. It’s vulgar because it’s spoken by a vulgar man.
MANSKY. The speaker is a count.
TURAI. But a dull-witted bounder, for all that. He’s the sort of man
who _would_ say things like that. Don’t you start trying to teach
Sardou how to write dialogue.
ALMADY. [_Furious._] For God’s sake, are we going to rehearse?
TURAI. Yes--go on, please.
ALMADY. That’s not a kiss. That’s a tip.
ILONA. Don’t shout like that.
ALMADY. I will shout. I’m a squeezed lemon. That’s what I am--a lemon.
The whole world shall know I’m a lemon. [_Falls sobbing at her feet._]
[MANSKY _whispers something to_ ADAM. ADAM _smiles happily and
whispers back. They shake hands._]
TURAI. Please--please-- What’s the matter?
MANSKY. Nothing. I was merely saying to Adam that I think that word
“_lemon_” is all wrong.
TURAI. I think it’s excellent. Absolutely in character. The speaker is
a big lemon-and-peach man from Saint Sulpice de la Grande Parmentière,
and he naturally goes to the orchard for his similes. Try to realize
that he’s practically an imbecile with virtually no vocabulary.
[ALMADY _looks up from_ ILONA’S _lap and registers indignation_.]
[_Prompting._] ‘Please, please’-- [_To_ ILONA.] From you, my dear.
[_To_ ALMADY.] You’re crying. [ALMADY _sobs_.]
ILONA. Please, please. Don’t cry. I can’t bear it. You know how fond I
am of you. [_She goes to table where peach is._]
ALMADY. Those nights of love--those flaming, wonderful nights! Have you
forgotten them so completely? [_He stands up, and starts to touch the
peach._]
ILONA. Stop! Control yourself.
ALMADY. [_Gazing at peach._] You ask me to control myself--when I look
at _that_? At that perfect shape. The rose flush of that skin. [_Starts
to touch peach._] Just to stroke it....
ILONA. Hands off.
ALMADY. [_Snatching up the peach, holds it in one hand and with the
other strokes it voluptuously._] My God! How round it is! How smooth,
how velvety--and how fragrant! [_Raises it to his mouth._]
ILONA. You mustn’t bite it. [_She snatches his hand._]
[MANSKY _gives a shriek and goes into fits of laughter_. ADAM
_stretches his arms out to_ MANSKY _and roars_. ADAM _slaps_ MANSKY
_on the back_, MANSKY _laughing uninterruptedly_. ALMADY _turns away
furiously_. ILONA _turns away, ashamed_.]
MANSKY. [_Putting his arm around_ ADAM’S _shoulder_, _still laughing_.]
Heavens! What fools we’ve been!
ADAM. Haven’t we?
MELL. [_Eagerly._] Won’t you tell me the joke?
ADAM. You wouldn’t understand.
ILONA. What are you two so amused about?
TURAI. [_Curtly._] Come, come. We’re wasting time. Let’s get on.
MANSKY. Yes, get on. I want to hear this. Round, smooth, velvety and
fragrant.
ADAM. And you mustn’t bite.
ILONA. You mustn’t bite it.
ALMADY. I must--I am so hungry.
[ADAM _and_ MANSKY _go on laughing_. MELL _laughs too, but with a
puzzled look, as much as to say “I’m joining in, but I really don’t
understand.”_]
ALMADY. [_Sits._] Ah well! I see I am nothing to you any more.
ILONA. Oh, for goodness sake! I swear that no man-- [_Breaks off,
unable to go on._]
TURAI. [_Prompting._] No man who has ever come into my life ...
ILONA. ... has meant so much to me as you. From the top of your head to
the soles of your feet you are a _man_.
TURAI. I think we might cut that last bit.
ALMADY. Why?
TURAI. Well, I mean to say.... A _little_ too _explicit_, don’t you
think? Rather too obvious a sexual implication. A wee bit _coarse_,
perhaps, yes? We must consider the feelings of the audience. [_To_
MELL.] Will there be any young girls there to-night?
MELL. Oh, yes, indeed.
TURAI. Then we must cut it. They may bring their parents. Instead
suppose we say--“I love you, even though you _are_ only a poor
imitation of a man.” [ALMADY _registers rage_.] Go on. [_To_ ALMADY.]
“My God! I suffer....”
ALMADY. [_Bitterly._] My God! I suffer like a sick horse. [_To_ TURAI.]
Look here, that ought to come out.
TURAI. Why?
ALMADY. How could anyone speak of himself so vulgarly?
TURAI. We went into all that just now. Just what a cattle-raiser
_would_ say.
ALMADY. But he’s a fruit-raiser!
TURAI. Cattle, too. Cattle as a side line.
ILONA. Don’t look so pathetic.... Well, come here. Kiss me. You donkey.
ALMADY. [_Furiously to_ TURAI.] It’s too much.... Horse _and_ donkey.
ADAM. [_Aside to_ MANSKY.] This is where I went out. How funny it seems
now.
TURAI. [_Looks at script._] We’re getting near the end now. They kiss
here. [ALMADY _starts to kiss_ ILONA.]
ILONA. [_Pushing him away._] Oh, never mind the kiss. Kiss over.
ALMADY. [_Offended._] Just as you please. I want you to remember that
kiss for ever.
ILONA. Your kiss is revolting to me.
ALMADY. [_Despairingly--To_ TURAI.] Does that stay in?
TURAI. My dear fellow, we can’t cut everything.
ALMADY. But a line like that’s so damned personal. The audience will
loathe me.
MANSKY. It beats me why on earth you ever chose a part like this.
[ALMADY _looks toward_ TURAI _in mute appeal, but_ TURAI _is adamant
and metes out no mercy_.]
TURAI. [_With subtle mockery._] Yes. It’s no business of mine, but I
must say I can’t understand that, either. It doesn’t help to cut lines
here and there. It’s the whole part. The character’s a bounder and a
fool.
MANSKY. The author must have loathed this fellow. [_To_ TURAI.] You
notice that, Sandor, don’t you?
TURAI. [_Ironically._] Of course, I noticed it.
ILONA. Do let’s get to the end. [_Rises._] Mademoiselle Emilienne
describes you as an old fool. [ALMADY _glares_.]
TURAI. [_Prompting._] And so I am.
ALMADY. And so I am, Yvonne. [_Furious._] So I am.
MANSKY. You certainly are.
ILONA. [_Sincerely._] It’s disgusting that a man of your age should
persecute a woman, and by playing on her sense of gratitude seek to
obtain a love which she would never bestow as a free gift.
ADAM. [_Crossing down to_ TURAI _and whispering_.] Uncle Sandor--will
you give me your word of honor that Ilona shall never know how
shamefully I suspected her?
TURAI. Don’t be childish.
ADAM. If ever she found out--she’d never look at me again.
TURAI. I’ll never tell her.
ILONA. Please don’t interrupt any more.
ADAM. [_Bows elaborately and says with meaning._] Forgive me. [ILONA
_accepts his apology with an affectionate gesture, and when his back is
turned it is she who is mutely asking his forgiveness_.]
TURAI. Go on!
ILONA. Think of your wife. Think of your children.
ALMADY. [_Turns away._] My children!
ILONA. What would your son say? Your son, a highly respected colonel in
the Dragoons.
[_This is too much. The Actor in_ ALMADY _is crushed. He comes down
to_ TURAI _brokenly and speaks supplicatingly_.]
ALMADY. Mr. Turai.
TURAI. [_Amiably._] Yes?
ALMADY. It’s just a suggestion, but couldn’t we say lieutenant there?
TURAI. I’m afraid not. You see it was “general” in the text.
ALMADY. [_Wildly._] My son a general?
ILONA. [_To_ TURAI.] How far back _can_ I go?
TURAI. At the most a major.
ILONA. [_Quickly._] Very well. Your son, a highly respected major in
the Dragoons.
ALMADY. You are right, Yvonne. The shock would kill him. [ALMADY
_breaks off, evidently unwilling to speak his next line. But_ TURAI
_prompts him relentlessly_.]
TURAI. A ridiculous old petticoat-chaser.
ALMADY. [_Speaking the lines almost sotto voce in a casual offhand
manner._] A ridiculous old petticoat-chaser, that’s what I am. Bah!
TURAI. Oh, come, Mr. Almady. Not so tamely, please. More _life_. Once
more.
ALMADY. [_Comes down to_ TURAI _and says the line with petulance and
irritation_.] A ridiculous old petticoat-chaser, that’s what I am. Bah!
TURAI. [_Relentlessly._] Still not quite strong enough. More gusto.
More sincerity.
ALMADY. [_Shouts the line to relieve his fury._] A RIDICULOUS OLD
PETTICOAT-CHASER, THAT’S WHAT I AM. BAH!
TURAI. [_Coldly._] Once more, please.
ALMADY. [_Shouting to the full limit of his vocal chords in wild
desperation._] A RIDICULOUS OLD PETTICOAT-CHASER, THAT’S WHAT I AM. BAH!
TURAI. [_With approval._] Fine--_that’s_ it. Now read it that way
at the performance. [ALMADY _returns upstage completely crushed and
beaten_.]
ALMADY. [_Genuinely._] I promise you I shall never again make myself
obnoxious to this woman who loves another man and is sick and tired of
me. Never, never again.
ILONA. [_Briskly._] Never again?
ALMADY. [_Briskly._] Never again.
ILONA. Then, Maurice, I will be generous. I will not go to Paris, and
you may eat the peach.
ALMADY. [_Hurls himself at the peach._] My God! At last! [_Gnaws the
peach._]
TURAI. [_Rising._] Curtain.
MANSKY. The end?
TURAI. The end.
MANSKY. He really should have given his wife the peach. That would have
made a much prettier finish.
TURAI. Oh, my dear fellow! Where’s your sense of character? The man’s
selfish to the core. He’d never give his wife peaches.
MANSKY. A very unsympathetic part. Still, he played it well.
TURAI. It fitted him.
MELL. [_Dancing about in anguish, pointing to_ ALMADY, _incoherent with
agitation_.] Oh! Oh!
TURAI. What’s the matter with you?
MELL. He’s eating the peach! He’s eating the peach! I never dreamed
he was going to _eat_ the peach. I shall have to dash out and get
another. [_He rushes off to the hall._]
ILONA. [_Takes off scarf. To_ ADAM, _who stands overcome with
happiness_.] Well, how do you like me in this part?
ADAM. Oh, darling, you were wonderful, simply wonderful. And, if you
want to know what I think--this little comedy is worth all Shakespeare
put together. [_He kisses her hands._]
MANSKY. Oh, no, no, no. The thing dates terribly. When did Sardou write
it?
TURAI. I don’t know. What period Sardou is this, Mr. Almady?
ALMADY. I should imagine it was his last work.
MANSKY. Then he must have been a very old man at the time. It’s
terrible. He probably wrote it just before he died.
TURAI. Or just after. [_To_ ILONA.] Can I have a minute? Just a few
things I’d like to tell you about your part.
ILONA. Yes, yes, I shall be very grateful. [_To_ MANSKY _and_ ADAM.] Go
along. We shan’t be a moment. [_They go up the stairs at right._]
MANSKY. What beats me is why an actor who has always played heroes
picked a part like that for himself. He must be terribly fond of
acting. [MANSKY _and_ ADAM _go out at right_.]
TURAI. [_To_ ALMADY, _who is sitting dejectedly at left_.] You seem
upset.
ALMADY. [_Miserably._] Not at all. [_He glares at_ TURAI.]
TURAI. So you’ve decided to take the midnight express directly after
the performance?
ALMADY. Yes.
TURAI. I think you’re wise. A good, fruity train, highly spoken of by
connoisseurs. Well, just to show you the sort of fellows we Turais are,
I’ll let you off the major. Ilona, you can say lieutenant.
ALMADY. Even lieutenant seems a little....
TURAI. Good God! We can’t make him a drummer boy.
ALMADY. [_Picks up part._] Very well. So be it. I suppose I ought to be
thankful for small mercies. [_Goes toward door to hall._]
TURAI. Where are you off to?
ALMADY. I’m going to have another go at those infernal French names.
But in spite of everything--thank you. [ALMADY _bows and then goes
out_.]
ILONA. [_Going to_ TURAI _and embracing him_.] Sandor, you’re an angel.
Was it awfully difficult, writing that play?
TURAI. Oh, no. That damned peach stumped me for a while. Smooth, round,
velvety and fragrant, and you mustn’t bite. It wasn’t easy to get round
that. Believe me, there are very few things in this world that are
round, smooth, velvety--and respectable.
ILONA. [_Turns head away._] Oh--he was talking about my shoulder.
TURAI. [_With delicate irony and gazing at her shoulder, then kissing
it._] Really? I thought it was your forehead.
ILONA. You’re an old devil--that’s what you are.
TURAI. Just what I expected. Now that it’s all over, everybody else is
a gentleman and I’m an old devil. But somehow I don’t think I am. My
little Ilona, I have saved a young man a bad heartache. It’s a negative
kindness, but is there a positive one that’s better? Yes, on the
whole, I think I’m fairly well satisfied with myself. And there’s a
little old woman looking at me from somewhere--probably from hell--and
her eyes seem to be twinkling, as if she was satisfied, too. It’s
unfortunate, that you won’t have me always on hand to.... [_Re-enter_
MANSKY _and_ ADAM.]
MANSKY. [_On the landing, to_ ADAM.] Poor old Turai’s feeling awfully
sore about all this. He had a wonderful scheme for bringing you two
together, based on what he calls psychology. And now he’s furious
because that won’t be needed. [_Enter_ DWORNITSCHEK _from hall_.]
ADAM. Sh! Ilona will hear you. Let’s drop the subject.
DWORNITSCHEK. [_Standing at center._] Dinner is served. [ADAM _meets_
ILONA _at center. They embrace and kiss lovingly and go out to the hall
arm in arm._]
MANSKY. [_With self-satisfaction to_ TURAI.] So, my friend, it comes
down to this. There are many clever writers, but the most successful of
them all is still old man life himself.
TURAI. That’s because he doesn’t have to collaborate with you. [_He
takes_ MANSKY’S _arm. As he passes_ DWORNITSCHEK _he stops and looks at
him_.]
DWORNITSCHEK. [_Smiling._] Dwornitschek, sir.
TURAI. Still Dwornitschek--Thank you.
DWORNITSCHEK. Thank _you_, sir.
TURAI. No, no, my dear Dwornitschek, thank YOU. [TURAI _and_ MANSKY _go
out_.]
THE CURTAIN FALLS
* * * * *
Transcriber’s note
Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Other spelling has been retained as originally published except for
the changes below.
Page 35: “Everyday I’ve been” “Every day I’ve been”
Page 62: “ALMADY. [_To_ ALMADY.]” “ALMADY. [_To_ TURAI.]”
Page 74: “TURAI. My God!” “ILONA. My God!”
Page 111: “put the whip down on the” “puts the whip down on the”
Page 115: “peace that has ripened” “peach that has ripened”
Page 132: “This is to much.” “This is too much.”