think, perhaps, that all this was meant as a kind of ordeal for you? Do
you think I was playing a childish comedy in order to punish you, and
that now, when you have discovered the truth prematurely, I shall sink
into your arms and declare everything right again? Have you really
imagined that everything could now be forgotten, and that we might
resume our marriage relations at the exact point where they were
interrupted? How can you possibly have wished that such might be the
case--so that our marriage would be like thousands of others, where
both deceive each other, and become reconciled, and deceive each other
again--just as the moment's whim happens to move them?
AMADEUS
We have neither deceived each other, nor become reconciled--we have
been free, and have merely found each other again.
CECILIA
Each other, you say?... As if that were possible! What is it then, that
has made me seem so desirable to you all at once? Not the fact that I
am Cecilia--oh, no! But the fact that I seem to have come back another
woman. And have I really become yours again? Not at all! Not unless you
have grown so modest all at once that you can be satisfied with a
happiness that might have fallen to somebody else perhaps, if he had
merely chanced to be on hand at that particular moment.
AMADEUS (_shrinking back_)
But even if last night be sacrificed to this fixed idea of yours,
Cecilia--it is daylight now--we are awake--and in this moment of clear
light you must feel, no less than I, that we love each other,
Cecilia--love as we have never loved before.
CECILIA
This moment might prove deceptive--and I am sure it would. No other
moment would be more apt to prove such. Do you think those many moments
in which we felt our tenderness gradually ebbing away--those many
moments when we felt the lure of other loves--do you think them less
worthy of consideration than this one? The only thing urging us
together now is our fear of the final leave-taking. And our feelings at
this moment make a pretty poor sample upon which to base an eternity. I
don't trust them. What has happened once, may ... nay, must repeat
itself--to-morrow--or two years from now--or five ... in a more
indiscreet manner, perhaps, or in a manner more tragical--but certainly
in a manner to be much more regretted.
AMADEUS
Oh, no--never again! Now--after what I have felt and experienced
lately, I can vouch for myself.
CECILIA
I don't feel equally certain of myself, Amadeus.
AMADEUS
That doesn't scare me, Cecilia, for now I'm prepared to fight for
you--now I'm worthy and capable of fighting for you. Hereafter you
shall never more be left unprotected as you were in the past--my
tenderness will guard you.
CECILIA
But I don't want to be guarded! I shall no longer permit you to guard
me! And I can no more give you any promises than I care to accept
yours.
AMADEUS
And if I should forgo them myself--if I should risk it on a mere
uncertainty?
CECILIA
That's more than I dare--whether the risk concern you or myself ...
more than I would risk even with certainty in mind. (_She turns away
from him_)
AMADEUS
Then I cannot possibly understand you, Cecilia. What is it you want to
make us pay for so dearly--yes, both of us? Is it our guilt or our
happiness?
CECILIA
Why should either one of them be paid for? What's the use of such a
word between us? Neither one of us has done anything that requires
atonement. Neither one of us has any right to reproach the other one.
Both of us have been free, and each one has used his freedom in
accordance with his own desire and ability. I think nothing has
happened but what must happen. We have trusted each other too much--or
too little. We were neither made to love each other faithfully forever
nor to maintain a pure friendship. Others have become resigned--I
can't--and you mustn't allow yourself, Amadeus. Our experiment has
failed. Let us admit our disillusionment. That can be borne. But I have
no curiosity to find how it tastes when everything comes to an end in
sheer loathing.
AMADEUS
Comes to an end, you say?--But that can't be possible, Cecilia! It
can't be possible that we should really leave each other--part from
each other like strangers! We are still face to face--each of us can
feel the closeness of the other one--and that's why you cannot yet
realize what it would mean. Consider all the things that might come
into your life as well as into mine during a separation of that
kind--so prolonged and so void of responsibility--things that now have
no place in your imagination even, and for which there could be no
reparation.
CECILIA
Could they be worse than what has already befallen me? Faithfulness to
each other in the ordinary sense matters least of all, I should think.
And we could probably more easily find our way back to each other
sometime from almost any other experience than that adventure of last
night, or from a moment of self-deception like this one.
AMADEUS
Find our way back, you say...?
CECILIA
It's also possible that, after a couple of years, we won't care to do
so--that everything may be over between us to such an extent that we
cannot imagine it now. That's possible, I say. But if we stayed
together now, everything would be over within the next few seconds. For
then we should be no better than all those we have despised
hitherto--the one difference being that we had arranged ourselves more
comfortably than the rest.
ALBERT (_entering_)
I beg your pardon for coming in unannounced like this, but....
CECILIA (_withdraws toward the background_)
AMADEUS (_going to meet Albert_)
Yes, I know--you didn't find the Prince--he has been here himself.
ALBERT
What does that mean?
AMADEUS
That there was no reason why I should want to kill him.
ALBERT
I see.--Well, I'll be hanged if I haven't suspected something of the
kind myself!--Then I suppose everything is once more in perfect order
in this house?
AMADEUS
Yes, in perfect order. When I return, Cecilia will be in Berlin, and I
shall not follow her.
ALBERT
What? Then you are going to ask for a separation after all?
CECILIA (_approaching them_)
No, we are not going to ask for a separation. We'll just separate.
ALBERT
What?... (_He looks from one to the other; pause_) Really I like that.
Indeed, I do. I think both of you are splendid--but especially you,
Cecilia--and, of course, there is nothing else left for you to do now.
PETER (_enters, carrying some of his puppets_)
Papa! Mamma! I can play theater beautifully. Won't you come and look?
Oh, please come!
CECILIA (_strokes his hair_)
AMADEUS (_remains standing at some distance from them_)
ALBERT
Well, isn't this just like life--the life you are always talking of!
This should be the moment when you had to fall into each others' arms
with absolute certainty, if you had had the luck to be imaginatively
created--that is, not by me, of course.
CECILIA
No, the boy means too much to both of us to make that possible--don't
you think so, Amadeus?
AMADEUS (_losing control of himself after a glance at Peter_) All at
once to be alone in the world again--it's a thought I can hardly face!
CECILIA
But we shall be somewhere in that world, you know--your child, and the
mother of your child. We are not parting as enemies, after all....
(_With a smile_) I am even ready to come here and sing that Solo of
yours--although we shall not be able to study it together.
AMADEUS
It's more than I can bear...!
CECILIA
It will have to be borne. We must work--both of us.
ALBERT (_to Amadeus_)
Yes, and it remains to be seen what effect a real sorrow like this may
have on you. It's just what you have lacked so far. I expect you'll get
a lot out of it. In a sense, I might almost envy you.
PETER
What's the matter?... Look here, mamma, how they jump about! That's the
king, and this is the devil.
ALBERT
Come on, sonny, and play your piece to _me_. But I insist that the
hero must either marry in the end, or be carried off by the devil. In
either case you can go home quite satisfied when the curtain drops.
(_He goes out with Peter_)
CECILIA (_after a glance at Amadeus, starts to follow them_)
AMADEUS
Cecilia!
CECILIA (_turns back_)
AMADEUS (_passionately_)
Why didn't you show me the door, Cecilia, when you knew...?
CECILIA
Well, _did_ I know?... I have loved you, Amadeus. And all I wanted,
perhaps, was that the inevitable end should be worthy of our love--that
we should part after a final moment of bliss, and with a pang.
AMADEUS
With a pang, you say...? Do you really feel anything like that?
CECILIA (_coming close to him and speaking very gently_)
Why don't you try to understand me, Amadeus? I feel it just as keenly
as you do. But there is another thing I feel more strongly than you,
and it is well for us both that I do. It is this, Amadeus, that we have
been so much to each other that we must keep the memory of it pure. If
that was nothing but an adventure last night, then we have never been
worthy of our past happiness.... If it was a farewell, then we may
expect new happiness in the future ... perhaps.... (_She starts toward
the garden_)
AMADEUS
And that's our reward, then, for having always been honest to each
other!
CECILIA (_turning toward him again_)
Honest, you call it...? Have we always been that?
AMADEUS
Cecilia!
CECILIA
No, I can't think so any longer. Let everything else have been
honest--but that both of us should have resigned ourselves so promptly
when you told me of your passion for the Countess and I confessed my
affection for Sigismund--that was not honest. If each of us had then
flung his scorn, his bitterness, his despair into the face of the other
one, instead of trying to appear self-controlled and superior--then we
should have been honest--which, as it was, we were not. (_She walks
across the veranda outside and disappears into the garden_)
AMADEUS (_to himself_)
All right--then we were not honest. (_After a pause_) And suppose we
had been?! (_For a moment he seems to consider; then he goes to the
writing desk and puts the manuscript music lying there into the little
handbag; after a glance into the garden, he goes into his own room,
returning at once with his hat and overcoat; then he opens the handbag
again and picks out a manuscript, which he places on the piano; then he
goes out rapidly, taking hat, overcoat and handbag with him; a brief
pause follows_)
CECILIA (_enters and notices that the handbag is gone; she goes quickly
into Amadeus' room, but returns immediately; she crosses the room to
the main entrance and remains standing there, opening her arms widely
at first, and then letting them sink down again; going to the piano,
she catches sight of the manuscript lying there and picks it up; while
looking at it, she sinks down on the piano stool_)
PETER (appears on the veranda with Albert and calls from there) Mother!
CECILIA (_does not hear him_)
ALBERT (_observing that Cecilia is alone and sunk in grief, takes Peter
with him into the garden again_)
CECILIA (_begins to weep softly and lets her head sink down on the
piano_)
CURTAIN
COUNTESS MIZZIE
OR
THE FAMILY REUNION
(_Komtesse Mizzi oder der Familientag_)
A COMEDY IN ONE ACT
1907
PERSONS
COUNT ARPAD PAZMANDY
MIZZIE } His daughter
PRINCE EGON RAVENSTEIN
LOLO LANGHUBER
PHILIP
PROFESSOR WINDHOFER
WASNER
THE GARDENER
THE VALET
COUNTESS MIZZIE
_The garden of Count Arpad. In the background, tall iron fence. Near
the middle of this, but a little more to the right, there is a gate. In
the foreground, at the left, appears the facade of the two-storied
villa, which used to be an imperial hunting lodge about 180 years ago
and was remodeled about thirty years ago. A narrow terrace runs along
the main floor, which is raised above the ground. Three wide stairs
lead from the terrace down to the garden. French doors, which are
standing open, lead from the terrace into the drawing-room. The windows
of the upper floor are of ordinary design. Above that floor appears a
small balcony, to which access is had through a dormer window. This
balcony holds a profusion of flowering plants. A garden seat, a small
table and an armchair stand under a tree at the right, in the
foreground._
COUNT (_enters from the right; he is an elderly man with gray
mustaches, but must still be counted decidedly good-looking; his
bearing and manners indicate the retired officer; he wears a riding
suit and carries a crop_)
VALET (_entering behind the Count_)
At what time does Your Grace desire to have dinner to-day?
COUNT (_who speaks with the laconism affected by his former colleagues,
and who, at that particular moment, is engaged in lighting a huge
cigar_) At two.
VALET
And when is the carriage to be ready, Your Grace?
MIZZIE[1] (_appearing on the balcony with a palette and a bunch of
brushes in one hand, calls down to her father_) Good morning, papa.
[1] Diminutive of Maria.
COUNT
Morning, Mizzie.
MIZZIE
You left me all alone for breakfast again, papa. Where have you been
anyhow?
COUNT
Most everywhere. Rode out by way of Mauer and Rodaun.[2] Perfectly
splendid day. And what are you doing? At work already? Is there
anything new to be seen soon?
[2] Small towns south of Vienna. The subsequent reference to
the Tiergarten shows that the Pazmandy residence must be in
the little suburb of Lainz, at the extreme southwestern corner
of Vienna. Near the Tiergarten there is actually an imperial
hunting lodge, which the playwright seems to have appropriated
for his purpose.
MIZZIE
Yes, indeed, papa. Nothing but flowers though, as usual.
COUNT
Isn't the professor coming to see you to-day?
MIZZIE
Yes, but not until one.
COUNT
Well, don't let me interrupt you.
MIZZIE (_throws a kiss to him and disappears from the balcony_)
COUNT (_to the valet_)
What are you waiting for? Oh, the carriage. I'm not going out again
to-day. Joseph can take a holiday. Or wait a moment. (_He calls up to
the balcony_) Say, Mizzie....
MIZZIE (_reappears on the balcony_)
COUNT
Sorry to disturb you again. Do you think you'll want the carriage
to-day?
MIZZIE
No, thank you, papa. I can think of nothing.... No, thanks. (_She
disappears again_)
COUNT
So Joseph can do what he pleases this afternoon. That's--oh, see that
Franz gives the nag a good rubbing down. We got a little excited this
morning--both of us.
VALET (_goes out_)
COUNT (_sits down on the garden seat, picks up a newspaper from the
table and begins to read_)
GARDENER (_enters_)
Good morning, Your Grace.
COUNT
Morning, Peter. What's up?
GARDENER
With Your Grace's permission, I have just cut the tea roses.
COUNT
Why all that lot?
GARDENER
The bush is full up. It ain't wise, Your Grace, to leave 'em on the
stem much longer. If maybe Your Grace could find some use....
COUNT
Haven't got any. Why do you stand there looking at me? I'm not going to
the city. I won't need any flowers. Why don't you put them in some of
those vases and things that are standing about in there? Quite the
fashion nowadays, isn't it? (_He takes the bunch of flowers from the
gardener and inhales their fragrance while he seems to be pondering
something_) Wasn't that a carriage that stopped here?
GARDENER
That's His Highness' pair of blacks. I know 'em by their step.
COUNT
Thanks very much then. (_He hands back the roses_)
PRINCE (_comes in by the gate_)
COUNT (_goes to meet him_)
GARDENER
Good morning, Your Highness.
PRINCE
Hello, Peter.
GARDENER (_goes out toward the right_)
PRINCE (_wears a light-colored Summer suit; is fifty-five, but doesn't
look it; tall and slender; his manner of speech suggests the diplomat,
who is as much at home in French as in his native tongue_)
COUNT
Delighted, old chap. How goes it?
PRINCE
Thanks. Splendid day.
COUNT (_offers him one of his gigantic cigars_)
PRINCE
No, thank you, not before lunch. Only one of my own cigarettes, if you
permit. (_He takes a cigarette from his case and lights it_)
COUNT
So you've found time to drop in at last. Do you know how long you
haven't been here? Three weeks.
PRINCE (_glancing toward the balcony_)
Really that long?
COUNT
What is it that makes you so scarce?
PRINCE
You mustn't mind. But you are right, of course. And even to-day I come
only to say good-by.
COUNT
What--good-by?
PRINCE
I shall be off to-morrow.
COUNT
You're going away? Where?
PRINCE
The sea shore. And you--have you made any plans yet?
COUNT
I haven't given a thought to it yet--this year.
PRINCE
Well, of course, it's wonderful right here--with your enormous park.
But you have to go somewhere later in the Summer?
COUNT
Don't know yet. But it's all one.
PRINCE
What's wrong now?
COUNT
Oh, my dear old friend, it's going downhill.
PRINCE
How? That's a funny way of talking, Arpad. What do you mean by
downhill?
COUNT
One grows old, Egon.
PRINCE
Yes, and gets accustomed to it.
COUNT
What do you know about it--you who are five years younger?
PRINCE
Six almost. But at fifty-five the springtime of life is pretty well
over. Well--one gets resigned to it.
COUNT
You have always been something of a philosopher, old chap.
PRINCE
Anyhow, I can't see what's the matter with you. You look fine. (_Seats
himself; frequently during this scene he glances up at the balcony;
pause_)
COUNT (_with sudden decision_)
Have you heard the latest? She's going to marry.
PRINCE
Who's going to marry?
COUNT
Do you have to ask? Can't you guess?
PRINCE
Oh, I see. Thought it might be Mizzie. And that would also.... So Lolo
is going to marry.
COUNT
She is.
PRINCE
But that's hardly the "latest."
COUNT
Why not?
PRINCE
It's what she has promised, or threatened, or whatever you choose to
call it, these last three years.
COUNT
Three, you say? May just as well say ten. Or eighteen. Yes, indeed. In
fact, since the very start of this affair between her and me. It has
always been a fixed idea with her. "If ever a decent man asks me to
marry him, I'll get off the stage _stante pede_." It was almost the
first thing she told me. You have heard it yourself a couple of times.
And now he's come--the one she has been waiting for--and she's to get
married.
PRINCE
Hope he's decent at least.
COUNT
Yes, you're very witty! But is that your only way of showing sympathy
in a serious moment like this?
PRINCE
Now! (_He puts his hand on the Count's arm_)
COUNT
Well, I assure you, it's a serious moment. It's no small matter when
you have lived twenty years with somebody--in a _near_-marital state;
when you have been spending your best years with her, and really shared
her joys and sorrows--until you have come to think at last, that it's
never going to end--and then she comes to you one fine day and says:
"God bless you, dear, but I'm going to get wedded on the sixteenth...."
Oh, damn the whole story! (_He gets up and begins to walk about_) And I
can't blame her even. Because I understand perfectly. So what can you
do about it?
PRINCE
You've always been much too kind, Arpad.
COUNT
Nothing kind about it. Why shouldn't I understand? The clock has struck
thirty-eight for her. And she has said adieu to her profession. So that
anybody can sympathize with her feeling that there is no fun to go on
as a ballet dancer retired on half pay and mistress on active service
to Count Pazmandy, who'll be nothing but an old fool either, as time
runs along. Of course, I have been prepared for it. And I haven't
blamed her a bit--'pon my soul!
PRINCE
So you have parted as perfect friends?
COUNT
Certainly. In fact, our leave-taking was quite jolly. 'Pon my soul, I
never suspected at first how tough it would prove. It's only by degrees
it has come home to me. And that's quite a remarkable story, I must
say....
PRINCE
What's remarkable about it?
COUNT
I suppose I had better tell you all about it. On my way home that last
time--one night last week--I had a feeling all of a sudden--I don't
know how to express it ... tremendously relieved, that's what I felt.
Now you are a free man, I said to myself. Don't have to drive to
Mayerhof Street[3] every night God grants you, merely to dine and
chatter with Lolo, or just sit there listening to her. Had come to be
pretty boresome at times, you know. And then the drive home in the
middle of the night, and, on top of it, to be called to account when
you happened to be dining with a friend in the Casino or taking your
daughter to the opera or a theater. To cut it short--I was in high
feather going home that night. My head was full of plans already....
No, nothing of the kind you have in mind! But plans for traveling, as I
have long wanted to do--to Africa, or India, like a free man.... That
is, I should have brought my little girl along, of course.... Yes, you
may well laugh at my calling her a little girl still.
[3] A street in the district of Wieden, near one of the
principal shopping districts and leading to the great
Theresian Riding Academy.
PRINCE
Nothing of the kind. Mizzie looks exactly like a young girl. Like quite
a young one. Especially in that Florentine straw hat she was wearing a
while ago.
COUNT
Like a young girl, you say! And yet she's exactly of an age with Lolo.
You know, of course! Yes, we're growing old, Egon. Every one of us. Oh,
yes.... And lonely. But really, I didn't notice it to begin with. It
was only by degrees it got hold of me. The first days after that
farewell feast were not so very bad. But the day before yesterday, and
yesterday, as the time approached when I used to start for Mayerhof
Street.... And when Peter brought in those roses a moment ago--for
Lolo, of course--why, then it seemed pretty plain to me that I had
become a widower for the second time in my life. Yes, my dear fellow.
And this time forever. Now comes the loneliness. It has come already.
PRINCE
But that's nonsense--loneliness!
COUNT
Pardon me, but you can't understand. Your way of living has been so
different from mine. You have not let yourself be dragged into anything
new since your poor wife died ten years ago. Into nothing of a serious
nature, I mean. And besides, you have a profession, in a sense.
PRINCE
Have I?
COUNT
Well, as a member of the Upper House.
PRINCE
Oh, I see.
COUNT
And twice you have almost been put into the cabinet.
PRINCE
Yes, almost....
COUNT
Who knows? Perhaps you will break in some time. And I'm all done. Had
myself retired three years ago in the bargain--like a fool.
PRINCE (_with a smile_)
That's why you are a free man now. Perfectly free. With the world open
before you.
COUNT
And no desire to do a thing, old man. That's the whole story. Since
that time I haven't gone to the Casino even. Do you know what I have
been doing the last few nights? I have sat under that tree with
Mizzie--playing domino.
PRINCE
Well, don't you see? That's not to be lonely. When you have a daughter,
and particularly such a sensible one, with whom you have always got on
so well.... What does she say about your staying at home nights anyhow?
COUNT
Nothing. Besides, it has happened before, quite frequently. She says
nothing at all. And what could she say? It seems to me she has never
noticed anything. Do you think she can have known about Lolo?
PRINCE (_laughing_)
Man alive!
COUNT
Of course. Yes, I know. Of course, she must have known. But then, I was
still almost a young man when her mother died. I hope it hasn't hurt
her feelings.
PRINCE
No, _that_ wouldn't. (_Casually_) But being left so much alone may have
troubled her at times, I should think.
COUNT
Has she complained of me? There's no reason why you shouldn't tell me.
PRINCE
I am not in her confidence. She has never complained to me. And,
heavens, it may never have troubled her at all. She has so long been
accustomed to this quiet, retired life.
COUNT
Yes, and she seems to have a taste for it, too. And then she used to go
out a good deal until a few years ago. Between you and me, Egon, as
late as three years ago--no, two years ago--I still thought she might
make the plunge after all.
PRINCE
What plunge? Oh, I see....
COUNT
If you could only guess what kind of men have been paying attention to
her quite recently....
PRINCE
That's only natural.
COUNT
But she won't. She absolutely won't. What I mean is, that she can't be
feeling so very lonely ... otherwise she would ... as she has had
plenty of opportunity....
PRINCE
Certainly. It's her own choice. And then Mizzie has an additional
resource in her painting. It's a case like that of my blessed aunt, the
late Fanny Hohenstein, who went on writing books to a venerable old age
and never wanted to hear a word about marriage.
COUNT
It may have some connection with her artistic aspirations. At times I'm
inclined to look for some psychological connection between all these
morbid tendencies.
PRINCE
Morbid, you say? But you can't possibly call Mizzie morbid.
COUNT
Oh, it's all over now. But there was a time....
PRINCE
I have always found Mizzie very sensible and very well balanced. After
all, painting roses and violets doesn't prove a person morbid by any
means.
COUNT
You don't think me such a fool that her violets and roses could make me
believe.... But if you remember when she was still a young girl....
PRINCE
What then?
COUNT
Oh, that story at the time Fedor Wangenheim wanted to marry her.
PRINCE