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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75451 ***





[Illustration]

  _FERENC MOLNAR_

  THE PLAY’S
  THE THING

  [Illustration]

  _Adapted from the Hungarian
  By_ P. G. WODEHOUSE

  [Illustration]

  BRENTANO’S
  _Publishers_       _New York_




COPYRIGHT, 1927, BY CHARLES FROHMAN, INC.

All rights, including stage, motion picture, and amateur production,
are reserved. No performance or public reading may be given without the
written consent of the author, or his recognized agents. Application
should be made to the author, in care of Charles Frohman, Inc.

Manufactured in the United States of America




_On Thursday, October twenty-first, 1926, at Irving M. Lesser’s Great
Neck Playhouse, Great Neck, Long Island, the Charles Frohman Company,
Gilbert Miller, Managing Director, presented Holbrook Blinn in THE
PLAY’S THE THING by Ferenc Molnar, for the first time on any stage in
any language. The play was presented for the first time in New York
City under the same auspices at Henry Miller’s Theatre on Wednesday,
November the third, 1926. It was produced by Holbrook Blinn with the
following cast_:--

  SANDOR TURAI                    HOLBROOK BLINN
  MANSKY                            HUBERT DRUCE
  ALBERT ADAM                    EDWARD CRANDALL
  ILONA SZABO                CATHERINE DALE OWEN
  ALMADY                           REGINALD OWEN
  JOHANN DWORNITSCHEK                RALPH NAIRN
  MELL                            CLAUD ALLISTER
  LACKEYS                       { STEPHEN KENDAL
                                {    JOHN GERARD




THE PLAY’S THE THING




THE CHARACTERS


  SANDOR TURAI, A Famous Dramatist
  MANSKY, His Collaborator
  ALBERT ADAM, A Young Composer
  ILONA SZABO, A Prima Donna
  ALMADY, A Leading Actor
  JOHANN DWORNITSCHEK, A Footman
  MELL, The Count’s Secretary
  TWO LACKEYS.

The action takes place in a room in a castle on the Italian Riviera, on
a Saturday in summer.

  ACT   I--2:00 A. M.
  ACT  II--6:00 A. M.
  ACT III--7:30 P. M.




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.

ILONA. Good-bye, and thank you so much, Mr. Mell. You’ve been so
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.”




*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75451 ***