Part 3

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_.]