  THE FIRST ACT The study of Amadeus. The walls are painted in dark gray, with a very simple frieze. A door in the background leads to a veranda. On either side of this door is a window. Through the door one sees the garden, to which three steps lead down from the veranda. A cabinet stands between the door and the window at the right; a music-stand holds a corresponding position to the left of the door. Antique bas-reliefs are hung above the cabinet as well as the stand. The main entrance is on the right side in the foreground. Farther back at the right is a door leading to Cecilia's room. A door finished like the rest of the wall leads to the room of Amadeus at the left. A tall book case, with a bust of Verrochio on top of it, stands against the right wall. In the corner back of it are several columns with tall vases full of flowers. A fireplace occupies the foreground at the left. Above it is a large mirror. On the mantelshelf stands a French clock of simple design. A table surrounded by chairs is placed in front of the fireplace. Farther back along the same wall are shelves piled with sheet music, and above them engravings of Schumann, Brahms, Mozart, and other composers. A bust of Beethoven occupies the farthermost corner at the left. Halfway down the stage, nearer the left wall, stands a piano with a piano stool in front of it. An armchair has been moved up close to the piano on the side toward the public. A writing desk holds a similar position at the right. Back of it are an easy-chair and a couch, the latter having been moved close to the table. AMADEUS (thirty years old, slender, with dark, smooth hair; his movements are quick, with a suggestion of restlessness; he wears a gray business suit of elegant cut, but not well cared for; he has a trick of taking hold of the lapel of his sack coat with his left hand and turning it back; he is seated at the piano, accompanying Frederique) FREDERIQUE (twenty-eight, is dressed in a bright gray tailor-made suit and a red satin waist; wears a broad-brimmed straw hat, very fashionable; her hair is blonde, of a reddish tint; her whole appearance is very dainty; she is singing an aria from the opera "Mignon") "Ha-ha-ha! Is 't true, really true?" (While singing she is all the time making a motion as if she were beating the dust out of her riding suit with a crop) AMADEUS (accompanying himself as he gives her the cue) "Yes, you may laugh. I am a fool to ruin my horse ..." FREDERIQUE "Maybe you would like ..." AMADEUS (nervously) Oh, wait!... You don't know yet why I have ruined my horse.... "To ruin my horse for a quicker sight of you ..." FREDERIQUE (with the same gesture as before) "Maybe you would like me to weep?" AMADEUS "Oh, I regret already that I came." FREDERIQUE (as before) "Well, why...." AMADEUS G sharp! FREDERIQUE (as before) "Well, why don't you go back? Soon enough I shall see you again." AMADEUS You should say that ironically, not tenderly. "Soon enough I shall see you again...." FREDERIQUE (as before) "Soon enough I shall see you again...." AMADEUS Not angrily, Countess, but ironically. FREDERIQUE Call me Frederique, and not Countess, when you are working with me. AMADEUS Now, that's the tone Philine should use. Hold on to it.... And that's the right look, too.... If you could do that on the stage, you might almost be an artist. FREDERIQUE Oh, mercy, I have sung Philine more than twenty times already. AMADEUS But not here, Freder ... Countess. And not when Mrs. Adams-Ortenburg was singing the part of Mignon. (He leans forward so that he can look out into the garden) FREDERIQUE No, she isn't coming yet. (With a smile) Perhaps the rehearsal isn't over. AMADEUS (rising) Perhaps not. FREDERIQUE Is it true that Mrs. Adams-Ortenburg has been requested to sing in Berlin next Fall? AMADEUS Nothing has been settled yet. (He goes to the window at the right) If you'll permit.... (Opens the window) FREDERIQUE What a splendid day! And how fragrant the roses are. It is almost like.... AMADEUS Almost like Tremezzo—yes, I know. FREDERIQUE How can you—as you have never been there? AMADEUS But you have told me enough about it. A villa standing at the edge of the water—radiantly white—with marble steps leading straight down to the blue sea. FREDERIQUE Yes. And sometimes, on very hot nights, I sleep in the park, right on the sward, under a plane tree. AMADEUS That plane tree is famous.—But time is flying. It would be better to go on with the singing. (He seats himself at the piano again) The polonaise—if you please, Countess. (He begins the accompaniment) FREDERIQUE (singing) "Titania, airiest queen of fairies, Has descended from her blue cloud throne, And her way across the world is wending More quickly than the bird or lightning flash..." AMADEUS (interrupts his playing and lets his head sink forward) No, no—it's no use!... Please tell the director that he will have to look after your part himself. As for me, I have certain regards even for people who go to the opera in Summer. They should not be forced to accept anything. Tell the director, please, that I send him my regards and that—there are more important things to occupy my time. (He closes the score) FREDERIQUE (quite amicably) I believe it. How's your opera getting along? AMADEUS For the Lord's sake, please don't pretend to be interested in things of that kind! Why, nobody expects it of you. FREDERIQUE Will it soon be finished? AMADEUS Finished...? How could it be, do you think? I have to conduct two nights a week at least, and there are rehearsals in the morning, not to mention singers that have to be coached.... Do you think a man can sit down after an hour like this and invite his muse? FREDERIQUE After an hour like this...? I don't think you feel quite at your ease with me, Amadeus. AMADEUS Not at my ease? I? With you?—I don't think you have imagined in your most reckless moments, Countess, that my wife might have anything to fear from you. FREDERIQUE You are determined to misunderstand me. (She has gone to the fireplace and turns now to face Amadeus) You know perfectly well why you pretend to be cross with me. Because you are in love with me. AMADEUS (looks straight ahead and goes on playing) FREDERIQUE And that chord proves nothing to the contrary. AMADEUS That chord.... Tell me rather what kind of chord it is. (He repeats it in a fury) FREDERIQUE A flat major. AMADEUS (in a tone of boredom) G major—of course. FREDERIQUE (close by him, with a smile) Don't let that semi-tone spoil our happiness. AMADEUS (rises, goes toward the background and looks out into the garden) FREDERIQUE Is it your wife? AMADEUS No, my little boy is playing out there. (He stands at the window, waving his hand at somebody outside; pause) FREDERIQUE You take life too hard, Amadeus. AMADEUS (still at the window, but turning toward Frederique) I can't lie—and I don't want to. Which is not the same as taking life hard. FREDERIQUE Can't lie...? And yet you have been away from your wife for months at a time—haven't you? And your wife came here while you were still conducting somewhere abroad, didn't she?... So that.... AMADEUS Those are matters which you don't quite comprehend, Countess. (He looks again toward the main entrance) FREDERIQUE No, your wife can't be here yet. She won't give up her walk on a wonderful day like this. AMADEUS What you have in mind now is pretty mean, Frederique. FREDERIQUE Why so? Of course, I know she takes a walk with you, too, now and then. AMADEUS Yes, when my time permits. And often she goes out with Sigismund. To-day she's probably with him—and that's what you wanted to bring home to me, of course. FREDERIQUE Why should I? You know it, don't you? And I assure you, it has never occurred to me to see anything wrong in it. He's a friend of yours. AMADEUS More than that—or less. He used to be my pupil. FREDERIQUE I didn't know that. AMADEUS Ten years ago, while still a mere youngster, I used to live in his father's palace. It's hard to tell where I might have been to-day, had it not been for old Prince Lohsenstein. You see, we men have generally another kind of youth to look back at than you ... FREDERIQUE ... women artists. AMADEUS No, countesses, I meant to say. For three years I spent every summer in the palace at Krumau.1 And there—for the first time in my life—I could work in peace, all by myself, with nothing more to do than to instruct Sigismund. FREDERIQUE Did he want to become a pianist? AMADEUS Not exactly. He wanted to join some monastic order. FREDERIQUE No? Is that really true?—Oh, it's queer how people change! AMADEUS They don't as much as you think. He has remained a man of serious mind. FREDERIQUE And yet he plays dance music so charmingly...? AMADEUS Why shouldn't he? A good waltz and a good hymn are just as acceptable to the powers above. FREDERIQUE How delightful those evenings in your house used to be! No farther back than last winter.... The Count and I frequently talk of them.—Have you ceased to invite Prince Sigismund, as you have me? AMADEUS He was here only a fortnight ago, my dear Countess—and spent the whole evening with us. We had supper in the summer-house, and then we came in here and sat chatting for a long while, and finally he improvised some variations on the Cagliostro Waltzes before he left.—And what my wife and he say to each other during their walk, when I am not with them, will no more be hidden from me than I would hide from her what you and I have been talking of here. That's how my wife and I feel toward each other—if you'll please understand, Frederique! FREDERIQUE But there are things one simply can't say to each other. AMADEUS There can be no secrets between people like my wife and myself. FREDERIQUE Oh, of course ... but then ... what you have been saying to me will be only a small part of what you must tell your wife to-day, Amadeus. Good-by.... (She holds out her hand to him) AMADEUS What's in your mind now, Frederique? FREDERIQUE Why resist your fate? Is it so very repulsive after all? What you are to me, nobody else has ever been! AMADEUS And you want me to believe that? FREDERIQUE I shall not insist on it. But it is true nevertheless. Good-by now. Until to-morrow, Amadeus. Life is really much easier than you think.... It might be so very pleasant—and so it shall be! (She goes out) AMADEUS (seats himself at the piano again and strikes a few notes) It is getting serious ... or amusing perhaps...? (He shakes his head) ALBERT RHON (enters; he is of medium height; his black hair, slightly streaked with gray, is worn long; he is rather carelessly dressed) AMADEUS Oh, is that you, Albert? How are you? ALBERT I have come to ask how you are getting along with our opera, Amadeus. Have you done anything? AMADEUS No. ALBERT Again nothing? AMADEUS I doubt whether I can get a chance here. We'll have to wait until the season is over. I have too much to do. We are now putting on "Mignon" with new people in some of the parts.... ALBERT If I'm not very much mistaken, I saw Philine float by—with a rather intoxicated look in her eyes.... Oh, have I put my foot into it again? I beg your pardon! AMADEUS (turning away from him) That's right. She was here. Oh, that damned business of private rehearsals! But I hope it won't last much longer. The coming Winter is going to decide my future once for all. I have already got my leave of absence. ALBERT So you have made up your mind about that tour? AMADEUS Yes, I shall be gone for two months this time. ALBERT Within Germany only? AMADEUS I'll probably take in a few Italian cities also. Yes, my dear fellow, they know more about me abroad than here. I shall conduct my Third Symphony, and perhaps also my Fourth. ALBERT Have you got that far already? AMADEUS No. But I have hopes of the Summer. Once more I mean to do some real work. ALBERT Well, it's about time.—I have made out the schedule for our walking tour, by the by. And I brought along the map. Look here. We start from Niederdorf, and then by way of PlÄtzwiesen to Schluderbach; then to Cortina; then through the Giau Pass to Caprile; then by way of the Fedaja2.... AMADEUS I leave all that to you. I rely entirely on you. ALBERT Then it's settled that we'll don knapsack and alpenstock once more, to wander through the country as we used to do when we were young...? AMADEUS Yes, and I am looking forward to it with a great deal of pleasure. ALBERT You need simply to pull yourself together—a few weeks of mountain air and quiet will get you out of this. AMADEUS Oh, I haven't got into anything in particular. I am a little nervous. That's all. ALBERT Can't you see, Amadeus, how you have to force yourself in order to use this evasion toward me, who, of course, has no right whatever to demand any frankness? Can't you see how you are wasting a part of your mental energy, so to speak, on this slight disingenuousness? No, dissimulation is utterly foreign to your nature, as I have always told you. If you should ever get to the point where you had to deceive one who was near and dear to you, that would be the end of you. AMADEUS Your worry is quite superfluous! Haven't you known us long enough—me and Cecilia—to know that our marriage is based, above all else, on absolute frankness? ALBERT Many have good intentions, but their courage often deserts them at the critical moment. AMADEUS We have never yet kept anything hidden from each other. ALBERT Because so far you have had nothing to confess. AMADEUS Oh, a great deal, perhaps, which other people keep to themselves. Our common life has not been without its complications. We have had to be parted from each other for months at a time. I have had to rehearse in private with other singers than Philine, and (with an air of superiority) other men than Prince Sigismund must have discovered that Cecilia is pretty. ALBERT I haven't said a word about Cecilia. AMADEUS And besides, it would be quite hopeless for Cecilia or me to keep any secrets. We know each other too well—I don't think two people ever existed who understood each other so completely as we do. ALBERT I can imagine a point where the understanding would have to end, and everything else with it. AMADEUS Everything else maybe—but not the understanding. ALBERT Oh, well! If nothing is left but the understanding, that means the beginning of the end. AMADEUS Those are—chances that every human being must resign himself to take. ALBERT You don't talk like one who has resigned himself, however, but like one who has made up his mind. AMADEUS Who can be perfectly sure of himself or of anybody else? We two, at any rate, are not challenging fate by feeling too secure. ALBERT Oh, when it comes to that, my dear fellow—fate always regards itself challenged—by doubt no less than by confidence. AMADEUS To be safe against any surprise brings a certain sense of tranquillity anyhow. ALBERT A little more tranquillity would produce a decision to avoid anything that might endanger an assured happiness. AMADEUS Do you think anything is to be won by that kind of avoidance? Don't you feel rather, that the worst and most dangerous of all falsehoods is to resist temptation with a soul full of longing for it? And that it is easier to go unscathed through adventures than through desires? ALBERT Adventures...! Is it actually necessary, then, to live through them? A painter who has risen above pot-boiling, and who has left the follies of youth behind him, can be satisfied with a single model for all the figures that are created out of his dreams—and one who knows how to live may have all the adventures he could ever desire within the peaceful precincts of his own home. He can experience them just as fully as anybody else, but without waste of time, without unpleasantness, without danger. And if he only possess a little imagination, his wife may bear him nothing but illegitimate children without being at all aware of it. AMADEUS It's an open question whether you have the right to force such a part on anybody whom you respect. ALBERT It is not wise to let people know what they mean to you. I have put this thought into an aphorism: If you grasp me, you rasp me; If I know you, I own you. MARIE (entering from the garden with little Peter) Peter wants me absolutely to come in. I wanted to wait for Cecilia in the garden. AMADEUS How are you, Marie? MARIE I'm not disturbing you, I hope? GOVERNESS (comes from the garden with the intention of taking the boy away) Peter! PETER No, I want to stay with the grown-ups. AMADEUS Yes, let him be with us for a while. GOVERNESS (returns to the veranda, where she remains visible) MARIE Well, have you been working a lot? AMADEUS Oh, we have just been talking. ALBERT Do you know why she asks? Because she is in love with Mr. von Rabagas. AMADEUS With whom? ALBERT Don't you remember him? He's that interesting young chap who appears in the first act as one of the King's attendants. She used, at least, to fall in love only with the heroes of my plays, but nowadays she can't even resist the subordinate characters. AMADEUS That should make you proud. ALBERT Proud, you say? But at times you can't help regretting that you must put all the beauties and virtues of the world into the figures you create, so that you have nothing but your wee bit of talent left to get along with personally. CECILIA (enters from the right) PETER There's mamma! CECILIA Good afternoon. (She shakes hands with everybody) How are you, Marie? This is awfully nice. If I had only known.... I went for a short walk. It's such a wonderful day.—Well, Peter (kissing him), have you had your meal yet? PETER Yes. GOVERNESS (entering from the veranda) Good afternoon, Madame. Peter hasn't had his nap yet. MARIE Does he still have to sleep in the daytime? Our two children have quit entirely. ALBERT Instead they play a most exciting game every afternoon—one invented by themselves. They call it "drums and bugles." MARIE You must come and see us soon, Peter, so that you can learn to play that game. PETER I've got a music-box, and I'll take it along so we can make more noise. CECILIA Now you have to go. But first you must say good-by nicely. PETER I'll say "adieu." Good-by is so common. [Everybody laughs. Peter goes out with the Governess. Marie and Cecilia move slowly toward the fireplace and sit down in front of it. MARIE Of course, I have come to ask for something. CECILIA Well, go on. MARIE There's to be a concert at which they want you to assist. CECILIA This season? MARIE Yes. But it will be in the country, not in the city ... for a charitable purpose, of course. The committee would be so happy if you would sing two or three songs. CECILIA I think I can. MARIE And I shall feel very grateful, too. CECILIA Don't you find undertakings of that kind a lot of trouble? MARIE Well, you must have something to do. If I had any gifts like the rest of you, I am sure I should never bother with "people's kitchens" or "charitable teas"—and then, I suppose, I should feel more indifferent about people, too. CECILIA (with a smile) About people, too? MARIE Oh, I didn't mean it that way. ALBERT You see, Marie, there is something like the charm of meadows and fields in your sweet prattle, and you should never desert it for the thickets of psychological speculations.—Come on, child. These people want their dinner. CECILIA No, we won't eat for an hour yet. AMADEUS We generally work a little before we eat. To-day we might run through the songs for that concert, for instance. CECILIA That would suit me perfectly. MARIE Oh, I feel so thankful to you, Cecilia! CECILIA And when shall we see each other again? ALBERT Oh, that reminds me! We have just been talking about the Summer. Amadeus and I mean to go on a walking tour. How would it be if you two were to go somewhere with the children—some place in the Tirol, say—and wait for us there? MARIE Oh, that would be fine! CECILIA Did you hear that, Amadeus? AMADEUS (who has been standing a little way off) Certainly. It would be very nice.... You can wait for us in the Tirol. CECILIA Could you come and see me to-morrow afternoon, Marie? Then we might settle the matter. MARIE Yes, indeed. I am always glad when you can spare me a little of your time.—Until to-morrow, then! ALBERT Good-by. (He and Marie go out) AMADEUS (is walking to and fro) CECILIA (who is sitting on the couch, follows him with her eyes) AMADEUS (after a turn to the window and back, speaking in a peculiarly dry tone) Well, how did it go? Have you got the finale into shape at last? CECILIA Oh, in a manner. AMADEUS The day before yesterday it had not yet been brought up to the proper level. I find, for one thing, that they don't let you assert yourself sufficiently. Your voice should be floating above the rest, instead of being submerged in the crowd. CECILIA Won't you come to the rehearsal to-morrow—just once more—if you can spare the time? AMADEUS Would it please you...? CECILIA I always feel more certain of myself when you are within reach. You know that, don't you? AMADEUS Yes—I'll come. I'll call off my appointments with Neumann and the Countess. CECILIA If it isn't too great a sacrifice.... AMADEUS (with assumed brusqueness) Oh, I can make her come in the afternoon. CECILIA But then there will be no time left for your own work. No, better let it be. AMADEUS What had we better let be? CECILIA Don't come to the rehearsal to-morrow. AMADEUS Just as you say, Cecilia. I won't intrude, of course. But a moment ago you said that you felt more certain of yourself when I was within reach. And as far as my work is concerned, I don't think—Albert and I were just talking of it—nothing will come of it until the season is over. CECILIA That's what I suspected. AMADEUS But during the summer I'll complete my Fourth. I must have something new to conduct this year. And it's only a question of the final passages, for that matter. All the rest is as good as finished—in my mind at least. CECILIA It's a long time since you let me hear anything of it. AMADEUS It hasn't quite reached the point where it can be played. But, of course, you know the principal themes ... the Allegro ... and then the Intermezzo.... (He goes to the piano and strikes a few notes) CECILIA So you are going next November? AMADEUS Yes, for three months. CECILIA And during October I shall be in Berlin. AMADEUS Oh ... is there any news in that matter? CECILIA Yes, I have practically closed. Reichenbach came to see me at the opera-house. I'm to appear in three parts. As Carmen under all circumstances. The other two are left to my own choice. AMADEUS And what do you...? CECILIA Tatyana,3 I suppose. I have heard that they have such a splendid Onyegin. AMADEUS Yes, Wedius. I know him. He was in Dresden when I was there.—Carmen, then, and Tatyana, and...? CECILIA I am still considering.... Perhaps we might talk it over? AMADEUS Of course. (Pause) CECILIA It's going to be a busy Winter. AMADEUS Rather. We won't see much of each other. CECILIA We'll have to correspond. AMADEUS As we have done before. CECILIA We're used to it. AMADEUS Yes. (Pause) Tell me by the way: do you actually want to assist at that charity concert? CECILIA Why not? I couldn't say no to Marie. Have you any objection? AMADEUS No—why should I? But we might use the half hour that's left to go over something. (He goes to the music-stand) What do you want to sing? CECILIA Oh, something of yours, for one thing ... AMADEUS Oh, no, no. CECILIA Why not? AMADEUS There's nothing within yourself that prompts you to sing it anyhow. CECILIA Just as you say, Amadeus.—I don't want to intrude either. AMADEUS (bending forward and searching among the music) How would Schumann be—"The Snow-drop?" Or ... "Old Melodies" ... and "Love Betrayed".... CECILIA Yes. And perhaps von Wolf's "Concealment," and something by Brahms. "No more to meet you, was my firm decision...." AMADEUS Yes, I was just holding it in my hand. (As if casually, and very dryly) So you went for a walk with Sigismund after all? CECILIA Yes. He sent his regards to you. AMADEUS (smiling) Did he? (As he brings the music sheets to the piano) Why doesn't he come here instead? CECILIA One of the things I like about him is that he won't. AMADEUS Is that so?—Oh, well!—I'll send him my regards, too. But it's really too bad that he won't come here any more. It was very nice to hear him play his waltzes—those evenings were really very pleasant.... I just happened to mention them to the Countess this afternoon. CECELIA Oh, you did?—And I have just seen her picture. AMADEUS Her picture? CECILIA I went with Sigismund to the Art Gallery. AMADEUS Oh.—They tell me it's a great success. CECILIA It would be a wonder if it were not. The artist spent six months on it, they say.... AMADEUS Is that too much for a good picture? CECELIA No, but for the Countess.—She will probably sing Philine pretty well, by the way. AMADEUS You think so? I fear you are mistaken.... (Pause) Well, Cecilia, what were you talking of to-day—you and Sigismund? CECILIA What were we talking of...? (Pause) It's so hard to recall the words.... (As she goes slowly to the fireplace) And they have such a different sound when recalled in that way. AMADEUS True indeed. (Coming nearer to her) And I don't suppose it's the words that matter.... Well, Cecilia, can it be possible that you have nothing more to tell me? CECILIA Nothing more...? (Hesitatingly) Don't you think, Amadeus, that many things actually change character when you try to put them into words? AMADEUS Not for people like us. CECILIA That may have been true once. But ... you know as well as I do ... that things are no longer as they used to be. AMADEUS Not quite, perhaps. I know. But this shouldn't be a reason for either one of us to refuse telling the other one. Scruples of that kind would be unworthy of ourselves. This is we, Cecilia—you and me! So you may tell me fearlessly what you have to tell. CECILIA (rising) Don't try to encourage me, Amadeus. AMADEUS Well...? CECILIA (remains silent) AMADEUS Do you love him? CECILIA Do I love him...? AMADEUS (urgently) Cecilia...! CECILIA Am I to tell you more than I think is true? Wouldn't that be a lie, too—as good or as bad as any other one?... No, I don't think I love him. It is nothing like it was when I became acquainted with you, Amadeus. AMADEUS That time is long past.—And you have probably forgotten what it was like. On the whole, it must be the same thing, I suppose. Only you have grown a little older since then, and you have been living with me for seven years.... No matter how far apart we may have been, you have been living with me—and we have a child.... CECILIA Well, perhaps that's what makes the difference—but there is a difference. AMADEUS What really matters is nothing new, however. You feel attracted to him, don't you? CECILIA (speaking with genuine feeling and almost tenderly) But perhaps there is still something that holds back—that could hold me back, if it only wanted. AMADEUS (after a pause, brusquely) But it doesn't want to ... it doesn't dare to want it. What sense could there be in it? Perhaps I might prove the stronger to-day—and the next time, perhaps—but sooner or later the day must come nevertheless, when I should suffer defeat. CECILIA Why?... It ought not to be necessary! AMADEUS And then, even if I remained victorious every time—could that be called happiness for which I must fight repeatedly and tremble all the time? Could that be called happiness in our case, who have known what is so much better?... No, Cecilia, our love should not be permitted to end in mutual distrust. I don't hold you, Cecilia, if you are attracted elsewhere—and you have known all the time that I would never hold you. CECILIA Maybe you are right, Amadeus. But is it pride alone that makes you let me slip away so easily? AMADEUS Is it love alone that brings you back when almost gone? (Pause; he goes to the window) CECILIA Why should we spoil these hours with bitterness, Amadeus? After all, we have nothing to reproach each other for. We have promised to be honest with each other, and my word has been kept so far. AMADEUS And so has mine. If you want it, I can tell you exactly what I and the Countess talked of to-day, as I have always done. And for me, Cecilia, it will even be possible to recall the very words. CECILIA (looking long at him) I know enough. (Pause) AMADEUS (walking to and fro until he stops some distance away from her) And what next? CECILIA What next...? Perhaps it's just as well that our vacations are soon to begin. Then we may consider in peace, each one by himself, what is to come next. AMADEUS It seems almost as if both of us should have expected this very thing. We have made no common plans for the summer, although we have always done so before. CECILIA The best thing for me is probably to go with the boy to some quiet place in the Tirol ... as you and Albert suggested. AMADEUS Yes. CECILIA And you...? AMADEUS I...? I shall make that walking tour with Albert. I want to be scrambling about in the mountains once more. CECILIA And finally descend into some beautiful valley—is that what you mean? AMADEUS That—might happen. CECILIA (dryly) But first—we should have to bid each other definite good-by, as there is no return from that place. AMADEUS Of course, there isn't! No more than from your place. CECILIA From mine...? AMADEUS Oh, it might happen that you felt inclined to ... change your plans ... and instead of staying with Marie ... prefer the undisturbed ... CECILIA I won't change my plans. And you had better not change yours. AMADEUS If that be your wish.... CECILIA It is my wish. (Pause) AMADEUS Can it be possible that now, all at once, the moment should have come? CECILIA What moment? AMADEUS Well—the one we used to foresee in our happiest days even—the one we have expected as something almost inevitable. CECILIA Yes, it has come. We know now that everything is over. AMADEUS Over...? CECILIA That's what we have been talking of all the time, I suppose. AMADEUS Yes, you are right. At bottom it is better that we put it into plain words at last. Our moods have been rather too precarious lately. CECILIA Everything will be improved now. AMADEUS Improved...? Why?... Oh, of course ... perhaps you are right. I feel almost as if things had already begun to improve. It's strange, but ... one ... seems to breathe more freely. CECILIA Yes, Amadeus, now we are reaping the reward of always having been honest. Think how exhausted most people would be in a moment like this—by all sorts of painful evasions, labored truces, and pitifully sentimental reconciliations. Think of the hostile spirit in which they would be facing each other during their moment of belated candor. We two, Amadeus—we shall at least be able to part as friends. (Pause) AMADEUS And our boy? CECILIA Is he your sole worry? AMADEUS No, there are many things. How is it going to be arranged anyhow? CECILIA That's what we shall have to discuss carefully during the next few days—before we go away. Until then everything must remain as before. It can perfectly well remain as it has been during the last year. That involves no wrong to anybody. (Pause) AMADEUS (seats himself at the piano; the ensuing pause is laden with apprehension; then he begins to play the same theme—a Capriccio—which was heard earlier during the scene) CECILIA (who has been approaching the door to the veranda, turns about to listen) AMADEUS (stops abruptly) CECILIA Why don't you go on? AMADEUS (laughs quickly, nervously) CECILIA Wasn't that the Intermezzo? AMADEUS (nods) CECILIA (still at some distance from him) Have you made up your mind what you are going to call it? Is it to be Capriccio? AMADEUS Perhaps Capriccio doloroso. It is peculiar how one often fails to understand one's own ideas to begin with. The hidden sadness of that theme has been revealed to me by you. CECILIA Oh, you would have discovered it yourself, Amadeus. AMADEUS Maybe. (Pause) And whom will you get for the studying of your parts next year? CECILIA Oh, I'll always find somebody. Those numbers for the concert—you'll help me with those just the same, won't you? And I hope you'll be kind enough to give me the accompaniment at the concert too. AMADEUS That's a foregone conclusion.—But I should really like to know who is to assist you with your studies after this. CECILIA Do you regard that as the most important problem to be solved? AMADEUS No, of course not. The less so, as I don't quite see why I shouldn't go on helping you as before. CECILIA (with a smile) Oh, you think...? But then we should have to agree on hours and conditions. AMADEUS That was not meant as a joke, Cecilia. Seeing that we are parting in a spirit of perfect understanding, why shouldn't such an arrangement be considered tentatively at least? CECILIA Those things will probably settle themselves later on.... That we ... that you play my accompaniment at a concert ... or help me to study a part.... AMADEUS Why later on?... (He rises and stands leaning against the piano) There can be no reasonable ground for changing our musical relationships. I think both of us would suffer equally from doing so. Without overestimating myself, I don't think it likely that you can find a better coach than I am. And as for my compositions, I don't know of anybody who could understand them better—with whom I would rather discuss them than with you. CECILIA And yet that's what you will have to come to. AMADEUS I can't see it. After all, we have nobody else to consider—at least, I have not. CECILIA Nor have I. I shall know how to preserve my freedom. AMADEUS Well, then...?! CECILIA Nevertheless, Amadeus.... That we must meet and talk is made necessary by our positions, of course.... But even in regard to our work things cannot possibly remain as hitherto. I'm sure you must realize that. AMADEUS I can't see it. And—leaving our artistic relations entirely aside—there is much else to be considered—things of more importance. Our boy, Cecilia. Why should the youngster all at once be made fatherless, so to speak? CECILIA That's entirely out of the question. We must come to an understanding, of course. AMADEUS An understanding, you say. But why make difficulties that could be avoided by a little good-will? The boy is mine as much as yours. Why shouldn't we continue to bring him up together? CECILIA You suggest things that simply can't be done. AMADEUS I don't feel like you about that.—On the contrary! The more I consider our situation calmly, the more irrational it seems to me that we should part ways like any ordinary divorced couple ... that we should give up the beautiful home we have in common.... CECILIA Now you are dreaming again, Amadeus! AMADEUS We have been such good chums besides. And so we might remain, I think. CECILIA Oh, of course, we shall. AMADEUS Well, then! The things that bind us together are so compelling, after all, that any new experiences brought by our freedom must seem absolutely unessential in comparison. Don't you realize that as I do? And we shouldn't have to consider what people may say. I think we have the right to place ourselves on a somewhat higher level. In the last instance, we must always belong together, even if a single tie should be severed among the hundreds that unite us. Or are we all of a sudden to forget what we have been to each other—as well as what we may and should be to each other hereafter? One thing remains certain: that no one else will ever understand you as I do, and no one me as you do.... And that's what counts in the end! So why shouldn't we.... CECILIA No, it's impossible! Not because of the people. They concern me as little as they do you. But for our own sake. AMADEUS For our own sake...? CECILIA You see, there is one thing you forget: that, beginning with to-day, we shall have secrets to keep from each other. Who knows how many—or how heavy they may prove?... But even the least of them must come between us like a veil. AMADEUS Secrets...? CECILIA Yes, Amadeus. AMADEUS No, Cecilia. CECILIA What do you mean? AMADEUS That's exactly what must not happen. CECILIA But—Amadeus! AMADEUS There must never be any secrets between us two. Everything depends on that—you are right to that extent. But why should there be any secrets between us? Remember that after to-day we shall no longer be man and wife, but chums—just chums, who can hide nothing from each other—who must not hide anything. Or is that more than you dare? CECILIA More than I dare...? Of course not. AMADEUS All right. We'll discuss everything frankly, just as we have been doing—nay, we shall have more things than ever to discuss. Truth becomes now the natural basis of our continued relationship—truth without any reservation whatsoever. And that should prove highly profitable, not only to our mutual relationship, but to each one of us individually. Because ... you don't think, do you, that either one of us could find a better chum than the other one?... Now we shall bring our joys and sorrows to each other. We shall be as good friends as ever, if not better still. And our hands shall be joined, even if chasms open between us. And thus we shall keep all that we have had in common hitherto: our work, our child, our home—all that we must continue to have in common if it is to retain its full value to both of us. And we shall gain many new things for which both of us have longed—things in which I could take no pleasure, by the way, if I had to lose you. CECILIA (drops him a curtsey) AMADEUS That's how you feel, too, Cecilia. I am sure of it. We simply cannot live without each other. I certainly cannot live without you.—And how about you? CECILIA It's quite likely I should find it a little difficult. AMADEUS Then we agree, Cecilia! CECILIA You think so...?! AMADEUS Cecilia! (He suddenly draws her closer to himself) CECILIA (with new hope lighting her glance) What are you doing? AMADEUS (putting his arms about her) I now bid good-by to my beloved. CECILIA Forever. AMADEUS Forever. (Pressing her hand) And now I am welcoming my friend. CECILIA For all time to come—nothing but your friend. AMADEUS For all time...? Of course! CECILIA (draws a deep breath) AMADEUS Yes, Cecilia, don't you feel much easier all at once? CECILIA The whole thing seems very strange to me—like a dream almost. AMADEUS There is nothing strange about it. Nothing could possibly be simpler or more sensible. Life goes right on ... and all is well.... Come on, Cecilia—let us run through those songs. CECILIA What songs...? AMADEUS Don't you care? CECILIA Oh, why not?—With pleasure.... AMADEUS (seating himself at the piano) Really, I can't tell you how happy this makes me! There has practically been no change whatever. The uneasiness alone is gone ... that uneasiness of the last few weeks.... I have not had a very happy time lately. The sky has seemed so black above our house—and not only above ours. Now the clouds are vanishing. The whole world has actually grown light again. And I am going to write a symphony—oh, a symphony...! CECILIA Everything in due time.... Just now let us have one of those songs at least.... Oh, that one...? AMADEUS Don't you want it? CECILIA Oh, as it's there already.... AMADEUS Now, then—I start. (He strikes the first chord) Please don't put a lot of sentimentality into the opening words. They should be reserved and ponderous. CECILIA (singing) "No more to meet you was my firm...." AMADEUS Very fine. CECILIA O Amadeus! AMADEUS What is it? CECILIA I am afraid you will become too lenient now. AMADEUS Lenient...? You know perfectly well that, as artist considered, you have no rival in my eyes, and will never have one. CECILIA Really, Amadeus, you shouldn't be flirting with all your pupils. AMADEUS I have the greatest respect for you.—Now let's go in! CECILIA "No more to meet...." AMADEUS What's the matter? CECILIA Nothing. I haven't tried to sing anything like this for a long time. Go right on! AMADEUS (begins playing again) CECILIA "No more to meet you was my firm and sworn decision, and yet when evening comes, I...." CURTAIN THE SECOND ACT The same room as in the previous act. It is an evening in October. The stage is dark. Marie and the chambermaid enter together. The maid turns on the light. MARIE Thank you.—But if your mistress is tired, please tell her she mustn't let me disturb her. CHAMBERMAID She hasn't arrived yet. She's not expected until this evening. AMADEUS (enters from the right, with hat and overcoat on) Who is it?... Oh, is it you, Marie! Glad to see you. Have you been here long? MARIE No, I just got here. I meant to call on Cecilia, but I hear.... AMADEUS Then you can keep me company waiting for her. (Handing overcoat and hat to the maid) Please take these. CHAMBERMAID (goes out) AMADEUS I have also just got home. I had to do a lot of errands. I start the day after to-morrow. MARIE So soon!—That'll be a short reunion. AMADEUS Yes.—Won't you sit down, please? (Looking at his watch) Cecilia should be here in an hour. MARIE She has had a tremendous success again. AMADEUS I should say so! Look here—the telegram I got this morning. (He takes it from the writing desk and hands it to Marie) It refers to her final appearance last night. MARIE Oh.... Twenty-seven curtain calls...! AMADEUS What?... Naw! That flourish belongs to the preceding word. Seven only! Otherwise she wouldn't be coming to-day. MARIE (reading again) "Have new offer on brilliant terms." AMADEUS On brilliant terms! MARIE Then I suppose she'll do it at last? AMADEUS Do what? MARIE Settle down in Berlin for good. AMADEUS Oh, it isn't certain. "Have offer," she says, and not "have accepted offer." No, we'll have to talk it over first. MARIE Really? AMADEUS Of course. We consult each other about everything, my dear Marie—just as we used to do. And in a much more impersonal spirit than before. As far as I am concerned, I shall be quite free next year, and have no more reason to live in Vienna than in Berlin or in America. MARIE But it will be dreadful for me if Cecilia goes away. AMADEUS Well, these successes abroad may possibly force the people here to understand what they have in Cecilia, and to act accordingly. MARIE I hope so.—Besides, I think really that Cecilia has developed a great deal lately. To me her voice seems fuller and richer—with more soul to it, I might say. AMADEUS Yes, don't you think so? That's my feeling, too. MARIE But how she does work! It had never occurred to me that a finished artist might be so industrious. AMADEUS Might, you say? Must, you should say. MARIE Last summer, when I came out mornings in the garden to play with my children, she would be practicing already—just like a young student. With absolute regularity, from nine until a quarter of ten. Then again before lunch, from twelve to half past. And finally another half hour in the evening.... If the weather was good or bad; if she was in good spirits or.... AMADEUS Or...? MARIE She was always in good spirits for that matter. I don't think anything in the world could have kept her from practicing those runs and trills. AMADEUS Yes, that's her way. Nothing in the world could keep her from.... But then, what could there be to keep her from it last Summer? In that rustic retreat of yours, where you didn't see anybody ... or hardly anybody.... MARIE Nobody at all. AMADEUS Well, you received a call now and then—or Cecilia did, at least. MARIE Oh, I see. You mean—Prince Sigismund. He could hardly be said to call. AMADEUS (smilingly, with an appearance of unconcern) Why not? MARIE He merely whisked by on his wheel. AMADEUS (as before) Oh, he must at least have stopped to lean against a tree for a few moments. He must even have taken time enough—and I am mighty glad he did—to photograph the little house in which you were living. (He takes from the desk a small framed photograph and hands it to Marie, who is seated on the couch) MARIE (surprised) And you have that standing on your writing desk? AMADEUS (slightly puzzled) Why shouldn't I? MARIE (studying the photograph) Just as it was—Cecilia and I sitting on the bench there—yes. And there's the hazel by the garden fence.... How it does bring back the memory of that beautiful, warm Summer day... AMADEUS (bending over the desk to look at the picture) I can make out you and Cecilia, but those three boys puzzle me hopelessly. MARIE In what way...? That's little Peter, who is doing like this ... (She blinks) AMADEUS Oh, is that it? MARIE And that's Max—and he with the hoop is Mauritz. AMADEUS So that's a hoop?... I took it for one of those cabins used by the watchmen along the railroad. The background comes out much better. The landscape actually looks as if steeped in Summer and stillness.... (Brief pause) MARIE It was really nice. The deep shadows of the woods right back of the house, and that view of the mountain peaks—oh, marvelous! And then the seclusion.... It's too bad that you never had a look at that darling place. We thought ... Cecilia did expect you after all.... AMADEUS (has risen and is walking to and fro) I don't believe it.... And it didn't prove feasible, for that matter. The pull of the South was still on me. MARIE (smiling) You call that the South? AMADEUS (smiling also) Oh, Marie! MARIE (a little embarrassed) I hope you're not offended? AMADEUS Why should I be? I didn't make a secret of my whereabouts to anybody. MARIE (confidentially) Albert told me about the villa, and the park, and the marble steps.... AMADEUS So he gave you all those details? And yet he wasn't there more than an hour. MARIE I think he intends to use the park for his last act. AMADEUS Is that so? If he would only bring it to me... I mean the last act. I want to take it with me on my tour. MARIE Do you think you'll find time to work? AMADEUS Why not? I am always working. And I have never in my life been more eager about it. I, too, am having a brilliant period. For years I have not been doing better. And I am no less industrious than Cecilia. With the difference that regular hours are not in my line—nine to nine-forty-five, twelve to twelve-thirty, and so on. But you ask Albert! When he threw himself on the bed exhausted, in that inn at the Fedaja Pass, I sat down and finished the instrumentation for the Capriccio in my Fourth. CHAMBERMAID (enters with a couple of letters and goes out again) AMADEUS You'll pardon me, my dear Marie? MARIE Please don't mind me. (She rises) AMADEUS A letter from Cecilia, written yesterday, before the performance. I have had letters like this every day. MARIE Go right on and read it, please. AMADEUS (having opened the letter) Oh, there's plenty of time. In another hour Cecilia will be telling me all that's in it.... (He opens the other letter, runs through it, and flings it away) How stupid people are ... how stupid! ... Ugh! And mean! (He glances through Cecilia's letter once more) Cecilia writes me about a reception at the house of the Director.... Sigismund was there, too. Yes, you know, of course, that Sigismund has been in Berlin? MARIE (embarrassed) I ... I thought ... Or rather, I knew ... AMADEUS (with an air of superiority) Well, well—there is no cause for embarrassment in that. Don't you consider the Prince an uncommonly sympathetic person? MARIE Yes, he's very pleasant. But I can assure you, Amadeus, that he came only once to our place in the Pustertal,4 and he didn't stay more than two hours. AMADEUS (laughing) And what if he had stayed a week...? Really, Marie, you're very funny! MARIE (shyly) May I tell you something? AMADEUS Anything you want, Marie. MARIE I'm convinced that you two will find each other again in spite of all. AMADEUS Find each other...? Who should? Cecilia and I? (He rises) Find each other? (He walks to and fro, but stops finally near Marie) A sensible woman like you, Marie—you ought to understand that Cecilia and I have never lost each other in any way. I think it's very singular.... (He strolls back and forth again) Oh, you must understand that the relationship between her and me is so beautiful—that now only it has become such that we couldn't imagine anything more satisfactory. We don't have to find each other again! Look here now—here are her letters. She has been writing me from eight to twelve pages every day—frank, exhaustive letters, as you can only write them to a friend—or rather, only to your very best friend. It is simply impossible to imagine a finer relationship. ALBERT (entering from the right) Good evening. AMADEUS You're rather late in getting here. ALBERT Good evening, Marie. (He pats her patronizingly on the cheek) AMADEUS There will hardly be time for work now. Cecilia will be here very soon. ALBERT Oh, we can always put in half an hour. I have brought along some notes for the third act. MARIE I think I shall go home, as the boys will be expecting me soon. ALBERT All right, child, you go on home. AMADEUS Why don't you stay instead? I am sure Cecilia will be glad to see you. And then Albert can take you home. You might get Peter to entertain you in the meantime.... Or would you prefer to stay here and listen? ALBERT No, child, you had better go in to Peter. Especially as Mr. von Rabagas doesn't appear in the third act—so you won't be losing much. MARIE I'll leave you alone. Bye-bye! (She goes out) ALBERT Now let's fall to! (He brings out some notes from one of his pockets and begins to read) "The stage shows an open stretch of rolling ground that slopes gradually toward the footlights. In the background stands a villa, with marble steps leading up to it. Still farther back, the sea can be felt rather than seen." (Bowing to Amadeus) "A tall plane tree in full leaf stands in the center of the stage." AMADEUS (laughing) So you have got it there? ALBERT It's meant as a compliment to you. AMADEUS Many thanks. ALBERT (after a pause) Tell me, Amadeus, is it actually true that the Count has become reconciled with the Countess after his duel with the painter? AMADEUS I don't know. For a good long while I haven't seen the Countess except at the opera. (He rises and begins walking to and fro again) ALBERT (shaking his head) There's something uncanny about that affair. AMADEUS Why? I think it's quite commonplace. A husband who has discovered his wife's (sarcastically) "disloyalty".... ALBERT That wasn't the point. But that he discovers it only six months too late, when his wife is already deceiving him with another man.—There would have been nothing peculiar about the Count having a fight with you. But the case is much more complicated. Here we have a young man all but killed because of an affair that is long past. And in the meantime you are left perfectly unmolested—or have been so far, at least. AMADEUS (walking as before) ALBERT Do you know, what I almost regret—looking at it from a higher viewpoint? That the painter is not a man of genius ... and that the Count hasn't really killed him. That would have put something tremendously tragi-comical into the situation. And that's what would have happened, if ... he up there had a little more wit.... AMADEUS How? What do you mean by that? ALBERT I mean, if I had been writing the play.... AMADEUS (makes a movement as if hearing some noise outside) ALBERT What is it? AMADEUS I thought I heard a carriage, but it was nothing. (He looks at his watch) And it wouldn't be possible yet.... You read on, please. (Once more he begins walking back and forth) ALBERT You're very preoccupied. I'll rather come back to-morrow morning. AMADEUS No, go on. I am not at all.... ALBERT (rising) Let me tell you something, Amadeus. If it would please you—and it would be all one to me, you know—I could go with you. AMADEUS Where?... What do you mean? ALBERT On your tour. For a week, at least, or a fortnight, I should be very glad to stay by you ... (affectionately) until you have got over the worst. AMADEUS But...! Good gracious, do you think it's because of the Countess...? Why, that story is over long ago. ALBERT Which I know. And I know, too, that you are now trying other means of making yourself insensible. But I see perfectly well that, under the circumstances, you can't succeed all at once. AMADEUS What circumstances are you talking of anyhow? ALBERT My dear fellow, I should never have dreamt of forcing myself into your confidence, but as the matter has already got into the papers.... AMADEUS What has got into the papers? ALBERT Haven't you read that thing in the New Journal to-night? AMADEUS What thing? ALBERT That Cecilia and Prince Sigismund.... But, of course, you are familiar with the main facts? AMADEUS I'm familiar with nothing. What is in the New Journal? ALBERT Just a brief notice—without any names, but not to be mistaken.... It reads something like this: "One of our foremost artists, who has just been celebrating triumphs in the metropolis of an adjoining state ... until now the wife of a gifted musician" ... or perhaps it was "highly gifted" ... and so on ... and so on ... "and a well-known Austrian gentleman, belonging to our oldest nobility, intend, we are told ..." and so on.... AMADEUS Cecilia and the Prince...?! ALBERT Yes ... and then a hint that, in such a case, it would not prove very difficult to obtain a dispensation from the Pope.... AMADEUS Has everybody gone crazy?... I can assure you that not a word of it is true!... You won't believe me?... I hope you don't think I would deny it, if.... Or do you actually mean that Cecilia might have ... from me.... Oh, dear, and you are supposed to be a friend of ours, a student of the human soul, and a poet! ALBERT I beg your pardon, but after what has happened it would not seem improbable.... AMADEUS Not improbable...? It is simply impossible! Cecilia has never thought of it! ALBERT However, it ought not to surprise you that such a rumor has been started. AMADEUS Nothing surprises me. But I feel as if the relationship between Cecilia and myself were being profaned by tittle-tattle of that kind. ALBERT Pioneers like yourself must scorn the judgment of the world. Else they are in danger of being proved mere braggarts. AMADEUS Oh, I am no pioneer. The whole thing is a private arrangement between me and Cecilia, which gives us both the greatest possible comfort. Be kind enough, at least, to tell the people who ask you, that we are not going to be divorced—but that, on the other hand, we are not deceiving each other, as it is asserted in these scrawls with which I have been bombarded for some time. (He indicates the letter which arrived at the same time as Cecilia's) ALBERT (picks up the letter, glances through it, and puts it away again) An anonymous letter...? Well, that's part of it.... AMADEUS Explain to them, please, that there can be no talk of deceit where no lies have been told. Tell them that Cecilia's and my way of keeping faith with each other is probably a much better one than that practiced in so many other marriages, where both go their own ways all day long and have nothing in common but the night. You are a poet, are you not—and a student of the human soul? Well, why don't you make all this clear to the people who refuse to understand? ALBERT To convey all that would prove a rather complicated process. But if it means so much to you, I could make a play out of it. Then they would have no trouble in comprehending this new kind of marriage—at least between the hours of eight-thirty and ten. AMADEUS Are you so sure of that? ALBERT Absolutely. In a play I can make the case much clearer than it is presented by reality—without any of those superfluous, incidental side issues, which are so confusing in life. The main advantage is, however, that no spectators attend the entr'acts, so that I can do just what I please with you during those periods. And besides, I shall make you offer an analogy illuminating the whole case. AMADEUS An analogy, you say...? ALBERT Yes, analogies always have a very soothing effect. You will remark to a friend—or whoever may prove handy—something like this: "What do you want me to do anyhow? Suppose that Cecilia and I were living in a nice house, where we felt perfectly comfortable, and which had a splendid view that pleased us very much, and a wonderful garden where we liked to take walks together. And suppose that one of us should feel a desire sometime to pick strawberries in the woods beyond the fence. Should that be a reason for the other one to raise a cry all at once about faithlessness, or disgrace, or betrayal? Should that force us to sell the house and garden, or make us imagine that we could never more look out of the window together, or walk under our splendid trees? Merely because our strawberries happened to be growing on the other side of the fence..." AMADEUS And you would make me say that? ALBERT Do you fear it's too brilliant for you?—Oh, that wouldn't occur to anybody. Trust me to fix it. In such a play I can do nothing whatever with your musical talent. You see, I can't let you conduct your symphony for the benefit of the public. And so I get both myself and you out of it by putting into your character a little more sense and energy and consistency.... AMADEUS Than God has given me originally. ALBERT Well, it's not very hard to compete with Him! AMADEUS I shall certainly be curious about one thing: how you mean to end that play. ALBERT (after a brief pause) Not very happily, my dear fellow. AMADEUS (a little staggered) Why? ALBERT It is characteristic of all transitional periods, that a conflict which might not exist to a later generation, must end tragically the moment a fairly decent person becomes involved in it. AMADEUS But there is no conflict. ALBERT I shall not shirk the duty of inventing one. AMADEUS Suppose you wait a little while yet...? Perhaps life itself might.... ALBERT My dear chap, I am not at all interested in what may be done with us by this ridiculous reality which has to get along without stage manager or prompter—this reality which frequently never gets to the fifth act, merely because the hero happens to be struck on the head by a brick in the second. I make the curtain rise when the plot takes a diverting turn, and I drop it the moment I have proved myself in the right. AMADEUS Please, my dear fellow, don't forget when writing your play, to introduce a figure on which reality in this case has lavished much more care than on the hero—I mean, the fool. ALBERT You can't insult me in that way. I have always regarded myself as closely akin to him. [Marie enters with little Peter and the Governess. PETER Mamma is coming! MARIE The carriage has just stopped outside. GOVERNESS It was impossible to make the boy stay in bed. ALBERT And look at the fine flowers he has got! PETER That's for mamma! AMADEUS (takes a flower out of the bunch) I hope you permit, sonny ... CECILIA (enters followed by the Chambermaid) Good evening!—Oh, are you here, too? That's awfully nice! PETER Mamma!—Flowers! CECILIA (picks him up and kisses him) My boy! My boy! (Then she shakes hands with the rest) AMADEUS (handing her the single flower) Peter let me have one, too. CECILIA Thanks. (She shakes hands with him; then to the chambermaid) Get my things out of the carriage, please. The coachman will help you. He has been paid already. CHAMBERMAID (goes out) CECILIA (taking off her hat) Well, Marie?... (To the other two) Can it be possible that you have been working? ALBERT We have tried. CECILIA (to the governess) Has he behaved like a little man? PETER Indeed I have! Have you brought anything for me? CECILIA Of course. But you won't get it until to-morrow morning. PETER Why not? CECILIA Because I am too tired to unpack. To-morrow, when you wake up, you'll find it on your little table. PETER What is it? CECILIA You'll see by and by.... PETER Is my little table big enough for it? CECILIA We'll hope so. AMADEUS (who is leaning against the piano, keeps looking at her all the time) CECILIA (pretends not to notice him) ALBERT You're looking splendid. CECILIA I'm a little bit worn out. AMADEUS You must be hungry. CECILIA Not at all. We had something to eat in the dining car. Almost everybody did. But I do want a cup of tea. (To the governess) Will you see to it, please? AMADEUS Let me have a cup, too, and please see that I get a few slices of cold meat. GOVERNESS I have given orders for it already. (She goes out) CECILIA Have you really been waiting for me with the supper? AMADEUS No ... I haven't been waiting. I ... simply never thought of it. CECILIA (to Albert and Marie) Why don't you sit down? ALBERT No, we are going, my dear Cecilia. Let me congratulate you with all my heart—that will be enough for to-day. MARIE You have celebrated regular triumphs, they say? CECILIA Well, it wasn't bad. (To Amadeus) Did you get my telegram? AMADEUS Yes, it pleased me tremendously. CECILIA Think of it, children! After the performance I was commanded to appear in the box of His Majesty! ALBERT Commanded...? Invited, I hope you mean! Neither emperor nor king has the right to command you. CECILIA You old anarchist! But what does it matter? One goes to the box nevertheless. And you would have done that, too. ALBERT Why not? One must, if possible, study every form of existence at close quarters. AMADEUS And what did the Emperor have to say? CECILIA He was very complimentary. Had never seen a better Carmen. ALBERT The very next thing he'll order an opera for you from some Spaniard.5 GOVERNESS (enters) The tea will be here in a moment. AMADEUS Now you must get back to bed, Peter. It's late. GOVERNESS (wants to take the boy away) PETER No, mamma must take me to bed as when I was a little baby. CECILIA Come on then!—Mercy me, how heavy you have grown. (Goes out with Peter and the governess) MARIE My, but she is pretty! AMADEUS Haven't you discovered that before? ALBERT Well, good-by then! AMADEUS Until to-morrow. I shall be expecting you early—between nine and ten. MARIE (to Amadeus as she is going out) Don't you regret having to leave her again at once? AMADEUS Duty, my dear Marie.... CECILIA (returning) Oh, are you really going?—Good-by then—for a little while! [Albert and Marie go out. CECILIA (going to the fireplace) Home again! (She sits down) AMADEUS (near the door and speaking rather shyly) It's a question whether it can please you as much as it does me. CECILIA (holds out her hand to him) AMADEUS (takes her hand and kisses it; then he seats himself) Tell me all about it. CECILIA What am I to tell? I haven't left anything untold—or hardly anything. AMADEUS Well.... CECILIA Getting home every night—and it was quite late at times, as you know—I sat down and wrote to you. I wish you had been equally explicit. AMADEUS But I have written you every day, too. CECILIA Nevertheless, my dear, it seems to me you must have lots to add. (With a laugh) To many things you have referred in a strikingly casual fashion. AMADEUS I might say the same to you. CECILIA No, you can't. My letters have practically been diaries. And that's more than could be said of yours.—Well, Amadeus...? Without frankness the whole situation becomes meaningless, I should say. AMADEUS What is there to be cleared up? CECILIA Is it really all over with Philine? AMADEUS That was all over—(rising) before you left. And you know it. I really don't think it's necessary to discuss bygone matters. CECILIA Will she be able to stay in the company, by the way—after this scandal in connection with your—pardon me!—predecessor? AMADEUS Everything has been arranged, I hear. And she has even made up with her husband again. CECILIA Is that so?—That's rather unpleasant, don't you think? At bottom, it matters very little then to have the story all over. In the case of a man who has the disconcerting habit of not finding out certain things until months afterward.... AMADEUS It is better not to think of such things. CECILIA Has she any letters of yours? AMADEUS (having thought for a moment) Only the one in which I bade her farewell. CECILIA That might be enough. Why haven't you demanded it back? AMADEUS How could I? CECILIA How frivolous you are! Yes, frivolous is just the word. (Putting her hand on his shoulder) Now it's possible to talk of a thing like this, Amadeus. Formerly you might have misunderstood such a remark—taking it for jealousy, or something like that.... But, really, I do hope you don't get mixed up in any more affairs of that kind. I don't like to be scared to death all the time on behalf of my best friend. There is nothing in the world I begrudge you—of that you may be sure. But getting killed for the sake of somebody else—that's carrying the joke a little too far! AMADEUS I promise you, that you'll no longer have to be scared to death on my behalf. CECILIA I hope so. Otherwise I must leave you to take care of yourself.—And seriously speaking, Amadeus, I hope you don't forget that your life has been preserved for more sensible and more important things—that you have a lot more to do in this world. AMADEUS Yes, that's what I feel. I don't think I have ever felt it so strongly in all my life. (Radiantly) My symphony ... CECILIA (eagerly) ... is done? AMADEUS It is, Cecilia. And ... I didn't mean to tell you about it to-day, but it leaves me no peace.... CECILIA Well, what is it? AMADEUS The chorus in the final passage—you know the principal theme of it already—it is led and dominated by a soprano solo. And that solo has been written for you. CECILIA My revered Master! How proud your trust in me makes me! AMADEUS Don't make fun of it, Cecilia, I beg you. There is nobody in the world who can sing that solo like you.... That solo is yours—and only yours. While writing it, the ring of your voice was in my mind. Next February, as soon as I get back, I shall have the symphony put on, and then you must sing that solo. CECILIA Next Feb...? With pleasure, my dear Amadeus—provided I am still here. AMADEUS Why? CECILIA Oh, you haven't heard everything yet. After the performance last night the Director had a talk with me. AMADEUS (disturbed) Well?!—There was a hint in the telegram about brilliant conditions.... But, of course, they could only refer to the next season? CECILIA If I can break away from here, they want me in Berlin from the beginning of the year. AMADEUS But you can't break away! CECILIA Oh, if I really want to. The Director does not care to enforce the contract. AMADEUS But you don't want to, Cecilia! CECILIA That's a matter for careful consideration. I shall be doing a great deal better there. AMADEUS Beginning next Fall, I shall—probably be free. You might wait that long, I should think. Then we could make the move together. But.... CECILIA It doesn't have to be settled to-day, Amadeus. To-morrow we shall have time to discuss the whole matter thoroughly. Really, I am not in a condition to do so to-night. AMADEUS You are tired...? CECILIA Of course, you must understand that. In fact, I should very much prefer.... (She looks in direction of the door leading to her own room) CHAMBERMAID (brings in the tea tray and puts it on a small table) CECILIA Oh, that's right!—May I pour you a cup, too? AMADEUS If you please. CECILIA (pours the tea; to the chambermaid) Open one of the windows a little, will you. There's such a lot of cigarette smoke in here. CHAMBERMAID (opens the window at the right) AMADEUS Won't it be too cold for you? CECILIA Cold? It has turned very warm again. AMADEUS And how did last night's performance go otherwise? CECILIA Very well. Wedius in particular proved himself inimitable again. AMADEUS You have mentioned him several times in your letters. CECILIA You know him since your Dresden period, don't you? AMADEUS Yes. He has great gifts. CECILIA He thinks a great deal of you, too. AMADEUS I'm pleased to hear it. CHAMBERMAID (goes out) AMADEUS (helping himself to the cold meat) Can I help you to some? CECILIA No, thanks. I have had all I want. AMADEUS Yes, you have had your supper already—all of you, or "everybody," as you put it a while ago. CECILIA (ingenuously) I had my supper with Sigismund. AMADEUS Was he in Berlin all the time? CECILIA He got there two days after me, as I told you in my letters. AMADEUS Of course—you have told me everything. Once he accompanied you to the National Gallery. CECILIA He also took me to see the Pergamene marbles.6 AMADEUS (facetiously) You're doing a lot for his general education, I must say.—But I should like to know by what fraud Sigismund got himself into that reception of the Director's. CECILIA By what fraud? AMADEUS Well, you wrote me that he created a regular sensation with those waltzes of his. CECILIA So he did. But he didn't have to use fraud to get in. Being a nephew of the Baroness, there was no reason why he should resort to such methods. AMADEUS Oh, yes, I didn't remember that. CECILIA And by the way, the Director asked very eagerly about you. AMADEUS He thinks a great deal of me.... CECILIA (with a smile) Yes, he really does. The moment your new opera is ready.... AMADEUS And so on! (He goes on eating) It surprises me, however, that he should ask you about me. CECILIA Why does that surprise you? AMADEUS (as if meaning no offense) Well, it rather surprises me that he should connect our respective personalities to that extent. Hasn't Berlin heard yet that we are going to be divorced? CECILIA Why ... what does that mean? AMADEUS (laughing) Rumors to that effect are afloat. CECILIA What? Well, I declare! AMADEUS Yes, it's incredible what the popular gossip can invent. It's even in the newspapers. His Highness the Prince Sigismund Maradas-Lohsenstein is going to lead you to the altar. The necessary dispensation will be furnished by the Pope. Idiotic—isn't it? CECILIA Yes.—But, my dear, you say nothing about what is still more idiotic. AMADEUS And what can that be? CECILIA That you are on the verge of believing this piece of idiocy. AMADEUS I...? How can you.... Oh, no! CECILIA You haven't considered, for instance, that I am three years older than he. AMADEUS (startled) Well, if it's nothing but those three years of difference in.... CECILIA No, it isn't that. No, indeed! Even if I were younger than he, I should never think of it. AMADEUS But if his devotion should prove more deeply rooted than you have supposed so far? CECILIA Not even then. AMADEUS Why? CECILIA Why...? I know that it couldn't last forever anyhow. AMADEUS Have you the end in mind already? CECILIA I am not saying that I have it in mind.... But I don't doubt it must come, as it always comes. AMADEUS And then...? CECILIA (shrugs her shoulders) AMADEUS And then? CECILIA How could I know, Amadeus? There are prospects of so many kinds. AMADEUS (cowering a moment before those words) Yes, that's true. Life is full of prospects. Everywhere, wherever you turn, there are temptations and promises—when you have determined to be free, and to take life lightly, as we have done.... That's what you meant, was it not? CECILIA Yes, precisely. AMADEUS Tell me, Cecilia.... (He draws closer to her) There is one thing I should like to know—whether Sigismund has any idea that your mind is harboring such thoughts—which, after all, would appear rather weird to the other party concerned. CECILIA Sigismund...? How can you imagine?! Such things you admit only to your friends. (She gives her hand to him) AMADEUS (in the same friendly manner) But if he should notice anything ... although I think it very improbable that he is the kind of man who would.... But let us suppose that he concluded from various signs that some such thoughts were passing through your head—would you deny them, if he asked you? CECILIA I believe myself capable of it. AMADEUS (with a shrinking) Oh.... Let me tell you, Cecilia.... You are having something definite in mind.... Yes, I am sure of it.... It's a question of some definite prospect. CECILIA (smiling) That might be possible. AMADEUS What has happened, Cecilia? CECILIA Nothing. AMADEUS Then there is danger in the air. CECILIA Danger...? What could that mean to us? To him who has no obligations there can be no cause for fear. AMADEUS (taking her lightly by the arm) Stop playing with words! I can see through the whole thing just the same.—I know! It has been brought home to me by a number of passages in your letters—although they ceased long ago to have the frankness due to our friendship. That new prospect is Wedius! CECILIA In what respect did my letters fail to be frank? Didn't I write you immediately after the "Onyegin" performance, that there was something fascinating about his personality? AMADEUS So you have said before, of many people. But there was never any such prospect implied in it. CECILIA Everything begins to take on new meanings when you are free. AMADEUS You are not telling me everything.... What has happened? CECILIA Nothing has happened, but (with sudden decision) if I had stayed ... who knows.... AMADEUS (seems to shrink back again; then he walks to and fro; finally he remains standing in the background, near one of the windows) Poor Sigismund! CECILIA Why pity him? He knows nothing about it. AMADEUS (resuming his superior tone) Is that what draws you to Berlin? CECILIA No!... Indeed, no! The spell has been broken ... it seems.... AMADEUS And yet you talk of going about New Year.... CECILIA (rising) My dear Amadeus, I am really too tired to discuss that matter to-day. Now I shall say good-night to you. It is quite late. (She holds out her hand to him) AMADEUS (faltering) Good-night, Cecilia!... (He clings to her hand) You have been gone three weeks. I shall leave early the day after to-morrow—and when I return, you will be gone, I suppose.... There can't be so very much to your friendship, if you won't stay and talk a while with me under such circumstances. CECILIA What's the use of being sentimental? Leave-takings are familiar things to us. AMADEUS That's true. But nevertheless this will be a new kind of leave-taking, and a new kind of home-coming also. CECILIA Well, seeing that it had to turn out this way.... AMADEUS But neither of us ever imagined that it would turn out this way. CECILIA Oh? AMADEUS No, Cecilia, we did not imagine it. The remarkable thing has been that we retained our faith in each other in the midst of all doubts, and that, even when away from each other, we used to feel calm and confident far beyond what was safe, I suppose. But it was splendid. Separation itself used to have a sort of charm of its own—formerly. CECILIA Naturally. It isn't possible to love in that undisturbed fashion except when you are miles apart. AMADEUS You may be able to make fun of it to-day, Cecilia, but there will never again be anything like it—neither for you nor for me. You can be sure of that. CECILIA I know that as well as you do.—But why should you all at once begin to talk as if, somehow, everything would be over between us two, and as if the best part of our life had been irretrievably lost? That's not the case, after all. It cannot possibly be the case. Both of us know that we remain the same as before—don't we—and that everything else that has happened to us, or may happen to us, can be of no particular importance.... And even if it should become important, we shall always be able to join hands, no matter what chasms open between us. AMADEUS You speak very sensibly, as usual. CECILIA If you seduce ladies by the dozen, and if gentlemen shoot each other dead for my sake—as they do for the sake of Countess Philine—what has that to do with our friendship? AMADEUS That's beyond contradiction. Nevertheless, I hadn't expected—in fact, I think it nothing less than admirable—your ability to adjust yourself to everything—your way of remaining perfectly calm in the midst of any new experiences or expectations. CECILIA Calm...? Here I am ... by our fireplace ... taking tea in your company. Here I can and shall always be calm. That's the significance of our whole life in common. Whatever may be my destiny in the world at large will slip off me when I enter here. All the storms are on the outside. AMADEUS That's more than you can be sure of, Cecilia. Things might happen that would weigh more heavily on you than you can imagine at this moment. CECILIA I shall always have the strength to throw off things according to my will before I come to you. And if that strength should ever fail me, I shall come to the door and no farther. AMADEUS Oh, no, you mustn't! That would not be in keeping with our agreement. It is just when life grows heavy that I'll be here to help you bear it. CECILIA Who knows whether you will always be ready to do so? AMADEUS Always—on my oath! No matter what befall you, whether it be sad or wretched, you can always find refuge and sympathy with me. But with all my heart I wish you may be spared most of those things. CECILIA That I be spared...? No, Amadeus, a wish like that I can't accept. Hitherto—I have lived so little hitherto. And I am longing for it. I long for all that's sad and sweet in life, for all that's beautiful and all that's pitiful. I long for storms, for perils—for worse than that, perhaps. AMADEUS No, Cecilia, that's nothing but imagination! CECILIA Oh, no! AMADEUS Certainly, Cecilia. You don't know very much as yet, and you imagine many things simpler and cleaner than they are. But there are things you couldn't stand, and others of which you are not capable.—I know you, Cecilia. CECILIA You know me?—You know only what I have been to you—what I have been as your beloved and your wife. And as you used to mean the whole world to me—as all my longing, all my tenderness, was bounded by you—we could never guess in those days what might prove my destiny when the real world was thrown open to me.—Even to-day, Amadeus, I am no longer the same as before.... Or perhaps I have always been the same as I am now, but didn't know it merely. And something has fallen away, that used to cover me up in the past.... Yes, that's it: for now I can feel all those desires that used to pass me by as if deflected by a cuirass of insensibility.... Now I can feel how they touch my body and my soul, filling me with qualms and passions. The earth seems full of adventure. The sky seems radiant with flames. And it is as if I could see myself stand waiting with wide-open arms. AMADEUS (as if calling to somebody in flight) Cecilia! CECILIA What is the matter? AMADEUS Nothing.... The words you speak cannot estrange me after all that I have learned already. But there is a new ring in your voice that I have never heard until to-day. Nor have I ever seen that light in your eyes until to-day. CECILIA That's what you imagine, Amadeus. If that were really the case, then I should feel the same in regard to you. But I can see no difference in you at all. And I can't imagine how you possibly could come to seem different. To other women you may appear a mischiefmaker—or a silly youth—which has probably happened many times: but to me you will always remain the same as ever. And I have a feeling that, in the last instance, nothing can ever happen to the Amadeus I am thinking of. AMADEUS If I could only feel the same—in regard to you! But such assurance is not mine. The recklessness and greed with which you make your way into an unknown world are filling me with outright fear on your behalf. The idea that there are people who know as little of you as you of them at this moment, and to whom you are going to belong... CECILIA I shall belong to nobody ... now, that I am free ... AMADEUS ... who are part of your destiny already, as you of theirs ... it seems to me uncanny. And you are no more the Cecilia I used to love—no! You resemble closely one who was very dear to me, and yet you are not at all the same as she. No, you are not the woman that was my wife for years. I could feel it the moment you entered the place.... The connection between the young girl who sank into my arms one evening seven years ago and the woman who has just returned from abroad to dwell for a brief while in this house seems quite mysterious. For seven years I have been living with another woman—with a quiet, kindly woman—with a sort of angel perhaps, who has now disappeared. She who came to-day has a voice that I have never heard, a look that I am foreign to, a beauty that is strange to me—a beauty not surpassing what the other had, except in being more cruel possibly—and yet a beauty that should confer much greater happiness, I think. CECILIA Don't look at me like that!... Don't talk to me like that!... That's not the way to talk to a friend! Don't forget I am no more the one I used to be. When you talk to me like that, Amadeus, it is as if here, too, I should be fanned by those cajoling breaths that nowadays so often touch me like caresses—breaths that make life seem incredibly light, and that make you feel ready for so much that formerly would have appeared incomprehensible. AMADEUS If you could guess, Cecilia, how your words hurt me and excite me at the same time! CECILIA (brusquely) You must not talk like that, Amadeus. I don't want it. Be sensible, for my sake as well as your own. Good-night. AMADEUS Are you going, Cecilia? CECILIA Yes. And bear in mind that we are friends and want to remain such. AMADEUS Bear in mind that we have always wanted to be honest. And it is not honest—either for you or me—to say that we stand face to face as friends in this moment.... Cecilia—the one thing I can feel at this moment is that you are beautiful ... beautiful as you have never been before! CECILIA Amadeus, Amadeus, are you forgetting all that has happened? AMADEUS I could forget it—and so could you. CECILIA Oh, I remember—I remember! (She wants to leave) AMADEUS Stay, Cecilia, stay! The day after to-morrow I shall be gone—stay! CECILIA Please don't speak to me like that! I am no longer what I used to be—no longer proud, or calm, or good. Who knows how little might be needed to make me the victim of a certain unscrupulous seducer! AMADEUS Cecilia! CECILIA Have you so many friends to lose? One is all I have.—Good-night. (She tries to get away) AMADEUS (seizing her by the hand) Cecilia, we have long ago bidden each other good-by as man and wife—but we have also made up our minds to take life lightly, to be free, and to lay hold of every happiness that comes within our reach. Should we be mad enough, or cowardly enough, to shrink from the highest happiness ever offered us...? CECILIA And what would it lead to ... my friend? AMADEUS Don't call me that! I love you and I hate you, but in this moment I am not your friend. What you have been to me—wife, comrade ... what do I care! To-day I want to be—your lover! CECILIA You mustn't...! You can't ... no.... AMADEUS Not your lover then ... but what is both worse and better ... the man who takes you away from another one—the one with whom you are betraying someone else—the one who means to you both bliss and sin at once! CECILIA Let me loose, Amadeus. AMADEUS No more beautiful adventure will ever blossom by the wayside for either one of us, Cecilia, as long as we may live! CECILIA And none more dangerous, Amadeus! AMADEUS Wasn't that what you were longing for...? CECILIA Good-night, Amadeus. AMADEUS Cecilia! (He holds her fast and draws her closer to himself) CURTAIN THE THIRD ACT The same room. It is the morning of the following day. The stage is empty at first. Then Amadeus enters from his room at the left. He wears a dressing-gown, but is otherwise fully dressed. He passes slowly and pensively across the room to the writing desk, from which he picks up the waiting pile of letters. Then he puts the letters down again. He feels chilly, looks around, notices that a window is open, and goes to close it. Then he stands listening for a while at the door to Cecilia's room. Finally he returns to the writing desk and begins to pull out manuscripts from its drawers. AMADEUS Let's get things in order.... I wonder how this is going to turn out?—I'll write her from some place along my route. I shall never come back here any more.... I couldn't stand it ... no, I couldn't! (Holding a manuscript in his hand) The Solo—her Solo! Well, I shall not be present to hear her sing it. CHAMBERMAID (entering) The men are here to take away the trunk. Here's the check from the expressman. AMADEUS All right. Tell them to use the back stairs in taking out the things. CHAMBERMAID (goes out) AMADEUS ... When I say good-by to-morrow, she won't guess it is forever.... And the boy ... the boy...? (He walks back and forth) ... But it has to be. (Abruptly) I'll leave this very evening—not to-morrow. Yes, this very evening. (He begins to pile up sheet music) I'll have a talk with the Director. If he says no, I'll simply break away. I won't come back here. (He goes to Cecilia's door again) I suppose she's still asleep. (He comes forward and sits down on the couch, leaning his head in his hands) We have to take lunch together, and she won't guess that it is for the last time.... She won't guess.... And why not? Let her find out ... right now ... I am going to have it out with her. Yes, indeed. (Rising) One can't write a thing of that kind. I'll tell her everything. I'll tell her that I can't bear it—that it drives me crazy to think of the other fellow. And she'll understand. And even if she should plead with me to forgive her ... even if she ... oh! (He goes to her door) I must tell her at once.... Oh, I feel like choking her!... Cecilia! (He knocks at her door, but gets no answer) What does that mean? (He goes into her room) She's gone! (He stays away for about half a minute and comes back by way of the door leading to the garden; then he rings) Where can she.... CHAMBERMAID (enters) AMADEUS (with pretended unconcern) Has my wife gone out? CHAMBERMAID Yes, sir—quite a while ago. AMADEUS Oh...? CHAMBERMAID It must be nearly two hours now. She said she would be back about one o'clock. AMADEUS All right. Thank you. CHAMBERMAID Can I bring in your breakfast now, sir? AMADEUS Oh, yes—I had almost forgotten. And a cup of tea, please. CHAMBERMAID (goes out) AMADEUS (alone) Gone!... Well, there is nothing peculiar in that.... Probably to the opera.... But why didn't she tell me...? (He cowers suddenly) To him...? No, that couldn't be possible! Oh, no!... And why not?... A woman like her.... There is nothing to keep her from going to him.... (With a threatening gesture) If I only had him here!... (With sudden inspiration) But that's what I might ... that would be.... To confront him—that's it! To stand face to face with him!... Thus more than one thing might be straightened out.... No, she is not with him.... Where did I get that idea?... That's all over!... But that's what I'll do!... Either I or he!... Many things might then ... everything might then be set right.... He or I!... But to live on like this, while he ... I'll go to Albert. It must be done this very day! (He disappears into his own room) ALBERT (enters) CHAMBERMAID (follows him, carrying the breakfast tray) I'll tell the Master at once, sir. (She puts the tray on a small table and goes out to the left) ALBERT (picks up a moon-shaped roll from the tray and begins to nibble at one of its tips) AMADEUS (enters, having changed his dressing-gown for a coat) CHAMBERMAID (follows him, passes quickly across the room and goes out) AMADEUS Oh, there you are! ALBERT Yes. I'm not too early, I hope? Are you ready? I want to read you the third act. (He takes some papers from his overcoat pocket) You know the setting, of course—the park, the villa, the plane tree. But first of all I must tell you something. Do you remember Mr. von Rabagas, with whom my wife fell in love? I have retouched him slightly. He's going to be cross-eyed. And now I am curious to see what Marie's attitude will be toward him. AMADEUS (nervously) All right—later. For the moment there are more important things. ALBERT More important...? AMADEUS Yes, I want you to do me a great service ... a service that will brook no delay. You have to act as my second. ALBERT (rising) Your...? Twaddle! You'll simply refuse the challenge! You're not going to let yourself be killed for the sake of Madame Philine—oh, no! AMADEUS It is not a question of Philine. And I have not been challenged. I shall issue the challenge. And for that reason I want you to look up our friend Winter at once, and then I must trouble both of you to call on Prince Sigismund, and tell him.... ALBERT (interrupting him and breaking into laughter) Oh, Prince Sigismund!—Thank you ever so much! AMADEUS (surprised) What's the matter with you? ALBERT How obliging! You mean to present me with an ending for the play we concocted yesterday. Thanks. But it's too banal for me—nobody would take any stock in it. I have thought of something much better. You are to be poisoned—yes, sir. And can you guess by whom?—By a brand-new character—one of the secret lovers of your wife. AMADEUS (furiously) It doesn't interest me in the least. Stop it, please! I'm not making up endings for your fool comedies! This is real life ... we are right in the midst of it! ALBERT You don't mean...?! Well, if I have to stand this unseemly and ridiculous interruption ... what do you want of me anyhow? AMADEUS Haven't you understood? The two of you are to challenge Prince Sigismund on my behalf. ALBERT Prince Sigismund ... on your behalf.... (He bursts into laughter) AMADEUS You seem to think it very funny, but I assure you.... ALBERT The point is not that you seem funny to me. It's probably balanced by the fact that a lot of people who have thought you funny until now, will all of a sudden think you very sensible ... though they ought to ask themselves, if they had a little logic: why should Mr. Amadeus Adams become jealous on this particular day?... Up to the twenty-third of October he was not, and all at once, on the twenty-third, he is.... AMADEUS A lot of things have changed since yesterday. ALBERT Have changed...? Since yesterday...? Well, I declare! AMADEUS (after a pause) So that you didn't believe it either? ALBERT To confess the truth—no. AMADEUS Which means that I am living among a lot of people who.... ALBERT Will be in the right ultimately. Why should that arouse your indignation? If we were to live long enough, every lie that's floating about would probably become true. Listen to those who belie you, and you will know the truth about yourself. Gossip knows very rarely what we are doing, but almost always whither we are drifting. AMADEUS We didn't know we were drifting this way—that much you will admit, I hope. ALBERT And yet it had to come. Friendship between two people of different sexes is always dangerous—even when they are married. If there is too much mutual understanding between our souls, many things are swept along that we would rather keep back; and when our senses are attracted mutually, the suction affects much more of our souls than we would care to have involved. That's a universal law, my dear chap, for which the profound uncertainty of all earthly relations between man and woman must be held responsible. And only he who doesn't know it, will trust himself or anybody else.—If you don't mind? (He begins to butter one of the rolls) AMADEUS So you think you understand...? ALBERT Of course! That's my specialty, don't you know? AMADEUS Well, if you understand what has happened, and understand it must have happened—then you will also understand that I must face the logical consequences. ALBERT Logical consequences...? Here I am talking wisdom, and you clamor for nonsense. And that's what you call logical consequences?... My opinion is rather, that you are about to behave like a perfect fool. Anybody else might do what you now propose: you are the only one who mustn't. For when you propose such a thing, it becomes illogical, ungenerous, not to say dishonest. You want to call a man to account for something which, as he sees it, has been declared explicitly permissible.... In his place I should laugh in your face. If anybody has the right to be indignant here, and to demand an account, it is the Prince himself, and nobody else—as he has not deceived you, but you him. AMADEUS Well, that's all one, as he undoubtedly will demand an account. ALBERT To do so, he must know. AMADEUS I'll see to that. ALBERT You mean to tell him? AMADEUS If you hold it the shortest road to what I have in mind...? ALBERT There's a man of honor for you! And is that the discretion you owe the woman you love, do you think? AMADEUS Call me illogical, ungenerous, indiscreet—anything you please! I can't help myself! I love Cecilia—do you hear? And I want to go on living with her. But I can't do so until some sort of amends have been made for the past—in my own eyes, in hers, and—I confess it—in the eyes of the world. Sigismund and I must meet, man to man—nothing else can end my trouble. ALBERT And how can it make the slightest difference that you two shoot off your guns in the air? AMADEUS One of us must out of the way, Albert!... Won't you understand at last? ALBERT Now, my dear chap, that's carrying it a little too far! All the time I have thought you were talking of a duel—and now I find that you are after his life! AMADEUS Later on you may feel sorry that you could not refrain from inept jesting in a moment like this even. The case is urgent, Albert. Please make up your mind. ALBERT And suppose he should refuse? AMADEUS He is a nobleman. ALBERT He is religious. His father is one of the leaders of the Clerical Party in the Upper House and a vice-president of the Society for the Prevention of Dueling. AMADEUS Well, such things are not inherited. And if he won't, I shall know how to make him. There's no other way out of it. There can be no other alternative, if I am to go on living—with or without her. That will set everything right, but nothing else will. It's the one thing that can clear the air about us. Until it is over, we dare not belong to each other again or—be happy. ALBERT I hope Cecilia won't insist on killing off Philine and a few others. That would be just as sensible, but would complicate the situation a great deal. AMADEUS Won't you go, please! ALBERT Yes, I am going.... And how about our opera? AMADEUS Oh, we'll have plenty of time to talk of that. However, just to reassure you—all that is finished lies here in the second drawer, everything properly arranged. ALBERT And who is to compose the third act? AMADEUS It can be given as a fragment, with some kind of ballet as a filler. ALBERT Right you are! Something like "Harlequin as Electrician," or "Forget-me-not." (He goes out) AMADEUS (remains alone for a while; at first he seems to ponder on something; then he returns to the writing desk and falls to work on his papers; a knock is heard at the door leading to the garden) What is it? PETER (outside) It's me, papa. Can I come in? AMADEUS Certainly, Peter. Come on. GOVERNESS (entering with Peter) Good morning. AMADEUS Good morning. (He kisses Peter) Is it not a little too cold for him out there? GOVERNESS He's very warmly dressed, and besides the sun is shining beautifully. PETER Papa, have you seen what mamma brought me? AMADEUS What is it? PETER A theater—a big theater! AMADEUS Is that so? And you have got it already? PETER Of course. It's over there in the summer-house. Would you care to look at it? AMADEUS (glances inquiringly at the governess) GOVERNESS Madame brought it to our room quite early, while Peter was still asleep. AMADEUS I see. PETER I can play theater already. There is a king, and a peasant, and a bride, and a devil—one that's all red—almost as red as the king himself. And in the back there is a mill, and a sky, and a forest, and a hunter.... Won't you come and look at it, papa? AMADEUS (seated on the couch, with the boy standing between his knees; speaking absentmindedly) Of course I must come and look at it. CHAMBERMAID (entering) Sir.... AMADEUS What is it? CHAMBERMAID His Highness asks if you'll see him. AMADEUS What highness? CHAMBERMAID His Highness, the Prince Lohsenstein. AMADEUS (rising) What? GOVERNESS Come, Peter—we'll go back and play in the summer-house. (She goes out with Peter) AMADEUS (with dignity) Tell the Prince.... (Turning away from her) One moment, please. (To himself) What can that mean...? (Abruptly) Ask him to come in. CHAMBERMAID (goes out) AMADEUS (walks quickly to and fro, but stops at some distance from the door when Sigismund enters) SIGISMUND (is slender, blonde, twenty-six, elegantly dressed, but appears in no respect foppish; he bows to Amadeus) Good-morning. AMADEUS (takes a few steps forward to meet him and nods politely) SIGISMUND (looks around a little shyly, but wholly free from any ridiculous embarrassment; his manner is in every respect dignified; there is a slight smile on his face) We have not seen each other for some time, and you'll probably assume that my visit to-day has a special reason. AMADEUS Naturally. (Pointing to a chair) Please. SIGISMUND Thank you. (He comes nearer, but remains standing) I have decided to take this step—which has not come easy to me, I can assure you—because I find the situation in which we ... in which all of us have been placed, untenable and, in a certain sense, ridiculous ... and because I think that, in one way or another, it should be brought to an end. The sole object of my visit is to put before you a proposition. AMADEUS I'm listening. SIGISMUND I don't want to waste any words. My proposition is that you get a divorce from your wife. AMADEUS (shrinks back for a moment, staring at Sigismund; then, after a pause he says calmly) You wish to marry Cecilia? SIGISMUND There is nothing I wish more eagerly. AMADEUS And what is the attitude of Cecilia toward your intentions? SIGISMUND Not encouraging so far. AMADEUS (puzzled) Cecilia is absolutely in a position to decide for herself. And of course, she would also have the right to leave me—whenever and howsoever it might please her to do so. For that reason you must pardon me if I find the object of your visit incomprehensible, to say the least. SIGISMUND You'll soon find it comprehensible, I think. The discouraging attitude of Mrs. Adams-Ortenburg proves nothing at all in this connection, I must say. As long as Mrs. Adams-Ortenburg has not been set free by you—even if that be done against her own will—she is, in a sense, bound to you. To get this matter fully cleared up, it seems to me necessary that you yourself, my dear Master, insist on a divorce. Mrs. Adams-Ortenburg will not be in a position to choose freely until she has been divorced from you. Until then the struggle between us two will not be on equal terms—as, I trust, you would like to have it. AMADEUS There can be no talk of any struggle here. You misunderstand the actual state of affairs in a manner that seems to me incomprehensible. For I have no right to suppose that Cecilia has made any secret of the more deep-lying reasons that have so far prevented us from considering a dissolution of our marriage. SIGISMUND Certainly, I am aware of those reasons, but to me they don't by any means seem sufficiently pressing—not even from your own viewpoint—to exclude all thought of a divorce. And I am anxious to assure you that, under all circumstances, I shall feel bound to treat those reasons with the most profound respect. AMADEUS What do you mean? SIGISMUND You know, my dear Master, that the reverence I have for your art, even if I am not always capable of grasping it, equals the admiration I feel for the singing of Mrs. Adams-Ortenburg. I know how much you two mutually owe to each other, and how you—if I may say so—complement each other musically. And it would never occur to me to put any difficulties whatsoever in the way of your continued artistic relationship. I am equally aware of the tenderness with which you regard your child—for whom, by the way, as you probably know, I have a great deal of devotion—and I can give you my word that the doors leading to the quarters of little Peter will always stand open to you. AMADEUS In other words, you would have no objection to seeing the former husband of your—of the wife—of the Princess Lohsenstein, admitted to your house as a friend? SIGISMUND Any such objection would be regarded by me as an insult to your—to my—to Mrs. Cecilia Adams-Ortenburg, as well as to you, my dear Master. With those provisions made, the new arrangement, which I am taking the liberty to suggest, would be more sensible and—if you'll allow me a frank expression—more decent than the one to which all of us now have to submit. I am convinced, my dear Master, that, when you have had chance to consider the matter calmly, you will not only agree with me, but you will be surprised that this simple solution of an unbearable situation has not occurred to yourself long ago. As for me, I want to add that, to me personally, this solution seems the only possible one. Yes, I don't hesitate to say that I would leave the city, without hope of ever seeing Mrs. Cecilia again, rather than keep on compromising her in a manner that must be equally painful to all of us. AMADEUS Oh, has it come to that all at once? Well, if the matter doesn't trouble Cecilia or me, I think you might well regard it with indifference. I hope you know that we have arranged our life to suit ourselves, without the least regard for popular gossip, and that I don't care at all whether or no Cecilia be compromised—as you call it. SIGISMUND I know you don't. But I feel differently. A lady to whom I'm so devoted, and whom I respect so highly that I would lead her to the altar, must appear spotless to God and man alike. AMADEUS You might have kept that in mind before. Your previous behavior has given no indication of such a view. You have been waiting for my wife in the immediate vicinity of the opera; you have been walking with her for hours at a time; you have visited her in the country; you have followed her to Berlin and come back here in her company.... SIGISMUND (surprised) But it was in your power to stop all those things, if they didn't suit you.... AMADEUS Stop them ... because they didn't suit...? What has that to do with what I am talking of?—I am not the person who has found this situation unbearable and compromising. SIGISMUND Oh, I understand. Considering, however, that you have placed such emphasis on your indifference to popular gossip, I must say that your tone sounds pretty excited. But permit me to assure you that this impresses me rather pleasantly. Bear in mind that I am merely human. What young man in my place would have refrained from meeting the adored one, when everything was rendered so easy for him? And nevertheless I didn't visit the Pustertal or make the tour to Berlin without an inward struggle—in fact, I have often had to struggle with myself while waiting for her near the opera. And I cannot tell you how I have suffered under the searching glances directed at Mrs. Adams-Ortenburg and myself when we were having supper together after one of the Berlin performances, for instance, or when we went for an afternoon drive in the Tiergarten.7 Not to speak of the painful impression my aunt's remarks made on me when I called to bid her good-by! Really, I can't find words to express it. AMADEUS How much longer do you mean to keep up this remarkable comedy, my dear Prince? SIGISMUND (drawing back) Do you mean.... AMADEUS What in the world makes you appear before me in a part which I don't know whether to call tasteless or foolhardy? SIGISMUND Sir!... Oh...! You think.... I see now.... And you imagine that I would have crossed your threshold again under such circumstances? AMADEUS Why should that particular thing not be imagined? SIGISMUND Later on we shall get back to what you think of me. But a third person is concerned in this matter, and I am not going to stand.... AMADEUS May I ask whether you have been equally angry with everyone who has dared to question the virtue of Mrs. Adams-Ortenburg? SIGISMUND You are at least the first one who has dared to question it to my face, and the last one who may dare to do so unpunished. AMADEUS Do you think the punishment threatening the impertinent one in your mind will be apt to restore the reputation of Cecilia? Do you think it would put an end to the gossip if you, of all people, tried to champion the honor of Mrs. Adams-Ortenburg? SIGISMUND Who could, if not I? AMADEUS If it is not a comedy you are now playing, then you haven't the right even! SIGISMUND Do you mean to say that Cecilia is the only woman in the world who must stand unprotected against any slander? AMADEUS If you are telling the truth, Prince Sigismund, then there is only one person in the world who has the right to protect Cecilia, and that person am I. SIGISMUND Considering what has happened, I have excellent reason to think that you will neither avail yourself of that right nor fulfill that duty. AMADEUS You are mistaken. And if you will take the trouble of returning home, you will soon be convinced of your mistake. SIGISMUND What do you mean? AMADEUS I mean simply that two of my friends are now on their way to your house on my behalf.... SIGISMUND Well...? AMADEUS To demand reparation for what ... (looking Sigismund straight in the eye) I believed you guilty of. SIGISMUND (takes a step back; a pause ensues during which they stare hard at each other) You have challenged.... (Reaching out his hand) That's fine! AMADEUS (does not accept the proffered hand) SIGISMUND But it's splendid! I can assure you that the whole matter now assumes quite a different aspect. And, of course, I shall be at your disposal just the same, if you insist. AMADEUS (draws a deep breath, looks long at Sigismund, and shakes his head at last) No, I won't any longer. (He shakes hands with him, and then begins walking to and fro, muttering to himself) Cecilia.... Cecilia...! (Returning to Sigismund and addressing him in a totally different tone) Won't you please be seated, Sigismund? SIGISMUND No, thank you. AMADEUS (feeling repelled and suspicious again) Just as you please. SIGISMUND Don't misunderstand me, please. But I suppose this ends our conference, my dear Master. (Looking around) And yet I must admit that your rude treatment has made me feel a great deal more at ease. Isn't that strange? And in spite of the fact that, after this unexpected turn, my hopes must be held practically—I beg your pardon!—completely disposed of.... In spite of this I feel actually in much better spirits than I have done for a long time. Even if I am not to have the happiness of which I have foolishly dared to dream so long.... AMADEUS Was it so very foolish? SIGISMUND (good-humoredly) Oh, yes. But this is at least an acceptable conclusion. (Shaking his head) It seems queer! If I hadn't come here at this very moment, you might never have learned—you might never have believed—might have believed that Cecilia.... And one of us might perhaps—must perhaps have.... (He makes a gesture to complete the sentence) AMADEUS It was indeed a strange coincidence that made you choose this particular moment.... SIGISMUND Coincidence, you say? Oh, no, there are no coincidences—as you will discover sooner or later. (Pause) Well, good-by then, and give my regards to Mrs. ... Adams ... AMADEUS You can safely call her Cecilia. SIGISMUND ... and tell her, please, that she mustn't be angry with me for having taken such a step without her knowledge. Of course, my going away won't surprise her. When leaving her yesterday, I told her that I couldn't continue this kind of existence. AMADEUS And she...? What did she say? SIGISMUND (hesitatingly) She.... AMADEUS (excited again) She tried to keep you here...? SIGISMUND Yes. AMADEUS So that after all...! SIGISMUND Now she won't try any longer, my dear Master. (With a wistful smile) I have served my purpose. AMADEUS What do you mean? SIGISMUND Oh, I can see now why she needed me—of course, you were not at all aware of it! AMADEUS Why did she need you? SIGISMUND Simply and solely as a means of winning you back. AMADEUS What makes you think...? SIGISMUND What...? That she has succeeded. AMADEUS No, Sigismund—she hadn't lost me—in spite of all that had happened. In fact, I feel as if I had rather lost her than she—me. SIGISMUND That's awfully kind of you. But now—God be with you! AMADEUS (with something like emotion) And when shall we see you again? SIGISMUND I don't know. Perhaps never.—-Please don't imagine that I might take my own life. I shall get over it, being still young.—Oh, my dear Master, if things could only become what they used to be, so that I could sit here at the fireplace while Cecilia was singing—or hammer away at the piano after supper...! AMADEUS Don't be quite so modest, please! The fame of your piano playing has reached Berlin even, I hear. SIGISMUND So she has told you that, too?!—But you see, dear Master, all that can never come back—we could no longer feel at ease with each other.... So—never to meet again! AMADEUS Never.... Why? Perhaps I shall see you very soon alone. I am also—going away. SIGISMUND I know. We were talking of it yesterday, in the dining car. You are to conduct your—number-which-one is it now? AMADEUS The fourth. SIGISMUND So you have got that far already?—And where are you going anyhow? AMADEUS To the Rhine district first of all; then by way of Munich to Italy—Venice, Milan, Rome. SIGISMUND Rome...? There we may possibly meet. But you'll have to pardon me for not coming to your concerts. So far I have not been able to understand your symphonies.... But I am sure I shall sometime! One does grow more and more clever, and sorrow and experiences in particular have a maturing influence.... "Now he's making fun of it," I suppose you are thinking. But, really, I am not in a very humorous mood. Farewell, my dear Master—and my most respectful compliments to your wife. (He goes out) AMADEUS (walks back and forth; takes a few deep breaths, as if relieved; goes out into the garden; returns; sits down at the piano and plays a few improvisations; gets up and goes to the writing desk, where he begins to look for something among the papers) Where's that Solo? ... She's going to sing it, and I shall be present...! (He seats himself at the piano again, apparently in a very happy mood) Cecilia!... Cecilia! CECILIA (enters) AMADEUS (rising) Ah, there you are at last, Cecilia! CECELIA (very calmly) Good-morning, Amadeus. AMADEUS A little late. CECILIA (smiling) Yes. (She takes off her hat and goes to the mirror to arrange her hair) AMADEUS What made you get out so early? CECILIA Various things I had to attend to. AMADEUS And may one ask...? CECILIA One may.—Look here, what I have got for you. (She takes a letter from a small bag) AMADEUS What's that? (He takes it) What...? My letter to Philine...! Did you go to her, Cecilia? CECILIA Well, I felt a little nervous about it. Now I think it was rather silly of me. AMADEUS And how...? CECILIA Oh, the simplest thing in the world! I asked her for it, and she gave it to me. It was lying in an open drawer in her writing desk—with others. I think you can call yourself lucky. AMADEUS Cecilia! (He tears the letter to pieces and throws these into the fireplace) CECILIA Well, you would never have made up your mind to demand it of her, and that would have kept me in a state of irritation. I can't have anything like that on my mind when I want to work.—And now that's settled. (She turns away) Then I went to the opera, too. I have had a talk with the Director. He's going to indorse my request to be set free. AMADEUS Your request to be set free...? CECILIA Yes, I shall go to Berlin on the first of January. AMADEUS But, Cecilia, we haven't talked it over yet.... CECILIA What's the use of postponing a thing that's already settled in my own mind?—You know I never like to do that. AMADEUS But it means a whole year of separation! CECILIA To start with. But I think it might be just as well to prepare ourselves for a still longer period. AMADEUS Do you mean to leave me, Cecilia?! CECILIA What else can I do, Amadeus? That ought to be as clear to you as it is to me. AMADEUS So it would have been a little while ago, Cecilia. But I have come to see our future in a different light.... Cecilia ... Sigismund has been here! CECILIA Sigismund?!... You have talked with him?... What did he want? AMADEUS What did he want...? Your hand. CECILIA And you refused...? AMADEUS He is sending you his farewell greetings through me, Cecilia. CECILIA So that's what has put you in such a good humor all at once! (Pause) And if he hadn't come here? AMADEUS If he hadn't come here.... CECILIA Speak out, please! AMADEUS (remains silent) CECILIA You didn't mean to ... to fight him? AMADEUS I did. Albert was on his way to him at the time. CECILIA What vanity, Amadeus! AMADEUS No, not vanity, Cecilia. I love you. CECILIA (remains wholly unresponsive) AMADEUS You can't guess, of course, what took place within me while his words were gradually bringing home the truth to me! Once more the doors of heaven have been thrown open to me! CECILIA The only thing you forget is that they must remain closed to me forever. AMADEUS Don't say that, Cecilia. What has happened to me in the past seems so very insignificant, after all. CECILIA Insignificant, you say?—And if it had happened to me, it would have been so significant that people should have had to kill or be killed on that account? How can you think then, that I might get over it so easily? AMADEUS How can I...? Because you have proved it already. You knew just what had happened, and yet you became mine again.... You knew that I had been faithless, while you had kept your faith, and yet.... CECILIA You say that I have kept my faith?—No, I haven't! And even if I should seem faithful to you, I have long ago ceased to be so in my own mind. I know the desires that have burned within me.... I know how often my body has trembled and yearned in the presence of some man.... And what I told you last night—that I am waiting with wide-open arms, full of longings and expectations—that's true, Amadeus—no less true than it is that I am standing face to face with you now. AMADEUS If that be true, what has kept you from satisfying all your longings—you, who have been as free as I have? CECILIA I am a woman, Amadeus. And we seem to be like that. Something makes us hesitate even when we have already made up our minds. AMADEUS And because you seemed guilty in your own mind, you remained silent?... And for no other reason have you left me—me, whose sufferings you might have relieved by a single word—to believe you as guilty as myself? CECILIA Perhaps.... AMADEUS And how long did you mean to let me go on believing that? CECILIA Until it became true, Amadeus. AMADEUS But there has been enough of it now, Cecilia. It will never become true ... never after this. CECILIA Where do you get that idea, Amadeus? It is going to be true. Do you think, perhaps, that all this was meant as a kind of ordeal for you? Do you think I was playing a childish comedy in order to punish you, and that now, when you have discovered the truth prematurely, I shall sink into your arms and declare everything right again? Have you really imagined that everything could now be forgotten, and that we might resume our marriage relations at the exact point where they were interrupted? How can you possibly have wished that such might be the case—so that our marriage would be like thousands of others, where both deceive each other, and become reconciled, and deceive each other again—just as the moment's whim happens to move them? AMADEUS We have neither deceived each other, nor become reconciled—we have been free, and have merely found each other again. CECILIA Each other, you say?... As if that were possible! What is it then, that has made me seem so desirable to you all at once? Not the fact that I am Cecilia—oh, no! But the fact that I seem to have come back another woman. And have I really become yours again? Not at all! Not unless you have grown so modest all at once that you can be satisfied with a happiness that might have fallen to somebody else perhaps, if he had merely chanced to be on hand at that particular moment. AMADEUS (shrinking back) But even if last night be sacrificed to this fixed idea of yours, Cecilia—it is daylight now—we are awake—and in this moment of clear light you must feel, no less than I, that we love each other, Cecilia—love as we have never loved before. CECILIA This moment might prove deceptive—and I am sure it would. No other moment would be more apt to prove such. Do you think those many moments in which we felt our tenderness gradually ebbing away—those many moments when we felt the lure of other loves—do you think them less worthy of consideration than this one? The only thing urging us together now is our fear of the final leave-taking. And our feelings at this moment make a pretty poor sample upon which to base an eternity. I don't trust them. What has happened once, may ... nay, must repeat itself—to-morrow—or two years from now—or five ... in a more indiscreet manner, perhaps, or in a manner more tragical—but certainly in a manner to be much more regretted. AMADEUS Oh, no—never again! Now—after what I have felt and experienced lately, I can vouch for myself. CECILIA I don't feel equally certain of myself, Amadeus. AMADEUS That doesn't scare me, Cecilia, for now I'm prepared to fight for you—now I'm worthy and capable of fighting for you. Hereafter you shall never more be left unprotected as you were in the past—my tenderness will guard you. CECILIA But I don't want to be guarded! I shall no longer permit you to guard me! And I can no more give you any promises than I care to accept yours. AMADEUS And if I should forgo them myself—if I should risk it on a mere uncertainty? CECILIA That's more than I dare—whether the risk concern you or myself ... more than I would risk even with certainty in mind. (She turns away from him) AMADEUS Then I cannot possibly understand you, Cecilia. What is it you want to make us pay for so dearly—yes, both of us? Is it our guilt or our happiness? CECILIA Why should either one of them be paid for? What's the use of such a word between us? Neither one of us has done anything that requires atonement. Neither one of us has any right to reproach the other one. Both of us have been free, and each one has used his freedom in accordance with his own desire and ability. I think nothing has happened but what must happen. We have trusted each other too much—or too little. We were neither made to love each other faithfully forever nor to maintain a pure friendship. Others have become resigned—I can't—and you mustn't allow yourself, Amadeus. Our experiment has failed. Let us admit our disillusionment. That can be borne. But I have no curiosity to find how it tastes when everything comes to an end in sheer loathing. AMADEUS Comes to an end, you say?—But that can't be possible, Cecilia! It can't be possible that we should really leave each other—part from each other like strangers! We are still face to face—each of us can feel the closeness of the other one—and that's why you cannot yet realize what it would mean. Consider all the things that might come into your life as well as into mine during a separation of that kind—so prolonged and so void of responsibility—things that now have no place in your imagination even, and for which there could be no reparation. CECILIA Could they be worse than what has already befallen me? Faithfulness to each other in the ordinary sense matters least of all, I should think. And we could probably more easily find our way back to each other sometime from almost any other experience than that adventure of last night, or from a moment of self-deception like this one. AMADEUS Find our way back, you say...? CECILIA It's also possible that, after a couple of years, we won't care to do so—that everything may be over between us to such an extent that we cannot imagine it now. That's possible, I say. But if we stayed together now, everything would be over within the next few seconds. For then we should be no better than all those we have despised hitherto—the one difference being that we had arranged ourselves more comfortably than the rest. ALBERT (entering) I beg your pardon for coming in unannounced like this, but.... CECILIA (withdraws toward the background) AMADEUS (going to meet Albert) Yes, I know—you didn't find the Prince—he has been here himself. ALBERT What does that mean? AMADEUS That there was no reason why I should want to kill him. ALBERT I see.—Well, I'll be hanged if I haven't suspected something of the kind myself!—Then I suppose everything is once more in perfect order in this house? AMADEUS Yes, in perfect order. When I return, Cecilia will be in Berlin, and I shall not follow her. ALBERT What? Then you are going to ask for a separation after all? CECILIA (approaching them) No, we are not going to ask for a separation. We'll just separate. ALBERT What?... (He looks from one to the other; pause) Really I like that. Indeed, I do. I think both of you are splendid—but especially you, Cecilia—and, of course, there is nothing else left for you to do now. PETER (enters, carrying some of his puppets) Papa! Mamma! I can play theater beautifully. Won't you come and look? Oh, please come! CECILIA (strokes his hair) AMADEUS (remains standing at some distance from them) ALBERT Well, isn't this just like life—the life you are always talking of! This should be the moment when you had to fall into each others' arms with absolute certainty, if you had had the luck to be imaginatively created—that is, not by me, of course. CECILIA No, the boy means too much to both of us to make that possible—don't you think so, Amadeus? AMADEUS (losing control of himself after a glance at Peter) All at once to be alone in the world again—it's a thought I can hardly face! CECILIA But we shall be somewhere in that world, you know—your child, and the mother of your child. We are not parting as enemies, after all.... (With a smile) I am even ready to come here and sing that Solo of yours—although we shall not be able to study it together. AMADEUS It's more than I can bear...! CECILIA It will have to be borne. We must work—both of us. ALBERT (to Amadeus) Yes, and it remains to be seen what effect a real sorrow like this may have on you. It's just what you have lacked so far. I expect you'll get a lot out of it. In a sense, I might almost envy you. PETER What's the matter?... Look here, mamma, how they jump about! That's the king, and this is the devil. ALBERT Come on, sonny, and play your piece to me. But I insist that the hero must either marry in the end, or be carried off by the devil. In either case you can go home quite satisfied when the curtain drops. (He goes out with Peter) CECILIA (after a glance at Amadeus, starts to follow them) AMADEUS Cecilia! CECILIA (turns back) AMADEUS (passionately) Why didn't you show me the door, Cecilia, when you knew...? CECILIA Well, did I know?... I have loved you, Amadeus. And all I wanted, perhaps, was that the inevitable end should be worthy of our love—that we should part after a final moment of bliss, and with a pang. AMADEUS With a pang, you say...? Do you really feel anything like that? CECILIA (coming close to him and speaking very gently) Why don't you try to understand me, Amadeus? I feel it just as keenly as you do. But there is another thing I feel more strongly than you, and it is well for us both that I do. It is this, Amadeus, that we have been so much to each other that we must keep the memory of it pure. If that was nothing but an adventure last night, then we have never been worthy of our past happiness.... If it was a farewell, then we may expect new happiness in the future ... perhaps.... (She starts toward the garden) AMADEUS And that's our reward, then, for having always been honest to each other! CECILIA (turning toward him again) Honest, you call it...? Have we always been that? AMADEUS Cecilia! CECILIA No, I can't think so any longer. Let everything else have been honest—but that both of us should have resigned ourselves so promptly when you told me of your passion for the Countess and I confessed my affection for Sigismund—that was not honest. If each of us had then flung his scorn, his bitterness, his despair into the face of the other one, instead of trying to appear self-controlled and superior—then we should have been honest—which, as it was, we were not. (She walks across the veranda outside and disappears into the garden) AMADEUS (to himself) All right—then we were not honest. (After a pause) And suppose we had been?! (For a moment he seems to consider; then he goes to the writing desk and puts the manuscript music lying there into the little handbag; after a glance into the garden, he goes into his own room, returning at once with his hat and overcoat; then he opens the handbag again and picks out a manuscript, which he places on the piano; then he goes out rapidly, taking hat, overcoat and handbag with him; a brief pause follows) CECILIA (enters and notices that the handbag is gone; she goes quickly into Amadeus' room, but returns immediately; she crosses the room to the main entrance and remains standing there, opening her arms widely at first, and then letting them sink down again; going to the piano, she catches sight of the manuscript lying there and picks it up; while looking at it, she sinks down on the piano stool) PETER (appears on the veranda with Albert and calls from there) Mother! CECILIA (does not hear him) ALBERT (observing that Cecilia is alone and sunk in grief, takes Peter with him into the garden again) CECILIA (begins to weep softly and lets her head sink down on the piano) CURTAIN COUNTESS MIZZIE OR THE FAMILY REUNION (Komtesse Mizzi oder der Familientag) A COMEDY IN ONE ACT 1907 PERSONS
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