ACTRESS: Ah, Count!
COUNT: I have your mother's permission, otherwise I would not have--
ACTRESS: Come right in, won't you?
COUNT: Thank you. Excuse me--coming right in from the street, it's very hard to see anything. Ah . . . there we are . . . [At the bed.] How do you do?
ACTRESS: Do sit down, Count.
COUNT: Your mother told me you were indisposed . . . Nothing serious, I hope.
ACTRESS: Nothing serious? I nearly died.
COUNT: Good heavens, how was that possible?
ACTRESS: Anyway, it's terribly nice of you to bother about me.
COUNT: Nearly died! And yesterday you acted like a goddess!
ACTRESS: It was quite a triumph, I think.
COUNT: Magnificent! . . . The audience was absolutely carried away . . . not to speak of myself.
ACTRESS: Thank you for the lovely flowers.
COUNT: Don't mention it, please.
ACTRESS: [Turning her eyes in the direction of a huge basket of flowers standing on a little table by the window.] There they are.
COUNT: Last night you were literally showered with flowers and wreaths.
ACTRESS: They're all in my dressing-room still. I took only your basket home with me.
COUNT: [Kissing her hand.] That was charming of you. [ACTRESS takes his hand suddenly and kisses it.] But, my dear . . .
ACTRESS: Don't be alarmed, Count, that doesn't obligate you in any way!
COUNT: You are an extraordinary creature . . . one might almost say, puzzling-- [Pause.]
ACTRESS: Miss Birken is easier to solve, I imagine.
COUNT: Yes, Little Miss Birken is no problem . . . although I really know her only superficially.
ACTRESS: Ha!
COUNT: You may believe me. But you're a distinct problem. I've always had a passion for problems. When I saw you for the first time last night, I realized what a great pleasure I had missed in not seeing you act before.
ACTRESS: Was it really the first time you'd seen me?
COUNT: Yes. You see, it's very difficult for me to go to the theatre. I'm used to dining late . . . so that when one finally gets there the best part's over. Isn't that so?
ACTRESS: You'd better dine earlier from now on.
COUNT: Yes, I've been thinking of that. Or not dining at all. It's really not much pleasure, dining.
ACTRESS: Is there any pleasure yet left for you, you youthful dotard?
COUNT: I wonder about that myself, sometimes! But I'm not a dotard. There must be some other reason.
ACTRESS: You think so?
COUNT: Yes. For instance, Louis says I'm a philosopher. He means, you see, that I think too much.
ACTRESS: Yes . . . it's disastrous to think.
COUNT: I have too much time, that's why I think so much. You see, it's this way, Madame, I thought that things would be better if they transferred me to Vienna. There's distraction here, and excitement. But when you come right down to it, it's no different than up there.
ACTRESS: Up where?
COUNT: You know, Madame, down there, in Hungary, in those rotten holes where our garrisons were stationed.
ACTRESS: Well, what did you do in Hungary?
COUNT: What I told you, Madame, military service.
ACTRESS: But why did you stay such a long time in Hungary?
COUNT: Oh well, it just happened so.
ACTRESS: It must be enough to drive one mad.
COUNT: How so? Actually, there's more to do there than here. You know, what with drilling recruits, remount riding . . . and then, the country isn't as bad as they say. It's really quite beautiful, that prairie-land--and as for the sunsets there, it's really a shame I'm not a painter. I've often thought if I were a painter I'd surely paint them. There was a fellow in our regiment, young Splany, he could have done it. --But what am I telling you all these boring things for?
ACTRESS: Oh, don't say that, I'm being royally entertained.
COUNT: You know, Madame, it's so easy to chat with you. Louis said so too; and it's a very hard thing to find.
ACTRESS: In Hungary, I can imagine.
COUNT: But it's just as hard in Vienna! People everywhere are alike; the only difference is that there's more of a crowd where more of 'em are. Incidentally, do you like people, Madame?
ACTRESS: Like them? I loathe them! I can hardly bear to see them! I don't see anyone ever, as a matter of fact. I'm always alone, there's never a soul in this house.
COUNT: Ah, I thought you were a hater of society. Artistic people are often that way. When one moves in higher realms . . . well, you're lucky, at least you know why you're living!
ACTRESS: Who says I do? I haven't the faintest idea what I'm living for!
COUNT: But, surely, Madame--fame--honors--
ACTRESS: Is that supposed to be happiness?
COUNT: Happiness? There's no such thing, Madame. It's the very things that people talk about most that don't exist . . . for instance, Love. That's one of them.
ACTRESS: You may be right.
COUNT: Pleasure . . . intoxication . . . granted, they're not to be denied . . . they're facts. I am enjoying something . . . good, I know that I'm enjoying it. Or I'm drunk, good again. That's definite too. And when it's over, it's over and done with.
ACTRESS: [Grandly.] Over and done with!
COUNT: But if--how shall I express it--if one doesn't surrender to the moment alone, but thinks of the past or the future--well, you're done for, either way. The past is sad . . . the future is uncertain . . . in a word, nothing but confusion. Isn't that so?
ACTRESS: [Nodding, with wide eyes.] You've hit the nail on the head.
COUNT: So you see, Madame, once that's become clear it makes absolutely no difference whether one lives in Vienna or in the Hungarian plains or in Kalamazoo. Or, for instance . . . I wonder where I laid my cap? Ah, thank you . . . what were we saying?
ACTRESS: Kalamazoo.
COUNT: Oh yes. Well, as I said, there's not much difference. It's the same thing whether I sit in the Casino or in the Club.
ACTRESS: And what has that to do with love?
COUNT: If you believe in love, you'll always find someone to love you.
ACTRESS: Miss Birken, for instance.
COUNT: I really don't know why you keep referring to little Miss Birken all the time, Madame.
ACTRESS: She's your sweetheart, isn't she?
COUNT: Who said so?
ACTRESS: Everybody knows it.
COUNT: Except me. That's remarkable.
ACTRESS: But you fought a duel because of her!
COUNT: Maybe I was shot dead and didn't notice it.
ACTRESS: I see you're a man of honor, Count. Come, sit a little nearer.
COUNT: If I may . . .
ACTRESS: Over here. [She draws him to her, runs her fingers through his hair.] I knew you would come today!
COUNT: How so?
ACTRESS: In fact, I knew it last night in the theatre.
COUNT: Then you did see me from the stage?
ACTRESS: My dear man! Didn't you notice that I was acting only for you?
COUNT: I can't believe it!
ACTRESS: I was so flustered when I saw you sitting in the first row!
COUNT: Flustered? On my account? Why, I had no idea that you even noticed me.
ACTRESS: You're enough to drive one to despair with that superior manner of yours.
COUNT: But, Madame . . .
ACTRESS: "But, Madame!" . . . Really, you might at least unbuckle your sabre!
COUNT: If I may. [Unbuckles sabre and lays it on bed.]
ACTRESS: And isn't it about time you kissed me? [COUNT kisses her, she doesn't release him.] I should never have laid eyes on you.
COUNT: But surely it's better as it is!
ACTRESS: Count, I'm afraid you're a poseur, after all!
COUNT: I? But why?
ACTRESS: Don't you think that many would be extremely happy if they were in your place?
COUNT: I'm very happy.
ACTRESS: Ha, I thought there was no such thing as happiness! How you look at me! I do believe you're afraid of me, Count!
COUNT: I told you you were a problem, didn't I?
ACTRESS: Oh, spare me your philosophy . . . come to me. And now ask me for something . . . you can have anything you want. You're so handsome.
COUNT: Well then, I beg you [Kisses her hand.] to let me come again tonight.
ACTRESS: Tonight? But I'm performing.
COUNT: After the theatre.
ACTRESS: And you want nothing else?
COUNT: I'll ask for everything else after the theatre.
ACTRESS: [Hurt.] You'll ask a long time, you miserable poseur.
COUNT: But, please, don't you see, you must see, we've been so open with each other so far . . . it would all be so much nicer at night, after the theatre . . . much cosier than now, when . . . I have the feeling constantly as if the door were about to open . . .
ACTRESS: The door can't open from the outside.
COUNT: But you see, I feel that one shouldn't plunge into something frivolously and spoil what might be a very beautiful thing.
ACTRESS: Might be! . .
COUNT: To be candid, I find love simply hideous in the morning.
ACTRESS: Really--you're the maddest thing I've ever come across!
COUNT: I'm not speaking of the common run of women . . . after all, it's all the same, in the aggregate. But women like you . . . call me a fool, if you will . . . women like you must not be made love to before breakfast. And therefore . . . you see . . .
ACTRESS: God, aren't you sweet!
COUNT: You see what I mean, don't you? Imagine it like this--
ACTRESS: Well, how do you imagine it?
COUNT: I had the idea. I'd wait for you after the theatre in my car, then we'd drive somewhere for supper--
ACTRESS: I'm not Miss Birken, you know.
COUNT: I didn't say you were. Only it seems to me that atmosphere--mood--is important to everything. I'm never in the right mood till after supper. There's nothing more delightful than driving home together after supper, and then . . .
ACTRESS: Then what?
COUNT: Well, then . . . events can take their natural course.
ACTRESS: Sit closer. Closer.
COUNT: [Sitting on the bed.] There's a . . . an aroma of mignonette coming out of your pillows, isn't there?
ACTRESS: Don't you find it very hot in this room? [COUNT bends over and kisses her neck.] Oh, Count, that's not according to your program.
COUNT: Why do you say that? I have no program. [ACTRESS draws him to her.] It really is hot.
ACTRESS: Do you think so? And it's dark, too, almost as dark as night. [Pulls him down to her.] It is evening . . . it is night . . . close your eyes if it's too light for you. Come! . . . Come! [COUNT resists no longer.]
* * *
ACTRESS: Well, how is your mood now, poseur?
COUNT: You're a little devil.
ACTRESS: What a thing to call me!
COUNT: Well then, angel.
ACTRESS: You should have been an actor! Really! You understand women! Do you know what I shall do now?
COUNT: Well?
ACTRESS: I shall tell you that I'll never see you again.
COUNT: But why?
ACTRESS: No, never. You're too dangerous for me! You drive a woman mad. You sit there now as if nothing at all had happened.
COUNT: But . . .
ACTRESS: Kindly remember, Count, that I have just been your belovèd!
COUNT: I shall never forget it!
ACTRESS: And now how about tonight?
COUNT: What do you mean?
ACTRESS: Well--you were going to wait for me after the theatre.
COUNT: Very well then, how about day after tomorrow, say?
ACTRESS: What do you mean, day after tomorrow? We were talking about tonight.
COUNT: There wouldn't be any sense in that.
ACTRESS: Old dotard!
COUNT: You don't understand me. It's the--how shall I say it--the spiritual aspect of the thing that I'm referring to.
ACTRESS: What do I care about your spirit?
COUNT: Believe me, that belongs to it too. It's a fallacy to think that one can separate the one from the other.
ACTRESS: Oh, stop philosophizing. When I want philosophy I read books.
COUNT: One can never really learn from books.
ACTRESS: That's true enough! And that's why you should wait for me tonight. And as for the spiritual aspect, we'll attend to that alright, you rascal!
COUNT: Well, then, with your permission I'll have my car . . .
ACTRESS: You'll wait for me here, at home--
COUNT: . . . After the theatre.
ACTRESS: Of course. [He buckles on his sabre.] What are you doing?
COUNT: I think it's time for me to go. I've stayed a bit too long for a social call as it is.
ACTRESS: Well, it won't be a social call tonight.
COUNT: You think not?
ACTRESS: Let me take care of that. And now give me one more kiss, my little philosopher. There, you seducer, you . . . sweet child, you barterer of souls, you . . . [After a few ardent kisses, she pushes him forcibly from her.] . . . Count, it has been a great honor!
COUNT: I salute you, Madame! [At the door.] Good day.
ACTRESS: Goodbye, Kalamazoo!
