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)