Four by Sondheim
Page 17
PETRA: Oh him! Poor little puppy dog!
ANNE (Suddenly imperious): Don’t you dare talk about your employer’s son that way.
PETRA: Sorry, Ma’am.
ANNE: I forbid anyone in this house to tease Henrik.
(Giggles again)
Except me.
(ANNE goes to the vanity, sits, opens the top of her robe, studies her reflection in the table-mirror)
It’s quite a good body, isn’t it?
PETRA: Nothing wrong there.
ANNE: Is it as good as yours?
(Laughing she turns and pulls at PETRA, trying to undo PETRA’s uniform)
Let me see!
(For a moment, PETRA is shocked. Laughing, ANNE continues; PETRA starts laughing too. They begin struggling playfully together)
If I was a boy, would I prefer you or me? Tell me, tell me!
(Still laughing and struggling they stumble across the room and collapse in a heap on the bed)
You’re a boy! You’re a boy!
PETRA (Laughing): God forbid!
(As they struggle, the front doorbell rings)
ANNE (Sits up): Run, Petra, run. Answer it.
(PETRA climbs over ANNE to get off of the bed. As PETRA hurries into the parlor and exits to answer the door, ANNE peers at herself in the mirror)
Oh dear, oh dear, my hair! My— everything!
(PETRA returns to the parlor with CHARLOTTE)
PETRA: Please have a seat, Countess. Madame will be with you in a minute.
(CHARLOTTE looks around the room — particularly at FREDRIK’s picture. PETRA hurries into the bedroom. Hissing)
It’s a Countess!
ANNE: A Countess?
PETRA: Very grand.
ANNE: How thrilling! Who on earth can she be?
(After a final touch at the mirror, she draws herself up with great dignity and, with PETRA behind her, sweeps into the parlor. At the door, she stops and stares. Then delighted, runs to CHARLOTTE)
Charlotte Olafsson! It is, isn’t it? Marta’s big sister who married that magnificent Count Something or Other —and I was a flower girl at the wedding.
CHARLOTTE: Unhappily without a time-bomb in your Lilly-of the-Valley bouquet.
ANNE (Laughing): Oh, Charlotte, you always did say the most amusing things.
CHARLOTTE: I still do. I frequently laugh myself to sleep contemplating my own future.
ANNE: Petra. Ice, lemonade, cookies.
(PETRA leaves. Pause)
CHARLOTTE: Well, dear, how are you? And how is your marriage working out?
ANNE: I’m in bliss. I have all the dresses in the world and a maid to take care of me and this charming house and a husband who spoils me shamelessly.
CHARLOTTE: That list, I trust, is in diminishing order of priority.
ANNE: How dreadful you are! Of course it isn’t. And how’s dear Marta?
CHARLOTTE: Ecstatic. Dear Marta has renounced men and is teaching gymnastics in a school for retarded girls in Bettleheim. Which brings me or ...
(Glancing at a little watch on her bosom)
... rather should bring me, as my time is strictly limited — to the subject of men. How do you rate your husband as a man?
ANNE: I — don’t quite know what you mean.
CHARLOTTE: I will give you an example. As a man, my husband could be rated as a louse, a bastard, a conceited, puffed-up, adulterous egomaniac. He constantly makes me do the most degrading, the most humiliating things like... like...
(Her composure starts to crumble. She opens a little pocketbook and fumbles)
ANNE: Like?
CHARLOTTE: Like ...
(Taking tiny handkerchief from purse, dabbing at her nose and bursting into tears)
Oh, why do I put up with it? Why do I let him treat me like — like an intimidated corporal in his regiment? Why? Why? Why? I’ll tell you why. I despise him! I hate him! I love him! Oh damn that woman! May she rot forever in some infernal dressing room with lipstick of fire and scalding mascara! Let every billboard in hell eternally announce: Desirée Armfeldt in — in — in The Wild Duck!
(Abandons herself to tears)
ANNE: Desirée Armfeldt? But what has she done to you?
CHARLOTTE: What has she not done? Enslaved my husband — enslaved yours ...
ANNE: Fredrik!
CHARLOTTE: He was there last night in her bedroom — in a nightshirt. My husband threw him out into the street and he’s insanely jealous. He told me to come here and tell you ... and I’m actually telling you! Oh what a monster I’ve become!
ANNE: Charlotte, is that the truth? Fredrik was there — in a nightshirt?
(CHARLOTTE sobs)
CHARLOTTE: My husband’s nightshirt!
ANNE: Oh I knew it! I was sure he’d met her before. And when she smiled at us in the theater ...
(She begins to weep)
CHARLOTTE: Poor Anne!
(PETRA enters with the tray of lemonade and cookies and stands gazing at the two women in astonishment)
PETRA: The lemonade, Ma’am.
ANNE: (Looking up, controlling herself with a great effort, to the weeping CHARLOTTE): Lemonade, Charlotte?
CHARLOTTE (Looking up too, seeing the lemonade): Lemonade! It would choke me!
(Sings)
Every day a little death
In the parlor, in the bed,
In the curtains, in the silver,
In the buttons, in the bread.
Every day a little sting
In the heart and in the head.
Every move and every breath,
And you hardly feel a thing,
Brings a perfect little death.
He smiles sweetly, strokes my hair,
Says he misses me.
I would murder him right there,
But first I die.
He talks softly of his wars,
And his horses
And his whores,
I think love’s a dirty business!
ANNE: So do I!
CHARLOTTE : ANNE:
I’m before him On my knees And he kisses me. So do I ...
CHARLOTTE:
He assumes I’ll lose my reason,
And I do.
Men are stupid, men are vain,
Love’s disgusting, love’s insane,
A humiliating business!
ANNE:
Oh, how true!
CHARLOTTE:
Ah, well ...
Every day a little death,
ANNE:
Every day a little death,
CHARLOTTE:
In the parlor, in the bed,
ANNE:
On the lips and in the eyes,
CHARLOTTE:
In the curtains,
In the silver, ANNE:
In the buttons, In the murmurs,
In the bread. In the pauses,
In the gestures,
In the sighs.
Every day a little sting Every day a little dies,
In the heart
And in the head.
In the looks and in
The lies.
Every move and
Every breath,
And you hardly feel a And you hardly feel a
Thing, Thing,
Brings a perfect little Brings a perfect little
Death. Death.
(After the number, HENRIK enters, taking off his hat and scarf)
HENRIK: Oh, excuse me.
ANNE (Trying to rise to the occasion): Charlotte, this is Henrik Egerman.
HENRIK (Bows and offers his hand): I am happy to make your acquaintance, Madame.
CHARLOTTE: Happy! Who could ever be happy to meet me?
(Holding HENRIK’s hand, she rises and then drifts out. ANNE falls back sobbing on the couch. HENRIK stands, gazing at her)
HENRIK: Anne, what is it?
ANNE: Nothing.
HENRIK: But what did that woman say to you?
ANNE: Nothing, nothing at all.
HENRIK: That can�
�t be true.
ANNE: It is! It is! She — she merely told me that Marta Olafsson, my dearest friend from school is — teaching gymnastics ...
(Bursts into tears again, falls into HENRIK’s arms. HENRIK puts his arms around her slowly, cautiously)
HENRIK: Anne! Poor Anne! If you knew how it destroys me to see you unhappy.
ANNE: I am not unhappy!
HENRIK: You know. You must know. Ever since you married Father, you’ve been more precious to me than ...
ANNE (Pulls back, suddenly giggling through her tears): ... Martin Luther?
(HENRIK, cut to the quick, jumps up)
HENRIK: Can you laugh at me even now?
ANNE (Rises): Oh dear, I’m sorry. Perhaps, after all, I am a totally frivolous woman with ice for a heart. Am I, Henrik? Am I?
(PETRA enters)
MADAME ARMFELDT (Off): Seven of Hearts on the Eight of Spades.
ANNE (Laughing again): Silly Henrik, get your book, quick, and denounce the wickedness of the world to me for at least a half an hour.
(ANNE runs off as the bedroom and parlor go. HENRIK follows her, as does PETRA, carrying the lemonade tray)
MADAME ARMFELDT (Off): The Ten of Hearts! Who needs the Ten of Hearts!!
Scene 7
ARMFELDT TERRACE
MADAME ARMFELDT is playing solitaire, with FRID standing behind her. FREDRIKA sits at the piano, playing scales.
MADAME ARMFELDT: Child, I am about to give you your advice for the day.
FREDRIKA: Yes, Grandmother.
MADAME ARMFELDT: Never marry — or even dally with — a Scandinavian.
FREDRIKA: Why not, Grandmother?
MADAME ARMFELDT: They are all insane.
FREDRIKA: All of them?
MADAME ARMFELDT: Uh-hum. It’s the latitude. A winter when the sun never rises, a summer when the sun never sets, are more than enough to addle the brain of any man. Further off, further off. You practically inhaled the Queen of Diamonds.
DESIRÉE (Off): Who’s home?
FREDRIKA (Jumps up, thrilled): Mother!
(DESIRÉE enters and FREDRIKA rushes to her, throwing herself into DESIREE’s arms)
DESIRÉE: Darling, you’ve grown a mile; you’re much prettier, you’re irresistible! Hello, Mother.
MADAME ARMFELDT (Continuing to play, unfriendly): And to what do I owe the honor of this visit?
DESIRÉE: I just thought I’d pop out and see you both. Is that so surprising?
MADAME ARMFELDT: Yes.
DESIRÉE: You’re in one of your bitchy moods, I see.
MADAME ARMFELDT: If you’ve come to take Fredrika back, the answer is no. I do not object to the immorality of your life, merely to its sloppiness. Since I have been tidy enough to have acquired a sizeable mansion with a fleet of servants, it is only common sense that my granddaughter should reap the advantages of it.
(To FREDRIKA)
Isn’t that so, child?
FREDRIKA: I really don’t know, Grandmother.
MADAME ARMFELDT: Oh yes you do, dear. Well, Desirée, there must be something you want or you wouldn’t have “popped out.” What is it?
DESIRÉE: All right. The tour’s over for a while, and I was wondering if you’d invite some people here next weekend.
MADAME ARMFELDT: If they’re actors, they’ll have to sleep in the stables.
DESIRÉE: Not actors, Mother. Just a lawyer from town and his family — Fredrik Egerman.
MADAME ARMFELDT: In my day, one went to lawyers’ offices but never consorted with their families.
DESIRÉE: Then it’ll make a nice change, dear, won’t it?
MADAME ARMFELDT: I am deeply suspicious, but very well.
DESIRÉE (Producing a piece of paper): Here’s the address.
MADAME ARMFELDT (Taking it): I shall send ’round a formal invitation by hand.
(She snaps her fingers for FRID. As he wheels her off)
Needless to say, I shall be polite to your guests. However, they will not be served my best champagne. I am saving that for my funeral.
(FREDRIKA runs to DESIRÉE; they embrace, and freeze in that pose. We see, in another area, PETRA bringing ANNE an invitation on a small silver tray)
PETRA:
Look, Ma‘am,
An invitation.
Here, Ma’am,
Delivered by hand.
And, Ma’am,
I notice the station-
Ery’s engraved and very grand.
ANNE:
Petra, how too exciting!
Just when I need it!
Petra, such elegant writing,
So chic you hardly can read it.
What do you think?
Who can it be?
Even the ink —
No, here, let me ...
“Your presence ... ”
Just think of it, Petra!
“Is kindly ... ”
It’s at a chateau!
“Requested ... ”
Et cet’ra, et cet’ra,
“... Madame Leonora Armf — ”
Oh, no!
A weekend in the country!
PETRA:
We’re invited?
ANNE:
What a horrible plot!
A weekend in the country!
PETRA:
I’m excited.
ANNE:
No, you’re not!
PETRA:
A weekend in the country!
Just imagine!
ANNE:
It’s completely depraved.
PETRA:
A weekend in the country!
ANNE:
It’s insulting!
PETRA:
It’s engraved.
ANNE:
It’s that woman,
It’s that Armfeldt ...
PETRA:
Oh, the actress ...
ANNE:
No, the ghoul.
She may hope to
Make her charm felt,
But she’s mad if she thinks
I would be such a fool
As to weekend in the country!
PETRA (Ironically):
How insulting!
ANNE:
And I’ve nothing to wear!
BOTH:
A weekend in the country!
ANNE:
Here!
(ANNE gives the invitation back to PETRA)
The last place I’m going is there!
(ANNE and PETRA exit. DESIRÉE and FREDRIKA unfreeze and begin to move downstage)
DESIRÉE: Well, dear, are you happy here?
FREDRIKA: Yes. I think so. But I miss us.
DESIRÉE: Oh, so do I!
(Pause)
Darling, how would you feel if we had a home of our very own with me only acting when I felt like it — and a man who would make you a spectacular father?
FREDRIKA: Oh I see. The lawyer! Mr. Egerman!
DESIRÉE: Dear child, you’re uncanny.
(DESIRÉE and FREDRIKA freeze once again. FREDRIK, ANNE, and PETRA enter)
PETRA (To FREDRIK):
Guess what, an invitation!
ANNE:
Guess who, begins with an “A” ...
Armfeldt —
Is that a relation
To the decrepit Desirée?
PETRA:
Guess when we’re asked to go, sir —
See, sir, the date there?
Guess where — a fancy chateau, sir!
ANNE:
Guess, too, who’s lying in wait there,
Setting her traps,
Fixing her face —
FREDRIK:
Darling,
Perhaps a change of pace...
ANNE: FREDRIK:
Oh, no! A weekend in the country Would be charming, And the air would be fresh.
ANNE:
A weekend
With that woman ...
FREDRIK:
In the country ...
ANNE:
I
n the flesh!
FREDRIK:
I’ve some business
With her mother.
PETRA:
See, it’s business!
ANNE:
... Oh, no doubt!
But the business
With her mother
Would be hardly the business I’d worry about.
FREDRIK and PETRA:
Just a weekend in the country,
FREDRIK:
Smelling jasmine ...
ANNE:
Watching little things grow.
FREDRIK and PETRA:
A weekend in the country ...
ANNE:
Go!
FREDRIK:
My darling,
We’ll simply say no.
ANNE:
Oh.
(They exit. FREDRIKA and DESIRÉE unfreeze)
FREDRIKA: Oh, Mother, I know it’s none of my business, but ... that dragoon you wrote me about — with the mustache?
DESIRÉE: Oh, him! What I ever saw in him astounds me.
He’s a tin soldier — arms, legs, brain — tin, tin, tin!
(They freeze on the downstage bench. ANNE and CHARLOTTE enter)
ANNE:
A weekend!
CHARLOTTE:
How very amusing.
ANNE:
A weekend!
CHARLOTTE:
But also inept.
ANNE:
A weekend!
Of course, we’re refusing.
CHARLOTTE:
Au contraire,
You must accept.
ANNE:
Oh, no!