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MISS CRAMM: An Opera Play

HERBERT LINDENBERGER

This play is protected by U.S. copyright. The permission of the author must be obtained for any performances.

CHARACTERS:

MISS MARTHA CRAMM
MISS EMILY VINING
MR. JULES TWICKLE

(The action takes place during the late 1950's in San Juan, one of the smaller cities of southwest America.)

(Setting. A fussy, musty room, old-fashioned, over-stuffed, genteel. There should be as much furniture as the stage can hold, to the point where naturalism approaches the border of surrealism. The following pieces are necessary: an old stand-up, wind-up phonograph with cloth cover and knickknacks; grand piano with keyboard locked and cloth and knickknacks on top; a love-seat somewhere near front center and several chairs here and there; large numbers of potted plants, philodendrons, African violets and the like. A door at right leads to dining room and kitchen; at back left is beginning of entrance hall; at left, at an angle, is stairway going to upper floor. Part of upper-floor hallway is visible, including an end-table, entrances to two bedrooms, door to closet, and railing overlooking living room downstairs. Set is designed so that someone standing at railing of upstairs hallway can speak to someone in living room.)

(As curtain opens MISS VINING, around seventy but very brisk, is walking about the room fussing over various objects: at one point, for instance, she sticks her finger in a vase to see if there is enough water in it.)

MISS VINING (Calling upstairs): Whatever are you doing up there, Martha dear?
MISS CRAMM (Voice from upstairs room): I don't hear you.
(Upstairs door opens, voice still comes from inside room.)
You were calling me, dear? You know I don't hear you when the door is shut.
MISS VINING: This is the fourth time you've been up there today, and you know what Dr. Pornish said about you and those stairs.
(MISS CRAMM comes out of room, stands along banister railing looking down. She is an octogenarian with a figure that could still be considered trim and with her white hair rolled tightly in a bun.)
Even twice a day is more than enough for your heart.
(MISS VINING notices MISS CRAMM.)
Whatever are you doing in your good dress, Martha? You'd think you had a funeral to go to.
MISS CRAMM (Smiling): I want to tell you something, dear.
MISS VINING: Now what would you have to tell me that I don't already know?
MISS CRAMM (Starting downstairs, carefully holding on to banister): It's a little surprise.
MISS VINING: I don't like surprises, you know that. And if it's a new symptom somewhere, I don't think you should keep me in suspense like that. You're always making me think the worst.
MISS CRAMM (Reaching bottom of stairs): We're going to have a caller, dear.
MISS VINING: A caller? But we don't ever see people anymore.
MISS CRAMM: I didn't want to tell you, Emmy dear, since you always get so upset in advance. But, well--
(Pause.)
I might as well tell you. He'll be here any minute.
(She walks toward window. During the following scene MISS CRAMM and MISS VINING alternately walk toward window to see if anyone is approaching house.)
MISS VINING: You didn't call Dr. Pornish, did you? You haven't had palpitations, have you, without letting me know?
MISS CRAMM: You jump to such frightful conclusions, dear.
MISS VINING: You give me cause for conclusions.
MISS CRAMM: It's a young gentleman coming to call on me.
MISS VINING (A bit ironically): A gentleman? My!
MISS CRAMM: He phoned this morning while you were shopping.
MISS VINING: Next thing you know you'll be expecting me to plan you a wedding.
MISS CRAMM: You're not being kind, dear.
MISS VINING: Then where did you ever get that notion of inviting young strangers into the house?
MISS CRAMM: He saw the birthday announcement in the paper. He remembered who I was.
MISS VINING: I told you you had no business letting them put it in the paper.
MISS CRAMM: I refused to let the photographer come in. What more did you want me to do?
MISS VINING (Sweetly): And it never occurred to you to ask them to respect your privacy?
MISS CRAMM: They never do what you tell them to anyway.
MISS VINING: Well, so now you have a caller. You see the cause and effect. Every cause has its effect.
MISS CRAMM: Yes, dear, I'm sorry.
MISS VINING: You're always so careless, Martha dear, and then you're sorry afterwards. For all you know he might be a front man for a bunch of burglars--or worse.
MISS CRAMM: He's a gentleman, I told you, dear. You should have heard how cultured he sounded.
MISS VINING: They've all learned to sound cultured nowadays. Suppose he's from the newspaper? You know how ruthless they are.
MISS CRAMM: I told him I never give interviews anymore, but that wasn't what he wanted at all.
MISS VINING: He's after your mementos.
MISS CRAMM: Nobody's after my mementos. I don't want you to worry yourself about my mementos.
MISS VINING: You wait and see, dear. One of these days you'll sign them away before you even realize what you've done, and next thing we know we'll see the movers backing up to the house.
MISS CRAMM: I'll refuse to let them in.
MISS VINING: They'll trample over us. Movers are big men.
MISS CRAMM (Resolutely): I'll burn my things before anybody takes them away.
MISS VINING (Embracing her): Don't worry, dear, they won't really be coming after them. We'll never let things get that far. Calm down now. We'll never let anything terrible happen.
MISS CRAMM (Remorseful): I shouldn't have let the young man come.
(Doorbell rings, MISS CRAMM begins to look nervous.)
MISS VINING: We won't have him stay long.
(MISS VINING picks up bag, pulls out a half-completed doily.)
MISS CRAMM: He'll be a gentleman, you wait and see.
MISS VINING (Handing doily to MISS CRAMM): And you can be working on your doily to keep you calmed down. Remember what Dr. Pornish said about times like this.
(Doorbell rings. MISS CRAMM looks at mantle clock.)
MISS CRAMM (Nervously): He's early, Emmy. I should have told you earlier.
(Holding needlework in hand, she walks to window to look out.)
MISS VINING: I'll talk to him by myself first. He's to know he can't stay long.
MISS CRAMM (Looking out window): He's a fine young gentleman. Didn't I tell you?
MISS VINING: Looks are deceptive.
MISS CRAMM (Suddenly self-conscious): I'm not fit to be seen at all.
(She puts needlework down.)
I've got to put on some jewelry.
MISS VINING: There's no reason in the world to, dear. You stay down here like a good girl.
MISS CRAMM (Starting towards stairway): I feel impossibly bare.
MISS VINING (Holding her arm): Oh no you don't! You can't go up there again till bedtime. Dr. Pornish will have a fit.
(Doorbell rings again.)
You go sit down in the kitchen, dear, while I talk to him.
(MISS VINING pushes her into kitchen.)
He won't have the slightest idea you're so close by.
(MISS VINING goes to entrance-way. Door is heard opening. During following conversation, MISS CRAMM slinks out of kitchen and up stairway to her room.)
VOICE OF MR. TWICKLE (Hesitantly): You must be . . . Miss Cramm?
VOICE OF MISS VINING (Coolly): I am Miss Vining.
VOICE OF MR. TWICKLE: But Miss Cramm does live here, doesn't she?
VOICE OF MISS VINING: She does.
VOICE OF MR. TWICKLE: I . . . I had an appointment with her. I hope I didn't get the time mixed up.
(Pause.)
She's home, isn't she?
VOICE OF MISS VINING: She's home, yes. But she's still resting.
VOICE OF MR. TWICKLE: Jules Twickle's my name. May . . . may I wait for her inside?
VOICE OF MISS VINING: You may come in, yes you may.
(She brings him into room. MR. TWICKLE is about thirty, nondescript, and rather shy.)
MISS VINING: She doesn't give lessons, you know.
MR. TWICKLE: I don't want lessons.
(He laughs nervously.)
I haven't any talents at all.
MISS VINING: Perhaps I should warn you, sir, Miss Cramm is not in the best of health. She does not normally see visitors.
MR. TWICKLE: I'm a great admirer of hers.
MISS VINING: It's not good for her to unbury the past.
MR. TWICKLE: I'm terribly sorry.
MISS VINING: She has had her share of tribulations.
MR. TWICKLE: I can get off work some other day, if she'd rather. I'm just down the street at the YMCA.
MISS VINING: She's prepared herself for you today.
MR. TWICKLE: But it isn't going to hurt her, I hope?
MISS VINING: She will likely have to retire after a short while.
MR. TWICKLE: Just tell me when and I'll go.
MISS VINING: You may sit down.
(MISS VINING indicates a chair. MR. TWICKLE reluctantly sits down.)
I'll go call her now.
(MISS VINING goes to doorway leading to kitchen.)
Martha, there's a young man to see you.
(Pause. MISS VINING walks out right. MR. TWICKLE looks around room with great curiosity. MISS VINING's voice is heard from offstage.)
Where are you, Martha dear?
(MISS VINING returns to living-room somewhat confused, calls upstairs.)
Martha, you're not feeling ill, are you?
(Suddenly door opens upstairs. MISS CRAMM appears with necklace and heavy bracelets on her. MR. TWICKLE quickly stands to attention.)
MISS CRAMM (Catching both by surprise, looking down over banister railing, speaking with some formality): You were calling me?
MISS VINING (Still caught by surprise, showing impatience): Your guest is here, Martha.
(Miss Cramm stands at top of stairway looking down, puts on her pince-nez.)
MISS CRAMM (With a somewhat pretentious air): Yes?
MR. TWICKLE (Full of expectation, nervously): You're . . . Miss Cramm?
MISS CRAMM (Nodding her head): Do I have the pleasure, sir?
MR. TWICKLE (Eagerly): I've always wanted to meet you. Opera's my passion, I have your records.
(MISS CRAMM looks him over with pince-nez, nods her head.)
MISS VINING (Somewhat sternly): This is Mr. Twickle, Martha.
(MISS CRAMM comes slowly downstairs, shows a consciousness of playing a role not evident in her descent at opening of play. During following scenes, she puts her pince-nez on as the occasion demands.)
MISS CRAMM: I did not catch the name.
MR. TWICKLE (Nervously): Twickle, Jules Twickle.
(MISS CRAMM looks him over, slight pause.)
You can call me Julie. That's what they used to call me at home.
(Awkward pause.)
How did you ever end up in San Juan?
MISS CRAMM (Haughtily): I was born in San Juan, young man. I was born in this house.
(MISS VINING hands MISS CRAMM her needlework. MISS CRAMM sits down in the love seat, works at doily sporadically during following scene. MISS VINING sits down stiffly in an upright chair from which she can keep an eye on MISS CRAMM.)
MR. TWICKLE: How can you stand it here after Europe?
MISS VINING: We are very comfortable here, thank you.
(MISS VINING takes some needlework for herself out of a bag. She knits sporadically during following scene.)
Why don't you sit down, sir?
MR. TWICKLE (Sitting down again): People hate culture here. I need to get to Europe.
MISS CRAMM: Do you sing? You have aspirations?
MR. TWICKLE: Oh no. And I don't play anything either . . . except the record player, of course.
(He laughs nervously, then speaks coyly.)
I played your Manon record before I left for work today--the Gavotte, that is.
MISS CRAMM (Thinking back a moment): Oh yes, the one I made in 1911.
(Pause.)
MR. TWICKLE (Nervously): You often sang Manon? You liked that role?
MISS CRAMM (Caught off guard): Why yes. Yes, of course. I liked it better than the Manon Lescaut, if that's what you mean.
MR. TWICKLE: That's Puccini, of course--the other one, I mean. I've never seen either of them. What do you expect in San Juan?
MISS CRAMM: You show an uncommon interest in opera, young man.
MR. TWICKLE: I've heard everybody's interested in opera in Europe.
MISS CRAMM: They have their ancient traditions, yes.
MR. TWICKLE: There's no such thing here, I can tell you that. Those sweaty fellows down at the Y where I work--well, there's nothing they hate so much as opera.
MISS CRAMM: I never much cared for men who sweat.
MR. TWICKLE: I really don't like them either.
MISS VINING: But they all do.
(Pause. MISS CRAMM looks him over with her pince-nez and smiles approvingly.)
MR. TWICKLE: I've got ten of your records.
MISS CRAMM: That's very good of you.
MR. TWICKLE (Counting on his fingers): I've got your "Ah! fors' è lui" and your "Mi chiamano Mimi" and the Manon Gavotte, of course . . . and your "Je dis que rien ne m'épouvante" . . . your Jewel Song--
(He gets up, starts wandering about the room, still counting on his fingers.)
--your "Addio"--the La Bohême one, not the Traviata one . . . your Juliette Waltz Song . . . your Senta's Ballad . . . oh, and "Caro Nome" . . . and . . . you'll excuse me if I can't pronounce the German right--"Ack, ick fool es."
(Pause.)
MISS CRAMM (Turning to him as she puts her pince-nez on): Isn't it sweet of you to want to see me?
MR, TWICKLE (Sitting down again): But you're not like anybody else I know.
MISS CRAMM: You don't have my Salome record, I'll wager.
MR. TWICKLE: Salome? I never knew you did that.
MISS VINING: I don't think we need to go into Salome at this point, dear.
MISS CRAMM (Impatient): And why not?
MISS VINING: I don't think we ought to get started, that's all.
(Turns to MR. TWICKLE.)
It's a long story, Mr. Twickle, and the last time she got wound up in it she was in bed for the next two days.
MR. TWICKLE: If it's something unpleasant, please don't bring it up on my account.
MISS CRAMM: Unpleasant? I will have you know, Mr. Twickle, Salome is one of the proudest memories of my life!
MISS VINING (To MISS CRAMM): It's up to you, dear. But don't blame me if Dr. Pornish has to give up his patients to spend the morning with you.
MISS CRAMM (To MR. TWICKLE): Pay no attention to her. She's never shown the slightest understanding of Salome.
MISS VINING: You refused the role when they gave it to you.
MISS CRAMM (Looking at MR. TWICKLE): I should say I refused it. I did not properly understand it at the time.
MR. TWICKLE: I've never really had a chance to hear the music. There aren't any complete recordings.
MISS CRAMM: You wouldn't want one anyway. They couldn't possibly understand what they're supposed to be doing.
MR. TWICKLE: I wish I'd lived in your day. People really understood opera.
MISS CRAMM: They did not understand Salome. Nor did I.
MISS VINING (Trying to hurry things up): You see, the composer trained her for the part himself.
MISS CRAMM (Impatiently): I'm telling this, do you hear?
(MISS CRAMM puts her needlework down beside her.)
He came to Munich to hear me, Dr. Strauss himself came to hear me sing--
MR. TWICKLE: Richard Strauss, imagine!
(MISS CRAMM stands up facing MR. TWICKLE directly.)
MISS CRAMM: --and here I had no idea he was even in the theater. He heard my Queen Marguerite in Les Huguenots--that's what was on that night. He's supposed to have loathed Meyerbeer, but he heard me in my greatness.
MR. TWICKLE: Your "0 beau pais de la Touraine" is a collector's item.
MISS CRAMM: Never mind that. The very next morning the theater sent me orders to prepare Salome immediately.
MR. TWICKLE: What an honor!
MISS CRAMM: And you know what I did?
MR. TWICKLE: What?
MISS CRAMM: I refused!
MR. TWICKLE: How could you?
MISS CRAMM: I was willing to risk my contract. I risked my career!
MR. TWICKLE: But you finally said yes, I hope.
MISS CRAMM (Paying no attention to him, starting to move about the room): The day after that I was rehearsing Benvenuto Cellini under Dr. Mottl--
MR. TWICKLE: I don't even know that opera.
MISS CRAMM: --and there was that tall paunchy bald man alone in the empty theater--
MR. TWICKLE: Dr. Strauss, I bet.
MISS CRAMM: --alone in the theatre, yes, and coughing to himself a time or two. And then in the break he strode through the orchestra, and all the stage personnel were bowing and scraping as he made his way over to me--
MR. TWICKLE: You must have been thrilled.
MISS CRAMM: --and next thing I knew he was kissing my hand.
(She holds her hand to be kissed, then speaks out in a voice as though imitating Strauss.)
"Why will you not be my Salome? For five years I have waited for the right voice and now you refuse."
MISS VINING (Turning her head away as she continues knitting): I don't care to watch this spectacle.
MISS CRAMM: "Why can you not be my Salome?"
(She moves a few feet away facing direction from which she had just spoken, now speaks in a higher tone of voice as though imitating herself.)
"I have two reasons, sir. First of all, the part as you wrote it would be dangerous to my voice--'stimmlich gefährlich'"--those are the very words I used. "I am a lyric soprano, you must surely know. You may even call me a lyric coloratura if you care to. But I am not a dramatic soprano like your other Salomes. And I will not shout over a hundred twenty-five musicians."
MR. TWICKLE: This is great!
MISS CRAMM (Moving to her earlier position, speaks in a low voice again): "But you are the Salome I have been looking for. I will rewrite it expressly for you. I cannot bear those mighty Isoldes who bellow my Salome night after night. I want you for your childlike tones. My Salome is like a child. Say you will do it."
MR. TWICKLE (Fascinated): And you still refused?
MISS CRAMM (Solemnly, gradually getting out of breath): I did.
(She starts acting out her role once more, now in higher voice.)
"I have a second reason, sir. You may rewrite the vocal line as much as you want, but I have an unalterable objection as well."
(She assumes her low voice.)
"Tell me and I will fix it up."
(She assumes her high voice.)
"The subject, sir, is filthy and indecent."
(She assumes her low voice.)
"Fräulein Cramm!"
(She assumes her high voice.)
"It most certainly is, and I've never been able to understand why great men like you don't devote their talents to all the lovely things there are to write about."
(She assumes her low voice, shows shortness of breath.)
"But my Salome is lovely, Fräulein Cramm. You must listen to me. She is an innocent child, this princess. You must learn to understand my princess. I shall teach you how to understand her."
MR. TWICKLE (Enraptured): And he did?
MISS CRAMM (Out of breath, leaning against piano): He did. . . . It's been a bit too much, I think.
MISS VINING: (To MR. TWICKLE): You see, it's too much for her.
(MISS VINING drops her knitting, puts her hand on MISS CRAMM's shoulder, leads her back to the love seat. MISS VINING remains standing behind her with her hand on MISS CRAMM's shoulder.)
Wasn't I right, dear?
MR. TWICKLE: Do take care of yourself, I wouldn't want to be the cause of--
MISS VINING (Interrupting): She'll be all right, now won't you, dear? Now take deep breaths.
(MISS CRAMM breathes deeply.)
That's a good girl.
MISS CRAMM (Recovering herself, then to MR. TWICKLE): Except for Dr. Pornish, we haven't had a caller here in two years.
MISS VINING: Three years, dear. Three and a half.
MISS CRAMM: If it weren't for Miss Vining, I wouldn't be alive today. Miss Vining's been with me for thirty years, ever since my retirement. Even longer than Dr. Pornish.
MISS VINING: I'll always be with you, dear.
(Pause.)
MISS CRAMM: If it weren't for Miss Vining, I wouldn't have a cent left today. I wouldn't even have this house left.
MISS VINING: I'll always keep you in tow, dear.
(Pause. MISS CRAMM picks up her needlework.)
MR. TWICKLE (Nervously): I really think I'd better be on my way.
(Pause. MISS CRAMM concentrates on her doily. MISS VINING moves a few steps, anxiously waiting for MR. TWICKLE to stand up.)
I have to check the gym equipment at the end of the day. You can't imagine how messy those fellows are.
(He stands up.)
But it's been tremendous of you to have me over.
(He walks over to MISS CRAMM and kisses her hand.)
And I hope you don't mind if I think of you and even . . . see you again one of these days.
MISS VINING: By all means phone before you come.
(MR. TWICKLE turns to leave. MISS VINING follows him out.)
MISS CRAMM (Calling after them): I think we should show Mr. Twickle the manuscript before he goes.
MISS VINING (Turning to look back at her): Next time he comes, dear. You have had enough for one day.
MR. TWICKLE (To MISS VINING while walking to the door): What manuscript does she mean?
MISS CRAMM (Setting her needlework down): The manuscript Dr. Strauss rewrote for me.
MR. TWICKLE (Turning around): It's in his own hand?
MISS CRAMM: It's the only one in existence--the Cramm-version of Salome.
MISS VINING: Some other time, dear. Mr. Twickle has to get back to the YMCA.
MR. TWICKLE (Shyly, turning around): Well if it's only a minute--
MISS CRAMM (Standing up): Take out the manuscript for Mr. Twickle at once.
MISS VINING (A bit flustered): But you know it's in the safe, Martha dear.
MISS CRAMM (Walking to MR. TWICKLE, clutching his arm, and drawing him back in): Then we'll simply open the safe, that's all.
MISS VINING (Walking around them trying to stop them, patting MISS CRAMM on her shoulder): It takes more than a minute to get something out of the safe, dear.
MR. TWICKLE: I can wait. Don't concern yourselves about me.
MISS CRAMM: Sit down, Mr. Twickle.
(MR. TWICKLE sits down again, MISS CRAMM turns to MISS VINING, speaks firmly.)
I want you to open that safe, Emmy.
MISS VINING (With irony): It's up to you, dear.
MISS CRAMM (Whispering to MR. TWICKLE): It always takes her a while to get used to a new idea.
(MISS VINING goes to back of room, pulls back a curtain which reveals a large built-in safe.)
MR. TWICKLE: She means well, I'm sure.
MESS CRAMM: I don't trust everybody to see that manuscript.
MR. TWICKLE: I'll be careful. I'll let you handle it.
MISS VINING (While working combination of safe): I'll never get this combination straight if you keep on talking.
MISS CRAMM (Whispering to MR. TWICKLE): She gets mixed up easily. We don't open it very much.
MR. TWICKLE (Whispering): You're lucky to have her.
MISS CRAMM (Whispering): I've often wished I could trust myself alone.
(MISS VINING in the meantime has opened the safe, pulled out a large volume, quickly shut the safe, and, with a grim expression in her face, carried it over to MISS CRAMM.)
MISS CRAMM: It's for Mr. Twickle to look at, not for me, dear. Give it to Mr. Twickle.
(MISS VINING hands it to him.)
MR. TWICKLE: I'll be very careful.
(He leafs through volume.)
It's printed, the score is. Is this what you meant to give me?
(MISS CRAMM gets up quickly, looks over his shoulder, puts on her pince-nez.)
MISS CRAMM: That's it. That's the one. That's the score that Dr. Strauss rewrote for me in his own hand. What did you think it was?
(She leafs through the volume pointing out things here and there.)
You see? Those are the low notes he took out--so he could give me these childlike high tones. You see here? This is the beginning of Salome's main theme.
MR. TWICKLE: It's a dreadful shame I can't read music.
MISS CRAMM: I'll show you on the piano. He wanted Salome's voice to soar, as only my voice could.
(To MISS VINING.)
Emmy, I want you to open the piano.
(While MR. TWICKLE, still sitting, is leafing through the score, MISS VINING tries to communicate silently with MISS CRAMM. MISS VINING points to MR. TWICKLE, shakes her head, uses a makeshift sign language to indicate she should send MR. TWICKLE home. MISS CRAMM refuses
to pay attention)
I haven't the faintest idea what you're trying to say, dear, but I think you should say it in the open. We have a visitor here, after all.
MISS VINING (Sullenly): I have nothing to say.
MISS CRAMM: Then open the piano. You're the one who hides those keys.
(MISS VINING, quite obviously against her will, goes to a bookcase, pulls a book from the shelf, and picks up a key lying behind the book. In the meantime MISS CRAMM has taken score out of MR. TWICKLE's hands and led MR. TWICKLE to piano. MISS CRAMM places score on piano, sits down at piano, waits impatiently for MISS VINING to unlock the keyboard. MISS VINING unlocks it, says nothing, picks up her knitting, goes to other side of room, remains standing in an inconspicuous spot, alternately knits and keeps her eye on MISS CRAMM throughout following scene, MR. TWICKLE stands behind MISS CRAMM looking over her shoulder. MISS CRAMM plays following theme on piano, singing the vocal line:)

MISS CRAMM: You see what he did? He raised me several notes. Dr. Strauss wanted to hear me soar over the orchestra.
MR. TWICKLE (Trying to read words in the score) "Itch will dee"--
MISS CRAMM (Correcting him): "Ich will deinen Mund küssen."
MR. TWICKLE: I never had German, you see.
MISS CRAMM (Solemnly, after playing theme again): This is where Salome begins her wooing of the Prophet. "I wish to kiss thy mouth"--that's what the words mean.
MR. TWICKLE (A bit embarrassed): I read the synopsis in my opera book.
MISS CRAMM: Your opera book could hardly be expected to understand it. Now what I just played for you, this theme returns at the end of the drama. Dr. Strauss, by the way, always spoke of it as a drama. When it occurs again at the end, it is followed by those terribly frightening chords--
(She plays the following from memory:)

MR. TWICKLE: It's an inspiring score.
MISS CRAMM: Everything is carefully connected to everything else. These chords at the end, you see, were heard long before in Salome's vocal line during the wooing--
(She plays the following from memory and sings the words while she plays:)

What sounds so absolutely frightening at the end was really a lyrical and lovely thing at the beginning, for this was the spot where she first turned to the Prophet; yes, she turned to him in all her purity and innocence to praise his white and hairless body.
(She strikes a chord abruptly, gets up from the piano, MR. TWICKLE moves away, a bit taken aback by her action. She points at MR. TWICKLE with some vehemence. During following scene MR. TWICKLE moves backward as MISS CRAMM moves forward addressing herself to him. MISS VINING looks disapprovingly at the whole thing.)
You have no idea how terrifying it can be at the end. Those chords come crashing down just like the soldiers' shields that crush her to death, poor thing!
MR. TWICKLE: I wish I could sing.
MISS CRAMM: Can you imagine a more terrifying thing? That pure and childlike soul . . . surrounded by a corrupt court for whom she has nothing but the utmost contempt . . . a beastly stepfather who leers covetously at her body day and night--
MR. TWICKLE: There's so much to learn about opera.
MISS CRAMM: --and no one to turn to, no one to listen to her in her plight--yes, that is exactly how Dr. Strauss explained her to me--and so she throws herself on the one being who might save her from them all--yes, she hears the Prophet's voice, the Prophet . . . he alone will save her. She pleads with him, she cajoles him, she adores his strange beauty . . . and what does he do?
(MISS CRAMM points at MR. TWICKLE, who shakes his head silently.)
He disdains her, he rejects her, he rains curses upon her!
MR. TWICKLE: What a horrible thing!
MISS CRAMM (Speaking lower, more softly now): Yes--so what is there left for her? Abandoned, degraded, reduced to despair, she demands that noblest part of him, yes--
(She raises her voice.)
--she demands his head!
(As MISS CRAMM reaches the end of her story, MISS VINING puts her knitting down, rushes over to her and puts her hands around her shoulders.)
MR. TWICKLE: It's an awfully moving story.
MISS VINING (Soothingly): You must calm down now, dear. I can always see this coming on when you get started on Salome.
MISS CRAMM (Moving willfully away from MISS VINING): I am perfectly all right, I want you to know. I will not have you anticipating trouble when there is none at all.
MISS VINING: I can hear those palpitations just around the corner.
MISS CRAMM: If I feel like having palpitations, I'll have my palpitations.
MISS VINING (Submissively, with some irony): It's your choice, dear.
MISS CRAMM (Abruptly, to MISS VINING): Go find my Salome record. I want you to play it for Mr. Twickle.
MISS VINING: You promised Dr. Pornish you'd never play that record.
MISS CRAMM (Outshouting her): I've had enough of Dr. Pornish. I want you to get that record.
MISS VINING (Quietly, as she scurries to cabinet): I say nothing, I say nothing, I say nothing.
MR. TWICKLE: I hope you'll explain it carefully. My background's so poor in German opera.
MISS CRAMM: I've only got the final moments of the opera. We never recorded on a grand scale in those days. You had to do everything in four- or five-minute segments.
(MISS VINING in the meantime has walked up with a heavy record album bound in leather.)
MISS VINING (Quietly): Is this what you wanted, dear?
(MISS VINING puts album on top of piano, leafs through, with MR. TWICKLE looking over her shoulder.)
MISS CRAMM (Taking a quick look at album, speaks impatiently): This isn't the right one at all. This one has nothing but the 1910 records.
MISS VINING: You can hardly expect me to know where you stuck it away, dear. You've never played it in all these years.
MR. TWICKLE (Interrupting): Look, here's "Un bel dì." I didn't know you recorded that.
(During the following dialogue MISS VINING takes the knickknacks and cover off the phonograph, opens the top, changes the needle, and winds up the machine.)
MISS VINING: I think we should play "Un bel dì," don't you, Mr. Twickle?
MISS CRAMM (Angrily): Mr. Twickle has prepared himself for Salome.
MR. TWICKLE (Inspecting phonograph, speaks awkwardly): Listen, I'll settle for anything you think convenient.
MISS VINING: I find "Un bel dì" very convenient.
MR. TWICKLE (While scrutinizing phonograph): I've never seen one like that.
MISS CRAMM: The Victor people gave me this instrument in gratitude.
MISS VINING (Whispering to MR. TWICKLE): Tell her you want to hear "Un bel dì."
MISS CRAMM (With a bitter edge): I heard you, my dear, and I think you should speak in a normal tone of voice when you're talking about me.
MISS VINING: I said it'd be far better to hear something from Butterfly than from Salome.
MR. TWICKLE: Please don't let me be the cause of any trouble.
MISS VINING: You've already shown Mr. Twickle how wrought up you can get thinking about Salome. What more need I say?
MR. TWICKLE (To MISS VINING): Yes, do Butterfly, please. We'll do whatever's best for her.
(MISS VINING pulls record from album, blows dust off record before she puts it on. MISS CRAMM walks away abruptly, goes to sit in the love seat, sulks quietly, picks up needlework. MISS VINING puts record on, she and MR. TWICKLE listen intently.)
MR. TWICKLE (A few moments after record has started): It's magnificent.
(Long pauses between comments while record is on.)
MISS VINING (Proudly): Isn't she lovely?
MR. TWICKLE (Turning to MISS CRAMM): You're superb. There's nobody today with a bel canto like that.
(MISS CRAMM pays no attention to him.)
MR. TWICKLE (Getting on his knees for a moment): Really, this is very great.
(Pause.)
MISS CRAMM (Suddenly turning to MISS VINING, speaks imperiously): Bring down my Butterfly kimono.
MISS VINING (Curtly): It's packed away in the costume closet.
MISS CRAMM (Insistently): I want Mr. Twickle to see my Butterfly kimono.
MISS VINING: We'll all suffocate from the mothball smell.
MISS CRAMM (To MISS VINING): You force me to listen to this and then you won't bring me the kimono.
MISS VINING (With a sarcastic edge): Yes, dear, I'm doing everything you tell me to today, am I not?
(She goes to bookcase, removes key from behind book, MISS CRAMM and MR. TWICKLE both keep eyes on her.)
I think nothing of the consequences, I take care of your slightest whim.
MR. TWICKLE (Turning to phonograph): Shhhhh! I don't want to miss the climax.
(MISS VINING starts upstairs with key.)
MISS CRAMM (Crossly): There are three distinct climaxes.
MR. TWICKLE.(To MISS CRAMM, who is watching MISS VINING intently as the latter goes up): Believe me, I love them all.
(MISS CRAMM ignores him. MR. TWICKLE gets on his knees again.)
You don't know just how fabulous you are!
(MISS VINING opens closet, turns on light. Large numbers of costumes are visible far inside. MISS VINING goes in.)
MISS CRAMM: She'll never find her way through my costumes.
(Record ends, noise of needle backing up. MR. TWICKLE gets up, looks at MISS CRAMM, notices she is still looking upstairs at closet, then MISS VINING comes out with kimono over her arm.)
MISS CRAMM (To MISS VINING): You may also bring my wig and my fan.
(MISS VINING stops, pauses.)
MISS VINING (Quietly and with irony): At your bidding, dear. I don't know what I'm here for otherwise.
(MISS VINING goes back into closet.)
MISS CRAMM (Pointing to phonograph, on which needle is still stuck at the end of the record): Why must I listen to that noise?
MR. TWICKLE (Going to phonograph): Do you want me to turn it off? Or can I play it again?
MISS CRAMM: Do as you will. You two always get what you want anyway.
MR. TWICKLE (Nervously, just as he starts record again): I wish you'd tell me what you want.
(Pause.)
Doesn't it make you happy hearing yourself like this?
MISS VINING (Emerging from closet with Japanese kimono, wig, and fan, speaks again with sarcastic edge to voice): If there is anything else you need from here, better speak up now.
(She starts downstairs.)
MR. TWICKLE (Listening to music and watching MISS VINING come down): I can already see you as Butterfly.
MISS CRAMM (Standing up as MISS VINING approaches, notices costume): She's brought the wrong one. That's my ceremonial kimono.
MR. TWICKLE (Taking kimono out of MISS VINING's hand and stroking cloth): It's gorgeous silk. I love the feel of it.
(He hands it to MISS CRAMM.)
MISS CRAMM (Crossly): This one's for the death scene. Who'd ever wear a ceremonial for "Un bel dì"?
MR. TWICKLE: I'd love to see it on you.
MISS VINING (Turning away, setting wig and fan down): I don't want to see what happens next. I refuse to look.
(She picks up her knitting. In the meanwhile, as record continues, MISS CRAMM has walked across room, held kimono open, MR. TWICKLE moves towards her, takes it out of her hands, helps her put it on. She seems indifferent at first.)
MR. TWICKLE (Moving in front of her): It's magnificent!
MISS VINING (Knitting): I won't look.
(MISS CRAMM moves around a bit, listens a moment to music, gradually develops a consciousness of self in gown. Her gestures become more and more theatrical. She looks around for wig, holds it up, puts it on her head, turns head slowly to get accustomed to it, listens to music a moment, picks up fan, starts moving back and forth around the room.)
MR. TWICKLE (Looking her over admiringly): I can't get over this!
MISS CRAMM: I never truly liked playing Cio-Cio-San.
MR. TWICKLE: But you must have been a distinguished one.
MISS CRAMM (Waving fan): This robe came from the Japanese ambassador to Austria-Hungary.
(Pause. She walks around a bit listening to music, waves fan.)
He presented it to me in a special ceremony.
(Pause. She moves around some more.)
I was the first Cio-Cio-San in any German-speaking land.
(MR. TWICKLE watches her ecstatically during final moments of aria. MISS CRAMM is heard humming in a low voice as she follows the record.
Directly after singing has stopped and during final orchestral portion, she speaks up again)
I was at the height of my power.
(Record ends. MR. TWICKLE claps his hands briefly, then runs to turn phonograph off. MISS CRAMM continues moving about the room, fanning herself as though record were still on, MISS VINING begins to follow her with her eyes. MISS CRAMM suddenly stops, addresses MR. TWICKLE.)
I was at the height, you see--and they made me stop.
(Bitterly.)
I could have gone on another ten years. But that's all right. That's all right. I understand perfectly.
(She sits down limply in love seat, still fanning herself.)
MISS VINING (Moving behind MISS CRAMM, whispering): I knew this was coming.
(Pause. MR. TWICKLE, somewhat frightened, moves up to MISS CRAMM.)
MR. TWICKLE (Patting her on shoulder): Don't feel bad, please. I don't want you to feel bad because of me.
MISS CRAMM: This is a grave, Mr. Twickle. They've kept me in this grave these thirty years.
(He sits down beside her.)
MISS VINING (Quietly, to MISS CRAMM): You must take those things off, dear.
MISS CRAMM (Fanning herself): I want to die.
MR. TWICKLE: Don't say that! Think of all the things you have to live for--
(Stuttering.)
--these fabulous memories, for one thing.
MISS CRAMM (Quietly): I want to die. There's nothing that Dr. Pornish can do for me anymore.
MISS VINING (Gently): Off with it now.
(MISS VINING takes off wig from behind, sets it down. Then she helps MISS CRAMM stand up, takes off kimono with MR. TWICKLE's help. MISS CRAMM pays no attention to MISS VINING, sits down again, sullenly fanning herself. MISS VINING folds up kimono and sets it over a chair.)
I'll get some tea started, dear. A cup of tea will bring you back to life.
(MISS VINING starts to kitchen right.)
I'll leave it to you to keep an eye on her, Mr. Twickle. We must keep her quiet. You see now?
(MISS VINING goes out right.)
MISS CRAMM (To MR. TWICKLE, who is standing nervously next to love seat): You wouldn't have made me retire like that, would you, Mr. Twickle?
MR. TWICKLE: It never would have occurred to me.
MISS CRAMM: You'd not forget me just because I'm getting old?
MR. TWICKLE: Never for the world.
MISS CRAMM: You'd have let me play all my roles just one time more?
MR. TWICKLE: Of course I would.
MISS CRAMM (Glancing up at open door to costume closet): You haven't even seen my other roles.
(She gets up, sets fan down.)
Miss Vining doesn't like me going through my roles, you know.
MR. TWICKLE: Miss Vining doesn't always understand.
(MISS CRAMM starts upstairs, a bit limply at first, looks back suspiciously to see if MISS VINING can see her, then goes with increasingly quicker steps to closet.)
Don't overstrain.
MISS CRAMM: You're talking like Miss Vining.
(She turns into closet; pulls out an eighteenth-century gown, impishly drapes it over herself.)
Who do you think I am?
MR, TWICKLE: I can't guess. That's eighteenth century, isn't it?
MISS CRAMM: You have me singing it at home. I'm at the Cours-la-Reine, my dear.
MR. TWICKLE: Is it . . . Manon?
MISS CRAMM: Guess by singing.
(MR. TWICKLE hums the Gavotte from Manon. During preceding speeches MISS VINING has come slowly from kitchen without being noticed by either of the two others. She watches for a few moments, then interrupts MR. TWICKLE while he is humming.)
MISS VINING: So this is how Mr. Twickle keeps his eye on you!
(Both look at her a bit frightened.)
Well . . . and what do you have to say for yourself?
(Pause.)
MISS CRAMM (To MISS VINING): I think you should go to your room and shut the door.
MISS VINING (Caught by surprise): I should . . . what?
MISS CRAMM (Sternly): I want you to go to your room!
(Awkward pause. MISS VINING starts slowly upstairs.)
MISS VINING (Stopping on stairs, speaks quietly): All I can say is it's your responsibility from here on. That's all I have to say.
(She continues up a few more stairs, stops.)
It's your responsibility, whatever happens. But it's not Mr. Twickle who'll be sitting up all night with you, I can tell you that.
(She reaches top of stairs, goes past MISS CRAMM with her head turned away from her, opens door to her room, then turns around again and addresses MISS CRAMM.)
And you can finish fixing your own tea, since you seem to be in such blooming spirits today.
(She goes in, closes door abruptly. MISS CRAMM glances resentfully in direction of MISS VINING's door, and looks downstairs at MR. TWICKLE again.)
MISS CRAMM (A bit muted down): Where were we?
(She looks at gown, gradually gets her bearings. MR. TWICKLE starts humming, this time a bit more quietly than before. A smile gradually shows up in MISS CRAMM's face.)
Right you are, my dear! Now we'll try again.
(She sets costume over banister and hurries into closet to get another one. MR. TWICKLE continues humming. This time she comes out with an elegant mid-nineteenth century costume which she handles like the last one.)
Who am I now?
MR. TWICKLE: I need a hint.
MISS CRAMM: I sacrifice myself for love. I have never known such devotion before.
MR. TWICKLE (Contemplating): Juliette? . . . No? . . . Marguerite? No, that couldn't be the right dress.
(MISS CRAMM hums beginning of "Ah! fors' è lui." With a shock of recognition MR. TWICKLE immediately--and loudly--takes up drinking song from La Traviata, picks up a small bud vase, pretending to toast MISS CRAMM, snaps off some African violet blossoms nearby, throws them high in air. Just then door opens and MISS VINING comes out, crosses hall to banister railing. MR. TWICKLE suddenly stops singing.)
MISS VINING (Addressing herself to MR. TWICKLE): I appeal to you for the last time, Mr. Twickle. I have held my tongue all afternoon, and only out of politeness. But there's one thing I've got to tell you just the same--I think you're a dreadful influence on Miss Cramm.
(All are quiet a moment. Then MR. TWICKLE, ignoring her, takes up drinking song again more loudly than before, and MISS CRAMM joins him in humming. MISS VINING returns to her room angrily, closes door.)
MISS CRAMM: I have another one for you, my dear.
(She lays Traviata costume over banister next to Manon one, returns to closet, comes out with an old-fashioned-looking attempt at a Near Eastern costume.)
Who am I?
MR. TWICKLE (Contemplating): Now who is exotic and oriental like that?
(He hums "Mon coeur s'ouvre à ta voix" from Samson et Dalila.)
MISS CRAMM: You should know better. I was never a mezzo. Wrong guess.
MR. TWICKLE: Is it The Queen of Sheba? I knew they used to do it all the time in the old days, but I can't say I know the music. I have heard his Rustic Wedding Symphony though, and I like it tremendously.
MISS CRAMM: Second wrong guess.
MR. TWICKLE: Give me a hint.
MISS CRAMM: Think hard.
(She quickly disappears into closet with costume.)
MR. TWICKLE: Are you all right?
MISS CRAMM (Voice from closet): Think harder.
MR. TWICKLE! I think I hear the tea kettle whistling.
MISS CRAMM (Voice from closet): Let it whistle.
MR. TWICKLE (Obviously thinking hard, then a moment of recognition): I've got it. You're Selika in Meyerbeer's L'Africaine. You're the Indian queen whom Vasco da Gama abandons. It's supposed to have been a glorious opera in its day. Isn't it shameful they don't do Meyerbeer anymore?
MISS CRAMM (Voice from closet): Wrong again.
MR. TWICKLE (Crushed): You're not Selika?
(MISS CRAMM enters, having slipped the Near-Eastern costume on.)
MISS CRAMM (Coquettishly): Don't you recognize me?
MR. TWICKLE (Taken aback): Yes, certainly . . .
(Stuttering a bit.)
You're not . . . hmm . . .
MISS CRAMM (Still coquettishly): You don't know me?
MR. TWICKLE: Yes . . . of course.
(MISS CRAMM hums "Ich will deinen Mund küssen" as she had earlier in play.)
MR. TWICKLE (Suddenly recognizing her): Salome!
MISS CRAMM (Smiling): Right you are!
(She starts down hall, suddenly loses her smile and stops as she passes MISS VINING's room, points at MISS VINING's door, whispers loudly to MR. TWICKLE.)
Is she in there?
(MR. TWICKLE nods in assent, both laugh.)
Now we can play my Salome, can't we?
MR. TWICKLE (Nervously eager to get started): I'll get the record. Just tell me where to look.
MISS CRAMM: In my 1913 album. You'll put it on for me, won't you, my dear?
MR. TWICKLE (Starting for cabinet): Whatever you say.
MISS CRAMM: Dust it off nicely. It's not been played these thirty years.
(He quickly pulls album from cabinet, puts it on piano next to other album, finds record, takes Butterfly record off turntable, blows dust off Salome record, puts it on. MISS CRAMM meanwhile has started downstairs, gradually assuming a consciousness of self in role. She feels her hair, and, when halfway downstairs, suddenly pulls out her hairpins and lets her white hair fall down her back, laughs excitedly. While getting record, MR. TWICKLE turns around several times and watches her, half in fright, half in fascination. The record starts as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she walks about the room slowly, self-consciously, almost trembling at times, looks down at her costume, strokes her face and hair. At one point she sees her Butterfly fan, picks it up, fans herself a moment, nervously sets it down. The record, which is to be played three times altogether before the close of the play, encompasses the final four to four-and-a-half minutes of the opera, beginning immediately after Herod's line, "Es wird Schreckliches geschehen." The record consists of the following:
(1) Approximately thirty seconds of quiet, eerie orchestral interludes
(2) 90 seconds of Salome in speaking voice
(3) 90 seconds of Salome in singing voice with full orchestral background
(4) 30-40 seconds of final portion for orchestra alone, except for four words sung by Herod. It is important that the stage action throughout the rest of the play be coordinated with the record. The effect of an old recording may be obtained by adding the sound of static to a modern recording.)
MISS CRAMM (During first orchestral interlude, not looking at MR. TWICKLE): This is where she confronts the severed head on the platter.
MR. TWICKLE: It's eerie.
MISS CRAMM (Speaking with the voice on the record, translating in the pauses, not looking at MR. TWICKLE at first): Ich habe deinen Mund geküsst, Jochanaan . . . Ach, ich habe ihn geküsst, deinen Mund . . . I kissed thy mouth, John . . . Es war ein bitterer Geschmack auf deinen Lippen . . . It tasted bitterly upon thy lips . . . Hat es nach Blut geschmeckt? . . . Did it taste of blood? . . . Nein, doch es schmeckte vielleicht nach Liebe . . . No, but perchance it tasted of love . . .
(She turns sternly to MR. TWICKLE.)
You must see this as a spiritual thing.
MR. TWICKLE (Entranced, whispers): Of course.
MISS CRAMM (Turning away again): Sie sagen, dass die Liebe bitter schmecke . . . It is said that love tastes bitterly. . ..
(Orchestra gets louder as the part for speaking voice ends. MISS CRAMM turns to MR. TWICKLE, looks slyly at him as he stands with his ear close to phonograph speaker. She puts her hand briefly across her mouth, gives him another sly look, then starts out right.)
You must listen intently, and I'll go fetch the tea, my dear.
(She goes out toward kitchen. MR. TWICKLE turns volume louder, starts pacing floor, is thoroughly caught up in music. At moments he pretends to conduct orchestra, at moments he seems to be playing the role of Salome. MISS CRAMM enters just before music ends, carries heavy silver tea service. MR. TWICKLE quickly turns volume down.)
MR. TWICKLE: Can I help?
(He takes it out of her hands, she directs him to put it on coffee table. Music ends about this point.)
It's your greatest performance of all.
MISS CRAMM (Pouring tea for him): You liked me?
MR. TWICKLE (Taking cup, sitting down in love seat): It opened up a whole range of new experience.
MISS CRAMM: This tea service is from the German empress.
(She pours for herself.)
She commanded a performance of my Salome. They have no royalty in Germany anymore.
MR. TWICKLE: I've never had tea with milk before. It's very sweet.
MISS CRAMM: That's how the German empress drank her tea.
MR. TWICKLE: It's an awfully funny taste. It must be the milk.
MISS CRAMM (Setting her cup down, getting up and going to phonograph): The empress understood my Salome, even against the emperor's objections. The emperor had no feeling for art.
(She turns record on again. Following conversation takes place during first two minutes of record. MISS CRAMM sits down next to tea service, picks up her cup.)
You'll play my Salome regularly from here on, won't you, my dear?
MR. TWICKLE: I don't own it, but I know you'll let me come over and tape it and I'll play it every time I think of you.
MISS CRAMM: You must play it in the morning as soon as you wake up. And when you come home at noon you'll play my Manon, won't you, my dear?
MR. TWICKLE: I don't often come home at noon, but I'll make a point of coming as much as I can, and I'll surely play your Manon.
MISS CRAMM: And when you're having supper you'll play my Violetta.
MR. TWICKLE: The record's almost worn out, but I'll tape it so I can keep playing your Violetta at supper.
MISS CRAMM: And at bedtime you'll play my Salome again.
MR. TWICKLE: At bedtime, for sure.
(He sets his cup down and suddenly gets on his knees before her.)
You don't know what you have done for me today. Nobody's ever done so much for me.
MISS CRAMM (Setting cup down resolutely, standing up, points at footstool nearby): It's Salome who should be on her knees.
(She gets on her knees before footstool, MR. TWICKLE slowly, hesitantly goes to stand before her on footstool.)
Now you must stand like the Prophet, steadfast and stern.
MR. TWICKLE (Standing erect, his arms straight down against his sides): Steadfast and stern!
MISS CRAMM: You will go on like this forever, disdaining me always.
MR. TWICKLE: Disdaining you always!
(MR.TWICKLE's body jerks suddenly, he gets off footstool, holds his hand on his stomach. MISS CRAMM slowly gets up, looks at him.)
I don't mean to spoil any of this, but I've suddenly got the funniest pain.
(He groans, though trying to suppress his discomfort.)
I've never had this kind of pain before. There's another spot down here--
(He points to another spot in abdomen.)
--another spot I often get a cramp in. It's what my mother always used to call my famous pain, and it sometimes made me want to howl. But this isn't my famous pain at all!
MISS CRAMM (Grabbing his hand, leading him out right): Don't you worry, my dear, I have something for you in the kitchen.
MR. TWICKLE (Half dazed): In the kitchen.
(His groans continue to be heard from kitchen, suddenly stop. Music goes on with stage empty. After they have entered kitchen, the sung part begins. About forty seconds later MISS CRAMM comes in, picks up silver tea service, carries it back to kitchen. Soon after, just before music reaches its final chords, it slows down, as though record needs rewinding. Record stops before it is quite finished. MISS VINING opens door upstairs, walks out, looks disapprovingly at costumes set over banister railing, looks downstairs, sees no one.)
MISS VINING: Martha, where are you, dear?
(No answer. She starts downstairs.)
Is Mr. Twickle still here? Where are you two?
(No answer at first. MISS VINING reaches base of stairs.)
MISS CRAMM (Loudly, almost desperately, from kitchen): Put the record back on. I want the music on.
MISS VINING: Yes, dear.
(MISS VINING goes to phonograph, puts tone arm on record.)
MISS CRAMM (Loudly from kitchen): You'll have to wind it up, for God's sake!
(MISS VINING obediently winds up phonograph.)
MISS VINING (Starting toward kitchen): Whatever are you doing in there, Martha dear?
(She has almost reached door, looks inside, takes a double take, screams, runs hysterically to front door and dashes out. A moment later, in the middle of the part for speaking voice, MISS CRAMM enters, carrying the empress's silver platter, on which rests the severed head of JULES TWICKLE. She walks as though in a trance. She nods in assent to the words of the record, sometimes mumbles along with record, slowly crosses the stage to stairway, ascends stairway, panting as she goes. As she reaches top, she gasps for breath, sets tray on end-table, stands with back against banister, stares at head a few moments, then suddenly turns her face away, as though asking herself, "Whatever is this head doing here?" She clutches banister railing, collapses on hallway floor. The record goes on for a few more bars, curtain falls as record ends.)

END-NOTE: The facts relating to the title character's operatic career are drawn from the life of Marcella Craft (c.1880-1960), born in Iowa, raised in Riverside, California, to which she returned after her retirement. Trained in Italy, she was a leading soprano at the Munich Opera during the decade preceding the First World War. The author himself looked through Craft's costume closet and examined the score of Salome that Richard Strauss emended to meet her particular vocal needs. The rest of this play, like all writing, derives shamelessly from earlier texts: from the high-culture Miss Julie to the middle-brow Arsenic and Old Lace to the defiantly low Grand Guignol.
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