Chapter VIII: Act I: The parlor in the house of Commendatore Agazzi

_A door, the general entrance, at the back; doors leading to
the wings, left and right._

LAUDISI _is a man nearing the forties, quick and energetic
in his movements. He is smartly dressed, in good taste. At
this moment he is wearing a semi-formal street suit: a sack
coat, of a violet cast, with black lapels, and with black
braid around the edges; trousers of a light but different
color. Laudisi has a keen, analytical mind, but is impatient
and irritable in argument. Nevertheless, however angry he
gets momentarily, his good humor soon comes to prevail. Then
he laughs and lets people have their way, enjoying,
meanwhile, the spectacle of the stupidity and gullibility of
others._

AMALIA, _Agazzi's wife, is Laudisi's sister. She is a woman
of forty-five more or less. Her hair is already quite grey.
Signora Agazzi is always showing a certain sense of her own
importance from the position occupied by her husband in the
community; but she gives you to understand that if she had a
free rein she would be quite capable of playing her own part
in the world and, perhaps, do it somewhat better than
Commendatore Agazzi._

DINA _is the daughter of Amalia and Agazzi. She is nineteen.
Her general manner is that of a young person conscious of
understanding everything better than papa and mamma; but
this defect must not be exaggerated to the extent of
concealing her attractiveness and charm as a good-looking
winsome girl_.

_As the curtain rises Laudisi is walking briskly up and down
the parlor to give vent to his irritation._

LAUDISI. I see, I see! So he did take the matter up with the
prefect!

AMALIA. But Lamberto _dear_, please remember that the man is
a subordinate of his.

LAUDISI. A subordinate of his ... very well! But a
subordinate in the office, not at home nor in society!

DINA. And he hired an apartment for that woman, his
mother-in-law, right here in this very building, and on our
floor.

LAUDISI. And why not, pray? He was looking for an apartment;
the apartment was for rent, so he leased it--for his
mother-in-law. You mean to say that a mother-in-law is in
duty bound to make advances to the wife and daughter of the
man who happens to be her son-in-law's superior on his job?

AMALIA. That is not the way it is, Lamberto. We didn't ask
her to call on us. Dina and I took the first step by calling
on her and--she _refused_ to _receive_ us!

LAUDISI. Well, is that any reason why your husband should go
and lodge a complaint with the man's boss? Do you expect the
government to order him to invite you to tea?

AMALIA. I think he deserves all he gets! That is not the way
to treat two ladies. I hope he gets fired! The idea!

LAUDISI. Oh, you women! I say, making that complaint is a
dirty trick. By Jove! If people see fit to keep to
themselves in their own houses, haven't they a right to?

AMALIA. Yes, but you don't understand! We were trying to do
her a favor. She is new in the town. We wanted to make her
feel at home.

DINA. Now, now, Nunky dear, don't be so cross! Perhaps we
did go there out of curiosity more than anything else; but
it's all so funny, isn't it! Don't you think it was natural
to feel just a little bit curious?

LAUDISI. Natural be damned! It was none of your business!

DINA. Now, see here, Nunky, let's suppose--here you are
right here minding your own business and quite indifferent
to what other people are doing all around you. Very well! I
come into the room and right here on this table, under your
very nose, and with a long face like an undertaker's, or,
rather, with the long face of that jailbird you are
defending, I set down--well, what?--anything--a pair of
dirty old shoes!

LAUDISI. I don't see the connection.

DINA. Wait, don't interrupt me! I said a pair of old shoes.
Well, no, not a pair of old shoes--a flat iron, a rolling
pin, or your shaving brush for instance--and I walk out
again without saying a word to anybody! Now I leave it to
you, wouldn't you feel justified in wondering just a little,
little, bit as to what in the world I meant by it?

LAUDISI. Oh, you're irresistible, Dina! And you're clever,
aren't you? But you're talking with old Nunky, remember! You
see, you have been putting all sorts of crazy things on the
table here; and you did it with the idea of making me ask
what it's all about; and, of course, since you were doing
all that on purpose, you can't blame me if I do ask, why
those old shoes just there, on that table, dearie? But
what's all that got to do with it? You'll have to show me
now that this Mr. Ponza of ours, that jailbird as you say,
or that rascal, that boor, as your father calls him, brought
his mother-in-law to the apartment next to ours with the
idea of stringing us all! You've got to show me that he did
it on purpose!

DINA. I don't say that he did it on purpose--not at all! But
you can't deny that this famous Mr. Ponza has come to this
town and done a number of things which are unusual, to say
the least; and which he must have known were likely to
arouse a very natural curiosity in everybody. Look Nunky,
here is a man: he comes to town to fill an important public
position, and--what does he do? Where does he go to live? He
hires an apartment on the _top_ floor, if you please, of
that dirty old tenement out there on the very outskirts of
the town. Now, I ask you--did you ever see the place?
Inside?

LAUDISI. I suppose you went and had a look at it?

DINA. Yes, Nunky dear, I went--with mamma! And we weren't
the only ones, you know. The whole town has been to have a
look at it. It's a five story tenement with an interior
court so dark at noontime you can hardly see your hand
before your face. Well, there is an iron balcony built out
from the fifth story around the courtyard. A basket is
hanging from the railing ... They let it up and down--on a
rope!

LAUDISI. Well, what of it?

DINA (_looking at him with astonished indignation_). What of
it? Well, there, if you please, is where he keeps his wife!

AMALIA. While her mother lives here next door to us!

LAUDISI. A fashionable apartment, for his mother-in-law, in
the residential district!

AMALIA. Generous to the old lady, eh? But he does that to
keep her from seeing her daughter!

LAUDISI. How do you know that? How do you know that the old
lady, rather, does not prefer this arrangement, just to have
more elbow room for herself?

DINA. No, no, Nunky, you're wrong. Everybody knows that it
is he who is doing it.

AMALIA. See here, Lamberto, everybody understands, if a
girl, when she marries, goes away from her mother to live
with her husband in some other town. But supposing this poor
mother can't stand being separated from her daughter and
follows her to the place, where she herself is also a
complete stranger. And supposing now she not only does not
live with her daughter, but is not even allowed to see her?
I leave it to you ... is that so easy to understand?

LAUDISI. Oh say, you have about as much imagination as so
many mud turtles. A mother-in-law and a son-in-law! Is it so
hard to suppose that either through her fault or his fault
or the fault of both, they should find it hard to get along
together and should therefore consider it wiser to live
apart?

DINA (_with another look of pitying astonishment at her
uncle_). How stupid of you, Nunky! The trouble is not
between the mother-in-law and the son-in-law, but between
the mother and the daughter.

LAUDISI. How do you know that?

DINA. Because he is as thick as pudding with the old lady;
because they are always together, arm in arm, and as loving
as can be. Mother-in-law and son-in-law, if you please!
Whoever heard the like of that?

AMALIA. And he comes here every evening to see how the old
lady is getting on!

DINA. And that is not the worst of it! Sometimes he comes
during the daytime, once or twice!

LAUDISI. How scandalous! Do you think he is making love to
the old woman?

DINA. Now don't be improper, uncle. No, we will acquit him
of that. She is a poor old lady, quite on her last legs.

AMALIA. But he never, never, never brings his wife! A
daughter kept from seeing her mother! The idea!

LAUDISI. Perhaps the young lady is not well; perhaps she
isn't able to go out.

DINA. Nonsense! The old lady goes to see _her!_

AMALIA. Exactly! And she never gets in! She can see her only
from a distance. Now will you explain to me why, in the name
of common sense, that poor mother should be forbidden ever
to enter her daughter's house?

DINA. And if she wants to talk to her she has to shout up
from the courtyard!

AMALIA. Five stories, if you please!... And her daughter
comes out and looks down from the balcony up there. The poor
old woman goes into the courtyard and pulls a string that
leads up to the balcony; a bell rings; the girl comes out
and her mother talks up at her, her head thrown back, just
as though she were shouting from out of a well....

(_There is a knock at the door and the butler enters_).

BUTLER. Callers, madam!

AMALIA. Who is it, please?

BUTLER. Signor Sirelli, and the Signora with another lady,
madam.

AMALIA. Very well, show them in.

(_The butler bows and withdraws_).

_Sirelli, Signora Sirelli, Signora Cini appear in the
doorway, rear._

SIRELLI, _also a man of about forty, is a bald, fat
gentleman with some pretensions to stylish appearance that
do not quite succeed: the overdressed provincial_.

SIGNORA SIRELLI, _his wife, plump, petite, a faded blonde,
still young and girlishly pleasing. She, too, is somewhat
overdressed with the provincial's fondness for display. She
has the aggressive curiosity of the small-town gossip. She
is chiefly occupied in keeping her husband in his place_.

SIGNORA CINI _is the old provincial lady of affected
manners, who takes malicious delight in the failings of
others, all the while affecting innocence and inexperience
regarding the waywardness of mankind_.

AMALIA (_as the visitors enter, and taking Signora Sirelli's
hands effusively_). Dearest! Dearest!

SIGNORA SIRELLI. I took the liberty of bringing my good
friend, Signora Cini, along. She was so anxious to know you!

AMALIA. So good of you to come, Signora! Please make
yourself at home! My daughter Dina, Signora Cini, and this
is my brother, Lamberto Laudisi.

SIRELLI (_bowing to the ladies_). Signora, Signorina. (_He
goes over and shakes hands with Laudisi._)

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Amalia dearest, we have come here as to the
fountain of knowledge. We are two pilgrims athirst for the
truth!

AMALIA. The truth? Truth about what?

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Why ... about this blessed Mr. Ponza of
ours, the new secretary at the prefecture. He is the talk of
the town, take my word for it, Amalia.

SIGNORA CINI. And we are all just dying to find out!

AMALIA. But we are as much in the dark as the rest of you, I
assure you, madam.

SIRELLI (_to his wife_). What did I tell you? They know no
more about it than I do. In fact, I think they know less
about it than I do. Why is it this poor woman is not allowed
to see her daughter? Do you know the reason, you people, the
real reason?

AMALIA. Why, I was just discussing the matter with my
brother.

LAUDISI. And my view of it is that you're all a pack of
gossips!

DINA. The reason is, they say, that Ponza will not allow her
to.

SIGNORA CINI. Not a sufficient reason, if I may say so,
Signorina.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Quite insufficient! There's more to it than
that!

SIRELLI. I have a new item for you, fresh, right off the
ice: he keeps her locked up at home!

AMALIA. His mother-in-law?

SIRELLI. No, no, his wife!

SIGNORA CINI. Under lock and key!

DINA. There, Nunky, what have you to say to that? And you've
been trying to defend him all along!

SIRELLI (_staring in astonishment at Laudisi_). Trying to
defend that man? Really....

LAUDISI. Defending him? No! I am not defending anybody. All
I'm saying, if you ladies will excuse me, is that all this
gossip is not worthy of you. More than that, you are just
wasting your breath; because, so far as I can see, you're
not getting anywhere at all.

SIRELLI. I don't follow you, sir!

LAUDISI. You're getting nowhere, my charming ladies!

SIGNORA CINI. But we're trying to get somewhere--we are
trying to find out!

LAUDISI. Excuse me, what can you find out? What can we
really know about other people--who they are--what they
are--what they are doing, and why they are doing it?

SIGNORA SIRELLI. How can we know? Why not? By asking, of
course! You tell me what you know, and I tell you what I
know.

LAUDISI. In that case, madam, you ought to be the best
informed person in the world. Why, your husband knows more
about what others are doing than any other man--or woman,
for that matter--in this neighborhood.

SIRELLI (_deprecatingly but pleased_). Oh I say, I say....

SIGNORA SIRELLI (_to her husband_). No dear, he's right,
he's right. (_Then turning to Amalia_): The real truth,
Amalia, is this: for all my husband says he knows, I never
manage to keep posted on anything!

SIRELLI. And no wonder! The trouble is--that woman never
trusts me! The moment I tell her something she is convinced
it is not _quite_ as I say. Then, sooner or later, she
claims that it _can't_ be as I say. And at last she is
certain it is the exact opposite of what I say!

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Well, you ought to hear all he tells me!

LAUDISI (_laughing aloud_). Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah! Hah!
Hah! May I speak, madam? Let me answer your husband. My dear
Sirelli, how do you expect your wife to be satisfied with
things as you explain them to her, if you, as is natural,
represent them as they seem to you?

SIGNORA SIRELLI. And that means--as they cannot possibly be!

LAUDISI. Why no, Signora, now you are wrong. From your
husband's point of view things are, I assure you, exactly as
he represents them.

SIRELLI. As they are in reality!

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Not at all! You are always wrong.

SIRELLI. No, not a bit of it! It is you who are always
wrong. I am always right.

LAUDISI. The fact is that neither of you is wrong. May I
explain? I will prove it to you. Now here you are, you,
Sirelli, and Signora Sirelli, your wife, there; and here I
am. You see me, don't you?

SIRELLI. Well ... er ... yes.

LAUDISI. Do you see me, or do you not?

SIRELLI. Oh, I'll bite! Of course I see you.

LAUDISI. So you see me! But that's not enough. Come here!

SIRELLI (_smiling, he obeys, but with a puzzled expression
on his face as though he fails to understand what Laudisi is
driving at_). Well, here I am!

LAUDISI. Yes! Now take a better look at me.... Touch me!
That's it--that's it! Now you are touching me, are you not?
And you see me! You're sure you see me?

SIRELLI. Why, I should say....

LAUDISI. Yes, but the point is, you're sure! Of course
you're sure! Now if you please, Signora Sirelli, you come
here--or rather ... no ... (_gallantly_) it is my place to
come to you! (_He goes over to Signora Sirelli and kneels
chivalrously on one knee_). You see me, do you not, madam?
Now that hand of yours ... touch me! A pretty hand, on my
word! (_He pats her hand_).

SIRELLI. Easy! Easy!

LAUDISI. Never mind your husband, madam! Now, you have
touched me, have you not? And you see me? And you are
absolutely sure about me, are you not? Well now, madam, I
beg of you; do not tell your husband, nor my sister, nor my
niece, nor Signora Cini here, what you think of me; because,
if you were to do that, they would all tell you that you are
completely wrong. But, you see, you are really right;
because I am really what you take me to be; though, my dear
madam, that does not prevent me from also being really what
your husband, my sister, my niece, and Signora Cini take me
to be--because they also are absolutely right!

SIGNORA SIRELLI. In other words you are a different person
for each of us.

LAUDISI. Of course I'm a different person! And you, madam,
pretty as you are, aren't you a different person, too?

SIGNORA SIRELLI (_hastily_). No siree! I assure you, as far
as I'm concerned, I'm always the same always, yesterday,
today, and forever!

LAUDISI. Ah, but so am I, from my point of view, believe me!
And, I would say that you are all mistaken unless you see me
as I see myself; but that would be an inexcusable
presumption on my part--as it would be on yours, my dear
madam!

SIRELLI. And what has all this rigmarole got to do with it,
may I ask?

LAUDISI. What has it got to do with it? Why ... I find all
you people here at your wits' ends trying to find out who
and what other people are; just as though other people had
to be this, or that, and nothing else.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. All you are saying is that we can never
find out the truth! A dreadful idea!

SIGNORA CINI. I give up! I give up! If we can't believe even
what we see with our eyes and feel with our fingers....

LAUDISI. But you must understand, madam! Of course you can
believe what you see with _your_ eyes and feel with _your_
fingers. All I'm saying is that you should show some respect
for what other people see with their eyes and feel with
their fingers, even though it be the exact opposite of what
you see and feel.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. The way to answer you is to refuse to talk
with you. See, I turn my back on you! I am going to move my
chair around and pretend you aren't in the room. Why, you're
driving me crazy, crazy!

LAUDISI. Oh, I beg your pardon. Don't let me interfere with
your party. Please go on! Pray continue your argument about
Signora Frola and Signor Ponza--I promise not to interrupt
again!

AMALIA. You're right for once, Lamberto; and I think it
would be even better if you should go into the other room.

DINA. Serves you right, Nunky! Into the other room with you,
into the other room!

LAUDISI. No, I refuse to budge! Fact is, I enjoy hearing you
gossip; but I promise not to say anything more, don't fear!
At the very most, with your permission, I shall indulge in a
laugh or two.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. How funny ... and our idea in coming here
was to find out.... But really, Amalia, I thought this Ponza
man was your husband's secretary at the Provincial building.

AMALIA. He is his secretary--in the office. But here at home
what authority has Agazzi over the fellow?

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Of course! I understand! But may I ask ...
haven't you even tried to see Signora Frola, next door?

DINA. Tried? I should say we had! Twice, Signora!

SIGNORA CINI. Well ... so then ... you have probably talked
to her....

DINA. We were not _received_, if you please!

SIGNORA SIRELLI, SIRELLI, SIGNORA CINI (_in chorus_). Not
received? Why! Why! Why!

DINA. This very forenoon!

AMALIA. The first time we waited fully fifteen minutes at
the door. We rang and rang and rang, and no one came. Why,
we weren't even able to leave our cards! So we went back
today....

DINA (_throwing up her hands in an expression of horror_).
And _he_ came to the door.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Why yes, with that face of his ... you can
tell by just looking at the man.... Such a face! Such a
face! You can't blame people for talking! And then, with
that black suit of his.... Why, they all dress in black. Did
you ever notice? Even the old lady! And the man's eyes,
too!...

SIRELLI (_with a glance of pitying disgust at his wife_).
What do you know about his eyes? You never saw his eyes! And
you never saw the woman. How do you know she dresses in
black? _Probably_ she dresses in black.... By the way, they
come from a little town in the next county. Had you heard
that? A village called Marsica!

AMALIA. Yes, the village that was destroyed a short time
ago.

SIRELLI. Exactly! By an earthquake! Not a house left
standing in the place.

DINA. And all their relatives were lost, I have heard. Not
one of them left in the world!

SIGNORA CINI (_impatient to get on with the story_). Very
well, very well, so then ... he came to the door....

AMALIA. Yes.... And the moment I saw him in front of me with
that weird face of his I had hardly enough gumption left to
tell him that we had just come to call on his mother-in-law,
and he ... well ... not a word, not a word ... not even a
"thank you," if you please!

DINA. That is not quite fair, mama: ... he did bow!

AMALIA. Well, yes, a bow ... if you want to call it that.
Something like this!...

DINA. And his eyes! You ought to see his eyes--the eyes of a
devil, and then some! You never saw a man with eyes like
that!

SIGNORA CINI. Very well, what did he say, finally?

DINA. He seemed quite taken aback.

AMALIA. He was all confused like; He hitched about for a
time; and at last he said that Signora Frola was not feeling
well, but that she would appreciate our kindness in having
come; and then he just stood there, and stood there,
apparently waiting for us to go away.

DINA. I never was more mortified in my life!

SIRELLI. A boor, a plain boor, I say! Oh, it's his fault, I
am telling you. And ... who knows? Perhaps he has got the
old lady also under lock and key.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Well, I think something should be done
about it!... After all, you are the wife of a superior of
his. You can _refuse_ to be treated like that.

AMALIA. As far as that goes, my husband did take it rather
badly--as a lack of courtesy on the man's part; and he went
straight to the prefect with the matter, insisting on an
apology.

_Signor Agazzi, commendatore and provincial councillor,
appears in the doorway rear._

DINA. Oh goody, here's papa now!

AGAZZI _is well on toward fifty. He has the harsh,
authoritarian manner of the provincial of importance. Red
hair and beard, rather unkempt; gold-rimmed eyeglasses_.

AGAZZI. Oh Sirelli, glad to see you! (_He steps forward and
bows to the company_).

AGAZZI. Signora!... (_He shakes hands with Signora
Sirelli_).

AMALIA (_introducing Signora Cini_). My husband, Signora
Cini!

AGAZZI (_with a bow and taking her hand_). A great pleasure,
madam! (_Then turning to his wife and daughter in a
mysterious voice_): I have come back from the office to give
you some real news! Signora Frola will be here shortly.

SIGNORA SIRELLI (_clapping her hands delightedly_). Oh, the
mother-in-law! She is coming? Really? Coming here?

SIRELLI (_going over to Agazzi and pressing his hand warmly
as an expression of admiration_). That's the talk, old man,
that's the talk! What's needed here is some show of
authority.

AGAZZI. Why I had to, you see, I had to!... I can't let a
man treat my wife and daughter that way!...

SIRELLI. I should say not! I was just expressing myself to
that effect right here.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. And it would have been entirely proper to
inform the prefect also....

AGAZZI (_anticipating_). ... of all the talk that is going
around on this fine gentleman's account? Oh, leave that to
me! I didn't miss the opportunity.

SIRELLI. Fine! Fine!

SIGNORA CINI. And such talk!

AMALIA. For my part, I never heard of such a thing. Why, do
you know, he has them both under lock and key!

DINA. No, mama, we are not _quite_ sure of that. We are not
_quite_ sure about the old lady, yet.

AMALIA. Well, we know it about his wife, anyway.

SIRELLI. And what did the prefect have to say?

AGAZZI. Oh the prefect ... well, the prefect ... he was very
much impressed, _very_ much impressed, with what I had to
say.

SIRELLI. I should hope so!

AGAZZI. You see, some of the talk had reached his ears
already. And he agrees that it is better, as a matter of his
own official prestige, for all this mystery in connection
with one of his assistants to be cleared up, so that once
and for all we shall know the truth.

LAUDISI. Hah, hah, hah, hah, hah, hah, hah!

AMALIA. That is Lamberto's usual contribution. He laughs!

AGAZZI. And what is there to laugh about?

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Why he says that no one can ever know the
truth.

(_The butler appears at the door in back set_).

THE BUTLER. Excuse me, Signora Frola!

SIRELLI. Ah, here she is now!

AGAZZI. Now we'll see if we can settle it!

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Splendid! Oh, I am so glad I came.

AMALIA (_rising_). Shall we have her come in?

AGAZZI. Wait, you keep your seat, Amalia! Let's have her
come right in here. (_Turning to the butler_). Show her in!

_Exit butler._

_A moment later all rise as Signora Frola enters, and Amalia
steps forward, holding out her hand in greeting._

SIGNORA FROLA _is a slight, modestly but neatly dressed old
lady, very eager to talk and apparently fond of people.
There is a world of sadness in her eyes, tempered however,
by a gentle smile that is constantly playing about her
lips._

AMALIA. Come right in, Signora Frola! (_She takes the old
lady's hand and begins the introductions_). Mrs. Sirelli, a
good friend of mine; Signora Cini; my husband; Mr. Sirelli;
and this is my daughter, Dina; my brother Lamberto Laudisi.
Please take a chair, Signora!

SIGNORA FROLA. Oh, I am so very, very sorry! I have come to
excuse myself for having been so negligent of my social
duties. You, Signora Agazzi, were so kind, so very kind, to
have honored me with a first call--when really it was my
place to leave my card with you!

AMALIA. Oh, we are just neighbors, Signora Frola! Why stand
on ceremony? I just thought that you, being new in town and
all alone by yourself, would perhaps like to have a little
company.

SIGNORA FROLA. Oh, how very kind of you it was!

SIGNORA SIRELLI. And you are quite alone, aren't you?

SIGNORA FROLA. Oh no! No! I have a daughter, married, though
she hasn't been here very long, either.

SIRELLI. And your daughter's husband is the new secretary at
the prefecture, Signor Ponza, I believe?

SIGNORA FROLA. Yes, yes, exactly! And I hope that Signor
Agazzi, as his superior, will be good enough to excuse
me--and him, too!

AGAZZI. I will be quite frank with you, madam! I was a bit
put out.

SIGNORA FROLA (_interrupting_). And you were quite right!
But I do hope you will forgive him. You see, we are
still--what shall I say--still so upset by the terrible
things that have happened to us....

AMALIA. You went through the earthquake, didn't you?

SIGNORA SIRELLI. And you lost all your relatives?

SIGNORA FROLA. Every one of them! All our family--yes,
madam. And our village was left just a miserable ruin, a
pile of bricks and stones and mortar.

SIRELLI. Yes, we heard about it.

SIGNORA FROLA. It wasn't so bad for me, I suppose. I had
only one sister and her daughter, and my niece had no
family. But my poor son-in-law had a much harder time of it.
He lost his mother, two brothers, and their wives, a sister
and her husband, and there were two little ones, his
nephews.

SIRELLI. A massacre!

SIGNORA FROLA. Oh, one doesn't forget such things! You see,
it sort of leaves you with your feet off the ground.

AMALIA. I can imagine.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. And all over-night with no warning at all!
It's a wonder you didn't go mad.

SIGNORA FROLA. Well, you see, we haven't quite gotten our
bearings yet; and we do things that may seem impolite,
without in the least intending to. I hope you understand!

AGAZZI. Oh please, Signora Frola, of course!

AMALIA. In fact it was partly on account of your trouble
that my daughter and I thought we ought to go to see you
first.

SIGNORA SIRELLI (_literally writhing with curiosity_). Yes,
of course, since they saw you all alone by yourself, and yet
... excuse me, Signora Frola ... if the question doesn't
seem impertinent ... how is it that when you have a daughter
here in town and after a disaster like the one you have been
through ... I should think you people would all stand
together, that you would need one another.

SIGNORA FROLA. Whereas I am left here all by myself?

SIRELLI. Yes, exactly. If does seem strange, to tell the
honest truth.

SIGNORA FROLA. Oh, I understand--of course! But you know, I
have a feeling that a young man and a young woman who have
married should be left a good deal to themselves.

LAUDISI. Quite so, quite so! They should be left to
themselves. They are beginning a life of their own, a life
different from anything they have led before. One should not
interfere in these relations between a husband and a wife!

SIGNORA SIRELLI. But there are limits to everything,
Laudisi, if you will excuse me! And when it comes to
shutting one's own mother out of one's life....

LAUDISI. Who is shutting her out of the girl's life? Here,
if I have understood the lady, we see a mother who
understands that her daughter cannot and must not remain so
closely associated with her as she was before, for now the
young woman must begin a new life on her own account.

SIGNORA FROLA (_with evidence of keen gratitude and
relief_). You have hit the point exactly, sir. You have said
what I would like to have said. You are exactly right! Thank
you!

SIGNORA CINI. But your daughter, I imagine, often comes to
see you....

SIGNORA FROLA (_hesitating, and manifestly ill at ease_).
Why yes ... I ... I ... we do see each other, of course!

SIRELLI (_quickly pressing the advantage_). But your
daughter never goes out of her house! At least no one in
town has ever seen her.

SIGNORA CINI. Oh, she probably has her little ones to take
care of.

SIGNORA FROLA (_speaking up quickly_). No, there are no
children yet, and perhaps there won't be any, now. You see,
she has been married seven years. Oh, of course, she has a
lot to do about the house; but that is not the reason,
really. You know, we women who come from the little towns in
the country--we are used to staying indoors much of the
time.

AGAZZI. Even when your mothers are living in the same town,
but not in your house? You prefer staying indoors to going
and visiting your mothers?

AMALIA. But it's Signora Frola probably who visits her
daughter.

SIGNORA FROLA (_quickly_). Of course, of course, why not! I
go there once or twice a day.

SIRELLI. And once or twice a day you climb all those stairs
up to the fifth story of that tenement, eh?

SIGNORA FROLA (_growing pale and trying to conceal under a
laugh the torture of that cross-examination_). Why ... er
... to tell the truth, I don't go up. You're right, five
flights would be quite too much for me. No, I don't go up.
My daughter comes out on the balcony in the courtyard and
... well ... we see each other ... and we talk!

SIGNORA SIRELLI. And that's all, eh? How terrible! You never
see each other more intimately than that?

DINA. I have a mama and certainly I wouldn't expect her to
go up five flights of stairs to see me, either; but at the
same time I could never stand talking to her that way,
shouting at the top of my lungs from a balcony on the fifth
story. I am sure I should want a kiss from her occasionally,
and feel her near me, at least.

SIGNORA FROLA (_with evident signs of embarrassment and
confusion_). And you're right! Yes, exactly ... quite right!
I must explain. Yes ... I hope you people are not going to
think that my daughter is something she really is not. You
must not suspect her of having so little regard for me and
for my years, and you mustn't believe that I, her mother, am
... well ... five, six, even more stories to climb would
never prevent a real mother, even if she were as old and
infirm as I am, from going to her daughter's side and
pressing her to her heart with a real mother's love ... oh
no!

SIGNORA SIRELLI (_triumphantly_). There you have it, there
you have it, just as we were saying!

SIGNORA CINI. But there must be a reason, there must be a
reason!

AMALIA (_pointedly to her brother_). Aha, Lamberto, now you
see, there _is_ a reason, after all!

SIRELLI (_insisting_). Your son-in-law, I suppose?

SIGNORA FROLA. Oh please, please, please, don't think badly
of _him_. He is such a very good boy. Good is no name for
it, my dear sir. You can't imagine all he does for me! Kind,
attentive, solicitous for my comfort, everything! And as for
my daughter--I doubt if any girl ever had a more
affectionate and well-intentioned husband. No, on that point
I am proud of myself! I could not have found a better man
for her.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Well then.... What? What? _What?_

SIGNORA CINI. So your son-in-law is not the reason?

AGAZZI. I never thought it was his fault. Can you imagine a
man forbidding his wife to call on her mother, or preventing
the mother from paying an occasional visit to her daughter?

SIGNORA FROLA. Oh, it's not a case of forbidding! Who ever
dreamed of such a thing! No, it's we, Commendatore, I and my
daughter, that is. Oh, please, believe me! We refrain from
visiting each other of our own accord, out of consideration
for him, you understand.

AGAZZI. But excuse me ... how in the world could he be
offended by such a thing? I _don't_ understand.

SIGNORA FROLA. Oh, please don't be angry, Signor Agazzi. You
see it's a ... what shall I say ... a feeling ... that's it,
a feeling, which it would perhaps be very hard for anyone
else to understand; and yet, when you do understand it, it's
all so simple, I am sure ... so simple ... and believe me,
my dear friends, it is no slight sacrifice that I am making,
and that my daughter is making, too.

AGAZZI. Well, one thing you will admit, madam. This is a
very, very unusual situation.

SIRELLI. Unusual, indeed! And such as to justify a curiosity
even more persistent than ours.

AGAZZI. It is not only unusual, madam. I might even say it
is suspicious.

SIGNORA FROLA. Suspicious? You mean you suspect Signor
Ponza? Oh please, Commendatore, don't say that. What fault
can you possibly find with him, Signor Agazzi?

AGAZZI. I didn't say just that.... Please don't
misunderstand! I said simply that the situation is so very
strange that people might legitimately suspect....

SIGNORA FROLA. Oh, no, no, no! What could they suspect. We
are in perfect agreement, all of us; and we are really quite
happy, very happy, I might even say ... both I and my
daughter.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Perhaps it's a case of jealousy?

SIGNORA FROLA. Jealousy of me? It would be hardly fair to
say that, although ... really ... oh, it is so hard to
explain!... You see, he is in love with my daughter, so much
so that he wants her whole heart, her every thought, as it
were, for himself; so much so that he insists that the
affections which my daughter must have for me, her
mother--he finds that love quite natural of course, why not?
Of course he does!--should reach me through him--that's it,
through him--don't you understand?

AGAZZI. Oh, that is going pretty strong! No, I don't
understand. In fact it seems to me a case of downright
cruelty!

SIGNORA FROLA. Cruelty? No, no, please don't call it
cruelty, Commendatore. It is something else, believe me! You
see it's so hard for me to explain the matter. Nature,
perhaps ... but no, that's hardly the word. What shall I
call it? Perhaps a sort of disease. It's a fullness of love,
of a love shut off from the world. There, I guess that's it
... a fullness ... a completeness of devotion in which his
wife must live without ever departing from it, and into
which no other person must ever be allowed to enter.

DINA. Not even her mother, I suppose?

SIRELLI. It is the worst case of selfishness I ever heard
of, if you want my opinion!

SIGNORA FROLA. Selfishness? Perhaps! But a selfishness,
after all, which offers itself wholly in sacrifice. A case
where the selfish person gives all he has in the world to
the one he loves. Perhaps it would be fairer to call me
selfish; for selfish it surely is for me to be always trying
to break into this closed world of theirs, break in by force
if necessary; when I know that my daughter is really so
happy, so passionately adored--you ladies understand, don't
you? A true mother should be satisfied when she knows her
daughter is happy, oughtn't she? Besides I'm not completely
separated from my daughter, am I? I see her and I speak to
her (_She assumes a more confidential tone_). You see, when
she lets down the basket there in the courtyard I always
find a letter in it--a short note, which keeps me posted on
the news of the day; and I put in a little letter that I
have written. That is some consolation, a great consolation
indeed, and now, in course of time, I've grown used to it. I
am resigned, there! Resignation, that's it! And I've ceased
really to suffer from it at all.

AMALIA. Oh well then, after all, if you people are
satisfied, why should....

SIGNORA FROLA (_rising_). Oh yes, yes! But, remember, I told
you he is such a good man! Believe me, he couldn't be
better, really! We all have our weaknesses in this world,
haven't we! And we get along best by having a little
charity, a little indulgence, for one another. (_She holds
out her hand to Amalia_). Thank you for calling, madam.
(_She bows to Signora Sirelli, Signora Cini, and Dina; then
turning to Agazzi, she continues_): And I do hope you have
forgiven me!

AGAZZI. Oh, my dear madam, please, please! And we are
extremely grateful for your having come to call on us.

SIGNORA FROLA (_offering her hand to Sirelli and Laudisi and
again turning to Amalia who has risen to show her out_). Oh
no, please, Signora Agazzi, please stay here with your
friends! Don't put yourself to any trouble!

AMALIA. No, no, I will go with you; and believe me, we were
very, very glad to see you!

(_Exit Signora Frola with Amalia showing her the way. Amalia
returns immediately_).

SIRELLI. Well, there you have the story, ladies and
gentlemen! Are you satisfied with the explanation?

AGAZZI. An explanation, you call it? So far as I can see she
has explained nothing. I tell you there is some big mystery
in all this business.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. That poor woman! Who knows what torment she
must be suffering?

DINA. And to think of that poor girl!

SIGNORA CINI. She could hardly keep in her tears as she
talked.

AMALIA. Yes, and did you notice when I mentioned all those
stairs she would have to climb before really being able to
see her daughter?

LAUDISI. What impressed me was her concern, which amounted
to a steadfast determination, to protect her son-in-law from
the slightest suspicion.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Not at all, not at all! What could she say
for him? She couldn't really find a single word to say for
him.

SIRELLI. And I would like to know how anyone could condone
such violence, such downright cruelty!

THE BUTLER (_appearing again in the doorway_). Beg pardon,
sir! Signor Ponza calling.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. The man himself, upon my word!

(_An animated ripple of surprise and curiosity, not to say
of guilty self-consciousness, sweeps over the company_).

AGAZZI. Did he ask to see me?

BUTLER. He asked simply if he might be received. That was
all he said.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Oh please, Signor Agazzi, please let him
come in! I am really afraid of the man; but I confess the
greatest curiosity to have a close look at the monster.

AMALIA. But what in the world can he be wanting?

AGAZZI. The way to find that out is to have him come in.
(_To the butler_): Show him in, please.

(_The butler bows and goes out. A second later Ponza
appears, aggressively, in the doorway_.

PONZA _is a short, thick set, dark complexioned man of a
distinctly unprepossessing appearance; black hair, very
thick and coming down low over his forehead; a black
mustache upcurling at the ends, giving his face a certain
ferocity of expression. He is dressed entirely in black.
From time to time he draws a black-bordered handkerchief and
wipes the perspiration from his brow. When he speaks his
eyes are invariably hard, fixed, sinister_.)

AGAZZI. This way please, Ponza, come right in! (_introducing
him_): Signor Ponza, our new provincial secretary; my wife;
Signora Sirelli; Signora Cini, my daughter Dina. This is
Signor Sirelli; and here is Laudisi, my brother-in-law.
Please join our party, won't you, Ponza?

PONZA. So kind of you! You will pardon the intrusion. I
shall disturb you only a moment, I hope.

AGAZZI. You had some private business to discuss with me?

PONZA. Why yes, but I could discuss it right here. In fact,
perhaps as many people as possible should hear what I have
to say. You see it is a declaration that I owe, in a certain
sense, to the general public.

AGAZZI. Oh my dear Ponza, if it is that little matter of
your mother-in-law's not calling on us, it is quite all
right; because you see....

PONZA. No, that was not what I came for, Commendatore. It
was not to apologize for her. Indeed I may say that Signora
Frola, my wife's mother, would certainly have left her cards
with Signora Agazzi, your wife, and Signorina Agazzi, your
daughter, long before they were so kind as to honor her with
their call, had I not exerted myself to the utmost to
prevent her coming, since I am absolutely unable to consent
to her passing or receiving visits!

AGAZZI (_drawing up into an authoritative attitude and
speaking with some severity_). Why? if you will be so kind
as to explain, Ponza?

PONZA (_with evidences of increasing excitement in spite of
his efforts to preserve his self-control_). I suppose my
mother-in-law has been talking to you people about her
daughter, my wife. Am I mistaken? And I imagine she told you
further that I have forbidden her entering my house and
seeing her daughter intimately.

AMALIA. Oh not at all, not at all, Signor Ponza! Signora
Frola had only the nicest things to say about you. She could
not have spoken of you with greater respect and kindness.

DINA. She seems to be very fond of you indeed.

AGAZZI. She says that she refrains from visiting your house
of her own accord, out of regard for feelings of yours which
we frankly confess we are unable to understand.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Indeed, if we were to express our honest
opinion....

AGAZZI. Well, yes, why not be honest? We think you are
extremely harsh with the woman, extremely harsh, perhaps
cruel would be an exacter word.

PONZA. Yes, that is what I thought; and I came here for the
express purpose of clearing the matter up. The condition
this poor woman is in is a pitiable one indeed--not less
pitiable than my own perhaps; because, as you see, I am
compelled to come here and make apologies--a public
declaration--which only such violence as has just been used
upon me could ever bring me to make in the world.... (_He
stops and looks about the room. Then he says slowly with
emphatic emphasis on the important syllables_): My
mother-in-law, Signora Frola, is not in her right mind! She
is insane.

THE COMPANY. Insane! A lunatic! Oh my! Really! No!
Impossible!

PONZA. And she has been insane for four years.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Dear me, who would ever have suspected it!
She doesn't show it in the least.

AGAZZI. Insane? Are you sure?

PONZA. She doesn't show it, does she? But she is insane,
nevertheless; and her delusion consists precisely in
believing that I am forbidding her to see her daughter.
(_His face takes on an expression of cruel suffering mingled
with a sort of ferocious excitement_). What daughter, for
God's sake? Why her daughter died four years ago! (_A
general sensation_).

EVERYONE AT ONCE. Died? She is dead? What do you mean? Oh,
really? Four years ago? Why! Why!

PONZA. Four years ago! In fact it was the death of the poor
girl that drove her mad.

SIRELLI. Are we to understand that the wife with whom you
are now living....

PONZA. Exactly! She is my second wife. I married her two
years ago.

AMALIA. And Signora Frola believes that her daughter is
still living, that she is your wife still?

PONZA. Perhaps it was best for her that way. She was in
charge of a nurse in her own room, you see. Well, when she
chanced to see me passing by inadvertence on her street one
day, with this woman, my second wife, she suddenly began to
laugh and cry and tremble all over in an extreme of
happiness. She was sure her daughter, whom she had believed
dead, was alive and well; and from a condition of desperate
despondency which was the first form of her mental
disturbance, she entered on a second obsession, believing
steadily that her daughter was not dead at all; but that I,
the poor girl's husband, am so completely in love with her
that I want her wholly for myself and will not allow anyone
to approach her. She became otherwise quite well, you might
say. Her nervousness disappeared. Her physical condition
improved, and her powers of reasoning returned quite clear.
Judge for yourself, ladies and gentlemen! You have seen her
and talked with her. You would never suspect in the world
that she is crazy.

AMALIA. Never in the world! Never!

SIGNORA SIRELLI. And the poor woman says she is so happy, so
happy!

PONZA. That is what she says to everybody; and for that
matter she really has a wealth of affection and gratitude
for me; because, as you may well suppose, I do my very best,
in spite of the sacrifices entailed, to keep up this
beneficial illusion in her. The sacrifices you can readily
understand. In the first place I have to maintain two homes
on my small salary. Then it is very hard on my wife, isn't
it? But she, poor thing, does the very best she can to help
me out! She comes to the window when the old lady appears.
She talks to her from the balcony. She writes letters to
her. But you people will understand that there are limits to
what I can ask of my poor wife. Signora Frola, meanwhile,
lives practically in confinement. We have to keep a pretty
close watch on her. We have to lock her up, virtually.
Otherwise, some fine day she would be walking right into my
house. She is of a gentle, placid disposition fortunately;
but you understand that my wife, good as she is, could never
bring herself to accepting caresses intended for another
woman, a dead woman! That would be a torment beyond
conception.

AMALIA. Oh, of course! Poor woman! Just imagine!

SIGNORA SIRELLI. And the old lady herself consents to being
locked up all the time?

PONZA. You, Commendatore, will understand that I couldn't
permit her calling here except under absolute constraint.

AGAZZI. I understand perfectly, my dear Ponza, and you have
my deepest sympathy.

PONZA. When a man has a misfortune like this fall upon him
he must not go about in society; but of course when, by
complaining to the prefect, you practically compelled me to
have Signora Frola call, it was my duty to volunteer this
further information; because, as a public official, and with
due regard for the post of responsibility I occupy, I could
not allow any discredible suspicions to remain attached to
my reputation. I could not have you good people suppose for
a moment that, out of jealousy or for any other reason, I
could ever prevent a poor suffering mother from seeing her
own daughter. (_He rises_). Again my apologies for having
intruded my personal troubles upon your party. (_He bows_).
My compliments, Commendatore. Good afternoon, good
afternoon! Thank you! (_Bowing to Laudisi, Sirelli, and the
others in turn, he goes out through the door, rear_).

AMALIA (_with a sigh of sympathy and astonishment_). Uhh!
Crazy! What do you think of that?

SIGNORA SIRELLI. The poor old thing! But you wouldn't have
believed it, would you?

DINA. I always knew there was something under it all.

SIGNORA CINI. But who could ever have guessed....

AGAZZI. Oh, I don't know, I don't know! You could tell from
the way she talked....

LAUDISI. You mean to say that you thought...?

AGAZZI. No, I can't say that. But at the same time, if you
remember, she could never quite find her words.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. How could she, poor thing, out of her head
like that?

SIRELLI. And yet, if I may raise the question, it seems
strange to me that an insane person ... oh, I admit that she
couldn't really talk rationally ... but what surprises me is
her trying to find a reason to explain why her son-in-law
should be keeping her away from her daughter. This effort of
hers to justify it and then to adapt herself to excuses of
her own invention....

AGAZZI. Yes, but that is only another proof that she's
insane. You see, she kept offering excuses for Ponza that
really were not excuses at all.

AMALIA. Yes, that's so. She would say a thing without really
saying it, taking it back almost in the next words.

AGAZZI. But there is one more thing. If she weren't a
downright lunatic, how could she or my other woman ever
accept such a situation from a man? How could she ever
consent to talk with her own daughter only by shouting up
from the bottom of a well five stories deep?

SIRELLI. But if I remember rightly she has you there!
Notice, she doesn't accept the situation. She says she is
resigned to it. That's different! No, I tell you, there is
still something funny about this business. What do you say,
Laudisi?

LAUDISI. Why, I say nothing, nothing at all!

THE BUTLER (_appearing at the door and visibly excited_).
Beg pardon, Signora Frola is here again!

AMALIA (_with a start_). Oh dear me, again? Do you suppose
she'll be pestering us all the time now?

SIGNORA SIRELLI. I understand how you feel now that you know
she's a lunatic.

SIGNORA CINI. My, my, what do you suppose she is going to
say now?

SIRELLI. For my part I'd really like to hear what she's got
to say.

DINA. Oh yes, mamma, don't be afraid! Ponza said she was
quite harmless. Let's have her come in.

AGAZZI. Of course, we can't send her away. Let's have her
come in; and, if she makes any trouble, why ... (_Turning to
the butler_): Show her in. (_The butler bows and
withdraws_).

AMALIA. You people stand by me, please! Why, I don't know
what I am ever going to say to her now!

(_Signora Frola appears at the door. Amalia rises and steps
forward to welcome her. The others look on in astonished
silence_).

SIGNORA FROLA. May I please...?

AMALIA. Do come in, Signora Frola, do come in! You know all
these ladies. They were here when you came before.

SIGNORA FROLA (_with an expression of sadness on her
features, but still smiling gently_). How you all look at
me--and even you, Signora Agazzi! I am sure you think I am a
lunatic, don't you!

AMALIA. My dear Signora Frola, what in the world are you
talking about?

SIGNORA FROLA. But I am sure you will forgive me if I
disturb you for a moment. (_Bitterly_): Oh, my dear Signora
Agazzi, I wish I had left things as they were. It was hard
to feel that I had been impolite to you by not answering the
bell when you called that first time; but I could never have
supposed that you would come back and force me to call upon
you. I could foresee the consequences of such a visit from
the very first.

AMALIA. Why, not at all, not at all! I don't understand.
Why?

DINA. What consequences could you foresee, madam?

SIGNORA FROLA. Why, my son-in-law, Signor Ponza, has just
been here, hasn't he?

AGAZZI. Why, yes, he was here! He came to discuss certain
office matters with me ... just ordinary business, you
understand!

SIGNORA FROLA (_visibly hurt and quite dismayed_). Oh, I
know you are saying that just to spare me, just in order not
to hurt my feelings.

AGAZZI. Not at all, not at all! That was really why he came.

SIGNORA FROLA (_with some alarm_). But he was quite calm, I
hope, quite calm?

AGAZZI. Calm? As calm as could be! Why not? Of course!

(_The members of the company all nod in confirmation_).

SIGNORA FROLA. Oh, my dear friends, I am sure you are trying
to reassure me; but as a matter of fact I came to set you
right about my son-in-law.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Why no, Signora, what's the trouble?

AGAZZI. Really, it was just a matter of politics we talked
about....

SIGNORA FROLA. But I can tell from the way you all look at
me.... Please excuse me, but it is not a question of me at
all. From the way you all look at me I can tell that he came
here to prove something that I would never have confessed
for all the money in the world. You will all bear me out,
won't you? When I came here a few moments ago you all asked
me questions that were very cruel questions to me, as I hope
you will understand. And they were questions that I couldn't
answer very well; but anyhow I gave an explanation of our
manner of living which can be satisfactory to nobody, I am
well aware. But how could I give you the real reason? How
could I tell you people, as he's doing, that my daughter has
been dead for four years and that I'm a poor, insane mother
who believes that her daughter is still living and that her
husband will not allow me to see her?

AGAZZI (_quite upset by the ring of deep sincerity he finds
in Signora Frola's manner of speaking_). What do you mean,
your daughter?

SIGNORA FROLA (_hastily and with anguished dismay written on
her features_). You know that's so. Why do you try to deny
it? He did say that to you, didn't he?

SIRELLI (_with some hesitation and studying her features
warily_). Yes ... in fact ... he did say that.

SIGNORA FROLA. I know he did; and I also know how it pained
him to be obliged to say such a thing of me. It is a great
pity, Commendatore! We have made continual sacrifices,
involving unheard of suffering, I assure you; and we could
endure them only by living as we are living now.
Unfortunately, as I well understand, it must look very
strange to people, seem even scandalous, arouse no end of
gossip! But after all, if he is an excellent secretary,
scrupulously honest, attentive to his work, why should
people complain? You have seen him in the office, haven't
you? He is a good worker, isn't he?

AGAZZI. To tell the truth, I have not watched him
particularly, as yet.

SIGNORA FROLA. Oh he really is, he really is! All the men he
ever worked for say he's most reliable; and I beg of you,
please don't let this other matter interfere. And why then
should people go tormenting him with all this prying into
his private life, laying bare once more a misfortune which
he has succeeded in mastering and which, if it were widely
talked about, might upset him again personally, and even
hurt him in his career?

AGAZZI. Oh no, no, Signora, no one is trying to hurt him. It
is nothing to his disgrace that I can see. Nor would we hurt
you either.

SIGNORA FROLA. But my dear sir, how can you help hurting me
when you force him to give almost publicly an explanation
which is quite absurd--ridiculous I might even say! Surely
people like you can't seriously believe what he says? You
can't possibly be taking me for a lunatic? You don't really
think that this woman is his second wife? And yet it is all
so necessary! He needs to have it that way. It is the only
way he can pull himself together; get down to his work again
... the only way ... the only way! Why he gets all wrought
up, all excited, when he is forced to talk of this other
matter; because he knows himself how hard it is for him to
say certain things. You may have noticed it....

AGAZZI. Yes, that is quite true. He did seem very much
excited.

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Well, well, well, so then it's he!

SIRELLI (_triumphantly_). I always said it was he.

AGAZZI. Oh, I say! Is that really possible? (_He motions to
the company to be quiet_).

SIGNORA FROLA (_joining her hands beseechingly_). My dear
friends, what are you really thinking? It is only on this
subject that he is a little queer. The point is, you must
simply not mention this particular matter to him. Why,
really now, you could never suppose that I would leave my
daughter shut up with him all alone like that? And yet just
watch him at his work and in the office. He does everything
he is expected to do and no one in the world could do it
better.

AGAZZI. But this is not enough, madam, as you will
understand. Do you mean to say that Signor Ponza, your
son-in-law, came here and made up a story out of whole
cloth?

SIGNORA FROLA. Yes, sir, yes sir, exactly ... only I will
explain. You must understand--you must look at things from
his point of view.

AGAZZI. What do you mean? Do you mean that your daughter is
not dead?

SIGNORA FROLA. God forbid! Of course she is not dead!

AGAZZI. Well, then, he is the lunatic!

SIGNORA FROLA. No, no, look, look!...

SIRELLI. I always said it was he!...

SIGNORA FROLA. No, look, look, not that, not that! Let me
explain.... You have noticed him, haven't you? Fine, strong
looking man. Well, when he married my daughter you can
imagine how fond he was of her. But alas, she fell sick with
a contagious disease; and the doctors had to separate her
from him. Not only from him, of course, but from all her
relatives. They're all dead now, poor things, in the
earthquake, you understand. Well, he just refused to have
her taken to the hospital; and he got so over-wrought that
they actually had to put him under restraint; and he broke
down nervously as the result of it all and he was sent to a
sanatorium. But my daughter got better very soon, while he
got worse and worse. He had a sort of obsession that his
wife had died in the hospital, that perhaps they had killed
her there; and you couldn't get that idea out of his head.

Just imagine when we brought my daughter back to him quite
recovered from her illness--and a pretty thing she was to
look at, too--he began to scream and say, no, no, no, she
wasn't his wife, his wife was dead! He looked at her: No,
no, no, not at all! She wasn't the woman! Imagine my dear
friends, how terrible it all was. Finally he came up close
to her and for a moment it seemed that he was going to
recognize her again; but once more it was "No, no, no, she
is not my wife!" And do you know, to get him to accept my
daughter at all again, we were obliged to pretend having a
second wedding, with the collusion of his doctors and his
friends, you understand!

SIGNORA SIRELLI. Ah, so that is why he says that....

SIGNORA FROLA. Yes, but he doesn't really believe it, you
know; and he hasn't for a long time, I am sure. But he seems
to feel a need for maintaining the pretense. He can't do
without it. He feels surer of himself that way. He is seized
with a terrible fear, from time to time, that this little
wife he loves may be taken from him again. (_Smiling and in
a low, confidential tone_): So he keeps her locked up at
home where he can have her all for himself. But he worships
her--he worships her; and I am really quite convinced that
my daughter is one of the happiest women in the world. (_She
gets up_). And now I must be going. You see, my son-in-law
is in a terrible state of mind at present. I wouldn't like
to have him call, and find me not at home. (_With a sigh,
and gesturing with her joined hands_): Well, I suppose we
must get along as best we can; but it is hard on my poor
girl. She has to pretend all along that she is not herself,
but another, his second wife; and I ... oh, as for me, I
have to pretend that I am a lunatic when he's around, my
dear friends; but I'm glad to, I'm glad to, really, so long
as it does him some good. (_The ladies rise as she steps
nearer to the door_). No, no, don't let me interrupt your
party. I know the way out! Good afternoon! Good afternoon!

(_Bowing and smiling, she goes out through the rear door.
The others stands there in silence, looking at each other
with blank astonishment on their faces_).

LAUDISI (_coming forward_). So you want the truth, eh? The
truth! The truth! Hah! hah! hah! hah! hah! hah! hah!

_Curtain._