ACT III

It is 11.30 next morning. ANGELA is at the writing-desk, busy with a few letters. IMOGEN appears noiselessly at the window. She looks round the room, and then disappears again. BATTERSBY comes in from the dining-room.

BATTERSBY. We all seem very late this morning. Has the Prince had breakfast?

ANGELA. I sent it round to the studio. I thought he’d prefer a Continental one.

BATTERSBY. Probably the one thing he looked forward to was a welter of eggs and bacon. You’ve given him quite a wrong idea of our old English customs.

ANGELA. He can have eggs and bacon for lunch, if he’s very keen. Have you seen him?

BATTERSBY. I borrowed him a razor from Ainslie, and I also took him some clothes.

ANGELA. Clothes⁠——I forgot about that.

BATTERSBY. I don’t say he’ll be beautiful, but he’ll be decent.

ANGELA. You’d better send over for his bag, and find out about the Oliver man.

BATTERSBY. I suggested it, but he asked me to wait. He’s a little uncertain about his plans. He said something about a letter.... I suppose the post has come?

ANGELA. Yes.

BATTERSBY (without much hope). Nothing for me, I suppose?

ANGELA. No.

BATTERSBY. I thought not. The number of people who sit down every morning and say “I don’t think I’ll write to Battersby to-day” is positively startling. There must be well over forty million of ’em in England alone.

ANGELA. He couldn’t get a letter here anyway.

BATTERSBY. The Prince? I should be very much annoyed if he did. It would be very disconcerting if a man who stayed here accidentally for one night got a letter, and I who have stayed here on purpose for years and years got none.... I suppose the paper hasn’t come?

ANGELA. No, not yet. I’ll speak to Lumley. He’s getting slack again.

BATTERSBY. There ought to be some method of getting in touch with the outside world. How would it be to have The Times sent down by post every day, and then it wouldn’t matter if the Lumley boy were going for a whistle in this direction or not?

ANGELA. If you like, dear.

BATTERSBY. Besides, it would give the postman more respect for me, if he saw my name now and then. I met him in the garden yesterday as he was bringing up the letters. There were three for you, two for Emily, four for cook and a seed-catalogue for James. I passed it off with a careless laugh, but I could see what he was thinking (He looks over his shoulder, and sees her writing).... Give my love to whoever it is, and say that I should dearly appreciate a post-card⁠——

ANGELA. It’s Debenham and Freebody.

BATTERSBY (unmoved). ——from either of them.

(The PRINCE comes in. He is wearing an old coat and a pair of white flannel trousers of BATTERSBY’S. He has shaved off his moustache.)

PRINCE. Good morning to you. What a charming day!

BATTERSBY. Good morning, Prince.

ANGELA (getting up). Oh, good morning. I do hope you slept well, and all that?

PRINCE. The bed couldn’t have been more comfortable.... I had forgotten that there were so many birds in the country.

ANGELA. We’re used to them, of course.

BATTERSBY. But the silly things don’t realise it, and go on just the same. (The PRINCE turns to him) Hallo! I say! I hope that that razor⁠——

PRINCE (nodding). It was carried away. It has shaved the good doctor so often, that before I knew what had happened⁠——

BATTERSBY. We must tell Ainslie. As a scientific man, he’ll be interested.

ANGELA. I like it. It makes you look more English.

PRINCE. That was why I did it, Mademoiselle. The only compliment to your country I could think of so early in the morning. The birds were whistling and singing, the sun was shining, and I said to myself, “I love England! I shall stay here for ever. I shall be an Englishman.” So I had what you call the clean shave.

BATTERSBY (fingering his beard). It isn’t absolutely essential.

PRINCE (with a bow). The full beard or nothing, as in your English navy. (With a gesture at BATTERSBY’S) If only it had been possible—(regretfully)—but there was no time.

BATTERSBY (in a whisper). You see, dear, he would have liked eggs and bacon.

PRINCE. So now I am an Englishman.... I think of calling myself Brown.

ANGELA (smiling). Prince Brown.

PRINCE. Or shall I give myself the honourable, if not strictly beautiful, title of Mister?

BATTERSBY. What would Neo-Slavonia say to that?

PRINCE. Well, that’s the question.

ANGELA. Will the country go to pieces without you?

PRINCE (solemnly). I fear it might.... But don’t let me interrupt your letters, Mademoiselle. I shall be quite happy with the paper. (He picks it up.)

BATTERSBY. It’s a piece of yesterday’s, I’m afraid.

PRINCE. I shall be quite happy with a piece of yesterday’s paper.

BATTERSBY. There’s a small boy called Lumley whose duty it is to forget to bring the paper every day. He is amazingly reliable. So I generally go down about this time and fetch it for myself. If you don’t mind⁠——

ANGELA. Go on, Father. You’ll never be happy till you’ve seen it.

BATTERSBY (with dignity). To some women the fact that anybody should be interested in activities outside his own household will always be one of the more impenetrable mysteries. (He goes out with an air.)

PRINCE. Miss Battersby is interested, however.

ANGELA. In some things.

PRINCE. In some people.

ANGELA (smiling). In two people.... (Looking at her watch) You won’t go till she comes?

PRINCE. I will stay until then, if I may. (He also looks at his watch, and then says, a little anxiously) This little boy of whom Mr. Battersby talks⁠——

ANGELA. Lumley?

PRINCE. Yes. He is unreliable?

ANGELA. Very, I’m afraid.

PRINCE. You ask him to do something, and he goes off bird’s-nesting, or fishing?

ANGELA. Rather like that.

PRINCE. However, there are perhaps other little boys in the village not so unreliable?

ANGELA. I expect they’re all pretty much the same.

PRINCE. Oh!... (We have another momentary glimpse of IMOGEN at the window).... But I mustn’t interrupt you. This piece of yesterday’s paper is full of good things.

ANGELA (addressing the envelope). I’ve just finished.

(AINSLIE appears at the door.)

AINSLIE. May I come in?

ANGELA (over her shoulder). Hallo! Come in.

AINSLIE. Good morning. Good morning, Prince Michael.

PRINCE. Good morning, doctor. Still here, you see.

AINSLIE. I was sorry to have to hurry off last night, and so, hearing what had happened, I thought I would look in and make my apologies and good-byes this morning.

PRINCE. How charming of you. (Smiling) And a Republican, too!

AINSLIE. My manners are without prejudice to my convictions.

ANGELA. We’re hoping that perhaps it won’t be good-bye just yet.

AINSLIE. Oh, I’m glad. Jennifer gave me to understand that I should just have time to catch the Prince before he went.

PRINCE. How thoughtful of Mrs. Bulger.

ANGELA (getting up, letters in hand). You won’t fight if I leave you alone for a moment?

PRINCE (feeling AINSLIE’S biceps). No. I promise.

ANGELA. As long as you don’t whistle the Neo-Slavonian national anthem, or anything provocative like that, he’ll be all right.

[She goes out.

AINSLIE. I’m afraid I shouldn’t recognise it.... (Awkwardly) I don’t know the etiquette, but may I lean against a table or something?

PRINCE (solemnly). I think I should lean first. (He does so) There!

AINSLIE (leaning too). Thank you. (He begins to fill his pipe) You won’t mind my saying that I wish I hadn’t met you?

PRINCE. If you won’t mind my asking why.

AINSLIE. I like keeping my prejudices intact. Are you the only Prince with a sense of humour, or have I been wrong all these years?

PRINCE. Isn’t it against all medical etiquette for a doctor to be wrong?

AINSLIE. There you are! You’ve no business to say things like that. (Preparing to light his pipe) Do we smoke?

PRINCE. We smoke. (He picks up one of BATTERSBY’S pipes, and holds it in his hand until AINSLIE’S pipe is alight. Then he solemnly puts it down again.)

AINSLIE. Thank you.... Curious thing about that young Oliver. Have you heard any more this morning?

PRINCE. We are sending over to the hotel for news. We may hear something at any moment. (He looks at his watch.)

AINSLIE. I suppose you knew all about him?

PRINCE. Does one ever know all about anybody?

AINSLIE. I was thinking of his medical record.

PRINCE (tapping his head). He had an accident a few years ago.

AINSLIE. Ah! Concussion?

PRINCE. I imagine so. A stray bullet—on the Indian frontier, I understand. Such an accident might cause complete loss of memory and so forth, I suppose?

AINSLIE. Undoubtedly.

PRINCE. Thank you. (Pretending to hand him money) Your fee.

AINSLIE (laughing). Will you appoint me court doctor?

PRINCE. Gladly.

AINSLIE. I shall look forward to it. Meanwhile there’s a good deal to do in the village. Do we move?

PRINCE. We move. (They move towards the door.)

AINSLIE. I’m glad that we’re not losing you just yet. (Looking into the garden) You weren’t playing hide-and-seek in the garden just before I came?

PRINCE. No, Mr. Battersby had one or two things to do.

AINSLIE. I thought I saw⁠——But I daresay it was nothing. Au revoir, then.

[He goes out.

PRINCE. Au revoir.

(He settles down to his paper.... IMOGEN appears again, and seeing that he is alone, whistles cautiously. He takes no notice. She whistles again—and again.)

IMOGEN (in a loud whisper). I say!

PRINCE (looking round). Hallo!... Miss Imogen! (He gets up.)

IMOGEN. Are you alone?

PRINCE. Utterly. (He comes to her.)

IMOGEN. I say, you’ve shaved off your moustache!

PRINCE (feeling his face). So I have.

IMOGEN. May I come in?

PRINCE. May I conduct you in? (He gives her his hand and leads her in.)

IMOGEN (giggling). I say, what fun!

PRINCE (smiling). Isn’t it?

IMOGEN. You and me.

PRINCE. Us.... Was that you whistling?

IMOGEN. Yes.

PRINCE. It wasn’t you whistling outside the studio this morning from about four o’clock till nine?

IMOGEN. Not as long as that. I did whistle a bit.

PRINCE. Yes.... Now tell me. You did what I asked you?

IMOGEN. Rather! That’s why I wanted to see you. Just to tell you I had.

PRINCE. Good!

IMOGEN. The boy is going to bring it up in about five minutes. That’s right, isn’t it?

PRINCE. Perfect.... It isn’t a boy called Lumley, I suppose?

IMOGEN. Yes, it is. Why?

PRINCE. Oh, nothing.... You’re sure you can trust him?

IMOGEN. I’m sure I can’t trust him. And I told him so. And I’m going to watch him do it, and he doesn’t get the sixpence until I’ve seen him do it.

PRINCE (admiringly). What an ally to have! (He holds out his hand) Shake!

IMOGEN (shaking it). Oh, I say! (Shyly) I say?

PRINCE (anxiously). You aren’t going to cry again? (She shakes her head.) Well?

IMOGEN. That sixpence you gave me to give him.

PRINCE (anxiously). It was a good one?

IMOGEN. Oo, rather! But would you mind if I gave him another one of my own instead? (Shyly) Because ... because....

PRINCE (smiling). I wish you would, Imogen. And the other will be your lucky sixpence?

IMOGEN (nodding). ’M. And you’re not going now, are you?

PRINCE. I think now I shall be able to stay.

IMOGEN. Is that why you shaved? So your enemies shouldn’t know you?

PRINCE. Something like that. It’s a symbol.

IMOGEN. Of what?

PRINCE. Victory, I hope....

IMOGEN (suddenly). What’s that?

PRINCE. What was it?

(They listen.)

IMOGEN. I must fly. At any moment we might be discovered alone together.

PRINCE. True. And there is also Lumley’s boy to be watched.

IMOGEN. Oo, I say, I’d forgotten him. Good-bye, Prince Michael! (He holds out his hand. Romantically she goes on one knee and kisses it. Then she goes off—crying again.)

PRINCE. The darling! (He returns to his paper.... And soon JENNIFER is at the door.)

PRINCE (without looking round). I make it five minutes to twelve.

JENNIFER. So you are still here?

PRINCE (getting up). You gave me till noon.

JENNIFER. How did you know it was me?

PRINCE. What a silly question to ask! Of course I knew it was you! (He turns to her.)

JENNIFER. Michael!

PRINCE. What?

JENNIFER. Nothing. Why did you—(with a wave of the hand)—do that?

PRINCE. Do what?

JENNIFER. Shave your moustache.

PRINCE. I didn’t. That wasn’t my moustache. It was Prince Michael Robolski’s.

JENNIFER (eagerly). You mean you’ve told Angela? She knows?

PRINCE. That I’m an—inventor?

JENNIFER. That you—yes. That we’re both inventors.

PRINCE. My dear Jennifer, how could I? Think how awkward it would be for all of you! The things you all said to me last night! I couldn’t be so cruel.

JENNIFER. Then go away now—and nobody need ever know.

PRINCE (like a small boy). But I don’t want to go! I like Wych Trentham. I like Mr. Battersby. I like Miss Angela. I like the Doctor. I like Miss Faithfull.... I like Jennifer.

JENNIFER. One or the other, Michael.

PRINCE. The Doctor has just been up to say good-bye to me. The poor man was in tears. I daresay you met Miss Faithfull. She has just been up to say good-bye to me. The poor girl was in hysterics. Mr. Battersby, struggling with his emotions, lent me these trousers. He has now gone to buy me a paper. They all love me.

JENNIFER. Everybody loves a Prince.

PRINCE. Except Jennifer.

JENNIFER. They won’t love plain Michael Brown.

PRINCE. And yet he is a very lovable man really.

JENNIFER. Well, do you go or stay?

PRINCE (smiling). I’ll toss you for it. Heads I stay, tails I remain. (He tosses) It’s tails. I remain. I remain, yours very sincerely, Michael Robolski.

JENNIFER. Then I tell Angela.

(ANGELA comes in, a letter in her hand.)

ANGELA. Hallo, darling!... Where’s the doctor?

PRINCE. Gone. We embraced, and I gave him the Order of the Leopard, Fifth Class.

ANGELA. I’ve got a hundred things to do, so I’ll leave you to amuse each other. (To the PRINCE) You’re staying to lunch, aren’t you?

PRINCE (with a look at JENNIFER). Please.

ANGELA. Good. (To JENNIFER) You’d better, too, darling.

JENNIFER. Angela, dear, wait a moment.

PRINCE (looking at his watch). I make it two minutes to twelve. (To JENNIFER) I beg your pardon, I thought you asked me the time.

ANGELA. What is it? I really am busy. (To the PRINCE) Oh, this letter has just come for you.

PRINCE (relieved). Ah! Thank you. Is it permitted?

ANGELA. Of course. (The PRINCE opens his letter.)

JENNIFER. Wait a moment, dear. There’s something I’ve got to tell you.

ANGELA. Exciting?

JENNIFER. It is rather.

PRINCE (who is reading his letter). Pardon! You would wish me to withdraw?

JENNIFER. I would wish you to stay.

PRINCE (bowing). May I just⁠——(he indicates the letter, and finishes it) Good! (He takes a deep breath) At last! (To JENNIFER) Now I am at your service, Madame.

JENNIFER. Angela, Prince Michael⁠——

PRINCE. Just a moment, if I may interrupt you. You called me Prince Michael. I cannot leave you under that misapprehension any longer. Miss Battersby! My lips at last are unsealed. (In his English voice) I am not Prince Michael!

ANGELA (casually). Why not?

PRINCE (with dignity). I am trying to explain. (Tapping his letter) At last I am at liberty to speak. I owe you the most sincere apology. You thought you were entertaining Prince Michael Robolski of Neo-Slavonia last night. In a sense you were. But it was not I.

ANGELA. What do you mean?

PRINCE. I was only the humble secretary. He who called himself James Oliver was the real Prince.

JENNIFER. Oh!

PRINCE. You are surprised?

JENNIFER (recovering). Just for the moment.

ANGELA. So you’re an Englishman after all?

PRINCE. Certainly. Three months ago the Prince engaged me as his secretary. I asked him what were my duties. He said, “To grow a moustache and listen.” For a month I grew a moustache and listened, while he talked to me about Neo-Slavonia. In the end I felt that I knew the country even better than he did. Then he said, “Now if we go to a place where we are both unknown, can you pretend to be Prince Michael, while I pretend to be his secretary?”

ANGELA. Why?

PRINCE (not knowing). Why?

JENNIFER. Yes, why?

PRINCE. Why? That was what I said. Why? He gave reasons, political reasons, which would sound stupid to you if I repeated them now, but to one who understood Neo-Slavonian politics as I did, were very, very—er, very.

ANGELA. Where was this?

PRINCE. Where was it?

JENNIFER. Yes, where was it?

PRINCE. Where was it?... In a little seaport town called Bratsk. The—Cromer of Neo-Slavonia.

ANGELA. But I thought Neo-Slavonia had no coast-line.

JENNIFER (eagerly). Yes!

PRINCE (reproachfully). One small pier and a group of bathing-machines do not constitute a coast-line.

ANGELA. I beg your pardon.

JENNIFER. Silly of us.

ANGELA. Well?

PRINCE. We went to Monte Carlo—I as the Prince, he as my secretary. Every now and then he would disappear. It was not my business to follow him. I am engaged to grow a moustache, not to search for footprints. One day he takes me to England. “Very soon now,” he says, “we shall be able to reveal the truth.”

ANGELA (smiling). And so, very soon now, you are going to?

PRINCE (with dignity). I am doing it at this moment. He gives me permission in this letter. (He taps the letter) He also gives me my wages—(he holds up the notes)—instead of a month’s notice. I am my own master again.... And out of a job.

ANGELA. And that’s that?

PRINCE (with a sigh of mental exhaustion). That, roughly speaking, is that.

ANGELA. Well, I’m glad one of you was the Prince. I don’t know what Mrs. Faithfull would say if there had never been a Prince at all.

JENNIFER. There wasn’t.

PRINCE. Ha!

ANGELA. How do you mean, darling?

JENNIFER. There is no such country as Neo-Slavonia.

PRINCE. Ha again.

ANGELA (calmly). Darling, how can you know that?

JENNIFER. Have you ever seen it on the map?

ANGELA. Have you ever seen Czecho-Slovakia on the map?

PRINCE (aside). Or Maida Vale.

ANGELA. Or Maida Vale?

JENNIFER. No.

ANGELA. Well!

PRINCE. Well!

JENNIFER. Well, I wasn’t certain either. So this morning I telegraphed to a friend in the Foreign Office.

ANGELA. But would he know?

PRINCE. How could he know?

JENNIFER (displaying telegram). Here is his answer. (She gives it to Angela) I said, “Where is Neo-Slavonia?” He replies⁠——

ANGELA (reading). “Never heard of it.” Well, of course, it mightn’t be in his department. (Handing back the telegram) I don’t think that that’s conclusive.

PRINCE. I don’t think that’s at all conclusive.

JENNIFER. My dear, I know that there isn’t such a country.

ANGELA. I don’t see how you can know.

PRINCE. I don’t see how any one can know.

ANGELA. You might suspect. (To PRINCE) What do you think?

PRINCE (automatically). What do you think? I mean, What do I think?

ANGELA. Well?

PRINCE (after thought). I believe Mrs. Bulger is right.

JENNIFER. Thank you.

ANGELA. But how⁠——

PRINCE. I believe that he had made it all up.

ANGELA. But I thought you said you had actually been in Neo-Slavonia with him?

JENNIFER. Bratsk—the local Cromer.

PRINCE (with dignity). You go to a town—how do you know who the town belongs to? If he says it is a Neo-Slavonian town, why should I doubt him? I am engaged as a secretary, not as a Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society. (To ANGELA). Yes, the more I think about it, the more I feel that he made it all up. (Triumphantly) And that’s why he disappeared so suddenly last night—without even saying good-bye. He saw that Mrs. Bulger was suspicious. (Sadly) Yes, I feel sure now that the Prince was an impostor. Don’t you agree with me, Mrs. Bulger?

JENNIFER. Entirely.

PRINCE (to ANGELA). You see, Mrs. Bulger agrees with me entirely. I wonder what his game was. It may have been just pure love of adventure. I shouldn’t care to think too hardly of him.... Miss Battersby, how can I apologise for having brought this on you?

ANGELA. Mr. Oliver, it has been a privilege to listen to you.

JENNIFER. Oliver? (To the PRINCE with a friendly smile) Of course! Oliver.

PRINCE (puzzled). Oliver?

JENNIFER. Your name. You changed names with the Prince.

PRINCE (recovering gallantly). Not names. Identities.

ANGELA. Why not names?

JENNIFER. Why not names?

PRINCE (wondering). Well⁠——

ANGELA. You took his—why didn’t he take yours?

JENNIFER. Why didn’t he take yours?

PRINCE. This is really rather embarrassing.

JENNIFER (catching his eye). Yes, I can see how embarrassing it is.

PRINCE (suddenly). Can you? Well, if you can’t now, you will directly. Miss Battersby, the Prince refused to take my name. He said, “No, I cannot take that horrible name.”

ANGELA. Why?

PRINCE (impressively). Because my name is—Bulger!

JENNIFER (staggered). Oh!

PRINCE. You are surprised again?

JENNIFER. Just for another moment.

PRINCE BULGER (to JENNIFER). I have sometimes wondered if we are relations? (To ANGELA). You remember how interested I was when you first told me your friend’s name? I wondered then.

ANGELA. Jennifer’s husband was a General in the Indian Army.

PRINCE (eagerly). Really? How odd! Not James?

JENNIFER (weakly). James.

PRINCE. How very curious!

ANGELA. Did you know him?

PRINCE. I am James Bulger of the Indian Army.

JENNIFER. No, no!

PRINCE (quickly). Or am I not? You see, Miss Battersby, I was knocked out rather badly in a small frontier skirmish—by a stray bullet—left for dead, captured by the advancing enemy. When I came to myself, my memory had gone. I remembered nothing. Not even my own identity. A flask in my possession with the name James Bulger on it and the simple inscription “Presented by a few old friends of the Hammersmith Temperance Association” was my only clue. But was it my own flask, or had James Bulger lent it to me? I shall never be certain. For at times I have had a curious feeling that my real name is—(he looks at JENNIFER)—Brown.

ANGELA. It sounds very likely. A lot of people are called Brown.

PRINCE. Is that so? (To JENNIFER) In that case you must permit me to return your husband’s flask to you.

JENNIFER (weakly). Thank you. You haven’t it on you?

PRINCE. And if you will be so very kind as to talk to me a little about him, it may be that you will strike some responsive chord in my memory, and set it vibrating.

ANGELA (getting up). That’s a good idea. And when you’re quite certain who you’re going to be, you must let me know. Anyway, you’ll stay to lunch? I think you’ve earned it.

PRINCE. It is charming of you to have me.

ANGELA (graciously). Not at all. The excitement is ours.

[She goes out.

JENNIFER. Well, Michael? (She sits down.)

PRINCE (triumphantly). Well, Jennifer? (He sits next to her. She turns away, and he turns away. They talk, back to back.)

JENNIFER (reluctantly). You’re very clever.

PRINCE. Aren’t I?

JENNIFER. Naturally you’ve had a good deal of practice.

PRINCE. Naturally.

JENNIFER. I suppose you feel you’ve gained something by it all?

PRINCE. Lunch—anyway. If I had let myself be exposed by you, I shouldn’t have had lunch.

JENNIFER. Oh, if you’re as hungry as that⁠——

PRINCE. I am afraid you haven’t realised the extraordinary delicacy with which I have handled the matter?

JENNIFER. I hadn’t, no.

PRINCE. You see, I wasn’t sure what you wanted. Did you want to go on being the wife of General Bulger? If so, here I am, your long-lost husband, Bulger, miraculously restored to you. Did you want to confess the truth, that you are really Mrs. Michael Brown? Here am I, the only original Michael Brown. Or do you want to marry again, and try another name? Here am I, still at your service, prepared to remember that my name is—whatever you most fancy. (Proudly) Very few people could have been as tactful as that.

JENNIFER. But how considerate of you!

PRINCE (modestly). I am that sort of man.

JENNIFER. You seem to have provided for everything.

PRINCE. I tried to.

JENNIFER. And yet there was one possibility you overlooked.

PRINCE. Good Heavens, what?

JENNIFER. In your extraordinary delicacy you didn’t allow for the fact that I might want to be left alone.

PRINCE (looking at his watch). For how long?

JENNIFER (a little crossly). What do you mean, for how long? When a woman says that she wants to be left alone, you don’t ask her for how long.

PRINCE. Why not?

JENNIFER. I don’t know why not. One doesn’t. It’s a ridiculous question. Naturally, I mean that I want to be left alone for ever.

PRINCE. I see. You mean till you’re about ninety.

JENNIFER. No, I don’t. I wasn’t thinking about being ninety.

PRINCE. Good! Then what about eighty-nine? Suppose I drop in on your eighty-ninth birthday⁠——

JENNIFER. I shall not be at home.

PRINCE. Not if I came in the afternoon—with a few flowers?

JENNIFER (coldly). I want to be left alone.

PRINCE. By me—or by everybody?

JENNIFER. By you. By everybody in the way you’re talking about. I don’t propose to marry again.

PRINCE (gently). It was I who was proposing.

JENNIFER. Then I am not open to offers of marriage.

PRINCE. Well, if you won’t marry again, will you live with either of your two previous husbands?

JENNIFER. No.

PRINCE. You refuse?

JENNIFER. Absolutely.

PRINCE. You’re very difficult to please.

JENNIFER. No, I’m not. I’m very easy to please. I only want you to go away.

PRINCE (reproachfully). After all the trouble I’ve taken?

JENNIFER. Go away.

PRINCE. It is a little hard on a man ... who has been travelling for years ... in an unknown country ... to come back to his wife, and to find that—like Penelope ... no, not like Penelope ... well, it’s a little hard.

JENNIFER. I should keep Penelope out of it, if I were you.

PRINCE. I was trying to.

JENNIFER. When Ulysses left her, he did at least give her some idea when he was coming back.

PRINCE. But what a wrong idea! “Back at Christmas,” he said cheerfully, and it was twenty years before he saw her again.

JENNIFER. She knew what he was doing, anyhow.

PRINCE. Rescuing Helen, the most beautiful creature in the world. That would be a great comfort to any woman.

JENNIFER. I don’t want to argue about it.

PRINCE. I went away in a much better cause than Ulysses. If you had read the right sort of stories when you were young you would have realised that, metaphorically speaking, you and I were in a sledge, pursued by a pack of wolves over the snowy steppes of Siberia. Ivan Ivanovitch, our faithful Cossack driver, flogs the fast-wearying horses; from time to time I empty my revolver into the advancing hordes and force them to stop and eat each other; all to no purpose. And then, when I make the supreme sacrifice by hurling myself into the midst of the ravening pack, what happens? I am blamed because I left the sledge suddenly, and forgot to say, “Back on the 25th.”

JENNIFER. I don’t think that that is a perfect parallel.

PRINCE. According to Einstein there are no perfect parallels. But I’m doing my best. (He gets up) I’m doing my best. (She looks away) Jenny! (She has her hand to her ear, arranging the hair above it. He seizes her wrist—and then suddenly talks down her ear, as if it were a telephone, using her hand as the receiver) Hallo, is that the exchange? I want Jenny. One in a million ... Jenny, one in one double 0, double 0, double 0.... Yes.... Hallo, Jenny, is that you?... Guess!... No.... No.... I say, what swell people you know!... Shall I tell you?... Michael.... Don’t you remember Michael? The ugly fellow who was always grousing because he couldn’t get a job.... Yes. Casual sort of fellow.... It’s him ... he.... Oh, much the same.... I suppose you wouldn’t let him come down to your village, and just look at you occasionally.... Oh, I don’t know. He could sit behind you at church or something.... Oh, don’t you? Then it’s quite time you did.... You wouldn’t care about it?... Oh!... Oh, I just wondered. I expect you’re right. (He hangs up the receiver and walks away, whistling carelessly, to the writing-desk, where he sits down and begins to write.)

JENNIFER (after watching him for a little). What are you doing?

PRINCE. Making my will, and leaving everything to you, of course.

JENNIFER. Oh, are you shooting yourself?

PRINCE. Obviously.

JENNIFER. I thought you made a will when we first got married.

PRINCE (annoyed). Can’t I do it again if I want to?

JENNIFER. Of course. But I thought I got the money anyhow? Even if you died—what’s the word? Rather a horrid one⁠——

PRINCE. “Suddenly.”

JENNIFER. Intestate. (To herself as if commenting on a man who has died of this unfortunate complaint) So painful, poor fellow!

PRINCE (fiercely). Good heavens, if a man can’t make a remorseful will just before shooting himself, life becomes utterly impossible.

JENNIFER. I beg your pardon.

PRINCE. I’m sorry. Naturally I am a little on edge.

JENNIFER (after a pause—to herself). Four “s’s” in “possessed.” Some people only put three.

PRINCE. In my last moments I propose to allow myself perfect liberty in the matter.

JENNIFER (after a pause). Which would be the best solicitor to go to? My own or yours?

PRINCE. I leave that to you. (Looking upwards) I shall never meet either of them again.... (Looking downwards) At least, I hope not.

JENNIFER (after a pause). Michael!

PRINCE. H’sh, h’sh!

JENNIFER. Michael!

(He doesn’t answer. She trills like a telephone bell.)

PRINCE. Damn that telephone. (She rings again) Oh, Lord! (He gets up and goes to her, putting his left hand to her mouth, and her right hand to his ear.)

JENNIFER. Hallo!... Hallo!... Oh, is that Prince Michael of Neo-Slavonia?... Yes! However did you guess?... Really?... A little bit older and fatter.... What?... Oh, how sweet of you!... You can tell from the voice? Michael, how clever of you!... Well, you’ll see for yourself.... Yes, that’s what I wanted to say.... Just before you shoot yourself.... Oh, well, you must ask me.... I don’t know. I haven’t decided.... All right, I’ll wait for you. Good-bye.

(She kisses his hand. He kisses hers.)

PRINCE. Well, Jenny?

JENNIFER. Well, Mike?

PRINCE. I’ve come back.

JENNIFER. So it seems.

PRINCE. What about it?

JENNIFER. I don’t know.

PRINCE. Shall we try?

JENNIFER (nodding). If you like.

PRINCE. Thank you, Jenny.

JENNIFER. It’s an experiment, of course.

PRINCE. Isn’t that the most fun?

JENNIFER. You’re an adventurer at heart, you know.

PRINCE. You too, Jennifer.

JENNIFER (smiling). I suppose I am.

PRINCE. Adventurers, both.

JENNIFER. I suppose any morning I may wake up and find that you’ve gone off to be the Prince of some imaginary country.

PRINCE. And any afternoon I may wake up to find that you’ve run off with some imaginary General.

JENNIFER. Yes, we’ve got to remember that.

PRINCE. Yes....

JENNIFER. Michael?

PRINCE. Jennifer.

JENNIFER. I think we’ll keep an atlas in the house.

PRINCE (nodding). And an Army List.

JENNIFER. And some day, perhaps, I shall come upon you looking wistfully at that atlas, wondering where Neo-Slavonia is.

PRINCE. And some day, perhaps, I shall find you fluttering the pages of that Army List, and wondering which General most wants a widow.

JENNIFER. And when that happens to either of us, then one will know that the other one⁠——

PRINCE. Wants a little holiday.

JENNIFER. So they’ll say to each other quite casually, “Oh, are you off?”

PRINCE. And off they’ll go.

JENNIFER. And then when they’ve been away long enough⁠——

PRINCE. Not four years this time⁠——

JENNIFER. Only a little while⁠——

PRINCE. They’ll try to find each other again.

JENNIFER. And they will have so much to tell each other⁠——

PRINCE. That they will never be bored.

JENNIFER. It might work that way.

PRINCE. It might.

JENNIFER (holding out her hands). Worth trying, Michael?

PRINCE (taking them). Worth trying, Jennifer.

(As they stand there, BATTERSBY bursts in with the paper, obviously excited.)

BATTERSBY. I say! I say! I say! Just as well I went to get the paper.

PRINCE (vaguely, dropping Jennifer’s hands). The paper?

BATTERSBY (showing the place). Look here, Prince! There! (They take the paper and look at it together) I say, Angela! (He hurries off to her.) I say! Angela!...

PRINCE (reading). Sudden Revolution in⁠——Neo-Slavonia! (He stares blankly at her.)

JENNIFER. But you said there wasn’t!

PRINCE. There isn’t! I invented it.

JENNIFER (pointing to paper.) But there must be!

PRINCE (nodding). There must be. (Sadly) Jennifer, Jennifer, I thought I was a creator, and I’m just an ordinary impostor after all.

JENNIFER (very soothingly). Never mind, darling. Better luck next time!

(Angela is at the door, a cigarette in her mouth, a cocktail in her hand.)

ANGELA (regarding them with an indulgent smile). Come along, children!

(Hand in hand, they walk past her, the children, and go out.... She follows them.)