The Almost Jealous Husband

FERENC MOLNÁR

Concerning a Gentleman Who Makes an Honest Effort to Be Angry With His Wife

THE WIFE: (weeping): My feelings are hurt because you aren't jealous of me. THE HUSBAND: NOW, come! I've always thought that women become upset only when their husbands are jealous.

WIFE: Not I. You insult me with your calmness and your faith in me. In the eyes of the world I shall be regarded as a woman whose husband is too sure of her.

HUSBAND: Come, come! Don't say such things!

WIFE: NOW, my friend, Ilona, was once sitting in a restaurant with her husband and a gentleman at the next table smiled at her. Ilona's husband seized the wine-glass and hurled it at the gentleman.

HUSBAND: Hooray!

WIFE: Ilona's husband is what I call a husband! Take, another case—my friend, Elisa. The other day a man accosted her on the street and said to her: "Madame, permit me to introduce myself." Elisa told this incident to her husband who immediately sought the man out and beat him until that gentleman most urgently requested him to stop. Yes, indeed! These are husbands! Renee, another friend of mine, cannot leave her house alone because her husband will not permit her to do so. Still another friend of mine, Manci, complains her husband reads all her letters. These are husbands! But what are you? You don't care about anything!

HUSBAND: HOW can you say that?

WIFE: Your behaviour leads me to suppose so. HUSBAND: Why?

WIFE: Because you have never reproached me for a single thing, nor have you ever struck any man on my account.

HUSBAND: Well, that's the limit!

WIFE: NOW you are going to be mean. HUSBAND: Not at all. I am merely going to be frank. But first of all, answer this question: Who are you?

WIFE: A woman. Your wife.

HUSBAND: Have you any other profession? WIFE: I am an actress.

HUSBAND: Correct. Therefore—

WIFE (mterrupting): Now you want to say that the husband of an actress cannot be jealous of his wife.

HUSBAND: I don't want to say that.

WIFE: What then?

HUSBAND: I merely want to say that I should very much like to be passionately jealous of you, even more jealous than the husbands of your friends—-Elisa, Ilona, and Renee, but— WIFE: But?

HUSBAND: But I cannot be.

WIFE: Why can't you be?

HUSBAND: First, because I have no right to be jealous. And secondly, because I have no time to be.

WIFE: I don't understand.

HUSBAND: I shall give you a brief account of what you were doing yesterday and you will understand everything immediately.

WIFE: I am very curious.

HUSBAND: Well, then. You awoke at eight

o'clock in the morning. When I heard that you were up, I wanted to go to your room. But no sooner did I open the door than I had to jump back. You screamed. Now what did I see? You were lying on the bed with very little clothes on—and a gentleman in a black coat was standing at your bedside—Ilona's husband would have immediately shot and killed the man in the black coat. I couldn't do that because 1 realized that the gentleman was our family physician who was giving you an examination. And when he left, I even had to give him money—for his bill.

WIFE: GO ahead!

HUSBAND: When, after half an hour, I made a second attempt to visit you, there was another man in your room. When 1 opened the door he was kneeling in front of you, holding your feet in his hands, and shouting at the top of his voice: "I have never seen such tiny and pretty feet."—Elisa's husband would certainly have struck that man down with his walking-stick. I couldn't do that because the man was your boot-maker who had come to measure your feet. When he left I was also forced to give him money; so much money, in fact, that it almost brought tears to my eyes.

WIFE: GO on!

HUSBAND: At ten, I went to the skatingrink. I saw you being tightly held by a stranger. I was about to smash him on the head with my skates when I heard that he was your skating instructor. I had to reward his endeavours also with a very handsome sum. WIFE: And ....

HUSBAND: At half past eleven, I brought your wrist-watch which you had left at home, to you in the theatre. The auditorium was dark and empty. You were standing on the stage and a very handsome young gentleman held you in his arms. He was smothering you with kisses and, in an amorous voice, said: "I adore you, Adelgunda, and I shall kiss you until one of us suffocates."—At the sight of this Elisa's husband would have reached for his revolver. But I knew the truth. I knew that this incident was merely a rehearsal of your new operetta and I was happy to get away without having to give any money to this very handsome young man. WIFE: And . . . !

HUSBAND: I stumbled out of the theatre, dazed. The first person I met informed me that the rehearsal was over and that you were to be found in your dressing room. I hurried there and opened the door without knocking. You were standing in the middle of the room and another strange young man was holding you in a very tight embrace. When I entered, the man told you: "Don't be afraid! Just cling to me, closer, much closer, so that we may look as if we are joined together." You followed his instructions faithfully and then both of you began very slowly to walk. Being what I am: a well-informed man of the world, instead of killing this man at once I merely learned, to my utmost satisfaction, that he was the balletmaster teaching you the dances for the new operetta.

WIFE: Go on!

HUSBAND: At three o'clock, I called for you at Madame Caroline's, where you were trying on some new gowns. When I humbly breathed out my wish that, as your lawfully wedded husband, I should like to be allowed to enter the room where your new gowns were being fitted, Madame Caroline's staff almost insulted me. When, after a considerable time, the door opened and you came out of the Holy of Holies, I saw that you were followed by Madame Caroline's couturier who was clinging to your arm. I was about to murder Madame Caroline's assistant when he turned toward me smiling and said: "It is a great pleasure to design gowns for your wife because even the Venus de Milo has no more beautiful figure than she has." I believe it is unnecessary to add that this remark, instead of ending in a murder, resulted in my again paying out a tremendous sum of money.

WIFE: GO on!

HUSBAND: Remember that from Mme. Caroline's you went to Dr. Janosi's for what they call a diathermic treatment. The physician, whom I neglected to murder in the morning (but supplied with money), had prescribed this treatment for you. Now what is a diathermic treatment? It consists of stripping you to the waist—and of bending you with instruments that radiate heat. I did not see how this treatment actually applied to you, therefore, I had no reason to kill the man who had charge of it. I did not meet this second doctor until the evening, at the club, and it was only then that he told me of your visit to his office. Now, that I talk of that diathermic treatment, I am convinced that the proper procedure to follow last night would have been to lift one of the heavy leather-armchairs and smash Dr. Janosi's head with it. But, being a civilized man, l sat down to play cards with him and, incidentally—I lost a tidy sum.

WIFE: And ....

HUSBAND: About eleven, as is my custom, I went to fetch you at the theatre to take you home. I arrived a little early and the performance was not yet over. So I sat down in the auditorium. What did I sec? A man stepped up to you and spoke as follows: "You belong to me,—not to Isidore!" And he embraced you and kissed you several times on the lips. If I had had a revolver I might have grabbed it and taken aim at the fellow. But my thoughts were interrupted by the audience, which broke into thunderous applause. I felt that it would be very unwise anyway for me to have set myself against such a unanimous expression of public opinion. The applause had hardly died away when you pushed the man who had kissed you away from you, and exclaimed: "You were merely a passing, superficial whim of mine! My real love belongs to Isidore!" And while the man, who a minute before had kissed your lips, sadly walked off, you ran to Isidore, who entered through another door, and covered his face with kisses. The applause was twice as loud as before and the performance was over.

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WIFE: GO ahead!

HUSBAND: I say no more. This is the history of one of your days starting at eight o'clock in the morning and ending at eleven at night. I ask you respectfully: even if I had had any right to be jealous of you, when was there any time left for me to be jealous. If I want to be precise I must say that you spent your entire day either kissing or embracing strange men, or exposing yourself shamelessly to the gaze of strange men a mystery to me. But in spite of all this, tell me: when was there any time yesterday when I could have been jealous of you? And when I could have staged a jealous scene without running the risk of starting another scene before I had finished the first?

WIFE: Therefore?

HUSBAND: Therefore I must wait until I shall have not only the right but also the time to appear before you in the role of an Othello.

WIFE: And when do you think that will be?

HUSBAND: When you cease to be an actress and will be but a beautiful woman of the world.

WIFE: That is to say: when I am old.

HUSBAND: Precisely.

WIFE: And will you promise me that then you will be jealous of me?

HUSBAND: I will. But—

WIFE: But?

HUSBAND: But I am afraid I won't be able to keep my promise.