A Delicate Balance Read online

  BY EDWARD ALBEE

  The Zoo Story

  The Death of Bessie Smith

  The Sandbox

  The American Dream

  Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

  The Ballad of the Sad Cafe

  Tiny Alice

  Malcolm

  A Delicate Balance

  Everything in the Garden

  Box and Quotations from Chairman Mao Tse-Tung

  All Over

  Seascape

  Listening

  Counting the Ways

  The Lady from Dubuque

  Lolita

  The Man Who Had Three Arms

  Finding the Sun

  Marriage Play

  Three Tall Women

  Fragments (A Sit-Around)

  The Play About the Baby

  The Goat or, Who is Sylvia?

  Occupant

  At Home at the Zoo

  Me, Myself & I

  CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that performance of the Play in the volume A DELICATE BALANCE is subject to payment of a royalty. The Play is fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America, and of all countries covered by the International Copyright Union (including the Dominion of Canada and the rest of the British Commonwealth), and of all countries covered by the Pan-American Copyright Convention, the Universal Copyright Convention, the Berne Convention, and of all countries with which the United States has reciprocal copyright relations. All rights, including without limitation professional/amateur stage rights, motion picture, recitation, lecturing, public reading, radio broadcasting, television, video or sound recording, all other forms of mechanical, electronic and digital reproduction, transmission and distribution, such as CD, DVD, the Internet, private and file-sharing networks, information storage and retrieval systems, photocopying, and the rights of translation into foreign languages are strictly reserved. Particular emphasis is placed upon the matter of readings, permission for which must be secured from the Author’s agent in writing. The English language amateur stage performance rights for the Play in the United States, its territories, possessions and Canada; the English language stock and regional theatre stage performance rights for the Play in the United States, its territories, possessions and Canada; and the English language amateur stage performance rights for the Play in the British Commonwealth of Nations (excluding Canada), Ireland, and South Africa are controlled exclusively by Samuel French, Inc, 45 West 25th Street, New York, NY 10010. No stock or regional performance or nonprofessional performance, in the aforesaid countries, of the Play or any of its acts may be given without obtaining in advance the written permission of Samuel French, Inc., and paying the requisite fee. Inquiries concerning all other rights should be addressed to William Morris Endeavor Entertainment, LLC, 1325 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10019. Attn: Jonathan Lomma.

  Copyright

  This edition first published in the United States and the UK in 2013 by

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  Copyright © 1966 by Edward Albee

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.

  ISBN 978-1-4683-0751-1

  For John Steinbeck

  Affection and admiration

  INTRODUCTION

  A DELICATE BALANCE

  —A Non-reconsideration

  My mind is going, I suspect; I have no idea how long I’ve known most of my friends; the names of most people are beyond me, and I cannot recall the emotional or physical experience of the writing of most of my plays, or how long ago the experience I cannot recall occurred.

  The only senses I fully retain—and very sharply these—are picture images and sounds. Hearing two bars of almost any piece of serious music has me naming the composer, the piece, and often the date of composition and opus number—or K., or Hoboken, or whatever. Seeing a painting for a second time—in a new context, of course—has me instantly recalling on what wall it hung, in what room, in what country, when I saw it first.

  But names and events … that’s another matter. Once I looked straight at my mother and couldn’t figure out who she was. (Well, I guess we’ve all had that one!)

  So … is it really thirty years since the first production of A Delicate Balance? It seems like yesterday, as they say? No, certainly not … but thirty years?

  The play has not changed; that I can see. I’ve had to rewrite only two lines—making it clear that topless bathing suits (for women, of course) are not made anymore, and changing “our dear Republicans as dull as ever” to “as brutal as ever” (that second change long overdue).

  The play does not seem to have “dated”; rather, its points seem clearer now to more people than they were in its lovely first production. Now, in its lovely new production (I will not say “revival”; the thing was not dead—unseen, unheard perhaps, but lurking), it seems to me exactly the same experience. No time has passed; the characters have not aged or become strange. (The upper-upper middle-class WASP culture has always been just a little bizarre, of course.)

  The play concerns—as it always has, in spite of early-on critical misunderstanding—the rigidity and ultimate paralysis which afflicts those who settle in too easily, waking up one day to discover that all the choices they have avoided no longer give them any freedom of choice, and that what choices they do have left are beside the point.

  I have become odder with time, I suppose (my next play but one will be about a goat, for God’s sake), but A Delicate Balance, bless it, does not seem to have changed much—aged nicely, perhaps. Could we all say the same.

  —Edward Albee

  Montauk, N.Y.

  August 1996

  Contents

  By Edward Albee

  Copyright

  Introduction

  ACT ONE

  FRIDAY NIGHT

  ACT TWO

  SCENE ONE

  EARLY SATURDAY EVENING

  SCENE TWO

  LATER THAT NIGHT

  ACT THREE

  EARLY SUNDAY MORNING

  A Delicate Balance opened in New York City on September 12, 1966, at the Martin Beck Theatre.

  JESSICA TANDY as AGNES

  HUME CRONYN as TOBIAS

  ROSEMARY MURPHY as CLAIRE

  CARMEN MATHEWS as EDNA

  HENDERSON FORSYTHE as HARRY

  MARIAN SELDES as JULIA

  Directed by ALAN SCHNEIDER

  The Lincoln Center Theatre production of A Delicate Balance opened in New York City on April 21, 1996, at the Plymouth Theatre.

  ROSEMARY HARRIS as AGNES

  GEORGE GRIZZARD as TOBIAS

  ELAINE STRITCH as CLAIRE

  ELIZABETH WILSON as EDNA

  JOHN CARTER as HARRY

  MARY BETH HURT as JULIA

  Directed by GERALD GUTIERREZ

  CHARACTERS

  AGNES

  A handsome woman
in her late 50’s

  TOBIAS

  Her husband, a few years older

  CLAIRE

  Agnes’ sister, several years younger

  JULIA

  Agnes’ and Tobias’ daughter 36, angular

  EDNA AND HARRY

  Very much like Agnes and Tobias

  THE SCENE

  The living room of a large and well-appointed suburban house. Now.

  ACT ONE

  (In the library-living room. AGNES in a chair, TOBIAS at a shelf, looking into cordial bottles)

  AGNES

  (Speaks usually softly, with a tiny hint of a smile on her face: not sardonic, not sad … wistful, maybe)

  What I find most astonishing—aside from that belief of mine, which never ceases to surprise me by the very fact of its surprising lack of unpleasantness, the belief that I might very easily—as they say—lose my mind one day, not that I suspect I am about to, or am even … nearby …

  TOBIAS

  (He speaks somewhat the same way)

  There is no saner woman on earth, Agnes.

  (Putters at the bottles)

  AGNES

  … for I’m not that sort; merely that it is not beyond … happening: some gentle loosening of the moorings sending the balloon adrift—and I think that is the only outweighing thing: adrift; the … becoming a stranger in … the world, quite … uninvolved, for I never see it as violent, only a drifting—what are you looking for, Tobias?

  TOBIAS

  We will all go mad before you. The anisette.

  AGNES (A small happy laugh)

  Thank you, darling. But I could never do it—go adrift—for what would become of you? Still, what I find most astonishing, aside, as I said, from that speculation—and I wonder, too, sometimes, if I am the only one of you to admit to it: not that I may go mad, but that each of you wonders if each of you might not—why on earth do you want anisette?

  TOBIAS (Considers)

  I thought it might be nice.

  AGNES (Wrinkles her nose)

  Sticky. I will do cognac. It is supposed to be healthy—the speculation, or the assumption, I suppose, that if it occurs to you that you might be, then you are not; but I’ve never been much comforted by it; it follows, to my mind, that since I speculate I might, some day, or early evening I think more likely—some autumn dusk—go quite mad, then I very well might.

  (Bright laugh)

  Some autumn dusk: Tobias at his desk, looks up from all those awful bills, and sees his Agnes, mad as a hatter, chewing the ribbons on her dress …

  TOBIAS (Pouring)

  Cognac?

  AGNES

  Yes; Agnes Sit-by-the-fire, her mouth full of ribbons, her mind aloft, adrift; nothing to do with the poor old thing but put her in a bin somewhere, sell the house, move to Tucson, say, and pine in the good sun, and live to be a hundred and four.

  (He gives her her cognac)

  Thank you, darling.

  TOBIAS (Kisses her forehead)

  Cognac is sticky, too.

  AGNES

  Yes, but it’s nicer. Sit by me, hm?

  TOBIAS (Does so; raises his glass)

  To my mad lady, ribbons dangling.

  AGNES (Smiles)

  And, of course, I haven’t worn the ribbon dress since Julia’s remarriage. Are you comfortable?

  TOBIAS

  For a little.

  AGNES

  What astonishes me most—aside from my theoretically healthy fear—no, not fear, how silly of me—healthy speculation that I might some day become an embarrassment to you … what I find most astonishing in this world, and with all my years … is Claire.

  TOBIAS (Curious)

  Claire? Why?

  AGNES

  That anyone—be they one’s sister, or not—can be so … well, I don’t want to use an unkind word, ’cause we’re cozy here, aren’t we?

  TOBIAS (Smiled warning)

  Maybe.

  AGNES

  As the saying has it, the one thing sharper than a serpent’s tooth is a sister’s ingratitude.

  TOBIAS

  (Getting up, moving to a chair)

  The saying does not have it that way.

  AGNES

  Should. Why are you moving?

  TOBIAS

  It’s getting uncomfortable.

  AGNES (Semi-serious razzing)

  Things get hot, move off, huh? Yes?

  TOBIAS (Not rising to it)

  I’m not as young as either of us once was.

  AGNES (Toasting him)

  I’m as young as the day I married you—though I’m certain I don’t look it—because you’re a very good husband … most of the time. But I was talking about Claire, or was beginning to.

  TOBIAS

  (Knowing shaking of the head)

  Yes, you were.

  AGNES

  If I were to list the mountain of my burdens—if I had a thick pad and a month to spare—that bending my shoulders most, with the possible exception of Julia’s trouble with marriage, would be your—it must be instinctive, I think, or reflex, that’s more like it—your reflex defense of everything that Claire …

  TOBIAS

  (Very nice, but there is steel underneath)

  Stop it, Agnes.

  AGNES (A little laugh)

  Are you going to throw something at me? Your glass? My goodness, I hope not … that awful anisette all over everything.

  TOBIAS (Patient)

  No.

  AGNES (Quietly daring him)

  What then?

  TOBIAS (Looking at his hand)

  I shall sit very quietly …

  AGNES

  … as always …

  TOBIAS

  … yes, and I shall will you to apologize to your sister for what I must in truth tell you I thought a most …

  AGNES

  Apologize! To her? To Claire? I have spent my adult life apologizing for her; I will not double my humiliation by apologizing to her.

  TOBIAS (Mocking an epigram)

  One does not apologize to those for whom one must?

  AGNES (Winking slowly)

  Neat.

  TOBIAS

  Succinct, but one of the rules of an aphorism …

  AGNES

  An epigram, I thought.

  TOBIAS (Small smile)

  An epigram is usually satiric, and you …

  AGNES

  … and I am grimly serious. Yes?

  TOBIAS

  I fear so.

  AGNES

  To revert specifically from Claire to … her effect, what would you do were I to … spill my marbles?

  TOBIAS (Shrugs)

  Put you in a bin somewhere, sell the house and move to Tucson. Pine in the hot sun and live forever.

  AGNES (Ponders it)

  Hmmm, I bet you would.

  TOBIAS (Friendly)

  Hurry, though.

  AGNES

  Oh, I’ll try. It won’t be simple paranoia, though, I know that. I’ve tried so hard, to … well, you know how little I vary; goodness, I can’t even raise my voice except in the most calamitous of events, and I find that both joy and sorrow work their … wonders on me more … evenly, slowly, within, than most: a suntan rather than a scalding. There are no mountains in my life … nor chasms. It is a rolling, pleasant land … verdant, my darling, thank you.

  TOBIAS (Cutting a cigar)

  We do what we can.

  AGNES (Little laugh)

  Our motto. If we should ever go downhill, have a crest made, join things, we must have that put in Latin—We do what we can—on your blazers, over the mantel; maybe we could do it on the linen, as well …

  TOBIAS

  Do you think I should go to Claire’s room?

  AGNES (Silence: then stony, firm)

  No.

  (TOBIAS shrugs, lights his cigar)

  Either she will be down, or not.

  TOBIAS

  We do what we can?

  AGNES
/>   Of course.

  (Silence)

  So, it will not be simple paranoia. Schizophrenia, on the other hand, is far more likely—even given the unlikelihood. I believe it can be chemically induced …

  (Smiles)

  if all else should fail; if sanity, such as it is, should become too much. There are times when I think it would be so … proper, if one could take a pill—or even inject—just … remove.

  TOBIAS (Fairly dry)

  You should take drugs, my dear.

  AGNES

  Ah, but those are temporary; even addiction is a repeated temporary … stilling. I am concerned with peace … not mere relief. And I am not a compulsive—like … like some … like our dear Claire, say.

  TOBIAS

  Be kind. Please?

  AGNES

  I think I should want to have it fully … even on the chance I could not … come back. Wouldn’t that be terrible, though? To have done it, induced, if naturally looked unlikely and the hope was there?

  (Wonder in her voice)

  Not be able to come back? Why did you put my cognac in the tiny glass?

  TOBIAS (Rising, going to her)

  Oh … I’m sorry. …

  AGNES

  (Holding her glass out to him; he takes it from her)

  I’m not a sipper tonight; I’m a breather: my nose buried in the glass, all the wonder there, and very silent.

  TOBIAS

  (Getting her a new cognac)

  I thought Claire was much better tonight. I didn’t see any need for you to give her such a going-over.

  AGNES (Weary)

  Claire was not better tonight. Honestly, Tobias!

  TOBIAS

  (Clinging to his conviction)

  I thought she was.

  AGNES (Putting an end to it)

  Well, she was not.

  TOBIAS

  Still …

  AGNES

  (Taking her new drink)

  Thank you. I have decided, all things considered, that I shall not induce, that all the years we have put up with each other’s wiles and crotchets have earned us each other’s company. And I promise you as well that I shall think good thoughts—healthy ones, positive—to ward off madness, should it come by … uninvited.

  TOBIAS (Smiles)

  You mean I have no hope of Tucson?