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Someone Else

The Columbia Workshop 

Someone Else

July 20 1942



CAST:

ANNOUNCER 

BURTON SIMPSON

ELIZABETH, Simpson's wife

SHOPGIRL

1ST ANNCR

2ND ANNCR

LEFLEUR, French

AUCTIONEER

FISCHER, polite Austrian, a Peter Lorre soundalike

and VOICES, mostly women, at bridge club meeting and auction




ANNOUNCER: The Columbia Workshop presents "Someone Else" by Lucille Fletcher, with Martin Gabel.


MUSIC: PRELUDE ... THEN OUT


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) Elizabeth my dear, you asked me this morning at breakfast if there was someone else, and I knew at last that you sensed a little of what has happened to me. I wanted to answer you then, but I couldn't. Now I must tell you, darling. There is someone else. Something else, and it's been driving me half crazy now for months. It's a madness -- a nameless, terrible nostalgia of the blood. It's taken my mind from my work, from this house, from you. Yet it's not living. I still love you, and only you, more than anything in the world. I say "in the world," for this thing that has me in its power is beyond you -- and me -- beyond life itself. 


It began one rainy night, less than a year ago. It was your bridge night. You'd asked me to stay in New York and have dinner out. I ate alone, and then, since it was still early, I went for a walk down Madison Avenue. I got as far as Fifty-Sixth Street. Then it began to rain harder, and I stepped into one of the shop doorways for shelter. It was an antique shop. And she was in the window.


MUSIC: NOSTALGIC ... THEN IN BG--


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) Darling, have you ever been in a strange city, pushing your way through a crowd, and seen a face that was, for a moment, hauntingly familiar? Or have you perhaps glimpsed someone you were sure you knew -- and realized, only after that person had passed by, that it was someone who had died years and years ago? That was the feeling I had that night, when I stared in through the glass at her face. And yet she was only a little porcelain figure -– a Dresden shepherdess, no taller than my hand. It was a sad face -- a face singularly full of indefinable tragedy, and though small, the features had a distinctness, an actual expression. No one looking on that face could ever forget it. But it was the old familiarity that haunted me -- the overwhelming sense that I had seen that face somewhere long ago. 


MUSIC: OUT


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) I stood there trying to recapture the association. A long time after the rain stopped I was still thinking about it. When I came home that night to Maplewood--


SOUND: DOOR OPENS ... CHATTER OF BRIDGE CLUB LADIES, BRIEFLY ... SIMPSON'S STEPS IN ... DOOR CLOSES ... SIMPSON'S STEPS TO ELIZABETH BEHIND--


ELIZABETH: Oh! Oh, is that you, Burton dear?


SIMPSON: Yes.


ELIZABETH: Come on in; we're just having refreshments -- icebox cake and everything. I saved you a piece.


SIMPSON: Thanks just the same, darling, but I'm kind of tired. If you don't mind, I'll just go upstairs to bed. (BEAT, NARRATES) Somehow I didn't want to go into that living room and see the "girls" all sitting around the bridge tables, eating gooey slabs of icebox cake. And for the first time in my life I didn't want to see you. I wanted to be alone.


MUSIC: UNEASY ... THEN BEHIND SIMPSON--


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) All night long the feeling of recognition kept recurring like a name on the tip of my tongue. But I got nowhere with it. Well, you know how it is with a little thing like that. At noon the next day I went up to the store and took another look at her. The familiarity was even stronger. 


SOUND: SHOP DOOR WITH BELL


SHOPGIRL: Good afternoon.


SIMPSON: Good afternoon.


SHOPGIRL: May I help you?


SIMPSON: Uh, yes -- if you don't mind. It's rather curious, but you know that shepherdess you have in the window?


SHOPGIRL: The Meissen shepherdess?


SIMPSON: (YES) Mmm. The one with the basket of pink roses, and the three-cornered hat. It's funny, but I seem to have seen her before.


SHOPGIRL: We got it from Europe two weeks ago.


SIMPSON: Oh.


SHOPGIRL: It came over on a convoy from England. It's from the collection of the Earl of Haversham. 


SIMPSON: I see.


SHOPGIRL: It's a very rare piece. Would you be interested in pricing it?


SIMPSON: No, thank you. Thanks just the same. (AWKWARD BEAT) Well, thank you for your trouble.


SHOPGIRL: Oh, no, thank you.


SIMPSON: (BEAT, NARRATES) I put it out of my mind –- until one night, two weeks later.


ELIZABETH: (YAWNS) What time is it, dear?


SIMPSON: I don't know. About nine-thirty.


ELIZABETH: Oh, good. I don't want to miss it. Oh, wait till I turn on the radio.


SIMPSON: Miss what?


SOUND: CLICK! OF SWITCH


ELIZABETH: The Yummy Crackles program. Don't you remember? It's Tuesday night.


SIMPSON: Oh, yes, I don't want to miss that myself.


ELIZABETH: (CHUCKLES) It's so funny.


MUSIC: SOMBER STRINGS ... FROM RADIO ... CONTINUES IN BG


SIMPSON: (TENSE) Darling? What's that?


ELIZABETH: What, dear?


SIMPSON: That tune they're playing. I've heard it somewhere before.


ELIZABETH: Have you? It's pretty, isn't it? 


SIMPSON: Pretty?


ELIZABETH: Mmm. It must be on the Exploring Music program. That always comes before Yummy Crackles. They'll probably tell what it is in a few minutes.


MUSIC: UP, THEN BEHIND SIMPSON--


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) I'd heard it before. I'd heard this tune a hundred times before and yet I couldn't tell its name or where I'd heard it. I knew only that it was somehow connected with a palace -- a blaze of candlelight, a gold staircase carpeted with red velvet -- and windows, countless long high windows, beyond which, in the darkness, fireworks, like great roses, were bursting. But most of all, it was connected in my mind with her -- with that lovely tragic porcelain face.


MUSIC: UP AND TO A GENTLE FINISH


1ST ANNCR: (ON RADIO) You have been listening to Exploring Music, another in the weekly series of concerts that are provided by the Columbia system over this station each week at nine o'clock. This has been a presentation of the CBS Symphony. 


SIMPSON: (OVERLAPS WITH ABOVE, NARRATES) I'd heard it somewhere before -– and she had been with me. In some way, it was associated in my mind with love and grief.


1ST ANNCR: (ON RADIO) Next week on this program is Joseph Haydn's Queen Symphony and excerpts from Aristide Dubois' pastoral opera "Diana and Hercules."


SIMPSON: (TROUBLED) Aristide Dubois?


ELIZABETH: What? Vernon, what's the matter?


SIMPSON: Dubois. I know that name.


ELIZABETH: (CONCERNED) You're so pale all of a sudden. Here, sit down. I'll get you a glass of water.


SIMPSON: No, thank you, darling. Do we--? Whom do we know named Dubois?


ELIZABETH: Why, no one, dear. No one I know. It's just an eighteenth century composer's name. Why, I've heard it before on the radio.


SIMPSON: It isn't that. I know a man named Dubois. He's huge - ugly - has a wart on his lower lip. Little - little pig-like eyes. He has two daughters. Extremely conceited with a violent temper. It's-- (EXHALES) Gosh, I don't know what's the matter with me. 


ELIZABETH: You're tired out, dear. You're just tired out after the end of a long hard day. Now you lie down for a while.


MUSIC: DURING ABOVE, DRUM ROLL ON THE RADIO ... THEN LOUD CHEERFUL THEME OF THE YUMMY CRACKLES PROGRAM ... IN BG


ELIZABETH: (PLEASED) Oh, here's Yummy Crackles now!


2ND ANNCR: (ON RADIO) Presenting Yummy Crackles!


SIMPSON: (UPSET) Turn it off, Elizabeth, please!


ELIZABETH: But, darling, I thought you said--


SIMPSON: Turn it off! Do you hear me?! Can't a man even think for a minute without having to listen to that loud--?!


MUSIC: OUT WITH--


SOUND: CLICK! OF SWITCH


ELIZABETH: (ANNOYED) There. I thought you said the program was funny. I thought you said you liked it.


SOUND: ELIZABETH'S BRISK STEPS AWAY ... DOOR CLOSES AS SHE EXITS


MUSIC: BEHIND SIMPSON--


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) I sat there with my head in my hands. Your words, Elizabeth, had had no effect on me. I sat there and it was just as if I wasn't sitting in the parlor at all, but somewhere else –- out in the night on a stone balustrade perhaps or at the edge of some enormous pond. I was sitting there waiting, for something to happen to me, for someone to come. I was waiting for her. The next day I went back to that antique shop -– as a man might go to a rendezvous.


SHOPGIRL: Mr. LeFleur? 


LEFLEUR: Yes?


SHOPGIRL: There's a gentleman waiting to see you.


LEFLEUR: Oh, yes. Good afternoon, Monsieur.


SIMPSON: Good afternoon.


LEFLEUR: Is there anything I can do for you?


SIMPSON: Yes. That shepherdess in the window. I want to inquire about it. I want to know everything there is to know.


LEFLEUR: You wish to purchase her, Monsieur? 


SIMPSON: No, I hadn't thought about that, but I just--


LEFLEUR: Because if you are interested, Monsieur, I warn you, you must make up your mind quickly. There happens to be another gentleman very, very interested in that shepherdess.


SIMPSON: Another gentleman?


LEFLEUR: Yes, you have heard of Monsieur Fischer? Ludwig Fischer? He is the greatest collector of Meissen in the world, Monsieur. And only this morning he was in here personally to examine that shepherdess. Why, at any moment--


SIMPSON: You mean it's, uh-- It's valuable?


LEFLEUR: Valuable? Monsieur, that little figure is one of the rarest pieces of Meissen china in existence. It was made by the great Meissen artist Kändler, himself.


SIMPSON: Kändler, who's he? I never heard of him.


LEFLEUR: A very, very great artist, Monsieur. He was the leading sculptor of all Meissen porcelain from 1731 to 1775. This little piece was made sometime around 1775. You collect Meissen porcelain, no?


SIMPSON: Um, no. As a matter of fact, I've never even heard of it before.


LEFLEUR: Oh, Monsieur, what a pity.


SIMPSON: I was just passing by this store the other night and her face-- Well, it looked just like someone I knew. But I don't suppose if it's that old it could look like anybody I've ever known.


LEFLEUR: No? Who knows, Monsieur? Perhaps a painting of the period you have seen and forgotten, or a well-known lady of the eighteenth century. The Meissen artists sometimes used leading models. But let us take her from the window and examine her.


SIMPSON: No, really, thank you very much.


LEFLEUR: Oh, it's quite all right. Here she is. 


SIMPSON: (EXHALES WITH QUIET PLEASURE)


LEFLEUR: Faces are strange things, are they not? Resemblances. What makes resemblances? A nose, an eye, a mole on the chin?


SIMPSON: May I take her please?


SOUND: BEAT ... THEN PHONE RINGS ... RECEIVER UP


SHOPGIRL: (SLIGHTLY OFF, INTO PHONE) LeFleur's Antique Shop. --- Oh, yes. One moment please. (TO LEFLEUR) It's Mr. Fischer, Mr. LeFleur. He wants to speak to you about that shepherdess.


LEFLEUR: Ah, yes. If you will excuse me--


SIMPSON: (SHARPLY) Just a moment. Before you go, Mr. LeFleur, how much is she?


LEFLEUR: I will be with you in a minute, Monsieur. Mr. Fischer--


SIMPSON: (DECISIVELY) Tell him he can't have her! I want her!


LEFLEUR: (TAKEN ABACK) She - she is three hundred fifty dollars, Monsieur.


SIMPSON: (STUNNED) Three hundred fifty dollars? Three--? (BEAT, NARRATES) That would have bought you a fur coat, Elizabeth; paid two years of taxes on our house in Maplewood; given us a vacation trip to South America. Three hundred and fifty dollars was almost four weeks' salary. But I was like a man in a dream. The thing in my hand wasn't porcelain. It was something alive, something terribly close and precious to me. I couldn't give it up, ever –- to anybody.


LEFLEUR: Mr. Fischer is waiting for me, Monsieur. Now, what shall I tell him?


SIMPSON: Tell him and his collection to go to the devil. This shepherdess is mine!


MUSIC: TENSE ... THEN BEHIND SIMPSON--


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) I took a walk that afternoon through Central Park. I was excited in a curious, half-defined way. And now that I had her in my pocket -- this precious, sad beautiful thing -– everything about me seemed sordid and ugly.


MUSIC: OUT


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) I came home at last, but I had no sooner come there than I wanted to run away again. Our little house looked so bare, and cold, and dreary. I'd planned to show you the shepherdess, to break down and tell you. But, darling, when you came to the door -- forgive me -– you seemed suddenly like a stranger. Elizabeth, it was a malady. It was something I couldn't resist. You must understand that. You've known me for ten years. Have I ever been a nervous man? A jittery man? And yet from that day forward, all sorts of little things began to drive me crazy.


SOUND: PHONE RINGS LOUDLY ... THEN BEHIND--


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) There was the telephone, for example. I jumped every time it rang as though it were something new and unfamiliar.


SOUND: NOISY CITY TRAFFIC, CAR HORNS HONKING ... THEN BEHIND--


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) There were the auto horns. Suddenly they seemed twice as loud and terrifying.


SOUND: LOUD AIRPLANE ENGINE ... THEN BEHIND--


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) There was the incessant, irritating drone of airplanes in the sky.


SOUND: LOUD RUMBLE OF SUBWAY TRAIN ... THEN BEHIND--


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) Dusty clatter of subways. 


SOUND: MORE CITY TRAFFIC, HORNS HONKING ... THEN FADES OUT


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) Everything in the world seemed to be growing harsher and more jarring. I was happy only when I was alone -- in very quiet places, in very old places, like the still stone rooms of the Metropolitan Museum, or the graveyard of St. Paul's.


SOUND: QUIET SOLEMN CHURCH BELLS ... THEN AN EERIE ELEGANT EIGHTEENTH CENTURY PIECE FOR STRINGS AND HARPSICHORD BEHIND SIMPSON--


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) I was happy only with old things: with clocks all grimy with dust, with pewter candlesticks, with furniture from which the gilt and paint had long since fallen away. I began to buy these things, secretly. To lay them away where she was hidden, under a pile of old clothes in the front part of our attic. I began to read books that brought me nearer these things, books on the eighteenth century. I haunted antique stores, auctions, old houses. And last night, Elizabeth, at an auction, I discovered for sure how deep my malady really lay.


AUCTIONEER: And now we come to Item Number Thirty-Five, a handsome so-called Lowestoft plate of the eighteenth century, slightly cracked, with a design of blue and yellow flowers. (CONTINUES QUIETLY AND ALMOST INDECIPHERABLY IN BG, ELEGANTLY CONDUCTING THE AUCTION, "DO I HEAR TEN DOLLARS?", ET CETERA, AS VOICES OF MEN AND WOMEN POLITELY CALL OUT VARIOUS BIDS) 


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) I had dropped in at the Parke-Bernet Galleries. They were holding an auction that night of eighteenth century china. I had been standing at the back of the room for about an hour when somebody tapped me on the shoulder.


FISCHER: Uh, good evening.


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) I turned around. Before me stood an old man with thin, rather long white hair and nose glasses. I'd never seen him before.


FISCHER: My name is Fischer. Ludwig Fischer. We have met before, no?


SIMPSON: I'm sorry, I don't quite recall. My name's Simpson; Burton Simpson.


FISCHER: Mr. Simpson? Are you not the gentleman who purchased the little Meissen shepherdess in LeFleur's Antique Shop six months ago? 


SIMPSON: Why, yes, I am.


FISCHER: Ahhh, then pray permit me to introduce myself once more, Mr. Simpson. I am Ludwig Fischer, your rival for that charming piece. I, too, collect Meissen and I, too, wished to buy her.


SIMPSON: Well, I'm glad to meet you.


FISCHER: And I you. I have always had a great, a very great curiosity to meet the gentleman who purchased that delightful and most curious little work of art.


SIMPSON: Curious?


FISCHER: But shall we go outside, Mr. Simpson? It is very warm in here and not good for speaking. Or do you wish to bid on that foolish Spode?


SIMPSON: Uh-- No, I wasn't bidding.


FISCHER: Good. I perceive you have good taste in more ways than one.


SOUND: DOOR OPENS ... THEN, AFTER A MOMENT, CLOSES, CUTTING OFF THE AUCTIONEER AND THE OTHER VOICES


FISCHER: You, er, collect Meissen, Mr. Simpson?


SIMPSON: No, not exactly. Just that one piece.


FISCHER: Uh huh.


SIMPSON: Rather curious, your knowing that I bought that shepherdess -- even remembering my name so many months afterward.


FISCHER: No, not at all. Mr. LeFleur told me your name. And the little shepherdess which you purchased is one of the rarest things of its kind in existence. I am attached to it for many reasons. That is why, naturally, I would be interested to know who snatched her away from me. 


SIMPSON: Snatched her?


SOUND: OUTER DOOR OPENS ... CITY TRAFFIC BACKGROUND 


FISCHER: Oh, please, sir. Do not misinterpret me, Mr. Simpson. I feel no resentment toward you. To the victor belong the spoils.


SOUND: OUTER DOOR CLOSES 


FISCHER: But that little shepherdess is one of the most famous figurines ever made. 


SIMPSON: Ah.


FISCHER: Excuse me, are you walking my way, Mr. Simpson?


SIMPSON: I - I don't know. I haven't anything to do this evening.


FISCHER: I live on Fifty-Eighth Street, near the river. If you care to, I have histories, a great detail of interesting information at home. 


SIMPSON: I'll walk you over.


FISCHER: Excellent.


MUSIC: EERIE ... BEHIND SIMPSON--


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) I had the feeling -- even as we started down Fifty-Seventh Street, with its lighted shops, its hurrying people -- I had the feeling that I was on the brink of something sinister -- and frightening. It was raining, a thin drizzle. The same kind of rain that had fallen on that night when I'd first seen her.


SOUND: DURING ABOVE, CITY TRAFFIC IS JOINED BY FALLING RAIN ... WHICH CONTINUES IN BG


FISCHER: You say, then, Mr. Simpson, you know nothing -- absolutely nothing -- about the marvelous little work of art which you have purchased? 


SIMPSON: Nothing except what Mr. LeFleur told me.


FISCHER: And, er, what was that?


SIMPSON: That she was made by -- Kändler, I think it was, sometime around Seventeen Seventy-Five. 


FISCHER: (GENTLY DISMISSIVE) Oh, poof. She was made by Kändler, that is right, but-- He told you nothing more?


SIMPSON: No.


FISCHER: That shows you how much these art dealers know. She was the last thing ever to be made by Kändler, the great Meissen artist, before he died. 


SIMPSON: Oh, I see.


FISCHER: (WITH FEELING) She was to have been his - his masterpiece, his - his swan song to the world. I say was to have been. That is the rather tragic thing about your shepherdess, Mr. Simpson. The art piece of which she was to have been a part was never carried through. The dream of the artist was never finished. 


SIMPSON: I don't quite understand you.


FISCHER: No, no, you would not, perhaps, unless you knew the story. Have you never heard of Aristide Dubois? 


SIMPSON: Dubois? Oh, Dubois. Yes, I have. He's a composer, plays the harpsichord and has two daughters.


FISCHER: He was an obscure composer of the eighteenth century and he had two daughters, that is right. You have heard, perhaps, of the younger one -- Antoinette?


SIMPSON: Antoinette?


FISCHER: She was named for the queen of France and, according to eighteenth century history, she was three times as beautiful. Ah, you do not know her story. In its own way it is a very famous one. But then if you are not a historian--


SIMPSON: Please, please, go on.


SOUND: RIVERFRONT BACKGROUND FADES IN ... OCCASIONAL FOG HORN, ET CETERA


FISCHER: Well, she fell in love when she was eighteen -- with a flute player in her father's orchestra. Her father, who had bigger hopes for her, forbade the marriage and sent her off to a convent. She escaped and by various means arrived back at the palace disguised as a shepherdess-- Oh, but, uh, here we are.


SIMPSON: Hm? Where?


FISCHER: At my house. Come in, won't you, Mr. Simpson?


SOUND: BACKGROUND FADES OUT BEHIND--


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) We'd arrived at an old brownstone house, set in the middle of a quiet street, near the fog-hung river. It was dark. I didn't want to go in -- for some reason I didn't want to hear any more of his story. Yet something impelled me to follow him. We went up the steep stone stairs into a pitch-black hallway. He lit a match.


FISCHER: You will observe, Mr. Simpson, that my whole house is lit with candles. It shows off my collection much better.


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) One by one, in that ghostly silent hallway, he lit candle after candle until the whole place was ablaze with light. Then he went into an enormous front parlor. There were candles there, too, and he lit them, and I saw that the room was full of glass cases -- great tall cabinets in which stood porcelain figurines of every size, shape, and design.


SOUND: DURING ABOVE, FADE IN A SLOW-TICKING CLOCK ... THEN IN BG


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) In one corner an old clock ticked. The room was musty, overpowering with its countless little toys. And yet, darling, horribly - horribly familiar.


FISCHER: Sit down, won't you? Some coffee?


SIMPSON: No, thank you. You were saying--?


FISCHER: Oh, yes, yes, I was saying, er-- About Dubois' younger daughter, Antoinette. She escaped from the convent and returned to the palace disguised as a shepherdess.


MUSIC: GENTLY SPOOKY ... SNEAKS IN BEHIND FISCHER--


FISCHER: A fancy dress ball was being given. Her lover was playing the flute solo in a piece of her father's. It was a great moment for the composer, a triumph before all the court. But the flute player recognized his sweetheart. He stopped short in the middle of his solo. He stared, he hesitated, he could not go on. And in that moment, with all the court looking on, the father knew. He turned, saw his daughter -- saw double disgrace staring him in the face –- and in a mad rage, for he was a violent man and an egotist, he rushed upon the player and struck him through the heart with a ceremonial sword. The daughter, she-- (BREAKS OFF)


MUSIC: OUT ABRUPTLY AS FISCHER BREAKS OFF


FISCHER: (CONCERNED) But, Mr. Simpson, you are-- You're looking so pale. Shall I open the window?


SIMPSON: No, no -- it's all right, please go on. You were saying--?


FISCHER: Well, that's all there is to the story, and quite a famous little bit of eighteenth century scandal it is. But the real point is that Kändler took it as a theme for his - his swan song, his final work of art.


SIMPSON: Yes.


FISCHER: (WITH FEELING) It was the last thing he planned before he died, and - and a charming conceit it was, too. There were to be the two lovers executed in porcelain, one to stand on either side of a fireplace. Antoinette was to be dressed as a shepherdess, and the flute player as a shepherd playing the flute.


SIMPSON: Yes.


FISCHER: But only the little shepherdess -- the figure that you purchased, Mr. Simpson -- was ever finished. 


SIMPSON: Ah.


FISCHER: He sketched the two figures in his sketchbook, and in a moment I will show you the old drawings of them he made. But he died before he could create the shepherd. Sad, isn't it?


SIMPSON: Sad.


FISCHER: You know, even in porcelain, those two poor young lovers were never united.


SIMPSON: No.


FISCHER: Only in this little pencil sketch which Kändler made, only in this were they ever together.


SOUND: DURING ABOVE, DRAWER OPENS ... PAPER RUSTLES


FISCHER: Would you like to see the drawing, Mr. Simpson?


SIMPSON: Please.


FISCHER: (HANDS OVER DRAWING) Uh, the drawing, Mr. Simpson.


SIMPSON: (BEAT) Ah.


FISCHER: Charming, are they not? Is not the drawing like your little shepherdess? Perfect. Perfect in - in every way.


SIMPSON: Yes.


FISCHER: And, er, have you noticed something else, Mr. Simpson? (AMUSED) It has just struck me. It is quite amusing how - how very much the little shepherd's face -- resembles yours. You remember how I was sure I knew you at the auction tonight? Well-- Oh, but where are you going, Mr. Simpson?


SIMPSON: If you don't mind, I'd like to open the window.


FISCHER: Oh, but certainly; it really is quite stuffy in here. And then we must have some coffee.


SOUND: TICKING CLOCK OUT WITH--


MUSIC: NOSTALGIC ... BEHIND SIMPSON--


SIMPSON: (NARRATES) Elizabeth, I don't know what it means. I can't explain it. I know only that there's dust upon it, and corruption and terrible sadness. I walked last night, up and down Fifty-Seventh Street. Up and down. Trying to fight it, trying to disbelieve the memories. But they crowded in on me -- the voices, the faces, the very rustle of silks and the smell of tallow, and sedan chairs and theaters. They crowded in, above the honking of the taxis, the rumble of subways. I saw her world last night –- completely. I felt the pull of her upon me more powerfully than anything I've ever known. But I don't want to go back. If I go back, what will it be to? What? That's what I keep asking myself: where will it be? 


Do you think this drivel, Elizabeth? Do you think I need a doctor? Or can you find it in your heart to understand, to forgive me? I need you, darling, believe me, now more than I've ever needed you before. I don't understand what's happened, but as surely as I know everything I've said is true, I have a feeling we can conquer it. So, darling, do for me what I have not the courage or the heart to do. Go up there quickly! She's in the front part of the attic under a pile of old clothes. Destroy her –- in any way you wish, but destroy her -– so that not a fragment of her remains. I warn you that she's beautiful, that she's the rarest bit of Meissen in the world. But until she is destroyed forever, the man you call your husband is only dust in the shadow of a love two hundred years old.


MUSIC: UP, FOR CURTAIN


ANNOUNCER: You have been listening to the Columbia Workshop production of "Someone Else" by Lucille Fletcher. The part of Simpson was played by Martin Gabel. He was assisted by Helen Claire, Margot Stevenson, Stefan Schnabel, Julian Noa, and Carl Emory. The music was composed by the eighteenth century court musician André Campra and conducted by Bernard Herrmann. The entire production was directed by Earle McGill. This is the Columbia Broadcasting System.


MUSIC: NOSTALGIC ... FOR A CLOSE


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