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In April We Wear Red Autism Acceptance Shirt, hoodie, tank top
Time.—End of the nineteenth century.
Place.—A large German fashionable bathing resort.
Scene.—Rita’s boudoir. Small room elegantly furnished in Louis XVI. Style. In the background, a broad open door, with draperies, which leads into an antechamber. To the right, a piano, in front of which stands a large, comfortable stool.
Rita (enters the antechamber attired in an elaborate ball toilette. She wears a gray silk cloak, a lace fichu, and a parasol. Gaily tripping toward the front, she sings): “Les envoyées du paradis sont les mascottes, mes amis….” (She lays the parasol on the table and takes off her long white gloves, all the while singing the melody. She interrupts herself and calls aloud) Bertha! Bertha! (Sings) O Bertholina, O Bertholina! In April We Wear Red Autism Acceptance Shirt, hoodie, tank top
Bertha (walks through the middle): My lady, your pleasure?
(Rita has taken off her cloak and stands in front of the mirror. She is still humming the melody absentmindedly).
(Bertha takes off Rita’s wraps.)
Rita (turns around merrily): Tell me, Bertha, why does not the electric bell ring? I must always sing first, must always squander all my flute notes first ere I can entice you to come. What do you suppose that costs? With that I can immediately arrange another charity matinée. Terrible thing, isn’t it?
Bertha: Yes. The man has not yet repaired it.
Rita: O, Bertholina, why has the man not yet repaired it?
Bertha: Yes. The man intended to come early in the morning.
Rita: The man has often wanted to do so. He does not seem to possess a strong character. (She points to her cloak) Dust it well before placing it in the wardrobe. The dust is simply terrible in this place … And this they call a fresh-air resort. Has anybody called?
Bertha: Yes, my lady, the Count. He has——
Rita: Well, yes; I mean anyone else?
Bertha: No. No one.
Rita: Hm! Let me have my dressing gown.
(Bertha goes to the sleeping chamber to the left.)
Rita (steps in front of the mirror, singing softly): “Les envoyées du paradis….” (Suddenly raising her voice, she asks Bertha) How long did he wait?
Bertha: What?
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