Theater

"A Question of Taste" Libretto

MRS. SCHOFIELD
My dear, it's just a man's joke.
They are only joking. Aren't they?

SCHOFIELD
See here, Pratt, I think you've misspoke--

PRATT
You said you'd bet anything I liked.

SCHOFIELD
I meant money.

PRATT
You said "anything." You "didn't give a damn."
Do you wish to go back on your offer?

SCHOFIELD
But this is no bet. I have a daughter, and you have none. What can you possibly wager against my Louise?

PRATT
Anything you like. In fact, I have with me a bank check, already made out to Louise, as a wedding gift. Win or lose, it's hers--half a million dollars. Win or lose

LOUISE
Father, I refuse to be betted on.
I'm not for sale.

MRS. SCHOFIELD
Quite right, my dear. Stop this at once.

SCHOFIELD
Perhaps, Louise, we ought to think about this a bit.

LOUISE
I refuse to think about it at all. These aren't the dark ages. Women are free. It's Nineteen-ten!

SCHOFIELD
Wait a moment and hear what I say.

LOUISE
I don't want to hear it. I'll leave, if I may.

SCHOFIELD
Louise! Please! Mr Pratt has made a serious offer. If he loses, you're a very rich girl. And my point is, he cannot possibly win.

LOUISE
He thinks he can.

SCHOFIELD
No expert could make his way, by taste and smell alone, through every district in France, every little county, every small estate, each one surrounded by a dozen other vineyards, and all quite distinct.

Heavens, girl, I'm your father. You don't think I'd let you in for--for something you didn't want. When you win, you'll own a fortune. Enough for us all Enough, I dare say, even to marry your young Tom.

TOM
No, Louise, no. The risk is too great.
Turn them both down, before it's too late.
We'll find another way. Refuse! Refuse!

PRATT
Here's the check, my dear. It's for you to choose.

SCHOFIELD
Take it, Louise. I guarantee you can't lose.

LOUISE
You swear there's no threat?

SCHOFIELD
Nothing at all to regret.
Good! That's fine. Then it's a bet.

PRATT
Yes, yes, my friend It's a bet.

An interesting little wine.
Gentle, graceful, alluring yet chaste.
Almost feminine in the after-taste.

But first, what district in Bordeaux.
One sip, and instantly I know.
My choice would never light upon
A Graves or Saint-Emilion.
Here is the heart of a collector's stock.
There can be no doubt. This wine's a Medoc.

A delicate little wine.
Subtle, fragrant, amusing but rare.
As ambrosial as the summer air

And now, which commune in the Medoc.
The fine details interlock
No brash young sweetness here, and so
It cannot be a fine Margaux.
These mellow, wistful wines all lack
The nobler flavor of Pauillac.
This wine is soft and shy at first.
On second taste its lips are pursed,
A little willful, then warm again.
These traits are present only when
The wine you drink is Saint-Julien.

An elegant little wine.
Silken, stylish, elusive, not young.
Almost blushing when its praises are sung.

But next we come to the gourmet's art--
How to tell the vineyards apart.
To start, we must establish the "growth."
Not a first or second, I'm certain of both.
Not a great wine, but a vintage year.
I must be very careful here.
A third-growth? No. A common mistake,
The sort of guess you thought I'd make.
This wine's a fourth. We're closing in.
Beychevelle! I have it! Yes!
Chateau Talbot would be my guess.

No, no I'm wrong. It's not Talbot.
Talbot's more eager, not quite so slow.
It's Eighteen-seventy-five, I'm sure.
So it can't be Talbot. It's more obscure.

A puzzling little wine.
Fickle, cunning, reclusive yet shrewd.
Hard to classify with certitude.

If I search my memory like a map,
Details are bound to overlap.
Perhaps a mile south of Talbot,
Where the soil darkens and the poplars grow,
And the road winds past the old chateau...
Ah! I think I have it now. I've
Already said it's a seventy-five.
But I staked my claim,
My bid for fame,
On the fact that now at last
I think that I can name
This difficult little wine.
Dazzling, haughty, refusing to yield.
Never expecting its secret revealed

Why was I so long without a clue?
It's that little gem, Branaire-Ducru.

SCHOFIELD
Is that your final answer?

PRATT
Yes, I think so.

SCHOFIELD
Well, is it or isn't it?

PRATT
Yes, it is. Branaire-Ducru.
Lovely chateau. Charming view.

LOUISE
Show us the label.
Turn it around.

SCHOFIELD
Wait just a minute now.

MRS. SCHOFIELD
But dear, I don't see how--

SCHOFIELD
Not now. Not now.
Just sit tight.

LOUISE
Father, you don't mean
He guessed it right?
You can't mean he's won.

SCHOFIELD
Don't worry, my dear.
There's nothing to fear.

Let's step outside now, Pratt.
We'd better have a little chat.

PRATT
I don't want "a little chat."
The time is passed for that.
Come back to the table.
Come show us the label.
Why the delay?
Let everyone see.
In a question of taste,
Superiority
Still rests with me.
Let everyone see.

MRS. HUDSON
I believe these glasses are yours, sir.

PRATT
Are they? Perhaps. I wouldn't know.

MRS. HUDSON
Yes sir, they're yours.
They belong to you all right, sir
I found them in the study, sir.
On top of the green cabinet they were, sir,
Where Mister Schofield keeps his wine.
You must have sneaked in there, sir,
When the others went off to dine.

LOUISE
You mean--?

TOM
You mean--?

MRS. SCHOFIELD
He wouldn't--

SCHOFIELD
He didn't--

MRS. HUDSON
He did!

TOM, LOUISE, SCHOFIELD, MRS. SCHOFIELD, MRS. HUDSON
Our chance now at last.
Now no more delay.
Now our/their hearts have found their way.
No more each alone.
Why should we/they postpone
Any longer the day
We'll/They'll each of us/them own
What no one can give,
No one take away.
The time has come at last to sing
Of love within a golden ring.

In a question of taste, the loving eye
Sees more, sees best, the bold or the shy.

This wineglass tonight will bubble and sing
Of the glow it gives, the joy it will bring.
Oh, love is the glass and love is the wine.
Look, dear hearts, look at it shine!

The trouble is past that ends in laughter.
True love before, and true hereafter.

Let wineglasses all now sparkle and sing
Of what love has won, what joy it will bring.