Comedy of Marriage and Other Tales
by Guy de Maupassant · English · Gutenberg #9161 · 346,548 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Comedy of Marriage and Other Tales
Author: Guy de Maupassant
Release date: October 1, 2005 [eBook #9161]
Most recently updated: February 23, 2018
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COMEDY OF MARRIAGE AND OTHER TALES ***
Produced by Tiffany Vergon, Sandra Brown and Distributed Proofreaders
A COMEDY OF MARRIAGE
MUSOTTE
THE LANCER'S WIFE
AND OTHER TALES
By Guy De Maupassant
TABLE OF CONTENTS
LA PAIX DU MÉNAGE
MUSOTTE
ADDENDA
THE LANCER'S WIFE
HAUTOT SENIOR AND HAUTOT JUNIOR
NO QUARTER
THE ORPHAN
A LIVELY FRIEND
THE BLIND MAN
THE IMPOLITE SEX
THE CAKE
CORSICAN BANDIT
THE DUEL
LA PAIX DU MÉNAGE
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
MONSIEUR DE SALLUS
JACQUES DE RANDOL
MADAME DE SALLUS
Time: Paris, 1890
ACT I.
SCENE I.
Mme. de Sallus _in her drawing-room, seated in a corner by the
fireplace. Enter_ Jacques de RANDOL _noiselessly; glances to see that no
one is looking, and kisses_ Mme. de Sallus _quickly upon her hair. She
starts; utters a faint cry, and turns upon him._
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh! How imprudent you are!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Don't be afraid; no one saw me.
MME. DE SALLUS
But the servants!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, they are in the outer hall.
MME. DE SALLUS
How is that? No one announced you
JACQUES DE RANDOL
No, they simply opened the door for me.
MME. DE SALLUS
But what will _they_ think?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Well, they will doubtless think that _I_ don't count.
MME. DE SALLUS
But I will not permit it. I must have you announced in future. It does
not look well.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_laughs_]
Perhaps they will even go so far as to announce your husband--
MME. DE SALLUS
Jacques, this jesting is out of place.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Forgive me. [_Sits_.] Are you waiting for anybody?
MME. DE SALLUS
Yes--probably. You know that I always receive when I am at home.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I know that I always have the pleasure of seeing you for about five
minutes--just enough time to ask you how you feel, and then some one
else comes in--some one in love with you, of course,--who impatiently
awaits my departure.
MME. DE SALLUS [_smiles_]
Well, what can I do? I am not your wife, so how can it be otherwise?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Ah! If you only were my wife!
MME. DE SALLUS
If I were your wife?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I would snatch you away for five or six months, far from this horrible
town, and keep you all to myself.
MME. DE SALLUS
You would soon have enough of me.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
No, no!
MME. DE SALLUS
Yes, yes!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Do you know that it is absolute torture to love a woman like you?
MME. DE SALLUS [_bridles_]
And why?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Because I covet you as the starving covet the food they see behind the
glassy barriers of a restaurant.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh, Jacques!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I tell you it is true! A woman of the world belongs to the world; that
is to say, to everyone except the man to whom she gives herself. He can
see her with open doors for a quarter of an hour every three days--not
oftener, because of servants. In exceptional cases, with a thousand
precautions, with a thousand fears, with a thousand subterfuges, she
visits him once or twice a month, perhaps, in a furnished room. Then she
has just a quarter of an hour to give him, because she has just left
Madame X in order to visit Madame Z, where she has told her coachman to
take her. If he complains, she will not come again, because it is
impossible for her to get rid of her coachman. So, you see, the
coachman, and the footman, and Madame Z, and Madame X, and all the
others, who visit her house as they would a museum,--a museum that never
closes,--all the he's and all the she's who eat up her leisure minute by
minute and second by second, to whom she owes her time as an employee
owes his time to the State, simply because she belongs to the world--all
these persons are like the transparent and impassable glass: they keep
you from my love.
MME. DE SALLUS [_dryly_]
You seem upset to-day.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
No, no, but I hunger to be alone with you. You are mine, are you not?
Or, I should say, I am yours. Isn't it true? I spend my life in looking
for opportunities to meet you. Our love is made up of chance meetings,
of casual bows, of stolen looks, of slight touches--nothing more. We
meet on the avenue in the morning--a bow; we meet at your house, or at
that of some other acquaintance--twenty words; we dine somewhere at the
same table, too far from each other to talk, and I dare not even look at
you because of hostile eyes. Is that love? We are simply acquaintances.
MME. DE SALLUS
Then you would like to carry me off?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Unhappily, I cannot.
MME. DE SALLUS
Then what?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I do not know. I only know this life is wearing me out.
MME. DE SALLUS
It is just because there are so many obstacles in the way of your love
that it does not fade.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh! Madeline, can you say that?
MME. DE SALLUS [_softening_]
Believe me, dear, if your love has to endure these hardships, it is
because it is not lawful love.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Well, I never met a woman as positive as you. Then you think that if
chance made me your husband, I should cease to love you?
MME. DE SALLUS
Not all at once, perhaps, but--eventually.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
What you say is revolting to me.
MME. DE SALLUS
Nevertheless, it is quite true. You know that when a confectioner hires
a greedy saleswoman he says to her, “Eat all the sweets you wish, my
dear.” She stuffs herself for eight days, and then she is satisfied for
the rest of her life.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Ah! Indeed! But why do you include me in that class?
MME. DE SALLUS
Really, I do not know--perhaps as a joke!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Please do not mock me.
MME. DE SALLUS
I say to myself, here is a man who is very much in love with me. So far
as I am concerned, I am perfectly free, morally, since for two years
past I have altogether ceased to please my husband. Now, since this man
loves me, why should I not love him?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
You are philosophic--and cruel.
MME. DE SALLUS
On the contrary, I have _not_ been cruel. Of what do you complain?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Stop! you anger me with this continual raillery. Ever since I began to
love you, you have tortured me in this manner, and now I do not even
know whether you have the slightest affection for me.
MME. DE SALLUS
Well, you must admit that I have always been--good-natured.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, you have played a queer little game! From the day I first met you I
felt that you were coquetting with me, coquetting mysteriously,
obscurely, coquetting as only you can without showing it to others.
Little by little you conquered me with looks, with smiles, with
pressures of the hand, without compromising yourself, without pledging
yourself, without revealing yourself. You have been horribly
upright--and seductive. I have loved you with all my soul, yes,
sincerely and loyally, and to-day I do not know what feeling you have in
the depths of your heart, what thoughts you have hidden in your brain;
in fact, I know-I know nothing. I look at you, and I see a woman who
seems to have chosen me, and seems also to have forgotten that she _has_
chosen me. Does she love me, or is she tired of me? Has she simply made
an experiment--taken a lover in order to see, to know, to
taste,--without desire, hunger, or thirst? There are days when I ask
myself if among those who love you and who tell you so unceasingly there
is not one whom you really love.
MME. DE SALLUS
Good heavens! Really, there are _some_ things into which it is not
necessary to inquire.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, how hard you are! Your tone tells me that you do not love me.
MME. DE SALLUS
Now, what _are_ you complaining about? Of things I do not
say?--because--I do not think you have anything else to reproach me
with.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Forgive me, I am jealous.
MME. DE SALLUS
Of whom?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I do not know. I am jealous of everything that I do not know about you.
MME. DE SALLUS
Yes, and without my knowing anything about these things, too.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Forgive me, I love you too much--so much that everything disturbs me.
MME. DE SALLUS
Everything?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Yes, everything.
MME. DE SALLUS
Are you jealous of my husband?
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_amazed_]
What an idea!
MME. DE SALLUS [_dryly_]
Well, you are wrong.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Always this raillery!
MME. DE SALLUS No, I want to speak to you seriously about him, and to
ask your advice.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
About your husband?
MME. DE SALLUS [_seriously_]
Yes, I am not laughing, or rather I do not laugh any more. [_In lighter
tone_.] Then you are not jealous of my husband? And yet you know he is
the only man who has authority over me.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
It is just because he has authority that I am not jealous. A woman's
heart gives nothing to the man who has authority.
MME. DE SALLUS
My dear, a husband's right is a positive thing; it is a title-deed that
he can lock up--just as my husband has for more than two years--but it
is also one that he can use at any given moment, as lately he has seemed
inclined to do.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_astonished_]
You tell me that your husband--
MME. DE SALLUS
Yes.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Impossible!
MME. DE SALLUS [_bridles_]
And why impossible?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Because your husband has--has--other occupations.
MME. DE SALLUS
Well, it pleases him to vary them, it seems.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Jesting apart, Madeline, what has happened?
MME. DE SALLUS
Ah! Ah! Then you _are_ becoming jealous of him.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Madeline, I implore you; tell me, are you mocking me, or are you
speaking seriously?
MME. DE SALLUS
I am speaking seriously, indeed, very seriously.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Then what has happened?
MME. DE SALLUS
Well, you know my position, although I have never told you all my past
life. It is all very simple and very brief. At the age of nineteen I
married the Count de Sallus, who fell in love with me after he had seen
me at the Opéra-Comique. He already knew my father's lawyer. He was very
nice to me in those early days; yes, very nice, and I really believed he
loved me. As for myself, I was very circumspect in my behavior toward
him, very circumspect indeed, so that he could never cast a shadow of
reproach on my name.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Well, did you love him?
MME. DE SALLUS
Good gracious! Why ask such questions?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Then you did love him?
MME. DE SALLUS
Yes and no. If I loved him, it was the love of a little fool; but I
certainly never told him, for positively I do not know how to show love.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I can vouch for that!
MME. DE SALLUS
Well, it is possible that I cared for him sometimes, idiotically, like a
timid, restless, trembling, awkward, little girl, always in fear of that
disturbing thing--the love of a man--that disturbing thing that is
sometimes so sweet! As for him,--you know him. He was a sweetheart, a
society sweetheart, who are always the worst of all. Such men really
have a lasting affection only for those girls who are fitting companions
for clubmen--girls who have a habit of telling doubtful stories and
bestowing depraved kisses. It seems to me that to attract and to hold
such people, the nude and obscene are necessary both in word and in
body--unless--unless--it is true that men are incapable of loving any
woman for a length of time.
However, I soon became aware that he was indifferent to me, for he used
to kiss me as a matter of course and look at me without realizing my
presence; and in his manners, in his actions, in his conversation, he
showed that I attracted him no longer. As soon as he came into the room
he would throw himself upon the sofa, take up the newspaper, read it,
shrug his shoulders, and when he read anything he did not agree with, he
would express his annoyance audibly. Finally, one day, he yawned and
stretched his arms in my face. On that day I understood that I was no
longer loved. Keenly mortified I certainly was. But it hurt me so much
that I did not realize it was necessary to coquet with him in order to
retain his affection. I soon learned that he had a mistress, a woman of
the world. Since then we have lived separate lives--after a very stormy
explanation.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
What do you mean? What sort of explanation?
MME. DE SALLUS
Well--
JACQUES DE RANDOL
About--his mistress?
MME. DE SALLUS
Yes and no. I find it difficult to express myself. To avoid my
suspicions he found himself obliged, doubtless, to dissimulate from time
to time, although rarely, and to feign a certain affection for his
legitimate wife, the woman who had the right to his affection. I told
him that he might abstain in future from such a mockery of love.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
How did you tell him that?
MME. DE SALLUS
I don't remember.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
It must have been amusing.
MME. DE SALLUS
No, he appeared very much surprised at first. Then I formulated a nice
little speech and learned it by heart, in which I asked him to carry
such intermittent fancies elsewhere. He understood me, saluted me very
courteously, and--did as I asked him.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Did he never come back?
MME. DE SALLUS
Never, until--
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_interrupts_]
Has he never again tried to tell you of his love?
MME. DE SALLUS
No, never, until--
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_interrupts_]
Have you regretted it?
MME. DE SALLUS
That is of small importance. What is of importance, though, is that he
has had innumerable mistresses whom he entertains, whom he supports,
whom he takes out. It is this that has irritated and humiliated me--in
fact, cut me to the quick. But then I took heart of grace, and too late,
two years too late, I took a lover--you!
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_kisses her hand_]
And I, Madeline, I love you with my whole soul.
MME. DE SALLUS
Well, all this is not at all proper.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
What do you mean by “all this”?
MME. DE SALLUS
Life in general--my husband--his mistresses--myself--and you.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Your words--prove beyond a doubt that you do not love me.
MME. DE SALLUS
Why?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
You dare to say of love that it is not proper? If you loved me, it might
be divine, but a loving woman would abhor a phrase which should contain
such an idea. What! True love not proper?
MME. DE SALLUS
Possibly. It all depends upon the point of view. For myself, I see too
much.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
What do you see?
MME. DE SALLUS
I see too well, too far, too clearly.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
You do not love me?
MME. DE SALLUS
If I did not love you--a little--I should have had no excuse for giving
myself to you.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
A little--just sufficient to warrant that excuse!
MME. DE SALLUS
But I do not excuse myself: I accuse myself.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Then you did love me a little--and then--now--you love me no more!
MME. DE SALLUS
Do not let us argue.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
You do nothing else.
MME. DE SALLUS
No, I only judge the present by the past; the only just ideas and sane
notions of life one can form are those concerning that which is past.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
And do you regret--
MME. DE SALLUS
Perhaps!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
And what about to-morrow?
MME. DE SALLUS
I do not know.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Is it nothing to you to have one who is yours, body and soul? MME. DE
SALLUS [_shrugs her shoulders_]
Yes, mine to-day.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_vehemently_]
And to-morrow!
MME. DE SALLUS [_shrugs her shoulders again_]
Yes, the to-morrow that follows to-night, but not the to-morrow of a
year hence.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_emphatically_]
You shall see. But how about your husband?
MME. DE SALLUS
Does he annoy you?
JACQUES DE RANDOL By heaven--
MME. DE SALLUS
Hush! [_Archly._] My husband has fallen in love with me again.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Is it possible?
MME. DE SALLUS [_indignantly_]
What do you mean by such an insolent question, and why should it not be
possible?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
A man falls in love with his wife before he marries her, but after
marriage he never commits the same mistake.
MME. DE SALLUS
But perhaps he has never really been in love with me until now.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
It is absolutely impossible that he could have lived with you--even in
his curt, cavalier fashion--without loving you.
MME. DE SALLUS [_indifferently_]
It is of little importance. He has either loved me in the past, or is
now beginning to love me.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Truly, I do not understand you. Tell me all about it.
MME. DE SALLUS
But I have nothing to tell. He declares his love for me, takes me in his
arms, and threatens me with his conjugal rights. This upsets me,
torments me, and annoys me.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Madeline you torture me.
MME. DE SALLUS [_quickly_]
And what about me? Do you think that I do not suffer? I know that I am
not exactly a faithful woman since I received your addresses, but I
have, and shall retain, a single heart. It is either you _or_ he. It
will never be you _and_ he. For me that would be infamy--the greatest
infamy of a guilty woman, the sharing of her heart--a thing that debases
her. One may fall, perhaps, because there are ditches along the wayside
and it is not always easy to follow the right path. But if one falls,
that is no reason to throw oneself in the abyss.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_takes her in his arms and kisses her_]
I simply adore you!
MME. DE SALLUS [_melts_]
And I, too, love you dearly, Jacques, and that is the reason why I fear.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
But, tell me, Madeline how long has it been since your husband reformed?
MME. DE SALLUS
Possibly fifteen days or three weeks.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Without relapse?
MME. DE SALLUS
Without relapse.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I will explain the mystery. The fact of the matter is this, your husband
has simply become a widower.
MME. DE SALLUS
What do you say?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I mean that your husband is unattached just now, and seeks to spend his
leisure time with his wife.
MME. DE SALLUS
But I tell you that he is in love with me.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Yes--yes--and no. He is in love with you--and also with another. Tell
me, his temper is usually bad, isn't it?
MME. DE SALLUS
Execrable!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Well, then, here is a man in love with you who shows his wonderful
return of tenderness by moods that are simply unsupportable--for they
are unsupportable, aren't they?
MME. DE SALLUS
Absolutely.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
If he wooed you with tenderness you would not feel fear. You would say
to yourself, “My turn has come at last,” and then he would inspire you
with a little pity for him, for a woman has always a sneaking sort of
compassion for the man who loves her, even though that man be her
husband.
MME. DE SALLUS
Perhaps that is true.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Is he nervous, preoccupied?
MME. DE SALLUS
Yes.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
And he is abrupt with you, not to say brutal? He demands his right
without even praying for it?
MME. DE SALLUS
True.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
My darling, for the moment you are simply a substitute.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh! no, no!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
My dearest girl, your husband's latest mistress was Madame de Bardane,
whom he left very abruptly about two months ago to run after the
Santelli.
MME. DE SALLUS
What, the singer?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Yes, a capricious, saucy, cunning, venal little woman. A woman not at
all uncommon upon the stage, or in the world either, for that matter.
MME. DE SALLUS
Then that is why he haunts the Opéra.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_laughs_]
Without a doubt.
MME. DE SALLUS [_dreamily_]
No, no, you are deceiving yourself.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_emphatically_]
The Santelli resists him and repulses him; then, burdened with a heart
full of longing that has no outlet, he deigns to offer you a portion.
MME. DE SALLUS
My dear, you are dreaming. If he were in love with the Santelli, he
would not tell me that he loves me. If he were so entirely preoccupied
with this creature, he would not woo me. If he coveted her, he would not
desire me at the same time.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
How little you understand certain kinds of men! Men like your husband,
once inoculated with the poison of love,--which in them is nothing but
brutal desire,--men like him, I say, when a woman they desire escapes or
resists them, become raging beasts. They behave like madmen, like men
possessed, with arms outstretched and lips wide open. They must love
some one, no matter whom just as a mad dog with open jaws bites anything
and everybody. The Santelli has unchained this raging brute, and you
find yourself face to face with his dripping jaws. Take care! You call
that love! It is nothing but animal passion.
MME. DE SALLUS [_sarcastically_]
Really, you are very unfair to him. I am afraid jealousy is blinding
you.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, no, I am not deceiving myself, you may be sure.
MME. DE SALLUS
Yes, I think you are. Formerly my husband neglected and abandoned me,
doubtless finding me very insipid; but now he finds me much improved,
and has returned to me. It is very easy to understand, and moreover, it
is the worse for him, for he _must_ believe that I have been a
_faithful_ wife to him all my life.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Madeline!
MME. DE SALLUS
Well, what?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Does a girl cease to be a faithful wife, if, when deserted by the man
who has assumed charge of her existence, and her happiness, and her
love, and her ideals, she refuses to resign herself--young, beautiful,
and full of hope--to eternal isolation and everlasting solitude?
MME. DE SALLUS
I think I have already told you that there are certain things which it
is _not_ necessary to discuss, and this is one of them. [_The front door
bell sounds twice._] Here is my husband. Please be silent. He is in a
gloomy mood just now.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_rises_]
I think I shall go. I am not in love with your husband any more, for
many reasons, and it is difficult for me to be polite to him when I
despise him, and when I know that he ought to despise me, and would
despise me when I shake hands with him, did he know all.
MME. DE SALLUS [_annoyed_]
How many times must I tell you that all this is entirely out of place?
SCENE II.
(_The same, including_ M. de Sallus.)
_Enter_ M. de Sallus, _evidently in a bad temper. He looks for a moment
at_ Mme. de Sallus _and at_ Jacques de Randol, _who is taking his leave;
then comes forward_.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Ah! Sallus.
M. DE SALLUS
How are you, Randol? Surely you are not going because I came.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
No, but my time is up. I have an appointment at the club at midnight,
and now it is half after eleven. [_They shake hands._] Have you come
from the first performance of “Mahomet”?
M. DE SALLUS
Oh! Of course.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
People say that it should be a great success.
M. DE SALLUS
It doubtless will be.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_shakes hands again with_ De SALLUS _and_ Madame de
Sallus]
Well, till I see you again.
M. DE SALLUS
Till then, my dear fellow.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Madame, adieu.
MME. DE SALLUS
Adieu, Monsieur de Randol. [_Exit_ Randol.]
SCENE III.
(M. de Sallus _and_ Mme. de Sallus.)
M. DE SALLUS [_sinks into an armchair_]
Was Randol here any length of time?
MME. DE SALLUS
No, possibly half an hour.
M. DE SALLUS [_meditatively_]
Half an hour plus a whole hour makes an hour and a half, does it not?
Time seems to fly when you are with him.
MME. DE SALLUS
What do you mean by an hour and a half?
M. DE SALLUS
Just what I say. When I saw the carriage waiting at the door, I asked
the footman, who was within. He told me that it was M. Jacques de
Randol. “Has he been here long?” I asked. “He has been here since ten,”
said the footman. Admitting that the man might have been mistaken, we
will say, in the matter of a quarter of an hour, that would make an hour
and a quarter, at the least.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh, ho! What is this new attitude of yours? Have I not a right to
receive whom I like now?
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, my dear, I deny you nothing, nothing, nothing. The only thing that
astonishes me is that you do not know the difference between half an
hour and an hour and a half.
MME. DE SALLUS
Are you looking for a scene? If you wish a quarrel, say so. I shall know
how to answer you. You are simply in a bad temper. Go to bed and sleep,
if you can.
M. DE SALLUS
I am not looking for a quarrel, neither am I in bad humor. I only state
that time flies with you when you pass it in the company of Jacques de
Randol.
MME. DE SALLUS
Yes, it does go quickly; far more quickly than when I am with you.
M. DE SALLUS
He is a very charming fellow, and I know you like him; and, moreover, he
must like you very much, since he comes here every day.
MME. DE SALLUS
These insinuations are distasteful to me. Please speak plainly and say
what you mean. Are you assuming the rôle of a jealous husband?
M. DE SALLUS
God forbid! I have too much confidence in you, and far too much esteem
for you, to reproach you with anything, for I know that you have too
much tact ever to give rise to calumny or scandal.
MME. DE SALLUS
Do not play with words. You think that M. Jacques de Randol comes too
often to this house--to your house?
M. DE SALLUS
I do not find any fault with you for that.
MME. DE SALLUS
Thank you. You simply have not the right. However, since you adopt this
attitude, let us settle this question once for all, for I loathe
misunderstandings. It seems to me that you have an exceedingly short
memory. Let me come to your aid. Be frank with me. Through some
occurrence, the nature of which I do not know, your attitude is
different today from that of the past two years. Cast your memory over
the past, to the time when you began to neglect me in a manner that was
plain to all. I became very uneasy. Then I knew--I was told, and I
saw--that you were in love with Madame de Servières. I told you how hurt
I was, how grieved I was. What did you reply? Just what every man
replies when he no longer loves the woman who reproaches him. You
shrugged your shoulders, smiled impatiently, told me I was mad, and then
expounded to me--I must admit, in a most skillful manner--those grand
principles of freedom in love that are adopted by every husband who
deceives his wife and thinks she will not deceive him. You gave me to
understand that marriage is not a bond, but simply an association of
mutual interests, a social rather than a moral alliance; that it does
not demand friendship or affection between married couples, provided
there be no scandal. You did not absolutely confess the existence of
your mistresses, but you pleaded extenuating circumstances. You were
very sarcastic upon the subject of those poor, silly women who object to
their husbands being gallant toward other women, since, according to
you, such gallantry is one of the laws of the polished society to which
you belong. You laughed at the foolish man who does not dare to pay
compliments to a woman in the presence of his own wife, and ridiculed
the gloomy look of a wife whose eyes follow her husband into every
corner, imagining that because the poor man disappears into an adjoining
room he is at the feet of a rival. All this was very airy, funny, and
disagreeable, wrapped up in compliments and spiced with cynicism--sweet
and bitter at the same time, and calculated to banish from the heart all
love for a smooth, false, and well-bred man who could talk in such a
manner. I understood, I wept, I suffered, and then I shut my door upon
you. You made no objection; you judged me better than you thought; and
since then we have lived completely separate lives. Such has been the
case for the past two years, two long years and more, which certainly
have not seemed more than six months to you. We go into society as
usual, we return from society as usual, and we each enter our own temple
of life. The situation was established by you in consequence of your
first infidelity, an infidelity which has been followed by many others.
I have said nothing; I have resigned myself to the situation; and I have
banished you from my heart. Now that I have finished, what do you wish?
M. DE SALLUS
My dear, I am not asking for anything. I do not even wish to answer the
very aggressive speech you have done me the honor to make. I only wish
to give you advice--the advice of a friend--upon a situation that may
possibly endanger your reputation. You are beautiful, always in the
public eye, and much envied. Scandal could have easy birth.
MME. DE SALLUS
Pardon me. If we are to speak of scandal, I must have leave to balance
my account with you.
M. DE SALLUS
Come, do not let us joke over this thing. I speak to you as a
friend--seriously, as a friend. As to what you have said about me, it is
all extremely exaggerated.
MME. DE SALLUS
Not at all. You have never tried to conceal, in fact, you have actually
proclaimed to all the world your infidelities--a fact which gives me the
right to go and do likewise, and, my friend, believe what I say--
M. DE SALLUS
One moment--
MME. DE SALLUS
Let me finish. According to you, I am beautiful, I am young, and yet
condemned by my husband to live, and watch him live, as if I were a
widow. Look at me [_rises_], is it just to consign me to play the rôle
of an abandoned Ariadne, while my husband runs from this woman to that
woman, and this girl to that girl? [_Grows excited_.] A faithful wife! I
cry you mercy! Is a faithful wife compelled to sacrifice all her life,
all her happiness, all her affections, everything, in fact, every
privilege, every expectation, every claim, which is hers by birth and
for which she has been born? Look at me! Am I made for a nunnery? The
fact that I married you should answer that question. And yet, you,
_you_, who took me from my father's house, neglect me to run after
others. And what others? I am not in their circle, neither am I one of
those who would share your life with others. So much the worse for
you--for I am free, and you have no right to give me advice since I _am_
free.
M. DE SALLUS
My dear girl, be calm. You misunderstand me completely. I have never
suspected you. Indeed, I have the most profound esteem and friendship
for you--a loving friendship which grows greater every day. I have no
wish to comment upon that past with which you reproach me so cruelly.
Perhaps I am a little too--too--what shall I say?
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh! Say that you belong to the period of the Regency. I know that method
of excusing all male weaknesses and follies. Oh! yes; that eighteenth
century, that _dainty_ century, so full of _elegance_, so full of
delicious _fantasies_ and adorable _whims_! Alas! my dear, that is
ancient history.
M. DE SALLUS
No, no, you misunderstand me again. Believe me, I am and have been above
everything too--too--much of a Parisian, too much accustomed to turning
night into day, for the sedate life of marriage. I have been too much
accustomed to go behind the scenes of theaters, to various clubs, to a
thousand other forms of dissipation; and you know a man cannot change
all at once,--it takes time. Marriage seeks to change us all too
suddenly. It ought to give us time to get accustomed to it, little by
little. You would practically take away from me the joy of life were I
to behave as you seem to desire.
MME. DE SALLUS
I am so grateful; and now, perhaps, you wish to offer me a new proof--a
new proof--
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, as you please. Really, when a man who has lived as I have marries,
he can hardly help looking upon his wife as a new mistress--I mean to
say a faithful mistress--and it is only when it is too late that he
understands more clearly,--comes to his senses and repents.
MME. DE SALLUS
Well, my friend, it _is_ too late. As I have already told you, I mean to
have my innings. I have taken nearly three years to think it over. You
may think that is long, but I need some amusement as well as you. The
fact that I have taken nearly three years to think it over is a
compliment to you, but you fail to see it.
M. DE SALLUS
Madeline, this jesting is altogether out of place.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh! no, because I am compelled to think that every one of your
mistresses was far more attractive than I, since you have preferred them
to me.
M. DE SALLUS
What sort of mood are you in?
MME. DE SALLUS
In the same mood that I always am. It is you who have changed.
M. DE SALLUS
True, I _have_ changed.
MME. DE SALLUS
And that is to say--
M. DE SALLUS
That I have been an idiot.
MME. DE SALLUS
And that--
M. DE SALLUS
I am sane once more.
MME. DE SALLUS
And that--
M. DE SALLUS
That I am again in love with my wife.
MME. DE SALLUS
You must have returned to your youth.
M. DE SALLUS
What do you say?
MME. DE SALLUS
I say that you must have returned to your youth.
M. DE SALLUS
What do you mean?
MME. DE SALLUS
Let me illustrate. When you are young you are always hungry, and when a
youth is hungry he often eats things that he would not eat at another
time. Well, I am the dish,--the dish that you have neglected in your
days of plenty, the dish to which you return in the days of
scarcity--[_slowly_] for which I thank you!
M. DE SALLUS
I have never looked upon you as you think. You pain me as well as
astonish me.
MME. DE SALLUS
So much the worse for both of us. If I astonish you, you repel me. Learn
now, once for all, that I am not made for the rôle of a substitute.
M. DE SALLUS [_approaches her, takes her hand and presses a long kiss
upon it_]
Madeline, I swear to you that I love you, in truth, devotedly, now and
forever.
MME. DE SALLUS [_ironically_]
You must really believe it! [_Suddenly._] But who is the woman that
attracts--and repels you--just now?
M. DE SALLUS
Madeline, I swear--
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh, a truce to your swearing! I know that you have just broken with one
of your mistresses; you need another and you cannot find one, so you
come to me. For nearly three years you have forgotten all about me, so
that now you find I am somewhat of a novelty. It is not your wife you
are seeking now, but a woman with whom you have formerly had a rupture,
and with whom you now desire to make up. To speak the truth you are
simply playing the game of a libertine.
M. DE SALLUS
I do not ask you whether you be my wife or not my wife. You are the
woman I love, the woman who possesses my heart. You are the woman of
whom I dream, whose image follows me everywhere, whom I continually
desire. It happens that you are my wife. So much the worse, or so much
the better. What matters it?
MME. DE SALLUS
Truly, it is a distinguished part that you offer me. After Mademoiselle
Zozo, after Mademoiselle Lilie, Mademoiselle Tata, you have the audacity
to offer to your wife--to Madame de Sallus--the place left vacant,
asking her to become her husband's mistress for a short space of time.
M. DE SALLUS
No; now, and--forever.
MME. DE SALLUS
Pardon me. You ask that I should re-become your wife forever? That is
out of the question; I have already ceased to entertain the idea. The
reason may be obscure, but nevertheless it is real; and after all, the
idea of making me your _legitimate_ mistress seems to be far more
entertaining to you than assuming the rôle of a _faithful_ husband.
M. DE SALLUS [_laughs_]
Well, why should not the wife become the husband's mistress? You are
right in what you say; you are absolutely free and I own my faults. Yet,
I am in love with you-for the second time, if you will-and I say to you,
here and now, Madeline, since you confess that your heart is empty, have
pity upon me, for I tell you that I love you.
MME. DE SALLUS
And you ask me to give you a husband's right?
M. DE SALLUS
I do.
MME. DE SALLUS
And you acknowledge that I am free, absolutely free?
M. DE SALLUS
I do.
MME. DE SALLUS
And you really wish me to become your mistress?
M. DE SALLUS
I do.
MME. DE SALLUS
You understand what I mean--your mistress?
M. DE SALLUS
Yes.
MME. DE SALLUS [_sarcastically_]
Well, well! I think I would rather accept another offer that I have, but
since you are good enough to ask me to give you the preference, I may
give it to you--for a fair sum.
M. DE SALLUS
What do you mean?
MME. DE SALLUS
Just what I say. Listen! Do you consider me as attractive as any of your
mistresses? Now, be frank with me.
M. DE SALLUS
A thousand times more!
MME. DE SALLUS
Really!
M. DE SALLUS
I swear it!
MME. DE SALLUS
What, better than the best?
M. DE SALLUS
A thousand times!
MME. DE SALLUS
Well, tell me, now, truly, how much has the one you liked best among all
your numerous mistresses cost you, let us say--in three months?
M. DE SALLUS
I cannot tell.
MME. DE SALLUS
Listen to me. I repeat the question. How much has the most charming of
your numerous mistresses cost you in the space of three months--not only
in money, but in gifts of jewelry, in dainty little suppers, in
ceremonious dinners, in theater boxes,--in everything?
M. DE SALLUS
How can I tell?
MME. DE SALLUS
You should be able to. Come, let us make an estimate. Did you give her a
round sum, or did you pay for everything separately? However, I know you
are not a man to bother over details, so I conclude that you gave her a
round sum.
M. DE SALLUS
Madeline, you are absolutely unbearable.
MME. DE SALLUS
Follow me closely. When you began to neglect me, you took away three
horses from our stables--one of them was mine and the other two were
yours. Then you took away a coachman and a footman; you then found it
necessary to make me economize at home in order that you might be
extravagant abroad.
M. DE SALLUS
That is not true.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh! yes, it is. I have every date; do not deny it, for I shall confound
you if you do. You also stopped giving me jewels, for, of course, you
had other ears, other fingers, other wrists, and other necks to adorn.
You also deprived me of one of my nights at the Opéra, and I do not know
how many other things less important. And all this, according to my
idea, should mean about five thousand francs a month. Am I not right?
M. DE SALLUS
You may be, but you are mad.
MME. DE SALLUS
No, no, confess; did the most expensive one of your mistresses cost you
about five thousand francs a month?
M. DE SALLUS
You are crazy.
MME. DE SALLUS
If you are going to answer me thus, I bid you good evening. [_She rises
as if to retire, but_ M. de Sallus _interposes_.]
M. DE SALLUS
Come now, Madeline, a truce to this jesting.
MME. DE SALLUS [_in a determined manner_]
Five thousand francs? Tell me, did she cost you five thousand francs?
M. DE SALLUS [_shrugs his shoulders_]
Oh, yes, thereabouts.
MME. DE SALLUS [_looks him straight in the face_]
Ah, ah! Well, listen. If you will give me immediately five thousand
francs, you may be my husband for a month--but only a month.
M. DE SALLUS
You have lost your head!
MME. DE SALLUS
Well, farewell, good night!
M. DE SALLUS
What a farce! Stop, Madeline, let us talk seriously.
MME. DE SALLUS
About what?
M. DE SALLUS
Of--of--hang it--of my love for you.
MME. DE SALLUS [_archly_]
But that's not a serious question at all.
M. DE SALLUS
I swear it is!
MME. DE SALLUS
Hypocrite! You make me thirsty with so much talk. [_Goes to a
chiffonier, where there is a decanter and various liqueurs, and pours
herself out a glass of water. At the instant she begins to drink_, M. de
Sallus _steals up and kisses her on the back of the neck. She turns with
a start and throws the glass of water in his face_.]
M. DE SALLUS
I suppose you think that funny.
MME. DE SALLUS
It may or may not be. Certainly what you have done, or tried to do, was
ridiculous.
M. DE SALLUS
Madeline, I ask--
MME. DE SALLUS
Five--thousand--francs.
M. DE SALLUS
But that would be idiotic.
MME. DE SALLUS
And why?
M. DE SALLUS
Ask me why a husband should pay his wife--his lawful wife--when he has
the right?
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh, no, no. You may have the strength, but I can have my revenge.
M. DE SALLUS
Madeline--
MME. DE SALLUS
Five--thousand--francs.
M. DE SALLUS
I should be an object of ridicule forever if I were to pay my
wife--yes--not only an object of ridicule, but an idiot, an imbecile.
MME. DE SALLUS
Well, don't you think it is still more imbecile, when you have such a
wife as I, to--to go outside and--pay mistresses?
M. DE SALLUS
Madeline, I confess it; but now--we are husband and wife, and it is not
necessary to ruin me, is it?
MME. DE SALLUS
Allow me. When you took your wealth--the wealth which was also partly
mine by marriage--to pay for your folly, you committed an action that
was more than doubtful. In fact, it was criminal, for you ruined me at
the same time you ruined yourself. I use your own language. I have
refrained from asking you more about the folly that is in question;
moreover, the five thousand francs that you must give me will be spent
upon your own house. You must admit that is practical economy. But I
know you; I know that you are never in love with anything that is lawful
and right; so in paying dearly--very dearly, because I shall probably
seek an increase--for what you have the right to take, you will find
our--_liaison_--far more to your taste. [_Smiles_.] Good night, I am
going to bed.
M. DE SALLUS [_angrily_]
Will you take it in cash, or have a cheque?
MME. DE SALLUS [_haughtily_]
I prefer cash.
M. DE SALLUS [_opening a pocketbook_]
I have only three bank-notes. I will give you the rest in a cheque.
[_Writes a cheque and hands it to_ Mme. de Sallus.]
MME. DE SALLUS [_takes the cheque, looks at_ M. de Sallus _with disgust,
and Speaks in harsh tones_]
You are just the kind of man I took you to be. After paying your
numerous mistresses, you actually consent to pay me as if I were like
them--without any feeling of disgust or realizing the difference in our
situation. You have said that I asked too much, you have pleaded the
fear of ridicule, but you could not understand that you were consenting
to _buy_ me--_me_--your _wife_! You wished to possess me for a little,
as a sort of variation to your usual list, although your heart must have
told you that it was degrading to me to be placed on such a plane. You
did not recoil from such an idea, but pursued it, just as you pursue
them, and the more eagerly, because I was more expensive. But you have
deceived yourself, not me. Not thus will you ever regain possession of
your wife. Adieu, Monsieur! [_Throws the money in his face, and makes a
haughty exit_.]
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Madame de Sallus _alone in her drawing-room, as in_ Act I. _She is
writing; she stops and looks at the clock. A servant announces_ Monsieur
Jacques de Randol.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_after kissing_ Mme. de Sallus's _hand_]
I trust you are well, Madame.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh, yes, thank you.
[_Exit servant_.]
JACQUES DE RANDOL
What is it all about? Your letter has completely upset me. I thought
some accident had occurred, and I came immediately.
MME. DE SALLUS [_looks at him steadfastly_]
My dear Jacques, we must decide upon some course of action immediately.
The important hour has come.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_surprised_]
What do you mean?
MME. DE SALLUS
For two days I have undergone all the anguish that a woman's heart can
endure.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_still more surprised_]
What has happened?
MME. DE SALLUS
I am about to tell you, but I wish to do so with calmness and moderation
lest you think me mad. That is the reason why I sent for you.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
You know that I am yours entirely. Tell me what I must do.
MME. DE SALLUS
I cannot live near him any longer. It is absolutely impossible. It is an
hourly crucifixion.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Near your husband?
MME. DE SALLUS
Yes, my husband.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
What has he done?
MME. DE SALLUS
It is necessary to revert to the other evening, after you took your
leave. When we were alone he tried to make a jealous scene, with you as
the subject.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
With me as the subject?
MME. DE SALLUS
Yes, a scene which proved to me that he had been watching us.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
How?
MME. DE SALLUS
He had been questioning a servant.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Nothing more than that?
MME. DE SALLUS
No. That in itself, however, is not of much importance, for I believe he
really likes you. But, after that, he told me of his love for me.
Perhaps I was a little too insolent, too disdainful. I do not know
exactly how far I went; but I found myself in such a perplexing, such a
painful, such an extraordinary situation, that I dared everything to
escape it.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
What did you do?
MME. DE SALLUS
I sought to wound him so deeply that he would leave me forever.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Apparently you have not succeeded.
MME. DE SALLUS
No.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Of course not; that method never does succeed. On the contrary, it often
brings about a reconciliation.
MME. DE SALLUS
The next day, during luncheon, he was sulky, irritable, and gloomy.
Then, as he was rising from the table, he said, “I have not forgotten
your behavior of yesterday, and shall not let you forget it. You wish
for war, let it be war; but I warn you that I shall conquer you, because
I am your master.” I answered him, “Be it so; but if you drive me to
extremity, take care,--it is not always safe to make a woman desperate.”
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Especially when that woman is his wife. And what did he reply?
MME. DE SALLUS
He did not reply in words; but he treated me brutally.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Did he strike you?
MME. DE SALLUS
Yes and no. He jostled me, he squeezed me, he suffocated me. I have
bruises all along my arms, but he did not strike me.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Then what did he do?
MME. DE SALLUS
He hugged and embraced me, trying to overcome my resistance.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Is that all?
MME. DE SALLUS
What do you mean by saying, “Is that all?” Don't you think that is
enough?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
You do not understand me. I only wish to know whether he struck you.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh, no. I am not afraid of that from him; but luckily I was able to ring
the bell.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
You rang the bell?
MME. DE SALLUS
Yes.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
What a thing to do! [_Smiles_.] And when the servant came, did you ask
him to show your husband out?
MME. DE SALLUS [_pouts_]
You seem to find this very funny.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, no, my dear Madame; it is all exceedingly painful to me, but I
cannot help realizing the grotesqueness of the situation. Pardon
me,--and what then?
MME. DE SALLUS
I ordered my carriage. And then, as soon as Joseph had gone out, my
husband said, with that arrogant air which you know so well in him,
“Today, or to-morrow--it matters not which.”
JACQUES DE RANDOL
And--
MME. DE SALLUS
And that is almost all.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Almost?
MME. DE SALLUS
Yes, because since then I have locked myself in my room as soon as I
heard him coming in.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Haven't you seen him since?
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh, yes, several times, but only for a few minutes each time.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
What has he said to you?
MME. DE SALLUS
Little or nothing. He either sneers or insolently asks whether I am less
savage to-day. Last night at the table he brought out a little book,
which he read during dinner. As I did not wish to appear embarrassed or
anxious, and desired to maintain my dignity, I said: “Your manners
toward me are certainly exceedingly courteous.” He smiled and replied:
“What did you say?” “It is strange that, for reading, you should choose
the time that we are together,” I said. He answered: “Great heavens! It
is all your fault, since you do not care to be amiable. Besides, this
little book is very interesting. It is the Civil Code. Perhaps you would
like to become acquainted with some clauses in it. They would certainly
interest you.” Then he read me the law concerning marriage; the duties
of a wife and the rights of a husband. Then he looked me full in the
face, and asked me whether I understood. I answered in the same tone
that I understood too much,--especially did I understand the kind of man
I had married. Then I went out and I have not seen him since.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Haven't you seen him to-day?
MME. DE SALLUS
No. He lunched alone. As for myself, I have thought over the situation,
and have decided not to meet him _tête-à-tête_ any more.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
But are you quite sure that at bottom his attitude is not induced by
anger, by wounded vanity, by disappointment, and perhaps by a little
bravado? Possibly he will behave himself better in future. To-night he
is at the Opéra. The Santelli has scored a great success in “Mahomet,”
and I think she has invited him to supper after the performance. Now, if
the supper is very much to his taste, he will probably be in good humor
when he comes home.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh! How provoking you are. Can't you understand that I am in the power
of this man, that I belong to him even more than his valet or his dog,
because he has those abominable legal rights over me? The Code, your
barbarous Code, puts me entirely in his power without any possible
defense on my part; save actually killing me, he can do everything.
Can't you understand that? Can't you realize the horror of my situation?
Imagine, save actual murder, he can do anything to me, and he has the
strength--not only physical but legal--to obtain anything from me. And
I, I have not a single avenue of escape from a man whom I despise and
hate. And that is the law made by you men! He took me, married me,
deserted me. On my part, I have an absolutely moral right to leave him.
And yet, despite this righteous hatred, this overpowering disgust, this
loathing which creeps through me in the presence of the man who has
scorned me, deceived me, and who has fluttered, right under my eyes,
from girl to girl--this man, I say, has the right to demand from me a
shameful and infamous concession. I have no right to hide myself; I have
no right even to a key to my own door. Everything belongs to him--the
key, the door, and even the woman who hates him. It is monstrous! Can
you imagine such a horrible situation? That a woman should not be
mistress of herself, should not even have the sacred right of preserving
her person from a loathsome stain? And all this is the consequence of
the infamous law which you men have made!
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_appealingly_]
My darling! I fully understand what you must be suffering; but how can I
help it? No magistrate can protect you; no statute can preserve you.
MME. DE SALLUS
I know it. But when you have neither mother nor father to protect you,
when the law is against you, and when you shrink from complicity in
those degrading transactions to which many women yield themselves, there
is always one means of escape.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
And that?
MME. DE SALLUS
Flight.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
You mean to say--
MME. DE SALLUS
Flight.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Alone?
MME. DE SALLUS
No--with you.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
With me! Are you dreaming?
MME. DE SALLUS
No; so much the better. The scandal of it will prevent him from taking
me back. I have gained courage now. Since he forces me to dishonor, I
shall see that that dishonor is complete and overwhelming--even though
it be the worse for him and for me.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh! Beware, beware, my darling! You are in one of those moments of
exaltation and nervous excitement in which a woman sometimes commits a
folly that is irreparable.
MME. DE SALLUS
Well, I would rather commit such a folly and ruin myself--if that be
ruin--than expose myself to the infamous struggle with which each day I
am threatened.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Madeline, hear me. You are in a terrible situation, but for God's sake
do not throw yourself into one that is irretrievable. Be calm, I implore
you.
MME. DE SALLUS
Well, what do you advise?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I do not know; we shall see. But I do not, I cannot, advise you to
venture on a scandal which will put you outside the pale of society.
MME. DE SALLUS
Well, yes, there is another law, an unwritten law which permits one to
have lovers, even though it be shameful, because [_sarcastically_] it
does not outrage society.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
That is not the question. The thing is to avoid taking up a wrong
position in your quarrel with your husband. Have you decided to leave
him?
MME. DE SALLUS
Yes.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Finally and forever?
MME. DE SALLUS
Yes.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Do you mean for _all_ time?
MME. DE SALLUS
For _all_ time.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Well, now, be cautious; be careful and cunning; guard your reputation
and your name. Make neither commotion nor scandal, and await your
opportunity.
MME. DE SALLUS [_ironically_]
And must I continue to be very charming when he returns to me, and be
ready for all his fancies?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, Madeline, I speak to you in the truest friendship.
MME. DE SALLUS [_bitterly_]
In the truest friendship!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Yea, as a friend who loves you far too dearly to advise you to commit
any folly.
MME. DE SALLUS
And loves me just enough to advise me to be complaisant to a man I
despise.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I! Never, never. My most ardent desire is to be with you forever. Get a
divorce, and then if you still love me, let us wed.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh, yes, yes--two years from now. Certainly, you _are_ a patient lover!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
But supposing I were to carry you off, he would take you back to-morrow;
would shut you up in his house, and would never get a divorce lest you
should become my wife.
MME. DE SALLUS
Well, do you mean to say I could fly nowhere but to your house, that I
could not hide myself in such fashion that he would never find me?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Yes, you could hide yourself, but it would be necessary for you to live
abroad under another name, or buried in the country, till death. That is
the curse of our love. In three months you would hate me. I never will
let you commit such a folly.
MME. DE SALLUS
I thought you loved me enough to fly with me, but it seems that I am
mistaken. Adieu!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Madeline, listen to me for God's--
MME. DE SALLUS Jacques, take me, or leave me--answer!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Madeline, I implore you!
MME. DE SALLUS
Never! Adieu! [_Rises and goes to the door_.]
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Once more I implore you, Madeline, listen to me.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh, no, no; adieu! [De Randol _takes her by the arms; she frees herself
angrily_.] Unhand me! Let me go, or I shall call for help!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Call if you will, but listen to me. I would not that you should ever be
able to reproach me for the madness that you meditate. God forbid that
you should hate me, but, bound to me by this flight that you propose,
you would carry with you forever a keen and unavailing regret that I
allowed you to do it.
MME. DE SALLUS
Let me go! I despise you! Let me go!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Well, if you wish to fly, why, let us fly.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh, no, not now. I know you now. It is too late. Let me go.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I have done exactly what I ought to have done; I have said exactly what
I ought to have said; consequently, I am no longer responsible for you,
and you have no right to reproach me with the consequences. So let us
fly.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh, no, it is too late, and I do not care to accept sacrifices.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
There is no more any question of sacrifice. To fly with you is my most
ardent desire.
MME. DE SALLUS [_astonished_]
You are mad.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Well, suppose I am mad. That is only natural, since I love you.
MME. DE SALLUS
What do you mean?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I mean what I say. I love you; I have nothing else to say. Let us fly.
MME. DE SALLUS
Ah, you were altogether too cautious just now to become so brave all at
once.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Will you ever understand me? Listen to me. When I first realized that I
adored you, I made a solemn vow concerning what might happen between you
and me. The man who falls in love with a woman such as you, a woman
married yet deserted; a slave in fact yet morally free, institutes
between her and himself a bond which only she can break. The woman risks
everything. Ay, it is just because she does this, because she gives
everything--her heart, her body, her soul, her honor, her life, because
she has foreseen all the miseries, all the dangers, all the misfortunes
that can happen, because she dares to take so bold, and fearless a step,
and because she is ready and determined to hazard everything--a husband
who could kill her, and a world that would scorn her--it is for all this
and for the heroism of her conjugal infidelity, that her lover, in
taking her, ought to foresee all, to guard her against every ill that
can possibly happen. I have nothing more to say. I spoke at first as a
calm and foreseeing man who wished to protect you against
everything--now I am simply and only the man who loves you. Order me as
you please.
MME. DE SALLUS
That is all very prettily said; but is it true?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I swear it!
MME. DE SALLUS
You wish to fly with me?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Yes.
MME. DE SALLUS
From the bottom of your heart?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
From the bottom of my heart.
MME. DE SALLUS
To-day?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Yes, and whenever you please.
MME. DE SALLUS
It is now a quarter to eight. My husband will be coming in directly, for
we dine at eight. I shall be free at half past nine or ten o'clock.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Where shall I wait for you?
MME. DE SALLUS
At the end of the street in a _coupé_. [_The bell rings_.] There he is,
and for the last time, thank God!
SCENE II.
(_The same characters, and_ M. de Sallus.)
M. DE SALLUS [_enters. To_ Jacques de Randol, _who has risen to take his
leave_]
Well, you are not going again, are you? Why, it seems that I need only
come in to make you take your leave.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
No, no, my dear fellow; you don't make me go, but I must.
M. DE SALLUS
That is just what I say. You always go the very moment I come in. Of
course, I understand that a husband is less attractive than a wife. But,
at least, let me believe that _I_ am not objectionable to you.
[_Laughs_.]
JACQUES DE RANDOL
On the contrary, my dear fellow, you know I like you. And if you would
acquire the habit of coming into your own house without ringing the
bell, you would never find me taking my leave when you come.
M. DE SALLUS
How is that? Is it not natural to ring the door bell?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, yes; but a ring of the bell always makes me feel that I must go, and
surely, coming into your own house, you can dispense with that habit.
M. DE SALLUS
I don't understand you.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Why, it is very simple. When I visit people whom I like, such as Madame
de Sallus and yourself, I do not expect to meet the Paris that flutters
from house to house in the evening, gossiping and scandalizing. I have
had my experience of gossip and tittle-tattle. It needs only one of
these talkative dames or men to take away all the pleasure there is for
me in visiting the lady on whom I happen to have called. Sometimes when
I am anchored perforce upon my seat, I feel lost; I do not know how to
get away. I have to take part in the whirlpool of foolish chatter. I
know all the set questions and answers better than I do the catechism
itself, and it bores me to have to remain until the very end and hear
the very last opinion of some fool upon the comedy, or the book, or the
divorce, or the marriage, or the death that is being discussed. Now, do
you understand why I always get up and go at the sound of a bell?
M. DE SALLUS [_laughs_]
What you say is very true. Drawing-rooms now are not habitable from four
o'clock to seven, and our wives have no right to complain if we leave
them to go to the club.
MME. DE SALLUS [_sarcastically_]
Nevertheless, I do not see my way to receiving ballet girls, or chorus
girls, or actresses, or so-called painters, poets, musicians, and
others--in order to keep you near me.
M. DE SALLUS
I do not ask so much as that. All I desire is a few witty fellows, some
charming women, and by no means a crowd.
MME. DE SALLUS
You talk nonsense; you cannot pick and choose.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
No, truly, you cannot sift and strain the flow of idiocy that you meet
in the drawing-rooms of to-day.
M. DE SALLUS
Why?
MME. DE SALLUS
Simply because it is as it is--to-day.
M. DE SALLUS
What a pity! How I should love the intimacy of a small and carefully
selected circle of men and women.
MME. DE SALLUS
You?
M. DE SALLUS
Yes, why not?
MME. DE SALLUS [_laughs_]
Ha, ha, ha! What a charming little intimate circle you would bring to
me! Ha, ha, ha! The fascinating men, and the fashionable women that you
would invite! My dear sir, it is I who would leave the house then.
M. DE SALLUS
My dear girl, I only asked for three or four women like yourself.
MME. DE SALLUS
Pray repeat that.
M. DE SALLUS
Three or four such women as you.
MME. DE SALLUS
If you need four, I can understand how you found your house lonesome.
M. DE SALLUS
You understand very well what I wish to say, and it is not necessary for
me to explain myself. And you know that you need only be alone to please
me better than I could possibly be pleased elsewhere.
MME. DE SALLUS
Really, I do not recognize you. I am afraid you must be ill--very ill.
You are not going to die, are you?
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, chaff me as much as you like, you won't worry me.
MME. DE SALLUS
And is this mood of yours going to last?
M. DE SALLUS
Forever.
MME. DE SALLUS
Men often change.
M. DE SALLUS [_turns to_ Jacques de Randol]
My dear Randol, will you give us the pleasure of your company at dinner
to-night? You may help me to turn aside the epigrams that my wife seems
to have barbed and ready for me.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
A thousand thanks, my dear Sallus! You are very, very good, but
unfortunately, I am not free.
M. DE SALLUS
But, my dear fellow, send your excuses.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I cannot.
M. DE SALLUS
Are you dining in town?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Yes, well--not altogether. I have an appointment at nine o'clock.
M. DE SALLUS
Is it very important?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Very important
M. DE SALLUS
With a lady?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
My dear fellow, what a question!
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, I am discreet! But that need not prevent you from dining with us.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Thank you, my dear fellow, I cannot.
M. DE SALLUS
You know you can go away when you wish.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
But I am not in evening dress.
M. DE SALLUS
I can easily send for your things.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
No, truly, thank you; I cannot.
M. DE SALLUS [_to_ Mme. de Sallus]
My dear girl, won't you keep Randol?
MME. DE SALLUS
Why ask me? You know that I have no influence over him.
M. DE SALLUS
You are charming enough to influence the world this evening, so why
can't you make him stay?
MME. DE SALLUS
Good gracious! I cannot make my friends stay in order to please you, and
keep them in your house against their wish. Bring _your_ friends.
M. DE SALLUS
Well, I shall remain at home this evening in any case, and we shall then
be _tête-à-tête_.
MME. DE SALLUS
Really?
M. DE SALLUS
Yes.
MME. DE SALLUS
You will be at home all the evening?
M. DE SALLUS
All the evening.
MME. DE SALLUS [_sarcastically_]
Good gracious! How you surprise me--and how you honor me!
M. DE SALLUS
No, it is a pleasure to be with you.
MME. DE SALLUS
What a charming mood you are in to-night!
M. DE SALLUS
Now ask Randol to remain.
MME. DE SALLUS
My dear sir, Monsieur de Randol will do as he pleases. He knows that I
am always glad to see him. [_Rises, and after reflecting for a second_.]
Will you dine with us, Monsieur de Randol? You know you can go directly
after dinner.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
With the greatest pleasure, Madame.
MME. DE SALLUS
Excuse my absence for a minute. It is eight o'clock, and I must give
some new directions for dinner.
[_Exit_ Mme. de Sallus.]
SCENE III.
(M. de Sallus _and_ M. Jacques de Randol.)
M. DE SALLUS
My dear fellow, you will do me the greatest service if you will pass the
whole evening here.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
But I have told you that I cannot.
M. DE SALLUS
Is it altogether--absolutely--impossible?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Absolutely.
M. DE SALLUS
I most earnestly ask you to remain.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
And why?
M. DE SALLUS
For the best of reasons--because--because I want to make peace with my
wife.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Peace? Is there a rupture between you?
M. DE SALLUS
Not a very great one, but you know what you have seen this evening.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Is it your fault or hers?
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, mine, I suppose.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
The devil!
M. DE SALLUS
I have had annoyances outside, serious annoyances, and they have made me
bad-tempered, so much so that I have been unpleasant and aggressive in
my behavior toward her.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
But I don't see how a third party can contribute toward peace between
you.
M. DE SALLUS
My dear fellow, you will enable me to make her understand in an indirect
manner, while avoiding all indelicate and wounding explanations, that my
ideas concerning life have altogether changed.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Then you wish to be--to be--reconciled to her altogether?
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, no, no, no--on the contrary--
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Pardon me, I do not understand you.
M. DE SALLUS
Listen: I wish to establish and maintain a _status quo_ of a pacific
neutrality--a sort of Platonic peace. [_Laughs_.] But I am going into
details that cannot interest you.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Pardon me again. From the moment that you ask me to play a part in this
very interesting affair, I must know exactly what part I am to play.
M. DE SALLUS
Why, just a conciliatory rôle.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Then you wish to conclude a peace without restrictions for yourself?
M. DE SALLUS
Now you have it.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
That is to say, that, after the disappointments and annoyances of which
you have just told me, and which I presume are ended, you wish to have
peace at home and yet be free to enjoy any happiness that you may
acquire outside.
M. DE SALLUS
Let me go farther. My dear fellow, the present situation between my wife
and myself is very much strained, and I never care to find myself alone
with her altogether, because my position is a false one.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, in that case, my dear fellow, I will remain.
M. DE SALLUS
All the evening?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
All the evening.
M. DE SALLUS
My dear De Randol, you are indeed a friend! I shall never forget it.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, never mind that. [_A short silence_.] Were you at the Opéra last
night?
M. DE SALLUS
As usual.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
So it is a good performance?
M. DE SALLUS
Admirable.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
The Santelli scored a great success, didn't she?
M. DE SALLUS
Not only a success, but a veritable triumph. She was recalled six times.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
She _is_ good, isn't she?
M. DE SALLUS
More than admirable. She never sang better. In the first act she has a
long recitative: “O God of all believers, hear my prayer,” which made
the body of the house rise to their feet. And in the third act, after
that phrase, “Bright heaven of beauty,” I never saw such enthusiasm.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
She was pleased?
M. DE SALLUS
Pleased? She was enchanted.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
You know her well, don't you?
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, yes, for some time back. I had supper with her and some of her
friends after the performance.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Were there many of you?
M. DE SALLUS
No, about a dozen. You know she is rather particular.
JACQUES DE RANDOL.
It is pleasant to be intimate with her, is it not?
M. DE SALLUS
Exquisite! And then, you know, she is a woman in a million. I do not
know whether you agree with me, but I find there are so few women that
are really women.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_laughs_]
I have found that out.
M. DE SALLUS
Yes, and you have found out that there are women who have a feminine
air, but who are not women.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Explain yourself.
M. DE SALLUS
Good gracious! Our society women, with very rare exceptions, are simply
pictures; they are pretty; they are distinguished; but they charm you
only in their drawing-rooms. The part they play consists entirely in
making men admire their dress, their dainty ways, all of which are
assumed.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Men love them, nevertheless.
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, very rarely, my dear fellow.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Pardon me!
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, yes, dreamers do. But men--real men--men who are passionate, men who
are positive, men who are tender, do not love the society woman of
to-day, since she is incapable of love. My dear fellow, look around you.
You see intrigues--everyone sees them; but can you lay your finger upon
a single real love affair--a love that is disinterested, such a love as
there used to be--inspired by a single woman of our acquaintance? Don't
I speak the truth? It flatters a man to have a mistress--it flatters
him, it amuses him, and then it tires him. But turn to the other picture
and look at the woman of the stage. There is not one who has not at
least five or six love affairs on the carpet; idiotic follies, causing
bankruptcy, scandal, and suicides. Men love them; yes, they love these
women because these women know how to inspire love, and because they are
loving women. Yes, indeed, _they_ know how to conquer men; they
understand the seduction of a smile; they know how to attract, seize,
and wrap us up in their hearts, how to enslave us with a look, and they
need not be beautiful at that. They have a conquering power that we
never find in our wives.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
And the Santelli is a seductress of this kind?
M. DE SALLUS
She is first among the first! Ah, the cunning little coquette! _She_
knows how to make men run after her.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Does she do only that?
M. DE SALLUS
A woman of that sort does not give herself the trouble of making men run
after her unless she has some further object in view.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
The devil! You make me believe you attend two first nights in the same
evening.
M. DE SALLUS
My dear boy, don't imagine such a thing.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Great heavens! you have such a satisfied and triumphant air--an air so
desirous of calm at home. If I am deceived I am sorry--for your sake.
M. DE SALLUS
Well, we will assume that you are deceived and--
SCENE IV.
(_The same, and_ Mme. de Sallus.)
M. DE SALLUS [_gaily_]
Well, my dear, Jacques remains. He has consented for my sake.
MME. DE SALLUS
I congratulate you. And how did you achieve that miracle?
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, easily enough, in the course of conversation.
MME. DE SALLUS
And of what have you been talking?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Of the happiness that comes to a man who remains quietly at home.
MME. DE SALLUS
That sort of happiness has but little attraction for me. I like the
excitement of travel.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
There is a time for everything; and travel is very often inopportune and
very inconvenient.
MME. DE SALLUS
But how about that important appointment of yours at nine o'clock? Have
you given it up altogether, Monsieur de Randol?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I have, Madame.
MME. DE SALLUS
You are very changeable.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
No, no, I am simply adapting myself to circumstances.
M. DE SALLUS
Will you pardon me if I write a note? [_Sits at desk at the other end of
the drawing-room._]
MME. DE SALLUS [_to_ Jacques de Randol]
What has happened?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, nothing; everything is all right.
MME, DE SALLUS
When do we go?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Not at all.
MME. DE SALLUS
Are you mad? Why?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Please don't ask me now about it.
MME. DE SALLUS
I am sure that he is laying a trap for us.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Not at all. He is very quiet, very contented, and has absolutely no
suspicion.
MME. DE SALLUS
Then what does it all mean?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Now, be calm. He is happy, I tell you.
MME. DE SALLUS
That is not true.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I tell you it is. He has made me the confidant of all his happiness.
MME. DE SALLUS
It is just a trick; he wishes to watch us.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, no; he is confiding and conciliatory. The only fear he has is of
you.
MME. DE SALLUS
Of me?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Yes; in the same way that you are, all the time, afraid of him.
MME. DE SALLUS
Great heavens! You have lost your head. You are talking at random.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Listen--I am sure that he intends to go out this evening.
MME. DE SALLUS
Well, in that case, let us go out too.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
No, no,--I tell you there is nothing more for us to fear.
MME. DE SALLUS
What nonsense! You will end by maddening me with your blindness.
M. DE SALLUS [_from the other end of the drawing-room_]
My dear, I have some good news for you. I have been able to get another
night at the Opera for you every week.
MME. DE SALLUS
Really, it is very good of you to afford me the opportunity of
applauding Madame Santelli so often.
M. DE SALLUS [_from the same place_]
Well, she is very clever.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
And everybody says she is charming.
MME. DE SALLUS [_irritably_]
Yes; it is only such women who please men.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
You are unjust.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh, my dear Randol; it is only for such women that men commit follies,
and [_sarcastically_], understand me, the measure of a man's folly is
often the measure of his love.
M. DE SALLUS [_from the same place_]
Oh, no, my dear girl,--men do not marry them, and marriage is the only
real folly that a man can commit with a woman.
MME. DE SALLUS
A beautiful idea, truly, when a woman has to endure all man's caprices.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, no, not having anything to lose, they have nothing to risk.
MME. DE SALLUS
Ah, men are sad creatures! They marry a young girl because she is demure
and self-contained, and they leave her on the morrow to dangle after a
girl who is not young and who certainly is not demure, her chief
attraction being that all the rich and well-known men about town have at
one time been in her favor. The more danglers she has after her, the
more she is esteemed, the more she is sought after, and the more she is
respected; that is to say, with that kind of Parisian respect which
accrues to a woman in the degree of her notoriety--a notoriety due
either to the scandal she creates, or the scandal men create about her.
Ah, yes, you men are so nice in these things!
M. DE SALLUS [_laughs gently_]
Take care! One would think you were jealous.
MME. DE SALLUS
I? Jealous? For whom do you take me? [_The butler announces_.] Madame is
served. [_Hands a letter to_ M. de Sallus.]
MME. DE SALLUS [_to_ Jacques de Randol]
Your arm, M. Jacques de Randol.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_in a low tone_]
How I love you!
MME. DE SALLUS [_indifferently_]
Just a little, I suppose.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Ah, no; with all my soul!
M. DE SALLUS [_after reading his letter_]
Come along, then, let us go to dinner. I have to go out this evening.
_Curtain._
MUSOTTE
OR
A CRITICAL SITUATION
A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
JEAN MARTINEL
Nephew of M. Martinel, a painter; not yet thirty years of age, but
already well known and the recipient of various honors.
LEON DE PETITPRÉ
Brother to Gilberts Martinel, a young lawyer about thirty years of age.
M. MARTINEL
An old gunmaker of Havre, aged fifty-five.
M. DE PETITPRÉ
An old magistrate, officer of the Legion of Honor. Aged sixty.
DR. PELLERIN
A fashionable physician of about thirty-five.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Sister to M. de Petitpré, about fifty-five years of age.
HENRIETTE LÉVÊQUE
Nicknamed Musotte; a little model, formerly Jean Martinel's mistress.
Twenty-two years of age.
MME. FLACHE
A midwife. Formerly a ballet-dancer at the Opera. About thirty-five
years of age.
GILBERTE MARTINEL
Daughter of M. and Mme. de Petitpré, married in the morning to Jean
Martinel. About twenty years old.
LISE BABIN
A nurse, about twenty-six.
SERVANTS
_Time: Paris of to-day. The first and third acts take place in_ M. de
Petitpré's _drawing-room.
The second act takes place in_ Musotte's _bedchamber_.
ACT I
SCENE I.
(_A richly yet classically furnished drawing-room in_ M. de Petitpré's
house. _A table_, C.; _sofas_, R.; _chairs and armchairs_, L. _Wide
doors_, C., _opening upon a terrace or gallery. Doors_ R. _and_ L. _of_
C. _Lighted lamps_.)
_Enter from_ R. M. de Petitpré, Monsieur Martinel, Madame de Ronchard,
Léon de Petitpré, Jean _and_ Gilberte. Gilberte _is in her bridal
attire, but without wreath and veil_.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_after bowing to_ M. Martinel, _whose arm she
relinquishes, seats herself_ R.]
Gilberte, Gilberte!
GILBERTE [_leaves Jean's arm_]
What is it, Auntie?
MME. DE RONCHARD
The coffee, my dear child.
GILBERTE [_goes to the table_]
I will give you some, Auntie.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Don't soil your gown.
LÉON [_comes up_]
No, no, not to-day shall my sister serve coffee. The day of her
marriage! No, indeed, I will take care of that. [_To_ Mme. de Ronchard.]
You know that I am a lawyer, my dear Aunt, and therefore can do
everything.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Oh, I know your abilities, Léon, and I appreciate them--
LÉON [_smiles, and gives his Aunt a cup of coffee_]
You are too good.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_taking cup, dryly_]
For what they are worth.
LÉON [_aside, turns to the table_]
There she goes again--another little slap at me! That is never wanting.
[_offers a cup to_ Martinel.] You will take a small cup, won't you, M.
Martinel, and a nip of old brandy with it? I know your tastes. We will
take good care of you.
MARTINEL
Thank you, Léon.
LÉON [_to_ Petitpré]
Will you have a cup, father?
PETITPRÉ
I will, my son.
LÉON [_to the newly married couple, seated L. and talking aside_]
And you, you bridal pair there? [_The couple, absorbed in each other, do
not answer._] Oh, I suppose we must not bother you. [_He sets cup down
on the table_].
PETITPRÉ [_to_ Martinel]
You don't smoke, I believe?
MARTINEL
Never, thank you.
MME. DE RONCHARD
You astonish me! My brother and Léon would not miss smoking each day for
anything in the world. But what an abomination a cigar is!
PETITPRÉ
A delicious abomination, Clarisse.
LÉON [_turns to_ Mme. de Ronchard]
Almost all abominations are delicious, Auntie; in fact many of them, to
my personal knowledge, are exquisite.
MME. DE RONCHARD
You naughty fellow!
PETITPRÉ [_takes_ Léon's _arm_]
Come and smoke in the billiard-room, since your aunt objects to it here.
LÉON [_to_ Petitpré]
The day when she will love anything except her spaniels--
PETITPRÉ
Hold your tongue and come along. [_Exit_ C.]
MARTINEL [_to_ Mme. de Ronchard]
This is the sort of marriage that I like--a marriage that, in this Paris
of yours, you don't have very often. After the wedding breakfast, which
takes place directly after you come from the church, all the guests go
home, even the maids of honor and the ushers. The married couple remain
at home and dine with their parents or relatives. In the evening they
play billiards or cards, just as on an ordinary night; the newly married
couple entertain each other. [Gilberte _and_ Jean _rise, and hand in
hand slowly retire_ C.] Then, before midnight, good night!
MME. DE RONCHARD [_aside_]
Which is altogether very _bourgeois_!
MARTINEL [_sits_ R. _upon the sofa beside_ Mme. de Ronchard]
As to newly married couples--instead of going on that absurd and
traditional thing you call a honeymoon, it is far better for them to go
at once to the apartment or house prepared for them. I dare say you will
think my plan lacking in fashion and display, but I cannot help that.
For myself, I must say that I like absence of all ostentation.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Your plan is not according to the customs of polite society, Monsieur.
MARTINEL
Polite society, indeed! Why, there are thirty-six different kinds of
polite society. For instance, take Havre.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_interrupts_]
I know only ours. [_Corrects herself._] That is, I mean to say, mine,
which is the correct one.
MARTINEL
Oh, naturally, naturally! Nevertheless, simple as it may be, this
marriage is an acknowledged fact, and I hope that you have taken into
your good books my dear nephew, who, until now--
MME. DE RONCHARD
I can hardly help doing so since he is my brother's son-in-law, and my
niece's husband.
MARTINEL
Well, that is not the only thing, is it? I am very happy that the affair
is over--although my life has been spent in the midst of difficulties.
MME. DE RONCHARD
What! Your life?
MARTINEL
I mean commercial difficulties, not matrimonial.
MME. DE RONCHARD
What commercial difficulties can you have--you, a Croesus who has just
given five hundred thousand francs in dowry to his nephew. [_With a
sigh._] Five hundred thousand francs! Just what my late husband
squandered.
MARTINEL
Oh! Yes, I know that, Madame de Ronchard.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_sighs again_]
I was ruined and deserted after just one year of married life,
Monsieur--one year. I just had time to realize how happy I could be, for
the scoundrel, the wretch, knew how to make me love him.
MARTINEL
Then he was a scoundrel?
MME. DE RONCHARD
Oh! Monsieur, he was a man of fashion.
MARTINEL
Well, that did not prevent him from--
MME. DE RONCHARD
Oh, don't let us talk any more about my misfortunes. It would be too
long and too sad, and everybody else is so happy here just now.
MARTINEL
And I am happier than anybody else, I assure you. My nephew is such a
good fellow. I love him as I would a son. Now, as for myself, I made my
fortune in trade--
MME. DE RONCHARD [_aside_]
That is very evident.
MARTINEL [_resumes_]
In the sea-going trade. But my nephew will gain fame for our name by his
renown as an artist; the only difference between us is that he makes his
fortune with his brushes, and I have made mine with ships. Art, to-day,
Madame, may be as important as trade, but it is less profitable. Take my
nephew. Although he has made a very early success, it is I who have
enabled him to. When my poor brother died, his wife following him almost
immediately, I found myself, while quite a young man, left alone with
this baby. Well, I made him learn everything that I could. He studied
chemistry, music, and literature, but he had a leaning toward art more
than to the other things. I assure you that I encouraged him in it, and
you see how he has succeeded. He is only just thirty, is well known, and
has just been decorated.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_dryly_]
Thirty years old, and only just decorated; that is slow for an artist.
MARTINEL
Pshaw! He will make up for lost time. [_Rises_] But I am afraid I am
getting boastful. You must pardon me, I am a plain man, and just now a
little exhilarated by dining. It is all Petitpré's fault. His Burgundy
is excellent. It is a wine that you may say is a friend to wisdom. And
we are accustomed to drink a good deal at Havre. [_Takes up his glass of
brandy and finishes it._]
MME. DE RONCHARD [_aside_]
Surely that is enough about Havre.
MARTINEL [_turns to_ Mme. de Ronchard]
Well, there is a treaty between us--a treaty which will last--which no
foolishness can break, such as that which has failed to break this
marriage.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_rises and crosses_ L.]
Foolishness! You speak very lightly about it. But now that the marriage
is a thing accomplished, it is all right. I had destined my niece for
another sphere than a painter's world. However, when you can't get a
thrush, eat a blackbird, as the proverb says.
MARTINEL
But a white blackbird, Madame, for your niece is a pearl. Let me tell
you, the happiness of these children will be the happiness of my
declining years.
MME. DE RONCHARD
I wish that it may be, Monsieur, without daring to hope for it.
MARTINEL
Never mind. There are two things on which I am an expert--the merits of
women and of wine.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_aside_]
Especially upon the latter.
MARTINEL
They are the only two things worth knowing in life.
SCENE II.
(_The same characters and_ Petitpré _who enters_ C, _with_ Léon.)
PETITPRÉ
Now that this red-letter day has gone by as any other day goes, will you
play a game of billiards with me, Monsieur Martinel?
MARTINEL
Most certainly, I am very fond of billiards.
LÉON [_comes down stage_]
You are like my father. It seems to me that when anyone begins to like
billiards at all, they become infatuated with the game; and you two
people are two of a kind.
MARTINEL
My son, when a man grows old, and has no family, he has to take refuge
in such pleasures as these. If you take bait-fishing as your diversion
in the morning and billiards for the afternoon and evening, you have two
kinds of amusement that are both worthy and attractive.
LÉON
Oh, ho! Bait-fishing, indeed! That means to say, getting up early and
sitting with your feet in the water through wind and rain in the hope of
catching, perhaps each quarter of an hour, a fish about the size of a
match. And you call that an attractive pastime?
MARTINEL
I do, without a doubt. But do you believe that there is a single lover
in the world capable of doing as much for his mistress throughout ten,
twelve, or fifteen years of life? If you asked my opinion, I think he
would give it up at the end of a fortnight.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Of a truth; he would.
LÉON [_interrupts_]
Pardon me, I should give it up at the end of a week.
MARTINEL
You speak sensibly.
PETITPRÉ
Come along, my dear fellow.
MARTINEL
Shall we play fifty up?
PETITPRÉ
Fifty up will do.
MARTINEL [_turns to_ Mme. de Ronchard]
We shall see you again shortly, Madame.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Well, I have had enough of Havre for the present.
[_Exit_ Martinel _and_ Petitpré C.]
SCENE III.
(Leon _and_ Mme. de Ronchard.)
LÉON
Martinel is a good fellow. Not a man of culture, but bright as sunshine
and straight as a rule.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_seated_ L.]
He is lacking in distinction of manner.
LÉON [_inadvertently_]
How about yourself, Aunt?
MME. DE RONCHARD
What do you mean?
LÉON [_corrects himself and approaches_ Mme. de Ronchard]
I said, how about yourself? You know what I mean--you have such an
intimate knowledge of the world that you are a better judge of human
nature than anyone I know.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Indeed, I am. You were too small a boy to recollect it, but
nevertheless, I went a great deal into society before my husband spent
all my money, and let me tell you that I was a great success. For
instance, at a grand ball given by the Turkish ambassador, at which I
was dressed as Salammbô--
LÉON [_interrupts_]
What, you, the Carthaginian princess?
MME. DE RONCHARD
Certainly. Why not? Let me tell you that I was greatly admired, for my
appearance was exquisite. My dear, that was in eighteen hundred and
sixty--
LÉON [_sits near_ Mme. de Ronchard]
Oh, no dates! for goodness sake, no dates!
MME. DE RONCHARD
It is not necessary to be sarcastic.
LÉON
What! I, sarcastic? God forbid! It is simply this: in view of the fact
that you did not wish this marriage to take place, and that I did, and
that the marriage has taken place, I feel very happy. Do you understand
me? It is a triumph for me, and I must confess that I feel very
triumphant this evening. Tomorrow, however, vanish the triumpher, and
there will remain only your affectionate little nephew. Come, smile,
Auntie. At heart you are not as ill-natured as you pretend to be, and
that is proved by the generosity of soul you have evinced in founding at
Neuilly, despite your modest means, a hospital for--lost dogs!
MME. DE RONCHARD
What else could I do. When a woman is alone and has no children--and I
was married such a short time--do you know what I am, after all? Simply
an old maid, and like all old maids--
LÉON [_finishes the sentence for her_]
You love toy dogs.
MME. DE RONCHARD
As much as I hate men.
LÉON
You mean to say one man. Well, I could hardly blame you for hating him.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And you know for what kind of girl he abandoned and ruined me. You never
saw her, did you?
LÉON
Pardon me, I did see her once in the Champs-Elysées. I was walking with
you and my father. A gentleman and lady came toward us; you became
excited, quickened your steps, and clutched nervously at my father's
arm, and I heard you say in a low voice, “Don't look at them; it is
she!”
MME. DE RONCHARD
And what were you doing?
LÉON
I?--I was looking at him.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_rises_]
And you thought her horrible, didn't you?
LÉON
I really don't know. You know I was only eleven years old.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_crosses_ R.]
You are insufferable! Go away, or I shall strike you.
LÉON [_soothingly, and rising_]
There, there, Aunt, I won't do it again. I will be good, I promise you,
if you will forgive me.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_rises, as if to go out_ C.]
I will not!
LÉON
Please do!
MME. DE RONCHARD [_returns_]
I will not! If it were simply a case of teasing me, I could let it pass,
for I can take care of myself; but you have done your sister a wrong,
and that is unforgivable.
LÉON
How?
MME. DE RONCHARD [_stands_ R. _of table and drums on it with her
fingers_]
Why, this marriage! You brought it about.
LÉON [_imitates her action at_ L. _of table_]
That is true, and I did right. Moreover, I shall never be tired
asserting that what I did was right.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_still tapping on the table_]
And for my part I shall never be tired of saying that Gilberte has not
married the right man.
LÉON [_still tapping_]
Well, what kind of man do you think Gilberte ought to have married?
MME. DE RONCHARD
A man of position, a public official, or an eminent physician, or--an
engineer.
LÉON
Do you mean a theatrical engineer?
MME. DE RONCHARD
There are other kinds of engineers. Then, above all, she should not have
married a handsome man.
LÉON
Do you reproach Jean for his good looks? If you do, my dear Aunt, there
are a good many men in the world who must plead guilty. Suppose, even,
that a man has no need of good looks, it does not follow that he ought
to be ugly.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_sits on a little stool by the table, clasps her
hands, and looks upward_]
My husband was handsome, nay, superb, a veritable guardsman--and I know
how much it cost me.
LÉON
It might have cost you a great deal more if he had been ugly! [Mme. de
Ronchard _rises to go away_.] Besides Jean is not only good-looking but
he is good. He is not vain, but modest; and he has genius, which is
manifesting itself more and more every day. He will certainly attain
membership in the Institute. That would please you, would it not? That
would be worth more than a simple engineer; and, moreover, every woman
finds him charming, except you.
MME. DE RONCHARD
That's the very thing for which I blame him. He is too good and too
honest. He has already painted the portraits of a crowd of women, and he
will continue to do that. They will be alone with him in his studio for
hours at a time, and everybody knows what goes on in those studios.
LÉON
You have been accustomed to go there, my dear Aunt?
MME. DE RONCHARD [_dreamily_]
Oh, yes. [_Corrects herself_.] I mean to say, once I went to Horace
Vernet's studio.
LÉON
The painter of battle scenes!
MME. DE RONCHARD
Well, what I say of Jean, I say of all artists--that they ought not to
be allowed to marry into a family of lawyers and magistrates, such as
ours. Such doings always bring trouble. I ask you as a man, is it
possible to be a good husband under such conditions--among a crowd of
women continually around you who do nothing but unrobe and re-dress
themselves, whether they be clients or models (_pointedly_), especially
models? [Mme. de Ronchard _rises and_ Léon _is silent_.] I said
_models_, Léon.
LÉON
I understand you, Aunt. You make a very pointed and delicate allusion to
Jean's past. Well, what of it? If he did have one of his models for a
mistress, he loved her, and loved her sincerely for three years--
MME. DE RONCHARD
You mean to tell me a man can love such women?
LÉON
Every woman can be loved, my dear Aunt; and this woman certainly
deserved to be loved more than most women.
MME. DE RONCHARD
A great thing, truly, for a model to be pretty! That is the essential
thing, I should think.
LÉON
Whether it be essential or not, it is nevertheless very nice to be
pretty. But this girl was better than pretty, for she had a nature which
was exceptionally tender, good, and sincere.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Well, then, why did he leave her?
LÉON
What! Can you ask me such a question?--you, who know so much about the
world and the world's opinions? [_Folds his arms_.] Would you advocate
free love?
MME. DE RONCHARD [_indignantly_]
You know I would not.
LÉON [_seriously_]
Listen. The truth is, that it happened to Jean as it has happened to
many others besides him--that is to say, there was a pretty little
nineteen-year-old girl whom he met, whom he loved, and with whom he
established an intimacy little by little--an intimacy which lasted one,
two, three years--the usual duration of that sort of thing. Then, as
usually happens, there came a rupture--a rupture which is sometimes
violent, sometimes gentle, but which is never altogether good-natured.
Then also, as usual in such cases, each went a separate way--the eternal
ending, which is always prosaic, because it is true to life. But the one
thing that distinguishes Jean's _liaison_ from the usual affair is the
truly admirable character of the girl in the case.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Oh, admirable character! Mademoiselle--tell me, what is the name of this
young lady? If you mentioned it I have forgotten it. Mademoiselle
Mus--Mus--
LÉON
Musotte, Auntie; little Musotte.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Musette! Pshaw, that's a very common name. It reminds me of the Latin
quarter and of Bohemian life. [_With disgust._] Musette!
LÉON
No, no; not Musette. Musotte, with an O instead of an E. She is named
Musotte because of her pretty little nose; can't you understand?
Musotte, the name explains itself.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_with contempt_]
Oh, yes; a _fin-de-siècle_ Musotte, which is still worse. Musotte is not
a name.
LÉON
My dear Aunt, it is only a nickname. The nick-name of a model. Her true
name is Henriette Lévêque.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_puzzled_]
Lévêque?
LÉON
Yes, Lévêque. What does this questioning mean? It is just as I told you,
or else I know nothing about it. Now, Henriette Lévêque, or Musotte, if
you prefer that term, has not only been faithful to Jean during the
course of her love affair with him; has not only been devoted and
adoring, and full of a tenderness which was ever watchful, but at the
very hour of her rupture with him, she gave proof of her greatness of
soul. She accepted everything without reproach, without recrimination;
the poor little girl understood everything--understood that all was
finished and finished forever. With the intuition of a woman, she felt
that Jean's love for my sister was real and deep, she bowed her head to
circumstances and she departed, accepting, without a murmur, the
loneliness that Jean's action brought upon her. She carried her fidelity
to the end, for she would have slain herself sooner than become
[_hesitating out of respect for_ Mme. de Ronchard] a courtesan. And this
I _know_.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And has Jean never seen her since?
LÉON
Not once; and that is more than eight months ago. He wished for news of
her, and he gave me the task of getting it. I never found her and I have
never been able to gain any knowledge of her, so cunningly did she
arrange this flight of hers--this flight which was so noble and so
self-sacrificing. [_Changing his tone._] But I don't know why I repeat
all this. You know it just as well as I do, for I have told it to you a
dozen times.
MME. DE RONCHARD
It is just as incredible at the twentieth time as at the first.
LÉON
It is nevertheless the truth.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_sarcastically_]
Well, if it is really the truth, you were terribly wrong in helping Jean
to break his connection with such an admirable woman.
LÉON
Oh, no, Aunt, I only did my duty. You have even called me hairbrained,
and perhaps you were right; but you know that I can be very serious when
I wish. If this three-year-old _liaison_ had lasted until now, Jean
would have been ruined.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Well, how could we help that?
LÉON
Well, these things are frightful--these entanglements--I can't help
using the word. It was my duty as a friend--and I wish to impress it
upon you--to rescue Jean; and as a brother, it was my duty to marry my
sister to such a man as he. The future will tell you whether I was right
or not. [_Coaxingly._] And then, my dear Aunt, when later you have a
little nephew or a little niece to take care of, to dandle in your arms,
you will banish all these little spaniels that you are taking care of at
Neuilly.
MME. DE RONCHARD
The poor little darlings! I, abandon them! Don't you know that I love
them as a mother loves her children?
LÉON
Oh, yes; you can become an aunt to them, then, because you will have to
become a mother to your little nephew.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Oh, hold your tongue; you irritate me. (Jean _appears with_ Gilberte
_for a moment at C._)
JEAN [_to servant entering_ R.]
Joseph, have you forgotten nothing, especially the flowers?
SERVANT
Monsieur and Madame may rest assured that everything has been done.
[_Exit servant_ L.]
LÉON [_to_ Mme. de Ronchard]
Look at them; aren't they a bonny couple?
SCENE IV.
(_The same with_ Jean _and_ Gilberte.)
JEAN [_approaches_ Mme. de Ronchard _and speaks to her_]
Do you know of whom we were talking just now? We were talking of you.
LÉON [_aside_]
Ahem! ahem!
JEAN
Yes; I was just saying that I had not made you a present on the occasion
of my nuptials, because the choosing of it demanded a great deal of
reflection.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_dryly_]
But Gilberte made me a very pretty one for you both, Monsieur.
JEAN
But that is not enough. I have been looking for something which I
thought would be particularly acceptable to you; and do you know what I
found? It is a very small thing, but I ask you, Madame, to be so good as
to accept this little pocketbook, which holds some bank-notes, for the
benefit of your dear little deserted pets. You can add to your home for
these little pets some additional kennels on the sole condition that you
will allow me from time to time to come and pet your little pensioners,
and on the additional condition that you will not pick out the most
vicious among them to greet me.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_greatly impressed_]
With all my heart, I thank you. How good of you to think of my poor
little orphans!
LÉON [_whispers to_ Jean]
You diplomat, you!
JEAN
There is nothing extraordinary about it, Madame. I am very fond of dumb
animals. They are really the foster-brothers of man, sacrificed for
them, slaves to them, and in many cases their food. They are the true
martyrs of the world.
MME. DE RONCHARD
What you say is very true, Monsieur, and I have often thought of it in
that way. For instance, take those poor horses, scourged and beaten by
coachmen in the streets.
LÉON [_with sarcastic emphasis_]
And the pheasants, Auntie, and the partridges and the blackcock falling
on all sides under a hail of lead, flying panic-stricken before the
horrible massacre of the guns.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Oh, don't talk like that, it makes me shudder; it is horrible!
JEAN [_turns to_ Gilberte]
Horrible, indeed!
LÉON [_after a pause, in light tone_]
Perhaps so, but they are good eating.
MME. DE RONCHARD
You are pitiless.
LÉON [_aside to his aunt_]
Pitiless, perhaps, toward animals, but not pitiless, like you, toward
people.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_in the same tone_]
What do you mean by that?
LÉON [_in the same tone pointing to_ Jean _and_ Gilberte, _who are
seated on a sofa_ R.]
Do you think that your presence here can be acceptable to those two
lovers? [_Takes her arm_.] My father has certainly finished smoking;
come into the billiard-room for a little while.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And what are you going to do?
LÉON
I am going down into my study on the ground floor, and I shall come up
here after a little while.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_sarcastically_]
Your study, indeed--your studio--you mean, you rascal, where your
clients are--models--
LÉON [_with mock modesty_]
Oh, Auntie. My clients, at least, don't unrobe--alas! [_Exit_ Léon R.,
_giving a mock benediction to the lovers_.] Children, receive my
benediction!
[_Exit_ Madame de Ronchard C.]
SCENE V.
(Jean _and_ Gilberte _seated on the sofa at right_.)
JEAN
At last, you are my wife, Mademoiselle.
GILBERTE
Mademoiselle?
JEAN
Forgive me. I hardly know how to address you.
GILBERTE
Call me Gilberte. There is nothing shocking about that, is there?
JEAN
Gilberte, at last, at last, at last, you are my wife!
GILBERTE
And truly, not without a good deal of trouble.
JEAN
And what a dainty, energetic little creature you are! How you fought
with your father, and with your aunt, for it is only through you, and
thanks to you, that we are married, for which I thank you with all my
heart--the heart which belongs to you.
GILBERTE
But it is only because I trusted you, and that is all.
JEAN
And have you only trust for me?
GILBERTE
Stupid boy! You know that you pleased me. If you had only pleased me, my
confidence in you would have been useless. One must love first. Without
that, Monsieur, nothing can come.
JEAN
Call me Jean, just as I have called you Gilberte.
GILBERTE [_hesitates_]
But that is not altogether the same thing. It seems to me--that--that--I
cannot do it. [_Rises and crosses_ L.]
JEAN [_rises_]
But I love you. I am no trifler, believe me; I love you. I am the man
who loves you because he has found in you qualities that are
inestimable. You are one of those perfect creatures who have as much
brains as sentiment; and the sentimentality that permeates you is not
the sickly sentimentality of ordinary women. It is that gloriously
beautiful faculty of tenderness which characterizes great souls, and
which one never meets elsewhere in the world. And then, you are so
beautiful, so graceful, with a grace that is all your own, and I, who am
a painter, you know how I adore the beautiful. Then, above everything,
you drew me to you, but not only that, you wiped out the traces of the
world from my mind and eyes.
GILBERTE
I like to hear you say that. But, don't talk any more just now in that
way, because it embarrasses me. However, I know, for I try to foresee
everything, that to enjoy these things I must listen to them to-day, for
your words breathe the passion of a lover. Perhaps in the future your
words will be as sweet, for they could not help being so when a man
speaks as you spoke and loves as you appear to love, but at the same
time, they will be different.
JEAN
Oh!
GILBERTE [_sits on stool near the table_]
Tell me it over again.
JEAN
What drew me to you was the mysterious harmony between your natural form
and the soul within it. Do you recollect my first visit to this house?
GILBERTE
Oh, yes, very well. My brother brought you to dinner, and I believe that
you did not wish to come.
JEAN [_laughs_]
If that were true, it was very indiscreet of your brother to tell you.
And he told you that? I am annoyed that he did so, and I confess I did
hesitate somewhat, for you know I was an artist accustomed to the
society of artists, which is lively, witty, and sometimes rather free,
and I felt somewhat disturbed at the idea of entering a house so serious
as yours--a house peopled by dignified lawyers and young ladies. But I
was so fond of your brother, I found him so full of novelty, so gay, so
wittily sarcastic and discerning, under his assumed levity, that not
only did I go everywhere with him, but I followed him to the extent of
meeting you. And I never cease to thank him for it. Do you remember when
I entered the drawing-room where you and your family were sitting, you
were arranging in a china vase some flowers that had just been sent to
you?
GILBERTE
I do.
JEAN
Your father spoke to me of my Uncle Martinel, whom he had formerly
known. This at once formed a link between us, for all the time that I
was talking to him I was watching you arrange your flowers.
GILBERTE [_smiles_]
You looked far too long and too steadfastly for a first introduction.
JEAN
I was looking at you as an artist looks, and was admiring you, for I
found your figure, your movements, and your entire self attractive. And
then for the last six months I have often come to this house, to which
your brother invited me and whither your presence attracted me, and
finally I felt your sway as a lover feels the sway of the one he adores.
There was an inexplicable, unseen attraction calling me to you. [_Sits
beside her_ R. _of table_.] Then a dim idea entered my brain,--an idea
that one day you might become my wife. It gained possession of my soul,
and I immediately took steps to renew the friendship between your father
and my uncle. The two men again became friends. Did you never divine my
maneuvers?
GILBERTE
Divine your maneuvers? No, I suspected a little at times, but I was so
astounded that a man like you--in the full flush of success, so well
known, so sought after--should concern himself with such a little,
unimportant girl as I, that, really, I could place no faith in the
sincerity of your attention.
JEAN
Nevertheless, we quickly knew how to understand each other, did we not?
GILBERTE
Your character pleased me. I felt that you were loyal, and then you
entertained me greatly, for you brought into our house that artistic air
which gave my fancies life. I ought to tell you that my brother had
already warned me that I should like you. You know that Léon loves you.
JEAN
I know it, and I think it was in _his_ brain that the first idea of our
marriage had birth. [_After a short silence_] You remember our return
from Saint-Germain after we had dined in the Henri IV. Pavilion?
GILBERTE
I remember it well.
JEAN
My uncle and your aunt were in the front of the landau, and you and I on
the rear seat, and in another carriage were your father and Léon. What a
glorious spring night! But how coldly you treated me!
GILBERTE
I was so embarrassed!
JEAN
You ought to recall that I put to you that day a question which I had
already asked you, because you cannot deny that I had paid you very
tender attention and that you had captured my heart.
GILBERTE
True. Nevertheless it surprised and upset me. Oh, how often have I
remembered it since! But I have never been able to recall the very words
you used. Do you remember them?
JEAN
No; they came from my lips, issuing from the bottom of my heart like a
prayer for mercy. I only know that I told you that I should never
re-enter your house if you did not give me some little hope that there
should be a day when you would know me better. You pondered a long time
before you answered me, but you spoke in such a low tone that I was
anxious to make you repeat it.
GILBERTE [_takes up his sentence and speaks as if in a dream_]
I said that it would pain me greatly if I should see you no more.
JEAN
Yes, that is what you said.
GILBERTE
You have forgotten nothing!
JEAN
Could anyone forget that? [_With deep emotion._] Do you know what I
think? As we look at each other and examine our hearts, our souls, our
mutual understanding, our love, I verily believe that we have set out on
the true road to happiness. [_Kisses her. For a moment they are
silent._]
GILBERTE [_rises_]
But I must leave you. [_Goes toward door_ L.] I must prepare for our
journey. Meanwhile, go and find my father.
JEAN [_follows her_]
Yes, but tell me before you go that you love me.
GILBERTE
Yes--I love you.
JEAN [_kisses her forehead_]
My only one.
[_Exit_ Gilberte L., _a second after. Enter_ M. Martinel C. _with a very
agitated air, and a letter in his hand_.]
MARTINEL [_perceives_ Jean, _quickly slips the letter into his pocket;
then, recollecting himself_]
Have you seen Léon?
JEAN
No, are you looking for him?
MARTINEL
No, no, I have just a word to say to him concerning an engagement of
small importance.
JEAN [_perceives_ Léon]
Wait a moment. Here he comes.
[_Enter_ Léon R. _Exit_ Jean. C.]
SCENE VI.
(Martinel _and_ Léon.)
MARTINEL [_goes quickly up to_ Léon]
I must have five minutes with you. Something terrible has happened.
Never in the course of my life have I been placed in so awkward and so
embarrassing a situation.
LÉON
Quick! What is it?
MARTINEL
I had just finished my game at billiards when a servant brought me a
letter addressed to M. Martinel, without any Christian name by which to
identify it, but with these words on the letter “Exceedingly urgent.” I
thought it was addressed to me, so I tore open the envelope, and I read
words intended for Jean--words which have well-nigh taken away my
reason. I came to find you in order to ask advice, for this is a thing
which must be decided upon the moment.
LÉON
Tell me, what is it?
MARTINEL
I am responsible for my own actions, M. Léon, and I would ask advice of
no one if the matter concerned myself only, but unfortunately it
concerns Jean; therefore, I hesitate--the matter is so grave, and then
the secret is not mine--I came upon it accidentally.
LÉON
Tell me quickly, and do not doubt my faith.
MARTINEL
I do not doubt your faith. Here is the letter. It is from Dr. Pellerin,
who is Jean's physician, who is his friend, our friend, a good fellow, a
free liver, and a physician to many women of the world, and one who
would not write such things unless necessity compelled him. [_Hands the
letter to_ Léon, _who holds it close to his eyes._]
LÉON [_reads_]
“MY DEAR FRIEND:
“I am more than annoyed at having to communicate with you upon this
evening, above every other evening, upon such a subject as this. But I
am sure that if I did otherwise you would never forgive me. Your former
mistress, Henriette Lévêque, is dying and would bid you farewell.
[_Throws a glance at_ Martinel _who signs to him to continue._] She will
not live through the night. She dies after bringing into the world, some
fifteen days ago, a child who on her deathbed she swears is yours. So
long as she was in no danger, she determined to leave you in ignorance
of this child's existence. But, to-day, doomed to death, she calls to
you. I know how you have loved her in the past. But you must do as you
think fit. She lives in the Rue Chaptal at Number 31. Let me know how I
can serve you, my dear fellow, and believe me,
“Always yours,
“PELLERIN.”
MARTINEL
There you are. That letter came this evening. That is to say, at the one
moment above all others when such a misfortune could threaten the whole
future--the whole life of your sister and of Jean. What would you do if
you were I? Would you keep this confounded letter, or would you give it
to him? If I keep it, we may save appearances, but such an act would be
unworthy of me.
LÉON [_energetically_]
I should say so. You must give the letter to Jean.
MARTINEL
Well, what will he do?
LÉON
He alone is the judge of his own actions. We have no right to hide
anything from him.
MARTINEL
Supposing he consults me?
LÉON
He will not do it. In such situations a man consults only his
conscience.
MARTINEL
But he treats me like a father. If he hesitates a moment between his
attention to his wife and the effacement of his happiness, what shall I
tell him to do?
LÉON
Just what you would do yourself in like case.
MARTINEL
My impulse would be to go to the woman. What would be yours?
LÉON [_resolutely_]
I should go.
MARTINEL
But how about your sister?
LÉON [_sadly, seating himself by the table_]
Yes, my poor little sister! What an awakening for her!
MARTINEL [_after a few seconds' hesitation, crosses abruptly from_ L.
_to_ R.]
No; it is too hard a thing to do. I shall not give him this letter. I
shall be blamed perhaps, but so much the worse. In any case, I save him.
LÉON
You cannot do such a thing, sir. We both know my sister, poor little
girl, and I am sure that if this marriage is annulled, she will die.
[_Rises_.] When a man has for three years enjoyed the love of such a
woman as the one who sends for him, he cannot refuse to see her on her
deathbed whatever may happen.
MARTINEL
What will Gilberte do?
LÉON
She worships Jean--but you know how proud she is.
MARTINEL
Will she accept the situation? Will she forgive it?
LÉON
Of that I am very doubtful, especially after all that has been said
about this poor girl in the family circle. But what does that matter?
Jean must be warned at once. I am going to find him and bring him to
you. [_Rises as if to go out_ C.]
MARTINEL
Well, how would you like me to tell him?
LÉON Simply give him the letter. [_Exit_ Léon C.]
SCENE VII.
MARTINEL [_alone_]
Poor children! in the midst of their happiness and at the zenith of joy!
And that other poor girl, who is now suffering and slowly dying!
Heavens! How unjust and how cruel life is at times.
SCENE VIII.
(_Re-enter_ Léon _with_ Jean)
JEAN [_walks briskly to_ C. _of stage_]
What is it all about?
MARTINEL
One minute, my poor boy; read this, and forgive me for having opened
your letter. I opened it because I thought it was intended for me.
[_Gives letter to_ Jean, _and watches him read it._ Léon _also watches
him, standing_ L.]
JEAN [_after reading the letter, speaks to himself in a low tone,
touched with deep but contained emotion_]
I must do it! I owe it to her! [_To Martinel._] Uncle, I leave my wife
in your charge. Say nothing until I return, and remain here till I come
back. Wait for me. [_Turns to_ Léon.] I know you well enough to realize
that you do not disapprove of what I am doing. To you I confide my
future. I am going. [_Turns to the door_ R., _but after casting a glance
at the door_ L., _which leads to his wife's chamber, says to_ Léon.] To
you I owe the love your sister has bestowed upon me. Help me now to
preserve it.
[_Exit quickly_ R.]
SCENE IX.
(Martinel _and_ Léon.)
MARTINEL [_seated_ R.]
What shall we do now? What are we going to say? What explanations can we
give?
LÉON
Let me manage it. It is only right that I should do it since I brought
about this marriage.
MARTINEL [_rises_]
Well, I'd dearly love to be forty-eight hours older. [_Rising_.] I
confess I do not like these love tragedies, and moreover the fact of the
child entering into the case is awful. What is going to become of that
poor little mortal? We cannot send him to the foundling asylum. [_Enter_
Gilberte L.] Gilberte!
SCENE X.
Gilberte _has removed her marriage robes, and now wears a handsome house
gown. She carries an opera cloak, which she throws over a chair neat the
door_.
GILBERTE
Where is Jean?
LÉON
Do not be disturbed, he will be back directly.
GILBERTE [_in astonishment_]
Has he gone out?
LÉON
Yes.
GILBERTE
Gone out? And on this evening, above all others!
LÉON
A sudden and grave circumstance compelled him to go out for an hour.
GILBERTE [_excitedly_]
What is going on? What is it that you are hiding from me? Your story is
impossible. Some awful misfortune must have happened.
LÉON AND MARTINEL [_together_]
Oh, no, no!
GILBERTE
Then, what is it? Tell me! Speak!
LÉON
I cannot tell you anything. Be patient for an hour. It is Jean's duty to
tell you of the sudden and unexpected call which has summoned him hence
at such a time.
GILBERTE
What curious words you use! A sudden and unexpected call? He is an
orphan--his uncle is his only relative,--then what? Who? Why? Oh, God,
how you frighten me!
LÉON
There are duties of many kinds, my dear; friendship, pity, sympathy can
impose many of them. But I must not say any more. Be patient for an
hour, I implore you.
GILBERTE [_to_ Martinel]
And you, Uncle? Speak! I implore you! What is he doing? Where has he
gone? I feel--oh, I feel the shadow of a terrible misfortune hovering
over us; speak, I entreat.
MARTINEL [_with tears in his eyes_]
But I cannot tell you any more, my dear child. I cannot. Like your
brother, I promised to say nothing, and I would have done just as Jean
has done. Wait for an hour, I beseech you--just an hour.
GILBERTE
And you, too, are upset. It must be a catastrophe.
MARTINEL
No, no! The fact that you are so distressed agitates me, because you
know I love you with my whole heart. [_Embraces her_.]
GILBERTE [_to_ Léon]
You have spoken of friendship, of pity, and of sympathy, but if it were
any of these reasons you could tell me so; meanwhile, as I look at you
two, I feel that here is some unspoken reason, some mystery which
appalls me.
LÉON [_resolutely_]
My dear little sister, won't you trust in me?
GILBERTE
Yes, you ought to know all.
LÉON
Will you trust me absolutely?
GILBERTE
Absolutely.
LÉON
I swear to you, on my faith as a gentleman, that I would have done just
as Jean has done; that his absolute fidelity to you, his fidelity, which
perhaps is even exaggerated by love for you, is the only reason which
had led him to forget at this very moment the very thing that he has
gone to learn anew.
GILBERTE [_looks_ Léon _straight in the eyes_]
I believe you, Léon, and I thank you. Nevertheless, I tremble yet and I
shall tremble until he returns. If you swear to me that my husband was
entirely ignorant of the cause which has made him leave me at this
supreme moment, I will content myself as well as I can, trusting in you
two. [_She stretches both hands to the two men_.]
SCENE XI.
(_The same, with_ M. de Petitpré _and_ Mme. de Ronchard, _who enters
quickly_ C.)
PETITPRÉ
What is this I hear? Jean Martinel gone out?
MARTINEL
He is coming back very soon, sir.
PETITPRÉ
But why on earth did he go out on such an evening as this without a word
of explanation to his wife? [_Turns to_ Gilberte] You know nothing about
it, do you?
GILBERTE [_seated_ L. _of table_]
Father, I know nothing at all about it.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And without a word of explanation to the family! That is indeed a lack
of courtesy.
PETITPRÉ [_to_ Martinel]
And why has he acted in this way, sir?
MARTINEL
Your son knows as much as I do, sir; but neither of us can reveal it to
you. Moreover, your daughter has consented to wait until she can learn
all about it from her husband on his return.
PETITPRÉ
My daughter has consented--but I do not consent! Besides, it seems that
you alone were forewarned of this sudden departure.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_in agitation to_ Martinel]
It was to you they brought the letter, and you were the one who read it
first.
MARTINEL
You are correctly informed, Madame; a letter was delivered here, but I
would not shoulder the responsibility of this matter, and I showed the
letter to your son, sir [_turns to_ Petitpré], and asked his advice with
the intention of following it.
LÉON
The advice that I gave is exactly what my brother-in-law has done of his
own volition, and I esteem him all the more for it.
PETITPRÉ [_turns to_ Léon]
It is I who should have been consulted, not you. If Jean's action is
indeed excusable, his want of courtesy is absolutely unpardonable.
MME. DE RONCHARD
It is scandalous!
LÉON [_to_ M. Petitpré]
Yes, it would have been better to consult you, but the urgency of the
matter did not allow it. You would have discussed the matter; my aunt
would have discussed the matter; we should all have discussed the matter
the whole night long, and you know there are times when one cannot
afford to lose even seconds. Silence was necessary until Jean's return.
When he does return he will hide nothing from you, and I feel sure that
you will judge him as I myself have judged him.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_turns to_ Martinel]
But this letter, from whom did it come?
MARTINEL
Oh, I can tell you that. It came from a physician.
MME. DE RONCHARD
From a physician--a physician--then he must have a sick patient--and it
is on account of this patient that he made Jean come to him. But who is
the patient? Oh, ho! I surmise that it is a woman--that woman--his
former mistress, who has played this card today. Sick! I suppose she has
made a pretense of poisoning herself in order to show him that she loves
him still and will always love him. Oh, the little wretch! [_To_ Léon.]
This is the kind of people you stand up for! Yes, you!
LÉON
It would be only reasonable, my dear Aunt, not to air all these
revolting theories of yours in Gilberte's presence, especially when you
really know nothing at all.
GILBERTE [_rises_]
Do not speak any more about it, I pray you. Everything that I have heard
just now distresses me beyond measure. I will wait for my husband; I do
not wish to know anything except from his lips, as I have absolute
confidence in him. If misfortune has threatened us, I will not hear such
things talked of. [_Exit_ L, _accompanied by_ Petitpré. _Short
silence_.]
MME. DE RONCHARD [_turns to_ Léon]
Well, Léon, do you always win? You see what charming fellows these
husbands are--every one of them!
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Musotte's _bedroom, neatly furnished, but without luxury. Disordered bed
stands_ L. _A screen stands_ L. I. E., _almost hiding_ Musotte, _who
lies stretched at length upon a steamer-chair. Beside the bed is a
cradle, the head of which is turned up stage. On the mantelpiece and on
small tables at_ R. _and_ L. _are vials of medicine, cups, chafing-dish,
etc. A table stands_, R. I. E. Musotte _is sleeping_. La Babin _and_
Mme. Flache _stand_ C. _looking at her_.
LA BABIN [_in low tones_]
How she sleeps!
MME. FLACHE [_in the same voice_]
But she will not sleep long now, unless she is going into her last
sleep.
LA BABIN
Oh, there is no chance of that. That is enough to give one the horrors.
Fancy losing one's life for a child!
MME. FLACHE
But how can you prevent it? Death is as necessary as birth, or the world
would become too small for us all.
LA BABIN [_sits_ R. _of table_]
All people ought to die in the same way and at the same age--every one
of us; then one would know what to expect.
MME. FLACHE [_pours out some tea_]
What simple ideas you have, Madame Babin! Personally, I would rather not
know the hour of my death. I would sooner finish my life while sleeping
in the middle of the night--during slumber--without suffering--by a
sudden failure of the heart.
LA BABIN
Look at the sick woman. How silly of her to wish to rest upon that
steamer-chair as she has done. The doctor told her plainly that such an
effort would probably finish her.
MME. FLACHE [_sits_ L. _of table_]
Oh, I understand her motive. When a girl like her has a lover she
commits every kind of folly, and more especially, nurse, when they are
at all coquettish; but you country people do not know anything about
such things. They are coquettish through and through. That is the reason
she wished to look her prettiest. She was afraid of being thought ugly,
don't you understand? So I had to put on her _peignoir_, and tidy her
up, and arrange her hair just as I have done.
LA BABIN
Oh, these Parisians! It is necessary that they should have a hairdresser
even to the last gasp! [_A short silence_.] But will this gentleman of
hers come?
MME. FLACHE
I do not think so. Men are not overfond of obeying the calls of their
former mistresses at such times, and then, this lover of hers was
married to-day, poor fellow!
LA BABIN
Well, that is a joke.
MME. FLACHE
I should say so.
LA BABIN
Certainly, then, he won't come. In such a case would _you_ go to see a
man?
MME. FLACHE
Oh, if I loved him very much I should go.
LA BABIN
Even if you were marrying another the same day?
MME. FLACHE
Just the same. For such a combination of circumstances would pierce my
heart; would penetrate me with a strong emotion,--and, oh, I am so fond
of such emotions!
LA BABIN
Well, so far as I am concerned, I certainly would not go. I should be
too much afraid of the shock.
MME. FLACHE
But Doctor Pellerin asserts that the man will come.
LA BABIN
Do you know this physician well?
MME. FLACHE
Who, Doctor Pellerin?
LA BABIN
Yes; he has the air of a charming man of the world.
MME. FLACHE
Oh, yes; he is all that, but he is also a good physician. Then he is
such good company, and has such a smooth tongue. And you know he is not
physician to the Opera for nothing.
LA BABIN
That little puppy of a--
MME. FLACHE
A puppy! You don't very often find puppies among men of his caliber, and
then,-oh, how he used to love the girls! Oh, oh! Although, for the
matter of that, there are many physicians who are like him. It was at
the Opera that I first met him.
LA BABIN
At the Opera!
MME. FLACHE
Yes, at the Opera. You know, I was a dancer there for eight years. Yes,
indeed, even I--just as you see me, a dancer at the Opera.
LA BABIN
You, Madame Flache!
MME. FLACHE
Yes, my mother was a midwife, and taught me the business at the same
time that she taught me dancing, because she always said it was well to
have two strings to your bow. Dancing, you see, is all very well,
provided you are not too ambitious of appearing on first nights, but,
unhappily, that was the case with me. I was as slender as a thread when
I was twenty, and very agile, but I grew fat and scant of breath, and
became rather heavy in my steps; so when my mother died, as I had my
diploma as a midwife, I took her apartment and her business, and I added
the title of “Midwife to the Opera,” for all their business comes to me.
They like me very much there. When I was dancing, they used to call me
Mademoiselle Flacchi the première.
LA BABIN
Then you have been married since then?
MME. FLACHE
No, but a woman in my profession should always assume the title of
Madame for the sake of its dignity. You know, it gives confidence. But,
how about you, nurse, from what place do you come? You know, you have
only just come here, and nobody consulted me about engaging you.
LA BABIN
I am from Yvetot.
MME. FLACHE
Is this your first engagement as a nurse?
LA BABIN
No, my third. I have had two daughters and a little boy.
MME. FLACHE
And your husband, is he a farmer or a gardener?
LA BABIN [_Simply_]
I am not married.
MME. FLACHE [_laughing_]
Not married, and with three children! Upon my word, let me compliment
you; you are indeed precocious.
LA BABIN
Don't talk about it; it was not my will. It is the good God who does
these things. One cannot prevent it.
MME. FLACHE
How simple you are! Now you will probably have a fourth child.
LA BABIN
That's very possible.
MME. FLACHE
Well, what does your lover do? What is his business? Or perhaps you have
more than one?
LA BABIN [_with indignation_]
There has never been more than one. I give you my word, upon my hope of
salvation. He is a lemonade-seller at Yvetot.
MME. FLACHE
Is he a handsome fellow?
LA BABIN
I believe you, indeed! He is handsome! [_Confidentially_.] If I tell you
all this, it is only because you are a midwife, and a midwife in such
affairs as this is like a priest in the confessional. But you, Madame
Flache, you, who have been a dancer at the Opera, you must also have
had, surely--little love affairs--little intrigues?
MME. FLACHE [_evidently flattered, and in a dreamy tone_]
Oh, yes, one or two!
LA BABIN [_laughs_]
And have you never had--this sort of accident? [_Points to the cradle_.]
MME. FLACHE
No.
LA BABIN
How did that come?
MME. FLACHE [_rises and approaches the mantelpiece_]
Probably because I was a midwife.
LA BABIN
Well, I know one in your profession who has had five.
MME. FLACHE [_with contempt_]
She evidently did not come from Paris.
LA BABIN
That's true; she came from Courbevoie.
MUSOTTE [_in a feeble voice_] Is no one there?
MME. FLACHE
She is awakening. There, there! [_Folds up the screen which hides the
long steamer-chair_.]
MUSOTTE
Hasn't he come yet?
MME. FLACHE
No.
MUSOTTE
He will arrive too late--my God! My God!
MME. FLACHE
What an idea! He will come.
MUSOTTE
And my little darling--my child?
MME. FLACHE
He is sleeping like an angel.
MUSOTTE [_after looking at herself in a hand-mirror_]
I must not look like this when he comes. Oh, God! Bring my child--I want
to see him.
MME. FLACHE
But if I show him to you he will wake up, and who knows if he will go to
sleep again.
MUSOTTE
Bring the cradle here. [_A gesture of refusal from_ Mme Flache.] Yes,
yes! I insist, [Mme. Flache _and the nurse gently bring the cradle to
her_.] Nearer, nearer, so that I can see him well--the darling! My
child, my child! And I am going to leave him! Soon I shall disappear
into the unknown. Oh. God, what agony!
MME. FLACHE
Now don't go worrying yourself like that; you are not as ill as you
think. I have seen lots worse than you. Come, come! you are going to
recover. Take away the cradle, nurse. [_They put the cradle again in its
place; then to the nurse_.] That will do, that will do. Watch me. You
know very well that it is only I who can quiet it. [_Sits near the
cradle, and sings a lullaby while rocking it_.]
“A little gray fowl
Came into the barn,
To lay a big egg
For the good boy that sleeps.
Go to sleep, go to sleep,
My little chicken!
Go to sleep, sleep, my chick!”
LA BABIN [_stands near the end of the mantelpiece, drinks the sugared
water, and slips loaf sugar into her pocket; aside_]
I must not forget the main thing. I have just seen in the kitchen the
remains of a leg of mutton, to which I should like to go and say a few
words. I am breaking in two with hunger just now.
MME. FLACHE [_sings softly_]
“A little black fowl
Came into the room,
To lay a big egg
For the good boy that sleeps.
Sleep, sleep, my little chicken,
Sleep, oh, sleep, my chick!”
MUSOTTE [_from the long chair, after moaning several times_]
Has he gone to sleep again?
MME. FLACHE [_goes toward_ Musotte]
Yes, Mademoiselle, just as if he were a little Jesus. Do you wish to
know what I think about him, this young man lying here? You will lead
him to the altar for his marriage. He is a jewel, like yourself, my
dear.
MUSOTTE
Do you really think him pretty?
MME. FLACHE
On the honor of a midwife, I have seldom brought into the world one so
pretty. It is a pleasure to know that one has brought to the light such
a little Cupid as he is.
MUSOTTE
And to think that in a few hours, perhaps, I shall see him no more; look
at him no more; love him no more!
MME. FLACHE
Oh, no, no! You are talking unreasonably.
MUSOTTE
Ah, I know it too well! I heard you talking with the nurse. I know that
the end is very near; this night, perhaps. Would the doctor have written
to Jean to come and see me on this evening--the evening of his
marriage--if I were not at the point of death? [_The bell rings_.
Musotte _utters a cry_.] Ah, there he is! it is he! Quick! quick! Oh,
God, how I suffer! [_Exit_ Mme. Flache C. Musotte _gazes after her.
Enter_ Dr. Pellerin, _in evening clothes_.]
SCENE II.
MUSOTTE [_despairingly_]
Ah! it is not he!
PELLERIN [_approaches_ Musotte]
Has he not come yet?
MUSOTTE
He will not come.
DR. PELLERIN
He will! I am certain of it; I know it.
MUSOTTE
No!
DR. PELLERIN
I swear it! [_Turns toward_ Mme. Flache.] Hasn't he answered the note
yet?
MME. FLACHE
No, Doctor.
DR. PELLERIN
Well, he will come. How is my patient?
MME. FLACHE
She has rested a little.
MUSOTTE [_in an agitated voice_]
All is over! I feel that I shall not rest any more until he comes, or
until I depart without having seen him.
DR. PELLERIN
He will come if you will go to sleep immediately and sleep until
to-morrow morning.
MUSOTTE
You would not have written to him to come this evening if I had been
able to wait until to-morrow morning. [_The bell rings_.] If that is not
he, I am lost--lost! [Mme. Flache _runs to open the door_. Musotte
_listens intently, and hears from below a man's voice; then murmurs
despairingly_.] It is not he!
MME. FLACHE [_re-enters with a vial in her hand_]
It is the medicine from the chemist.
MUSOTTE [_agitated_]
Oh, God! how horrible! He is not coming; what have I done? Doctor, show
me my child. I will see him once more.
DR. PELLERIN
But he sleeps, my little Musotte.
MUSOTTE
Well, he has plenty of time in the future for sleep.
DR. PELLERIN
Come, come, calm yourself.
MUSOTTE
If Jean does not come, who will take care of my child?--for it is Jean's
child, I swear to you. Do you believe me? Oh, how I loved him!
DR. PELLERIN
Yes, my dear little child, we believe you. But please be calm.
MUSOTTE [_with increasing agitation_]
Tell me, when you went away just now where did you go?
DR. PELLERIN
To see a patient.
MUSOTTE
That is not true. You went to see Jean, and he would not come with you,
or he would be here now.
DR. PELLERIN
On my word of honor, no.
MUSOTTE
Yes, I feel it. You have seen him, and you do not dare to tell me for
fear it would kill me.
DR. PELLERIN
Ah, the fever is coming back again. This must not go on. I don't wish
you to be delirious when he comes. [_Turns to_ Mme. Flache.] We must
give her a hypodermic injection. Give me the morphia. [Mme. Flache
_brings the needle and morphia, from the mantelpiece and gives it to_
Dr. Pellerin.]
MUSOTTE [_uncovers her own arm_]
But for this relief, I do not know how I should have borne up during the
last few days. [Dr. Pellerin _administers the hypodermic_.]
DR. PELLERIN
Now, you must go to sleep; I forbid you to speak. I won't answer you,
and I tell you of a certainty that in a quarter of an hour Jean will be
here. [Musotte _stretches herself out obediently upon the couch and goes
to sleep_.]
LA BABIN [_silently replaces the screen which hides_ Musotte]
How she sleeps! What a benediction that drug is! But I don't want any of
it. It scares me; it is a devil's potion. [_Sits near the cradle and
reads a newspaper_.]
MME. FLACHE [_in a low voice to_ Dr. Pellerin]
Oh, the poor girl, what misery!
DR. PELLERIN [_in the same tone_]
Yes, she is a brave girl. It is some time since I first met her with
Jean Martinel, who gave her three years of complete happiness. She has a
pure and simple soul.
MME. FLACHE
Well, will this Monsieur Martinel come?
DR. PELLERIN
I think so. He is a man of feeling, but it is a difficult thing for him
to leave his wife and his people on such a day as this.
MME. FLACHE
It certainly is a most extraordinary case. A veritable _fiasco_.
DR. PELLERIN
It is, indeed.
MME. FLACHE [_changes her tone_]
Where have you been just now? You did not put on evening dress and a
white cravat to go and see a patient?
DR. PELLERIN
I went to see the first part of the Montargy ballet danced.
MME. FLACHE [_interested, and leaning upon the edge of the table_]
And was it good? Tell me.
DR. PELLERIN [_sits_ L. _of table_]
It was very well danced.
MME. FLACHE
The new directors do things in style, don't they?
DR. PELLERIN
Jeanne Merali and Gabrielle Poivrier are first class.
MME. FLACHE
Poivrier--the little Poivrier--is it possible! As to Merali I am not so
much astonished; although she is distinctly ugly, she has her good
points. And how about Mauri?
DR. PELLERIN
Oh, a marvel--an absolute marvel, who dances as no one else can. A human
bird with limbs for wings. It was absolute perfection.
MME. FLACHE
Are you in love with her?
DR. PELLERIN
Oh, no; merely an admirer. You know how I worship the dance.
MME. FLACHE
And the _danseuses_ also, at times. [_Lowering her eyes._] Come, have
you forgotten?
DR. PELLERIN
One can never forget artists of your worth, my dear.
MME. FLACHE
You are simply teasing me.
DR. PELLERIN
I only do you justice. You know that formerly, when I was a young
doctor, I had for you a very ardent passion which lasted six weeks. Tell
me, don't you regret the time of the grand _fête_?
MME. FLACHE
A little. But reason comes when one is young no longer, and I have
nothing to complain of. My business is very prosperous.
DR. PELLERIN
You are making money, then? They tell me that you are giving dainty
little dinners.
MME. FLACHE
I believe you, and I have a particularly good _chef_. Won't you give me
the pleasure of entertaining you at dinner one of these days, my dear
Doctor?
DR. PELLERIN
Very willingly, my dear.
MME. FLACHE
Shall I have any other physicians, or do you prefer to come alone?
DR. PELLERIN
Alone, if you please. I am not fond of a third party. [_The bell
rings._]
MUSOTTE [_awakens_]
Ah, some one rang, run and see. [_Exit_ Mme. Flache. _A short silence._]
A VOICE [_without_]
Madame Henriette Lévêque?
MUSOTTE [_emitting an anguished cry_]
Ah, it is he! There he is! [_Makes an effort to rise. Enter_ Jean
Martinel.] Jean! Jean! At last! [_Springs up and stretches her arms to
him._]
SCENE III.
(_The same,--with_ Jean Martinel.)
JEAN [_comes rapidly forward, kneels near the long steamer-chair, and
kisses_ Musotte's _hands_]
My poor little Musotte! [_They begin to weep and dry their eyes; then
they remain silent and motionless. At last_ Jean _rises and holds up his
hand to_ Dr. Pellerin.]
PELLERIN
Did I do well?
JEAN
You did indeed, and I thank you.
PELLERIN [_introduces them_]
Madame Flache, the midwife--the nurse--[_indicates the cradle with a
grave gesture_] and there!
JEAN [_approaches the cradle and lifts the little curtain, takes up the
child and kisses it on the mouth; then lays it down again_]
He is a splendid boy!
DR. PELLERIN
A very pretty child.
MME. FLACHE
A superb morsel--one of my prettiest.
JEAN [_in a low voice_]
And Musotte, how is she?
MUSOTTE [_who has heard him_]
I,--I am almost lost. I know surely that all is over. [_To_ Jean.] Take
that little chair, dear, and seat yourself near me, and let us talk as
long as I am able to speak. I have so many things to say to you, for we
shall never be together any more. I am so glad to see you again that
nothing else now seems of any importance.
JEAN [_approaching her_] Don't agitate yourself. Don't get excited.
MUSOTTE
How can I help being agitated at seeing you again?
JEAN [_sits on the low chair, takes_ Musotte's _hand_]
My poor Musotte, I cannot tell you what a shock it was to me when I
learned just now that you were so ill.
MUSOTTE
And on this day of all days! It must have shocked you greatly.
JEAN
What! Do you know of it then?
MUSOTTE
Yes, since I felt so ill, I kept myself informed about you every day, in
order that I might not pass away without having seen you and spoken to
you again, for I have so much to say to you. [_At a sign from_ Jean,
Mme. Flache, Pellerin, _and_ La Babin _exit_ R.]
SCENE IV.
(Musotte _and_ Jean.)
MUSOTTE
Then you received the letter?
JEAN
Yes.
MUSOTTE
And you came immediately?
JEAN
Certainly.
MUSOTTE
Thanks--ah! thanks. I hesitated a long time before warning
you--hesitated even this morning, but I heard the midwife talking with
the nurse and learned that to-morrow perhaps it might be too late, so I
sent Doctor Pellerin to call you immediately.
JEAN
Why didn't you call me sooner?
MUSOTTE
I never thought that my illness would become so serious. I did not wish
to trouble your life.
JEAN [_points to the cradle_]
But that child! How is it that I was not told of this sooner?
MUSOTTE
You would never have known it, if his birth had not killed me. I would
have spared you this pain--this cloud upon your life. When you left me,
you gave me enough to live upon. Everything was over between us; and
besides, at any other moment than this, would you believe me if I said
to you: “This is your child?”
JEAN
Yes, I have never doubted you.
MUSOTTE
You are as good as ever, my Jean. No, no, I am not lying to you; he is
yours, that little one there. I swear it to you on my deathbed; I swear
it to you before God!
JEAN
I have already told you that I believed you. I have always believed you.
MUSOTTE
Listen, this is all that has happened. As soon as you left me, I became
very ill. I suffered so much that I thought I was going to die. The
doctor ordered a change of air. You remember, it was in the spring. I
went to Saint-Malo--to that old relative, of whom I have often talked to
you.
JEAN
Yes, yes.
MUSOTTE
It was in Saint-Malo, after some days, that I realized that you had left
me a pledge of your affection. My first desire was to tell you
everything, for I knew that you were an honest man--that you would have
recognized this child, perhaps even have given up your marriage; but I
would not have had you do that. All was over; was it not?--and it was
better that it should be so. I knew that I could never be your wife
[_smiles_], Musotte, me, Madame Martinel--oh, no!
JEAN
My poor, dear girl. How brutal and hard we men are, without thinking of
it and without wishing to be so!
MUSOTTE
Don't say that. I was not made for you. I was only a little model; and
you, you were a rising artist, and I never thought that you would belong
to me forever. [Jean _sheds tears_.] No, no, don't cry; you have nothing
to reproach yourself with. You have always been so good to me. It is
only God who has been cruel to me.
JEAN
Musotte!
MUSOTTE
Let me go on. I remained at Saint-Malo without revealing my condition.
Then I came back to Paris, and here some months afterward the little one
was born--the child! When I fully understood what had happened to me, I
experienced at first such fear; yes, such fear! Then I remembered that
he was bone of your bone, and flesh of your flesh; that you had given
him life, and that he was a pledge from you. But one is so stupid when
one knows nothing. One's ideas change just as one's moods change, and I
became contented all at once; contented with the thought that I would
bring him up, that he would grow to be a man, that he would call me
mother. [_Weeps._] Now, he will never call me mother. He will never put
his little arms around my neck, because I am going to leave him; because
I am going away--I don't know where; but there, where everybody goes.
Oh, God! My God!
JEAN
Calm yourself, my little Musotte. Would you be able to speak as you do
speak if you were as ill as you think you are?
MUSOTTE
You do not see that the fever is burning within me; that I am losing my
head, and don't know longer what I say.
JEAN
No, no; please calm yourself.
MUSOTTE
Pet me; pet me, Jean, and you will calm me.
JEAN [_kisses her hair; then resumes_]
There, there; don't speak any more for a minute or two. Let us remain
quietly here near each other.
MUSOTTE
But I must speak to you; I have so many things to say to you yet, and do
not know how to say them. My head is beyond my control. Oh, my God! how
shall I do it? [_Raises herself, looks around her and sees the cradle._]
Ah, yes, I know; I recollect, it is he, my child. Tell me, Jean, what
will you do with him? You know that I am an orphan, and when I am gone
he will be here all alone--alone in the world! Poor little thing! Listen,
Jean, my head is quite clear now. I shall understand very well what you
answer me now, and the peace of my closing moments depends upon it. I
have no one to leave the little one to but you.
JEAN
I promise you that I will take him, look after him, and bring him up.
MUSOTTE
As a father?
JEAN
As a father.
MUSOTTE
You have already seen him?
JEAN
Yes.
MUSOTTE
Go and look at him again. [Jean _goes over to the cradle._]
JEAN
He is pretty, isn't he?
MUSOTTE
Everybody says so. Look at him, the poor little darling, who has enjoyed
only a few days of life as yet. He belongs to us. You are his father; I
am his mother, but soon he will have a mother no more. [_In anguish._]
Promise me that he shall always have a father.
JEAN [_goes over to her_]
I promise it, my darling!
MUSOTTE
A true father, who will always love him well?
JEAN I promise it.
MUSOTTE
You will be good--very good--to him?
JEAN
I swear it to you!
MUSOTTE
And then, there is something else--but I dare not--
JEAN
Tell it to me.
MUSOTTE
Since I came back to Paris, I have sought to see you without being seen
by you, and I have seen you three times. Each time you were with
her--with your sweetheart, your wife, and with a gentleman--her father,
I think. Oh, how I looked at her! I asked myself: “Will she love him as
I have loved him? Will she make him happy? Is she good?” Tell me, do you
really believe she is very good?
JEAN
Yes, darling, I believe it.
MUSOTTE
You are very certain of it?
JEAN
Yes, indeed.
MUSOTTE
And I thought so, too, simply from seeing her pass by. She is so pretty!
I have been a little jealous, and I wept on coming back. But what are
you going to do now as between her and your son?
JEAN
I shall do my duty.
MUSOTTE
Your duty? Does that mean by her or by him?
JEAN
By him.
MUSOTTE
Listen, Jean: when I am no more, ask your wife from me, from the mouth
of a dead woman, to adopt him, this dear little morsel of humanity-to
love him as I would have loved him; to be a mother to him in my stead.
If she is tender and kind, she will consent. Tell her how you saw me
suffer--that my last prayer, my last supplication on earth was offered
up for her. Will you do this?
JEAN
I promise you that I will.
MUSOTTE
Ah! How good you are! Now I fear nothing; my poor little darling is
safe, and I am happy and calm. Ah, how calm I am! You didn't know, did
you, that I called him Jean, after you? That does not displease you,
does it?
JEAN [_weeps_]
No, no!
MUSOTTE
You weep--so you still love me a little, Jean? Ah, how I thank you for
this! But if I only could live; it must be possible. I feel so much
better since you came here, and since you have promised me all that I
have asked you. Give me your hand. At this moment I can recall all our
life together, and I am content--almost gay; in fact, I can laugh--see,
I can laugh, though I don't know why. [_Laughs._]
JEAN
Oh, calm yourself for my sake, dear little Musotte.
MUSOTTE
If you could only understand how recollections throng upon me. Do you
remember that I posed for your “Mendiante,” for your “Violet Seller,”
for your “Guilty Woman,” which won for you your first medal? And do you
remember the breakfast at Ledoyen's on Varnishing Day? There were more
than twenty-five at a table intended for ten. What follies we committed,
especially that little, little--what did he call himself--I mean that
little comic fellow, who was always making portraits which resembled no
one? Oh, yes, Tavernier! And you took me home with you to your studio,
where you had two great manikins which frightened me so, and I called to
you, and you came in to reassure me. Oh, how heavenly all that was! Do
you remember? [_Laughs again_.] Oh, if that life could only begin over
again! [_Cries suddenly_.] Ah, what pain! [_To_ Jean, _who is going for
the doctor_.] No, stay, stay! [_Silence. A sudden change comes over her
face_.] See, Jean, what glorious weather! If you like, we will take the
baby for a sail on a river steamboat; that will be so jolly! I love
those little steamboats; they are so pretty. They glide over the water
quickly and without noise. Now that I am your wife, I can assert
myself--I am armed. Darling, I never thought that you would marry me.
And look at our little one--how pretty he is, and how he grows! He is
called Jean after you. And I--I have my two little Jeans--mine--altogether
mine! You don't know how happy I am. And the little one walks to-day for
the first time! [_Laughs aloud, with her arms stretched out, pointing to
the child which she thinks is before her_.]
JEAN [_weeps_]
Musotte! Musotte! Don't you know me?
MUSOTTE
Indeed I know you! Am I not your wife? Kiss me, darling. Kiss me, my
little one.
JEAN [_takes her in his arms, weeping and repeating_]
Musotte! Musotte! [Musotte _rises upon her couch, and with a gesture to_
Jean _points to the cradle, toward which he goes, nodding “Yes, yes,”
with his head. When_ Jean _reaches the cradle,_ Musotte, _who has raised
herself upon her hands, falls lifeless upon the long steamer-chair._
Jean, _frightened, calls out_] Pellerin! Pellerin!
SCENE V.
(_The same:_ Pellerin, Mme. Flache, _and_ La Babin, _enter quickly_ R.)
PELLERIN [_who has gone swiftly to_ Musotte, _feels her pulse and
listens at the heart_]
Her heart is not beating! Give me a mirror, Madame Flache.
JEAN
My God! [Mme. Flache _gives a hand-mirror to_ Pellerin, _who holds it
before the lips of_ Musotte, _Pause_.]
PELLERIN [_in a low voice_]
She is dead!
JEAN [_takes the dead woman's hand and kisses it fondly, his voice
choked with emotion_]
Farewell, my dear little Musotte! To think that a moment ago you were
speaking to me--a moment ago you were looking at me, you saw me, and
now--all is over!
PELLERIN [_goes to_ Jean _and takes him by the shoulder_]
Now, you must go at once. Go! You have nothing more to do here. Your
duty is over.
JEAN [_rises_]
I go. Farewell, poor little Musotte!
PELLERIN
I will take care of everything this evening. But the child, do you wish
me to find an asylum for him?
JEAN
Oh, no, I will take him. I have sworn it to that poor, dead darling.
Come and join me immediately at my house, and bring him with you. Then I
shall have another service to request of you. But how about Musotte, who
is going to remain with her?
MME. FLACHE
I, Monsieur. Have no anxiety; I am acquainted with all that must be
done.
JEAN
Thank you, Madame. [_Approaches the bed; closes_ Musotte's _eyes and
kisses her fondly and for a long time upon her forehead_.] Farewell,
Musotte, forever! [_Goes softly to the cradle, removes the veil, kisses
the child and speaks to it in a firm voice which at the same time is
full of tears_.] I shall see you again directly, my little Jean!
[_Exit quickly_].
ACT III.
SCENE I.
(_Same setting as in_ Act I.)
(Monsieur de Petitpré, Mme. de Ronchard, M. Martinel, _and_ Léon.)
MME. DE RONCHARD [_walks about in an agitated manner_]
Seven minutes to midnight! It is nearly two hours since Jean left us!
LEON [_seated_ L.]
But, my dear Aunt, just allow a half hour in the carriage for going and
a half hour for returning, and there remains just one hour for the
business he had to attend to.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Was it so very long, then--the business that called him hence?
LEON
Yes, my dear Aunt; and now, why worry yourself by counting the minutes?
Your agitation will change nothing in the end, and will not hasten
Jean's return by a single second, or make the hands of the clock move
more quickly.
MME. DE RONCHARD
How can you ask me not to worry when my mind is full of anxiety, when my
heart is beating, and I feel the tears rising into my eyes?
LÉON
But, my dear Aunt, you know very well you do not feel as badly as that.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Oh, you irritate me!
MARTINEL [_seated near the table_]
Don't torment yourself, Madame. True, the situation is a rather delicate
one, but it need not disquiet you or frighten us, if we know how to
bring to its consideration at this moment coolness and reason.
LÉON
Just so, my dear Aunt, Monsieur Martinel speaks truly.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_crosses_ R.]
You ought to be beaten, you two! You know everything, and won't tell
anything. How annoying men are! There is never any means of making them
tell a secret.
MARTINEL
Jean will come presently and will tell you everything. Have a little
patience.
PETITPRÉ
Yes; let us be calm. Let us talk of other things, or be silent, if we
can.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Be silent! That is about, the most difficult thing--
A SERVANT [_enters_ R.]
A gentleman wishes to see M. Martinel.
MARTINEL [_rises_.]
Pardon me for a moment. [_To the servant._] Very well, I am coming.
[_Exit_ R.]
SCENE II.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_approaches servant quickly_]
Baptiste, Baptiste! Who is asking for M. Martinel?
SERVANT
I do not know, Madame. It was the hall porter who came upstairs.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Well, run now and look without showing yourself, and come back and tell
us at once.
PETITPRÉ [_who has risen at the entrance of the servant_]
No, I will permit no spying; let us wait. We shall not have to wait long
now. [_To the servant._] You may go. [_Exit servant._]
MME. DE RONCHARD [_to_ Petitpré]
I do not understand you at all. You are absolutely calm. One would think
that your daughter's happiness was nothing to you. For myself, I am
profoundly agitated.
PETITPRÉ
That will do no good. [_Sits near the table_ R.] Let us talk--talk
reasonably, now that we are a family party and Monsieur Martinel is
absent.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_Sits_ R.]
If that man would only go back to Havre!
LÉON [_Sits_ L. _of table_]
That would not change anything even if he could go back to Havre.
PETITPRÉ
For my part, I think--
MME. DE RONCHARD [_interrupts_]
Do you wish to hear my opinion? Well, I think that they are preparing us
for some unpleasant surprise; that they wish to entrap us, as one might
say.
PETITPRÉ
But why? In whose interest? Jean Martinel is an honest man, and he loves
my child. Léon, whose judgment I admire, although he is my son--
LEON
Thank you, father!
PETITPRÉ
Léon bears Jean as much affection as esteem. As to the uncle--
MME. DE RONCHARD
Don't talk about them, I pray. It is this woman who is seeking to entrap
us. She has played some little comedy, and she chooses to-day above all
others for its _dénouement_. It is her stage climax; her masterpiece of
treachery.
LÉON
As in “The Ambigu.”
MME. DE RONCHARD
Do not laugh. I know these women. I have suffered enough at their hands.
PETITPRÉ
Oh, my poor Clarisse; if you really understood them, you would have held
your husband better than you did.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_rises_]
What do you mean by “understanding” them? Pardon me--to live with that
roisterer coming in upon me when and whence he pleased--I prefer my
broken life and my loneliness--with you!
PETITPRÉ
No doubt you are right from your point of view of a married woman; but
there are other points of view, perhaps less selfish and certainly
superior, such as that of family interest.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Of family interest, indeed? Do you mean to say that I was wrong from the
point of view of the family interest--you, a magistrate!
PETITPRÉ
My duties as a magistrate have made me very prudent, for I have seen
pass under my eyes many equivocal and terrible situations, which not
only agonized my conscience but gave me many cruel hours of indecision.
Man is often so little responsible and circumstances are often so
powerful. Our impenetrable nature is so capricious, our instincts are so
mysterious that we must be tolerant and even indulgent in the presence
of faults which are not really crimes, and which exhibit nothing vicious
or abandoned in the man himself.
MME. DE RONCHARD
So, then, to deceive one's wife is not deceitful, and you say such a
thing before your son? Truly, a pretty state of affairs! [_Crosses_ L.]
LÉON
Oh, I have my opinion also about that, my dear Aunt.
PETITPRÉ [_rises_]
It is not almost a crime,--it is one. But it is looked upon to-day as so
common a thing that one scarcely punishes it at all. It is punished by
divorce, which is a house of refuge for most men. The law prefers to
separate them with decency--timidly, rather than drag them apart as in
former times.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Your learned theories are revolting, and I wish--
LÉON [_rises_]
Ah, here is Monsieur Martinel.
SCENE III.
(_The same, and_ Monsieur Martinel.)
MARTINEL [_with great emotion_]
I come to fulfill an exceedingly difficult task. Jean, who has gone to
his own house, before daring to present himself here, has sent Doctor
Pellerin to me. I am commissioned by him to make you acquainted with the
sad position in which Jean finds himself,--in which we all find
ourselves.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Ah, ha! Now, I am going to learn something!
MARTINEL
By a letter which you will read presently, we have learned this evening,
in this house, of a new misfortune. A woman of whose existence you are
all aware was at the point of death.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Did I not predict that she would do just this thing?
LÉON
Let M. Martinel speak, my dear Aunt.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And now that this woman has seen him, how does she feel--his dying
patient? Better, without a doubt?
MARTINEL [_quietly_]
She died, Madame, died before his eyes.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Died this evening! Impossible!
MARTINEL
Nevertheless, it is so, Madame.
LÉON [_aside_]
Poor little Musotte!
MARTINEL
There is a serious thing to be considered here. This woman left a child,
and that child's father is Jean.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_stupefied_]
A child!
MARTINEL [_to_ Petitpré]
Read the physician's letter, Monsieur. [_Hands_ Petitpré _the letter,
and_ Petitpré _reads it_.]
MME. DE RONCHARD
He had a child and he has never confessed it; has never said anything
about it; has hidden it from us! What infamy!
MARTINEL
He would have told you in due time.
MME. DE RONCHARD
He would have told! That is altogether too strong--you are mocking us!
LÉON
But, my dear Aunt, let my father answer. I shall go and find Gilberte.
She will be dying of anxiety. We have no right to hide the truth from
her any longer. I am going to acquaint her with it.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_accompanying him to the door_]
You have a pleasant task, but you will not succeed in arranging matters.
LÉON [_at door_ L.]
In any case I shall not embroil them with each other as you would.
[_Exit_ L.]
SCENE IV.
(Petitpré, Martinel, _and_ Madame de Ronchard.)
PETITPRÉ [_who has finished reading the letter_]
Then, Martinel, you say that your nephew was ignorant of the situation
of this woman.
MARTINEL
Upon my honor.
MME. DE RONCHARD
It is incredible.
MARTINEL
I will answer you in a word. If my nephew had known of this situation,
would he have done what he has this evening?
PETITPRÉ
Explain yourself more clearly.
MARTINEL
It is very simple. If he had known sooner of the danger this woman was
in, do you think that he would have waited until the last moment, and
have chosen this very evening--this supreme moment--to say good-bye to
this poor, dying woman, and to reveal to you the existence of his
illegitimate son? No, men hide these unfortunate children when and how
they please. You know that as well as I, Monsieur. To run the risk of
throwing us all into such a state of emotion and threatening his own
future, as he has done, it would seem that Jean must be a madman, and he
is by no means that. Had he known sooner of this situation, do you think
that he would not have confided in me, and that I would have been so
stupid--yes, I--as not to avert this disaster? Why, I tell you it is as
clear as day.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_agitated, walks to and fro rapidly_ L.]
Clear as the day--clear as the day!
MARTINEL
Yes, indeed. If we had not received this piece of news as a bomb which
destroys the power of reflection, if we could have taken time to reason
the thing out, to make plans, we could have hidden everything from you,
and the devil would have been in it before you would have known
anything! Our fault has been that of being too sincere and too loyal.
Yet, I do not regret it; it is always better to act openly in life.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Permit me, Monsieur--
PETITPRÉ
Silence, Clarisse. [_To_ Martinel.] Be it so, Monsieur. There is no
question of your honor or of your loyalty, which have been absolutely
patent in this unfortunate affair. I willingly admit that your nephew
knew nothing of the situation, but how about the child? What is there to
prove that it is Jean's?
MARTINEL
Jean alone can prove or disprove that. He believes it, and you know that
it is not to his interest to believe it. There is nothing very joyful
about such a complication--a poor, little foundling thrusting himself
upon one like a thunderbolt, without warning, and upon the very evening
of one's marriage. But Jean believes that the child is his, and I--and
all of us--must we not accept it as he has accepted it, as the child's
father has accepted it? Come, now. [_A short silence._] You ask me to
prove to you that this child belongs to Jean?
MME. DE RONCHARD AND PETITPRÉ [_together_]
Yes!
MARTINEL
Then first prove to me that it is not Jean's child.
MME. DE RONCHARD
You ask an impossibility.
MARTINEL
And so do you. The principal judge in the matter, look you, is my nephew
himself. We others can do nothing but accept his decision.
MME. DE RONCHARD
But meanwhile--
PETITPRÉ
Silence, Clarisse. Monsieur Martinel is right.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_ironically_]
Say that again.
MARTINEL
There can be no better reason, Madame. [_To_ Petitpré.] I was quite sure
that you would understand me, Monsieur, for you are a man of sense.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And what am I, then?
MARTINEL
You are a woman of the world, Madame.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And it is exactly as a woman of the world that I protest, Monsieur. You
have a very pretty way of putting things, but none the less this is a
fact: Jean Martinel brings to his bride, as a nuptial present, on the
day of his marriage, an illegitimate child. Well, I ask you, woman of
the world or not, can she accept such a thing?
PETITPRÉ
My sister is in the right this time, Monsieur Martinel.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And by no means too soon.
PETITPRÉ
It is evident that a situation exists patent and undeniable, which
places us in an awkward dilemma. We have wedded our daughter to a man
supposedly free from all ties and all complications in life, and then
comes--what you know has come. The consequences should be endured by
him, not by us. We have been wounded and deceived in our confidence, and
the consent that we have given to this marriage we should certainly have
refused, had we known the actual circumstances.
MME. DE RONCHARD
We should have refused? I should say so--not only once, but twice.
Besides, this child, if Jean brings it into the house, will certainly be
a cause of trouble among us all. Consider, Gilberte will probably become
a mother in her turn, and then what jealousies, what rivalries, what
hatred, perhaps, will arise between this intruder and her own children.
This child will be a veritable apple of discord.
MARTINEL
Oh, no, no! he will not be a burden to anyone. Thanks to Jean's
liberality, this child's mother will have left him enough to live
comfortably, and, later, when he has become a man, he will travel, no
doubt. He will do as I have done; as nine-tenths of the human race do.
PETITPRÉ
Well, until then, who will take care of it?
MARTINEL
I, if it is agreeable. I am a free man, retired from business; and it
will give me something to do, something to distract me. I am ready to
take him with me at once, the poor little thing--[_looks at_ Mme. de
Ronchard] unless Madame, who is so fond of saving lost dogs--
MME. DE RONCHARD
That child! I! Oh, that would be a piece of foolishness.
MARTINEL
Yet, Madame, if you care to have him, I will yield my right most
willingly.
MME. DE RONCHARD
But Monsieur, I never said--
MARTINEL
Not as yet, true, but perhaps you will say it before very long, for I am
beginning to understand you. You are an assumed man-hater and nothing
else. You have been unhappy in your married life and that has embittered
you--just as milk may turn upon its surface, but at the bottom of the
churn there is butter of fine quality.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_frowns_]
What a comparison!--milk--butter--pshaw! how vulgar!
PETITPRÉ
But Clarisse--
MARTINEL
Here is your daughter.
SCENE V.
(_The same, and_ Gilberte _and_ Leon _who enter_ L.)
PETITPRÉ [_approaches Gilberte_]
Before seeing your husband again, if you decide to see him, it is
necessary that we should decide exactly what you are going to say to
him.
GILBERTE [_greatly moved, sits_ L. _of table_]
I knew it was some great misfortune.
MARTINEL [_sits beside her_]
Yes, my child; but there are two kinds of misfortune--those that come
from the faults of men, and those that spring purely from the hazards of
fate; that is to say, destiny. In the first case, the man is guilty; in
the second case, he is a victim. Do you understand me?
GILBERTE
Yes, Monsieur.
MARTINEL
A misfortune of which some one person is the victim can also wound
another person very cruelly. But will not the heart of this second
wounded and altogether innocent, person bestow a pardon upon the
involuntary author of her disaster?
GILBERTE [_in a sad voice_]
That depends upon the suffering which she undergoes.
MARTINEL Meanwhile, you knew that before Jean loved you, before he
conceived the idea of marrying you, he had--an intrigue. You accepted
the fact as one which had nothing exceptional about it.
GILBERTE
I did accept it.
MARTINEL
And now your brother may tell you the rest.
GILBERTE
Yes, Monsieur.
MARTINEL
What shall I say to Jean?
GILBERTE
I am too much agitated to tell you yet. This woman, of whom I did not
think at all, whose very existence was a matter of indifference to
me--her death has frightened me. It seems that she has come between Jean
and me, and will always remain there. Everything that I have heard of
her prophesies this estrangement. But you knew her--this woman did you
not, Monsieur?
MARTINEL
Yes, Madame, and I can say nothing but good of her. Your brother and I
have always looked upon her as irreproachable in her fidelity to Jean.
She loved him with a pure, devoted, absolute, and lasting affection. I
speak as a man who has deplored deeply this intrigue, for I look upon
myself as a father to Jean, but we must try to be just to everyone.
GILBERTE
And did Jean love her very much, too?
MARTINEL
Oh, yes, certainly he did, but his love began to wane. Between them
there was too much of a moral and social distance. He lived with her,
however, drawn to her by the knowledge of the deep and tender affection
which she bestowed upon him.
GILBERTE [_gravely_]
And Jean went to see her die?
MARTINEL
He had just time to say farewell to her.
GILBERTE [_to herself_]
If I could only tell what passed between them at that moment! Ah, this
wretched death is worse for me than if she were alive!
MME. DE RONCHARD [_rises_ R. _and goes up stage_]
I really do not understand you, my dear. The woman has died--so much the
better for you. May God deliver you from all such!
GILBERTE
No, my dear Aunt; the feeling I have just now is so painful that I would
sooner know her to be far away than to know her dead.
PETITPRÉ [_comes down_]
Yes, I admit that is the sentiment of a woman moved by a horrible
catastrophe; but there is one grave complication in the matter--that of
the child. Whatever may be done with it, he will none the less be the
son of my son-in-law and a menace to us all.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And a subject for ridicule. See what the world will say of us in a
little while.
LÉON
Leave the world to itself, my dear Aunt, and let us occupy ourselves
with our own business. [_Goes to Gilberte_.] Now, Gilberte, is it the
idea of the child that moves you so deeply?
GILBERTE
Oh, no,--the poor little darling!
PETITPRÉ
Such is the foolishness of women who know nothing of life.
LÉON
Well, father, why, if we have so many different views,--according as we
are spectators or actors in the course of events,--why is there so much
difference between the life of the imagination and the actual life;
between that which one ought to do; that which you would that others
should do, and that which you do yourself. Yes, what has happened is
very painful; but the surprise of the event, its coincidence with the
nuptial day makes it still more painful. We magnify--everything in our
emotion, when it is ourselves that misfortune touches. Suppose, for a
moment, that you had read this in your daily newspaper--
MME. DE RONCHARD [_seated_ L. _of table, indignantly_]
In my daily newspaper!
LÉON
Or in a romance. What emotion we should feel; what tears we should shed!
How your sympathy would quickly go out to the poor little child whose
birth was attained at the cost of his mother's life! How Jean would go
up in your esteem; how frank, how loyal, how stanch in his fealty you
would consider him; while, on the other hand, if he had deserted the
dying woman, and had spirited away the little one into some distant
village, you would not have had enough scorn for him, or enough insults
for him. You would look upon him as a being without heart and without
fear; and, you, my dear Aunt, thinking of the innumerable little bad
dogs who owe you their lives, you would cry out with forcible gestures:
“What a miserable scoundrel!”
MARTINEL [_seated_ L.]
That's perfectly true.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Dogs are worth more than men.
LÉON
Little children are not men, my dear Aunt. They have not had time to
become bad.
PETITPRÉ
All that is very ingenious, Leon, and your special pleading is
magnificent.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Yes, if you would only plead like that at the Palais.
PETITPRÉ
But this has nothing to do with a romance or with imaginary personages.
We have married Gilberte to a young man in the ordinary conditions of
life.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Without enthusiasm.
PETITPRÉ
Without enthusiasm, it is true, but nevertheless they are married, just
the same. Now, on the evening of his nuptials, he brings us a present--I
must say I do not care for a present which bawls.
LÉON
What does that prove, unless it is that your son-in-law is a brave man?
What he has just done--risked his happiness in order to accomplish his
duty--does it not say better than anything else could, how capable of
devotion he is?
MARTINEL
Clear as the day.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_aside_]
And this man from Havre admires him!
PETITPRÉ
Then you maintain that Gilberte, on the day, of her entry upon married
life, should become the adopted mother of the son of her husband's
mistress?
LÉON
Exactly; just as I maintain all that is honorable and disinterested. And
you would think as I do if the thing did not concern your daughter.
PETITPRÉ
No; it is an inexcusable situation.
LÉON
Well, then, what do you propose to do?
PETITPRÉ
Well, nothing less than a divorce. The scandal of this night is
sufficient.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_rises_]
Gilberte divorced! You don't dream of that, do you? Have all our friends
closing their doors on her, the greater part of her relatives lost to
her! Divorced! Come, come! in spite of your new law, that has not yet
come into our custom and shall not come in so soon. Religion forbids it;
the world accepts it only under protest; and when you have against you
both religion and the world--
PETITPRÉ
But statistics prove--
MME. DE RONCHARD
Pshaw! Statistics! You can make them say what you wish. No, no divorce
for Gilberte. [_In a soft, low voice_.] Simply a legal separation--that
is admissible, at least, and it is good form. Let them separate. I am
separated--all fashionable people separate, and everything goes all
right, but as to divorce--
LÉON [_seriously_]
It seems to me that only one person has a right to speak in this matter,
and we are forgetting her too long. [_Turns to Gilberte_.] You have
heard everything, Gilberte; you are mistress of your own judgment and of
your decision. Upon a word from you depend either pardon or rupture. My
father has made his argument. What does your heart say? [_Gilberte tries
to speak, but stops and breaks down_.] Think always that in refusing to
pardon Jean you wound me, and if I see you unhappy from your
determination to say no, I shall suffer exceedingly. Monsieur Martinel
asks from you at once an answer for Jean. Let us do better. I will go
and find him. It is from your lips; it is, above all, in your eyes, that
he will learn his fate. [_Brings her gently to the front of the stage_.]
My little sister, my. dear little sister, don't be too proud; don't be
too haughty! Listen to that which your chagrin murmurs in your soul.
Listen well, but do not mistake it for pride.
GILBERTE
But I have no pride. I do not know how I feel. I am ill. My joy has been
blighted, and it poisons me.
LÉON
Take care! It takes so little in such moments as these to make wounds
which are incurable.
GILBERTE
No, no! I am too much distressed. Perhaps I shall be hard, for I am
afraid of him and of myself. I am afraid of breaking off everything, or
of yielding everything.
LÉON
I am going to find Jean.
GILBERTE [_resolutely_]
No, I do not wish to see him. I forbid it!
LÉON
Let me tell you something, my little Gilberte: You are less intelligent
than I thought.
GILBERTE
Why?
LÉON
Because in such moments as these it is necessary to say yes or no at
once. [_Jean appears at door_ R.]
SCENE VI.
(_The same, and_ Jean Martinel _standing at door_ R.)
GILBERTE [_with a stifled cry_]
It is he!
LÉON [_goes up to_ Jean _and taking him by the hand_]
Welcome!
JEAN
I am like a prisoner awaiting the decision of his judges--whether it be
acquittal or death. The moments through which I have just passed I shall
never forget.
LÉON
Your uncle and I have said all that we had to say. Now speak for
yourself.
JEAN
I do not know how. It must be to my wife alone. I dare not speak before
you all. I ask but a moment. After that I go, and I shall leave the
house if my wife's attitude indicates that I ought. I shall do exactly
what she would have me. I shall become that which she may order. But I
must hear from her _own_ lips her decision as to my life. [_To_
Gilberte.] You cannot refuse me that, Madame. It is the only prayer that
I shall ever make to you, I swear, if this request to you remains
ungranted. [_They stand face to face and look at each other_.]
GILBERTE
No, I cannot refuse you. Father, Aunt, please leave me alone for a few
minutes with Monsieur Martinel. You can see that I am perfectly calm.
PETITPRÉ
But--but--
JEAN [_determinedly to_ M. Petitpré]
Monsieur, I shall not gainsay your will in anything. I shall do nothing
without your approval. I have not returned here to contest your
authority or to speak of rights; but I respectfully ask permission to
remain alone a few minutes with--my wife! Consider that this is perhaps
our last interview and that our future depends upon it.
MME. DE RONCHARD
It is solely the future of Gilberte which concerns me.
JEAN [_to_ Mme. de Ronchard]
I appeal simply to your heart, Madame; your heart, which has suffered.
Do not forget that your irritation and your bitterness against me come
from the misfortune that another man has inflicted upon you. Your life
has been broken by him. Do not wish the same for me. You have been
unhappy; married scarcely a year. [_Points to_ Gilberte.] Will you say
that she shall be married scarcely a day, and that later she shall talk
of her broken life--ceaselessly guarding in her mind the memory of this
evening's disaster? [_At a movement of_ Mme. de Ronchard.] I know you to
be kind, although you deny it, and I promise you, Madame, that if I
remain Gilberte's husband, I shall love you as a son, as a son worthy of
you.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_very much moved_]
A son! He has stirred me deeply! [_Whispers to_ Petitpré.] Come away,
let us leave them alone. [_Embraces_ Gilberte.]
PETITPRÉ [_to_ Jean]
Well, so be it, Monsieur. [_Rises and exit_ C., _offering his arm to_
Mme. de Ronchard.]
MARTINEL [_to_ Léon]
They are going to talk with that [_touches his heart_]; it is the only
true eloquence.
[_Exit with_ Léon C.]
SCENE VII.
(Gilberte and Jean.)
JEAN
You know all, do you not?
GILBERTE
Yes. And I have been deeply wounded.
JEAN
I hope you do not accuse me of lying or of any other dissimulation.
GILBERTE
Oh, no!
JEAN
Do you blame me for having left you this evening?
GILBERTE
I blame no one who does his duty.
JEAN
You did not know this woman--and she is dead.
GILBERTE
It is just because she is dead that she troubles me thus.
JEAN
Impossible; you must have another reason. [_With hesitation._] The
child?
GILBERTE [_quickly_]
No, no! don't deceive yourself. The poor little darling! it is not his
fault. No, I suffer from something which is peculiar to myself, which
can come only from me, and which I cannot confess to you. It is a sorrow
deep in my heart, so keen, when I felt it spring to birth under the
words of my brother and your uncle, that, should I ever experience it
again when living with you as your wife, I should never be able to
dispel it.
JEAN
What is it?
GILBERTE
I cannot tell it. [_Sits_ L.]
JEAN [_stands_]
Listen to me. It is necessary that at this moment there should not be
between us the shadow of a misunderstanding. All our life depends upon
it. You are my wife, but I admit that you are absolutely free after what
has happened. I will do as you wish. I am ready to agree to everything
you desire, even to a divorce if you demand it. But what will happen to
me after that I do not know, for I love you so that the thought of
losing you after winning you will throw me mercilessly into some
desperate resolve. [_Sees_ Gilberte _moved._] I do not seek to soften
you, to move you--I simply tell you the naked truth. I feel, and I have
felt during the whole night, through all the shocks and horrible
emotions of the drama that has just been enacted, that you hold for me
the keenest wound. If you banish me now, I am a lost man.
GILBERTE [_much moved_]
Do you really love me as much as that?
JEAN
With a love that I feel is ineffaceable.
GILBERTE
Did you love her?
JEAN
I did indeed love her. I experienced a tender attachment for a gentle
and devoted girl. [_In a low voice, with passion._] Listen: that which I
am going to tell you is unworthy, perhaps infamous, but I am only a
human being, feeble as anyone else. Well, just now, in the presence of
this poor, dying girl, my eyes were filled with tears and my sobs choked
me--all my being vibrated with sorrow; but at the bottom of my soul, in
the depths of my being, I thought only of you.
GILBERTE [_rises quickly_]
Do you mean that?
JEAN [_simply_]
I cannot lie to you.
GILBERTE
Well, do you know what made me suffer just now when my brother told me
of this intrigue and death? I can tell it to you now. I was jealous! It
was unworthy of me, wasn't it? Jealous of this poor, dead woman! But he
spoke so well of her as to move me, and I felt that she loved you so
much that you might find me perhaps indifferent and cold after her, and
that hurt me so! I had so much fear of experiencing that that I thought
of renouncing you.
JEAN
And now?--Gilberte! Gilberte!
GILBERTE [_extends her hands_]
I am here, Jean! take me!
JEAN
Ah, how grateful I am. [_Kisses her hands; then immediately after, with
emotion._] But here another anguish seizes me. I have promised this poor
woman to take and cherish this child in my own home. [Gilberte _makes a
movement_.] That is not all. Do you know what her last thought, her last
prayer was? She entreated me to commend the child to you.
GILBERTE
To me!
JEAN
To you, Gilberte.
GILBERTE [_profoundly moved_]
She did this, the poor woman? Did she believe that I would take--
JEAN
She hoped it, and in that hope her death was made easier.
GILBERTE [_in exalted mood, crosses_ R.]
Yes, I will take it! where is it?
JEAN
At my house.
GILBERTE
At your house? You must go to it immediately.
JEAN
What! leave you now, at this moment?
GILBERTE
We will go together, since I was to have accompanied you to your house
this evening.
JEAN [_joyously_]
Oh, Gilberte! But your father will not let us go.
GILBERTE
Well, do you know what we must do, since my packing is finished, and my
maid awaits me at your house? You must carry me off.
JEAN
Carry you off?
GILBERTE
Give me my cloak and let us go. All can be explained tomorrow. [_Shows
the cloak that she had left upon the chair in the first act._] My cloak,
please.
JEAN [_picks up the cloak quickly and throws it over her shoulders_]
You are the most adorable creature! [Gilberte _takes his arm and they go
toward door_ R.]
SCENE VIII.
(_Enter_ Mme. de Ronchard, M. Petitpré, M. Martinel, _and_ Léon C.)
MME. DE RONCHARD
Well, what are they doing? Are they going away now?
PETITPRÉ
Why, what does it mean?
GILBERTE
Yes; father, I am going away. I am going with my husband; but I shall be
here to-morrow to ask pardon for this hurried flight, and to explain to
you the reason for it.
PETITPRÉ
Were you going without saying good-bye to us--without embracing us?
GILBERTE
Yes, in order to avoid more discussions.
LÉON
She is right. Let them go.
GILBERTE [_throws herself upon_ Petitpré's _neck_]
Till to-morrow, father; till to-morrow, my dear Aunt. Good night, all; I
have had enough of emotion and fatigue.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_goes to_ Gilberte _and embraces her_]
Yes, run along, darling--there is a little one over there who waits for
a mother!
_Curtain._
THE LANCER'S WIFE AND OTHER TALES
THE LANCER'S WIFE
It was after Bourbaki's defeat in the east of France. The army, broken
up, decimated and worn out, had been obliged to retreat into
Switzerland, after that terrible campaign. It was only the short
duration of the struggle that saved a hundred and fifty thousand men
from certain death. Hunger, the terrible cold, and forced marches in the
snow without boots, over bad mountainous roads, had caused the
_francs-tireurs_ especially the greatest suffering, for we were without
tents and almost without food, always in front when we were marching
toward Belfort, and in the rear when returning by the Jura. Of our
brigade, that had numbered twelve hundred men on the first of January,
there remained only twenty-two pale, thin, ragged wretches, when at
length we succeeded in reaching Swiss territory.
There we were safe and could rest. Everybody knows what sympathy was
shown to the unfortunate French army, and how well it was cared for. We
all gained fresh life, and those who had been rich and happy before the
war declared that they had never experienced a greater feeling of
comfort than they did then. Just think. We actually had something to eat
every day, and could sleep every night.
Meanwhile, the war continued in the east of France, which had been
excluded from the armistice. Besançon still kept the enemy in check, and
the latter had their revenge by ravaging the Comte Franché. Sometimes we
heard that they had approached quite close to the frontier, and we saw
Swiss troops, who were to form a line of observation between us and the
Germans, set out on their march.
But this hurt our pride, and as we regained health and strength the
longing for fighting laid hold of us. It was disgraceful and irritating
to know that within two or three leagues of us the Germans were
victorious and insolent, to feel that we were protected by our
captivity, and to feel that on that account we were powerless against
them.
One day, our captain took five or six of us aside, and spoke to us about
it, long and earnestly. He was a fine fellow, that captain. He had been
a sub-lieutenant in the Zouaves, was tall and thin and as hard as steel,
and during the whole campaign had given a great deal of trouble to the
Germans. He fretted in inactivity and could not accustom himself to the
idea of being a prisoner and of doing nothing.
“Confound it!” he said to us, “does it not pain you to know that there
are a lot of uhlans within two hours of us? Does it not almost drive you
mad to know that those beggarly wretches are walking about as masters in
our mountains, where six determined men might kill a whole troop any
day? I cannot endure it any longer, and I must go there.”
“But how can you manage it, Captain?”
“How? It is not very difficult! Just as if we had not done a thing or
two within the last six months, and got out of woods that were guarded
by men very different from the Swiss. The day that you wish to cross
over into France, I will undertake to get you there.”
“That may be; but what shall we do in France without any arms?”
“Without arms? We will get them over yonder, by Jove!”
“You are forgetting the treaty,” another soldier said; “we shall run the
risk of doing the Swiss an injury, if Manteuffel learns that they have
allowed prisoners to return to France.”
“Come,” said the captain, “those are all poor reasons. I mean to go and
kill some Prussians; that is all I care about. If you do not wish to do
as I do, well and good; only say so at once. I can quite well go by
myself; I do not require anybody's company.”
Naturally we all protested, and as it was quite impossible to make the
captain alter his mind, we felt obliged to promise to go with him. We
liked him too much to leave him in the lurch, since he had never failed
us in any extremity; and so the expedition was decided on.
II.
The captain had a plan of his own, a plan he had been cogitating over
for some time. A man in that part of the country, whom he knew, was
going to lend him a cart, and six suits of peasants' clothes. We could
hide under some straw at the bottom of the wagon, which would be loaded
with Gruyère cheese. This cheese he was supposed to be going to sell in
France. The captain told the sentinels that he was taking two friends
with him to protect his goods, in case anyone should try to rob him,
which did not seem an extraordinary precaution. A Swiss officer seemed
to look at the wagon in a knowing manner, but that was in order to
impress his soldiers. In a word, neither officers nor men made it out.
“Get on,” the captain said to the horses, as he cracked his whip, while
our men quietly smoked their pipes. I was half suffocated in my box,
which only admitted the air through some holes in front, while at the
same time I was nearly frozen, for it was terribly cold.
“Get on,” the captain said again, and the wagon loaded with Gruyère
cheese entered France.
The Prussian lines were very badly guarded, as the enemy trusted to the
watchfulness of the Swiss. The sergeant spoke North German, while our
captain spoke the bad German of the “Four Cantons”; so they could not
understand each other. The sergeant, however, pretended to be very
intelligent, and in order to make us believe that he understood us, they
allowed us to continue our journey, and after traveling for seven hours,
being continually stopped in the same manner, we arrived at a small
village of the Jura, in ruins, at nightfall.
What were we going to do? Our only arms were the captain's whip, our
uniforms, the peasants' blouses, and our food the Gruyère cheese. Our
sole riches consisted in our ammunition, packets of cartridges which we
had stowed away inside some of the huge cheeses. We had about a thousand
of them, just two hundred each; but then we wanted rifles, and they must
be _chassepots_; luckily, however, the captain was a bold man of an
inventive mind, and this was the plan that he hit upon:
While three of us remained hidden in a cellar in the abandoned village,
he continued his journey as far as Besançon with the empty wagon and one
man. The town was invested, but one can always make one's way into a
town among the hills by crossing the table-land till within about ten
miles of the walls, and then by following paths and ravines on foot.
They left their wagon at Omans, among the Germans, and escaped out of it
at night on foot, so as to gain the heights which border the river
Doubs; the next day they entered Besançon, where there were plenty of
_chassepots_. There were nearly forty thousand of them left in the
arsenal, and General Roland, a brave marine, laughed at the captain's
daring project, but let him have six rifles and wished him “good luck.”
There he also found his wife, who had been through all the war with us
before the campaign in the east, and who had been only prevented by
illness from continuing with Bourbaki's army. She had recovered,
however, in spite of the cold, which was growing more and more intense,
and in spite of the numberless privations that awaited her, she insisted
on accompanying her husband. He was obliged to give way to her, and all
three, the captain, his wife, and our comrade, started on their
expedition.
Going was nothing in comparison to returning. They were obliged to
travel by night, so as to avoid meeting anybody, as the possession of
six rifles would have made them liable to suspicion. But in spite of
everything, a week after leaving us, the captain and his “two men” were
back with us again. The campaign was about to begin.
III.
The first night of his arrival, the captain began it himself. Under the
pretext of examining the country round, he went along the highroad. I
must tell you that the little village which served as our fortress was a
small collection of poor, badly built houses, which had been deserted
long before. It lay on a steep slope, which terminated in a wooded
plain. The country people sold wood; they sent it down the ravines,
which are called _coulées_ locally, and which led down to the plain, and
there they stacked it into piles, which were sold thrice a year to the
wood merchants. The spot where this market was held was indicated by two
small houses by the side of the highroad, which served for
public-houses. The captain had gone down there by one of these
_coulées_.
He had been gone about half an hour, and we were on the lookout at the
top of the ravine, when we heard a shot. The captain had ordered us not
to stir, and only to come to him when we heard him blow his trumpet. It
was made of a goat's horn, and could be heard a league off, but it gave
no sound, and in spite of our cruel anxiety, we were obliged to wait in
silence, with our rifles by our side.
To go down these _coulées_ is easy, you need only let yourself glide
down; but it is more difficult to get up again. You have to scramble up
by catching hold of the hanging branches of the trees, and sometimes on
all fours, by sheer strength. A whole mortal hour passed, and still the
captain did not come, nothing moved in the brushwood. The captain's wife
began to grow impatient; what could he be doing? Why did he not call us?
Did the shot that we had heard proceed from an enemy, and had he killed
or wounded our leader, her husband? They did not know what to think, but
I myself fancied that either he was dead or that his enterprise was
successful. I was merely anxious and curious to know which.
Suddenly, we heard the sound of his trumpet, and were much surprised
that instead of coming from below, as we had expected, it came from the
village behind us. What did that mean? It was a mystery to us, but the
same idea struck us all, that he had been killed, and that the Prussians
were blowing the trumpet to draw us into an ambush. We therefore
returned to the cottage, keeping a careful lookout, with our fingers on
the trigger and hiding under the branches. But his wife, in spite of our
entreaties, rushed on, leaping like a tigress. She thought that she had
to avenge her husband, and had fixed the bayonet to her rifle. We lost
sight of her at the moment that we heard the trumpet again, and a few
moments later we heard her calling out to us:
“Come on! come on! he is alive! it is he!”
We hastened on, and saw the captain smoking his pipe at the entrance of
the village, but strangely enough he was on horseback.
“Ah!” said he to us, “you see that there is something to be done here.
Here I am on horseback already; I knocked over a uhlan yonder, and took
his horse; I suppose they were guarding the wood, but it was by drinking
and swilling in clover. One of them, the sentry at the door, had not
time to see me before I gave him a sugarplum in his stomach, and then,
before the others could come out, I jumped on to the horse and was off
like a shot. Eight or ten of them followed me, I think, but I took the
crossroads through the wood; I have got scratched and torn a bit, but
here I am. And now, my good fellows, attention, and take care! Those
brigands will not rest until they have caught us, and we must receive
them with rifle bullets. Come along; let us take up our posts!”
We set out. One of us took up his position a good way from the village
of the crossroads; I was posted at the entrance of the main street,
where the road from the level country enters the village, while the two
others, with the captain and his wife, took up positions in the middle
of the village, near the church, whose tower served for an observatory
and citadel.
We had not been in our places long before we heard a shot followed by
another; then two, then three. The first was evidently a
_chassepot_,--one recognized it by the sharp report, which sounds like
the crack of a whip,--while the other three came from the lancers'
carbines.
The captain was furious. He had given orders to the outpost to let the
enemy pass, and merely to follow them at a distance if they marched
toward the village, and to join me when they had gone well between the
houses. Then they were to appear suddenly, take the patrol between two
fires, and not allow a single man to escape, for posted as we were, the
six of us could have hemmed in ten Prussians, if needful.
“That confounded Piédelot has roused them,” the captain said, “and they
will not venture to come on blindfold any longer. And then I am quite
sure that he has managed to get wounded himself somehow or other, for we
hear nothing of him. It serves him right; why did he not obey orders?”
And then, after a moment, he grumbled in his beard: “After all, I am
sorry for the poor fellow; he is so brave and shoots so well!”
The captain was right in his conjectures. We waited until evening,
without seeing the uhlans; they had retreated after the first attack,
but unfortunately we had not seen Piédelot either. Was he dead or a
prisoner? When night came the captain proposed that we should go out and
look for him, and so the three of us started. At the crossroads we found
a broken rifle and some blood, while the ground was trampled down. But
we did not find either a wounded man or a dead body, although we
searched every thicket. At midnight we returned without having
discovered anything of our unfortunate comrade.
“It is very strange,” the captain growled. “They must have killed him
and thrown him into the bushes somewhere; they cannot possibly have
taken him prisoner, as he would have called out for help. I cannot
understand it all.” Just as he said that, bright, red flames shot up in
the direction of the inn on the highroad, which illuminated the sky.
“Scoundrels! cowards!” shouted the captain. “I will bet that they have
set fire to the two houses in the market-place, in order to have their
revenge, and then they will scuttle off without saying a word. They will
be satisfied with having killed a man and setting fire to two houses.
All right. It shall not pass over like that. We must go for them; they
will not like to leave their illuminations in order to fight.”
“It would be a great stroke of luck if we could set Piédelot free at the
same time,” said some one.
The five of us set off, full of rage and hope. In twenty minutes we had
got to the bottom of the _couleé_, and had not yet seen anyone when
within a hundred yards of the inn. The fire was behind the house, and so
all that we saw of it was the reflection above the roof. However, we
were walking rather slowly, as we were afraid of a trap, when suddenly
we heard Piédelot's well-known voice. It had a strange sound, however,
for it was at the same time dull and vibrant, stifled and clear, as if
he was calling out as loud as he could with a gag in his mouth. He
seemed to be hoarse and panting, and the unlucky fellow kept exclaiming:
“Help! Help!”
We sent all thoughts of prudence to the devil and in two bounds were at
the back of the inn, where a terrible sight met our eyes.
IV.
Piédelot was being burned alive. He was writhing in the middle of a heap
of fagots, against a stake to which they had fastened him, and the
flames were licking him with their sharp tongues. When he saw us, his
tongue seemed to stick in his throat, he drooped his head, and seemed as
if he were going to die. It was only the affair of a moment to upset the
burning pile, to scatter the embers, and to cut the ropes that fastened
him.
Poor fellow! In what a terrible state we found him. The evening before
he had had his left arm broken, and it seemed as if he had been badly
beaten since then, for his whole body was covered with wounds, bruises,
and blood. The flames had also begun their work on him, and he had two
large burns, one on his loins, and the other on his right thigh, and his
beard and his hair were scorched. Poor Piédelot!
Nobody knows the terrible rage we felt at this sight! We would have
rushed headlong at a hundred thousand Prussians. Our thirst for
vengeance was intense; but the cowards had run away, leaving their crime
behind them. Where could we find them now? Meanwhile, however, the
captain's wife was looking after Piédelot, and dressing his wounds as
best she could, while the captain himself shook hands with him
excitedly. In a few minutes he came to himself.
“Good morning, Captain, good morning, all of you,” he said. “Ah! the
scoundrels, the wretches! Why, twenty of them came to surprise us.”
“Twenty, do you say?”
“Yes, there was a whole band of them, and that is why I disobeyed
orders, Captain, and fired on them, for they would have killed you all.
So I preferred to stop them. That frightened them, and they did not
venture to go further than the crossroads. They were such cowards. Four
of them shot at me at twenty yards, as if I had been a target, and then
they slashed me with their swords. My arm was broken, so that I could
only use my bayonet with one hand.”
“But why did you not call for help?”
“I took good care not to do that, for you would all have come, and you
would neither have been able to defend me nor yourselves, being only
five against twenty.”
“You know that we should not have allowed you to have been taken, poor
old fellow.”
“I preferred to die by myself, don't you see! I did not want to bring
you there, for it would have been a mere ambush.”
“Well, we will not talk about it any more. Do you feel rather easier?”
“No, I am suffocating. I know that I cannot live much longer. The
brutes! They tied me to a tree, and beat me till I was half dead, and
then they shook my broken arm, but I did not make a sound. I would
rather have bitten my tongue out than have called out before them. Now I
can say what I am suffering and shed tears; it does one good. Thank you,
my kind friends.”
“Poor Piédelot! But we will avenge you, you may be sure!”
“Yes, yes, I want you to do that. Especially, there is a woman among
them, who passes as the wife of the lancer whom the captain killed
yesterday. She is dressed like a lancer, and it was she who tortured me
the most yesterday, and suggested burning me. In fact it was she who set
fire to the wood. Oh! the wretch, the brute--Ah! how I am suffering! My
loins, my arms!” and he fell back panting and exhausted, writhing in his
terrible agony, while the captain's wife wiped the perspiration from his
forehead. We all shed tears of grief and rage, as if we had been
children. I will not describe the end to you; he died half an hour
later, but before that he told us in which direction the enemy had gone.
When he was dead, we gave ourselves time to bury him, and then we set
out in pursuit of them, with our hearts full of fury and hatred.
“We will
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