ridden. We do not ride at my age in Compiègne ... but, tell me, do you
not think there is something majestic about the Queen?... You must
remember I have not seen her for three years, and it may be you are
used to her carriage. But do you not admire that poise of the head and
that high manner; or perhaps I should say, have you not admired them?
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE. Oh! yes, Madame, I have admired it,
and I do, as also her hairdresser and her shoemaker. Am I not at Court?
MADAME D'ESCUROLLES. But they say it is at Court that she is
least admired?
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_shocked_). I would not presume to say
that! God forbid! From what I have heard in the street I would say she
was least admired in Paris, or, perhaps--(_musing_)--perhaps in the
village of Louveciennes ... nay, I have forgotten St. Cloud. St. Cloud
would run Louveciennes hard.
MADAME D'ESCUROLLES. I have do doubt these names are well
known in Versailles.
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE. Madame, Versailles knows everything
and everybody, because Versailles is the Queen. For myself, after
many years in the full view of Versailles and taking my money from
Versailles, yet I cannot say I like Versailles.
MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_innocently_). And why not, sir?
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_looking vaguely at the distant
candles and speaking as vaguely_). Upon my soul I cannot say!... It
may be that Versailles is too frank or perhaps there is too much poise
about it ... it is certainly majestic.
MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_as though merely to continue_). It must
compare well with poor Compiègne!
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_ceasing to look at the candles_).
I would not compare Versailles with Compiègne because I have seen
Versailles so much and Compiègne so little. Indeed, Madame (if you
will believe me!), I have but twice visited Compiègne since my year
in garrison there, but that was fifteen years ago, and in those days,
as you will remember, it was your father who befriended me. I found
Compiègne very hospitable, and if I have returned there too seldom I
very readily acknowledge my error.
MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_as though to change the subject_).
Pray, sir, do you not find Compiègne much older? They say that age
particularly affects Compiègne.
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_with a little humour_). I know that
_I_ have aged, but I would not swear for Compiègne. Madame d'Escurolles
(_with enthusiasm_), I cannot forbear to tell you that Compiègne in my
eyes does not age, but grows. The walls of Compiègne are more subtle
and her woods more deep; her air is more gracious and full of certitude
and peace than in those days I speak of when she held me for a full
year.
MADAME D'ESCUROLLES. Oh! _Held_ you, Monsieur de Noirétable!
You were under no constraint. It was your garrison.
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_rapidly_). Madame, my youth was held.
But I have not told you all of my own ageing nor of this return to
Compiègne.... You say the town has aged also. Ah! You should see other
towns! There is in Compiègne to-day, I swear to you, more deep and more
desirable laughter than in the youngest and most virginal of towns!
MADAME D'ESCUROLLES. Why, M. de Noirétable, you grow lyrical!
(_Smiling._) One would think you had seen too many towns!
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_lightly and rapidly_). A man in
the Service must see many towns.... It is not wholly his choice. I
volunteered as well, and saw more towns than I positively needed,
Madame; to tell the truth, a man is none the better for visiting too
many towns.
MADAME D'ESCUROLLES. It is the appetite for travel, Monsieur,
and the love of adventure.
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE. Precisely, Madame, you put it very
well ... the appetite, Madame, and the love ... of adventure ... you
put it very well indeed. (_Abruptly._) It led me to Narbonne, to
Florac, and to Cahors.
MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_shuddering_). Oh! Monsieur de
Noirétable! What dreadful names!
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_lightly_). Not at all, Madame! Not
at all! Delightful!... but passing, very passing! Believe me, in
the presence of Compiègne, no man desires to return to Florac or to
Narbonne, nor even to Cahors.
MADAME D'ESCUROLLES. No ... but he may choose to visit other
places.
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_gravely_). He may be compelled to
visit them, Madame. (_She looks away._)
MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_is silent for a little while and then
looks up at him as gravely_). _Must_ he visit so many towns?
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_slightly lifting his shoulders_). Oh! Must!
Must! Must is a strong word, Madame. But _Does, Does_; _does_ is a
working word, Madame. And a man _does_ visit many towns, and he comes
back to Compiègne.
MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_thoughtfully_). Sir, Compiègne has age
upon it, though you are pleased to call it by prettier names. Compiègne
is even sad with age. I will not deny her charm, I will even concede
her beauty--but it is harder than ever to-day to be content with
Compiègne. (_With a sudden change of tone._) We have spoken too much
of cities. We old friends who do not dance treat the place too much
like a card-room, and we converse when younger souls are full of the
music.... Tell me, Monsieur de Noirétable--since the subject is more
consonant with music and with dancing--are you fond of verse?
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_solemnly_). I dote upon it!
especially such verse as may be written in praise of Compiègne....
MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_laughing_). Oh! Monsieur de Noirétable,
you begin to be ridiculous. Come, is there no verse you may cite as
your favourite?
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE. Why, Madame, I fear to seem even more
ridiculous if I quote Latin.
MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_good-humouredly_). Not at all, sir! We
know Latin in Compiègne!
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_grimly_). So I seemed to remember.
Well, then, I confess my favourite verse is the Horatian Ode which
begins--
Donec gratus eram tibi ...
and which ends (_he speaks glowingly_)--
... Iracundior Hadria
Tecum vivere amem; tecum obeam libens!
MADAME D'ESCUROLLES (_doubtfully_). Are you quite sure you
have the Latin right? (_She ponders awhile._) For my own part I prefer
the simple songs of our own people about here and the rhymes of
children. Do you know
Nous n'irons plus aux bois
Les lauriers sont coupés?
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_almost yawning_). Oh! Bless you, yes.
Who does not.... Madame?
(_The music ceases and the reverences to the Queen begin. Madame
d'Escurolles, as she moves forward, says in a low tone to Monsieur de
Noirétable as she passes him_, "When do you next come to Compiègne?")
MONSIEUR DE NOIRÉTABLE (_as he goes out alone, to himself_).
When Compiègne comes to meet me halfway; which is perhaps a little
difficult for so much stone.
THE CANDOUR OF MATURITY
(_The Marquis_ DE LA MISE-EN-SCÈNE _is discovered writing
at a little inlaid table. He is about 42 years of age, and looks
worse than that. He believes himself to be alone in the room,
when he is somewhat suddenly addressed from the open door by the
Duchess_ DE LA TOUR-DE-FORCE_, who has just entered. She
is a woman of about 55, somewhat too commanding. The place is
Versailles, and the time is 1753._)
THE DUCHESS DE LA TOUR-DE-FORCE. What are you doing, Monsieur
de la Mise-en-Scène?
THE MARQUIS DE LA MISE-EN-SCÈNE (_continuing to write and
without turning round_). I am writing, Duchess, as you can plainly see.
DUCHESS. Unfortunately I cannot see through your body, but I
see you are seated at a table, and from the constrained attitude of
your elbow and the awkward wagging of your head I can well believe that
you are occupied as you say.
THE MARQUIS (_without turning round_). Come, Duchess, would
you have me jump up like a bourgeois? Shall I ask after your health,
which I know to be robust, or murmur something polite about your
niece? Shall I come and hold the door for you, or do any of those
things to which you are used in provincial hotels? Or shall I go on
writing? (_He goes on writing._) (_A pause._) (_The_ DUCHESS
_walks into the room, shuts the door rather noisily, and sits down upon
a chair. She sighs._)
THE MARQUIS (_still writing, murmuring to himself_).
"Indifferent"! Tut, tut, how does one spell "indifferent"? "You cannot
be indifferent to my plea" ... "plea." ... I know how to spell "plea,"
but how does one spell "indifferent"? (_Turning round for the first
time to the Duchess and showing a set, half-ironical face, with thin
lips and steady grey eyes._) Duchess, how do you spell "indifferent"?
DUCHESS (_carelessly_). Oh, I spell it sometimes one way,
sometimes another. But I believe there are two f's.
MARQUIS (_turning again to his letters_). "Indifferent" (with
two f's) "to my plea...." (_He leans back and looks at the paper with
his head on one side as though he were examining a picture._) It looks
all right, Duchess. I always go by that, though I think it is easier to
tell whether a bit of spelling is right if you can see it in print.
DUCHESS (_gravely_). I thoroughly agree with you, Marquis de
la Mise-en-Scène. (_A pause during which the scratching of the quill
continues._) I do not think she will mind about the spelling; but if I
know anything of her sex she will not read the end of the letter if
you make it too long.
MARQUIS (_still writing away busily_). Yes, she will, for it
is full of business.
DUCHESS (_with some interest in her voice_). Why? What kind of
business?
MARQUIS. I'm writing a proposal of marriage, Madam.
DUCHESS (_really startled_). Good heavens, Monsieur de la
Mise-en-Scène! I always thought you were married!
MARQUIS (_continuing to write_). Madame de la Tour-de-Force,
that is the malicious sort of thing people say at Versailles about
provincials. (_He continues to write._)
DUCHESS. I don't care how much business you put into it; if
you make it as long as that she won't read to the end.
MARQUIS. Oh, yes, she will. The letter isn't very long, but
I'm writing it out several times.
DUCHESS. Really! Your cynicism! And suppose the various ladies
meet, or suppose two of them accept you at once! What then?
MARQUIS (_getting up quickly_). I never thought of that! (_He
puts his left hand on to the hilt of his sword, puts his right hand to
his chin, and thoughtfully paces up and down the room._) Yes, Duchess,
that would be very awkward. In fact (_going to the window and looking
out_)--in fact, now that you have suggested it ... of course I might
write to the second and say I already had an engagement ... but I
think I shall drive tandem and not send off the second letter until
I have received an answer to the first; nor the third until I have
received an answer to the second, and so forth.... On the other hand,
I'm glad I've got the work done, because the business part at the end
is very complicated.
DUCHESS (_as though to make conversation_). Have you ever
written a proposal of marriage before, Monsieur de la Mise-en-Scène?
MARQUIS. No, Duchess, I have not; and, what is more curious,
no lady has ever shown me one. But I have a book in which various forms
of letters are set down to be used upon different occasions in life. I
have taken all the first part of this letter of mine from this book.
The long part at the end which is all about business I got out of a
letter from my solicitor.
DUCHESS (_quietly, as she folds her hands upon her lap_). If
you will take my advice, Marquis, you will not put in so much business
upon the very first occasion. I should have asked--Have you actually
met any of these ladies?
MARQUIS (_stoutly_). Yes, all of them, and one of them three
or four times. Tell me, Duchess, since you know something of the world,
in what form is a declaration most pleasing?
DUCHESS (_serenely_). By word of mouth, Monsieur de la
Mise-en-Scène.
MARQUIS. Oh, by word of mouth! And under what conditions? On
horseback? During a gentle stroll? In a ball-room?
DUCHESS. No, rather under the conditions of ordinary life,
in an ordinary room such as this, in the midst of one's ordinary
avocations.
MARQUIS (_stops in his pacing up and down, stands near her,
and, looking at her fixedly, says_): I attach the greatest possible
value to your judgment and advice, Duchess. And I fear I have wasted a
good deal of time writing those letters at the little table. Here is
an ordinary room, here are we both at our ordinary avocations, which
consist in doing nothing, now sauntering up and down the floors, now
sitting upon chairs; all is as you would desire it. We are not on
horseback, we are not at a ball, we are not strolling through the park.
Will you marry me?
DUCHESS (_composedly_). Certainly not!
MARQUIS. Oh, well then, I'm very glad I did write those
letters after all. It's a great thing to have one's work behind one
instead of in front of one. But before I get to the tedious task again
I do particularly beg you to consider my proposal. (_He sits down in a
chair opposite her and begins to tick off the fingers of his left hand
with the forefinger of his right._) My first point is this----
DUCHESS (_wearily_). Oh, Monsieur de la Mise-en-Scène, are you
going to put it under three heads?
MARQUIS. No, Madam, I act in this fashion because I have
seen the attitude adopted invariably by all diplomats when they would
convince some great and powerful Sovereign; and my first point is
this: We know each other and we know the world. On the other hand, we
are not intimate friends, which would be fatal. We are both free. We
are both careless as to differences in rank.
DUCHESS. I am not.
MARQUIS. Well, well, let us pass that: it is a matter one can
soon get used to after the first years of married life.
DUCHESS. I assure you, you are wasting your time. I have not
the slightest intention of marrying you or anybody else. But I will
help you to get married if you like. My advice will be useful to you,
as you say. And, first of all, show me those letters.
MARQUIS (_warmly_). Thank you, Madam; thank you a thousand
times! This one here is to Madame de Livaudan (_hands her one letter
and holds the other ready in his hand_).
DUCHESS (_glancing at it_). It is too formal!
MARQUIS. This one (_he hands her another_) is to an Italian
lady, whose name I will get hold of before I write the direction
outside; for the moment it escapes me, but she is a Contessa, something
like Marolio, and I met her in a coach.
DUCHESS (_reads it_). It is far too long.
MARQUIS. This one (_he hands her a third_) is to a distant
cousin of mine in Madrid, formerly the wife of----
DUCHESS (_in surprise_). But are they all widows?
MARQUIS (_gravely_). Yes, Madam, they are all widows--and all
rich.
DUCHESS (_sighing profoundly_). It certainly seems a pity that
with your knowledge of Versailles and your pleasant habit of friendship
... and your gallant record in the war ... you should be compelled to
such adventures.
MARQUIS (_lightly_). There! there! Madam, do not pity me. Many
a poor fellow is worse off than I. The fourth one.... (_He produces yet
another letter._)
DUCHESS (_waving it aside_). No, no, I have already seen too
much of that correspondence! Trust me, Marquis, it will all end in
smoke, and may even very possibly make you ridiculous.
MARQUIS (_apologetically_). Madam, I have done my best. I
have put before you the very reasonable proposal that we should marry.
I put it before you in the very manner which you suggest. It did not,
for the moment at least, meet with your approval: and surely it was
common-sense to keep my line of retreat open upon the four widows, by
any one of which roads I might have fallen back after my defeat at your
hands.
DUCHESS (_thoughtfully_). No, I do not think we should get
married. There are too many doubts.... I have seen such experiments
fail ... and (_shrugging her shoulders_) succeed ... I confess I have
seen them fail and succeed.
MARQUIS. Indeed?
DUCHESS (_still ruminating, but in a quiet way_). Yes.... On
one's own land.... Yes, that is how it always has to begin. And then
there would be the getting of a post (_she still continues to think
it over, frowning with the interest of her subject; at last she rises
promptly, and looking the Marquis full in the face she says_): We have
half-an-hour or more before the hunt comes home. We will walk round the
gardens together and give this very important matter the discussion it
deserves.
MARQUIS (_cheerfully_). By all means, Duchess, so that you
do not make me miss the courier who is to take the first of these
missives. I am entirely at your disposal.
DUCHESS. It is my deliberate advice to you not to post the
first of those letters to-day. Come! (_She goes out of the door in a
rather majestic manner, and he follows, smiling._)
THE FOG
(_A young man in the uniform of a Lieutenant of Dragoons is riding
on the edge of a wood in a thick fog. The month is the month of
November, and the year is the year 1793. The young man has a
simple, open face, with rather protuberant blue eyes and sandy
hair. His mouth is at a half smile, and he does not seem to mind
having lost his way. His name is Boutroux._)
BOUTROUX. The more I see of warfare the more I am
astonished!... It is true I have only seen four months of it.... My
father would be very much astonished if he could see me now!... My
mother would be more than astonished: she would be positively alarmed!
On the other hand (_musing_) it is a great relief to me, and would
be a still greater relief to her, that I cannot hear the sound of
firearms.... The more I see of warfare the more and more perplexed I
become. (_Looking up at the edge of the wood on his left._) Now what is
that wood? Before the fog fell I could have sworn we were in an open
rolling country with spinneys here and there, and I could almost have
told you very roughly where we were and where the enemy were--more or
less--so to speak--and now here is a horrid great wood! And where am I?
(_At this moment a single voice is heard through the fog. The
single voice belongs to a man called Metris. He is as yet unseen._)
METRIS. Get back a little! When I said follow me I did not
mean bunching up like a lot of dirty linesmen. I meant keeping your
spaces.... Charles, you are as pig-headed as ever! There are times when
one does not answer a superior, but there are other times when one
does. (_Angrily._) Charles! (_There is no reply._) Something has gone
very definitely wrong with my troop! That is the worst of fog.
(_As he says this he emerges in a vast and murky way into the
vision of Boutroux. The two men stop their horses and look at each
other through the mist._)
BOUTROUX. Have you seen the Thirty-second?
METRIS. (_Boutroux perceives him to be a tall man quite ten
years his senior, very lean, with menacing moustaches, and clothed
in a uniform with which he is unfamiliar._) No, sir, I have not seen
the Thirty-second. (_He salutes with a sword._) I take it you are an
officer in the Republican service?
BOUTROUX (_wearily_). Oh yes!
METRIS (_with elaborate courtesy_). Then, sir, you are my
prisoner! My name is Georges de Metris, of Heyren in this country, and
my father's name will be familiar to you.
BOUTROUX. Your father's name is not familiar to me, sir. And
what is more, _my_ father's name would not be familiar to you. For my
poor old dad (God bless him!) is at the present moment in Bayonne,
where he is a grocer--in a large way of business, I am glad to say.
And talking of prisoners, you are my prisoner! It is as well I should
tell you this before we go further. For if there is one thing I detest
more than another in this new profession of mine it is the ambiguity
thereof. (_He salutes with his sword in rather an extravagant fashion
and smiles broadly._)
METRIS (_making his horse trot up quite close to Boutroux and
halting stiffly while he lowers his sword_). Sir! I should be loath to
quarrel with one so young and evidently so new to arms.
BOUTROUX. And I, sir (_lowering his sword as far as ever he
can stretch_), would be still more loath to quarrel with one so greatly
my senior and one evidently too used to this lethal game.
METRIS (_biting his lips_). I detest your principles, sir, but
I respect your uniform.
BOUTROUX. You have the advantage of me, sir. Your uniform
seems to me positively grotesque. But your principles I admire
enormously.
METRIS (_stiffly_). Sir, I serve the Emperor. You have heard
my name.
BOUTROUX. I have heard your name, and now that you tell me
that you serve the Emperor I am willing to believe _that_ also. So it
seems that we are enemies. I thought as much when you first showed out
of the fog. It was not your uniform which gave me this opinion.
METRIS. Then what is it?
BOUTROUX. It was your singular habit of commanding men who
were not there.
METRIS (_in a boiling passion, which he restrains_). I did not
come here, sir, for a contest of words.
BOUTROUX (_genially, putting up his sword_). I take it you did
not come here with any direct motive. You got here somehow, just as I
did, and neither of us knows why.
METRIS (_in extreme anger_). But you will know why very soon,
sir! And I hope I shall know why, too! Sir, I call upon you to draw!
BOUTROUX (_seating himself back in the saddle with great
ease while his horse munches the wet grass_). Now, there you are. I
have been a soldier only these few weeks, and I thought I had got
hold of all the muddlement there was; "lines" which aren't lines, and
"positions strongly held" which anybody can walk round for fun; and
communications "cut," when, as a fact, one could go right along them
on horseback, and "destructive fire" that hits nobody, and "excellent
morale" when one's men are on the point of hitting one on the nose. But
if you will allow me, sir, you positively take the prize in the matter!
You suggest the duello or some such phantasy. Do you want us to fight
with these cavalry swords from the saddle?
METRIS. I do not know if you are trying to gain time, sir. I
suggest that you should meet me on foot here and now.
BOUTROUX. What! and lose my horse?
METRIS. Sir, we can tie the two beasts by their bridles, and
we can hang their bridles so tied to the branch of one of these trees.
BOUTROUX (_frowning_). I have a very short experience of
warfare--I think I have said that before--and I hesitate to correct
a man of your experience. But if you can really _tie_ two bridles
together and then have enough leather left to get it over the branch of
a tree, you'll teach me something about the art of campaigning of which
I was quite innocent.... (_Getting down from his horse._) Come, I think
in the French service we have a better way than that. (_He unbuckles
one end of the snaffle-rein._) You see (_looking up genially_), we
leave the curb on. If I had time I would explain to you why.... Now,
sir, will you not unbuckle the end of your snaffle-rein?
METRIS (_stiffly_). No, sir, I will not.
BOUTROUX (_sighing_). They are all the same! The service
simply fossilises them, especially, it would seem, the enemy; though I
confess (_turning courteously to_ METRIS _and bowing to him_)
you are the first of the enemy I have ever met.
METRIS (_restraining himself_). Pray, sir, do not delay.
BOUTROUX (_full of good humour_). I will not! See, I pass my
snaffle-rein in through the buckle of your horse's curb; and pardon me,
sir, but what a fine horse! Is it yours or the Emperor's?
METRIS (_ominously_). It is mine, sir.
BOUTROUX. Keep it. This (_jerking his thumb at his weedy
mount_) belongs to the Republic--if it is still a Republic, for news
travels slowly to the armies. At any rate, it doesn't belong to me.
(_He slowly takes the end of his snaffle-rein and looks for something
to fasten it to; he shakes his head doubtfully. At last, holding the
end of the snaffle-rein in his left hand while the two horses begin
to browse peacefully, he draws his sword with his right, and putting
himself in a theatrical posture, says_): Come on, sir, I'm damned if I
will let go of these horses.
METRIS (_solemnly_). I do not jest upon these occasions.
BOUTROUX. Neither do I, sir. Indeed, I have not been in such
an occasion before; and I make it a rule never to jest when I do
anything for the first time. Come, draw, and put yourself in a posture
of defence, or, by Heaven (so far as these two animals will allow me) I
will make a mincemeat of you with my sword.
METRIS (_boiling over_). This is far more than any gentleman
can endure! (_He stands before_ BOUTROUX _with his left hand
clenched behind his back, his right foot well advanced, and his sabre
in tierce._) Now, sir.
BOUTROUX (_very simply_). Now! (_Nothing happens._)
METRIS. Sir, are you upon your guard?
BOUTROUX. More or less (_jerking the horses_). Garrup! (_To_
METRIS) Excuse me, sir, it seems that even in browsing grass
this horse of mine has a devil of a hard mouth. He nearly sprained my
wrist.... Well, then, are you upon your guard?
METRIS (_courteously_). I am.