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HE WHO GETS SLAPPED
[Illustration: _Setting by Lee Simonson_
_Photograph by Francis Bruguierre_
A SCENE FROM THE THEATRE GUILD PRODUCTION]
He Who Gets Slapped
A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS
BY LEONID ANDREYEV
TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
GREGORY ZILBOORG
[Illustration: colophon]
NEW YORK
BRENTANO'S
Publishers
COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY
BRENTANO'S
COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY
THE DIAL PUBLISHING COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
_Printed in the United States of America_
The first regular production of HE in English was by The Theatre Guild
on January 9, 1922, at the Garrick Theatre, New York. The original cast
was as follows:
_Tilly_ } { Philip Leigh
_Polly_ } _Musical Clowns_ { Edgar Stehli
_Briquet, Manager of the Circus_ Ernest Cossart
_Mancini, Consuelo's Father_ Frank Reicher
_Zinida, a Lion Tamer_ Helen Westley
_Angelica_ } _Trapeze Performers_ { Martha Bryan Allen
_Estelle_ } { Helen Sheridan
_Francois_ Edwin R. Wolfe
_HE_ Richard Bennett
_Jackson, a Clown_ Henry Travers
_Consuelo, the Equestrian Tango Queen_ Margalo Gillmore
_Alfred Bezano, a Bareback Rider_ John Rutherford
_Baron Regnard_ Louis Calvert
_A Gentleman_ John Blair
_Wardrobe Lady_ Kathryn Wilson
_Usher_ Charles Cheltenham
_Conductor_ Edwin R. Wolfe
_Pierre_ Philip Loeb
_A Sword Dancer_ Renee Wilde
_Ballet Master_ Oliver Grymes
{ Vera Tompkins
{ Anne Tonnetti
_Ballet Girls_ { Marguerite Wernimont
{ Frances Ryan
_Actresses in Circus Pantomime_ { Adele St. Maur
{ Sara Enright
_Thomas, a Strong Man_ Dante Voltaire
_A Snake Charmer_ Joan Clement
_A Contortionist_ Richard Coolidge
_A Riding Master_ Kenneth Lawton
_A Juggler_ Francis G. Sadtler
_Acrobats_ { Sears Taylor
{ Luigi Belastro
_Stage Manager_, Philip Loeb _Ass't Stage Manager_, Oliver Grymes
_Produced under the direction of_ ROBERT MILTON
_Settings and Costumes by_ LEE SIMONSON
"Stage, screen, and amateur rights for the translation and the
original play in all English-speaking countries are owned and
controlled by The Theatre Guild, 65 West 35th St., New York City.
No public readings or performances may be given without their
written consent."
INTRODUCTION
Leonid Andreyev as a literary figure was born in the gloomy atmosphere
of depression of the 'nineties. He thus appeared upon the literary stage
at a period when the old and splendid generation of Turgenev and
Dostoevsky had already passed away and when Chekhov had begun to
demonstrate before the reader the gloom and colourlessness of Russia
life.
This was a period when the social forces of Russia were half destroyed
by the reaction under Alexander III, and when the young generation was
trying to rest and to get away from the strain of social hopes and
despair. This period, briefly speaking, was a period of melancholy, of
commonplace, every-day preoccupations, and of dull _terre a terre_
philosophy.
It must be borne in mind that literature was the only outlet for the
moral and intellectual forces of Russia. Political reaction, censorship,
complete absence of civil liberties, and the cult of popular ignorance
upon which Czardom based its power, all these made the written artistic
word almost the sole expression of Russian social longings and
idealistic expectations.
It is therefore only natural that Russian literature in its general
development is closely interwoven with the political and social
conditions of Russia at the given moment. The 'nineties were a period of
depression. After the assassination of Alexander II (1881) and the
subsequent tightening of the chain of reaction, combined with a general
_debacle_ in progressive and radical circles, the Russian intellectual
fell into a state of pessimism. His faith in an early liberation was
shattered, his hope of recovery was broken. Chekhov is the most
characteristic representative of that period; he himself called his
heroes "the dull-grey people."
Maxim Gorki and Leonid Andreyev appeared almost simultaneously at that
time. The former brought the message of a rebel spirit which forecast a
new moral upheaval, a new social protest; the latter appeared clad in
the gloom of his time, which he strangely combined with a spirit of
almost anarchistic revolt. From the point of view of historical
completeness Leonid Andreyev is more representative of the epoch,
demonstrating at once two contradictory elements of the Russia of the
'nineties: lack or even absence of faith interwoven with protest and
mutiny.
Andreyev is symbolic and romantic. Her Majesty Fate and His Excellency
Accident, these are the two dark, unknown, at times brutal forces which
dwelt ever before the mind's eye. His symbols are full of horror and at
times unbending atrocity. Beginning with his short stories, In Fog, The
Life of Basil of Thebes, through his dramas, The Life of Man, and
Anathema, until his last writings, he saw human beings in the form of
ghosts and ghosts in the form of human beings dominating every step,
every breath of life. Still his gruesome symbolism, despite his genius
for rendering his images in a clear-cut, almost crystalline manner, did
not appeal to many of his contemporaries because the dark shroud in
which Andreyev enveloped life was impenetrable and at times it was
impossible to discern in that gloom the few values which Andreyev still
found in life. Leo Tolstoy said once: "Leonid Andreyev tries to frighten
me, but I am not afraid."
Even in his splendid realistic dramas it is difficult for Andreyev to
rid himself of the habit of symbolizing and dimming the few rays of
light which try to filter through.
There was nevertheless a little corner in Andreyev's artistic heart
where there appeared some indefinite hope which never acquired a
specific artistic form, but which was alluded to many times in his
writings. In his short story, Thought, he makes fragmentary allusions to
his half-hope, half-idea: "If the lot of the Man be to become a God, his
throne will be the Book," says the hero.
But the red laugh of the Russo-Japanese war, the abortive revolution of
1905, the general ignorance and darkness of the masses, the strain of
the last war, the depreciation of human life as a value in itself,
brought Leonid Andreyev to the last step of the pessimistic ladder which
he was ever descending into the abyss of hopelessness. This state of
mind is best illustrated by his last dramatic work, HE, the One Who Gets
Slapped.
Here we see a man of high education, of great intellectual achievement,
who leaves life, willingly in appearance, but forcibly in fact. The
relations of man to man, of group to group, according to Andreyev are
such that the Man is forced to efface himself. Even Thought, or the
Book, could not help the Man to become a God. He becomes a clown. He
performs stunts, he gets slaps; the public laughs, being unaware that
this laughter is a mockery at itself, at its culture, at its thought, at
its achievement.
The characters of the play, as the reader will see, are depicted with a
bitter sarcasm and unfriendliness, for Andreyev seems to have lost his
last faith in the Man. The good, the innocent and clean heart is bound
to suffer and die. His Consuelo, Zinida, Bezano are only stray rays of
light out of place in the world and even in the world-circus which is
full of spiders, champagne, and human outcasts. Andreyev does not blame
these outcasts. On the contrary, he feels sympathy, if for anybody, for
just these clowns, jugglers, and bareback-riders; but life, this
strange combination of fate, accident, and cowardly slander, is
stronger, and they collapse under the burden of this combination.
HE is perhaps the best work of Andreyev, at any rate his best dramatic
work. It is more adapted to stage conditions than his previous plays and
is not overcrowded with symbolic ghosts. Furthermore, HE is a remarkable
summary of Andreyev's philosophy.
GREGORY ZILBOORG
HE WHO GETS SLAPPED
CAST OF CHARACTERS
CONSUELO--_a bareback rider in a circus_.
_Billed as "The Bareback Tango Queen."_
MANCINI--_Consuelo's father_.
HE--_a clown in Briquet's circus_. _Billed as "HE Who Gets Slapped."_
BRIQUET--_Manager of the circus_.
ZINIDA--_a lion tamer, Briquet's wife_.
ALFRED BEZANO--_a bareback rider_.
A GENTLEMAN.
BARON REGNARD.
JACKSON--_a clown_.
TILLY }
POLLY }--_musical clowns_.
THOMAS, ANGELICA, _and other actors and actresses
of Briquet's circus_.
_The action takes place in one of the large cities of France._
HE WHO GETS SLAPPED
ACT I
_A very large, rather dirty room, with whitewashed walls. To the left,
in a niche, is a window, the only outside window in the room, opening on
a court-yard. The light from it is so dim that even by day the
electricity has to be turned on._
_At the very top of the centre-back wall is a row of small dusty
windows. They open on the circus hall. At night, when the performance is
going on, a bright light shines through. By day they are dark. In the
same wall is a large white door, reached by two stone steps, and nailed
fast._
_On the right, almost in the corner, is a high, wide, arched doorway
which leads to the stables and the ring. By day it opens into pale
darkness, at night into pale light._
_The room is used for many purposes. It is the office of Papa Briquet,
manager of the circus; here he keeps his little desk. It is the
cloak-room of some of the actors. It is also the room where the cast
gathers between calls, during rehearsals or performances. Again, it is a
check-room for used circus property, such as gilt armchairs, scenery
for pantomimes, and other wares of the circus household. The walls are
covered with circus announcements and glaring posters._
_The time is morning. In the circus hall a rehearsal is going on, and
preparations are being made for the evening performance. As the curtain
goes up, the cracking whip and the shouts of the riding-master are heard
from the ring. The stage is empty for a few seconds, then enter Tilly
and Polly, the musical clowns, practising a new march. Playing on tiny
pipes, they step from the dark doorway to the window. Their music is
agreeable to the ear, but small, mincing, artificially clown-like, like
their mincing steps; they wear jackets and resemble each other; same
smooth-shaven face, same height; Tilly, the younger, has a scarf around
his neck; both have their derbies on the backs of their heads. Tilly
glances through the window, then they turn about, still marching._
POLLY
[_Interrupting the march_]: Stop, you're out again! Now, listen--[_He
stands close to Tilly and plays into his face. Tilly absent-mindedly
listens, scratching his nose._] There! Come on now! [_They resume their
music and marching. As they reach the door they meet the manager and_
MANCINI; _the latter walks behind the manager, and is gnawing at the
knob of his goldmounted cane_. COUNT MANCINI _is tall and slight. The
seams of his clothes are worn and he keeps his coat buttoned tight. He
assumes extremely graceful manners, takes affected poses, and has a
special fondness for toying with his cane, with aristocratic
stylishness. When he laughs, which happens often, his thin sharp face
takes on a marked resemblance to a satyr. The manager_, "PAPA" BRIQUET,
_is a stout quiet man of average height_. _His bearing is hesitant. The
clowns make room for the gentlemen. The manager looks questioningly at
the older man._]
POLLY
[_With an affected accent_]: Our moosic for the pantomime! The March of
the Ants!
BRIQUET
Ha! Yes!
[_The gentlemen walk in. The clowns resume their music_, POLLY
_marching on, then turning, the younger following._]
POLLY
Papa Briquet, Jack is working very badly to-day.
BRIQUET
What's the matter with him?
POLLY
He has a sore throat. You'd better take a look at him.
BRIQUET
All right. Come on, Jack. Open your mouth! Wider--wider. [_Turns clown's
face to the light near the window and examines him closely and
seriously._] Just smear it with iodine.
POLLY
I told him so. I said it was nothing! Oh! Come on. [_They go away
playing, marching, practising their funny mincing steps. The manager
sits down._ MANCINI _strikes a pose by the wall, smiling ironically._]
MANCINI
So. You give them medical treatment, too! Look out, Papa Briquet, you
have no licence.
BRIQUET
Just a little advice. They're all so afraid for their lives.
MANCINI
His throat is simply burnt with whiskey. These two fellows get drunk
every night. I am amazed, Papa Briquet, to see you pay so little
attention to their morals. [_He laughs._]
BRIQUET
You make me sick, Mancini.
MANCINI
Count Mancini is at your service!
BRIQUET
You make me sick, Count Mancini. You poke your nose into everything, you
disturb the artists in their work. Some day you'll get a thrashing, and
I warn you that I shan't interfere.
MANCINI
As a man of superior associations and education I cannot be expected to
treat your actors as my equals! What more can you ask, Briquet? You see
that I do you the honour of speaking with you quite familiarly, quite
simply.
BRIQUET
Ha! ha! ha! [_Slightly threatening_] Really!--
MANCINI
Never mind my joke. What if they did dare attack me--ever seen this,
Briquet? [_He draws a stiletto out of his cane and advances it
silently._] Useful little thing. By the way, you have no idea of the
discovery I made yesterday in a suburb. Such a girl! [_Laughs._] Oh,
well! all right, all right--I know you don't like that sort of sport.
But look here, you must give me a hundred francs!
BRIQUET
Not a sou.
MANCINI
Then I'll take away Consuelo--that's all----
BRIQUET
Your daily threat!
MANCINI
Yes, my threat! And you would do the same, if you were as shamefully
hard up as I am. Now look here, you know as well as I do that I have to
live up to my name somehow, keep up the family reputation. Just because
the tide of ill-fortune which struck my ancestors compelled me to make
my daughter, the Countess Veronica, a bareback rider--to keep us from
starving--do you understand--you heartless idiot!
BRIQUET
You chase the girls too much! Some day you'll land in jail, Mancini!
MANCINI
In jail? Oh, no! Why, I have to uphold our _name_, the splendour of my
family, [_laughs_] haven't I? The Mancinis are known all over Italy for
their love of girls--just girls! Is it my fault if I must pay such crazy
prices for what my ancestors got free of charge? You're nothing but an
ass, a _parvenu_ ass. How can you understand Family Traditions? I don't
drink--I stopped playing cards after that accident--no, you need not
smile. Now if I give up the girls, what will be left of Mancini? Only a
coat of arms, that's all---- In the name of family traditions,
give me a hundred francs!
BRIQUET
I told you no, I won't.
MANCINI
You know that I leave half of the salary for Consuelo--but--perhaps you
think I do not love my child--my only daughter, all that remains to me
as a memory of her sainted mother--what cruelty! [_Pretends to cry,
wipes his eyes with a small and dirty lace handkerchief, embroidered
with a coronet._]
BRIQUET
Why don't you say, rather, that she is foolish enough to give you half
her salary. You make me sick----
[_Enter Zinida, the lion tamer; burningly beautiful, her self-confident,
commanding gestures at first glance give an impression of languor. She
is_ BRIQUET'S _unmarried wife._]
ZINIDA
[_To_ MANCINI]: Good morning.
MANCINI
Madame Zinida! This barbarian, this brute may pierce me with his dagger,
but I cannot control the expression of my love! [_Kneels facetiously
before her_] Madame! Count Mancini has the honour of asking you to be
his wife....
ZINIDA
[_To_ BRIQUET]: Money?
BRIQUET
Yes.
ZINIDA
Don't give him any. [_Sits down wearily on a torn sofa, shuts her eyes.
MANCINI gets up and wipes his knees._]
MANCINI
Duchess! Don't be cruel. I am no lion, no tiger, no savage beast which
you are accustomed to tame. I am merely a poor domestic animal, who
wants, miaow, miaow, a little green grass.
ZINIDA
[_Without opening her eyes_]: Jim tells me you have a teacher for
Consuelo. What for?
MANCINI
The solicitude of a father, duchess, the solicitude and the tireless
anxiety of a loving heart. The extreme misfortunes of our family, when I
was a child, have left some flaws in her education. Friends, the
daughter of Count Mancini, Countess Veronica, can barely read! Is that
admissible? And you, Briquet, heartless brute, you still ask why I need
money!
ZINIDA
Artful!
BRIQUET
What are you teaching her?
MANCINI
Everything. A student had been giving her lessons, but I threw him out
yesterday. He had the nerve to fall in love with Consuelo and stood
there miaowing at the door like a cat. Everything, Briquet, that you
don't know--literature, mythology, orthography----
[_Two young actresses appear, with small fur coats thrown over their
light dresses. They are tired and sit down in the corner._]
MANCINI
I do not wish my daughter----
ZINIDA
Artful!
BRIQUET
You are stupid, Mancini. What do you do it for? [_In a didactic tone_]
You are fearfully stupid, Mancini. Why does she need to learn? Since she
is here she need never know anything about that life. Don't you
understand? What is geography? If I were the government I would forbid
artists to read books. Let them read the posters, that's enough.
[_During_ BRIQUET'S _speech, the two clowns and another actor
enter. They sit down wearily._]
BRIQUET
Right now, your Consuelo is an excellent artist, but just as soon as you
teach her mythology, and she begins to read, she'll become a nuisance,
she'll be corrupted, and then she'll go and poison herself. I know those
books, I've read 'em myself. All they teach is corruption, and how to
kill oneself.
FIRST ACTRESS
I love the novels that come out in the newspaper.
BRIQUET
That shows what a foolish girl you are. You'll be done for in no time.
Believe me, my friends, we must forget entirely what is happening out
there. How can we understand all that goes on there?
MANCINI
You are an enemy of enlightenment, you are an obscurantist, Briquet.
BRIQUET
And you are stupid. You are from out there. What has it taught you?
[_The actors laugh._] If you'd been born in a circus as I was, you'd
know something. Enlightenment is plain nonsense--nothing else. Ask
Zinida. She knows everything they teach out there--geography,
mythology---- Does it make her any happier? You tell them, dear.
ZINIDA
Leave me alone, Louis.
MANCINI
[_Angrily_]: Oh! Go to the devil! When I listen to your asinine
philosophy, I'd like to skin you for more than a paltry hundred
francs--for two hundred--for a thousand. Great God! What an ass of a
manager! Yes, right before every one of them I want to say that you are
a stingy old skinflint--that you pay starvation wages. I'll make you
give Consuelo a raise of a hundred francs. Listen, all you honest
vagabonds, tell me--who is it draws the crowd that fills the circus
every night? You? a couple of musical donkeys? Tigers, lions? Nobody
cares for those hungry cats!
ZINIDA
Leave the tigers alone.
MANCINI
Beg your pardon, Zinida. I did not mean to hurt your feelings--honestly.
I really marvel at your furious audacity--at your grace--you are a
heroine--I kiss your tiny hands. But what do they understand about
heroism? [_An orchestra softly plays the Tango in the circus. He
continues with enthusiasm._] Hear! hear! Now tell me, honest vagabonds,
who but Consuelo and Bezano draws the crowds! That Tango on
horseback--it is--it is---- Oh, the devil! Even his fatuousness
the Pope could not withstand its lure.
POLLY
True! It's a great trick--wasn't the idea Bezano's?
MANCINI
Idea! Idea! The lad's in love, like a cat--that's the idea. What's the
good of an idea without a woman! You wouldn't dance very far with your
idea alone, eh, Papa Briquet?
BRIQUET
We have a contract.
MANCINI
Such base formalities.
ZINIDA
Give him ten francs and let him go.
MANCINI
Ten! Never! _Fifteen!_ Don't be stubborn, Papa. For the traditions of my
house--twenty. I swear--on my honour--I can't do with less. [BRIQUET
_hands him twenty francs. Nonchalantly_] _Merci._ Thanks.
ZINIDA
Why don't you take it from your baron?
MANCINI
[_Raising his eyebrows haughtily, quite indignant_]: From the Baron?
Woman! who do you think I am that I should be beholden to a stranger?
ZINIDA
You're plotting something artful. I know you very little, but I guess
you're an awful scoundrel.
MANCINI
[_Laughs_]: Such an insult from such beautiful lips.
[_Enter an "artist," apparently an athlete._]
ATHLETE
Papa Briquet, there's a gentleman from beyond the grave asking for you.
ACTRESS
A ghost?
ATHLETE
No. He seems alive. Did you ever see a drunken ghost?
BRIQUET
If he's drunk, tell him I'm out, Thomas. Does he want to see me or the
Count?
ATHLETE
No, you. Maybe he's not drunk, but just a ghost.
MANCINI
[_Draws himself together, puffs up_]: A society man?
ATHLETE
Yes. I'll tell him to come in.
[_One hears the whip cracking in the ring. The Tango sounds very
low and distant--then comes nearer--louder. Silence._]
BRIQUET
[_Touching_ ZINIDA'S _arm_]: Tired?
ZINIDA
[_Drawing back a little_]: No.
POLLY
Your red lion is nervous to-day, Zinida!
ZINIDA
You shouldn't tease him.
POLLY
I played a melody from Traviata for him. And he sang with me. Wouldn't
that be a good trick to stage, Papa Briquet?
[THOMAS _brings in the gentleman, points out the manager, and goes
heavily away. The gentleman is not young, and he is ugly, but his
rather strange face is bold and lively. He wears an expensive
overcoat, with a fur collar, and holds his hat and gloves in his
hand._]
GENTLEMAN
[_Bowing and smiling_]: Have I the pleasure of addressing the manager?
BRIQUET
Yes. Won't you sit down, please? Tilly, bring a chair.
GENTLEMAN
Oh! Don't trouble. [_Looks around._] These are your artists? Very
glad----
MANCINI
[_Straightening and bowing slightly_]: Count Mancini.
GENTLEMAN
[_Surprised_]: Count?
BRIQUET
[_Indignantly_]: Yes, Count. And whom have I the honour of----
GENTLEMAN
I don't quite know myself--yet. As a rule you choose your own names,
don't you? I have not chosen yet. Later you might advise me about it. I
have an idea already, but I am afraid it sounds too much like
literature--you know.
BRIQUET
Literature?
GENTLEMAN
Yes! Too sophisticated. [_They all look surprised._] I presume these two
gentlemen are clowns? I am so glad. May I shake hands with them?
[_Stands up and shakes hands with clowns, who make silly faces._]
BRIQUET
Excuse me--but what can I do for you?
GENTLEMAN
[_With the same pleasant, confident smile_]: Oh. You do something for
me? No. I want to do something for you, Papa Briquet.
BRIQUET
_Papa_ Briquet? But you don't look like----
GENTLEMAN
[_Reassuringly_]: It's all right. I shall become "like." These two
gentlemen just made remarkable faces. Would you like to see me imitate
them? Look! [_He makes the same silly faces as the clowns._]
BRIQUET
Yes! [_Involuntarily_] You are not drunk, sir?
GENTLEMAN
No. I don't drink as a rule. Do I look drunk?
POLLY
A little.
GENTLEMAN
No--I don't drink. It is a peculiarity of my talent.
BRIQUET
[_Familiarly_]: Where did you work before? Juggler?
GENTLEMAN
No. But I am glad you feel in me a comrade, Papa Briquet. Unfortunately
I am not a juggler, and have worked nowhere--I am--just so.
MANCINI
But you look like a society man.
GENTLEMAN
Oh, you flatter me, Count. I am just so.
BRIQUET
Well, what do you want? You see I am obliged to tell you that everything
is taken.
GENTLEMAN
That's immaterial. I want to be a clown, if you will allow me. [_Some of
the actors smile_, BRIQUET _begins to grow angry_.]
BRIQUET
But what can you do? You're asking too much. What can you do?
GENTLEMAN
Why! Nothing! Isn't that funny! I can't do a thing.
BRIQUET
No, it's not funny. Any scoundrel knows that much.
GENTLEMAN
[_Rather helpless, but still smiling and looking around_]: We can invent
something----
BRIQUET
[_Ironically_]: From literature?
[_The clown Jackson enters slowly without being noticed by the others.
He stands behind the gentlemen._]
GENTLEMAN
Yes, one can find something literary, too. A nice little speech for
instance on, let's say, a religious topic. Something like a debate among
the clowns.
BRIQUET
A debate! The devil! This is no academy.
GENTLEMAN
[_Sadly_]: I am very sorry. Something else then. Perhaps a joke about
the creation of the world and its rulers?
BRIQUET
What about the police? No, no--nothing like that!
JACKSON
[_Coming forward_]: The rulers of the world? You don't like them? I
don't either. Shake.
BRIQUET
[_Introducing_]: Our chief clown, the famous Jackson.
GENTLEMAN
[_Enthusiastically_]: Great heavens--you! Allow me to shake hands with
you heartily! You, with your genius, you have given me so much joy!
JACKSON
I'm glad indeed!
BRIQUET
[_Shrugs his shoulders; to Jackson_]: He wants to be a clown! Look him
over, Jim.
[_Jackson makes a motion at which the gentleman hurriedly removes
his coat and throws it on a chair. He is ready for the examination.
Jackson turns him round, looking him over critically._]
JACKSON
Clown? Hm! Turn round then. Clown? Yes? Now smile. Wider--broader--do
you call that a smile? So--that's better. There is something, yes--but
for full developments---- [_Sadly_]: Probably you can't even turn a
somersault?
GENTLEMAN
[_Sighs_]: No.
JACKSON
How old are you?
GENTLEMAN
Thirty-nine. Too late? [_Jackson moves away with a whistle. There is a
silence._]
ZINIDA
[_Softly_]: Take him.
BRIQUET
[_Indignant_]: What the hell shall I do with him if he doesn't know a
thing? He's drunk!
GENTLEMAN
Honestly I am not. Thank you for your support, Madame. Are you not the
famous Zinida, the lion tamer, whose regal beauty and audacity----
ZINIDA
Yes. But I do not like flattery.
GENTLEMAN
It is not flattery.
MANCINI
You are evidently not accustomed to good society, my dear. Flattery?
This gentleman expresses his admiration in sincere and beautiful
words--and you--you are not educated, Zinida. As for myself----
[_Enter CONSUELO and BEZANO in circus costume._]
CONSUELO
You here, Daddy?
MANCINI
Yes, my child, you are not tired? [_Kisses her on the forehead._] My
daughter, sir, Countess Veronica. Known on the stage as Consuelo, The
Bareback Tango Queen. Did you ever see her?
GENTLEMAN
I have enjoyed her work. It is marvellous!
MANCINI
Yes! Of course. Everyone admits it. And how do you like the name,
Consuelo? I took it from the novel of George Sand. It means
"Consolation."
GENTLEMAN
What a wonderful knowledge of books!
MANCINI
A small thing. Despite your strange intention, I can see, sir, that you
are a gentleman. My peer! Let me explain to you, that only the strange
and fatal misfortunes of our ancient family--"_sic transit gloria
mundi_," sir.
CONSUELO
It's a bore, Daddy---- Where's my handkerchief, Alfred?
BEZANO
Here it is.
CONSUELO
[_Showing the handkerchief to the gentleman_]: Genuine Venetian. Do you
like it?
GENTLEMAN
[_Again bowing_]: My eyes are dazzled, how beautiful! Papa Briquet, the
more I look around me the more I want to stay with you. [_Makes the face
of a simpleton._] On the one hand a count, on the other----
JACKSON
[_Nods approval_]: That's not bad. Look here, think a bit--find
something. Everyone here thinks for himself.
[_Silence. The gentleman stands with a finger on his forehead,
thinking._]
GENTLEMAN
Find something--find something ... Eureka!
POLLY
That means _found_. Come!
GENTLEMAN
Eureka---- I shall be among you, he who gets slapped. [_General
laughter. Even_ BRIQUET _smiles_.]
GENTLEMAN
[Looks at them smiling]: You see I made even you laugh--is that easy?
[_All grow serious. Polly sighs._]
TILLY
No, it's not easy. Did you laugh, Polly?
POLLY
Sure, a lot. Did you?
TILLY
I did. [_Imitating an instrument, he plays with his lips a melody at
once sad and gay._]
JACKSON
"He Who Gets Slapped," that's not bad.
GENTLEMAN
It's not, is it? I rather like it myself. It suits my talent. And
comrades, I have even found a name--you'll call me "HE." Is that all
right?
JACKSON
[_Thinking_]: "HE"--Not bad.
CONSUELO
[_In a singing, melodic voice_]: "HE" is so funny--"HE"--like a dog.
Daddy, are there such dogs?
[_Jackson suddenly gives a circus slap to the gentleman. HE steps
back and grows pale._]
GENTLEMAN
What!--[_General laughter covers his exclamation._]
JACKSON
HE Who Gets Slapped. Or didn't you get it?
POLLY
[_Comically_]: He says he wants more---- [_The gentleman smiles, rubbing
his cheek._]
GENTLEMAN
So sudden.--Without waiting.--How funny--you didn't hurt me, and yet my
cheek burns.
[_Again there is loud laughter. The clowns cackle like ducks, hens,
cocks; they bark._ ZINIDA _says something to_ BRIQUET, _casts a
glance toward_ BEZANO, _and goes out_. MANCINI _assumes a bored air
and looks at his watch_. _The two actresses go out._]
JACKSON
Take him, Papa Briquet--he will push us.
MANCINI
[_Again looking at his watch_]: But bear in mind, that Papa Briquet is
as close as Harpagon. If you expect to get good money here you are
mistaken. [_HE laughs._] A slap? What's a slap? Worth only small change,
a franc and a half a dozen. Better go back to society; you will make
more money there. Why for one slap, just a light tap, you might say, my
friend, Marquis Justi, was paid fifty thousand lire!
BRIQUET
Shut up, Mancini. Will you take care of him, Jackson.
JACKSON
I can.
POLLY
Do you like music? A Beethoven sonata played on a broom, for instance,
or Mozart on a bottle?
HE
Alas! No. But I will be exceedingly grateful if you will teach me. A
clown! My childhood's dream. When all my school friends were thrilled by
Plutarch's heroes, or the light of science--I dreamed of clowns.
Beethoven on a broom, Mozart on bottles! Just what I have sought all my
life! Friends, I must have a costume!
JACKSON
I see you don't know much! A costume [_putting his finger on his
forehead_] is a thing which calls for deep thought. Have you seen my Sun
here? [_Strikes his posterior._] I looked for it two years.
HE
[_Enthusiastically_]: I shall think!
MANCINI
It is time for me to go. Consuelo, my child, you must get dressed. [_To
HE._] We are lunching with Baron Regnard, a friend of mine, a banker.
CONSUELO
But I don't want to go, Daddy. Alfred says I must rehearse to-day.
MANCINI
[_Horrified, holding up his hands_]: Child, think of me, and what a
situation you put me in! I promised the Baron, the Baron expects us.
Why, it is impossible! Oh, I am in a cold sweat.
CONSUELO
Alfred says----
BEZANO
[_Drily_]: She has to work. Are you rested? Then come on.
MANCINI
But--the devil take me if I know what to make of it. Hey, Bezano,
bareback rider! Are you crazy? I gave you permission for Art's sake, to
exercise my daughter's talent--and you----
CONSUELO
Go along, Papa, and don't be so silly. We've got to work, haven't we?
Have lunch along with your Baron. And Daddy, you forgot to take a clean
handkerchief again, and I washed two for you yesterday. Where did you
put them?
MANCINI
[_Ashamed, blushing_]: Why, my linen is washed by the laundress, and
you, Consuelo, are still playing with toys. It is stupid! You're a
chatter-box. You don't think. These gentlemen might imagine Heaven knows
what. How stupid. I'm off.
CONSUELO
Do you want me to write him a little note?
MANCINI
[_Angrily_]: A little note? Your little notes would make a horse laugh!
Good-bye.
[_He goes out toying angrily with his cane. The clowns follow him
respectfully, playing a funeral march. HE and_ JACKSON _laugh. The
actors disappear one by one._]
CONSUELO
[_Laughing_]: Do I really write so badly? And I love so to write. Did
you like my note, Alfred--or did you laugh, too?
BEZANO
[_Blushing_]: No, I did not. Come on, Consuelo.
[_They go, and meet_ ZINIDA, _entering. Consuelo passes on._]
ZINIDA
Are you going back to work, BEZANO?
BEZANO
[_Politely_]: Yes. To-day is a very bad day. How are your lions, Zinida?
I think the weather affects them.
CONSUELO
[_From the ring_]: Alfred!
ZINIDA
Yes. Some one is calling you. You'd better go. [_Alfred goes out. To_
BRIQUET] Are you finished?
BRIQUET
Right away.
JACKSON
Then good-bye till evening. Think about your costume, HE, and I shall
look for some idea, too. Be here at ten to-morrow. Don't be late, or
you'll get another slap. And I'll work with you.
HE
I shall not be late. [_He looks after_ JACKSON _who goes out._] Must be
a nice man. All the people about you are so nice, Papa Briquet. I
suppose that good-looking bareback rider is in love with Consuelo, isn't
he? [_Laughs._]
ZINIDA
It's none of your business. For a newcomer you go poking your nose too
far. How much does he want, Papa?
BRIQUET
Just a minute. See here HE. I don't want to make a contract with you.
HE
Just as you please. Do you know what? Don't let us talk about money. You
are an honest fellow, Briquet; you will see what my work is worth to
you, and then----
BRIQUET
[_Pleased_]: Now that's very nice of you. Zinida, the man really doesn't
know anything.
ZINIDA
Well, do as he suggests. Now we must write it down. Where's the book?
BRIQUET
Here. [_To HE_.] I don't like to write [_gives book to_ ZINIDA], but we
have to put down the names of the actors, you know--it's police
regulations. Then if anyone kills himself, or----
[_Again comes the sound of the Tango, and calls from the ring._]
ZINIDA
What is your name?
HE
[_Smiling_]: HE. I chose it, you know. Or don't you like it?
BRIQUET
We like it all right--but we have to have your real name. Have you a
passport?
HE
[_Confused_]: A passport? No, I have none. Or, rather, yes. I have
something of the kind, but I had no idea the rules were strictly
enforced here. What do you need papers for?
[ZINIDA _and_ BRIQUET _look at each other_. ZINIDA _pushes the book
aside_.]
ZINIDA
Then we can't take you. We cannot quarrel with the police, just on your
account.
BRIQUET
She is my wife. I hadn't told you. She's right. You might get hurt by a
horse, or hurt yourself--or do something. We don't know you, you see. I
personally don't care, but out there, it's different, you see. For me a
corpse is just a corpse--and I don't ask anything about him. It's up to
God or the Devil. But they--they're too curious. Well, I suppose it's
necessary for order. I don't know---- Got a card?
HE
[_Rubs his head, thinking_]: What shall I do? I have my card, but
[_smiles_] you understand that I don't want my name to be known.
BRIQUET
Some story, hey?
HE
Yes, something like that. Why can't you imagine that I have no name?
Can't I lose it as I might lose my hat? Or let someone else take it by
mistake? When a stray dog comes to you, you don't ask his name--you
simply give him another. Let me be that dog. [_Laughing_] HE--the Dog!
ZINIDA
Why don't you tell us your name, just the two of us. Nobody else need
know it. Unless you should break your neck----
HE
[_Hesitates_]: Honestly? [ZINIDA _shrugs her shoulders_.]
BRIQUET
Where people are honest, their word is good. One sees you come from _out
there_.
HE
All right. But please, don't be surprised. [_Gives_ ZINIDA _his card.
She looks at it, then hands it to_ BRIQUET, _then both look at HE_.]
BRIQUET
If it is true, sir, that you are really what is written here----
HE
For heaven's sake--for heaven's sake--this does not exist, but was lost
long ago; it is just a check for an old hat. I pray you to forget it, as
I have. I am HE Who Gets Slapped--nothing else. [_Silence._]
BRIQUET
I beg your pardon, sir, but I must ask you again, I must humbly ask
you--are you not drunk, sir? There is something in your
eye--something----
HE
No, no. I am He, Who Gets Slapped. Since when do you speak to me like
this, Papa Briquet? You offend me.
ZINIDA
After all, it's his business, Briquet. [_She hides the card._] Truly you
are a strange man. [_Smiles._] And you have already noticed that Bezano
is in love with the horse-girl? And that I love my Briquet, did you
notice that, too?
HE
[_Also smiling_]: Oh, yes. You adore him.
ZINIDA
I adore him. Now go with him, Briquet, show him the ring and the
stables--I have something to write.
HE
Yes, yes, please. I am so happy. At last you have taken me, haven't you?
It is true--you're not joking. The circus, the tan-bark, the ring in
which I shall run getting my slaps. Yes, yes, Briquet, let's go. Until I
feel the sawdust under my feet, I shall not believe it.
BRIQUET
All right then. [_Kisses_ ZINIDA.] Come on.
ZINIDA
Just a minute--HE! Answer me a question. I have a man who takes care of
the cages, a plain fellow whom nobody knows. He just cleans the cages
you know; he walks in and out whenever he wants to, without even looking
at the lions, as if he were perfectly at home. Why is that so? Nobody
knows him, everybody knows me, everyone is afraid for me, while---- And
he is such a silly man--you will see him. [_Laughs._] But don't you
think of entering the cage yourself! My red one would give you such a
slap!
BRIQUET
[_Displeased_]: There you are again, Zinida--stop it.
ZINIDA
[_Laughs_]: All right--go. Oh yes, Louis, send me Bezano. I have to
settle an account with him.
[HE _and the director go out_. ZINIDA _looks at the card once more,
then hides it. She gets up and walks quickly up and down the room.
She stops to listen to the Tango, which ends abruptly. Then she
stands motionless, looking straight at the dark opening of the door
through which_ BEZANO _comes_.]
BEZANO
[_Entering_]: You called me, Zinida? What do you want? Tell me quickly,
I have no time----
[ZINIDA _looks at him silently_. BEZANO _flushes with anger, and
knits his eyebrows. He turns to the door to go._]
ZINIDA
Bezano!
BEZANO
[_Stops, without looking up_]: What do you want? I have no time.
ZINIDA
Bezano! I keep hearing people say that you are in love with Consuelo. Is
it true?
BEZANO
[_Shrugging his shoulders_]: We work well together.
ZINIDA
[_Takes a step forward_]: No---- Tell me, Alfred, do you love her?
BEZANO
[_Flushes like a boy, but looks straight into_ ZINIDA'S _eyes.
Proudly_]: I do not love anybody. No, I love nobody. How can I?
Consuelo? She is here to-day, gone to-morrow, if her father should take
her away. And I? Who am I? An acrobat, the son of a Milanese
shoemaker---- She! I cannot even talk about it. Like my horses I have no
words. Who am I to love?
ZINIDA
Do you love me? A little?
BEZANO
No. I told you before.
ZINIDA
Still no? Not even a little?
BEZANO
[_After a silence_]: I am afraid of you.
ZINIDA
[_Wants to cry out, indignantly, but masters herself and lowers her
eyes, as if in an effort to shut out their light; turns pale_]: Am I ...
so terrifying a woman----
BEZANO
You are beautiful, like a queen. You are almost as beautiful as
Consuelo. But I don't like your eyes. Your eyes command me to love
you--and I don't like to be commanded. I am afraid of you.
ZINIDA
Do I command, Bezano? No--only implore.
BEZANO
Then why not look at me straight? Now I have it. You know yourself that
your eyes cannot implore. [_Laughs._] Your lions have spoiled you.
ZINIDA
My red lion loves me----
BEZANO
Never! If he loves you, why is he so sad?
ZINIDA
Yesterday he was licking my hands like a dog.
BEZANO
And this morning he was looking for you to devour you. He thrusts out
his muzzle and looks out, as if he sees only you. He is afraid of you,
and he hates you. Or do you want me to lick your hands too, like a dog?
ZINIDA
No, Alfred, but I--I want to kiss _your_ hand. [_With passion_]: Give it
to me!
BEZANO
[_Severely_]: I am ashamed to listen to you when you speak like that.
ZINIDA
[_Controlling herself_]: One should not torture another as you torture
me. Alfred, I love you. No, I do not command. Look into my eyes---- _I
love you._ [_Silence._]
BEZANO
[_Turns to go_]: Good-bye.
ZINIDA
Alfred----
[HE _appears in the doorway, and stops_.]
BEZANO
Please never tell me any more that you love me. I don't want it.
Otherwise I will quit. You pronounce the word love as if you were
cracking me with your whip. You know it is disgusting----
[_He turns brusquely and goes. Both notice HE_; BEZANO, _frowning,
passes out quickly_. ZINIDA _returns to her place at the desk, with
a proudly indifferent expression_.]
HE
[_Coming in_]: I beg your pardon, but I----
ZINIDA
There you are again, poking your nose into everything, HE. Do you really
want a slap?
HE
[_Laughing_]: No. I simply forgot my overcoat. I didn't hear anything.
ZINIDA
I don't care whether you did or not.
HE
May I take my coat?
ZINIDA
Take it if it's yours. Sit down, HE.
HE
I am sitting down.
ZINIDA
Now tell me HE, could you love me?
HE
[_Laughing_]: I? I and Love! Look at me, Zinida. Did you ever see a
lover with such a face?
ZINIDA
One can succeed with such a face----
HE
That's because I am happy--because I lost my hat--because I am drunk--or
perhaps I am not drunk. But I feel as dizzy as a young girl at her
first ball. It is so nice here--slap me, I want to play my part. Perhaps
it will awaken love in my heart, too. Love--[_as if listening to his own
heart with pretended terror_] do you know--I feel it!
[_In the circus the Tango is played again_.]
ZINIDA
[_Listening too_]: For me?
HE
No. I don't know. For everyone. [_Listens to the music._] Yes, they are
dancing--how beautiful Consuelo is--and how beautiful is the youth. He
has the body of a Greek God; he looks as if he had been modeled by
Praxiteles. Love! Love! [_Silence, music._.]
ZINIDA
Tell me, HE----
HE
At your service, Queen!
ZINIDA
HE, what shall I do, to make my lions love me?
CURTAIN