SCENE: _A large conservatory lighted by gas. A tiny fountain playing
in the center of a basin; furniture, chairs, clumps of shrubbery;
large plants behind which one might easily slip and hide._
(_The_ DUCHESS _and_ MME. DE CÉRAN _enter, right. They look about
stealthily and consult together in low tones._)
DUCHESS. No one?
MME. DE CÉRAN. No one.
DUCHESS. Good! (_She walks toward the center of the stage, then
pauses_) Three headaches!
MME. DE CÉRAN. It’s atrocious that I should be forced to leave the poet
to——
DUCHESS. Oh, well, your poet is reading his poetry! A poet who can read
his poems is happy enough!
MME. DE CÉRAN. But Roger’s conduct has disturbed me! I have never seen
him act that way. What are you doing there, Aunt?
DUCHESS. I’m stopping the water so that I can hear better, my dear.
MME. DE CÉRAN. Why?
DUCHESS. So that I can hear better, my dear!
MME. DE CÉRAN. He is in the garden somewhere—following her, watching
for her. What will happen?—Oh, the poor little thing!—Why, Duchess! You
are putting out the gas!
DUCHESS. No, I’m only turning it down.
MME. DE CÉRAN. Why?
DUCHESS. So that I can see better, my dear!
MME. DE CÉRAN. So—?
DUCHESS. Heavens, the less we are seen the more we’ll see. Three
headaches,—and only one rendezvous! Aren’t you beginning to see, my
dear?
MME. DE CÉRAN. But what I can’t understand is that Monsieur Bellac——
DUCHESS. And what I can’t understand is that Suzanne——
MME. DE CÉRAN. Oh, she!
DUCHESS. She? Well, you’ll see! They may come now as soon as they wish:
everything’s ready.
MME. DE CÉRAN. If Roger finds them here together, he might——
DUCHESS. Bah! Wait till you see! Wait until you _see_!
MME. DE CÉRAN. But——
DUCHESS. Shh! Didn’t you hear something?
MME. DE CÉRAN. Yes!
DUCHESS. (_Pushing_ MADAME DE CÉRAN _toward the plant at the right,
down-stage_) Just in time!—Come!
MME. DE CÉRAN. What, you are going to listen?
DUCHESS. (_Hidden_) I should think so! There is nothing else to be done
but to listen! There! In that corner we’ll be snug as weasels. If it
becomes necessary, we can come out, rest assured of that! Has somebody
come in?
(JEANNE _enters quietly_.)
MME. DE CÉRAN. (_Looking through the branches which hide her_) Yes!
DUCHESS. Which of the two?
MME. DE CÉRAN. _It is she!_
DUCHESS. Suzanne?
MME. DE CÉRAN. No! She’s not in _décolletée_. It’s someone else!
DUCHESS. Someone else? Who?
MME. DE CÉRAN. I can’t distinguish!
JEANNE. But come on, Paul!
MME. DE CÉRAN. The little Sub-prefect’s wife!
DUCHESS. Again!
(PAUL _enters, right, at the back_.)
JEANNE. What on earth are you doing to that door?
PAUL. (_Still in the corner, busied with something_) Necessity is the
mother of invention!—I’m just inventing a little necessity.
JEANNE. What?
PAUL. That!
JEANNE. Eh? (_Nervously_)
PAUL. (_Coming in_) A great success!
JEANNE. What do you mean?
PAUL. That! A little burglar alarm I’ve just installed. Yes, a piece
of wood in the door-hinge. By this means, if anyone should come—oh,
not any one in love,—that would be hardly likely in this place!—but
someone who was trying to take refuge here and avoid the tragedy—there
wouldn’t be any danger. He gives the door a push, there is a squeak and
we—whht!—by the other door, eh? Isn’t that a clever invention? I tell
you, we statesmen—! And now, Madame, since we are at last sheltered
from the eyes of the world, I shed the responsibilities of the public
man; the private citizen reappears, and is ready for the flight of
sentiment too long concealed; I now permit you to call me Paul!
JEANNE. Oh, what bliss! You are too good, P A U L!
PAUL. I am good because I am at peace; but, kissing me in the
corridors, you know—the way you did when you came to unpack my trunk,
that——
DUCHESS. (_Aside_) So it was they!
PAUL. And in the garden, this evening, too——
DUCHESS. Again!
PAUL. Never again, please! It’s entirely too imprudent for this
house!—And what a place! Didn’t I tell you? It’s a shame that in order
to become a Prefect one has to yawn himself to death in this palace of
boredom!
MME. DE CÉRAN. Eh?
DUCHESS. (_To_ _Madame de Céran_) Listen to that! Listen to that!
JEANNE. (_Drawing_ PAUL _down beside her_) Come, dear!
PAUL. (_Sits down, then gets up and walks about, agitated_) What a
house! And the hosts, and the guests, and everybody else! And Madame
Arriégo! And that poet! And the Marquise! And that English iceberg! And
Roger the wooden man! The Duchess is the only one with any common-sense!
DUCHESS. That for me!
PAUL. (_With conviction_) But the rest, oh, my, oh, my!
DUCHESS. And that for you!
JEANNE. Oh, come, dear, sit by me!
PAUL. (_Seating himself, and rising again as before_) And the lectures
and the Literature! And Revel’s candidacy! Clever old fox who keeps
dying every evening and coming back to life every morning! (_He starts
to sit down, then he pauses_) And Saint-Réault! Ah! Saint-Réault! And
the _Ramas-Ravanas_ and all the clap-trap about Buddha!
MME. DE CÉRAN. (_Indignantly_) Oh!
DUCHESS. (_Laughing to herself_) Oh, he’s so funny!
PAUL. And the other one, he’s a wonder! Bellac of the many conquests,
with his Platonic love!!
JEANNE. (_Dropping her eyes_) He’s silly!
PAUL. (_Sitting_) Don’t you think so? And that tragedy! Oh, that
tragedy!
JEANNE. But, Paul, what is it?
PAUL. And old Phillippe-Auguste with his beautiful verse! Why,
everybody has written verse! That’s no reason why he should read it!
I’ve done it myself!
JEANNE. You, dear?
PAUL. Yes, I! When I was a poor student I even used to sell it!
JEANNE. To a publisher?
PAUL. No, to a dentist! “Fill-iad, Or the Art of Filling Teeth.”—Poem
in three hundred lines!—Thirty Francs—Listen!
JEANNE. Oh, no!
PAUL. “O Muse, be there an ill, to man the greatest curse,
Which Heaven in its wrath spreads o’er the universe,
And sorely, you’ll admit, O Muse, good taste offends,
It is that one which oftentimes upon the teeth descends!—
JEANNE. Oh, Paul!
PAUL. “Ah, to tear out that tooth, my cup of joy were full!
Nay, friend, it can be cured, stop! do not let them pull!
Oh, never pull a tooth, e’en when it rots—you’ll rue it!
Let it be filled; but choose a clever man to do it!
Protect that little tooth, bi-cuspéd or incisor,
’Twill sweeten every meal—’twill make your smile seem nicer!”
DUCHESS. (_Laughing_) Isn’t he amusing!
JEANNE. What nonsense you talk! Who would ever believe it to see you
in the drawing-room! (_Imitating him_) Ah, yes, Monsieur le sénateur,
the tide of democracy—the treaties of 1815—Oh! Oh! OH!
PAUL. And you, dear! You certainly have made an impression on the
hostess!
MME. DE CÉRAN. Hmmm?
PAUL. My compliments!
JEANNE. But, dearie, I only did what you suggested!
PAUL. (_Imitating her_) “I only did what you suggested!”—Ah, little
Miss Saintliness with her little voice! Oh, you filled the Countess
full—of Joubert and Latin and Tocqueville—your own manufacture, too!
MME. DE CÉRAN. What, her own manufacture?
DUCHESS. She is lovely! I like her all the more!
JEANNE. Well, I don’t feel any remorse—A woman who puts us in separate
rooms!
MME. DE CÉRAN. (_Rising_) And suppose I tell her to leave!
DUCHESS. Be still!
JEANNE. And it’s just horrid of her! Yes, she does it on purpose! A
woman knows very well that new-married people always—have things to say
to each other.
PAUL. (_Tenderly_) Yes, always!
JEANNE. Always? Really?—Always like this?
PAUL. What a sweet voice you have! I heard it a little while
ago—talking about the treaties of 1815! Soft, sweet, all-enveloping.
Ah, the voice is the music of the heart—as Monsieur de Tocqueville says!
JEANNE. Oh, Paul! I don’t like you to laugh at such serious things!
PAUL. Oh, let me be a little nonsensical, please, dear! I’m so happy
here! By Jove, just now I don’t care a rap whether I’m Prefect of
Carcassonne or not!
JEANNE. It’s always “just now” with me, Monsieur! That’s the difference!
PAUL. Dear little wife! (_He kisses her hands_)
MME. DE CÉRAN. But such impropriety, I nev—
DUCHESS. I can’t say that I object to that!
PAUL. I have a lot of back accounts to settle before I even begin to
collect for the present! When can we get away? Dear little girl, you
don’t know how I adore you!
JEANNE. Yes, I know—I can judge for myself!
PAUL. My Jeanne!
JEANNE. Oh, Paul, say it like that always! Always!
PAUL. Always! (_Close to her, and very tenderly_)
MME. DE CÉRAN. But, Duchess!!
DUCHESS. Oh! They’re married, aren’t they!
(_The door squeaks_; PAUL _and_ JEANNE _spring up, startled_.)
JEANNE _and_ PAUL. Eh?
JEANNE. Somebody’s coming!
PAUL. We must flee—as they say in the tragedy!
JEANNE. Quick! Quick!
PAUL. You see? My little invention!
JEANNE. So soon! What luck! (_They go out, right_)
MME. DE CÉRAN. (_Going left_) Well, it is a fortunate thing that they
were interrupted.
DUCHESS. (_Following her_) I’m sorry they went—but the funny part is
over now!
(BELLAC _enters right, at the back_; MADAME DE CÉRAN _and the_ DUCHESS
_hide themselves, left_.)
BELLAC. What a noise that door makes!
MME. DE CÉRAN. (_To the_ DUCHESS, _as before_) Bellac!
DUCHESS. Bellac!
BELLAC. One can’t see very well here!
MME. DE CÉRAN. You see, it’s true!—Everything is true!
DUCHESS. Everything? No!—Only a little bit.
MME. DE CÉRAN. The rest is far away.
DUCHESS. In any case, it’s only a lark, a schoolgirl’s frolic! It can’t
be that—(_The door squeaks_) There she is! Oh, my, how my heart beats!
In cases like this, it’s better to be sure; one can never tell. Can you
see her?
MME. DE CÉRAN. (_Peering out_) Yes, it’s she; Roger will be here in
a moment, on the lookout for them. Hadn’t we better show ourselves,
Duchess?
DUCHESS. No, no. I want to see where they stand. I want to catch them
red-handed.
MME. DE CÉRAN. (_Still looking_) I’m dying of
suspense—_Décolletée_—It’s certainly she.
DUCHESS. Oh, the little coquette! Let me see! (_She looks through the
leaves_) What’s that?
MME. DE CÉRAN. What?
DUCHESS. Look!
MME. DE CÉRAN. Lucy!
DUCHESS. Lucy!
MME. DE CÉRAN. What does that mean?
DUCHESS. I don’t know, but I like that better!
(PAUL _and_ JEANNE _re-enter, and_ BELLAC _and_ LUCY _conceal
themselves, right_. JEANNE _is behind_ PAUL, _holding him back_.)
JEANNE. (_To_ PAUL) No, no, Paul, no!
PAUL. Yes, yes! Let me go a second! I want to see! Nobody could be here
but lovers, at this hour;—and yet, in this house! No, that would be too
much!
JEANNE. Take care!
PAUL. Shhh!
LUCY. Are you there, Monsieur Bellac?
PAUL. The English girl!
BELLAC. Yes, Mademoiselle!
PAUL. And the Professor—the English girl and the Professor! It’s
impossible! Scandal! Would you believe it! An intrigue—a rendezvous!
We’ll stay right here and see what happens!
JEANNE. What?
PAUL. After this, you don’t mean to say you want to go?
JEANNE. Oh, no! (_They hide themselves behind the plants, at the back,
left_)
LUCY. Are you on this side?
BELLAC. Here!—I beg your pardon! The conservatory is usually better
lighted—I don’t know why, this evening—(_He walks toward her_)
MME. DE CÉRAN. (_Aside to the_ DUCHESS) Lucy!—But what about Suzanne?
I’m sure I can’t make it out!
DUCHESS. Wait a while; we’ll soon see.
LUCY. But, M. Bellac, what do you mean by this? And your letter this
morning? Why did you write me?
BELLAC. Because I wanted to talk with you, my dear Miss Lucy. Is this
the first time we have left the others and talked, and exchanged ideas?
PAUL. (_Struggling to control his laughter_) Oh, exchange ideas! I
never heard it called that before!
BELLAC. Surrounded as I am here, what other means had I of speaking
with you, alone?
LUCY. What other means? You might simply offer me your arm and leave
the room with me. I’m no French girl!
BELLAC. But you are in France.
LUCY. I may be in France, but I still do as I please. I have no use
for secrets, much less such mysteries as this! You disguise your
handwriting, you did not sign your name, you even wrote on pink
paper—how French you are!
PAUL. (_Aside to_ JEANNE) He’s a born villain!
BELLAC. How wonderful you are, austere Muse of Knowledge, superb
Polymnia, proud nymph of the cold Pierian Spring—please sit down!
LUCY. No, no! Now see what all your precautions have come to; I have
lost that letter!
DUCHESS. (_Rather loudly_) I see!
(LUCY _starts_.)
BELLAC. What is it?
LUCY. Didn’t you hear——?
BELLAC. No.—You say you lost——?
LUCY. What do you suppose the finder of that letter will think?
DUCHESS. (_Aside to_ MME. DE CÉRAN) Now do you understand?
LUCY. Of course; there was no envelope or address——
BELLAC. Nor my handwriting, nor my signature. You see I wasn’t so
stupid after all! In any case, my intentions were good, my dear Miss
Lucy. Forgive your Professor, your friend, and—and—Sit down, please!
LUCY. No! Tell me what you have to tell me with so much secrecy, and
we’ll return to the drawing-room!
BELLAC. (_Detaining her_) Wait! Why didn’t you come to my lecture this
afternoon?
LUCY. Simply because I spent my time looking for that letter. What have
you to say to me now?
BELLAC. Are you very anxious to leave me? (_He gives her a packet of
papers tied with a red ribbon_) There!
LUCY. The proofs!
BELLAC. (_Agitated_) Of my book!
LUCY. (_Also moved_) Of your—? Oh, M. Bellac!
BELLAC. It was my wish to have you see it before anyone else! You only!
LUCY. (_Taking his hand—effusively_) Oh, my dear friend! My dear friend!
PAUL. (_As before_) Oh, my, what a gift of love!
(BELLAC _moves a little to the left_.)
LUCY. What is it?
BELLAC. Nothing—nothing.—I thought—Read this book in which I have put
my inmost thoughts, and you will find that we are in perfect accord, I
am sure—except upon one point—Oh, that question——!
LUCY. Which?
BELLAC. (_Tenderly_) Is it possible that you really do not believe in
Platonic love?
LUCY. I? Not in the least!
BELLAC. (_Graciously_) Very well, but what of our relations?
LUCY. (_Simply_) Our relations? Friendship!
BELLAC. (_Playing with the idea_) I beg your pardon! More than
friendship, better than love!
LUCY. Well, if it’s more than the one and better than the other, then
it’s neither! And now, thank you once more; thank you a thousand times!
But let us go back, shan’t we? (_She starts to go_)
BELLAC. (_Detaining her_) Wait a moment!
LUCY. No, no, let us go back!
PAUL. (_To_ JEANNE) She won’t take the bait!
BELLAC. (_Always holding her back_) Please wait, I beg you!—Two words!
Two words! Explain to me, tell me—it’s worth the trouble! Come, Lucy!
LUCY. Come, Bellac! (_Becoming animated, as she passes to the right_)
But see, my friend, listen, M. Bellac—your Platonic love has absolutely
no philosophical basis——
BELLAC. Pardon me, that love is a kind of friendship——
LUCY. If it’s friendship it is no longer love.
BELLAC. But it’s a double concept!
LUCY. If it’s double, it cannot be a unit!
BELLAC. But there is a fusion! (_He seats himself_)
LUCY. If it is a fusion, it has no longer an individuality. I’ll
explain my meaning! (_She seats herself_)
PAUL. (_To_ JEANNE) She’s swallowed the hook!
LUCY. I deny that any fusion is possible between love, which is based
upon indivisibility, and friendship, which is largely composed of
sympathy; that is to say, that in which the Ego becomes, in a way, the
Non-Ego. I deny absolutely, absolutely——!
DUCHESS. (_To_ MME. DE CÉRAN) I have often heard people talk about
love, but never that way!
BELLAC. But, Lucy——
LUCY. But, Bellac—Yes or no, the principal factor——
BELLAC. But, Lucy—Here’s an example: suppose two beings, two
abstractions, two entities—any man, any woman,—who love each other, but
with an ordinary physiological love—you follow me?
LUCY. Perfectly!
BELLAC. Let us suppose these two in the following circumstances; they
are alone at night, together—what would happen?
DUCHESS. (_To_ MADAME DE CÉRAN) I don’t know, do you?
BELLAC. Without fail—now pay close attention—without fail, this
phenomenon will take place.
JEANNE. (_To_ PAUL) It’s so funny!
PAUL. Do you think so, Madame?
BELLAC. Both of them, or more probably, one of them, the man——
PAUL. (_To_ JEANNE) The male entity!
BELLAC. Would approach her whom he believes he loves—(_He approaches
her_)
LUCY. (_Drawing back a little_) But——
BELLAC. (_Gently holding her_) No, no, you’ll see! They gaze fixedly
into each other’s eyes, she feels his breath on her cheek, her hair
brushes against his face——
LUCY. But, M. Bellac——
BELLAC. And then—and then, their Egoes mingle, independently of the Ego
itself, an uninterrupted series of involuntary acts which, by a natural
succession, progressing slowly and inevitably, hurls them, if I may be
permitted the expression, into the maelstrom which, though foreseen,
cannot be avoided—in which Reason and Soul are powerless!
LUCY. One moment! This process——
BELLAC. Listen, listen! Suppose now another couple and another love: a
psychological, not a physiological love—an exception; you still follow
me?
LUCY. Yes.
BELLAC. These two, seated side by side, come nearer to each other——
LUCY. (_Drawing away_) But that’s the very same thing.
BELLAC. (_Bringing her back_) Listen to me; there is the slightest
shade of difference. Let me illustrate: they too gaze into each other’s
eyes and they too——
LUCY. Well? (_She rises_)
BELLAC. (_Making her sit down_) But—but—They are oblivious of physical
beauty: it is their souls which commune. They no longer hear each
other’s voices, but rather the palpitation of their thoughts! And then,
finally, by an entirely different process—though springing from the
same source—they too arrive at that obscure and turbulent state of mind
in which the being is ignorant even of its own existence—a delicious
atrophy of the Will which seems the _summum_ and the _terminus_ of
human happiness; they leave the earth to awaken in a free Heaven, for
_their_ love transports them far above the murky clouds of earthly
passion into the pure Ether of the sublimely Ideal! (_A pause_)
PAUL. (_To_ JEANNE) They’re going to kiss!
BELLAC. Lucy!! Dear Lucy, don’t you understand? Say that you understand
me!
LUCY. (_Troubled_) But—it seems to me that these two concepts——
PAUL. Oh, the concepts! That’s too much!
LUCY. The two concepts are identical.
BELLAC. (_Passionately_) Identical?! Oh, Lucy, you are cruel!
Identical! You must understand that in this case it is entirely
subjective.
PAUL. Subjective! Oh, I say!
BELLAC. (_Growing more excited_) Subjective! Lucy! You must understand
me!
LUCY. (_Greatly moved_) But, Bellac—subjective!
JEANNE. (_To_ PAUL) He’ll never kiss her!
PAUL. Then I’ll kiss you!
JEANNE. (_Defending herself_) Paul! Paul!
(_Kisses are heard._)
BELLAC _and_ LUCY. (_Getting up, frightened_) What——?
DUCHESS. (_Astonished; rising_) What’s this? Are they kissing?
LUCY. Someone—someone’s there!
BELLAC. Come, take my hand!
LUCY. There’s someone listening! I’m sure!
BELLAC. Come!
LUCY. I’m fearfully compromised! (_She goes out at the back, left_)
BELLAC. (_Following her_) I’ll do all in my power—(_He follows her out_)
PAUL. (_Who, with_ JEANNE, _comes out from the hiding-place_) Platonic
love! Ha! Ha!
DUCHESS. (_Aside_) Raymond!
JEANNE. The Ego! The process! The _terminus_! Ha! Ha!
DUCHESS. (_Leaving her hiding-place; aside_) Naughty children! Just
wait! (_Quietly approaching them_)
PAUL. Oh, he’s a regular Tartufe,[4] with his double-meanings!
(_Imitating_ BELLAC) “My dear Mademoiselle; Love is a double concept”——
[4] The principal character in Moliere’s famous comedy, “Tartufe,” a
hypocrite, whose name has become proverbial.
JEANNE. (_Imitating_ LUCY) “But the principal factor”——
PAUL. “But, Lucy”——
JEANNE. “But, Bellac”——
PAUL. “But there is the slightest shade of a difference—Let me
illustrate”——
JEANNE. “But they are identical.”
PAUL. “Identical! You are cruel! It is entirely subjective.”
JEANNE. “Oh, Bellac, subjective.”
(_The_ DUCHESS _imitates the sound of kisses by clapping her hands_.)
PAUL _and_ JEANNE. (_Rising in alarm_) What——?
JEANNE. Someone!
PAUL. Caught!
JEANNE. Someone has been listening!
PAUL. (_Trying to take her away_) Come, come!
JEANNE. (_As they go out_) Perhaps they heard what we said before!
PAUL. “I’ll do all in my power”—! (_They go out left_)
DUCHESS. (_Laughing_) Ha! Ha! Those ridiculous children! They’re nice,
but they deserve a lesson! I have to laugh! Oh—Lucy—think of it!—She’s
all right! Ah, well, now do you see how matters stand! Suzanne—the
rendezvous—the letter——
MME. DE CÉRAN. Oh, it was Bellac’s letter to Lucy that Suzanne found!
DUCHESS. She thought it was Roger’s letter to Lucy; that is why she was
so jealous, so furious!
MME. DE CÉRAN. Jealous? You don’t mean to tell me she loves my son?
DUCHESS. Do you still want him to marry the other girl?
MME. DE CÉRAN. The other girl? Certainly not! But never Suzanne, Aunt,
never!
DUCHESS. We haven’t come to that yet! Meanwhile, go and take care of
your tragic poet, and Revel’s successor! I’ll find your son for you,
and see that he gets back his honor! All’s well that ends well! I’m not
nervous now, after all this ado about nothing! But now it’s over; let’s
go!
(_They are about to go out, left, when the door at the right opens._)
DUCHESS _and_ MME. DE CÉRAN. What’s this?
DUCHESS. Again!? Your Conservatory is thick with them! This is lovely!
MME. DE CÉRAN. Who else can it be?
DUCHESS. Who? (_Struck with an idea_) Oh! (_To_ MME. DE CÉRAN, _placing
her in a corner, left_) Go back to the drawing-room; I’ll tell you
later.
MME. DE CÉRAN. But, I——
DUCHESS. You can’t leave your guests all evening!
MME. DE CÉRAN. (_Trying to see the newcomers_) Who can it be?
DUCHESS. (_Still urging her out_) I’ll tell you everything. Quick now,
before—— You can’t——
MME. DE CÉRAN. That’s so. I’ll come back for the tea.
DUCHESS. Yes, do that! Quick, quick, now!
(MME. DE CÉRAN _goes out, left_.)
DUCHESS. Who can it be? Roger, who is spying on Suzanne, or Suzanne,
who is spying on Roger? (_Looking to the right_) Yes, it’s he, my
Bartolo—(_Looking to the left_) And my little jealous girl, who thinks
Roger is with Lucy, and who would like to see how things are coming
on. That’s it. Headache number three: total quite correct! Oh, if
Fortune doesn’t make something out of this, she is insufferably stupid!
(_Carefully turning down the gas_) We need a little added effect!
(_Enter_ SUZANNE.)
SUZANNE. (_Hiding_) I knew very well when he had finished walking
around the garden he would end here in the conservatory; he couldn’t
miss it!
(ROGER _enters_.)
ROGER. (_As he hides_) She’s here, I saw her come in! I knew very well
when she had finished walking around the garden she would end here in
the conservatory!—Now I know what to expect!
DUCHESS. Hide-and-seek!
SUZANNE. (_Listening_) It seems that—his English lady is late!
ROGER. (_Listening_) Ahh! Bellac isn’t here yet!
DUCHESS. They’ll keep this up forever unless I stop it!—Sst!
ROGER. She’s giving him a signal! Oh, if I only dared, I’d take his
place, since he hasn’t come. That’s the way to find out how they feel
toward one another!
DUCHESS. (_Aside_) Come, come!—Sst!
ROGER. Well, I might as well learn what I can!—Ssst!
DUCHESS. Well!
SUZANNE. He thinks I’m Lucy!—Oh, I should like to know what he’d say to
her!
ROGER. (_In an undertone_) Is it you?
SUZANNE. (_Softly_) Yes! (_Aside; resolutely_) I’ll do it!
ROGER. She thinks I’m Bellac!
DUCHESS. Ahh!—Good! They’re off! (_She disappears behind the plants at
the back, left_)
ROGER. Did you get my letter?
SUZANNE. (_Aside—angrily_) Yes, I got your letter! I got it! And you
had no idea that I did, either! (_To_ ROGER; _sweetly_) How else should
I have come to meet you?
ROGER. (_Aside_) “Meet you”—! This is plain enough!—Oh, the poor
child—Now we’ll see!—(_To_ SUZANNE) I was so afraid you wouldn’t come,
my dear——
SUZANNE. (_Aside_) “My dear!” Oh! (_To_ ROGER) And yet you saw me leave
the drawing-room a moment ago, my dear!
ROGER. (_Aside_) They’re on very familiar terms, aren’t they? There’s
no denying that! I’ve got to know! (_To_ SUZANNE) Why don’t you come
nearer? (_He approaches her_)
SUZANNE. (_Aside_) Oh, he’ll notice that I’m smaller than <Lucy. (_She
sits down_) This way!
ROGER. Would you like me to sit beside you?
SUZANNE. Very much!
ROGER. (_Aside_) Oh-ho! “Very much!” Strange she does take me for
Bellac! My voice is nothing like his—well, let’s see how this will come
out. (_He sits beside her and, turning his back_) How good of you to
come!—You love me just a little bit dear?
SUZANNE. (_Turning her back to him_) Oh, yes!
ROGER. (_Aside; as he rises_) She loves him! Oh, the villain, the
rascal!
SUZANNE. (_Aside_) What’s the matter with him?
ROGER. (_Sitting beside her again_) Let me be near you, as I used to
be! (_He takes her hand_)
SUZANNE. (_Aside, indignantly_) He’s taking her hand!
ROGER. (_Aside, indignantly_) She lets him take her hand! It’s horrible!
SUZANNE. Oh!
ROGER. You’re trembling!
SUZANNE. Why—— You’re trembling——
ROGER. No, it’s you!—Can it be—? (_Aside_) We’ll see! (_To_ SUZANNE)
Are you afraid?
SUZANNE. (_Aside, indignantly, as she rises_) “You!”[5]
[5] Roger uses the familiar “tu.”
ROGER. (_Aside, breathing heavily_) Well, they haven’t got that far
anyway?
(SUZANNE _comes back, resolutely, and re-seats herself near him in
silence_.)
ROGER. (_Aside, agitated_) What? More? Well!—(_Aside_) Then you’re not
afraid?
SUZANNE. Afraid? With you?
ROGER. (_Aside_) With—! So the cad has gone as far as that! I’ll get
to the bottom of this! It’s my duty! Her moral welfare is in my hands.
(_To_ SUZANNE) Well! In that case, why do you avoid me? (_He draws her
to him_)
SUZANNE. (_Outraged_) Oh!
ROGER. Why do you turn from me? (_He puts his arm around her_)
SUZANNE. Oh!!
ROGER. Why do you deny me your lips? (_He leans over her_)
SUZANNE. (_Springing to her feet_) This is too much!
ROGER. This _is_ too much!
SUZANNE. Look at me, Suzanne!—Not Lucy, but Suzanne! Do you hear?
ROGER. And this is Roger! Not Bellac, but Roger, do you hear?
SUZANNE. Bellac?
ROGER. My poor child! Then it was true? Oh, Suzanne, Suzanne! How you
have hurt me!—Well, he’s coming—I’ll wait for him!
SUZANNE. Who?
ROGER. Don’t you understand, I read the letter!
SUZANNE. The letter?—I read _your_ letter!
ROGER. My letter? Bellac’s letter?
SUZANNE. Bellac’s?—It was from you!
ROGER. From me?
SUZANNE. From you! To Lucy!
ROGER. To Lucy? No! To you! To you! To you!
SUZANNE. To Lucy! Lucy! Lucy, who lost it!
ROGER. (_Astonished_) Lost it!
SUZANNE. I was there when she was asking the servant about it! You
don’t mean to say—? And I found it.
ROGER. (_Understanding_) You found it?
SUZANNE. Yes, and I knew everything!—Headache, and rendezvous and all
that. And I wanted to see; so I came and you took me for her——
ROGER. I?
SUZANNE. (_Keeping back her tears_) Yes, you! you!—You took me for her,
you told her you loved her!—Yes, you did!—Then why did you tell me
you didn’t love her? You told me just now—and that you weren’t going
to marry her.—Why did you tell me that? You shouldn’t have done that!
Marry her if you want;—but you shouldn’t have told me. That wasn’t
right—if you loved her—you shouldn’t have—— (_Throwing herself in his
arms_) You shouldn’t have! Oh, don’t marry her! Don’t marry her!
ROGER. Oh, my dear Suzanne! How happy I am!
SUZANNE. What?
ROGER. Then that letter you found wasn’t sent to you?
SUZANNE. To me?
ROGER. I didn’t send it—I swear!
SUZANNE. But I——
ROGER. I swear! It was sent to Lucy by Bellac! Now I understand: you
thought—just as I did—— Oh, I see everything now!—Oh, my dear Suzanne,
what an awful fright you gave me! It was fearful!
SUZANNE. But what about?
ROGER. What about? Oh—it’s absurd—don’t ask—it was base of me. Forgive
me, I beg you, forgive me!
SUZANNE. Then you’re not going to marry her?
ROGER. But I’m telling you——!
SUZANNE. Then I don’t understand at all. Only tell me you won’t marry
her, and I’ll believe you.
ROGER. Of course I won’t. What a child you are! Don’t cry, wipe your
eyes, my dear Suzanne, there’s nothing to cry about!
SUZANNE. I can’t help it!
ROGER. Why?
SUZANNE. I have only you in the world! I don’t want you to leave me!
ROGER. Leave you?
SUZANNE. (_Sobbing_) You know how jealous I am. You—you can’t
understand that! I saw this evening, when I tried to make you jealous
by talking with M. Bellac, that you didn’t seem to care at all. You
didn’t care anything about me!
ROGER. I wanted to kill him!
SUZANNE. To kill him? (_Puts her arms around his neck_) How nice you
are! Then you thought—?
ROGER. Let’s not say any more about that, it’s all over, forgotten, the
past is dead. Let’s begin all over again: from my arrival—How are you,
Suzanne? How are you, dear? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! Come
to me, dear, the way you used to! (_He seats himself with her beside
him_)
SUZANNE. Oh, Roger, how nice you are! What lovely things you say! You
love me better than you love her, then?
ROGER. (_With feeling_) Love you! But isn’t it my duty to love you? As
a relative, as a tutor, as an honest man? Love you! When I read that
letter I don’t know what happened to me—then I understood how deep my
feelings were—yes, I love you, my dear child, my divine creature! More
than I ever imagined I did! And I want you to know—(_Tenderly_)—don’t
you feel that I love you deeply, dear little Suzanne?
SUZANNE. (_A little surprised at his vehemence_) Yes—Roger——
ROGER. The way you look at me—I frightened you—you don’t believe me—I’m
not used to—I’m not used to saying tender things, I’m awkward—I don’t
know how to say those things—one’s emotions are influenced by maternal
training and you know my mother; she has made a dryasdust scientist
of me. Science has been my sole preoccupation—You have been my sole
distraction—the one ray of sunshine in my dreary youth. You have only
me and I have only you—and I, my dear child, whom else have I to love
but you?—And I didn’t know! You have charmed me as one is charmed by a
child!—With your simplicity, with your grace! I was your teacher, but
your pupil as well. While I was nursing your mind to blossom forth into
thought, you were planting seeds of tenderness in my heart. I taught
you to read, you taught me to—love! It was your tiny pink fingers, the
silk of your golden hair that woke my heart to its first kisses! You
crept into my heart then, and you have grown now until your soul has
filled mine! (_Pause_) Now do you believe me?
SUZANNE. (_Moved, she rises and speaks in a low voice_) Let’s go!
ROGER. Why?—Where?
SUZANNE. (_Troubled_) Away from here.
ROGER. But why?
SUZANNE. It’s so dark!
ROGER. But, just a moment ago——
SUZANNE. A moment ago I didn’t see what you meant——
ROGER. No, stay, stay! There’s no better place than this. I have so
much to tell you. My heart is so full! I don’t know why I tell you all
this—It’s true—It’s so good to say these things—Ah, Suzanne—stay! Dear
Suzanne—(_He holds her_)
SUZANNE. No, I beg you!
ROGER. _You?_[6]
[6] She uses the formal “vous.”
SUZANNE. (_More and more troubled_) I—beg you——
ROGER. But _only_ a moment ago——
SUZANNE. Yes, but now——
ROGER. Why?
SUZANNE. I don’t know, I——
ROGER. You’re crying! Have I hurt you?
SUZANNE. No! No!
ROGER. Have I offended you, without knowing it?
SUZANNE. No, no,—I don’t know. I don’t understand. Please, let’s go
away from here!
ROGER. Suzanne!—I don’t understand!—I can’t see!
(_The_ DUCHESS _appears_.)
DUCHESS. And do you know why? It is because neither of you can see
what’s as clear as day! (_She turns up the gas_) There!
ROGER. Aunt!
DUCHESS. My dear children, how happy you make me! Go on, kiss your
bride!
ROGER. (_Not understanding at first_) My bride—Suzanne! (_He looks at
his aunt, then at_ SUZANNE) Ohh! It’s true,—I love her!
DUCHESS. (_Joyously_) Nonsense! Even when it’s as clear as day? (_To_
SUZANNE) And how about you?
SUZANNE. (_With downcast eyes_) Oh, Aunt!
DUCHESS. It seemed—that you could see all the time! Women’s eyes are a
little better than men’s, eh? That idea of mine to turn down the gas
was splendid. So everything’s going nicely now? Well, there is only
your mother to see!
ROGER. What?
DUCHESS. Oh, it will be a little difficult!—Here she is! Here they all
come—The whole tragedy! Shh! Not a word! Leave everything in my hands,
I’ll take care of it. What’s all this?
(_Enter_ MADAME DE CÉRAN, DES MILLETS, _surrounded by ladies, the_
GENERAL, BELLAC, LUCY, MADAME DE LOUDAN, MADAME ARRIÉGO, PAUL _and_
JEANNE; _and the others_.)
MME. DE CÉRAN. Great news, Aunt!
DUCHESS. What?
MME. DE CÉRAN. Revel is dead!
DUCHESS. You’re fooling!
MME. DE CÉRAN. It’s in the evening papers. Look! (_She hands her a
paper_)
DUCHESS. Well—(_Takes the paper and reads it_)
MME. ARRIÉGO. (_To the Poet_) Beautiful, superb!
MME. DE LOUDAN. Beautiful! Inspired!
GENERAL. Remarkable! One excellent line!
Des Millets. Oh, General!
GENERAL. Yes, indeed! An excellent line! “The”—how does it go? “Honor
is like a god which hath one altar only!”
PAUL. (_To_ JEANNE) A trifle too many feet!
BELLAC. (_To_ LUCY, _after looking at paper_) He died at six o’clock!
SAINT-RÉAULT. (_To his wife, showing her paper_) Yes, at six o’clock.
Oh, I have M. Toulonnier’s promise!
BELLAC. (_To_ LUCY) Toulonnier gave me a formal promise——
MME. DE CÉRAN. (_To the_ DUCHESS) Toulonnier is on our side.
DUCHESS. Well, where is your Toulonnier?
SAINT-RÉAULT. He just received a telegram.
MME. DE CÉRAN. (_Aside_) That confirms the appointment. Good!—But
why—? (_Enter_ TOULONNIER) Ah—At last!
ALL. It’s he! Ah! Ah!
(TOULONNIER _comes down-stage, surrounded by the company_.)
MME. DE CÉRAN. My dear Secretary General!
SAINT-RÉAULT. My dear Toulonnier!
MME. DE CÉRAN. Well, the telegram——?
BELLAC. It’s about poor Revel, is it not?
TOULONNIER. (_Embarrassed_) Yes, about Revel.
BELLAC. Well, what about him?
DUCHESS. (_Looking at_ TOULONNIER) It says he isn’t dead!
MME. DE CÉRAN, BELLAC, _and_ SAINT-RÉAULT. (_Showing the papers_) But
the papers!
DUCHESS. They’re mistaken!
ALL. Oh!
DUCHESS. For once! (_To_ TOULONNIER) Aren’t they?
TOULONNIER. Well, he’s not exactly dead!
SAINT-RÉAULT. (_Sinking into a chair_) Yet?
DUCHESS. And I’ll warrant he’s received another appointment!
TOULONNIER. Commander of the Legion of Honor.
SAINT-RÉAULT. Again!
TOULONNIER. (_Showing his telegram_) It will appear in to-morrow’s
Official! (_To_ SAINT-RÉAULT, _sympathetically_) Believe me, I feel
deeply——!
DUCHESS. (_Aside, looking at_ TOULONNIER) He knew it before he came
this evening! He’s a good one—I too have some important news to
announce!
ALL. (_Turning toward the_ DUCHESS) Ahh!
DUCHESS. Two things!
LUCY. What?
MME. DE LOUDAN. What, Duchess?
BELLAC. What?
DUCHESS. First, the engagement of our friend, Miss Lucy Watson, to
Professor Bellac!
ALL. Bellac? What!!
BELLAC. (_Aside_) Duchess!
DUCHESS. Ah! You must make some reparation.
BELLAC. Rep—— Oh! With pleasure! Ah, Lucy!
LUCY. (_Astonished_) Why, Madame!
DUCHESS. (_Aside_) Reparation, my child!
LUCY. None is necessary, because there is nothing to repair! However,
my ideas and my inclinations are in perfect harmony. (_She gives her
hand to_ BELLAC)
BELLAC. Ah, Lucy!
DUCHESS. Good! Number one!
MME. DE LOUDAN. You are the happiest of women, Lucy!
DUCHESS. Second piece of news!
MME. DE LOUDAN. Another engagement?
DUCHESS. Yes.
MME. DE LOUDAN. It’s a regular festival!
DUCHESS. The engagement of my dear nephew, Roger de Céran——
MME. DE CÉRAN. Duchess!
DUCHESS. To a girl who is very dear to my heart——
MME. DE CÉRAN. Oh, Aunt!
DUCHESS. My sole heir——
MME. DE CÉRAN. Your——?
DUCHESS. My fortune and my family name will be hers! My adopted
daughter, Mademoiselle Suzanne de Villiers de Réville.
SUZANNE. (_Throwing herself into the_ DUCHESS’S _arms_) Oh, my mother!
MME. DE CÉRAN. But, Duchess!
DUCHESS. Find a richer and a nobler name!
MME. DE CÉRAN. Oh, I’m not saying—and yet—(_To_ ROGER) Consider, Roger——
ROGER. I love her, mother.
DUCHESS. (_Looking about her_) Number two! There remains—(_To_ PAUL)
Come here, will you? What reparation are you going to make?
PAUL. (_Ashamed_) Ah, Duchess, it was you, then?
JEANNE. (_Confused_) Ah, Madame, then you heard——?
DUCHESS. Yes, little trickster, I did.
PAUL. Oh!
DUCHESS. But, since you didn’t say too much evil of me, I’ll forgive
you. You’ll be Prefect——
PAUL. Oh, Duchess! (_He kisses her hand_)
JEANNE. Ah, Madame—! “Gratitude,” as Saint-Evremont says——
PAUL. What’s the use—now?
_Curtain._
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Transcriber's Notes
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling,
punctuation and general disregard of accents remains unchanged.
Italics are represented thus _italic_ and bold thus =bold=.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Art of being Bored, by Edouard Pailleron