ACT II
(Same scene as Act I.)
(Bellac, Toulonnier, Roger, Paul Raymond, Madame de Céran, Madame de Loudan, the Duchess, Suzanne, Lucy, Jeanne, seated in a semi-circle, listening to Saint-Réault, who is finishing his lecture.)
Saint-Réault. And make no mistake about it! Profound as these legends may appear because of their baffling exoticism, they are merely—my illustrious father wrote in 1834—elemental, primitive imaginings, in comparison with the transcendental conceptions of Brahmin lore gathered together in the Upanishads, or indeed in the eighteen Paranas of Vyasa, the compiler of the Veda.
Jeanne. (Aside to Paul) Are you asleep?
Paul. No, no—I hear some kind of gibberish.
Saint-Réault. Such, in simple terminology, is the concretum of the doctrine of Buddha.—And at this point I shall close my remarks.
(Murmurs. Some of the audience rise.)
Several Voices. (Weakly) Very good! Good!
Saint-Réault. And now—(He coughs)
Mme. de Céran. (Eagerly) You must be tired, Saint-Réault?
Saint-Réault. Not at all, Countess!
Mme. Arriégo. Oh, yes, you must be; rest yourself. We can wait.
Several Voices. You must rest!
Mme. de Loudan. You can’t always remain in the clouds. Come down to earth, Baron.
Saint-Réault. Thank you, but—well, you see, I had already finished.
(Everybody rises.)
Several Voices. So interesting!—A little obscure!—Excellent!—Too long!
Bellac. (To the ladies) Too materialistic!
Paul. (To Jeanne) He’s bungled it.
Suzanne. (Calling) Monsieur Bellac!
Bellac. Mademoiselle?
Suzanne. Come here, near me.
(Bellac goes to her.)
Roger. (Aside to the Duchess) Aunt!
Duchess. (Aside to Roger) She’s doing it on purpose!
Saint-Réault. (Coming to table) One word more! (General surprise. The audience sits down in silence and consternation) Or, rather a favor!—This study of mine, of which, in spite of the narrow limits and popular character made necessary by my audience——
Duchess. He is polite, isn’t he?
Saint-Réault. The importance will perhaps have been realised,—this study, I say, was in 1821, sixty years ago, begun, or—I will go so far as to say, discovered by the genius whose son I have the honor to be——
Paul. (To Jeanne) He’s standing in a dead man’s shoes!
Saint-Réault. This trail which he has blazed, I, too, have followed, and not without distinction, if I may be permitted to say so. Another, coming after us, has tried to snatch a few words of wisdom from the eternal Verity of the Sphinx, until our time unfathomed in any theogony. I speak of Revel, highly esteemed both as scholar and gentleman. My illustrious father is dead, and Revel is not long for this earth—if he has not already passed away. Therefore I alone am left monarch of this new domain of science of which my father, Guillaume Eriel de Saint-Réault, was the discoverer. I, alone! (Looking at Toulonnier) May those who govern us, those who are invested with power and authority, those upon whom will devolve the delicate task of choosing a successor to our lamented colleague—whom perhaps we shall mourn to-morrow—may these eminent men (Looking at Bellac, who is speaking with Toulonnier) in spite of the more or less legitimate solicitations to which they are prey, make an impartial, enlightened choice, determined solely by the threefold requirements of age, aptitude and acquired experience—a choice of a successor worthy to my illustrious father, and of the great work which is his,—and of which, I repeat, I am the sole living representative.
(Everyone rises. Applause and general confusion. Meanwhile servants enter with refreshments.)
Several Voices. Splendid! Bravo!
Paul. At last I understand what he’s driving at!
Mme. de Céran. A candidate for Revel’s place!
Bellac. In the Academy, the New School, in everything!
Mme. de Céran. (Aside) I might have expected it!
Servant. (Announcing) The General! Comte de Briais!—Monsieur Virot!
(Enter the General and M. Virot.)
General. (Kissing Madame de Céran’s hand) Countess!
Mme. de Céran. Ah, Senator——
Virot. (Kissing Madame de Céran’s hand) Madame la comtesse!
Mme. de Céran. (To Virot) Too late! my dear Deputy, too late!
General. (Gallantly) One cannot come too early to your salon, Countess!
Mme. de Céran. Monsieur de Saint-Réault was speaking; can one say more?
General. (Bowing to Saint-Réault) My loss!
Virot. (Taking the General to the left) Well, Senator, if the House passes the law, will you vote it down?
General. Of course—at least the first time! The Senate must do that much.
Virot. Ah! Duchess!
(Together with the General, they go to greet the Duchess. Paul Raymond and Jeanne slip out of the room into the garden.)
Mme. de Céran. (To Saint-Réault) You surpassed yourself this evening, Saint-Réault!
Mme. Arriégo. Yes, you surpassed yourself. There is no other word for it.
Mme. de Loudan. Ah, Baron, Baron, what a world you have opened up to us! How captivating are these first stammering professions of primitive faith! And that Buddhist Trinity, oh, I’m quite mad about it!
Lucy. (To Saint-Réault) Pardon my boldness, Monsieur, but in your enumeration of the Sacred Books, it seemed to me that you omitted something.
Saint Réault. (Piqued) Ah, you think so, Mademoiselle?
Lucy. I did not hear you mention either the Mahabarata or the Ramayana.
Saint Réault. But those are not the Sacred Books, they are merely poems whose ancient origin rendered them objects of veneration to the Hindoos. They are works of literature, merely.
Lucy. But nevertheless, the Academy of Calcutta——
Saint-Réault. I merely give you the opinion of the Brahmins! You have another of your own?
Suzanne. (Loudly) Monsieur Bellac!
Bellac. Mademoiselle?
Suzanne. Give me your arm; let’s take a little walk. I want the air!
Bellac. But, Mademoiselle——
Suzanne. Don’t you wish to?
Bellac. But just at this time——?
Suzanne. Do come! (She almost drags him out)
Roger. (To the Duchess) She’s going out with him!
Duchess. Follow them!—Wait, I’ll go with you—I need a breath of air myself; he’s put me to sleep with his Brahmins, the old fakir! (They go out)
Toulonnier. (To Saint-Réault) Very learned and full of new ideas—(In an undertone) I caught that hint of yours, my dear Baron. There was really no need. We are all on your side. (They shake hands)
Mme. de Céran. (To Saint-Réault) I beg your pardon! (Aside to Toulonnier) You won’t forget my boy?
Toulonnier. I shall no more forget my promise than—I will yours.
Mme. de Céran. You understand, you will receive your six votes in the Senate. You understand also that on the publication of his report——
Toulonnier. You are well aware, Countess, that we are all on your side.
Paul. (To Jeanne, as they come in from the garden) That time they did see us!
Jeanne. It was too dark to see anything under the trees.
Paul. We were almost caught before dinner. Twice would be too much! I don’t want to risk it.
Jeanne. Didn’t you promise to kiss me every time we were in the dark? Yes or no?
Paul. (Excitedly) Do you want to be the wife of a Prefect? Yes or no?
Jeanne. (Equally excited) Yes, but meanwhile I’m not going to be his widow!
(Madame de Céran goes to them.)
Paul. (Aside to Jeanne) The Countess! (Aloud) Really, Jeanne, you prefer the Bhagavata?
Jeanne. Oh, the Bhagavata, my dear——
Mme. de Céran. Did you understand any of that mass of erudition, Madame? Poor Saint-Réault seemed particularly wordy and obscure this evening!
Paul. (Aside) The jealous rival!
Jeanne. But towards the end, Countess, he was clear enough.
Mme. de Céran. Ah, yes, about his candidacy; you understand?
Jeanne. Well, after all, if faith requires science to support it, has not science some need of faith?—as Monsieur de Maistre has said.
Mme. de Céran. Very good indeed! I must introduce you to a gentleman who will be very useful to you: General de Briais, the Senator.
Jeanne. And how about the Deputy, Countess?
Mme. de Céran. Oh, the Senator is more powerful!
Jeanne. But the Deputy is more active!
Mme. de Céran. Really, my dear Raymond, you are very fortunate. (Pressing Jeanne’s hand) And so am I! (To Jeanne) Good—I’ll introduce you to both!
Paul. (Following Jeanne, who follows Mme. de Céran) Angel!
Jeanne. Aren’t we going where it’s dark pretty soon?
Paul. Yes, my angel, but wait until the rest are gone! I’ll tell you: while the tragedy is being read!
Servant. (Announcing) Madame la baronne de Boines—Monsieur Melchior de Boines!
(Enter Mme. de Boines and Melchior.)
Baroness. (To Madame de Céran, who is about to receive her) Ah, my dear, am I in time?
Mme. de Céran. You are too late for Science, too early for Poetry! I am waiting for my poet.
Baroness. Who is he?
Mme. de Céran. An unknown.
Baroness. Young?
Mme. de Céran. I know nothing whatsoever about him, but I am assured that this is his first work. Gaiac is bringing him—you know Gaiac, of the Conservateur? They should have been here at nine. I can’t imagine what keeps them.
Baroness. I shall profit by the circumstance, for I came to see neither scholar nor poet. I came to see him, my dear: Bellac! Think of it, I’ve never met him! He is so attractive, they tell me! Princess Okolitch is quite mad about him, you know. Where is he? Oh, show him to me, Countess!
Mme. de Céran. I was just looking for him, and I—(Seeing Bellac enter with Suzanne) There!
Baroness. Is that he, coming in with Mlle. de Villiers?
Mme. de Céran. (Astonished) Yes!
Baroness. How lovely he is, dear! Isn’t he handsome! And you let him go about with that young girl!
Mme. de Céran. (Aside—looking at Suzanne and Bellac) That’s strange——
Melchior. And may I shake hands with Roger?
Mme. de Céran. I doubt if you can at this moment. He must be hard at work. (Enter the Duchess and Roger. Aside, looking at these latter) What’s this—and with the Duchess?
Roger. (To the Duchess, greatly agitated) Well, did you hear, Aunt?
Duchess. Yes, but I saw nothing.
Roger. It was certainly a kiss, that time!
Duchess. And a good smack! Who is there here who would kiss like that?
Roger. Who, indeed?
Duchess. (Seeing Madame de Céran, as she approaches them) Your mother!
Mme. de Céran. How is this, Roger, aren’t you supposed to be at work?
Roger. No, Mother, I——
Mme. de Céran. Well, well, what about your Tumuli?
Roger. I have plenty of time: I can work on it to-night, and later in the week.
Mme. de Céran. The idea! The Minister is waiting!
Roger. Let him wait, Mother! (He goes away)
Mme. de Céran. (Stupefied) Duchess, what does this mean?
Duchess. Tell me, isn’t someone going to read us some sort of nonsense this evening? Some tragedy——?
Mme. de Céran. Yes.
Duchess. Your reading is to be in the next room, isn’t it? Get the people out of here, will you? I shall need this room at once.
Mme. de Céran. Why?
Duchess. I’ll tell you during the tragedy.
Servant. (Announcing) Monsieur le vicomte de Gaiac! Monsieur des Millets!
(Enter de Gaiac and des Millets.)
Duchess. Well—I—look at your poet! There he is!
Several Voices. The poet!—The young poet!—Where?—Where is he?
Gaiac. Will you ever forgive me, Countess? I was kept at the office. (Aside) I was writing up your soirée!—Monsieur des Millets, my friend the tragic poet, whose talent you will soon have an opportunity of appreciating.
Des Millets. (Bowing) Madame la comtesse!
Duchess. (To Roger) So that is the young poet! He’s an odd one!
Mme. Arriégo. (Aside to the other ladies) How awful!
Baroness. He’s gray!
Mme. de Saint-Réault. Bald!
Mme. de Loudan. He has no talent: he’s much too ugly, my dear!
Mme. de Céran. We are very happy, Monsieur, my guests and I, to be favored with your presence!
Mme. de Loudan. (Approaching him) A virgin triumph, Monsieur! How grateful we are!
Des Millets. (Confused) Ah, Madame!
Mme. de Céran. And it is really your first work, Monsieur?
Des Millets. Oh, but I have written several poems!
Gaiac. Crowned by the Academy, Madame la comtesse.
Jeanne. (To Paul, admiringly) Crowned!
Paul. (To Jeanne) Mediocritas!
Mme. de Céran. And this is your first attempt in the realm of the drama? Ah, well, maturity of years guarantees maturity of talent!
Des Millets. Alas, Madame la comtesse, the play was written fifteen years ago!
Ladies. Fifteen years!—Is it possible?! Really?
Gaiac. Ah, Des Millets has faith in his work! We must encourage those who have faith, should we not, ladies?
Mme. de Loudan. Of course! We must encourage the tragic form, must we not, General? Tragedy——
General. (Interrupting himself in his conversation with Virot) Eh? Oh, yes, tragedy! Horace! Cinna! Of course, we must! Tragedy is necessary for the masses—(To Des Millets) May we have the title?
Des. Millets. Philippe-Auguste!
General. Fine subject! Good military subject!—In verse, isn’t it?
Des Millets. Oh, General! A tragedy——!
General. A good many acts, I suppose?
Des Millets. Five.
General. Ha! Ha! Good! Good!
Jeanne. (Aside to Paul) Five acts! How lovely! We’ll have plenty of time——!
Paul. Sh-h!
Mme. de Loudan. The road to Parnassus is long!
Mme. de Saint-Réault. What a mighty effort!
Mme. Arriégo. It must be encouraged!
(Suzanne’s laugh is heard above the murmur of the conversation.)
Mme. de Céran. Suzanne!
Duchess. (To Madame de Céran) Lead out young Euripides and his press agent! Get rid of the lot of them!
Mme. de Céran. Now ladies, shall we go into the large drawing-room and hear the reading? (To Des Millets) Are you ready, Monsieur?
Des Millets. As you please, Madame la comtesse.
Paul. (Aside to Jeanne) Age before beauty!
Mme. de Céran. Come, ladies!
Mme. de Loudan. (Intercepting her) Oh, but first, Countess, let us—the ladies and me—carry out our little plot! (Going to Bellac, and saying with an air of supplication) Monsieur Bellac?
Bellac. Marquise?
Mme. de Loudan. I want to ask a great favor of you.
Bellac. (Graciously) The favor which you ask me becomes as nothing in comparison with the favor you do me in asking it so charmingly.
Ladies. Oh, how lovely!
Mme. de Loudan. This poetic tragedy will doubtless occupy the remainder of the evening; it will certainly prove a fitting climax!—Please say a few words beforehand—as few as you like! Of course, Genius must not be overtaxed! But, please just a few words. They will be received like the Manna of old!
Suzanne. Please, Monsieur Bellac!
Mme. Arriégo. Be generous!
Baroness. We throw ourselves at your feet!
Bellac. (Defending himself) Oh, ladies!
Mme. de Loudan. Come to our assistance, Lucy—you, his Muse! You plead with him!
Lucy. Of course; I ask him now.
Suzanne. And I, I want him too!
Voices. Oh, oh!
Mme. de Céran. Suzanne!
Bellac. Well, since you force me——
Mme. de Loudan. Oh, he will! Quick, a chair!
(Commotion about Bellac.)
Mme. Arriégo. A table.
Mme. de Loudan. Shall we make a circle?
Mme. de Céran. Give him a little room, ladies.
Bellac. Pray, no formality!
Virot. (To the General) You must be careful, the law is very popular.
Ladies. Sh-h!
Bellac. Please, no stage-setting—nothing that—
Virot. Well, yes—but the voters?
General. My position is perfectly safe!
Ladies. Sh-h! Oh, General!
Bellac. Nothing to suggest the school-room, the platform, or pedantry. Please, ladies, let it be an informal chat: ask me no questions.
Mme. de Loudan. (With clasped hands) Oh, Monsieur Bellac, tell us about your book!
Mme. Arriégo. (With clasped hands) Yes the book!
Baroness. (With clasped hands) Your book, yes!
Suzanne. (With clasped hands) Oh, Monsieur Bellac!
Bellac. Irresistible supplications! And yet I must protect myself; until everyone shall have the opportunity of seeing my book, no one shall.
Mme. de Loudan. (With meaning) Mm—no one?
Bellac. Ah, Marquise, “Take care! There may be a secret!” as Fontenelle said to Mme. de Coulanges.
Ladies. Charming! Charming!
Baroness. (Aside to Mme. de Loudan) How clever!
Mme. de Loudan. He is more than clever.
Baroness. What then?
Mme. de Loudan. His wit has wings; you’ll see.
Bellac. This is neither the time nor the place, you will admit, ladies, to plumb the depths of certain of those eternal problems and mysterious enigmas of life and the Beyond which harass and torment noble souls, like your own!
Ladies. Ah, the “Beyond,” my dear, the “Beyond!”
Bellac. But, aside from this, I am quite at your service. There is one point, however, which comes to my mind, a point eternally discussed and never settled, upon which I ask your leave to say a few words.
Ladies. DO, do!
Bellac. I shall speak, then with a threefold purpose:—first, to fulfill your request, ladies; (Looking at Mme de Loudan) to bring back a friend who has been led away.——
Baroness. (Aside to Mme. de Loudan, who modestly drops her eyes) That is you, my dear!
Bellac. (Looking at Lucy) And to combat an adversary who has proved exceedingly dangerous—in more ways than one.
Ladies. That means Lucy!—It is Lucy!—Lucy!
Bellac. My subject is—Love!
Ladies. (Approving) Ahh!—Ahh!
Duchess. For a change!
Suzanne. Bravo!
(Low murmurs.)
Jeanne. (To Paul) That young lady is feeling very fit, it seems!
Bellac. Concerning love!—The weakness which is a strength!—The sentiment which is a faith! The only religion, perhaps, which knows no scoffers!
Ladies. Ah!—Charming!—Charming!
Mme. de Loudan. (To the Baroness) Ah, the wings, my dear—the wings!
Bellac. I spoke this morning—in the course of my lecture on German Literature at the Princess’s—of a certain philosopher who made instinct the basis and the rule of all our actions and all our thoughts.
Ladies. (Protesting) Oh!—Oh!—Oh!
Bellac. And now, ladies, I take occasion emphatically to declare that that opinion is not my opinion, and that I deny the theory with every fiber of my soul and being!
Ladies. Good! Excellent!
Baroness. (Aside to Mme. de Loudan) What pretty hands!
Bellac. No, ladies, no! Love is not, as the German philosopher has it, a purely specific passion; a deceitful illusion shackling mankind in order to work its own ends! No, a hundred times no! if we have souls!
Ladies. Yes!—Yes—
Suzanne. Bravo!
Duchess. (Aside to Roger) She is certainly doing that on purpose!
Bellac. Leave to the Sophists and to vulgar natures such soul-stunting theories; do not even consider them; answer them with silence, the language of the outcast!
Ladies. Charming!—Charming!——
Bellac. God forbid I should go so far as to deny the sovereign influence of beauty over the uncertain wills of men! (Looking about him) I see too much about me by way of refutation to that argument!
Ladies. Ah!—Ah!
Roger. (To the Duchess) He looked at her!
Duchess. Yes.
Bellac. But above this material and mortal beauty, there is another, time-defying, invisible to the naked eye, which the soul of purity serenely contemplates and cherishes with an unearthly love. That love, ladies, is the true Love, the mingling of two spirits, their flight far from the terrestrial mire—into the infinite blue of the ideal!
Ladies. Bravo!
Duchess. (To herself, rather loudly) Nonsense!
Bellac. (Looking at her) That love, mocked at by some, unknown to most,—I declare, my hand on my heart, that it does exist! In the souls of the elect, as Proudhon says——
Voices. (Protesting) Oh, Proudhon——!
Mme. de Loudan. Oh, Bellac!
Bellac. A writer whom I am astonished to find myself quoting—I beg your pardons! In the souls of the elect, there is nothing of earth.
Ladies. How delicate! Charming!
Duchess. (Bursting forth) Nonsense!
Ladies. Oh, Duchess!
Bellac. (Bowing to the Duchess) And yet, it exists. Noble spirits have felt it, great poets sung its praises, and in the seats of Heaven, the apotheosis of our dreams, we see, enshrined about with haloes of ethereal brightness, those immortal figures, everlasting proof of an undying and psychic love: Beatrice, Laura——
Duchess. Laura, the mother of eleven, my dear Monsieur!
Ladies. Duchess!
Duchess. Eleven! And you call her love psychic!
Mme. de Loudan. They were not Petrarch’s, Duchess; let’s have fair play.
Bellac. Héloise——
Duchess. Oh, she!
Bellac. And their sisters of more recent date: Elvira, Eloa, and many others, known and unknown. That cohort of pure and unknown loves, is growing from day to day—I call all womankind to witness!
Ladies. Ah, my dear, how true!
Bellac. The soul has a language all its own; its aspirations, its pleasures and its tortures belong to it: are its very existence. And if it be chained to the body, it is like the wing of a bird: in order to raise it to the heights!
Ladies. Ah, bravo!
Bellac. (Rising) This is what modern science ought to take into consideration—(Looking at Saint-Réault) that science which a leaden materialism drags down to earth—I shall add, since our venerable master and friend made an allusion not long since—perhaps a trifle over-hasty—to a loss which science, I hope, will not have to complain of—I shall add—(Looking at Toulonnier, to whom Saint-Réault is speaking) in fine, this is what he should teach to the youth who have been under the guidance of Revel, he—whoever he may be—who will be chosen to carry on the work; and not only (asking the pardon of our illustrious colleague) upon the insufficient authority vested in those who have “acquired the right,” or erudition, or age—ought he to base his claim, but upon the irresistible power of a mind imbued with the spirit of youth and of a fiery ardor which is not to be extinguished!
Voices. Bravo!—Charming!—Exquisite!—Delicious!
(Everyone rises. Confused murmurs of conversation. The ladies surround Bellac.)
Duchess. (Aside) That for you, Saint-Réault!
Paul. (Aside) Candidate number two!
Mme. de Loudan. Ah, Monsieur Bellac!
Suzanne. Dear Professor!
Baroness. A veritable banquet of the soul!
Mme. Arriégo. Beautiful!
Bellac. Oh, ladies, I have but given words to your ideas.
Mme. de Loudan. Flatterer! Charmer!
Bellac. Are we reconciled yet, Marquise?
Mme. de Loudan. How can one be angry with you? (Introducing the Baroness) Madame la baronne de Boines—another conquest! She is at your feet already!
Baroness. You made me weep, Monsieur.
Bellac. Oh, Madame la baronne!
Mme. Arriégo. Isn’t it superb!
Baroness. Superb!
Suzanne. And how warm he is! (Bellac looks for his handkerchief) You haven’t one? Here! (She gives him her handkerchief)
Bellac. Oh, Mademoiselle!
Mme. de Céran. Suzanne! The idea!
Suzanne. (To Bellac, as he returns her handkerchief) Oh, keep it, I’m going to get you a drink.
Mme. de Loudan. (Going toward the table before which Saint-Réault spoke, upon which is a tray and glasses of sugar-and-water) Here, drink!
Roger. (Aside to the Duchess) Look, Aunt!
Duchess. She’s too brazen about it to be in earnest.
Bellac. (Aside to Lucy) And are you convinced?
Lucy. Oh, for my part, the concept of love—No, I’ll tell you later!
Bellac. In a little while?
Lucy. Yes—would you like a glass of water? (She goes up-stage)
Mme. de Loudan. (Arriving with a glass of water) No! Let me! The god must pardon me: I can offer you only water, as the secret of Nectar-making is lost!
Mme. Arriégo. (Arriving with a glass of water) A glass of water, Monsieur Bellac?
Mme. de Loudan. No, no—take mine! Mine!
Mme. Arriégo. No, mine!
Bellac. (Embarrassed) Well, I——
Lucy. (Handing him a glass of water) Here!
Mme. de Loudan. Oh, he’ll choose Lucy, I know!—I’m so jealous!—No, mine! mine!
Suzanne. (Arriving with another glass of water and forcing it upon Bellac) No, no, he’ll take mine! Ha, ha! the fourth thief!
Lucy. But, Mademoiselle—!
Mme. de Loudan. (Aside) That little girl has impudence!
Roger. (To the Duchess, indicating Suzanne) Aunt!
Duchess. What’s the matter with her?
Roger. It’s just since Bellac has come!
(The doors are opened and the large drawing-room is seen, lighted.)
Duchess. At last! (To Madame de Céran) Take away your company—now is your chance!
Mme. de Céran. Come, ladies, our tragedy is about to be read! In the large drawing-room! After the reading we shall take tea in the conservatory.
Lucy, Bellac and Suzanne. (Aside) In the conservatory!
Roger. (Aside to the Duchess) Did you notice Suzanne? She started!
Duchess. And so did Bellac!
Mme. de Loudan. Come, ladies, the Muse is calling us.
(The guests pass slowly into the large drawing-room.)
General. (To Paul) What is that, my dear Sub-prefect—three years!
Mme. de Céran. Come, General!
General. (Still talking with Paul) Ah, yes, Countess, the tragedy!—You are right, one must encourage Art!—Five acts! Oh!
Jeanne. (To Paul) It’s settled then, about—later?
Paul. Yes, yes, it’s settled.
General. (Returning to Paul) Three years, you say, as Sub-prefect in the same place? And they say the government isn’t conservative!
Paul. That’s pretty good, Senator; excellent!
General. Oh!
Toulonnier. (To Madame de Loudan) That’s understood, Marquise! (To Madame Arriégo) At your service, my dear madame!
Bellac. (To Toulonnier) Well, General Secretary, may I hope——?
Toulonnier. (Giving him his hand) It is merely what is due you; you may count on us! (He goes off)
General. (As he comes down to Paul) And what is the spirit of your Department,[3] my dear Sub-prefect? By Jove, you ought to know it, after three years!
Paul. Well, General, its spirit—why, it—the—its spirit—it hasn’t any!! (They go out at the back. As Suzanne passes the piano she runs her hand across the keys, making a terrible noise)
Mme. de Céran. (Severely to Suzanne) But, Su-zanne! What——!
Suzanne. (As if astonished) What is it, cousin?
Duchess. (Stopping her and looking into her face) What is the matter with you?
Suzanne. (With a nervous smile) Me? Oh, I am just amusing myself!
Duchess. What is the matter?
Suzanne. Nothing, Aunt, I tell you I am just amusing myself!
Duchess. What is the matter with you?
Suzanne. (Stifling a sob) Oh, I feel so badly! (She goes into the large dining-room and slams the door violently after her)
Duchess. She’s in love, or I’m no judge—and I am a judge!
Mme. de Céran. (To the Duchess) But what is the matter? (To Roger) Why aren’t you at work on your report? What has happened? Please?!
Roger. You were right all the while!
Mme. De Céran. Suzanne——?
Roger. Suzanne—and that man!!
Duchess. Stop! You’re going to say something foolish!
Roger. But I——
Duchess. (To Madame de Céran) We discovered a letter in her possession.
Mme. de Céran. From Bellac?
Duchess. I haven’t the slightest idea.
Roger. What?
Duchess. Disguised handwriting—unsigned—not the slightest idea!
Roger. Oh, you must have! He’s not running any risks.—I say——
Duchess. (To Roger) Keep still! (To Madame de Céran) Listen to this: “I shall arrive Thursday——”
Roger. To-day!—Therefore either he or I wrote that letter!
Duchess. Will you be still? “This evening at ten, in the Conservatory.”
Roger. “Say you have a headache.”
Duchess. Oh, yes, I forgot: “Say you have a headache.”
Mme. de Céran. Why, it is a rendezvous!
Duchess. There’s no doubt about it.
Mme. de Céran. With her!
Duchess. I don’t know about that!
Roger. But I think——
Duchess. You think! You think!—When it comes to accusing a woman,—it’s not enough to “think,” you must see, and when you have seen, and seen and seen again—then, well then, it’s not true anyway! (Aside) It’s good to say these things to the young!
Mme. de Céran. A rendezvous, what did I tell you?! Well, well, what more could be expected of her, after all? And in my house! Like a girl of the streets! Now, Duchess, what are you going to do, tell me that? I asked them to begin in there without me, but I can’t wait here all evening! I hear the poet; they’ve begun. Please, what are you going to do?
Duchess. Do? Stay here.—Quarter to ten; if she keeps the appointment she must come through here, and then I’ll see him.
Roger. But if she goes, Aunt?
Duchess. If she goes, my dear nephew? Well! I shall go too! And without saying a word, I’ll see where they go. And when I see how matters stand, then and then only, will it be time to act.
Roger. (Sitting down) I’ll wait.
Mme. de Céran. It’s useless for you to wait, my dear, we are here. You have your Tumuli, run along! (She urges him to the door)
Roger. Please, mother! It’s a matter that——
Mme. de Céran. It concerns your position. Go now, run away!
Roger. (Resisting.) I should be very sorry to disobey you, but——
Mme. de Céran. Now, Roger!
Roger. Please, mother!—I couldn’t write a line this evening, I am too—I don’t know what—I am very disturbed. My conscience tells me that I have not acted toward that young girl as I ought. I’m very—Think of it, Mother—Suzanne!—It would be awful—! I am in a fearful position.
Duchess. Surely you exaggerate!
Roger. (Flaring up) Really!
Mme. de Céran. Roger! Roger! What do you mean!
Roger. I am her tutor; it is my duty to look after her moral welfare!—Think of my responsibility; that child’s honor is in my hands! It is a sacred charge placed in my keeping; if I violate my trust I should be worse than a criminal. And then you talk to me about Tumuli! Tumuli! Tumuli! The devil take the Tumuli!
Mme. de Céran. (Terrified) Oh!
Duchess. Well, well!
Roger. And I say, if this is true, if that cad has dared take advantage of our hospitality and her innocence, I’m going straight to him and demand a public apology, do you hear?
Mme. de Céran. My son!
Roger. Before everyone!
Mme. de Céran. This is madness!—Duchess, forgive him, he’s——
Duchess. Oho! I like to see him like that, you know!
Mme. de Céran. Roger!
Roger. No, mother, this is my affair. I’ll wait here. (He sits down)
Mme. de Céran. Very well, then, I’ll wait, too.
Roger. You?
Mme. de Céran. Yes, and I’ll talk to him.
Duchess. But be careful!
Mme. de Céran. Oh, I’ll be careful enough; but if she persists, I shall give her my opinion on the subject! I’ll wait. (She sits down)
Duchess. Not long! Five minutes to ten! If she is going to have her headache, it is due about now. (The door at the back swings open slowly) Shhh——
Roger. There she is!
(As the door opens, the voice of the poet is heard declaiming.)
Poet. (Outside) “Then let me cleanse the earth of this vile brood!
Death’s portal shall not check my vengeance, nor
Shall I retreat before the yawning grave——”
(Jeanne appears; closes the door.)
Duchess. The Sub-prefect’s wife!
Jeanne. (Astonished at seeing them) Oh!
Duchess. Come in, don’t be afraid. It would seem that you have had enough?
Jeanne. Oh, no, Duchess, but you see, I——
Duchess. You don’t care for tragedy?
Jeanne. Oh, yes, I do!
Duchess. Oh, you needn’t say so to be polite; there are seventeen others who feel as you do! (Aside) What can she be up to?—It wasn’t interesting, was it?
Jeanne. Quite the contrary!
Duchess. “Quite the contrary,” as you say to the person who asks you whether it hurt when he stepped on your foot?
Jeanne. Oh, not at all! There were some very interesting things—there was one beautiful line.
Duchess. A whole line?
Jeanne. And the applause was great. (Aside) What shall I do?
Duchess. Ha! Ha! What was the beautiful line?
Jeanne. “Honor is like a god, a god which—” I’m afraid I misquote it, and spoil the effect.
Duchess. Keep it, my child, keep it! And now you’re running away like this in spite of the beautiful line?
Jeanne. I very much regret having to leave. (Aside) What shall I say? (Brightening) Oh!—it was either that I was so uncomfortable where I was sitting, or because it was so warm—I don’t feel very well!
Duchess. Ah!
Jeanne. My eyes are—I can’t see straight—I have a headache——
Mme. de Céran, Duchess, Roger. (Rising) A headache?!
Jeanne. (Alarmed—aside) What’s the matter with them?
Duchess. (After a short pause) That’s not surprising: there is an epidemic of headaches.
Jeanne. You have one too?
Duchess. I? No! One doesn’t have them at my age! You must do something for it, my child.
Jeanne. I’m going to take a little walk. You’ll excuse me, won’t you?
Duchess. Of course; by all means!
Jeanne. (Holding her head between her hands, and going toward the door) Oh, how it aches! Ah! (Aside) Paul will find an excuse to get away! (She goes out through the door leading to the garden)
Duchess. (To Roger) Do you think so? Do you think so?
Roger. Oh, Aunt, it’s only a coincidence!
Duchess. Possibly; you know how easily one may be mistaken, and one must never—(The door of the drawing-room opens) Ahh, this time!
Voice of the Poet. (Heard through the partially opened door as before)
“And though there were a hundred, nay a thousand——”
Duchess. Euripides is still at it!
Voice of the Poet.
“Unarmed, unaided, would I brave their threats,
And make the cowards own their cowardice!”
(Lucy appears.)
Mme. de Céran and Roger. Lucy!
(Lucy goes to the door leading into the garden.)
Duchess. What, Lucy! Why did you leave the reading?
Lucy. (Stopping) I beg your pardon; I didn’t see you!
Duchess. And yet they say there was a beautiful line:
“Honor is like a god——”
Lucy. (Starting to go) “Like a god which——”
Duchess. Yes, that’s the one. (The clock strikes ten. Lucy is now at the door) And in spite of that, you are determined to go?
Lucy. Yes, I want a breath of fresh air: I have a headache. (She goes out)
Duchess, Roger, and Mme. de Cèran. (Sitting down) Oh!
Duchess. Well, well! This is getting interesting!
Mme. de Céran. Another coincidence!
Duchess. Another? No, not this time! Don’t you think so? Then all of them are—! Except Suzanne’s case! Come, now, there’s something in the air. She will not come! I’m willing to wager she won’t come. (The drawing-room door opens suddenly, and through it is heard a voice in the throes of tragic agony) There she is!
(Enter Suzanne hastily, as though looking for someone.)
Mme. de Céran. (Rising) You are leaving the reading, Mademoiselle!
Suzanne. (Impatiently) Yes, cousin!
Mme. de Céran. Stay here!
Suzanne. But, cousin——
Mme. de Céran. Stay! Sit down!
Suzanne. (Dropping on to a piano-stool, and abruptly turning to each person who addresses her) Well?
Mme. de Céran. And why, may I ask, did you leave the reading?
Suzanne. Why should I let myself be bored by that old gentleman?
Roger. Is that the true reason?
Suzanne. I went out because Lucy went out, if you must know!
Mme. de Céran. Miss Watson, Mademoiselle?
Suzanne. Yes, indeed: Miss Watson, the pink of perfection, the rara avis—she may do as she likes, but I——!
Roger. You, Suzanne?
Mme. de Céran. Let me speak to her! But you Mademoiselle, run about the streets alone!
Suzanne. The way Lucy does!
Mme. de Céran. And you dress most outrageously.
Suzanne. The way Lucy does!
Mme. de Céran. You monopolise M. Bellac and talk to him affectedly——
Suzanne. The way Lucy does! I suppose she doesn’t speak to him, does she? And to Monsieur, too! (Indicating Roger)
Mme. de Céran. Oh, but in private! You understand me perfectly.
Suzanne. Let’s not talk about “in private!” When anyone has a secret, he writes it—(Aside to Roger between her teeth) in a disguised hand!
Mme. de Céran. What?
Roger. (Aside) Aunt!
Duchess. (Aside) Shh!
Mme. de Céran. Well?
Suzanne. Well, Lucy speaks to whomever she likes; Lucy goes out whenever she wants to; Lucy dresses just as she likes. I want to do just like Lucy, because every one loves her!
Mme. de Céran. And do you know why everyone loves her, Mademoiselle? Because, in spite of her plainness—a necessary consequence of her nationality—she is serious, dignified and cultured—
Suzanne. (Rising) And what about me? Haven’t I been all that? For the last six months up to this very evening at five o’clock, I worked hard without resting, and I studied as much as she did; and I learned as much as she did: “objective” and “subjective” and all that! And what good did it all do me? Does anyone love me better for it? Doesn’t everyone always treat me just as if I were a little girl? Everyone!! Everyone!! (Looking sidewise at Roger) Who pays any attention to me? Suzanne, Suzanne!! What does Suzanne count for! And all because I’m not an old English woman!
Roger. Suzanne!
Suzanne. Yes, defend her! Oh, I know what to do in order to please you! Here! (Taking the Duchess’s lorgnette and putting it up to her eyes and looking through it) How esthetic! Schopenhauer! The Ego, the non-Ego! Et Cetera, nyah! nyah!
Mme. de Céran. We can dispense with your impertinence, Mademoiselle!
Suzanne. (Bowing ceremoniously) Thank you, cousin!
Mme. de Céran. Yes, impertinence! and your absurd pranks——
Suzanne. Well, what can you expect from a “street gamin” like me! No wonder I don’t behave any better! (A little excited) Of course I misbehave! I do it on purpose and I’ll continue to do it!
Mme. de Céran. Not under my roof!
Suzanne. I did go out with Monsieur Bellac, and I spoke with Monsieur Bellac, and I have a secret with Monsieur Bellac!
Roger. You dare——!
Suzanne. And he knows more than you do! And he’s more of a man than you are! And I like him better than you! I love him! I love him! I love him!
Mme. de Céran. I sincerely hope that you do not realize the gravity of what you are saying!
Suzanne. I do realize it!
Mme. de Céran. Then listen to me! Before you commit any more of the follies you are threatening us with, think the matter over! You, least of all, Mademoiselle de Villiers, can afford to have a scandal connected with your name!
Duchess. Take care, take care!
Mme. de Céran. Well, Duchess, she ought to know, at least——
Suzanne. (Holding back her tears) I do know!
Duchess. You know? What?
Suzanne. (Throwing herself into the Duchess’s arms and crying) Aunt! Aunt!
Duchess. There, there, Suzanne, my child! (To Mme. de Céran) That was considerate of you—to start that here! (To Suzanne) There, there, what is it you know? (She takes Suzanne on her knees)
Suzanne. (Weeping and talking at the same time) W-what? I—I don’t know! But I do know there is something against me—and there has been for a long time!
Duchess. Why, what makes you think——?
Suzanne. Nobody, everybody. People look at you and whisper and stop talking when you come into the room and kiss you, and call you poor little thing!—If you think children don’t notice those things!
Duchess. (Wiping her eyes) Now, dear, dear!
Suzanne. And it was just the same at the convent! I knew I wasn’t like the other girls. Oh, I could see that. They always talked to me about my father and my mother, and why? Because I didn’t have any! And once, during recess, I was playing with a girl!—I don’t remember what I’d done to her—She was furious—and all of a sudden she called me “Miss Foundling!” She didn’t know what it meant, neither did I! Her mother had used the word in speaking about me. She told me afterward, after we had made up.—Oh, I was so unhappy! (Sobbing) We looked the word up in the dictionary, but we didn’t find anything—or we didn’t understand—(Angrily) What did they mean? What have I done that makes me any different from anybody else? That everything I do is bad? Is it my fault?
Duchess. (Kissing her) No, my child, no my dear!
Mme. de Céran. I am sorry——
Suzanne. (Sobbing) Well, then, why does everybody blame me if it isn’t my fault? Here I seem to be in the way! I know I don’t want to stay any longer. I am going! Nobody loves me!
Roger. (Deeply moved) Why do you say that, Suzanne? It’s not so. Everybody here—I——
Suzanne. (Angrily as she rises) You!
Roger. Yes, I? And I swear——
Suzanne. You!—Go away from me! I hate you and I never want to see you again! Never! Do you hear! (She goes toward the door leading into the garden)
Roger. Suzanne! Suzanne! Where are you going?
Suzanne. I’m going for a walk! For that matter, I am going where I please!
Roger. But why now? Why are you going out?
Suzanne. Why? (She comes down to him) Why?? (Looking him in the eye) Why? I have a headache! (All rise. Suzanne goes out)
Roger. (Agitated) Well, Aunt, it’s clear now, isn’t it?
Duchess. Less and less!
Roger. I shall see him at once!
Mme. de Céran. What are you going to do?
Roger. Merely to do as my aunt has suggested: get to the bottom of the affair. And I swear if that man—that if it’s true—if he has dared—!
Mme. de Céran. If he has I shall show him to the door!
Duchess. If he has, I’ll see that he marries her! (Following Suzanne) Only, if it isn’t true—well, we’ll see! Come! (She tries to make Mme. de Céran go out. Loud applause is heard from the adjoining room; indistinct murmurs of conversation and moving of chairs)
Mme. de Céran. Well!
Duchess. What’s that I hear? Another beautiful line? No, it’s the end of the act. Quick, before they come in!!
Mme. de Céran. But my guests?
Duchess. They’ll go to sleep again without your help! Come, come!
(They go out. The door at the back opens. Through it are seen guests in groups, with Des Millets in the centre of one.)
Ladies. Beautiful!—Great Art!—Very noble!
Paul. (On the threshold of the door) That act is charming! Don’t you think so, General?
General. (Yawning cavernously) Charming! Four to come!
(Paul skilfully maneuvers so that he reaches the door leading to the garden and disappears through it.)
Curtain.