Gerardo. You are right; I won't dispute what you say. Indeed, you embarrass me. I myself, I must frankly confess, see something else in life. But, my child, I am a man and I am thirty-six years old. The time will come when you may likewise lay claim to a deeper and fuller life. Get two years older and, I am sure, the right one will turn up for you. Then it will not be necessary for you to come unasked to me, that is to say to one whom you do not know any more intimately than—all Europe knows him—and to conceal yourself behind the window curtains in order to get a taste of the higher life. (Pause. Miss Coeurne breathes heavily.) Well?—Let me thank you cordially and sincerely for your roses! (Presses her hand.) Will you be satisfied with that for today?
Miss Coeurne. As old as I am, I never yet gave a thought to a man until I saw you on the stage yesterday as Tannhäuser.—And I will promise you ...
Gerardo. Oh please, child, don't promise me anything. How can a promise you might make at the present time be of any value to me? The disadvantage of it would be entirely yours. You see, my child, the most loving father could not speak more lovingly to you than I. Thank a kind providence for not having been delivered into some other artist's hands by your indiscretion. (Presses her hand.) Let it be a lesson to you for the rest of your life and be satisfied with that.
Miss Coeurne (covering her face with her handkerchief, in an undertone, without tears). Am I so ugly?
Gerardo. Ugly?—How does that make you ugly?—You are young and indiscreet! (Rises nervously, walks over to the left, returns, puts his arm around her and takes her hand.) Listen to me, my child! If I have to sing, if I am an artist by profession, how does that make you ugly? What an unreasonable inference: I am ugly, I am ugly. And yet it is the same wherever I go. Think of it! When I've only a few minutes left to catch the train, and tomorrow night it's Tristan ...! Do not misunderstand me, but surely, my being a singer does not make it incumbent upon me to affirm the charm of your youthfulness and beauty. Does that make you ugly, my child? Make your appeal to other people who are not as hard-pressed as I am. Do you really think it would ever occur to me to, say such a thing to you?
Miss Coeurne. To say it? No. But to think it.
Gerardo. Now, Miss Coeurne, let us be reasonable! Do not inquire into my thoughts about you. Really, at this moment they do not concern us in the least. I assure you, and please take my word for it as an artist, for I could not be more honest to you: I am unfortunately so constituted that I simply cannot bear to see any creature whatsoever suffer, not even the meanest. (Looking at her critically, but with dignity.) And for you, my child, I am sincerely sorry; I may say that much, after you have so far fought down your maidenly pride as to wait for me here. But please, Miss Coeurne, do take into account the life I have to lead. Just think of the mere question of time! At least two hundred, may be as many as three hundred charmingly attractive young girls of your age saw me on the stage yesterday in the part of Tannhäuser. Suppose now every one of these young girls expected as much of me as you do. What in the world would become of my singing? What would become of my voice? Just how could I keep up my profession? (She sinks into a chair, covers her face and weeps; he sits down on the armrest beside her, bends over her, sympathetically.) It's really sinful of you, my child, to shed tears over being so young. Your whole life is still before you. Be patient. The thought of your youth should make you happy. How glad the rest of us would be—even if one lives the life of an artist like myself—to start over again from the very beginning. Please be not ungrateful for hearing me yesterday. Spare me this disconcerting sequel. Am I to blame for your falling in love with me? You are only one of many. My manager insists on my assuming this august manner on the stage. You see there's more to it than mere singing. I simply have to play the part of Tannhäuser that way. Now be good, my child. I have only a few moments left. Let me use them in preparing for tomorrow.
Miss Coeurne (rises, dries her tears), I cannot imagine another girl acting like me.
Gerardo (manœuvering her to the door). Quite right, my child ...
Miss Coeurne (gently resisting him, sobbing). At least not—if ...