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 BLANCHETTE AND THE 
 ESCAPE TWO PLAYS BY 
 BRIEUX WITH PREFACE 
 BY H. L. MENCKEN TRANS- 
 LATED FROM THE FRENCH 
 BY FREDERICK EISEMANN 
 
 JOHN W.LUCE & COMPANY 
 BOSTON MCMXIU
 
 Copyright, 1913 
 By L. E. Bassett
 
 55 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 BY H. L. MENCKEN
 
 PREFACE 
 
 "After the death of Ibsen/* says George 
 Bernard Shaw, in his preface to the first 
 English translation of Brieux's plays, "Brieux 
 confronted Europe as the most important 
 dramatist west of Russia. In that kind of 
 comedy which is so true to life that we have 
 to call it tragi-comedy, and which is not only 
 an entertainment but a history and a criticism 
 of contemporary morals, he is incomparably 
 the greatest writer France has produced since 
 Moliere." 
 
 A somewhat extravagant statement, perhaps 
 who, indeed, looks for restraint and nice- 
 ness in a Shavian preface? but still one 
 with a certain unmistakable flavor of truth 
 in it. All the acknowledged giants of the 
 French drama since Moliere have been giants 
 of dramaturgy rather than giants of truth. 
 Working in series from Beaumarchais to Sardou, 
 with Scribe as the master of them all, they 
 have brought the form of the stage play very 
 close to perfection, but they have not added 
 much that is of consequence to its' content. 
 Even the younger Dumas, for all his famous 
 revolt against the snarled conventions of
 
 Brieux 
 
 classicism and romanticism, did no more than 
 set up a new convention in place of the old 
 ones. The drama of ideas that he preached 
 quickly became, in the hands of Augier, Coppee 
 and Feuillet, a drama of one idea only. Its 
 sole problem was that of the woman taken in 
 adultery. In some of these variations upon 
 "La Dame aux Camelias," the successors to 
 Marguerite Gautier were defended and in 
 some they were excoriated, in some they were 
 married and in some they were not, but the 
 struggle depicted in every one was that between 
 such a woman and the moral forces of society. 
 The result was an inelastic and monotonous 
 type of play, with the so-called drama of the 
 triangle as its highest development. After a 
 while, indeed, the word "eternal" came to 
 be inserted before "triangle," as if this single 
 situation were immutable and inevitable, and 
 the only proper concern of a serious dramatist. 
 Between the early 60's and the early 90's, 
 France produced scarcely half a dozen first- 
 rate plays in which adultery was not the 
 leading motive. Even Brieux, as we shall 
 see, was forced to yield something to the pre- 
 vailing fashion when he began. 
 
 There were plenty of Frenchmen, of course, 
 who saw that this tedious sounding of one note 
 
 ii
 
 Brieux 
 
 was not realism in any true sense, despite 
 its obvious superiority to the childish roman- 
 ticism that had gone before it. One of them 
 was fimile Zola, and throughout the 70's he 
 maintained a vigorous war for what he called 
 naturalism on the stage that is, for an 
 accurate and unsentimental representation of 
 human life as it really was, with the stress 
 laid unequally upon no one of its elements. 
 But Zola, though a novelist of the first genius, 
 had very little skill at playmaking, and the 
 failure of his experiments worked serious 
 damage to his theory. By one of the curious 
 coincidences of literary history, the collapse 
 of his propaganda came at the very moment 
 another and far greater dramatist was con- 
 verted to it. The convert was Henrik Ibsen, 
 the Norwegian, whose first social drama, "A 
 Doll's House," was given to the world in the 
 last days of 1879. Ibsen was not long in 
 conquering Germany and his native Scan- 
 dinavia, but in France, as in England and the 
 United States, he made so little impression 
 that he remained almost unknown for ten 
 years. By the time "A Doll's House" got to 
 Paris, indeed, a blow for the new naturalism 
 had been already struck by one of Zola's 
 countrymen. This rebel was Eugene Brieux. 
 
 iii
 
 Brieux 
 
 His "Blanchette" was done at the Theatre 
 Libre on February 2, 1892. It was not until 
 more than two years later to be exact, 
 on April 20, 1894, that "A Doll's House" 
 was presented at the Vaudeville by Mme. 
 Rejane. 
 
 Just how much Brieux owes to Zola and to 
 Ibsen it is not easy to determine with cer- 
 tainty, for his personal reticence is such that 
 he has told us very little about his intellectual 
 history, and the only forerunner he has openly 
 praised is Augier. But it must be plain that 
 he felt the influence of both men during his 
 formative period, if only indirectly, for in the 
 earliest of his serious plays one finds both the 
 laborious accuracy of the one and the pene- 
 trating iconoclasm of the other. "Blanchette," 
 in truth, might pass muster as an experi- 
 mental work by either of them. The picture of 
 the Rousset home in the first and second acts 
 is thoroughly Zolaesque in its piling up of small 
 details, and the attack upon popular education 
 is made by the elaborate reductio ad absurdum 
 which Ibsen employed so often and so devas- 
 tatingly. And in the plays following, we find 
 Brieux making a more and more effective use 
 of the same methods and materials. Bit by bit 
 he moves away from the orthodox content and 
 
 iv
 
 Brieux 
 
 structure of the French drama of his time. On 
 the one hand, he rejects all the old conventions 
 of form, and on the other hand he works a 
 revolution in dramatic purpose. In both direc- 
 tions, he has gone further than any of his 
 countrymen, and in the case of the former, in- 
 deed, further than any other living dramatist, 
 save perhaps Shaw and Gorky. Some of his later 
 plays, in a current phrase, are veritable "slices of 
 life," without either formal beginning or formal 
 ending. He does not bring his curtain down 
 upon an affecting reconciliation, nor even upon 
 a thrilling tragedy; he merely brings it down. 
 But all the while, of course, he remains too 
 much the Frenchman ever to lose his dra- 
 matic sense entirely, and so even his most horta- 
 tory plays for example, "Maternite" and 
 "Le Berceau" are occasionally enlivened by 
 scenes which a Sardou or a Bernstein might 
 envy. In the midst of his rebellion against 
 empty artificiality he has managed to learn some- 
 thing from his opponents, and his later works, 
 particularly "La Foi," "Les Hannetons" and 
 the second version of "Maternite," reveal a 
 very marked improvement in craftsmanship. 
 You will get some measure of this progress 
 in technical skill by putting the second of the 
 plays in the present volume beside the first,
 
 Brieux 
 
 and remembering that four years separate 
 them. "Blanchette," for all its approval by 
 critics and public, is still full of amateurish 
 blemishes, but in "The Escape" the author 
 keeps a firm grip upon his material. 
 
 These plays have been chosen as representa- 
 tive of Brieux's theatre because each marks 
 a high point in his progress. It was the pro- 
 duction of "Blanchette" by Andre Antoine, in 
 1892, that brought Brieux his first success and 
 lifted him to a definite position among con- 
 temporary French playwrights: until "Les 
 A varies" overshadowed it, indeed, he was 
 chiefly known to the boulevards as Vauteur de 
 "Blanchette.'" And it was "The Escape" 
 ("L' Evasion") that opened the doors of the 
 Theatre Franchise to him, and won the honor 
 of being crowned by the Academy, and paved 
 the way for his election to the Forty fourteen 
 years later. Both reveal very fairly his peculiar 
 talents and his characteristic weaknesses. In 
 each he depicts a small group of persons with 
 Meissonier-like painstaking and realism, and 
 in each he launches his javeline against a sham. 
 But in each he is so deadly in earnest that he 
 hurts his case by over-statement. After all, 
 is there any reason to believe that Blanchette 
 Rousset would not have obtained her teacher's 
 
 vi
 
 Brieux 
 
 post in six months more? And is it fair to 
 charge against the school system the fact that 
 she is pursued by men wherever she goes to 
 merchant her learning and actually driven, 
 in the original version of the play, to prostitu- 
 tion? Likewise, in "The Escape," isn't it 
 true that Brieux's attack upon medical fads 
 is hindered rather than helped by the fact that 
 he makes his Dr. Bertry less a faddist than a 
 downright charlatan? So in many of the later 
 plays, the mark is overshot, the untypical is 
 mistaken for the typical, the argument finds 
 its answer in its unsound premises. I need 
 cite only "Suzette," "Menages d' Artistes," 
 "La Berceau" and "Les A varies." In each 
 of them Brieux states a case which, in part at 
 least, misrepresents the thing he attacks. 
 
 An even more serious charge against him 
 is that of Philistinism: the standpoint from 
 which he argues is not so much that of the 
 constructive revolutionist as that of the im- 
 movable bourgeoisie. It is not to be wondered 
 at, perhaps, that a man of his humble origin 
 and narrow youthful associations should see 
 life from that angle, but in more than one of 
 his plays he reveals a complete lack of under- 
 standing of his butts as well as a complete 
 lack of sympathy with them. This is notice- 
 vii
 
 Brieux 
 
 able in the very first of his serious plays, 
 "Manages d' Artists," in which his onslaught- 
 Upon the so-called symbolist movement in 
 French poetry is quite as notable for its mis- 
 conceptions as for its ferocity. It is noticeable 
 again in "The Escape," where his attack 
 upon the theory of inherited traits seems to 
 be unaccompanied by any suspicion that there 
 is, after all, a lot of support for it in demon- 
 strable facts. And in some of his later 
 dramas his argument against a given idea is 
 no more than an argument for a platitude 
 standing opposed to it. In no less than three 
 plays, for example, he preaches the pious 
 doctrine that a child constitutes an unbreakable 
 bond between husband and wife, and that it is 
 their prime duty to sacrifice all personal in- 
 clination to its welfare a doctrine assaulted 
 with murderous fury by August Strindberg. 
 Here, indeed, Brieux takes his definite departure 
 from Ibsen, and from all the acknowledged 
 followers of Ibsen. His propaganda is not for 
 the abandonment of an outworn morality, but 
 for its resuscitation and reaffirmation. He has 
 no Nietzschean doubts about the impeccability 
 of the family, the value of the simple and 
 lowly virtues, the moral order of the world. 
 Even when he is most furiously assailing exist- 
 viii
 
 Brieux 
 
 ing institutions, it is always evident that his 
 wrath is directed, not at their ancient essentials, 
 but at their modern embellishments. The brief 
 that he holds is for respectability, for "sound" 
 views, for "right-thinking" men in M. de 
 Segur's stealthily ironic phrase, for "decent 
 folk." He is not the sophisticated and cynical 
 Frenchman of the boulevards and Anglo- 
 Saxon tradition, but the stolid and God-fearing 
 man of the people der Bauer im Frack. 
 
 But perhaps the best way to get to an under- 
 standing of the growth and nature of Brieux's 
 ideas is to examine his plays seriatim leaving 
 out of consideration, for the sake of brevity, 
 the two that are given here and the three 
 printed under the imprimatur of George 
 Bernard Shaw. They reveal, with two excep- 
 tions, a serious moral purpose, and after 
 "Blanchette," a rapidly increasing mastery 
 over the materials of the theatre. Whatever 
 one may say about them, there is certainly 
 no lack of artistic courage in them. Brieux 
 discusses the most grave and, inferentially, 
 the most dull of human problems with un- 
 failing address and plausibility, and even when 
 he himself seems to be puzzled by them, as 
 in "Maternite," for example, he is yet ex- 
 tremely interesting. Not many French in- 
 
 ix
 
 Brieux 
 
 stitutions, whether social or political, have 
 escaped his sardonic inspection. In "Les Bien- 
 faiteurs" he is on the trail of fashionable charity; 
 in "Resultat des Courses" he is preaching 
 thunderously against betting; in "L'Engrenage" 
 he is exposing both the wiles of politicians and 
 the credulity of their dupes; in "Les Rem- 
 plagantes" he is picturing the horrors of wet- 
 nursing; in "Les Hannetons" he is directing 
 a fire of satire at the foes of marriage; in "La 
 Franchise" he is defending his countrywomen 
 i.e., his bourgeois countrywomen against the 
 libellous misrepresentations of the boulevard 
 dramatists; in "La Robe Rouge" he is bringing 
 a terrible incitement against the French judicial 
 system. But whether his method be that of 
 the satirist, as in "Les Hannetons" and "Les 
 Bienfaiteurs," or that of the grim and unpity- 
 ing social vivisectionist, as in "Resultat des 
 Courses" and "Les A varies," he always con- 
 trives to be on the respectable side of the 
 question, and he always keeps the fact in 
 mind that a stage play, to hold an audience, 
 must have action in it that the doctrine it 
 lays down must be presented in terms of a 
 conflict. Brieux is a million miles from Scribe 
 and the well-made play, despite his acknowl- 
 edgments to Augier, but he never tries to
 
 Brieux 
 
 make the drama static instead of dynamic, 
 as Shaw does in "Married." 
 
 The first of Brieux's plays to reach the stage 
 was "Bernard Palissy," a one-acter in verse, 
 written in collaboration with Gaston Salandri 
 in 1879, when the author was barely twenty- 
 one. The central character, of course, is 
 that Bernard Palissy (1509-1589) who in- 
 vented the art of enamelling pottery, and 
 the scene is his house at Saintes. He has 
 been reduced to great poverty by his costly 
 experiments, and his wife Genevieve is demand- 
 ing that he abandon them and go back to his 
 profitable glass-painting. Etienne Gautier, the 
 fiance of his daughter, Jeanne, adds pressure 
 to this connubial persuasion, but Jeanne her- 
 self stands by him. Jeanne, indeed, is willing 
 to sacrifice her love to her father's dream, but 
 a kind fate makes this unnecessary. A terrific 
 explosion is heard in the workshop. Palissy 
 rushes off in despair, but a moment later 
 returns in triumph. The secret of the enamel 
 has been found! "Bernard Palissy" had its 
 first and only performance at the Theatre 
 Cluny on December 21, 1879. It has never 
 been translated into English. 
 
 "Le Bureau des Divorces," which followed, 
 was also written in collaboration with Salandri. 
 
 xi
 
 Brieux 
 
 It was published in 1880, but has never reached 
 the stage. P. V. Thomas, in his monograph 
 on Brieux, dismisses it as a cheap farce, "thin, 
 stale and not amusing," but points out that 
 its attack upon the French divorce law shows 
 the early bent of Brieux's mind. It was 
 followed by an unproductive interval of nearly 
 ten years, broken at last by "Menages 
 d'Artistes" in 1890. Probably preceding the 
 latter in date of composition, but reaching the 
 stage four days later, came "La Fille de 
 Durame," a melodrama of revolutionary days, 
 with the usual outfit of brigands, spies and 
 gendarmes. It was written for a Rouen audi- 
 ence and had its first performance at the 
 Thedtre Francais in that city on March 25, 
 1890. It bears no sort of relation to the rest 
 of Brieux's work. 
 
 "Menages d'Artistes" (1890) is important 
 as the play which brought Brieux to the at- 
 tention of Andre Antoine and gave him his 
 first serious hearing in Paris. It is a bitter, 
 and not always convincing satire upon the art 
 pour I'art movement of the 80's, with the 
 symbolist poets as its targets. Jacques Ter- 
 vaux, a ridiculous member of that brotherhood, 
 is married to a simple girl who believes in 
 his loud claims to genius. Even when he 
 xii
 
 Brieux 
 
 launches into an undisguised affair with Emma 
 Verner, a wealthy dilettante, poor Mme. Ter- 
 vaux is unsuspecting. Not so, however, her 
 shrewd old mother, who sees through this 
 coalescence of soul mates at once, and presently 
 turns Emma out of the house. Jacques fol- 
 lows, and the two set up a pretentious literary 
 journal. But it suspends publication after a 
 few numbers and Emma goes off with another 
 man. Bankrupt in art and pocketbook, Jacques 
 then commits suicide a tragic ending for a 
 somewhat rough farce. The piece has its 
 moments, but in general its satire is hope- 
 lessly ignorant and Philistine. What it offers, 
 indeed, is not an incisive criticism qf the 
 symbolists, but merely an ill-natured lampoon 
 upon them. 
 
 Two years later came "Blanchette" (Theatre 
 Libre, February 2, 1892), and seven months 
 afterward "M. de Reboval," or, as it was 
 first called, "M. le Senateur" (Odeon, Septem- 
 ber 15) . It is in this piece that we first find 
 Brieux voicing his eloquent argument for the 
 homely virtues, the respectable point of view. 
 Its intrigue is very simple and not at all 
 original. M. de Reboval, a rich and powerful 
 Senator, maintains two establishments and has 
 two children, the one legitimate and the other 
 
 xiii
 
 Brieux 
 
 by a mistress. All goes well enough so long 
 as the children are young, but when they 
 grow up they meet and fall in love, and 
 Reboval has to tell them the truth. They 
 turn upon him and favor him with virtuous 
 denunciations in Brieux's best manner, and 
 at the end he acknowledges the viciousness 
 of his life and begs for pardon. Mr. Thomas 
 professes to regard the play as an attack on 
 the bourgeois, but in reality its moral is one 
 that all honest bourgeois must approve. It 
 pleads for lawful monogamy in a serious tone 
 quite as plainly as "Les Hannetons" pleads 
 for it in tones of raillery. 
 
 "La Couvee" (1893) shows Brieux's first 
 interest in a theme which was later to engage 
 him in "Les Trois Filles de M. Dupont" 
 and other plays: to wit, the evil worked by 
 parents who seek to determine the whole 
 future of their children. It is, however, in a 
 lighter vein than its successors, and is given 
 distinction by a very amusing clash between 
 the mothers of the young folk. This scene 
 was afterward turned into a one-acter under 
 the title of "L'Ecole des Belles-Meres," an 
 English version of which was printed in the 
 Smart Set during the summer of 1913. "La 
 Couvee," which is in three acts, was first 
 xiv
 
 Brieux 
 
 played by an amateur dramatic club at Rouen 
 in 1893. Ten years later, on July 9, 1903, 
 it was presented in Paris, again under private 
 auspices. "L'Ecole des Belles-Meres" was 
 done at the Gymnase on March 25, 1898. 
 
 "L'Engrenage," which followed "La Couvee" 
 in 1894, is a three-act comedy of politics, and 
 its two aims seem to be to expose the bribery 
 which flourishes in France quite as balefully 
 as in America, and to satirize the fickleness 
 of a politician's following. Remoussin, an 
 honest provincial, is forced into standing for 
 the Chamber of Deputies by his ambitious 
 wife and daughter, and is elected after an 
 exciting campaign. Before long he is beset 
 by lobbyists for a tunnel scheme, and one of 
 them, a rascal named Morin, succeeds in 
 inveigling him into taking 25,000 francs, 
 not as a personal bribe, but as "a contribu- 
 tion to the charities of his district." The 
 transaction becomes public and Remoussin 
 throws himself upon the mercy of his constit- 
 uents, pleading his lack of private profit and 
 his good intent. What is more, he pays over 
 the 25,000 francs to the Attorney- General. 
 But the voters of the district denounce him 
 as a thief, the while they give cheers for the 
 less honest and more crafty Morin. The play 
 
 xv
 
 Brieux 
 
 had its first performance at the Theatre de la 
 Comedie Parisienne on May 16, 1894, but 
 was moved to the Theatre des Nouveautes 
 on June 4 following. 
 
 "Les Bienfaiteurs," which came after it, is 
 a satire upon organized charity, showing on 
 the one hand the pitiful insincerity of those 
 who manage it, and on the other hand the 
 lack of gratitude in those who benefit by it. 
 The play is in fpur acts and had its first 
 performance at the Theatre de la Porte St. 
 Martin on October 22, 1896. It was followed 
 on December 7 of the same year by 
 "L'Evasion" ("The Escape"), which saw the 
 light at the Theatre Franchise, and has re- 
 mained in the repertoire of that house ever 
 since. On October 8, 1897, came "Les Trois 
 Filles de M. Dupont" (Gymnase), a return, 
 in serious mood, to the theme of "La Couvee." 
 The play is printed in Shaw's volume of Brieux 
 translations. Its successor was "Resultat des 
 Courses" the cry of Paris newsboys with 
 racing extras, which was done at the Antoine 
 on December 9, 1898. Here we see how Arsene 
 Chantaud,, an honest workingman, is ruined 
 by a chance success at the races. Once he has 
 fingered unearned money, the gambling fever 
 has him in its clutches, and he proceeds from 
 xvi
 
 Brieux 
 
 idleness to actual theft. In the end he is 
 arrested for vagrancy. Brieux entered a Paris 
 factory to get atmosphere and color for this 
 piece, but the workmen quickly penetrated 
 his disguise. It is in his most earnest manner. 
 "Le Berceau," which had its first perform- 
 ance at the Theatre Frangaise on December 
 19, 1898, ten days after "Resultat des Courses," 
 is the first of three plays dealing with a new 
 "eternal triangle" the husband, the wife and 
 the child. Raymond Chantrel and his wife 
 have been divorced, and Mme. Chantrel has 
 been married again and is now Mme. de 
 Girieu. The child of the first union, a boy 
 called Julien, has been awarded to the mother 
 by the court. One day he falls desperately 
 ill at the home of her parents, and his mother 
 and father are brought together at his bedside. 
 They pass days and nights of anxiety there, and 
 gradually their old love awakens. But they 
 determine to stand firmly against it in justice 
 to Girieu and then the dramatist solves a 
 knotty problem by catastrophe. That is to 
 say, he has Chantrel and Girieu meet in physical 
 combat and go over a precipice together. A 
 splendid scene of the theatre, but scarcely a 
 logical resolution of the situation. The signifi- 
 cance of the play, lies in its attack upon 
 xvii
 
 Brieux 
 
 divorce. Its theme appears again, though 
 with variations, in "La Deserteuse" and 
 "Suzette." 
 
 After "Le Berceau" came "La Robe Rouge" 
 (Theatre du Vaudeville, March 15, 1900; 
 Theatre Frangaise, September 23, 1909), per- 
 haps the most effective dramatically of all 
 Brieux's plays. It is a devastating attack 
 upon the administration of justice in the 
 French courts, and no doubt had its inspiration 
 in the Dreyfus case. Mouzon, a provincial 
 magistrate, smarting under newspaper criticism 
 for his failure to apprehend the perpetrator 
 of a murder and eager to attract the favorable 
 notice of his superiors, fixes upon an ignorant 
 peasant named Etchepare as the culprit, and 
 then proceeds, by shameless bullying, to manu- 
 facture enough evidence to convict. Among 
 other things, he extorts from Etchepare's 
 wife the story of a disgraceful episode before 
 her marriage an episode hitherto unknown 
 to Etchepare himself. After a long trial, the 
 man is finally acquitted, but his home is 
 destroyed and he departs for America. Then 
 Yanetta, the wife, driven to distraction, seizes 
 a paper-knife on Mouzon's desk and plunges 
 it into his heart. The role of Mouzon af- 
 forded great opportunities to the actor, Hugue- 
 xviii
 
 Brieux 
 
 net, and his performance helped the piece 
 to success. Brieux withdrew it from the 
 repertoire of the Theatre Frangaise when 
 Huguenet left the company, in July, 1911. 
 The play was done in London as "The Arm of 
 the Law" by Arthur Bourchier. 
 
 "La Robe Rouge" was followed by "Les 
 Remplagantes " (Antoine, February 15, 1901), 
 an attempt to maintain the somewhat obvious 
 thesis that the custom of putting babies out 
 to nurse is injurious to the child itself and 
 demoralizing to both the mother and the wet- 
 nurse. Lazarette Planchot, a peasant woman, 
 goes up to Paris to nurse the baby of Mme. 
 Denisart, a wealthy society woman, leaving 
 her own offspring to the tender mercies of her 
 drunken husband and her avaricious father- 
 in-law. One day a telegram comes from her 
 home, telling her that her baby is very ill, 
 but Mme. Denisart is expecting guests and so 
 conveniently forgets to hand it to her. Next 
 day, however, she learns its contents and at 
 once departs for her home. There she finds 
 that her husband is throwing away her earn- 
 ings in a wine-shop and carrying on an affair 
 with another woman. She puts this other 
 woman to flight, brings her husband home, 
 
 xix
 
 Brieux 
 
 and throws herself into a battle for her baby's 
 life. The infant Denisart is forgotten. 
 
 "Les A varies" is next in the Brieux canon. 
 It was written in 1901 and put into rehearsal 
 at the Theatre Antoine in the autumn of that 
 year, but the censor forbade its performance, 
 and it did not actually reach the stage in 
 Paris until February 23, 1905. But mean- 
 while Brieux had read it to several private 
 audiences and it had been played at Liege 
 and Brussels, and, if I do not err, in Switzer- 
 land also. John Pollock's English translation 
 was published by Shaw in 1910, and on March 
 14, 1913, it was given a private matinee per- 
 formance at the Fulton Theatre in New York, 
 under the auspices of the Medical Review 
 of Reviews. There was some disposition on 
 the part of professional Puritans to object to 
 public performances, but a number of clerical 
 uplifters came gallantly to the rescue, and the 
 play was soon afterward openly presented. 
 At the conclusion of the New York run, the 
 company proceeded to a tour, and before the 
 end of the year "Damaged Goods" had been 
 set before the theatre-goers of two dozen 
 cities. Its presentation was the signal for an 
 avalanche of so-called "sex" plays, but the 
 majority of them were so plainly meretricious 
 
 xx
 
 Brieux 
 
 that the police finally interfered, and several 
 of the worst were either disinfected or wholly 
 prohibited. 
 
 A year after "Les A varies" Brieux wrote 
 "La Petite Amie" (Theatre Frangaise, May 
 3, 1902), a return to the theme of "Les Trois 
 Filles de M. Dupont," this time with a tragic 
 ending. M. Logerais, proprietor of a large 
 dressmaking establishment, is bent upon marry- 
 ing his son Andre to a rich girl, but Andre 
 has fallen in love with Marguerite, one of his 
 father's shop-girls. In an American play the 
 easy solution would be an elopement, but by 
 the French marriage law Andre cannot marry 
 without his father's consent until he is twenty- 
 five. It is too long for the lovers to wait, 
 and so they dispense with the knot. When 
 Marguerite finds that she is about to become 
 a mother they throw themselves into the 
 Seine. After "La Petite Amie" came "Mater- 
 nite," and as the Shaw translation shows, 
 Brieux wrote two endings for it, the second 
 being much superior to the first. Its successor 
 was "La Deserteuse" (Odeon, October 15, 
 1904) , in which Brieux had the aid of Jean 
 Sigaux. Here we have another consideration 
 of the effect of divorce upon the children. 
 Forjot, the father, remarries after his wife 
 xxi
 
 Brieux 
 
 runs off with a musician, and his daughter 
 Pascaline is brought up in ignorance of her 
 mother's sinning. Years later the latter returns 
 to the scene and tries to win Pascaline's love. 
 For jot then tells the- whole story, and the 
 broken-hearted Pascaline turns her back on 
 her mother. 
 
 There followed "L' Armature" (Vaudeville, 
 April 19, 1905), an unimportant dramatiza- 
 tion of a novel by Paul Hervieu, a fellow 
 dramatist. After it came "Les Hannetons" 
 ( Rennaissance, February 3, 1906), which has 
 been done into English and presented in the 
 United States by Laurence Irving, first as 
 "The Incubus" (Hackett Theatre, New York, 
 April 27, 1909) and later as "The Affinity" 
 (Comedy Theatre, January 4, 1910). It deals 
 amusingly with the adventures of Pierre Cotrel, 
 an "advanced" thinker, who shows distrust 
 of the tyrannies and responsibilities of marriage 
 by setting up unofficial housekeeping with one 
 Charlotte, a simple-minded working-girl. But, 
 alas for poor Pierre, he quickly finds that a 
 "free" union is quite as lacking in actual 
 freedom as a marriage with bell and book. 
 Charlotte henpecks him, is unfaithful to him, 
 and finally runs away from him. He then 
 determines to depart from the scene of their 
 xxii
 
 Brieux 
 
 experiment himself, and gets together his small 
 savings 200 francs for the purpose. But 
 just as he is about to go, Charlotte is carried 
 up the stairs. She has tried to commit suicide 
 by jumping into the Seine, and Pierre, as in 
 duty bound, pays the 200 francs to her rescuer! 
 A grimly ironical little comedy, well voicing 
 Brieux's Philistine distrust of the revolution- 
 aries who propose to make over the funda- 
 mental institutions of Christian society. 
 
 "La Franchise," which followed (Odeon, 
 April 18, 1907) , is a defense of French woman- 
 hood against foreign, and particularly American 
 misunderstanding. The principal personages are 
 Mme. Gontier, the young wife of an elderly French 
 manufacturer, and one Bartlett, an American 
 friend and business associate of her nephew. 
 Bartlett's notion of Frenchwomen has been 
 gained from popular plays and novels, and so, 
 when Mme. Gontier shows him politeness, he 
 mistakes it for an invitation and attempts 
 to kiss her. She quickly hauls him up, and 
 he is later enlightened as to the true morals 
 of French wives, and all ends happily. Brieux's 
 secondary target in the play, of course, is the 
 conventional drama of the boulevards, with 
 its monotonous variations upon the theme 
 of adultery. A bit of the dialogue between 
 xxiii
 
 Brieux 
 
 Bartlett and Mme. Gontier will serve to show 
 the nature of his protest: 
 
 BARTLETT. For ten years I have been reading your French 
 novels; pictures, as I understood them, of French morals. Not 
 one was there in which a woman did not deceive her husband. 
 I arrive at Trouville, and everything there is most easy-going 
 and irresponsible. At Paris I go to the theatre, four nights 
 running to four different theatres, and yet I am hardly able to 
 believe that I am not seeing the same play. I am not entirely 
 correct the last one I saw was different from the others 
 the heroine did not have a lover she had three. And the 
 women that I have met in Paris 
 
 MME. GONTIER. You must not judge Frenchwomen by our 
 novels nor our plays, nor yet by the Parisian ladies who have 
 been so hospitable to you. And it is necessary that you should 
 learn that, in spite of all that you have read, in spite or all that 
 you have seen, you know nothing of either the literature or the 
 women of this country. . . . Thank God that despite vilification 
 there are honest women in France. They are those you do not 
 see, the great majority, who live wrapped up in their husbands 
 and their children and their homes in those homes where 
 you foreigners never penetrate. They are the women that 
 you do not see on the boulevards, nor meet in promenades at 
 concerts, nor in those centres of debauchery where you, the 
 foreigners, are the best clients. 
 
 Of the remaining plays, "Simone" (Theatre 
 Franchise, April 13, 1908) deals with a hus- 
 band's murder of his unfaithful wife, and with 
 the effect of the crime upon their daughter; 
 "Suzette" (Vaudeville, September 28, 1909) 
 is a return to the theme of "Le Berceau" 
 and "La Deserteuse"; "La Foi" (His 
 Majesty's, London, September 14, 1909) is 
 an argument for the necessity of faith; and 
 "La Femme Seule" (Gynmase, December, 
 xxiv
 
 Brieux 
 
 1912) is a tract against the "emancipated" 
 woman, with passages reminiscent of "Blanch- 
 ette." The husband in "Simone" is Edouard 
 de Sergeac. Just before the play opens he 
 surprises his wife in the arms of his best 
 friend. Mad with rage, he shoots her and 
 then turns the weapon against himself. The 
 lover commits suicide. But the husband re- 
 covers from his wound. His future existence 
 is consecrated to his daughter Simone, who is 
 six years old when the tragedy happens, and 
 who is led to believe that her mother has 
 been the victim of an accident in the hunting 
 field. Simone grows up happy by the side 
 of her father, who adores her, and for her 
 sake keeps her in ignorance of the character 
 of her mother. In this he succeeds until the 
 day comes when a young neighbor, Michel 
 Mignier, asks her hand in marriage. Then 
 the truth is out. Mignier pere institutes 
 inquiries, learns of the suspicious weighing on 
 De Sergeac and breaks off the marriage. It is 
 a love match, and Simone is inconsolable. She 
 in turn questions her father, and in a poignant 
 scene he confesses that fifteen years before he 
 had been guilty of a serious wrong, but he 
 refuses to give her any details. Through the 
 
 xxv
 
 Brieux 
 
 incautiousness of an old servant, however, she 
 learns the facts. 
 
 In the original version of the play Simone's 
 discovery that her father's hands are stained 
 by the blood of her mother sends her from him 
 in loathing. She trembles in his presence, 
 shrinks from him and refuses to forgive him, 
 and the curtain falls on her departure. The 
 first-night audience at the Theatre Franchise 
 found this ending unsatisfactory, and Brieux 
 willingly changed it, as he had changed those 
 of "Blanchette" and "Maternite" before it, 
 making Simone forgive her father and marry 
 Michel, whose love overcomes the elder Mig- 
 nier's objections. 
 
 In "Suzette" we see how Henri Chamfort, 
 a decent young fellow, is led into suspicions 
 of his somewhat gay wife by the evil sugges- 
 tions of his parents, who dislike her. Finally 
 he drives her out of the house and she takes 
 their child, Suzette, with her. Henri is eager 
 for a divorce, but Regine, conscious of her 
 innocence, refuses to agree to it, and even 
 threatens to denounce Henri for a secret fraud 
 if he persists. But in the end she is forced 
 to acquiesce in order to save little Suzette, 
 who is the helpless victim of the whole lament- 
 able quarrel. In "La Femme Seule" we see 
 xxvi
 
 Brieux 
 
 a woman's struggles to maintain herself in the 
 face of masculine competition. Therese, the 
 woman, is an orphan without a dot and so 
 she cannot hope for marriage. She goes into 
 the world as a journalist, but ill fortune 
 pursues her, and later she also fails as a book- 
 binder. In the end she succumbs to a lover. 
 The play aroused much discussion in Paris, and 
 Brieux himself told the Matin that he planned 
 it as a protest against the disinclination of 
 Frenchmen to marry dowerless wives a dis- 
 inclination that is filling the country with old 
 maids, and disorganizing all those industries 
 in which women can compete with men. 
 
 "La Foi," which Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree 
 presented upon a grand scale in London, with 
 music by Camille Saint-Saens, is the only one 
 of Brieux's later plays which does not deal 
 with the men and women of today, and even 
 here the theme has its modern hearings, 
 despite the early Egyptian setting of the story. 
 The central character is Satni, a young Egyp- 
 tian priest who has travelled in far countries, 
 and brought back skepticism. He sees his 
 people bowing down to false gods; worse still, 
 he sees the girl of his heart, Yaouma, going as 
 a willing sacrifice to the terrible river god. 
 Against all this degrading superstition he lifts 
 xxvii
 
 Brieux 
 
 his voice, and because he has eloquence, the 
 people listen to him. The false gods are over- 
 turned; Yaouma is saved. But Egypt without 
 a religion is now in worse case than Egypt 
 with a false religion. The restraints of the 
 priests thrown off, the people proceed to 
 childish lawlessness, and Satni himself is forced 
 to make some effort to turn them back. In 
 the end, of course, the old gods triumph. The 
 human soul demands a rock and a refuge: 
 an unreasoning faith is necessary to man. * * * 
 
 Brieux was born in the old Temple quarter 
 of Paris on January 19, 1858, and is the son 
 of a carpenter. He began his schooling under 
 the Freres de la Doctrine Cretienne, but was 
 soon removed to the Ecole Primaire, or public 
 primary school, and from there proceeded to 
 the Ecole Primaire Superieure. This was as 
 far as he ever got, for his parents died when 
 he was fifteen and he had to shift for himself. 
 He obtained a small clerkship and determined 
 to continue his studies on his own account, 
 but the difficulties of Greek grammar cooled 
 his enthusiasm for learning, and he was soon 
 devoting most of his leisure to miscellaneous 
 reading. He was seventeen before he entered 
 a theatre for the first time, but meanwhile 
 xxviii
 
 Brieux 
 
 he had read most of the great plays in the 
 French repertoire and had also made himself 
 acquainted with a good many foreign works, 
 including Goethe's "Faust." This last stirred 
 him to the depths, and he himself has told 
 us that he "got drunk upon it." Not much 
 money reached his till in those days and he 
 could not afford to pay for lights for reading, 
 so he would seek the bright places along the 
 boulevards, a 25-centime book in hand, and 
 there read by the free gaslight of the 
 municipality. 
 
 A reserved and studious lad, he took little 
 part in boyish games during his schooldays 
 and had few friends as a youth. His dearest 
 ambition, toward the end of his teens, was 
 to become a missionary to the heathen, but 
 the Marquis de Segur tells us that this aim 
 began to lose its attractions as he came to 
 realize that there were "as many heathen in 
 Paris as in the distant wilds." In place of it 
 there arose an irresistible desire to write, or, 
 more accurately, to teach, and its first fruits 
 were several one-act plays, chiefly in verse. 
 The Paris managers showed little interest in 
 these productions, but after a time he was 
 then a month short of his majority he got 
 a production at the Thedtre Cluny, on the 
 xxix
 
 Brieux 
 
 south bank of the Seine, for "Bernard Palissy." 
 It had a single performance at one of the 
 Cluny's matinees des jeunes and was thereafter 
 heard of no more. A year later it was pub- 
 lished in a thin pamphlet. The same year 
 he and Gaston Salandri wrote "Le Bureau des 
 Divorces." 
 
 By this time Brieux had determined upon a 
 literary career, and like many another young 
 author before him, he turned to journalism 
 as a preliminary means of livelihood. His be- 
 ginnings were made at Dieppe, where he spent 
 several years as reporter and editor. Then 
 he was called to Rouen to take the editorial 
 chair on La Nouvelliste, and there he attained 
 to a very respectable position as a journalist. 
 What is more important, this service gave 
 him that firm grip upon vital problems which 
 has been his distinguishing mark ever since. 
 On the one hand, he was kept aloof from the 
 kaleidoscopic literary fads of the Paris boule- 
 vards, and on the other hand he was compelled, 
 by the exigencies of his calling, to give con- 
 stant and serious attention to the malaises 
 of civilization. He became the typical journal- 
 ist a bit of a politician, a bit of a lawyer; 
 even a bit of a priest. He learned something 
 about everything under the sun; he began to 
 
 XXX
 
 Brieux 
 
 work out theories of amelioration and reform; 
 his earlier missionarying impulse began to take 
 on coherence and direction. The result was a 
 return to play-writing but now he had 
 something to say. The first manager to find 
 it out was Andre Antoine, who had established 
 the famous Theatre Libre in 1888. Antoine 
 accepted the provincial editor's "Menages 
 d'Artistes" early in 1890, and it was presented 
 at the Theatre Libre. The play failed of a 
 popular success, but it convinced Antoine of 
 the author's talents, and thereafter he was 
 an invaluable ally and adviser. Since then, 
 either at the Libre, or at the Antoine and the 
 Odeon, he has produced six of Brieux's plays 
 -"Blanchette," "Resultat des Courses," "Les 
 Remplagantes," "Les A varies," " Maternite " 
 and "La Frangaise." 
 
 La Nouvelliste suspended publication early 
 in 1892, and Brieux came up to Paris. A few 
 months before this "Blanchette" had been 
 presented at the Theatre Libre, with Antoine 
 himself as Pere Rousset, and its success had 
 been so great that the author, now thirty-four 
 years old, found himself a celebrity in the 
 capital. He was still unwilling, however, to 
 trust his whole fortunes to play-writing, and 
 so he sought and obtained a post on the 
 xxxi
 
 Brieux 
 
 Figaro and continued at journalism for half 
 a dozen years longer. But after the acceptance 
 of "L'Evasion" by the Comedie Frangaise 
 toward the end of 1896, the managers of Paris 
 began to show a great eagerness for his manu- 
 scripts, and since 1898 he has devoted his 
 whole time to dramatic composition. "L'Eva- 
 sion," "Les Trois Filles de M. Dupont," "La 
 Robe Rouge" and "Les A varies" served to 
 fortify his position: both the critics and the 
 public began to give him very respectful 
 attention. In 1910, he received the honor that 
 is the goal of all Frenchmen of letters: election 
 to the Academic Franchise. By the irony of 
 fate, the vacant seat among the forty immortals 
 was that of Ludovic Halevy (librettist of 
 "La Belle Helene" and "La Grande-Duchesse 
 de Gerolstein"!), and there were two formidable 
 rival candidates, Alfred Capus and Georges de 
 Porto-Riche. But Brieux was chosen, and on 
 May 12 he was formally received by his new 
 brethren. 
 
 The Marquis de Segur, in his address to the 
 candidate on that occasion, reviewed the pro- 
 found impression that the early work of Brieux 
 had produced, and attempted to define his 
 relation to the other French dramatists of the 
 day. "Accustomed to the methods of the 
 xxxii
 
 Brieux 
 
 usual playwrights," said M. de Segur, "the 
 manager of the Theatre Libre was filled with 
 astonishment when he read your play. For 
 this maiden effort of yours had a startling 
 freshness and showed a daring that verged 
 upon extravagance. Would you believe it? 
 the author actually championed sound morals 
 as against folly, and the family as against 
 chaos. He went the length of depicting a 
 prosperous home that was not befouled by all 
 conceivable vices. He asserted that virtues 
 could exist, even outside the purlieus of want 
 and starvation. Alongside these audacities the 
 play was not lacking in dramatic power. It 
 comprised several delightful scenes. The spec- 
 tators, though amazed at first, decided to over- 
 look its scandalous decency." 
 
 And then M. de Segur proceeded to a de- 
 scription of the Brieux type of play the 
 drama of ideas as opposed to the drama of 
 mere intrigue. "The hour had arrived," he 
 said, "when a long-indulgent public was be- 
 ginning to weary of the poisonous bill of fare 
 upon which it had for several years been ex- 
 clusively nourished. Certain far-seeing indi- 
 viduals were asking themselves whether the 
 world was entirely made up of scamps and 
 crooks and bad women, and whether there 
 xxxiii
 
 Brieux 
 
 might not exist here and there a few of those 
 average people who lay no claim to perfection, 
 but who are not altogether deserving of scorn 
 and hatred the people, in other words, who 
 are commonly spoken of as 'decent folks.' 
 You arrived just in time to justify this dis- 
 covery, and you saw at a glance what path 
 you ought to follow. You conceived the idea 
 of the 'useful play,' whose object is not 
 merely to make people think, but to make 
 them live more nobly. You limited your 
 horizon the better to embrace it; you specialized 
 your work, so as to make it the more effectual." 
 "The useful play," said M. de Segur that 
 was Brieux's aim and achievement. Some 
 called him "the Tolstoi of the Faubourg du 
 Temple." He drew his themes from current 
 events, from the burning questions of the 
 hour, and he treated them with the firm con- 
 science of the artist and the profound under- 
 standing of the philosopher. He was awake to 
 the perils which menaced France, and with 
 France, the whole of civilization. He had 
 "sounded the tocsin" in fact, made a pro- 
 fession of sounding it. He had gone about 
 with "the sincerest fervor, the most robust 
 sanity of mind," and yet with "a tranquil 
 
 xxxiv
 
 Brieux 
 
 good nature that added a charming note to 
 the clangor of alarm bells." 
 
 Brieux himself, in the Revue Bleue, once 
 stated his artistic creed clearly. "I know 
 very well," he said, "what the public likes 
 to see on the stage. Its choice is the spectacle 
 of a human will which evolves and asserts 
 itself. It demands (though without knowing 
 very clearly what it demands) that the dramatic 
 author should be a Professor of Energy. But 
 it seems to me that the dramatic author should 
 be an intermediary between the public and 
 those great thoughts of great thinkers which 
 are ordinarily inaccessible to the masses. He 
 ought to offer to the public, in an interesting 
 shape, beautiful and generous ideas. Yes, that 
 is the role appointed for us: to seduce the 
 public by placing the ideas of the philosophers 
 within its reach. 
 
 "The theatre will be obliged, more and more 
 as time goes on, to devote itself to the study 
 of the great topics of the day. There is nothing 
 more to be made of the comedy of character 
 Moliere has seen to that. The comedy of 
 manners? There is plenty of that in the 
 dramas of the day, but it does not animate 
 them with the breath of life. Let us therefore 
 put a thought into each of our works; and let 
 
 XXXV
 
 Brieux 
 
 us take it from the life around us, and from 
 the sufferings of our fellow-creatures. As Goethe 
 said: 'Fill your heart and mind with the ideas 
 and emotions of your period the work will 
 then write itself.'" 
 
 H. L. Mencken. 
 
 XXXVI
 
 BLANCHETTE 
 
 A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS
 
 CAST OF CHARACTERS 
 
 ROUSSET A PEASANT 
 
 MME. ROUSSET His WIFE 
 
 BLANCHETTE THEIR DAUGHTER 
 
 GALOUX A WEALTHY LANDOWNER 
 
 LUCIE HlS DAUGHTER, AND FRIEND OF BLANCHETTE 
 
 GEORGE His SON 
 
 MME. JULES COOK AT THE GALOUX'S 
 
 MORILLON A PEASANT 
 
 AUGUSTE HlS SON 
 
 BONENFANT A ROADMENDER 
 
 AN EXPRESSMAN. 
 A POSTMAN. 
 
 THE ACTION TAKES PLACE IN THE COUNTRY. 
 TlME THE PRESENT.
 
 BLANCHETTE 
 ACT I. 
 
 The interior of a small village tavern. 
 
 To the left, a slightly elevated counter, on 
 which are bottles and empty glasses. In the 
 foreground, a round table. On the wall, a shelf 
 filled with bottles. A door leading into the house. 
 
 To the right, in the foreground, a glass door 
 with white curtains leading to the street. 
 
 In the center, a little to the right, a round 
 table covered with oilcloth. 
 
 On the back wall hangs a framed teacher's 
 degree; distributed about are chromo lithographs 
 of the four seasons in the form of young, blonde 
 and dark-haired girls; an official notice of the 
 law on public drunkenness, etc. There are 
 also pictures of Carnot and General Boulanger. 
 
 In the background there are two windows 
 looking out on to the road. The curtains are 
 kept back by pots of geraniums. 
 
 September. 
 
 Mme. Rousset is fifty years old. She wears 
 a waist and skirt of gray repp, and a blue apron. 
 Rousset is sixty years old. He has smooth 
 gray hair and a florid complexion. He has on 
 gray cloth trousers and a brown vest, with a 
 white shirt. He wears a silver watch chain.
 
 2 Brieux 
 
 Mme. Jules is a cook in a good family. She 
 wears a black dress and a white apron. 
 
 When the curtain rises Rousset is at the door, 
 smoking his pipe. Mme. Rousset is putting 
 some vegetables into Mme. Jules' basket. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. There's no one at your 
 house for dinner? 
 
 MME. JULES. No. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You've all you need then? 
 You know I'm not in the habit of you are 
 the only one we sell vegetables to. 
 
 MME. JULES. That's all, mere Rousset. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Puts three glasses on the 
 counter and fills them with brandy. Then she 
 calls] Come in, pere Rousset, come in and 
 have a drink. 
 
 ROUSSET. I'm coming. [He enters] To your 
 health! [They all drink] 
 
 MME. JULES. To yours! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I'll have to enter some 
 things. [She opens a drawer and takes out an 
 account book in which she does some entering 
 during the following conversation] 
 
 ROUSSET. Always happy, Madame Jules? 
 
 MME. JULES. Always! I've been down there 
 in the house for twenty-five years now, and my 
 husband has been with me twenty of them; 
 and we are very comfortable.
 
 Blanchette 3 
 
 ROUSSET. It's really so. How time flies! 
 
 MME. JULES. Oh, heavens, yes! I knew you 
 as a young girl, Elisabeth. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. That's true. We were 
 friends before that good-for-nothing over there 
 wheedled me into marrying him. 
 
 MME. JULES. Why, of course. I was even 
 your maid of honor. I practically saw your 
 daughter born, and I am sure that I love her as 
 much as you do. How time does fly! And how 
 many times I've come here to buy provisions 
 for Monsieur Galoux! 
 
 ROUSSET. Why here he comes himself. 
 
 MME. JULES. My master? 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes. 
 
 MME. JULES. I'm going. [She drains her 
 glass] Au revoir, Elisabeth. Au revoir, pere 
 Rousset. 
 
 ROUSSET AND MME. ROUSSET. Au revoir, 
 Madame Jules. [She leaves] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Is Monsieur Galoux going 
 back to the house? 
 
 ROUSSET. Probably. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Call him! 
 
 ROUSSET. Why? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. One can always put in a 
 good word for our daughter. That can't do any 
 harm. 
 
 ROUSSET. He'll not listen to us.
 
 4 Brieux 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Yes he will. 
 
 ROUSSET. You think so? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Oh, heavens! In three 
 months he's going up for deputy 
 
 ROUSSET. You're right. Be quiet, here he 
 comes. [Raising his voice] How do you do, 
 Monsieur Galoux? Your cook just left here. 
 
 [Monsieur Galoux is a man of fifty-five. He 
 wears a jacket and a soft hat. His hair is turn- 
 ing gray. Enters from the right.] 
 
 GALOUX. [Shaking hands with Rousset] Yes, 
 I saw her. Well, everything going well with 
 you, pere Rousset? 
 
 ROUSSET. Things are going pretty slowly. 
 But come in, Monsieur Galoux, come in. 
 
 GALOUX. Thank you. [To Mme. Rousset] 
 How do you do, Madame Rousset? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. How do you do> Monsieur 
 Galoux? [Rousset has closed the door] 
 
 ROUSSET. Will you sit down? [He draws his 
 footstool out from under the round table] It's a 
 wonderful morning. 
 
 GALOUX. Yes it is. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. What can I offer you? 
 
 GALOUX. Oh, thank you! I never take 
 anything before luncheon. How is business? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Well, you know the shop 
 doesn't bring in much. There are days when 
 we don't have a single customer. I can tell
 
 Blanchette 5 
 
 you it's lucky that pere Rousset is tilling our 
 land. 
 
 ROUSSET. And one has troubles besides. A 
 piece of land that we bought when business was 
 good we had our tobacco shop then was 
 taken away from us and given to the owner of 
 the other tavern because a former minister 
 came to live in a house in Paris where his 
 cousin was the concierge. I tell you, things 
 can hardly go on like this much longer. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But that is not the real 
 reason why time hangs heavy upon us. 
 
 GALOUX. Well, what is the reason? Tell 
 me. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. It's on account of Blanch- 
 ette on account of Elise that is, our daugh- 
 ter. When she was small she was always very 
 pale, so we called her Blanchette, and that 
 name has clung to her ever since. It is on 
 her account that 
 
 ROUSSET. Why, yes. Look here, Monsieur 
 Galoux, people are always talking about the 
 government you who are going to be deputy 
 ought to know that. 
 
 GALOUX. Oh, but you are going very fast. 
 
 ROUSSET. Very fast! Let me tell you 
 when pere Rousset says something it's as if a 
 lawyer had passed on it. I'm not a fool! I 
 never went to school, that's true. And even if
 
 6 Brieux 
 
 I can hardly read or write there are some people 
 whom I could show a thing or two. Well! can 
 you tell me what good there is in that piece of 
 paper that the government gave to our daugh- 
 ter? [He goes to rear of stage, gets on a bench 
 and takes down the framed teacher's degree from 
 the wall] There are enough seals and signa- 
 tures on it. Look, you who have good eyes, 
 read it! I'll go and get my glasses. [He goes 
 to the counter on which his glasses are lying, and 
 puts them on.] 
 
 GALOUX. What's this? Ah, it's Blanch- 
 ette's teacher's degree. 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes. It just came back from the 
 picture framer's this morning. They can well 
 put it under glass, for it cost us enough. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Only the good Lord knows 
 how much it did cost. 
 
 ROUSSET. It's all right too. [Reading] 
 "French Republic A degree for elementary 
 teaching. Teachers First class degree Ac- 
 cording to the law According to the ministe- 
 rial decree According to the verbal process 
 According to the certificate Deliver to Made- 
 moiselle Elise Marguerite Rousset this degree." 
 
 GALOUX. I understand. 
 
 ROUSSET. Very good! It's six months now 
 since they declared her qualified to be a teacher 
 and now why don't they take her?
 
 Blanchette 7 
 
 GALOUX. Because there are others ahead of 
 her. 
 
 ROUSSET. What do I care about the others? 
 Are there any who are brighter than my 
 Blanchette? Your daughter, Mademoiselle Lucie, 
 can tell you about her, as they went to the 
 same school. 
 
 GALOUX. My daughter does speak of Made- 
 moiselle Elise, who is her best friend, every day; 
 you know we take a great interest in your 
 daughter. I promise to put in a word to the 
 prefect. 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes the prefect had better 
 hurry, because, you know, these delays, these 
 from a political standpoint they do not make 
 a good impression in the canton. I am telling 
 you about it. People will say that the work- 
 ingmen are not properly protected. 
 
 GALOUX. I promise you that I'll look after 
 this. 
 
 ROUSSET. That will be very good of you. 
 You know young people must work. You 
 didn't make your fortune by twirling your 
 thumbs, but in selling good leather. And I 
 don't want to have any one lazy in my family. 
 
 GALOUX. You are perfectly right. Tell 
 Mademoiselle Elise to have patience. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But the poor thing is so 
 bored.
 
 8 Brieux 
 
 GALOTJX. Lucie will come and see her very 
 soon. 
 
 ROUSSET. That's right. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But won't you really take 
 anything? Not even a small glass of brandy! 
 
 GALOUX. No thank you. I am going now. 
 
 ROUSSET. Well can we count on you, Mon- 
 sieur Galoux? 
 
 GALOUX. Yes, but have patience. 
 
 ROUSSET. Patience! Patience! That's easy 
 to say! With all of that, it's always the work- 
 ingman who is the fool in the play. The State 
 is deceiving us. 
 
 GALOUX. But how is that? 
 
 ROUSSET. Why when it offered to give my 
 daughter an education by inventing easy terms, 
 concours; by distributing scholarships and mak- 
 ing promises! And it should keep its word. 
 Formerly I listened to the mayor; and then I 
 listened to you, who are in politics. You per- 
 suaded me to let my Blanchette go to school 
 by making me expect a heap of things, saying 
 that she would make money after she received 
 her degree. Now she has it, and now that 
 ought to let her earn her living and find her a 
 position. And remember this, I am not asking 
 a favor: no, it is owed to me. There is the 
 paper! [Pointing to the degree] It has fallen 
 due: it must be paid!
 
 JBlanchette 9 
 
 GALOUX. But your daughter must wait her 
 turn. The others would complain and say that 
 it was an injustice. 
 
 ROUSSET. What do I care about other 
 people! I want what is owed to me! Other 
 people's affairs don't bother me. Let them 
 protest. Let them settle their own business! 
 
 GALOUX. I again repeat that I will see the 
 prefect tomorrow. Good-bye. [He leaves] 
 
 ROUSSET. [Coming down the stage] How silly 
 of him! We wouldn't need him if it were only 
 a question of getting our rights. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. That's true enough! 
 
 ROUSSET. Is Blanchette up yet? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Oh, yes! I heard her walk- 
 ing about in her room a long while ago. [To 
 herself as she goes out] I'll have to wake her 
 anyway, the little chit she'd sleep until noon. 
 
 ROUSSET. I'll hang this up again. [He 
 hangs the degree back in its place. Morillon 
 and his son Auguste enter. They have just re- 
 turned from the fields. They remove their hats as 
 they enter. They sit down at a table and are 
 silent for quite a while] 
 
 ROUSSET. Coffee? 
 
 MORILLON. Coffee. 
 
 ROUSSET. [Takes some cups and saucers from 
 the counter. Calls] Wife, bring some coffee. 
 
 MORILLON. [To Rousset, who is putting the
 
 10 Brieux 
 
 cups on the table] Aren't you going to have 
 any? 
 
 ROUSSET. All right, I'll take some, too. [He 
 brings a cup for himself and sits down] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Pouring the coffee] Fine 
 day! 
 
 MOBILLON. Yes, it's great weather for work- 
 ing. [Mme. Rousset leaves] 
 
 ROUSSET. Look here! Is it today that we 
 are going to come to an understanding about 
 that piece of land? 
 
 MORILLON. Do you always have it on your 
 mind? 
 
 ROUSSET. Well, I surround it on three sides, 
 and it bothers me. If it were mine, I could 
 plough in a straight line from here right to the 
 church. That would be fine! I've been try- 
 ing to buy that land from you now for ten 
 years. 
 
 MORILLON. We're in no hurry. 
 
 ROUSSET. If you want to, I'll trade it for 
 my land along the river's edge, which is almost 
 as large I said "almost." And what differ- 
 ence can it make to you who are a wheel- 
 wright! You only work on your land now and 
 then with your lad there in the mornings or 
 on Sundays. And the bit of land I'm talking 
 about is nearer to your shop.
 
 Blanchette 11 
 
 MOBILLON. You'd like it very much then! 
 Hein? 
 
 ROUSSET. Not at all! I'm doing it in the 
 interest of every one. Hey, wife, give us a 
 drop to drink! 
 
 [Auguste goes back to look at the degree] 
 
 AUGUSTE. Father! 
 
 MORILLON. What? 
 
 AUGUSTE. The degree. 
 
 MORILLON. [Softly to his son] It's true then? 
 
 AUGUSTE. It's true. Tell him, father, that 
 I want to marry her. 
 
 MORILLON. In a minute. [To Rousset] So 
 Blanchette is going to be a teacher like 
 Mademoiselle Dumesnil? 
 
 ROUSSET. Why it says so there all 
 signed by the government. You can read, 
 can't you, Auguste? 
 
 MORILLON. What a foolish question! He 
 went to school until he was twelve, and he was a 
 year in the army. And you know very well 
 that he came back a corporal. 
 
 ROUSSET. Let him read it then. 
 
 MORILLON. I guess she has to be pretty 
 smart. 
 
 ROUSSET. Oh, yes! I don't know what she 
 doesn't know. Her teacher said that she had 
 nothing more to learn. Why the day before 
 yesterday there was an instructor here who
 
 12 Brieux 
 
 wanted to talk politics to her. And, believe 
 me, she shut him up pretty quick. 
 
 MORILLON. Who? The instructor? 
 
 ROUSSET. Why not? Do you suppose that 
 just because she's pere Rousset's daughter she 
 can't be bright? Mademoiselle Galoux is only 
 the eighth in the district. And you know how 
 Blanchette ranks, don't you? 
 
 MORILLON. No. 
 
 ROUSSET. Well, she is third. 
 
 MORILLON. Third! Is she earning any 
 money now? 
 
 ROUSSET. No. But she will when she has 
 her position. 
 
 MORILLON. Yes, but when will that be? 
 
 ROUSSET. When! When! Tomorrow if we 
 wanted her to. The prefect just told Monsieur 
 Galoux to ask us whether we had decided to let 
 her go now. But I want her to rest a bit. I 
 tell you, you find mighty few like her. 
 
 MORILLON. You are right, pere Rousset. 
 
 ROUSSET. [Going to the table] Will you have 
 a drink? 
 
 MORILLON. I'll not say no. [He drinks] 
 Well, I'll be back soon and then I'll have 
 something to tell you. 
 
 ROUSSET. About that bit of land? 
 
 MORILLON. Yes and something else, per- 
 haps.
 
 Blanchette 13 
 
 ROUSSET. That's right. We'll try to come 
 to an understanding. See you later. 
 
 [They leave. Rons set carries the cups and 
 saucers into the next room without closing the 
 door. Calling to Mme. Rousset] 
 
 ROUSSET. And Blanchette? Isn't she up 
 yet? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. She's in her room, drawing. 
 
 ROUSSET. [Calling] Oh, Blanchette, Blanch- 
 ette! Have you finished with your old codger? 
 [To Mme. Rousset, after listening] What does 
 she say? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Still outside] She says that 
 she is coming down that her drawing is fin- 
 ished. 
 
 ROUSSET. Tell her to bring it with her. I'll 
 get my glasses. [He gets his glasses from the 
 counter and puts them on. He returns to the 
 door at the left] All right! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Comes in with her drawings} 
 Here you are, father! 
 
 ROUSSET. Come over here! 
 
 [Blanchette is twenty-one years old. She has 
 auburn hair, and is neither pretty nor homely. 
 She is dressed very simply, but there is a certain 
 affectation visible.] 
 
 ROUSSET. Come, let's see! [He goes to the 
 window and looks at the drawing] This one is 
 the model, isn't it?
 
 14 Brieux 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Not at all. That one is the 
 model. 
 
 ROUSSET. By Jove, one can't tell them 
 apart at all. Here. [He puts them on the 
 table] Wait a moment. [Calling] Hey, there! 
 wife! [To Blanchette] Don't tell her anything. 
 We'll ask her which one the model is. Come 
 here, mother. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Outside] But I'm washing 
 the glasses. 
 
 ROUSSET. That doesn't make any difference. 
 Come just the same. I'll bet that she won't 
 know which one the model is. [Mme. Rousset 
 comes in. Her cuffs are turned up, and she is 
 wiping her hands on her apron.} 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. What do you want? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Mother saw me doing it, so 
 she'll know. 
 
 ROUSSET. By heavens, that's true! [Looking 
 out of the window into the street} Who is that 
 going over there? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. That is Bonenfant, the road- 
 mender. 
 
 ROUSSET. Hey, Bonenfant. Come here. 
 [He goes to the door} 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Father! Father! Please don't, 
 it's not worth while. 
 
 ROUSSET. Leave me alone I tell you he'll 
 not be able to tell them apart.
 
 Blanche tte 15 
 
 BLANCHETTE. He doesn't know anything 
 about it. 
 
 ROUSSET. Doesn't have to. [He opens the 
 door] Ah, Bonenfant! Come here! 
 
 BONENFANT. What do you want? 
 
 ROUSSET. [To Blanchette and Mme. Rousset] 
 Sh! Don't say anything. 
 
 BONENFANT. [Enters, his hat in hand] At 
 your service. 
 
 ROUSSET. Come over here. Look at these 
 two pictures. Which do you like best? 
 
 BONENFANT. Who is it? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Romulus. 
 
 BONENFANT. Don't know him. 
 
 ROUSSET. [Bursts out laughing] Ha, ha, ha! 
 He doesn't know who Romulus is. He's dead, 
 isn't he? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes, father. 
 
 ROUSSET. Tell him something about Rom- 
 ulus 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oh, what's the use! 
 
 ROUSSET. Just to show that you're not a 
 stupid girl, and that I did not waste my money 
 in sending you to school until you were twenty 
 years old. Tell him who Romulus was. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [In a natural voice] "Romulus 
 is considered the founder of Rome. In the year 
 776 before Christ, Numitor, king or dictator 
 of Alba Longa, was dethroned by his brother
 
 16 Brieux 
 
 Amulius. His sister, Rhea Sylvia, who was a 
 vestal virgin, consecrated to the divine cult, 
 became the mother of twins, Romulus and Re- 
 mus. " 
 
 ROUSSET. [Who has been watching his daugh- 
 ter with pride] You didn't know that? Nor 
 I either. She's not as stupid as us, you know. 
 
 The other day there was an instructor here 
 who wanted to talk politics, and she stopped 
 him up as quick as a flash. 
 
 BONENFANT. I tell you, the children of to- 
 day! 
 
 ROUSSET. Now that you know the old codger, 
 tell me which one you like best. Sh! Don't 
 you others say anything. 
 
 BONENFANT. I like the one as well as the 
 other. 
 
 ROUSSET. But which one is the model? 
 
 BONENFANT. That one. 
 
 ROUSSET. [At the very height of joy] That's 
 Blanchette's drawing! Ha, ha, ha! [He gives 
 him a hearty slap on the shoulder] Ha, ha, my 
 old friend, if you want to learn more before 
 you die you'll have to hurry up and go to 
 school. 
 
 BONENFANT. [Also laughing] Of course! 
 You remember, don't you, Blanchette, when I 
 used to wheel you around in my wheelbarrow? 
 
 I never thought at that time
 
 Blanchette 17 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [A trifle embarrassed] Cer- 
 tainly, monsieur. 
 
 BONENFANT. Ah! So it's "monsieur"! You 
 never used to call me "monsieur" when you 
 rode on my shoulders, or when you climbed 
 trees to find nests like a regular boy. You 
 weren't afraid of showing your leg at that 
 time. [He, Rousset, and Mme. Rousset burst 
 out laughing. Blanchette only smiles] Now she's 
 like a princess though. You remember in 
 Guimbard's field when their man chased you 
 after you had stolen some apples? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Smiling] He had his dog, 
 Pataud, with him. 
 
 BONENFANT. You remember Pataud? He's 
 dead. Well, I'm going, for if you're going to 
 begin speaking about Pataud I'll be here until 
 tomorrow morning. Good-bye to all of you. 
 
 [He leaves] 
 
 ROUSSET. Good-bye, pere Bonenfant. And 
 he never knew which one was the model. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. We'll have to have it 
 framed. 
 
 ROUSSET. That's right. We'll put it along- 
 side of the degree. Oh, by the way, I saw 
 Monsieur Galoux this morning. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Anxiously] Isn't Lucie com- 
 ing today? 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes. Don't cry now. [With-
 
 18 Brieux 
 
 out ill will] Hein, your Lucie! You can't do 
 without her, can you? It's too bad you two 
 can't get married. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You're a fine pair of friends, 
 you two! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Sincerely, but simply] Yes, I 
 am very fond of her. 
 
 ROUSSET. Her father said that he'd speak 
 to the prefect about your position. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Playing mechanically with her 
 drawing] Ah ! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Don't throw your drawing 
 away. You'll be very glad to have that when 
 you're married; then you can hang it up in 
 your room. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. When I get married I'll 
 have different sorts of pictures in my drawing- 
 room. 
 
 ROUSSET. In your drawing-room? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes, I want a drawing-room 
 like Monsieur Galoux has. And then I want a 
 Louis XV bedroom. 
 
 ROUSSET. Confound it! Listen to those 
 dreams ! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oh, I have many others. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. What are they? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. There are so many. Then I'm 
 going to live in Paris. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Why?
 
 Blanchette 19 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I don't like peasants I 
 mean to say I don't like the country. So 
 I'm going to live in Paris in the winter, and 
 then I shall travel. 
 
 ROUSSET. She's otff! She's off! But that 
 doesn't go with poor people. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oh, I know that. But I shall 
 be rich. 
 
 ROUSSET. How's that? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. My husband will be. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. And you think that he is 
 coming here to find you, you a daughter of 
 inn-keepers and peasants? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Why not? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You're putting ideas into 
 your head now that are bound to make you 
 unhappy later. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. But why not! Madame Du- 
 barry was a street merchant, and Rachel sang 
 in courtyards 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I don't know anything 
 about them, but 
 
 ROUSSET. Let the child build her air castles 
 if it gives her pleasure. I'd rather have her 
 think of that than of unhappiness. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Didn't Monsieur Galoux tell 
 you what time Lucie was coming? 
 
 ROUSSET. No. [Blanchette goes to the door 
 and looks down the street]
 
 20 Brieux 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Softly to her husband] 
 Didn't you notice something? 
 
 ROUSSET. No. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Something that made me 
 feel badly? 
 
 ROUSSET. No. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. When she said what she 
 was going to do when she was once married. 
 
 ROUSSET. Well? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. She fdrgot us. She said 
 nothing about us. One would think that from that 
 moment on she was going to ignore us. Rous- 
 set I'm afraid that our daughter is too smart 
 for us. 
 
 ROUSSET. [Laughing] Come, come now, 
 mother. You wouldn't want to go into the 
 drawing-rooms with the fine ladies. Why 
 mother, how would we look. We're only 
 peasants. Would you like to make curtsies 
 on a waxed floor, and wear forty-franc hats and 
 silk dresses! Such things aren't for the like of 
 us, you know. They're all right for Blanchette 
 who knows how to talk and behave. All that 
 we can ask of the good Lord is to be healthy, 
 and to have enough work until the end of our 
 days. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Coming back and talking to 
 herself] She's not in sight yet, and she can't 
 be late.
 
 ROUSSET. [Laughing] Do you know what 
 your good old mother was saying? She was 
 saying that she wanted to sit in your gilded 
 chairs and play the lady. How the gentlemen 
 would make fun of you! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I didn't say that. All I 
 said was that you did not say a word about us 
 in your plans. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I I yes but why of 
 course you would have a nice house in the 
 country. 
 
 ROUSSET. There you see, mother. And 
 we'd spend the whole day in twirling our 
 thumbs. Nothing we'd do nothing at all. 
 And I'll want a servant to bring me my hand- 
 kerchief. [He laughs] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. That's right. But you had 
 better go and change your clothes. Here you 
 are at this late hour and not even shaved. 
 
 ROUSSET. Bah! I'm good enough to stay 
 here. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Lucie and perhaps Monsieur 
 George are coming. 
 
 ROUSSET. Well he knows what peasants are. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. That makes no difference. 
 
 ROUSSET. You think so? Very well, I'm 
 off. I'm going to make myself as handsome 
 as a minister. [He goes out left]
 
 22 Brieux 
 
 BLANCHETTE. What time do you think 
 Lucie is coming? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I don't know. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Going to the door] Not yet. 
 But yes! There she is in the distance. 
 With Monsieur George. [Returning] I'll have 
 to hide this. [She rolls up her drawing as well 
 as the model] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But no, leave it here so that 
 Monsieur George will see it. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No, no. [Turning down her 
 mother's cuffs] Turn down your cuffs. Your 
 apron. Take off your apron. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But they know very well 
 that we are nothing but simple folks. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. That makes no difference. 
 [Giving her mother her drawing] Here! Take 
 these with you. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Going out left] I'll be right 
 back. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. So! [She takes a small powder 
 box from her pocket; on the inside of the lid there 
 is a mirror. She powders her face slowly and 
 also fixes her hair. To herself] Oh, my good, 
 sweet Lucie! How I love you! And George 
 George. It's nice to be able to say his 
 name without adding, Monsieur. [She goes to 
 rear of stage] Here they are. [She runs out 
 to meet them, and returns embracing Lucie.
 
 Blanchette 23 
 
 George, twenty-four years old, is in hunting cos- 
 tume, and carries a gun. He enters shortly after- 
 wards.] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Embracing Lucie] How glad 
 I am to see you! 
 
 LUCIE. And I too! How are you? George 
 is going hunting. He brought me here. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. But you'll stay awhile, won't 
 you? 
 
 LUCIE. Yes, George is going to call for me later. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. How fine! 
 
 GEORGE. And don't I get a how do you do? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes, yes! How do you do, 
 Monsieur George? 
 
 GEORGE. How are you, Mademoiselle 
 Blanchette? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I don't want to be called 
 Blanchette. My name is Elise. 
 
 GEORGE. All right, Blanchette 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Again! 
 
 GEORGE. Let me embrace you 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Silly! 
 
 GEORGE. Just to say how do you do. You 
 embraced my sister. [He embraces her when 
 she is not looking] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Ah, Monsieur George! Lucie, 
 make him stop. 
 
 LUCIE. George, if you don't behave I'll tell 
 mamma.
 
 24 Brieux 
 
 GEORGE. [Imitating her] I'll tell mamma. 
 
 LUCIE. Will you stop! 
 
 GEORGE. I'll leave Lucie in your care. I'm 
 going to the beet fields to see if I can scare up 
 a partridge; then I'll come back for her. Good- 
 bye. [He starts to go] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Enters] Monsieur George! 
 [To Blanchette] How can you let him go like 
 that without making him take something! [To 
 George] Monsieur George. What can I offer 
 you? 
 
 GEORGE. Nothing, thank you. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Taking him by the arm] 
 Come now! I'd like to see that. Come, 
 come. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. But, mother. If Monsieur 
 George does not want anything 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. That's all right. You're 
 going to drink something. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Pulls her mother by the apron. 
 Softly] Mother! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Leave me alone! A big 
 fellow like that! He's not afraid of a glass of 
 brandy. 
 
 GEORGE. But I'm really not thirsty, I as- 
 sure you. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Pouring out a glass of 
 brandy] One doesn't have to be thirsty to gulp 
 that down. That'll give you a pair of legs
 
 Blanchette 25 
 
 to stand on. [She takes a piece of sugar 
 in her fingers and puts it in the glass] Now a 
 little lump of sugar 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oh, mother, with your fingers! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Bah! My hands are clean. 
 
 GEORGE. That doesn't make any difference. 
 [He drinks] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You see, he's not as finical 
 as you. 
 
 GEORGE. By Jove, that's strong! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. It feels good going down, 
 hein! Good luck to you! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. One must never wish a hunter 
 good luck. That always brings bad luck. 
 
 GEORGE. No, not any more. Well, I'll see 
 you later. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Good-bye, Monsieur George. 
 [He goes] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Softly to her mother] Why 
 didn't you take off your apron? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Bah! There's no shame in 
 wearing it. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Bitterly] And how often have 
 I told you that it is not right to force people 
 to take something when they don't want to! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Ah, I never thought of it. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. It becomes tiresome. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I'm going. Once I'm gone 
 I won't make any more breaks.
 
 26 Brieux 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Mother, mother, you're not 
 angry at me because I told you that? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Of course not I'm angry 
 with myself. [She goes] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [To Lucie, who has been read- 
 ing a paper] Let me help you off with your 
 things, my dear. Here, I'll take out that 
 pin. [She helps her remove her hat and veil] 
 How I love to wait on you! I wish I could be 
 your maid. 
 
 LUCIE. No, it is I I am very glad to see 
 you again. [Embracing her] I have so many 
 things to tell you! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. And I too! 
 
 LUCIE. Very well, begin! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No, you begin! 
 
 LUCIE. Let's sit down first. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Did you bring your work 
 along? 
 
 LUCIE. Yes. I have a new stitch in crochet- 
 ing. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. How fine! I hope you are 
 going to show it to me. 
 
 LUCIE. Where shall we sit down? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Pointing to the round table] 
 Over there. 
 
 LUCIE. No. Let's sit behind the counter. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oh, my dear!
 
 Blanchette 27 
 
 LUCIE. But it'll be such fun. Just as if we 
 were shop keepers. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. All right. [They sit down] 
 
 LUCIE. It's very comfortable. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Looking at her] Your hair 
 isn't fixed as usual. 
 
 LUCIE. Oh, because I am not wearing it in a 
 knot? It's not the style any longer. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I'll have to change mine too. 
 I like you better the way you have it now. 
 Come now, what have you to tell me? 
 
 LUCIE. I? Nothing. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. But you just said 
 
 LUCIE. Yes, but I have forgotten. And 
 
 you 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I've forgotten too. But no! 
 It becomes terribly tiresome when you are not 
 here. Just like at school. Do you remember? 
 
 LUCIE. Yes. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. You beat me sometimes. 
 
 LUCIE. I did? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Don't excuse yourself: I was 
 satisfied. Do you remember when we met? 
 
 LUCIE. No. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. You were a bit taller and 
 stronger than I was. You came up to me one 
 day without saying a word and threw the 
 candies which my mother had brought me into 
 the brook in the garden. I did not dare say a
 
 28 Brieux 
 
 word. Then you pinched me very hard. I 
 wept, but I was not angry at you. The next 
 day you embraced me and brought me some 
 dainties. I was very happy. And from then 
 on, first you would torture me and then you 
 would caress me. It was delicious! 
 
 LUCIE. You're an angel. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I knew that you were rich. 
 I had seen your father's carriage, and you ap- 
 peared to me to belong to another world, so 
 luxurious, so beautiful and so far away from 
 me. 
 
 LUCIE. Silly! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. But let's not talk of that any 
 longer. Where have you been since the other 
 day, and whom have you seen? 
 
 LUCIE. Oh, my dear, we spent an evening 
 at the Count of Bellerive's. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Really! And you spoke to 
 him? 
 
 LUCIE. Why of course. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. How is he? Tall, blond, 
 sparkling eyes, distinguished? 
 
 LUCIE. Not at all. He's short, fat, bald, 
 and he stutters. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oh, how unfortunate! 
 
 LUCIE. Why unfortunate? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Did you dance? 
 
 LUCIE. The entire evening. My dear, with
 
 Blanchette 29 
 
 barons, viscounts, marquis. The marquis of 
 Hautf ort was there you know. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. The one who is so rich? 
 
 LUCIE. Yes. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. You lucky girl! And did 
 George dance? 
 
 LUCIE. No. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Do you think he loves me? 
 
 LUCIE. I think so. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. How wonderful! Has he ever 
 spoken to you about it? 
 
 LUCIE. No. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. And you have never mentioned 
 it to him? 
 
 LUCIE. Never. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. That's all right then. Do 
 you read the feuilletons in the Independente? 
 
 LUCIE. No. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I read all that come into my 
 hands. In this number of the Independente 
 there are a young man and a young girl who are 
 in love with each other, and who die, my dear, 
 without ever telling each other about it. It is 
 a very pretty story. 
 
 LUCIE. But you are not going to die, my 
 dear, and you are going to marry my brother. 
 I promised it to you and I will keep my word. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. How I love you. Just think,
 
 30 Brieux 
 
 if I become his wife, how happy we will be! 
 We will never be separated! 
 
 LUCIE. You know that George pleaded his 
 first case last Friday, and he won it. His first 
 attempt was very much talked about, and a 
 recorder prophesied a great future for him. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. He will be a deputy. 
 
 LUCIE. Oh, he can have that if he wants to 
 when he comes of age. You understand with 
 papa's position in the canton. And the 
 country is republican. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Hum! Radicalism. But that 
 makes little difference. Once a deputy he will 
 soon make himself known. 
 
 LUCIE. We will have a political salon. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. And a literary one! I can see 
 myself there. My husband is standing at the 
 fireplace, explaining his projects; he is sur- 
 rounded by serious looking men who listen at- 
 tentively to him. Both of us are in ball gowns. 
 
 LUCIE. I in black satin! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. You give advice, you expound 
 your ideas; while I, surrounded by all the best 
 literary talent, serve tea to 
 
 [The roadmender has entered during the latter 
 part of this conversation, but the young girls have 
 not seen him] 
 
 BONENFANT. Well, Blanchette, when you
 
 Blanchette 31 
 
 have finished chattering you can give Bibi a 
 cup of coffee. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [A trifle piqued] If you care to 
 sit down, monsieur, I will call mamma. 
 
 BONENFANT. It sounds so funny for you to 
 call me "monsieur" But I don't want your 
 mother, I want a cup of coffee. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Right away. [She goes to the 
 door at the left] 
 
 BONENFANT. [Looking at Lucie] Why, there's 
 Mademoiselle Galoux. How d'ye do, made- 
 moiselle? 
 
 LUCIE. Good day, my friend. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Coming back] My mother has 
 gone out, monsieur. If you care to stop in 
 again 
 
 BONENFANT. Can't you wait on me? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No. I don't know where the 
 things are. 
 
 BONENFANT. Ah! Well, I'll go to the other 
 place. All the same, it seems too bad that 
 your father sent you to school so long only to 
 have you return so unwilling. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I am sorry. Good day, mon- 
 sieur. 
 
 BONENFANT. Good-bye. You're not very 
 pleasant to people, I must say. [To Lucie] 
 Good day, mademoiselle. Well, I'm off. [He 
 goes]
 
 32 Brieux 
 
 LUCIE. Why didn't you give him his cup of 
 coffee? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I don't know where the things 
 are. Besides I can't stand those peasants. 
 [M me. Jules comes in] 
 
 MME. JULES. How do you do, young ladies? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oh, they've come to call for you ! 
 
 MME. JULES. Your father told me to tell you 
 to come home as Monsieur, Madame, and 
 Mademoiselle Durand have just come, and they 
 are going again on the six o'clock train. 
 
 LUCIE. Ah, Leonie Durand? [To Blanchette] 
 You knew her? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Of course. I was jealous of 
 her because she went to visit you. 
 
 LUCIE. You are a dear little fool. Well, 
 I'm going. My hat, my gloves, my veil. [She 
 goes to the right where everything is] 
 
 MME. JULES. By the way, Blanchette, please 
 tell your mother that she made a mistake this 
 morning: she gave me twelve eggs for a dozen 
 instead of thirteen. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. All right. 
 
 LUCIE. Go ahead, Josephine, I'll follow you. 
 
 MME. JULES. Yes, miss. Keep well, 
 Blanchette. [She goes] 
 
 LUCIE. Blanchette, will you tie my veil? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oh, my poor dear, I left you 
 all alone.
 
 Blanchette 33 
 
 LUCIE. [While Blanchette is busy tying her 
 veil] Tell me. I don't like to have our cook 
 be so intimate with you. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. If you tell her 
 
 LUCIE. It is for you to tell her. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Very well. 
 
 LUCIE. Good-bye. [They embrace] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. You'll come soon again? 
 
 LUCIE. As soon as possible. Good-bye. [She 
 goes] 
 
 [Blanchette stays a moment at the door watch- 
 ing Lucie. Then she comes back, looking sad. 
 She looks about her for a while, as if she were 
 looking at the ivalls for the first time, and sighs.] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oh, dear, how tiresome it is 
 here! [She sits down at the counter] Where is 
 my novel? [She takes it out of the drawer and 
 starts reading. Rousset comes in in a new 
 blouse. He gets his pipe] 
 
 ROUSSET. [Lighting his pipe] Well, here I 
 am. Do I look all right now? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Without looking up from her 
 book] Yes. 
 
 ROUSSET. Was any one here? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No. 
 
 ROUSSET. You saw Mademoiselle Galoux? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [After a silence, and then as if 
 from a dream] Did I see Lucie? Yes. 
 
 ROUSSET. You might stop reading a bit
 
 34 Brieux 
 
 when I speak to you. All you answer is yes 
 and no or you don't answer at all. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. But I answered you. 
 
 ROUSSET. That's no way of answering. One 
 speaks. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. But I've nothing to tell you. 
 
 ROUSSET. Oh, come now! What did Made- 
 moiselle Galoux have to tell you? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Nothing that would be of any 
 interest to you. 
 
 ROUSSET. By the way, you know mother 
 Dufour's horse. Well it died this morning. 
 [Silence] Well, did you hear what I said? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Of course Madame Dufour's 
 horse died. 
 
 ROUSSET. Well?, 
 
 BLANCHETTE. What do you expect me to do? 
 
 ROUSSET. Well, there's one thing I'll tell 
 you, and that is that all those novels are turn- 
 ing your head. And one of these days I'll stop 
 your reading altogether. You believe all that 
 is told in them. From now on I'll only allow 
 you to read good books, like travels. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Aside] Thank you. 
 
 ROUSSET. Let me see what you are reading. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Puts the novel in a drawer] 
 It's something that was loaned to me. There! 
 I'll not read any longer. [She picks up her 
 crocheting, and sits at the center table]
 
 Blanchette 35 
 
 ROUSSET. You had better not. 
 
 [Auguste Morillon and his father enter. They 
 are dressed in their best clothes] 
 
 ROUSSET. Here is pere Morillon and his lad. 
 I tell you, those two are never separated. 
 
 MORILLON. And I tell you that there are 
 very few fathers and sons who understand one 
 another as beautifully as we do. Isn't it so, 
 Auguste? 
 
 AUGUSTE. Yes, papa. 
 
 MORILLON. I haven't a better friend in the 
 world than him, and he hasn't a better friend 
 than me. We work all during the week, and 
 on Sundays we make a little excursion. In the 
 evening, after dinner, we sit at home, our el- 
 bows on the table, opposite to each other. We 
 each smoke our pipes and talk of things of the 
 past, and we also build many air castles. 
 
 ROUSSET. You never find it tiresome? 
 
 MORILLON. No. He is smarter than I am. 
 A little not much. He tells me what he has 
 read in his books; he reads the paper to me, 
 and there you are! 
 
 ROUSSET. Ah, you are lucky. But come 
 now, let's have our game of dominos. [They 
 sit down at right] 
 
 MORILLON. I'm ready. 
 
 ROUSSET. Give us a bit to drink, and also 
 the dominos.
 
 36 Brieux 
 
 [Blanchette starts to rise] 
 
 AUGUSTS. [Who has been watching her] Don't 
 you bother. I've nothing to do; so let me get 
 the things. 
 
 [After getting the things he returns to Blanch- 
 ette and watches her work] 
 
 MORILLON. I've something to say to you, 
 pere Rousset. 
 
 ROUSSET. About the land? 
 
 MORILLON. Yes. 
 
 AUGUSTE. [To Blanchette] You're sad. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I'm terribly bored. 
 
 ROUSSET. Well, what is it? 
 
 MORILLON. There is a way of getting that 
 land and for nothing ! 
 
 ROUSSET. For nothing? 
 
 MORILLON. Aren't you thinking of marrying 
 off Blanchette? 
 
 ROUSSET. Oh! marry off a girl like that! 
 A smart girl like* that! A lass who has her 
 teacher's degree! Mademoiselle Galoux, who is 
 the daughter of a smart man, she couldn't get 
 the degree! 
 
 MORILLLON. You don't mean it! 
 
 ROUSSET. She was [To Blanchette] How 
 do you say it? She tripped up on her oral ex- 
 amination. 
 
 MORILLON. Hein! 
 
 ROUSSET. [Playing] Here's the black one.
 
 Blanchette 37 
 
 MORILLON. Four. 
 
 ROUSSET. Haven't got it. 
 
 MORILLON. The four again. 
 
 ROUSSET. Still haven't got it. 
 
 AUGUSTE. [To Blanchette] Do you remem- 
 ber what friends we used to be? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes. And I used to call you 
 my little husband. 
 
 MORILLON. The three, and then the three 
 again. Domino! 
 
 ROUSSET. You haven't any up your sleeves, 
 have you? 
 
 MORILLON. Take a look. 
 
 ROUSSET. The game is mine. 
 
 AUGUSTE. Aren't you thinking of getting 
 married? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I? No. 
 
 AUGUSTE. Ah! Well, I guess that father and 
 I might as well have remained at home. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Why? 
 
 AUGUSTE. Do you know what my father 
 came to ask of yours? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No. 
 
 AUGUSTE. Well, he came to ask for your 
 hand for me. If he had agreed, what would 
 you have said? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I am very fond of you, but 
 
 MORILLON. I'd like to speak about my land, 
 pere Rousset.
 
 38 Brieux 
 
 ROUSSET. Your land? What land? 
 
 MORILLON. Let's not speak of it any more. 
 Three. 
 
 ROUSSET. Five. No, but what land? 
 
 MORILLON. No, no, I've said nothing. Four. 
 
 ROUSSET. What? 
 
 MORILLON. Two. 
 
 ROUSSET. Is it about that David land that 
 you want to speak? 
 
 MORILLON. I? No. 
 
 ROUSSET. That's a poor bit of land. 
 
 MORILLON. Poor, my land! 
 
 ROUSSET. Oh, it's a good place to find pebbles ! 
 
 MORILLON. Pebbles ! Pebbles ! 
 
 ROUSSET. Well, how much'll you sell me 
 your precious bit for? 
 
 MORILLON. You'd like it, hein? 
 
 ROUSSET. I! Six and, worse luck, six 
 again dominoi 
 
 MORILLON. Aren't there any under the 
 table? 
 
 ROUSSET. No, look! 
 
 MORILLON. I'll never sell my land. 
 
 ROUSSET. Ah! 
 
 MORILLON. I'll give it to Auguste perhaps 
 when he gets married. 
 
 ROUSSET. I see. 
 
 MORILLON. Yes. Yes, to have my land one 
 must have a daughter to marry off.
 
 Blanchette 39 
 
 ROUSSET. I understand. 
 
 MORILLON. Yes. You don't want to marry 
 off Blanchette? 
 
 ROUSSET. Ah! Ah! 
 
 MORILLON. They'd make a nice couple. 
 
 ROUSSET. Who? 
 
 MORILLON. Those two. 
 
 ROUSSET. I'll not say no. 
 
 MORILLON. Well, now. Will you give me 
 Blanchette for my son? 
 
 ROUSSET. Hein? Blanchette for ah, no! 
 Ah, no! At that price she'd still be too good 
 for your bit of land. Ah, here comes the 
 wife. Tell pere Morillon who wants Blanch- 
 ette for his son. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Ah, no! We didn't let our 
 lass go to school until she was twenty only to 
 marry her to one of the likes of us. 
 
 ROUSSET. You hear, pere Morillon, you'll 
 have to come again when you're a millionaire. 
 
 AUGUSTE. Come, father, let's go! 
 
 ROUSSET. What! Why go? There's no rea- 
 son to get angry. We're not any the worse 
 friends for that. 
 
 MORILLON. That's all right! 
 
 ROUSSET. Pere Morillon, that is not possible. 
 You must understand that she's too educated 
 for you. 
 
 MORILLON. All right. Keep your daughter
 
 40 Brieux 
 
 for a marquis. For the ill that I wish you I 
 hope that you'll never repent having made a 
 lady of her. Good-bye everybody. 
 
 ROUSSET. We repent! We'll see, my old 
 friend. 
 
 MORILLON. Yes, we'll see. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 ACT II. 
 
 The scene is the same as in the first act. 
 April. 
 
 Mme. Rousset is sprinkling sand under the 
 tables. Blanchette is at the round table working 
 on the account books. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. And do you know how 
 much that makes in all? Two hundred and 
 seventy-five francs. Not one sou more. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. That's quite a lot. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. A lot! You think that's a 
 lot! Do you know what you are getting for 
 those two hundred and seventy -five francs? 
 Here it is itemized: "To painting on the front 
 of the house these words, 'Cafe de Ceres/ fifty 
 francs." 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Why call it "Cafe de C6rts" 
 when our name is Rousset? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Ceres was the goddess of agri- 
 culture. So you see it's the same as calling 
 it "Cafe de I' Agriculture," only this is much 
 finer. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Will it be to any use? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Correcting her] Will it be of 
 any use? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Yes, will it be of any use? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I have no doubt that it will. 
 41
 
 42 Brieux 
 
 What gives value to an establishment? Its 
 name. You can be sure that that plays a great 
 part. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No; no, no, don't argue! You 
 don't know! I again say that this expenditure is 
 necessary. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. All right, I consent. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Then there is the painting of 
 the interior which will cost eighty-five francs. 
 That is absolutely necessary. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Yes. But we usually get 
 along with five francs worth of whitewash. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I know that very well. But I 
 want allegorical paintings with Greek borders, 
 like in the cities. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I'll be afraid to come in 
 here when it's all so beautiful. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Then a beer pump for thirty 
 francs. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But no one drinks beer here. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. If we carry good beer people 
 will drink it. Then an ice-cream freezer for 
 one hundred and ten francs. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Ice cream! Ice cream! 
 The kind they had at Symphorien's wedding? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But no one has ever asked 
 for that.
 
 Blan'chette 43 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Because we didn't have any. 
 And besides, that will be a good advertisement. 
 When people ask one another: "Which cafe shall 
 we visit this evening?" they will say, "Why, the 
 Cafe de Ceres; it's the nicest; and it is the only 
 one where they serve ice cream." 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But we'll never sell any. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. That makes little difference. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Well, since we'll never have 
 to use this ice-cream freezer we might as well 
 not buy one. That won't stop us from saying 
 that we have one just the same. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. And if Monsieur George Gal- 
 oux and his friends come one day and ask for 
 some, how will we look? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Yes, but 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Come, mamma! Let me make 
 our fortune. The government is making me 
 wait for the position that it owes me. All the 
 better! I am consecrating my instruction and 
 knowledge to transform this tavern into a cafe. 
 I know what I owe to both of you; I know 
 the sacrifices that you have had to make, and 
 I do not want to wait any longer in order to 
 repay you. I am going to make you rich. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Yes. [A pause] Your 
 father would rather see you in a position. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Father! Let him be! When 
 the chemical fertilizer that I have had him put
 
 44 Brieux 
 
 on his land shows its power he'll not want me 
 to leave. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Yes, but up to the present 
 nothing has happened in spite of that fertilizer 
 of yours, which cost more than all our manure. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Nothing has happened! And 
 why? Because we have had no rain. The in- 
 gredients have to be dissolved by rain so that 
 the azote and phosphate can get at the roots. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But it rained last night. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Did it? Are you sure? How 
 fine! It rained! Now you'll see father return 
 all radiant. I tell you that will have made the 
 wheat grow. [She goes to the door] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. What's the matter with you, 
 * the way you're always rushing to the door? 
 Are you waiting for something? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes. Something that I bought 
 in town. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. What is it? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. My gift for father. You know 
 that today is his birthday. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. What are you giving him? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. A lamp. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But we have one already. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. This is a lamp with a column. 
 High as that! That's the way they are making 
 them now-a-days. Lucie and I picked it out. 
 You'll see it.
 
 Blanchette 45 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But it's probably too hand- 
 some for us. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No, it isn't. Mamma, please 
 remember once and for all that we have to 
 elevate ourselves. I have told you, haven't 
 I, that it is Lucie's and my intention for me to 
 marry her brother George? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Don't think of such im- 
 possibilities! Do you for one moment think 
 that Monsieur Galoux will let his son marry a 
 tavern keeper's daughter? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No, not a tavern keeper's 
 daughter; but he'll not object to a merchant's 
 daughter. Of course it is entirely in your hands 
 whether you want to be rich within three years 
 from now. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Within three years! That 
 is madness, my poor girl. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. You'll see. Nothing speaks 
 better than figures. Isn't that true? Well! 
 Listen to me. There is a population of two 
 thousand in our village, isn't there? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Two thousand three hun- 
 dred. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Let's call it two thousand. 
 Statistics show us that each individual con- 
 sumes at least twenty centimes worth of drink 
 a day, either in wine, cider, or something else. 
 And you will admit that with our projected
 
 46 Brieux 
 
 improvements we will have at least one quarter 
 of the people trading here. That makes five 
 hundred. At twenty centimes per person, 
 that makes one hundred francs a day. Count- 
 ing only on twenty per cent net profit that 
 would make twenty francs a day, at the very 
 least, that we could pocket; making seven 
 thousand francs a year, or twenty thousand 
 francs in three years. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You're off again! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Well, there is no contesting 
 my calculations. They are based on authentic 
 figures; on the population, and on individual 
 consumption. They are exact; ab-so-lute-ly 
 exact. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I simply can't believe that 
 we'll be rich so soon. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Why not! The time has 
 passed where it takes twenty years to make a 
 fortune. We are living in the present; we have 
 to keep up with our times. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I do what I can "to keep 
 up with our times," as you say. Even if they 
 do make fun of me when I say the words that 
 you have taught me, or when I wear the hats 
 that you make for me, my poor Blanchette. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. What's that? I have told you 
 so often not to call me Blanchette. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. That's true. The other
 
 Blanchette 47 
 
 day, at the Gaillards', when speaking of their 
 mother, who is always happy, I said that she 
 was an optim 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Optimist. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Yes, optimist. You see, I 
 pronounce it nicely now. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes, well? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. They told me that I did 
 not know what I was talking about; that the 
 word I used meant some one who looked after 
 one's eyes. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oculist! Ah, how ignorant 
 they are! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But you are sure that you 
 are not wrong? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Why, of course! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Yesterday, for mass, I put 
 on my hat. You know the little one that is 
 covered with nothing but flowers and holes. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes. Well? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Every one made fun of me. 
 I'll not wear it again. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. And why! Does one have to 
 pay attention to jealous and stupid women! 
 
 [A man comes in with a package] 
 
 THE MAN. Mademoiselle Elise Rousset. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I am Mademoiselle Rousset. 
 What have you got there? 
 
 THE MAN. Books.
 
 48 Brieux 
 
 BLANCHETTE. But haven't you something 
 else? A lamp? 
 
 THE MAN. A lamp a very tall lamp 
 is that for you? I thought it was for the 
 manor. I left it in the wagon. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. It is for us. 
 
 THE MAN. I'll get it. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Very well. [He leaves] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. What are all these books? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oh, books that I need. [Read- 
 ing the titles] On Intensive Agriculture. On 
 the Use of Agricultural Machinery. The Debt 
 to Agriculture. The Fortune Made by the Use 
 of Chemical Fertilizers. The Product of the 
 Soil. A Treatise on Political Economy. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You're going to read all 
 that? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. And you'll be the one who'll 
 profit by it. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Who has found the bill] 
 But there's some mistake here! It's not 
 possible. This isn't your bill. Thirty-two 
 francs ! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Looking at it] Thirty-two 
 francs yes, that is a lot. You're right. 
 [She puts the bill in her pocket] They made a 
 mistake. I'll speak to them about it when I 
 go by. You are right.
 
 Blanchette 49 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Hide it well so that your 
 father will not see it. He'll be back soon. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. That's true. But he will 
 know what effects the fertilizer has had on his 
 wheat and he will be in good humor. But 
 I'll hide it just the same. What a fine birth- 
 day he'll have: a beautiful gift my plan for 
 his fortune, and his wheat hardier and thicker 
 than any one else's in the district. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Here he is. 
 
 [Rousset enters. He looks very angry. His 
 blouse is drawn up, as he has his hands in his' 
 pockets. His head is bare. He enters without 
 saying a word, goes across the entire room, sits 
 down in a corner, and fills his pipe. A long 
 pause.] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Softly to her daughter] He's 
 not in good humor. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Also softly] It's because he 
 hasn't been out to see his wheat. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Perhaps. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Aloud] It rained last night, 
 father. You didn't go out to see your wheat, 
 did you? 
 
 ROUSSET. To the devil with everything! 
 Don't talk to me! Leave me alone. Yes, I 
 have been to see my wheat. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Well? Didn't the fertilizer 
 work?
 
 50 Brieux 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes, your rubbish worked. All 
 is lost, burned, just as if some one had poured 
 vitriol over it. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. It's not possible. 
 
 ROUSSET. What? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I say that it's not possible. 
 Science is never wrong. 
 
 ROUSSET. And I tell you that all is lost. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. It can't be. 
 
 ROUSSET. This is too much! I have just 
 seen it. All is lost my wheat and your 
 eight hundred kilos of fertilizer. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Nervous] Eight hundred ki- 
 los! I told you to put on eight hundred kilos? 
 
 ROUSSET. Well ! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Wait a moment. [She looks 
 among her papers on the counter] 
 
 ROUSSET. Ah, you can calculate! They 
 teach you fine things at school! At times I 
 wonder if it had not been better to bring you 
 up as your father and mother were brought 
 up. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Who has not been listening] I 
 made a mistake of one zero. You should have 
 only used eighty kilos. Next year you can 
 try it with eighty kilos. 
 
 ROUSSET. Ah, yes! Of course! Your fer- 
 tilizer! I'll cultivate my land as my parents 
 did, and all your fertilizers can go to the devil!
 
 Blanchette 51 
 
 Because all such things are products of the 
 devil, nothing but underhand dealings about 
 which I know nothing. People ate bread before 
 fertilizers were invented, didn't they? I don't 
 want any of your ingredients. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. The old-fashioned way! Al- 
 ways the old-fashioned way! 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes, the old-fashioned way. If 
 I hadn't listened to you I would still have my 
 wheat, and I wouldn't have spent, I don't know 
 how much. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. How funny you are! The 
 fertilizer 
 
 ROUSSET. Now that's enough. I don't want 
 to hear any more about it. Luckily, I only 
 put it on a small corner just to see how it 
 would work. [A pause] You haven't yet re- 
 ceived a letter from the government giving you 
 a position? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No. 
 
 ROUSSET. Well, people are making fun of us. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. But, father; I have already 
 explained to you 
 
 ROUSSET. That's all right. If I were in 
 your place I would be ashamed to keep on being 
 fed for nothing. [He goes to the right and begins 
 to whittle a piece of wood] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. There's nothing to do! I have 
 not slept a week now just because I've been
 
 52 Brieux 
 
 racking my brain to find a way to pay you 
 what I owe. 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes, you "rack," but you are 
 praying to God all the while not to find any- 
 thing. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Timidly] But I have found 
 something. 
 
 ROUSSET. [Still whittling] Ah! So you have 
 found something! Well! Speak. If you have 
 found something, speak. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Without assurance] We have 
 to get trade by making this a real restaurant. 
 Clean the interior. Paint, on the outside, in 
 large letters, Cafe de Ceres. 
 
 ROUSSET. Some more of your fertilizers? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No, father. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. That is the same as if it 
 were Cafe de I' Agriculture. 
 
 ROUSSET. You know that, mother! Ah! 
 And after that? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Buy a beer pump an ice- 
 cream freezer. Of course, we could do without 
 them. 
 
 ROUSSET. And why not marble tables and 
 wicker chairs right away? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. We could make seven thou- 
 sand francs a year. I figured it up. 
 
 ROUSSET. You must have made a mistake
 
 Blanchette 53 
 
 of several zeros, like you did with your ferti- 
 lizer. Is that your plan? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes, father. But if you don't 
 let me explain, you'll never know 
 
 ROUSSET. Explain explain. I'm nothing 
 but a workingman and don't have to make a 
 fortune. All I ask is that the good Lord give 
 me enough work until the end of my days 
 that, and also that you get a position soon. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I assure you that if I showed 
 you my figures 
 
 ROUSSET. Leave me alone. [He has fin- 
 ished whittling his piece of wood] Do you know 
 what I am going to do with this bit of wood? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No. 
 
 ROUSSET. Did they teach you what to do to 
 avert lightning? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes. A lightning-rod com- 
 municating with a well or the ground. The 
 point attracts the lightning, and the iron is the 
 conductor. 
 
 ROUSSET. All wrong. You take a piece of 
 wood from a tree on which a man hanged him- 
 self the year before. This piece comes from the 
 tree where they found Pierre Lariquot. You 
 whittle your wood just one week before Good 
 Friday; the following Sunday you soak it in the 
 blood of a black hen, and you stick it in the 
 middle of the garden.
 
 54 Brieux 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. And it's true that a place 
 where that has been done has never been struck. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. How can you believe such 
 nonsense? Why they are the last vestiges of 
 another age. 
 
 ROUSSET. The what? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. It's superstition. 
 
 ROUSSET. The old people of our time knew 
 more about it than all of your books. My 
 grandfather taught me that. And he got it 
 from his grandfather [With veneration] who 
 was a shepherd. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Lightning, thunder, that's all 
 electricity. We know how to conduct it, we 
 know how to make use of it. How do you 
 want a bit of wood? [Laughing] With a speck 
 of intelligence Come, father. Your stick 
 whittled on a Friday and soaked in the blood 
 of a black hen. [She laughs] Why, it's ridicu- 
 lous. A hen or a rooster, did you say? Ah, 
 I don't think you know yourself. 
 
 ROUSSET. You are making fun of me. 
 What proof have you that your books are right? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Well 
 
 ROUSSET. My parents taught me that; I 
 loved them, and I believed all they told me 
 and it would grieve me to find out now that 
 they were wrong. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. However
 
 Blanchette 55 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. That's all right. That's 
 all right. Don't argue. [A pause] Monsieur 
 Galoux asked for his last month's bill. Every- 
 thing is written down. All you have to do, 
 Blanchette, is to add it up. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. There is a mistake. 
 
 ROUSSET. I suppose you forgot to put some- 
 thing down. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. On the contrary. 
 
 ROUSSET. Well then, what are you talking 
 about? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I'm going to erase it. 
 
 ROUSSET. Will you be quiet? Who asked 
 you anything? Isn't it enough that you have 
 made me lose my wheat without spoiling my 
 profits? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Dishonest profits never bring 
 any good. 
 
 ROUSSET. I suppose you learned that at 
 school. Well, what is there in the bill that 
 troubles you? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. The milk and the eggs are 
 charged here on the 6th, 7th, and 8th. But 
 Lucie and her parents were in the city on those 
 days. 
 
 ROUSSET. That's true, it's a mistake but 
 it's not for us to notice it. [He continues 
 whittling] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I'll rub it out.
 
 56 Brieux 
 
 ROUSSET. Leave it, I tell you. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No, I'll not leave it. It's not 
 honest. Why, how would we look? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Trying to console her] Be 
 at your ease! They never look over our bills. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. All the more reason not to de- 
 ceive them! 
 
 ROUSSET. What difference can it make to 
 Monsieur Galoux whether he pays ten francs 
 more or less? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. But it's stealing. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Not at all. When one 
 takes something from a richer person than 
 oneself it is not stealing. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Very well then, I prefer pay- 
 ing the difference from my own pocket. Thus 
 you will lose nothing. 
 
 ROUSSET. Your own pocket! Your own 
 pocket! You're pretty proud with your own 
 pocket. Where does the money come from 
 that is in your own pocket? Do you earn it? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. When I get my position I'll 
 pay it back. 
 
 ROUSSET. When you get your position! 
 That'll be in some week that has four Thurs- 
 days. If one had only told me that your degree 
 and nothing amounted to the same thing! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. It's not my fault. 
 
 ROUSSET. Finally, instead of bringing in
 
 Blanchette 57 
 
 money, you are an expense. You make me 
 lose my wheat, and besides, you want to stop 
 me from making a living with your millionaire's 
 scruples. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. But I ask nothing better than 
 to work. Get me a position. Put me in a store. 
 
 ROUSSET. No one would want you. You 
 can't do anything with your fingers. And 
 you're too particular to go into commerce. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Find me something else 
 
 ROUSSET. What? Tell me, what? You 
 have ideas of great things ideas that you 
 get from * your novels. All your reading has 
 turned your head. You're good for nothing 
 but spending money. For that you are per- 
 fect. If you had Rothschild's fortune, you'd 
 soon squander it. But for that which is [A 
 man enters] What have you there? 
 
 THE MAN. It's for you, pere Rousset. 
 It's a lamp, and a beauty at that. It comes 
 from the Panier fleuri. [He takes the lamp 
 out of a basket] It was wrapped up in straw 
 with some other things. My Lord, it's big 
 enough, too. I thought it belonged up at the 
 manor. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes, it's for us. [To her 
 father] That is my birthday gift for you. 
 
 THE MAN. If the address hadn't been on it 
 I'd never believed it was for you.
 
 58 Brieux 
 
 ROUSSET. [After a pause] Why not? Just 
 because I haven't a great coat do I always have 
 to read by candle light? 
 
 THE MAN. I know very well that you at- 
 tend to business. That's true. Still you are 
 lucky to have a young lady who sends you such 
 lovely presents for your birthday. 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes. She has good taste. 
 
 THE MAN. [Who has finished mounting the 
 lamp] Look. It makes one think one is in 
 a drawing-room. 
 
 ROUSSET. That's true. It's very pretty. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. And it is so ornamental. 
 
 THE MAN. Is your daughter still waiting 
 for her position? 
 
 ROUSSET. She has it. But we are in no 
 hurry to get rid of her. The government 
 will have to wait. 
 
 THE MAN. Indeed! Well, good-bye, pere 
 Rousset. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Giving him a tip] Here is 
 something for you. 
 
 THE MAN. Thank you, miss. [He leaves] 
 
 ROUSSET. How much did you give him? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Two sous. 
 
 ROUSSET. You should have given him a 
 drink instead. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But it's the same price.
 
 Blanchette 59 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes, but we'd have made our 
 profit. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. It doesn't make any differ- 
 ence. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Father, I wish you many 
 happy returns of the day. [She embraces him] 
 You like the lamp? 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes, but why is it perched so 
 high up in the air? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. It's prettier that way. 
 
 ROUSSET. It's stupidly conceived. You 
 know, we don't have to light up the walls. 
 When I have a lamp I want to use it to see 
 down here on the table, when I read my 
 paper, or play dominos. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But if it's the style! 
 
 ROUSSET. What the deuce do I care about 
 style? Are you in style? There's no need of 
 using kerosene to light up the ceiling. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Then you do not like it? Well 
 it can be exchanged. 
 
 ROUSSET. No. Wait a bit I'll fix it. 
 [He takes the lamp and goes out left] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. What's he going to do with it? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. He's probably going to fill it. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Looking out of the door] He's 
 taking it into the yard. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Yes, the kerosene is in the 
 shed.
 
 60 Brieux 
 
 BLANCHETTE. That's true. [A pause] Oh, 
 heavens! how tiresome it gets here. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I ask myself what you 
 lack. Do I perchance find it tiresome? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oh, it's not the same thing. 
 No one loves me. My father makes me sad, 
 and galls me. It's not my fault if I cannot 
 earn anything. I studied well at school. I 
 have my degree. I have done my duty! You 
 see the rest. I am used harshly and treated 
 like a stranger. No one understands me. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Well, what do you want 
 us to do more for you? But, I repeat, what is 
 the matter with you? Aren't you happy? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No. Far from it. There are 
 nights that I do not get to sleep until dawn, 
 after having wept my head buried in my 
 pillow so that no one will hear me. I feel my- 
 self so alone, so abandoned. Neither of you 
 love me as I should be loved. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Come now! Come now! 
 Ah, your father was right, if you didn't know 
 how to read or write you'd not invent such 
 silly things. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Invent! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Yes, invent. Can you tell 
 me why you are crying? Now tell me. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I don't know. I am bored 
 everything is sad about me. I am bored.
 
 Blanchette 61 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Always the same refrain: 
 I am bored! Work, and you'll not be bored. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. You do not love me, mother. 
 Yes, yes, I know. Yes, you love me very 
 much. But just see. There are times when 
 I think I am going mad, and when I feel myself 
 capable of doing the most horrible things. 
 Love me a lot I weep so often when no one 
 is around. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. My poor Blanchette, you 
 are sad. But I too have troubles and a great 
 many. I am no more the mother that you 
 would like; and you are not the daughter that 
 I used to love so much. They changed you 
 down there. And we understand each other 
 but seldom. You talk of weeping when no one 
 is about. But I too have often wept in the 
 corner all on your account. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. My poor mamma. On my 
 account ! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Yes. I never told you that. 
 But every time I went to see you at school 
 I returned with an aching heart. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. But why? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Ah, those visits! I shall 
 never forget them. When I used to come into 
 the parlor and see you playing with your little 
 friends you were gay, happy. But when 
 they told you that I had come you lost your
 
 62 Brieux 
 
 gaiety all of a sudden; your face became hard, 
 and you wore a bored expression, and I soon 
 realized that my visits caused you a great deal 
 of annoyance. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. You are wrong, mamma. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Non When I was speaking 
 you used to look me over from head to foot 
 you compared my appearance with the mothers 
 of your little friends and I never under- 
 stood it until later you were ashamed of me. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Mamma! No! I beg you 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Yes, yes. I know it. I'm 
 stupid, and that is the reason why I didn't 
 notice it sooner. I used to tell you what was 
 happening here at home, thinking that it 
 would interest you, and you used to interrupt 
 me to say: "Oh, mamma! You have no 
 gloves on!" or "There are holes in your 
 gloves." And I, so happy at seeing you, and 
 thinking that you were also happy, would reply, 
 "Bah! That makes no difference! If any one 
 doesn't like them they can buy me a new pair." 
 Foolish, wasn't it? Then you would cau- 
 tiously look around to see whether any one had 
 heard, and then you would tell me not to 
 speak so loud. You wished that I wouldn't 
 come again. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I ask forgiveness! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But you are not bad.
 
 Blauchette 63 
 
 However one day! how I suffered! You 
 thought I had gone one of your friends asked 
 you: "Was that woman your governess?" And 
 you did not dare answer. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Forgive me! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I felt so badly and as I 
 did not want to say anything to your father 
 I told him that I had lost one hundred francs. 
 He flew into a terrible fury and almost beat 
 me. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Falling on her neck] Mother! 
 Mother! I beg of you! Don't speak of it any 
 m ore ! Never ! Never ! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Holding her in her arms] 
 Now you see that I too have had my sorrow, 
 my poor Blanchette. Don't cry! It wasn't 
 your fault. But it made me feel so badly. 
 
 [They both weep. A pause. Rousset enters 
 carrying the lamp. He has sawed off the column, 
 and it is now the size of an ordinary lamp. It 
 is very ugly. The women separate] 
 
 ROUSSET. Now she's fixed. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oh, what have you done? 
 
 ROUSSET. I removed the part that didn't 
 belong there. Now we'll have light on the 
 table. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [To her mother] My beautiful 
 lamp! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. It's better this way.
 
 64 Brieux 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Viewing it from a distance] 
 You think so? 
 
 ROUSSET. [To Blanchette] Aren't you satisfied? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oh, yes. [She takes the lamp 
 and starts to go out left] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You're taking it away? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I'm going to fill it. [She 
 leaves. Immediately there is the noise of broken 
 glass] 
 
 ROUSSET. [Rushes out left] Ah! The little 
 devil! She broke it on purpose! [Outside] 
 I'm sure that you did it on purpose! Didn't 
 you do it on purpose? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Outside] Yes, I did it on 
 purpose! Yes, I did. That will teach you a 
 lesson. 
 
 ROUSSET. [Outside] So that will teach me 
 a lesson, will it? Well, here! Take that! 
 That will teach you a lesson. [One hears him 
 strike Blanchette, and she cries out] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Rushes out] Come, Rous- 
 set! That's enough now! 
 
 ROUSSET. [Enters, holding Blanchette by the 
 arm. She is not weeping] Do you still say 
 that you did it on purpose? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes. I did it on purpose to 
 punish you for your stupidity. 
 
 ROUSSET. [Raising his hand] You want 
 another?
 
 Blanchette 65 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Interposing] Rousset! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Braving him] You can beat 
 as much as you like. You can kill me. I 
 don't care! I'll not give in to you. 
 
 ROUSSET. Say that again. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. You are hurting me with 
 your big hands. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Trying to separate them] 
 Blanchette! Be quiet! Do you hear me! 
 Rousset, stop that now. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No, I'll not be quiet. You 
 haven't the right to beat me. We shall see. 
 I'll put in a complaint. The law will not per- 
 mit you to beat me. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Exasperated] Will you be 
 quiet ! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Will you be quiet! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Furious] You shall obey 
 me, you little devil! Or 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Crying out with pain} You 
 are hurting me. 
 
 ROUSSET. Ah, let her alone! I'll go take a 
 bit of a walk. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Yes, that's best. [She 
 pushes her roughly away] I don't know what 
 I'll do to her. [Rousset leaves] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You see; you've put your
 
 66 Brieux 
 
 father into a rage. He'll go and drink now 
 and come back worse than ever. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. You might as well kill me 
 right away. Then you'll be rid of me. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You are nothing but a 
 fool! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Thank you! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. A fool! In spite of all 
 your learning. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Go on. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You'll never be any good. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. That's still nicer! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But I tell you that this 
 will not go on, and as long as you are here 
 you'll obey. Do you hear! [She goes out left] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Alone] If only some one 
 would come and take me away from this hell! 
 I should like to leave here, go to the city, and 
 do anything. I'd be better off anywhere than 
 here where my parents detest me, and to whom 
 I am less than a stranger. 
 
 [Lucie and her father enter] 
 
 LUCIE. How do you do, Elise? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oh, it's you! How glad I am 
 to see you! 
 
 GALOUX. Good morning 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oh, good morning, Monsieur 
 Galoux. What good wind brings you here? 
 [To Lucie] You are well?
 
 Blanchette 67 
 
 LUCIE. You look as if y >u had been weep- 
 ing! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. It's nothing. You are very 
 kind to bring Lucie to see me. Although my 
 parents are very good I get terribly bored 
 waiting. 
 
 GALOUX. I bring you news about your position. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Good news? 
 
 GALOUX. Yes, my dear. There were two 
 thousand candidates ahead of you, I have used 
 all my influence, and now 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes? 
 
 GALOUX. Now you are only the five hundred 
 and fourteenth. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. That means I'll have to 
 wait how long? 
 
 GALOUX. Perhaps six months, perhaps a 
 year. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Listen, Monsieur Galoux. I 
 do not want to do a lot of begging, but I'll tell 
 you this: if I have to wait even six weeks, 
 much less six months, or a year, there's no use 
 in bothering about me any longer. 
 
 GALOUX. Why is that? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Because I shall be dead by 
 that time. 
 
 GALOUX. Girls at your age speak a lot 
 about death, but that's as far as they ever get. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I'm not a girl like the others.
 
 68 Brieux 
 
 I cannot tell you everything, Monsieur Galoux, 
 so you will have to imagine the rest. Although 
 my parents are very good, I repeat that I suffer 
 a great deal here, a great deal. And my 
 parents feel badly to see that I am idle. We 
 get, excited, become unjust toward one another, 
 and a time comes when life is no longer bearable 
 together. We are now at that stage. 
 
 GALOUX. I see! I see! But do not get 
 discouraged. I can see nothing unless 
 
 LUCIE. Unless 
 
 GALOUX. Heavens, it's hard to state it. 
 Would you consent to be a cdmpanion to a 
 young girl of your age who is preparing for the 
 examinations which you have just passed? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. With all my heart. 
 
 GALOUX. Even if the girl in question were 
 Lucie? 
 
 LUCIE. [Embracing him] Oh, papa, how 
 good you are! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. But that would be paradise. 
 
 GALOUX. You would be paid 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Let's not talk of that my 
 board and lodging would be all that I asked. 
 
 GALOUX. Well, we'll see. 
 
 LUCIE. What joy! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. How wonderful! 
 
 GALOUX. One thing more/ I ask three 
 days' patience of you, my dear three days is
 
 Blanchette 69 
 
 not too much. During that time I will go to 
 the prefect once more, and if I am not success- 
 ful, all you have to do is ask your father 
 whether our arrangements are satisfactory. If 
 they are, I'll come to speak to him, and "the 
 thing will be settled. But don't speak to any 
 one about this. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I promise not to. 
 
 GALOUX. Now let us speak of something else. 
 Tomorrow Monsieur de Hautfort is giving a hunt. 
 We are not going to be in it, but we are going to 
 be spectators. 
 
 LUCIE. There is room for one more in our 
 carriage. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. How good of you! But I have 
 nothing to wear. 
 
 LUCIE. You can come anyway. 
 
 GALOUX. We will be four: George, Lucie, you 
 and I I counted on seeing your parents so 
 that I could ask them. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Mamma will be back very 
 soon. Is a hunt nice? 
 
 LUCIE. Yes, very nice. And then there will 
 be a lot of style. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. But don't you think it's aw- 
 fully barbarous? The poor beast that is hunted 
 all day. 
 
 LUCIE. But it is one of the finest pleasures 
 there is.
 
 70 Brieux 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I know that; but it seems to 
 me that the women should form some sort of a 
 league of pity in order to stop the men from 
 being so cruel. I ask your pardon, sir. 
 
 GALOUX. I agree with you. Animals larger 
 than a hare should not be hunted. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I know that these hunts allow 
 luxurious showings, and give men a good 
 chance to show their courage, but it's all noth- 
 ing but vanity. Don't you think so, Mon- 
 sieur Galoux? 
 
 GALOUX. Absolutely. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. If one could describe the moral 
 sufferings of one of those hunted stags it would 
 make the world weep. 
 
 GALOUX. But has the stag any moral sufferings? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I believe so. In any case, if 
 I were a lord [Rousset and Bonenfant enter] 
 
 ROUSSET. Tell me, Blanchette, is it true that 
 you refused to give this man something to drink? 
 How do you do, Monsieur Galoux, and you, 
 Mademoiselle Galoux? Answer me. Is it true 
 that you refused to give this man something 
 to drink? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I don't remember. 
 
 ROUSSET. We'll have to clear up this little 
 matter. [Goes to the door at left] Hey! wife, 
 come here. [Mme. Rousset enters] You are a 
 witness, Monsieur Galoux. Here is Bonenfant,
 
 Blanchette 71 
 
 the roadmender, both a friend and client of 
 mine. I've been wondering for quite some 
 time now why I haven't been seeing my old 
 friend Bonenfant. And just a little while ago, 
 as I was going by the other tavern, you know 
 the one which has the tobacco shop, I met 
 Bonenfant coming out. Says I to him: "I 
 notice that you do not trade with us any 
 more." "No," says he, "but now all you re- 
 ceive are great people." Then he explained 
 to me how one day when he came, and neither 
 my wife nor I were at home, he couldn't get 
 any one to wait on him. And I want to know 
 now whether that is true. 
 
 BONENFANT. Your daughter told me that 
 she did not know. But Mademoiselle Galoux 
 can tell you she was there. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [After a moment's embarrass- 
 ment] I won't lie; it's true. 
 
 BONENFANT. Ah, so you see! 
 
 ROUSSET. [Furious] Well now! You are now 
 going to apologize to this man whom you have 
 insulted, and hurt. You are going to beg him 
 to pardon your pride. He's a roadmender, 
 that's true, but he is a friend of your father, 
 and ydu must respect him. Ah, so you were 
 afraid of soiling your hands by giving a good 
 man a cup of coffee! If I was able to send you 
 to school until you were twenty years old and
 
 72 Brieux 
 
 give you that instruction of which you are now 
 so proud, it was because neither your mother nor 
 I were ever ashamed of the work which you 
 now blush to do. [He takes an apron from the 
 table] You are going to put on this apron. 
 Not a word now, or I'll give you a slap in 
 front of everybody here! [He puts the apron 
 on her] You are going to beg the roadmender's 
 pardon, and you are going to give him a cup of 
 coffee. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Going to the roadmender] Mon- 
 sieur, I beg your pardon. [She weeps] 
 
 BONENFANT. There's no sense in weeping 
 about that, Blanchette, I'm not angry with you. 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes, yes. That's all right. Serve 
 him now. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Come now! That's enough. 
 I'll serve him myself. 
 
 ROUSSET. Be calm now, mother! [To 
 Blanchette] And you, obey! 
 
 [Still weeping she places a cup in front of the 
 roadmender] 
 
 LUCIE. [Simply] I'll help you. [She brings 
 the sugar bowl. Blanchette pours the coffee] 
 
 GALOUX. If Mademoiselle Elise was in the 
 wrong, pere Rousset, she has now completely 
 atoned for it, and it seems that you in turn 
 
 ROUSSET. I beg your pardon, Monsieur Ga- 
 loux, but I do as my head tells me and, you
 
 Blanchette 73 
 
 know, a pauper is master in his own house. 
 
 GALOUX. Very well. But I came to ask 
 you to let your daughter spend the day to- 
 morrow with Lucie. 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes, yes, but I don't know about 
 tomorrow. You are very kind. We'll see. 
 
 GALOUX. As you wish. Good day, pere 
 Rousset. Good day, Mademoiselle. Look, pere 
 Rousset, how the poor girl is weeping. 
 
 ROUSSET. I see, I see. But if you think 
 that those carryings on move me you are very 
 much mistaken. Good day, Monsieur Galoux. 
 Good day, Mademoiselle Galoux. [Lucie em- 
 braces Blanchette silently and leaves with her 
 father. Bonenfant has been silently drinking his 
 coffee] 
 
 BONENFANT. Ah now! That's what I call a 
 good cup of coffee. 
 
 ROUSSET. I'll not take anything for it. It's 
 my treat. 
 
 BONENFANT. Well, then! The coffee is even 
 better than I thought. I'll see you again. 
 
 ROUSSET. And now you'll not be going to 
 my competitor's any more, hein? 
 
 BONENFANT. No, I'll not do that. 
 
 ROUSSET. Good-bye. [He goes] [To Blanch- 
 ette] Did Monsieur Galoux bring you your 
 teacher's nomination? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No. It means still waiting.
 
 74 Brieux 
 
 ROUSSET. Always the same. But what was 
 he doing here? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. He came to invite me for to- 
 morrow. 
 
 ROUSSET. Tomorrow you can't possibly go. 
 You have other things to do tomorrow. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. What? 
 
 ROUSSET. The last two weeks' accounts. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I'll finish them tonight before 
 retiring. 
 
 ROUSSET. You had better not work at night. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. But I promised them. They 
 expect me. 
 
 ROUSSET. Well, let them expect. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I beg you. As long as the 
 accounts will be ready 
 
 ROUSSET. But why do you always like to be 
 with those people so much? Do you perhaps 
 prefer them to your parents? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I am very fond of Lucie. 
 
 ROUSSET. Go and ask her to help you along. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. If I needed help she would 
 give it to me. 
 
 ROUSSET. You really believe that! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I am sure of it. 
 
 ROUSSET. Very well. But you'll not go. 
 Besides, from tomorrow on, life is going to be 
 different for you here. This has lasted much 
 too long already.
 
 Blanchette 75 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Just a little more patience, 
 father. 
 
 ROUSSET. I have already had too much 
 patience. They laughed at me. They prom- 
 ised us that she would earn something as soon 
 as she had her degree, and we worked like dogs 
 so that she could get it. But her nomination 
 is not forthcoming. [To Blanchette] I'm not 
 rich enough to let you keep living here without 
 doing anything. And if you were only satisfied 
 in not doing anything. But then you go and 
 make a mess of things. With the inventions in 
 your books you make me lose both my wheat 
 and the price of the chemicals, which I was fool 
 enough to use. Then you go and buy a lamp 
 as high as a church steeple and which isn't worth 
 anything, and because I am not wrapped in 
 amazement you go and break it on purpose. 
 One can see that you never had to earn any 
 money. And that's not all. Then you try to 
 stop me from making a living choosing our 
 customers and you take the interest of strangers 
 against your parents. Ah, they never brought 
 me up like that. I was put to work when I 
 was ten years old. I was not as smart as you, 
 that's true enough, and I didn't laugh at my 
 father when he guarded himself against light- 
 ning by methods that some good people had taught 
 him that's true, too but at least I was good
 
 76 Brieux 
 
 for something. From tomorrow on you are go- 
 ing to earn your daily bread or you get none to eat. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. How? 
 
 ROUSSET. You will get up at five o'clock 
 and come down here and wash the floor. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But what will I do then? 
 
 ROUSSET. You, wife, you will stay in bed. 
 [To Blanchette] After that, you will stay here, 
 and when the workingmen come before they go 
 to the factory, or those that come from their 
 night duty, you'll serve them. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Come now, Rousset, there's 
 no place for a young girl among the working- 
 men who come here to drink. 
 
 ROUSSET. It's not the place for a young 
 girl, isn't it? You used to do it. Did that 
 stop me from marrying you? But to con- 
 tinue [To Blanchette] Then yoji'll wash the 
 dishes. After supper you'll darn your stockings, 
 because I forbid you to read. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Listen to me, Rousset. 
 
 ROUSSET. What am I asking her to do that 
 she shouldn't do,? I'm simply telling her to do 
 the things that a tavern keeper's daughter 
 should do. And isn't she that kind of a girl? 
 Besides, there's no use in arguing, because she'll 
 do as I tell her, or she'll get out. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But I don't want her to. 
 
 ROUSSET. What did you say? Who has the
 
 Blanchette 77 
 
 right to say " I want" in this house? Ah, 
 what's got into the women of today! I don't 
 like these kind of carryings on. I am the 
 master, do you hear, the master, and you must 
 obey me. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Obey you! 
 
 ROUSSET. And you be quiet too, do you 
 hear? And both of you be calm, or look out for 
 yourselves ! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I wouldn't be surprised if 
 you'd strike me. It wouldn't be the first time. 
 
 ROUSSET. [Striking the table with his fist] I've 
 had enough now! [To Blanchette] You'll do 
 what I tell you, or you'll get out. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Very well, I'll go. 
 
 ROUSSET. All right, good night. You'll prob- 
 ably find more to eat somewhere else. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Haven't you reproached me 
 enough about the food I eat here? But never 
 mind: you'll reproach me no longer! 
 
 ROUSSET. I advise you to put in a complaint. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oh, yes, I'll put in a com- 
 plaint, and I'll have a good right to do it. 
 Didn't you torture me enough just today? For 
 your birthday I bought you this lamp, hoping 
 to please you. You maliciously deform it. 
 Yes, I know that is nothing, but every day a 
 little incident like that only goes to prove that 
 we cannot live together. Everything that I
 
 78 Brieux 
 
 think is pretty you think is ugly. All that 
 seems evil to me appears good in your eyes. 
 You and I will never understand each other. 
 We have become strangers. You have become 
 stubborn in your routine work and I cannot 
 even comprehend your moral code. Then I 
 flattered your vanity and you showed me off 
 as you would a trained dog. Now that's not 
 enough for you. My pride hurts you, and you 
 try on every occasion to humiliate me. You 
 made me beg that roadmender's pardon be- 
 cause Lucie was here, and when Monsieur Ga- 
 loux attempted to interpose you gave me one 
 more mean thrust by using some vile words. 
 All you know now is to find some new way to hurt 
 me. What I am telling you is true: we have 
 become strangers for one another. And it's best 
 for every one that I should go, and I am going. 
 I am going, I am going, I am going! 
 
 ROUSSET. Now you've said it just four times. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Do you want me to go 
 immediately? 
 
 ROUSSET. I had just as leave that you did. 
 You have pride, but you also have a lot of 
 laziness in you. Here, you get nourishment 
 without doing anything, which means that you 
 will stay here. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Come now! You want me to! 
 [Goes left]
 
 Blanchette 79 
 
 ROUSSET. Where is she going? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. She's probably gone to get 
 her coat. Will you let her go? 
 
 ROUSSET. You really believe she's in earnest? 
 Why it's all play acting, it's all comedy. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But if 
 
 ROUSSET. Ah, if she absolutely wants to 
 go, I am not here to stop her. [Blanchette 
 comes in, wearing her coat and hat] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Good-bye. 
 
 ROUSSET. Then you're serious? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Very. [To her mother] Good- 
 bye, mamma. [She goes to embrace her] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Come now, Blanchette, 
 don't be silly. Go and embrace your father 
 and the matter will be closed. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. It's useless. It'd be all the 
 same tomorrow again. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Becoming angry] Now listen 
 to your mother. Go to him. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Angry] What a stubborn 
 child! Will you do as I tell you? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No Listen, mamma, I am 
 sorry to leave you, but you cannot stop me 
 and besides, you do not know how to love 
 me. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET [Becoming still more angry] 
 You'll not obey me?
 
 80 Brieux 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No. It's useless. My mind 
 is made up. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET [Furious] Very well! You 
 can go to the devil! I was a fool to bother 
 with you. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Let me embrace you. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. No. Not if you are going 
 to leave me. 
 
 ROUSSET. Is this nonsense soon going to beover? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes. Good-bye. 
 
 ROUSSET. Wait a bit! Just listen a moment 
 what I have to say to you. If you step over 
 that threshold you'll never come back over 
 it as long as I am alive. You can be up to 
 your neck in poverty and misery but there'll 
 not even be the bit of bread that one gives 
 to beggars here for you. You understand 
 perfectly what I am telling you? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. You can be at your ease. I 
 would rather die than ask for help from you. 
 Good-bye. 
 
 ROUSSET. Good night. [She leaves] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Rushes to the door with a 
 cry] Blanchette, my daughter! Blanchette! 
 
 ROUSSET [Holding her by the wrist] You stay 
 here, mother I don't know that person who 
 just left here any more. [A pause] Now go 
 and get supper ready. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 ACT III. 
 
 [The scene is the same as before. The pictures 
 of Carnot and General Boulanger have been re- 
 placed by those of the Tsar and Felix Faure. 
 November] 
 
 [Mme. Rousset is seated at the left. Rousset 
 is at a table near the window. Both of them are 
 resting their heads on their elbows and seem to be 
 reflecting on something] 
 
 ROUSSET [After a long pause, without moving] 
 I'm going to see how my beets are getting along. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. That's right. [Another pause] 
 
 ROUSSET. It's nine o'clock, and there goes 
 the postman. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Yes, it's nine o'clock. 
 
 ROUSSET. Why it looks as if he were coming 
 in here. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET [Quickly rising] Perhaps he 
 has a letter for us. 
 
 ROUSSET. For us. [In a hard voice] Who 
 would write to us? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But 
 
 ROUSSET. We've paid our taxes, and this isn't 
 election time. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But he's really coming 
 here 
 
 ROUSSET. Ah 
 
 81
 
 82 Brieux 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Oh, Lord! If it were 
 
 ROUSSET. Be quiet! [The postman enters] 
 
 THE POSTMAN. Good morning to you. 
 It's not often that I have to come here. [He 
 looks in his bag] Here it's a letter for your 
 daughter. [Reading the envelope] Mademoiselle 
 Elise Rousset. Has she come back? 
 
 ROUSSET. No but you can leave the 
 letter here; we'll forward it. 
 
 THE POSTMAN. Give me her address. Thus 
 you'll save three sous. 
 
 ROUSSET. Never mind. We have a reason. 
 
 THE POSTMAN. She still has her position? 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes. 
 
 THE POSTMAN. Always happy? 
 
 ROUSSET. Always. 
 
 THE POSTMAN. Isn't she coming back soon? 
 
 ROUSSET. No. 
 
 THE POSTMAN. Is she very far from here? 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes, very far. 
 
 THE POSTMAN. Well, good day 
 
 ROUSSET. Good-bye, Monsieur Caillard. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Au revoir. [He leaves] 
 
 ROUSSET. [After a pause goes to the door] 
 I'm going to see my beets. [When he is on 
 the point of going out he hesitates, looks at Mme. 
 Rousset, who is still holding the letter betwee u 
 her fingers, with an air of indifference] Where's 
 the letter from?
 
 Blanchette 83 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. It says on the envelope, 
 The Agricultor's Bookshop. 
 
 ROUSSET. Ah, yes that's where she 
 bought her books on fertilizers. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. When I think that she has 
 not written once in over a year! 
 
 ROUSSET. It's better that way. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. What makes me feel so 
 badly is when people ask for news of her. 
 
 ROUSSET. All you have to say is yes no 
 just like I do. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. And when I have to say 
 that she is well when perhaps she is dead. 
 
 ROUSSET. You have to invent something 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But every one knows the 
 truth around here. 
 
 ROUSSET. Every one! Only pere Bonenfant 
 and the Morillons. And if they know it 
 wasn't us that told 'em. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. They guessed it. 
 
 ROUSSET. It's perfectly possible that they 
 know in fact, I know that they know. Only, 
 since I have never let them perceive that I 
 know, they have to pretend that they don't 
 know. I prefer to have it that way. And 
 now that's enough. I'm going to see my 
 beets. [He leaves] 
 
 [A moment later Bonenfant enters] 
 
 BONENFANT. How do, mere Rousset?
 
 84 Brieux 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Good morning, Bonenfant. 
 Will you have some coffee? 
 
 BONENFANT. No thanks, not now. [He looks 
 at her smilingly] Ha, ha. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You're happy this morning. 
 
 BONENFANT. Happy as a young girl. And 
 have you had any news from Blanchette? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Yes, from time to time. 
 
 BONENFANT. That's nice. I too, I've had 
 news from her. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Honestly? Tell me, tell me, 
 please! 
 
 BONENFANT. But it's probably the same 
 that you've had. [Mme. Rousset hurriedly gets 
 a glass, which she fills and places in front of 
 Bonenfant] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You know very well that 
 Rousset is not telling the truth. You know 
 very well that we do not know where she is, 
 that we don't even know whether she is still 
 living. 
 
 BONENFANT Oh, she's still living 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. And in good health? 
 
 BONENFANT. Yes. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Sighs] That's all I care 
 about. Well drink, Bonenfant. 
 
 BONENFANT. What would you say if you 
 saw her back here one of these days? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. What I would say what
 
 Blanchette 85 
 
 I would say? I don't know, but I'd be very 
 happy. But it's not possible. 
 
 BONENFANT. With railroads people come and 
 go from day to day. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You think that she'll come 
 back? 
 
 BONENFANT. I've heard of stranger things. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You think that 
 
 BONENFANT. I won't say yes, and I won't 
 say no. But I've been told that it's very 
 probable. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Who told you so? 
 
 BONENFANT. Why, I had a letter 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. From whom? 
 
 BONENFANT. Oh, from a friend of mine. 
 [He laughs] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I know very well who 
 wrote you this letter. 
 
 BONENFANT. No one but myself knows any- 
 thing about it. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You've seen Blanchette? 
 
 BONENFANT. I? That's good. You think 
 that I've just seen Blanchette. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Yes. You do not know 
 how to read; so in order to know what is in 
 the letter you must have shown it to some 
 one, and since you yourself say that no one 
 knows about it but yourself, it simply shows
 
 86 Brieux 
 
 that there never was a letter and that you 
 must have seen Blanchette. 
 
 BONENFANT. Ah, how these women blab! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Tell me, am I right? 
 
 BONENFANT. Let me drink my coffee first. 
 [While he is drinking he watches her from the 
 corner of his eye] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Well? 
 
 BONENFANT. Wait until I have finished. 
 [He rises and looks out of the window] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. She is there? 
 
 BONENFANT. Now pere Rousset has gone 
 behind the grove, and there's no more danger. 
 [He goes to the door] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. She is there! 
 
 BONENFANT. Don't budge! If you move 
 you'll not see her. [Blanchette appears on the 
 threshold. She is very thin and poorly dressed. 
 Mme. Rousset cannot move from astonishment. 
 Bonenfant goes out, closing the door behind him] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Simply] Mamma, I ask your 
 forgiveness. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Without hearing her, and 
 still motionless] Is it possible! Is it possible! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Advancing] Mamma, I ask 
 your forgiveness. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. She is here but 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Throwing herself into her 
 mother's arms] Mamma.
 
 Blanchette 87 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Blanchette [She is choked 
 with tears, and covers Blanchette with kisses] Is 
 it possible! Is it possible! She is back again! 
 She is back again. [Bonenfant opens the door] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Frightened] My God! 
 Your father is here! [Bonenfant appears smil- 
 ing] No! it's only that fool of a roadmender. 
 [Bonenfant bows and goes out again] How 
 frightened I was! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. He'll not forgive me, he 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Evadingly] Why yes 
 
 BLANCHETTE. You certainly ought to know. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But how should I? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. When you spoke of me he 
 used to say hard things, didn't he? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. No. Only it will be better 
 if he does not find you here until I have 
 prepared him. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I think that you are right. 
 That is why I sent Bonenfant ahead. 
 
 BONENFANT. [Outside the window] I'm watch- 
 ing for him. From here I can see him come 
 out of the grove. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You can go up stairs and 
 wait. I'll call you then. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes, mother. If he only does 
 not send me away! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. He'll not do that. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. If he sent me away it would
 
 88 Brieux 
 
 be terrible, for you see mamma I was at the 
 end of my rope. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. My poor Blanchette! What 
 have you done since you left home? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. It would be too long and 
 sad to tell you all at once. But I'll tell you 
 all, little by little. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You must be hungry, poor 
 dear! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Smiling] I am. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. And to think that I 
 [She brings her some bread and a knife] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Thank you. What good 
 bread. Does Denis still bring it. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Don't eat your bread dry. 
 [She brings her some cheese] Yes, it's still 
 Denis. He has a new wagon. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Ah! And I'm sure he is 
 proud of it. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. No one's too good for him. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. And pot cheese! The kind 
 that father makes himself. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You remember! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. And no one else but himself 
 is allowed to touch it. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. That's right. He hasn't 
 changed at all, you know. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I was hungry, and now I 
 cannot eat any more; I am so happy. [Look-
 
 Blanchette 89 
 
 ing at her mother] Mother! How much sad- 
 ness I have already brought into your life, 
 and how good you are to be willing to forget 
 it all 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But eat, eat you should 
 have had some bouillon and a glass of cider ! 
 
 I don't think of anything. We have some 
 good cider. We made six kegs this year. 
 Taste it. It is good. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Very good. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. The Morillons wanted us 
 to give them some. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. The Morillons. They are still 
 as happy as ever? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Yes. 
 
 BONENFANT. [Through the window] Here he 
 comes. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Oh, Lord! Go go quickly 
 
 I'll call you. Take this with you! You 
 haven't eaten anything. But yes go 
 [She hurries her to the door and then quickly 
 sweeps the table. Rousset enters] 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Well, did you see your 
 beets? 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Are they good? 
 
 ROUSSET. The man who buys them will 
 say they don't weigh anything. Have you 
 seen anybody this morning?
 
 90 Brieux 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. No one. 
 
 ROUSSET. Ah! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Why do you say "ah." 
 
 ROUSSET. Because because some one told 
 me that they saw a stranger from the distance. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I haven't seen any one. 
 
 ROUSSET. [Pointing to BonenfanCs glass] Then 
 you have been drinking alone, eh? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Oh! I remember now: 
 pere Bonenfant was here. 
 
 ROUSSET. You see. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But pere Bonenfant is no 
 one. 
 
 ROUSSET. But that's just it, for it was with 
 pere Bonenfant that the stranger was seen. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Perhaps 
 
 ROUSSET. Perhaps what? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I don't know 
 
 ROUSSET. All right; Give me a bite to 
 eat. [During the following, Mme. Rousset puts 
 a whole loaf of bread on the table, as well as 
 some cheese and a glass of cider. Rousset puts 
 on his glasses] What did you do with that 
 letter? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. What letter? Ah, yes! 
 [Pointing to the counter] There it is. 
 
 ROUSSET. What's in it? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I don't know. 
 
 ROUSSET. [Taking the letter] You didn't look
 
 Blanchette 91 
 
 at it. You're not very curious or perhaps 
 you didn't have the time. [He opens it and 
 reads the following] "We beg you to kindly 
 remit at your very earliest opportunity the 
 money you owe us from the books that were 
 sent to you almost two years ago. We have 
 called your attention to this matter several 
 times. The books in question are: On In- 
 tensive Agriculture On the Use of Agricul- 
 tural Machinery A Treatise on Political 
 Economy The Fortune Made by the Use of 
 Chemical Fertilizers The Product of the Soil." 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Those are some books that 
 she bought. 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes, yes, I remember. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. It was for us that she 
 bought them. 
 
 ROUSSET. For us! Did you read them? 
 Did I read them? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. For our benefit, I meant to 
 say. 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes, to spoil things! Our benefit? 
 To spoil things, there's no other way to put it. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. She meant to do good. 
 
 ROUSSET. She meant to do good too, I 
 suppose, when she broke the lamp on purpose. 
 It was the very same day. It was the day 
 she left ! [Looking at the bill] How much ! How 
 much! How much do you make it?
 
 92 Brieux 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Timidly] Thirty - two 
 francs 
 
 ROUSSET. Thirty-two francs! Ah, but that's 
 going too far! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I'll go and see they may 
 make a reduction. They may have made a 
 mistake. 
 
 ROUSSET. You'll go and see nothing! It's 
 not us that ordered them them them 
 devil's things. Eh? So we don't owe any- 
 thing. Let them go and get it from her! 
 She must have earned enough in her Paris. 
 And besides, but that's enough! [He sits 
 down to eat. He takes a knife out of his pocket, 
 opens it, and wipes it on his trousers. He sees 
 the whole loaf of bread] Why cut into a fresh loaf? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. But 
 
 ROUSSET. There was some left. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I assure you 
 
 ROUSSET. But I'm positive. It's not on 
 account of the bit of bread, but I am sure that 
 there was some left. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You are right there was 
 a small piece left. 
 
 ROUSSET. You see. Well, bring it to me. 
 There's no use in throwing it away. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Why, you see 
 
 ROUSSET. What? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I remember now, I gave
 
 Blanchette 93 
 
 it to a road-maker he was a poor fellow. 
 
 ROUSSET. That's all right, that's all right. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. It was only a very small 
 piece. 
 
 ROUSSET. And you also gave your road- 
 maker some cheese? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. He had a little child with 
 him. 
 
 ROUSSET. You seem to be very charitable 
 today. [He drinks. While Mme. Rousset has her 
 back turned he picks up a small comb from the 
 floor, which Blanchette has lost. He gazes at it 
 and then puts it in his pocket] What did Bonen- 
 fant have to say for himself? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Nothing. 
 
 ROUSSET. Nothing! He told you some- 
 thing just the same. 
 
 MME. .ROUSSET. I don't remember any more. 
 
 ROUSSET. You haven't much of a memory. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Who? I? 
 
 ROUSSET. Oh, no. I was talking about the 
 curate. Now tell me, mother. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. What? 
 
 ROUSSET. Since they have written here it 
 must be that they thought that she had re- 
 turned, eh? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I don't know 
 
 ROUSSET. Or that she has an idea of 
 returning.
 
 94 Brieux 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You're always looking for 
 underhand dealings! You'd better go read 
 your paper. 
 
 ROUSSET. Then you don't remember. [All 
 of a sudden] Some one just was walking 
 upstairs. Didn't you hear it? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. No 
 
 ROUSSET. I assure you that some one was 
 walking. There is somebody here. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. You're crazy or you've 
 had too much to drink. That's it, you've had 
 too much to drink. I heard absolutely nothing. 
 
 ROUSSET. [Taking up his stick] All right. 
 But I'll go up and see. And thieves had 
 better beware! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. No! I do not want you 
 to!- 
 
 ROUSSET. Ah ! Ah ! It's that wretch of a 
 daughter of yours who is up there. You don't 
 think I guessed it? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. No, it's not she. 
 
 ROUSSET. Then your daughter has not re- 
 turned? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. No. 
 
 ROUSSET. Well then, let me go up. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I don't want you to. I 
 guess you can believe me when I tell you 
 something. I've just come down, and there's 
 no one up there.
 
 Blanchette 95 
 
 ROUSSET. Then your daughter is not here? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. No. 
 
 ROUSSET. Then your daughter is not here? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. No. 
 
 ROUSSET. Well then, to whom does this 
 comb belong that I have just found? It cer- 
 tainly is not yours. You are sure that your 
 daughter is not here? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. I am quite sure. 
 
 ROUSSET. Listen, listen now do you hear 
 some one walking? Now they are coming 
 down the stairs. Liar that you are! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Oh, heavens! 
 
 ROUSSET. Do you hear. She is here, I 
 say, she is here. Ha, there she is. [Blanchette 
 appears] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes, it is I. Now do what 
 you want with me. 
 
 ROUSSET. [In a hard voice] Get out of here, 
 do you understand! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Father, are you really going 
 to send me away? 
 
 ROUSSET. Yes. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. You ought to have pity on 
 me. Ah, yes, you ought to have pity on me. 
 
 ROUSSET. No nonsense now! What did I 
 tell you when you said that you were going? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. If I came back it was only 
 because I could not stand it any longer.
 
 96 Brieux 
 
 ROUSSET. You haven't much courage! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. If that were true I would have 
 suffered less. 
 
 ROUSSET. No, it's true, you haven't much 
 courage. After what you told me when you 
 were leaving I would have rather drowned myself 
 than come back here; especially after what I 
 said to you hard as it was for me to do so. 
 When one has courage one does not starve. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. That's what I thought when 
 I left. 
 
 ROUSSET. Well? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Well, it is not so. 
 
 ROUSSET. There's no end of work to be 
 had in Paris. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Nor workmen either. 
 
 ROUSSET. You were afraid of spoiling your 
 dainty fingers doing sewing, I suppose! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No, not that! But no one 
 wanted me. 
 
 ROUSSET. Nonsense ! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I knew how to embroider but 
 I could not sew. However I sewed beads on 
 lace and earned twenty sous, working twelve 
 hours. 
 
 ROUSSET. One can live on that. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. But there is the dull season. 
 
 ROUSSET. All that is none of my affairs. 
 What did I tell when you left? What did I
 
 Blanchette 97 
 
 say? I don't know you any more. Now get 
 out. 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. Rousset, I implore you, 
 Rousset! 
 
 ROUSSET. Come, come! Do you want to 
 break my ears? I warned her of all this. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Then you are going to send 
 me away? 
 
 ROUSSET. How many times do you want 
 me to tell you so? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. You want to send me away 
 without knowing whether I may not die of 
 starvation on your doorstep? 
 
 ROUSSET. Go back from where you came 
 from. You have existed up to now, haven't 
 you? Well, go back and do again what you 
 were doing. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. But lately I haven't even had 
 enough to eat. If you only knew what it 
 was for a woman to work in Paris! There are 
 ten applicants for a day's work, and in this 
 way one stops the other from earning a living 
 without being able to live one's self. If you 
 only knew how one is on the track of hand 
 written billboards which advertise for unskilled 
 workmen. And if you realized how one is 
 exploited! There are people who simply wait 
 until you have fallen to the very poorest 
 state and then propose the most abominable
 
 98 Brieux 
 
 things to you; and they laugh at you when 
 you refuse, and say to you: "If you had 
 rather starve in the gutter that is your affair." 
 I have seen all that, I have gone through all 
 that. In the end I understood that it was 
 impossible, and I have returned because com- 
 ing back to you was the only decent and 
 courageous thing left for me to do. No, I 
 do not want to begin it all over again. I could 
 not if I wanted to. [She kneels] Father, I 
 ask your forgiveness! I promise that you will 
 never have any reason to find fault with me 
 again. I promise never to be proud again and 
 always to obey you. Father, I ask your for- 
 giveness. Don't throw me back on to the 
 street, ' I implore you. I cannot earn my 
 daily bread, so what could I do if you sent 
 me away? 
 
 ROUSSET. You can go to Monsieur Galoux. 
 He promised to engage you to give your 
 friend Lucie lessons, your great friend 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Monsieur Galoux kept his 
 promise. 
 
 ROUSSET. And you did not stay there? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No. 
 
 ROUSSET. But that was the place for you. 
 You did not have to soil your hands, and 
 that must have pleased you. I suppose you
 
 Blanchette 99 
 
 went and did something foolish and they made 
 you get out. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No, I did nothing wrong. 
 
 ROUSSET. If you did nothing wrong they 
 could not have sent you away. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. You believe that? 
 
 ROUSSET. Of course! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. I had hardly entered Monsieur 
 Galoux's services when his son, Monsieur 
 George, wanted to make me his mistress. 
 Then he spoke to me of marriage. It was then 
 that they sent me away. Oh, they paid me 
 a lot of compliments, but they gave me to 
 understand that virtue and instruction could 
 not take the place of a dowry, and they offered 
 me a sum of money which I refused. 
 
 ROUSSET. Ah! Always these ideas of 
 grandeur. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. How I wept and suffered from 
 shame! But listen. From the Galoux's I went 
 into another place, but I had to leave there 
 also. In that place it was the mother who 
 sent me away, yes, the mother, because 
 in taking a companion for her daughter, she 
 meant, at the same time, to have a teacher 
 free from dangers. And after that? a very 
 respectable old gentleman had lost a daughter 
 of just my age and whom he said I resembled. 
 He wanted me to fill her place. Ah, that
 
 100 Brieux 
 
 ignoble man! When I left, he shrugged his 
 shoulders: my frankness made him pity me. 
 That poor, inconsolable father! In another 
 house it was the husband 
 
 ROUSSET. You should have found a position 
 with a single woman. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. That is just what I did, I 
 was all right there, and I scrubbed the floor 
 as you asked me to do. But I got nothing to 
 eat. After all, I almost regret now that I 
 did not imitate other girls I met, who were 
 in just my position. They took the primrose 
 path. And they are not to be pitied for it; 
 no, on the contrary. Yes, yes, I am telling 
 you the truth. Instruction does not teach 
 virtue. There are enough miserable creatures 
 who can roll up their teachers' degrees in their 
 prostitute licenses. 
 
 ROUSSET. Then it is wrong to educate one's 
 children? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No. But one should show them 
 how to make use of their education, and not try to 
 make government officials of them. 
 
 ROUSSET. Be quiet, some one is coming. 
 [Bonenfant enters] 
 
 BONENFANT. How do you do one and all. 
 [Sitting down] I'd like a cup of coffee. [Pre- 
 tending to notice Blanchette for the first time] 
 Why, Blanchette!
 
 Blanchette 101 
 
 ROUSSET. She dropped in to pay us a little 
 visit. 
 
 BONENFANT. Ah! Well, I'll take a cup of 
 coffee just the same. [Mme. Rousset is about 
 to get the things, but Blanchette stops her] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [L ooking at her father, who 
 himself is watching her from the corner of his 
 eye] But I'll get everything, mamma. Give 
 me your apron. [She waits on Bonenfant. Not 
 a word is spoken. Rousset watches her with 
 surprise, and is a little touched] 
 
 BONENFANT. [After having drunk] Ah! 
 [He gives Blanchette a coin which she gives to 
 her mother. She clears the table. Morillon 
 and Auguste enter] 
 
 MORILLON. How do you do, pere Rousset. 
 [To Blanchette] You back again, Miss 
 Blanchette? Ah! I am very happy to see 
 you, very happy and I am not the only 
 one Eh, Auguste? 
 
 ROUSSET. Bless my soul! 
 
 MORILLON. Well, pere Rousset? 
 
 ROUSSET. What? 
 
 MORILLON. Come with me a bit; I have 
 something to tell you. 
 
 ROUSSET. Oh, I can't. I haven't the time 
 now. 
 
 MORILLON. It's about the land. 
 
 ROUSSET. About that David land? 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 STATE TEACHERS COLLECT* 
 SANTA BARBARA. CALIFORNIA 
 
 A ' C I
 
 102 Brieux 
 
 MORILLON. Well, come on, come on. [To 
 the rest] We'll be back soon. [He drags Rons- 
 set out with him. Auguste remains standing. 
 He is visibly embarrassed.] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Won't you sit down? 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. [Looks at them. Then she 
 says] Excuse me if I leave you alone for a 
 few minutes. I'll come back. [She leaves] 
 
 AUGUSTE. They told us that you had re- 
 turned, and as my father and I were passing 
 by we thought we would drop in and see how 
 you were. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. It was very kind of you. 
 
 AUGUSTE. Have you come back now to stay? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. No, I'm going away again. 
 
 AUGUSTE. [Disconcerted] Ah ! ah ! you 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes. 
 
 AUGUSTE. You like Paris better? 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Oh, heavens, no! You have no 
 idea how I dread Paris. 
 
 AUGUSTE. But you have ties that bind you 
 there ! 
 
 BLANCHETTE. None at all. 
 
 AUGUSTE. I I've been waiting one of 
 these days to hear of your marriage. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. With whom, pray tell me? 
 
 AUGUSTE. Oh, I don't know. You are 
 you are I don't know nice enough one 
 would have thought that down there there
 
 Blanchette 103 
 
 would have been fellows who I really don't 
 know 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Who wanted me? No, there 
 were none at least those who did were such 
 miserable rascals that I kept them away from 
 me. 
 
 AUGUSTE. Really you then you need 
 not return. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Yes. My father won't have 
 me here. 
 
 AUGUSTE. What I wanted to say was that 
 no one is waiting for you you are not 
 
 BLANCHETTE. There is no one. 
 
 AUGUSTE. I am so glad to hear that. 
 Then it's really true? it's really true that 
 you have no friend waiting for you? and 
 you 
 
 BLANCHETTE. And I never had any I 
 swear it to you. Oh, I was unhappy so 
 unhappy. 
 
 AUGUSTE. And I am so glad! I don't 
 think you can realize just how happy I am. 
 And now I have some things to tell you. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Go on. 
 
 AUGUSTE. We have had to enlarge our 
 workshop for we now have to employ three 
 workmen. And during harvest we have had as 
 many as five. We are very happy. We make 
 ten, twelve, and even fifteen francs a day
 
 104 Brieux 
 
 and since you left I have laid four hundred 
 francs aside. My father talks of retiring. 
 Listen to me, listen to me. We have had 
 another story built with a large window 
 and [Pause] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Why are you telling me 
 
 AUGUSTS. [Suddenly] Well ! It's clear 
 enough! you I I want to ask you to 
 marry me. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [ Very much moved] Auguste 
 
 AUGUSTE. Tell me, is it yes or no? I have 
 been waiting for you. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Ah, what a truly good boy 
 you are! 
 
 AUGUSTE. Then it's yes? 
 
 [After a pause Blanchette throws herself into his 
 arms] 
 
 AUGUSTE. Then it's yes! Well, you can 
 pride yourself on having made some one happy. 
 Good Lord! You'll see whether I'll make a 
 good husband or not. You'll see! You'll 
 not go back on your word, will you? 
 My, but I am a lucky fellow! [He laughs] But 
 now let me kiss you too! 
 
 [Bonenfant enters] 
 
 BONENFANT. Oh, I beg your pardon. [He 
 is about to leave] 
 
 AUGUSTE. You're back again, pere Bonenfant?
 
 Blanchette 105 
 
 BONENFANT. I returned because I forgot to 
 have my drink after my coffee. 
 
 BLANCHETTE. [Gay] I'll give you your drink, 
 pere Bonenfant, 
 
 AUGUSTE. And a lump of sugar too? 
 
 [Rousset and Morillon enter at rear] 
 
 BONENFANT. I am served like a prince! 
 
 [Auguste is standing next to the table. Blanchette, 
 at his side; her hand is on his shoulder, Both of 
 them are very happy] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Is it good? 
 
 BONENFANT. Very good. [He looks at them 
 and laughs. Then Auguste laughs, and finally 
 Blanchette joins in] 
 
 BONENFANT. I bet you're not going to invite 
 me to the wedding! 
 
 BLANCHETTE AND AUGUSTE. But of course we 
 will! 
 
 MORILLON. [Stepping up] That is if I give 
 my consent ! and I do that with all my heart. 
 
 [Bonenfant is about to leave when he meets Rousset 
 at the door] 
 
 BONENFANT. Well, so Blanchette is going 
 again? 
 
 ROUSSET. We'll see. After one goes to the 
 trouble of bringing up children they always 
 end by leaving their home for the home of 
 another. 
 
 [Mme. Rousset bursts into tears. Blanchette and
 
 106 Brieux 
 
 Auguste go to her, and Blanchette takes her mother 
 in her arms] 
 
 BLANCHETTE. Mother! 
 
 MME. ROUSSET. It's because I am so happy ! 
 
 ROUSSET. And am I a stranger here? 
 Won't any one embrace me? 
 
 [Blanchette throws herself into her father's arms] 
 
 CURTAIN
 
 THE ESCAPE 
 
 A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS
 
 CAST OF CHARACTERS 
 
 DR. BERTRT A PROMINENT PHYSICIAN. 
 
 JEAN BELMONT His STEPSON. 
 
 MONSIEUR BERTRT His BROTHER. 
 
 LUCIENNE BERTRY MONSIEUR BERTRY'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 DR. LA BELLEUSE DR. BERTRY'S SECRETARY. 
 
 PAUL DE MAUCOUR LUCIENNE'S FORMER FIANCE. 
 
 ALICE DE MAUCOUR His WIFE. 
 
 MONSIEUR LONGUYON A FRIEND OF THE BERTRYS. 
 
 MADAME LONGUYON His WIFE. 
 
 MADAME DE CATTENIERES A FRIEND OF THE BERTRYS. 
 
 DR. RICHON A PHYSICIAN FROM EBREVILLE. 
 
 DR. MORIENVAL A YOUNG PARISIAN PHYSICIAN. 
 
 PERE GUERNOCHE A SHEPHERD FROM EBREVILLE. 
 
 ROSALIE MAID AT THE BERTRYS. 
 
 JUSTIN HER HUSBAND. 
 
 SEGARD A FARMER AT EBREVILLE. 
 
 A MAN A SERVANT A FARMER 
 
 r 
 
 TIME THE PRESENT. PLA.CE PARIS AND EBREVILLE.
 
 THE ESCAPE 
 ACT I. 
 
 As the curtain rises Dr. Bertry, a man of 
 sixty years, is discovered correcting proof. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. This will have to be printed 
 as soon as possible. No mistakes! [He re- 
 reads aloud] " Dr. Bertry, a member of the 
 academy of medicine, professeur libre of neuro- 
 pathology, will again give his lectures at the 
 Ecole Pratique beginning on the third of Oc- 
 tober." It seems to me that my name and 
 title could be set in larger type. I don't know 
 that it can be read easily enough as it is. 
 [He rises and gives the placard to the servant. 
 Then he retires a few steps in order to judge 
 the effect] Will you hold it, so that I can see 
 it better? That's it! It'll have to be set in 
 a little larger type. [He underlines it in blue 
 pencil] Don't let them forget that! [He strikes 
 a bell] 
 
 THE MAN. I'll see that it is all right, 
 monsieur. [He leaves] 
 
 [Rosalie enters. She is about fifty years old, 
 and very sad.] 
 
 ROSALIE. Did you ring, doctor?
 
 110 Brieux 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Yes. Take these notes to 
 Mademoiselle Lucienne* and tell her that I 
 should like to have them copied. Is there any 
 one in the waiting room? 
 
 ROSALIE. Dr. La Belleuse is there, monsieur. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Tell him to come in. 
 
 ROSALIE. Haven't you anything to tell me 
 about Justin? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. My poor Rosalie, I have 
 begged you to have courage. There is no hope 
 for your husband. Science, I am sorry to say, 
 can do nothing for him. Tell Doctor La Belleuse 
 to come in. 
 
 [She goes out to the waiting room and ushers 
 La Belleuse in. He is a man of about thirty- 
 five, good looking but insipid. He wears several 
 foreign orders] 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Excuse me, my friend, for 
 receiving you here today, but my office is 
 littered with trunks and packages. We have 
 had a shock. My step-son owns a lot of land 
 at fibreville and the manager he has put in 
 charge there is stealing from him. Good Dr. 
 Richon, the physician at fibreville, came to 
 Paris this morning to tell us about it. And so 
 we are leaving earlier than we intended to. 
 But let us get down to business. Besides, we 
 are in a hurry, as my niece expects some 
 callers here.
 
 The Escape 111 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. [Opening a portfolio] Here 
 you are ! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. What have you there? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. These are the proofs of your 
 biography. I have done the work, I assure 
 you, with the greatest care. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Ah! Let's see. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Your picture here. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Do I look like that? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Yes and no. There is some- 
 thing lacking. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Ah yes! it's imperceptible. 
 Well, have you any news? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. About? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Yes. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. You were told right there 
 are three crosses of the commander. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. We shall have to find out, 
 then, to which ministry they belong. If they 
 come under the department of public instruc- 
 tion we must bring more into the foreground the 
 work I did as a professor; if they come under 
 the department of the interior, we will merely 
 mention my other official titles. But we will 
 talk of my affairs later! Let us now clear up 
 the things of secondary importance. Do you 
 want to ask my advice about anything? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Yes, dear master. I have
 
 112 Brieux 
 
 something that bothers me: I have a patient 
 whom I cannot cure. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Such things will happen. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Evidently, but he wants 
 to go to Lourdes. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Let him go. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. [Astonished] You don't mean 
 it suppose he gets cured? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. You can always find some 
 sort of scientific explanation. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Suggestion? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Of course! that answers 
 almost every question. Now what else? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Then I have Probard a 
 client about whom I have already spoken to 
 you. He hasn't more than a week to live. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Call in another doctor. That 
 will free you from the responsibility. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. But Probard is a man of 
 some standing. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Then call in two doctors for 
 consultation. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Very well then, at the 
 salle Saint Therese, number four is still in the 
 same condition. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Have you tried everything? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Everything. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Even to doing nothing?
 
 The Escape 113 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Even that. Not one of 
 us can tell what is the matter with her. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Sighs] Then we shall not 
 know until after the autopsy. So we must 
 wait! 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. And stop all treatment? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. No. One must never have 
 the appearance of not being interested. That 
 would be a mistake. An unpardonable mistake. 
 Do something, no matter what. Is that all? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Yes, I think that is every- 
 thing. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Well, now let us get down to 
 my business. [La Belleuse sits down} Do 
 you know the number of patients who were 
 treated at the clinic? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. There were not so many pa- 
 tients as last year. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. In that case let us not talk 
 about it any longer. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. That is what I thought. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Now about my biography! 
 Let's see ! {He reads a moment in a low 
 voice] Isn't this a bit too strong: " Dr. 
 Bertry is one of the medical celebrities of the 
 century!!!" 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. [Talcing a pen] Well we 
 can put "of the last twenty years." 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Stopping him] Never mind!
 
 114 Brieux 
 
 I'll leave myself in your hands; you under- 
 stand this sort of thing better than I do. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Then shall we say, "of the 
 last twenty years"? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Stopping him again] Wait! 
 it's for you to decide. Bah! let it go as it 
 is. Ah, but we'll have to modify this passage: 
 "Dr. Bertry's fame dates from 1866. At that 
 time a small doctor in Compiegne, he had the 
 good fortune to care for and cure one of the 
 ladies of the Court, Madame de X. This 
 marvelous cure brought to him the admiration 
 and friendship of the emperor, who gave him 
 the title of," etc. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. But isn't that correct? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Yes. But the form is bad. 
 Write [he walks up and down while he dictates 
 as follows]: "In 1866, Dr. Bertry, although he 
 was living in Compiegne, had already ac- 
 quired such renown that a lady of the Court 
 of the imperial Court Madame de X had 
 recourse to his treatment. Dr. Bertry cured 
 her, and the emperor, hearing of this marvelous 
 cure this marvelous cure, had him called to 
 Paris. The celebrated doctor," it's all right 
 to say celebrated doctor, isn't it? " although 
 it was an act which did violence to his politi- 
 cal opinions, went where duty called him " 
 [Bertry has now come close to La Belleuse, and
 
 The Escape 115 
 
 reads over his shoulders] Have you all that? 
 Good! "During the epidemic he exposed his 
 life to all sorts of dangers a thousand times, 
 in company with Dr. Miron." But no! Erase: 
 "in company with Dr. Miron." That would 
 look too much like an advertisement. [La 
 Belleuse erases it] 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. The rest is devoted to your 
 work on heredity. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Ah! I was wondering whether 
 you had forgotten that. Well, read it! 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. [Reading] "But what, above 
 all, constitutes the work of Dr. Bertry are his 
 studies on heredity. Going farther than Lucas, 
 Morel, and Galton, Bertry has shown the in- 
 vincible power of these laws, henceforth im- 
 mutable. His various works on this subject 
 represent the fruits of thirty years of unin- 
 terrupted toil." 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Who has again come up to La 
 Belleuse] Put in there : " Twelve volumes pub- 
 lished by Alcan " [La Belleuse writes] Do 
 you mention my extensive correspondence with 
 the Academy? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Yes. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. And with the newspapers? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. No. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Write: "Even the political 
 organs have spoken, in the most eulogistic
 
 116 Brieux 
 
 manner, of the discoveries made by this savant, 
 for Dr. Bertry has never scorned interviews." 
 Wait that sentence might not be interpreted 
 correctly yes add: " And this, not be- 
 cause he is seeking vulgar advertisement, of 
 which he has the most abject horror, but only 
 because of his desire to spread the truth!" 
 What next? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. [Reading] "Dr. Bertry has 
 made heredity his own study; he has collected 
 on this subject the most numerous and most 
 convincing observations. Where his illustrious 
 predecessors have made only timid suppositions, 
 he has formulated principles, established certi- 
 tudes." 
 
 THE DOCTOR. That is very good. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. The rest has to do 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Let's see it. [He reads; then 
 laughs] Ha, ha, my young friend, you have not 
 forgotten yourself. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. [Rises, blushing] I? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Yes, you! [Reading] "With 
 the co-operation of the young and active Dr. 
 La Belleuse, his devoted secretary and collab- 
 orator " 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. I thought 
 
 THE DOCTOR. That's all right. You'd like 
 something, eh? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Heavens! [Pointing to his
 
 The Escape 117 
 
 buttonhole] I have, you know, nothing but for- 
 eign orders. And I thought that the same 
 promotion which gave the cravate rouge to the 
 master, might perhaps give the humble disciple 
 a bit of ribbon of the same color. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. We'll see. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. I am preparing some observa- 
 tions on heredity, based on your theories. 
 You haven't any new ones, have you? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Yes. I have just sent three 
 notes to my niece for her to copy. Observa- 
 tions! There's no lack of them! 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Of course, it would be foolish 
 indeed still to doubt, after your admirable 
 studies and according to Auguste Comte, 
 the dead have more influence on us than the 
 living. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. That is true. Then you will 
 attend to all these little details. Write to me, 
 and I will try to get something for you. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Dear master! 
 
 THE DOCTOR [Carelessly] That will make a 
 good topic with which to start my talk with 
 the minister ah! tell me? Are you going 
 at once to find out about the conferring of the 
 crosses? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. I'll go and come back im- 
 mediately. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. That's right. [La Belleuse
 
 118 Brieux 
 
 goes out] There's a nice chap for you! 
 
 [Bertry arranges the papers that are lying about, 
 then looks at himself in the mirror above the 
 fireplace, at the left. He looks at his tongue, and 
 feels his pulse. He rings the bell, and then sits 
 down on the couch. He ponders a moment and 
 sighs deeply. He rings again. Rosalie ap- 
 pears.] 
 
 THE DOCTOR. My medicine. [Rosalie goes] 
 And to think that I teach how to cure others! 
 
 ROSALIE. [Returning with a glass on a tray] 
 You are not feeling any better, monsieur? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [With ill-humor] Yes I am. 
 And since I have told you that I do not want 
 any one to speak about my health you simply 
 shout it out you want the whole world to 
 know about it. You and my brother are the 
 only ones who know about my illness, and I do 
 not want others. . . . [He drinks] Yes, I had 
 a bad night, there. Now are you satisfied? 
 
 ROSALIE. [Apologizing] But, monsieur 
 
 THE DOCTOR. That's all right. Did you 
 take my notes to Mademoiselle Lucienne? 
 
 ROSALIE. Yes, monsieur. She has finished the 
 work that you gave her yesterday, monsieur. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. That's good! 
 
 ROSALIE. Could I have a word with you, 
 monsieur, without disturbing you? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Go ahead.
 
 The Escape 119 
 
 ROSALIE. It's still about my poor husband. 
 As long as the doctors can do nothing for him. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Well? 
 
 ROSALIE. [Hesitating] Do you, monsieur 
 do you perhaps know of pere Guernoche? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Who is he? 
 
 ROSALIE. He is an old shepherd who conies 
 from the same place I do fibreville, where 
 we are going I have been told that he has a 
 secret and an elixir by which he cures all mal- 
 adies. [Bertry shrugs his shoulders] And so I 
 should like my poor Justin to see him. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Do what you want to, but I 
 warn you that Justin will be dead before he 
 reaches fibreville. 
 
 ROSALIE, If I were sure of that! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Try it! 
 
 ROSALIE. But it's Justin himself who wants 
 to go. He is convinced that pere Guernoche 
 will cure him. When I told him yesterday that 
 we were going to Ebreville he asked me whether 
 I was going to take him along. I did not dare 
 say no, and this morning he was already feel- 
 ing much better. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. As a physician, I forbid you 
 to allow your husband to travel. 
 
 [Mr. Bertry enters] Here is my brother. 
 Leave us! [Rosalie goes] 
 
 BERTRY. [Fifty-three years old] How are you?
 
 120 Brieux 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [After looking about, he speaks 
 in a low voice] Always the same. 
 
 BERTRY. What kind of a night did you 
 have? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. A bad one. 
 
 BERTRY. Poor fellow! Well, what is really 
 the matter with you? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. If you knew more about sci- 
 ence you would probably realize that physicians' 
 illnesses are almost always exceptional cases. 
 
 BERTRY. And if one of your patients were 
 afflicted with your malady? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Ah! If it were a client, I 
 should have to find some name for his sick- 
 ness and I should tell him that there was 
 hope for his recovery I should deceive him 
 but I cannot fool myself. 
 
 BERTRY. Why not see another doctor? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. You are crazy. 
 
 BERTRY. But why not? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. They'd make fun of me. 
 
 BERTRY You know my opinion of medicine, 
 I don't believe in it but as you are forced to 
 believe in it, I thought 
 
 THE DOCTOR. That's all right. Have you 
 found a new manager? 
 
 BERTRY. No. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Good Dr. Richon has gone to 
 look for one. Doesn't the idea of putting your-
 
 The Escape 121 
 
 self at the head of this great agricultural ex- 
 ploitation tempt you at all? 
 
 BERTRY. Tempt me? You think, then, that 
 because I was formerly a manufacturer I could 
 now transform myself into a farmer, at my 
 age? But why don't you send your step-son to 
 take charge of things at fibre ville? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Jean? 
 
 BERTRY. Of course! The lands are his. 
 He is sickly, and that life will make him feel 
 better. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Nothing of the kind. 
 
 BERTRY. But 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [In a superior manner] Come, 
 come now! You are not going to pretend to 
 discuss such things with me, I hope? I am very 
 much afraid that nothing can save Jean from 
 his melancholy. 
 
 BERTRY. But why? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. When I married his mother, 
 you remember he was only two years old, and 
 she died a short while after our marriage. I 
 brought up Jean then, and he has grown up 
 under my eyes I know what is the matter 
 with him. 
 
 BERTRY. What? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Jean belongs to a family in 
 which hypochondria and suicide are hereditary. 
 
 BERTRY. But isn't there a cure for that?
 
 Brieux 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Yes, but it works only on rare 
 occasions. I have done what I could; I wanted 
 to distract him, and have him out in the open; 
 I sent him to college in the country, in order 
 to ease my conscience, but all, of course, was of 
 no avail. When he reached his twenty -fifth 
 year I used the great means. 
 
 BERTRY. You frighten me. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. I bade him summon up all his 
 strength; then I told him his father's life story; 
 I told him of the terrible ancestral influence that 
 hung over him; I gave him my books to read, 
 trusting that, knowing of the dangers which 
 beset him, he would decide to save himself, to 
 react. He was sadder than before. 
 
 BERTRY. That does not surprise me! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. You remember it was when 
 he fell in love with your daughter. [After re- 
 flecting} Come to think of it, that would be 
 a good reason for making him leave here. 
 
 BERTRY. Oh, you can be easy about that! 
 Jean is so timid that he would never dare say 
 a word to Lucienne about it. Besides, he keeps 
 away from her, and they treat each other as if 
 they were strangers. He once confided in me, 
 and I then told you his secret, which I alone 
 was to know. And when he found out that 
 you were opposed to this marriage in the 
 name of science
 
 The Escape 123 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Yes, in the name of science. 
 
 BERTRY. He bowed down to your will, and 
 so did I. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. I am glad! 
 
 BERTRY. He has tried traveling. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Yes, and he came back just as 
 sad, as he was when he went away. 
 
 BERTRY. Yes you haven't changed your 
 opinion about this union? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. I have not changed my opin- 
 ion. 
 
 BERTRY. Just the same you ought to be 
 very certain about what you say when you take 
 such responsibilities upon yourself. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. I take them without the least 
 hesitation. 
 
 BERTRY. Here is Dr. Richon. 
 
 [Dr. Richon enters. He is an old country 
 doctor. He wears a white tie, but does not appear 
 at all ridiculous] 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Well, my friend? 
 
 RICHON. I haven't been able to find any one 
 but I have an idea. Why doesn't Jean take 
 matters into his own hands? Excuse me, please, 
 for calling him Jean. I saw him come into the 
 world. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Jean would never want to. 
 
 RICHON. It would be wonderful for his 
 health.
 
 124 Brieux 
 
 THE DOCTOR. I agree with you. [He rings 
 the bell] But you shall see for yourself. [To 
 Rosalie] Tell Monsieur Jean I want to speak to 
 him. [Rosalie goes] 
 
 RICHON. I shall be so glad to shake hands 
 with him! I have now been practicing for more 
 than thirty years in his birthplace, Libreville. 
 I helped a bit in bringing him up. I was both 
 his mother's and his father's physician, alas! 
 
 [Jean enters from the right. He is twenty- 
 eight years old, and has a very sad face] 
 
 JEAN. How do you do, my good doctor? 
 
 RICHON. How are you, my dear boy? [They 
 shake hands] 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Sit down. There are three 
 of us here who are very fond of you: your 
 uncle, Dr. Richon, and I. We were talking 
 about you and we were wondering why you 
 yourself would not take care of your lands at 
 Libreville. 
 
 JEAN. I? 
 
 RICHON. Yes. 
 
 JEAN. What would be the good of it? 
 
 BERTRY. But, my Lord, I'd understand your 
 attitude if you only got some good out of your 
 life here in Paris. 
 
 JEAN. You find Paris gay? 
 
 BERTRY. Of course. 
 
 RICHON. If you do not care for Paris, why
 
 The Escape 125 
 
 do you refuse to go down to Ebreville? The air 
 is much better there than here. I am sure that 
 you would feel better, too. Don't you think so, 
 dear master? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Obviously. Besides, it is now 
 quite the thing to be a country gentleman. 
 One hunts, rides and fibreville is but an 
 hour away from Dieppe. 
 
 BERTRY. Doesn't that mean anything to 
 you? 
 
 JEAN. But why do you want me to go down 
 there into all that confusion? 
 
 RICHON. In order to safeguard your fortune. 
 
 BERTRY. That's the reason. 
 
 JEAN. Yes you are right, I feel that I 
 ought to follow your advice, but I haven't the 
 power really to want to. And besides, I shall al- 
 ways have enough to give me all that I desire. 
 So what is the good of it? 
 
 BERTRY. What is the good of it? That is 
 your answer to everything. For that matter, 
 what is the good of living? 
 
 JEAN. I ask myself that very question. 
 
 RICHON. You'll make yourself ill. 
 
 JEAN. I am ill now. 
 
 RICHON. Very ill. 
 
 JEAN. All the better! 
 
 BERTRY. I tell you, the youth of today is 
 happy! You are the last of the romanticists,
 
 126 Brieux 
 
 my dear fellow, and you speak like one of Cha- 
 teaubriand's heroes. But for heaven's sake, do 
 something, laugh! 
 
 JEAN. You think that is possible? 
 
 BERTRY. You only have to want to do it. 
 
 RICHON. If you are confident that you will 
 be cured you will get well. 
 
 JEAN. Just as some people are born hunch- 
 backed, I was born sad. They can wish in 
 vain to become straight. They never will be! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. You see, my dear Richon, 
 nothing can be done. Are you going to spend 
 several days in Paris? 
 
 RICHON. No. I am returning this evening 
 I have two little rogues coming into the world 
 in fibreville. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Should you like to visit my 
 clinic? 
 
 RICHON. I should very much like to. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Here is my card. My secre- 
 tary, Dr. La Belleuse, will act as your guide. 
 Au revoir, my good Richon. [Richon goes out] 
 
 BERTRY. A carriage has just driven up. It 
 is Madame de Cattenieres. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. I'm going she will ask for a 
 consultation. Stay here, Jean and you, tell 
 Lucienne. [He goes} 
 
 JEAN. [To Bertry] Will you allow me to? 
 Stay here a moment.
 
 The Escape 127 
 
 BERTBY. Are you afraid of being left alone 
 with Madame de Cattenieres? 
 
 JEAN. Almost. 
 
 [Mme. de Cattenieres enters] 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. How do you do, 
 Monsieur Bertry and you, Monsieur Jean? 
 How glad I am to see you! And Lucienne 
 she is well? all the better! I can't stand it 
 any longer. Thank heavens the season to go 
 to the seashore is almost here. I don't know 
 whether I can hold out to the end. I'll have to 
 tell you my programme for the day. 
 
 BERTRY. I'll go get Lucienne, who would be 
 sorry not to hear it. Will you excuse me? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Yes, go Monsieur 
 Jean will keep me company. 
 
 BERTRY. He will be charmed, I am sure. 
 [He goes] 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Is it true that 
 you will be charmed? I should so love to have 
 a long talk with you! You are sad. Oh, do 
 not try to deny it! You know women notice 
 those things immediately I always thought 
 that you fostered a silent grande passion. 
 
 THE SERVANT. Monsieur and Madame Lon- 
 guyon. [ They enter Madame Longuyon is a 
 pretty, vivacious woman] 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. My dear friend! 
 How are you, Monsieur Longuyon [ There is
 
 128 Brieux 
 
 a short conversation at the doorway. During this 
 time Jean goes out] Lucienne will be here in a 
 moment, so sit down Monsieur Jean and I 
 were just saying Why he's gone, the rascal 
 We were talking of the Lombard-Dubois 
 You were there last night? What a lovely 
 affair it was! 
 
 LONGUYON. Yes, but it lasted too long. 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. You should have gone 
 home alone. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Of course. 
 
 LONGUYON. And left my wife among those 
 youngsters? No, Madame de Cattenieres, I am 
 not that type of a husband. 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. As it was, we left before 
 the end of the cotillion. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Was the cotillion 
 
 gay? 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. Very gay. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Why of course, it 
 must have been, since it was led by Dr. La 
 Belleuse, who is the best cotillion leader of the 
 times. 
 
 THE SERVANT. Dr. La Belleuse. [La Bel- 
 leuse enters] 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Are you laughing about me? 
 [To Longuyon, who has risen] Hello, Longuyon! 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. It was about you 
 I was saying to Monsieur Longuyon that you
 
 The Escape 129 
 
 must be a great success with your pretty pa- 
 tients. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. [In spite of himself, he imi- 
 tates Dr. Berlry's manner of speech during the 
 following] You are making an error, madame, 
 that almost every one makes. A regrettable 
 error. A doctor's office is not a boudoir, I 
 assure 'you; it is a confessional for human 
 miseries, and when love is spoken of there, the 
 subject is a good deal less amusing than you 
 can possibly imagine. For us a patient is not 
 a woman, but simply a sick person, and there 
 you are ! 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. I beg your pardon. 
 
 LONGUYON. You are a good man, doctor! 
 [Softly] I have a word to say to you. Listen 
 my wife cannot make up her mind to go and 
 see you, although I have begged her to and 
 her health troubles me. Will you take advan- 
 tage of this meeting to give her a lecture? It 
 would be awfully kind of you. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. I shall be very glad to. 
 
 [Longuyon takes La Belleuse up to where his 
 wife is. She has turned a bit away] 
 
 LONGUYON. I'll leave you here! 
 
 [He returns to Mme. de Cattenieres, excuses 
 himself, and walks to the fireplace, upon which 
 he leans his elbow. From here he makes signs
 
 130 Brieux 
 
 to La Belleuse who is standing next to Mme. 
 Longuyon] 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. [To Mme. Longuyon in a low 
 voice] I waited for you, Helene, all yesterday 
 afternoon. 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. I could not come. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Then you do not love me? 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. You know very well that 
 I do! You are smiling? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Yes, your husband is making 
 signs of encouragement to me. 
 
 [La Belleuse smiles at Longuyon and nods his 
 head, as if to say: "Everything will be all right"} 
 
 LONGUYON. [To Mme. de Cattenieres] That 
 Dr. La Belleuse has a heart of gold. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. [Who has been watch- 
 ing all the proceedings] Hasn't he, though? 
 
 LONGUYON. Are you doing the honors here? 
 I'm not complaining that you are, remember! 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Lucienne is coming. 
 
 LONGUYON. And her father? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. He is probably with 
 his brother. 
 
 LONGUYON. I have always wondered how 
 two people so entirely different as the doctor 
 and his brother could live together. Monsieur 
 Bertry made his fortune in business, didn't he? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Not exactly; he 
 rebuilt it there, for at the age of twenty-five
 
 The Escape 131 
 
 he had squandered his part of his inheritance. 
 
 LONGUYON. Ah! Women? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. No just one 
 woman! That is, the others did not come until 
 later. 
 
 LONGUYON. He did not try to reform? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. On the contrary. 
 He had them all, from country ladies to his own 
 factory workers faugh! 
 
 LONGUYON. Don Juan! 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. A Don Juan, manu- 
 facturing woolens that's what he is. 
 
 LONGUYON. And his wife never knew - 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. His wife? 
 
 LONGUYON. Madame Bertry? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. You knew Madame 
 Bertry? 
 
 LONGUYON. No. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Your wife knew her? 
 
 LONGUYON. Don't bother her. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. That's right. If you 
 know nothing about it, let's consider that I have 
 said nothing. 
 
 LONGUYON. Then there is something? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Nothing. Dear 
 Lucienne is making us wait a long while. 
 
 LONGUYON. Perhaps she is working with 
 her uncle. They tell me that she acts as his 
 secretary.
 
 132 Brieux 
 
 MME. DB CATTENIERES. And why not? Doc- 
 tor Bertry loves to dictate, and his latest works 
 on heredity have been entirely transcribed by 
 Lucienne. 
 
 LONGUYON. What a charming girl she is! 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Isn't she, though? 
 A bit eccentric. She gets that from her 
 mother. 
 
 LONGUYON. You know her then? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Who, the mother? 
 
 LONGUYON. Yes. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. She is dead. 
 
 LONGUYON. Well, then, did you know her? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. [Shocked] I ! 
 Heavens, no ! But you will not make me tell 
 you what I would rather not talk about Of 
 all the young girls I know I love Lucienne best. 
 
 LONGUYON. She is a good match. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Of course! 
 
 LONGUYON. Wasn't she to be married some 
 time ago? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. To Paul de Mau- 
 cour? 
 
 LONGUYON. Yes. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Why surely. A 
 very natural indiscretion, however, stopped 
 everything. 
 
 LONGUYON. An indiscretion? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. And Paul de Mau-
 
 The Escape 133 
 
 cour married Alice, Lucienne's best friend. But 
 that's all old. They have returned from their 
 honeymoon and have even called on Lucienne, and 
 she was very glad to see them. 
 
 LONGUYON. You don't mean it! He took his 
 wife to visit his former fiancee? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Paul de Maucour is 
 one of Jean Belmont's class mates. 
 
 LONGUYON. Nevertheless 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. But it was Lucienne 
 who wanted them to come. 
 
 LONGUYON. A propos of this broken engage- 
 ment, you were speaking of an indiscretion. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. You are getting 
 wrong ideas into your head. I see that the 
 best thing to do is to tell you everything. Well, 
 Lucienne's mother was one of the prominent 
 cocottes of the end of the Empire: there you 
 are, now that's everything! [Lucienne enters] 
 Why, here is Lucienne! [She goes to her] How 
 do you do, my dear? It has seemed a long 
 while, in spite of the company of this gentleman, 
 who is a chatterer. But you look superb! 
 
 LUCIENNE. [To Mme. de Cattenieres] Please 
 excuse me but we have had to hurry our de- 
 parture for Ebreville. How do you do, La 
 Belleuse? Please don't get up. [She shakes 
 hands with Mme. Longuyon and La Belleuse}
 
 134 Brieux 
 
 Please don't move! [She joins Mme. de Cat- 
 tenieres] Yes, my dear! 
 
 LONGUYON. [Goes on his tiptoes to the center 
 table and takes up an album. La Belleuse and 
 Mme. Longuyon move slightly] I'm going to 
 look at the pictures. 
 
 [He goes to the rear table and sits down] 
 
 LUCIENNE. [To Mme. de Cattenieres] I'll 
 tell you what has been keeping me there are 
 a lot of good people down at Ebreville to whom 
 I take clothes and good things to eat every time 
 I go down there. If they should see me arrive 
 with empty hands 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. You don't mean to 
 say that you do that sort of thing? 
 
 LUCIENNE. [A little nervous] You are sur- 
 prised? You never thought that I could dream 
 of anything but clothes, say anything but triv- 
 ialities, or do anything but flirt! 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Not at all, I assure 
 you. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Come, come! Now don't try to 
 get out of it. And you are not the only one 
 who thinks so. After all, you are right. And 
 when I do other things I meddle with what 
 isn't my business. But let us talk of you! 
 How have you been? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Not well. At one
 
 The Escape 135 
 
 time I have a voracious appetite, and then I 
 cannot eat at all. 
 
 [They continue speaking in a low voice] 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. [Rising, to La Belleuse] No 
 I say no. You see this idea of dividing 
 myself between my husband and you revolts me. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. If that is all 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. What do you mean, if 
 that is all! 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. You'll see. 
 
 [He approaches Longuyon and takes him by the 
 arm. Mme. Longuyon joins Lucienne] 
 
 LUCIENNE. Alice de Maucour! Is she still 
 my best friend? Of course! And why not? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. And her husband? 
 
 LUCIENNE. He is also still one of my friends, 
 my dear. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. You knew it, Ma- 
 dame Longuyon? 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. Why, surely! 
 
 LUCIENNE. He is still one of my friends, 
 and if you will stay here a little while longer 
 you will be able to see for yourself, for I know 
 that both of them are coming to bid me good- 
 bye. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. I have been told 
 
 LUCIENNE. There are so many people with 
 evil tongues ! 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. [To Longuyon, drawing him up
 
 136 Brieux 
 
 the stage} My dear man, I have had a long 
 talk with your wife. 
 
 LONGUYON. Well? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. You are right. Her apparent 
 good health is only on the surface. She needs 
 a great deal of care, a great deal of care. 
 
 LONGUYON. That is what I thought. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. But even more than you 
 imagine. [They continue speaking softly] 
 
 LONGUYON. Very well, I promise you. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Well and good! [They shake 
 hands. To Lucienne] I am leaving now, and 
 I want to wish you a very pleasant trip. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Good-bye Good-bye. 
 
 [La Belleuse goes out] 
 
 THE SERVANT. Monsieur and Madame de 
 Maucour. 
 
 [Alice embraces Lucienne. Paul shakes hands 
 with her and then greets Mme. de Cattenieres] 
 
 ALICE. How are you? 
 
 LUCIENNE. And you? 
 
 ALICE. I am so glad to be with you again. 
 
 LUCIENNE. And I am glad to have you here. 
 
 ALICE. You know that we are going to 
 Dieppe this year. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Then we shall see one another. 
 
 ALICE. I should think so! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Ebreville is seven and a half 
 miles from Dieppe.
 
 The Escape 137 
 
 ALICE. A half hour by bicycle. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Do you ride? 
 
 ALICE. Yes, with Paul. We love it. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. I am going, my 
 dear Lucienne. I don't want to intrude on two 
 such good friends. 
 
 LUCIENNE. You are not intruding 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. I am just fooling. 
 I want to try to catch Dr. La Belleuse and see 
 whether he can tell me what's the matter with 
 me. 
 
 ALICE. Are you ill, my dear? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. At one time I have 
 a voracious appetite, and then I cannot eat at 
 all. I am going to tell the doctor about it. 
 Please do not rise. [She goes] 
 
 ALICE. I can hardly believe, when I see us 
 two here, that it is I who am the "madame" 
 Who ever would have thought that I should be 
 the first to marry! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Why not? 
 
 ALICE. [Carelessly] Oh, my dear, but you 
 are older than I am! [A pause] You will never 
 guess what people have told me: that you were 
 to marry Paul. Of course I laughed! 
 
 LUCIENNE. You should not have for it is 
 true. 
 
 ALICE. You don't really mean it! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Why, yes
 
 138 Brieux 
 
 ALICE. Were things pretty far advanced? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Far enough! 
 
 ALICE. Did your relatives plan it? 
 
 LUCIENNE. No, we did we were in love 
 with each other. 
 
 ALICE. Ah! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Probably seeing you was enough 
 for him. 
 
 ALICE. That probably would have sufficed; 
 but your engagement was already broken when 
 he met me. Why was it broken? 
 
 LUCIENNE. I don't know. 
 
 ALICE. Listen, dear Lucienne, I have some- 
 thing to tell you. You have a lot of enemies, 
 and people are saying nasty things about you. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Raising her voice a little] About 
 me? What do they say? I beg you to tell 
 me what they say. 
 
 ALICE. Do not talk so loud. It's not ex- 
 actly about you that people are talking and 
 besides, what they say is so improbable. And 
 finally, I don't understand about such things 
 at all I was told I am telling you this in 
 your interest I was told that when Paul's 
 parents refused their consent to your marriage 
 it was not on your account. 
 
 LUCIENNE. It was on account of my mother, 
 wasn't it? 
 
 ALICE. [Embarrassed] Not exactly.
 
 The Escape 139 
 
 LUCIENNE. That's all right. I did not know 
 that, and I thank you for telling me about it. 
 
 ALICE. Anyway, you need not feel any great 
 regrets; for if Paul had really loved you deeply, 
 as you deserved, he would have done more to 
 overcome his parents' remonstrances. But I 
 appear to be monopolizing you. You are not 
 angry with me, are you? [She rises, and ap- 
 proaches the Longuyons] 
 
 LUCIENNE. No [Paul de Maucour ap- 
 proaches Lucienne] Monsieur de Maucour? 
 
 PAUL. Mademoiselle Lucienne! 
 
 LUCIENNE. A word, please! Won't people 
 say that you are running after me? 
 
 PAUL. I have been made to treat you so 
 badly, Lucienne, that I was waiting for you to 
 reproach me. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Bah! It makes little difference 
 to me. 
 
 PAUL. I loved you a great deal, Lucienne! 
 
 LUCIENNE. [So/%] And I too, I loved you! 
 
 PAUL. And I still love you I ask your 
 forgiveness I should not speak like this to a 
 young girl. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Oh, nonsense! Am I a young 
 girl like the others? 
 
 PAUL. Yes. But better than the others. 
 The man who gets you for a wife may consider 
 himself lucky.
 
 140 Brieux 
 
 LUCIENNE. Do not say what you do not 
 really believe. Besides, I shall never marry. 
 
 PAUL. Have you so little love in you? 
 
 LUCIENNE. But I did not say that 
 
 PAUL. Then you love me? 
 
 [Jean enters. Lucienne bursts into a loud 
 laugh, then she says softly] 
 
 LUCIENNE. You are a fool ! What is there 
 new in Paris? Do you go to the theater? 
 
 PAUL. Yesterday I took Alice to the Casino 
 des Larbins. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Where? 
 
 PAUL. Oh, it's quite the place to go now-a- 
 days. You see every one there. You should 
 see the line of carriages that stands in front 
 every night. 
 
 LUCIENNE. What is the attraction? 
 
 PAUL. A pantomime: The Night in the Seraglio. 
 
 LUCIENNE. And that is? [She snaps her 
 fingers] 
 
 PAUL. [Looks at her in a surprised manner. 
 Smiling] You have become quite modernized 
 during the last six months. 
 
 LUCIENNE. You think so? I tell you, it 
 was not hard for me to change. 
 
 PAUL. Ah! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes. 
 
 [A pause, during which Paul is visibly em- 
 barrassed]
 
 The Escape 141 
 
 PAUL. You were asking me? I really don't 
 remember what any more 
 
 LUCIENNE. I was asking you about the 
 pantomime is it rather free? 
 
 PAUL. One can go only if one takes a box. 
 
 LUCIENNE. I am sorry that I am not mar- 
 ried. If I were I should immediately go to 
 see your masterpiece. 
 
 PAUL. If there were not so many con- 
 ventions 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Laughing loudly] I might go 
 with you some evening? 
 
 PAUL. I did not say that. 
 
 LUCIENNE. I should hope not. 
 
 PAUL. Shall we be good friends Lucienne? 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Giving him her hand] As good 
 as you wish. 
 
 PAUL. [Holding her hand] You are more 
 adorable than ever and I love you more than I 
 ever did before. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Releasing her hand] And in an- 
 other way. 
 
 ALICE. [Coming up to them] I am sorry 
 to have to interrupt you but you know, Paul, 
 that they are waiting for us. [To Lucienne] 
 Good-bye, my dear, and bon voyage. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Then it's understood that we shall 
 see you at fibre ville?
 
 142 Brieux 
 
 ALICE. Unless, by chance, we should not go 
 to Dieppe. 
 
 [Lucienne takes them to the door. Longuyon 
 and his wife join them, and all say good-bye] 
 
 JEAN. You should not compromise yourself 
 thus, Lucienne. 
 
 LUCIENNE. And why, pray? 
 
 JEAN. You should not jest with Paul de 
 Maucour as you do, and you should not allow 
 him to speak to you as he does. 
 
 LUCIENNE. That appears to be my business. 
 
 JEAN. You are wrong. It is also your 
 friends' business. 
 
 LUCIENNE. I haven't any friends: or rather 
 I have so many; which amounts to none at all. 
 
 JEAN. You have at least one good one. 
 
 LUCIENNE. You? 
 
 JEAN. Me. 
 
 LUCIENNE. After all, perhaps that is true, 
 for I cannot see any reason why you should lie 
 to me about it. 
 
 JEAN. Your actions, however, affect my 
 friendship for you. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Because? 
 
 JEAN. Because you are preparing yourself 
 for unhappiness. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Do you think so? 
 
 JEAN. Seeing you so inconsistent, who do 
 you think will marry you?
 
 The Escape 143 
 
 LUCIENNE. And who tells you, pray, that I 
 want to marry? 
 
 JEAN. You hate the idea of marriage? 
 
 LUCIENNE. I do not hate it; but it is for- 
 bidden to me. 
 
 JEAN. What do you mean? 
 
 LUCIENNE. It's true that you are not inter- 
 ested in the scandal of the day. We have not 
 met much. You do not like to talk, you never 
 leave your room, where your misanthropy keeps 
 you; you have not been in Paris long and you 
 do not know things about me that the whole 
 world is talking of. Well! Now you shall 
 learn the state of affairs! A man can make me 
 his mistress but never his wife. However, I 
 am not any worse than other young girls; I 
 was not more perverted than Alice, my former 
 friend, and Paul de Maucour married her. But, 
 on account of my birth, I am doomed to evil. 
 
 JEAN. [Moved] By your birth! Will you 
 please explain? 
 
 LUCIENNE. What good will that do? 
 
 JEAN. Well, I, I, too, am doomed to evil, 
 and through no fault of mine. 
 
 LUCIENNE. I received at birth a fatal heri- 
 tage. 
 
 JEAN. I also am crushed by a fatal heritage, 
 as you call it. My father transmitted to me 
 the melancholy which poisoned him through
 
 144 Brieux 
 
 life. Ah, Lucienne, tell me your troubles; no 
 one, no one can understand them better than I. 
 
 LUCIENNE. I have to carry the burden of 
 my mother's indiscretions. She transmitted to 
 me all the sadness of her life no, I am wrong, 
 she gave to me repentance for her pleasures, 
 for she led a gay life, and it is I who am pun- 
 ished. 
 
 JEAN. Do not speak like that of your 
 mother, Lucienne. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Rising] Ah, yes! The con- 
 ventional filial respect! You see, I was never 
 taught that. My father loves me in his way, 
 he does what he can for me. It's not his fault 
 that his pleasures have always taken up the 
 greater part of his time. It is true that he rec- 
 ognized me, but he has always left the problem 
 of my education in his brother's hands. As to 
 my mother, I have already let you imagine what 
 she was. Filial respect! Believe that I am a 
 monster, if you will, but I have searched in 
 every corner of my heart still I cannot find 
 that respect there! 
 
 JEAN. I do not dare I cannot ask you to 
 explain. 
 
 LUCIENNE. In order to have you understand 
 it will only be necessary for me to mention my 
 mother's name, for she was celebrated. Twenty- 
 five years ago the daily papers mentioned her
 
 The Escape 145 
 
 name a million times; why, even pamphlets 
 were published with her picture and an account 
 of her life I would have blushed to read them 
 even if she had been a total stranger to me 
 Her name was Sophie Claret; I look like her; 
 I have her mannerisms, the same vocal intona- 
 tions an old friend of my father's told me so 
 
 and I have her spirit, too. 
 
 JEAN. How did you come to know all this? 
 
 LUCIENNE. It was a long time ago. I was 
 expelled from a convent after I had been there 
 but a week. They made some sort of an ex- 
 cuse; but a little friend of mine who did not 
 understand what she was saying, told me that 
 I had been expelled because I was the daughter 
 of Sophie Claret. You know what that means 
 to a young girl. At first, I was very much sur- 
 prised, then I forgot about it. However, I 
 already felt that I was different from the aver- 
 age. My uncle would often stop my father 
 when he scolded me. He would say: "Leave 
 the poor child alone; you cannot make her over, 
 she has it in her blood." I can still remember 
 
 I think I was seventeen when I overheard 
 this conversation between two young people: 
 " Lucienne Bertry there is nothing to fear 
 with her. One can't be compelled to marry 
 her. " I heard nothing more excepting the 
 name of my mother. Finally, four years ago,
 
 146 Brieux 
 
 in opening a paper, I don't know where I 
 got it from that same name met my eyes. 
 This time I wanted to know. By making a 
 little effort, with the help of a few tricks, I 
 cannot tell you just how, I was finally en- 
 lightened 
 
 JEAN. Poor little girl! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes, poor little girl! Two years 
 ago Paul de Maucour proposed marriage to me. 
 Then he suddenly disappeared, and when he 
 returned he was married to Alice. I im- 
 mediately knew the reason. 
 
 JEAN. On account of your mother's name? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Eh! It's not a question of her 
 name! But people are afraid that I am ex- 
 actly like her, do you understand? And deep 
 down I am afraid that they are right. I have 
 written, from my uncle's dictation, his latest 
 works on heredity. Can you now guess with 
 what eagerness I have listened during the last 
 four years to his lectures on heredity im- 
 placable heredity, as he calls it? Can you 
 understand with what eagerness I have read and 
 reread all of his books? There are times, how- 
 ever, when I ask myself whether they are right, 
 with all their science for at balls, during 
 flirtations, more than once, I have felt re- 
 bellion and loathing rise up in my breast. What 
 they called love disgusted me. But I honestly
 
 The Escape 147 
 
 thought that I should not play the prude and I 
 strained to overcome my loathings I succeeded 
 
 and just a little while ago I listened, smilingly, 
 to words which formerly would have driven me 
 almost mad. 
 
 JEAN. Lucienne ! 
 
 LUCIENNE. I really dreamed of other things 
 
 I thought that my happiness in later life 
 would be in devoting myself to some one whom 
 I loved for whom I should have the affec- 
 tion that one has for little children for, in 
 my mind, this some one was weak 
 
 JEAN. [Who has listened with the greatest 
 emotion, and who now sits down close to her] 
 Unhappy? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes. 
 
 JEAN. Like me, Lucienne? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Like you. He would have to 
 be cared for more carefully than any one else 
 in the world. 
 
 JEAN. [Putting his hands before his face] 
 Lucienne ! Lucienne ! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Jean! 
 
 JEAN. I suffer the same as you do I was 
 three years old when my father committed 
 suicide 
 
 LUCIENNE. I was three years old when my 
 mother died. 
 
 JEAN. I also have read all of Dr. Bertry's
 
 148 Brieux 
 
 books, and like you, Lucienne, I am in despair! 
 Our unhappiness is the same. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes, the same. 
 
 JEAN. My life is lost. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Mine too! 
 
 JEAN. I long for death to set me free! 
 
 LUCIENNE. I have not the right even to 
 dream of the happiness that belongs to every 
 woman. [Sobbing] But truly, Jean, truly, do 
 you not think that it is sad, very sad, that there 
 are human beings who are fated even before 
 their birth to be consecrated to all the bitter- 
 ness, all the disasters of life? Isn't it unjust, 
 isn't it more than unjust? 
 
 JEAN. Yes, it is unjust; unjust and unfor- 
 tunate that we are locked in the faults and vices 
 of our ancestors. 
 
 LUCIENNE. It is like original sin 
 
 JEAN. For which we are punished 
 
 LUCIENNE. Without having committed it 
 How well I understood your sadness! 
 
 JEAN. And how I understand yours! We 
 are like two exiles who meet 
 
 LUCIENNE. Glad to speak of their native 
 land, of their common misfortune 
 
 JEAN. [Resting his head on Lucienne's shoul- 
 der] And weep in each other's arms. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Stroking his hair] Yes, as we
 
 The Escape 149 
 
 are doing! And, for a moment, their suffering 
 would be lessened 
 
 [A pause. Both gradually become exalted 
 during the following] 
 
 JEAN. Lucienne these chains these chains 
 which the dead have hung on us if we tried 
 to break them? 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Shows signs of great joy, then:] 
 Impossible we are prisoners to whom all 
 hope is denied 
 
 JEAN. There is no prison from which an es- 
 cape is impossible. [He rises] If you want 
 to we will try to escape. 
 
 LUCIENNE. It is impossible! 
 
 JEAN. No, it is not. Alone, the idea would 
 never have struck me, and I certainly should 
 have lacked the strength to realise it. But 
 with your help both united in life for I 
 love you, Lucienne, and I have loved you for 
 a long time. 
 
 LUCIENNE. I know now. I know that I 
 have loved you for a long time already. 
 For the husband of my dreams was like you. 
 
 JEAN. We will put the energy of our youth 
 and the power of our love against their despair- 
 ing science! 
 
 LUCIENNE. I want to but I am afraid ! 
 If we were mistaken, Jean, and if I could not 
 escape!
 
 150 Brieux 
 
 JEAN. I would love you so 
 
 LUCIENNE. I am afraid of the influence of 
 the dead. 
 
 JEAN. You will forget it I will make you 
 forget it. Besides, you will save me. Al- 
 ready I feel that I have more strength. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Ah, Jean! If it were possible! 
 What happiness! If it were only possible! 
 
 JEAN. We are going to use every atom of 
 our strength to combat it. Do you consent? 
 
 LUCIENNE. I consent. 
 
 JEAN. [Holding her hands, and speaking with 
 effusion] But I shall have to act immediately. 
 We shall have to make our projects known 
 immediately. I want to profit by this awaken- 
 ing, this exaltation for if I should wait I 
 should be afraid that I might not have the 
 power again. I am going to speak to your 
 father. I told him a long while ago that I 
 wanted to marry you; but at that time I had 
 no real energy, for I did not know that you 
 loved me. Ah, how happy we are going to 
 be ! [He goes Dr. Bertry enters] 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Have all your callers gone? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. You are satisfied to go to 
 fibreville? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Charmed, charmed, charmed!
 
 The Escape 151 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Why what is the matter with 
 you? You are so excited! 
 
 LTJCIENNE. You will know very soon. A 
 serious event is going to take place in my life. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Without attaching much sig- 
 nificance to her words] Serious ! serious, and 
 at the same time happy? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes, happy! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. All the better, all the better! 
 
 [Lucienne goes out Dr. Bertry is alone for 
 a short while. Then Dr. La Belleuse enters with 
 Dr. Richon and Dr. Morienval] 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Come in, my dear friends. 
 Come in! [To Dr. Bertry] Dear master, I am 
 bringing Dr. Richon and our other colleague, 
 Dr. Morienval, who, having heard of your de- 
 parture, has come to pay his respects. 
 
 RICHON. Dear master I have been as- 
 tonished! Ah, the Parisians are lucky indeed 
 in possessing establishments managed like those 
 I have seen for they must have cost 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. The Parisians are luckier 
 still, however, to receive in them treatment by 
 Dr. Bertry. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Gratuitously. 
 
 MORIENVAL. Gratuitously. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [To Morienval] And you have 
 just had your thesis accepted, sir? 
 
 MORIENVAL. Yes, dear master. My father
 
 152 Brieux 
 
 said to me: "Be either a lawyer or a doctor; if 
 you are not successful, you can always turn to 
 politics." 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. By Jove, it's wonderful what 
 power we exercise over others. 
 
 RICHON. Oh, power! 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Our mere title gives it to us. 
 You don't believe it? There is not a per- 
 son on earth who, once knowing what we are, 
 will not feel troubled if we look at them a bit 
 insistently. Try it at the dinner table, at the 
 theater, or wherever you like. Look fixedly 
 at one of your friends who is in good health. 
 Say to him with a certain air: "Are you feeling 
 well?" He will be troubled, and his "yes" 
 will already be full of anxiety. He will entreat 
 you to tell him what you have noticed. Then 
 reply: "Oh, nothing! I thought that you were 
 a bit pale. Is your heart action perfectly all 
 right?" And the next day that friend will be 
 at your office, after having passed a sleepless 
 night. He will ask you, with the naivet6 of all 
 sick people, to give him a new heart in the 
 place of his. 
 
 MORIENVAL. Does that sort of thing happen 
 in the country, Dr. Richon? 
 
 RICHON. Oh, it's quite different in the 
 country, you know there, we love our work 
 for its own sake. And besides, we are a bit
 
 The Escape 153 
 
 friendly with our patients. In fibreville, al- 
 most every one who bows to me on the street 
 has been helped into the world by me; I have 
 been present at their weddings, and have seen 
 their parents die. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. You lose a great many of 
 your cases? 
 
 RICHON. Not any more than one does here 
 in Paris. I realise that I am not a savant, but 
 I have seen so many that I am beginning to 
 know them a little. 
 
 MORIENVAL. And are you perfectly con- 
 tented? 
 
 RICHON. Heavens I hardly dare to confess 
 it here I am proud of being a physician 
 I always feel a keen pleasure when, after I have 
 entered a patient's room and found every one in 
 tears, I have been able to leave with the con- 
 sciousness that I have given a little hope. For, 
 you know, a physician cures but rarely, relieves 
 sometimes, but always consoles. The patients 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Ah, the patients! For all the 
 gratitude that they show 
 
 RICHON. Of course they are often un- 
 grateful. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Often! Always, you meant 
 to say. 
 
 RICHON. I divide them into two classes: 
 first, those whom I treat gratuitously, for I love
 
 154 Brieux 
 
 to do that; then come the patients who pay me. 
 If I should ask for remuneration from both I 
 should feel that I was being paid twice. And 
 besides my patients I like to please them 
 that helps cure them. 
 
 LA BELLEUSB. [To Morienval] He belongs 
 to the old school. 
 
 RICHON. [Who has not heard] I graduated 
 from Caen. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. I only hope that there are a 
 lot of physicians like you! 
 
 RICHON. You are making fun of me now 
 I am going to leave at once you see, the train 
 will not wait for me. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. I hope to see you again one 
 of these days, Richon. 
 
 [Richon leaves. La Belleuse and Morienval 
 laugh} 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. He's a fine one! 
 
 MORIENVAL. The consolation of the parents! 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. And his joy his joy when 
 his patients are feeling better! 
 
 MORIENVAL. A doctor who is afraid of being 
 paid twice! 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. When one has enough trouble 
 in getting paid once! 
 
 MORIENVAL. And from Caen! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Come, come now! You 
 might be just a little indulgent. What do you
 
 The Escape 155 
 
 expect? He is from the country and doesn't 
 know! 
 
 [Bertry enters] 
 
 BERTRY. How do you do, gentlemen. 
 Kindly pardon the intrusion. [Softly to his 
 brother] Are you going to be busy much longer 
 with these gentlemen? I have something very 
 important to tell you! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. No, we have quite finished. 
 
 [La Belleuse and Morienval bid him good-bye 
 with much ceremony} 
 
 THE DOCTOR. What have you to tell me 
 that is so important? 
 
 BERTRY. Jean and Lucienne want to marry. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. I thought that I had said 
 once for all that I was opposed to their mar- 
 riage. 
 
 BERTRY. Jean is in a terrible state of ex- 
 citement. He knows now that Lucienne loves 
 him. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Lucienne loves him? After 
 all, I am not surprised: degenerates seek each 
 other out. And what did you say to it? 
 
 BERTRY. I saw them so confident, so reso- 
 lute, so wrapped up in their happiness, that, 
 after deliberation, I consented. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. You haven't any more balance 
 than they have.
 
 156 Brieux 
 
 BERTRY. Possibly! Then you refuse your 
 consent? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Absolutely 
 
 BERTRY. And why? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Don't you really know? 
 
 BERTRY. You consented to take Lucienne 
 under your roof in spite of her mother, and 
 while your wife was still living. You did not 
 then consider her unworthy to enter your 
 family. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. It's not a question of that. 
 
 BERTRY. Kindly explain yourself. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Very well! Before a year is 
 up do you understand? before a year 
 Jean will have committed suicide and Lu- 
 cienne 
 
 BERTRY. Albert! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. My poor fellow, I do not 
 want to make you sad. But let us talk 
 seriously, since it is a question of the happiness 
 of these children, and do not take anything that 
 I may say as a reproach for past conduct. 
 Jean, like his father, is nervous and melancholy. 
 As to Lucienne, understand me she also 
 has a heritage which prevents her from marry- 
 ing. 
 
 BERTRY. [Crushed] We are, then, prisoners 
 of the dead? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. You have said it.
 
 The Escape 157 
 
 BERTRY. [Becomes furious] You'll drive me 
 crazy in the end with your science, your hered- 
 ity! So men are nothing but unconscious 
 brutes, without individuality, without will? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. You don't understand any- 
 thing about such things! 
 
 BERTRY. Well, take us for example. You 
 and I are sons of the same parents, and we 
 should resemble one another; however 
 
 THE DOCTOR. There are such things as 
 cross heredity there is atavism, a distant 
 heredity. 
 
 BERTRY. But why is it that what is true 
 for us is not true for them? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. It could have been. But 
 one needs only to watch them for an hour to 
 see that they are just like their parents. 
 
 BERTRY. But your science is wrong some- 
 times; and there are always exceptions. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Very few Lucas, Morel, 
 Galton and I have observed thousands of cases 
 which showed the laws of heredity 
 
 BERTRY. And how many cases, where these 
 laws were shattered, did you not know about? 
 You know the number of condemned thieves 
 whose fathers were also condemned, but you 
 do not know how many criminals there are 
 whose children are perfectly honest. And even 
 though your laws, your famous laws, might have
 
 158 Brieux 
 
 been shattered but once, even though, through 
 all of your observations you might have found 
 but one vicious man whose offspring was not 
 vicious, but one fool whose children were sane, 
 I tell you that that one, that one and only case, 
 should have stopped you from publishing on the 
 strength of such doubtful authority, your sin- 
 ister and bold laws, your hopeless laws, which, 
 perhaps, have succeeded in making more vicious 
 and insane people than heredity itself. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. What matter the victims? 
 We believe that these laws are true, we must 
 therefore formulate them 
 
 BEBTRY. You abuse your power by being 
 despots 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Despots who are not afraid of 
 being dethroned 
 
 BERTRY. You are right. Your reign is not 
 near its end. You are the good gods of an 
 atheist people which has no other ideal than the 
 perfect operation of its digestive organs. You 
 are the last resource of credulity in this epoch 
 of sham scepticism. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Go on, my friend; but I am 
 waiting until you feel ill. You will come to 
 me as every one else does; you will show me 
 your tongue, and be the very little boy, just 
 like all the others. 
 
 BERTRY. That will prove nothing! Formerly,
 
 The Escape 159 
 
 sick people prayed to God to cure them; now 
 that they do not believe in God any longer, 
 they believe in science, even more than you 
 do, and you have inherited the power of the 
 priests. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Has the change meant any 
 loss? 
 
 BERTRY. I think so now they pay. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Oh, oh! They pay! 
 
 BERTRY. They "sell," if you wish it thus, 
 they sell the hope of a future life that is less 
 sad than this one. You, you are the ministers 
 of this goddess of deception, who calls herself 
 science ! Medicine 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Do not speak badly of medi- 
 cine. It has had martyrs. 
 
 BERTRY. Not as many martyrs as victims! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. It has heroes. 
 
 BERTRY. I know that as well as you do; 
 but for a Claude Bernard, a Pasteur, or a Doc- 
 tor Roux, whom fame has reached in spite of 
 themselves, locked up though they were in 
 laboratories, for a certain number of you who 
 are modest and to be pitied, there are enough 
 others drunk with success and no longer 
 human. I say that you sow terror behind you 
 with your discoveries of new maladies, with your 
 descriptions, your prescriptions, and your men- 
 aces. You belittle character in developing in
 
 160 Brieux 
 
 gigantic proportions the fear of death. You 
 poison all our pleasures, all our actions, all our 
 life. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Our patients do not say that. 
 
 BERTBY. Your patients! I know them! I 
 know your faithful patient; he sweats fear 
 from every pore; all wrapped up in flannel, 
 like a race horse, he leads a shriveled and piti- 
 able existence. He comes to you to find out 
 how he is to eat, drink, sleep, and even love. 
 You have invented the fear of microbes 
 
 THE DOCTOR. It is no worse than the fear of 
 hell! 
 
 BERTRY. No! Fear for fear I prefer that 
 for it has at times stopped evil, while your 
 inventions have only helped to multiply egoists 
 and rogues. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Go on talking. Since the 
 time of Moliere we have heard many others and 
 many who are better. As far as this concerns 
 Jean and Lucienne, it is useless to discuss it 
 any longer. I refuse my consent to this union, 
 that is all there is to it! 
 
 BERTRY. Very well! Then you shall your- 
 self give your decision to the poor children. I 
 haven't the heart to do it. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Very well. 
 
 [Bertry goes to the door at the left and brings 
 in Lucienne and Jean]
 
 The Escape 161 
 
 THE DOCTOR. My children 
 
 JEAN. You refuse? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Yes. I am opposed to your 
 marriage because I think that you two would 
 be very unhappy. That is all I have to say. 
 
 JEAN. But we are absolutely convinced that 
 the only means we have to escape from this ter- 
 rible fatality that our parents have handed 
 down to us, is to join our forces and fight 
 against this evil. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes, we fully believe that by 
 this means we may possibly be happy. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. I refuse! 
 
 JEAN. [Softly] If you still refuse your con- 
 sent you will immediately provoke the catastro- 
 phe which you do not doubt will eventually 
 happen. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. What do you mean by that? 
 
 JEAN. I swear by my parents to do what I 
 have just suggested: If you do not consent I 
 shall commit suicide! 
 
 BERTRY. Do you hear? Now do you still 
 dare? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Be merciful, uncle! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Looks at them very resolutely] 
 I give in. But you will remember that I have 
 done all in my power to prevent this union. I 
 give in, but I do so only under threat! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Jean !
 
 Brieux 
 
 JEAN. Do not be afraid, Lucienne, we will 
 triumph! I have never felt so strong before! 
 The life that I refused this morning the life 
 at Ebreville, I now accept it. 
 
 LUCIENNE. We will love each other! And 
 with the strength of our love we will escape 
 from this prison, in spite of you, my uncle; in 
 spite of you, our gaoler! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. We shall see. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 ACT II. 
 
 A corner of the castle park at Ebreville. At 
 the right, the steps leading up to the house; at the 
 left, the servants 9 entrance. 
 
 SEGARD. [Alone] One hundred francs that 
 I'd have given to the former manager but 
 since he stole, he might just as well have taken 
 a hundred francs more, and I'm not hurting him 
 any by keeping it four hundred francs for 
 the dairy promised by Madame Belmont one 
 hundred francs for repairs that makes six 
 hundred so there are two hundred coming to 
 me. 
 
 [Jean appears on the steps with another farmer 
 whom he is bidding good-bye. He goes out at 
 rear, right, after saying: "Good day, Monsieur 
 Belmont."] 
 
 SEGARD. How do, monsieur. You'll have 
 to come and look at the farm. Madame Bel- 
 mont promised us some repairs you can ask 
 her if she didn't. The 'roof'll be falling on our 
 heads 
 
 JEAN. [He is very gay during this entire 
 scene] We'll see. 
 
 SEGARD. The bad times is coming the sea 
 wind will rip it off as if it were a bit of straw. 
 
 163
 
 164 Brieux 
 
 It's not for me that I want it, it's for my wife 
 and children. If any misfortune should come, 
 Monsieur Jean they'd make you pay more 
 than it was worth, that's sure. 
 
 JEAN. All right, I'll look at it. 
 
 SEGARD. Come with me, I have my rig. 
 
 JEAN. No, I haven't had anything to eat 
 yet. I'll have just a bite and then I'll follow 
 you. 
 
 SEGARD. Then you'll not come? 
 
 JEAN. I'll be there as soon as you will. 
 
 SEGARD. Sure? 
 
 JEAN. I promise you. Only you must be a 
 little reasonable with my rabbits. 
 
 SEGARD. Your rabbits ! your rabbits ! 
 Get an expert, sir! Get an expert! They've 
 been eating my wheat since the beginning of the 
 season on all of my land that borders on 
 your woods why one day the mayor even 
 said to me, says he: "Have you finished with 
 your reaping already, Segard?" 
 
 JEAN. But why do you sow right on that 
 bit of land just to make me pay you? 
 
 SEGARD. Oh, monsieur! I'm not malicious, 
 but it's the best bit of land I own. 
 
 JEAN. And why do you put buckwheat on 
 the next field to attract my pheasants? 
 
 SEGARD. [Playing the fool] Buckwheat? 
 Pheasants? Which pheasants?
 
 The Escape 165 
 
 JEAN. You know very well that buckwheat 
 attracts them. 
 
 SEGARD. Buckwheat attracts them that's 
 the first I have heard of it. But it's true they 
 did eat my buckwheat; you made me think 
 of it, and I really ought to make a claim on 
 you. 
 
 JEAN. Ah, not really! 
 
 SEGARD. No, I'll not do it I'll not do it. 
 
 JEAN. My warden told me that you had 
 killed six since the opening of the season. 
 
 SEGARD. Six six what? Six rabbits? 
 
 JEAN. Six pheasants. 
 
 SEGARD. Six pheasants! I killed six 
 pheasants ! Ah, good Lord ! six pheasants ! 
 But what should I have done with them? 
 Do you suppose that poor people like us know 
 how to eat them beasts? Do you suppose that 
 we've got teeth for them things? What should 
 I have done with them? I'll not leave here 
 until you tell me what I could have done with 
 them. 
 
 JEAN. Oh, all right all right. Will you 
 sell me your two bits of land? 
 
 SEGARD. The wheat and the buckwheat 
 land? 
 
 JEAN. Yes. 
 
 SEGARD. Oh, I couldn't do that, Monsieur 
 Belmont.
 
 166 Brieux 
 
 JEAN. Why not? 
 
 SEGARD. Because selling land brings bad 
 luck. 
 
 JEAN. You sold that bit at Longpre. 
 
 SEGARD. That's not the same thing that 
 came to me from my sister-in-law. 
 
 [Jean bursts out laughing. At this moment 
 Bertry and the doctor appear on the steps] 
 
 JEAN. So instead of getting rent I owe you 
 money? 
 
 SEGARD. It's not my fault, monsieur, it's 
 the fault of them rabbits. Au revoir. [They 
 shake hands] Au revoir, monsieur. What makes 
 me feel bad though is about them six pheas- 
 ants because the Segards, from father to 
 son there are not any more honest in the 
 whole country. 
 
 JEAN. [Going to rear of stage with him] I 
 know and the rent? 
 
 SEGARD. Well, look here I gave one hun- 
 dred francs to the manager you said to, 
 didn't you? 
 
 JEAN. What's that? 
 
 [They go out left, talking. Bertry and the 
 doctor come down from the house and cross the 
 stage] 
 
 BERTRY. Well now! Isn't our friend Jean, 
 whom you condemned to everlasting melancholy, 
 gay enough? All that was needed to cure him
 
 The Escape 167 
 
 was for him to forget your somber predictions, 
 fill his lungs with good air, and become inter- 
 ested in life in general. Ha! Your famous 
 science your infallible science for once it is 
 wrong! It's six months now since Jean and 
 Lucienne were married, and see how happy they 
 are! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Hum? 
 
 BERTRY. Why you'd never recognize Jean 
 again. He is intensely interested in his work 
 as a gentleman farmer. Yesterday morning I 
 saw him come in at nine o'clock after having 
 had a long horseback ride; he was in radiantly 
 good health and in the best of humor. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Yes, Jean is certainly in better 
 condition. He is happy and thinks that the 
 whole world is. Out of door exercise has done 
 him a world of good, but at heart he is still 
 somber and jealous. 
 
 BERTRY. Oh! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. You haven't noticed anything, 
 eh? Why, yesterday, at dinner: Lucienne was 
 telling about her young neighbor, who came to 
 pay her a. visit when she was all alone; then 
 Jean's face suddenly became clouded 
 
 BERTRY. That's true! 
 
 [Bertry again starts pacing up and down] 
 
 THR DOCTOR. And Lucienne is bored. 
 
 BERTRY. Oh !
 
 168 Brieux 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Yes. At first she played the 
 country manor lady, looking after the cultiva- 
 tion of her grounds and her kitchen garden. 
 She promised repairs to all of her farmers, and 
 Jean had to control her generosity. Then, 
 suddenly, she lost all interest in everything. 
 She is bored. 
 
 BERTRY. You say that she is bored? The 
 misfortune, the misfortune which we must fear 
 more than all else, you understand me, is that 
 she will attribute her state of tedium not to her 
 idleness, but rather to her destiny; and since 
 she will believe herself condemned in advance, 
 she will not defend herself, she will not react as 
 every other good woman would do in her 
 position. And if she is ever defeated it will be 
 because of the cursed ideas you have put in her 
 head, and not on account of heredity. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. I wish I were wrong; but, 
 sad to say, you see that the very things that 
 have happened here only go to prove what I 
 said. But I shall never see the final result! 
 
 BERTRY. What do you mean? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. I haven't much longer to live. 
 
 BERTRY. Oh, come now. I thought that 
 you were feeling better. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. The pain returns and gets 
 worse every night. 
 
 BERTRY. Just what do you feel?
 
 The Escape 169 
 
 THE DOCTOR. All of a sudden, without any 
 premonitory symptoms, I feel a terrible pain 
 around my heart. Then the sensation of im- 
 mediate death. These symptoms make me 
 think of a known malady, but other symptoms 
 again throw me entirely off the track. Once 
 the crisis is over, I fall into a remarkable physi- 
 cal and mental depression; then, when circula- 
 tion is reestablished I am again the same as 
 before my attack, with all my will power, in- 
 telligence 
 
 BERTRY. What do you do for it? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Nothing. If I only dared 
 consult Dr. Richon. 
 
 BERTRY. But why don't you? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. He would think that I was 
 making fun of him. And then, but let's not 
 talk of it any longer; nothing irritates me more 
 than to have to think of it. A physician must 
 never be ill. His patients are such egoists and 
 such fools that they lose all confidence in him 
 after he has once been ill. They want to cry 
 out to him: "Cure yourself, healer!" With 
 absurd logic they reason that if we do not know 
 how to relieve ourselves we are ignoramuses. 
 I have a patient here in fibreville who has the 
 same sickness that I have. In some way he 
 guessed that I too was ill. And you cannot 
 imagine with what ferocity he asks me for news.
 
 170 Brieux 
 
 He observes me with mad attention; he tries 
 to guess from my face whether I am a little 
 better, in order to know whether I have dis- 
 covered something for myself by which he can 
 profit. 
 
 BERTRY. I know who it is: it's Monsieur 
 Brinvillard. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. You are right. Some time 
 ago I had a period of relief from my complaint. 
 Wanting to comfort him I told him that I had 
 really found a new remedy for his ailment. He 
 believed it, the fool, he believed it! And he 
 had two weeks of comfort, while I never suf- 
 ered so much during my whole life as I did 
 then. When he found it out, he left me. 
 
 BERTRY. He has changed physicians three 
 times since then. He has also consulted a 
 homeopathist. Do you know what he is doing 
 now? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. No. 
 
 BERTRY. He is consulting a sort of quack, a 
 healer, a shepherd from the districts, called pere 
 Guernoche. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Smiling] He was sure to 
 come to that. 
 
 [They go out at rear. Rosalie has entered at 
 the left. She sets the table. Jean enters from 
 the left]
 
 The Escape 171 
 
 JEAN. Ah, Rosalie, so the manager left all 
 the farms in ruins? 
 
 ROSALIE. You must not listen to the farm- 
 ers, monsieur they are all thieves. 
 
 JEAN. And madame is she up yet? 
 
 ROSALIE. I think so. She is getting dressed. 
 
 JEAN. Very well! Lucienne! Lucienne! come 
 down, you lazy bones! 
 
 [The window opens and Lucienne appears] 
 
 LUCIENNE. What's the matter? 
 
 JEAN. I am starved are you coming down? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes, immediately. [She disap- 
 pears] 
 
 JEAN. Is the tea ready? 
 
 ROSALIE. Yes, monsieur. 
 
 JEAN. And my soup? 
 
 ROSALIE. [Laughing] I cannot get used to 
 seeing you eat soup in the morning just like a 
 real farmer. 
 
 JEAN. But I am one, Rosalie, I am one. 
 And some sausage, eh? with good fresh butter. 
 I've been up, you know, since six o'clock. 
 [Seeing Lucienne on the steps] I am not like 
 madame who does not come down until ten 
 o'clock 
 
 LUCIENNE. What do I do? 
 
 JEAN. Good morning, my dear. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Good morning. 
 
 [They kiss each other. Rosalie goes out, but
 
 172 Brieux 
 
 appears off and on during the following scene] 
 
 JEAN. Sit down let's hurry ! 
 
 [He sits on the left side of the table, Lucienne 
 opposite} 
 
 LUCIENNE. You are still in a hurry? 
 
 JEAN. I should think so. Pere Segard is 
 waiting for me. [To Rosalie, who is pouring 
 Lucienne'' s tea] Tell them to hitch up the buggy 
 immediately. 
 
 ROSALIE. .Yes, monsieur. [She goes] 
 
 LUCIENNE. Let us go for a horseback ride. 
 
 JEAN. Impossible, my dear. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Ah! 
 
 JEAN. I promised Segard. The roof may 
 fall on their heads any day, you know! And 
 then I'm going to lose a day anyway when the 
 Grandpres come. 
 
 LUCIENNE. They have written that they are 
 not coming. 
 
 JEAN. Perhaps they are ill? 
 
 LUCIENNE. No. They do not want their 
 "young ladies" to come into contact with me. 
 A propos of I don't know what, I heard 
 Monsieur Grandpre the other day cite the 
 proverb: "Like mother, like daughter." 
 
 JEAN. You silly girl, you're getting false 
 notions into your head. 
 
 LUCIENNE. No. Only I think of what my 
 uncle said.
 
 The Escape 173 
 
 JEAN. Oh, nonsense! But since they are not 
 coming I shall profit by that fact and go to 
 Rouen to see a reaping-machine binder that I 
 have heard about. 
 
 LUCIENNE. You ought to take a rest. 
 
 JEAN. Rest! But I am taking a rest while 
 I am doing these things. You see, when one 
 takes up agriculture one has not a minute to 
 oneself. And it is so good to have something 
 to do, to feel that one is really living. One is 
 either happy, or one is hungry. Ah, here is 
 Rosalie! [Rosalie has entered with some soup] 
 Look and see how appetizing it is. And it 
 smells so good! 
 
 ROSALIE. You eat with relish, monsieur. 
 [A pause] When one is very tired, a small 
 bottle of wine added to this soup is very good. 
 I am just mentioning it to you! Good wine, 
 of course! [Jean and Lucienne laugh] Don't 
 you want some? 
 
 JEAN. No thank you, Rosalie. 
 
 [Rosalie leaves] 
 
 ROSALIE. [As she goes out, aside] What a 
 shame! And I wanted to go to the wine cellar 
 myself. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Looking at Jean in a friendly 
 manner] You are enjoying it? 
 
 JEAN. Heavens, I am hungry as a wolf! 
 Do you know what I have done this morning.
 
 174 Brieux 
 
 First, I walked to the Fonds-de-Chaux, then, to 
 Charpentier's; from there I came back to San- 
 ville, from Sanville to the Quartre-Chemins; I 
 was back here at nine, and saw my farmers. 
 Today is Saint Michel. Did you know that? 
 
 LUCIENNE. No. Haven't the Paris papers 
 come? 
 
 JEAN. No, but you'll find the Dieppe Look- 
 out and the Agricultural Progress on my table. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Thank you. Do you have to 
 do all these things yourself? 
 
 JEAN. I should think so! And besides, I 
 adore it! 
 
 LUCIENNE. As a matter of fact you leave 
 me quite alone. And it becomes a bit tire- 
 some. 
 
 JEAN. But why, you are not bored! We 
 are very happy. Aren't we? 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Dreaming] Yes. 
 
 JEAN. Ah, that's better. Good butter 
 a bit of sausage and then for the road again! 
 I was quite tired out! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Why didn't you ride Poulette? 
 
 JEAN. She is lame I think I'd like a bi- 
 cycle. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Ah, yes. Buy one for me, too, 
 will you? 
 
 JEAN. To make up for the fact that the
 
 The Escape 175 
 
 Grandpres would not trust their daughter to us! 
 
 [A pause] 
 
 LUCIENNE. Don't you miss Paris at all? 
 
 JEAN. Not at all! Do you? 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Without conviction] No. Per- 
 haps I should like to receive a little more 
 company here only [with a smile] you are 
 so jealous! 
 
 JEAN. That's true but that is because I 
 love you! so much! so much! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes. 
 
 [A servant enters from the rear] 
 
 THE SERVANT. There are two bicyclists out- 
 side and a lady in a carriage who want to see 
 you. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Didn't they tell you their names? 
 
 THE SERVANT. I forgot to ask them. 
 
 JEAN. [Disappointed, rising] It's Paul de 
 Maucour and his wife, and Madame de Catteni- 
 eres, I'll wager! I've a good mind to have the 
 maid tell them that we are not at home. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Oh, why? 
 
 JEAN. Paul irritates me with his 
 
 LUCIENNE. Some more jealousy! 
 
 JEAN. You are right, I am a fool! Then 
 you'd like to see them? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Heavens, yes and besides 
 perhaps it isn't they at all. 
 
 JEAN. I'm quite sure it is. [To the servant]
 
 176 Brieux 
 
 Did you notice whether there was a lady on one 
 of the bicycles? 
 
 THE SERVANT. I think so, but I am not 
 quite certain. 
 
 JEAN. I'll go see. 
 
 [He goes out with the servant. Lucienne re- 
 mains a moment alone; she stands there dreaming. 
 Jean, the de Maucours, and Mme. de Cattenieres 
 enter. Paul and his wife come in with their bi- 
 cycles, and are in riding costume. Mme. de 
 Cattenieres wears a summer gown.] 
 
 LUCIENNE. It is you! Oh, what a nice sur- 
 prise. 
 
 ALICE. How are you? 
 
 [Jean takes her bicycle and leans it against 
 the wall] 
 
 LUCIENNE. And you? [They embrace] You 
 come from Dieppe? 
 
 ALICE. Yes. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. It was I who per- 
 suaded them to come. They were escorting 
 me in the English buggy. It [is charming. [To 
 Jean] You have a superb view! 
 
 PAUL. That is just what I was saying to 
 him. 
 
 JEAN. You are not going away immediately, 
 are you? 
 
 PAUL. No.
 
 The Escape 177 
 
 JEAN. Then let me take your bicycle for 
 you. 
 
 PAUL. Slow now slow now. Not in the 
 sun. 
 
 JEAN. Here, I've put it in the shade. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [To Paul.] We have often 
 thought of you. I said to myself: "Won't 
 they come?" 
 
 ALICE. [From the other side of the stage] I 
 could not make Paul decide to come. 
 
 PAUL. [Softly to Lucienne] Do not listen to 
 her; we almost had to drag her here by force. 
 [To Jean] I saw a buggy all harnessed in 
 front of your gate. You were going out? 
 
 JEAN. Yes to see one of my tenants 
 just a little way from here. 
 
 PAUL. He has tenants! 
 
 JEAN. Would you like to come with me? 
 
 PAUL. On my wheel? Are the roads 
 pretty? 
 
 JEAN. Superb and I have a pacer who'll 
 leave you way behind on the road. 
 
 PAUL. Leave me behind on the road! We'll 
 see about that! 
 
 JEAN. Come we'll be back by luncheon 
 time. 
 
 LUCIENNE. That's right. Go on. The three 
 of us will chat while you are gone. 
 
 PAUL. Let's go!
 
 178 Brieux 
 
 [He takes his bicycle, and goes out with Jean] 
 
 LUCIENNE. I am really so glad to see you 
 again ! 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. You are pleasantly 
 situated here a beautiful view. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes, don't you think so? When 
 it's clear we can see the ocean, there, beyond 
 Saint-Martin's steeple. 
 
 ALICE. Really? 
 
 LUCIENNE. And all the land up to the woods 
 belongs to us and connects with the park. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. That ought to 
 bring in a lot. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Last year everything suffered a 
 great deal on account of the droughts. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Why don't they 
 water the land as they do the boulevards? 
 
 LUCIENNE. You're fooling. But let's sit 
 down. [They sit around the table] Tell me 
 about Paris. Is there anything new? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Not a thing has 
 happened since Dr. La Belleuse's affair. 
 
 LUCIENNE. What was that? 
 
 MME DE CATTENIERES. What was what? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Why, what you were just talk- 
 ing about. 
 
 ALICE. You don't know? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Of course Lucienne 
 knows.
 
 The Escape 179 
 
 LUCIENNE. But I really do not. 
 
 ALICE. She doesn't know! 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. It's not possible! 
 
 LUCIENNE. On my oath! 
 
 ALICE. With Madame Longuyon. 
 
 LUCIENNE. I know nothing about it. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Well, my dear, at 
 Paris and Dieppe you'd be looked upon as some 
 sort of a phenomenon. 
 
 LUCIENNE. But tell me about it. 
 
 ALICE. You know that La Belleuse was 
 Madame Longuyon's physician and friend. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes. 
 
 ALICE. Well, La Belleuse, jealous, forbade 
 Monsieur Longuyon 
 
 LUCIENNE. Oh! 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Exactly. 
 
 LUCIENNE. And Longuyon? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. He did as he was 
 told. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Laughing] Lord, that is really 
 funny. 
 
 ALICE. But wait, wait! [To Mme. de 
 Cattenidres] You, my dear, you can tell the 
 rest better than I can. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. One fine day, Ma- 
 dame Longuyon 
 
 LUCIENNE. The situation is extremely inter- 
 esting for this dear friend
 
 180 Brieux 
 
 [Alice and Mme. de Cattenieres burst out 
 laughing] 
 
 ALICE. [Rising] Exquisite! Adorable! 
 
 LUCIENNE. What do you mean? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. You do not know 
 how truly you speak. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Really? 
 
 ALICE. Isn't it delightful to live in a city 
 where such things happen? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. One can well say 
 that there is just one Paris! 
 
 ALICE. But didn't you really know about it? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Tell us the truth. 
 
 LUCIENNE. I knew nothing about it. 
 
 ALICE. But how do you exist, my dear, how 
 do you exist? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. You see a lot of 
 people? 
 
 LUCIENNE. No one. The poor country 
 squires around here are very straight laced. 
 
 ALICE. But what do you do during the 
 whole blessed day? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Lucienne spends it 
 with her husband. 
 
 LUCIENNE. No. Jean attends to his affairs. 
 
 ALICE. And you don't get bored? 
 
 LUCIENNE. No. 
 
 ALICE. Do you realise that you are an ab- 
 solute heroine?
 
 The Escape 181 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. When are you com- 
 ing to the city? 
 
 LUCIENNE. We may go to Paris tomorrow 
 or the day after just for two days. My uncle 
 is expecting his nomination as commander any 
 time now, and he will invite his colleagues 
 who intend giving him his insignia. There will 
 probably be dancing. Dr. La Belleuse has re- 
 mained in Paris to arrange everything. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIEBES. That is the kind 
 of thing he can do. I was asking when you 
 were returning for good. 
 
 LUCIENNE. We do not intend to at all. 
 
 ALICE. You are going to spend the winter 
 here? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Why not? 
 
 ALICE. Well, my dear, I should not like to 
 be in your place. You might as well bury 
 yourself immediately. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. [Looking about] It's 
 evidently very nice here, but a gilded cage is a 
 cage nevertheless. 
 
 ALICE. And you do not complain? 
 
 LUCIENNE. I am very happy. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Very happy! You'll 
 be back in Paris within three months, whether 
 your husband wants to or not. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Why do you think that I cannot 
 remain here?
 
 182 Brieux 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Because because, 
 pretty as you are, with the worldly tastes that 
 you have, it would be impossible for you to 
 waste your youth out here in the country. 
 
 LUCIENNE. But if I like it very much? 
 
 ALICE. [Rising] Oh, come now. You can 
 never convince me that this sort of life would 
 satisfy you indefinitely you above all. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Dreaming] I, above all! 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. You are no more 
 suited for this kind of life than I would be for 
 a tavern waitress. Dr. Bertry was right. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Still dreaming] Yes. 
 
 ALICE. I never would have believed that you 
 would have stayed here for six months in suc- 
 cession. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Heavens, you know there are 
 days when I'd give a lot to be able to see the 
 omnibuses of La Madeleine or the pastry-shops 
 of the Rue Royal. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Of course! But 
 what sort of an odor do I smell? 
 
 ALICE. I don't smell anything. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. But surely! [Point- 
 ing to Jean's dish] Is that it? Oh, horrors! 
 
 ALICE. Why yes you are right. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Why, it's almost 
 poisonous ! 
 
 ALICE. The garlic!
 
 The Escape 183 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. I was just saying 
 to myself: " But where can that odor be coming 
 from?" 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Very much confused, stands with- 
 out moving] Jean has just eaten here. 
 
 ALICE. Do you mean to say that he eats 
 that? And what was there inside? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Soup 
 
 ALICE. Is that so, Lucienne? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Rosalie! Rosalie! 
 
 ROSALIE. Yes, madame? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Can you never learn to be tidy! 
 I told you before to clear the table. 
 
 ROSALIE. But no, madame. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Don't talk now, but take the 
 things away. 
 
 [Rosalie clears the table] 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Ha! that Jean! 
 And I knew him as such a poetic, delicate, 
 ethereal person! 
 
 LUCIENNE. He has got it into his head that 
 he wants to eat as the farmers do. I have told 
 him a thousand times that I think it is ab- 
 solutely ridiculous. 
 
 ALICE. You must let him do it so long as 
 he does not ask you to share it with him. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. When one is in 
 love 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Laughing a forced laugh] Ah!
 
 184 Brieux 
 
 Ah! one does not have to go as far as that. 
 Shall we go in? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. I was just going to 
 ask the same question. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Come in, and I'll show you your 
 rooms. 
 
 [They go up the steps; Lucienne is in the rear. 
 Once her friends are inside she sighs deeply and 
 follows them] 
 
 ROSALIE. She never told me to clear the 
 table. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Enters] Rosalie! Has Ma- 
 dame Belmont gone out? 
 
 ROSALIE. No, monsieur! 
 
 [The doctor goes into the house. Guernoche 
 enters.] 
 
 GUERNOCHE. Here I am, just the same. 
 But I'm positively anxious that gentleman 
 who came in before me, who was he? Was it 
 the doctor? 
 
 ROSALIE. Yes. Come quickly and see 
 Justin. 
 
 GUERNOCHE. Anxious as I am, I'd rather 
 not. 
 
 ROSALIE. The doctor is not as bad as that. 
 And besides I have money 
 
 GUERNOCHE. Yes ! I feel weak abso- 
 lutely weak. 
 
 ROSALIE. I know what'll fix you! Come
 
 The Escape 185 
 
 in. Just the same whan I think that you're 
 nothing but a shepherd 
 
 GUERNOCHE. Yes, and? 
 
 ROSALIE. And that you are cleverer than a 
 doctor who has been studying more than twenty 
 years. 
 
 GUERNOCHE. Cleverer cleverer no but 
 just as clever, positively. 
 
 [She makes him enter at the right. Dr. 
 Bertry appears on the steps with some medical 
 magazines in his hand] 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Rosalie? 
 
 ROSALIE. Monsieur? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Madame has company? 
 
 ROSALIE. Yes, monsieur. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Couldn't you have told me? 
 You know very well that I do not like to be 
 with all those gossips. Didn't a telegram 
 come? 
 
 ROSALIE. No, monsieur. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. You are quite sure? 
 
 ROSALIE. Yes, monsieur. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Who was that man who just 
 went in? 
 
 ROSALIE. He is you saw him, monsieur? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Who is it? 
 
 ROSALIE. It was the gardener. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. What do you mean? I just 
 met the gardener at the gate.
 
 186 Brieux 
 
 ROSALIE. Well! It is pere Guernoche. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Pere Guernoche? 
 
 ROSALIE. The physician, not the shepherd. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. What physician? What shep- 
 herd? 
 
 ROSALIE. I'll tell you everything, monsieur, 
 because I see that there is no other way 
 Justin 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Is dead? 
 
 ROSALIE. No, monsieur, he is cured. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. What do you know about it? 
 
 ROSALIE. He is here. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Justin is here! 
 
 ROSALIE. Yes, monsieur. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. I forbade you to bring him, 
 didn't I? 
 
 ROSALIE. But he wanted to come so badly. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. And he stood the trip? 
 
 ROSALIE. We took an assistant, and I also 
 had a pillow along. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. What a foolish thing you did! 
 He might have died twenty times during the 
 trip. 
 
 ROSALIE. But he didn't die at all. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. That makes no difference. 
 When I told you that he should not make the 
 trip you should have left him in Paris. 
 
 ROSALIE. But since he is cured. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Who treated him?
 
 The Escape 187 
 
 ROSALIE. Pere Guernoche. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. The shepherd? 
 
 ROSALIE. Yes, monsieur. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Furious] It's discouraging to 
 have anything to do with such stupid people! 
 That's a fine thing! the best doctors in Paris 
 tell you that your husband is lost, and you put 
 him in the hands of a charlatan, an ignorant 
 and stupid sorcerer. 
 
 ROSALIE. I know very well that pere Guer- 
 noche is not as clever as those other doctors. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Then why did you entrust 
 Justin's life to him? You do not seem to un- 
 derstand that we have studied, while your pere 
 Guernoche can hardly read or write. 
 
 ROSALIE. He can't read at all. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. There, you see! 
 
 ROSALIE. But he cured Justin just the same. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. I'll have to see him to believe 
 it. 
 
 ROSALIE. If you will come in, monsieur. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. To find myself face to face 
 with doctor Guer with pere Guernoche 
 Never ! 
 
 ROSALIE. But you see he really did cure my 
 husband! Justin eats and drinks now like 
 every one else, and he is beginning to get up. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. And how did he cure him, 
 this pere Guernoche?
 
 188 Brieux 
 
 ROSALIE. I'll tell you how it was, monsieur. 
 By giving him some of his elixir and elec- 
 tricity because the maladies, he says 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Bursts out laughing] That's 
 enough I'll believe all when I see Justin. 
 
 [At this moment Justin appears, opening the 
 door for pere Guernoche] 
 
 ROSALIE. Here you are, monsieur; here is 
 my husband with pere Guernoche. You can 
 see that he is cured. 
 
 [Justin immediately goes into the house again] 
 
 THE DOCTOR. By Jove, it's true [To pere 
 Guernoche] Come over here, you! 
 
 GUERNOCHE. Excuse me, I'm in a great 
 hurry, if you'll excuse me, doctor. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Oh, come now! I asked you 
 to come here. Leave us, Rosalie. [To Guer- 
 noche] Well, my dear colleague! 
 
 GUERNOCHE. What's that you're calling me, 
 monsieur? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Do you know what your trade 
 will lead you to? 
 
 GUERNOCHE. The trade of being a shepherd 
 that doesn't bring me in enough to pay my 
 rent positively. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. I'm not speaking of that, I'm 
 speaking of the other thing. 
 
 GUERNOCHE. Oh, you want to know when 
 I'm going to build my barn?
 
 The Escape 189 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Now stop your fooling. 
 You cure sick people, my gay fellow, don't you? 
 
 GUEBNOCHE. I don't cure 'em, they cure 
 themselves. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. What do you do to your 
 patients? 
 
 GUERNOCHE. Practically nothing. They must 
 want to be cured, and once they think about 
 it, it's all done. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Aside] He has more sense 
 than he thinks. So you only cure nervous 
 complaints? 
 
 GUERNOCHE. I take charge of no one, no 
 one, positively. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Don't finesse, now. You are 
 making fun of me with that foolish air you put 
 on. 
 
 GUERNOCHE. I! My Lord! my Lord! 
 You tell me that at my age at seventy years 
 and three months! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. It may cost you very dear in 
 the end. 
 
 GUERNOCHE. Very dear? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Yes. A fine and jail, you 
 know it very well. 
 
 GUERNOCHE. Not at all. Ah! You mean 
 to say that I practice medicine? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Of course! 
 
 GUERNOCHE. You are wrong. The physi-
 
 190 Brieux 
 
 cian gives medicines I give nothing I look 
 at them and they are cured. Is it forbidden to 
 look at people? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. No. 
 
 GUERNOCHE. Well then? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Who gave you the idea of 
 looking at them in order to cure them, as you 
 put it? 
 
 GUERNOCHE. Well, it's this way. I was a 
 shepherd and cared for Monsieur de Grandpre's 
 sheep. He lives over there, in back of the 
 Laurents, whose father was mayor of fibre ville. 
 You know, on the road up to Hautmont? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Go on, go on. 
 
 GUERNOCHE. They used to accuse me of 
 sorcery, and so on and so forth because I'm 
 not talkative, on account of my being alone 
 from morning till night up there on the hills 
 with my sheep and that doesn't make a per- 
 son very talkative 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Yes, yes. 
 
 GUERNOCHE. One day, when I was coming 
 back to the house I saw Baffieu's daughter on 
 the road. She was writhing and howling as if 
 she were possessed of the devil. I looked at 
 her, she looked at me, and she got scared. I 
 cried as loud as I could: "Be quiet!" and she 
 was cured. After that when there were other 
 sick people they were always brought to me.
 
 The Escape 191 
 
 Not wanting to get into a spat with them I did 
 what I could to cure 'em, and they were all 
 cured, positively. I did like this to 'em 
 [He makes a few passes with his hands] with- 
 out knowing just to do something. And one 
 day when I was at Rouen I saw a magician, and 
 then I understood that I cured by electricity. 
 There you are! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. And not one of your patients 
 has ever died? 
 
 GUERNOCHE. Not one, provided that I didn't 
 give 'em any medicine 
 
 THE DOCTOR. And why are they cured? 
 
 GUERNOCHE. Well, you know I've thought 
 it all over with my sheep out in the fields and 
 I've decided that it's electricity, my electricity, 
 because, you see, there are two kinds of 
 maladies: when one's humors and one's blood 
 get mixed, and when one's blood turns into 
 water; you know that as well as I do, don't 
 you? You've seen how foolish people are when 
 they're sick. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Of course! 
 
 GUERNOCHE. And it's only us that knows 
 it, positively. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Enough now! Leave me 
 alone. Go now. And don't let me find you 
 here again! 
 
 GUERNOCHE. I'll do what I can, doctor!
 
 192 Brieux 
 
 [He moves away] 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Aside] Suggestion. The 
 zouave Jacob. [To Guernoche] Tell me, have 
 you ever cured people who have wounds, 
 tumors? 
 
 GUERNOCHE. I've never seen any. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. And if a person thus afflicted 
 came to you? 
 
 GUERNOCHE. If one came? [He reflects 
 deeply, looking at the doctor] If one of 'em came, 
 I'd send him to you, doctor, positively. 
 
 [He leaves] 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Coming down the steps] How do 
 you do, uncle? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Have you a telegram for me? 
 
 LUCIENNE. No! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. That's queer! My nomina- 
 tion must have appeared in the official list! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Do you know that Madame de 
 Cattenieres is here? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Yes. 
 
 LUCIENNE. She entreats you to come and 
 see her. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. A consultation in the country. 
 Will she never leave me in peace? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Oh, come now, you cannot avoid 
 her now go to her with good grace. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. She ought to see pere Guer- 
 noche.
 
 V 
 
 The Escape 193 
 
 LUCIENNE. Don't say that; he could cure 
 her. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Ah! so you too, you too 
 believe in pere Guernoche? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Why of course he cured Jus- 
 tin 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Furious] He cured Justin! 
 He cured Justin! They'll deafen me with that 
 cry! He cured Justin! Do you know why he 
 cured Justin? Because Justin was not ill! 
 
 LUCIENNE. But you had given him up. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Possibly, but he was not ill. 
 He had an idea that he was ill, and he thought 
 of it so much that he would have died from it. 
 But there was nothing the matter with him. 
 If there had been anything the matter with 
 Justin you can be very sure that your pere 
 Guernoche could never have cured him. It is 
 purely suggestion. Justin got the idea into his 
 head that he was ill, Guernoche made him be- 
 lieve that he was cured, and that's the way pere 
 Guernoche cured him. And I do not want to 
 hear any more about it, do you understand! 
 Why, it doesn't hold water! [He puts his hand 
 to his heart] I see I am wrong to work myself 
 into a fury. [He sits down] 
 
 LUCIENNE. I wanted to ask your advice 
 about something about my health I feel 
 nervous crushed sad without any reason.
 
 194 Brieux 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Make Jean take you back to 
 Paris. 
 
 LUCIENNE. He wants me to remain here. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. He is wrong. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Don't you think that with a 
 little will power I could overcome my malady 
 which is, above all, a moral malady? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Will power! So you are an- 
 other who thinks that we have a little spring 
 in us that we can press on at will, and which 
 allows us to modify ourselves? No, no. We 
 have no power over ourselves. We are nothing 
 but results and, when we think that we are 
 acting from our inner impulse we are only giv- 
 ing way to a stronger impulse than all others. 
 Return to Paris and you will feel better. [He 
 rises and walks up the steps. He stops, out of 
 breath] I cannot go up more than four steps at 
 a time now without stopping! [He sighs deeply 
 and enters the house] 
 
 LUCIENNE. "We are nothing but results!" 
 Oh, I am so bored! 
 
 [A moment later Paul enters from the rear] 
 
 PAUL. [Coming up to Lucienne] How do 
 you do! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Ah! You frightened me! You're 
 back already! 
 
 PAUL. Yes. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Alone? You could not keep up?
 
 The Escape 195 
 
 PAUL. Keep up? Why, I would have 
 beaten Jean if a part of my bicycle hadn't 
 broken. 
 
 LUCIENNE. You have my deepest sympathy. 
 
 PAUL. You are too good. But what are 
 you thinking of? You are not very gay! 
 
 LUCIENNE. You are mistaken. I was here 
 alone. 
 
 PAUL. All alone? 
 
 LUCIENNE. All alone! [A pause] 
 
 PAUL. You say that you pity me, Lucienne; 
 but I think it's rather you who needs the pity. 
 
 LUCIENNE. I? 
 
 PAUL. Yes. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Why? 
 
 PAUL. Because you are not happy. 
 
 LUCIENNE. But 
 
 PAUL. I know it. 
 
 LUCIENNE. I love Jean he loves me. 
 
 PAUL. Yes, he loves you but not enough. 
 He spends more time with his farmers than 
 with you. Ah, Lucienne! we two would have 
 been so happy! 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Troubled] We two? 
 
 PAUL. Yes, Alice is not the sort of a wife 
 that I should have. Ah, if it could only be 
 done all over again! And to think that I loved 
 you so! 
 
 LUCIENNE. No, Paul, you never loved me!
 
 196 Brieux 
 
 PAUL. Oh yes, I swear that I loved you! 
 It is you who never loved me! 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Forgetting herself] I? 
 
 PAUL. [Approaching her] Lucienne! 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Collecting herself] Come, my 
 friend, let us not talk of the past. All that is 
 over and nothing can be done now. Besides, 
 you are mistaken. I am very happy with 
 Jean because I have enough sense to under- 
 stand that Jean has other things to do than to 
 lie at my feet and sigh deeply all day long. 
 Let's not think of that any longer. Let us be 
 friends, good friends, if you wish and speak 
 of something else of bicycling. 
 
 PAUL. No! I want to tell you 
 
 LUCIENNE. If you do not care to speak 
 about bicycling I shall go. 
 
 PAUL. Very well. Ask me questions. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Good! Do you find riding 
 amusing? 
 
 PAUL. Yes. One has the sensation of speed, 
 of a speed without fear, and one which can be 
 controlled. The wind blows into one's face: 
 one drinks in the air, becomes intoxicated. 
 And it is so delicious. [Going to Alice's bi- 
 cycle, he bends down] See, here is where my 
 bicycle is broken. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Who has followed him] Is it 
 hard to sit on?
 
 The Escape 197 
 
 PAUL. Not at all. Would you like to try? 
 
 LUCIENNE. I so want to learn. 
 
 PAUL. Try it. 
 
 LUCIENNE. No I'd fall. 
 
 PAUL. You'll not fall I'll hold you on. 
 
 LUCIENNE. If you should let go. 
 
 PAUL. But I won't. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Oh, but besides, I'd have to have 
 a costume like Alice's. 
 
 PAUL. That is not at all necessary this is 
 a lady's wheel. [He moves the pedals into po- 
 sition] Put your foot there. No, not that 
 one the left one. Don't be afraid. I am 
 holding you. There we are! [He is in front of 
 the bicycle] 
 
 LUCIENNE. Oh, it's fine but don't let me 
 go! 
 
 PAUL. You need not worry. [A pause] 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Laughing] I'm afraid I'm go- 
 ing to fall. 
 
 PAUL. Don't be frightened, I tell you. [A 
 pause] 
 
 LUCIENNE. [With a cry] Ah, I'm falling, 
 I'm falling! [To save herself from falling she 
 instinctively puts her arm around Paul's neck.] 
 I beg your pardon I felt myself going. I'm 
 heavy, am I not? 
 
 PAUL. [His voice changed] No. It's be- 
 cause you are frightened. Try it again.
 
 198 Brieux 
 
 LUCIENNE. No. I want to get off. 
 
 PAUL. Why? You are all right. [A pause] 
 
 LUCIENNE. [To Paul, who has his arm about 
 her waist) You are holding me too tight. I 
 want to get off. Paul, let me get off, I want 
 to. 
 
 PAUL. [Softly] I love you, Lucienne. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Troubled] Ah, Paul, that is bad, 
 that is bad. 
 
 [She glides off into his arms] 
 
 PAUL. I love you, I love you! 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Defending herself feebly] Let me 
 go, Paul, let me go! 
 
 PAUL. I love you! 
 
 [Lucienne is in a sort of swoon. Paul embraces 
 her] 
 
 LUCIENNE. Oh, this is wrong this is very 
 wrong [She frees herself and stops Paul with a 
 gesture] I beg you 
 
 PAUL. Lucienne ! 
 
 (They are a few paces apart, still ill at ease, 
 when Jean enters] 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Aside] My God, what have I 
 done! what have I done! Well, he was right! 
 
 JEAN. [Happily] Ha, ha, Mr. bicyclist! You 
 who were going to beat my horse. [ To Lu- 
 cienne, laughing] Did he tell you what hap- 
 pened? Make fun of him a little, Lucienne. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Really, Monsieur de Maucour.
 
 The Escape 199 
 
 [She tries to laugh and stops, not knowing what 
 to say. But Jean does not notice it] 
 
 JEAN. [To Paul] It's too bad that you 
 didn't come with me to see pere Segard 
 
 [While talking he looks from Lucienne to Paul. 
 He notices that they are ill at ease. Gradually 
 he becomes jealous and his gayety leaves him. A 
 pause. He is waiting for a laugh that does not 
 come] 
 
 JEAN. "The roof will be falling on the heads 
 of my children." But do you know which 
 roof was damaged? 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Who has not been listening to 
 him] No. Which one? 
 
 JEAN. [Very seriously] The stable. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Forcing a laugh] That's very 
 funny. 
 
 JEAN. Isn't it? [To Lucienne] Doesn't that 
 make you laugh? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Why yes. 
 
 JEAN. After all I see that you are not 
 interested. [To Paul\ Have you been here 
 long? 
 
 PAUL. Yes. Your wife and I have been 
 chatting, and now I see that I have hardly 
 enough time to change for luncheon. Will you 
 excuse me? 
 
 [He goes out. Jean becomes again as he was 
 in the first act]
 
 200 Brieux 
 
 JEAN. [After a pause] What were you talk- 
 ing about you and Paul? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Oh, nothing of one thing and 
 another. 
 
 JEAN. You have already forgotten? 
 
 LUCIENNE. No. But it was of so little im- 
 portance. 
 
 JEAN. Tell me just the same. 
 
 LUCIENNE. We were speaking of his wife 
 of Alice. 
 
 JEAN. And what else? 
 
 LUCIENNE. And that was all ! 
 
 JEAN. [Looking at her] Truly? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Why, you are putting me 
 through a cross examination! 
 
 JEAN. Yes yes, Lucienne [A pause] Oh, 
 come! I am not blind! I noticed that you 
 were both ill at ease. And why? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Ill at ease? 
 
 JEAN. Be frank, Lucienne. Tell me the 
 truth. I want to know it I ask your pardon 
 for having spoken as I did. It was simply the 
 old complaint. The sadness that I thought I 
 had cured and which does not exist. Above 
 all, do not lie to me above all, do not lie. 
 He paid you some compliments. Answer me. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes. 
 
 JEAN. You doubtless spoke of the past? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes.
 
 The Escape 201 
 
 JEAN. And after that? [A pause] Perhaps 
 he took you in his arms, and, in spite of you, 
 kissed you. [Lucienne nods. Jean becomes ex- 
 cited] And you did not cry out? And you did 
 not send him away? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Pardon me, Jean pardon me 
 I lost my head. I did not know where I 
 was. For just a moment I was mad. 
 
 JEAN. [Laughing nervously] Ah! ah! A mo- 
 ment of madness! That is your excuse, you 
 women! At least have the courage to confess. 
 Confess that you love him! 
 
 LUCIENNE. No! 
 
 JEAN. You love him, I say! Weren't you 
 to marry him? 
 
 LUCIENNE. I do not love him! 
 
 JEAN. But why lie about it? Isn't it evi- 
 dent? Didn't I see you two on the very day 
 that I confessed my love for you? Didn't I 
 see you speaking together? Didn't I see you 
 smile when he whispered something in your ear, 
 while he gazed at you tenderly all the while? 
 And your hands! You do not dare to tell me 
 that they have not held his secretly! You do 
 not dare, because I have seen, I have seen! 
 And when he came today didn't you suddenly 
 become happy? Wasn't it you who made me 
 receive him? Answer me! Who knows but 
 what you were even expecting him? 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 TTE TEACHERS C 
 SANTA BARBARA CALIFORNIA
 
 202 Brieux 
 
 LUCIENNE. Jean, be careful of what you say! 
 Do not 'accuse me, do not crush me. Perhaps 
 I was a bit foolish; and I ask your pardon. 
 Grant me this pardon without insisting any 
 more. Help me, Jean, I beg you, help me! I 
 am in the midst of a crisis: I do not know 
 where I am going, I do not know where I shall 
 be tomorrow. You can still save me, you can 
 still save me. Help me! 
 
 JEAN. You are afraid of yourself! You con- 
 fess it! You see that you confess it! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes, it is true, I am afraid of 
 myself. 
 
 JEAN. But you do not seem to understand 
 that loving him would be your only excuse! 
 If you did not love him what a woman you 
 would be! 
 
 LUCIENNE. My husband, have pity on me! 
 Have pity on me, Jean! 
 
 JEAN. Go away! Leave me! All is broken! 
 All is over ! Ah ! the fond dream the fond 
 dream that was! I now find myself the un- 
 fortunate man I was before I married you. 
 Married you! I thought, that by the power 
 of my love I could soften you, and make you a 
 faithful and respectable wife; I thought that I 
 could lift your heart high above these worldly 
 flirtations, and you set yourself to this task with 
 me! But instead of our purpose being ac-
 
 The Escape 203 
 
 complished, if luck had not led me to discover 
 your intrigue in the beginning, you would have 
 lived this lie, and would have given me your 
 kisses, and he would have given me his hand. 
 You would have deceived me in a cowardly 
 way! And when you were satiated with 
 caresses you two would have laughed at me! 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Crying out] Enough, Jean! 
 enough! it is false! it is false! I love you! pity 
 me! I love you! 
 
 JEAN. Ah, yes, you would have laughed! 
 You would not have been the only ones, and I 
 know very well what they would have said. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Taking his hands] What? 
 
 JEAN. That they were expecting it! 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Stifling a cry] Ah ! [In a cold 
 voice] Now all is over! You have pronounced 
 the irreparable word, and you have killed our 
 love! 
 
 JEAN. No, Lucienne, no, my wife! No! 
 Forget, forget what I just said! I ask your 
 pardon! You know you should forgive me 
 you know what an unhappy man I am, and how 
 I have suffered my whole life! You ought to 
 have pity for all my misery, Lucienne, and for- 
 get, and forgive; I have always loved you and I 
 make you suffer. My darling, I made you 
 suffer; forgive me! forgive me! 
 
 [He sobs and sits down at the table]
 
 204 Brieux 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Impassively] I have nothing to 
 forgive. You made clear the truth that I did 
 not want to see. You were right, we were de- 
 ceived, and I was wrong in thinking that I 
 could love you. Ah! but I wanted to so badly, 
 I wanted to with all the power I possessed; 
 but I am not free, I am not free! I wanted to 
 escape from myself, and I fell back heavily, and 
 I am broken I have been bored for quite 
 some time now; I yearned for Paris, for the 
 balls, the people; and I hoped that this ennui 
 was only passing, but now I clearly see that it 
 is my nature that is revolting, and just one un- 
 expected contact was enough to make me defence- 
 less against Paul, whom I no longer love. And 
 it is not my fault, it is fatal! It is stronger 
 than I, it is stronger than I! Yes, let us weep, 
 Jean, let us weep! We are very unfortunate, 
 very unfortunate! 
 
 [They both weep] 
 
 JEAN. It is my fault, Lucienne! I should 
 not have married you, since I could not love 
 you as you wanted to be loved. But it is not 
 my fault either. 
 
 LUCIENNE. They told us, Jean! There are 
 prisons from which there is no escape ! 
 [Changing her voice] Well, since it is inevitable, 
 since it was definite even before my birth, it is
 
 The Escape 205 
 
 useless to struggle any longer! and I too am 
 going to be happy! 
 
 [Dr. Bertry appears on the steps with a telegram 
 in his hand] 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Jean! Lucienne! I have the 
 telegram! My nomination! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Ah yes! You have triumphed! 
 You have triumphed! completely! 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 ACT III. 
 
 [A drawing room in Dr.Bertry's house in Paris. 
 Jean is talking to Dr. Richon] 
 
 JEAN. La Belleuse stayed here to prepare for 
 this celebration. As soon as Dr. Bertry re- 
 ceived the telegram telling him of his nomina- 
 tion, he left for Paris and asked Lucienne and 
 me to accompany him. [La Belleuse has come 
 in at the left. He mops his brow like a man 
 who has just done some hard work, and finally 
 sits down. He is wearing the Legion of Honor} 
 
 RICHON. [Softly to Jean] Here is Dr. La 
 Belleuse. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. [Who has sunk into a large 
 armchair] Ouf! Good evening, gentlemen. 
 I can do no more, I can do no more. You 
 cannot imagine how much trouble I had to 
 get up this spontaneous manifestation of which 
 Dr. Bertry is at this moment the object! 
 
 [A short pause. Suddenly he trembles, rises, 
 touches an electric bell. As no one appears im- 
 mediately he rushes to the door at the left. The 
 servant enters just at this time] 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Where are the guests? 
 
 THE SERVANT. The gentlemen are in the 
 small salon. 
 
 206
 
 The Escape 207 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. For the giving out of the in- 
 signia. Good. And the musicians? 
 
 THE SERVANT. They are here. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Good! We'll have to re- 
 member to give them refreshments and to 
 tell the steward. Never mind, I'll do it my- 
 self. [The servant goes out] I beg your pardon. 
 I can do no more. This affair, this ball, 
 organised in forty-eight hours I can say it 
 without false modesty it is a tour de force. 
 Provided that all goes well! And there 
 are so many people! [Going to the right] At 
 first this affair was to be very select just a 
 few colleagues and intimate friends. But the 
 master is so popular! All Paris wanted to be 
 invited. The favored ones are going to have 
 a surprise: Dr. Bertry is going to read frag- 
 ments of his next communication to the Acad- 
 emy, on the sovereignty of science. [Pointing 
 carelessly to his button] You see I was included 
 in the promotion Dr. Bertry surprised me. 
 I really do not prize it much. But it is for 
 my patients. It is sure to have some effect 
 on them. 
 
 RICHON AND JEAN. Congratulations! 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Let's not speak of it. I 
 only mentioned it because you were looking at 
 it. This demonstration for Dr. Bertry is fine, 
 isn't it?
 
 208 Brieux 
 
 THE SERVANT. [Entering] Dr. La Belleuse? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. I'm coming. You see, I 
 haven't a moment to myself! [He goes] 
 
 RICHON. Let us go on with the conversation 
 which that fool interrupted. My poor Jean! 
 You were saying? 
 
 JEAN. Lucienne followed her uncle here. I 
 intended remaining in fibreville, but I could 
 not. 
 
 RICHON. You know Paul de Maucour is 
 invited. 
 
 JEAN. What difference does that make! He 
 is not responsible for what happens; it is 
 simply our destiny! 
 
 RICHON. And Dr. Bertry? 
 
 JEAN. He? He bother about us! He does 
 not understand the seriousness of what has 
 happened. He thinks it is simply a lover's 
 quarrel. Besides, I did not want to insist, for 
 fear of hearing him say: "I told you so!" 
 which I guessed was on the tip of his tongue. 
 
 RICHON. Haven't you tried to explain things 
 to your wife? 
 
 JEAN. Yes. But she did not want to listen 
 to me. I have just seen her. She is gay, 
 very gay. Do you understand? She is gay! 
 
 RICHON. Her mother's hereditary influence 
 has been so impressed upon her mind that she 
 has ended by believing it. She is convinced
 
 The Escape 209 
 
 that she cannot be a virtuous woman, and the 
 poor girl is trying to imitate her friends, Madame 
 de Cattenieres and Alice Longuyon. 
 
 [Lucienne is heard laughing outside] 
 
 JEAN. Listen to that! Listen to that laugh- 
 ter! 
 
 [Lucienne and Mme. de Cattenieres go across 
 the stage] 
 
 LUCIENNE. [In passing] And so it was La 
 Belleuse who reconciled them. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. La Belleuse himself. 
 
 LUCIENNE. That is delicious. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. My husband posi- 
 tively wanted to give him a gift to prove his 
 gratitude. 
 
 [They laugh again, and go out] 
 
 JEAN. [Weeping, rises] My poor Lucienne! 
 my poor Lucienne! She appears to me to be 
 dead. 
 
 RICHON. Do not weep! Have courage! 
 This gayety cannot last. 
 
 [Fresh bursts of laughter are heard from Lu- 
 cienne and Mme. de Cattenieres. La Belleuse 
 enters with Morienval. Jean walks to the door 
 through which Lucienne has passed. He remains 
 there a moment, following her with his eyes, then 
 he goes out] 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Wonderful, this demonstra-
 
 210 Brieux 
 
 tion, wonderful! You missed a lot, my dear 
 friend; didn't he, Morienval? 
 
 MORIENVAL. I should say so. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Astonishing prodigious. 
 
 BERTRY. [Enters; to Richon] I am glad to 
 see you, my dear doctor. I wanted to ask 
 these gentlemen something, and I am glad that 
 you too can give me your advice. Listen, 
 gentlemen, all three of you are physicians; now 
 answer me frankly: is it possible for a shep- 
 herd, a village quack, a charlatan call him 
 what you will would it be possible for him 
 to cure patients whom physicians have given 
 up as hopeless. 
 
 MORIENVAL. Never! 
 
 RICHON. Who knows? 
 
 BERTRY. You have not given me your an- 
 swer, La Belleuse? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. No. 
 
 BERTRY. Because? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Because there is no answer to 
 such a question. If an imbecile could succeed 
 where physicians do not, I ask you what good 
 are all our studies and degrees? 
 
 BERTRY. Then you think it is possible? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. No. 
 
 MORIENVAL. No. 
 
 BERTRY. Well, it is possible just the same.
 
 The Escape 
 
 There is in Libreville a shepherd by the 
 name of Guernoche. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Who cured Justin yes, I 
 know all about it. 
 
 BERTRY. Well? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Dr. Bertry explained it to 
 me: there was nothing the matter with Justin. 
 
 MORIENVAL. There was nothing the matter 
 with him. 
 
 BERTRY. And Brinvillard. Do you know 
 Brinvillard? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Yes. 
 
 BERTRY. Was there anything the matter 
 with him? 
 
 RICHON. Of course. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. I know him. And your 
 pere Guernoche will not cure him, I assure you. 
 
 BERTRY. It seems that he has cured him, 
 just the same. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. (Bursts out laughing] Oh, I 
 beg you do not get angry don't be offended 
 but it is so funny. He cured Brinvillard! 
 
 MORIENVAL. [At the same time] He cured 
 Brinvillard! 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. [Laughs again, then becomes 
 serious] Do you know who took care of Brin- 
 villard? [A pause] It was Dr. Bertry. [Tri- 
 umphantly] Ah ! 
 
 BERTRY. Very well. But Brinvillard could
 
 Brieux 
 
 not stand on his feet. And yesterday he was 
 seen hunting. What do you say to that? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. I say I say that if I saw 
 him myself I would not believe it. You must 
 understand, my dear friend, that there are laws 
 of nature; laws, do you understand? Laws that 
 cannot be transgressed! 
 
 MOBIENVAL. What would be the use of hav- 
 ing any if they could be transgressed? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. [To Richon] What do you 
 think of it, my dear colleague? Of course, 
 excepting Monsieur Bertry, who is perfectly 
 sincere; but the others those patients who 
 have lost confidence in the knowledge of the 
 best physicians and who go and put them- 
 selves in the hands of a shepherd doesn't a 
 silly thing like that revolt you? 
 
 RICHON. No. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. No! 
 
 RICHON. [Kindly] No. Just think how 
 much those poor people must suffer in order to 
 go and beg a shepherd to give them a few words 
 of hope! You call it foolishness? perhaps 
 but it is done on account of pain, weakness, 
 misery. And besides, we must find out, we 
 do not know everything, you know. 
 
 BERTRY. You, Richon, you admit that a 
 shepherd might have cured this man? 
 
 RICHON. Heavens, why not?
 
 The Escape 213 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. You say that! You have no 
 faith then in our profession? 
 
 RICHON. I haven't much faith in medicine, 
 that is true, and I'll tell you why I haven't 
 I could not save my only son from death when 
 he was seventeen, sir, and I swear 
 
 [Dr. Bertry enters. He is radiant. He wears 
 the order of the commander around his neck] 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Well, now what are all of 
 you plotting there? You are right to isolate 
 yourselves. There is such a crowd in the 
 salon! I say crowd and I am wrong. Am 
 I not wrong? Tell me gentlemen, haven't I 
 cause to be confused? In diamonds they 
 have given me the orders set in diamonds! I 
 really do not know where the pessimists live who 
 deny fraternity and loyalty. It is really too 
 beautiful, and my modest merits do not I am 
 all confused. And you can believe me, if you 
 will of course, my nomination gives me a 
 great deal of pleasure, I will not try to hide 
 that; but what has moved me most of all has 
 been the spontaneous manifestation of sympathy 
 with which I have been have been honored. 
 Telegrams are coming from every corner of 
 France. How many have we received since 
 noon, La Belleuse? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Forty-two! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Forty-two! His pocket is
 
 Brieux 
 
 full of them isn't it, La Belleuse? Show 
 them to the gentlemen just for curiosity. 
 
 [La Belleuse takes a package of telegrams out 
 of his pocket] Look at these! [To La Belleuse] 
 And what did you say the concierge told the 
 butler about the telegraph office? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. He was wagering that they 
 would have to engage extra help. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Extra help! The good 
 people! [He gives La Belleuse the telegrams] 
 Here, you keep these! [He gradually becomes 
 ill at ease during the following] I assure you that 
 this all is very, very nice very nice it is 
 the reward of it is the reward of forty years 
 of uninterrupted study. I am I am very 
 very happy. [He places his hand on his heart 
 and breathes hard] It is homage a homage to 
 medicine [At the end of his strength] But 
 leave me, I beg you. 
 
 BERTRY. What is the matter with you? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Pulling himself together] With 
 me? Nothing. What do you think? There 
 is nothing the matter. I only ask you 
 
 RICHON. You are suffering 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. You are ill, dear master 
 
 MORIENVAL. Yes, you are ill 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Animated] 111 I ill. You 
 are mad; I ill!
 
 The Escape 215 
 
 BEBTRT. Be calm we all see that you are 
 ill. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. You make me tired! I forbid 
 you to say that, do you understand me? I ill! 
 I am less ill than you are yes, than you. 
 Only you do not know it I am in better 
 health than you, La Belleuse; you will never 
 live to be my age, I assure you I do not 
 know what has got into the three of you. [Re- 
 assuming his composed air with a great effort, 
 and picking his words] I was telling you that 
 the manifestation with which I have been hon- 
 ored is a homage to the whole medical world, 
 a homage to science. And as the excitement 
 had tired me a bit I asked you to leave me. 
 But do not say that I am ill or suffering. I 
 am neither suffering nor ill, do you hear? 
 There now. [With a smile] Leave me. La 
 Belleuse see who is there. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Yes, dear master. [To 
 Richon, as he goes out] Now / shall have to 
 receive congratulations, and it is so tiresome. 
 
 BERTRY. Is it over? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Quite. 
 
 BERTRY. Listen. I have something to say 
 to you. You promise not to get angry? You 
 know Brinvillard 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Yes. 
 
 BERTRY. He is cured.
 
 216 Brieux 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Looking at him] By pere 
 Guernoche? 
 
 BERTRY. Yes. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Well? 
 
 BERTRY. Well. You promise not to get 
 angry? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. I trust you are not going to 
 ask me to be treated by your village quack. 
 
 BERTRY. Put yourself in my place. Some 
 one who was suffering from the same malady 
 that you were is cured. I do not bother about 
 who the healer was, whether he has degrees or 
 not. I am telling you this because I love you 
 and I do not want you to suffer. You can at 
 least do that for me, your brother. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Once for all, leave me alone. 
 You are very kind, but leave me alone. [A 
 pause. Friendly] Ah, I recognize you only 
 too well, you false sceptic! You are all alike. 
 You do not believe in our science, but you 
 believe in pere Guernoche's secrets! You do 
 not dare to say now that physicians are not 
 indispensable to humanity. [Serious] But let 
 us not speak of that any longer. Listen to 
 me. Even if I were certain that your pere 
 Guernoche could cure me you understand: 
 even if I were certain I would refuse to see 
 him. 
 
 BERTRY. That is pure stubborness.
 
 The Escape 217 
 
 THE DOCTOR. No, it is dignity, professional 
 dignity. 
 
 [La Belleuse enters. He is holding his sides 
 in a jit of laughter] 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Mr. Bertry I have a good 
 one. Some news that I have just heard. I 
 was looking for you in order to tell you about 
 it. 
 
 BERTRY. Well, tell me. 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. I ha, ha, ha! Your Brin- 
 villard cured by pere Guernoche. Oh, no 
 ha, ha, ha! I cannot. Well, he is dea-a-a-a- 
 a-d! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. [Still laughing] In coming 
 back from the hunt at his house. All of a 
 sudden psst ! and it was all over. [He 
 laughs so that the tears stream down his face] 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [To his brother] You are not 
 laughing? 
 
 BERTRY. You are like two beasts! One 
 would think that you were furious because he 
 escaped you. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Who has stopped laughing] 
 Really. It is nothing to laugh about. [As if 
 to himself] He died suddenly 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. I beg your pardon. Only 
 I came to look for you because a new delega- 
 tion has arrived. I was just informed
 
 218 Brieux 
 
 THE DOCTOR. A new delegation? 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. Yes, with a discourse 
 
 [Ludenne, Mme. de Cattenieres, and Mme. 
 Longuyon enter in the order named] 
 
 LUCIENNE. Uncle they are looking for you 
 everywhere. A delegation 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. My dear doctor, 
 you are hiding yourself. 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. They are the physicians 
 from Dieppe. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Do you want to have them come 
 in here? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. No, no. Come with me, La 
 Belleuse. 
 
 [The ladies are left alone] 
 
 LUCIENNE. This will be a good place to wait 
 until the end of all the speeches, and we can 
 chat here comfortably. I am so glad to be with 
 you both. If you like, we three can be good 
 friends. 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. Charmed, I am sure. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. And I too! 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Very nervous] What were we 
 saying? The poor woman must have gone 
 through terrible anxiety. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Why? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Heavens. It seems 10 me that 
 one ought not to live so. The fear of being 
 surprised, the tales that have to be invented,
 
 The Escape 219 
 
 the blunders of one's friends who say they have 
 seen you in such and such a place, when you 
 yourself had said that you were somewhere else. 
 It must keep one on pins and needles all the 
 time. 
 
 MME. LONGUTON. Bah! 
 
 [She questions Mme. de Cattenieres with a 
 movement of her head] 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Pshaw! 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. One gets used to it. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. They say so, at 
 least. [A pause] 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. They say so. You under- 
 stand that we know nothing about this our- 
 selves. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Oh, my dear, if La 
 Belleuse heard you now! 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. La Belleuse! Anyway, 
 he is really nothing. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. As a physician 
 but only as a physician. [To Lucienne] Isn't it 
 so, dear? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Surely. [To Mme. Longuyon] 
 But I thought that you were on such good 
 terms with him? 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. You must not speak about 
 that! Such things one does not confess. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. That was only to
 
 220 Brieux 
 
 hide the game he was playing. Husbands sus- 
 pect men of whom their wives speak ill. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [To Mme. de Cattenieres, forcing 
 a laugh] Ah, ah! And you do not confess 
 either! 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. [Shocked] What are 
 you thinking of? I have a liaison! I am a 
 widow, my dear! 
 
 LUCIENNE. And when your husband was 
 alive? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. [Dreaming] Ah, it 
 was nice then! [With a vague smile] Poor 
 Raymond! 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. He knew nothing? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. I would never have 
 forgiven myself for an awkward move that could 
 have disturbed his happiness and comfort. I 
 esteemed him greatly. 
 
 LUCIENNE. And nevertheless 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. My dear Lucienne, 
 you will understand me later on in life: A 
 woman never does wrong until after her hus- 
 band knows about it. 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. Of course. As long as 
 we know how to hide things we are harming no 
 one. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. [With lowered eyes] 
 I might dare to add: on the contrary but 
 I am talking seriously. A woman's duty to-
 
 The Escape 221 
 
 ward her husband is to make him happy. My 
 husband was the luckiest of men. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Laughing] At cards, too? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. [Quickly] Well, no, 
 my dear It was unbelievable: he lost all the 
 time. 
 
 LUCIENNE. And the first intrigue no emo- 
 tions, no remorse? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Yes. A great deal. 
 What made that first adventure so delicious. 
 [Lost in her thoughts] I remember [A pause] 
 
 LUCIENNE. What, tell us. 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. Ah, yes, tell us. You 
 remember? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Oh, it was nothing! 
 a coincidence, a mere detail insignificant 
 to others but something which I cannot 
 think of without a sort of delicious sorrow. 
 That first time was on the first anniversary of 
 our marriage. 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. The delay was seasonable. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. I know it very 
 well. But just the same when I returned and 
 found my husband with his gift and a smile 
 upon his face I felt a little something. He 
 was so confident! If I had known 
 
 LUCIENNE. You would not have ? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. [Very serious] No! 
 I would have waited a little
 
 222 Brieux 
 
 LUCIENNE. [With a forced laugh] Ha, ha, 
 ha ! that is charming. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. What is the matter 
 with you? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Oh, nothing what else do they 
 say? Tell me some other stories. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. [Ashamed] Oh, Lu- 
 cienne ! 
 
 LUCIENNE. About your good friends about 
 their husbands. Has Monsieur de Benchene a 
 mistress? And Paul de Maucour? And Paul 
 de Maucour? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. No, not yet. 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. And he is married a whole 
 year already! 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Yes, I do not under- 
 stand it! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Can't you tell me anything else? 
 Ah, I wanted to ask you. Have you seen the 
 new pantomime? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Yes. 
 
 LUCIENNE. What is it about? 
 
 MME. LONGUYON. Celia will tell you about 
 it. I should never dare. Au revoir, my dears; 
 I have this valse with Dr. La Belleuse 
 
 LUCIENNE. Then we'll see you later. 
 
 [Mme. Longuyon goes out] 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. She would never 
 dare! She makes me laugh.
 
 The Escape 223 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes, doesn't she? Well, tell me 
 about it. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Oh, it cannot be 
 told. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Bah! We are entre nous. 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Why, you see, they 
 had to make a pantomime out of it. If you 
 go to see it take a black lace fan with you. 
 One can see perfectly through it and one can- 
 not be seen. 
 
 LUCIENNE. It has made a big hit, hasn't it? 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. They have had to 
 give matinees Why, Madame Longuyon took 
 her mother to see it. 
 
 LUCIENNE. What was the matter with me 
 just now? You did not take it ill. I see 
 now how ridiculous I must have been. 
 
 [Bertry enters] 
 
 MME. DE CATTENIERES. Oh! my dear! 
 Are you going to dance? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes. 
 
 BERTRY. I'd like to have a word with you, 
 Lucienne. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Very well. [Softly to Mme. de 
 Cattenieres, whom she takes to the door] I 
 wanted to ask you something [She hesitates] 
 Bah! why not? If you should see Paul de 
 Maucour tell him to come here after my father 
 goes. I have something to say to him.
 
 Brieux 
 
 MME. DB CATTENIERES. Very well, my dear. 
 
 [She goes. Lucienne closes the door] 
 
 BERTRY. Jean has just told me what has 
 happened between you two,. You are going to 
 make up, aren't you, my dear? 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Nervous] He sent you? 
 
 BERTEY. Yes. He is sorry for the words 
 that escaped him. 
 
 LUCIENNE. He is giving both himself and 
 you useless trouble. 
 
 BERTRY. What do you intend to do? 
 
 LUCIENNE. I wish some one would tell me. 
 
 BERTRY. You make every one around you un- 
 happy, Lucienne. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Whom do I make unhappy? My 
 husband? I warned him before our marriage. 
 He knew what chances he was taking when he 
 married me: he wanted to play the game just 
 the same, and he lost it. All the worse. I 
 suffer as much from it as he does. Is it my 
 uncle? He would laugh at anything that hap- 
 pens, and he is overjoyed at his nomination. 
 Is it you? That is possible, but it is justice. 
 
 BERTRY. Because? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Because all that has passed is 
 your work. 
 
 BERTRY. Please explain what you mean. 
 
 LUCIENNE. I cannot. You must understand. 
 
 BERTRY. I beg you to explain.
 
 The Escape 225 
 
 LUCIENNE. I should not know how without 
 seeming to be disrespectful. 
 
 BERTBY. Have I not always been good to 
 you? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Too good. 
 
 BERTRY. And you reproach me for that? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes. 
 
 BERTRY. I again repeat that I do not under- 
 stand you. 
 
 LUCIENNE. You realize, don't you, that I 
 deserve some pity? My union with Jean is 
 broken, my happiness is lost. What is to be- 
 come of me now? No, let me speak! Ordi- 
 nary, happy life in mediocrity, the happiness of 
 the fireplace, the beloved husband, the babe that 
 one rocks I am not made for all that. Every one 
 has told me so, and even Jean ended by saying 
 it. I reproach you for having given me an 
 education that made my destiny so repulsive 
 to me. If you had left me where I was born I 
 should not have suffered. 
 
 BERTRY. So that is my crime? 
 
 LUCIENNE. That is the reason why I suffer, 
 and it is directly due to you. Without this ed- 
 ucation I should be like so many others, un- 
 conscious and happy. 
 
 BERTRY. Happy in misery! 
 
 LUCIENNE. There cannot be misery where there 
 is no responsibility.
 
 226 Brieux 
 
 BERTRY. My daughter! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Alas! yes! your daughter! You 
 wanted to bring me up to your level! You 
 should have paid no attention to me; then I 
 should not have been Monsieur Bertry's daughter, 
 but simply the daughter of Sophie Claret. Why 
 did you acknowledge me? 
 
 BERTRY. [Without raising his voice] Lucienne! 
 Why did I acknowledge you! I'll tell you, my 
 child. I loved your mother, who was my com- 
 panion for four years, very dearly. If I was 
 wrong the only excuse I can give is my youth 
 and my need for affection. I have nothing to 
 tell you about your mother's life before I met 
 her; sad to say, you know about it. When 
 you were born I felt myself bound to her by 
 even closer ties, I felt that a new duty was im- 
 posed upon me: to watch over you, and to 
 make your life as sweet as possible in order, if 
 possible, to atone for the illegitimacy of your 
 birth. Then your mother fell sick. You will 
 never know how deeply she loved you. You 
 will never know how many tears she shed on 
 your account. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [A little softened] Why did she 
 weep on my account? 
 
 BERTRY. Because she loved you, and be- 
 cause your future worried her. Her fondest 
 dream was to sacrifice everything to you. Then
 
 The Escape 227 
 
 she reproached herself for having given you her 
 name in the first transports of maternal love, 
 and she often wept about it. [Gradually 
 Bertry's voice changes] When she felt the end 
 coming, she called me to her side and said: 
 "It is best for me to die, for I should have 
 spoiled her later on, anyway." 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Moved] She said that? 
 
 BERTRY. I'll show you a letter that she 
 wrote me about it. It was she who entreated 
 me to acknowledge you. And I did it, Lucienne, 
 for her sake and for yours. [He is choked with 
 emotion} The sheet of paper on which you were 
 acknowledged as my daughter I took to her on 
 what was to be her last day. She still had 
 enough strength to read and her face, ravaged 
 by pain and suffering, became calm and beau- 
 tiful once more, and was lighted up with joy; 
 two tears fell from the corners of her eyes onto 
 the pillow; and she thanked me! She thanked 
 me, Lucienne, and then she passed away. 
 You see how she loved you. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Softly, her hands clasped] Mother! 
 [She weeps silently] 
 
 BERTRY. [Without looking up to heaven] Oh, 
 my darling! If she only could hear you! [A 
 pause] Tell me in what other way you think 
 I was wrong. 
 
 LUCIENNE. I ask your forgiveness.
 
 228 Brieux 
 
 BERTRY. If you want me to forgive you ab- 
 solutely you will make up with Jean. 
 
 LUCIENNE. That is not possible. Jean said 
 so himself. There are certain powers against 
 which one cannot struggle. 
 
 BERTRY. But I know you so well, I know 
 what you really are; you can triumph over your- 
 self, Lucienne. 
 
 LUCIENNE. No. I have read too many of 
 Dr. Bertry's books and I have listened to him too 
 often not to know what to expect. I am a 
 scholar, you see! And besides. I truly be- 
 lieve that I never loved any one but Paul de 
 Maucour. It was he whom I should have 
 married. 
 
 BERTRY. What are you going to do? 
 
 LUCIENNE. I don't know. 
 
 BERTRY. What answer can I give Jean? 
 Can I tell him that there is any hope? 
 
 LUCIENNE. If you want to. 
 
 BERTRY. But you love me, don't you? 
 
 [Lucienne embraces him. He goes out Lu- 
 cienne is alone for a moment; then Paul enters] 
 
 LUCIENNE. Here he is! This is the deciding 
 point of my life. 
 
 PAUL. Well, you did not come this after- 
 noon. Didn't you receive my letter? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes. 
 
 PAUL. Well?
 
 The Escape 229 
 
 LUCIENNE. Did you really think that I 
 would come? 
 
 PAUL. Yes, because I believe that you 
 love me. 
 
 LUCIENNE. You do? 
 
 PAUL. Well, don't you? 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Softly] Yes. [Raising her voice] 
 Then it is understood that we love each other. 
 Now speak. [She sits down] 
 
 PAUL. Ah, how sweet it sounds to have you 
 say that at last! You see, it was decreed that 
 you and I were made for each other, and noth- 
 ing in the world could overcome that. Lucienne, 
 you are the dearest, most enchanting creature! 
 In spite of the fact that our union will not be 
 blessed, this secret marriage, which we will 
 freely contract, will be firmer and more de- 
 licious than any other. 
 
 [He tries to grasp her hand} 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Drawing her hand away] No. 
 
 PAUL. Why not? 
 
 LUCIENNE. And this dream how are you 
 going to realize it? 
 
 PAUL. What I should like to do, my darling, 
 would be to carry you far away in my arms, 
 far from all who know us, into a distant, un- 
 known land, where I could give you my whole 
 life in exchange for yours. 
 
 LUCIENNE. You would do that?
 
 230 Brieux 
 
 PAUL. I wish with all my soul that I could. 
 
 LUCIENNE. What keeps you from doing it? 
 
 PAUL. Just think, my dear, of the sorrow 
 that we should leave in our wake. I am not 
 talking of my relatives only, but of yours, of 
 Alice, of your husband; I ask myself whether 
 we have the right to create a happiness for our- 
 selves built on the sorrows of so many people 
 who have never caused us any unhappiness, and 
 whom our flight would cause the most acute 
 anguish. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Then? 
 
 PAUL. Don't you think I am right? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes, yes. 
 
 PAUL. Oh, it is costing me enough! to re- 
 nounce this perfect happiness, this absolute 
 abandon alas, impossible! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Impossible! 
 
 PAUL. I have thought of other things. This 
 is what I have planned. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Ah, let me hear! 
 
 PAUL. We will get a little place in some 
 quiet part of Paris, a little nest lost among the 
 foliage and the flowers. That will be our 
 home. We will meet there as often as we 
 can. And this wonderful mystery of ours will 
 be one of the sources of our joy. We alone 
 shall know that we love each other. [Lucienne
 
 The Escape 231 
 
 rises] Won't we be supremely happy, Lu- 
 cienne? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Perhaps. Have you thought of 
 the constant lies that we shall have to tell? 
 
 PAUL. [Standing] Of course, and I regret 
 it as much as you do. 
 
 LUCIENNE. But it will be nothing; probably 
 everything will go well. 
 
 PAUL. Why yes. 
 
 LUCIENNE. In order to meet we shall have 
 to write. And isn't that rather dangerous? 
 Our absences will be noticed; we shall be fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 PAUL. Of course as things stand with Jean 
 now our situation is more precarious than it 
 would be ordinarily. 
 
 LUCIENNE. What do you mean? 
 
 PAUL. If he were not suspicious of me now; 
 if- 
 
 LUCIENNE. If? 
 
 PAUL. If only you were on apparently good 
 terms with him. We should have a hundred 
 opportunities to meet. 
 
 LUCIENNE. But the situation is not like that 
 now. 
 
 PAUL. There would be a way only 
 
 LUCIENNE. Oh, come now, my friend. What 
 is keeping you back?
 
 232 Brieux 
 
 PAUL. I tell you in advance it will cost me 
 a lot a lot but 
 
 LUCIENNE. But love excuses everything. 
 
 PAUL. [Approaching her] Yes, doesn't it? 
 Well, this is what I thought. If we could 
 both make up with Jean we should at least be 
 in a normal situation. 
 
 LUCIENNE. "Normal situation" is charming. 
 
 PAUL. [Flattered] You are too good. But 
 doesn't that plan suit you? 
 
 LUCIENNE. I must confess that at first I 
 was a bit shocked. 
 
 PAUL. Very well, I will think about it, I 
 will find something else. The main thing now 
 is that we are sure of our love for each other. 
 For you love me, don't you? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Can you doubt it after what we 
 have just said to one another? 
 
 PAUL. Let me look into your eyes [She 
 rises, and he holds her] You have never been so 
 beautiful. [Very softly, and putting his arm 
 around her waist] You will be the most ador- 
 able mistress. [Lucienne looks at him for a 
 long time] 
 
 LUCIENNE. Coward! You are a coward, I 
 say! In the end, all of this hurts me, revolts 
 me, and I cannot contain myself any longer. 
 [Becoming very excited] Ah, what things, what 
 ignoble things you have dared to propose to
 
 The Escape 233 
 
 me! I am to become reconciled with Jean, you 
 will be reconciled with him, your friend, and 
 steal his wife away from him. That was 
 what you desired! Adultery may perhaps be 
 excused when it binds two people until death, 
 but you do not desire that kind. What you 
 desired was banal intrigue, with all of its lies 
 and hypocrisies. But you will have to search 
 for that elsewhere. In vain I have striven 
 with all of my strength, but I cannot I can- 
 not play that role ! I have tried yes. 
 On receipt of your letter, I went to your ren- 
 dez-vous I arrived in front of the house in 
 which you were waiting for me, and all of a 
 sudden I had a clear and complete vision of the 
 abjection into which I was about to throw my- 
 self. I got into the carriage that had brought 
 me, I came back here, and, thank God, if I was 
 aware of the degradation of lying before my de- 
 parture, I am at least ignorant of the shame of 
 the return. 
 
 PAUL. Then you do not love me? 
 
 LUCIENNE. It is evident that I do not, 
 since you have made my whole being revolt as 
 from a sort of contamination. 
 
 PAUL. And you do not believe in my love 
 for you? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Your love! It disgusts me! It 
 disgusts me! Your love produces nothing but
 
 234 Brieux , 
 
 lies, cowardliness, filth! I recognize that kind 
 of love: it is the sort of homage which others 
 have insulted me with for a long time now. 
 I have seen it often, too often, thanks to the 
 promiscuity of the balls, shining in men's eyes, 
 and it is the same I have just seen glittering in 
 your eyes. 
 
 PAUL. [Animated, going towards her] Lucienne! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes, it is the same, for you are 
 like all the others; it is always the same con- 
 tracted mouth, the same trembling hands, the 
 same gentle hypocrisy, the same bestial and in- 
 sulting desires! Ah, if every woman, if every 
 young girl even, would dare to tell of the ig- 
 nominies to which men have attempted to sub- 
 ject her, if she would dare to repeat the in- 
 expressible propositions made to her by young 
 men, old men, men who are reputed to be 
 virtuous and faithful! And all of this is done 
 within two feet of the husband or father, whose 
 hands they are going to shake when they leave, 
 after their plans have been checked! Ah, what 
 cowards you all are! And what audacity you 
 need to dare to exalt this love which you have 
 so debased! Now go, will you? Go! 
 
 PAUL [Approaching her] No. [A pause] If 
 your friends, Madame de Cattenieres and 
 Madame Longuyon were to hear you they 
 would never recognize their recent laughing
 
 The Escape 235 
 
 companion Lucienne. [He steps up to her] 
 
 LUCIENNE. Leave me! 
 
 PAUL. No! 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Cries out, as she is being followed 
 around the room by Paul] Jean! 
 
 PAUL. [Trying to put his hand on her 
 mouth; very gravely] I love you. 
 
 LUCIENNE. Jean! 
 
 PAUL. You have played with me, that's 
 enough. 
 
 LUCIENNE. JEAN! 
 
 [Jean appears. Lucienne utters a cry of tri- 
 umph and throws herself into his arms] 
 
 JEAN. Lucienne ! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Protect me, Jean, protect me! 
 [A pause] 
 
 PAUL. I am at your service, sir. 
 
 [Jean holds Lucienne in his arms. He hides 
 his great inner joy. He replies to Paul in a 
 scornfully smiling manner. Softly] 
 
 JEAN. Go that is all I do not hate 
 you. My wife told you to go so go that 
 is all I ask of you. Go! 
 
 PAUL. But 
 
 JEAN. Go! 
 
 [Paul goes out] 
 
 JEAN. [Still holding Lucienne in his arms] 
 My dear Lucienne. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [To herself, after drawing a little
 
 236 Brieux 
 
 away] Ah! am I a good woman just the 
 same? 
 
 JEAN. Lucienne! My wife! Do you love 
 me? 
 
 LUCIENNE. I do not doubt myself any 
 longer. But what they said, Jean. And 
 their science? 
 
 [Voices are heard in front of the door] 
 
 JEAN. Science. But what is the matter? 
 
 LUCIENNE. Yes, what is it? 
 
 [The door opens] 
 
 BERTRY. [Still outside] This way. Lift the 
 tapestry. Hurry ! 
 
 [Bertry and a servant enter supporting the 
 doctor between them. The doctor is very pale 
 and can hardly walk] 
 
 LUCIENNE. Uncle! 
 
 BERTRY. [To Jean] The armchair that's 
 it. [To the servant] Lower the portieres, and 
 then you may go. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [To the servant as he is going 
 out] Wait. Say say that it is nothing. 
 
 [The servant leaves] 
 
 LUCIENNE. Send for some help. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. No, no! And above all, let 
 no one hear of this! All I need is a bit of 
 fresh air! 
 
 [He opens his vest. Braces are visible. Lu- 
 cienne, at his right, tries to undo his necktie, but
 
 The Escape 237 
 
 she does not do it quickly enough; the doctor takes 
 his collar with his left hand and tears it off. To 
 his brother] Tell me did any one see me? 
 
 BERTRY. No. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. How did it happen? 
 
 BERTRY. You left the salon. You were 
 alone with me. Suddenly, you turned fright- 
 fully pale and held on to me to keep from 
 falling. Then you said: "Like the other one 
 suddenly like the other one, Andre!" 
 You almost lost consciousness. I called a 
 servant we brought you here. And that is 
 the whole story. 
 
 LUCIENNE. What can be done? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. What is there to be done? 
 If I only knew, my dear child! [Softly, almost 
 with shame] But I know nothing! All I can 
 do is to wait for the next crisis, tomorrow, in a 
 week and so it will go on until it carries 
 me off some day. I have been suffering like 
 this for years now, do you understand, for 
 years ! 
 
 LUCIENNE. Years? 
 
 THE DOCTOR. Yes, I hid it from everybody. 
 I was ashamed of my pains which I could not 
 relieve I hid them on account of the pride, 
 you know, the pride of the scientist. Now you see 
 my misery you see nothing but a poor human 
 rag before you like the others, like all the
 
 238 Brieux 
 
 others, in that frightful distress at feeling one's 
 life blood ebbing. Still I can try something just 
 the same. 
 
 Perhaps others know Richon call Richon! 
 Beg him to prepare something for me, to find 
 to invent. No! No! [To himself] Find, in- 
 vent. Now I am as foolish as my patients! 
 [Grandly] If I believed in God I would get on 
 my knees and pray to Him for a miracle. [He 
 weeps. After a pause] But I do not believe 
 in Him ! I do not even believe in science 
 and I have not believed in it for a long time 
 now. 
 
 JEAN. [To Lucienne] You hear, Lucienne, 
 you hear! 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [Beating the arms of his arm- 
 chair] Science ! science ! science ! ah, ah ! 
 One imagines a million things are the matter! 
 one wants to formulate laws of life and is 
 present, powerless, at one's own agony! We 
 understand nothing that happens about us, we 
 understand nothing that is happening within 
 us. Why am I going to die? My arteries 
 will begin to harden. Why? How? What is 
 hardening of the arteries? Do you want me to 
 tell you? We know nothing about it, nothing, 
 nothing, nothing ! we have found nothing but 
 words! [A pause. The Doctor rises] I'm 
 better again. I'm quite relieved.
 
 The Escape 239 
 
 BERTRY. [After a pause] Look at these chil- 
 dren. You failed to make them unhappy. Tell 
 them that your statements were made at a 
 venture; tell them that we all have energy in 
 us to fight against hereditary blemishes, and 
 that no one is born who is condemned in ad- 
 vance to utter despair. 
 
 LUCIENNE. [Supplicating, with great emotion] 
 Yes! Yes! say that your distressing theories 
 are vain; say it so that I shall feel myself 
 delivered from the heavy fatality that seems to 
 hang over me; so that I can feel free; say it, 
 say it! so that I shall know that we are not 
 dominated by the tyranny of the dead! 
 
 JEAN. Do not repeat your despairing max- 
 ims! I beg of you not to! I entreat you in the 
 name of all the unfortunates upon whom weighs 
 the restlessness of a doubtful heredity, and who, 
 more than the others, have need of confidence 
 and courage. 
 
 THE DOCTOR. [After a long pause} I have 
 nothing to add to what you have just heard. 
 My pride failed to make you lose. I ask 
 your forgiveness. 
 
 JEAN. [To Lucienne] We are free at last! 
 Do you believe me? I love you! Do you be- 
 lieve me? 
 
 LUCIENNE. I love you and I believe you! 
 I love you and I believe you! [They embrace]
 
 240 Brieux 
 
 LA BELLEUSE. [Appearing in the doorway] 
 Dear master, they are all waiting for you to 
 begin your lecture. 
 
 [The doctor stands erect. He again takes on 
 the air of the first act. A long pause, then 
 pointing to his order of the commander] 
 
 THE DOCTOR. I'll put that on again and 
 I'll come at once. What was I going to say 
 to them? [As he goes he prepares the beginning 
 of his speech] Gentlemen and colleagues, the 
 sovereignty of science. 
 
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