g IX i \ ) .«nr.Aiirrjfj._^ ^^1 "1 f ^OFC dlFOR^ § xaviian#' ^ 5 OS ) 50 c? I )i 3 < ^OFCAIIFOM^ ^OFCAIIFO% ^^^aaiH^ P3 => !^ *^J3l3DNVSm'^ AMEUNIVERS/a ^JJUONVSQl^ ,5J\EUNIVER5/A a;^10SANCEIFjIx ^lOSANCElEr^ f^ yoKmm^ ^mmys\'^ "^/smmv^ ^immc \oimi^ %)mm^ r/>. \B i A^lOSANCEl% so ^^ ^lOSANC!l£f^ n %!JiQAINi1i# ^OFCAllF0R(^ -^t-UBRARYO^ "^^Aavnan^ ^^Anvaanii^ ,5j[\EUNIVERy) 3MIVW ^OFCAUFO)?/^ ^^EONlVERi %liDNVS(n'" 0^, -S^'EUBRARYOc. <^EUNIVER% aJ^IOSANCEI&x ^tl .^tUBRARY^ .1 i.yii i!^ ml m THE MODERN DRAMA SERIES EDITED BY EDWIN BJORKMAN LOVERS • THE FREE WOMAN THEY • BY MAURICE DONNAY LOVERS: THE FREE WOMAN: THEY THREE PLAYS BY MAURICE DONNAY TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY BARRETT H. CLARK NEW YORK MITCHELL KENNERLEY MCMXV COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY MITCHELL KENNERLEV 1j CONTENTS PAGE Introduction vii Chronological List of Plays xii Lovers S The Free Woman 133 They! 247 jC 'p-v tr-.T .'"■' .'•"• .r\ INTRODUCTION Life to Maurice Donnay is a series of love stories. He once said, "A play is a love story, and since that story is laid in various places, we are led to believe that plays differ." And Donnay's plays differ among themselves only in the degree to and manner in which they are treated. Sex is the motive power which actu- ates his characters: it is the protagonist of all his work. It might almost be urged that free love — if by free we mean independent of the conventions of mar- riage and society — is the subject of his stories. He is very little concerned with morality, and the rare occa- sions upon which he ventures to treat it are to be found not in the plays, but in interviews and prefaces. In his Dedication to Moliere (in Le Menage de Moliere) he says: "The conjugal accident no longer amuses us: it appears to us as a social necessity, yes, a shameful but logical consequence of marriage as it is most fre- quently practised in the society of our day." In his best plays, like Lovers and The Free Woman, this dramatist is content merely to paint certain sections of life as he sees them, to analyze the thoughts and sensa- tions of his lovers, and to allow the audience to draw what conclusions it will. Only by implication is It possible to read into these plays any moral attitude: Donnay is far too great an artist to attach a moral to his work, or attempt to develop one out of the action or the interplay of character upon character. This viii INTRODUCTION of course does not mean that he is immoral in his atti- tude: his frankness, his sincerity, his openmindedness will surely free him of any charge of immorality. Where other Frenchmen insinuate, where Americans sentimentalize, where Englishmen either ignore or sen- timentalize, Donnay speaks what appears to him as the bare truth: love, either within or without the marriage bond, is one of the greatest and most potent factors of life ; it is sometimes cruel ; occasionally brutal ; often, because of the insincerity of human beings, a force for evil ; but always a vast force to be reckoned with. Donnay is one of the few living artists of the Realis- tic school of drama ; he stands with Porto-Riche and Schnitzler, with whom he has many qualities in com- mon. He possesses the brilliance of the latter, the bal- ance of the Frenchman, his logic as well as his deep feeling; his sentiment never degenerates into senti- mentality, his temperament — while it is not greatly dissimilar from that of Porto-Riche — is thoroughly healthy, and he never goes to extremes. Donnay was born in 1859 at Paris, of a well-to-do middle-class family in the district of Montmartre, where the young Maurice was destined to begin his artistic career not many years later. In accordance with the wishes of his ambitious parents he prepared himself for the profession of civil engineer and in 1885 entered, somewhat against his wishes, a contractor's office. He was evidently ill-suited for the work, and six years later, as a result of his appearing in public at a cabaret on Montmartre, where he recited some verses of his own, he was asked to resign. Between 1889 and 1891 he wrote and recited a number of grace- ful if occasionally vulgar monologues, which were INTRODUCTION ix keenly appreciated by the habitues of the Chat noir. In 1892 his first play, Lysistrata, was performed at the Grand Theatre; it was immediately successful, and attracted some notice. The story and the wit of the Aristophanic comedy appealed to the kindred spirit of the French people; Donnay's own wit and originality, however, made of the Greek original a truly French play. The next important play was his most success- ful and is certainly his most brilliant achievement, Lovers. Jules Lemaitre, a great authority, a keen and catholic critic, pronounced this play "probably a mas- terpiece." He was speaking of the piece in its rela- tion with French dramatic literature, not merely con- temporaneous writing. The praise of critics and pub- lic soon brought the young man fame, and prepared a respectful and often enthusiastic hearing for the many plays which were yet to come. La Douloureuse presents another aspect of the eter- nal question of sex : in this woman's play, the dramatist tells of the effect of deep passion on a woman's char- acter. Roger le Brun, the author of a little mono- graph on Donnay, gives a clear idea of the dramatist's underlying thought in this play, and makes the state- ment applicable to all his work : "... Jove, as a re- sult of social conventions, for the most part hypocriti- caUydisguisc d by pueri_l£ _i i£ntimontalitv, io foi: :cedLto do service for the basest appetites as well as the most aijj^Tf|cTST"PTri7rFTr> Tis : it is dcbased^^ by lies, by t ricks, b y the ^ya rice of man^ sidetrankpd frQ jn_ its true ana proper functions, going hand in hand with all our mis- deeds like a monstrous and vil e thing." This "de- basement by^iies" is the theme of La Douloureuse and The Free Woman. Donnay harks back a moment to INTRODUCTION Ibson, when he shows tlic iinliappj result of a long- hidden lie. Georgette Lemeuiiicr, Le Torrent, L'Autre danger, Le Retour de Jerusalem, arc all variants on the everlasting love-motif, but with consummate ar- tistry Donnaj manages to extract each time some new and interesting idea, some novel matter for admira- tion. Le Menage de Molicre, one of his latest plays, is a long historical verse play, but again it is con- cerned with the love-interest, not primarily the literary or historical. Donnay's qualities of cleverness, his broad sympa- thy, his penetrating insight into human nature, are nowhere seen to better advantage than in Amants and L'Affranchie, which are the first two plays in the pres- ent volume. Amants, while its situations are, it is true, foreign — the externals bearing upon characters known only to certain sections of Continental society — is re- plete with scenes of throbbing life. The story of a "free" union, which, comments Donnay, is not free after all, the love affair of two born lovers, the vary- ing moods and tempests of their passion, the agony of the breaking-ofF, the final "cure," are deftly and sympathetically portrayed. There is a poetry in the situation, the spirit of which is beautifully apparent throughout. The play leaves one with that feeling of quiet sadness, which the same situation in hfe would leave. UAffranchie, on the other hand, is a trifle more purposeful, if the term be not out of place in a discus- sion of Donnay's plays. Here is the picture of a lov- ing yet weak woman, a kind of chastened Iris. An- tonia is the incarnation of many of the finer qualities of woman, yet she lies with the unconsciousness of the INTRODUCTION xi weakest of her sex. Her lover insists that the moment she ceases to love him she tell him of it, frankly and fearlessly. As a matter of fact, she fails to realize that she has stopped loving him, even when she takes a new lover. The free union which in Amants was as freely broken off as it was entered upon drags to its miserable yet under the circumstances logical conclu- sion, because one of the two has been deceitful. Eux! {They!) is a gay trifle, included here as an example of the author's earliest manner. The artifi- ciality, the wit, the heartlessness of the young man soon gave way to the infinitely more human works of his early maturity. There is no comment, no criticism in these plays : they are works of art and works of literature, besides being successful and interesting plaj's. Donnay is a phenomenon which could not exist under present con- ditions either in England or in America : a true artist, saying what he likes in the manner best fitted to his temperament. CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF PLAYS BY MAURICE DONNAY They (Eux), 1889; Lysistrata (Lysistrata), 1892; The Family Hotel (Pension de Famille), 1894<; The Auger (La Vrillc), 1895; Lovers (Amants), 1895; Paying the Bill (La Doulourcuse), 1897; The Free Woman (L'AfFranchic), 1898; Georgette Lemeunier (Georgette Lcmeunler), 1898; The Mill-Race (Le Torrent), 1899; The Education of the Prince (Education de Prince), 1900; The Clearing (La Clairiere), 1900 (in collaboration with Lucien Descaves) ; The Seesaw (La Bascule), 1901; The Alternate Risk (L'Autre Danger), 1902; The Return from Jerusalem (Le Retour de Jeru- salem), 1903; The Escalade (L'Escalade), 1904; Birds of Passage (Oiseaux de passage), 1904< (in collaboration with Lucien Descaves) ; Appearances (Paraitre), 1906; The Boss of the House (La Patronne), 1908; Moliere's Household (Le Menage de Moliere), 1912; The Emancipated Women (Les Eclaireuses), 1913. LOVERS (Am ants) a comedy in five acts 1895 PERSONS IN THE PLAY Vetheuil RUYSEUX De Sam bee Prunier Ravier schlixder Gaudeeic Prosper A Servant Claudine Rozay Henriette Jamine Suzanne Gregeois Adele Sorbier Fraulein English Governess Denise Rozay LOVERS FIRST ACT The drawing-room in Claudine Rozaifs apartment. Place des Etats-Unis. At the back is a large hay- wimdow through which are seen the tall chestnut-trees of the square. A Punch-and-Judy show has been set up betzveen two doors. Down-stage sit half a dozen lit- tle girls and boys, very stylishly dressed in noticeably English clothes; behind them are their respective gov- ernesses, English and German, and then their mothers, elegantly attired young women. As the curtain rises, the play of Punch-and-Judy is drazmng to a close. Little Punch is beating the policeman; then Judy, sumptuously dressed in yellow and blue, announces the end of the comedy. The audience rise, disperse, then form into groups. MADAME GREGEOIS Charming! Delightful! I must confess I enjoyed it quite as much as the children! MADAME SORBIER I laughed because they did. {Georges and Gaston Sorbier, unbearable little rascals in sailor suits, jostle each other and quarrel.) Georges! Gaston! Stop it! Those children are simply frightful ! Frau- lein, you must not leave them for a single instant — LOVERS [act I see what happens ! You need have no fear of being too severe with them. FRAULEIN But Madame, if they refuse to listen to me — ? M. Gaston called me a fool just now. MADAME SORBIER Never mind that. Now, it's about time we were going. But you, Gaston, are to copy the sentence, "I must not call Friiulein a fool," one hundred times. That will teach you a lesson ! Put on your hats now. {Madame Sorhier disappears into the back- ground, together with Frdulein, Georges and Gas- ton.) CLAUDINE Ladies, I should like to introduce to you M. Ernest Ravier, the author of the play you have just seen. MADAME GREGEOIS So you are the clever manipulator of these little pup- pets ? RAVIER Yes, Madame, I am. MADAME JAMINE Real talent ! CLAUDINE M. Ravier's father is opposed to his son's pursuing a theatrical career. MADAME GREGEOIS Artistic murder, I call it ! MADAME JAMINE I am sure you would write lovely plays for the Fran9ais ! ACT i] LOVERS EAVIER {Modestly) That is not quite the same as writing for Punch-and-Judy. MADAME JAMINE Oh, when Scapin beats the man in the sack ! SCHLINDER There is not so much difference after all — amusing children and grown-ups. Men are only overgrown children. MADAME JAMINE For whose benefit did you make that remark? MADAME GUEGEOIS But, Monsieur, for my part I was vastly amused. Why, every stroke that was showered on the police- man's back convulsed me. SCHLINDER Very amusing, is it not, Madame.? You like to see authority get the worst of it.^* MADAME GREGEOIS It is always quite irresistible. SCHLINDER Hm! {He joins Mme. Sorbier,) MADAME JAMINE You did put your foot in it, my dear ! Do you know who that gentleman is.'' MADAME GREGEOIS No. MADAME JAMINE Schlinder, the Chief of Police. MADAME GREGEOIS Heavens! And I told him I liked to see authority get the worst of it ! 6 LOVERS [act I EAVIER That needn't trouble you, Madame ; Schlinder is not the least bit sensitive. He is most accommodating, too; for instance, if you wish to get special permis- sion to do anything, if you want information about a cook, or wish to meet the Grand Dukes, you may safely confide in him. MADAME GREGEOIS I'm very glad to know it — I must ask a favor of him. MADAME JAMINE So must I. MADAME GREGEOIS How does he happen to be here at Claudine's .'* MADAME JAMINE He's very much in love with Mme. Sorbier. MADAME GREGEOIS Ah, I see. RAVIER She would neglect her duties and home to keep in his good graces. MADAME JAMINE Tell me, now — what is this Grand Dukes' business you spoke of.'* RAVIER Don't you know? I'll tell you: when the Grand Dukes of Russia come to Paris MADAME SORBIER {going to Claudim) Dear Madame, many, many thanks for the charm- ing party you have given my children. CLAUDINE But you aren't leaving so soon? The children are going to have some refreshments ACT i] LOVERS MADAME SORBIER No, no, dear Madame, Georges and Gaston must have nothing — they've misbehaved. They fought like little urchins, and Gaston was naughty to Friiulein. CLAUDINE Very naughty ! But let me ask you to forgive them, just this once! They won't be naughty again. You won't — will you.'* (^The children shake their heads) MADAME SORBIER Is that the way to answer.? You're like the educated donkey — you have tongues, haven't you? Can't you say no.'' GEORGES AND GASTON (sulkUy) No! MADAME SORBIER No — what.f^ GEORGES AND GASTON No, Madame. MADAME SORBIER Now run off and have some refreshments — but re- member, I let you have them only because Mme. Rozay asked me — you may thank her. {Frdulein tries to induce the children, in German, to thank Claudine, but in vain) ENGLISH GOVERNESS {coTuing forward with Denise) Madame, everything is ready — shall the children come? CLAUDINE Certainly. (To Denise) You, dearest, remember, you're the hostess here — you must do the honors. At the table don't take the kind of cakes you like — remember, all your little friends must be served first. 8 LOVERS [act Run on, darling. (She hisses Denise effusively) I'll come and see you soon. \_Dcmse goes out with her governess, who showers advice upon her in English. The children are now eating. Mme. Gregeois is tallcing with Schlinder in a corner. SCHLINDER I am listening, Madame. MADAME GREGEOIS Just think, M. le Prefet, I had to dismiss my maid only a few days ago — she'd been in service eight years — diligent and very good at her work, only she seemed too fond of the second coachman — even went to his room. Did you ever hear of such a thing? SCHLINDER (Prefect of Police) I have. MADAME GREGEOIS As I had no intention of countenancing such goings- on under my roof, I dismissed them both. SCHLINDER You had a perfect right to do so. MADAME GREGEOIS That was about a month ago, but for the past week I have been receiving anonymous letters containing threats — full of vulgar, vile expressions — things I shouldn't think of repeating to you, M. le Prefet — there are even some I don't understand myself! SCHLINDER I can well believe that — and then.'* MADAME GREGEOIS Well, I suspect that these come from the couple in question, the couple I took the liberty of disturbing. Don't you think I'm right? ACT i] LOVERS 9 SCHLINDER Yes and no. MADAME GREGEOIS Oh, Monsieur, if you could only see the letters ! Big, scrawling — red ink — disguised — and such expres- sions ! SCHLINDER That doesn't constitute absolute proof. I have seen letters of that sort which were written by the whitest and most delicate of perfumed hands. MADAME GREGEOIS But, Monsieur, I have no other enemies. Thank God, I live in a circle which is not in the least quar- relsome; we have no adventures or intrigues. SCHLINDER That goes without saying. Well, in that case, then, it is very possible that your suspicion is correct — what are their names, you say? [^He takes out a notebook. MADAME GREGEOIS The maid's name is Sidonie Rabut — (Spelling the word) b-u-t. SCHLINDER (Writing) The man? MADAME GREGEOIS Felix Tirviellot. SCHLINDER I shall have Sidonie Rabut and Felix Tirviellot summoned before one of my magistrates, who has charge of such matters. He will frighten them, so that they won't disturb you any more. 10 LOVERS [act I MADAME GREGEOIS Thank you kindly, Monsieur ! I hope you will give us the pleasure of calling at our home? SCHLINDER (Bowing) Madame! J[The children continue to regale themselves with re- freshments. MADAME SORBIER Come quick, Schlinder ; the ladies are very excited ; they want to ask you a favor. SCHLINDER I am quite at their service. CLAUDINE We should like to see the parts of the city where the murderers live. SCHLINDER We are not acquainted with those districts, Madame. RAVIER If you were, you would not be here. MADAME GREGEOIS Try to think, M. le Prefet. Just now M. Ravier was telling us of a number of shady places: Pere- Lunettes, Chateau-Rouge, Gravilliers Ball, St. Hu- bert's Cellars. RAVIER The Grand Dukes ! SCHLINDER Nothing is easier, ladies CLAUDINE Tell me — I'll be rather nervous — there won't be any danger, will there? ACT i] LOVERS 11 SCHLINDER Not in the least, Madame ; you will be as safe as you are in your own homes. CLAUDINE You are really too obliging ! SCHLINDER As a matter of fact, those places are well-known, all classified — show-places : why, the Pere-Lunettes shop has been turned into an Artistic Cabaret EAVIER The poor man's Chat-Noir. MADAME GREGEOIS But we'd like to visit it. SCHLINDER Nothing is easier. As soon as you decide on a day, you have only to let me know. And now, Madame, you must be good enough to let me go where duty calls. CLAUDINE You must be very busy — those two recent murders, one coming right after the other ! SCHLINDER Yes, I am due to appear at a garden party at the Minister of Foreign Affairs'. EAVIER I'm going there, too; may I accompany you? SCHLINDER Delighted. (Ravier and Sclilinder go out) MADAME GREGEOIS Charming man ! MADAME JAMINE How interesting! What a lot of stories he must know! 12 LOVERS [act i MADAME GEEGEOIS There are a lot he doesn't know, too ! FRAULEIN (Coming down-stage) Madame! MADAME SORBIER What is it now, Fraulein? FRAULEIN Madame, Georges and Gaston have overeaten. They have heart-burn — what shall I do? MADAME SORBIER I'll go. Madame, I beg your pardon for having brought my children ! CLAUDINE They're lovely children. MADAME SORBIER Their father spoils them. School begins soon, and then I shan't be troubled ; I can't decide whether to send them to the Fathers in the Rue de Madrid or the Dominicans at Arcueil. CLAUDINE Sorry I can't advise you. [Madame Sorbier starts to go, and this gives the signal for departure to the other guests. MADAME SORBIER (As she goes) Good-by, dear Madame; once more, I beg your pardon. Thank you for your very kind invitation. MADAME GREGEOIS (To Claudine) I must go, too: you must be worn out. MADAME JAMINE (To Claudine) Good-by, dear. ACT i] LOVERS 13 CLAUDINE Please stay, my dear Henriette, we have so many things to talk over ! \^All but Claudine and Henriette Jamine go out. CLAUDINE Now, how are you, dear? It's good to see you after so long! I didn't even know you were in Paris. I wrote you just on the chance of your being here. MADAME JAMINE It was so good of you ! As a matter of fact, I haven't been in Paris this winter — we were at Beau- lieu: the doctors said that Yvonne had to spend the winter in the Midi. We returned in April. CLAUDINE Was your friend Mme. de Barency at Beaulieu this season? I think she has a villa ? MADAME JAMINE Yes, yes, she was there. CLAUDINE Is she as gay and lively as ever? MADAME JAMINE Oh, don't talk about it ! The poor woman has had a great sorrow — M. Ledouillard left her to get mar- ried. CLAUDINE No? and they were together so long! MADAME JAMINE Eight years. CLAUDINE Almost a long lease ! * * French leases are usually made out for terms of three, six, and nine years. 14 LOVERS [act i MADAME JAMINE Yes, she is terribly broken up about it, poor dear! She was very fond of Ledouillard, and then — well, she's unclassed now, isn't she? Of course he acted honorably and all that — he left enough to take care of the child. CLAUDINE There is a child then? Girl or boy? MADAME JAMINE Boy. CLAUDINE So much the better — with a boy it's easier. Well, Ledouillard is very generous — I expected him to be- have decently. MADAME JAMINE Yes, but granted that he left them a capital of five hundred thousand francs, that's not a fortune, es- pecially in these days. CLAUDINE No, you can't do much with that ! MADAME JAMINE How is M. dc Ruyseux? CLAUDINE Very well, thank you. MADAME JAMINE I expected to see him to-day. CLAUDINE He had to attend his committee meeting. MADAME JAMINE Always busy with politics? CLAUDINE Always. And are you happy, little Hcnriette? ACT i] LOVERS 15 MADAME JAMINE Don't you know what's happened to me? CLAUDINE No — what ? MADAME JAMINE I've lost him. CLAUDINE PhiKppe ? MADAME JAMINE Yes. CLAUDINE Lost him? Did he leave you? Married? MADAME JAMINE No, lost, lost — he died. CLAUDINE You poor dear! MADAME JAMINE Hadn't you heard? CLAUDINE No — I never hear anything. You see, I live apart from the world here — I see people so seldom ! When you camo in wearing black, I didn't dare ask MAD^^TE .AMINE 1*":n you didn't get my letter? CLAUDINE No, otherwise I should have MADAME JAMINE My dear, dear friend — I was simply crazed, and so lonely! — I must have forgotten to write. Forgive me, will you? CLAUDINE But, my dear, I don't blame you in the least. Of course you would have written — I should have been 16 LOVERS [act i glad — {stoyping short) I mean, I should have ap- preciated hearing from you — I should have, that is MADAME JAMINE His death was so — painful — so There were only a few people asked to the funeral. CIiAUDINE Really? MADAME JAMINE Yes — he committed suicide. CLAUDINE No! SERVANT (Announcing) M. Georges Vetheuil. [Enter Georges Vetheuil. CLAUDINE (Rising) How are you. Monsieur? Very good of you to come! VETHEUIL Not at all, Madame. (To Mme. J amine) Madame, I hope you are well? MADAME JAMINE Thank you. Monsieur, I am very well. CLAUDINE You are acquainted, then? I don't need to intro- duce you? VETHEUIL I was afraid of being late, but I see that the play has not yet begun. CLAUDINE If you are referring to the Punch-and-Judy, it's over. ACT i] LOVERS 17 VETHEUIL Indeed ? MADAME JAMINE {Laughing) Poor Georges, I'm not at all surprised at you. VETHEUII. In that case I am intruding — I must go. CLAUDINE (Motioning him to a chair) Please don't go! VETHEUIL But you were talking. When two women get to- gether, there must be something important under discussion MADAME JAMINE It's no mystery; I was just telling Mmc. Rozay how Philippe VETHEUIIi Yes — poor fellow! MADAME JAMINE Well, to conclude: as I was returning to Paris, it happened. As I was saying, we had passed the win- ter at Beaulieu. Philippe was at Monte Carlo then, the whole time; I couldn't persuade him to keep away. He gambled; and lost, of course; lost heav- ily. When he came back, he tried to pay his debts out of the receipts of a gold mine in which he was interested — he invested his last sou in it. He acted on bad advice, and one morning he woke up to find himself quite ruined. He then shot himself — twice — in the head. 18 LOVERS [act i CLAUDINE Terrible ! I pity you from the bottom of my heart. [Madame Jamine discreetly wipes her eyes with her handkerchief. MADAME JAMINE You can imagine how terribly I felt — especially as toward the last he gambled with my money — that was one of the principal reasons why he killed him- self. And now, I — I haven't a sou. CLAUDINE Was he the father of your little daughter? MADAME JAMINE No, Yvonne's father was CLAUDINE Yes, I forgot — I beg your pardon. Then what hap- pened ? MADAME JAMINE I was simply overcome ; I wept my eyes out for him — I adored him. For two months I couldn't bear the sight of a human being; then, little by little, I braced up — now, now I'm living with Prunier. CLAUDINE The cement manufacturer.'' MADAME JAMINE Yes. CLAUDINE There are two : Ernest and Jules. MADAME JAMINE Mine is Ernest CLAUDINE Who just lost his wife. MADAME JAMINE Yes. ACT i] LOVERS 19 CLAUDINE But I understood that he was heart-broken? MADAME JAMINE Yes, it was painful to see him — I met him first at the cemetery. CLAUDINE At the cemetery ! VETHEUIL Tell us about it. MADAME JAMINE It's very simple. I used to go every week to put flowers on Philippe's grave, and one day I saw Pru- nier, who was bringing flowers for his wife's grave. — You see, the Pruniers' family vault is near Philippe's. I came back the next day and VETHEUIL You said just now you used to go every week? MADAME JAMINE (Ignoring the question) Yes, but the guardian told me Prunier came every day. So I came back the day after, and little by little we got to talking; he told me I was like his wife — that was our point of departure. Then he saw I understood him — I used to console him — that's how [Claudine turns away to keep from laughing. VETHEUIL Nice! MADAME JAMINE Why are 3^ou laughing? Is what I say amusing? VETHEUIL Yes, very ! 20 LOVERS [act i MADAME JAMINE Well, you see, I must look after things : I have a daughter to educate, and she must have a dowry, for I want her to be able to choose her own husband — a fine, worthy man. CLAUDINE And she's right! VETHEUII. You have plenty of time to decide. MADAME JAMINE One can never be too early in those matters ! I may die. I don't want her to risk marrying a nobody, who will make her life miserable. I'll keep watch over Yvonne, and if my son-in-law deceives her, I'll • — I'll shoot him — I will! (She rises) VETHEUIL {Also rising) Well, well! And what if she should deceive him.'* MADAME JAMINE That's different — I'll help her. Well, I must be go- ing. Good-by, Mr. Mocker! VETHEUIL I wasn't mocking! MADAME JAMINE Where is my little girl? CLAUDINE (Escorting Mme. J amine toward the right) This way, please. She must be playing with Denise. You'll find her in there. {They go out. Vctheuil, left alone, examines a large portrait of Claudine, which is on an easel. A moment later, Claudine re- enters) ACT i] LOVERS 21 CLAUDINE You knew Henriette Jamine before, then? VETHEUIL, Yes, I've met her a number of times. CLAUDINE She's nice, and so pretty! I don't know a prettier woman. I'm sorry I don't see more of her — she's so amusing, too! Don't you think so.'^ VETHEUIL Oh, yes — she said some very apt things just now. CLAUDINE She has the knack of being able to say everything she thinks ; she's occasionally ridiculous, but always charming. VETHEUIL She throws a veil of charm over the most vulgar things. CLAUDINE Precisely. VETHEUIL (Pointing to tlie portrait) Is this you? CLAUDINE Yes — in the Age of Reason. (Vetheuil rises and looks at the picture) VETHEUIL Very good. Who did it? CLAUDINE Sargent. VETHEUIL Remarkable. Decidedly pretty, that Age of Reason; what a delightful souvenir it will be! W^hat a pity you left the stage so soon ! In the very flush of youth, at the height of success! Why did you? 22 LOVERS [act i CLAUDINE Because at the time I came to know the Count de Ruyseux, who did not Hke to have me in those sur- roundings — then I had a daughter. From that time on, I had another part to play, the most wonderful part that was ever written, one I never get tired of at the hundredth or even the thousandth perform- ance — it changes from day to day, yet it always re- mains the same. VETHEUIL Then you leave no regrets in the theater.'' CLAUDINE Not a single one. VETHEUIL But the adulation of the crowd, that dazzlingly bril- liant celebrity to which our very best authors con- tinually refer — what of that? CLAUDINE Oh, there were moments ! But if you knew the price we have to pay for them ! It's not a happy profession. When I consider that I, the most head- strong, distant, hard-to-get-along-with, lazy, pleas- ure-loving of mortals rose early every morning, ate a snatch of breakfast and ran in order to be on time for rehearsals ; that I passed whole afternoons wait- ing about; that I went over scenes twenty times ac- cording to the caprice of manager or author — when I consider all that, I am astonished at myself, and wonder how I could possibly have endured it all ! VETHEUIL Which is tantamount to saying that if a lover had been one-fourth as exacting, you would have sent him about his business. ACT i] LOVERS 23 CLAUDINE I should think so! VJETHEUIL Of course. CLAUDINE It is an awful life — then the pettiness in the profes- sion ! You have no idea what it's like ! VETHEUIL Oh, but I have. It's like all of life, for that matter. The other day I was at the home of a good middle- class family, on their estate near Mantes. Their hallway was hung with colored supplements from the Courrier Fran^ais! So nowadays Forain has taken the place of cheap red cloth. Do you see the sym- bolism.'^ CLAUDINE Yes. — No, I have no regrets for the theater. In fact, I have become very bourgeoise — I'm afraid of so- ciety, and I rarely see people. VETHEUIL How well we understand each other ! We have quite the same distastes ! About this time every year I detest the sight of Paris ; I'm disgusted with the de- bauchery — the young ladies, the dear married women, the flirts and coquettes — I simply must run away! CLAUDINE I know exactly how you feel. VETHEUIL Then I hide myself in some quiet nook in the coun- try: I fish, hunt, read good books, and think. In short, I live, live — here I do nothing at all. 24 LOVERS [act i CLAUDINE And you are right. I too love the country — ^You're leaving soon? VETHEUIL At the end of the month. CLAUDIXE Alone.? VETHEUIL Yes. CLAUDINE ( Incredulously) Hm ! VETHEUIL Quite — indeed — as sure as CLAUDINE One and one make two ! VETHEUIL Absolutely alone — why should you doubt me.? CLAUDINE Well, your reputation ! If those ladies to whom you just referred make you sick, the sickness must have agreeable compensating qualities You are seen about with them a good deal. VETHEUIL What does that prove? I act the part of a man who is being amused, but my heart is empty. CLAUDINE If you're tired of that life, why don't you marry? VETHEUIL Oh ! Couldn't think of it ! My heart w empty, but it is not yet worn out! CLAUDINE The woman you'll marry some day would be pleased to hear that — Will you have something to drink? ACT i] LOVERS 25 VETHEUIL Thanks, I will. CLAUDINE (Ringing for a servant) What would you like? VETHEUIL Whatever you suggest. CLAUDINE Brandy and soda.'' VETHEUIL Yes, brandy and soda. {Enter Prosper.) CLAUDINE Prosper, some brandy and soda. PROSPER Very well, Madame. CLAUDINE Has the governess gone out with baby? PROSPER Not yet, Madame. CLAUDINE Tell her that I want baby to come and kiss me be- fore she leaves. PROSPER Very well, Madame. (He goes out.) CLAUDINE Too bad you don't want to marry! VETHEUIL Why so? CLAUDINE Because I know of a charming young lady with a large dowry. VETHEUIL Give her to a poor man. 26 LOVERS [act i CLAUDINE Perhaps you know her? Mile. Valreal. VETHEUIL Yes, I know her — nothing extraordinary. CLAUDINE It's strange how indulgent men are toward the women who ruin them, and how severe on tliose who bring them money. VETHEUIL We must preserve our independence, you see. CLAUDINE Then you really don't want to marry? (To the ser- vant, who hrmgs brandy and soda) Put it there. {To Vetheuil) And you are sick of the "ladies." It's serious. You must now fall in love and have a great affair with some wonderful woman. VETHEUIL I lack the necessary means. CLAUDINE That's not nice. They're not all like that. I must cling to my illusion that there are some women in the world who still cherish love for its own sake. VETHEUIL For less than that even ! CLAUDINE Try a pretty middle-class woman, a married woman. VETHEUIL Dangerous nowadays : they make you promise to marry them. Furthermore, a married woman is no longer romantic. I remember when I was eighteen, if one of my comrades was said to have an affair with a married woman, ho at once assumed the pro- portions of a hero, but to-day a high-school student ACT i] LOVERS 27 would not think of such a thing — it would be so banal ! CLAUDINE Now you're exaggerating. I firmly believe that love exists to-day. It's funny I should have to defend those women : there must be some among them who are not so black as you imagine. VETHEUIL Very few. CLAUDINE More than you think. But you don't seem to know just what you want. VETHEUIL Yes, I must have someone like CLAUDINE Like.? VETHEUIL Nothing. {He rises) Madame, will you allow me .'' CLAUDINE Going so soon.'^ VETHEUIL It's very good of you, I'm sure. I've stayed rather long for a first visit — I'm afraid I have trespassed on your good-will. CLAUDINE Not in the least. Stay only a few minutes longer — VETHEUIL Truly I'm not intruding.'* You have nothing to do? CLAUDINE I find you very interesting. You may go a little later, unless 28 LOVERS [act i VETHEUIL I am delighted to stay here with you. {He sits down again) CLAUDINE (Sitting) Are you bored then? VETHEUIIi No, never — I have too many troubles! CLAUDINE What? You're happy, aren't you? VETHEUIL It's my own fault, I imagine. How is it possible for us, living in this age of self-analysis, to be en- tirely happy, or entirely unhappy? Happiness is a very simple matter, after all, too simple for us — unhapplncss too. CLAUDINE How true that is ! Just the same, you give me the impression of a very puzzling sort of person. VETHEUIL I do my best — only human beings are complicated mechanisms. You, too, are — so is life, so is every- thing — infinitely complicated. Did you ever find yourself in the middle of a forest, in one of those clearings where half a dozen paths cross, and not know which led to the chateau, which to the village, the farm, and the railway station? CLAUDINE We call that St. Hubert's Square or the Place of the Guards. VETHEUIL Exactly ; well, at every step In life we are confronted with these squares, and we have no idea whither we are going. ACT i] LOVERS 29 CLAUDINE Especially when we don't know where we want to go. VETHEUIL That is also true. CLAUDINE Yes, and it all goes to prove that we should remain quiet and calm and composed — then we don't have to choose a path. VETHEUIL But that is not living. CLAUDINE No, it isn't. VETHEUIL Do you find life amusing? CLAUDINE Amusing.'' No. Only I have a companion of whom I am sure, who is devoted, and for whom I have a great deal of affection. I have a daughter whom I adore, and I live in tolerable luxury. I have lit- tle to complain of, and I am rarely bored. That is all I can say. VETHEUIL You're not saying that for my benefit.'* CLAUDINE For whose, then.'* VETHEUIL You say that in order to persuade yourself. CLAUDINE You mustn't put such ideas into my head — it's im- pertinent ! VETHEUIL Psychology ! 30 LOVERS [act i CLAUDINE {Laughing) Downriglit violence! VETHEUIL Now at this moment I enjoy that calm and quiet of which you spoke, but I feel the need for something further: emotion, trouble, joy, and even suffering — yes, suffering! CLAUDINE I know what you mean. When we are without those emotions, that suffering, we ask ourselves what we are doing anyhow. We seem to be losing, wasting our time — and that quiet existence is more painful than sadness itself. We think of our past sufferings in order to suffer in the present ! VETHEUIL Exactly. CLAUDINE So, tlien, you seem to be ready for a great love af- fair ? VETHEUIL You too! CLAUDINE Sh! {Pointing to Denise, who is about to enter with the English governess) There is my grande pas- sion! [Enter Denise and her governess. DENISE Good-by, mother dear. I'm going for a walk. CLAUDINE Good-by, sweetheart, have a nice time! {To the governess) Take her to the Pre Catelan — and don't stay too long — not hiter than seven. ACT i] LOVERS 31 DENISE Are we coming back by way of the Acacias? CLAUDINE Yes, my angel, you are coming back by way of the Acacias. DENISE Then I can't be home by seven. CLAUDINE Why? GOVERNESS She told me the other day that the stylish ladies don't go there until seven. CLAUDINE Then you may stay till half-past. Are you glad now? Come and say good-by to this gentleman. There he is. (Denise goes to Vetheuil, who offers to kiss her, but the child gravely holds out her hand) VETHEUIL {Very ceremoniously) Good-by, Mademoiselle. DENISE Good-by, Monsieur. [Denise and the governess go out. CLAUDINE The child has a character all her own. {A short pause) No — what you were saying just now — real happiness consists in sacrificing one's life to chil- dren! VETHEUIL Then where do I come in? CLAUDINE Don't you like children? VETHEUIL I adore them, but I have none. 32 LOVERS [act i CLAUDINE Well? VETHEUIL There must be two of us. CLAUDINE She is not hard to find! VETHEUII, She is when you look for her — then there's a long and arduous time to wait! CLAUDINE Well — what shall we say, then? VETHEUIL, Isn't it rather hard on a man whose heart is in the right place to put a woman Avhom he is supposed to love in that ridiculous and dangerous position — for the result is never sure ! CLAUDINE Luckily everyone doesn't think as you do. VETHEUIL Then there is the great responsibility : deformed chil- dren, for instance CLAUDINE You're considering extreme cases. VETHEUIL Or imbeciles, which are worse! Deformity is pos- sible, but — no, I prefer adoption — a healthy child well brought up — like your daughter, now ! CLAUDINE It isn't that you're afraid — you're simply like a man who buys an establishment fully furnished: you're looking for a bargain. ACT i] LOVERS 33 VETHEUII. That is merely taking advantage of the folly of others. CLAUDINE Hardly a nice thing to say about Denise's father! VETHEUIL I don't know him. (Rising) I really must go now. CLAUDINE No! VETHEUIL I'm afraid of boring you. CLAUDINE You needn't be. I assure you I have nothing to do — I mean it — otherwise I should say so. VETHEUIL Then I'll stay. This is pleasant, talking with you! You are very pretty, gracious — and you seem very good ! CLAUDINE I don't think I'm bad! VETHEUIL But I sliall have to go before long. It will seem like the darkest night when I leave. CLAUDINE Now, now ! VETHEUIL I have passed a charming hour here with you — charming — I should like nothing better than to pro- long the visit. CLAUDINE You may do that in your memory — and you may come again — I should like to see you occasionally. 34- LOVERS [act i VETHEUIL The atmosphere which you seem to create about yourself has already enwrapped me ; I fear if I came again it would penetrate, possess me — through and through CLAUDINE I hardly think so. VETHEUIL What do yon think? CLAUDINE I think that you like to make yourself agreeable to me, and that you are doing all in your power to that end — it's bred deep in your character — if you were in the presence of another woman, I think you would be absolutely the same. You see, I'm not playing the coquette with you — you are more femi- nine than I. VETHEUIL You beUeve me incapable of a true and deep senti- ment, because I always seem to be making game of myself. But that is no reason. CLAUDINE Yes, I know — I can believe that with all your ap- parent skepticism you can be very tender and sen- timental. You are, aren't you.-^ VETHEUIL Like — the stars. CLAUDINE Yet with all your skepticism, you can be jealous? VETHEUIL I am instinctively jealous, but I restore the balance with the aid of my reason. I can be very jealous ACT i] LOVERS 35 for no reason at all, and know It all the time; but in that case I never show my jealousy. CLAUDINE And when you have reasons? VETHEUIL Then I am impossible: I hate the human race. If I happen to be at a social function, the hostess usually drops some remark about "not bringing yopr friend again ! CLAUDINE (Laughing) Just like me: ridiculous, jealous, sen- timental! You've said so many things that I have thought out myself, but never put into words! Strange how much we are alike ! VETHEUIL. Birds of a feather, you know. CLAUDINE Yes — er — no I No! — Never! (Short pause) Are you constant? VETHEUIL Constant? That depends. CLAUDINE Oh! VETHEUIL (Laughing) I don't think we should be forever boring each other, CLAUDINE I'm sure we shouldn't. VETHEUIL Now with you I'd be constant, because you have every desirable quality to make a man absurdly so. CLAUDINE Absurdly, but not eternally. 36 LOVERS [act i VETHEUIL You haven't enough illusions. CLAUDINE And for that reason, if I were in love I should be very much to blame, knowing the dangers I was ex- posed to ! VETHEUIL Not to blame, but merely prepared, which is more amusing. CLAUDINE And more serious! But let's drop the subject — it's out of the question: I'm a good little stay-at-home bourgeoise. VETHEUIL Nonsense ! You are a woman capable of love — you will love again. I'm not fool enough to say I am the man, but — you will love. CLAUDINE Heaven preserve me! I have no wish to go through what I have already endured! What deceit, what tears, what sleepless nights, what aching for ven- geance ! How mean and silly it all is ! Yes, sill3\ And now you say it must be gone through again.'' And then the final breaking-ofF: the death, and the agony after death? That breaking-off! Can you calmly contemplate that? VETHEUIL I don't contemplate it, I try to avoid thinking of it, because in love "The only victory is flight." That is why my valise is always in readiness — that wonder- ful little leather valise of mine — with half a dozen shirts in it, two suits — one of them dinner dress — flasks of Eau de Cologne and tooth powder — all h ACT i] LOVERS 37 ready for flight, in the manner of soldiers preparing a pontoon bridge, with their baggage on the boards. After fifteen minutes' riding, one can be at the fron- tier. I have noticed that invariably those moments passed in packing the valise are the worst; it's just then that friends interfere, she returns and cries — and you're lost ! CLAUDINE And have you had occasion to use that valise.'' [Enter the Count de Ruyseux. COUNT {Kissing Claudine^s hand) Dearest! CLAUDINE {Introducing) M. Georges Vetheuil; Count de Ruy- seux. [The men how, then the Count extends his hand to Georges. COUNT (To Claudine) Have a pleasant party? CLAUDINE Delightful ; the children had a good time, and so did their mammas. COUNT Splendid ! CLAUDINE Ravier worked the Punch-and-Judy show — he was so funny ! VETHEUIL Oh, it was Ravier ? CLAUDINE Do you know him? 38 LOVERS [act i VETHEUIL A young man who recites monologues and acts in pri- vate salons. Who doesn't know Ravier? CLAUDINE He's so amusing ! He can imitate any actor. VETHEUIL He knows how to be agreeable in company — odious animal ! CLAUDINE You're not kind ! COUNT And how about Denise? CLAUDINE Denise acted the part of hostess with honor ; she was quite the little mistress of the house, quick, and con- scious of her own importance. What an amusing little woman she was ! Do you want to hear your daughter's latest.'*. COUNT Do I.? CLAUDINE As soon as she was dressed, after lunch, she came to show herself to me, and as I was admiring her, I said : "My, my, what a pwetty dwess and what lovely hair!" She said: "Now, mother, talk like grown-up people: say 'pretty' and 'dress'; that other way isn't funny, it's childish !" COUNT Remarkable ! CLAUDINE {Turning to Vetheuil) She's only eight! VETHEUIL Positively terrifying! ACT i] LOVERS 39 COUNT Well, I spent a part of the afternoon with my old friend, the Marquis de Nezelles ; he's going this even- ing to the dress rehearsal of Tannliauser at the Opera. CliAUDINE Lucky! I should like to have gone — I never see anything nowadays ! COUNT To-morrow you'll read a letter we composed together for the Figaro. CLAUDINE What about? COUNT That incident at the Savoy. CLAUDINE What incident? COUNT You know : there were too many guests, so that there had to be two tables. Monseigneur presided over one, and the Duke de Luynes over the other. It seems that the people at the Duke's table didn't have the same menu as those at the Orleans table. Cer- tain papers commented on the fact, and made a number of misstatements, which we have rectified in our letter — you know, Monsieur, I am an old Royal- ist — does that shock you? VETHEUIL Not in the least, Monsieur — I don't dabble in poli- tics : I am more Anarchist than anything else. COUNT In that event we can understand each other. 40 LOVERS [act i VKTHEUIL Temporarily, at least! {He rises) Madame, I really must ask your permission to go. (He shakes hands with the Count) Monsieur COUNT Very glad to have met you. Monsieur. I hope to see you again. {Claudine conducts Vetheuil to the door) COUNT Seems like a nice fellow — very pleasant. Where did you meet him.'' CLAUDINE In Pauline Gluck's booth, at the Sale for the Benefit of Artists' Orphans. She introduced us; I thought him agreeable, not at all stupid, quite Intelligent. Then I've seen him from time to time in the Bois, and at tlie theater. He kept saying he was going to call, but not till to-day did he carry out his threat. COUNT You never said anything about him before. CLAUDINE W^hy should I? COUNT What sort of man is he? CLAUDINE I hardly know — I haven't had many opportuni- ties COUNT What does he do? CLAUmNE Nothing. COUNT Has he independent means? A fortune? ACT i] LOVERS 41 CLAUDINE I scarcely think it could be called a fortune ; he has enough to support himself comfortably. COUNT That is the main point. — You think him nice? CLAUDINE Yes, quite — he has a good disposition, too. I im- agine he would be incapable of doing anything mean. COUNT That's the finest thing that can be said of anyone nowadays. What's his name? I didn't catch it? CliAUDINE Vetheuil — Georges Vetheuil. COUNT Wait a moment, I think I know that name. This Vetheuil was once in prison. CLAUDINE {Indignantly) Never! That's impossible! My dear, you must be mad ! COUNT Don't get excited. In 1880, at the time of the fa- mous Ferry Decrees, a certain Vetheuil — 18 or 19 years old, who insulted the gendarmes as they were driving out the Dominicans of the Rue — Rue — never mind — was taken to the Station. CLAUDINE {Reassured) Oh, I don't deny, of course ! COUNT That was in 1880. We are now in 1895: eighteen and fifteen, that's thirty-three. It might very well be — I'll ask him. ClyAUDINE If it's he, you're going to fall on his neck. 42 LOVERS [act i COUNT I don't say that, but he would run a better risk of pleasing me. (Short pause) CLAUDINE Any news ? COUNT Notliing much. CLAUDINE Tell me what there is. No gossip? See anyone? COUNT Yes — met Langny. CLAUDINE What did he have to say ? COUNT Nothing ; since he's stopped making love to my wife, he cuts me dead. CLAUDINE Really? COUNT Rather, since he has dropped out of the number of those who make love to my wife ! CLAUDINE Please, Alfred, you know how I detest hearing you say such things! COUNT Why so? I'm not at all bitter. CLAUDINE Of course ; you're a philosopher. COUNT I'm not a philosopher; only, as everyone in Paris knows of my wife's conduct, my assumed ignorance of the fact would be childish, and might even give rise to grave suspicions; to brag of it would be ACT i] LOVERS 43 odious in the extreme, but to mention it before cer- tain picked individuals, like you, and in a light and graceful manner, that's the only decent way for a man who is well acquainted with the exigencies of life. I think there's a splendid place to fill between Georges Dandin and Othello ! CLAUDINE You're a dilettante. COUNT If you like. But I have no illusions: there are cer- tain people who were born to be deceived throughout life: I'm one of those. CLAUDINE You're proud of it. COUNT Not in the least. And don't tell me that you must be very handsome in order to have a woman remain faithful to you. I was good-looking when I was young — I can say it without boasting, because I am no longer so, but I really was a handsome young fellow. CLAUDINE So that even the little chimney sweeps turned round when you passed by on the street.'' COUNT No — I shouldn't have cared for that. But really, I was what is called a handsome man — and I was de- ceived. Nor does it help a man to be a hero. When the war broke out, I had a charming girl — I left her to serve my country. I received a bullet in the arm, a saber cut in the leg, and military honors. But while I was lying in the hospital, she deceived me. Then I married: I had a noble name, I was rich, I 44» LOVERS [act i was one of the leaders of my party. I was again deceived. I am not considered an exception: that's my consolation. CLAUDINE No, but you are an exception because of the way in which you resign yourself COUNT I do what seems reasonable: infidelity, or let us say change, has become a natural law ; and it is a re- grettable fact that our national genius has always treated the logical working-out of that law with a ridicule which is sometimes turned into tragedy. CLAUDINE That is so, but what else can one do.? COUNT Keep well in mind that the law of change should of all laws be the most inevitable — so that we might resign ourselves to it; from early youth we should be forced to meditate upon inconstancy, just as girls at the convent are forced to meditate upon death. CLAUDINE Rather difficult ! It's not in the French tempera- ment. COUNT I'm sorry! CLAUDINE Let's not talk about it, though. The subject is not a very pleasant one to me. COUNT Nothing personal, you understand? CLAUDINE I hope not ! ACT i] LOVERS 45 COUNT I have the greatest confidence in you — yet you are young, attractive; men make love to you. Some day, you'll cast a partial glance at one of them CLAUDINE But you are already prepared! COUNT When I say that I have the greatest confidence in you, I mean that I believe you would never make a scandal or cause me to appear in a ridiculous light. That is as much as I have a right to ask. — What time is it.? — Seven already! I must get dressed! CLAUDINE Dining out to-night.? COUNT No, I have some company at my place : Humbert, the painter, who is in love with the Countess. CLAUDINE Humbert.? Isn't he the one who is always painting those foolish, fat little women — with a good deal of underclothing exposed to the vulgar gaze.? COUNT He's the one. The Marquis de Nezelles and I have writen a little fable about him. Here it is : "A wondrous, magic thing is Art: One paints a lady in scant attire. In corset, petticoat — admire This lucky artist who did part From Belgium and who made his flight Successfully o'er all the land. And there was made by Fortune's hand In Honor's Legion a doughty knight! Moral: Lucky artists never paint historical pictures." 46 LOVERS [act i CLAUDINE How dcHciously foolish you are! COUNT It's life! Out of our great sorrows we build fables to fit. — Good-bj, dearest. — Hasn't Dcnise come in yet.'' Kiss her for me when she does. CLAUDINE I shan't forget. — When shall I see you again.? COUNT I'm coming to lunch to-morrow — it'll put me in good humor. CLAUDINE Good, lunch to-morrow. I'll give you shrimps au gratin! COUNT {At the door) You're a saint! {He goes out) CLAUDINE (/* pensive for a moment, then Prosper enters, car- rying a letter. She reads it, then looJcs at the signa- ture. ) PROSPER An answer is requested. CLAUDINE Very well — I'll call you. {Prosper goes out) From Vetheuil! {Reading) "Dear Madame, on return- ing to my room, I find I have two tickets for the dress rehearsal at the Opera to-night. You said you would like to go. I enclose the tickets. If you feel as you did this afternoon, allow me the pleasure of accompanying you ; tell me when to come," etc., etc. — He's losing no time! {She considers) No, I'll ACT i] LOVERS 47 not go! (She goes to her desk, puts the tickets in an envelope, rings for the servant, and gives him the envelope as soon as he comes in) There is the an- swer! THUS ENDS THE FIRST ACT SECOND ACT Claudine Rozay''s boudoir. Doors to the right and left; a large window opening over the street; a recess, beyond which a bedroom and a large bed — with the bedclothes turned down — are seen; a soft light suffuses the bedroom. At the back is the door of Denise^s room. Claudine and the Count enter from the left. CLAUDINE I must see Denise — I'm a little anxious about her. She had a fever this evening. COUNT Growing pains, doubtless — she's tired. CLAUDINE I hope it's nothing more. Stay there, and don't make any noise. {She opens the door at the back and goes out, returning a few moments later) COUNT Well.? CLAUDINE She's asleep — seems all right. She holds her pillow like this — my living image, the angel! COUNT Your dinner was a huge success. It went off splen- didly. CLAUDINE Didn't it? I hope the guests weren't too bored. I'm all tired out. — Do you mind if I undress.? ACT n] LOVERS 49 COUNT Not at all. I must be going. CLAUDINE No, no — stay — you're not in the way. Ring for Clara, will you.'* COUNT Why? CLAUDINE To unhook me. COUNT You don't need Clara — I can do that. CLAUDINE No, you can't. COUNT Let me try. CLAUDINE If you like — the waist first. COUNT (Unhooking) Is this the waist.'' CLAUDINE Yes — slowly now! What a hurry you're in! Now the skirt — there are three hooks at the belt. COUNT {Strug glmg vainly) Don't see how this is man- aged ! It's not easy ! I don't see ! CLAUDINE Here, come to the fireplace, you can see better there. Now, sit down, you'll find it easier. COUNT {Sitting down) Good! It's coming, CLAUDINE Is it all right? 60 LOVERS [act n COUNT Walt : not yet. — Damned dressmakers ! Don't see how you can stand being bound like that ! CLAUDINE It's not tight at all! COUNT I can't understand ! Whew — I give up ! CLAUDINE I told you ! I'll call Clara now. {She rings) l^Enter Clara. CLAUDINE Clara, unliook my skirt. COUNT {Sitting in an armchair) What was the matter with Vetheuil this evening? He didn't seem very happy. CLAUDINE I didn't notice : he looked as usual. COUNT He was sitting with little Jamine, who seemed to think him very agreeable. CLAUDINE Really! {To Clara) Get my kimono, please. COUNT You heard her, didn't you? She asked him to ac- company her home. CLAUDINE I didn't notice. {To Clara) Get my kimono, please. COUNT Charming fellow — I like him Immensely. ACT ii] LOVERS 51 CLAUDINE Yes, he is nice. (To Clara) Get my slippers, and take off my shoes. COUNT What do you think of my friend Cherance.? CLAUDINE How do you mean? COUNT How do I mean? He spoke with you — he talks well. CLAUDINE Yes, interesting — and yet rather tiresome. COUNT He likes to hear himself talk — but he's not at all an ordinary man. He's written a very remarkable book on the Divine Right. CLAUDINE I didn't know that — but I did notice he seemed to enjoy the dinner COUNT He has a very fine brain CLAUDINE Helped himself twice to ices. COUNT Capital ices they were! Where did they come from? CLAUDINE Alexandrine's, as usual. COUNT Curious ! My wife deals there regularly, only things never taste as good as they do here. You lay a bet- ter table than she does. CLAUDINE Yes? 52 LOVERS [act n COUNT Fact, well known all over Paris. CLAUDINE There are two Alexandrines — one good, one bad. Mme. Alexandrine sold out to Mme. Biard — she's at the corner of the Rue de Londres, and does business under the name of Alexandrine ; but the real Alex- andrine, the one who sold her business, is now at the Place du Havre — but she's a competitor: she's the imitator. COUNT When you're buying ices, where should you go? CI.AUDINE To the imitator, of course. The original makes ices that smell of pommade. — Thank you, Clara, I shan't need you any more — you may go to bed. [^Clara goes out. COUNT I'm going to say good-by to you to-night, dear. CLAUDINE Good-by .f* Are j^ou leaving to-morrow.? COUNT Yes, I must go to Naples ; Pve just received a tele- gram. CLAUDINE Another conspiracy.'' COUNT I shall be away about a week. CLAUDINE You're lucky to be going to the land of sunlight and blue sky. COUNT I'm not lucky, for I can't take you with me ! ACT ii] LOVERS 53 CLAUDINE (Making conversation) Ah, Italy! (Short pause) COUNT It's a long time since you allowed me in your boudoir when you were retiring. CLAUDINE Has it been so long? COUNT You don't remember — I do ! (He kisses her) CLAUDINE (Surprised) What's this? COUNT I'm kissing you! May I not kiss you? CLAUDINE Certainly ! COUNT You seem offended? CLAUDINE Not in the least! Only I was a little surprised. I wasn't expecting — you know how nervous I am ! Now — you may kiss me again. (She offers her cheek) Be nice now, there, there! COUNT "There, there" — as if to say : That's enough ! What perfume are you using this evening? CLAUDINE The usual kind. COUNT What? CLAUDINE Secret mixture — my own. \_The clock strikes ten. 54 LOVERS [act n COUNT Is that ten? CLAUDINE Yes. — How sleepy I am ! COUNT Well, I'll leave you ! Good-by ! CLAUDINE Good-by. COUNT {Goes to the window) Claudine! CI.AU DINE Yes. COUNT What weather ! CLAUDINE Snowing, isn't it.'* COUNT You're not going to send me out on a night like this! CLAUDINE How do you mean? COUNT I mean, in this awful weather? CLAUDINE Why, you have your carriage, dear ; it's waiting for you. You have nothing to complain of. Clara has brought a heater for you. You must go, or the water in the heater will get cold. Your coachman must be freezing to death — and the horse — think of the poor horse ! COUNT Well, I'll go. But I should like to have gone — com- forted — my heart warmed up ! ACT n] LOVERS 55 CLAUDINE How? COUNT You know. CLAUDINE Would jou like a glass of Cognac? COUNT I said, my heart! — From you — dear Claudine! {He takes her in his arms) CLAUDINE stop, you're hurting me! COUNT (Reproachfully) Oh, Claudine! CLAUDINE You did hurt me ! COUNT I'm sorry, I beg your pardon. — I'm going. CLAUDINE You mustn't blame me — you understand — you must be indulgent toward a hostess who has entertained fifteen people at dinner — and after. I'm all limp, nervous — Denise isn't well — and then, between old friends, dear! COUNT My fault, I know — I can't help if I love you, adore you — I know I'm not much like a real lover, I'm an old fellow ! CLAUDINE You are Denise's father! COUNT Yes, yes, you love your daughter now, and I have no right to be jealous. Forgive me! 56 LOVERS [act n CliAUDINE My dear ! COUNT Only, this evening, I did help you unhook, didn't I? I was — intoxicated! The most staid of men have moments when the brute is uppermost in them. CliAUDINE No, you weren't brutal — you're exaggerating. COUNT You're always a dear! Sleep well! Good night! — Am I — am I ridiculous ? CLAUDINE (Kissing him) You're so good! (After he goes out) Poor man! [Claudine is alone. A carriage is heard driving off: then Claudine draws back the curtains a little, and places the lamp so that its light can be seen outside. Then, carefully, noiselessly, she opens the door •whence the Count has left. Vetheuil appears. VETHEUIIi (In a long overcoat, the fur collar of which is turned up) What weather ! Fearful, the snow! CLAUDINE Are you cold? VETHEUIL Frozen through. I've been waiting in the street for an hour. CLAUDINE (Brusquely) It's not my fault. VETHEUIL My dearest, I'm not blaming you — I'm only too glad to be near you now ! You know very well I'd pass a ACT n] LOVERS 57 whole night like that to be with you for five minutes ! (He tries to kiss her) CLAUDINE Your nose is frozen. Go to the fire and warm your- self. VETHEUIL Warm yourself, soldier, warm yourself! Ah, the warm fire ! This is comfortable ! You know, I saw that nice little Jamine home.'' CLAUDINE Yes, I know. VETHEUIL How is everything? CLAUDINE Splendid. VETHEUIL, Your dinner was superb. CLAUDINE Ah! VETHEUIL What's the trouble? CLAUDINE Nothing. VETHEUIL Something's the matter? CLAUDINE I teU you : nothing ! VETHEUIL Oh! CLAUDINE What have you been doing to-day ? VETHEUIL Now for the little cross-examination! 68 LOVERS CLAUDINE Yes. VETHEUIL Well, I got up at eight: shaved, washed, combed my hair, and dressed. I wore my gray suit, Scotch tie — no, it wasn't CLAUDINE Now, don't try to be funny ! VETHEUIIi I'm not, I merely want to be exact, as exact as pos- sible. CLAUDINE It's not funny, and I'm not laughing — go on ! VETHEUIL Then I went out: to Hahn Meyer's to see some old engravings he had just acquired. I picked out two for you, pretty ones, colored, with original margins. I took them to be framed. You'll have them a week from to-morrow. CLAUDINE WeU ? Then? VETHEUIL Oh, not at all — I'm only too happy — it's really nothing ! CLAUDINE What.? VETHEUIL I thought you would at least thank me ! Then I had lunch at the club. CLAUDINE Then.? VETHEUIL Then I went to Francucil's. ACT n] LOVERS 59 CLAUDINE Ah! Why? I told you not to go there! VETHEUIIi I know, but he sent me a message this morning asking me to come. CLAUDINE Couldn't he see you? VETHEUIL Now, that's not fair. What have you against him? CLAUDINE I — I — well, I don't like him. VETHEUIIi I simply had to go : I can't cut him dead, you know. He never harmed me, and he never even obliged me — if he had, then I should have the excuse of ingrati- tude. I might never see him again. — After all, he's a friend. CLAUDINE A companion in vice ! And such vice ! You your- self told me all about it when you were making Icve to me. VETHEUIL It was wrong of me. It's always wrong to tell things of that sort — later on it's used as a weapon against you CLAUDINE Oh! VETHEUIL Why don't you like him? CLAUDINE He has no heart, no moral sense. I know he has a lot of women at liis place ; he knows all the evil parts GO LOVERS [act n of Paris. When you visit him, you always seem to regret that you can't do as he does. VETHEUIIi Nothing of the sort ! CLAUDINE Well, I don't like it. — Why, he's never seen twice with the same woman ! VETHEUIIi That's not his fault ! It was his dream to have and to keep one woman, but they have always either de- ceived or deserted him. CLAUDINE Hm! VETHEUIL That's what made him what he is. Well, if you ob- ject to him on the ground of his inconstancy, you may rest at peace now : he's been with the same lady for six months. CLAUDINE She must be having a splendid time ! VETHEUIL She adores him. CLAUDINE He must be spending a mint of money ! VETHEUIL She's not asked for a sou. CLAUDINE How stupid! Do such women exist? Was she there when you were.? VETHEUIL I didn't see her if she was. Francueil was alone. He asked me to say good-by to him — he's leaving. ACT ii] LOVERS 61 CLAUDINE Bon voyage! He must love her! VETHEUIL He's mad about her. CLAUDINE Is he taking her with him? VETHEUIL Oh, no ! To begin with, she's married, then he's go- ing too far away. He's had a beautiful yacht built and is going on a cruise. He's just bought a Comores for a song. CLAUDINE At auction? VETHEUIL No, in the Indian Ocean. My dear little one, the Comores are islands. Seriously : they form an archi- pelago between the coast of Africa and Madagascar. He means to have a stopping-place, an island, in each of the oceans, forming a chain: in the Marque- sas, the Cyclades, the Touamotous. CLAUDINE What are you talking about? VETHEUIL It's true. He goes first to Siam — extraordinary way! Think of it, he once knew an Irish girl who was one of a party of Hungarian ladies, once the mistress of an envoy of the King of Siam. That ought to interest Paul Bourget, don't you think so? From this Irish girl, through her envoy, he obtained letters of introduction to the King, who will meet him as he lands, and escort him to the palace on his elephant, with pomp and ceremony and military bands. He's lucky ! What a trip I 62 LOVERS [act n CLAUDINE Lucky ? Think so? You may go, too, if you like ! VETHEUIIi That's not the question. CLAUDINE I'm not keeping you : you are quite free. VETHEUIL I know that. CLAUDINE In any event, you can't say I didn't offer you an opportunity. VETHEUIL An opportunity — bound with fetters of steel — but I am quite happy. Francueil asked me to go with liim, yet you know very well I'd a thousand times rather stay with you! CLAUDINE You wouldn't leave Paris — anyway All your lady friends ! * VETHEUIL What do I care about them? I have you ! CLAUDINE You seemed to care about Henriette Jamine this evening. VETHEUIL Not in the least! CLAUDINE What was so interesting in her conversation, then? VETHEUIL Did I even hsten? — Well, she told me about her en- gagement at the Palais-Royal. ACT ii] LOVERS 63 CLAUDINE Is she engaged there? They must be in need of peo- ple for their curtain-raisers ! But that wasn't what made you smile. VETHEUIL Did I smile? CLAUDINE Yes, you did. VETHEUIL Oh, she was telling me of her affair with the Prince of Styria. CLAUDINE Was she ? I never heard of that! Strange how every woman tells you of her amours. Why, I've known Henriette for ten years, and she never said a word about that. See, in five minutes' time she told you everything. VETHEUIL Is it my fault if women ? CLAUDINE Hm ! You take an interest in their adventures, you invite confidences, become a confessor, a psycholo- gist, you look deep into their eyes, read their hearts — it's a great game. Monsieur Prudence ! That's what maddens me ! I know I oughtn't to tell you all this — it's foolish, imprudent, but I simply can't help it My God, what a fool I am ! VETHEUIL Listen, Claudine! My Claudine! This is unjust! Why, I come here, wait an hour in the street — it's cold, snowing — all for the inexpressible joy of seeing you for a few moments, and this is how you welcome me! It's anything but amusing to wait for him to 64 LOVERS [act n leave — leave his place for me! You see, I check my dignity at the door for the pleasure of proving that I love jou! CLAUDINE You arc not jealous! VETHEUIL No? Let me tell you, I avi jealous, only I am rea- sonable about it. I don't blame you, make scenes — for nothing — and I'm not digging into the past. It doesn't concern me ; it oughtn't to concern you ! CLAUDINE But Henriette Jamine isn't the past — that was this evening, this very evening! I wasn't the only one who noticed it: Ruyseux noticed it, and when he no- tices 1 VETHEUIL He should mind his own business. CLAUmNE What do you mean.'' VETHEUIIi And 3'ou played the coquette yourself, with Che- rance ! CLAUDINE 1? VETHEUIL Yes. I didn't intend to speak of it — it's absurd! — but as 3^ou began this dispute, I might as well do my share. Of course jou were hostess — j'ou could do what you liked ! CLAUDINE I had to treat my guests decently — in my own home I ACT ii] LOVERS 65 VETHEUIL {Loudly^ You can go very far with that ideal of hospitality ! Of course, in your own home ! There might be no limits to amiability ! CLAUDINE {In an undertone) Please don't talk so loud: you'll wake my daughter. This is nonsense — vulgar non- sense. You know very well I'm not that sort of woman If I was a trifle coquettish it was only because you were so attentive to little Jamine. It was revenge. VETHEUII. But I hardly know her — it was nothing at all. I scarcely know the lady. At least — I saw her and I may never see her again. But Cherance ! Every- one knows he's making love to you, that he has only one end in view, it's — of course! His eyes were glued on you all evening, while Ruyseux, who was blind, didn't interfere ! I wanted to shout out to him : Look ! Open your eyes ! You're — I don't know ! CLAUDINE If he weren't blind, my friend, you wouldn't be here. VETHEUIL That observation, my friend, is superfluous. {A pause, then Vetheuil says quietly) Claudine! CLAUDINE Yes.? VETHEUIL We are happy, both of us ; at bottom we love each other. — This is love, the deepest kind of love. You know perfectly well that I adore you and that I would willingly send Henriette Jamine and all the others to the devil for your sake. We have only a 66 LOVERS [act n few hours together — a few minutes — and here we are arguing ! CXiAUDINE Whose fault is it? VETHEUIL Mine, without the shadow of a doubt. Only, you must be indulgent and take me as I am. Come to me; forgive me. CLAUDINE You always say things to wound me : you were on the point of accusing me of being Cherance's mistress. VETHEUIL No, no, no. I said he was making love to you. That's true. Forgive me. CLAUDINE Nonsense ! lie adores his wife ; she's given him five children, and is now expecting a sixth. VETHEUIL What does that prove? I can't prevent men's think- ing you pretty and wanting you, yet the moment you love me, I object to it. Come, Claude dear, don't sulk — you're unbearable that way. Little scenes like this are necessary — of course — they're natural. But now it's all over, eh? Kiss and make up! {They Jciss) CLAUDINE Heavens, how hungry I am ! Just think, I was so taken up with watching you at dinner that I scarcely touched a thing ! VETHEUIL How ridiculous! I, too, was so busy watching you that I nearly starved. ACT n] LOVERS 67 CLAUDINE (Laughing) What fools we are ! But we can make up for it ! I'm going to the kitchen and see whether anything's left. VETHEUIIi Shall I come with you? CLAUDINE No, no — I'll be back at once. (SJie disappears) VETHEUIIi {At the door) Bring some bread — above all, bread. ILeft alone, he clears off a little table, which he moves toward the fireplace. Then Claudine returns with provisions. CLAUDINE Here's all I could find: the servants didn't touch their own dinner, but they nearly finished ours. VETHEUIL Which goes to prove that the remains of ours was better than all of theirs. CLAUDINE There's only cold filet and cherry preserves. VETHEUIL {Sententiously) There are always preserved cher- ries left over. CLAUDINE And truffles, but I think those don't agree with you. VETHEUIL They don't, but I eat them all the same: philosophi- cally. CLAUDINE Why, there's no bread! This is all I could find! {She shows a small crust) 68 LOVERS [act n VETHEUIl. What a pity ! That doesn't surprise me, either. There is never any bread left! CLAUDINE I didn't bring napkins or cloth; what shall we put on the table? VETHEUIIi Our elbows. CLAUDINE Shall we? VETHEUIL Yes ! Lay those things anywhere — Champagne on the mantle — I'm glad there's no tablecloth! Let's sit on the sofa,* close together. CLAUDINE Good! VETHEUIL How charming you are! Here, give me your glass, and the moment the cork goes "pop," you say: "Heavens, what a time I'm having with the stu- dents!" {He starts to open the bottle) CLAUDINE Don't let it pop — it'll wake baby ! VETHEUIL Worry not, Queen of Mothers, I'll let it pop gently. (He opens the bottle and pours out the wine) Well? CLAUDINE Oh, yes, "Heavens, what a time I'm having with the students !" Were you hungry ? VETHEUIL As a bear. * A pun: "Sur le pouf and "sur le pousse" — which is untrans- latable. ACT ii] LOVERS 69 CLAUDINE Nice, isn't it, to be supping together here by a warm fire, with the cold wind blowing outside? — Are jou cosy ? VETHEUIL Divinely happy and content. CLAUDINE To think that there arc people who sleep in the streets in this weather! VETHEUIIi Yes. Not long ago, while I was waiting, I saw a poor devil of a violinist, with his box under his arm — looked like the skull of his own child. That black man in the snow was a melancholy sight ! CLAUDINE Poor fellow! Did you give him something.? VETHEUIL I didn't dare : he didn't ask. CLAUDINE That happens sometimes — people who don't dare: rich people who are ashamed. They haven't the right not to dare! VETHEUIL You're delightful, Claudinc ! You have the kindest heart, the finest feelings of any woman I ever knew. CLAUDINE Is that true.-* VETHEUIL Yes ; you say things at times that bring tears to my eyes, almost. CLAUDINE You love me.-^ 70 LOVERS [act n VETHEUII. Infinitely ! CLAUDINE I don't ask for the adverb. You love me? VETHEUIL Yes. CLAUDINE Now for your trouble, I have some news. VETHEUIIi Quick; what.f^ CLAUDINE Ruyseux is going away to-morrow, to Naples ; he'll be gone for a week. If you care to, and if Denise is well enough, we'll spend two or three days in the Forest at Fontainebleau. We'll go to Gray, where we were this autumn, in Mere Pierard's charming and tidy little inn. It'll be delightful now. I've al- ways wanted to see the Forest in mid-winter, and wake up in the morning, pull back the shutters, and see the huge black trees, and the long white roads, and the pale blue sky ! To lie warm in bed, and say to yourself that just outside the window it's so cold ! VETHEUIL Excellent idea! CLAUDINE I'll write to an old friend of mine at Sanlis, Mme. de Liancourt and tell her I'm coming to spend a few days with her. Understand.'^ VETHEUIL Alibi. CLAUDINE Yes — and I'll bring Clara along. ACT ii] LOVERS 71 VETHEUIL No danger? CliAUDINE With Clara? She's quite devoted to me ; I've had her ever so long. She was with me, when Denise was born; I nursed her when she was sick with typhoid fever. Clara would willingly die for me ! VETHEUIL What train shall we take? CliAUDINE Wait, I just looked at the time-table: there's a train at 10:57, which will bring us to Gray in time for lunch. VETHEUIL That seems all right, but 10 :57 is a little early. Will you be ready? CLAUDINE To go with you, I could be ready at five, if neces- sary. And you? VETHEUIL I have only to dress: the valise is ready. CLAUDINE The famous valise — pontoon-bridge soldiers ! You dear bad man, I can see you perfectly the day you told me about that, in the drawing-room downstairs. It was the first time you came to the house. I'll wager you don't remember what day that was? VETHEUIL Yes, I do : June seventh, a Thursday. CLAUDINE And to-day ? VETHEUIL September twentieth, a Friday. 72 LOVERS [act n CLAUDINE June, July, August — December, January — eight months already. That's a long time, according to modern standards, for people to love. VETHEUIL And it's not over yet ! CLAUDINE Oh, if anyone had told me that day how important a part in your life I should become, I should have been very much surprised — and yet I liked you. Now, don't assume that foolish look ! You puzzled me a good deal — I was very curious about you. VETHEUIL Ah ha! CLAUDINE Then you tried to work on my emotions, with your beautiful voice, and those eyes ! M. Vetheuil, you're an old coquette ! (She pulls Ms nose) VETHEUIL That hurts! CLAUDINE That hurts, Henri I — Do you love your wife.? VETHEUIL More than CLAUDINE Then go, and let her retire. VETHEUIL Very well. CLAUDINE You must go — you've got to be up early. VETHEUIL Are you going to send me away like this.?* ACT n] LOVERS 73 CLAUDINE Yes : now, seriously, run away. You must. VETHEUIL I must ? CLAUDINE Yes, I'm entirely exhausted. Be considerate: I'll be so grateful. VETHEUIL Grateful.? CLAUDINE Yes. VETHEUIL Why.? CLAUDINE Because Denise is not well. I'm always afraid that that's my punishment for loving you. VETHEUIL Nonsense. CLAUDINE You know how superstitious I am where my daugh- ter is concerned. VETHEUIL Claudine, this is heartless ! You don't know how cold it is outdoors ! CLAUDINE You still insist? VETHEUIL {Kissing her) Because I love you, I adore you! I should like to have — I'd thought CLAUDINE {Disengaging herself) Sh! Don't say that! VETHEUIL Why.? 74 LOVERS [act n CLAUDINE Oil, nothing. {Resolutely) Not this evening. VETHEUIL (Looking at her) Ah, I understand. CLAUDINE What-f* What do you understand? VETHEUIIi I understand, and so do you. CLAUDINE Georges, your insinuation is hateful. He was here just now, but — I swear No! I told you some time ago what I had to tell you on that point: you ouffht to be reassured. VETHEUIL You all say the same thing. CLAUDINE Because you all ask the same thing. But I swear to you, by my little girl ! May she die if I am lying! — you see how calm I am! — Do you believe me? VETHEUIL Yes, I believe you. CLAUDINE Don't be jealous : it's a luxury. — Poor man ! VETHEUIL Do you expect me to pity him? CLAUDINE You might. He's not very happy with his wife — she goes about in public with other men. VETHEUIL Why doesn't he divorce her? ACT n] LOVERS 75 CLAUDINE Because they are members of a circle where divorce is out of the question. You know, when a woman is unhappy there, her confessor advises her to have a liaison in preference to a divorce. What then can be done in the man's case? Why should he divorce her.? If he did it for my sake, he would be badly recompensed. VETHEUIL At least, he would be deceived on one side only. CLAUDINE See, you are not really jealous of him? VETHEUIL At bottom, I am not. CLAUmNE Do you like him? VETHEUIL Very much. CLAUDINE He idolizes you. (The clock strikes three) Here we are, the two of us, at three in the morning. What if some one were to come in? Who would believe that we were two platonic lovers? No one. VETHEUIL And my recompense? CLAUDINE Not later than to-morrow. Now go, only I want you to say nice things to me before you leave. But you needn't if you don't wish to. VETHEUIL Claudine, you know I adore you — you're the best, prettiest ! You are mine, wholly mine — I can't think of any other woman than you ! We may quar- 76 LOVERS [act n rel from time to time, but that is nothing — we do understand each other, don't we? Once in a while there arises a faint shadow of remorse, of pity, be- tween us — for him! And when you're out of humor, you mustn't blame me! Claudine, Claudine, this is how I love you — with all my power of devotion ! {He kneels before her) CLAUDINE That's enough — now I'm happy. Run away, and don't make any noise. I'll go out onto the balcony and watch you, keep you warm as long as possible. VETHEUIL That's not wise! You'll catch cold — I don't want you to ! CLAUDINE Yes, I'll wrap up warmly. VETHEUIL No, no If you do that, I'll kill myself under your very window. CLAUDINE I shan't insist then. Well, to-morrow morning — 10:57. Don't forget. VETHEUIL How could I? — Good night, beloved! CLAUDINE Good night, my lover! {Vetheuil goes out. After a moment, Claudine extinguishes the lamp, then par- tially opens the door into Denise's room, to see whether the child is sleeping) THUS ENDS THE SECOND ACT THIRD ACT VetlieuiVs study. There is a large table, and some bookshelves around the walls. The room is dignified and elegant as to furnishings, but not sumptuous. Vetheuil and De Sambre are present. VETHEUIL Cigar good? SAMBRE Excellent, old man, just the kind I like — rather strong. VETHEUIL What will you drink? Forty liqueurs to choose from. SAMBRE God bless you! I'll have a Kiimmel frappe. Sum- mer is here and one must have cold drinks. Do you know how to make cocktails? VETHEUIL, Why — no. SAMBRE Lord, you must learn. A friend of mine, awfully rich — likes to drink — went to America just to learn how to make cocktails : took lessons for a year from the barkeeper of the Hoffman House in New York. Then he became a barkeeper himself in New Orleans — they make the best cocktails In Louisiana, you know. 78 LOVERS [act m VETHEUIL I didn't know, but I'm glad to hear it. l^Enter a servant. SERVANT (Handing Vetheuil a card) A gentleman. He would like to see Monsieur. VETHEUIL Ask him to come in. (The servant goes out) l^Enter the Count de Ruyseux. COUNT How are you? Hope I'm not intruding.' VETHEUIL, Not in the least : I'm very glad to see you. Let me present my old friend Paul de Sambre — Count de Ruyseux. (The men how) Sit down. COUNT I shan't stay long. I just came to ask why you didn't appear yesterday.? VETHEUIL Yesterday ^ Where ? COUNT I thought so ! You forgot you were invited to dine with Claudine and me, and that we were going to the FoUes-Bergeres afterward to see the debut of the Princess Soukhivitchi. VETHEUIL That's so ! I forgot all about it. I was so busy yesterday! I've just been putting some afFaii-s in order that I hadn't looked at for ten years. I was all topsy-turvy. Did you wait long for me? COUNT Naturally — you didn't let us know — I was afraid you might be ill. ACT m] LOVERS 79 VETHEUIL I'm dreadfully sorry, but it quite slipped my mind. I beg your pardon a thousand times ! COUNT That's all right. The important point is to know you're not sick. VETHEUIL. Did you enjoy yourselves? How was the Princess? COUNT Very pretty. VETHEUIL A real princess? COUNT Yes — legally married to the Prince Soukhivitchi. She came of a great family herself, the La Roche- Ferrieres — I used to run around there when I was a child, but I'm not at all proud ! — She married this Prince Soukhivitchi, though she didn't love him. She has an aversion to men. VETHEUIL There is every variety of taste in nature. SAME RE Rather a handicap to her! COUNT They separated after a year: each had been kicking over the traces. She was left without a sou, so when her family refused to give her money, she went to the Folies-Bergeres to spite them. VETHEUIIi Must have been a packed house. They didn't whistle her off? 80 LOVERS [act m COUNT No — that is to say, the fashionable part of tlie audi- ence, in the boxes, gave her a warm reception and hearty applause. But the gallery seemed to under- stand that she was doing a low trick, and protested vigorously. Then she sang songs to calm the peo- ple, a new style all her own — "Chansons vaches" — I've never heard such vileness. SAMBRE They'll go the rounds of the salons. COUNT (Rising) Doubtless. Well, I must go. (To Ve- theuil, •who escorts him to the door) Come to the Place des Etats-Unis a little later, if you have a few minutes to spare. I don't know what's the matter with Claudine: she's moody, bored, fidgety — you seem to be the only one who can handle her. Come and see her: it'll be an errand of mercy. VETHEUIL With pleasure — I'll try to — I'm waiting for a tele- gram just now. I may be forced to leave town any moment: pressing affairs — family matters. COUNT Where are you going? VETHEUIL. I don't know. COUNT You don't know where your family is? You are a funny fellow ! Invite you to dinner and you forget to come. You are a character! VETHEUIL Now, now ACT m] LOVERS 81 COUNT Well, good-by. {To De Sambre) Very glad to have made your acquaintance, Monsieur. (They shake hands. Vetheuil conducts the Count out and then reenters) SAMBRE Was that the Count de Ruyseux? VETHEUIL Yes. SAMBRE He's the VETHEUIL Yes. SAMBRE Nice fellow. VETHEUIL Yes. SAMBRE Very amiable; very! VETHEUIL Very! Altogether quite charming SAMBRE Tell me, have you fallen out with her? VETHEUIL How do you know that.? SAMBRE All Paris knows it, my dear fellow — except one ! VETHEUIL All Paris had much better mind its own business. Now I understand why you came to see me: you've come to study me, to pry into my troubles. Well, I have no trouble, and I am not unhappy ! I may suf- fer to-morrow, I may suffer within an hour, but for 82 LOVERS [act hi the present, I am in the best of spirits. Tell that to All Paris, Doctor! SAMBRE I shan't fail to. VETHEUIL, I am happy, very happy, because I'm free ! That's what was weighing on me continually: I felt all the time I was a slave. How good it is to come and go when I like, to do what I like from hour to hour and minute to minute, to see my friends — in other words, to live! SAMBRE My dear fellow, that's not of prime interest to me. So much the worse for you, I say, if your mistress was so absorbing as all that. VETHEUIL You have never really loved, have you.'' SAMBUE I have loved but one woman, and she was a servant: when I was thirteen my mother's maid possessed for me every possible charm. Her name was Cesarine — she was a blond from Bordeaux. Of course, a child of thirteen hasn't a very definite or individual char- acter — I realize now that Cesarine may not have been all I imagined her in former days. VETHEUIIi Probably not. SAMBRE Since then I have had numerous affairs, but they have never been of real importance. VETHEUIL You know, I admire you. ACT III] LOVERS 83 SAME RE My dear fellow: the Orientals, understanding women perfectly, have put them in their proper place. Now we live in the Occident ; we don't veil our women and put them under lock and key and a guard, but we must put them, metaphorically speaking, in the harem, and not allow them to wander about in the domain of our thoughts, nor the avenues of our heart, nor the little streets of our occupation. Un- derstand? VETHEUIL Perfectly. But if the woman breaks out of her metaphorical harem.? If she deceives you? It's in- evitable ! SAMBRE Every contingency has been considered. Under the conditions I have made, woman won't trouble us; that is the main point. She will find her power over us greatly reduced: when she gives herself, either to you or to your neighbor, then you can see it all in its true colors and appraise it at its real worth, and not its factitious value, which is merely the result of our prejudices, our pride, and our sentimentality. VETHEUIIi But what should we gain by knowing the real worth? SAMBRE You do away with lovemaking, chivalrous nonsense, jealousy, everything that takes up good time — occa- sionally a whole life. A man of twenty-five, if he falls under the influence of a woman, can do nothing serious or useful in life. I don't know how old 3^ou are — thirty-four? You've wasted your time, you've lost yourself in the folds of a petticoat, in the midst 84 LOVERS [act m of the ocean of the world, like the diver in his glass clock, that Jean-Paul speaks of Well, I say there are more interesting things to do, and in any science, more infinitely fascinating problems to solve. VETHEUIl. You're mistaken : love is itself an art and a science. SAMBRE Nonsense! Hasn't it always been the same? Every love affair ends the same way : it's very faulty mathe- matics that tries to resolve it into rules of three. VETHEUIL That's all very well, but you forget that certain peo- ple are born lovers, just as poets or musicians are born SAMBRE Or butchers ! We must learn to scorn love. VETHEUIL, Trot along with your scorn. — You pretend love is powerless because you cannot be loved. What right have you to talk of love, you who never got beyond your mother's maid ? I was not in the least surprised to hear you say that "every contingency had been considered." I tell you there are women with whom these contingencies are of singular importance ; and when they give themselves, body and soul, I — I find the gift worth the trouble! SAMBRE You are excited about it ! VETHEUIL Not at all — only there are certain sensations, emo- tions SAMBRE {Ironically) Intoxications! ACT m] LOVERS 85 VETHEUIL, Yes — intoxications, which you have never dreamed of! SAMBRE Ah, yes! (Declaiming) "Eternal angel of happy nights, thou who will tell of thy silence! Oh, kiss, mysterious union, poured by the lips as from cups! Intoxication of the senses, oh divine sweetness ! Yes, like God, thou art immortal !" * VETHEUIl. It's easy to jeer — and further, that's only litera- ture you quote now! But there are certain memo- ries not to be recalled by words : landscapes of hap- piness seen again only in the inner silence of the heart — tender backgrounds with wide-sweeping, calm, wave-hke lines. A melody once heard, a per- fume breathed — and you live again in all their in- tensity the hours of yesteryear, you live with the soul you had then. Then life becomes worth living. Why, I remember — no, you wouldn't understand SAMBRE Never mind. VETHEUIIi I feel sorry for you. SAMBRE I feel sorry for you: you love her still — and you will suffer again. VETHEUIIi No — I'm going away to-night, so [Enter a servant, SERVANT A lady, who would like to speak with Monsieur * Alfred de Musset, La Confession d'un Enfant du Siicle. 86 LOVERS [act ra VETHEUIL Tell her to come in. (The servant goes out) SAMBRE I'll run, old man. You say you're leaving to-night; but I know it's not adieu, only au revoir. I'll come in to see you to-morrow about this time VETHEUIL No use! [^De Sambrc, as he is leaving, finds himself face to face with Henriette Jamine. He stands to one side and allows her to pass. Enter Mme. Jamine, as De Sambre goes out. VETHEUIIi How are you, friend.'' MADAME cTAMINE How are you, monster.'* You are a pretty one! — It's nice here. VETHEUIL That's so : you've never seen my rooms. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? MADAME JAMINE Can't you guess .f* VETHEUIL No. MADAME JAMINE I've seen Claudine. VETHEUIL Ah! MADAME JAMINE She's very sad. VETHEUIL I'm not gay myself, but whose fault is it.^* Not mine, surely.? ACT III] LOVERS 87 MADAME JAMINE You've not been over-nice to her. VETHEUIL Did she say I beat her? MADAME JAMINE No, but jou make her very miserable. VETHEUIL. She is doing that. Well, what does she have to say? MADAME JAMINE That there was an awful scene ; she said you left in a mad fury, and hadn't been to see her for two days. VETHEUIL It was fearful, and so downright stupid ! MADAME JAMINE What was the reason? VETHEUIL You'd never guess — in a thousand guesses : about a horseback ride. MADAME JAMINE What, she's not jealous of your horse? VETHEUIL No, but when I go to the Bois, she has forbidden me to go through certain lanes ; she's afraid I might meet some of my lady friends. MADAME JAMINE Is she as jealous as all that? VETHEUIL Yes — it's perfectly absurd. Well, the day before yesterday, in the morning, I disobeyed orders — I was seen in the Acacias — one of the forbidden drives MADAME JAMINE Acacias! I should think so ! 88 LOVERS [act m VETHEUII, In the afternoon I visit Claudine, am received as if I'd committed a crime against love — I don't know, it's as if I'd made love to Clara, after forcing her to give up her religion. MADAME JAMINE Not as bad as all that! VETHEUIL Ah yes! That's the way it began — it was childish. MADAME JAMINE She loves you; she's like every woman who is really in love: jealous and domineering. VETHEUIL But there are limits ! MADAME JAMINE If you'd only seen me and Philippe — I adored that boy! — I would never let him go unaccompanied to a restaurant, to the theater, or the races ! I made him fall out with all his friends, and made any number of scenes. I made life miserable for him. He was the only man I ever really loved. We women are always like that when we truly love. VETIIEUII. Yes, it's a sort of revenge. MADAME JAMINE And the arguments and quarrels — ! I remember, one day he was teasing me about a woman — he was in the bath tub. I hit him over the shoulder with a riding whip. VETHEUIL Really? What did he say.? ACT III] LOVERS 89 MADAME JAMINE He turned white as a sheet — I thought he was going to kill me — then he said : "Get out !" VETHEUIL. And you escaped? MADAME JAMINE In a jiffy. I wasn't really in earnest, though. VETHEUIL, Then what happened? MADAME JAMINE (Simply) Reconciliation — that's love! VETHEUIL Yes — there are people who like to be beaten — but I'm not one of them. Thank God, our love was not of the riding-whip variety, but it gave signals of distress, as it were. MADAME JAMINE So soon! How long have you known each other? VETHEUIL It will soon be a year. MADAME JAMINE A year? It can't end like that! VETHEUIL Yes. There's no other way out. There must at least be some sort of change. MADAME JAMINE You ought to be indulgent: you know her so well! You are stronger than she is — be kind to her — try to VETHEUIE I have, but for som.e time these scenes have been of almost daily occurrence. The slightest thing, or nothing, will precipitate one. She's so jealous! 90 LOVERS [act m MADAME JAMINE Of what? Of whom? There are no grounds, are there ? VETHEUIL Of course not ; that's why it's all so absurd. She's jealous of everything — of you ! Why, one night she gave me a severe talking to because she thought I was paying too much attention to you! MADAME JAMINE {With dignity) That was wrong of her. When a man is already disposed of, I wouldn't for a moment consider — ! He's sacred. I've often said to myself: Claudine is not careful enough, she's too domineer- ing, she'll have an awful bump some day. VETHEUIL Like a cable that's too tight. There are times when you can see it's going to break: in technical lan- guage, the cable is warning. Well, what happened yesterday was one of those warnings. (A pause) Did she send you? MADAME JAMINE Yes, but she told me not to say so. She loves you, she adores you ; she's sick — suffering. Don't be hard with her. VETHEUIL. I'm not. MADAME JAMINE You'll not soon again find another woman like her — so good, so intelligent! VETHEUIX. Yes, I know. ACT ni] LOVERS 91 MADAME JAMINE You were to have dined with her and Ruyseux last night — it seems you didn't go? VETHEUIl. I forgot all about it — word of honor ! Otherwise I should have sent word, without fail ! MADAME JAMINE She thought it was done purposely, especially as she knew you dined with Ravier and his crowd. VETHEUIL Yes? MADAME JAMINE There were some ladies of accommodating virtue there; she imagined you might have been with one of those. VETHEUIL Good Lord, no! You can assure her! What could lead me to do that? MADAME JAMINE To forget, to drown your sorrows ! VETHEUIL No, no — the chase Claudine has been leading me for some time has made me forget myself. I'm com- pletely changed. What I want now is peace, rest. I'm leaving to-night; going to bury myself in Brit- tany, by the seashore, all alone. MADAME JAMINE You're going away? But I can't tell her that! VETHEUIL You don't have to — but I'm not going away for- ever — this is not flight. 92 LOVERS [act m MADAME JAMINE Are jou going without seeing lier, or saying good- by? VETHEUIL Yes, I mustn't see her at this time. I must collect myself, see clearly — alone. MADAME JAMINE You can't do that — it would cause her a great deal of pain. VETHEUIIi I'll write ; she'll have a letter this very evening — full of tenderness — and I'll explain it all much better than you could. You needn't say a word to her. Promise you won't say anything ! MADAME JAMINE I promise. VETHEUIL Now I want you to be with her when she gets this letter^ — I'll manage to have it arrive at seven — in order that you may tell her in what frame of mind you found me, and that I adore her. — Only, I tell you I must have a change — this couldn't last — I must take a decisive step. MADAME JAMINE That's clear enough, but what shall I tell her now? She's waiting for me. VETHEUIL Tell her I wasn't at home. MADAME JAMINE That's good ; well, I'll run along. Write her a nice letter. Good-by. ACT III] LOVERS 93 VETHEUIIi Good-by — thanks for coming. You are a true friend. MADAME JAMINE I love you both. Good-by, bon voyage, and come back soon. {^She goes out, Vetheuil rings) [^Enter the Servant. SERVANT Monsieur? VETHEUIL Pack up — I'm going away immediately. SERVANT Will Monsieur be gone long? VETHEUIL No : a week or two at the outside. I'll take only my valise, the yellow one. Put it on the sofa, together with the traveling rug, so that I only have to take them and go. SERVANT At once? VETHEUIL Yes, at once. (Vetheuil performs the pantomime of a man considering the composition of a difficult let- ter. Meantime the servant has brought the valise and traveling rug, and placed them on the sofa. Then, while Vetheuil is writing his letter, the door quietly opens, and [^Enter Claudine. VETHEUIL {Hearing the door open, he lifts his head. Then he rises) You ! 94. LOVERS [act m CLAUDINE Yes, I. (She sits down. A pause. She coughs) How smoky ! VETHEUII. Shall I open the window? CLAUDINE Never mind — you weren't expecting me? VETHEUIL No. CLAUDINE See, I'm not proud: I come to you, as you don't come to me. Only — Jamine has just come from my house — or — why lie about it? I was waiting for her in my carriage outside. She told me you were going away. Is that true? VETHEUIL Yes. CLAUDINE So, if I hadn't come, you would have gone without saying good-by? What have I done? Men leave women who have made them suffer, who have de- ceived them, who are exercising an evil influence over them. You have nothing to complain of. VETHEUIL I should have been gone only a few days. Then — I was just writing to you. CLAUDINE Why write? So that what you had to say would be more definite, irreparable — ? Now you may say what you had to say; I'll listen. I shan't make a scene — you seem to imagine that's my specialty, that I make your life miserable. ACT III] LOVERS ' 95 VETHEUIIi A corrupted version must have reached you: if I determined to write instead of seeing you, it was simply because I was afraid, not of you, but of my- self. CLAUDINE You were afraid of being weak — you might pity me ! But I have no need of pity. Now you are per- fectly free to tell me everything. VETHEUIL Very well, let us have a frank explanation. Listen, Claudine. I love you. {Gesture from Claudine) Don't doubt it. I love you — and for that very rea- son, the life I'm living now is no longer endurable. I love you so deeply that I can't bear the thought of sharing you with anyone else. You must be aU mine, just as I am all yours. CLAUDINE But am I not? VETHEUIL No — things exist between us — you know. It's very irksome, for instance, to wait at night, until he, your — until he goes ! CLAUDINE Is that all you object to? You haven't had to wait often. He is a friend: you knew that when we first met — I didn't lie about it. VETHEUIL Doubtless, but we're continually going round and round. At first, I didn't fully realize, I didn't know him then. Now I take his hand in mine every day — Pve learned to appreciate him, respect him! He 96 LOVERS [act m has such confidence in me! I feel it's not right to lie to him, deceive him. CLAUDINE But what about me? You can't be more of a Royal- ist than the king? VETHEUIL That may be, but our love must not be founded on lies. There must be nothing between us : you must choose. CLAUDINE How can I.'' VETHEUIL, That was what I was going to suggest. I want you to be with me. CLAUDINE Where ? VETHEUIL No matter — in my house — anywhere — it makes no difference. CLAUDINE You want me to leave Ruyseux.'* VETHEUIL Yes. CLAUDINE No: I have no right. You're asking me to leave a man who has never been anything but kind to me, a man I never had reason to complain of. It would be a terrible blow for him. It would be base — I can't do that. No, I can't. VETHEUIL Then you don't love me? ACT III] LOVERS 97 CLAUDINE Don't be foolish: I love you, and I won't let you doubt it for a second. You know that only too well. Listen to me : if you happened to be obliged to fight a duel for a point of honor to-morrow, you would fight in spite of my prayers and deepest wishes — I might — die of it. That's the way with women : there are certain circumstances under which we ought not to give in, even hesitate. We don't fight duels, we make sacrifices. That is why I cannot do what you ask me. Just consider: he adores me, he loves his daughter — can we both leave him? What would the poor man do.f* It would be cowardly — and you can- not ask me to do a cowardly act. VETHEUII. How you love him! And yet you are unfaithful to him. CI/AUDINE He doesn't know — and he doesn't suffer — isn't that the main point.'' Then there is — my little girl. VETHEUIL, Yes — Denise — I CLAUDINE {Putting her hand over his mouth) Sh ! Yes, my little girl: I must think of her future: if I went off with you, if there were to be a scandal in my life, some day, when it was time she married, it might be said to her, "Birds of a feather " VETHEUIL But — now — her father isn't your husband! CLAUDINE Yes, but there is just as much hypocrisy needed in the circle where I live, as in the real one — the other. 98 LOVERS [act hi if you like! Then there are material considerations which we must keep in mind. If I went off with you, would her father continue to look after her? He is a man of honor — that's undeniable — but there is a limit! Then I don't want Denise to have to go through what I did, all alone — I know too well what it cost me: the suffering, the dangers. And nowa- days, more than ever, young girls must have dowries. VETHEUIL What can I say.? Of course those are all splendid reasons. What you say makes me think, deeply. And yet, if you really loved me CLAUDINE Yes, I know what you are going to say: passion is its own excuse — but that applies only to brutes. You might cite cases where women have given up all for their lovers. We know of them, yes! but we don't hear of the others, whose hearts have been broken, who did their duty, and said nothing. VETHEUIL According to that, then, your first duty was not to have become my mistress. CLAUDINE Our duty is not to injure those who have been kind to us. VETHEUIL But I have given up everything for you! The day I first knew you, I gave up my freedom: I settled within a stone's throw of you. I have completely rearranged my mode of living, given up my friends, without a thought for myself! ACT III] LOVERS 99 CLAUDINE I appreciate it, but you see you were sacrificing your- self, not others. Oh, if I were alone, do you think I should care for comforts and luxury and money? You know very well I should go with you wherever you liked, live on two hundred francs a month in the country, so that I might be with you alone — body and soul — because I love you! VETHEUIL. Is that true? CLAUDINE Oh, yes ! But to do that now would be cowardice — it's out of the question. If this life is no longer possible, if I make you unhappy, then you are right to leave, at once, and forget me. When you return we can be friends — if I am still here. VETHEUIL No, Claudine, I cannot forget you, and as for being friends, that's not reasonable. Yes, just now I wanted to go away. I was quite determined before I saw you, but the moment you entered the room, I knew I could never go. I had made up my mind in advance — but you know I can't exist without you — your voice, your presence, your caresses — your head on my shoulder — I must adore you, and keep telling you how I adore you. Everything else, if need be, may remain as before, we can continue with- out wronging anyone — we must plan it out, that's all. If we are aware of the danger, we have only to avoid it. You will be a little less domineering, jeal- ous, and I more patient and forgiving. You won't be as you were the day before yesterday — ! 100 LOVERS [act in CLAUDINE You were cruel! Think of not coming to see me all day! VETHEUIL This explanation was bound to come — now it's over. Let's forget it — we love, don't we? CLAUDINE Yes! VETHEUIL That's the important point. CLAUDINE Then you're not so much to be pitied? VETHEUIL No. CLAUDINE We have spent some wonderful hours together, haven't we? VETHEUIL We have! CLAUDINE Kiss me. VETHEUIL Claudine! Let mc look at you. CLAUDINE No, no, it's too light in here ! I've been crying ! I'm not at all pretty! {^She goes to the window, closes the curtains, fastening them together with one of her hat-pins. Then she comes back arid sits down) Now, it's more mysterious, and you can't see my red eyes. Come here, close to me, as we used to sit, dear. Remember, you were at my feet, your head on my knees, while we watched the night falling — we were the spirits of twilight and silence. ACT m] LOVERS 101 VETHEUIL I adore jou, Claudine ! I adore you ! CLAUDINE Wait, what am I sitting on? VETHEUIL Oh, let me take it away. CLAUDINE What is it? VETHEUIL My valise ! l[He takes the valise which the servant had placed on the sofa, lays it on the floor, and returns to Clau- dine. They embrace. THUS ENDS THE THIRD ACT ACT FOUR Pallanza, on the shores of Lago Maggiore: a garden full of magnolias^ on a terrace from which the lake and mountains can be seen through a crystal blue atmos- phere — all under a slcy illuminated by moon and stars. Claudine is in deshabille, Vetheuil in traveling clothes. CLAUDINE What time did you tell them to call for you? VETHEUIL Ten. CLAUDINE So soon! VETHEUIL I must bo at the Locarno station for the eleven o'clock train. CLAUDINE And your baggage? VETHEUIL The coachman will call at the hotel first. CLAUDINE Will the carriage come to get you up there at the house? VETHEUIL No, I told the coachman to come here, to the garden. CLAUDINE My God! (A pause. Then a fisherman on the lake is heard singing "Vorrei Morire!") ACT iv] LOVERS 103 VETHEUIL Listen! Our fisherman! {Trying to smile) He knows you're here, he's singing to you ! CLAUDINE Yes, to me — I, too, should hke to die on a night like this. Oh, when I think of to-morrow, and you away, I'll go mad. It's terrible ! Why are you going so far away that I can't even write to you.^* Why did you accept that position to explore a land from which men never come back? VETHEUIL They return, but not very soon. That is just what I need ! What both of us wished for ! We have de- cided, haven't we, that we ought to separate? Haven't we? CLAUDINE Yes, only when we decided that, I was brave! To- night you are leaving, and I've — lost courage. VETHEUIL My dearest, I must go. You have no idea how hard it is to have to ! CLAUDINE Can't you stay to-night, only to-night? Please, please — ! VETHEUIL You know, dear, I have stayed as long as I could. I'm taking the last train as it is ; I shall get to Mar- seilles just in time to catch the steamer. So you see — ? CLAUDINE No, I can't stand it ! You mustn't go ! 104 LOVERS [act iv VETHEUIL Now, now, Claiidine, don't say that, don't make it harder ! If I did stay, could we go on living as we have in Paris? With the same obstacles to over- come, the same scenes, wearing us out? They'd be- gin again to-morrow, we know that only too well. They are the result of the circumstances under which we exist, under which we first met. How often have we tried to be happy in spite of everything! We were never able — we never could be able, we should end by detesting each other, deceiving each other CLAUDINE No, no, no! VETHEUIL Is that sort of life possible? No, it would be a hell, it would be degrading, after these weeks we've spent together here, so — alone! We have been so happy that it's impossible to be happier ; we've had a month of happiness which nothing can efface—^;; — CLAUDINE Except the thought of having to separate VETHEUIL Yes, but that thought merely puts a check on our spirits, prevents our happiness from becoming inso- lent, gives it a tinge of melancholy, like the mist en- shrouding the mountains in the evening, making their outlines less rugged, turning their enormous masses into something infinitely tender. CLAUDINE How you analyze sensations — how complex you are — at a moment like this ! It's funny I ACT iv] LOVERS 105 VETHEUIL, Yes, that's why I understood you, the day you told me you couldn't leave your friend or jeopardize your daughter's future. If you hadn't told me that, I should have said: Let the heavens themselves fall upon us, as they have upon so many others ! Well, we have at least belonged entirely to each other this past month, without the shadow of an intruder — alone here by this lake which harbors so many loves like ours. We have been able even to cherish the illusion that we were free ; we have been lovers, be- cause we willed it. One month of pure happiness ! We have had it, and now we must pay for it. CLAUDINE j Then it's over — over? VETHEUIL Claudine, come here, let me tell you CliAUDINE What? What do you want? Something reasonable again? Don't you feel? VETHEUIL, Claudine, that's not kind! If you only knew how broken-hearted I am. I, too, have a Calvary to mount — only — it must — it must be ! CLAUDINE Then I'll never see you again? VETHEUIL Of course you will — only, later, when we're cured. CLAUDINE Do you tliink — ? VETHEUIL {Forcefully) Yes, we will be cured. We are now separating not because I have deceived you or you 106 LOVERS [act iv me, or because we are tired of each other ; there exist none of the usual deceits or lies between us which commonly make love a bitter thing and wound it: we are separating because there are your friend and your little girl between us, because we cannot be happy with those dear ones between us. We are saying Adieu, but in what a marvelously beautiful land! CliAUDINE You say that as if to a woman who was going to drown herself in a beautiful river ! VETHEUIL You don't understand — in a peaceful land, then. Later, not to-morrow of course, but later, when you think of this terrace at Pallanza, you will see again the mountains and the lake, all these beautiful sur- roundings, and when your mind turns to our separa- tion, your sadness will, in spite of yourself, become a part of the peace and quiet. CLAUDINE No ! Don't Imagine that ! It's nice of you to say it, but I'm positive I shall suffer for a long time, suffer cruelly — always ! I detest this country, I hate it — I'm going away at once ! To-morrow morning! Oil, if I could only go off somewhere alone, and suffer by myself — ! But I am expected home — I've had my vacation — charming ! VETHEUIL, Now, Claudine ! CLAUDINE I'm — too unhappy ! You are going to travel and see new countries ; you'll be interested, distracted, you're starting a new life ! You'll forget me ! ACT iv] LOVERS 107 VETHEUIL No — never ! CLAUDINE Listen to me ; I want you to promise one thing ; don't think me absurd VETHEUIL, Why should I? CLAUDINE You'll think it's foolish? VETHEUIL, Not in the least. CLAUDINE Here it is, then : it's very serious. I want you, every evening at the same hour, to look at the same star that I do — I can't write, you know. So every night at ten, we'll look at — oh, wait a moment ! — the Great Bear; yes, the Great Bear, that's the only thing I can recognize. I never could distinguish the others. VETHEUIL I promise. CLAUDINE And when you are in that awful country, I'll think of you gazing at the same corner of the sky and at the same time as I. It's not much to ask — just that! VETHEUIL But when I'm in that awful country as you call it, it will be day for me when it's night for you — we can't see the same stars. CLAUDINE Why.? VETHEUIL Because it's impossible to see the same section of the sky from every point of the earth's surface. Now, 108 LOVERS [act iv the earth, you understand — it would take too long to explain CLAUDINE Are you sure? Couldn't we have only this one con- solation? It doesn't seem right — ! How alone I'll be ! You ought not to have told me ! VETHEUIL I should have let you believe CLAUDINE Sh! {The tinkle of bells is heard in the distance) VETHEUIL The carriage is coming. CLAUDINE Already!— Oh— God! COACHMAN (Speaking in an Italian dialect) Excellency, it's ten o'clock. The Excellency's baggage is here — carriage is below. CLAUDINE Tell him to wait five minutes ! VETHEUIL Yes, yes — I'll come in five minutes [The coachman disappears. Claudine and Vetheuil sit in silence for a few moments. VETHEUIL It's got to be ! CLAUDINE Stop, listen — I can't — you mustn't go! Please! Please! I'll do what you say, I'll leave everyone! If I give him up would you stay? VETHEUIL Yes — but will you give him up? ACT iv] LOVERS 109 CLAUDINE If you ask me to ! VETHEUIL You will? Are you sure? Do you realize what you're doing? He is your daughter's father, you'll break his heart, you in whom he has such blind faith ! I must tell you these things, because if you decide, it must be for always. You can't retrace your steps — I shan't let you. CLAUDINE I should see him and confess ; he is good, he would forgive me — he might even understand. Shall I tell him we love and that we must not be separated? VETHEUIL See? You can't. — Go to him? What an idea! There's not a man living who would understand these things ! No, I must go. COACHMAN (Appearing again) Excellency, it's ten-fifteen, we've just got time to catch the eleven o'clock at Locarno. Got steep grades to climb. VETHEUIL (To the coachman) Good! I'm coming directly. CLAUDINE What does he say? VETHEUIL That it's ten-fifteen, and I barely have time to catch the eleven o'clock train at Locarno. CLAUDINE Well — good-by! {They hiss, and cling for a time to each other) Let me look at you, Georges ! It is as if you were dying. Go, go ! Don't say any- thing. 110 LOVERS [act IV [She falls on a bench, her head in her hands, and sobs. Vetheuil leaves. The bells of the carriage tinkle more and more faintly, and then are no longer heard. AND THUS ENDS THE FOURTH ACT FIFTH ACT The large drawing-room in Claudine's former liome, which now belongs to Henriette J amine. To-night is Henriette's house-warming ; lights, flow- ers, gypsies, and small supper tables fill the room. At each table three or four guests are seated. As the curtain rises all the guests are silently listen- ing to Boldi, the leader of the gypsy orchestra, as he plays to Henriette. MADAME SORBIER {As soon as Boldi has ended) Schlinder, please tell Boldi to come here ; I want to hear that lovely piece again that we heard so often this Fall at Vienna — remember ? SCHLINDER Of course, dear. {Calling) Boldi! Will you come here a moment and play Madame that love song — ? [Boldi comes to the table where Schlinder is seated and plays the requested number to Madame Sorbier. As he ends: PRUNIER Rather melancholy, don't you think? MADAME JAMINE No, I think it's very pretty. PRUNIER Quite sad, and I don't like sad music. 112 LOVERS [act v MADAME JAMINE You'd like "Allumc ! Allumc !" all the time, wouldn't you? PBUNIER There's a fine dancing rhythm to that, at least ! EAVIER Galloping, even. MADAME JAMINE Well, I love melancholy music, the kind that makes you dreamy. There are certain tunes I'd like played to me — when some one's whispering sweet things ! PRUNIER Why do you look at Ravier when you say that? EAVIER Don't take offense, Prunier, and don't spoil a de- lightful soiree! PRUNIER You're enough to try the patience of a saint with all your nonsense ! As if music had anything to do with those things ! MADAME JAMINE I'm sure Ravier understands what I mean. RAVIER Quite right, Madame: what a sweet confidential friend music is ! You know, Massenet has just writ- ten music to a poem of Verlaine's. The song was so soul-stirring that it's been censored: now we have only the words. PRUNIER Nonsense ! EAVIER Fact ! ACT v] LOVERS 113 MADAME GREGEOIS {At another table) What are we waiting for? SAMBRE Something — important. MADAME GREGEOIS A pause of embarrassment SAMBRE After sparkling dialogue and merry laughter there follows painful silence ! MADAME SORRIER Who will propose a toast to our charming hostess? SCHLINDER According to the old French family custom. MADAME SORBIER That's Ravier's business! SCHLINDER Now listen to him say that it comes as a complete surprise ! All evening he's been preoccupied like a man repeating an improvised speech by heart ! MADAME SORBIER What did I tell you? There he is getting up! RAVIER {Standing on a chair) Mesdames — Messieurs: it is without the slightest emotion that I take the floor SAMBRE So you say ! EAVIER I assure you I am not the least bit nervous. SCHLINDER Liar! m 114 LOVERS [act v EAVIER What do I risk? I am positive that whatever I may say you will all howl at me — so what would be the use in troubling my gray matter in order to search out new formulas? I therefore propose that we drink to the health of our hosts: first to Madame Henriette Jamine, our entrancing Amphitryon, whose beauty it would be superfluous to dilate upon, and also to the health of Ernest Prunicr (ironi- cally), the greatest cement dealer I have the pleas- ure of knowing. ALL Bravo ! Bravo ! RAVIER Gentlemen, does not this couple offer us an admirable object lesson? To such a union, to so busy an ex- istence, to such industrious and unceasing pursuits (turning to Henriette) allow me, Madame, to drink, and (turning to Prunier) Monsieur, to Commerce and Industry ! ALL Bravo ! Bravo ! \_The conversation becomes general. WJiile the ta- bles are being taken out, the guests form into little groups. In one corner of the room stand Claudine and Ruyseux. RUYSEUX Well, dear, what have you to say to all tliis? CLAUDINE It's been so long since I've seen anything of the sort that I'm a little bewildered. These people all seem a trifle mad. Their gayety isn't at all amusing. I suppose they don't find me very amusing, either? ACT v] LOVERS 115 RUYSEUX You know very well you are the prettiest woman here! CLAUDINE Oh, oh! BUYSEUX And the most loved. CLAUDINE I believe that. RUYSEUX Well? We're no longer in "society" — we're not Parisians. CLAUDINE Thank God! MADAME JAMINE {In another corner, with Ravier, Madame Gregeois, etc.) Very charming little toast that was! PRUNIER I was really touched. EAVIER What I said was no more than the truth. MADAME SORRIER No indeed ! — Lovely supper^ — wc had a superb even- ing. You've arranged this place very tastefully — Yes, charming house-warming. MADAME JAMINE This is only a beginning: I'm going to have any number of parties this winter. MADAME GREGEOIS It'll be gayer than it was with the former tenant. 116 LOVERS [act V MADAME JAMINE Yes — I don't intend to live alone and have no com- pany, the way Claudine Rozay did. I'll have big dinners, masked suppers KAVIER Costumes with tails to them ! MADAME JAMINE You silly! It'll be too gay for anything, won't it, Ernest? PRUNIEB Yes, and we must have those little English girls, the Llewellyn sisters. MADAME JAMINE No, no, not the Llewellyn sisters. They monopolize all the men — and I don't think their influence over you is good. They make you sick ! — And then we must present little comedies, too. RAVIER Do you know what you ought to do ? Have a Revue. MADAME JAMINE Who will run it.'' RAVIER I. MADAME JAMINE Who will act in it? ALL We. RAVIER Would you consent to take part? MADAME GREGEOIS Consent? We would intrigue each other to death to get the best roles ! ACT v] LOVERS 117 MADAME JAMINE I have some actor friends: Raymonde Percy, who played in The Seven of Spades MADAME SORBIER What did she do in The Seven of Spades? MADAME JAMINE Ruined it! SAMBRE We should certainly have this Revue. MADAME SORBIER What shall I be? RAVIER Exposition of 1900, and you, Madame Gregcois, will be the Godmother MADAME JAMINE Now that everything is decided, we can dance. [^The gypsies play; couples begin to whirl about. KAVIER {To Henriette) I adore you! MADAME JAMINE Shh! Tell me that to-morrow. — Come at five! RAVIER Here.'' MADAME JAMINE Yes, here. RAVIER Our own house-warming.'' MADAME JAMINE Yes. RAVIER Nice .'' 118 LOVERS [act v MADAME JAMrNE Not bad ! [^Enter Gauderic. GAUDERIC I beg your pardon, Madame, but I must go. Before I leave, however, I should like to have a few details for my article — that is, if you would care to have me mention your soiree. MADAME JAMINE By all means, Monsieur, but I really don't know what to say. Here is Monsieur Ravier, he can tell you everything much better than I could: he's used to It! Aren't you, Ravier.'' RAVIEB, I am. MADAME JAMINE Let me introduce you: Monsieur Ravier, Monsieur Gauderic. RAVIER Charmed. GAUDERIC Doubtless you don't know me under my own name : in Le Trivelin I write as Feu Follet. RAVIER Oh, I know Feu Follet. MADAME JAMINE What docs It mean? GAUDERIC It means Will-o'-the-wisp. MADAME JAMINE (Looking at him and laughing, for Gauderic is homely and ordinary looking) Hal Ha! Will-o'- the Wisp! ACT v] LOVERS 119 BAVIER Monsieur, if I can be of any assistance — ? GAUDERIC You know, Monsieur, what I would like. Usually the host sends a note telling of the soiree. The editor inserts it, sometimes gratis, sometimes not ; it is or- dinarily very insipid and formal — the literature of society. But on Le Trivelin we go about it far dif- ferently: I like to write the articles myself, live in the atmosphere for a few moments, in order to seize the floating nuances, the — personal, subtle air of the occasion. I do not recoil even before the indiscreet. Now you belong to the house here, do you not.f^ RAVIER I'll tell you what to say: that Madame Henriette Jamine gave a delightful house-warming in her charmingly arranged little apartment, wliich Mon- sieur Ernest Prunier has just given her. GAUDERIC Ah, Prunier bought the apartment ! Prunier, the cement manufacturer .f* RAVIER Yes : little presents cement their friendship. There's a clever line for your article. GAUDERIC Didn't this place belong formerly to Claudine Ro- zay.? RAVIER Yes. GAUDERIC Why did she sell it? Hard pressed.'' Financial em- barrassments? 120 LOVERS [act v RAVIER Oh, no, slie sold it because slie didn't want it any longer : she decided to live in the country. GAUDERIC Any celebrities here? Could you give me •some names ? RAVIER Of what sort? GAUDERIC Any sort — makes no difference. RAVIER But you said celebrities. I mean what rank, what walks of life? GAUDERIC Politics, finance, art. RAVIER Well, there's Schlinder. (Gauderic writes on his cuff) Ah, 3'ou write on your cuff — like Monsieur de Buff on ! GAUDERIC Yes : documentary cuffs. RAVIER Schlinder, Prefect of Police — retired two years ago ; Count de Ruyscux, president of the Royalist com- mittees; Vethcuil, just returned from Indo-China, where he was a member of the Renaud Expedition — then some other gentlemen of minor importance. GAUDERIC And the ladies? Can you give me some names? RAVIER The ladies arc in mortal terror of publicity ; they don't like to see their names in newspapers ACT v] LOVERS 121 GAUDEEIC But they RAVIER They are ladies of a very particular species — hm ! — who are supported — and whose children are as well brought up as those of the most correct families. They make use of every charm known to femininity to prevent their being spoken of. There lies the difference between them and women of the streets. GAUDERIC And duchesses ! — I asked that because a little ad- vertisement can do no harm. RAVIER Absurd! You and I know very well — no one is ever deceived. When the paper speaks of the beautiful Madame Fromage, who sang the Jewel Song from Faust like an angel, and Monsieur Le Pinson, who acted most successfully in his own peculiar style — ! GAUDERIC Yes, we make a living oflP their snobbishness. RAVIER It's too absurd ! GAUDERIC Many thanks. Monsieur, for your kindness. RAVIER Not at all, I'm only too happy to be able to help you. — Oh, by the way, you won't forget me in the little article, will you? Here's my card — I managed that last Revue at the club [^Thei/ go out. Enter Claudine and VeiJieuil. CLAUDINE We shan't be disturbed here. — So, you've come back to Paris at last.f^ 122 LOVERS " [act v p . i 1 VETHEUIL Only last week. CLAUDIXE And you've been away eighteen months ! Were you traveling all the time? VETHEUIL Yes, I helped explore marvelous and terrible lands. I was burned by the sun, frozen by the cold, nearly died of hunger and thirst, and made my way over twelve hundred leagues of desert. CLAUDINE Twelve hundred leagues ! — Oh, sit down ! — And what chance brings you here to-day? VETHEUIL No chance. My first thought on arriving in Paris was to come and see you — but I didn't dare. CLAUDINE Why? You might have done it — now! VETHEUIL I might — but still I was afraid. I went to see little Jamine. I heard she lived here, that she'd bought your old apartment. You can imagine what a turn that gave me! I thought something had happened to you, so I went at once to Henriette ; she rattled off any number of tales — most of which I didn't un- derstand — I did, however, make out that she was giving a house-warming to which you would natu- rally be asked, and I thought this a good oppor- tunity of seeing you. CLAUDINE She didn't tell me a word about you! ACT v] LOVERS 123 VETHEUIL She was afraid that if jou knew perhaps you wouldn't have come. CLAUDINE Why? VETHEUIIi I don't know. CXAUDINE {Looking steadfastly at him) You've aged a little — Why, here's quite a crop of gray hairs VETHEUIL, I have suffered a great deal: fatigue, hunger, every- thing imaginable. The greatest suffering was due to you! CLAUDINE Is that true? VETHEUIL, Yes ! You were deeply rooted in my heart. It was a terrible wrench to leave CLAUmNE Then you did thinjc of me? VETHEUIL A great deal. — But you haven't changed. CLAUDINE It's very nice of you to say it. I have changed: I, too, have some gray hairs, only — I dye them a little. I'd rather tell you, so that you may see I have had my share of suffering. VETHEUIL Dear Claudine! {A pause) CLAUDINE Do you remember, three years ago, when we sat and talked in this same corner for the first time, and I 124 LOVERS [act v Avas so afraid of your — adventure? — Do you? See how everything I predicted has come true. But we wanted it to happen ! VETHEUIL Yes, we did, yet there was something else which drew us together, and we may well say like children who are scolded : "It's not our fault !" In most cases they are right, it is not their fault if they were born gluttonous, or naughty, or lazy; nor is it our fault if we were born lovers. There are certain fatal forces which drive human beings into each other's arms — the law of Fate is as old as the world. Only, the moralists can't say that, because humanity would take fright. CLATTDINE Just as when there is an epidemic in the city the doctors must hide the truth. We are all too weak, we are not sufficiently armed for the battles of life. VETHEUIL Doubtless. It's all ver}' well to have an exact knowl- edge of what is right and fitting, but nature endows creatures like us with sensuality and sensibility, and we are as a consequence capable of committing the worst sort of follies. It is a continual struggle. CLAITDINE Yes, but xve have come out of the struggle victorious. (Smiling) We come home like victors who have lost legs and arms. VETHEUIL, (Smiling) There is something else lacking, too! CLAUDINE Oh! We are not wounded now, we're completely cured! We were as unhappy as two human beings ACT v] LOVERS 125 could be. Dear Georges, do you remember when we said good-bj at Pallanza — that sky sprinkled with stars, the mountains in a shroud of mist — and our friend the fisherman singing "Vorrei Morire"? VETHEUIL He knew we were listening — the old — ! CLAUDINE And that awful nasal tenor of his ! I've sung the song many times since, the dear vulgar old tune! You were right then, everything turned out exactly as you said it would. That night we separated was so beautiful that my suffering became calm and peaceful. But it didn't happen all of a sudden — no ! I used to cry myself sick, night after night — I was tired of everything! VETHEUIL My dear! But what did they say to you? CLAUDINE I gave vague reasons, foolish ones, or else none at all — they were satisfied. They were so good and affectionate, too ! {A pause) He never suspected. VETHEUIL I'm glad of that ! CLAUDINE But Dcnise ! She understood as much as her little mind would carry. She guessed that it was because of you I suffered, that you were the cause of my tears. Do you know what she did to that big photo- graph of yours you gave me? She scratched the eyes out! VETHEUIL She's very advanced for her age ! 126 L0VP:RS [act V CLAUDINE She would have done the same to you in person, if she had been able. VETHEUIL She's a woman already. CLAUDINE You have no reason to complain! VETHEUIL I was only joking. CLAUDINE And now what are you going to do here in Paris.'' You will be very much in demand — feted and asked everywhere. Think of it, an explorer ! The young ladies will want to know how they make love in the desert VETHEUIL I shan't go to receptions and all that. You see, when a man has lived eighteen months as I have, this Parisian life is out of the question. Just now I was watching all those people in there — odious, hateful creatures ! — and to listen to their conversation ! Grotesque pygmies ! What ridiculous dolls they are, men and women alike ! They don't live — the way we did on that expedition Ah, what character and energy those men had ! When you come to know them, you try to become like them. No, I'm going away again, to help colonize. CLAUDINE You're right, but it won't be very pleasant for you to be out there all alone .^ VETHEUIL {Rather nervously) I shan't be all alone: I am go- ing to marry — the sister of one of my companions. ACT v] LOVERS 127 CLAUDINE What? Why, you've hardly been back a week! You've made rather a hasty decision! VETHEUIL I've known her for over a month. When we were on our way home to France, she joined us at Saigon, and we came back together on the same steamer. CLAUDINE Is she pretty? VETHEUIL Not so pretty as you. CLAUDINE Don't say that; in a few weeks you'll think her the prettiest of women. You must have a photograph of her with you? VETHEUIL (Weakly) I have. CLAUDINE Then show it to me. {He shows her the photograph) You are right: she's not pretty, but she looks sweet and energetic. You see, dear, I don't feel at all jealous when I see this picture, and if ever I meet the original, I shall kiss her with all my heart. VETHEUIL How good you are ! CLAUDINE Life is funny ! When I think how for months I did nothing but cry and think of you — ! If I saw some one in the street who resembled you, my blood all rushed to my heart, I turned pale, I had to support myself to keep from falling — and now here you are 128 LOVERS [act v telling me jou are about to marry ! I have perfect control over myself; I am glad that I can give you my hand in perfect loyalty and friendship and say I am truly happy ! VETHEUIL You've always been adorable! CLAUDINE Well, we're cured, that's all VETHEUIL Yes, it was inevitable — and it was good, because we separated like loyal friends. It was terrible, the separation was bitter, but as the surgeons say, it was a clean wound. There was no danger of poisoning — hatred, that is, revenge, anger, the whole base pro- cession of lies — ! CLAUDINE It was a real duty, and that's a great consolation — the only consolation, I think. {A pause) Well, I, too, am going to be married. VETHEUIL You are.'' CLAUDINE Yes ! A great many things have hai^pcned since you left. VETHEUIL I can well imagine! CLAUDINE The Countess de Ruyseux ran away with an officer a few weeks ago. VETHEUIL No.? ACT v] LOVERS 129 CLAUDINE True. Now Ruyseux considers himself free. He's secured a divorce and asked me to become his wife. At first I refused, but later I accepted. We're going to live in the country, on our estate, far from the city. We'll not return to Paris until Denise is eighteen. VETHEUIL Well, it's a pretty play : ends with two marriages ! CliAUDINE Yes, but shall we be happy for ever after? VETHEUIL That's another play. Yet — since we are going to live on the prairies and in the woods, out with peace- ful and wise old nature — yes, we shall be happy. Ah, if we remained here, in this city of turmoil and evil, we, playthings of passion that we are, should probably be tempted into some last adventure before the flame finally died down. Toward forty, you would fall in love with a youth who would cause you great suffering and break your heart CLAUDINE Oh, please ! VETHEUIL And I, toward fifty, might fall in love with some child who would lead me a merry chase and take me to new lands again ! CLAUDINE We have seen enough ! VETHEUIL Yes, when one has lived, and observed, he arrives at a true philosophy of life, and says that at the bot- 130 LOVERS [act v torn of it all, happiness, or at least what seems most closely to resemble it [At this moment, interrupting VetJieuil in the midst of his sentence, a "Farandole,^' danced madly hy a number of couples, sweeps into the room, and in its whirlwind wake carries off Claudine and Vctheuil. and thus ends the fifth act [end] THE FREE WOMAN ( L' Affranchie ) A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 1898 PERSONS REPRESENTED Roger Dembrun Pierre Letang LiSTEIi Damornay Cherange A Servant Antonia De Moldere Juliette Madame Rolleboise Madame Sinnglott Madame Danglejais Madame Egreth Clemence Mademoiselle Cendrier Rosalie THE FREE WOMAN FIRST ACT The scene is laid at Venice, in a small palace which has been rented by Madame de Moldere, on the Grand Canal opposite the Da Mula Palace. It is a May night: half past eight o^clock. Near one of the windows opening upon the Canal is a small round table with places for five. It is covered with elegant linen, flowers, candles, and so forth. As the curtain rises Antonia de Moldere, Roger, Pierre, List el, and Juliette are seated round the table. The dinner is nearly over; the guests are eating dessert. There are fruits on the table. I.ISTEL. These strawberries are excellent; I haven't eaten such delicious ones since my First Communion. ANTONIA Surely that's an exaggeration ! But really the strawberries are very good here. LISTEL Well, in Italy, you run very little risk of being spoiled in the matter of eating. JULIETTE We don't come to Italy to eat. 134 THE FREE WOMAN [act i ANTONIA We come to love. LISTET. All the more reason: you must cat. But the best of all is to be in your own apartment. Now you did the wisest and most practical thing of all, when you decided to spend some time in Venice: rent a palace or an apartment in a palace on the Grand Canal. Do you mind if I ask how much you are paying here.? ANTONIA Three hundred francs a month. LISTEL And you have the piano? ANTONIA Naturally. JULIETTE Oh, have you a piano, Antonia? Where is it.? PIERRE Not the instrument, dear — in Italian, piano means story, too. JULIETTE Oh, I see ; I didn't know that. LISTEL And you have the entire ground floor, or Canal floor, to be more exact.? ANTONIA Yes, the whole ground floor. LISTEL And you pay three hundred francs a month? That's not expensive, not at all expensive. ANTONIA But living is not expensive at Venice — it costs next to nothing. What costs is hotel life. ACT i] THE FREE WOMAN 135 LISTEL Yes, in Italy all the English hotels are run by the Swiss. They form a syndicate to fleece the tourists. Why, take Switzerland, for instance: the whole country is nothing but a real estate office, the Louvre of Nature — the price is on every glacier, and every abyss is marked in plain figures. JULIETTE But the gondolas in Venice are very cheap. It's truly touching. For one hour of enchantment you pay a franc — that's not ruinous. But Pierre, who is usually very generous, is horridly stingy with the gondoliers. Every time we come to settle with them, he makes the most ridiculous scenes. ANTONIA Is that so, Pierre.'^ PIERRE Nothing of the kind. Don't listen to her ! JULIETTE Yes, yes. In every other way you are lovely — I don't deny that — but with the gondoliers you are simply stingy. So there — I'll make you ashamed be- fore all these people. [^Laughter. ANTONIA It's very wrong of you. [Coffee has meanwhile been served at another table. Antonia gives the signal to rise. LISTEL Still — three hundred francs — very good ! How many rooms have you? ANTONIA I have a little kitchen. 136 THE FREE WOMAN [act i LISTEIi Cucina. ANTONIA One charming bedroom, and then this that I use as a drawing- and dining-room. I dine late usually, have the table placed next to this window and watch the gondolas pass. LISTEL. As you empty your glass. ANTONIA Exactly. Do you take coffee.'' LISTEL If you please. (Juliette offers him sugar) ANTONIA And you, Pierre.'^ PIERRE Delighted. JULIETTE Isn't it lovely to hear the gondolas gliding past, and the cry of the gondoliers ! LISTEL There's nothing remarkable, it seems to me, in that cry — I think it's overdone — rather hideous. JULIETTE {Coldly) Undoubtedly! LISTEL And the sound of the gondolas — nothing at all, yet it's very trying. They say Venice is the city of silence — but you can't sleep — especially this time of the season. And the lovers — turning night into day. Can't close an eye until nearly daylight. If one were sick I presume he would have to put straw under his windows along the Grand Canal! ACT i] THE FREE WOMAN 137 ROGER (Who has hitherto been a sUent listener) How wearisome you must find jour cleverness ! LISTEL In any event, Monsieur, you are spared the fatigue ! ROGER Of course. (He disappears with Juliette) PIERRE (to Listel) My dear Monsieur, you will make yourself very un- popular with the ladies if you continue criticising Venice. (He follows after Juliette and Roger) LISTEL Is it my fault if I have an original way of looking at things.'* (To Antonia) You have been here since ? ANTONIA For the past two weeks — two weeks, yes! And you? LISTEL I arrived yesterday — I leave to-morrow. ANTONIA Then it was pure coincidence that we saw you. You're not staying very long. LISTEL Venice disgusts me. ANTONIA Disgusts you.f* LISTEL Why, yes. (A pause) Tell me, who is that dis- agreeable man who didn't talk and can't understand a joke? ANTONIA A friend I met here — charmino- fellow. 138 THE FREE WOMAN [act i I.ISTEI, Only — a friend? ANTONIA Yes. LISTED Are you sure? ANTONIA Quite sure. LISTEL Ah. {A pause) I was looking at you during din- ner: you are very pretty this evening — you are always, but to-night your eyes have something out of the ordinary ANTONIA Really? LISTEL Yes — an eclat — I can't just say — you — you seem like a woman who is deeply loved. ANTONIA I am — by you. You tell me that, and you keep writing it. LISTEL Yes, but it is not I who lend 3^our eyes that particu- lar expression. I don't flatter myself. I have loved you for six years, ever since I first met you. You have never given me definite proofs, and you never will, and yet I shall continue to make love to you. It's rather absurd — but — that's the way it is. ANTONIA You're not very unhappy. LISTEL Of course — of course — What does this taciturn and disagreeable gentleman do? ACT i] THE FREE WOMAN 139 ANTONIA Writes — books. LISTEL Humorous? ANTONIA Oh no. lilSTEL I'm surprised. What's his name? ANTONIA Roger Dembrun. LISTEL, ? ? ? ? ? ANTONIA You couldn't possibly have heard of him: he writes on philosophical questions, and art. It doesn't in- terest LISTEL Fools. Of course I haven't heard of him ! ANTONIA No : people m society. My dear Listel, you are very spirituel and very amusing, but there are certain things that society never reads. That's what I was going to say. LISTEL He's a symbolist, then. ANTONIA You're ridiculous, dear. Don't use words of which you can't understand the meaning. What does "symbolist" mean? Do you know? LISTEL, I beg your pardon. Well, he's very talented. And who is the other gentleman? 140 THE FREE WOMAN [act i ANTONIA A friend of Monsieur Dembrun — a painter. LISTEL Also very talented. ANTONIA Not in the least — or, rather — I don't know. I never saw anything of his, LISTEL Is that his wife with him? ANTONIA No LISTEL Oh — then I might have brought a lady ? ANTONIA You know very well that in Venice one mustn't be too LISTEI. Certainly. Then you are not quite alone here — I can be reassured ANTONIA Very good of you. LISTEL How do you pass the day? ANTONIA I don't get up until late, I lunch at noon, and in the afternoon I visit churches or museums, with my friends. We don't do our sight-seeing like the Eng- lish IJSTEL I should hope not! ANTONIA A church or a room in a museum is enough for one day. Then from time to time I go to see some pic- ACT i] THE FREE WOMAN 141 ture that has appealed to me. In that way I have such good friends here and there: at the Accadem- mia, the Frari, the various palaces. Toward five o'clock I take a gondola and go to the Lido — the awful Lido ! — and turn my eyes in the direction of the soft Adriatic. I watch the flotilla of boats from Chioggia with their black, yellow, and red sails. There are some that look like clowns with huge swelHng trousers, others like bishops, walking over the sea in sumptuous Dalmatian robes. Or again I go to the lagoons, have the gondola tied to one of the piles and watch the sun set over Saint Mark's. Then of all times Venice looks like an Oriental city. I stay there, rocked by sea and sky, which change color every moment, like the two Infinites of Lo'ie Fuller. It's unspeakably beautiful: fairyland, dreams, paradise! LISTEL Yes. Well, however you may feel, Venice has no effect on me. I was fearfully disillusioned: those dreadful steamers — and then I understand that a grill room has been installed in Desdemona's palace. ROGER (Who has overheard ListeVs last xvords) Not in Desdemona's Palace. LISTEL I beg your pardon? ROGER You said Desdemona's Palace in order to create a sensation before the company, but you are mistaken. The grill room is in the Swift Palace, which is an an- nex of the Grand Hotel. 142 THE FREE WOMAN [act i LISTEL, But I assure you ROGER I am positive : I know, because I am stopping at the Grand, which is next door. LISTEL, It makes little difference. ROGER None at all. LISTEl. Well, I still insist that I am disappointed at every turn. Why, only this afternoon, I found myself sur- rounded by a party of a hundred Cook's tourists in the courtyard of the Doges' Palace. Took away every spark of illusion. ANTONIA When I am in the courtyard of the Doges' Palace I imagine I am present at a -fete of the Princesses Leonora and Beatrice d'Este, for whom the Bucen- taura has been sent, and I can summon up the image of the whole ceremony — regattas, pantomimes and all — I think of the crowds of tourists as dressed in magnificent costumes. I don't mind tlie barbarians, I don't even notice them. LISTEL You have to be well up on your history to imagine the presence of the Machin princesses — I'm awfully rusty. ANTONIA That's not altogctlier necessary, either. Why, the other night we went to the Fenice to hear "La Boheme." Next to us in a box was the King of Siam and his suite — looked like a cage of monkeys — but I ACT i] THE FREE WOMAN 143 just remembered that the Republic of Venice used to invite people of that sort, and by that means I became quite excited over the occasion. LISTEl. You have a very good imagination. But in cases of the kind there must be two. PIERRE And that is not always successful. Take poor Mus- set, for instance. lilSTEL, That's why it is not wise to bring your mistress to Venice. It's better to be there alone, because when there are two, there are always three. PIERRE How elusive is happiness ! (^A short pause) LISTEL Come in, my dear Pagello. PIERRE It seems that Pagello is a very old man. When he refers to George Sand he says : "Ah, si, si, questa Francesa che fumava cigaretti." JULIETTE Meaning ? PIERRE "Ah, yes, that Frenchwoman who smoked ciga- rettes." That is all he remembers of a love story about which so much ink has flowed. ROGER And so many tears ! ANTONIA Look, our neighbors across the Canal are having din- ner. The maiden lady is going to sing this evening. 144 THE FREE WOMAN [act i PIERRE Maiden ladj? ANTONIA English — a Miss Basden, who lives on the other side. When she has company, as she has this evening, the guests gather together at the windows — about eleven o'clock. You can then see a gondola slip from under the shadow of the palace and come to the middle of the Canal. Miss Basden is in it ; she sings to the accompaniment of a little guitar. LISTEL I regret that I shall be unable to hear her ; I must go to the Fenice this evening to hear "La Boheme." They say it is a very good performance. ANTONIA It is, very good. You are sure not to be disap- pointed Isn't he, Juliette.'' JULIETTE Oh, it's perfectly lovely. I cried. (She hums "Mimi Pinson, La Biondinetta") LISTEL But with me, Italian music ! — I'm Wagnerian. ROGER Wagnerian ! But Italy is the true setting for Italian music, Monsieur. In Venice, Florence, Naples, you should listen only to Italian music. What is the use of being Wagnerian — here.? LISTEL That satisfies me — only remember that Verdi began it. {To Antonia) Au revoir, Madame, thank you for your cordial welcome. ANTONIA You're joking.'* ACT i] THE FREE WOMAN 145 LISTEL (^Bowing to Juliette) I go — enchanted. ANTONIA To be going? LISTEL No, by your hospitality. {He shakes hands with Roger and Pierre) ANTONIA I'll see you out. LISTEL Don't bother. {They go out) EGGER {When Antonia returns) Your friend is most exas- perating, A true Frenchman away from home — worse still: a Parisian! ANTONIA We cannot choose our compatriots. ROGER Such people get on my nerves. JULIETTE And you don't trouble to conceal your feelings either ! ANTONIA I even think you are too frank. When I invite one of my friends to my home, I don't like you to allow him to see that he displeases you. ROGER Then why do you persist in having unpleasant friends ? \_Listel opens the door. LISTEL Don't trouble — continue as if I hadn't interrupted. I've come to get my cigarette case ; I must have left 146 THE FREE WOMAN [act i it on the table. There it is — I have it, I have it! Please don't trouble. Au revoir, I must be going. {He goes out) ANTONIA Why don't you like him? I think he's very charm- ing. ROGER I don't know — his manner of contradicting, his way of criticising everything, that derogatory affecta- tion It makes me ill. PIERRE But when Frenchmen travel they're unbearable — and the ridiculous things they say ! ANTONIA It seems so to you, because you don't understand foreign languages. Frenchmen seem worse than the others, but you may be sure that as much nonsense is spoken in English or German. PIERRE It's quite possible. ROGER Not long ago I was very amused in following two of them at Saint Mark's — two good tradespeople : man and wife. When they came to the mosaic work in turquoise and malachite, the man said : "Not so bad !" and the woman : "Tut, tut, nonsense !" \^Chords from an orchestra are heard outside. JULIETTE It's beginning. Come quick and listen. \^She runs to the window, Antonia joining her a mO' ment after. In the distance, in front of the Grand Hotel, a serenade is being sung — accompanied hy instruments — hy the Concordia Society. Pierre and ACT i] THE FREE WOMAN 147 Roger remain where they are, smoking and convers- ing, stretched out comfortably in their chairs. PIERKE (^ After listening to the serenade for a few moments^ Let Listel criticise, I say. There's no harm done. KOGER Even some good. PIERRE Your friend at the window is charming; her dress looks as if it were made of moonlight. She is most alluring — so enchanting, so — and Venice agrees with her. Madame de Moldere exactly fits this city of luxury and voluptuousness. She looks like a doge's wife. ROGER Your friend, too, is charming. PIERRE Thank you — she is nice — a good little girl. You are very much in love — I can see that. ROGER Really.? PIERRE I should think so ! And you are right. Venice is the city of passion : Intended as the scene of honeymoons and the breaking off of affairs. But it is a great mistake to bring a calm and settled love here, as I am doing. ROGER Why did you come.'' 148 THE FREE WOMAN [act i PIERRE {Pointing to Juliette) She wanted me to. ROGER She had an idea, no doubt, that Venice administered to ailing liaisons, as Mentone administers to con- sumptives ? PIERRE Yes, and when the patient is too far gone, the Midi finishes them — that's what's happened to me. Ever since I came here, I've been Hke a madman. In this marvelous setting, this atmosphere of love, I feel an unhealthy desire for the unknown, I dream of ad- ventures with every woman I see, even the little Vene- tian girl who passes me in the street in her brown shawl, or with the ruddy American who sits next to me at the table in the hotel. I want a rendezvous even if the woman never comes — there is a certain voluptuousness in waiting, and I feel the need of a romance which would illuminate, as it were, my Vene- tian sojourn. ROGER This is serious. PIERRE I felt the same way last winter at the Opera Ball. Juliette insisted on my taking her, and I remember, we were sitting in the foyer, close to the wall: she was in a black domino. We were looking at the peo- ple who seemed to be enjoying themselves — we were quiet and pensive. She threw confetti — she wanted to create a festive atmosphere, but she was in reality Dona Elvira: she seemed to recognize her lover in the escort of every woman who passed. All those others, those mysterious unknowns, were her rivals. ACT i] THE FREE WOMAN 149 ROGER You dare speak of this, with Juliette standing over there, listening to the night music ? At this moment she is forming an unforgettable impression of Venice. This is frightful — almost tragic. PIERRE Yes, it's horrible. And yet she adores these gon- dolas, and the serenades — she's all Bridge of Sighs. You know we must always be hiring a gondola. I take my revenge on the gondoliers. I don't give any tips — it's idiotic of me, I know. But I simply can't stand it. I've suffered enough from my "in- ner life" here. We're going to leave soon. ROGER But it will be just the same in Paris. PIERRE Yes, I know. ROGER Then wouldn't it be better for you both if you told her ? PIERRE It's very difficult to say that to a woma n ROGER Well, then ? PIERRE I know: there's no reason why it should end. One gets used to it all — thirty-five years together: that's what I'm heading for. Sometimes I revolt against the thought, because I've arrived at a dangerous age, and before renouncing love forever I shall have to experience some final intoxication. ROGER You're a "woman of thirty." 150 THE FREE WOMAN [act i riERRE If you like. ROGER You will drag out a niiscrablo existence, and Juliette will be equally unhappy. Wouldn't it be better to tell her the truth? PIERRE It is not good to tell all the truth. ROGER We allow ourselves to be deluded by false proverbs. All the truth ought to be told, only not every human being is good enough to hear it. PIERRE There are things it's difficult to make a woman un- derstand, especially when she's brimful of tenderness and affection, and proves to you every day that she loves you. Not long ago she put a bullet into me — there's the wound, just above the eyebrow. ROGER Oh, that's difFercnt. You can't be ungrateful! I had no idea PIERRE Yes, that was about six months ago. Juliette wasn't living with me at that time ROGER Of course. PIERRE One night I had an appointment — at twelve — with a very pretty woman. It was in my studio. About half past eleven I went to my room. When I opened the door — it was quite dark — I felt an icy hand grasp mine. It was Juliette ; she had a presentiment or else she had opened a letter — one of those which ACT i] THE FREE WOMAN 151 generous people post and forget to sign — well, she was there. ROGER I shouldn't have liked to be in your shoes ! PIERRE Nor I. And just think — I had bought a bottle of Champagne beforehand, and tried my best to get rid of it. I felt ridiculous. You know my studio ; you remember there is a little antechamber with a small chest near the door. Well, I opened the cover, then closed the door and the cover at the same time, so that the sound of the two things should coincide. ROGER What presence of mind ! PIERRE Wait ! I lighted the lamp. Juliette and I began to talk, and while I assumed an air of perfect tran- quillity, I kept thinking of the other woman — all the time. I said to myself: "If only she shouldn't be able to come !" But in those cases they always do ! Then — a knock at the door ! I opened it — under- stand? I open the door? ROGER You used up all your presence of mind on the Cham- pagne episode, and consequently had none left. PIERRE It must have been that. I conducted the woman into the studio, and showed her to a seat. She said to me: "I'm not intruding?" I answered: "Not in the least — on the contrary." At that moment Juliette takes a revolver from her pocket and fires. ROGER On you? 152 THE FREE WOMAN [act i PIERRE No : that would have been logical — on her. It wasn't her fault, poor woman. Only I sprang in front of her just in time. I was hit. I fell — Juliette thought she had killed me — she fell weeping on my body, while the other got out of the way as fast as she could, more dead than alive. ROGER She might have killed you ! That's a real drama. PIERRE It was. Now you understand that when a woman has done that for you ROGER She might do it again. PIERRE No, it's not so much that. If I have gone into de- tail it was not in order to tell you an interesting story: I wanted merely to let you see what sort of woman Juliette is. The day I tell her that I don't love her any more, she would as likely as not poison herself — I know she has been on the point of doing that more than once before. ROGER It is serious. Then are you going to sentence your- self to a life of lies, of treachery.'* PIERRE What can I do.? ROGER I couldn't stand that. PIERRE What then.? ACT i] THE FREE WOMAN 153 ROGER You must proclaim the right to stop loving. People must become accustomed to a very simple, natural, even fatal, process : eternal love affairs are admira- ble exceptions, but exceptions none the less. It's monstrous to think of it; in no other circumstances of human life can we make permanently binding promises: in religion, in business, in marriage, in the professions. Two partners can dissolve their rela- tionship, man and wife can divorce, a man can resign his position; and yet our sentimental code will not allow two lovers to break off, and we ask of free love — how ironical ! — more than we ask of business, of marriage, of patriotism, even of religion ! We shall have to define free unions as those in which the partners are the worst of slaves. PIERRE Very true. ROGER People must understand that when one of two lovers says : "I do not love you any more," the words are not a personal insult, and that not to be loved any longer is neither shameful nor ridiculous. For, really, one suffers for the most part from hurt pride. How many women are there who wouldn't prefer to see their lovers dead rather than inconstant .^^ And it's the same thing with men. In that case their love is simply a form of vanity, egotism — that's all. If people saw these things clearly, we should be spared many a disaster, and a broken love affair would not be turned into a vendetta where the cast- off lover becomes a Corsican bent on revenge. For 154. THE FREE WOMAN [act i even the most violent sort of love may end in warm friendship PIERKE Just as a fresh evening ends a hot day. No doubt it would be better as you suggest, but that assumes that we repudiate the ideas which we have inherited from time immemorial. Could you indeed prevent those who are the playthings of passion from suffer- ing.? ROGER No, they will continue to suffer. And if they feel that passion, what better can they ask than to be able to suffer.? Only they would be spared calumny, poison, daggers. If we used the language of resigna- tion and justice, we should help the great mass of lovers — merel}"^ because we should be looking the truth straight in the face — most of these suffer be- cause people in novels suffer. For instance: put a lover on the stage who leaves his mistress — she has been unfaithful to him- — and if he fails to kill her or at least drag her about by the hair, the audience will say he doesn't love her. And yet ! PIERRE Your theory is very good, but you yourself ROGER I know what you are going to say, but listen to me: I adore Madame de Moldcre, and I have reason to believe that she loves me, but the day she ceases to love me I intend that she shall tell me so, bravely and loyally 1 ACT i] THE FREE WOMAN 155 PIERRE Take care, they are coming back! [^Antonia and Juliette return in the direction of the men. PIERRE {To Jidiefte) Is the concert over? It was very charming — were you pleased? JULIETTE It was adorable! How soft the air is to-night! Do you know what you would do if you were a nice boy, Pierrot ? PIERRE My name is Pierre. Call me Pletro, If you like; we are in Italy, but not Pierrot. JULIETTE You would hire a gondola, Pietro, for an hour. PIERRE Again? JULIETTE It Isn't nice to say that! PIERRE Now, my dearest, It's late — time to go home. JULIETTE Let's go home in a gondola. PIERRE A walk would do us good. We've never walked through the little streets, and I read only this morn- ing in my Baedeker that they are very animated, con- stituting a veritable theater of curious scenes of the life of the people. JULIETTE I don't like to walk. 15G THE FREE WOMAN [act i PIERRE I don't like to navigate — twice I've just escaped drowning, and I'm always afraid of the water — it's — it's — well, I simply don't like it. JULIETTE You never told me that before. PIERRE Oh, yes, I have: don't you remember in Paris, when we had to cross the Seine, I invariably took a round- about way in order to use a bridge? JULIETTE I think your joke is in very bad taste. PIERRE I know I'm ridiculous, hateful, I'm even unworthy the honor of bearing the name of Pietro, but I have an ungodly horror of gondolas. ANTONIA Really, Pierre, you're not at all nice — the dear girl would so appreciate it! JULIETTE Look, there's one just passing! PIERRE "Just" is good ! They pass all the time. Well — hail it! JULIETTE {At the window) Psst! Psst! PIERRE It's not a cab. {Shouts from the window) Gondola ! Gondola ! ANTONIA What are you going to do to-morrow.'' JULIETTE Would you care to go to Murano.f" ACT i] THE FREE WOMAN 157 ANTONIA It seems to be a place well worth seeing. Where shall we meet? JULIETTE What do you say to one of the thousand little tables at Quadri's? ANTONIA Good — at one of the thousand little tables at Quadri's. Now we'll watch you leave. {Pierre and Juliette go out. ANTONIA Au revoir, au revoir! Pierre's voice Buona sera! ANTONIA Juliette is perfectly charming, and she adores Pierre. ROGER Yes. ANTONIA But he doesn't love her. ROGER You think so? ANTONIA I am certain— you know it as well as I : he just spoke to you about it. ROGER How do you know? ANTONIA Intuition. Pie dined well, and this evening he was in a confiding mood. It's not hard to see that he doesn't love her. Don't fib now, didn't he tell you? ROGER Yes. 158 THE FREE WOMAN [act i ANTONLV You see? It's too bad! Pool' little creature! There's always one who loves more than the other, and that's the one who suffers. ROGER But how bored the other is ! ANTONIA Are you bored? ROGER I was not speaking of you and me. ANTONIA No, you refer to ordinary lovers. ROGER Yes. ANTONIA I shouldn't call Juliette vulgar. She's very refined in some ways. But what sort of man is he? ROGER Nice fellow — only he doesn't love her — any more. ANTONIA She still has all her illusions. ROGER The question resolves itself into whether it would be better to allow her to keep them or take them from her. That was the subject of our conversation. ANTONIA And you advised him ? ROGER Simply to tell Juliette that he did not love her. ANTONIA Simp]}^'' Simplest thing in the world — only it means farewell. Farewell! You advised him to do that? ACT i] THE FREE WOMAN 159 How frightful love is ! I don't like to think about it ROGER You mustn't. ANTONIA Yet you will leave me some day — if you want to, ROGER Now you're only flirting, and you don't believe a word you say. You know that if one of us tires of the other, it will be you — yes, you! ANTONIA Then you'll kill me. ROGER No, I shall not kill you. ANTONIA Yes, 3'^ou will — otherwise it is serious. ROGER Then let it be serious. But I say I will not kill you because you will not love me then : that's your right. ANTONIA Are you in earnest.'' ROGER Very much. {Antonia quickly rises) What's the matter .'' ANTONIA You, you don't love me, you can't love me, if you even foresee the possibility of my ceasing to love you. You can't imagine how much you are to me, how deeply you have made me love you ; and when there's — now here you come, to me, who adore you heart and soul, and express doubts like that — horrible ! 160 THE FREE WOMAN [act i ROGER I'm terribly sorry, please forgive me — please. I never thought you'd take it this way. ANTONIA How should I take it? Put yourself in my place. ROGER It was my fault. See, I'm very, very sorry. ANTONIA Why did you say it.^* ROGER Why ? Simply because my mind was running in that channel this evening. The result of our conversa- tion, the one I had with Pierre. When I think of certain things, and watch what is happening about us, near us — and also when I recall ANTONIA Yes, I know, but because you have known women who have lied to you, is that any reason why I should be insincere? If they deceived you, why should you think me unfaithful? My dear friend, don't judge me according to their standards, don't torture me with the instruments your experience has taught you to use. ROGER You shouldn't blame me. I love you so much that there are times when I do the stupidest things. ANTONIA Don't complicate our love, don't throw obstacles in its way ; above all, don't develop a romantic soul ROGER I? Good Lord ! ACT i] THE FREE WOMAN 161 ANTONIA I am so near you, you must know that no one is be- tween us. ROGER You are right. [^There is a short silence, then a shrill voice, accom- panied by a mandolin, is heard outside. ANTONIA You hear.'* Our venerable Enghsh lady. Come and see her. ROGER Poor creature — it's really pathetic ! She loves to listen to her own voice ; she's intoxicated with it, the way a peasant gets intoxicated on his own second- rate wine. She has no lover, and in order to drag out her wretched existence she imagines poetic epi- sodes We ought at least to respect her. ANTONIA We should pity her with all our heart. Often I see tall youths who come to visit Venice with their parents. The museums must bore them fearfully, but how their eyes sparkle when they look at the women: they are like young captive barbarians. I look at them occasionally and smile: I consider that a good deed — an act of charity. You're not jealous, are you? Of course I look only at the homely ones: tbey need it. One look, one smile — it's not much. ROGER It's a great deal for them: it gives them something to dream about. I remember when I came to Venice for the first time, sixteen years ago: I was a httle fellow, I could see nothing in Giovanni Bellini. If 162 THE FREE WOMAN [act i a woman like you had deigned to look at me, I should have thought myself a god! ANTONIA And now you have that look, as well as my eyes — and you are only a man! But I am willing to have you look at the little girls who come here with their Papas and Mammas; look at them as long as you like — only — hands off! ROGER You needn't worry. ANTONIA Let me see, what is to-day? I lose track of dates here. ROGER It must be the twentieth. ANTONIA We must leave soon. ROGER Why? There is no reason ANTONIA It's getting very hot, and June is dangerous — you might come down with fever. The canals are most unhealthy. We'll go somewhere, it makes little dif- ference where, so long as we are alone. Only I should like to go to a place where you have never been with a woman — if there is such a place. ROGER Oh, yes, there are some. ANTONIA Do I know them? ROGER You are trying to complicate our love ! ACT ij THE FREE WOMAN 163 ANTONIA You are right. I prefer not to think of that at all. Yet you are not what I should call a Don Juan. ROGER Is that a reproach,'' ANTONIA Oh, no. Don Juan didn't remain faithful to one woman long enough — no, he was a sublime sparrow! Thank God, you are not a ladies' man, you are not even a man-about-town. Already your heart is a cemetery. ROGER But a cemetery means death, oblivion! ANTONIA It's not oblivion with men: each mistress has her gravestone, her inscription, and her little cross. ROGER That's the least we can do. ANTONIA But it is too much. With us women, when we love a man, everything else disajapears : our life begins from the day we know him. There is no cross, no inscription in our heart — it is absolute forgetfulness. ROGER Ah, the common ditch for the dead ! ANTONIA Why do you say that.f^ How careful I have to be about what I say to you! I must weigh every word — soon I shan't dare to talk. I said that because I've heard it said to my women friends a hundred times, and because I have observed it so often, in the case of others. I don't refer to myself, it has noth- ing to do with me. Ah, if you only knew! "Com- 164 THE FREE WOMAN [act i mon ditch for the dead!" Really, you seem to im- agine ROGER I imagine nothing at all. ANTONIA Of course you weren't childish enough to say It, but you thought ! ROGER Nothing of the kind. ANTONIA Oh, come, some one must have told you ? ROGER I have been told nothing. ANTONIA But I'm sure — some one must have told you dreadful lies about me. Do you think I haven't heard some of the awful stories about m3^self? And why not? I'm a widow, I have money, I'm independent, and a great many men try to make love to me. Calumny must creep in somehow ! ROGER Why get so excited about it? ANTONIA Because I love you ! ROGER I swear I have been told nothing at all. You know me very well, too ; you know I have not tried to find out anything. ANTONIA You might have ! But of course, you are not at all curious — you're not jealous — you never asked me a single question! ACT i] THE FREE WOMAN 165 ROGER Because I had no right to. I was master of your life only from the day you told me you loved me, the day you became mine. I'm not like other men. Nowadays people seem to recognize the right of lovers to search in the past of their mistresses, and are only too happy to find that they have a past! The greater part of the time we imagine in per- fectly good faith that they should have waited for us! Poor creatures ! When we question them, they give precisely what answers please them, and they are right! — If I have never questioned you about your past life, don't imagine for an instant that I was not interested. Very often my mind wanders, vaguely, to certain things, and I am very unhappy. ANTONIA And — and you really suffer.'^ ROGER I do. ANTONIA I'm so sorry. Dear, dear love, I don't want you to be unhappy, I don't want you to suffer any more. For a long time I've been wanting to tell you — there must be no mysteries, no secrets between us — no long silences when our minds wander, when we think too much. There is nothing in my past to make you too unhappy, only when you have heard the story of my life up to the time I came to know you, you will, I am sure, pity me — that is, if you believe me. ROGER Yes, yes, I will believe you. 166 THE FREE WOMAN [act i ANTONIA There arc certain things wliich, when we look at them, enlarge our souls. Can one be gay in the presence of a sunset, or can one tell a lie in the melancholy splendor of sleeping Venice? {She turns out the lamp) KOGER What are you doing? ANTONIA It's too bright — I want to talk to you in the dark. {She sits down next to him) Sit near me — close, so close — give me your hand. Now — you love me? KOGER I adore you. ANTONIA Now I'll begin. In order to have you understand about my marriage, I must tell you about my wretched early education; not wretched from a ma- terial point of view, but moral. What examples I had! Now when my mother remarried, my father was the French consul at Tiflis \^As she continueSy the curtain jails. SECOND ACT Antonio's handsome apartment on the Champs- Elysees, Paris. The drawing-room. As the curtain rises Pierre is seated reading. Ro- salie, the maid, enters and f^es the fire. ROSALIE Madame says she has just this moment come in and will see you at once. If Monsieur would care to see the papers, the evening editions are here. Here are the Temps and the Debats. PIERRE Thank you, Rosalie. [He unfolds the Temps in a mechanical manner. After a few seconds, enter Antonia. ANTONIA I've kept you. Have you been waiting long? PIERRE I've been here since half past four. ANTONIA I'm so sorry. Why did you come so soon? PIERRE When I left you the day before yesterday you said: "Come at half past four, and we can have a chat together before the guests arrive." ANTONIA Did I say that? Possibly — I forgot all about it. I did come home later than I had intended, however. I always have so many things to do! 168 THE FREE WOMAN [act u PIERRE I sliould imagine so. What have you been doing to- day? ANTONIA Nothing much. I went to the Bois. PIERRE Alone.? ANTONIA No : with my niece, wlio is now in the house. PIERRE So your niece is here with you.'' She's not been here long, has she.'' ANTONIA During the past week. I thought I had already told you.'' Yes, my sister wanted me to take care of her while she was away. She went to Vienna, to be gone a month. So I took the girl with me to-day to enjoy the fresh air. PIERRE Many people in the Bois? ANTONIA I can't say — I didn't notice — I drove through the deserted lanes, at full speed. I love it ! The Bois is very pretty in winter. People don't appreciate it lialf enough. Then I dismounted and walked a little, by the side of a lake ; it seemed to be ailing and deso- late. The sun was setting opposite me ; it seemed so cold in that pale sky ! It was so sad I wanted to cry. PIERRE {Taking her hand) Poor dear! ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 169 ANTONIA {Drawing hach her hand, as she says nervously) You mustn't pity me, I enjoy that melancholy sensa- tion! PIERRE Very well. ANTONIA The cold, the twilight, the solitude — it was all ex- quisite. I don't know whether you are like me, but I love to be alone, and I never feel lonesome. {A short silence) Is that all you have to say.^* PIERRE What do you want me to say? You are not in the least encouraging. ANTONIA Encouraging — for what ? PIERRE I leave you two days ago in a very friendly frame of mind, even a little bit in love, yes, in love, and I now find you absolutely changed, cold. You have even forgotten our appointment, the appointment you made. I've been waiting for you for an hour, ah, how impatiently ! ANTONIA You should not have waited. PIERRE That isn't the question. Here you receive me as you would an ordinary bore — you don't care to see me ! If I do bore you, why not tell me.'' ANTONIA But you don't bore me. 170 THE FREE WOMAN [act n PIEllllE I don't know, but every time I see you I have to be- gin all over again, as if I had met you for the first time. You seem to forget where we left off before. ANTONIA I can't keep track of things that way. It's not my fault; you must take me as I am. PIERRE I ask nothing better than to "take you as you are" — but you trouble me, you make me afraid. Perhaps you are amused ANTONIA No, I am not ! PIERRE Nor am I. One day you allow me to have great hopes, and the next you forget everything; or else you pretend ANTONIA No, I don't pretend ! PIERRE Yes, you do. Well, I can't understand a thing. I don't know. ANTONIA Nor I. Really, I don't. PIERRE At least you are sure I love you.'* From the day I met you at Venice, I loved you — I told you then, and you allowed me to make love to you. ANTONIA Every woman likes that. PIERRE Yes, but you knew how much it meant to me. I ex- plained to you how I lived and how anxiety had crept ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 171 into my quiet life: the bitterness of joy is as much a fact as the intoxication of suffering. I shall suffer with you. ANTONIA Then why do you ask for a change? PIERRE Merely because it will he a change. You, you have at last come into my life: you were the dream, the adventure, the romance, the chimera, the beyond — the indispensable. I fell madly in love with you. Now what are you going to do? ANTONIA I have no idea. PIERRE Don't you know? ANTONIA No, you must decide. PIERRE You are so imperious that I find it very difficult. ANTONIA But I like to be commanded. PIERRE Shall I burn my ships? I have no objection, but they refuse to burn. — Very well, since you wish it. Oh, here is something I wanted to give you. (He talces a jewel case from hh pocJcet and gives it to Antonia) ANTONIA (Opening the case) A key? PIERRE Yes, a key. ANTONIA Why? 172 THE FREE WOMAN [act n PIERRE You know: it's the key to the apartment. ANTONIA What apartment? PIERRE You know. Why do you try to make it more em- barrassing for me? And at this time? It's very un- kind of you. I've been carrying it around with me for a month, wanting to give it to you, but not daring: / couldn't find an opportunity. Don't you remember? One day you told me — or rather, au- thorized me, allowed me ? (^He hesitates a mo- ment, embarrassed, then proceeds resolutely and quickly) Well, it's near here : Rue de Balzac, Num- ber Seventeen, first floor right. You'll see, there are three steps. ANTONIA The audacity! (A child is heard crying) Wait one moment — what's the matter with that child? {She rings ) [Enter Rosalie. ROSALIE Did Madame ring? ANTONIA Yes, Rosalie. Please ask Mademoiselle Cendrier to come to me. I can't imagine what's the trouble now — perhaps she's nervous — or angry. It may be one of her fits of temper. \_Rosalie goes out, and Mademoiselle Cendrier comes in a moment later, MADEMOISELLE CENDRIER Does Madame want me? ACT n] THE FREE WOMAN 173 ANTONIA Yes, Mademoiselle Cendrier. I wanted to tell you that that child's crying is inexcusable, and that you should be able to make her stop. MADEMOISELLE CENDRIER Madame, I seem to have no influence over Mademoi- selle Yvette: she refuses to practice her music les- sons, and insists on saying naughty things about the author of her "method," Monsieur Le Couppey. She says she'd rather die than play the Eighth Recrea- tion, which she says is too difficult. ANTONIA You may tell IVIademoiselle Yvette that she shall have no dessert this evening, and that if she fails to play the Eighth Recreation without a mistake before dinner she shall not go riding with me to- morrow. MADEMOISELLE CENDRIER Very well, Madame, I shall tell her. {She goes out) PIERRE Poor little child! That Eighth Recreation is really very hard work. Reminds me of the time when I was a little fellow, taking piano lessons. I disliked it — I remember, too, how I was made to lift my fin- gers, one after the other ANTONIA Independence Exercises, those are called. PIERRE And when my mother went out she tied me to the piano by a rope — in order that I should learn my Independence Exercises ! I see that educational methods have not changed since my day. \_A rathe?- long pause. 174 THE FREE WOMAN [act n ANTONIA So — you imagine that I shall como to your apart- ment? PIERRE I don't know — I have no idea — ^but I shall wait. When you are bored, when you feel the need of being comforted, being taken care of with infinite tender- ness ANTONIA Hush ! The key is very pretty ! PIERRE I had it copied from one that belonged to a Louis XV escritoire. ANTONIA You needn't be so sad about it. It's very, very pretty. What must the apartment be if the key is made of gold? PIERRE The door is of wood ! You'll see — it's very simple — but I think it will please you. I'm so nervous and excited — I'm anxious to have it please you! ANTONIA Do I make you so afraid as all that? How timid you are ! I'm surprised. PIERRE Is that so remarkable? ANTONIA Well, men who are successful with women are usually more enterprising, bolder PIERRE I'm not so "successful" ! ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 175 ANTONIA Nonsense ! You are the sort of man a woman shoots. PIEERE Please don't refer to that ridiculous story. ANTONIA There is nothing ridiculous about it, it's most flat- tering, I think. By the way, how is your friend? PIERRE Very well, thank you. ANTONIA I can still see the wound. How splendid it is to be loved like that ! Remarkable, for you're really rather ordinary. PIERRE I know it, but you are very extraordinary. Why did you say that.? Listen to me: it's now half past five; the visitors will soon be here — will you come,'' ANTONIA I don't know. PIERRE Naturally, I don't ask you to come to-morrow or the day after — I shan't try to fix a day — I shouldn't like to do that. I shall wait for you every day. ANTONIA Every day ! Don't talk nonsense — what if I never come? No, let me write, it's much simpler. I can do that, for I don't imagine your letters are opened at the Rue de Balzac? PIERRE Of course not. Then if you are going to write, I had better let you have the name under which I rented the apartment. Of course, I didn't use my real name. 176 THE FREE WOMAN [act n ANTONIA I should think not. PIERRE Write to M. Mcrowig O'Coddj — O — apostrophe — two d's and a y. ANTONIA Couldn't 3^ou have found a simpler name? This one is so unusual. PIERRE Exactly: in such cases people choose ordinarj'^, well- known names, and that is a great mistake. Suppose some one had a reason for asking, and inquired of the concierges who lived on the ground floor. He is told: M. Aubry or M. Durand — no! But if he is told: M. Merowig O'Coddy, there is no room for sus- picion — he will think: Ah, yes, the young man who writes for the Mercure de France. He will not in- sist. ANTONIA Very ingenious. I'm very glad to see that you think of everything: with you, passion does not exclude forethought or prudence. PIERRE Why do you blame me.'' I am prudent, but it is for you as well as for myself; it is to your interest that no one know of it ANTOXIA That is all very well, IMerowig O'Coddy, this is a good deal more tlian prudence. Don't deny you were mortally afraid of Juliette. PIERRE Nothing of the sort! ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 177 ANTONIA Don't be a child. Oh, and how Is jour little friend? PIERRE You have already asked me : very well, thank you. ANTONIA Don't try to conceal it: you rcere terribly afraid.'' PIERRE That's ungenerous and unjust. You know very well I am not afraid of her, only I don't want to cause her unnecessary pain. Otherwise what risk do I run.'* Juliette and I are not married; I have sworn no oaths at the town hall or in the church ; she has no parents to whom I am responsible for her happi- ness. Now if I take precautions, it is for her sake, and not for mine. What you call fear is much more like pity. Yes, the love I have for you makes me pity her. When we love each other, we can be truly happ3', but let us leave her at least the appearance of happiness ! ANTONIA Yet the moment I wish it, you are willing to sacrifice her for me. But I shan't ask you — you are right, we mustn't allow her to suffer. I myself shouldn't be happy if I knew we were the cause of any sorrow to that dear good child. PIERRE You have a very tender heart. Then, may I hope .'' ANTONIA I can never remember that name PIERRE Let me write it for you. \^He takes a card case from his pocket; a photo- graph falls to the floor, which he quickly picks up. 178 THE FREE WOMAN [act u ANTONIA What is that? PIEIlllE Nothing. ANTONIA Nothing? riERRE A picture. ANTONIA Juhette's ? PIERRE No — mine. ANTONIA Show it to me. PIERRE It's nothing at all. ANTONIA Show it to me. — Don't be ridiculous. (He shoxos her the picture) It's very nice — flattering. Is it for me? PIERRE Well, I ANTONIA What? PIERRE That's the only one I have. I've just found it and I was going to take it to Juliette — this evening. ANTONIA That makes no difference. PIERRE I'll give you another, this is only a proof. ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 179 ANTONIA It is ; it is the proof I want. — Careful ! There's the bell. They're beginning to come. [^She slips the picture between the Leaves of a hooh, •which lies on the small table next to her. SERVANT {Announcing^ Monsieur Listel. XISTEL {Enters and hows to Antonia) I hope you are well, Madame ? ANTONIA Thanks. And you, Fernand.'* LISTEL Not at all well. ANTONIA Do you know M. Pierre Letang.? LISTEL, I had the pleasure of dining with Monsieur at your apartment in Venice. [^Lisfel and Pierre shake hands. ANTONIA That's so. — Well, is there any news ? LISTEL Don't speak about it! I've just come from Auteuil, where my friend Raflard had a fearful fall. He tried to jump the stream. Had to be taken away on a stretcher. He's seriously injured, I believe. ANTONIA Those obstacle races are frightful. Yet they are the only kind I like. PIERRE They're very bad for your heart. 180 THE FREE WOMAN [act n ANTONIA They do make mc ill, but I like to see them all the same. I've thought of a plan that I think very clever. LISTEL You have? ANTONIA I play rather heavily, and if the horse I have all my money on falls, I say to myself that my money falls with it, and my sorrow for the loss is set against my pity for the horse and rider. But if the other horses fall, aren't they merely hated rivals, elimi- nated from the chase? LISTEL. Simple, but it is really an entire system of philoso- phy. True happiness can be attained by these means, in spite of adversity. You must be very happy ! ANTONIA I am not unhappy, but I have a rather monotonous time of it. I just told you LISTEL You like obstacles. Yet it lies entirely with you, Madame, to make of your Longchamps a marvelous Auteuil. PIERRE Never lose hope, Madame, accidents will occur soon enough — glory and defeat, too. ANTONIA May Heaven hear you ! SERVANT (Announcing) INIadame Danglcjais. ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 181 ANTONIA (Going to greet Madame Dangle jais, who enters) My dear, how long have you been in Paris? MADAME DANGLEJAIS Since the day before yesterday; this is my first calL ANTONIA It's lovely of you ! I'm so glad to see you ! MADAME DANGLEJAIS I have any number of things to talk over with you ! ANTONIA I should think so ! PIERRE (Rising) I must go, Madame. ANTONIA So soon? You have made a short visit! Good-by, then; I hope you will come soon again, and not wait eternities before calling — (To Listel) Why do you laugh ? LISTEL. Did I? ANTONIA Then why do you smile? LISTEL Because in ordinary conversation big words like eternity often mean extremely short periods : two or three days at the most. ANTONIA How true, and how many exaggerations we utter every moment ! LISTEL Yes, every moment. 182 THE FREE WOMAN [act ii PIERRE {Bowing to Madame Dangle jais) Madame — {To Listel) Good day, Monsieur. J[He goes out. LISTEL Very charming, Lctang, so sympatlictic ! Do you ever see his friend, the lady we dined with at Venice? ANTONIA No, I haven't seen her since. But then I don't know her. I received her that night because I couldn't very well have had Letang leave her at the hotel. And then in Venice, you know, it's not so important as here in Paris LISTEL Of course: you couldn't possibly ANTONIA It is difficult. — Of course, she is very nice and cul- tured — almost fit for society ! LISTEL Quite. Do you know who she is, by the way.^* ANTONIA No. LISTEL The illegitimate daughter of the Due de Sambleu, you know, the famous Due de Sambleu who created such a stir during the last years of the Empire — they called him La Vadrouille. ANTONIA Oh, is she his daughter? Well, I'm not in the least surprised. Blood will out ! LISTEL Yes, his daughter by the celebrated Florence Roulier. The child was well educated : convent, Conservatoire, ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 183 Odeon — that is where Letang first saw her; he fell in love with her and took her off the stage. — She's pretty. ANTONIA No, she is not pretty. LISTEL She has a great deal of charm — and she adores him. ANTONIA That is the important point. LISTEL, And she's so jealous ! ANTONIA So it appears ! LISTEL She shot him. You know the story.? ANTONIA {Impatiently) Yes, yes, I know it. {To Madame Dangle jais) Have you returned to stay, or not.^^ MADAME DANGLEJAIS Oh, I shall stay for some time. I've just been travel- ing all over Europe. I've seen all the men and women who are interested in our cause. I've talked with Ibsen. ANTONIA Madame Danglejais, you know, is deeply interested in the Woman Movement. LISTEIi Oh ho ! Really ? Very interesting. You have a great deal to do. ANTONIA I should think so! 184 THE FREE WOMAN MADAME DANGLEJAIS You should be a Feminist, IVfonsieur, like all intelli- gent people, LISTEL It ma}' not be very modest of me, Madame, but I must confess that I have Feministic tendencies. MADAME DANGLEJAIS Good! Yes, I have returned with a stock of new ideas. One must travel and see what people are do- ing in other countries. I have a great plan. Now in France we are very narrow SERVANT {Announcing) Monsieur Damornay. ANTONIA What an agreeable surprise! {To Damornay as he enters) My dear friend! DAMORNAY How are you, my dear Madame.? You are always well, I don't have to ask. You are prettier and more bewitching than ever. ANTONIA And you are as always the most gallant man in the world. Where have you been ? What have you done this summer.? DAMORNAY I have spent the season at Contrexeville, as usual. ANTONIA Is it pretty there.? DAMORNAY Frightful. Imagine a cage just large enough to walk around in — see the same people all the time. ANTONIA Any old acquaintances.? ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 185 DAMORNAY Not a single one. ANTONIA Was Madame Damornay with you? DAMORNAY No, my wife went to Vichy for her liver. ANTONIA With her daughter, no doubt ? DAMORNAY No, my daughter was at Salies-de-Bearn — to take the mud baths. LISTEL. (Aside to Madame Dangle jais) Charming family! So Parisian ! ANTONIA Why, I had no idea your daughter was ill? DAMORNAY Oh, yes, unfortunately she [^He continues in an undertone, as: LISTEL (To Madame Dangle jais) So you conversed with Ibsen, Madame? MADAME DANGLEJAIS Yes, I had that thrilling experience. LISTEL What sort of man is he? MADAME DANGLEJAIS A very extraordinary man. LISTEL I should think so, but I meant SERVANT (Announcing) Monsieur Cherange. 186 THE FREE WOMAN [act n CHERANGE (Enters, and bows to Antonia) Madame! I trust you arc well? ANTONIA Thank you. (Introducing) Monsieur Cherange, Monsieur Damornay. Monsieur is author of the book of the hour : a study on the Cidtivation of Un- healthy Sensations, a work, as the title suggests, of the highest idealism. DAMORNAY I have read it. I am astonished to see how erudite a book could come from a man as young as Monsieur! CHERANGE Monsieur, Pascal wrote his Traite des coniques at the age of sixteen. DAMORNAY I understand that, Monsieur, but I meant that your work revealed wide experience, maturity, dyspepsia even. SERVANT (Announcing) Madame Egrcth. MADAME EGRETH (Who enters) Ah, Madame! ANTONIA I am very glad to sec you, Madame ! I have not had the pleasure for a long time. Is Monsieur Egreth well.? MADAME EGRETH Very well, Madame, thank you. ANTONIA And your little boy — Alfred, I believe? MADAME EGRETH Yes, Alfred. But he's a big boy now. ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 187 ANTONIA How old is he? MADAME EGRETH Eight years. ANTONIA Eight years? Why, the last time I saw him he was in long dresses. Is he as dear as ever? MADAME EGRETH Oh, yes. And he's such a comfort to us ; he's work- ing very hard, too. ANTONIA So soon? At what? MADAME EGRETH We want him to prepare for the Ecole polytechnique. ANTONIA You are beginning early. MADAME EGRETH One cannot begin too early. It's becoming more and more difficult every day to enter the government schools, the Polytechnique in particular. ANTONIA Do you want him to enter the Artillery? MADAME EGRETH Oh, no, I hardly think he would care for a military career: he's so tender-hearted — he's just like a little girl. ANTONIA What then? MADAME EGRETH His teacher thinks he has a gift for mathematics, and as he works very hard, we hope he may go into the tobacco business. 188 THE FREE WOMAN [act n I.ISTE1. And why sliouldn't lie? MADAME EGRETII We hope so, but we don't talk about it too much. ANTONIA Very wise, I'm sure. DAMORNAY Dear Madame, will jou please introduce me to Ma- dame Egreth? ANTONIA Certainly. (To Madame Egreth) Monsieur Da- mornay. DAMORNAY I think, Madame, we are neighbors in the country. I live near Louviers, in the Eure — the name of the es- tate is Chesneraye. MADAME EGRETH Ah, yes. Monsieur. DAMORNAY I have had the pleasure of chatting with your hus- band occasionally. We get along beautifully to- gether. I have met you, too, in your carriage — you were driving a little chestnut pony that I adore. MADAME EGRETH You are very good. He returns it. DAMORNAY The pony.'' MADAME EGRETH No, my husband. ANTONIA That's so, you did spend the summer in the country. You went to sound your electors. ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 189 DAMORNAY Yes — a little. ANTONIA What do they have to say? DAMORNAY Don't speak of it ! Frightful ! I don't know where we are going nowadays : Socialism is making terrible headway ; and you meet peasants that don't tip their hats, and don't even say, "How do you do?" lilSTEL Awful! The spirit is as bad in the country as it is in the city! DAMORNAY Monsieur, conditions are so deplorable that the peo- ple I employ on my farms never use the third person in speaking to me. They say, "Very well. Monsieur, you're wrong," or else, "Monsieur, give me my money !" CHERANGE It makes you think. We are beginning to regret the Ancien regime. DAMORNAY But I am an old Republican — never doubt that. CHERANGE God knows I can read it on your face! DAMORNAY I have proved myself : by using my rifle and building barricades. Yet, I must confess that familiarity with those people disgusts me. CHERANGE But if the peasants have ceased to use the third per- son, it was only because they saw there was no third person to address. 190 THE FREE WOMAN [act n DAMORNAY What do 3'ou mean? CHERANGE We must conceive the third person as a symbolic fig- ure : it is not you in person, but some one above you, some one with a mission, some representative of Prov- idence for those good peasants : a protector and friend. That is the significance of the third per- son ; and when they speak to this h3^pothetical en- tity, it does not answer them as a rule. Therefore they do not address it. DAMORNAY A very original explanation, at least. Funny, too ! CHERANGE Odd, isn't it.? MADAME EGRETH {Rising, as if moved hy a spring) Good-by, Ma- dame. ANTONIA What? So soon? MADAME EGRETH I must run, I have so many visits to pay ! ANTONIA Give my kindest regards to your husband and to the Polytechnician. AIADAME EGRETH I shall be glad to. \^She goes out. ANTONIA I wonder what put it into her head to call on me to- day? I haven't seen her for five years — I couldn't think of a thing to say to her. Why did she come? ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 191 LISTEIi Very simple: she wanted to establish an alibi. ANTONIA How do you mean? LISTEL She has a lover — named Lapoix— it started scarcely two weeks ago. They meet near here : Rue Bassano — just about this time. ANTONIA Listel is marvelous : he knows everything and every- body. LISTEL It was not difficult to put the pieces together ; as she was coming from the Rue Bassano some one saw her. She was thought to be in another part of the city at that time, and in order to justify her presence here, she called on you — elementary case of alibi. ANTONIA That little Madame Egreth.'' Are you positive.? LISTEL Positive. Everyone knows about it. ANTONIA And what does Monsieur Egreth say to it all.'' LISTEL He says nothing. ANTONIA Because he knows nothing. MADAME DANGLEJAIS There is a Monsieur Egreth who lectures on Femi- nism; is this the one.? ANTONIA Yes. 192 THE FREE WOMAN [act n MADAME DANGLEJAIS A very remarkable man. LIS TEL, In what way? MADAME DANGLEJAIS I mean he lectures very interestingly. SERVANT (Announcing) Madame Rolleboise. Madame Sinn- glott. \^As these ladies enter, they are introduced. The usual formalities are gone through. ANTONIA How stunning you are, ladies ! Where have you come from? MADAME SINNGLOTT We have just come from La Bodinicrc, Avhcre we heard Monsieur Egreth lecture. ANTONIA Was it interesting? MADAME ROLLEBOISE Intensely. He spoke like a god! There is a man who understands — Woman ! LISTEL His wife ! MADAME DANGLEJAIS What did he talk about? MADAME SINNGLOTT He said that women were entitled to receive, directly, all the husband's income, and to dispose of it as they thought best. LISTEL How appropriate! Perfect! ACT ii] THE FREE WOMxVN 193 ANTONIA Really, Listel, you are too cynical ! LISTEIi I said nothing! SERVANT (Announcing) Monsieur Roger Dcmbrun. [Roger enters, is welcomed hy Antonla, who intro- duces him to the guests. LISTEL (Shaking hands with Roger) My dear Monsieur, we were destined to meet to-day. ROGER Indeed ! ANTONL\. We were on the topic of Feminism ; these ladles are very excited about It — they've just come from Mon- sieur Egreth's lecture. ROGER Ah, yes. MADAME SINNGLOTT Were you there. Monsieur? ROGER No, but I have heard him before. MADAME ROLLEBOISE Don't you think he Is very talented? ROGER No, Madame, but he Is an orator : he says vague things In an extremely convincing manner. MADAME SINNGLOTT Are you a Feminist, IMonsIeur? ROGER That depends on the women, Madame, and also on what they demand. 194^ THE FREE WOMAN [act n MADAME ROLLEBOISE We ask only what is our right. For instance, that a married woman shall not forever be the doll, the plaything of her husband, that she have a voice in the education of the child, that she have the right to dispose of her fortune, and be prepared for the time when her husband tries to squander her dowry MADAME DANGLEJAIS The principle of separation of property has already been accepted and put into practice in many coun- tries, notably in Turkey. Is it not shameful that Turkey is so far ahead of us in a reform of this kind.? MADAME SINNGLOTT So that a Turkish woman is no more a slave now than a French woman. In France a woman contracts by marriage to deliver herself to her husband; she owes him the decuhitum conjugalem on demand. It's as bad as the Napoleonic Code, if we can credit Stendhal ! MADAME ROLLEBOISE Or the Pandour Code. MADAME SINNGLOTT It's the worst sort of bondage, the most abject form of slavery. Why, in Turkey at least, the women can divide their burdens. LISTEL Of course, and yet you will hear wives complain that their husbands fail to fulfill all their obligations. It is true that with certain women it would be a case of the Danaids. ACT n] THE FREE WOMAN 195 DAMORNAY What else do you ask? MADAME SINNGLOTT We wish to be able to enter the liberal professions and enjoy the same civil rights as men. DAMORNAY (Laughing) Would you like to vote? MADAME ROLLEBOISE Why not? If we pay taxes, is it any more than just that we elect those who control taxation, or elect even some of our own number? In a word, that we be- come candidates? DAMORNAY It's impossible, quite impossible! MADAME SINNGLOTT Is it not monstrous that my own servant votes, while I cannot, that he helps to elect deputies who will make and uphold laws which are directed against me, a woman? MADAME ROLLER OISE It's positively sickening! CHERANGE You are perfectly right, Mesdames. DAMORNAY It's downright madness, I say I CHERANGE Oh, no, Monsieur. You are an old Republican, and you admit no progress. You are the incarnation of the sinister spirit of Jacobinism, you have not yet gone beyond the Rights of Man. Yet Universal Suffrage was a most illogical institution, it caused results which were false — and why should not women have their place in all this? We must be just, surely. 196 THE FREE WOMAN [act n DAMORNAY Shall thej be given scats in the House, and the Sen- ate? CHKRANGE Why not? Let them be lawyers, engineers, judges, and doctors. Only in their own interest, I advise them not to try to accomplish anything, for if they pretend to compete wdth us, the whole thing will end in the death of gallantry. When they become as strong as we, then they must not expect to depend on their weakness. LISTEIi Because that would be fulfilling several offices at the same time. CHERANGE Quite. They would lose sexually what they have gained socially. Already what our fathers called the "bagatelle" — for them the principal thing — is for us in reality nothing more than such. The importance of their little infamies, their betrayals, their favors or their refusal to grant them, has diminished in our eyes. If we were to rewrite Antony we should say, "She resisted me; I did not insist." And if we surprised our worst mistress in the arms of our best friend, we should not cry out, "Kill her!" — Allow me, Madame — my best regards ! AKTONIA That makes no difference. You yourself confess you have presented only a hypothetical case. CHERANGE What of it, if by means of this hypothesis I can arrive at an original solution of a common case? ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 197 DAMOKNAY Besides, you have only put forth personal opinions. CHERANGE By no means : there are a great many young people who agree with me. DAMOENAY Do you represent the youth of France.'' CHERANGE Not all the youth, but the intellectual youth, I am sure. [^He goes out. ANTONIA An extraordinary little fellow! LISTEL He has a lot of intelligence. MADAME ROLLEBOISE And plenty of cheek! MADAME SINNGLOTT He's very young; how old is he? ANTOXIA Not yet twenty-five. Only he has seen everything, read everything. He's quite a scholar — and he knows something else besides love affairs. LISTEL, He will make his way in the world. DAMORNAY Yes, there are some like that. They know every- thing, they have dabbled in everything. I don't like the boy at all, he treated me like an old rag. Did you hear the way he spoke to me? ANTONIA As if he despised you. And v/hat do you think of him, Monsieur Dembrun? 198 THE FREE WOMAN [act n ROGER I think that the young man said — rather paradoxi- cally, of course — a great many true things. DAMORNAY I don't know about that, but I am sure he could have been answered in a dozen ways. ANTONIA However, you didn't think of one. DAMORNAY I was going to answer when he left. He must have realized that — he's very devious. ROGER He can assume a very unpleasant manner: and he poses, but that is only a sign of his extreme youth. ANTONIA Do you, too, despise women? ROGER Oh, no, but I firmly believe that the basis of wom- en's demands — the equahty of the sexes — is a great delusion. Things that arc too different can never be equal: nature herself is against it. In attempt- ing to do away with sexual contrast, which is the food of love, love itself will be stifled; we shall not only end in the death of gallantry but, which is far more serious, in the bankruptcy of love, and be plunged into a war of the sexes. In that war the women are bound to lose, for we all know how much physical strength counts for in the struggle of life. MADAME SINNGLOTT But love among women ROGER Even then they would lose. ACT II ] THE FREE WOMAN 199 MADAME ROLLEBOISE But somewhere between the equality of the sexes and the present inequality, Monsieur, you must admit there is a place for urgent reforms? EOGER By all means ! The Code must be materially modi- fied on your behalf, Mesdames, but the laws, even when they are modified, will still have nothing to do with matters of sentiment, with those mysterious attractions and repulsions of life ; there the one who loves the less, man or woman, is master of the other. ANTONIA That's true. ROGER Even with our present Code there are men who abase themselves and ruin women, and there are unscrupu- lous and triumphant women who spread disaster about them. In such cases the law is helpless ; we must educate and enlighten the soul. Occasionally the law is dangerous to honest people, and it is best to let it be— until we possess an ideal Code, without the margin. But when you speak of your servitude, Mesdames, you especially, we can only smile : you are free women! You understand, free? For the most part you are not slaves but mistresses, and we are infinitely tender toward you, respectful, devoted — and we pity you. ANTONIA Not all men are like you. Many, the great majority, are selfish and brutal masters. ROGER You must then find out whom you have to deal with ; with husbands who don't beat and ruin you, behave 200 THE FREE WOMAN [act n like free human beings — that is all we ask. Then in- deed will the cause of Feminism have made real progress. MADAME DANGLEJAIS How true that is, Monsieur ! Everywhere I go I hear so much about the frivolity and capriciousness of the French woman. It's unjust. Just as the fash- ions come from France, it seems as if vices have to go hand in hand with them ; for in France everything is more elegant, more brilliant, more prettily cynical. We are overwhelmed with complaints about the morals of the middle classes and society — that is, the free women — when all the time the example should be set by the latter. Let them reform themselves first, and our cause and society at large will be much better off. MADAME ROLLEBOISE We are here ready to help you ; it's a verj' interest- ing experiment. MADAME SINNGLOTT Oh, there is plenty to be said. {To Antonia) Good- by, Madame. I hope to see you soon again. MADAME ROLLEBOISE {To Dangle jais) Good-by, Madame. [^Madame Rollehoise and Madame Sinnglott go out. ANTONIA How independent those little women are ! LISTEL But they didn't say a thing. When they speak to- gether their Feminism soars above the clouds. DAMORNAY Their husbands must be happy! ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 201 LISTEL But thej have no lovers. DAMORNAY (Rising) The family is going to ruin! Well, I must be going. ANTONIA Now that you've returned to Paris you must come to see me sometimes — I am at home every day at the same hour. DAMORNAY I shall come soon again. \_He goes out. ANTOXIA Study him well, he belongs to a race that is fast dis- appearing: gentlemen. MADAME DANGLEJAIS He must have been a splendid specimen. LISTEL He is a tj^pe from another age ; he has the fine man- ners of the old insurgent of '71, one of those who helped build barricades, and who now owns a cha- teau, pictures, collections. ANTONIA He used to be a delightful conversationalist. I find him much changed, older. LISTEL, Do you know why? He is with a little girl whom he's madly in love with — extenuating circumstances. ANTONIA Who is she? LISTEL Fanny Louzy. 202 THE FREE WOMAN [act n ANTONIA I seem to remcinlx^r the name. Didn't she use to sing somewhere ? LISTEL Yes, slic wanted to go on the stage — they are all smitten at that age. She had a wonderful act: two men from Lorraine and two from Brittany, old carollcrs for whom she had invented some silly songs. She called them "Rough Carols." "Rough," think of it ! It's like — I don't know what — sheer nonsense ! ANTONIA And Damornay swallowed the hook ! I-ISTEL Regular Baron Plulot. Left his wife at once. If it continues much longer, he won't have a sou left when he dies. That is why he said that the familj?^ is going to ruin. And she is unfaithful to him! Once she lived at such a pace that it looked like the end — then he sent her to Mentone, and wrote four- page letters to her daily, paternal, full of sage ad- vice, and she sent him telegrapliic answers : "Zizi very good," or else "Little girl went to bed at nine." ANTONIA He must have been mad ! LISTEI. Indeed he was. Madame, I must say au rcvoir — (To Madame Dangle jais) — Madame! (To Roger) Au revoir, Monsieur. [He goes out. MADAME DANGLEJAIS Very amusing, isn't he? ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 203 ANTONIA And he knows everything and everybody. {To Roger) I don't think you like hira? ROGER No, I don't, he is a gossip, a scandal-monger; he collects stories and dispenses them carelessly, and on every occasion. Every evening, as he comes from the Bourse, he makes visits, and deals out his daily provision of stories and rigmaroles ; fills his basket, which he empties to women of the streets, who in their turn empty their moral filth into him. I detest that sort of person. ANTONIA You are very severe. ROGER Not so much as I ought to be — don't defend him. I shall soon tell you why. {A short 'pause) MADAME DANGLEJAIS (QuicJcli/ rising) Good-by, dear. ANTONIA Good-by. I'm sorry we didn't have a second to talk to-day. But please drop in and have lunch with me some of these days. Just send me a line the day be- fore. MADAME DANGLEJAIS I'll be glad to. l^She goes out. ANTONIA I'm very tired, and I have an awful headache! ROGER Did you have many guests to-day .f* 204. THE FREE WOMAN [act n ANTONIA One unending stream from five o'clock on. Isn't it absurd, our custom of receiving people for whom j^ou don't care a bit, and who never utter anything but the commonest platitudes? ROGER But why must you do it? ANTONIA No one forces me, of course. ROGER And it will begin all over again to-morrow. ANTONIA Yes. — You're not at all sociable this evening. You've not even said How d'ye? (She offers her cheek, •which he kisses) What a sad sort of kiss ! ROGER I'm not feeling gay. I have bad news from my brother. I must leave. ANTONIA When? ROGER To-morrow night, at the latest. ANTONIA That's too bad ! ROGER I must. Whom have you seen to-day? ANTONIA The people of course who were here when you ar- rived; then there was that little Madame Egreth, who left a moment before. That's all — and then, your friend Letang. ROGER I had a pleasant time with Listel at lunch to-day. ACT n] THE FREE WOMAN 205 ANTONIA Is that so? He didn't tell me. ROGER He must have forgotten. ANTONIA Where was it? ROGER At Letrivier's. ANTONIA I didn't know he knew Listel? ROGER He must. ANTONIA Hear anything interesting? It must have been lively if Listel was there. ROGER It was. You knew Listel in Edinburgh, didn't you? ANTONIA Yes, in Edinburgh. Why ? ROGER It seems he was witness of a tragedy in which you were concerned, when you were in Scotland. You never told me about that. I've been learning things about you that are anything but pleasant. ANTONIA If people must tell things of that kind about me, I am surprised that they do so in your presence, and also that you would allow them to be repeated. ROGER I understand, but Listel was clever about it. To be- gin with, he pretended that there was not the slight- est intimacy between you and me, so that he could say the vilest things in the most casual and off-hand 206 THE FREE WOMAN [act n wa3\ You know, you admire the way he handles things! Well, you can judge, by the way he speaks of other women, how he disposed of you. And he made no exception in your favor. ANTONIA Ha ! I thought that Listel — there goes another illu- sion ! ROGER Yes, every day brings its trouble. ANTONIA But you might at least have defended me as a friend — if you could not as a lover ! ROGER Would it not have been tantamount to a confession if I had tried to muzzle that gossip? You know, in a certain class of society, even among the best in Paris, we don't try to defend our friends. That would stop all conversation, and simple friendship as an excuse in a gathering of that sort would scarcely prove valid. How many times have you put me on my guard against my compromising Don Quixot- ism.'' You are very particular about appearances, and out of consideration for ANTONIA And then you were no doubt not at all sorry to learn what you did.'' You allowed him to continue, did youi' — What did he say.'' ROGER Be patient. Do you remember, five months ago at Venice, one night when Pierre and Juliette were din- ing with you — you asked Listel, too ; he left imme- diately after dinner. ACT n] THE FREE WOMAN 207 ANTONIA He was going to the Fenice — yes, I remember. ROGER That evening when we were alone you told me that you married very young; he was a man much older than you and you accepted him against your will. He mistreated you; then he met a tragic end; com- mitted suicide during an attack of fever. Isn't that what you told me? ANTONIA Yes, that was what I told you. ROGER To-day I learned that Madame de Moldere is not your real name and that your husband is still liv- ing. You are not a widow, but a divorced woman, and the divorce was obtained at his instigation, be- cause of certain things which you know as well as I. ANTONIA {Haughtily) Is that all.'' ROGER That is enough ! I remember that evening in Venice, I recall every detail, even your very Avords : "Can one be gay in the presence of a sunset, or can one tell a he in the melancholy splendor of sleeping Venice?" — ^And you did lie ! Yet I asked nothing of you, you had only to remain silent. But no, you insisted on telling me your so-called story of your life — and what a story ! You put out the lamp, took my hand in yours, and spoke in an undertone, in the dark. — You lied the way people confess. ANTONIA This is infamous ! I won't answer you ! 208 TPIE FREE WOMAN [act ii ROGER You have nothing to say for yourself. ANTONIA I have, but I see it wouldn't do a particle of good to say it; you believe the libels of Listel and will re- fuse to believe me. Did Listel also tell you that he made violent love to me, that I refused to become his mistress, and that he invented that whole story merely out of revenge? I have a large packet of his letters in my desk — ^liigh as that ! He implored me — I can show you ROGER I know, I know. — Never mind. ANTONIA You know very well that the world makes a great deal out of the most harmless little adventure, and in- vents any number of versions of the story. One, for instance, is indulgent in tone, the others are more or less venomous. Without the slightest provocation you accept the least favorable. I might have ex- pected that: you are my lover! ROGER Unfortunately for you, there were certain details, certain facts which were so precise that they could not have been invented. ANTONIA What can I do.'' No matter what I tell you now, you will refuse to believe. I told you that I had had a lover. ROGER Yes, but you told me that it was after your hus- band's death, while as a matter of fact he was the ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 209 cause of your divorce. Your husband is still living, too. ANTONIA He seems dead to me. ROGER Undoubtedly — and to me as well because I have never known him ! But evidently you don't see the point ; you don't answer my questions directly. You have no idea what rights you have, nor what duties. I know your husband was a good-for-nothing; that you had a lover was excusable, you were practically forced into it. That, I say, does not concern me. I have already told you that I consider I have no rights over your past, I asked nothing; but — and this I do blame you for — why did you lie, and ar- range such a setting for the telling of your lies.'' — That makes it much worse. ANTONIA You are right ; yet that evening I intended to tell you everything. I swear it, on my life ! But somehow the moment I came to the point of confessing I was so ashamed ROGER Why.? ANTONIA Why ! Because I love you, and I didn't have the courage. It's like people who decide to commit sui- cide: they take the revolver, put the barrel to their temple, but cannot pull the trigger. At that mo- ment I invented some story or other. Yes, in the presence of the splendor of that serene night, I could not bare to you — even though it was in the past — a 210 THE FREE WOMAN [act n soul that was not in harmony with our love and that city sleeping under a heaven sprinkled with stars. ROGER You wanted to confess in a beautiful setting. Only, after telHng me that the night was too beautiful to lie, you tell me now that it was too beautiful not to have lied. You really must decide which it was ! ANTONIA I know, it was not logical, but what had logic to do with it.? Every woman would understand that! We are not altogether responsible when we are with the man we adore, and there are circumstances under which we tell not so much what has actually hap- pened as what we wish might have happened. ROGER But what about me in all this.? ANTONIA You are right, there arc nuances which men can- not comprehend. I realize that you have no more faith in us ; you see only lies, brutal infamous lies. You fail to inquire whether I was really to blame. — It was because I loved you too much ! l^She sobs quietly. ROGER Yes, there arc subtleties wliicli are beyond me. But I understand your motives — I should not have done as you did, but I see how and why you behaved that way. There has been a tragedy in your life, a scan- dal, you were afraid I might hear of it some day — as I have — and in order to ward off the desire to ask you, you anticipated, and told me your own version, making your part as attractive as possible — natu- rally. Tliat is the true explanation. But i3ut your- ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 211 self in my place: imagine my coming from that lunch, absolutely dumbfounded ! And remember that if you had not told me anything, these stories of Listel would not have troubled me in the least. Now I have to admit that stories to which only yesterday I should have turned a deaf ear, give me great anx- iety, assume large proportions — that is what is irrep- arable. ANTONIA What did he tell you.'' ROGER Nothing — no, no ! ANTONIA Listen to me: I promise not to interrupt. It was wrong of me, altogether wrong. I can see, too, how all this has hurt you. You must be suffering terri- bly, I know that, but never doubt for a second that I love you! Forget that night and remember only the other nights in Venice, and our summer in Brit- tany, and yesterday, here, what lovers we have been ! Why should people meddle in our affairs ! Can they never leave us in peace.'' The human race is dis- gusting; I detest society and loathe Paris. Let us go away for a few days, anywhere, alone, all alone. I need you near me, I must take you from this vile atmosphere! I want to see countries covered with snow! Norway must be magnificent in winter. The awful globe-trotters are there only in summer — will you? ROGER No. I leave to-morrow. 212 THE FREE WOMAN [act n ANTONIA I had forgotten. That's too bad! Where are you going? ROGER To Algiers ; my brother is very sick. I had a letter from my sister-in-law, telling me to come — he wants to see me very much. ANTONIA Take me with you. ROGER Impossible, dearest. To begin with, the Mediter- ranean is very stormy just now, and then my brother lives in the country. They wouldn't be prepared — I should have to leave you at a hotel — that wouldn't be at all amusing for you. ANTONIA I'll be all alone. Will you be gone long? ROGER That depends. ANTONIA I see. — Listen to me: to-morrow you must lay aside all day and all this evening. I can't leave you now, and I want to be near you till the moment you go. ROGER Do you? ANTONIA I do. You'll take me to dinner somewhere, and then we'll go to hear some music. I must hear music with you. What is at the Opera to-night? La Juive? No! Not that! At the Opera-Comique? Werther? I prefer that! I'll go and get ready at once, and Rosalie shall telephone for a box. ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 213 \^She starts for her boudoir, as Mademoiselle Cen- drier appears. MADEMOISELLE CENDRIER Madame, I can do nothing with Mademoiselle Yvette. She clung to the bed curtains and then climbed up on top. I can't make her come down ! ANTONIA The little demon! MADEMOISELLE CENDRIER And — I don't dare tell Madame — Madame will be very much put out. ANTOXIA What else? MADEMOISELLE CENDRIER Mademoiselle Yvette broke those beautiful vases that were on the mantel. ANTONIA I'm so glad, they were atrocious ! Wait a moment, I'll go myself. \_Anfonia goes out. While she is gone Roger sits down, takes up a book and finds among the leaves Pierre^s photograph. A moment later Antonia re- enters. ROGER While you were gone I picked up a book to read. See what I found. ANTONIA Oh, yes, Pierre's picture. ROGER So I see, but how did it come here.'' ANTONLV Juliette came to see me the day before yesterday and left it. 214. THE FREE WOMAN [act n ROGER I didn't think you were in the habit of seeing Ju- liette? ANTONIA I don't officially. But sometimes, after lunch, she comes to see me. ROGER Indeed. ANTONIA What's the matter? ROGER I have been told that Letang was very much in love with you, and that he came here every day. Now I find his photograph — will you tell mc ? ANTONIA Who told you that? Nonsense! He was here to- day; didn't I say so? ROGER You did. ANTONIA He came at five, and left at half past — Listel. and Madame Danglejais were here at the same time. ROGER Yet it is rather strange ? ANTONIA What's so strange? Juliette called on me the day before yesterday and left the picture. Take a cab, go and see her — she lives near here, Rue Copernic — and ask her. Juliette is Pierre's mistress, and she adores him. She has no interest in lying to save me. Only if you go don't take the trouble to come back. — I don't like that sort of scene. You see, if the most insignificant detail makes you so excited ■ ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 215 ROGER You are mistaken — what scene am I making? I am very calm. ANTONIA That's worse still. You are calm because you are making a violent effort to remain calm. ROGER Precisely. ANTONIA You're pale and your lips are dry. Let me repeat: if the most insignificant detail makes you so excited, we had better make an end at once. This is simply ridiculous : my love for you always turns against me ! ROGER Against you? ANTONIA Certainly. Juliette came the other day, showed me the photograph, which I thought a good one. I wanted to show it to you and then have you go to the same photographer. See how foolish I am — be- cause I haven't a single nice picture of you. I don't know how you would pose — you always look like a policeman. (He cannot keep from smiling) Are you glad? Do you beheve I am telling the truth? ROGER You speak as if you were. But truly you mustn't blame me too much. I'm very nervous and depressed. This lunch, and the telegram — a nasty day. Oh, I beg your pardon ! Well, let us at least take this oc- casion to straighten matters out once for all. ( With deep feeling) I love you, Antonia, but if you love me less or not at all, be frank, I beg you ; it is your right — do you understand, your right? 216 THE FREE WOMAN [act ii ANTONIA Why do you say that? ROGER Because I ought to tell you. If you speak loyally you will have nothing to fear from me. You are free to dispose of your body and your heart. By your position in society you are, you especially! a free woman ! Don't resort to deceit and falsehood, they are the weapons of slaves ! I understand that servitude and dissimulation are a part of the very blood that runs in the veins of women, but it rests with such women as you — superior women, you are called — to root out this evil heritage. You, you, Antonia, cannot lie like a common hourgeoise who deceives her husband, or a little grisctte who wants to amuse herself from time to time while remaining with her "serious" lover. ANTONIA I adore you, I adore you — you have no idea how much I think of you ! Hush now, jou're too con- vincing a talker, and you'll make me say something foolish. In love only the foolish things are true and remain so ! ROGER Quick, then, get dressed ! Both of us need fresh air, and music ! ANTONIA I shan't be long. {She goes into her houdoir, the door of which she leaves open) Rosalie, give me my mantle and my jet toque. [Still, Roger 'walks hack and forth, a prey to thoughts easy to divine. ACT ii] THE FREE WOMAN 217 ROGER I must seem absurd to you! ANTONIA {Still in her boudoir) Absurd and charming. Yet you are by no means a fool, and you are so Intelli- gent that if you wanted to be foolish you would be more absurd than anyone. — Come, Rosalie, quick! ROGER Well, when a man has had a dispute with his mistress, he asks himself whether he has been necessarily un- just or idiotically stupid — nasty alternative! Not at all convenient. ANTOXIA If it were convenient, what would become of the farce ? ROGER It is a quarter to eight and we haven't dined yet. ANTONIA {Coming forth) Whose fault is it.? We'll have to miss the first act. This is the way people are always late to the theater! \_Thei^ go out. CURTAIN THIRD ACT The study in Roger's home. As the curtain rises Roger and Clcmence, an old servant, are present. Roger sits at his desk opening mail. CLEMENCE Did Monsieui" have a pleasant trip? ROGER Yes, Clemence, as pleasant as possible under the sad circumstances. — Tell me, any news while I was away? CLEMENCE A lady called — twice. She insisted so on seeing Mon- sieur that I told her Monsieur would return to-day at two o'clock. She's a very handsome lady, with such a sweet face ! ROGER She gave no name, left no card? You should have asked her CLEMENCE I did, but she said it didn't matter. Will Monsieur have something to eat? ROGER No, thank you, Clemence, I had lunch on the train. CLEMENCE And I put on the stew, in case Monsieur might like some bouillon. ACT III] THE FREE WOMAN 219 ROGER No, thanks ! CLEMENCE It's very good. ROGER No doubt. CLEMENCE Too bad ! ROGER Well, if you Insist, bring me some tea. CLEMENCE At once. I have some water boiling already. (She goes out and returns a few moments later, carrying the tea) And Monsieur's brother? How sad! How could it happen? ROGER Yes, Clemence, it is a great blow — he died just a week ago. CLEMENCE And such a healthy man ! What did he die of? ROGER For some time his heart had been troubling him, and you know he never took proper care of himself ! He took cold baths in spite of the doctor's advice ; three weeks ago he did this and had a stroke, was con- fined to his bed, then improved, and finally went from bad to worse. CLEMENCE Did he suffer much? ROGER No — fortunately. CLEMENCE Did he realize he was going to die? 220 THE FREE WOMAN [act m ROGER I don't tliink so, even tliough he was conscious to the end. Why, the day before he died he mentioned you to me. CLEMENCE Is that so? My poor little Raymond; I was there when he was born — "my prince," as I called him! Did he speak of me ? ROGER He remembered how he used to torment you when he was little. CLEMENCE He was a little demon — and so intelligent ! One day I asked him if he would invite me to his wedding, and he said: "No, I won't, you know people don't ask servants to weddings, only to funerals !" Oh, dear, I can't even go to his own funeral! (She cries. A bell rings in the antechamber) There's the bell, I'll open the door! {She goes out and returns) Mon- sieur, it's that lady. ROGER Ask her to come in. (Clemence goes out and ushers in Juliette) What! You, Juhettc.? JULIETTE Yes, it's I. How are you, Roger.? I hope I'm not intruding? I called here twice while you were away. Your servant told me you would be home to-day at two. You were away to see your brother, weren't you? How is he? ROGER He is dead. JULIETTE You poor dear, I do sympathize with you! ACT III] THE FREE WOMAN 221 ROGER But how are you? And how is Pierre? JULIETTE Very well. I've come to ask a favor of you, or rather some advice, but ROGER I am only too willing JULIETTE It's this, then. — You'll not think me foolish? I'd like to work. ROGER Work? Why? JULIETTE First, in order to occupy m3^self — I get fearfully bored — then to make money, to make a living. ROGER You don't need to do that. What's the trouble? Is Pierre in financial straits? You know, of course, he can come to me ! JULIETTE (Quicklp) No, no, Pierre is all right so far as I know. ROGER Well, then, why do you have to make a living? Leave that to others who must. There are plenty of them ! JULIETTE I know that, but I can't always count on Pierre. He might marry, and then — well, if we were ever, for one reason or another, to separate — separate, you know ? ROGER Yes? 222 THE FREE WOMAN [act iii JULIETTE What was I sajing? KOGER That if you were ever to JULIETTE Oh, yes, well in that case I should have to have some- thing I could depend upon, shouldn't I? You know, I'm not the sort of woman who has laid by annuities. ROGER I know that, still Pierre would never think of allow- ing you to go unprovided for. He is very generous, he would see to your future. JULIETTE Yes, but I couldn't think of accepting. I believe that in love there should be no indemnities ; we have no right to a pension as old employees have. The invalids of a love affair ! Ridiculous ! ROGER Well, then.? JULIETTE I am looking for a position. There's nothing dis- honorable in that, is there.? ROGER Quite the contrary! JULIETTE Because I refuse to be driven to the streets, or be forced to rely on any man. I couldn't do that! I simply couldn't! ROGER There's no question of that I JULIETTE One never can tell. So I've come for your advice. ACT m] THE FREE WOMAN 223 ROGER Advice is very difficult to give. For instance, what do you want to do? JULIETTE I don't know — I think I'd like to go on the stage. ROGER The stage.? Have you anj^ idea what that means.'' You ought to, you have tried it before. A manager will give you two hundred francs a month and ad- vise you to get some one to support you. If you don't want a man to support you, you'd better keep clear of the theater. No, not that! JULIETTE I might be a modiste.'' ROGER Too much competition. There are as many dress- makers as there are customers. Every time I hear a lady who is complimented on a dress say, "Yes, a little dressmaker of mine made it !" I see a room at the back of a courtyard, without air, without light, where the little dressmaker is starving in order to make pretty gowns at starvation wages for the beautiful lady. JULIETTE Then what can I do.'' Can't you think of anything else? ROGER Yes, I know of a very good position for a woman, at a hundred and fifty francs a month. There is an old lady, very good and charitable ; she is an invalid and requires a secretary to visit her poor. It's a weari- some job, climbing stairs and all that; but the lady is so charitable, she has so many miserable wretches 22i< THE FREE WOMAN [act m to relieve, that her secretaries don't object to the drudgery. She has ah'eadj had three ; two fell sick, but the other — who was wiser^gave it up at the end of two weeks. She preferred the old gentlemen to the old lady. And yet she is a very kind and considerate old lady, and believes that she pays a generous sal- ary. A hundred .and fifty francs a month — that's the sort of position you can find ! JULIETTE Then for a woman like me there remains only sui- cide or a lover.? ROGER Yes — but you haven't got that far yet. Why worry, so long as Pierre ? JULIETTE That's so. ROGER By the way, I was going to ask you: did you leave a photograph at Madame de Moldere's.^* I saw it there You don't seem to know what I refer to.? Just before I went away I found a book at An- tonia's, I happened to open it, and found a photo- graph of Pierre. She said you left it for her to show me. {He looks at her intently) You didn't.? JULIETTE {Bursting into sobs) No, I didn't! ROGER She is his mistress, isn't she.? JULIETTE Yes, she is. ROGER Are you sure.? Positive? ACT m] THE FREE WOMAN 225 JULIETTE Am I sure ! Listen to me : I followed Pierre one day — he sees Madame de Moldere at Number Seventeen, Rue de Balzac, first floor. He rented the apartment under an assumed name. ROGER My God! [^He falls into a chair, JULIETTE I beg your pardon, it was wrong of me to tell you. And — and I shouldn't have cried like a little school- girl. But I couldn't help it ! ROGER No, no, it was right, don't feel badly about it. You were right, and I thank you, only, wait — I was so overcome Never mind, I jDrefer the truth to that awful doubt I've felt ever since I discovered her first lie. That doubt clung to me, even at my brother's bedside, and I asked myself: "Where is she,'^ What is she doing?" Now it's all over, I feel strong now, I can face her when she comes — she is coming, any moment now. The first thing I saw when I returned was a charming note from her, so loving and tender ! When I was away I telegraphed her that my brother was dead. She wrote me won- derful letters ! Here, read ! \^He takes some letters from his pocket and hands them to Juliette. JULIETTE {Refusing to take them) No. ROGER Yes, do, they are worth the trouble. (She takes them) Unbelievable, isn't it.'' Wouldn't the most 226 THE FREE WOMAN [act hi suspicious of mortals be deceived? Now she is com- ing; she will pretend to be the same as ever. How much will jou wager that she won't be in deep mourn- ing? She will console me, act the mother to me, her sincerity will be written all over her face. What a farce ! [He strikes the table, breaking the cup into which CUmence had poured the tea. JULIETTE (Starting) Did you hurt yourself? ROGEE A little cut. Poor little tea cup, it's not your fault. Do you know what that is? \_He points to the fragments. JULIETTE ( Who has been rather frightened) No. EOGER A very old cup. My mother and grandmother served bouillon in that cup at their respective wedding ban- quets — charming old custom. For the last ten years Clemence has served my tea in it every morning. Now it's broken. But it can't blame me, for these old familiar things pity us. If this cup could speak it would say: "Did you hurt yourself, my child.?" JULIETTE Roger ! EOGER Don't be afraid, I'm not mad, I'm not, truly ! Now let's talk about you. What's to become of you? Of course, you're not with Pierre? JULIETTE Oh, no! The moment I had absolute proof that he was unfaithful to me, I couldn't stay a second Ion- ACT III] THE FREE WOMAN 227 ger ; that very evening I left. I had felt for a long time that he was changed, that I bored him. Ever since Venice he was different, but he didn't want to say anything to me about it, yet it wasn't my fault EGGER How is that.'' JULIETTE I always kept telling him : "If you don't love me any more, if you've had enough of me, tell me. I'll go — no trouble at all— I'll kill myself." KOGER Did you say that.'' JULIETTE Yes, but you know how weak he is ! He swore he loved me. You were speaking of your doubts just now. Ha ! For a whole year — ever since that scene in the studio — he told you about that.'' when I shot him? Well, I was wrong to forgive him, for ever since I've doubted and been so suspicious ! It's been worse than agony for me. It has been one long series of tortures. I haven't been able to think of another thing. My heart beats till I think it must surely burst — just as if I were living at a furious rate, while I wasn't really living at all ! Yes, you were right just now, it's better to know the truth, no matter how shocking it is, and be sure that it is the truth! It's a relief, something soothing, almost a consolation. [^She cries. EGGER It is, a great consolation. {He wipes his eyes, tricing 228 THE FREE WOMAN [act in to hide his tears from her) Wc do look like people who are consoled! What is going to become of you? JULIETTE I don't know, I don't know! Tliat's why I came for advice. But you say I can't do anything ! ROGER Did Pierre let you go, this way, without ? JULIETTE No, I must do him justice: he offered to give me any- thing I wanted, but I've just told you how I felt about that. ROGER I can understand your delicacy — it's so rare ! Yet I see no reason why you shouldn't have accepted some- thing, without any scruples about it. You are no longer very young, and you have no means of sup- port. JULIETTE Oh, I have a little — a good deal in fact, and I needn't save it, for I'm not going to wait till it is gone. ROGER What do you mean.'* JULIETTE Look at me. I'm not joking, I tell you in all seri- ousness : I am going to kill myself. I've had enough of this ! ROGER You won't do anything foolish like that I JULIETTE It's very easy. — The old spirit lamp of our mothers ; I don't care about being original. It's just like a little shopgirl, but I don't want to suffer. You just go to sleep and don't wake up — it's so easy ! ACT ni] THE FREE WOMAN 229 ROGER You are not old ! Think, you have all your life be- fore you — you will get over this, you will forget ! JULIETTE Do you think I could forget? ROGER Of course, and then some day you will find a fine man who will love you as you deserve to be loved. You have a very tender heart JULIETTE Much good has it done me ! No, I think that that is another reason why I can never be happy. Then — I always told Pierre I should kill myself. ROGER Is that any reason why you should keep your word? I know very well you told him that, and yet you won- der why he was never frank with you! You must confess it was hard for him, in the face of all your threats ; he didn't care to feel responsible for your death — think of the responsibility ! He wanted to — to conciliate your happiness and his own; it's the same old story. Yes, you were wrong to tell him, and you would be still more in the wrong to carry out your threats. To begin with, you haven't the right, no, you haven't the right. JULIETTE But it's my affair, mine alone. ROGER You mustn't be selfish; think of others. JULIETTE I have no relatives ; I'm all alone. SaO THE FREE WOMAN [act m ROGKR You don't understand. I mean, think of all the other women in jour situation. You have no right to give them a bad example, a contagious example. Yes, contagious : for your suicide would have conse- quences you never dream of, make no mistake about that. Other women who have been abandoned, poor girls who might otherwise have found consolation elsewhere, will follow in your steps. You have no right to swell the number of sensational paragraphs in the newspapers, and allow your example to lead other love affairs to so tragic an end. Think of your own responsibility — do 3'ou see.'' JULIETTE Yes, I see. You have said what a person who doesn't suffer would say to one who does. I should like to see you in the same situation ! ROGER You'd like to see me ? But, my dear Juli- ette ! JULIETTE That's so! My dear Roger, forgive me! I wasn't thinking of you — onl}^ of myself. Please forgive me. ROGER It's so natural! But do you think I don't suffer? Do you think I find life sweet now, and humanity pleasant to think about.'* No, indeed. Do you im- agine I have any desire to live.'' If I wanted to do something, could I not choose any of a number of violent means.'' I could go to Pierre and challenge him — but I know it's not his fault, poor fellow ! He didn't take her, she allowed herself to be taken ! And as for her, I might But no, I refuse to do it. ACT III] THE FREE WOIMAN 231 for all those reasons I told you. If I find I am going to suffer too cruelly, I'll go away to peace and solitude, live with nature where all sorrows min- gle and disappear, because our greatest sorrows are our smallest, and the tiniest corner in the country is plenty large enough. Now she may come; I feel strong, sure of myself, as sure as anyone could feel under the circumstances. You have done that. When I tried to save you, I saved myself. Ah, Juliette, you are not an "intellectual," and you are not a revolutionary, but you are simple, admirable, you have all the weakness of women, but at the same time all their grandeur. JULIETTE I am a poor little woman, but you are good — I have confidence in you ! EGGER Then promise me not to do anything foolish. JULIETTE I can't promise anything; I don't care about life any longer. ROGER Remember all I have told you; when you think it over well, I am sure 3'ou will be reasonable. At least, promise to come back here the day after to-morrow. Promise. JULIETTE I'll do that, I promise. I'm too curious to know Avhat happens about Antonia. ROGER See, you still have some interest in life.? By the way, have I your permission to tell Antonia that I got my information from you? 232 THE FREE WOMAN [act hi JULIETTE Surely. ROGER Now, go. There's no use in your meeting her. Au revoir — I'll see you the day after to-morrow. You've promised ? JULIETTE I have. [They shake hands cordially, and Juliette goes out. Roger rings and Clemence comes in. CLEMENCE Did Monsieur ring.? ROGER Yes. Here, Clemence, take that away. CLEMENCE Oh, Monsieur has broken that pretty cup ! ROGER {Impatiently) Yes, yes, I have broken the pretty cup ! Hurry, now ! CLEMENCE (As she gathers up the fragments in her apron) I heard Monsieur just now, he was talking so loud! That awful woman made Monsieur very angry! I know I oughtn't to've told her when Monsieur was coming home. But I was suspicious of her. I couldn't ever remember what her face was like! ROGER Quick, now, Clemence, and don't talk so much. You don't know what you're saying. Now leave me. CLEMENCE Tut, tut, now — I'm going. [She goes out. When he is alone Roger walks about, re-reading Antonia^s letters. Then a hell rings in ACT III] THE FREE WOMAN 23B the ante-chamber. Clemence opens the door and announces : CLEMENCE Monsieur, ir s Madame de Moldere. ROGER Ask her to come in. \_Antonia enters, dressed in mourning. ANTONIA It's I. Were you expecting me? ROGER Yes. I found your note when I arrived. ANTONIA (Looking at him) My poor dear, how pale you are ! You look so tired ! ROGER I am tired, very ; and it's so sad outdoors, so cold ! ANTONIA Let me warm you! ROGER I need it ! ANTONIA I've thought of you often, especially after I heard the sad news. How I wanted to be at your side ! The death of dear ones is frightful. They seem to grasp your hand and want to take you with them. But at such moments we feel the need of some one else to take the other hand, take it in a hand that is not cold, but warm with tenderness. Mine should have held yours ! ROGER Yes. 234 THE FREE WOMAN [act iii ANTONIA You were so far away, so far, and I could only write to you. We can make pen and ink tell so little of what we feel ! ROGER Your letters were wonderful ! ANTONIA Wonderful, no ! Merely a sweetheart's letters ! ROGER That is what I meant. ANTONIA But here yon are, and now we can suffer together. I can't think what sort of life I led with yon away! I saw absolutely no one. Sometimes, in the after- noon, I rode in the Bois, by the side of our melan- choly little lake. I never went out at night ; I stayed home and played Werther on the piano. That re- minded me of the evening we were together, just be- fore you went away. I imagined I was still at your side. I used to play the part we love. \^She plays that section of the opera which is marked on page 63 of the score, ''''lent, tres calme et contem- platif," as far as "Charlotte et Werther paralssent a la porte du jardin.'^ Meantime, Roger looks in- tently at her, then touches her lightly on the shoid- der. ROGER Stop ! You're tired ! ANTONIA No, I'm not. Wh}' do you say that, dearest? ROGER Because I pity you. I might let you go on that way ACT III] THE FREE WOMAN 235 indefinitely — you would play the whole score. I feel sorry for you. ANTONIA {Surprised) I — I — I don't understand. ROGER You will. You did not only go to the Bois during my absence, by our little melancholy lake ! Didn't you also go to Seventeen, Rue de Balzac.'' ANTONIA {Rising) Why, yes, I did. EGGER What were you doing there? ANTONIA I shan't answer. You've spied on me, as if I were a servant! ROGER When a woman like you lies like the worst of ser- vants one has the right, I should think, to have her followed. ANTONIA I can see no excuse for it. ROGER Yes, I know, I know! A man is always a brute when he uses your own weapons against you — and in the same identical circumstances. But all that is at an end; now it's time to change. As a matter of fact, I did not have you followed; I don't do things like that. I did not have to look for proofs of your unfaithfulness, they have been brought to me. You knew that sooner or later bad news would come without looking for it. It was Juliette, who just left here, who followed Pierre ; she saw him enter num- ber seventeen, Rue de Balzac, an apartment where 236 THE FREE WOMAN [act in you met him. (A long pause) Why did you do that? When I found that photograph at your home the night before 1 left, wliich you told me Juliette loaned you in order that I might see, you told one of those classic lies which any woman would have told under the circumstances. The fact that I found a photograph at your home which you tried to hide, put me in the wrong. I took the offensive, and you defended yourself as best you could. You couldn't then and there have told me that you loved my friend; I surely couldn't have asked that! You were far too compromised to admit that. But when I asked you whether you didn't love me any more, why did you insist, and so passionately? Why did you still play the ghastly comedy? ANTONIA What ! EOGER Yes, comedy. It's astonishing how words seem to shock you. That's precisely the word. Yet I ex- plained that it was your right not to love me any longer; you knew very well that you had nothing to fear from me — anger, spite, revenge. Why didn't you tell me? It was so simple. Ha, ha! It was too simple ! Why, if the man you no longer love doesn't turn into a poor devil on his knees before you, or a ferocious beast, you think you haven't succeeded! Your role didn't satisfy you! The prospect of a separation without tears and screams — in other words, without a drama, didn't appeal to you. My resignation offended you. ANTONIA Stop it! You don't know what you're saying. I ACT III] THE FREE WOMAN " 237 know what your resignation is. You think I like dramas, but I've had enough in my life. You are very clever at explaining what went on in my mind — I know that better than you, perhaps, and I tell you you are sadly mistaken. I did not think of myself then, I thought of you. ROGER You were sorry for me. ANTONIA Yes, I was sorry for you, and afraid for you ROGER Go on. ANTONIA That you might suffer too much. ROGER Even if I were to die, that would not be your affair. ANTONIA But ROGER No, it was not your affair. It was mine, and mine alone. So much the worse for the vanquished. ANTONIA Now you're talking nonsense. I'll grant you were sincere when you told me of your resignation, but if I had told you then that my heart belonged to some one else ROGER Your heart ! Ha ! ANTONIA You see, you would have raged about, cried — your vanity would have suffered — look at you now ! 238 THE FREE WOMAN [act m ROGER (Angrily) I have no pride ; I've often told you that. Let the whole world know what sort of woman you are, how can that affect me? You seem to triumph over me because I am angry, but what makes me, if you want to know, is the way you came in just now: your mourning, Wertlicr, your letters I was re-read- ing before you came, that you had the impudence to write and that I read so lovingly, while you were in the Rue de Balzac with Pierre, making fun of me, perhaps! I was ridiculous, wasn't I? To love you, have faith in you, at the precise moment when you were saying the same burning words to him, while you were in his arms, while you were all to him that you had once been to me ! ANTOXIA No, no, that's not true ! It's not true ! ROGER Oh, 3^ou deserve ! \^Hc takes her hy the throat and throxos her brutally to the floor. ANTONIA Kill me ! You have the right ! ROGER (Releasing his hold) No, I haven't the right. Don't tempt me. Now go. I was mad — good God ! Go. \^A pause. ANTONIA (Going to him) Roger. ROGER Yes.? ANTONIA You despise me. ACT III] THE FREE WOMAN 239 ROGER No, I don't despise you. Now it's all over. I don't hate you, and I'm not angry. Oh, if you had only been open with me when I asked you to, I might have been your friend, or if I could not have been sure of myself as a friend, I should at least have been able to keep a tender memory. Now I ask only to forget. ANTONIA You blame me for not having told you that I loved another man, but what could I do? I didn't love him, and I never loved anyone but you, you alone, do you hear? No? Then, if I didn't love you, why did I stay with you, alone in the country, for a whole summer, seeing only you, and feeling so lonely when you happened to be away for an hour? Why did you make me so much your own that we thought the same thoughts, and often said the same things? Why did the most commonplace incidents that had to do with you make me cry? I loved you like a child; you know that — but you were in reality my master. You don't remember those nights in Venice when I was so pale you thought I was going to die ! And here, too, how often I came, intending to stay only five minutes, and we were together for hours, saying profound nothings ! The darkness came and covered us, and we clung to each other desperately. There are at least certain things that don't lie ! ROGER {DrT^ly) And where does Pierre come in? ANTONIA I don't know. Don't mention his name to me ! I'm ashamed of myself and horrified at him. That's over with, all over, I swear — — 2i0 THE FREE WOMAN [act m KOGER Why idid it ever begin? ANTONIA Why? Why? I don't know. KOGER But if you love me as you say you do, I implore you to be frank. Why did you consent to become his mistress? ANTONIA Don't ask me — I don't know. (She tries to find words to describe her sensations) Something un- conscious, irresistible, impelled me, it was like a whirlwind — and curiosity, yes, that's it — I think — it's mad, absurd, I don't dare tell you now. Don't look at me like that. My God, how ashamed I am! Because Juliette You know, in the studio — be- cause she fired on him! - ROGER This time you have told the truth. If such an inci- dent, which is more absurd than tragic, can affect you in that way and make you quite mad, then you're not in the least interesting. You remind me of a barmaid I once knew a long time ago, in the Latin Quarter. She fell in love with a friend of mine be- cause he didn't smoke his cigarettes down to the tip. He took two or three puffs and then threw the ciga- rette away. For that woman, it was a touch of the Orient. You're offended, but the cases are similar. One man appeals to you because his mistress fired on him, another because he fired on his mistress, a third because — I don't know. And when you are troubled, you must have the man who causes you the trouble. You must, because, in the case of women ACT III] THE FREE WOMAN 241 like you, the heart, brain, and the rest, are so inti- mately connected with one another, that really I doubt whether you can distinguish them. In order to satisfy your curiosity, your caprice, you lie, deceive, try to brave it out, behave like the lowest of street walkers — yes, 3'^ou, Antonia And so you dance through life, depending only on your sensations, your self. ANTONIA Self-dependence is sometimes the worst sort of de- pendence. KOGER So it seems ! You poor free woman, you ate a sen- timental weathercock ! ANTONIA (Kneeling) You have the right to talk to me that way. You hate me, you mistreat me, and yet I ad- mire you, I adore you, I feel instinctively that you are my master. That's the truth, the sad truth. I loved you always, but my heart was like a piece of changing silk, and when he was there, I felt troubled ! You shouldn't have left me alone ! Why didn^t you take me with you.'* I asked you to. ROGER But ANTONIA {Tearfully) I'm a poor silly creature, I'm weak, easily influenced. I'm so sorry — I was just caught up and whirled on and on. I'm terribly ashamed ! You can't leave me ! I don't know what to do ! Pity me, you must direct me, you alone can cure me, save me from myself. Don't condemn me ! 242 THE FREE WOMAN [act m KOGER I don't condemn 3^ou. But you must let some one else cure you, bring you back to yourself. It is not my place to do that. To begin with, I cannot — I know too much, I know you too well. Begin again a life with you and be tormented by suspicions and doubts ? That would be a living hell! No, I cannot! Now you must go. ANTONIA You won't have to suspect anything now — you can take me some place far away. I want only you. We'll live in some solitary little place. ROGER Could I, even in the desert, keep from imagining things and being tormented? My imagination is too well trained. ANTONIA (At Roger's feet) Then — it's all over with me! This is frightful. I can't live without you, I can't ! Don't go away, don't leave me ! You mustn't ! Why didn't you kill me just now — I shouldn't have had to suffer this! Now what can I do.'* ROGER {Gently disengaging himself) Please! Leave me! I have already told you: this is over. It was alto- gether too easy, what you suggested. You sow dis- aster everywhere you go — ruin lives. You've sepa- rated Pierre and Juliette, and now you leave Mm. People suffer because of you; one woman wants to die. And you merely say your heart is like a piece of changing silk! If everything turned out well, it would not be fair. You see, I'm not angry in the ACT III] THE FREE WOMAN 243 least, but I have no pity, and — / do not believe you! Leave me. ANTONIA When I'm dead, then you will believe me! [She clings desperately to him. KOGER Stop it ! If you refuse to go, I will. Good-by ! ANTONIA Roger ! Roger ! \^She screams and falls fainting to the sofa. During this last scene it has become dark. Clemence rums in carrying a lamp which illumines the stage. CLEMENCE What's the matter.'' Lord in Heaven, the poor lady ! She's dead ! EOGER Don't shout like that — stop it! No, she is not dead — only look after her. Run for some vinegar, wa- ter, salts — I don't care ! CLEMENCE What's the matter with her.'' How pale she is ! ROGER {Putting on his hat and gloves) I think she's fainted. \^He goes out. CURTAIN THEY! (Eux!) A SAYNETE (1889) THEY! A drawing-room in the Hotel Cosmopolite, furnished in the Japanese style. The furniture is upholstered with bright-colored goods, richly embroidered in fan- tastic designs. Silk lanterns, covered with drawings of animals and flowers, are hung about the room. Down stage to the right is a low and rather long sofa; behind it is a large bouquet of various-colored chrysanthe- mums in a vase. There are doors to the left, the right, and at the back. As the curtain rises Helcne enters from the right, in her wedding dress. She carries a bouquet of orange blossoms. She is addressing her husband, who remains in the outer hallway. HELENE No, please — leave me alone. I want no one, not even you ! It's onl}^ a headache — let me rest — only fifteen minutes — a quarter of an hour! (^She waves to him, then sits down on the sofa) At last! Here at least, I can pull myself together. What a nerve-racking day ! How commonplace weddings are ! First the church, the torture while waiting in the sacristy, then the lunch ! And to-night, the Hotel Cos- mopolite, of course! After the dinner for the rela- tives, a ball for the friends ! All this excitement, and all these people I don't care a snap for — ^how dif- 248 THEY! fcrent from the romance I once dreamed of! The private Mass at midnight in the family chapel, the priest's intimate and invigorating sermon — the dear priest who knew you as a child — then to fall into your lover's arms, with no other witnesses of your happiness than the trees of the old park, and the moonlight that follows you as if you were a fairy princess ! Ah ! [^Achille rises from behind the chrysanthemums, which have concealed him. ACHLLLE I, too, have dreamed of a wedding less banal, Ma- dame. My spirit, nourished on the essence of an- tiquity, thirsted to roam the streets of Paris, sunlit like some ancient city of Attica, beneath a canopy of sparkling azure ! Slaves dressed in short robes, with long flowing hair, would have marched before us, bearing symbolic torches Pray don't be alarmed, I'm not a house-breaker; I have a bride waiting for me in the next room — then behind, a long line of men and women, garbed in lily-white gowns, pink gowns, hyacinth gowns, crying, "Hy- men ! Hymen !" HELENE {Interrupting) Good-by, Monsieur. \^She rises, makes for the door at the right, and goes out. But she forgets her bouquet on the sofa. ACIIILLE Are you going so soon? Stay — only for a moment! You surely have time? {After Helene has disap- peared) Ah, women are all alike! I heard her dream, all of it: the family chapel, the old priest, and the moonlight. I did not interrupt her, / at THEY! 249 least was polite. I waited until the end, and when I wanted to tell her my dream, which is undeniably more antique — "Good-by, Monsieur!" {He catches sight of the bouquet on the sofa) Ah! She forgot it! And on this of all nights! How stupid! {He starts to put the bouquet in a vase, when Helene re- enters. HELENS I beg your pardon, Monsieur, but I think I left ACHILLE {Giving her the bouquet) Here, Madame. As I was not sure when you would return, I took the liberty of putting them in water. HELENE {Confused) Really, Monsieur, you are too kind! Good-by, Monsieur. ACHILLE Believe me, Madame, your precipitous exit Is a poor way to thank me. But I understand: I must have seemed quite mad a moment ago? HELENE I don't say that. ACHILLE Vulgar ? HELENE Oh, no I ACHILLE Then — charming.'' HELENE No — extraordinary, that's all. ACHILLE I was waiting for that ! Extraordinary. Now, after 250 THEY ! what has happened, you have a rlglit to know my story. HELENE But, Monsieur, I really don't think ACHILLE Oh, you need liave no apprehension. I shall tell it, none the less, because I insist. {Helene tries to go, but he detains her) You see, you thought you were speaking to yourself a few minutes ago. I learned that you were a sort of victim — {She sighs) You see, you are suffering.'* Tell me your troubles, it will relieve you to have them shared. HELENE I have notliing to tell you, Monsieur. You are tak- ing advantage of our chance meeting which — which I have surely not sought. If I spoke of certain things — personal matters, I had no idea you were listening — and now you ask me to make you my con- fidant ! ACHILLE But I did not come here to listen to you, Madame! I came here before you, in order to escape from my wedding, which is now taking place next door to your own. Mine got on my nerves — just like yours! Curiosity does not draw me to you, but a great bond of sympathy, a sudden and deep-rooted interest. We need no introduction : you are the bride next door, I am the bridegroom next door. You suffer. So do I. We come together this evening, like two wounded soldiers on the field of battle. You are married to a man you detest THEY! S51 HELENE Detest? That's saying a great deal — we — we have little in common, that's all. ACHILLE Same thing. HELENE My husband, M. Desbarres ACHILLE What! Are you marrying Desbarres? HELENE Yes, do you know him? ACHILLE Never heard of him, but I believe it, since you tell me. HELENE My husband, M. Desbarres, is like so many men now- adays : horribly material, without an ideal in him. See how unhappy I'm bound to be, for I'm very ro- mantic and sentimental. I'm telling you all this be- cause I know you will understand. I'm so poetic, it's really a disease. I've caught poetry ! ACHILLE A case of galloping poetry ! HELENE That's it. So bad a case that on Spring mornings in the country, when I sit at the piano, I open wide all the windows so that the birds in the trees may sing and accompany me. ACHILLE Very pretty — why, a music publisher ought to dis- play in his window: "Pink Dreams and White Li- lacs, easy transcription for the piano and goldfinch.'* 252 THEY ! HELENE (Understood at last) So he ought! How good you are ! I am an Autumn woman : everything that is vague, floating, unreal, attracts me and cncliants me ; all the tints, the minors. Don't be surprised if you find me sad. You know, I should have married a poet endowed with subtle feelings ; instead, I have taken a vulgar merchant. My whole life is broken, like the celebrated vase ACHILLE Where dies the famous verbena. Ah, Madame, how fortunate it is we have met. I had already guessed what you have just told me. HELENE Now say it's commonplace ! ACHILLE No, only I could foresee it. I am so happy about it all!* HELENE You're not very kind. ACHILLE No, I am happy because I find in you a sister soul for my own. For long I cried aloud in the solitude : Spirit, Sister-spirit, art thou at last come.? And here you are ! HELENE But I'm going. ACHILLE No! You wouldn't do that.? HELENE I must. Think of it — the ceremony is about to take place — in there ! My husband will be very uneasy. * An untranslatable pun on "Verveine" and "Veine." THEY! 253 ACHILLE Desbarres is not a man to be uneasy. And he wouldn't leave without you. HELENE But if we were seen .'' ACHILLE Then it could be said that a most extraordinary thing was witnessed! HELENE Truly, Monsieur, that doesn't seem a sufficient rea- son. ACHILLE But there is no danger. You will notice that at a ceremony of this sort there are always two kinds of guests : the husband's friends, who don't know the bride, and the bride's friends who don't know the groom. So that, if one of my guests sees us, he will take you for the bride, if one of yours, he will take me for your bridegroom. HELENE No: my bride! ACHILLE Yes, my bridegroom. No, I said your bridegroom ! HELENE Oh, yes, my bridegroom ! ACHILLE That's so. HELENE Good-by. ACHILLE No, Madame, you can't leave me this way. You have told me your story, but I haven't told you mine. 254 THEY! HELENE I am willing to call it even. ACHILLE No, no, Madame. No, I shouldn't like to have people who meet me in the streets saying: "There's the man — notice, the man — who was told a story, and didn't tell one in return !" HELENE You needn't fear — I shall never tell anyone about this. ACHILLE That is no way to excuse yourself. I promise it shan't take long. HELENE {Firmly) Quite useless, I tell you. ACHILLE Very well, I shall follow you if you refuse to listen to me here, and tell everything in the midst of the ceremony. You little know me ! HELENE Well then, tell me, but be quick about it ! ACHILLE {Motioning her to a chair) The man before you, Madame, came out first from the Ecolc polytech- nique. HELENE {Quietly ironical) Of course. ACHILLE Why "of course".? HELENE Everyone knows that two hundred students come out first from the Ecole poly technique. Read a few novels, and you will learn that. THEY! 255 ACHILLE When I say I came out first, I mean I came out be- fore the others, a long tnne before — I was expelled two months after I entered. Now you will under- stand that I am not bragging: if I showed some op- position to authority and dislike for the abstract and positive sciences, it was not through inability on my part. HELENE {Amiably) I don't doubt it for a single instant: you do exactly what you please. ACHILLE Absolutely. I am like you, a being of dreams and clouds. In a word, Madame, I am a poet. HELENE {Overwhelmed) A poet.'' ACHILLE Who is heartbroken to have met you too late. HELENE I see : you are not marrying the lady of your dreams.'' ACHILLE No. HELENE Yet you were master of your own destiny. You weren't, like me, a young girl surrounded by a wall of prejudices and family conventions ! When such as I give their hand in marriage, we are oftener than not forced to do so — but men! Then you have ex- perience and initiative, while we ACHILLE I too, alas, was like you, Madame, imprisoned within a wall of prejudices and family conventions. Of course, I could see where I was going, better perhaps 256 THEY! than you, but — while you're making love you don't sec the danger, you can't realize the horror of the situation. Then you always console yourself with the hope that the fatal day will never come. But it does, and in the face of the unspeakably brutal reality, stripped bare of fancy, you are struck dumb HELENE {Pensively) Like a nightingale! Yes, the mayor fulfills his gratuitous but frightful functions here be- low. Not at all like a dentist, for before you go to him you know what a toothache you have. ACHILLE {Dreamily) Toothache — heartache HELENE How I pity you. Monsieur! {She rises) Now I sim- ply must go ; everything is ready for the ceremony in the next room. Now I have to leave you — with in- finite regret. \_She sits down again. ACHILLE And is there no hope? \^He takes her hand. HELEKE Alas! [^ short pause. ACHILLE I am dreaming: you are my wife, at my side all the livelong day. Like you, she is all in white. HELENE I am dreaming: you are my husband, at my side all the livelong day. Like you, he is all in black. THEY! 25T ACHILLE At your side I seem to hear the wedding Mass, at the Trinite! Talazac is singing the salutaris, and Johannes Wolff playing the violin. Then we walk from the altar, while the organ plays the wedding march HELENE Mendelssohn's. — Just like mine! At your side I seem to hear the wedding Mass. Talazac is singing the salutaris and Johannes Wolff playing the vio- lin ACHILLE At what church? HELENE Notre-Dame-de-Lorette. ACHILLE Good ! The same artists — and it's only a step : Gare de I'Est-Trocadero 'bus — they got there at once. HELENE strange. — And after the Mass, the lunch at my mother's. ACHILLE Lunch after the Mass at my mother-in-law's. And this evening, Hotel Cosmopolite! HELENE The dream continues — the nuptial feast ACHILLE Same menu, I'll wager? (Both take menus from their pockets and read) Bisque renaissance. HELENE Truite saumonee. ACHILLE Sauce venitienne? 258 THEY! HKLENE Venitienne! ACHILLE Quartier dc marcassin a la Nesselrode. Pou- lardes HELENE A la Wagram. ACHILLE Wagram. Marqidse au Tcirsch. HELENE Bombe Dame-Blanche. ACHILLE Gateau Trois-Freres. ACHILLE AND HELENE (Together and very rapidly) Corheilles de fruits. bonbons, petits fours I ACHILLE ( Throwing himself at Hclene^s feet) Oh, I love you ! \^He takes her hands in his. HELENE What are jou doing? ACHILLE You are my wife ! Yes, I love you ! Be kind to me. — Let your right hand not know what your left does! — The dream continues: I have found you this evening, and you are all in white. HELENE And you, like him, are all in black. ACHILLE Ah, one wedding resembles another THEY! 259 HELENE Just as one funeral does another ACHILLE Or one cold bath another. If you had only married me, how happy we should have been ! By now we should have been far, far away — In a little white cottage in the depth of a wood ! The long walks we should have had together, our undying love, one long waking dream, a living dream [^He declaims: Come, let us be mad, dear, fantastic and blue ! Your happiness, dreamed as a child, has come true! Your beauty, your love never-ending will teach The two of us lessons 'neath willow and beech! I'll take you, my dearest, without your trous- seau! Ah, realized dream ! How like Jean- Jacques Rous- seau! l^She rises. We'll eat bread and milk, and take care of the poor, And protect the sweet flowers ; you'll like that, I'm sure? At nighttime we'll sit and play games by the hour, Then you'll smile and be haughty; we'll quarrel, may be By starlight, and then make it up playfully ! Thou sweet lotus flower, I'll sit all the day Making sonnets for you — quite a la Coppee! Then, too, we'll read plenty of novels, you'll see ! The gorgeous effusions of great Pierre Loti ! And my hands in yours — so pale lily-white — 260 THEY! Will clasp you so close ; oh, I'll hold you so tight — Thus, dearest, we'll spend all our days in sweet bliss, Our happiness pure — and our lingering kiss Will mount up to the skies, where the angels will fear Competition in joy: for I'll have you, my dear! HELENE {Deeply affected) Ah, that's poetry! ACHILLE It is. HELENE French? ACHILI.E Of course. HELENE I didn't know — it was so beautiful! ACHILLE Ah, in place of 3^our colorless existence, see ! Now you are buried alive I HELENE That's no consolation. ACHILLE What consolation can I give you? Useless con- dolences? When we are confronted by great sorrows we should be as silent as they. We can grasp the hand of a friend and say: ACHILLE AND HELENE {Simultaneously, as they clasp hands) Poor dear! ACHILLE We were married too soon. HELENE Yet we were in no hurry. Now, there's no remedy. THEY! 261 ACHILLE {Forcefully) No remedy? Doesn't this meeting, only a step from our respective wedding ceremonies, look like Providence? IIELENE It seems dreadfully ironical. Ah, if it had taken place only twenty-four hours sooner ! Where is hap- piness now? ACHILLE It depends on you and me. HELENE What do you mean? ACHILLE Let us fly ! HELENE Together ? ACHILLE Of course. We always think of the simplest things last. HELENE You're mad. You ? Run away with me? ACHILLE Yes. HELENE On my wedding day? People don't do that! ACHILLE Then what? HELENE Never ! — Farewell ! ACHILLE I can't leave you this way, and allow you to be plunged in unhappiness, despair. You might even kill yourself! Can I leave you in the arms of Des- 262 THEY! barres, whom I don't know, but whom I hate al- ready? And you don't love him, you don't ! HELENE But he loves me. No, I couldn't do it ! I couldn't think of deceiving him this way ! ACHILLE You're not deceiving him: he will know all about it. He won't have room for doubt if you write him: "I don't love you. I am going away." It's as easy as breathing. HELENE It's not so simple as all that. Think of the obstacles : society, my honor, my integrity. ACHILLE Illusions, all ! In matters of happiness, integrity is not the shortest distance between two points. Would you prefer me to kill Desbarres.'* HELENE Heavens ! ACHILLE Or would you rather live with him always — with my image in your heart? (Sarcastically) Now that would not shock society so much ! HELENE You are terrible ! ACHILLE Do you know how they did things of this sort five thousand years ago? HELENE (Losing her head) No, I was too young! ACHILLE I, the primitive man, should have come to you, with- out clothes THEY! 263 HELENE {Modestly) Oh, Monsieur, I hope at least you would have put on a tiger's skin to talk to me ! ACHILLE Possibly — I don't know. — Well, I should have come to you, the primitive woman, having read the love in your eyes, and I should have carried you off. HELENE But you are not the primitive man. ACHILLE That makes no difference ! What are civilization, laws, customs.'' We ought to obey only our dreams. They alone are out of time, out of space. Come ! HELENE {Overwhelmed) I cannot! It's impossible! ACHILLE Farewell, little white cottage in the heart of the wood, long walks, sweet conversations, eternal duet of love, the life of dreams HELENE The living incarnation- ACHILLE Games in the evening — HELENE Pierre Loti ! Farewell. — Oh, it's horrible ! And my husband — there — in that room! He'll come to find me ACHILLE {Tragically) The tiger is below, growling for his prey. HELENE {Half choired) We seem to be acting Hernani! {Music is heard outside) Do you hear.'' 264 THEY ! ACHILLE What is it? HELENE The horn. ACHILLE No: the last bars of a slow waltz — or else the lugu- brious crj of some street car in the blackness of the night. l^TJie sound of a carriage is heard. HELENE Listen — they're coming ! ACHILLE No, it's only a carriage stopping at the door. It shall carry us far, far away. Come as you are — it makes no difference. HELENE This is sheer madness. ACHILLE No, it's thrilling. Choose — {Pointing to the door at the back) A happy life, love, adoration, idolatry — (Pointing to the door at the left) Middle-class ex- istence, the end of all poetry, youth, beauty! HELENE (After a long silence) What is your name? ACHILLE Ah, of course — here it is. \^He hands her a card. HELENE (Puzzled) Ax s? ACHILLE AxtXXcvs: yes, a student of Leconte de Lisle. AxtAXtis in Greek ; Achille in French. What is your name? THEY! 265 HELENE Helene. ACHILLE {Radiantly) Oh, joy supreme! The capture of Helen by Achilles : it's so Greek, so antique, so Pari- sian ! Now let us go — they will be here in a moment : your husband and my wife HELENE But what will they do? ACHILLE They — they will do likewise ! [They go out through the door at the back. The moment they disappear the other bride and bride- groom enter, right and left. THE BKIDE AND THE BRIDEGROOM {Together, as they lift their arms to Heaven) Oooh! 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