Читать книгу The Essential Guy de Maupassant Collection - Guy de Maupassant - Страница 6
ОглавлениеI! Never, never. My most ardent desire is to be with you forever. Get a divorce, and then if you still love me, let us wed.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh, yes, yes--two years from now. Certainly, you _are_ a patient lover!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
But supposing I were to carry you off, he would take you back to-morrow; would shut you up in his house, and would never get a divorce lest you should become my wife.
MME. DE SALLUS
Well, do you mean to say I could fly nowhere but to your house, that I could not hide myself in such fashion that he would never find me?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Yes, you could hide yourself, but it would be necessary for you to live abroad under another name, or buried in the country, till death. That is the curse of our love. In three months you would hate me. I never will let you commit such a folly.
MME. DE SALLUS
I thought you loved me enough to fly with me, but it seems that I am mistaken. Adieu!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Madeline, listen to me for God's--
MME. DE SALLUS Jacques, take me, or leave me--answer!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Madeline, I implore you!
MME. DE SALLUS
Never! Adieu! [_Rises and goes to the door_.]
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Once more I implore you, Madeline, listen to me.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh, no, no; adieu! [De Randol _takes her by the arms; she frees herself angrily_.] Unhand me! Let me go, or I shall call for help!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Call if you will, but listen to me. I would not that you should ever be able to reproach me for the madness that you meditate. God forbid that you should hate me, but, bound to me by this flight that you propose, you would carry with you forever a keen and unavailing regret that I allowed you to do it.
MME. DE SALLUS
Let me go! I despise you! Let me go!
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Well, if you wish to fly, why, let us fly.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh, no, not now. I know you now. It is too late. Let me go.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I have done exactly what I ought to have done; I have said exactly what I ought to have said; consequently, I am no longer responsible for you, and you have no right to reproach me with the consequences. So let us fly.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh, no, it is too late, and I do not care to accept sacrifices.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
There is no more any question of sacrifice. To fly with you is my most ardent desire.
MME. DE SALLUS [_astonished_]
You are mad.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Well, suppose I am mad. That is only natural, since I love you.
MME. DE SALLUS
What do you mean?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I mean what I say. I love you; I have nothing else to say. Let us fly.
MME. DE SALLUS
Ah, you were altogether too cautious just now to become so brave all at once.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Will you ever understand me? Listen to me. When I first realized that I adored you, I made a solemn vow concerning what might happen between you and me. The man who falls in love with a woman such as you, a woman married yet deserted; a slave in fact yet morally free, institutes between her and himself a bond which only she can break. The woman risks everything. Ay, it is just because she does this, because she gives everything--her heart, her body, her soul, her honor, her life, because she has foreseen all the miseries, all the dangers, all the misfortunes that can happen, because she dares to take so bold, and fearless a step, and because she is ready and determined to hazard everything--a husband who could kill her, and a world that would scorn her--it is for all this and for the heroism of her conjugal infidelity, that her lover, in taking her, ought to foresee all, to guard her against every ill that can possibly happen. I have nothing more to say. I spoke at first as a calm and foreseeing man who wished to protect you against everything--now I am simply and only the man who loves you. Order me as you please.
MME. DE SALLUS
That is all very prettily said; but is it true?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I swear it!
MME. DE SALLUS
You wish to fly with me?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Yes.
MME. DE SALLUS
From the bottom of your heart?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
From the bottom of my heart.
MME. DE SALLUS
To-day?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Yes, and whenever you please.
MME. DE SALLUS
It is now a quarter to eight. My husband will be coming in directly, for we dine at eight. I shall be free at half past nine or ten o'clock.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Where shall I wait for you?
MME. DE SALLUS
At the end of the street in a _coup?_. [_The bell rings_.] There he is, and for the last time, thank God!
SCENE II.
(_The same characters, and_ M. de Sallus.)
M. DE SALLUS [_enters. To_ Jacques de Randol, _who has risen to take his leave_]
Well, you are not going again, are you? Why, it seems that I need only come in to make you take your leave.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
No, no, my dear fellow; you don't make me go, but I must.
M. DE SALLUS
That is just what I say. You always go the very moment I come in. Of course, I understand that a husband is less attractive than a wife. But, at least, let me believe that _I_ am not objectionable to you. [_Laughs_.]
JACQUES DE RANDOL
On the contrary, my dear fellow, you know I like you. And if you would acquire the habit of coming into your own house without ringing the bell, you would never find me taking my leave when you come.
M. DE SALLUS
How is that? Is it not natural to ring the door bell?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, yes; but a ring of the bell always makes me feel that I must go, and surely, coming into your own house, you can dispense with that habit.
M. DE SALLUS
I don't understand you.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Why, it is very simple. When I visit people whom I like, such as Madame de Sallus and yourself, I do not expect to meet the Paris that flutters from house to house in the evening, gossiping and scandalizing. I have had my experience of gossip and tittle-tattle. It needs only one of these talkative dames or men to take away all the pleasure there is for me in visiting the lady on whom I happen to have called. Sometimes when I am anchored perforce upon my seat, I feel lost; I do not know how to get away. I have to take part in the whirlpool of foolish chatter. I know all the set questions and answers better than I do the catechism itself, and it bores me to have to remain until the very end and hear the very last opinion of some fool upon the comedy, or the book, or the divorce, or the marriage, or the death that is being discussed. Now, do you understand why I always get up and go at the sound of a bell?
M. DE SALLUS [_laughs_]
What you say is very true. Drawing-rooms now are not habitable from four o'clock to seven, and our wives have no right to complain if we leave them to go to the club.
MME. DE SALLUS [_sarcastically_]
Nevertheless, I do not see my way to receiving ballet girls, or chorus girls, or actresses, or so-called painters, poets, musicians, and others--in order to keep you near me.
M. DE SALLUS
I do not ask so much as that. All I desire is a few witty fellows, some charming women, and by no means a crowd.
MME. DE SALLUS
You talk nonsense; you cannot pick and choose.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
No, truly, you cannot sift and strain the flow of idiocy that you meet in the drawing-rooms of to-day.
M. DE SALLUS
Why?
MME. DE SALLUS
Simply because it is as it is--to-day.
M. DE SALLUS
What a pity! How I should love the intimacy of a small and carefully selected circle of men and women.
MME. DE SALLUS
You?
M. DE SALLUS
Yes, why not?
MME. DE SALLUS [_laughs_]
Ha, ha, ha! What a charming little intimate circle you would bring to me! Ha, ha, ha! The fascinating men, and the fashionable women that you would invite! My dear sir, it is I who would leave the house then.
M. DE SALLUS
My dear girl, I only asked for three or four women like yourself.
MME. DE SALLUS
Pray repeat that.
M. DE SALLUS
Three or four such women as you.
MME. DE SALLUS
If you need four, I can understand how you found your house lonesome.
M. DE SALLUS
You understand very well what I wish to say, and it is not necessary for me to explain myself. And you know that you need only be alone to please me better than I could possibly be pleased elsewhere.
MME. DE SALLUS
Really, I do not recognize you. I am afraid you must be ill--very ill. You are not going to die, are you?
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, chaff me as much as you like, you won't worry me.
MME. DE SALLUS
And is this mood of yours going to last?
M. DE SALLUS
Forever.
MME. DE SALLUS
Men often change.
M. DE SALLUS [_turns to_ Jacques de Randol]
My dear Randol, will you give us the pleasure of your company at dinner to-night? You may help me to turn aside the epigrams that my wife seems to have barbed and ready for me.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
A thousand thanks, my dear Sallus! You are very, very good, but unfortunately, I am not free.
M. DE SALLUS
But, my dear fellow, send your excuses.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I cannot.
M. DE SALLUS
Are you dining in town?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Yes, well--not altogether. I have an appointment at nine o'clock.
M. DE SALLUS
Is it very important?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Very important
M. DE SALLUS
With a lady?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
My dear fellow, what a question!
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, I am discreet! But that need not prevent you from dining with us.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Thank you, my dear fellow, I cannot.
M. DE SALLUS
You know you can go away when you wish.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
But I am not in evening dress.
M. DE SALLUS
I can easily send for your things.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
No, truly, thank you; I cannot.
M. DE SALLUS [_to_ Mme. de Sallus]
My dear girl, won't you keep Randol?
MME. DE SALLUS
Why ask me? You know that I have no influence over him.
M. DE SALLUS
You are charming enough to influence the world this evening, so why can't you make him stay?
MME. DE SALLUS
Good gracious! I cannot make my friends stay in order to please you, and keep them in your house against their wish. Bring _your_ friends.
M. DE SALLUS
Well, I shall remain at home this evening in any case, and we shall then be _t?te-?-t?te_.
MME. DE SALLUS
Really?
M. DE SALLUS
Yes.
MME. DE SALLUS
You will be at home all the evening?
M. DE SALLUS
All the evening.
MME. DE SALLUS [_sarcastically_]
Good gracious! How you surprise me--and how you honor me!
M. DE SALLUS
No, it is a pleasure to be with you.
MME. DE SALLUS
What a charming mood you are in to-night!
M. DE SALLUS
Now ask Randol to remain.
MME. DE SALLUS
My dear sir, Monsieur de Randol will do as he pleases. He knows that I am always glad to see him. [_Rises, and after reflecting for a second_.] Will you dine with us, Monsieur de Randol? You know you can go directly after dinner.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
With the greatest pleasure, Madame.
MME. DE SALLUS
Excuse my absence for a minute. It is eight o'clock, and I must give some new directions for dinner.
[_Exit_ Mme. de Sallus.]
SCENE III.
(M. de Sallus _and_ M. Jacques de Randol.)
M. DE SALLUS
My dear fellow, you will do me the greatest service if you will pass the whole evening here.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
But I have told you that I cannot.
M. DE SALLUS
Is it altogether--absolutely--impossible?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Absolutely.
M. DE SALLUS
I most earnestly ask you to remain.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
And why?
M. DE SALLUS
For the best of reasons--because--because I want to make peace with my wife.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Peace? Is there a rupture between you?
M. DE SALLUS
Not a very great one, but you know what you have seen this evening.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Is it your fault or hers?
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, mine, I suppose.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
The devil!
M. DE SALLUS
I have had annoyances outside, serious annoyances, and they have made me bad-tempered, so much so that I have been unpleasant and aggressive in my behavior toward her.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
But I don't see how a third party can contribute toward peace between you.
M. DE SALLUS
My dear fellow, you will enable me to make her understand in an indirect manner, while avoiding all indelicate and wounding explanations, that my ideas concerning life have altogether changed.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Then you wish to be--to be--reconciled to her altogether?
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, no, no, no--on the contrary--
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Pardon me, I do not understand you.
M. DE SALLUS
Listen: I wish to establish and maintain a _status quo_ of a pacific neutrality--a sort of Platonic peace. [_Laughs_.] But I am going into details that cannot interest you.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Pardon me again. From the moment that you ask me to play a part in this very interesting affair, I must know exactly what part I am to play.
M. DE SALLUS
Why, just a conciliatory r?le.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Then you wish to conclude a peace without restrictions for yourself?
M. DE SALLUS
Now you have it.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
That is to say, that, after the disappointments and annoyances of which you have just told me, and which I presume are ended, you wish to have peace at home and yet be free to enjoy any happiness that you may acquire outside.
M. DE SALLUS
Let me go farther. My dear fellow, the present situation between my wife and myself is very much strained, and I never care to find myself alone with her altogether, because my position is a false one.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, in that case, my dear fellow, I will remain.
M. DE SALLUS
All the evening?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
All the evening.
M. DE SALLUS
My dear De Randol, you are indeed a friend! I shall never forget it.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, never mind that. [_A short silence_.] Were you at the Op?ra last night?
M. DE SALLUS
As usual.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
So it is a good performance?
M. DE SALLUS
Admirable.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
The Santelli scored a great success, didn't she?
M. DE SALLUS
Not only a success, but a veritable triumph. She was recalled six times.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
She _is_ good, isn't she?
M. DE SALLUS
More than admirable. She never sang better. In the first act she has a long recitative: "O God of all believers, hear my prayer," which made the body of the house rise to their feet. And in the third act, after that phrase, "Bright heaven of beauty," I never saw such enthusiasm.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
She was pleased?
M. DE SALLUS
Pleased? She was enchanted.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
You know her well, don't you?
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, yes, for some time back. I had supper with her and some of her friends after the performance.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Were there many of you?
M. DE SALLUS
No, about a dozen. You know she is rather particular.
JACQUES DE RANDOL.
It is pleasant to be intimate with her, is it not?
M. DE SALLUS
Exquisite! And then, you know, she is a woman in a million. I do not know whether you agree with me, but I find there are so few women that are really women.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_laughs_]
I have found that out.
M. DE SALLUS
Yes, and you have found out that there are women who have a feminine air, but who are not women.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Explain yourself.
M. DE SALLUS
Good gracious! Our society women, with very rare exceptions, are simply pictures; they are pretty; they are distinguished; but they charm you only in their drawing-rooms. The part they play consists entirely in making men admire their dress, their dainty ways, all of which are assumed.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Men love them, nevertheless.
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, very rarely, my dear fellow.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Pardon me!
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, yes, dreamers do. But men--real men--men who are passionate, men who are positive, men who are tender, do not love the society woman of to-day, since she is incapable of love. My dear fellow, look around you. You see intrigues--everyone sees them; but can you lay your finger upon a single real love affair--a love that is disinterested, such a love as there used to be--inspired by a single woman of our acquaintance? Don't I speak the truth? It flatters a man to have a mistress--it flatters him, it amuses him, and then it tires him. But turn to the other picture and look at the woman of the stage. There is not one who has not at least five or six love affairs on the carpet; idiotic follies, causing bankruptcy, scandal, and suicides. Men love them; yes, they love these women because these women know how to inspire love, and because they are loving women. Yes, indeed, _they_ know how to conquer men; they understand the seduction of a smile; they know how to attract, seize, and wrap us up in their hearts, how to enslave us with a look, and they need not be beautiful at that. They have a conquering power that we never find in our wives.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
And the Santelli is a seductress of this kind?
M. DE SALLUS
She is first among the first! Ah, the cunning little coquette! _She_ knows how to make men run after her.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Does she do only that?
M. DE SALLUS
A woman of that sort does not give herself the trouble of making men run after her unless she has some further object in view.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
The devil! You make me believe you attend two first nights in the same evening.
M. DE SALLUS
My dear boy, don't imagine such a thing.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Great heavens! you have such a satisfied and triumphant air--an air so desirous of calm at home. If I am deceived I am sorry--for your sake.
M. DE SALLUS
Well, we will assume that you are deceived and--
SCENE IV.
(_The same, and_ Mme. de Sallus.)
M. DE SALLUS [_gaily_]
Well, my dear, Jacques remains. He has consented for my sake.
MME. DE SALLUS
I congratulate you. And how did you achieve that miracle?
M. DE SALLUS
Oh, easily enough, in the course of conversation.
MME. DE SALLUS
And of what have you been talking?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Of the happiness that comes to a man who remains quietly at home.
MME. DE SALLUS
That sort of happiness has but little attraction for me. I like the excitement of travel.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
There is a time for everything; and travel is very often inopportune and very inconvenient.
MME. DE SALLUS
But how about that important appointment of yours at nine o'clock? Have you given it up altogether, Monsieur de Randol?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I have, Madame.
MME. DE SALLUS
You are very changeable.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
No, no, I am simply adapting myself to circumstances.
M. DE SALLUS
Will you pardon me if I write a note? [_Sits at desk at the other end of the drawing-room._]
MME. DE SALLUS [_to_ Jacques de Randol]
What has happened?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, nothing; everything is all right.
MME, DE SALLUS
When do we go?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Not at all.
MME. DE SALLUS
Are you mad? Why?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Please don't ask me now about it.
MME. DE SALLUS
I am sure that he is laying a trap for us.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Not at all. He is very quiet, very contented, and has absolutely no suspicion.
MME. DE SALLUS
Then what does it all mean?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Now, be calm. He is happy, I tell you.
MME. DE SALLUS
That is not true.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
I tell you it is. He has made me the confidant of all his happiness.
MME. DE SALLUS
It is just a trick; he wishes to watch us.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, no; he is confiding and conciliatory. The only fear he has is of you.
MME. DE SALLUS
Of me?
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Yes; in the same way that you are, all the time, afraid of him.
MME. DE SALLUS
Great heavens! You have lost your head. You are talking at random.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Listen--I am sure that he intends to go out this evening.
MME. DE SALLUS
Well, in that case, let us go out too.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
No, no,--I tell you there is nothing more for us to fear.
MME. DE SALLUS
What nonsense! You will end by maddening me with your blindness.
M. DE SALLUS [_from the other end of the drawing-room_]
My dear, I have some good news for you. I have been able to get another night at the Opera for you every week.
MME. DE SALLUS
Really, it is very good of you to afford me the opportunity of applauding Madame Santelli so often.
M. DE SALLUS [_from the same place_]
Well, she is very clever.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
And everybody says she is charming.
MME. DE SALLUS [_irritably_]
Yes; it is only such women who please men.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
You are unjust.
MME. DE SALLUS
Oh, my dear Randol; it is only for such women that men commit follies, and [_sarcastically_], understand me, the measure of a man's folly is often the measure of his love.
M. DE SALLUS [_from the same place_]
Oh, no, my dear girl,--men do not marry them, and marriage is the only real folly that a man can commit with a woman.
MME. DE SALLUS
A beautiful idea, truly, when a woman has to endure all man's caprices.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Oh, no, not having anything to lose, they have nothing to risk.
MME. DE SALLUS
Ah, men are sad creatures! They marry a young girl because she is demure and self-contained, and they leave her on the morrow to dangle after a girl who is not young and who certainly is not demure, her chief attraction being that all the rich and well-known men about town have at one time been in her favor. The more danglers she has after her, the more she is esteemed, the more she is sought after, and the more she is respected; that is to say, with that kind of Parisian respect which accrues to a woman in the degree of her notoriety--a notoriety due either to the scandal she creates, or the scandal men create about her. Ah, yes, you men are so nice in these things!
M. DE SALLUS [_laughs gently_]
Take care! One would think you were jealous.
MME. DE SALLUS
I? Jealous? For whom do you take me? [_The butler announces_.] Madame is served. [_Hands a letter to_ M. de Sallus.]
MME. DE SALLUS [_to_ Jacques de Randol]
Your arm, M. Jacques de Randol.
JACQUES DE RANDOL [_in a low tone_]
How I love you!
MME. DE SALLUS [_indifferently_]
Just a little, I suppose.
JACQUES DE RANDOL
Ah, no; with all my soul!
M. DE SALLUS [_after reading his letter_]
Come along, then, let us go to dinner. I have to go out this evening.
_Curtain._
MUSOTTE
OR
A CRITICAL SITUATION
A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS
MUSOTTE
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
JEAN MARTINEL
Nephew of M. Martinel, a painter; not yet thirty years of age, but already well known and the recipient of various honors.
LEON DE PETITPR?
Brother to Gilberts Martinel, a young lawyer about thirty years of age.
M. MARTINEL
An old gunmaker of Havre, aged fifty-five.
M. DE PETITPR?
An old magistrate, officer of the Legion of Honor. Aged sixty.
DR. PELLERIN
A fashionable physician of about thirty-five.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Sister to M. de Petitpr?, about fifty-five years of age.
HENRIETTE L?V?QUE
Nicknamed Musotte; a little model, formerly Jean Martinel's mistress. Twenty-two years of age.
MME. FLACHE
A midwife. Formerly a ballet-dancer at the Opera. About thirty-five years of age.
GILBERTE MARTINEL
Daughter of M. and Mme. de Petitpr?, married in the morning to Jean Martinel. About twenty years old.
LISE BABIN
A nurse, about twenty-six.
SERVANTS
_Time: Paris of to-day. The first and third acts take place in_ M. de Petitpr?'s _drawing-room.
The second act takes place in_ Musotte's _bedchamber_.
Act I
SCENE I.
(_A richly yet classically furnished drawing-room in_ M. de Petitpr?'s house. _A table_, C.; _sofas_, R.; _chairs and armchairs_, L. _Wide doors_, C., _opening upon a terrace or gallery. Doors_ R. _and_ L. _of_ C. _Lighted lamps_.)
_Enter from_ R. M. de Petitpr?, Monsieur Martinel, Madame de Ronchard, L?on de Petitpr?, Jean _and_ Gilberte. Gilberte _is in her bridal attire, but without wreath and veil_.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_after bowing to_ M. Martinel, _whose arm she relinquishes, seats herself_ R.]
Gilberte, Gilberte!
GILBERTE [_leaves Jean's arm_]
What is it, Auntie?
MME. DE RONCHARD
The coffee, my dear child.
GILBERTE [_goes to the table_]
I will give you some, Auntie.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Don't soil your gown.
L?ON [_comes up_]
No, no, not to-day shall my sister serve coffee. The day of her marriage! No, indeed, I will take care of that. [_To_ Mme. de Ronchard.] You know that I am a lawyer, my dear Aunt, and therefore can do everything.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Oh, I know your abilities, L?on, and I appreciate them--
L?ON [_smiles, and gives his Aunt a cup of coffee_]
You are too good.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_taking cup, dryly_]
For what they are worth.
L?ON [_aside, turns to the table_]
There she goes again--another little slap at me! That is never wanting. [_offers a cup to_ Martinel.] You will take a small cup, won't you, M. Martinel, and a nip of old brandy with it? I know your tastes. We will take good care of you.
MARTINEL
Thank you, L?on.
L?ON [_to_ Petitpr?]
Will you have a cup, father?
PETITPR?
I will, my son.
L?ON [_to the newly married couple, seated L. and talking aside_]
And you, you bridal pair there? [_The couple, absorbed in each other, do not answer._] Oh, I suppose we must not bother you. [_He sets cup down on the table_].
PETITPR? [_to_ Martinel]
You don't smoke, I believe?
MARTINEL
Never, thank you.
MME. DE RONCHARD
You astonish me! My brother and L?on would not miss smoking each day for anything in the world. But what an abomination a cigar is!
PETITPR?
A delicious abomination, Clarisse.
L?ON [_turns to_ Mme. de Ronchard]
Almost all abominations are delicious, Auntie; in fact many of them, to my personal knowledge, are exquisite.
MME. DE RONCHARD
You naughty fellow!
PETITPR? [_takes_ L?on's _arm_]
Come and smoke in the billiard-room, since your aunt objects to it here.
L?ON [_to_ Petitpr?]
The day when she will love anything except her spaniels--
PETITPR?
Hold your tongue and come along. [_Exit_ C.]
MARTINEL [_to_ Mme. de Ronchard]
This is the sort of marriage that I like--a marriage that, in this Paris of yours, you don't have very often. After the wedding breakfast, which takes place directly after you come from the church, all the guests go home, even the maids of honor and the ushers. The married couple remain at home and dine with their parents or relatives. In the evening they play billiards or cards, just as on an ordinary night; the newly married couple entertain each other. [Gilberte _and_ Jean _rise, and hand in hand slowly retire_ C.] Then, before midnight, good night!
MME. DE RONCHARD [_aside_]
Which is altogether very _bourgeois_!
MARTINEL [_sits_ R. _upon the sofa beside_ Mme. de Ronchard]
As to newly married couples--instead of going on that absurd and traditional thing you call a honeymoon, it is far better for them to go at once to the apartment or house prepared for them. I dare say you will think my plan lacking in fashion and display, but I cannot help that. For myself, I must say that I like absence of all ostentation.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Your plan is not according to the customs of polite society, Monsieur.
MARTINEL
Polite society, indeed! Why, there are thirty-six different kinds of polite society. For instance, take Havre.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_interrupts_]
I know only ours. [_Corrects herself._] That is, I mean to say, mine, which is the correct one.
MARTINEL
Oh, naturally, naturally! Nevertheless, simple as it may be, this marriage is an acknowledged fact, and I hope that you have taken into your good books my dear nephew, who, until now--
MME. DE RONCHARD
I can hardly help doing so since he is my brother's son-in-law, and my niece's husband.
MARTINEL
Well, that is not the only thing, is it? I am very happy that the affair is over--although my life has been spent in the midst of difficulties.
MME. DE RONCHARD
What! Your life?
MARTINEL
I mean commercial difficulties, not matrimonial.
MME. DE RONCHARD
What commercial difficulties can you have--you, a Croesus who has just given five hundred thousand francs in dowry to his nephew. [_With a sigh._] Five hundred thousand francs! Just what my late husband squandered.
MARTINEL
Oh! Yes, I know that, Madame de Ronchard.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_sighs again_]
I was ruined and deserted after just one year of married life, Monsieur--one year. I just had time to realize how happy I could be, for the scoundrel, the wretch, knew how to make me love him.
MARTINEL
Then he was a scoundrel?
MME. DE RONCHARD
Oh! Monsieur, he was a man of fashion.
MARTINEL
Well, that did not prevent him from--
MME. DE RONCHARD
Oh, don't let us talk any more about my misfortunes. It would be too long and too sad, and everybody else is so happy here just now.
MARTINEL
And I am happier than anybody else, I assure you. My nephew is such a good fellow. I love him as I would a son. Now, as for myself, I made my fortune in trade--
MME. DE RONCHARD [_aside_]
That is very evident.
MARTINEL [_resumes_]
In the sea-going trade. But my nephew will gain fame for our name by his renown as an artist; the only difference between us is that he makes his fortune with his brushes, and I have made mine with ships. Art, to-day, Madame, may be as important as trade, but it is less profitable. Take my nephew. Although he has made a very early success, it is I who have enabled him to. When my poor brother died, his wife following him almost immediately, I found myself, while quite a young man, left alone with this baby. Well, I made him learn everything that I could. He studied chemistry, music, and literature, but he had a leaning toward art more than to the other things. I assure you that I encouraged him in it, and you see how he has succeeded. He is only just thirty, is well known, and has just been decorated.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_dryly_]
Thirty years old, and only just decorated; that is slow for an artist.
MARTINEL
Pshaw! He will make up for lost time. [_Rises_] But I am afraid I am getting boastful. You must pardon me, I am a plain man, and just now a little exhilarated by dining. It is all Petitpr?'s fault. His Burgundy is excellent. It is a wine that you may say is a friend to wisdom. And we are accustomed to drink a good deal at Havre. [_Takes up his glass of brandy and finishes it._]
MME. DE RONCHARD [_aside_]
Surely that is enough about Havre.
MARTINEL [_turns to_ Mme. de Ronchard]
Well, there is a treaty between us--a treaty which will last--which no foolishness can break, such as that which has failed to break this marriage.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_rises and crosses_ L.]
Foolishness! You speak very lightly about it. But now that the marriage is a thing accomplished, it is all right. I had destined my niece for another sphere than a painter's world. However, when you can't get a thrush, eat a blackbird, as the proverb says.
MARTINEL
But a white blackbird, Madame, for your niece is a pearl. Let me tell you, the happiness of these children will be the happiness of my declining years.
MME. DE RONCHARD
I wish that it may be, Monsieur, without daring to hope for it.
MARTINEL
Never mind. There are two things on which I am an expert--the merits of women and of wine.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_aside_]
Especially upon the latter.
MARTINEL
They are the only two things worth knowing in life.
SCENE II.
(_The same characters and_ Petitpr? _who enters_ C, _with_ L?on.)
PETITPR?
Now that this red-letter day has gone by as any other day goes, will you play a game of billiards with me, Monsieur Martinel?
MARTINEL
Most certainly, I am very fond of billiards.
L?ON [_comes down stage_]
You are like my father. It seems to me that when anyone begins to like billiards at all, they become infatuated with the game; and you two people are two of a kind.
MARTINEL
My son, when a man grows old, and has no family, he has to take refuge in such pleasures as these. If you take bait-fishing as your diversion in the morning and billiards for the afternoon and evening, you have two kinds of amusement that are both worthy and attractive.
L?ON
Oh, ho! Bait-fishing, indeed! That means to say, getting up early and sitting with your feet in the water through wind and rain in the hope of catching, perhaps each quarter of an hour, a fish about the size of a match. And you call that an attractive pastime?
MARTINEL
I do, without a doubt. But do you believe that there is a single lover in the world capable of doing as much for his mistress throughout ten, twelve, or fifteen years of life? If you asked my opinion, I think he would give it up at the end of a fortnight.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Of a truth; he would.
L?ON [_interrupts_]
Pardon me, I should give it up at the end of a week.
MARTINEL
You speak sensibly.
PETITPR?
Come along, my dear fellow.
MARTINEL
Shall we play fifty up?
PETITPR?
Fifty up will do.
MARTINEL [_turns to_ Mme. de Ronchard]
We shall see you again shortly, Madame.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Well, I have had enough of Havre for the present.
[_Exit_ Martinel _and_ Petitpr? C.]
SCENE III.
(Leon _and_ Mme. de Ronchard.)
L?ON
Martinel is a good fellow. Not a man of culture, but bright as sunshine and straight as a rule.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_seated_ L.]
He is lacking in distinction of manner.
L?ON [_inadvertently_]
How about yourself, Aunt?
MME. DE RONCHARD
What do you mean?
L?ON [_corrects himself and approaches_ Mme. de Ronchard]
I said, how about yourself? You know what I mean--you have such an intimate knowledge of the world that you are a better judge of human nature than anyone I know.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Indeed, I am. You were too small a boy to recollect it, but nevertheless, I went a great deal into society before my husband spent all my money, and let me tell you that I was a great success. For instance, at a grand ball given by the Turkish ambassador, at which I was dressed as Salammb?--
L?ON [_interrupts_]
What, you, the Carthaginian princess?
MME. DE RONCHARD
Certainly. Why not? Let me tell you that I was greatly admired, for my appearance was exquisite. My dear, that was in eighteen hundred and sixty--
L?ON [_sits near_ Mme. de Ronchard]
Oh, no dates! for goodness sake, no dates!
MME. DE RONCHARD
It is not necessary to be sarcastic.
L?ON
What! I, sarcastic? God forbid! It is simply this: in view of the fact that you did not wish this marriage to take place, and that I did, and that the marriage has taken place, I feel very happy. Do you understand me? It is a triumph for me, and I must confess that I feel very triumphant this evening. Tomorrow, however, vanish the triumpher, and there will remain only your affectionate little nephew. Come, smile, Auntie. At heart you are not as ill-natured as you pretend to be, and that is proved by the generosity of soul you have evinced in founding at Neuilly, despite your modest means, a hospital for--lost dogs!
MME. DE RONCHARD
What else could I do. When a woman is alone and has no children--and I was married such a short time--do you know what I am, after all? Simply an old maid, and like all old maids--
L?ON [_finishes the sentence for her_]
You love toy dogs.
MME. DE RONCHARD
As much as I hate men.
L?ON
You mean to say one man. Well, I could hardly blame you for hating him.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And you know for what kind of girl he abandoned and ruined me. You never saw her, did you?
L?ON
Pardon me, I did see her once in the Champs-Elys?es. I was walking with you and my father. A gentleman and lady came toward us; you became excited, quickened your steps, and clutched nervously at my father's arm, and I heard you say in a low voice, "Don't look at them; it is she!"
MME. DE RONCHARD
And what were you doing?
L?ON
I?--I was looking at him.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_rises_]
And you thought her horrible, didn't you?
L?ON
I really don't know. You know I was only eleven years old.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_crosses_ R.]
You are insufferable! Go away, or I shall strike you.
L?ON [_soothingly, and rising_]
There, there, Aunt, I won't do it again. I will be good, I promise you, if you will forgive me.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_rises, as if to go out_ C.]
I will not!
L?ON
Please do!
MME. DE RONCHARD [_returns_]
I will not! If it were simply a case of teasing me, I could let it pass, for I can take care of myself; but you have done your sister a wrong, and that is unforgivable.
L?ON
How?
MME. DE RONCHARD [_stands_ R. _of table and drums on it with her fingers_]
Why, this marriage! You brought it about.
L?ON [_imitates her action at_ L. _of table_]
That is true, and I did right. Moreover, I shall never be tired asserting that what I did was right.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_still tapping on the table_]
And for my part I shall never be tired of saying that Gilberte has not married the right man.
L?ON [_still tapping_]
Well, what kind of man do you think Gilberte ought to have married?
MME. DE RONCHARD
A man of position, a public official, or an eminent physician, or--an engineer.
L?ON
Do you mean a theatrical engineer?
MME. DE RONCHARD
There are other kinds of engineers. Then, above all, she should not have married a handsome man.
L?ON
Do you reproach Jean for his good looks? If you do, my dear Aunt, there are a good many men in the world who must plead guilty. Suppose, even, that a man has no need of good looks, it does not follow that he ought to be ugly.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_sits on a little stool by the table, clasps her hands, and looks upward_]
My husband was handsome, nay, superb, a veritable guardsman--and I know how much it cost me.
L?ON
It might have cost you a great deal more if he had been ugly! [Mme. de Ronchard _rises to go away_.] Besides Jean is not only good-looking but he is good. He is not vain, but modest; and he has genius, which is manifesting itself more and more every day. He will certainly attain membership in the Institute. That would please you, would it not? That would be worth more than a simple engineer; and, moreover, every woman finds him charming, except you.
MME. DE RONCHARD
That's the very thing for which I blame him. He is too good and too honest. He has already painted the portraits of a crowd of women, and he will continue to do that. They will be alone with him in his studio for hours at a time, and everybody knows what goes on in those studios.
L?ON
You have been accustomed to go there, my dear Aunt?
MME. DE RONCHARD [_dreamily_]
Oh, yes. [_Corrects herself_.] I mean to say, once I went to Horace Vernet's studio.
L?ON
The painter of battle scenes!
MME. DE RONCHARD
Well, what I say of Jean, I say of all artists--that they ought not to be allowed to marry into a family of lawyers and magistrates, such as ours. Such doings always bring trouble. I ask you as a man, is it possible to be a good husband under such conditions--among a crowd of women continually around you who do nothing but unrobe and re-dress themselves, whether they be clients or models (_pointedly_), especially models? [Mme. de Ronchard _rises and_ L?on _is silent_.] I said _models_, L?on.
L?ON
I understand you, Aunt. You make a very pointed and delicate allusion to Jean's past. Well, what of it? If he did have one of his models for a mistress, he loved her, and loved her sincerely for three years--
MME. DE RONCHARD
You mean to tell me a man can love such women?
L?ON
Every woman can be loved, my dear Aunt; and this woman certainly deserved to be loved more than most women.
MME. DE RONCHARD
A great thing, truly, for a model to be pretty! That is the essential thing, I should think.
L?ON
Whether it be essential or not, it is nevertheless very nice to be pretty. But this girl was better than pretty, for she had a nature which was exceptionally tender, good, and sincere.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Well, then, why did he leave her?
L?ON
What! Can you ask me such a question?--you, who know so much about the world and the world's opinions? [_Folds his arms_.] Would you advocate free love?
MME. DE RONCHARD [_indignantly_]
You know I would not.
L?ON [_seriously_]
Listen. The truth is, that it happened to Jean as it has happened to many others besides him--that is to say, there was a pretty little nineteen-year-old girl whom he met, whom he loved, and with whom he established an intimacy little by little--an intimacy which lasted one, two, three years--the usual duration of that sort of thing. Then, as usually happens, there came a rupture--a rupture which is sometimes violent, sometimes gentle, but which is never altogether good-natured. Then also, as usual in such cases, each went a separate way--the eternal ending, which is always prosaic, because it is true to life. But the one thing that distinguishes Jean's _liaison_ from the usual affair is the truly admirable character of the girl in the case.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Oh, admirable character! Mademoiselle--tell me, what is the name of this young lady? If you mentioned it I have forgotten it. Mademoiselle Mus-- Mus--
L?ON
Musotte, Auntie; little Musotte.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Musette! Pshaw, that's a very common name. It reminds me of the Latin quarter and of Bohemian life. [_With disgust._] Musette!
L?ON
No, no; not Musette. Musotte, with an O instead of an E. She is named Musotte because of her pretty little nose; can't you understand? Musotte, the name explains itself.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_with contempt_]
Oh, yes; a _fin-de-si?cle_ Musotte, which is still worse. Musotte is not a name.
L?ON
My dear Aunt, it is only a nickname. The nick-name of a model. Her true name is Henriette L?v?que.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_puzzled_]
L?v?que?
L?ON
Yes, L?v?que. What does this questioning mean? It is just as I told you, or else I know nothing about it. Now, Henriette L?v?que, or Musotte, if you prefer that term, has not only been faithful to Jean during the course of her love affair with him; has not only been devoted and adoring, and full of a tenderness which was ever watchful, but at the very hour of her rupture with him, she gave proof of her greatness of soul. She accepted everything without reproach, without recrimination; the poor little girl understood everything--understood that all was finished and finished forever. With the intuition of a woman, she felt that Jean's love for my sister was real and deep, she bowed her head to circumstances and she departed, accepting, without a murmur, the loneliness that Jean's action brought upon her. She carried her fidelity to the end, for she would have slain herself sooner than become [_hesitating out of respect for_ Mme. de Ronchard] a courtesan. And this I _know_.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And has Jean never seen her since?
L?ON
Not once; and that is more than eight months ago. He wished for news of her, and he gave me the task of getting it. I never found her and I have never been able to gain any knowledge of her, so cunningly did she arrange this flight of hers--this flight which was so noble and so self-sacrificing. [_Changing his tone._] But I don't know why I repeat all this. You know it just as well as I do, for I have told it to you a dozen times.
MME. DE RONCHARD
It is just as incredible at the twentieth time as at the first.
L?ON
It is nevertheless the truth.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_sarcastically_]
Well, if it is really the truth, you were terribly wrong in helping Jean to break his connection with such an admirable woman.
L?ON
Oh, no, Aunt, I only did my duty. You have even called me hairbrained, and perhaps you were right; but you know that I can be very serious when I wish. If this three-year-old _liaison_ had lasted until now, Jean would have been ruined.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Well, how could we help that?
L?ON
Well, these things are frightful--these entanglements--I can't help using the word. It was my duty as a friend--and I wish to impress it upon you--to rescue Jean; and as a brother, it was my duty to marry my sister to such a man as he. The future will tell you whether I was right or not. [_Coaxingly._] And then, my dear Aunt, when later you have a little nephew or a little niece to take care of, to dandle in your arms, you will banish all these little spaniels that you are taking care of at Neuilly.
MME. DE RONCHARD
The poor little darlings! I, abandon them! Don't you know that I love them as a mother loves her children?
L?ON
Oh, yes; you can become an aunt to them, then, because you will have to become a mother to your little nephew.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Oh, hold your tongue; you irritate me. (Jean _appears with_ Gilberte _for a moment at C._)
JEAN [_to servant entering_ R.]
Joseph, have you forgotten nothing, especially the flowers?
SERVANT
Monsieur and Madame may rest assured that everything has been done.
[_Exit servant_ L.]
L?ON [_to_ Mme. de Ronchard]
Look at them; aren't they a bonny couple?
SCENE IV.
(_The same with_ Jean _and_ Gilberte.)
JEAN [_approaches_ Mme. de Ronchard _and speaks to her_]
Do you know of whom we were talking just now? We were talking of you.
L?ON [_aside_]
Ahem! ahem!
JEAN
Yes; I was just saying that I had not made you a present on the occasion of my nuptials, because the choosing of it demanded a great deal of reflection.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_dryly_]
But Gilberte made me a very pretty one for you both, Monsieur.
JEAN
But that is not enough. I have been looking for something which I thought would be particularly acceptable to you; and do you know what I found? It is a very small thing, but I ask you, Madame, to be so good as to accept this little pocketbook, which holds some bank-notes, for the benefit of your dear little deserted pets. You can add to your home for these little pets some additional kennels on the sole condition that you will allow me from time to time to come and pet your little pensioners, and on the additional condition that you will not pick out the most vicious among them to greet me.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_greatly impressed_]
With all my heart, I thank you. How good of you to think of my poor little orphans!
L?ON [_whispers to_ Jean]
You diplomat, you!
JEAN
There is nothing extraordinary about it, Madame. I am very fond of dumb animals. They are really the foster-brothers of man, sacrificed for them, slaves to them, and in many cases their food. They are the true martyrs of the world.
MME. DE RONCHARD
What you say is very true, Monsieur, and I have often thought of it in that way. For instance, take those poor horses, scourged and beaten by coachmen in the streets.
L?ON [_with sarcastic emphasis_]
And the pheasants, Auntie, and the partridges and the blackcock falling on all sides under a hail of lead, flying panic-stricken before the horrible massacre of the guns.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Oh, don't talk like that, it makes me shudder; it is horrible!
JEAN [_turns to_ Gilberte]
Horrible, indeed!
L?ON [_after a pause, in light tone_]
Perhaps so, but they are good eating.
MME. DE RONCHARD
You are pitiless.
L?ON [_aside to his aunt_]
Pitiless, perhaps, toward animals, but not pitiless, like you, toward people.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_in the same tone_]
What do you mean by that?
L?ON [_in the same tone pointing to_ Jean _and_ Gilberte, _who are seated on a sofa_ R.]
Do you think that your presence here can be acceptable to those two lovers? [_Takes her arm_.] My father has certainly finished smoking; come into the billiard-room for a little while.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And what are you going to do?
L?ON
I am going down into my study on the ground floor, and I shall come up here after a little while.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_sarcastically_]
Your study, indeed--your studio--you mean, you rascal, where your clients are--models--
L?ON [_with mock modesty_]
Oh, Auntie. My clients, at least, don't unrobe--alas! [_Exit_ L?on R., _giving a mock benediction to the lovers_.] Children, receive my benediction!
[_Exit_ Madame de Ronchard C.]
SCENE V.
(Jean _and_ Gilberte _seated on the sofa at right_.)
JEAN
At last, you are my wife, Mademoiselle.
GILBERTE
Mademoiselle?
JEAN
Forgive me. I hardly know how to address you.
GILBERTE
Call me Gilberte. There is nothing shocking about that, is there?
JEAN
Gilberte, at last, at last, at last, you are my wife!
GILBERTE
And truly, not without a good deal of trouble.
JEAN
And what a dainty, energetic little creature you are! How you fought with your father, and with your aunt, for it is only through you, and thanks to you, that we are married, for which I thank you with all my heart--the heart which belongs to you.
GILBERTE
But it is only because I trusted you, and that is all.
JEAN
And have you only trust for me?
GILBERTE
Stupid boy! You know that you pleased me. If you had only pleased me, my confidence in you would have been useless. One must love first. Without that, Monsieur, nothing can come.
JEAN
Call me Jean, just as I have called you Gilberte.
GILBERTE [_hesitates_]
But that is not altogether the same thing. It seems to me--that--that--I cannot do it. [_Rises and crosses_ L.]
JEAN [_rises_]
But I love you. I am no trifler, believe me; I love you. I am the man who loves you because he has found in you qualities that are inestimable. You are one of those perfect creatures who have as much brains as sentiment; and the sentimentality that permeates you is not the sickly sentimentality of ordinary women. It is that gloriously beautiful faculty of tenderness which characterizes great souls, and which one never meets elsewhere in the world. And then, you are so beautiful, so graceful, with a grace that is all your own, and I, who am a painter, you know how I adore the beautiful. Then, above everything, you drew me to you, but not only that, you wiped out the traces of the world from my mind and eyes.
GILBERTE
I like to hear you say that. But, don't talk any more just now in that way, because it embarrasses me. However, I know, for I try to foresee everything, that to enjoy these things I must listen to them to-day, for your words breathe the passion of a lover. Perhaps in the future your words will be as sweet, for they could not help being so when a man speaks as you spoke and loves as you appear to love, but at the same time, they will be different.
JEAN
Oh!
GILBERTE [_sits on stool near the table_]
Tell me it over again.
JEAN
What drew me to you was the mysterious harmony between your natural form and the soul within it. Do you recollect my first visit to this house?
GILBERTE
Oh, yes, very well. My brother brought you to dinner, and I believe that you did not wish to come.
JEAN [_laughs_]
If that were true, it was very indiscreet of your brother to tell you. And he told you that? I am annoyed that he did so, and I confess I did hesitate somewhat, for you know I was an artist accustomed to the society of artists, which is lively, witty, and sometimes rather free, and I felt somewhat disturbed at the idea of entering a house so serious as yours--a house peopled by dignified lawyers and young ladies. But I was so fond of your brother, I found him so full of novelty, so gay, so wittily sarcastic and discerning, under his assumed levity, that not only did I go everywhere with him, but I followed him to the extent of meeting you. And I never cease to thank him for it. Do you remember when I entered the drawing-room where you and your family were sitting, you were arranging in a china vase some flowers that had just been sent to you?
GILBERTE
I do.
JEAN
Your father spoke to me of my Uncle Martinel, whom he had formerly known. This at once formed a link between us, for all the time that I was talking to him I was watching you arrange your flowers.
GILBERTE [_smiles_]
You looked far too long and too steadfastly for a first introduction.
JEAN
I was looking at you as an artist looks, and was admiring you, for I found your figure, your movements, and your entire self attractive. And then for the last six months I have often come to this house, to which your brother invited me and whither your presence attracted me, and finally I felt your sway as a lover feels the sway of the one he adores. There was an inexplicable, unseen attraction calling me to you. [_Sits beside her_ R. _of table_.] Then a dim idea entered my brain,--an idea that one day you might become my wife. It gained possession of my soul, and I immediately took steps to renew the friendship between your father and my uncle. The two men again became friends. Did you never divine my maneuvers?
GILBERTE
Divine your maneuvers? No, I suspected a little at times, but I was so astounded that a man like you--in the full flush of success, so well known, so sought after--should concern himself with such a little, unimportant girl as I, that, really, I could place no faith in the sincerity of your attention.
JEAN
Nevertheless, we quickly knew how to understand each other, did we not?
GILBERTE
Your character pleased me. I felt that you were loyal, and then you entertained me greatly, for you brought into our house that artistic air which gave my fancies life. I ought to tell you that my brother had already warned me that I should like you. You know that L?on loves you.
JEAN
I know it, and I think it was in _his_ brain that the first idea of our marriage had birth. [_After a short silence_] You remember our return from Saint-Germain after we had dined in the Henri IV. Pavilion?
GILBERTE
I remember it well.
JEAN
My uncle and your aunt were in the front of the landau, and you and I on the rear seat, and in another carriage were your father and L?on. What a glorious spring night! But how coldly you treated me!
GILBERTE
I was so embarrassed!
JEAN
You ought to recall that I put to you that day a question which I had already asked you, because you cannot deny that I had paid you very tender attention and that you had captured my heart.
GILBERTE
True. Nevertheless it surprised and upset me. Oh, how often have I remembered it since! But I have never been able to recall the very words you used. Do you remember them?
JEAN
No; they came from my lips, issuing from the bottom of my heart like a prayer for mercy. I only know that I told you that I should never re-enter your house if you did not give me some little hope that there should be a day when you would know me better. You pondered a long time before you answered me, but you spoke in such a low tone that I was anxious to make you repeat it.
GILBERTE [_takes up his sentence and speaks as if in a dream_]
I said that it would pain me greatly if I should see you no more.
JEAN
Yes, that is what you said.
GILBERTE
You have forgotten nothing!
JEAN
Could anyone forget that? [_With deep emotion._] Do you know what I think? As we look at each other and examine our hearts, our souls, our mutual understanding, our love, I verily believe that we have set out on the true road to happiness. [_Kisses her. For a moment they are silent._]
GILBERTE [_rises_]
But I must leave you. [_Goes toward door_ L.] I must prepare for our journey. Meanwhile, go and find my father.
JEAN [_follows her_]
Yes, but tell me before you go that you love me.
GILBERTE
Yes--I love you.
JEAN [_kisses her forehead_]
My only one.
[_Exit_ Gilberte L., _a second after. Enter_ M. Martinel C. _with a very agitated air, and a letter in his hand_.]
MARTINEL [_perceives_ Jean, _quickly slips the letter into his pocket; then, recollecting himself_]
Have you seen L?on?
JEAN
No, are you looking for him?
MARTINEL
No, no, I have just a word to say to him concerning an engagement of small importance.
JEAN [_perceives_ L?on]
Wait a moment. Here he comes.
[_Enter_ L?on R. _Exit_ Jean. C.]
SCENE VI.
(Martinel _and_ L?on.)
MARTINEL [_goes quickly up to_ L?on]
I must have five minutes with you. Something terrible has happened. Never in the course of my life have I been placed in so awkward and so embarrassing a situation.
L?ON
Quick! What is it?
MARTINEL
I had just finished my game at billiards when a servant brought me a letter addressed to M. Martinel, without any Christian name by which to identify it, but with these words on the letter "Exceedingly urgent." I thought it was addressed to me, so I tore open the envelope, and I read words intended for Jean--words which have well-nigh taken away my reason. I came to find you in order to ask advice, for this is a thing which must be decided upon the moment.
L?ON
Tell me, what is it?
MARTINEL
I am responsible for my own actions, M. L?on, and I would ask advice of no one if the matter concerned myself only, but unfortunately it concerns Jean; therefore, I hesitate--the matter is so grave, and then the secret is not mine--I came upon it accidentally.
L?ON
Tell me quickly, and do not doubt my faith.
MARTINEL
I do not doubt your faith. Here is the letter. It is from Dr. Pellerin, who is Jean's physician, who is his friend, our friend, a good fellow, a free liver, and a physician to many women of the world, and one who would not write such things unless necessity compelled him. [_Hands the letter to_ L?on, _who holds it close to his eyes._]
L?ON [_reads_]
"MY DEAR FRIEND:
"I am more than annoyed at having to communicate with you upon this evening, above every other evening, upon such a subject as this. But I am sure that if I did otherwise you would never forgive me. Your former mistress, Henriette L?v?que, is dying and would bid you farewell. [_Throws a glance at_ Martinel _who signs to him to continue._] She will not live through the night. She dies after bringing into the world, some fifteen days ago, a child who on her deathbed she swears is yours. So long as she was in no danger, she determined to leave you in ignorance of this child's existence. But, to-day, doomed to death, she calls to you. I know how you have loved her in the past. But you must do as you think fit. She lives in the Rue Chaptal at Number 31. Let me know how I can serve you, my dear fellow, and believe me,
"Always yours,
"PELLERIN."
MARTINEL
There you are. That letter came this evening. That is to say, at the one moment above all others when such a misfortune could threaten the whole future--the whole life of your sister and of Jean. What would you do if you were I? Would you keep this confounded letter, or would you give it to him? If I keep it, we may save appearances, but such an act would be unworthy of me.
L?ON [_energetically_]
I should say so. You must give the letter to Jean.
MARTINEL
Well, what will he do?
L?ON
He alone is the judge of his own actions. We have no right to hide anything from him.
MARTINEL
Supposing he consults me?
L?ON
He will not do it. In such situations a man consults only his conscience.
MARTINEL
But he treats me like a father. If he hesitates a moment between his attention to his wife and the effacement of his happiness, what shall I tell him to do?
L?ON
Just what you would do yourself in like case.
MARTINEL
My impulse would be to go to the woman. What would be yours?
L?ON [_resolutely_]
I should go.
MARTINEL
But how about your sister?
L?ON [_sadly, seating himself by the table_]
Yes, my poor little sister! What an awakening for her!
MARTINEL [_after a few seconds' hesitation, crosses abruptly from_ L. _to_ R.]
No; it is too hard a thing to do. I shall not give him this letter. I shall be blamed perhaps, but so much the worse. In any case, I save him.
L?ON
You cannot do such a thing, sir. We both know my sister, poor little girl, and I am sure that if this marriage is annulled, she will die. [_Rises_.] When a man has for three years enjoyed the love of such a woman as the one who sends for him, he cannot refuse to see her on her deathbed whatever may happen.
MARTINEL
What will Gilberte do?
L?ON
She worships Jean--but you know how proud she is.
MARTINEL
Will she accept the situation? Will she forgive it?
L?ON
Of that I am very doubtful, especially after all that has been said about this poor girl in the family circle. But what does that matter? Jean must be warned at once. I am going to find him and bring him to you. [_Rises as if to go out_ C.]
MARTINEL
Well, how would you like me to tell him?
L?ON Simply give him the letter. [_Exit_ L?on C.]
SCENE VII.
MARTINEL [_alone_]
Poor children! in the midst of their happiness and at the zenith of joy! And that other poor girl, who is now suffering and slowly dying! Heavens! How unjust and how cruel life is at times.
SCENE VIII.
(_Re-enter_ L?on _with_ Jean)
JEAN [_walks briskly to_ C. _of stage_]
What is it all about?
MARTINEL
One minute, my poor boy; read this, and forgive me for having opened your letter. I opened it because I thought it was intended for me. [_Gives letter to_ Jean, _and watches him read it._ L?on _also watches him, standing_ L.]
JEAN [_after reading the letter, speaks to himself in a low tone, touched with deep but contained emotion_]
I must do it! I owe it to her! [_To Martinel._] Uncle, I leave my wife in your charge. Say nothing until I return, and remain here till I come back. Wait for me. [_Turns to_ L?on.] I know you well enough to realize that you do not disapprove of what I am doing. To you I confide my future. I am going. [_Turns to the door_ R., _but after casting a glance at the door_ L., _which leads to his wife's chamber, says to_ L?on.] To you I owe the love your sister has bestowed upon me. Help me now to preserve it.
[_Exit quickly_ R.]
SCENE IX.
(Martinel _and_ L?on.)
MARTINEL [_seated_ R.]
What shall we do now? What are we going to say? What explanations can we give?
L?ON
Let me manage it. It is only right that I should do it since I brought about this marriage.
MARTINEL [_rises_]
Well, I'd dearly love to be forty-eight hours older. [_Rising_.] I confess I do not like these love tragedies, and moreover the fact of the child entering into the case is awful. What is going to become of that poor little mortal? We cannot send him to the foundling asylum. [_Enter_ Gilberte L.] Gilberte!
SCENE X.
Gilberte _has removed her marriage robes, and now wears a handsome house gown. She carries an opera cloak, which she throws over a chair neat the door_.
GILBERTE
Where is Jean?
L?ON
Do not be disturbed, he will be back directly.
GILBERTE [_in astonishment_]
Has he gone out?
L?ON
Yes.
GILBERTE
Gone out? And on this evening, above all others!
L?ON
A sudden and grave circumstance compelled him to go out for an hour.
GILBERTE [_excitedly_]
What is going on? What is it that you are hiding from me? Your story is impossible. Some awful misfortune must have happened.
L?ON AND MARTINEL [_together_]
Oh, no, no!
GILBERTE
Then, what is it? Tell me! Speak!
L?ON
I cannot tell you anything. Be patient for an hour. It is Jean's duty to tell you of the sudden and unexpected call which has summoned him hence at such a time.
GILBERTE
What curious words you use! A sudden and unexpected call? He is an orphan--his uncle is his only relative,--then what? Who? Why? Oh, God, how you frighten me!
L?ON
There are duties of many kinds, my dear; friendship, pity, sympathy can impose many of them. But I must not say any more. Be patient for an hour, I implore you.
GILBERTE [_to_ Martinel]
And you, Uncle? Speak! I implore you! What is he doing? Where has he gone? I feel--oh, I feel the shadow of a terrible misfortune hovering over us; speak, I entreat.
MARTINEL [_with tears in his eyes_]
But I cannot tell you any more, my dear child. I cannot. Like your brother, I promised to say nothing, and I would have done just as Jean has done. Wait for an hour, I beseech you--just an hour.
GILBERTE
And you, too, are upset. It must be a catastrophe.
MARTINEL
No, no! The fact that you are so distressed agitates me, because you know I love you with my whole heart. [_Embraces her_.]
GILBERTE [_to_ L?on]
You have spoken of friendship, of pity, and of sympathy, but if it were any of these reasons you could tell me so; meanwhile, as I look at you two, I feel that here is some unspoken reason, some mystery which appalls me.
L?ON [_resolutely_]
My dear little sister, won't you trust in me?
GILBERTE
Yes, you ought to know all.
L?ON
Will you trust me absolutely?
GILBERTE
Absolutely.
L?ON
I swear to you, on my faith as a gentleman, that I would have done just as Jean has done; that his absolute fidelity to you, his fidelity, which perhaps is even exaggerated by love for you, is the only reason which had led him to forget at this very moment the very thing that he has gone to learn anew.
GILBERTE [_looks_ L?on _straight in the eyes_]
I believe you, L?on, and I thank you. Nevertheless, I tremble yet and I shall tremble until he returns. If you swear to me that my husband was entirely ignorant of the cause which has made him leave me at this supreme moment, I will content myself as well as I can, trusting in you two. [_She stretches both hands to the two men_.]
SCENE XI.
(_The same, with_ M. de Petitpr? _and_ Mme. de Ronchard, _who enters quickly_ C.)
PETITPR?
What is this I hear? Jean Martinel gone out?
MARTINEL
He is coming back very soon, sir.
PETITPR?
But why on earth did he go out on such an evening as this without a word of explanation to his wife? [_Turns to_ Gilberte] You know nothing about it, do you?
GILBERTE [_seated_ L. _of table_]
Father, I know nothing at all about it.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And without a word of explanation to the family! That is indeed a lack of courtesy.
PETITPR? [_to_ Martinel]
And why has he acted in this way, sir?
MARTINEL
Your son knows as much as I do, sir; but neither of us can reveal it to you. Moreover, your daughter has consented to wait until she can learn all about it from her husband on his return.
PETITPR?
My daughter has consented--but I do not consent! Besides, it seems that you alone were forewarned of this sudden departure.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_in agitation to_ Martinel]
It was to you they brought the letter, and you were the one who read it first.
MARTINEL
You are correctly informed, Madame; a letter was delivered here, but I would not shoulder the responsibility of this matter, and I showed the letter to your son, sir [_turns to_ Petitpr?], and asked his advice with the intention of following it.
L?ON
The advice that I gave is exactly what my brother-in-law has done of his own volition, and I esteem him all the more for it.
PETITPR? [_turns to_ L?on]
It is I who should have been consulted, not you. If Jean's action is indeed excusable, his want of courtesy is absolutely unpardonable.
MME. DE RONCHARD
It is scandalous!
L?ON [_to_ M. Petitpr?]
Yes, it would have been better to consult you, but the urgency of the matter did not allow it. You would have discussed the matter; my aunt would have discussed the matter; we should all have discussed the matter the whole night long, and you know there are times when one cannot afford to lose even seconds. Silence was necessary until Jean's return. When he does return he will hide nothing from you, and I feel sure that you will judge him as I myself have judged him.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_turns to_ Martinel]
But this letter, from whom did it come?
MARTINEL
Oh, I can tell you that. It came from a physician.
MME. DE RONCHARD
From a physician--a physician--then he must have a sick patient--and it is on account of this patient that he made Jean come to him. But who is the patient? Oh, ho! I surmise that it is a woman--that woman--his former mistress, who has played this card today. Sick! I suppose she has made a pretense of poisoning herself in order to show him that she loves him still and will always love him. Oh, the little wretch! [_To_ L?on.] This is the kind of people you stand up for! Yes, you!
L?ON
It would be only reasonable, my dear Aunt, not to air all these revolting theories of yours in Gilberte's presence, especially when you really know nothing at all.
GILBERTE [_rises_]
Do not speak any more about it, I pray you. Everything that I have heard just now distresses me beyond measure. I will wait for my husband; I do not wish to know anything except from his lips, as I have absolute confidence in him. If misfortune has threatened us, I will not hear such things talked of. [_Exit_ L, _accompanied by_ Petitpr?. _Short silence_.]
MME. DE RONCHARD [_turns to_ L?on]
Well, L?on, do you always win? You see what charming fellows these husbands are--every one of them!
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Musotte's _bedroom, neatly furnished, but without luxury. Disordered bed stands_ L. _A screen stands_ L. I. E., _almost hiding_ Musotte, _who lies stretched at length upon a steamer-chair. Beside the bed is a cradle, the head of which is turned up stage. On the mantelpiece and on small tables at_ R. _and_ L. _are vials of medicine, cups, chafing-dish, etc. A table stands_, R. I. E. Musotte _is sleeping_. La Babin _and_ Mme. Flache _stand_ C. _looking at her_.
LA BABIN [_in low tones_]
How she sleeps!
MME. FLACHE [_in the same voice_]
But she will not sleep long now, unless she is going into her last sleep.
LA BABIN
Oh, there is no chance of that. That is enough to give one the horrors. Fancy losing one's life for a child!
MME. FLACHE
But how can you prevent it? Death is as necessary as birth, or the world would become too small for us all.
LA BABIN [_sits_ R. _of table_]
All people ought to die in the same way and at the same age--every one of us; then one would know what to expect.
MME. FLACHE [_pours out some tea_]
What simple ideas you have, Madame Babin! Personally, I would rather not know the hour of my death. I would sooner finish my life while sleeping in the middle of the night--during slumber--without suffering--by a sudden failure of the heart.
LA BABIN
Look at the sick woman. How silly of her to wish to rest upon that steamer-chair as she has done. The doctor told her plainly that such an effort would probably finish her.
MME. FLACHE [_sits_ L. _of table_]
Oh, I understand her motive. When a girl like her has a lover she commits every kind of folly, and more especially, nurse, when they are at all coquettish; but you country people do not know anything about such things. They are coquettish through and through. That is the reason she wished to look her prettiest. She was afraid of being thought ugly, don't you understand? So I had to put on her _peignoir_, and tidy her up, and arrange her hair just as I have done.
LA BABIN
Oh, these Parisians! It is necessary that they should have a hairdresser even to the last gasp! [_A short silence_.] But will this gentleman of hers come?
MME. FLACHE
I do not think so. Men are not overfond of obeying the calls of their former mistresses at such times, and then, this lover of hers was married to-day, poor fellow!
LA BABIN
Well, that is a joke.
MME. FLACHE
I should say so.
LA BABIN
Certainly, then, he won't come. In such a case would _you_ go to see a man?
MME. FLACHE
Oh, if I loved him very much I should go.
LA BABIN
Even if you were marrying another the same day?
MME. FLACHE
Just the same. For such a combination of circumstances would pierce my heart; would penetrate me with a strong emotion,--and, oh, I am so fond of such emotions!
LA BABIN
Well, so far as I am concerned, I certainly would not go. I should be too much afraid of the shock.
MME. FLACHE
But Doctor Pellerin asserts that the man will come.
LA BABIN
Do you know this physician well?
MME. FLACHE
Who, Doctor Pellerin?
LA BABIN
Yes; he has the air of a charming man of the world.
MME. FLACHE
Oh, yes; he is all that, but he is also a good physician. Then he is such good company, and has such a smooth tongue. And you know he is not physician to the Opera for nothing.
LA BABIN
That little puppy of a--
MME. FLACHE
A puppy! You don't very often find puppies among men of his caliber, and then,-oh, how he used to love the girls! Oh, oh! Although, for the matter of that, there are many physicians who are like him. It was at the Opera that I first met him.
LA BABIN
At the Opera!
MME. FLACHE
Yes, at the Opera. You know, I was a dancer there for eight years. Yes, indeed, even I--just as you see me, a dancer at the Opera.
LA BABIN
You, Madame Flache!
MME. FLACHE
Yes, my mother was a midwife, and taught me the business at the same time that she taught me dancing, because she always said it was well to have two strings to your bow. Dancing, you see, is all very well, provided you are not too ambitious of appearing on first nights, but, unhappily, that was the case with me. I was as slender as a thread when I was twenty, and very agile, but I grew fat and scant of breath, and became rather heavy in my steps; so when my mother died, as I had my diploma as a midwife, I took her apartment and her business, and I added the title of "Midwife to the Opera," for all their business comes to me. They like me very much there. When I was dancing, they used to call me Mademoiselle Flacchi the premi?re.
LA BABIN
Then you have been married since then?
MME. FLACHE
No, but a woman in my profession should always assume the title of Madame for the sake of its dignity. You know, it gives confidence. But, how about you, nurse, from what place do you come? You know, you have only just come here, and nobody consulted me about engaging you.
LA BABIN
I am from Yvetot.
MME. FLACHE
Is this your first engagement as a nurse?
LA BABIN
No, my third. I have had two daughters and a little boy.
MME. FLACHE
And your husband, is he a farmer or a gardener?
LA BABIN [_Simply_]
I am not married.
MME. FLACHE [_laughing_]
Not married, and with three children! Upon my word, let me compliment you; you are indeed precocious.
LA BABIN
Don't talk about it; it was not my will. It is the good God who does these things. One cannot prevent it.
MME. FLACHE
How simple you are! Now you will probably have a fourth child.
LA BABIN
That's very possible.
MME. FLACHE
Well, what does your lover do? What is his business? Or perhaps you have more than one?
LA BABIN [_with indignation_]
There has never been more than one. I give you my word, upon my hope of salvation. He is a lemonade-seller at Yvetot.
MME. FLACHE
Is he a handsome fellow?
LA BABIN
I believe you, indeed! He is handsome! [_Confidentially_.] If I tell you all this, it is only because you are a midwife, and a midwife in such affairs as this is like a priest in the confessional. But you, Madame Flache, you, who have been a dancer at the Opera, you must also have had, surely--little love affairs--little intrigues?
MME. FLACHE [_evidently flattered, and in a dreamy tone_]
Oh, yes, one or two!
LA BABIN [_laughs_]
And have you never had--this sort of accident? [_Points to the cradle_.]
MME. FLACHE
No.
LA BABIN
How did that come?
MME. FLACHE [_rises and approaches the mantelpiece_]
Probably because I was a midwife.
LA BABIN
Well, I know one in your profession who has had five.
MME. FLACHE [_with contempt_]
She evidently did not come from Paris.
LA BABIN
That's true; she came from Courbevoie.
MUSOTTE [_in a feeble voice_] Is no one there?
MME. FLACHE
She is awakening. There, there! [_Folds up the screen which hides the long steamer-chair_.]
MUSOTTE
Hasn't he come yet?
MME. FLACHE
No.
MUSOTTE
He will arrive too late--my God! My God!
MME. FLACHE
What an idea! He will come.
MUSOTTE
And my little darling--my child?
MME. FLACHE
He is sleeping like an angel.
MUSOTTE [_after looking at herself in a hand-mirror_]
I must not look like this when he comes. Oh, God! Bring my child--I want to see him.
MME. FLACHE
But if I show him to you he will wake up, and who knows if he will go to sleep again.
MUSOTTE
Bring the cradle here. [_A gesture of refusal from_ Mme Flache.] Yes, yes! I insist, [Mme. Flache _and the nurse gently bring the cradle to her_.] Nearer, nearer, so that I can see him well--the darling! My child, my child! And I am going to leave him! Soon I shall disappear into the unknown. Oh. God, what agony!
MME. FLACHE
Now don't go worrying yourself like that; you are not as ill as you think. I have seen lots worse than you. Come, come! you are going to recover. Take away the cradle, nurse. [_They put the cradle again in its place; then to the nurse_.] That will do, that will do. Watch me. You know very well that it is only I who can quiet it. [_Sits near the cradle, and sings a lullaby while rocking it_.]
"A little gray fowl Came into the barn, To lay a big egg For the good boy that sleeps. Go to sleep, go to sleep, My little chicken! Go to sleep, sleep, my chick!"
LA BABIN [_stands near the end of the mantelpiece, drinks the sugared water, and slips loaf sugar into her pocket; aside_]
I must not forget the main thing. I have just seen in the kitchen the remains of a leg of mutton, to which I should like to go and say a few words. I am breaking in two with hunger just now.
MME. FLACHE [_sings softly_]
"A little black fowl Came into the room, To lay a big egg For the good boy that sleeps. Sleep, sleep, my little chicken, Sleep, oh, sleep, my chick!"
MUSOTTE [_from the long chair, after moaning several times_]
Has he gone to sleep again?
MME. FLACHE [_goes toward_ Musotte]
Yes, Mademoiselle, just as if he were a little Jesus. Do you wish to know what I think about him, this young man lying here? You will lead him to the altar for his marriage. He is a jewel, like yourself, my dear.
MUSOTTE
Do you really think him pretty?
MME. FLACHE
On the honor of a midwife, I have seldom brought into the world one so pretty. It is a pleasure to know that one has brought to the light such a little Cupid as he is.
MUSOTTE
And to think that in a few hours, perhaps, I shall see him no more; look at him no more; love him no more!
MME. FLACHE
Oh, no, no! You are talking unreasonably.
MUSOTTE
Ah, I know it too well! I heard you talking with the nurse. I know that the end is very near; this night, perhaps. Would the doctor have written to Jean to come and see me on this evening--the evening of his marriage--if I were not at the point of death? [_The bell rings_. Musotte _utters a cry_.] Ah, there he is! it is he! Quick! quick! Oh, God, how I suffer! [_Exit_ Mme. Flache C. Musotte _gazes after her. Enter_ Dr. Pellerin, _in evening clothes_.]
SCENE II.
MUSOTTE [_despairingly_]
Ah! it is not he!
PELLERIN [_approaches_ Musotte]
Has he not come yet?
MUSOTTE
He will not come.
DR. PELLERIN
He will! I am certain of it; I know it.
MUSOTTE
No!
DR. PELLERIN
I swear it! [_Turns toward_ Mme. Flache.] Hasn't he answered the note yet?
MME. FLACHE
No, Doctor.
DR. PELLERIN
Well, he will come. How is my patient?
MME. FLACHE
She has rested a little.
MUSOTTE [_in an agitated voice_]
All is over! I feel that I shall not rest any more until he comes, or until I depart without having seen him.
DR. PELLERIN
He will come if you will go to sleep immediately and sleep until to-morrow morning.
MUSOTTE
You would not have written to him to come this evening if I had been able to wait until to-morrow morning. [_The bell rings_.] If that is not he, I am lost--lost! [Mme. Flache _runs to open the door_. Musotte _listens intently, and hears from below a man's voice; then murmurs despairingly_.] It is not he!
MME. FLACHE [_re-enters with a vial in her hand_]
It is the medicine from the chemist.
MUSOTTE [_agitated_]
Oh, God! how horrible! He is not coming; what have I done? Doctor, show me my child. I will see him once more.
DR. PELLERIN
But he sleeps, my little Musotte.
MUSOTTE
Well, he has plenty of time in the future for sleep.
DR. PELLERIN
Come, come, calm yourself.
MUSOTTE
If Jean does not come, who will take care of my child?--for it is Jean's child, I swear to you. Do you believe me? Oh, how I loved him!
DR. PELLERIN
Yes, my dear little child, we believe you. But please be calm.
MUSOTTE [_with increasing agitation_]
Tell me, when you went away just now where did you go?
DR. PELLERIN
To see a patient.
MUSOTTE
That is not true. You went to see Jean, and he would not come with you, or he would be here now.
DR. PELLERIN
On my word of honor, no.
MUSOTTE
Yes, I feel it. You have seen him, and you do not dare to tell me for fear it would kill me.
DR. PELLERIN
Ah, the fever is coming back again. This must not go on. I don't wish you to be delirious when he comes. [_Turns to_ Mme. Flache.] We must give her a hypodermic injection. Give me the morphia. [Mme. Flache _brings the needle and morphia, from the mantelpiece and gives it to_ Dr. Pellerin.]
MUSOTTE [_uncovers her own arm_]
But for this relief, I do not know how I should have borne up during the last few days. [Dr. Pellerin _administers the hypodermic_.]
DR. PELLERIN
Now, you must go to sleep; I forbid you to speak. I won't answer you, and I tell you of a certainty that in a quarter of an hour Jean will be here. [Musotte _stretches herself out obediently upon the couch and goes to sleep_.]
LA BABIN [_silently replaces the screen which hides_ Musotte]
How she sleeps! What a benediction that drug is! But I don't want any of it. It scares me; it is a devil's potion. [_Sits near the cradle and reads a newspaper_.]
MME. FLACHE [_in a low voice to_ Dr. Pellerin]
Oh, the poor girl, what misery!
DR. PELLERIN [_in the same tone_]
Yes, she is a brave girl. It is some time since I first met her with Jean Martinel, who gave her three years of complete happiness. She has a pure and simple soul.
MME. FLACHE
Well, will this Monsieur Martinel come?
DR. PELLERIN
I think so. He is a man of feeling, but it is a difficult thing for him to leave his wife and his people on such a day as this.
MME. FLACHE
It certainly is a most extraordinary case. A veritable _fiasco_.
DR. PELLERIN
It is, indeed.
MME. FLACHE [_changes her tone_]
Where have you been just now? You did not put on evening dress and a white cravat to go and see a patient?
DR. PELLERIN
I went to see the first part of the Montargy ballet danced.
MME. FLACHE [_interested, and leaning upon the edge of the table_]
And was it good? Tell me.
DR. PELLERIN [_sits_ L. _of table_]
It was very well danced.
MME. FLACHE
The new directors do things in style, don't they?
DR. PELLERIN
Jeanne Merali and Gabrielle Poivrier are first class.
MME. FLACHE
Poivrier--the little Poivrier--is it possible! As to Merali I am not so much astonished; although she is distinctly ugly, she has her good points. And how about Mauri?
DR. PELLERIN
Oh, a marvel--an absolute marvel, who dances as no one else can. A human bird with limbs for wings. It was absolute perfection.
MME. FLACHE
Are you in love with her?
DR. PELLERIN
Oh, no; merely an admirer. You know how I worship the dance.
MME. FLACHE
And the _danseuses_ also, at times. [_Lowering her eyes._] Come, have you forgotten?
DR. PELLERIN
One can never forget artists of your worth, my dear.
MME. FLACHE
You are simply teasing me.
DR. PELLERIN
I only do you justice. You know that formerly, when I was a young doctor, I had for you a very ardent passion which lasted six weeks. Tell me, don't you regret the time of the grand _f?te_?
MME. FLACHE
A little. But reason comes when one is young no longer, and I have nothing to complain of. My business is very prosperous.
DR. PELLERIN
You are making money, then? They tell me that you are giving dainty little dinners.
MME. FLACHE
I believe you, and I have a particularly good _chef_. Won't you give me the pleasure of entertaining you at dinner one of these days, my dear Doctor?
DR. PELLERIN
Very willingly, my dear.
MME. FLACHE
Shall I have any other physicians, or do you prefer to come alone?
DR. PELLERIN
Alone, if you please. I am not fond of a third party. [_The bell rings._]
MUSOTTE [_awakens_]
Ah, some one rang, run and see. [_Exit_ Mme. Flache. _A short silence._]
A VOICE [_without_]
Madame Henriette L?v?que?
MUSOTTE [_emitting an anguished cry_]
Ah, it is he! There he is! [_Makes an effort to rise. Enter_ Jean Martinel.] Jean! Jean! At last! [_Springs up and stretches her arms to him._]
SCENE III.
(_The same,--with_ Jean Martinel.)
JEAN [_comes rapidly forward, kneels near the long steamer-chair, and kisses_ Musotte's _hands_]
My poor little Musotte! [_They begin to weep and dry their eyes; then they remain silent and motionless. At last_ Jean _rises and holds up his hand to_ Dr. Pellerin.]
PELLERIN
Did I do well?
JEAN
You did indeed, and I thank you.
PELLERIN [_introduces them_]
Madame Flache, the midwife--the nurse--[_indicates the cradle with a grave gesture_] and there!
JEAN [_approaches the cradle and lifts the little curtain, takes up the child and kisses it on the mouth; then lays it down again_]
He is a splendid boy!
DR. PELLERIN
A very pretty child.
MME. FLACHE
A superb morsel--one of my prettiest.
JEAN [_in a low voice_]
And Musotte, how is she?
MUSOTTE [_who has heard him_]
I,--I am almost lost. I know surely that all is over. [_To_ Jean.] Take that little chair, dear, and seat yourself near me, and let us talk as long as I am able to speak. I have so many things to say to you, for we shall never be together any more. I am so glad to see you again that nothing else now seems of any importance.
JEAN [_approaching her_] Don't agitate yourself. Don't get excited.
MUSOTTE
How can I help being agitated at seeing you again?
JEAN [_sits on the low chair, takes_ Musotte's _hand_]
My poor Musotte, I cannot tell you what a shock it was to me when I learned just now that you were so ill.
MUSOTTE
And on this day of all days! It must have shocked you greatly.
JEAN
What! Do you know of it then?
MUSOTTE
Yes, since I felt so ill, I kept myself informed about you every day, in order that I might not pass away without having seen you and spoken to you again, for I have so much to say to you. [_At a sign from_ Jean, Mme. Flache, Pellerin, _and_ La Babin _exit_ R.]
SCENE IV.
(Musotte _and_ Jean.)
MUSOTTE
Then you received the letter?
JEAN
Yes.
MUSOTTE
And you came immediately?
JEAN
Certainly.
MUSOTTE
Thanks--ah! thanks. I hesitated a long time before warning you--hesitated even this morning, but I heard the midwife talking with the nurse and learned that to-morrow perhaps it might be too late, so I sent Doctor Pellerin to call you immediately.
JEAN
Why didn't you call me sooner?
MUSOTTE
I never thought that my illness would become so serious. I did not wish to trouble your life.
JEAN [_points to the cradle_]
But that child! How is it that I was not told of this sooner?
MUSOTTE
You would never have known it, if his birth had not killed me. I would have spared you this pain--this cloud upon your life. When you left me, you gave me enough to live upon. Everything was over between us; and besides, at any other moment than this, would you believe me if I said to you: "This is your child?"
JEAN
Yes, I have never doubted you.
MUSOTTE
You are as good as ever, my Jean. No, no, I am not lying to you; he is yours, that little one there. I swear it to you on my deathbed; I swear it to you before God!
JEAN
I have already told you that I believed you. I have always believed you.
MUSOTTE
Listen, this is all that has happened. As soon as you left me, I became very ill. I suffered so much that I thought I was going to die. The doctor ordered a change of air. You remember, it was in the spring. I went to Saint-Malo--to that old relative, of whom I have often talked to you.
JEAN
Yes, yes.
MUSOTTE
It was in Saint-Malo, after some days, that I realized that you had left me a pledge of your affection. My first desire was to tell you everything, for I knew that you were an honest man--that you would have recognized this child, perhaps even have given up your marriage; but I would not have had you do that. All was over; was it not?--and it was better that it should be so. I knew that I could never be your wife [_smiles_], Musotte, me, Madame Martinel--oh, no!
JEAN
My poor, dear girl. How brutal and hard we men are, without thinking of it and without wishing to be so!
MUSOTTE
Don't say that. I was not made for you. I was only a little model; and you, you were a rising artist, and I never thought that you would belong to me forever. [Jean _sheds tears_.] No, no, don't cry; you have nothing to reproach yourself with. You have always been so good to me. It is only God who has been cruel to me.
JEAN
Musotte!
MUSOTTE
Let me go on. I remained at Saint-Malo without revealing my condition. Then I came back to Paris, and here some months afterward the little one was born--the child! When I fully understood what had happened to me, I experienced at first such fear; yes, such fear! Then I remembered that he was bone of your bone, and flesh of your flesh; that you had given him life, and that he was a pledge from you. But one is so stupid when one knows nothing. One's ideas change just as one's moods change, and I became contented all at once; contented with the thought that I would bring him up, that he would grow to be a man, that he would call me mother. [_Weeps._] Now, he will never call me mother. He will never put his little arms around my neck, because I am going to leave him; because I am going away--I don't know where; but there, where everybody goes. Oh, God! My God!
JEAN
Calm yourself, my little Musotte. Would you be able to speak as you do speak if you were as ill as you think you are?
MUSOTTE
You do not see that the fever is burning within me; that I am losing my head, and don't know longer what I say.
JEAN
No, no; please calm yourself.
MUSOTTE
Pet me; pet me, Jean, and you will calm me.
JEAN [_kisses her hair; then resumes_]
There, there; don't speak any more for a minute or two. Let us remain quietly here near each other.
MUSOTTE
But I must speak to you; I have so many things to say to you yet, and do not know how to say them. My head is beyond my control. Oh, my God! how shall I do it? [_Raises herself, looks around her and sees the cradle._] Ah, yes, I know; I recollect, it is he, my child. Tell me, Jean, what will you do with him? You know that I am an orphan, and when I am gone he will be here all alone--alone in the world! Poor little thing! Listen, Jean, my head is quite clear now. I shall understand very well what you answer me now, and the peace of my closing moments depends upon it. I have no one to leave the little one to but you.
JEAN
I promise you that I will take him, look after him, and bring him up.
MUSOTTE
As a father?
JEAN
As a father.
MUSOTTE
You have already seen him?
JEAN
Yes.
MUSOTTE
Go and look at him again. [Jean _goes over to the cradle._]
JEAN
He is pretty, isn't he?
MUSOTTE
Everybody says so. Look at him, the poor little darling, who has enjoyed only a few days of life as yet. He belongs to us. You are his father; I am his mother, but soon he will have a mother no more. [_In anguish._] Promise me that he shall always have a father.
JEAN [_goes over to her_]
I promise it, my darling!
MUSOTTE
A true father, who will always love him well?
JEAN I promise it.
MUSOTTE
You will be good--very good--to him?
JEAN
I swear it to you!
MUSOTTE
And then, there is something else--but I dare not--
JEAN
Tell it to me.
MUSOTTE
Since I came back to Paris, I have sought to see you without being seen by you, and I have seen you three times. Each time you were with her--with your sweetheart, your wife, and with a gentleman--her father, I think. Oh, how I looked at her! I asked myself: "Will she love him as I have loved him? Will she make him happy? Is she good?" Tell me, do you really believe she is very good?
JEAN
Yes, darling, I believe it.
MUSOTTE
You are very certain of it?
JEAN
Yes, indeed.
MUSOTTE
And I thought so, too, simply from seeing her pass by. She is so pretty! I have been a little jealous, and I wept on coming back. But what are you going to do now as between her and your son?
JEAN
I shall do my duty.
MUSOTTE
Your duty? Does that mean by her or by him?
JEAN
By him.
MUSOTTE
Listen, Jean: when I am no more, ask your wife from me, from the mouth of a dead woman, to adopt him, this dear little morsel of humanity-to love him as I would have loved him; to be a mother to him in my stead. If she is tender and kind, she will consent. Tell her how you saw me suffer--that my last prayer, my last supplication on earth was offered up for her. Will you do this?
JEAN
I promise you that I will.
MUSOTTE
Ah! How good you are! Now I fear nothing; my poor little darling is safe, and I am happy and calm. Ah, how calm I am! You didn't know, did you, that I called him Jean, after you? That does not displease you, does it?
JEAN [_weeps_]
No, no!
MUSOTTE
You weep--so you still love me a little, Jean? Ah, how I thank you for this! But if I only could live; it must be possible. I feel so much better since you came here, and since you have promised me all that I have asked you. Give me your hand. At this moment I can recall all our life together, and I am content--almost gay; in fact, I can laugh--see, I can laugh, though I don't know why. [_Laughs._]
JEAN
Oh, calm yourself for my sake, dear little Musotte.
MUSOTTE
If you could only understand how recollections throng upon me. Do you remember that I posed for your "Mendiante," for your "Violet Seller," for your "Guilty Woman," which won for you your first medal? And do you remember the breakfast at Ledoyen's on Varnishing Day? There were more than twenty-five at a table intended for ten. What follies we committed, especially that little, little--what did he call himself--I mean that little comic fellow, who was always making portraits which resembled no one? Oh, yes, Tavernier! And you took me home with you to your studio, where you had two great manikins which frightened me so, and I called to you, and you came in to reassure me. Oh, how heavenly all that was! Do you remember? [_Laughs again_.] Oh, if that life could only begin over again! [_Cries suddenly_.] Ah, what pain! [_To_ Jean, _who is going for the doctor_.] No, stay, stay! [_Silence. A sudden change comes over her face_.] See, Jean, what glorious weather! If you like, we will take the baby for a sail on a river steamboat; that will be so jolly! I love those little steamboats; they are so pretty. They glide over the water quickly and without noise. Now that I am your wife, I can assert myself--I am armed. Darling, I never thought that you would marry me. And look at our little one--how pretty he is, and how he grows! He is called Jean after you. And I--I have my two little Jeans--mine--altogether mine! You don't know how happy I am. And the little one walks to-day for the first time! [_Laughs aloud, with her arms stretched out, pointing to the child which she thinks is before her_.]
JEAN [_weeps_]
Musotte! Musotte! Don't you know me?
MUSOTTE
Indeed I know you! Am I not your wife? Kiss me, darling. Kiss me, my little one.
JEAN [_takes her in his arms, weeping and repeating_]
Musotte! Musotte! [Musotte _rises upon her couch, and with a gesture to_ Jean _points to the cradle, toward which he goes, nodding "Yes, yes," with his head. When_ Jean _reaches the cradle,_ Musotte, _who has raised herself upon her hands, falls lifeless upon the long steamer-chair._ Jean, _frightened, calls out_] Pellerin! Pellerin!
SCENE V.
(_The same:_ Pellerin, Mme. Flache, _and_ La Babin, _enter quickly_ R.)
PELLERIN [_who has gone swiftly to_ Musotte, _feels her pulse and listens at the heart_]
Her heart is not beating! Give me a mirror, Madame Flache.
JEAN
My God! [Mme. Flache _gives a hand-mirror to_ Pellerin, _who holds it before the lips of_ Musotte, _Pause_.]
PELLERIN [_in a low voice_]
She is dead!
JEAN [_takes the dead woman's hand and kisses it fondly, his voice choked with emotion_]
Farewell, my dear little Musotte! To think that a moment ago you were speaking to me--a moment ago you were looking at me, you saw me, and now--all is over!
PELLERIN [_goes to_ Jean _and takes him by the shoulder_]
Now, you must go at once. Go! You have nothing more to do here. Your duty is over.
JEAN [_rises_]
I go. Farewell, poor little Musotte!
PELLERIN
I will take care of everything this evening. But the child, do you wish me to find an asylum for him?
JEAN
Oh, no, I will take him. I have sworn it to that poor, dead darling. Come and join me immediately at my house, and bring him with you. Then I shall have another service to request of you. But how about Musotte, who is going to remain with her?
MME. FLACHE
I, Monsieur. Have no anxiety; I am acquainted with all that must be done.
JEAN
Thank you, Madame. [_Approaches the bed; closes_ Musotte's _eyes and kisses her fondly and for a long time upon her forehead_.] Farewell, Musotte, forever! [_Goes softly to the cradle, removes the veil, kisses the child and speaks to it in a firm voice which at the same time is full of tears_.] I shall see you again directly, my little Jean!
[_Exit quickly_].
ACT III.
SCENE I.
(_Same setting as in_ Act I.)
(Monsieur de Petitpr?, Mme. de Ronchard, M. Martinel, _and_ L?on.)
MME. DE RONCHARD [_walks about in an agitated manner_]
Seven minutes to midnight! It is nearly two hours since Jean left us!
LEON [_seated_ L.]
But, my dear Aunt, just allow a half hour in the carriage for going and a half hour for returning, and there remains just one hour for the business he had to attend to.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Was it so very long, then--the business that called him hence?
LEON
Yes, my dear Aunt; and now, why worry yourself by counting the minutes? Your agitation will change nothing in the end, and will not hasten Jean's return by a single second, or make the hands of the clock move more quickly.
MME. DE RONCHARD
How can you ask me not to worry when my mind is full of anxiety, when my heart is beating, and I feel the tears rising into my eyes?
L?ON
But, my dear Aunt, you know very well you do not feel as badly as that.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Oh, you irritate me!
MARTINEL [_seated near the table_]
Don't torment yourself, Madame. True, the situation is a rather delicate one, but it need not disquiet you or frighten us, if we know how to bring to its consideration at this moment coolness and reason.
L?ON
Just so, my dear Aunt, Monsieur Martinel speaks truly.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_crosses_ R.]
You ought to be beaten, you two! You know everything, and won't tell anything. How annoying men are! There is never any means of making them tell a secret.
MARTINEL
Jean will come presently and will tell you everything. Have a little patience.
PETITPR?
Yes; let us be calm. Let us talk of other things, or be silent, if we can.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Be silent! That is about, the most difficult thing--
A SERVANT [_enters_ R.]
A gentleman wishes to see M. Martinel.
MARTINEL [_rises_.]
Pardon me for a moment. [_To the servant._] Very well, I am coming. [_Exit_ R.]
SCENE II.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_approaches servant quickly_]
Baptiste, Baptiste! Who is asking for M. Martinel?
SERVANT
I do not know, Madame. It was the hall porter who came upstairs.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Well, run now and look without showing yourself, and come back and tell us at once.
PETITPR? [_who has risen at the entrance of the servant_]
No, I will permit no spying; let us wait. We shall not have to wait long now. [_To the servant._] You may go. [_Exit servant._]
MME. DE RONCHARD [_to_ Petitpr?]
I do not understand you at all. You are absolutely calm. One would think that your daughter's happiness was nothing to you. For myself, I am profoundly agitated.
PETITPR?
That will do no good. [_Sits near the table_ R.] Let us talk--talk reasonably, now that we are a family party and Monsieur Martinel is absent.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_Sits_ R.]
If that man would only go back to Havre!
L?ON [_Sits_ L. _of table_]
That would not change anything even if he could go back to Havre.
PETITPR?
For my part, I think--
MME. DE RONCHARD [_interrupts_]
Do you wish to hear my opinion? Well, I think that they are preparing us for some unpleasant surprise; that they wish to entrap us, as one might say.
PETITPR?
But why? In whose interest? Jean Martinel is an honest man, and he loves my child. L?on, whose judgment I admire, although he is my son--
LEON
Thank you, father!
PETITPR?
L?on bears Jean as much affection as esteem. As to the uncle--
MME. DE RONCHARD
Don't talk about them, I pray. It is this woman who is seeking to entrap us. She has played some little comedy, and she chooses to-day above all others for its _d?nouement_. It is her stage climax; her masterpiece of treachery.
L?ON
As in "The Ambigu."
MME. DE RONCHARD
Do not laugh. I know these women. I have suffered enough at their hands.
PETITPR?
Oh, my poor Clarisse; if you really understood them, you would have held your husband better than you did.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_rises_]
What do you mean by "understanding" them? Pardon me--to live with that roisterer coming in upon me when and whence he pleased--I prefer my broken life and my loneliness--with you!
PETITPR?
No doubt you are right from your point of view of a married woman; but there are other points of view, perhaps less selfish and certainly superior, such as that of family interest.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Of family interest, indeed? Do you mean to say that I was wrong from the point of view of the family interest--you, a magistrate!
PETITPR?
My duties as a magistrate have made me very prudent, for I have seen pass under my eyes many equivocal and terrible situations, which not only agonized my conscience but gave me many cruel hours of indecision. Man is often so little responsible and circumstances are often so powerful. Our impenetrable nature is so capricious, our instincts are so mysterious that we must be tolerant and even indulgent in the presence of faults which are not really crimes, and which exhibit nothing vicious or abandoned in the man himself.
MME. DE RONCHARD
So, then, to deceive one's wife is not deceitful, and you say such a thing before your son? Truly, a pretty state of affairs! [_Crosses_ L.]
L?ON
Oh, I have my opinion also about that, my dear Aunt.
PETITPR? [_rises_]
It is not almost a crime,--it is one. But it is looked upon to-day as so common a thing that one scarcely punishes it at all. It is punished by divorce, which is a house of refuge for most men. The law prefers to separate them with decency--timidly, rather than drag them apart as in former times.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Your learned theories are revolting, and I wish--
L?ON [_rises_]
Ah, here is Monsieur Martinel.
SCENE III.
(_The same, and_ Monsieur Martinel.)
MARTINEL [_with great emotion_]
I come to fulfill an exceedingly difficult task. Jean, who has gone to his own house, before daring to present himself here, has sent Doctor Pellerin to me. I am commissioned by him to make you acquainted with the sad position in which Jean finds himself,--in which we all find ourselves.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Ah, ha! Now, I am going to learn something!
MARTINEL
By a letter which you will read presently, we have learned this evening, in this house, of a new misfortune. A woman of whose existence you are all aware was at the point of death.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Did I not predict that she would do just this thing?
L?ON
Let M. Martinel speak, my dear Aunt.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And now that this woman has seen him, how does she feel--his dying patient? Better, without a doubt?
MARTINEL [_quietly_]
She died, Madame, died before his eyes.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Died this evening! Impossible!
MARTINEL
Nevertheless, it is so, Madame.
L?ON [_aside_]
Poor little Musotte!
MARTINEL
There is a serious thing to be considered here. This woman left a child, and that child's father is Jean.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_stupefied_]
A child!
MARTINEL [_to_ Petitpr?]
Read the physician's letter, Monsieur. [_Hands_ Petitpr? _the letter, and_ Petitpr? _reads it_.]
MME. DE RONCHARD
He had a child and he has never confessed it; has never said anything about it; has hidden it from us! What infamy!
MARTINEL
He would have told you in due time.
MME. DE RONCHARD
He would have told! That is altogether too strong--you are mocking us!
L?ON
But, my dear Aunt, let my father answer. I shall go and find Gilberte. She will be dying of anxiety. We have no right to hide the truth from her any longer. I am going to acquaint her with it.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_accompanying him to the door_]
You have a pleasant task, but you will not succeed in arranging matters.
L?ON [_at door_ L.]
In any case I shall not embroil them with each other as you would.
[_Exit_ L.]
SCENE IV.
(Petitpr?, Martinel, _and_ Madame de Ronchard.)
PETITPR? [_who has finished reading the letter_]
Then, Martinel, you say that your nephew was ignorant of the situation of this woman.
MARTINEL
Upon my honor.
MME. DE RONCHARD
It is incredible.
MARTINEL
I will answer you in a word. If my nephew had known of this situation, would he have done what he has this evening?
PETITPR?
Explain yourself more clearly.
MARTINEL
It is very simple. If he had known sooner of the danger this woman was in, do you think that he would have waited until the last moment, and have chosen this very evening--this supreme moment--to say good-bye to this poor, dying woman, and to reveal to you the existence of his illegitimate son? No, men hide these unfortunate children when and how they please. You know that as well as I, Monsieur. To run the risk of throwing us all into such a state of emotion and threatening his own future, as he has done, it would seem that Jean must be a madman, and he is by no means that. Had he known sooner of this situation, do you think that he would not have confided in me, and that I would have been so stupid--yes, I--as not to avert this disaster? Why, I tell you it is as clear as day.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_agitated, walks to and fro rapidly_ L.]
Clear as the day--clear as the day!
MARTINEL
Yes, indeed. If we had not received this piece of news as a bomb which destroys the power of reflection, if we could have taken time to reason the thing out, to make plans, we could have hidden everything from you, and the devil would have been in it before you would have known anything! Our fault has been that of being too sincere and too loyal. Yet, I do not regret it; it is always better to act openly in life.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Permit me, Monsieur--
PETITPR?
Silence, Clarisse. [_To_ Martinel.] Be it so, Monsieur. There is no question of your honor or of your loyalty, which have been absolutely patent in this unfortunate affair. I willingly admit that your nephew knew nothing of the situation, but how about the child? What is there to prove that it is Jean's?
MARTINEL
Jean alone can prove or disprove that. He believes it, and you know that it is not to his interest to believe it. There is nothing very joyful about such a complication--a poor, little foundling thrusting himself upon one like a thunderbolt, without warning, and upon the very evening of one's marriage. But Jean believes that the child is his, and I--and all of us--must we not accept it as he has accepted it, as the child's father has accepted it? Come, now. [_A short silence._] You ask me to prove to you that this child belongs to Jean?
MME. DE RONCHARD AND PETITPR? [_together_]
Yes!
MARTINEL
Then first prove to me that it is not Jean's child.
MME. DE RONCHARD
You ask an impossibility.
MARTINEL
And so do you. The principal judge in the matter, look you, is my nephew himself. We others can do nothing but accept his decision.
MME. DE RONCHARD
But meanwhile--
PETITPR?
Silence, Clarisse. Monsieur Martinel is right.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_ironically_]
Say that again.
MARTINEL
There can be no better reason, Madame. [_To_ Petitpr?.] I was quite sure that you would understand me, Monsieur, for you are a man of sense.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And what am I, then?
MARTINEL
You are a woman of the world, Madame.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And it is exactly as a woman of the world that I protest, Monsieur. You have a very pretty way of putting things, but none the less this is a fact: Jean Martinel brings to his bride, as a nuptial present, on the day of his marriage, an illegitimate child. Well, I ask you, woman of the world or not, can she accept such a thing?
PETITPR?
My sister is in the right this time, Monsieur Martinel.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And by no means too soon.
PETITPR?
It is evident that a situation exists patent and undeniable, which places us in an awkward dilemma. We have wedded our daughter to a man supposedly free from all ties and all complications in life, and then comes--what you know has come. The consequences should be endured by him, not by us. We have been wounded and deceived in our confidence, and the consent that we have given to this marriage we should certainly have refused, had we known the actual circumstances.
MME. DE RONCHARD
We should have refused? I should say so--not only once, but twice. Besides, this child, if Jean brings it into the house, will certainly be a cause of trouble among us all. Consider, Gilberte will probably become a mother in her turn, and then what jealousies, what rivalries, what hatred, perhaps, will arise between this intruder and her own children. This child will be a veritable apple of discord.
MARTINEL
Oh, no, no! he will not be a burden to anyone. Thanks to Jean's liberality, this child's mother will have left him enough to live comfortably, and, later, when he has become a man, he will travel, no doubt. He will do as I have done; as nine-tenths of the human race do.
PETITPR?
Well, until then, who will take care of it?
MARTINEL
I, if it is agreeable. I am a free man, retired from business; and it will give me something to do, something to distract me. I am ready to take him with me at once, the poor little thing--[_looks at_ Mme. de Ronchard] unless Madame, who is so fond of saving lost dogs--
MME. DE RONCHARD
That child! I! Oh, that would be a piece of foolishness.
MARTINEL
Yet, Madame, if you care to have him, I will yield my right most willingly.
MME. DE RONCHARD
But Monsieur, I never said--
MARTINEL
Not as yet, true, but perhaps you will say it before very long, for I am beginning to understand you. You are an assumed man-hater and nothing else. You have been unhappy in your married life and that has embittered you--just as milk may turn upon its surface, but at the bottom of the churn there is butter of fine quality.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_frowns_]
What a comparison!--milk--butter--pshaw! how vulgar!
PETITPR?
But Clarisse--
MARTINEL
Here is your daughter.
SCENE V.
(_The same, and_ Gilberte _and_ Leon _who enter_ L.)
PETITPR? [_approaches Gilberte_]
Before seeing your husband again, if you decide to see him, it is necessary that we should decide exactly what you are going to say to him.
GILBERTE [_greatly moved, sits_ L. _of table_]
I knew it was some great misfortune.
MARTINEL [_sits beside her_]
Yes, my child; but there are two kinds of misfortune--those that come from the faults of men, and those that spring purely from the hazards of fate; that is to say, destiny. In the first case, the man is guilty; in the second case, he is a victim. Do you understand me?
GILBERTE
Yes, Monsieur.
MARTINEL
A misfortune of which some one person is the victim can also wound another person very cruelly. But will not the heart of this second wounded and altogether innocent, person bestow a pardon upon the involuntary author of her disaster?
GILBERTE [_in a sad voice_]
That depends upon the suffering which she undergoes.
MARTINEL Meanwhile, you knew that before Jean loved you, before he conceived the idea of marrying you, he had--an intrigue. You accepted the fact as one which had nothing exceptional about it.
GILBERTE
I did accept it.
MARTINEL
And now your brother may tell you the rest.
GILBERTE
Yes, Monsieur.
MARTINEL
What shall I say to Jean?
GILBERTE
I am too much agitated to tell you yet. This woman, of whom I did not think at all, whose very existence was a matter of indifference to me--her death has frightened me. It seems that she has come between Jean and me, and will always remain there. Everything that I have heard of her prophesies this estrangement. But you knew her--this woman did you not, Monsieur?
MARTINEL
Yes, Madame, and I can say nothing but good of her. Your brother and I have always looked upon her as irreproachable in her fidelity to Jean. She loved him with a pure, devoted, absolute, and lasting affection. I speak as a man who has deplored deeply this intrigue, for I look upon myself as a father to Jean, but we must try to be just to everyone.
GILBERTE
And did Jean love her very much, too?
MARTINEL
Oh, yes, certainly he did, but his love began to wane. Between them there was too much of a moral and social distance. He lived with her, however, drawn to her by the knowledge of the deep and tender affection which she bestowed upon him.
GILBERTE [_gravely_]
And Jean went to see her die?
MARTINEL
He had just time to say farewell to her.
GILBERTE [_to herself_]
If I could only tell what passed between them at that moment! Ah, this wretched death is worse for me than if she were alive!
MME. DE RONCHARD [_rises_ R. _and goes up stage_]
I really do not understand you, my dear. The woman has died--so much the better for you. May God deliver you from all such!
GILBERTE
No, my dear Aunt; the feeling I have just now is so painful that I would sooner know her to be far away than to know her dead.
PETITPR? [_comes down_]
Yes, I admit that is the sentiment of a woman moved by a horrible catastrophe; but there is one grave complication in the matter--that of the child. Whatever may be done with it, he will none the less be the son of my son-in-law and a menace to us all.
MME. DE RONCHARD
And a subject for ridicule. See what the world will say of us in a little while.
L?ON
Leave the world to itself, my dear Aunt, and let us occupy ourselves with our own business. [_Goes to Gilberte_.] Now, Gilberte, is it the idea of the child that moves you so deeply?
GILBERTE
Oh, no,--the poor little darling!
PETITPR?
Such is the foolishness of women who know nothing of life.
L?ON
Well, father, why, if we have so many different views,--according as we are spectators or actors in the course of events,--why is there so much difference between the life of the imagination and the actual life; between that which one ought to do; that which you would that others should do, and that which you do yourself. Yes, what has happened is very painful; but the surprise of the event, its coincidence with the nuptial day makes it still more painful. We magnify--everything in our emotion, when it is ourselves that misfortune touches. Suppose, for a moment, that you had read this in your daily newspaper--
MME. DE RONCHARD [_seated_ L. _of table, indignantly_]
In my daily newspaper!
L?ON
Or in a romance. What emotion we should feel; what tears we should shed! How your sympathy would quickly go out to the poor little child whose birth was attained at the cost of his mother's life! How Jean would go up in your esteem; how frank, how loyal, how stanch in his fealty you would consider him; while, on the other hand, if he had deserted the dying woman, and had spirited away the little one into some distant village, you would not have had enough scorn for him, or enough insults for him. You would look upon him as a being without heart and without fear; and, you, my dear Aunt, thinking of the innumerable little bad dogs who owe you their lives, you would cry out with forcible gestures: "What a miserable scoundrel!"
MARTINEL [_seated_ L.]
That's perfectly true.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Dogs are worth more than men.
L?ON
Little children are not men, my dear Aunt. They have not had time to become bad.
PETITPR?
All that is very ingenious, Leon, and your special pleading is magnificent.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Yes, if you would only plead like that at the Palais.
PETITPR?
But this has nothing to do with a romance or with imaginary personages. We have married Gilberte to a young man in the ordinary conditions of life.
MME. DE RONCHARD
Without enthusiasm.
PETITPR?
Without enthusiasm, it is true, but nevertheless they are married, just the same. Now, on the evening of his nuptials, he brings us a present--I must say I do not care for a present which bawls.
L?ON
What does that prove, unless it is that your son-in-law is a brave man? What he has just done--risked his happiness in order to accomplish his duty--does it not say better than anything else could, how capable of devotion he is?
MARTINEL
Clear as the day.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_aside_]
And this man from Havre admires him!
PETITPR?
Then you maintain that Gilberte, on the day, of her entry upon married life, should become the adopted mother of the son of her husband's mistress?
L?ON
Exactly; just as I maintain all that is honorable and disinterested. And you would think as I do if the thing did not concern your daughter.
PETITPR?
No; it is an inexcusable situation.
L?ON
Well, then, what do you propose to do?
PETITPR?
Well, nothing less than a divorce. The scandal of this night is sufficient.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_rises_]
Gilberte divorced! You don't dream of that, do you? Have all our friends closing their doors on her, the greater part of her relatives lost to her! Divorced! Come, come! in spite of your new law, that has not yet come into our custom and shall not come in so soon. Religion forbids it; the world accepts it only under protest; and when you have against you both religion and the world--
PETITPR?
But statistics prove--
MME. DE RONCHARD
Pshaw! Statistics! You can make them say what you wish. No, no divorce for Gilberte. [_In a soft, low voice_.] Simply a legal separation--that is admissible, at least, and it is good form. Let them separate. I am separated--all fashionable people separate, and everything goes all right, but as to divorce--
L?ON [_seriously_]
It seems to me that only one person has a right to speak in this matter, and we are forgetting her too long. [_Turns to Gilberte_.] You have heard everything, Gilberte; you are mistress of your own judgment and of your decision. Upon a word from you depend either pardon or rupture. My father has made his argument. What does your heart say? [_Gilberte tries to speak, but stops and breaks down_.] Think always that in refusing to pardon Jean you wound me, and if I see you unhappy from your determination to say no, I shall suffer exceedingly. Monsieur Martinel asks from you at once an answer for Jean. Let us do better. I will go and find him. It is from your lips; it is, above all, in your eyes, that he will learn his fate. [_Brings her gently to the front of the stage_.] My little sister, my. dear little sister, don't be too proud; don't be too haughty! Listen to that which your chagrin murmurs in your soul. Listen well, but do not mistake it for pride.
GILBERTE
But I have no pride. I do not know how I feel. I am ill. My joy has been blighted, and it poisons me.
L?ON
Take care! It takes so little in such moments as these to make wounds which are incurable.
GILBERTE
No, no! I am too much distressed. Perhaps I shall be hard, for I am afraid of him and of myself. I am afraid of breaking off everything, or of yielding everything.
L?ON
I am going to find Jean.
GILBERTE [_resolutely_]
No, I do not wish to see him. I forbid it!
L?ON
Let me tell you something, my little Gilberte: You are less intelligent than I thought.
GILBERTE
Why?
L?ON
Because in such moments as these it is necessary to say yes or no at once. [_Jean appears at door_ R.]
SCENE VI.
(_The same, and_ Jean Martinel _standing at door_ R.)
GILBERTE [_with a stifled cry_]
It is he!
L?ON [_goes up to_ Jean _and taking him by the hand_]
Welcome!
JEAN
I am like a prisoner awaiting the decision of his judges--whether it be acquittal or death. The moments through which I have just passed I shall never forget.
L?ON
Your uncle and I have said all that we had to say. Now speak for yourself.
JEAN
I do not know how. It must be to my wife alone. I dare not speak before you all. I ask but a moment. After that I go, and I shall leave the house if my wife's attitude indicates that I ought. I shall do exactly what she would have me. I shall become that which she may order. But I must hear from her _own_ lips her decision as to my life. [_To_ Gilberte.] You cannot refuse me that, Madame. It is the only prayer that I shall ever make to you, I swear, if this request to you remains ungranted. [_They stand face to face and look at each other_.]
GILBERTE
No, I cannot refuse you. Father, Aunt, please leave me alone for a few minutes with Monsieur Martinel. You can see that I am perfectly calm.
PETITPR?
But--but--
JEAN [_determinedly to_ M. Petitpr?]
Monsieur, I shall not gainsay your will in anything. I shall do nothing without your approval. I have not returned here to contest your authority or to speak of rights; but I respectfully ask permission to remain alone a few minutes with--my wife! Consider that this is perhaps our last interview and that our future depends upon it.
MME. DE RONCHARD
It is solely the future of Gilberte which concerns me.
JEAN [_to_ Mme. de Ronchard]
I appeal simply to your heart, Madame; your heart, which has suffered. Do not forget that your irritation and your bitterness against me come from the misfortune that another man has inflicted upon you. Your life has been broken by him. Do not wish the same for me. You have been unhappy; married scarcely a year. [_Points to_ Gilberte.] Will you say that she shall be married scarcely a day, and that later she shall talk of her broken life--ceaselessly guarding in her mind the memory of this evening's disaster? [_At a movement of_ Mme. de Ronchard.] I know you to be kind, although you deny it, and I promise you, Madame, that if I remain Gilberte's husband, I shall love you as a son, as a son worthy of you.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_very much moved_]
A son! He has stirred me deeply! [_Whispers to_ Petitpr?.] Come away, let us leave them alone. [_Embraces_ Gilberte.]
PETITPR? [_to_ Jean]
Well, so be it, Monsieur. [_Rises and exit_ C., _offering his arm to_ Mme. de Ronchard.]
MARTINEL [_to_ L?on]
They are going to talk with that [_touches his heart_]; it is the only true eloquence.
[_Exit with_ L?on C.]
SCENE VII. (Gilberte and Jean.)
JEAN
You know all, do you not?
GILBERTE
Yes. And I have been deeply wounded.
JEAN
I hope you do not accuse me of lying or of any other dissimulation.
GILBERTE
Oh, no!
JEAN
Do you blame me for having left you this evening?
GILBERTE
I blame no one who does his duty.
JEAN
You did not know this woman--and she is dead.
GILBERTE
It is just because she is dead that she troubles me thus.
JEAN
Impossible; you must have another reason. [_With hesitation._] The child?
GILBERTE [_quickly_]
No, no! don't deceive yourself. The poor little darling! it is not his fault. No, I suffer from something which is peculiar to myself, which can come only from me, and which I cannot confess to you. It is a sorrow deep in my heart, so keen, when I felt it spring to birth under the words of my brother and your uncle, that, should I ever experience it again when living with you as your wife, I should never be able to dispel it.
JEAN
What is it?
GILBERTE
I cannot tell it. [_Sits_ L.]
JEAN [_stands_]
Listen to me. It is necessary that at this moment there should not be between us the shadow of a misunderstanding. All our life depends upon it. You are my wife, but I admit that you are absolutely free after what has happened. I will do as you wish. I am ready to agree to everything you desire, even to a divorce if you demand it. But what will happen to me after that I do not know, for I love you so that the thought of losing you after winning you will throw me mercilessly into some desperate resolve. [_Sees_ Gilberte _moved._] I do not seek to soften you, to move you--I simply tell you the naked truth. I feel, and I have felt during the whole night, through all the shocks and horrible emotions of the drama that has just been enacted, that you hold for me the keenest wound. If you banish me now, I am a lost man.
GILBERTE [_much moved_]
Do you really love me as much as that?
JEAN
With a love that I feel is ineffaceable.
GILBERTE
Did you love her?
JEAN
I did indeed love her. I experienced a tender attachment for a gentle and devoted girl. [_In a low voice, with passion._] Listen: that which I am going to tell you is unworthy, perhaps infamous, but I am only a human being, feeble as anyone else. Well, just now, in the presence of this poor, dying girl, my eyes were filled with tears and my sobs choked me--all my being vibrated with sorrow; but at the bottom of my soul, in the depths of my being, I thought only of you.
GILBERTE [_rises quickly_]
Do you mean that?
JEAN [_simply_]
I cannot lie to you.
GILBERTE
Well, do you know what made me suffer just now when my brother told me of this intrigue and death? I can tell it to you now. I was jealous! It was unworthy of me, wasn't it? Jealous of this poor, dead woman! But he spoke so well of her as to move me, and I felt that she loved you so much that you might find me perhaps indifferent and cold after her, and that hurt me so! I had so much fear of experiencing that that I thought of renouncing you.
JEAN
And now?--Gilberte! Gilberte!
GILBERTE [_extends her hands_]
I am here, Jean! take me!
JEAN
Ah, how grateful I am. [_Kisses her hands; then immediately after, with emotion._] But here another anguish seizes me. I have promised this poor woman to take and cherish this child in my own home. [Gilberte _makes a movement_.] That is not all. Do you know what her last thought, her last prayer was? She entreated me to commend the child to you.
GILBERTE
To me!
JEAN
To you, Gilberte.
GILBERTE [_profoundly moved_]
She did this, the poor woman? Did she believe that I would take--
JEAN
She hoped it, and in that hope her death was made easier.
GILBERTE [_in exalted mood, crosses_ R.]
Yes, I will take it! where is it?
JEAN
At my house.
GILBERTE
At your house? You must go to it immediately.
JEAN
What! leave you now, at this moment?
GILBERTE
We will go together, since I was to have accompanied you to your house this evening.
JEAN [_joyously_]
Oh, Gilberte! But your father will not let us go.
GILBERTE
Well, do you know what we must do, since my packing is finished, and my maid awaits me at your house? You must carry me off.
JEAN
Carry you off?
GILBERTE
Give me my cloak and let us go. All can be explained tomorrow. [_Shows the cloak that she had left upon the chair in the first act._] My cloak, please.
JEAN [_picks up the cloak quickly and throws it over her shoulders_]
You are the most adorable creature! [Gilberte _takes his arm and they go toward door_ R.]
SCENE VIII.
(_Enter_ Mme. de Ronchard, M. Petitpr?, M. Martinel, _and_ L?on C.)
MME. DE RONCHARD
Well, what are they doing? Are they going away now?
PETITPR?
Why, what does it mean?
GILBERTE
Yes; father, I am going away. I am going with my husband; but I shall be here to-morrow to ask pardon for this hurried flight, and to explain to you the reason for it.
PETITPR?
Were you going without saying good-bye to us--without embracing us?
GILBERTE
Yes, in order to avoid more discussions.
L?ON
She is right. Let them go.
GILBERTE [_throws herself upon_ Petitpr?'s _neck_]
Till to-morrow, father; till to-morrow, my dear Aunt. Good night, all; I have had enough of emotion and fatigue.
MME. DE RONCHARD [_goes to_ Gilberte _and embraces her_]
Yes, run along, darling--there is a little one over there who waits for a mother!
_Curtain._
THE LANCER'S WIFE
AND
OTHER TALES
THE LANCER'S WIFE
It was after Bourbaki's defeat in the east of France. The army, broken up, decimated and worn out, had been obliged to retreat into Switzerland, after that terrible campaign. It was only the short duration of the struggle that saved a hundred and fifty thousand men from certain death. Hunger, the terrible cold, and forced marches in the snow without boots, over bad mountainous roads, had caused the _francs-tireurs_ especially the greatest suffering, for we were without tents and almost without food, always in front when we were marching toward Belfort, and in the rear when returning by the Jura. Of our brigade, that had numbered twelve hundred men on the first of January, there remained only twenty-two pale, thin, ragged wretches, when at length we succeeded in reaching Swiss territory.
There we were safe and could rest. Everybody knows what sympathy was shown to the unfortunate French army, and how well it was cared for. We all gained fresh life, and those who had been rich and happy before the war declared that they had never experienced a greater feeling of comfort than they did then. Just think. We actually had something to eat every day, and could sleep every night.
Meanwhile, the war continued in the east of France, which had been excluded from the armistice. Besan?on still kept the enemy in check, and the latter had their revenge by ravaging the Comte Franch?. Sometimes we heard that they had approached quite close to the frontier, and we saw Swiss troops, who were to form a line of observation between us and the Germans, set out on their march.
But this hurt our pride, and as we regained health and strength the longing for fighting laid hold of us. It was disgraceful and irritating to know that within two or three leagues of us the Germans were victorious and insolent, to feel that we were protected by our captivity, and to feel that on that account we were powerless against them.
One day, our captain took five or six of us aside, and spoke to us about it, long and earnestly. He was a fine fellow, that captain. He had been a sub-lieutenant in the Zouaves, was tall and thin and as hard as steel, and during the whole campaign had given a great deal of trouble to the Germans. He fretted in inactivity and could not accustom himself to the idea of being a prisoner and of doing nothing.
"Confound it!" he said to us, "does it not pain you to know that there are a lot of uhlans within two hours of us? Does it not almost drive you mad to know that those beggarly wretches are walking about as masters in our mountains, where six determined men might kill a whole troop any day? I cannot endure it any longer, and I must go there."
"But how can you manage it, Captain?"
"How? It is not very difficult! Just as if we had not done a thing or two within the last six months, and got out of woods that were guarded by men very different from the Swiss. The day that you wish to cross over into France, I will undertake to get you there."
"That may be; but what shall we do in France without any arms?"
"Without arms? We will get them over yonder, by Jove!"
"You are forgetting the treaty," another soldier said; "we shall run the risk of doing the Swiss an injury, if Manteuffel learns that they have allowed prisoners to return to France."
"Come," said the captain, "those are all poor reasons. I mean to go and kill some Prussians; that is all I care about. If you do not wish to do as I do, well and good; only say so at once. I can quite well go by myself; I do not require anybody's company."
Naturally we all protested, and as it was quite impossible to make the captain alter his mind, we felt obliged to promise to go with him. We liked him too much to leave him in the lurch, since he had never failed us in any extremity; and so the expedition was decided on.
II.
The captain had a plan of his own, a plan he had been cogitating over for some time. A man in that part of the country, whom he knew, was going to lend him a cart, and six suits of peasants' clothes. We could hide under some straw at the bottom of the wagon, which would be loaded with Gruy?re cheese. This cheese he was supposed to be going to sell in France. The captain told the sentinels that he was taking two friends with him to protect his goods, in case anyone should try to rob him, which did not seem an extraordinary precaution. A Swiss officer seemed to look at the wagon in a knowing manner, but that was in order to impress his soldiers. In a word, neither officers nor men made it out.
"Get on," the captain said to the horses, as he cracked his whip, while our men quietly smoked their pipes. I was half suffocated in my box, which only admitted the air through some holes in front, while at the same time I was nearly frozen, for it was terribly cold.
"Get on," the captain said again, and the wagon loaded with Gruy?re cheese entered France.
The Prussian lines were very badly guarded, as the enemy trusted to the watchfulness of the Swiss. The sergeant spoke North German, while our captain spoke the bad German of the "Four Cantons"; so they could not understand each other. The sergeant, however, pretended to be very intelligent, and in order to make us believe that he understood us, they allowed us to continue our journey, and after traveling for seven hours, being continually stopped in the same manner, we arrived at a small village of the Jura, in ruins, at nightfall.
What were we going to do? Our only arms were the captain's whip, our uniforms, the peasants' blouses, and our food the Gruy?re cheese. Our sole riches consisted in our ammunition, packets of cartridges which we had stowed away inside some of the huge cheeses. We had about a thousand of them, just two hundred each; but then we wanted rifles, and they must be _chassepots_; luckily, however, the captain was a bold man of an inventive mind, and this was the plan that he hit upon:
While three of us remained hidden in a cellar in the abandoned village, he continued his journey as far as Besan?on with the empty wagon and one man. The town was invested, but one can always make one's way into a town among the hills by crossing the table-land till within about ten miles of the walls, and then by following paths and ravines on foot. They left their wagon at Omans, among the Germans, and escaped out of it at night on foot, so as to gain the heights which border the river Doubs; the next day they entered Besan?on, where there were plenty of _chassepots_. There were nearly forty thousand of them left in the arsenal, and General Roland, a brave marine, laughed at the captain's daring project, but let him have six rifles and wished him "good luck." There he also found his wife, who had been through all the war with us before the campaign in the east, and who had been only prevented by illness from continuing with Bourbaki's army. She had recovered, however, in spite of the cold, which was growing more and more intense, and in spite of the numberless privations that awaited her, she insisted on accompanying her husband. He was obliged to give way to her, and all three, the captain, his wife, and our comrade, started on their expedition.
Going was nothing in comparison to returning. They were obliged to travel by night, so as to avoid meeting anybody, as the possession of six rifles would have made them liable to suspicion. But in spite of everything, a week after leaving us, the captain and his "two men" were back with us again. The campaign was about to begin.
III.
The first night of his arrival, the captain began it himself. Under the pretext of examining the country round, he went along the highroad. I must tell you that the little village which served as our fortress was a small collection of poor, badly built houses, which had been deserted long before. It lay on a steep slope, which terminated in a wooded plain. The country people sold wood; they sent it down the ravines, which are called _coul?es_ locally, and which led down to the plain, and there they stacked it into piles, which were sold thrice a year to the wood merchants. The spot where this market was held was indicated by two small houses by the side of the highroad, which served for public-houses. The captain had gone down there by one of these _coul?es_.
He had been gone about half an hour, and we were on the lookout at the top of the ravine, when we heard a shot. The captain had ordered us not to stir, and only to come to him when we heard him blow his trumpet. It was made of a goat's horn, and could be heard a league off, but it gave no sound, and in spite of our cruel anxiety, we were obliged to wait in silence, with our rifles by our side.
To go down these _coul?es_ is easy, you need only let yourself glide down; but it is more difficult to get up again. You have to scramble up by catching hold of the hanging branches of the trees, and sometimes on all fours, by sheer strength. A whole mortal hour passed, and still the captain did not come, nothing moved in the brushwood. The captain's wife began to grow impatient; what could he be doing? Why did he not call us? Did the shot that we had heard proceed from an enemy, and had he killed or wounded our leader, her husband? They did not know what to think, but I myself fancied that either he was dead or that his enterprise was successful. I was merely anxious and curious to know which.
Suddenly, we heard the sound of his trumpet, and were much surprised that instead of coming from below, as we had expected, it came from the village behind us. What did that mean? It was a mystery to us, but the same idea struck us all, that he had been killed, and that the Prussians were blowing the trumpet to draw us into an ambush. We therefore returned to the cottage, keeping a careful lookout, with our fingers on the trigger and hiding under the branches. But his wife, in spite of our entreaties, rushed on, leaping like a tigress. She thought that she had to avenge her husband, and had fixed the bayonet to her rifle. We lost sight of her at the moment that we heard the trumpet again, and a few moments later we heard her calling out to us:
"Come on! come on! he is alive! it is he!"
We hastened on, and saw the captain smoking his pipe at the entrance of the village, but strangely enough he was on horseback.
"Ah!" said he to us, "you see that there is something to be done here. Here I am on horseback already; I knocked over a uhlan yonder, and took his horse; I suppose they were guarding the wood, but it was by drinking and swilling in clover. One of them, the sentry at the door, had not time to see me before I gave him a sugarplum in his stomach, and then, before the others could come out, I jumped on to the horse and was off like a shot. Eight or ten of them followed me, I think, but I took the crossroads through the wood; I have got scratched and torn a bit, but here I am. And now, my good fellows, attention, and take care! Those brigands will not rest until they have caught us, and we must receive them with rifle bullets. Come along; let us take up our posts!"
We set out. One of us took up his position a good way from the village of the crossroads; I was posted at the entrance of the main street, where the road from the level country enters the village, while the two others, with the captain and his wife, took up positions in the middle of the village, near the church, whose tower served for an observatory and citadel.
We had not been in our places long before we heard a shot followed by another; then two, then three. The first was evidently a _chassepot_,--one recognized it by the sharp report, which sounds like the crack of a whip,--while the other three came from the lancers' carbines.
The captain was furious. He had given orders to the outpost to let the enemy pass, and merely to follow them at a distance if they marched toward the village, and to join me when they had gone well between the houses. Then they were to appear suddenly, take the patrol between two fires, and not allow a single man to escape, for posted as we were, the six of us could have hemmed in ten Prussians, if needful.
"That confounded Pi?delot has roused them," the captain said, "and they will not venture to come on blindfold any longer. And then I am quite sure that he has managed to get wounded himself somehow or other, for we hear nothing of him. It serves him right; why did he not obey orders?" And then, after a moment, he grumbled in his beard: "After all, I am sorry for the poor fellow; he is so brave and shoots so well!"
The captain was right in his conjectures. We waited until evening, without seeing the uhlans; they had retreated after the first attack, but unfortunately we had not seen Pi?delot either. Was he dead or a prisoner? When night came the captain proposed that we should go out and look for him, and so the three of us started. At the crossroads we found a broken rifle and some blood, while the ground was trampled down. But we did not find either a wounded man or a dead body, although we searched every thicket. At midnight we returned without having discovered anything of our unfortunate comrade.
"It is very strange," the captain growled. "They must have killed him and thrown him into the bushes somewhere; they cannot possibly have taken him prisoner, as he would have called out for help. I cannot understand it all." Just as he said that, bright, red flames shot up in the direction of the inn on the highroad, which illuminated the sky.
"Scoundrels! cowards!" shouted the captain. "I will bet that they have set fire to the two houses in the market-place, in order to have their revenge, and then they will scuttle off without saying a word. They will be satisfied with having killed a man and setting fire to two houses. All right. It shall not pass over like that. We must go for them; they will not like to leave their illuminations in order to fight."
"It would be a great stroke of luck if we could set Pi?delot free at the same time," said some one.
The five of us set off, full of rage and hope. In twenty minutes we had got to the bottom of the _coule?_, and had not yet seen anyone when within a hundred yards of the inn. The fire was behind the house, and so all that we saw of it was the reflection above the roof. However, we were walking rather slowly, as we were afraid of a trap, when suddenly we heard Pi?delot's well-known voice. It had a strange sound, however, for it was at the same time dull and vibrant, stifled and clear, as if he was calling out as loud as he could with a gag in his mouth. He seemed to be hoarse and panting, and the unlucky fellow kept exclaiming: "Help! Help!"
We sent all thoughts of prudence to the devil and in two bounds were at the back of the inn, where a terrible sight met our eyes.
IV.
Pi?delot was being burned alive. He was writhing in the middle of a heap of fagots, against a stake to which they had fastened him, and the flames were licking him with their sharp tongues. When he saw us, his tongue seemed to stick in his throat, he drooped his head, and seemed as if he were going to die. It was only the affair of a moment to upset the burning pile, to scatter the embers, and to cut the ropes that fastened him.
Poor fellow! In what a terrible state we found him. The evening before he had had his left arm broken, and it seemed as if he had been badly beaten since then, for his whole body was covered with wounds, bruises, and blood. The flames had also begun their work on him, and he had two large burns, one on his loins, and the other on his right thigh, and his beard and his hair were scorched. Poor Pi?delot!
Nobody knows the terrible rage we felt at this sight! We would have rushed headlong at a hundred thousand Prussians. Our thirst for vengeance was intense; but the cowards had run away, leaving their crime behind them. Where could we find them now? Meanwhile, however, the captain's wife was looking after Pi?delot, and dressing his wounds as best she could, while the captain himself shook hands with him excitedly. In a few minutes he came to himself.
"Good morning, Captain, good morning, all of you," he said. "Ah! the scoundrels, the wretches! Why, twenty of them came to surprise us."
