WOMAN ON HER OWN, FALSEGODS AND THE RED ROBE: THREE PLAYS BY BRIEUX. THE ENGLISH VERSIONS BY MRS. BERNARD SHAW, J. F. FAGAN, AND A. BERNARD MIALL. WITHAN INTRODUCTION BY BRIEUX BRENTANO'S NEW YORKMCMXVI _Copyright, 1916, by Brentano's_ THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. CONTENTS Preface vii Woman On Her Own 1 False Gods 127 The Red Robe 219 PREFACE We are confronted at the present time by the woman who is anxious to layby means for her own support irrespective of the protection of herhusband. In this play I have indicated the tendency of this difficultyand the consequent troubles which the older civilizations will bringupon themselves when the woman's standing as a worker is generallyacknowledged. My conclusion, namely, that all these complications andtroubles are, at present at any rate, owing to the education of the man, points to the remedy, as far as I can see it. I must inform my readers that the version of LA FEMME SEULE, atranslation of which is now published in this volume, has, so far, notappeared in France and is unknown there; at least as regards the largerpart of the third act. I might, did I think it advisable, reproduce inits entirety a text which certain timidities have led me to emasculate. As between the man and the woman the ideal situation would, no doubt, bea rehabilitation of the old custom--the man at the workshop and thewoman in the home; thus reserving for her the holiest and most importantof all missions--the one which insures the future of the race by herenlightened care of the moral and physical health of her children. Unfortunately it happens that the wages of the working-man areinsufficient for the support of a family, and the poor woman istherefore compelled to go to the factory. The results are deplorable. The child is either entirely abandoned, or given to the State, and thesolidarity of the family suffers in consequence. Then again a generation of women with new ideas has arisen, who thinkthey should have, if they wish it, the right to live alone and bythemselves, without a husband's protection. However much some of us mayregret this attitude, it is one which must be accepted, since I cannotbelieve that the worst tyrants would dare to make marriage obligatory. These women have a right to live, and consequently a right to work. Alsothere are the widows and the abandoned women. Women first took places which seemed best fit for them, and which themen turned over to them because the work appeared to be of a charactersuitable to the feminine sex. But the modern woman has had enough of themeagre salary which is to be obtained by means of needle-work, and shehas invaded the shop, the office, the desks of the banks and postoffice. In industry also she has taken her place by the side of theworking-man, who has made room for her first with ironical grace, thenwith grumbling, and sometimes with anger. I believe that in Europe atleast this kind of difficulty will have to be faced in the future. As to the rich woman (and in LA FEMME SEULE I have treated this subjectonly slightly because it is one to which I expect to come back), theyhave been driven from the home where the progress of domestic sciencehas left them very little to do. We have reached a kind of hypocriticalform of State Socialism, or perhaps it would be better to sayCollectivism, and this will profoundly change the moral outlook. All, ornearly all, of the work of the home seems to be done by people from theoutside--from the cleaning of the windows to the education of thechildren. The modern home is but a fireside around which one hardly seesthe family gathered for intimate talk. It has thus happened that the woman who finds herself without work, andwith several children, looks out of the windows of her home away from itfor the employment of her activities. The future will tell us whether orno this is good. In my opinion I believe it will be good, and I believethat man will gain, through this new intelligence, in the direction ofthe larger life which has come to women from this necessity of theirs. Unquestionably there will have to be a new education, and this willcertainly come. LA FOI. --This play is, without doubt, of all my plays the one which hascost me the most labor and the one upon which I have expended the mostthought and time. The impulse to write it came to me at Lourdes in viewof the excited, suffering, and praying crowds of people. When thethought of writing it came to me I hesitated, but during many years Iadded notes upon notes. And it was while on a trip to Egypt that I sawthe possibility for discussing such questions in the theatre withoutgiving offence to various consciences. My true and illustrious friend, Camille Saint-Saëns, has been kind enough to underline my prose with hisadmirable music. In this way LA FOI has been produced on the stage atMonte Carlo for the first time under the auspices of His Royal Highnessthe Prince of Monaco, whom I now beg to thank. English readers of LA ROBE ROUGE would, I think, be somewhat misled, ifthey did not understand the difference between the procedure in criminalcases in France and in Great Britain. My purpose in this preface is toattempt to show that difference in a few words. With you, a criminal trial is conducted publicly and before a jury; withus in France it is carried on in the Chambers of the Judge with only thelawyer present. There sometimes result from this latter method dramas ofthe kind of which my play LA ROBE ROUGE is one. The judge, too directlyinterested and free of the criticism which might fall on him from thegeneral public, is liable to the danger of forming for himself anopinion as to the guilt of the accused. He may do this in perfect goodfaith, but sometimes runs the risk of falling into grave error. It thusoccasionally happens that he is anxious not so much to know the truth asto prove that he was right in his own, often rash, opinion. LA ROBE ROUGE is a criticism of certain judicial proceedings whichobtain in France; but it is also a study of an individual case ofprofessional crookedness. We should be greatly mistaken were we to drawthe dangerous conclusion that all French judges resemble Mouzon, and weshould be equally wrong were we to condemn too hastily the French coderelating to criminal trials. In the struggle of society with the criminal it is very difficult, perhaps impossible, for the legislator to hold in equal balance therights of the individual as against the interests of society. Thebalance sometimes leans one way and sometimes the other; and had I beenan English citizen, instead of writing a play against the abuse ofjustice by a judge, I might have had to illustrate the same abuse by thelawyer. I wish most sincerely that these three plays may interest the people ofEngland and America. The problems which I have studied I am sure I havenot brought to their final solutions. My ambition was to draw and keepthe attention of honest people on them by means of the theatre. BRIEUX. WOMAN ON HER OWN [LA FEMME SEULE] TRANSLATED BY MRS. BERNARD SHAW CHARACTERS THÉRÈSE MADAME NÉRISSE MADAME GUÉRET MOTHER BOUGNE CAROLINE LEGRAND MADAME CHANTEUIL LUCIENNE MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE MADEMOISELLE BARON MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT ANTOINETTE BERTHE CONSTANCe MAID WORKWOMEN NÉRISSE FÉLIAT RENÉ CHARTON GUÉRET MAFFLU VINCENT A DELEGATE PAGE BOY GIRARD CHARPIN DESCHAUME WORKMEN WOMAN ON HER OWN ACT I SCENE:--_A Louis XV sitting-room. To the right a large recessed window with small panes of glass which forms a partition dividing the sitting-room from an inner room. A heavy curtain on the further side shuts out this other room. There are a table and piano and doors to the right and at the back. The place is in disorder. One of the panes in the large window has been taken out and replaced by a movable panel. It is October. _ _Madame Guéret is sitting at a table. She is a woman of forty-five, dressed for the afternoon, cold and distinguished looking. Monsieur Guéret, who is with her, is about fifty-five and is wearing a frock coat. He is standing beside his wife. _ GUÉRET. Then you really don't want me to go and hear the third act? MADAME GUÉRET [_dryly_] I think as I've been let in for thesetheatricals solely to please your goddaughter you may very well keep mecompany. Besides, my brother is coming back and he has something to sayto you. GUÉRET [_resignedly_] Very well, my dear. _A pause. _ MADAME GUÉRET. I can't get over it. GUÉRET. Over what? MADAME GUÉRET. What we're doing. What _are_ we doing? GUÉRET. We're giving a performance of _Barberine_ for the amusement ofour friends. There's nothing very extraordinary in that. MADAME GUÉRET. Don't make fun of me, please. What we are doing is simplymadness. Madness, do you hear? And it was the day before yesterday--onlythe day before yesterday--we heard the news. GUÉRET. We-- MADAME GUÉRET [_Who has seen Lucienne come in_] Hush! _Lucienne comes in, a girl of twenty, dressed as Barberine from Musset'splay; then Maud, Nadia, and Antoinette [eighteen to twenty-two], dressedas followers of the queen. Lucienne goes to the piano, takes a piece ofmusic, and comes to Madame Guéret. _ LUCIENNE. You'll help me along, won't you, dear Madame Guéret? You'llgive me my note when it comes to "Voyez vous pas que la nuit estprofonde"? MADAME GUÉRET. Now don't be nervous. MAUD [_coming in_] We're ready. ANTOINETTE. If the third act only goes as well as the first two-- MAUD. We'll listen until we have to go on. ANTOINETTE. Won't you come with us, Madame? MADAME GUÉRET. No, I can't. I've had to undertake the noises behind thescenes. _That_ job might have been given to someone else, I think. LUCIENNE. Oh, Madame, please don't be angry with us. Madame Chain let usknow too late. And you're helping us so much. MADAME GUÉRET. Well, I've invited the people, and I suppose I mustentertain them. As I gave in to Thérèse about getting up this play, Idon't want to do anything to spoil the evening. LUCIENNE. How pretty she is as Kalekairi. MADAME GUÉRET. You don't think people are shocked by her frock? LUCIENNE. Oh, Madame! MADAME GUÉRET. Well! LUCIENNE. I shall have to go in a moment. Thérèse has come out; I canhear her sequins rattling. MADAME GUÉRET. Yes; so can I. But René will let us know. Never mind. _She goes to the piano. René appears at the door at the back. _ RENÉ. Are you ready, Lucienne? LUCIENNE. Yes. RENÉ. You've only two lines to say. LUCIENNE. Only one. [_She speaks low to René_] No end of a success, wasn't it, for your Thérèse? RENÉ [_low_] Wasn't it? I _am_ so happy, Lucienne. I love her so. LUCIENNE. Listen. That's for me, I think. RENÉ. Yes, that's for you. Wait. [_He goes to the door at the back, listens, and returns_] Come. Turn this way so as to make it sound as ifyou were at a distance. Now then. _Madame Guéret accompanies Lucienne on the piano. _ LUCIENNE [_sings_] Beau chevalier qui partez pour la guerre, Qu'allez vous faire Si loin d'ici? Voyez-vous pas que la nuit est profonde Et que le monde N'est que souci. MADAME GUÉRET [_civilly_] You have a delightful voice, MademoiselleLucienne. _Lucienne places her music on the piano with a smile to Madame Guéret. _ RENÉ [_to Lucienne, drawing her to the partition window and showing herwhere a pane has been removed_] And your little window! Have you seenyour little window? It was not there at the dress rehearsal. You liftit like this. It's supposed to be an opening in the wall. It ought tohave been different; we were obliged to take out a pane. May I show her, Madame Guéret? MADAME GUÉRET [_resigned_] Yes, yes, of course. RENÉ. You lift it like this; and to speak you'll lean forward, won'tyou, so that they may see you? LUCIENNE. I will, yes. RENÉ. Don't touch it now. [_To Madame Guéret_] You won't forget thebell, will you, Madame? There's plenty of time--ten minutes at least. I'll let you know. Mademoiselle Lucienne, now, time to go on. LUCIENNE. Yes, yes. [_She goes out_] MADAME GUÉRET [_with a sigh_] To have a play being acted in thecircumstances we're in--it's beyond everything! I cannot think how Icame to allow it. GUÉRET. You see they'd been rehearsing for a week. And Thérèse-- MADAME GUÉRET. And I not only allowed it, but I'm almost taking part init. GUÉRET. We couldn't put off all these people at twenty-four hours'notice. And it's our last party. It's really a farewell party. Besides, we should have had to tell Thérèse everything. MADAME GUÉRET. Well, you asked me to keep it all from her untilto-morrow--though it concerns her as much as it does us. [_MonsieurFéliat comes in, a man of sixty, correct without being elegant_] Here'smy brother. FÉLIAT. I've something to tell you. Shall we be interrupted? MADAME GUÉRET. Yes, constantly. FÉLIAT. Let's go into another room. MADAME GUÉRET. I can't. And all the rooms are full of people. GUÉRET. Marguerite has been good enough to help here by taking the placeof Madame Chain, who's ill. MADAME GUÉRET [_angrily_] Yes, I've got to do the noises heard off! Atmy age! [_A sigh_] Tell us, Etienne, what is it? GUÉRET. We can wait until the play is over. MADAME GUÉRET. So like you! You don't care a bit about what my brotherhas to tell us. Who'd ever believe this is all your fault! [_To herbrother_] What is it? FÉLIAT. I have seen the lawyer. Your goddaughter will have to sign thispower of attorney so that it may get to Lyons to-morrow morning. GUÉRET [_who has glanced at the paper_] But we can't get her to signthat without telling her all about it. MADAME GUÉRET. Well, goodness me, she'll have to know sometime! I mustsay I cannot understand the way you've kept this dreadful thing fromher. It's pure sentimentality. GUÉRET. The poor child! MADAME GUÉRET. You really are ridiculous. One would think that it wasonly _her_ money the lawyer took. It's gone, of course; but so is ours. GUÉRET. We still have La Tremblaye. MADAME GUÉRET. Yes, thank goodness, because La Tremblaye belongs to me. _René comes in in great excitement. _ RENÉ. Where is Mademoiselle Thérèse? She'll keep the stage waiting![_Listening_] No, she's coming, I hear her. Nice fright she's given me![_To Madame Guéret_] Above all, Madame, don't forget the bell, almostthe moment that Mademoiselle Thérèse comes off the stage. MADAME GUÉRET. Yes, yes. RENÉ. And my properties! [_He runs out_] FÉLIAT. Now we can talk for a minute. MADAME GUÉRET. Yes. FÉLIAT. You've quite made up your minds to come to Evreux? GUÉRET. Quite. FÉLIAT. Are you sure you won't regret Paris? MADAME GUÉRET. Oh, no. GUÉRET. For the last two years I've hated Paris. MADAME GUÉRET. Since you began to play cards. GUÉRET. For the last two years we've had the greatest difficulty inkeeping up appearances. This lawyer absconding is the last blow. FÉLIAT. Aren't you afraid you will be horribly bored at La Tremblaye? GUÉRET [_rising_] What are we to do? FÉLIAT. Well, now listen to me. I told you-- _René comes in and takes something off a table. Féliat stops suddenly. _ RENÉ. Good-morning, uncle. [_He hurries out_] FÉLIAT. Good-morning, René. GUÉRET. He knows nothing about it yet? FÉLIAT. No; and my sister-in-law asked me to tell him. MADAME GUÉRET. Well, why shouldn't you? If they _are_ engaged, we knownothing about it. GUÉRET. Oh! MADAME GUÉRET. We know nothing officially, because in these days youngpeople don't condescend to consult their parents. FÉLIAT. René told his people and they gave their consent. MADAME GUÉRET. Unwillingly. FÉLIAT. Oh certainly, unwillingly. Then I'm to tell him? MADAME GUÉRET. The sooner the better. FÉLIAT. I'll tell him to-night. GUÉRET. I'm afraid it'll be an awful blow to the poor chap. MADAME GUÉRET. Oh, he's young. He'll get over it. FÉLIAT. What was I saying when he came in? Ah, yes; you know I'vedecided to add a bindery to my printing works at Evreux; you saw thebuilding started when you were down there. If things go as I want themto, I shall try to do some cheap artistic binding. I want to get hold ofa man who won't rob me to manage this new branch and look after it; aman who won't be too set in his ideas, because I want him to adopt mine;and, at the same time, I'd like him to be not altogether a stranger. Ithought I'd found him; but I saw the man yesterday and I don't like him. Now will _you_ take on the job? Would it suit you? GUÉRET. Would it suit me! Oh, my dear Féliat, how can I possibly thankyou? To tell you the truth, I've been wondering what in the world Ishould do with myself now; and I was dreading the future. What you offerme is better than anything I could have dreamt of. What do you say, Marguerite? MADAME GUÉRET. I am delighted. FÉLIAT. Then that's all right. GUÉRET [_to his brother-in-law_] I think you won't regret havingconfidence in me. FÉLIAT. And your goddaughter? MADAME GUÉRET. Thérèse? FÉLIAT. Yes; how is _she_ going to face this double news of her ruin andthe breaking off of her engagement? MADAME GUÉRET. I think she ought to have sense enough to understand thatone is the consequence of the other. She can hardly expect René'sparents to give their son to a girl without money. FÉLIAT. I suppose not. But what's to become of her? GUÉRET. She will live with us, of course. MADAME GUÉRET. "Of course"! I like that. GUÉRET. She has no other relations, and her father left her in my care. MADAME GUÉRET. He left her in _your_ care, and it's _I_ who have beenrushed into all the trouble of a child who is nothing to me. GUÉRET. Child! She was nineteen when her father died. FÉLIAT. To look after a young girl of nineteen is a very greatresponsibility. MADAME GUÉRET [_laughing bitterly_] Ho! Ho! Look after! Look afterMademoiselle Thérèse! You think she's a person who allows herself to belooked after! And yet you've seen her more or less every holidays. GUÉRET. You've not had to look after her; she has been at the Lycée. _Thérèse comes in dressed as Kalekairi from "Barberine. " She is a prettygirl of twenty-three, healthy, and bright. _ THÉRÈSE. The bell, the bell, godmother! You're forgetting the bell!Good-evening, Monsieur Féliat. _Thérèse takes up the bell, which is on the table. _ MADAME GUÉRET. I was going to forget it! Oh, what a nuisance! All thisis so new to me. FÉLIAT. Excuse me! I really didn't recognize you for the moment. THÉRÈSE [_laughing_] Ah, my dress. Startling, isn't it? MADAME GUÉRET [_with meaning_] Startling is the right word. RENÉ [_appearing at the back, disappearing again immediately, andcalling_] The bell! And you, on the stage, Mademoiselle Thérèse! THÉRÈSE. I'm coming. [_She rings_] Here I am! _She goes out. _ MADAME GUÉRET [_with a sigh_] And I had it let down! FÉLIAT. What? MADAME GUÉRET. Her dress. [_To her husband_] What I see most clearly inall this is that she must stay with us. _René comes fussing in. _ RENÉ. Where's the queen? Where's Madame Nérisse? MADAME GUÉRET. I've not seen her. RENÉ. But goodness gracious--! [_He goes to the door on the left andcalls_] Madame Nérisse! MADAME NÉRISSE [_from outside_] Yes, yes, I'm ready. _Madame Nérisse comes in. She is about forty, flighty, and a littleaffected. _ RENÉ. I wanted to warn you that Ulric will be on your right, and if heplays the fool-- MADAME NÉRISSE. Very well. Is it time? RENÉ. Yes, come. [_To Madame Guéret_] You won't forget the trumpets? MADAME GUÉRET. No, no. All the same, you'd better help me. RENÉ. I will, I will. _He goes out with Madame Nérisse. _ FÉLIAT. You know, if she wants one, she'll find a husband at Evreux. MADAME GUÉRET. Without a penny! FÉLIAT. Without a penny! She made a sensation at the ball at thesous-préfecture. She's extremely pretty. MADAME GUÉRET. She's young. FÉLIAT. Monsieur Gambard sounded me about her. MADAME GUÉRET. Monsieur Gambard! The Monsieur Gambard who has the housewith the big garden? FÉLIAT. Yes. MADAME GUÉRET. But he's very rich. FÉLIAT. He's forty-nine. MADAME GUÉRET. She'll have to take what she can get now. FÉLIAT. And I think that Monsieur Beaudoin---- GUÉRET. But he's almost a cripple! MADAME GUÉRET. She wouldn't do so well in Paris. GUÉRET. She wouldn't look at either of them. FÉLIAT. We must try and make her see reason. _René enters busily. Lucienne follows him. Féliat is standing across theguichet through which Barberine is to speak. René pulls him away withoutceremony. _ RENÉ. Excuse me, Uncle; don't stand there before the little window. FÉLIAT. Beg pardon. I didn't know. RENÉ. I haven't a moment. FÉLIAT. I've never seen you so busy. At your office they say you're alazy dog. MADAME GUÉRET. Probably René has more taste for the stage than forbusiness. RENÉ [_laughing_] Rather! [_To Lucienne_] Now, it's time. Come. Lift it. Not yet! There! _Now!_ LUCIENNE [_speaking through the guichet_] "If you want food and drink, you must do like those old women you despise--you must spin. " RENÉ. Capital! LUCIENNE [_to Féliat_] Please forgive me, Monsieur, I've not had time tospeak to you. FÉLIAT. Why, it's Mademoiselle Lucienne, Thérèse's friend, who came andstayed in the holidays! Fancy my not recognizing you! LUCIENNE. It's my dress. I _do_ like playing this part. I have to saythat lovely bit--you know--the bit that describes the day of the idealwife. [_She recites, sentimentally_] "I rise and go to prayers, to thefarmyard, to the kitchen. I prepare your meal; I go with you to church;I read a page or two; I sew a while; and then I fall asleep happy uponyour breast. " FÉLIAT. That's good, oh, that's very good! _Barberine_--now, who wrotethat? LUCIENNE. Alfred de Musset. FÉLIAT. Ah, yes; to be sure, Alfred de Musset. I read him when I wasyoung. You often find his works lying about in pretty bindings. RENÉ. Uncle, Uncle; I beg your pardon, but don't speak so loud. We canhardly hear what they're saying on the stage. FÉLIAT [_very politely_] Sorry, I'm sure. RENÉ [_to Lucienne_] You. _Now. _ LUCIENNE [_speaking through the guichet_] "My lord, these cries areuseless. It grows late. If you wish to sup--you must spin. " [_turning tothe others_] There! Now I must go over the rest with Ulric. _She runs out, with a little wave of adieu to Féliat. _ RENÉ [_to Madame Guéret_] The trumpets, Madame. Don't forget. MADAME GUÉRET. No, no. Don't worry. _René goes out. _ FÉLIAT. You blow trumpets? MADAME GUÉRET. Yes; on the piano. FÉLIAT. I don't know what to do with myself. I don't want to be in theway. I'm not accustomed to being behind the scenes. MADAME GUÉRET. Nor am I. _Thérèse comes in in the Kalekairi dress, followed by René. _ THÉRÈSE. It's time for me now. FÉLIAT [_to Madame Guéret_] She really looks like a professionalactress. RENÉ [_to Thérèse_] Now! THÉRÈSE [_speaking through the little window_] "My lady says, as youwill not spin, you cannot sup. She thinks you are not hungry, and Iwish you good-night. " [_She closes the little window and says gayly_]Good-evening, Monsieur Féliat. RENÉ. Now then, come along. You go on in one minute. THÉRÈSE [_to Féliat_] I'll come back soon. _She goes out. _ RENÉ [_to Madame Guéret_] Now, Madame, _you_, Quick, Madame! MADAME GUÉRET. Yes, yes. All right. _She plays a flourish of trumpets on the piano. _ RENÉ. Splendid! MADAME GUÉRET. Ouf! It's over. At last we can have peace! If she's sucha fool as to refuse both these men-- GUÉRET [_interrupting_] She won't refuse, you may be sure. MADAME GUÉRET [_continuing_]--we shall have to keep her with us. But Ishall insist upon certain conditions. GUÉRET. What conditions? MADAME GUÉRET. I won't have any scandals at Evreux. GUÉRET. There won't be any scandals. MADAME GUÉRET. No; because she'll have to behave very differently, I cantell you. She'll have to leave all these fine airs of independencebehind her in Paris. GUÉRET. What airs? MADAME GUÉRET. Well, for instance, getting letters and answering themwithout any sort of supervision! [_To her brother_] She manages in sucha way that I don't even see the envelopes! [_To her husband_] I objectvery much, too, to her student ways. GUÉRET. She goes to classes and lectures with her girl friends. MADAME GUÉRET. Well, she won't go to any more. And she will have to giveup going out alone. GUÉRET. She's of age. MADAME GUÉRET. A properly brought up young lady is never of age. FÉLIAT. Perfectly true. MADAME GUÉRET. And there must be a change in her way of dressing. GUÉRET. There will. She'll have to dress simply, for she won't have arap. MADAME GUÉRET. That has nothing to do with it. I shall make herunderstand that she will have to behave like the other girls in goodsociety. FÉLIAT. Of course. MADAME GUÉRET. I shall also put a veto on certain books she reads. [_Toher brother_] It's really dreadful, Etienne. You've no idea! One day Ifound a shocking book upon her table--a horror! What do you suppose shesaid when I remonstrated? That that disgraceful book was necessary inpreparing for her examination. And the worst of it is, it was true. Sheshowed me the syllabus. FÉLIAT. I'm afraid they're bringing up our girls in a way that'll makeunhappy women of them. MADAME GUÉRET. Don't let's talk about it; you'll start on politics, andthen you and Henri will begin to argue. All the same I mean to be verygood to her. As soon as she knows what's happened her poor littlepretensions will come tumbling about her ears. I won't leave her inuncertainty, and even before she asks I'll tell her she may stay withus; but I shall tell her, too, what I expect from her in return. GUÉRET. Wouldn't it be better-- MADAME GUÉRET. My dear, I shall go my own way. See what we're sufferingnow in consequence of going _yours_. Here's Madame Nérisse. Then theplay is over. [_To her husband_] You must go and look after the peopleat the supper table. I'll join you in a minute. GUÉRET. All right. _He goes out. _ MADAME NÉRISSE. I've hardly ever been at such a successful party. Iwanted to congratulate dear Thérèse, but she's gone to change her dress. MADAME GUÉRET [_absently_] So glad. Were you speaking of having a noticeof it in your paper? MADAME NÉRISSE. Of your play! If I was going to notice it! I shouldthink so! The photographs we had taken at the dress rehearsal are beingdeveloped. We shall have a wonderful description. MADAME GUÉRET [_imploring_] Could it be stopped? MADAME NÉRISSE. It's not possible! Just think how amazed the subscribersto _Feminine Art_ would be if they found nothing in their paper aboutyour lovely performance of _Barberine_, even if the editress of thepaper hadn't taken a part in the play. If it only depended on me, perhaps I could find some way out--explain it in some way, just toplease you. But then there's your charming Thérèse--one of ourcontributors. I can't tell you what a wonderful success she's had withher two stories, illustrated by herself. People adore her. MADAME GUÉRET. Nobody would know anything about it-- MADAME NÉRISSE. Nobody know! There are at least ten people among yourguests who will send descriptions of this party to the biggest morningpapers, simply for the sake of getting their own names into print. If_Feminine Art_ had nothing about it, it would be thought extremely odd, I assure you. [_She turns to Féliat_] Wouldn't it, Monsieur? FÉLIAT. Pardon me, Madame, I know nothing about these things. MADAME GUÉRET. Well, we'll say no more about it. MADAME NÉRISSE. But what's the matter? You must have some very goodreason for not wanting me to put in anything about your delightfulparty. MADAME GUÉRET. No----only----[_Hesitating_] Some of our family arecountry people, you know. It would take me too long to explain it all toyou. It doesn't matter. [_With a change of tone_] Then honestly youthink Thérèse has some little talent? MADAME NÉRISSE. Little talent! No, but very great talent. Haven't youread her two articles? MADAME GUÉRET. Oh, I? I belong to another century. In my days it wouldhave been considered a very curious thing if a young girl wrote novels. My brother feels this too. By the way, I have not introduced my brotherto you. Monsieur Féliat, of Evreux--Madame Nérisse, editress of_Feminine Art_. Madame Nérisse has been kind enough to help us with ourlittle party. [_To Madame Nérisse_] Yes--you were speaking about--whatwas it--this story that Thérèse has written. No doubt your readers wereindulgent to the work of a little amateur. MADAME NÉRISSE. I wish I could find professionals who'd do half as well. I'm perfectly certain the number her photograph is going to be in willhave a good sale. FÉLIAT. You'll publish her photograph? MADAME NÉRISSE. In her dress as Kalekairi. MADAME GUÉRET. In her dress as Kalekairi! MADAME NÉRISSE. On the front page. They tell me it's a first-ratelikeness. I'll bring you one of them before long, and your countryrelations will be delighted. If you'll excuse me, I'll hurry away andchange my dress. MADAME GUÉRET. Oh, please excuse me for keeping you. MADAME NÉRISSE. Good-bye for the present. [_She goes to the door_] I waslooking for Maud and Nadia to take them away with me. I see them overthere having a little flirtation. [_She looks through the door andspeaks pleasantly to Maud and Nadia, who are just outside_] All right, all right; I won't interrupt. [_To Madame Guéret_] They'd much rathercome home alone. Good-bye. [_She bows to Féliat_] Good-bye, Monsieur. [_Turning again to Madame Guéret_] Don't look so upset because you havea goddaughter who can be a great writer or a great painter if shechooses; just as she would have been a great actress if she had taken afancy for that. Good-bye again and many congratulations. _She goes out. _ MADAME GUÉRET. Well! Anyway, she's not _my_ daughter! I must go and saygood-bye to everybody. When I've got rid of them, I'll come back and seeThérèse. Will you wait for me? You'll find some papers on that littletable. Oh, goodness, what times we live in! _Madame Guéret goes out. Féliat, left alone, strolls to the door and looks in the direction in which Madame Nérisse had seen Maud and Nadia. After a moment he shows signs of indignation. _ FÉLIAT [_shocked_] Oh, I say, this is really--I must cough or something, and let them know I'm here. [_He coughs_] They've seen me. They'rewaving their hands--and--they 're going on just the same! _Lucienne and Thérèse in ordinary dress come in and notice what Féliat is doing. _ THÉRÈSE [_to Lucienne_] What is he doing? LUCIENNE. What's the matter? _They advance to see what has caused his perturbation. He hears them and turns. _ FÉLIAT. It is incredible! THÉRÈSE. You seem rather upset. What's the matter? FÉLIAT. What's the matter? Those girls are behaving in such a scandalousway with those young men. LUCIENNE. Let's see. FÉLIAT. Oh, don't look! [_Suddenly stopping, half to himself_] Though Imust say-- THÉRÈSE [_laughing_] What must you say? FÉLIAT. Nothing. LUCIENNE. I know. You mean that we're just as bad. FÉLIAT. No, no, not as bad. LUCIENNE. Yes, yes; well--almost. [_Féliat makes a sign of protest_] Isaw you watching us yesterday after the rehearsal! You saw I wasflirting, and I know you imagined all sorts of horrid things. Our littleflirtations are not what you think. When we flirt we play at love-makingwith our best boys, just as once upon a time we played at mothering withour dolls. FÉLIAT. But that doesn't justify-- THÉRÈSE. You don't understand. People spoil us while we're children, andthen look after us so tremendously carefully when we grow up that weguess there must be delightful and dangerous possibilities about us. Flirting is our way of feeling for these possibilities. LUCIENNE. We're sharpening our weapons. THÉRÈSE. But the foils have buttons on them, and the pistols are onlyloaded with powder. LUCIENNE. And it's extremely amusing and does no harm to anybody. THÉRÈSE. Monsieur Féliat, you've read bad books. Nowadays girls like usare neither bread-and-butter misses nor demi-vierges. We're perfectlyrespectable young people. Quite capable and self-possessed and, at thesame time, quite straight and very happy. FÉLIAT. I'm perfectly sure of it, my dear young ladies. But you knowI've had a great deal of experience. THÉRÈSE. Oh, _experience_! Well, you know-- LUCIENNE. Oh, _experience_! THÉRÈSE. You say you have experience; that only means you know about thepast better than we do. But we know much better than you do about thepresent. FÉLIAT. I think those girls there are playing a dangerous game. THÉRÈSE. You needn't have the smallest anxiety about them. FÉLIAT. That way of going on might get them into great trouble. THÉRÈSE. It won't, I assure you. Monsieur Féliat, believe me, you knownothing about it. LUCIENNE. We're clever enough to be able to take care of ourselves. FÉLIAT. But there are certain things that take you by storm. LUCIENNE. Not us. Flirting is an amusement, a distraction, a game. THÉRÈSE. Shall we say a safety valve? LUCIENNE. There's not a single one of us who doesn't understand theimportance of running straight. And, to do them justice, these boys haveno idea of tempting us to do anything else. What they want, what we allreally want, is a quite conventional, satisfactory marriage. FÉLIAT. I most heartily approve; but in my days so much wisdom didn'tusually come from such fascinating little mouths. THÉRÈSE. Now how can you blame us when you see that really we thinkexactly as you do yourself? FÉLIAT. In my days girls went neither to the Lycée nor to havegymnastic lessons, and they were none the less straight. LUCIENNE [_reflectively_] And yet they grew up into the women of to-day. I get educated and try to keep myself healthy, with exercises andthings, because I want to develop morally and physically, and be fit tomarry a man a little bit out of the ordinary either in fortune orbrains. THÉRÈSE. You see our whole lives depend upon the man we marry. FÉLIAT. I seem to have heard that before. LUCIENNE. Yes; so've I. But it's none the less true for that. THÉRÈSE. Isn't it funny that we seem to be saying the most shockingthings when we're only repeating what our grandfathers and grandmotherspreached to their children? LUCIENNE. They were quite right. Love doesn't make happiness by itself. One has to consider the future. We do consider it; in fact we do nothingelse but consider it. We want to get the best position for ourselves inthe future that we possibly can. We're not giddy little fools, and we'renot selfish egotists. We want our children to grow up happy and capableas we've done ourselves. We're really quite reasonable. FÉLIAT [_hardly able to contain himself_] You are; indeed you are. Itmakes one shudder. Excuse me, I'm going to supper. LUCIENNE. Let's all go together. FÉLIAT. Thanks, I can find my way. LUCIENNE. It's down that passage to the right. FÉLIAT. Yes, I shall find it, thank you. _He goes out. _ THÉRÈSE. You shocked the poor old boy. LUCIENNE. I only flavored the truth just enough to make it tasty. ButI've something frightfully important to tell you. It's settled. THÉRÈSE. What's settled? LUCIENNE. I'm engaged. THÉRÈSE. You don't say so. LUCIENNE. It's done. Armand has been to his people and they've come tosee mine. So I needn't play any more piano, nor sing any moresentimental songs; I needn't be clever any more, nor flirt any more, norlanguish at young men any more. And how do you suppose it was settled?Just what one wouldn't have ever expected. You know my people were doingall they could to dress me up, and show me off, and seem to be richerthan they are, so as to attract the men. On my side I was giving myselfthe smartest of airs and pretending to despise money and to think ofnothing but making a splash. Everything went quite differently from whatI expected. I wanted to attract Armand, and I was only frightening himoff. He thought such a woman as I was pretending to be too expensive. Itwas just through a chance conversation, some sudden confidence on mypart, that he found out that I really like quite simple things. He wasdelighted, and he proposed at once. THÉRÈSE. Dear Lucienne, I'm so glad. I hope you'll be very, very happy. LUCIENNE. Ah, that's another story. Armand is not by any means perfect. But what can one do? The important thing is to marry, isn't it? THÉRÈSE. Of course. Well, if your engagement is on, mine's off. LUCIENNE. Thérèse! Why I've just been talking to René. I never saw himso happy, nor so much in love. THÉRÈSE. He doesn't know yet. Or perhaps they're telling him now. LUCIENNE. Telling him what? THÉRÈSE. I've lost all my money, my dear. LUCIENNE. Lost all your money! THÉRÈSE. Yes. The lawyer who had my securities has gone off with them. LUCIENNE. When? THÉRÈSE. I heard about it the day before yesterday. Godpapa and godmammawere so awfully good they never said anything to me about it, thoughthey're losing a lot of money too. They thought I hadn't heard, and Iexpect they wanted me to have this last evening's fun. I said nothing, and so nobody knows anything except you, now, and probably René. LUCIENNE. What will you do? THÉRÈSE. What can I do? It's impossible for him to marry me without apenny. Of course I shall release him from his promise. LUCIENNE. You think he'll give you up? THÉRÈSE. His people will make him. If they cut off his allowance, he'llbe at their mercy. He earns about twenty dollars a month in thatlawyer's office. So, you see-- LUCIENNE. Oh! poor Thérèse! And you could play Barberine with a secretlike that! THÉRÈSE [_sadly_] I've had a real bad time since I heard. It's awful atnight! LUCIENNE. My dearest! And you love him so! THÉRÈSE [_much moved_] Yes--oh! don't make me cry. LUCIENNE. It might do you good! THÉRÈSE. You know--[_She breaks down a little_] LUCIENNE [_tenderly_] Yes--I know that you're good and brave. THÉRÈSE. I shall have to be. LUCIENNE. Then you'll break off the engagement? THÉRÈSE. Yes. I shall never see him again. LUCIENNE. Never see him again! THÉRÈSE. I shall write to him. If I saw him I should probably breakdown. If I write I shall be more likely to be able to make him feel thatwe must resign ourselves to the inevitable. LUCIENNE. He'll be horribly unhappy. THÉRÈSE. So shall I. [_Low and urgently_] Oh, if he only understood me!If he was able to believe that I can earn my own living and that hecould earn his. If he would dare to do without his people's consent! LUCIENNE. Persuade him to! THÉRÈSE. It's quite impossible. His people are rich. Only just thinkwhat they'd suspect me of. No; I shall tell him all the things hisfather will tell him. But oh! Lucienne, if he had an answer for them! Ifhe had an answer! [_She cries a little_] But, my poor René, he won'tmake any stand. LUCIENNE. How you love him! THÉRÈSE. Oh, yes; I love him. He's rather weak, but he's so loyal andgood and [_in a very low voice_] loving. LUCIENNE. Oh, my dear, I do pity you so. THÉRÈSE. I am to be pitied, really. [_Pulling herself together_] There'sone thing. I shall take advantage of this business to separate fromgodpapa and godmamma. LUCIENNE. But you have no money-- THÉRÈSE. I've not been any too happy here. You know they're--[_She seesMadame Guéret and whispers to Lucienne_] Go now. I'll tell you all aboutit to-morrow. [_Louder and gayly_] Well, good-night, my dear. See youto-morrow at the Palais de Glace or at the Sorbonne! Good-night. LUCIENNE. Good-night, Thérèse. _She goes out. _ MADAME GUÉRET [_speaking through the door_] Yes, she's here. Come in. [_Guéret and Féliat come in_] Thérèse, we have something to say to you. THÉRÈSE. Yes, godmamma. MADAME GUÉRET. It's about something important; something very serious. Let us sit down. GUÉRET. You'll have to be brave, Thérèse. MADAME GUÉRET. We are ruined, and you are ruined too. THÉRÈSE. Yes. MADAME GUÉRET. Is that all you have to say? THÉRÈSE. I knew it already. MADAME GUÉRET. You _knew_ it? Who told you? THÉRÈSE. The lawyer told me himself. I had a long letter from himyesterday. He begs me to forgive him. MADAME GUÉRET. Well, I declare! THÉRÈSE. I'll show it to you. He's been gambling. To get a biggerfortune for his girls, he says. MADAME GUÉRET. You _knew_ it! And you've had the strength, the--duplicity? THÉRÈSE [_smiling_] Just as you had yourself, godmamma. And I'm so muchobliged to both of you for saying nothing to me, because I'm sure youwanted me to have my play to-night and enjoy myself; and that was whyyou tried to keep the news from me. MADAME GUÉRET. And you were able to laugh and to _act_! THÉRÈSE. I've always tried to keep myself in hand. MADAME GUÉRET. Oh, I know. All the same--And I was so careful aboutbreaking this news to you, and you knew it all the time! THÉRÈSE. I'm very sorry. But you-- MADAME GUÉRET. All right, all right. Well, then, we have nothing totell. But do you understand that you've not a penny left? GUÉRET. You're to go on living with us, of course. MADAME GUÉRET [_to her husband_] You really might have given her time toask us. [_To Thérèse_] We take it that you have asked us, and we answerthat we will keep you with us. GUÉRET. We are going to Evreux. My brother-in-law is giving me work inhis factory. MADAME GUÉRET. We will keep you with us, but on certain conditions. THÉRÈSE. Thank you very much, godmamma, but I mean to stay in Paris. GUÉRET. You don't understand. We are going to live at Evreux. THÉRÈSE. But _I_ am going to live in Paris. GUÉRET. Then it is I who do not understand. THÉRÈSE. All the same--[_A silence_] MADAME GUÉRET. I can hardly believe that you propose to live in Paris byyourself. THÉRÈSE [_simply_] I do, godmamma. FÉLIAT. Alone! GUÉRET. Alone! I repeat, I don't understand. FÉLIAT. Nor do I. But no doubt you have reasons to give to yourgodfather and godmother. [_He moves to go_] THÉRÈSE. There's no secret about my reasons. All the world may knowthem. When I've explained you'll see that it's all right. MADAME GUÉRET. I must confess to being extremely curious to hear thesereasons. THÉRÈSE. I do hope my decision won't make you angry with me. MADAME GUÉRET. Angry! When have I ever been angry with you? THÉRÈSE [_protesting_] You've both been--you've all three been--_most_good and kind to me, and I shall always remember it and be grateful. Youmay be sure I shan't love you any the less because I shall live inParis and you at Evreux. And I do beg of you to feel the same to me. Ishall never forget what I owe to you. Father was only your friend; we'renot related in any way: but you took me in, and for four years you'vetreated me as if I was your daughter. From my very heart I'm grateful toyou. GUÉRET [_affectionately_] You don't owe us much, you know. For two yearsyou were a boarder at the Lycée Maintenon, and we saw nothing of you butyour letters. You've only actually lived with us for two years, andyou've been like sunshine in the house. MADAME GUÉRET. Yes, indeed. THÉRÈSE. I've thought this carefully over. I'm twenty-three. I won't bea burden to you any longer. GUÉRET. Is that because you are too proud and independent? THÉRÈSE. If I thought I could really be of use to you, I would stay withyou. If I could help you to face your troubles, I would stay with you. But I can't, and I mean to shift for myself. MADAME GUÉRET. And you think you can "shift for yourself, " as you callit, all alone? THÉRÈSE. Yes, godmamma. MADAME GUÉRET. A young girl, all alone, in Paris! The thing isinconceivable. GUÉRET. But, my poor child, how do you propose to live? THÉRÈSE. I'll work. MADAME GUÉRET. You don't mean that seriously? THÉRÈSE. Yes, godmamma. GUÉRET. You think you have only to ask for work and it will fall fromthe skies! THÉRÈSE. I have a few dollars in my purse which will keep me until Ihave found something. FÉLIAT. Your purse will be empty before you've made a cent. THÉRÈSE. I'm sure it won't. GUÉRET. Now, my dear, you're tired, and nervous, and upset. You can'tlook at things calmly. We can talk about this again to-morrow. THÉRÈSE. Yes, godpapa. But I shan't have changed my mind. MADAME GUÉRET. I know you have a strong will of your own. FÉLIAT. Let us talk sensibly and reasonably. You propose to live allalone in Paris. Good. Where will you live? THÉRÈSE. I shall hire a little flat--or a room somewhere. MADAME GUÉRET. Like a workgirl. THÉRÈSE. Like a workgirl. There's nothing to be ashamed of in that. FÉLIAT. And you are going to earn your own living. How? THÉRÈSE. I shall work. There's nothing to be ashamed of in that, either. GUÉRET. I see. But a properly brought up young lady doesn't work for herliving if she can possibly avoid it. MADAME GUÉRET. And above all, a properly brought up young lady doesn'tlive all alone. THÉRÈSE. All the same-- MADAME GUÉRET. You are perfectly free. There's no doubt about that. Wehave no power to prevent you from doing exactly as you choose. GUÉRET. But your father left you in my care. THÉRÈSE. Please, godmamma, don't be hard upon me. I feel you think I'mungrateful, though you don't say so. I know that often and often I shalllong for your kindness and for the home where you've given me a place. I've shocked you. Do please forgive me. I'm made like that, and madedifferently from you. I don't say you're not right; I only say I'mdifferent. Certain ideas have come to me from being educated at theLycée and from all these books I've read. I think I'm able to earn myown living, and so I look upon it as my bounden duty not to trespassupon your charity. It's a question of personal dignity. Don't you thinkthat I'm right, godfather? [_With a change of tone_] Besides, if I didgo to Evreux with you, what should I do there? GUÉRET. It's pretty easy to guess. MADAME GUÉRET. Yes, indeed. GUÉRET. You would live with us. MADAME GUÉRET [_not very kindly_] You would have a home. THÉRÈSE. Yes, yes, I know all that; and it would be a great happiness. But what should I _do_? GUÉRET. You would do what all well brought up young girls in yourposition do. THÉRÈSE. You mean I should do nothing. GUÉRET. Nothing! No, not nothing. THÉRÈSE. Pay visits, practise a bit; some crochet and a littlephotography? That's to say, nothing. GUÉRET. You were brought up to that. THÉRÈSE. I should never have dared to put it into words. But afterwards? GUÉRET. Afterwards? THÉRÈSE. How long would that last? GUÉRET. Until you marry. THÉRÈSE. I shall never marry. GUÉRET. Why not? THÉRÈSE [_very gently_] Oh, godfather, you know why not. I have nomoney. [_A silence_] So I'm going to try and get work. FÉLIAT. Work! Now, Thérèse, you know what women are like who try to earntheir own living. You think you can support yourself. How? THÉRÈSE. Perhaps I'm mistaken, but I think I can support myself by mypen. FÉLIAT. Be a bluestocking? THÉRÈSE. Yes. MADAME GUÉRET. That means a Bohemian life, with everything upside down, and a cigarette always between your lips. THÉRÈSE [_laughing_] Neither Bohemia, nor the upside down, nor thecigarette are indispensable, godmother. Your information is neitherfirsthand nor up-to-date. FÉLIAT. In a month's time you'll want to give it up. THÉRÈSE. Under those circumstances there's no harm in letting me makethe experiment. GUÉRET. Now, my dear child, don't you know that even with yourcleverness you may have to wait years before you make a penny. I've beenan editor. I know what I'm talking about. MADAME GUÉRET. She's made up her mind, there's no use saying any more. FÉLIAT. But _I_ want to talk to her now. Will you be so good as tolisten to me, Mademoiselle Thérèse? [_To Madame Guéret_] I wonder if Imight be allowed to have a few minutes with her alone. MADAME GUÉRET. Most willingly. GUÉRET [_to his wife_] Come, Marguerite. MADAME GUÉRET. It's no use making up your mind to the worst in thesedays; life always keeps a surprise for you. Let's go. [_She goes outwith her husband_] FÉLIAT. My child, I have undertaken to say something to you that I fearwill hurt you, and it's very difficult. You know that I'm only René'suncle by marriage. So it's not on my own account that I speak. I speakfor his parents. THÉRÈSE. Don't say another word, Monsieur Féliat. I perfectlyunderstand. I'm going to release him from his engagement. I shall writeto him this very night. FÉLIAT. My sister-in-law and her husband are most unhappy about allthis. THÉRÈSE. I'm grateful to you all. FÉLIAT. Their affection for you is not in any way diminished. THÉRÈSE. I know. FÉLIAT. And-- THÉRÈSE [_imploringly_] Please, _please_, Monsieur Féliat, don't say anymore; what's the good of it? FÉLIAT. I beg your pardon, my dear. I am a little upset. I wasexpecting--er, er-- THÉRÈSE. Expecting what? FÉLIAT. I expected some resistance on your part, perhaps indignation. Itmust be very hard for you; you were very fond of René. THÉRÈSE. What's the good of talking about that? Of course he can't marryme now that I've not got a penny. FÉLIAT. You know--as a matter of fact--I--my old-fashioned ideas--well, you go on surprising me. But this time my surprise is accompaniedby--shall I say respect?--and by sympathy. I expected tears, which wouldhave been very natural, because I know that your affection for René wasvery great. THÉRÈSE. I can keep my tears to myself. FÉLIAT. Yes----Oh, I----at least---- THÉRÈSE. Let's consider it settled. Please don't talk to me about it anymore. FÉLIAT. Very well. Now will you allow me to say one word to you aboutyour future? THÉRÈSE. I shan't change my mind. FÉLIAT. Perhaps not; all the same I want to advise you like--well, likean old uncle. For several years you have been spending your holidayswith me at La Tremblaye. And I have a real affection for you. So you'lllisten to me? THÉRÈSE. With all my heart. FÉLIAT. You're making a mistake. Your ideas do you credit, but believeme, you're laying up trouble for yourself in the future. [_She makes amovement to interrupt him_] Wait. I don't want to argue. I want you tolisten to me, and I want to persuade you to follow my advice. Come toEvreux and you may be perfectly certain that you won't be left an oldmaid all your life. Even without money you'll find a husband there. You're too pretty, too charming, too well educated not to turn the headof some worthy gentleman. You made a sensation at the reception at thePréfecture. If you don't know that already, I tell you so. THÉRÈSE. I'm extremely flattered. FÉLIAT. Do you know that if--well, if you decide to marry--I might-- THÉRÈSE. But I've _not_ decided to marry. FÉLIAT. All right, all right, I am speaking about later on. Well, you'veseen Monsieur Baudoin and Monsieur Gambard-- THÉRÈSE. I haven't the slightest intention of-- FÉLIAT [_interrupting_] There's no question of anything immediate. Butfor a person as wise and sensible as you are, the position of both theone and the other deserves-- THÉRÈSE. I know them both. FÉLIAT. Yes; but-- THÉRÈSE. Now look here. If I had two hundred thousand francs, would yousuggest that I should marry either of them? FÉLIAT. Certainly not. THÉRÈSE. There, you see. FÉLIAT. But you've _not_ got two hundred thousand francs. THÉRÈSE [_without showing any anger or annoyance_] The last thing I wantis to be exacting. But really, Monsieur Féliat, think for a minute. If Iwere to marry a man I could not possibly love, I should marry him forhis money. [_Looking straight at him_] And in that case the onlydifference between me and the women I am not supposed to know anythingabout would be that a little ceremony had been performed over me and notover them. Don't you agree with me? FÉLIAT. But, my dear, you say such extraordinary things. THÉRÈSE. Well, do you consider that less dishonoring than working?Honestly now, do you? I think that the best thing about women earningtheir living is that it'll save them from being put into exactly thatposition. FÉLIAT. The right thing for woman is marriage. That's her properposition. THÉRÈSE. It's sometimes an unhappy one. [_A maid comes in bringing acard to Thérèse, who says_] Ask the lady kindly to wait a moment. MAID. Yes, Mademoiselle. [_The maid goes out_] FÉLIAT. Well, I'm off. I shall go and see René. Then you'll write tohim? THÉRÈSE. This very evening. FÉLIAT. He'll want to see you. My child, will you have the courage toresist him? THÉRÈSE. You needn't trouble about that. FÉLIAT. If he was mad enough to want to do without his parents' consent, they wish me to tell you that they would never speak to him again. THÉRÈSE. I see. FÉLIAT. That he would be a stranger to them. You understand all thatthat means? THÉRÈSE [_discouraged_] Yes, yes; oh yes. FÉLIAT. If you are not strong enough to stand out against hisentreaties, you will be his ruin. THÉRÈSE. I quite understand. FÉLIAT. People would think very badly of you. THÉRÈSE. Please don't say any more, I quite understand. FÉLIAT. Then I may trust you? THÉRÈSE. You may trust me. FÉLIAT [_fatherly and approving_] Thank you. [_He holds out his hand_]Thérèse, you're--well--you're splendid. I like courage. I wish yousuccess with all my heart. I really wish you success. But if, in thefuture, you should want a friend--the very strongest may find themselvesin that position--let me be that friend. THÉRÈSE [_taking the hand which Féliat holds out to her_] I'm grateful, very grateful, Monsieur. Thank you. But I hope I shall be able to earnmy own living. That is all I want. FÉLIAT. I wish you every success. Good-bye, Mademoiselle. THÉRÈSE. Good-bye, Monsieur. [_He goes out. She crosses to another doorand brings in Madame Nérisse_] How good of you to come, dear Madame. Toobad you should have the trouble. MADAME NÉRISSE. Nonsense, my dear. I wanted to come. I'm so anxious toshow you these two photographs and consult you about which we're topublish. I expected to find you very tired. THÉRÈSE. I am not the least tired, and I'm delighted to see you. MADAME NÉRISSE [_showing Thérèse the photographs_] This is morebrilliant, that's more dreamy. I like this one. What do you think? THÉRÈSE. I like this one too. MADAME NÉRISSE. Then that's settled. [_Putting down the photographs_]What a success you had this evening. THÉRÈSE. Yes; people are very kind. [_Seriously_] I'm so glad you'vecome just now, dear Madame, so that we can have a few minutes' quiettalk. I have something most important to say to you. MADAME NÉRISSE. Anything I can do for you? THÉRÈSE. Well, I'll explain. And please do talk to me quite openly andfrankly. MADAME NÉRISSE. I will indeed. THÉRÈSE. You told me that my article was very much liked. I can quitebelieve that you may have exaggerated a little out of kindness to me. Iwant to know really whether you think I write well. MADAME NÉRISSE. Dear Thérèse, ask Madame Guéret to tell you what I saidto her just now about that very thing. THÉRÈSE. Then you think my collaboration might be really useful to_Feminine Art_? MADAME NÉRISSE. There's nothing more useful to a paper like ours thanthe collaboration of girls in society. THÉRÈSE. Would you like me to send you some more stories like the first? MADAME NÉRISSE. As many as you can. THÉRÈSE. And--[_She hesitates a moment_] and would you pay me the sameprice for them as for the one you've just published? MADAME NÉRISSE. Yes, exactly the same; and I shall be very glad to getthem. I like your work; you have an exceptionally light touch; peoplewon't get tired of reading your stuff. THÉRÈSE. Oh, I hope that's true! I'm going to tell you some bad news. For family reasons my godfather and godmother are going to leave Paris. I shall stay here by myself, and I shall have to live by my pen. MADAME NÉRISSE. What an idea! THÉRÈSE. It's not an idea, it's a necessity. MADAME NÉRISSE. What do you mean? A necessity? Monsieur Guéret--. But Imustn't be inquisitive. THÉRÈSE. You're not inquisitive, and I'll tell you all about it verysoon; we haven't got time now. Can you promise to take a weekly articlefrom me? MADAME NÉRISSE [_with less confidence_] Certainly. THÉRÈSE [_joyfully_] You can! Oh, thank you, thank you! I can't tell youhow you've relieved my mind. MADAME NÉRISSE. My dear child. I am glad you've spoken to me plainly. Iwill do everything I possibly can. I'm extremely fond of you. I don'tthink the Directors will object. THÉRÈSE. Why should they have anything to do with it? MADAME NÉRISSE [_doubtfully_] Perhaps not, but--the Directors like togive each number a character of its own. It's a thing they're veryparticular about. THÉRÈSE. I could write about very different subjects. MADAME NÉRISSE. I know you could, but it would be always the samesignature. THÉRÈSE. Well, every now and then I might sign a fancy name. MADAME NÉRISSE. That would be quite easy, and I don't think theDirectors would mind. They might say it was a fresh name to make itselfknown and liked. THÉRÈSE. We'll try and manage it. MADAME NÉRISSE. We shall have to fight against some jealousy. TheDirectors have protégées. The wife of one of them has been waiting toget an innings for more than two months. There are so many girls andwomen who write nowadays. THÉRÈSE. Yes; but generally speaking their work is not worth much, Ithink. MADAME NÉRISSE. Oh, I don't know that. There are a great many who havereal talent. People don't realize what a lot of girls there are who havetalent. But, still, if I'm not able to take an article every week, youmay rely upon me to take one as often as I possibly can. Oh, I shallmake myself some enemies for your sake. THÉRÈSE [_in consternation_] Enemies? How do you mean enemies? MADAME NÉRISSE. My dear, it alters everything if you become aprofessional. Let me see if I can explain. We have our regularcontributors. The editor makes them understand that they must expect torun the gantlet of the occasional competition of society women; because, if these women are allowed to write, it interests them and theirfamilies in the paper, and it's an excellent advertisement for us. That'll explain to you, by the way, why we sometimes publish articlesnot quite up to our standard. But if it's a matter of regular, professional work, we have to be more careful. We have to respectestablished rights and consider people who've been with us a long time. There is only a limited space in each number, and a lot of people haveto live out of that. THÉRÈSE [_who has gone quite white_] Yes, I see. MADAME NÉRISSE [_who sees Thérèse's emotion_] How sorry I am for you! Ifyou only knew how I feel for you! Don't look so unhappy. [_Thérèse makesa gesture of despair_] You're not an ordinary girl, Thérèse, and itshall never be said that I didn't do all I could for you. Listen. I toldyou just now that I had some big projects in my mind. You shall knowwhat they are. My husband and I are going to start an important weeklyfeminist paper on absolutely new lines. It's going to leave everythingthat's been done up to now miles behind. My husband shall explain hisideas to you himself. It'll be advanced and superior and all that, andat the same time most practical. Even to think of it has been a touch ofgenius. When you meet my husband you'll find that he's altogether out ofthe common. He's so clever, and he'd be in the very first rank injournalism if it wasn't for the envy and jealousy of other men who'veintrigued against him and kept him down. I don't believe he has hisequal in Paris as a journalist, I'll read you some of his verses, andyou'll see that he's a great poet too. But I shall run on forever. Onlyyesterday he got the last of the capital that's needed for founding thepaper; it's been definitely promised. We're ready to set aboutcollecting our staff. We shall have leading articles, of course, andliterary articles. Do you want me to talk to him about you? THÉRÈSE. Of course I do. But-- MADAME NÉRISSE. We want to start a really smart, respectable woman'spaper; of course without sacrificing our principles. Our title by itselfproves that. It's to be called _Woman Free_. THÉRÈSE. I'll give you my answer to-morrow--or this evening, if youlike. MADAME NÉRISSE [_hesitatingly_] Before I go--as we're to be thrown agood deal together--I must tell you something about myself--a secret. Ihope you won't care for me less when you know it. I call myself MadameNérisse. But I have no legal right to the name. That's why I've alwaysfound some reason for not introducing Monsieur Nérisse to you and yourpeople. He's married--married to a woman who's not worthy of him. Shelives in an out-of-the-way place in the country and will not consent toa divorce. My dear Thérèse, it makes me very unhappy. I live only forhim. I don't think a woman can be fonder of a man than I am of him. He'sso superior to other men. But unfortunately I met him too late. I felt Iought to tell you this. THÉRÈSE. Your telling me has added to my friendship for you. I can guesshow unhappy you are. Probably I'll go this very evening to your houseand see your husband and hear from him if he thinks I can be of use. Anyway, thank you very much. MADAME NÉRISSE. And thank _you_ for the way you take this. Good-bye forthe present. _She goes out. Thérèse stands thinking for a moment, then René comes in. He is very much upset. _ THÉRÈSE. René! RENÉ. Thérèse, it can't be true! It's not possible! It's not allover--our love? THÉRÈSE. We must be brave. RENÉ. But I can't give you up. THÉRÈSE. I've lost every penny, René dear. RENÉ. But I don't love you any the less for that. I can't give you up, Thérèse. I _can't_ give you up. I love you, I love you. THÉRÈSE. Oh, René, don't! I need all my courage to face this. Help me. Don't you see, your people will never consent now. RENÉ. My uncle told me so. But I'll see them. I'll persuade them. I'llexplain to them. THÉRÈSE. You know very well they never really liked me, and that they'llbe glad of this opportunity of breaking it off. RENÉ. I don't know what to do. But I _cannot_ give you up. What wouldbecome of me without you? You're everything to me, everything. Andsuddenly--because of this dreadful thing--I must give up my whole life'shappiness. THÉRÈSE. Your people are quite right, René. RENÉ. And you, _you_ say that! _He hides his face in his hands. A silence. _ THÉRÈSE [_gently removing his hands_] Look at me, René. You're crying. Oh, my dear love! RENÉ [_taking her in his arms_] I love you, I love you! THÉRÈSE. And I love you. Oh, please don't cry any more! [_She kisseshim_] René, dear, don't cry any more! You break my heart. I can't bearit, I'm forgetting all I ought to say to you. [_Breaking down_] Oh, howdreadful this is! [_They cry together. Then she draws herself away fromhim, saying_] This is madness. RENÉ. Ah, stay, Thérèse. THÉRÈSE. No. We mustn't do this; we must be brave. Oh, why did you comehere? I was going to write to you. We're quite helpless against thisdreadful misfortune. RENÉ. I don't know what to do! But I _can't_ give you up. THÉRÈSE [_to herself_] I must do the right thing. [_To him_] René, stopcrying. Listen to me. RENÉ. I love you. THÉRÈSE. Yes; there's our love. But besides that there's life, and lifeis cruel and too strong for our love. There is your future, my dearest. RENÉ. My future is to love you. My future is nothing if I lose you. [_Heburies his face in his hands_] THÉRÈSE. You can't marry a girl without any money. That's a dreadfulfact, like a stone wall. We shall only break ourselves to pieces if wedash ourselves against it. Listen, oh, please listen to me. Don't youhear what I'm saying? René--dear. RENÉ. I'm listening. THÉRÈSE. I give you your freedom without any bitterness or hardness. RENÉ. I don't want it! THÉRÈSE. Now listen. You mustn't sacrifice your whole life for a loveaffair, no matter how great the love is. RENÉ. It's by losing you I shall sacrifice my life. THÉRÈSE. Try and be brave; control yourself. Let us face this quietly. Suppose we do without your people's consent. What will become of us? Tryto look the thing in the face. How should we live? René, it's horribleto bring our love down to the level of these miserable realities, butfacts are facts. You know very well that if you marry me without yourfather and mother's consent, they won't give you any money. Isn't thatso? RENÉ. Oh! father is hard. THÉRÈSE. He's quite right, my dear, quite right. If I was your sister, Ishould advise you not to give up the position you have been brought upin and the profession you've been educated for. RENÉ. But I love you. THÉRÈSE [_moved_] And I love you. Well, we've got to forget one another. RENÉ. That's impossible. THÉRÈSE. We must be wise enough to--[_She stops, her voice breaks_] RENÉ. Oh! how unhappy I am. THÉRÈSE [_controlling herself_] Don't let yourself go. We're not indreamland. If you keep on saying "I am unhappy, " you'll be unhappy. RENÉ. I love you so. Oh, Thérèse, how I love you! THÉRÈSE [_softly_] You'll forget me. RENÉ. Never. THÉRÈSE. Yes. You'll remember me in a way, of course. But you're young. Very soon you'll be able to live, to laugh, to love, to work. RENÉ. My dearest! I don't know what to say. I can't talk of it. I onlyknow one thing--I can't let you go. THÉRÈSE. But we should be miserable, René. RENÉ. Miserable _together_! THÉRÈSE. Think, dear, think. It will be years before you can earn yourown living, won't it? RENÉ. But I-- THÉRÈSE. Now you know you've tried already. Only last year you wanted toleave home and be independent, and you had to go back because you werestarving. Isn't that true? RENÉ. It's dreadful, dreadful! [_He is overcome, terrified_] THÉRÈSE. So we must look at life as it is, practically, mustn't we? Wehave to have lodging and furniture and clothes. How are we to manage? RENÉ. It's dreadful! THÉRÈSE. How would you bear to see me going about in rags? [_He issilent. She waits, looking at him, hoping for a word of strength orcourage. It does not come. She draws herself up slowly, her facehardening_] You can't face that, can you? Tell me. Can you face that? RENÉ. No. THÉRÈSE [_humiliated by his want of courage and infected by hisweakness_] So you see, I'm right. RENÉ [_sobbing_] Oh! Oh! THÉRÈSE [_setting her teeth_] Oh, can you do nothing but cry? RENÉ. What a useless creature I am. THÉRÈSE. There, now, you see you're better! RENÉ. I'm ashamed of being so good-for-nothing. THÉRÈSE [_hopeless_] You're just like all the others. Now, don't bemiserable. I'm not angry with you; you are doing what I told you we mustdo, and you agree. Go, René. Say good-bye. Good-bye, René. RENÉ. Thérèse! THÉRÈSE [_her nerves on edge_] Everything we can say is useless, andit'll only torture and humiliate us. We must end this--now--at once. RENÉ. I shall always love you, Thérèse. THÉRÈSE. Yes--exactly--now go. RENÉ. Oh, my God! THÉRÈSE. Go. RENÉ. I'll go and see my people. They'll never be so cruel-- THÉRÈSE. Yes, yes, all right. RENÉ. I'll write you. THÉRÈSE. Yes--that's it--you'll write. RENÉ. I shall see you again, Thérèse? [_He goes slowly to the door_] THÉRÈSE [_ashamed for him, covers her face with her hands. Then, all ofa sudden, she bursts out into passionate sobs, having lost all controlof herself, and cries wildly_] René! RENÉ [_returning, shocked_] Thérèse! Oh, what is it? THÉRÈSE [_completely at the mercy of her feelings_] Suppose--supposeafter all, we _did_ it? Listen. I love you far more than you know, morethan I have ever let you know. A foolish feeling of self-respect made mehide a lot from you. Trust me. Trust your future to me. Marry me all thesame. Believe in me. Marry me. You don't know how strong I am and allthe things I can do. I will work, and you will work. You didn't get onwhen you were alone, but you will when you have me with you. I'll keepyou brave when things go badly, and I'll be happy with you when they goright. René, I'll be content with so little! The simplest, humblest, hardest life, until we've made our way together--_together_, René, andconquered a place in the world for ourselves, that we'll owe to no onebut ourselves. Let us have courage--[_At this point she looks at him, and having looked she ceases to speak_] RENÉ. Thérèse, I'm sure my people will give in. THÉRÈSE [_after a very long silence, inarticulately_] Go, go; poor René. Forget what I said. Good-bye. RENÉ. Oh, no! not good-bye. I'll make my father help us. THÉRÈSE [_sharply_] Too late, my friend, I don't want you now. _She leaves the room. René sinks into a chair and covers his face with his hands. _ ACT II SCENE:--_A sitting-room at the offices of "Woman Free. " The door at the back opens into an entrance hall. The general editorial office is to the right, Monsieur Nérisse's room to the left. At the back, also to the left, is another door opening into a smaller sitting-room. There are papers and periodicals upon the tables. _ _The curtain rises upon Monsieur Mafflu. He is a man of about fifty, dressed for ease rather than elegance, and a little vulgar. He turns over the papers on the tables, studies himself in the mirror, and readjusts his tie. Madame Nérisse then comes in. She has Monsieur Mafflu's visiting card in her hand. They bow to each other. _ MONSIEUR MAFFLU. My card will have informed you that I am MonsieurMafflu. MADAME NÉRISSE. Yes. Won't you sit down? MONSIEUR MAFFLU. I am your new landlord, Madame. I have just bought thishouse. I've retired from business. I was afraid I shouldn't have enoughto do, so I've bought some houses. I am my own agent. It gives mesomething to do. If a tenant wants repairs done, I go and see him. Ilove a bit of a gossip; it passes away an hour or so. In that way I makepeople's acquaintance--nice people. I didn't buy any of the houses wherepoor people live, though they're better business. I should never havehad the heart to turn out the ones that didn't pay, and I should havebeen obliged to start an agent, and all my plan would have been upset. [_A pause_] Now, Madame, for what brought me here. I hope you'll forgiveme for the trouble I'm giving you--and I'm sorry--but I've come to giveyou notice. MADAME NÉRISSE. Indeed! May I ask what your reason is? MONSIEUR MAFFLU. I am just on the point of letting the second floor. Myfuture tenant has young daughters. MADAME NÉRISSE. I'm afraid I don't see what that has got to do with it. MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Well--he'll live only in a house in which all thetenants are private families. MADAME NÉRISSE. But we make no noise. We are not in any wayobjectionable. MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Oh, no, no; not at all. MADAME NÉRISSE. Well, then? MONSIEUR MAFFLU. How shall I explain? I'm certain you're perfectly allright, and all the ladies who are with you here too, but I've had togive in that house property is depreciated by people that work; all themore if the people are ladies, and most of all if they're ladies whowrite books or bring out a newspaper with such a name as _Woman Free_. People who know nothing about it think from such a name--oh, bless you, I understand all that's rubbish, but--well--the letting value of thehouse, you see. [_He laughs_] MADAME NÉRISSE. The sight of women who work for their living offendsthese people, does it? MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Yes, that's the idea. A woman who works is always alittle--hum--well--you know what I mean. Of course I mean nothing toannoy you. MADAME NÉRISSE. You mean that your future tenants don't want their youngladies to have our example before them. MONSIEUR MAFFLU. No! That's just what they don't. Having independentsort of people like you about makes 'em uneasy. For me, you know, Iwouldn't bother about it--only--of course you don't see it this way, butyou're odd--off the common somehow. You make one feel queer. MADAME NÉRISSE. But there are plenty of women who work. MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Oh, common women, yes; oh, that's all right. MADAME NÉRISSE. If you have children, they have nurses and governesses. MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Oh, those. They work, of course. They work for me, that's quite different. But you--What bothers these ladies, MadameMafflu and all the others, is that you're in our own class. As for me Istick to the old saying, "Woman's place is the home. " MADAME NÉRISSE. But there are women who have got no home. MONSIEUR MAFFLU. That's their own fault. MADAME NÉRISSE. Very often it's not at all their own fault. Where arethey to go? Into the streets? MONSIEUR MAFFLU. I know, I know. There's all that. Still women can workwithout being feminists. MADAME NÉRISSE. Have you any idea what you mean by "feminist"? MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Not very clear. I know the people I live among don'tknow everything. I grant you all that. But _Woman Free! Woman Free!_Madame Mafflu wants to know what liberty--or what liberties--singular orplural; do you take me?--ha! ha! There might be questions asked. MADAME NÉRISSE [_laughing_] You must do me the honor of introducing meto Madame Mafflu. She must be an interesting woman. I'll go and seeher. MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Oh, do! But not on a Wednesday. MADAME NÉRISSE. Why not? MONSIEUR MAFFLU. 'Cos Wednesday's her day. MADAME NÉRISSE [_gayly_] I must give it up, then, as I'm free only onWednesdays. MONSIEUR MAFFLU. I should like her to see for herself how nice you are. Her friends have been talking to her. They thought that you--well--theysay feminist women are like the women were in the time of the Commune. They said perhaps you'd even go on a deputation! MADAME NÉRISSE. You wouldn't approve of that? MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Oh, talkin' of that, one of my friends has an argumentnobody can answer. "Let these women, " he says, "let 'em do theirmilitary service. " MADAME NÉRISSE. Well, you tell him that if men make wars, women makesoldiers; and get killed at that work too, sometimes. MONSIEUR MAFFLU [_after reflecting for some moments_] I'll tell him, buthe won't understand. MADAME NÉRISSE. Well, no matter. I won't detain you any longer, MonsieurMafflu. MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Oh! Madame. I should like to stay and talk to you forhours. MADAME NÉRISSE [_laughing_] You're too kind. MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Then you forgive me? MADAME NÉRISSE [_going to the door with him_] What would one not forgiveyou? MONSIEUR MAFFLU [_turning back_] I say-- MADAME NÉRISSE. No, no. Good-bye, Monsieur. MONSIEUR MAFFLU. Good-bye, Madame. _He goes out. _ MADAME NÉRISSE [_to herself_] One really couldn't be angry! _Thérèse comes in with a little moleskin bag on her arm. She is in a light dress, is very gay, and looks younger. _ THÉRÈSE. Good-morning, Madame. I'm so sorry to be late. I met MonsieurFéliat, my godmother's brother. MADAME NÉRISSE. How is Madame Guéret? THÉRÈSE. Very well, he says. MADAME NÉRISSE. And does Monsieur Guéret like his new home? THÉRÈSE. Yes, very much. MADAME NÉRISSE. And Madame Guéret? THÉRÈSE. She seems to be quite happy. MADAME NÉRISSE. What a good thing. Here's the letter Monsieur Nérissehas written for you to that editor. [_She hands her an unsealed letter_] THÉRÈSE. Oh, thank you! MADAME NÉRISSE. Did you find out when he could see you? THÉRÈSE. To-morrow at Two O'clock. Can you spare me then? MADAME NÉRISSE. Yes, certainly. THÉRÈSE. Thank you. MADAME NÉRISSE. Why don't you read your letter? You see it's open. THÉRÈSE. I'll shut it up. MADAME NÉRISSE. Read it. THÉRÈSE. Shall I? MADAME NÉRISSE. Yes, do. THÉRÈSE [_reading_] Oh, it's too much. This is too kind. With a letterlike this my article is certain to be read. Monsieur Nérisse _is_ kind!Will you tell him how very grateful I am? MADAME NÉRISSE [_coldly_] Yes. [_She makes an effort to be kind_] I'lltell him, of course. But I dictated the letter myself. Monsieur Nérisseonly signed it. [_She rings_] THÉRÈSE. Then I have one more kindness to thank you for. MADAME NÉRISSE [_to the page boy_] I expect Monsieur Cazarès. BOY. Monsieur--? MADAME NÉRISSE. Our old editor--Monsieur Cazarès. You know him verywell. BOY. Oh, yes, Madame, yes! MADAME NÉRISSE. He will have another gentleman with him. You must showthem straight into Monsieur Nérisse's room and let me know. BOY. Yes, Madame. _During this conversation Thérèse has taken off her hat and put it into a cupboard. She has opened a green cardboard box and put her gloves and veil into it--folding the latter carefully--also Monsieur Nérisse's letter. She has taken out a little mirror, given some touches to her hair, and has put it back. Finally she closes the box. _ MADAME NÉRISSE. Monsieur Cazarès is bringing us a new backer. We'regoing to make changes in the paper. I'll tell you all about itpresently. [_With a change of tone_] Tell me, what was there between youand Monsieur Cazarès? THÉRÈSE [_simply_] Nothing at all. MADAME NÉRISSE. Isn't he just a wee bit in love with you? THÉRÈSE. I haven't the least idea. He's said nothing to me about it, ifhe is. MADAME NÉRISSE. He's always behaved quite nicely to you? THÉRÈSE. Always. MADAME NÉRISSE. And Monsieur Nérisse? THÉRÈSE. Monsieur Nérisse? I don't understand. MADAME NÉRISSE. Oh, yes, you do. Has he ever made love to you? THÉRÈSE. [_hurt_] Oh, Madame! MADAME NÉRISSE. [_looking closely at her and then taking both her handsaffectionately_] Forgive me, dear child. I know how good and straightyou are. You mustn't mind the things I say. Sometimes I'm horrid I know. I have an idea that Monsieur Nérisse is not as fond of me as he used tobe. THÉRÈSE. Oh, indeed that's only your fancy. MADAME NÉRISSE. I hope so. I'm a bit nervous I think. I've such a lot oftrouble with the paper just now. It's not going well. [_Gesture ofThérèse_] We're going to try something fresh. This time I think it'll beall right. You'll see it will. [_A pause_] What's that? Did he call? I'msure that idiot of a boy hasn't made up his fire, and he'd never thinkof it. He's like a great baby. [_As she goes towards Monsieur Nérisse'sdoor--the door on the left--the door on the right opens, andMademoiselle Grégoire comes in. She has taken off her hat. MadameNérisse turns to her_] Why, it's Mademoiselle Grégoire! You know, _Dr. _Grégoire! [_To Mademoiselle Grégoire_] This is Mademoiselle Thérèse. [_They shake hands_] I spoke to you about her. She'll explain everythingto you in no time. I'll come back very soon and introduce you to theothers. Excuse me for a minute. [_She goes out to the left_] THÉRÈSE. [_pleasantly_] I really don't know what Madame Nérisse wants meto explain to you. You know our paper? MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. No, I've never seen it. THÉRÈSE. Never seen it! Never seen _Woman Free_? MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. Never. I only know it by name. THÉRÈSE. How odd! Well, here's a copy. It's in two parts, you see, andthey're quite different from each other. Here the doctrine, there theattractions. Madame Nérisse thought of that. MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE [_reading as she turns over the leaves_] "Votesfor Women. " THÉRÈSE [_reading with her_] "Votes for Women, " "An End of Slavery. " Andthen, on here, lighter things. MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. Frivolities? THÉRÈSE. Frivolities. A story. "Beauty Notes. " MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE [_reading and laughing a little_] "The Doctor'sPage. " THÉRÈSE. Oh, too bad! But it wasn't I who first said frivolities! MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE [_still laughing_] I shall bear up. And what comesafter "The Doctor's Page"? THÉRÈSE. "Beauty Notes" and "Gleanings. " MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. Gleanings? THÉRÈSE. Yes. It's a column where real and imaginary subscribersexchange notes about cookery receipts, and housekeeping tips, and hairlotions, and that sort of thing. MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. Quite a good thing. THÉRÈSE. I most confess it's the best read part. MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. I'm not at all surprised. THÉRÈSE. I'm afraid we can't conceal from ourselves that MonsieurNérisse has not altogether succeeded. Each of us is inclined to likeonly her own section. We've a girl here, Caroline Legrand, one of thestaff, who's tremendously go-a-head. You should hear her on the subjectof "Soap of the Sylphs" and "Oriental Balm. " MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. It makes her furious? THÉRÈSE. She's a sort of rampageous saint; ferocious and affectionate byturns, a bit ridiculous perhaps, but delightful and generous. She's sosimple nasty people could easily make a fool of her, but all nice peoplelike her. MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. Shall I have much to do with her? THÉRÈSE. Not much. You'll be under Mademoiselle de Meuriot, and you'llbe lucky. She's a dear. She's been sacrificing herself all her life. She's my great friend--the only one I have. MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE [_taking up the paper again_] But how's this? Yourcontributors are all men. Gabriel de--, Camille de--, Claud de--, Renéde--, Marcel de--. THÉRÈSE. Well! I never noticed that before. They're the pen-names of ourwriters. MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. All men's names? THÉRÈSE. Yes. People still think more of men as writers. You see theyare names that might be either a man's or a woman's. Camille, René, Gabriel. MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. There's only one woman's name--Vicomtesse deRenneville. THÉRÈSE. That's snobbery! It's Madame Nérisse's pen-name. MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. Well, I suppose it's good business. _Mademoiselle de Meuriot comes in at the back, bringing a packet of letters. _ MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. The post's come, Thérèse. THÉRÈSE. This is Mademoiselle de Meuriot. [_Introducing MademoiselleGrégoire_] Our new contributor. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. You're welcome, Mademoiselle. _The door on the left opens and Madame Nérisse appears backwards, still talking to Monsieur Nérisse, who is invisible in the inner room. _ MADAME NÉRISSE. Yes, dearest. Yes, dearest. Yes, dearest. _Mademoiselle Grégoire looks up at Madame Nérisse. _ _Mademoiselle de Meuriot and Thérèse turn away their heads to hide their smiles; finally Madame Nérisse shuts the door, not having noticed anything, and comes forward. She speaks to Mademoiselle Grégoire. _ MADAME NÉRISSE. Come, my dear. I'll introduce you to the others. [_ToMademoiselle de Meuriot_] Ah! the post has come. Open the letters, Thérèse, will you? MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Yes, we will. MADAME NÉRISSE [_at the door on the right, to Mademoiselle Grégoire_]You first. [_They go out_] MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_smiling_] I think our new friend was a bitamused. She's pretty. THÉRÈSE. Yes, and she looks capable. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Let's get to work. _She sits down, at a desk. Thérèse sits near her at the end of the same desk. During all that follows Thérèse opens envelopes with a letter opener and passes them to Mademoiselle de Meuriot, who takes the letters out, glances at them, and makes three or four little piles of them. _ THÉRÈSE. Here! [_Holding out the first letter_] MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_as she works_] And you? How are you thismorning? [_Looking closely at her and shaking a finger_] You're tired, little girl. You sat up working last night. THÉRÈSE. I wanted to finish copying out my manuscript. It took me ages, because I wanted to make it as clear as print. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_gravely_] You know you mustn't be ill, Thérèse. THÉRÈSE. How good you are, Mademoiselle, and how lucky I am to have youfor a friend. What should I do without you? MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. How about your godmother? THÉRÈSE. I didn't get on with her. She never could hide her dislike forme, and it burst out in the end. When she saw that in spite ofeverything she could say I was going to leave her, she let herself goand made a dreadful scene. And, what was worse, my good, kind godfatherjoined in! It seemed as if they thought my wanting to be independent wasa direct insult to them. What a lot of letters there are to-day. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. It's the renewal of the subscriptions. THÉRÈSE. Oh, is that it? So you see we parted, not exactly enemies--but, well--on our dignity. We write little letters to one another now, halfcold and half affectionate. I tell you, without you I should be quitealone. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Not more alone than I am. THÉRÈSE. I have someone to talk to now and tell my little worries to. It's not that, even. One always finds people ready to listen to you andpity you, but what one doesn't find is people one can tell one's mostimpossible dreams to and feel sure one won't be laughed at. That's realfriendship. [_She stops working as she continues_] To dare to think outloud before another person and let her see the gods of one's secretidolatry, and to be sure one's not exposing one's precious things toblasphemy. How I love you for being like you are and for caring for me alittle. [_She resumes her work_] MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. I don't care for you a little, Thérèse! I carefor you very much indeed. I like you because you're brave and hurlyourself against obstacles like a little battering ram, and becauseyou're straight and honest and one can depend on you. THÉRÈSE [_who can't get open the letter she holds_] Please pass me thescissors. Thanks. [_She cuts open the envelope_] I might have been allthose things, and it would have been no good at all, if you hadn't beenable to see them. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Remember that in being friends with you I getas much as I give. My people were very religious and very proud of theirtitle. I made up my mind to leave home, but since then I've been quitealone--alone for thirty years. I'm selfish in my love for you now. I'vehad so little of that sort of happiness. THÉRÈSE. You've done so much for women. You've helped so many. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_touching her piles of letters_] Here's anotherwho won't renew. THÉRÈSE. What will Madame Nérisse say? [_Continuing_] You know, Mademoiselle, it's not only success that I want. I have a greatambition. I should like to think that because I've lived there might bea little less suffering in the world. That's the sort of thing that Ican say to nobody but you. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_tenderly_] Thérèse has an ardent soul. THÉRÈSE. Yes, Thérèse has an ardent soul. It was you who said that aboutme first, and I think I deserve it. [_Changing her tone_] Here's thesubscriber's book. [_She hands the book and continues in her formervoice_] Like Guyan, I have more tears than I need to spend on my ownsufferings, so I can give the spare ones to other people. And not onlytears, but courage and consolation that I have no opportunity of usingup myself. Do you understand what I mean? MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Yes, I understand, my dear. I see my own youthover again. [_Sadly_] Oh, I hope that you--but I don't want to rouse upthose old ghosts; I should only distress you. Perhaps lives like mineare necessary, if it's only to throw into relief lives that are morebeautiful than mine. Keep your lovely dreams. [_A silence_] When I thinkthat instead of being an old maid I might have been the mother of a girllike you! THÉRÈSE [_leaning towards her and kissing her hair_] Don't cry. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_tears in her eyes and a smile upon her lips_]No, no, I won't; and when I think that somewhere or other there's a manyou love! THÉRÈSE [_smiling_] Some day or other I must tell you a whole lot ofthings about René. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Have you seen him again? THÉRÈSE. Yes. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. But you were supposed not to meet any more. THÉRÈSE [_with a mutinous little smile_] Yes, we were supposed not tomeet any more. One says those things and then one meets all the same. IfRené had gone on being the feeble and lamentable young man that I partedfrom the _Barberine_ evening, I should perhaps have never seen himagain. You don't know what my René has done, do you now? MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. No. THÉRÈSE. I've been looking forward so to telling you. [_Eagerly_] Well, he's quite changed. He's become a different man. Oh, he's not a marvelof energy even yet, but he's not the helpless youth who was stillfeeding out of his father's hands at twenty-five. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. And how has this great improvement come about? THÉRÈSE [_looking at her knowingly_] You'll make me blush. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Was it for love of you? THÉRÈSE. I think it _was_ for love of me. Let me tell you. He wanted tosee me again, and he waited at the door when I was coming out from mywork, just as if I was a little milliner's assistant. And then he cameback another evening, and then another. While we were walking from hereto my place we chattered, and chattered, and chattered. We had more tosay to each other than we'd ever had before, and I began to realize thathis want of will and energy was more the result of always hanging on tohis people than anything else. Then there came a crash. [_She laughs_] Amost fortunate crash. His father formally ordered him not to see meagain; threatened, if he did, to stop his allowance. What do you thinkmy René did? He sent back the cheque his people had just given him withquite a nice, civil, respectful letter. Then he left his office and gota place in a business house at an absurdly small salary, and he's beenworking there ever since. [_Laughing_] He shocked all the other youngmen in the office by the way he stuck to it. He got gradually interestedin what he had to do. He read it all up; the heads of the firm noticedhim and were civil to him, and now they've sent him on importantbusiness to Tunis. And that's what he's done all for love of me! Now, don't you think I ought to care for him a little? Don't you? MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Yes, my dear. But then if he's in Tunis? THÉRÈSE. Oh, he'll come back. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. And when will the wedding be? THÉRÈSE. He's sure his people will give in in the end if he can makesome money. We shall wait. _The page boy comes in with seven or eight round parcels in his arms. _ BOY. Here are this morning's manuscripts. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Put them with the others. BOY. There was one lady was quite determined to see you herself. Shesaid her article was most particular. It's among that lot. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Very well. BOY. Mademoiselle Caroline Legrand is coming. _He opens the door and stands back to allow Caroline Legrand to come in. She is dressed in a long brown tailor-made overcoat and a white waistcoat, with a yellow necktie. _ CAROLINE LEGRAND. Good-morning, Meuriot. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Good-morning, Caroline Legrand. [_They shakehands_] CAROLINE LEGRAND. It seems there's something new going on here. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. I believe there is, but I know nothing aboutit. CAROLINE LEGRAND. I expect the paper's not going well, the jam hasn'thidden the pill. Even Madame Nérisse's thirtieth article upon divorce atthe desire of one party hasn't succeeded in stirring up enthusiasm thistime. She's been preaching up free love, but she really started thepaper only because she thought it would help her to get the law changedand allow her to marry her "dearest. " THÉRÈSE. Mademoiselle Legrand, I have some news that will please you. CAROLINE LEGRAND. Are all the men dead? THÉRÈSE. No, not yet; but I've heard that in a small country townthey're starting a Woman's Trade Union. CAROLINE LEGRAND. It won't succeed. Women are too stupid. THÉRÈSE. They've opened a special workshop there, and they're going tohave work that's always been done by men done by women. CAROLINE LEGRAND. That's splendid! A woman worker the more is a slavethe less. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_gravely_] Are you quite sure of that? CAROLINE LEGRAND. Oh, don't you misunderstand me! [_Forcibly_] Listen tothis. A time will come when people will be as ashamed of having madewomen work as they are ashamed now of having kept slaves. But, untilthen-- THÉRÈSE. The employer is rather disturbed about it. CAROLINE LEGRAND. He's quite right. Very soon there'll be a fiercereaction among the men about this cheap women's labor. There's going tobe a new sex struggle--the struggle for bread. Man will use all hisstrength and all his cruelty to defend himself. There's a time comingwhen gallantry and chivalry will go by the board, _I_ can tell you. _Madame Nérisse comes in. _ MADAME NÉRISSE. Oh, good-morning, Legrand. I'm glad you're here, I'vebeen wanting to ask your advice about a new idea I want to start in_Woman Free_. A correspondence about getting up a league of societywomen-- CAROLINE LEGRAND. What about the others? MADAME NÉRISSE [_continuing, without attending to her_]--and smartpeople, who will undertake not to wear ornaments in their hats made ofthe wings or the plumage of birds. CAROLINE LEGRAND. You're giving up _Woman Free_ for _Birds Free_, then? MADAME NÉRISSE. What do you mean? CAROLINE LEGRAND. You'd better make a league to do away with hatsaltogether as a protest against the sweating of the women who stitch thestraw at famine prices and make the ribbon at next to nothing. I shallbe more concerned for the fate of the sparrows when I haven't got toconcern myself about the fate of sweated women. MADAME NÉRISSE. Well, of course. That's the article we've got to write. CAROLINE LEGRAND. Of course. MADAME NÉRISSE. We'll write it in the form of a letter to a member ofparliament--it had better be a man, because we're going to put him inthe wrong--a member of parliament who wants to form the league Isuggested. What you said about the sparrows will be a splendid tag atthe end. Will you write it? CAROLINE LEGRAND. Rather! It's lucky you don't stick to your ideas veryobstinately, because they can sometimes be improved upon. I think Ishall write your paper for you in future. MADAME NÉRISSE. Go along and send me in Mademoiselle Grégoire and MadameChanteuil. They'll bother you, and I want them here. CAROLINE LEGRAND. To write about "Soap of the Sylphs. " _I_ know. _She goes out to the right. _ MADAME NÉRISSE. She's a little mad, but she really has good ideassometimes. _The page boy comes in. _ BOY [_to Madame Nérisse_] The gentlemen are there, Monsieur Cazarès andanother gentleman. MADAME NÉRISSE. Are they with Monsieur Nérisse? BOY. Yes, Madame. MADAME NÉRISSE. Very well, I'll go. [_The boy goes out. She speaks tothe others_] Divide the work between you. [_To Madame Chanteuil andMademoiselle Grégoire, who come in from the right_] There's lots of workto be done. [_She goes out to the left_] MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. We'd better sit down. [_She sits down and sayswhat follows whilst they are taking their places round the table. Shetakes up the first letter_] This is for the advertising department. IsMademoiselle Baron here? THÉRÈSE. No, poor little thing. She's trudging round Paris to try andget hold of a few advertisements. MADAME CHANTEUIL. It's a dreadful job, trying to get advertisements fora paper that three-quarters of the people she goes to have never heardof. It gives me the shivers to remember what I had to go through myselfover that job. THÉRÈSE. And poor little Baron is so shy! MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. She earned only fifty francs all last month. MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. I know her, I met her lately; she told me she wasin luck, that she had an appointment with the manager of the Institut deJouvence. MADAME CHANTEUIL. And she thinks she's in luck! MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. It appears that that's a place where you can doquite good business. MADAME CHANTEUIL [_gravely_] Yes, young women can do business there ifthey're pretty; but have you any idea what price they pay? Nothing wouldinduce me to put my foot inside the place again. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Oh, the poor little girl! Oh, dear! [_A pause. She begins to sort the letters_] THÉRÈSE [_half to herself_] It seems to me our name _Woman Free_ ishorrible irony. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_holding a letter in her hand_] Oh, Chanteuil, what _have_ you done? Here's somebody perfectly furious. She says sheasked you to give her some information in the beauty column. [_Reading_]It was something she was mistaken about. She wrote under the name of"Always Young, " and apparently you've answered "Always Young is amistake. " She thinks you did it to insult her. You must write her aletter of apologies. MADAME CHANTEUIL. Yes, Mademoiselle. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_holding up another letter_] "Little Questionsof Sentiment. " This is for you, Thérèse. [_She reads_] "I feel so sadbecause I am getting old, " etc. Answer, "Why this sadness--" THÉRÈSE. "White hairs are a crown of--" [_She writes a few words inpencil upon the letter which Mademoiselle de Meuriot has passed to her_] MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. "Astral Influences. " [_Looking round_] Who is"Astral Influences"? MADAME CHANTEUIL. I am. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_passing her letters_] Here are two, three--onewithout a post office order. Put that one straight into the waste paperbasket. Remember that you must always promise them luck, with littledifficulties to give success more flavor. And be sure to tell themthey're full of good qualities, with some little amiable weaknesses andthe sort of defects one enjoys boasting about. [_Going on reading_]"About using whites of eggs to take the sharpness out of sorrel, " "Totake out ink-stains. " These are for you, dear. MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. Yes. [_She takes the letters_] I didn't think ofthat when I took my degree. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_continuing_] "Stoutness"; that's for you too. [_Glancing again at the letter_] What does this one want? [_Flutteringthe leaves_] Four pages; ah, here we are--"A slender figure--smallerhips--am not too stout anywhere else. " That's for the doctor. [_Shegives the letter to Mademoiselle Grégoire with several others_] MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. Iodiform soap. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. My dear, not at all, "Soap of the Sylphs. " MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. But that's exactly the same thing. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. I know that. But it sounds so different. [_Taking another letter_] "A red nose"-- MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. Lemon juice. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_continuing_] "Superfluous hairs. " Be sure torecommend the cream that gives us advertisements; don't make any mistakeabout that. "Black specks on the chin, " "Wrinkles round the eyes. " MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. There's no cure for that. MADAME CHANTEUIL. Tell her to go to bed early and alone. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. That's too easy, she wouldn't believe in it. Find something else. [_Continuing to read_] "To make them firm withoutenlarging them"; that's for you too. And all the rest I think. "Towhiten the teeth, " "To make the hair lighter, " "To give firmness to thebust. " MADAME CHANTEUIL. They're always asking that. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_reading_] "To enlarge the eyes, " "get rid ofwrinkles"--"and double chins"--"a clear complexion"--"to keepyoung"--ouf! That's all. No, here's one that wants white arms. They'reall alike, poor women! MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. And all that to please men. MADAME CHANTEUIL. To please a man more than some other woman, and so tobe fed, lodged, and kept by him. MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE [_between her teeth_] _Kept_ is the right word. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Ah, here's Mademoiselle Baron. [_ToMademoiselle Baron_] Well? What luck? MADEMOISELLE BARON [_miserably_] There's no one in the office. I've gotthe signed contract for the advertisements of the Institut de Jouvence. Now I must go on to the printers. Here it is. Good-bye. [_A silence_] MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_in a suffocated voice_] Good-bye, my dear. _They watch her go sadly. A long silence. _ THÉRÈSE [_speaking with great emotion_] Poor, _poor_ little thing! MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_also quite overcome, slowly_] Perhaps she hassomeone at home who's hungry. _They each respond by a sigh or an ouf! Mademoiselle Grégoire, Madame Chanteuil, and Mademoiselle de Meuriot rise, picking up their papers. _ MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE. I must go and see to the "Doctor's Page. " MADAME CHANTEUIL. And I to the "Gleaner's Column. " _They go out to the right. Thérèse rests her chin on her two hands and reflects profoundly. Monsieur Nérisse comes in at the back. _ NÉRISSE [_speaking back to the people he has left in his office in anirritated voice_] Do as you like. I've told you my opinion. I wash myhands of it. When your draft is ready show it to me. [_He shuts thedoor. Thérèse, when she hears his voice, has gathered up her papers andis making for the door on the right. He calls her back_] Mademoiselle! THÉRÈSE. Monsieur! NÉRISSE. Listen. I have something to say to you. [_Thérèse returns_] DidMadame Nérisse give you the letter of introduction I wrote for you? THÉRÈSE. Yes, Monsieur. Please forgive me for not having thanked youbefore. NÉRISSE. It's nothing. THÉRÈSE. Indeed it's a great deal. NÉRISSE. Nothing. THÉRÈSE. Yes, I'm sure to be received quite differently with that letterfrom what I should be without it. NÉRISSE. I can give you any number of letters like that. May I? THÉRÈSE [_coldly_] No, thank you. NÉRISSE. You won't let me? THÉRÈSE. No. NÉRISSE. Why? THÉRÈSE. You know very well why. NÉRISSE. You're still angry with me. You do yourself harm by the way youtreat me, you do indeed. Listen, this is the sort of thing. Moranville, the editor of the review I was talking about, is going to meet me at myrestaurant after dinner. I know he wants just such stories as you write. But Moranville reads only the manuscripts of people he knows--he has acraze about it. Well, I hardly dare propose to you a thing whichnevertheless is perfectly natural among colleagues, to come and dinewith me first and meet him after. I hardly like--[_Thérèse draws herselfup_] You see, I'm right. You don't trust me. THÉRÈSE. On the contrary, I'll go gladly. Madame Nérisse will be withyou of course? NÉRISSE [_annoyed_] Madame Nérisse! Nonsense! Do you suppose I drag hereverywhere I go? Say no more about it. Whatever I say will only make yoususpicious. [_With a sigh_] All this misunderstanding and suspicion ishorrible to me. How stupid the world is! There are times when I feeldisgusted with everything, myself included! I'm getting old. I'm afailure. I'm losing my time and wasting my life over this ridiculouspaper, which will never be anything but an obscure rag. I shall havedone for myself soon. THÉRÈSE [_awkwardly, for something to say_] Don't say that. NÉRISSE. Yes, I shall. I might have a chance of saving myself yet if Itook things energetically and got free of the whole thing. But I shouldhave to be quick about it. [_A silence. Thérèse does not know what tosay and does not dare to leave the room_] I'm so low--so unhappy! THÉRÈSE. So unhappy? NÉRISSE. Yes. [_Another silence. Madame Nérisse comes in and looks atthem pointedly_] Are they gone? MADAME NÉRISSE. Yes, they're gone. NÉRISSE. Is it all settled? MADAME NÉRISSE. Yes. I am to meet them at the bank at four. But theywouldn't give way on the question of reducing expenses as regards thecontributors. NÉRISSE. And the dates of publication? MADAME NÉRISSE. We are to come out fortnightly instead of weekly. [_Indicating the door on the right_] You must go and speak to them. NÉRISSE. Is Thérèse's salary to be reduced too? MADAME NÉRISSE. It would be impossible to make distinctions. NÉRISSE. Difficult, yes. Still--I think one might have managed to dosomething for her. MADAME NÉRISSE. I cannot see how she differs from the others. Can you? NÉRISSE. Oh, well--say no more about it. MADAME NÉRISSE. That will be best. [_He goes out to the right. Toherself_] I should think so indeed! [_To Thérèse_] While MonsieurNérisse was talking to the other man I had a chat with Monsieur Cazarès. He was talking about you. He's a nice fellow, and it's quite a goodfamily you know. He's steady and fairly well off--very well off. THÉRÈSE [_laughing_] You talk as if you were offering me a husband! NÉRISSE. And what would you say supposing he had asked me to sound you? THÉRÈSE. I should say that I was very much obliged, but that I declinethe honor. NÉRISSE. What's wrong with him? THÉRÈSE. Nothing. MADAME NÉRISSE. Well then? THÉRÈSE. You can't marry upon that. MADAME NÉRISSE. Have you absolutely made up your mind? THÉRÈSE. Absolutely. MADAME NÉRISSE. I think you're making a mistake. I think it all the morebecause this chance comes just at a time--well, you'll understand what Imean when I've told you something that I have to say to you asmanageress of _Woman Free_. It's this. You know that in spite of all wecould do we've had to hunt about for more capital. We've found some, butwe've had to submit to very severe conditions. The most important isthat they insist upon a stringent cutting down of expenses. Instead ofcoming out every week, _Woman Free_ will be a fortnightly in future, andwe've been obliged to consent to reducing the salaries of thecontributors in proportion. THÉRÈSE. How much will they be reduced? MADAME NÉRISSE. In proportion I tell you. They'll be cut down by onehalf. THÉRÈSE. And I shall not have enough to live upon even in the simplestway. MADAME NÉRISSE. That was exactly what I said to them. And the work willnot be the same. THÉRÈSE. My work will not be the same? MADAME NÉRISSE. No; you will be obliged to work at night. THÉRÈSE. At night? MADAME NÉRISSE. Yes. THÉRÈSE. But then I shall be free all day. MADAME NÉRISSE. No, you won't. In the daytime you will have to takecharge of the business part of the paper, and in the evening too yourwork will not be purely literary, but more of an administrativecharacter. THÉRÈSE. It appears to me that I'm asked to accept a smaller salary andto do double work for it. MADAME NÉRISSE. I am conveying to you the offers of the new Directors;if they don't suit you, you have only to refuse them. THÉRÈSE. Of course I refuse them, and you may say to the people who havemade them that they must be shameful sweaters to dare to offer womensalaries that leave them no choice between starvation and degradation. MADAME NÉRISSE. Those are strong words, my dear, and you seem to forgetvery quickly-- THÉRÈSE [_softening_] Yes. Oh, I beg your pardon. But think for aminute, Madame, and you'll forgive me for being angry. I hardly knowwhat I'm saying. [_Madame Nérisse half turns away_] Listen, oh listen!Forget what I said just now; I'll explain to you. I accept the reductionof salary. I'll manage. I'll get my expenses down. Only I can't consentto give up all my time. You know I have some work in hand; you know Ihave a big undertaking to which I've given all my life. I've told youabout it, you know about that. You know I can only stand my lonelinessand everything because of the hope I have about this. If people take allmy time, it's the same as if they killed me. I beg you, I implore you, get them to leave me my evenings free. MADAME NÉRISSE. It can't be done. THÉRÈSE [_pulling herself together_] Very well, that's settled. I willgo at the end of the month; that's to say to-morrow. MADAME NÉRISSE. Take a little time to consider it. THÉRÈSE. I have considered it. They propose that I should commitsuicide. I say no! MADAME NÉRISSE. I'm sorry, truly sorry. [_She rings. While she waits forthe bell to be answered, she looks searchingly at Thérèse, who does notnotice it. To the page boy who comes in_] Go and call me a taxi, butfirst say to Monsieur Nérisse-- BOY. Monsieur Nérisse has just gone out, Madame. MADAME NÉRISSE. Are you quite sure? BOY. I called him a taxi. MADAME NÉRISSE. Very well, you can go. [_To Thérèse_] I'll ask you foryour final answer this evening. [_She hands her two large books_] If youmake up your mind to stay, make me these two bibliographies. _Thérèse does not answer. Madame Nérisse goes out to the left. Left alone Thérèse begins to sort the papers on her bureau rather violently. She seizes a paper knife, flings it upon the couch, and afterwards walks up and down the room in great agitation. The door on the right opens and there come in such exclamations as No! Never! It's monstrous! I shall leave! It's an insult!_ _Caroline Legrand, Mademoiselle Grégoire, Madame Chanteuil, and Mademoiselle de Meuriot come in. Mademoiselle de Meuriot is the only one who has kept her self-possession. _ MADEMOISELLE GRÉGOIRE [_speaking above the din_] Good-bye, all. [_Shegoes to the small salon from which she originally came in, and duringthe conversation that follows comes in putting on her hat, and goes outunnoticed at the back_] THÉRÈSE. Well, what do you think of this? MADAME CHANTEUIL AND CAROLINE LEGRAND [_together_] It's an insult. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. You must try and keep quiet. [_To Thérèse_]What shall you do? THÉRÈSE. I shall leave. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. You ought to stay. MADAME CHANTEUIL. No, Thérèse is right. We must all leave. THÉRÈSE. We must leave to-morrow--no, this evening. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_quietly_] Do you think that you'll be able tomake better terms anywhere else? THÉRÈSE. That won't be difficult. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. You think so? THÉRÈSE. Rather. CAROLINE LEGRAND. Where, for instance? THÉRÈSE. There are other papers in Paris besides this one. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Then you know a lot of others that pay better? THÉRÈSE. One will be enough for me. CAROLINE LEGRAND. And you think you'll find a place straight off? Youknow there are other people-- THÉRÈSE. I'll give lessons. I took my degree. CAROLINE LEGRAND. Much good may it do you. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. You think you'll be a governess? At one time agoverness could get 1, 200 francs, now it's 650 francs--less than thecook. And if you were to be a companion-- THÉRÈSE. Why not a lady's maid at once? CAROLINE LEGRAND. Yes; lady's maid. That's not a bad idea. It's the onlyoccupation a girl brought up as rich people bring up their daughters canbe certain to get and to keep, if she's only humble enough. THÉRÈSE. I shall manage to get along without taking to that. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. But, Thérèse, have you really been blind to allthat's been going on here? Haven't you constantly seen unfortunatewomen, as well brought up and as well educated as yourself, cominghunting for work? Don't you remember that advertisement of the girl thatCaroline Legrand was interested in? That advertisement has beenappearing in the paper for the last three months. I'll read it to you. [_Caroline Legrand takes up a number of "Women Free" and passes it toMademoiselle de Meuriot_] Here it is. [_Reading_] "A young lady ofdistinguished appearance, who has taken a high certificate for teaching. Good musician. Drawing, English, shorthand, etc. " I know that girl. Shetold me all about her life. D'you know what she's offered? She asked twofrancs an hour for teaching the piano. They laughed in her face, becausefor that they could get a girl who'd taken first prize at theConservatoire. They gave her seventy-five centimes. Deduct from thatseventy-five centimes the price of the journey in that underground, thewear and tear of clothes, the time lost in going and coming, and thenwhat do you think is left? CAROLINE LEGRAND. Let's be just. She got answers from doubtful placesabroad, letters from old satyrs, and invitations to pose for the"movies. " MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. What's left then? The stage. It's quite naturalyou should think of the stage. THÉRÈSE. If one must. CAROLINE LEGRAND. If one must! You'd condescend to it, wouldn't you? Youpoor child! MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. You can't get into the Conservatoire aftertwenty-one. Are you under that? No. Are you a genius? No. Well then? CAROLINE LEGRAND. Have you a rich lover who will back you? MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. No. Then you'll get nothing at all in thetheatres except by making friends with half a dozen men or sellingyourself to one. THÉRÈSE. I'll go into a shop. At any rate, when it shuts I shall befree. CAROLINE LEGRAND. You think they're longing for you, don't you? Youforget you'd have to know things for that one doesn't learn by taking adegree; things like shorthand and typewriting. Do you know there aretwenty thousand women in Paris who want to get into shops and officesand can't find places? MADAME CHANTEUIL. I know exactly what's going to become of _me_. CAROLINE LEGRAND. Now you're going to say something silly. MADAME CHANTEUIL. You think so, you've guessed. Well, I tell you, middleclass girls thrown on the world as we are can't get along without aman--a husband or a lover. We haven't got the key of the prison door. We've not learned a trade. We've learned to smile, and dance, andsing--parlor tricks. All that's only of use in a love affair or amarriage. Without a man we're stranded. Our parents have brought us allup for one career and one only--the man. I was a fool not to understandbefore. Now I see. CAROLINE LEGRAND. Look here, you're not going to take a lover? MADAME CHANTEUIL. Suppose I am? CAROLINE LEGRAND. My dear, you came here full of indignation, clamoringagainst the state of society. You called yourself a feminist, but you, and women like you, are feminists only when it's convenient. There areno real feminists except ugly women like me or old ones like Meuriot. You others come about us in a swarm and then drop away one afteranother to go off to some man. As soon as a lover condescends to throwthe handkerchief you're up and off to him. You _want_ to be slaves. Go, my dear, and take your lover. That's your fate. Good-night. [_She goesout_] MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_to Madame Chanteuil_] Don't listen to her, youpoor child. Don't ruin all your life in a fit of despair. MADAME CHANTEUIL. I can't stay here. I'm not a saint and I'm not a fool. How can I live on what they offer to pay me? MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Stay for a little, while you're looking forsomething else. MADAME CHANTEUIL. Look for something else! Never! That means all thehorrors I went through, before I came here, over again! No! _no! no!_Never! Looking for work means trailing through the mud, toiling upstairs, ringing bells, being told to call again, calling again to getmore snubs. And then when one thinks one's found something one comes upagainst a door guarded by a man who's watching you, and who's got to besatisfied before you can get into the workroom, or the office, or theshop, or whatever it may be. And then you've got to begin again withsomebody else and be snubbed again. No. Since it's an accepted, settled, decided thing that the only career for a woman is to satisfy thepassions of a man, I prefer the one I've chosen myself. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. And what if he goes off and leaves you with ababy? MADAME CHANTEUIL. Well, I'll bring it up. I shan't be the first. Womendo it. It happens to one in every five in Paris. Ask Mademoiselle deMeuriot, the old maid, if she wouldn't be glad to have one now? When onegrows old it's better to have had a child in that way than not to havehad one at all. Ask her if I'm not telling the truth. Ask her if she'shappy in her loneliness. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Oh, it's true--it's true! Sometimes-- _She bursts into tears. Thérèse goes to her and takes her in her arms. _ THÉRÈSE. Oh, Mademoiselle, dear Mademoiselle! MADAME CHANTEUIL [_between her teeth_] Good-bye, Mademoiselle. Good-bye, Thérèse. MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_to Madame Chanteuil_] Wait, wait. I'm goingwith you. I am not going to leave you just now. _Mademoiselle de Meuriot goes out with Madame Chanteuil. Thérèse, left alone, buries her head in her hands and thinks. Then she takes the two books that Madame Nérisse has handed her, and with a determined swing sits down and starts working. After a moment Monsieur Nérisse comes in. _ NÉRISSE. My dear child, I have news for you. Pleasant news, I think. THÉRÈSE [_rather grimly_] Have you? NÉRISSE. One little smile, please, or I shall tell you nothing. THÉRÈSE. I assure you smiling is the last thing I feel like. NÉRISSE. If you only knew what I've been doing for you, you wouldn'treceive me so unkindly. THÉRÈSE. _You_ can do nothing for me. Will you please leave me alone? NÉRISSE. I don't deserve to be spoken to like that, Thérèse. Listen; wemust come to an understanding. I know you're angry with me still aboutwhat happened last month. I promised you then I would say no more. HaveI kept my word? THÉRÈSE. Yes, you have. NÉRISSE. Will you always be angry? Is it quite impossible for us to befriends? I am constantly giving you proofs of my friendship. I've donetwo things for you quite lately. The first was that letter to the editoryou're going to see to-morrow, and the second is what I've done now withour new backer. It's this. They wanted to sack you or to offer youhumiliating conditions. I said if you didn't stay I wouldn't stayeither. I gave in on other points to get my way about this. I shall havetheir final answer to-morrow, and I know I shall succeed if I stick tomy point. THÉRÈSE. But what right had you to do such a thing? We agreed to forgetaltogether that you had dared to make love to me. D'you really notunderstand how that makes it impossible I should ever accept eitherassistance or protection from you? NÉRISSE. I have still the right to love you in secret. THÉRÈSE. Indeed you have not, and you've kept your secret preciousbadly. Madame Nérisse suspects, and I can see quite well that she'sjealous of me. I owe her a great deal; she gave me my first start andgot me my place here. I wouldn't make her unhappy for anything in theworld. As soon as she hears of what you've done what d'you supposeshe'll think? NÉRISSE. I don't care a rap what she thinks. THÉRÈSE. But I care very much. You've compromised me seriously. NÉRISSE [_sincerely contemptuous_] Compromised you! Aha, yes, there'sthe word! Oh, you middle class girls! Always the same! What are youdoing here then? What d'you know about life? Nothing. Compromised! Thenall your dreams of elevating humanity, all your ambitions, your career, the realization of yourself--you'll give up all that before you'll bewhat you describe by that stupid, imbecile, middle class word, compromised. When you shook yourself free of your family you behavedlike a capable woman. Now you're behaving and thinking like afashionable doll. Isn't that true? I appeal to your intelligence, toyour mind, to everything in you that lifts you out of the ordinary ruck. Your precious word compromised is only the twaddle of a countrifiedmiss. Don't you see that yourself? THÉRÈSE [_very much out of countenance_] Ah, if I were only certain thatyou are hiding nothing behind your friendship and your sympathy! NÉRISSE [_with perfectly genuine indignation_] Hiding? You said hiding?Is that what you throw in my face? You insult me? What d'you take mefor? THÉRÈSE. I beg your pardon. NÉRISSE. What kind of assurance do you want me to give you? Do youbelieve in nothing? Is it quite impossible for you to feel frankly andnaturally, and to say "I have confidence in you, and I accept yourfriendship"--a friendship offered to you perfectly honestly and loyally?It really drives one to despair. THÉRÈSE [_without enthusiasm_] Well, yes. I say it. _She puts her hands into the hands Monsieur Nérisse holds out to her. _ NÉRISSE. Thank you. [_A silence. Then he says in a low voice_] Oh, Thérèse, I love you, how I love you! THÉRÈSE [_snatching her hands away_] Oh, this is abominable. You set atrap for me, and my vanity made me fall into it. NÉRISSE. I implore you to let me tell you about myself. I'm so miserableand lonely when you're away. THÉRÈSE [_trying to speak reasonably_] I know quite well what you wantto say to me, and it all amounts to this: you love me. It's quite clear, and I answer you just as clearly: I do _not_ love you. NÉRISSE. I'm so unhappy! THÉRÈSE. If it's true that you're unhappy because I don't love you, thatis a misfortune for you; a misfortune for which I am not in any wayresponsible, because you certainly cannot accuse me of having encouragedyou. NÉRISSE. I don't ask you to love me--yet. I ask you to allow me to tryand win your love. THÉRÈSE [_almost desperate_] Don't dare to say that again. If you werean honorable man, you couldn't possibly have said these things to meto-day when my living depends upon you. You know the position I'm in, and you know that if I don't stay here, there are only two courses opento me--to go and live at the expense of my godmother, which I will _not_do, or to take the chances of a woman alone looking for work in Paris. Don't you understand that speaking about your love for me to-day is thesame as driving me into the street? NÉRISSE. If you go into the street, it is by your own choice. THÉRÈSE. Exactly. There's the old, everlasting, scandalous bargain. Sellyourself or you shall starve. If I give in, I can stay; if I don't-- NÉRISSE. _I_ didn't say so. But clearly my efforts to help you will begreater if I know that I'm working for my friend. THÉRÈSE. You actually confess it! You think yourself an honorable man, and you don't see that what you're doing is the vilest of crimes. NÉRISSE. Now I ask you. Did I wait for your answer before I began todefend you and to help you? THÉRÈSE. No, but you believe I shall give in through gratitude or fear. Well, don't count upon it. Even if I have to kill myself in the end, Ishall never sell myself, either to you or to anyone else. [_In despair_]Then that's what it comes to. Wherever we want to make our way, to havethe right to work and to live, we find the door barred by a man whosays, Give yourself or starve. Because one's on one's own, because theyknow that there's not another man to start up and defend his _property_!It's almost impossible to believe human beings can be so vile to oneanother. For food! Just for food! Because they know we shall starve ifwe don't give in. Because we have old people, or children at home whoare waiting for us to bring them food, men put this vile condition tous, to do like the girls in the streets. It's shameful, shameful, shameful. It's enough to make one shriek out loud with rage and despair. NÉRISSE [_speaking sternly_] I've never asked you to sell yourself. Iask you to love me. THÉRÈSE. I shall never love you. NÉRISSE [_as before_] You'll never love. Neither me nor others. Listen-- THÉRÈSE [_interrupting_] I-- NÉRISSE [_preventing her from speaking_] Wait; I insist upon speaking. You will never love, you say. You will live alone all your life. You'refoolish and self-confident enough to think that you can do without aman's affection. THÉRÈSE. But I-- NÉRISSE [_continuing_] I must try to make you understand your folly. These efforts you're making to escape from the ordinary life ofaffection are useless, and it's lucky for you they are useless. Youcan't live without love. THÉRÈSE. Why? NÉRISSE. All lonely people are wretched. But the lonely woman is twice, a hundred times more wretched than the man. You've no idea what it is. It's to pass all your life under suspicion, yes, suspicion. The worldnever believes that people live differently from others unless they havesecret reasons, and the world always says that secret reasons areshameful reasons. And that's not all. Think of the lonely room where youmay cry without anyone to hear you. Think of illness where to yourbodily pain is added the mental torture of the fear of dying all alone. Think of the empty heart, the empty arms always, always. And in old age, more wretchedness in the regret for a wasted life. And for what and forwhom are you making this sacrifice? For a convention; for a moralitythat nobody really believes in. Who'll think the better of you for it?People won't even believe in your honesty. They will find explanationsfor it that would make you die of shame if you knew them. Is that whatyou want, Thérèse? I am unhappy. Love me. Oh, if you only-- THÉRÈSE. Please spare me your confidences. NÉRISSE. You think this is only a caprice on my part. You are mistaken. I ask you to share my life. THÉRÈSE. I will never be your mistress. NÉRISSE. You're proud and you're strong. You insist upon marriage. Verywell. I agree. THÉRÈSE. I will not have you! I will not have you! NÉRISSE. Why? Tell me why. THÉRÈSE. I _will_ tell you why; and then, I hope, I shall have done withyou. You're right in one way. I believe I should not be able to live allalone. I should be too unhappy. But at least I'll keep my right ofchoice. If ever I give myself to anyone, it will be to someone I love. [_With vehemence_] And I love him, I love him! NÉRISSE [_violently_] You have a lover! If that's true-- THÉRÈSE [_with a cry of triumph_] Oh, have I got to the bottom of yourvulgar, hateful little soul? If there ever was any danger of my givingin, your expression then would have saved me. You never thought therecould be anything better. A lover! No, I have no lover. I have a love. NÉRISSE. I don't see so very much difference. THÉRÈSE [_proudly_] I know you don't, and that shows what you are. Thisis the one love of my life, my love for my betrothed. I lost my moneyand that separated us, but we found each other again. It's unhappy to beseparated, but we bear our unhappiness out of respect for what you callprejudices, because we know how our defying them would hurt those welove. You think me ridiculous, but you cannot imagine how utterlyindifferent I am. I am waiting, we are waiting, with perfect trust andlove. Now d'you understand that I'm perfectly safe from you? Go! NÉRISSE [_in a low voice which trembles with anger and jealousy_] Howdare you say that to me, Thérèse? How dare you bring such a picturebefore me? I will not allow you to belong to another man. [_He advancestowards her_] THÉRÈSE [_in violent excitement_] No, no, don't dare! Don't touch me!don't dare to touch me! _She cries out those words with such violence and in a voice of such authority that Nérisse stops and drops into a chair. _ NÉRISSE. Forgive me. I'm out of my mind. I don't know what I'm doing. THÉRÈSE [_in a low, forced voice_] Will you go? I've work to do. NÉRISSE. Yes, I'll go. [_He rises and says humbly_] I want to askyou--you won't leave us? THÉRÈSE. You dare to say that? You think I'll expose myself a secondtime to a scene like this. Yes! I shall leave, and leave to-night!_Will_ you go? NÉRISSE. I implore you. [_Hearing a noise outside, suddenly alarmed_]Here she is! Control yourself, I beg of you. Don't tell her. THÉRÈSE. You needn't be afraid. _Madame Nérisse comes in. _ MADAME NÉRISSE [_looking from one to the other_] What's going on here? NÉRISSE. Mademoiselle Thérèse says that she's going to leave us, and Itried to make her understand--perhaps you could do something--I must goout. MADAME NÉRISSE. Yes. Go. _He takes his hat and goes out at the back. _ MADAME NÉRISSE. You wish to leave us? THÉRÈSE. Yes, Madame. MADAME NÉRISSE. Because Monsieur Nérisse--? THÉRÈSE. Yes, Madame. MADAME NÉRISSE [_troubled and sad_] What can I say to you? THÉRÈSE. Nothing, Madame. MADAME NÉRISSE. My poor child. THÉRÈSE. I don't want pity. Don't be unhappy about me. I shall be ableto manage for myself. I have plenty of courage. MADAME NÉRISSE. I'm so ashamed to let you go like this. How honest andloyal you are! [_To herself_] I was honest too, once. THÉRÈSE. Good-bye, Madame. [_She begins to tidy her papers_] MADAME NÉRISSE. Good-bye, Thérèse. _Madame Nérisse goes out. _ _When Thérèse is left alone she breaks down and bursts out crying like a little child. Then she wipes her eyes, puts her hat on, goes to the cardboard box, and takes out her veil, which she slips into her little bag. She takes out Monsieur Nérisse's letter; still crying she puts the letter into another envelope, which she closes and leaves well in sight upon the table. Then she takes her little black moleskin bag and her umbrella and goes out slowly. She is worn out, almost stooping; and, as the curtain falls, one sees the poor little figure departing, its shoulders shaken by sobs. _ ACT III SCENE:--_Thérèse's studio at the bookbinding workshops of Messrs. Féliat and Guéret at Evreux. Strewn about are materials for binding books: patterns, tools, and silks. A glazed door on the right opens into the general women's workshops, and there is a door leading into a small office on the left. In the middle, towards the back, is a large drawing table; several easels stand about. There are some chairs and a small bureau. Cards hang upon the walls, on which are printed the text of the Factory Laws. There is a door at the back. _ _It is October. _ _Monsieur Guéret and Monsieur Féliat come in excitedly. _ GUÉRET. I tell you Duriot's men are coming out on strike. FÉLIAT. And I ask you, what's that to me? GUÉRET. Ours will do the same. FÉLIAT. Oh no, they won't. GUÉRET. You'll see. FÉLIAT. Duriot's men are furious with the women because of what happenedlast year. GUÉRET. They say woman's the enemy in business. FÉLIAT. Let 'em talk. GUÉRET. They want Duriot to sack all his women. FÉLIAT. And I've told you why. There's no danger of anything like thathappening here. GUÉRET. You think so, do you? Well, you'll see. FÉLIAT. We shall see. GUÉRET. You'll give in only after they've broken two or three of yourmachines as they did Duriot's, or done something worse, perhaps. FÉLIAT. My dear Guéret, I get out of the women for a cent what I have topay the men three cents for. And as long as I can economize ten cents onthe piece I shall go on. GUÉRET. You'll regret it. If I was in your place--[_He stops_] FÉLIAT. Well, what would you do if you were in my place? GUÉRET. What should I do? FÉLIAT. Yes, what? GUÉRET. I shouldn't take long to think. I'd cut off a finger to save myhand, I'd turn out every one of the women to-morrow. FÉLIAT. You're mad. You've always objected to my employing women, and Iknow very well why. GUÉRET. Well, let's hear why. FÉLIAT. You want to know. Well, because you've been jealous of Thérèseever since she came here six months ago. GUÉRET. Oh, I say! FÉLIAT. That's it; my sister can't endure her. GUÉRET. Marguerite-- FÉLIAT. You know she wouldn't even see her when she came down fromParis; and if Thérèse got work here, it was in spite of Marguerite. Iwas wiser than you about this. The girl's courage appealed to me. She'splucky and intelligent. Oh, I don't want to make myself out clevererthan I am. I took her a bit out of pity, and I thought she'd draw me afew designs; that was all I expected. But she has energy and initiative. She organized the two workrooms, and now she's got the whole thing intoorder by starting this Union. GUÉRET. The Hen's Union. FÉLIAT. What? GUÉRET. That's what the men call her Union. You should hear the thingsthey say about it. FÉLIAT. Well, long live the Hen's Union! A hen's plucky when it has tobe. GUÉRET. Seriously, it's just this Union which has annoyed the men. Theyfeel it's dangerous. FÉLIAT. Very well. I'll be ready for them. _Thérèse comes in. _ GUÉRET. I'll go and find out what's going on. FÉLIAT. Yes, do. _Monsieur Guéret goes out. _ THÉRÈSE. I've just been seeing the man who makes our finishing tools. Hesays it's perfectly easy to make a tool from the drawing I did thatwon't be more expensive than the old one. [_Looking for a paper andfinding it on the table_] Here's the drawing. You see I've thought ofcheapness, but I've not sacrificed utility. After all, it's only a copyof a Grolier, just a little altered. FÉLIAT. Very good, but what will the price come out at? THÉRÈSE. How much do you think. FÉLIAT. I can easily do it. [_He calculates during what follows_] THÉRÈSE. The beating won't be done with a hammer, but in the rollingmachine; the sawing-in and the covering will be done as usual. FÉLIAT [_having finished his sum_] Two francs forty. THÉRÈSE [_triumphantly_] One franc seventy. You've calculated on thebasis of men's work. But, if you approve, I'll open a new workroom forwomen in the old shop. Lucienne can manage it. I could let MadamePrinceteau take Lucienne's present place, and I'll turn out the stuff atthe price I quoted. FÉLIAT. But that's first-rate. I give you an absolutely free hand. THÉRÈSE. Thank you, Monsieur Féliat. FÉLIAT. How do you think the men will take it? You know that last year, before you came here, a strike of the workmen was broken by the womentaking the work the men were asking a rise for--taking it at lowerwages, too. Since then the men feel very strongly against the women. Your godfather is anxious about it. THÉRÈSE. Oh, leave it to me, I'm not afraid. FÉLIAT. Well done. I like pluck. Go ahead. How lucky I was to get youhere. THÉRÈSE. How grateful I am to you for believing in me. [_Lucienneappears at the door on the right. She is speaking to a workwoman who isnot visible, while the following conversation goes on_] And how good youare, too, to have given work to poor Lucienne. When I think what yousaved her from! She really owes her life to you. At any rate she owes itto you that she's living respectably. FÉLIAT. Well, I owe _you_ ten per cent reduction on my general expenses. [_With a change of tone_] Then that's agreed? You're going ahead? THÉRÈSE. Yes, Monsieur. FÉLIAT. I'll go and give the necessary orders. [_He goes out_] THÉRÈSE. It's all right. It's done. He's agreed! I'm to have my newworkroom, and you're to be the head of it. LUCIENNE. Oh, splendid! Then I'm really of some importance here at last. [_A long happy sigh_] Oh dear, how happy I am. I'd never have believed Icould have enjoyed the smell of a bindery so. [_Sniffing_] Glue, andwhite of egg, and old leather; it's lovely! Oh, Thérèse, what you didfor me in bringing me here! What I owe you! That's what a woman's beingfree means; it means a woman who earns her own living. THÉRÈSE. Oh, you're right! Isn't it splendid, Lucienne, ten wretchedwomen saved, thanks to our new workshop. I've seen Duriot's forewoman. At any moment fifty women from there may be out of work. I can take ononly ten at present, and I've had to choose. That was dreadful! Thirtyof them are near starvation. I took the worst cases: the old maids, thegirls with babies, the ones whose husbands have gone off and left them, the widows. Every one of those, but for me, would have been starved orgone on the streets. I used to want to write books and realize my dreamsthat way. Now I can realize them by work. I wish Caroline Legrand couldknow what I'm doing. It was she who helped me to get over my sillypride, and come and ask for work here. LUCIENNE. Dear Caroline Legrand! Without her! Without you! [_With achange of tone_] What d'you suppose happened to me this morning? I had avisit from Monsieur Gambard. THÉRÈSE [_laughing_] Another visit! I shall be jealous! LUCIENNE. You've reason. For the last week that excellent old man hascome every single morning with a book for me to bind. I begged him notto take so much trouble, and I told him that if he had more work for usto do, we could send for the books to his house. What d'you think he didto-day? THÉRÈSE. I've no idea. LUCIENNE. He asked me to marry him. THÉRÈSE. My dear! What then? LUCIENNE. Why, then I told him that I was married and separated from myhusband. THÉRÈSE. There's such a thing as divorce. LUCIENNE. Naughty girl! That's exactly what he said. I told him that myfirst experience of marriage was not calculated to make me run thechances of a second. And then he asked me to be his mistress. THÉRÈSE. Indignation of Lucienne! LUCIENNE. No! I really couldn't be angry. He offered so naïvely tosettle part of his fortune upon me that I was disarmed. I simply toldhim I was able to earn my own living, so I was not obliged to sellmyself. THÉRÈSE. And he went off? LUCIENNE. And he went off. THÉRÈSE [_starting suddenly_] Was that three o'clock that struck. LUCIENNE. Yes, but there's nothing very extraordinary in that. THÉRÈSE. Not for you, perhaps. But I made up my mind not to think abouta certain thing until it was three o'clock. I stuck to it--almost--notvery easily. Well, my dear, three o'clock to-day is a most solemn hourin my life. LUCIENNE. You don't say so! THÉRÈSE. _I do. _ Lucienne, I am so happy. I don't know how I can havedeserved to be as happy as I am. LUCIENNE. Good gracious, what's happened in the last five minutes? THÉRÈSE. I'll tell you. One hour ago René arrived at Evreux. He's comeback from Tunis. Come back a success and a somebody. And now-- _Vincent, a workman, comes in. _ VINCENT. Good-morning, Mademoiselle Thérèse. I want a word with you, because it's you who engages-- THÉRÈSE. Not the workmen. VINCENT. I know. But it's about a woman, about my wife. THÉRÈSE [_sharply_] Your wife? But I don't want your wife. VINCENT. I heard as how you were taking on hands. THÉRÈSE. Yes, but I choose them carefully. First of all I take the oneswho need work or are not wanted at home. VINCENT. You're quite right--but I ain't asking you to pay my old womanvery much--not as much as a man. THÉRÈSE. Why not, if she does the same work? VINCENT [_with male superiority_] Well, in the first place, she's only awoman; and, besides, if you didn't make a bit out of it, you wouldn'ttake her in the place of a man. THÉRÈSE. But you get excellent wages here yourself. You can live withoutforcing your wife to work. VINCENT. Well, anyhow, her few halfpence would be enough to pay for mytobacco. LUCIENNE [_laughing_] Come, you don't smoke as much as all that. VINCENT. Besides, it'll put a bit more butter on the bread. THÉRÈSE. But your wife will take the place of another woman who hasn'teven dry bread perhaps. VINCENT. Oh, if one was bothering all the time about other people'stroubles, you'd have enough to do! THÉRÈSE. Now will you forgive me if I meddle a little in what isn'texactly my business? VINCENT. Oh, go on, you won't upset me. THÉRÈSE. What d'you do when you leave the works? You go to the saloon? VINCENT [_losing control of himself and becoming violent and coarse_]That's yer game, is it! You take me for a regler soaker. That's a bittoo thick, that is. You can go and ask for yourself in all the saloonsround here. Blimey, sometimes I don't drink nothing but water fora week on end! Can you find anybody as has ever seen meblue-blind-paralytic--eh? I'm one of the steady ones, I am. I has atiddley in the morning, like every man as is a man, to keep out thefog; then I has a Vermouth before lunch, and a drop of something shortafter, just to oil the works like--and that's the bloomin' lot. Ofcourse you're bound to have a Pernod before dinner to get your appetiteup; and if I go for a smoke and a wet after supper, well, it's for thesake of a bit of company. THÉRÈSE [_who has been jotting down figures with a pencil while he hasbeen talking_] Well, that's a franc a day you might have saved. VINCENT. A franc. THÉRÈSE [_holding out the paper to him_] Add it up. VINCENT [_a little confused_] Oh, I'll take your word for it. I ain'tmuch good at sums. THÉRÈSE. With that franc you might have put a fine lot of butter onevery round of bread. VINCENT. Well, look here, I want a bicycle. THÉRÈSE. Why? You live five minutes' walk from here. VINCENT. Yes, but I want to get about a bit on Sundays. THÉRÈSE. There's one thing you haven't thought of. You have two littlechildren. Who'll look after them if your wife comes to work here? VINCENT. Don't you worry about that. You takes 'em all dirty to thecrèche every morning and gets 'em back in the evenin' all tidied up. THÉRÈSE. And who's going to get supper ready? VINCENT [_naïvely_] Why, the old woman when she comes back from work. THÉRÈSE. While you take your little drink? VINCENT [_the same tone_] Oh, yes; I shan't hurry her up too much. THÉRÈSE. Who'll mend your clothes? VINCENT. Why, the old woman of course. THÉRÈSE. When? VINCENT. On Sundays. THÉRÈSE. While you go off for a run on the bicycle? VINCENT. Yes; it'll be a change for her. And at night I'll take her tosee me play billiards. [_With a change of tone_] That's all settled, ain't it? THÉRÈSE. Indeed, it's not. VINCENT. Why not? Aren't you going to open a new workroom? THÉRÈSE. Your wife has no need to work. VINCENT. What's that got to do with you? You're taking on the others. THÉRÈSE. The others are in want. VINCENT. That's nothing to me. You ought to take the wives of the chapsas works here first. THÉRÈSE. All I can do is to mention her name at the next meeting of ourUnion. VINCENT. Oh, damn your Union--it's a fair nuisance! THÉRÈSE. A Union is always a nuisance to somebody. VINCENT. And you'll ask your Union not to take my old woman? THÉRÈSE. I certainly shall. VINCENT [_rather threateningly_] Very well. Things was more comfortablehere before you come from Paris, you know. THÉRÈSE [_quietly_] I'm sorry. VINCENT. And they'll be more comfortable when you take your hook back. THÉRÈSE. That won't be for a good while yet. VINCENT. I ain't so damned sure about that! Good-afternoon. THÉRÈSE. Good-afternoon. _He goes out. _ LUCIENNE. You've made an enemy, my dear. THÉRÈSE. I don't care as long as I'm able to prevent women being drivento work to pay for their husbands' idleness and drunkenness. _Féliat and Guéret come in. Lucienne goes out. _ FÉLIAT. Tell me, Mademoiselle, if there was a strike here, could youcount upon your workwomen? THÉRÈSE. I'm sure I could. FÉLIAT. Are you certain none of them would go back on you? THÉRÈSE. Two or three married women might if their husbands threatenedthem. FÉLIAT. Will you try, in a quiet way, to find out about that? THÉRÈSE. Yes, certainly. [_She makes a movement to go out_] FÉLIAT. Look here, it seems that Duriot has just had a visit from twodelegates from the Central Committee in Paris, who were sent down toprotest against the engagement of women. I'm afraid we're going to havetrouble here. THÉRÈSE. The conditions here are very different from those at Duriot's. FÉLIAT. All the same, find out what you can. THÉRÈSE. I will, at once. [_She goes towards the door_] FÉLIAT. Whatever happens we must send off that Brazilian order. How isit getting on? THÉRÈSE. We shall have everything ready in three days. I'll go andinquire about the other thing. [_She goes out_] FÉLIAT. Good. GUÉRET. Three days isn't the end of the world. I think I can promise youto keep my men as long as that. FÉLIAT. If it's absolutely necessary, one might make them some littleconcessions. GUÉRET. I'll do all I can. FÉLIAT. Yes. And if they're too exacting, we'll let them go, and thewomen shall get the stuff finished up for us. [_There is a knock at thedoor_] Come in. _René comes in. _ GUÉRET. Hullo! FÉLIAT. René! GUÉRET. You or your ghost? FÉLIAT. Where do you come from? Nobody's heard of you for a hundredyears. RENÉ. Come now, only six months, and you've had some news. FÉLIAT. Where are you from last? RENÉ. From Tunis. GUÉRET. And what are you doing here? RENÉ. I'll tell you all about it. I want to have a bit of a talk withyou. FÉLIAT. Well, we're listening. GUÉRET. You're mighty solemn about it. RENÉ. It's extremely serious business. FÉLIAT. Don't be tragic. You're here safe and sound; and you've not lostmoney, because you'd none to lose. RENÉ. I've come to marry Thérèse. GUÉRET. Well, I must say you don't beat about the bush. FÉLIAT. But it's to your own people you've got to say that. What thedevil--! Thérèse has no more money than she had a year ago. So-- RENÉ. I'll marry her in spite of them. GUÉRET. Well, we've nothing to do with it. RENÉ. Yes, but I don't want to marry her in spite of you. FÉLIAT. Nor in spite of herself. RENÉ. I'm certain she won't say no. FÉLIAT. But a year ago you solemnly separated; you both agreedeverything was over. RENÉ. Nothing was over. A year ago I was a fool. GUÉRET. To the point again. FÉLIAT. And what are you now? RENÉ. At any rate I am not quite useless any longer. I'm not a boy now, obliged to do what he's told because he's perfectly incapable of doingfor himself. FÉLIAT. Have you found something to do? RENÉ. I'm in phosphates. FÉLIAT. And what the devil are you in phosphates? RENÉ. Representative. FÉLIAT. How do you mean? RENÉ. A commercial traveller, as father said with great contempt. GUÉRET. Well, it was not with a view to that sort of future that he hadyou called to the Bar. RENÉ. At the Bar I could have earned my own living in about tenyears--possibly. When I had to give up marrying Thérèse I saw howuseless I was. Thanks to her I found myself out. She gave me a bit ofher own courage. She woke up my self-respect. Besides, after that I hadsomething to work for, an aim, and I seemed to understand why I wasalive. I worked and read a lot; my firm noticed me; they sent me toTunis. I asked them to let me give up clerk work and have a try on myown. Over there I got into touch with three small firms. I placed theirgoods. I earn four hundred francs a month. Next year I mean to start alittle branch in this district where we will manufacturesuperphosphates. From now until then I shall travel about the districtand try and get customers; and my wife--and Thérèse--will go on with herwork here, if you will be so good as to keep her. GUÉRET. Ouf! Think of a young man who can talk as long as that, withouttaking breath, giving up the Bar. What a pity! FÉLIAT [_to René_] Have you told all that to your people? RENÉ. Yes. They're not at all proud of my business. And after refusingto let me marry Thérèse because she had no money they won't let me marryher now because she works for her living. To be directress of a bindery, even of your bindery, uncle, is not distinguished enough for them. FÉLIAT. Well, my boy, you certainly couldn't have stood up to thingslike that a year ago. What d'you want us to do for you? Thérèse doesn'twant our consent to marry; nor do you. _While Monsieur Féliat has been speaking, old Mother Bougne has come in from the right. She is a poor old workwoman who walks with difficulty, leaning on a broom, from which one feels that she never parts. She has a bunch of keys at her waistbelt; her apron is turned up and makes a sort of pocket into which she slips pieces of paper and scraps that she picks up from the floor. René looks at her with surprise. _ FÉLIAT. You're looking at Mother Bougne. Good-morning, Mother Bougne. MOTHER BOUGNE. Good-morning, Monsieur Féliat. FÉLIAT. When does the Committee of your Union sit? MOTHER BOUGNE. On Wednesday, Monsieur Féliat. FÉLIAT. You won't miss it, will you? MOTHER BOUGNE. I haven't missed one up to now, Monsieur Féliat. FÉLIAT. That's right. [_She goes out at the back during what follows. Monsieur Féliat turns to René and says_] We call Mother Bougne ourMinister of the Interior, because she tries to keep the place tidy. She's been a weaver near Rouen since she was eight years old; she's beenstranded here. RENÉ. And she's a member of the Committee of the Union? GUÉRET. Yes, she's a member. Thérèse insisted on it. When Thérèsefounded a Woman's Trade Union here she had the nice idea of includingamong them this poor old creature, wrecked by misery and hard work. OurThérèse has ideas like that. [_With a change of tone_] But business, business. What do you want us to do for you? RENÉ. I've come to ask you two things. The first is to try to get roundmy people. FÉLIAT. Well, I'll try. But I know your father. He's even more obstinatethan I am myself. I shan't make the smallest impression upon him. Whatelse? RENÉ. I want to have a talk with Thérèse in your presence. FÉLIAT. In our presence! Now listen, my boy. Our presence will be muchmore useful in the work rooms. We have our hands full here. You'vedropped in just at the point of a split between workmen and employers. Besides, to tell you the truth, I think I know pretty well what you haveto say to Thérèse. I'll send her to you. And, look here, don't keep hertoo long, because she's got her hands full too. [_To Guéret_] Will yougo and telephone to Duriot's? GUÉRET [_looking at his watch_] Yes, there might be some news. [_He goesout_] FÉLIAT [_to René_] And I'll send Thérèse here. _He goes out and René is alone for a few moments. Then Thérèse comes in. They advance towards each other quietly. _ THÉRÈSE. How do you do, René? RENÉ. How are you, Thérèse? _They shake hands, then, giving way to their feelings, they kiss each other tenderly and passionately. _ THÉRÈSE [_in a low voice_] That'll do; don't, René dear. [_She withdrawsgently from his embrace_] Don't. Let's talk. Have you seen your people? RENÉ. Yes. THÉRÈSE. Well? RENÉ. Well, Thérèse, they won't come to our wedding. THÉRÈSE. They still refuse their consent? RENÉ. We can do without it. THÉRÈSE. But they refuse it? RENÉ. Yes. Forgive me, my dearest, for asking you to take just my ownself. Do you love me enough to marry me quite simply, without anyrelations, since I leave my relations for your sake? THÉRÈSE. My dear, we mustn't do that; we must wait. RENÉ. No, I won't wait. I won't lose the best time of my life, and yearsof happiness, for the sake of prejudices I don't believe in. Do youremember what you said to me the night we played _Barberine_? You weresplendid. You said: "Marry me all the same, in spite of my poverty. "[_She makes a movement to stop him_] Oh, let me--please let me go on! Iwas only a miserable weakling then, I was frightened about the future. But you roused me and set me going. If I'm a man now, it's to you I oweit. Thanks to you I know how splendid it is to trust one's self andstruggle, and hope, and succeed. Now I can come to you and say: "I amthe man you wanted me to be, let us marry and live together. " Oh, together, together! How splendid it sounds! Do you remember how you saidthat night long ago: "Let us conquer our place in the world together"? THÉRÈSE. Oh, René! René! We must wait! RENÉ. Why? Why must we wait? What possible reason can you have for notdoing now what you wanted me to do a year ago? Don't you believe in me? THÉRÈSE. Oh yes, yes. It's not that! RENÉ. What is it then? Thérèse, you frighten me. It seems as if you werehiding something from me. THÉRÈSE. No, no. What an idea! RENÉ. Is it--oh, can it be that you don't love me so much? THÉRÈSE. Oh, René, no, no. Don't think that for a moment. RENÉ. But you're not being straight with me. You're hiding something. THÉRÈSE. Don't ask me. RENÉ. Thérèse! THÉRÈSE. Oh, please don't ask me! RENÉ. Now, you know very well that's impossible. How can there besecrets between us? You and I are the sort of people who are straightwith one another. I must have my share in everything that makes youunhappy. THÉRÈSE. Well, then, I must tell you. It's about your father and mother. Oh, how I wish I needn't tell you. René, while you've been away yourpeople have been dreadful to me. Your father came here to see me. Hewanted me to swear never to see you again--never. Of course I wouldn't. When I refused to give in he said it was through worldly wisdom. Hesaid: "If he wasn't going to inherit my money, you wouldn't hang on tohim like this. " He dared to say that to me, René--your father whom Ihave always wanted to respect and love. He thought that of me. And thenI swore to him, and I've sworn to myself, that I'll never marry you, never, without his consent. I cannot be suspected of _that_. Youunderstand, don't you? The poorer I am the prouder I ought to be. [_Shebursts into tears_] My dear--my dear! How unhappy I am! How dreadfullyunhappy I am! RENÉ. My darling! [_He kisses her_] THÉRÈSE. Don't, René! I couldn't help telling you. But you understand, my dearest, that we've got to wait until he knows me better. RENÉ [_forcibly_] No. We will _not_ wait. THÉRÈSE. I'll never break my word. RENÉ. What d'you want us to wait for? A change of opinion that'llprobably never come. And our youth will go, we shall have spoilt ourlives. You want to send me back to Paris all alone and unhappy, to spendlong silent evenings thinking about you and suffering from not beingwith you, while you, here, will be suffering in the same way, in thesame loneliness. And we love each other, and it absolutely depends onlyon ourselves whether we shall change our double unhappiness for a doublejoy. [_Changing his tone_] I can't stand it, Thérèse. I've loved you fortwo years, and all this last year I've toiled and slaved to win you. [_Low and ardently_] I want you. THÉRÈSE. Oh, hush, hush! RENÉ. I want you. You're the one woman I've loved in my life. My lovefor you _is_ my life. I can't give up my life. Listen: I have to be inParis this evening; are you going to let me leave you broken-hearted? THÉRÈSE. Do you think that I'm not broken-hearted? RENÉ. I shan't suffer any the less because I know that you're sufferingtoo. THÉRÈSE. It doesn't depend upon us. RENÉ. It depends entirely upon us. Look here, if people refuse to let usmarry, our love for each other is strong enough to do without marriage. Thérèse, come with me! THÉRÈSE. Oh, René, René! What are you asking me to do? RENÉ. Have you faith in me? Look at me. Do you think I'm sincere? Do youthink I'm an honest man? Do you think that, if people refuse to let usgo through a ridiculous ceremony together, our union will be any theless durable? Is it the ceremony that makes it real? Thérèse, come withme. Come this evening; let's go together; let's love each other. Oh, ifyou loved me as much as I love you, you wouldn't hesitate for a second. THÉRÈSE. Oh, don't say that, I implore you! RENÉ. Then you don't trust me? THÉRÈSE. I won't do it. I won't do it. RENÉ. What prevents you? You're absolutely alone, you have no relations. You owe nothing to anybody. No one will suffer for your action. You'vealready given a year of your life to the foolish prejudices of society. You've shown them respect enough. First they prevented our marriagebecause you were poor; now they want to prevent it because you work. Thanks to you I have been able to assert myself and get free. My fatherand mother can keep their money. I don't want it. Come. THÉRÈSE [_in tears_] You're torturing me. Oh, my dear, you're making memost unhappy. I could never do that, never. Don't be angry with me. Ilove you. I swear that I love you. RENÉ. I love you, Thérèse. I swear that I love you. All my life isyours. [_He breaks down_] Don't make me so unhappy. The more unhappy, the more I love you. THÉRÈSE. I couldn't do it. _Monsieur Féliat comes in. _ FÉLIAT. Hullo! Was it to make her cry like that that you wanted to seeher? Is that what you've learnt "in phosphates"? [_To Thérèse_] Don't, my dear. [_In a tone of kindly remonstrance_] You! Is it you I findcrying like a little schoolgirl? [_Thérèse wipes her eyes_] Oh, Iunderstand all about it. But his father will give in in the end. Andyou, René, be reasonable, don't hurry things. RENÉ. But I want-- FÉLIAT [_interrupting him_] No, no, for goodness' sake, not just now. We'll talk about it later on. Just now we have other fish to fry. We'rein a fix, my young lover. We've got to face some very seriousdifficulties. Go along with you. _Monsieur Guéret comes in. _ GUÉRET [_to Monsieur Féliat_] One of the delegates of the CentralCommittee is outside. FÉLIAT. And what does the brute want? GUÉRET [_makes a gesture of caution and points to the door_] He wishesto speak to the Chairman of the Women's Union. FÉLIAT. Oh, ask the gentleman in. [_To René_] My boy, you must be off. I'll see you presently. RENÉ. Yes, presently. THÉRÈSE [_aside to René_] Be at the station half an hour before thetrain goes. I'll be there to say good-bye. _René goes out. Monsieur Guéret brings in the delegate and goes out again himself. _ FÉLIAT. Good-morning. What can I do for you? DELEGATE. I am a delegate from the Central Committee in Paris. FÉLIAT. I am Monsieur Féliat, the owner of these works. I'm at yourservice. DELEGATE. It's not to you I wish to speak. This is a question whichdoesn't concern you. FÉLIAT. Which doesn't concern _me_! DELEGATE. Not at present, at any rate. Will you kindly tell me where Ican find the person I have come to see? FÉLIAT [_furious_] I--[_controlling himself_] She is here. [_Heindicates Thérèse_] _Monsieur Féliat goes out to the right. _ DELEGATE. Mademoiselle, I'm here as the representative of the CentralCommittee in Paris to request you to break up your Women's Union. THÉRÈSE. So that's it. DELEGATE. That's it. THÉRÈSE. What harm does it do you? DELEGATE. It strengthens you too much against us. THÉRÈSE. If I asked you to break up yours for the same reason, whatwould you say to me? DELEGATE. Our union is to fight the masters; yours is to fight us. THÉRÈSE. It does you no harm whatever. DELEGATE. Your union supports a movement we've decided to fight. THÉRÈSE. What movement? DELEGATE. The movement of the competition of women, the invasion of thelabor market by female labor. THÉRÈSE. Not a very dangerous invasion. DELEGATE. You think not. Listen. I've just come down from Paris. Whogave me my railway ticket? A woman. Who did I find behind the counter atthe Post Office? A woman. Who was at the end of the telephone wire? Awoman. I had to get some money; it was a woman who gave it to me at thebank. I don't even speak of the women doctors and lawyers. And inindustry, like everywhere else, women want to supplant us. There arewomen now even in the metal-working shops. Everyone has the right todefend himself against competition. The workmen are going to defendthemselves. THÉRÈSE. Without troubling about the consequences. To take away awoman's right to work is to condemn her to starvation or prostitution. You're not competitors, you're enemies. DELEGATE. You're mistaken. We're so little the enemies of the womenthat in asking you to do away with your Union we're speaking in your owninterest. THÉRÈSE. Bah! DELEGATE. We don't want women to take lower wages than ours. THÉRÈSE. I know the phrase. "Equal wages for equal work. " DELEGATE. That's absolutely just. THÉRÈSE. The masters won't give those equal wages. DELEGATE. The women have a means of forcing them to; they can strike. THÉRÈSE. We don't wish to employ those means. DELEGATE. I beg your pardon, the women would consent at once. It's youthat prevent them, through the Union that you've started. Isn't that so? THÉRÈSE. That is so. But you know why. DELEGATE. No, I do not know why. THÉRÈSE. Then I will tell you why. It is because the phrase only seemsto be just and generous. You know very well that here, at any rate, theowner would not employ any more women if he had to pay them the samewages he pays the men. And if they struck, he'd replace them by men. Your apparent solicitude is only hypocrisy. In reality you want to getrid of the women. DELEGATE. Well, I admit that. The women are not competitors; they'reenemies. In every dispute they'll take the side of the masters. THÉRÈSE. How d'you know that? DELEGATE. They've always done it, because women take orders by instinct. They're humble, and docile, and easily frightened. THÉRÈSE. Why don't you say inferiors, at once? DELEGATE. Well, yes; inferiors, the majority of them. THÉRÈSE. If they're inferiors, it's only right that they should takelower wages. DELEGATE. Oh, I didn't mean to say-- THÉRÈSE [_interrupting him_] But it's not true--they are _not_ yourinferiors. If they believe they are, it's because of the wrongs andhumiliations you've imposed on them for centuries. You men sticktogether. Why are we not to do the same? If you start trade unions, whymay not we? As a matter of fact, as regards work, we're your equals. Weneed our wages; and to get hold of the jobs that we're able to do weoffer our work at a cheaper rate than you do. That is competition; youmust protect yourselves from it. If you want no more competition, keepyour women at home and support them. DELEGATE. But that's precisely what we want: "The man in the workshop, the woman in the home. " THÉRÈSE. If the mother is not at home nowadays, it's because the man isin the saloon. DELEGATE. The men go to the saloons because they're tired of finding theplace badly kept and the supper not ready when they go home, and insteadof a wife a tired-out factory hand. THÉRÈSE. D'you think it's to amuse themselves the women go to work?Don't you suppose they prefer a quiet life in their own homes? DELEGATE. They've only got to stay there. THÉRÈSE. And who's to support them? DELEGATE. Their husbands! THÉRÈSE. First they've got to have husbands. What about the ones whohave no husbands--the girls, the widows, the abandoned? Isn't it betterto give them a trade than to force them to take a lover? Some of themwant to leave off being obliged to beg for the help of a man. Can't yousee that for a lot of women work means freedom? Can you blame them fordemanding the right to work? That's the victory they're fighting for. DELEGATE. I'm not at all sure that that victory is a desirable one. Indeed, I'm sure it is not. When you've succeeded in giving the womancomplete independence through hard work; when you have taken herchildren from her and handed them over to a crèche; when you've severedher from her domestic duties and also from all domestic happiness andjoy, how d'you know she won't turn round and demand to have her oldslavery back again? The quietness and peace of her own home? The rightto care for her own husband and nurse her own child? THÉRÈSE. But can't you see that it's just that that the immense majorityof women are demanding now? We want the women to stay at home just asmuch as you do. But how are you going to make that possible? At presentthe money spent on drink equals the total of the salaries paid to women. So the problem is to get rid of drunkenness. But the middle classesrefuse to meet this evil straightforwardly because the votes which keepthem in power are in the pockets of the publicans; and you socialistleaders refuse just as much as the middle classes really to tackle thedrink question because you're as keen for votes as they are. You've gotto look the situation in the face. We're on the threshold of a new era. In every civilized country, in the towns and in the rural districts, from the destitute and from the poor, from every home that a man hasdeserted for drink or left empty because men have no longer the courageto marry, a woman will appear, who comes out from that home and will sitdown by your side in the workshop, in the factory, at the office, in thecounting house. You don't want her as housewife; and as she refuses tobe a prostitute, she will become a woman-worker, a competitor; andfinally, because she has more energy than you have, and because _she_is not a drunkard, she will take your places. DELEGATE [_brutally_] Well, before another hour's gone over our headsyou'll find that she won't start that game here. _Monsieur Féliat comes in. _ FÉLIAT [_to the delegate_] My dear sir, a thousand pardons forinterrupting you, but as I've just turned your friend out of my housebecause he took advantage of being in it to start a propaganda againstme, what's the use of your going on talking to this lady about a courseof action she will no more consent to than I shall? DELEGATE. Very well, Monsieur. I shall telephone to Paris forinstructions. Probably you will refuse to let me use your instrument. FÉLIAT. I most certainly shall. DELEGATE. So I shall go to the Post Office, and in ten minutes-- FÉLIAT. Go, my dear sir, go. But let me tell you in a friendly way thatit'll take you more than ten minutes to get on to Paris. DELEGATE. It takes you more, perhaps, but not me. Good-morning. [_Thedelegate goes out_] FÉLIAT [_to Thérèse_] The low brute! Things are not going well. Whathappened at Duriot's has made a very unfortunate impression here. Thenews that you were going to open a new workshop for the women has beentwisted and distorted by gossip and chatter, and my men have been workedup by the other brute to come and threaten me. THÉRÈSE. What d'you mean? FÉLIAT. They threaten me with a strike and with blacklisting me if Idon't give up the idea. THÉRÈSE. You can't give up absolutely certain profits. FÉLIAT. If I am too obstinate, it may result in much larger losses whichwill be equally certain. THÉRÈSE. But what then? FÉLIAT. I've had to promise that for the present at any rate there's noquestion of taking on any more women. THÉRÈSE. Oh! FÉLIAT. What could I do? _Monsieur Guéret comes in. _ FÉLIAT [_to Guéret_] Well? GUÉRET. They wouldn't listen. FÉLIAT. I was afraid they wouldn't. [_To Thérèse_] That's not all. Yourgodfather has been trying something else, and I understand he's notsucceeded. I shall have to take the mending away from your workshop. THÉRÈSE. The women won't agree to that. GUÉRET. Perhaps that would be the best solution of the difficulty. THÉRÈSE [_startled_] Don't say that. You can't mean it. Think! GUÉRET. What's more, the men refuse to finish the work the women havebegun. THÉRÈSE. We'll finish it. GUÉRET. Then they'll strike. THÉRÈSE. Let them strike. Monsieur Féliat, you can fight now and getterms for yourself. Just at this moment we have only one very urgentorder. If the men strike, I can find you women to replace them. Everyday I am refusing people who want to be taken on. GUÉRET [_suddenly_] I have an idea. THÉRÈSE. What's that? GUÉRET. I know my men; they're not bad fellows. THÉRÈSE. My workers are splendid women. GUÉRET. Of course they are. As a matter of fact we're face to face now, not with a fight between men and masters, but with a fight betweenmen-workers and women-workers. The men have their trade union, and thewomen have theirs. Both unions have a President and two Vice-Presidents. Both have their office. We must have a meeting between the two here atonce, in a friendly, sensible way, before they've all had time to excitethemselves; and let them find some way out that'll please 'em all. FÉLIAT. But, my dear fellow, if you bring them together, they'll tearone another's eyes out. GUÉRET. Oh, we know you don't believe the working classes have anysense. FÉLIAT [_between his teeth_] I don't. I've been an employer too long. THÉRÈSE [_to Monsieur Féliat_] Why not try what my godfather suggests?What do you risk? FÉLIAT. I don't mind. But I will have nothing to do with it personally. GUÉRET. Neither will I. THÉRÈSE. I'll go and see if Berthe and Constance are here. [_To Guéret_]You go and fetch your men. [_She goes out to the left_] GUÉRET. I give you my word that, if there's any possible way out, thisis the only chance of getting at it. FÉLIAT. Very well, go and fetch them. _Guéret goes out. Thérèse comes in with Berthe and Constance. They are wearing large aprons and have scissors attached to their waistbelts. Berthe is a fat, ordinary woman. Constance is tall, dry, and ugly. _ BERTHE [_respectfully_] Good-morning, Monsieur Féliat. CONSTANCE [_the same_] Good-morning, Monsieur Féliat. THÉRÈSE. I want Berthe and Constance to tell you themselves whether youcan count upon them in case of the men striking. CONSTANCE. Oh yes, Monsieur Féliat. We'll do anything you want us to. BERTHE. Oh, Monsieur Féliat, don't send us away! CONSTANCE [_imploringly_] Oh, Monsieur Féliat, you won't send us away, will you? BERTHE. We do want the work so, Monsieur. CONSTANCE. It's God's truth we do. FÉLIAT. I'll do everything possible on my side, but it all depends onyourselves and the men. Try to come to some understanding. CONSTANCE. Yes, Monsieur. BERTHE [_lowering her voice_] If you can't pay us quite as much for themending, we don't mind taking a little less. You'd keep it dark, wouldn't you? FÉLIAT. We'll see about it. _Girard, Charpin, Deschaume, and Vincent come in. _ WORKMEN [_very civil and speaking together_] Good-morning, ladies andgents. FÉLIAT. Has my brother explained to you why he asked you to meet therepresentatives of the Women's Union and to try to come to anunderstanding with them? GIRARD. Yes, Monsieur Féliat. CHARPIN. That's all we want. All friends together, like. DESCHAUME. That's the hammer, mate! FÉLIAT. Then I'll go. Do try and keep your tempers. ALL [_speaking together_] Oh yes. To be sure, sir. You needn't trouble, sir. _Féliat goes out. The workmen and workwomen left together shake hands all round without any particular courtesy or cordiality. _ CHARPIN. Well, what d'you say to a sit down? DESCHAUME [_speaking of Charpin_] That lazy swine's only comfortablewhen he's sittin' down. CHARPIN. I ain't agoing to tire meself for nix, not 'arf! _Berthe and Constance have mechanically brought chairs for the workmen, who take them without any thanks, accustomed as they are to be waited upon. When all are seated they see that Thérèse has been left standing. _ CONSTANCE [_rising_] Have my chair, Mademoiselle. THÉRÈSE. No, thank you, I prefer to stand. CHARPIN. I see that all our little lot's here. There's four on us, butonly three 'er you. DESCHAUME [_meaningly_] One of the hens ain't turned up yet. CHARPIN [_sniggering_] Perhaps she's a bit shy, like. THÉRÈSE. You mean Mother Bougne. You, workmen yourselves, mock at an oldwoman wrecked by work. But you're right. She ought to be here. I'll goand fetch her. Only to look at her would be an argument on our side. [_She goes out to the right_] DESCHAUME. Mademoiselle Thérèse needn't kick up such a dust about alittle thing like that. There's four on us; so there must be four onyou, in case we have to take a vote. _Thérèse comes back with Mother Bougne. _ THÉRÈSE [_to the workmen_] Give me a chair. [_They do so_] Sit down, Mother Bougne. [_Insisting_] Mother Bougne, sit down. MOTHER BOUGNE. Oh, don't trouble, miss, I'm not used to-- THÉRÈSE [_sharply_] Sit down. _Mother Bougne sits down. _ CHARPIN. Well, here's the bloomin' bunch of us. DESCHAUME. We'd best fix up a chairman. GIRARD. What's the good of that? DESCHAUME. We'd best have you, Girard. You've education, and you're upto all the dodges about public meetings. GIRARD. It's not worth while. DESCHAUME. Well, I only put it forrard because it's the usual. But haveit your own way! [_A silence_] Only don't all jaw at once. You'll seeyou'll want a chairman, I tell you that, but I don't care. It ain't myshow. CHARPIN. Get a move on you, Girard, and speak up. GIRARD. Well, ladies-- VINCENT [_interrupting_] Now look here. I want to get at anunderstandin'. THÉRÈSE. Monsieur Girard, will you be kind enough to speak for yourfriends? We have nothing to say on our part. We're asking for nothing. GIRARD. Well, that's true. We want to have the mending back. THÉRÈSE. And we don't mean to give it up. GIRARD. Well, we expected that. Now, to show you that we're not such abad lot as you think, we'll share it with you on two conditions. Thefirst is that you're paid the same wages as we are. DESCHAUME. Look here, that won't suit me at all, that won't. If my oldwoman gets as much as me, how am I to keep her under? Blimey, she'llthink she's my bloomin' equal! GIRARD [_impatiently_] Oh, bung her into some other berth. Let me go on. The second condition is that you aren't to have a separate workshop. We'll all work together as we used to. THÉRÈSE. Why? DESCHAUME. You women do a damned sight too much for your ha'pence. GIRARD. Yes, it's all in the interests of the masters. It's againstsolidarity. THÉRÈSE. Will you allow me to express my astonishment that you shouldmake conditions with us when you wish to take something from us? CHARPIN. We're ony tellin' you our terms for sharing the work with you. THÉRÈSE. I quite understand; but we have no desire to share it with you. We mean to keep it. And I'm greatly surprised to hear you suggest thatwe should all work together. CONSTANCE. Indeed we won't. DESCHAUME. Why not, Mademoiselle? When we worked together-- CONSTANCE [_interrupting_] When we worked with you before, you playedall sorts of dirty tricks on us to make us leave. DESCHAUME. What tricks? Did you hear anything about that, Charpin? CHARPIN. I dunnow what she's talkin' about. D'you Vincent? VINCENT. Look here, I only want to get to an understandin'. CONSTANCE. You never stopped sayin' beastly things. DESCHAUME AND CHARPIN [_protesting together_] Oh! O-ho! DESCHAUME. Well, if we can't have a bit of chippin' in a friendly waylike! BERTHE. Beastly things like that ain't jokes. I didn't know where tolook meself; and I've sat for a sculptor, so I ain't too particular. CHARPIN. He! He! I thought she was talkin' about that old joke of therats. _The men laugh together. _ THÉRÈSE. Yes, you're laughing about it still! About shutting up liverats in our desks before we came to work. GIRARD. He! He! We didn't mean any harm. THÉRÈSE. You didn't mean any harm! The little apprentice was ill for aweek, and Madame Dumont had a bad fall. You thought of dozens of thingsof that kind, like the typists who mixed up all the letters on thewomen's desks. When we went away to get our lunch, you came and spoiltour work and made the women lose a great part of their day's pay or workhours of overtime. We don't want any more of that. You agreed we shouldhave a separate workshop. We'll keep it. GIRARD. If Monsieur Féliat sticks to you, we'll have to come out onstrike. THÉRÈSE. We don't want Monsieur Féliat to get into trouble because ofus. GIRARD. Well, what are you going to do about it? THÉRÈSE. We'll take your places. CHARPIN [_bringing his fist down with a bang upon the table_] Well, I'mdamned! DESCHAUME [_threateningly_] If you do, we'll have to put you through it! CONSTANCE. We'll do it! GIRARD [_to Thérèse_] D'you understand now, Mademoiselle, why wesocialists don't want women in the factory or in the workshop? Thewoman's the devil because of the low salary she has to take. She's avictim, and she likes to be a victim, and so she's the best card theemployer has to play against a strike. The women are too weak, and if Imight say so, too slavish-- DESCHAUME. Yes, that's the word, mate, slavish. BERTHE [_very angry_] Look at that man there, my husband, and hear whathe's saying before me, his wife, that he makes obey him like a dog. Hebeats me, he does. You don't trouble about my being what you callslavish when it's you that profits by it! I'd like to know who taughtwomen to be slavish but husbands like you. THÉRÈSE. You've so impressed it upon women that they're inferior to men, that they've ended by believing it. GIRARD. Well, maybe there's exceptions, but it's true in the main. DESCHAUME. Let 'em stay at home, I says, and cook the bloomin' dinner. BERTHE. And what'll they cook the days when you spend all your wages inbooze. GIRARD. It's the people that started you working that you ought tocurse. BERTHE. I like that! It was my husband himself that brought me to theworkshop. THÉRÈSE. She's not the only one, eh, Vincent? VINCENT. But I ain't sayin' nothin', I ain't. What are you turnin' on mefor? I ain't sayin' nothin'. BERTHE. We'd like nothing better than to stay at home. Why don't yousupport us there? CONSTANCE. It's because you don't support us there that you've got tolet us work. DESCHAUME. We ain't going to. BERTHE. We won't give in to you. GIRARD. If you don't, we'll turn the job in. THÉRÈSE. And I tell you that we shall take your places. DESCHAUME. Rats! You can't do it. THÉRÈSE. We couldn't at one time, that's true. But now we've got themachines. The machines drove the women from their homes. Up to latelyone had to have a man's strength for the work; now, by just pulling alever, a woman can do as much and more than the strongest man. Themachines revenge us. DESCHAUME. We'll smash the things. GIRARD. She's right. By God, she's right! It's them machines has doneit. If any one had told my grandfather a time would come when one chapcould keep thousands of spindles running and make hundreds of pairs ofstockings in a day, and yards and yards of woollen stuff, and socks andshirts and all, why grandfather'd've thought everybody'd have shirts andsocks and comforters and shoes, and there'd be no more hard work andempty bellies. Curse the damned things! We works longer hours, andthere's just as many bare feet and poor devils shivering for want ofclothes. The machines were to give us everything, blast 'em! The workersare rotten fools! The damned machines have made nothing but hate betweenthem that own them and them that work them. They've used up the womenand even the children; and it's all to sell the things they make toniggers or Chinamen; and maybe we'll have war about it. They've made themiddle classes rich, and they're the starvation of all of us; and afterthey've done all that, here are the women, our own women, want to help'em to best us! MOTHER BOUGNE. You're right, Girard. When I was a kid, and there was nomachines--leastways, not to speak of--we was all better off. Womenstayed at home, and they'd got enough to do. Why, my old grandmotherused to fetch water from the well and be out pickin' up sticks before itwas light of a mornin'! Yes, and women made their own bread, and didtheir washin', and made their bits of things themselves! Now it'smachines for everythin', and they say to us: "Come into the factory andyou'll earn big money. " And we come, like silly kids! Why, fancy me, eight years old, taken out of the village and bunged into a spinnin'mill! Then, when I was married, there was me in a workman's dwellin'. You turn a tap for your water, don't fetch it; baker's bread, and yourbit of dinner from the cookshop, or preserved meat out of a tin. Youdon't make a fire, you turn on the gas; your stockin's and togs allfetched out of a shop. There ain't no need for the women to stay at homeno longer, so they cuts down the men's wages and puts us in thefactories. We ain't got time to suckle our kids; and now they don't wantyoung 'uns any more! But when you're in the factory, they make yer paythrough the nose for yer gas and yer water, and baker's bread andready-made togs; and you've got nothin' left out of yer bit of wages, and you're as poor as ever; and you're only a "hand" at machines in thedamp and smoke, instead of bein' in your own house an' decent like. Whatare you fussin' about, Girard? Don't you see that we _can't_ go back tothe old times now? A woman ain't got a house now, only a little roomwith nothin' but a dirty bed to sleep on! And I tell you, Girard, you'vegot to let us earn our livin' like that now, because it's you and thelikes of you that's brought us to it. GIRARD. Well, after all, we've got to look after our living. The womenwant to take it from us. MOTHER BOUGNE. It's because they haven't got any themselves, my lad. They've got to live as well as you, you see. GIRARD. And supposing there isn't enough living for everybody? MOTHER BOUGNE. The strongest'll get it and the weak 'uns'll be done in. GIRARD. Well, we've not made the world, and we're not going to have ourwork taken away from us. CONSTANCE. And we're not, either. DESCHAUME. Damn it all, we've got to live. BERTHE. Well, we've got to live too. The kids has got to live and we'vegot to live. One would think we was brute beasts. CONSTANCE. We say just the same as you. We've not made the world, itain't our fault. _During the last few speeches women have appeared at the door to the right and have remained on the threshold, becoming excited by the conversation. _ A WOMAN [_at the door_] It ain't our fault. _Some men show themselves at the door at the back. _ A MAN. So much the worse for you. ANOTHER WOMAN. We've got to live, we've got to live! ANOTHER MAN. Ain't we got to live too? THÉRÈSE. Well, don't drink so much. _The women applaud this speech with enthusiasm. _ A WOMAN [_bursting out laughing_] Ha! Ha! Ha! WOMEN. Right, Mademoiselle! Well done! Good! _They come further forward. _ BERTHE. You won't get our work away from us. DESCHAUME. It's _our_ work; you took it. BERTHE. You gave it up to us. A MAN. Well, we'll take it back from you. ANOTHER MAN. We were wrong. ANOTHER MAN. Drive out the Hens. ANOTHER MAN. The strike! Long live the strike! We'll come out! A WOMAN. We'll take your places; we've got to live. A MAN. There's no living for you here. A WOMAN. Yes there is; we'll take yours. THÉRÈSE. Yes, we'll take yours. And your wife that you brought hereyourself will take your place, Vincent. And you the same, Deschaume. She'll take your place, and it'll serve you right. You can stay at homeand do the mending to amuse yourself. GIRARD [_to the women_] This woman from Paris is turning the heads ofthe lot of you. CHARPIN. Yes, that's about the size of it. VINCENT. She don't play the game. She does as she bloomin' well likes. She wouldn't engage my old woman. She took women from Duriot's. GIRARD [_to Thérèse_] That's it. It's you that's doing it. [_To thewomen_] You've got to ask the same wages as us. THÉRÈSE. You know very well-- GIRARD [_interrupting_] It's all along of your damned Union. VINCENT. There wasn't any ructions till you come. CHARPIN. We'll smash the Hens' Union. _A row begins and increases. _ A MAN. Put 'em through it! Down 'em! Smash the Hens! Smash 'em! A WOMAN. Turn out the lazy swines! A WOMAN [_half mad with excitement_] We're fightin' for our kids. [_Sheshrieks this phrase continuously during the noise which follows_] BERTHE. Turn out the lazy swines! DESCHAUME [_shaking his wife_] Shut up, blast you, shut up! ANOTHER MAN [_holding him back_] Don't strike her! DESCHAUME. It's my wife; can't I do as I like? [_To Berthe_] Get out, you! BERTHE. I won't! _Deschaume tries to seize hold of his wife; this starts a general fight between the men and women, during which one distinguishes various cries, finally a man's voice. _ A MAN. Damn her, she's hurt me! ANOTHER MAN. It's her scissors! Get hold of her scissors. _Berthe screams. _ THÉRÈSE. They'll kill one another! [_To the women_] Go home, go home;they'll kill you. Go home at once. _The women are suddenly taken with a panic; they scream and run away, followed by the men. _ A WOMAN. Oh, you brutes! Oh, you brutes! _Thérèse goes out to the right with the women. The men go off with Deschaume, whose hand is bleeding. Girard, who was following them, meets Monsieur Féliat at the door. _ GIRARD [_to Féliat_] Deschaume's bin hurt, sir. FÉLIAT. He must be taken to the Infirmary. DESCHAUME [_excitedly_] With her scissors she did it, blast 'er! CHARPIN. The police, send for the police! GIRARD. Don't be a bally fool. We can take care of ourselves, can't we, without the bloomin' coppers. DESCHAUME [_shouting_] The police, send for the police! To protect theright to work. Send for 'em. GIRARD [_to Monsieur Féliat_] If 't was to bully us, you'd have sent for'em long ago. What are you waiting for? FÉLIAT. I'm waiting till you kindly allow me to speak. I can't believemy ears. Is it you, Girard, and you, Deschaume, who want to have thepolice sent for to save you from a pack of women? Ha! Ha! CHARPIN. Oh, it makes you laugh, does it? GIRARD. You defend the cats because they're against us. Well, we won'thave it. Duriot's men came out-- CHARPIN. Yes, and we'll do the same. DESCHAUME. We will. Look out for the strike! GIRARD. We're agreed; ain't we, mates? CHARPIN AND DESCHAUME [_together_] Yes, yes. We'll strike. Let's strike. FÉLIAT. You don't really mean that you're going on strike? GIRARD. Don't we, though! FÉLIAT. How can you? I've given everything you've asked for. CHARPIN [_growling_] That's just the reason. GIRARD. If you've given in, that shows we were right. You'll have togive in some more. FÉLIAT. Good God, what d'you want now? CHARPIN. We want you to sack all the women. DESCHAUME. No we don't. We want you to sack Mademoiselle Thérèse. FÉLIAT. You're mad! What harm has she done you? GIRARD. The harm she's done us? Well, she's on your side. DESCHAUME. She's turned the women's heads. They want to take our places. CHARPIN. And we won't have it. FÉLIAT. Come! Be reasonable. You can't ask me that. GIRARD. We _do_ ask you that. FÉLIAT. It will upset my whole business. CHARPIN. What's that to us? FÉLIAT. Well, I must have time to think about it. GIRARD. There's nothing to think about. Sack the Paris woman or we go onstrike. FÉLIAT. You can't put a pistol to my head like this. I've got orders inhand. GIRARD. What's that to us? FÉLIAT. Well then, I won't give in this time. You demanded that I shouldnot open a new workshop. I gave in. I won't go further than that. GIRARD. Then out we go. FÉLIAT. Well go, and be damned to you. [_Pause_] The women will takeyour places. GIRARD. You think so, do you? You think it's as easy as that. Well, try. Just you try to fill up our places. Have you forgot there's twodelegates here from the Central Committee? A phone to Paris and yourbally show is done for. FÉLIAT. It's damnable. GIRARD. And if that doesn't choke you off, there's other things. CHARPIN. We'll set the whole bloomin' place on fire. GIRARD. Don't you try to bully us. FÉLIAT. Well, look here. We won't quarrel. I'll send away MademoiselleThérèse. But give me a little time to settle things up. CHARPIN. No; out she goes. FÉLIAT. Give me a month. I ask only a month. GIRARD. An hour, that's all you'll get, an hour. CHARPIN. An hour, not more. GIRARD. We're going off to meet the delegates at the Hotel de la Poste;you can send your answer there. The Parisian goes out sharp now, or elselook out for trouble. Come on, boys, let's go and tell the others. There's nothing more to do here. FÉLIAT. But stop, listen-- CHARPIN [_to Féliat_] That's our last word. [_To the others_] Hurry on. _The workmen go out. Thérèse has come in a moment before and is standing on the threshold. _ FÉLIAT [_to Thérèse_] How much did you hear? THÉRÈSE. Oh, please, please, don't give in. Don't abandon these women. It's dreadful in the workroom. They're in despair. I've just been withthem, talking to them. They get desperate when they think of theirchildren. FÉLIAT. The men are not asking me now to get rid of them. What they'reasking for is the break-up of your Union, and that you yourself shouldgo. THÉRÈSE. Oh, they say that now. But if you give in, they'll see thatthey can get anything they like from your weakness, and they'll make youturn out all these wretched women. FÉLIAT. But I can't help myself! You didn't hear the brutal threats ofthese men. If I don't give in, I shall be blacklisted, and they'll setthe place on fire; they said so. Where will your women's work be then?And I shall be ruined. THÉRÈSE. Then you mean to give in without a struggle? FÉLIAT. Would _you_ like to take the responsibility for what will happenif I resist? There'll be violence. Just think what it'll mean. In thestate the men are in anything may happen. There's a wounded man already. How many would there be to-morrow? THÉRÈSE. You think only of being beaten. But suppose you win? Supposeyou act energetically and get the best of it. FÉLIAT. My energy would be my ruin. THÉRÈSE [_with a change of tone_] Then you wish me to go? FÉLIAT. I have only made up my mind to it to prevent something worse. THÉRÈSE [_very much moved_] It's impossible you can sacrifice me in thisway at the first threat. Look here, Monsieur Féliat; perhaps it doesn'tcome very well from me, but I can't help reminding you that you've saidrepeatedly yourself that I've been extremely useful to you. Don't throwme overboard without making one try to save me. FÉLIAT. It would be no use. THÉRÈSE. How can you tell? It's your own interest to keep me. Thedelegate said that if I go they'll break up the Women's Union and makethe women take the same wages as the men. FÉLIAT. They won't do that because they know I wouldn't keep them. THÉRÈSE. You see! If you give in, it means the break-up of the wholething and the loss to you of the saving I've made for you. And you haveobligations to these women who have been working for you for years. FÉLIAT. If I have to part with them, I will see they are provided for. THÉRÈSE. Yes, for a day--a week, perhaps. But afterwards? What then?Little children will be holding out their hands for food to mothers whohave none to give them. FÉLIAT. But, good God, what have _I_ to do with that? Is it my fault?Don't you see that I'm quite powerless in the matter? THÉRÈSE. No, you're not quite powerless. You can choose which you willsacrifice, the women who have been perfectly loyal to you, or the menwho want to wring from your weakness freedom from competition whichfrightens them. FÉLIAT. They're fighting for their daily bread. THÉRÈSE. Yes, fighting the woman because she works for lower wages. Shecan do that because she is sober and self-controlled. Is it because ofher virtues that you condemn her? FÉLIAT. I know all that as well as you do, and I tell you again thewomen can go on working just as they were working before you came. THÉRÈSE. You'll be made to part with them. FÉLIAT. We shall see. But at present that's not the question. Thepresent thing is about you. One of us has to be sacrificed, you or me. Ican see only one thing. If I stick to you, my machinery will be smashedand my works will be burned. I'm deeply sorry this has happened, and Idon't deny for a moment the great value of your services; but, afterall, I can't ruin myself for your sake. THÉRÈSE [_urgently_] But you _wouldn't_ be ruined. Defend yourself, take measures. Ask for assistance from the Government. FÉLIAT. The Government can't prevent the strike. THÉRÈSE. But the women will do the work. FÉLIAT. You think of nothing but your women. And the men? They'll bestarving, won't they? And their women and their children will starvewith them. THÉRÈSE [_almost in tears_] And me, you have no pity for me. What's tobecome of me? If you abandon me, I'm done for. I'd made a career formyself. I had realized my dreams. I was doing a little good. And I wasso deeply grateful to you for giving me my chance. I'm all alone in theworld, you know that very well. Before I came here I tried everypossible way to earn my living. Oh, please don't send me away. Don'tdrive me back into that. Try once again, do something. Let me speak tothe men. It's all my life that's at stake. If you drive me out, I don'tknow where to go to. _Monsieur Guéret comes in. _ GUÉRET [_greatly excited_] Féliat, we mustn't wait a moment; we mustgive in at once. They're exciting themselves; they're mad; they'regetting worse; they may do anything. They've gone to the women'sworkroom and they're driving them out. _From the adjoining workshop there comes a crash of glass and the sound of women screaming. _ THÉRÈSE [_desperately_] Go, Monsieur! Go quickly! Don't let anythingdreadful happen. You're right. I'll leave at once. Go! _Monsieur Guéret and Monsieur Féliat rush into the women's workshop. The noise increases; there is a sound of furniture overthrown and the loud screams of women. _ THÉRÈSE [_alone, clasping her hands_] Oh, God! Oh, God! _Thérèse stands as if hypnotized by terror, her eyes wide open and fixed upon the door of the workshop. The noise still increases; there is a revolver shot, then a silence. Finally the voice of Monsieur Féliat is heard speaking, though the words are not intelligible, and a shout of men's voices. Then Monsieur Guéret comes in very pale. _ GUÉRET. Don't be frightened, it's all over. The shot was fired in theair. The men have gone out; there are only the women now--crying in theworkshop. THÉRÈSE. Are you sure nobody is killed? Is it true, oh, tell me, is itreally true? _Monsieur Féliat comes in. _ FÉLIAT. Poor Thérèse! Don't be frightened. THÉRÈSE. Oh, those screams! Those dreadful screams! Is it true, really, nobody was hurt? FÉLIAT. Nobody, I assure you. THÉRÈSE. The shot? FÉLIAT. Fired in the air, to frighten the women. The men broke in thedoor, and upset a bench, and made a great row. I got there just in time. As soon as they were promised what they want they were quiet. THÉRÈSE [_after a pause, slowly_] They were promised what they want. Soit's done. [_A silence_] Then there's nothing left for me but to go. GUÉRET. Where are you going to? FÉLIAT. You needn't go at once. THÉRÈSE. Yes, I'm going at once. [_A silence_] I'm going where I'mforced to go. FÉLIAT. You can leave to-morrow or the day after. THÉRÈSE. No, I leave by train, this evening, for Paris. CURTAIN. FALSE GODS CHARACTERS THE PHARAOH THE HIGH PRIEST RHEOU SATNI PAKH SOKITI BITIOU, the dwarf NOURM THE STEWARD THE EXORCIST A PRIEST THE PARALYZED YOUTH THE MAN WITH THE BANDAGED HEAD THE TWO SONS OF THE MAD WOMAN MIERIS YAOUMA KIRJIPA ZAYA DELETHI NAGAOU HANOU NAHASI SITSINIT MOUENE NAZIT THE YOUNG WOMAN THE MOTHER THE BLIND GIRL FIVE MOURNERS The Scene is laid in Upper Egypt during the Middle Empire. ACT I SCENE:--_The first inner court of the house of Rheou. At the back between two lofty pylons the entrance leading up from below. Through the columns supporting the hanging garden which stretches across the back can be seen the Nile. A high terrace occupies the left of the scene. Steps lead up to it, and from there to the hanging garden. Along the side of the terrace a small delicately carved wooden statue of Isis stands on a sacrificial table. On the right is the peristyle leading to the inner dwelling of Akhounti. The bases of the columns are in the form of lotus buds, the shafts like lotus stems, the capitals full blown flowers. In the spaces between the columns are wooden statues of the gods. _ _Delethi is playing a harp. Nagaou dances before her. Nahasi is juggling with oranges, while Mouene sits watching a little bird in a cage. Yaouma reclines on the terrace supporting her head on her elbows and gazing out at the Nile. Zaya is beside her. On a carpet Sitsinit, lying flat upon her stomach with a writing box by her side, is busy painting an ibis on the left hand of Hanou, who lies in a similar attitude. _ SITSI. Did you not know? She, on whose left hand a black ibis has beenpainted, is certain of a happy day. HANOU. A happy day! Why then, 'tis I, perhaps, who will be chosento-night! DELETHI [_playing the harp while Nagaou dances before her_] Moreslowly!--more slowly!... You must make them think of the swaying of alotus flower, that the Nile's slow-moving current would bear away, andthat raises itself to kiss again the waters of the stream. NAGAOU. Yes, yes.... Begin again! NAHASI [_juggling with oranges_] Nagaou would let herself be borne awaywithout a struggle. [_She laughs_]. MOUENE [_hopping on one foot_] We know that she goes to the bank of theNile, at the hour when the palm-trees grow black against the eveningsky, to listen to a basket maker's songs. HANOU [_to Sitsinit_] And this morning I anointed my whole body withKyphli, mixed with cinnamon and terrabine and myrrh. DELETHI [_to Nagaou_] 'Tis well ... You may dance the great prayer toIsis with the rest. NAGAOU [_to Mouene_] Yes! I do go to listen to songs at dark. You arestill too little for anyone, basket maker or any other, to take noticeof you. MOUENE. You think so!... Who gave me this little bird? [_She draws thebird from the cage by a string attached to its leg_] Who caught thee, flower-of-the-air, who gave thee to me? [_Holding up a finger_] Do nottell! Do not tell.... HANOU [_looking at herself in a metal mirror_] Sitsinit ... The blackline that lengthens this eye is too short ... Make it longer with yourreed. I think the more beautiful I am, the more chance I shall have tobe chosen for the sacrifice.... Is it not so, Zaya?... What are youdoing there without a word? ZAYA. I was watching the flight of a crane with hanging feet, thatmelted away in the distant blue of heaven.... Do not hope to be chosenby the gods, Hanou. HANOU. Wherefore should I not be chosen? ZAYA. Neither you nor any who are here. The gods never demand thesacrifice two years together from the same village. HANOU. Never? ZAYA. Rarely. HANOU. 'Tis a pity. Is it not, Nagaou? NAGAOU. I know not. SITSI. Would it not make you proud? NAGAOU. Yes. But it makes me proud, too, to lean on the breast of himwhose words still the beating of my heart. DELETHI. To be taken by a god! By the Nile! HANOU. Preferred to all the others! MOUENE [_the youngest_] For my part I should prefer to live.... SITSI. Still, if the God desired you.... ZAYA. Oh! one can refuse.... DELETHI. Yes, but one must leave the country, then.... None of thedaughters of Haka-Phtah could bring themselves to that. _A pause. _ YAOUMA [_to herself_] Perhaps! NAHASI. What do you say, Yaouma? YAOUMA. Nothing. I was speaking to my soul. MOUENE. Yaouma's eyes weep for weariness because they watch far off forhim, who comes not. YAOUMA. Peace, child. ZAYA [_to Delethi_] One thing is certain, someone must go upon thesacred barge? DELETHI. Without the sacrifice the Nile would not overflow, and all theland would remain barren. HANOU. And the corn would not sprout, nor the beans, nor the maize, northe lotus. DELETHI. And all the people would perish miserably. HANOU. So that she who dies, sacrificed to the Nile, saves the lives ofa whole people. That is a better thing, Nagaou, than to make one man'shappiness. _A pause. _ YAOUMA [_to herself_] Perhaps. HANOU. And on the appointed day one is borne from the house of the godto the Nile, surrounded by all the dwellers in the town.... ThePharaoh--health and strength be unto him!... DELETHI. You do not know, Hanou, you tell us what you do not know. HANOU. But it is so, is it not, Zaya? Zaya knows about the ceremony, because last year it was her sister who was chosen. MOUENE. Tell us, Zaya. NAHASI. Yes, tell us the manner of it. ZAYA. On the fifth day of the month of Paophi.... MOUENE. To-day--that is to-day? NAHASI. Yes. What will happen.... The prayer of Isis.... But afterwards?Before? _They gather round Zaya. _ ZAYA. Before the sun has ended his day's journey, the people, summonedto the terraces by a call from the Temple, will intone the great hymn toIsis, which is sung but once a year. Within the house of the god theassembled priests will await the sign that shall reveal the virgin to beoffered to the Nile to obtain its yearly flood. The name of the chosenwill be cried from the doorway on high, caught up by those who hear itfirst, cried out to others, who in turn will cry it running towards thehouse that Ammon has favored with his choice. Then shall the happyvictim of the year stand forth alone, amid her kinsfolk bowed beforeher, and to her ears shall rise the shoutings of the multitude. ALL. Oh! DELETHI. And after a month of purification she will be borne to thehouse of the god! ZAYA. And on the day of Prodigies.... NAHASI. Oh, the day of Prodigies! ZAYA. She will be the foremost nearer to the Sanctuary than all therest. She will pray with the praying crowd, she will behold the loweringof the stone that hides the face of Isis.... DELETHI. She will behold Isis--face to face.... ALL. Oh! ZAYA. She will beg the goddess graciously to incline her head, in signthat, yet another year, Egypt shall be protected. And when the fervor ofthe crowd's united prayer is great enough, the head of the Goddess ofStone will bow. That will be the first prodigy. DELETHI. The head of the Goddess of Stone will bow--that will be thefirst prodigy. ZAYA. And in the crowd there will be blind who shall see, and deaf whoshall hear, and dumb who shall speak. DELETHI. Perhaps Mieris, our good mistress, will be cured of herblindness at last. HANOU. And when she who is chosen goes forth from the house of theGod.... Tell us, Zaya, tell us the manner of her going forth. ZAYA. Three days before the appointed day, in the town and throughoutthe land, they will begin the preparations for the festival. When themoment comes, the crowd will surge before the temple, guarded by Lybiansoldiers. And she, she, the elect, the saviour, will come forth, ringedby the high priests of Ammon in purple and in gold, and aloft on achariot where perfumes burn, deafened by sound of trumpet and cries ofjoy, she will behold the people stretch unnumbered arms to her.... ALL. Oh! DELETHI. And she will be borne to the Nile.... ZAYA. And she will be borne to the Nile. She will board the barge ofAmmon.... DELETHI. And the barge will glide from the bank.... ZAYA. And the barge will glide from the bank where all the crowd willbow their faces to the dust. [_She stops, greatly moved_] And when thebarge returns she will be gone. ALL [_in low tones_] And when the barge returns she will be gone. ZAYA. And after two days the waters of the Nile will rise. ALL. The waters of the Nile will rise.... DELETHI. And as far as the waters flow they will speak her name, whomade the sacrifice, with blessings and with tears. HANOU. If it were I!... ALL [_save Yaouma_] If it were I!... _Yaouma rises to a sitting posture. _ ZAYA. If it were you, Yaouma? YAOUMA. Perhaps I should refuse. ALL. Oh! MOUENE [_mischievously_] I know why! I know why! DELETHI. We know why. ZAYA. Tell us.... YAOUMA. Tell them.... DELETHI. 'Tis the same reason that has held you there this many a day. YAOUMA. Yes. MOUENE. She watches for the coming of the galley with twenty oars, bearing the travellers from the North. There is a young priest amongthem, the potter's son. DELETHI. A young priest, the potter's son, who went away two years ago. YAOUMA. He is my betrothed. NAHASI. But you know what they say? ZAYA. They say that on the same boat there comes a scribe who preachesof new gods.... YAOUMA. I know. DELETHI. Of false gods. MOUENE. The priests will stop the boat, and eight days hence, perhaps, Yaouma will still be awaiting her betrothed. YAOUMA. I shall wait. _The Steward enters and whispers to Delethi. _ DELETHI. The mistress sends word the hour is come to go indoors. _They go out L, Sitsinit picking up the writing box, Nahasi juggling with oranges, Mouene carrying her cage and dancing about, Delethi plays her harp singing with Hanou and Nagaou. _ Black is the hair of my love, More black than the brows of the night, Than the fruit of the plum tree. _The Steward, who had gone out, returns at once, whip in hand, followed by a poor old man, half naked, and covered with mud, who carries a hod. _ STEWARD [_stopping before the statue of Thoueris_] There. Draw near, potter, and look. By some mischance, the horn and the plume of GoddessThoueris have been broken. The master must not see them when he comesback for the feast of the Nomination. There is the horn--there is theplume. Replace them. PAKH [_with terror_] I--must I ... To-day when my son is coming home? STEWARD. Are you not our servant? PAKH. I am. STEWARD. And a potter? PAKH. I am. STEWARD. Did you not say you knew how to do what I ask? PAKH. I did not know that I must lay hands on the Goddess Thoueris. STEWARD. Obey. PAKH [_throwing himself on his knees_] I pray you! I pray you ... Ishould never dare. And then ... My son ... My son who is coming backfrom a long, long journey.... STEWARD. You shall have twenty blows of the stick for having tired mytongue. If you refuse to obey me you shall have two hundred. PAKH. I pray you. STEWARD. Bid Sokiti help you. _He goes out at the back; as he passes he gives Sokiti a blow with his whip, making a sign to him to go and join Pakh. _ _Sokiti obeys without manifesting sorrow or surprise. _ PAKH. He says we must lift down the Goddess. SOKITI. I? PAKH. You and I. SOKITI [_beginning to tremble. After a pause_] I am afraid. PAKH. I too--I am afraid. SOKITI. If you touch her you die. PAKH. You will die of the stick if you do not obey. SOKITI. Why cannot they leave me at my work. I was happy. PAKH. We must--we must tell her that it is in order to repair her crown. SOKITI. Yes. We must let her know. _They prostrate themselves before the goddess. _ PAKH. Oh, Mighty One!--thou who hast given birth to the gods, pardon ifour miserable hands dare to touch thee! Thy horn and thy right plumehave fallen off. 'Tis to replace them. SOKITI. We are forced to obey--O breath divine--creator of theuniverse.... It is to mend thee. PAKH [_rising, to Sokiti_] Come! _Bitiou, the dwarf, enters; he is a poor deformed creature. When he sees Pakh and Sokiti touching the statue, he tries to run away. He falls, picks himself up, and hides in a corner. By degrees he watches and draws near during what follows. Pakh and Sokiti take the statue from its pedestal and set it upright on the ground. _ SOKITI. She has not said anything. PAKH. She must be laid on her belly. SOKITI. Gently.... _They lay her flat. _ PAKH [_giving him the horn_] Hold that. [_He goes to his hod, takes ahandful of cement, and proceeds to mend the statue_] Here ... The plume... So ... There ... We must let her dry. In the meantime let us go lookupon the Nile; we may see the boat that brings my son. SOKITI. You will not see him. PAKH. I shall not see him? SOKITI. He is a priest. PAKH. Not yet. SOKITI. But he was brought up in the temple ... 'tis to the temple hewill go. PAKH. He will come here ... Because he would see his father and motheronce more. SOKITI. And Yaouma his betrothed. PAKH. And Yaouma his betrothed. _He goes R. Bitiou approaches the statue timidly, and stops some way off. _ SOKITI. There is nothing in sight. PAKH. No.... [_suddenly_] You saw the crocodile? SOKITI. Yes.... There is a woman going to the Nile with her pitcher onher head. PAKH. That is my wife, that is Kirjipa, that is mine. She seeks with hereyes the boat that bears her son--Satni. SOKITI. She is going into the stream. PAKH. How else can she draw clear water? SOKITI. But at the very spot where the crocodile plunged. PAKH. What matter? She wears the feather of an ibis ... And I know amagic spell. [_He begins to chant_] Back, son of Sitou! Dare not! Seizenot! Open not thy jaws! Let the water become a sheet of flame beforethee! The spell of thirty-seven gods is in thine eye. Thou art bound, thou art bound! Stay, son of Sitou! Ammon, spouse of thy mother, protecther! SOKITI [_without surprise_] It is gone. PAKH [_without surprise_] It could not do otherwise. _Bitiou, now close to the statue, touches it furtively with a finger tip, then runs, falls, and picks himself up. He comes up to Pakh and Sokiti. _ SOKITI [_pointing to the statue_] She is dry now, perhaps? PAKH. Yes, come. SOKITI. I am afraid still. PAKH. So am I, but come and help me. _They replace the statue on its pedestal, then step back to look at it. _ SOKITI. She has done us no harm. PAKH. No. SOKITI. Ha! ha! PAKH. Ha! ha! ha! ha! [_Bitiou laughs with them. A distant sound oftrumpets is heard. Sokiti and Pakh go to the terrace to look_] It is thechief of the Nome. They are bearing him to the city of the dead. At thismoment his soul is before the tribunal, where Osiris sits with the twoand forty judges. SOKITI. May they render unto him all the evil he has done!... PAKH. The evil he has done will be rendered unto him a thousand fold.... He will pass first into the lake of fire. SOKITI [_laughing_] Pakh! Pakh! picture him in Amenti--in the hiddenplace-- PAKH. I see him ... The pivot of the gate of Amenti set upon his eye, turns upon his right eye, and turns on that eye whether in opening or inshutting, and his mouth utters loud cries. SOKITI [_doubling up with delight_] And he who ate so much!... He whoate so much! He will have his food, bread and water, hung above hishead, and he will leap to get it down, whilst others will dig holesbeneath his feet to prevent his touching it. PAKH. Because his crimes are found to outnumber his merits.... SOKITI. And we--we--say--what will happen to us? PAKH. We shall be found innocent by the two and forty judges. SOKITI. And after?--after? PAKH. We shall go to the island of the souls--in Amenti-- SOKITI. Yes, where there will be.... Speak. What shall we have in theisland of the souls? PAKH. Baths of clear water.... SOKITI [_with loud laughter_] What else ... What else? PAKH. Ears of corn of two arms' length.... [_Laughing_]. SOKITI [_laughing_] Yes, ears of corn, of two arms' length. PAKH. And bread of maize, and beans.... SOKITI. And blows of the stick--say, will there be blows of the stick? PAKH. Never again. SOKITI. Never again.... PAKH. I shall forget all I have endured. SOKITI. I shall be famished; and I shall be able to eat until my hungeris gone ... Every day! BITIOU. And I--I shall be tall, with straight strong legs, like the restof the world. PAKH. That will be better than having been prince on the earth. _They laugh. The Steward appears. _ STEWARD. What are you doing there? [_Striking them with the whip_] Yourmistress comes! Begone! _They go out. _ _The Steward bows low before Mieris who is blind, and who enters with her arms full of flowers and led by Yaouma. _ _The Steward retires. _ MIERIS [_gently_] Leave me, Yaouma--I shall be able to find my way toher, alone. YAOUMA. Yes mistress.... [_Nevertheless, she goes with hernoiselessly_]. MIERIS [_smiling_] I can feel you do not obey. Be not afraid. [_She hascome as far as the little statue of Isis_] You see, I do not lose myway. I have come every day to bring her flowers, a long, long time.... Leave me. YAOUMA. Yes, mistress. _She withdraws. _ MIERIS [_touching the statue in the manner of the blind_] Yes, thou artIsis. I know thy face, and I can guess thy smile. [_She takes some ofthe flowers which she has laid beside her and lays them one by one onthe pedestal of the statue_] Behold my daily offering! I know this for awhite lotus flower. It is for thee. I am not wrong, this one, longer, and with the heavier scent, is the pink lotus. It is for thee. And hereare yet two more of these sacred flowers. At dawn, they come from outthe water, little by little. At midday they open wide. And when the sunsinks they, too, hide themselves, letting the waters of the Nile coverthem like a veil. Men say they are fair to see. Alas, I know not thebeauty of the gifts I bring! Here is a typha ... Here an alisma; and bythe overpowering perfume, this, I know, is the acacia flower. I havehad them tell me how the light, playing through the filmy petals, tintsthem with color sweet unto the eyes. May the sight gladden thine! I knownot the beauty of the gifts I bring! But all the days of my life, asuppliant I shall come, and weary not to ply thee with my prayers, untilin the end thou absolve me, until thou grant me the boon that all save Ienjoy, to behold the rays of the shining God, of Ammon-Ra, the Sundivine. O Isis, remember the cruel blow that did befall me! I had alittle child. Unto him sight was given, and when he first could speak, it was life's sweetest joy, to hear him tell the color and the form ofthings. He is dead, Isis! And I have never seen him--Take thou mytears and my prayer, bid this perpetual night, wherein I scarcecan breathe, to cease--And if thou wilt not, deliver me todeath--She-who-loves-the-silence, and after the judgment I may go toAmenti, and find my well-beloved child--find him, and there at lastbehold his face. Isis, I give thee all these flowers. [_She rises_]Come, Yaouma. [_As she is about to go, she stops, suddenly radiant_]Stay--I hear--yes! Go, bring the ewer and the lustral water. It is themaster--He is here. _Yaouma goes out, but returns quickly. Enter Rheou. _ MIERIS. Be welcome unto your house, master! _Yaouma pours water over the hands of Rheou and gives him a towel. _ RHEOU. Gladly I greet you once more in your house, mistress! [_Pakhappears, returning to look for his hod_] [_To Pakh_] Well! potter, doyou not go to meet your son? PAKH. I would fain go, master, but I looked upon the Nile a while ago;there is nothing in sight. RHEOU. The galley came last night at dusk, and, by order of the priests, was kept at the bend of the river till now. Go! PAKH. I thank you, master. _He goes out. _ RHEOU. Is all made ready for the solemn prayer to Isis? The Sun isnearing the horizon. MIERIS. Yaouma, go and warn them all. YAOUMA [_kneeling in supplication_] Mistress-- MIERIS [_laying her hand on Yaouma's head_] What is it? YAOUMA. The galley. MIERIS. Well?--Ah, yes! you were betrothed to the potter's son--Butto-day you must not go forth. Who shall say you are not she whom the GodAmmon will choose? YAOUMA. The God Ammon knows not me. MIERIS. Did he choose you, he must know you. YAOUMA. Me! Me! A poor handmaiden--Is it then possible--truly? MIERIS. Truly--Yaouma, go. YAOUMA [_to herself as she goes_] The God Ammon--the God of Gods-- MIERIS. Rheou, what ails you? RHEOU [_angered_] It was a fresh insult that awaited me-- MIERIS. Insult? RHEOU. When I came into the audience chamber I prostrated myself beforethe Pharaoh. "What would you?" he cried in that hard voice of his. Youknow 'tis the custom to make no reply, that one may seem half dead withfear before his majesty-- MIERIS. Did you not so? RHEOU. I did, but he-- MIERIS. Have a care! Is no one there who might overhear you? RHEOU. No one--but he, in place of ordering them to raise me up, inplace of bidding me speak--Oh, the dog of an Ethiopian!--he feigned notto see me--for a long while, a long, long while--At length, when heremembered I was there, anger was choking me; he saw it; he declared anevil spirit was in me, and having ridiculed me with his pity, he bade methen withdraw. He forgets that if I wished-- MIERIS. Be still! Be still! Know you not that there, beside you, are theGods who hear you! RHEOU [_derisively_] Oh! the Gods! MIERIS. What mean you? RHEOU [_derisively_] I am the son of a high priest; I know the Gods--ThePharaoh forgets that were I to remind the people of my father'sservices, were I to arm all those who work for me, and let them looseagainst him-- MIERIS. Rheou! Rheou! RHEOU. Think you they would not obey me? I am son of that high priest, the Pharaoh's friend who wished to replace the Gods of Egypt, by oneonly God. The court cannot forgive me for that. Little they dream, thatwere I to declare my father had appeared to me, all those who know me, all the poor folk whose backs are blistered by the tax-gatherer's whip, all who are terrorized by schemes of foreign war--all, all would take myorders as inspired, divine. MIERIS. The fear of the Gods would hold them back. RHEOU. How long--I wonder! MIERIS. I hear them coming for the prayer. RHEOU. Yes. Let us pray--that they may have nothing to reproach me withbefore I choose my hour. MIERIS. What hour? RHEOU. Could I but realize the work my father dreamed of--and at thesame stroke be avenged--avenged for all the humiliations-- MIERIS. Be silent--I hear-- _The singers and the dancers and all the women and servants come on gradually. _ RHEOU [_going to the terrace_] The sun is not yet down upon the hill. But look--upon the Nile--see, Yaouma! 'tis the galley that bears yourbetrothed. YAOUMA. 'Tis there! 'Tis there!--See--it has stopped--they take themallet, and drive in the stake. The boat's prow is aground. Now theyhave prayed--they disembark. Look, there is the strange scribe! RHEOU [_looking_] A stranger--he--I do not think it. YAOUMA. I thought, from his garments, perhaps-- _Pakh returns. _ RHEOU. Did you not wait for your son? PAKH [_terrified_] Master, on the road that leads to the Nile, I beheldtwo dead scarabs-- RHEOU. None, then, save the High Priest, may pass till the road bepurified. PAKH. I have warned the travellers they must go a long way round. RHEOU. Did you not recognize your son? PAKH. No, he will be among the last to land, perhaps. YAOUMA. But look--look! Behold that man--the stranger who comes this wayalone--Pakh! where were they, Pakh--the scarabs? PAKH. Near to the fig tree. YAOUMA [_terrified_] He is about to pass them--Oh! He does notknow--[_Relieved_] Ah! at last, they warn him. RHEOU. He stays. YAOUMA. Near to the fig tree, said you! But he is going on--He moves--hecomes--He is past them--[_To Mieris_] Come, mistress, come! Oh Ammon!Ammon! _Hiding her face she leads Mieris quickly away. _ RHEOU. 'Tis to our gates he comes--he is here. _Satni enters. _ SATNI [_bowing before Rheou_] Rheou, I salute you! RHEOU. What do I behold! Satni--'tis you-- PAKH. My son! SATNI [_kneeling_] Father! PAKH. 'Twas you!--you, who came that way, despite the scarabs? SATNI. It was I. PAKH. You know then some magic words, I do not doubt; but I--I who sawthem--I must needs go purify myself before the prayer--to-day is thefeast of the Nomination--did you know? SATNI. I knew--and Yaouma? PAKH. She is here--in a little you shall see her. RHEOU. Satni! SATNI. You called me? RHEOU. Yes. Did not you see the two scarabs that lay upon your path? SATNI. I saw them. RHEOU. And you did not stop? SATNI. No. RHEOU. Why? SATNI. I have learned many things in the countries whence I come. RHEOU. You are a priest. Was not your duty to go unto the temple, evenbefore you knelt at your father's feet? SATNI. Never again shall I enter the temple. _A long trumpet call is heard far off. _ RHEOU. It is the signal for the prayer. _He mounts the terrace and stretches his arms to the setting sun. Women play upon the harp and upon drums, and the double flute. Others clash cymbals and shake the sistrum. Dancers advance, slowly swaying their bodies. The rest mark the rhythm by the beating of hands. _ _Music. _ RHEOU. O Isis! Isis! Isis! Three times do I pronounce thy name. ALL [_murmuring_] O Isis! Isis! Isis! Three times do I pronounce thyname. RHEOU. O Isis! thou who preservest the grain from the destroying winds, and the bodies of our fathers from the ruinous work of time. ALL [_murmuring_] O Isis! thou who preservest the grain from thedestroying winds, and the bodies of our fathers from the ruinous work oftime. RHEOU. O Isis! preserve us. ALL [_murmuring_] O Isis! preserve us. RHEOU. By the three times thy name is spoken. ALL [_murmuring_] By the three times thy name is spoken. RHEOU. Both here, and there, and there. ALL [_murmuring_] Both here, and there, and there. RHEOU. And to-day, and all days, and throughout the ages, as long as ourtemples are mirrored in the waters of the Nile. ALL [_murmuring_] And to-day, and all days, and throughout the ages, aslong as our temples are mirrored in the waters of the Nile. RHEOU. Isis! ALL [_murmuring_] Isis! RHEOU. Isis! ALL [_murmuring_] Isis! RHEOU. Isis! ALL [_murmuring_] Isis! _All prostrate themselves save the singers and the dancers. _ RHEOU. We beseech thee, Ammon! Deign to make known the virgin who willbe offered to the Nile. Ammon, deign to make her known! ALL [_murmuring_] Deign to make her known. _The music stops. A long pause in silence. Then far off a trumpet call. _ RHEOU. Rise! The God has made his choice. _All rise, and begin chattering and laughing gaily. _ RHEOU [_to Satni_] You, alone, did not pray, and stood the while. Wherefore? SATNI. I have come from a land where I learned wisdom. RHEOU. You!--You who were to be priest of Ammon! SATNI. I shall never be priest of Ammon. VOICES. Listen! Listen!--The name! They begin to cry the name! _The distant sound of voices is heard. Every one in the scene save Satni is listening intently. _ RHEOU. The name! The name! _He mounts the terrace. The setting sun reddens the heavens. _ SATNI [_to Yaouma_] At last I find you again, Yaouma. And you wear stillthe chain of maidenhood. You have waited for me? YAOUMA. Yes, Satni, I have waited for you. SATNI. The memory of you went with me always. YAOUMA. Listen!--[_Distant sound of voices_]. A WOMAN. Methinks 'tis Raouit of the next village. A MAN. No! No! 'Tis not that name. SATNI [_to Yaouma_] What matter their cries to you. Have you forgot ourpromises? YAOUMA. No--Listen!--[_Voices nearer_]. A WOMAN. 'Tis Amterra! 'Tis Amterra! ANOTHER. No! 'Tis Hihourr! ANOTHER. No! Amterra lives the other way. ANOTHER. One can hear nothing clearly now. ANOTHER. They are passing behind the palm grove. SATNI [_to Yaouma_] Answer me--you have ears only for their clamor--Ilove you, Yaouma. A VOICE. They are coming! They are coming! ANOTHER. Then 'tis Karma, of the next house. ANOTHER. No! 'tis Hene. Ahou, I tell you--or Karma! Karma! SATNI [_to Yaouma_] Have you, then, ceased to love me? YAOUMA [_distracted_] No, no, I love you--Satni--but I seem to hear myname amid the cries-- SATNI. Let them cry your name--I will watch over you. YAOUMA. Oh, Satni! If the God have chosen me? SATNI. What God? It is the priests who make him speak. _The sounds come nearer. _ A VOICE. 'Tis Yaouma! they come here! Quick, quick, let us do them honoron their coming. ANOTHER. No! ANOTHER. Yes! ANOTHER. 'Tis she! ANOTHER. No! ANOTHER. Yes! yes! Yaouma! SATNI [_to Yaouma_] Do not be fooled. The God is but a stone. YAOUMA [_who no longer listens_] I have heard. It is my name--my name! A VOICE. They are coming!-- ANOTHER. They are here! _Every one begins to go out. _ ANOTHER [_going_] 'Tis Yaouma! _Loud shouts without--"'Tis Yaouma--'Tis Yaouma--"_ STEWARD [_to Rheou_] Master, it is Yaouma. RHEOU. Go, as 'tis custom, let all go forth to meet those who come. _All go out save Yaouma and Satni. _ SATNI. 'Tis you-- YAOUMA [_radiant_] 'Tis I! SATNI. You may refuse. YAOUMA. And leave Egypt-- SATNI. We will leave it together. YAOUMA. 'Tis I! Think of it, Satni! The God, out of all my companions, the God has chosen me! SATNI. Do not stay here. Come with me. YAOUMA [_listening_] Yes--yes--You hear them? It is I! SATNI. You are going to refuse! YAOUMA [_with a radiant smile_] You would love me no longer, if Irefused. SATNI. But know you not, it is death? YAOUMA [_in ecstasy_] Yes, Satni, it is death! SATNI. You are mine--You are plighted to me--Come--Come! YAOUMA. Satni--Satni--you would not have me refuse? SATNI. I would. I love you. YAOUMA. Refuse to answer the call of the Gods. SATNI. The call of the Gods is death. YAOUMA. The God has chosen me, before all he has preferred me. He haspreferred me to those who are fairer, to those who are richer. And Ishould hide myself! SATNI. It is out of pride then that you would die? YAOUMA. I die to bring the flooding of the Nile--to make fertile all theEgyptian fields. If I answer not to the voices that call me, my namewill be a byword wherever the rays of the sun-God fall. Another than Iwill go clothed in the dazzling robe. Another will hear the shouting ofthe multitude. Another will be given to the Nile. SATNI. Another will die, and you, you will live, for your own joy andfor mine. YAOUMA. For my own shame and for yours. SATNI. Light the world with your beauty. Live, Yaouma, live with me!Bright shall your breast be with the flower of the persea, and yourtresses anointed heavy with sweet odor. YAOUMA. The waves of the Nile will be my head-dress. Oh! fair greenrobe, with flowers yet more fair. SATNI. Yaouma, you loved me--[_She bends her head_] Remember, remembermy going away, but two years since, how you did weep when I embarked. You ran by the bank, you followed the boat that bore me. I see youstill, the slim form, the swift lank limbs; I can hear still the soundof your little naked feet upon the sand. And when the boat grounded--doyou remember? For hours the oarsmen pushed with long poles, singing thewhile, and you clapping your hands and crying out my name. And when atlength we floated, there was laughter and cries of joy--but you, you didstand all on a sudden still, and I knew then that you wept. You climbedto a hillock, and you waved your arms, you grew smaller, smaller, smaller, till we turned by a cluster of palms. Oh, how you promised towait for me! YAOUMA. Have I not waited? SATNI. We had chosen the place to build our home. Do you remember? YAOUMA. Yes. SATNI. And dreamed of nights when you should sleep with your head uponmy breast--[_Yaouma bends her head_] And now you seek a grave in theslime of the river. YAOUMA [_with fervor_] The slime of the river is holy, the river isholy. The Nile is nine times holy. It makes grow the pasture that feedsour flocks. It drinks the tears of all our eyes. SATNI. Listen, Yaouma, I will reveal the truth to you. The Gods whoclaim your sacrifice--the Gods are false. YAOUMA. The Gods are true-- SATNI. They are powerless. YAOUMA. It is their power that subdues me--it is stronger than love. Until to-day I loved you more than all the living things upon theearth--the breath of your mouth alone gave life to my heart. Even thisvery day, I dreaded being chosen of the Gods. But now, who has soutterly transformed me if it be not the Gods? You are to me as nothing, now. And I who trembled at a scorpion, who wept at the pricking of athorn, I am all joy at the thought of dying soon. How could this be ifthe Gods had not willed it? SATNI. Hear me a little--and I can prove to you-- YAOUMA. No words can take away the glory of being chosen by the Gods. SATNI. By the priests. YAOUMA. 'Tis the same, the priests are the voice of the Gods. SATNI. 'Tis they who say so. The Gods of Egypt exist only because menhave invented them. YAOUMA. The peoples from whose lands you come have made you lose yourreason. [_With a smile of pity_] Say that our Gods exist not! Think, Satni! SATNI. Neither the Gods, nor the happy fields, nor the world to come, nor hell. YAOUMA. Ah! Ah! I will prove you mad--you say there is no hell--But weknow, we know that it exists, look there! [_Pointing to the sunset_]When the sun grows red at evening, is it not because the glow of hell isthrown upon it from below? You have but to open your eyes. [_Laughing_]The Gods not exist! SATNI. They do not. In the sanctuaries of our temples is nothing savebeasts, unclean, absurd, and lifeless images; believe me, Yaouma--Ilove you--I will not see you die. Your sacrifice is useless. Not becauseyou are offered up will the waters of the Nile rise! Refuse, hideyourself, the waters will still rise. Ah, to lose you for a lie! To loseyou--you! How can I convince you?--I know! Yaouma, you saw me cross thedead scarabs on my path. And yet I live! Oh! it angers me to see mywords move you not. Your reason, your reason! Awaken your reason-- YAOUMA. I am listening to my heart. SATNI. I will save you in spite of you--I will keep you by force-- YAOUMA. If you do, I shall hate you-- SATNI. What matter I shall have saved you. YAOUMA. And I shall kill myself. SATNI [_seizing her_] Will you not understand! The God-bull, theGod-hippopotamus, the God-jackal--they are naught but idols! YAOUMA. My father worshipped them. _Every one comes back. Rheou, who during all the preceding scene was hidden behind a pillar, goes to meet them. _ SOME MEN. Yaouma! Yaouma! ANOTHER. Up to the terrace! OTHERS. Up to the terrace! Let her go up to the terrace! ANOTHER. And let her lift her arms to heaven! ANOTHER. Let her show that she will give herself to the Nile. SATNI [_to Yaouma_] Stay! Stay with me! Then together-- YAOUMA [_in ecstasy_] He has chosen me from among all others! ALL. Yaouma! SATNI. She has refused! She has refused! And I will take her away. ALL. No! No! To the terrace! The prayer! The prayer! RHEOU. Yaouma, go and pray. SATNI. She has refused! MIERIS. Choose, Yaouma, between our Gods and a man. RHEOU. Between the glory of sacrifice-- SATNI. Between falsehood and me, Yaouma-- YAOUMA. The God has called me to save my brothers! SATNI. You are going to death! YAOUMA. To life--the real life--the life with the Gods. [_Going to theterrace_]. SATNI. They lie! YAOUMA. Peace! SATNI. In spite of you, I will save you. [_Yaouma goes up the stairwayleading to the terrace. Satni stands on a bench and shouts to thecrowd_] Hear me, my brothers, I know of better Gods, of Gods who ask forno victims-- THE PEOPLE. They are false Gods! SATNI. They are better Gods-- STEWARD. Rheou! Rheou! bid him cease! RHEOU. No--let him speak. SATNI. I come to save you from error, to overthrow the idols, to teachyou eternal truths-- _An immense shout of acclamation drowns the rest of Satni's words, as Yaouma, who has appeared on the terrace above, stands with her arms raised to the setting sun. Mieris kneels and crosses her hands in prayer. _ CURTAIN ACT II SCENE: _Same as Act I. _ _Rheou discovered alone. After a few moments the Steward enters through the gates. _ RHEOU. What have you seen? STEWARD. The preparations for the festival continue. RHEOU. At the Temple? STEWARD. At the Temple. RHEOU. For the Feast of Prodigies? STEWARD. For the Feast of Prodigies. RHEOU. And the priests believe they can celebrate it to-morrow? STEWARD. I have seen no reason to doubt of it. RHEOU. Without Yaouma? STEWARD. I do not know. RHEOU. You are mistaken perhaps. Did you go down as far as the Nile? STEWARD. Yes, master. RHEOU. Well? STEWARD. They have finished the decoration of the sacred barge. RHEOU. I do not understand it. STEWARD. Nor I, for I know that a certain number of the soldiers haverefused to renew the attempt of yesterday-- RHEOU. They have refused? STEWARD. Yes. RHEOU. What did they say? STEWARD. That they were afraid. RHEOU. Of what--of whom? STEWARD. Of Satni. RHEOU. Of Satni? STEWARD. Yes. They say it was he who caused the miracle of yesterday. RHEOU. What--what do they say? Their words--tell me? STEWARD. That it was he-- RHEOU. He, Satni?-- STEWARD. Yes. RHEOU. Who caused the miracle of yesterday? STEWARD. Yes. RHEOU. The miracle that prevented them from carrying out the order ofthe High Priest? STEWARD. Yes. RHEOU. The order to come here and seize Yaouma? STEWARD. Yes. RHEOU. So that is what they say? STEWARD. Every one says it. RHEOU [_after some reflection_] Come, it is time you learned the truth, that you may repeat it all. In the countries whither he went Satnilearned many things--great things. Come hither, lend your ear. Hedeclares there be other gods than the gods of Egypt--and more powerful. If you remember, my father and the Pharaoh Amenotep likewise declaredthis, and would have made these gods known to us. How they werefrustrated you know. It seems--for my own part I know not, 'tis Satnisays so, ceaselessly, these two months since his return--it seems then, the time is come when these Gods would make them known to us. They haveendowed Satni with superhuman power. That I _know_, and none may doubtit now. Satni is resolved to keep his betrothed, and the Lybian Guardswere not deceived, it was he who yesterday called down the thunder andthe floods from Heaven upon the soldiers sent here to seize Yaouma. STEWARD. The oldest remember but one such prodigy. RHEOU. What I have told you, tell to all; and this, besides, say tothem: each time that any would cross the will of Satni--they who darethe attempt will be scattered, even as the guards were scatteredyesterday. Add this, that Satni is guided by the spirit of the deadPharaoh, that I last night beheld my father's spirit, and that greatevents will come to pass in Egypt. STEWARD. I shall tell them. RHEOU. Behold, the envoy of the new gods! Leave me to speak with him. Go, repeat my words. _The Steward goes out. _ _Satni enters from the back. Rheou prostrates himself before Satni. _ SATNI [_looking behind him_] Before which God do you still bow down? RHEOU. Before you. If you be not a God, you are the spirit of a God. SATNI. I do not understand your words. RHEOU. Who can call down thunderbolts from heaven, unless he be an envoyof the Gods? SATNI. I am no-- RHEOU. 'Tis well, 'tis well. You would have us blind to your power ofworking miracles. After yesterday you can hide it no more. Henceforth, Satni, you must no longer confine your teaching to Mieris, to me, toyour parents, Yaouma, to a few--henceforth you may speak to all, allears are opened by this miracle. SATNI. Let us leave that! I pray you rise and tell me rather what hasbefallen Yaouma. RHEOU. Yaouma!--Did she not at first interpret the thunderclap as signof the wrath of Ammon against her? SATNI. She believes still in Ammon, then, despite all I have said toher. RHEOU. Happily I undeceived her. I made her understand that 'twas youthe elements obeyed, that the thunder that frighted her, was but a signof your power. SATNI. Why should you lie to her? RHEOU. It was not wholly lying. Besides, it was fortunate I could thusexplain the event. Had you but seen her-- SATNI. All my efforts of these two months past, in vain! RHEOU. You remember when you left us yesterday. You might have thoughtthat all her superstitions were banished at last. She no longer answeredyou, she questioned you no more, and at your last words her silenceconfirmed the belief that at length you had won her away from Ammon. Yetafter you were gone, at the moment of entering her hiding place, she wasswept with sudden fury as though an evil spirit had entered her, wept, cried and tore her hair-- SATNI. What said she? RHEOU. "To the temple! to the temple! I would go to the temple! The Godhas chosen me! The God awaits me! Egypt will perish!" In short, words ofmadness. She would have killed herself! SATNI. Killed herself! RHEOU. We had to put constraint on her. And 'twas only when I led her tothis terrace, after the thunderbolt, and pointed out the scatteredsoldiery, that she came to herself, that at length she perceived thatyour God was the most powerful. "What, " she cried, "'tis he, he, mySatni, who shakes the heavens and the earth for me! For me!" shemurmured, "for me!" She would have kissed your sandals, offered you asacrifice, worshipped, adored you. See where she comes, with Mieris!Stay. SATNI. No. _He goes. Rheou accompanies him. Mieris enters, bearing flowers and led by Yaouma. _ MIERIS [_listening_] Is he there? YAOUMA. No. MIERIS. Leave me. _Yaouma goes out. Mieris left alone makes several hesitating steps toward the statue of Isis, then goes up to it and touches it. A pause. _ MIERIS. If it be only of wood! _A gesture of disillusion. She draws slowly away from the statue, letting her flowers fall, broken-hearted, and begins to weep. Rheou returns. _ RHEOU. Why, Mieris--do you bring flowers to Isis still? MIERIS. It is the last time. Listen, Rheou--We mast ask Satni to healme. Do not tell me it is not possible; he has healed Ahmarsti. RHEOU. Healed Ahmarsti? MIERIS, Yes. He made her drink a liquid wherein no doubt a good geniuswas hidden, and the evil spirit that tormented her was driven forth. RHEOU [_credulously_] Is't possible? MIERIS. Every one saw it. And Kitoui-- RHEOU. Well? MIERIS. Kitoui, the cripple, went this morning to draw water from theNile, before all her neighbors who marvelled and cried with joy. And shehad merely touched the hem of his garment, even without his knowing it. He has healed the child of Riti, too, he knows gods more powerful thanours--younger gods, perhaps, our gods are so old--If it were not so, howcould he have walked unscathed the road where the scarabs lay, that daywhen he came home? Since then, men have seen him do a thousand forbiddenthings, have seen him defy our gods by disrespect. Without theprotection of a higher power, how could he escape the chastisementwhereof another had died? Who are his gods? Rheou, he must make themknown to you. RHEOU. He refuses. MIERIS. For what reason? RHEOU. The reason he gives is absurd--he says there are no gods-- MIERIS. No gods! no gods!--he is mocking you. RHEOU. He is bound to secrecy, perhaps. MIERIS. Rheou, know you that this Ahmarsti--these two years now, on theday of Prodigies, have I heard her at my side howling prayers at thegoddess that were never answered. RHEOU. I know. Satni declares he could have healed all whom the goddesshas relieved. MIERIS [_to herself_] He relieves even those women whom sheabandons--[_After a pause_] He must teach you the words that work thesemiracles. RHEOU. He refuses. MIERIS. Force him! RHEOU. He says there are none. MIERIS. Threaten him with death--he will speak. RHEOU. No. MIERIS [_with excitement_] But you do not understand me!--he has healedAhmarsti, he has healed Kitoui, wherefore should he not heal me? RHEOU [_sadly_] Ah! Mieris, Mieris, think you I waited for your prayer, to ask him that? MIERIS. Well--Well--? RHEOU. I could gain nothing but these words from him: "Could I overcomethe evil Mieris suffers from, even now should she rejoice in thesplendor of day. " MIERIS. Nothing is impossible to the gods, even to ours; how much morethen to his!--He did not yield to your prayers!--Insist, order, threaten! Force him to speak. You have the right to command him. He isbut the son of a potter after all. Let him be whipped till he yield. Doanything, have him whipped to the point of death--or better, offer himfields, the hill of date-trees that is ours; offer him our flocks, andmy jewels and precious stones--tell him we know him for a livinggod--but I would be healed. I would be healed! I would see! See! [_Withanger_] Ah! you know not the worth of the light, you whose eyes arefilled with it! You cannot picture my misery, you who suffer it not! Yougrieve for me, I doubt not, but you think you have done enough, havinggiven me pity!--No, no, I am wrong--I am unjust. But forgive me; thisthought that I might be healed has made me mad. Rheou!--Think, Rheou, what it means to be blind, to have been so always, and to know thatbeside one are those who see--who see!--The humblest of our shepherds, the most wretched of the women at our looms, I envy them. And when, attimes, I hear them complain, I curb myself lest I should strike them, wretches that know not their good fortune. I feel that all you, you whosee, should never cease from songs of joy, and hymns of thanksgiving tothe gods--[_With an outburst_] I speak of sight! Think, Rheou, I havenot even a clear idea of what it means "to see. " To recognize withouttouch, to know without need to listen. To perceive the sun another waythan by the heat of its rays!--They say the flowers are so beautiful!--Iwould see _you_, my well-beloved. Oh! the day when I shall see youreyes!--I would see, that you may show me some likeness of the littlechild we lost. You shall point out, among the rest, those that are mostlike to him. This misery--O my beloved!--I do not often speak of it--butI suffer it! I suffer it! [_She is in his arms_] They have taken from methe hope that our gods will heal me, if they give me nothing in itsplace, know you what I shall do?--I shall go away, alone, one night, touching the walls, and the trees--and the trees, with my armsoutstretched; I shall go down as far as the Nile and there, gently, Ishall glide away to death. RHEOU. Peace, O my best beloved! MIERIS [_listening_] I hear him--he comes. I leave you with him! Leadhim to my door--love me--save me! _She attempts to go out, he leads her. Satni enters followed by Nourm, Sokiti, and Bitiou. _ NOURM. Yes! Thou who art mighty!--Yes! Yes! Make me rich--I have hadblows of the stick so long! I would be rich to be able to give them inmy turn!--You have but to speak the magic words. SATNI [_somewhat brutally_] Leave me! I am no magician. SOKITI. I, I do not ask for money. Listen not to him; he is bad. I, Ionly ask that you make Khames die; he has taken from me the girl I wouldhave wed. [_Satni pushes him away. Sokiti, weeping, clings to hisgarments_] Grant it, I implore you--I implore you!--My life is gone withher--make him die, I pray you. SATNI. Leave me! SOKITI. Hear me. BITIOU [_coming between them and striking Sokiti_] Begone! Begone! Hewould not hear you! [_Sokiti goes out_] Listen--listen--you see I madehim go. All--all whom you will, I shall beat them for you. Listen--ifyou could make me tall like you, and steady on my legs--See--here--Ihave hidden away, safe, three gold rings, that I stole a while since; Iwill give them you. SATNI. Go, take them to the high priest-- BITIOU [_pitiably_] I have given four to him already. _Sokiti and Nourm are conferring together. Enter Rheou. They run away, Bitiou follows, falling and picking himself up. _ RHEOU. What do they want of you? SATNI. They came here, following me. They believe me gifted withsupernatural power, and crave miracles of me, as though I were a God, ora juggler. I am neither, and I work no miracles. RHEOU. None the less you have worked two miracles. SATNI. Not one. RHEOU. And you will work yet one more. SATNI. Never. I came hither not to perform miracles, but to preventthem. RHEOU. You will heal Mieris. SATNI. No one can heal her, nor I, nor any other. RHEOU. Give her a little hope. SATNI. How can I? RHEOU. Tell her you will invoke your God, and that some day perhaps-- SATNI. I have no God. If there be a god, he is so great, so far from as, so utterly beyond our comprehension, that for us it is as though he didnot exist. To believe that one of our actions, to believe that a prayercould act upon the will of God, is to belittle him, to deny him. He ishimself incapable of a miracle; it would be to belie himself. Could heimprove his work, he would not then have created it perfect from thefirst. He could not do it. RHEOU. Our ancient gods at least permitted hope. SATNI. Keep them. RHEOU. In the heart of Mieris, you have destroyed them. SATNI. Do you regret it? RHEOU. Not yet. SATNI. What would you say? RHEOU. Even if it be true that sight will never be given her, do nottell her so. Far better promise that she will be healed. SATNI. And to all the others, must I promise healing too? Because in ahouse I relieved a child, whose illness sprang from a cause I couldremove; because a woman, ill in imagination, did cure herself bytouching my garment's hem; must I then descend to play the part ofsorcerer? I had behind me there, but now, a rabble of the wretchedimploring me, believing me all powerful, begging for them and theirsunrealizable miracles. Should I then cheat them too, all those poorwretches, promising what I know I cannot give? I came hither to make anend of lies, not to replace them with others. RHEOU [_with passion_] Ah! You would not lie. You would not lie to thewretched. You would not lie to Mieris. You would lie to no one, is itso? SATNI. To no one. RHEOU. We shall see! [_Calling right_] Yaouma!--Let them send Yaouma![_To Satni_] Not to her either, then? Good; if you speak the truth toher, if you deny that you have supernatural power, if you force her tobelieve you had no hand in the miracle that saved her yesterday, shewill give herself to the priests, or she will kill herself! What willyou do? _Yaouma enters, she tries to prostrate herself before Satni, who prevents her. In the meantime the Steward greatly moved has come to whisper to Rheou. _ RHEOU [_deeply moved_] He is there! STEWARD. In person. RHEOU. 'Tis an order of the Pharaoh then? STEWARD. Yes. RHEOU. I am troubled. _He goes out with the Steward. _ SATNI [_to Yaouma_] What is it ails you? Why are you so sad? YAOUMA. You will want nothing more of me, now that you are a god. SATNI. Be not afraid: I am not a god. YAOUMA. Almost. 'Tis a daughter of the Pharaoh you will marry now. SATNI. I will marry you. YAOUMA. You will swear to. SATNI. Yes. YAOUMA. By Ammon?--[_Recollecting_] By your god? SATNI. My god is not concerned with us. YAOUMA. Who then is concerned with us? SATNI. No one. YAOUMA. You do not want to tell me. You treat me as a child--mocking me. SATNI. Why do you need an oath? I love you, and you shall be my wife. YAOUMA [_radiant_] I shall be your wife!--I, little Yaouma, I shall bewife to a man whom the heavens obey!--[_A pause_] When I think that youloosed the thunder for my sake-- SATNI. No, vain child, I did not loose the thunder. YAOUMA. Yes, yes, yes--I understand. You want no one to know that youhave found the book of Thoth--fear not, I know how to hold my peace. [_Coaxingly she puts her arms round Satni's neck and rubs her cheekagainst his_] Tell me, how did you find it? SATNI. I have not found the book of magic spells; besides, it would haveprofited me nothing. YAOUMA. Sit--you would not sit? They say 'tis shut up in three caskets, hidden at the bottom of the sea. SATNI. I tell you again I neither sought, nor found it. YAOUMA. What do you do then, to strike fire from heaven? SATNI. I did not strike fire from heaven. YAOUMA [_crossly_] Oh! I do not love you now!--Yes, yes, yes, I loveyou! [_A pause_] So it pleased you then, when you were going away in thegalley, to see me run barefoot on the bank--? SATNI. Yes. YAOUMA [_angry_] But speak! speak! [_Checking herself, then more coaxingstill_] You wanted to weep? No? You said you did. For my part I knownot, then, I could see nothing. But the day of your return, when youlearned I was chosen for the sacrifice, then, then I saw your eyes--Youlove me--You said to me you would prevent me going to the Nile. Ibelieved you not--you remember--Why! even yesterday, yes, yesterdayagain, in spite of all your words, I was resolved to escape and go tothe temple. It needed this proof of your power!--tell me, it was you whoshook the heavens and the earth for me. SATNI. No. YAOUMA. Again!--You must think but little of me, to believe I shouldreveal what you bade me keep secret. [_She lays her hands on Satni'scheeks_] It _was_ you, was it not? SATNI. No, no, no! a thousand times no! YAOUMA. It was your gods then, your gods whom I know not. SATNI. No. YAOUMA. Who was it then? SATNI. No one. YAOUMA [_out of countenance_] No one! [_A pause_] You possess no powerthat other men have not? SATNI. No. YAOUMA [_the same_] You seem as one speaking truth. SATNI. I speak the truth. YAOUMA. 'Tis a pity! SATNI. Why? YAOUMA. It would have been more beautiful. [_A long grave pause_] To goin the barge, on the Nile, that too had been more beautiful. _Rheou and the Steward enter_ RHEOU [_agitated_] Go in, Yaouma. [_To the Steward_] Conduct her to hermistress--and make known to her what has passed. [_Yaouma and theSteward go out_] Satni, terrible news has come to me: the Pharaoh, finding the people's enmity increase against him, has taken fright, andstriking first, the blow has fallen on me. My goods are confiscated. Iam sent to exile. The palace Chamberlain, but now, brought me the orderto quit my house to-day, and deliver myself to the army leaving forEthiopia. SATNI. Can you do nothing against this order? RHEOU. Yes. I can kill those who gave it. SATNI. Kill! RHEOU. Listen. I bring you the means to win the triumph of your ideas, and at the same time serve my cause. I can arm all the dwellers on mylands. We two must lead them. They will follow you, knowing you allpowerful. Nay, hear me--wait. The soldiers, who fear you, will not dareresist us, we shall kill the high priest, the Pharaoh if need be--weshall be masters of Egypt. SATNI. I would not kill. RHEOU. So be it. Enough that you declare yourself ready to repeat themiracle of yesterday. SATNI. I would not lie. RHEOU. If you would neither kill nor lie, you will never succeed ingoverning men. SATNI. I would fight the priests of Ammon, not imitate them. RHEOU. You will never triumph without doing so. Profit by events. Do notdeny the power they believe to be yours. Men will not follow you, if youspeak only to their reason. You are above the crowd by your learning;that gives you rights. You would lead them to the summits; to get there, one must blindfold those who suffer from dizziness. SATNI. I refuse. RHEOU. One would think you were afraid of victory! SATNI. Rheou, 'tis not the victory of my ideas you seek, 'tis your ownvengeance, your own ambition. RHEOU. They wish to rush the people of Egypt into an unjust and uselesswar. They hesitate; they feel the people lacking zest, that is why theyhave delayed the going of the army till the feast of Prodigies. To-morrow they will make the goddess speak, and all those poor creatureswill be led away. You can save thousands of lives by sacrificing a few. SATNI. I refuse. The truth will prevail without help from cruelty orfalsehood. RHEOU. Never. The crowd is not a woman to be won by loud wooing, but onewho must be taken by force, whom you must dominate before you canpersuade. SATNI. Say no more, Rheou, I refuse. RHEOU. Blind! Fool! Coward! _Mieris enters, led by Yaouma. A moment later some men--Bitiou, Sokiti, Nourm. _ MIERIS. Rheou!--where are you? where are you? [_Yaouma leads her towardhim_] It is true, this that I hear?--Exile--Misery? RHEOU. It is true. MIERIS. Courage--As for me, a palace or a cottage--I know not the onefrom the other. RHEOU. [_to Satni_] Satni, can you still refuse? SATNI. You torture me! No, I will not be credited with power that is notmine; to stir men up against their fellows--I would not kill, I tellyou. MIERIS. I understand you, Satni--it is wrong to kill!--But look oncemore upon me--I am poor now, I am going away, will you not consent toheal me? SATNI [_anguished_] Mieris--Could I have healed you, would it not bedone already? MIERIS. You can do it! I know you can do it! Work a miracle. YAOUMA. A miracle! Show that your god is more powerful than our gods. A MAN [_who has just entered_] Heal us! SATNI. I am not able. ANOTHER. Work a miracle. SATNI. There are no miracles! A MAN. Then your gods are less mighty than ours. SATNI. Yours do not exist. THE PEOPLE [_terrified at the blasphemy_] Oh! A MAN. Why do you lead us away from our gods, if you have no others togive us? ANOTHER. You shall not insult our gods! ANOTHER. We will hand you over to the priests lest the gods smite us forhearing you! ANOTHER. Ammon will chastise us! SATNI. No. A MAN. Isis will abandon us! SATNI. It will not make you more wretched. ANOTHER. Then show us you are stronger than our gods. MIERIS. A miracle! RHEOU. He is stronger than our gods! } [_Together_]YAOUMA. A miracle or I die! } SATNI. You demand it! You demand a miracle. Well, then, you shall haveone, I will do this, but in the presence of all! Go! go! go throughoutthe domains--bring hither those you find bowed on the earth, or hung topoles for drawing water. Go you others, summon the slaves, the piteousworkers--call hither the drawers of stones, bid them drop the ropesthat flay their shoulders, bid them come. MIERIS. What would you do? SATNI. Convince them. MIERIS. Now of a sudden, brutally? SATNI. Brutally. RHEOU. Do you believe them ready? SATNI. You are afraid. RHEOU. Day comes not suddenly on night, between them is the dawn. _Delethi leads Mieris right under the peristyle. _ SATNI. I would have day, broad daylight--Now, at once, for all! 'Tis acrime to _promise_ them reward for their suffering. How do we know thatthey will ever be paid? RHEOU. They are so miserable-- SATNI. The truth--is the truth good only for the rich? Will you add thatinjustice to all the others? Behold them! [_Gradually the slaves andworkers of all kinds have entered till they fill the stage. Amongst themPakh, Sokiti, Bitiou the Dwarf_] Yes, behold them, the victims, beholdthe wretched! I know you all. You, you are shepherd, you are worsenourished than your flocks, and your beasts, at least, are not givenblows. They do not beat the cows nor the sheep. You, you sow and youreap; beneath the sun, tortured by flies, you gather abundant crops. Yousleep in a hole. Others eat the corn you made grow, and sleep onprecious stuffs. You, you are forever drawing water from the Nile;betwixt you and the ox they harness to another machine, there is nodifference, and yet you are a man. You, you are one of those who draggreat stones, to build the monuments of pride. You are a digger in thetombs, you live a month or more without sight of day. To glorify thedeath of others, you give your life. You are a trainer of lions for war;your father was eaten--they would have wept had the lion died--How canit be that you accept all this, when you see beside you happinesswithout work, and abundance without effort? I will tell you. 'Tisbecause, in the name of the god Ammon-Ra, they have said to you: "Havepatience, this injustice will last but a life-time. " Fools! nothing butthat! All the time you are on earth, suffer, produce for others. Contentye with hunger, you who produce food. Content ye with worse usage thanthe swine, you who have guard of them. Content ye to sleep in the open, you who build palaces and temples. Content ye with all miseries, youcarvers of gold, and setters of precious stones. Look without envy, without anger, on the welfare of those who do nothing, all this willlast only the whole of your lives! After, in another world, you shallhave the fulness of all the crops, and the joy of all the pleasures. Well, they lied to you: there is no island of souls, there are no happyfields, there is no life of atonement after this. [_Loud murmurs_] Theyhave set up these gods for your servile adoration; they have counselledyou: "Bow down, these gods will avenge you. " They have said: "Prostrateyourselves, these gods are just. " They have said: "Throw yourselves toearth, these gods are good. " They have declared them all powerful; shutthem in sanctuaries of awful gloom, whence you are shown them once ayear, to keep alive your terror of the Gods; and last, they have madeyou believe no man may touch these images and live. I tell you theylied--I will show you they lied to you. Behold the most mightyAmmon--the father of the gods--I spit my hate at him! Thou art but anidol; I curse thee for evil men have done in thy name! I curse thee inthe name of all the enslaved, in the name of all those they have cheatedwith hopes of an avenging life; in the name of all who for thousands ofyears have groaned and wept; suffered insult, outrage, blows, death, without thought of revolt, because promises made in thy name hadsoothed their rage to sleep! And I curse thee for the sorrow that nowfills me, and for the ills that must come even of thy going! Die! [_Hethrows a stool in the face of the statue_] You others do as I. Go, climbtheir pedestals! Lay hold of their hands, they are lifeless! Strike, 'tis but an image! Spit in their faces, they are senseless! Strike!Ruin! All this is nothing but hardened mud! _The crowd which had punctuated the words of Satni with cries and murmurs has approached the statues behind him and followed his example, blaspheming, and howling with fury. The more courageous begin, being hoisted to the pedestals, the rest follow suit. The gods are overthrown. _ RHEOU. Now, let them open my granaries, that each may help himself; andtake from my flocks to sate you all. _Cries of joy, they go out slowly. Bitiou in the meantime approaches an overthrown statue and still half-afraid, kicks it. He tries to run, falls, picks himself up, then seeing that decidedly there is no danger, seats himself on the stomach of the goddess Thoueris and bursts into a peal of triumphant bestial laughter. _ BITIOU. Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! _Then he perceives the little statue of Isis which Mieris shields with her arms, points it out to a couple of men who advance to it. _ DELETHI. Mistress, they would take Isis! MIERIS [_in tears_] Let me keep her-- RHEOU. No, Mieris. MIERIS [_letting go_] Take her--[_Then_] Stay! RHEOU. Wherefore? MIERIS. Can you part from her, and feel nothing? Even now, Satni, indenouncing the gods to the fury of the crowd, you did not sayeverything--You, who can see her, behold this little image, think howmany tears were shed before her, in the years since she was made. Shehas been ours for generations. Call up the countless crowds of those whohave fixed their anxious looks upon her eyes, dead even as mine are. Itis for all the anguish she has looked upon, we must respect her. Tearsmake holy. I doubt not you are right: she must be broken too--but notwithout farewell. [_To Yaouma_] Where is she, Yaouma? I would say mylast prayer to her. [_To the statue_] Oh, them who didst not heal, butdidst console me; O thou who hast heard so many entreaties andthanksgivings, thou art but clay! Yet men have given thee life; thy lifewas not in thee, it was in them--and the proof is that thou diest, nowthey have taken their soul from thee. I give thee over to those whowould break thee, but I revere thee, I salute thee, and I thank thee forall the hope thou hast given me; and I thank thee in the name of all thesorrows that thou hast sent to sleep. [To the men] Take her hence--letthem destroy her with respect. _They take Isis away. _ SATNI. There is nothing so sad or so great as the death of a god! [_Apause. To Yaouma, who comes through the crowd_] Behold, Yaouma! The godsare dead and I live--behold them! Do you believe me--do you believe me? _Sadly Yaouma looks at the broken statues, then bursts into tears before Satni, who stands amazed. _ CURTAIN ACT III SCENE:--_The yard in front of the potter's hut. On the right from the middle of the back of the scene to the footlights, the walls of the dwelling made of beaten clay. Two unequal doors. The wall is slightly raised supporting a terrace where pottery of all kinds is drying in the sun. Left, a wall of loose stones high enough to lean on. Between the wall and the house an opening leading to an invisible inclined plane that descends to the Nile, the water and opposite bank of which are visible. Behind the house and on the right groups of lofty palms. The whole is abject misery beneath the splendor of a heaven blazing with light. _ _Kirjipa, crouching down, is grinding corn between a large and a small stone. Satni is seated on the wall dreaming. _ KIRJIPA. Son. SATNI. Mother. KIRJIPA. And so you do not believe that when the moon grows little bylittle less, 'tis because it is eaten by a pig? SATNI. No, mother. KIRJIPA. Then what beast eats it? SATNI. None. KIRJIPA [_laughing_] You have ideas that are not reasonable. What makesme marvel, is that your father seems to understand them. I must haste tomake the bread, that he find it when he returns. SATNI. Here comes the messenger from Rheou. KIRJIPA [_horrified_] The messenger of him who kills the gods. SATNI. We do not kill what has no life. KIRJIPA. I would not see him. [_She picks up her corn_]. SATNI. Why? KIRJIPA. Brrr!--[_To herself_] To-morrow I shall burn some sacred herbshere. [_She goes out_]. _The Steward enters. _ STEWARD. Satni, I have been seeking you. Since this morning unhappythings have come to pass-- SATNI. Yaouma is not in danger, or Mieris, of Rheou? STEWARD. No. All three are safe in the palace. SATNI. Well? STEWARD. You remember the order the master gave me this morning, afterthe death of the gods? SATNI. No. STEWARD. Yes, to open his granaries to all. SATNI. Yes, yes, well? STEWARD. When I went to obey, to my amazement I beheld the men stand bythe door in earnest converse, then without entering they withdrew. Thisis what happened. They went to the house of the neighboring master, roused his servants and laborers, and strove to force them to overthrowthe statues of his gods, and rob him of his corn. They killed hissteward. Soldiers came--Nepk had been killed, others too. Then all werescattered. The master sent me to bid you reason with those whom youmight find. Look! there are some who have taken refuge here! [_To somemen who are outside_] Enter--come--Satni would speak with you! _Bitiou, Sokiti, and Nourm appear behind the wall. Bitiou comes in. _ SATNI [_To Bitiou_] Whither go you? STEWARD. Whither go you? Whence come you? BITIOU. I followed the others-- STEWARD. Whence come you? BITIOU. I came back with the others, Sokiti and Nourm. SATNI. Where are they? BITIOU. There. STEWARD. Bid them enter. SATNI [_going to the door_] Sokiti, Nourm, come. _Sokiti and Nourm enter awkwardly. _ STEWARD. Why do you hide yourselves? NOURM. We do not hide from you, but from the Lybian soldiers. SATNI. Why do you fear them? SOKITI. Because they are chasing us. STEWARD. And why are they chasing you? _The three men look at each other. _ SATNI. Bitiou, answer. BITIOU. Bitiou knows not. STEWARD [_to the others_] You know it, you. NOURM. They took us for the others. SATNI. What others? NOURM. Perhaps they took us for the servants of the neighboring master. STEWARD. They have done mischief, then, the servants of the neighboringmaster? [_Pause_] Answer--you! NOURM [_to Satni_] They did that at his house, that you made us do atyours. STEWARD. The priests heard of it? NOURM. No, but the master sent for the soldiers. SATNI. Only for that! NOURM. I know not. SATNI. Had there been nothing else, he would not have sent for theLybian soldiers. He knew our projects--he is with us. There is somethingelse, eh!-- _Bitiou yawns loudly. _ SOKITI. Yes. SATNI. What? SOKITI [_to Nourm_] Tell. NOURM. They were angered with the master. He was bad, the master. STEWARD. He is hard, but he gives much to those who have nothing. SOKITI. He gave here, that he might receive hereafter. NOURM. After his death. SATNI. And now he gives no more? NOURM. Nothing. SATNI. Ah! BITIOU. Nothing--and so, all stomachs empty, very much. [_He laughs_]. NOURM. He gives only blows of the stick now. SOKITI [_with conviction_] One cannot live on that alone. NOURM. And so his servants asked him for corn? BITIOU. No good--only blows of the stick. STEWARD. They _took_ the corn that was refused them? BITIOU [_laughing_] Hunger! [_A gesture_]. SATNI. You knew they were going to do that? SOKITI. Yes. SATNI. It was for that you went to join them? NOURM. Yes. STEWARD. Why? NOURM. It came into our heads like this: better not take corn from thegood master, but take it from the bad one. SOKITI. Justice! BITIOU [_to the Steward_] You content. You still got all your corn. _He laughs, his comrades laugh with him. _ NOURM. You, we like you. BITIOU. You--good! We--good! SOKITI. See! BITIOU [_collecting two ideas_] Wait: neighboring master bad. They bad. [_To the others_] Heh?--Heh?--you see--Heh? Heh? [_All three drawthemselves up proudly and laugh_] And the steward he bad, he dead--welldone! SATNI. What would he say? SOKITI [_laughing_] They took the steward and then--[_Chokes withlaughter_]. NOURM. They gave him back all the blows of the stick they had had fromhim. SATNI. You saw that? NOURM. Yes. SOKITI [_proudly_] Me too, me too-- BITIOU. I laugh very much--because--because--Steward, very big, strong, and then when very much beaten, fell down--fell on the ground--like me!like me! He, big, he fell down just the same--he like Bitiou--I veryglad. [_During what follows he plays with his foot_]. STEWARD. What they have done is bad. NOURM. No. The steward had been happy all his life. He was old. SOKITI. He was old. So 'tis not bad to have killed him--He hadfinished--He was fat--and he had lost his appetite-- NOURM. Only just, he should leave his place to another. SATNI. We must not kill. SOKITI. What does that mean? NOURM. Yes, kill a good one, that is bad. But kill a bad one, that isgood. SATNI. And if you are mistaken? SOKITI. No, he is bad, I kill him. SATNI. What if he be not bad, and you think him so? SOKITI. If he were not bad, I should not think it. STEWARD. You do not understand--Listen, I am not bad, am I? SOKITI. But we do not want to kill you. STEWARD. Let me speak. You remember Kob the black. He thought me bad. NOURM. Yes. STEWARD. And if he had killed me? SOKITI. We are not blacks-- STEWARD. You do not understand me. Consider. He thought me bad. I am notbad. What you were saying, would justify him if he had killed me. _They consider. _ SOKITI. I understand. You say: If the slave had killed me--no, it is notthat. SATNI. Human life must be respected. _Gravely they make sign of acquiescence, to escape further torment. Nourm picks up a package he had brought and turns to go out unobserved. _ STEWARD. What are you carrying there? NOURM. Nothing, 'tis mine-- BITIOU. That is a necklace--show. [_Begins to open the package_]. NOURM. Yes, a necklace. SATNI. From whom did you take it? NOURM. From the neighboring master. SATNI. Do you think you did well? NOURM [_hesitating_] Why--yes. SATNI. You are wrong. NOURM. Be not afraid, no one saw me. SATNI. It is wrong. NOURM. No. What can wrong me, is wrong. Since no one saw me, they willnot punish me. So it is not wrong. SATNI. Wrong not to you, but to the neighboring master. NOURM. He has many others. SOKITI. Has had them for years, he has! Nourm never had one. Not just. I, I never had, this--[_He holds up a bracelet_]. SATNI. You have taken this bracelet! SOKITI [_delighted_] It is mine. SATNI. We are content. _They laugh. _ NOURM. And Bitiou-- SATNI AND SOKITI. Yes, Bitiou-- NOURM. He took the best thing. STEWARD. What? BITIOU. A woman. STEWARD. By force? BITIOU. No woman would come willingly with Bitiou. SOKITI. But she escaped from him. BITIOU. Yes. [_He weeps_]. SATNI. You must give back the necklace and this bracelet to theneighboring master. NOURM. Give back, but he has others! SATNI. You cannot make yourself the judge of that. If you were sellingperfumes, for instance, would you think it natural that a man shouldcome and take them from you, because you had plenty and he had none? NOURM. You tell me hard things. SATNI. You must give back this bracelet, Sokiti. SOKITI. Yes, master. SATNI. And you the necklace. NOURM. Yes, master. _A sorrowful pause. _ SATNI. See, you are sad. You perceive that you did wrong. SOKITI. Yes, we did wrong-- SATNI. Ah! SOKITI. We did wrong to tell you what we did, because you are notpleased. SATNI. 'Tis for your sake I am grieved. NOURM. Then you have not told the truth; there is a hell, and there isan island of souls. SATNI. No. NOURM. If the gods do not punish, and men, not having seen, do notpunish either--[_Pause_] Well--I shall give it back. SOKITI. I, I shall not give back. Not stolen. Another, a servant of theneighboring master stole the bracelet, not I! STEWARD. Yet 'tis you who have it. SOKITI. I took it from the other. STEWARD. He let you do it? SOKITI. Yes. Could not help it, he was wounded. SATNI. You should have succored him. SOKITI. I did not know him. SATNI. He was a man like you. SOKITI. There are plenty of them. SATNI. We must do good to others. SOKITI. What good will that do to me? SATNI. You will be content with yourself. SOKITI. I would rather have the bracelet-- SATNI. It is only by refraining from doing one another harm that mankindmay hope to gain happiness; nay more, only by lending one another aid. Do you understand? SOKITI [_gloomily_] Yes. SATNI. And you, and you-- NOURM AND BITIOU [_in different tones_] Yes, yes. STEWARD [_to Sokiti_] Repeat it then. SOKITI. If men did not steal bracelets-- STEWARD. Well? SOKITI. Bracelets--[_He laughs_]. SATNI [_to Nourm_] And you? NOURM. He was wrong to take the bracelet. SATNI. Why? NOURM. Because you are not pleased. SATNI. No, no, 'tis not for that. SOKITI. I was not wrong-- NOURM. Yes! wait! I understand--If you steal, another may steal fromyou. Likewise if you kill-- SATNI. Right. And why is it necessary to be good? NOURM. Wait [_To Sokiti_] If you do good to one whom you know not, another who knows you not, may do good to you. STEWARD. Ah!--Do you understand, Sokiti? SOKITI. I think so. SATNI. Explain. SOKITI [_after a great effort_] You do not want us to steal braceletsfrom you-- SATNI. I do not want you to steal from any one--Do you understand? SOKITI. No. STEWARD [_to Bitiou, who listens open-mouthed_] And you? BITIOU. I--I have a pain in my head-- _Satni comes to the Steward. Bitiou and Sokiti slip off. _ STEWARD. Look at them-- SATNI. The tree that was bent from its birth, not in one day can youmake it straight? STEWARD. We must leave it what it is, or tear it down? SATNI. No, we must seek patiently to straighten it. [_With feeling_] Andabove all we must keep straight those that are young. _Cries are heard outside. _ STEWARD. What cries are those? SATNI. Women in distress. _Yaouma enters, leading Mieris. Both are agitated. _ YAOUMA. Come, mistress--come--We are at the house of the potter, thefather of Satni--Satni help--quick! quick! Run! your father, Satni! SATNI. Mieris, Yaouma, how come you here? YAOUMA. They will tell you--go! MIERIS. Fly to the rescue, he is wounded!--I have sent to the palace forthose who drive out the evil spirits. YAOUMA. We were set upon by some men. MIERIS. He defended us--But they will kill him--go! _Satni and the Steward seize some arms left by Nourm and run out. _ MIERIS. Yaouma! He is wounded! Wounded in saving us-- YAOUMA. Alas! MIERIS [_listening_] Who is there? NOURM. I, mistress. MIERIS. Nourm! Run to the palace, bid them send hither those who driveforth the evil spirits-- YAOUMA. Alas! mistress, I do fear--already he has fallen--struck toearth. MIERIS. They will save him, they will bear him hither-- YAOUMA. Will they bear him hither alive? MIERIS [_to Nourm_] Run!--You hear!--Run to the palace, bid those whoassist at the last hour be ready to come. If he have died defending us, the same honors shall be paid him as though ourselves were dead! Go![_Nourm goes out. A pause_] Now, Yaouma, lead me out upon the road tothe Nile. YAOUMA. Mistress, you seek to die? Many then must be your sorrows! MIERIS. Alas! Alas! Why did you discover my flight? Why did you seek me, find me, and bring me back-- YAOUMA. Had I not guessed your purpose? MIERIS. What have I left to live for? YAOUMA. You have lived all these years in spite of your affliction, whatis there that is changed? MIERIS. What is there that is changed! You ask me what is changed! Untilnow I lived in the hope of a miracle. YAOUMA. Perhaps it would never have come. MIERIS. Even at my last hour I should have still looked for it. YAOUMA. Then you would have died believing in a lie--if what they say betrue. MIERIS. What matter, I had smiled as I died, thinking death but thejourney to a land where my lost child was waiting for me. The death of achild! No mother ever can believe, at heart, in that. It is toounjust--too cruel to be possible. One says to oneself: it is but aseparation! Oh! Satni, thy doctrines may be the truth. But they declarethis separation eternal; they make the death of our loved ones final, irreparable, horrible, therefore I foretell thee this: Women will neverbelieve them! What is there that is changed?--Yesterday, children cameplaying close to us. You know how their cries and laughter made meglad--the voice of one of them was like the voice of mine. I made himcome, I put out my hand, in the old way. I felt, at the old height, tossed hair, and the warmth of a living body. And I did not weep, but myvoice spoke in my heart and said: "Little child, thy years are as manyas his, whom she-who-loves-the-silence took from me. But in Amenti, where he is, in the island of souls, he is happier than thou, for he issafe from all the ills that threaten thee. He is happier than thou. Helives beneath a sun of gold, amid flowers of strange beauty, andperfumed baths refresh him. And when she-who-loves-the-silence takes mein my turn, _I shall see him, I shall see him_ for the first time--andI shall fondle him as I fondle thee, and none, then, may put us asunder. Go, little child, the happy ones are not on this side of the earth!" Nowhave I lost the hope of a better life before death, and the hope of abetter life beyond as well. If you took both crutches from a cripple, hewould fall. Only this twofold hope sustained me. They have taken it fromme. And so, it is the end, it is the end--'tis as though I were fallenfrom a height, I am broken, I have no strength left to bear with life: Itell you, it is the end, it is the end! YAOUMA [_with intense fervor_] Mistress, they speak not the truth! MIERIS. Our gods, did they exist, would already have taken vengeance. YAOUMA. Before the outrage, already, they had taken vengeance on you. MIERIS. Good Yaouma, you would give me back my faith, you who could notkeep your own. YAOUMA. Mistress, I lied to you; nothing is destroyed in me. MIERIS. You refuse to give yourself in sacrifice!--Oh, you are right.... YAOUMA. I do not refuse. MIERIS. You do not? YAOUMA. No. Know you how I learned, a while ago, that you were gone? MIERIS. How? YAOUMA. I, too, was seeking to escape. MIERIS. You? YAOUMA. To go to the temple, to place myself in hands of the priests, togive to Ammon the victim he has chosen. MIERIS. Do you believe in all these fables still? YAOUMA [_in a low voice_] Mistress, I have _seen_ Isis. MIERIS. Has one of her images been spared then? YAOUMA. It was not an image that I saw. It was Isis herself, thegoddess--I have _seen_ her. MIERIS. You--you have seen--what is it? I know not what you say--tosee--that word has no clear sense for me. YAOUMA. She has spoken to me-- MIERIS. You have heard her voice-- YAOUMA. I have heard her voice. MIERIS. How! How!--You were sleeping--'twas in a dream-- YAOUMA. I did not sleep. I did not dream. I saw her. I heard her. I wasalone, and I wept. A great sound filled me with terror. A great lightblinded me. Perfumes unknown ravished my senses. And I beheld thegoddess, more beauteous than a queen. Then all was gone-- MIERIS. But her voice-- YAOUMA. The next day she came again, she spoke to me, she called me byname and said to me: "Egypt will be saved by thee. " MIERIS. Why did you not speak of it? YAOUMA. I feared they would not believe me. MIERIS. Oh, Yaouma, how I envy you! If you but knew the ill they havedone me. They have half killed me, killing all the legends and all thememories that were mine. They made me blush at my simplicity. I feltshamed to have been so easily fooled by such gross make-believes. Andnow, what have I gained by this revelation? My soul is a house after theburning, black, ruined, empty. Nothing is left but ruins, ruins onemight laugh at. [_In tears_] I am parched with thirst, I hunger, Itremble with cold. They have made my soul blind, too. I cry out forhelp, for consolation. Oh! for a lie, some other lie, to replace the onethey have taken away from me! YAOUMA. Why ask a lie? Why not forget what they have said. Why notrecall what you learned at your mother's knee--Why not, yourself, set upin your heart again, those images which they threw down-- MIERIS. Yes! Yes! I will do it. They have awakened my reason, and killedmy faith. I shall kill my reason, to revive our gods. Though I no longerbelieve, I shall do the actions of believers--and, if my god be false, Ishall believe so firmly in him that I shall make him true!--Yes, thelowest, the most senseless superstitions, I venerate them, I exalt--Iglory in them! The ugliest, the most deformed, the most unreal of ourgods, I adore them, and I bow down before their impossibility. [_Shekneels_] Oh, I stifle in their petty narrow world, sad as a forestwithout birds! Air! Air! Singing! The sound of wings! Things that fly! YAOUMA [_kneeling_] Let me be sacrificed! MIERIS. Let me have a reason for living! YAOUMA. I would give my life to the gods who gave me birth! MIERIS. I would believe that there is some one above men! YAOUMA. Some one who watches over us! MIERIS. Who will console as with his justice! YAOUMA. Some one to cry our sorrows to! MIERIS. Yes, some one to pray to, and to thank! YAOUMA [_sobbing_] Oh! the pity of it, to feel we were abandoned! MIERIS [_throwing herself in Yaouma's arms_] I would not be abandoned! YAOUMA. We are not! Gods! Gods! MIERIS. Gods! We need gods! There are too many sorrows, it is notpossible this earth should groan as it groans beneath a pitilessheaven--Ammon, reveal thyself. YAOUMA. Isis, show thyself! Have pity! [_A pause. Then in ahushed voice_] Mistress, I think she is going to appear to meagain!--Isis!--mistress--do you hear-- MIERIS [_listening_] I hear nothing. YAOUMA. Singing--the sound of harps--'tis she-- MIERIS. I do not hear-- YAOUMA. She speaks! Yes--goddess! MIERIS. Do you see her? YAOUMA [_in ecstasy_] I see her! She is bending down above us-- MIERIS. O goddess!-- YAOUMA. She is gone--Mistress, you could not see her, but did you hearthe sound of her feet? MIERIS. Yes, I believe I heard it--I believe and I am comforted. YAOUMA. I am happy! To the temple! She beckoned me! To the temple! Come! _They go up. Rheou meets them and leads them away. Satni enters with some men bearing Pakh, who is wounded. Kirjipa almost swooning follows, supported by some women who lead her into the house. The Exorcist, who with his two assistants follows Pakh, takes some clay from a coffer carried by one of his men, shapes it into a ball, and begins, then, the incantation. _ EXORCIST. Pakh! Son of Ritii! Through thy wound an evil spirit hasentered thee. I am about to speak the words that shall drive him out:"The virtues of him who lies there, and who suffers, are the virtues ofthe father of the gods. The virtues of his brow are the virtues of thebrow of Thoumen. The virtues of his eye are the virtues of the eye ofHorus, who destroys all creatures. " _A pause. _ PAKH. Begone! EXORCIST. His upper lip is Isis. His lower lip is Neptes, his neck isthe goddess, his teeth are swords, his flesh is Osiris, his hands aredivine souls, his fingers are blue serpents, snakes, sons of thegoddess Sekhet-- PAKH. Begone! I no longer believe in your power! EXORCIST [_taking a doll from the coffer_] Horus is there! Ra is there!Let them cry to the chiefs of Heliopolis-- PAKH. Have done! _He knocks down the doll which the Exorcist holds over him. The music stops suddenly. _ EXORCIST. The evil spirits are strongest in him. He will die. Only hisson has the right to be with him at death. _All go out save Pakh and Satni. _ SATNI. My father-- PAKH. You are there, my son--'tis well--I am glad--that that maker ofspells is gone. [_Simply_] Heal me. SATNI. Yes, father, you shall be healed. But you must have patience. PAKH [_simply_] Heal me, now, at once. SATNI. I cannot. PAKH. Why do you not want to heal me?--See you not that I am wounded--Isuffer--come, give me ease-- SATNI. I would give all, that it were in my power to do so. PAKH. You know prayers that our priests know not-- SATNI. I know no prayers. PAKH [_in anguish_] You are not going to let me die? SATNI. You will not die--have confidence. PAKH. Confidence? In what? [_A pause_] You cannot heal me? SATNI. I cannot. PAKH. All your knowledge, then, is but knowledge of how to destroy--Myson!--I pray you--my blood goes out with my life--I do not want to die!I pray you--give me your hand. I seem to be sinking into night--hold meback--you will not let me die--your father! I am your father. I gave youlife--hold me back--all grows dim around me--But at least dosomething--speak--say the incantations--[_He raises himself_] No! No! Irefuse to die! I am not old. [_Strongly_] I will not! I will not! Do notlet go my hand! I would live, live--All my life, I have worked, I havesorrowed, I have suffered--Satni--will you let me go before I share thepeace and happiness you promised-- SATNI. Oh! My father! PAKH. You weep--I am lost, then--Yes--I have seen it in your eyes. Andthe silence deepens around me. To die--to die--[_A long pause_] Andafter? [_Pause_] And so this is a poor man's life! Work from childhood, blows. Then work, always, without profit. Only for bread. And stillwork. For others. Not one pleasure. We die. And 'tis finished! You cameback to teach me that--Work--blows--misery--the end. [_A silence_] Whatdid you come here to do? Is that your work? [_Strongly_] Satni, Satni!Give me back my faith! I want it! Ah! Why were you born a destroyer? Isthat your truth? You are evil--you were able to prove that all wasfalse. Prove to me now that you lied! I demand it! Give me back myfaith, give me back the simple mind that will comfort me. SATNI. Do not despair-- PAKH. I despair because the happy fields do not exist-- SATNI. Yes, father, yes, they exist-- PAKH. You lied, then! SATNI. I lied. PAKH. They exist--and if I die-- SATNI. If you die, you will go to Osiris, you will become Osiris. PAKH. It is not true. 'Tis now you lie--There is no Osiris! There is noOsiris! Nothing! there is nothing--but life. I curse you, you who taughtme that [_He almost falls from his litter, Satni reverently lifts himup_] Ah! accursed! Accursed! I die in hate, in rage, in fear. Bad son!Bad man! I curse you, come near. [_Seizing him by the throat_] Oh! If Iwere strong enough!--I would my nails might pierce your throat--Ah! Ah!accursed [_He lets him go_] All my life lost! All my sufferinguseless!--Forever--Never! Never! shall I know--Pity! [_He holds out hisarms to Satni and falls dead_]. SATNI [_horror-stricken_] He is dead!--[_He lifts him reverently andlays him on the litter_] Father! For me, too, at this moment there wouldhave been comfort in a lie-- _He weeps, kneeling by the body with his arms stretched over it. Kirjipa appears at the door of the house. She comes near, then standing upright cries out to the four points of the horizon, tearing her hair. _ KIRJIPA. The master is dead! The master is dead! The master is dead! Themaster is dead! _The five mourners appear outside, Delethi, Nazit, Hanou, Zaya, and Nagaou. _ KIRJIPA [_with cries that are calls_] The master is dead! The master isdead! MOURNERS [_entering_] The master is dead! The master is dead! _Music till the end of the scene. _ KIRJIPA. O my father! MOURNERS [_louder and in a chant_] O my master! O my father! KIRJIPA. O my beloved! MOURNERS. The she-wolf, death; the she-wolf, death; the she-wolf, death, has taken him! _They rush at the body, kissing it with piercing cries. They beat their breasts, uttering long cries, after silent pauses. Kirjipa and another woman dance a hieratic dance, their feet gliding slowly over the ground. They bend to gather handfuls of earth, which they scatter on their heads as they dance. The cries are redoubled. _ KIRJIPA [_after bowing before the corpse_] Go in peace towards Abydos!Go in peace towards Osiris! ALL. Towards Abydos! Towards Osiris! To the West, thou who wast the bestof men! KIRJIPA. If it please the gods, when the day of eternity comes, we shallsee thee, for behold thou goest towards the earth that mixeth men. ALL. Towards Abydos! Towards Osiris! _They make believe to bear away the corpse; ritual movements. _ KIRJIPA. O my husband! O my brother! O my beloved! Stay, live in thyplace. Pass not away from the earthly spot where thou art! Leave him!Leave him! Wherefore are ye come to take him who abandons me. MOURNERS [_in a fury of despair_] Groans! Groans! Tears! Sobs! Sobs!Make, make lamentation without end, with all the strength that is givenyou. _The music stops. _ KIRJIPA [_to the corpse_] Despair not. Thy son is there! _They point to Satni. _ ALL. Despair not. Thy son is there! DELETHI. When I have spoken, and after me Hanou, and after her Nazit, thy son will speak the magic words, whose power shall make thee go evenunto Osiris, before the two and forty judges. They shall place thy heartin the balance, and thou shalt say: "I have done wrong to no man, I havedone nothing that is abominable in the sight of the gods. " SATNI [_to himself_] No, I will not speak the magic words. _The music begins again. _ ALL. Despair not! Thy son is there! HANOU. Despair not, thy son is there. When I have spoken and after meNazit, thy son will say the magic prayers whose power shall bring theeeven unto Osiris, and thou shalt say: "I have starved none, I have madenone weep, I have not killed, I have not robbed the goods of thetemples. " SATNI [_to himself_] No, I will say no useless words. ALL. Despair not! Thy son is there! NAZIT. Despair not! Thy son is there! When I have spoken he will say thesacred words whose power shall bring thee even unto Osiris and thoushalt say: "I did not filch the fillets from the mummies, I did not usefalse weights, I did not snare the sacred birds. I am pure--" ALL. I am pure! I am pure!-- KIRJIPA [_continuing_] Give to me what is my due, to me who am pure. Give me all that heaven gives, all that the earth brings forth, all thatthe Nile bears down from its mysterious springs. Despair not! Thy son isthere! Thy son will say the sacred words! _A pause. All look at Satni. _ SATNI. No, I will not say words that are lies! _General consternation. Kirjipa comes to him and lays her hands on his shoulders. _ KIRJIPA. Speak the sacred words! SATNI. No! KIRJIPA. Accursed! _She falls in a swoon. The women press round her. Satni bursts into sobs. _ CURTAIN ACT IV SCENE:--_The interior of a temple. _ _Columns, huge as towers and covered with hieroglyphics. On the left the Sanctuary; in the foreground in a little nook, invisible to the faithful, but visible to the audience is installed the machinery for the miracle, a lever, and ropes. Against the central pillar two thrones, one magnificent, that of the Pharaoh; the other simple, that of the High Priest. _ _The Pharaoh, the High Priest, an officer, an old man, and six priests discovered. When the curtain rises all are seated, the priests on little chairs between the two thrones. _ THE OFFICER [_prostrated before the Pharaoh_] Pharaoh! may Ammon-Rapreserve thy life in health and strength! THE PHARAOH. [_with fury_] My orders! My orders! THE OFFICER. Lord of the two Egypts, friend of Ra, favorite of Mentu, may Ammon-- THE PHARAOH. Enough! my orders! THE OFFICER. I would have died-- THE PHARAOH. The wish shall be granted, be assured, and soon! My orders!Dog, why did you not carry out my orders? THE OFFICER. Satni-- THE PHARAOH. Satni! Yes, Satni, the impostor! Where is he? THE OFFICER. Pharaoh--may Ammon, Soukou Ra, Horus-- THE PHARAOH. I will have you whipped till your blood run--Satni! Whereis Satni! I sent you to seize him! Where is he? THE OFFICER. No one knows. THE PHARAOH. Scoundrel! You are his accomplice! THE OFFICER. O Ammon! THE PHARAOH. Did you go to the house of his father, to Rheou? THE OFFICER. We searched them in vain. THE PHARAOH. He has taken flight, then? THE OFFICER. I know not. THE PHARAOH. You are a traitor! You shall die! Take him out! And youothers, hear the commands of the High Priest and begone. HIGH PRIEST. Let each fulfil the mission he is charged with. Let theyoung priests mix with the crowd, the moment it enters the Temple. Letthem excite the people's fervor, that as many prodigies as possible maybe won from the goddess. Now when you are gone the stones that screenthe sanctuary will roll away before the Pharaoh and the High Priest;and, first by right, they shall behold the goddess face to face. Humblyprostrated we shall speak to her the mysterious words that other menhave never heard. Bow down before the Pharaoh, may he live in health andstrength [_All kneel and remain with their faces on the ground duringwhat follows, save an old man whom the High Priest calls to his side bya sign; and to whom he says in low tones_] Let the man Satni be takenfrom the crypt where he is imprisoned [_The old man bows_] When I givethe signal let them bring him here. While the Pharaoh goes in processionthrough the town let them do what I have told you [_The old man bows_][_To the others_] Rise! [_To the Pharaoh_] Son of Ammon-Ra, bow downbefore him who represents the god. [_The Pharaoh rises and after aslight hesitation bows down before the High Priest_] Withdraw, we wouldpray. [_Motionless the High Priest and the Pharaoh wait till the last ofthe assistants are gone_]. THE PHARAOH [_giving up his hieratic pose, angrily_] I would all theflies of Egypt might eat thy tongue. HIGH PRIEST [_without feeling_] The flies of Egypt are too many and mytongue is too small, for your wish to be realized, Pharaoh. THE PHARAOH. This is the result of my weakness! HIGH PRIEST [_with flattering unction_] The Pharaoh, Son ofAmmon-Ra--Lord of the two Egypts--Friend of Ra-- THE PHARAOH. Enough! Enough! We are alone. There are none whom yourwords may deceive. And your mock-reverence fools not me. You would notlet me put Satni to death, your subtleties confused my mind, I gave into you, and now Satni escapes us. HIGH PRIEST. You should not let anger master you for that. THE PHARAOH. Satni has foretold to thousands of ears that there will beno miracle. HIGH PRIEST. The miracle will be. THE PHARAOH. Who knows that? HIGH PRIEST. I. THE PHARAOH. Satni has declared he will enter the temple-- HIGH PRIEST. 'Tis possible. THE PHARAOH. He has declared he knows the secret recess, whence one ofyour priests makes the head of the image move. HIGH PRIEST. Most like he speaks the truth. THE PHARAOH. He declares the miracle will not take place. If the peoplesuffer this disappointment, tell me what chance can there be for the warof conquest I would wage in Ethiopia? HIGH PRIEST. Why wage a war of conquest in Ethiopia? THE PHARAOH. I need gold. I need women. I need slaves. There will be ashare of the spoil for your temple. HIGH PRIEST. I like not bloodshed. THE PHARAOH. The treasury is empty. Our whippings are useless now. Ourblows no longer bring forth taxes. If the people lose confidence in thegods, what will happen to-morrow? Who will follow me, unless theybelieve the gods confirm my orders? HIGH PRIEST. Satni will not prevent the miracle. THE PHARAOH. What do you know of it? HIGH PRIEST. I know. THE PHARAOH. Is Satni dead? HIGH PRIEST. He lives. THE PHARAOH [_suddenly guessing_] You are hiding him! HIGH PRIEST. Yes. THE PHARAOH. You knew I was about to rid me of him, and you took him toprevent me? HIGH PRIEST. Yes. THE PHARAOH. What do you intend? HIGH PRIEST. It shall be done with him as I wish, not as you wish. THE PHARAOH. His crime is a crime against Egypt. HIGH PRIEST. A crime against me. That is still more grave. Therefore besatisfied. THE PHARAOH. Why then all these ceremonies before you kill him? HIGH PRIEST. That all may know his faults. THE PHARAOH. Satni was one of yours, and you defend him. HIGH PRIEST. We must not make martyrs--if we can avoid it. In killingSatni you would have killed only a man. If what I dream succeed, Ishall kill his work. That is a better thing. THE PHARAOH. What will you make of him? HIGH PRIEST. A priest. THE PHARAOH. A priest? HIGH PRIEST. He was initiated before he went away. He was then a youngman, pious and wise. On his travels he lost some piety, and gained somewisdom. THE PHARAOH. Have I not always said: "it is not good to travel. " HIGH PRIEST. I think like you. Travellers learn too much. Yet am Ihopeful. I shall bring him back to our gods. THE PHARAOH. You will fail. HIGH PRIEST. He who for long has breathed the air of temples can neverwholly clear his breast of it. If he give way, he shall never leave thehouse of the Gods again, if he be still rebellious, he shall leave to goto his death. THE PHARAOH. I order you to give Satni up to me. HIGH PRIEST. I would I might bow to your will. But he is a priest: hislife is sacred. And I may not transgress the orders given me by theGods. THE PHARAOH. Prate not of these follies to me--do you take me for one ofyour priests? Obey! I command you! HIGH PRIEST. Do you take me for one of your soldiers? THE PHARAOH. I command it. HIGH PRIEST. The gods forbid. THE PHARAOH. I laugh at your gods. HIGH PRIEST. Beware lest your people hear. THE PHARAOH. I would be master, in truth. And more, I refuse to submitto the humiliation that again you put on me a while ago. HIGH PRIEST. How should that humiliate you? Before you, the highest bowdown. THE PHARAOH. Yes. And straightway, then, I must bow me down before you. HIGH PRIEST. You salute, not me, but the god whom I represent. THE PHARAOH. I pay homage to the god, it is the priest who receives it. HIGH PRIEST [_faintly smiling_] Rest assured! I pass it on to him. THE PHARAOH. And you mock me, besides! Oh! if I but dared to kill you, hypocrite! HIGH PRIEST. Vain man! THE PHARAOH. You tremble at sight of a sword, coward! HIGH PRIEST. Being a butcher, you know only how to kill. THE PHARAOH. Liar! HIGH PRIEST. Who made you Pharaoh? THE PHARAOH. Beware lest one day I have you thrown to my lions! HIGH PRIEST. Beware lest one day I strike the crown of the two Egyptsfrom your head, telling the people the god has set his face against you![_A pause_] Come, we must work together. We complete each other. Togovern men, we have both the reality of the evils you inflict on them, and the hope of the good I promise them. Believe me, we must worktogether. The day that one of us disappears, the fate of the other willbe in jeopardy--I perceive they make sign to me. They think our prayersare long and fervent. The hour is come for you to receive theacclamation of your people, and follow them to the shrine of Isis--whenSatni will not prevent the miracle, I pledge my word to that. _The cortége comes on and goes out with Pharaoh. Satni is led before the High Priest. _ HIGH PRIEST. You know me again! SATNI [_troubled_] Yes, you are the High Priest. HIGH PRIEST [_with sweet gentleness_] I, too, I know you again. Yourfather is a potter. You were brought up and taught by us. In the crowdof neophytes I singled you out by your gentleness, your greatintelligence; and I saw you destined for the highest dignities. Iesteemed you, I was fond of you. We took you from wretchedness. What youknow, for the most part, you owe to us. This thing that you have doneshould anger me--I am only sad, my son. [_A pause_] You are troubled. SATNI. Yes, I looked for threats, for torture. The kindness of yourvoice unmans me. HIGH PRIEST. Be not distressed. Forget who I am. None hear us. Let ustalk together as father and son. Or better, since your learning makesyou worthy, as two men. You have proclaimed broadcast that the miraclewill not come to pass. SATNI. The goddess is stone. Stone does not move itself. The image willnot bow its head unless man intervene. HIGH PRIEST. That is evident. SATNI. You admit it? HIGH PRIEST. To you, yes. We give to each one the faith he deserves. Hadyou remained with us, at each step in the priesthood you would havebeheld the gods rise with you, become more immaterial, more noble, asyou became more learned. We give to the people the gods they canunderstand. Our god is different. He is the one who exists in essence. The one who lives in substance, the sole procreator who was notengendered, the father of the fathers, the mother of mothers. The oneand only. And we crave his pardon for belittling him by miracles. Butthey are part of that faith which alone contents the simple-minded. Youare above them--I admit freely that the miracle could be prevented. Youdeclared it would not take place--you have found the means to make itimpossible? SATNI [_suspecting the trap_] I said that, left to herself, the goddesswould not move. HIGH PRIEST. To say only that, would not have served you. You intendedto prevent the miracle. Come, admit it--it is so. SATNI. Perhaps. HIGH PRIEST. By seizing you, I prevent your committing the sacrilege. Your purpose will not be realized. In an hour the festival of theProdigy will take place, and you are my prisoner. It follows then, themiracle will be performed--you believe that, do you not? SATNI [_after a pause_] Yes, I believe it. HIGH PRIEST. And so your cause is lost. [_A pause_] Listen to me; thepriests who have taken their final vows are as wise and as littlecredulous as you. I offer you a place among them. Return to us. A littlewisdom banishes the gods--great wisdom brings them back. SATNI. I refuse. HIGH PRIEST. My son, my son, you will not cause me this sorrow. Thinkwhat you will drive me to, if you refuse--Satni, do not force me to sendyou before the tribunal, whose sentence must be death. Death, for you, so young, whose future is so bright! SATNI. I do not fear death. HIGH PRIEST. Besides--I mind me--you were betrothed to that littleYaouma whom the god has chosen as victim. You know she may be saved fromthe sacrifice, if she become the wife of a priest. They guarded her butill at Rheou's house, she is here. I have seen her; she is kind andgentle, and you would lead a happy life with her. SATNI. Yaouma! Yaouma! [_He hides his face_] HIGH PRIEST [_laying a hand on his shoulder_] So that on one side isYaouma's death and yours; on the other, happiness with her--and power. Say nothing. I speak as a father might, you can see. I say besides, thatyou will better serve the crowd in leaving them their gods. I wish toconvince you of it, and you will stay with us--weep no more. You willstay, will you not? Wait! Hear me, before you answer. You seek happinessfor the lower orders? There is no happiness for them without religion. Already you have seen what they become, when it is taken from them. Theriots of yesterday cost your father his life. He suffered much, theytell me. Is it true? I do not know the details. You saw him die, did younot? Tell me how it happened. SATNI. Ah! I was right. It was in truth torture that awaited me here. You have guessed you would gain nothing racking my body--you keep yourtorments for my heart. HIGH PRIEST. Have I said other than what is true? The conversions thatyour preaching made were followed by disorders--was it not then thatyour father was wounded? I knew him. He was a man, simple and good. Youare the cause of his death, as you will be the cause of Yaouma's. SATNI. Peace! You would have my sorrows crush my will! HIGH PRIEST. I shall speak of them no more. But think of the people ofEgypt, what evils you would bring on them! If you take away theirreligion, what will keep them virtuous? SATNI. What you call their virtue, is only their submission. HIGH PRIEST. You let loose their vilest instincts, if you remove thefear of the gods. SATNI. The fear of the gods has prevented fewer crimes than were neededto create it. HIGH PRIEST. Be it so. But it exists. SATNI. It is your interest to spread the belief, that the fear of thegods is a restraint. And you know that it is not. You do not leave thepunishment of crime to the gods. You have the lash, hard labor in themines; you have scaffolds, you have executioners. No one believessincerely in the happy life beyond the grave. If we believed, we shouldkill ourselves, the sooner to reach the Island of the Souls, the fieldsof Yalou. HIGH PRIEST. By what then are the appetites restrained? SATNI. By the laws, by the need of the esteem of others-- HIGH PRIEST. We have just seen that, in sooth. So then it was virtuethat the people showed yesterday, after you made them break their gods?They seemed to care little for the esteem of others, for they stole, they pillaged, they killed. Do you approve of that? Have they gainedyour esteem, those who have done what they have done? SATNI. Oh, I know! I know! That is your strongest argument. Creaturesdegraded by centuries of slavery, drunk with the first hours of freedom, commit crimes. You argue from this, that they were meant for slaves. Yes, it is true that if you take a child from the leading strings thatupheld it, the child falls down. But you who watch over it, you rejoiceat the fall, for then you can assert that the child must go back to itsleading strings--and be kept in them till death. HIGH PRIEST. Then you declare that all supports must be suppressed? [_Apause_] Religion is a prop. It soothes--consoles. He does evil whodisturbs it. SATNI. Many religions died before ours. The passing of each caused thesorrows you foresee. Should we then have kept the first, to prevent somesuffering? HIGH PRIEST. Ours is yet young, though so old; look in the halls of ourtemples, behold the countless thank-offerings brought there for prayersthat were granted. SATNI. Your temples could not hold the offerings, unthinkable in number, that those whose prayers were not granted might have made, and who nonethe less prayed as well as the others. HIGH PRIEST. Even unanswered their prayers were recompensed. They hadhope, and it is likewise a boon to the poor to promise them welfare inthe world to come. SATNI. You promise them welfare in the world to come, to make themforget that all the welfare in this world is yours. HIGH PRIEST. Can you give happiness to all who are on earth? We are moregenerous than you; at least we give them consolation. SATNI. You make them pay dear for it. HIGH PRIEST. In truth the granaries of our temples are full tooverflowing. Left to themselves, the people would not think of the leanyears, in the years of abundance. We think for them, and they bring us, gladly, what they would refuse did they not believe they gave to thegods. We proclaim the Nile sacred; it is forbidden to sully its waters. Is that to honor it as a god? Not so, it is to avoid the plague. And allthe animals we deified are those man has need of. You did not learn allthings on your travels-- SATNI. You would have the peasant remain a child, because you fear thereckoning he would demand of you, if you let him grow up. You know youcould not stay him then by showing him the god-jackal, the god-ram, thegod-bull, and the rest that do not exist. HIGH PRIEST. Are you certain they do not exist? SATNI. Yes. HIGH PRIEST. Know you where you are? SATNI. In the temple. HIGH PRIEST. In the temple; where you were brought up. There was a timewhen you dared not have crossed the first sacred enclosure. You are inthe third. Look round! There is the holy of holies. At my will thestones that mask the entrance will roll back, and the goddess will beunveiled. Except the High Priest and the Pharaoh, no mortal, if he benot priest himself, may look on her and live--save at the hour of theannual Festival of Prodigies, which is upon us now. Do you believe thatyou can endure to be alone in her presence? SATNI. I do believe it. HIGH PRIEST. We shall see. If you be afraid, call and prostrateyourself. Afterwards you shall go and tell what you have seen, to thosewhom you deceived. _The High Priest makes a sign. Total darkness. A peal of thunder. _ SATNI. Ah! [_Terrified, he leaps forward. A faint light returns slowly, the temple is empty_] I am alone! [_He is terrified, standing erectagainst a pillar facing the audience_] Alone in the temple, within sightof the goddess almost. I know 'tis but an image--yet am I steeped interror, even to the marrow of my bones. [_He utters an agonized cry_]Ah!--I thought I beheld in the darkness--No--I know that there isnothing--Oh! coward nature! Because I was cradled amid tales ofreligion, because I grew up in the fear of the gods, because my fatherand my father's father, and all those from whom I come, were crushed bythis terror even from the blackest night of time, I tremble, and myreason totters. All this is false, I know--the god obeys the priest. Yet, from these towering columns, horror and mystery descend uponme--[_A thunder clap brings him to his knees. The stones that mask theentrance to the sanctuary roll slowly back. He tries to look_] The holyof holies opens--I am afraid--I am afraid--[_He mutters words, wipes thesweat from his brow with his hand. He trembles and falls sobbing to theground. A long pause_] 'Tis the beast in me that is afraid--Ah! cowardflesh! [_Biting his hands_] I shall conquer thee--I would chastise myweakness. I am shamed--I am shamed--In spite of all I will look her inthe face. I have the will! but I must fight against so many memories, against all the dead whose spirits stir in mine. I shall conquer thedead. My life, and my will--courage! _With great effort and after many struggles he gains the mastery of himself, goes to the shrine and looks upon the goddess. The High Priest reappears touching him on the shoulder. _ HIGH PRIEST. Terror does not move you. Let us see if you be proofagainst pity. Come--[_He leads him to the side of the shrine, presses aspring and a door opens, revealing in the interior of the shrine themachinery of the miracle, a lever and cordage_] Look! 'Tis by pressingthis lever that one of ours, in a little while, will bring about themiracle. I leave you in his place. At my signal the doors of the sacredenclosure will open, and the people draw near the sanctuary. Listen tothem. And if you are moved to pity by their prayers, you--_you_ shallgive them the consoling lie for which they pray. SATNI. There will be no miracle. HIGH PRIEST. Watch and hear. [_He leaves Satni, who remains visible tothe audience. The stones roll back over the shrine. The High Priestmakes a sign, other priests appear_] All is ready? A PRIEST. All. HIGH PRIEST [_to another_] Listen. _He whispers to him. The Priest bows and goes out. While the crowd comes in later, this priest is seen to enter the hiding-place right, where he stands watching Satni, dagger in hand. _ HIGH PRIEST. Now, let them come in. _He makes a gesture and all disappear. A pitiable crowd bursts into the temple, bustling, running, filling all the empty spaces. Four men carry a litter on which is a beautiful young woman clothed in precious stuffs. Mieris, Yaouma, and all the characters of the play come on. _ YOUNG WOMAN. Nearer, lay me nearer the goddess! She will drive forth theevil spirit that will not let me move my legs. _Cripples, people on crutches, creatures with hands or feet wrapped in bandages crowd past her. _ A BLIND GIRL [_to him who leads her_] When the stone rolls back and thegoddess appears, watch well her face, to tell me if she will not give meback my sight. _A paralytic drags himself in on his hands. _ THE PARALYTIC. I would be quite near, quite near! In a little while Ishall walk. _Two sons lead in their mother, who is mad, striving to calm her. A mother, with her child in her arms, begs the crowd to let her get near. A man, whose head is bandaged, and whose eyes and mouth are mere holes, hustles his neighbors. Many blind, and people borne on chairs. _ A WOMAN. She will speak, she will say "yes. " She will reveal herselfagain as protectress of Egypt. ANOTHER. They say not. They say that great calamities are in store forus. ANOTHER. If she answer not? ANOTHER. Silence! _Music. The Pharaoh's procession enters. He is conducted down left where he remains invisible to the spectators. The High Priest mounts his throne. The people prostrate themselves. _ HIGH PRIEST. Ammon is great! _A pause. _ THE PEOPLE. Ammon is great! HIGH PRIEST. The sanctuary is about to open. VOICES. The stones will roll back! I am afraid! The goddess will appear!We shall behold her! Hush! Hush! _The High Priest lifts his hands to heaven. _ A PRIEST [_in the recess, to some men ready to work the ropes, in a lowvoice_] Now! _The men pull the ropes, the stones roll back. The crowd bow themselves flat on the ground. Those who cannot, hide their faces on their arms. _ HIGH PRIEST. Rise! Behold and pray! [_A smothered cry of terror rises, women mad with terror are seized with nervous fits. They are carriedout_] O goddess! Thy people adore thee, and humble themselves beforethee! ALL. Isis, we adore thee! HIGH PRIEST. This year, once more, show to us by that miraculous sign ofthy divine head, that still thou art our protectress. [_The peoplerepeat the incantation in a murmur_] O goddess, if thou hast pity onthose who suffer, thou wilt bend thy head. Pity! Pity! we suffer! Theevil spirits torment us. THE PEOPLE. We suffer! Drive forth the evil spirits! HIGH PRIEST. Neith! Mother of the Universe! The evil spirits torment us!Neith! Virgin genetrix! Isis, sacred earth of Egypt, bend thy head!Sati, queen of the heavens! Bend thy head! THE MOTHER. The soul of a dead man has entered the body of my child, OIsis! And he is dying. I hold him towards thee, Isis. Behold how he isfair, behold how he suffers. Look, he is so little. Let me keep him!Isis! Isis! Let me keep him! ALL. Pity! Pity! HIGH PRIEST. Show us that thou dost consent to hear us! Isis, bend thyhead! BLIND GIRL. Open my eyes! Ever since I was born a demon held themclosed. Let me see the skies of whose splendor they tell me. I amunhappy, Isis! He whom I love, he who loves me, I have not looked uponhis countenance! I am unhappy, Isis! ALL. Pity! Pity! HIGH PRIEST. Anouke! Soul of the Universe! Pity! We are before thee likelittle children who are lost. THE PEOPLE. Yes! Yes! like little children who are lost! THE SON. For my father who is blind, Isis, I implore thee! ALL. Isis! Father! Pity! HIGH PRIEST. Thmei, Queen of Justice! Mirror of truth! Bend thy head! THE YOUNG PARALYTIC. I have offered up ten lambs to thee. Let me get upand walk! THE MAN [_with the bandaged head_] An unseen monster devours my facemaking me howl with pain. PARALYZED MAN. I drag through the mire, like a beast unclean. Let mewalk upright like a god. THE TWO SONS [_of the mad woman_] Behold our mother, Isis, behold ourmother, who knows us no more, who knows not herself even, and wholaughs!-- THE MOTHER. Isis! Thou art a mother. Isis, in the name of thine ownchild, save mine. Let me not go with empty arms, bereft of my tenderburden. Thou art a mother, Isis! HIGH PRIEST. All! All! Pray! Supplicate! Fling you with your faces tothe ground--yes! yes! again! Silence! She is about to answer. [_A longpause_] Your prayers are lukewarm. Your supplications need fervor! Pray!Weep! Cry out! Cry out! ALL. Isis! Drive out the evil spirits! Answer us! Answer us! HIGH PRIEST. Louder! Louder! THE PEOPLE. Sorrows! Tears! Sobs! Cries! Have pity! HIGH PRIEST. Once more, though you die! THE PEOPLE. Thou dost abandon Egypt! What ills will overwhelm us! Help!Help us! Have pity! HIGH PRIEST. Have pity! Have pity! [_bursting into sobs_] Oh! unhappypeople, Isis, if thou dost abandon them. VOICES [_amid the sobs of the others_] She hears us not! She answersnot. Evil is upon us! Evil overwhelms us! HIGH PRIEST. Desperate! We are desperate! ALL. We are desperate! A CRY. Her head is bending! No! Yes! _Silence. Then a great cry of distress and disappointment. _ HIGH PRIEST. O mother! O goddess! THE MOTHER. O Isis! mother of Horus! the child god! Wilt thou let die mychild? Behold him! Behold him! YOUNG PARALYTIC. Thy heart is hard, O goddess! PARALYZED MAN. Thou hast but to will it, Isis, and I walk! THE MAN [_with the bandaged head_] Heal my sores! I sow horror aroundme! Heal my sores! HIGH PRIEST. Answer us! Bend thy head! ALL. Pity! _The crowd, delirious, cries and sobs in a paroxysm of despair. _ SATNI. Oh! the poor wretched souls! _He presses the lever. As the head of the statue bows, the people respond with one wild roar of acclamation. _ CURTAIN ACT V SCENE:--_Same as Acts I and II. _ _The statues of the gods are set up again, in their places, facing them a throne has been erected on which the High Priest is seated. Rheou, Satni, Mieris, Yaouma, Sokiti, Nourm, Bitiou, the Steward and all the women and servants of the household, and the laborers. When the curtain rises all are prostrate with their faces to the ground. _ HIGH PRIEST [_after a pause_] Rise! [_All rise to their knees. A pause_]The divine images are again in their places. You have shown that yourepent. You have begged for pardon. You have testified your horror ofthe terrible crime you were driven to commit. You await yourchastisement. The gods now permit that we proceed to the sacrifice, thatwill bring about the overflowing of the Nile, and give for yet anotheryear, life to the land of Egypt. She who has chosen, the elect, thesavior, is she here? YAOUMA [_rising to her feet, radiant_] I am here! HIGH PRIEST. Let her go to clothe her in the sacred robe. Form theprocession to bear her to the threshold of the abode of the glorious andthe immortal. YAOUMA. Come! _A number of the women rise and go out right with Yaouma. _ HIGH PRIEST. To-day, at the hour when Ammon-Ra came forth from theunderworld, I entered the sanctuary. Face to face with the god, I heardhis words, which now you shall hear from me. These are the commands ofthe God. Rheou! [_Rheou stands up_] You have been to make submission tothe Pharaoh--Light of Ra--you have implored his mercy. You have sworn onthe body of your father, to serve him faithfully, and you have giventhat body to him in pledge of your obedience. You have denounced to hisanger and justice those who conceived the impious plot to dethrone theLord of Egypt. You have declared that if you did permit the images ofthe gods to be thrown down before you, it was because the spells ofSatni had clouded your reason. Ammon has proclaimed to me that you aresincere! You are pardoned, on conditions which I shall presently impart. [_Rheou bows and kneels down_] Satni! [_Satni stands up. He casts downhis eyes, he is steeped in sorrow and shame_] Satni, you have admittedand proclaimed the power of the gods, whom you dared to deny. You havebowed you down before them. Once, in the temple, you took the firstpriestly vows; your life is therefore sacred. But you stand nowreproved. This very day you will quit Egypt. Withdraw from the Gods![_Satni, with eyes on the ground, withdraws, the people shrink aside tolet him pass, abusing him in whispers, shaking their fists, and someeven striking him. He goes to the terrace down left where he stands, hiding his face on his arm_] Ammon has spoken other words. [_The peopleturn from Satni_] All you who are here, you are guilty of the mostodious, the most monstrous of crimes. You are all deserving of death. Such is the decree of the God. ALL. O Ammon! Pity! Pity! Ammon! HIGH PRIEST. Cease your sobs! Cease your cries! Cease your uselessprayers! Hear the God who speaks through my mouth. ALL. Be kind! Thou! Thou! Have pity! Beseech the God for us, we implorethee! We would not die. Not death! not death! not death! HIGH PRIEST. Yes--I--I have pity on you. But your crime is so great!Have you considered well the enormity of your sin? None can remember tohave seen the like. The Gods! To overthrow the Gods! And such Gods!Ammon and Thoueris! I would I might disarm their wrath. But what shall Ioffer them in your name that may equal your offence? PEOPLE. All! Take all we possess, but spare our lives. HIGH PRIEST. All you possess! 'Tis little enough. PEOPLE. Take our crops. HIGH PRIEST. And who then will feed you? Already you pay tithes. I willoffer a fourth of your harvests for ten years. But 'tis little. Even didI say you would give half of all that is in your homes, should Isucceed? And would you give it me? PEOPLE. Yes! Yes! HIGH PRIEST. Still it will not be enough. Hear what the God hathbreathed to me. There must be prayers, ceaseless prayers in the temple. Every year ten of your daughters must enter the house of the God to beconsecrated. PEOPLE. Our daughters! Ammon! Our daughters! HIGH PRIEST. The God is good! The God is good! Lo! I hear him pronouncethe words of pardon. But further, you must needs assist the Pharaoh tocarry out the divine commands. Ammon wills that the Ethiopian infidelsbe chastised. All who are of an age to fight will join the army, that ison the eve of departure. PEOPLE [_in consternation_] Oh! the war! the war! HIGH PRIEST. Proud Ethiopia threatens invasion to Egypt. You must defendyour tombs, your homes, and your women. Would you become slaves of theblacks? PEOPLE. No, no, we would not! HIGH PRIEST. You will go to punish the foes of your kings? PEOPLE. We will go. HIGH PRIEST. And what will be your reward? Know you not that victorywill be yours, because the god is with you. And if some fall in battle, should we not all envy their fate, since they leave this world to gotowards Osiris. The arrows of your foes will fall harmless at your feet, like wounded birds. Their swords shall bend on your invulnerable bodies. The fire they light against you will become as perfumed water. All thisyou know to be true. You know that your gods protect you. You know theyare all-powerful, because, yesterday, you all did see how the stoneimage of the goddess Isis did bow, to show you she protects you. PEOPLE. To the war! To the war! To Ethiopia! SATNI [_leaping up to the terrace_] I have been coward too long! [_Tothe crowd_] The miracle of yesterday--'twas I--'twas I who worked it. _General uproar. _ HIGH PRIEST. I deliver this man to you, and I deliver you to him. Youwill not let him deceive you twice. _Execrations of the people, Satni cannot speak. The High Priest is borne out on his throne accompanied by Rheou. _ SATNI [_when the uproar subsides_] I was in the temple-- PEOPLE. That is a lie! SATNI. It was I who made the head of the image bow. PEOPLE. He blasphemes. Have done! Have done! Let him not blaspheme! SATNI. It was I! And I ask your forgiveness. A MAN. Why should you do it, if you despise our gods? SATNI. I did it out of pity. PEOPLE. We have no need of your pity. SATNI. That is true. You have need only of my courage. And I failed you. I was touched by your tears. I was weak, thinking to be kind. A MAN. You are not kind. You would have handed us over to foreign gods. PEOPLE. Yes! yes! that is true! SATNI. I gave you the lie that you begged for. I wanted to lull yoursorrows to sleep. A MAN. You have brought down on us the anger of the gods. ANOTHER. The evils that crush us, 'tis you have let them loose on us. ALL. Yes, yes! Liar! Curse you! Let him be accursed! SATNI. Curse me. You are right. I am guilty. I had not the strength topersevere; to lead you, in spite of your tears, to the summits I wouldlead you to. To still a few sobs, to give hope to some who werestricken, I worked the miracle; and, beholding that false miracle, youmade submission. I have confirmed, I have strengthened the empire of thelie. A MAN. 'Twas you who lied. SATNI. I have given back your minds, for another age, to slavery anddebasement. I have given back to the priests their power that wasendangered. I have given them means to increase your burdens, to takeyour daughters, to send you to a war, covetous, murderous, and unjust. A MAN. You are a spy from Ethiopia! ANOTHER. You are a traitor to your country! ALL. Yes! a traitor! Death to the traitor! SATNI. And to defend your tyrants, you will kill men as wretched asyourselves, dupes like you, and like you enslaved. A MAN. We know you are paid to betray Egypt! ALL. Yes, we know it! We know the price of your treason! ANOTHER. You would sell Egypt, and 'tis to weaken us you would overthrowour gods. ALL. Traitor! Traitor! SATNI. If I am a traitor, 'tis to my own cause! But a while ago I wasproud of my deed, thinking I had sacrificed myself to you. Alas! I onlysacrificed your future to my pity. I wept for you; to weep formisfortune--what is that but an easy escape from the duty of fightingits cause? I pitied you. Pity is but a weakness, a submission--Toperpetuate the falsehood of the miracle, and the life of atonement tocome is to drug misery to sleep. A MAN. Misery!--can you give us anything to cure it? _They laugh. _ SATNI. They have implanted in you, the belief that misery is immortal, invincible. By my falsehood, I too have seemed to admit this; and thus Ihave helped those, in whose interest it is that misery should last forever. A MAN. He insults the Pharaoh! ANOTHER. Do not insult our priests! SATNI. Had there been no miracle, you would have despaired--you wouldhave sorrowed. I ought to have faced that. I ought to have faced thedeath of a few, to save the future of all. We go forward only bydestroying. What matter blood and pain! Pain and blood--never a child isborn without them! I would-- _An angry outburst. _ A WOMAN. Kill him! Kill him! He says we must put our children to death! SATNI. All are glorious who preach new efforts-- PEOPLE. Death! Death to the traitor! SATNI. All are infamous who preach resignation-- PEOPLE. Enough! Kill him! Death! SATNI. It is in this world that the wretched must find their paradise, it is here that every one's good must be sought with a zeal that knowsno limit, save respect for the good of others. _A burst of laughter. _ PEOPLE. He is mad! He knows not what he says! He is mad! _Yaouma is borne on right on a litter carried by young girls. She is decked out like an idol; she stands erect, half in ecstasy. _ PEOPLE. Yaouma! The chosen of Ammon-Ra! Glory to her who goes to saveEgypt! _With jubilant cries the procession goes slowly towards the gates at the back, preceded and surrounded by musicians and dancers. _ SATNI. Yaouma! Yaouma! One word! One look of farewell! Yaouma! 'Tis I, Satni! Look on me! _The acclamations drown his voice. Yaouma is wrapped in her soul's dream. She passes without hearing Satni's voice. The crowd follows her. _ MIERIS [_to Delethi who supports her_] Lead me to Satni--go--[_ToSatni_] Satni, your words have sunk deep in my heart--Yaouma, they tellme, did not hear your voice. She is lost in the joy of sacrifice. Theneed to make sacrifice is in us all. If the gods are not, to whom shallwe sacrifice ourselves? SATNI. To those who suffer. MIERIS. To those who suffer. _During this Bitiou has come slowly down behind Satni. _ BITIOU. Look! He too, he will fall down! _He plunges a dagger in Satni's back. Delethi draws Mieris away. Satni falls. _ SATNI [_raising himself slightly_] It was you who struck me, Bitiou--[_He looks long and sadly at him_] I pity you with all myheart--with all my heart. [_He dies_] _Bitiou looks at the blood on the dagger, and flings it away in horror. Then he crouches down by Satni and begins to cry softly. _ DELETHI [_to Mieris_] Mistress, come and pray! MIERIS. No, I do not believe in gods in whose name men kill. _Outside are heard the trumpets and acclamations that accompany Yaouma to the Nile. _ CURTAIN THE RED ROBE CHARACTERS MOUZON VAGRET ETCHEPARE MONDOUBLEAU LA BOUZOLE BUNERAT ATTORNEY-GENERAL PRESIDENT OF ASSIZES DELORME ARDEUIL BRIDET POLICE SERGEANT RECORDER PLAÇAT DOORKEEPER YANETTA ETCHEPARE'S MOTHER MADAME VAGRET MADAME BUNERAT BERTHA CATIALÉNA _Time--The present. _ ACT I SCENE I:--_A small reception-room in an old house at Mauleon. _ _The curtain rises, revealing Madame Vagret in evening dress; she is altering the position of the chairs to her own satisfaction. Enter Bertha, also in evening dress, a newspaper in her hand. _ BERTHA. Here's the local paper, the _Journal_. I sent the _OfficialGazette_ to father; he has just come home from the Court. He's dressing. MADAME VAGRET. Is the sitting over? BERTHA. No, not yet. MADAME VAGRET [_taking the newspaper_] Are they still discussing thecase? BERTHA. As usual. MADAME VAGRET. One doesn't need to search long. There's a big head-lineat the top of the page: "The Irissary Murder. " They're attacking yourfather now! [_She reads_] "Monsieur Vagret, our District Attorney. "[_She continues to read to herself_] And there are sub-headings too:"The murderer still at large. " As if that was our fault! "Justiceasleep!" Justice asleep indeed! How can they say such things when yourfather hasn't closed his eyes for a fortnight! Can they complain that hehasn't done his duty? Or that Monsieur Delorme, the examiningmagistrate, isn't doing his? He has made himself quite ill, poor man!Only the day before yesterday he had a tramp arrested because hismovements were ever so little suspicious! So you see! No! I tell youthese journalists are crazy! BERTHA. It seems they are going to have an article in the Basque papertoo. MADAME VAGRET. The _Eskual Herria_! BERTHA. So the chemist told me. MADAME VAGRET. I don't care a sou for that. The Attorney-General doesn'tread it. BERTHA. On the contrary, father was saying the other day that theAttorney-General has translations sent him of every article dealing withthe magistracy. MADAME VAGRET. The Attorney-General has translations sent him! Oh well, never mind. Anyhow, let's change the subject! How many shall we be thisevening? You've got the list? BERTHA [_She takes the list from the over-mantel_] The President ofAssizes--the President of the Court-- MADAME VAGRET. Yes. Yes, that's all right; nine in all, isn't it? BERTHA. Nine. MADAME VAGRET. Nine! To have nine people coming to dinner, and not toknow the exact hour at which they'll arrive! That's what's so tryingabout these dinners we have to give at the end of a session--in honor ofthe President of Assizes. One dines when the Court rises. When the Courtrises! Well, we'll await the good pleasure of these gentlemen! [_Shesighs_] Well, child! BERTHA. Mother? MADAME VAGRET. Are you still anxious to marry a magistrate? BERTHA [_with conviction_] I am not! MADAME VAGRET. But you were two years ago! BERTHA. I am not now! MADAME VAGRET. Look at us! There's your father. Procurator of theRepublic--Public Prosecutor--State Attorney; in a court of the thirdclass, it's true, because he's not a wire-puller, because he hasn'tplayed the political game. And yet he's a valuable man--no one can denythat. Since he's been District Attorney he has secured three sentencesof penal servitude for life! And in a country like this, where crimesare so frightfully rare! That's pretty good, don't you think? Of course, I know he'll have had three acquittals in the session that ends to-day. Granted. But that was mere bad luck. And for protecting society as hedoes--what do they pay him? Have you any idea? BERTHA. Yes, I know; you've often told me, mother. MADAME VAGRET. And I'll tell you again. Counting the stoppages for thepension, he gets altogether, and for everything, three hundred andninety-five francs and eighty-three centimes a month. And then we areobliged to give a dinner for nine persons in honor of the President ofAssizes, a Councillor! Well, at all events, I suppose everything isready? Let's see. My _Revue des Deux Mondes_--is it there? Yes. And myarmchair--is that in the right place? [_She sits in it_] Yes. [_Asthough receiving a guest_] Pray be seated, Monsieur le Président. I hopethat's right. And Monsieur Dufour, who was an ordinary magistrate whenyour father was the same, when we were living at Castelnaudery, he's nowPresident of the second class at Douai, and he was only at Brest beforehe was promoted! BERTHA. Really! MADAME VAGRET [_searching for a book on the over-mantel_] Look in theYear Book. BERTHA. I'll take your word for it. MADAME VAGRET. You may! The Judicial Year Book. I know it by heart! BERTHA. But then father may be appointed Councillor any day now. MADAME VAGRET. He's been waiting a long time for his appointment asCouncillor. BERTHA. But it's as good as settled now. He was promised the firstvacancy, and Monsieur Lefévre has just died. MADAME VAGRET. I hope to God you are right. If we fail this time, we'redone for. We shall be left at Mauleon until he's pensioned off. What amisfortune it is that they can't put their hands on that wretchedmurderer! Such a beautiful crime too! We really had some reason forhoping for a death sentence this time! The first, remember! BERTHA. Don't worry, motherkins. There's still a chance. MADAME VAGRET. It's easy for you to talk. You see the newspapers arebeginning to grumble. They reproach us, they say we are slack. My dearchild, you don't realize--there 's a question of sending a detectivedown from Paris! It would be such a disgrace! And everything promised sowell! You can't imagine how excited your father was when they waked himup to tell him that an old man of eighty-seven had been murdered in hisdistrict! He dressed himself in less than five minutes. He was veryquiet about it. But he gripped my hands. "I think, " he said, "I think wecan count on my nomination this time!" [_She sighs_] And now everythingis spoilt, and all through this ruffian who won't let them arrest him![_Another sigh_] What's the time? BERTHA. It has just struck six. MADAME VAGRET. Write out the _menus_. Don't forget. You must write onlytheir titles--his Honor the President of Assizes, his Honor thePresident of the High Court of Mauleon, and so forth. It's the preambleto the _menu_. Don't forget. Here is your father. Go and take a lookround the kitchen and appear as if you were busy. [_Bertha leaves theroom. Vagret enters in evening dress_] SCENE II:--_Vagret, Madame Vagret. _ MADAME VAGRET. Hasn't the Court risen yet? VAGRET. When I left my substitute was just getting up to ask for theadjournment. MADAME VAGRET. Nothing new? VAGRET. About the murder? Nothing. MADAME VAGRET. But your Monsieur Delorme--the examining magistrate--ishe really looking for the murderer? VAGRET. He's doing what he can. MADAME VAGRET. Well, if I were in his place, it seems to me--Oh, theyought to have women for examining magistrates! [_Distractedly_] Is therenothing in the _Official Gazette_? VAGRET [_dispirited and anxious_] Yes. MADAME VAGRET. And you never told me. Anything that affects us? VAGRET. No. Nanteuil has been appointed Advocate-General. MADAME VAGRET. Nanteuil? VAGRET. Yes. MADAME VAGRET. Oh, that's too bad! Why, he was only an assistant atLunéville when you were substitute there! VAGRET. Yes. But he has a cousin who's a deputy. You can't compete withmen like that. [_A pause. Madame Vagret sits down and begins to cry_] MADAME VAGRET. We haven't a chance. VAGRET. My dearest! Come, come, you are wrong there. MADAME VAGRET [_still tearful_] My poor darling! I know very well itisn't your fault; you do your best. Your only failing is that you aretoo scrupulous, and I am not the one to reproach you for that. But whatcan you expect? It's no use talking; everybody gets ahead of us. Soonyou'll be the oldest District Attorney in France. VAGRET. Come, come! Where's the Year Book? MADAME VAGRET [_still in the same tone_] It's there--the dates, thelength of service. See further on, dear. VAGRET [_throwing the Year Book aside_] Don't cry like that! RememberI'm chosen to succeed Lefévre. MADAME VAGRET. I know that. VAGRET. I'm on the list for promotion. MADAME VAGRET. So is everybody. VAGRET. And I have the Attorney-General's definite promise--and thepresiding judge's too. MADAME VAGRET. It's the deputy's promise you ought to have. VAGRET. What? MADAME VAGRET. Yes, the deputy's. Up to now you've waited for promotionto come to you. My dear, you've got to run after it! If you don't do asthe others do, you'll simply get left behind. VAGRET. I am still an honest man. MADAME VAGRET. It is because you are an honest man that you ought to tryto get a better appointment. If the able and independent magistratesallow the others to pass them by, what will become of the magistracy? VAGRET. There's some truth in what you say. MADAME VAGRET. If, while remaining scrupulously honest, you can betterour position by getting a deputy to push you, you are to blame if youdon't do so. After all, what do they ask you to do? Merely that youshould support the Ministry. VAGRET. I can do that honestly. Its opinions are my own. MADAME VAGRET. Then you'd better make haste--for a ministry doesn'tlast long! To support the Ministry is to support the Government--thatis, the State--that is, Society. It's to do your duty. VAGRET. You are ambitious. MADAME VAGRET. No, my dear--but we must think of the future. If you knewthe trouble I have to make both ends meet! We ought to get Berthamarried. And the boys will cost us more and more as time goes on. And inour position we are bound to incur certain useless expenses which wecould very well do without; but we have to keep up appearances; we haveto "keep up our position. " We want Georges to enter the Polytechnique, and that'll cost a lot of money. And Henri, if he's going to studylaw--you'd be able to help him on all the better if you held a betterposition. VAGRET [_after a brief silence_] I haven't told you everything. MADAME VAGRET. What is it? VAGRET [_timidly_] Cortan has been appointed Councillor at Amiens. MADAME VAGRET [_exasperated_] Cortan! That idiot of a Cortan? VAGRET. Yes. MADAME VAGRET. This is too much! VAGRET. What can you expect? The new Keeper of the Seals is in hisdepartment. You can't fight against that! MADAME VAGRET. There's always something--Cortan! Won't she be making ashow of herself--Madame Cortan--who spells "indictment" i-n-d-i-t-e?She'll be showing off her yellow hat! Don't you remember her famousyellow hat? VAGRET. No. MADAME VAGRET. It's her husband who ought to wear that color! VAGRET. Rosa, that's unjust. MADAME VAGRET [_painfully excited_] I know it--but it does me good! _Enter Catialéna. _ CATIALÉNA. Madame, where shall I put the parcel we took from thelinen-closet this morning? MADAME VAGRET. What parcel? CATIALÉNA. The parcel--you know, Madame--when we were arranging thethings in the linen-closet. MADAME VAGRET [_suddenly_] Oh--yes, yes. Take it to my room. CATIALÉNA. Where shall I put it there? MADAME VAGRET. Oh well, put it down here. I will put it away myself. CATIALÉNA. Very good, Madame. [_She leaves the room_] MADAME VAGRET [_snipping at the parcel and speaking to herself_] It's nouse stuffing it with moth-balls--it'll all be moth-eaten before ever youwear it. VAGRET. What is it? MADAME VAGRET [_placing the parcel on the table and opening thewrapper_] Look! VAGRET. Ah, yes--my red robe--the one you bought for me--in advance--twoyears ago. MADAME VAGRET. Yes. That time it was Gamard who was appointed instead ofyou. VAGRET. What could you expect? Gamard had a deputy for hisbrother-in-law; there's no getting over that. The Ministry has to assureitself of a majority. MADAME VAGRET. And to think that in spite of all my searching I haven'tbeen able to discover so much as a municipal councillor among ourrelations! VAGRET. Well--hide this thing. It torments me. [_He returns the gown, which he had unfolded, to his wife_] In any case I dare say it wouldn'tfit me now. MADAME VAGRET. Oh, they fit anybody, these things! VAGRET. Let's see--[_He takes off his coat_] MADAME VAGRET. And it means a thousand francs more a year! VAGRET. It isn't faded. [_At this moment Bertha enters. Vagret hides thered gown_] What is it? BERTHA. It's only me. VAGRET. You startled me. BERTHA [_catching sight of the gown_] You've been appointed! You've beenappointed! VAGRET. Do be quiet! Turn the key in the door! BERTHA. Papa has been appointed! MADAME VAGRET. Do as you're told! No, he hasn't been appointed. VAGRET. It's really as good as new. [_He slips it on_] MADAME VAGRET. Well, I should hope so! I took care to get the very bestsilk. VAGRET. Ah, if I could only wear this on my back when I'm demanding theconviction of the Irissary murderer! Say what you like, the man whodevised this costume was no fool! It's this sort of thing that impressesthe jury. And the prisoner too! I've seen him unable to tear his eyesfrom the gown of the State Attorney! And you feel a stronger man whenyou wear it. It gives one a better presence, and one's gestures are moredignified: "Gentlemen of the court, gentlemen of the jury!" Couldn't Imake an impressive indictment? "Gentlemen of the court, gentlemen of thejury! In the name of society, of which I am the avenging voice--in thename of the sacred interests of humanity--in the name of the eternalprinciples of morality--fortified by the consciousness of my duty and myright--I rise--[_He repeats his gesture_] I rise to demand the head ofthe wretched man who stands before you!" MADAME VAGRET. How well you speak! _Vagret, with a shrug of the shoulders and a sigh, slowly and silently removes the gown and hands it to his wife. _ VAGRET. Here--put it away. MADAME VAGRET. There's the bell. BERTHA. Yes. MADAME VAGRET [_to her daughter_] Take it. BERTHA. Yes, mother. [_She makes a parcel of the gown and is about toleave the room_] MADAME VAGRET. Bertha! BERTHA. Yes, mother! MADAME VAGRET [_tearfully_] Put some more moth-balls in it--poor child! _Bertha goes out. Catialéna enters. _ SCENE III:--_Vagret, Madame Vagret, Catialéna. _ CATIALÉNA [_holding out an envelope_] This has just come for you, sir. [_She goes out again_] VAGRET. What's this? The Basque paper--the _Eskual Herria_--an articlemarked with blue pencil. [_He reads_] "Eskual herri guzia hamabartz egunhuntan--" How's one to make head or tail of such a barbarian language! MADAME VAGRET [_reading over his shoulder_] It's about you-- VAGRET. No! MADAME VAGRET. Yes. There! "Vagret procuradoreak galdegin--" Wait aminute. [_Calling through the further doorway_] Catialéna! Catialéna! VAGRET. What is it? MADAME VAGRET. Catialéna will translate it for us. [_To Catialéna, whohas entered_] Here, Catialéna, just read this bit for us, will you? CATIALÉNA. _Why, yes, Madame. _ [_She reads_] "Eta gaitzegilia ozdaoraino gakpoian Irrysaryko. " VAGRET. And what does that mean? CATIALÉNA. That means--they haven't arrested the Irissary murderer yet. VAGRET. We know that. And then? CATIALÉNA. "Baginakien yadanik dona Mauleano tribunala yuye arin edotzarrenda berechiazela. " That means there are no magistrates at Mauleonexcept those they've got rid of from other places, and who don't knowtheir business--empty heads they've got. VAGRET. Thanks--that's enough. MADAME VAGRET. No, no! Go on, Catialéna! CATIALÉNA. "Yaun hoyen Biribi--" MADAME VAGRET. Biribi? CATIALÉNA. Yes, Madame. MADAME VAGRET. Well, what does Biribi mean in Basque? CATIALÉNA. I don't know. MADAME VAGRET. What? You don't know? You mean you don't want to say? Isit a bad word? CATIALÉNA. Oh no, Madame, I should know it then. VAGRET. Biribi-- BERTHA. Perhaps it's a nickname they give you. MADAME VAGRET. Perhaps that's it. [_A pause_] Well? CATIALÉNA. They're speaking of the master. MADAME VAGRET [_to her husband_] I told you so. [_To Catialéna_] Abusinghim? VAGRET. I tell you that's enough! [_He snatches the paper from Catialénaand puts it in his pocket_] Go back to the kitchen. Hurry now--quickerthan that! CATIALÉNA. Well, sir, I swear I won't tell you the rest of it. VAGRET. No one's asking you to. Be off. CATIALÉNA. I knew the master would be angry. [_She turns to go_] MADAME VAGRET. Catialéna! CATIALÉNA. Yes, Madame? MADAME VAGRET. Really now, you don't know what Biribi means? CATIALÉNA. No, Madame, I swear I don't. MADAME VAGRET. That's all right. There's the bell--go and see who it is. [_Catialéna goes_] I shall give that woman a week's notice, and no laterthan to-morrow. VAGRET. But really-- CATIALÉNA [_returning_] If you please, sir, it's Monsieur Delorme. MADAME VAGRET. Your examining magistrate? VAGRET. Yes. He's come to give me his reply. [_To Catialéna_] Show himin. MADAME VAGRET. What reply? VAGRET. He has come to return me his brief. MADAME VAGRET. The brief? VAGRET. Yes. I asked him to think it over until this evening. MADAME VAGRET. He'll have to stay to dinner. VAGRET. No. You know perfectly well his health--Here he is. Run away. MADAME VAGRET [_amiably, as she goes out_] Good-evening, MonsieurDelorme. DELORME. Madame! SCENE IV:--_Vagret, Delorme. _ VAGRET. Well, my dear fellow, what is it? DELORME. Well, it's no--positively no. VAGRET. Why? DELORME. I've told you. [_A pause_] VAGRET. And the _alibi_ of your accused? DELORME. I've verified it. VAGRET. Does it hold water? DELORME. Incontestably. VAGRET [_dejectedly_] Then you've set your man at liberty? DELORME [_regretfully_] I simply had to. VAGRET [_the same_] Obviously. [_A pause_] There is not a chance? DELORME. No. VAGRET. Well, then? DELORME. Well, I beg you to give the brief to someone else. VAGRET. Is that final? DELORME. Yes. You see, my dear fellow, I'm too old to adapt myself tothe customs of the day. I'm a magistrate of the old school, just as youare. I inherited from my father certain scruples which are no longer thefashion. These daily attacks in the press get on my nerves. VAGRET. They would cease at the news of an arrest. DELORME. Precisely. I should end by doing something foolish. Well, Ihave done something foolish already. I should not have arrested that manif I had not been badgered as I was. VAGRET. He was a tramp. You gave him shelter for a few days. There's nogreat harm done there. DELORME. All the same-- VAGRET. You let yourself be too easily discouraged. To-night orto-morrow something may turn up to put you on a new scent. DELORME. Even then--Do you know what they are saying? They are sayingthat Maître Plaçat, the Bordeaux advocate, is coming to defend theprisoner. VAGRET. I don't see what he has to gain by that. DELORME. He wants to come forward at the next election in ourarrondissement--and he counts on attacking certain persons in his plea, so as to gain a little popularity. VAGRET. How can that affect you? DELORME. Why, he can be present at all the interrogations of theaccused. The law allows it--and as he is ravenous for publicity, hewould tell the newspapers just what he pleased, and if my proceedingsdidn't suit him, I'd be vilified in the papers day after day. VAGRET. You are exaggerating. DELORME. I'm not. Nowadays an examination takes place in themarket-place or the editorial offices of the newspapers rather than inthe magistrate's office. VAGRET. That is true where notorious criminals are concerned. In realitythe new law benefits them and them only--you know as well as I do thatfor the general run of accused persons-- DELORME. Seriously, I beg you to take the brief back. VAGRET. Come! You can't imagine that Maître Plaçat, who has a hundredcases to plead, can be present at all your interrogations. You know whatusually happens. He'll send some little secretary--if he sends anyone. DELORME. I beg you not to insist, my dear Vagret. My decision isirrevocable. VAGRET. Then-- DELORME. Allow me to take my leave. I don't want to meet my colleagueswho are dining with you. VAGRET. Then I'll see you to-morrow. I'm sorry-- DELORME. Good-night. _He goes out. Madame Vagret at once enters by another door. _ SCENE V:--_Vagret, Madame Vagret, then Bertha, Bunerat, La Bouzole, Mouzon. _ MADAME VAGRET. Well, I heard--he gave you back the brief. VAGRET. Yes--his health--the newspapers-- MADAME VAGRET. And now? VAGRET. Be careful. No one suspects anything yet. MADAME VAGRET. Make your mind easy. [_She listens_] This time it is ourguests. BERTHA. [_entering_] Here they are. MADAME VAGRET. To your work, Bertha! And for me the _Revue des DeuxMondes_. _They sit down. A pause. _ BERTHA. They are a long time. MADAME VAGRET. It's Madame Bunerat. Her manners always take time. THE MANSERVANT. His Honor the President of the Court and Madame Bunerat. MADAME VAGRET. How do you do, dear Madame Bunerat? [_They exchangegreetings_] THE MANSERVANT. His Honor Judge La Bouzole. His worship Judge Mouzon. _Salutations; the guests seat themselves. _ MADAME VAGRET [_to Madame Bunerat_] Well, Madame, so another session'sfinished! MADAME BUNERAT. Yes, at last! MADAME VAGRET. Your husband, I imagine, is not sorry. MADAME BUNERAT. Nor yours, I'm sure. MADAME VAGRET. And the President of Assizes? BUNERAT. He will be a little late. He wants to get away early to-morrowmorning, and he has a mass of documents to sign. You must remember theCourt has barely risen. When we saw that we should be sitting so late wesent for our evening clothes, and we changed while the jury wasdeliberating; then we put our robes on over them to pronounce sentence. MADAME VAGRET. And the sentence was? BUNERAT. An acquittal. MADAME VAGRET. Again! Oh, the juries are crazy! VAGRET. My dear, you express yourself just a little freely. MADAME BUNERAT. Now, my dear Madame Vagret, you mustn't worry yourself. _She leads her up the stage. _ BUNERAT [_to Vagret_] Yes, my dear colleague, an acquittal. That makesthree this session. MOUZON [_a man of forty, whiskered and foppish_] Three prisoners whom wehave had to set at liberty because we couldn't hold them for othercauses. BUNERAT. A regular run on the black! LA BOUZOLE [_a man of seventy_] My dear colleagues would prefer a run onthe red. BUNERAT. La Bouzole, you are a cynic! I do not understand how you canhave the courage to joke on such a subject. LA BOUZOLE. I shouldn't joke if your prisoners were condemned. MOUZON. I'm not thinking of our prisoners--I'm thinking of ourselves. Ifyou imagine we shall receive the congratulations of the Chancellery, youare mistaken. BUNERAT. He doesn't care a straw if the Mauleon Court does earn a blackmark in Paris. LA BOUZOLE. You have said it, Bunerat; I don't care a straw! I havenothing more to look for. I shall be seventy years old next week, and Iretire automatically. Nothing more to hope for; I have a right to judgematters according to my own conscience. I'm out of school! [_He gives alittle skip_] Don't get your backs up--I've done--I see the Year Bookover there; I'm going to look out the dates of the coming vacation foryou. [_He takes a seat to the left_] BUNERAT. Well, there it is. [_To Vagret_] The President of Assizes isfurious. MOUZON. It won't do him any good either. VAGRET. And my substitute? BUNERAT. You may well say "your substitute"! MOUZON. It's all his fault. He pleaded extenuating circumstances. He! BUNERAT. Where does the idiot hail from? VAGRET. He's far from being an idiot, I assure you. He was secretary tothe Conference in Paris; he is a doctor of laws and full of talent. BUNERAT. Talent! VAGRET. I assure you he has a real talent for speaking. BUNERAT. So we observed. VAGRET. He's a very distinguished young fellow. BUNERAT [_with emphasis_] Well! When a man has such talent as that hebecomes an advocate; he doesn't enter the magistracy. MADAME VAGRET [_to La Bouzole, who approaches her_] So really, MonsieurLa Bouzole, it seems it's the fault of the new substitute. MADAME BUNERAT. Tell us all about it. LA BOUZOLE. It was like this. [_He turns towards the ladies andcontinues in a low tone. Bertha, who has entered the room, joins thegroup, of which Vagret also forms one_] MOUZON [_to Bunerat_] All this won't hasten our poor Vagret'snomination. BUNERAT [_smiling_] The fact is he hasn't a chance at the presentmoment, poor chap! MOUZON. Is it true that they were really seriously thinking of him whenthere is a certain other magistrate in the same court? BUNERAT [_with false modesty_] I don't think I--Of whom are youspeaking? MOUZON. Of yourself, my dear President. BUNERAT. They have indeed mentioned my name at the Ministry. MOUZON. When you preside at Assizes the proceedings will be far moreinteresting than they are at present. BUNERAT. Now how can you tell that, my dear Mouzon? MOUZON. Because I have seen you preside over the Correctional Court. [_He laughs_] BUNERAT. Why do you laugh? MOUZON. I just remembered that witty remark of yours the other day. BUNERAT [_delighted_] I don't recall it. MOUZON. It really was very witty! [_He laughs_] BUNERAT. What was it? Did I say anything witty? I don't remember. MOUZON. Anything? A dozen things--a score. You were in form that day!What a figure he cut--the prisoner. You know, the fellow who was sobadly dressed. Cock his name was. BUNERAT. Ah, yes! When I said: "Cock, turn yourself on and let yourconfession trickle out!" MOUZON [_laughing_] That was it! That was it! And the witness for thedefence--that idiot. Didn't you make him look a fool? He couldn't finishhis evidence, they laughed so when you said: "If you wish to conduct thecase, only say so. Perhaps you'd like to take my place?" BUNERAT. Ah, yes! Ladies, my good friend here reminds me of a ratheramusing anecdote. The other day--it was in the Correctional Court-- THE MANSERVANT [_announcing_] Monsieur Gabriel Ardeuil. SCENE VI:--_The same, with Ardeuil. _ ARDEUIL [_to Madame Vagret_] I hope you'll forgive me for coming solate. I was detained until now. MADAME VAGRET. I will forgive you all the more readily since I'm toldyou have had such a success to-day as will make all the advocates of thedistrict jealous of you. _Ardeuil is left to himself. _ LA BOUZOLE [_touching him on the shoulder_] Young man--come, sit down byme--as a favor. Do you realize that it won't take many trials liketo-day's to get you struck off the rolls? ARDEUIL. I couldn't be struck off the rolls because-- LA BOUZOLE. Hang it all--a man does himself no good by appearingsingular. ARDEUIL. Singular! But you yourself--Well, the deliberations are secret, but for all that I know you stand for independence and goodness of heartin this Court. LA BOUZOLE. Yes, I've permitted myself that luxury--lately. ARDEUIL. Lately? LA BOUZOLE. Yes, yes, my young friend, for some little time. Because forsome little time I've been cured of the disease which turns so manyhonest fellows into bad magistrates. That disease is the fever ofpromotion. Look at those men there. If they weren't infected by thismicrobe, they would be just, kindly gentlemen, instead of cruel andservile magistrates. ARDEUIL. You exaggerate, sir. The French magistracy is not-- LA BOUZOLE. It is not venal--that's the truth. Among our four thousandmagistrates you might perhaps not find one--you hear me, not one--evenamong the poorest and most obscure--who would accept a money bribe inorder to modify his judgment. That is the glory of our country'smagistracy and its special virtue. But a great number of our magistratesare ready to be complaisant--even to give way--when it is a question ofmaking themselves agreeable to an influential elector, or to the deputy, or to the minister who distributes appointments and favors. Universalsuffrage is the god and the tyrant of the magistrate. So you areright--and I am not wrong. ARDEUIL. Nothing can deprive us of our independence. LA BOUZOLE. That is so. But, as Monsieur de Tocqueville once remarked, we can offer it up as a sacrifice. ARDEUIL. You are a misanthrope. There are magistrates whom no promise ofany kind-- LA BOUZOLE. Yes, there are. Those who are not needy or who have noambitions. Yes, there are obscure persons who devote their whole livesto their professions and who never ask for anything for themselves. Butyou can take my word for it that they are the exceptions, and that ourCourt of Mauleon, which you yourself have seen, represents about theaverage of our judicial morality. I exaggerate, you think? Well! Let ussuppose that in all France there are only fifty Courts like this. Suppose there are only twenty--suppose there is only one. It is stillone too many! Why, my young friend, what sort of an idea have you got ofthe magistracy? ARDEUIL. It frightens me. LA BOUZOLE. You are speaking seriously? ARDEUIL. Certainly. LA BOUZOLE. Then why did you become a substitute? ARDEUIL. Through no choice of my own! My people pushed me into theprofession. LA BOUZOLE. Yes. People look on the magistracy as a career. That is tosay, from the moment you enter it you have only one object--to get on. [_A pause_] ARDEUIL. Yet it would be a noble thing--to dispense justice temperedwith mercy. LA BOUZOLE. Yes--it should be. [_A pause_] Do you want the advice of aman who has for forty years been a judge of the third class? ARDEUIL. I should value it. LA BOUZOLE. Send in your resignation. You have mistaken your vocation. You wear the wrong robe. The man who attempts to put into practice theideas you have expressed must wear the priest's cassock. ARDEUIL [_as though to himself_] Yes--but for that one must have asimple heart--a heart open to faith. BUNERAT [_who is with the others_] If only we had the luck to have adeputy of the department for Keeper of the Seals! Just for a week! LA BOUZOLE [_to Ardeuil_] There, my boy, that's the sort of thing onehas to think about. THE MANSERVANT [_entering_] From his Honor the President of Assizes. [_He gives Vagret a letter_] VAGRET. He isn't coming? MADAME VAGRET [_after reading the note_] He isn't coming. BUNERAT. I hardly expected him. MADAME VAGRET. A nervous headache he says. He left by the 6:49 train. MOUZON. That's significant! MADAME BUNERAT. It would be impossible to mark his disapproval moreclearly. BUNERAT. Three acquittals too! MADAME BUNERAT. If it had been a question of celebrated pleaders! Butnewly fledged advocates! BUNERAT. Nobodies! MADAME VAGRET [_to her daughter_] My poor child! What will his report belike? BERTHA. What report? MADAME VAGRET. Don't you know? At the close of each session thePresident submits a report to the Minister--Ah, my dear Madame Bunerat![_The three women seat themselves at the back of the stage_] MOUZON. Three acquittals--and the Irissary murder. A deplorable record!A pretty pickle we're in. BUNERAT. You know, my dear Vagret, I'm a plain speaker. Noshilly-shallying about me. When I hunt the boar I charge right down onhim. I speak plainly--anyone can know what's in my mind. I'm the son ofa peasant, I am, and I make no bones about it. Well, it seems to me thatyour Bar--I know, of course, that you lead it with distinguishedintegrity and honesty--but it seems to me--how shall I put it?--thatit's getting weak. Mouzon, you will remember, said the same thing whenhe was consulting the statistics. MOUZON. It really is a very bad year. BUNERAT. You know it was a question of making ourselves an exception tothe general rule--of getting our Court raised to a higher class. Well, Mauleon won't be raised from the third class to the second if the numberof causes diminishes. MOUZON. We should have to prove that we had been extremely busy. BUNERAT. And many of the cases you settled by arrangement might wellhave been the subject of proceedings. MOUZON. Just reflect that this year we have awarded a hundred andeighteen years less imprisonment than we did last year! BUNERAT. And yet the Court has not been to blame. We safeguard theinterests of society with the greatest vigilance. MOUZON. But before we can punish you must give us prisoners. VAGRET. I have recently issued the strictest orders respecting therepression of smuggling offences, which are so common in these parts. BUNERAT. Well, that's something. You understand the point of view wetake. It's a question of the safety of the public, my dear fellow. MOUZON. We are falling behind other Courts of the same class. See, I'veworked out the figures. [_He takes a paper from his pocket-book andaccidentally drops other papers, which La Bouzole picks up_] I see-- LA BOUZOLE. You are dropping your papers, Mouzon. Is this yours--thisenvelope? [_He reads_] "Monsieur Benoît, Officer of the Navy, RailwayHotel, Bordeaux. " A nice scent-- MOUZON [_flurried, taking the letter from La Bouzole_] Yes--a letterbelonging to a friend of mine. LA BOUZOLE. And this? The Irissary murder? MOUZON. Ah, yes--it's--I was going to explain--it's--oh, the Irissarymurder, yes--it's the translation Bunerat gave me of the article whichappeared in the _Eskual Herria_ to-day. It is extremely unpleasant. Theysay Mauleon is a sort of penal Court--something like a Biribi of themagistracy. VAGRET. But, after all, I can't invent a murderer for you just becausethe fellow is so pig-headed that he won't allow himself to be taken!Delorme has sent the description they gave us to the offices of all themagistrates. MOUZON. Delorme! Shall I tell you what I think? Well, our colleagueDelorme is making a mistake in sticking to the idea that the criminal isa tramp. VAGRET. But there is a witness. MOUZON. The witness is lying, or he's mistaken. BUNERAT. A witness who saw gipsies leaving the victim's house thatmorning. MOUZON. I repeat, the witness is lying, or he is mistaken. VAGRET. Why so? MOUZON. I'm certain of it. BUNERAT. Why? MOUZON. Because I'm certain the murderer wasn't a gipsy. VAGRET. But explain-- MOUZON. It's of no use, my dear friend. I know my duty to my colleagueDelorme too well to insist. I've said too much already. VAGRET. Not at all. BUNERAT. By no means. MOUZON. It was with the greatest delicacy that I warned our colleagueDelorme--he was good enough to consult me and show me day by day theinformation which he had elicited--I warned him that he was on a falsescent. He would listen to nothing; he persisted in searching for histramp. Well, let him search! There are fifty thousand tramps in France. After all, I am probably wrong. Yet I should be surprised, for in thebig towns in which I have served as magistrate, and in which I foundmyself confronted, not merely now and again, but every day, so to speak, with difficulties of this sort, I was able to acquire a certain practicein criminal cases and a certain degree of perspicacity. VAGRET. Obviously. As for Delorme, it is the first time he has had todeal with such a big crime. MOUZON. In the case of that pretty woman from Toulouse, at Bordeaux, acase which made a good deal of stir at the time, it was I who forced theaccused to make the confession that led her to the guillotine. BUNERAT [_admiringly_] Was it really? VAGRET. My dear friend, I ask you most seriously--and if I am insistent, it is because I have reasons for being so--between ourselves, I beg youto tell us on what you base your opinion. MOUZON. Well, I don't want to hide my light under a bushel--I'll tellyou. BUNERAT. We are listening. MOUZON. Recall the facts. In a house isolated as are most of our Basquehouses they find, one morning, an old man of eighty-seven murdered inhis bed. Servants who slept in the adjacent building had heard nothing. The dogs did not bark. There was robbery, it is true, but the criminaldid not confine himself to stealing hard cash; he stole family papers aswell. Remember that point. And I will call your attention to anotherdetail. It had rained on the previous evening. In the garden footprintswere discovered which were immediately attributed to the murderer, whowas so badly shod that the big toe of his right foot protruded from hisboot. Monsieur Delorme proceeds along the trail; he obtains a piece ofevidence that encourages him, and he declares that the murderer is avagrant. I say this is a mistake. The murderer is not a vagrant. Now thehouse in which the crime was committed is an isolated house, and we knowthat within a radius of six to ten miles there was no tramp beggingbefore the crime. So this tramp, if there was one, would have eaten anddrunk on the scene of the crime, either before or after striking theblow. Now no traces have been discovered which permit us to suppose thathe did anything of the kind. So--here is a man who arrives in a state ofexhaustion. He begs; he is refused. He then hides himself, and, when itis night, he robs and assassinates. There is wine and bread and otherfood at hand; but he goes his way without touching them. Is thisprobable? No. Don't tell me that he was disturbed and so ran off; it isnot true; their own witness declares that he saw him in the morning, afew yards from the house, whereas the crime was committed beforemidnight. If Monsieur Delorme, in addition to his distinguishedqualities, had a little experience of cases of this kind, he wouldrealize that empty bottles, dirty glasses, and scraps of food left onthe table constitute, so to speak, the sign manual which the criminalvagrant leaves behind him on the scene of his crime. BUNERAT. True; I was familiar with that detail. LA BOUZOLE [_under his breath to Ardeuil_] That fellow would send a manto the scaffold for the sake of seeming to know something. VAGRET. Go on--go on. MOUZON. Monsieur Delorme ought to have known this also: in the life ofthe vagrant there is one necessity which comes next to hunger andthirst--it is the need of footwear. This is so true that they havesometimes been known to make this need a pretext for demanding anappeal, because the journey to the Court of Appeal is generally made onfoot, so that the administration is obliged to furnish shoes, and, asthese are scarcely worn during the period of detention, they are in goodcondition when the man leaves prison. Now the supposed vagrant has afoot very nearly the same size as that of his victim. He has--youyourself have told us--boots which are in a very bad condition. Well, gentlemen, this badly shod vagrant does not take the good strong bootswhich are in the house! I will add but one word more. If the crime hadbeen committed by a passing stranger--by a professional mendicant--willyou tell me why this remarkable murderer follows the road which passesin front of the victim's house--a road on which he would find noresources--a road on which houses are met with only at intervals of twoor three miles--when there is, close at hand, another road which runsthrough various villages and passes numbers of farmhouses, in which itis a tradition never to refuse hospitality to one of his kind? One wordmore. Why does this vagrant steal family papers which will betray him asthe criminal the very first time he comes into contact with the police?No, gentlemen, the criminal is not a vagrant. If you want to find him, you must not look for a man wandering along the highway; you must lookfor him among those relatives or debtors or friends, who had an interestin his death. VAGRET. This is very true. BUNERAT. I call that admirably logical and extremely lucid. MOUZON. Believe me, the matter is quite simple. If I were intrusted withthe examination, I guarantee that within three days the criminal wouldbe under lock and key. VAGRET. Well, my dear colleague, I have a piece of news for you. Monsieur Delorme, who is very unwell, has returned me his brief thisafternoon, and it will be intrusted to you. Henceforth the preliminaryexamination of the Irissary murder will be in your hands. MOUZON. I have only to say that I accept. My duty is to obey. I withdrawnothing of what I have said; within three days the murderer will bearrested. BUNERAT. Bravo! VAGRET. I thank you for that promise in the name of all concerned. Ideclare that you relieve us of a great anxiety. [_To his wife_] Listen, my dear. Monsieur Mouzon is undertaking the preliminary examination, andhe promises us a result before three days are up. MADAME VAGRET. We shall be grateful, Monsieur Mouzon. MADAME BUNERAT. Oh, thank you! VAGRET. Bertha! Tell them to serve dinner--and to send up that oldIrrouleguy wine! I will drink to your success, my dear fellow. THE MANSERVANT. Dinner is served. _The gentlemen offer their arms to the ladies preparatory to going in to dinner. _ CURTAIN. ACT II _In the office of Mouzon, the examining magistrate. A door at the back and in the wall to the right. On the left are two desks. Portfolios, armchairs, and one ordinary chair. _ SCENE I:--_The recorder, then the doorkeeper, then Mouzon. When thecurtain rises the recorder, seated in the magistrate's armchair, isdrinking his coffee. The doorkeeper enters. _ RECORDER. Ah! Here's our friend the doorkeeper of the courthouse! Well, what's the news? DOORKEEPER. Here's your boss. RECORDER. Already! DOORKEEPER. He got back from Bordeaux last night. Fagged out he looked. RECORDER [_loftily_] A Mauleon magistrate is always fatigued when hereturns from Bordeaux! DOORKEEPER. Why? RECORDER [_after a pause_] I do not know. DOORKEEPER. It's the Irissary murder that has brought him here so early. RECORDER. Probably. [_While speaking he arranges his cup, saucer, sugarbasin, etc. , in a drawer. He then goes to his own place, the desk at theback. Mouzon enters. The doorkeeper pretends to have completed someerrand and leaves the room. The recorder rises, with a low bow_]Good-morning, your worship. MOUZON. Good-morning. You haven't made any engagements, have you, exceptin the case of the Irissary murder? RECORDER. I have cited the officer of the gendarmerie, the accused, andthe wife of the accused. MOUZON. I am tired, my good fellow. I have a nervous headache! Anyletters for me? RECORDER. No, your worship. MOUZON. His Honor the State Attorney hasn't asked for me? RECORDER. No, your worship. But all the same I have something for you. [_He hands him an envelope_] MOUZON [_opening the envelope_] Stamps for my collection! I say, Benoît, that's good! Now let's see. Let's see. [_He unlocks the drawer of hisdesk and takes out a stamp album_] Uruguay. I have it! Well, it will doto exchange. And this one too. Oh! Oh! I say, Benoît! A George Albert, first edition! But where did you get this, my dear fellow? RECORDER. A solicitor's clerk found it in a brief. MOUZON. Splendid! I must stick that in at once! Pass me the paste, willyou? [_He delicately trims the edges of the stamp with a pair ofscissors and pastes it in the album with the greatest care, while stilltalking_] It is rare, extremely rare! According to the _Philatelist_ itwill exchange for three blue Amadei or a '67 Khedive, obliterated. There! [_Turning over the leaves of his album_] Really, you know, itbegins to look something like. It's beginning to fill up, eh? You know Ibelieve I shall soon be able to get that Hayti example. Look! See here![_In great delight_] There's a whole page-full! And all splendidexamples. [_He closes the album and sighs_] O Lord! RECORDER. You don't feel well? MOUZON. It's not that. I was rather worried at Bordeaux. RECORDER. About your stamps? MOUZON. No, no. [_A sigh to himself_] Damn the women! The very thing Ididn't want. [_He takes his album again_] When I've got that Haytispecimen I shall need only three more to fill this page too. Yes. [_Hecloses the album_] Well, what's the post? Ah! Here is the informationfrom Paris in respect of the woman Etchepare and her husband's judicialrecord. [_The doorkeeper enters with a visiting-card_] Who is coming todisturb me now? [_More agreeably, having read the name_] Ah! Ah! [_Tothe recorder_] I shall see him alone. RECORDER. Yes, your worship. [_He goes out_] MOUZON [_to the doorkeeper_] Show him in. [_He hides his album, picks upa brief, and affects to be reading it with the utmost attention_] SCENE II:--_Enter Mondoubleau. _ MONDOUBLEAU [_speaking with a strong provincial accent_] I was passingthe Law Courts, and I thought I'd look in and say how do. I am notdisturbing you, I hope? MOUZON [_smiling and closing his brief_] My dear deputy, an examiningmagistrate, as you know, is always busy. But it gives one a rest--itdoes one good--to see a welcome caller once in a while. Sit down, I begyou. Yes, please! MONDOUBLEAU. I can stop only a minute. MOUZON. But that's unkind of you! MONDOUBLEAU. Well, what's the latest about the Irissary murder? MOUZON. So far there's nothing new. I've questioned the accused--anugly-looking fellow and a poor defence. He simply denied everything andflew into a temper. I had to send him back to the cells without gettinganything out of him. MONDOUBLEAU. Are you perfectly sure you've got the right man? MOUZON. Certain--no; but I should be greatly surprised if I weremistaken. MONDOUBLEAU. I saw Monsieur Delorme yesterday. He's a little better. MOUZON. So I hear. He thinks the murderer was a tramp. Now there, mydear sir, is one of the peculiarities to which we examining magistratesare subject. We always find it the very devil to abandon the first ideathat pops into our minds. Personally I do my best to avoid what isreally a professional failing. I am just going to examine Etchepare, andI am waiting for the results of a police inquiry. If all this gives meno result, I shall set the man at liberty and look elsewhere for theculprit--but I repeat, I firmly believe I am on the right scent. MONDOUBLEAU. Monsieur Delorme is a magistrate of long experience and avery shrewd one, and I will not deny that the reasons he has given meare-- MOUZON. I know my colleague is extremely intelligent. And, once more, Idon't say that he's wrong. We shall see. At present I am only morallycertain. I shall be materially certain when I know the antecedents ofthe accused and have established an obvious motive for his action. Atthe moment of your arrival I was about to open my mail. Here is a letterfrom the Court of Pau; it gives our man's judicial record. [_He takes apaper-knife in order to open the envelope_] MONDOUBLEAU. A curious paper-knife. MOUZON. That? It's the blade of the knife that brought the prettyToulouse woman to the guillotine at Bordeaux. Pretty weapon, eh? I hadit made into a paper-knife. [_He opens the envelope_] There--there youare! Four times sentenced for assaulting and wounding. You see-- MONDOUBLEAU. Really, really! Four times! MOUZON. This is getting interesting. Besides this--I have neglectednothing--I have learned that his wife, Yanetta Etchepare-- MONDOUBLEAU. Is that the young woman I saw in the corridor just now? MOUZON. I have called her as witness. I shall be hearing her directly. MONDOUBLEAU. She looks a very respectable woman. MOUZON. Possibly. But, as I was about to tell you, I have learned thatshe used to live in Paris--before her marriage--I have written askingfor information. Here we are. [_He opens the envelope and smiles_] Aha!Well, this young woman who looks so respectable was sentenced to onemonth's imprisonment for receiving stolen goods. Now we will hear thepolice lieutenant who is coming, very obligingly, to give me an accountof the inquiry with which I intrusted him, and which he will put inwriting this evening. I shall soon see-- MONDOUBLEAU. Do you suppose he will have anything new for you? MOUZON. Does this interest you? I will see him in your presence. [_Hegoes to the door and makes a sign. He returns to his chair_] Understand, I assert nothing. It is quite possible that my colleague's judgment hasbeen more correct than mine. [_The officer enters_] SCENE III:--_The same and the officer. _ OFFICER. Good-morning, Monsieur. MOUZON. Good-morning, lieutenant. You can speak before this gentleman. OFFICER [_saluting_] Our deputy-- MOUZON. Well? OFFICER. Yes! He's the man! MOUZON [_after a glance at Mondoubleau_] Don't let's go too fast. Onwhat grounds do you make that assertion? OFFICER. You will see. In the first place there have been fourconvictions already. MOUZON. I know. OFFICER. Then fifteen years ago he bought, from Daddy Goyetche, thevictim, a vineyard, the payment taking the form of a life annuity. MOUZON. Well! OFFICER. He professed to have made a very bad bargain, and he used toabuse old Goyetche as a swindler. MOUZON. Excellent! OFFICER. Five years ago he sold this vineyard. MOUZON. So that for five years he has been paying an annuity to thevictim, although the vineyard was no longer his property. OFFICER. Yes, your worship. MOUZON. Go on. OFFICER. After his arrest people's tongues were loosened. His neighborshave been talking. MOUZON. That's always the way. OFFICER. I have heard a witness, the girl Gracieuse Mendione, to whomEtchepare used the words, "It is really too stupid to be forced to paymoney to that old swine. " MOUZON. Wait a moment. You say the girl Gracieuse? OFFICER. Mendione. MOUZON [_writing_] Mendione--"It is really too stupid to be forced topay money to that old swine. " Good! Good! Well? OFFICER. I have another witness, Piarrech Artola. MOUZON [_writing_] Piarrech Artola. OFFICER. Etchepare told him, about two months ago, in speaking of oldGoyetche, "It's more than one can stand--the Almighty's forgotten him. " MOUZON [_writing_] "The Almighty has forgotten him. " Excellent. Is thisall you can tell me? OFFICER. Almost all. MOUZON. At what date should Etchepare have made the next annual paymentto old Goyetche? OFFICER. A week after Ascension Day. MOUZON. That is a week after the crime? OFFICER. Yes, your worship. MOUZON [_to Mondoubleau_] Singular coincidence! [_To the officer_] Washe comfortably off, this Etchepare? OFFICER. He was pressed for money. Three months ago he borrowed eighthundred francs from a Mauleon cattle-dealer. MOUZON. And what do the neighbors say? OFFICER. They say Etchepare was a sly grasping fellow, and they aren'tsurprised to hear that he's the murderer. All the same, they all speakvery highly of the woman Yanetta Etchepare. They say she is a modelmother and housekeeper. MOUZON. How many children? OFFICER. Two--Georges and--I can't remember the name of the other now. MOUZON. And the woman's moral character? OFFICER. Irreproachable. MOUZON. Good. OFFICER. I was forgetting. One of my men, one of those who effected thearrest, informs me that when Etchepare saw him coming he said to hiswife, "They've got me. " MOUZON. "They've got me. " That is rather important. OFFICER. And then he told his wife, in Basque, "Don't for the world letout that I left the house last night!" MOUZON. He said this before the gendarme? OFFICER. No, your worship--the gendarme was outside--close to an openwindow. Etchepare didn't see him. MOUZON. You will have him cited as witness. OFFICER. Yes, your worship. Then there's that witness for the defencetoo--Bridet. MOUZON. Ah, yes--I have read the deposition he made in your presence. It's of no importance. Still, if he's there I'll hear him. Thank you. Well, draw up a report for me, in full detail, and make them give youthe summonses for the witnesses. OFFICER. Yes, your worship. [_He salutes and goes out_] SCENE IV:--_Mouzon and Mondoubleau. _ MONDOUBLEAU. Monsieur Delorme is a fool. MOUZON [_laughing_] Well, I don't say so, my dear deputy. MONDOUBLEAU. It's wonderful, your faculty of divination. MOUZON. Wonderful--no, no. I assure you-- MONDOUBLEAU. Now how did you come to suspect this Etchepare? MOUZON. Well, you know, it is partly a matter of temperament. Thesearching for a criminal is an art. I may say that a good examiningmagistrate is guided less by the facts themselves than by a kind ofinspiration. MONDOUBLEAU. Wonderful. I repeat it's wonderful. And this witness forthe defence? MOUZON. He may be a false witness. MONDOUBLEAU. What makes you think that? MOUZON. Because he accuses the gipsies! Moreover, he had businessdealings with Etchepare. The Basque, you know, still look on us ratheras enemies, as conquerors, and they think it no crime to deceive us bymeans of a false oath. MONDOUBLEAU. Then you were never inclined to accept the theory of yourpredecessor? MOUZON. Tramps--the poor wretches! I know what an affection you have forthe poor, and I feel with you that one should not confine oneself tosuspecting the unfortunate--people without shelter, without bread even. MONDOUBLEAU. Bravo! I am delighted to find that you are not only an ablemagistrate, but also that you think with me on political matters. MOUZON. You are very good. MONDOUBLEAU. I hope that from now on the Basque newspapers will ceaseits attacks upon you. MOUZON. I am afraid not. MONDOUBLEAU. Come, come! MOUZON. What can you expect, my dear sir? The paper is hostile to you, and as I do not scruple openly to support your candidature they make themagistrate pay for the opinions of the citizen. MONDOUBLEAU. I feel ashamed--and I thank you with all my heart, my dearfellow. Go on as you are doing--but be prudent--eh? The Keeper of theSeals was saying to me only a couple of days ago, "I look to you to seethat there is no trouble in your constituency. No trouble--above all noscandal of any kind!" I ought to tell you that Eugène is the subject ofmany attacks at the present moment. MOUZON. You are on very intimate terms with his Honor the Keeper of theSeals. MONDOUBLEAU [_makes a gesture, then, simply_] We were in the Communetogether. MOUZON. I see. MONDOUBLEAU. Tell me, by the way, what sort of a man is your StateAttorney? MOUZON. Monsieur Vagret? MONDOUBLEAU. Yes. MOUZON. Oh, well--he's a very painstaking magistrate, very exact-- MONDOUBLEAU. No, I mean as to his political opinions. MOUZON. You mustn't blame him for being in the political camp of thosewho are diametrically opposed to us. At all events, don't run away withthe idea that he is a mischievous person. MONDOUBLEAU. Narrow-minded. [_He has for some little time been gazing atMouzon's desk_] I see you've got the Labastide brief on your table. There's nothing in it at all. I know Labastide well; he's one of myablest electoral agents; and I assure you he's absolutely incapable ofcommitting the actions of which he is accused. I told Monsieur Vagret asmuch, but I see he is prosecuting after all. MOUZON. I can only assure you, my dear deputy, that I will give theLabastide affair my most particular attention. MONDOUBLEAU. I have too much respect for you, my dear fellow, to askmore of you. Well, well, I mustn't waste your time. So for the present-- MOUZON. Au revoir. [_The deputy goes out. Mouzon is alone_] I don'tthink our deputy is getting such a bad idea of me. [_Smiling_] The factis it was really clever of me to suspect Etchepare. Now the thing is tomake him confess the whole business, and as quickly as possible-- _The doorkeeper enters, a telegram in his hand. _ MOUZON. A telegram for me? DOORKEEPER. Yes, your honor. MOUZON. Give it me. Right. [_The doorkeeper goes out. Mouzon reads_]"Diane is detained under arrest. The report of yesterday's affair sentto the Attorney-General. --Lucien. " That's nice for me! [_He is silent, pacing to and fro_] Oh, the accursed women! [_Silence_] Come, I mustget to work. [_He goes to the door at the back and calls his recorder_]Benoît! SCENE V:--_Mouzon, the recorder, and then Bridet. _ MOUZON [_seated, gives a brief to the recorder_] Make out an order ofnon-lieu in the Labastide case and the order for his immediate release. You can do that during the interrogatories. Now, let us begin! It is twoo'clock already and we have done nothing. Make haste--Let's see--Whatare you waiting for? Give me the list of witnesses--the list ofwitnesses. Don't you understand? What's the matter with you to-day?That's right. Now bring in this famous witness for the defence and letus get rid of him. Is Etchepare there? RECORDER. Yes, your honor. MOUZON. His wife too? RECORDER. Yes, your honor. MOUZON. Well, then! What's the matter with you that you look at me likethat? Bring him in. RECORDER. Which first? Etchepare? MOUZON. No!--the witness for the defence. The wit-ness for thede-fence--do you understand? RECORDER [_outside, angrily_] Bridet! Come, Bridet, are you deaf? Comein! [_Roughly_] Stir yourself! _Bridet enters. _ BRIDET. Your worship, I am going to tell you-- MOUZON. Hold your tongue. You will speak when you are questioned. Name, surname, age, profession, and place of domicile. BRIDET. Bridet, Jean-Pierre, thirty-eight, maker of _alpargates_ atFaigorry. MOUZON [_in a single breath_] You swear to speak the truth, the wholetruth, and nothing but the truth. Say, "I swear. " You are neither ablood relative nor a relation by marriage of the accused, you are not inhis service and he is not in yours. [_To the recorder_] Has he said, "Iswear"? RECORDER. Yes, your worship. MOUZON [_to Bridet_] Speak! [_Silence_] Go on--speak! BRIDET. I am waiting for you to ask me questions. MOUZON. Just now one couldn't keep you quiet; now when I ask you tospeak you have nothing to say. What interest have you in defendingEtchepare? BRIDET. What interest? MOUZON. Yes. Don't you understand your own language? BRIDET. Yes, Monsieur. Why, no interest. MOUZON. No interest? Is that the truth? Eh? None? Come, I want very muchto believe you. [_Very sternly_] However, I remind you that Article 361of the Penal Code punishes false evidence with imprisonment. Now thatyou know the risk you run in not telling the truth I will listen to you. BRIDET [_confused_] I was going to say that old Goyetche was murdered bygipsies who came from over the frontier, down the mountain. MOUZON. You are sure of that? BRIDET. I believe it's so. MOUZON. You are not here to say what you believe. Tell me what you sawor heard. That is all that's asked of you. BRIDET. But one's always meeting them, these gipsies. The other day theyrobbed a tobacconist's shop. There were three of them. Two of them wentinside. I must tell you they had looked the place over during the day-- MOUZON. Did you come here to laugh at the law? Eh? BRIDET. I?--But, Monsieur-- MOUZON. I ask if you came here to mock at the law? BRIDET. No, Monsieur. MOUZON. That's as well, for such a thing won't answer--you understand?Do you hear? BRIDET. Yes, Monsieur. MOUZON. Is that all you have to say? BRIDET. No, Monsieur. MOUZON. Well, then, go on! Confound it! Don't waste my time in this way!Do you think I've nothing to do but listen to your gossip? Come now, tell me. BRIDET. Well, the day after Ascension Day--that is, on the Monday--no, on the Friday-- MOUZON. Was it Monday or Friday? BRIDET. Friday--it was like a Monday, you see, because it was the dayafter the holiday. Well, the day they found old Goyetche murdered I sawa troop of gipsies leaving his house. MOUZON. Then you were quite close to the house? BRIDET. No, I was passing on the road. MOUZON. Did they close the door behind them? BRIDET. I don't know, Monsieur. MOUZON. Then why do you say you saw them come out of the house? BRIDET. I saw them come out of the meadow in front of the house. MOUZON. And then? BRIDET. That's all. MOUZON [_throwing himself back in his chair_] And you've come here tobother me for this, eh? Answer. For this? BRIDET. But, your worship--I beg your pardon--I thought--I beg yourpardon-- MOUZON. Listen. How many gipsies were there? Think well. Don't make amistake. BRIDET. Five. MOUZON. Are you certain of that? BRIDET. Yes, Monsieur. MOUZON. Yes. Well, in the presence of the gendarmes you said there werefive or six. So you are more certain of a fact at the end of a monththan you were on the day on which you observed it. On the other hand, you no longer know whether the fact occurred on a Monday or a Friday, nor whether the gipsies were leaving the house or merely crossing thefields. [_Sternly_] Tell me, are you acquainted with the accused?Etchepare--do you know him? BRIDET. Yes, Monsieur. MOUZON. You have business relations with him? You used to sell himsheep? BRIDET. Yes, Monsieur. MOUZON. That's enough for me. Get out! BRIDET. Yes, Monsieur. MOUZON. And think yourself lucky that I let you go like this. BRIDET. Yes, Monsieur. MOUZON. In future, before asking to be heard as a witness for thedefence in a trial at law, I recommend you to think twice. BRIDET. Rest your mind easy, Monsieur. I swear they'll never get meagain! MOUZON. Sign your interrogatory and be off. If there were not so manyeasy-going blunderers of your sort, there would be less occasion tocomplain of the law's delays and hesitations for which the law itself isnot responsible. BRIDET. Yes, Monsieur. MOUZON [_to the recorder_] Send for Etchepare. RECORDER [_returning immediately_] Your worship. MOUZON. Well? RECORDER. The advocate--Maître Plaçat. MOUZON. Is he there? RECORDER. Yes, your honor. He would like to see you before theinterrogatory. MOUZON. Well, show him in, then! What are you waiting for? Be off--andcome back when I send for the accused. _The recorder goes out as Plaçat enters. _ SCENE VI:--_Mouzon, Maître Plaçat. _ MOUZON. Good-day, my dear fellow--how are you? PLAÇAT. Fine. And you? I caught sight of you last night at the GrandTheatre; you were with an extremely charming woman. MOUZON. Ah, yes--I--er-- PLAÇAT. I beg your pardon. Tell me now--I wanted to have a word with youabout the Etchepare case. MOUZON. If you are free at the present moment, we are going to hold theexamination at once. PLAÇAT. That's the trouble--I haven't a minute. MOUZON. Would you like us to postpone it until to-morrow? PLAÇAT. No, no--I have just been speaking to the accused. Anuninteresting story. He just keeps on denying--that's all. He agreed tobe interrogated without me. [_Laughing_] I won't hide from you that Iadvised him to persist in his method. Well, then, au revoir. If he wantsan advocate later on, let me know--I'll send you one of my secretaries. MOUZON. Right. Good-bye for the present, then. _He returns to his desk. The recorder enters, then Etchepare, between two gendarmes. _ SCENE VII:--_Mouzon, Etchepare, the recorder. _ RECORDER. Step forward. MOUZON [_to the recorder_] Recorder, write. [_Very quickly, stuttering_]In the year nineteen hundred and ninety-seven, etc. Before me, Mouzon, examining magistrate, in the presence of--and so on--the Sieur EtchepareJean-Pierre was brought to our office, his first appearance beingrecorded in the report of--and so on. We may mention that the accused, having consented to interrogation in the absence of his advocate--[_ToEtchepare_] You do consent, don't you? ETCHEPARE. I am innocent. I don't need any advocate. MOUZON [_resumes his stuttering_] We dispensed therewith. In consequenceof which we have immediately proceeded as below to the interrogation ofthe said Sieur Etchepare Jean-Pierre. [_To Etchepare_] Etchepare, on theoccasion of your first appearance you refused to reply, which wasn'tperhaps very sensible of you, but you were within your rights. You lostyour temper and I was even obliged to remind you of the respect due tothe law. Are you going to speak to-day? ETCHEPARE [_disturbed_] Yes, your worship. MOUZON. Ah! Aha! my fine fellow, you are not so proud to-day! ETCHEPARE. No. I've been thinking. I want to get out of this as quicklyas possible. MOUZON. Well, well, for my part, I ask nothing more than to be able toset you at liberty. So far we understand each other excellently. Let ushope it'll last. Sit down. And first of all I advise you to give uptrying to father the crime onto a band of gipsies. The witness Bridet, who has business relations with you, has endeavored, no doubt at yourinstigation, to induce us to accept this fable. I warn you he has notsucceeded. ETCHEPARE. I don't know what Bridet may have told you. MOUZON. Oh! You deny it? So much the better! Come, you are cleverer thanI thought! Was it you who murdered Goyetche? ETCHEPARE. No, Monsieur. MOUZON. You had an interest in his death? ETCHEPARE. No, Monsieur. MOUZON. Oh, really! I thought you had to pay him a life annuity. ETCHEPARE [_after a moment's hesitation_] Yes, Monsieur. MOUZON. Then you had an interest in his death? [_Silence_] Eh! You don'tanswer? Well, let us continue. You said to a witness, the youngwoman--the young woman Gracieuse Mendione--"It is really too stupid tobe forced to pay money to that old swine. " ETCHEPARE [_without conviction_] That's not true. MOUZON. It's not true! So the witness is a liar, eh? ETCHEPARE. I don't know. MOUZON. You don't know. [_A pause_] You thought that Goyetche had livedtoo long? ETCHEPARE. No, Monsieur. MOUZON. No, Monsieur. Then why did you say to another witness, PiarrechArtola, why did you say, in speaking of your creditor, "It's too much, the Almighty has forgotten him"? ETCHEPARE. I didn't say that. MOUZON. You didn't say that. So this witness is a liar too! Answer me. Is he a liar? [_Silence_] You don't answer. It's just as well. Come now, Etchepare, why do you persist in these denials--eh? Isn't it all plainenough? You are avaricious, interested, greedy for gain-- ETCHEPARE. It's so hard to make a living. MOUZON. You are a man of violent temper--from time to time you getdrunk, and then you become dangerous. You have been four times convictedfor assault and wounding--you are over-ready with your knife. Is thatthe truth or isn't it? You were tired of paying--for nothing--a biggishannual sum to this old man. The time for payment was approaching; youwere pressed for money; you felt that Goyetche had lived too long, andyou killed him. It's so obvious--eh? Isn't it true? ETCHEPARE [_gradually recovering himself_] I did not murder him. MOUZON. We won't juggle with words. Did you pay anyone else to kill him? ETCHEPARE. I had nothing to do with his death. You yourself say I waspressed for money. So how could I have paid anyone to kill him? MOUZON. Then you did it yourself. ETCHEPARE. That's a lie. MOUZON. Listen, Etchepare--you will confess sooner or later. Already youare weakening in your defence. ETCHEPARE. If I was to shout, you'd say I was play-acting. MOUZON. I tell you sooner or later you will change your tune. Alreadyyou admit facts which constitute a serious charge against you. ETCHEPARE. That's true; I said it without thinking of the consequences. MOUZON. Ah, but you ought to think of the consequences; for they may bepeculiarly serious for you. ETCHEPARE. I'm not afraid of death. MOUZON. The death of others-- ETCHEPARE. Nor my own. MOUZON. So much the better. But you are a Basque; you are a Catholic. After death there is hell. ETCHEPARE. I'm not afraid of hell; I've done nothing wrong. MOUZON. There is the dishonor that will fall on your children. You loveyour children, do you not? Eh? They will ask after you--they loveyou--because they don't know--yet-- ETCHEPARE [_suddenly weeping_] My poor little children! My poor littlechildren! MOUZON. Come, then! All good feeling isn't extinct in you. Believe me, Etchepare, the jury will be touched by your confession, by yourrepentance--you will escape the supreme penalty. You are stillyoung--you have long years before you in which to expiate your crime. You may earn your pardon and perhaps you may once again see thosechildren, who will have forgiven you. Believe me--believe me--in yourown interests even, confess! [_Mouzon has approached Etchepare duringthe foregoing; he places his hands on the latter's shoulders; hecontinues, with great gentleness_] Come, isn't it true? If you can'tspeak, you've only to nod your head. Eh? It's true? Come, since I knowit's true. Eh? I can't hear what you say. It was you, wasn't it? It wasyou! ETCHEPARE [_still weeping_] It was not me, sir! I swear it was not me! Iswear it! MOUZON [_in a hard voice, going back to his desk_] Oh, you needn'tswear. You have only to tell me the truth. ETCHEPARE. I am telling the truth--I am--I can't say I did it when Ididn't! MOUZON. Come, come! We shall get nothing out of you to-day. [_To therecorder_] Read him his interrogatory and let him be taken back to hiscell. One minute--Etchepare! ETCHEPARE. Monsieur? MOUZON. There is one way to prove your innocence, since you profess tobe innocent. Prove, in one way or another, that you were elsewhere thanat Irissary on the night of the crime, and I will set you at liberty. Where were you? ETCHEPARE. Where was I? MOUZON. I ask you where you were on the night of Ascension Day. Were youat home? ETCHEPARE. Yes. MOUZON. Is that really the truth? ETCHEPARE. Yes. MOUZON [_rising, rather theatrically, pointing at Etchepare_] Now, Etchepare, that condemns you. I know that you went out that night. Whenyou were arrested you said to your wife, "Don't for the world admit thatI went out last night. " Come, I must tell you everything. Someone sawyou--a servant. She told the gendarmes that as she was saying good-nightto a young man from Iholdy, with whom she had been dancing, at teno'clock at night, she saw you a few hundred yards from your house. Whathave you to say to that? ETCHEPARE. It is true--I did go out. MOUZON [_triumphantly_] Ah! Now, my good man, we've had some trouble ingetting you to say something. But I can read it in your face when youare lying--I can read it in your face in letters as big as that. Theproof is that there was no witness who saw you go out--neither yourservant nor anyone else; and yet I would have sworn to it with my headunder the knife. Come, we have made a little progress now. [_To therecorder_] Have you put down carefully his first admission? Good. [_ToEtchepare_] Now think for a moment. We will continue our littleconversation. [_He goes towards the fireplace, rubbing his hands, pourshimself a glass of spirits, swallows it, gives a sigh of gratification, and returns to his chair_] FIRST GENDARME [_to his comrade_] A cunning one, he is! SECOND GENDARME. You're right! MOUZON. Let us continue. Come, now that you've got so far, confess thewhole thing! Here are these good gendarmes who want to go to their grub. [_The gendarmes, the recorder, and Mouzon laugh_] You confess? No? Thentell me, why did you insist on saying that you remained at home thatnight? ETCHEPARE. Because I'd told the gendarmes so and I didn't want to makemyself out a liar. MOUZON. And why did you tell the gendarmes that? ETCHEPARE. Because I thought they'd arrest me on account of thesmuggling. MOUZON. Good. Then you didn't go to Irissary that night? ETCHEPARE. No. MOUZON. Where did you go? ETCHEPARE. Up the mountain, to look for a horse that had got away thenight before, one of a lot we were taking to Spain. MOUZON. Good. Excellent. That isn't badly thought out--that can bemaintained. You went to look for a horse lost on the mountain, a horsewhich escaped from a lot you were smuggling over the frontier on theprevious night. Excellent. If that is true, there is nothing for it butto set you at liberty before we are much older. Now to prove that you'vesimply to tell me to whom you sold the horse; we shall send for thepurchaser, and if he confirms your statement, I will sign yourdischarge. To whom did you sell the horse? ETCHEPARE. I didn't sell it. MOUZON. You gave it away? You did something with it! ETCHEPARE. No--I didn't find it again. MOUZON. You didn't find it again! The devil! That's not so good. Come!Let's think of something else. You didn't go up the mountain all alone? ETCHEPARE. Yes, all alone. MOUZON. Bad luck! Another time, you see, you ought to take a companion. Were you out long? ETCHEPARE. All night. I got in at five in the morning. MOUZON. A long time. ETCHEPARE. We aren't well off, and a horse is worth a lot of money. MOUZON. Yes. But you didn't spend the whole night on the mountainwithout meeting someone--shepherds or customs officers? ETCHEPARE. It was raining in torrents. MOUZON. Then you met no one? ETCHEPARE. No one. MOUZON. I thought as much. [_In a tone of disappointed reproach, withapparent pity_] Tell me, Etchepare, do you take the jurymen for idiots?[_Silence_] So that's all you've been able to think of? I said you wereintelligent just now. I take that back. But think what you've told me--arigmarole like that. Why, a child of eight would have done better. It'sridiculous I tell you--ridiculous. The jurymen will simply shrug theirshoulders when they hear it. A whole night out of doors, in the pouringrain, to look for a horse you don't find--and without meeting a livingsoul--no shepherds, no customs officers--and you go home at five in themorning--although at this time of the year it's daylight by then--yes, and before then--but no, no one saw you and you saw no one. So everybodywas stricken with blindness, eh? A miracle happened, and everyone wasblind that night. You don't ask me to believe that? No? Why not? It'squite as probable as what you do tell me. So everybody wasn't blind?[_The recorder bursts into a laugh; the gendarmes imitate him_] You seewhat it's worth, your scheme of defence! You make the gaolers and myrecorder laugh. Don't you agree with me that your new method of defenceis ridiculous? ETCHEPARE [_abashed, under his breath_] I don't know. MOUZON. Well, if you don't know, we do! Come now! I have no advice togive you. You repeat that at the trial and see what effect you produce. But why not confess? Why not confess? I really don't understand yourobstinacy. I repeat, I really do not understand it. ETCHEPARE. Well, if I didn't do it, am I to say all the same that I did? MOUZON. So you persist in your story of the phantom horse? You persistin it, do you? ETCHEPARE. How do I know? How should I know what I ought to say? Ishould do better not to say anything at all--everything I say is turnedagainst me! MOUZON. Because the stories you invent are altogether tooimprobable--because you think me more of a fool than I am in thinkingthat I am going to credit such absurd inventions. I preferred your firstmethod; at least you had two witnesses to speak for you--two witnesseswho were not worth very much, it's true, but witnesses all the same. You've made a change; well, you are within your rights. Let us stick tothe lost horse. ETCHEPARE. Well, then? [_A long pause_] MOUZON. Come! Out with it! ETCHEPARE [_without emphasis, hesitation, gazing at the recorder asthough to read in his eyes whether he was replying as he should_] Well, I'm going to tell you, Monsieur. You are right--it isn't true--I didn'tgo up into the mountain. What I said first of all was the truth--Ididn't go out at all. Just now I was all muddled. At first I deniedeverything, even what was true--I was so afraid of you. Then, when youtold me--I don't remember what it was--my head's all going like--I don'tknow--I don't remember--but all the same I know I am innocent. Well, just now, I almost wished I could admit I was guilty if only you'd leaveme in peace. What was I saying? I don't remember. Ah, yes--when you toldme--whatever it was, I've forgotten--it seemed to me I'd better say I'dgone out--and I told a lie. But [_sincerely_] what I swear to you isthat I am not the guilty man. I swear it, I swear it! MOUZON. I repeat, I ask nothing better than to be able to believe it. Sonow it's understood, is it, that you were at home? ETCHEPARE. Yes, Monsieur. MOUZON. We shall hear your wife directly. You have no other witnesses tocall? ETCHEPARE. No, Monsieur. MOUZON. Good. Take the accused away--but remain in the Court. I shallprobably need him directly for a confrontation. His interrogatory isn'tfinished. _The gendarmes lead Etchepare away. _ SCENE VIII:--_Mouzon and the recorder. _ MOUZON [_to the recorder_] What a rogue, eh? One might have taken him inthe act, knife in hand, and he'd say it wasn't true! A crafty fellowtoo--he defends himself well. RECORDER. I really thought, at one time, that your worship had got him. MOUZON. When I was speaking of his children? RECORDER. Yes, that brought tears to one's eyes. It made one feel onewanted to confess even though one hadn't done anything! MOUZON. Didn't it? Ah, if I hadn't got this headache! [_A pause_] I dida stupid thing just now. RECORDER. Oh, your worship! MOUZON. I did. I was wrong to show him how improbable that new story ofhis was. It is so grotesque that it would have betrayed him--while, ifhe goes on asserting that he never left the house, if the servantinsists he didn't, and if the wife says the same thing, that's somethingthat may create a doubt in the mind of the jury. He saw that perfectly, the rascal! He felt that of the two methods the first was the better. That's one against me, my good Benoît. [_To himself_] That must be setright. Let me think. Etchepare is the murderer, there's no doubt aboutthat. I am as certain of that as if I'd been present. So he wasn't athome on the night of the crime and his wife knows it. After the way hehesitated just now--if I can get the wife to confess that he was absentfrom home till the morning, we get back to the ridiculous story of thelost horse, and I catch him twice in a flagrant lie, and I've got him. Come, we must give the good woman a bit of a roasting and get the truthout of her. It'll be devilish queer if I don't succeed. [_To therecorder_] What did I do with the police record of the woman Etcheparethat was sent from Paris? RECORDER. It's in the brief. MOUZON. Yes--here it is--the extract from her judicial record. Reportnumber two, a month of imprisonment, for receiving--couldn't be better. Send her in. _The recorder goes to the door and calls. _ RECORDER. Yanetta Etchepare! _Enter Yanetta. _ SCENE IX:--_Mouzon, recorder, Yanetta. _ MOUZON. Step forward. Now, Madame, I shall not administer the oath toyou, since you are the wife of the accused. But none the less I beg youmost urgently to tell the truth. I warn you that an untruth on your partmight compel me to accuse you of complicity with your husband in thecrime of which he is accused and force me to have you arrested at once. YANETTA. I'm not afraid. I can't be my husband's accomplice because myhusband isn't guilty. MOUZON. That is not my opinion. I will say further: you know a greatdeal more about this matter than you care to tell. YANETTA. I? That's infamous. MOUZON. Come, come, no shouting! I don't say you took a direct part inthe murder, I say it is highly probable that you knew of the murder, perhaps advised it, and that you have profited by it. That would beenough to place you in the dock beside your husband at the assizes. Mytreatment of you will depend on the sincerity of your answers to myquestions. As you do or do not tell me the truth I shall either set youat liberty or have you arrested. Now you can't say that I haven't warnedyou! And now, if you please, inform me whether you persist in your firststatement, in which you affirm that Etchepare stopped at home on thenight of Ascension Day. YANETTA. I do. MOUZON. Well, it is untrue. YANETTA [_excited_] The night on which Daddy Goyetche was murdered myhusband never left the house. MOUZON. I tell you that is not the truth. YANETTA [_as before_] The night Daddy Goyetche was murdered my husbandnever left the house. MOUZON. You seem to have got stuck. You go on repeating the same thing. YANETTA. Yes, I go on repeating the same thing. MOUZON. Well, now let us examine into the value of your evidence. Sinceyour marriage--for the last ten years--your conduct has left nothing tobe desired. You are thrifty, faithful, industrious, honest-- YANETTA. Well? MOUZON. Wait a moment. You have two children, whom you adore. You are anexcellent mother. One hears of your almost heroic behavior at the timeyour eldest child was ill--Georges, I think. YANETTA. Yes, it was Georges. But what has that to do with the chargeagainst my husband? MOUZON. Have patience. You will see presently. YANETTA. Very well. MOUZON. It is all the more to your credit that you are what you are, foryour husband does not give us an example of the same virtues. Heoccasionally gets drunk. YANETTA. No, he doesn't. MOUZON. Come--everyone knows that. He is violent. YANETTA. He's not violent. MOUZON. So violent that he has been convicted four times for assault andbattery. YANETTA. That's possible; at holiday times, in the evening, men getquarrelling. But that was a long time ago. Now he behaves better, andI'm very happy with him. MOUZON. That surprises me. YANETTA. Anyhow, does that prove he murdered old Goyetche? MOUZON. Your husband is very grasping. YANETTA. Poor people are forced to be very grasping or else to die ofstarvation. MOUZON. You defend him well. YANETTA. Did you suppose I was going to accuse him? MOUZON. Have you ever been convicted? YANETTA [_anxious_] Me? Mouzon. Yes, you. YANETTA [_weakly_] No, I've never been convicted. Mouzon. That is curious because there was a girl of your name in Pariswho was sentenced to a month's imprisonment for receiving stolenproperty. YANETTA [_weakly_] For receiving stolen property-- MOUZON. You are not quite so bold now--you are disturbed. YANETTA [_as before_] No-- MOUZON. You are pale--you are trembling--you are feeling faint. Give hera chair, Benoît. [_The recorder obeys_] Pull yourself together! YANETTA. My God, you know that? MOUZON. Here is the report which has been sent me. "The woman YanettaX--was brought to Paris at the age of sixteen as companion or lady'smaid by Monsieur and Madame So-and-so, having been employed by them inthat capacity at Saint-Jean-de-Luz. " Is that correct? YANETTA. Yes. MOUZON. Here is some more. "Illicit relations were before long formedbetween the girl Yanetta and the son of the family, who was twenty-threeyears of age. Two years later the lovers fled, taking with them eightthousand francs which the young man had stolen from his father. On theinformation of the latter the girl Yanetta was arrested and condemned toone month's imprisonment for receiving stolen property. After servingher sentence she disappeared. It is believed that she returned to herown district. " Are you the person mentioned here? YANETTA. Yes. My God, I thought that was all so long ago--so completelyforgotten. It is all true, Monsieur, but for ten years now I've givenevery minute of my life to making up for it, trying to redeem myself. Just now I answered you insolently; I beg your pardon. You have not onlymy life in your hands now, but my husband's, and the honor of mychildren. MOUZON. Does your husband know of this? YANETTA. No, Monsieur. Oh, you aren't going to tell him! I beg you on myknees! It would be wicked, I tell you, wicked! Listen, Monsieur--listen. I came back to the country; I hid myself; I would rather have died; Ididn't want to stay in Paris--you understand why--and then in a littlewhile I lost mother. Etchepare was in love with me, and he bothered meto marry him. I refused--I had the courage to go on refusing for threeyears. Then--I was so lonely, so miserable, and he was so unhappy, thatin the end I gave way. I ought to have told him everything. I wanted to, but I couldn't. It would have hurt him too much. For he's a good man, Monsieur, I swear he is. [_Mouzon makes a gesture_] Yes, I know, sometimes when he's been drinking, he's violent. I was going to tell youabout that. I don't want to tell you any more untruths. But it's veryseldom he's violent now. [_Weeping_] Oh, don't let him know, Monsieur, don't let him know. He'd go away--he'd leave me--he'd take my childrenfrom me. [_She gives a despairing cry_] Ah, he'd take my children fromme! I don't know what to say to you--but it isn't possible--you can'ttell him--now you know all the harm it would do. You won't? Of course Iwas guilty--but I didn't understand--I didn't know. I wasn't seventeen, sir, when I went to Paris. My master and mistress had a son; he forcedme almost--and I loved him--and then he wanted to take me away becausehis parents wanted to send him away by himself. I did what he asked me. That money--I didn't know he had stolen it--I swear I didn't know-- MOUZON. That's all right; control yourself. YANETTA. Yes, Monsieur. MOUZON. We'll put that on one side for the moment. YANETTA. Yes, Monsieur. MOUZON. Now your husband-- YANETTA. Yes, Monsieur. MOUZON [_with great sincerity_] You will have need of all your courage, my poor woman. Your husband is guilty. YANETTA. It's impossible! It's impossible! MOUZON [_with great sincerity_] He has not confessed it, but he is onthe point of doing so. I myself know what happened that night after heleft your house--witnesses have told me. YANETTA. No! No! My God, my God! Witnesses? What witnesses? It isn'ttrue! MOUZON. Well, then, don't be so obstinate! In your own interest, don'tbe so stubborn! Shall I tell you what will be the end of it? You willruin your husband! If you insist on contradicting the evidence, that hepassed the night away from the house, you'll ruin him, I tell you. Onthe other hand, if you will only tell me the truth, then if he is notthe murderer, he will tell us what he did do and who his companionswere. YANETTA. He hadn't any. MOUZON. Then he went out alone? YANETTA. Yes. MOUZON. At ten o'clock? YANETTA. At ten. MOUZON. He returned alone at five in the morning? YANETTA. Yes, all alone. MOUZON. But perhaps you are thinking of some other night. It was reallythe night of Ascension Day when he went out alone? YANETTA. Yes. MOUZON. Benoît, have you got that written down? RECORDER. Yes, your worship. MOUZON. Madame, I know how painful this must be to you, but I beg you tolisten to me with the greatest attention. Your husband was pressed formoney, was he not? YANETTA. No. MOUZON. Yes. YANETTA. I tell you no. MOUZON. Here is the proof. Three months ago he borrowed eight hundredfrancs from a cattle-dealer of Mauleon. YANETTA. He never told me about it. MOUZON. Moreover, he owed a considerable sum to Goyetche. YANETTA. I've never heard of that either. MOUZON. Here is an acknowledgment written by your husband. It is in hishandwriting? YANETTA. Yes, but I didn't know-- MOUZON. You didn't know of the existence of this debt? That tends toconfirm what I know already--your husband went to Irissary. YANETTA. No, sir; he tells me everything he does. MOUZON. But you see very well that he doesn't, since you didn't know ofthe existence of this debt. He went to Irissary. Don't you believe me? YANETTA. Yes, Monsieur, but he didn't kill a man for money; it's a lie, a lie, a lie! MOUZON. It's a lie! Now how am I to know that? Your husband begins bydenying everything, blindly, and then he takes up two methods of defencein succession. You yourself begin by a piece of false evidence. Allthis, I tell you again, will do for the man. YANETTA. I don't know about that, but what I do tell you again is thathe didn't kill a man for money. MOUZON. Then what did he kill him for? Perhaps after all he isn't asguilty as I supposed just now. Perhaps he acted without premeditation. This is what might have happened. Etchepare, a little the worse fordrink, goes to Goyetche in order to ask him once more to wait for thepayment of this debt. There is a dispute between the two men; oldGoyetche was still a strong man; there may have been provocation on hispart, and there may have been a struggle, with the tragic result youknow of. In that case your husband's position is entirely different--heis no longer a criminal premeditating a crime; and the sentencepronounced against him may be quite a light one. So you see, my goodwoman, how greatly it is in your interest to obtain a completeconfession from him. If he persists in his denials, I am afraid the jurywill be extremely severe upon him. There is no doubt that he killedGoyetche; but under what conditions did he kill him? Everything dependson that. By persistently trying to pass for a totally innocent man herisks being thought more guilty than he is. Do you understand? YANETTA. Yes, Monsieur. MOUZON. Will you speak to him as I suggest? Shall I send for him? YANETTA. Yes, Monsieur. MOUZON. [_to the recorder_] Bring in the accused. Tell the gendarmes Ishall not need them. _Etchepare enters. _ SCENE X:--_The same, Etchepare. _ YANETTA. Pierre! To see you here--my Pierre--a prisoner--like a thief!My poor husband--my poor husband! Oh, prove you haven't done anything!Tell his worship--tell him the truth. It'll be best. I beg you tell himthe truth. ETCHEPARE. It's all no good. I know, I can feel, I'm done for. All thatI can do or say would be no use. Every word I do say turns against me. The gentleman wants me to be guilty. I must be guilty, according to him. So you see! What would you have me do, my poor darling? I've got nostrength to go on struggling against him. Let them do what they likewith me; I shan't say anything more. YANETTA. Yes, yes, you must speak. You must defend yourself. I beg ofyou, Pierre. I beg of you, defend yourself. ETCHEPARE. What's the use? YANETTA. I beg you to in the name of your children. They don't knowanything yet--but they cry because they see me crying--because, you see, I can't hide it, I can't control myself always in front of them. I can'tbe cheerful, can I? And then they love me, so they notice it. And theyask me questions, questions. If you only knew! They ask me about you. André was asking me again this morning, "Where's father? Are you goingto look for him? Tell me, are you going to fetch him?" I told him "yes"and I ran away. You see you must defend yourself so as to get back tothem as soon as possible. If you've anything to reproach yourself with, even the least thing, tell it. You are rough sometimes--so--I don'tknow. But if you went to Irissary, you must say so. Perhaps you had aquarrel with the poor old man. If that was it, say so, say so. Perhapsyou got fighting together and you--I'm saying perhaps you did--I don'tknow--you understand--but his worship promised me just now that if itwas like that they wouldn't punish you--or not very much. My God, whatam I to say to you? What's to be done? ETCHEPARE. So you believe I'm guilty--you too! Tell me now! Do youbelieve me guilty too? YANETTA. I don't know! I don't know! ETCHEPARE [_to Mouzon_] Ah, so you've managed that too; you've thoughtof that too, to torture me through my wife--and it was you put it intoher head to speak to me about my children. I don't know what you canhave told her, but you've almost convinced her that I'm a scoundrel, andyou hoped she'd succeed in sending me to the guillotine in the name ofmy children, because you know I worship them and they are everything tome. You are right; I dare say there isn't another father living wholoves his little ones more than I love mine. [_To Yanetta_] You knowthat, Yanetta! You know that! And you know too that with all my faultsI'm a true Christian, that I believe in God, in an almighty God. Well, then, listen! My two boys--my little Georges, my little André--I prayGod to kill them both if I'm a criminal! YANETTA [_with the greatest exultation_] He is innocent! I tell you he'sinnocent! I tell you he's innocent! [_A pause_] Ah, now you can bringyour proofs, ten witnesses, a hundred if you like, and you might tell meyou saw him do it--I should tell you: It's not true! It's not true! Youmight prove to me that he had confessed to it himself, and I would tellyou it wasn't true! Oh, you must feel it, your worship. You have aheart--you know what it is when one loves one's children--so you must becertain, you too, that he's innocent. You are going to give him back tome, aren't you? It's settled now and you will give him back to me? MOUZON. If he is innocent, why did he lie just now? ETCHEPARE. It was you who lied--you! You told me you had witnesses whosaw me leave my house that night--and you hadn't anyone! MOUZON. If I had no one at that moment, I have someone now. Yes, thereis a witness who has declared that you were not at home on the night ofthe crime, and that witness is your wife! ETCHEPARE [_to Yanetta_] You! MOUZON [_to the recorder_] Give me her interrogatory. _While Mouzon looks through his papers Yanetta gazes for some time at her husband, then at Mouzon. She is reflecting deeply. Finally she seems to have made up her mind. _ MOUZON. There. Your wife has just told us that you left the house at teno'clock and did not return until five in the morning. YANETTA [_very plainly_] I did not say that. It is not true. MOUZON. You went on to say that he returned alone. YANETTA. I did not say that. MOUZON. I will read your declaration. [_He reads_] Question: Then hewent out alone? Reply: Yes. Question: At ten o'clock? Reply: At teno'clock. YANETTA. I did not say that. MOUZON. Come, come! And I was careful to be precise. I said to you, "Butperhaps you are thinking of another night? It was really on the night ofAscension Day that he went out alone?" And you replied, "Yes. " YANETTA. It's not so! MOUZON. But I have it written here! YANETTA. You can write whatever you like. MOUZON. Then I'm a liar. And the recorder too, he is a liar? YANETTA. The night old Goyetche was murdered my husband did not leavethe house. MOUZON. You will sign this paper, and at once. It is your interrogatory. YANETTA. All that is untrue! I tell you it's untrue! [_Shouting_] Thenight old Goyetche was murdered my husband never left the house--henever left the house. MOUZON [_pale with anger_] You will pay for this! [_To the recorder_]Make out immediately an order for the detention of this woman and callthe gendarmes. [_To Yanetta_] Woman Etchepare, I place you under arreston a charge of being accessory to murder. [_To the gendarmes_] Take theman to the cells and return for the woman. _The gendarmes remove Etchepare. _ SCENE XI:--_Mouzon, Yanetta, the recorder. _ YANETTA. Ah, you are angry, aren't you--furious--because you haven't gotyour way! Although you've done everything, everything you possiblycould, short of killing us by inches! You pretend to be kind. You spokekindly to us. You wanted to make me send my husband to the scaffold![_Mouzon has taken up his brief and affects to be studying it withindifference_] It's your trade to supply heads to the guillotine. Youmust have criminals, guilty men, you must have them at any cost. When aman falls into your clutches he's a dead man. They come in here innocentand they've got to go out again guilty. It's your trade; it's a matterof vanity with you to succeed! You ask questions which don't seem tomean anything in particular, and yet they may send a man to the nextworld; and when you've forced the poor wretch to condemn himself you'redelighted, like a savage would be! MOUZON [_to the gendarmes_] Take her away--be quick! YANETTA. Yes, a savage! You call that justice! [_To the gendarmes_] Youdon't take me like that, I tell you! [_She clings to the furniture_]You're a butcher! You are as cruel as the people in history who brokeone's bones to make one confess! [_The gendarmes have dragged her free;she lets herself fall to the ground and shouts the rest of her speechwhile the men drag her to the door at the back_] Brute! Savage brute!No, you don't think so--you think yourself a fine fellow, I haven't adoubt, and you're a butcher-- MOUZON. Take her away, I tell you! What, the two of you can't rid me ofthat madwoman? _The gendarmes make a renewed effort. _ YANETTA. Butcher! Coward! Judas! Pitiless beast! Yes, pitiless, and youare all the more dishonest and brutal when you've got poor folk like usto do with. [_She is at the door, holding to the frame_] Ah, the brutes, they are breaking my fingers! Yes, the poorer one is the wickeder youare! [_They carry her away. Her cries are still heard as the curtainfalls_] The poorer one is the more wicked you are--the poorer one is themore wicked you are-- CURTAIN. ACT III _The office of the District Attorney. A door to the left, set in adiagonal wall, gives on to a corridor. It opens inwardly, so that thelettering on the outside can be read: "Parquet de Monsieur le Procureurde la République. " A desk, chairs, and a chest of drawers. _ SCENE I:--_Benoît, La Bouzole. As the curtain rises the recorder isremoving various papers from the desk and placing them in a cardboardportfolio. Enter La Bouzole. _ LA BOUZOLE. Good-day, Benoît. RECORDER [_hesitating to take the hand which La Bouzole extends to him_]Your worship. It's too great an honor-- LA BOUZOLE. Come, come, Monsieur Benoît, shake hands with me. Fromto-day I'm no longer a magistrate; my dignity no longer demands that Ishall be impolite to my inferiors. How far have they got with theEtchepare trial? RECORDER. So far the hearing has been devoted entirely to the indictmentand the counsel's address. LA BOUZOLE. They will finish to-day? RECORDER. Oh, surely. Even if Monsieur Vagret were to reply, because hisHonor the President of Assizes goes hunting to-morrow morning. LA BOUZOLE. You think it will be an acquittal, Monsieur Benoît? RECORDER. I do, your worship. [_He is about to go out_] LA BOUZOLE. Who is the old lady waiting in the corridor? RECORDER. That is Etchepare's mother, your worship. LA BOUZOLE. Poor woman! She must be terribly anxious. RECORDER. No. She is certain of the verdict. She hasn't the slightestanxiety. She was there all yesterday afternoon and she came back to-day, just as calm. Only to-day she wanted at any price to see the DistrictAttorney or one of his assistants. Monsieur Ardeuil is away and MonsieurVagret-- LA BOUZOLE. Is in Court. RECORDER. She seemed very much put out at finding no one. LA BOUZOLE. Well, send her in here; perhaps I can give her a littleadvice. Maître Plaçat will be some time yet, won't he? RECORDER. I believe so. LA BOUZOLE. Well, tell her to come and speak to me, poor woman. Thatwon't upset anybody and it may save her some trouble. RECORDER. Very well, your worship. [_He goes to the door on the right, makes a sign to old Madame Etchepare, and goes out by the door at theback_] LA BOUZOLE [_alone_] It's astonishing how benevolent I feel thismorning! _Old Madame Etchepare enters, clad in the costume peculiar to old women of Basque race. _ SCENE II:--_La Bouzole, Old Madame Etchepare. _ LA BOUZOLE. They tell me, Madame, that you wished to see one of thegentlemen of the Bar. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Yes, sir. LA BOUZOLE. You wish to be present at the trial? OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. No, sir. I know so well that they cannot condemnmy son that what they say in there doesn't interest me in the least. Iam waiting for him. I have come because they have turned us out of ourhouse. LA BOUZOLE. They have turned you out? OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. The bailiffs came. LA BOUZOLE. Then your son owed money? OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Since they arrested him all our men have left us. We couldn't get in the crops nor pay what was owing. But of course Iknow they'll make all that good when my son is acquitted. LA BOUZOLE [_aside_] Poor woman! OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. I'm so thankful to see the end of all ourtroubles. He'll come back and get our house and field again for us. He'll make them give up our cattle. That's why I wanted to see one ofthese gentlemen. LA BOUZOLE. Will you explain? OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. A fortnight after the gendarmes came to arrest myboy, Monsieur Claudet turned the waste water from his factory into thebrook that passes our house where we water the beasts. That was one ofthe things that ruined us too. If Etchepare finds things like that whenhe gets back, God knows what he'll do! I want the law to stop them doingus all this harm. LA BOUZOLE. The law! Ah, my good woman, it would be far better for youto have nothing to do with the law. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. But why? There is justice, and it's for everybodyalike. LA BOUZOLE. Of course. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Has Monsieur Claudet the right-- LA BOUZOLE. Certainly not. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Then I want to ask the judge to stop him. LA BOUZOLE. It is not so simple as you suppose, Madame. First of all youmust go to the bailiff. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Good. LA BOUZOLE. He will make a declaration. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. What about? LA BOUZOLE. He will declare that your water supply is contaminated. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. There is no need to trouble a bailiff, sir. Achild could see that. LA BOUZOLE. It is the law. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Well, and then? LA BOUZOLE. Then you must go to a lawyer and get a judgment. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Very well, if there 's no other way of doing it-- LA BOUZOLE. That is not all. If Monsieur Claudet contests the facts, thePresident will appoint an expert who will visit the site and make areport. You will have to put in a request that the President will granta speedy hearing on grounds of urgency. Your case being finally put onthe list of causes, it would be heard in its turn--after the vacations. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. After the vacations! LA BOUZOLE. And that is not all. Monsieur Claudet's lawyer mightdefault, in which case judgment would be declared in your favor. ButMonsieur Claudet might defend the case, or enter some kind of plea andobtain a judgment on that plea, or appeal against the judgment beforethe matter would be finally settled. All this would cost a great deal ofmoney. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Who would pay it? LA BOUZOLE. You, naturally, and Monsieur Claudet. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. It's all one to him; he's rich; but for us, whohaven't a penny left! LA BOUZOLE. Then you would have to apply for judicial assistance. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. That would take still more time? LA BOUZOLE. That would take much longer. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. But, sir, I've always been told that justice wasfree in France. LA BOUZOLE. Justice is gratuitous, but the means of obtaining access tojustice are not. That is all. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. And all that would take--how long? LA BOUZOLE. If Monsieur Claudet were to appeal, it might last two years. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. It isn't possible! Isn't the right on my side? LA BOUZOLE. My poor woman, it's not enough to have the right on yourside--you must have the law on your side too. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. I understand. Justice is a thing we poor peoplecan know only when it strikes us down. We can know it only by the harmit does us. Well--we must go away--it doesn't matter where--and I shan'tregret it; people insult us; they call out to us as they pass. Etcheparewouldn't put up with that. LA BOUZOLE. In that respect the law protects you. Register a complaintand those who insult you will be prosecuted. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. I don't think so. I have already registered acomplaint, as you say, but they've done nothing to the man who injuredus. So he goes on. LA BOUZOLE. Is he an inhabitant of your commune? OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Yes. A neighbor, a friend of Monsieur Mondoubleau, the deputy. Labastide. LA BOUZOLE. Good. I will do what I can, I promise you. OLD MADAME ETCHEPARE. Thank you, sir. [_A pause_] Then I will go andwait till they give me back my boy. LA BOUZOLE. That's right. _She goes out slowly. _ SCENE III:--_La Bouzole, recorder. _ RECORDER [_entering by the door at the back_] The hearing is suspended, your worship. LA BOUZOLE. Has Maître Plaçat concluded? RECORDER. With great applause. Two of the jurymen were seen wiping theireyes. No one doubts there will be an acquittal. LA BOUZOLE. So much the better. RECORDER. Your worship knows the great news? LA BOUZOLE. Which? RECORDER. That the Attorney-General has arrived. LA BOUZOLE. No--I know nothing of it. RECORDER. Yes, he has just arrived. It seems he brings the nomination ofone of these gentlemen to the post of Councillor in the Court of Appeal. LA BOUZOLE. Ah, ah! And whose is the prize, in your opinion, Benoît?Vagret's? RECORDER. That was my opinion. I hesitated a long time between him andhis Honor the President, and I decided it would be Monsieur Vagret. Butnow I think I am wrong. LA BOUZOLE. Do you think Monsieur Bunerat is appointed? RECORDER. No, your worship. I feel very proud--I believe it is myemployer who has the honor. LA BOUZOLE. Monsieur Mouzon! RECORDER. Yes, your worship. LA BOUZOLE. What makes you think that? RECORDER. His Honor the Attorney-General requested me to beg MonsieurMouzon to come and speak to him before the rising of the Court. LA BOUZOLE. My congratulations, my dear Monsieur Benoît. _Madame Bunerat enters. _ SCENE IV:--_The same and later Madame Vagret, Bunerat, the President ofAssizes, and Mouzon, then the Attorney-General. _ MADAME BUNERAT [_in tears_] Oh, my dear Monsieur La Bouzole! LA BOUZOLE. What has happened, Madame Bunerat? MADAME BUNERAT. It's that advocate! What talent! What a heart! Whatfeeling! What genius! I feel quite shaken--quite upset-- LA BOUZOLE. It's an acquittal? MADAME BUNERAT. They hope so-- MADAME VAGRET [_entering_] Well, my dear Monsieur La Bouzole, you haveheard this famous advocate! What a ranter! LA BOUZOLE. It seems he has touched the jury. That means an acquittal. MADAME VAGRET. I'm very much afraid it does. _Enter Bunerat in a black gown. _ BUNERAT. Do you know what they tell me? The Attorney-General is here! MADAME BUNERAT. Really! MADAME VAGRET. Are you certain? LA BOUZOLE. It is true enough. He brings Monsieur Mouzon his appointmentto the Court of Appeal at Pau. BUNERAT. Mouzon! MADAME VAGRET AND MADAME BUNERAT. And my husband! We had a definitepromise! _The President of Assizes enters, wearing a red gown. _ THE PRESIDENT. Good-day, gentlemen. You have not seen theAttorney-General, have you? LA BOUZOLE. No, your honor--but if you will wait-- THE PRESIDENT. No. Tell me, La Bouzole--you are an old stager--were youin Court? LA BOUZOLE. From the balloting for the jurymen to the plea for thedefence. THE PRESIDENT. Did you notice if I let anything pass that would make anappeal to the Court of Cassation possible? LA BOUZOLE. I am sure you didn't. THE PRESIDENT. It's my constant fear--I am thinking of nothing else allthe time counsel are speaking. I always have the Manual of the Presidentof Assizes wide open in front of me; I'm always afraid, nevertheless, offorgetting some formality. You see the effect of being in theChancellery--I never have a quiet conscience until the time-limit hasexpired. [_A pause_] They tell me there were journalists here fromToulouse and Bordeaux. LA BOUZOLE. And one from Paris. THE PRESIDENT. One from Paris! Are you sure? LA BOUZOLE. He was standing near the prisoner's bench. THE PRESIDENT. He was left to stand! A journalist from Paris and he wasleft to stand! [_Catching sight of the recorder_] You knew that, Monsieur the recorder, and you didn't warn me? Is that how you performyour duties? Go at once and express my regret and find him a good seat;do you hear? RECORDER. Yes, your honor. [_He turns to go_] THE PRESIDENT [_running after him_] Here! [_Aside to the recorder_] Findout if he's annoyed. RECORDER. Yes, your honor. THE PRESIDENT. And then--[_He encounters Madame Bunerat at the door. Pardon, Madame. He goes out, running, lifting up his gown_] LA BOUZOLE. When I was at Montpellier I knew an old tenor who was asanxious as that at his third début-- _Enter Mouzon. Frigid salutations. _ MADAME BUNERAT [_after a pause_] Is it true, Monsieur Mouzon-- MADAME VAGRET. That the Attorney-General-- BUNERAT. Has arrived? MOUZON [_haughtily_] Quite true. BUNERAT. They say he brings a councillor's appointment. MOUZON. They say so. MADAME BUNERAT. And you don't know? MADAME VAGRET. You don't know? MOUZON. Nothing at all. BUNERAT. Does nothing lead you to suppose-- MOUZON. Nothing. RECORDER [_entering_] Here is his Honor the Attorney-General. MADAME BUNERAT. Oh, Lord! _She arranges her hair. Enter the Attorney-General, a man with handsome, grave, austere features. _ ALL [_bowing and cringing, in a murmur_] His Honor theAttorney-General-- ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I think you can resume the hearing, gentlemen--I amonly passing through Mauleon. I hope to return before long and make yourbetter acquaintance. ALL. Your honor--[_They make ready to leave_] ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Monsieur Mouzon, will you remain? _Mouzon bows. _ MADAME VAGRET [_as she goes out_] My respects--the honor--Monsieur-- ATTORNEY-GENERAL [_bowing_] Mr. President--Madame--Madame-- BUNERAT [_to his wife_] You see, that's it! _They go out. _ MOUZON [_to the recorder, who is about to leave_] Well, my dear fellow, I believe my appointment is settled. RECORDER. I am delighted, Monsieur the Councillor! [_Exit_] SCENE V:--_Mouzon, Attorney-General. Mouzon rubs his hands together, bubbling with joy. _ MOUZON [_obsequiously_] Your honor-- ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Sit down. [_Mouzon does so_] A report has come to myoffice from Bordeaux--which concerns you, Monsieur! [_Feeling in hisportfolio_] Here it is. [_Reading_] Mouzon and the woman Pecquet. Youknow what it is? MOUZON [_not taking the matter seriously, forces a smile. After a longsilence_] Yes, your honor-- ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I am waiting for your explanation. MOUZON [_as before_] You have been young, your honor-- ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Not to that extent, Monsieur! MOUZON. I admit I overstepped the mark a trifle. ATTORNEY-GENERAL [_reading_] "Being in a state of intoxication, togetherwith the woman Pecquet and two other women of bad character whoaccompanied him, the aforesaid Mouzon used insulting and outrageouslanguage to the police, whom he threatened with dismissal. " Is that whatyou call overstepping the mark a trifle? MOUZON. Perhaps the expression is a little weak. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. And you allow the name of a magistrate to be coupledin a police report with that of the woman Pecquet? MOUZON. She told me her name was Diane de Montmorency. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. [_continuing_] "Questioned by us, the commissary ofpolice, on the following morning, as to the rank of officer in the navywhich he had assumed"--[_The Attorney-General gazes at Mouzon. Anotherpause_] MOUZON [_still smiling_] Yes, it's on account of my whiskers, you know. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Really? MOUZON. When I--oh, well--when I go to Bordeaux I always assume the rankof naval officer, in order to safeguard the dignity of the law. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. You seem to have been a little tardy in consideringit. MOUZON. I beg you to note, your honor, that I endeavored to safeguard itfrom the very first, since I took care to go out of the arrondissementand even the judicial division--in order to-- ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I will continue. "Monsieur Mouzon then informed us ofhis actual position as examining magistrate, and invoked that quality inrequesting that we would stop proceedings. " MOUZON. The ass. He has put that in his report? Oh, really--that's dueto his lack of education. No, it's a political affair--the commissary isone of our opponents--I asked him--After all--I wanted to avoid scandal. Anyone would have done the same in my place. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Is that the only explanation you have to give me? MOUZON. Explanation? The truth is, Monsieur, that if you insist onmaintaining, in this conversation, the relations between a superior anda subordinate, I can give you no further explanation. But if you wouldbe so good as to allow me for a moment to forget your position, if youwould agree to talk to me as man to man, I should tell you that this wasa fault of youth, regrettable, no doubt, but explained by the profoundboredom which exudes from the very paving-stones of Mauleon. Come, come!I had dined too well. Every night of the year a host of decent fellowsfind themselves in the same case. It's a pecadillo which doesn't affectone's personal honor. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Monsieur, when one has the honor to be amagistrate--when one has accepted the mission of judging one's fellows, one is bound more than all others to observe temperance and to considerone's dignity in all things. What may not affect the honor of theprivate citizen does affect the honor of the judge. You may take thatfor granted. MOUZON. As you refuse to discuss the matter otherwise than in anofficial manner, nothing remains for me but to beg you to inform me whatyou have decided to do. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Cannot you guess? MOUZON. I am an examining magistrate. You will make me an ordinarymagistrate. It means my income will be diminished by five hundred francsa year. I accept. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. It is unfortunately impossible for me to contentmyself with such a simple measure. To speak plainly, I must inform youthat Monsieur Coire, the director of the newspaper which attacks us sopersistently, is acquainted with the whole of the facts of theaccusation brought against you and will not give his word not to publishthem unless by the end of the month you have left the Mauleon Court. Itherefore find myself in the unhappy necessity of demanding yourresignation. MOUZON. I shall not resign. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. You will not resign? MOUZON. I am distressed to oppose any desire of yours, but I am quitedecided. I shall not resign. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. But really--you cannot know-- MOUZON. I know everything. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Very well, sir, we shallproceed against you. MOUZON. Proceed. [_He rises_] ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Are you not alarmed at the scandal which would resultfrom your appearance in court and your probable conviction? MOUZON. Conviction is less probable than you think. I shall be able todefend myself and to select my advocate. As for the scandal, it wouldn'tfall on me. I am a bachelor, with no family; I know no one or next to noone in Mauleon, where I am really in exile. My friends are all inBordeaux; they belong to the _monde ou l'on s'amuse_, and I should notin the least lose caste in their eyes on account of such a prosecution. You think I ought to leave the magistracy? Fortunately I have sufficientto live on without the thirty-five hundred francs the Government of theRepublic allows me annually. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. That is enough, Monsieur. Good-day. MOUZON. My respects. [_He goes out_] DOORKEEPER. Monsieur the deputy is here, your honor. Monsieur the deputysays that your honor is waiting for him. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. That is so. Ask him to come in. _Enter Mondoubleau. The Attorney-General advances towards him and shakes hands with him. _ SCENE VI:--_Mondoubleau, Attorney-General. _ MONDOUBLEAU. Good-day, my dear Attorney-General. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Good-day, my dear deputy. MONDOUBLEAU. I'm delighted to see you. I've come from Paris. I had lunchyesterday with my friend the Keeper of the Seals. The Government isbadly worried just at the moment. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. About what? MONDOUBLEAU. They're afraid of an interpellation. Just a chance--I'lltell you about it. Tell me--it seems you have a young assistant here whohas been playing pranks. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Monsieur Ardeuil? MONDOUBLEAU. Ardeuil, yes, that's the man. Eugène follows matters veryclosely. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Eugène? MONDOUBLEAU. Eugène--my friend Eugène--the Keeper of the Seals. He saidto me, "I expect your Attorney-General to understand how to do hisduty. " ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I ask nothing better, but let me know what my duty is. MONDOUBLEAU. That's just what one wants to avoid. But look here, myfriend, you are a very mysterious person! ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I? MONDOUBLEAU. You are asking for a change of appointment. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Who told you that? MONDOUBLEAU. Who do you suppose? He is the only one who knows. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Eug--[_Quickly_] The Keeper of the Seals? MONDOUBLEAU. You want to be appointed to Orléans? Am I correctlyinformed? ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Quite true. We have relations there. MONDOUBLEAU. I fancy you are concerned in the movement now inpreparation. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Is there a movement in preparation? MONDOUBLEAU. There is. As for Monsieur Ardeuil, the Minister confinedhimself to saying that he had confidence in your firmness and zeal. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. The Keeper of the Seals may rely on me. I shall haveto show considerable severity in several directions here, and I shalllack neither determination nor zeal, I can assure you. MONDOUBLEAU. Yes, but above all, tact! Eugène repeated a dozen times, "Above all, no prosecutions, no scandals. At the present moment lessthan ever. We are being watched. So everything must be done quietly. " ATTORNEY-GENERAL. You needn't be alarmed. There's the matter of Mouzon. MONDOUBLEAU. Mouzon! Mouzon the examining magistrate! ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Yes. MONDOUBLEAU. Of Mauleon? ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Precisely. MONDOUBLEAU. You aren't thinking of--One of my best friends--very welldisposed--a capital fellow--an excellent magistrate, full of energy anddiscernment. I mentioned his name to Eugène in connection with thevacant post of Councillor. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. [_offering him the report_] You've picked the wrongman. I am going to show you a document about him. Besides, the post ispromised to Monsieur Vagret. MONDOUBLEAU. What is wrong? ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Here. I shall have to report him to the SuperiorCouncil of the Magistracy or proceed against him in the Court of Appeal. MONDOUBLEAU. What has he done? ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Read it. MONDOUBLEAU [_after casting a glance over the document which the otherhas handed to him_] Of course. But really--there's nothing in that. Ifyou keep quiet about it, no one will know anything. No scandal. Themagistracy is suffering from too many attacks already just now, withoutour providing our enemies with weapons. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Unfortunately Coire knows of it, and he threatens totell the whole story in his paper unless Monsieur Mouzon is sent awayfrom Mauleon. MONDOUBLEAU. The devil! [_He begins to laugh_] ATTORNEY-GENERAL. What are you laughing at? MONDOUBLEAU. Nothing--an extravagant idea, a jest. [_He laughs_] Tellme--but you won't be annoyed?--it's only a joke-- ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Well? MONDOUBLEAU. I was thinking--I tell you, it's a grotesque idea. Butafter all--after all, if you propose Mouzon for the Councillor's chairat Pau, you will be pleasing everyone! ATTORNEY-GENERAL. My dear deputy-- MONDOUBLEAU. A joke--of course, merely a joke--but what's so amusingabout it is that if you did so it would please Coire, it would pleaseme, it would please Mouzon, and it would please Eugène, who doesn't wantany scandal. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. But it would be a-- MONDOUBLEAU. No, no. In politics there can be no scandal except wherethere is publicity. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. But really-- MONDOUBLEAU. I agree with you--I know all that could be said--I repeat, I am only chaffing. And do you realize--it's very curious--when onereflects--this fantastic solution is the only one that does not offerserious disadvantages--obvious disadvantages. That is so. If you leaveMouzon here, Coire tells everything. If you proceed against him, yougive a certain section of the press an opportunity it won't lose--anopportunity of sapping one of the pillars of society. Those gentry arenot particular as to the means they employ. They will confound the wholemagistracy with Mouzon. It won't be Mouzon who will be the rake, but theCourt, the Court of Appeal. There will be mud on all--on every robe. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. But you can't seriously ask me-- MONDOUBLEAU. Do you know what we ought to do? Let us go and talk it overwith Rollet the senator--he is only a step from here. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I assure you-- MONDOUBLEAU. Come--come. You will put in a word as to your going toOrléans at the same time. What have you to risk? I tell you my solutionis the best. You will come to it, I assure you! I'll take you along. [_He takes his arm_] ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Well, well, I had certainly something to say toRollet. _The doorkeeper enters. _ DOORKEEPER. Your honor-- ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Where are they? The verdict--? DOORKEEPER. Not yet. Monsieur Vagret has been making a reply. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Is the jury in the withdrawing room? DOORKEEPER. No, your honor. They were going out when Monsieur Vagretasked for an adjournment. MONDOUBLEAU. What an idea! Really! Well, my friend, let us go. I tellyou, you'll come round! ATTORNEY-GENERAL [_weakly_] Never! Never! SCENE VII:--_Recorder, then the doorkeeper, then Madame Vagret, thePresident of Assizes, Bunerat, Madame Bunerat, and Vagret. _ RECORDER [_much moved_] Admirable! DOORKEEPER [_half opening the door at the back_] Monsieur Benoît! What'sthe news? RECORDER. Splendid! Our Prosecutor was admirable--and that Etchepare isthe lowest swine. _Enter Madame Vagret, greatly moved. The recorder goes up to her. The doorkeeper disappears. _ MADAME VAGRET. Ah! My God! RECORDER. Madame Vagret, I am only a simple clerk, but allow me to sayit was admirable! Wonderful! MADAME VAGRET. Wonderful! RECORDER. As for the counsel from Bordeaux, Monsieur Vagret had himabsolutely at his mercy! MADAME VAGRET. Hadn't he? RECORDER. He's certain enough, now, to be condemned to death! MADAME VAGRET. Certain! RECORDER. Madame, the jurymen were looking at that fellow Etchepare, that thug, in a way that made my blood run cold. As Monsieur Vagret wenton with his speech you felt they would have liked to settle his hashthemselves--the wretch! MADAME VAGRET. I saw that-- RECORDER. I beg your pardon, Madame--I am forgetting myself--but thereare moments when one is thankful, yes, so gratified, that socialdifferences don't count. MADAME VAGRET. You are right, my dear man. _Enter the President of Assizes and Bunerat. _ THE PRESIDENT. Madame, I congratulate you! We've got it, the capitalsentence! MADAME VAGRET. We have it safely this time, haven't we, Monsieur? THE PRESIDENT. That is certain. But where is our hero? Magnificent--hewas magnificent--wasn't he, Bunerat? BUNERAT. Oh, sir, but the manner in which you presided prepared the wayso well-- THE PRESIDENT. Well, well, I don't say I count for nothing in theresult, but we must do justice to Vagret. [_To Madame Vagret_] You oughtto be greatly gratified--very proud and happy, my dear Madame-- MADAME VAGRET. Oh, I am, your honor-- THE PRESIDENT. But what a strange idea to demand an adjournment! Is heunwell? MADAME VAGRET. Oh, dear! THE PRESIDENT. No. Here he is. _Enter Vagret. He is anxious. _ MADAME VAGRET. Ah, my dear! [_She takes his hand in hers. She can say nomore, being choked by tears of joy_] THE PRESIDENT. It was wonderful! BUNERAT. I can't restrain myself from congratulating you too. VAGRET. Really, you confuse me. The whole merit is yours, Monsieur. THE PRESIDENT. Not at all. Do you know what carried them all away? [_Helights a cigarette_] VAGRET. No! THE PRESIDENT. It was when you exclaimed, "Gentlemen of the jury, youown houses, farms, and property; you have beloved wives, and daughterswhom you tenderly cherish. Beware--" You were splendid there![_Resuming_] "Beware, if you leave such crimes unpunished; beware, ifyou allow yourselves to be led astray by the eloquent sentimentality ofthe defence; beware, I tell you, if you fail in your duty as theinstrument of justice; beware, lest those above you snatch up the swordwhich has fallen from your feeble hands, when the blood that you havenot avenged will be spilt upon you and yours!" That was fine! Very fine!And it produced a great effect. BUNERAT. But you, my dear President, you moved them even more noticeablywhen you recalled the fact, very appropriately, that the accused lovedthe sight of blood. THE PRESIDENT. Ah, yes, that told a little! ALL. What? What was that? BUNERAT. The President put this question: "On the morning of the crimedid you not slaughter two sheep?" "Yes, " replied the accused. And then, looking him straight in the eyes-- THE PRESIDENT. Yes, I asked him: "You were getting into practice, weren't you?" [_To Vagret_] But after all, if I have to a certain extentaffected the result, the greater part of the honor of the day is yours. VAGRET. You are too kind. THE PRESIDENT. Not at all! And your peroration! [_With an artist'scuriosity_] You were really, were you not, under the stress of a greatemotion, a really great emotion? VAGRET [_gravely_] Yes, I was under the stress of a great emotion, areally great emotion. THE PRESIDENT. You turned quite pale when you faced the jury--when youadded, in a clear voice, "Gentlemen, I demand the head of this man!" VAGRET [_his eyes fixed_] Yes. THE PRESIDENT. Then you made a sign to the advocate. VAGRET. Yes. I thought he would have something else to say. THE PRESIDENT. But why delay the verdict? You had won the victory. VAGRET. Precisely. THE PRESIDENT. What do you mean? VAGRET. During my indictment a fact came to light that worried me. THE PRESIDENT. A fact? VAGRET. Not a fact--but--in short--[_A pause_] I beg your pardon--I amvery tired-- THE PRESIDENT. I can very well understand your emotion, my dearVagret. One always feels--on the occasion of one's first deathsentence--but--you will see one gets used to it. [_Going out, toBunerat_] Indeed, he does look very tired. BUNERAT. I fancy he is feeling his position too keenly. VAGRET. As I was leaving the Court I met the Attorney-General. I beggedhim urgently to give me a moment's conversation. I wanted to speak withhim alone--and with you, Monsieur le Président. BUNERAT. As you wish. MADAME VAGRET. I am afraid you are unwell, my dear. I shall wait there. I will come back directly these gentlemen have gone. VAGRET. Very well. MADAME BUNERAT [_going out, to her husband_] There's a man ready to dosomething stupid. BUNERAT. That doesn't concern us. _They go out. _ SCENE VIII:--_Vagret, the President of Assizes, then theAttorney-General. _ THE PRESIDENT. Did you notice any mistake on my part in the direction ofthe case? VAGRET. No, if any mistake was made, it was I who made it. _The Attorney-General enters. _ ATTORNEY-GENERAL. What is this that is so serious, my dear sir? VAGRET. It's this--I am more worried than I can say. I want to appeal tothe conscience of you two gentlemen--to reassure myself-- ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Tell us. VAGRET. A whole series of facts--the attitude of the accused--certaindetails which had escaped me--have given rise, in my mind, to a doubt asto the guilt of this man. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Was there any mention of these facts, these details, in the brief? VAGRET. Certainly. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Had the advocate studied this brief? VAGRET. Naturally. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Well, then? What are you worrying yourself about? VAGRET. But--suppose the man is not guilty? ATTORNEY-GENERAL. The jury will decide. We can do no more, all of us, than bow to its verdict. VAGRET. Let me tell you, sir, how my convictions have been shaken. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I do not wish to know. All that is a matter betweenyourself and your conscience. You have the right to explain yourscruples to the jury. You know the proverb: "The pen is a slave, butspeech is free. " VAGRET. I shall follow your advice. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. I do not give you any advice. VAGRET. I shall explain my doubts to the jury. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. It will mean acquittal. VAGRET. What would you have? ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Do as you wish; but I should like to tell you onething. When a man plans a startling trick of this kind and has thecourage to accomplish it entirely of his own accord, he must have thecourage to accept the sole responsibility of the blunders he may commit. You are too clever; you want to discover some means by which you neednot be the only one to suffer from the consequences of yourvacillations. VAGRET. Clever? I? How? ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Come, come! We are not children, and I can perfectlywell see the trap into which you have lured me. You are shelteringyourself behind me. If the Chancellery should complain of your attitude, you will say that you consulted your superior, and I shall be thevictim. And then I shall have a quarrel with the Chancellery on myhands. You don't care, you don't think of my position or my interests, of which you know nothing. Some silly idea gets into your head, andagainst my will you want to make me responsible for it. I say again, itis extremely clever, and I congratulate you, but I don't thank you. VAGRET. You have misunderstood me, sir. I have no wish to burden youwith the responsibilities I am about to assume. I should hardly choosethe moment when I am on the point of being appointed Councillor toperpetrate such a blunder. I told you of my perplexity, and I asked youradvice. That was all. THE PRESIDENT. Are you certain one way or the other? VAGRET. If I were certain, should I ask advice? [_A pause_] If we onlyhad a cause for cassation, a good-- THE PRESIDENT [_enraged_] What's that you say? Cause for cassation?Based on an error or on an oversight on my part, no doubt! Really, youhave plenty of imagination! You are attacked by certain doubts, certainscruples--I don't know what--and in order to quiet your morbidlydistracted conscience you ask me kindly to make myself the culprit!Convenient, in truth, to foist on others who have done their duty theblunders one may have committed oneself! ATTORNEY-GENERAL [_quietly_] It is indeed. THE PRESIDENT. And at the Chancellery, when they mention me, they'llsay, "Whatever sort of a councillor is this, who hasn't even thecapacity to preside over an Assize Court at Mauleon!" A man whom we'vetaken such trouble to get condemned! And to make me, me, the victim ofsuch trickery! No, no! Think of another way, my dear Monsieur; you won'temploy that, I can assure you. VAGRET. Then I shall seek other means; but I shall not leave matters intheir present state. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Do what you like, but realize that I have given you noadvice in one direction or another. VAGRET. I realize that. THE PRESIDENT. When you have decided to resume the hearing you willnotify us. VAGRET. I will notify you. ATTORNEY-GENERAL [_to the President_] Let us go. _They leave the office. _ SCENE IX:--_Vagret, Madame Vagret. _ MADAME VAGRET. What is it? VAGRET. Nothing. MADAME VAGRET. Nothing? You are so depressed--and yet you've just hadsuch a success as will tell on your career. VAGRET. It is that success which alarms me. MADAME VAGRET. Alarms you? VAGRET. Yes, I'm afraid-- MADAME VAGRET. Afraid of what? VAGRET. Of having gone too far. MADAME VAGRET. Too far! Doesn't the murderer deserve death ten timesover? VAGRET [_after a pause_] Are you quite certain, yourself, that he is amurderer? MADAME VAGRET. Yes. VAGRET [_in a low voice_] Well--for myself-- MADAME VAGRET. You? VAGRET. I--I don't know. I know nothing. MADAME VAGRET. My God! VAGRET. A dreadful thing happened to me in the course of my indictment. While I, the State Attorney, the official prosecutor, was exercising myfunction, another self was examining the case calmly, in cold blood; aninner voice kept reproaching me for my violence and insinuating into mymind a doubt, which has gone on increasing. A painful struggle has beengoing on in my mind, a cruel struggle--and if, as I was finishing, Ilabored under that emotion of which the President was speaking, if whenI demanded the death penalty my voice was scarcely audible, it wasbecause I was at the end of my struggle; because my conscience was onthe point of winning the battle, and I made haste to finish, because Iwas afraid it would speak out against my will. When I saw the advocateremain seated and that he was not going to resume his speech in order totell the jury the things I would have had him tell them--then I wasreally afraid of myself, afraid of my actions, of my words, of theirterrible consequences, and I wanted to gain time. MADAME VAGRET. But, my dear, you have done your duty; if the advocatehas not done his, that does not concern you. VAGRET. Always the same reply. If I were an honest man I should tell thejury, when the hearing is resumed, of the doubts that have seized me. Ishould explain how those doubts arose in me; I should call theirattention to a point which I deliberately concealed from them, because Ibelieved the counsel for the defence would point it out to him. MADAME VAGRET. You know, my dear, how thoroughly I respect yourscruples, but allow me to tell you all the same that it won't be you whowill declare Etchepare guilty or not guilty; it will be the jury. Ifanyone ought to feel disturbed, it is Maître Plaçat, not you-- VAGRET. But I ought to represent justice! MADAME VAGRET. Here is a prisoner who comes before you with previousconvictions, with a whole crushing series of circumstances establishinghis guilt. He is defended by whom? By one of the ornaments of the Bar, aman famed for his conscience as much as for his ability and hisoratorical skill. You expound the facts to the jury. If the jury agreeswith you, I cannot see that your responsibility as a magistrate isinvolved. VAGRET. I don't think about my responsibility as a magistrate--but myresponsibility as a man is certainly involved! No! No! I have not theright. I tell you there is a series of circumstances in this case ofwhich no one has spoken and the nature of which makes me believe in theinnocence of the accused. MADAME VAGRET. But--these circumstances--how was it you knew nothing ofthem until now? VAGRET [_his head drooping_] Do you think I did know nothing of them? MyGod! Shall I have the courage to tell you everything? I am not a badman, am I? I wouldn't wish anyone to suffer for a fault ofmine--but--oh, I am ashamed to admit it, to say it aloud, even, when Ihave admitted it to myself! Well, when I was studying the brief, I hadgot it so firmly fixed in my mind, to begin with, that Etchepare was acriminal, that when an argument in his favor presented itself to mymind, I rejected it utterly, shrugging my shoulders. As for the facts ofwhich I am speaking, and which gave rise to my doubts--at first I simplytried to prove that those facts were false, taking, from the depositionsof the witnesses, only that which would militate against their truth andrejecting all the rest, with a terrible simplicity of bad faith. And inthe end, in order to dissipate my last scruples, I told myself, just asyou told me, "That is the business of the defence; it isn't mine!"Listen, and you'll see to what point the exercise of the magistrate'soffice distorts our natures, makes us unjust and cruel. At first I had afeeling of delight when I saw that the President, in hiscross-examination, was throwing no light whatever on this series oflittle facts. It was my profession speaking in me, my profession, do yousee? Oh, what poor creatures we are, what poor creatures! MADAME VAGRET. Perhaps the jury won't find him guilty? VAGRET. It will find him guilty. MADAME VAGRET. Or it may find there are extenuating circumstances. VAGRET. No. I adjured them too earnestly to refuse to do so. I waszealous enough, wasn't I? Violent enough? MADAME VAGRET. That's true. Why did you make your indictment sopassionately? VAGRET. Ah, why, why? Long before the hearing of the case it was soclearly understood by everybody that the prisoner was the criminal! Andthen it all went to my head, it intoxicated me--the way they talked. Iwas the spokesman of humanity, I was to reassure the countryside, I wasto restore tranquillity to the family, and I don't know what else! Sothen--I felt I must show myself equal to the part intrusted to me. Myfirst indictment was relatively moderate--but when I saw the celebratedcounsel making the jurymen weep, I thought I was lost; I felt theverdict would escape me. Contrary to my habit, I replied. When I rose tomy feet for the second time I was like a man fighting, who has just hada vision of defeat, and who therefore fights with the strength ofdespair. From that moment Etchepare, so to speak, no longer existed. Iwas no longer concerned to defend society or sustain my accusation; Iwas contending against the advocate; it was a trial of orators, acompetition of actors; I had to be the victor at all costs. I had toconvince the jury, resume my hold on it, wring from it the double "yes"of the verdict. I tell you, Etchepare no longer counted; it was I whocounted, my vanity, my reputation, my honor, my future. It's shameful, Itell you, shameful. At any cost I wanted to prevent the acquittal whichI felt was certain. And I was so afraid of not succeeding that Iemployed every argument, good and bad, even that of representing to theterrified jurymen their own houses in flames, their own flesh and bloodmurdered. I spoke of the vengeance of God falling on judges withoutseverity. And all this in good faith--or rather unconsciously, in aburst of passion, in an access of anger against the advocate, whom Ihated at that moment with all my might. My success was greater than Ihoped; the jury is ready to obey me; and I, my dear, I have allowedmyself to be congratulated, I have grasped the hands held out to me. That is what it is to be a magistrate! MADAME VAGRET. Never mind. Perhaps there aren't ten in all France whowould have acted otherwise. VAGRET. You are right. Only--if one reflects--it's precisely that that'sso dreadful. RECORDER [_entering_] Monsieur le Procureur, the President is askingwhen the sitting can be resumed. VAGRET. At once. MADAME VAGRET. What are you going to do? VAGRET. My duty as an honest man. [_He makes ready to go_] CURTAIN. ACT IV SCENES--_Same as the Second Act. _ SCENE I:-_Bunerat, the President of Assizes, and Vagret. _ BUNERAT. Well, your honor, there's another session finished. THE PRESIDENT [_in red robe_] I've been in a blue funk lest these bruteswould make me lose my train. I'm going shooting to-morrow on the CamboPonds, you see, my dear fellow, and after to-night's train it's no go. [_Looks at his watch_] Oh, I've an hour and a half yet. BUNERAT. And what do you think of it, your honor? THE PRESIDENT. Of what? Of the acquittal? What does it matter to me? Idon't care--on the contrary, I prefer it. I am certain the advocatewon't ferret out some unintentional defect--some formality gone wrong. Where's my hat-box? _He is about to stand on a chair to reach the hat-box, which is on the top of a cupboard. Bunerat precedes him. _ BUNERAT. Permit me, Monsieur. You are at home here. [_From the chair_] Ibelieve I shall have the pleasure of seeing you here again next session. [_He sighs, holding out the hat-box_] THE PRESIDENT. A pleasure I shall share, my dear fellow. [_He takes outa small felt hat from the box_] BUNERAT. Would you like a brush? There's Mouzon's brush. [_A sigh_] Ah, good God, when shall I leave Mauleon? I should so like to live at Pau! THE PRESIDENT. Pooh! A much overrated city! Come, come! BUNERAT. I suppose my new duties won't take me there yet? THE PRESIDENT. Don't you worry yourself. In the winter, yes, it's verywell--but the summer--ah, the summer. BUNERAT. I am not the one appointed? THE PRESIDENT. Ah! You know already? BUNERAT. Yes--I--yes--that is to say, I didn't know it was official. THE PRESIDENT [_brushing his hat and catching sight of a dent_] Dentedalready. In these days the hats they sell you for felt, my dear chap, they're paste-board, simply-- BUNERAT. True. Yes, I didn't know it was official. Monsieur Mouzon isvery lucky. _Enter Vagret in mufti. _ THE PRESIDENT. There, there is our dear Monsieur Vagret. Changed yourdress already. Yes, you're at home, you. For my part I must pack up allthis. Where the devil is the box I put my gown in? [_Bunerat makes astep to fetch it and then remains motionless_] It's curious--that--whathave they done with it? In that cupboard--you haven't seen it, my dearMonsieur Bunerat? BUNERAT. No. THE PRESIDENT. Ah, here it is--and my jacket in it. [_He opens the boxand takes out his jacket, which he lays aside on the table_] Well, well, you've got them acquitted, my dear sir! Are you satisfied? VAGRET. I am very glad. THE PRESIDENT. And if they are the murderers? VAGRET. I must console myself with Berryer's remark: "It is better toleave ten guilty men at liberty than to punish one innocent man. " THE PRESIDENT. You have a sensitive nature. VAGRET. Ought one to have a heart of stone, then, to be a magistrate? THE PRESIDENT [_tying up the box in which he has put his judge'sbonnet_] One must keep oneself above the little miseries of humanity. VAGRET. Above the miseries of others. THE PRESIDENT. Hang it all-- VAGRET. That is what we call egoism. THE PRESIDENT. Do you say that for my benefit? VAGRET. For all three of us. BUNERAT. Au revoir, gentlemen. Au revoir. [_He shakes hands with eachand goes out_] THE PRESIDENT [_taking off his gown_] My dear Monsieur, I beg you to bemore moderate in your remarks. VAGRET. Ah, I assure you that I am moderate! If I were to speak what isin my mind, you would hear very unpleasant things. THE PRESIDENT [_in shirt sleeves_] Are you forgetting to whom you arespeaking? I am a Councillor of the Court, Monsieur le Procureur. VAGRET. Once again, I am not speaking to you merely; the disagreeablethings I might say would condemn me equally. I am thinking of those poorpeople. THE PRESIDENT [_brushing his gown_] What poor people? The lateprisoners? But after all, they are acquitted. What more do you want? Toprovide them with an income? VAGRET. They are acquitted, true; but they are condemned, all the same. They are sentenced to misery for life. THE PRESIDENT. What are you talking about? VAGRET. And through your fault, Monsieur. THE PRESIDENT [_stopping in his task of folding his gown_] My fault! VAGRET. And what is so particularly serious is that you didn't know it, you didn't see, you haven't seen the harm you did. THE PRESIDENT. What harm? I have done no harm! I? VAGRET. When you informed Etchepare that his wife had long ago beencondemned for receiving stolen goods, and that she had been seducedbefore his marriage with her. When you did that you did a wicked thing. THE PRESIDENT. You are a Don Quixote. Do you suppose Etchepare didn'tknow all that? VAGRET. If you had noticed his emotion when his wife, on your asking herif the facts were correct, replied that they were, you would be certain, as I am, that he knew nothing. THE PRESIDENT [_packing his gown in its box_] Well, even so! Youattribute to people of that sort susceptibilities which they don'tpossess. VAGRET. Your honor, "people of that sort" have hearts, just as you and Ihave. THE PRESIDENT. Admitted. Didn't my duty force me to do as I did? VAGRET. I know nothing about that. THE PRESIDENT [_still in shirt sleeves_] It's the law that is guilty, then, eh? Yes? Well, Monsieur, if I did my duty--and I did--you arelacking in your duty in attacking the law, whose faithful servant youshould be, the law which I, for one, am proud to represent. VAGRET. There's no reason for your pride. THE PRESIDENT. Monsieur! VAGRET. It's a monstrous thing, I tell you, that one can reproach anaccused person, whether innocent or guilty, with a fault committed tenyears ago, and which has been expiated. Yes, Monsieur, it is a horriblething that, after punishing, the law does not pardon. THE PRESIDENT [_who has put on his jacket and hat_] If you think the lawis bad, get it altered. Enter Parliament. VAGRET. Alas, if I were a deputy, it is probable that I should be likethe rest; instead of thinking of such matters I should think of nothingbut calculating the probable duration of the Government. THE PRESIDENT [_his box under his arm_] In that case--is thedoorkeeper-- VAGRET [_touching a bell_] He will come. Then it's Monsieur Mouzon whois appointed in my place? THE PRESIDENT. It is Monsieur Mouzon. VAGRET. Because he's the creature of a deputy, a Mondoubleau-- THE PRESIDENT. I cannot allow you to speak ill of MonsieurMondoubleau--before my face. VAGRET. You think you may perhaps have need of him. THE PRESIDENT. Precisely. [_The doorkeeper appears_] Will you carry thatto my hotel for me? The hotel by the station. You will easily recognizeit; my sentry is at the door. [_He hands the doorkeeper his boxes_] Aurevoir, my dear Vagret--no offence taken. _He goes. Vagret puts on his hat and also makes ready to go. Enter recorder and Etchepare. _ THE RECORDER. You are going, your honor? VAGRET. Yes. THE RECORDER. You won't have any objection, then, if I bring Etcheparein here? He's in the corridor, waiting for the formalities of hisrelease--and he complains he's an object of curiosity to everyone. VAGRET. Of course! THE RECORDER. I'll tell them to bring his wife here too when she leavesthe record office. VAGRET. Very well. THE RECORDER. I am just going to warn the warders--but the womanEtchepare can't be released immediately. VAGRET. Why? THE RECORDER. She's detained in connection with another case. She'scharged with abusing a magistrate in the exercise of his duty. VAGRET. Is that magistrate Monsieur Mouzon? THE RECORDER. Yes, Monsieur. VAGRET. I will try to arrange that. THE RECORDER. Good-day, your honor. VAGRET. Good-day. SCENE II. THE RECORDER [_at the door_] Etchepare--come in. You had better waithere for your final discharge. It won't take much longer. ETCHEPARE. Thank you, Monsieur. THE RECORDER. Well, there you are, then, acquitted, my poor fellow!There's one matter done with. ETCHEPARE. It's finished as far as justice is concerned, Monsieur; itisn't finished for me. I'm acquitted, it's true, but my life is mademiserable. THE RECORDER. You didn't know-- ETCHEPARE. That's it. THE RECORDER. It's a long time ago--you'll forgive her. ETCHEPARE. Things like that, Monsieur--a Basque never forgives them. It's as though a thunderbolt had struck me to the heart. And all themisfortune that's befallen us--it's she who is the cause--God hasavenged himself. Everything's over. THE RECORDER [_after a pause_] I am sorry for you with all my heart. ETCHEPARE. Thank you, Monsieur. [_A pause_] Since you are so kind, Monsieur, will you allow my mother, who's there in the corridor, waitingfor me, to come and speak to me? THE RECORDER. I'll send her in to you. Good-bye. ETCHEPARE. Good-bye. SCENE III:--_The recorder goes out. Enter Etchepare's mother. _ ETCHEPARE [_pressing his mother's head against his breast_] Poor oldmother--how the misery of these three months has changed you! THE MOTHER. My poor boy, how you must have suffered! ETCHEPARE. That woman! THE MOTHER. Yes, they've just been telling me. ETCHEPARE. For ten years I've lived with that thief--that wretchedwoman! How she lied! Ah! When I heard that judge say to her, "You wereconvicted of theft and complicity with your lover, " and when, before allthose people, she owned to it--I tell you, mummy, I thought the skieswere falling on my head--and when she admitted she'd been that man'smistress--I don't know just what happened--nor which I would have killedsoonest--the judge who said such things so calmly or her who admittedthem with her back turned to me. And then I was on the point ofconfessing myself guilty--I, an innocent man--in order not to learn anymore--to get away--but I thought of you and the children! [_A longpause_] Come! We've got to make up our minds what we're going to do. Youleft them at home? THE MOTHER. No. I had to send them to our cousin at Bayonne. We've nolonger got a home--we've nothing--we are ruined. Besides, I've got ahorror of this place now. The women edge away and make signs to oneanother when I meet them, and in the church they leave me all alone inthe middle of an empty space. Already--I had to take the children awayfrom school. ETCHEPARE. My God! THE MOTHER. No one would speak to them. One day Georges picked a quarrelwith the biggest, and they fought, and as Georges got the better of it, the other, to revenge himself, called him the son of a gallows-bird. ETCHEPARE. And Georges? THE MOTHER. He came home crying and wouldn't go out of doors. It wasthen that I sent them away to Bayonne. ETCHEPARE. That's what we'll do. Go away. We'll go and fetch them. To-morrow or to-night I shall be with you again. There are emigrationcompanies there--boats to America--they'll send all four of us--they'llgive us credit for the voyage on account of the children. THE MOTHER. And when they ask for their mother-- ETCHEPARE [_after a pause_] You'll tell them she's dead. SCENE IV:--_Yanetta is shown in. _ YANETTA [_to someone outside_] Very good, Monsieur. [_The door isclosed_] THE MOTHER [_without looking at Yanetta_] Then I'll go. ETCHEPARE [_the same_] Yes. I shall see you again to-night or down thereto-morrow. THE MOTHER. Very well. ETCHEPARE. Directly you get there you'll go and find out about the dayand hour. THE MOTHER. Very well. ETCHEPARE. Till to-morrow then. THE MOTHER. To-morrow. [_She goes out without glancing at Yanetta_] YANETTA [_takes a few steps towards her husband, falls on her knees, andclasps her hands. In a low voice_] Forgive me! ETCHEPARE. Never! YANETTA. Don't say never! ETCHEPARE. Was the judge lying? YANETTA. No--he wasn't lying. ETCHEPARE. You wretched thing! YANETTA. Yes, I am a wretched thing! Forgive me! ETCHEPARE. Kill you rather! I could kill you! YANETTA. Yes, yes! But forgive me! ETCHEPARE. You're just a loose woman--a loose woman from Paris, with nohonor, no shame, no honesty even! YANETTA. Yes! Insult me--strike me! ETCHEPARE. For ten years you have been lying to me! YANETTA. Oh, how I wished I could have told you everything! Oh, how manytimes I began that dreadful confession! I never had courage enough. Iwas always afraid of your anger, Pierre, and of the pain I should causeyou--I saw you were so happy! ETCHEPARE. You came from up there, fresh from your vice, fresh fromprison, and you chose me to be your gull. YANETTA. My God, to think he believes that! ETCHEPARE. You brought me the leavings of a swindler--the leavings of aswindler--and you stole, in my house, the place of an honest woman!Your lies have brought the curse of God on my family and it's you whoare the cause of everything. The misfortune that's just befallen us, it's you who are the cause of it, I tell you! You're a pest, accursed, damned! Don't say another word to me! Don't speak to me! YANETTA. Have you no pity, Pierre? Do you suppose I'm not suffering? ETCHEPARE. If you are suffering you've deserved it! You haven't sufferedenough yet. But what had I ever done to you that you should choose mefor your victim? What did I ever do that I should have to bear what I'msuffering? You've made me a coward--you've lowered me almost to your ownlevel--I ought to have been able to put you out of my mind and my heartalready! And I can't! And I'm suffering torture, terrible torture--forI'm suffering through the love I once had for you. You--you wereeverything to me for ten years--my whole life. You've been everything, everything! And now the one hope left me is that I may forget you! YANETTA. Oh, forgive me! ETCHEPARE. Never! Never! YANETTA. Don't say that word--only God has the right to say--never! Iwill come back to you. I'll be only like the head servant--no, thelowest if you like! I won't take my place in the home again until youtell me to. ETCHEPARE. We have no house; we have no home. Nothing is left now! And Itell you again it's your fault--and it's because you used to be there, in the mother's place, my mother's place, you, a lie and asacrilege--it's because of that that misfortune has overtaken us! YANETTA. I swear to you I'd make you forget it all in time--I'd be sohumble, so devoted, so repentant. And wherever you go I shall followyou. Pierre--think, your children still need me. ETCHEPARE. My children! You shall never see them again! You shall neverspeak to them. I won't have you kiss them. I won't have you even touchthem! YANETTA [_changing her tone_] Ah, no, not that, not that! The children!No, you are wrong there! You can deprive me of everything--you can putevery imaginable shame upon me--you can force me to beg my bread--I'lldo it willingly. You needn't look at me--you needn't speak to me exceptto abuse me--you can do anything, anything you like. But my children, mychildren--they are mine, the fruit of my body--they are still part ofme--they are blood of my blood and bone of my bone forever. You mightcut off one of my arms, and my arm would be a dead thing, and no part ofmyself any more, but you can't stop my children being my children. ETCHEPARE. You have made yourself unworthy to keep them. YANETTA. Unworthy! What has unworthiness to do with it? Have I everfailed in my duty to them? Have I been a bad mother? Answer me! Ihaven't, have I? Well then, if I haven't been a bad mother, my rightsover them are as great as ever they were! Unworthy! I might be athousand times more guilty--more unworthy, as you call it--but neitheryou, nor the law, nor the priests, nor God himself would have the rightto take them from me. I have been to blame as a wife, it's possible, butas a mother I've nothing to reproach myself with. Well then--wellthen--no one can steal them from me! And you, who could think of such athing, you're a wretch! Yes, it's to avenge yourself that you want topart me from them! You're just a coward! Just a man! There's nofatherhood left in your heart--you don't think of them. Yes--you arelying--I tell you, you are lying! When you say I'm not worthy to bringthem up you're lying! It's only a saying--only words. You know it isn'ttrue--you know I've nourished them, cared for them, loved them, consoledthem, and I have taught them to say their prayers every night, and Iwould go on doing so. You know that no other woman will ever fill myplace--but that makes no difference to you. You forget them--you want topunish me, so you want to take them from me. I'm justified in saying toyou that it's an act of cowardly wickedness and a vile piece ofvengeance! Ah! The children! You want to gamble with them now. No--totake them away from me--think, Pierre, think; it isn't possible, whatyou are saying! ETCHEPARE. You are right; I am revenging myself! What you think animpossibility is done already. My mother has taken the children and goneaway with them. YANETTA. I shall find them again. ETCHEPARE. America is a big country. YANETTA. I shall find them again! ETCHEPARE. Then I shall tell them why I have taken them away from you! YANETTA. Never! Never that! I'll obey you, but swear-- _The recorder enters. _ THE RECORDER. Etchepare, come and sign your discharge. You will bereleased at once. YANETTA. Wait a moment, Monsieur, wait a moment. [_To Etchepare_] Iagree to separation if I must. I will disappear--you will never hear ofme again. But in return for this wicked sacrifice swear solemnly thatyou will never tell them. ETCHEPARE. I swear. YANETTA. You swear never to tell them anything that may lessen theiraffection for me? ETCHEPARE. I swear. YANETTA. Promise me too--I beg you, Pierre--in the name of our happinessand my misery--promise to keep me fresh in their memory--let them prayfor me, won't you? ETCHEPARE. I swear it. YANETTA. Then go--my life is done with. ETCHEPARE. Good-bye. _He goes out with the recorder. At the door the latter meets Mouzon. _ THE RECORDER [_to Etchepare_] They are coming to show you the way out. THE RECORDER [_to Mouzon_] The woman Etchepare is there. MOUZON. Ah, she's there. Monsieur Vagret has been speaking of her. Well, I withdraw my complaint; I ask nothing better than that she shall be setat liberty. Now that I am a Councillor I don't want to be coming backfrom Pau every week for the examination. Proceed with the necessaryformalities. SCENE V:--_Mouzon, Yanetta, the recorder. _ MOUZON. Well--in consideration of the time you have been in custody, Iam willing that you should be set at liberty--provisional liberty. Imay, perhaps, even withdraw my complaint if you express regret forhaving insulted me. YANETTA [_calmly_] I do not regret having insulted you. MOUZON. Do you want to go back to prison? YANETTA. My poor man, if you only knew how little it matters to mewhether I go to prison or not! MOUZON. Why? YANETTA. Because I have nothing left, neither house, nor home, norhusband, nor children. [_She looks at him_] And--I think--I think-- MOUZON. You think? YANETTA. I think it is you who are the cause of all the trouble. MOUZON. You are both acquitted, aren't you? What more do you ask? YANETTA. We have been acquitted, it is true. But all the same, I am nolonger an honest woman--neither to my husband, nor to my children, norto the world. MOUZON. If anyone reproaches you with the penalty inflicted upon youformerly, if anyone makes any illusion to the time you have spent incustody under remand, you have the right to prosecute the offender inthe courts. He will be punished. YANETTA. Well! It is because someone reproached me with that oldconviction that my husband has taken my children from me. That someoneis a magistrate. Can I have him punished? MOUZON. No. YANETTA. Why not? Because he is a magistrate? MOUZON. No. Because he is the law. YANETTA. The law! [_Violently_] Then the law is wicked, wicked! MOUZON. Come, no shouting, no insults, please. [_To the recorder_] Haveyou finished? Then go to the office and have an order made out for herdischarge. YANETTA. I'm no scholar; I've not studied the law in books, like you, and perhaps for that very reason I know better than you what is just andwhat is not. And I want to ask you a plain question: How is the lawgoing to give me back my children and make up to me for the harm it'sdone me? MOUZON. The law owes you nothing. YANETTA. The law owes me nothing! Then what are you going to do--you, the judge? MOUZON. A magistrate is not responsible. YANETTA. Ah, you are not responsible! So you can arrest people just asyou like, just when you fancy, on a suspicion or even without asuspicion; you can bring shame and dishonor on their families; you cantorture the unhappy, ferret into their past lives, expose theirmisfortunes, dig up forgotten offences, offences which have been atonedfor and which go back to ten years ago; you can make use of your skill, your tricks and lies, and your cruelty to send a man to the foot of thescaffold, and worse still, you can drive people into taking a mother'schildren away from her--and after that you say, like Pontius Pilate, that you aren't responsible! Not responsible! Perhaps you aren'tresponsible in the eyes of this law of yours, since you tell me youaren't, but in the eyes of pure and simple justice, the justice ofdecent people, the justice of God, before that I swear you areresponsible, and that is why I am going to call you to account! _She sees on Mouzon's desk the dagger which he uses as a paper-knife. He turns his back on her. She seizes the knife and puts it down again. _ MOUZON. I order you to get out of here. YANETTA. Listen to me. For the last time I ask you--what do you thinkyou can do to make up to me--to give me back all I've lost through yourfault; what are you going to do to lessen my misery, and how do youpropose to give me back my children? MOUZON. I have nothing to say to you. I owe you nothing. YANETTA. You owe me nothing! You owe me more than life--more thaneverything. My children I shall never see again. What you've taken fromme is the happiness of every moment of the day--their kisses atnight--the pride I felt in watching them grow up. Never, never againshall I hear them call me "mother. " It's as though they were dead--it'sas though you had killed them. [_She seizes the knife_] Yes! That's yourwork; it's you bad judges have done it; you have nearly made a criminalof an innocent man, and you force an honest woman, a mother--to become acriminal! _She stabs him. He falls. _ CURTAIN.