Part 3
THE SON (_shrugging his shoulders scornfully_). Leave me alone! I don't come into this.
THE FATHER. What? You don't come into this?
THE SON. I've got nothing to do with it, and don't want to have; because you know well enough I wasn't made to be mixed up in all this with the rest of you.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. We are only vulgar folk! He is the fine gentleman. You may have noticed, Mr. Manager, that I fix him now and again with a look of scorn while he lowers his eyes--for he knows the evil he has done me.
THE SON (_scarcely looking at her_). I?
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. You! you! I owe my life on the streets to you. Did you or did you not deny us, with your behaviour, I won't say the intimacy of home, but even that mere hospitality which makes guests feel at their ease? We were intruders who had come to disturb the kingdom of your legitimacy. I should like to have you witness, Mr. Manager, certain scenes between him and me. He says I have tyrannized over everyone. But it was just his behaviour which made me insist on the reason for which I had come into the house,--this reason he calls "vile"--into his house, with my mother who is his mother too. And I came as mistress of the house.
THE SON. It's easy for them to put me always in the wrong. But imagine, gentlemen, the position of a son, whose fate it is to see arrive one day at his home a young woman of impudent bearing, a young woman who inquires for his> father, with whom who knows what business she has. This young man has then to witness her return bolder than ever, accompanied by that child there. He is obliged to watch her treat his father in an equivocal and confidential manner. She asks money of him in a way that lets one suppose he must give it her, _must_, do you understand, because he has every obligation to do so.
THE FATHER. But I have, as a matter of fact, this obligation. I owe it to your mother.
THE SON. How should I know? When had I ever seen or heard of her? One day there arrive with her (_indicating Step-Daughter_) that lad and this baby here. I am told: "This is _your_ mother too, you know." I divine from her manner (_indicating Step-Daughter again_) why it is they have come home. I had rather not say what I feel and think about it. I shouldn't even care to confess to myself. No
## action can therefore be hoped for from me in this affair.
Believe me, Mr. Manager, I am an "unrealized" character, dramatically speaking; and I find myself not at all at ease in their company. Leave me out of it, I beg you.
THE FATHER. What? It is just because you are so that....
THE SON. How do you know what I am like? When did you ever bother your head about me?
THE FATHER. I admit it. I admit it. But isn't that a situation in itself? This aloofness of yours which is so cruel to me and to your mother, who returns home and sees you almost for the first time grown up, who doesn't recognize you but knows you are her son.... (_pointing out the Mother to the Manager_). See, she's crying!
THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_angrily, stamping her foot_). Like a fool!
THE FATHER (_indicating Step-Daughter_). She can't stand him you know. (_Then referring again to the Son_): He says he doesn't come into the affair, whereas he is really the hinge of the whole action. Look at that lad who is always clinging to his mother, frightened and humiliated. It is on account of this fellow here. Possibly his situation is the most painful of all. He feels himself a stranger more than the others. The poor little chap feels mortified, humiliated at being brought into a home out of charity as it were. (_In confidence_)--: He is the image of his father. Hardly talks at all. Humble and quiet.
THE MANAGER. Oh, we'll cut him out. You've no notion what a nuisance boys are on the stage....
THE FATHER. He disappears soon, you know. And the baby too. She is the first to vanish from the scene. The drama consists finally in this: when that mother re-enters my house, her family born outside of it, and shall we say superimposed on the original, ends with the death of the little girl, the tragedy of the boy and the flight of the elder daughter. It cannot go on, because it is foreign to its surroundings. So after much torment, we three remain: I, the mother, that son. Then, owing to the disappearance of that extraneous family, we too find ourselves strange to one another. We find we are living in an atmosphere of mortal desolation which is the revenge, as he (_indicating Son_) scornfully said of the Demon of Experiment, that unfortunately hides in me. Thus, sir, you see when faith is lacking, it becomes impossible to create certain states of happiness, for we lack the necessary humility. Vaingloriously, we try to substitute ourselves for this faith, creating thus for the rest of the world a reality which we believe after their fashion, while, actually, it doesn't exist. For each one of us has his own reality to be respected before God, even when it is harmful to one's very self.
THE MANAGER. There is something in what you say. I assure you all this interests me very much. I begin to think there's the stuff for a drama in all this, and not a bad drama either.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_coming forward_). When you've got a character like me.
THE FATHER (_shutting her up, all excited to learn the decision of the Manager_). You be quiet!
THE MANAGER (_reflecting, heedless of interruption_). It's new ... hem ... yes....
THE FATHER. Absolutely new!
THE MANAGER. You've got a nerve though, I must say, to come here and fling it at me like this....
THE FATHER. You will understand, sir, born as we are for the stage....
THE MANAGER. Are you amateur actors then?
THE FATHER. No. I say born for the stage, because....
THE MANAGER. Oh, nonsense. You're an old hand, you know.
THE FATHER. No sir, no. We act that rôle for which we have been cast, that rôle which we are given in life. And in my own case, passion itself, as usually happens, becomes a trifle theatrical when it is exalted.
THE MANAGER. Well, well, that will do. But you see, without an author ... I could give you the address of an author if you like....
THE FATHER. No, no. Look here! You must be the author.
THE MANAGER. I? What are you talking about?
THE FATHER. Yes, you, you! Why not?
THE MANAGER. Because I have never been an author: that's why.
THE FATHER. Then why not turn author now? Everybody does it. You don't want any special qualities. Your task is made much easier by the fact that we are all here alive before you....
THE MANAGER. It won't do.
THE FATHER. What? When you see us live our drama....
THE MANAGER. Yes, that's all right. But you want someone to write it.
THE FATHER. No, no. Someone to take it down, possibly, while we play it, scene by scene! It will be enough to sketch it out at first, and then try it over.
THE MANAGER. Well ... I am almost tempted. It's a bit of an idea. One might have a shot at it.
THE FATHER. Of course. You'll see what scenes will come out of it. I can give you one, at once....
THE MANAGER. By Jove, it tempts me. I'd like to have a go at it. Let's try it out. Come with me to my office (_turning to the Actors_). You are at liberty for a bit, but don't stop out of the theatre for long. In a quarter of an hour, twenty minutes, all back here again! (_To the Father_): We'll see what can be done. Who knows if we don't get something really extraordinary out of it?
THE FATHER. There's no doubt about it. They (_indicating the Characters_) had better come with us too, hadn't they?
THE MANAGER. Yes, yes. Come on! come on! (_Moves away and then turning to the actors_): Be punctual, please! (_Manager and the Six Characters cross the stage and go off. The other actors remain, looking at one another in astonishment_).
LEADING MAN. Is he serious? What the devil does he want to do?
JUVENILE LEAD. This is rank madness.
THIRD ACTOR. Does he expect to knock up a drama in five minutes?
JUVENILE LEAD. Like the improvisers!
LEADING LADY. If he thinks I'm going to take part in a joke like this....
JUVENILE LEAD. I'm out of it anyway.
FOURTH ACTOR. I should like to know who they are (_alludes to Characters_).
THIRD ACTOR. What do you suppose? Madmen or rascals!
JUVENILE LEAD. And he takes them seriously!
L'INGÉNUE. Vanity! He fancies himself as an author now.
LEADING MAN. It's absolutely unheard of. If the stage has come to this ... well I'm....
FIFTH ACTOR. It's rather a joke.
THIRD ACTOR. Well, we'll see what's going to happen next.
(_Thus talking, the actors leave the stage; some going out by the little door at the back; others retiring to their dressing-rooms._
_The curtain remains up._
_The action of the play is suspended for twenty minutes_).
## ACT II.
_The stage call-bells ring to warn the company that the play is about to begin again._
THE STEP-DAUGHTER _comes out of the Manager's office along with_ THE CHILD _and_ THE BOY. _As she comes out of the office, she cries_:--
Nonsense! nonsense! Do it yourselves! I'm not going to mix myself up in this mess. (_Turning to the Child and coming quickly with her on to the stage_): Come on, Rosetta, let's run!
(THE BOY _follows them slowly, remaining a little behind and seeming perplexed_).
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. (_Stops, bends over the Child and takes the latter's face between her hands_). My little darling! You're frightened, aren't you? You don't know where we are, do you? (_Pretending to reply to a question of the Child_): What is the stage? It's a place, baby, you know, where people play at being serious, a place where they act comedies. We've got to act a comedy now, dead serious, you know; and you're in it also, little one. (_Embraces her, pressing the little head to her breast, and rocking the child for a moment_). Oh darling, darling, what a horrid comedy you've got to play! What a wretched part they've found for you! A garden ... a fountain ... look ... just suppose, kiddie, it's here. Where, you say? Why, right here in the middle. It's all pretence you know. That's the trouble, my pet: it's all make-believe here. It's better to imagine it though, because if they fix it up for you, it'll only be painted cardboard, painted cardboard for the rockery, the water, the plants.... Ah, but I think a baby like this one would sooner have a make-believe fountain than a real one, so she could play with it. What a joke it'll be for the others! But for you, alas! not quite such a joke: you who are real, baby dear, and really play by a real fountain this big and green and beautiful, with ever so many bamboos around it that are reflected in the water, and a whole lot of little ducks swimming about.... No, Rosetta, no, your mother doesn't bother about you on account of that wretch of a son there. I'm in the devil of a temper, and as for that lad.... (_Seizes Boy by the arm to force him to take one of his hands out of his pockets_). What have you got there? What are you hiding? (_Pulls his hand out of his pocket, looks into it and catches the glint of a revolver_). Ah! where did you get this?
(THE BOY, _very pale in the face, looks at her, but does not answer_).
Idiot! If I'd been in your place, instead of killing myself, I'd have shot one of those two, or both of them: father and son.
(THE FATHER _enters from the office, all excited from his work_. THE MANAGER _follows him_).
THE FATHER. Come on, come on dear! Come here for a minute! We've arranged everything. It's all fixed up.
THE MANAGER (_also excited_). If you please, young lady, there are one or two points to settle still. Will you come along?
THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_following him towards the office_). Ouff! what's the good, if you've arranged everything.
(THE FATHER, MANAGER _and_ STEP-DAUGHTER _go back into the office again (off) for a moment. At the same time,_ THE SON _followed by_ THE MOTHER, _comes out_).
THE SON (_looking at the three entering office_). Oh this is fine, fine! And to think I can't even get away!
(THE MOTHER _attempts to look at him, but lowers her eyes immediately when he turns away from her. She then sits down_. THE BOY _and_ THE CHILD _approach her. She casts a glance again at the Son, and speaks with humble tones, trying to draw him into conversation_).
THE MOTHER. And isn't my punishment the worst of all? (_Then seeing from the Sons manner that he will not bother himself about her_). My God! Why are you so cruel? Isn't it enough for one person to support all this torment? Must you then insist on others seeing it also?
THE SON (_half to himself, meaning the Mother to hear, however_). And they want to put it on the stage! If there was at least a reason for it! He thinks he has got at the meaning of it all. Just as if each one of us in every circumstance of life couldn't find his own explanation of it! (_Pauses_). He complains he was discovered in a place where he ought not to have been seen, in a moment of his life which ought to have remained hidden and kept out of the reach of that convention which he has to maintain for other people. And what about my case? Haven't I had to reveal what no son ought ever to reveal: how father and mother live and are man and wife for themselves quite apart from that idea of father and mother which we give them? When this idea is revealed, our life is then linked at one point only to that man and that woman; and as such it should shame them, shouldn't it?
THE MOTHER _hides her face in her hands. From the dressing-rooms and the little door at the back of the stage the actors and_ STAGE MANAGER _return, followed by the_ PROPERTY MAN, _and the_ PROMPTER. _At the same moment_, THE MANAGER _comes out of his office, accompanied by the_ FATHER _and the_ STEP-DAUGHTER.
THE MANAGER. Come on, come on, ladies and gentlemen! Heh! you there, machinist!
MACHINIST. Yes sir?
THE MANAGER. Fix up the white parlor with the floral decorations. Two wings and a drop with a door will do. Hurry up!
(THE MACHINIST _runs off at once to prepare the scene, and arranges it while_ THE MANAGER _talks with the_ STAGE MANAGER, _the_ PROPERTY MAN, _and the_ PROMPTER _on matters of detail_).
THE MANAGER (_to Property Man_). Just have a look, and see if there isn't a sofa or divan in the wardrobe....
PROPERTY MAN. There's the green one.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. No no! Green won't do. It was yellow, ornamented with flowers--very large! and most comfortable!
PROPERTY MAN. There isn't one like that.
THE MANAGER. It doesn't matter. Use the one we've got.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Doesn't matter? It's most important!
THE MANAGER. We're only trying it now. Please don't interfere. (_To Property Man_): See if we've got a shop window--long and narrowish.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. And the little table! The little mahogany table for the pale blue envelope!
PROPERTY MAN (_To Manager_). There's that little gilt one.
THE MANAGER. That'll do fine.
THE FATHER. A mirror.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. And the screen! We must have a screen. Otherwise how can I manage?
PROPERTY MAN. That's all right, Miss. We've got any amount of them.
THE MANAGER (_to the Step-Daughter_). We want some clothes pegs too, don't we?
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Yes, several, several!
THE MANAGER. See how many we've got and bring them all.
PROPERTY MAN. All right!
(THE PROPERTY MAN _hurries off to obey his orders. While he is putting the things in their places, the_ MANAGER _talks to the_ PROMPTER _and then with the Characters and the actors_).
THE MANAGER (_to Prompter_). Take your seat. Look here: this is the outline of the scenes, act by act (_hands him some sheets of paper_). And now I'm going to ask you to do something out of the ordinary.
PROMPTER. Take it down in shorthand?
THE MANAGER (_pleasantly surprised_). Exactly! Can you do shorthand?
PROMPTER. Yes, a little.
MANAGER. Good! (_Turning to a stage hand_): Go and get some paper from my office, plenty, as much as you can find.
(_The stage hand goes off, and soon returns with a handful of paper which he gives to the Prompter_).
THE MANAGER (_To Prompter_). You follow the scenes as we play them, and try and get the points down, at any rate the most important ones. (_Then addressing the actors_): Clear the stage, ladies and gentlemen! Come over here (_pointing to the Left_) and listen attentively.
LEADING LADY. But, excuse me, we....
THE MANAGER (_guessing her thought_). Don't worry! You won't have to improvise.
LEADING MAN. What have we to do then?
THE MANAGER. Nothing. For the moment you just watch and listen. Everybody will get his part written out afterwards. At present we're going to try the thing as best we can. They're going to act now.
THE FATHER (_as if fallen from the clouds into the confusion of the stage_). We? What do you mean, if you please, by a rehearsal?
THE MANAGER. A rehearsal for them (_points to the actors_).
THE FATHER. But since we are the characters....
THE MANAGER. All right: "characters" then, if you insist on calling yourselves such. But here, my dear sir, the characters don't act. Here the actors do the acting. The characters are there, in the "book" (_pointing towards Prompter's box_)--when there is a "book"!
THE FATHER. I won't contradict you; but excuse me, the actors aren't the characters. They want to be, they pretend to be, don't they? Now if these gentlemen here are fortunate enough to have us alive before them....
THE MANAGER. Oh this is grand! You want to come before the public yourselves then?
THE FATHER. As we are....
THE MANAGER. I can assure you it would be a magnificent spectacle!
LEADING MAN. What's the use of us here anyway then?
THE MANAGER. You're not going to pretend that you can act? It makes me laugh! (_The actors laugh_). There, you see, they are laughing at the notion. But, by the way, I must cast the parts. That won't be difficult. They cast themselves. (_To the Second Lady Lead_): You play the Mother. (_To the Father_): We must find her a name.
THE FATHER. Amalia, sir.
THE MANAGER. But that is the real name of your wife. We don't want to call her by her real name.
THE FATHER. Why ever not, if it is her name? Still, perhaps, if that lady must.... (_makes a slight motion of the hand to indicate the Second Lady Lead_). I see this woman here (_means the Mother_) as Amalia. But do as you like (_gets more and more confused_). I don't know what to say to you. Already, I begin to hear my own words ring false, as if they had another sound....
THE MANAGER. Don't you worry about it. It'll be our job to find the right tones. And as for her name, if you want her Amalia, Amalia it shall be; and if you don't like it, we'll find another! For the moment though, we'll call the characters in this way: (_to Juvenile Lead_) You are the Son; (_to the Leading Lady_) You naturally are the Step-Daughter.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_excitedly_). What? what? I, that woman there? (_Bursts out laughing_).
THE MANAGER (_angry_). What is there to laugh at?
LEADING LADY (_indignant_). Nobody has ever dared to laugh at me. I insist on being treated with respect; otherwise I go away.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. No, no, excuse me ... I am not laughing at you....
THE MANAGER (_to Step-Daughter_). You ought to feel honoured to be played by....
LEADING LADY (_at once, contemptuously_). "That woman there"....
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. But I wasn't speaking of you, you know. I was speaking of myself--whom I can't see at all in you! That is all. I don't know ... but ... you ... aren't in the least like me....
THE FATHER. True. Here's the point. Look here, sir, our temperaments, our souls....
THE MANAGER. Temperament, soul, be hanged! Do you suppose the spirit of the piece is in you? Nothing of the kind!
THE FATHER. What, haven't we our own temperaments, our own souls?
THE MANAGER. Not at all. Your soul or whatever you like to call it takes shape here. The actors give body and form to it, voice and gesture. And my actors--I may tell you--have given expression to much more lofty material than this little drama of yours, which may or may not hold up on the stage. But if it does, the merit of it, believe me, will be due to my actors.
THE FATHER. I don't dare contradict you, sir; but, believe me, it is a terrible suffering for us who are as we are, with these bodies of ours, these features to see....
THE MANAGER (_cutting him short and out of patience_). Good heavens! The make-up will remedy all that, man, the make-up....
THE FATHER. Maybe. But the voice, the gestures....
THE MANAGER. Now, look here! On the stage, you as yourself, cannot exist. The actor here acts you, and that's an end to it!
THE FATHER. I understand. And now I think I see why our author who conceived us as we are, all alive, didn't want to put us on the stage after all. I haven't the least desire to offend your actors. Far from it! But when I think that I am to be acted by ... I don't know by whom....
LEADING MAN (_on his dignity_). By me, if you've no objection!
THE FATHER (_humbly, mellifluously_). Honoured, I assure you, sir. (_Bows_). Still, I must say that try as this gentleman may, with all his good will and wonderful art, to absorb me into himself....
LEADING MAN. Oh chuck it! "Wonderful art!" Withdraw that, please!
THE FATHER. The performance he will give, even doing his best with make-up to look like me....
LEADING MAN. It will certainly be a rat difficult! (_The actors laugh_.)
THE FATHER, Exactly! It will be difficult to act me as I really am. The effect will be rather--apart from the make-up--according as to how he supposes I am, as he senses me--if he does sense me--and not as I inside of myself feel myself to be. It seems to me then that account should be taken of this by everyone whose duty it may become to criticize us....
THE MANAGER. Heavens! The man's starting to think about the critics now! Let them say what they like. It's up to us to put on the play if we can (_looking around_). Come on! come on! Is the stage set? (_To the actors and Characters_): Stand back--stand back! Let me see, and don't let's lose any more time! (_To the Step-Daughter_): Is it all right as it is now?