Part 2
MAURICE. Good-bye then! And may that happen which must happen! [Goes out.]
JEANNE. [Alone with MARION] O Crux! Ave spes unica!
(Curtain.)
SECOND SCENE
(The Crêmerie. On the right stands a buffet, on which are placed an aquarium with goldfish and dishes containing vegetables, fruit, preserves, etc. In the background is a door leading to the kitchen, where workmen are taking their meals. At the other end of the kitchen can be seen a door leading out to a garden. On the left, in the background, stands a counter on a raised platform, and back of it are shelves containing all sorts of bottles. On the right, a long table with a marble top is placed along the wall, and another table is placed parallel to the first further out on the floor. Straw-bottomed chairs stand around the tables. The walls are covered with oil-paintings.)
(MME. CATHERINE is sitting at the counter.)
(MAURICE stands leaning against it. He has his hat on and is smoking a cigarette.)
MME. CATHERINE. So it's tonight the great event comes off, Monsieur Maurice?
MAURICE. Yes, tonight.
MME. CATHERINE. Do you feel upset?
MAURICE. Cool as a cucumber.
MME. CATHERINE. Well, I wish you luck anyhow, and you have deserved it, Monsieur Maurice, after having had to fight against such difficulties as yours.
MAURICE. Thank you, Madame Catherine. You have been very kind to me, and without your help I should probably have been down and out by this time.
MME. CATHERINE. Don't let us talk of that now. I help along where I see hard work and the right kind of will, but I don't want to be exploited--Can we trust you to come back here after the play and let us drink a glass with you?
MAURICE. Yes, you can--of course, you can, as I have already promised you.
(HENRIETTE enters from the right.)
(MAURICE turns around, raises his hat, and stares at HENRIETTE, who looks him over carefully.)
HENRIETTE. Monsieur Adolphe is not here yet?
MME. CATHERINE. No, madame. But he'll soon be here now. Won't you sit down?
HENRIETTE. No, thank you, I'll rather wait for him outside. [Goes out.]
MAURICE. Who--was--that?
MME. CATHERINE. Why, that's Monsieur Adolphe's friend.
MAURICE. Was--that--her?
MME. CATHERINE. Have you never seen her before?
MAURICE. No, he has been hiding her from me, just as if he was afraid I might take her away from him.
MME. CATHERINE. Ha-ha!--Well, how did you think she looked?
MAURICE. How she looked? Let me see: I can't tell--I didn't see her, for it was as if she had rushed straight into my arms at once and come so close to me that I couldn't make out her features at all. And she left her impression on the air behind her. I can still see her standing there. [He goes toward the door and makes a gesture as if putting his arm around somebody] Whew! [He makes a gesture as if he had pricked his finger] There are pins in her waist. She is of the kind that stings!
MME. CATHERINE. Oh, you are crazy, you with your ladies!
MAURICE. Yes, it's craziness, that's what it is. But do you know, Madame Catherine, I am going before she comes back, or else, or else--Oh, that woman is horrible!
MME. CATHERINE. Are you afraid?
MAURICE. Yes, I am afraid for myself, and also for some others.
MME. CATHERINE. Well, go then.
MAURICE. She seemed to suck herself out through the door, and in her wake rose a little whirlwind that dragged me along--Yes, you may laugh, but can't you see that the palm over there on the buffet is still shaking? She's the very devil of a woman!
MME. CATHERINE. Oh, get out of here, man, before you lose all your reason.
MAURICE. I want to go, but I cannot--Do you believe in fate, Madame Catherine?
MME. CATHERINE. No, I believe in a good God, who protects us against evil powers if we ask Him in the right way.
MAURICE. So there are evil powers after all! I think I can hear them in the hallway now.
MME. CATHERINE. Yes, her clothes rustle as when the clerk tears off a piece of linen for you. Get away now--through the kitchen.
(MAURICE rushes toward the kitchen door, where he bumps into EMILE.)
EMILE. I beg your pardon. [He retires the way he came.]
ADOLPHE. [Comes in first; after him HENRIETTE] Why, there's Maurice. How are you? Let me introduce this lady here to my oldest and best friend. Mademoiselle Henriette--Monsieur Maurice.
MAURICE. [Saluting stiffly] Pleased to meet you.
HENRIETTA. We have seen each other before.
ADOLPHE. Is that so? When, if I may ask?
MAURICE. A moment ago. Right here.
ADOLPHE. O-oh!--But now you must stay and have a chat with us.
MAURICE. [After a glance at MME. CATHERINE] If I only had time.
ADOLPHE. Take the time. And we won't be sitting here very long.
HENRIETTE. I won't interrupt, if you have to talk business.
MAURICE. The only business we have is so bad that we don't want to talk of it.
HENRIETTE. Then we'll talk of something else. [Takes the hat away from MAURICE and hangs it up] Now be nice, and let me become acquainted with the great author.
MME. CATHERINE signals to MAURICE, who doesn't notice her.
ADOLPHE. That's right, Henriette, you take charge of him. [They seat themselves at one of the tables.]
HENRIETTE. [To MAURICE] You certainly have a good friend in Adolphe, Monsieur Maurice. He never talks of anything but you, and in such a way that I feel myself rather thrown in the background.
ADOLPHE. You don't say so! Well, Henriette on her side never leaves me in peace about you, Maurice. She has read your works, and she is always wanting to know where you got this and where that. She has been questioning me about your looks, your age, your tastes. I have, in a word, had you for breakfast, dinner, and supper. It has almost seemed as if the three of us were living together.
MAURICE. [To HENRIETTE] Heavens, why didn't you come over here and have a look at this wonder of wonders? Then your curiosity could have been satisfied in a trice.
HENRIETTE. Adolphe didn't want it.
(ADOLPHE looks embarrassed.)
HENRIETTE. Not that he was jealous--
MAURICE. And why should he be, when he knows that my feelings are tied up elsewhere?
HENRIETTE. Perhaps he didn't trust the stability of your feelings.
MAURICE. I can't understand that, seeing that I am notorious for my constancy.
ADOLPHE. Well, it wasn't that--
HENRIETTE. [Interrupting him] Perhaps that is because you have not faced the fiery ordeal--
ADOLPHE. Oh, you don't know--
HENRIETTE. [Interrupting]--for the world has not yet beheld a faithful man.
MAURICE. Then it's going to behold one.
HENRIETTE. Where?
MAURICE. Here.
(HENRIETTE laughs.)
ADOLPHE. Well, that's going it--
HENRIETTE. [Interrupting him and directing herself continuously to MAURICE] Do you think I ever trust my dear Adolphe more than a month at a time?
MAURICE. I have no right to question your lack of confidence, but I can guarantee that Adolphe is faithful.
HENRIETTE. You don't need to do so--my tongue is just running away with me, and I have to take back a lot--not only for fear of feeling less generous than you, but because it is the truth. It is a bad habit I have of only seeing the ugly side of things, and I keep it up although I know better. But if I had a chance to be with you two for some time, then your company would make me good once more. Pardon me, Adolphe! [She puts her hand against his cheek.]
ADOLPHE. You are always wrong in your talk and right in your
## actions. What you really think--that I don't know.
HENRIETTE. Who does know that kind of thing?
MAURICE. Well, if we had to answer for our thoughts, who could then clear himself?
HENRIETTE. Do you also have evil thoughts?
MAURICE. Certainly; just as I commit the worst kind of cruelties in my dreams.
HENRIETTE. Oh, when you are dreaming, of course--Just think of it—- No, I am ashamed of telling--
MAURICE. Go on, go on!
HENRIETTE. Last night I dreamt that I was coolly dissecting the muscles on Adolphe's breast--you see, I am a sculptor--and he, with his usual kindness, made no resistance, but helped me instead with the worst places, as he knows more anatomy than I.
MAURICE. Was he dead?
HENRIETTE. No, he was living.
MAURICE. But that's horrible! And didn't it make YOU suffer?
HENRIETTE. Not at all, and that astonished me most, for I am rather sensitive to other people's sufferings. Isn't that so, Adolphe?
ADOLPHE. That's right. Rather abnormally so, in fact, and not the least when animals are concerned.
MAURICE. And I, on the other hand, am rather callous toward the sufferings both of myself and others.
ADOLPHE. Now he is not telling the truth about himself. Or what do you say, Madame Catherine?
MME. CATHERINE. I don't know of anybody with a softer heart than Monsieur Maurice. He came near calling in the police because I didn't give the goldfish fresh water--those over there on the buffet. Just look at them: it is as if they could hear what I am saying.
MAURICE. Yes, here we are making ourselves out as white as angels, and yet we are, taking it all in all, capable of any kind of polite atrocity the moment glory, gold, or women are concerned--So you are a sculptor, Mademoiselle Henriette?
HENRIETTE. A bit of one. Enough to do a bust. And to do one of you--which has long been my cherished dream--I hold myself quite capable.
MAURICE. Go ahead! That dream at least need not be long in coming true.
HENRIETTE. But I don't want to fix your features in my mind until this evening's success is over. Not until then will you have become what you should be.
MAURICE. How sure you are of victory!
HENRIETTE. Yes, it is written on your face that you are going to win this battle, and I think you must feel that yourself.
MAURICE. Why do you think so?
HENRIETTE. Because I can feel it. This morning I was ill, you know, and now I am well.
(ADOLPHE begins to look depressed.)
MAURICE. [Embarrassed] Listen, I have a single ticket left--only one. I place it at your disposal, Adolphe.
ADOLPHE. Thank you, but I surrender it to Henriette.
HENRIETTE. But that wouldn't do?
ADOLPHE. Why not? And I never go to the theatre anyhow, as I cannot stand the heat.
HENRIETTE. But you will come and take us home at least after the show is over.
ADOLPHE. If you insist on it. Otherwise Maurice has to come back here, where we shall all be waiting for him.
MAURICE. You can just as well take the trouble of meeting us. In fact, I ask, I beg you to do so--And if you don't want to wait outside the theatre, you can meet us at the Auberge des Adrets-- That's settled then, isn't it?
ADOLPHE. Wait a little. You have a way of settling things to suit yourself, before other people have a chance to consider them.
MAURICE. What is there to consider--whether you are to see your lady home or not?
ADOLPHE. You never know what may be involved in a simple act like that, but I have a sort of premonition.
HENRIETTE. Hush, hush, hush! Don't talk of spooks while the sun is shining. Let him come or not, as it pleases him. We can always find our way back here.
ADOLPHE. [Rising] Well, now I have to leave you--model, you know. Good-bye, both of you. And good luck to you, Maurice. To-morrow you will be out on the right side. Good-bye, Henriette.
HENRIETTE. Do you really have to go?
ADOLPHE. I must.
MAURICE. Good-bye then. We'll meet later.
(ADOLPHE goes out, saluting MME. CATHERINE in passing.)
HENRIETTE. Think of it, that we should meet at last!
MAURICE. Do you find anything remarkable in that?
HENRIETTE. It looks as if it had to happen, for Adolphe has done his best to prevent it.
MAURICE. Has he?
HENRIETTE. Oh, you must have noticed it.
MAURICE. I have noticed it, but why should you mention it?
HENRIETTE. I had to.
MAURICE. No, and I don't have to tell you that I wanted to run away through the kitchen in order to avoid meeting you and was stopped by a guest who closed the door in front of me.
HENRIETTE. Why do you tell me about it now?
MAURICE. I don't know.
(MME. CATHERINE upsets a number of glasses and bottles.)
MAURICE. That's all right, Madame Catherine. There's nothing to be afraid of.
HENRIETTE. Was that meant as a signal or a warning?
MAURICE. Probably both.
HENRIETTE. Do they take me for a locomotive that has to have flagmen ahead of it?
MAURICE. And switchmen! The danger is always greatest at the switches.
HENRIETTE. How nasty you can be!
MME. CATHERINE. Monsieur Maurice isn't nasty at all. So far nobody has been kinder than he to those that love him and trust in him.
MAURICE. Sh, sh, sh!
HENRIETTE. [To MAURICE] The old lady is rather impertinent.
MAURICE. We can walk over to the boulevard, if you care to do so.
HENRIETTE. With pleasure. This is not the place for me. I can just feel their hatred clawing at me. [Goes out.]
MAURICE. [Starts after her] Good-bye, Madame Catherine.
MME. CATHERINE. A moment! May I speak a word to you, Monsieur Maurice?
MAURICE. [Stops unwillingly] What is it?
MME. CATHERINE. Don't do it! Don't do it!
MAURICE. What?
MME. CATHERINE. Don't do it!
MAURICE. Don't be scared. This lady is not my kind, but she interests me. Or hardly that even.
MME. CATHERINE, Don't trust yourself!
MAURICE. Yes, I do trust myself. Good-bye. [Goes out.]
(Curtain.)
## ACT II
FIRST SCENE
(The Auberge des Adrets: a café in sixteenth century style, with a suggestion of stage effect. Tables and easy-chairs are scattered in corners and nooks. The walls are decorated with armour and weapons. Along the ledge of the wainscoting stand glasses and jugs.)
(MAURICE and HENRIETTE are in evening dress and sit facing each other at a table on which stands a bottle of champagne and three filled glasses. The third glass is placed at that side of the table which is nearest the background, and there an easy-chair is kept ready for the still missing "third man.")
MAURICE. [Puts his watch in front of himself on the table] If he doesn't get here within the next five minutes, he isn't coming at all. And suppose in the meantime we drink with his ghost. [Touches the third glass with the rim of his own.]
HENRIETTE. [Doing the same] Here's to you, Adolphe!
MAURICE. He won't come.
HENRIETTE. He will come.
MAURICE. He won't.
HENRIETTE. He will.
MAURICE. What an evening! What a wonderful day! I can hardly grasp that a new life has begun. Think only: the manager believes that I may count on no less than one hundred thousand francs. I'll spend twenty thousand on a villa outside the city. That leaves me eighty thousand. I won't be able to take it all in until to-morrow, for I am tired, tired, tired. [Sinks back into the chair] Have you ever felt really happy?
HENRIETTE. Never. How does it feel?
MAURICE. I don't quite know how to put it. I cannot express it, but I seem chiefly to be thinking of the chagrin of my enemies. It isn't nice, but that's the way it is.
HENRIETTE. Is it happiness to be thinking of one's enemies?
MAURICE. Why, the victor has to count his killed and wounded enemies in order to gauge the extent of his victory.
HENRIETTE. Are you as bloodthirsty as all that?
MAURICE. Perhaps not. But when you have felt the pressure of other people's heels on your chest for years, it must be pleasant to shake off the enemy and draw a full breath at last.
HENRIETTE. Don't you find it strange that yon are sitting here, alone with me, an insignificant girl practically unknown to you-- and on an evening like this, when you ought to have a craving to show yourself like a triumphant hero to all the people, on the boulevards, in the big restaurants?
MAURICE. Of course, it's rather funny, but it feels good to be here, and your company is all I care for.
HENRIETTE. You don't look very hilarious.
MAURICE. No, I feel rather sad, and I should like to weep a little.
HENRIETTE. What is the meaning of that?
MAURICE. It is fortune conscious of its own nothingness and waiting for misfortune to appear.
HENRIETTE. Oh my, how sad! What is it you are missing anyhow?
MAURICE. I miss the only thing that gives value to life.
HENRIETTE. So you love her no longer then?
MAURICE. Not in the way I understand love. Do you think she has read my play, or that she wants to see it? Oh, she is so good, so self-sacrificing and considerate, but to go out with me for a night's fun she would regard as sinful. Once I treated her to champagne, you know, and instead of feeling happy over it, she picked up the wine list to see what it cost. And when she read the price, she wept--wept because Marion was in need of new stockings. It is beautiful, of course: it is touching, if you please. But I can get no pleasure out of it. And I do want a little pleasure before life runs out. So far I have had nothing but privation, but now, now--life is beginning for me. [The clock strikes twelve] Now begins a new day, a new era!
HENRIETTE. Adolphe is not coming.
MAURICE. No, now he won't, come. And now it is too late to go back to the Crêmerie.
HENRIETTE. But they are waiting for you.
MAURICE. Let them wait. They have made me promise to come, and I take back my promise. Are you longing to go there?
HENRIETTE. On the contrary!
MAURICE. Will you keep me company then?
HENRIETTE. With pleasure, if you care to have me.
MAURICE. Otherwise I shouldn't be asking you. It is strange, you know, that the victor's wreath seems worthless if you can't place it at the feet of some woman--that everything seems worthless when you have not a woman.
HENRIETTE. You don't need to be without a woman--you?
MAURICE. Well, that's the question.
HENRIETTE. Don't you know that a man is irresistible in his hour of success and fame?
MAURICE. No, I don't know, for I have had no experience of it.
HENRIETTE. You are a queer sort! At this moment, when you are the most envied man in Paris, you sit here and brood. Perhaps your conscience is troubling you because you have neglected that invitation to drink chicory coffee with the old lady over at the milk shop?
MAURICE. Yes, my conscience is troubling me on that score, and even here I am aware of their resentment, their hurt feelings, their well-grounded anger. My comrades in distress had the right to demand my presence this evening. The good Madame Catherine had a privileged claim on my success, from which a glimmer of hope was to spread over the poor fellows who have not yet succeeded. And I have robbed them of their faith in me. I can hear the vows they have been making: "Maurice will come, for he is a good fellow; he doesn't despise us, and he never fails to keep his word." Now I have made them forswear themselves.
(While he is still speaking, somebody in the next room has begun to play the finale of Beethoven's Sonata in D-minor (Op. 31, No. 3). The allegretto is first played piano, then more forte, and at last passionately, violently, with complete abandon.)
MAURICE. Who can be playing at this time of the night?
HENRIETTE. Probably some nightbirds of the same kind as we. But listen! Your presentation of the case is not correct. Remember that Adolphe promised to meet us here. We waited for him, and he failed to keep his promise. So that you are not to blame--
MAURICE. You think so? While you are speaking, I believe you, but when you stop, my conscience begins again. What have you in that package?
HENRIETTE. Oh, it is only a laurel wreath that I meant to send up to the stage, but I had no chance to do so. Let me give it to you now--it is said to have a cooling effect on burning foreheads. [She rises and crowns him with the wreath; then she kisses him on the forehead] Hail to the victor!
MAURICE. Don't!
HENRIETTE. [Kneeling] Hail to the King!
MAURICE. [Rising] No, now you scare me.
HENRIETTE. You timid man! You of little faith who are afraid of fortune even! Who robbed you of your self-assurance and turned you into a dwarf?
MAURICE. A dwarf? Yes, you are right. I am not working up in the clouds, like a giant, with crashing and roaring, but I forge my weapons deep down in the silent heart of the mountain. You think that my modesty shrinks before the victor's wreath. On the contrary, I despise it: it is not enough for me. You think I am afraid of that ghost with its jealous green eyes which sits over there and keeps watch on my feelings--the strength of which you don't suspect. Away, ghost! [He brushes the third, untouched glass off the table] Away with you, you superfluous third person--you absent one who has lost your rights, if you ever had any. You stayed away from the field of battle because you knew yourself already beaten. As I crush this glass under my foot, so I will crush the image of yourself which you have reared in a temple no longer yours.
HENRIETTE. Good! That's the way! Well spoken, my hero!
MAURICE. Now I have sacrificed my best friend, my most faithful helper, on your altar, Astarte! Are you satisfied?
HENRIETTE. Astarte is a pretty name, and I'll keep it--I think you love me, Maurice.
MAURICE. Of course I do--Woman of evil omen, you who stir up man's courage with your scent of blood, whence do you come and where do you lead me? I loved you before I saw you, for I trembled when I heard them speak of you. And when I saw you in the doorway, your soul poured itself into mine. And when you left, I could still feel your presence in my arms. I wanted to flee from you, but something held me back, and this evening we have been driven together as the prey is driven into the hunter's net. Whose is the fault? Your friend's, who pandered for us!
HENRIETTE. Fault or no fault: what does it matter, and what does it mean?--Adolphe has been at fault in not bringing us together before. He is guilty of having stolen from us two weeks of bliss, to which he had no right himself. I am jealous of him on your behalf. I hate him because he has cheated you out of your mistress. I should like to blot him from the host of the living, and his memory with him--wipe him out of the past even, make him unmade, unborn!
MAURICE. Well, we'll bury him beneath our own memories. We'll cover him with leaves and branches far out in the wild woods, and then we'll pile stone on top of the mound so that he will never look up again. [Raising his glass] Our fate is sealed. Woe unto us! What will come next?
HENRIETTE. Next comes the new era--What have you in that package?
MAURICE. I cannot remember.