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diff --git a/4970-h/4970-h.htm b/4970-h/4970-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..11a4e21 --- /dev/null +++ b/4970-h/4970-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4978 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + There Are Crimes and Crimes, by August Strindberg + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's There are Crimes and Crimes, by August Strindberg + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: There are Crimes and Crimes + A Comedy + +Author: August Strindberg + +Translator: Edwin Bjorkman + + +Release Date: January, 2004 [EBook #4970] +This file was first posted on April 8, 2002 +Last Updated: May 5, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THERE ARE CRIMES AND CRIMES *** + + + + +Text file produced by Nicole Apostola, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THERE ARE CRIMES AND CRIMES + </h1> + <h3> + A Comedy + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By August Strindberg + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h4> + Translated from the Swedish with an Introduction by Edwin Bjorkman + </h4> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>THERE ARE CRIMES AND CRIMES </b></a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> CHARACTERS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> <b>ACT I</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> FIRST SCENE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> SECOND SCENE </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> <b>ACT II</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> FIRST SCENE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> SECOND SCENE </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> <b>ACT III</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> FIRST SCENE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> SECOND SCENE </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> <b>ACT IV</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> FIRST SCENE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> SECOND SCENE </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <p> + Strindberg was fifty years old when he wrote "There Are Crimes and + Crimes." In the same year, 1899, he produced three of his finest + historical dramas: "The Saga of the Folkungs," "Gustavus Vasa," and "Eric + XIV." Just before, he had finished "Advent," which he described as "A + Mystery," and which was published together with "There Are Crimes and + Crimes" under the common title of "In a Higher Court." Back of these + dramas lay his strange confessional works, "Inferno" and "Legends," and + the first two parts of his autobiographical dream-play, "Toward Damascus"—all + of which were finished between May, 1897, and some time in the latter part + of 1898. And back of these again lay that period of mental crisis, when, + at Paris, in 1895 and 1896, he strove to make gold by the transmutation of + baser metals, while at the same time his spirit was travelling through all + the seven hells in its search for the heaven promised by the great mystics + of the past. + </p> + <p> + "There Are Crimes and Crimes" may, in fact, be regarded as his first + definite step beyond that crisis, of which the preceding works were at + once the record and closing chord. When, in 1909, he issued "The Author," + being a long withheld fourth part of his first autobiographical series, + "The Bondwoman's Son," he prefixed to it an analytical summary of the + entire body of his work. Opposite the works from 1897-8 appears in this + summary the following passage: "The great crisis at the age of fifty; + revolutions in the life of the soul, desert wanderings, Swedenborgian + Heavens and Hells." But concerning "There Are Crimes and Crimes" and the + three historical dramas from the same year he writes triumphantly: "Light + after darkness; new productivity, with recovered Faith, Hope and Love—and + with full, rock-firm Certitude." + </p> + <p> + In its German version the play is named "Rausch," or "Intoxication," which + indicates the part played by the champagne in the plunge of Maurice from + the pinnacles of success to the depths of misfortune. Strindberg has more + and more come to see that a moderation verging closely on asceticism is + wise for most men and essential to the man of genius who wants to fulfil + his divine mission. And he does not scorn to press home even this + comparatively humble lesson with the naive directness and fiery zeal which + form such conspicuous features of all his work. + </p> + <p> + But in the title which bound it to "Advent" at their joint publication we + have a better clue to what the author himself undoubtedly regards as the + most important element of his work—its religious tendency. The + "higher court," in which are tried the crimes of Maurice, Adolphe, and + Henriette, is, of course, the highest one that man can imagine. And the + crimes of which they have all become guilty are those which, as Adolphe + remarks, "are not mentioned in the criminal code"—in a word, crimes + against the spirit, against the impalpable power that moves us, against + God. The play, seen in this light, pictures a deep-reaching spiritual + change, leading us step by step from the soul adrift on the waters of life + to the state where it is definitely oriented and impelled. + </p> + <p> + There are two distinct currents discernible in this dramatic revelation of + progress from spiritual chaos to spiritual order—for to order the + play must be said to lead, and progress is implied in its onward movement, + if there be anything at all in our growing modern conviction that ANY + vital faith is better than none at all. One of the currents in question + refers to the means rather than the end, to the road rather than the goal. + It brings us back to those uncanny soul-adventures by which Strindberg + himself won his way to the "full, rock-firm Certitude" of which the play + in its entirety is the first tangible expression. The elements entering + into this current are not only mystical, but occult. They are derived in + part from Swedenborg, and in part from that picturesque French dreamer who + signs himself "Sar Peladan"; but mostly they have sprung out of + Strindberg's own experiences in moments of abnormal tension. + </p> + <p> + What happened, or seemed to happen, to himself at Paris in 1895, and what + he later described with such bewildering exactitude in his "Inferno" and + "Legends," all this is here presented in dramatic form, but a little toned + down, both to suit the needs of the stage and the calmer mood of the + author. Coincidence is law. It is the finger-point of Providence, the + signal to man that he must beware. Mystery is the gospel: the secret + knitting of man to man, of fact to fact, deep beneath the surface of + visible and audible existence. Few writers could take us into such a realm + of probable impossibilities and possible improbabilities without losing + all claim to serious consideration. If Strindberg has thus ventured to our + gain and no loss of his own, his success can be explained only by the + presence in the play of that second, parallel current of thought and + feeling. + </p> + <p> + This deeper current is as simple as the one nearer the surface is + fantastic. It is the manifestation of that "rock-firm Certitude" to which + I have already referred. And nothing will bring us nearer to it than + Strindberg's own confession of faith, given in his "Speeches to the + Swedish Nation" two years ago. In that pamphlet there is a chapter headed + "Religion," in which occurs this passage: "Since 1896 I have been calling + myself a Christian. I am not a Catholic, and have never been, but during a + stay of seven years in Catholic countries and among Catholic relatives, I + discovered that the difference between Catholic and Protestant tenets is + either none at all, or else wholly superficial, and that the division + which once occurred was merely political or else concerned with + theological problems not fundamentally germane to the religion itself. A + registered Protestant I am and will remain, but I can hardly be called + orthodox or evangelistic, but come nearest to being a Swedenborgian. I use + my Bible Christianity internally and privately to tame my somewhat + decivilized nature—decivilised by that veterinary philosophy and + animal science (Darwinism) in which, as student at the university, I was + reared. And I assure my fellow-beings that they have no right to complain + because, according to my ability, I practise the Christian teachings. For + only through religion, or the hope of something better, and the + recognition of the innermost meaning of life as that of an ordeal, a + school, or perhaps a penitentiary, will it be possible to bear the burden + of life with sufficient resignation." + </p> + <p> + Here, as elsewhere, it is made patent that Strindberg's religiosity + always, on closer analysis, reduces itself to morality. At bottom he is + first and last, and has always been, a moralist—a man passionately + craving to know what is RIGHT and to do it. During the middle, + naturalistic period of his creative career, this fundamental tendency was + in part obscured, and he engaged in the game of intellectual curiosity + known as "truth for truth's own sake." One of the chief marks of his final + and mystical period is his greater courage to "be himself" in this respect—and + this means necessarily a return, or an advance, to a position which the + late William James undoubtedly would have acknowledged as "pragmatic." To + combat the assertion of over-developed individualism that we are ends in + ourselves, that we have certain inalienable personal "rights" to pleasure + and happiness merely because we happen to appear here in human shape, this + is one of Strindberg's most ardent aims in all his later works. + </p> + <p> + As to the higher and more inclusive object to which our lives must be held + subservient, he is not dogmatic. It may be another life. He calls it God. + And the code of service he finds in the tenets of all the Christian + churches, but principally in the Commandments. The plain and primitive + virtues, the faith that implies little more than square dealing between + man and man—these figure foremost in Strindberg's ideals. In an age + of supreme self-seeking like ours, such an outlook would seem to have + small chance of popularity, but that it embodies just what the time most + needs is, perhaps, made evident by the reception which the public almost + invariably grants "There Are Crimes and Crimes" when it is staged. + </p> + <p> + With all its apparent disregard of what is commonly called realism, and + with its occasional, but quite unblushing, use of methods generally held + superseded—such as the casual introduction of characters at whatever + moment they happen to be needed on the stage—it has, from the start, + been among the most frequently played and most enthusiastically received + of Strindberg's later dramas. At Stockholm it was first taken up by the + Royal Dramatic Theatre, and was later seen on the tiny stage of the + Intimate Theatre, then devoted exclusively to Strindberg's works. It was + one of the earliest plays staged by Reinhardt while he was still + experimenting with his Little Theatre at Berlin, and it has also been + given in numerous German cities, as well as in Vienna. + </p> + <p> + Concerning my own version of the play I wish to add a word of explanation. + Strindberg has laid the scene in Paris. Not only the scenery, but the + people and the circumstances are French. Yet he has made no attempt + whatever to make the dialogue reflect French manners of speaking or ways + of thinking. As he has given it to us, the play is French only in its most + superficial aspect, in its setting—and this setting he has chosen + simply because he needed a certain machinery offered him by the Catholic, + but not by the Protestant, churches. The rest of the play is purely human + in its note and wholly universal in its spirit. For this reason I have + retained the French names and titles, but have otherwise striven to bring + everything as close as possible to our own modes of expression. Should + apparent incongruities result from this manner of treatment, I think they + will disappear if only the reader will try to remember that the characters + of the play move in an existence cunningly woven by the author out of + scraps of ephemeral reality in order that he may show us the mirage of a + more enduring one. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THERE ARE CRIMES AND CRIMES + </h2> + <h3> + A COMEDY <br /> <br /> 1899 + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHARACTERS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MAURICE, a playwright + JEANNE, his mistress + MARION, their daughter, five years old + ADOLPHE, a painter + HENRIETTE, his mistress + EMILE, a workman, brother of Jeanne + MADAME CATHERINE + THE ABBE + A WATCHMAN + A HEAD WAITER + A COMMISSAIRE + TWO DETECTIVES + A WAITER + A GUARD + A SERVANT GIRL +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ACT I, SCENE 1. THE CEMETERY + 2. THE CREMERIE + + ACT II, SCENE 1. THE AUBERGE DES ADRETS + 2. THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE + + ACT III, SCENE 1. THE CREMERIE + 2. THE AUBERGE DES ADRETS + + ACT IV, SCENE 1. THE LUXEMBOURG GARDENS + 2. THE CREMERIE + + (All the scenes are laid in Paris) +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THERE ARE CRIMES AND CRIMES + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT I + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FIRST SCENE + </h2> + <p> + (The upper avenue of cypresses in the Montparnasse Cemetery at Paris. The + background shows mortuary chapels, stone crosses on which are inscribed "O + Crux! Ave Spes Unica!" and the ruins of a wind-mill covered with ivy.) + </p> + <p> + (A well-dressed woman in widow's weeds is kneeling and muttering prayers + in front of a grave decorated with flowers.) + </p> + <p> + (JEANNE is walking back and forth as if expecting somebody.) + </p> + <p> + (MARION is playing with some withered flowers picked from a rubbish heap + on the ground.) + </p> + <p> + (The ABBE is reading his breviary while walking along the further end of + the avenue.) + </p> + <p> + WATCHMAN. [Enters and goes up to JEANNE] Look here, this is no playground. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. [Submissively] I am only waiting for somebody who'll soon be here— + </p> + <p> + WATCHMAN. All right, but you're not allowed to pick any flowers. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. [To MARION] Drop the flowers, dear. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. [Comes forward and is saluted by the WATCHMAN] Can't the child play + with the flowers that have been thrown away? + </p> + <p> + WATCHMAN. The regulations don't permit anybody to touch even the flowers + that have been thrown away, because it's believed they may spread + infection—which I don't know if it's true. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. [To MARION] In that case we have to obey, of course. What's your + name, my little girl? + </p> + <p> + MARION. My name is Marion. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. And who is your father? + </p> + <p> + (MARION begins to bite one of her fingers and does not answer.) + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Pardon my question, madame. I had no intention—I was just + talking to keep the little one quiet. + </p> + <p> + (The WATCHMAN has gone out.) + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. I understood it, Reverend Father, and I wish you would say + something to quiet me also. I feel very much disturbed after having waited + here two hours. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Two hours—for him! How these human beings torture each other! + O Crux! Ave spes unica! + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. What do they mean, those words you read all around here? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. They mean: O cross, our only hope! + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Is it the only one? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. The only certain one. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. I shall soon believe that you are right, Father. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. May I ask why? + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. You have already guessed it. When he lets the woman and the child + wait two hours in a cemetery, then the end is not far off. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. And when he has left you, what then? + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Then we have to go into the river. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Oh, no, no! + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Yes, yes! + </p> + <p> + MARION. Mamma, I want to go home, for I am hungry. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Just a little longer, dear, and we'll go home. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Woe unto those who call evil good and good evil. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. What is that woman doing at the grave over there? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. She seems to be talking to the dead. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. But you cannot do that? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. She seems to know how. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. This would mean that the end of life is not the end of our misery? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. And you don't know it? + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Where can I find out? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Hm! The next time you feel as if you wanted to learn about this + well-known matter, you can look me up in Our Lady's Chapel at the Church + of St. Germain—Here comes the one you are waiting for, I guess. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. [Embarrassed] No, he is not the one, but I know him. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. [To MARION] Good-bye, little Marion! May God take care of you! + [Kisses the child and goes out] At St. Germain des Pres. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. [Enters] Good morning, sister. What are you doing here? + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. I am waiting for Maurice. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. Then I guess you'll have a lot of waiting to do, for I saw him on + the boulevard an hour ago, taking breakfast with some friends. [Kissing + the child] Good morning, Marion. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Ladies also? + </p> + <p> + EMILE. Of course. But that doesn't mean anything. He writes plays, and his + latest one has its first performance tonight. I suppose he had with him + some of the actresses. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Did he recognise you? + </p> + <p> + EMILE. No, he doesn't know who I am, and it is just as well. I know my + place as a workman, and I don't care for any condescension from those that + are above me. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. But if he leaves us without anything to live on? + </p> + <p> + EMILE. Well, you see, when it gets that far, then I suppose I shall have + to introduce myself. But you don't expect anything of the kind, do you—seeing + that he is fond of you and very much attached to the child? + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. I don't know, but I have a feeling that something dreadful is in + store for me. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. Has he promised to marry you? + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. No, not promised exactly, but he has held out hopes. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. Hopes, yes! Do you remember my words at the start: don't hope for + anything, for those above us don't marry downward. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. But such things have happened. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. Yes, they have happened. But, would you feel at home in his world? + I can't believe it, for you wouldn't even understand what they were + talking of. Now and then I take my meals where he is eating—out in + the kitchen is my place, of course—and I don't make out a word of + what they say. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. So you take your meals at that place? + </p> + <p> + EMILE. Yes, in the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. And think of it, he has never asked me to come with him. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. Well, that's rather to his credit, and it shows he has some respect + for the mother of his child. The women over there are a queer lot. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Is that so? + </p> + <p> + EMILE. But Maurice never pays any attention to the women. There is + something SQUARE about that fellow. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. That's what I feel about him, too, but as soon as there is a woman + in it, a man isn't himself any longer. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. [Smiling] You don't tell me! But listen: are you hard up for money? + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. No, nothing of that kind. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. Well, then the worst hasn't come yet—Look! Over there! There + he comes. And I'll leave you. Good-bye, little girl. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Is he coming? Yes, that's him. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. Don't make him mad now—with your jealousy, Jeanne! [Goes + out.] + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. No, I won't. + </p> + <p> + (MAURICE enters.) + </p> + <p> + MARION. [Runs up to him and is lifted up into his arms] Papa, papa! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. My little girl! [Greets JEANNE] Can you forgive me, Jeanne, that + I have kept you waiting so long? + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Of course I can. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. But say it in such a way that I can hear that you are forgiving + me. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Come here and let me whisper it to you. + </p> + <p> + (MAURICE goes up close to her.) + </p> + <p> + (JEANNE kisses him on the cheek.) + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. I didn't hear. + </p> + <p> + (JEANNE kisses him on the mouth.) + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Now I heard! Well—you know, I suppose that this is the day + that will settle my fate? My play is on for tonight, and there is every + chance that it will succeed—or fail. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. I'll make sure of success by praying for you. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Thank you. If it doesn't help, it can at least do no harm—Look + over there, down there in the valley, where the haze is thickest: there + lies Paris. Today Paris doesn't know who Maurice is, but it is going to + know within twenty-four hours. The haze, which has kept me obscured for + thirty years, will vanish before my breath, and I shall become visible, I + shall assume definite shape and begin to be somebody. My enemies—which + means all who would like to do what I have done—will be writhing in + pains that shall be my pleasures, for they will be suffering all that I + have suffered. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Don't talk that way, don't! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. But that's the way it is. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Yes, but don't speak of it—And then? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Then we are on firm ground, and then you and Marion will bear the + name I have made famous. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. You love me then? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. I love both of you, equally much, or perhaps Marion a little + more. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. I am glad of it, for you can grow tired of me, but not of her. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Have you no confidence in my feelings toward you? + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. I don't know, but I am afraid of something, afraid of something + terrible— + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. You are tired out and depressed by your long wait, which once + more I ask you to forgive. What have you to be afraid of? + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. The unexpected: that which you may foresee without having any + particular reason to do so. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. But I foresee only success, and I have particular reasons for + doing so: the keen instincts of the management and their knowledge of the + public, not to speak of their personal acquaintance with the critics. So + now you must be in good spirits— + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. I can't, I can't! Do you know, there was an Abbe here a while ago, + who talked so beautifully to us. My faith—which you haven't + destroyed, but just covered up, as when you put chalk on a window to clean + it—I couldn't lay hold on it for that reason, but this old man just + passed his hand over the chalk, and the light came through, and it was + possible again to see that the people within were at home—To-night I + will pray for you at St. Germain. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Now I am getting scared. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Fear of God is the beginning of wisdom. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. God? What is that? Who is he? + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. It was he who gave joy to your youth and strength to your manhood. + And it is he who will carry us through the terrors that lie ahead of us. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. What is lying ahead of us? What do you know? Where have you + learned of this? This thing that I don't know? + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. I can't tell. I have dreamt nothing, seen nothing, heard nothing. + But during these two dreadful hours I have experienced such an infinity of + pain that I am ready for the worst. + </p> + <p> + MARION. Now I want to go home, mamma, for I am hungry. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Yes, you'll go home now, my little darling. [Takes her into his + arms.] + </p> + <p> + MARION. [Shrinking] Oh, you hurt me, papa! + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Yes, we must get home for dinner. Good-bye then, Maurice. And good + luck to you! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [To MARION] How did I hurt you? Doesn't my little girl know that + I always want to be nice to her? + </p> + <p> + MARION. If you are nice, you'll come home with us. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [To JEANNE] When I hear the child talk like that, you know, I + feel as if I ought to do what she says. But then reason and duty protest—Good-bye, + my dear little girl! [He kisses the child, who puts her arms around his + neck.] + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. When do we meet again? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. We'll meet tomorrow, dear. And then we'll never part again. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. [Embraces him] Never, never to part again! [She makes the sign of + the cross on his forehead] May God protect you! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Moved against his own will] My dear, beloved Jeanne! + </p> + <p> + (JEANNE and MARION go toward the right; MAURICE toward the left. Both turn + around simultaneously and throw kisses at each other.) + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Comes back] Jeanne, I am ashamed of myself. I am always + forgetting you, and you are the last one to remind me of it. Here are the + tickets for tonight. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Thank you, dear, but—you have to take up your post of duty + alone, and so I have to take up mine—with Marion. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Your wisdom is as great as the goodness of your heart. Yes, I am + sure no other woman would have sacrificed a pleasure to serve her husband—I + must have my hands free tonight, and there is no place for women and + children on the battle-field—and this you understood! + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Don't think too highly of a poor woman like myself, and then + you'll have no illusions to lose. And now you'll see that I can be as + forgetful as you—I have bought you a tie and a pair of gloves which + I thought you might wear for my sake on your day of honour. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Kissing her hand] Thank you, dear. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. And then, Maurice, don't forget to have your hair fixed, as you do + all the time. I want you to be good-looking, so that others will like you + too. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. There is no jealousy in YOU! + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Don't mention that word, for evil thoughts spring from it. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Just now I feel as if I could give up this evening's victory—for + I am going to win— + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Hush, hush! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. And go home with you instead. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. But you mustn't do that! Go now: your destiny is waiting for you. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Good-bye then! And may that happen which must happen! [Goes out.] + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. [Alone with MARION] O Crux! Ave spes unica! + </p> + <p> + Curtain. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SECOND SCENE + </h2> + <p> + (The Cremerie. 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.) + </p> + <p> + (MME. CATHERINE is sitting at the counter.) + </p> + <p> + (MAURICE stands leaning against it. He has his hat on and is smoking a + cigarette.) + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. So it's tonight the great event comes off, Monsieur + Maurice? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Yes, tonight. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Do you feel upset? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Cool as a cucumber. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Yes, you can—of course, you can, as I have already promised + you. + </p> + <p> + (HENRIETTE enters from the right.) + </p> + <p> + (MAURICE turns around, raises his hat, and stares at HENRIETTE, who looks + him over carefully.) + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Monsieur Adolphe is not here yet? + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. No, madame. But he'll soon be here now. Won't you sit + down? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. No, thank you, I'll rather wait for him outside. [Goes out.] + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Who—was—that? + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Why, that's Monsieur Adolphe's friend. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Was—that—her? + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Have you never seen her before? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. No, he has been hiding her from me, just as if he was afraid I + might take her away from him. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Ha-ha!—Well, how did you think she looked? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Oh, you are crazy, you with your ladies! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Are you afraid? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Yes, I am afraid for myself, and also for some others. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Well, go then. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Oh, get out of here, man, before you lose all your reason. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. I want to go, but I cannot—Do you believe in fate, Madame + Catherine? + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. No, I believe in a good God, who protects us against evil + powers if we ask Him in the right way. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. So there are evil powers after all! I think I can hear them in + the hallway now. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Yes, her clothes rustle as when the clerk tears off a + piece of linen for you. Get away now—through the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + (MAURICE rushes toward the kitchen door, where he bumps into EMILE.) + </p> + <p> + EMILE. I beg your pardon. [He retires the way he came.] + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Saluting stiffly] Pleased to meet you. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTA. We have seen each other before. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Is that so? When, if I may ask? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. A moment ago. Right here. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. O-oh!—But now you must stay and have a chat with us. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [After a glance at MME. CATHERINE] If I only had time. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Take the time. And we won't be sitting here very long. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. I won't interrupt, if you have to talk business. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. The only business we have is so bad that we don't want to talk of + it. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE signals to MAURICE, who doesn't notice her. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. That's right, Henriette, you take charge of him. [They seat + themselves at one of the tables.] + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Adolphe didn't want it. + </p> + <p> + (ADOLPHE looks embarrassed.) + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Not that he was jealous— + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. And why should he be, when he knows that my feelings are tied up + elsewhere? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Perhaps he didn't trust the stability of your feelings. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. I can't understand that, seeing that I am notorious for my + constancy. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Well, it wasn't that— + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Interrupting him] Perhaps that is because you have not faced + the fiery ordeal— + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Oh, you don't know— + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Interrupting]—for the world has not yet beheld a + faithful man. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Then it's going to behold one. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Where? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Here. + </p> + <p> + (HENRIETTE laughs.) + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Well, that's going it— + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. I have no right to question your lack of confidence, but I can + guarantee that Adolphe is faithful. + </p> + <p> + 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.] + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. You are always wrong in your talk and right in your actions. What + you really think—that I don't know. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Who does know that kind of thing? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Well, if we had to answer for our thoughts, who could then clear + himself? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Do you also have evil thoughts? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Certainly; just as I commit the worst kind of cruelties in my + dreams. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Oh, when you are dreaming, of course—Just think of it—No, + I am ashamed of telling— + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Go on, go on! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Was he dead? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. No, he was living. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. But that's horrible! And didn't it make YOU suffer? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Not at all, and that astonished me most, for I am rather + sensitive to other people's sufferings. Isn't that so, Adolphe? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. That's right. Rather abnormally so, in fact, and not the least + when animals are concerned. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. And I, on the other hand, am rather callous toward the sufferings + both of myself and others. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Now he is not telling the truth about himself. Or what do you + say, Madame Catherine? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Go ahead! That dream at least need not be long in coming true. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. How sure you are of victory! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Yes, it is written on your face that you are going to win this + battle, and I think you must feel that yourself. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Why do you think so? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Because I can feel it. This morning I was ill, you know, and + now I am well. + </p> + <p> + (ADOLPHE begins to look depressed.) + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Embarrassed] Listen, I have a single ticket left—only one. + I place it at your disposal, Adolphe. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Thank you, but I surrender it to Henriette. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. But that wouldn't do? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Why not? And I never go to the theatre anyhow, as I cannot stand + the heat. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. But you will come and take us home at least after the show is + over. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. If you insist on it. Otherwise Maurice has to come back here, + where we shall all be waiting for him. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Wait a little. You have a way of settling things to suit + yourself, before other people have a chance to consider them. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. What is there to consider—whether you are to see your lady + home or not? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. You never know what may be involved in a simple act like that, + but I have a sort of premonition. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Do you really have to go? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. I must. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Good-bye then. We'll meet later. + </p> + <p> + (ADOLPHE goes out, saluting MME. CATHERINE in passing.) + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Think of it, that we should meet at last! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Do you find anything remarkable in that? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. It looks as if it had to happen, for Adolphe has done his best + to prevent it. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Has he? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Oh, you must have noticed it. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. I have noticed it, but why should you mention it? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. I had to. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Why do you tell me about it now? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. I don't know. + </p> + <p> + (MME. CATHERINE upsets a number of glasses and bottles.) + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. That's all right, Madame Catherine. There's nothing to be afraid + of. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Was that meant as a signal or a warning? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Probably both. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Do they take me for a locomotive that has to have flagmen ahead + of it? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. And switchmen! The danger is always greatest at the switches. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. How nasty you can be! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Sh, sh, sh! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [To MAURICE] The old lady is rather impertinent. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. We can walk over to the boulevard, if you care to do so. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. With pleasure. This is not the place for me. I can just feel + their hatred clawing at me. [Goes out.] + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Starts after her] Good-bye, Madame Catherine. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. A moment! May I speak a word to you, Monsieur Maurice? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Stops unwillingly] What is it? + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Don't do it! Don't do it! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. What? + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Don't do it! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Don't be scared. This lady is not my kind, but she interests me. + Or hardly that even. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE, Don't trust yourself! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Yes, I do trust myself. Good-bye. [Goes out.] + </p> + <p> + (Curtain.) + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT II + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FIRST SCENE + </h2> + <p> + (The Auberge des Adrets: a cafe 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.) + </p> + <p> + (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.") + </p> + <p> + 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.] + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Doing the same] Here's to you, Adolphe! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. He won't come. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. He will come. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. He won't. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. He will. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Never. How does it feel? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Is it happiness to be thinking of one's enemies? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Why, the victor has to count his killed and wounded enemies in + order to gauge the extent of his victory. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Are you as bloodthirsty as all that? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Don't you find it strange that you 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? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Of course, it's rather funny, but it feels good to be here, and + your company is all I care for. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. You don't look very hilarious. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. No, I feel rather sad, and I should like to weep a little. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. What is the meaning of that? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. It is fortune conscious of its own nothingness and waiting for + misfortune to appear. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Oh my, how sad! What is it you are missing anyhow? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. I miss the only thing that gives value to life. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. So you love her no longer then? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Adolphe is not coming. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. No, now he won't, come. And now it is too late to go back to the + Cremerie. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. But they are waiting for you. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Let them wait. They have made me promise to come, and I take back + my promise. Are you longing to go there? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. On the contrary! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Will you keep me company then? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. With pleasure, if you care to have me. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. You don't need to be without a woman—you? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Well, that's the question. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Don't you know that a man is irresistible in his hour of + success and fame? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. No, I don't know, for I have had no experience of it. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + (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.) + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Who can be playing at this time of the night? + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Don't! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Kneeling] Hail to the King! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Rising] No, now you scare me. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Good! That's the way! Well spoken, my hero! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Now I have sacrificed my best friend, my most faithful helper, on + your altar, Astarte! Are you satisfied? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Astarte is a pretty name, and I'll keep it—I think you + love me, Maurice. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Next comes the new era—What have you in that package? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. I cannot remember. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Opens the package and takes out a tie and a pair of gloves] + That tie is a fright! It must have cost at least fifty centimes. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Snatching the things away from her] Don't you touch them! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. They are from her? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Yes, they are. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Give them to me. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. No, she's better than we, better than everybody else. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. I don't believe it. She is simply stupider and stingier. One + who weeps because you order champagne— + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. When the child was without stockings. Yes, she is a good woman. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Philistine! You'll never be an artist. But I am an artist, and + I'll make a bust of you with a shopkeeper's cap instead of the laurel + wreath—Her name is Jeanne? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. How do you know? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Why, that's the name of all housekeepers. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Henriette! + </p> + <p> + (HENRIETTE takes the tie and the gloves and throws them into the + fireplace.) + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Weakly] Astarte, now you demand the sacrifice of women. You + shall have them, but if you ask for innocent children, too, then I'll send + you packing. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Can you tell me what it is that binds you to me? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. If I only knew, I should be able to tear myself away. But I + believe it must be those qualities which you have and I lack. I believe + that the evil within you draws me with the irresistible lure of novelty. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Have you ever committed a crime? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. No real one. Have you? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Yes. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Well, how did you find it? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. It was greater than to perform a good deed, for by that we are + placed on equality with others; it was greater than to perform some act of + heroism, for by that we are raised above others and rewarded. That crime + placed me outside and beyond life, society, and my fellow-beings. Since + then I am living only a partial life, a sort of dream life, and that's why + reality never gets a hold on me. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. What was it you did? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. I won't tell, for then you would get scared again. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Can you never be found out? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Never. But that does not prevent me from seeing, frequently, + the five stones at the Place de Roquette, where the scaffold used to + stand; and for this reason I never dare to open a pack of cards, as I + always turn up the five-spot of diamonds. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Was it that kind of a crime? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Yes, it was that kind. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Of course, it's horrible, but it is interesting. Have you no + conscience? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. None, but I should be grateful if you would talk of something + else. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Suppose we talk of—love? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Of that you don't talk until it is over. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Have you been in love with Adolphe? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. I don't know. The goodness of his nature drew me like some + beautiful, all but vanished memory of childhood. Yet there was much about + his person that offended my eye, so that I had to spend a long time + retouching, altering, adding, subtracting, before I could make a + presentable figure of him. When he talked, I could notice that he had + learned from you, and the lesson was often badly digested and awkwardly + applied. You can imagine then how miserable the copy must appear now, when + I am permitted to study the original. That's why he was afraid of having + us two meet; and when it did happen, he understood at once that his time + was up. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Poor Adolphe! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. I feel sorry for him, too, as I know he must be suffering + beyond all bounds— + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Sh! Somebody is coming. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. I wonder if it could be he? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. That would be unbearable. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. No, it isn't he, but if it had been, how do you think the + situation would have shaped itself? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. At first he would have been a little sore at you because he had + made a mistake in regard to the meeting-place—and tried to find us + in several other cafes—but his soreness would have changed into + pleasure at finding us—and seeing that we had not deceived him. And + in the joy at having wronged us by his suspicions, he would love both of + us. And so it would make him happy to notice that we had become such good + friends. It had always been his dream—hm! he is making the speech + now—his dream that the three of us should form a triumvirate that + could set the world a great example of friendship asking for nothing—"Yes, + I trust you, Maurice, partly because you are my friend, and partly because + your feelings are tied up elsewhere." + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Bravo! You must have been in a similar situation before, or you + couldn't give such a lifelike picture of it. Do you know that Adolphe is + just that kind of a third person who cannot enjoy his mistress without + having his friend along? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. That's why I had to be called in to entertain you—Hush! + There is somebody outside—It must be he. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. No, don't you know these are the hours when ghosts walk, and + then you can see so many things, and hear them also. To keep awake at + night, when you ought to be sleeping, has for me the same charm as a + crime: it is to place oneself above and beyond the laws of nature. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. But the punishment is fearful—I am shivering or quivering, + with cold or with fear. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Wraps her opera cloak about him] Put this on. It will make you + warm. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. That's nice. It is as if I were inside of your skin, as if my + body had been melted up by lack of sleep and were being remoulded in your + shape. I can feel the moulding process going on. But I am also growing a + new soul, new thoughts, and here, where your bosom has left an impression, + I can feel my own beginning to bulge. + </p> + <p> + (During this entire scene, the pianist in the next room has been + practicing the Sonata in D-minor, sometimes pianissimo, sometimes wildly + fortissimo; now and then he has kept silent for a little while, and at + other times nothing has been heard but a part of the finale: bars 96 to + 107.) + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. What a monster, to sit there all night practicing on the piano. + It gives me a sick feeling. Do you know what I propose? Let us drive out + to the Bois de Boulogne and take breakfast in the Pavilion, and see the + sun rise over the lakes. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Bully! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. But first of all I must arrange to have my mail and the morning + papers sent out by messenger to the Pavilion. Tell me, Henriette: shall we + invite Adolphe? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Oh, that's going too far! But why not? The ass can also be + harnessed to the triumphal chariot. Let him come. [They get up.] + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Taking off the cloak] Then I'll ring. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Wait a moment! [Throws herself into his arms.] + </p> + <p> + (Curtain.) + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SECOND SCENE + </h2> + <p> + (A large, splendidly furnished restaurant room in the Bois de Boulogne. It + is richly carpeted and full of mirrors, easy-chairs, and divans. There are + glass doors in the background, and beside them windows overlooking the + lakes. In the foreground a table is spread, with flowers in the centre, + bowls full of fruit, wine in decanters, oysters on platters, many + different kinds of wine glasses, and two lighted candelabra. On the right + there is a round table full of newspapers and telegrams.) + </p> + <p> + (MAURICE and HENRIETTE are sitting opposite each other at this small + table.) + </p> + <p> + (The sun is just rising outside.) + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. There is no longer any doubt about it. The newspapers tell me it + is so, and these telegrams congratulate me on my success. This is the + beginning of a new life, and my fate is wedded to yours by this night, + when you were the only one to share my hopes and my triumph. From your + hand I received the laurel, and it seems to me as if everything had come + from you. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. What a wonderful night! Have we been dreaming, or is this + something we have really lived through? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Rising] And what a morning after such a night! I feel as if it + were the world's first day that is now being illumined by the rising sun. + Only this minute was the earth created and stripped of those white films + that are now floating off into space. There lies the Garden of Eden in the + rosy light of dawn, and here is the first human couple—Do you know, + I am so happy I could cry at the thought that all mankind is not equally + happy—Do you hear that distant murmur as of ocean waves beating + against a rocky shore, as of winds sweeping through a forest? Do you know + what it is? It is Paris whispering my name. Do you see the columns of + smoke that rise skyward in thousands and tens of thousands? They are the + fires burning on my altars, and if that be not so, then it must become so, + for I will it. At this moment all the telegraph instruments of Europe are + clicking out my name. The Oriental Express is carrying the newspapers to + the Far East, toward the rising sun; and the ocean steamers are carrying + them to the utmost West. The earth is mine, and for that reason it is + beautiful. Now I should like to have wings for us two, so that we might + rise from here and fly far, far away, before anybody can soil my + happiness, before envy has a chance to wake me out of my dream—for + it is probably a dream! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Holding out her hand to him] Here you can feel that you are + not dreaming. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. It is not a dream, but it has been one. As a poor young man, you + know, when I was walking in the woods down there, and looked up to this + Pavilion, it looked to me like a fairy castle, and always my thoughts + carried me up to this room, with the balcony outside and the heavy + curtains, as to a place of supreme bliss. To be sitting here in company + with a beloved woman and see the sun rise while the candles were still + burning in the candelabra: that was the most audacious dream of my youth. + Now it has come true, and now I have no more to ask of life—Do you + want to die now, together with me? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. No, you fool! Now I want to begin living. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Rising] To live: that is to suffer! Now comes reality. I can + hear his steps on the stairs. He is panting with alarm, and his heart is + beating with dread of having lost what it holds most precious. Can you + believe me if I tell you that Adolphe is under this roof? Within a minute + he will be standing in the middle of this floor. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Alarmed] It was a stupid trick to ask him to come here, and I + am already regretting it—Well, we shall see anyhow if your forecast + of the situation proves correct. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Oh, it is easy to be mistaken about a person's feelings. + </p> + <p> + (The HEAD WAITER enters with a card.) + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Ask the gentleman to step in. [To HENRIETTE] I am afraid we'll + regret this. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Too late to think of that now—Hush! + </p> + <p> + (ADOLPHE enters, pale and hollow-eyed.) + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Trying to speak unconcernedly] There you are! What became of you + last night? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. I looked for you at the Hotel des Arrets and waited a whole hour. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. So you went to the wrong place. We were waiting several hours for + you at the Auberge des Adrets, and we are still waiting for you, as you + see. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. [Relieved] Thank heaven! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Good morning, Adolphe. You are always expecting the worst and + worrying yourself needlessly. I suppose you imagined that we wanted to + avoid your company. And though you see that we sent for you, you are still + thinking yourself superfluous. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Pardon me: I was wrong, but the night was dreadful. + </p> + <p> + (They sit down. Embarrassed silence follows.) + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [To ADOLPHE] Well, are you not going to congratulate Maurice on + his great success? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Oh, yes! Your success is the real thing, and envy itself cannot + deny it. Everything is giving way before you, and even I have a sense of + my own smallness in your presence. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Nonsense!—Henriette, are you not going to offer Adolphe a + glass of wine? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Thank you, not for me—nothing at all! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [To ADOLPHE] What's the matter with you? Are you ill? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Not yet, but— + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Your eyes— + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. What of them? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. What happened at the Cremerie last night? I suppose they are + angry with me? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Nobody is angry with you, but your absence caused a depression + which it hurt me to watch. But nobody was angry with you, believe me. Your + friends understood, and they regarded your failure to come with + sympathetic forbearance. Madame Catherine herself defended you and + proposed your health. We all rejoiced in your success as if it had been + our own. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Well, those are nice people! What good friends you have, + Maurice. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Yes, better than I deserve. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Nobody has better friends than he deserves, and you are a man + greatly blessed in his friends—Can't you feel how the air is + softened to-day by all the kind thoughts and wishes that stream toward you + from a thousand breasts? + </p> + <p> + (MAURICE rises in order to hide his emotion.) + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. From a thousand breasts that you have rid of the nightmare that + had been crushing them during a lifetime. Humanity had been slandered—and + you have exonerated it: that's why men feel grateful toward you. To-day + they are once more holding their heads high and saying: You see, we are a + little better than our reputation after all. And that thought makes them + better. + </p> + <p> + (HENRIETTE tries to hide her emotion.) + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Am I in the way? Just let me warm myself a little in your + sunshine, Maurice, and then I'll go. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Why should you go when you have only just arrived? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Why? Because I have seen what I need not have seen; because I + know now that my hour is past. [Pause] That you sent for me, I take as an + expression of thoughtfulness, a notice of what has happened, a frankness + that hurts less than deceit. You hear that I think well of my + fellow-beings, and this I have learned from you, Maurice. [Pause] But, my + friend, a few moments ago I passed through the Church of St. Germain, and + there I saw a woman and a child. I am not wishing that you had seen them, + for what has happened cannot be altered, but if you gave a thought or a + word to them before you set them adrift on the waters of the great city, + then you could enjoy your happiness undisturbed. And now I bid you + good-by. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Why must you go? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. And you ask that? Do you want me to tell you? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. No, I don't. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Good-by then! [Goes out.] + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. The Fall: and lo! "they knew that they were naked." + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. What a difference between this scene and the one we imagined! + He is better than we. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. It seems to me now as if all the rest were better than we. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Do you see that the sun has vanished behind clouds, and that + the woods have lost their rose colour? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Yes, I see, and the blue lake has turned black. Let us flee to + some place where the sky is always blue and the trees are always green. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Yes, let us—but without any farewells. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. No, with farewells. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. We were to fly. You spoke of wings—and your feet are of + lead. I am not jealous, but if you go to say farewell and get two pairs of + arms around your neck—then you can't tear yourself away. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Perhaps you are right, but only one pair of little arms is needed + to hold me fast. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. It is the child that holds you then, and not the woman? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. It is the child. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. The child! Another woman's child! And for the sake of it I am + to suffer. Why must that child block the way where I want to pass, and + must pass? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Yes, why? It would be better if it had never existed. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Walks excitedly back and forth] Indeed! But now it does exist. + Like a rock on the road, a rock set firmly in the ground, immovable, so + that it upsets the carriage. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. The triumphal chariot!—The ass is driven to death, but the + rock remains. Curse it! [Pause.] + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. There is nothing to do. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Yes, we must get married, and then our child will make us forget + the other one. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. This will kill this! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Kill! What kind of word is that? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Changing tone] Your child will kill our love. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. No, girl, our love will kill whatever stands in its way, but it + will not be killed. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Opens a deck of cards lying on the mantlepiece] Look at it! + Five-spot of diamonds—the scaffold! Can it be possible that our + fates are determined in advance? That our thoughts are guided as if + through pipes to the spot for which they are bound, without chance for us + to stop them? But I don't want it, I don't want it!—Do you realise + that I must go to the scaffold if my crime should be discovered? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Tell me about your crime. Now is the time for it. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. No, I should regret it afterward, and you would despise me—no, + no, no!—Have you ever heard that a person could be hated to death? + Well, my father incurred the hatred of my mother and my sisters, and he + melted away like wax before a fire. Ugh! Let us talk of something else. + And, above all, let us get away. The air is poisoned here. To-morrow your + laurels will be withered, the triumph will be forgotten, and in a week + another triumphant hero will hold the public attention. Away from here, to + work for new victories! But first of all, Maurice, you must embrace your + child and provide for its immediate future. You don't have to see the + mother at all. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Thank you! Your good heart does you honour, and I love you doubly + when you show the kindness you generally hide. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. And then you go to the Cremerie and say good-by to the old lady + and your friends. Leave no unsettled business behind to make your mind + heavy on our trip. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. I'll clear up everything, and to-night we meet at the railroad + station. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Agreed! And then: away from here—away toward the sea and + the sun! + </p> + <p> + (Curtain.) + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT III + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FIRST SCENE + </h2> + <p> + (In the Cremerie. The gas is lit. MME. CATHERINE is seated at the counter, + ADOLPHE at a table.) + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Such is life, Monseiur Adolphe. But you young ones are + always demanding too much, and then you come here and blubber over it + afterward. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. No, it isn't that. I reproach nobody, and I am as fond as ever of + both of them. But there is one thing that makes me sick at heart. You see, + I thought more of Maurice than of anybody else; so much that I wouldn't + have grudged him anything that could give him pleasure—but now I + have lost him, and it hurts me worse than the loss of her. I have lost + both of them, and so my loneliness is made doubly painful. And then there + is still something else which I have not yet been able to clear up. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Don't brood so much. Work and divert yourself. Now, for + instance, do you ever go to church? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. What should I do there? + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Oh, there's so much to look at, and then there is the + music. There is nothing commonplace about it, at least. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Perhaps not. But I don't belong to that fold, I guess, for it + never stirs me to any devotion. And then, Madame Catherine, faith is a + gift, they tell me, and I haven't got it yet. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Well, wait till you get it—But what is this I heard + a while ago? Is it true that you have sold a picture in London for a high + price, and that you have got a medal? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Yes, it's true. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Merciful heavens!—and not a word do you say about + it? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. I am afraid of fortune, and besides it seems almost worthless to + me at this moment. I am afraid of it as of a spectre: it brings disaster + to speak of having seen it. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. You're a queer fellow, and that's what you have always + been. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Not queer at all, but I have seen so much misfortune come in the + wake of fortune, and I have seen how adversity brings out true friends, + while none but false ones appear in the hour of success—You asked me + if I ever went to church, and I answered evasively. This morning I stepped + into the Church of St. Germain without really knowing why I did so. It + seemed as if I were looking for somebody in there—somebody to whom I + could silently offer my gratitude. But I found nobody. Then I dropped a + gold coin in the poor-box. It was all I could get out of my church-going, + and that was rather commonplace, I should say. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. It was always something; and then it was fine to think of + the poor after having heard good news. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. It was neither fine nor anything else: it was something I did + because I couldn't help myself. But something more occurred while I was in + the church. I saw Maurice's girl friend, Jeanne, and her child. Struck + down, crushed by his triumphal chariot, they seemed aware of the full + extent of their misfortune. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Well, children, I don't know in what kind of shape you + keep your consciences. But how a decent fellow, a careful and considerate + man like Monsieur Maurice, can all of a sudden desert a woman and her + child, that is something I cannot explain. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Nor can I explain it, and he doesn't seem to understand it + himself. I met them this morning, and everything appeared quite natural to + them, quite proper, as if they couldn't imagine anything else. It was as + if they had been enjoying the satisfaction of a good deed or the + fulfilment of a sacred duty. There are things, Madame Catherine, that we + cannot explain, and for this reason it is not for us to judge. And + besides, you saw how it happened. Maurice felt the danger in the air. I + foresaw it and tried to prevent their meeting. Maurice wanted to run away + from it, but nothing helped. Why, it was as if a plot had been laid by + some invisible power, and as if they had been driven by guile into each + other's arms. Of course, I am disqualified in this case, but I wouldn't + hesitate to pronounce a verdict of "not guilty." + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Well, now, to be able to forgive as you do, that's what I + call religion. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Heavens, could it be that I am religious without knowing it. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. But then, to LET oneself be driven or tempted into evil, + as Monsieur Maurice has done, means weakness or bad character. And if you + feel your strength failing you, then you ask for help, and then you get + it. But he was too conceited to do that—Who is this coming? The + Abbe, I think. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. What does he want here? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. [Enters] Good evening, madame. Good evening, Monsieur. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Can I be of any service? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Has Monsieur Maurice, the author, been here to-day? + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Not to-day. His play has just been put on, and that is + probably keeping him busy. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. I have—sad news to bring him. Sad in several respects. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. May I ask of what kind? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Yes, it's no secret. The daughter he had with that girl, Jeanne, is + dead. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Dead! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Marion dead! + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Yes, she died suddenly this morning without any previous illness. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. O Lord, who can tell Thy ways! + </p> + <p> + ABBE. The mother's grief makes it necessary that Monsieur Maurice look + after her, so we must try to find him. But first a question in confidence: + do you know whether Monsieur Maurice was fond of the child, or was + indifferent to it? + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. If he was fond of Marion? Why, all of us know how he loved + her. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. There's no doubt about that. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. I am glad to hear it, and it settles the matter so far as I am + concerned. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Has there been any doubt about it? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Yes, unfortunately. It has even been rumoured in the neighbourhood + that he had abandoned the child and its mother in order to go away with a + strange woman. In a few hours this rumour has grown into definite + accusations, and at the same time the feeling against him has risen to + such a point that his life is threatened and he is being called a + murderer. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Good God, what is THIS? What does it mean? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Now I'll tell you my opinion—I am convinced that the man is + innocent on this score, and the mother feels as certain about it as I do. + But appearances are against Monsieur Maurice, and I think he will find it + rather hard to clear himself when the police come to question him. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Have the police got hold of the matter? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Yea, the police have had to step in to protect him against all those + ugly rumours and the rage of the people. Probably the Commissaire will be + here soon. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. [To ADOLPHE] There you see what happens when a man cannot + tell the difference between good and evil, and when he trifles with vice. + God will punish! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Then he is more merciless than man. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. What do you know about that? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Not very much, but I keep an eye on what happens— + </p> + <p> + ABBE. And you understand it also? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Not yet perhaps. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Let us look more closely at the matter—Oh, here comes the + Commissaire. + </p> + <p> + COMMISSAIRE. [Enters] Gentlemen—Madame Catherine—I have to + trouble you for a moment with a few questions concerning Monsieur Maurice. + As you have probably heard, he has become the object of a hideous rumour, + which, by the by, I don't believe in. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. None of us believes in it either. + </p> + <p> + COMMISSAIRE. That strengthens my own opinion, but for his own sake I must + give him a chance to defend himself. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. That's right, and I guess he will find justice, although it may come + hard. + </p> + <p> + COMMISSAIRE. Appearances are very much against him, but I have seen + guiltless people reach the scaffold before their innocence was discovered. + Let me tell you what there is against him. The little girl, Marion, being + left alone by her mother, was secretly visited by the father, who seems to + have made sure of the time when the child was to be found alone. Fifteen + minutes after his visit the mother returned home and found the child dead. + All this makes the position of the accused man very unpleasant—The + post-mortem examination brought out no signs of violence or of poison, but + the physicians admit the existence of new poisons that leave no traces + behind them. To me all this is mere coincidence of the kind I frequently + come across. But here's something that looks worse. Last night Monsieur + Maurice was seen at the Auberge des Adrets in company with a strange lady. + According to the waiter, they were talking about crimes. The Place de + Roquette and the scaffold were both mentioned. A queer topic of + conversation for a pair of lovers of good breeding and good social + position! But even this may be passed over, as we know by experience that + people who have been drinking and losing a lot of sleep seem inclined to + dig up all the worst that lies at the bottom of their souls. Far more + serious is the evidence given by the head waiter as to their champagne + breakfast in the Bois de Boulogne this morning. He says that he heard them + wish the life out of a child. The man is said to have remarked that, "It + would be better if it had never existed." To which the woman replied: + "Indeed! But now it does exist." And as they went on talking, these words + occurred: "This will kill this!" And the answer was: "Kill! What kind of + word is that?" And also: "The five-spot of diamonds, the scaffold, the + Place de Roquette." All this, you see, will be hard to get out of, and so + will the foreign journey planned for this evening. These are serious + matters. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. He is lost! + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. That's a dreadful story. One doesn't know what to believe. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. This is not the work of man. God have mercy on him! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. He is in the net, and he will never get out of it. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. He had no business to get in. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Do you begin to suspect him also, Madame Catherine? + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Yes and no. I have got beyond having an opinion in this + matter. Have you not seen angels turn into devils just as you turn your + hand, and then become angels again? + </p> + <p> + COMMISSAIRE. It certainly does look queer. However, we'll have to wait and + hear what explanations he can give. No one will be judged unheard. Good + evening, gentlemen. Good evening, Madame Catherine. [Goes out.] + </p> + <p> + ABBE. This is not the work of man. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. No, it looks as if demons had been at work for the undoing of + man. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. It is either a punishment for secret misdeeds, or it is a terrible + test. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. [Enters, dressed in mourning] Good evening. Pardon me for asking, + but have you seen Monsieur Maurice? + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. No, madame, but I think he may be here any minute. You + haven't met him then since— + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Not since this morning. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Let me tell you that I share in your great sorrow. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Thank you, madame. [To the ABBE] So you are here, Father. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Yes, my child. I thought I might be of some use to you. And it was + fortunate, as it gave me a chance to speak to the Commissaire. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. The Commissaire! He doesn't suspect Maurice also, does he? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. No, he doesn't, and none of us here do. But appearances are against + him in a most appalling manner. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. You mean on account of the talk the waiters overheard—it + means nothing to me, who has heard such things before when Maurice had had + a few drinks. Then it is his custom to speculate on crimes and their + punishment. Besides it seems to have been the woman in his company who + dropped the most dangerous remarks. I should like to have a look into that + woman's eyes. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. My dear Jeanne, no matter how much harm that woman may have done + you, she did nothing with evil intention—in fact, she had no + intention whatever, but just followed the promptings of her nature. I know + her to be a good soul and one who can very well bear being looked straight + in the eye. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Your judgment in this matter, Adolphe, has great value to me, and + I believe what you say. It means that I cannot hold anybody but myself + responsible for what has happened. It is my carelessness that is now being + punished. [She begins to cry.] + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Don't accuse yourself unjustly! I know you, and the serious spirit + in which you have regarded your motherhood. That your assumption of this + responsibility had not been sanctioned by religion and the civil law was + not your fault. No, we are here facing something quite different. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. What then? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Who can tell? + </p> + <p> + (HENRIETTE enters, dressed in travelling suit.) + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. [Rises with an air of determination and goes to meet HENRIETTE] + You here? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Yes, where is Maurice? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Do you know—or don't you? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. I know everything. Excuse me, Madame Catherine, but I was ready + to start and absolutely had to step in here a moment. [To ADOLPHE] Who is + that woman?—Oh! + </p> + <p> + (HENRIETTE and JEANNE stare at each other.) + </p> + <p> + (EMILE appears in the kitchen door.) + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [To JEANNE] I ought to say something, but it matters very + little, for anything I can say must sound like an insult or a mockery. But + if I ask you simply to believe that I share your deep sorrow as much as + anybody standing closer to you, then you must not turn away from me. You + mustn't, for I deserve your pity if not your forbearance. [Holds out her + hand.] + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. [Looks hard at her] I believe you now—and in the next moment + I don't. [Takes HENRIETTE'S hand.] + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Kisses JEANNE'S hand] Thank you! + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. [Drawing back her hand] Oh, don't! I don't deserve it! I don't + deserve it! + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Pardon me, but while we are gathered here and peace seems to prevail + temporarily at least, won't you, Mademoiselle Henriette, shed some light + into all the uncertainty and darkness surrounding the main point of + accusation? I ask you, as a friend among friends, to tell us what you + meant with all that talk about killing, and crime, and the Place de + Roquette. That your words had no connection with the death of the child, + we have reason to believe, but it would give us added assurance to hear + what you were really talking about. Won't you tell us? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [After a pause] That I cannot tell! No, I cannot! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Henriette, do tell! Give us the word that will relieve us all. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. I cannot! Don't ask me! + </p> + <p> + ABBE. This is not the work of man! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Oh, that this moment had to come! And in this manner! [To + JEANNE] Madame, I swear that I am not guilty of your child's death. Is + that enough? + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Enough for us, but not for Justice. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Justice! If you knew how true your words are! + </p> + <p> + ABBE. [To HENRIETTE] And if you knew what you were saying just now! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Do you know that better than I? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Yes, I do. + </p> + <p> + (HENRIETTE looks fixedly at the ABBE.) + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Have no fear, for even if I guess your secret, it will not be + exposed. Besides, I have nothing to do with human justice, but a great + deal with divine mercy. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Enters hastily, dressed for travelling. He doesn't look at the + others, who are standing in the background, but goes straight up to the + counter, where MME. CATHERINE is sitting.] You are not angry at me, Madame + Catherine, because I didn't show up. I have come now to apologise to you + before I start for the South at eight o'clock this evening. + </p> + <p> + (MME. CATHERINE is too startled to say a word.) + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Then you are angry at me? [Looks around] What does all this mean? + Is it a dream, or what is it? Of course, I can see that it is all real, + but it looks like a wax cabinet—There is Jeanne, looking like a + statue and dressed in black—And Henriette looking like a corpse—What + does it mean? + </p> + <p> + (All remain silent.) + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Nobody answers. It must mean something dreadful. [Silence] But + speak, please! Adolphe, you are my friend, what is it? [Pointing to EMILE] + And there is a detective! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. [Comes forward] You don't know then? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Nothing at all. But I must know! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Well, then—Marion is dead. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Marion—dead? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Yes, she died this morning. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [To JEANNE] So that's why you are in mourning. Jeanne, Jeanne, + who has done this to us? + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. He who holds life and death in his hand. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. But I saw her looking well and happy this morning. How did it + happen? Who did it? Somebody must have done it? [His eyes seek HENRIETTE.] + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Don't look for the guilty one here, for there is none to he + found. Unfortunately the police have turned their suspicion in a direction + where none ought to exist. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. What direction is that? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Well—you may as well know that, your reckless talk last + night and this morning has placed you in a light that is anything but + favourable. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE, So they were listening to us. Let me see, what were we saying—I + remember!—Then I am lost! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. But if you explain your thoughtless words we will believe you. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. I cannot! And I will not! I shall be sent to prison, but it + doesn't matter. Marion is dead! Dead! And I have killed her! + </p> + <p> + (General consternation.) + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Think of what you are saying! Weigh your words! Do you realise + what you said just now? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. What did I say? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. You said that you had killed Marion. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Is there a human being here who could believe me a murderer, and + who could hold me capable of taking my own child's life? You who know me, + Madame Catherine, tell me: do you believe, can you believe— + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. I don't know any longer what to believe. What the heart + thinketh the tongue speaketh. And your tongue has spoken evil words. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. She doesn't believe me! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. But explain your words, man! Explain what you meant by saying + that "your love would kill everything that stood in its way." + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. So they know that too—Are you willing to explain it, + Henriette? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. No, I cannot do that. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. There is something wrong behind all this and you have lost our + sympathy, my friend. A while ago I could have sworn that you were + innocent, and I wouldn't do that now. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [To JEANNE] What you have to say means more to me than anything + else. JEANNE. [Coldly] Answer a question first: who was it you cursed + during that orgie out there? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Have I done that too? Maybe. Yes, I am guilty, and yet I am + guiltless. Let me go away from here, for I am ashamed of myself, and I + have done more wrong than I can forgive myself. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [To ADOLPHE] Go with him and see that he doesn't do himself any + harm. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Shall I—? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Who else? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. [Without bitterness] You are nearest to it—Sh! A carriage + is stopping outside. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. It's the Commissaire. Well, much as I have seen of life, I + could never have believed that success and fame were such short-lived + things. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [To HENRIETTE] From the triumphal chariot to the patrol wagon! + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. [Simply] And the ass—who was that? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Oh, that must have been me. + </p> + <p> + COMMISSAIRE. [Enters with a paper in his hand] A summons to Police + Headquarters—to-night, at once—for Monsieur Maurice Gerard—and + for Mademoiselle Henrietta Mauclerc—both here? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE and HENRIETTE. Yes. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Is this an arrest? + </p> + <p> + COMMISSAIRE. Not yet. Only a summons. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. And then? + </p> + <p> + COMMISSAIRE. We don't know yet. + </p> + <p> + (MAURICE and HENRIETTE go toward the door.) + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Good-bye to all! + </p> + <p> + (Everybody shows emotion. The COMMISSAIRE, MAURICE, and HENRIETTE go out.) + </p> + <p> + EMILE. [Enters and goes up to JEANNE] Now I'll take you home, sister. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. And what do you think of all this? + </p> + <p> + EMILE. The man is innocent. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. But as I see it, it is, and must always be, something despicable to + break one's promise, and it becomes unpardonable when a woman and her + child are involved. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. Well, I should rather feel that way, too, now when it concerns my + own sister, but unfortunately I am prevented from throwing the first stone + because I have done the same thing myself. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Although I am free from blame in that respect, I am not throwing any + stones either, but the act condemns itself and is punished by its + consequences. + </p> + <p> + JEANNE. Pray for him! For both of them! + </p> + <p> + ABBE. No, I'll do nothing of the kind, for it is an impertinence to want + to change the counsels of the Lord. And what has happened here is, indeed, + not the work of man. + </p> + <p> + (Curtain.) + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SECOND SCENE + </h2> + <p> + (The Auberge des Adrets. ADOLPHE and HENRIETTE are seated at the same + table where MAURICE and HENRIETTE were sitting in the second act. A cup of + coffee stands in front of ADOLPHE. HENRIETTE has ordered nothing.) + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. You believe then that he will come here? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. I am sure. He was released this noon for lack of evidence, but + he didn't want to show himself in the streets before it was dark. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Poor fellow! Oh, I tell you, life seems horrible to me since + yesterday. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. And what about me? I am afraid to live, dare hardly breathe, + dare hardly think even, since I know that somebody is spying not only on + my words but on my thoughts. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. So it was here you sat that night when I couldn't find you? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Yes, but don't talk of it. I could die from shame when I think + of it. Adolphe, you are made of a different, a better, stuff than he or I—- + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Sh, sh, sh! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Yes, indeed! And what was it that made me stay here? I was + lazy; I was tired; his success intoxicated me and bewitched me—I + cannot explain it. But if you had come, it would never have happened. And + to-day you are great, and he is small—less than the least of all. + Yesterday he had one hundred thousand francs. To-day he has nothing, + because his play has been withdrawn. And public opinion will never excuse + him, for his lack of faith will be judged as harshly as if he were the + murderer, and those that see farthest hold that the child died from + sorrow, so that he was responsible for it anyhow. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. You know what my thoughts are in this matter, Henriette, but I + should like to know that both of you are spotless. Won't you tell me what + those dreadful words of yours meant? It cannot be a chance that your talk + in a festive moment like that dealt so largely with killing and the + scaffold. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. It was no chance. It was something that had to be said, + something I cannot tell you—probably because I have no right to + appear spotless in your eyes, seeing that I am not spotless. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. All this is beyond me. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Let us talk of something else—Do you believe there are + many unpunished criminals at large among us, some of whom may even be our + intimate friends? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. [Nervously] Why? What do you mean? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Don't you believe that every human being at some time or + another has been guilty of some kind of act which would fall under the law + if it were discovered? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Yes, I believe that is true, but no evil act escapes being + punished by one's own conscience at least. [Rises and unbuttons his coat] + And—nobody is really good who has not erred. [Breathing heavily] For + in order to know how to forgive, one must have been in need of forgiveness—I + had a friend whom we used to regard as a model man. He never spoke a hard + word to anybody; he forgave everything and everybody; and he suffered + insults with a strange satisfaction that we couldn't explain. At last, + late in life, he gave me his secret in a single word: I am a penitent! [He + sits down again.] + </p> + <p> + (HENRIETTE remains silent, looking at him with surprise.) + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. [As if speaking to himself] There are crimes not mentioned in the + Criminal Code, and these are the worse ones, for they have to be punished + by ourselves, and no judge could be more severe than we are against our + own selves. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [After a pause] Well, that friend of yours, did he find peace? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. After endless self-torture he reached a certain degree of + composure, but life had never any real pleasures to offer him. He never + dared to accept any kind of distinction; he never dared to feel himself + entitled to a kind word or even well-earned praise: in a word, he could + never quite forgive himself. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Never? What had he done then? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. He had wished the life out of his father. And when his father + suddenly died, the son imagined himself to have killed him. Those + imaginations were regarded as signs of some mental disease, and he was + sent to an asylum. From this he was discharged after a time as wholly + recovered—as they put it. But the sense of guilt remained with him, + and so he continued to punish himself for his evil thoughts. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Are you sure the evil will cannot kill? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. You mean in some mystic way? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. As you please. Let it go at mystic. In my own family—I am + sure that my mother and my sisters killed my father with their hatred. You + see, he had the awful idea that he must oppose all our tastes and + inclinations. Wherever he discovered a natural gift, he tried to root it + out. In that way he aroused a resistance that accumulated until it became + like an electrical battery charged with hatred. At last it grew so + powerful that he languished away, became depolarised, lost his will-power, + and, in the end, came to wish himself dead. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. And your conscience never troubled you? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. No, and furthermore, I don't know what conscience is. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. You don't? Well, then you'll soon learn. [Pause] How do you + believe Maurice will look when he gets here? What do you think he will + say? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Yesterday morning, you know, he and I tried to make the same + kind of guess about you while we were waiting for you. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Well? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. We guessed entirely wrong. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Can you tell me why you sent for me? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Malice, arrogance, outright cruelty! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. How strange it is that you can admit your faults and yet not + repent of them. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. It must be because I don't feel quite responsible for them. + They are like the dirt left behind by things handled during the day and + washed off at night. But tell me one thing: do you really think so highly + of humanity as you profess to do? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Yes, we are a little better than our reputation—and a + little worse. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. That is not a straightforward answer. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. No, it isn't. But are you willing to answer me frankly when I ask + you: do you still love Maurice? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. I cannot tell until I see him. But at this moment I feel no + longing for him, and it seems as if I could very well live without him. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. It's likely you could, but I fear you have become chained to his + fate—Sh! Here he comes. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. How everything repeats itself. The situation is the same, the + very words are the same, as when we were expecting you yesterday. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Enters, pale as death, hollow-eyed, unshaven] Here I am, my dear + friends, if this be me. For that last night in a cell changed me into a + new sort of being. [Notices HENRIETTE and ADOLPHE.] + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Sit down and pull yourself together, and then we can talk things + over. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [To HENRIETTE] Perhaps I am in the way? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Now, don't get bitter. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. I have grown bad in these twenty-four hours, and suspicious also, + so I guess I'll soon be left to myself. And who wants to keep company with + a murderer? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. But you have been cleared of the charge. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Picks up a newspaper] By the police, yes, but not by public + opinion. Here you see the murderer Maurice Gerard, once a playwright, and + his mistress, Henriette Mauclerc— + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. O my mother and my sisters—my mother! Jesus have mercy! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. And can you see that I actually look like a murderer? And then it + is suggested that my play was stolen. So there isn't a vestige left of the + victorious hero from yesterday. In place of my own, the name of Octave, my + enemy, appears on the bill-boards, and he is going to collect my one + hundred thousand francs. O Solon, Solon! Such is fortune, and such is + fame! You are fortunate, Adolphe, because you have not yet succeeded. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. So you don't know that Adolphe has made a great success in + London and carried off the first prize? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Darkly] No, I didn't know that. Is it true, Adolphe? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. It is true, but I have returned the prize. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [With emphasis] That I didn't know! So you are also prevented + from accepting any distinctions—like your friend? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. My friend? [Embarrassed] Oh, yes, yes! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Your success gives me pleasure, but it puts us still farther + apart. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. That's what I expected, and I suppose I'll be as lonely with my + success as you with your adversity. Think of it—that people feel + hurt by your fortune! Oh, it's ghastly to be alive! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. You say that! What am I then to say? It is as if my eyes had been + covered with a black veil, and as if the colour and shape of all life had + been changed by it. This room looks like the room I saw yesterday, and yet + it is quite different. I recognise both of you, of course, but your faces + are new to me. I sit here and search for words because I don't know what + to say to you. I ought to defend myself, but I cannot. And I almost miss + the cell, for it protected me, at least, against the curious glances that + pass right through me. The murderer Maurice and his mistress! You don't + love me any longer, Henriette, and no more do I care for you. To-day you + are ugly, clumsy, insipid, repulsive. + </p> + <p> + (Two men in civilian clothes have quietly seated themselves at a table in + the background.) + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Wait a little and get your thoughts together. That you have been + discharged and cleared of all suspicion must appear in some of the evening + papers. And that puts an end to the whole matter. Your play will be put on + again, and if it comes to the worst, you can write a new one. Leave Paris + for a year and let everything become forgotten. You who have exonerated + mankind will be exonerated yourself. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Ha-ha! Mankind! Ha-ha! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. You have ceased to believe in goodness? MAURICE. Yes, if I ever + did believe in it. Perhaps it was only a mood, a manner of looking at + things, a way of being polite to the wild beasts. When I, who was held + among the best, can be so rotten to the core, what must then be the + wretchedness of the rest? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Now I'll go out and get all the evening papers, and then we'll + undoubtedly have reason to look at things in a different way. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Turning toward the background] Two detectives!—It means + that I am released under surveillance, so that I can give myself away by + careless talking. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Those are not detectives. That's only your imagination. I + recognise both of them. [Goes toward the door.] + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Don't leave us alone, Adolphe. I fear that Henriette and I may + come to open explanations. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Oh, be sensible, Maurice, and think of your future. Try to keep + him quiet, Henriette. I'll be back in a moment. [Goes out.] + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Well, Maurice, what do you think now of our guilt or + guiltlessness? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. I have killed nobody. All I did was to talk a lot of nonsense + while I was drunk. But it is your crime that comes back, and that crime + you have grafted on to me. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Oh, that's the tone you talk in now!—Was it not you who + cursed your own child, and wished the life out of it, and wanted to go + away without saying good-bye to anybody? And was it not I who made you + visit Marion and show yourself to Madame Catherine? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Yes, you are right. Forgive me! You proved yourself more human + than I, and the guilt is wholly my own. Forgive me! But all the same I am + without guilt. Who has tied this net from which I can never free myself? + Guilty and guiltless; guiltless and yet guilty! Oh, it is driving me mad—Look, + now they sit over there and listen to us—And no waiter comes to take + our order. I'll go out and order a cup of tea. Do you want anything? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Nothing. + </p> + <p> + (MAURICE goes out.) + </p> + <p> + FIRST DETECTIVE. [Goes up to HENRIETTE] Let me look at your papers. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. How dare you speak to me? + </p> + <p> + DETECTIVE. Dare? I'll show you! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. What do you mean? + </p> + <p> + DETECTIVE. It's my job to keep an eye on street-walkers. Yesterday you + came here with one man, and today with another. That's as good as walking + the streets. And unescorted ladies don't get anything here. So you'd + better get out and come along with me. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. My escort will be back in a moment. + </p> + <p> + DETECTIVE. Yes, and a pretty kind of escort you've got—the kind that + doesn't help a girl a bit! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. O God! My mother, my sisters!—I am of good family, I tell + you. + </p> + <p> + DETECTIVE. Yes, first-rate family, I am sure. But you are too well known + through the papers. Come along! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Where? What do you mean? + </p> + <p> + DETECTIVE. Oh, to the Bureau, of course. There you'll get a nice little + card and a license that brings you free medical care. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. O Lord Jesus, you don't mean it! + </p> + <p> + DETECTIVE. [Grabbing HENRIETTE by the arm] Don't I mean it? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Falling on her knees] Save me, Maurice! Help! + </p> + <p> + DETECTIVE. Shut up, you fool! + </p> + <p> + (MAURICE enters, followed by WAITER.) + </p> + <p> + WAITER. Gentlemen of that kind are not served here. You just pay and get + out! And take the girl along! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Crushed, searches his pocket-book for money] Henriette, pay for + me, and let us get away from this place. I haven't a sou left. + </p> + <p> + WAITER. So the lady has to put up for her Alphonse! Alphonse! Do you know + what that is? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Looking through her pocket-book] Oh, merciful heavens! I have + no money either!—Why doesn't Adolphe come back? + </p> + <p> + DETECTIVE. Well, did you ever see such rotters! Get out of here, and put + up something as security. That kind of ladies generally have their fingers + full of rings. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Can it be possible that we have sunk so low? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Takes off a ring and hands it to the WAITER] The Abbe was + right: this is not the work of man. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. No, it's the devil's!—But if we leave before Adolphe + returns, he will think that we have deceived him and run away. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. That would be in keeping with the rest—But we'll go into + the river now, won't we? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Takes HENRIETTE by the hand as they walk out together] Into the + river—yes! + </p> + <p> + (Curtain.) + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT IV + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FIRST SCENE + </h2> + <p> + (In the Luxembourg Gardens, at the group of Adam and Eve. The wind is + shaking the trees and stirring up dead leaves, straws, and pieces of paper + from the ground.) + </p> + <p> + (MAURICE and HENRIETTE are seated on a bench.) + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. So you don't want to die? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. No, I am afraid. I imagine that I am going to be very cold down + there in the grave, with only a sheet to cover me and a few shavings to + lie on. And besides that, it seems to me as if there were still some task + waiting for me, but I cannot make out what it is. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. But I can guess what it is. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Tell me. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. It is revenge. You, like me, must have suspected Jeanne and + Emile of sending the detectives after me yesterday. Such a revenge on a + rival none but a woman could devise. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Exactly what I was thinking. But let me tell you that my + suspicions go even further. It seems as if my sufferings during these last + few days had sharpened my wits. Can you explain, for instance, why the + waiter from the Auberge des Adrets and the head waiter from the Pavilion + were not called to testify at the hearing? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. I never thought of it before. But now I know why. They had + nothing to tell, because they had not been listening. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. But how could the Commissaire then know what we had been saying? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. He didn't know, but he figured it out. He was guessing, and he + guessed right. Perhaps he had had to deal with some similar case before. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Or else he concluded from our looks what we had been saying. + There are those who can read other people's thoughts—Adolphe being + the dupe, it seemed quite natural that we should have called him an ass. + It's the rule, I understand, although it's varied at times by the use of + "idiot" instead. But ass was nearer at hand in this case, as we had been + talking of carriages and triumphal chariots. It is quite simple to figure + out a fourth fact, when you have three known ones to start from. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Just think that we have let ourselves be taken in so + completely. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. That's the result of thinking too well of one's fellow beings. + This is all you get out of it. But do you know, <i>I</i> suspect somebody + else back of the Commissaire, who, by-the-bye, must be a full-fledged + scoundrel. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. You mean the Abbe, who was taking the part of a private + detective. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. That's what I mean. That man has to receive all kinds of + confessions. And note you: Adolphe himself told us he had been at the + Church of St. Germain that morning. What was he doing there? He was + blabbing, of course, and bewailing his fate. And then the priest put the + questions together for the Commissaire. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Tell me something: do you trust Adolphe? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. I trust no human being any longer. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Not even Adolphe? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Him least of all. How could I trust an enemy—a man from + whom I have taken away his mistress? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Well, as you were the first one to speak of this, I'll give you + some data about our friend. You heard he had returned that medal from + London. Do you know his reason for doing so? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. No. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. He thinks himself unworthy of it, and he has taken a + penitential vow never to receive any kind of distinction. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Can that he possible? But what has he done? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. He has committed a crime of the kind that is not punishable + under the law. That's what he gave me to understand indirectly. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. He, too! He, the best one of all, the model man, who never speaks + a hard word of anybody and who forgives everything. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Well, there you can see that we are no worse than others. And + yet we are being hounded day and night as if devils were after us. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. He, also! Then mankind has not been slandered—But if he has + been capable of ONE crime, then you may expect anything of him. Perhaps it + was he who sent the police after you yesterday. Coming to think of it now, + it was he who sneaked away from us when he saw that we were in the papers, + and he lied when he insisted that those fellows were not detectives. But, + of course, you may expect anything from a deceived lover. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Could he be as mean as that? No, it is impossible, impossible! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Why so? If he is a scoundrel?—What were you two talking of + yesterday, before I came? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. He had nothing but good to say of you. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. That's a lie! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Controlling herself and changing her tone] Listen. There is + one person on whom you have cast no suspicion whatever—for what + reason, I don't know. Have you thought of Madame Catherine's wavering + attitude in this matter? Didn't she say finally that she believed you + capable of anything? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Yes, she did, and that shows what kind of person she is. To think + evil of other people without reason, you must be a villain yourself. + </p> + <p> + (HENRIETTE looks hard at him. Pause.) + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. To think evil of others, you must be a villain yourself. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. What do you mean? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. What I said. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Do you mean that I—? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Yes, that's what I mean now! Look here! Did you meet anybody + but Marion when you called there yesterday morning? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Why do you ask? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Guess! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Well, as you seem to know—I met Jeanne, too. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Why did you lie to me? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. I wanted to spare you. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. And now you want me to believe in one who has been lying to me? + No, my boy, now I believe you guilty of that murder. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Wait a moment! We have now reached the place for which my + thoughts have been heading all the time, though I resisted as long as + possible. It's queer that what lies next to one is seen last of all, and + what one doesn't WANT to believe cannot be believed—Tell me + something: where did you go yesterday morning, after we parted in the + Bois? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Alarmed] Why? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. You went either to Adolphe—which you couldn't do, as he was + attending a lesson—or you went to—Marion! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Now I am convinced that you are the murderer. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. And I, that you are the murderess! You alone had an interest in + getting the child out of the way—to get rid of the rock on the road, + as you so aptly put it. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. It was you who said that. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. And the one who had an interest in it must have committed the + crime. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Now, Maurice, we have been running around and around in this + tread-mill, scourging each other. Let us quit before we get to the point + of sheer madness. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. You have reached that point already. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Don't you think it's time for us to part, before we drive each + other insane? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Yes, I think so. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Rising] Good-bye then! + </p> + <p> + (Two men in civilian clothes become visible in the background.) + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [Turns and comes back to MAURICE] There they are again! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. The dark angels that want to drive us out of the garden. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. And force us back upon each other as if we were chained + together. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Or as if we were condemned to lifelong marriage. Are we really to + marry? To settle down in the same place? To be able to close the door + behind us and perhaps get peace at last? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. And shut ourselves up in order to torture each other to death; + get behind locks and bolts, with a ghost for marriage portion; you + torturing me with the memory of Adolphe, and I getting back at you with + Jeanne—and Marion. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Never mention the name of Marion again! Don't you know that she + was to be buried today—at this very moment perhaps? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. And you are not there? What does that mean? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. It means that both Jeanne and the police have warned me against + the rage of the people. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. A coward, too? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. All the vices! How could you ever have cared for me? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Because two days ago you were another person, well worthy of + being loved—- + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. And now sunk to such a depth! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. It isn't that. But you are beginning to flaunt bad qualities + which are not your own. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. But yours? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Perhaps, for when you appear a little worse I feel myself at + once a little better. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. It's like passing on a disease to save one's self-respect. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. And how vulgar you have become, too! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Yes, I notice it myself, and I hardly recognise myself since that + night in the cell. They put in one person and let out another through that + gate which separates us from the rest of society. And now I feel myself + the enemy of all mankind: I should like to set fire to the earth and dry + up the oceans, for nothing less than a universal conflagration can wipe + out my dishonour. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. I had a letter from my mother today. She is the widow of a + major in the army, well educated, with old-fashioned ideas of honour and + that kind of thing. Do you want to read the letter? No, you don't!—Do + you know that I am an outcast? My respectable acquaintances will have + nothing to do with me, and if I show myself on the streets alone the + police will take me. Do you realise now that we have to get married? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. We despise each other, and yet we have to marry: that is hell + pure and simple! But, Henriette, before we unite our destinies you must + tell me your secret, so that we may be on more equal terms. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. All right, I'll tell you. I had a friend who got into trouble—you + understand. I wanted to help her, as her whole future was at stake—and + she died! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. That was reckless, but one might almost call it noble, too. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. You say so now, but the next time you lose your temper you will + accuse me of it. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. No, I won't. But I cannot deny that it has shaken my faith in you + and that it makes me afraid of you. Tell me, is her lover still alive, and + does he know to what extent you were responsible? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. He was as guilty as I. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. And if his conscience should begin to trouble him—such + things do happen—and if he should feel inclined to confess: then you + would be lost. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. I know it, and it is this constant dread which has made me rush + from one dissipation to another—so that I should never have time to + wake up to full consciousness. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. And now you want me to take my marriage portion out of your + dread. That's asking a little too much. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. But when I shared the shame of Maurice the murderer—- + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Oh, let's come to an end with it! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. No, the end is not yet, and I'll not let go my hold until I + have put you where you belong. For you can't go around thinking yourself + better than I am. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. So you want to fight me then? All right, as you please! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. A fight on life and death! + </p> + <p> + (The rolling of drums is heard in the distance.) + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. The garden is to be closed. "Cursed is the ground for thy sake; + thorns and thistles shall it bring forth to thee." + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. "And the Lord God said unto the woman—-" + </p> + <p> + A GUARD. [In uniform, speaking very politely] Sorry, but the garden has to + be closed. + </p> + <p> + (Curtain.) + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SECOND SCENE + </h2> + <p> + (The Cremerie. MME. CATHERINE is sitting at the counter making entries + into an account book. ADOLPHE and HENRIETTE are seated at a table.) + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. [Calmly and kindly] But if I give you my final assurance that I + didn't run away, but that, on the contrary, I thought you had played me + false, this ought to convince you. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. But why did you fool us by saying that those fellows were not + policemen? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. I didn't think myself that they were, and then I wanted to + reassure you. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. When you say it, I believe you. But then you must also believe + me, if I reveal my innermost thoughts to you. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Go on. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. But you mustn't come back with your usual talk of fancies and + delusions. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. You seem to have reason to fear that I may. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. I fear nothing, but I know you and your scepticism—Well, + and then you mustn't tell this to anybody—promise me! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. I promise. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Now think of it, although I must say it's something terrible: I + have partial evidence that Maurice is guilty, or at least, I have + reasonable suspicions—- + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. You don't mean it! + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Listen, and judge for yourself. When Maurice left me in the + Bois, he said he was going to see Marion alone, as the mother was out. And + now I have discovered afterward that he did meet the mother. So that he + has been lying to me. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. That's possible, and his motive for doing so may have been the + best, but how can anybody conclude from it that he is guilty of a murder? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Can't you see that?—Don't you understand? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Not at all. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Because you don't want to!—Then there is nothing left for + me but to report him, and we'll see whether he can prove an alibi. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Henriette, let me tell you the grim truth. You, like he, have + reached the border line of—insanity. The demons of distrust have got + hold of you, and each of you is using his own sense of partial guilt to + wound the other with. Let me see if I can make a straight guess: he has + also come to suspect you of killing his child? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Yes, he's mad enough to do so. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. You call his suspicions mad, but not your own. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. You have first to prove the contrary, or that I suspect him + unjustly. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Yes, that's easy. A new autopsy has proved that Marion died of a + well-known disease, the queer name of which I cannot recall just now. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Is it true? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. The official report is printed in today's paper. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. I don't take any stock in it. They can make up that kind of + thing. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Beware, Henriette—or you may, without knowing it, pass + across that border line. Beware especially of throwing out accusations + that may put you into prison. Beware! [He places his hand on her head] You + hate Maurice? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Beyond all bounds! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. When love turns into hatred, it means that it was tainted from + the start. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [In a quieter mood] What am I to do? Tell me, you who are the + only one that understands me. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. But you don't want any sermons. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Have you nothing else to offer me? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Nothing else. But they have helped me. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Preach away then! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Try to turn your hatred against yourself. Put the knife to the + evil spot in yourself, for it is there that YOUR trouble roots. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Explain yourself. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Part from Maurice first of all, so that you cannot nurse your + qualms of conscience together. Break off your career as an artist, for the + only thing that led you into it was a craving for freedom and fun—as + they call it. And you have seen now how much fun there is in it. Then go + home to your mother. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Never! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Some other place then. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. I suppose you know, Adolphe, that I have guessed your secret + and why you wouldn't accept the prize? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Oh, I assumed that you would understand a half-told story. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Well—what did you do to get peace? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. What I have suggested: I became conscious of my guilt, repented, + decided to turn over a new leaf, and arranged my life like that of a + penitent. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. How can you repent when, like me, you have no conscience? Is + repentance an act of grace bestowed on you as faith is? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Everything is a grace, but it isn't granted unless you seek it—Seek! + </p> + <p> + (HENRIETTE remains silent.) + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. But don't wait beyond the allotted time, or you may harden + yourself until you tumble down into the irretrievable. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. [After a pause] Is conscience fear of punishment? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. No, it is the horror inspired in our better selves by the + misdeeds of our lower selves. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Then I must have a conscience also? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Of course you have, but— + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE, Tell me, Adolphe, are you what they call religious? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Not the least bit. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. It's all so queer—What is religion? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Frankly speaking, I don't know! And I don't think anybody else + can tell you. Sometimes it appears to me like a punishment, for nobody + becomes religious without having a bad conscience. + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Yes, it is a punishment. Now I know what to do. Good-bye, + Adolphe! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. You'll go away from here? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Yes, I am going—to where you said. Good-bye my friend! + Good-bye, Madame Catherine! + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Have you to go in such a hurry? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. Yes. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Do you want me to go with you? + </p> + <p> + HENRIETTE. No, it wouldn't do. I am going alone, alone as I came here, one + day in Spring, thinking that I belonged where I don't belong, and + believing there was something called freedom, which does not exist. + Good-bye! [Goes out.] + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. I hope that lady never comes back, and I wish she had + never come here at all! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Who knows but that she may have had some mission to fill here? + And at any rate she deserves pity, endless pity. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. I don't, deny it, for all of us deserve that. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. And she has even done less wrong than the rest of us. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. That's possible, but not probable. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. You are always so severe, Madame Catherine. Tell me: have you + never done anything wrong? + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. [Startled] Of course, as I am a sinful human creature. But + if you have been on thin ice and fallen in, you have a right to tell + others to keep away. And you may do so without being held severe or + uncharitable. Didn't I say to Monsieur Maurice the moment that lady + entered here: Look out! Keep away! And he didn't, and so he fell in. Just + like a naughty, self-willed child. And when a man acts like that he has to + have a spanking, like any disobedient youngster. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Well, hasn't he had his spanking? + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Yes, but it does not seem to have been enough, as he is + still going around complaining. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. That's a very popular interpretation of the whole intricate + question. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Oh, pish! You do nothing but philosophise about your + vices, and while you are still at it the police come along and solve the + riddle. Now please leave me alone with my accounts! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. There's Maurice now. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Yes, God bless him! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Enters, his face very flushed, and takes a seat near ADOLPHE] + Good evening. + </p> + <p> + (MME. CATHERINE nods and goes on figuring.) + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Well, how's everything with you? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Oh, beginning to clear up. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. [Hands him a newspaper, which MAURICE does not take] So you have + read the paper? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. No, I don't read the papers any longer. There's nothing but + infamies in them. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. But you had better read it first—- + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. No, I won't! It's nothing but lies—But listen: I have found + a new clue. Can you guess who committed that murder? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Nobody, nobody! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Do you know where Henriette was during that quarter hour when the + child was left alone?—She was THERE! And it is she who has done it! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. You are crazy, man. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Not I, but Henriette, is crazy. She suspects me and has + threatened to report me. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Henriette was here a while ago, and she used the self-same words + as you. Both of you are crazy, for it has been proved by a second autopsy + that the child died from a well-known disease, the name of which I have + forgotten. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. It isn't true! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. That's what she said also. But the official report is printed in + the paper. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. A report? Then they have made it up! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. And that's also what she said. The two of you are suffering from + the same mental trouble. But with her I got far enough to make her realise + her own condition. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Where did she go? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. She went far away from here to begin a new life. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Hm, hm!—Did you go to the funeral? ADOLPHE. I did. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Well? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Well, Jeanne seemed resigned and didn't have a hard word to say + about you. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. She is a good woman. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Why did you desert her then? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Because I WAS crazy—blown up with pride especially—and + then we had been drinking champagne—- + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Can you understand now why Jeanne wept when you drank champagne? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Yes, I understand now—And for that reason I have already + written to her and asked her to forgive me—Do you think she will + forgive me? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. I think so, for it's not like her to hate anybody. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Do you think she will forgive me completely, so that she will + come back to me? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Well, I don't know about THAT. You have shown yourself so poor in + keeping faith that it is doubtful whether she will trust her fate to you + any longer. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. But I can feel that her fondness for me has not ceased, and I + know she will come back to me. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. How can you know that? How can you believe it? Didn't you even + suspect her and that decent brother of hers of having sent the police + after Henriette out of revenge? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. But I don't believe it any longer—that is to say, I guess + that fellow Emile is a pretty slick customer. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Now look here! What are you saying of Monsieur Emile? Of + course, he is nothing but a workman, but if everybody kept as straight as + he—There is no flaw in him, but a lot of sense and tact. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. [Enters] Monsieur Gerard? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. That's me. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. Pardon me, but I have something to say to you in private. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Go right on. We are all friends here. + </p> + <p> + (The ABBE enters and sits down.) + </p> + <p> + EMILE. [With a glance at the ABBE] Perhaps after—- + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Never mind. The Abbe is also a friend, although he and I differ. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. You know who I am, Monsieur Gerard? My sister has asked me to give + you this package as an answer to your letter. + </p> + <p> + (MAURICE takes the package and opens it.) + </p> + <p> + EMILE. And now I have only to add, seeing as I am in a way my sister's + guardian, that, on her behalf as well as my own, I acknowledge you free of + all obligations, now when the natural tie between you does not exist any + longer. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. But you must have a grudge against me? + </p> + <p> + EMILE. Must I? I can't see why. On the other hand, I should like to have a + declaration from you, here in the presence of your friends, that you don't + think either me or my sister capable of such a meanness as to send the + police after Mademoiselle Henriette. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. I wish to take back what I said, and I offer you my apology, if + you will accept it. + </p> + <p> + EMILE. It is accepted. And I wish all of you a good evening. [Goes out.] + </p> + <p> + EVERYBODY. Good evening! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. The tie and the gloves which Jeanne gave me for the opening night + of my play, and which I let Henrietta throw into the fireplace. Who can + have picked them up? Everything is dug up; everything comes back!—And + when she gave them to me in the cemetery, she said she wanted me to look + fine and handsome, so that other people would like me also—And she + herself stayed at home—This hurt her too deeply, and well it might. + I have no right to keep company with decent human beings. Oh, have I done + this? Scoffed at a gift coming from a good heart; scorned a sacrifice + offered to my own welfare. This was what I threw away in order to get—a + laurel that is lying on the rubbish heap, and a bust that would have + belonged in the pillory—Abbe, now I come over to you. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Welcome! + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Give me the word that I need. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Do you expect me to contradict your self-accusations and inform you + that you have done nothing wrong? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Speak the right word! + </p> + <p> + ABBE. With your leave, I'll say then that I have found your behaviour just + as abominable as you have found it yourself. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. What can I do, what can I do, to get out of this? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. You know as well as I do. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. No, I know only that I am lost, that my life is spoiled, my + career cut off, my reputation in this world ruined forever. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. And so you are looking for a new existence in some better world, + which you are now beginning to believe in? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Yes, that's it. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. You have been living in the flesh and you want now to live in the + spirit. Are you then so sure that this world has no more attractions for + you? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. None whatever! Honour is a phantom; gold, nothing but dry leaves; + women, mere intoxicants. Let me hide myself behind your consecrated walls + and forget this horrible dream that has filled two days and lasted two + eternities. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. All right! But this is not the place to go into the matter more + closely. Let us make an appointment for this evening at nine o'clock in + the Church of St. Germain. For I am going to preach to the inmates of St. + Lazare, and that may be your first step along the hard road of penitence. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Penitence? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Well, didn't you wish—- + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. Yes, yes! + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Then we have vigils between midnight and two o'clock. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. That will be splendid! + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Give me your hand that you will not look back. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Rising, holds out his hand] Here is my hand, and my will goes + with it. + </p> + <p> + SERVANT GIRL. [Enters from the kitchen] A telephone call for Monsieur + Maurice. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. From whom? + </p> + <p> + SERVANT GIRL. From the theatre. + </p> + <p> + (MAURICE tries to get away, but the ABBE holds on to his hand.) + </p> + <p> + ABBE. [To the SERVANT GIRL] Find out what it is. + </p> + <p> + SERVANT GIRL. They want to know if Monsieur Maurice is going to attend the + performance tonight. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. [To MAURICE, who is trying to get away] No, I won't let you go. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. What performance is that? + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Why don't you read the paper? + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE and the ABBE. He hasn't read the paper? + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. It's all lies and slander. [To the SERVANT GIRL] Tell them that I + am engaged for this evening: I am going to church. + </p> + <p> + (The SERVANT GIRL goes out into the kitchen.) + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. As you don't want to read the paper, I shall have to tell you + that your play has been put on again, now when you are exonerated. And + your literary friends have planned a demonstration for this evening in + recognition of your indisputable talent. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. It isn't true. + </p> + <p> + EVERYBODY. It is true. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [After a pause] I have not deserved it! + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Good! + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. And furthermore, Maurice—- + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Hiding his face in his hands] Furthermore! + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. One hundred thousand francs! Do you see now that they come + back to you? And the villa outside the city. Everything is coming back + except Mademoiselle Henriette. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. [Smiling] You ought to take this matter a little more seriously, + Madame Catherine. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Oh, I cannot—I just can't keep serious any longer! + </p> + <p> + [She breaks into open laughter, which she vainly tries to smother with her + handkerchief.] + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Say, Maurice, the play begins at eight. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. But the church services are at nine. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Maurice! + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. Let us hear what the end is going to be, Monsieur Maurice. + </p> + <p> + (MAURICE drops his head on the table, in his arms.) + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Loose him, Abbe! + </p> + <p> + ABBE. No, it is not for me to loose or bind. He must do that himself. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. [Rising] Well, I go with the Abbe. + </p> + <p> + ABBE. No, my young friend. I have nothing to give you but a scolding, + which you can give yourself. And you owe a duty to yourself and to your + good name. That you have got through with this as quickly as you have is + to me a sign that you have suffered your punishment as intensely as if it + had lasted an eternity. And when Providence absolves you there is nothing + for me to add. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. But why did the punishment have to be so hard when I was + innocent? + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Hard? Only two days! And you were not innocent. For we have to stand + responsible for our thoughts and words and desires also. And in your + thought you became a murderer when your evil self wished the life out of + your child. + </p> + <p> + MAURICE. You are right. But my decision is made. To-night I will meet you + at the church in order to have a reckoning with myself—but to-morrow + evening I go to the theatre. + </p> + <p> + MME. CATHERINE. A good solution, Monsieur Maurice. + </p> + <p> + ADOLPHE. Yes, that is the solution. Whew! + </p> + <p> + ABBE. Yes, so it is! + </p> + <p> + (Curtain.) + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's There are Crimes and Crimes, by August Strindberg + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THERE ARE CRIMES AND CRIMES *** + +***** This file should be named 4970-h.htm or 4970-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/9/7/4970/ + + +Text file produced by Nicole Apostola, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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