3.1.2.1: Six Characters in Search of an Author
The spectators will find the curtain raised and the stage as it usually is during the day time. It will be half dark, and empty, so that from the beginning the public may have the impression of an impromptu performance.
PROMPTER'S box and a small table and chair for THE MANAGER.
Two other small tables and several chairs scattered about as during rehearsals.
The actors and actresses of the company enter from the back of the stage:
first one, then another, then two together: nine or ten in all. They are about to rehearse a Pirandello play: Mixing It Up. Some of the company move off towards their dressing rooms. The prompter who has the "book" under his arm, is waiting for THE MANAGER in order to begin the rehearsal.
The actors and actresses, some standing, some sitting, chat and smoke. One perhaps reads a paper; another cons his part.
Finally, THE MANAGER enters and goes to the table prepared for him: His secretary brings him his mail, through which he glances. The prompter takes his seat, turns on a light, and opens the "book." The Manager
throwing a letter down on the table. I can't see. to PROPERTY MAN : Let's have a little light, please!
Property ManYes sir, yes, at once. a light comes down on to the stage.
The Managerclapping his hands. Come along! Come along! Second act of "Mixing it Up." sits down.
The actors and actresses go from the front of the stage to the wings, all except the three who are to begin the rehearsal. Prompterreading the "book". "Leo Gala's house. A curious room serving as dining-room and study."
The Managerto PROPERTY MAN Fix up the old red room.
Property Mannoting it down. Red set. All right!
Promptercontinuing to read from the "book". "Table already laid and writing desk with books and papers. Book-shelves. Exit rear to Leo's bedroom. Exit left to kitchen. Principal exit to right."
The Managerenergetically. Well, you understand: The principal exit over there; here, the kitchen. Turning to actor who is to play the part of Socrates. You make your entrances and exits here. To PROPERTY MAN : The baize doors at the rear, and curtains.
Property Mannoting it down. Right oh!
Prompterreading as before. "When the curtain rises, Leo Gala, dressed in cook's cap and apron is busy beating an egg in a cup. Philip, also dressed as a cook, is beating another egg. Guido Venanzi is seated and listening."
Leading Manto THE MANAGER Excuse me, but must I absolutely wear a cook's cap?
The Managerannoyed. I imagine so. It says so there anyway pointing to the "book" .
Leading ManBut it's ridiculous!
The Managerjumping up in a rage. Ridiculous? Ridiculous? Is it my fault if France won't send us any more good comedies, and we are reduced to putting on Pirandello's works, where nobody understands anything, and where the author plays the fool with us all? The actors grin. THE MANAGER goes to LEADING MAN and shouts. Yes sir, you put on the cook's cap and beat eggs. Do you suppose that with all this egg-beating business you are on an ordinary stage? Get that out of your head. You represent the shell of the eggs you are beating! Laughter and comments among the actors. Silence! and listen to my explanations, please! To LEADING MAN : "The empty form of reason without the fullness of instinct, which is blind."—You stand for reason, your wife is instinct. It's a mixing up of the parts, according to which you who act your own part become the puppet of yourself. Do you understand?
Leading ManI'm hanged if I do.
The ManagerNeither do I. But let's get on with it. It's sure to be a glorious failure anyway. Confidentially : But I say, please face three-quarters. Otherwise, what with the abstruseness of the dialogue, and the public that won't be able to hear you, the whole thing will go to hell. Come on! come on!
PrompterPardon sir, may I get into my box? There's a bit of a draught.
The ManagerYes, yes, of course!
At this point, the door-keeper has entered from the stage door and advances towards THE MANAGER'S table, taking off his braided cap. During this manoeuvre, the Six Characters enter, and stop by the door at back of stage, so that when the door-keeper is about to announce their coming to THE MANAGER, they are already on the stage. A tenuous light surrounds them, almost as if irradiated by them—the faint breath of their fantastic reality.This light will disappear when they come forward towards the actors. They preserve, however, something of the dream lightness in which they seem almost suspended; but this does not detract from the essential reality of their forms and expressions.
He who is known as THE FATHER is a man of about 50: hair, reddish in colour, thin at the temples; he is not bald, however; thick moustaches, falling over his still fresh mouth, which often opens in an empty and uncertain smile. He is fattish, pale; with an especially wide forehead. He has blue, oval-shaped eyes, very clear and piercing. Wears light trousers and a dark jacket. He is alternatively mellifluous and violent in his manner.
THE MOTHER seems crushed and terrified as if by an intolerable weight of shame and abasement. She is dressed in modest black and wears a thick widow's veil of crêpe. When she lifts this, she reveals a wax-like face. She always keeps her eyes downcast.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER is dashing, almost impudent, beautiful. She wears mourning too, but with great elegance. She shows contempt for the timid half-frightened manner of the wretched BOY (14 years old, and also dressed in black); on the other hand, she displays a lively tenderness for her little sister, THE CHILD (about four), who is dressed in white, with a black silk sash at the waist.
THE SON (22) tall, severe in his attitude of contempt for THE FATHER, supercilious and indifferent to THE MOTHER. He looks as if he had come on the stage against his will. Door-Keeper
cap in hand. Excuse me, sir....
The Managerrudely. Eh? What is it?
Door-Keepertimidly. These people are asking for you, sir.
The Managerfurious. I am rehearsing, and you know perfectly well no one's allowed to come in during rehearsals! Turning to the Characters : Who are you, please? What do you want?
The Fathercoming forward a little, followed by the others who seem embarrassed. As a matter of fact ... we have come here in search of an author....
The Managerhalf angry, half amazed. An author? What author?
The FatherAny author, sir.
The ManagerBut there's no author here. We are not rehearsing a new piece.
The Step-Daughtervivaciously. So much the better, so much the better! We can be your new piece.
An Actorcoming forward from the others. Oh, do you hear that?
The Fatherto THE STEP-DAUGHTER Yes, but if the author isn't here ... To THE MANAGER : ... unless you would be willing....
The ManagerYou are trying to be funny.
The FatherNo, for Heaven's sake, what are you saying? We bring you a drama, sir.
The Step-DaughterWe may be your fortune.
The ManagerWill you oblige me by going away? We haven't time to waste with mad people.
The Fathermellifluously. Oh sir, you know well that life is full of infinite absurdities, which, strangely enough, do not even need to appear plausible, since they are true.
The ManagerWhat the devil is he talking about?
The FatherI say that to reverse the ordinary process may well be considered a madness: that is, to create credible situations, in order that they may appear true. But permit me to observe that if this be madness, it is the sole raison d'être of your profession, gentlemen. The actors look hurt and perplexed.
The Managergetting up and looking at him. So our profession seems to you one worthy of madmen then?
The FatherWell, to make seem true that which isn't true ... without any need ... for a joke as it were.... Isn't that your mission, gentlemen: to give life to fantastic characters on the stage?
The Managerinterpreting the rising anger of the Company. But I would beg you to believe, my dear sir, that the profession of the comedian is a noble one. If today, as things go, the playwrights give us stupid comedies to play and puppets to represent instead of men, remember we are proud to have given life to immortal works here on these very boards! The actors, satisfied, applaud their Manager.
The Fatherinterrupting furiously. Exactly, perfectly, to living beings more alive than those who breathe and wear clothes: beings less real perhaps, but truer! I agree with you entirely. The actors look at one another in amazement.
The ManagerBut what do you mean? Before, you said....
The FatherNo, excuse me, I meant it for you, sir, who were crying out that you had no time to lose with madmen, while no one better than yourself knows that nature uses the instrument of human fantasy in order to pursue her high creative purpose.
The ManagerVery well,—but where does all this take us?
The FatherNowhere! It is merely to show you that one is born to life in many forms, in many shapes, as tree, or as stone, as water, as butterfly, or as woman. So one may also be born a character in a play.
The Managerwith feigned comic dismay. So you and these other friends of yours have been born characters?
The FatherExactly, and alive as you see! THE MANAGER and actors burst out laughing.
The Fatherhurt. I am sorry you laugh, because we carry in us a drama, as you can guess from this woman here veiled in black.
The Managerlosing patience at last and almost indignant. Oh, chuck it! Get away please! Clear out of here! to PROPERTY MAN : For Heaven's sake, turn them out!
The Fatherresisting. No, no, look here, we....
The Managerroaring. We come here to work, you know.
Leading ManOne cannot let oneself be made such a fool of.
The Fatherdetermined, coming forward. I marvel at your incredulity, gentlemen. Are you not accustomed to see the characters created by an author spring to life in yourselves and face each other? Just because there is no "book" pointing to the PROMPTER'S box. which contains us, you refuse to believe....
The Step-Daughteradvances towards THE MANAGER, smiling and coquettish. Believe me, we are really six most interesting characters, sir; side-tracked however.
The FatherYes, that is the word! To THE MANAGER all at once : In the sense, that is, that the author who created us alive no longer wished, or was no longer able, materially to put us into a work of art. And this was a real crime, sir; because he who has had the luck to be born a character can laugh even at death. He cannot die. The man, the writer, the instrument of the creation will die, but his creation does not die. And to live for ever, it does not need to have extraordinary gifts or to be able to work wonders. Who was Sancho Panza? Who was Don Abbondio? Yet they live eternally because—live germs as they were—they had the fortune to find a fecundating matrix, a fantasy which could raise and nourish them: make them live for ever!
The ManagerThat is quite all right. But what do you want here, all of you?
The FatherWe want to live.
The Managerironically. For Eternity?
The FatherNo, sir, only for a moment ... in you.
An ActorJust listen to him!
Leading LadyThey want to live, in us...!
Juvenile Leadpointing to THE STEP-DAUGHTER. I've no objection, as far as that one is concerned!
The FatherLook here! look here! The comedy has to be made. To THE MANAGER : But if you and your actors are willing, we can soon concert it among ourselves.
The Managerannoyed. But what do you want to concert? We don't go in for concerts here. Here we play dramas and comedies!
The FatherExactly! That is just why we have come to you.
The ManagerAnd where is the "book"?
The FatherIt is in us! The actors laugh. The drama is in us, and we are the drama. We are impatient to play it. Our inner passion drives us on to this.
The Step-Daughterdisdainful, alluring, treacherous, full of impudence. My passion, sir! Ah, if you only knew! My passion for him! Points to THE FATHER and makes a pretence of embracing him. Then she breaks out into a loud laugh.
The Fatherangrily. Behave yourself! And please don't laugh in that fashion.
The Step-DaughterWith your permission, gentlemen, I, who am a two months' orphan, will show you how I can dance and sing.
Sings and then dances.
Prenez garde a Tchou-Thin-Tchou.
Les chinois sont un peuple malin,
De Shangaî à Pekin,
Ils ont mis des écriteux partout:
Prenez garde à Tchou-Thin-Tchou.
Bravo! Well done! Tip-top!
The ManagerSilence! This isn't a café concert, you know! Turning to THE FATHER in consternation : Is she mad?
The FatherMad? No, she's worse than mad.
The Step-Daughterto THE MANAGER Worse? Worse? Listen! Stage this drama for us at once! Then you will see that at a certain moment I ... when this little darling here ... Takes THE CHILD by the hand and leads her to THE MANAGER : Isn't she a dear? Takes her up and kisses her. Darling! Darling! Puts her down again and adds feelingly : Well, when God suddenly takes this dear little child away from that poor mother there; and this imbecile here seizing hold of THE BOY roughly and pushing him forward. does the stupidest things, like the fool he is, you will see me run away. Yes, gentleman, I shall be off. But the moment hasn't arrived yet. After what has taken place between him and me indicates THE FATHER with a horrible wink , I can't remain any longer in this society, to have to witness the anguish of this mother here for that fool.... indicates THE SON. Look at him! Look at him! See how indifferent, how frigid he is, because he is the legitimate son. He despises me, despises him pointing to THE BOY , despises this baby here; because ... we are bastards goes to THE MOTHER and embraces her. And he doesn't want to recognize her as his mother—she who is the common mother of us all. He looks down upon her as if she were only the mother of us three bastards. Wretch! She says all this very rapidly, excitedly. At the word "bastards" she raises her voice, and almost spits out the final "Wretch!".
The Motherto THE MANAGER, in anguish In the name of these two little children, I beg you.... She grows faint and is about to fall. Oh God!
The Fathercoming forward to support her as do some of the actors. Quick a chair, a chair for this poor widow!
The ActorsIs it true? Has she really fainted?
The ManagerQuick, a chair! Here!
One of the actors brings a chair, the others proffer assistance. THE MOTHER tries to prevent THE FATHER from lifting the veil which covers her face. The FatherLook at her! Look at her!
The MotherNo, no; stop it please!
The Fatherraising her veil. Let them see you!
The Motherrising and covering her face with her hands, in desperation. I beg you, sir, to prevent this man from carrying out his plan which is loathsome to me.
The Managerdumbfounded. I don't understand at all. What is the situation? to THE FATHER : Is this lady your wife?
The FatherYes, gentlemen: my wife!
The ManagerBut how can she be a widow if you are alive? The actors find relief for their astonishment in a loud laugh.
The FatherDon't laugh! Don't laugh like that, for Heaven's sake. Her drama lies just here in this: she has had a lover, a man who ought to be here.
The Motherwith a cry. No! No!
The Step-DaughterFortunately for her, he is dead. Two months ago as I said. We are in mourning, as you see.
The FatherHe isn't here you see, not because he is dead. He isn't here—look at her a moment and you will understand—because her drama isn't a drama of the love of two men for whom she was incapable of feeling anything except possibly a little gratitude—gratitude not for me but for the other. She isn't a woman, she is a mother, and her drama—powerful sir, I assure you—lies, as a matter of fact, all in these four children she has had by two men.
The MotherI had them? Have you got the courage to say that I wanted them? To the Company : It was his doing. It was he who gave me that other man, who forced me to go away with him.
The Step-DaughterIt isn't true.
The Motherstartled. Not true, isn't it?
The Step-DaughterNo, it isn't true, it just isn't true.
The MotherAnd what can you know about it?
The Step-DaughterIt isn't true. Don't believe it. To THE MANAGER : Do you know why she says so? For that fellow there indicates THE SON. She tortures herself, destroys herself on account of the neglect of that son there; and she wants him to believe that if she abandoned him when he was only two years old, it was because he indicates THE FATHER. made her do so.
The Mothervigorously. He forced me to it, and I call God to witness it. To THE MANAGER : Ask him indicates husband if it isn't true. Let him speak. You to THE STEP-DAUGHTER are not in a position to know anything about it.
The Step-DaughterI know you lived in peace and happiness with my father while he lived. Can you deny it?
The MotherNo, I don't deny it....
The Step-DaughterHe was always full of affection and kindness for you. to THE BOY, angrily : It's true, isn't it? Tell them! Why don't you speak, you little fool?
The MotherLeave the poor boy alone. Why do you want to make me appear ungrateful, daughter? I don't want to offend your father. I have answered him that I didn't abandon my house and my son through any fault of mine, nor from any wilful passion.
The FatherIt is true. It was my doing.
Leading Manto the Company What a spectacle!
Leading LadyWe are the audience this time.
Juvenile LeadFor once, in a way.
The Managerbeginning to get really interested. Let's hear them out. Listen!
The SonOh yes, you're going to hear a fine bit now. He will talk to you of the Demon of Experiment.
The FatherYou are a cynical imbecile. I've told you so already a hundred times. to THE MANAGER : He tries to make fun of me on account of this expression which I have found to excuse myself with.
The Sonwith disgust. Yes, phrases! phrases!
The FatherPhrases! Isn't everyone consoled when faced with a trouble or fact he doesn't understand, by a word, some simple word, which tells us nothing and yet calms us?
The Step-DaughterEven in the case of remorse. In fact, especially then.
The FatherRemorse? No, that isn't true. I've done more than use words to quieten the remorse in me.
The Step-DaughterYes, there was a bit of money too. Yes, yes, a bit of money. There were the hundred lire he was about to offer me in payment, gentlemen.... sensation of horror among the actors.
The Sonto THE STEP-DAUGHTER This is vile.
The Step-DaughterVile? There they were in a pale blue envelope on a little mahogany table in the back of Madame Pace's shop. You know Madame Pace—one of those ladies who attract poor girls of good family into their ateliers, under the pretext of their selling robes et manteaux .
The SonAnd he thinks he has bought the right to tyrannise over us all with those hundred lire he was going to pay; but which, fortunately—note this, gentlemen—he had no chance of paying.
The Step-DaughterIt was a near thing, though, you know! laughs ironically.
The Motherprotesting. Shame, my daughter, shame!
The Step-DaughterShame indeed! This is my revenge! I am dying to live that scene.... The room ... I see it.... Here is the window with the mantles exposed, there the divan, the looking-glass, a screen, there in front of the window the little mahogany table with the blue envelope containing one hundred lire. I see it. I see it. I could take hold of it.... But you, gentlemen, you ought to turn your backs now: I am almost nude, you know. But I don't blush: I leave that to him indicating THE FATHER .
The ManagerI don't understand this at all.
The FatherNaturally enough. I would ask you, sir, to exercise your authority a little here, and let me speak before you believe all she is trying to blame me with. Let me explain.
The Step-DaughterAh yes, explain it in your own way.
The FatherBut don't you see that the whole trouble lies here. In words, words. Each one of us has within him a whole world of things, each man of us his own special world. And how can we ever come to an understanding if I put in the words I utter the sense and value of things as I see them; while you who listen to me must inevitably translate them according to the conception of things each one of you has within himself. We think we understand each other, but we never really do! Look here! This woman indicating THE MOTHER takes all my pity for her as a specially ferocious form of cruelty.
The MotherBut you drove me away.
The FatherDo you hear her? I drove her away! She believes I really sent her away.
The MotherYou know how to talk, and I don't; but, believe me sir, to THE MANAGER after he had married me ... who knows why? ... I was a poor insignificant woman....
The FatherBut, good Heavens! it was just for your humility that I married you. I loved this simplicity in you He stops when he sees she makes signs to contradict him, opens his arms wide in sign of desperation, seeing how hopeless it is to make himself understood. You see she denies it. Her mental deafness, believe me, is phenomenal, the limit touches his forehead : deaf, deaf, mentally deaf! She has plenty of feeling. Oh yes, a good heart for the children; but the brain—deaf, to the point of desperation—!
The Step-DaughterYes, but ask him how his intelligence has helped us.
The FatherIf we could see all the evil that may spring from good, what should we do? At this point the LEADING LADY who is biting her lips with rage at seeing the LEADING MAN flirting with THE STEP-DAUGHTER, comes forward and says to THE MANAGER.
Leading LadyExcuse me, but are we going to rehearse today?
The ManagerOf course, of course; but let's hear them out.
Juvenile LeadThis is something quite new.
L'IngénueMost interesting!
Leading LadyYes, for the people who like that kind of thing. casts a glance at LEADING MAN.
The Managerto THE FATHER You must please explain yourself quite clearly. sits down.
The FatherVery well then: listen! I had in my service a poor man, a clerk, a secretary of mine, full of devotion, who became friends with her indicating THE MOTHER . They understood one another, were kindred souls in fact, without, however, the least suspicion of any evil existing. They were incapable even of thinking of it.
The Step-DaughterSo he thought of it—for them!
The FatherThat's not true. I meant to do good to them—and to myself, I confess, at the same time. Things had come to the point that I could not say a word to either of them without their making a mute appeal, one to the other, with their eyes. I could see them silently asking each other how I was to be kept in countenance, how I was to be kept quiet. And this, believe me, was just about enough of itself to keep me in a constant rage, to exasperate me beyond measure.
The ManagerAnd why didn't you send him away then—this secretary of yours?
The FatherPrecisely what I did, sir. And then I had to watch this poor woman drifting forlornly about the house like an animal without a master, like an animal one has taken in out of pity.
The MotherAh yes...!
The Fathersuddenly turning to THE MOTHER. It's true about the son anyway, isn't it?
The MotherHe took my son away from me first of all.
The FatherBut not from cruelty. I did it so that he should grow up healthy and strong by living in the country.
The Step-Daughterpointing to him ironically. As one can see.
The Fatherquickly. Is it my fault if he has grown up like this? I sent him to a wet nurse in the country, a peasant, as she did not seem to me strong enough, though she is of humble origin. That was, anyway, the reason I married her. Unpleasant all this maybe, but how can it be helped? My mistake possibly, but there we are! All my life I have had these confounded aspirations towards a certain moral sanity. At this point THE STEP-DAUGHTER bursts out into a noisy laugh. Oh, stop, it! Stop it! I can't stand it.
The ManagerYes, please stop it, for Heaven's sake.
The Step-DaughterBut imagine moral sanity from him, if you please—the client of certain ateliers like that of Madame Pace!
The FatherFool! That is the proof that I am a man! This seeming contradiction, gentlemen, is the strongest proof that I stand here a live man before you. Why, it is just for this very incongruity in my nature that I have had to suffer what I have. I could not live by the side of that woman indicating THE MOTHER any longer; but not so much for the boredom she inspired me with as for the pity I felt for her.
The MotherAnd so he turned me out—.
The Father—well provided for! Yes, I sent her to that man, gentlemen ... to let her go free of me.
The MotherAnd to free himself.
The FatherYes, I admit it. It was also a liberation for me. But great evil has come of it. I meant well when I did it; and I did it more for her sake than mine. I swear it crosses his arms on his chest; then turns suddenly to THE MOTHER. Did I ever lose sight of you until that other man carried you off to another town, like the angry fool he was? And on account of my pure interest in you ... my pure interest, I repeat, that had no base motive in it ... I watched with the tenderest concern the new family that grew up around her. She can bear witness to this points to THE STEP-DAUGHTER .
The Step-DaughterOh yes, that's true enough. When I was a kiddie, so so high, you know, with plaits over my shoulders and knickers longer than my skirts, I used to see him waiting outside the school for me to come out. He came to see how I was growing up.
The FatherThis is infamous, shameful!
The Step-DaughterNo, why?
The FatherInfamous! infamous! Then excitedly to THE MANAGER explaining. After she indicating THE MOTHER went away, my house seemed suddenly empty. She was my incubus, but she filled my house. I was like a dazed fly alone in the empty rooms. This boy here indicating THE SON was educated away from home, and when he came back, he seemed to me to be no more mine. With no mother to stand between him and me, he grew up entirely for himself, on his own, apart, with no tie of intellect or affection binding him to me. And then—strange but true—I was driven, by curiosity at first and then by some tender sentiment, towards her family, which had come into being through my will. The thought of her began gradually to fill up the emptiness I felt all around me. I wanted to know if she were happy in living out the simple daily duties of life. I wanted to think of her as fortunate and happy because far away from the complicated torments of my spirit. And so, to have proof of this, I used to watch that child coming out of school.
The Step-DaughterYes, yes. True. He used to follow me in the street and smiled at me, waved his hand, like this. I would look at him with interest, wondering who he might be. I told my mother, who guessed at once THE MOTHER agrees with a nod. Then she didn't want to send me to school for some days; and when I finally went back, there he was again—looking so ridiculous—with a paper parcel in his hands. He came close to me, caressed me, and drew out a fine straw hat from the parcel, with a bouquet of flowers—all for me!
The ManagerA bit discursive this, you know!
The Soncontemptuously. Literature! Literature!
The FatherLiterature indeed! This is life, this is passion!
The ManagerIt may be, but it won't act.
The FatherI agree. This is only the part leading up. I don't suggest this should be staged. She pointing to THE STEP-DAUGHTER , as you see, is no longer the flapper with plaits down her back—.
The Step-Daughter—and the knickers showing below the skirt!
The FatherThe drama is coming now, sir; something new, complex, most interesting.
The Step-DaughterAs soon as my father died....
The Father—there was absolute misery for them. They came back here, unknown to me. Through her stupidity pointing to THE MOTHER ! It is true she can barely write her own name; but she could anyhow have got her daughter to write to me that they were in need....
The MotherAnd how was I to divine all this sentiment in him?
The FatherThat is exactly your mistake, never to have guessed any of my sentiments.
The MotherAfter so many years apart, and all that had happened....
The FatherWas it my fault if that fellow carried you away? It happened quite suddenly; for after he had obtained some job or other, I could find no trace of them; and so, not unnaturally, my interest in them dwindled. But the drama culminated unforeseen and violent on their return, when I was impelled by my miserable flesh that still lives.... Ah! what misery, what wretchedness is that of the man who is alone and disdains debasing liaisons ! Not old enough to do without women, and not young enough to go and look for one without shame. Misery? It's worse than misery; it's a horror; for no woman can any longer give him love; and when a man feels this ... One ought to do without, you say? Yes, yes, I know. Each of us when he appears before his fellows is clothed in a certain dignity. But every man knows what unconfessable things pass within the secrecy of his own heart. One gives way to the temptation, only to rise from it again, afterwards, with a great eagerness to reestablish one's dignity, as if it were a tomb-stone to place on the grave of one's shame, and a monument to hide and sign the memory of our weaknesses. Everybody's in the same case. Some folks haven't the courage to say certain things, that's all!
The Step-DaughterAll appear to have the courage to do them though.
The FatherYes, but in secret. Therefore, you want more courage to say these things. Let a man but speak these things out, and folks at once label him a cynic. But it isn't true. He is like all the others, better indeed, because he isn't afraid to reveal with the light of the intelligence the red shame of human bestiality on which most men close their eyes so as not to see it.
Woman—for example, look at her case! She turns tantalizing inviting glances on you. You seize her. No sooner does she feel herself in your grasp than she closes her eyes. It is the sign of her mission, the sign by which she says to man: "Blind yourself, for I am blind."
The Step-DaughterSometimes she can close them no more: when she no longer feels the need of hiding her shame to herself, but dry-eyed and dispassionately, sees only that of the man who has blinded himself without love. Oh, all these intellectual complications make me sick, disgust me—all this philosophy that uncovers the beast in man, and then seeks to save him, excuse him ... I can't stand it, sir. When a man seeks to "simplify" life bestially, throwing aside every relic of humanity, every chaste aspiration, every pure feeling, all sense of ideality, duty, modesty, shame ... then nothing is more revolting and nauseous than a certain kind of remorse—crocodiles' tears, that's what it is.
The ManagerLet's come to the point. This is only discussion.
The FatherVery good, sir! But a fact is like a sack which won't stand up when it is empty. In order that it may stand up, one has to put into it the reason and sentiment which have caused it to exist. I couldn't possibly know that after the death of that man, they had decided to return here, that they were in misery, and that she pointing to THE MOTHER. had gone to work as a modiste, and at a shop of the type of that of Madame Pace.
The Step-DaughterA real high-class modiste, you must know, gentlemen. In appearance, she works for the leaders of the best society; but she arranges matters so that these elegant ladies serve her purpose ... without prejudice to other ladies who are ... well ... only so so.
The MotherYou will believe me, gentlemen, that it never entered my mind that the old hag offered me work because she had her eye on my daughter.
The Step-DaughterPoor mamma! Do you know, sir, what that woman did when I brought her back the work my mother had finished? She would point out to me that I had torn one of my frocks, and she would give it back to my mother to mend. It was I who paid for it, always I; while this poor creature here believed she was sacrificing herself for me and these two children here, sitting up at night sewing Madame Pace's robes.
The ManagerAnd one day you met there....
The Step-DaughterHim, him. Yes sir, an old client. There's a scene for you to play! Superb!
The FatherShe, the Mother arrived just then....
The Step-Daughtertreacherously. Almost in time!
The Fathercrying out. No, in time! in time! Fortunately I recognized her ... in time. And I took them back home with me to my house. You can imagine now her position and mine: she, as you see her; and I who cannot look her in the face.
The Step-DaughterAbsurd! How can I possibly be expected—after that—to be a modest young miss, a fit person to go with his confounded aspirations for "a solid moral sanity"?
The FatherFor the drama lies all in this—in the conscience that I have, that each one of us has. We believe this conscience to be a single thing, but it is many-sided. There is one for this person, and another for that. Diverse consciences. So we have this illusion of being one person for all, of having a personality that is unique in all our acts. But it isn't true. We perceive this when, tragically perhaps, in something we do, we are as it were, suspended, caught up in the air on a kind of hook. Then we perceive that all of us was not in that act, and that it would be an atrocious injustice to judge us by that action alone, as if all our existence were summed up in that one deed. Now do you understand the perfidy of this girl? She surprised me in a place, where she ought not to have known me, just as I could not exist for her; and she now seeks to attach to me a reality such as I could never suppose I should have to assume for her in a shameful and fleeting moment of my life. I feel this above all else. And the drama, you will see, acquires a tremendous value from this point. Then there is the position of the others ... his.... indicating THE SON
The Sonshrugging his shoulders scornfully. Leave me alone! I don't come into this.
The FatherWhat? You don't come into this?
The SonI've got nothing to do with it, and don't want to have; because you know well enough I wasn't made to be mixed up in all this with the rest of you.
The Step-DaughterWe are only vulgar folk! He is the fine gentleman. You may have noticed, Mr. Manager, that I fix him now and again with a look of scorn while he lowers his eyes—for he knows the evil he has done me.
The Sonscarcely looking at her. I?
The Step-DaughterYou! you! I owe my life on the streets to you. Did you or did you not deny us, with your behaviour, I won't say the intimacy of home, but even that mere hospitality which makes guests feel at their ease? We were intruders who had come to disturb the kingdom of your legitimacy. I should like to have you witness, Mr. Manager, certain scenes between him and me. He says I have tyrannized over everyone. But it was just his behaviour which made me insist on the reason for which I had come into the house,—this reason he calls "vile"—into his house, with my mother who is his mother too. And I came as mistress of the house.
The SonIt's easy for them to put me always in the wrong. But imagine, gentlemen, the position of a son, whose fate it is to see arrive one day at his home a young woman of impudent bearing, a young woman who inquires for his> father, with whom who knows what business she has. This young man has then to witness her return bolder than ever, accompanied by that child there. He is obliged to watch her treat his father in an equivocal and confidential manner. She asks money of him in a way that lets one suppose he must give it her, must , do you understand, because he has every obligation to do so.
The FatherBut I have, as a matter of fact, this obligation. I owe it to your mother.
The SonHow should I know? When had I ever seen or heard of her? One day there arrive with her indicating THE STEP-DAUGHTER that lad and this baby here. I am told: "This is your mother too, you know." I divine from her manner indicating THE STEP-DAUGHTER again why it is they have come home. I had rather not say what I feel and think about it. I shouldn't even care to confess to myself. No action can therefore be hoped for from me in this affair. Believe me, Mr. Manager, I am an "unrealized" character, dramatically speaking; and I find myself not at all at ease in their company. Leave me out of it, I beg you.
The FatherWhat? It is just because you are so that....
The SonHow do you know what I am like? When did you ever bother your head about me?
The FatherI admit it. I admit it. But isn't that a situation in itself? This aloofness of yours which is so cruel to me and to your mother, who returns home and sees you almost for the first time grown up, who doesn't recognize you but knows you are her son.... pointing out THE MOTHER to THE MANAGER. See, she's crying!
The Step-Daughterangrily, stamping her foot. Like a fool!
The Fatherindicating THE STEP-DAUGHTER She can't stand him you know. Then referring again to THE SON : He says he doesn't come into the affair, whereas he is really the hinge of the whole action. Look at that lad who is always clinging to his mother, frightened and humiliated. It is on account of this fellow here. Possibly his situation is the most painful of all. He feels himself a stranger more than the others. The poor little chap feels mortified, humiliated at being brought into a home out of charity as it were. In confidence —: He is the image of his father. Hardly talks at all. Humble and quiet.
The ManagerOh, we'll cut him out. You've no notion what a nuisance boys are on the stage....
The FatherHe disappears soon, you know. And the baby too. She is the first to vanish from the scene. The drama consists finally in this: when that mother re-enters my house, her family born outside of it, and shall we say superimposed on the original, ends with the death of the little girl, the tragedy of the boy and the flight of the elder daughter. It cannot go on, because it is foreign to its surroundings. So after much torment, we three remain: I, the mother, that son. Then, owing to the disappearance of that extraneous family, we too find ourselves strange to one another. We find we are living in an atmosphere of mortal desolation which is the revenge, as he indicating THE SON scornfully said of the Demon of Experiment, that unfortunately hides in me. Thus, sir, you see when faith is lacking, it becomes impossible to create certain states of happiness, for we lack the necessary humility. Vaingloriously, we try to substitute ourselves for this faith, creating thus for the rest of the world a reality which we believe after their fashion, while, actually, it doesn't exist. For each one of us has his own reality to be respected before God, even when it is harmful to one's very self.
The ManagerThere is something in what you say. I assure you all this interests me very much. I begin to think there's the stuff for a drama in all this, and not a bad drama either.
The Step-Daughtercoming forward. When you've got a character like me.
The Fathershutting her up, all excited to learn the decision of THE MANAGER. You be quiet!
The Managerreflecting, heedless of interruption. It's new ... hem ... yes....
The FatherAbsolutely new!
The ManagerYou've got a nerve though, I must say, to come here and fling it at me like this....
The FatherYou will understand, sir, born as we are for the stage....
The ManagerAre you amateur actors then?
The FatherNo. I say born for the stage, because....
The ManagerOh, nonsense. You're an old hand, you know.
The FatherNo sir, no. We act that rôle for which we have been cast, that rôle which we are given in life. And in my own case, passion itself, as usually happens, becomes a trifle theatrical when it is exalted.
The ManagerWell, well, that will do. But you see, without an author ... I could give you the address of an author if you like....
The FatherNo, no. Look here! You must be the author.
The ManagerI? What are you talking about?
The FatherYes, you, you! Why not?
The ManagerBecause I have never been an author: that's why.
The FatherThen why not turn author now? Everybody does it. You don't want any special qualities. Your task is made much easier by the fact that we are all here alive before you....
The ManagerIt won't do.
The FatherWhat? When you see us live our drama....
The ManagerYes, that's all right. But you want someone to write it.
The FatherNo, no. Someone to take it down, possibly, while we play it, scene by scene! It will be enough to sketch it out at first, and then try it over.
The ManagerWell ... I am almost tempted. It's a bit of an idea. One might have a shot at it.
The FatherOf course. You'll see what scenes will come out of it. I can give you one, at once....
The ManagerBy Jove, it tempts me. I'd like to have a go at it. Let's try it out. Come with me to my office turning to the Actors. You are at liberty for a bit, but don't stop out of THEatre for long. In a quarter of an hour, twenty minutes, all back here again! To THE FATHER : We'll see what can be done. Who knows if we don't get something really extraordinary out of it?
The FatherThere's no doubt about it. They indicating the Characters had better come with us too, hadn't they?
The ManagerYes, yes. Come on! come on! Moves away and then turning to the actors : Be punctual, please! THE MANAGER and the Six Characters cross the stage and go off. The other actors remain, looking at one another in astonishment.
Leading ManIs he serious? What the devil does he want to do?
Juvenile LeadThis is rank madness.
Third ActorDoes he expect to knock up a drama in five minutes?
Juvenile LeadLike the improvisers!
Leading LadyIf he thinks I'm going to take part in a joke like this....
Juvenile LeadI'm out of it anyway.
Fourth ActorI should like to know who they are alludes to Characters .
Third ActorWhat do you suppose? Madmen or rascals!
Juvenile LeadAnd he takes them seriously!
L'IngénueVanity! He fancies himself as an author now.
Leading ManIt's absolutely unheard of. If the stage has come to this ... well I'm....
Fifth ActorIt's rather a joke.
Third ActorWell, we'll see what's going to happen next.
Thus talking, the actors leave the stage; some going out by the little door at the back; others retiring to their dressing-rooms.The curtain remains up.
The action of the play is suspended for twenty minutes. Act II The stage call-bells ring to warn the company that the play is about to begin again.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER comes out of THE MANAGER'S office along with THE CHILD and THE BOY. As she comes out of the office, she cries:—
Nonsense! nonsense! Do it yourselves! I'm not going to mix myself up in this mess. Turning to THE CHILD and coming quickly with her on to the stage : Come on, Rosetta, let's run!
THE BOY follows them slowly, remaining a little behind and seeming perplexed). The Step-DaughterStops, bends over THE CHILD and takes the latter's face between her hands. My little darling! You're frightened, aren't you? You don't know where we are, do you? Pretending to reply to a question of THE CHILD : What is the stage? It's a place, baby, you know, where people play at being serious, a place where they act comedies. We've got to act a comedy now, dead serious, you know; and you're in it also, little one. Embraces her, pressing the little head to her breast, and rocking the child for a moment. Oh darling, darling, what a horrid comedy you've got to play! What a wretched part they've found for you! A garden ... a fountain ... look ... just suppose, kiddie, it's here. Where, you say? Why, right here in the middle. It's all pretence you know. That's the trouble, my pet: it's all make-believe here. It's better to imagine it though, because if they fix it up for you, it'll only be painted cardboard, painted cardboard for the rockery, the water, the plants.... Ah, but I think a baby like this one would sooner have a make-believe fountain than a real one, so she could play with it. What a joke it'll be for the others! But for you, alas! not quite such a joke: you who are real, baby dear, and really play by a real fountain this big and green and beautiful, with ever so many bamboos around it that are reflected in the water, and a whole lot of little ducks swimming about.... No, Rosetta, no, your mother doesn't bother about you on account of that wretch of a son there. I'm in the devil of a temper, and as for that lad.... Seizes THE BOY by the arm to force him to take one of his hands out of his pockets. What have you got there? What are you hiding? Pulls his hand out of his pocket, looks into it and catches the glint of a revolver. Ah! where did you get this?
THE BOY, very pale in the face, looks at her, but does not answer.Idiot! If I'd been in your place, instead of killing myself, I'd have shot one of those two, or both of them: father and son.
THE FATHER enters from the office, all excited from his work. THE MANAGER follows him. The FatherCome on, come on dear! Come here for a minute! We've arranged everything. It's all fixed up.
The Manageralso excited. If you please, young lady, there are one or two points to settle still. Will you come along?
The Step-Daughterfollowing him towards the office. Ouff! what's the good, if you've arranged everything.
THE FATHER, THE MANAGER, and THE STEP-DAUGHTER go back into the office again (off) for a moment. At the same time, THE SON followed by THE MOTHER, comes out. The Sonlooking at the three entering office. Oh this is fine, fine! And to think I can't even get away!
THE MOTHER attempts to look at him, but lowers her eyes immediately when he turns away from her. She then sits down. THE BOY and THE CHILD approach her. She casts a glance again at THE SON, and speaks with humble tones, trying to draw him into conversation. The MotherAnd isn't my punishment the worst of all? Then seeing from THE SON'S manner that he will not bother himself about her. My God! Why are you so cruel? Isn't it enough for one person to support all this torment? Must you then insist on others seeing it also?
The Sonhalf to himself, meaning THE MOTHER to hear, however. And they want to put it on the stage! If there was at least a reason for it! He thinks he has got at the meaning of it all. Just as if each one of us in every circumstance of life couldn't find his own explanation of it! Pauses. He complains he was discovered in a place where he ought not to have been seen, in a moment of his life which ought to have remained hidden and kept out of the reach of that convention which he has to maintain for other people. And what about my case? Haven't I had to reveal what no son ought ever to reveal: how father and mother live and are man and wife for themselves quite apart from that idea of father and mother which we give them? When this idea is revealed, our life is then linked at one point only to that man and that woman; and as such it should shame them, shouldn't it?
THE MOTHER hides her face in her hands. From the dressing-rooms and the little door at the back of the stage the actors and the STAGE MANAGER return, followed by the PROPERTY MAN, and the PROMPTER. At the same moment, THE MANAGER comes out of his office, accompanied by THE FATHER and THE STEP-DAUGHTER. The ManagerCome on, come on, ladies and gentlemen! Heh! you there, machinist!
MachinistYes sir?
The ManagerFix up the white parlor with the floral decorations. Two wings and a drop with a door will do. Hurry up!
The MACHINIST runs off at once to prepare the scene, and arranges it while THE MANAGER talks with the STAGE MANAGER, the PROPERTY MAN, and the PROMPTER on matters of detail. The Managerto PROPERTY MAN Just have a look, and see if there isn't a sofa or divan in the wardrobe....
Property ManThere's the green one.
The Step-DaughterNo no! Green won't do. It was yellow, ornamented with flowers—very large! and most comfortable!
Property ManThere isn't one like that.
The ManagerIt doesn't matter. Use the one we've got.
The Step-DaughterDoesn't matter? It's most important!
The ManagerWe're only trying it now. Please don't interfere. To PROPERTY MAN : See if we've got a shop window—long and narrowish.
The Step-DaughterAnd the little table! The little mahogany table for the pale blue envelope!
Property ManTo THE MANAGER There's that little gilt one.
The ManagerThat'll do fine.
The FatherA mirror.
The Step-DaughterAnd the screen! We must have a screen. Otherwise how can I manage?
Property ManThat's all right, Miss. We've got any amount of them.
The Managerto THE STEP-DAUGHTER We want some clothes pegs too, don't we?
The Step-DaughterYes, several, several!
The ManagerSee how many we've got and bring them all.
Property ManAll right!
The PROPERTY MAN hurries off to obey his orders. While he is putting the things in their places, THE MANAGER talks to the PROMPTER and then with the Characters and the actors. The Managerto PROMPTER Take your seat. Look here: this is the outline of the scenes, act by act hands him some sheets of paper. And now I'm going to ask you to do something out of the ordinary.
PrompterTake it down in shorthand?
The Managerpleasantly surprised. Exactly! Can you do shorthand?
PrompterYes, a little.
The ManagerGood! Turning to a stage hand : Go and get some paper from my office, plenty, as much as you can find.
The stage hand goes off, and soon returns with a handful of paper which he gives to the PROMPTER. The ManagerTo PROMPTER You follow the scenes as we play them, and try and get the points down, at any rate the most important ones. Then addressing the actors : Clear the stage, ladies and gentlemen! Come over here pointing to the Left. and listen attentively.
Leading LadyBut, excuse me, we....
The Managerguessing her thought. Don't worry! You won't have to improvise.
Leading ManWhat have we to do then?
The ManagerNothing. For the moment you just watch and listen. Everybody will get his part written out afterwards. At present we're going to try the thing as best we can. They're going to act now.
The Fatheras if fallen from the clouds into the confusion of the stage. We? What do you mean, if you please, by a rehearsal?
The ManagerA rehearsal for them points to the actors .
The FatherBut since we are the characters....
The ManagerAll right: "characters" then, if you insist on calling yourselves such. But here, my dear sir, the characters don't act. Here the actors do the acting. The characters are there, in the "book" pointing towards PROMPTER'S box —when there is a "book"!
The FatherI won't contradict you; but excuse me, the actors aren't the characters. They want to be, they pretend to be, don't they? Now if these gentlemen here are fortunate enough to have us alive before them....
The ManagerOh this is grand! You want to come before the public yourselves then?
The FatherAs we are....
The ManagerI can assure you it would be a magnificent spectacle!
Leading ManWhat's the use of us here anyway then?
The ManagerYou're not going to pretend that you can act? It makes me laugh! The actors laugh. There, you see, they are laughing at the notion. But, by the way, I must cast the parts. That won't be difficult. They cast themselves. To the SECOND LADY LEAD : You play the Mother. To THE FATHER : We must find her a name.
The FatherAmalia, sir.
The ManagerBut that is the real name of your wife. We don't want to call her by her real name.
The FatherWhy ever not, if it is her name? Still, perhaps, if that lady must.... makes a slight motion of the hand to indicate the SECOND LADY LEAD. I see this woman here means THE MOTHER. as Amalia. But do as you like gets more and more confused. I don't know what to say to you. Already, I begin to hear my own words ring false, as if they had another sound....
The ManagerDon't you worry about it. It'll be our job to find the right tones. And as for her name, if you want her Amalia, Amalia it shall be; and if you don't like it, we'll find another! For the moment though, we'll call the characters in this way: to JUVENILE LEAD : You are the Son; to the LEADING LADY : You naturally are the Step-Daughter.
The Step-Daughterexcitedly. What? what? I, that woman there? Bursts out laughing.
The Managerangry. What is there to laugh at?
Leading Ladyindignant. Nobody has ever dared to laugh at me. I insist on being treated with respect; otherwise I go away.
The Step-DaughterNo, no, excuse me ... I am not laughing at you....
The Managerto THE STEP-DAUGHTER You ought to feel honoured to be played by....
Leading Ladyat once, contemptuously. "That woman there"....
The Step-DaughterBut I wasn't speaking of you, you know. I was speaking of myself—whom I can't see at all in you! That is all. I don't know ... but ... you ... aren't in the least like me....
The FatherTrue. Here's the point. Look here, sir, our temperaments, our souls....
The ManagerTemperament, soul, be hanged! Do you suppose the spirit of the piece is in you? Nothing of the kind!
The FatherWhat, haven't we our own temperaments, our own souls?
The ManagerNot at all. Your soul or whatever you like to call it takes shape here. The actors give body and form to it, voice and gesture. And my actors—I may tell you—have given expression to much more lofty material than this little drama of yours, which may or may not hold up on the stage. But if it does, the merit of it, believe me, will be due to my actors.
The FatherI don't dare contradict you, sir; but, believe me, it is a terrible suffering for us who are as we are, with these bodies of ours, these features to see....
The Managercutting him short and out of patience. Good heavens! The make-up will remedy all that, man, the make-up....
The FatherMaybe. But the voice, the gestures....
The ManagerNow, look here! On the stage, you as yourself, cannot exist. The actor here acts you, and that's an end to it!
The FatherI understand. And now I think I see why our author who conceived us as we are, all alive, didn't want to put us on the stage after all. I haven't the least desire to offend your actors. Far from it! But when I think that I am to be acted by ... I don't know by whom....
Leading Manon his dignity. By me, if you've no objection!
The Fatherhumbly, mellifluously. Honoured, I assure you, sir. Bows. Still, I must say that try as this gentleman may, with all his good will and wonderful art, to absorb me into himself....
Leading ManOh chuck it! "Wonderful art!" Withdraw that, please!
The FatherThe performance he will give, even doing his best with make-up to look like me....
Leading ManIt will certainly be a rat difficult! The actors laugh.
The FatherExactly! It will be difficult to act me as I really am. The effect will be rather—apart from the make-up—according as to how he supposes I am, as he senses me—if he does sense me—and not as I inside of myself feel myself to be. It seems to me then that account should be taken of this by everyone whose duty it may become to criticize us....
The ManagerHeavens! The man's starting to think about the critics now! Let them say what they like. It's up to us to put on the play if we can looking around. Come on! come on! Is the stage set? To the actors and characters : Stand back—stand back! Let me see, and don't let's lose any more time! To THE STEP-DAUGHTER : Is it all right as it is now?
The Step-DaughterWell, to tell the truth, I don't recognize the scene.
The ManagerMy dear lady, you can't possibly suppose that we can construct that shop of Madame Pace piece by piece here? To THE FATHER : You said a white room with flowered wall paper, didn't you?
The FatherYes.
The ManagerWell then. We've got the furniture right more or less. Bring that little table a bit further forward. The stage hands obey the order. To PROPERTY MAN : You go and find an envelope, if possible, a pale blue one; and give it to that gentleman indicates THE FATHER .
Property ManAn ordinary envelope?
The Manager and The FatherYes, yes, an ordinary envelope.
Property ManAt once, sir. exit.
The ManagerReady, everyone! First scene—the Young Lady. The LEADING LADY comes forward. No, no, you must wait. I meant her indicating THE STEP-DAUGHTER . You just watch—
The Step-Daughteradding at once. How I shall play it, how I shall live it!...
Leading Ladyoffended. I shall live it also, you may be sure, as soon as I begin!
The Managerwith his hands to his head. Ladies and gentlemen, if you please! No more useless discussions! Scene I: the young lady with Madame Pace: Oh! looks around as if lost. And this Madame Pace, where is she?
The FatherShe isn't with us, sir.
The ManagerThen what the devil's to be done?
The FatherBut she is alive too.
The ManagerYes, but where is she?
The FatherOne minute. Let me speak! turning to the actresses. If these ladies would be so good as to give me their hats for a moment....
The Actresseshalf surprised, half laughing, in chorus. What?
Why?
Our hats?
What does he say?
The ManagerWhat are you going to do with the ladies' hats? The actors laugh.
The FatherOh nothing. I just want to put them on these pegs for a moment. And one of the ladies will be so kind as to take off her mantle....
The ActorsOh, what d'you think of that?
Only the mantle?
He must be mad.
Some ActressesBut why?
Mantles as well?
The FatherTo hang them up here for a moment Please be so kind, will you?
The Actressestaking off their hats, one or two also their cloaks, and going to hang them on the racks. After all, why not?
There you are!
This is really funny.
We've got to put them on show.
The FatherExactly; just like that, on show.
The ManagerMay we know why?
The FatherI'll tell you. Who knows if, by arranging the stage for her, she does not come here herself, attracted by the very articles of her trade? Inviting the actors to look towards the exit at back of stage : Look! Look!
The door at the back of stage opens and MADAME PACE enters and takes a few steps forward. She is a fat, oldish woman with puffy oxygenated hair. She is rouged and powdered, dressed with a comical elegance in black silk. Round her waist is a long silver chain from which hangs a pair of scissors. THE STEP-DAUGHTER runs over to her at once amid the stupor of the actors. The Step-Daughterturning towards her. There she is! There she is!
The Fatherradiant. It's she! I said so, didn't I? There she is!
The Managerconquering his surprise, and then becoming indignant. What sort of a trick is this?
Leading Manalmost at the same time. What's going to happen next?
Juvenile LeadWhere does she come from?
L'IngénueThey've been holding her in reserve, I guess.
Leading LadyA vulgar trick!
The Fatherdominating the protests. Excuse me, all of you! Why are you so anxious to destroy in the name of a vulgar, commonplace sense of truth, this reality which comes to birth attracted and formed by the magic of the stage itself, which has indeed more right to live here than you, since it is much truer than you—if you don't mind my saying so? Which is the actress among you who is to play Madame Pace? Well, here is Madame Pace herself. And you will allow, I fancy, that the actress who acts her will be less true than this woman here, who is herself in person. You see my daughter recognized her and went over to her at once. Now you're going to witness the scene!
But the scene between THE STEP-DAUGHTER and MADAME PACE has already begun despite the protest of the actors and the reply of THE FATHER. It has begun quietly, naturally, in a manner impossible for the stage. So when the actors, called to attention by THE FATHER, turn round and see MADAME PACE, who has placed one hand under THE STEP-DAUGHTER'S chin to raise her head, they observe her at first with great attention, but hearing her speak in an unintelligible manner their interest begins to wane. The ManagerWell? well?
Leading ManWhat does she say?
Leading LadyOne can't hear a word.
Juvenile LeadLouder! Louder please!
The Step-Daughterleaving MADAME PACE, who smiles a Sphinx-like smile, and advancing towards the actors. Louder? Louder? What are you talking about? These aren't matters which can be shouted at the top of one's voice. If I have spoken them out loud, it was to shame him and have my revenge indicates THE FATHER. But for Madame it's quite a different matter.
The ManagerIndeed? indeed? But here, you know, people have got to make themselves heard, my dear. Even we who are on the stage can't hear you. What will it be when the public's in THEatre? And anyway, you can very well speak up now among yourselves, since we shan't be present to listen to you as we are now. You've got to pretend to be alone in a room at the back of a shop where no one can hear you.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER coquettishly and with a touch of malice makes a sign of disagreement two or three times with her finger. The ManagerWhat do you mean by no?
The Step-Daughtersotto voce, mysteriously. There's someone who will hear us if she indicating MADAME PACE speaks out loud.
The Managerin consternation. What? Have you got someone else to spring on us now? The actors burst out laughing.
The FatherNo, no sir. She is alluding to me. I've got to be here—there behind that door, in waiting; and Madame Pace knows it. In fact, if you will allow me, I'll go there at once, so I can be quite ready. Moves away.
The Managerstopping him. No! Wait! wait! We must observe the conventions of THEatre. Before you are ready....
The Step-Daughterinterrupting him. No, get on with it at once! I'm just dying, I tell you, to act this scene. If he's ready, I'm more than ready.
The Managershouting. But, my dear young lady, first of all, we must have the scene between you and this lady ... indicates MADAME PACE. Do you understand?...
The Step-DaughterGood Heavens! She's been telling me what you know already: that mamma's work is badly done again, that the material's ruined; and that if I want her to continue to help us in our misery I must be patient....
Madame Pacecoming forward with an air of great importance. Yes indeed, sir, I no wanta take advantage of her, I no wanta be hard....
Note. Madame Face is supposed to talk in a jargon half Italian, half Spanish. The Manageralarmed. What? What? She talks like that? The actors burst out laughing again.
The Step-Daughteralso laughing. Yes yes, that's the way she talks, half English, half Italian! Most comical it is!
Madame PaceItta seem not verra polite gentlemen laugha atta me eef I trya best speaka English.
The ManagerDiamine ! Of course! Of course! Let her talk like that! Just what we want. Talk just like that, Madam, if you please! The effect will be certain. Exactly what was wanted to put a little comic relief into the crudity of the situation. Of course she talks like that! Magnificent!
The Step-DaughterMagnificent? Certainly! When certain suggestions are made to one in language of that kind, the effect is certain, since it seems almost a joke. One feels inclined to laugh when one hears her talk about an "old signore" "who wanta talka nicely with you." Nice old signore, eh, Madame?
Madame PaceNot so old my dear, not so old! And even if you no lika him, he won't make any scandal!
The Motherjumping up amid the amazement and consternation of the actors who had not been noticing her. They move to restrain her. You old devil! You murderess!
The Step-Daughterrunning over to calm her Mother. Calm yourself, mother, calm yourself! Please don't....
The Fathergoing to her also at the same time. Calm yourself! Don't get excited! Sit down now!
The MotherWell then, take that woman away out of my sight!
The Step-Daughterto THE MANAGER It is impossible for my mother to remain here.
The Fatherto THE MANAGER They can't be here together. And for this reason, you see: that woman there was not with us when we came.... If they are on together, the whole thing is given away inevitably, as you see.
The ManagerIt doesn't matter. This is only a first rough sketch—just to get an idea of the various points of the scene, even confusedly.... Turning to THE MOTHER and leading her to her chair : Come along, my dear lady, sit down now, and let's get on with the scene....
Meanwhile, THE STEP-DAUGHTER, coming forward again, turns to MADAME PACE. The Step-DaughterCome on, Madame, come on!
Madame Paceoffended. No, no, grazie . I not do anything witha your mother present.
The Step-DaughterNonsense! Introduce this "old signore" who wants to talk nicely to me addressing the company imperiously. We've got to do this scene one way or another, haven't we? Come on! to MADAME PACE : You can go!
Madame PaceAh yes! I go'way! I go'way! Certainly! Exits furious.
The Step-Daughterto THE FATHER Now you make your entry. No, you needn't go over here. Come here. Let's suppose you've already come in. Like that, yes! I'm here with bowed head, modest like. Come on! Out with your voice! Say "Good morning, Miss" in that peculiar tone, that special tone....
The ManagerExcuse me, but are you the Manager, or am I? To THE FATHER, who looks undecided and perplexed : Get on with it, man! Go down there to the back of the stage. You needn't go off. Then come right forward here.
THE FATHER does as he is told, looking troubled and perplexed at first. But as soon as he begins to move, the reality of the action affects him, and he begins to smile and to be more natural. The actors watch intently. The Managersottovoce, quickly to the PROMPTER in his box. Ready! ready? Get ready to write now.
The Fathercoming forward and speaking in a different tone. Good afternoon, Miss!
The Step-Daughterhead bowed down slightly, with restrained disgust. Good afternoon!
The Fatherlooks under her hat which partly covers her face. Perceiving she is very young, he makes an exclamation, partly of surprise, partly of fear lest he compromise himself in a risky adventure. "Ah ... but ... ah ... I say ... this is not the first time that you have come here, is it?"
The Step-Daughtermodestly. No sir.
The FatherYou've been here before, eh? Then seeing her nod agreement : More than once? Waits for her to answer, looks under her hat, smiles, and then says : Well then, there's no need to be so shy, is there? May I take off your hat?
The Step-Daughteranticipating him and with veiled disgust. No sir ... I'll do it myself. Takes it off quickly.
THE MOTHER, who watches the progress of the scene with THE SON and the other two children who cling to her, is on thorns; and follows with varying expressions of sorrow, indignation, anxiety, and horror the words and actions of the other two. From time to time she hides her face in her hands and sobs. The MotherOh, my God, my God!
The Fatherplaying his part with a touch of gallantry. Give it to me! I'll put it down takes hat from her hands. But a dear little head like yours ought to have a smarter hat. Come and help me choose one from the stock, won't you?
L'Ingénueinterrupting. I say ... those are our hats you know.
The Managerfurious. Silence! silence! Don't try and be funny, if you please.... We're playing the scene now I'd have you notice. To THE STEP-DAUGHTER : Begin again, please!
The Step-Daughtercontinuing. No thank you, sir.
The FatherOh, come now. Don't talk like that. You must take it. I shall be upset if you don't. There are some lovely little hats here; and then—Madame will be pleased. She expects it, anyway, you know.
The Step-DaughterNo, no! I couldn't wear it!
The FatherOh, you're thinking about what they'd say at home if they saw you come in with a new hat? My dear girl, there's always a way round these little matters, you know.
The Step-Daughterall keyed up. No, it's not that. I couldn't wear it because I am ... as you see ... you might have noticed.... showing her black dress.
The Father... in mourning! Of course: I beg your pardon: I'm frightfully sorry....
The Step-Daughterforcing herself to conquer her indignation and nausea. Stop! Stop! It's I who must thank you. There's no need for you to feel mortified or specially sorry. Don't think any more of what I've said. Tries to smile. I must forget that I am dressed so....
The Managerinterrupting and turning to the PROMPTER Stop a minute! Stop! Don't write that down. Cut out that last bit. Then to THE FATHER and THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Fine! it's going fine! To THE FATHER only : And now you can go on as we arranged. To the actors : Pretty good that scene, where he offers her the hat, eh?
The Step-DaughterThe best's coming now. Why can't we go on?
The ManagerHave a little patience! To the actors : Of course, it must be treated rather lightly.
Leading ManStill, with a bit of go in it!
Leading LadyOf course! It's easy enough! To LEADING MAN : Shall you and I try it now?
Leading ManWhy, yes! I'll prepare my entrance. Exit in order to make his entrance.
The Managerto LEADING LADY See here! The scene between you and Madame Pace is finished. I'll have it written out properly after. You remain here ... oh, where are you going?
Leading LadyOne minute. I want to put my hat on again. goes over to hat-rack and puts her hat on her head.
The ManagerGood! You stay here with your head bowed down a bit.
The Step-DaughterBut she isn't dressed in black.
Leading LadyBut I shall be, and much more effectively than you.
The Managerto THE STEP-DAUGHTER Be quiet please, and watch! You'll be able to learn something. Clapping his hands. Come on! come on! Entrance, please!
The door at rear of stage opens, and the LEADING MAN enters with the lively manner of an old gallant. The rendering of the scene by the actors from the very first words is seen to be quite a different thing, though it has not in any way the air of a parody. Naturally, THE STEP-DAUGHTER and THE FATHER, not being able to recognize themselves in the LEADING LADY and the LEADING MAN, who deliver their words in different tones and with a different psychology, express, sometimes with smiles, sometimes with gestures, the impression they receive. Leading ManGood afternoon, Miss....
The Fatherat once unable to contain himself. No! no!
THE STEP-DAUGHTER, noticing the way the LEADING MAN enters, bursts out laughing. The Managerfurious. Silence! And you please just stop that laughing. If we go on like this, we shall never finish.
The Step-DaughterForgive me, sir, but it's natural enough. This lady indicating LEADING LADY stands there still; but if she is supposed to be me, I can assure you that if I heard anyone say "Good afternoon" in that manner and in that tone, I should burst out laughing as I did.
The FatherYes, yes, the manner, the tone....
The ManagerNonsense! Rubbish! Stand aside and let me see the action.
Leading ManIf I've got to represent an old fellow who's coming into a house of an equivocal character....
The ManagerDon't listen to them, for Heaven's sake! Do it again! It goes fine. Waiting for the actors to begin again : Well?
Leading ManGood afternoon, Miss.
Leading LadyGood afternoon.
Leading Manimitating the gesture of THE FATHER when he looked under the hat, and then expressing quite clearly first satisfaction and then fear. Ah, but ... I say ... this is not the first time that you have come here, is it?
The ManagerGood, but not quite so heavily. Like this acts himself : "This isn't the first time that you have come here".... To LEADING LADY : And you say: "No, sir."
Leading LadyNo, sir.
Leading ManYou've been here before, more than once.
The ManagerNo, no, stop! Let her nod "yes" first.
"You've been here before, eh?" The LEADING LADY lifts up her head slightly and closes her eyes as though in disgust. Then she inclines her head twice.
The Step-Daughterunable to contain herself. Oh my God! Puts a hand to her mouth to prevent herself from laughing.
The Managerturning round. What's the matter?
The Step-DaughterNothing, nothing!
The Managerto LEADING MAN Go on!
Leading ManYou've been here before, eh? Well then, there's no need to be so shy, is there? May I take off your hat?
The LEADING MAN says this last speech in such a tone and with such gestures that THE STEP-DAUGHTER, though she has her hand to her mouth, cannot keep from laughing. Leading Ladyindignant. I'm not going to stop here to be made a fool of by that woman there.
Leading ManNeither am I! I'm through with it!
The Managershouting to THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Silence! for once and all, I tell you!
The Step-DaughterForgive me! forgive me!
The ManagerYou haven't any manners: that's what it is! You go too far.
The Fatherendeavouring to intervene. Yes, it's true, but excuse her....
The ManagerExcuse what? It's absolutely disgusting.
The FatherYes, sir, but believe me, it has such a strange effect when....
The ManagerStrange? Why strange? Where is it strange?
The FatherNo, sir; I admire your actors—this gentleman here, this lady; but they are certainly not us!
The ManagerI should hope not. Evidently they cannot be you, if they are actors.
The FatherJust so: actors! Both of them act our parts exceedingly well. But, believe me, it produces quite a different effect on us. They want to be us, but they aren't, all the same.
The ManagerWhat is it then anyway?
The FatherSomething that is ... that is theirs—and no longer ours....
The ManagerBut naturally, inevitably. I've told you so already.
The FatherYes, I understand ... I understand....
The ManagerWell then, let's have no more of it! Turning to the actors : We'll have the rehearsals by ourselves, afterwards, in the ordinary way. I never could stand rehearsing with the author present. He's never satisfied! Turning to THE FATHER and THE STEP-DAUGHTER : Come on! Let's get on with it again; and try and see if you can't keep from laughing.
The Step-DaughterOh, I shan't laugh any more. There's a nice little bit coming for me now: you'll see.
The ManagerWell then: when she says "Don't think any more of what I've said. I must forget, etc.," you addressing THE FATHER. come in sharp with "I understand, I understand"; and then you ask her....
The Step-Daughterinterrupting. What?
The ManagerWhy she is in mourning.
The Step-DaughterNot at all! See here: when I told him that it was useless for me to be thinking about my wearing mourning, do you know how he answered me? "Ah well," he said "then let's take off this little frock."
The ManagerGreat! Just what we want, to make a riot in THEatre!
The Step-DaughterBut it's the truth!
The ManagerWhat does that matter? Acting is our business here. Truth up to a certain point, but no further.
The Step-DaughterWhat do you want to do then?
The ManagerYou'll see, you'll see! Leave it to me.
The Step-DaughterNo sir! What you want to do is to piece together a little romantic sentimental scene out of my disgust, out of all the reasons, each more cruel and viler than the other, why I am what I am. He is to ask me why I'm in mourning; and I'm to answer with tears in my eyes, that it is just two months since papa died. No sir, no! He's got to say to me; as he did say: "Well, let's take off this little dress at once." And I; with my two months' mourning in my heart, went there behind that screen, and with these fingers tingling with shame....
The Managerrunning his hands through his hair. For Heaven's sake! What are you saying?
The Step-Daughtercrying out excitedly. The truth! The truth!
The ManagerIt may be. I don't deny it, and I can understand all your horror; but you must surely see that you can't have this kind of thing on the stage. It won't go.
The Step-DaughterNot possible, eh? Very well! I'm much obliged to you—but I'm off!
The ManagerNow be reasonable! Don't lose your temper!
The Step-DaughterI won't stop here! I won't! I can see you've fixed it all up with him in your office. All this talk about what is possible for the stage ... I understand! He wants to get at his complicated "cerebral drama," to have his famous remorses and torments acted; but I want to act my part, my part !
The Managerannoyed, shaking his shoulders. Ah! Just your part! But, if you will pardon me, there are other parts than yours: His indicating THE FATHER and hers indicating THE MOTHER ! On the stage you can't have a character becoming too prominent and overshadowing all the others. The thing is to pack them all into a neat little framework and then act what is actable. I am aware of the fact that everyone has his own interior life which he wants very much to put forward. But the difficulty lies in this fact: to set out just so much as is necessary for the stage, taking the other characters into consideration, and at the same time hint at the unrevealed interior life of each. I am willing to admit, my dear young lady, that from your point of view it would be a fine idea if each character could tell the public all his troubles in a nice monologue or a regular one hour lecture good humoredly. You must restrain yourself, my dear, and in your own interest, too; because this fury of yours, this exaggerated disgust you show, may make a bad impression, you know. After you have confessed to me that there were others before him at Madame Pace's and more than once....
The Step-Daughterbowing her head, impressed. It's true. But remember those others mean him for me all the same.
The Managernot understanding. What? The others? What do you mean?
The Step-DaughterFor one who has gone wrong, sir, he who was responsible for the first fault is responsible for all that follow. He is responsible for my faults, was, even before I was born. Look at him, and see if it isn't true!
The ManagerWell, well! And does the weight of so much responsibility seem nothing to you? Give him a chance to act it, to get it over!
The Step-DaughterHow? How can he act all his "noble remorses" all his "moral torments," if you want to spare him the horror of being discovered one day—after he had asked her what he did ask her—in the arms of her, that already fallen woman, that child, sir, that child he used to watch come out of school? She is moved.
THE MOTHER at this point is overcome with emotion, and breaks out into a fit of crying. All are touched. A long pause. The Step-Daughteras soon as THE MOTHER becomes a little quieter, adds resolutely and gravely. At present, we are unknown to the public. Tomorrow, you will act us as you wish, treating us in your own manner. But do you really want to see drama, do you want to see it flash out as it really did?
The ManagerOf course! That's just what I do want, so I can use as much of it as is possible.
The Step-DaughterWell then, ask that Mother there to leave us.
The Motherchanging her low plaint into a sharp cry. No! No! Don't permit it, sir, don't permit it!
The ManagerBut it's only to try it.
The MotherI can't bear it. I can't.
The ManagerBut since it has happened already ... I don't understand!
The MotherIt's taking place now. It happens all the time. My torment isn't a pretended one. I live and feel every minute of my torture. Those two children there—have you heard them speak? They can't speak any more. They cling to me to keep my torment actual and vivid for me. But for themselves, they do not exist, they aren't any more. And she indicating THE STEP-DAUGHTER has run away, she has left me, and is lost. If I now see her here before me, it is only to renew for me the tortures I have suffered for her too.
The FatherThe eternal moment! She indicating THE STEP-DAUGHTER is here to catch me, fix me, and hold me eternally in the stocks for that one fleeting and shameful moment of my life. She can't give it up! And you sir, cannot either fairly spare me it.
The ManagerI never said I didn't want to act it. It will form, as a matter of fact, the nucleus of the whole first act right up to her surprise indicates THE MOTHER .
The FatherJust so! This is my punishment: the passion in all of us that must culminate in her final cry.
The Step-DaughterI can hear it still in my ears. It's driven me mad, that cry!—You can put me on as you like; it doesn't matter. Fully dressed, if you like—provided I have at least the arm bare; because, standing like this she goes close to THE FATHER and leans her head on his breast. with my head so, and my arms round his neck, I saw a vein pulsing in my arm here; and then, as if that live vein had awakened disgust in me, I closed my eyes like this, and let my head sink on his breast. Turning to THE MOTHER. Cry out mother! Cry out! Buries head in THE FATHER'S breast, and with her shoulders raised as if to prevent her hearing the cry, adds in tones of intense emotion : Cry out as you did then!
The Mothercoming forward to separate them. No! My daughter, my daughter! And after having pulled her away from him : You brute! you brute! She is my daughter! Don't you see she's my daughter?
The Managerwalking backwards towards footlights. Fine! fine! Damned good! And then, of course—curtain!
The Fathergoing towards him excitedly. Yes, of course, because that's the way it really happened.
The Managerconvinced and pleased. Oh, yes, no doubt about it. Curtain here, curtain!
At the reiterated cry of THE MANAGER, the MACHINIST lets the curtain down, leaving THE MANAGER and THE FATHER in front of it before the footlights. The ManagerThe darned idiot! I said "curtain" to show the act should end there, and he goes and lets it down in earnest To THE FATHER, while he pulls the curtain back to go on to the stage again : Yes, yes, it's all right. Effect certain! That's the right ending. I'll guarantee the first act at any rate.
Act III When the curtain goes up again, it is seen that the stage hands have shifted the bit of scenery used in the last part, and have rigged up instead at the back of the stage a drop, with some trees, and one or two wings. A portion of a fountain basin is visible. THE MOTHER is sitting on the Right with the two children by her side. THE SON is on the same side, but away from the others. He seems bored, angry, and full of shame. THE FATHER and THE STEP-DAUGHTER are also seated towards the Right front. On the other side (Left) are the actors, much in the positions they occupied before the curtain was lowered. Only THE MANAGER is standing up in the middle of the stage, with his hand closed over his mouth in the act of meditating. The Managershaking his shoulders after a brief pause. Ah yes: the second act! Leave it to me, leave it all to me as we arranged, and you'll see! It'll go fine!
The Step-DaughterOur entry into his house indicates THE FATHER. in spite of him indicates THE SON. ...
The Managerout of patience. Leave it to me, I tell you!
The Step-DaughterDo let it be clear, at any rate, that it is in spite of my wishes.
The Motherfrom her corner, shaking her head. For all the good that's come of it....
The Step-Daughterturning towards her quickly. It doesn't matter. The more harm done us, the more remorse for him.
The Managerimpatiently. I understand! Good Heavens! I understand! I'm taking it into account.
The Mothersupplicatingly. I beg you, sir, to let it appear quite plain that for conscience sake I did try in every way....
The Step-Daughterinterrupting indignantly and continuing for THE MOTHER. ... to pacify me, to dissuade me from spiting him. To THE MANAGER : Do as she wants: satisfy her, because it is true! I enjoy it immensely. Anyhow, as you can see, the meeker she is, the more she tries to get at his heart, the more distant and aloof does he become.
The ManagerAre we going to begin this second act or not?
The Step-DaughterI'm not going to talk any more now. But I must tell you this: you can't have the whole action take place in the garden, as you suggest. It isn't possible!
The ManagerWhy not?
The Step-DaughterBecause he indicates THE SON again. is always shut up alone in his room. And then there's all the part of that poor dazed-looking boy there which takes place indoors.
The ManagerMaybe! On the other hand, you will understand—we can't change scenes three or four times in one act.
Leading ManThey used to once.
The ManagerYes, when the public was up to the level of that child there.
Leading LadyIt makes the illusion easier.
The Fatherirritated. The illusion! For Heaven's sake, don't say illusion. Please don't use that word, which is particularly painful for us.
The Managerastounded. And why, if you please?
The FatherIt's painful, cruel, really cruel; and you ought to understand that.
The ManagerBut why? What ought we to say then? The illusion, I tell you, sir, which we've got to create for the audience....
Leading ManWith our acting.
The ManagerThe illusion of a reality.
The FatherI understand; but you, perhaps, do not understand us. Forgive me! You see ... here for you and your actors, the thing is only—and rightly so ... a kind of game....
Leading Ladyinterrupting indignantly. A game! We're not children here, if you please! We are serious actors.
The FatherI don't deny it. What I mean is the game, or play, of your art, which has to give, as the gentleman says, a perfect illusion of reality.
The ManagerPrecisely—!
The FatherNow, if you consider the fact that we indicates himself and the other five Characters , as we are, have no other reality outside of this illusion....
The Managerastonished, looking at his actors, who are also amazed. And what does that mean?
The Fatherafter watching them for a moment with a wan smile. As I say, sir, that which is a game of art for you is our sole reality. Brief pause. He goes a step or two nearer THE MANAGER and adds : But not only for us, you know, by the way. Just you think it over well. Looks him in the eyes. Can you tell me who you are?
The Managerperplexed, half smiling. What? Who am I? I am myself.
The FatherAnd if I were to tell you that that isn't true, because you are I...?
The ManagerI should say you were mad—! The actors laugh.
The FatherYou're quite right to laugh: because we are all making believe here. To THE MANAGER : And you can therefore object that it's only for a joke that that gentleman there indicates the LEADING MAN , who naturally is himself, has to be me, who am on the contrary myself—this thing you see here. You see I've caught you in a trap! The actors laugh.
The Managerannoyed. But we've had all this over once before. Do you want to begin again?
The FatherNo, no! That wasn't my meaning! In fact, I should like to request you to abandon this game of art looking at the LEADING LADY as if anticipating her. which you are accustomed to play here with your actors, and to ask you seriously once again: who are you?
The Managerastonished and irritated, turning to his actors. If this fellow here hasn't got a nerve! A man who calls himself a character comes and asks me who I am!
The Fatherwith dignity, but not offended. A character, sir, may always asks a man who he is. Because a character has really a life of his own, marked with his especial characteristics; for which reason he is always "somebody." But a man—I'm not speaking of you now—may very well be "nobody."
The ManagerYes, but you are asking these questions of me, the boss, the manager! Do you understand?
The FatherBut only in order to know if you, as you really are now, see yourself as you once were with all the illusions that were yours then, with all the things both inside and outside of you as they seemed to you—as they were then indeed for you. Well, sir, if you think of all those illusions that mean nothing to you now, of all those things which don't even seem to you to exist any more, while once they were for you, don't you feel that—I won't say these boards—but the very earth under your feet is sinking away from you when you reflect that in the same way this you as you feel it today—all this present reality of yours—is fated to seem a mere illusion to you tomorrow?
The Managerwithout having understood much, but astonished by the specious argument. Well, well! And where does all this take us anyway?
The FatherOh, nowhere! It's only to show you that if we indicating the Characters have no other reality beyond the illusion, you too must not count overmuch on your reality as you feel it today, since, like that of yesterday, it may prove an illusion for you tomorrow.
The Managerdetermining to make fun of him. Ah, excellent! Then you'll be saying next that you, with this comedy of yours that you brought here to act, are truer and more real than I am.
The Fatherwith the greatest seriousness. But of course; without doubt!
The ManagerAh, really?
The FatherWhy, I thought you'd understand that from the beginning.
The ManagerMore real than I?
The FatherIf your reality can change from one day to another....
The ManagerBut everyone knows it can change. It is always changing, the same as anyone else's.
The Fatherwith a cry. No, sir, not ours! Look here! That is the very difference! Our reality doesn't change: it can't change! It can't be other than what it is, because it is already fixed for ever. It's terrible. Ours is an immutable reality which should make you shudder when you approach us if you are really conscious of the fact that your reality is a mere transitory and fleeting illusion, taking this form today and that tomorrow, according to the conditions, according to your will, your sentiments, which in turn are controlled by an intellect that shows them to you today in one manner and tomorrow ... who knows how?... Illusions of reality represented in this fatuous comedy of life that never ends, nor can ever end! Because if tomorrow it were to end ... then why, all would be finished.
The ManagerOh for God's sake, will you at least finish with this philosophizing and let us try and shape this comedy which you yourself have brought me here? You argue and philosophize a bit too much, my dear sir. You know you seem to me almost, almost.... Stops and looks him over from head to foot. Ah, by the way, I think you introduced yourself to me as a—what shall ... we say—a "character," created by an author who did not afterward care to make a drama of his own creations.
The FatherIt is the simple truth, sir.
The ManagerNonsense! Cut that out, please! None of us believes it, because it isn't a thing, as you must recognize yourself, which one can believe seriously. If you want to know, it seems to me you are trying to imitate the manner of a certain author whom I heartily detest—I warn you—although I have unfortunately bound myself to put on one of his works. As a matter of fact, I was just starting to rehearse it, when you arrived. Turning to the actors : And this is what we've gained—out of the frying-pan into the fire!
The FatherI don't know to what author you may be alluding, but believe me I feel what I think; and I seem to be philosophizing only for those who do not think what they feel, because they blind themselves with their own sentiment. I know that for many people this self-blinding seems much more "human"; but the contrary is really true. For man never reasons so much and becomes so introspective as when he suffers; since he is anxious to get at the cause of his sufferings, to learn who has produced them, and whether it is just or unjust that he should have to bear them. On the other hand, when he is happy, he takes his happiness as it comes and doesn't analyse it, just as if happiness were his right. The animals suffer without reasoning about their sufferings. But take the case of a man who suffers and begins to reason about it. Oh no! it can't be allowed! Let him suffer like an animal, and then—ah yes, he is "human!"
The ManagerLook here! Look here! You're off again, philosophizing worse than ever.
The FatherBecause I suffer, sir! I'm not philosophizing: I'm crying aloud the reason of my sufferings.
The Managermakes brusque movement as he is taken with a new idea. I should like to know if anyone has ever heard of a character who gets right out of his part and perorates and speechifies as you do. Have you ever heard of a case? I haven't.
The FatherYou have never met such a case, sir, because authors, as a rule, hide the labour of their creations. When the characters are really alive before their author, the latter does nothing but follow them in their action, in their words, in the situations which they suggest to him; and he has to will them the way they will themselves—for there's trouble if he doesn't. When a character is born, he acquires at once such an independence, even of his own author, that he can be imagined by everybody even in many other situations where the author never dreamed of placing him; and so he acquires for himself a meaning which the author never thought of giving him.
The ManagerYes, yes, I know this.
The FatherWhat is there then to marvel at in us? Imagine such a misfortune for characters as I have described to you: to be born of an author's fantasy, and be denied life by him; and then answer me if these characters left alive, and yet without life, weren't right in doing what they did do and are doing now, after they have attempted everything in their power to persuade him to give them their stage life. We've all tried him in turn, I, she indicating THE STEP-DAUGHTER and she indicating THE MOTHER .
The Step-DaughterIt's true. I too have sought to tempt him, many, many times, when he has been sitting at his writing table, feeling a bit melancholy, at the twilight hour. He would sit in his armchair too lazy to switch on the light, and all the shadows that crept into his room were full of our presence coming to tempt him. As if she saw herself still there by the writing table, and was annoyed by the presence of the actors : Oh, if you would only go away, go away and leave us alone—mother here with that son of hers—I with that Child—that Boy there always alone—and then I with him just hints at THE FATHER —and then I alone, alone ... in those shadows! Makes a sudden movement as if in the vision she has of herself illuminating those shadows she wanted to seize hold of herself. Ah! my life! my life! Oh, what scenes we proposed to him—and I tempted him more than any of the others!
The FatherMaybe. But perhaps it was your fault that he refused to give us life: because you were too insistent, too troublesome.
The Step-DaughterNonsense! Didn't he make me so himself? Goes close to THE MANAGER to tell him as if in confidence. In my opinion he abandoned us in a fit of depression, of disgust for the ordinary theatre as the public knows it and likes it.
The SonExactly what it was, sir; exactly that!
The FatherNot at all! Don't believe it for a minute. Listen to me! You'll be doing quite right to modify, as you suggest, the excesses both of this girl here, who wants to do too much, and of this young man, who won't do anything at all.
The SonNo, nothing!
The ManagerYou too get over the mark occasionally, my dear sir, if I may say so.
The FatherI? When? Where?
The ManagerAlways! Continuously! Then there's this insistence of yours in trying to make us believe you are a character. And then too, you must really argue and philosophize less, you know, much less.
The FatherWell, if you want to take away from me the possibility of representing the torment of my spirit which never gives me peace, you will be suppressing me: that's all. Every true man, sir, who is a little above the level of the beasts and plants does not live for the sake of living, without knowing how to live; but he lives so as to give a meaning and a value of his own to life. For me this is everything . I cannot give up this, just to represent a mere fact as she indicating THE STEP-DAUGHTER wants. It's all very well for her, since her "vendetta" lies in the "fact." I'm not going to do it. It destroys my raison d'être .
The ManagerYour raison d'être! Oh, we're going ahead fine! First she starts off, and then you jump in. At this rate, we'll never finish.
The FatherNow, don't be offended! Have it your own way—provided, however, that within the limits of the parts you assign us each one's sacrifice isn't too great.
The ManagerYou've got to understand that you can't go on arguing at your own pleasure. Drama is action, sir, action and not confounded philosophy.
The FatherAll right. I'll do just as much arguing and philosophizing as everybody does when he is considering his own torments.
The ManagerIf the drama permits! But for Heaven's sake, man, let's get along and come to the scene.
The Step-DaughterIt seems to me we've got too much action with our coming into his house indicating THE FATHER . You said, before, you couldn't change the scene every five minutes.
The ManagerOf course not. What we've got to do is to combine and group up all the facts in one simultaneous, close-knit, action. We can't have it as you want, with your little brother wandering like a ghost from room to room, hiding behind doors and meditating a project which—what did you say it did to him?
The Step-DaughterConsumes him, sir, wastes him away!
The ManagerWell, it may be, And then at the same time, you want the little girl there to be playing in the garden ... one in the house, and the other in the garden: isn't that it?
The Step-DaughterYes, in the sun, in the sun! That is my only pleasure: to see her happy and careless in the garden after the misery and squalor of the horrible room where we all four slept together. And I had to sleep with her—I, do you understand?—with my vile contaminated body next to hers; with her folding me fast in her loving little arms. In the garden, whenever she spied me, she would run to take me by the hand. She didn't care for the big flowers, only the little ones; and she loved to show me them and pet me.
The ManagerWell then, we'll have it in the garden. Everything shall happen in the garden; and we'll group the other scenes there. Calls a stage hand. Here, a back-cloth with trees and something to do as a fountain basin. Turning round to look at the back of the stage. Ah, you've fixed it up. Good! To THE STEP-DAUGHTER : This is just to give an idea, of course. The Boy, instead of hiding behind the doors, will wander about here in the garden, hiding behind the trees. But it's going to be rather difficult to find a child to do that scene with you where she shows you the flowers. Turning to the Youth. Come forward a little, will you please? Let's try it now! Come along! come along! Then seeing him come shyly forward, full of fear and looking lost. It's a nice business, this lad here. What's the matter with him? We'll have to give him a word or two to say. Goes close to him, puts a hand on his shoulders, and leads him behind one of the trees. Come on! come on! Let me see you a little! Hide here ... yes, like that. Try and show your head just a little as if you were looking for someone.... Goes back to observe the effect, when THE BOY at once goes through the action. Excellent! fine! Turning to THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Suppose the little girl there were to surprise him as he looks round, and run over to him, so we could give him a word or two to say?
The Step-DaughterIt's useless to hope he will speak, as long as that fellow there is here.... Indicates THE SON. You must send him away first.
The Sonjumping up. Delighted! delighted! I don't ask for anything better. Begins to move away.
The Managerat once stopping him. No! No! Where are you going? Wait a bit!
THE MOTHER gets up alarmed and terrified at the thought that he is really about to go away. Instinctively she lifts her arms to prevent him, without, however, leaving her seat. The Sonto THE MANAGER, who stops him I've got nothing to do with this affair. Let me go please! Let me go!
The ManagerWhat do you mean by saying you've got nothing to do with this?
The Step-Daughtercalmly, with irony. Don't bother to stop him: he won't go away.
The FatherHe has to act the terrible scene in the garden with his mother.
The Sonsuddenly resolute and with dignity. I shall act nothing at all. I've said so from the very beginning. to THE MANAGER : Let me go!
The Step-Daughtergoing over to THE MANAGER Allow me? Puts down THE MANAGER'S arm which is restraining THE SON. Well, go away then, if you want to! THE SON looks at her with contempt and hatred. She laughs and says. You see, he can't, he can't go away! He is obliged to stay here, indissolubly bound to the chain. If I, who fly off when that happens which has to happen, because I can't bear him—if I am still here and support that face and expression of his, you can well imagine that he is unable to move. He has to remain here, has to stop with that nice father of his, and that mother whose only son he is. Turning to THE MOTHER. Come on, mother, come along! Turning to THE MANAGER to indicate her. You see, she was getting up to keep him back. To THE MOTHER, beckoning her with her hand : Come on! come on! Then to THE MANAGER. You can imagine how little she wants to show these actors of yours what she really feels; but so eager is she to get near him that.... There, you see? She is willing to act her part. And in fact, THE MOTHER approaches him; and as soon as THE STEP-DAUGHTER has finished speaking, opens her arms to signify that she consents.
The Sonsuddenly. No! no! If I can't go away, then I'll stop here; but I repeat: I act nothing!
The Fatherto THE MANAGER excitedly You can force him, sir.
The SonNobody can force me.
The FatherI can.
The Step-DaughterWait a minute, wait.... First of all, the baby has to go to the fountain.... Runs to take THE CHILD and leads her to the fountain.
The ManagerYes, yes of course; that's it. Both at the same time.
The SECOND LADY LEAD and the JUVENILE LEAD at this point separate themselves from the group of actors. One watches THE MOTHER attentively; the other moves about studying the movements and manner of THE SON whom he will have to act. The Sonto THE MANAGER What do you mean by both at the same time? It isn't right. There was no scene between me and her. Indicates THE MOTHER. Ask her how it was!
The MotherYes, it's true. I had come into his room....
The SonInto my room, do you understand? Nothing to do with the garden.
The ManagerIt doesn't matter. Haven't I told you we've got to group the action?
The Sonobserving the JUVENILE LEAD studying him. What do you want?
Juvenile LeadNothing! I was just looking at you.
The Sonturning towards the second Lady Lead. Ah! she's at it too: to re-act her part indicating THE MOTHER !
The ManagerExactly! And it seems to me that you ought to be grateful to them for their interest.
The SonYes, but haven't you yet perceived that it isn't possible to live in front of a mirror which not only freezes us with the image of ourselves, but throws our likeness back at us with a horrible grimace?
The FatherThat is true, absolutely true. You must see that.
The Managerto SECOND LADY LEAD and JUVENILE LEAD He's right! Move away from them!
The SonDo as you like. I'm out of this!
The ManagerBe quiet, you, will you? And let me hear your mother! To THE MOTHER : You were saying you had entered....
The MotherYes, into his room, because I couldn't stand it any longer. I went to empty my heart to him of all the anguish that tortures me.... But as soon as he saw me come in....
The SonNothing happened! There was no scene. I went away, that's all! I don't care for scenes!
The MotherIt's true, true. That's how it was.
The ManagerWell now, we've got to do this bit between you and him. It's indispensable.
The MotherI'm ready ... when you are ready. If you could only find a chance for me to tell him what I feel here in my heart.
The Fathergoing to THE SON in a great rage. You'll do this for your mother, for your mother, do you understand?
The Sonquite determined. I do nothing!
The Fathertaking hold of him and shaking him. For God's sake, do as I tell you! Don't you hear your mother asking you for a favour? Haven't you even got the guts to be a son?
The Sontaking hold of THE FATHER. No! No! And for God's sake stop it, or else ... General agitation. THE MOTHER, frightened, tries to separate them.
The Motherpleading. Please! please!
The Fathernot leaving hold of THE SON. You've got to obey, do you hear?
The Sonalmost crying from rage. What does it mean, this madness you've got? They separate. Have you no decency, that you insist on showing everyone our shame? I won't do it! I won't! And I stand for the will of our author in this. He didn't want to put us on the stage, after all!
The ManagerMan alive! You came here....
The Sonindicating THE FATHER He did! I didn't!
The ManagerAren't you here now?
The SonIt was his wish, and he dragged us along with him. He's told you not only the things that did happen, but also things that have never happened at all.
The ManagerWell, tell me then what did happen. You went out of your room without saying a word?
The SonWithout a word, so as to avoid a scene!
The ManagerAnd then what did you do?
The SonNothing ... walking in the garden.... hesitates for a moment with expression of gloom.
The Managercoming closer to him, interested by his extraordinary reserve. Well, well ... walking in the garden....
The Sonexasperated. Why on earth do you insist? It's horrible! THE MOTHER trembles, sobs, and looks towards the fountain.
The Managerslowly observing the glance and turning towards THE SON with increasing apprehension. The baby?
The SonThere in the fountain....
The Fatherpointing with tender pity to THE MOTHER. She was following him at the moment....
The Managerto THE SON anxiously And then you....
The SonI ran over to her; I was jumping in to drag her out when I saw something that froze my blood ... the boy there standing stock still, with eyes like a madman's, watching his little drowned sister, in the fountain! THE STEP-DAUGHTER bends over the fountain to hide THE CHILD. She sobs. Then.... A revolver shot rings out behind the trees where THE BOY is hidden.
The MotherWith a cry of terror runs over in that direction together with several of the actors amid general confusion. My son! My son! Then amid the cries and exclamations one hears her voice. Help! Help!
The Managerpushing the actors aside while they lift up THE BOY and carry him off. Is he really wounded?
Some ActorsHe's dead! dead!
Other ActorsNo, no, it's only make believe, it's only pretence!
The Fatherwith a terrible cry. Pretence? Reality, sir, reality!
The ManagerPretence? Reality? To hell with it all! Never in my life has such a thing happened to me. I've lost a whole day over these people, a whole day!
Curtain.