Comedy of Marriage and Other Tales

MME. DE RONCHARD AND PETITPRÉ [together]

Yes!

MARTINEL

Then first prove to me that it is not Jean’s child.

MME. DE RONCHARD

You ask an impossibility.

MARTINEL

And so do you. The principal judge in the matter, look you, is my nephew himself. We others can do nothing but accept his decision.

MME. DE RONCHARD

But meanwhile —

PETITPRÉ

Silence, Clarisse. Monsieur Martinel is right.

MME. DE RONCHARD [ironically]

Say that again.

MARTINEL

There can be no better reason, Madame. [To Petitpré.] I was quite sure that you would understand me, Monsieur, for you are a man of sense.

MME. DE RONCHARD

And what am I, then?

MARTINEL

You are a woman of the world, Madame.

MME. DE RONCHARD

And it is exactly as a woman of the world that I protest, Monsieur. You have a very pretty way of putting things, but none the less this is a fact: Jean Martinel brings to his bride, as a nuptial present, on the day of his marriage, an illegitimate child. Well, I ask you, woman of the world or not, can she accept such a thing?

PETITPRÉ

My sister is in the right this time, Monsieur Martinel.

MME. DE RONCHARD

And by no means too soon.

PETITPRÉ

It is evident that a situation exists patent and undeniable, which places us in an awkward dilemma. We have wedded our daughter to a man supposedly free from all ties and all complications in life, and then comes – what you know has come. The consequences should be endured by him, not by us. We have been wounded and deceived in our confidence, and the consent that we have given to this marriage we should certainly have refused, had we known the actual circumstances.

MME. DE RONCHARD

We should have refused? I should say so – not only once, but twice. Besides, this child, if Jean brings it into the house, will certainly be a cause of trouble among us all. Consider, Gilberte will probably become a mother in her turn, and then what jealousies, what rivalries, what hatred, perhaps, will arise between this intruder and her own children. This child will be a veritable apple of discord.

MARTINEL

Oh, no, no! he will not be a burden to anyone. Thanks to Jean’s liberality, this child’s mother will have left him enough to live comfortably, and, later, when he has become a man, he will travel, no doubt. He will do as I have done; as nine-tenths of the human race do.

PETITPRÉ

Well, until then, who will take care of it?

MARTINEL

I, if it is agreeable. I am a free man, retired from business; and it will give me something to do, something to distract me. I am ready to take him with me at once, the poor little thing – [looks at Mme. de Ronchard] unless Madame, who is so fond of saving lost dogs —

MME. DE RONCHARD

That child! I! Oh, that would be a piece of foolishness.

MARTINEL

Yet, Madame, if you care to have him, I will yield my right most willingly.

MME. DE RONCHARD

But Monsieur, I never said —

MARTINEL

Not as yet, true, but perhaps you will say it before very long, for I am beginning to understand you. You are an assumed man-hater and nothing else. You have been unhappy in your married life and that has embittered you – just as milk may turn upon its surface, but at the bottom of the churn there is butter of fine quality.

MME. DE RONCHARD [frowns]

What a comparison! – milk – butter – pshaw! how vulgar!

PETITPRÉ

But Clarisse —

MARTINEL

Here is your daughter.

SCENE V

(The same, and Gilberte and Leon who enter L.)

PETITPRÉ [approaches Gilberte]

Before seeing your husband again, if you decide to see him, it is necessary that we should decide exactly what you are going to say to him.

GILBERTE [greatly moved, sits L. of table]

I knew it was some great misfortune.

MARTINEL [sits beside her]

Yes, my child; but there are two kinds of misfortune – those that come from the faults of men, and those that spring purely from the hazards of fate; that is to say, destiny. In the first case, the man is guilty; in the second case, he is a victim. Do you understand me?

GILBERTE

Yes, Monsieur.

MARTINEL

A misfortune of which some one person is the victim can also wound another person very cruelly. But will not the heart of this second wounded and altogether innocent, person bestow a pardon upon the involuntary author of her disaster?

GILBERTE [in a sad voice]

That depends upon the suffering which she undergoes.

MARTINEL Meanwhile, you knew that before Jean loved you, before he conceived the idea of marrying you, he had – an intrigue. You accepted the fact as one which had nothing exceptional about it.

GILBERTE

I did accept it.

MARTINEL

And now your brother may tell you the rest.

GILBERTE

Yes, Monsieur.

MARTINEL

What shall I say to Jean?

GILBERTE

I am too much agitated to tell you yet. This woman, of whom I did not think at all, whose very existence was a matter of indifference to me – her death has frightened me. It seems that she has come between Jean and me, and will always remain there. Everything that I have heard of her prophesies this estrangement. But you knew her – this woman did you not, Monsieur?

MARTINEL

Yes, Madame, and I can say nothing but good of her. Your brother and I have always looked upon her as irreproachable in her fidelity to Jean. She loved him with a pure, devoted, absolute, and lasting affection. I speak as a man who has deplored deeply this intrigue, for I look upon myself as a father to Jean, but we must try to be just to everyone.

GILBERTE

And did Jean love her very much, too?

MARTINEL

Oh, yes, certainly he did, but his love began to wane. Between them there was too much of a moral and social distance. He lived with her, however, drawn to her by the knowledge of the deep and tender affection which she bestowed upon him.

GILBERTE [gravely]

And Jean went to see her die?

MARTINEL

He had just time to say farewell to her.

GILBERTE [to herself]

If I could only tell what passed between them at that moment! Ah, this wretched death is worse for me than if she were alive!

MME. DE RONCHARD [rises R. and goes up stage]

I really do not understand you, my dear. The woman has died – so much the better for you. May God deliver you from all such!

GILBERTE

No, my dear Aunt; the feeling I have just now is so painful that I would sooner know her to be far away than to know her dead.

PETITPRÉ [comes down]

Yes, I admit that is the sentiment of a woman moved by a horrible catastrophe; but there is one grave complication in the matter – that of the child. Whatever may be done with it, he will none the less be the son of my son-in-law and a menace to us all.

MME. DE RONCHARD

And a subject for ridicule. See what the world will say of us in a little while.

LÉON

Leave the world to itself, my dear Aunt, and let us occupy ourselves with our own business. [Goes to Gilberte.] Now, Gilberte, is it the idea of the child that moves you so deeply?

GILBERTE

Oh, no, – the poor little darling!

PETITPRÉ

Such is the foolishness of women who know nothing of life.

LÉON

Well, father, why, if we have so many different views, – according as we are spectators or actors in the course of events, – why is there so much difference between the life of the imagination and the actual life; between that which one ought to do; that which you would that others should do, and that which you do yourself. Yes, what has happened is very painful; but the surprise of the event, its coincidence with the nuptial day makes it still more painful. We magnify – everything in our emotion, when it is ourselves that misfortune touches. Suppose, for a moment, that you had read this in your daily newspaper —

MME. DE RONCHARD [seated L. of table, indignantly]

In my daily newspaper!

LÉON

Or in a romance. What emotion we should feel; what tears we should shed! How your sympathy would quickly go out to the poor little child whose birth was attained at the cost of his mother’s life! How Jean would go up in your esteem; how frank, how loyal, how stanch in his fealty you would consider him; while, on the other hand, if he had deserted the dying woman, and had spirited away the little one into some distant village, you would not have had enough scorn for him, or enough insults for him. You would look upon him as a being without heart and without fear; and, you, my dear Aunt, thinking of the innumerable little bad dogs who owe you their lives, you would cry out with forcible gestures: “What a miserable scoundrel!”

MARTINEL [seated L.]

That’s perfectly true.

MME. DE RONCHARD

Dogs are worth more than men.

LÉON

Little children are not men, my dear Aunt. They have not had time to become bad.

PETITPRÉ

All that is very ingenious, Leon, and your special pleading is magnificent.

MME. DE RONCHARD

Yes, if you would only plead like that at the Palais.

PETITPRÉ

But this has nothing to do with a romance or with imaginary personages. We have married Gilberte to a young man in the ordinary conditions of life.

MME. DE RONCHARD

Without enthusiasm.

PETITPRÉ

Without enthusiasm, it is true, but nevertheless they are married, just the same. Now, on the evening of his nuptials, he brings us a present – I must say I do not care for a present which bawls.

LÉON

What does that prove, unless it is that your son-in-law is a brave man? What he has just done – risked his happiness in order to accomplish his duty – does it not say better than anything else could, how capable of devotion he is?

MARTINEL

Clear as the day.

MME. DE RONCHARD [aside]

And this man from Havre admires him!

PETITPRÉ

Then you maintain that Gilberte, on the day, of her entry upon married life, should become the adopted mother of the son of her husband’s mistress?

LÉON

Exactly; just as I maintain all that is honorable and disinterested. And you would think as I do if the thing did not concern your daughter.

PETITPRÉ

No; it is an inexcusable situation.

LÉON

Well, then, what do you propose to do?

PETITPRÉ

Well, nothing less than a divorce. The scandal of this night is sufficient.

MME. DE RONCHARD [rises]

Gilberte divorced! You don’t dream of that, do you? Have all our friends closing their doors on her, the greater part of her relatives lost to her! Divorced! Come, come! in spite of your new law, that has not yet come into our custom and shall not come in so soon. Religion forbids it; the world accepts it only under protest; and when you have against you both religion and the world —

PETITPRÉ

But statistics prove —

MME. DE RONCHARD

Pshaw! Statistics! You can make them say what you wish. No, no divorce for Gilberte. [In a soft, low voice.] Simply a legal separation – that is admissible, at least, and it is good form. Let them separate. I am separated – all fashionable people separate, and everything goes all right, but as to divorce —

LÉON [seriously]

It seems to me that only one person has a right to speak in this matter, and we are forgetting her too long. [Turns to Gilberte.] You have heard everything, Gilberte; you are mistress of your own judgment and of your decision. Upon a word from you depend either pardon or rupture. My father has made his argument. What does your heart say? [Gilberte tries to speak, but stops and breaks down.] Think always that in refusing to pardon Jean you wound me, and if I see you unhappy from your determination to say no, I shall suffer exceedingly. Monsieur Martinel asks from you at once an answer for Jean. Let us do better. I will go and find him. It is from your lips; it is, above all, in your eyes, that he will learn his fate. [Brings her gently to the front of the stage.] My little sister, my. dear little sister, don’t be too proud; don’t be too haughty! Listen to that which your chagrin murmurs in your soul. Listen well, but do not mistake it for pride.

GILBERTE

But I have no pride. I do not know how I feel. I am ill. My joy has been blighted, and it poisons me.

LÉON

Take care! It takes so little in such moments as these to make wounds which are incurable.

GILBERTE

No, no! I am too much distressed. Perhaps I shall be hard, for I am afraid of him and of myself. I am afraid of breaking off everything, or of yielding everything.

LÉON

I am going to find Jean.

GILBERTE [resolutely]

No, I do not wish to see him. I forbid it!

LÉON

Let me tell you something, my little Gilberte: You are less intelligent than I thought.

GILBERTE

Why?

LÉON

Because in such moments as these it is necessary to say yes or no at once. [Jean appears at door R.]

SCENE VI

(The same, and Jean Martinel standing at door R.)

GILBERTE [with a stifled cry]

It is he!

LÉON [goes up to Jean and taking him by the hand]

Welcome!

JEAN

I am like a prisoner awaiting the decision of his judges – whether it be acquittal or death. The moments through which I have just passed I shall never forget.

LÉON

Your uncle and I have said all that we had to say. Now speak for yourself.

JEAN

I do not know how. It must be to my wife alone. I dare not speak before you all. I ask but a moment. After that I go, and I shall leave the house if my wife’s attitude indicates that I ought. I shall do exactly what she would have me. I shall become that which she may order. But I must hear from her own lips her decision as to my life. [To Gilberte.] You cannot refuse me that, Madame. It is the only prayer that I shall ever make to you, I swear, if this request to you remains ungranted. [They stand face to face and look at each other.]

GILBERTE

No, I cannot refuse you. Father, Aunt, please leave me alone for a few minutes with Monsieur Martinel. You can see that I am perfectly calm.

PETITPRÉ

But – but —

JEAN [determinedly to M. Petitpré]

Monsieur, I shall not gainsay your will in anything. I shall do nothing without your approval. I have not returned here to contest your authority or to speak of rights; but I respectfully ask permission to remain alone a few minutes with – my wife! Consider that this is perhaps our last interview and that our future depends upon it.

MME. DE RONCHARD

It is solely the future of Gilberte which concerns me.

JEAN [to Mme. de Ronchard]

I appeal simply to your heart, Madame; your heart, which has suffered. Do not forget that your irritation and your bitterness against me come from the misfortune that another man has inflicted upon you. Your life has been broken by him. Do not wish the same for me. You have been unhappy; married scarcely a year. [Points to Gilberte.] Will you say that she shall be married scarcely a day, and that later she shall talk of her broken life – ceaselessly guarding in her mind the memory of this evening’s disaster? [At a movement of Mme. de Ronchard.] I know you to be kind, although you deny it, and I promise you, Madame, that if I remain Gilberte’s husband, I shall love you as a son, as a son worthy of you.

MME. DE RONCHARD [very much moved]

A son! He has stirred me deeply! [Whispers to Petitpré.] Come away, let us leave them alone. [Embraces Gilberte.]

PETITPRÉ [to Jean]

Well, so be it, Monsieur. [Rises and exit C., offering his arm to Mme. de Ronchard.]

MARTINEL [to Léon]

They are going to talk with that [touches his heart]; it is the only true eloquence.

[Exit with Léon C.]

SCENE VII

(Gilberte and Jean.)

JEAN

You know all, do you not?

GILBERTE

Yes. And I have been deeply wounded.

JEAN

I hope you do not accuse me of lying or of any other dissimulation.

GILBERTE

Oh, no!

JEAN

Do you blame me for having left you this evening?

GILBERTE

I blame no one who does his duty.

JEAN

You did not know this woman – and she is dead.

GILBERTE

It is just because she is dead that she troubles me thus.

JEAN

Impossible; you must have another reason. [With hesitation.] The child?

GILBERTE [quickly]

No, no! don’t deceive yourself. The poor little darling! it is not his fault. No, I suffer from something which is peculiar to myself, which can come only from me, and which I cannot confess to you. It is a sorrow deep in my heart, so keen, when I felt it spring to birth under the words of my brother and your uncle, that, should I ever experience it again when living with you as your wife, I should never be able to dispel it.

JEAN

What is it?

GILBERTE

I cannot tell it. [Sits L.]

JEAN [stands]

Listen to me. It is necessary that at this moment there should not be between us the shadow of a misunderstanding. All our life depends upon it. You are my wife, but I admit that you are absolutely free after what has happened. I will do as you wish. I am ready to agree to everything you desire, even to a divorce if you demand it. But what will happen to me after that I do not know, for I love you so that the thought of losing you after winning you will throw me mercilessly into some desperate resolve. [Sees Gilberte moved.] I do not seek to soften you, to move you – I simply tell you the naked truth. I feel, and I have felt during the whole night, through all the shocks and horrible emotions of the drama that has just been enacted, that you hold for me the keenest wound. If you banish me now, I am a lost man.

GILBERTE [much moved]

Do you really love me as much as that?

JEAN

With a love that I feel is ineffaceable.

GILBERTE

Did you love her?

JEAN

I did indeed love her. I experienced a tender attachment for a gentle and devoted girl. [In a low voice, with passion.] Listen: that which I am going to tell you is unworthy, perhaps infamous, but I am only a human being, feeble as anyone else. Well, just now, in the presence of this poor, dying girl, my eyes were filled with tears and my sobs choked me – all my being vibrated with sorrow; but at the bottom of my soul, in the depths of my being, I thought only of you.

GILBERTE [rises quickly]

Do you mean that?

JEAN [simply]

I cannot lie to you.

GILBERTE

Well, do you know what made me suffer just now when my brother told me of this intrigue and death? I can tell it to you now. I was jealous! It was unworthy of me, wasn’t it? Jealous of this poor, dead woman! But he spoke so well of her as to move me, and I felt that she loved you so much that you might find me perhaps indifferent and cold after her, and that hurt me so! I had so much fear of experiencing that that I thought of renouncing you.

JEAN

And now? – Gilberte! Gilberte!

GILBERTE [extends her hands]

I am here, Jean! take me!

JEAN

Ah, how grateful I am. [Kisses her hands; then immediately after, with emotion.] But here another anguish seizes me. I have promised this poor woman to take and cherish this child in my own home. [Gilberte makes a movement.] That is not all. Do you know what her last thought, her last prayer was? She entreated me to commend the child to you.

GILBERTE

To me!

JEAN

To you, Gilberte.

GILBERTE [profoundly moved]

She did this, the poor woman? Did she believe that I would take —

JEAN

She hoped it, and in that hope her death was made easier.

GILBERTE [in exalted mood, crosses R.]

Yes, I will take it! where is it?

JEAN

At my house.

GILBERTE

At your house? You must go to it immediately.

JEAN

What! leave you now, at this moment?

GILBERTE

We will go together, since I was to have accompanied you to your house this evening.

JEAN [joyously]

Oh, Gilberte! But your father will not let us go.

GILBERTE

Well, do you know what we must do, since my packing is finished, and my maid awaits me at your house? You must carry me off.

JEAN

Carry you off?

GILBERTE

Give me my cloak and let us go. All can be explained tomorrow. [Shows the cloak that she had left upon the chair in the first act.] My cloak, please.

JEAN [picks up the cloak quickly and throws it over her shoulders]

You are the most adorable creature! [Gilberte takes his arm and they go toward door R.]

SCENE VIII

(Enter Mme. de Ronchard, M. Petitpré, M. Martinel, and Léon C.)

MME. DE RONCHARD

Well, what are they doing? Are they going away now?

PETITPRÉ

Why, what does it mean?

GILBERTE

Yes; father, I am going away. I am going with my husband; but I shall be here to-morrow to ask pardon for this hurried flight, and to explain to you the reason for it.

PETITPRÉ

Were you going without saying good-bye to us – without embracing us?

GILBERTE

Yes, in order to avoid more discussions.

LÉON

She is right. Let them go.

GILBERTE [throws herself upon Petitpré’s neck]

Till to-morrow, father; till to-morrow, my dear Aunt. Good night, all; I have had enough of emotion and fatigue.

MME. DE RONCHARD [goes to Gilberte and embraces her]

Yes, run along, darling – there is a little one over there who waits for a mother!

Curtain

THE LANCER’S WIFE AND OTHER TALES

THE LANCER’S WIFE

I

It was after Bourbaki’s defeat in the east of France. The army, broken up, decimated and worn out, had been obliged to retreat into Switzerland, after that terrible campaign. It was only the short duration of the struggle that saved a hundred and fifty thousand men from certain death. Hunger, the terrible cold, and forced marches in the snow without boots, over bad mountainous roads, had caused the francs-tireurs especially the greatest suffering, for we were without tents and almost without food, always in front when we were marching toward Belfort, and in the rear when returning by the Jura. Of our brigade, that had numbered twelve hundred men on the first of January, there remained only twenty-two pale, thin, ragged wretches, when at length we succeeded in reaching Swiss territory.

There we were safe and could rest. Everybody knows what sympathy was shown to the unfortunate French army, and how well it was cared for. We all gained fresh life, and those who had been rich and happy before the war declared that they had never experienced a greater feeling of comfort than they did then. Just think. We actually had something to eat every day, and could sleep every night.

Meanwhile, the war continued in the east of France, which had been excluded from the armistice. Besançon still kept the enemy in check, and the latter had their revenge by ravaging the Comte Franché. Sometimes we heard that they had approached quite close to the frontier, and we saw Swiss troops, who were to form a line of observation between us and the Germans, set out on their march.

But this hurt our pride, and as we regained health and strength the longing for fighting laid hold of us. It was disgraceful and irritating to know that within two or three leagues of us the Germans were victorious and insolent, to feel that we were protected by our captivity, and to feel that on that account we were powerless against them.

One day, our captain took five or six of us aside, and spoke to us about it, long and earnestly. He was a fine fellow, that captain. He had been a sub-lieutenant in the Zouaves, was tall and thin and as hard as steel, and during the whole campaign had given a great deal of trouble to the Germans. He fretted in inactivity and could not accustom himself to the idea of being a prisoner and of doing nothing.