STEP-DAUGHTER (disdainful, 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 FATHER (angrily). Behave yourself! And please don't laugh in that fashion.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. With 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.
ACTORS and ACTRESSES. Bravo! Well done! Tip-top!
THE MANAGER. Silence! This isn't a café concert, you know! (Turning to the Father in consternation): Is she mad?
THE FATHER. Mad? No, she's worse than mad.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER (to 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 MOTHER (to 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 FATHER (coming forward to support her as do some of the actors). Quick a chair, a chair for this poor widow!
THE ACTORS. Is it true? Has she really fainted?
THE MANAGER. Quick, 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 FATHER. Look at her! Look at her!
THE MOTHER. No, no; stop it please!
THE FATHER (raising her veil). Let them see you!
THE MOTHER (rising 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 MANAGER (dumbfounded). I don't understand at all. What is the situation? Is this lady your wife? (to the Father).
THE FATHER. Yes, gentlemen: my wife!
THE MANAGER. But how can she be a widow if you are alive? (The actors find relief for their astonishment in a loud laugh).
THE FATHER. Don'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 MOTHER (with a cry). No! No!
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Fortunately for her, he is dead. Two months ago as I said. We are in mourning, as you see.
THE FATHER. He 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 MOTHER. I 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-DAUGHTER. It isn't true.
THE MOTHER (startled). Not true, isn't it?
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. No, it isn't true, it just isn't true.
THE MOTHER. And what can you know about it?
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. It isn't true. Don't believe it. (To 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 MOTHER (vigorously). 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 daughter) are not in a position to know anything about it.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. I know you lived in peace and happiness with my father while he lived. Can you deny it?
THE MOTHER. No, I don't deny it. …
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. He 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 MOTHER. Leave 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 FATHER. It is true. It was my doing.
LEADING MAN (to the Company). What a spectacle!
LEADING LADY We are the audience this time.
JUVENILE LEAD. For once, in a way.
THE MANAGER (beginning to get really interested). Let's hear them out. Listen!
THE SON. Oh yes, you're going to hear a fine bit now. He will talk to you of the Demon of Experiment.
THE FATHER. You 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 SON (with disgust). Yes, phrases! phrases!
THE FATHER. Phrases! 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-DAUGHTER. Even in the case of remorse. In fact, especially then.
THE FATHER. Remorse? No, that isn't true. I've done more than use words to quieten the remorse in me.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Yes, 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 SON (to the Step-Daughter). This is vile.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Vile? 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 SON. And he thinks he has bought the right to