The Camellia Lady; or, Camille

by Alexandre Dumas the Younger
Translated by Thomas A. Copeland

Act I

Marguerite’s Boudoir. Paris

Scene 1

(Nanine, at work; Varville, seated by the chimney. A house-bell is heard.)

Varville: The bell.

Nanine: Valentine will get it.

Varville: Probably Marguerite.

Nanine: Not yet; she’s not due till ten-thirty, and it’s scarcely ten. [Nichette enters] Oh, my! It’s Mlle Nichette.

Scene 2

(Nichette, Nanine, Varville)

Nichette: Marguerite isn’t here?

Nanine: No, Mlle. You wanted to see her?

Nichette: I was passing by the door, and I came up just to give her a kiss, but since she’s not here, I’ll be on my way.

Nanine: Give her a few minutes; she’ll be back.

Nichette: I haven’t got time; Gustave’s down there waiting. She’s all right?

Nanine: Always the same.

Nichette: You’ll tell her I’ll stop by to see her one of these days? Goodbye, Nanine—Goodbye, sir. [She waves and goes out]

Scene 3

(Nanine, Varville)

Varville: Who was that girl?

Nanine: Mlle Nichette.

Varville: Nichette! That’s a cat’s name, not a woman’s.

Nanine: It’s just a nickname, which they give her because her curly hair makes her little head look like a cat’s. She worked with Madame at the shop where Madame used to be employed.

Varville: Marguerite was a shop girl, then?

Nanine: She was a seamstress.

Varville: You don’t say!

Nanine: You didn’t know? But it was no secret.

Varville: She’s pretty, this little Nichette.

Nanine: And respectable.

Varville: But this Gustave?

Nanine: What Gustave?

Varville: The one she said was waiting for her down there.

Nanine: He’s her husband.

Varville: M. Nichette?

Nanine: Oh, all right, not her husband yet, but he will be.

Varville: In a word, her lover. Well, well! She’s respectable, but she has a lover.

Nanine: . . . who loves her and no one else, just as she loves him alone and always has—and he’ll marry her, mark my words. Mlle Nichette’s a very good girl.

Varville: [rising and going up to Nanine] After all, it’s no great matter.
. . . Obviously I’m getting nowhere here.

Nanine: You said it.

Varville: You must admit that Marguerite . . .

Nanine: What?

Varville: . . . has a funny idea of sacrificing everyone to M. de Mauriac—who probably isn’t very entertaining.

Nanine: Poor man! He’s her one ray of sunshine, almost like a father to her.

Varville: Oh, yes, there’s a pathetic story for you! Alas . . .

Nanine: Alas?

Varville: I don’t believe it.

Nanine: Listen here, M. de Varville, with all I could say about madame that’s true, I don’t need to go making anything up! More, here’s what I can testify to—I saw it with my own eyes, and God knows that Madame hasn’t fed me a line, since she has no reason to fool you and doesn’t care whether you like her or not. Anyway, I can testify that two years ago, after a long illness, Madame went to take the waters to get her strength back, and she took me with her. Among the sick people at the baths was a girl about her own age, suffering from the same illness but in the third stage, and she looked like her twin sister. This girl was Mlle de Mauriac, the duke’s daughter.

Varville: Mlle de Mauriac died, didn’t she?

Nanine: Yes.

Varville: And in his despair, the duke turned to Marguerite, since her features, her age, even her illness, made her the very image of his daughter, and he begged her to let him visit her and love her as his child. So Marguerite confessed her situation to him.

Nanine: For Madame never lies.

Varville: [with irony] Naturally! And since Marguerite did not resemble Mlle de Mauriac as much morally as physically, the duke promised her whatever she wanted, provided that she’d agree to change her way of life. Marguerite promised to do this, and also naturally, on her return to Paris, she broke her word, and the duke, seeing that she was giving him only half of the happiness he’d hoped for, withdrew half of his support, so that today she is 50,000 francs in debt.

Nanine: . . . which you offer to pay, but people would rather owe money to others than owe a debt of gratitude to you.

Varville: All the more so in that the Count of Gerày is . . .

Nanine: You’re impossible! All I can tell you is that the story about the duke is true; I give you my word. As for the count, he’s a friend.

Varville: Oh, how deftly you choose your words!

Nanine: Yes, a friend! What a malicious tongue you have!—But I hear the bell. It’s Madame. Should I tell her all you’ve said?

Varville: See that you don’t!

Scene 4

(Marguerite, Varville, Nanine)

Marguerite: [to Nanine]: Now, tell me what’s for supper; Olympia and Saint-Gaudens are coming; I ran into them at the Opera. [to Varville] Oh, you’re here, are you? [She sits by the chimney.]

Varville: Isn’t it my fate to wait for you?

Marguerite: Ah, but is it my fate to see you?

Varville: Until you bar your door against me, I’ll keep on coming.

Marguerite: I can never come home without finding you there, and that’s a fact. What do you still have to say to me?

Varville: You know very well.

Marguerite: Always the same thing! You’re monotonous, Varville.

Varville: Am I to blame for loving you?

Marguerite: A fine defense! My dear, if I had to listen to everyone who loves me, I wouldn’t have time to eat. For the hundredth time, I tell you you’re wasting your breath. I let you visit at all hours, come in when I’m at home, wait for me when I’m out—I’m not quite sure why—but if you intend to bore me forever with professions of love, I’ll have you turned away.

Varville: But Marguerite, last year, at Bagnères, you gave me some hope.

Marguerite: Ah, my dear, that was at Bagnères; I was unwell, I was bored. Here, it’s not the same; I’m better, and I’m not bored.

Varville: I imagine that, when one is loved by the Duke de Mauriac . . .

Marguerite: Imbecile!

Varville: And when one loves M. de Geray . . .

Marguerite: I am free to love whomever I please. It’s no one else’s business, least of all yours, and if you’ve nothing else to say, I repeat, make yourself scarce. [Varville strolls about.] You’d rather not go?

Varville: No!

Marguerite: Well, then get busy on that piano; playing is your one good point.

Varville: What shall I play? [Nanine re-enters while he’s getting ready.]

Marguerite: Whatever you like.

Scene 5

(Nanine, Varville, Marguerite)

Marguerite: You’ve ordered supper?

Nanine: Yes, ma’am.

Marguerite [approaching Varville]: What are you playing there, Varville?

Varville: A reverie by Rosellen.

Marguerite: It’s very pretty . . .

Varville: Listen, Marguerite, I have an income of 80,000 francs.

Marguerite: And I have 100. [To Nanine] Have you seen Prudence?

Nanine: Yes, ma’am.

Marguerite: She’ll be coming this evening?

Nanine: Yes, ma’am, when she gets back . . . Mlle Nichette also stopped by.

Marguerite: Why didn’t she stay?

Nanine: M. Gustave was waiting for her down below.

Marguerite: Dear little thing!

Nanine: The doctor came.

Marguerite: What did he say?

Nanine: He said you ought to rest, ma’am.

Marguerite: Nice man, the doctor! Is that all?

Nanine: No, ma’am; a bouquet arrived.

Varville: My doing.

Marguerite: Roses and white lilies. Put this bouquet in your room, Nanine. [Nanine goes out.]

Varville: [stopping his piano playing] You don’t want it?

Marguerite: What’s my name?

Varville: Marguerite Gautier.

Marguerite: I mean what do they call me?

Varville: The ones who don’t know you, you mean? Oh, I’ve heard some refer to you as Camille . . . [looks up] the Camellia Lady.

Marguerite: Why?

Varville: Because you never wear any other flowers.

Marguerite: That means they’re the only ones I care for, so it’s pointless to send me any others. If you think I’ll make an exception for you, you’re wrong. I can’t stand the smell of them.

Varville: I’m wedded to calamity. Bye, Marguerite.

Marguerite: Bye.

Scene 6

(Varville, Marguerite, Saint-Gaudens, Nanine)

Nanine: [returning] Madame, Mlle Olympia and M. Saint-Gaudens are here.

Marguerite: Come in, Olympia! I’d just about given up on you.

Olympia: That’s Saint-Gaudens’s fault.

St.-Gaudens: It’s always my fault. Hello, Varville.

Varville: Hello, old boy.

St.-Gaudens: You’re having supper with us, are you?

Marguerite: No, no.

St.-Gaudens: And you, dear child, how are you doing?

Marguerite: Very well.

St.-Gaudens: That is good news, then. Shall we have fun?

Olympia: Fun follows you around, you silly goose, you.

St.-Gaudens: Naughty girl!—Ah, old Varville, here, who isn’t having supper with us—I’m awfully disappointed. [To Marguerite] When we passed the Maison d’Or, I remarked that they carry oysters and a certain champagne they reserve just for me. It’s perfect! It’s perfect!

Olympia: [low, to Marguerite] Why didn’t you invite Edmond?

Marguerite: Why didn’t you bring him along?

Olympia: And Saint-Gaudens?

Marguerite: Isn’t he used to it?

Olympia: Not yet, my dear. At his age it’s so difficult to form a new habit—especially a good one.

Marguerite: [calling to Nanine] Supper must be ready.

Nanine: In five minutes, ma’am. Where would you like it served? In the dining room?

Marguerite: No, here; we’ll be more comfortable.—So, Varville, you haven’t left yet?

Varville: I’m leaving.

Marguerite: [at the window, calling] Prudence!

Olympia: Prudence lives just across the way, then?

Marguerite: You might even say she lives in the same house since nearly all our windows face each other, with only a little court between. It’s very convenient, when I need her.

St.-Gaudens: Oh, I get it. What does she do for a living, this Prudence?

Olympia: She’s a milliner.

Marguerite: Nobody buys hats from her but me.

Olympia: Hats you never wear.

Marguerite: They’re so frightful! But she’s not a bad woman, and she needs the money. [Calling] Prudence!

Prudence: Here!

Marguerite: Why not come over, now that you’re back?

Prudence: I can’t.

Marguerite: Why not?

Prudence: I have two young men here at my place; they’ve invited me to supper.

Marguerite: Ah, well, then, bring them for supper here. That’ll come to the same thing. Who are they?

Prudence: There’s one that you know, Gaston Rieux.

Marguerite: Of course I know him. —And the other?

Prudence: The other’s his friend.

Marguerite: Good enough; so get over here as soon as you can . . . It’s cold this evening . . . [She coughs a little] Varville, can’t you put some wood on the fire; it’s freezing in here. Make yourself useful, since you can’t be agreeable. [Varville obeys.]

Scene 7

(Gaston, Armand, Prudence, a Servant, Varville, Marguerite, Saint-Gaudens, Nanine)

The Domestic, announcing: M. Gaston Rieux, M. Armand Duval, Mme Duvernoy.

Olympia: What grand airs! Is that how visitors are announced here?

Prudence: I thought there was some swell company.

St.-Gaudens: Mme Duvernoy dusts off her social graces.

Gaston: [ceremoniously, to Marguerite] How do you do, madam?

Marguerite: [in the same manner] Well, and you, sir?

Prudence: La-de-da!

Marguerite: [to Prudence] Gaston has become a man of the world, and, besides, [to Gaston] Eugenia would scratch my eyes out if I didn’t wotch me paarts of speech.

Gaston: Eugenia’s hands are too small, and your eyes are too large.

Prudence: I’m a-wearyin’ of this gallantry.—My dear Marguerite, permit me to present M. Armand Duval [Armand bows and Marguerite curtseys], of all men in Paris the one most taken with your charm.

Marguerite: [to Prudence] See that two more places are set, then; I imagine that this attraction of his won’t keep the gentleman from having supper. [She proffers her hand to Armand, who kisses it.]

St.-Gaudens: [to Gaston, who has come up to meet him] Ah! My dear Gaston! How delighted I am to see you!

Gaston: Ever young, my dear old Saint-Gaudens.

St.-Gaudens: But of course.

Gaston: And your love life?

St.-Gaudens: [gesturing toward Olympia] See for yourself.

Gaston: I congratulate you.

St.-Gaudens: Youth will have its fling. This poor Varville, who won’t be having supper with us—that’s just too too bad.

Gaston: [approaching Marguerite] It’s superb!

Marguerite: It’s just some old folks holding out against old age.

St.-Gaudens: [to Armand, whom Olympia is introducing to him] Are you related, sir, to M. Duval the Receiver General?

Armand: Yes, sir, that’s my father. Is it possible that you know him?

St.-Gaudens: I knew him once upon a time, at the home of the Baroness of Nersay, as well as Mme Duval, your mother, who was quite pretty and a most amiable person.

Armand: She died three years ago.

St.-Gaudens: Forgive me, sir, for having recalled your grief.

Armand: I never regret being reminded of my mother. Great and pure affections have this advantage, that after the happiness of feeling them, there remains the happiness of remembering them.

St.-Gaudens: You are the only son?

Armand: I have a sister . . .

[They continue to chat while strolling far upstage.]

Marguerite: [low, to Gaston] He’s charming, your friend.

Gaston: Sure is! And, what’s more, he’s head over heels in love with you; isn’t he, Prudence?

Prudence: What?

Gaston: I was telling Marguerite that Armand is crazy about her.

Prudence: It’s no lie; there’s not a doubt about it.

Gaston: He loves you, my dear, to the point of not daring to tell you.

Marguerite: [to Varville, who is still playing the piano] Would you please be quiet, Varville.

Varville: You always tell me to play the piano.

Marguerite: When I’m alone with you, but when I have company, no!

Olympia: What are they saying over there in whispers?

Marguerite: Listen, and you’ll find out.

Prudence: [low] And this has lasted for two years, has it?

Marguerite: Quite an oldster by now, this infatuation!

Prudence: Armand spends his life with Gustave and Nichette to hear them talk of you.

Gaston: When you were ill, a year ago, before leaving for Bagnères, during the three months you spent in bed, you were told that a young man came every day to find out how you were doing, without giving his name.

Marguerite: I remember . . .

Gaston: That’s who it was.

Marguerite: That’s very nice, that. [Calling] M. Duval!

Armand: Madame? . . .

Marguerite: Do you know what they’re telling me? They’re telling me that while I was ill, you came every day to know how I was doing.

Armand: So I did, madame.

Marguerite: The very least I can do is to thank you. Do you hear, Varville? You didn’t do as much, did you?

Varville: I haven’t known you for a year yet.

Marguerite: And this young man hasn’t known me more than five minutes . . . You’re always saying stupid things.

[Nanine enters, preceding servants who carry the table]

Prudence: Be seated. I’m about to die of hunger.

Varville: Goodbye, Marguerite.

Marguerite: When will we see you again?

Varville: When you like.

Marguerite: Then farewell.

Varville: [bowing and exiting] Sirs . . .

Olympia: Farewell, Varville! Farewell, old friend.

[During this time the domestics have placed the table, places already laid, and the guests seat themselves around it.]

Scene 8

(Gaston, Armand, Prudence, Domestics, Marguerite, Saint-Gaudens, Nanine)

Prudence: My dear child, you are really too hard on the baron.

Marguerite: He’s a deadly bore! He’s forever offering me an allowance.

Prudence: And you’re complaining? I’d certainly like him to make me such an offer. Would I ever!

St.-Gaudens: [to Olympia] How do you think that makes me feel, honey, what you’re saying there?

Olympia: Firstly, please don’t call me honey; I don’t know you.

Marguerite: Now, children, serve yourselves, drink, eat, but please limit your quarreling to what you can make up for in a hurry.

Olympia: Do you know what he gave me for my birthday?

Marguerite: Who?

Olympia: Saint-Gaudens.

Marguerite: No.

Olympia: He gave me a brougham!

St.-Gaudens: From Binder’s.

Olympia: Yes, but I couldn’t get him to give me the horses.

Prudence: Still it’s a brougham.

St.-Gaudens: I’m ruined; love me for myself.

Olympia: Now, there’s a challenge!

Prudence: [pointing out a plate] What are those little creatures?

Gaston: Partridges.

Prudence: Give me one.

Gaston: See that she takes only one partridge at a time. What an appetite! Maybe she’s what has ruined Saint-Gaudens?

Prudence: She! she! Is that any way to talk to a woman? In my day . . .

Gaston: Uh oh! We’re dealing with Louis XV here.—Marguerite, pour Armand some wine; he’s as sad as a drinking song.

Marguerite: Cheer up, M. Armand. To my health!

Everyone: To Marguerite’s health!

Prudence: Speaking of drinking songs, suppose we sing one while we drink?

Gaston: Always the old traditions. Prudence must have had a romance among the Caveau circle.

Prudence: That will do, that will do!

Gaston: Always singing at supper, it’s absurd.

Prudence: I love it myself; it cheers me up. Come on, Marguerite, sing us Philogène’s song , that poet who makes verses . . .

Gaston: What do you expect a poet to do?

Prudence: But he makes verses to Marguerite; it’s his specialty. Come on, the song!

Gaston: I protest in the name of our whole generation.

Prudence: Let’s take a vote! [Everyone raises a hand, except Gaston] The song is voted in. Gaston, bow to the will of the majority.

Gaston: All right, but I don’t like Philogène’s verses; I know them. I prefer to sing this, since sing we must: [Sings.]

I

Mohammedans expect to live

In heaven on a throne.

Such pleasures, though superlative,

Are nothing to our own.

Trust what your eyes behold

And what your arms enfold.

The heavens afford no prize

No recompense more fine

Than a pair of laughing eyes

Reflected in my wine.

II

God blessed the world with love and wine

To make us happy here.

Some say we abuse these gifts divine

And hold them all too dear.

Let them cavil and carp and inveigh;

We do but what we may.

All killjoys we defy!

Why not give over strife

And raise your glasses high

To know a finer life!

Gaston: [sitting down] All the same, it’s true that life is gay and that Prudence is fat.

Olympia: Been that way these thirty years.

Prudence: Let’s have done with this jest. How old do you think I am?

Olympia: Forty if you’re a day.

Prudence: That’s a good one! Forty! I was thirty-five last year.

Gaston: That’ll make you thirty-six now. Oh, well, you don’t look a day over forty, cross my heart!

Marguerite: Say, Saint-Gaudens, speaking of age, I heard a tale about you.

Olympia: So did I.

St.-Gaudens: What tale?

Marguerite: It had to do with a yellow cab.

Olympia: True, my dear.

Prudence: Let’s hear the tale of the yellow cab.

Gaston: Yes, but let me go sit beside Marguerite; I’m growing bored beside Prudence.

Prudence: What a well-brought-up lad!

Marguerite: Gaston, make an effort to stay put.

St.-Gaudens: Oh, an excellent supper!

Olympia: I see his game: he wants to dodge the tale of the cab . . .

Marguerite: Yellow!

St.-Gaudens: Oh, it’s all the same to me.

Olympia: Very well, imagine Saint-Gaudens in love with Amanda.

Gaston: My heart is too full! I just have to kiss Marguerite.

Olympia: My dear, you are insupportable!

Gaston: Olympia is mad at me because I spoiled her shot.

Marguerite: Olympia’s right. Gaston is as annoying as Varville. We’ll have to put him at the little table, like a naughty child.

Olympia: Yes, go ahead and put him there.

Gaston: On condition that at the end the ladies will kiss me.

Marguerite: Prudence will collect our kisses and deliver them to you in a bunch.

Gaston: No, no! I want you to kiss me yourselves.

Olympia: Very well, you will be kissed; go sit down and be still.—One day, or rather one night . . .

Gaston: [playing Malbrouck (Malborough) on the piano] The piano’s out of tune.

Marguerite: Don’t answer him anymore.

Gaston: That story bores me.

St.-Gaudens: Gaston is right.

Gaston: And then what does it prove, this story that I know and that’s old as Prudence? It proves that Saint-Gaudens followed on foot a yellow cab that he saw let Agenor out at Amanda’s door; it proves that Amanda cheated on Saint-Gaudens. That’s real news! Who hasn’t been deceived? Everyone knows that all boyfriends and mistresses are deceivers; and it ends with the air of the "Carillon de Dunkerque." [He plays the carillon on the piano.]

St.-Gaudens: And I knew that Amanda was deceiving me with Agenor just as well as I know that Olympia is deceiving me with Edmond.

Marguerite: Bravo, Saint-Gaudens! My, but Saint-Gaudens is a hero! We’re all going to be crazy about Saint-Gaudens! All those who are crazy about Saint-Gaudens, please raise your hands. [Everyone raises a hand.] What unanimity! Vive Saint-Gaudens! Gaston, play us something to get Saint-Gaudens to dance.

Gaston: I don’t know anything but a polka.

Marguerite: All right, then, give us a polka! Come on, Saint-Gaudens and Armand, stow away the table.

Prudence: I for one am not finished.

Olympia: Gentlemen, Marguerite has just now said “Armand” without the “Monsieur.”

Gaston: Get a move on; here’s the passage where I get lost.

Olympia: Am I going to dance with Saint-Gaudens?

Marguerite: No, I’m going to dance with him.—Come here, my little Saint-Gaudens, come here!

Olympia: Let’s go, Armand, let’s go! [Marguerite polkas for a moment and stops all of a sudden.]

St.-Gaudens: What’s your trouble?

Marguerite: Nothing. I’m a little short of breath.

Armand: [approaching her] Are you in pain, madame?

Marguerite: Oh, it’s nothing; let’s continue.

[Gaston plays with all his might, Marguerite tries once more and again stops.]

Armand: Quiet, Gaston!

Prudence: Marguerite is unwell.

Marguerite: [gasping] Give me a glass of water.

Prudence: What’s the matter?

Marguerite: Always the same thing. But it’s nothing, I tell you. Go into the other room; I’ll be with you in a minute.

Prudence: Let’s leave her to herself; she prefers to be alone when this happens.

Marguerite: Go on, I’ll rejoin you.

Prudence: Come on! [Aside] Can’t have a minute’s fun here.

Armand: Poor girl. [He exits with the others.]

Scene 9

(Marguerite)

Marguerite: [alone, trying to catch her breath] Ah! . . . [She looks at herself in the mirror.] How pale I am! . . . Ah! . . . [She puts her head in her hands and rests her elbows on the mantelpiece.]

Scene 10

(Marguerite, Armand)

Armand: [coming back] Well, then, how are you, madame?

Marguerite: It’s you, M. Armand! Thanks, I’m better . . . , I’m used to . . .

Armand: You’re killing yourself! I wish I were your friend, your parent, to prevent you from doing yourself harm that way.

Marguerite: You couldn’t. Come, now, let’s see. What’s on your mind?

Armand: What I see . . .

Marguerite: Ah! you’re very good! Look at the others; see if they busy their heads about me.

Armand: The others don’t love you as I love you.

Marguerite: True, I’d forgotten this great love.

Armand: You laugh at it!

Marguerite: Heaven forbid! Every day I hear the same thing; I no longer laugh at it.

Armand: All right, but this love deserves a promise on your part.

Marguerite: What promise?

Armand: That you’ll take care of yourself.

Marguerite: Take care of myself? Is that possible?

Armand: Why not?

Marguerite: But, if I took care of myself, I’d die, my dear. What sustains me is the feverish life I lead. More, taking care of oneself is all very well for women who have family and friends; but as for us, as soon as we can’t contribute to anyone’s pleasure or vanity, we’re abandoned, and long evenings follow the long days; I know it all too well, you see: I was in bed for two months, and at the end of three weeks, nobody came to see me anymore.

Armand: I know I’m nothing to you, but if you like, Marguerite, I’ll take care of you like a brother; I won’t leave you and I’ll see that you get well. Then, when you have strength for it, you can take up again the life you lead now, if you want to; but I’m sure you’ll come to like a quiet life better.

Marguerite: The wine has made you maudlin.

Armand: So you haven’t any courage, Marguerite?

Marguerite: Courage! That’s the very thing that would shipwreck me in this crossing I’m making. But you’re serious?

Armand: Very serious.

Marguerite: Prudence didn’t mislead me, then, when she said you were sentimental. You’d really take care of me?

Armand: Yes!

Marguerite: You’d stay with me all the time?

Armand: As long as you could stand me.

Marguerite: And you call this  . . .

Armand: Devotion.

Marguerite: And where does this devotion come from?

Armand: From an irresistible sympathy that I have for you.

Marguerite: How long has this . . . ?

Armand: For two years, since a day when I saw you pass in front of me, beautiful, proud, smiling. From that day, I have followed your life from afar and in silence.

Marguerite: How is it that you haven’t told me this until today?

Armand: I didn’t know you, Marguerite.

Marguerite: We simply had to meet. When I was ill and you so assiduously came to know how I was, why didn’t you come on up here?

Armand: What right did I have to enter your home?

Marguerite: Does one stand on ceremony with a woman like me?

Armand: One always stands on ceremony with a woman . . . And then . . .

Marguerite: And then? . . .

Armand: I was afraid of the influence you might exert on my life.

Marguerite: So that’s how you love me!

Armand: [gazing at her and seeing her laugh] If I must tell you, fine, only not today.

Marguerite: Never tell me.

Armand: Why?

Marguerite: Because such a confession can have only two results: either I won’t believe it, in which case you’ll be mad at me; or I will believe it, in which case you’ll have . . . sad company—that of a nervous, sick woman, sad or gay . . . with a gaiety sadder than grief. A woman who spends 100,000 francs a year, well, that’s fine for an old moneybags like the duke, but it’s pretty problematic for a young fellow like you.

Armand: Rejoin the others if you see fit, but I’d prefer to stay here if you don’t mind.

Marguerite: Because . . . ?

Armand: Because your gaiety makes me miserable.

Marguerite: Would you like a word of advice?

Armand: Go ahead.

Marguerite: Get out of here on the double and save yourself, if what you tell me is true, or else love me like a good friend but not otherwise. Come to see me, we’ll laugh, we’ll chat; but don’t exaggerate in your own mind what I’m worth, ’cause I’m not worth much. You have a good heart, you need to be loved; you’re too young and too impressionable to live in our world; love another woman, or marry. You see that I’m a good girl and that I speak frankly.

Scene 11

(Prudence, Marguerite, Armande)

Prudence: [half-opening the door] So there you are! What the devil are you two doing there?

Marguerite: Talking sense; leave us for a bit; we’ll be right in.

Prudence: Very well, chat away, my darlings.

Scene 12

(Marguerite, Armande)

Marguerite: So it’s agreed, you don’t love me anymore?

Armand: I’ll follow your advice and go away.

Marguerite: You love me so deeply that we can’t be just friends?

Armand: Yes.

Marguerite: How many have said as much to me and yet haven’t gone away!

Armand: That’s because you’ve held them back.

Marguerite: Lord, no!

Armand: Then you’ve never loved anyone?

Marguerite: Never, thank God!

Armand: Oh! Thanks!

Marguerite: For what?

Armand: For what you just said. Nothing could make me happier.

Marguerite: You’re a strange one!

Armand: If I’d told you, Marguerite, that I’ve spent whole nights beneath your windows, that I’ve kept for six months a button fallen from your glove . . .

Marguerite: I wouldn’t believe you.

Armand: You’re right, I’m a fool; laugh at me; it’s the best thing to do . . . Goodbye.

Marguerite: Armand!

Armand: You called me back?

Marguerite: I don’t want you to go away mad.

Armand: Mad . . . at you? Is it possible?

Marguerite: Let’s see, in all that you’ve told me, is there even a grain of truth?

Armand: You can ask me that?

Marguerite: All right, shake my hand, come to see me now and then; we’ll talk about it again.

Armand: That’s too much—and it’s not enough.

Marguerite: Well, then, name your own terms; ask what you like, as it appears that I do owe you something.

Armand: Don’t speak that way. I don’t want to see you trifle with serious matters anymore.

Marguerite: I’m not trifling now.

Armand: Answer me.

Marguerite: We’ll see.

Armand: Do you want to be loved?

Marguerite: That depends. By whom?

Armand: By me.

Marguerite: Tell me more.

Armand: Be loved with a profound, eternal love?

Marguerite: Eternal?

Armand: Yes.

Marguerite: And if, all of a sudden, I should believe you, what will you say of me?

Armand: I’ll say . . .

Marguerite: You’ll say of me what everybody says of me. What does it matter? Since I have a shorter future than others, I have to live faster. But never you mind; as “eternal” as your love may be and as little time as I have to live, I’ll still outlive your love.

Armand: Marguerite!

Marguerite: Meanwhile, you are moved, your voice is sincere, you are convinced of what you say; all that merits something . . . Take this flower. [She gives him a camellia.]

Armand: What shall I do with it?

Marguerite: Bring it back to me.

Armand: When?

Marguerite: When it’s wilted.

Armand: And how long will that take?

Marguerite: No more than it takes for any flower to wilt: the space of a night or a morning.

Armand: Ah! Marguerite, how lucky I am!

Marguerite: Well, then, tell me again that you love me.

Armand: Yes, I love you.

Marguerite: And now take your leave.

Armand: I’m going. [He retraces his steps, twice kisses her hand, and goes out. Laughter and songs behind the scenes]

Scene XII

(Marguerite, then Gaston, Saint-Gaudens, Olympia, Prudence)

Marguerite: [alone, looking at the door, again closed] Why not?—What’s the use? My life runs on and wears away from one to the other of these two questions.

Gaston: [half-opening the door] Chorus of villagers! [He sings.]

Oh, happy, happy day,

Let’s wreathe on this fair morn

The bridal torches gay

With flowers to a- . . .

St.-Gaudens: Vivent M. et Mme Duval!

Olympia: On with the bridal ball!

Marguerite: I’ll see to it that you dance.

St.-Gaudens: My, what a good time I’m having!

[Prudence puts on a man’s hat, Gaston a woman’s, etc., etc. Dance]

Act II

Marguerite’s Dressing Room. Paris

Scene 1

(Marguerite, Prudence, Nanine)

Marguerite: [at her dressing table, to Prudence, who enters] Good evening, dear friend; have you seen the duke?

Prudence: Yes.

Marguerite: Did he give it to you?

Prudence: [Giving Marguerite bank notes] Here.—Can you lend me three or four hundred francs?

Marguerite: Help yourself . . . You did tell the duke that I mean to go to the country?

Prudence: Yes.

Marguerite: What did he say?

Prudence: That it was a good idea, that it could do you nothing but good. And you’re going?

Marguerite: I hope so; I’ve already visited the house today.

Prudence: How much rent are they asking?

Marguerite: Four thousand francs.

Prudence: Ho ho! You must be in love, dearie.

Marguerite: That’s what I’m afraid of. It may be passion; it may be a caprice; all I know is it’s something.

Prudence: He came yesterday?

Marguerite: You can ask?

Prudence: And he’s coming back tonight.

Marguerite: He’s coming.

Prudence: I know. He stayed three or four hours at my place.

Marguerite: He spoke to you of me?

Prudence: What do you think?

Marguerite: What did he say?

Prudence: That he loved you, of course. Good grief!

Marguerite: You’ve known him a long time, have you?

Prudence: Yes.

Marguerite: Have you ever known him to be in love before?

Prudence: Never.

Marguerite: My foot!

Prudence: Seriously.

Marguerite: If you only knew what a good heart he has, how he speaks of his mother and his sister.

Prudence: What a shame that people like you haven’t got an income of £1000!

Marguerite: What luck, rather! At least, they’re sure they’re loved for themselves. [Taking Prudence’s hand and placing it on her breast] Keep your hand there for a moment.

Prudence: Why?

Marguerite: My heart’s in a flutter.

Prudence: Whatever for?

Marguerite: Because it’s ten o’clock and he’s about to arrive.

Prudence: It’s gone as far as that, has it? I have to go. Look here, if that were catching! . . .

Marguerite: [to Nanine, who comes and goes tidying up.] Open the door, Nanine.

Nanine: The bell hasn’t rung.

Marguerite: Go and do it.

Scene II

(Prudence, Marguerite)

Prudence: I’m going to pray for you, my dear.

Marguerite: What for?

Prudence: Because you’re in danger.

Marguerite: Possibly.

Scene III

(Prudence, Marguerite, Armand)

Armand: Marguerite! [He flies toward Marguerite.]

Prudence: You don’t give me the time of day, ingrate?

Armand: Pardon me, my dear Prudence; you’re doing well?

Prudence: It’s time . . . I’m leaving, children; I have someone waiting for me at home.—Goodbye. [She exits.]

Scene IV

(Armand, Marguerite)

Marguerite: [tapping on her knee with her hairbrush] Well, then, come forward and deposit yourself there.

Armand: [falling to his knees] And?

Marguerite: You love me still as much?

Armand: No!

Marguerite: What?

Armand: I love you a thousand times more, madame!

Marguerite: What have you done, today? . . .

Armand: I’ve been to see Prudence, Gustave, and Nichette—I’ve been everyplace where I could hear people talk about Marguerite.

Marguerite: And tonight?

Armand: My father wrote me that he’s waiting for me at Tours, and I replied that he could stop waiting for me. Does it look as if I’m going to Tours?

Marguerite: Still, you mustn’t quarrel with your father.

Armand: No danger of that. And you, what have you done? Tell me . . .

Marguerite: Me, oh, I’ve been thinking of you.

Armand: You have?

Marguerite: I have! I’ve made some lovely plans.

Armand: Really?

Marguerite: Yes.

Armand: Tell me.

Marguerite: Later.

Armand: Why not right away?

Marguerite: You may not love me enough yet; when they can be achieved, I’ll have plenty of time to tell you about them; you don’t need to know any more now than that you’re my . . . preoccupation.

Armand: I am?

Marguerite: Yes, you, whom I love too much.

Armand: Come on, what is it?

Marguerite: What good would it do?

Armand: I’m begging you!

Marguerite: [after a short hesitation] Can I hide anything from you?

Armand: I’m listening.

Marguerite: I’ve hit upon a scheme.

Armand: What scheme?

Marguerite: I can’t tell you what the results will be.

Armand: And what results may there be?

Marguerite: Would you like to spend the summer in the country with me?

Armand: You can ask?

Marguerite: Well, if my scheme succeeds, and it will, in a couple of weeks I’ll be free; I won’t owe a thing, and we’ll go to the country to spend the summer together.

Armand: And you can’t tell me how this will be made possible? . . .

Marguerite: No.

Armand: And you’ve hatched this plan all on your own, Marguerite?

Marguerite: Humph! What a thing to ask!

Armand: Just tell me.

Marguerite: Well, then, yes, all by myself.

Armand: And you’ll bring it about on your own too?

Marguerite: [again hesitating] On my own.

Armand: Do you have Manon Lescaut, Marguerite?

Marguerite: Yes, there’s a copy there in the living room.

Armand: Do you respect Des Grieux?

Marguerite: Why do you ask?

Armand: Because there’s a moment when Manon, too, has devised a scheme, which is to get M. de B— to give her some money and to spend it with Des Grieux. Marguerite, you have more heart than she has, and I, well, I have more integrity than he does.

Marguerite: Which means . . . ?

Armand: That if that’s the kind of scheme you have in mind, I won’t accept it.

Marguerite: Very well, my love, let’s not say any more about it. . . [a time] It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?

Armand: Yes, very nice.

Marguerite: Are there lots of people on the Champs-Élysées?

Armand: Lots.

Marguerite: Will it be like this, do you think, till the moon changes?

Armand: [in a temper] What the devil’s the moon got to do with it?

Marguerite: Well, what would you have me talk about? When I tell you I love you, when I give you proof, you get grumpy; so I talk of the moon.

Armand: What do you expect, Marguerite? I’m jealous of your least thought! What you proposed to me just now . . .

Marguerite: Oh, we’re back to that, then, are we?

Armand: My God, yes, we’re back to that . . . Well, what you proposed made me beside myself with joy, but the mystery surrounding the, um, the execution of this project . . .

Marguerite: Let’s see, let’s do a little reasoning. You love me and you’d like to spend some time with me somewhere away from this dreadful Paris.

Armand: Yes, I’d like that.

Marguerite: Me too. I love you and want the same thing, but, for that, we need what I don’t have. You aren’t jealous of the duke; you know what pure sentiments tie him to me, so let me do it.

Armand: Yet . . .

Marguerite: I love you. Come on, is it agreed?

Armand: But . . .

Marguerite: Is it agreed? Come now.

Armand: Not yet.

Marguerite: All right, you’ll come to see me tomorrow; we’ll talk about it some more.

Armand: What? I’ll come to see you tomorrow? You’re throwing me out already?

Marguerite: I’m not throwing you out. You can stay a little longer.

Armand: A little longer. So you’re expecting someone, are you?

Marguerite: Are you going to begin that all over again?

Armand: Marguerite, you’re deceiving me!

Marguerite: How long have I known you?

Armand: Four days.

Marguerite: What made me accept your visits?

Armand: Nothing.

Marguerite: If I didn’t love you, would I have the right to show you the door as I’ve done to Varville and so many others?

Armand: Certainly.

Marguerite: Then, my love, go on and love, and don’t grumble.

Armand: Pardon, a thousand pardons.

Marguerite: At this rate, I’ll spend my whole life pardoning you.

Armand: No, this is the last time. There, I’ll be going.

Marguerite: [She looks at the clock] One hour on the dot. Come tomorrow, at noon, and we’ll have lunch together.

Armand: Till tomorrow, then.

Marguerite: Till tomorrow.

Armand: At noon?

Marguerite: At noon.

Armand: You swear to me . . .

Marguerite: What?

Armand: That you aren’t expecting anyone.

Marguerite: Again! I swear—and that I love nobody in the whole wide world but you!

Armand: Goodbye!

Marguerite: Goodbye, you big baby! [He hesitates a moment and exits.]

Scene 5

(Marguerite, alone, in the same place)

Marguerite: Who could have made me believe, eight days ago, that this man, whose existence I never even suspected, would now, so quickly, possess my heart and mind?

Scene 6

(Marguerite, Nanine, the Count de Giray)

Nanine: [announcing the count, who follows her) His Excellency the Count!

Marguerite: [without stirring] Good evening, count . . .

The Count: Good evening, my dear. How are things going this evening?

Marguerite: Perfectly.

The Count: [on his way to sit by the chimney] It’s devilishly cold! You wrote asking me to come at ten thirty. You see that I am punctual.

Marguerite: Thanks. We must chat, my dear count.

The Count: Have you had supper? . . .

Marguerite: Why? . . .

The Count: Because we could go out to eat and talk during the meal.

Marguerite: You’re hungry?

The Count: There’s always room for supper. I dined so badly at the club.

Marguerite: What were they doing there?

The Count: They were playing when I left.

Marguerite: Was Saint-Gaudens losing?

The Count: He lost twenty-five louis; he was shouting as if he’d lost a thousand crowns.

Marguerite: He had supper here the other day with Olympia.

The Count: And who else?

Marguerite: Gaston Rieux. You know him, do you?

The Count: Yes.

Marguerite: M. Armand Duval.

The Count: Who’s this M. Armand Duval?

Marguerite: He’s a friend of Gaston’s. Prudence and I, the supper . . . We had a lot of laughs.

The Count: Had I known, I would have come. As to that, did somebody leave here just now, a little before I came in?

Marguerite: No, nobody.

The Count: It was just that, as I got out of the carriage, someone ran toward me, as if to see who I was, and, after seeing me, turned aside.

Marguerite: [Aside] Could it be Armand? [She rings.]

The Count: Do you need something?

Marguerite: Yes, I must have a word with Nanine. [To Nanine, in hushed tones] Go down. Once in the street, without giving a sign of what you’re up to, look to see whether M. Armand Duval is there, and come back and tell me.

Nanine: Yes, Ma’am.

The Count: I’ve a bit of news.

Marguerite: What?

The Count: Gagouki is married.

Marguerite: Our Polish prince?

The Count: Himself.

Marguerite: To whom?

The Count: Guess.

Marguerite: Anyone I know?

The Count: He’s married little Adele.

Marguerite: She’s made a mistake!

The Count: On the contrary, he’s the one that’s made the mistake . . .

Marguerite: My dear, when a man of the world marries a girl like Adele, it isn’t he who makes a fool of himself; it’s she who makes a bad bargain. Your Pole is ruined, he has a detestable reputation, and, if he marries Adele, it’s for the twelve- or fifteen-thousand-pound income that you arrange for her to receive, one installment after the other.

Nanine: [Returning, and low to Marguerite] No, ma’am, there’s no one.

Marguerite: Now, let’s talk seriously, my dear count . . .

The Count: Seriously! Couldn’t we keep it light?

Marguerite: Later on we’ll see whether you take things lightly.

The Count: I’m listening.

Marguerite: Are you carrying any cash?

The Count: I? Never.

Marguerite: Then it’ll have to be a check.

The Count: So you need money here?

Marguerite: Oh, dear! I need fifteen thousand francs!

The Count: The Devil! That’s a pretty penny. And why exactly fifteen thousand francs?

Marguerite: Because I owe it.

The Count: So you’re paying your creditors, are you?

Marguerite: They want their money.

The Count: It’s absolutely necessary?

Marguerite: Yes.

The Count: Then . . . it’s settled; I’ll write a check.

Scene 7

(Nanine, Marguerite, the Count)

Nanine: [entering] Madame, this letter just came for you, for immediate delivery.

Marguerite: Who could be writing at this hour? [Opening the letter] Armand! What does this mean? [Reading] “It is unbecoming for me to play the fool, even with the woman I love. At the very moment I left your building, M. the Count de Giray entered it. I have neither the age nor the character of Saint-Gaudens; forgive me the one fault that I have, that of not being a millionaire, and let’s both forget that we ever knew each other and that for an instant we thought ourselves in love. When you receive this letter, I will have left Paris. Armand.”

Nanine: Will you reply, ma’am?

Marguerite: No, say that it’s all right. [Nanine exits.]

Scene 8

(The Count, Marguerite)

Marguerite: [To herself] Well, chalk up one dream, vanished. What a shame!

The Count: What’s the letter?

Marguerite: What is it, my dear friend? It’s good news for you.

The Count: What?

Marguerite: You gain fifteen thousand francs by that letter.

The Count: It’s the first that’s ever brought me in so much.

Marguerite: I no longer need what I asked of you.

The Count: Your creditors send you back their bills, do they, cancelled? Ah! That’s nice of them.

Marguerite: No, I was in love, my dear.

The Count: You?

Marguerite: My very self.

The Count: Good God, with whom?

Marguerite: With a man that didn’t love me, as often happens; with a man without a fortune, as always happens.

The Count: Ah, yes, affairs like that help you survive the others.

Marguerite: And here’s what he writes me. [She gives the count the letter.]

The Count: “My dear Marguerite . . . “ Wait, wait. It’s M. Duval. He’s very jealous, this lad. Ah! now I understand what those “bills” were all about. That was very nice, what you were up to! [He returns the letter to her.]

Marguerite: [ringing and tossing the letter onto the table] You invited me to supper.

The Count: And I repeat the offer. You’ll never eat fifteen thousand francs’ worth. That’s one budgetary rule I’ll always follow.

Marguerite: Well, then, let’s go have supper; I need some fresh air.

The Count: You seem to need it badly; you’re quite agitated, my dear.

Marguerite: It will pass. [To Nanine, who enters] Give me a shawl and a hat.

Nanine: Which, ma’am?

Marguerite: Whatever hat you like and a light shawl. [To the count] You’ll have to take us as we are, my poor friend.

The Count: Oh, I’m used to all that.

Nanine: [giving the shawl] You’ll be cold, ma’am.

Marguerite: No.

Nanine: Shall I come with you, ma’am? . . .

Marguerite: No, go to bed; it may be late when I come back . . . Coming, count? [They exit.]

Scene 9

(Nanine, alone)

Nanine: Something’s going on; madame is too moved; I’ll bet it’s that letter she received just now. [Taking up the letter.] This is it. [She reads it.] The Devil! M. Armand goes directly to the point. Enlisted the day before yesterday, resigning today, he’s had the life span of a rose—or a statesman . . . Wait a minute! [Prudence enters.] Mme Duvernoy.

Scene 10

(Nanine, Prudence, then a Servant)

Prudence: Marguerite has gone out.

Nanine: Just now.

Prudence: Where has she gone?

Nanine: She’s gone to supper.

Prudence: With M. de Giray?

Nanine: Yes.

Prudence: She just now received a letter?

Nanine: From M. Armand.

Prudence: What did she say?

Nanine: Nothing.

Prudence: And she means to come back?

Nanine: Late, probably. I should have thought you’d gone to bed hours ago.

Prudence: I had, and I was sleeping, when that bell’s insistent jangling woke me up; I was going to open . . . [There is a knock.]

Nanine: Come in.

A Servant: Madame sent to ask for a coat; she’s cold.

Prudence: Madame’s down below?

The Servant: Yes, in a carriage.

Prudence: Ask her to come up. Ask her in my name.

The Servant: But madame is not alone in the carriage.

Prudence: That makes no difference. Go!

Armand: [outside] Prudence!

Prudence: Well, that’s just fine! Now the other one’s losing patience! Oh, these jealous lovers, they’re all alike.

Armand: Well?

Prudence: Wait a minute, hang it! I’ll call you right away.

Scene 11

(Nanine, Prudence Marguerite, then Nanine)

Marguerite: What do you want with me, Prudence, dear?

Prudence: Armand is at my place.

Marguerite: What’s that to me?

Prudence: He wants to speak to you.

Marguerite: But I don’t want to have him here; besides, I can’t. I’m expected downstairs. Tell him so.

Prudence: I wouldn’t dream of delivering any such message. He’ll challenge the count.

Marguerite: Oh, so that’s the way it is? What does he want?

Prudence: How do I know? Does he know, himself? But anyone can see he’s a man in love.

Nanine: [the coat in her hand] Madame, do you want your coat?

Marguerite: No, not yet.

Prudence: Well . . . well, what have you decided?  . . .

Marguerite: That boy will make me unhappy.

Prudence: Then don’t see him anymore, my dear.—It’s better for things to stay as they are.

Marguerite: That’s your advice, is it?

Prudence: Certainly!

Marguerite: [after a time] What more did he tell you?

Prudence: So you want him to come. I’ll fetch him. And the count? . . .

Marguerite: The count! He’ll be waiting.

Prudence: Possibly he’d prefer to be dismissed altogether.

Marguerite: You’re right.—Nanine, go down and tell M. de Giray that I’m definitely ill and that I won’t be going to supper; ask him to excuse me.

Nanine: Yes, ma’am.

Prudence: [at the window] Armand! Come! [to Marguerite] He won’t make me call twice, you’ll see.

Marguerite: Please stay while he’s here.

Prudence: Umh-umh.—Since you’ll eventually tell me to go away, I prefer to go away at once.

Nanine: His Excellency the Count has gone, madame.

The Count: He said nothing?

Nanine: No. [She exits.]

Scene 12

(Marguerite, Armand, Prudence)

Armand: [entering] Marguerite! At last!

Prudence: Well, chickabiddies, I’m off. [She exits.]

Scene 13

(Marguerite, Armand)

Armand: [falling to his knees at Marguerite’s feet] Marguerite . . .

Marguerite: What do you want?

Armand: I want you to forgive me.

Marguerite: You don’t deserve it! [Movement by Armand.] I accept your being jealous and writing me an irritating letter, but not an ironic and impertinent one. You have given me a lot of pain and done me a lot of harm.

Armand: And you, Marguerite, haven’t you done the same to me?

Marguerite: If I have, it’s against my will.

Armand: When I saw the count arrive, when I realized that you’d sent me away so you could entertain him, I went crazy, lost my head, and wrote to you. But then, instead of writing the reply I was hoping for, instead of making amends, you told Nanine that all was well, and so I asked myself what would become of me if I never saw you again. All at once I felt myself lost in a void. Don’t forget, Marguerite, that, though I have known you for only a few days, I have loved you for two years!

Marguerite: Very well, my friend, you’ve taken a wise resolution.

Armand: What’s that?

Marguerite: To leave. Didn’t you tell me so in your letter?

Armand: Could I?

Marguerite: But you must.

Armand: I must?

Marguerite: Yes, not only for yourself but for me. I’m in no position to see you anymore, and everyone tells me not to love you.

Armand: So you do love me a little, Marguerite?

Marguerite: I did love you.

Armand: And now?

Marguerite: Now, I’ve given the matter some thought, and what I’d hoped for is impossible.

Armand: No, if you’d loved me, you wouldn’t have entertained the count, especially tonight.

Marguerite: And that’s another reason why it’s better for us to go no further. I’m young, I’m pretty, I please you, I’m a good girl, you’re a sensible young man, so you must take from me what is good, leave what is bad, and take no notice of the rest.

Armand: This isn’t how you talked to me a little while ago, Marguerite, when you were teasing me with the prospect of our spending some months together, alone, far from Paris, far away from the world. Falling out of that hope into reality was what hurt me so badly.

Marguerite: That’s true. I told myself, “A little break would do me good; he takes an interest in my health; if there were a way to spend the summer with him in peace, in some country retreat, in the heart of some forest, I’d be just that much further ahead when the bad days come.” At the end of three or four months, we would have returned to Paris, warmly shaken hands, and fashioned a friendship out of whatever was left of our love; that was still a lot to hope for, since the love I can inspire, violent though it’s been called, still hasn’t always got enough meat on its bones to flesh out a friendship later on. But in any case, you didn’t want it; your heart is a mighty lord that will be in no one’s debt. Let’s say no more about it. You’ve come here for four days, and you’ve had supper with me: send me a jewel with your card, and we’ll be even.

Armand: Marguerite, are you crazy? I love you! That doesn’t mean that you’re pretty and that you’ll please me for three or four months. You are my every hope, my every thought, my whole life; in a word, I love you! What more can I say?

Marguerite: Then you’re right: it would be better for me to stop seeing you right this minute!

Armand: Naturally, because you don’t love me.

Marguerite: Because . . . You don’t know what you’re saying!

Armand: What makes you say that?

Marguerite: What makes me say that? You want to know, do you? Because in the hours since this dream came to me, I have plumbed it to its depths; because there are days when I am tired of the life I lead and catch glimpses of another; because in the midst of our turbulent existence, our mind’s alive—our pride, our senses are alive—but our heart swells up and, finding no vent, suffocates us. We appear happy and are envied. But in truth, our lovers rush to ruin themselves, not for us as they claim, but for their own vanity; we come first in their self-love, last in their esteem. We have friends, friends like Prudence, whose friendship verges on servitude—but never on selflessness. They don’t much care what we do, provided that they’re seen in our boxes or ride in our carriages. So all around us there’s ruin, shame, lying. And that’s why I now and then used to dream, not daring to tell a soul, of meeting a man high-minded enough not to call me to account for anything and to want only to be the lover of my dreams. This man, I found in the duke, but age neither protects nor consoles, and my spirit has other needs. Then I met you—you, young, ardent, happy; the tears that I saw you shed for me, the interest you took in my health, your mysterious visits during my illness, your frankness, your enthusiasm—everything invited me to see in you the one for whom I was crying out in the depths of my frenzied solitude. In a minute, like a fool, I built a whole future on your love, I dreamed of the countryside, of purity; I was reminded of my childhood—we all have childhoods, whatever we may become. That was to desire the impossible; one word from you proved that to me . . . Well, you wanted to know all; are you satisfied?

Armand: And do you imagine that after those words I’m going to leave you? that when happiness greets us, we’ll run the other way? No, Marguerite, no; your dream will come to pass, I swear. Let’s not argue; we’re young, we love each other; let’s go where love leads us.

Marguerite: Just don’t be unfaithful to me, Armand. Remember, a violent emotion could kill me; keep in mind who I am, and what I am.

Armand: You’re an angel, and I love you!

Nanine: [without, knocking at the door] Madame . . .

Marguerite: What is it?

Nanine: There’s a letter!

Marguerite: [smiling] Is there, now? So it’s going to be a night of letters? . . . Who sent it?

Nanine: His Excellency the count.

Marguerite: Does he ask for a reply?

Nanine: Yes, ma’am.

Marguerite: [arms around Armand’s neck] Very well, say there isn’t any.

Act III

Auteuil [a posh borough of Paris between the Bois de Boulogne and the Seine, in the 16^th Arrondissement]. Chimney upstage with an unsilvered mirror [since it will face the audience, it must not be a real, reflective mirror]. Door on each side of the chimney. View onto a garden.

Scene 1

(Nanine, bringing in a tea tray after breakfast; Prudence, then Armand)

Prudence: [entering] Where’s Marguerite?

Nanine: Madame is in the garden with Mlle Nichette and M. Gustave, who came to have breakfast with her and are spending the day here.

Prudence: I’m going to join them.

Armand: [entering while Nanine exits] Prudence, I have to speak to you. Fifteen days ago you left here in Marguerite’s carriage, you remember?

Prudence: True.

Armand: Since then we haven’t seen the carriage—or the horses either. Eight days ago, as you left us, you seemed afraid of being cold, and Marguerite lent you a cashmere shawl, which you haven’t returned. Finally, yesterday she gave you some bracelets and some diamonds to be remounted, as she said.—Where are the horses, the carriage, the shawl, and the diamonds?

Prudence: Would you like me to be frank?

Armand: I’d like nothing better.

Prudence: The horses have been returned to the dealer, who bought them back at half price.

Armand: The shawl?

Prudence: Sold.

Armand: The diamonds?

Prudence: Pawned this morning.—I’ve brought back the pawn-tickets.

Armand: And why didn’t you tell me all this?

Prudence: Marguerite didn’t want me to.

Armand: And why all this selling and pawning?

Prudence: To pay the bills!—Ah! do you suppose, my dear, that it’s enough to love and go outside of Paris to live a pastoral and ethereal life? Hardly! Beside the poetic life there’s the real one. The duke, whom I have just been to see, for I wanted, if possible, to avoid such sacrifices—the duke doesn’t care to give Marguerite anything more, unless she leaves you, and, God knows, she doesn’t want to do that!

Armand: Good Marguerite!!

Prudence: Yes, she’s good, too good, for who knows how it’ll all end? To say nothing of the fact that to pay what she still owes, she wants to dispossess herself of all she still has. I have in my pocket a divestment project that her lawyer just gave me.

Armand: How much should it yield?

Prudence: Fifteen thousand francs at least.

Armand: Ask the creditors for two weeks; in two weeks, I’ll pay it all.

Prudence: You’re going to borrow . . .

Armand: Yes.

Prudence: That’ll be fine and dandy! You’ll quarrel with your father, compromise your future.

Armand: I had a suspicion about what was happening; I wrote to my notary that I wanted to make over to someone the property I have from my mother, and I’ve just received the reply. The deed is all prepared, and there’s nothing left but some formalities to complete. In the course of the day, I must go to Paris to sign. While waiting, prevent Marguerite . . .

Prudence: But the papers I’m carrying?

Armand: When I’ve gone, you’ll give them back to her, as if I’d said nothing to you, for she must know nothing of our conversation. She’s coming; not a word, now!

Scene II

(Marguerite, Nichette, Gustave, Armand, Prudence)

Marguerite, upon entering, puts a finger to her lips as a sign to Prudence to be quiet.

Armand: Darling! Prudence needs a scolding.

Marguerite: Why?

Armand: I asked her yesterday to stop by my house and bring me any mail there might be, since I haven’t been to Paris for a couple of weeks, and she went and forgot, so that now I have to leave you for an hour or two. For a month I haven’t written to my father. No one knows where I am. I didn’t so much as tell my servant, since I didn’t want to be pestered. It’s a nice day, and Nichette and Gustave are here to keep you company; I’ll jump into a coach, stop by my place, and come right back.

Marguerite: Go, dear boy, go; if you haven’t written to your father, it’s not my fault. Plenty of times I told you to write to him. Come back soon. You will find us chatting and working here, Gustave, Nichette, and me.

Armand: An hour and I’ll be back. [Marguerite accompanies him to the door; as she returns she speaks to Prudence.]

Marguerite: Is everything arranged?

Prudence: Yes.

Marguerite: The papers?

Prudence: Here they are. The lawyer will come this afternoon to confer with you. As for me, I’m going to have breakfast; I’m famished.

Marguerite: Go on; Nanine will give you whatever you want.

Scene 3

(Marguerite, Nichette, Gustave)

Marguerite: See, that’s how we’ve been living for three months.

Nichette: You’re happy, are you?

Marguerite: Oh, yes, I’m so happy!

Nichette: Didn’t I tell you, Marguerite, that true happiness lies in the quiet life and dancing in time with your heartbeat? . . . How often have Gustave and I said to each other, “When will Marguerite love someone and settle down?”

Marguerite: Well, your wish has come true: I am in love, and I’m happy; the love that you two share and your happiness made me envious.

Gustave: The fact is that we are happy, we two, aren’t we, Nichette?

Nichette: I really think we are, and it doesn’t cost much. You’re a great lady, you are, and you never come to see us; if you did, you’d want to live just as we live. You think you live simply here; what would you say, then, if you saw my two little rooms in Montmartre—Blanche Street—on the fifth floor, with windows that look out onto gardens where the people that own them never walk!—How can it be that there are people who have gardens but don’t walk in them?

Gustave: We’d remind you of a German novel or an idyll by Goethe, with Schubert’s music.

Nichette: Go ahead and make your jokes because Marguerite’s here. When we’re alone you aren’t so ironical; you’re as sweet as a lamb, tender as a turtle-dove. Oh, I forgot to tell you he wanted me to move. We live too simply to suit him.

Gustave: No, just up too many flights of stairs.

Nichette: All you have to do is stay put and not go outside, and you won’t know what floor it’s on.

Marguerite: What a pair! You two are absolutely charming.

Nichette: On the pretext that he has an income of six thousand pounds, he doesn’t want me to work; one of these days, he’d like to buy me a carriage.

Gustave: Don’t be surprised when it happens.

Nichette: I’m in no hurry, but first your uncle needs to revise his opinion of me and make you his heir and me his niece.

Gustave: He’s starting to warm up to you.

Marguerite: He doesn’t know you, then? If he did, he’d be crazy about you.

Nichette: No, his worthy uncle has never expressed a wish to see me. He still belongs to the race of uncles who think working girls are made for ruining nephews; he’d like to make him marry a lady. Now, I ask you, don’t you think I’m a lady?

Gustave: He’s growing more nearly human every day; and besides, now that I’m a lawyer, he’s more indulgent.

Nichette: Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you, Gustave’s a lawyer.

Marguerite: I’ll put my next lawsuit in his hands.

Nichette: He’s pled a case! I was at the hearing.

Marguerite: Did he win?

Gustave: I fell on my face. My client was sentenced to ten years’ forced labor.

Nichette: Luckily!

Marguerite: Why luckily?

Nichette: The man he was defending was a real scoundrel. What a funny trade, this business of being a lawyer! A lawyer’s a great man when he can say to himself, “I had in my hands a rascal who killed his father, his mother, and his children; well, I have such talent that I got him off and restored to society this ornament it had been missing.”

Marguerite: Since there he sits, Mr. Lawyer, are we to be attending the wedding pretty soon?

Gustave: If I marry.

Nichette: What do you mean, if you marry, sir? But I do hope you will marry, and what’s more, marry me! You’ll never marry a better woman or one who loves you more.

Marguerite: When, then?

Nichette: Soon.

Marguerite: You’re very lucky!

Nichette: Won’t you end up like us? . . .

Marguerite: Who do you want me to marry?

Nichette: Armand.

Marguerite: Armand? He has the right to love me but not to marry me; I’m quite content to take his heart, but I shall never take his name. There are things a woman cannot efface from her life, you see, Nichette, and for which she should not let her husband reproach her. If I wanted Armand to marry me, he’d marry me tomorrow, but I love him too much to demand such a sacrifice!—Gustave, am I right?

Gustave: You’re an honest girl, Marguerite.

Marguerite: No, but I think like an honest man. That’s always the way. I’m enjoying a bliss that I had never dared to hope for, and I thank God for it and don’t wish to tempt Providence.

Nichette: Gustave’s being a big smart aleck; he’d marry you, if he were in Armand’s shoes, wouldn’t you, Gustave?

Gustave: Maybe.

Nichette: The bottom line is that you’re happy. If so, the rest is bunk.

Marguerite: I am happy, but who could have told me that one day I, Marguerite Gautier, I would live content with the love of one man, that I would spend my days seated at his side, working, reading, listening to him talk?

Nichette: Like us.

Marguerite: I can speak frankly with the two of you, who will believe me because you listen with your hearts: there are moments when I forget what I have been, and my former self so detaches from my present self that two entirely distinct women come into being, and the second can scarcely recall the first. When, in a white dress, wearing a great straw hat, and carrying over my arm a coat against the evening chill, I climb with Armand into the boat that we allow to drift and come to rest, all alone, under the willows of the next island, no one, not even I, could guess that this white shade is Marguerite Gautier. On my bouquets alone, more money was spent than would feed a respectable family for a whole year; well, now one flower like this that Armand gave me this morning is enough to sweeten my whole day. Furthermore, you know what it is to love: how quickly the hours pass when you’re alone together and how they carry us to the end of the weeks and the months with neither shock nor fatigue. Yes, I am very happy, but I want to be still more so, for you don’t know everything . . .

Nichette: What more is there?

Marguerite: You told me just now that I don’t live like you; you won’t be saying so for long.

Nichette: What do you mean?

Marguerite: Without Armand’s suspecting a thing, I’m going to sell everything in my Paris apartment; I don’t want to go back to it. I’ll pay all my debts; I’ll rent a little place near yours; I’ll furnish it very simply, and we’ll live like that, forgetting, forgotten. In summer we’ll come back here to the country but in a more modest house than this. Who wants to know what bliss is? You taught it to me, and now I will try to teach it to them whenever they like.

Nanine: Madame, here is a gentleman who wants to speak to you . . .

Marguerite: The lawyer I’ve been expecting, no doubt; go and wait for me in the garden; I’ll join you soon. I’ll leave with you for Paris;  . . . we’ll all go back together. [To Nanine.] Have him come in.

[After a last sign to Nichette and Gustave, who exit, she goes over to the door through which the individual announced enters.]

Scene 4

(Monsieur Duval, Marguerite, then Nanine]

M. Duval: [on the threshold of the door] Mlle Marguerite Gautier?

Marguerite: I am she, sir. To whom have I the honor of speaking?

M. Duval: To M. Duval.

Marguerite: M. Duval!

M. Duval: Yes, mademoiselle, Armand’s father.

Marguerite: [troubled] Armand isn’t here, sir.

M. Duval: I know, mademoiselle! . . .; actually it is you I wish to see, for I have a few things I need to make clear. Do please hear me out. —My son, mademoiselle, is compromising and ruining himself for you.

Marguerite: You’re mistaken, sir. Thank God, no one speaks about me any longer, and I accept nothing from Armand.

M. Duval: That means—for your luxurious and expensive mode of life is common knowledge—that means that my son is despicable enough to squander, with you, what you accept from others.

Marguerite: Forgive me, sir, but I am a woman and I am in my own home, two reasons that should plead in my favor for your courteous usage; the tone in which you address me is not that which I should expect of a man of breeding whom I have the honor of meeting for the first time, and . . .

M. Duval: And? . . .

Marguerite: I beg you to allow me to retire, even more for your sake than for mine.

M. Duval: I must admit that hearing these words, observing these manners, one hesitates to call the language a sham, the manners a disguise. I was led to believe that you were a dangerous person.

Marguerite: Yes, sir, dangerous, but to myself, not to others.

M. Duval: Dangerous or not, it is nonetheless a fact, mademoiselle, that Armand is ruining himself for you.

Marguerite: I tell you again, sir, with all the respect I owe to Armand’s father—I tell you once more that you are mistaken.

M. Duval: Then what is the meaning of this letter from my notary, who tells me that Armand wants to pay you an annuity?

Marguerite: I assure you, sir, that, if Armand has done that, he has done it without my knowledge, for he is well aware that, should he make me such an offer, I would refuse it.

M. Duval: However, you have not always spoken in this manner.

Marguerite: That is true, sir, but I did not love him then.

M. Duval: And now?

Marguerite: Now, I love with all the purity that a woman can find in the depths of her heart when God takes pity on her and sends her repentance.

M. Duval: Here come the high-sounding words.

Marguerite: Listen, sir . . . My God, I know that little credit is given to what women like me may claim, but, by what I hold most dear in the world, by my love for Armand, I swear to you that I knew nothing of this gift.

M. Duval: Nevertheless, mademoiselle, you must be living on something.

Marguerite: You force me to tell you what I would have liked to keep from you, sir; but, as I prize before everything else the esteem of Armand’s father, I will speak. Ever since I have known your son, in order that my love should not resemble for one instant all that had gone by that name in my set, I pawned or sold cashmeres, diamonds, gems, carriages, and when just now I was told that someone was asking to see me, I thought it was a lawyer through whom I sell furniture, tables, tapestries, and the rest of that wretched excess you reproach me with. Lastly, if you doubt my claims, see here: I wasn’t expecting you, sir, and therefore you cannot believe that this legal instrument was prepared for your eyes. If you have doubts, see for yourself. [She gives him the deed of sale that Prudence gave her.]

M. Duval: A sale of your furniture, to be paid, by the purchaser, to your creditors, the surplus reverting to you. [Gazing upon her in wonder.] Was I mistaken?

Marguerite: Yes, sir, you were mistaken, or rather you were misled. Yes, I was silly, yes, I have a sad past, but to erase it, since I have been in love, I would give my blood to the last drop. Oh, whatever you may have heard, I have courage, I may even say I’m good; you will see when you know me better . . . It’s Armand who has transformed me!—He has loved me, I him. You are his father; you must be good like him; I beg you, don’t speak ill of me to him. He will believe you, for he loves you, and I, I respect and love you because you are his father.

M. Duval: Forgive me, please, for having begun so clumsily, madame. I do not know you and could not have foreseen all I have discovered in you. I arrived vexed with my son’s silence and with his ingratitude, which I blamed on you; please forgive me.

Marguerite: I appreciate your gallant apology, sir.

M. Duval: Also, it’s in the name of your noble sentiments that I intend to ask you to give Armand the greatest proof of love that you can give him.

Marguerite: Oh, sir, keep still, I beg of you; you are about to ask me something terrible, all the more terrible in that I have always expected it: you were bound to come; I was too happy.

M. Duval: I am no longer vexed; we are conversing like two true hearts, having the same affection though in different senses, and both of us eager to prove this affection to the one we hold dear.

Marguerite: Yes, sir, yes.

M. Duval: Your soul has depths of altruism that a great many women lack; also I speak to you as a father, Marguerite, as a father who comes to ask you for his two children’s happiness.

Marguerite: His two children?

M. Duval: Yes, Marguerite, two children. I have a daughter, young, beautiful, pure as an angel. She loves a young man, and she too has fixed all her hopes upon this love, but she has a right to it. I mean to give her in marriage; I wrote to Armand, but Armand, wholly under your spell, never even received my letters; I might have died without his knowing. Well, then, my child, my beloved Blanche, is marrying a respectable man; she is entering an honorable family, who wish everything to be honorable in mine. The world makes unreasonable demands, especially the provincial world. As redeemed as you may be in Armand’s eyes—in my own—you are not so in the eyes of the world, which will never see in you anything but your past and will slam its doors in your face. The family of the man who is to become my son-in-law have learned of Armand’s way of life: They have threatened to withdraw their consent if Armand persists in this course. The future, then, of a girl who has done you no harm hangs in the balance. Marguerite, in the name of your love, grant me my daughter’s happiness.

Marguerite: How good you are, sir, to deign to speak to me in this fashion, and what can I refuse to such an eloquent exhortation? Yes, I understand you; you’re right. I will leave Paris; I’ll separate from Armand for a time. It will be distressing, but I wish to do this for you so that you will have nothing to hold against me . . . And, after all, the joy of the reunion will make us forget the pain of the separation. You will allow him to write to me sometimes, and, when his sister is married . . .

M. Duval: Thank you, Marguerite, thank you, but it is something else that I ask of you.

Marguerite: Something else! And what more, then, can you be asking of me?

M. Duval: Listen well, my child, and let’s do boldly what must be done; a temporary separation will not suffice.

Marguerite: You want me to leave Armand for good and all?

M. Duval: There is no other way!

Marguerite: Never! . . . You don’t know, then, how much we love each other? You don’t know, then, that I have neither friends nor parents nor family, that by forgiving me Armand swore to be all that to me, and that I have knit my life with his? Lastly, then, you don’t know that I have been stricken with a fatal illness, that I have but a few years to live? Leave Armand, sir? You might as well kill me at once.

M. Duval: Now, now, please remain calm and don’t exaggerate . . . You are young, you’re beautiful, and you mistake for sickness the fatigue of a somewhat agitated life; you will certainly not die before the age when one is glad to die. I do demand of you an enormous sacrifice, I know, but one which you cannot in conscience deny me. Listen to me; you have known Armand for three months, and you love him! But does a love so young have the right to destroy an entire future? It is the entire future of my son that you are destroying by remaining with him! Are you even sure your love will last? Hasn’t your optimism ever let you down before? What if you should suddenly happen to realize—too late—that you do not love my son, what if you should happen to love another? Pardon me, Marguerite, but the past gives me the right to make such suppositions.

Marguerite: Never, sir, never have I loved and never will I love as I love now.

M. Duval: That may be so! Yet if you are not mistaken, what about him? At his age, is the heart capable of a decisive commitment? Don’t the affections keep changing? With the same heart a son loves his parents above all others; then when a husband, he loves his wife more than his parents; and later as father, he loves his children more than his parents, wife, and mistresses. The heart is fickle because its lavish bounty cannot be confined. It could be, then, that you are both deluded—each about the other—what more probable? Now, do you want to see beyond probability, to reality, certainty? You’re listening, aren’t you?

Marguerite: My God! How could I not?

M. Duval: You are on the verge of sacrificing everything for my son, but what equal sacrifice, supposing he accepts yours, can he make in exchange? He will take the days of your youth, and later on, when he has had his fill—for that day will come—what will follow? Either he will be an ordinary man and will leave you, throwing your past in your face and saying that he is doing no more than others have done before him; or he will be an upright man and marry you or at least keep you close to him. This liaison, or this marriage, which won’t be based on chastity, which won’t be supported by religion, which won’t yield a family—this thing, excusable perhaps in a youth, will it be so in a man of riper years? To what ambition dare he aspire? What career will be open to him? What consolation will I receive from my son, after dedicating myself for twenty years to making him happy? Your cohabitation is not the concord of two pure kindred spirits, the union of innocent affections; no, it is passion in her most earthly and most human guise, born of the caprice of one and the fantasy of the other. What will remain of it when you have both grown old? Who tells you that the first wrinkles on your forehead will not lift the veil from his eyes and that the illusion will not fade with your youth?

Marguerite: Oh! Reality!

M. Duval: Do you see now your double old age, doubly deserted, doubly isolated, doubly sterile? When you remember the past, what will you see? What good will you have accomplished? You and my son have two completely opposed routes to travel, which chance has joined for an instant but which reason must separate forever and ever. In the life that you have voluntarily made for yourselves, you cannot see the future. You have been happy for three months; don’t soil this happiness, which cannot last; treasure its memory in your heart, that it may make you strong; it’s all you have the right to ask of him. One day, you will be proud of your sacrifice, and all your life you will have your own self-esteem. It’s a man who knows life who speaks to you, a father who implores you. Come, Marguerite, prove to me that you truly love my son. Do you have what it takes?

Marguerite: In other words, do what she may, a fallen creature will never rise again. God may perhaps forgive her, but the world will remain inflexible! After all, by what right do you seek to take, in the heart of the family, a seat reserved for virtue alone? . . . You love! So what? Is that supposed to be a justification? Whatever evidence you may give of this love, people won’t believe it, and why should they? What are you doing talking to us of love and the future? What new words are these? Look at the mire of your past. What man would wish to call you wife? What child would wish to call you mother? You are right, sir; all you tell me, I have told myself often enough, with terror, but, being alone when I said it, I managed not to hear myself out to the bitter end. You say it again, and it becomes real; it commands obedience. You speak to me in your son’s name, in your daughter’s name, and it’s quite right for you to invoke such names. Well, sir, you will say one day to this pure and lovely girl, for it is to her that I mean to sacrifice my happiness, you will tell her that once there was a woman somewhere who had but one hope, one thought, one dream in the world, and that at the invocation of her name this woman renounced all that, crushed her heart between her hands, and died of it, for I will die of it, sir, and perhaps, then, God will forgive me.

M. Duval: Poor woman!

Marguerite: You pity me, sir, and you weep, I believe; thank you for your tears; they will fortify me as much as you might wish. You wish me to separate from your son for his peace and quiet, for his honor, for his future; what must I do? Direct me; I’m ready.

M. Duval: You must tell him you don’t love him anymore.

Marguerite: [smiling with sadness] He won’t believe me.

M. Duval: You must leave.

Marguerite: He’ll follow me.

M. Duval: Then . . .

Marguerite: Look here, sir, do you believe that I love Armand, that I love him with a disinterested love?

M. Duval: Yes, Marguerite.

Marguerite: Do you believe that in this love I have invested the joy and the absolution of my life?

M. Duval: I do.

Marguerite: Very well, sir, kiss me once as you kissed your daughter, and I swear to you that this kiss, the only truly pure one I will ever have received, will enable me to conquer my love and that within a week your son will be returned to your side, perhaps unhappy for a while but cured forever; I swear to you as well that he will never know what has passed between us.

M. Duval: [kissing Marguerite] You are a noble girl, Marguerite, but I’m very much afraid . . .

Marguerite: Oh, don‘t be afraid, sir; he’ll hate me. [She rings and Nanine appears.] Ask Madame Duvernoy to come.

Nanine: Yes, ma’am. [She exits.]

Marguerite: [to M. Duval] One last favor, sir!

M. Duval: Speak, madame, speak!

Marguerite: In a few hours, Armand is going to have one of the greatest sorrows he has known, possibly the greatest he will ever know in his life. So he will need a heart that loves him; be there for him, be nearby. And now let us part; he could return at any moment; all would be lost if he saw you.

M. Duval: But what are you going to do?

Marguerite: If I told you, sir, you would be obliged in honor to forbid me to do it.

M. Duval: Then what may I do for you, to discharge the debt I’ll owe you?

Marguerite: You might, when I am dead and Armand curses my memory, you might assure him that I loved him well and that I gave signal proof of it. I hear noise: goodbye, sir; there is little likelihood that we shall ever see each other again, so be glad! [M. Duval exits.]

Scene 5

(Marguerite, alone; then Prudence)

Marguerite: [aside] My God! Give me strength. [She writes a letter.]

Prudence: You sent for me, my dear Marguerite?

Marguerite: Yes, I want you to do something for me.

Prudence: What?

Marguerite: Deliver this letter.

Prudence: To whom?

Marguerite: Look! [Prudence is astonished as she reads the address.] Silence! Leave right away.

Scene 6

(Marguerite, then Armand)

Marguerite: [alone and continuing to write] And now a letter to Armand. What am I going to tell him? I’m losing my mind or I’m dreaming. This can’t be happening! I’ll never have the courage . . . One can’t force a human creature to do more than it’s capable of doing.

Armand: [who during this time has entered and approached Marguerite] So what are you up to, there, Marguerite?

Marguerite: [rising and crumpling the letter] Armand! . . . Nothing, my love!

Armand: You were writing?

Marguerite: No, . . . Yes.

Armand: Why are you upset and so pale? Who were you writing to, Marguerite? Give me that letter.

Marguerite: This letter was for you, Armand, but I ask you in the name of heaven, don’t ask me to give it to you.

Armand: I thought we were done with the secrets and mysteries.

Marguerite: No more, it seems, than with the suspicions.

Armand: Touché. forgive me. I was a bit distracted.

Marguerite: By what?

Armand: My father came.

Marguerite: You saw him?

Armand: No, but he left a severe letter at my place. He got word that I was hiding out here, living with you. He means to come this evening. There’s going to be a long wrangle, since God knows what he may have heard and what I’ll have to do to change his mind. Still, he’ll see you, and when he sees you, he’ll love you! So what matter? I depend on him, that’s a fact, but if I have to, I’ll find a job.

Marguerite: [aside] How he loves me! [aloud] But you mustn’t quarrel with your father, my love. He’s going to come, you said? Very well, I’m going away so he won’t see me the moment he sets foot in the room, but I’ll come back, I’ll be there, near you. I’ll throw myself at his feet, I’ll beseech him, implore him not to separate us.

Armand: What a passionate outburst, Marguerite! Something’s going on. It’s not my news that’s got you so worked up. You can hardly stand. There’s trouble here . . . This letter . . . [He extends his hand.]

Marguerite: [stopping him] This letter contains a thing that I can’t say to you; you know, there are things that one can neither say oneself nor allow to be read in one’s presence. This letter is a proof of love that I give you, my Armand, I swear it by your love; don’t ask me more about it.

Armand: Keep the letter, Marguerite; I know everything. Prudence told me the whole story this morning, and that was why I went to Paris. I know the sacrifice that you wanted to make for me. While you were looking out for our welfare, I was doing the same. Everything is arranged now. How can I ever reward such love, dear, good Marguerite?

Marguerite: Well, now that you know it all, let me leave.

Armand: Leave?

Marguerite: Get out of the way, I mean! Won’t your father be arriving at any moment? But I’ll be there, within two steps of you, in the garden, with Gustave and Nichette; I’ll come back; all you have to do is call for me. How could I leave you? You’ll calm your father down if he’s angry, and then our project’s achieved, isn’t it? We’ll live together, the two of us, and we’ll love each other as before, and we’ll be happy as we’ve been for three months. But, if I ever caused you pain, forgive me, for I love you more than the whole world. And you too, you love me, don’t you? And whatever proof I may give you of my love, you won’t despise me or curse me . . .

Armand: But why these tears?

Marguerite: I needed to cry a little; now, you see, I’m calm. I’m going to rejoin Nichette and Gustave. I’m there, always with you, always ready to rejoin you, always loving you. There, I’m smiling; till later, for always! [She exits, blowing him kisses.]

Scene 7

(Armand, then Nanine)

Armand: Dear Marguerite! How the idea of a separation frightens her! [He rings.] How much she loves me! [To Nanine, who enters.] Nanine, if a gentleman comes and asks for me, my father, have him come right in.

Nanine: Very well, sir. [She exits.]

Armand: I was just being an alarmist. My father will understand me. The past is dead. Besides, what a difference there is between Marguerite and other women! This Olympia that I met, always busy with parties and fun; the ones that aren’t in love have to cram the solitude of their hearts full of noise. She’s giving a ball in a few days; she’s invited me, me and Marguerite, as if Marguerite and I would ever have to return to that world! Ah! How long it seems that she’s been gone! . . . What book is this? Manon Lescaut! The woman who loves doesn’t do what you did, Manon! . . . How did this book get here? [Nanine returns with a lamp and goes out. Reading at random] “I swear to you, my dear knight, that you are the idol of my heart, and that in the entire world there is none but you whom I could love as I love you, but don’t you see, my poor, dear soul, in the condition we’ve been reduced to, what a stupid virtue fidelity is? Do you think it possible to indulge in delicacy of feeling when one has no bread? Hunger would lead me to make a fatal mistake; someday I’d give up my last breath thinking I was just heaving a sigh of love. I adore you, count on it, but let me manage our fortune for a while; woe to him who is tangled in my web! I’m working to make my knight rich and happy. My brother will bring you news of your Manon; he’ll tell you she has wept at having to leave you . . . “ [Armand shoves the book away with sadness and remains ill at ease a few moments.] She was a reasonable girl, but she didn’t love, for love doesn’t know how to reason . . . [He goes to the window.] That paragraph gave me a turn; that book isn’t right! . . . [He rings.] Seven o’clock. My father won’t be coming tonight. [To Nanine, who enter] Tell madame to come back.

Nanine: [embarrassed] Madame isn’t here, sir.

Armand: Where is she, then?

Nanine: On the road; she told me to tell you, sir, that she’d return right away.

Armand: Madame Duvernoy went out with her, did she?

Nanine: Madame Duvernoy left a little before madame.

Armand: Fine . . . [Alone] She’s capable of having gone to Paris to busy herself with this sale! It’s a good thing Prudence got a head start. She’ll find some way to prevent her! . . . [He looks out of the window.] I seem to see a shadow in the garden. She’s there, for sure. [He calls.] Marguerite! Marguerite! Marguerite! Nobody! . . . [He comes back in and rings.] Nanine, too, makes no response. What does that mean? This emptiness makes me cold. There’s an evil in this silence. Why did I let Marguerite leave? She was keeping something from me. She was in tears! Was she deceiving me? . . . She . . . was deceiving me! Just when she was thinking of sacrificing everything to me . . . But something may have happened to her! . . . maybe she’s wounded! . . . maybe dead! I have to know . . . [He goes off toward the garden. An errand-boy finds himself face to face with him at the door.]

Scene 7

(Armand, an Errand-Boy)

Boy: M. Armand Duval?

Armand: I am, yes.

Boy: Here’s a letter for you.

Armand: Where does it come from?

Boy: From Paris.

Armand: Who gave it to you?

Boy: A lady.

Armand: And how did you get right up to the villa?

Boy: The garden gate was open, I didn’t run into anybody, I saw light in the villa, I thought . . .

Armand: That’s all right; leave now! [The errand-boy goes away.]

Scene 9

(Armand, then M. Duval)

Armand: This letter is from Marguerite . . . Why am I so unsettled? She’s probably waiting for me somewhere and writes me to go get her . . . [He is about to open the letter.] I’m trembling. Come on, I’m not a child! [Meanwhile, M. Duval has entered and stands behind his son. Armand reads.] “When you receive this letter, Armand . . .” [He gives a cry of rage. He turns and sees his father. He throws himself into his arms and sobs.] Ah! Father! my father!

Act IV

A very elegant salon in Olympia’s home.
—Sounds of an orchestra; dance; movement, lights

Scene 1

(Gaston, Arthur, the Doctor, Prudence, Anaïs, Guests; then Saint-Gaudens and Olympia)

Gaston: [counting a baccarat bank] Ready your bets, now, gentlemen!

Arthur: What’s in the bank?

Gaston: A hundred louis.

Arthur: I place five francs on the right.

Gaston: A bet of that magnitude certainly explains why you had to ask how much was in the bank.

Arthur: Would you prefer me to play ten louis on credit?

Gaston: No, no, no. [To the doctor.] And you, doctor, you aren’t playing?

The Doctor: No.

Gaston: What are you doing over there, then?

The Doctor: I’m chatting with some charming ladies, building my acquaintance.

Gaston: You improve a lot upon acquaintance! Let’s hope Lady Luck favors you!

The Doctor: Haven’t seen much of Lady Luck on either side of the room. [People chat, laugh around the table.]

Gaston: If that’s how you folks are betting, I’m passing the deal.

Prudence: Wait, I’ll bet ten francs.

Gaston: Where are they?

Prudence: In my pocket.

Gaston: [smiling] I’ll give you fifteen francs to see them.

Prudence: Well, I declare! I’ve forgotten my purse.

Gaston: Talented purse, that, knows its job. Here, take these twenty francs.

Prudence: I’ll repay them.

Gaston: Don’t talk rubbish. [Dealing the cards.] I have nine. [He gathers in the money.]

Prudence: He always wins.

Arthur: That’s fifty louis I’ve lost.

Anaïs: Doctor, cure Arthur of his whining.

The Doctor: It’s a childhood ailment that will pass with age.

Anaïs: He pretends he’s lost a thousand francs; he had two louis in his pocket when he arrived.

Arthur: How do you know?

Anaïs: All I have to do is observe a pocket for a while to know what’s in it.

Arthur: What does that prove? Only that I owe 960 francs.

Anaïs: I pity the one you owe it to.

Arthur: You do me wrong, my friend; I pay all my debts, as you have reason to know.

Gaston: Ready now, gentlemen! To your bets; we’re not here to amuse ourselves.

Olympia: [Entering with Saint-Gaudens] Still playing, are they?

Arthur: Still playing.

Olympia: Give me six louis, Saint-Gaudens, so I can play a little.

Gaston: Olympia, your party is delightful.

Arthur: Saint-Gaudens knows what it’s costing him.

Olympia: He’s not the one who knows but his wife!

St.-Gaudens: Well said! Ah! there you are, doctor. [Low.] I need to consult you; I get these giddy spells.

The Doctor: Milady!

Olympia: What’s he asking you?

The Doctor: He thinks he has a brain fever.

Olympia: Brain, ha! I lost, Saint-Gaudens. Play for me, and try to win.

Prudence: Saint-Gaudens, lend me three louis . . . [He gives them.]

Anaïs: Saint-Gaudens, go get me an ice cream!

St.-Gaudens: In a minute!

Anaïs: Very well, then, tell us the story of the yellow cab.

St.-Gaudens: I’m going! I’m going!

Prudence: [to Gaston] Remember the story of the yellow cab?

Gaston: Remember it? How could I forget it? I seem to recall it was at Marguerite’s that Olympia wanted to tell it to us. Oh, and say, is she here, Marguerite?

Olympia: She’s supposed to be coming.

Gaston: And Armand?

Prudence: Armand isn’t in Paris . . . You don’t know, then, what happened?

Gaston: No.

Prudence: They broke up.

Anaïs: No!

Prudence: Yes, Marguerite—she left him.

Gaston: So when did this happen?

Anaïs: A month ago, and more power to her!

Gaston: What do you mean?

Anaïs: You should always leave men before they leave you.

Arthur: Look here, gentlemen, are you playing or not?

Gaston: Oh, what a bore you are! You really expect me, don’t you, to wear my fingers out dealing you cards for the wretched hundred sous you bet? All Arthurs are the same. Luckily, you’re the last Arthur.

St.-Gaudens: [returning] Anaïs, here’s the ice cream you ordered.

Anaïs: You’ve been away a long time, you poor old thing, you; after that, at your age . . .

Gaston: [rising] Gentlemen, you broke the bank.—When you stop to think that if someone had said to me, “Gaston, my friend, we’ll give you 500 francs to deal all night” I’d certainly have declined the offer, and yet here I’ve been dealing for two hours only to lose two thousand francs! Ah! gambling is a fine pastime. [Another guest takes over the bank.]

St.-Gaudens: You’re not playing?

Gaston: No.

St.-Gaudens: [pointing out two players of écarté in the back] Shall we bet on those gentlemen’s game?

Gaston: I don’t trust them. Did you invite them?

St.-Gaudens: They’re friends of Olympia. Picked them up abroad.

Gaston: They’re a fine pair, they are.

Prudence: Hey! Here’s Armand!

Scene 2

(Armand, Gaston, Arthur, the Doctor, Prudence, Anaïs, Guests, Saint‑Gaudens, Olympia)

St.-Gaudens: [to Armand] We were just talking about you.

Armand: And what were you saying?

Prudence: We were saying that you were in Tours, and that you weren’t coming back.

Armand: You were wrong.

Gaston: When did you get in?

Armand: An hour ago.

Prudence: Well, then, my dear Armand, what news do you have for me?

Armand: Nothing, I’m afraid, my dear; and you?

Prudence: Have you seen Marguerite?

Armand: No.

Prudence: She’s coming .

Armand: [coldly] Ah! I’ll see her, then.

Prudence: How you say those words!

Armand: How would you like me to say them?

Prudence: Your heart’s recovered, then?

Armand: Completely.

Prudence: So you don’t think about her anymore?

Armand: If I said that, I’d be lying, but Marguerite gave me my walking papers so brutally that I saw how foolish I’d been to love her as I did. I admit I was deeply, deeply in love with her.

Prudence: She loved you a lot too, and she still loves you a little, but it was time for her to leave you. They were going to sell her place.

Armand: And now it’s all paid up.

Prudence: Entirely.

Armand: And was it M. de Varville who supplied the funds?

Prudence: Yes.

Armand: Everything has worked out for the best, then.

Prudence: There are men made expressly for that. In short, he got what he wanted, gave her his horses, his jewels,—all the same old luxury! . . . As far as she can be happy, she’s happy.

Armand: She’s back in Paris?

Prudence: Naturally. She never wanted to return to Auteuil, my dear, after you left. I was the one who went there to bring back her belongings and even yours. That reminds me: I have things of yours to return to you; you can have them picked up from my place. There’s nothing but a little satchel with your monogram that Marguerite wanted to keep; if you’re attached to it, I’ll ask her for it back.

Armand: Let her keep it!

Prudence: For the rest, I’ve never seen her as she is now; she scarcely sleeps anymore; she flits from one ball to another and stays up all night. Finally, one night after supper, she remained three days in bed, and when the doctor let her get up, she started all over again, at the risk of dying from the exertion. If she continues, she won’t last long. Do you mean to go see her?

Armand: No, I intend to avoid even so much as an explanation. The past died of a stroke. May God take its soul, if it had one!

Prudence: That’s more like it! You’re being reasonable; bully for you.

Armand: Prudence, my dear, there’s a friend of mine I have to talk to; do you mind?

Prudence: Why, of course not! [She enters the game.] I’ll stake ten francs!

Scene 3

(Gustave, Armand, Gaston, Arthur, the Doctor, Prudence, Anaïs, Guests, Saint‑Gaudens, Olympia)

Armand: Finally! You got my letter?

Gustave: As you can see; here I am.

Armand: You wondered why I pressed you to come to one of these parties that are so much out of your line.

Gustave: I admit I did.

Armand: You haven’t seen Marguerite for a long while, have you?

Gustave: No, not since I saw her with you.

Armand: So you know nothing?

Gustave: Nothing; fill me in.

Armand: You thought Marguerite loved me, didn’t you?

Gustave: I still think so.

Armand: [giving him Marguerite’s letter] Read!

Gustave: [after having read it] Marguerite wrote that?

Armand: She did.

Gustave: When?

Armand: A month ago.

Gustave: What did you reply?

Armand: What could I reply? The blow came so completely out of the blue that I thought she was going mad. Can you imagine? She, Marguerite! to deceive me! me, who loved her so much! These girls clearly have no souls. I needed some real affection to help me live after what had happened, so I let myself be guided by my father, like an automaton. We arrived at Tours. I thought at first that I was going to be able to live there, but it was impossible; I didn’t sleep; I suffocated. I had loved that woman too much to become indifferent to her all at once; I had only two choices: to love her or hate her. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer; I thought I’d to die if I didn’t see her again, if I didn’t hear her tell me to my face what she had written to me. I came here tonight because she’s coming. What will happen, I have no idea, but evidently something’s going to happen, and I may need a friend.

Gustave: I’m at your disposal, my dear Armand, but in the name of heaven, think a little. We’re dealing here with a woman, and harming a woman looks a lot like cowardice.

Armand: Let it! She has a lover; he’ll demand satisfaction of me. If I commit a cowardly action, I have enough blood to pay for it!

A Servant: [Announcing] Mademoiselle Marguerite Gautier! His Grace the Baron de Varville!

Armand: There they are!

Scene 4

(Varville, Marguerite, Gustave, Armand, Gaston, Arthur, the Doctor, Prudence, Anaïs, Guests, Saint-Gaudens, Olympia)

Olympia: [preceding Marguerite] You’re certainly making a late enough entrance!

Varville: We’re coming from the Opera. [Varville shakes hands with the men there.]

Prudence: [to Marguerite] All is well?

Marguerite: Very well!

Prudence: [low] Armand is here.

Marguerite: [troubled] Armand?

Prudence: Yes. [At this moment, Armand, who has approached the gaming table, looks at Marguerite; she smiles timidly at him; he gives her a frigid bow. (Varville notices this response.)]

Marguerite: I was wrong to come to this party.

Prudence: On the contrary, it was inevitable that one day or other you would find yourself with Armand again. Better sooner than later.

Marguerite: He’s spoken to you?

Prudence: Yes

Marguerite: Of me?

Prudence: Naturally.

Marguerite: And he told you . . .

Prudence: That he doesn’t bear you a grudge, that you were in the right.

Marguerite: So much the better if that’s the case, but it can’t be; he greeted me too coldly, and he’s too pale.

Varville: [low, to Marguerite] M. Duval is here, Marguerite.

Marguerite: I know.

Varville: You swear to me that you knew nothing of his presence here until you arrived?

Marguerite: I swear.

Varville: And you promise me not to speak to him?

Marguerite: I promise you, but I can’t promise to keep silent if he speaks to me.—Prudence, stay close to me.

The Doctor: [to Marguerite] Good evening, madame.

Marguerite: Ah! it’s you, doctor. How you do look at me!

The Doctor: I can’t think of a thing I would rather do, when I’m in your presence.

Marguerite: You find me changed, don’t you?

The Doctor: Take care of yourself, take care of yourself, I beg you. I’ll come to see you tomorrow so as to scold you at my leisure.

Marguerite: That’s it! Scold me; I’d be very grateful. Are you going already?

The Doctor: No, but it won’t be long; I’ve had the same patient to see every day at the same hour, for six months.

Marguerite: What fidelity! [She presses his hand and moves away.]

Gustave: [approaching Marguerite] Good evening, Marguerite.

Marguerite: Oh, I’m so happy to see you, my good Gustave! Is Nichette here?

Gustave: No.

Marguerite: Pardon me! Nichette ought not to come here.—Love her well. Gustave, it’s so good to be loved! [She wipes her eyes.]

Gustave: What’s wrong?

Marguerite: I’m quite unhappy—oh, bother!

Gustave: See here, don’t cry! Why did you come?

Marguerite: Do I have a choice? And, besides, don’t I have to stupefy myself?

Gustave: Well, if you’ll take my advice, you’ll leave this party soon.

Marguerite: Why?

Gustave: Because there’s no telling what may happen . . . Armand . . .

Marguerite: Armand hates and despises me, doesn’t he?

Gustave: No, Armand loves you. Look how feverish he is! He can’t control himself. There could be a scene between him and M. de Varville. Pretend an indisposition, and leave.

Marguerite: A duel for me, between Varville and Armand! You’re right, I have to leave.

Varville: [approaching her] Where are you going?

Marguerite: Dear, I’m in pain, and I want to go home.

Varville: No, you aren’t in pain, Marguerite: You want to go because M. Duval is here and doesn’t appear to be taking any notice of you, but you understand that I neither want nor ought to leave the place where I am, simply because he is here. We are at this ball; we’re staying here.

Olympia: [Aloud] What was playing tonight at the Opera?

Varville: The Favorite.

Armand: The story of a woman who deceives her lover.

Prudence: Ugh! How banal!

Anaïs: That is to say that it isn’t true to life; there’s no woman who deceives her lover.

Armand: Oh, but there is, I do assure you.

Anaïs: Where, then?

Armand: Everywhere.

Olympia: Yes, but there are lovers and lovers.

Armand: As there are women and women.

Gaston: My, my, you’re playing a losing game there, my friend.

Armand: I just want to see if the proverb is true: “Lucky at cards, unlucky at love.”

Gaston: Ah! then you ought to be pretty unlucky at love, ’cause your luck at cards is downright newsworthy.

Armand: Friend, I expect to make my fortune tonight, and, when I’ve done it, I’ll retire to the country.

Olympia: Alone?

Armand: No, with someone who went there with me once before and then left me. Maybe when I am richer . . . [Aside] Can’t get her to say a word!

Gustave: Be quiet, Armand! See what a state the poor girl is in!

Armand: It’s a good story; let me tell it to you. There’s this gentleman that comes in at the end, a sort of deus ex machina, a really adorable guy.

Varville: Sir!

Marguerite: [Low, to Varville] If you challenge M. Duval, you won’t see me again as long as you live.

Armand: [to Varville] You aren’t speaking to me, sir, are you?

Varville: That I am, sir; you are so fortunate at gaming that your luck tempts me, and I understand so well the use that you wish to make of your winnings, that I can hardly wait to see you win more, so I’m proposing a game.

Armand: [Looking him in the face] I accept with all my heart, sir.

Varville: [Passing in front of Armand] I’ll play a hundred louis, sir.

Armand: [surprised and disdainful] In for a hundred louis! On which side, sir?

Varville: On the side you don’t take.

Armand: A hundred louis on the left.

Varville: A hundred louis on the right.

Gaston: On the right, four; on the left, nine. Armand wins!

Varville: Two hundred louis, then.

Armand: In for two hundred louis, but take care, sir, because if the proverb says, “Lucky at cards, unlucky at love,” it also says, “Lucky at love, unlucky at cards.”

Gaston: Six! Eight! Armand wins again.

Olympia: All right! It’s the baron who’ll finance M. Duval’s retreat into the country.

Marguerite: [to Olympia] My God! What’s going to happen?

Olympia: Let’s go to table, gentlemen; supper is served.

Armand: Shall we continue the game, sir?

Varville: Not just at the moment.

Armand: I owe you a return match; I promise it to you in any game you choose.

Varville: Rest easy, sir; I’ll profit from your good will!

Olympia: [taking Armand’s arm] You have formidable luck, you sweet thing, you.

Armand: Ah! you call me “sweet thing” when I’m winning.

Varville: Are you coming, Marguerite?

Marguerite: Not yet; I want to have a word with Prudence.

Varville: If you haven’t rejoined us in ten minutes, I’ll come back to look for you here, Marguerite; I’m letting you know in advance.

Marguerite: That’s fine; go on!

Scene 5

(Prudence, Marguerite)

Marguerite: Go and find Armand, and in the name of the one he holds most sacred, beg him to come and hear me; I must speak with him.

Prudence: And if he refuses?

Marguerite: He won’t refuse. He detests me too much not to seize the occasion to tell me so. Go!

Scene 6

(Marguerite, alone)

Marguerite: Try to be calm; he must continue to believe as he does. Shall I have the strength to keep the promise that I made to his father? My God! make him despise and hate me; that’s the only way to avert disaster. . . Here he is!

Scene 7

(Marguerite, Armand)

Armand: You sent for me, madame?

Marguerite: Yes, Armand, I have to speak to you.

Armand: Speak, I’m listening. You intend to apologize, do you?

Marguerite: No, Armand, there’s no question of that. Let’s just leave the past in the past. Please.

Armand: You’re right, there’s too much shame for you.

Marguerite: Don’t reproach me, Armand. Give me a hearing without hatred, anger, or scorn! Here, Armand, give me your hand.

Armand: Never, madame! If that’s all you have to say to me . . . [He gives a show of leaving.]

Marguerite: Who would have thought you’d one day repulse the hand I offered? But that’s not what it’s about, Armand; you must go back.

Armand: Go back?

Marguerite: Yes, rejoin your father, and right away too.

Armand: Why is that, madame?

Marguerite: Because M. de Varville means to challenge you, and I don’t want anything else to happen on my account. I’d rather be the only one to suffer.

Armand: So you advise me to flee a challenge! You advise me to act the coward! What other advice, good heavens! could come from a woman like you?

Marguerite: Armand, I swear to you that, for a month, I’ve suffered so much that I scarcely have the strength to speak of it; that evil thing is growing inside me; it’s eating me alive; I can feel its teeth. In the name of our past love, in the name of what I have still to suffer, Armand, in the name of your mother and your sister, run from me, go back to your father’s side and forget my very name, if you can.

Armand: I understand, madame: you’re afraid for your lover, who is your livelihood. I could ruin you with one pistol shot or one sword thrust. That would indeed be a great evil.

Marguerite: You could be killed, Armand; that’s the real evil.

Armand: What does it matter to you whether I live or die! When you wrote me, “Armand, forget me, I am someone else’s mistress!” were you worried about my life? If I didn’t die after that letter, it was because I still had to get my revenge. Ah! you thought that’s how it would go, that you would break my heart and that I would blame neither you nor your accomplice? Is that how it was? No, madame, no. I’ve come back to Paris; to reconcile M. de Varville and me, blood has got to flow! Were you to die of it too, I’d kill him, I swear I would.

Marguerite: M. de Varville is innocent of all of this.

Armand: You love him, madame! That’s enough to make me hate him.

Marguerite: You know perfectly well that I don’t love, that I can’t love that man.

Armand: Then why have you given yourself to him?

Marguerite: Don’t ask me that, Armand! I won’t tell you.

Armand: I’ll tell you why myself. You gave yourself to him because you are a girl with no heart or loyalty, because your love belongs to whoever pays for it, because you’ve made your heart a piece of merchandise, because finding yourself faced with the sacrifice you were going to make for me, you lacked courage and let your instincts get the upper hand, because in the end this man who devoted his life to you, who delivered his honor up to you—in your eyes, he wasn’t worth the horses of your carriage and the diamonds around your neck.

Marguerite: Well, yes, I did all that. Yes, I’m a vile and despicable creature who doesn’t love you; I betrayed you. But the more vile I am, the less you should remember me, the less you should risk your life for me and the lives of those who love you. Armand, on my knees I supplicate you, go away, leave Paris and don’t look back!

Armand: I’d like nothing better—but on one condition.

Marguerite: Whatever it is, I accept.

Armand: You leave with me.

Marguerite: [recoiling] Never!

Armand: Never!

Marguerite: Oh! My God! Give me courage.

Armand: [running to the door and coming back] Listen, Marguerite; I’m mad, I have a fever, my blood’s boiling, my brain’s on fire, I’m in that passionate state where a man’s capable of anything, of an abomination. I thought for a moment it was hatred that was impelling me toward you, but it was love—invincible love—exasperating, heinous, swollen with remorse, with spite, with shame; yes, after what’s happened, I despise myself for this stubborn love. Go ahead, give me one word of repentance, blame your conduct on chance, on fate, on your weakness, and I’ll forget everything. What does this man matter? I don’t hate him unless you love him. Just tell me that you still love me, and I’ll forgive you, Marguerite; we’ll put Paris behind us, forget the past; we’ll go to the ends of the earth if we have to, until we stop seeing human faces and can be alone in the world with our love.

Marguerite: [exhausted] I’d give my life for one hour of the happiness you offer me, but this happiness is impossible.

Armand: Still!

Marguerite: We’re looking at each other across a vast chasm; we’d be too wretched together. We can no longer love each other; leave, forget me, you have to, I’ve sworn it.

Armand: To whom?

Marguerite: To the one who has the right to ask this oath.

Armand: [whose anger starts to rise.] To M. de Varville, no?

Marguerite: Yes.

Armand: [seizing Marguerite’s arm] To M. de Varville, whom you love; tell me you love him, and I’ll go.

Marguerite: Well, then, yes, I love M. de Varville.

Armand: [throws her to the ground and raises his two hands over her, then he hurls himself toward the door, and, seeing the guests who are in the other room, he cries] Enter, all of you!

Marguerite: What are you doing?

Armand: You see this woman?

All: Marguerite Gautier! . . .

Armand: Yes! Marguerite Gautier. Do you know what she did? She sold everything she possessed to live with me, so great was her love for me. That’s beautiful, isn’t it? Do you know what I did? Like a scoundrel, I accepted her sacrifice without giving her a thing in exchange. But it’s not too late; I repent and I’ve come back to make reparation. You are witnesses that I owe nothing more to this woman. [He throws down some bank notes.]

Marguerite: [shrieking and falling back] Ah!

Varville: [to Armand with contempt, throwing his gloves into his face] You, sir, are incontestably a coward! [Guests rush between them.]

Act V

Marguerite’s bedroom.—Bed in the back; curtains half closed.—Chimney on the right, a sofa on which Gaston is stretched out.—No other light than a night light.

Scene 1

(Marguerite, in bed and asleep; Gaston)

Gaston: [lifting his head and listening] I dropped off for a moment . . . I hope she didn’t need me! No, she’s sleeping . . . What time is it? Seven . . . It’s not light yet . . . I’d better relight the fire. [He pokes at it.]

Marguerite: [waking] Nanine, I’m thirsty.

Gaston: There, there, child.

Marguerite: [raising her head] Who’s there, then?

Gaston: [preparing a cup of herb tea] Only me, Gaston.

Marguerite: What are you doing in my bedroom?

Gaston: Drink first; then I’ll tell you.—Is it sweet enough?

Marguerite: Yes.

Gaston: I was born to be a nurse.

Marguerite: Where’s Nanine?

Gaston: She’s sleeping. When I came, about eleven last night, to see how you were, the poor girl was dead on her feet, while I was wide awake. You were already asleep . . . I told her to go to bed. Then I made myself comfortable there on the sofa, near the fire, and passed the night pretty well. It did me good to hear you sleep; it seemed as if I were sleeping myself. How do you feel this morning?

Marguerite: Well, my fine Gaston, but what good will it do for you to tire yourself out this way? . . .

Gaston: I spend enough nights dancing that I can spend a few sitting up with a sick friend!—And besides, I have something to tell you.

Marguerite: What do you want to tell me?

Gaston: You’re hard up?

Marguerite: What do you mean, “hard up”?

Gaston: You know, you need money. When I came yesterday, I saw a process-server in the living room. I showed him to the door as I paid him off. But that’s not all; there’s no money here, and there has to be some. I haven’t got a lot myself. I lost a bundle at cards, and I bought a bunch of useless New Year’s gifts. [He kisses her.] And believe me, I wish you a good and happy new year . . . Anyhow, there will always be twenty-five louis from me in that drawer there. When these run out, there’ll be more.

Marguerite: [moved] What kindness! And to think that it’s you, the one they call a scatter-brain, you, who’ve never been anything but my friend, who sit up with me and take care of me . . .

Gaston: That’s always the way . . . Now, do you know what we’re going to do?

Marguerite: Tell me.

Gaston: The weather’s superb! You’ve slept a good eight hours, and you’re going to sleep a little more. Then, in one to three hours, the sun will have warmed things up; I’ll call for you; you’ll wrap up well; we’ll go and take a drive; and who’ll sleep well the next night? Why, Marguerite will. Till then, I’m going to go see my mother, though God knows what kind of welcome she’ll give me; I haven’t been to see her for two weeks! Anyway, I’ll have lunch with her, and at one I’ll be here. That’ll suit you, won’ it?

Marguerite: I’ll try to summon up the strength . . .

Gaston: You’ll have it, you’ll have it! [Nanine enters.] Come in! Marguerite is awake.

Scene 2

(Nanine, Marguerite, Gaston)

Marguerite: So you were pretty tired out, my poor Nanine?

Nanine: A little, ma’am.

Marguerite: Open the window and let in some daylight. I want to get up.

Nanine: [opening the window and looking into the street] Madame, here is the doctor.

Marguerite: The good doctor! His first visit is always to me.—Gaston, let him in as you go out.—Nanine, help me to get up.

Nanine: But, ma’am . . .

Marguerite: I want to.

Gaston: Bye bye. [He exits.]

Marguerite: Bye bye. [She rises and falls back down; finally, raised by Nanine, she walks toward the sofa. The doctor enters in time to help her seat herself.]

Scene 3

(Marguerite, Nanine, the Doctor)

Marguerite: Good morning, my dear doctor; how nice you are to think of me so early in the morning!—Nanine, go see if there’s any mail.

The Doctor: Give me your hand. [He takes it.] How do you feel?

Marguerite: Sick and better! Sick in body, better in spirit. Last night I had such a fear of dying that I sent for a priest. I was sad, despairing, afraid of death; this man entered, he chatted an hour with me, and despair, terror, remorse—he took it all away with him. Then I went to sleep, and I have just now awoken.

The Doctor: Everything’s fine, madame, and I promise you an entire recovery by the first days of spring.

Marguerite: Thank you , doctor . . . It’s your duty to speak that way to me. When God called lying a sin, he made an exception for doctors, whom he permitted to lie as many times a day as they saw sick people. [To Nanine, who returns.] What are you carrying there?

Nanine: Gifts, ma’am.

Marguerite: Ah! yes, today’s the first of January! . . . So much has happened since this time last year! Exactly one year ago, we were sitting at table, singing, giving to the year being born the same smile we’d just finished giving to the dead year. Oh, my good doctor, what has become of the days when we still used to laugh? [Opening the packages.] A ring with Saint-Gaudens’s calling card.—What kindness! A bracelet, with the card of Count du Giray—oh, it’s from London.—How he’d roar if he saw what a state I’m in! . . . and then some candy . . . There, men aren’t as forgetful as I thought! You have a little niece, doctor!

The Doctor: Yes, madame.

Marguerite: Take these candies for the dear little child; I haven’t eaten any myself for a long time! [To Nanine.] That’s all you have, is it?

Nanine: I have a letter.

Marguerite: Who could be writing to me? [Taking the letter and opening it.] Take this packet to the doctor’s carriage. [Reading.] “My good Marguerite, I came twenty times to see you, and I could never get in; however, I don’t want you to be left out of the happiest moment of my life; I’m getting married on January first: it’s the new year’s present that Gustave was keeping for me; I hope you won’t be the last to attend the ceremony, a very simple, very humble ceremony, to be held at nine in the morning in the chapel of Saint-Theresa at the church of the Madeleine.—I embrace you with all the might of a happy heart. Nichette.” There will be happiness, then, for everyone but me! There, I’m an ingrate.—Doctor, close this window—I’m cold—and give me writing materials. [She lets her head fall into her hands; the doctor takes the inkpot on the chimney and gives Marguerite the blotter.]

Nanine: [low, to the doctor, as he is moving away] Well, doctor? . . .

The Doctor: She’s in pretty bad shape!

Marguerite: [aside] They think I don’t hear them . . . [Aloud] Doctor, do me the favor, as you go your rounds, of dropping this letter at the church where Nichette is getting married, and specify that it not be given to her until after the ceremony. [She presses his hand.] Don’t forget, and come back as soon as you can . . . [The doctor exits.]

Scene 4

(Marguerite, Nanine)

Marguerite: Now, this bedroom needs a little straightening up. [The bell rings.] Somebody rang; go and open the door. [Nanine goes out.]

Nanine: [returning] It’s Madame Duvernoy wishing to see madame.

Marguerite: Show her in.

Scene 5

(Prudence, Marguerite, Nanine)

Prudence: Well, now, my dear Marguerite, how are you doing this morning?

Marguerite: Better, my dear Prudence, thank you.

Prudence: Send Nanine away for a minute; I have something to say, for your ears only.

Marguerite: Nanine, go set the other side to rights; I’ll call you when I need you . . . [Nanine goes out.]

Prudence: Could you do me a favor, my dear Marguerite?

Marguerite: Name it .

Prudence: How’s your cash supply?

Marguerite: You know that I’ve been broke for some time; but, all the same, please go on.

Prudence: Today’s January first; I have a gift to give, and I absolutely must have two hundred francs; could you lend it to me till the end of the month?

Marguerite: [raising her eyes to the sky] The end of the month!

Prudence: If it would put you out . . .

Marguerite: I do need a little of the money that’s over there . . .

Prudence: Oh, well, then, never mind.

Marguerite: What’s the difference! Open that drawer . . .

Prudence: Which one? [She opens several drawers.] Ah! this one in the middle.

Marguerite: How much is there?

Prudence: Five hundred francs.

Marguerite: All right, then, take the two hundred you need.

Prudence: And the rest will be enough for you?

Marguerite: I have what I need; don’t fret about me.

Prudence: [taking the money] You’re doing me a really big favor.

Marguerite: I’m happy to do it, Prudence, dear!

Prudence: I’m going. I’ll be back to see you. You’re looking better.

Marguerite: To tell the truth, I am doing better.

Prudence: Blue skies will soon be here, and the country air will make you well.

Marguerite: You bet.

Prudence: [leaving] Thanks again!

Marguerite: Send Nanine to me.

Prudence: Sure. [She exits.]

Nanine: [returning] She came again to ask you for money, did she?

Marguerite: Yes.

Nanine: And you gave it to her? . . .

Marguerite: Money’s such a trifle, and she needed it so badly, she said. However, we haven’t got much, and there are New Year’s gifts to give. Here, take this bracelet someone just sent me, go and sell it, and come back right away. I’ll be all right alone; I don’t need anything; besides, you won’t be long; you know the way to the jeweller’s; he’s bought plenty from me these three months. [Nanine exits.]

Scene 6

(Marguerite, reading a letter that she takes from her bosom)

Marguerite: “Madame, I learned of the duel between Armand and M. de Varville, but not from my son, who left without so much as coming to bid me goodbye. Would you believe it, madame, that I blamed you for this duel and for his departure? Thank God M. de Varville is already out of danger and that I know everything. You did keep your word even beyond your strength, and the emotional turmoil has weakened your health. I am writing the whole truth to Armand. He is far away, but he will return to ask your forgiveness not only for himself but for me, for I was forced to do you harm, and I want to atone for it. Take good care of yourself, and keep on hoping; your courage and unselfishness merit a brighter future; you will have it; count on it. Meanwhile, be assured of my sympathy, esteem, and devotion. George Duval.—November 15.” I received this letter six weeks ago, and I constantly read it over to give me a bit of courage. If I received even a word from Armand, if I could just hold out until spring! [She raises herself and looks into the mirror.] How I’ve changed! Still, the doctor has promised to cure me. I should have patience. But just now, to Nanine, didn’t he read out my death warrant? I heard him; he said I was in pretty bad shape. Bad shape! There’s still hope, though; there are still a few months of life left, and, if, during that time—if Armand came back, I’d be saved. On the first day of the year, surely the least one can do is to hope. Besides, I can still think clearly. If I were in real danger, Gaston wouldn’t have the heart to laugh by my bedside as he was doing just now. The doctor won’t abandon me. [To the window.] Families do have such joy! Oh! that lovely child! She smiles while playing with her toys; I’d like to kiss that child.

Scene 7

(Nanine, Marguerite)

Nanine: [coming to Marguerite, after having laid on the chimney the money she’s carrying.] Madame . . .

Marguerite: What’s wrong, Nanine?

Nanine: You feel better today, don’t you?

Marguerite: Yes, why?

Nanine: Promise me to be calm.

Marguerite: What’s happened?

Nanine: I wanted to warn you . . . if it comes too suddenly, even joy can be hard to bear!

Marguerite: Joy, do you say?

Nanine: Yes, ma’am.

Marguerite: Armand! You’ve seen Armand? . . . Armand’s coming to see me! . . . [Nanine gestures yes.—Running to the door.] Armand! [He looks pale; she throws her arms about his neck, she hangs upon him.] Oh! it isn’t you, it’s impossible for God to be so kind!

Scene 8

(Marguerite, Armand)

Armand: It’s me, Marguerite. Here I am, so repentant, so worried, so guilty that I scarcely dared to cross this threshold. If I hadn’t run into Nanine, I’d have stayed in the street praying and sobbing. Marguerite, don’t despise me! My father’s written me the whole story! I was awfully far away from you; I didn’t know where to go to escape my love and my remorse . . . I left like a madman, traveling night and day, without rest, without a break, without sleep, pursued by dark forebodings, seeing the house afar off draped in black. Oh! if I hadn’t found you, I would be dead, for I’d have had myself to blame for your death. I haven’t yet seen my father. Marguerite, tell me that you pardon the pair of us. Ah! how good it is to see you again!

Marguerite: Pardon you, my love? The blame is mine alone! But what else could I have done? I wanted your happiness, even at the expense of my own. But now your father won’t separate us anymore, will he? It isn’t your former Marguerite that you’ve come home to, but I’m still young, and I’ll get my looks back, since I’m happy again. You’ll forget it all. We’ll begin to live from this very day.

Armand: I won’t leave you. Listen, Marguerite, we’re going to leave this house at once. We’ll never see Paris again. My father knows who you are. He’ll love you as his son’s good angel. My sister is married. The future belongs to us.

Marguerite: Oh! keep talking to me! Keep talking to me! Your words make my soul breathe again; your breath restores my health. I said it this morning, that only one thing could save me. I no longer hoped for it, but here you are! We’ll lose no time, will we, and, as life is flashing before me, I’ll stop it in its flight. Oh, you don’t know yet, do you, that Nichette is getting married? She’s marrying Gustave this morning. We’ll see her. It’ll do us good to enter a church, to pray to God and attend to the happiness of others. What a surprise Providence saved for me on the first day of the year! But tell me again, then, that you love me!

Armand: Yes, I love you, Marguerite; my whole life is yours.

Marguerite: [to Nanine, who has returned] Nanine, give me what I need to go out.

Armand: Good Nanine! You have taken good care of her; thank you!

Marguerite: Every day we would talk of you, the two of us, for no one else dared to pronounce your name. She was the one who consoled me, who told me that we’d see each other again. And she didn’t tell a lie. You’ve seen some beautiful lands. You’ll take me there. [She staggers.]

Armand: What’s the matter, Marguerite? You’re growing pale! . . .

Marguerite: [with effort] Nothing, my love, nothing! You must understand that happiness can’t revisit a long-desolate heart so suddenly without taking its toll. [She sits and tilts back her head.]

Armand: Marguerite, speak to me! Marguerite, I beg you!

Marguerite: [coming to] Don’t be afraid, my love; you know, I was always subject to these sudden fainting fits. But they pass quickly; look, I’m smiling, I’m strong. Ha! It’s the excitement of living that weighs me down!

Armand: You’re trembling!

Marguerite: It’s nothing!—Here, Nanine, give me a shawl, a hat . . .

Armand: My God! My God! [with effort]

Marguerite: [removing her shawl with annoyance, after having tried to walk] I can’t do it! [She falls onto the sofa.]

Armand: Nanine, run and find the doctor!

Marguerite: Yes, yes, tell him that Armand’s come back, that I want to live, that I must live . . . [Nanine goes out.] But if your return hasn’t saved me, nothing will save me. Sooner or later, the human creature must die of what makes it live. I’ve lived for love, and now I’m dying of it.

Armand: Be still, Marguerite; you’ll live, you must.

Marguerite: Sit close to me, as close as you can, my Armand, and listen well to what I say. Just now I had a flash of anger against death; I regret that now; death is necessary, and I love it, since it’s held off striking me till your return. If my death were not certain, your father would not have written you to come home . . .

Armand: Listen, Marguerite, don’t talk this way; you’re driving me mad. Don’t tell me you’re going to die; tell me that you don’t believe it, that it can’t be so, that you don’t want it to be so!

Marguerite: Even if I didn’t want it, my love, I’d still have to give in to it, since God wants it. If I were a pious girl, if all in me were chaste, I might perhaps cry at the idea of leaving a world with you in it, because the future would be bright with promises, and my whole past would give me the right to claim them. Once I’m dead, all you will keep of me will be pure; while I live, there are always stains on my love . . . Believe me, what God does, He does well . . .

Armand: [rising] Ah! I’m suffocating.

Marguerite: [drawing him back] What! I am the one forced to give courage to you? All right, obey me. Open this drawer and take out a medallion . . . it’s my portrait, from the days when I was pretty! I had it made for you; keep it; it’ll help you remember later on. But if, one day, a beautiful girl loves you and if you marry her—as it ought to be, as I want it to be—and if she finds this portrait, tell her that it’s of a friend who, if God permits her to remain in the darkest corner of heaven, prays to Him every day for her and for you. If she is jealous of the past, as we often are, we “other” women, if she demands of you the sacrifice of this portrait, make it for her without fear, without remorse; it will be justice, and I forgive you in advance.—The woman who loves suffers too much when she feels herself unloved . . . Are you listening, my Armand, have I made myself clear?

Scene 9

(Nanine, Marguerite, Armand, then Nichette, Gustave, Gaston)

Nichette enters with dread but grows bolder to the extent that she sees Marguerite smile at her and Armand at her feet.

Nichette: My good Marguerite, you wrote me that you were dying, and I find you smiling and out of bed.

Armand: Oh! Gustave, I’m utterly wretched!

Marguerite: I am dying, but I’m happy too, and my happiness disguises my death.—There you are, married!—What a remarkable thing, that first life of yours! And what will the second be like? . . . You’ll be happier than ever.—Speak of me sometimes, won’t you? Armand, give me your hand . . . No, no, it’s not hard to die. [Gaston enters.] Here’s Gaston, coming to take me out . . . I’m glad to see you again, my good Gaston. Happiness has made me an ingrate: I had forgotten you . . . [To Armand] He’s been very good to me . . . Ah! it’s strange. [She rises.]

Armand: What then? . . .

Marguerite: I’m no longer in pain. Anyone would say that life was reviving in me . . . I have a sense of well-being I never felt before . . . Why, I’m going to live! . . . Ah! how good I feel! [She sits and appears to doze off.]

Gaston: She’s asleep!

Armand: [With apprehension, then with terror] Marguerite! Marguerite! Marguerite! [A great cry.—He is forced to make an effort to tear his hand away from that of Marguerite.] Ah! [He recoils in a faint.] Dead! [running to Gustave.] My God! my God! what will become of me? . . .

Gustave: She really loved you, the poor girl!

Nichette: Sleep in peace, Marguerite! You’ll be forgiven much, for you have loved greatly!