n>
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 2000, 2012 by Frank J. Morlock
Published by Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidebooks.com
DEDICATION
For Carmen Martínez,
My favorite opera singer.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Durandin, businessman
Rodolphe, a poet, his nephew
Marcel, a painter
Schaunard, a musician
Gustave Colline, a philosopher
Benoît, hotel manager
Baptiste, a servant
A waiter/cashier
A gentleman
A doctor
Césarine de Rouvre, a young widow
Mimi
Musette
Phemie
A lady
A commissioner
Césarine’s servants
Guests
Ten men, four women
ACT I
A house in the country in the neighborhood of Paris. A garden. In the rear a balustrade giving on the countryside. To the left a pavilion with an open window facing the public. To the right a garden bench. Chairs.
Baptiste (alone, at the back near the wall looking at the countryside)
What’s that cloud of dust? Could it be the carriage of Madame Césarine de Rouvre? That would be surprising to me, because it’s noon and Monsieur Durandin doesn’t expect the lady until two o’clock. Why, it’s not a carriage. (looking attentively) Some young men with large easels and young girls with big hats. I know what it is—it’s a caravan. Happy youth—laugh, laugh—you haven’t read Monsieur Voltaire. But, think of it—what imprudence. (taking a book which he had forgotten on the bench) If Monsieur Durandin, the numbers man, as Monsieur Rodolphe says, had found this in octavo, my removal would be imminent. See, Monsieur Durandin has informed me that they will take coffee in this pavilion which hasn’t been opened for three months. Let’s put things in order. (goes into the pavilion and opens the blinds) Or rather no, everything’s fine as it is—as Monsieur Voltaire said. Thanks to the dust, the Louis XV furniture has a more venerable appearance. I won’t bring a profane duster to it. As for these populations of arachnids, they’ll give this place a more antique character, completely artistic. So, I won’t remove these spiders. My only regret is there aren’t more of them. (shutting the door) Everything is ready and now Madame Rouvre can arrive.
Durandin (enters from the back, notebook in hand, reading)
Paris to Rouen, from 575 to 555 remains at 560—15 francs lower—bravo—it’s time to buy. (to Baptiste without turning) Where is my nephew?
Baptiste
In his room, monsieur.
Durandin (always calculating)
200 at 5.6, 112,000. 200 at 500—probable fall—116,000, 4,000 francs profits net—(rubbing his hands) Where is my nephew?
Baptiste
In his room, monsieur.
Durandin (waking up from his reverie)
Huh? What? It’s not true, I’m coming from there. By the way, his room is in a pretty state. You aren’t taking care of it?
Baptiste
Pardon me, monsieur. On the contrary. I take meticulous care of it. I open the window in the morning and I shut it in the evening.
Durandin
And that’s all?
Baptiste
And that’s all, monsieur. I follow to the letter the instructions given me by your nephew, Monsieur Rodolphe, who told me when he came to live here: “Baptiste, you please me infinitely, but if you wish to preserve my esteem, you will never touch anything in my room. If you had the imprudence to put my things in their place, it would be impossible for me ever to find them again.”
Durandin
Then, that’s why I observed a pair of boots on the chimney and the clock in the cupboard.
Baptiste
I can’t give an account of the motive which assigned that place to the pair of boots, but as for the clock, it’s different and can be explained. (Durandin is back at his notebook) You’re not listening to me, monsieur.
Durandin
Oh, yes, imbecile.
Baptiste
I continue: The first time Monsieur Rodolphe saw the clock in question he wanted to throw it out the window.
Durandin (stupefied)
Out the—A clock worth four hundred francs, in gilded bronze with a bronze representing Malek-Adel.
Baptiste
Yes, monsieur, I know quite well—Malek-Adel—by Madame Cottin. But the clock had a defect.
Durandin
What was that?
Baptiste
It marked the hour.
Durandin
Well?
Baptiste
My God! I know that it was only doing its duty—but Monsieur Rodolphe judged otherwise. He said he didn’t want this domestic tyrant that counted his existence minute by minute, whose needle stretched right to his bed and came to sting in the morning with those instruments of torture in the vicinity of which nonchalance and reverie are impossible.
Durandin
What are all these wandering? Oh, this cannot last much longer; my nephew will make me as crazy as he is. Happily, Madame Rouvre is coming today, she’s a widow, rich—womanly.
Baptiste
That’s her most beautiful honor.
Durandin
I’m not talking to you. She’s a woman and what a woman wants— Rodolphe must
