MOTHER (vigorously). He forced me to it, and I call God to witness it (to the Manager). Ask him (indicates husband) if it isn't true. Let him speak. You (to daughter) are not in a position to know anything about it.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. I know you lived in peace and happiness with my father while he lived. Can you deny it?
THE MOTHER. No, I don't deny it. …
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. He was always full of affection and kindness for you (to the Boy, angrily). It's true, isn't it? Tell them! Why don't you speak, you little fool?
THE MOTHER. Leave the poor boy alone. Why do you want to make me appear ungrateful, daughter? I don't want to offend your father. I have answered him that I didn't abandon my house and my son through any fault of mine, nor from any wilful passion.
THE FATHER. It is true. It was my doing.
LEADING MAN (to the Company). What a spectacle!
LEADING LADY We are the audience this time.
JUVENILE LEAD. For once, in a way.
THE MANAGER (beginning to get really interested). Let's hear them out. Listen!
THE SON. Oh yes, you're going to hear a fine bit now. He will talk to you of the Demon of Experiment.
THE FATHER. You are a cynical imbecile. I've told you so already a hundred times (to the Manager). He tries to make fun of me on account of this expression which I have found to excuse myself with.
THE SON (with disgust). Yes, phrases! phrases!
THE FATHER. Phrases! Isn't everyone consoled when faced with a trouble or fact he doesn't understand, by a word, some simple word, which tells us nothing and yet calms us?
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Even in the case of remorse. In fact, especially then.
THE FATHER. Remorse? No, that isn't true. I've done more than use words to quieten the remorse in me.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Yes, there was a bit of money too. Yes, yes, a bit of money. There were the hundred lire he was about to offer me in payment, gentlemen. … (sensation of horror among the actors).
THE SON (to the Step-Daughter). This is vile.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Vile? There they were in a pale blue envelope on a little mahogany table in the back of Madame Pace's shop. You know Madame Pace—one of those ladies who attract poor girls of good family into their ateliers, under the pretext of their selling robes et manteaux.
THE SON. And he thinks he has bought the right to tyrannise over us all with those hundred lire he was going to pay; but which, fortunately—note this, gentlemen—he had no chance of paying.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. It was a near thing, though, you know! (laughs ironically).
THE MOTHER (protesting.) Shame, my daughter, shame!
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Shame indeed! This is my revenge! I am dying to live that scene. … The room … I see it. … Here is the window with the mantles exposed, there the divan, the looking-glass, a screen, there in front of the window the little mahogany table with the blue envelope containing one hundred lire. I see it. I see it. I could take hold of it. … But you, gentlemen, you ought to turn your backs now: I am almost nude, you know. But I don't blush: I leave that to him (indicating Father).
THE MANAGER. I don't understand this at all.
THE FATHER. Naturally enough. I would ask you, sir, to exercise your authority a little here, and let me speak before you believe all she is trying to blame me with. Let me explain.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Ah yes, explain it in your own way.
THE FATHER. But don't you see that the whole trouble lies here. In words, words. Each one of us has within him a whole world of things, each man of us his own special world. And how can we ever come to an understanding if I put in the words I utter the sense and value of things as I see them; while you who listen to me must inevitably translate them according to the conception of things each one of you has within himself. We think we understand each other, but we never really do! Look here! This woman (indicating the Mother) takes all my pity for her as a specially ferocious form of cruelty.
THE MOTHER. But you drove me away.
THE FATHER. Do you hear her? I drove her away! She believes I really sent her away.
THE MOTHER. You know how to talk, and I don't; but, believe me sir, (to Manager) after he had married me … who knows why? … I was a poor insignificant woman. …
THE FATHER. But, good Heavens! it was just for your humility that I married you. I loved this simplicity in you (He stops when he sees she makes signs to contradict him, opens his arms wide in sign of desperation, seeing how hopeless it is to make himself understood). You see she denies it. Her mental deafness, believe me, is phenomenal, the limit (touches his forehead): deaf, deaf, mentally deaf! She has plenty of feeling. Oh yes, a good heart for the children; but the brain—deaf, to the point of desperation—!
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Yes, but ask him how his intelligence has helped us.
THE FATHER. If we could see all the evil that may spring from good, what should we do? (At this point the Leading Lady who is biting her lips with rage at seeing the Leading Man flirting with the Step-Daughter, comes forward and says to the Manager).
LEADING LADY. Excuse me, but are we going to rehearse today?
MANAGER. Of course, of course; but let's hear them out.
JUVENILE LEAD. This is something quite new.
L'INGÉNUE. Most interesting!
LEADING LADY. Yes, for the people who like that kind of thing (casts a glance at Leading Man).
THE MANAGER (to Father.) You must please explain yourself quite clearly (sits down).
THE FATHER. Very well then: listen! I had in my service a poor man, a clerk, a secretary of mine, full of devotion, who became friends with her (indicating the Mother). They understood one another, were kindred souls in fact, without, however, the least suspicion of any evil existing. They were incapable even of thinking of it.
THE STEP-DAUGHTER. So he thought of it—for them!
THE FATHER. That's not true. I meant to do good to them—and to myself, I confess, at the same time. Things had come to the point that I could not say a word to either of them without their making a mute appeal, one to the other, with their eyes. I could see them silently asking each other how I was to be kept in countenance, how I was to be kept quiet. And this, believe me, was just about enough of itself to keep me in a constant rage, to exasperate me beyond measure.
THE MANAGER. And why didn't you send him away then—this secretary of yours?
THE FATHER. Precisely what I did, sir. And then I had to watch this poor woman drifting forlornly about the house like an animal without a master, like an animal one has taken in out of pity.
THE
