This
will be our last chance for a ray of illumination from you.
will be our last chance for a ray of illumination from you.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v19 - Oli to Phi
10959 (#171) ##########################################
THOMAS NELSON PAGE
10959
down between the cliffs, and wreathing the mountain-side above,
might have been the smoke from some unearthly battle, fought
in the dim pass by ghostly guns, yet posted there in the dark-
ness, manned by phantom gunners, while phantom horses stood
behind, lit vaguely up by phantom camp-fires. At the given word
the laniards were pulled together; and together as one the six
black guns, belching flame and lead, roared their last challenge
on the misty night, sending a deadly hail of shot and shell, tear-
ing the trees and splintering the rocks of the farther side, and
sending the thunder reverberating through the pass and down
the mountain, startling from its slumber the sleeping camp on
the hills below, and driving the browsing deer and the prowling
mountain-fox in terror up the mountain.
There was silence among the men about the guns for one
brief instant: and then such a cheer burst forth as had never
broken from them even in battle; cheer on cheer, the long, wild,
old familiar "Rebel yell" for the guns they had fought with and
loved.
The noise had not died away, and the men behind were still
trying to quiet the frightened horses, when the sergeant - the
same who had written received from the hand of the colonel
a long package or roll, which contained the records of the bat-
tery furnished by the men and by the colonel himself, securely
wrapped to make them water-tight; and it was rammed down
the yet warm throat of the nearest gun,— the Cat,— and then
the gun was tamped to the muzzle to make her water-tight, and
like her sisters, was spiked, and her vent tamped tight. All
this took but a minute; and the next instant the guns were run
up once more to the edge of the cliff; and the men stood by
them with their hands still on them. A deadly silence fell on
the men, and even the horses behind seemed to feel the spell.
There was a long pause, in which not a breath was heard from
any man, and the soughing of the tree-tops above and the rush-
ing of the rapids below were the only sounds. They seemed to
come from far, very far away. Then the colonel said quietly,
"Let them go, and God be our helper; Amen. " There was the
noise in the darkness of trampling and scraping on the cliff-top
for a second,-the sound as of men straining hard together,—
and then with a pant it ceased all at once; and the men held
their breath to hear. One second of utter silence; then one
prolonged, deep, resounding splash, sending up a great mass of
―――
## p. 10960 (#172) ##########################################
10960
THOMAS NELSON PAGE
white foam as the brass pieces together plunged into the dark
water below, and then the soughing of the trees and the mur-
mur of the river came again with painful distinctness.
It was
full ten minutes before the colonel spoke, though there were
other sounds enough in the darkness; and some of the men, as
the dark outstretched bodies showed, were lying on the ground
flat on their faces. Then the colonel gave the command to fall
in, in the same quiet, grave tone he had used all night. The
line fell in, the men getting to their horses and mounting in
silence; the colonel put himself at their head and gave the order
of march, and the dark line turned in the darkness, crossed the
little plateau between the smoldering camp-fires and the spectral
caissons with the harness hanging beside them, and slowly en-
tered the dim charcoal-burner's track. Not a word was spoken
as they moved off. They might all have been phantoms. Only,
the sergeant in the rear, as he crossed the little breastwork
which ran along the upper side and marked the boundary of
the little camp, half turned and glanced at the dying fires, the
low, newly made mounds in the corner, the abandoned caissons,
and the empty redoubt, and said slowly, in a low voice to him-
self,-
"Well, by God! "
## p. 10961 (#173) ##########################################
10961
EDOUARD PAILLERON
(1834-)
HE modern French drama is rich in the portrayal of the
fashions and morals of the hour; and the office of the stage-
play as a satire without much theatricalism in it, is brill-
iantly exercised in the case of such men as Pailleron, Prevost,
Hervieu, and Donnay. M. Pailleron is in some sense the dean of the
contemporary school, which paints its pictures and speaks its lessons.
through the Comédie Française, the Odéon, and the Gymnase. Born
in Paris September 18th, 1834, the author of 'Le Monde où l'On
s'Ennuie' (Society Where One is Bored)
was a notary's clerk until about the year
1861, when he fairly made literature his
profession. As a novelist, a poet, and ulti-
mately as a playwright, he soon began to
gain recognized individuality. His first dis-
tinct success came in 1868, with the spark-
ling satiric comedy mentioned above, 'Le
Monde où l'On s'Ennuie'; although a pre-
ceding play, 'Le Monde où l'On s'Amuse
(Society Where One is Amused), had won
favor. 'Society Where One is Bored' was
produced in 1882, at the national theatre.
Its success was immediate, its run
long-continued, and it is extremely popu-
lar in repertory to-day. To its merits is due the elevation of its
author to the Académie in 1884. From that time, M. Pailleron's
career has been essentially theatrical. His conception of the drama
is not only that of the perceptive and skillful playwright, but the
man who delineates character with an exact and vivid literary touch.
These qualities have been still more perfectly exhibited in M. Pail-
leron's second great success of 1893,-one which even surpassed any
that had preceded it,- his complex comedy 'Cabotins'; and once more
was a Pailleron comedy the sensation of the Théâtre Français. For
one winter this sparkling piece, with its pictures of bohemian life,
its ironical depiction of bureaucracy and machine politics, and its
effectiveness merely as an emotional drama, held the attention of all
Paris; and in ceasing to be a novelty, 'Cabotins' does not appear to
have less vitality before a later public. In 1896 M. Pailleron (who
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
was
XIX-686
## p. 10962 (#174) ##########################################
10962
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
has gradually become a more deliberate worker in the drama, putting
forth his pieces with considerable intervals between them) produced at
the Théâtre Français two small social comedies, or what the French
call "proverbes," that is to say, little sketches in two or three scenes
only, cleverly illustrating some familiar saying,-collectively entitled
'Better Try Gentleness than-Force. ' These trifles, however, have
not been significant in adding to his reputation.
<
The finest flower of Pailleron's talent undoubtedly is to be found
in 'Le Monde où l'On s'Ennuie,' with its studies of drawing-room
politics, its contrasts of spontaneous human nature with tiresome
formality, and its amusing situations. But Cabotins' is not a whit
inferior to it as a tableau of contrasting phases of French life, in-
cluding an amusing portrayal of a temperamental and adroit young
politician, a natural manoeuvrer and leader in the race; and there
are also admirable scenes that range from the frolicsomeness of an
artist's lodging-house to a drawing-room in the aristocratic centre of
Paris. The quality of clear conception, the gift of an admirably just
literary expression, are of the essence of M. Pailleron's best work.
Like Dumas, he is a portrait-maker and a censor through the play-
house-though concerning himself with higher moral and social
problems than the author of 'La Dame aux Camellias' and 'Le Fils
Naturel. '
SOCIETY WHERE ONE IS BORED
From 'Le Monde où l'On s'Ennuie'
[The scene represents a small drawing-room, partly library and partly
reception-room, opening upon a much larger apartment, in the residence of
the Countess de Céran. Conspicuous is a huge table covered with journals,
formidable-looking reviews, and "blue-books. " A general air of formality
and oppressiveness. François, a particularly formal-looking valet, is searching
among the papers heaped on the table for a lost letter (which becomes amus-
ingly essential to complications of the plot later in the play). As he is turn-
ing over things, Paul Raymond and his wife Jeanne, who have been asked
to pay a visit of a few days to Madame de Céran, enter the room. They
have apparently just arrived from the railway station, are carrying their hand-
luggage, and are a young and lively-looking married pair. ]
FRAN
RANÇOIS [at the table] - Hunt! hunt! [turning over the papers
again]-Colonial Review, Diplomatic Review, Archæological
Review
Jeanne-Ah! some one in sight at last. [Calling to François
gayly. ] Is Madame de Céran-
-
## p. 10963 (#175) ##########################################
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
10963
Paul [catching hold of her hand, and in a low voice] - Keep
quiet! [Gravely to François. ] Is Madame the Countess de Céran
at home?
François - Yes, monsieur.
Jeanne [gayly]- Very well; then go and tell her that Mon-
sieur and Madame Paul Raymond-
Paul [catching hold of her hand again, and speaking again in
a very formal tone] - Will you kindly inform her that M. Ray-
mond, sous-préfet of Agenis,* and Madame Raymond, have come
from Paris, and are waiting her here.
---
Jeanne [interrupting] - And that-
Paul [with the same alternation of manner and tone as before]
- Will you keep quiet! [To François. ] Go, my friend.
François [evidently impressed] - Yes, yes; Monsieur le Sous-
Préfet. [Aside. ] They are a newly married couple! [Aloud. ]
Permit me to relieve Monsieur le Sous-Préfet.
me-
[François takes their traveling-bags and rugs and goes out. ]
Jeanne-That is well enough; but, Paul, will you kindly tell
Paul- No "Paul" here, if you please. You will have to call
me "M. Raymond," my dear, from the minute you set foot in
this house.
-
Jeanne- What do you mean? Ridiculous! And you say that
with such an expression on your face! [Laughing. ]
Paul [with an assumed severity]-Jeanne, no laughing here,
I beg of you.
Jeanne - Really, Paul, are you going to scold me? Nonsense!
[She throws her arms around his neck. Paul disengages himself,
and draws away from her reproachfully. ]
Paul-Unlucky creature! That was the only thing that was
lacking! Cannot you restrain yourself?
Jeanne [surprised] — Really, Paul, you begin to bore me.
Paul-Ah! Precisely! Now that time you sounded the very
keynote of things. Have you forgotten already all that I have
been saying to you on the railway this morning?
Jeanne-No; but I thought you were joking.
*The office of sous-préfet in the French municipal system is one subor-
dinate to that of préfet, which is practically a mayoralty.
## p. 10964 (#176) ##########################################
10964
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
Paul [horrified]-Joking! Joking in this place! See here,
Jeanne, do you wish to become the wife of a préfet or not?
Yes or no?
Jeanne Why, yes; if it is anything to you.
Paul -Very well then; now listen to me once more, and do
be careful. Here we are. The Countess of Céran has done me
the honor to ask me to present my young wife to her, and to
spend some days at her château de Saint-Germain. Now the
social circle of Madame de Céran, as a centre of politics, is one
of the three or four most important in Paris.
You think you
have come here on a visit of pleasure. Not a bit of it! We are
not here at all to amuse ourselves. I have come here only a
sous-préfet, and I propose to go out of it a full préfet; and that
good thing- my promotion - depends on three persons: on Ma-
dame de Céran, on myself, and on you.
Jeanne-On me! What have I got to do with it?
Paul-A great deal. My dear Jeanne, the world judges a
man by his wife, and it is for that reason I want to put you on
your guard. This is no place for you to be your natural and
lively self. My dear little girl, you must put on a manner suit-
able to the task that we have in hand,-gravity without arro-
gance, a sweetly thoughtful smile; you must keep your eyes open,
listen carefully, talk little. Oh, I don't mean to say you must
not be complimentary to people. No, as much of that as you
choose: and you may also quote - that is a very good thing,
though they must be short quotations-good, deep ones. In
physiology you must allude to Hegel; in literature you must cite
Richter; in politics-
-
-
--
Jeanne But, Paul, I cannot talk politics.
Paul [severely]- Here all the women talk politics.
Jeanne [dolefully]-I don't understand a thing about it.
Paul-The women here don't understand a thing about it,
but that doesn't make any difference: you must talk it all the
same. Cite Pufendorf and Machiavelli as if they had been your
relatives; allude to the Council of Trent as if you had presided
at it. As to your amusements—well, while you are here, you
can expect chamber music, walks around the garden, whist; — that
is all I can promise you: and so, what with only high-necked
dresses, and the few words of Latin that I have put into your
head,-why, my dear, I will wager that before a week is over,
-
## p. 10965 (#177) ##########################################
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
10965
people will say about you: "Now that little Madame Raymond,
she is simply made to be the wife of a statesman! " And in the
kind of society where we are just now, let me tell you that when
people say that a woman is made to be the wife of a statesman,
her husband is not very far from being one.
Jeanne-What! You wish to be a statesman!
Paul-Yes! So that I need not be an exception to everybody
else!
Jeanne-But since Madame de Céran belongs to the Opposi-
tion, to what post can she help you?
Paul- Dear simpleton that you are! In whatever concerns
political places, my dear child, between the Conservatives and
their opponents there is only a mere shade of difference. The
Conservatives do the asking, and the people that belong to the
Opposition do the accepting. No, no, Jeanne, once for all, it is
here in this very house that are made—and more than made —
reputations, situations, elections, and all that sort of thing. Such
a fashionable house as this, where under the excuse of talking
about literature, fine arts, even the clumsy wire-pullers bring
about their purposes,- such a house as this, I say, is the back
door of the ministries, the ante-room of academies, the laboratory
of success.
Jeanne- How dreadful! But what sort of society is there
here?
Paul Society here, my child, is a sort of Hôtel de Ram-
bouillet in 1881: it is a society where people talk and where peo-
ple pose, where pedantry takes the place of science, sentimentality
that of sentiment, and a silly fussing that of delicacy; where
no one ever says what he thinks, and where no one ever thinks
what he says; where keeping at whatever you have in your mind
to bring about is a special policy; where friendship is calculation;
where even gallantry is a means of managing things: it is a so-
ciety where one sucks his cane in the vestibule and chews on his
tongue in the drawing-room. In a word, a very serious society
indeed!
Jeanne-But then, that is the society where one is always
bored.
-
Paul-Precisely.
Jeanne-But if one is bored there, what influence can it have?
Paul What influence! Ah, innocence! innocence! What in-
fluence, if it bores you? An enormous influence! Don't you see
-
## p. 10966 (#178) ##########################################
10966
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
that as French people, we have a horror of boredom which we
carry almost to the point of veneration? To a Frenchman, being
bored is a terrible deity, whose worship is carried on in full
dress. The Frenchman does not understand a serious affair ex-
cept under that form of worship. I don't tell you that he always
keeps it up, but he does not believe it any the less firmly -
preferring to believe it rather than really to see much of it.
We French people, gay at heart, have grown into a habit of
despising so to be; we have lost our faith in the good sense of
open laughter; a people skeptical, talkative, has come to put faith
in those who are silent. A race expansive and cheerful has
come to allow itself to be imposed upon by the pedantic solem-
nity, by the pretentious nullity, of people wearing white cravats;
yes, in politics, in science, in art, in literature, in everything!
We make fun of them, we hate them, we run away from them
like the plague; but somehow they alone have won our secret
admiration and absolute confidence. What influence, then, does
boredom have? Ah, my dear child, learn that there are in the
world only two sorts of people: those who cannot submit to being
bored, and who are nothing at all; and those who can submit to
being bored, and who are simply everything,- besides those who
habitually bore others!
Jeanne [with a gesture of disappointment]-To a charming
household you have brought me on a visit, you wretched man!
Paul [very solemnly]- Jeanne, do you wish to be the wife of
a préfet - yes or no?
Jeanne-Oh, really, I simply never could-
Paul-Nonsense! You can put up with it eight days.
Jeanne-Eight days? Without talking, without laughing!
Without even embracing you!
Paul Certainly not, before other people; but when we are
alone by ourselves - and then in corners, now do behave your-
self, that will be charming. Why, I'll give you regular rendez-
vous-in the garden, anywhere-just as we used to do before.
our marriage, you remember.
Jeanne — Oh, very well then, it's all right! It's all right! I
shall get on somehow. [She opens the piano, and begins to play
a lively air from the Fille de Madame Angot. ']
Paul [alarmed]-Stop! stop! what are you playing?
Jeanne- Why, it is from the operetta that we heard yester-
day.
---
## p. 10967 (#179) ##########################################
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
10967
Paul Thoughtless creature! Now see how you profit by the
sober lessons that I have been giving you! If any one should
come! If any one should hear you! Will you be sensible!
[François appears at the end of the room. ] Too late! [Jeanne
cleverly changes the air of the opera to a grave passage in a
symphony from Beethoven. ] Beethoven! Bravo! [Pretends to
follow the air with great attention. ] Ah' decidedly there is no
music except that of the Conservatory!
-
Translated for A Library of the World's Best Literature by E. Irenæus
Stevenson
A SCIENTIST AMONG LADIES
From The World of Boredom'
[In M. de Bellac, the hero of the following scene, the dramatist portrays
the superficial, pretentious, and conceited man of letters, who passes for a deep
thinker, and probably believes himself such; and whose practical success is
largely due to the adulation of a coterie of women, infatuated with what they
consider philosophy, but in reality carried away by mere sentimentality for
its drawing-room expounder. As the curtain rises, Madame de Céran, hostess
of the assembled company, is about to conduct the ladies into the next apart-
ment; when one of them, Madame de Loudan, takes her by the arm. ]
M
ADAME DE LOUDAN [in an affected tone]—O countess! count-
ess! before we go, do let us carry out the little plot that
we have just been making against M. de Bellac. [Going
to Bellac, she says beseechingly:] M. Bellac-
Bellac [smiling conceitedly]-Marquise-?
Madame de Loudan-We are all begging one favor of you.
Bellac [graciously] You mean the favor that you do in ask-
ing it of me?
All the Ladies [to each other]-Oh, how charmingly he said
that!
-
――――――
Madame de Loudan - The poetry that we are going into the
other room to hear will probably take the entire evening.
This
will be our last chance for a ray of illumination from you.
Do
recite us something-will you not? Now, before we all go-
just as little a thing as you choose.
We don't wish to tax your
genius; but something-anything-only speak. Every word you
will say will fall on us like manna!
## p. 10968 (#180) ##########################################
10968
ÈDOUARD PAILLERON
Suzanne - Yes, yes, please do, M. Bellac.
Madame Arriego-Do be so kind, M. Bellac.
The Baroness-We are all absolutely at your feet, M. Bel-
lac.
Bellac [protesting]-O ladies! ladies!
Madame de Loudan - Come over here and help us, Lucy-
you who are his Muse! You ask him too.
Lucy-Certainly I ask him.
Suzanne
For my part, I will have it so, whether M. Bellac
likes it or not!
The Ladies [whispering together]-Oh! oh!
Madame de Céran - Suzanne, you forget yourself.
Bellac-Oh, from the moment when anybody takes to vio-
lence-
―――
Madame de Loudan - Oh, he consents! he consents! An arm-
chair! An arm-chair! [A general movement of delight among all
the ladies surrounding Bellac. ]
Madame Arrigo-Will you have a table?
Madame de Loudan - Would you like us to draw back a lit-
tle from you?
Madame de Céran - Yes, just make a little more room around
him, please, ladies.
Bellac-Really! really! I beg of you-no stage setting-
nothing that suggests giving a lesson, a lecture, in a word,
pedantry. Rather, my dear ladies, let us turn it into a conver-
sation; you to ask me whatever questions you please.
Madame Loudan [joining her hands together]—O dear M. Bel-
lac, can we ask you something about your new book?
Suzanne-O M. Bellac, please —
Bellac-Ah, irresistible prayers!
―
―――――
But in spite of them-
yes, in spite of them, suffer me to refuse. Before my book is
given to everybody, no one human being must know anything
about it.
Madame de Loudan [slyly]-Not even one single person-in
particular?
Bellac O marquise, as Fontenelle once said to Madame de
Coulanges, "Take care! you are getting close to a secret. "
All the Ladies [with great enthusiasm]-Ah! charming!
The Baroness [in a low voice to Madame de Loudan] - How
much wit he has!
## p. 10969 (#181) ##########################################
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
10969
Madame de Loudan-He has something better than wit, my
dear.
The Baroness What do you mean?
Madame de Loudan-The man absolutely has wings-you
shall see he positively has wings!
Bellac [looking around the circle]— Ladies, I think you will
all agree that this is neither the place nor the hour to enter
upon those eternal problems with which souls whose intellectual
flight is as high as yours, continually torment themselves,— the
mysterious enigmas of life and of the Great Beyond.
The Ladies [to each other]-Ah! the Great Beyond, my dear;
the Great Beyond!
Bellac Such a topic reserved, I am at your orders: and as I
speak there occurs to me one of those questions eternally agi-
tated, never decided; upon which, with your permission, I should
like to express an opinion in a few words.
The Ladies - Yes, yes; speak! speak!
-
-
-
-
-
Bellac [sitting down in the arm-chair] — And I should like to
say what I have to say about it in view of a triple end. The
topic that I have in mind is-love-
The Ladies [all together, awed, and with enthusiasm]-Ah!
Bellac Yes, of love. Oh, weakness which is a force! Senti-
ment which is a faith! The only one perhaps which knows no
atheists.
The Ladies-Ah! ah! Charming!
Madame de Loudan [to the Baroness] - Didn't I tell you he
positively had wings, my dear-just listen!
Bellac-I had come here this morning intending to speak,
àpropos of the topic of German literature, of a certain philosophy
which makes mere instinct the base and the rule of all of our
actions and of all of our thoughts.
The Ladies [protesting]-Oh! oh!
Bellac I take this occasion to assert that that opinion is not
at all mine, and that I repulse it with all the energy of a soul
that is proud to exist.
The Ladies-Oh, admirable!
The Baroness [in a low voice to Madame de Loudan] - Did
you ever see a man with such a beautiful hand?
Bellac- No, ladies, no: love is not, as the German philoso-
pher said, purely a passion belonging to the species,-a deceptive
## p. 10970 (#182) ##########################################
10970
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
illusion by which nature dazzles men, to accomplish its ends.
No, no, a hundred times no! It is impossible that it should be
so if we really have souls.
The Ladies- Yes, yes; bravo!
Bellac Let us leave to the sophists, and to vulgar natures,
those theories that debase the human heart; let us not even dis-
cuss them; let us answer them by silence, by the language of
forgetfulness.
The Ladies-Charming! charming!
Bellac Heaven forbid that I should ever deny the sovereign
influence of beauty upon the tottering wills of men. [Looking
meaningly around him. ] I see before me in such a moment as
this only too much of what would enable me victoriously to
refute any error as to that.
The Ladies - Ah! ah!
-
Bellac-But above this beauty which is perceptible and per-
ishable, my dear ladies, there is another beauty, unconquerable
by time, invisible to the eye, and which the purified spirit alone
can perceive and love with a refined and immaterial love. That
species of love, my dear ladies, is the very principle of love
itself, the bringing together of two souls, and their elevation
above all the mud of this terrestrial world,—their united flight
into the infinite blue of the Ideal.
The Ladies [all together]-Bravo! bravo!
[As Bellac says these last words, the old Duchesse de Réville, who has been
sitting quite forward of the group of his admirers, embroidering
diligently, exclaims in a tone of contempt:]
There you have stuff and nonsense for you with a vengeance!
Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature' by E. Irenæus
Stevenson
## p. 10971 (#183) ##########################################
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
THE STORY OF GRIGNEUX
From Cabotins >
10971
[The following dialogue occurs between a young sculptor, Pierre Carde-
vent, who has had the misfortune to fall in love apparently outside of his
sphere, and Grigneux, an old painter, whose life has been a failure. Grigneux
takes an affectionate interest in the young man's career. The scene is a
drawing-room, where the two are for a few moments alone by themselves;
the episode occurring in the second act of the play. ]
P
reassure
IERRE [to Grigneux, who looks anxiously at him on entering
the room]-Ah! it is you, is it? Well, you can
yourself, my old Grigneux. It is finished.
It is finished. It is finished.
Grigneux-What? What is finished?
-
-
Pierre-My romance as you called it a while ago.
Grigneux [incredulously] — Finished?
Pierre-Yes, Mademoiselle Valentine tells me that she does
not wish to see me, that I must forget her, because — well, I
don't know just why, but I do know that she doesn't wish to
see me again. Oh, my romance has not been a long one, eh?
[with a forced laugh] and you were so afraid of its having
another winding-up: well, here is its winding-up; I hope you are
satisfied with it. Would you like me to say that I am satisfied
too?
Grigneux [gravely]- How you love her!
Pierre-So then this is what people call loving anybody.
[Sarcastically. ] Well, well, it is a lively business! Think of it!
During ten days I have been expecting that girl at the studio-
to go on with her portrait-as if I were waiting for the good
God himself! This very evening I have left my mother alone
to come to this house, and here I am: obliged to make myself
agreeable to a lot of people who bore me to death, in a drawing-
room, in fashionable society! I, Cardevent the sculptor! Look
at me, in a coat that worries me, a cravat that strangles me,
with pomade on my hair! Yes, with pomade! I put it on my
hair, on my honor! [laughing] and all that so that I could hear
this young lady tell me that I must forget her, and that "every-
thing is finished"! Really, it is all very stupid! I have never
been so stupid about anything in all my life. But then it's done
So much the better. I have had enough, thank you!
Grigneux-O my poor Pierre, you are hard hit.
now.
## p. 10972 (#184) ##########################################
10972
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
Pierre-Very well then, I must get over it. It is simply a
matter of resolution.
Grigneux - Yes; but you must resolve to be resolved.
Pierre-Don't be afraid; you shall see.
Grigneux-It is because I have "seen" that I am afraid.
Pierre-Oh, come now! There is no such thing as a love
which one cannot kill with one stroke of his own will.
Grigneux-Do you think so? Listen to me. Pierre, I knew,
a long time ago, an artist far less gifted than you, but having
just as you have a real passion for his art, and a strong faith in
his own youth: he was a man who would have been somebody
for all I know; only a woman came into his life, a woman who
shattered all these promises, and who made of that man's life the
most lamentable thing in the world.
Pierre- And how did that happen?
Grigneux —Oh, always the same story! He had as a neigh-
bor a young girl, a pianist, who got along as well as she could
in life, earning her bread by giving lessons. She was intelligent,
she was proud, she was a little impulsive. She believed that
this poor fellow possessed genius. You see that a charm for him
hung about her. And besides all this, she was as pretty-as
pretty well, as this Valentine here whom you love; and what is
more, she had the same name.
[Grigneux pauses as if becoming
lost in remembrances. ]
-
―
Pierre-Well, what happened?
Grigneux-What happened? He loved her and he married
her! It had to be so; it was written in the book of fate. To
fall in love for an artist that is a danger to begin with; but
for an artist to marry, to bring a woman into the secret of your
work, that is to say, all your efforts, doubts, pangs of artistic
creation,—a woman who has begun by believing in you as in
God, and who imagines that it is enough for you to make a
gesture as God might, in order to create something,-oh, that is
an irreparable mistake! I tell you, Pierre, women do not under-
stand anything except success. Now this poor creator of whom
I am speaking, tried in vain to be a creator all the week long,
without even taking time to rest himself on the seventh day; but
he got nothing out of his chaos. Success never came; but on the
contrary, failures succeeded failures. Little by little, everybody
ceased to expect anything from him, to hope anything for him,—
except the man himself, whose hope was of the kind that becomes
-
――――
## p. 10973 (#185) ##########################################
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
10973
grotesque by its persistence. People laughed at him all around.
him. From the time that the laughing began he was judged and
condemned. The young woman whom he had loved and married,
she joined the laughers. I leave out the details. It is enough to
say that when there was only one sort of treason that could
be committed against him, the thing which was sure to happen.
happened: one evening his wife fled from the house of this
creature whom fate had vanquished,— the ridicule of whom was
in everybody's mouth. She fled, to go heaven knows whither, in
company with nobody knew whom.
Pierre
- And he? What did he do then?
―――
Grigneux-Well, during a whole week, out of his senses with
grief and rage, he hunted all around the town after her; but of
course he could find out nothing. Then he fled in his turn; and
he went down and shut himself up in Italy in a little village
near Naples. There it was that eight months later the news of
his wife's death met him while he was reading one day a French
newspaper. But for all that he stayed down there, an exile, for
twenty years; even to the time when, an old man, worn out,
unrecognizable, he came back to Paris, the place where every
one can lose himself and forget himself: and there he ended up
by living under a false name; concealed, miserable, and alone.
Pierre-So! The worse for him then. A man who cannot
recover himself under an insult is a coward.
Grigneux - Yes: well then, that man of whom I have been
telling you, he was-myself!
Pierre [greatly shocked] - You, Grigneux! You!
Grigneux [becoming more and more carried away from himself]
Yes, I am more of a coward than you would believe for
I love her still; and, afraid lest I love her less, I have done
no searching into her story since I came back here. I wish to
know nothing more than I know of her guilty past. Yes, I have
been determined that so far as I am concerned she shall have no
existence from the day when I ceased to see her. I have been
resolved that she shall dwell in my mind only as she was before
her sin that death shall bury her forever, pure in its pardoning
mystery. Oh, I am a coward in more than that, if you care to
know it: for I love her for always; yes, for always! [He speaks
in a constantly increasing excitement. ] And since I have lost her
in reality, I bring her back to me in my dreams; and it is for
that that I take that poison which gives a man dreams. And
-
## p. 10974 (#186) ##########################################
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
10974
with them, oh then she comes back - I can hear her
to me I answer her- she draws near to me I can feel her
-
―
-
- she speaks
hand upon my shoulders again-she is there-I see her! [He
breaks off and remains in a sort of ecstatic silence. ]
Pierre [terrified] — Grigneux! Grigneux!
Grigneux [as if awakening]-And then, little by little, her
voice dies away, the vision effaces itself, and so she leaves me
alone, and so miserable that I must try to go through it all
again. Oh, I know perfectly well that my reason is going, that
my body is wearing out. So much the better! Only my body
separates me from her where she is now. So let it perish as
soon as it can, and my soul will take its wings to join hers!
Pierre [much affected]-My friend, my poor friend!
Grigneux [passing his hand over his forehead and returning to
himself]- Pierre, see what love makes of an old man like me;
what it can do to a young man like you. Oh, you see now why
it is that I tell you, "Fly from it. " My dear boy, I have nobody
in the world to love except you. I have nothing to expect in
life except what will come through you in your future. And
your future is so bright. Oh, I beg of you, I beseech you, do
not be a traitor to me, to yourself; do not at least rob me of
what should be your glory!
Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature' by E.
THOMAS NELSON PAGE
10959
down between the cliffs, and wreathing the mountain-side above,
might have been the smoke from some unearthly battle, fought
in the dim pass by ghostly guns, yet posted there in the dark-
ness, manned by phantom gunners, while phantom horses stood
behind, lit vaguely up by phantom camp-fires. At the given word
the laniards were pulled together; and together as one the six
black guns, belching flame and lead, roared their last challenge
on the misty night, sending a deadly hail of shot and shell, tear-
ing the trees and splintering the rocks of the farther side, and
sending the thunder reverberating through the pass and down
the mountain, startling from its slumber the sleeping camp on
the hills below, and driving the browsing deer and the prowling
mountain-fox in terror up the mountain.
There was silence among the men about the guns for one
brief instant: and then such a cheer burst forth as had never
broken from them even in battle; cheer on cheer, the long, wild,
old familiar "Rebel yell" for the guns they had fought with and
loved.
The noise had not died away, and the men behind were still
trying to quiet the frightened horses, when the sergeant - the
same who had written received from the hand of the colonel
a long package or roll, which contained the records of the bat-
tery furnished by the men and by the colonel himself, securely
wrapped to make them water-tight; and it was rammed down
the yet warm throat of the nearest gun,— the Cat,— and then
the gun was tamped to the muzzle to make her water-tight, and
like her sisters, was spiked, and her vent tamped tight. All
this took but a minute; and the next instant the guns were run
up once more to the edge of the cliff; and the men stood by
them with their hands still on them. A deadly silence fell on
the men, and even the horses behind seemed to feel the spell.
There was a long pause, in which not a breath was heard from
any man, and the soughing of the tree-tops above and the rush-
ing of the rapids below were the only sounds. They seemed to
come from far, very far away. Then the colonel said quietly,
"Let them go, and God be our helper; Amen. " There was the
noise in the darkness of trampling and scraping on the cliff-top
for a second,-the sound as of men straining hard together,—
and then with a pant it ceased all at once; and the men held
their breath to hear. One second of utter silence; then one
prolonged, deep, resounding splash, sending up a great mass of
―――
## p. 10960 (#172) ##########################################
10960
THOMAS NELSON PAGE
white foam as the brass pieces together plunged into the dark
water below, and then the soughing of the trees and the mur-
mur of the river came again with painful distinctness.
It was
full ten minutes before the colonel spoke, though there were
other sounds enough in the darkness; and some of the men, as
the dark outstretched bodies showed, were lying on the ground
flat on their faces. Then the colonel gave the command to fall
in, in the same quiet, grave tone he had used all night. The
line fell in, the men getting to their horses and mounting in
silence; the colonel put himself at their head and gave the order
of march, and the dark line turned in the darkness, crossed the
little plateau between the smoldering camp-fires and the spectral
caissons with the harness hanging beside them, and slowly en-
tered the dim charcoal-burner's track. Not a word was spoken
as they moved off. They might all have been phantoms. Only,
the sergeant in the rear, as he crossed the little breastwork
which ran along the upper side and marked the boundary of
the little camp, half turned and glanced at the dying fires, the
low, newly made mounds in the corner, the abandoned caissons,
and the empty redoubt, and said slowly, in a low voice to him-
self,-
"Well, by God! "
## p. 10961 (#173) ##########################################
10961
EDOUARD PAILLERON
(1834-)
HE modern French drama is rich in the portrayal of the
fashions and morals of the hour; and the office of the stage-
play as a satire without much theatricalism in it, is brill-
iantly exercised in the case of such men as Pailleron, Prevost,
Hervieu, and Donnay. M. Pailleron is in some sense the dean of the
contemporary school, which paints its pictures and speaks its lessons.
through the Comédie Française, the Odéon, and the Gymnase. Born
in Paris September 18th, 1834, the author of 'Le Monde où l'On
s'Ennuie' (Society Where One is Bored)
was a notary's clerk until about the year
1861, when he fairly made literature his
profession. As a novelist, a poet, and ulti-
mately as a playwright, he soon began to
gain recognized individuality. His first dis-
tinct success came in 1868, with the spark-
ling satiric comedy mentioned above, 'Le
Monde où l'On s'Ennuie'; although a pre-
ceding play, 'Le Monde où l'On s'Amuse
(Society Where One is Amused), had won
favor. 'Society Where One is Bored' was
produced in 1882, at the national theatre.
Its success was immediate, its run
long-continued, and it is extremely popu-
lar in repertory to-day. To its merits is due the elevation of its
author to the Académie in 1884. From that time, M. Pailleron's
career has been essentially theatrical. His conception of the drama
is not only that of the perceptive and skillful playwright, but the
man who delineates character with an exact and vivid literary touch.
These qualities have been still more perfectly exhibited in M. Pail-
leron's second great success of 1893,-one which even surpassed any
that had preceded it,- his complex comedy 'Cabotins'; and once more
was a Pailleron comedy the sensation of the Théâtre Français. For
one winter this sparkling piece, with its pictures of bohemian life,
its ironical depiction of bureaucracy and machine politics, and its
effectiveness merely as an emotional drama, held the attention of all
Paris; and in ceasing to be a novelty, 'Cabotins' does not appear to
have less vitality before a later public. In 1896 M. Pailleron (who
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
was
XIX-686
## p. 10962 (#174) ##########################################
10962
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
has gradually become a more deliberate worker in the drama, putting
forth his pieces with considerable intervals between them) produced at
the Théâtre Français two small social comedies, or what the French
call "proverbes," that is to say, little sketches in two or three scenes
only, cleverly illustrating some familiar saying,-collectively entitled
'Better Try Gentleness than-Force. ' These trifles, however, have
not been significant in adding to his reputation.
<
The finest flower of Pailleron's talent undoubtedly is to be found
in 'Le Monde où l'On s'Ennuie,' with its studies of drawing-room
politics, its contrasts of spontaneous human nature with tiresome
formality, and its amusing situations. But Cabotins' is not a whit
inferior to it as a tableau of contrasting phases of French life, in-
cluding an amusing portrayal of a temperamental and adroit young
politician, a natural manoeuvrer and leader in the race; and there
are also admirable scenes that range from the frolicsomeness of an
artist's lodging-house to a drawing-room in the aristocratic centre of
Paris. The quality of clear conception, the gift of an admirably just
literary expression, are of the essence of M. Pailleron's best work.
Like Dumas, he is a portrait-maker and a censor through the play-
house-though concerning himself with higher moral and social
problems than the author of 'La Dame aux Camellias' and 'Le Fils
Naturel. '
SOCIETY WHERE ONE IS BORED
From 'Le Monde où l'On s'Ennuie'
[The scene represents a small drawing-room, partly library and partly
reception-room, opening upon a much larger apartment, in the residence of
the Countess de Céran. Conspicuous is a huge table covered with journals,
formidable-looking reviews, and "blue-books. " A general air of formality
and oppressiveness. François, a particularly formal-looking valet, is searching
among the papers heaped on the table for a lost letter (which becomes amus-
ingly essential to complications of the plot later in the play). As he is turn-
ing over things, Paul Raymond and his wife Jeanne, who have been asked
to pay a visit of a few days to Madame de Céran, enter the room. They
have apparently just arrived from the railway station, are carrying their hand-
luggage, and are a young and lively-looking married pair. ]
FRAN
RANÇOIS [at the table] - Hunt! hunt! [turning over the papers
again]-Colonial Review, Diplomatic Review, Archæological
Review
Jeanne-Ah! some one in sight at last. [Calling to François
gayly. ] Is Madame de Céran-
-
## p. 10963 (#175) ##########################################
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
10963
Paul [catching hold of her hand, and in a low voice] - Keep
quiet! [Gravely to François. ] Is Madame the Countess de Céran
at home?
François - Yes, monsieur.
Jeanne [gayly]- Very well; then go and tell her that Mon-
sieur and Madame Paul Raymond-
Paul [catching hold of her hand again, and speaking again in
a very formal tone] - Will you kindly inform her that M. Ray-
mond, sous-préfet of Agenis,* and Madame Raymond, have come
from Paris, and are waiting her here.
---
Jeanne [interrupting] - And that-
Paul [with the same alternation of manner and tone as before]
- Will you keep quiet! [To François. ] Go, my friend.
François [evidently impressed] - Yes, yes; Monsieur le Sous-
Préfet. [Aside. ] They are a newly married couple! [Aloud. ]
Permit me to relieve Monsieur le Sous-Préfet.
me-
[François takes their traveling-bags and rugs and goes out. ]
Jeanne-That is well enough; but, Paul, will you kindly tell
Paul- No "Paul" here, if you please. You will have to call
me "M. Raymond," my dear, from the minute you set foot in
this house.
-
Jeanne- What do you mean? Ridiculous! And you say that
with such an expression on your face! [Laughing. ]
Paul [with an assumed severity]-Jeanne, no laughing here,
I beg of you.
Jeanne - Really, Paul, are you going to scold me? Nonsense!
[She throws her arms around his neck. Paul disengages himself,
and draws away from her reproachfully. ]
Paul-Unlucky creature! That was the only thing that was
lacking! Cannot you restrain yourself?
Jeanne [surprised] — Really, Paul, you begin to bore me.
Paul-Ah! Precisely! Now that time you sounded the very
keynote of things. Have you forgotten already all that I have
been saying to you on the railway this morning?
Jeanne-No; but I thought you were joking.
*The office of sous-préfet in the French municipal system is one subor-
dinate to that of préfet, which is practically a mayoralty.
## p. 10964 (#176) ##########################################
10964
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
Paul [horrified]-Joking! Joking in this place! See here,
Jeanne, do you wish to become the wife of a préfet or not?
Yes or no?
Jeanne Why, yes; if it is anything to you.
Paul -Very well then; now listen to me once more, and do
be careful. Here we are. The Countess of Céran has done me
the honor to ask me to present my young wife to her, and to
spend some days at her château de Saint-Germain. Now the
social circle of Madame de Céran, as a centre of politics, is one
of the three or four most important in Paris.
You think you
have come here on a visit of pleasure. Not a bit of it! We are
not here at all to amuse ourselves. I have come here only a
sous-préfet, and I propose to go out of it a full préfet; and that
good thing- my promotion - depends on three persons: on Ma-
dame de Céran, on myself, and on you.
Jeanne-On me! What have I got to do with it?
Paul-A great deal. My dear Jeanne, the world judges a
man by his wife, and it is for that reason I want to put you on
your guard. This is no place for you to be your natural and
lively self. My dear little girl, you must put on a manner suit-
able to the task that we have in hand,-gravity without arro-
gance, a sweetly thoughtful smile; you must keep your eyes open,
listen carefully, talk little. Oh, I don't mean to say you must
not be complimentary to people. No, as much of that as you
choose: and you may also quote - that is a very good thing,
though they must be short quotations-good, deep ones. In
physiology you must allude to Hegel; in literature you must cite
Richter; in politics-
-
-
--
Jeanne But, Paul, I cannot talk politics.
Paul [severely]- Here all the women talk politics.
Jeanne [dolefully]-I don't understand a thing about it.
Paul-The women here don't understand a thing about it,
but that doesn't make any difference: you must talk it all the
same. Cite Pufendorf and Machiavelli as if they had been your
relatives; allude to the Council of Trent as if you had presided
at it. As to your amusements—well, while you are here, you
can expect chamber music, walks around the garden, whist; — that
is all I can promise you: and so, what with only high-necked
dresses, and the few words of Latin that I have put into your
head,-why, my dear, I will wager that before a week is over,
-
## p. 10965 (#177) ##########################################
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
10965
people will say about you: "Now that little Madame Raymond,
she is simply made to be the wife of a statesman! " And in the
kind of society where we are just now, let me tell you that when
people say that a woman is made to be the wife of a statesman,
her husband is not very far from being one.
Jeanne-What! You wish to be a statesman!
Paul-Yes! So that I need not be an exception to everybody
else!
Jeanne-But since Madame de Céran belongs to the Opposi-
tion, to what post can she help you?
Paul- Dear simpleton that you are! In whatever concerns
political places, my dear child, between the Conservatives and
their opponents there is only a mere shade of difference. The
Conservatives do the asking, and the people that belong to the
Opposition do the accepting. No, no, Jeanne, once for all, it is
here in this very house that are made—and more than made —
reputations, situations, elections, and all that sort of thing. Such
a fashionable house as this, where under the excuse of talking
about literature, fine arts, even the clumsy wire-pullers bring
about their purposes,- such a house as this, I say, is the back
door of the ministries, the ante-room of academies, the laboratory
of success.
Jeanne- How dreadful! But what sort of society is there
here?
Paul Society here, my child, is a sort of Hôtel de Ram-
bouillet in 1881: it is a society where people talk and where peo-
ple pose, where pedantry takes the place of science, sentimentality
that of sentiment, and a silly fussing that of delicacy; where
no one ever says what he thinks, and where no one ever thinks
what he says; where keeping at whatever you have in your mind
to bring about is a special policy; where friendship is calculation;
where even gallantry is a means of managing things: it is a so-
ciety where one sucks his cane in the vestibule and chews on his
tongue in the drawing-room. In a word, a very serious society
indeed!
Jeanne-But then, that is the society where one is always
bored.
-
Paul-Precisely.
Jeanne-But if one is bored there, what influence can it have?
Paul What influence! Ah, innocence! innocence! What in-
fluence, if it bores you? An enormous influence! Don't you see
-
## p. 10966 (#178) ##########################################
10966
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
that as French people, we have a horror of boredom which we
carry almost to the point of veneration? To a Frenchman, being
bored is a terrible deity, whose worship is carried on in full
dress. The Frenchman does not understand a serious affair ex-
cept under that form of worship. I don't tell you that he always
keeps it up, but he does not believe it any the less firmly -
preferring to believe it rather than really to see much of it.
We French people, gay at heart, have grown into a habit of
despising so to be; we have lost our faith in the good sense of
open laughter; a people skeptical, talkative, has come to put faith
in those who are silent. A race expansive and cheerful has
come to allow itself to be imposed upon by the pedantic solem-
nity, by the pretentious nullity, of people wearing white cravats;
yes, in politics, in science, in art, in literature, in everything!
We make fun of them, we hate them, we run away from them
like the plague; but somehow they alone have won our secret
admiration and absolute confidence. What influence, then, does
boredom have? Ah, my dear child, learn that there are in the
world only two sorts of people: those who cannot submit to being
bored, and who are nothing at all; and those who can submit to
being bored, and who are simply everything,- besides those who
habitually bore others!
Jeanne [with a gesture of disappointment]-To a charming
household you have brought me on a visit, you wretched man!
Paul [very solemnly]- Jeanne, do you wish to be the wife of
a préfet - yes or no?
Jeanne-Oh, really, I simply never could-
Paul-Nonsense! You can put up with it eight days.
Jeanne-Eight days? Without talking, without laughing!
Without even embracing you!
Paul Certainly not, before other people; but when we are
alone by ourselves - and then in corners, now do behave your-
self, that will be charming. Why, I'll give you regular rendez-
vous-in the garden, anywhere-just as we used to do before.
our marriage, you remember.
Jeanne — Oh, very well then, it's all right! It's all right! I
shall get on somehow. [She opens the piano, and begins to play
a lively air from the Fille de Madame Angot. ']
Paul [alarmed]-Stop! stop! what are you playing?
Jeanne- Why, it is from the operetta that we heard yester-
day.
---
## p. 10967 (#179) ##########################################
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
10967
Paul Thoughtless creature! Now see how you profit by the
sober lessons that I have been giving you! If any one should
come! If any one should hear you! Will you be sensible!
[François appears at the end of the room. ] Too late! [Jeanne
cleverly changes the air of the opera to a grave passage in a
symphony from Beethoven. ] Beethoven! Bravo! [Pretends to
follow the air with great attention. ] Ah' decidedly there is no
music except that of the Conservatory!
-
Translated for A Library of the World's Best Literature by E. Irenæus
Stevenson
A SCIENTIST AMONG LADIES
From The World of Boredom'
[In M. de Bellac, the hero of the following scene, the dramatist portrays
the superficial, pretentious, and conceited man of letters, who passes for a deep
thinker, and probably believes himself such; and whose practical success is
largely due to the adulation of a coterie of women, infatuated with what they
consider philosophy, but in reality carried away by mere sentimentality for
its drawing-room expounder. As the curtain rises, Madame de Céran, hostess
of the assembled company, is about to conduct the ladies into the next apart-
ment; when one of them, Madame de Loudan, takes her by the arm. ]
M
ADAME DE LOUDAN [in an affected tone]—O countess! count-
ess! before we go, do let us carry out the little plot that
we have just been making against M. de Bellac. [Going
to Bellac, she says beseechingly:] M. Bellac-
Bellac [smiling conceitedly]-Marquise-?
Madame de Loudan-We are all begging one favor of you.
Bellac [graciously] You mean the favor that you do in ask-
ing it of me?
All the Ladies [to each other]-Oh, how charmingly he said
that!
-
――――――
Madame de Loudan - The poetry that we are going into the
other room to hear will probably take the entire evening.
This
will be our last chance for a ray of illumination from you.
Do
recite us something-will you not? Now, before we all go-
just as little a thing as you choose.
We don't wish to tax your
genius; but something-anything-only speak. Every word you
will say will fall on us like manna!
## p. 10968 (#180) ##########################################
10968
ÈDOUARD PAILLERON
Suzanne - Yes, yes, please do, M. Bellac.
Madame Arriego-Do be so kind, M. Bellac.
The Baroness-We are all absolutely at your feet, M. Bel-
lac.
Bellac [protesting]-O ladies! ladies!
Madame de Loudan - Come over here and help us, Lucy-
you who are his Muse! You ask him too.
Lucy-Certainly I ask him.
Suzanne
For my part, I will have it so, whether M. Bellac
likes it or not!
The Ladies [whispering together]-Oh! oh!
Madame de Céran - Suzanne, you forget yourself.
Bellac-Oh, from the moment when anybody takes to vio-
lence-
―――
Madame de Loudan - Oh, he consents! he consents! An arm-
chair! An arm-chair! [A general movement of delight among all
the ladies surrounding Bellac. ]
Madame Arrigo-Will you have a table?
Madame de Loudan - Would you like us to draw back a lit-
tle from you?
Madame de Céran - Yes, just make a little more room around
him, please, ladies.
Bellac-Really! really! I beg of you-no stage setting-
nothing that suggests giving a lesson, a lecture, in a word,
pedantry. Rather, my dear ladies, let us turn it into a conver-
sation; you to ask me whatever questions you please.
Madame Loudan [joining her hands together]—O dear M. Bel-
lac, can we ask you something about your new book?
Suzanne-O M. Bellac, please —
Bellac-Ah, irresistible prayers!
―
―――――
But in spite of them-
yes, in spite of them, suffer me to refuse. Before my book is
given to everybody, no one human being must know anything
about it.
Madame de Loudan [slyly]-Not even one single person-in
particular?
Bellac O marquise, as Fontenelle once said to Madame de
Coulanges, "Take care! you are getting close to a secret. "
All the Ladies [with great enthusiasm]-Ah! charming!
The Baroness [in a low voice to Madame de Loudan] - How
much wit he has!
## p. 10969 (#181) ##########################################
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
10969
Madame de Loudan-He has something better than wit, my
dear.
The Baroness What do you mean?
Madame de Loudan-The man absolutely has wings-you
shall see he positively has wings!
Bellac [looking around the circle]— Ladies, I think you will
all agree that this is neither the place nor the hour to enter
upon those eternal problems with which souls whose intellectual
flight is as high as yours, continually torment themselves,— the
mysterious enigmas of life and of the Great Beyond.
The Ladies [to each other]-Ah! the Great Beyond, my dear;
the Great Beyond!
Bellac Such a topic reserved, I am at your orders: and as I
speak there occurs to me one of those questions eternally agi-
tated, never decided; upon which, with your permission, I should
like to express an opinion in a few words.
The Ladies - Yes, yes; speak! speak!
-
-
-
-
-
Bellac [sitting down in the arm-chair] — And I should like to
say what I have to say about it in view of a triple end. The
topic that I have in mind is-love-
The Ladies [all together, awed, and with enthusiasm]-Ah!
Bellac Yes, of love. Oh, weakness which is a force! Senti-
ment which is a faith! The only one perhaps which knows no
atheists.
The Ladies-Ah! ah! Charming!
Madame de Loudan [to the Baroness] - Didn't I tell you he
positively had wings, my dear-just listen!
Bellac-I had come here this morning intending to speak,
àpropos of the topic of German literature, of a certain philosophy
which makes mere instinct the base and the rule of all of our
actions and of all of our thoughts.
The Ladies [protesting]-Oh! oh!
Bellac I take this occasion to assert that that opinion is not
at all mine, and that I repulse it with all the energy of a soul
that is proud to exist.
The Ladies-Oh, admirable!
The Baroness [in a low voice to Madame de Loudan] - Did
you ever see a man with such a beautiful hand?
Bellac- No, ladies, no: love is not, as the German philoso-
pher said, purely a passion belonging to the species,-a deceptive
## p. 10970 (#182) ##########################################
10970
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
illusion by which nature dazzles men, to accomplish its ends.
No, no, a hundred times no! It is impossible that it should be
so if we really have souls.
The Ladies- Yes, yes; bravo!
Bellac Let us leave to the sophists, and to vulgar natures,
those theories that debase the human heart; let us not even dis-
cuss them; let us answer them by silence, by the language of
forgetfulness.
The Ladies-Charming! charming!
Bellac Heaven forbid that I should ever deny the sovereign
influence of beauty upon the tottering wills of men. [Looking
meaningly around him. ] I see before me in such a moment as
this only too much of what would enable me victoriously to
refute any error as to that.
The Ladies - Ah! ah!
-
Bellac-But above this beauty which is perceptible and per-
ishable, my dear ladies, there is another beauty, unconquerable
by time, invisible to the eye, and which the purified spirit alone
can perceive and love with a refined and immaterial love. That
species of love, my dear ladies, is the very principle of love
itself, the bringing together of two souls, and their elevation
above all the mud of this terrestrial world,—their united flight
into the infinite blue of the Ideal.
The Ladies [all together]-Bravo! bravo!
[As Bellac says these last words, the old Duchesse de Réville, who has been
sitting quite forward of the group of his admirers, embroidering
diligently, exclaims in a tone of contempt:]
There you have stuff and nonsense for you with a vengeance!
Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature' by E. Irenæus
Stevenson
## p. 10971 (#183) ##########################################
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
THE STORY OF GRIGNEUX
From Cabotins >
10971
[The following dialogue occurs between a young sculptor, Pierre Carde-
vent, who has had the misfortune to fall in love apparently outside of his
sphere, and Grigneux, an old painter, whose life has been a failure. Grigneux
takes an affectionate interest in the young man's career. The scene is a
drawing-room, where the two are for a few moments alone by themselves;
the episode occurring in the second act of the play. ]
P
reassure
IERRE [to Grigneux, who looks anxiously at him on entering
the room]-Ah! it is you, is it? Well, you can
yourself, my old Grigneux. It is finished.
It is finished. It is finished.
Grigneux-What? What is finished?
-
-
Pierre-My romance as you called it a while ago.
Grigneux [incredulously] — Finished?
Pierre-Yes, Mademoiselle Valentine tells me that she does
not wish to see me, that I must forget her, because — well, I
don't know just why, but I do know that she doesn't wish to
see me again. Oh, my romance has not been a long one, eh?
[with a forced laugh] and you were so afraid of its having
another winding-up: well, here is its winding-up; I hope you are
satisfied with it. Would you like me to say that I am satisfied
too?
Grigneux [gravely]- How you love her!
Pierre-So then this is what people call loving anybody.
[Sarcastically. ] Well, well, it is a lively business! Think of it!
During ten days I have been expecting that girl at the studio-
to go on with her portrait-as if I were waiting for the good
God himself! This very evening I have left my mother alone
to come to this house, and here I am: obliged to make myself
agreeable to a lot of people who bore me to death, in a drawing-
room, in fashionable society! I, Cardevent the sculptor! Look
at me, in a coat that worries me, a cravat that strangles me,
with pomade on my hair! Yes, with pomade! I put it on my
hair, on my honor! [laughing] and all that so that I could hear
this young lady tell me that I must forget her, and that "every-
thing is finished"! Really, it is all very stupid! I have never
been so stupid about anything in all my life. But then it's done
So much the better. I have had enough, thank you!
Grigneux-O my poor Pierre, you are hard hit.
now.
## p. 10972 (#184) ##########################################
10972
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
Pierre-Very well then, I must get over it. It is simply a
matter of resolution.
Grigneux - Yes; but you must resolve to be resolved.
Pierre-Don't be afraid; you shall see.
Grigneux-It is because I have "seen" that I am afraid.
Pierre-Oh, come now! There is no such thing as a love
which one cannot kill with one stroke of his own will.
Grigneux-Do you think so? Listen to me. Pierre, I knew,
a long time ago, an artist far less gifted than you, but having
just as you have a real passion for his art, and a strong faith in
his own youth: he was a man who would have been somebody
for all I know; only a woman came into his life, a woman who
shattered all these promises, and who made of that man's life the
most lamentable thing in the world.
Pierre- And how did that happen?
Grigneux —Oh, always the same story! He had as a neigh-
bor a young girl, a pianist, who got along as well as she could
in life, earning her bread by giving lessons. She was intelligent,
she was proud, she was a little impulsive. She believed that
this poor fellow possessed genius. You see that a charm for him
hung about her. And besides all this, she was as pretty-as
pretty well, as this Valentine here whom you love; and what is
more, she had the same name.
[Grigneux pauses as if becoming
lost in remembrances. ]
-
―
Pierre-Well, what happened?
Grigneux-What happened? He loved her and he married
her! It had to be so; it was written in the book of fate. To
fall in love for an artist that is a danger to begin with; but
for an artist to marry, to bring a woman into the secret of your
work, that is to say, all your efforts, doubts, pangs of artistic
creation,—a woman who has begun by believing in you as in
God, and who imagines that it is enough for you to make a
gesture as God might, in order to create something,-oh, that is
an irreparable mistake! I tell you, Pierre, women do not under-
stand anything except success. Now this poor creator of whom
I am speaking, tried in vain to be a creator all the week long,
without even taking time to rest himself on the seventh day; but
he got nothing out of his chaos. Success never came; but on the
contrary, failures succeeded failures. Little by little, everybody
ceased to expect anything from him, to hope anything for him,—
except the man himself, whose hope was of the kind that becomes
-
――――
## p. 10973 (#185) ##########################################
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
10973
grotesque by its persistence. People laughed at him all around.
him. From the time that the laughing began he was judged and
condemned. The young woman whom he had loved and married,
she joined the laughers. I leave out the details. It is enough to
say that when there was only one sort of treason that could
be committed against him, the thing which was sure to happen.
happened: one evening his wife fled from the house of this
creature whom fate had vanquished,— the ridicule of whom was
in everybody's mouth. She fled, to go heaven knows whither, in
company with nobody knew whom.
Pierre
- And he? What did he do then?
―――
Grigneux-Well, during a whole week, out of his senses with
grief and rage, he hunted all around the town after her; but of
course he could find out nothing. Then he fled in his turn; and
he went down and shut himself up in Italy in a little village
near Naples. There it was that eight months later the news of
his wife's death met him while he was reading one day a French
newspaper. But for all that he stayed down there, an exile, for
twenty years; even to the time when, an old man, worn out,
unrecognizable, he came back to Paris, the place where every
one can lose himself and forget himself: and there he ended up
by living under a false name; concealed, miserable, and alone.
Pierre-So! The worse for him then. A man who cannot
recover himself under an insult is a coward.
Grigneux - Yes: well then, that man of whom I have been
telling you, he was-myself!
Pierre [greatly shocked] - You, Grigneux! You!
Grigneux [becoming more and more carried away from himself]
Yes, I am more of a coward than you would believe for
I love her still; and, afraid lest I love her less, I have done
no searching into her story since I came back here. I wish to
know nothing more than I know of her guilty past. Yes, I have
been determined that so far as I am concerned she shall have no
existence from the day when I ceased to see her. I have been
resolved that she shall dwell in my mind only as she was before
her sin that death shall bury her forever, pure in its pardoning
mystery. Oh, I am a coward in more than that, if you care to
know it: for I love her for always; yes, for always! [He speaks
in a constantly increasing excitement. ] And since I have lost her
in reality, I bring her back to me in my dreams; and it is for
that that I take that poison which gives a man dreams. And
-
## p. 10974 (#186) ##########################################
ÉDOUARD PAILLERON
10974
with them, oh then she comes back - I can hear her
to me I answer her- she draws near to me I can feel her
-
―
-
- she speaks
hand upon my shoulders again-she is there-I see her! [He
breaks off and remains in a sort of ecstatic silence. ]
Pierre [terrified] — Grigneux! Grigneux!
Grigneux [as if awakening]-And then, little by little, her
voice dies away, the vision effaces itself, and so she leaves me
alone, and so miserable that I must try to go through it all
again. Oh, I know perfectly well that my reason is going, that
my body is wearing out. So much the better! Only my body
separates me from her where she is now. So let it perish as
soon as it can, and my soul will take its wings to join hers!
Pierre [much affected]-My friend, my poor friend!
Grigneux [passing his hand over his forehead and returning to
himself]- Pierre, see what love makes of an old man like me;
what it can do to a young man like you. Oh, you see now why
it is that I tell you, "Fly from it. " My dear boy, I have nobody
in the world to love except you. I have nothing to expect in
life except what will come through you in your future. And
your future is so bright. Oh, I beg of you, I beseech you, do
not be a traitor to me, to yourself; do not at least rob me of
what should be your glory!
Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature' by E.
