Chapter III: Act II

_The stage call-bells ring to warn the company that the play
is about to begin again._

THE STEP-DAUGHTER _comes out of the Manager's office along
with_ THE CHILD _and_ THE BOY. _As she comes out of the
office, she cries_:--

Nonsense! nonsense! Do it yourselves! I'm not going to mix
myself up in this mess. (_Turning to the Child and coming
quickly with her on to the stage_): Come on, Rosetta, let's
run!

(THE BOY _follows them slowly, remaining a little behind and
seeming perplexed_).

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. (_Stops, bends over the Child and takes
the latter's face between her hands_). My little darling!
You're frightened, aren't you? You don't know where we are,
do you? (_Pretending to reply to a question of the Child_):
What is the stage? It's a place, baby, you know, where
people play at being serious, a place where they act
comedies. We've got to act a comedy now, dead serious, you
know; and you're in it also, little one. (_Embraces her,
pressing the little head to her breast, and rocking the
child for a moment_). Oh darling, darling, what a horrid
comedy you've got to play! What a wretched part they've
found for you! A garden ... a fountain ... look ... just
suppose, kiddie, it's here. Where, you say? Why, right here
in the middle. It's all pretence you know. That's the
trouble, my pet: it's all make-believe here. It's better to
imagine it though, because if they fix it up for you, it'll
only be painted cardboard, painted cardboard for the
rockery, the water, the plants.... Ah, but I think a baby
like this one would sooner have a make-believe fountain than
a real one, so she could play with it. What a joke it'll be
for the others! But for you, alas! not quite such a joke:
you who are real, baby dear, and really play by a real
fountain this big and green and beautiful, with ever so many
bamboos around it that are reflected in the water, and a
whole lot of little ducks swimming about.... No, Rosetta,
no, your mother doesn't bother about you on account of that
wretch of a son there. I'm in the devil of a temper, and as
for that lad.... (_Seizes Boy by the arm to force him to
take one of his hands out of his pockets_). What have you
got there? What are you hiding? (_Pulls his hand out of his
pocket, looks into it and catches the glint of a revolver_).
Ah! where did you get this?

(THE BOY, _very pale in the face, looks at her, but does not
answer_).

Idiot! If I'd been in your place, instead of killing myself,
I'd have shot one of those two, or both of them: father and
son.

(THE FATHER _enters from the office, all excited from his
work_. THE MANAGER _follows him_).

THE FATHER. Come on, come on dear! Come here for a minute!
We've arranged everything. It's all fixed up.

THE MANAGER (_also excited_). If you please, young lady,
there are one or two points to settle still. Will you come
along?

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_following him towards the office_).
Ouff! what's the good, if you've arranged everything.

(THE FATHER, MANAGER _and_ STEP-DAUGHTER _go back into the
office again (off) for a moment. At the same time,_ THE SON
_followed by_ THE MOTHER, _comes out_).

THE SON (_looking at the three entering office_). Oh this is
fine, fine! And to think I can't even get away!

(THE MOTHER _attempts to look at him, but lowers her eyes
immediately when he turns away from her. She then sits
down_. THE BOY _and_ THE CHILD _approach her. She casts a
glance again at the Son, and speaks with humble tones,
trying to draw him into conversation_).

THE MOTHER. And isn't my punishment the worst of all? (_Then
seeing from the Sons manner that he will not bother himself
about her_). My God! Why are you so cruel? Isn't it enough
for one person to support all this torment? Must you then
insist on others seeing it also?

THE SON (_half to himself, meaning the Mother to hear,
however_). And they want to put it on the stage! If there
was at least a reason for it! He thinks he has got at the
meaning of it all. Just as if each one of us in every
circumstance of life couldn't find his own explanation of
it! (_Pauses_). He complains he was discovered in a place
where he ought not to have been seen, in a moment of his
life which ought to have remained hidden and kept out of the
reach of that convention which he has to maintain for other
people. And what about my case? Haven't I had to reveal what
no son ought ever to reveal: how father and mother live and
are man and wife for themselves quite apart from that idea
of father and mother which we give them? When this idea is
revealed, our life is then linked at one point only to that
man and that woman; and as such it should shame them,
shouldn't it?

THE MOTHER _hides her face in her hands. From the
dressing-rooms and the little door at the back of the stage
the actors and_ STAGE MANAGER _return, followed by the_
PROPERTY MAN, _and the_ PROMPTER. _At the same moment_, THE
MANAGER _comes out of his office, accompanied by the_ FATHER
_and the_ STEP-DAUGHTER.

THE MANAGER. Come on, come on, ladies and gentlemen! Heh!
you there, machinist!

MACHINIST. Yes sir?

THE MANAGER. Fix up the white parlor with the floral
decorations. Two wings and a drop with a door will do. Hurry
up!

(THE MACHINIST _runs off at once to prepare the scene, and
arranges it while_ THE MANAGER _talks with the_ STAGE
MANAGER, _the_ PROPERTY MAN, _and the_ PROMPTER _on matters
of detail_).

THE MANAGER (_to Property Man_). Just have a look, and see
if there isn't a sofa or divan in the wardrobe....

PROPERTY MAN. There's the green one.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. No no! Green won't do. It was yellow,
ornamented with flowers--very large! and most comfortable!

PROPERTY MAN. There isn't one like that.

THE MANAGER. It doesn't matter. Use the one we've got.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Doesn't matter? It's most important!

THE MANAGER. We're only trying it now. Please don't
interfere. (_To Property Man_): See if we've got a shop
window--long and narrowish.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. And the little table! The little mahogany
table for the pale blue envelope!

PROPERTY MAN (_To Manager_). There's that little gilt one.

THE MANAGER. That'll do fine.

THE FATHER. A mirror.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. And the screen! We must have a screen.
Otherwise how can I manage?

PROPERTY MAN. That's all right, Miss. We've got any amount
of them.

THE MANAGER (_to the Step-Daughter_). We want some clothes
pegs too, don't we?

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Yes, several, several!

THE MANAGER. See how many we've got and bring them all.

PROPERTY MAN. All right!

(THE PROPERTY MAN _hurries off to obey his orders. While he
is putting the things in their places, the_ MANAGER _talks
to the_ PROMPTER _and then with the Characters and the
actors_).

THE MANAGER (_to Prompter_). Take your seat. Look here: this
is the outline of the scenes, act by act (_hands him some
sheets of paper_). And now I'm going to ask you to do
something out of the ordinary.

PROMPTER. Take it down in shorthand?

THE MANAGER (_pleasantly surprised_). Exactly! Can you do
shorthand?

PROMPTER. Yes, a little.

MANAGER. Good! (_Turning to a stage hand_): Go and get some
paper from my office, plenty, as much as you can find.

(_The stage hand goes off, and soon returns with a handful
of paper which he gives to the Prompter_).

THE MANAGER (_To Prompter_). You follow the scenes as we
play them, and try and get the points down, at any rate the
most important ones. (_Then addressing the actors_): Clear
the stage, ladies and gentlemen! Come over here (_pointing
to the Left_) and listen attentively.

LEADING LADY. But, excuse me, we....

THE MANAGER (_guessing her thought_). Don't worry! You won't
have to improvise.

LEADING MAN. What have we to do then?

THE MANAGER. Nothing. For the moment you just watch and
listen. Everybody will get his part written out afterwards.
At present we're going to try the thing as best we can.
They're going to act now.

THE FATHER (_as if fallen from the clouds into the confusion
of the stage_). We? What do you mean, if you please, by a
rehearsal?

THE MANAGER. A rehearsal for them (_points to the actors_).

THE FATHER. But since we are the characters....

THE MANAGER. All right: "characters" then, if you insist on
calling yourselves such. But here, my dear sir, the
characters don't act. Here the actors do the acting. The
characters are there, in the "book" (_pointing towards
Prompter's box_)--when there is a "book"!

THE FATHER. I won't contradict you; but excuse me, the
actors aren't the characters. They want to be, they pretend
to be, don't they? Now if these gentlemen here are fortunate
enough to have us alive before them....

THE MANAGER. Oh this is grand! You want to come before the
public yourselves then?

THE FATHER. As we are....

THE MANAGER. I can assure you it would be a magnificent
spectacle!

LEADING MAN. What's the use of us here anyway then?

THE MANAGER. You're not going to pretend that you can act?
It makes me laugh! (_The actors laugh_). There, you see,
they are laughing at the notion. But, by the way, I must
cast the parts. That won't be difficult. They cast
themselves. (_To the Second Lady Lead_): You play the
Mother. (_To the Father_): We must find her a name.

THE FATHER. Amalia, sir.

THE MANAGER. But that is the real name of your wife. We
don't want to call her by her real name.

THE FATHER. Why ever not, if it is her name? Still, perhaps,
if that lady must.... (_makes a slight motion of the hand to
indicate the Second Lady Lead_). I see this woman here
(_means the Mother_) as Amalia. But do as you like (_gets
more and more confused_). I don't know what to say to you.
Already, I begin to hear my own words ring false, as if they
had another sound....

THE MANAGER. Don't you worry about it. It'll be our job to
find the right tones. And as for her name, if you want her
Amalia, Amalia it shall be; and if you don't like it, we'll
find another! For the moment though, we'll call the
characters in this way: (_to Juvenile Lead_) You are the
Son; (_to the Leading Lady_) You naturally are the
Step-Daughter.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_excitedly_). What? what? I, that woman
there? (_Bursts out laughing_).

THE MANAGER (_angry_). What is there to laugh at?

LEADING LADY (_indignant_). Nobody has ever dared to laugh
at me. I insist on being treated with respect; otherwise I
go away.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. No, no, excuse me ... I am not laughing
at you....

THE MANAGER (_to Step-Daughter_). You ought to feel honoured
to be played by....

LEADING LADY (_at once, contemptuously_). "That woman
there"....

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. But I wasn't speaking of you, you know. I
was speaking of myself--whom I can't see at all in you! That
is all. I don't know ... but ... you ... aren't in the least
like me....

THE FATHER. True. Here's the point. Look here, sir, our
temperaments, our souls....

THE MANAGER. Temperament, soul, be hanged! Do you suppose
the spirit of the piece is in you? Nothing of the kind!

THE FATHER. What, haven't we our own temperaments, our own
souls?

THE MANAGER. Not at all. Your soul or whatever you like to
call it takes shape here. The actors give body and form to
it, voice and gesture. And my actors--I may tell you--have
given expression to much more lofty material than this
little drama of yours, which may or may not hold up on the
stage. But if it does, the merit of it, believe me, will be
due to my actors.

THE FATHER. I don't dare contradict you, sir; but, believe
me, it is a terrible suffering for us who are as we are,
with these bodies of ours, these features to see....

THE MANAGER (_cutting him short and out of patience_). Good
heavens! The make-up will remedy all that, man, the
make-up....

THE FATHER. Maybe. But the voice, the gestures....

THE MANAGER. Now, look here! On the stage, you as yourself,
cannot exist. The actor here acts you, and that's an end to
it!

THE FATHER. I understand. And now I think I see why our
author who conceived us as we are, all alive, didn't want to
put us on the stage after all. I haven't the least desire to
offend your actors. Far from it! But when I think that I am
to be acted by ... I don't know by whom....

LEADING MAN (_on his dignity_). By me, if you've no
objection!

THE FATHER (_humbly, mellifluously_). Honoured, I assure
you, sir. (_Bows_). Still, I must say that try as this
gentleman may, with all his good will and wonderful art, to
absorb me into himself....

LEADING MAN. Oh chuck it! "Wonderful art!" Withdraw that,
please!

THE FATHER. The performance he will give, even doing his
best with make-up to look like me....

LEADING MAN. It will certainly be a rat difficult! (_The
actors laugh_.)

THE FATHER, Exactly! It will be difficult to act me as I
really am. The effect will be rather--apart from the
make-up--according as to how he supposes I am, as he senses
me--if he does sense me--and not as I inside of myself feel
myself to be. It seems to me then that account should be
taken of this by everyone whose duty it may become to
criticize us....

THE MANAGER. Heavens! The man's starting to think about the
critics now! Let them say what they like. It's up to us to
put on the play if we can (_looking around_). Come on! come
on! Is the stage set? (_To the actors and Characters_):
Stand back--stand back! Let me see, and don't let's lose any
more time! (_To the Step-Daughter_): Is it all right as it
is now?

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Well, to tell the truth, I don't
recognize the scene.

THE MANAGER. My dear lady, you can't possibly suppose that
we can construct that shop of Madame Pace piece by piece
here? (_To the Father_): You said a white room with flowered
wall paper, didn't you?

THE FATHER. Yes.

THE MANAGER. Well then. We've got the furniture right more
or less. Bring that little table a bit further forward.
(_The stage hands obey the order. To Property Man_): You go
and find an envelope, if possible, a pale blue one; and give
it to that gentleman (_indicates Father_).

PROPERTY MAN. An ordinary envelope?

MANAGER _and_ FATHER. Yes, yes, an ordinary envelope.

PROPERTY MAN. At once, sir (_exit_).

THE MANAGER. Ready, everyone! First scene--the Young Lady.
(_The Leading Lady comes forward_). No, no, you must wait. I
meant her (_indicating the Step-Daughter_). You just watch--

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_adding at once_). How I shall play it,
how I shall live it!...

LEADING LADY (_offended_). I shall live it also, you may be
sure, as soon as I begin!

THE MANAGER (_with his hands to his head_). Ladies and
gentlemen, if you please! No more useless discussions! Scene
I: the young lady with Madame Pace: Oh! (_looks around as if
lost_). And this Madame Pace, where is she?

THE FATHER. She isn't with us, sir.

THE MANAGER. Then what the devil's to be done?

THE FATHER. But she is alive too.

THE MANAGER. Yes, but where is she?

THE FATHER. One minute. Let me speak! (_turning to the
actresses_). If these ladies would be so good as to give me
their hats for a moment....

THE ACTRESSES (_half surprised, half laughing, in chorus_).
What?

Why?

Our hats?

What does he say?

THE MANAGER. What are you going to do with the ladies' hats?
(_The actors laugh_).

THE FATHER. Oh nothing. I just want to put them on these
pegs for a moment. And one of the ladies will be so kind as
to take off her mantle....

THE ACTORS. Oh, what d'you think of that?

Only the mantle?

He must be mad.

SOME ACTRESSES. But why?

Mantles as well?

THE FATHER. To hang them up here for a moment Please be so
kind, will you?

THE ACTRESSES (_taking off their hats, one or two also their
cloaks, and going to hang them on the racks_). After all,
why not?

There you are!

This is really funny.

We've got to put them on show.

THE FATHER. Exactly; just like that, on show.

THE MANAGER. May we know why?

THE FATHER. I'll tell you. Who knows if, by arranging the
stage for her, she does not come here herself, attracted by
the very articles of her trade? (_Inviting the actors to
look towards the exit at back of stage_): Look! Look!

(_The door at the back of stage opens and_ MADAME PACE
_enters and takes a few steps forward. She is a fat, oldish
woman with puffy oxygenated hair. She is rouged and
powdered, dressed with a comical elegance in black silk.
Round her waist is a long silver chain from which hangs a
pair of scissors. The Step-Daughter runs over to her at once
amid the stupor of the actors_).

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_turning towards her_). There she is!
There she is!

THE FATHER (_radiant_). It's she! I said so, didn't I? There
she is!

THE MANAGER (_conquering his surprise, and then becoming
indignant_). What sort of a trick is this?

LEADING MAN (_almost at the same time_). What's going to
happen next?

JUVENILE LEAD. Where does _she_ come from?

L'INGÉNUE. They've been holding her in reserve, I guess.

LEADING LADY. A vulgar trick!

THE FATHER (_dominating the protests_). Excuse me, all of
you! Why are you so anxious to destroy in the name of a
vulgar, commonplace sense of truth, this reality which comes
to birth attracted and formed by the magic of the stage
itself, which has indeed more right to live here than you,
since it is much truer than you--if you don't mind my saying
so? Which is the actress among you who is to play Madame
Pace? Well, here is Madame Pace herself. And you will allow,
I fancy, that the actress who acts her will be less true
than this woman here, who is herself in person. You see my
daughter recognized her and went over to her at once. Now
you're going to witness the scene!

_But the scene between the_ STEP-DAUGHTER _and_ MADAME PACE
_has already begun despite the protest of the actors and the
reply of_ THE FATHER. _It has begun quietly, naturally, in a
manner impossible for the stage. So when the actors, called
to attention by_ THE FATHER, _turn round and see_ MADAME
PACE, _who has placed one hand under the_ STEP-DAUGHTER'S
_chin to raise her head, they observe her at first with
great attention, but hearing her speak in an unintelligible
manner their interest begins to wane._

THE MANAGER. Well? well?

LEADING MAN. What does she say?

LEADING LADY. One can't hear a word.

JUVENILE LEAD. Louder! Louder please!

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_leaving Madame Pace, who smiles a
Sphinx-like smile, and advancing towards the actors_).
Louder? Louder? What are you talking about? These aren't
matters which can be shouted at the top of one's voice. If I
have spoken them out loud, it was to shame him and have my
revenge (_indicates Father_). But for Madame it's quite a
different matter.

THE MANAGER. Indeed? indeed? But here, you know, people have
got to make themselves heard, my dear. Even we who are on
the stage can't hear you. What will it be when the public's
in the theatre? And anyway, you can very well speak up now
among yourselves, since we shan't be present to listen to
you as we are now. You've got to pretend to be alone in a
room at the back of a shop where no one can hear you.

(THE STEP-DAUGHTER _coquettishly and with a touch of malice
makes a sign of disagreement two or three times with her
finger_).

THE MANAGER. What do you mean by no?

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_sotto voce, mysteriously_). There's
someone who will hear us if she (_indicating Madame Pace_)
speaks out loud.

THE MANAGER (_in consternation_). What? Have you got someone
else to spring on us now? (_The actors burst out laughing_).

THE FATHER. No, no sir. She is alluding to me. I've got to
be here--there behind that door, in waiting; and Madame Pace
knows it. In fact, if you will allow me, I'll go there at
once, so I can be quite ready. (_Moves away_).

THE MANAGER (_stopping him_). No! Wait! wait! We must
observe the conventions of the theatre. Before you are
ready....

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_interrupting him_). No, get on with it
at once! I'm just dying, I tell you, to act this scene. If
he's ready, I'm more than ready.

THE MANAGER (_shouting_). But, my dear young lady, first of
all, we must have the scene between you and this lady ...
(_indicates Madame Pace_). Do you understand?...

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Good Heavens! She's been telling me what
you know already: that mamma's work is badly done again,
that the material's ruined; and that if I want her to
continue to help us in our misery I must be patient....

MADAME PACE (_coming forward with an air of great
importance_). Yes indeed, sir, I no wanta take advantage of
her, I no wanta be hard....

(_Note. Madame Face is supposed to talk in a jargon half
Italian, half Spanish_).

THE MANAGER (_alarmed_). What? What? She talks like that?
(_The actors burst out laughing again_).

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_also laughing_). Yes yes, that's the way
she talks, half English, half Italian! Most comical it is!

MADAME PACE. Itta seem not verra polite gentlemen laugha
atta me eef I trya best speaka English.

THE MANAGER. _Diamine_! Of course! Of course! Let her talk
like that! Just what we want. Talk just like that, Madam, if
you please! The effect will be certain. Exactly what was
wanted to put a little comic relief into the crudity of the
situation. Of course she talks like that! Magnificent!

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Magnificent? Certainly! When certain
suggestions are made to one in language of that kind, the
effect is certain, since it seems almost a joke. One feels
inclined to laugh when one hears her talk about an "old
signore" "who wanta talka nicely with you." Nice old
signore, eh, Madame?

MADAME PACE. Not so old my dear, not so old! And even if you
no lika him, he won't make any scandal!

THE MOTHER (_jumping up amid the amazement and consternation
of the actors who had not been noticing her. They move to
restrain her_). You old devil! You murderess!

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_running over to calm her Mother_). Calm
yourself, mother, calm yourself! Please don't....

THE FATHER (_going to her also at the same time_). Calm
yourself! Don't get excited! Sit down now!

THE MOTHER. Well then, take that woman away out of my sight!

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_to Manager_). It is impossible for my
mother to remain here.

THE FATHER (_to Manager_). They can't be here together. And
for this reason, you see: that woman there was not with us
when we came.... If they are on together, the whole thing is
given away inevitably, as you see.

THE MANAGER. It doesn't matter. This is only a first rough
sketch--just to get an idea of the various points of the
scene, even confusedly.... (_Turning to the Mother and
leading her to her chair_): Come along, my dear lady, sit
down now, and let's get on with the scene....

(_Meanwhile, the_ STEP-DAUGHTER, _coming forward again,
turns to Madame Pace_).

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Come on, Madame, come on!

MADAME PACE (_offended_). No, no, _grazie_. I not do
anything witha your mother present.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Nonsense! Introduce this "old signore"
who wants to talk nicely to me (_addressing the company
imperiously_). We've got to do this scene one way or
another, haven't we? Come on! (_to Madame Pace_). You can
go!

MADAME PACE. Ah yes! I go'way! I go'way! Certainly! (_Exits
furious_).

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_to the Father_). Now you make your
entry. No, you needn't go over here. Come here. Let's
suppose you've already come in. Like that, yes! I'm here
with bowed head, modest like. Come on! Out with your voice!
Say "Good morning, Miss" in that peculiar tone, that special
tone....

THE MANAGER. Excuse me, but are you the Manager, or am I?
(_To the Father, who looks undecided and perplexed_): Get on
with it, man! Go down there to the back of the stage. You
needn't go off. Then come right forward here.

(THE FATHER _does as he is told, looking troubled and
perplexed at first. But as soon as he begins to move, the
reality of the action affects him, and he begins to smile
and to be more natural. The actors watch intently_).

THE MANAGER (_sottovoce, quickly to the Prompter in his
box_). Ready! ready? Get ready to write now.

THE FATHER (_coming forward and speaking in a different
tone_). Good afternoon, Miss!

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_head bowed down slightly, with
restrained disgust_). Good afternoon!

THE FATHER (_looks under her hat which partly covers her
face. Perceiving she is very young, he makes an exclamation,
partly of surprise, partly of fear lest he compromise
himself in a risky adventure_) "Ah ... but ... ah ... I say
... this is not the first time that you have come here, is
it?"

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_modestly_). No sir.

THE FATHER. You've been here before, eh? (_Then seeing her
nod agreement_): More than once? (_Waits for her to answer,
looks under her hat, smiles, and then says_): Well then,
there's no need to be so shy, is there? May I take off your
hat?

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_anticipating him and with veiled
disgust_). No sir ... I'll do it myself. (_Takes it off
quickly_).

(THE MOTHER, _who watches the progress of the scene with_
THE SON _and the other two children who cling to her, is on
thorns; and follows with varying expressions of sorrow,
indignation, anxiety, and horror the words and actions of
the other two. From time to time she hides her face in her
hands and sobs_).

THE MOTHER. Oh, my God, my God!

THE FATHER (_playing his part with a touch of gallantry_).
Give it to me! I'll put it down (_takes hat from her
hands_). But a dear little head like yours ought to have a
smarter hat. Come and help me choose one from the stock,
won't you?

L'INGÉNUE (_interrupting_). I say ... those are our hats you
know.

THE MANAGER (_furious_). Silence! silence! Don't try and be
funny, if you please.... We're playing the scene now I'd
have you notice. (_To the Step-Daughter_). Begin again,
please!

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_continuing_). No thank you, sir.

THE FATHER. Oh, come now. Don't talk like that. You must
take it. I shall be upset if you don't. There are some
lovely little hats here; and then--Madame will be pleased.
She expects it, anyway, you know.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. No, no! I couldn't wear it!

THE FATHER. Oh, you're thinking about what they'd say at
home if they saw you come in with a new hat? My dear girl,
there's always a way round these little matters, you know.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_all keyed up_). No, it's not that. I
couldn't wear it because I am ... as you see ... you might
have noticed.... (_showing her black dress_).

THE FATHER. ... in mourning! Of course: I beg your pardon:
I'm frightfully sorry....

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_forcing herself to conquer her
indignation and nausea_). Stop! Stop! It's I who must thank
you. There's no need for you to feel mortified or specially
sorry. Don't think any more of what I've said. (_Tries to
smile_). I must forget that I am dressed so....

THE MANAGER (_interrupting and turning to the Prompter_).
Stop a minute! Stop! Don't write that down. Cut out that
last bit. (_Then to the Father and Step-Daughter_). Fine!
it's going fine! (_To the Father only_). And now you can go
on as we arranged. (_To the actors_). Pretty good that
scene, where he offers her the hat, eh?

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. The best's coming now. Why can't we go
on?

THE MANAGER. Have a little patience! (_To the actors_): Of
course, it must be treated rather lightly.

LEADING MAN. Still, with a bit of go in it!

LEADING LADY. Of course! It's easy enough! (_To Leading
Man_): Shall you and I try it now?

LEADING MAN. Why, yes! I'll prepare my entrance. (_Exit in
order to make his entrance_).

THE MANAGER (_to Leading Lady_). See here! The scene between
you and Madame Pace is finished. I'll have it written out
properly after. You remain here ... oh, where are you going?

LEADING LADY. One minute. I want to put my hat on again
(_goes over to hat-rack and puts her hat on her head_).

THE MANAGER. Good! You stay here with your head bowed down a
bit.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. But she isn't dressed in black.

LEADING LADY. But I shall be, and much more effectively than
you.

THE MANAGER (_to Step-Daughter_). Be quiet please, and
watch! You'll be able to learn something. (_Clapping his
hands_) Come on! come on! Entrance, please!

(_The door at rear of stage opens, and the Leading Man
enters with the lively manner of an old gallant. The
rendering of the scene by the actors from the very first
words is seen to be quite a different thing, though it has
not in any way the air of a parody. Naturally, the
Step-Daughter and the Father, not being able to recognize
themselves in the Leading Lady and the Leading Man, who
deliver their words in different tones and with a different
psychology, express, sometimes with smiles, sometimes with
gestures, the impression they receive_).

LEADING MAN. Good afternoon, Miss....

THE FATHER (_at once unable to contain himself_). No! no!

(THE STEP-DAUGHTER _noticing the way the_ LEADING MAN
_enters, bursts out laughing_).

THE MANAGER (_furious_). Silence! And you please just stop
that laughing. If we go on like this, we shall never finish.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Forgive me, sir, but it's natural enough.
This lady (_indicating Leading Lady_) stands there still;
but if she is supposed to be me, I can assure you that if I
heard anyone say "Good afternoon" in that manner and in that
tone, I should burst out laughing as I did.

THE FATHER. Yes, yes, the manner, the tone....

THE MANAGER. Nonsense! Rubbish! Stand aside and let me see
the action.

LEADING MAN. If I've got to represent an old fellow who's
coming into a house of an equivocal character....

THE MANAGER. Don't listen to them, for Heaven's sake! Do it
again! It goes fine. (_Waiting for the actors to begin
again_): Well?

LEADING MAN. Good afternoon, Miss.

LEADING LADY. Good afternoon.

LEADING MAN (_imitating the gesture of the Father when he
looked under the hat, and then expressing quite clearly
first satisfaction and then fear_). Ah, but ... I say ...
this is not the first time that you have come here, is it?

THE MANAGER. Good, but not quite so heavily. Like this
(_acts himself_): "This isn't the first time that you have
come here".... (_To Leading Lady_) And you say: "No, sir."

LEADING LADY. No, sir.

LEADING MAN. You've been here before, more than once.

THE MANAGER. No, no, stop! Let her nod "yes" first.

"You've been here before, eh?" (_The Leading Lady lifts up
her head slightly and closes her eyes as though in disgust.
Then she inclines her head twice_).

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_unable to contain herself_). Oh my God!
(_Puts a hand to her mouth to prevent herself from
laughing_).

THE MANAGER (_turning round_). What's the matter?

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Nothing, nothing!

THE MANAGER (_to Leading Man_). Go on!

LEADING MAN. You've been here before, eh? Well then, there's
no need to be so shy, is there? May I take off your hat?

(THE LEADING MAN _says this last speech in such a tone and
with such gestures that the_ STEP-DAUGHTER, _though she has
her hand to her mouth, cannot keep from laughing_).

LEADING LADY (_indignant_). I'm not going to stop here to be
made a fool of by that woman there.

LEADING MAN. Neither am I! I'm through with it!

THE MANAGER (_shouting to Step-Daughter_). Silence! for once
and all, I tell you!

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Forgive me! forgive me!

THE MANAGER. You haven't any manners: that's what it is! You
go too far.

THE FATHER (_endeavouring to intervene_). Yes, it's true,
but excuse her....

THE MANAGER. Excuse what? It's absolutely disgusting.

THE FATHER. Yes, sir, but believe me, it has such a strange
effect when....

THE MANAGER. Strange? Why strange? Where is it strange?

THE FATHER. No, sir; I admire your actors--this gentleman
here, this lady; but they are certainly not us!

THE MANAGER. I should hope not. Evidently they cannot be
you, if they are actors.

THE FATHER. Just so: actors! Both of them act our parts
exceedingly well. But, believe me, it produces quite a
different effect on us. They want to be us, but they aren't,
all the same.

THE MANAGER. What is it then anyway?

THE FATHER. Something that is ... that is theirs--and no
longer ours....

THE MANAGER. But naturally, inevitably. I've told you so
already.

THE FATHER. Yes, I understand ... I understand....

THE MANAGER. Well then, let's have no more of it! (_Turning
to the actors_): We'll have the rehearsals by ourselves,
afterwards, in the ordinary way. I never could stand
rehearsing with the author present. He's never satisfied!
(_Turning to Father and Step-Daughter_): Come on! Let's get
on with it again; and try and see if you can't keep from
laughing.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Oh, I shan't laugh any more. There's a
nice little bit coming for me now: you'll see.

THE MANAGER. Well then: when she says "Don't think any more
of what I've said. I must forget, etc.," you (_addressing
the Father_) come in sharp with "I understand, I
understand"; and then you ask her....

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_interrupting_). What?

THE MANAGER. Why she is in mourning.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Not at all! See here: when I told him
that it was useless for me to be thinking about my wearing
mourning, do you know how he answered me? "Ah well," he said
"then let's take off this little frock."

THE MANAGER. Great! Just what we want, to make a riot in the
theatre!

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. But it's the truth!

THE MANAGER. What does that matter? Acting is our business
here. Truth up to a certain point, but no further.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. What do you want to do then?

THE MANAGER. You'll see, you'll see! Leave it to me.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. No sir! What you want to do is to piece
together a little romantic sentimental scene out of my
disgust, out of all the reasons, each more cruel and viler
than the other, why I am what I am. He is to ask me why I'm
in mourning; and I'm to answer with tears in my eyes, that
it is just two months since papa died. No sir, no! He's got
to say to me; as he did say: "Well, let's take off this
little dress at once." And I; with my two months' mourning
in my heart, went there behind that screen, and with these
fingers tingling with shame....

THE MANAGER (_running his hands through his hair_). For
Heaven's sake! What are you saying?

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_crying out excitedly_). The truth! The
truth!

THE MANAGER. It may be. I don't deny it, and I can
understand all your horror; but you must surely see that you
can't have this kind of thing on the stage. It won't go.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Not possible, eh? Very well! I'm much
obliged to you--but I'm off!

THE MANAGER. Now be reasonable! Don't lose your temper!

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. I won't stop here! I won't! I can see
you've fixed it all up with him in your office. All this
talk about what is possible for the stage ... I understand!
He wants to get at his complicated "cerebral drama," to have
his famous remorses and torments acted; but I want to act my
part, _my part_!

THE MANAGER (_annoyed, shaking his shoulders_). Ah! Just
_your_ part! But, if you will pardon me, there are other
parts than yours: His (_indicating the Father_) and hers
(_indicating the Mother_)! On the stage you can't have a
character becoming too prominent and overshadowing all the
others. The thing is to pack them all into a neat little
framework and then act what is actable. I am aware of the
fact that everyone has his own interior life which he wants
very much to put forward. But the difficulty lies in this
fact: to set out just so much as is necessary for the stage,
taking the other characters into consideration, and at the
same time hint at the unrevealed interior life of each. I am
willing to admit, my dear young lady, that from your point
of view it would be a fine idea if each character could tell
the public all his troubles in a nice monologue or a regular
one hour lecture (_good humoredly_). You must restrain
yourself, my dear, and in your own interest, too; because
this fury of yours, this exaggerated disgust you show, may
make a bad impression, you know. After you have confessed to
me that there were others before him at Madame Pace's and
more than once....

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_bowing her head, impressed_). It's true.
But remember those others mean him for me all the same.

THE MANAGER (_not understanding_). What? The others? What do
you mean?

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. For one who has gone wrong, sir, he who
was responsible for the first fault is responsible for all
that follow. He is responsible for my faults, was, even
before I was born. Look at him, and see if it isn't true!

THE MANAGER. Well, well! And does the weight of so much
responsibility seem nothing to you? Give him a chance to act
it, to get it over!

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. How? How can he act all his "noble
remorses" all his "moral torments," if you want to spare him
the horror of being discovered one day--after he had asked
her what he did ask her--in the arms of her, that already
fallen woman, that child, sir, that child he used to watch
come out of school? (_She is moved_).

(THE MOTHER _at this point is overcome with emotion, and
breaks out into a fit of crying. All are touched. A long
pause_).

THE STEP-DAUGHTER (_as soon as the Mother becomes a little
quieter, adds resolutely and gravely_). At present, we are
unknown to the public. Tomorrow, you will act us as you
wish, treating us in your own manner. But do you really want
to see drama, do you want to see it flash out as it really
did?

THE MANAGER. Of course! That's just what I do want, so I can
use as much of it as is possible.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. Well then, ask that Mother there to leave
us.

THE MOTHER (_changing her low plaint into a sharp cry_). No!
No! Don't permit it, sir, don't permit it!

THE MANAGER. But it's only to try it.

THE MOTHER. I can't bear it. I can't.

THE MANAGER. But since it has happened already ... I don't
understand!

THE MOTHER. It's taking place now. It happens all the time.
My torment isn't a pretended one. I live and feel every
minute of my torture. Those two children there--have you
heard them speak? They can't speak any more. They cling to
me to keep my torment actual and vivid for me. But for
themselves, they do not exist, they aren't any more. And she
(_indicating Step-Daughter_) has run away, she has left me,
and is lost. If I now see her here before me, it is only to
renew for me the tortures I have suffered for her too.

THE FATHER. The eternal moment! She (_indicating the
Step-Daughter_) is here to catch me, fix me, and hold me
eternally in the stocks for that one fleeting and shameful
moment of my life. She can't give it up! And you sir, cannot
either fairly spare me it.

THE MANAGER. I never said I didn't want to act it. It will
form, as a matter of fact, the nucleus of the whole first
act right up to her surprise (_indicates the Mother_).

THE FATHER. Just so! This is my punishment: the passion in
all of us that must culminate in her final cry.

THE STEP-DAUGHTER. I can hear it still in my ears. It's
driven me mad, that cry!--You can put me on as you like; it
doesn't matter. Fully dressed, if you like--provided I have
at least the arm bare; because, standing like this (_she
goes close to the Father and leans her head on his breast_)
with my head so, and my arms round his neck, I saw a vein
pulsing in my arm here; and then, as if that live vein had
awakened disgust in me, I closed my eyes like this, and let
my head sink on his breast. (_Turning to the Mother_). Cry
out mother! Cry out! (_Buries head in Fathers breast, and
with her shoulders raised as if to prevent her hearing the
cry, adds in tones of intense emotion_): Cry out as you did
then!

THE MOTHER (_coming forward to separate them_). No! My
daughter, my daughter! (_And after having pulled her away
from him_): You brute! you brute! She is my daughter! Don't
you see she's my daughter?

THE MANAGER (_walking backwards towards footlights_). Fine!
fine! Damned good! And then, of course--curtain!

THE FATHER (_going towards him excitedly_). Yes, of course,
because that's the way it really happened.

THE MANAGER (_convinced and pleased_). Oh, yes, no doubt
about it. Curtain here, curtain!

(_At the reiterated cry of_ THE MANAGER, THE MACHINIST _lets
the curtain down, leaving_ THE MANAGER _and_ THE FATHER _in
front of it before the footlights_).

THE MANAGER. The darned idiot! I said "curtain" to show the
act should end there, and he goes and lets it down in
earnest (_to the Father, while he pulls the curtain back to
go on to the stage again_). Yes, yes, it's all right. Effect
certain! That's the right ending. I'll guarantee the first
act at any rate.