Madame Nérisse comes in.
Madame Nérisse comes in.
Madame Nérisse.Oh, good-morning, Legrand. I'm glad you're here, I've been wanting to ask your advice about a new idea I want to start inWoman Free. A correspondence about getting up a league of society women—
Caroline Legrand.What about the others?
Madame Nérisse[continuing, without attending to her]—and smart people, who will undertake not to wear ornaments in their hats made of the wings or the plumage of birds.
Caroline Legrand.You're giving upWoman FreeforBirds Free, then?
Madame Nérisse.What do you mean?
Caroline Legrand.You'd better make a league to do away with hats altogether as a protest against the sweating of the women who stitch the straw at famine prices and make the ribbon at next to nothing. I shall be more concerned for the fate of the sparrows whenI haven't got to concern myself about the fate of sweated women.
Madame Nérisse.Well, of course. That's the article we've got to write.
Caroline Legrand.Of course.
Madame Nérisse.We'll write it in the form of a letter to a member of parliament—it had better be a man, because we're going to put him in the wrong—a member of parliament who wants to form the league I suggested. What you said about the sparrows will be a splendid tag at the end. Will you write it?
Caroline Legrand.Rather! It's lucky you don't stick to your ideas very obstinately, because they can sometimes be improved upon. I think I shall write your paper for you in future.
Madame Nérisse.Go along and send me in Mademoiselle Grégoire and Madame Chanteuil. They'll bother you, and I want them here.
Caroline Legrand.To write about "Soap of the Sylphs."Iknow.
She goes out to the right.
She goes out to the right.
Madame Nérisse.She's a little mad, but she really has good ideas sometimes.
The page boy comes in.
The page boy comes in.
Boy[to Madame Nérisse] The gentlemen are there, Monsieur Cazarès and another gentleman.
Madame Nérisse.Are they with Monsieur Nérisse?
Boy.Yes, Madame.
Madame Nérisse.Very well, I'll go. [The boy goes out. She speaks to the others] Divide the work between you. [To Madame Chanteuil and Mademoiselle Grégoire, who come in from the right] There's lots of work to be done. [She goes out to the left]
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.We'd better sit down. [She sits down and says what follows whilst they aretaking their places round the table. She takes up the first letter] This is for the advertising department. Is Mademoiselle Baron here?
Thérèse.No, poor little thing. She's trudging round Paris to try and get hold of a few advertisements.
Madame Chanteuil.It's a dreadful job, trying to get advertisements for a paper that three-quarters of the people she goes to have never heard of. It gives me the shivers to remember what I had to go through myself over that job.
Thérèse.And poor little Baron is so shy!
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.She earned only fifty francs all last month.
Mademoiselle Grégoire.I know her, I met her lately; she told me she was in luck, that she had an appointment with the manager of the Institut de Jouvence.
Madame Chanteuil.And she thinks she's in luck!
Mademoiselle Grégoire.It appears that that's a place where you can do quite good business.
Madame Chanteuil[gravely] Yes, young women can do business there if they're pretty; but have you any idea what price they pay? Nothing would induce me to put my foot inside the place again.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.Oh, the poor little girl! Oh, dear! [A pause. She begins to sort the letters]
Thérèse[half to herself] It seems to me our nameWoman Freeis horrible irony.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot[holding a letter in her hand] Oh, Chanteuil, whathaveyou done? Here's somebody perfectly furious. She says she asked you to give her some information in the beauty column. [Reading] It was something she was mistaken about. She wrote under the name of "Always Young," and apparently you've answered "Always Young is a mistake."She thinks you did it to insult her. You must write her a letter of apologies.
Madame Chanteuil.Yes, Mademoiselle.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot[holding up another letter] "Little Questions of Sentiment." This is for you, Thérèse. [She reads] "I feel so sad because I am getting old," etc. Answer, "Why this sadness—"
Thérèse."White hairs are a crown of—" [She writes a few words in pencil upon the letter which Mademoiselle de Meuriot has passed to her]
Mademoiselle de Meuriot."Astral Influences." [Looking round] Who is "Astral Influences"?
Madame Chanteuil.I am.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot[passing her letters] Here are two, three—one without a post office order. Put that one straight into the waste paper basket. Remember that you must always promise them luck, with little difficulties to give success more flavor. And be sure to tell them they're full of good qualities, with some little amiable weaknesses and the sort of defects one enjoys boasting about. [Going on reading] "About using whites of eggs to take the sharpness out of sorrel," "To take out ink-stains." These are for you, dear.
Mademoiselle Grégoire.Yes. [She takes the letters] I didn't think of that when I took my degree.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot[continuing] "Stoutness"; that's for you too. [Glancing again at the letter] What does this one want? [Fluttering the leaves] Four pages; ah, here we are—"A slender figure—smaller hips—am not too stout anywhere else." That's for the doctor. [She gives the letter to Mademoiselle Grégoire with several others]
Mademoiselle Grégoire.Iodiform soap.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.My dear, not at all, "Soap of the Sylphs."
Mademoiselle Grégoire.But that's exactly the same thing.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.I know that. But it sounds so different. [Taking another letter] "A red nose"—
Mademoiselle Grégoire.Lemon juice.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot[continuing] "Superfluous hairs." Be sure to recommend the cream that gives us advertisements; don't make any mistake about that. "Black specks on the chin," "Wrinkles round the eyes."
Mademoiselle Grégoire.There's no cure for that.
Madame Chanteuil.Tell her to go to bed early and alone.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.That's too easy, she wouldn't believe in it. Find something else. [Continuing to read] "To make them firm without enlarging them"; that's for you too. And all the rest I think. "To whiten the teeth," "To make the hair lighter," "To give firmness to the bust."
Madame Chanteuil.They're always asking that.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot[reading] "To enlarge the eyes," "get rid of wrinkles"—"and double chins"—"a clear complexion"—"to keep young"—ouf! That's all. No, here's one that wants white arms. They're all alike, poor women!
Mademoiselle Grégoire.And all that to please men.
Madame Chanteuil.To please a man more than some other woman, and so to be fed, lodged, and kept by him.
Mademoiselle Grégoire[between her teeth]Keptis the right word.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.Ah, here's Mademoiselle Baron. [To Mademoiselle Baron] Well? What luck?
Mademoiselle Baron[miserably] There's no one in the office. I've got the signed contract for the advertisements of the Institut de Jouvence. Now I must go on to the printers. Here it is. Good-bye. [A silence]
Mademoiselle de Meuriot[in a suffocated voice] Good-bye, my dear.
They watch her go sadly. A long silence.
They watch her go sadly. A long silence.
Thérèse[speaking with great emotion] Poor,poorlittle thing!
Mademoiselle de Meuriot[also quite overcome, slowly] Perhaps she has someone at home who's hungry.
They each respond by a sigh or an ouf! Mademoiselle Grégoire, Madame Chanteuil, and Mademoiselle de Meuriot rise, picking up their papers.
They each respond by a sigh or an ouf! Mademoiselle Grégoire, Madame Chanteuil, and Mademoiselle de Meuriot rise, picking up their papers.
Mademoiselle Grégoire.I must go and see to the "Doctor's Page."
Madame Chanteuil.And I to the "Gleaner's Column."
They go out to the right. Thérèse rests her chin on her two hands and reflects profoundly. Monsieur Nérisse comes in at the back.
They go out to the right. Thérèse rests her chin on her two hands and reflects profoundly. Monsieur Nérisse comes in at the back.
Nérisse[speaking back to the people he has left in his office in an irritated voice] Do as you like. I've told you my opinion. I wash my hands of it. When your draft is ready show it to me. [He shuts the door. Thérèse, when she hears his voice, has gathered up her papers and is making for the door on the right. He calls her back] Mademoiselle!
Thérèse.Monsieur!
Nérisse.Listen. I have something to say to you. [Thérèse returns] Did Madame Nérisse give you the letter of introduction I wrote for you?
Thérèse.Yes, Monsieur. Please forgive me for not having thanked you before.
Nérisse.It's nothing.
Thérèse.Indeed it's a great deal.
Nérisse.Nothing.
Thérèse.Yes, I'm sure to be received quite differently with that letter from what I should be without it.
Nérisse.I can give you any number of letters like that. May I?
Thérèse[coldly] No, thank you.
Nérisse.You won't let me?
Thérèse.No.
Nérisse.Why?
Thérèse.You know very well why.
Nérisse.You're still angry with me. You do yourself harm by the way you treat me, you do indeed. Listen, this is the sort of thing. Moranville, the editor of the review I was talking about, is going to meet me at my restaurant after dinner. I know he wants just such stories as you write. But Moranville reads only the manuscripts of people he knows—he has a craze about it. Well, I hardly dare propose to you a thing which nevertheless is perfectly natural among colleagues, to come and dine with me first and meet him after. I hardly like—[Thérèse draws herself up] You see, I'm right. You don't trust me.
Thérèse.On the contrary, I'll go gladly. Madame Nérisse will be with you of course?
Nérisse[annoyed] Madame Nérisse! Nonsense! Do you suppose I drag her everywhere I go? Say no more about it. Whatever I say will only make you suspicious. [With a sigh] All this misunderstanding and suspicion is horrible to me. How stupid the world is! There are times when I feel disgusted with everything, myself included! I'm getting old. I'm a failure. I'm losing my time and wasting my life over this ridiculous paper, which will never be anything but an obscure rag. I shall have done for myself soon.
Thérèse[awkwardly, for something to say] Don't say that.
Nérisse.Yes, I shall. I might have a chance of saving myself yet if I took things energetically and got free of the whole thing. But I should have to be quick about it. [A silence. Thérèse does not know what to say and does not dare to leave the room] I'm so low—so unhappy!
Thérèse.So unhappy?
Nérisse.Yes. [Another silence. Madame Nérisse comes in and looks at them pointedly] Are they gone?
Madame Nérisse.Yes, they're gone.
Nérisse.Is it all settled?
Madame Nérisse.Yes. I am to meet them at the bank at four. But they wouldn't give way on the question of reducing expenses as regards the contributors.
Nérisse.And the dates of publication?
Madame Nérisse.We are to come out fortnightly instead of weekly. [Indicating the door on the right] You must go and speak to them.
Nérisse.Is Thérèse's salary to be reduced too?
Madame Nérisse.It would be impossible to make distinctions.
Nérisse.Difficult, yes. Still—I think one might have managed to do something for her.
Madame Nérisse.I cannot see how she differs from the others. Can you?
Nérisse.Oh, well—say no more about it.
Madame Nérisse.That will be best. [He goes out to the right. To herself] I should think so indeed! [To Thérèse] While Monsieur Nérisse was talking to the other man I had a chat with Monsieur Cazarès. He was talking about you. He's a nice fellow, and it's quite a good family you know. He's steady and fairly well off—very well off.
Thérèse[laughing] You talk as if you were offering me a husband!
Nérisse.And what would you say supposing he had asked me to sound you?
Thérèse.I should say that I was very much obliged, but that I decline the honor.
Nérisse.What's wrong with him?
Thérèse.Nothing.
Madame Nérisse.Well then?
Thérèse.You can't marry upon that.
Madame Nérisse.Have you absolutely made up your mind?
Thérèse.Absolutely.
Madame Nérisse.I think you're making a mistake. I think it all the more because this chance comes just at a time—well, you'll understand what I mean when I've told you something that I have to say to you as manageress ofWoman Free. It's this. You know that in spite of all we could do we've had to hunt about for more capital. We've found some, but we've had to submit to very severe conditions. The most important is that they insist upon a stringent cutting down of expenses. Instead of coming out every week,Woman Freewill be a fortnightly in future, and we've been obliged to consent to reducing the salaries of the contributors in proportion.
Thérèse.How much will they be reduced?
Madame Nérisse.In proportion I tell you. They'll be cut down by one half.
Thérèse.And I shall not have enough to live upon even in the simplest way.
Madame Nérisse.That was exactly what I said to them. And the work will not be the same.
Thérèse.My work will not be the same?
Madame Nérisse.No; you will be obliged to work at night.
Thérèse.At night?
Madame Nérisse.Yes.
Thérèse.But then I shall be free all day.
Madame Nérisse.No, you won't. In the daytime you will have to take charge of the business part of the paper, and in the evening too your work will not be purely literary, but more of an administrative character.
Thérèse.It appears to me that I'm asked to accept a smaller salary and to do double work for it.
Madame Nérisse.I am conveying to you the offers of the new Directors; if they don't suit you, you have only to refuse them.
Thérèse.Of course I refuse them, and you may say to the people who have made them that they must be shameful sweaters to dare to offer women salaries that leave them no choice between starvation and degradation.
Madame Nérisse.Those are strong words, my dear, and you seem to forget very quickly—
Thérèse[softening] Yes. Oh, I beg your pardon. But think for a minute, Madame, and you'll forgive me for being angry. I hardly know what I'm saying. [Madame Nérisse half turns away] Listen, oh listen! Forget what I said just now; I'll explain to you. I accept the reduction of salary. I'll manage. I'll get my expenses down. Only I can't consent to give up all my time. You know I have some work in hand; you know I have a big undertaking to which I've given all my life. I've told you about it, you know about that. You know I can only stand my loneliness and everything because of the hope I have about this. If people take all my time, it's the same as if they killed me. I beg you, I implore you, get them to leave me my evenings free.
Madame Nérisse.It can't be done.
Thérèse[pulling herself together] Very well, that's settled. I will go at the end of the month; that's to say to-morrow.
Madame Nérisse.Take a little time to consider it.
Thérèse.I have considered it. They propose that I should commit suicide. I say no!
Madame Nérisse.I'm sorry, truly sorry. [She rings. While she waits for the bell to be answered, she looks searchingly at Thérèse, who does not notice it. To the page boy who comes in] Go and call me a taxi, but first say to Monsieur Nérisse—
Boy.Monsieur Nérisse has just gone out, Madame.
Madame Nérisse.Are you quite sure?
Boy.I called him a taxi.
Madame Nérisse.Very well, you can go. [To Thérèse] I'll ask you for your final answer this evening. [She hands her two large books] If you make up your mind to stay, make me these two bibliographies.
Thérèse does not answer. Madame Nérisse goes out to the left. Left alone Thérèse begins to sort the papers on her bureau rather violently. She seizes a paper knife, flings it upon the couch, and afterwards walks up and down the room in great agitation. The door on the right opens and there come in such exclamations as No! Never! It's monstrous! I shall leave! It's an insult!Caroline Legrand, Mademoiselle Grégoire, Madame Chanteuil, and Mademoiselle de Meuriot come in. Mademoiselle de Meuriot is the only one who has kept her self-possession.
Thérèse does not answer. Madame Nérisse goes out to the left. Left alone Thérèse begins to sort the papers on her bureau rather violently. She seizes a paper knife, flings it upon the couch, and afterwards walks up and down the room in great agitation. The door on the right opens and there come in such exclamations as No! Never! It's monstrous! I shall leave! It's an insult!
Caroline Legrand, Mademoiselle Grégoire, Madame Chanteuil, and Mademoiselle de Meuriot come in. Mademoiselle de Meuriot is the only one who has kept her self-possession.
Mademoiselle Grégoire[speaking above the din] Good-bye, all. [She goes to the small salon from which she originally came in, and during the conversation that follows comes in putting on her hat, and goes out unnoticed at the back]
Thérèse.Well, what do you think of this?
Madame Chanteuil and Caroline Legrand[together] It's an insult.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.You must try and keep quiet. [To Thérèse] What shall you do?
Thérèse.I shall leave.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.You ought to stay.
Madame Chanteuil.No, Thérèse is right. We must all leave.
Thérèse.We must leave to-morrow—no, this evening.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot[quietly] Do you think that you'll be able to make better terms anywhere else?
Thérèse.That won't be difficult.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.You think so?
Thérèse.Rather.
Caroline Legrand.Where, for instance?
Thérèse.There are other papers in Paris besides this one.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.Then you know a lot of others that pay better?
Thérèse.One will be enough for me.
Caroline Legrand.And you think you'll find a place straight off? You know there are other people—
Thérèse.I'll give lessons. I took my degree.
Caroline Legrand.Much good may it do you.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.You think you'll be a governess? At one time a governess could get 1,200 francs, now it's 650 francs—less than the cook. And if you were to be a companion—
Thérèse.Why not a lady's maid at once?
Caroline Legrand.Yes; lady's maid. That's not a bad idea. It's the only occupation a girl brought up as rich people bring up their daughters can be certain to get and to keep, if she's only humble enough.
Thérèse.I shall manage to get along without taking to that.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.But, Thérèse, have you really been blind to all that's been going on here? Haven't you constantly seen unfortunate women, as well brought up and as well educated as yourself, coming hunting for work? Don't you remember that advertisement of the girl that Caroline Legrand was interested in? That advertisement has been appearing in the paper for the last three months. I'll read it to you. [Caroline Legrand takes up a number of "Women Free" and passes it to Mademoiselle de Meuriot] Here it is. [Reading] "A young lady of distinguished appearance, who has taken a high certificate for teaching. Good musician. Drawing, English, shorthand, etc." I know that girl. She told me all about her life. D'you know what she's offered? She asked two francs an hour for teaching the piano. They laughed in her face, because for that they could get a girl who'd taken first prize at the Conservatoire. They gave her seventy-five centimes. Deduct from that seventy-five centimes the price of the journey in that underground, the wear and tear of clothes, the time lost in going and coming, and then what do you think is left?
Caroline Legrand.Let's be just. She got answers from doubtful places abroad, letters from old satyrs, and invitations to pose for the "movies."
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.What's left then? The stage. It's quite natural you should think of the stage.
Thérèse.If one must.
Caroline Legrand.If one must! You'd condescend to it, wouldn't you? You poor child!
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.You can't get into the Conservatoire after twenty-one. Are you under that? No. Are you a genius? No. Well then?
Caroline Legrand.Have you a rich lover who will back you?
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.No. Then you'll get nothing at all in the theatres except by making friends with half a dozen men or selling yourself to one.
Thérèse.I'll go into a shop. At any rate, when it shuts I shall be free.
Caroline Legrand.You think they're longing for you, don't you? You forget you'd have to know things for that one doesn't learn by taking a degree; things like shorthand and typewriting. Do you know there are twenty thousand women in Paris who want to get into shops and offices and can't find places?
Madame Chanteuil.I know exactly what's going to become ofme.
Caroline Legrand.Now you're going to say something silly.
Madame Chanteuil.You think so, you've guessed. Well, I tell you, middle class girls thrown on the world as we are can't get along without a man—a husband or a lover. We haven't got the key of the prison door. We've not learned a trade. We've learned to smile, and dance, and sing—parlor tricks. All that's only of use in a love affair or a marriage. Without a man we're stranded. Our parents have brought us all up for one career and one only—the man. I was a fool not to understand before. Now I see.
Caroline Legrand.Look here, you're not going to take a lover?
Madame Chanteuil.Suppose I am?
Caroline Legrand.My dear, you came here full of indignation, clamoring against the state of society. You called yourself a feminist, but you, and women like you, are feminists only when it's convenient. There are no real feminists except ugly women like me or old ones like Meuriot. You others come aboutus in a swarm and then drop away one after another to go off to some man. As soon as a lover condescends to throw the handkerchief you're up and off to him. Youwantto be slaves. Go, my dear, and take your lover. That's your fate. Good-night. [She goes out]
Mademoiselle de Meuriot[to Madame Chanteuil] Don't listen to her, you poor child. Don't ruin all your life in a fit of despair.
Madame Chanteuil.I can't stay here. I'm not a saint and I'm not a fool. How can I live on what they offer to pay me?
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.Stay for a little, while you're looking for something else.
Madame Chanteuil.Look for something else! Never! That means all the horrors I went through, before I came here, over again! No!no! no!Never! Looking for work means trailing through the mud, toiling up stairs, ringing bells, being told to call again, calling again to get more snubs. And then when one thinks one's found something one comes up against a door guarded by a man who's watching you, and who's got to be satisfied before you can get into the workroom, or the office, or the shop, or whatever it may be. And then you've got to begin again with somebody else and be snubbed again. No. Since it's an accepted, settled, decided thing that the only career for a woman is to satisfy the passions of a man, I prefer the one I've chosen myself.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.And what if he goes off and leaves you with a baby?
Madame Chanteuil.Well, I'll bring it up. I shan't be the first. Women do it. It happens to one in every five in Paris. Ask Mademoiselle de Meuriot, the old maid, if she wouldn't be glad to have one now? When one grows old it's better to have had a child in that way than not to have had one at all. Ask her ifI'm not telling the truth. Ask her if she's happy in her loneliness.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot.Oh, it's true—it's true! Sometimes—
She bursts into tears. Thérèse goes to her and takes her in her arms.
She bursts into tears. Thérèse goes to her and takes her in her arms.
Thérèse.Oh, Mademoiselle, dear Mademoiselle!
Madame Chanteuil[between her teeth] Good-bye, Mademoiselle. Good-bye, Thérèse.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot[to Madame Chanteuil] Wait, wait. I'm going with you. I am not going to leave you just now.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot goes out with Madame Chanteuil. Thérèse, left alone, buries her head in her hands and thinks. Then she takes the two books that Madame Nérisse has handed her, and with a determined swing sits down and starts working. After a moment Monsieur Nérisse comes in.
Mademoiselle de Meuriot goes out with Madame Chanteuil. Thérèse, left alone, buries her head in her hands and thinks. Then she takes the two books that Madame Nérisse has handed her, and with a determined swing sits down and starts working. After a moment Monsieur Nérisse comes in.
Nérisse.My dear child, I have news for you. Pleasant news, I think.
Thérèse[rather grimly] Have you?
Nérisse.One little smile, please, or I shall tell you nothing.
Thérèse.I assure you smiling is the last thing I feel like.
Nérisse.If you only knew what I've been doing for you, you wouldn't receive me so unkindly.
Thérèse.Youcan do nothing for me. Will you please leave me alone?
Nérisse.I don't deserve to be spoken to like that, Thérèse. Listen; we must come to an understanding. I know you're angry with me still about what happened last month. I promised you then I would say no more. Have I kept my word?
Thérèse.Yes, you have.
Nérisse.Will you always be angry? Is it quiteimpossible for us to be friends? I am constantly giving you proofs of my friendship. I've done two things for you quite lately. The first was that letter to the editor you're going to see to-morrow, and the second is what I've done now with our new backer. It's this. They wanted to sack you or to offer you humiliating conditions. I said if you didn't stay I wouldn't stay either. I gave in on other points to get my way about this. I shall have their final answer to-morrow, and I know I shall succeed if I stick to my point.
Thérèse.But what right had you to do such a thing? We agreed to forget altogether that you had dared to make love to me. D'you really not understand how that makes it impossible I should ever accept either assistance or protection from you?
Nérisse.I have still the right to love you in secret.
Thérèse.Indeed you have not, and you've kept your secret precious badly. Madame Nérisse suspects, and I can see quite well that she's jealous of me. I owe her a great deal; she gave me my first start and got me my place here. I wouldn't make her unhappy for anything in the world. As soon as she hears of what you've done what d'you suppose she'll think?
Nérisse.I don't care a rap what she thinks.
Thérèse.But I care very much. You've compromised me seriously.
Nérisse[sincerely contemptuous] Compromised you! Aha, yes, there's the word! Oh, you middle class girls! Always the same! What are you doing here then? What d'you know about life? Nothing. Compromised! Then all your dreams of elevating humanity, all your ambitions, your career, the realization of yourself—you'll give up all that before you'll be what you describe by that stupid, imbecile, middle class word, compromised. When you shook yourself free of your family you behaved like a capable woman. Nowyou're behaving and thinking like a fashionable doll. Isn't that true? I appeal to your intelligence, to your mind, to everything in you that lifts you out of the ordinary ruck. Your precious word compromised is only the twaddle of a countrified miss. Don't you see that yourself?
Thérèse[very much out of countenance] Ah, if I were only certain that you are hiding nothing behind your friendship and your sympathy!
Nérisse[with perfectly genuine indignation] Hiding? You said hiding? Is that what you throw in my face? You insult me? What d'you take me for?
Thérèse.I beg your pardon.
Nérisse.What kind of assurance do you want me to give you? Do you believe in nothing? Is it quite impossible for you to feel frankly and naturally, and to say "I have confidence in you, and I accept your friendship"—a friendship offered to you perfectly honestly and loyally? It really drives one to despair.
Thérèse[without enthusiasm] Well, yes. I say it.
She puts her hands into the hands Monsieur Nérisse holds out to her.
She puts her hands into the hands Monsieur Nérisse holds out to her.
Nérisse.Thank you. [A silence. Then he says in a low voice] Oh, Thérèse, I love you, how I love you!
Thérèse[snatching her hands away] Oh, this is abominable. You set a trap for me, and my vanity made me fall into it.
Nérisse.I implore you to let me tell you about myself. I'm so miserable and lonely when you're away.
Thérèse[trying to speak reasonably] I know quite well what you want to say to me, and it all amounts to this: you love me. It's quite clear, and I answer you just as clearly: I donotlove you.
Nérisse.I'm so unhappy!
Thérèse.If it's true that you're unhappy because I don't love you, that is a misfortune for you; a misfortunefor which I am not in any way responsible, because you certainly cannot accuse me of having encouraged you.
Nérisse.I don't ask you to love me—yet. I ask you to allow me to try and win your love.
Thérèse[almost desperate] Don't dare to say that again. If you were an honorable man, you couldn't possibly have said these things to me to-day when my living depends upon you. You know the position I'm in, and you know that if I don't stay here, there are only two courses open to me—to go and live at the expense of my godmother, which I willnotdo, or to take the chances of a woman alone looking for work in Paris. Don't you understand that speaking about your love for me to-day is the same as driving me into the street?
Nérisse.If you go into the street, it is by your own choice.
Thérèse.Exactly. There's the old, everlasting, scandalous bargain. Sell yourself or you shall starve. If I give in, I can stay; if I don't—
Nérisse.Ididn't say so. But clearly my efforts to help you will be greater if I know that I'm working for my friend.
Thérèse.You actually confess it! You think yourself an honorable man, and you don't see that what you're doing is the vilest of crimes.
Nérisse.Now I ask you. Did I wait for your answer before I began to defend you and to help you?
Thérèse.No, but you believe I shall give in through gratitude or fear. Well, don't count upon it. Even if I have to kill myself in the end, I shall never sell myself, either to you or to anyone else. [In despair] Then that's what it comes to. Wherever we want to make our way, to have the right to work and to live, we find the door barred by a man who says, Give yourself or starve. Because one's on one's own, becausethey know that there's not another man to start up and defend hisproperty! It's almost impossible to believe human beings can be so vile to one another. For food! Just for food! Because they know we shall starve if we don't give in. Because we have old people, or children at home who are waiting for us to bring them food, men put this vile condition to us, to do like the girls in the streets. It's shameful, shameful, shameful. It's enough to make one shriek out loud with rage and despair.
Nérisse[speaking sternly] I've never asked you to sell yourself. I ask you to love me.
Thérèse.I shall never love you.
Nérisse[as before] You'll never love. Neither me nor others. Listen—
Thérèse[interrupting] I—
Nérisse[preventing her from speaking] Wait; I insist upon speaking. You will never love, you say. You will live alone all your life. You're foolish and self-confident enough to think that you can do without a man's affection.
Thérèse.But I—
Nérisse[continuing] I must try to make you understand your folly. These efforts you're making to escape from the ordinary life of affection are useless, and it's lucky for you they are useless. You can't live without love.
Thérèse.Why?
Nérisse.All lonely people are wretched. But the lonely woman is twice, a hundred times more wretched than the man. You've no idea what it is. It's to pass all your life under suspicion, yes, suspicion. The world never believes that people live differently from others unless they have secret reasons, and the world always says that secret reasons are shameful reasons. And that's not all. Think of the lonely room where you may cry without anyone to hear you. Think of illnesswhere to your bodily pain is added the mental torture of the fear of dying all alone. Think of the empty heart, the empty arms always, always. And in old age, more wretchedness in the regret for a wasted life. And for what and for whom are you making this sacrifice? For a convention; for a morality that nobody really believes in. Who'll think the better of you for it? People won't even believe in your honesty. They will find explanations for it that would make you die of shame if you knew them. Is that what you want, Thérèse? I am unhappy. Love me. Oh, if you only—
Thérèse.Please spare me your confidences.
Nérisse.You think this is only a caprice on my part. You are mistaken. I ask you to share my life.
Thérèse.I will never be your mistress.
Nérisse.You're proud and you're strong. You insist upon marriage. Very well. I agree.
Thérèse.I will not have you! I will not have you!
Nérisse.Why? Tell me why.
Thérèse.Iwilltell you why; and then, I hope, I shall have done with you. You're right in one way. I believe I should not be able to live all alone. I should be too unhappy. But at least I'll keep my right of choice. If ever I give myself to anyone, it will be to someone I love. [With vehemence] And I love him, I love him!
Nérisse[violently] You have a lover! If that's true—
Thérèse[with a cry of triumph] Oh, have I got to the bottom of your vulgar, hateful little soul? If there ever was any danger of my giving in, your expression then would have saved me. You never thought there could be anything better. A lover! No, I have no lover. I have a love.
Nérisse.I don't see so very much difference.
Thérèse[proudly] I know you don't, and thatshows what you are. This is the one love of my life, my love for my betrothed. I lost my money and that separated us, but we found each other again. It's unhappy to be separated, but we bear our unhappiness out of respect for what you call prejudices, because we know how our defying them would hurt those we love. You think me ridiculous, but you cannot imagine how utterly indifferent I am. I am waiting, we are waiting, with perfect trust and love. Now d'you understand that I'm perfectly safe from you? Go!
Nérisse[in a low voice which trembles with anger and jealousy] How dare you say that to me, Thérèse? How dare you bring such a picture before me? I will not allow you to belong to another man. [He advances towards her]
Thérèse[in violent excitement] No, no, don't dare! Don't touch me! don't dare to touch me!