Three Plays: Six Characters in Search of an Author, Henry IV, The Mountain Giants (Oxford World's Classics) (6 page)

The
FATHER
is about fifty, thinning at the temples, but not bald, with reddish hair and thick moustaches curling round a young-looking mouth, often open in an uncertain vacuous smile. His pallor is particularly noticeable on his broad forehead; blue oval eyes, bright and intelligent; he wears light-coloured trousers and a dark jacket; sometimes mellifluous, sometimes abruptly harsh and grating
.

The
MOTHER
seems frightened and crushed by some unbearable burden of shame and humiliation. With her widow’s veil of thick crêpe, she dresses in humble black; and when she lifts the veil, her face seems not so much marked by suffering as made of wax; her eyes remain downcast
.

The
STEPDAUGHTER
,
eighteen years of age, is defiant, almost impudent. Very beautiful, she too wears mourning, but with conspicuous elegance. She shows her contempt for the timid, suffering, lost air of the
YOUNG BOY
,
her brother, a miserable fourteen-year-old, also dressed in black; she is, however, full of tenderness towards her sister, a
LITTLE GIRL
of about four, wearing white, with a black silk sash round her waist
.

The
SON
is twenty-two, tall and stiff in his contained scorn for his
FATHER
and his sullen indifference towards his
MOTHER
;
he wears a mauve overcoat and a long green scarf round his neck
.

USHER
[
cap in hand
]. Excuse me, sir.

DIRECTOR
[
brusque, surly
]. What is it now?

USHER
[
timidly
]. There are some people here asking to see you.

The
DIRECTOR
and the
ACTORS
turn round in surprise and look down from the stage into the auditorium
.

DIRECTOR
[
furious again
]. But I’m in the middle of a rehearsal! And you know perfectly well that nobody’s allowed in during a rehearsal! [
Calling out to the back of the auditorium
] Who are you people? What do you want?

FATHER
[
coming forward to one of the two sets of steps, followed by the others
]. We’ve come here in search of an author.

DIRECTOR
[
half-puzzled, half-angry
]. An author? What author?

FATHER
. Any author, sir.

DIRECTOR
. But there’s no author round here because we’re not rehearsing any new play.

STEPDAUGHTER
[
brightly as she hurries up the steps
]. So much the better, so much the better, sir! So we could be your new play.

SOME OF THE ACTORS
[
amid the laughter and comments of the others
]. Oh, hear that, hear that!

FATHER
[
following the
STEPDAUGHTER
onto the stage
]. Could be. But if there’s no author … [
To the
DIRECTOR
] Unless you’d like to be …

The
MOTHER
climbs the first few steps, holding the
LITTLE GIRL
by the hand and followed by the
YOUNG BOY
.
They wait there, while the
SON
remains sullenly behind
.

DIRECTOR
. Are you people joking?

FATHER
. How can you say such a thing! Quite the contrary—we bring you a very distressing drama.

STEPDAUGHTER
. And one that could make your fortune!

DIRECTOR
. Do me a favour and clear off. We’ve got no time to waste with a bunch of loonies!

FATHER
[
honey-voiced and hurt
]. Oh sir, you must know that life is full of endless absurdities, so barefaced that they don’t even need to seem real, because they
are
real.

DIRECTOR
. What the devil are you trying to say?

FATHER
. I’m saying that what really does seem crazy, yes, sir, is to insist on doing the opposite; that is, to create lifelike situations so that you can make them seem real. But let me remind you that if this is madness, it’s still the only purpose of your profession.

DIRECTOR
[
rising and facing up to him
]. Oh yes? So you think that ours is a profession for madmen?

FATHER
. Well, passing off as real what isn’t real at all; for no good reason, sir: just as a game … Isn’t it your job to give life on the stage to imaginary characters?

DIRECTOR
[
without hesitation, voicing the growing indignation of the Actors
]. I beg you to believe, my dear sir, that the profession of acting is a highly noble one. Even if, as things stand nowadays, the new playwrights give us silly comedies and puppets instead of real men, you should know that we can still boast of having given life—here, on these boards—to immortal works!

FATHER
[
interrupting and seizing on the topic
]. That’s it! Quite right! Life to living beings, more alive than those who breathe and wear clothes! Not as real, perhaps; but more true! We’re in perfect agreement!

DIRECTOR
. Hold on! A moment ago you were saying …

FATHER
. No, sorry, I was saying it for you, sir, because you shouted that you had no time to waste with lunatics, whereas nobody should know better than you that nature employs the human imagination as an instrument to pursue its work of creation at a higher level.

DIRECTOR
. Fine, fine. But what are you trying to prove with all this?

FATHER
. Nothing, sir. Just to show you that one can be born into life in so many ways, so many forms: tree or stone, water or butterfly … or woman. And one can also be born as a character.

DIRECTOR
[
with mock ironic surprise
]. And so you, and these people around you, were all born as characters?

FATHER
. Exactly, sir. And alive, as you see.

FATHER
[
hurt
]. I’m sorry to hear you laugh like that; let me repeat that we bring with us a most painful drama, as you might guess from this woman with the black veil.

So saying, he gives his hand to the
MOTHER
to help her up the last steps, and then, with a solemn and tragic air, leads her to the other side of the stage which is immediately illuminated by an unreal light. The
LITTLE GIRL
and the
YOUNG BOY
follow their
MOTHER
;
then comes the
SON
who goes to stand apart upstage; finally the
STEPDAUGHTER
who also stands apart, but downstage, leaning against the proscenium arch. The
ACTORS
,
at first surprised but then impressed by this development, burst into applause as if at a performance given specially for them
.

DIRECTOR
[
first shocked, then indignant
]. Pipe down! Let’s have some silence! [
Turns to the
CHARACTERS
] And you lot can clear off! Get out of here! [
To the
STAGE MANAGER
] For God’s sake, get them out of here!

STAGE MANAGER
[
comes forward, but then stops as if held back by a strange fear
]. Out! Out!

FATHER
[
to the
DIRECTOR
]. But no, you see, we …

DIRECTOR
[
shouting
]. Now look! Some of us here have got work to do.

LEADING MAN
. And we’re not to be made fools of …

FATHER
[
coming forward, determined
]. I’m really surprised by your lack of faith. As if you weren’t used to seeing characters spring to life and face each other on this stage—the characters created by an author. Maybe it’s because we’re not in any script down there. [
Points to the
PROMPTER
’
s box
]

STEPDAUGHTER
[
coming up to the
DIRECTOR
,
smiling, seductive
]. Believe me, sir, we are six
very
interesting characters! Even if we’re lost.

FATHER
[
moving her aside
]. Yes, lost, that’s the word for it! [
To the
DIRECTOR
without a break
] Lost, you see, in that the author who created us alive either wouldn’t or in practice couldn’t bring us into the world of art. And that truly was a crime, sir, because someone who has the luck to be born as a living character can laugh even at death. He never dies. The man will die, the writer, the instrument of creation; but the creature never dies! And to live for ever he doesn’t even need to have any extraordinary gifts or to do marvellous deeds. What about Sancho Panza? What about Don Abbondio?
^*
And yet they live for ever because—living seeds—they had the luck to find a fertile soil, an imagination able to feed them, form them, and grant them life for all eternity!

DIRECTOR
. That’s all very fine! But what do you want with us?

FATHER
. We want to live, sir!

DIRECTOR
[
ironic
]. For all eternity?

FATHER
. No, sir: just for a moment. In you.

AN ACTOR
. Hear that!

LEADING LADY
. They want to live in us!

YOUNG ACTOR
[
pointing to the
STEPDAUGHTER
]. I wouldn’t say no, so long as I get that one!

FATHER
. Now see here, see here. This show must go on. [
To the
DIRECTOR
] But if you agree, and if your actors agree, we can soon fix it up among ourselves.

DIRECTOR
[
annoyed
]. What’s there to fix up? We don’t do fix-ups round here. We perform tragedies and comedies.

FATHER
. That’s right. And that’s what we’ve come here for, here to you!

DIRECTOR
. And where’s the script?

FATHER
. It’s in us, sir. [
The
ACTORS
laugh
] The play’s in us and we are the play. And we’re burning to act it, driven by the passion within!

STEPDAUGHTER
[
scornfully, with the wicked charm of outrageous impudence
]. My passion, sir; if only you knew! My passion … for him! [
Points to the
FATHER
and seems about to embrace him, but then bursts into a shrill laugh
]

FATHER
[
with sudden anger
]. You just behave yourself for a moment. And don’t laugh like that.

STEPDAUGHTER
. No? Then, if you allow me, gentlemen—although it’s only two months since I became an orphan—just see how I can sing and dance.

With a malicious air she launches into ‘Beware of Chu Chin Chow’
^*
by Dave Stamper, in the French version arranged by Francis Salabert as a foxtrot or slow one-step, dancing as she sings the first verse
.

Les chinois sont un peuple malin,

De Shangaï à Pékin,

Ils ont mis des écriteaux partout!

Prenez garde à Tchou-Tchin-Tchou!

As she dances, the
ACTORS
,
especially the young ones, move towards her as if drawn by some strange attraction, raising their hands slightly as if to grasp her. But she evades them; and when the
ACTORS
burst into applause and the
DIRECTOR
protests, she becomes withdrawn and distant
.

THE ACTORS AND ACTRESSES
[
laughing and applauding
]. Bravo! Splendid! Good for you!

DIRECTOR
[
angry
]. Silence! Do you think you’re in a cabaret! [
Rather worried, taking the
FATHER
aside
] Just tell me, is she mad?

FATHER
. Not in the least! It’s worse than that!

STEPDAUGHTER
[
immediately running up to the
DIRECTOR
]. Worse! Worse! Oh sir, much worse! Listen, please: do let us put on this play straightaway, because you’ll see that at a certain moment, I … when this little darling here [
taking the hand of the
LITTLE GIRL
who is with the
MOTHER
and leading her up to the
DIRECTOR
]—see how pretty she is [
hugging and kissing her
] dear, dear child! [
Puts her down and adds with almost involuntary emotion
] Well, when God suddenly takes this little darling from her poor mother there: and when this little idiot [
pushing forward the
YOUNG BOY
,
grasping him by the sleeve
] does the silliest thing you can think of, like the cretin that he is [
shoving him back towards the
MOTHER
]—then you’ll see how I take flight, yes, sir, take flight! Flight! And I just can’t wait, believe me, can’t wait. Because after the very intimate thing that happened between me and him [
pointing to the
FATHER
with a horrible wink
] I can’t stand being in this company, can’t stand seeing how Mother suffers for that weird type over there [
pointing to the
SON
]—look at him! look at him! Cold as ice, couldn’t care less—because he’s the legitimate son, he is! And he despises me, and him [
indicating the
YOUNG BOY
] and that poor little creature. Because we’re all bastards—do you see? bastards. [
Goes up to the
MOTHER
and embraces her
] And this poor mother, the mother to all of us—he won’t even recognize her as
his
mother. He looks down on her, as if she were only the mother of us three bastards—the coward!