Comedy of Marriage and Other Tales

(_The same, and_ Gilberte _and_ Leon _who enter_ L.)

PETITPRÉ [_approaches Gilberte_]

Before seeing your husband again, if you decide to see him, it is necessary that we should decide exactly what you are going to say to him.

GILBERTE [_greatly moved, sits_ L. _of table_]

I knew it was some great misfortune.

MARTINEL [_sits beside her_]

Yes, my child; but there are two kinds of misfortune--those that come from the faults of men, and those that spring purely from the hazards of fate; that is to say, destiny. In the first case, the man is guilty; in the second case, he is a victim. Do you understand me?

Gilberte. Yes, Monsieur.

Martinel. A misfortune of which some one person is the victim can also wound another person very cruelly. But will not the heart of this second wounded and altogether innocent, person bestow a pardon upon the involuntary author of her disaster?

GILBERTE [_in a sad voice_]

That depends upon the suffering which she undergoes.

MARTINEL Meanwhile, you knew that before Jean loved you, before he conceived the idea of marrying you, he had--an intrigue. You accepted the fact as one which had nothing exceptional about it.

Gilberte. I did accept it.

Martinel. And now your brother may tell you the rest.

Gilberte. Yes, Monsieur.

Martinel. What shall I say to Jean?

Gilberte. I am too much agitated to tell you yet. This woman, of whom I did not think at all, whose very existence was a matter of indifference to me--her death has frightened me. It seems that she has come between Jean and me, and will always remain there. Everything that I have heard of her prophesies this estrangement. But you knew her--this woman did you not, Monsieur?

Martinel. Yes, Madame, and I can say nothing but good of her. Your brother and I have always looked upon her as irreproachable in her fidelity to Jean. She loved him with a pure, devoted, absolute, and lasting affection. I speak as a man who has deplored deeply this intrigue, for I look upon myself as a father to Jean, but we must try to be just to everyone.

Gilberte. And did Jean love her very much, too?

Martinel. Oh, yes, certainly he did, but his love began to wane. Between them there was too much of a moral and social distance. He lived with her, however, drawn to her by the knowledge of the deep and tender affection which she bestowed upon him.

GILBERTE [_gravely_]

And Jean went to see her die?

Martinel. He had just time to say farewell to her.

GILBERTE [_to herself_]

If I could only tell what passed between them at that moment! Ah, this wretched death is worse for me than if she were alive!

Mme. DE RONCHARD [_rises_ R. _and goes up stage_]

I really do not understand you, my dear. The woman has died--so much the better for you. May God deliver you from all such!

Gilberte. No, my dear Aunt; the feeling I have just now is so painful that I would sooner know her to be far away than to know her dead.

PETITPRÉ [_comes down_]

Yes, I admit that is the sentiment of a woman moved by a horrible catastrophe; but there is one grave complication in the matter--that of the child. Whatever may be done with it, he will none the less be the son of my son-in-law and a menace to us all.

Mme. De Ronchard. And a subject for ridicule. See what the world will say of us in a little while.

Léon. Leave the world to itself, my dear Aunt, and let us occupy ourselves with our own business. [_Goes to Gilberte_.] Now, Gilberte, is it the idea of the child that moves you so deeply?

Gilberte. Oh, no,--the poor little darling!

Petitpré. Such is the foolishness of women who know nothing of life.

Léon. Well, father, why, if we have so many different views,--according as we are spectators or actors in the course of events,--why is there so much difference between the life of the imagination and the actual life; between that which one ought to do; that which you would that others should do, and that which you do yourself. Yes, what has happened is very painful; but the surprise of the event, its coincidence with the nuptial day makes it still more painful. We magnify--everything in our emotion, when it is ourselves that misfortune touches. Suppose, for a moment, that you had read this in your daily newspaper--

Mme. DE RONCHARD [_seated_ L. _of table, indignantly_]

In my daily newspaper!

Léon. Or in a romance. What emotion we should feel; what tears we should shed! How your sympathy would quickly go out to the poor little child whose birth was attained at the cost of his mother's life! How Jean would go up in your esteem; how frank, how loyal, how stanch in his fealty you would consider him; while, on the other hand, if he had deserted the dying woman, and had spirited away the little one into some distant village, you would not have had enough scorn for him, or enough insults for him. You would look upon him as a being without heart and without fear; and, you, my dear Aunt, thinking of the innumerable little bad dogs who owe you their lives, you would cry out with forcible gestures: “What a miserable scoundrel!”

MARTINEL [_seated_ L.]

That's perfectly true.

Mme. De Ronchard. Dogs are worth more than men.

Léon. Little children are not men, my dear Aunt. They have not had time to become bad.

Petitpré. All that is very ingenious, Leon, and your special pleading is magnificent.

Mme. De Ronchard. Yes, if you would only plead like that at the Palais.

Petitpré. But this has nothing to do with a romance or with imaginary personages. We have married Gilberte to a young man in the ordinary conditions of life.

Mme. De Ronchard. Without enthusiasm.

Petitpré. Without enthusiasm, it is true, but nevertheless they are married, just the same. Now, on the evening of his nuptials, he brings us a present--I must say I do not care for a present which bawls.

Léon. What does that prove, unless it is that your son-in-law is a brave man? What he has just done--risked his happiness in order to accomplish his duty--does it not say better than anything else could, how capable of devotion he is?

Martinel. Clear as the day.

Mme. DE RONCHARD [_aside_]

And this man from Havre admires him!

Petitpré. Then you maintain that Gilberte, on the day, of her entry upon married life, should become the adopted mother of the son of her husband's mistress?

Léon. Exactly; just as I maintain all that is honorable and disinterested. And you would think as I do if the thing did not concern your daughter.

Petitpré. No; it is an inexcusable situation.

Léon. Well, then, what do you propose to do?

Petitpré. Well, nothing less than a divorce. The scandal of this night is sufficient.

Mme. DE RONCHARD [_rises_]

Gilberte divorced! You don't dream of that, do you? Have all our friends closing their doors on her, the greater part of her relatives lost to her! Divorced! Come, come! in spite of your new law, that has not yet come into our custom and shall not come in so soon. Religion forbids it; the world accepts it only under protest; and when you have against you both religion and the world--

Petitpré. But statistics prove--

Mme. De Ronchard. Pshaw! Statistics! You can make them say what you wish. No, no divorce for Gilberte. [_In a soft, low voice_.] Simply a legal separation--that is admissible, at least, and it is good form. Let them separate. I am separated--all fashionable people separate, and everything goes all right, but as to divorce--

LÉON [_seriously_]

It seems to me that only one person has a right to speak in this matter, and we are forgetting her too long. [_Turns to Gilberte_.] You have heard everything, Gilberte; you are mistress of your own judgment and of your decision. Upon a word from you depend either pardon or rupture. My father has made his argument. What does your heart say? [_Gilberte tries to speak, but stops and breaks down_.] Think always that in refusing to pardon Jean you wound me, and if I see you unhappy from your determination to say no, I shall suffer exceedingly. Monsieur Martinel asks from you at once an answer for Jean. Let us do better. I will go and find him. It is from your lips; it is, above all, in your eyes, that he will learn his fate. [_Brings her gently to the front of the stage_.] My little sister, my. dear little sister, don't be too proud; don't be too haughty! Listen to that which your chagrin murmurs in your soul. Listen well, but do not mistake it for pride.

Gilberte. But I have no pride. I do not know how I feel. I am ill. My joy has been blighted, and it poisons me.

Léon. Take care! It takes so little in such moments as these to make wounds which are incurable.

Gilberte. No, no! I am too much distressed. Perhaps I shall be hard, for I am afraid of him and of myself. I am afraid of breaking off everything, or of yielding everything.

Léon. I am going to find Jean.

GILBERTE [_resolutely_]

No, I do not wish to see him. I forbid it!

Léon. Let me tell you something, my little Gilberte: You are less intelligent than I thought.

Gilberte. Why?

Léon. Because in such moments as these it is necessary to say yes or no at once. [_Jean appears at door_ R.]