^iMmiiiii ^iiiiii^ CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Joseph Whitmore Barry dramatic library THE GIFT OF TWO FRIENDS OF Cornell University 1934 Date Due w^ ^r_L_^22£a*p--"~ 4f .fAN20 1 S43 FEB 2 5 1943 H A R 1 7 l| i4gl WAR 30 f^N^ -APfi^ ffr 49^4 FEB 21 19 14- 841- THE WORLD'S BEST PLAYS BY CBLEBRATBD EUROPEAN AUTHORS BARRETT H. CLARK aeNERAL EDITOR The Art of Being Bored : a Comedy in Three Acts : by Edouard Pailleron: Translated by Barrett H. Clark and Hilmar Bauk- hage Samuel French : Publisher 28-30 West Thirty-eighth Street : New York LONDON Samuel French, Ltd. 26 SouTHAiifl'Tas Street, Strand coptbight, 1914, By BAEEETT H. 0T>AEK EDOUARD PAILLERON. The author of " Le Monde ou Ton s'ennuie " was born at Paris in 1834. Besides this, his master- piece, he wrote numerous comedies, sentimental and satirical. Pailleron is in no way concerned with problems or " ideas ; " he is content to depict the foibles and affectations of society, framing his observations into a harmonious and unified whole. This play was first produced, at Paris, in 1881, and has since held the stage, both in France and Ger- many. The scenery and costumes are modern. Owing to the number of characters, some atten- tion must be paid to the grouping of stage pictures. The stage-directions, if carefully followed will supply sufficient information to enable the director to group with ease. THE ART OF BEING BORED. PERSONS REPRESENTED. Bellac Roger de Ceran Paul Raymond Toulonnier General de Briais ViROT Francois Saint-Reault Gaiac Melchior de Boines Des Millets Duchess de Reville Madame de Loudan Jeanne Raymond Lucy Watson Suzanne de Villi ers Countess de Ceran Madame Arriego Madame de Boines Madame de Saint-Reault Scene: — A drawing-room in Madame de Ceran's chateau at Saint Germain. The Art of Being Bored. ACT I. A drawing-room, with a large entrance at the back, opening upon another room. Entrances up and down stage. To the left between the two doors, a piano. Right, an entrance down-stage, on the same side; farther up, a large alcove with a glazed door leading into the garden, left; a table, on either side of which is a chair; to the right, a small table and a sofa, armchairs, etc. Francois. {Looking among the papers which litter the table) It couldn't be on top here — nor here : Revue Materialiste . . Revue des Cours — Journal des Savants {Enter Lucy.) Lucy. Well, Frangois, have you found the let- ter? Francois. No, Miss Lucy, not yet. Lucy. Pink paper — opened — no envelope? Francois. Ls it addressed to Miss Watson? Lucy. Didn't I tell you it was addressed to me? Francois. But Lucy. The point is, have you found it? Francois. Not yet, but I shall look everywhere, and ask Lucy. Don't ask ; there's no need. But it must 3 4 THE ART OF BEING BORED. be found, so look carefully. Go over every foot of ground from where you gave us our letters this morning, to this room. It couldn't have fallen any- where else. Please, please hunt for it! {She goes out) Francois. {Alone, as he returns to the table) "Hunt, hunt?" Revue Coloniale — Revue Diplo- matique — Revue Archeologique {Enter Jeanne and Paul.) Jeanne. {Gaily) Someone here! {To Fran- cois) Madame de Ceran Paul. {Taking her hand) Sh! {To Fran- cois, gravely) Is Madame la Comtesse de Ceran in the chateau at present? Francois. Yes, Monsieur. Jeanne. {Gaily) Very well, tell her that Mon- sieur and Madame Paul Paul. {As before, coldly) Be good enough to announce to her that M. Raymond, Sub-prefect * of Agenis, and Mme. Raymond, have arrived from Paris, and await her pleasure in the drawing- room. Jeanne. And that Paul. {As before) Sh. That's all please. Francois. Very well, M. le Sous-prefet. {Aside) Newly weds! — Shall I take Mon- sieur's — ? {He takes their bags and rugs, and goes out) Jeanne. Now, Paul Paul. No " Paul " here : " M. Raymond ! " Jeanne. What, d'you want me to ? f Paul. Not here, I tell you. Jeanne. {Laughing) What a scowl! Paul. Please, you mustn't laugh out loud here. * A prefect is the officer In charcre of the administrative affairs of the " DSpartement," one of the 96 dlrisions of Prance Tr. ./eanne uses the " tu " of familiar discourse. In place of the more formal voua." THE ART OF BEING BORED. s Jeanne. How is this, Monsieur, you are scolding me? (She throws herself into his arms, hut he disengages himself, terrified) Paul. Silly! That would be enough to spoil everything ! Jeanne. Oh! What a bore ! Paul. Precisely! That time you struck ex- actly the right note. You surely haven't forgotten all I told you in the train? Jeanne. Why, I thought you were joking! Paul. Joking? So you don't want to be the wife of a Prefect? — Tell me? Jeanne. Yes, if it would please you. Paul. Very well, dear. I call you dear, as we are alone, but later on, before the guests, it must be merely Jeanne. The Comtesse de Ceran has done me the honor of asking me to introduce to her my young wife, and of spending a few days here at her chateau at St. Germain. f~Mme. de Ceran's circle is one of the three or four most influential in Paris. We are not here to amuse ourselves. I come here merely a Sub-prefect; I am determined to leave, a Prefect — Everything depends on her — upon us — upon you ! Jeanne. Upon me? What do you mean? Paul. Of course, on you! Society judges a man by his wife, and society is right. Therefore be on your guard. — Dignity without pride ; a knowing smile — ears and eyes open, lips closed! Oh, compliments, as many as you like, and quota- tions, short and authoritative: for philosophy try Hegel ; for literature, Jean Paul ; politics Jeanne. But I don't understand politics. Paul. Here all the women talk politics. Jeanne. Well, I know nothing whatever about it. Paul. Neither do they, but that doesn't make any difference. Cite Pufendorff and Machiavelli as if they were your own relatives, and talk about the 6 THE ART OF BEING BORED. Council of Trent as if you had presided over it. As for your amusements : chamber music, strolls in garden, and whist — that's all I can allow. Your clothes must be chosen with great care, and as for Latin — use a few words that I've taught you — In a week's time I want it to be said of you : " Ah, that little Mme. Raymond will be the wife of a Cabinet Minister some day ! " And in this circle, you know, when they say that a woman will he. a Cabinet Minister's wife, her husband is not very far from a portfolio. Jeanne. What? Do you want to be Minister? —Why? Paul. In order to prevent myself from becom- ing famous. Jeanne. But Mme. de Ceran belongs , to the opposition ; what can you expect from her ? Paul. How simple you are ! In the matter of political positions, there is only the slightest shade of difference betv/een the Conservatives and their opponents: the Conservatives ask for places and their opponents accept them. No, no, my child, this is the place where reputations are made and un- made and made over; where, under the appearance of talking literature and art. Machiavellian con- spirators hatch their schemes : this is the small private entrance to the ministries, the antechamber of the Academies, the laboratory of success ! Jeanne. Heavens! What sort of circle is this? Paul. It is the 1881 edition of the Hotel de Rambouillet: a section of society where everybody talks and poses, where pedantry masquerades as knowledge, sentimentality as sentiment and preci- osity as delicacy and refinement ; — here no one ever dreams of saying what he thinks, and never be- lieves what one says, where friendship is a matter of cold calculation, and chivalry and manners merely means to an end. It is where one swallows his tongue in the drawing-room just as he leaves THE ART OF BEING BORED. 7 his cane in the hallway : in short, Society where one learns the art of being serious ! Jeanne. I should say, the art of being bored ! Paul. Precisely ! Jeanne. But if everyone bores everyone else, what possible influence can it all have? Paul. What influence? How simple you are! You ask what influence can boredom exert, here, in this country? A great deal, I tell you. You see. the Frenchman has a horror amounting almost to veneration of boredom. Ennui is for him a ter- rible god whose worship is celebrated by good- form. He recognizes nothing as serious unless it is in regulation dress. I don't say that he practises what he preaches, but that is only a further reason for believing more firmly : he prefers believing to finding out for himself. I tell you, this nation, which is at bottom gay, despises itself for being so ; it has forgotten its faith in the good commonsense of its generous laughter, this sceptical and talka- tive nation believes in those who have little to say, this whole-hearted and amiable people allows itself to be imposed upon by pedantic false pride and the pretentious asaninity of the pontiffs of the white dress neck-tie : in politics, in science, in art, in literature, in everything! These they scoff at, hate, fly from as from pestilence, yet they alone preserve for these things a secret admiration and perfect confidence! And you ask what influence has bore- dom? Ah, my dear girl, there are just two kinds of people in the world: those who don't know how to bore themselves, and who are nobodies ; and those who know how to bore themselves, and who are somebody — besides those who know how to bore others ! Jeanne. And this is the sort of place you've brought me to ! Paul. Do you want to be a Prefect's wife? Tell me ? 8 THE ART OF BEING BORED. Jeanne. Oh, to begin with, I could never Paul. Oh, never mind! It's only for a week! Jeanne. A week! Without speaking, without laughing, without a kiss from you ! Paul. That's before company; but when we are alone — in the dark, oh, then! Why, it will be delightful; we'll arrange secret meetings, in the garden, everywhere — just as we did before we were married — at your father's, do you remember? Jeanne. Very well, very well ! — {She opens the piano and plays an air from La Fille de Madame Angot*) Paul. {Terrified) Very well, then! — ^What are you doing there ? Jeanne. It's from the opera we saw last night ! Paul. My poor child, so this is the way you make use of my advice ! Jeanne. We sat in a baignoire,^ together — wasn't it lovely, Paul! Paul. Jeanne! — Jeanne! — What if someone should come in ! Please ! (Francois appears at the back.) Paul. Too late! (Jeanne changes the air she ■was playing into a Beethoven Symphony. Aside) Beethoven! — Bravo! {He listens to the music with profound satisfaction) Ah, it's a fact that the only place for music is the Conservatoire! Francois. Madame la Comtesse requests Mon- sieur le Sous-prefet to wait five minutes for her; she is in consultation with Monsieur le Baron Eriel de Saint-Reault. Paul. The Orientalist? Francois. I do not know, Monsieur, he is the son of the scientist whose father was so talented Paul. {Aside) And who has so many positions * A celebrated light oper;i. —Tr. B A small box beneath the balcony, common In French Theatres Tr. THE ART OF BEING BORED. 9 to dispose of! He's the one! — Ah, M. de Saint- Reault is here, then ; I presume that Mme. de Salnt- Reault is with him? Francois. Yes, M. le Sous-prefet; likewise the Marquise de Loudan and Mme. Arriego, but these ladies are at present in Paris, following M. Bellac's course — with Mile. Suzanne de Villiers. Paul. There are no other guests here? Francois. There is Madame la duchesse de Reville, Madame's aunt. Paul. I don't refer to the Duchess nor to Miss Watson ; nor to Mile, de Villiers : they are the family ! I mean guests, like ourselves. Francois. No, M. le Sous-prefet, there are no others. Paul. Arid no one else is expected? Francois. No one? Oh, yes, M. le Sous-prefet; M. Roger, the son of Mme. la Comtesse has just arrived to-day from his scientific investigations in the Orient. He is expected any moment — Ah, and then M. Bellac, the professor, who is to spend a few days here when his lecture course is over — at least we hope so. Paul. (Aside) Ah, that's why there are so many ladies! — Very well, thank you. Francois. Then M. le Sous-prefet will be good enough to wait? Paul. Yes, and tell Mme. la Comtesse not to hurry. (Francois goes out) Whew! You gave me a turn with that music! But you got out of it beautifully, changing Lecocq to Beethoven ! Rather good, that ! Jeanne. Silly, am I not ? Paul. I know better now! We have still five minutes; I'll tell you a little about these people: it's best to be on the safe side. Jeanne. Oh, never mind! Paul. Come, Jeanne, five minues ! You must know something about them! ip/ THE ART OF BEING BORED. Jeanne. After each " something " you must kiss me! Paul. All right then; what a child you are! I won't be long: mother, son, friend, and guest, — everyone of them very serious ! Jeanne. How amusing that wiH be ! Paul. Don't worry, there are two who are not so serious. I have kept them for the last. Jeanne. One moment, please, pay me first! {She counts on her fingers) Madame de Ceran, one; her son Roger, two; Miss Lucy, three; the two Saint- Reault ; one Bellac, one Loudan and one Arriego, that makes eight! {She puts her cheek up to be kissed) Paul. Eight what? Jeanne. Eight " somethings " — pay. Paul. What a child ! There, there, there ! {He kisses her) Jeanne. Not so fast: retail, if you please. Paul. {After having kissed her more slowly) There, does that satisfy you ? Jeanne. For the present. Now, let's have the two who are not serious ! Paul. First, the Duchess de Reville, the heredi- tary aunt, a handsome old lady who was a beauty in her day Jeanne. {Questioningly) Hmm? Paul. So they say ! A bit brusque and direct — but an excellent lady and very sensible. — As you'll see. But last and best, Suzanne de Villiers! She is not at all serious — it's a fault with her. Jeanne. At last, somebody who's frivolous. Paul. Girl of eighteen, a tom-boy, chatter-box, free with her tongue and her manners — with a life- history that reads like a novel. Jeanne. Umm ! Lovely, let's hear it ! Paul. She's the daughter of a certain widow-^ Jeanne. Yes? Paul. Well? Daughter of a widow — and that THE ART OF BEING BORED. ii ass Georges de Villiers, another nephew of the Duchess ; she adored him. An illegitimate child. Jeanne. Illegitimate? How lovely! Paul. The mother and father are dead. The child was left an orphan at the age of twelve with a princely heritage and an education to match. Georges taught her Javanese. The Duchess, who adores her, brought her into the home of Madame de Ceran, who detests her, and gave her Roger for a tutor. They tried their best to keep her in a convent, but she ran away twice; they sent her back a third time and — here she is again ! Imagine that state of affairs! And that's the end of the story — good, isn't it? Jeanne. So good that you needn't pay me the two kisses you owe me. — Paul. (Disappointed) Ohh ! Jeanne. But I'll pay you! (She kisses him) Paul. Silly! (The door at the back opens) Oh 1 Saint-Reault and Madame de Ceran ! No, she didn't see us. Now- — ahem — ready ! (Enter Mme. de Ceran and Saint-Reault. They pause in the doorway, not seeing Paul and Jeanne.) Mme. de Ceran. No, no, no my friend, not the first poll! Listen to me, 15-8-15 the first poll — There was a secret ballot on that one and there- fore on the second poll : it's very simple ! Saint-Reault. Simple? Simple? Now the second poll, since I have only four votes on the second poll, with our nine votes on the first poll — that leaves us only thirteen on the second ! Mme. de Ceran. And our seven on the first — that makes twenty on the second ! Don't you see ? Saint-Reault, (Enlightened) Ahhh ! Paul. (To Jeanne) Very simple! Mme. de Ceran. I repeat, beware of Dalibert and his Liberals. At present the Academy is Liberal 12 THE ART OF BEING BORED. — at present — at present! {they come down-stage, talking I Saint-Reault. Isn't Revel also the leader of 'the New School? Mme. de Ceran. (Looking at him) Ohh! Revel isn't dead yet, is he? Saint-Reault. Oh, no! Mme. de Ceran. He isn't ill? Saint-Reault. (Slightly embarrassed) Oh, he's always in poor health. Mme. de Ceran. Well then? C Saint-Reault. We must always be prepared, niustn't we? — I'll keep my eyes open. '^ Mme. de Ceran. (Aside) There's something at the bottom of all this! (Seeing Raymond, and going toward him) Ah, my dear Monsieur Ray- mond, I was forgetting all about you; pardon me! Paul. My dear Countess — (Presenting Jeanne) Madame Paul Raymond! Mme. de Ceran. You are most welcome here, Madame! Consider yourself in the home of a friend. (Presenting them to Saint-Reault) Monsieur Paul Raymond, Sub-prefect of Agenis, Madame Paul Raymond, Monsieur le Baron Eriel de Saint-Reault. Paul. I am especially happy to make your acquaintance since, as a young man it was my privilege to know your illustrious father. (Aside) He stuck me on my final examinations ! Saint-Reault. (Bowing) What a pleasant coincidence, M. le Prefet! Paul. Especially pleasant for me, M. le Baron! (Saint-Reault goes to the table and writes.) Mme. de Ceran. You will find my house a trifle austere for a person of your youth, Madapie. You have only your husband to blame if your stay here — it has its moments of monotony, but you may THE ART OF BEING BORED. 13 console yourself with the thought that resignation means obedience, and that in coming here you had no choice. Jeanne. {Gravely) As regards what, Mme. la Comtesse, " To be free is not to do what one wishes, but what one judges to be best " — as the philoso- pher Joubert has said. Mme. de Ceran. {Looking approvingly at Paul) That is quite reassuring, my dear. But I think you will find that no matter how intellectual our circle may be, it is not lacking in esprit. Indeed this very evening you will find the soiree particularly interesting. Monsieur de Saint-Reault has been kind enough to offer to read to us from his un- published work on Rama-Ravana and the Sanscrit Legends. Paul. Really! Oh, Jeanne! Jeanne. How fortunate we are! Mme. de Ceran. After which I believe I can promise you something from Monsieur Bellac. Jeanne. The Professor? Mme. de Ceran. Do you know him? Jeanne. What woman doesn't? How delight- ful that will be 1 Mme. de Ceran. An informal talk — ad usum mundi — a few words, gems of wisdom ; and finally, the reading of an unpublished play. Paul. Oh! In verse? Mme. de Ceran. The first work of a young man — an unknown poet, who is to be introduced to me this evening and whose play has just been ac- cepted by the Theatre-Frangais. Paul. How fortunate we are to be able to enjoy among these charming people another of these wonderful opportunities that one finds nowhere ex- cept beneath your roof. Mme. de Ceran. Doesn't this literary atmos- phere frighten you, Madame? Your charms will be wasted at a soiree like this. 14 THE ART OF BEING BORED. Jeanne. (Seriously) " What appears a waste to the vulgar, is often a gain " — as M. de Tocqe- ville has said. Mme. de Ceran. (Looking at her in astonishment, aside to Favl) She is charming ! (Saint-Reault rises, and goes toward the door) Saint-Reault where are you going?_) Saint-Reault. (As he goes out) To the sta- tion — a telegram — Excuse me^ — I'll be back in ten minutes. (He goes out) Mme. de Ceran. There is certainly something at the bottom of all this ! (She looks among the papers on the table— to Jeanne and Paul) I beg your pardon! (She rings, and after a moment Francois appears) The papers? Francois. M. de Saint-Reault took them away this morning. They are in his room. Paul. (Drawing Le Journal Amusant from his pocket) If you wish the- — — Jeanne. (Quickly checking him and at the same time producing the Journal des Debats * from her pocket and offering it to Mme. de Ceran) This is to-day's paper, Countess. Mme. de Ceran. With pleasure — I am curious about — please pardon me again! (She opens the paper and reads) Paul. (To his wife) Bravo! Keep it up! The Joubert was excellent and the de Tocqueville — I say! Jeanne. It wasn't de Tocqueville, — it was /. Paul. Oh ! Mme. de Ceran. (Reading) " Revel very ill." — So, just what I thought. He isn't losing much time, Saint-Reault ! (Handing the paper to Paul) I found out what I wanted to know, thank you. But I shan't keep you, you shall be shown to yovir rooms. We dine sharp at six; you know the Duchess is *The Jowmal Amuaamt Is a comic paper, the Jovmal dcs Dibats Is avery old and conseTTatlon organ — Tr. THE ART OF BEING BORED. 15 very punctual. At four tea is served; at five we take a stroll and at six have dinner. (The clock strikes four) Ah, four already, and here she is ! (The Duchess enters, followed by Francois, who brings her chair and her work-basket. A maid-' brings tea. The Duchess sits in the chair placed for her) My dear Aunt, allow me to present Duchess. {Settling herself) Wait a minute — wait a minute. There! Present whom? — {She looks through her lorgnette) It isn't Raymond that you want to present, is it? I've known him for many a day. Paul. {Advancing with Jeanne) No, Duchess, but Madame Paul Raymond, his wife, — if you please ! Duchess. {Gazing at Jeanne, who bows) She's pretty — Very pretty! With my Suzanne, and Lucy, despite her glasses, that makes three pretty women in my house — And heaven knows that's not too many — {She drinks) And how on earth did a charming girl like you happen to marry that awful Republican? Paul. {Chaffingly) Oh, Duchess, I a Repub- lican ! Duchess. Well, you were one, at least! {She drinks again) Paul. Oh, well, like everyone else, when I was little. That is the measles of politics. Duchess, everybody has to have it. Duchess. {Laughing) Ah, oh, ah! the measles. Isn't he funny! {To Jeanne) And you, my dear, you like a joke once in a while, too? Jeanne. Oh, Duchess, I have no objection to a little frivolity — in moderation. Duchess. That isn't very frivolous, but it's bet- ter than nothing — so much the worse — I like a little frivolity myself, especially in a person of your age. {To the maid) Here, take this away. {She hands her cup to the maid) i6 THE ART OF BEING BORED. Mme. de Ceran. {To the maid) Will you show Madame Raymond to her room, Mademoiselle? {To Jeanne) Your room is this way, just next to mine Jeanne. Thank you, madame. {To Paul) Come, dear. Mme. de Ceran. Oh, no, I have put your hus- band over there on the other side, among the workers^}, my son, the Count and Monsieur Bellac, in the iSvillion, which we call — a little pretentiously perhaps — the Pavillion of the Muses. {To Paul) Frangois will show you the way. I thought you would be able to work better there. Paul. Admirable arrangement. Countess; I thank you. (Jeanne pinches him) Ouch! Jeanne. {Sweetly) Go, my dear. Paul. {Aside to her) You'll come at least and let me unpack my trunks ? Jeanne. How can I? Paul. Through the upper corridor. Duchess. {To Mme. de Ceran) If you think it pleases those two to separate them like that Jeanne. {Aside) I've gone too far! Mme. de Ceran. {To Jeanne) Aren't you pleased with this arrangement? Jeanne. Perfectly, Madame la Comtesse; and you know better than anyone else quid deceat, quid non. {She bows) Mme. de Ceran. {To Paul) She is perfectly charming ! {They go out; Paul right, Jeanne left.) Duchess. {Seated near the table at the left, working at her fancy-work) Ah, she knows Latin ! She ought to be congenial to the company ! Mme. de Ceran. You know Revel is very ill. Duchess. He is never anything else, — ^what's that to me? THE ART OF BEING BORED. ^^ Mme. de Ceran. (Sitting down) What do you mean, Aunt? Revel is a second Saint-Reault. He holds at least fifteen positions: leader of the New School for instance, a position which leads to any number of others! Just the thing for Roger. He returns to-day, and I've asked the Minister's sec- retary to dinner this evening, you knov/. Duchess. Yes, a new one: Toulonnier. Mme. de Ceran. I take away his position from him to-night. Duchess. So you want to make your son the leader of a school? Mme. de Ceran. It'll be another stepping-stone, you know, Aunt. Duchess. You have brought him up to be a mere chess pawn, haven't you? Mme. de Ceran. I have made of him a serious minded man, Aunt. Duchess. Yes, I should think so! A man of twenty-eight, who has never — done a foolish thing in his life, I'll wager ! It's a perfect shame ! Mme. de Ceran. At thirty he will enter the In- stitute, and at thirty-five, the Chamber of Deputies. Duchess. So you want to begin again with your son, and do with him as you did with his father ? Mme. de Ceran. Did I make so miserable a failure of him? Duchess. I say nothing about your husband: a dry-as-dust creature, with a mediocre intelli- gence Mme. de Ceran. Aunt! Duchess. Of course, your husband was a fool! Mme. de Ceran. Duchess ! Duchess. A fool who happened to know how to behave himself ! You forced him into politics, you'll admit that. And then, all you could make of him was Minister of Agriculture and Commerce. That isn't much to boast about. But enough of i8 THE ART OF BEING BORED. him; Roger's another matter: he has brains and spirit enough — or will have, God willing — Or he's no nephew of mine. That never occurred to you, did it? Mme. de Ceran. I am thinking of his career. Duchess. And his happiness? Mme. de Ceran. I have thought of that, too. Duchess. Ah, yes! Lucy, eh? They corres- pond, I know that. That's fine ! A young girl who wears glasses and has a neck like a — ^! And you call that thinking of his happiness ! Mme. de Ceran. Duchess, you are incorrigible! Duchess. A sort of meteorite, who fell among us, intending to stop two weeks, and has been here two years : a blue-stocking who writes letters to scholars and translates Schopenhauer! Mme. de Ceran. A rich, intellectual, highly- educated and well-born orphan, niece of the Lord- Chancellor, who recommended her: she would be a splendid wife for Roger, and Duchess. That English ice-berg?! Brrrr! Merely to kiss her would freeze the nose off his face! But you're on a false scent. In the first place Bellac has his eye on her : — yes, the Professor ! He's asked me' too many questions about her to leave any doubt in my mind. And what is more, she seems to be fond of him. Mme. de Ceran. Lucy? Duchess. Yes, Lucy,— like all the rest of you ! You're all mad over him. I know more about this than you do. — No, no! Lucy is not the woman for your son ! Mme. de Ceran. I know your schemes : Suzanne is the woman ! Duchess. I don't deny it. I have brought Suzanne here for that very purpose. I arranged that he should be her tutor and her master, so to speak, in order that he might marry her, — and marry her he shall ! THE ART OF BEING BORED. 19 Mme. de Ceran, You have counted without me, Duchess ; I shall never consent. Duchess. And why not? A girl who Mme. de Ceran. Is of questionable origin, ques- tionable attraction, without education, and no man- ners. Duchess. (Bursting into laughter) My living image at her age ! Mme. de Ceran. Without fortune ! Without family ! Duchess. Without family? The daughter of my poor Georges? My handsome, good, kind Georges ! — And she's your cousin after all ! Mme. de Ceran. A natural child! Duchess. Natural? Aren't all children natural ? You amuse me! She's been legally recognised! And good heavens, when the devil's put his fin- ger in the pie why shouldn't the rest of us? Me, too ? Mme. de Ceran. The devil has put his finger in the pie, but not the way you think. You are on the false scent. Duchess. Oh, the Professor ! Yes, Bellac. You told me that. You think no woman can follow his lectures without falling in love with him ? Mme. de Ceran. But Suzanne hasn't missed a single lecture, Aunt, and she takes notes and cor- rects them and copies them — I tell you Suzanne is in earnest. And while he is speaking she never takes her eyes off him ; she drinks in every word. And you think that is all for the sake of science! Nonsense, it isn't the science she loves, it's the scientist. That is as plain as day. You have only to watch her when she's with Lucy. She is fearfully jealous. And this recently acquired coquetry in a girl of her disposition — ! She sighs, sulks, blushes, turns pale, laughs, cries Duchess. April showers! She's just coming into bloom. She's bored, poor child ! 20 THE ART OF BEING BORED. Mme. de Ceran. Here? Duchess. Here? Do you think it's amusing here? Do you suppose that if / were eighteen, I should be here, among all your old ladies and your old gentlemen? I should say not! I'd associate with young people all the time; the younger the better, the handsomer the better, the more admirers I had the better! There are only two things that women never grow weary of : loving and being loved! And the older I grow the more I realize that there is no other happiness in the world ! Mme. de Ceran. There are more serious things than that in life. Duchess. Duchess. More serious than love? Nonsense! Do you mean to say that when that is gone, there is any other happiness left? When we are old, we have false pleasures, just as we have false teeth, but there is only one true happiness, and that is love, love ! Mme. de Ceran. Oh, Aunt, you are too ro- mantic ! Duchess. A fault of my years! Women find romance but twice in their lives : at sixteen in their own hearts, at sixty in the hearts of others. Well, you want your son to marry Lucy; I want him to marry Suzanne. You say Suzanne is in love with Bellac; I say, Lucy. Perhaps we are both wrong; it is for Roger to decide. Mme. de Ceran. How? Duchess. I shall explain the whole situation to him the moment he arrives. Mme. DE Ceran. Do you intend ? Duchess. He is her tutor! He must know. (Aside) That will prick him up a bit; he needs it! (Enter I-VCY.) Lucy. {Who wears a low-cut evening gown, with a cloak) I believe your son has arrived, Madame. Mme. de Ceran. The Count! THE ART OF BEING BORED. 21 Duchess. Roger ! Lucy. His carriage has just come into the court. Mme. de Ceran. At last ! Duchess. Were you afraid he wouldn't return? Mme. de Ceran. I feared he would not return in time. I was anxious about that place for him. Lucy. Oh, he wrote me this morning that he would return to-day, Thursday. Duchess. And you missed one of the Profes- sor's lectures in order to see him that much sooner. Hm, that's lovely! Lucy. That wasn't the reason, Madame. Duchess. (Aside to Mme. de Ceran) You see? — No? Why then? Lucy. No, I was looking for — I — it was another matter. Duchess. I don't suppose it is for that Schop- enhauer gentleman you are all dressed up like that, is it? Lucy. Is there not to be company this evening, Madame ? Duchess. (Aside to Mme. de Ceran) Bellac, that's as plain as day! (To Lucy) Let me con- gratulate you, then. I have noth-ng to complain of, except those frightful glasses. Why do you wear such awful things ? Lucy. Because I cannot see without them, Madame. Duchess. A nice reason! (Aside) Isn't she practical! I detest practical people! She'll pass, she's not as thin as I thought she was! These English occasionally disappoint one pleasantly! Mme. de Ceran. Ah, here's my son! (Enter Roger.) Roger. Mother! Mother! How good it is to see you again ! Mme. de Ceran. How good it is to see you, my dear! (She holds out her hand, which he kisses) 22 THE ART OF BEING BORED. Roger. What a long while it is since I've seen you! — Once more! {He kisses her hand again) Duchess. {Aside) That embrace wouldn't smother anyone! Mme. de Ceran. The Duchess, my dear! Roger. {Approaching the Duchess) Duchess! Duchess. Call me Aunt, and give me a kiss ! Roger. My dear Aunt ! {He starts to kiss her hand) Duchess. No ! No I On the cheek ! You must kiss me on the cheek ! That is one of the privileges of age — Look at him now! Same little mannikin as ever! Oh, you've let your moustache grow; isn't he charming ! Mme. de Ceran. I hope, Roger, you will shave that off I Roger. Don't let it disturb you, Mother, I shall do it at once ! — Ah, how do you do, Lucy ? Lucy. How do you do, Roger? {They shake hands) Have you had a pleasant trip? Roger. Oh, most interesting. Think of it, an almost unexplored country, a veritable paradise for the scholar, the poet, and the artist — but I wrote you all about that ! Duchess. {Sitting down) Tell me about the women ? Mme. de Ceran. Duchess! Roger. {Astonished) ' What women do you mean. Aunt? Duchess. Why, the Oriental women they say are so beautiful — Ah, you villain ! Roger. Let me assure you, Aunt, that I had no time to investigate that — detail ! Duchess. {Indignantly) Detail, indeed! Roger. {Smiling) Besides, the Government did not send me there for that ! Duchess. What did you see, then? Roger. You will find that in the Revue Archeo- logique. THE ART OF BEING BORED. 23 Lucy. Tombs of Eastern Asia; isn't that the subject, Roger? Roger. Yes, Lucy ; now, among those mounds — Lucy. Ah, the mounds — those Tumuli Duchess. Come, come, you can chatter when you two are alone ! Tell me, aren't you tired ? Did you just arrive? Roger. Oh, no, Aunt, I've been in Paris since yesterday. Duchess. Did you go to the theater last night? Roger. No, I went at once to see the Minister. Mme. de Ceran. Good ! And what did he have to say to you ? Lucy. I'll leave you alone! Mme. de Ceran. You needn't go, Lucy. Lucy. Oh, I think I ought to go. I shall return in a few mintues. I'll see you later. Roger. (Taking her hand) Until later, Lucy. Duchess. (Aside) There's a grand passion indeed ! (Lucy goes out. Roger accompanies her as far as door to the left, while Mme. de Ceran takes her place in the arm-chair, at the other side of the table. ) Mme. de Ceran. Now, let's hear what the Minister had to say ! Duchess. Ah, yes! Let's hear. We're anxious to know. Roger. He questioned me as to the results of my trip and asked me to submit my report as soon as possible, promising me a reward on the day it was handed in. You can guess what that reward will be. (He touches the lapel of his coat, as if to show the ribbon of the Legion of Honor) Mme. de Ceran. Officer?* That's all very well, but I have something better. And then? * The second of the three degrees in the Legion of Honor, of which he Chevalier Is the lowpst. 24 THE ART OF BEING BORED. Roger. Then he asked me to convey to you his kindest regards, and begged you keep him in mind when that law came up for consideration by the Senate. Mme. de Ceran. I shall keep him in mind if he keeps me in mind. — You must set to work on your report at once. Roger. Immediately ! Mme. de Ceran. Did you leave cards for the Speaker of the House? Roger. Yes, this morning, and for General de Briais and Mme. de Vielfond. Mme. de Ceran. Good ! It must be known that you have returned. I'll have a paragraph sent to the papers. — And one thing more: those articles you sent back from the East were very good. But I noticed with astonishment a tendency toward — what ' shall I say ? — imagination, " fine " writing I descrip- tions, irrelevancies — even poetry — (Reproachfully) Alfred de Musset, my son ! Duchess. Yes, the article was most interest- ing: you must be more careful. Mme. de Ceran. The Duchess is joking, my dear. But be careful of the poetry, never do it again! You are concerned with serious subjects; you must be serious yourself. Roger. But I had no idea. Mother! — How can you tell when an article is serious? Duchess. (Holding up a pamphlet) When the pages aren't cut! Mme. de Ceran. Your Aunt exaggerates, but take my advice, no more poetry ! — And now, dinner at six. You have an hour to work on your report. I shan't keep you any longer. Go to work, my dear. Duchess. Just a moment ! Now that this tender and affecting scene is over let us talk business, if you please. What about Suzanne? Roger. Oh, the dear child! Where is she? THE ART OF BEING BORED. 25 Duchess. Attending a course of lectures on Comparative Literature. Roger. Suzanne ? ! Duchess. Yes, Bellac's course. Roger. Bellac, who is he? Duchess. One of this winter's crop ! The sea- son's fad in scholars. A gallant knight from the Normal School, who makes love to the ladies, is made love to by them — and thereby makes a com- fortable living. The Princess Okolitch, who is mad about him, like all the old ladies, conceived the idea of having him deliver a course of lectures in her salon, with literature as an excuse, and gossip as a result. It appears that your pupil, having seen all these grand ladies smitten with this young, ami- able, and loquacious genius, has followed in the footsteps of her elders. Mme. de Ceran. It is no use. Duchess Duchess. I beg your pardon ; Roger is her tutor and he ought to know everything! Roger. But what does all this mean. Aunt? Duchess. It means that Suzanne is in love with this gentleman ; now do you understand ? Roger. Suzanne! That child! Nonsense! Duchess. It doesn't take so long for a child to change into a woman, you know. Roger. Suzanne ! Duchess. V/ell, at least that is what your mother says. Mme. de Ceran. I say, — that that young lady is openly courting favor with a man much too serious to marry her, but gallant enough to amuse her, and to have this going on under my own roof, — though it isn't as yet scandalous — is decidedly im- proper. Duchess. (To Roger) Do you hear that? Roger. But, Mother, you surprise me ! Suzanne, a little child I left in short dresses, climbing trees, a child I used to punish with extra lessons, who 26 THE ART OF BEING BORED. used to jump on my knee and call me Daddy — Come, come! It is impossible! such demoraliza- tion at her age Duchess. Demoralization? Because she is in love! You fire a true son of your mother, if there ever was one ! At " lier age ! " You ought to have seen me when I was that old ! There was a hussar, in a blue and silver uniform! He was superb! His brains were all in his sword-hilt! But at my age — ! A young heart is lil