Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays. Various
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and love
Are wings forever fledging out
In a bird neither swan nor hawk.
I am resigned to my unequal destiny, for I know
That my two eyes cannot perceive the same color.
For even when there is calm, anxiety arises
And then, I am not master, not even of my pain.
I would be your friend, but there are obstacles,
Captious dynamics, that put a check upon my words.
I yield to the dumb pride of my huge torment,
The song without words, the sonorous silence,
And I do not desire any one to penetrate
The garden wherein flowers the mystery I adore.
Marquise.
Conserve your mysteries, poet; they will have no heirs.
Poet.
Death is the heir of everything impenetrable.
Marquise.
But only during life do the words of the sphinx
Possess a meaning for our ears.
Poet.
I am terror-stricken by the sphinx.
Marquise.
Coward! The sun blinds him who cannot hearken to the sphinx.
[Sounds of music in the distance.]
Poet.
Does not the music tempt you?
Marquise.
It does, and I feel sure
My lover must be waiting. Will you come with me?
Poet.
No, thanks. I shall remain and think of what has died.
Marquise.
May you have the protection of my defunct illusion.
[She goes out.]
[Curtain.]
MONSIEUR LAMBLIN
A Comedy
By George Ancey
Translated from the French by Barrett H. Clark.
| CHARACTERS |
| Lamblin. Marthe. Madame Bail. Madame Cogé. Servant. |
First published in the Stratford Journal, March, 1917. Reprinted by permission of Mr. Barrett H. Clark.
MONSIEUR LAMBLIN
A Comedy
By George Ancey
Translated from the French by Barrett H. Clark.
[A stylish drawing-room. There are doors at the back, and on each side. Down-stage to the right is a window; near it, but protected by a screen, is a large arm-chair near a sewing-table. Down-stage opposite is a fire-place, on each side of which, facing it, are a sofa and another large arm-chair; next the sofa is a small table, and next to it, in turn, a stool and two chairs. This part of the stage should be so arranged as to make a little cozy-corner. The set is completed by various and sundry lamps, vases with flowers, and the like.
As the curtain rises, the servant enters to Lamblin, Marthe and Madame Bail, bringing coffee and cigarettes, which he lays on the small table.]
Lamblin [settling comfortably into his chair]. Ah, how comfortable it is! Mm—! [To Marthe.] Serve us our coffee, my child, serve us our coffee.
Marthe [sadly]. Yes, yes.
Lamblin [aside]. Always something going round and round in that little head of hers! Needn't worry about it—nothing serious.—Well, Mother-in-law, what do you say to the laces, eh?
Madame Bail. Delicious! It must have cost a small fortune! You have twenty yards there!
Lamblin. Five thousand francs! Five thousand francs! [To Marthe.] Yes, madame, your husband was particularly generous. He insists upon making his wife the most beautiful of women and giving her everything her heart desires. Has he succeeded?
Marthe. Thank you. I've really never seen such lovely malines. Madame Pertuis ordered some lately and they're not nearly so beautiful as these.
Lamblin. I'm glad to hear it. Well, aren't you going to kiss your husband—for his trouble? [She kisses him.] Good! There, now.
Madame Bail [to Lamblin]. You spoil her!
Lamblin [to Marthe]. Do I spoil you?
Marthe. Yes, yes, of course.
Lamblin. That's right. Everybody happy? That's all we can ask, isn't that so, Mamma Bail? Take care, I warn you! If you continue to look at me that way I'm likely to become dangerous!
Madame Bail. Silly man.
Lamblin. Ha!
Madame Bail [to Marthe]. Laugh, why don't you?
Marthe. I do.
Lamblin [bringing his wife to him and putting her upon his knee]. No, no, but you don't laugh enough, little one. Now, to punish you, I'm going to give you another kiss. [He kisses her.]
Marthe. Oh! Your beard pricks so! Now, take your coffee, or it'll get cold, and then you'll scold Julie again. [A pause.]
Lamblin. It looks like pleasant weather to-morrow!
Madame Bail. What made you think of that?
Lamblin. The particles of sugar have all collected at the bottom of my cup. [He drinks his coffee.]
Madame Bail. As a matter of fact, I hope the weather will be nice.
Lamblin. Do you have to go out?
Madame Bail. I must go to Argentuil.
Lamblin. Now, my dear mother-in-law, what are you going to do at Argentuil? I have an idea that there must be some old general there—?
MADAME BAIL [ironically]. Exactly! How would you like it if—?
Lamblin. Don't joke about such things!
Madame Bail. You needn't worry! Catch me marrying again!
Lamblin [timidly]. There is a great deal to be said for the happiness of married life.
Madame Bail. For the men!
Lamblin. For every one. Is not the hearth a refuge, a sacred spot, where both man and woman find sweet rest after a day's work? Deny it, Mother. Here we are, the three of us, each doing what he likes to do, in our comfortable little home, talking together happily. The mind is at rest, and the heart quiet. Six years of family life have brought us security in our affection, and rendered us kind and indulgent toward one another. It is ineffably sweet, and brings tears to the eyes. [He starts to take a sip of cognac.]
Marthe [preventing him]. Especially when one