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Vautrin, a play by Honore de Balzac |
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Act 1 |
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_ ACT I SCENE FIRST.
MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. What is the matter, Louise? This is the first time in the twelve years of our mutual mourning, that I have seen you cheerful. Knowing you as I do, it makes me alarmed. THE DUCHESS. I cannot help showing my unhappiness, and you, who have shared all my sorrows, alone can understand my rapture at the faintest gleam of hope. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. Have you come upon any traces of your lost son? THE DUCHESS. He is found! MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. Impossible! When you find out your error it will add to your anguish. THE DUCHESS. A child who is dead has but a tomb in the heart of his mother; but the child who has been stolen, is still living in that heart, dear aunt. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. Suppose you were overheard! THE DUCHESS. I should not care. I am setting out on a new life, and I feel strong enough to resist even the tyranny of De Montsorel. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. After twenty-two years of mourning, what possible occurrence can give you ground for hope? THE DUCHESS. I have much more than hope! After the king's reception, I went to the Spanish ambassador's, where I was introduced to Madame de Christoval. There I saw a young man who resembled me, and had my voice. Do you see what I mean? If I came home late it was because I remained spellbound in the room, and could not leave until he had gone. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. Yet what slight warrant you had for your elation! THE DUCHESS. Is not a revelation such as that more than sufficient warrant for the rapture of a mother's heart? At the sight of that young stranger a flame seemed to dart before my yes; his glance gave me new life; I felt happy once more. If he were not my son, my feelings would be quite unaccountable. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. You must have betrayed yourself! THE DUCHESS. Yes, perhaps I did! People doubtless noticed us; but I was carried away by an uncontrollable impulse; I saw no one but him, I wished to hear him talk, and he talked with me, and told me his age. He is twenty-three, the same age as Fernand! MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. And was the duke present? THE DUCHESS. Could I give a thought to my husband? I listened only to this young man, who was talking with Inez. I believe they are in love with each other. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. Inez, who is engaged to your son, The Marquis? And do you think the warm reception given by her to his son's rival could escape the duke's notice? THE DUCHESS. Of course not, and I quite see the dangers to which Fernand is exposed. But I must not detain you longer; I could talk to you about him till morning. You shall see him. I have told him to come at the hour the duke goes to the king's, and then we will question him about his childhood. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. For goodness' sake, calm yourself; you will never be able to sleep this night. And send Felicite to bed, she is not accustomed to these late hours. (She rings the bell.) FELICITE. (entering the room) His grace the duke has come in with his lordship The Marquis. THE DUCHESS. I have already told you, Felicite, never to inform me of his grace's movements. (Exit Felicite.) MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. I should hate to rob you of an illusion which causes you such happiness; but when I see the height of expectation to which you have soared, I fear a terrible fall for you. The soul, like the body, is bruised by a fall from an excessive height, and you must excuse my saying that I tremble for you. THE DUCHESS. While you fear the effect of despair for me, I fear that of overwhelming joy. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. (watching the duchess go out) If she should be deceived, she might lose her senses. THE DUCHESS. (re-entering the room) Fernand, dear aunt, calls himself Raoul de Frescas. (Exit.)
SCENE SECOND. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. (alone) She does not see that the recovery of her son would be a miracle. All mothers believe in miracles. We must keep watch over her. A look, a word might ruin her, for if she is right, if God restores her son to her, she is on the brink of a catastrophe more frightful even than the deception she had been practicing. Does she think she can dissemble under the eyes of women?
FELICITE. Her grace the duchess dismissed me early. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. Has my niece given you no orders for the morning? FELICITE. None, madame. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. A young man, named Monsieur Raoul de Frescas, is coming to call upon me towards noon; he may possibly ask for the duchess, but you must instruct Joseph to bring him to my apartment. (Exit.)
SCENE FOURTH. FELICITE. (alone) A young man for her? Not a bit of it. I always said that there was some motive in my lady's retired way of living; she is rich, she is handsome, yet the duke does not love her; and now the first time she goes out, a young man comes next day to see her, and her aunt wishes to receive him. They keep me in the dark; I am neither trusted nor tipped. If this is the way chambermaids are to be treated under the new government, I don't know what will become of us. (A side door opens, two men are seen, and the door is immediately closed again.) At any rate we shall have a look at the young man. (Exit.)
VAUTRIN. You mean _you_ would have been down in your luck; you take pretty good care not to be caught again, don't you? I suppose then that you enjoy peace of mind in this house? JOSEPH. That I do, for honesty I find to be the best policy. VAUTRIN. And do you quite approve of honesty? JOSEPH. Oh, yes, so long as the place and the wages suit me. VAUTRIN. I see you are doing well, my boy. You take little and often, you save, you even have the honesty to lend a trifle at interest. That's all right, but you cannot imagine what pleasure it gives me to see one of my old acquaintances filling an honorable position. You have succeeded in doing so; your faults are but negative and therefore half virtues. I myself once had vices; I regret them as things of the past; I have nothing but dangers and struggles to interest me. Mine is the life of an Indian hemmed in by my enemies, and I am fighting in defence of my own scalp. JOSEPH. And what of mine? VAUTRIN. Yours? Ah! you are right to ask that. Well, whatever happens to me, you have the word of Jacques Collin that he will never compromise you. But you must obey me in everything! JOSEPH. In everything? But-- VAUTRIN. There are no buts with me. If there is any dark business to be done I have my "trusties" and old allies. Have you been long in this place? JOSEPH. The duchess took me for her footman when she went with the court to Ghent, last year and I am trusted by both the ladies of the house. VAUTRIN. That's the ticket! I need a few points with regard to these Montsorels. What do you know about them? JOSEPH. Nothing. VAUTRIN. (aside) He is getting a little too honest. Does he think he knows nothing about them? Well, you cannot talk for five minutes with a man without drawing something out of him. (Aloud) Whose room is this? JOSEPH. The salon of her grace the duchess, and these are her apartments; those of the duke are on the floor above. The suite of The Marquis, their only son, is below, and looks on the court. VAUTRIN. I asked you for impressions of all the keys of the duke's study. Where are they? JOSEPH. (hesitatingly) Here they are. VAUTRIN. Every time I purpose coming here you will find a cross in chalk on the garden gate; every night you must examine the place. Virtue reigns here, and the hinges of that gate are very rusty; but a Louis XVIII can never be a Louis XV! Good-bye--I'll come back to-morrow night. (Aside) I must rejoin my people at the Christoval house. JOSEPH. (aside) Since this devil of a fellow has found me out, I have been on tenter-hooks-- VAUTRIN. (coming back from the door) The duke then does not live with his wife? JOSEPH. They quarreled twenty years ago. VAUTRIN. What about? JOSEPH. Not even their own son can say. VAUTRIN. And why was your predecessor dismissed? JOSEPH. I cannot say. I was not acquainted with him. They did not set up an establishment here until after the king's second return. VAUTRIN. (aside) Such are the advantages of the new social order; masters and servants are bound together by no ties; they feel no mutual attachment, exchange no secrets, and so give no ground for betrayal. (To Joseph) Any spicy stories at meal-times? JOSEPH. Never before the servants. VAUTRIN. What is thought of them in the servants' hall? JOSEPH. The duchess is considered a saint. VAUTRIN. Poor woman! And the duke? JOSEPH. He is an egotist. VAUTRIN. Yes, a statesman. (Aside) The duke must have secrets, and we must look into that. Every great aristocrat has some paltry passion by which he can be led; and if I once get control of him, his son, necessarily-- (To Joseph) What is said about the marriage of the Marquis de Montsorel and Inez de Christoval? JOSEPH. I haven't heard a word. The duchess seems to take very little interest in it. VAUTRIN. And she has only one son! That seems hardly natural. JOSEPH. Between ourselves, I believe she doesn't love her son. VAUTRIN. I am obliged to draw this word from your throat, as if it were the cork in a bottle of Bordeaux. There is, I perceive, some mystery in this house. Here is a mother, a Duchesse de Montsorel, who does not love her son, her only son! Who is her confessor? JOSEPH. She keeps her religious observances a profound secret. VAUTRIN. Good--I shall soon know everything. Secrets are like young girls, the more you conceal them, the sooner they are discovered. I will send two of my rascals to the Church of St. Thomas Aquinas. They won't work out their salvation in that way, but they'll work out something else.-- Good-bye.
JOSEPH. (alone) He is an old friend--and that is the worst nuisance in the world. He will make me lose my place. Ah, if I were not afraid of being poisoned like a dog by Jacques Collin, who is quite capable of the act, I would tell all to the duke; but in this vile world, every man for himself, and I am not going to pay another man's debt. Let the duke settle with Jacques; I am going to bed. What noise is that? The duchess is getting up. What does she want? I must listen. (He goes out, leaving the door slightly ajar.)
SCENE SEVENTH. THE DUCHESS E DE MONTSOREL. (alone) Where can I hide the certificate of my son's birth? (She reads) "Valencia. . . . July, 1793." An unlucky town for me! Fernand was actually born seven months after my marriage, by one of those fatalities that give ground for shameful accusations! I shall ask my aunt to carry the certificate in her pocket, until I can deposit it in some place of safety. The duke would ransack my rooms for it, and the whole police are at his service. Government refuses nothing to a man high in favor. If Joseph saw me going to Mademoiselle De Vaudrey's apartments at this hour, the whole house would hear of it. Ah--I am alone in the world, alone with all against me, a prisoner in my own house!
MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. Louise, my child, I only rose to rid you of a dream, the awakening from which will be deplorable. I consider it my duty to distract you from your insane fancies. The more I think of what you told me the more is my sympathy aroused. But I am compelled to tell you the truth, cruel as it is; beyond doubt the duke has placed Fernand in some compromising situation, so as to make it impossible for him to retrieve his position in the world to which you belong. The young man you saw cannot be your son. THE DUCHESS. Ah, you never knew Fernand! But I knew him, and in whatever place he is, his life has an influence on mine. I have seen him a thousand times-- MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. In your dreams! THE DUCHESS. Fernand has the blood of the Montsorels and the Vaudreys in his veins. The place to which he was born he is able to take; everything gives way before him wherever he appears. If he became a soldier, he is to-day a colonel. My son is proud, he is handsome, people like him! I am sure he is beloved. Do not contradict me, dear aunt; Fernand still lives; if not, then the duke has broken faith, and I know he values too highly the virtues of his race to disgrace them. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. But are not honor and a husband's vengeance dearer to him than his faith as a gentleman? THE DUCHESS. Ah! You make me shudder. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. You know very well, Louise, that pride of race is hereditary with the Montsorels, as it is with the Montemarts. THE DUCHESS. I know it too well! The doubt cast upon his child's legitimacy has almost crazed him. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. You are wrong there. The duke has a warm heart, and a cool head; in all matters that concern the sentiments on which they live, men of that temper act promptly in carrying out their ideas. THE DUCHESS. But, dear aunt, do you know at what price he has granted me the life of Fernand? Haven't I paid dearly for the assurance that his days were not to be shortened? If I had persisted in maintaining my innocence I should have brought certain death upon him; I have sacrificed my good name to save my son. Any mother would have done as much. You were taking care of my property here; I was alone in a foreign land, and was the prey of ill-health, fever, and with none to counsel me, and I lost my head; for since that time it has constantly occurred to me that the duke would never have carried out his threats. In making the sacrifice I did, I knew that Fernand would be poor and destitute, without a name, and dwelling in an unknown land; but I knew also that his life would be safe, and that some day I should recover him, even if I had to search the whole world over! I felt so cheerful as I came in that I forgot to give you the certificate of Fernand's birth, which the Spanish ambassador's wife has at last obtained for me; carry it about with you until you can place it in the hands of your confessor. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. The duke must certainly have learnt the measures you have taken in this matter, and woe be to your son! Since his return he has been very busy, and is still busy about something. THE DUCHESS. If I shake off the disgrace with which he has tried to cover me, if I give up shedding tears in silence, be assured that nothing can bend me from my purpose. I am no longer in Spain or England, at the mercy of a diplomat crafty as a tiger, who during the whole time of our emigration was reading the thoughts of my heart's inmost recesses, and with invisible spies surrounding my life as by a network of steel; turning my secrets into jailers, and keeping me prisoner in the most horrible of prisons, an open house! I am in France, I have found you once more, I hold my place at court, I can speak my mind there; I shall learn what has become of the Vicomte de Langeac, I should prove that since the Tenth of August[*] we have never met, I shall inform the king of the crime committed by a father against a son who is the heir of two noble houses. I am a woman, I am Duchesse de Montsorel, I am a mother! We are rich, we have a virtuous priest for an adviser; right is on our side, and if I have demanded the certificate of my son's birth-- [*] A noteworthy date in French history, August 10, 1792; the day of the storming of the Tuileries.--J. W. M.
SCENE NINTH.
THE DUCHESS. Since when have you ventured to enter my apartment without previously sending me word and asking my leave? THE DUKE. Since you broke the agreement we made. You swore to take no steps to find this--your son. This was the sole condition on which I promised to let him live. THE DUCHESS. And is it not much more honorable to violate such an oath, than to remain faithful to all others? THE DUKE. We are henceforth both of us released from our engagements. THE DUCHESS. Have you, up to the present day, respected yours? THE DUKE. I have, madame. THE DUCHESS. Listen to him, aunt, and bear witness to this declaration. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. But has it never occurred to you, my dear sir, that Louise is innocent? THE DUKE. Of course you think so, Mademoiselle De Vaudrey. And what would not I give to share your opinion! The duchess has had twenty years in which to prove to me her innocence. THE DUCHESS. For twenty years you have wrung my heart without pity and without intermission. THE DUKE. Madame, unless you hand me this certificate, your Fernand will have serious cause for alarm. As soon as you returned to France you secured the document, and are trying to employ it as a weapon against me. You desire to obtain for your son a fortune and a name which do not belong to him; to secure his admission into a family, whose race has up to my time been kept pure by wives of stainless reputation, a family which has never formed a single mesalliance-- THE DUCHESS. And which will be worthily represented by your son Albert. THE DUKE. Be careful what you say, for you waken in me terrible memories. And your last word shows me that you will not shrink from causing a scandal that will overwhelm all of us with shame. Shall we air in public courts past occurrences which will show that I am not free from reproach, while you are infamous? (He turns to Mademoiselle de Vaudrey) She cannot have told you everything, dear aunt? She was in love with Viscount Langeac; I knew it, and respected her love; I was so young! The viscount came to me; being without hope of inheriting a fortune, and the last representative of his house, he unselfishly offered to give up Louise de Vaudrey. I trusted in their mutual generosity, and accepted her as a pure woman from his hands. Ah! I would have given my life for her, and I have proved it! The wretched man performed prodigies of valor on the Tenth of August, and called down upon himself the rage of the mob; I put him under the protection of some of my people; he was, however, discovered and taken to the Abbaye. As soon as I learned his predicament, I gave into the hands of a certain Boulard all the money I had collected for our flight! I induced Boulard to join the Septembrists in order to save the viscount from death; I procured his escape! (To the duchess) He paid me back well, did he not? I was young, madly in love, impetuous, yet I never crushed the boy! You have to-day made me the same requital for my pity, as your lover made for my trust in him. Well--things remain just as they were twenty years ago excepting that the time for pity is past. And I will repeat what I said to you then: Forget your son, and he shall live. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. And shall her sufferings during those twenty years count for nothing? THE DUKE. A great crime calls for a great atonement. THE DUCHESS. Ah--if you take my grief for a sign of remorse, I will again protest to you, I am innocent! No! Langeac never betrayed your confidence; it was not for his king alone he went to his death, and from the fatal day on which he bade me farewell and surrendered me to you, I have never seen him again. THE DUKE. You purchased the life of your son by making an exactly contrary declaration. THE DUCHESS. Can a compact dictated by terror be looked upon as an avowal of guilt? THE DUKE. Do you intend to give that certificate of birth? THE DUCHESS. It is no longer in my possession. THE DUKE. I will no longer answer then for your son's safety. THE DUCHESS. Have you weighed well the consequences of this threat? THE DUKE. You ought to know me by this time. THE DUCHESS. The trouble is that you do not know me. You will no longer answer for my son's safety? Indeed--but you had better look after your own son. Albert is a guarantee for the life of Fernand. If you keep watch on my proceedings, I shall set a watch on yours; if you rely upon the police of the realm, I have resources of my own, and the assistance of God. If you deal a blow at Fernand, beware of what may happen to Albert. A blow for a blow!--That is final. THE DUKE. You are in our own house, madame. I forgot myself. Pray pardon me. I was wrong. THE DUCHESS. You are more a gentleman than your son; when he flies into a rage he begs no one's pardon, not he! THE DUKE. (aside) Has her resignation up to this time been nothing but a pretence? Has she been waiting for the present opportunity to speak? Women who are guided by the advice of bigots travel underground, like volcanic fires, and only reveal themselves when they break out. She knows my secret, I have _lost sight of her son_, and my defeat is imminent. (Exit.)
SCENE TENTH.
THE DUCHESS. Not a word on that subject. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. The calm way in which your husband remarks your aversion for your son is astonishing. THE DUCHESS. He is accustomed to it. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. Yet you could never show yourself a bad mother, could you? THE DUCHESS. A bad mother? No. (She reflects.) I cannot make up my mind to forfeit your affection. (She draws her aunt to her side.) Albert is not my son. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. Can a stranger have usurped the place, the name, the title, the property of the real child? THE DUCHESS. No, not a stranger, but his son. After the fatal night on which Fernand was carried off from me, an eternal separation between the duke and myself took place. The wife in me was as cruelly outraged as the mother. But still I purchased from him peace of mind. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. I do not understand your meaning. THE DUCHESS. I allowed the duke to present this Albert, child of a Spanish courtesan, as if he were mine. The duke desired an heir. Amid the confusion wrought in Spain by the French Revolution the trick escaped notice. Are you surprised that my blood boils at the sight of this strange woman's child occupying the place of the lawful heir? MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. Now I can deeply sympathize with your hopes; ah! how glad I should be if you were right in your suspicions and this young man were indeed your son. But what is the matter with you? THE DUCHESS. He is, I fear, ruined; for I have brought him under the notice of his father, who will-- But stay, something must be done! I must find out where he lives, and warn him not to come here to-morrow morning. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. Leave the house at this hour! Louise, you are mad! THE DUCHESS. Come, we must save him at any price. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. What do you propose doing? THE DUCHESS. Neither of us can leave the house to-morrow without being noticed. We must forestall the duke by bribing my chambermaid. MADEMOISELLE DE VAUDREY. Louise, would you resort to such means as this? THE DUCHESS. If Raoul is the son disclaimed by his father, the child over whom I have mourned for the last twenty years, I must show them what a wife, a mother, who has been wrongly accused, can do!
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