The study of a country house in Normandy, France, about 1900. Before the curtain rises, we hear the sound of church bells. Now we see a room furnished with a center table, some chairs and a desk. R. there is a large French window onto an outer courtyard. U. L. there is a door from the central hall of the house. It is late afternoon of a grey, autumn day. There is a pause, then MARCELLINE enters. She is a slim young woman in her twenties, modestly dressed, and fittingly for a funeral. She removes a black lace veil which has been draped over her head in lieu of a hat, and she puts a small bouquet of flowers on the table.
Now DOCTOR ROBERT enters. He is a man in his thirties, dressed severely, who carries a medical bag in his gloved hands. He watches MARCELLINE as she gets a vase and puts the flowers in it. Now be puts down his medical bag and removes his gloves.
DR. ROBERT: I don’t think you should be as free in this house, as you have been. [He reaches for his card case.] I think we should leave cards and go. [MARCELLINE is busy with the flowers and does not answer.] Couldn’t I just add your name to mine? [Takes a card out.] I can cross mine out and just write—[Now he is writing.] Our deepest sympathy—Doctor Robert and sister... [A pause while he finishes.]
MARCELLINE: Robert, this is probably the loneliest moment of Michel’s life and I would like to be with him.
ROBERT: [He looks at her perplexed.] Marcelline, Michel has never spoken to me about you.
MARCELLINE: Why should he?
ROBERT: Well—it’s proper, that’s why—it might be that because you are an orphan he thinks you are completely independent. But you are under my roof, and I am the nominal head of the family.
MARCELLINE: Michel could not consider marrying while his father was alive.
ROBERT: Other young men have.
MARCELLINE: Michel is not other young men, Robert.
ROBERT: No, that’s true. He has reached a certain eminence as an historian—
MARCELLINE: [Correcting him.] Archeologist, Robert.
ROBERT: He has outdistanced his father certainly—I was never able to read the old professor’s books, and I must say I’ve found Michel’s interesting—[He indicates the one on the table.] Is this the new one?
MARCELLINE: [Looks at it.] Yes ... that’s three years work. He and his father gathered most of that material in Greece.
ROBERT: I remember that trip. Michel came home with quite a cough.
MARCELLINE: Are you uneasy about his health, Robert? Is that why you discourage me?
ROBERT: I am not discouraging you. I believe you are sincere in your devotion to him. I don’t understand it, but I have had to accept it.
MARCELLINE: What is difficult to understand? He is learned, he is considerate, he is gentle—
ROBERT: Those are good qualities, if he was up for Holy orders but he isn’t. You’re talking of a man you want for a husband.
MARCELLINE: Will you let me lead my own life, Robert? Michel and I grew up together and he is the only person I have ever felt safe with.
ROBERT: I don’t quite understand that.
MARCELLINE: I don’t expect you to. There is a great difference between you and me.
ROBERT: And between you and the other young ladies of the village.
MARCELLINE: I have heard you and your friends discuss the other young ladies of the village—as if you were at a live stock sale. How fat they are or how thin they are or if they have good legs—but never what they think or feel!
ROBERT: Marriage is not all poetry and walks in the garden, Marcie.
MARCELLINE: Don’t you tell me what marriage is. I have my own picture of it.
ROBERT: Yes, I know—sickness and health, better or worse—all of the words.
MARCELLINE : Yes... the sharing of everything.
ROBERT: You’d better find out first whether he wants to do all this sharing. You’re not getting any younger.
MARCELLINE: That’s what I mean—you always permit yourself to say the thing that might hurt, but Michel does not. [ROBERT is sorry—he tries to retreat a little.]
ROBERT: I don’t know Michel. I wish I did.
MARCELLINE: That is your fault.
ROBERT: They were away the better part of every year. [He uses his fingers to make his points.] As a child he was in boarding school—until the year he came home so suddenly. After that he and his father were always together, the father tutoring, the boy with a book in his hand wherever they went. How could anyone know them? People around here thought he was crazy to coddle the boy as he did.
MARCELLINE: Michel loved his father very dearly.
ROBERT: Marcelline, I have been in constant attendance here during the old man’s illness. I saw something of this love you speak of—and I say most of it was fear!
MARCELLINE: Fear of what?
ROBERT: [Puzzled.] I don’t know...the father was afraid to let Michel out of his sight—Michel was afraid to stir from the old man’s side. And this is no child—he is a grown man, and perfectly well able to take care of himself.
MARCELLINE: You have never liked him—
ROBERT: He is an eccentric, and I don’t like eccentrics! [Before MARCELLINE can answer him, BOCAGE comes in from the hallway. He is a stout, middle-aged man in the modest black suit of the upper peasantry. He has a pleasant, self-confident manner.]
BOCAGE: Hello, Miss Marcelline.
MARCELLINE: Hello, Bocage.
BOCAGE: That was a fine service—I saw people today I haven’t seen in twenty years. I’ve put your horse under cover, Doctor. It looks as if it might rain. [He goes to the French windows and peers out.] I hope Michel doesn’t get caught in it. He said he wanted to walk home from the cemetery. If he gets a chill he will have that cough again.
MARCELLINE: Has he an umbrella?
ROBERT: We need rain—
BOCAGE: Yes, some of the fields are getting dry. [He comes away from the window.] But you’ve got a nice stand of rye, Doctor. I walked your upper field the other day.
ROBERT: That’s the seed you told me to buy. It ought to be good—at that price ... Will you stay on here and manage, Bocage?
BOCAGE: Yes, the old professor left me my stone cottage and the two fields around it.
ROBERT: Well, that’s fine—Tell Michel we were here, will you Bocage?
BOCAGE: Oh, you musn’t go! Let me get you something. Some Calvados.
ROBERT: No thanks, we really—[But BOCAGE has exited and it is too late. Annoyed at MARCELLINE’S composure.] How long are you going to sit there?
MARCELLINE: Until Michel comes.
ROBERT: [With bite.] Wouldn’t it be more proper if he came to see you?
MARCELLINE: Yes, Robert, it would—Now will you please sit down and be patient? Michel will be here soon. [He stands over her waiting for her to rise.]
ROBERT: Have a little pride, Marcelline!
MARCELLINE: [Quietly.] I have a great deal of pride, Robert.
ROBERT: Well, nobody in the village thinks you have! Let him cover over and see us—Let him act like every other man who’s courting a girl!
[MICHEL enters through the French windows. He might well have heard the last line. He is a fine looking young man, dressed in a dark suit with a mourning band around his arm. He comes into the room and turns to MARCELLINE.]
MICHEL: Hello, Marcie... I’m so glad you’re here. Hello, Doctor. [MARCELLINE rises immediately.]
ROBERT: Our deepest sympathy on your very great loss, Michel!—
MARCELLINE: Are you all right, Michel?
MICHEL: Yes—
MARCELLINE: We waited in the carriage. We thought we could bring you home.
MICHEL: I walked across the fields... What did you think of it?
ROBERT: Very impressive service—
MARCELLINE: [Warmly.] It is always awful, Michel, no matter how it is done.
MICHEL: I wish I could have carried him into the woods and buried him myself. [A pause.] But you are not allowed to do that, are you?
ROBERT: Even if you were, people would still want to pay their respects.
MICHEL: It amazes me how people gather at funerals. The dead one is gone, so it must be the survivor who interests them. How will he act? What will he do? They stand watching and they weigh the sorrow—Is it small, medium or great? I wish I could have satisfied them. I wanted to fulfill what they expected of me—but I didn’t know how. [There is an embarrassed silence, while MICHEL attempts to recover himself. Realizing that they are both still standing:] Marcelline, will you sit down? Robert?
ROBERT: [Moving again toward door.] We just came by for an instant—[But MARCELLINE sits down. ROBERT is left standing. MICHEL looks at him.]
MICHEL: Do you have calls to make, Robert?
ROBERT: No. [But he doesn’t sit.]
MICHEL: [To MARCELLINE. Sitting beside her.] I looked for you, but I couldn’t see you among the others.
MARCELLINE: [Sweetly.] I am glad you looked—
ROBERT: [Clears his throat.] Bocage says your father left him the stone cottage. Were there any other bequests?
MICHEL: I don’t know, Robert.
ROBERT: Have you made any plans?
MICHEL: About what?
ROBERT: Well, about what you’re going to do?
MICHEL: No, Robert.
ROBERT: I suppose you will travel?
MICHEL: I don’t know.
MARCELLINE: [To ROBERT.] You ask so many questions!
MICHEL: That’s all right, Marcie. [To ROBERT.] I have been invited to lecture at the Royal Society in London. Or I can join an expedition to North Africa. You’re right, Robert, I should be making plans.
ROBERT: [To MARCELLINE.] Our countryside isn’t very stimulating for an archaeologist. [To MICHEL.] Is it?
MARCELLINE: This is Michel’s home, Robert.
ROBERT: Yes, but he isn’t like the rest of us—tied down by a profession or a business. You’re free—now. [MICHEL coughs.] I mean, you are free to do what you want to do. Besides you ought to go some place to get rid of that cough.
MICHEL: Where do you suggest I go, Robert? And how long should I stay away?
ROBERT: You know more about that than I do. [He rises.] Come, Marcelline, I’ve got patients to see.
MARCELLINE: Robert means—just a couple of weeks, for a rest.
MICHEL: I know what Robert means. [Now BOCAGE enters from the hall, carrying two glasses and a decanter.]
BOCAGE: Michel, my boy, I guess you need this more than any of us.
MICHEL: [Taking glass.] I’m all right, Bocage.
BOCAGE: (Offering tray to DR. ROBERT.] Doctor?
ROBERT: [To BOCAGE.] I’m sorry but we’ve got to get on our way.
BOCAGE: Oh, the cook’s sliced up a platter of ham and there’s some fresh bread coming in—
ROBERT: Some other time, Bocage.
BOCAGE: [Coaxing.] You’ll stay for supper, won’t you, Miss?
MICHEL: Robert wants Miss Marcelline to go with him.
ROBERT: Yes—good day. [He exits.]
MARCELLINE: [Hesitates at the door.] Shall I stay, Michel?
MICHEL: [Comes to her.] I want you to, but you had better do as he says. [She looks at him and leaves. BOCAGE and MICHEL are left alone. BOCAGE watches him a moment.]
BOCAGE: She likes you. [No answer.] And she doesn’t keep it a secret... She likes you very much.
MICHEL: [He turns to BOCAGE.] I like her very much.
BOCAGE: Well, then, this is the time to count your blessings! [He goes to the desk and takes out a ledger book.] And there are other blessings—this place, your work—Do you know our fruit crop was the largest picking in my twenty-six years here? And the new seedlings have all taken root—[He opens the ledger, puts on his glasses, but looks at MICHEL.]
MICHEL: Bocage, sit with me—I always thought I was alone—more alone than anyone else. But it wasn’t true. I had him. I never knew it would be like this.
BOCAGE: (Puts aside the ledger.] This will pass, Michel, believe me. I’ve had sorrow in my life—and when I was your age. I lost my wife—and... and my child. [He pours himself a drink.] But, you live—[He puts down the bottle.] This is a good home. You can be very happy in time. And you don’t need a lot of people around you. The more people you have, the more demands they make.
MICHEL: [Remembering.] Yes, particularly people who love you. How greedy they are of your time. How they ask you to stay by them five minutes longer, or tell one more story, or take one last turn around the garden. [There is a silence between them. BOCAGE pours himself another drink.]
BOCAGE: You miss your father very much—but he was a very selfish man. Especially the last few months... [He gulps his drink.]
MICHEL: [Quietly.] I don’t think so. He was as he had always been—
BOCAGE: He was better when he was with you. But between times he did things he didn’t know he was doing.
MICHEL: There were no between times. He was never irrational, Bocage.
BOCAGE: [Angrily.] He was wrong—!
MICHEL: Wrong about what?
BOCAGE: [Pouring another drink.] About many things—many things...
MICHEL: Bocage—[Points to the glass.]—before you fortify yourself to a point where you’ve forgotten what you want to tell me, come over and sit down. [BOCAGE looks at him mutely and puts down the glass.]
BOCAGE: Michel—
MICHEL: [Waits for him to sit down.] Yes?
BOCAGE: I tried to tell him ... that I wouldn’t be responsible ... But he was a stubborn old man and he wouldn’t listen... Even the day before he died I tried to explain to him—I tried to make him understand how it would look! [Rising.] I don’t know how to tell you this.
MICHEL: [Gently. Rising to BOCAGE’s side.] Start where it is hardest and then it will get easier as you go along.
BOCAGE: You mustn’t be angry with me, Michel. When all’s said and done, I’m just a hired hand. There is very little you can say to a man after you’ve taken his wages all your life.
MICHEL: [Now he is sympathetic.] Bocage, you can say anything to me. You couldn’t make me angry, not even by trying.
BOCAGE: [Looks up at him and now takes the plunge.] There is a will...
MICHEL: You mean my father made a Will? [BOCAGE nods his head yes.] Well...
BOCAGE: Three weeks ago when you decided not to go to England. You walked into the village to mail your letter and he and I were alone here. He made me write it down word by word, and then I had to be his witness and sign after him. But now if that will were to disappear, who’d be the wiser?
MICHEL: Well, now that you’ve told me, I’d be the wiser. Where is it, Bocage?
BOCAGE: [Averts his eyes.] I don’t know.
MICHEL: [Rises and goes to the desk.] If I am to share my inheritance with the Sisters of Mercy or the village orphanage, I can bear it. [At the desk he opens some compartments.]
BOCAGE: [Rises and pleads with him.] There are no other heirs, Michel. You know that! And my little cottage you will give me whether you see the will or no! Let it be! Don’t read it! He was a sick old man—
MICHEL: Yes, he was. And he was my father whom I loved. He has left me a last message and you are asking me not to read it—not to pay any attention to it. [With authority. He points to the desk.] Now find it for me! Immediately—
BOCAGE: [His hand reaches tremblingly for another ledger.] You will say to me why didn’t I destroy it myself and never let you know it was here. But I could not do that. I, too, have an obligation to him.
MICHEL: Give it to me, please. [He holds out his hand.]
BOCAGE: [Opens the ledger, exposes the paper, but before be hands it over, he speaks very solemnly and humbly.] I swear to you... I will never lift a hand to carry out what he asks. [MICHEL snatches the will, opens it and reads it. Then with some surprise:]
MICHEL: He just wants his debts paid, and his bequests to you and the village taken care of—[He turns back to the will.] “I then leave everything I possess to my only beloved son—”
BOCAGE: In trust—
MICHEL: [Smiles.] And you are to be the trustee?
BOCAGE: Not only me...
MICHEL: [Turns back to the will.]—“should Bocage fail to qualify, my attorneys in Paris—” [To BOCAGE.] This is a favor to me, Bocage. It relieves me of a burden. I don’t want to be concerned with the business of the estate and he knew that.
BOCAGE: That’s right—[He holds out his hand for the paper.] Give it to me.
MICHEL: [Holds on to the paper and looks at BOCAGE puzzled. Then be resumes reading.] “The propriety of my son’s behavior shall be the sole condition of his enjoying his inheritance. And I appoint the same Bocage as full guardian over him, with power to pay or to withhold all income as it may accrue. Should Bocage fail to exercise his judgment or be unable to do so by illness or death, then I direct my lawyers to assume this guardianship—” [MICHEL stops reading, there is a pause, then be speaks very quietly.] What does he mean? “The propriety of my behavior... ?”
BOCAGE: I don’t know.
MICHEL: You must know.
BOCAGE: I don’t, I tell you! It’s an old man’s craziness—
MICHEL: [Looking at the will again.] “Should Bocage fail—” [He searches BOCAGE’s face.] It is some stranger in Paris who will pass on my conduct?
BOCAGE: [Placating.] You know how it is with kidney trouble—his mind wandered...
MICHEL: What has my conduct been but to do my work, to write my books, to conduct myself as a man? [Brokenly.] When did I ever disappoint him?
BOCAGE: He was a moral man.
MICHEL: And what am I? What propriety have I ever neglected? What restraint have I ever escaped from?
BOCAGE: He was full of fear, Michel. And a frightened man is a foolish man.
MICHEL: Frightened? Of what? Of me?
BOCAGE: For you, my boy. In all these years, since that terrible time when you came home from school—he never dared to ask you the questions he wanted to. [Points to the document.] So he’s arranged to have me ask them.
MICHEL: Then ask them!
BOCAGE: [Puts his hand on his arm.] I don’t have to. Whatever sin you committed—God knows you paid for it.
MICHEL: I was eleven years old!... tormented and full of problems... when you are eleven you are not very good at problems. And I solved mine vilely—I know that!
BOCAGE: If it had been anything else—like stealing or lying—the school would not have expelled you. But this was a sin of the fresh, an offense against yourself and the other boy—it frightened your father! He never forgot it.
MICHEL: He never forgot it! Do you think I did? That morning as the teachers packed my boxes, they threw my clothing in as if it were infected. Then they walked me through the courtyard at the recess so that everybody could watch me leave. I was alone on earth. At that moment they cut me away from other human beings. I have never been able to make my way back... not even to my father. [In torment be crumples up the paper.] What did he want of me that I didn’t give him? [There is a pause, then he continues more calmly.] The more I tried to appease him, the less he trusted me. In the end he believed that I must always be guilty of the things he suspected. Otherwise why had I tried so hard to please him?
BOCAGE: Let me burn it, Michel.
MICHEL. No, don’t burn it. I will always keep it. It will remind me that not even he could love me.
BOCAGE: He was a stupid old man! No one should withhold forgiveness!
MICHEL. [Savagely.] I don’t care any more whether he withheld it or gave it—whether he believed in me or hated me. He is a dead man now and I am through with the dead. I’ve got to get out of here! I’ve got to be where he can no longer reach me. I’m going now—tonight!
BOCAGE: Don’t go away like this. Stay until you have got over it. Otherwise you will not come back.
MICHEL: You are right. I will never come back! Never! Never!
BOCAGE: Don’t go among strangers, Michel. You are liked and trusted here..
MICHEL: Don’t lie to me! Even you see in me what he saw.
BOCAGE: Michel! No!
MICHEL: You do! And more terrible than that—they all do!
BOCAGE: You must never believe that! [Outside there is the sound of a bell. It rings twice.]
MICHEL: How can I believe anything else? That is his legacy to me. [The bell rings again. He puts will on table.] I don’t want to see neighbors, Bocage! [BOCAGE hesitates, then exits to the outer door. Now MICHEL is left alone. He snatches off mourning band—tosses it on table, starts to ball.]
MARCELLINE: [off stage] Michel! [She enters followed by BOCAGE.]
MARCELLINE: Michel—I came back to apologize for Robert.
MICHEL: It doesn’t matter, Marcie.
BOCAGE: You came back just in time, Miss. Michel wants to leave here.
MARCELLINE: [To MICHEL.] Because of what Robert said?
MICHEL: No.
MARCELLINE: Where would you go?
MICHEL: As far away as I can get.
BOCAGE: [Quickly.] Maybe just for the winter—
MICHEL: I don’t think so.
MARCELLINE: For how long?
MICHEL: I don’t know.
MARCELLINE: Is it to finish up some work?
BOCAGE: [Quickly.] Yes.
MARCELLINE: Will you be back by spring?
MICHEL: No, Marcie.
MARCELLINE: [In alarm.] Do you mean you might be gone for—for a long time?
MICHEL: Yes, Marcie—I think so.
MARCELLINE: Bocage, will you leave us alone? I can ask you to do that, can’t I? You’re my friend. [To MICHEL.] I have a great favor to ask of you.
MICHEL: Can’t Bocage hear it? He should. He should hear everything.
MARCELLINE: Very well, I don’t care who hears. I was going to wait until spring—But now there may be no spring.
MICHEL: What is it, Marcelline?
MARCELLINE: I want to marry you, Michel. I formally ask your hand in marriage. I have half the money my parents left Robert and me, and I have been careful with it. It isn’t much, but I will be no expense to you. [The two men listen to her in silence.] When I would sit with your father, he made me understand how important your work was. I will never interfere with it, Michel.
MICHEL: [To BOCAGE.] Will you leave us alone, Bocage?
BOCAGE: [Picking up will from table, backing to hall.] He will tell you he is unworthy, Miss Marcelline. But you know better than that—[BOCACE exits. Left alone, there is a pause. Then MICHEL goes to MARCELLINE.]
MICHEL: Marcelline, you are a dear friend—[Then with effort.] My only friend—and you are full of pity for me—[She shakes her head no.] You don’t really mean this.
MARCELLINE: I do mean it.
MICHEL: Look at me!
MARCELLINE: I am looking at you.
MICHEL: Do you see me...?
MARCELLINE: I have never seen anyone else.
MICHEL. You were very fond of my father. But you are not bound by any promise he might have extracted from you, Marcelline. I release you from it.
MARCELLINE: He never asked me to promise him anything.
MICHEL: But he told you what would please him. And that is what you are trying to do. [Then with vehemence.] I know! I did it myself.
MARCELLlNE: Your father liked me. I told him I loved you to get his help. But he never helped me. He said to me once I should try to stop loving you. He said you would never return it. Maybe he was right—here you are going away without a thought of me!
MICHEL: He was wrong about everything!
MARCELLINE: [Very surprised.] Michel—!
MICHEL: You are the only good thought I carry away from this place!
MARCELLINE: Don’t take thoughts, Michel. Take me—
MICHEL: Why did he tell you such a thing! How could he—?
MARCELLINE: [Smiles.] It didn’t matter very much, Michel. I have loved you since I was fourteen—every minute of every day. I loved you when you were here, and when you were away. And I will always love you!
MICHEL: Me...?
MARCELLINE: Why is it so hard for you to believe that?
MICHEL: Because no one ever has—
MARCELLINE: Michel, you’ve never let them—[Pause.] Even now, you won’t let me.
MICHEL: [Despairing.] Marcie, I don’t know what to say to you—
MARCELLINE: I don’t expect you to love me as I love you.
MICHEL: Let me come for you when I can say to you the things you are saying to me.
MARCELLINE: [Sadly.] You won’t. If I were with you, you would turn to me in time. I know it.
MICHEL: [Anguished.] You deserve better than me!
MARCELLINE: For me, there is no better. [She turns to leave. There is a pause.]
MICHEL: Marcelline, this has been one of the most terrible days of my life. I keep hearing my father. If I cannot be responsible for myself, how can I be for you?
MARCELLINE: I didn’t come to you for that. I don’t need another guardian. You said you were going away, so I thought I ought to tell you the truth. Goodbye. [She starts out.]
MICHEL: Wait! You are all I have! I have no one else!
MARCELLINE: [She smiles a little, confidently.] Then take me... You will love me...
MICHEL: [Frustrated.] But—I cannot live here! I must go away from this place!
MARCELLINE: I would go wherever you say.
MICHEL: But I mean now !—Tonight!
MARCELLINE: Yes... I know.
MICHEL: You mean you would go with me?
MARCELLINE: [Indicating herself as she is.] As I am, Michel.
MICHEL: [Calls out.] Bocage! [He goes to her.] Marcie, I will love you... I know I will!
MARCELLINE: [Smiling at him.] Of course you will. [BOCAGE enters.]
MICHEL: Bocage, we are going away together!
BOCAGE: What?
MICHEL: We are going to be married tonight! Away from this place—in another town, surrounded by strangers, away from this, away from all of it—!
BOCAGE: Tonight?
MICHEL: In a few hours! As fast and as far as we can go!
BOCAGE: The finest girl in our village—I am almost as happy as he is, Miss. You do this house great honor.
MICHEL: [Goes to her.] She does me great honor...
The CURTAIN falls
Their house in Biskra. A dividing wall marks off an inner room from a terrace. In the room we see a bed, two night tables and a chair. There is a doorway to the hall in back hung with beaded portieres, and a narrow window-door that connects with the terrace.
It is night and at the rise MARCELLINE and MICHEL are on the terrace together. They are both in dressing gowns and night apparel. He is relaxing in a deck chair while she leans against the wall, peering through a single eyeglass at the sky.
MARCELLINE: There is a small star to one side of the cluster. What’s that?
MICHEL: That could be one finger of the Heavenly Twins. Do you see them?
MARCELLINE: No...
MICHEL: [Takes glass, looks through it, stands, finds star.] Let me show you. [He motions her to him and moves away from the glass, trying to hold it in position while she steps up to look.] Here. Do you see their outspread arms?
MARCELLINE: Yes! Yes! That’s the first time! We never see them back home. [He coughs a little, going L. to sit on wall.]
MICHEL: The sky in Normandy is so dull and cold.
MARCELLINE: But here in Africa it’s brilliant—it’s exciting. [With this she has crossed to sit on wall U. next to MICHEL—solicitously.]
MICHEL: You delight in everything—
MARCELLINE: [Scanning Heavens with glass.] I like every place we’ve been. I liked Genoa, and Naples, and Carthage—[Taking down glass.]—no, I didn’t like Carthage. You coughed too much there. [With real expectancy.] I know I will like Biskra very much. [A pause.] If anyone had told me two months ago that I would be living in the Sahara desert with you—[She laughs, then he laughs with her.]
MICHEL: If anyone had told me two months ago that my life could be like this—[He laughs lightly again—she puts glass in its case from tabouret—he crosses to sit again in derk chair, saying:] We must go to El Sidi Okba.
MARCELLINE: What’s that?
MICHEL: [Sitting into deck chair—head back—relaxed.] The most ancient tomb in the Arab world. I want to show it to you. Maybe you can charm the priests while I take off a rubbing of the inscription.
MARCELLINE: [Coming above him.] Let’s not do that right away. We just got here. Let us rest and be comfortable for the first few days.
MICHEL: Whatever you want—
MARCELLINE: [gently stroking his face and head.] Are you sleepy?
MICHEL: No——
MARCELLINE: Are you going to sit up very long?
MICHEL: For a while. The desert air makes me feel easier.
MARCELLINE: Shall I sit with you?
MICHEL: No, you’re tired.
MARCELLINE: I’m not terribly tired ...
MICHEL: You must be. It was a long train ride. [A pause—she kisses his forehead and crosses to go into bedroom, but he speaks and she turns to listen. He sits up.] Tomorrow we will shop the bazaar and see everything in the village. I’ll buy you a good parasol, and we’ll walk out into the desert. We’ll do a lot of things tomorrow. [He reaches out, takes her hand, kisses it.] Have a good sleep. [He stretches back again—she goes into bedroom.]
MARCELLINE: Yes—[She looks all about the room, turns the bed down with real delight.] This is the first night we haven’t been in a hotel... I like it. It’s private. It’s like nothing I ever saw before, but at the same time it’s a little like our home—[Pause—no answer—she goes to door, looks at him—he turns head to smile lightly at her.]—isn’t it?
MICHEL: Yes. [She looks at him, but he says nothing more. She goes back in, sits on bed, D. side. He coughs—bending forward with the spasm—she listens—it’s over and he feels a chill, goes into bedroom.] Can you spare the shawl?
MARCELLINE: You don’t have to sleep out there.
MICHEL: Marcelline—dearest—you know it’s only because of this cough that I leave you to yourself.
MARCELLINE: [Rising with shawl from D. R. chair and putting it around his neck as be stands at foot of bed.] Yes. Now that we are married, I have the thing I have wanted most in my life.
MICHEL: We have so many things we enjoy. [A pause.]
MARCELLINE: One night you will look at me and say—“Heavens, you look pretty tonight—”
MICHEL: [Pause.] Heavens, you look pretty tonight... [She embraces him hungrily—the move to break the embrace seems to come from him—they sit slowly on end of bed.]
MARCELLINE: [Speaks with difficulty.] Michel... married people say things to one another. I want to say something to you. I will never say it again. And I shall forget it as soon as you tell me. What did other women do?
MICHEL: [A beat.] There were no other women. [Pause.]
MARCELLINE: Are we frightened, Michel? Is that what is wrong with us?
MICHEL: Yes.
MARCELLINE: They teach us all the arts, except how to make you love me.
MICHEL: [Rising to stand above bed.] It isn’t you, it is me! And it has nothing to do with love. [Kneeling on U. L. corner of bed, taking hold of her shoulders.] I never loved you more than I do right this minute!... But I am stopped!
MARCELLINE: [Timidly.] I wonder if you think I will be afraid, or shocked—I won’t be, Michel. To be a good animal is sometimes very beautiful... [MICHEL turns away from her. MARCELLINE sees his deep distress.] If we had had a courtship like the other young people of the village, we wouldn’t be so afraid of each other now. We’d be more at ease. I’ve loved you a long time, and I can wait a little longer—
MICHEL: [Castigating himself.] Wait for what? A magical moment that never comes!
MARCELLINE: It is enough for me that we are together—
MICHEL: [Desperately.] We are not together! Not like people who love each other!
MARCELLINE: [Comforting him.] We will be...
MICHEL: [With increasing pain.] Will be! I should be holding you in my arms now. We are young, and we are on our wedding trip! There must be some way for me to feel what all men feel at such times!
MARCELLINE: [Pause, then quietly.] Maybe not, my darling.
MICHEL: Maybe not—?
MARCELLINE: Haven’t you thought of it, Michel?
MICHEL: Thought of what?
MARCELLINE: [She speaks quietly and with great fortitude.] Sometimes people marry, and live together, and never feel desire.
MICHEL: But it would be like the loneliness of my childhood.
MARCELLINE: [Trying to comfort him.] We would have each other’s comfort and companionship—we would not be lonely... It is a possibility that I have had to accept—
MICHEL: What possibility?
MARCELLINE: That you cannot live with me. That—that you are physically unable...
MICHEL: [Looks at her for a long moment, then he understands.] Do you think I would have married you if that were so?... It is not true...!
MARCELLINE: [Puzzled.] Are you sure?
MICHEL: Of course, yes.
MARCELLINE: You told me you had never been with a woman—
MICHEL: I have not. [There is a pause between them.]
MARCELLINE: Then how can you know?
MICHEL: YOU mustn’t think that! It is not true!
MARCELLINE: I would rather think that—than that while I have been next to you—[She covers her eyes.] You have wanted someone else.
MICHEL: [He takes her hands away from her face, and with sincerity.] Marcelline, it is you I want—There has never been another woman—only you!
MARCELLINE: [Desperately.] But...but I cannot understand it! If you love me, and you are physically able—why have we lived this way? Why... [She has put her two hands on his two shoulders, and he and she are looking into each other’s eyes.] Am I ugly to you? ... Is that it? ... Do I repel you? [She puts her face in her hands and weeps.]
MICHEL: Marcelline, you must not believe that! Anything is better than that I let you believe it. It isn’t true—it isn’t the reason!
MARCELLINE: [Looks up at him.] Even now you don’t want me. I can see it in your eyes.
MICHEL: [Resolutely.] I do! I do! [He looks at her, takes her in his arms and kisses her. Her arms go around his neck and she clings to him passionately, but almost immediately he must hold her away from him as be starts to cough. Now, as the coughing becomes a spasm, be releases her, and she stands watching him with growing concern.]
MARCELLINE: Michel, what can I get you? [He cannot answer, as be turns away from her and bends over the bed to ease himself.] Michel—darling—where’s the medicine? [He helplessly points to the washstand. She gets it quickly, but now he has covered his face. She bends over him, then looks around wildly.] Help—help!
MICHEL: [In a final effort be gasps out.] Don’t look! [Now with a great groan he delivers himself up to the hemorrhage which ends all questions.]
MARCELLINE: [Holding on to him.] Help! Oh, won’t somebody help ... Somebody, please!
The CURTAIN falls