The same; 25th September, 1871.
Rimbaud walks into the empty room, smoking his pipe. He looks round the room, then, after a moment’s consideration, goes over and picks up the china animal we have already seen him handle in Scene 1. He contemplates it briefly, then deliberately drops it on the floor and smashes it. He’s moving away, back towards the door, when M. Mauté de Fleurville appears. He’s an imposing man of 64, with a white beard. He’s startled to see Rimbaud, who by contrast, seems remarkably calm.
Rimbaud (hospitably) Morning. Everyone’s out, I’m afraid. They should be back soon. Unless you’ve come to see the old boy.
M. de F. The old boy?
Rimbaud M. Mauté de Fleurville. You’re not a friend of his, are you?
M. de F. Er … no.
Rimbaud No, I didn’t think you were. As far as I can gather he doesn’t have any friends.
M. de F. (faintly) Really.
Rimbaud Yes. Apparently he defeats all comers with an impregnable combination of tediousness and avarice. It is darkly rumoured that he cannot resist rifling the pockets of those who fall stunned by the monotony of his anecdotes.
M. de F. is beginning to show signs of impending fury. He utters one or two indeterminate sounds, but Rimbaud interrupts him, suavely changing tack.
You wouldn’t like to buy a crucifix by any chance, would you? (He produces one from an inside pocket.) Because I happen to have one with me which I can let you have on extremely reasonable terms. It’s ivory, I think.
M. de F. stares at the crucifix, which he recognizes as his own, with rage and incomprehension.
M. de F. Who the hell are you?
Rimbaud I might ask you the same question. Except I’d be more polite.
M. de F. I am Mauté de Fleurville.
Rimbaud Morning.
He exits smartly. M. de F. gapes after him. Then he hurries out the other side of the room. Hiatus. Verlaine and Mathilde appear, the former looking considerably more rumpled than in the first scene and already somewhat drunk.
Verlaine All I’m saying is, if he goes, I go.
Mathilde That’s just silly.
Verlaine We can’t just put him out on the street, he’s only a boy.
Mathilde He’s met all your friends. One of them will give him a bed for a while.
She sits down on the chaise longue and puts her feet up, grunting slightly with the effort.
Verlaine People don’t understand him. I’m the only one who understands him.
Mathilde Well, Daddy certainly won’t understand him.
Verlaine I’m tired of being ordered about by that old bastard. He has no sympathy at all for my position. None of you seem to realize we had a revolution this year, which I supported. I could have been shot. If I hadn’t been thrown out of my job, do you suppose I’d have accepted his bloody charity for one moment?
Mathilde No, but it’s …
Verlaine I’ve been very tolerant with him, but this time I’m putting my foot down. Now do I make myself clear?
Mathilde Yes.
Verlaine And you’re going to give me your full support?
Mathilde Yes.
Verlaine I know you, the minute he comes back, you’ll start agreeing with him.
Mathilde No. I won’t.
Verlaine It’s not asking much, for God’s sake, all I’m doing is helping a friend. I don’t know why we have to go through all this. I’m your husband.
Mathilde I’m sorry, Paul.
Verlaine Are you trying to annoy me?
Mathilde No.
Verlaine Well, don’t.
Silence.
Mathilde Why is it you like him so much?
Silence. Rimbaud slips into the room. He looks cheerful.
Rimbaud I’m off.
Verlaine No, look, you don’t have to go. We’re going to have it out with him when he gets back.
Rimbaud He’s back.
Verlaine What?
Rimbaud We met. I don’t think he’s best pleased.
Verlaine Did he ask who you were?
Rimbaud It wasn’t that kind of conversation.
Verlaine Well, look, we’ve decided you must stay, (to Mathilde) Haven’t we?
Mathilde (hesitates fractionally) Yes.
Rimbaud It doesn’t matter.
Verlaine Of course it matters. Why should we let the old sod treat us like this?
Rimbaud It’s his house.
Verlaine Right, well, I’m going to say either we all stay or we all leave together, what about that?
Rimbaud smiles at Mathilde, a touch ironically.
Rimbaud Suits me.
Verlaine I mean, what could he do?
Mathilde He could cut off our allowance.
Rimbaud Ah.
Verlaine He wouldn’t do that. Yes he would. Well, what the hell, eh, don’t you think?
Rimbaud It’s entirely up to you.
Verlaine Look, why don’t we discuss this over a few drinks? Then … er … I mean, look, go down and order one up for me, I’ll join you in a minute. Actually …
Rimbaud What?
Verlaine I do know someone who has a spare room going. What’s the joke?
Rimbaud Nothing.
Verlaine Listen, if you’d rather …
Rimbaud No, no. I’ll go and order you a drink. (He starts moving towards the door, then stops, turns back and produces a piece of paper out of his pocket.) I’ve got a list here of the books I want from Mauté’s library, I thought you might nick them for me, not all at once, one by one will do. They’ll obviously be more use to me than they are to him.
He hands the list to Verlaine. As he does so, M. de F. sweeps into the room followed by Mme. M. de F. He’s about to speak, but falls silent when he sees Rimbaud. Silence. Rimbaud grins.
Rimbaud (to Verlaine) Don’t be long.
He leaves, bowing to the Mautés. Silence.
M. de F. Since when have you had the right to invite people to stay here without my permission?
Verlaine Since you had the kindness to offer the second floor of your house to Mathilde and me, I’ve treated it as our home.
M. de F. So it is, your home, not a guest house.
Verlaine If I can’t put up one guest in my home when I feel like it, I might as well live somewhere else.
M. de F. If you weren’t so idle, you might be able to afford to.
Verlaine Now, listen, you know very well, that since the Commune …
M. de F. Any excuse.
Verlaine I don’t notice you working your fingers to the bone.
M. de F. Now look here, Verlaine, I want that hooligan out of my house. Is that clear?
Verlaine (roars at him) He’s already left!
M. de F. And when you see him next, you’ll kindly ask him to return all the objects he’s pilfered.
Verlaine What are you talking about?
M. de F. I’d hardly stepped in the door when he tried to sell me one of my own crucifixes, (to his wife) Come along, dear.
Mme M. de F. I think perhaps I’d better stay and have a word with them.
M. de F. Will you come with me!
Cowed by his tone, Mme M. de F. follows her husband out of the room. Verlaine is still furious.
Mathilde You’d better get him to give back Daddy’s crucifix.
Verlaine What?
Mathilde You must get it back from him.
Verlaine I’ve no intention of doing anything of the sort. If your father’s capable of throwing that boy out without a penny he deserves to lose more than a few religious knick-knacks. He’s got no right to have Christ hanging all over his walls. You people don’t understand what poverty is. Do you realize that in Charleville, whenever Rimbaud wanted a book, he had to go and steal it off the bookstall.
Mathilde That proves what sort of a person he is.
Verlaine bounds across the room, seizes Mathilde by the ankles and drags her off the chaise longue. She crashes heavily to the floor. He stands over her as she struggles to her feet, then punches her hard in the face. She goes over again, bringing down a small table as she falls. Brief silence. She moans softly. Verlaine starts forward and lifts her off the floor.
Verlaine I’m sorry … I’m sorry, love … sorry. You shouldn’t have said that. (He helps her over towards the chaise longue.)
M. and Mme. M. de F. hurry in.
M. de F. What’s going on? (Silence.) Mm?
Mathilde Nothing.
M. de F. What was all that noise then?
Mathilde I … knocked the table over.
Mme M. de F. Are you all right, dear?
Mathilde nods, very pale. M. de F. turns to Verlaine, and speaks in a venomous undertone.
M. de F. There’s nothing more contemptible than a man who maltreats a woman.
Verlaine Unless it be a man who maltreats two.
He storms out.
Curtain.