Jacques and His Master: An Homage to Diderot in Three Acts

by Milan Kundera

  Jacques (raising his glass): But first, to every man whose head you've turned!

  Innkeeper: With pleasure. (They clink glasses and drink.) And now . . . Madame de La Pommeraye.

  Jacques: But first, let's drink to Monsieur le Marquis. I'm worried about him.

  Innkeeper: And well you might be.

  (They clink glasses and drink.)

  Scene 4

  During the last lines of the preceding scene, Mother and Daughter have entered and mounted the platform upstage.

  Innkeeper: Can you imagine her fury? Telling the Mar-

  quis she no longer loves him and watching him jump for joy! Gentlemen, she had her pride! (She turns toward the Mother and Daughter.) So she sought out these two creatures. Women she had known long before. A mother and daughter. They had come to Paris for a lawsuit, and having lost it, were ruined. The mother was reduced to running a small casino.

  Mother (from the platform): Necessity knows no law. I did everything possible to place my daughter at the Opera. Is it my fault the silly goose has a rasp for a voice?

  Innkeeper: The gentlemen who frequented the casino came to gamble and dine, but more often than not, one or two would stay on and spend the night with mother or daughter. Which makes the two of them . . .

  Jacques: Which makes the two of them . . . But, let's drink their health all the same. Like your wine, they go down nicely. (Jacques raises his glass. All three clink glasses and drink.)

  Mother (to the Innkeeper): I shall be frank, Madame la Marquise. Our profession is a delicate one and quite dan­gerous.

  Innkeeper (mounting the platform and going up to the Mother and Daughter): I hope you're not too well known in the profession.

  Mother: Fortunately not. At least I don't believe so. Our . . . establishment ... is located in the Rue de Hambourg ... on the outskirts of town. . . .

  Innkeeper: I presume you have no desire to persist in your profession and would not be averse to bettering your lot if I saw fit to help you.

  Mother (with gratitude): Oh, Madame la Marquise!

  Innkeeper: Then you must do everything I say.

  Mother: You may count on us.

  Innkeeper: Very well, then. Return home. Sell all your furniture and any clothes that are the least bit osten­tatious.

  Jacques (raising his glass): To the health of Mademoiselle! No doubt that melancholy air of hers comes from chang­ing masters every night.

  Innkeeper (to Jacques from the platform): Don't mock her, Monsieur. If only you knew how nauseating it can be! (To the two women.) I shall find you some rooms and have them furnished as soberly as possible. You are to leave them only to go to church. You are to walk with your eyes to the ground and never go off anywhere on your own. You are to speak only of God. I shall of course refrain from visiting you. I am unworthy ... to associate with women as devout as you. . . . And now, do as I say! (The two women exit.)

  Master: That woman gives me the shudders.

  Innkeeper (to Master from the platform): And you don't even know her yet.

  Scene 5

  The Marquis has entered from the other side of the stage. He goes up to the Innkeeper and touches her arm lightly. Sur­prised, she turns to face him.

  Innkeeper: Oh, Marquis! How glad I am to see you! What news do you bring of your intrigues? Of all your tender little girls?

  (The Marquis takes her by the arm and strolls back and

  forth along the platform with her, leaning over and whisper­ing his response in her ear.)

  Master: Look at them, Jacques! He's telling her every­thing, the blind pig!

  Innkeeper: I do admire you! (The Marquis whispers something else in her ear.) Still the successful womanizer!

  Marquis: Well, and have you nothing to confide? (The Innkeeper shakes her head.) What about that runt of a count, that dwarf who was always after you. . . ?

  Innkeeper: I no longer see him.

  Marquis: Well, well! What made you give him up?

  Innkeeper: I didn't care for him.

  Marquis: Didn't care for him? The most adorable of dwarfs? Or is it that you're still in love with me?

  Innkeeper: And if I am. . . ?

  Marquis: So you're counting on my return and hoping to reap the benefits of your spotless conduct!

  Innkeeper: Does that frighten you?

  Marquis: You're a dangerous woman!

  (Continuing their stroll, the Marquis and the Innkeeper notice two women coming from the opposite direction; they are the Mother and Daughter.)

  Innkeeper (feigning surprise): Goodness! Can it be? (She lets go of the Marquis's arm and goes up to the two women.) Is it you, Madame?

  Mother: Yes, it is I.

  Innkeeper: How are you? What's become of you after all these years?

  Mother: You know of our misfortunes. We lead a modest and secluded existence.

  Innkeeper: You do well to shun society, but why shun me? . . .

  Daughter: I have often spoken to Mother of you, Madame, but she always says, "Madame de La Pom-meraye? Surely she has forgotten us."

  Innkeeper: How unjust! I'm delighted to see you. This is Monsieur le Marquis des Arcis. He's a friend of mine. You may speak freely in his presence. My, how Mademoiselle has grown!

  (All four continue their stroll together.)

  Master: You know, Jacques, I like that innkeeper. Mark my words, she wasn't born at any inn. She's of a higher station. I have a sense for such things.

  Innkeeper: Indeed! You've blossomed into a beauty.

  Master: Say what you like. She's a noble female.

  Marquis (to the two women): Stay awhile! Please! Don't go!

  Mother (timidly): No, no. We shall be late for vespers. . . . Come along, my dear. (They bow and exit.)

  Marquis: Heavens, Marquise! Who are those women?

  Innkeeper: The happiest creatures I know. Did you notice how calm they were, how serene? There's much to be said for a life of seclusion.

  Marquis: It would cause me great remorse, Marquise, to learn that our separation has led you to such lamentable extremes.

  Innkeeper: Would you rather I opened my door again to the count?

  Marquis: The runt? Most certainly.

  Innkeeper: Is that what you advise me to do?

  Marquis: Without the slightest hesitation.

  Innkeeper (stepping down from the platform; to Jacques and his Master): Do you hear that? (She picks up her glass from the table and takes a drink. Then she sits on the edge of the platform. The Marquis sits beside her.) How old she makes me feel! When I first saw her, she hardly came up to my waist.

  Marquis: You mean that woman's daughter?

  Innkeeper: Yes. I feel like a wilted rose next to one in bloom. Did you notice her?

  Marquis: Obviously.

  Innkeeper: What do you think of her?

  Marquis: She's like a Raphael madonna.

  Innkeeper: Those eyes!

  Marquis: That voice!

  Innkeeper: That skin!

  Marquis: That walk!

  Innkeeper: That smile!

  Jacques: Good Lord! If you go on like this, Marquis, you're done for!

  Innkeeper (to Jacques): Right you are. He's done for. (She stands, picks up her glass, and takes a drink.)

  Marquis: That body! (With these words, he stands and exits, describing a semicircle on the platform as he goes.)

  Innkeeper (to Jacques and his Master): He's swallowed the bait.

  Jacques: Madame Innkeeper, she's a monster, your Mar­quise.

  Innkeeper: And the Marquis? He shouldn't have fallen out of love with her!

  Jacques: I see, Madame, that you don't know the pretty little fable of the Knife and the Sheath.

  Master: Nor do I. You've never told it to me!

  Scene 6

  The Marquis retraces his semicircle downstage in the direc­tion of the Innkeeper and begins to speak to her in a supplicatory voice.

  Marquis: Tell me, Marquise, have you met your friends lately?

&nbs
p; Innkeeper (to Jacques and his Master): You see? He's caught.

  Marquis: It's not right of you! They're so poor, and you never invite them to dine.

  Innkeeper: Ah, I do. But in vain. And no wonder. If word got round that they were seeing me, people would say Madame de La Pommeraye was their patron and they would forfeit their charity.

  Marquis: What! They live on charity?

  Innkeeper: Yes, charity from their parish.

  Marquis: They're your friends, and they live on charity?

  Innkeeper: Ah, Marquis. We who move in society are ill-

  equipped to appreciate the sensitivity of such God-fearing souls. They won't accept aid indiscriminately. It must come from pure, unsullied hands.

  Marquis: Do you know that I was tempted to visit them?

  Innkeeper: A visit from you could be their downfall. With that girl's charms, it wouldn't take long before tongues began to wag!

  Marquis (with a sigh): How cruel . . .

  Innkeeper (maliciously): Cruel is the word.

  Marquis: You mock me, Marquise.

  Innkeeper: I'm merely trying to save you grief. You're letting yourself in for great agony, Marquis! Don't confuse this girl with the women you've known! She will not be tempted. You'll never have your way with her!

  (Crushed, the Marquis withdraws upstage in a semicircle.)

  Jacques: How spiteful she is, your Marquise.

  Innkeeper (to Jacques): Don't try to defend your sex, Monsieur Jacques. Have you forgotten so soon how Madame de La Pommeraye loved the Marquis? Why, she's smitten with him even now. His every word is like a dag­ger in her heart! Can't you see the inferno they both have ahead of them?

  (The Marquis returns to the Innkeeper in a semicircle. She looks up at him.)

  Innkeeper: Heavens! You look dreadful!

  Marquis (walking back and forth across the platform): I'm haunted. I can't stand it. Can't sleep. Can't eat. For weeks I drank like a fish. Then I turned pious like a monk to catch a glimpse of her in church. . . . Marquise! Find a way for me to see her again! (The Innkeeper heaves a sigh.) You're my only friend!

  Innkeeper: I should be only too glad to help you, Mar­quis, but the situation is delicate. She must never think I'm in collusion with you. . . .

  Marquis: I beg of you!

  Innkeeper (imitating him): I beg of you! . . . What do I care if you're in love or not! Why should I complicate my life? You'll have to manage on your own!

  Marquis: I implore you! Abandon me now and I am lost. Do it for their sake if not for mine! I warn you, I'm desper­ate! I'll break down their door, stop at nothing!

  Innkeeper: So be it. . . . As you like. But at least give me time to make the necessary preparations. . . .

  (Servants set chairs around the table upstage as the Mar­quis exits.)

  Scene 7

  Innkeeper (to the Mother and Daughter, who enter up­stage): Come in, come in. Sit here with me at the table, and we'll begin. (They take their seats at the upstage table. There are now two tables on the stage: one at the foot of the platform, downstage, where Jacques and his Master are sitting, and one on the platform, upstage.) When the Mar­quis arrives, we'll all feign surprise. Remember to stay in character.

  Jacques (calling up to the Innkeeper): Madame Inn­keeper, she's a beast, that woman!

  Innkeeper (calling down to Jacques): And the Marquis, Monsieur Jacques, is he an angel?

  Jacques: But no one is asking him to be an angel. Or do you think man has no choice but to be angel or beast? You'd be wiser if you knew the fable of the Knife and the Sheath.

  Marquis (approaching the women with pretended surprise): Oh ... I hope I am not disturbing you. . . .

  Innkeeper (also surprised): In truth ... we weren't ex­pecting you, Monsieur le Marquis. . . .

  Master: What actors!

  Innkeeper: But since you're here, please join us for din­ner.

  (The Marquis kisses the ladies' hands and takes a seat.)

  Jacques: This promises to be dull. Let me tell you the fable of the Knife and the Sheath.

  Marquis (entering into the ladies' discussion): I quite agree with you. What are the pleasures of life? Ashes and dust. Can you guess what man I admire most?

  Jacques: Don't listen to him, sir.

  Marquis: You can't, can you? Well, it's Saint Simeon Stylites, my patron saint.

  Jacques: The fable of the Knife and the Sheath is the moral of all morals and the foundation of all knowledge.

  Marquis: Just think, dear ladies! Saint Simeon spent forty years of his life praying to God atop a pillar forty meters high.

  Jacques: Listen to me. One day the Knife and the Sheath had a quarrel. "Sheath, darling," said the Knife, "I wish you weren't such a slut, giving refuge every day to new knives." To which the Sheath replied, "Knife, darling, I wish you weren't such a lecher, taking refuge every day in new sheaths."

  Marquis: Just think, dear ladies, forty years of his life on a pillar forty meters high!

  Jacques: The quarrel broke out while they were at dinner, and a guest sitting between them spoke up. "Dear Sheath," he said, "dear Knife, you do no wrong in chang­ing knives and sheaths. You did commit a fatal error, though, the day you promised not to change. For do you not yet see, Friend Knife, that God made you to slip into many sheaths?"

  Daughter: Tell me, was the column really forty meters high?

  Jacques: "And you, Friend Sheath, do you not see that God made you to accommodate many knives?"

  (The Master has been listening to Jacques without paying attention to the platform. After these words he laughs.)

  Marquis (with a lover's tenderness): Yes, my child. Forty meters high.

  Daughter: Didn't Saint Simeon suffer from vertigo?

  Marquis: No, he did not. And do you know why, my dear child?

  Daughter: No.

  Marquis: Because he never once looked down from the top of his pillar. He never stopped looking upward, to God. And he who looks upward is forever free of vertigo.

  The Ladies (astonished): How true!

  Master: Jacques!

  Jacques: Yes?

  Marquis (taking leave of the ladies): It has been a great honor. . . . (He exits.)

  Master (amused): Your fable is immoral, Jacques, and I reject and renounce it, declare it null and void.

  Jacques: But you enjoyed it!

  Master: That's beside the point! Who wouldn't? Of course I enjoyed it!

  (The Servants remove the table and chairs upstage. Jacques and his Master turn back to watch the platform. The Marquis goes up to the Innkeeper.)

  Scene 8

  Innkeeper: Tell me now, Marquis: Is there another woman in all of France who would do for you what I am doing?

  Marquis (kneeling before her): You are my one true friend. . . .

  Innkeeper: Let's change the subject. What does your heart tell you?

  Marquis: I'll have that girl or perish.

  Innkeeper: I'd be very glad to save your life.

  Marquis: I know it will upset you, but I must confess: I sent them a letter. And a jewel box filled with gems. But they sent both of them back.

  Innkeeper (sternly): Love is corrupting you, Marquis. What have those two poor women done to you to make you so intent on defiling them? Do you really think that virtue can be bought with a handful of gems?

  Marquis (still on his knees): Forgive me.

  Innkeeper: I warned you. But you're incorrigible.

  Marquis: Dear friend, I want to make one last try. I'm going to give them one of my houses in town and another in the country. I'm going to give them half of everything I possess.

  Innkeeper: As you wish . . . But honor has no price. I know these women.

  (She walks away from the Marquis, leaving him on his knees, and toward the Mother, who comes up to her from the other side of the platform and kneels before her.)

  Mother: Madame la Marquise, don't forbid us to accept his offer! So great a fortune! So great an estate! So great an honor!