Innkeeper (to the Mother, still on her knees): Do you imagine I've done what I've done for the sake of your happiness? You shall go and refuse the Marquis's offer at once.
Jacques: What is she after now, that woman?
Innkeeper (to Jacques,): Whatever it may be, it's not likely to further the interests of the two women. They're nothing to her, Monsieur Jacques! (To the Mother.,) Either you do as I say or I send you straight back to your brothel! (She turns away from her and back toward the Marquis, who is still on his knees. The Mother rises and exits slowly.)
Marquis: Dear friend, how right you were. They've refused. I'm at my wit's end. What shall I do? Ah, Marquise, do you know what I've decided? I've decided to marry her.
Innkeeper (feigning surprise): A serious move, Marquis. It deserves careful thought.
Marquis: To what end, Marquise? I can never be more unhappy than I am at present.
Innkeeper: Don't be rash, Marquis. A hasty decision could ruin your entire life. . . . (Pretending to think.) Though they are virtuous, these women. Their hearts are pure as crystal . . . Perhaps you're right. Poverty is no crime.
Marquis: Go and see them, I beg of you, and tell them of my intentions.
(The Innkeeper turns to the Marquis and offers him her hand. He rises, and the two stand face to face. The Marquis smiles.)
Innkeeper: Very well, then. I promise to do so.
Marquis: Thank you.
Innkeeper: What wouldn't I do for you?
Marquis (in a rush of euphoria): Then why not, as my only true friend, why not join me and take a husband?
Innkeeper: Have you someone in mind, Marquis?
Marquis: Why, the little count.
Innkeeper: The dwarf?
Marquis: He's wealthy, witty . . .
Innkeeper: And who will vouch for his fidelity? You, perhaps?
Marquis: One can easily do without fidelity in a husband.
Innkeeper: No, no, not I. I'd be offended. And then, I'm vindictive.
Marquis: If you're vindictive, we'll have our revenge together. Yes, not a bad idea! Do you know what? We'll rent a town house and be a happy foursome.
Innkeeper: Yes, not a bad idea.
Marquis: And if your dwarf gets on your nerves, we'll drop him in the flower vase on your bed table.
Innkeeper: Your proposition is highly attractive, but I will not marry. The only man who could ever be my husband . . .
Marquis: Is the Marquis des Arcis?
Innkeeper: I can admit it to you now fearlessly.
Marquis: And why did you say nothing before?
Innkeeper: By the look of things, I was right not to. The woman you've chosen is much more suited to you.
(The Daughter appears upstage in a white wedding gown and advances slowly. The Marquis sees her and moves toward her as if in a trance.)
Marquis: Marquise, I'll be grateful to you to the grave. . . . (When he reaches the Daughter, they freeze in a long embrace.)
Scene 9
While the Marquis and the Daughter embrace, the Innkeeper moves backward to the other end of the platform without taking her eyes off the Marquis. At last she calls out to him.
Innkeeper: Marquis! (The Marquis fails to react. He is lost in his embrace.) Marquis! (The Marquis turns his head slightly.) Were you satisfied with your wedding night?
Jacques: Good God! And how!
Innkeeper: I'm so glad. Now listen carefully. Once you had an honorable woman, but you were unable to hold on to her. I was that woman. (Jacques begins to laugh.) I have avenged myself by inducing you to marry the sort of woman you deserve. Pay a visit to the Rue de Hambourg, and you'll learn how your wife earned her living! Your wife and your mother-in-law! (She bursts into a devilish laugh.)
(The Daughter throws herself at the Marquis's feet.)
Marquis: You vile creature, you! . . .
Daughter (at the Marquis's feet): Trample me, Monsieur, crush me! . . .
Marquis: Out, you vile creature! . . .
Daughter: Do as you will with me! . . .
Innkeeper: Quickly, Marquis! To the Rue de Hambourg! And while you're there, have a plaque put up, a plaque that says: "The Marquise des Arcis slept here—with one and all." (She laughs her devilish laugh again.)
Daughter (at the Marquis's feet): Have pity on me, Monsieur! . . .
(As the Marquis kicks her away, she grabs hold of his leg, but he shakes her loose and exits. The Daughter remains on the ground.)
Jacques: Just a minute, Madame Innkeeper! That can't be the end of the story!
Innkeeper: Of course it can. And don't you add one jot to it!
(Jacques leaps up on the platform and takes the place recently vacated by the Marquis. The Daughter grabs hold of his leg.)
Daughter: Monsieur le Marquis, I implore you! Grant me at least the hope that you can forgive me!
Jacques: Stand up.
Daughter (on the ground, clutching his knees): Do with me as you see fit! I'll submit to anything!
Jacques (in a sincere voice, moved): Please stand up, Madame . . . (The Daughter does not dare stand.) So many honorable girls turn into dishonorable women. Why not reverse the process for once? (Tenderly.) I firmly believe that debauchery has never tainted, no, never even touched you. Stand up. Don't you hear me? I've forgiven you. Even in the depths of disgrace I never ceased to think of you as my wife. Be honorable, be faithful, be happy, and make me happy. I ask nothing more of you. Stand up, dear wife. Madame la Marquise, stand up! Stand up, Madame des Arcis!
(The Daughter picks herself up, puts her arms around Jacques, and kisses him passionately.)
Innkeeper (calling out from the other side of the platform): She's a whore, Marquis!
Jacques: Hold your tongue, Madame de La Pommeraye! (To the Daughter.) I've forgiven you and want you to know I have no regrets. As for that woman (he nods in the direction of the Innkeeper), not only has she failed to avenge herself; she has done me an immense service. Are you not younger than she, more beautiful, and infinitely more devoted? And now, off to the country, where we're going to have years of happiness. (He leads her across the platform, then stops and turns to the Innkeeper, dropping the role of Marquis.) And I must tell you, Madame Innkeeper, they were very happy years. Because nothing on earth is certain, and the meaning of things changes as the wind blows. And the wind blows constantly, whether you
know it or not. And the wind blows, and joy turns to sorrow, revenge to reward, and a loose woman becomes a faithful wife with whom none can compare. . . .
Scene 10
Toward the end of Jacques's speech, the Innkeeper comes down from the platform and takes a seat at the table where Jacques's Master is sitting. The Master puts his arm around her waist and drinks with her.
Master: Jacques, I don't like the way you've finished off the story! That girl doesn't deserve to be a marquise! She bears a striking resemblance to Agathe! A fine pair of cheats, those two.
Jacques: You're mistaken, sir!
Master: What? I? Mistaken?
Jacques: Badly mistaken.
Master: Since when has a Jacques the right to tell his master whether he's mistaken or not?
(Leaving the Daughter, who exits during the following dialogue, Jacques leaps down from the platform.)
Jacques: I'm not merely "a Jacques." You've even been known to call me your friend.
Master (fondling the Innkeeper): When I call you my friend, you're my friend. When I call you "a Jacques," you're "a Jacques." Because on high, and you know where that is, on high, as your captain used to say, on high it is written that I am your master. And I command you to retract your version of the story's conclusion, which dis-
pleases not only me but also Madame de La Pommeraye, whom I greatly respect (he kisses the Innkeeper) as a woman of nobility with a magnificent ass. . . .
Jacques: Do you really believe, Master, that Jacques would retract a story he told?
Master: If his master so wills it, Jacques wil
l retract his story!
Jacques: That'll be the day, sir!
Master (still fondling the Innkeeper,): If Jacques persists in answering his master back, his master will send Jacques to the shed to sleep among the goats!
Jacques: Well, I won't go!
Master (kissing the Innkeeper,): Yes you will.
Jacques: No I won't.
Master (loudly): Yes you will!
Innkeeper: Would you do a favor for a lady you've just kissed, Monsieur?
Master: Anything her heart desires.
Innkeeper: Then do stop quarreling with your servant. I realize he's insolent, but isn't that precisely what you need in a servant? It is written on high that the two of you will be unable to do without each other.
Master (to Jacques): Do you hear that, servant? Madame de La Pommeraye says I'll never be rid of you.
Jacques: Oh, yes you will be rid of me, Master, because I'm off to spend the night with the goats.
Master (standing up): No you're not!
Jacques: Yes I am! (He begins to exit slowly.)
Master: No you're not!
Jacques: Yes I am!
Master: Jacques! (Jacques continues to exit, but more slowly.) Jacques, my boy! (Jacques continues to exit, but very slowly.) Jacques, dear boy . . . (The Master runs after him and grabs him by the arm.) Well, did you hear that? What would I do without you?
Jacques: All right, then. But to prevent future disputes, let's lay down our principles once and for all.
Master: Agreed.
Jacques: So! Whereas it is written on high that I am indispensable to you, I shall exploit you whenever the opportunity arises.
Master: That's not written on high!
Jacques: All of that was set down the moment our master invented us. It was he who decided that you would have appearance and I would have substance. That you would give the orders and I choose among them. That you would have power and I influence.
Master: If that's the case, then we're switching places.
Jacques: And where would that get you? You'd lose appearance without gaining substance. You'd lose power without gaining influence. Stay as you are, sir. And if you're a good master and do as I say, I promise not to be hard on you.
Innkeeper: Amen. But now that night has fallen, it is written on high that we have drunk our fill and must go to bed.
ACT THREE
Scene 1
The stage is completely bare except for Jacques and his Master.
Master: Tell me, where are our horses?
Jacques: No more silly questions, sir.
Master: It's utter nonsense! A Frenchman traveling through France on foot! Do you know who it is who dared rewrite our story?
Jacques: An imbecile, sir. But now that our story is rewritten, we can't make any changes in it.
Master: Death to all who dare rewrite what has been written! Impale them and roast them over a slow fire! Castrate them and cut off their ears! My feet hurt.
Jacques: Rewriters are never burnt, sir. Everybody believes them.
Master: You mean they'll believe the one who rewrote our story? They won't bother to read the original book to find out what we're really like?
Jacques: Our story, sir, isn't the only thing that's been rewritten. Everything that's ever happened here below has been rewritten hundreds of times, and no one ever dreams of finding out what really happened. The history of mankind has been rewritten so often that people don't know who they are anymore.
Master: Why, that's appalling! Then they (indicating the audience) will believe we haven't even got any horses and had to trudge through our story like tramps?
Jacques (indicating the audience): They? They'll believe anything!
Master: You're in a bad mood today. We should have stayed on at the Great Stag.
Jacques: Well, I was perfectly willing.
Master: Anyway . . . Mark my words. She wasn't born at any inn.
Jacques: Where then?
Master (dreamily): I don't know. But the way she spoke, the way she carried herself . . .
Jacques: I do think, sir, that you're falling in love.
Master (shrugging his shoulders): If it was written on high . .". (Pause.) Which reminds me. You still haven't finished telling me how you fell in love.
Jacques: You shouldn't have given priority yesterday to the story of Madame de La Pommeraye.
Master: I let a great lady take precedence yesterday. You'll never understand chivalry. But now that you're alone with me, I give you priority.
Jacques: Much obliged, sir. Now listen carefully. After I lost my virginity, I went out and got drunk. After I went out and got drunk, my father gave me a beating. After my father gave me a beating, I joined a passing regiment. . . .
Master: You're repeating yourself, Jacques!
Jacques: Me? Repeating myself? Really, sir. There is nothing more shameful than repeating yourself. You shouldn't have said that to me. Now I won't open my mouth till the end of the performance.
Master: Please, Jacques. I implore you.
Jacques: You implore me? Now you're imploring me?
Master: Yes.
Jacques: All right, then. Where was I?
Master: Your father had just given you a beating. You joined a passing regiment. You ended up in a hut, where you were taken care of by a big-bottomed beauty. . . . (He stops suddenly.) Jacques . . . Listen to me, Jacques. ... I want you to be frank with me. . . . Completely frank, understand? Is it true that that woman had a big ass, or are you just saying so to make me happy?
Jacques: Why ask unnecessary questions, sir?
Master (melancholy): Her bottom wasn't so big, was it?
Jacques (gently): Don't ask questions, sir. You know I don't like lying to you.
Master (melancholy): So you led me astray, Jacques.
Jacques: Don't hold it against me.
Master (melancholy): Of course not, Jacques, my boy. I know you had my best interests at heart.
Jacques: Yes, sir. I know how much women with big bottoms mean to you.
Master: You're a good man, Jacques. You're a good servant. Servants must be good and must tell their masters what they want to hear. Avoid unnecessary truths, Jacques.
Jacques: Don't worry, sir. I don't like unnecessary truths. I know of nothing more stupid than an unnecessary truth.
Master: For example?
Jacques: For example, that we are mortal. Or that the world is rotten. As if we had to be told. You know the sort who steps on the stage like a hero and cries, "The world is rotten!" Well, the audience applauds, but Jacques isn't interested, because Jacques knew it two hundred, four hun-
dred, eight hundred years before him, and while he and his sort shout, "The world is rotten!" Jacques prefers to please his master. . .
Master: . . . his rotten master . . .
Jacques: ... his rotten master, by inventing big-bottomed women of the kind he loves so well ....
Master: Only I know, I and the one up there, that you are the best servant of all servants who ever served.
Jacques: So don't ask any questions, don't try to learn the truth. Just listen to me: She had a big bottom. . . . Wait a minute. Which one am I talking about?
Master: The one in the hut where they took you in.
Jacques: Oh, yes. I spent a week in bed there, while the doctors drank up their wine. No wonder my benefactors wanted to get rid of me. Luckily, one of the doctors, a surgeon at the chateau, had a wife who put in a good word for me, and I went to live with them.
Master: So there never Was anything between you and the pretty woman from the hut.
Jacques: No.
Master: What a shame. But never mind! Tell me about the doctor's wife, the one who put in the good word for you. What was she like?
Jacques: Blond.
Master: Like Agathe.
Jacques: Long legs.
Master: Like Agathe. And her bottom?
Jacques and His Master: An Homage to Diderot in Three Acts Page 6