ANNE [between her teeth]. If I could find one evil enough!
VALSIN [slapping his knee delightedly]. There it is: the complete incompetence of your class. You poor aristocrats, you do not even know how to swear. Your ancestors knew how! They were fighters; they knew how to swear because they knew how to attack; you poor modems have no profanity left in you, because, poisoned by idleness, you have forgotten even how to resist. And yet you thought yourselves on top, and so you were — but as foam is on top of the wave. You forgot that power, like genius, always comes from underneath, because it is produced only by turmoil. We have had to wring the neck of your feather-head court, because while the court was the nation the nation had its pockets picked. You were at the mercy of anybody with a pinch of brains: adventurers like Mazarin, like Fouquet, like Law, or that little commoner, the woman Fish, who called herself Pompadour and took France — France, merely! — from your King, and used it to her own pleasure. Then, at last, after the swindlers had well plucked you — at last, unfortunate creatures, the People got you! Citizeness, the People had starved: be assured they will eat you to the bone — and then eat the bone! You are helpless because you have learned nothing and forgotten everything. You have forgotten everything in this world except how to be fat!
DOSSON VILLE [applauding with unction]. Beautiful! It is beautiful, all that! A beautiful speech!
VALSIN. Ass!
DOSSONVILLE [meekly]. Perfectly, perfectly.
VALSIN [crossly]. That wasn’t a speech; it was the truth. Citizeness Laseyne, so far as you are concerned, I am the People.
[He extends his hand negligently, with open palm.]
And I have got you.
[He clenches his fingers, like a cook’s on the neck of a fowl.] Like that! And I’m going to take you back to Paris, you and the Emigrant.
[She stands in an attitude eloquent of despair. His glance roves from her to the door of the other room, which is still slightly ajar; and, smiling at some fugitive thought, he continues, deliberately.]
I take you: you and your brother — and that rather pretty little person who traveled with you.
[There is a breathless exclamation from the other side of the door, which is flung open violently, as ELOISE — flushed, radiant with anger, and altogether magnificent — sweeps into the room to confront VALSIN.]
ELOISE [slamming the door behind her]. Leave this Jack-in-Office to me, Anne!
DOSSONVILLE [dazed by the vision]. Lord! What glory!
[He rises, bowing profoundly, muttering hoarsely.]
Oh, eyes! Oh, hair! Look at her shape! Her chin! The divine —
VALSIN [getting up and patting him reassuringly on the back]. The lady perceives her effect, my Dossonville. It is no novelty. Sit down, my Dossonville.
[The still murmurous DOSSONVILLE obeys. VALSIN turns to ELOISE, a brilliant light in his eyes.]
Let me greet one of the nieces of Widow Balsage — evidently not the sleepy one, and certainly not ill. Health so transcendent —
ELOISE [placing her hand upon Madame LASEYNE’S shoulder]. This is a clown, Anne. You need have no fear of him whatever. His petty authority does not extend to us.
VALSIN [deferentially]. Will the niece of Widow Balsage explain why it does not?
ELOISE [turning upon him fiercely]. Because the patriot Citizeness Eloise d’Anville is here! VALSIN [assuming an air of thoughtfulness]. Yes, she is here. That “permit” yonder even mentions her by name. It is curious. I shall have to go into that. Continue, niece.
ELOISE [with supreme haughtiness]. This lady is under her protection.
VALSIN [growing red]. Pardon. Under whose protection?
ELOISE [sulphurously]. Under the protection of Eloise d’Anville!
[This has a frightful effect upon VALSIN; his face becomes contorted; he clutches at his throat, apparently half strangled, staggers, and falls choking into the easy-chair he has formerly occupied.]
VALSIN [gasping, coughing, incoherent]. Under the pro — the protection —
[He explodes into peal after peal of uproarious laughter.]
The protection of — Aha, ha, ha, ho, ho, ho!
[He rocks himself back and forth unappeasably.]
ELOISE [with a slight lift of the eyebrows]. This man is an idiot.
VALSIN [during an abatement of his attack].
Oh, pardon! It is — too — much — too much for me! You say — these people are —
ELOISE [stamping her foot]. Under the protection of Eloise d’Anville, imbecile! You cannot touch them. She wills it!
[At this, VALSIN shouts as if pleading for mercy, and beats the air with his hands. He struggles to his feet and, pounding himself upon the chest, walks to and fro in the effort to control his convulsion.]
ELOISE [to ANNE, under cover of the noise he makes]. I was wrong: he is not an idiot.
ANNE [despairingly]. He laughs at you.
ELOISE [in a quick whisper]. Out of bluster; because he is afraid. He is badly frightened. I know just what to do. Go into the other room with Louis.
ANNE [protesting weakly]. I can’t hope —
ELOISE [flashing from a cloud]. You failed, didn’t you?
[Madame DE LASEYNE, after a tearful perusal of the stem resourcefulness now written in the younger woman’s eyes, succumbs with a piteous gesture of assent and goes out forlornly. ELOISE closes the door and stands with her back to it.]
VALSIN [paying no attention to them]. Eloise d’Anville! —
[Still pacing the room in the struggle to subdue his hilarity.] This young citizeness speaks of the protection of Eloise d’Anville!
[Leaning feebly upon DOSSON- VILLE’S shoulder.]
Do you hear, my Dossonville? It is an ecstasy. Ecstasize, then. Scream, Dossonville!
DOSSONVILLE [puzzled, but evidently accustomed to being so, cackles instantly]. Perfectly. Ha, ha! The citizeness is not only stirringly beautiful, she is also —
VALSIN. She is also a wit. Susceptible henchman, concentrate your thoughts upon domesticity. In this presence remember your wife!
ELOISE [peremptorily]. Dismiss that person. I have something to say to you.
VALSIN [wiping his eyes]. Dossonville, you are not required. We are going to be sentimental, and heaven knows you are not the moon. In fact, you are a fat old man. Exit, obesity! Go somewhere and think about your children. Flit, whale!
DOSSONVILLE [rising]. Perfectly, my chieftain.
[He goes to the broken door.] ELOISE [tapping the floor with her shoe]. Out of hearing!
VALSIN. The floor below.
DOSSONVILLE. Well understood. Perfectly, perfectly!
[He goes out through the hallway; disappears, chuckling grossly. There are some moments of silence within the room, while he is heard clumping down a flight of stairs; then VALSIN turns to ELOISE with burlesque ardor.] VALSIN. “Alone at last!”
ELOISE [maintaining her composure]. Rabbit! VALSIN [dropping into the chair at the desk, with mock dejection]. Repulsed at the outset! Ah, Citizeness, there were moments on the journey from Paris when I thought I detected a certain kindness in your glances at the lonely stranger.
ELOISE [folding her arms]. You are to withdraw your soldiers, countersign the “permit,” and allow my friends to embark at once.
VALSIN [with solemnity]. Do you give it as an order, Citizeness?
ELOISE. I do. You will receive suitable political advancement.
VALSIN [in a choked voice]. You mean as a — a reward?
ELOISE [haughtily]. I guarantee that you shall receive it!
[He looks at her strangely; then, with a low moan, presses his hand to his side, seeming upon the point of a dangerous seizure.]
VALSIN [managing to speak]. I can only beg you to spare me. You have me at your mercy.
ELOISE [swelling]. It is well for you that you understand that!
VALSIN [shaking his hand ruefully]. Yes; you see I have a bad liver: it may become permanently enlarged. Laughter is my great danger.
ELOISE [crying out with rage]. Oh!
VALSIN [dolorously]. I have continually to remind myself that I am no longer in the first flush of youth.
ELOISE. Idiot! Do you not know who I am!
VALSIN. YOU? Oh yes —
[He checks himself abruptly; looks at her with brief intensity; turns his eyes away, half closing them in quick meditation; smiles, as upon some secret pleasantry, and proceeds briskly.]
Oh yes, yes, I know who you are.
ELOISE [beginning haughtily]. Then you —
VALSIN [at once cutting her off]. As to your name, I do not say. Names at best are details; and your own is a detail that could hardly be thought to matter. What you are is obvious: you joined Louis and his sister in Paris at the barriers, and traveled with them as “Marie Balsage,” a sister. You might save us a little trouble by giving us your real name; you will probably refuse, and the police will have to look it up when I take you back to Paris. Frankly, you are of no importance to us, though of course we’ll send you to the Tribunal. No doubt you are a poor relative of the Valny-
Cheraults, or, perhaps, you may have been a governess in the Laseyne family, or —
ELOISE [under her breath]. Idiot! Idiot! VALSIN [with subterranean enjoyment, watching her sidelong]. Or the good-looking wife of some faithful retainer of the Emigrant’s, perhaps.
ELOISE [with a shrill laugh]. Does the Committee of Public Safety betray the same intelligence in the appointment of all its agents? [Violently.] Imbecile, I —
VALSIN [quickly raising his voice to check her]. You are of no importance, I tell you!
[Changing his tone.]
Of course I mean politically. [With broad gallantry.] Otherwise, I am the first to admit extreme susceptibility. I saw that you observed it on the way — at the taverns, in the diligence, at the posting-houses, at —
ELOISE [with serenity]. Yes. I am accustomed to oglers.
VALSIN. Alas, I believe you! My unfortunate sex is but too responsive.
ELOISE [gasping]. “Responsive” — Oh! VALSIN [indulgently]. Let us return to the safer subject. Presently I shall arrest those people in the other room and, regretfully, you too. But first I pamper myself; I chat; I have an attractive woman to listen. In the matter of the arrest, I delay my fire; I do not flash in the pan, but I lengthen my fuse. Why? For the same reason that when I was a little boy and had something good to eat, I always first paid it the compliments of an epicure. I looked at it a long while. I played with it. Then — I devoured it! I am still like that. And Louis yonder is good to eat, because I happen not to love him. However, I should mention that I doubt if he could recall either myself or the circumstance which annoyed me; some episodes are sometimes so little to certain people and so significant to certain other people.
[He smiles, stretching himself luxuriously in his chair.]
Behold me, Citizeness! I am explained. I am indulging my humor: I play with my cake. Let us see into what curious little figures I can twist it.
ELOISE. Idiot!
VALSIN [pleasantly]. I have lost count, but I think that is the sixth idiot you have called me. Aha, it is only history, which one admires for repeating itself. Good! Let us march. I shall play —
[He picks up the “permit” from the desk, studies it absently, and looks whimsically at her over his shoulder, continuing:]
I shall play with — with all four of you.
ELOISE [impulsively]. Four?
VALSIN. I am not easy to deceive; there are four of you here.
ELOISE [staring]. So?
VALSIN. Louis brought you and his sister from Paris: a party of three. This “permit” which he forged is for four; the original three and the woman you mentioned a while ago, Eloise d’Anville. Hence she must have joined you here. The deduction is plain: there are three people in that room: the Emigrant, his sister, and this Eloise d’Anville. To the trained mind such reasoning is simple.
ELOISE [elated]. Perfectly!
VALSIN [with an air of cunning]. Nothing escapes me. You see that.
ELOISE. At first glance! I make you my most profound compliments. Sir, you are an eagle!
VALSIN [smugly]. Thanks. Now, then, pretty governess, you thought this d’Anville might be able to help you. What put that in your head?
ELOISE [with severity]. Do you pretend not to know what she is?
VALSIN. A heroine I have had the misfortune never to encounter. But I am informed of her character and history.
ELOISE [sternly]. Then you understand that even the Agent of the National Committee risks his head if he dares touch people she chooses to protect.
VALSIN [extending his hand in plaintive appeal]. Be generous to my opacity. How could she protect anybody?
ELOISE [with condescension]. She has earned the gratitude —
VALSIN. Of whom?
ELOISE [superbly]. Of the Nation!
VALSIN [breaking out again]. Ha, ha, ha!
[Clutching at his side.]
Pardon, oh, pardon, liver of mine. I must not die; my life is still useful.
ELOISE [persisting stormily]. Of the People, stupidity! Of the whole People, dolt! Of France, blockhead!
VALSIN [with a violent effort, conquering his hilarity]. There! I am saved. Let us be solemn, my child; it is better for my malady. You are still so young that one can instruct you that individuals are rarely grateful; “the People,” never. What you call “the People” means folk who are not always sure of their next meal; therefore their great political and patriotic question is the cost of food. Their heroes are the champions who are going to make it cheaper; and when these champions fail them or cease to be useful to them, then they either forget these poor champions — or eat them. Let us hear what your Eloise d’Anville has done to earn the reward of being forgotten instead of eaten.
ELOISE [her lips quivering]. She surrendered her property voluntarily. She gave up all she owned to the Nation.
VALSIN [genially]. And immediately went to live with her relatives in great luxury.
ELOISE [choking]. The Republic will protect her. She gave her whole estate —
VALSIN. And the order for its confiscation was already written when she did it.
ELOISE [passionately]. Ah — liar!
VALSIN [smiling]. I have seen the order.
[She leans against the wall, breathing heavily. He goes on, smoothly.]
Yes, this martyr “gave” us her property; but one hears that she went to the opera just the same and wore more jewels than ever, and lived richly upon the Laseynes and Valny-Cheraults, until they were confiscated. Why, all the world knows about this woman; and let me tell you, to your credit, my governess, I think you have a charitable heart: you are the only person I ever heard speak kindly of her.
ELOISE [setting her teeth]. Venom!
VALSIN [observing her slyly]. It is with difficulty I am restraining my curiosity to see her — also to hear her! — when she learns of her proscription by a grateful Republic.
ELOISE [with shrill mockery]. Proscribed? Eloise d’Anville proscribed? Your inventions should be more plausible, Goodman Spy! I knew you were lying —
VALSIN [smiling]. You do not believe — ELOISE [proudly]. Eloise d’Anville is a known Girondist. The Gironde is the real power in France.
VALSIN [mildly]. That party has fallen.
ELOISE [with fire]. Not far! It will revive.
VALSIN. Pardon, Citizeness, but you are behind the times, and they are very fast nowadays — the times. The Gironde is dead.
ELOISE [ominously]. It may survive you, my friend. Take care!
VALSIN [unimpressed]. The Gironde had a grand façade, and that was all. It was a party composed of amateurs and orators; and of course there were some noisy camp-followers and a few comic-opera vivandières, such as this d’Anville. In short, the Gironde looked enormous because it was hollow. It was like a pie that is all crust. We have tapped the crust — with a knife, Citizeness. There is nothing left.
ELOISE [contemptuously]. You say
so. Nevertheless, the Rolands —
VALSIN [gravely]. Roland was found in a field yesterday; he had killed himself. His wife was guillotined the day after you left Paris. Every one of their political friends is proscribed.
ELOISE [shaking as with bitter cold]. It is a lie! Not Eloise d’Anville!
VALSIN [rising]. Would you like to see the warrant for her arrest.
[He takes a packet of documents from his breast pocket, selects one, and spreads it open before her.]
Let me read you her description:— “Eloise d’Anville, aristocrat. Figure, comely. Complexion, blond. Eyes, dark blue. Nose, straight. Mouth, wide—”
ELOISE [in a burst of passion, striking the warrant a violent blow with her clenched fist.] Let them dare!
[Beside herself, she strikes again, tearing the paper from his grasp. She stamps upon it.]
Let them dare, I say!
VALSIN [picking up the warrant]. Dare to say her mouth is wide?
ELOISE [cyclonic]. Dare to arrest her! VALSIN. It does seem a pity.
[He folds the warrant slowly and replaces it in his pocket.] Yes, a great pity. She was the one amusing thing in all this sombemess. She will be missed. The Revolution will lack its joke.
ELOISE [recoiling, her passion exhausted]. Ah, infamy!
[She turns from him, covering her face with her hands].
VALSIN [with a soothing gesture]. Being only her friend, you speak mildly. The d’Anville herself would call it blasphemy.
ELOISE [with difficulty]. She is — so vain — then?
VALSIN [lightly]. Oh, a type — an actress.
ELOISE [her back to him]. How do you know? You said —
VALSIN. That I had not encountered her. [Glibly.] One knows best the people one has never seen. Intimacy confuses judgment. I confess to that amount of hatred for the former Marquis de Valny-Cherault that I take as great an interest in all that concerns him as if I loved him. And the little d’Anville concerns him — yes, almost one would say, consumes him. The unfortunate man is said to be so blindly faithful that he can speak her name without laughing.
Collected Works of Booth Tarkington Page 534