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

  Master: What's the use? Your insights are conceited and tasteless; you know everything in advance.

  Jacques: You're right, sir, but do go on. All I've guessed is the barest outline of the story. I can't begin to imagine the charming details of your talks with Saint-Ouen and all the twists and turns of the plot.

  Master: You've upset me. I refuse to say another word.

  Jacques: Please!

  Master: If you wish to make peace, you must tell me your story. Then I can interrupt as often as I please. What I want to hear is how you lost your virginity, and you can be certain I'll interrupt you a few times during your first act of love.

  Scene 3

  Jacques: As you wish, sir; as is your privilege. Look. (He turns and points to the staircase that Justine and Young Bigre are climbing; Old Bigre is standing at its foot.) This is the shop where my godfather, Old Bigre, sells the wheels he makes. The ladder goes to the attic, and my friend, Young Bigre, has his bed up there.

  Old Bigre (calling up to the attic): Bigre! Bigre, you damned do-nothing!

  Jacques: Old Bigre had his bed downstairs, in the shop. Every night after he was sound asleep, Young Bigre would softly open the door and sneak Justine up the ladder with him.

  Old Bigre: The morning bells have rung, and you're still

  snoring away. Do you want me to go up there with a broom and sweep you out?

  Jacques: They'd had such a good time that night they overslept.

  Young Bigre (from the attic): Calm down, Father!

  Old Bigre: The farmer will be here soon for the axle. Get a move on!

  Young Bigre: Coming! (He runs down the stairs, buttoning his trousers.)

  Master: So she had no way out?

  Jacques: None. She was trapped.

  Master (laughing): And shaking in her shoes, I imagine.

  Old Bigre: Ever since he fell for that little slut, he's been snoring half the day away. I wouldn't mind so much if she were worth the trouble. But that wench! If his poor mother could have seen them, she'd have long since given him a trouncing and scratched the slut's eyes out in front of the church after mass! But I put up with it, like an idiot. Well, it's time things changed around here! (To Young Bigre.) Take this axle, and go and deliver it to the farmer! (Exit Young Bigre with the axle on his shoulder.)

  Master: And Justine heard every word up there?

  Jacques: Naturally!

  Old Bigre: Damn it to hell, where's my pipe? I bet that good for nothing of mine took it! Let's see if it isn't up in the attic. (He climbs the stairs.)

  Master: And Justine? Justine?

  Jacques: She slipped under the bed.

  Master: And Young Bigre?

  Jacques: As soon as he'd delivered the axle, he ran over to my house. "Listen," I told him, "go and take a walk around the village. In the meantime, I'll find a way to keep your father busy so Justine can escape. Just be sure to give me enough time." (He mounts the platform. The Master smiles.) What are you smiling about?

  Master: Oh, nothing.

  Old Bigre (who has come down from the loft): Godson Jacques! Good to see you! What brings you here so bright and early?

  Jacques: I'm on my way home.

  Old Bigre: Well, well, Jacques, my boy. Getting to be quite the rake!

  Jacques: What can I say?

  Old Bigre: You and my son both, I'm afraid. Out all night, eh?

  Jacques: What can I say?

  Old Bigre: With a whore?

  Jacques: Yes. But with my father I can't even mention the subject!

  Old Bigre: Which is perfectly understandable. He owes you the same sound beating I owe my son. But how about some breakfast? Wine gives good counsel.

  Jacques: Sorry, Godfather, I can't. I'm dead tired.

  Old Bigre: Gave it your all, eh? I hope it was worth it. Look, I have an idea. My son is out. Why don't you go up to the attic and stretch out on his bed? (Jacques climbs the stairs.)

  Master (calling up to Jacques): Traitor! Scoundrel! I should have guessed!

  Old Bigre: Oh, children! . . . Damned children! . . . (Noises and muffled cries come from the attic.) Poor boy, some dream he's having. ... He must have had a rough night.

  Master: Dream! Ha! He's not dreaming! He's terrorizing her! She tries hard to fight him off, but since she's afraid of being caught, she keeps her mouth shut. You scoundrel, you! You should be tried for rape!

  Jacques (looking down from the attic): I don't know, sir, if I raped her or not. What I do know is that we had rather a good time, the two of us. All she asked me was to prom­ise .. .

  Master: What did you promise, you villain?

  Jacques: Never to breathe a word of it to Young Bigre.

  Master: Which gave you the right to go at it again.

  Jacques: And again!

  Master: How many times?

  Jacques: Many times, and each better than the last.

  (Enter Young Bigre.)

  Old Bigre: What took you so long? Here, take this rim and finish it outside.

  Young Bigre: Outside? Why?

  Old Bigre: So as not to wake up Jacques.

  Young Bigre: Jacques?

  Old Bigre: Yes, Jacques. He's up in the attic, taking a nap. Oh, a father's lot! You're all scoundrels, every last one of you. Well, what are you waiting for? Get a move on! (Young Bigre tears over to the stairs and is about to start climbing.) Where are you going? Let the poor fellow sleep!

  Young Bigre (loudly): Father! Father!

  Old Bigre: He was dead tired!

  Young Bigre: I'm going up there!

  Old Bigre: No, you're not! Do you like it when someone wakes you?

  Master: And Justine heard all that?

  Jacques (sitting at the head of the stairs): As clearly as you hear me now.

  Master: Oh, that's wonderful! The perfect scoundrel! And what did you do?

  Jacques:I laughed.

  Master: You gallows bird! And Justine?

  Jacques: Tore her hair, raised her eyes to heaven, wrung her hands.

  Master: You're a brute, Jacques. A brute with a heart of stone.

  Jacques (coming down the stairs, highly serious): No, sir, no. I am a man of great sensitivity. But I reserve it for the proper occasions. Those who squander their sensitivity have none left when there's a need for it.

  Old Bigre (to Jacques): Ah, there you are! Had a good nap? You really needed one. (To Young Bigre.) He looks as fresh as a daisy now. Go get a bottle from the cellar. (To Jacques.) Now you feel like having some breakfast, don't you?

  Jacques: Do I!

  (Young Bigre comes back with a bottle, and Old Bigre

  fills three glasses.)

  Young Bigre (pushing away his glass): I'm not thirsty this early in the morning.

  Old Bigre: You don't want anything to drink?

  Young Bigre: No.

  Old Bigre: Ah! I know what it is. (To Jacques.) Justine's at the bottom of this. He was out a long time just now. He must have stopped off at her place and caught her with somebody else. (To Young Bigre.) Serves you right! I told you she was nothing but a whore! (To Jacques.) And now he wants to take it out on an innocent bottle!

  Jacques: You may just be right.

  Young Bigre: This is no laughing matter, Jacques.

  Old Bigre: Well, we can drink even if he won't. (Raising his glass.) Your health, Godson Jacques!

  Jacques (raising his glass): Your health! (To Young Bigre.) And you, my friend, have a drink with us. Whatever it is that's bothering you can't be all that bad.

  Young Bigre: I told you, I'm not drinking.

  Jacques: By the next time you see her, the whole thing will have blown over. You have nothing to fear.

  Old Bigre: Well, I hope she makes him suffer. . . . And now let me take you back to your father and ask him to forgive you your escapades. Damned children! You're all the same! You filthy beasts . . . Let's go. (He takes Jacques by the arm and starts off with him. Young Bigre runs up the stairs to the attic. Jacques disengages himself after s
ev­eral steps and turns toward his Master. Exit Old Bigre, alone.)

  Master: An admirable story, Jacques! It teaches us to know our women better—and our friends.

  (Saint-Ouen appears on the platform, which he crosses slowly in the direction of the Master.)

  Jacques: Did you really think a friend of yours would give up a chance at your mistress?

  Scene 4

  Saint-Ouen: Friend! Dear friend! Come . . . (He is at the edge of the platform, holding out his arms to the Master, who is at its foot. The Master mounts the platform, and there he joins Saint-Ouen, who takes him by the arm and promenades back and forth with him.) Ah, how wonderful, dear friend, to have a friend for whom one feels true friendship. . . .

  Master: I'm touched, Saint-Ouen.

  Saint-Ouen: Indeed, I have no friend who is a better friend than you, dear friend, while I . . .

  Master: You? You, kind friend, are likewise the best of friends.

  Saint-Ouen (shaking his head): I'm afraid you don't know me at all, my friend.

  Master: I know you as I know myself.

  Saint-Ouen: If you knew me, you wouldn't want to know me.

  Master: How can you say such a thing!

  Saint-Ouen: I'm despicable. Yes, that's the word, and I have no choice but to apply it to myself: I am a despicable man.

  Master: I refuse to let you slander yourself in my pres­ence!

  Saint-Ouen: Despicable!

  Master: No!

  Saint-Ouen: Despicable!

  Master (kneeling before him): Hold your tongue, my friend. Your words are breaking my heart. Why torture yourself so? Why reproach yourself?

  Saint-Ouen: My past is tarnished. Merely a single stain, yes, but. . . .

  Master: You see? What harm can there be in a single stain?

  Saint-Ouen: A single stain can sully an entire life.

  Master: One swallow does not make a summer. A single stain is no stain at all.

  Saint-Ouen: Oh, no. Single, solitary stain though it be, it's odious. I—I, Saint-Ouen—have betrayed, yes, be­trayed a friend!

  Master: Come now! How did it happen?

  Saint-Ouen: The two of us were pursuing the same young woman. He was in love with her and she was in love with me. While he kept her, I took my pleasure. I never had the courage to admit it to him. But now I must. The next time I see him, I must tell him all, confess to him, unburden myself of the frightful secret. . . .

  Master: Yes, you must, Saint-Ouen.

  Saint-Ouen: Is that what you advise?

  Master: I do.

  Saint-Ouen: And how do you think my friend will re­spond?

  Master: He'll be touched by your sincerity and remorse. He'll embrace you.

  Saint-Ouen: Do you think so?

  Master: I do.

  Saint-Ouen: And that is how you yourself would re­spond?

  Master: I? Certainly.

  Saint-Ouen (opening his arms): Then embrace me, my friend!

  Master: What do you mean?

  Saint-Ouen: Embrace me! The friend I've deceived is you!

  Master (devastated): Agathe?

  Saint-Ouen: Yes . . . Ah, your face has fallen! I give you back your word! Yes, yes! You may do with me as you see fit. You're right. What I did is unforgivable. Leave me! Abandon me! Despise me! Ah, if only you knew what that bitch has done to me, how I've suffered from the treach­erous role she forced me into.

  Scene 5

  The two dialogues proceed simultaneously.

  Young Bigre and Justine come down the stairs and sit side by side on the lowest step. They both seem devastated.

  Justine: But I swear to you! I swear by my father and mother both!

  Young Bigre: I'll never believe you!

  (Justine bursts into tears.)

  Master (to Saint-Ouen,): The bitch! And you, Saint-Ouen, how could you. . . .

  Saint-Ouen: Don't torture me, my friend!

  Justine: I swear he never touched me!

  Young Bigre: Liar!

  Master: How could you?

  Young Bigre: With that swine!

  (Justine bursts into tears.)

  Saint-Ouen: How could I? I'm the most despicable man under the sun! Here I have the best of men for a friend, and I betray him shamefully. And you ask me why? Be­cause I'm a swine! Nothing but a swine!

  Justine: He's no swine! He's your friend!

  Young Bigre (angrily): My friend?

  Justine: Yes, friend! He never touched me!

  Young Bigre: Shut up!

  Saint-Ouen: Yes, nothing but a swine!

  Master: No. Stop spitting on yourself!

  Saint-Ouen: But I must spit on myself!

  Master: No matter what's happened, you must not spit on yourself.

  Justine: He told me he was your friend and there could never be anything between us, even if we were alone on a desert island.

  Master: Stop torturing yourself.

  Young Bigre: He really said that?

  Justine: Yes!

  Saint-Ouen: I want to feel pain.

  Master: We are both victims of the same beast, you and I! She seduced you! You've been so sincere, you've kept nothing from me. You're still my friend!

  Young Bigre: Did he say: "Even on a desert island"?

  Justine: Yes!

  Saint-Ouen: I'm unworthy of your friendship.

  Master: On the contrary. Your pain makes you worthy. You've earned it with the torture of your remorse!

  Young Bigre: Did he really say he was my friend and wouldn't touch you even if you were alone on a desert island?

  Justine: Yes!

  Saint-Ouen: Ah, how generous you are!

  Master: Embrace me! (They embrace.)

  Young Bigre: Did he really say he wouldn't touch you even if you were alone on a desert island?

  Justine: Yes!

  Young Bigre: On a desert island? Swear to it!

  Justine: I swear!

  Master: Come, let's have a drink!

  Jacques: Oh, sir, I feel sorry for you!

  Master: To our friendship, which no tart can destroy!

  Young Bigre: On a desert island. I've been very unfair to him. He's a true friend!

  Jacques: Our adventures, Master, seem strangely similar.

  Master (leaving his role): What was that?

  Jacques: I said that our adventures were strangely sim­ilar.

  Young Bigre: Jacques is a true friend.

  Justine: Your best friend.

  Saint-Ouen: All I can think of now is revenge! And since the bitch has abused the two of us, we must avenge our­selves together! You have only to give the command— tell me what I must do!

  Master (more interested in Jacques and his story, to Saint-Ouen): Later. We'll finish this story later. . . .

  Saint-Ouen: No, no! Immediately! I'll do anything you ask! Tell me what you have in mind.

  Master: Yes, yes, but later. Now I want to see how things turn out for Jacques. (He steps down from the platform.)

  Young Bigre: Jacques! (Jacques jumps up on the platform and goes over to Young Bigre.) Thank you. You're my best friend. (He embraces him.) And now embrace Justine. ("Jacques holds back.) Don't be shy. When I'm around, you have the right to embrace her! I order you to! (Jacques embraces Justine.) We'll be the best of friends, the three of us, friends for life. ... On a desert island . . . You mean you really wouldn't touch her? Not even on a desert is­land?

  Jacques: If she belonged to a friend? Are you out of your mind?

  Young Bigre: You're a true friend!

  Master: The scoundrel! (Jacques turns toward his Mas­ter.) But my story is still far from over. . . .

  Jacques: So being cuckolded wasn't enough for you?