MADAME SAND 
 
 Philip M o e / / e r
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Kenneth Macgowan
 
 MADAME SAND 
 
 A Biographical Comedy
 
 SOME BORZOI PLAYS AND 
 BOOKS ABOUT THE THEATRE 
 
 WAR 
 
 by Michael Artzibashef 
 
 MOLOCH 
 
 by Beulah Marie Dix 
 
 "MORAL" 
 
 by Ludwig Thoma 
 
 THE INSPECTOR-GENERAL 
 
 by Nicolay Gogol 
 
 HADDA PADDA 
 
 by Godmundur Kamban 
 
 NJU 
 
 by Ossip Dymow 
 
 THE ART THEATRE 
 by Sheldon Cheney 
 
 FOUR PLAYS BY AUGIER 
 
 Preface by Brieux 
 
 MR. GEORGE JEAN NATHAN 
 PRESENTS 
 by George Jean Nathan
 
 MADAME SAND 
 
 A Biographical Comedy 
 
 BY 
 
 PHILIP MOELLER 
 
 WITH A FOREWORD Y MRS. FfSKE AND 
 AN INTRODUCTION BY ARTHUR HOPKINS 
 
 "As I have never loved before . . . ' 
 
 NEW YORK : ALFRED A. KNOPF : 1917
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY 
 PHILIP MOELLER 
 
 Published November ,1917 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OJ AMERICA
 
 Collega 
 Library 
 
 PS 
 
 3S.2S" 
 
 /or wAow the play was written 
 and to 
 
 ARTHUR HOPKINS 
 for whom I wrote the play
 
 KLAW & ERLANGER AND GEORGE C. TYLER 
 Present 
 
 MRS. FISKE 
 
 -IN 
 
 "MADAME SAND" 
 
 A Three- Act Comedy by Philip Moeller. 
 Under the direction of ARTHUR HOPKINS. 
 
 THE PLAYERS 
 (In the order of their appearance.) 
 
 Rosalie .Jean Robb 
 
 Madame de Musset Muriel Hope 
 
 Paul de Musset Harold Hendee 
 
 Casimir Dudevant Ben Lewin 
 
 Buloz Walter Kingsford 
 
 Heinrich Heine Ferdinand Gottschalk 
 
 Alfred de Musset Jose Ruben 
 
 Madame Julie Aurore Lucille Amandine Dudevant 
 
 (George Sand) Mrs. Fiske 
 
 Doctor Guiseppi Pagello .John Davidson 
 
 Lucretia Violente Olin Field 
 
 Mile. De Fleury Marjorie Hollis 
 
 Mile. Rolande Imogen Fairchild 
 
 Milt. De Latour Caroline Kohl 
 
 7ranz Liszt Owen Meech 
 
 Frederic Chopin Alfred Cross 
 
 Guests at the Reception of the Baron de Rothschild 
 
 PROGRAM OF FIRST PERFORMANCE AT THE ACADEMY OP MUSIC, 
 BALTIMORE, OCTOBER 29, 1917
 
 FOREWORD 
 
 Only one man lias had the wit to paint Aurore 
 Dudevant in a few swift words Matthew Arnold. 
 
 "She was like one of the early gods," he said or 
 something like it. Only her own hundred odd books 
 can give even a faint understanding of this amazing 
 woman. Among all women this creature of a thou- 
 sand colors grande dame and Bohemian gamine 
 and daughter of kings, soubrette and philosopher, 
 pagan and religieuse, housefrau and mad lover, 
 everyday hard worker and impassioned dreamer, 
 simpleton and sage, po sense and farm woman, trag 
 edy queen and imp of mischief, Sibyl and "big child," 
 evert/thing that lives and burns and flames m man 
 or woman, George Sand the generous, the kind, the 
 simple. What she loved best in att the world was 
 kindness. 
 
 Your incorrigibly brilliant and funny play, dear 
 Mr. MoeUer, reached me in the North Woods and I 
 laughed and laughed and then when I had quite fin 
 ished laughing I set out to learn something of 
 George Sand something that would give me better 
 understanding than my superficial knowledge of the 
 earlier flamboyant novels or the beautiful peasant 
 stories. But to study your astonishing heroine is 
 
 m
 
 FOREWORD 
 
 like swimming in the ocean. Gather into yourself 
 all your knowledge of att men, women and children 
 unfold your entire "comedie humaine" and George 
 will play every part for you. 
 
 Something of all mankind is hers and in splendor. 
 George who could cut the hair from her head to 
 offer it at the feet of her lover. George who could 
 mend furniture at four in the morning. George who, 
 cigar in hand, could "slip from the balcony window" 
 and swagger along the darkened road for twenty 
 odd miles in the summer storm. George who could 
 harangue a nation as well as any man. George who 
 could wait with her kind eyes watching for the "little 
 cat that comes to us over the roofs" wonderful, 
 wonderful George with the friendly smile almost al 
 ways playing around her lips. The friendly smile 
 that Heine loved ridiculous, priceless George. 
 
 And as I came to know her more and love her 
 more and more as the most flagrantly human crea 
 ture in history, I began to feel that we, you and I, 
 were party to an act of unforgivable impertinence 
 in our conspiracy to reveal your Aurora as we have 
 revealed her. But this feeling passed and passed 
 because I continued to know her more and more and 
 love her more and more and in this ever increasing 
 love and knowledge I know that in no other way can 
 she be revealed. 
 
 Minnie Maddern Fiske 
 
 [8]
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 In "Madame Sand" the author has brought us 
 past lives free from the odor of camphor and the 
 rattle of moth balls. His resurrection of famous 
 characters is worked with a touch that brings them 
 really to life. It is not the efficacy of the embalming 
 fluid but the glow of life that he has breathed into 
 them. 
 
 The biographical drama usually has the vigor of 
 an obituary. Instead of "Here Is" it is invariably 
 "Here Lies." But not so with George and Alfred 
 and Pagello and Chopin and all the others. They 
 live and breathe and seek. And in their seeking we 
 find all that is at once human and tragic. Can one 
 feel that George is seeking liberty or is it liberation? 
 Is it not the hungry reaching-out for some new con 
 tact that will explain all the mysteries of life? Is it 
 not the dissatisfied soul not dissatisfied with what 
 it has but with what it feels ? Is not the same quest 
 for the unknown to be found in Alfred and Chopin 
 and to a less degree in Pagello? 
 
 Are these not souls between mediocrity and great 
 ness who scoff at the conventions of one and are lost 
 in the mazes of the other? Is it not a form of 
 growth, of casting off, of revolution? 
 
 [9]
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 In the sunset by the sea at the mountain peak 
 in a stranger's arms George is seeking seeking 
 what ? 
 
 Perhaps Zoe Akins has found the answer. In her 
 play "Baby Bunting" the deserted mother sings to 
 her child, "Bye Bye, Baby Bunting, Daddy's gone 
 a-hunting." The child asks "what for." The 
 mother answers "God knows." 
 
 God knows what tormented the restless George. 
 Only a sensualist would think her scourge a physi 
 cal one. Only an angel would think it a spiritual 
 one. So perhaps she hung half way between, a 
 battle ground of conflicting desires, and in the con 
 flict was born all the expression she left behind. 
 
 To the author rare credit must be accorded for 
 bringing out so vividly the struggles pathetic and 
 comic of George Sand, one of the great dissatis 
 fied. 
 
 ARTHUR HOPKINS 
 
 [10]
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 ROSALIE, Maid at Mme. Sand's. 
 
 PAUL DE MUSSET, Alfred's brother. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET, Alfred's mother. 
 
 CASIMIR DUDEVANT, Mme. Sand's husband. 
 
 BULOZ, Editor of the Revue des Deux Mondes. 
 
 HEINRICH HEINE, 
 
 ALFRED DE MUSSET, 
 
 MME. JULIE AURORE LUCILLE AMANDINE DUDEVANT 
 
 GEORGE SAND. 
 DR. GIUSEPPE PIETRO PAGELLO, Mme.'s Italian 
 
 Physician. 
 
 LUCREZIA VIOLENTE, His Mistress. 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY, 
 MLLE. ROLANDE, 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR, 
 FRANZ LISZT, 
 FREDERICK CHOPIN, 
 
 and 
 GUESTS at the reception of Baron de Rothschild.
 
 The scenes are: 
 
 Act I 
 
 The farewell supper at Mme. Sand's apartment 
 in the Quartier, Paris, 1833. 
 
 Act II 
 Mme. Sand's apartment in Venice, 1834. 
 
 Act III 
 
 The reception for Chopin at Baron de Roths 
 child's, Paris.
 
 ACT I 
 Rosalie's Omelet
 
 ACT I 
 
 The Scene 
 
 MME. SAND'S apartment m the Quartier, Paris, 
 1833. It is a large studio-like room. Through a 
 long window in the rear one sees the roofs of the city 
 and the streets beyond with the -first lamps lit. In 
 the far distance are the twin towers of Notre Dame. 
 The room is a shrine of literary Bohemia. The fur 
 nishings are of bizarre incongruity. An ornate 
 Japanese screen barely hides an old-fashioned rub 
 ber bathtub, an India chest shows its design of 
 arabesque in the shadow of a bed couch near a piano 
 of the period. In the window are several cages m 
 which canaries are asleep. On the balcony is a sort 
 of little conservatory enclosed in glass. About the 
 place are trunks, half finished in the packing and 
 clothes, hats and shawls are scattered about. Books 
 are everywhere. In the center a table is set for sup 
 per. The place is dim with candle light and shad 
 ows. The atmosphere is confused, that of an im 
 promptu feast on the brink of a sudden farewell. 
 ROSALIE, MME. SAND'S servant, a pretty blunt coun 
 try woman of about thirty, does not know that the 
 curtain has risen. She is seated at MADAME'S writing 
 desk and at the moment is deeply puzzled, attempt- 
 
 [15]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 ing to read the fifth chapter of MADAME'S new novel 
 which is piled in manuscript before her. She turns 
 the leaves, one by one, and is bored. The bell of the 
 concierge jangles. She reads on. Again the jang 
 ling of the bell. The girl is oblivious. The canaries 
 wake to a little shower of song, then silence, then 
 footsteps below in the streets. ROSALIE mystified, 
 turns another page. MADAME doesn't write for such 
 as she. A knock at the door. She jumps up, pushes 
 the manuscript mto the rear of the desk and 
 opens the door to PAUL, and MME. DE MUSSET. MME. 
 DE MUSSET is an aristocrat, a mother of the old 
 regime who never loses the quiet dignity of her man 
 ner even under the stress of intense emotion. PAUL, 
 the elder brother of a more famous brother, exists 
 only in his own estimation. He hopes he is some 
 thing of a gallant and doesn't for a moment doubt 
 that he is a wit. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. {Sinking mto a chair) Those 
 stairs ! Ah, my poor heart ! 
 
 PAUL. You took the four flights without stop 
 ping. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Do you think a mother ever 
 stops when her son is in peril? 
 
 ROSALIE. (To PAUL) Good evening, monsieur. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. I am Mme. de Musset. Is 
 Mme. Sand in? (She glances about the room) 
 
 ROSALIE. No. Madame is not at home. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (To PAUL) Home! Why 
 there is actually a bed in the dining room ! 
 [16]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 PAUL. These artists think it is a waste of time 
 to live in more than one room. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. You might spare me these dis 
 gusting details. {Then to ROSALIE) What time 
 will Mme. Sand return? 
 
 ROSALIE. I do not know, Madame. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. But you must know. I am 
 Alfred de Musset's mother. 
 
 ROSALIE. He is kind to me. He gave me a hun 
 dred francs when my sister was careless and 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Alfred! 
 
 PAUL. Mother, Alfred is not the papa of every 
 bambino in Paris. (Then to ROSALIE) You don't 
 know when they are coming back? 
 
 ROSALIE. These days I know nothing. Every 
 thing is up-side down now that Madame is leaving. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Ah, my mother's instinct. I 
 was right. So she is going when when? 
 
 ROSALIE. I do not know, because Madame does 
 not know. On Monday I pack because Madame is 
 leaving on Wednesday. On Wednesday I unpack 
 because Madame is staying till Friday. On Friday 
 I pack because Madame leaves on Saturday and 
 on Sunday I unpack because Madame isn't going 
 at all. 
 
 PAUL. You see, mother, there is no need to worry. 
 
 ROSALIE. And while I pack and unpack Madame 
 sits writing, writing all the time. She never stops. 
 I go to bed. At four in the morning I hear a noise. 
 Madame wishes me, I say to myself. I come in. In- 
 
 [17]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 stead of writing she is mending furniture. And 
 then she goes out. One night I followed her. She 
 leans on the walls of quays watching the river till 
 the washer women come out and the sun's up. She's 
 a queer one. All that scribbling has gone to her 
 head. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Alone at five in the morning? 
 
 PAUL. Well, anyway, she is alone. 
 
 ROSALIE. Sometimes I try to read what she's 
 written. I can't make it out. The words are too 
 long. Sometimes she cries when she writes. 
 
 (MME. DE MUSSET has been examining the 
 room and at this moment she reaches the 
 table) 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. The table is set. At what 
 time do they dine? 
 
 PAUL. They never dine in the Quartier. They 
 only eat. (He enjoys this immensely) 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Paul, how can you waste your 
 time trying to be witty when Alfred is in danger. 
 (Then to ROSALIE) At what time is supper? 
 
 ROSALIE. Whenever Madame gets back. She or 
 ders dinner at six and it turns into supper at 
 eleven. It makes no difference, nothing matters. 
 Madame is busy writing. All the time writing, ex 
 cept when the gentlemen come. Dinner for break 
 fast, breakfast for lunch. She'll let her omelet cool 
 while she scrawls her ten pages. Nothing matters 
 as long as there's ink for Madame and plenty of 
 cigars. It wasn't like this in the country. 
 [18]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (Amazed) Cigars! 
 
 ROSALIE. Black and long, twenty-five centimes. 
 Now I must see to my tarts. Mons. Alfred likes 
 them. Call if you want me. (She goes out) 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Except when the gentlemen 
 come ! Cigars ! Five o'clock in the morning ! God 
 help my boy. 
 
 (She is walking in agitation about the 
 room. She stops m front of the screen) 
 Heavens, isn't this a bathtub? 
 
 PAUL. What could be more innocent than an 
 empty bathtub? Ha! Ha! 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. So this is her lair. 
 
 (She runs her fingers over the top of the 
 desk and lifts them covered with dust) 
 She isn't very clean. So ! In such a dusty place 
 as this she snares men with her smiles. (She has 
 reached the window) And look! (A tone of deep 
 shame in her voice) In sight of Notre Dame. (She 
 grows more excited) God grant I'm in time. 
 
 PAUL. You must keep calm, mother. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. I am calm, Paul. I've been 
 trained to control myself. Only peasants and lit 
 erary people give way to their emotions. 
 
 PAUL. You shouldn't have come. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. I do not regret it, even after 
 having seen the place. I'll do my duty. She sha'n't 
 take him with her. God give me strength. 
 
 PAUL. Hasn't he promised you he wouldn't go? 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Yes, but he will, unless I am by 
 
 [19]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 to save him. She is his mistress and I am only 
 his mother. 
 
 PAUL. If you had left it all to me. 
 
 MME. DE MTTSSET. As I did from the beginning 
 and what has happened? Were you blind? When I 
 asked you what was going on, you told me Alfred 
 was looking well my poor Alfred and that 
 Madame was only more intelligent than charming. 
 
 PAUL. You might think so yourself if you knew 
 her. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Paul ! 
 
 PAUL. Sometimes I envy Alfred. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. My son ! Have you forgot 
 ten Pm your mother? 
 
 PAUL. I don't think you'd better stay. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. You were the elder. You 
 should have known what would come of this. He 
 was a most sensitive baby, a most fragile boy; and 
 now at the beginning of his career, just when the 
 great Hugo has praised his verses she! she! My 
 boy, my poor boy ! 
 
 PAUL. Why, you've never even seen the lady. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Yes, once in the Bois. She 
 was driving with Alfred. I hid behind my sun 
 shade. She's a dragon decked in ribbons. God 
 help him! 
 
 PAUL. Well er do you think she is the first 
 woman that Alfred has shall I say known? 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (Defending her darling) No, 
 Paul. How could one expect that from Alfred. 
 [20]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 I can understand my son's having a mistress but 
 let my son's mistress belong to my son. When my 
 son belongs to his mistress it is time for his mother 
 to descend from modesty and reticence. 
 
 PAUL. If you'd only given me a little longer. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. They might have been on their 
 way to Egypt and those dreadful crocodiles. My 
 poor boy! (She weeps) 
 
 PAUL,. What are you going to do? 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Plead with her as a mother. 
 She is a mother, isn't she? 
 
 PAUL. Heine says she was born a mother and 
 that her dolls were her lovers. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Don't you ever bring that man 
 to my house. These artists have been the ruin of 
 Alfred. Are you to be the next? 
 
 PAUL. You can't understand their sort. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Thank God for that. 
 
 PAUL. Mother, you're no match for her. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (Proudly) Why not, my son? 
 
 PAUL. Because you're a lady and she's a woman. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. I can descend. You think, 
 don't you, that I know of nothing but my flowers 
 and my old laces, but life has taught me many 
 things. 
 
 PAUL. A man must love, mother. Does it mat 
 ter whom? Love is only an affair of good evening, 
 good morning and good-bye. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Then he must say good-bye. 
 (She sits down)
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 PAUL. Do you find it so pleasant here? 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Pleasant ! Why the place 
 reeks of Bohemia. 
 
 PAUL. (Taking up his hat) Then let's drive in 
 the Bois. It will calm you. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. For a little while. Perhaps 
 the air will do me good. 
 
 (PAUL gives her his arm. They turn to 
 wards the door. Suddenly she stops) 
 But if they leave before we get back 
 
 PAUL. Don't you see the table is set for supper? 
 They are spiritual but they still have stomachs. 
 
 (They have reached the door. Suddenly 
 it flies open and CASIMIR DUDEVAXT bursts 
 in. He is "fresh come" from Nohant and has 
 been pat/ing his respects to the Parisian 
 cafes. He is rather handsome but not of an 
 unusual sort, a mixture of the military and 
 the country squire. At the moment he is a 
 trifle unsteady) 
 
 CASIMIR. (Politely but swayingly to MME. DE 
 MUSSET) Good evening, Madame. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (Drawing back, half in dig 
 nity and half in fright) Another friend of Madame 
 Sand? 
 
 CASIMIR. (With a deep tho tippling bow) No, 
 Madame, not a friend. I am her husband. 
 
 (And PAUL and MADAME DE MUSSET are 
 gone and CASIMIR from the top of the land 
 ing is waving them farewetts. Then ROSALIE 
 [22]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 enters from the kitchen with her dish of 
 tarts. She doesn't see DUDEVANT who is now 
 leaning against the wall in a corner near the 
 door. A minute later and the girl is again 
 engrossed in the manuscript of MADAME'S 
 new book, "Valentine") 
 
 CASIMIR. (As he recognizes ROSALIE) Good even 
 ing, my girl. 
 
 ROSALIE. How did you get in without ringing the 
 bell? 
 
 CASIMIR. I slipped by, my dear; because this 
 morning when I asked below for Madame, my wife, 
 he said no one was at home. And this afternoon 
 again no one was at home, and when I said are you 
 sure, he said he was sure, because Madame was 
 never at home ; and when I came again this evening 
 (He sways a little) I couldn't bear to hear him re 
 peat himself, so I came right up. The door was open 
 and here I am. 
 
 ROSALIE. Well, what do you want? 
 
 {He has been eyeing her as he used to at 
 Nohant) 
 
 CASIMIR. First, I want to sit down. (And he 
 does so) And now, have you a nice little glass of 
 wine for my nice little stomach? 
 
 ROSALIE. Another drop and you might spill over. 
 CASIMIR. You haven't learned to talk like a Pari 
 sian. (He leans against the table) 
 
 ROSALIE. No, and I never wish to. Don't lean 
 on that table cloth. It was clean three days ago. 
 
 [23]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 CASIMIR. So then I'm in time for dinner Ah, my 
 poor little stomach. 
 
 ROSALIE. Get away from there. 
 
 CASIMIR. If I weren't a gentleman, I mightn't like 
 your tone. But I don't mind, I'm used to it. (RO 
 SALIE turns away from him) I always like the swing 
 of your hips, so I came up from Berri to get you. 
 You can tell a horse by its flanks and a woman by 
 the swing of her hips. (He comes nearer) 
 
 ROSALIE. (More hotly) Get away! 
 
 CASIMIR. So, so, and your hot little temper, too. 
 Come here, my dear, I think I'd like to burn myself. 
 (He steps nearer) 
 
 ROSALIE. None of that, I wasn't born yesterday. 
 
 CASIMIR. Then thank God for to-day. Don't you 
 like me? 
 
 ROSALIE. No, I don't, and I never did. I wouldn't 
 come within ten feet of you by choice. 
 
 CASIMIR. Then I must take the first step. (But 
 he finds this difficult to do) Why don't you have 
 sawdust on the floor? I can move much better in a 
 stable. The city always makes me thirsty. (He 
 begins singing) "How sweet are the fields, the 
 fields of clover." Stop looking at me like that. 
 
 ROSALIE. (Dodging him) What did you come 
 here for? 
 
 CASIMIR. To tell Madame I don't like the way 
 she's carrying on. Ain't I her husband? I've come 
 to take the census of her lovers. 
 [24]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 ROSALIE. (Resenting this) Get out of here or 
 I'll call the concierge. 
 
 CASIMIE. Is he one of them too? Ha! ha! Call 
 until all the pretty angels listen, you can't budge 
 me. (He tries to take for in his arms. She runs 
 from him) 
 
 CASIMIR. (Reeling a little) Come over here and 
 kiss me. 
 
 (He tries to get her into a corner) 
 I've always wanted you. 
 
 (He has crossed the room and is in front 
 of George's desk) 
 
 So here's where she scribbles. Fine, very fine. But 
 she never thinks of me. (He takes up some sheets 
 of the new manuscript) 
 ROSALIE. Let that alone. 
 
 (She pushes him away from the desk and 
 stands on guard) 
 That cost Madame five sleepless nights. 
 
 CASIMIR. And how many sleepless nights do you 
 think Madame has cost me? (He sings "Your teeth 
 are like dew in the roses.") I haven't forgotten you, 
 my pet. 
 
 (He lurches towards her and slips his arm 
 around lier waist) 
 
 ROSALIE. (Shoving him away) You'd better get 
 out of here before the gentlemen come. 
 
 CASIMIR. Maybe I will and maybe I won't. I'll 
 stay to see my darling. (And then very maudlin) 
 I'm the father of her children, she's the mother of 
 
 [25]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 mine. Nature, how wonderful is nature. She, me, 
 then they. One and one make many. She is ill 
 she writes to her mother, and I come up to Paris to 
 see her and you, my pet. If she's ill, she needs me. 
 (He weeps) Look at me, I'm a very worried hus 
 band. Kiss me, before my heart breaks. 
 
 ROSALIE. Get away, I'm too old for that sort of 
 nonsense. I told you that long ago. 
 
 CASIMIR. How do you know, my darling, until 
 you've tried? (He hums) "How innocent are the 
 fields, the fields," 
 
 ROSALIE. Sh be quiet! (His voice grows loud 
 er) Sh some of the guests are coming. 
 
 CASIMIR. Maybe they'll pity a poor wronged hus 
 band. 
 
 ROSALIE. They mustn't see you like this ; get out. 
 
 CASIMIR. You want me to leave without seeing 
 her? What gentleman would do that? (He again 
 busts into melody) "How sweet are the fields" 
 
 ROSALIE. (Pushing him toward the kitchen) 
 Sleep it off in my room, behind there. 
 
 CASIMIR. Sleep, gentle sleep, how sweet are the 
 fields. (He stops) But I must see Madame. 
 
 ROSALIE. Yes, yes, I'll tell her. She'll come in to 
 you. Get out ! Get out ! 
 
 (There is a sound of footsteps on the stairs 
 and CASIMIR barely tumbles into the kitchen 
 as ROSALIE opens the door for BULOZ and 
 HEINE. BULOZ is a sort of sublimated jour 
 nalist, terse, pat, with his eyes perpetually on 
 [26]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 the literary chance. He is editor of The Re 
 vue des Deux Mondes and finds MADAME'S 
 "stuff" an attractive feature. HEINE is a 
 tense, wandering soul who has drifted to the 
 spiritual haven of Paris. Distinguished, 
 keen, he is dynamic even in unessentials. 
 BULOZ. I almost knocked you over, Heine. 
 HEINE. I was finishing this on the last landing. 
 I've been half an hour coming up. Each floor I read 
 a few pages. (He looks at an open book in his 
 hand) She writes like water tumbling from a pump. 
 Some day her words will flood the boulevards and 
 Paris will be drowned. 
 
 ROSALIE. Good evening, gentlemen, Madame will 
 be back soon. 
 
 BULOZ. Good evening, Rosalie. (Then to HEINE) 
 Whenever George finishes a new book, I kiss Rosalie 
 and sometimes she kisses me. It's a sensible arrange 
 ment. (Then to ROSALIE) When Madame leaves, 
 would you like to come and cook for me? 
 ROSALIE. No, sir; I'm a respectable girl. 
 BULOZ. (Anxiously) They're leaving to-night, 
 aren't they? 
 
 ROSALIE. I don't know. One day she's going, the 
 next she ain't. 
 
 (CASIMIR'S voice is heard singing in the 
 kitchen) 
 ROSALIE. Ah ! I haven't washed the endive. 
 
 (The voice becomes more distinct (< The 
 field of cl o ver") 
 
 [27]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act 7] 
 
 HEINE. How sweetly the salad sings. 
 
 (Rosalie exits. HEINE has reached the 
 table) 
 
 HEINE. Seven candles. That's for luck, but I 
 thought George was giving this farewell supper to 
 commemorate her parting from Alfred. 
 
 BULOZ. The bulletins differ. But we'll surely 
 know before morning. 
 
 HEINE. If his mother interferes it will be difficult 
 for George. A woman can do what she wants with 
 a man until another woman knocks at the door. 
 Then the Gods bend down to listen, knowing the odds 
 are even. 
 
 BULOZ. There's the real danger. Tho he doesn't 
 know it, he still obeys his mother. She has written 
 George threatening to prevent it. 
 
 HEINE. And George? 
 
 BULOZ. She's distracted with uncertainty. I've 
 had five letters since noon. The first dark despair. 
 Alfred has again given his word to his mother. He 
 won't go. (He takes a packet of letters from his 
 pocket) The third is cryptic. What do you make 
 of this? (He reads) "Night, Nubian night, but a 
 skylark still soars in my heart" 
 
 HEINE. Rather confining for the skylark. 
 
 BULOZ. Then the fourth again abject misery. 
 Written on the back of a menu of the Cafe de Soleil. 
 She contemplates suicide. 
 
 HEINE. Everybody does since "Werther." She'll 
 probably live till ninety. 
 [28]
 
 [Act 7] MADAME SAND 
 
 BULOZ. (Glancing at the paper) She regrets 
 the river is frozen near the quays. Every week, 
 every hour, they decide to part but the fire of hope 
 burns eternal. 
 
 HEINE. (An echo of bitterness in his voice) Till 
 fate chokes the flame with the douche of disillusion. 
 
 BULOZ. You're still young enough to be a pessi 
 mist ? 
 
 HEINE. Pessimism is my spiritual purge. How 
 else can I keep my soul clean in this filthy world? 
 My faith is the faith of to-morrow. I'm a Jew by 
 birth, a Christian by necessity and an atheist by 
 conviction. (He glances at the table) Changeably 
 religious but always hungry. When will they be 
 back? 
 
 BULOZ. Here's her last note. They are going to 
 gether to the top of Notre Dame, to say farewell in 
 the sunset. 
 
 HEINE. Pinnacles are her obsessions. But she'll 
 come down. Bed's the great leveler. Can't you see 
 them, Buloz? Here's Madame preparing for the 
 lover's leap. The last farewell has driven them to 
 madness. There's de Musset peeping over the para 
 pets, wondering just where they'll bump first. And 
 the gargoyles with their granite hearts, hideous be 
 cause they are doomed to grin forever, leer in 
 silence lest their laughter should shake the turrets 
 when George again nobly renounces death. (Then 
 bitterly) Ah, Buloz, beware of this love of ours. 
 It is our enemy, most selfish, most subtle, and most 
 
 [29]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 sinister. What time does the coach start for 
 Lyons? 
 
 BULOZ. At nine from the Post Hotel. 
 
 HEINE. (Looking at his watch) Nearly eight. 
 They'll be here in ten minutes. Supper in fifteen. 
 Haste may outwit his loving and too watchful moth 
 er. They've tasted love and drunken, they know not 
 they are drunk. Then, Italy Italy, where golden 
 youth lies sleeping in the shadow of the centuries. 
 Italy and dreams and then some rainy morning, 
 the awakening. 
 
 BULOZ. They must go. Think what it means to 
 me. 
 
 HEINE. You? 
 
 BULOZ. I've signed with her for five years. My 
 subscriptions have been falling off. I needed just 
 her sort of copy to boost them. Nothing sells like 
 love. 
 
 HEINE. Except a liaison. 
 
 BULOZ. Exactly. 
 
 HEINE. (Musingly) And if they should awake 
 too soon and suffer 
 
 BULOZ. (Laconically) I count on that. Pa 
 thetic relief the contrast of tears. 
 
 HEINE. There's a thought to make an essay. 
 
 BULOZ. Send it to me first. I'll print it in The 
 Revue. 
 
 HEINE. (Half to himself) Some must suffer that 
 others may sup. Socially, spiritually, everywhere, 
 [30]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 always true paying the toll to life that others 
 may sup. 
 
 BITLOZ. That ought to make, say, seven thousand 
 words. Large type that means, shall we say er 
 twenty pages? 
 
 HEINE. (Tempering his scorn with a smile) You 
 journalistic Judas. For thirty new subscriptions 
 you would sell your soul. 
 
 BULOZ. (Oblivious) Or perhaps twenty-two 
 pages. We can expect something from de Musset, 
 too. 
 
 HEINE. Of course. He has a splendid past ahead 
 of him, and besides he's a poet a poet soaked in 
 absinthe and dried in moonshine. But he needs more 
 rust in his blood. 
 
 BULOZ. (Dryly} And you? 
 
 HEINE. I'm perfect where I am, Buloz, but not 
 quite finished. Don't misjudge me. I'm not as mod 
 est as I sound, but hungrier. 
 
 (ROSALIE rushes in from the kitchen) 
 
 ROSALIE. A cab has stopped in the courtyard. 
 (She begins lighting the candles. Then to BULOZ) 
 Don't let her start writing again till dinner's served. 
 
 BULOZ. (Anxiously} Not if we can help it. 
 
 HEINE. But if Calliope descends 
 
 ROSALIE. Another of those actor people? Put 
 her out and remember the omelet. (She leans out 
 of the window) Yes, it's them, it's them. Madame 
 is helping Monsieur out. Madame is paying the 
 driver. Monsieur Alfred is coming up. He'll be so 
 
 [31]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 tired and so hungry. She's most likely been telling 
 him novels all day. He's been so good to me. (And 
 she runs into the kitchen) 
 
 HEINE. And how long do you think this affair 
 will last, my friend? 
 
 BULOZ. How long? Does that matter if the copy 
 is good? 
 
 (And ALFRED stands in the doorway, a 
 poet, an aristocrat and something of a dandy. 
 His glance is firm, his red lips half open. He 
 is fragile and fine with that exquisite delicacy 
 of virility, so irresistible to women) 
 ALFRED. (In the doorway) My friends! My 
 friends ! So you have come to say good-bye and I 
 have come to say good-bye. I am giving up forever 
 ( BULOZ starts) the most beautiful companion that 
 man has ever known. (ROSALIE enters) Rosalie, a 
 glass of wine. (He drinks it and sinks into a chair) 
 See my people for me. I can't face them now. I 
 might curse my mother whom I would die to save 
 from suffering. (His head drops in his hands) 
 Buloz, you see my brother and say good-bye for me, 
 and you, Heine, because your style is rarer, you see 
 my mother and tell her I bless her and will pray for 
 her and will write her when my wound is healed. 
 BULOZ. (Low, to ROSALIE) Bring the soup. 
 ALFRED. I'm so tired. George almost carried 
 me up the last turn of the tower. Paris was like a 
 fading print below us. Half-way up we saw two 
 lovers embracing in a window. 
 [32]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 HEINE. Life is a see-saw and love swings the 
 plank. Up and down, up and down. 
 
 ALFRED. Till we slip, and the blind little worms 
 are waiting. On the top of the tower verses came 
 to me. I called them "The Blind." Where's the ab 
 sinthe? Listen. (He pulls out his cuff and begwis 
 reading the lines he has composed and which he has 
 scrawled on his linen) 
 
 "The nightingale empassioned wounds his heart to 
 
 sing, 
 
 Whilst in the perfumed shade of roses mating. 
 Love bursts to blossom each new bud of spring. 
 But death, dim death, with scythe in hand stands 
 waiting.'* 
 
 (ROSALIE, enraptured in spite of herself, 
 stands in the door to the kitchen. HEINE 
 looks at BULOZ, who, on tiptoes, goes over to 
 her) 
 
 BULOZ. (Whispering aside to ROSALIE) I told 
 you to bring the soup. (And she goes out) 
 
 ALFRED. That's death's victory and life's defeat. 
 We are the blind. 
 
 HEINE. We ostriches sticking our heads in the- 
 sands of hope. 
 
 (And at this moment enters GEORGE the 
 brilliant, sumptuous, ridiculous but conquer 
 ing GEORGE. She is never sentimental, never 
 sententious, never conscious of her exuber- 
 
 [33]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 ance or her exaggerations; mistress of every 
 thing but her emotions which, tho she thinks 
 she masters, master her. The men listening 
 to ALFRED do not see her) 
 
 ALFRED. {Turning over his cuff, goes on with his 
 reading) 
 
 "Upon the moon-white waters glides the lonely swan, 
 The willows bend (He stops, looks at the other 
 side of his cuff, then back, then to the other cuff) 
 
 ALFRED. (Slightly embarrassed repeats the last 
 line) 
 
 "The willows bend" ahem eh ( There is a pause) 
 I must have stopped writing. 
 
 (And then GEORGE steps forward and 
 speaks very simply in spite of her emotion) 
 GEORGE. You did, Alfred, because at that very 
 moment we said good-bye forever. (Again BULOZ 
 starts) We were born but to say good-bye. 
 
 (There is a danger that the moment may 
 become unbearably sublime, but ROSALIE op 
 portunely arrives with the steaming tureen) 
 ROSALIE. Here's the cream of onions, Madame. 
 BULOZ. (Sniffing) Supper at last. 
 GEORGE. (To BULOZ) Is your stomach more 
 important than our souls? 
 HEINE. No! But emptier. 
 
 (And the romantic spell is broken, and 
 greetings are exchanged) 
 
 GEORGE. (To BULOZ) Did you get all my let 
 ters? (Then to HEINE) Don't be too bitter to- 
 [34]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 night. I always mistrust you pessimists. Far down 
 you're apt to be so sweet. Look deep enough in 
 tears there's laughter, and deep enough in laughter, 
 tears. Ah, well! Let's be gay. Tho we feast on 
 the brink of a precipice I shall smile. One must 
 either smile or die. 
 
 (During this speech they have taken their 
 places at the table) 
 
 ALFRED. Where's the absinthe? 
 
 GEORGE. Not too much, Freddo, you'll get drowsy 
 and I can't let you sleep here to-night. I've got to 
 unpack and finish five chapters. 
 
 BULOZ. (Eagerly) Five chapters to-night? 
 
 GEORGE. Perhaps six. I'm very tired. (She 
 looks lovingly at ALFRED) My soul has been sapped 
 to-day but I must work. That's the one way of for 
 getting. Six chapters and I haven't yet planned 
 the fourth. (She sits for a moment in deep thought 
 eating radishes) I'll bring in this farewell supper. 
 Why not, why not, I ask you? My stories are the 
 mirror of my life. Tho I write with my heart's 
 blood, still I must write. This supper will make 
 chapter five. (She starts improvising) After the 
 opera this little farewell feast. Bitter herbs and 
 tears. (She begins eating the onion soup as she 
 talks) For weeks, Olivia has refused to see Ray 
 mond, but that night at the opera to the divine 
 strains of Donizetti their eyes have met. (She leans 
 towards HEINE) Have you ever tasted such superb 
 onion soup? Where was I? (A moment and then 
 
 [35]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 she recaptures her theme) Ah ! yes ! Raymond has 
 left his box and come over to Olivia's. Her hair is 
 dark as night in the Apennines. {Then very sadly) 
 We might have seen the Apennines, Freddo if 
 
 ALFRED. "If" is the epitaph on the tomb of op 
 portunity. 
 
 GEORGE. (Patting his hand) Never mind, dear. 
 We must be brave. (Another loving glance and then 
 she goes on with her story) There in the shadow of 
 her box, whilst the melting music woos the stars. 
 (Suddenly she jumps up from the table and brings 
 paper, ink and pen from her writing desk. Writing, 
 she repeats) Whilst the melting music woos the 
 stars charming phrase, isn't it? There is a hur 
 ried conversation. Yes, she will go to his apart 
 ments, that very night for their last supper together. 
 Theirs and ours, Freddo, ours. (She chokes 
 back a sob) 
 
 HEINE. (The tension getting on his nerves) You 
 might open the window, Rosalie. 
 
 GEORGE. (Continuing) She has ordered her 
 coachman to drive thru the Bois. She must think, 
 her brain pulses like Vesuvius. (She gives a quick 
 glance in ALFRED'S direction. He sits sadly examin 
 ing the bottom of his empty glass. She goes on) 
 Vesuvius. Passion masters her. Where are the 
 olives, Rosalie? (She continues) It has begun to 
 rain. She leans from the window. The great drops 
 wound her brow. (She makes a note of this) Yes, 
 [36]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 she will go to Raymond, but to say farewell. That 
 ought to be a good ending for chapter four. 
 
 HEINE. Yes, very. If it ends there. 
 
 GEORGE. Chapter five. Her husband has been 
 hunting tigers in the Pyrenees. 
 
 BULOZ. But are there any tigers in the Pyrenees? 
 
 GEORGE. What difference does that make? Aren't 
 there giraffes in the zoo? 
 
 ( BULOZ consoles himself with his fish) 
 
 GEORGE. ( Unruffled) Her husband, whilst hunt 
 ing tigers (A glance at BULOZ) Is the salmon 
 nice and fresh? (Then she goes on) Whilst hunting 
 tigers has been wounded. Chapter five brings him 
 back to Paris. At an inn on the way he has seduced 
 Carmella, a peasant girl. 
 
 BULOZ. (Methodically) Of course! 
 
 HEINE. Is there a peasant girl in Europe that 
 hasn't been seduced? 
 
 GEORGE. (Undisturbed) He brings with him a 
 Spanish dagger, bought at Burgos. 
 
 ALFRED. (Catching her spirit) From a stall 
 near the sunburnt cathedral. 
 
 GEORGE. Sunburnt cathedral that's a charming 
 phrase, Freddo. (She jots it down) 
 
 ALFRED. (Playfully) Plagiarist. 
 
 GEORGE. (Patting his hand) Darling. He ar 
 rives at his home. It is past midnight. Madame is 
 out. In her boudoir he finds Raymond's handker 
 chief. He recognizes the crest. Meanwhile, the lov 
 ers are at supper. How do you like it, Buloz? 
 
 [37]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 BULOZ. That's just the place to announce the 
 next instalment. 
 
 ALFRED. Why have we decided to part? 
 
 GEORGE. We ? 
 
 ALFRED. I might have persuaded you to give up 
 writing novels. 
 
 BULOZ. Nonsense ! 
 
 ALFRED. Then think of the blissful life we might 
 have led together philosophising under all the chest 
 nut trees in Europe. (He takes her hand) 
 
 GEORGE. (Looking deep into his eyes) We must 
 learn to live alone, Freddo alone. (She presses his 
 hand to her lips) 
 
 (BULOZ sits watching them) 
 
 HEINE. (Aside to BULOZ) Don't worry, she 
 won't stop writing. Every novel to George is a new 
 love affair. She always sees them thru to the end. 
 
 GEORGE. But you mustn't interrupt me, Freddo. 
 (Then choking back her sobs) I call him Freddo 
 because we were going to Italy together. Where 
 was I? (Recalling) The rain has ceased. 
 
 (There is a slight disturbance in the 
 kitchen) 
 
 BULOZ. (At the door) Sh be quiet. Madame 
 is composing. 
 
 ROSALIE. (Sticking her head in, rather excited) 
 I'm beating the eggs for the omelet. (She closes the 
 door) 
 
 GEORGE. (By mistake sprinkling her salmon with 
 [38]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 sugar) They are out on the veranda together in the 
 moonlight. 
 
 ALFRED. What would the romantic movement do, 
 if it weren't for the moonlight. 
 
 BULOZ. That's sugar, George, not salt. 
 
 GEORGE. (Oblivious) She has come to say fare 
 well, but poor, weak woman, she has forgotten the 
 feud twixt flesh and spirit. We are but marionettes 
 hung from the nimble fingers of the Gods. 
 
 HEINE. (Looking up quickly as he breaks his 
 bread) Yes, all of us ! We jig at the end of the 
 wires, poets and cooks, saints and grisettes hung 
 from the nimble fingers of the Gods. All, all of us 
 even you, George, even you! 
 
 GEORGE. You mustn't break in with your Ger 
 manic philosophies. (Then as she turns to ALFRED, 
 slightly wetting her lips with Tier tongue) There 
 in the pungent odors of the night they melt into each 
 other's arms. And Olivia turns only to see her hus 
 band standing in the room. 
 
 (And this is only too true, for the noise 
 outside has increased, and at the next mo 
 ment, CASIMIR bursts m from the kitchen, bot 
 tle in hand. The men jump up) 
 
 GEORGE. (Quite calmly) Oh, you! Wait a min 
 ute, please. (Then unperturbed, she goes on with 
 her story) Olivia, trembling like a lily in the wind 
 (She is writing this all down) throws herself between 
 the men as the Burgos blade (A loving glance at 
 ALFRED) bought from a stall near the sunburnt 
 
 [39]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 cathedral, flashes in the moonlight. (She dots the 
 sentence and turns to CASIMIR) 
 
 GEORGE. And now, what do you want? 
 CASIMIR. (Leering) You. I want you to come 
 back to the country, my dear. I've no one to talk 
 to, your mother's too old and the servants each has 
 each. 
 
 (He comes towards her. ALFRED inter 
 cepts him) 
 
 ALFRED. Don't you dare come near this lady. 
 CASIMIR. Eh? 
 
 (HEINE goes over to the "window and stands 
 there calmly smoking. The others are aU 
 excited except GEORGE, who sits quietly fin 
 ishing her salmon. ROSALIE peeps thru the 
 door) 
 
 ALFRED. Get out of here, you're drunk. 
 CASIMIR. (Lurching forward) Ain't I her bro 
 ken-hearted husband? (He begins to weep) She's 
 mine by law. 
 
 GEORGE. Have you come up from Nohant to 
 teach me the law? 
 
 CASIMIR. You still talk just like a man, Aurora. 
 You haven't changed at all, but you're a wee bit 
 fatter, my dear, a wee bit fatter. 
 
 GEORGE. (Really resenting this) Nonsense, Cas- 
 imir. (And then very significantly, as she glances 
 towards the door) Good-evening, now. These three 
 gentlemen are my friends. 
 [40]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 CASIMIR. Friends, Aurora? Isn't that a fancy 
 way of putting it? 
 
 (He pats ROSALIE on the cheek and begins 
 singing "How sweet are the fields") 
 ROSALIE. (To GEORGE) He was after me at No- 
 hant, too. That's why I came with you. He was 
 awful bad and tho you're kind of queer, I knew it 
 would be better with you and anyhow I'd be safe in 
 Paris. 
 
 CASIMIR. (Lyrically) "The fields of cl oo 
 o ver." 
 
 HEINE. So he was the singing salad ! 
 ROSALIE. I tried to keep him in there till you'd 
 gone, because you told me this morning you'd surely 
 be leaving for Venice to-night. 
 
 (There is a quick glance exchanged be 
 tween HEINE and BULOZ. General consterna 
 tion is imminent, but GEORGE is ready) 
 GEORGE. (Sweetly and with a swooning look at 
 ALFRED) But since then so much has happened. 
 
 (Trustingly he takes her hand. HEINE 
 comes down to BULOZ) 
 
 HEINE. (Aside to BULOZ) I can't let these do 
 mestic scenes spoil my supper. (He sits down and 
 begins to eat) 
 
 CASIMIR. (To ALFRED) Let go that lady's hand. 
 ALFRED. Keep away or I'll throw you out of the 
 window. 
 
 CASIMIR. You will? (He roars with laughter) 
 You will, you, with your pale face and your hair 
 
 [41]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 like a woman's? I'm a soldier, young man, do you 
 know I'm a soldier? 
 
 (ALFRED steps threateningly towards him) 
 
 GEORGE. (Calmly) You'd better go now, Casi- 
 mir, (And then pointing it with smiling delicacy) 
 before these gentlemen show you the way. The stairs 
 are very steep, my friend. (Then she turns to 
 HEINE) Have some more salmon, do. 
 
 CASIMIR. (Nastily) Look here, I've had enough 
 of your cooing voice! Ain't you my wife? 
 
 GEORGE. I have as much respect for our mar 
 riage contract as I have for you. The day you took 
 the whip into your hands, I took the law into mine. 
 
 CASIMIR. (Cowering) Wives don't talk that way. 
 
 GEORGE. Then it's time they did. I don't want 
 you, I don't need you. (And then ever so sweetly) 
 Are you going now? 
 
 CASIMIR. (Reaching the door and stopping) I 
 can't leave, I can't. 
 
 (BuLOza/wZ ALFRED step forward. GEORGE, 
 with a gentle smile on her face, sits watching 
 the scene) 
 
 CASIMIR. You see well er I 
 
 GEORGE. Is it money, my dear? 
 
 CASIMIR. (Brightening) Just like you, Lucy. 
 Sooner or later you get to the point. The fact is 
 (He reels) I lost a few francs at my inn. He had 
 cross-eyes, Lucy. Never gamble with a cross-eyed 
 man, and now I've nothing to take me to Nohant. 
 
 GEORGE. (Going to her desk) Here are twenty 
 [42]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 francs. (And then to BULOZ) Advance me a hun 
 dred, Buloz. So, a hundred and twenty and you 
 (She turns to HEINE) What do you add to get rid 
 of this nuisance? That makes nearly two hundred. 
 Rosalie, lend me ten francs. (Which the girl takes 
 from her stocking) 
 ALFRED. And I? 
 
 GEORGE. (Modestly) No, no; not that. Could 
 I borrow from you to get rid of a husband? 
 ALFRED. If it means your happiness. 
 GEORGE. (Melting) Well, since you put it so 
 beautifully. 
 
 (And unwillingly she takes the money and 
 gives it to CASIMIR) 
 GEORGE. Good-bye. Don't stop to thank us. 
 
 (CASIMIR takes the money, and stuffing it 
 in his pocket, again reaches the door, and 
 again stops) 
 
 CASIMIR. I might have forgotten, Aurora, if my 
 hand hadn't got to my pocket. (He takes out a 
 crumpled piece of paper) Maurice sent you this. 
 (He gives her a little water-color drawing) 
 
 (GEORGE'S whole manner changes. All the 
 mother in her welling up at the thought of 
 MAURICE) 
 
 GEORGE. My little darling. How is he, Casimir? 
 Is he well? Does he blow his nose nicely? Is he 
 kind to mother? Kiss him for me. (CASIMIR steps 
 towards her, ALFRED again threateningly intercept 
 ing him) 
 
 [43]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 CASIMIR. (Stumbling back) To think that I 
 should live to see the day when my wife sits at table 
 with murderers and long-haired swine. You've 
 broken my heart, Aurora. 
 
 (And singing "How fair are the fields," he 
 reels down the stairs. There is an embar 
 rassed silence) 
 
 GEORGE. (Lifting the gloom) My friends, don't 
 take this too seriously. What does a husband mat 
 ter? He is an incident all married women should 
 forget. (Then reminiscently) ' My marriage began 
 what might have ended happily. (She smiles wanly 
 at ALFRED) What might have ended happily, 
 Freddo, if fate had willed it. 
 
 ALFRED. Fate is our enemy. We are born to 
 defeat. 
 
 GEORGE. (Fervidly) What have I now to live 
 for, but my children and my dreams? To-day I 
 have lacerated my soul on the altars of renuncia 
 tions. (A poignant glance at ALFRED) Life called 
 us and we turned away. 
 
 ALFRED. How can I leave you to face the possi 
 bilities of such another scene? You have suffered 
 and you have borne in silence. There are tears in 
 your eyes. 
 
 GEORGE. (Resignedly) My friend, do not hope 
 to dry them. I must weep lest my heart break. 
 
 (She looks imploringly thru the ceiling as 
 tho trying to see God, then she rushes over 
 to the piano, she begim to play a sad lament, 
 [44]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 m a desolate minor key. Then a few chords, 
 arpeggios, and she begins chanting) 
 "The nightingale impassioned wounds his heart to 
 
 sing, 
 Whilst in the perfumed shade of roses mating." 
 
 BTJLOZ. (To ROSALIE, who stands listening) Go 
 and get the omelet. 
 
 ROSALIE. The eggs are beat. 
 
 HEINE. (With an apprehensive glance towards 
 the piano as ROSALIE goes out) And put plenty of 
 rum in it. 
 
 (And then to BULOZ) 
 
 You shouldn't have brought me here. I can't 
 stand music while I'm eating. 
 
 BULOZ. Honestly, I didn't count on this sort of 
 thing. 
 
 ALFRED. (Tenderly to GEORGE) You have re 
 membered my poor verses. 
 
 GEORGE. Are they not seared in my soul? 
 
 (More arpeggios. Then thru her sobs she 
 continues her chant) 
 
 "Love burst to blossom each new bud of spring, 
 But death (a chord, two chords, three chords) 
 
 Dim death with scythe in hand stands " 
 
 (She can't finish the line. She throws her 
 self into ALFRED'S arms. A passionate em 
 brace. Then she rushes from him over to the 
 window. It is nicely timed, the moon is ris 
 ing. Swiftly she opens one of the bird cages 
 and takes out one of the canaries) 
 
 [45]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 GEORGE. (In an ecstasy) At least there shall be 
 one free thing answering the winds of desire. (She 
 sets the bird free) Let him fly into the dawn. 
 BULOZ. Him? How does she know it's a him? 
 HEINE. In such matters she is infallible. 
 
 (There is a tableau at the window. The 
 music, the moonlight and the flight of the bird 
 have been too much for ALFRED. He leans 
 sobbing against the window frame. GEORGE 
 is watching him. Then suddenly he reels 
 about) 
 
 ALFRED. No ! no ! I shall not sacrifice two souls 
 to duty. 
 
 HEINE. (Dryly) As I thought. He is begin 
 ning to realize that virtue is its own disappointment. 
 (GEORGE and ALFRED are in each other's 
 arms. A passionate embrace thru which 
 HEINE and BULOZ speak) 
 
 HEINE. Don't you think we had better go into 
 the kitchen? 
 BULOZ. Why? 
 
 HEINE. I am being pushed into the corner. 
 Nothing fills a room like love. (A sigh from the 
 lovers) When do you think it will be finished? 
 
 BULOZ. (With an apprehensive glance towards 
 GEORGE and ALFRED) What? The kiss? 
 
 HEINE. (With an eager look in the direction of 
 the kitchen) No. The omelette. 
 
 (A moment later and ALFRED in a rapture 
 swings GEORGE toward the open window) 
 [46]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 ALFRED. Listen, over the rumble of the city love 
 is calling ! Beyond the roofs of Paris lie the radiant 
 valleys of the south ! 
 
 HEINE. Splendid eye-sight, hasn't he? The heart 
 sees all. 
 
 ALFRED. You love me, George? 
 
 GEORGE. (Mysteriously} As I have never loved 
 before. 
 
 ALFRED. (Lyrically) There is a higher right 
 than duty, my adored one. Let us not hesitate. 
 Love is calling. Italy and the waiting years. Italy, 
 where one drinks oblivion in a moment's ecstasy. 
 
 GEORGE. (In a sort of vision) Italy! The 
 moon is rising in my heart. (A trill of song from 
 the canaries.) Listen! That is the music of the 
 serenata. The night is waiting. We are at the 
 gates of Eden. 
 
 ALFRED. Then let us enter in. 
 
 HEINE. At the very gates. What if they should 
 slip ? 
 
 (A sound comes up from the street. 
 Voices, laughter. It is Paris, not Italy. 
 Suddenly GEORGE awakes) 
 
 GEORGE. (Her voice gone gray) And your 
 mother? 
 
 ALFRED. She is dead to me. Let us escape from 
 the shadow of her tomb. 
 
 GEORGE. (Barely controlling her triumphant 
 satisfaction) Alfred, my own, I have been waiting. 
 
 [47]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 (Again they are in each other's arms as 
 ROSALIE arrives with the omelet) 
 GEORGE. Quick! My bags, my trunks, my 
 shawls, my manuscripts ! 
 
 (Then follows a scene of intense confusion, 
 all of them running about to get the traps 
 ready while HEINE, undisturbed, sits eating) 
 GEORGE. Hurry, Rosalie, my bonnet! 
 ROSAIJE. The new one with the broad brim which 
 you bought for Italy? 
 
 GEORGE. Yes, hurry, hurry. 
 
 (BULOZ is out of breath strapping the 
 bags. Supper is forgotten. ALFRED is no 
 help. He is in the way; every moment insist 
 ing on clasping GEORGE to his bosom. Soon, 
 however, they are ready) 
 BULOZ. You go by way of Avignon ? 
 GEORGE. Yes but first a stop at Lyons to see 
 Stendahl. 
 
 ALFRED. (Remonstratingly) But he will talk 
 to us all night. 
 
 GEORGE. No. He will dance for us in his Rus 
 sian boots. And then the sea. 
 
 HEINE. (As he takes the last olive) Yes. We 
 are all of us afloat. 
 
 GEORGE. (Her voice aflame) Ah, my friends, 
 life is meant to be squandered. Buloz, Heine, fare 
 well, farewell. I'll write I'll write. 
 
 (Then general embracing. For a moment 
 the lovers stand bathed m the moonlight that 
 [48]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 floods the room. Confused voices: "Good 
 bye, farewell, Italy, life, love, etc., etc." 
 They turn to leave. Suddenly there is a 
 knock at the door. ROSALIE looks up. She 
 hesitates. Then she goes to the door. In a 
 moment she is back) 
 
 ROSALIE. (Furtively) There is a lady to see 
 you, Madame. 
 
 GEORGE. (Gayly) Tell her I am dying of love 
 and can see no one. 
 
 ROSALIE. She's been here before. 
 GEORGE. I never turn a beggar from my doors. 
 Buloz, give me twenty francs. 
 
 ROSALIE. ( Vainly trying to warn her) She came 
 in a carriage. 
 
 GEORGE. I've no objection. Let her drive back 
 in it. 
 
 (The knock is repeated. Timidly ROSALIE 
 opens the door and MME. DE MUSSET and 
 PAUL enter.) 
 ALFRED. Mother ! 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. ( Who with quiet dignity has 
 arisen to the occasion) Alfred! 
 
 BULOZ. (Under his breath) Mme. de Musset! 
 MME. DE MUSSET. ( With gentle courtesy) Par 
 don this late intrusion, Madame. I see I disturb 
 you at dinner. (And then, pointing the facts with 
 delicacy, but with a will behmd it) I thought my 
 son might be leaving and would care to drive home 
 with me. 
 
 [49]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 (A tense moment. The literary history of 
 France hangs in the balance, and then MME. 
 DE MUSSET brilliantly comes to the rescue) 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (With sudden inspiration) 
 Delightful weather for December? 
 HEINE. (Dryly) It always is. 
 BULOZ. (Clearing his throat) Hem! 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (Quietly but firmly) Well, 
 Alfred? 
 
 ALFRED. Please, mother, let's avoid a scene. 
 MME. DE MUSSET. I've spent most of my life do 
 ing that, my son. (She glances at GEORGE) Are 
 you coming, Alfred? 
 
 ALFRED. I I must speak to you. 
 MME. DE MUSSET. It will be very quiet in the car 
 riage. Paul can take a cab. (And then, with a note 
 of graceful condescension, she turns to GEORGE) 
 Madame, I hope I find you well? 
 
 (And then equally sweetly, GEORGE, who 
 mentally has been aiding destiny, answers 
 her) 
 
 GEORGE. I'm well, Madame, I thank you, very, 
 but won't you and your son finish supper with us? 
 We've but just begun. 
 
 ROSALIE. (Cheerily) Yes, the omelet just fin 
 ished. Have some, Monsieur Paul. It's the kind 
 you like. 
 
 (Paul involuntarily steps towards the 
 table) 
 [50]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Paul! (Then to GEORGE) 
 Thank you, Madame, but I've already supped. But 
 we are keeping you so long from table. Come, Al 
 fred, have you forgotten that you promised to read 
 your new verses to your sister's friends, this even 
 ing? (She steps towards the door) A thousand 
 apologies for my intrusion. Good-evening, Madame ; 
 good-evening, gentlemen. Come, my sons. 
 
 (PAUL is at his mother's side. Att eyes are 
 on ALFRED. He steps towards the rack 
 where he has hung his cape and ha,t. A pause. 
 Then GEORGE takes the reins) 
 GEORGE. Madame, will you permit me to speak 
 to you alone? 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. I doubt, Madame, if there is 
 anything that we have to say to each other. 
 
 GEORGE. (Significantly) Butterflies are fragile. 
 Shall we bruise them on the anvils of our rashness? 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (Slightly mystified) Pardon 
 me, Madame, but 
 
 GEORGE. Gentlemen, you will excuse us. There 
 are things that we women say to each other that you 
 men can never know. Don't go into my bedroom, if 
 you please. The bed is tossed. 
 
 (And ROSALIE and the gentlemen go off 
 leaving the candle-lit battle-field to GEORGE. 
 Throughout the following scene her tone 
 varies. One moment she is soft and feminine, 
 the next masculine and dominant! 
 
 [51]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 GEORGE. And now we can have a nice cozy chat 
 together. Do sit down. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (Stiffly) Thank you. (But 
 she remains standing) 
 
 GEORGE. (Lightly) As you please. 
 
 (And GEORGE, turning a chair about, seats 
 herself at the table) 
 
 GEORGE. (Offering MME. DE MUSSET a cigarette) 
 Will you smoke? 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. That is one of the things, Ma 
 dame, that I leave to men. 
 
 GEORGE. (Pleasantly) That's the mistake we 
 women make. We leave too much to the men. We 
 bury our souls in satin, and they take advantage of 
 our weakness. Perhaps you would prefer a cigar, 
 Madame. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (A gasp) No, Madame. 
 
 GEORGE. After breakfast I cannot live without 
 my cigar. The odor is so delicious mixed with my 
 rose geraniums. (She sniffs) Is there anything in 
 the world so redolent as the odor of rose geraniums, 
 or perhaps you prefer jasmine? But it's too late 
 for jasmine. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (Involuntarily sitting down) 
 Madame, do you think I came here to talk botany? 
 
 GEORGE. (Tensely) No, Madame. You came 
 to do what God alone can do, to command two peo 
 ple to cease loving each other. Do you think you 
 can do that, Madame? Since the beginning of time 
 all nature has been preparing for this love of ours 
 [52]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 Alfred's and mine. The stars are in their allotted 
 places so that we might love. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. I know nothing about astron 
 omy. 
 
 GEORGE. (Oblivious) Eden first bloomed so that 
 we might love. (She has stretched across the table 
 and has reached her ink and pen and paper, and in 
 the shadow of the sugar bowl, is jotting down the 
 phrases that particularly appeal to her) Abel slew 
 Cain er er so that we might love. Since the re 
 motest hint of time, fate has willed it. Are you God, 
 Madame? Can you toy with destiny? 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Pardon me, but I cannot un 
 derstand this literature you speak. 
 
 GEORGE. You call my words literature? No, in 
 deed, Madame, they are the burning truth, a truth 
 you cannot understand. You have lived too long in 
 your damask-dusty world where the blinds are al 
 ways drawn whilst I, I have cut my flesh on the 
 thorns. Do you know what my life has been? 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. No, that I do not presume to 
 know. I do not wish to know. It will not move me ; 
 my son shall not go with you. What would become 
 of him? 
 
 GEORGE. He would enter the glorious kingdom 
 hand in hand with the woman he loves. Do you dare 
 deny him that? Can God, God who is love be 
 watching this? 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Madame, spare me this melo- 
 
 [53]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 drama. You are right. I have lived a guarded and 
 what you would call a narrow life, but in that old- 
 fashioned, ridiculous seclusion at which you scoff I 
 have learned to respect tradition. 
 
 GEORGE. (Tensely) Need is the only tradition 
 I acknowledge. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Alfred will not go with you. 
 He has given me his word. He is a gentleman. 
 
 GEORGE. Ah, yes. It takes generations to make 
 a gentleman, but it takes only one man to make a 
 generation. I am helping to make mine because I 
 am free. He, too, must be free. Do not fetter a 
 falcon lest he break his chains. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (Not quite sure that she un 
 derstands George's elaborate simile) If you mean 
 that I restrain Alfred, you are wrong. 
 
 GEORGE. Ah, that's what you would have him 
 think. But you mothers have a way of holding on. 
 I tell you he must be free to sing. I have bought my 
 freedom with my heart's blood. I have suffered. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. And we mothers, do you think 
 we mothers do not suffer? 
 
 (This is a superb moment for GEORGE. 
 She snatches from lier bosom the little water- 
 color drawing which CASIMIR has brought 
 her) 
 
 GEORGE. I too am a mother, Madame ! Look 
 what my darling son has sent me ! This poor little 
 painting of roses. (She is sobbing) Do you think 
 I do not know a mother's heart? 
 [54]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Then give my son back to me. 
 
 GEORGE. I have not taken him. God has sent 
 him. Ah, my friend, he has made me so happy. 
 Every day finds me more attached to him. Every 
 day the beauty of life shines more brilliantly. Would 
 you shatter this love of ours? He is my universe, 
 my all. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (Slowly} Pardon me, Ma 
 dame, but you force me to be cruel. 
 
 GEORGE. Go on, go on, life has not spared me, 
 why should you? 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. You say you are his universe, 
 but, Madame, are you sure you are all of this to him? 
 
 GEORGE. Ask him and his tears will answer you. 
 (She jots this down) After the desolation of my 
 past he has come like a new dawn into my life. I 
 was a mere girl when I married, young, furtive, reti 
 cent, romantic. I adored my husband. I gave him 
 my faith, my life. And what did he make of them? 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Spare me. 
 
 GEORGE. (Leaning towards her) He tossed them 
 to the first chambermaid that smiled on him. I suf 
 fered this because I still loved him. Men, Madame, 
 men never know what agony we women hush in our 
 hearts. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (In spite of herself) Yes 
 that is true. 
 
 GEORGE. I bore this. My baby came. I still 
 preserve his first wee darling shoes. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (Off her guard) And I've 
 
 [55]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 kept Alfred's curls. There's still a glint of gold in 
 them. (Her voice softens) 
 
 GEORGE. (Making the most of the moment) I 
 bore this till the day he struck me. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (More gently) Struck you? 
 GEORGE. Then I left him forever to find refuge 
 in Paris and consolation in my work. Ah, Madame, 
 do you begin to understand? 
 
 (Then MME. DE MUSSET speaks very quick 
 ly attempting to cover a softening emotion 
 which- she can't suppress) 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. But why, why have you 
 chosen my boy from all the men you 
 
 (She stops short) 
 
 GEORGE. Because he has come as my first love, 
 when I thought that love was over forever. You 
 must not, you cannot take him from me. 
 
 (MME. DE MUSSET is half -consciously be 
 ginning to pity her and she fights against it) 
 MME. DE MUSSET. I am taking him away to save 
 him. 
 
 GEORGE. Save him? Is he not a man? Would 
 you fling him to the grisettes of the boulevard as the 
 Philistines flung Daniel to the lions? (Again the 
 Bible. The Scriptures were ever her "present help 
 in trouble") No ! no ! I will be a mother to him. 
 A mother and a mistress. That combination is 
 unique, Madame, unique, but none the less sublime. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. I 
 
 GEORGE. (In a last beautiful effort) You are 
 [56]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 his mother. You gave him life. He drank in love 
 at your breasts. You have reared and tendered him 
 and in gratitude he would give back some of this love 
 you have given him. He would pay heaven by lov 
 ing in return. There are tears in your eyes. There 
 are tears in the hearts of each of us. You have 
 taught him love and now he would bring an offering 
 of love to lay on the altar of my heart. 
 
 MME. DE MITSSET. (Almost won) Your elo 
 quence, Madame 
 
 GEORGE. No ! No ! It is not my eloquence, it is 
 your mother's love, understanding the love of an 
 unfortunate sister. 
 
 (She throws herself on, her Jcnees before 
 her, then with dulcet sweetness) 
 May I call you mother? 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. I have misjudged you, Ma 
 dame. I ask your pardon. There is much good in 
 your heart. 
 
 GEORGE. I have opened it to you. (And then 
 from a sublimated height of spirituality) You will 
 tell him to go with me. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (On the verge of a collapse) 
 j j 
 
 GEORGE. (Very gently) You will, mother? 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (Slowly) Yes, he shall go 
 with you. 
 
 (And GEORGE sprmgs up and rushes tri 
 umphantly to the door of the kitchen) 
 
 [57]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 GEORGE. (Catting) Alfred, Alfred. Madame, 
 you have chosen well. 
 
 (But the emotional strain has been too 
 much for MME. DE MUSSET and she is weep 
 ing when ALFRED enters) 
 
 ALFRED. Mother, my mother, do not weep. If 
 one of us must suffer, it shall not be you. 
 MME. DE MUSSET. My son, my son. 
 ALFRED. You have suffered agony to give me 
 life, shall I not suffer agony to bring you peace? 
 Come, mother, I renounce my love, and will go with 
 you. 
 
 (And MME. DE MUSSET is so swept away 
 by her son's nobility that she -forgets her 
 words to GEORGE) 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (Throwing her arms about 
 him) Then come, my Alfred, and your mother will 
 help you to forget. 
 
 (They move towards the door. A pause. 
 GEORGE ** almost swooning. But a moment 
 later and she is ready even for this seeming 
 defeat on the brink of victory. She bars 
 their way) 
 
 GEORGE. (Darkly) He loves me with his life. 
 (And then very tragically) He will not hesitate if 
 you come between us. He is a genius, and geniuses 
 do not stop to think. 
 
 (In horror MME. DE MUSSET looks at AL 
 FRED. Dejectedly he turns away, his head 
 fallen) 
 [58]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (In terror) No! No! Not 
 that ! Not that ! 
 
 (The men crowd in at the doorway) 
 ALFRED. I am but a poor reed, broken in the 
 wind of destiny. 
 
 (GEORGE watches MME. DE MUSSET. Her 
 last thrust has gone home} 
 
 HEINE. (With a quick glance at GEORGE as she 
 puts on the new bonnet bought for Italy) The 
 wind has changed. 
 
 ALFRED. I am ready, mother. I shall go with 
 you, tho I leave my life behind me. 
 
 (Candle-light and pathos crown the scene. 
 Then MME. DE MUSSET speaks) 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (Her voice trembling) No, 
 Alfred, you shall go to Italy. I am your mother 
 and I wish it. I have misjudged this lady. Her 
 heart is noble. My blessings follow you. 
 
 (She sinks into a chair at the table and 
 ALFRED throws himself on his knees before 
 her) 
 ALFRED. My mother, my noble mother. 
 
 (Pause. Tableau, then BULOZ bustles in) 
 BULOZ. (Briskly) You haven't much time, if 
 you're leaving to-night. The diligence starts from 
 the Post in ten minutes. 
 
 GEORGE. Quick, Rosalie, a cab, a cab. (ROSALIE 
 rushes out) Alfred, when Elysium beckons we'll not 
 wait for baggage. Buloz, give Rosalie two hundred 
 francs and send my trunks to Genoa and twenty 
 
 [59]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act I] 
 
 reams of Weynan paper. My pen adores it. Al 
 fred, Alfred, the world is kind. 
 
 (ALFRED has got up and braced himself 
 with half a bottle of claret) 
 
 ALFRED. (Gayly) I'll write five comedies, a 
 tragedy and three books of poems. 
 BULOZ. Hurry ! Hurry ! 
 
 (One or two wraps and a few small bags 
 are hustled into the hall) 
 
 HEINE. Good-bye, fond lovers, the Gods have 
 made you artists. 
 
 (ROSALIE comes rushing in) 
 
 GEORGE. (Rapturously) And love will make us 
 Gods! 
 
 ROSALIE. There was a cab in the courtyard. 
 (Then to GEORGE) He said you told him to wait all 
 evening. 
 
 (GEORGE from her pmnacle, disregarding 
 this last blatant proof of her campaigning) 
 GEORGE. Good-bye, farewell, my friends. (And 
 then beautifully to MME. DE MUSSET) Madame, 
 God looks down on us. Love is all. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (Suddenly succumbing to the 
 practical) Be sure that Alfred wears his heaviest 
 flannels in that drafty diligence. 
 GEORGE. Trust me! Love is all! 
 
 (And snatching her half-finished manu 
 script from the desk, she and ALFRED rush 
 from the room, followed by BULOZ and HEINE. 
 MME. DE MUSSET sits silently, quite overcome, 
 [60]
 
 [Act I] MADAME SAND 
 
 as PAUL runs over to the window to watch 
 the departure; and ROSALIE begins clearing 
 the table. She sees the omelet} 
 ROSALIE. (Laconically) And all those ten eggs 
 wasted. 
 
 ( Voices sound up from the courtyard. The 
 noise has again wakened tlie canaries. There 
 is a shower of song and the curt am falls) 
 
 END OF ACT I 
 
 [61]
 
 ACT II 
 
 Nothing but Time Lasts Forever
 
 ACT II 
 
 It is six months later. The scene is GEORGE'S 
 apartment in the Hotel Darnell, Venice. It is even 
 ing. Through a great Venetian window, back center, 
 in the distance across the Grand Canal, can be seen 
 the Island of San Giorgio with its Campanile sil 
 houetted against the moon. The room is huge tiled 
 and gloomy. Deep shadows are everywhere. A few 
 chairs are about. MADAME'S writing desk piled high 
 with manuscripts is in a corner, and to the right a 
 great four-poster bed with the curtains drawn. But 
 the hand of the occupant hangs below them and is 
 just visible in the dim light of a night lamp which 
 stands on a little bottle-covered table near the bed. 
 There is a suggestion of the atmosphere of a sick 
 room, but somehow the idea of gloom is not too per 
 vasive. 
 
 Outside on the Grand Canal a "serenata" is in full 
 swing. One hears the -call of the gondoliers, the 
 bump of the boats, the chatter of voices, the beating 
 of tambourines and the shrill laughter of women, like 
 little rockets shooting up in the shifting hum of 
 sound. A sudden stittness and then a man's vdice 
 sings, lusciously, meltingly, a Venetian love song with 
 an accompaniment like a Barcarole of Mendelssohn. 
 
 [65]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 Italy night and love and this sick-room. But 
 still the background is fitting for in the deep, dark 
 embrasure of the Venetian window in the rear which 
 opens on a balcony over the canal, two figures are 
 leaning, listening to their hearts and the music. 
 They are GEORGE and her lover. 
 
 GEORGE. No! No! Don't answer. The stillness 
 is too eloquent. Listen ! Listen ! 
 
 {The voice of the singer at the serenata, 
 lifts in poignant ecstasy) 
 
 GEORGE. Listen, his voice has reached the stars 
 that bend down to hear. Ah, my beloved, love is the 
 end and the beginning. 
 
 (They are smoking in the shadows of the 
 
 deep window. The fumes float out) 
 
 GEORGE. Do you know what my life has been 
 
 until you came bearing a light in the darkness? 
 
 Nights of despair and dawns of disillusionment. 
 
 Life was but a sorry riddle whose answer was death. 
 
 (She is almost sobbing) That thought came to me 
 
 yesterday in the Hebrew cemetery. All was over 
 
 and now love again sings in my heart. Let silence 
 
 be our prayer of thanksgiving. 
 
 (A moment's attempt at this "silence," but 
 the crowd outside do not understand its beau 
 tiful necessity and the next second the song 
 is over and a tumultuous burst of applause 
 lifts from the waters) 
 
 GEORGE. And now we'll have tea. How beauti 
 fully he sang. Music is perpetual passion yearning 
 [66]
 
 [Act II] MADAME SAND 
 
 forever. Sh! you mustn't speak so loudly or our 
 patient may awake. 
 
 (She comes from the window. Her lover 
 stops in the shadow watching her as she 
 glides about. She dips a taper into the night- 
 lamp and at the end of the room farthest 
 from the bed lights a candle standing in a 
 bracket hanging on the wall. The stage grows 
 a little lighter. She is dressed in man's 
 clothing and is smoking a huge cigar. She 
 leans over a little brazier 
 
 GEORGE. Yes it's bubbling. I adore cooking. 
 Even making tea fascinates me. That's why Dumas 
 would never come to see me in Paris ah, Paris 
 he was jealous of my sauces. (She pours a little 
 water into a tea-pot) Come, dear, it's ready. 
 
 (And DR. PAGELLO steps out of the shadow 
 of the window. He is GEORGE'S deep-eyed, 
 hesitant, but none too brilliant Italian doc 
 tor. He has no mental distinction, no au 
 thority, no particular magnetism, but he is 
 charmingly simple and GEORGE has discov 
 ered in him a latent talent for the tender one- 
 syllabled sort of love which at the moment 
 of the threatening "debacle" of her affair 
 with DE MUSSET, her soul needs; and withal 
 though he is not too masterful he is extraor 
 dinarily handsome} 
 
 GEORGE. Sh You mustn't speak too loudly. He 
 
 [67]
 
 MADAME SAND {Act II] 
 
 may awake. (She glances toward the bed) Though 
 he has outraged our love, still I pity him. 
 
 PAGELLO. He needs sleep badly. 
 
 GEORGE. Ah, my friend, we must heal him. 
 France needs him. He is weak, weak his imagina 
 tion has sapped his will. (And then rather myste 
 riously) But he must not pass beyond. 
 
 PAGELLO. No. He will live, but I do not see why 
 you say pass beyond. It is very difficult for a phy 
 sician to understand how you other people feel about 
 that sort of thing. 
 
 GEORGE. (Half playfully) You ponderous sci 
 entist. You wicked, wicked materialist, don't you 
 believe the soul goes on forever? (Then beautifully) 
 Isn't love, our love an earthly symbol of the 
 soul's eternity. Don't you understand that Pietro? 
 
 PAGELLO. I I used to understand only what I 
 saw, but you somehow, you make me understand 
 what I do not see. I cannot explain you to myself. 
 
 GEORGE. I thought nothing was hidden from you 
 doctors. 
 
 PAGELLO. Most of the women I know are differ 
 ent from you. You are very unlike my mother. 
 
 GEORGE. No, no, Pietro, perhaps you misjudge 
 me. I, too, am only a woman. 
 
 PAGELLO. I carry my mother's picture with me. 
 See. (He shows her a little locket, which hangs from 
 a chaw, about his neck) She is very dear to me. 
 
 GEORGE. (Looking at the miniature) Your eyes 
 your brow and that look of trust. Some day 
 [68]
 
 [Act 77] MADAME SAND 
 
 you must tell me all about her. You will have a 
 little rum? Yes some day we'll go to her you 
 and I. (PAGELLO starts slightly) I'll read her part 
 of my latest novel. I wrote for six hours last night. 
 
 PAGELLO. (Deeply concerned) That's too much. 
 
 GEORGE. And for seven again this morning be 
 fore breakfast. I've gotten used to it. (She glances 
 toward the bed, and then with a note of genuine sad 
 ness in her voice) It helps me to forget. 
 
 PAGELLO. (Professionally) Work like that is 
 bad for you, you cannot keep it up, or 
 
 GEORGE. Is it can or cannot? I must live and 
 to live I must write. 
 
 PAGELLO. Why, even we physicians 
 
 GEORGE. Yes, yes, I know. (She is smiling gently 
 at him) Your mother will like my book and you too, 
 Pietro. It is written out of my heart. 
 
 PAGELLO. I think my father would care more to 
 hear it. He is a scholar, you know. He has come 
 up from Castelfranco to read some books in the 
 library here. He is waiting for me in the Piazetta; 
 we are to have ices together. All day he is busy 
 with his books, and in the evening I meet him. 
 
 GEORGE. You are a dutiful son. Do not believe 
 the cynics, Pietro. The world is full of dutiful sons. 
 (A half glance towards the bed) 
 
 PAGELLO. He is writing a history of Castel 
 franco. He loves our home. 
 
 GEORGE. Yes, yes, I too love the scenes of my 
 childhood. Dear, secluded Nohant but lately I 
 
 [69]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 have been dreaming (She leans a little toward him) 
 of the Alpine hills. Why, even here in Venice I smell 
 the scent of the almond flowers. (Then very ten 
 derly) You know the Alpine valleys, Pietro it is 
 spring (And into the last word she crowds all the 
 essence of the sweet beginning of things) spring. 
 
 PAGELLO. I have seen very little. Venice and 
 the country about my home. 
 
 GEORGE. Yes, we will go there some day. 
 
 PAGELLO. George! (He leans towards her, then 
 stops) George 
 
 GEORGE. You have an adorable way of hesitating 
 and then a lovely worried smile comes into vour eyes. 
 You must ever stay what I know you are rather than 
 what you may be. 
 
 PAGELLO. What I am, what I have done, does 
 that matter now? 
 
 GEORGE. You must tell me nothing. (She glances 
 towards the bed) Once before I thought I knew 
 the heart of a man. Ah, well! (She sadly shakes 
 her head) But now now (She leans towards 
 him) You must remain a mystery. 
 
 PAGELLO. Why? Why? 
 
 GEORGE. Because my love for you is beyond un 
 derstanding. It is part of myself. You have come 
 to me (Again a pathetic glance at the patient) 
 when my heart was broken. 
 
 PAGELLO. Before I knew you nothing used to in 
 terest me so much as gall-stones. But now 
 
 GEORGE. You droll darling. Sh Sh We 
 [70]
 
 [Act III MADAME SAND 
 
 mustn't talk so loud. (There is a movement and a 
 sigh from the sleeper behind the curtains) God 
 grant he is quiet to-night. I cannot stand this ter 
 rible life much longer. 
 
 PAGELLO. I pity you, you have nursed him like a 
 mother. 
 
 GEORGE. What has he not done to break my 
 heart ? 
 
 (She steps towards the bed and mournfully 
 looks m at the sleeper. Then she is back 
 at the table) 
 
 GEORGE. May God who is love some day give 
 me the strength to forgive him. 
 
 PAGELLO. He is better, almost well again if he 
 can give up this drinking 
 
 GEORGE. If? Think of it, Pietro. The other 
 night I had to call up two of the stoutest porters to 
 hold him down. He wept and sang and without a 
 stitch of clothing danced about the room shrieking 
 that the place was full of demons with vipers in 
 their hair. It was terrible. 
 
 PAGELLO. (Attempting to quiet her) Don't 
 speak of these things, George. 
 
 ( The memory of it is too much for her, but 
 the old instmct conquers) 
 
 GEORGE. Some day I shall put that scene into a 
 novel. Why not life is my theme. He has come 
 reeling home. He has squandered his money and 
 mine, Pietro. He has lost thousands of francs at the 
 tables. I sent to Paris, Buloz advanced me more.
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 PAGELLO. What? This money that you earn, 
 writing day and night, 
 
 GEORGE. Yes ! Yes ! By the sweat of my soul 
 I should say brow. It is true, my friend. The 
 French Consul has taken him to these gambling 
 houses and other places other places, Pietro. 
 
 PAGELLO. And all the while you sat there. (He 
 points to the desk) 
 
 GEORGE. Do you think he minded that? One 
 night in the pocket of his coat I found a slipper 
 a slipper of a ballerina. It was soaked with cham 
 pagne. 
 
 PAGELLO. (The extravagance rather than the im 
 propriety getting the better of him) No! Cham 
 pagne. That cost two lires a bottle! 
 
 GEORGE. The toe was stuffed. That's how these 
 people seem to dance on nothing. Ah I have borne 
 much. 
 
 PAGELLO. Yes, yes. 
 
 GEORGE. Sh he is awake. 
 
 (A moment's pause, then agam quiet. The 
 hand below tJie curtain falls a little lower 
 in exhausted relaxation) 
 
 PAGELLO. George, George, my noble friend, how 
 you have suffered. 
 
 GEORGE. I have borne all. The gold he flung 
 about him, that mattered little. I could write, write. 
 The incessant drink I forgave him that. 
 
 PAGELLO. And the ballet dancer? 
 
 GEORGE. (Bitterly) That, too, my friend. Do 
 [72]
 
 [Act II} MADAME SAND 
 
 you think that mattered? No. All that is nothing 
 nothing; but he has committed the one sin a 
 woman cannot forgive. (And then with a sincerity 
 that sounds through the romance of it all) He has 
 ceased to love me. (She is weeping) 
 
 PAGELLO. And you, George, you no longer love 
 him? 
 
 GEORGE. Pietro, how can you ask me that? No, 
 that is over. 
 
 PAGELLO. No mother could have nursed him 
 more tenderly than you. 
 
 GEORGE. No, no. 
 
 PAGEULO. I loved you for your care of him. 
 
 GEORGE. (Getting up) Perhaps his pillow needs 
 turning. 
 
 PAGELLO. No, do not disturb him. 
 
 GEORGE. I would give my life rather than see him 
 suffer. 
 
 PAGELLO. The world will never know what you 
 have done for him. 
 
 GEORGE. (For the moment forgetting her itch 
 ing pen) Never, never, Pietro, but does that mat 
 ter? (She is over at the bedside, a symbol of sac 
 rificial duty) I at least have kept my faith. (Then 
 reminiscently) How he urged me to go with him 
 to Italy, when I hesitated. 
 
 ( Then she is back at the table, weeping and 
 slicing a lemon as she speaks) 
 
 GEORGE. (With deep meaning) You came just 
 in time, Pietro. 
 
 [73]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 PAGELLO. (Again with a tinge of professional 
 pride) I hope I have helped him, the case wasn't 
 easy. 
 
 GEORGE. (Dramatically) It is me whom you 
 have lifted from the grave. 
 
 PAGELLO. You? 
 
 GEORGE. (Darkly) I had decided to die. 
 
 PAGELLO. You? 
 
 GEORGE. The day before you came into my life. 
 I had planned to leap from the Campanile in the 
 afternoon just when the band was playing so that 
 all the world might know what he had done to me. 
 
 PAGELLO. (Stirred) You must stop writing 
 you're tired, overstrained. 
 
 GEORGE. (Tenderly) Ah! Pietro. Now I am 
 better. God has sent you. Can you know what you 
 mean to me? Help me to be strong. 
 
 PAGELLO. I too thank God for the day I chanced 
 to pass your window. 
 
 GEORGE. (Suddenly, her hand on his) Chance! 
 Chance! And in that little word lies all the joy and 
 sorrow of the world. 
 
 (Pause. Farther in the distance can be 
 heard the sound of the serenata. PAGELLO 
 goes to the window.) 
 
 PAGELLO. (Pointing to the balcony) It was here 
 you stood. De Musset was next you. There was 
 something strange about you, as you flecked the 
 ashes from your cigar. I looked up. (He is back 
 from the window)
 
 [Act II] MADAME SAND 
 
 GEORGE. I remember, Pietro. (She gleams up 
 at him) 
 
 PAGELLO. Was it a sort of mesmerism? 
 
 GEORGE. Older than Mesmer, Pietro, man call 
 ing unto woman. It began in Eden. 
 
 PAGELLO. It was as if we spoke. 
 
 GEORGE. (Lyrically) Our hearts were answer 
 ing one another. 
 
 (The tenor's song lifts in the distance) 
 
 PAGEI/LO. All day I thought of the beauty of 
 your sad eyes. 
 
 GEORGE. (Gently) Beauty, no, my friend. 
 They were dim with weeping. 
 
 PAGELLO. All my visits seemed dull to me. Even 
 my most serious case a fat Turk dying of typhus 
 didn't interest me. Whilst I bled him, I thought of 
 you. 
 
 GEORGE. (Sweetly, accepting the compliment) 
 Yes, Pietro? 
 
 -PAGEI/LO. Back in my office, I could think of 
 nothing but you. 
 
 (There is a restless move from the sleeper 
 behind the curtains, but GEORGE, who for 
 a long while has heard no such tenderness as 
 this, doesn't notice it) 
 
 PAGELLO. You you. 
 
 GEORGE. And I, Pietro, I of you. As I leaned 
 over my writing, I saw you. Do you remember 
 Dante? your Dante Paola, Francesca, only I 
 must change the words a little. (She smiles faintly) 
 
 [75]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 I must say; that day I wrote no more. (She drifts 
 over to the window. She leans out) Ah! Pietro, the 
 night is like a drawn sword. Listen, the very stars 
 are singing. 
 
 PAGELLO. (A little confuted) No, that's the 
 tenor at the serenata. Ah, how I love you! That 
 day even Dr. Ganetti's book on gall-stones couldn't 
 interest me. 
 
 GEORGE. No, Pietro? (She is back at the table, 
 he follows her) 
 
 PAGELLO. Always across the page I saw the scar 
 let of the scarf that you wore about your head. 
 
 (They are leaning across the table, their 
 hands clasped together) 
 
 PAGELLO. (Passionately) You love me, George? 
 
 GEORGE. (Sweetly, simply, all that is deepest in 
 her wettmg up) I love you, Pietro. Why I do not 
 know. I love you as I have never loved before. All 
 my other love has been but as a preparation for this 
 love of ours which shall last forever. (Another 
 sigh from the bed) Sh he is awake. 
 
 PAGELLO. No, if he has taken the powder he will 
 sleep till morning. (He is around the table next to 
 her) George, George, how grateful I am to God 
 that so beautiful a soul as yours has bent down to 
 me. 
 
 GEORGE. Bent, my darling? No! It is you who 
 have lifted me from despair. (They are about to 
 embrace. The sleeper is again restless. She whis 
 pers) Sh we are much too loud. 
 [76]
 
 [Act II] i& MADAME SAND 
 
 fLove in the shadow of the patient's bed is 
 tibo incongruous even for her artist's na 
 ture) 
 
 GEORGE. (With an attempt at readjustment) 
 Let's finish our tea. It's from India. Alfred bought 
 it in the Rialto. It cost four lire. 
 
 PAGELLO. What ! That's a lot of money. 
 GEORGE. Nothing is too fine for Alfred. (Then 
 with a sad little laugh in her "voice) It was my 
 money. 
 
 (She pours out the tea. There is only one 
 
 cup. PAGELLO not noticing this, takes it up) 
 
 PAGELIX). (Sipping his tea) It tastes strange. 
 
 GEORGE. (Fantastically) Nude girls gathered 
 
 it. 
 
 PAGELLO. It certainly does taste different. 
 GEORGE. (Continuing) It's what the jeweled and 
 drowsy nabobs sip whilst they loll in their ham 
 mocks of spun silk. 
 
 (She goes over to her desk and makes a 
 note on the back of one of the sheets of her 
 manuscript paper) 
 
 GEORGE. (Writing) That's a beautiful sentence. 
 It has the odor of twilights in the East. 
 PAGEI/LO. The tea? 
 
 GEORGE. No, darling, my words. You mustn't 
 be too literal. That's what too much science does. 
 
 (As she passes him on her way back to the 
 table, she lovingly taps his head) 
 GEORGE. (Smiling) All the night is in your eyes. 
 
 *
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 PAGELLO. (Slipping his arm about her) Let's 
 go out on the balcony. By now the crowds are far 
 beyond the Piazzetta. (He takes a step towards 
 her) 
 
 GEORGE. (Admonishing him, as she glances to 
 ward the bed) No, no, Pietro, you are too impet 
 uous. Our poor Alfred might need something. 
 
 PAGELLO. He is almost well, to-morrow he can 
 get up. (He takes up his tea-cup) 
 
 GEORGE. I am waiting till he is strong again. 
 (She glances at the doctor) Then he must be told. 
 PAGELLO. He has my pity. Sooner or later he 
 would find out. 
 
 GEORGE. Yes we are above subterfuge. 
 PAGEL.LO. (Sipping his tea) But you aren't 
 drinking. (He looks down at the table to hand her 
 the other cup) Why look, there is only one. 
 
 GEORGE. Isn't one enough, Pietro? (She is over 
 next to him,) I shall sup from yours. 
 
 PAGELLO. (Tenderly) Then you must bend 
 down. 
 
 (And she does so, and his arm goes about 
 her waist. And the next moment she is in his 
 lap. And their mouths are almost touching 
 as they press the cup to their lips. And at 
 this moment ALFRED'S night-capped head 
 pops out through the curtains of the bed be 
 hind them. Tableau. He choices back an 
 exclamation of amazement and the curtains 
 hanging about him tremble) 
 [78] ^
 
 [Act III MADAME SAND 
 
 GEORGE. ( Wistfully) There now I have had 
 my tea. 
 
 PAGELLO. {Ardently) And I shall have my kiss. 
 
 GEORGE. (Faintly) Pietro! Pietro ! 
 
 (And ALFRED, pale as the curtains about 
 him, leans forward, watching them. And 
 passionately they embrace and then suddenly 
 she jumps up and as suddenly ALFRED drops 
 back behind the curtains) 
 
 GEORGE. (The "eclaircissement" has come) Now 
 I understand everything. I see it all clearly. 
 
 PAGELLO. (Quite taken by surprise) What's 
 the matter? 
 
 GEORGE. We must go away, and at once. 
 
 PAGELLO. What 
 
 GEORGE. We cannot stay. It is a desecration, no 
 not here, not here. It is an insult to this love of ours. 
 We dare not hesitate. 
 
 PAGELLO. I George 
 
 GEORGE. Life is calling us. This room stifles me. 
 
 PAGELLO. (Practical as ever) Then let's go 
 out on the balcony. 
 
 GEORGE. No, no, come, come away, away. 
 
 PAGELLO. (Quite misunderstanding her dynamic 
 impetuosity) Shall we go to the Lido? Shall I 
 call a gondola? 
 
 GEORGE. No, no, to the Alpine valleys. I arn 
 dressed for climbing. 
 
 PAGELLO. (Completely stupefied) What! George! 
 
 GEORGE. It is spring spring. (The thought 
 
 [79] '
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 gives a buoyant ring to her voice) We will wander 
 
 hand in hand like innocent, laughing children, and 
 
 we will love to the sound of the tumbling cascades. 
 
 (PAGELLO stands looking at her in wonder) 
 
 GEORGE. And then Paris. We've got to be in 
 
 time, Pietro, to see my little darlings, Solange, 
 
 Maurice, take their prizes at school. 
 
 PAGELLO. ( Who can scarcely gasp) To Paris 
 GEORGE. And to freedom! Come! 
 
 (She glances toward the bed. ALFRED, his 
 head poked out on the other side, is listening) 
 Let us not hesitate. A moment may shatter all. 
 PAGELLO. (Completely at a loss) But 
 GEORGE. For weeks, weeks I have known this 
 would come. I have prophetic visions. To-mor 
 row, the day after, it will be the same. I cannot 
 live in the shadow of these memories. 
 
 PAGELLO. (Not quite keyed to such speed) And 
 de Musset ? 
 
 GEORGE. He shall be told. But now, now we can 
 not wait. We must leave together. Destiny has 
 spoken. 
 
 (She is in his arms, and ALFRED is leaning 
 half out of bed. His intentions are patently 
 to have something to do with this destiny, but 
 as GEORGE sweeps forward, he involuntarily 
 slips back) 
 
 GEORGE. Come, Pietro. 
 
 PAGELLO. (Not knowing what to say) And 
 leave Venice? George 
 [80]
 
 [Act II] MADAME SAND 
 
 GEORGE. I have been sent to save you, you must 
 go lest your future sink in the mud of these lan 
 guorous lagoons. The world is waiting to receive 
 you. 
 
 PAGELLO. And my patients? 
 
 GEORGE. (Inspirationally) Your patients why 
 emperors shall call you in for gall-stones. 
 
 PAGELLO. (Still unpersuaded) And my mother? 
 
 GEORGE. (Involuntarily) Mother, mother. No, 
 no. That mustn't happen again. (But in a moment 
 she has recovered) You must be free to realize 
 yourself. I have done that. I am free. 
 
 PAGELLO. (Still doubtful) And my father? 
 
 GEORGE. Have you any aunts or uncles? Your 
 father, what of him? 
 
 PAGELLO. He will never consent to this. 
 
 GEORGE. I shall persuade him. 
 
 PAGELLO. (In amazement) You? 
 
 GEORGE. He is eating ices in the Piazzetta. He 
 is a scholar. You told me this. A scholar who is 
 eating ices the combination proves him gentle. He 
 will understand. He will bless you and send you 
 with me. 
 
 PAGELLO. But 
 
 GEORGE. Again but nothing but buts. Come, 
 Pietro. Come. 
 
 (They are at the door) 
 
 PAGELLO. (Pointing to her trousers) Can you 
 go like that? 
 
 GEORGE. Yes. Venice has got used to me. 
 
 [81]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 PAGELLO. This is madness. 
 GEORGE. Love has spoken. 
 
 PAGELLO. But my father will never consent to 
 this. 
 
 GEORGE. ( Undaunted} I know a parent's heart. 
 (ALFRED is about to catt out) I have not lived my 
 life for nothing. Come! The scent of the almond 
 bloom is calling. 
 
 (And half dragging him after her they 
 are gone. ALFRED gazes after them in, 
 speechless astonishment. Then he tries to 
 get up to follow. He is too weak. He fatts 
 back on the bed. Very far in the distance 
 the noise of the serenata can be heard. Slowly 
 he rouses himself. He pours out some brandy 
 which stands on the little table near the 
 bed. Half swooning he reaches the window. 
 He tries to call out. His strength fails him. 
 He leans against the window frame. Sud 
 denly there is a knock at the door and he 
 turns to see PAUL at the threshold) 
 ALFRED. Paul ! 
 
 PAUL. Good God, Alfred, what's the matter? 
 You look half dead. 
 
 ALFRED. (Faintly) Help me back to bed. 
 PAUL. Where's George? 
 
 (ALFRED leaning on him reaches the bed) 
 ALFRED. Eating ices on the Piazzetta. 
 PAUL. She leaves you alone like this? 
 ALFRED. She must have her ices. (He pours 
 [82]
 
 [Act II} MADAME SAND 
 
 out another glass of brandy) You didn't write you 
 were coming. What brings you to Venice? 
 
 PAUL. Mother sent me. She was uneasy. 
 
 ALFRED. Uneasy? 
 
 PAUL. Yes. You and George. Your letters came 
 less frequently. 
 
 ALFRED. Pve been busy. I've started three trag 
 edies, four comedies and a book of poems. How's 
 mother ? 
 
 PAUL. She sends her kindliest greetings to 
 George. 
 
 ALFRED. (Smiling faintly) Yes 
 
 PAUL. When will George be back? 
 
 ALFRED. When? 
 
 PAUL. Mother is so grateful to her. Buloz says 
 she's taken such good care of you. 
 
 ALFRED. And 
 
 PAUL. But lately he's been silent. Mother drove 
 to his office every day. 
 
 ALFRED. Poor Buloz 
 
 PAUL. And all he would do was to sit there look 
 ing at her strangely thru his monocle. 
 
 ALFRED. And mother, I suppose, would stare 
 back thru her lorgnon. Curious, isn't it, Paul? 
 Sometimes the harder people look the less they see. 
 
 PAUL. Of course I told her everything was all 
 right. 
 
 ALFRED. (On the verge of laughter) Of course. 
 
 PAUL. I saw Heine. 
 
 ALFRED. Yes ? 
 
 [83]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 PAUL. Said he knew nothing but he advised me 
 to leave it all to George. Said that she would man 
 age somehow. 
 
 ALFRED. She has managed, somehow. (He is 
 laughing to him* elf) 
 
 PAUL. I told Heine I was going to Venice. 
 
 ALFRED. Yes. 
 
 PAUL. He sent you a message 
 
 ALFRED. A blessing that sneers? 
 
 PAUL. No, he told me to tell you that Hell is the 
 place where the satisfied compare disappointments. 
 
 ALFRED. He knows. 
 
 PAUL. You're so white, Alfred, what's the mat 
 ter? 
 
 ALFRED. I've been ill. Sunstroke, lying on the 
 beach at the Lido. 
 
 PAUL. You should have known better. 
 
 ALFRED. I couldn't get away. George insisted 
 on reading me her last six chapters. Such rubbish ! 
 Perhaps it was the book and not the sun. 
 
 PAUL. You're better now? 
 
 ALFRED. To-morrow I'll be about again. 
 
 PAUL. Mother sent you this. (He hands him 
 a letter) 
 
 ALFRED. (Slipping it under his pittow) How 
 much? 
 
 PAUL. A thousand francs. 
 
 ALFRED. (Petulantly flinging himself back on 
 the pillow) But I needed fifteen hundred. Has she 
 forgiven my going? 
 [84] '
 
 [Act II] MADAME SAND 
 
 PAUL. A week after and she was glad you'd gone. 
 
 ALFRED. Glad ? 
 
 PAUL,. Said it would do you good to see life. 
 
 ALFRED. Yes Yes It's done me good. Have 
 a bit of brandy, Paul. (He sits up and pours out 
 a little in a glass) 
 
 PAUL. As I. came by two men raced past me. 
 They almost knocked me over. 
 
 ALFRED. (Sipping his brandy) You're not 
 easily bowled over, are you, Paul? 
 
 PAUL. These Italians have such brutal manners. 
 But just the same I was amused. 
 
 ALFRED. Yes. 
 
 PAUL. One of them bore the strangest resem 
 blance to George. 
 
 ALFRED. Naturally. 
 
 PAUL. What? 
 
 ALFRED. Have a bit of brandy. 
 
 PAUL. Why did you say naturally? 
 
 ALFRED. (Speaking slowly and rather amused 
 watching the effect on PAUL) It was George. 
 
 PAUL. What? George? Running thru the streets 
 with another man dressed like that. 
 
 ALFRED. (A twinkle in his voice) To hesitate 
 is to hinder history. 
 
 PAUL. Can't you be serious? Where were they 
 running to? 
 
 ALFRED. As far as their trousered legs can carry 
 them. 
 
 PAUL. What? 
 
 [85]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 ALFRED. If something doesn't stop them they'll 
 reach the end of the earth and then drop off. 
 
 PAUL. You mean the Grand Canal? 
 
 ALFRED. Not exactly. But something will stop 
 them. 
 
 PAUL. I hope so. Can she swim ? 
 
 ALFRED. In any waters. But she'll be stopped 
 unless I am mistaken and by something she doesn't 
 quite expect. The old man's a scholar. 
 
 PAUL. (In the dark) What? 
 
 ALFRED. She'll bump into his papa. 
 
 PAUL. (Mystified) Papa? 
 
 ALFRED. Yes. The papa of the other man who 
 nearly knocked you over. 
 
 PAUL. I 
 
 ALFRED. (Shedding the light) She is planning 
 to elope with him. 
 
 PAUL. (Springing up) Then it's ended? 
 
 ALFRED. How swiftly you deduce. A great phi 
 losopher lies buried deep very deep, in you. 
 
 PAUL. If ever again I believe in a woman I'll 
 cease to believe in God. I've come just in time. 
 Mother was right to send me. Perhaps I can patch 
 it up. 
 
 ALFRED. No, leave it torn. That's how the light 
 soaks thru. 
 
 PAUL. (Sympathetically coming towards him.) 
 My poor, poor Alfred. Don't let it hurt too much. 
 Paris is crowded with women. They mayn't all 
 know literature but nearly all know love. 
 [86]
 
 [Act II] MADAME SAND 
 
 ALFRED. Yes, Paid. 
 
 PAUL,. My poor, poor brother. 
 
 ALFRED. My poor, poor imbecile. Thank God 
 it's over! I wish she were in Hell! 
 
 (And PAUL flops back into his chair and 
 then ALFRED lets loose what has been stor 
 ing up in him for months) 
 
 ALFRED. I can't bear her about me. She's like 
 a noisy old clock that can't stop ticking. Why, she 
 actually had the indelicacy when I lay here recov 
 ering from my sunstroke (He takes a gulp of 
 brandy) to sit next to my bed scratching away all 
 night at her endless novels. She writes as a cow 
 gives milk. All she has to do is to jerk at her 
 mind. Sometimes I drank a little to forget. (PAUL 
 in silent astonishment sits listening) There are 
 two ways to get to know a person, Paul. Gambling 
 with them or travelling with them. The first is 
 better, it's over sooner. (His pent-up vehemence 
 comes pouring out) She has the soul of a bour- 
 goise. One day I sat there trying to write and 
 what do you think I heard in the next room? She 
 was telling the chambermaid the chambermaid, 
 Paul, how her mother was dancing at a ball a month 
 before her marriage and how she stopped in the 
 middle of the quadrille and five minutes afterwards 
 gave birth to George. 
 
 PAUL. My God no 
 
 ALFRED. I called her in. I remonstrated with her 
 and she sneered at my hypocritical breeding. 
 
 [87]
 
 MADAME SAND {Act II] 
 
 PAUL. And could you expect her to understand 
 that? 
 
 ALFRED. She laughed at me and said that many 
 of the best family trees bore the worst fruit. I 
 rushed away and drank, drank, drank (And he does 
 so) to forget the vulgarity of it all. 
 
 PAUL. (Commiseratingly) My poor Alfred! 
 
 ALFRED. And when I got back, there she sat 
 scribbling. All my beautiful, glorious ideas deserted 
 me. There she sat scribbling, scribbling all the 
 night long, scratching away like a rusty old file. 
 
 (He is exhausted and falls weakly back on 
 the bed) 
 
 PAUL. (Leaning over him) My poor brother, 
 what you have lived thru. 
 
 ALFRED. Think of it, Paul. Only a few minutes 
 ago I caught them kissing, actually kissing, in the 
 shadow of my bed, my bed of torture. 
 
 PAUL. (Slowly) What will mother say? 
 
 ALFRED. She must never know. 
 
 PAUL. Two weeks and the boulevards will be 
 gabbing. George tells everything to Buloz. 
 
 ALFRED. She tells everything to everybody. 
 (Then half bitterly, half humorously} Copy copy. 
 
 PAUL. But I'll defend you now that I know the 
 truth. 
 
 ALFRED. (Suddenly sitting up) What? 
 
 PAUL. I'll answer her. Leave it to me ; wait and 
 see. 
 
 ALFRED. (Making the most of the moment by 
 [88]
 
 [Act II} MADAME SAND 
 
 adding to the data) There she lay in his arms, 
 Paul, drinking my tea from the one cup, both of 
 them, whilst she mumbled something about haste 
 and almond blossoms. 
 
 PAUL. And so George the untiring, weary of the 
 de Musset doll, tosses the broken puppet into a 
 corner. 
 
 ALFRED. God knows how kind, how gentle, I 
 have been with her. (And then he too begins think 
 ing of the beginning of their love in Paris) How 
 she urged me to go to Italy when I hesitated. I 
 at least have been faithful. 
 
 PAUL. And now she's leaving you? 
 ALFRED. If fate is kind and the old father is 
 a fool. If he can't stop her nothing will. Listen, 
 they are coming back. (He points to a door beyond 
 the bed) Quick, wait in there. 
 
 (And Jie is about to crawl back into bed 
 but the next instant the door flies open and 
 LUCREZIA VIOLENTE, PAGELLO'S mistress, 
 rushes into the room. She is tense, dark, 
 scented, a colorful combination of a languor 
 ous poppy when happy and an angry fire 
 cracker when stirred. She slams the door 
 behind her and leans against it) 
 LUCREZIA. (Panting) I must speak with you, 
 you. (She glares at ALFRED) You! 
 
 (And PAUL with a sly, knowing glance 
 at his brother, begins to whistle a sprightly 
 snatch of a love song and then trips over to 
 
 [89]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 examine more closely the beautiful, though 
 tempestuous LUCREZIA) 
 
 ALFRED. (To PAUL,) What are you doing? 
 What's the matter with you? 
 
 PAUL. (Smiling significantly) So! So! My 
 naughty, naughty brother. And this is why the 
 George gets on your poor nerves. But I don't blame 
 you, Alfred, really I don't. 
 
 (Very intimately he begin* ogling LUCRE 
 ZIA and whistling even louder. He steps with 
 a swaggering familiarity closer to her) 
 ALFRED. (Coming between them) I tell you to 
 wait in the next room. 
 
 PAUL. (Laughing) All right. Two's company, 
 three's a chaperon. 
 
 (And he enjoys his wit immensely, to the 
 intense discomfort of ALFRED and the as 
 tonishment of LUCREZIA) 
 
 ALFRED. Get out. I tell you I've never seen the 
 girl before. 
 
 PAUL. Then thank the dear gods who sent her. 
 (And PAUL backs out of the room, still 
 whistling, with an intimate wave of his hand 
 to LUCREZIA) 
 ALFRED. Who are you? 
 
 LUCREZIA. (With terrific speed a* she speaks 
 throughout) Lucrezia Maria Camilla Elvira Vio- 
 lente. 
 
 ALFRED. (Rather gallantly but a bit uncertain) 
 And what do you wish with me, my dear? 
 [90]
 
 [Act III MADAME SAND 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Resenting his tone} What do you 
 think? 
 
 ALFRED. (Taking Tier in) Well er er 
 
 (LUCREZIA with a slight swagger steps to 
 wards him) 
 
 LUCREZIA. Well ! 
 
 ALFRED. (Smiling at her) Did the French Con 
 sul send you to me? 
 
 LUCREZIA. No one has sent me. 
 
 ALFRED. I haven't seen you at the serenatas. 
 
 LUCREZIA. No. 
 
 ALFRED. Nor at the opera. 
 
 LUCREZIA. No. 
 
 ALFRED. Nor in the Piazzetta, watching the fire 
 works. 
 
 LUCREZIA. (As he steps a little nearer) No. No. 
 
 ALFRED. (Not quite sure of his ground but he is 
 ALFRED and she is beautiful) Well, you see (And 
 then very sweetly), my dear (He is closer to her) 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Starting back) My dear! How 
 dare you ! How dare you ! Dio Mio, Dio Mio, how 
 dare you? 
 
 ALFRED. Forgive me, my dear, but you see I am 
 a man it is night You come to my room 
 
 LUCREZIA. Yes, yes, I come to your room. (She 
 looks about her) 
 
 ALFRED. Well, then, who are you? 
 
 LUCREZIA. Lucrezia, Maria 
 
 ALFRED. (Stemming the tide) Yes, yes but 
 where do you come from? 
 
 [91]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 LUCREZIA. From Castelfranco. 
 
 ALFRED. And what do you want with me? 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Not tempering her disdain) You 
 I want nothing with you. 
 
 ALFRED. (Resenting this, his tone a mixture of 
 surprise and disappointment) Then why do you 
 come here? 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Almost spitting the words in his face) 
 It is your woman, your woman that I want. 
 
 ALFRED. (In the dark) What why, I've never 
 even seen you before. 
 
 LUCREZIA. You! Bah! (With a gesture as 
 though wiping him off her hands) I am an Italian. 
 I want to see this George Sand. (She has a curi 
 ous way of sounding the e in George) 
 
 ALFRED. (Backing into a chair at the table) 
 Yes. I see that you're an Italian. And what do 
 you want with Mme. Sand? 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Mysteriously handling something 
 which is in lier belt under her shawl and speaking 
 very simply like a wide eyed child) I wish to kill 
 her. 
 
 ALFRED. (Darting back) Good God! Who are 
 you? What are you? 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Coming close to him and leaning in 
 his face as site speaks the words slowly and with 
 intense significance) I am a friend a good friend 
 of Dr. Pietro Pagello. Do you understand me, 
 you Frenchman? 
 [92]
 
 [Act 1 1] MADAME SAND 
 
 ALFRED. (The light breaking} How did you get 
 in here? 
 
 LUCREZIA. I said I had come to nurse the invalid. 
 Bah! (She glares at him in abject disgust) And 
 now where is this Signora George Sand? 
 
 ALFRED. She has gone out with (He stops 
 short, LUCREZIA watching him) With a friend 
 a friend. They have gone to to (And then with in 
 spiration) to see the Punch and Judy show. 
 Madame adores to watch the puppets dance. 
 
 LUCREZIA. So. Then they will soon be back. 
 (She steps towards a chair) 
 
 ALFRED. (Fencing) No. No. That was last 
 night. To-night to-night they^ she 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Pointing it) They Yes 
 
 ALFRED. (A bit at a loss) She they, yes, 
 they have gone by moonlight to the open sea be 
 yond Murano. Yes yes (His imagination begins to 
 work) Madame couldn't stand the noise of the 
 serenata. Listen, it's coming back. (The boats 
 on the Canal have shifted and are coming nearer) 
 Listen ! 
 
 LUCREZIA. So! So! (She draws a chair away 
 from the table and sits watching ALFRED) Then 
 I will wait till she comes back from this open sea 
 beyond Murano with this friend. (Her breath 
 comes in little panting gasps) Madonna mia, this 
 friend this friend. 
 
 ALFRED. (At his wit's end) They may stay away 
 all night. 
 
 [93]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 LUCEEZIA. (Her eyes aflame) Madonna mia. So 
 it has come to that, all night. 
 
 ALFRED. That is Madame sometimes waits to 
 see the dawn rise over the sea the Adriatic, you 
 know. 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Less imaginative perhaps but quite 
 his match) Then I will stay till morning till 
 Madame has seen this dawn rise over this Adriatic. 
 
 ALFRED. You can't do that, Madame. Can't you 
 see I'm in my dressing gown? 
 
 LUCREZIA. If you are so modest, my little French 
 man, then go back to bed. I didn't come to talk 
 with you. 
 
 ALFRED. But see here people don't do that sort 
 of thing. Stop and think. 
 
 LUCREZIA. My heart speaks. I do not stop to 
 think. 
 
 ALFRED. No. I can see that. 
 
 LUCREZIA. What do I care what you see? I have 
 come to save my Pietro. I shall take him from this 
 George Sand. 
 
 (This is too much for ALFRED. Suddenly 
 he realizes how she may entangle the chances 
 of his own happy and imminent release) 
 
 ALFRED. (With intense conviction) No, you 
 mustn't, you mustn't do that. 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Jumping up) What you say that? 
 
 ALFRED. (Rushing along) It will do him good. 
 Let him see life. Madame will teach him much. 
 
 LUCREZIA. Madonna, Madonna. You tell me 
 [94]
 
 [Act I I] MADAME SAND 
 
 that. You dead little dove of a man ! Are you not 
 her lover? , ^ 
 
 ALFRED. (At a loss) Yes was that is yes 
 yes, of course I am. (His emotions are mixed) Now 
 you just go away and I'll have a nice little talk 
 with George and she'll send him back to you. 
 
 LUCREZIA. (The hand under her shawl nervously 
 twitching} If I no, no there is nothing but 
 milk in your veins. 
 
 ALFRED. (Vainly groping for a way out) Yes, 
 yes, lots of milk. Goat's milk. I've been sick, sun 
 stroke. He makes me take milk, gallons of milk. 
 He's a wonderful doctor, this Dr. Pagello. 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Her hand at her heart) My Pietro, 
 my Pietro. He gives you milk? 
 
 ALFRED. (Grasping the straw) It's time for it 
 now. You'll excuse me, good evening. I've got to 
 go out for my milk. 
 
 (He hopefully glances towards the door 
 but LUCREZIA is unbudgeable. He tries to 
 take a step but he is too weak and slips back 
 into his chair) 
 
 LUCREZIA. Go back to your bed lest you faint 
 like a woman. 
 
 ALFRED. (Weakly) But you can't sit there all 
 night long. 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Firmly) No? 
 
 ALFRED. Look here. I'll (He turns to move 
 towards her. He is exhausted) 
 
 [95]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 LUCREZIA. (The hand wnder her shawl twitching) 
 Yes 
 
 (The sound of the serenata comes up from 
 the waters tambourines, the laughter of 
 women, tJie song of the tenor) 
 ALFRED. Listen! That's a song of love. (He 
 falters towards the bed) 
 
 LUCREZIA. (With a sneer) Love! What do 
 you know of love, you little Frenchman? 
 
 ALFRED. (Throwing himself down) This only 
 this. Life lays the trap of love and we, poor human 
 fools, are crowding, crowding and waiting to be 
 caught. (He lies back a moment in thought. Then 
 suddenly) Ah! No sooner is she out of the way 
 than it comes back to me. (Then to LUCREZIA) 
 Bring me some paper, quick. 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Marvelling) What? 
 ALFRED. From that desk. There in the corner. 
 (LUCREZIA resents his sudden, shifting im 
 petuosity. Her experience with poets has 
 been limited) 
 
 LUCREZIA. What ! You dare to order me 
 ALFRED. Oh, don't mind that. Women always 
 do what I ask them. My mother began it. (He 
 tries to get up but sinks back on the pillow) 
 Quick! Some verses have come to me, beautiful 
 verses. The first in months. 
 
 (There is something pathetic in his voice. 
 LTTCREZIA goes towards the desk) 
 ALFRED. Yes. That's it. Several sheets. 
 [96]
 
 [Act II] MADAME SAND 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Lifting up some of the pages of 
 GEOEGE'S latest romance) This? 
 
 ALFRED. Yes, yes. It's her new novel. But 
 she'll never miss it. Never. (Angrily LUCREZIA is 
 about to crush the papers in her hand) And dip a 
 pen for me. As soon as she's out. Of course, of 
 course, I might have known. One room isn't big 
 enough for two muses. 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Bringing the paper and pen to his 
 bedside) Here. 
 
 ALFRED. (Propping himself up) Won't you go 
 now? 
 
 LUCREZIA. What? 
 
 ALFRED. You mustn't stand there watching me 
 
 when I write. It makes me nervous. (LUCREZIA 
 
 glares at Mm in astonishment) Go, please, please. 
 
 (For a moment he forgets her. He begins 
 
 writing whilst she backs to the table and 
 
 sits watching him) 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Under her breath) I cannot under 
 stand these Frenchmen. They are mad. 
 
 (And in her deep disgust she goes to the 
 window and stands looking out) 
 ALFRED. (Fanning his inspiration) Yes yes 
 yes 
 
 (His pen glides over the paper. Silence 
 for a moment, only the scratching of the 
 quitt is heard. Then suddenly voices sound 
 just outside the door. LUCREZIA leaps up 
 Uke a smoldering flame that is hit by the 
 
 [97]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 wind, and instinctively glides into the deep 
 embrasure of the window. The papers fall 
 from ALFRED'S hand to the floor as swiftly 
 Tie draws the curtains together and slips 
 back into the bed. A moment and GEORGE 
 triumphantly enters smoking a huge cigar 
 and at her heels is PAGELLO, his big eyes 
 fitted with love) 
 
 PAGELLO. Ah, my beloved, how you spoke to 
 him. There were tears in his eyes. Such eloquence. 
 (LUCREZIA is watching them. She is mys 
 tified. PAGELLO is PAGELLO but who is 
 GEORGE? The man's costume baffles her, 
 the room is but dimly Ut. But then GEORGE 
 speaks) 
 GEORGE. No, Pietro, it was not my eloquence. 
 
 (Then the girl recognizes her. She is 
 about to spring forward but GEORGE goes 
 on) 
 
 GEORGE. (Lyrically) He understood my sor 
 row. I will bless and remember him forever. His 
 heart is gentle. There is only one wound that hurts 
 my happiness. 
 
 PAGELLO. There is much perhaps that I should 
 tell you. 
 
 GEORGE. No, no, not you. (Then sadly she 
 glances towards the bed) He must be told. 
 PAGELLO. Wait until to-morrow. 
 GEORGE. To-morrow we may die. Life has 
 spoken. What must be, must be. 
 [98]
 
 [Act 7/j MADAME SAND 
 
 (She goes towards the bed. She draws 
 back the curtains. Tenderly she leans over 
 the patient) 
 GEORGE. Alfred ! Alfred ! 
 
 (A moment's quiet. Then ALFRED stirs in 
 his slumber. Then he awakes) 
 ALFRED. (With a far-away voice) Ah! You, 
 George. What time is it? You've been gone so 
 long. (He leans out of bed and looks about him) 
 Ah! She is gone. 
 
 (LUCREZIA is too deep in the window for 
 him to see her, but she too is leaning for 
 ward listening) 
 
 GEORGE. (At a loss) Who? Who? 
 ALFRED. That's well. That is well. She is gone. 
 GEORGE. (Mystified) Who? Who? 
 ALFRED. Perhaps I've been dreaming. I'm so 
 tired. 
 
 PAGELLO. Yes. Lie down. (Then softly to 
 GEORGE) He still is weak and imagines that he sees 
 things. (He draws her away from the bed) Wait 
 until to-morrow. 
 
 GEORGE. Sooner or later we must tell him. 
 ALFRED. (Trying to overhear them) What are 
 you two whispering about? Don't tell me that I've 
 got to take one of those nasty powders and more 
 milk. I'll fling it out of the window. 
 
 GEORGE. Yes. He's better. Much better. It is 
 time. 
 
 [99]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 goes towards the bed and stands for 
 a moment looking at him. Her hesitancy 
 worries him) 
 
 ALFRED. (Encouragingly) I'm well again. 
 Strong as a porter. (He glances at GEORGE) Look. 
 (And expectantly he sits bolt upright in the bed) 
 My sunstroke's over. 
 
 GEORGE. Ah, my friend, you must beware of this 
 sun that comes in bottles. 
 
 ALFRED. Strong as two porters that I've seen 
 somewheres. 
 
 GEORGE. (Putting her hand on his shoulder. Her 
 tone is simple but deeply fraught) Alfred, I have 
 something to say to you. 
 
 ALFRED. (Eagerly) Yes yes 
 
 GEORGE. (Almost philosophically) Life is so 
 different from literature. 
 
 ALFRED. (Not expecting the digression) What? 
 
 GEORGE. Some day I must use this scene and I 
 must be careful to keep it unelaborate. 
 
 ALFRED. (Lest her commentary go on too long) 
 Doctor, do you think I'm strong enough to talk 
 literature ? 
 
 GEORGE. No, my friend, I haven't come to speak 
 of literature but life. But I was thinking after 
 all how very simple reality really is. Be brave, Al 
 fred, I have something to say to you. 
 
 ALFRED. Yes ? 
 
 GEORGE. We are at the cross-roads. Even as 
 [100]
 
 [Act II} MADAME SAND 
 
 Ruth (A puff at her cigar) and Naomi, (,4s always 
 God and the Bible are her refuge) 
 ALFRED. (Impatiently) Yes yes. 
 GEORGE. (Very simply) I can no longer be 
 your mistress, Alfred. I can only be your friend. I 
 love Dr. Pagello. 
 
 (A pause. Four hearts are for a moment 
 stitt. From the water lifts the sound of the 
 serenata. The girl in the window starts for 
 ward but the next instant out of the bed 
 comes what is meant to be a heart-broken 
 wail of despair) 
 
 ALFRED. (From among the pillows) George, 
 George, why do you tell me this, George? 
 
 GEORGE. (Beautifully) Be brave, be brave, my 
 friend. (PAGELLO stands looking at her in rap 
 ture) I tell you this because I cannot let the 
 shadow of a lie dim the fading memory of what once 
 we were to one another. (And she takes a long deep 
 pull at her cigar) 
 
 ALFRED. George, George, how can I bear this? 
 GEORGE. We are but born to bear. We poor pil 
 grims. (And she smiles tenderly at the doctor) 
 Life is our cross. (Then she turns to ALFRED) I 
 shall remember that once I loved you. 
 
 ALFRED. (Taking her hand and pressing it to 
 his lips) Though I weep I shall remember (He is 
 perhaps sobbing a little) what you have done for 
 me. 
 
 [101]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 (LUCREZIA m blank-eyed amazement leans 
 forward listening to their beautiful pathos. 
 GEORGE. It is over, over. Our poor romance is 
 ended. Time has written (Then she turns gracious 
 ly to PAGELLO) finite. Come, Pietro, this place is 
 no longer holy. This shrine of love has been defiled. 
 (And then in mysterious metaphor) Something has 
 entered in. 
 
 (And the something in the window is al 
 most convulsed with passionate hate) 
 GEORGE. Come, my beloved. (And then she turns 
 to ALFRED, speaking with childlike frankness) We 
 must go from here. Out into the light. We are go 
 ing high into the mountains where the air shall 
 purify. There, there perhaps I shall be able to for 
 get. (She turns to the doctor) Come, my beloved. 
 (She is almost in his arms but suddenly 
 from the window there is a mad little yelp 
 of rage and the next instant LUCREZIA 
 springs forward confronting her, burning in 
 domitable) 
 
 ALFRED. (As the beautiful structure of similes 
 tumbles) She! She! I thought she'd gone. 
 PAGELLO. (As tho shot) Lucrezia, you! You! 
 GEORGE. (Quite calmly) Good evening, Madame. 
 Did you climb up the columns to the balcony? 
 
 LUCREZIA. You shall not take him. You shall 
 not. 
 
 GEORGE. What, Madame? 
 LUCREZIA. I shall kill you. 
 [102]
 
 [Act II] MADAME SAND 
 
 GEORGE. (Oblivious) I can't see how you ever 
 did it in those skirts. 
 
 LUCREZIA. (A mixture of temper and tears) 
 Pietro, Pietronini, caro mio, caro mio you no 
 longer love me me. (She is shrieking) Dio, Ma 
 donna you no longer love me. 
 
 GEORGE. I beg you, Madame, not to shout. My 
 friend Monsieur de Musset is none too strong. 
 Won't you be seated? 
 
 (And GEORGE sits down at the table unbut 
 toning the lowest button of her vest) 
 
 LUCREZIA. Who are you? What are you? You 
 crazy woman! (Her fingers are twitching) You 
 woman in breeches dressed like that. 
 
 PAGELLO. Lucrezia, be still, be still. 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Poco fortissimo) No! No! She 
 must listen. No ! No ! 
 
 GEORGE. I am trying to, Madame, but you make 
 so much noise. I cannot hear you. 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Piu forte) I make noise! No! No! 
 I make no noise! 
 
 (She is almost dancing in her rage) 
 
 GEORGE. What a fascinating personality ! 
 
 (And she goes over to her desk and brings 
 over some manuscript paper and a pen) 
 
 LUCREZIA. I spit at you. 
 
 GEORGE. No, I wouldn't do that. It isn't nice. 
 
 LUCREZIA. Nice ! Nice ! I dig my nails in your 
 heart. 
 
 GEORGE. (Sweetly) My dear girl, save up all 
 
 [103]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 that energy and one of these days you'll bring beau 
 tiful children into this ugly world. I am a mother 
 and I know. 
 
 (LUCEEZIA suddenly whips the stiletto from 
 under her shawl and springs towards 
 GEOEGE) 
 
 LUCBEZIA. You sneer, you short-haired French one. 
 {And she makes a dash towards her. PA 
 GELLO catches her by the wrist and the 
 knife falls to the floor) 
 
 PAGELLO. For God's sake, what are you doing? 
 GEOEGE. (Calmly taking notes) Ah! What a 
 place to end a chapter. 
 
 PAGELLO. (Struggling with the girl) Do you 
 know who she is? 
 
 LUCEEZIA. (Trying to get away) What do I 
 care who, what she is. 
 
 PAGELLO. (With a sort of awe) She is the great 
 George Sand. 
 
 (And GEOEGE glances up from her writ 
 ing smilingly to accept the compliment) 
 PAGELLO. She is a famous woman. A great writer. 
 (ALFEED is leaning far out of bed clutch 
 ing one of the posts) 
 
 ALFEED. Have you no respect for literature? 
 LUCEEZIA. (In blinding scorn, sizzling over like 
 a miniature Vesuvius) Literature! What do I care 
 literature, lies, lies. I too know literature. (And 
 then in her rage she flings out all the names she can 
 remember, mixmg geography with letters to justify 
 [104]
 
 [Act II] MADAME SAND 
 
 her claim) Dante, Dante, Alighieri, Tasso, Cam 
 panile, San Marco, Venezia, Ariosto, Petrarca, 
 Laura. Literature, Bah ! bah ! lies, lies ! I spit 
 at them. I spit at you. 
 
 (She is again going for GEORGE wildly 
 
 gesticulating and PAGELLO again intercepts 
 
 her. Suddenly in a wild paroxysm of passion 
 
 she clutches him to her breast. By this 
 
 time ALFRED is almost tumblmg out of bed 
 
 and GEORGE sits quietly writing) 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Clinging to him, her voice hot with 
 
 passion and rage) I love you. I hate you. I love 
 
 you. I speak your name when I sleep ; when I go 
 
 to the well the water says, Pietro, and I drink, and 
 
 drink, and drink. 
 
 GEORGE. ( Writing as quickly as she can) Charm 
 ing, charming. Do you mind repeating that? How 
 many times did you say drink? Alfred, what does 
 fiction know of life? 
 
 (LUCREZIA clings to PAGELLO as to a spar 
 in this tossmg sea of passion) 
 LUCREZIA. Pietro ! Pietronini ! 
 ALFRED. (Looking at GEORGE and speaking into 
 the curtain of his bed) God! That woman, even 
 
 _ g % 
 
 now she can write. 
 
 GEORGE. Ah ! What a scene this will make when 
 I'm thru with it. Such fervor, such reality. Buloz 
 will be delighted. 
 
 (PAGELLO has forced LUCREZIA into a 
 chair. In a frenzy her fists beat the table) 
 
 [105]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 GEORGE. Don't do that, my dear, or I can't 
 write. 
 
 {And then LUCREZIA, her passion for the 
 
 moment spent, goes forward, her head in her 
 
 arms, shaken with convulsive weeping. And 
 
 then GEORGE springs up and goes over to 
 
 her. Her whole manner changes. She speaks 
 
 to her as site would to an angry child) 
 
 GEORGE. You have my pity, Madame. I speak 
 
 to you out of my soul. I too have loved and lost. 
 
 (Sorrowfully she glances at ALFRED) That is the 
 
 lot of us poor women. We give our love only to be 
 
 forsaken. 
 
 PAGELLO. (Half in a whisper, half stupidly) I 
 wanted to tell you, tell you all. 
 
 GEORGE. No, no, don't speak. I understand. 
 (And then with a tone of universal pity) We are 
 but human. (By a glance she even includes ALFRED 
 in her deep love for humanity. Then sympathetically 
 to LUCREZIA) Life has spoken and life must be an 
 swered. He has come to save me when my nature 
 faltered and he shall go with me eventually to 
 Paris. 
 
 (And at this LUCREZIA springs up. This 
 is the last straw. Again her rage begins to 
 bubble) 
 
 LUCREZIA. No. No. 
 
 GEORGE. Not right away. After we have found 
 love in the Alpine valleys. Ah, the scent of the al 
 mond blossoms. 
 [106]
 
 [Act II} MADAME SAND 
 
 LUCREZIA. ( Turning on PAGELLO ) You have de 
 ceived me. Dio ! Dio ! You have lied to me. You 
 have deserted me. 
 
 GEORGE. (Gliding between them) Madame, you 
 are wrong. He has not deserted you. God has sent 
 him. 
 
 LUCREZIA. No ! No ! 
 
 GEORGE. Who can change the choice of love? It 
 is as blind as we. 
 
 LUCREZIA. {By this time strident) No! No! 
 You shall not take him. You shall not take him. 
 
 GEORGE. Love is our master. (This is almost to 
 herself. A sad little smile plays about her lips) 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Glaring at her) You! You oil 
 your words with lies. 
 
 (GEORGE is standing in a sort of subli 
 mated ecstasy lit by the light from the night 
 lamp. The music sounds from the serenata. 
 ALFRED on the bed's edge sits watching her 
 in wonder) 
 
 GEORGE. (Her head shaking slowly) Love gives 
 us power power but to obey. 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Almost frightened) Pietro! Look! 
 The devil's speaking to her. Come away. Her heart 
 is black. 
 
 (A moment's pause. They all look at her. 
 Then she takes a deep pull at her cigar and 
 goes over to her desk to make a note of this 
 power of love) 
 
 GEORGE. (To LUCREZIA. From the farthest 
 
 [107]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 heights of sisterly sympathy) Madame, you have 
 my love. 
 
 (LUCREZIA makes another dash for the 
 knife. PAGELLO stops her) 
 
 GEORGE. Take her to her gondola, Pietro. (AL 
 FRED starts) I shall watch from the window. 
 
 (And PAGELLO attempts to lead the strug 
 gling LUCREZIA from the room) 
 LUCREZIA. (In a last wild frenzy) You shall not 
 take him. No! No! 
 
 GEORGE. (Quietly) Love has spoken. 
 
 (PAGELLO and the girl have almost reached 
 the door) 
 
 LUCREZIA. I'll follow him. I'll save him. He will 
 come back to me. 
 
 ALFRED. (Involuntarily) I wonder. 
 LUCREZIA. I will follow you to Paris or to Hell. 
 (She is half kissing, half beating the doc 
 tor as he leads her from the room) 
 GEORGE. (At her desk making a last note or so) 
 What a wonderful girl. The most splendid type I 
 have seen in Italy. Ah, I shall be sad to go. 
 
 (And then she glides over to the window 
 and leans out to see that no harm comes to 
 PIETRO ) 
 
 ALFRED. (Lifting up the sheets of manuscript 
 near the bed) Look, George, I have been reading 
 your last few pages. They are wonderful. How 
 you have moved me. If I could write as you 
 GEORGE. I'll do even better after to-night. Ah ! 
 [108]
 
 [Act II] MADAME SAND 
 
 There they are! She is weeping. How gently he 
 helps her into her gondola. 
 
 (ALFRED braces himself with another swal 
 low of brandy and steps towards her) 
 
 ALFRED. There is something besides farewell that 
 I must say to you. 
 
 GEORGE. (Oblivious) He shall be the hero of my 
 next romance. 
 
 ALFRED. ( With a strange note of seriousness in 
 his voice) Some day, George, this love of yours 
 will break your heart. 
 
 GEORGE. (Almost tragically) You say that af 
 ter what you have done to me. (Then again at the 
 window, her voice low and tender) Look, Freddo, 
 they are weeping. 
 
 ALFRED. (For a moment succumbing to her 
 mood) You will never know what you have meant 
 to me. 
 
 GEORGE. (Almost sobbing) Ah, my friend, do 
 not let the sorrow of our parting break your heart. 
 Some day you will forget me. 
 
 ALFRED. (Sadly) If such is fate. 
 
 GEORGE. (Almost sternly) Our fate is what we 
 make it. 
 
 ALFRED. (With a note of bitterness) Do you 
 remember that night in Paris ? "We are but marion 
 ettes," you said. 
 
 GEORGE. (Her voice soft again) Pietro my 
 Pietro 
 
 [109]
 
 MADAME SAND \Aci 77] 
 
 ALFRED. "Hung from the fingers of the gods." 
 Heine stopped you as he broke his bread. 
 
 GEORGE. He eats too much. Besides Heine is a 
 German and I mistrust him. 
 
 ALFRED. That is true of all of us, he echoed. 
 
 GEORGE. (Again leaning out) Look at his pro 
 file in the moonlight. Worthy of Giorgione. I shall 
 love him forever. 
 
 ALFRED. You too, George even you must jig 
 to this music of fate. 
 
 GEORGE. (Lyric, dominant, speaking as a priest 
 ess with a prophecy) There is no such thing as 
 fate. That is what life has still to teach you. Fate 
 is the death cry of the coward. I at least am mis 
 tress of my destiny. 
 
 ALFRED. (With a touch of cynicism, perhaps of 
 anger in his voice) We shall see. 
 
 GEORGE. (In glory) Look! He is coming back. 
 Yes, we shall see. 
 
 (And she rushes over to the door and 
 stands anxiously waiting, and in a moment 
 she is in PIETRO'S arms) 
 
 GEORGE. Ah! How noble you were, my Pietro, 
 and she, she will forget. 
 
 ALFRED. (Sotto voce) Perhaps. 
 
 GEORGE. (Sadly to ALFRED) It is time to say 
 farewell. Once our love was noble. May our friend 
 ship still be beautiful. 
 
 (And she gives him her hand. ALFRED 
 bends over it) 
 [110]
 
 [Act II] MADAME SAND 
 
 PAGELLO. (Catching the mood) Alfred, will 
 we, we still be friends? 
 
 ALFRED. (Magnificently rising to the beauty of 
 the moment) George, Pagello, my companions, 
 my saviors, and my friends! (Then to PAGELLO) 
 You have given life back to me. (And then to 
 GEO-RGE) You have taught me the nobility of love. 
 In my silence read my gratitude. How shall we 
 seal our trinity of trust? 
 
 (Their three hands are almost touching. 
 Suddenly he sees LTJCREZIA'S stiletto at their 
 feet. He cannot resist the romantic effect. 
 He takes it up) 
 
 ALFRED. On this let us pledge our faith! 
 GEORGE. Yes ! On this symbol of death we shall 
 pledge our love that shall survive the tomb. 
 
 PAGELLO. (Not quite liking the sight of LUCRE- 
 ZIA'S stiletto) No! No! Not on that! On this. 
 It has never known hate ! 
 
 (And he tears out from under his shirt 
 his mother's picture. Their hands close 
 about it. The light in the night lamp flickers. 
 GEORGE. (Solemnly lyrically) Forever friends. 
 ALFRED. (Echoing) Friends. 
 PAGELLO. (On the verge of tears) Friends. 
 GEORGE. And now farewell. Come, we shall see 
 the sun rise, Pietro, and then to Padua. 
 
 (They are about to move. Then PAGELLO 
 stops embarrassed) 
 
 [111]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 PAGELLO. But I- 
 GEORGE. What? What? 
 
 PAGELLO. I have but (His hand comes out of 
 his pocket) I'm but a poor practitioner look, seven 
 lires. (And he holds them out) I have a little 
 money in my office but most of what I make goes 
 to my mother. 
 
 (GEORGE rushes over to her desk and flings 
 the drawer open) 
 
 GEORGE. (On the brink of disaster) Only yes 
 terday the bill was paid. There is no money. 
 
 (A pause. Imminent tragedy. PAGELLO 
 t* in despair. GEORGE for the second time in 
 six months is on the verge of swooning. AL 
 FRED sees his freedom tumbling; but sud 
 denly he jumps into the breach and to the 
 rescue. He rushes over and snatches from 
 under his pillow the money that his mother 
 has sent him) 
 
 ALFRED. Here, my friends, go, go. Love must 
 be obeyed. Here are a thousand francs. 
 
 (He forces the money into PAGELLO 's 
 hand) , 
 
 GEORGE. (Gazing at him in admiring wonder) 
 Alfred ! Alfred ! You have redeemed our love. 
 
 (And again their three hands are clasped, 
 this time over the money) 
 
 GEORGE. Come, love has saved us. We will see 
 the sun rise after all. And then to Padua. Al-
 
 [Act II] MADAME SAND 
 
 fred, see Pietro's papa and have his things and my 
 other trousers sent there, poste restante. 
 
 (And she snatches her new manuscript 
 from her writing desk and they are gone, 
 and the door slams behind them and in the 
 reverberating echoes ALFRED is heard laugh 
 ing softly. Then he calls) 
 ALFRED. Paul. Paul. 
 
 PAUL. (Rushing in) You've kept me waiting. 
 ALFRED. (Significantly) History was in the 
 making. 
 
 PAUL. And? 
 
 ALFRED. (Leaning against the bed post) They're 
 gone. 
 
 PAUL. If you had only left it to me (ALFRED 
 laughs) Aren't you laughing to hide something that 
 hurts ? 
 
 ALFRED. Hurts! I am healed. (Gayly) I 
 haven't felt better since Paris. 
 
 PAUL. And what will mother say to this? 
 ALFRED. God bless her. She has saved me. 
 PAUL. Mother? 
 
 ALFRED. Yes. The thousand francs she sent me. 
 Her money pays their way. She's bought me back. 
 (But the emotional strain has been too much for 
 him. Then weakly) God help Pagello. Who's 
 next? History will complete the catalogue. San- 
 deau Merimee De Musset Pa 
 
 (The curtain is descending as he speaks. 
 The list is incompleted, whilst from the 
 
 [113]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act II] 
 
 Canal the tenor's voice again singing of love 
 for a little moment, lifts in poignant ecstasy 
 and then dies away in the stdrlit stillness of 
 the night) 
 
 [114]
 
 ACT HI 
 
 . . . and Liszt plays on.
 
 ACT III 
 
 The scene is a reception at Baron de Rothschild's. 
 The room is a typical drawing-room of the period, 
 panelled, severe, dignified, with a sense of quiet 
 spaciousness. The furniture does not clutter the 
 stage. What there is should be exquisite in design 
 and lend to the general air of distinction. Down left 
 is a fireplace, and below this is a door with a smaller 
 drawing-room beyond. Down right is the entrance 
 to the conservatory. Towards the rear is the en 
 trance from the hall of the house and to the right 
 of this a great door beyond which is the music room. 
 If practical throughout the act, the guests should 
 be seen coming and going, because, while not abso 
 lutely necessary, this will add to the refinedly expec 
 tant atmosphere of this soiree of tuft-hunters and 
 celebrities. Later on a charming effect could be 
 realized if the people in the picturesque costumes 
 of the period could be seen, rapt and ecstatic, listen 
 ing to the playing of the virtuosi. I leave the pos 
 sible arrangement of the room beyond to the genius 
 of the scene designer. It is not inevitably essential 
 to the action of the play. The lighting is candle 
 light, low, soft, rather too little than too glaringly 
 distinct. Throughout the act a sound of admiring 
 
 [117]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 murmurs and subdued applause should be heard 
 from the music room. 
 
 The curtain lifts on three pretty chattering girls, 
 quaint, beruffled, beribboned. Two are on a long 
 sofa and one is opposite or vice versa, rearranged 
 as best accords with the charm of the decoration. It 
 is the first great reception for these three demoiselles 
 and their hearts and tongues are aflutter; but now 
 the curtain is lifted and you can see and hear for 
 yourself. They are MLLE. DE LATOUR, MLLE. Ro- 
 LANDE and MLLE. DE FLEUEY. 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. I think we are too early. 
 
 MLLE ROLANDE. I am afraid I exasperated 
 mamma. She's in the little drawing-room. I 
 couldn't wait until we'd started. 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. How adorable of the Baron 
 to ask us. 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. It was surely the idea of the 
 Baroness. 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. What matter! We're here. 
 And as every one is going to be so important, there 
 may as well be a few who are pretty. 
 
 (And they laugh, Uke children} 
 Do you like my new gown? 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. Quite adorable but I think I 
 like you in gray better. 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. Nonsense! (And she turns 
 
 to MLLE. DE LATOUR to ask her opinion, but MLLE. 
 
 DE LATOUR sits deep in thought) Elise, don't try 
 
 to hide your excitement by attempting to look bored. 
 
 [118]
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. I was just wondering how 
 many pages of my diary I would need to write about 
 everything to-night. (She looks at a huge book she 
 holds in her lap) 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. A hundred at least. (Then 
 with ill-concealed excitement) Do you know who 
 is coming? 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. De Musset and Heine. 
 
 THE OTHER GIRLS. Yes ! Yes ! 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. And the great Franz Liszt. 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. And his rival Thalberg? 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. I do not think so. They are 
 seldom seen together. 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. Who else? Who else? 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. Surely the Italian, Pagello. 
 I saw him in the Palais Royal leaning on her arm 
 (She gives a quivering stress to the "her") 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. Is he a blond? I think 
 blonds are so wonderful. 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. No, he is more wonderful than 
 any blond. He looks like Paris of Troy. 
 
 MLLE, DE LATOUR. How do you know that? 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. Elise, you have the silliest 
 way of asking things. 
 
 (And again they laugh merrily) 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. And Chopin, imagine, Chopin ! 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. Will he play? 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. If the whim moves him. Of 
 course the Baroness would never ask him. 
 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. I don't see why not. 
 
 [119]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. Elise, you are too absurd. 
 How could one have the atrocious taste to ask a 
 guest to perform? These artists are not trained 
 monkeys who will run up a stick when you want 
 them to. 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. I do not suppose we can ever 
 understand them. Ah ! these artists they are so 
 different from us ordinary mortals. 
 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. Yes? 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. They are not moved by human 
 passions as you and I. 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. No. No. 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. Their life is aloof, removed 
 they do not suffer as we suffer. 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. No. No. 
 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. (Quite unsentimentally) I 
 do not suffer. 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. Wait till you are a little older, 
 Elise. Ah, have you seen this Pagello? I have 
 been dreaming of him every night. 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. I would give all the world 
 if I could be a great artist, a writer. There are 
 only four things I love: literature, art, music and 
 nature. Ah! imagine what it would mean to see 
 one's name in the Revue of the great Buloz. 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. He's coming too. 
 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. I am more anxious to see her 
 than any of the others. 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. (With awed voice} Her! 
 [120]
 
 [Act 1 1 1] MADAME SAND 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. (^4* though addressing God) 
 Her! 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. She is removed from earthly 
 passions. She lives in a sphere apart. 
 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. What do you mean by that? 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. Elise, you ask as many ques 
 tions as a hungry parrot. 
 
 (And they all burst into ripples of laugh 
 ter. Some guests pass through the room be 
 yond) 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. She is the greatest woman in 
 France. 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. (In astonished contradiction) 
 In France, Mathilde? Why in the whole, whole 
 world. 
 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. I do not see how you can de 
 cide that. 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. (To silence her forever) No? 
 Have you ever read (She lowers her voice) 
 "Lelia"? 
 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. No. 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. Mamma forbids me to read any 
 books of hers (Again the religious intonation) 
 
 MLLE. FLEURY. So does mine but my maid bought 
 "Lelia" for me. I sat up all night reading it and 
 I v>apt and wept and wept. I never enjoyed myself 
 so much. 
 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. Because you wept? 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. Of course. Elise, you are too 
 funny.
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 (And the two girls laugh together) 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. I shall ask her to write in my 
 album. I brought it with me. 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. (Springing to her feet as 
 though shot) Elise, my dear, you wouldn't do 
 that ! One can see that you went to school in the 
 country. Why, I'd rather cut off my little finger 
 than even dare speak to her. 
 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. I can't see why not. 
 
 (Some guests preceded by a lackey pass 
 through the room) 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. (Over at the door) Quick, 
 my dears, quick, some one has arrived. 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. We mustn't miss anything. 
 Who? Who? 
 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. (Laconically) It oughtn't 
 take more than three pages of my diary. 
 
 (Some people pass into the conservatory 
 and the three girls flutter after them. And 
 then the door is opened by a lackey and 
 BULOZ enters. He is somewhat nervous. 
 With him is PAGELLO and at their heels is 
 HEINE) 
 
 BULOZ. (To PAGELLO, pointing to the little 
 room on the left) You can wait in there, Doctor, 
 if you wish to. 
 
 PAGELLO. But I do not understand. What has 
 happened? I was to meet Mme. Sand and she was 
 to present me to the Baron. 
 
 BULOZ. I don't think she has arrived yet. The
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 moment she comes I will send for you. You will 
 excuse me I should say us. I have something im 
 portant to say to Heine. 
 
 PAGELLO. Of course. (He steps towards the 
 door) 
 
 BULOZ. Business, you know, literary business. 
 It's terrible being the editor of a magazine. You 
 will find some charming books on the table in there. 
 
 HEINE. Nothing medical, Doctor, I'm afraid, 
 but perhaps something of Mme. Sand's. 
 
 (And BULOZ almost pushes PAGELLO out 
 of the room and quickly closes the door be 
 hind him. Then he turns very excitedly to 
 HEINE) 
 
 BULOZ. But, good God, what are we to do? 
 
 HEINE. Don't talk so quickly. Give me a mo 
 ment to think. 
 
 BULOZ. In a moment that girl will be up. Noth 
 ing will stop her. I asked her to wait. I told her 
 I'd bring Pagello down. George will be here any 
 second. She's dining with Liszt. He's bringing her 
 here. 
 
 HEINE. We've a moment then. That means 
 they'll talk late. 
 
 BULOZ. Yes 
 
 HEINE. How did you prevent Pagello seeing this 
 Italian ? 
 
 BULOZ. Whilst he was leaving his cloak I man 
 aged to get her into the picture gallery. It was 
 
 [123]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 by the merest chance I was at the door. As soon as 
 she asked for him I knew something was wrong. 
 
 HEINE. Who is she? 
 
 BULOZ. His mistress. She had a letter with her. 
 Some enemy of George has sent the girl money to 
 come from Venice. 
 
 HEINE. Our enemies are the price we pay for 
 fame. 
 
 BULOZ. What shall we do? 
 
 HEINE. (/* silent for a moment in thought and 
 then) It would be best to wait until to-morrow. 
 
 BULOZ. By to-morrow they may be gone. 
 
 HEINE. She will be able to bear it better when he 
 is no longer in Paris. 
 
 BULOZ. It will break her heart if she is separated 
 from him. 
 
 HEINE. I wonder 
 
 BULOZ. She has never loved like this before. 
 There is something mysterious, something hidden 
 about it. 
 
 HEINE. The hidden is not always the mysterious. 
 But when you say hidden perhaps you are right. 
 
 BULOZ. It's not as it was with de Musset. It's 
 deeper, more profound. 
 
 HEINE. How do you know that? 
 
 BULOZ. Because she doesn't find time to write 
 me letters telling me about her heart. 
 
 HEINE. (Slowly) Perhaps she's reading it and 
 hasn't time to write. 
 
 BULOZ. (Thinking it out) If we don't tell her 
 [124]
 
 [Act III1 MADAME SAND 
 
 the girl has come she'll never forgive us for not 
 warning her and if we do it may kill her. 
 
 HEINE. Think of the Revue. Don't tell her. 
 BULOZ. I must. 
 HEINE. Why ? 
 
 BULOZ. Because she's the one woman in Paris 
 who would know how to find a way to prevent it. 
 What shall we do? 
 
 HEINE. First find our chessman, if we're to play 
 the game. I'll see if George is in the music room. 
 Keep Pagello in there until I warn you. Then we 
 must get him home. 
 
 (And as he goes into the music room and 
 BTJLOZ m to guard PAGELLO some guests 
 cross the stage on their way to the conserv 
 atory. As they enter the chatter of voices 
 is heard and a moment later a lackey opens 
 the door and FRANZ LISZT comes in, and with 
 him is GEORGE. She is in an elaborate even 
 ing gown. Perhaps it is a little unusual, the 
 conventional might even say a bit bizarre but 
 nevertheless she looks extraordinarily hand 
 some and though her soul is sad she has made 
 the most of the beautiful shoulders which 
 HEINE so much admired. LISZT is thin, pale, 
 distinguished, cesthetic, but not of the 
 exquisite fragility of CHOPIN, who is also on 
 his way to the reception. He is a queer mix 
 ture of impetuosity and method. A surpris 
 ing streak of practicality governs his pyro- 
 
 [125]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 technic nature. GEORGE'S manner is fraught 
 with melancholy and deep intentions) 
 
 LISZT. These Parisian dinners, George 
 
 GEORGE. I'm telling you this, Franz, because you 
 know the human heart. 
 
 LISZT. If I do it is because I do not try to. But 
 why haven't you told Buloz? 
 
 GEORGE. Because he wouldn't understand. 
 
 LISZT. And Heine? 
 
 GEORGE. Because he would understand too well. 
 It's you I may need as I did this morning. He has 
 come. He wouldn't stay at home. 
 
 LISZT. Your Pagello is a fool. 
 
 GEORGE. Poor boy, he never wants to leave me. 
 He's afraid of being alone. He's insensible. 
 
 LISZT. Quite ! Quite ! 
 
 GEORGE. Weeks ago it was over and he still stays 
 on. 
 
 LISZT. Seeking the oasis in the desert of your 
 heart. 
 
 GEORGE. I can still respect his simplicity, but I 
 can no longer love his naivete. 
 
 LISZT. He needed his background of lagoons. 
 
 GEORGE. (Sadly, reminiscently) Perhaps, per 
 haps. 
 
 LISZT. Alas, "Leila" how circumstances alter 
 love. 
 
 GEORGE. Can you expect me to be untrue to my 
 soul? 
 
 [126]
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 LISZT. (Subtly) If you mean by that your in 
 stincts no, never! 
 
 GEORGE. I was blind. What I thought was his 
 purity I have found to be his emptiness. 
 
 LISZT. Lelia, I too have learned from life that 
 nothing is so unlovely as the thing one used to love. 
 Some day I shall write, shall I call it a symphonic 
 poem with that idea for theme? Three movements, 
 hope, love disillusion. Disillusion in the violins 
 struggling against love in the wood-winds. Write 
 the program for me, Lelia. 
 
 GEORGE. (Disregarding the digression) He has 
 cost me dearly. 
 
 LISZT. Yes, spending emotion leaves one poor. 
 
 GEORGE. I have ceased to love him and (With a 
 tone like a funeral knell) ceasing to love him I have 
 ceased to love forever. 
 
 LISZT. When one says forever one is apt to for 
 get to-morrow. Something must be done. He can't 
 spend the rest of his life going from hospital to 
 hospital studying these diseases. It isn't healthy. 
 
 GEORGE. No, you are right. 
 
 LISZT. Heine hasn't decided which is dearer to 
 Pagello, you or these gall-stones. 
 
 GEORGE. Do not speak unkindly of him, Franz. 
 
 LISZT. Why, all you had to do was to look at his 
 perfect profile to realize his limitations. 
 
 GEORGE. That is the way a man reasons. A 
 woman only feels and knows she is right. 
 
 LISZT. And when the feelings change? 
 
 [127]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 GEORGE. (Sadly) Life is calling us to school. 
 
 LISZT. Paris has soon wearied of this moony 
 medico. 
 
 GEORGE. He was once dear to me. (And then 
 almost tenderly) He still imagines that he loves 
 me. 
 
 LISZT. Poor Pagello ! Why, any man knows that 
 love is over the day the woman begins telling herself 
 that it will last forever. 
 
 GEORGE. (Very melancholy, thinking perhaps 
 more of herself than Pagello) Yes, yes. 
 
 LISZT. And when will this be over? 
 
 GEORGE. (Quite simply) If things happen as I 
 plan, to-night. 
 
 LISZT. And how? 
 
 GEORGE. (As though she might be saying "good 
 morning") I am sending him back to Venice. 
 
 (And LISZT looks up barely concealing 
 his astonishment) 
 
 LISZT. What ? 
 
 GEORGE. (In explanation) It breaks my heart 
 to see the poor boy suffer. 
 
 LISZT. (With a smile) So, so, and that is why 
 you're out of mourning. 
 
 GEORGE. (In the dark) Mourning? 
 
 LISZT. Yes, this is the first time since Italy that 
 Paris has seen your shoulders. And how does Lelia 
 manage this with Pietro? 
 
 GEORGE. He will leave to-night for Lyons. 
 
 LISZT. (Smiling ever so little) Poor Pagello! 
 [128]
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 Poor poodle! He entered Paris a triumphant cap 
 tive of love and now he goes back alone. 
 
 GEORGE. No, not alone. A month ago a letter 
 arrived from Castelfranco and with that letter my 
 salvation. 
 
 LISZT. Salvation by post? 
 
 GEORGE. (Oblivious) Yes, yes. 
 
 LISZT. Why not, salvation is such a little thing. 
 Just what one wants at the moment. 
 
 GEORGE. (Continuing) Suddenly everything was 
 clear to me. I got money from Buloz on my new 
 book. Pagello is the hero. (And then quite uncon 
 scious of the subtle truth she is speaking) The 
 book is almost finished. 
 
 LISZT. So is Pagello. 
 
 GEORGE. Of this money I sent her enough to 
 come to Paris. 
 
 LISZT. Ah ! His mother? 
 
 GEORGE. No ! No ! I am done with fathers and 
 with mothers. 
 
 LISZT. If not his mother, then (He looks at her 
 questioningly) 
 
 GEORGE. Yes, you are right. His mistress. The 
 letter came as from any anonymous sympathetic 
 friend of Pietro's here in Paris. 
 
 LISZT. (In admiration) So? 
 
 GEORGE. Ah, I can tell you, Franz, that friend 
 did not spare George Sand. 
 
 LISZT. Then his mistress is the woman I met at 
 the coach this morning? 
 
 [129]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 GEORGE. Yes, she will follow him here. 
 
 LISZT. Here? 
 
 GEORGE. I came to-night because my soul needed 
 the consolation of the music. As I tell you, he would 
 not stay at home; but I left word where he was 
 going. 
 
 LISZT. Swift as my technic, Lelia. You act as 
 quickly as I play my scales. (And he runs his fin 
 gers through the air) 
 
 GEORGE. If I know her, and I think I do, she will 
 come to-night and fetch him. I cannot stand the 
 strain a moment longer. It must end at once. I 
 am saving him, Franz. His sadness breaks my 
 heart. 
 
 LISZT. Alas, we poor men are but threads be 
 tween the shears. (And he makes a snapping little 
 movement as though cutting the thread in two. Then 
 suddenly) Ah! That would make a splendid finger 
 exercise. (And he begins trying it over and over) 
 Do you know that Chopin is going to play to-night? 
 
 GEORGE. (Looking up) Why has he refused to 
 meet me? 
 
 LISZT. Because being an artist he has little time 
 for art. Besides I don't think he likes you. He's 
 very shy. 
 
 GEORGE. (As though trying to explain it to her 
 self) There is something in his music as of desire, 
 chained. 
 
 LISZT. He is the greatest artist in the world, 
 save one. 
 [130]
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 GEORGE. Thalberg? 
 
 LISZT. (Angrily) No, no, one Liszt. Franz 
 Liszt. If the women keep away long enough to 
 allow him to practice the world will hear of him. 
 
 GEORGE. And what of Chopin? Do the women 
 bother him? These Poles are so romantic. 
 
 LISZT. Poor Frederick, he has just recovered. 
 He and the Wodzinska. They loved as children and 
 because she was a woman she has married some one 
 else. It nearly broke his heart. 
 
 GEORGE. (Dee ply) Life is cruel and the most 
 sensitive to beauty are those who suffer most. The 
 other night at de Custines when he was playing it 
 was as though a soul were singing seeking. 
 
 (And at this moment the three girls appear 
 in the doorway whispering together and try 
 ing not to seem too rudely interested in the 
 celebrities ) 
 
 GEORGE. Ah, we are early, Franz. But it is just 
 as well. I shall come back here and sit alone to 
 listen to the music. Sorrow is but unwelcome com 
 pany. (And she sighs deeply as she glances at the 
 three girls) Come, Franz, where is the Baron? 
 I must say good evening. 
 
 LISZT. They are receiving in the conservatory. 
 GEORGE. Come. 
 
 (And she goes into the conservatory, fol 
 lowed by LISZT) 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. That was she. 
 MI/LE. DE FLEURY. (Breathless) Yes, yes ! 
 
 [131]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. Was that Pagello? 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. Nonsense, that was Chopin. 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. No, my dear, I'm sure it was 
 de Musset. Chopin is taller. 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. Did you notice how she glanced 
 at us? Let us follow them. 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. Do you think we ought? 
 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. Why not? 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. We can stay at the other side 
 of the room and seem not to be watching them. 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. Isn't it all just wonderful? 
 Did you like her dress? 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. That certainly was last year's 
 bodice. 
 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. Let's go after them. 
 
 THE OTHER GIRLS. Yes ! Yes ! 
 
 (And they follow GEORGE and LISZT into 
 the conservatory as HEINE comes in from 
 the music room. He goes over to the door 
 of the little drawing-room and calls BULOZ) 
 
 BULOZ. (Entering) Well? 
 
 HEINE. She's come. They are in the conserv 
 atory. Only a few are ahead of them. They'll be 
 back in a second. 
 
 BULOZ. They mustn't see each other. God knows 
 what'll happen to George if that woman takes Pa 
 gello away from her. She mustn't break down for 
 my sake. 
 
 HEINE. Your sake? 
 
 BULOZ. She's promised me three chapters before 
 [132]
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 morning. We go to press at ten. Did you see how 
 that Italian woman looked? 
 
 HEINE. Silent as a pool before the storm. 
 BULOZ. If it were the old George she'd meet her 
 match. 
 
 HEINE. George is unmatchable. 
 BITLOZ. (At his wit's end) Well, what will come 
 of it? 
 
 HEINE. I can hear Olympus rumbling with al 
 mighty laughter. 
 
 (And indeed at this moment there is a 
 sound of voices from the hall) 
 BULOZ. Chopin has arrived. Hear them buzz. 
 HEINE. (Mischievously, with a sort of impish 
 prophecy) The toy box is too crowded. Some of 
 the dolls will be broken. Pagello George this girl 
 and Chopin come in the nick of time, perhaps, to 
 play an obligate to their parting. (He begins laugh 
 ing quietly to himself) The gods are busy at the 
 strings. Come, Buloz, let us dance, dance! 
 
 (And at this moment from one side of 
 the stage enters CHOPIN escorted by a lackey 
 and from the conservatory opposite comes 
 GEORGE followed by LISZT. And as they 
 come forward GEORGE and FREDERICK stop 
 and look at each other even as Tristan and 
 Isolde and as all other mortals who are 
 doomed to love have looked since the begin 
 ning of time when Adam or was it Eve 
 looked and thus began the trouble) 
 
 [133]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 LISZT. (Rushing forward to CHOPIN) Frederick! 
 (And CHOPIN speaks. He is fragile, ex 
 quisite, spiritual. There is something about 
 him as of flame and sleep. He is simple and 
 profound, childlike and dominant, his whims 
 are emotional necessities. He is part reticent 
 reserve and part sudden irritability. Withal 
 he is a genius who m the words of Balzac 
 was less a musician than a soul which makes 
 itself audible) 
 
 CHOPIN. Good evening, Franz. Ah, Heine, 
 Buloz 
 
 HEINE. (With elaborate and fantastic ceremony) 
 May it be my privilege to present the matchless 
 composer of the B Minor Scherzo to the peerless 
 creator of the immortal Lelia. 
 
 (And GEORGE gives CHOPIN her hand and 
 he bends over to press it to his lips) 
 CHOPIN. (Kissing her fingers) Madame. 
 GEORGE. (As their eyes meet as he straightens 
 up} You have suffered, that is why you can sing. 
 You must come some time with Franz to see me. 
 CHOPIN. Madame. 
 
 (He again bows and she turns to HEINE) 
 LISZT. (To CHOPIN) Shall I present you to the 
 Baron ? 
 
 (And as LISZT and CHOPIN cross to the 
 right of the stage HEINE and GEORGE cross 
 to the left) 
 [134]
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 LISZT. (Low to CHOPIN) What do you think of 
 her? 
 
 CHOPIN. (Low to LISZT) Her eyes are too large 
 but she is less impossible than I thought. 
 
 HEINE. (Low to GEORGE) What do you think of 
 him? 
 
 GEORGE. (Low to HEINE) His chin is weak but 
 he is more of a man than I had imagined. 
 
 (And at this moment the three girls ap 
 pear, still hunting the celebrities, and as 
 CHOPIN and LISZT go in to the conservatory 
 LISZT stops to chat with them and then he 
 and the adoring girls exit to follow CHOPIN) 
 GEORGE. (Sitting down) Chopin alone can 
 make this party bearable. The Baron is a charming 
 gentleman, but his guests are too wealthy to be any 
 thing but stupid. 
 
 BULOZ. (Aside to Heine) What shall I do? 
 HEINE. Tell her now. 
 
 BULOZ. (Coming forward nervously) Good 
 evening, George. 
 
 GEORGE. Ah, Buloz. Now I know what you're 
 going to say. 
 
 (BULOZ starts) 
 
 HEINE. Not this time, George. 
 
 GEORGE. Heine, please don't begin quoting Faust 
 
 : n that horrid guttural German, and you, Buloz, 
 
 don't jump at my throat and shriek for those last 
 
 two chapters. YV>u shall have them by to-morrow. 
 
 [135]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 HEINE. (Trying to lead up) Perhaps you 
 mayn't write to-night, George. 
 
 GEORGE. Nothing but death can stop me. 
 BULOZ. (Desperately) Why should we beat 
 about the bush? 
 
 GEORGE. (Lightly) Why not? That's one way 
 of stirring the birds to sing. 
 
 HEINE. To sing? First they may fly away. 
 GEORGE. Questing the eternal fires of the dawn. 
 Ah, that's a fine phrase. 
 
 (And she takes a tiny pencil from a little 
 bag hanging at her waist and jots down the 
 words on one of the panels of her fan) 
 BULOZ. (Guardedly, darkly, attempting to be 
 gin) George, I believe in you. 
 
 GEORGE. (Lightly) Of course you do. Don't 
 you print me? 
 
 BULOZ. (Lugubriously) George 
 GEORGE. You sound as if you were reciting Cor- 
 neille. 
 
 (He hesitates and looks across the room 
 for help from HEINE, but HEINE is deep m a 
 book he has lifted from the table) 
 BULOZ. (Clearing his throat and attempting to 
 go on) You are strong, you can control 
 
 (Embarrassed he stops short) 
 GEORGE. Are you writing my obituary ? 
 BULOZ. Be brave. Remember you have children. 
 (And GEORGE springs up and for a sec- 
 [136]
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 ond goes white and leans half fainting against 
 her chair) 
 
 GEORGE. My God ! My children ! Maurice, So- 
 lange. Have they fever? Are they dead? 
 
 BULOZ. No, George, it is not your children, 
 but 
 
 (And the next second the light breaks in 
 GEORGE'S face and she can hardly suppress 
 an exclamation of long hoped for relief. And 
 all the while HEINE stands scrutinizing her) 
 GEORGE. What is it? Tell me. Tell me. 
 BULOZ. (Speaking very slowly. He is doing his 
 stumbling best to keep from hurting her too sud 
 denly) Remember, France, the world, has need of 
 you. 
 
 GEORGE. Is it all preface? Begin Begin. 
 BULOZ. (He stops and wipes his monocle) Well 
 GEORGE. Yes. 
 
 BULOZ. (Carefully, with deep pity for her, 
 watching the effect) Pagello's mistress has come 
 from Italy. 
 
 (And to his amazement she takes the news 
 quite calmly. Indeed in a way that puzzles 
 him. But HEINE'S eyes never leave her face) 
 GEORGE. Lucrezia? 
 
 BULOZ. She is waiting in the hall for him. 
 GEORGE. (Solemnly, as though she felt HEINE'S 
 eyes) It is the hand of heaven. Fate doesn't mean 
 that I should keep him from her any longer. 
 
 (And a sound of voices is heard beyond in 
 
 [137]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 the hall A lackey's and a woman's voice in 
 remonstrance and the door is thrown open 
 and LUCREZIA ruslies in) 
 
 LUCREZIA. He is here, I tell you. I will wait no 
 longer. (Then she sees GEORGE) You! You! 
 Where are your breeches? 
 
 BULOZ. Not so loud, Madame. The greatest pian 
 ist in the world is about to improvise in the music 
 room. 
 
 HEINE. Whilst fate is improvising here. (And 
 then almost inaudibly) Fate or George. 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Threateningly to GEORGE) Once be 
 fore you drove him dumb with your words. This 
 time I shall speak. 
 
 GEORGE. (Quite unfltistered) Yes, apparently, 
 apparently. And how is Venice? Do tame nightin 
 gales still sing on every balcony and are there still 
 fresh oysters on every doorstep? 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Pointing to the letter in her hand) 
 I know all, all. 
 
 HEINE. Rivalling the Omnipotent. Does she 
 mean George or God? 
 
 LUCREZIA. Madonna, what have you done to him? 
 
 GEORGE. What have I done to him? Perhaps 
 the greatest thing any woman can do for any man. 
 I have given him his soul. 
 
 LUCREZIA. It is all written here. (And she waves 
 her letter in GEORGE'S face) This friend of Pietro's 
 knows the lies your heart hides and has told me all. 
 [138]
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 Caro mio Pietro. (And to stifle back her tears her 
 voice goes louder) Pietro ! 
 
 (And the door of the little drawing-room 
 opens and PAGELLO enters, an open book in 
 his hand) 
 
 PAGEI/LO. (On the threshold, not seeing LUCRE- 
 ZIA) Did some one call me? 
 
 HEINE. Yes, Doctor, a voice from beyond the 
 Alps. 
 
 PAGELLO. I do not understand this poetical way 
 you have of saying things. Ah, George, good even 
 ing. 
 
 GEORGE. (A bit mournfully but nevertheless 
 leading in the right direction) "Good evening"? 
 No, my friend, not good evening but alas, good-bye. 
 PAGELLO. (As usual a bit mystified) What? 
 GEORGE. (Unable to resist the cadence) Good 
 bye forever. 
 
 (And in a second all is clear because as 
 he looks up for an explanation he sees Lu- 
 CREZIA and he stumbles back against the sofa 
 and the book falls from his hand) 
 PAGEI/LO. San Giovanni, San Pietro, San 
 Paolo, San Luichele 
 
 HEINE. (Low to BULOZ) This is a splendid 
 chance to learn the Italian calendar. 
 
 BULOZ. (His eyes on GEORGE) Will she be 
 strong enough to bear it? 
 
 PAGELLO. Santa Maria, you you Where have 
 you come from? 
 
 [139]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 GEORGE. From Italy, Pietro, moonlit Italy. 
 
 (And in the next room CHOPIN can be 
 heard improvising} 
 
 GEORGE. Ah, Madame, life has taught me much. 
 I have wronged you, wronged you deeply. 
 
 LUCREZIA. (To PAGEI/LO) Come away, she is 
 beginning to talk. 
 
 PAGELLO. (Hardly recovered from the shock) 
 How did you get here, Lucrezia? 
 
 LUCREZIA. You have a friend in Paris, Pietro- 
 ninni. One who hates this George Sand. (And she 
 again pomts to the letter) 
 
 GEORGE. Madame, alas, there are many such. 
 The rich because I would enrich the poor, the wise 
 because I pity fools. 
 
 BULOZ. (Aside to HEINE). She is magnificent. 
 
 HEINE. Yes, perhaps more so than you think. 
 
 GEORGE. In Venice, Madame, I wronged you. In 
 Paris I ask your pardon. (She steps toward LUCRE 
 ZIA but the girl, protecting PAGELLO, backs into a 
 corner) Ah, Madame, do not shrink from me. 
 Love has taught me humility. Though it breaks 
 my heart I give him back to you. 
 
 LUCREZIA. (Shrieking) You do not give him. 
 He comes. He comes. 
 
 (And at this moment LISZT'S head pops in 
 at the door) 
 
 LISZT. Shhh ! my dears ! If you are playing cha 
 rades be a little quieter. You're disturbing the 
 music Chopin is improvising. (And then he lowers 
 [140]
 
 [Act III} MADAME SAND 
 
 his voice to a whisper and hushes them with his 
 lifted finger) Piano! Piano! (Then he sees Lu- 
 CREZIA and begins thoughtlessly to bubble over) Ah 
 so, George, she you 
 
 (But GEORGE is ready and suddenly she 
 turns to him and speaks as though nothing 
 but the answer to her question mattered) 
 GEORGE. Isn't that Thalberg playing? It's like 
 his touch. 
 
 LISZT. (Swiftly, almost angrily) No, no. Cho 
 pin. Only Chopin can play like that. Listen, ah, 
 that phrasing such delicacy, such nuance. Listen 
 that modulation. 
 
 GEORGE. And can you modulate so beautifully, 
 my friend? 
 
 (And the message has registered not un 
 seen by HEINE) 
 
 LISZT. (His whole manner changing looking at 
 LUCREZIA) What a beautiful girl! Is she an artist 
 come to dance the Tarantula? 
 
 HEINE. No, she is an avenging fury whose wings 
 are clipped. 
 
 GEORGE. (Peering through him) That is very 
 cryptic, Heine. 
 
 HEINE. (Smiling back) Perhaps, George, but 
 not too deep for you to read. 
 
 (There is a pause. CHOPIN has reached 
 a brilliant passage and instinctively they att 
 stop to listen) 
 
 [141]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 LISZT. Ah ! Beauty made audible. Singing star- 
 light. 
 
 LUCREZIA. (In utter disgust) Monkey! 
 
 LISZT. Ah! (His hand lifted in ecstatic admira 
 tion) The moment's inspiration 
 
 GEORGE. (As the music swells and dies) The 
 heritage of all the years. 
 
 (And LISZT, softly closing the door behind 
 him, goes back into the music room) 
 
 LUCREZIA. (To PAGELLO) Come away, Pietro, 
 these people are all crazy. They rattle in their 
 heads. 
 
 PAGELLO. (At a loss. It is aU too much for 
 him) George 
 
 GEORGE. Go, Pietro, I shall be brave. My bless 
 ings follow you, my friend. Life must be answered 
 youth be heard. She is Sarah come from the 
 South to call you. I am as Hagar cast without. 
 But in the wilderness I shall find my peace. My 
 little Ishmaels are calling me. 
 
 HEINE. She's a little mixed, but what difference 
 does it make they're Italians. 
 
 GEORGE. Under the trees at Nohant I shall find 
 forgetfulness and rest. Do not forget me, Pietro. 
 (And she bends over to kiss him a last 
 farewell) 
 
 LUCREZIA. (In a corner, her hands twitching) 
 Madonna mia. She's a witch. 
 
 GEORGE. No, no, Pietro. (Thru habit and not 
 knowing what to do he is about to kiss her on the 
 [142]
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 lips) No, no, not on the lips the brow, my friend, 
 the brow, as you would kiss a sister. (And thus 
 nobly and sadly they embrace} Good-bye, my 
 brother. 
 
 (And then LUCREZIA is over next to him, 
 her arms thru his and they are moving to 
 wards the door) 
 
 PAGEI/LO. (Suddenly stopping) But (And in 
 stinctively his hand goes to his pocket) I I (And 
 at a loss just how to put it) I am but a poor prac 
 titioner. 
 
 GEORGE. (Thoughtfully) Pietro, it seems to me 
 I've heard you say that same thing once before. 
 
 (There is an embarrassed pause but in an 
 instant she is ready) 
 
 GEORGE. Of course, of course. Buloz, advance 
 me a thousand francs. They may need it. You 
 shall have two books for it instead of one. The writ 
 ing will help me to forget. Go with them, remem 
 ber they are strangers in this whirling world of 
 Paris. 
 
 HEINE. (With significance) Strange as two 
 babies at a ball. 
 
 (And as PAGELLO comes over tenderly to 
 shake her hand in gratitude, LUCREZIA keeps 
 hold of his other hand with a sort of instinc 
 tive feeling that he won't be safe until out 
 of sight of GEORGE) 
 
 HEINE. (Aside to BULOZ) Michael Angelo alone 
 could do justice to that group. 
 
 [143]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 GEORGE. Come, Buloz, see these two children on 
 their way. You remember the coach for Lyons 
 leaves the Post Hotel at nine. 
 
 (Arid she is over at the door with PAGELLO 
 and LUCREZIA) 
 
 HEINE. (Sotto voce to BULOZ a* he moves to 
 wards them) It was on this very coach that she 
 started with de Musset. 
 BULOZ. Well, what of it? 
 
 HEINE. If this sort of thing goes on the people 
 of the diligence should make her an allowance. 
 
 GEORGE. Good-bye, my brother. (And then even 
 more beautifully) Good-bye, my new-found sister. 
 (And at this moment the CHOPIN improvi 
 sation is over and a burst of applause sounds 
 from the next room) 
 
 GEORGE. (Unperturbed) Love will protect you. 
 (And she stretches out her hand to PIETRO 
 and he bends over and kisses it. And she of 
 fers her hand to LUCREZIA but the girl re 
 fuses it and suddenly turns and faces her) 
 LUCREZIA. (Att the passion in her spitting over) 
 Corpo di Cristo, I will not take your hand. I am 
 an Italian and I do not forget. Dio! And I do 
 not forgive. What you have stolen I have taken 
 back. Maladetta! What you have taught him I 
 shall profit by. 
 
 (And half dragging, half embracing her re 
 captured Doctor, they are gone and BULOZ 
 with. them. GEORGE for a moment stands 
 [144]
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 looking after them a sad little smile in her 
 eyes. Then she turns to HEINE) 
 
 GEORGE. Ah, Heine, youth is the one thing worth 
 having longest. She is glorious. Mark my words, 
 my friend, the world shall yet be saved by women. 
 
 HEINE. Then as their first priestess let me ten 
 der you my homage. (And he gallantly Jcisses her 
 hand) If you ever cease writing, George, go on 
 the stage. Melpomene herself could not have played 
 it better. 
 
 GEORGE. Yes I wrote that letter, Heine. 
 
 HEINE. Ah, my prophetic soul. 
 
 GEORGE. Poor Pietro could never have managed 
 it alone. 
 
 HEINE. (Seriously} George, I have ever loved 
 you. 
 
 GEORGE. (Lightly) Too late, too late, my Ger 
 man. My soul is turning gray. 
 
 HEINE. That is why my admiration for you 
 means the more. Tell them to carve upon your 
 tombstone: "Here lies George the indefatigable." 
 
 GEORGE. That doesn't interest me. I won't be 
 there to read it. 
 
 HEINE. You'll probably outlive us all. 
 
 GEORGE. No, Heine, you are wrong. (And then 
 as irrefutable proof) Pve just had my old mat 
 tresses recovered and I regret it. It wasn't worth 
 while for the little time I still contemplate living. 
 I am going to an island in the Mediterranean to die. 
 Wait and see, time will tell. 
 
 [145]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 HEINE. Time tells nothing. Leave it to your 
 biographers. 
 
 GEORGE. (Though a minute ago life was over) 
 What! Never! I'll forestall their lies and some 
 day, like Rousseau, I'll confess in twenty volumes. 
 (Then sadly) My heart is a graveyard. 
 
 HEINE. Don't you mean a cemetery, George? 
 
 (And at this moment a lackey opens the 
 door from the hall and ALFRED DE MUSSET 
 enters, his mother leaning on his arm. It is 
 their first meeting since Italy) 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (Stepping forward and cor 
 dially taking GEORGE'S hand) Alfred has told me 
 all. (And GEORGE is as near hysterical surprise as 
 she has ever come in her life) 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. A mother's thanks for all that 
 you have done for him. Yes, I know how patiently 
 you nursed him thru his sunstroke and sat at his 
 bedside bathing his brow and giving him his milk. 
 
 GEORGE. (Equal even to this) I promised you 
 that I would care for him. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. And you have, you have. A 
 mother's gratitude goes out to you. 
 
 (And in her enthusiasm she bends over and 
 kisses GEORGE, and HEINE, who has been 
 watching ALFRED who stands like a monu 
 ment trying to solve a riddle comes to the 
 rescue) 
 
 HEINE. (Bowing to MME. DE MUSSET) May I 
 have the honor of escorting you to the Baron? 
 
 [146]
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (Taking his arm} We are 
 very late. 
 
 (Agam the piano sounds from the music 
 room) 
 
 GEORGE. (A little more enthusiastically than she 
 realizes) Ah, that is Chopin. Liszt is to play later 
 in the evening. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. Are you coming in, Madame? 
 
 GEORGE. No, I shall sit here alone to listen. I 
 am not well, Madame. I do not like the crowd. 
 
 MME. DE MUSSET. (As she reaches the door) I 
 shall see you later then, at supper? 
 
 HEINE. At supper, of course. 
 
 GEORGE. If I stay, but alas, Madame, I am so 
 spent. (And she heaves a deep sigh) I do not know 
 what will happen to me. 
 
 (As indeed she doesn't. And GEORGE and 
 ALFRED are left alone) 
 
 GEORGE. (Sadly) That was kind of Heine. I 
 wanted to see you, Alfred, once before I left Paris. 
 I'm very tired. 
 
 ALFRED. You're overworking. You should break 
 with Buloz. He expects too much of you. 
 
 GEORGE. No, it isn't that. (And then slowly) 
 I have just sent Pietro back to Venice. 
 
 ALFRED. (As the memories stir) Ah 
 
 GEORGE. All is over. It is the end, the end. 
 
 ALFRED. Go down to the country, you will rest 
 there out in the open. It is quiet under the trees. 
 
 [147]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 GEORGE. (Wearily) It is a quiet deeper than 
 the silence of Nohant that I seek. 
 
 ALFRED. You mean 
 
 GEORGE. Yes, my friend. I welcome it as a long 
 rest after a too long journey. I can no longer live 
 with dignity. 
 
 ALFRED. You've been like this before. Why, by 
 to-morrow 
 
 GEORGE. No. No. That was long ago. (A 
 nocturne of exquisite melancholy sounds from the 
 music room) To-morrow bears but the same sad 
 burden as to-day. I shall miss only the sound of 
 my children's voices. Solange is so sweet you 
 should see her, Alfred. I can hardly keep from 
 weeping when I kiss her. I shall miss my children 
 and the feel of the wind in my face. I adore the 
 wind. It is the symbol of perpetual energy. 
 
 ALFRED. Blowing nowhere and forever but such 
 is life. 
 
 GEORGE. (Sadly. It is her tragic moment) And 
 such is love. We are like leaves tossed in the wind 
 of desire. Do you remember that night in Venice 
 in the window? I laughed at you and your fear of 
 fate. But you were right, Alfred. Destiny has 
 piped and I have danced and now I'm tired. 
 
 ALFRED. And love? 
 
 GEORGE. (And from her heart comes a cry of bit 
 terness) Love, alas, I have called to love and it 
 has answered me with lies. I am done with that 
 delusion. It is nature's trick to make us fools. 
 [148]
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 It is empty, empty. You remember you gave me 
 a message at parting in Venice. Now I shall give 
 you one. (And she holds out her hand to him) 
 Store up the gold of life in youth, my friend, whilst 
 you can still believe this lie that men call love. 
 
 ALFRED. (Bending over her hand and kissing it) 
 Good-bye. 
 
 (And he goes into the conservatory and 
 
 as GEORGE is about to sit down on the long 
 
 sofa near the fireplace she sees the book that 
 
 PIETRO has dropped and she picks it up) 
 
 GEORGE. (Perhaps she is weeping a little. She 
 
 read the title) "Lelia." Faithful to the last. Finis. 
 
 Finis. (And she glances toward the little room 
 
 through which PAGELLO and LUCREZIA have gone) 
 
 Adieu, Pagello ! (And she lets the little book fall to 
 
 the table and then she looks toward the conservatory 
 
 through which DE MUSSET has gone) Adieu, Freddo. 
 
 (And then she looks into the fire as though bidding 
 
 a last farewell) Adieu, love! 
 
 (And she sits gazing for a moment into the 
 flame. A pause. And a little later a tremen 
 dous burst of applause sounds from the music 
 room. The nocturne is finished. Another 
 sound of voices, then more applause and then 
 CHOPIN bursts in from the music room fol 
 lowed by LISZT ; and the three young girls all 
 aflutter are crowded in the doorway. From 
 her deep seat next the fireplace GEORGE is al 
 most invisible) 
 
 [149]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 CHOPIN. (Irritable, excited) No, no. No more. 
 I'm tired. 
 
 LISZT. The humming fools. Give them the B Mi 
 nor Scherzo, Frederick. 
 
 CHOPIN. No, no. No more. No more. 
 
 MLLE. DE ROLANDE and MLLE. DE FLEURY. Ah ! 
 Ah! 
 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. He's probably tired. Look 
 how white he is. 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. Have you ever heard any 
 thing so divine? 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. Positively beguiling, my dear. 
 I- 
 
 CHOPIN. (Low to LISZT) Get them away. Get 
 them away. 
 
 LISZT. (With exaggerated politeness) Ladies, 
 your pardon. 
 
 (And he slowly closes the door. And the 
 three desmoiselles smk back into the music 
 room. 
 
 CHOPIN. It distresses me to play before a crowd 
 like that. 
 
 LISZT. Do you know that in the middle of 'your 
 most beautiful pianissimi one of those fat hyenas 
 sneezed ? 
 
 CHOPIN. I didn't notice it. 
 
 LISZT. (Amazed) What, why I hear everything 
 when I perform. 
 
 CHOPIN. I like best playing for my beloved Poles. 
 They are breathless when an artist plays. 
 [150]
 
 [Act HI] MADAME SAND 
 
 (More applause from the next room. Then 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY and MLLE. ROLANDE are 
 back) 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY (To Chopin) Monsieur, the 
 people are clamoring for you. 
 
 CHOPIN. Ladies, you must excuse me. 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. But we beseech you. 
 CHOPIN. You must pardon me. I am sorry to 
 refuse. (And as he turns away he unknowingly 
 drops his handkerchief. The applause sounds 
 again) Franz, for God's sake go in and appease 
 them. I want to be alone. Alone. 
 
 (And the two girls flutter up to LISZT with 
 exclamations of admiration. And as CHOPIN 
 turns from them barely concealing his irrita 
 tion, MLLE. DE FLEURY swiftly lifts his hand 
 kerchief from the floor and with a look as 
 though she were robbing a shrme of the sa 
 cred "bambino," she stuffs the precious relic 
 into her bodice and GEORGE who is watching 
 smiles. This is unseen by all the others. 
 MLLE. ROLANDE and LISZT are at the door. 
 Then MLLE. DE FLEURY joins them, and as 
 they enter the music room LISZT is greeted 
 with a salvo of approval. The door is closed 
 and then CHOPIN begins walkmg up and 
 down. He is warm. He wants to mop his 
 brow. He is nervous. He looks at a picture. 
 Then again for his handkerchief. It is gone. 
 This increases his irritation. He sits down, 
 
 [151]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 still feeling in his pockets; and then and 
 it sounds as if it came from nowheres 
 GEORGE speaks. And as she does so CHOPIN 
 jumps up not knowing from whence it came) 
 
 GEORGE. Here, take mine. (And she hands him 
 her handkerchief) 
 
 CHOPIN. (Taking it) Ah, you. Thank you, 
 Madame. 
 
 GEORGE. Sit down, you must be very tired. Sit 
 down and rest. 
 
 CHOPIN. Yes. Yes. 
 
 GEORGE. I can't imagine anything more fright 
 ful than having to face a room of people like that. 
 It must be so much more wonderful to play for two 
 or three. 
 
 CHOPIN. I like best to play for only one. That 
 is when I can "speak." 
 
 GEORGE. Yes 
 
 CHOPIN. I always choose some one to whom I 
 play. To-night there was no one in there who in 
 terested me. 
 
 GEORGE. Your art is the most fragile of all the 
 arts. It is born of the moment and as it lives it dies. 
 
 CHOPIN. Yes. Yes. (He begins walking about 
 again) 
 
 GEORGE. Oh, don't be alarmed, I'm not going to 
 talk music. Would you like some champagne? 
 Shall I call a lackey? 
 
 CHOPIN. No. Let us sit quietly for a while. 
 
 (And they do so, listening to the music) 
 [152]
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 CHOPIN. (After a moment) That is a beautiful 
 melody but in a second he will spoil it with his fire 
 works. 
 
 (GEORGE doesn't answer. Then after a 
 little while he goes on) 
 
 CHOPIN. I have never read any of your books. 
 
 GEORGE. (Unconcerned) No? 
 
 CHOPIN. No. Listen ! Music should have more 
 soul and less speed. (A pause) You do not answer 
 me. (Another pause) You are so different from 
 other women. You seem to know how to be still. 
 
 GEORGE. (Smiling) I am listening to you. 
 
 CHOPIN. Some day I will come and play for you. 
 
 GEORGE. (Unmoved) Yes? 
 
 CHOPIN. (A bit piqued at her lack of enthusi 
 asm) I do not do that often. 
 
 GEORGE. No, I am sure of that. 
 
 (There is another pause. Then GEORGE 
 speaks. Something stirs in the ashes of her 
 heart) 
 
 GEORGE. Why have you avoided me since you've 
 been in Paris? 
 
 CHOPIN. I was afraid of you. 
 
 GEORGE. Afraid? If that is a compliment it is 
 too roundabout. 
 
 CHOPIN. From a distance you seemed, shall I 
 say (He hesitates for a word) 
 
 GEORGE. (Lightly) Formidable. 
 
 CHOPIN. No er (Then he gets it) compli 
 cated. 
 
 [153]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 GEORGE. You have chosen badly. I am really 
 very simple. (Then with a shake of her head be 
 cause she really means it ) Too simple for my good. 
 (And he looks at her and she turns away 
 and gazes into the fire. Another pause) 
 
 CHOPIN. Weren't you at the Marquis de Custine's 
 last Saturday? 
 
 GEORGE. (Almost carelessly) Yes. 
 
 CHOPIN. I didn't meet you. 
 
 GEORGE. No, I left early. 
 
 CHOPIN. But women always want to meet me. 
 
 GEORGE. You're very shy. 
 
 CHOPIN. I thought I saw you looking at me when 
 I was playing. 
 
 GEORGE. And so beautifully 
 
 CHOPIN. I was dreaming of some one long ago. 
 
 GEORGE. Yes. 
 
 CHOPIN. Why did you leave so early? 
 
 GEORGE. I went home to work. 
 
 CHOPIN. At night. 
 
 GEORGE. Yes. Till four in the morning. 
 
 CHOPIN. My art too is exacting. Sometimes I 
 practice ten hours a day. 
 
 GEORGE. (As she glances at him, she is thinking 
 of her writing but, alas, how often people mean one 
 thing and say another) I have been practicing all 
 my life. 
 
 CHOPIN, One of these days I must read some 
 thing you've written. 
 
 GEORGE. Why? 
 [154]
 
 [AM III} MADAME SAND 
 
 CHOPIN. I do not read much. 
 
 GEORGE. There are too many books. It is life 
 that really matters. (A note of sadness comes into 
 her voice) Life! 
 
 CHOPIN. You are sad, Madame? 
 
 GEORGE. Alas, my friend, I have suffered. 
 
 (She looks at him tenderly, then back into 
 the flames) 
 
 CHOPIN. (Slowly. It is to very few he would say 
 this, but she is different) I understand, Madame. 
 I too have lived. 
 
 GEORGE. (Expectantly) Yes? 
 
 (A pause. She waits for him to go on but 
 he is silent) 
 
 GEORGE. Some day, perhaps, you will care to 
 tell me? 
 
 CHOPIN. (Perhaps he is a little embarrassed) 
 Listen! Liszt is playing the "Libestraum." Less 
 than Beethoven but 'twill serve. Listen ! 
 
 GEORGE. Yes. You are right. I too cannot 
 abide these people who are an ^Eolian harp thru 
 which their grief is forever moaning. (She is in 
 danger. She is beginning to forget herself. She 
 glances at him. He is listening to the music) It is 
 a love that has lasted long, my friend? (Her hand 
 is on his) 
 
 CHOPIN. Since my boyhood. I do not know why 
 I tell you this. t 
 
 GEORGE. (Very tenderly) That is the only love 
 that matters. So you too have been lonely. 
 
 [155]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 CHOPIN. I've been alone for all my life. 
 
 GEORGE. That is the sad melody that runs 
 through life. We are forever seeking companion 
 ship whilst in reality we are forever alone, alone. 
 
 (And her voice drifts away on the sweet 
 sadness of the word) 
 
 CHOPIN. Yes. I must come and play for you. 
 
 GEORGE. I shall listen with my soul. 
 
 (A little flame stirs in the ashes. Is it the 
 spell of the music that moves her?) 
 
 CHOPIN. You are not like what I thought. 
 
 GEORGE. No? 
 
 CHOPIN. I imagined you were always talking 
 philosophy. 
 
 GEORGE. That's what the world thinks of liter 
 ary people. The truth is I seldom mention books. 
 
 CHOPIN. Franz told me that you were the clev 
 erest woman in Paris. 
 
 GEORGE. I thought he was my friend. 
 
 CHOPIN. There are days when I cannot abide 
 Paris and these crowds of brilliant people. (He 
 looks towards the music room) 
 
 GEORGE. Yes, I know what you mean. I too 
 have felt that. Why don't you go away? 
 
 CHOPIN. I would but though I dislike people, I 
 don't like being all alone. It gives me a feeling of 
 peace to know there is some one to whom I can go 
 some one who will understand. 
 
 GEORGE. (For the first time looking him straight 
 in the eyes) Yes. That is the perfect companion. 
 [156]
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 Some one you know is there and still never feel 
 about you. I have tried many but all have failed, 
 even Alfred. 
 
 CHOPIN. Does such a one exist? 
 
 GEORGE. In dreams perhaps. 
 
 (And she is languorously fanning herself 
 whilst in the music room LISZT plays "The 
 Lorelei") 
 
 CHOPIN. What a delicious odor. 
 
 GEORGE. "Lily of Japan." Pagello bought it 
 for me in the Palais Royal with his last two francs. 
 But the odor was too strong for him. That's why 
 he's run away to Venice. 
 
 CHOPIN. (Looking at her) With such a person 
 far away 
 
 GEORGE. (Lightly but still with a famt sense of 
 suggestion) In a blue isle in the Mediterranean 
 shall we say? I too have been dreaming of the 
 South. 
 
 CHOPIN. (Smiling back at her fantasy) Yes. 
 Why not? The Mediterranean 
 
 GEORGE. (Leaning back a little, her tongue wet 
 ting her lips goes on with the delicious nonsense) 
 Where the tropic palms droop in the odorous shad 
 ows and the scarlet flamingoes sleep in the sun. 
 
 (She likes this and begins jotting it down 
 on her fan) 
 
 CHOPIN. What are you doing? 
 
 GEORGE. (Almost sprightly) I just thought of 
 
 [157]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 what I must order for luncheon to-morrow. (And 
 she repeats as she writes} scarlet flamingoes. 
 
 CHOPIN. Flamingoes for lunch? 
 
 GEORGE. Why not? Perhaps you will come and 
 dine with me. 
 
 CHOPIN. Perhaps. You are the one woman in 
 Paris who doesn't bore me. 
 
 GEORGE. {Laughing) What! Go back to your 
 island, my friend. 
 
 CHOPIN. No. Do not think I am jesting. If 
 for a while I could break away from all this clever 
 ness. (And again he waves his hand with a gesture 
 of disgust towards the music room) There in this 
 mythical island I could realize my dreams and give 
 to the world all the music that struggles and mounts 
 in my heart. 
 
 GEORGE. (Whimsically) And if you go I shall 
 follow you and lie quietly listening among the ferns. 
 (He looks at her. She looks back. There is a pause. 
 Then jestingly, laughingly) Or perhaps we might 
 go together. 
 
 CHOPIN. (Slowly) Why not? Why not? 
 
 GEORGE. (Her hand again touching his. Her 
 voice low) Why not? (The light of the fire shines 
 about them) Some day, perhaps. (Half propheti 
 cally, half in subconscious hope) Some day. 
 
 (And CHOPIN sits looking at her and she 
 leans back, her eyes slightly closed) 
 
 CHOPIN. I am so tired. 
 [158]
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 GEORGE. (Leaning towards him) Shall I drive 
 you home? 
 
 CHOPIN. Would you? (And he smiles at her 
 wanly, sweetly) 
 
 GEORGE. Poor boy, you are very tired, aren't 
 you? (A pause, she is closer to him) There is 
 something about you so like my little son. 
 
 CHOPIN. Yes? 
 
 GEORGE. And do you know what I should do 
 if you were he? 
 
 CHOPIN. No. 
 
 GEORGE. This, my poor tired child this. 
 
 (And like a mother indeed love and the 
 mother in her are mixed beyond comprehen 
 sion she takes him m her arms and kisses 
 him and the next instant she awakes to the 
 calamitous rashness of her deed) 
 
 GEORGE. What have I done? What have I 
 done? Can you ever forgive me? 
 
 CHOPIN. (Bending towards her) Why not? 
 
 GEORGE. (Springing up as once before she has 
 done in Venice) Now I realize it all. For weeks 
 the ecstasy of your music has sustained my fainting 
 spirit. All the while I have loved you, loved you 
 as I have never loved before, loved when I thought 
 that love was over forever and I haven't known. 
 And now that I have told you, good-bye. (She 
 rushes from him) 
 
 CHOPIN. (His voice low) Wait! Wait! You 
 mustn't leave me now, now at the beginning. 
 
 [159]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 GEORGE. (Struggling with her heart) No, no. 
 I am done with love. I have prayed to love and it 
 has come to hurt me. No, no. Not again, not 
 again. I am through with love forever. 
 
 CHOPIN. (His arm is about her) This is the be 
 ginning. We have found each other in our loneli 
 ness. You have brought peace to my heart. (His 
 lips are close to hers) George! George, nothing 
 else matters. This is the beginning. 
 
 (And he kisses her. A pause. And then 
 she breaks from him. There are tears in her 
 eyes. For a moment she stands watching 
 him, the old wonder ever new breaks in her 
 heart. He comes over to her. His voice is 
 very gentle) 
 
 CHOPIN. You know you said that you would 
 drive me home. 
 
 GEORGE. (And all that she has forgotten and 
 all that she hopes are in the words) You mean? 
 CHOPIN. If you are willing- yes. 
 
 (And again they are in each other's arms. 
 Tableau! From beyond sounds the music. 
 She has lost her head. This is rash. Some 
 one may come m. She breaks away from him. 
 He follows her) 
 
 GEORGE. (She looks about her) No, no. This 
 is not the Mediterranean. There are too many 
 lackeys. (She steps towards the door) 
 
 CHOPIN. But aren't you going to drive me home? 
 [160]
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 GEORGE. And if I should tell the coachman to 
 drive to this island in the sea? 
 
 CHOPIN. I should follow you. There is too much 
 art in Paris. Come. 
 
 GEORGE. (Swiftly) A moment. A word to 
 Buloz lest he wait for me. 
 
 (And impetuously she tears out the fly leaf 
 from the copy of "Lelia" lying on the table 
 and scrawls some words and then) 
 GEORGE. Chopin, we may be driving to the 
 world's end. 
 
 CHOPIN. To the sound of music. Come. 
 
 (And they rush out as very cautiously 
 from the music room enters MLLE. DE LA- 
 TOUR with her autograph album in her hand 
 followed by MLLE. ROLANDE) 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. (Looking about) Why, I 
 thought she was in here. 
 
 MLLE. ROLANDE. Probably they're in the supper 
 room. 
 
 MLLE. DE LATOUR. I'm going to ask her. I may 
 never see her again. I don't care what Agnes says. 
 (And they run out through the little draw 
 ing-room to the applause which sounds from 
 the music room as HEINE opens the door and 
 comes in) 
 HEINE. (Calling) Frederick! Where is he? 
 
 (And BULOZ bustles in from the hatt) 
 HEINE. Where's Chopin? 
 BULOZ. Gone ! 
 
 , [161]
 
 MADAME SAND [Act III] 
 
 HEINE. Gone! The Baroness was hoping he 
 would play again. Liszt seems tied to the piano. 
 Nothing can budge him. 
 BULOZ. No. 
 
 HEINE. I'll ask George to read a chapter of 
 "Lelia" (He takes the book from the table) ; that 
 will quiet him. 
 
 BULOZ. She's gone. 
 HEINE. What? She too. 
 BULOZ. I saw them leave together. 
 HEINE. Together? (He looks surprised) 
 BULOZ. Yes. Why not? Can't a man and a 
 woman drive from a party without the world com 
 ing to an end? She left me this. (He pomts to 
 the note m his hand) It's written on the half title 
 of "Lelia." 
 
 HEINE. Perhaps you can print it in the Revue. 
 BULOZ. (With a quick look) Not yet. Read it, 
 Heine. 
 
 (And HEINE does so and in his amazement 
 he lets the note flutter to the floor) 
 BULOZ. And how long this time, Heine? 
 HEINE. How long? How long? Does it matter? 
 Think of the copy it will make and how the world 
 will revel in it. And now let's go in to supper. 
 
 (And as they exit MLLE. DE FLEURY comes 
 in from the music room on her way to join 
 MLLE. DE LATOUE and MLLE. ROLANDE. 
 Suddenly she sees the note which HEINE has 
 let fall, She picks it up) 
 U62]
 
 [Act III] MADAME SAND 
 
 MULE. DE FLEUBY. (With swimming eyes as site 
 reads it) "Good-night, Buloz, don't wait for me. 
 Life is love. That's all that matters. I've taken 
 Chopin home to put the poor, tired boy to bed." 
 
 (And she clutches the note to her trem 
 bling heart) 
 
 MLLE. DE FLEURY. (Tenderly, lit with the thrill 
 ing romance of it all) How beautiful ! How beau 
 tiful! 
 
 (And the curtain falls as LISZT, the untir 
 ing, thunders -from the music room the be 
 ginning of a brilliant Polonaise) 
 
 [163]
 
 A NOTE ON THE MUSIC FOR "MADAME 
 SAND" 
 
 All the entr'acte music should be of the period of 
 the play but the overture must be Mozart's "Cosi 
 Fan Tutte." The Italian title of this sparkling 
 music when rendered into the balder English and 
 reading, "Thus Do All Women," delicately sug 
 gests that George is not the only member of her 
 gentler sex who might have acted as she did. In 
 fact, given her "talent" perhaps any woman would, 
 that is, if she could. 
 
 Chopin, by his music, is to be subtly anticipated 
 throughout the comedy. After each entr'acte group, 
 in that wonderful moment, when the lights are 
 dim, echoes of his music should be heard; for the 
 beginning of Act I the gay little Posthumous Ma 
 zurka in F Major, for the beginning of Act II the 
 languorous Prelude in B Flat, Opus 28, No. 21 ; 
 and for Act III the curtain lifts on the three prat 
 tling demoiselles to the charming strains of the little 
 A Major Prelude. 
 
 One number of the entr'acte music for Act II 
 should be an arrangement of a group of the tink 
 ling tunes heard throughout the Venice episode at 
 the "serenata" which is supposed to be in full swing 
 
 [165]
 
 MADAME SAND 
 
 under the lovers' window on the Grand Canal. For 
 Mrs. Fiske's production authentic melodies, such as 
 one hears at these floating concerts in Italy, were 
 used. 
 
 Throughout Act III Liszt and Chopin are heard 
 in the music room improvising on themes which 
 later in their careers they are to use for some of 
 their most famous compositions. During George's 
 first meeting with Alfred, after the ending of their 
 love affair in Venice, we hear Chopin playing the 
 second theme of the Posthumous Valse in G Flat, 
 Opus 70, No. 1. During her farewell scene with 
 de Musset, in which, out of her broken heart she 
 speaks of the disillusionment of love, Chopin is 
 heard playing the G Major Nocturn, Opus 37, No. 
 2. The sudden break, as it actually occurs in the 
 music, is used to denote Chopin's distress and comes 
 just at the moment before he rushes from the piano 
 quite unknowingly into George's arms. For the 
 opening of George's love scene with Chopin, Jdszt, 
 unconscious of what is taking place in the little 
 drawing-room, is accompanying the dawning love of 
 Chopin and George to the romantic strains of the 
 third "Liebestraum" in A Flat. Chopin's words: 
 "but in a moment he will spoil it with his fireworks," 
 are spoken just before the famous pyrotechnic fig 
 uration which is the despair of all amateurs who 
 lovingly flay the "Liebestraum." When Chopin 
 and George, in this crowded world of Paris, find each 
 other in their loneliness, Liszt is playing the theme 
 [166]
 
 MADAME SAND 
 
 which later in life he is to use for his song arrange 
 ment of Heine's "Lorelei" ; and as the comedy ends 
 and Mile, de Fleury presses George's tell-tale note 
 to her trembling heart, Liszt, "because no one has 
 been able to drag him from the piano," is still heard 
 playing, at this moment, the dazzling opening 
 phrases of his second Polonaise in E Major. 
 
 [167]
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES 
 
 COLLEGE LIBRARY 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below. 
 
 2* 
 
 Book Slip-25m-7,'61(C1437s4)4280 
 
 THE LfBRARV 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNll 
 LOS AN6BLES
 
 UCLA-College Library 
 
 PS3525M722ma 
 
 L 005 730 324 
 
 College 
 Library 
 
 PS 
 3*2$ 
 
 M?22ma 
 
 001 203 746 1