The Art of Being Bored: A Comedy in Three Acts

Title: The Art of Being Bored: A Comedy in Three Acts

Author: Edouard Pailleron

Translator: Barrett H. Clark

Release date: October 21, 2016 [eBook #53334] Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53334

Credits: Produced by MFR, Les Galloway and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

The Art of Being Bored a Comedy in Three Acts: by Edouard Pailleron: Translated by Barret H. Clark

Samuel French: Publisher 25 West Forty-Fifth St.: New York Samuel French, Ltd. London 26 Southampton Street, Strand

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The Art of Being Bored. (Le Monde ou l’on s’ennuie). A comedy in 3 acts. By Edouard Pailleron. 11 men, 9 women. Probably the best-known and most frequently acted comedy of manners in the realm of 19th century French drama. It is replete with wit and comic situations. For nearly forty years it has held the stage, while countless imitators have endeavored to reproduce its freshness and charm. Price 50 cents.

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The ART OF BEING BORED

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS

BY EDOUARD PAILLERON

Translated by BARRETT H. CLARK

Copyright, 1920, by Samuel French

EDOUARD PAILLERON

The author of “Le Monde où l’on s’ennuie” was born at Paris in 1834. Besides this, his masterpiece, he wrote numerous comedies, sentimental and satirical. Pailleron is in no way concerned with problems or “ideas”; he is content to depict the foibles and affectations of society, framing his observations into a harmonious and unified whole. This play was first produced, at Paris, in 1881, and has since held the stage.

The scenery and costumes are modern.

Owing to the large number of characters, some attention must be paid to the grouping of stage pictures. The stage-directions, if carefully followed, will supply sufficient information to enable the director to group the actors without difficulty.

THE ART OF BEING BORED

PERSONS IN THE PLAY

Scene: A drawing-room in Madame de Céran’s château at Saint Germain.

3

The Art of Being Bored

ACT I

A drawing-room, with a large entrance at the back, opening upon another room. Entrances up and down stage. To the left, between the two doors, a piano. Right, an entrance down-stage; farther up, a large alcove with a glazed door leading into the garden, left; a table, on either side of which is a chair; to the right, a small table and a sofa, armchairs, etc.

Francois. (Looking among the papers which litter the table) It couldn’t be on top here—nor here. Revue Matérialiste ... Revue des Cours—Journal des Savants——

(Enter Lucy.)

Lucy. Well, Francois, have you found the letter?

Francois. No, Miss Lucy, not yet.

Lucy. Pink paper—opened—no envelope?

Francois. Is it addressed to Miss Watson?

Lucy. Didn’t I tell you it was addressed to me?

Francois. But——

Lucy. The point is, have you found it?

Francois. Not yet, but I shall look everywhere, and ask——

4

Lucy. Don’t ask; there’s no need. But it must be found, so look carefully. Go over every foot of ground from where you gave us our letters this morning, to this room. It couldn’t have fallen anywhere else. Please, please hunt for it! (She goes out)

Francois. (Alone, as he returns to the table) “Hunt, hunt?” Revue Coloniale—Revue Diplomatique—Revue Archéologique——

(Enter Jeanne and Paul.)

Jeanne. (Gaily) Someone here! (To Francois) Madame de Céran——

Paul. (Taking her hand) Sh! (To Francois, gravely) Is Madame la comtesse de Céran in the château at present?

Francois. Yes, Monsieur.

Jeanne. (Gaily) Very well, tell her that Monsieur and Madame Paul——

Paul. (As before, coldly) Be good enough to announce to her that M. Raymond, Sub-prefect1 of Agenis, and Mme. Raymond, have arrived from Paris, and await her pleasure in the drawing-room.

Jeanne. And that——

Paul. (As before) Sh! That’s all, please.

Francois. Very well, M. le sous-préfet. (Aside) Newlyweds!—Shall I take Monsieur’s—? (He takes their bags and rugs, and goes out)

Jeanne. Now, Paul——

Paul. No “Paul” here: “M. Raymond!”

Jeanne. What, d’you want me to——?

Paul. Not here, I tell you.

Jeanne. (Laughing) What a scowl!

Paul. Please, you mustn’t laugh out loud.

Jeanne. How is this, Monsieur, you are scold5ing me? (She throws herself into his arms, but he disengages himself, terrified)

Paul. Silly! That’s enough to spoil everything!

Jeanne. Oh! What a bore!

Paul. Precisely! That time you struck exactly the right note. You surely haven’t forgotten all I told you in the train?

Jeanne. Why, I thought you were joking!

Paul. Joking? So you don’t want to be a Prefect’s wife?—Tell me?

Jeanne. Yes, if it would please you.

Paul. Very well, dear. I call you dear, as we are alone, but later on, before the guests, it must be merely Jeanne. The Comtesse de Céran has done me the honor of asking me to introduce my young wife to her, and of spending a few days here at her château. Mme. de Céran’s circle is one of the three or four most influential in Paris. We are not here to amuse ourselves. I come here merely a Sub-prefect; I am determined to leave a Prefect. Everything depends on her—upon us—upon you!

Jeanne. Upon me? What do you mean?

Paul. Of course, on you! Society judges a man by his wife, and society is right. Therefore be on your guard.—Dignity without pride: a knowing smile—ears and eyes open, lips closed! Oh, compliments, as many as you like, and quotations, short and authoritative: for philosophy try Hegel; for literature, Jean Paul; politics——

Jeanne. But I don’t understand politics.

Paul. Here all the women talk politics.

Jeanne. Well, I know nothing whatever about it.

Paul. Neither do they, but that doesn’t make any difference. Cite Pufendorff and Machiavelli as if they were your own relatives, and talk about the6 Council of Trent as if you had presided over it. As for your amusements: music, strolls in the garden, and whist—that’s all I can allow. Your clothes must be chosen with great care, and as for Latin—use the few words I’ve taught you. In a week’s time I want it to be said of you: “Ah, that little Mme. Raymond will be the wife of a Cabinet Minister some day!” And in this circle, you know, when they say that a woman will be a Cabinet Minister’s wife, her husband is not very far from a portfolio.

Jeanne. What? Do you want to be Minister?—Why?

Paul. In order to keep from becoming famous.

Jeanne. But Mme. de Céran belongs to the opposition; what can you expect from her?

Paul. How simple you are! In the matter of political positions, there is only the slightest shade of difference between the Conservatives and their opponents: the Conservatives ask for places and their opponents accept them. No, no, my child, this is the place where reputations are made and unmade and made over again; where, under the appearance of talking literature and art, Machiavellian conspirators hatch their schemes: this is the private entrance to the ministries, the antechamber of the Academies, the laboratory of success!

Jeanne. Heavens! What sort of circle is this?

Paul. It is the 1881 edition of the Hotel de Rambouillet: a section of society where everybody talks and poses, where pedantry masquerades as knowledge, sentimentality as sentiment, and preciosity as delicacy and refinement;—here no one ever dreams of saying what one thinks, and never believes what one says, where friendship is a matter of cold calculation, and chivalry and manners merely means to an end. It is where one swallows7 one’s tongue in the drawing-room just as one leaves one’s cane in the hallway: in short, Society where one learns the art of being serious!

Jeanne. I should say, the art of being bored!

Paul. Precisely!

Jeanne. But if everyone bores everyone else, what possible influence can it all have?

Paul. What influence? How simple you are! You ask what influence can boredom exert, here in this country? A great deal, I tell you. You see, the Frenchman has a horror of boredom amounting almost to veneration. Ennui is for him a terrible god whose worship is celebrated by good form. He recognizes nothing as serious unless it is in regulation dress. I don’t say that he practises what he preaches, but that is only a further reason for believing more firmly: he prefers believing to finding out for himself. I tell you, this nation, which is at bottom gay, despises itself for being so; it has forgotten its faith in the good common sense of its generous laughter; this sceptical and talkative nation believes in those who have little to say, this whole-hearted and amiable people allows itself to be imposed upon by pedantic false pride and the pretentious asininity of the pontiffs of the white dress necktie: in politics, in science, in art, in literature, in everything! These they scoff at, hate, flee as from a pestilence, yet they alone preserve for these

things a secret admiration and perfect confidence! And you ask what influence has boredom? Ah, my dear girl, there are just two kinds of people in the world: those who don’t know how to bore themselves, and who are nobodies; and those who know how to bore themselves, and who are somebody—besides those who know how to bore others!

Jeanne. And this is the place you’ve brought me to!

8

Paul. Do you want to be a Prefect’s wife? Tell me?

Jeanne. Oh, to begin with, I could never——

Paul. Oh, never mind! It’s only for a week!

Jeanne. A week! Without speaking, without laughing, without being kissed by you!

Paul. That’s before company; but when we are alone—in the dark, oh, then! Why, it will be delightful; we’ll arrange secret meetings, in the garden, everywhere—just as we did before we were married—at your father’s, do you remember?

Jeanne. Very well, very well! (She opens the piano and plays an air from La Fille de Madame Angot)

Paul. (Terrified) Very well, then! What are you doing there?

Jeanne. It’s from the opera we saw last night!

Paul. My poor child, so this is the way you follow my advice!

Jeanne. We sat in a box together—wasn’t it lovely, Paul!

Paul. Jeanne! Jeanne!—What if someone should come in! Please!

(Francois appears at the back.)

Paul. Too late! (Jeanne changes the air she was playing into a Beethoven Symphony. Aside) Beethoven,—Bravo! (He listens to the music with profound satisfaction) Ah, it’s a fact that the only place for music is the Conservatoire!

Francois. Madame la Comtesse requests Monsieur le sous-préfet to wait five minutes for her: she is in consultation with Monsieur le baron Eriel de Saint-Réault.

Paul. The Orientalist?

Francois. I do not know, Monsieur, he is the son of the scientist whose father was so talented.

9

Paul. (Aside) Who has so many positions to dispose of! He’s the one!—Ah, M. de Saint-Réault is here, then. I presume Mme. de Saint-Réault is with him?

Francois. Yes, M. le sous-préfet; likewise the Marquise de Loudan and Mme. Arriégo, but these ladies are at present in Paris, following M. Bellac’s course—with Mlle. Suzanne de Villiers.

Paul. There are no other guests here?

Francois. There is Madame la duchesse de Réville, Madame’s aunt.

Paul. I don’t refer to the Duchess or to Miss Watson; or to Mlle. de Villiers: they are the family! I mean guests, like ourselves.

Francois. No, M. le sous-préfet, there are no others.

Paul. And no one else is expected?

Francois. Oh, yes, M. le sous-préfet; M. Roger, the son of Mme. la comtesse, has just arrived to-day from his scientific investigations in the Orient. He is expected any moment.—Ah, and then M. Bellac, the professor, who is to spend a few days here when his lecture course is over—at least we hope so.

Paul. (Aside) Ah, that’s why there are so many ladies!—Very well, thank you.

Francois. Then M. le sous-préfet will be good enough to wait?

Paul. Yes, and tell Mme. la comtesse not to hurry. (Francois goes out) Whew! You gave me a turn with that music! But you got out of it beautifully, changing Lecocq to Beethoven! Rather good, that!

Jeanne. Stupid, am I not?

Paul. I know better now! We still have five minutes; I’ll tell you a little about these people: it’s best to be on the safe side.

10

Jeanne. Oh, never mind!

Paul. Come, Jeanne, five minutes! You must know something about them!

Jeanne. After each “something” you must kiss me!

Paul. All right, then; what a child you are! I won’t be long: mother, son, friend, and guest,—everyone of them very serious!

Jeanne. How amusing that will be!

Paul. Don’t worry, there are two who are not so serious. I have kept them for the last.

Jeanne. One moment, please, pay me first! (She counts on her fingers) Madame de Céran, one; her son Roger, two; Miss Lucy, three; the two Saint-Réault; one Bellac, one Loudan and one Arriégo, that makes eight! (She puts her cheek up to be kissed)

Paul. Eight what?

Jeanne. Eight “somethings“—pay.

Paul. What a child! There, there, there! (He kisses her)

Jeanne. Not so fast: retail, if you please.

Paul. (After having kissed her more slowly) There, does that satisfy you?

Jeanne. For the present. Now, let’s have the two who are not serious!

Paul. First, the Duchesse de Réville, the aunt, a handsome old lady who was a beauty in her day——

Jeanne. (Questioningly) Hmm?

Paul. So they say! A bit brusque and direct—but an excellent lady and very sensible—as you’ll see. But last and best, Suzanne de Villiers! She, is not at all serious—it’s a fault with her.

Jeanne. At last, somebody who’s frivolous, thank Heaven!

Paul. Girl of eighteen, a tom-boy, chatter-box,11 free with her tongue and her manners—with a life-history that reads like a novel.

Jeanne. Umm! Lovely, let’s hear it!

Paul. She’s the daughter of a certain widow—

Jeanne. Yes?

Paul. Well? Daughter of a widow—and that ass Georges de Villiers, another nephew of the Duchess; she adored him. A natural child.

Jeanne. Natural? How lovely!

Paul. The mother and father are dead. The child was left an orphan at the age of twelve with a princely heritage and an education to match. Georges taught her Javanese. The Duchess, who adores her, brought her into the home of Madame de Céran, who detests her, and gave her Roger for a tutor. They tried their best to keep her in a convent, but she ran away twice; they sent her back a third time and—here she is again! Imagine that state of affairs! And that’s the end of the story—good, isn’t it?

Jeanne. So good that you needn’t pay me the two kisses you owe me.

Paul. (Disappointed) Ohh!

Jeanne. But I’ll pay you! (She kisses him)

Paul. Silly! (The door at the back opens) Oh! Saint-Réault and Madame de Céran! No, she didn’t see us. Now—ahem—ready!

(Enter Mme. de Céran and Saint-Réault. They pause in the doorway, not seeing Paul and Jeanne.)

Mme. de Céran. No, no, no, my friend, not the first poll! Listen to me, 15-8-15 the first poll—— There was a secret ballot on that one and therefore on the second: it’s very simple!

Saint-Réault. Simple? Simple? Now the second poll, since I have only four votes on the12 second poll, with our nine votes on the first poll—that leaves us only thirteen on the second!

Mme. de Céran. And our seven on the first—that makes twenty on the second! Don’t you see?

Saint-Réault. (Enlightened) Ahhh!

Paul. (To Jeanne) Very simple!

Mme. de Céran. I repeat, beware of Dalibert and his Liberals. At present the Academy is Liberal—at present—at present! (They come down-stage, talking)

Saint-Réault. Isn’t Revel also the leader of the New School?

Mme. de Céran. (Looking at him) Ohh! Revel isn’t dead yet, is he?

Saint-Réault. Oh, no!

Mme. de Céran. He isn’t ill?

Saint-Réault. (Slightly embarrassed) Oh, he’s always in poor health.

Mme. de Céran. Well, then?

Saint-Réault. We must always be prepared, mustn’t we?—I’ll keep my eyes open.

Mme. de Céran. (Aside) There’s something at the bottom of all this! (Seeing Raymond, and going toward him) Ah, my dear Monsieur Raymond, I was forgetting all about you; pardon me!

Paul. My dear Countess! (Presenting Jeanne) Madame Paul Raymond!

Mme. de Céran. You are most welcome here, Madame! Consider yourself in the home of a friend. (Presenting them to Saint-Réault) Monsieur Paul Raymond, Sub-prefect of Agenis, Madame Paul Raymond, Monsieur le baron Eriel de Saint-Réault.

Paul. I am especially happy to make your acquaintance since, as a young man, it was my privilege to know your illustrious father. (Aside) He stuck me on my final examinations!

13

Saint-Réault. (Bowing) What a pleasant coincidence, M. le Préfet!

Paul. Especially pleasant for me, M. le Baron!

(Saint-Réault goes to the table and writes.)

Mme. de Céran. You will find my house a trifle austere for a person of your youth, Madame. You have only your husband to blame for your stay here.—It has its moments of monotony, but you may console yourself with the thought that resignation means obedience, and that in coming here you had no choice.

Jeanne. (Gravely) As regards that, Mme. la comtesse, “To be free is not to do what one wishes, but what one judges to be best”—as the philosopher Joubert has said.