Cheri-Bibi: The Stage Play Page 10

  SONIA: Has my imbecile of a husband told me the truth? Your feelings about us have changed to this degree? (she stares at him curiously touching his face with her hands) It’s strange, but when I look at you closely, I don’t recognize you at all! From a distance, it’s you, but up close, I doubt it! I know quite well that an illness can transform a man, but in your case, it seems to have improved you.

  CHÉRI-BIBI: Madame, I prefer you not touching my face.

  SONIA: And to think that I once satisfied all your whims... (coming close to him) Come on! Kiss your little Sonia, who still loves. (Chéri-Bibi recoils) My, my, you are really appalled!

  CHÉRI-BIBI: Not here, in my wife’s home!

  SONIA: Now, there’s a thing that you would have mocked before. Could you have made peace the little prude?

  CHÉRI-BIBI: (angry) What did you call her?

  SONIA: My God! Don’t get so angry! There was a time when you wouldn’t have gotten so vexed over such a trifle. So the Marquis returns to the conjugal bed! Hurrah! So much the better. Everything happens sooner or later in life! But, your reconciliation with your wife, my dear, doesn’t excuse your rudeness towards me. At the very least, you ought to have replied to my letters, when I took such trouble to write them.

  CHÉRI-BIBI: My private secretary opens all my mail, and didn’t deem it useful to show them to me.

  SONIA: You are joking, I hope?

  CHÉRI-BIBI: Let’s leave things as they are. That would be better for both of us–and for the one who plays the part of your husband.

  SONIA: So be it! (a pause) Don’t forget to present my respectful compliments to Madame la Marquise. Tell her that, in a few days, I will have the occasion to pay her a visit.

  CHÉRI-BIBI: That’s unnecessary, Madame.

  SONIA: It’s very necessary, for until I’ve paid her that visit, she will be unaware of the extent of her happiness, and that would be a shame.

  CHÉRI-BIBI: What do you mean?

  SONIA: I mean that, for her to appreciate the precious new virtue of her husband, she has to know his erstwhile unworthiness. Do you begin to see that my conversation may have its value?

  CHÉRI-BIBI: I don’t understand. What infamy are you plotting now?

  SONIA: You treat me like a common harlot, I will avenge myself like one! I’ll show her your letters!

  CHÉRI-BIBI: As you please!

  BARONESS: The letters you wrote me from The Star of Dieppe in which you promised to divorce Cécily in order to marry me.

  CHÉRI-BIBI: So?

  SONIA: ...And in which you made it clear that you were prepared to rid me of my husband by any means, in order to get me.

  CHÉRI-BIBI: Witch!

  BARONESS: And these promises are nothing compared to what you wrote about your wife. I’m sure that Cécily will be delighted to know how much you appreciated her, and discover how well you spoke of her. (a pause) A woman can forget everything, blows, infidelities, humiliations, but there are some things she will not pardon: the things that belittle her and hold her to ridicule.

  CHERI-BIBI: I see. How much do you want for those letters?

  BARONESS: My goodness! You are beginning to be reasonable at last! You were becoming uncouth, my dear Marquis. Don’t you know that the gift is worth less than the manner in which it is given? Let’s be like we were in the past, and I will deliver those letters to you. But you’ve got to behave properly again and be sweet to your little Sonia. If not...

  (Cécily returns and addresses Chéri-Bibi without acknowledging the presence of the Baroness.)

  CÉCILY: Maxime, I’ve just informed your mother of your decision regarding Chateau. She wants to see you right away! Come, so I can take you to her.

  (Chéri-Bibi remains still, looking desperate.)

  SONIA: As for me, Marquis, I want you to come with me to my chateau, which I am not going to abandon.

  CÉCILY: (to Chéri-Bibi) Why aren’t you kicking that woman out?

  SONIA: Your arm, Marquis?

  CHÉRI-BIBI: (with a cry of despair) Pardon, Cécily! Pardon!

  (He leaves like a madman, dragged by the Baroness.)

  CÉCILY: (staggering) This is horrible. He was making fun of me! He’s betrayed me again!

  (She collapses into an armchair. Petit Bernard enters and, seeing her distress, he runs to her and clings to her knees.)

  BERNARD: Mama! Mama!

  C U R T A I N

  SCENE VI

  THE ABBEY OF THELEME

  A large room in a very famous restaurant and cabaret. In the back, there is a large, open bay window, and a gallery about a meter high that leads to a restaurant that cannot be seen. At each extremity, there are two staircases parallel to the gallery that give access to the room. At the foot of the stairs, there are two large potted plants. On each side, there are two doors. On stage, there are couches, light tables. It is 2 a.m., but the lights are on.

  AT RISE, a party is going full steam in the large hall; we hear shouting, laughter and fashionable music. Couples walk onto the gallery, men in evening dress, women in gowns. Then Chéri-Bibi and La Ficelle come down one of the stairs and quickly cross the gallery. They are dressed in evening clothes with coats. Chéri-Bibi addresses a waiter on duty at the foot of the stairs.

  CHÉRI-BIBI: Ask if Baron Proskoff has reserved a table and if he has arrived.

  WAITER: Yes, Monsieur!

  (The waiter leaves; Chéri-Bibi nervously surveys the room.)

  LA FICELLE: I beg you, calm down.

  CHÉRI-BIBI: (agitated) That’s easy for you to say.

  LA FICELLE: Don’t get yourself all worked up; you’re going to attract attention. (pointing to couples crossing the gallery) Everything was going so well! And now, this evil Baroness is threatening all our beautiful work! It was all going like clock work, and suddenly–Boom! Nothing works any more; falls apart!

  CHÉRI-BIBI: It’s because of those damn letters. But she promised to give them to me. They have to come!

  LA FICELLE: That poor Maxime sure had a passion for letter-writing; what joy!

  CHÉRI-BIBI: I tell you, La Ficelle, I must have those letters!

  (The waiter returns.)

  WAITER: Baron Proskoff has indeed reserved a table, but he has not yet arrived.

  CHÉRI-BIBI: Thanks.

  LA FICELLE: Since you want those letters that much, why didn’t you offer the Baroness a large sum of money?

  CHÉRI-BIBI: What do you think? That was my first move.

  LA FICELLE: And it didn’t work?

  CHÉRI-BIBI: No. When I think that Cécily was ready to forgive me, I mean Maxime, for his past misconduct, and that I had succeeded, through sheer persuasion, to defeat her antipathy towards me... And then, this accursed “Star of Dieppe” threw herself in my path! Ah, she’d better be careful that one, because if not...

  LA FICELLE: Please, remember that we are not alone here.

  CHÉRI-BIBI: Yes, yes, you’re right, I must control myself! And this de Pont-Marie who’s paid assiduous court to Cécily... What if, in order to avenge herself for this new insult, she threw herself into his arms? No, no, it’s impossible! I will win Cécily’s heart–or die.

  LA FICELLE: What irony to bring such a cruel sorrow to this place of laughter and music. Who could have predicted, when I was mucking up sauces in the kitchens of the Chateau, that one day, I’d be going to the Monastery of Thélème in the company of the Marquis du Touchais?

  (Suddenly, Chéri-Bibi points out the Baron and Baroness Proskoff who have just entered the gallery.)

  CHÉRI-BIBI: There they are! Come on, amuse yourself, my good La Ficelle–since you can!

  (La Ficelle leaves. The Baron and the Baroness enter the stage from the back having walked down the stairs.)

  PROSKOFF: My apologies for having made you wait, Monsieur le Marquis. We’ve just come from a dress rehearsal of a show in Montmartre. The author of that little bit of obscenity is one of our friends. First of all, my dear Maxime, I must tell you how happy I am to re
sume our excellent relations. Yesterday, you said some unpleasant things to me–to which I paid little attention, truth be told. (offering his hand) I’ve forgotten them. Besides, the Baroness has told me how regretful you felt just after. So, let’s speak no more about them. Let’s all be happy!

  (A Maître d’ enters.)

  MAITRE D’: The gentlemen have reserved a table?

  CHÉRI-BIBI: I was told there was one in the name of Baron Proskoff.

  MAITRE D’: Certainly. Would you like to give me your orders now?

  SONIA: (to Chéri-Bibi) Pick the menu, my dear. (low) My tastes are yours.

  MAITRE D’: Monsieur le Marquis usually trusts me. Don’t you remember me? I’m Henry, from the Cafe de Paris. I’m happy that Monsieur le Marquis has returned. (low) And even happier should Monsieur le Marquis remember that he owes me two hundred francs?

  CHÉRI-BIBI: Right! (quickly pulling out his wallet) Here are three hundred.

  MAITRE D’: I am Monsieur le Marquis’ most humble servant! The menu will be perfect

  (He leaves.)

  CHÉRI-BIBI: (furious) What an idiot! Borrowing money from servants!

  SONIA: Of whom are you speaking, my dear?

  CHÉRI-BIBI: Of an old friend whom I has instructed to pay my expenses and who was indelicate enough, as you have just witnessed, to leave me with debts everywhere.

  SONIA: That’s not too serious!

  PROSKOFF: My dear Marquis, I’ve planned a little surprise for you. Imagine that among the interpreters of the show we just saw were Carmen de Fontainebleau and Nadja de Valrieu. I invited them to come to dine with us, and they accepted enthusiastically. The Baroness found the idea charming; I thought it wouldn’t displease you either.

  CHÉRI-BIBI: Indeed. The more fools there are...

  SONIA: ...The merrier!

  PROSKOFF: My dear, you must see Nadja dance the tango and hear Carmen sing a naughty little song! It’s delightful! And then, they’re charming company.

  (Nadja and Carmen enter at the rear.)

  PROSKOFF: Ah! Here they are! Come, Ladies, we were talking about you, saying bad things, of course! May I introduce you to my wife, the Baroness Proskoff.

  NADJA AND CARMEN: (with deep curtsies) Baroness!

  SONIA: Oh, please, no ceremonies for me.

  CARMEN: Great! We’re famous, you know?

  NADJA: (to Chéri-Bibi) Hello, Maxime. You seem a bit healthier than you were on the Bayard.

  CARMEN: (to Chéri-Bibi) You will come see our show? I play the orange.

  NADJA: And I, a self-inflating tire.

  SONIA: I’m sure these two young ladies display awesome talents.

  PROSKOFF: Yes. Especially their legs.

  (At this moment, a boisterous Conga line passes on the gallery.)

  PROSKOFF: The Conga!

  NADJA: Let’s go!

  PROSKOFF: Are you coming, Baroness?

  SONIA: No, thank you.

  PROSKOFF: What about you, Maxime? No? Then I entrust my wife to you; I know she’ll be safe.

  (Holding hands, the Baron, Carmen and Nadja join the conga line passing through the gallery, then vanish.)

  SONIA: Well, Maxime! You were once a gay companion; now, you’re positively lugubrious! If you didn’t look the same, one would swear that you’re a different man. You even look younger! But you seem to have lost that fine air of aristocratic nonchalance that made you laugh at everything. Now, it’s almost as if some kind of cold blood ran in your veins. And you’re restless, too. At this moment, you look pale–amazingly pale.

  CHÉRI-BIBI: You think you can still hold on to me and play with me like a toy; but take care, Sonia! I will not always be in your power. Yesterday, I was weak enough to obey you. I offended my wife...

  SONIA: The poor thing is used to it.

  CHÉRI-BIBI: I might have created a chasm between she and I that I can no longer bridge. What more do you want?

  SONIA: I already told you: a little kindness. For reasons I can’t fathom, you’ve had enough of me. After having adored me–and you did adore me, darling!–it pleases you to repudiate me. I have too much dignity to force myself on you. Besides, I’m not your wife. But I want us to leave each other in a friendly way, with all the niceties that behoove people of our condition. You seem to have lost your good education in the company of these ruffians. In fact, my dear, if you don’t mind my telling you, you are more like a convict than a Marquis now.

  CHÉRI-BIBI: (unable to repress a shiver) Your reproaches touch me. I beg you to excuse my conduct. It is the result of the nervous condition I have developed since my unfortunate illness. Let’s be reasonable, my dear. Will you return those letters you promised me?

  SONIA: A promise is a promise. I’ll be true to my word. You thought that Baroness Proskoff would exchange your peace of mind in return for money? I was insulted! You must understand that, since I can no longer have your love, that you’ve given to Cécily, I no longer ask anything from you but your friendship. If you still love me, even a little, then I’m sorry for you. Hearing this music, seeing these lights, smelling these flowers, might remind you of our amorous rendezvous? That might be your punishment, for make no mistake: these are things of the past now. I have invited you here to bury our love, not rekindle it.

  CHÉRI-BIBI: Very well. So you will return those letters to me?

  SONIA: I’m a better person than you think. I’ve decided to give them back to you tonight.

  CHÉRI-BIBI: (excitedly) You have them on you?

  SONIA: Souvenirs like that? Never! While my husband is getting drunk in pleasant company, let’s dine in a private room together. That will be our good-byes, and I will give you these letters which you’ve taken so much to heart!

  CHÉRI-BIBI: You’re not still playing with me?

  SONIA: I have only my word. Come!

  (Chéri-Bibi and the Baroness leave by a side door. La Ficelle enters from the bay window at back with a dancing girl named Toinette on his arm.)

  LA FICELLE: Oh! Paris! Paris! The women! If any virtue remains in me, I think that it will die tonight!

  TOINETTE: Will you buy me a drink, honey?

  LA FICELLE: My little kitten, I can’t refuse you anything.

  TOINETTE: Oh! Then we’re going to get along famously! (calling) Hey, Maitre D’! (nothing) How annoying! There’s never a waiter when you need one.

  LA FICELLE: You want a beer?

  TOINETTE: A beer? You must be joking! I want some champagne. (pause) I like you a lot, you know. You’re handsome.

  LA FICELLE: What’s your name?

  TOINETTE: Toinette!

  LA FICELLE: Well, Toinette, I’m buying you a bottle of the best champagne. (aside) There go my savings!

  (La Ficelle and Toinette leave by a side door. The Baron comes down the stairs supported by Nadja and Carmen.)

  PROSKOFF: (drunk) I tell you she’s cheating on me. I’m sure of it.

  CARMEN: (to Nadja) He’s drunk like a skunk.

  NADJA: (to Proskoff) Who’s cheating on you, dear?

  PROSKOFF: (weeping) My wife, by Jove!

  CARMEN: (to Nadja) There he goes again! Complaining to us about his wife’s affairs!

  NADJA: It’s as if he only realizes he’s a cuckold when he gets drunk.

  PROSKOFF: (tearful) Where is she? I want to see her! I want to tell her what’s in my heart. (hiccups)

  NADJA: Hey, it’s not as if she was having fun doing it!

  PROSKOFF: Oh, my little Sonia! It’s not nice! What about my family’s honor! My reputation!

  CARMEN: You don’t have any, you old goat.

  NADJA: Yes, shut up with your reputation!

  (Carmen and Nadja hoist him with difficulty up the stairs.)

  CARMEN: He must be tanked up to be so heavy.

  (La Ficelle and his dancing girl return, clinging to each other.)

  NADJA: Say, you two, give us a hand to hoist the load.

  TOINETTE: (to La Ficelle) Come, little man, we gotta help the girls!


  (Chéri-Bibi enters and notices La Ficelle; he appears to be the prey to a great emotion.)

  CHÉRI-BIBI: Ah, it’s you! Come here!

  (The Baron, carried by Carmen, Nadja, and Toinette, manages to get upstairs and vanish.)