He Who Gets Slapped. Leonid Andreyev

The action takes place in one of the large cities of France.

      HE WHO GETS SLAPPED

ACT I

       Table of Contents

      A very large, rather dirty room, with whitewashed walls. To the left, in a niche, is a window, the only outside window in the room, opening on a court-yard. The light from it is so dim that even by day the electricity has to be turned on.

      At the very top of the centre-back wall is a row of small dusty windows. They open on the circus hall. At night, when the performance is going on, a bright light shines through. By day they are dark. In the same wall is a large white door, reached by two stone steps, and nailed fast.

      On the right, almost in the corner, is a high, wide, arched doorway which leads to the stables and the ring. By day it opens into pale darkness, at night into pale light.

      The room is used for many purposes. It is the office of Papa Briquet, manager of the circus; here he keeps his little desk. It is the cloak-room of some of the actors. It is also the room where the cast gathers between calls, during rehearsals or performances. Again, it is a check-room for used circus property, such as gilt armchairs, scenery for pantomimes, and other wares of the circus household. The walls are covered with circus announcements and glaring posters.

      The time is morning. In the circus hall a rehearsal is going on, and preparations are being made for the evening performance. As the curtain goes up, the cracking whip and the shouts of the riding-master are heard from the ring. The stage is empty for a few seconds, then enter Tilly and Polly, the musical clowns, practising a new march. Playing on tiny pipes, they step from the dark doorway to the window. Their music is agreeable to the ear, but small, mincing, artificially clown-like, like their mincing steps; they wear jackets and resemble each other; same smooth-shaven face, same height; Tilly, the younger, has a scarf around his neck; both have their derbies on the backs of their heads. Tilly glances through the window, then they turn about, still marching.

      Polly

      [Interrupting the march]: Stop, you're out again! Now, listen—[He stands close to Tilly and plays into his face. Tilly absent-mindedly listens, scratching his nose.] There! Come on now! [They resume their music and marching. As they reach the door they meet the manager and Mancini; the latter walks behind the manager, and is gnawing at the knob of his goldmounted cane. Count Mancini is tall and slight. The seams of his clothes are worn and he keeps his coat buttoned tight. He assumes extremely graceful manners, takes affected poses, and has a special fondness for toying with his cane, with aristocratic stylishness. When he laughs, which happens often, his thin sharp face takes on a marked resemblance to a satyr. The manager, "Papa" Briquet, is a stout quiet man of average height. His bearing is hesitant. The clowns make room for the gentlemen. The manager looks questioningly at the older man.]

      Polly

      [With an affected accent]: Our moosic for the pantomime! The March of the Ants!

      Briquet

      Ha! Yes!

      [The gentlemen walk in. The clowns resume their music, Polly marching on, then turning, the younger following.]

      Polly

      Papa Briquet, Jack is working very badly to-day.

      Briquet

      What's the matter with him?

      Polly

      He has a sore throat. You'd better take a look at him.

      Briquet

      All right. Come on, Jack. Open your mouth! Wider—wider. [Turns clown's face to the light near the window and examines him closely and seriously.] Just smear it with iodine.

      Polly

      I told him so. I said it was nothing! Oh! Come on. [They go away playing, marching, practising their funny mincing steps. The manager sits down. Mancini strikes a pose by the wall, smiling ironically.]

      Mancini

      So. You give them medical treatment, too! Look out, Papa Briquet, you have no licence.

      Briquet

      Just a little advice. They're all so afraid for their lives.

      Mancini

      His throat is simply burnt with whiskey. These two fellows get drunk every night. I am amazed, Papa Briquet, to see you pay so little attention to their morals. [He laughs.]

      Briquet

      You make me sick, Mancini.

      Mancini

      Count Mancini is at your service!

      Briquet

      You make me sick, Count Mancini. You poke your nose into everything, you disturb the artists in their work. Some day you'll get a thrashing, and I warn you that I shan't interfere.

      Mancini

      As a man of superior associations and education I cannot be expected to treat your actors as my equals! What more can you ask, Briquet? You see that I do you the honour of speaking with you quite familiarly, quite simply.

      Briquet

      Ha! ha! ha! [Slightly threatening] Really!—

      Mancini

      Never mind my joke. What if they did dare attack me—ever seen this, Briquet? [He draws a stiletto out of his cane and advances it silently.] Useful little thing. By the way, you have no idea of the discovery I made yesterday in a suburb. Such a girl! [Laughs.] Oh, well! all right, all right—I know you don't like that sort of sport. But look here, you must give me a hundred francs!

      Briquet

      Not a sou.

      Mancini

      Then I'll take away Consuelo—that's all——

      Briquet

      Your daily threat!

      Mancini

      Yes, my threat! And you would do the same, if you were as shamefully hard up as I am. Now look here, you know as well as I do that I have to live up to my name somehow, keep up the family reputation. Just because the tide of ill-fortune which struck my ancestors compelled me to make my daughter, the Countess Veronica, a bareback rider—to keep us from starving—do you understand—you heartless idiot!

      Briquet

      You chase the girls too much! Some day you'll land in jail, Mancini!

      Mancini

      In jail? Oh, no! Why, I have to uphold our name, the splendour of my family, [laughs] haven't I? The Mancinis are known all over Italy for their love of girls—just girls! Is it my fault if I must pay such crazy prices for what my ancestors got free of charge? You're nothing but an ass, a parvenu ass. How can you understand Family Traditions? I don't drink—I stopped playing cards after that accident—no, you need not smile. Now if I give up the girls, what will be left of Mancini? Only a coat of arms, that's all—— In the name of family traditions, give me a hundred francs!

      Briquet

      I told you no, I won't.

      Mancini

      You know that I leave half of the salary for Consuelo—but—perhaps you think I do not love my child—my only daughter, all that remains to me as a memory of her sainted mother—what cruelty! [Pretends to cry, wipes his eyes with a small and dirty lace handkerchief, embroidered with a coronet.]