Woman on Her Own, False Gods and The Red Robe Part 20

MADAME NeRISSE. Very well, you can go. [_To Therese_] I'll ask you for your final answer this evening. [_She hands her two large books_] If you make up your mind to stay, make me these two bibliographies.

_Therese does not answer. Madame Nerisse goes out to the left. Left alone Therese begins to sort the papers on her bureau rather violently. She seizes a paper knife, flings it upon the couch, and afterwards walks up and down the room in great agitation. The door on the right opens and there come in such exclamations as No! Never! It's monstrous! I shall leave! It's an insult!_

_Caroline Legrand, Mademoiselle Gregoire, Madame Chanteuil, and Mademoiselle de Meuriot come in. Mademoiselle de Meuriot is the only one who has kept her self-possession._

MADEMOISELLE GReGOIRE [_speaking above the din_] Good-bye, all. [_She goes to the small salon from which she originally came in, and during the conversation that follows comes in putting on her hat, and goes out unnoticed at the back_]

THeReSE. Well, what do you think of this?

MADAME CHANTEUIL AND CAROLINE LEGRAND [_together_] It's an insult.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. You must try and keep quiet. [_To Therese_]

What shall you do?

THeReSE. I shall leave.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. You ought to stay.

MADAME CHANTEUIL. No, Therese is right. We must all leave.

THeReSE. We must leave to-morrow--no, this evening.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_quietly_] Do you think that you'll be able to make better terms anywhere else?

THeReSE. That won't be difficult.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. You think so?

THeReSE. Rather.

CAROLINE LEGRAND. Where, for instance?

THeReSE. There are other papers in Paris besides this one.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Then you know a lot of others that pay better?

THeReSE. One will be enough for me.

CAROLINE LEGRAND. And you think you'll find a place straight off? You know there are other people--

THeReSE. I'll give lessons. I took my degree.

CAROLINE LEGRAND. Much good may it do you.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. You think you'll be a governess? At one time a governess could get 1,200 francs, now it's 650 francs--less than the cook. And if you were to be a companion--

THeReSE. Why not a lady's maid at once?

CAROLINE LEGRAND. Yes; lady's maid. That's not a bad idea. It's the only occupation a girl brought up as rich people bring up their daughters can be certain to get and to keep, if she's only humble enough.

THeReSE. I shall manage to get along without taking to that.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. But, Therese, have you really been blind to all that's been going on here? Haven't you constantly seen unfortunate women, as well brought up and as well educated as yourself, coming hunting for work? Don't you remember that advertis.e.m.e.nt of the girl that Caroline Legrand was interested in? That advertis.e.m.e.nt has been appearing in the paper for the last three months. I'll read it to you.

[_Caroline Legrand takes up a number of "Women Free" and pa.s.ses it to Mademoiselle de Meuriot_] Here it is. [_Reading_] "A young lady of distinguished appearance, who has taken a high certificate for teaching.

Good musician. Drawing, English, shorthand, etc." I know that girl. She told me all about her life. D'you know what she's offered? She asked two francs an hour for teaching the piano. They laughed in her face, because for that they could get a girl who'd taken first prize at the Conservatoire. They gave her seventy-five centimes. Deduct from that seventy-five centimes the price of the journey in that underground, the wear and tear of clothes, the time lost in going and coming, and then what do you think is left?

CAROLINE LEGRAND. Let's be just. She got answers from doubtful places abroad, letters from old satyrs, and invitations to pose for the "movies."

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. What's left then? The stage. It's quite natural you should think of the stage.

THeReSE. If one must.

CAROLINE LEGRAND. If one must! You'd condescend to it, wouldn't you? You poor child!

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. You can't get into the Conservatoire after twenty-one. Are you under that? No. Are you a genius? No. Well then?

CAROLINE LEGRAND. Have you a rich lover who will back you?

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. No. Then you'll get nothing at all in the theatres except by making friends with half a dozen men or selling yourself to one.

THeReSE. I'll go into a shop. At any rate, when it shuts I shall be free.

CAROLINE LEGRAND. You think they're longing for you, don't you? You forget you'd have to know things for that one doesn't learn by taking a degree; things like shorthand and typewriting. Do you know there are twenty thousand women in Paris who want to get into shops and offices and can't find places?

MADAME CHANTEUIL. I know exactly what's going to become of _me_.

CAROLINE LEGRAND. Now you're going to say something silly.

MADAME CHANTEUIL. You think so, you've guessed. Well, I tell you, middle cla.s.s girls thrown on the world as we are can't get along without a man--a husband or a lover. We haven't got the key of the prison door.

We've not learned a trade. We've learned to smile, and dance, and sing--parlor tricks. All that's only of use in a love affair or a marriage. Without a man we're stranded. Our parents have brought us all up for one career and one only--the man. I was a fool not to understand before. Now I see.

CAROLINE LEGRAND. Look here, you're not going to take a lover?

MADAME CHANTEUIL. Suppose I am?

CAROLINE LEGRAND. My dear, you came here full of indignation, clamoring against the state of society. You called yourself a feminist, but you, and women like you, are feminists only when it's convenient. There are no real feminists except ugly women like me or old ones like Meuriot.

You others come about us in a swarm and then drop away one after another to go off to some man. As soon as a lover condescends to throw the handkerchief you're up and off to him. You _want_ to be slaves. Go, my dear, and take your lover. That's your fate. Good-night. [_She goes out_]

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT [_to Madame Chanteuil_] Don't listen to her, you poor child. Don't ruin all your life in a fit of despair.

MADAME CHANTEUIL. I can't stay here. I'm not a saint and I'm not a fool.

How can I live on what they offer to pay me?

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. Stay for a little, while you're looking for something else.

MADAME CHANTEUIL. Look for something else! Never! That means all the horrors I went through, before I came here, over again! No! _no! no!_ Never! Looking for work means trailing through the mud, toiling up stairs, ringing bells, being told to call again, calling again to get more snubs. And then when one thinks one's found something one comes up against a door guarded by a man who's watching you, and who's got to be satisfied before you can get into the workroom, or the office, or the shop, or whatever it may be. And then you've got to begin again with somebody else and be snubbed again. No. Since it's an accepted, settled, decided thing that the only career for a woman is to satisfy the pa.s.sions of a man, I prefer the one I've chosen myself.

MADEMOISELLE DE MEURIOT. And what if he goes off and leaves you with a baby?