Pélléas and Mélisande; Alladine and Palomides; Home

Pélléas and Mélisande

ALLADINE AND PALOMIDES

HOME

BY

MAURICE MAETERLINCK

Translated by RICHARD HOVEY

1911

1896, BY

STONE AND KIMBALL

Contents

PREFACE (by Maurice Maeterlinck)

PÉLLÉAS AND MÉLISANDE

ALLADINE AND PALOMIDES

HOME

Préface.

On m'a demande plus d'une fois si mes drames, de La Princesse Maleine à La Mort de Tintagiles, avaient été réellement écrits pour un théâtre de marionettes, ainsi que je l'avais affirmé dans l'edition originale de cette sauvage petite légende des malheurs de Maleine. En vérité, ils ne furent pas écrits pour des acteurs ordinaires. Il n'y avait là nul désir ironique et pas la moindre humilité non plus. Je croyais sincèrement et je crois encore aujourd'hui, que les poèmes meurent lorsque des êtres vivants s'y introduisent. Un jour, dans un écrit dont je ne retrouve plus que quelques fragments mutilés, j'ai essayé d'expliquer ces choses qui dorment, sans doute, au fond de notre instinct et qu'il est bien difficile de reveiller complètement. J'y constatais d'abord, qu'une inquiètude nous attendait à tout spectacle auquel nous assistions et qu'une déception à peu près ineffable accompagnait toujours la chute du rideau. N'est-il pas évident que le Macbeth ou l'Hamlet que nous voyons sur la scène ne ressemble pas au Macbeth ou à l'Hamlet du livre? Qu'il a visiblement retrogradé dans le sublime? Qu'une grande partie des efforts du poète qui voulait créer avant tout une vie supérieure, une vie plus proche de notre âme, a été annulée par une force ennemie qui ne peut se manifester qu'en ramenant cette vie supérieure au niveau de la vie ordinaire? Il y a peut-être, me disais-je, aux sources de ce malaise, un très ancien malentendu, à la suite duquel le théâtre ne fut jamais exactement ce qu'il est dans l'instinct de la foule, à savoir: le temple du Rêve. Il faut admettre, ajoutai-je, que le théâtre, du moins en ses tendances, est un art. Mais je n'y trouve pas la marque des autres arts. L'art use toujours d'un détour et n'agit pas directement. Il a pour mission suprême la révélation de i'infini et de la grandeur ainsi que la beauté secrète, de l'homme. Mais montrer au doigt à l'enfant qui nous accompagne, les étoiles d'une unit de Juillet, ce n'est pas faire une oeuvre d'art. Il faut que l'art agisse comme les abeilles. Elles n'apportent pas aux larves de la ruche les fleurs des champs qui renferment leur avenir et leur vie. Les larves mourraient sous ces fleurs sans se douter de rien. Il faut que les abeilles nourricières apportent à ces nymphes aveugles l'âme même de ces fleurs, et c'est alors seulement qu'elles trouveront sans le savoir en ce miel mystérieux la substance des ailes qui un jour les emporteront à leur tour dans l'espace. Or, le poème était une oeuvre d'art et portait ces obliques et admirables marques. Mais la représentation vient le contredire. Elle chasse vraiment les cygnes du grand lac, et elle rejette les perles dans l'abîme. Elle remet les choses exactement au point où elles étaient avant la venue du poète. La densité mystique de l'oeuvre d'art a disparue. Elle verse dans la même erreur que celui qui après avoir vanté à ses auditeurs l'admirable Annonciation de Vinci, par exemple, s'imaginerait qu'il a fait pénétrer dans leurs âmes la beauté surnaturelle de cette peinture en reproduisant, en un tableau vivant, tous les détails du grand chef-d'oeuvre florentin.

Qui sait si ce n'est pas pour ces raisons cachées que l'on est obligé de s'avouer que la plupart des grands poèmes de l'humanité ne sont pas scéniques? Lear, Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth, Antoine et Cléopâtre, ne peuvent être représentés, et il est dangereux de les voir sur la scène. Quelque chose d'Hamlet est mort pour nous du jour où nous l'avons vu mourir sous nos yeux. Le spectre d'un acteur l'a détrôné, et nous ne pouvons plus écarter l'usurpateur de nos rêves. Ouvrez les portes, ouvrez le livre, le prince antérieur ne revient plus. Il a perdu la faculté de vivre selon la beauté la plus secrète de notre âme. Parfois son ombre passe encore en tremblant sur le seuil, mais désormais il n'ose plus, il ne peut plus entrer; et bien des voix sont mortes qui l'acclamaient en nous.

Je me souviens de cette mort de l'Hamlet de mes rêves. Un soir j'ouvris la porte à l'usurpateur du poème. L'acteur était illustre. Il entra. Un seul de ses regards me montra qu'il n'était pas Hamlet. Il ne le fut pas un seul instant pour moi. Je le vis s'agiter durant trois heures dans le mensonge. Je voyais clairement qu'il avait ses propres destinées; et celles qu'il voulait représenter m'étaient indiciblement indifférentes à côté des siennes. Je voyais sa santé et ses habitudes, ses passions et ses tristesses, ses pensées et ses oeuvres, et il essayait vainement de m'intéresser à une vie qui n'était pas la sienne et que sa seule présence avait rendue factice. Depuis je le revois lorsque j'ouvre le livre et Elsinore n'est plus le palais d'autrefois….

"La vérité," dit quelque part Charles Lamb, "la vérité est que les caractères de Shakespeare sont tellement des objets de méditation plutôt que d'intérêt ou de curiosité relativement à leurs actes, que, tandis que nous lisons l'un de ses grands caractères criminels,—Macbeth, Richard, Iago même,—nous ne songeons pas tant aux crimes qu'ils commettent, qu'à l'ambition, à l'esprit d'aspiration, à l'activité intellectuelle qui les poussent à franchir ces barrières morales. Les actions nous affectent si peu, que, tandis que les impulsions, l'esprit intérieur en toute sa perverse grandeur, paraissent seuls réels et appellent seuls l'attention, le crime n'est comparativement rien. Mais lorsque nous voyons représenter ces choses, les actes sont comparativement tout, et les mobiles ne sont plus rien. L'émotion sublime où nous sommes entraînés par ces images de nuit et d'horreur qu'exprime Macbeth; ce solennel prélude où il s'oublie jusqu'à ce que l'horloge sonne l'heure qui doit l'appeler au meurtre de Duncan; lorsque nous ne lisons plus cela dans un livre, lorsque nous avons abandonné ce poste avantageux de l'abstraction d'où la lecture domine la vision, et lorsque nous voyons sous nos yeux, un homme en sa forme corporelle se préparer actuellement au meurtre; si le jeu de l'acteur est vrai et puissant, la pénible anxiété au sujet de l'acte, le naturel désir de le prévenir tout qu'il ne semble pas accompli, la trop puissante apparence de réalité, provoquent un malaise et une inquiétude qui détruisent totalement le plaisir que les mots apportent dans le livre, où l'acte ne nous oppresse jamais de la pénible sensation de sa présence, et semble plutôt appartenir à l'histoire; à quelque chose de passé et d'inévitable."

Charles Lamb a raison, et pour mille raisons bien plus profondes encore que celles qu'il nous donne. Le théâtre est le lien où meurent la plupart des chefs-d'oeuvre, parce que la représentation d'un chef-d'oeuvre à l'aide d'éléments accidentels et humains est antinomique. Tout chef-d'oeuvre est un symbole, et le symbole ne supporte pas la présence active de l'homme. Il suffit que le coq chante, dit Hamlet, pour que les spectres de la nuit s'évanouissent. Et de même, le poème perd sa vie "de la seconde sphère" lorsqu'un être de la sphère inférieure s'y introduit. L'accident ramène le symbole à l'accident; et le chef-d'oeuvre, en son essence, est mort durant le temps de cette présence et de ses traces.

Les Grecs n'ignorèrent pas cette antinomie, et leurs masques que nous ne comprenons plus ne servaient probablement qu'à atténuer la présence de l'homme et à soulager le symbole. Aux époques où le théâtre eut une vie véritable, il la dût peut-être uniquement à quelque circonstance ou à quelque artifice qui venait en aide du poème dans sa lutte contre l'homme. Ainsi, sous Elisabeth, par exemple, la déclamation était une sorte de mélopée, le jeu était conventionnel, et la scène aussi. Il en était à peu près de même sous Louis XIV. Le poème se retire à mesure que l'homme s'avance. Le poème veut nous arracher du pouvoir de nos sens et faire prédominer le passé et l'avenir; l'homme, au contraire, n'agit que sur nos sens et n'existe que pour autant qu'il puisse effacer cette prédomination. S'il entre en scène avec toutes ses puissances, et libre comme s'il entrait dans une forêt; si sa voix, ses gestes, et son attitude ne sont pas voilées par un grand nombre de conventions synthétiques; si l'on aperçoit un seul instant l'être vivant qu'il est et l'âme qu'il possède,—il n'y a pas de poème au monde qui ne recule devant lui. A ce moment précis, le spectacle du poème s'interrompt et nous assistons à une scène de la vie extérieure, qui, de même qu'une scène de la rue, de la rivière, ou du champ de bataille, a ses beautés éternelles et secrètes, mais qui est néanmoins impuissante à nous arracher du présent, parce qu'en cet instant nous n'avons pas la qualité pour apercevoir ces beautés invisibles, qui ne sont que "des fleurs offertes aux vers aveugles."

Et c'est pour ces raisons, et pour d'autres encore qu'on pourrait rechercher dans les mêmes parages, que j'avais destiné mes petits drames à des êtres indulgents aux poèmes, et que, faute de mieux, j'appelle "Marionettes."

MAURICE MAETERLINCK.

Pélléas and Mélisande.

To Octave Mirbeau.

In witness of deep friendship, admiration, and gratitude.

M.M.

PERSONS

ARKËL, King of Allemonde.

GENEVIÈVE, mother of Pélléas and Golaud.

PÉLLÉAS,} }grandsons of Arkël. GOLAUD, }

MÉLISANDE.

LITTLE YNIOLD, son of Golaud (by a former marriage).

A PHYSICIAN.

THE PORTER.

Servants, Beggars, etc.

Pélléas and Mélisande.

* * * * *

ACT FIRST.

SCENE I.—The gate of the castle.

MAIDSERVANTS (within).

Open the gate! Open the gate!

PORTER (within).

Who is there? Why do you come and wake me up? Go out by the little gates; there are enough of them!…

A MAIDSERVANT (within).

We have come to wash the threshold, the gate, and the steps; open, then! open!

ANOTHER MAIDSERVANT (within).

There are going to be great happenings!

THIRD MAIDSERVANT (within).

There are going to be great fêtes! Open quickly!…

THE MAIDSERVANTS.

Open! open!

PORTER.

Wait! wait! I do not know whether I shall be able to open it;… it is never opened…. Wait till it is light….

FIRST MAIDSERVANT.

It is light enough without; I see the sunlight through the chinks….

PORTER.

Here are the great keys…. Oh! oh! how the bolts and the locks grate!… Help me! help me!…

MAIDSERVANTS.

We are pulling; we are pulling….

SECOND MAIDSERVANT.

It will not open….

FIRST MAIDSERVANT.

Ah! ah! It is opening! it is opening slowly!

PORTER.

How it shrieks! how it shrieks! it will wake up everybody….

SECOND MAIDSERVANT.

[Appearing on the threshold.] Oh, how light it is already out-of-doors!

FIRST MAIDSERVANT.

The sun is rising on the sea!

PORTER.

It is open…. It is wide open!… [All the maidservants appear on the threshold and pass over it.]

FIRST MAIDSERVANT.

I am going to wash the sill first….

SECOND MAIDSERVANT.

We shall never be able to clean all this.

OTHER MAIDSERVANTS.

Fetch the water! fetch the water!

PORTER.

Yes, yes; pour on water; pour on water; pour on all the water of the
Flood! You will never come to the end of it….

SCENE II.—A forest. MÉLISANDE discovered at the brink of a spring.

Enter GOLAUD.

GOLAUD.

I shall never be able to get out of this forest again.—God knows where that beast has led me. And yet I thought I had wounded him to death; and here are traces of blood. But now I have lost sight of him; I believe I am lost myself—my dogs can no longer find me—I shall retrace my steps….—I hear weeping…. Oh! oh! what is there yonder by the water's edge?… A little girl weeping by the water's edge? [He coughs.]—She does not hear me. I cannot see her face. [He approaches and touches MÉLISANDE on the shoulder.] Why weepest thou? [MÉLISANDE trembles, starts up, and would flee.]—Do not be afraid. You have nothing to fear. Why are you weeping here all alone?

MÉLISANDE.

Do not touch me! do not touch me!

GOLAUD.

Do not be afraid…. I will not do you any…. Oh, you are beautiful!

MÉLISANDE.

Do not touch me! do not touch me! or I throw myself in the water!…

GOLAUD.

I will not touch you…. See, I will stay here, against the tree. Do not be afraid. Has any one hurt you?

MÉLISANDE

Oh! yes! yes! yes!… [She sobs profoundly.]

GOLAUD.

Who has hurt you?

MÉLISANDE.

Every one! every one!

GOLAUD. What hurt have they done you?

MÉLISANDE.

I will not tell! I cannot tell!…

GOLAUD.

Come; do not weep so. Whence come you?

MÉLISANDE.

I have fled!… fled … fled….

GOLAUD.

Yes; but whence have you fled?

MÉLISANDE.

I am lost!… lost!… Oh! oh! lost here…. I am not of this place…. I was not born there….

GOLAUD.

Whence are you? Where were you born?

MÉLISANDE.

Oh! oh! far away from here!… far away … far away….

GOLAUD.

What is it shining so at the bottom of the water?

MÉLISANDE.

Where?—Ah! it is the crown he gave me. It fell as I was weeping….

GOLAUD.

A crown?—Who was it gave you a crown?—I will try to get it….

MÉLISANDE.

No, no; I will have no more of it! I will have no more of it!… I had rather die … die at once….

GOLAUD.

I could easily pull it out. The water is not very deep.

MÉLISANDE.

I will have no more of it! If you take it out, I throw myself in its place!…

GOLAUD.

No, no; I will leave it there. It could be reached without difficulty, nevertheless. It seems very beautiful.—Is it long since you fled?

MÉLISANDE.

Yes, yes!… Who are you?

GOLAUD.

I am Prince Golaud,—grandson of Arkël, the old King of Allemonde….

MÉLISANDE.

Oh, you have gray hairs already….

GOLAUD.

Yes; some, here, by the temples….

MÉLISANDE

And in your beard, too…. Why do you look at me so?

GOLAUD.

I am looking at your eyes.—Do you never shut your eyes?

MÉLISANDE.

Oh, yes; I shut them at night….

GOLAUD.

Why do you look so astonished?

MÉLISANDE.

You are a giant?

GOLAUD.

I am a man like the rest….

MÉLISANDE.

Why have you come here?

GOLAUD.

I do not know, myself. I was hunting in the forest, I was chasing a wild boar. I mistook the road.—You look very young. How old are you?

MÉLISANDE.

I am beginning to be cold….

GOLAUD.

Will you come with me!

MÉLISANDE.

No, no; I will stay here….

GOLAUD.

You cannot stay here all alone. You cannot stay here all night long…. What is your name?

MÉLISANDE.

Mélisande.

GOLAUD.

You cannot stay here, Mélisande. Come with me….

MÉLISANDE.

I will stay here….

GOLAUD.

You will be afraid, all alone. We do not know what there may be here … all night long … all alone … it is impossible. Mélisande, come, give me your hand….

MÉLISANDE.

Oh, do not touch me!…

GOLAUD.

Do not scream…. I will not touch you again. But come with me. The night will be very dark and very cold. Come with me….

MÉLISANDE.

Where are you going?…

GOLAUD.

I do not know…. I am lost too….
                                                                 [Exeunt.

SCENE III.—A hall in the castle. ARKËL and GENEVIÈVE discovered.

GENEVIÈVE.

Here is what he writes to his brother Pélléas: "I found her all in tears one evening, beside a spring in the forest where I had lost myself. I do not know her age, nor who she is, nor whence she comes, and I dare not question her, for she must have had a sore fright; and when you ask her what has happened to her, she falls at once a-weeping like a child, and sobs so heavily you are afraid. Just as I found her by the springs, a crown of gold had slipped from her hair and fallen to the bottom of the water. She was clad, besides, like a princess, though her garments had been torn by the briers. It is now six months since I married her and I know no more about it than on the day of our meeting. Meanwhile, dear Pélléas, thou whom I love more than a brother, although we were not born of the same father; meanwhile make ready for my return…. I know my mother will willingly forgive me. But I am afraid of the King, our venerable grandsire, I am afraid of Arkël, in spite of all his kindness, for I have undone by this strange marriage all his plans of state, and I fear the beauty of Mélisande will not excuse my folly to eyes so wise as his. If he consents nevertheless to receive her as he would receive his own daughter, the third night following this letter, light a lamp at the top of the tower that overlooks the sea. I shall perceive it from the bridge of our ship; otherwise I shall go far away again and come back no more…." What say you of it?

ARKËL.

Nothing. He has done what he probably must have done. I am very old, and nevertheless I have not yet seen clearly for one moment into myself; how would you that I judge what others have done? I am not far from the tomb and do not succeed in judging myself…. One always mistakes when one does not close his eyes. That may seem strange to us; but that is all. He is past the age to marry and he weds like a child, a little girl he finds by a spring…. That may seem strange to us, because we never see but the reverse of destinies … the reverse even of our own…. He has always followed my counsels hitherto; I had thought to make him happy in sending him to ask the hand of Princess Ursula…. He could not remain alone; since the death of his wife he has been sad to be alone; and that marriage would have put an end to long wars and old hatreds…. He would not have it so. Let it be as he would have it; I have never put myself athwart a destiny; and he knows better than I his future. There happen perhaps no useless events….

GENEVIÈVE.

He has always been so prudent, so grave and so firm…. If it were Pélléas, I should understand…. But he … at his age…. Who is it he is going to introduce here?—An unknown found along the roads…. Since his wife's death, he has no longer lived for aught but his son, the little Yniold, and if he were about to marry again, it was because you had wished it…. And now … a little girl in the forest…. He has forgotten everything….—What shall we do?…

Enter PÉLLÉAS.

ARKËL.

Who is coming in there?

GENEVIÈVE.

It is Pélléas. He has been weeping.

ARKËL.

Is it thou, Pélléas?—Come a little nearer, that I may see thee in the light….

PÉLLÉAS.

Grandfather, I received another letter at the same time as my brother's; a letter from my friend Marcellus…. He is about to die and calls for me. He would see me before dying….

ARKËL.

Thou wouldst leave before thy brother's return?—Perhaps thy friend is less ill than he thinks….

PÉLLÉAS

His letter is so sad you can see death between the lines…. He says he knows the very day when death must come…. He tells me I can arrive before it if I will, but that there is no more time to lose. The journey is very long, and if I await Golaud's return, it will be perhaps too late….

ARKËL.

Thou must wait a little while, nevertheless…. We do not know what this return has in store for us. And besides, is not thy father here, above us, more sick perhaps than thy friend…. Couldst thou choose between the father and the friend?… [Exit.

GENEVIÈVE.

Have a care to keep the lamp lit from this evening, Pélléas….

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE IV.—Before the castle. Enter GENEVIÈVE and MÉLISANDE.

MÉLISANDE.

It is gloomy in the gardens. And what forests, what forests all about the palaces!…

GENEVIÈVE.

Yes; that astonished me too when I came hither; it astonishes everybody. There are places where you never see the sun. But one gets used to it so quickly…. It is long ago, it is long ago…. It is nearly forty years that I have lived here…. Look toward the other side, you will have the light of the sea….

MÉLISANDE.

I hear a noise below us….

GENEVIÈVE.

Yes; it is some one coming up toward us…. Ah! it is Pélléas…. He seems still tired from having waited so long for you….

MÉLISANDE.

He has not seen us.

GENEVIÈVE.

I think he has seen us but does not know what he should do….
Pélléas, Pélléas, is it thou?…

Enter PÉLLÉAS

PÉLLÉAS.

Yes!… I was coming toward the sea….

GENEVIÈVE.

So were we; we were seeking the light. It is a little lighter here than elsewhere; and yet the sea is gloomy.

PÉLLÉAS

We shall have a storm to-night. There has been one every night for some time, and yet it is so calm now…. One might embark unwittingly and come back no more.

MÉLISANDE.

Something is leaving the port….

PÉLLÉAS.

It must be a big ship…. The lights are very high, we shall see it in a moment, when it enters the band of light….

GENEVIÈVE.

I do not know whether we shall be able to see it … there is still a fog on the sea….

PÉLLÉAS.

The fog seems to be rising slowly….

MÉLISANDE.

Yes; I see a little light down there, which I had not seen….

PÉLLÉAS.

It is a lighthouse; there are others we cannot see yet.

MÉLISANDE.

The ship is in the light…. It is already very far away….

PÉLLÉAS.

It is a foreign ship. It looks larger than ours….

MÉLISANDE.

It is the ship that brought me here!…

PÉLLÉAS.

It flies away under full sail….

MÉLISANDE.

It is the ship that brought me here. It has great sails…. I recognized it by its sails.

PÉLLÉAS.

There will be a rough sea to-night.

MÉLISANDE.

Why does it go away to-night?… You can hardly see it any longer….
Perhaps it will be wrecked….

PÉLLÉAS.

The sight falls very quickly…. [A silence.

GENEVIÈVE.

No one speaks any more?… You have nothing more to say to each other?… It is time to go in. Pélléas, show Mélisande the way. I mast go see little Yniold a moment. [Exit.

PÉLLÉAS.

Nothing can be seen any longer on the sea….

MÉLISANDE.

I see more lights.

PÉLLÉAS.

It is the other lighthouses…. Do you hear the sea?… It is the wind rising…. Let us go down this way. Will you give me your hand?

MÉLISANDE.

See, see, my hands are full….

PÉLLÉAS.

I will hold you by the arm, the road is steep and it is very gloomy there…. I am going away perhaps to-morrow….

MÉLISANDE.

Oh!… why do you go away? [Exeunt.

ACT SECOND.

SCENE I.—_A fountain in the park.

Enter_ PÉLLÉAS and MÉLISANDE.

PÉLLÉAS.

You do not know where I have brought you?—I often come to sit here, toward noon, when it is too hot in the gardens. It is stifling to-day, even in the shade of the trees.

MÉLISANDE.

Oh, how clear the water is!…

PÉLLÉAS.

It is as cool as winter. It is an old abandoned spring. It seems to have been a miraculous spring,—it opened the eyes of the blind,—they still call it "Blind Man's Spring."

MÉLISANDE.

It no longer opens the eyes of the blind?

PÉLLÉAS.

Since the King has been nearly blind himself, no one comes any more….

MÉLISANDE.

How alone one is here!… There is no sound.

PÉLLÉAS.

There is always a wonderful silence here…. One could hear the water sleep…. Will you sit down on the edge of the marble basin? There is one linden where the sun never comes….

MÉLISANDE.

I am going to lie down on the marble.—I should like to see the bottom of the water….

PÉLLÉAS.

No one has ever seen it.—It is as deep, perhaps, as the sea.—It is not known whence it comes.—Perhaps it comes from the bottom of the earth….

MÉLISANDE.

If there were anything shining at the bottom, perhaps one could see it….

PÉLLÉAS.

Do not lean over so….

MÉLISANDE.

I would like to touch the water….

PÉLLÉAS.

Have a care of slipping…. I will hold your hand….

MÉLISANDE.

No, no, I would plunge both hands in it…. You would say my hands were sick to-day….

PÉLLÉAS.

Oh! oh! take care! take care! Mélisande!… Mélisande!…—Oh! your hair!…

MÉLISANDE (starting upright). I cannot,… I cannot reach it….

PÉLLÉAS.

Your hair dipped in the water….

MÉLISANDE.

Yes, it is longer than my arms…. It is longer than I…. [A silence.

PÉLLÉAS.

It was at the brink of a spring, too, that he found you?

MÉLISANDE.

Yes….

PÉLLÉAS.

What did he say to you?

MÉLISANDE.

Nothing;—I no longer remember….

PÉLLÉAS.

Was he quite near you?

MÉLISANDE.

Yes; he would have kissed me.

PÉLLÉAS.

And you would not?

MÉLISANDE.

No.

PÉLLÉAS.

Why would you not?

MÉLISANDE.

Oh! oh! I saw something pass at the bottom of the water….

PÉLLÉAS.

Take care! take care!—You will fall! What are you playing with?

MÉLISANDE.

With the ring he gave me….

PÉLLÉAS.

Take care; you will lose it….

MÉLISANDE.

No, no; I am sure of my hands….

PÉLLÉAS.

Do not play so, over so deep a water….

MÉLISANDE.

My hands do not tremble.

PÉLLÉAS.

How it shines in the sunlight I—Do not throw it so high in the air….

MÉLISANDE.

Oh!…

PÉLLÉAS.

It has fallen?

MÉLISANDE.

It has fallen into the water!…

PÉLLÉAS.

Where is it? where is it?…

MÉLISANDE.

I do not see it sink?…

PÉLLÉAS.

I think I see it shine….

MÉLISANDE.

My ring?

PÉLLÉAS.

Yes, yes; down yonder….

MÉLISANDE.

Oh! oh! It is so far away from us!… no, no, that is not it … that is not it…. It is lost … lost…. There is nothing any more but a great circle on the water…. What shall we do? What shall we do now?…

PÉLLÉAS.

You need not be so troubled for a ring. It is nothing…. We shall find it again, perhaps. Or else we will find another….

MÉLISANDE.

No, no; we shall never find it again; we shall never find any others either…. And yet I thought I had it in my hands…. I had already shut my hands, and it is fallen in spite of all…. I threw it too high, toward the sun….

PÉLLÉAS.

Come, come, we will come back another day;… come, it is time. They will come to meet us. It was striking noon at the moment the ring fell.

MÉLISANDE.

What shall we say to Golaud if he ask where it is?

PÉLLÉAS.

The truth, the truth, the truth…. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—An apartment in the castle. GOLAUD discovered, stretched upon his bed; MÉLISANDE, by his bedside.

GOLAUD.

Ah! ah! all goes well; it will amount to nothing. But I cannot understand how it came to pass. I was hunting quietly in the forest. All at once my horse ran away, without cause. Did he see anything unusual?… I had just heard the twelve strokes of noon. At the twelfth stroke he suddenly took fright and ran like a blind madman against a tree. I heard no more. I do not yet know what happened. I fell, and he must have fallen on me. I thought I had the whole forest on my breast; I thought my heart was crushed. But my heart is sound. It is nothing, apparently….

MÉLISANDE.

Would you like a little water?

GOLAUD.

Thanks, thanks; I am not thirsty.

MÉLISANDE.

Would you like another pillow?… There is a little spot of blood on this.

GOLAUD.

No, no; it is not worth while. I bled at the mouth just now. I shall bleed again perhaps….

MÉLISANDE.

Are you quite sure?… You are not suffering too much?

GOLAUD.

No, no; I have seen a good many more like this. I was made of iron and blood…. These are not the little bones of a child; do not alarm yourself….

MÉLISANDE.

Close your eyes and try to sleep. I shall stay here all night….

GOLAUD.

No, no; I do not wish you to tire yourself so. I do not need anything; I shall sleep like a child…. What is the matter, Mélisande? Why do you weep all at once?…

MÉLISANDE (bursting into tears).

I am … I am ill too….

GOLAUD.

Thou art ill?… What ails thee, then; what ails thee, Mélisande?…

MÉLISANDE.

I do not know…. I am ill here…. I had rather tell you to-day; my lord, my lord, I am not happy here….

GOLAUD.

Why, what has happened, Mélisande? What is it?… And I suspecting nothing…. What has happened?… Some one has done thee harm?… Some one has given thee offence?

MÉLISANDE.

No, no; no one has done me the least harm…. It is not that…. It is not that…. But I can live here no longer. I do not know why…. I would go away, go away!… I shall die if I am left here….

GOLAUD.

But something has happened? You must be hiding something from me?… Tell me the whole truth, Mélisande…. Is it the King?… Is it my mother?… Is it Pélléas?…

MÉLISANDE.

No, no; it is not Pélléas. It is not anybody…. You could not understand me….

GOLAUD.

Why should I not understand?… If you tell me nothing, what will you have me do?… Tell me everything and I shall understand everything.

MÉLISANDE.

I do not know myself what it is…. I do not know just what it is…. If I could tell you, I would tell you…. It is something stronger than I….

GOLAUD.

Come; be reasonable, Mélisande.—What would you have me do?—You are no longer a child.—Is it I whom you would leave?

MÉLISANDE.

Oh! no, no; it is not that…. I would go away with you…. It is here that I can live no longer…. I feel that I shall not live a long while….

GOLAUD.

But there must be a reason nevertheless. You will be thought mad. It will be thought child's dreams.—Come, is it Pélléas, perhaps?—I think he does not often speak to you.

MÉLISANDE.

Yes, yes; he speaks to me sometimes. I think he does not like me; I have seen it in his eyes…. But he speaks to me when he meets me….

GOLAUD.

You must not take it ill of him. He has always been so. He is a little strange. And just now he is sad; he thinks of his friend Marcellus, who is at the point of death, and whom he cannot go to see…. He will change, he will change, you will see; he is young….

MÉLISANDE.

But it is not that … it is not that….

GOLAUD.

What is it, then?—Can you not get used to the life one leads here? Is it too gloomy here?—It is true the castle is very old and very sombre…. It is very cold, and very deep. And all those who dwell in it, are already old. And the country may seem gloomy too, with all its forests, all its old forests without light. But that may all be enlivened if we will. And then, joy, joy, one does not have it every day; we must take things as they come. But tell me something; no matter what; I will do everything you could wish….

MÉLISANDE.

Yes, yes; it is true…. You never see the sky here. I saw it for the first time this morning….

GOLAUD.

It is that, then, that makes you weep, my poor Mélisande?—It is only that, then?—You weep, not to see the sky?—Come, come, you are no longer at the age when one may weep for such things…. And then, is not the summer yonder? You will see the sky every day.—And then, next year…. Come, give me your hand; give me both your little hands. [He takes her hands.] Oh! oh! these little hands that I could crush like flowers….—Hold! where is the ring I gave you?

MÉLISANDE.

The ring?

GOLAUD.

Yes; our wedding-ring, where is it?

MÉLISANDE.

I think…. I think it has fallen….

GOLAUD.

Fallen?—Where has it fallen?—You have not lost it?

MÉLISANDE.

No, no; it fell … it must have fallen…. But I know where it is….

GOLAUD.

Where is it?

MÉLISANDE.

You know … you know well … the grotto by the seashore?…

GOLAUD.

Yes.

MÉLISANDE.

Well then, it is there…. It must be it is there…. Yes, yes; I remember…. I went there this morning to pick up shells for little Yniold…. There were some very fine ones…. It slipped from my finger … then the sea came in; and I had to go out before I had found it.

GOLAUD.

Are you sure it is there?

MÉLISANDE.

Yes, yes; quite sure…. I felt it slip … then, all at once, the noise of the waves….

GOLAUD.

You must go look for it at once.

MÉLISANDE.

I must go look for it at once?

GOLAUD.

Yes.

MÉLISANDE.

Now?—at once?—in the dark?

GOLAUD.

Now, at once, in the dark. You must go look for it at once. I had rather have lost all I have than have lost that ring. You do not know what it is. You do not know whence it came. The sea will be very high to-night. The sea will come to take it before you…. Make haste. You must go look for it at once….

MÉLISANDE.

I dare not…. I dare not go alone….

GOLAUD.

Go, go with no matter whom. But you must go at once, do you understand?—Make haste; ask Pélléas to go with you.

MÉLISANDE.

Pélléas?—With Pélléas?—But Pélléas would not….

GOLAUD.

Pélléas will do all you ask of him. I know Pélléas better than you do.
Go, go; hurry! I shall not sleep until I have the ring.

MÉLISANDE.

Oh! oh! I am not happy!… I am not happy!… [Exit, weeping.

SCENE III.—Before a grotto.

Enter PÉLLÉAS and MÉLISANDE.

[Speaking with great agitation.] Yes; it is here; we are there. It is so dark you cannot tell the entrance of the grotto from the rest of the night…. There are no stars on this side. Let us wait till the moon has torn through that great cloud; it will light up the whole grotto, and then we can enter without danger. There are dangerous places, and the path is very narrow between two lakes whose bottom has not yet been found. I did not think to bring a torch or a lantern, but I think the light of the sky will be enough for us.—You have never gone into this grotto?

MÉLISANDE.

No….

PÉLLÉAS.

Let us go in; let us go in…. You must be able to describe the place where you lost the ring, if he questions you…. It is very big and very beautiful. There are stalactites that look like plants and men. It is full of blue darks. It has not yet been explored to the end. There are great treasures hidden there, it seems. You will see the remains of ancient shipwrecks there. But you must not go far in it without a guide. There have been some who never have come back. I myself dare not go forward too far. We will stop the moment we no longer see the light of the sea or the sky. When you strike a little light there, you would say the vault was covered with stars like the sky. It is bits of crystal or salt, they say, that shine so in the rock.—Look, look, I think the sky is going to clear…. Give me your hand; do not tremble, do not tremble so. There is no danger; we will stop the moment we no longer see the light of the sea…. Is it the noise of the grotto that frightens you? It is the noise of night or the noise of silence…. Do you hear the sea behind us?—It does not seem happy to-night…. Ah! look, the light!…

[The moon lights up abundantly the entrance and part of the darkness of the grotto; and at a certain depth are seen three old beggars with white hair, seated side by side, leaning upon each other and asleep against a bowlder.]

MÉLISANDE.

Ah!

PÉLLÉAS.

What is it?

MÉLISANDE.

There are … there are…. [She points out the three Beggars.

PÉLLÉAS.

Yes, yes; I have seen them too….

MÉLISANDE.

Let us go!… Let us go!…

PÉLLÉAS.

Yes … it is three old poor men fallen asleep…. There is a famine in the country…. Why have they come to sleep here….

MÉLISANDE.

Let us go!… Come, come…. Let us go!…

PÉLLÉAS.

Take care; do not speak so loud…. Let us not wake them…. They are still sleeping heavily…. Come.

MÉLISANDE.

Leave me, leave me; I prefer to walk alone….

PÉLLÉAS.

We will come back another day…. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.—An apartment in the castle, ARKËL and PÉLLÉAS discovered.

ARKËL.

You see that everything retains you here just now and forbids you this useless journey. We have concealed your father's condition from you until now; but it is perhaps hopeless; and that alone should suffice to stop you on the threshold. But there are so many other reasons…. And it is not in the day when our enemies awake, and when the people are dying of hunger and murmur about us, that you have the right to desert us. And why this journey? Marcellus is dead; and life has graver duties than the visit to a tomb. You are weary, you say, of your inactive life; but activity and duty are not found on the highways. They must be waited for upon the threshold, and let in as they go by; and they go by every day. You have never seen them? I hardly see them any more myself; but I will teach you to see them, and I will point them out to you the day when you would make them a sign. Nevertheless, listen to me; if you believe it is from the depths of your life this journey is exacted, I do not forbid your undertaking it, for you must know better than I the events you must offer to your being or your fate. I shall ask you only to wait until we know what must take place ere long….

PÉLLÉAS.

How long must I wait?

ARKËL.

A few weeks; perhaps a few days….

PÉLLÉAS.

I will wait….

ACT THIRD

SCENE I.—An apartment in the castle. PÉLLÉAS and MÉLISANDE discovered, MÉLISANDE plies her distaff at the back of the room.

PÉLLÉAS.

Yniold does not come back; where has he gone?

MÉLISANDE

He had heard something in the corridor; he has gone to see what it is.

PÉLLÉAS.

Mélisande….

MÉLISANDE

What is it?

PÉLLÉAS.

… Can you see still to work there?…

MÉLISANDE

I work as well in the dark….

PÉLLÉAS.

I think everybody is already asleep in the castle. Golaud does not come back from the chase. It is late, nevertheless…. He no longer suffers from his fall?…

MÉLISANDE.

He said he no longer suffered from it.

PÉLLÉAS.

He must be more prudent; his body is no longer as supple as at twenty years…. I see the stars through the window and the light of the moon on the trees. It is late; he will not come back now. [Knocking at the door.] Who is there?… Come in!…

Little YNIOLD opens the door and enters the room.

It was you knocking so?… That is not the way to knock at doors. It is as if a misfortune had arrived; look, you have frightened little mother.

LITTLE YNIOLD.

I only knocked a tiny little bit.

PÉLLÉAS.

It is late; little father will not come back to-night; it is time for you to go to bed.

LITTLE YNIOLD.

I shall not go to bed before you do.

PÉLLÉAS.

What?… What is that you are saying?

LITTLE YNIOLD.

I say … not before you … not before you….

[Bursts into sobs and takes refuge by MÉLISANDE.]

MÉLISANDE.

What is it, Yniold?… What is it?… why do you weep all at once?

YNIOLD (sobbing).

Because … oh! oh! because …

MÉLISANDE.

Because what?… Because what?… Tell me …

YNIOLD.

Little mother … little mother … you are going away….

MÉLISANDE.

But what has taken hold of you, Yniold?… I have never dreamed of going away….

YNIOLD.

Yes, you have; yes, you have; little father has gone away…. Little father does not come back, and you are going to go away too…. I have seen it … I have seen it….

MÉLISANDE.

But there has never been any idea of that, Yniold…. Why, what makes you think that I would go away?…

YNIOLD.

I have seen it … I have seen it…. You have said things to uncle that I could not hear….

PÉLLÉAS.

He is sleepy…. He has been dreaming…. Come here, Yniold; asleep already?… Come and look out at the window; the swans are fighting with the dogs….

YNIOLD (at the window).

Oh! oh! they are chasing the dogs!… They are chasing them!… Oh! oh! the water!… the wings!… the wings!… they are afraid….

PÉLLÉAS. (coming back by MÉLISANDE_)._

He is sleepy; he is struggling against sleep; his eyes were closing….

MÉLISANDE (singing softly as she spins).

  Saint Daniel and Saint Michaël….
  Saint Michaël and Saint Raphaël….

YNIOLD (at the window).

Oh! oh! little mother!…

MÉLISANDE (rising abruptly).

What is it, Yniold?… What is it?…

YNIOLD.

I saw something at the window?…
                              [PÉLLÉAS and MÉLISANDE run to the window.

PÉLLÉAS.

What is there at the window?… What have you seen?…

YNIOLD.

Oh! oh! I saw something!…

PÉLLÉAS.

But there is nothing. I see nothing….

MÉLISANDE.

Nor I….

PÉLLÉAS.

Where did you see something? Which way?…

YNIOLD.

Down there, down there!… It is no longer there….

PÉLLÉAS.

He does not know what he is saying. He must have seen the light of the moon on the forest. There are often strange reflections,… or else something must have passed on the highway … or in his sleep. For see, see, I believe he is quite asleep….

YNIOLD (at the window).

Little father is there! little father is there!

PÉLLÉAS (going to the window).

He is right; Golaud is coming into the courtyard….

YNIOLD.

Little father!… little father!… I am going to meet him!… [Exit, running,—A silence.

PÉLLÉAS.

They are coming up the stair….

Enter GOLAUD and little YNIOLD with a lamp.

GOLAUD.

You are still waiting in the dark?

YNIOLD.

I have brought a light, little mother, a big light!… [He lifts the lamp and looks at MÉLISANDE.] You have been weeping, little mother?… You have been, weeping?… [He lifts the lamp toward PÉLLÉAS and looks in turn at him.] You too, you too, you have been weeping?… Little father, look, little father; they have both been weeping….

GOLAUD.

Do not hold the light under their eyes so….