SECOND SCENE.
Archibald Alexander translation
THE MARQUISES. THE PAINTER.
(The Painter paints, without noticing the others, then takes a buttered roll from his pocket and eats.)
The Marquis in Pink.
Ha, now I am going to kill him!
The Marquis in Pale Blue.
Don't you know it is forbidden? The punishment would be severe. They say, too, that he wields a keen blade, and before you know it you are dead as a mouse.
The Marquis in Pink.
I am surprised at that. Yet whether we love or hate him, one thing is as clear to me as day: he must not be allowed to quit this palace alive.
Another Marquis.
Pardon me, Marquis, why not?
The Marquis in Pink.
You don't see deeply into this, Marquis. It seems almost as if you were a simpleton. Has she not mocked us, and exclaimed at our cooing, rustling, sweet speaking, and whimpering? Yet she delights to have him paint her; and as a reward, she loves him.
The Second Marquis.
Ha, terrible!
The Third Marquis.
Who told you that?
The Marquis in Pale Blue.
Have pity on us, friend, and give us proofs!
The Marquis in Pink.
Well, his Majesty (all bow) is, alas, well on in years! (All assent sorrowfully.) Whom else does she love? There must at any rate be some one!
The Marquis in Pale Blue.
For God's sake, be prudent and speak softly!
The Marquis in Pink.
What is he doing there?
The Second Marquis.
He is eating.
The Marquis in Pink.
Fie, how vulgar!
The Marquis in Pale Blue.
What will happen to the Marshal?
The Marquis in Pink.
That seems to me doubtful. Sometimes she is pleasant with him, sometimes ill-humoured. I have tried to get rid of him, but he still stays by me. He causes me the pangs of jealousy. She must love one of us. We are here for that purpose. Yet inasmuch as this wandering fellow has stolen her heart, he must die--and that on the spot.
The Marquis in Pale Blue.
Patience, Marquis, patience! Of all the means of shaking off this insolent fellow, there is one which is really exquisite. Without breaking the laws, if we set the Marshal on him, instead of being disturbers of the peace, we shall escape scot-free. He dies, of course, and it would be a wonder--yet what am I saying?--He is already as good as a dead sparrow.
(All chuckle.)
The Marquis in Pink.
Dead sparrow is excellent!
The Marquis in Pale Blue.
This murder--listen--is bound to put the other one into disfavour. The King's Majesty (all bow) will shorten his leave of absence, and we, we shall be freed of him.
(All chuckle.)
The Painter.
What are they about? Alas, if they are glad, perhaps that means the ruin of some man of honour. Perhaps they are meditating some ribaldry. But in truth, what matters to me this vermin?
The Marquis in Pale Blue.
Now let us send out a message hastily to the Marshal, that we are gathered in the antechamber, and while this poor dead mouse--no, pardon me sparrow!--stammers his love to her, he, driven by us to extremes, will burst in unannounced--and this fellow is detected.
The Marquis in Pink.
Very good! But if things turn out differently, what then?
The Marquis in Pale Blue.
Never mind! Take advantage of the right moment. No more is needed. For she cannot refrain, she must see people kneel to her.
The Marquis in Pink.
Famous! Brilliant! A splendid plan! (To The Painter, with a low bow which all imitate.) Honoured sir, permit us to greet you!
The Painter (very politely).
My greeting implies the esteem of which you are aware.
The Marquis in Pale Blue.
We lay our esteem at your feet! (After further bows, which The Painter good-humouredly returns, The Marquises depart at the centre.)
(The Painter smiling, continues to paint.)
THIRD SCENE
THE PAINTER. THE VALET DE CHAMBRE. Then THE DEAF MAID OF HONOUR. THE SLEEPY MAID OF HONOUR. THE QUEEN.
(The Valet entering from the left, greets The Painter with condescending nods, and walks over to the throne.)
The Painter.
Eh!--what?... Ah, indeed! (Laughs aloud.) Strange world, where the lackey carries his head the highest!
(Valet after arranging the cushions, places himself before the easel, and ogles the portrait.)
The Painter.
What is it?
The Valet.
(Pleasantly, as a connoisseur.) Ah these little furrows in the cheeks! (Benevolently.) It can't be expected, sir, of you that your brush should do justice to every fine point. Yet--aside from that--the likeness is good.
The Painter (laughing heartily).
Indeed?
The Valet.
(Opening the door on the left, announces.) Her Majesty!
The Painter.
I scent trouble in this, and a voice says to me flee! I have already committed many a folly, but I never loved a queen! Take heed to yourself!
(The Two Maids of Honour have entered during this soliloquy, and have taken their positions to the right and left of the door.)
The Queen.
(Nods cordially to The Painter, and takes her seat on the throne, as before.) My dear Jean, I must dispense with you now. Don't stay too late.
(Exit Jean.)