THE PENNY THAT BEAUTY SPENT

THE PENNY THAT BEAUTY SPENT

The little heartbreak takes place in a rococo jeweler’s shop in Paris. The shop is elegantly small and elegantly polished. The few jewels and the few pieces of brocade are tossed from surface to surface in a world of glass, from the chandelier to the mirrors and from the mirrors to the cases. It is Royalty’s own place of purchase and the great egotistical head is present in bust and in miniature and on the backs of spoons. The old jeweler, enigmatic and smiling, is suddenly called to the door by a great clatter. A girl enters borne on the shoulders of a boy little older than herself. La Gracile is thin and pinch-faced, but long penury has only made her the more elfin. Illness is already writing its progress in the eyes and on the brow of Quinte, her husband. But they are deliciously happy and full of their secrets. Quinte lifts her onto the counter and draws back.

LA GRACILE

While you are with me I need never touch the ground. You can carry me from cushion to cushion.

QUINTE

And on your gravestone will be inscribed: Here lies an exquisite dancer, she who never touched the ground.

LA GRACILE

And beside mine yours will read: Here lies her husband, the soul of her life, the sole of her shoes.

THE JEWELER

Mademoiselle is in pain? The feet of Mademoiselle are in pain?

LA GRACILE

[After she has recovered, with Quinte, from the whirlwind of intimate amusement that this preposterous idea has caused them.]

No. I am the new dancer. I am La Gracile. Except when I dance I wear nothing on my feet but little velvet pockets. So when I am not wearing my practice slippers, my husband carries me about.

THE JEWELER

Oh, you are La Gracile. We have already heard of your great success last night. The King is delighted with you.

LA GRACILE

[Shrilly, clapping her hands.]

Yes, yes, yes. I was a great success. Even the King’s favorite, Madame d’Hautillon, was jealous. She tried to stand on my foot. They call me the moth of Versailles.

THE JEWELER

And now the King has sent you here to choose a present for yourself.

LA GRACILE

How did you know?

THE JEWELER

The King sends to me for a gift every young lady who pleases him. Madame d’Hautillon was here last.

LA GRACILE

[Chattering on.]

I want nothing myself. It is to be for Quinte. A chronometer, please, that strikes every hour with a gavotte and midnight with a sarabande.

QUINTE

Nothing for me, Claire-Louise. When my cough returns it will shake every ornament off me, the buttons from my coat, the rings from my thin fingers. You must have something in pearls.

LA GRACILE

Silly Quinte, I want nothing.

QUINTE

But I suppose.... You must wear something for the King.

LA GRACILE

[Suddenly under a passing cloud of melancholy, resting her cheek on his hair, plaintively.]

I do not want a great showy pin on my breast. I want only a little white daisy from our beloved Brittany, from Grandmother’s field that had too many stones.

QUINTE

Tell her what you have, Monsieur Jeweler.

THE JEWELER

Mademoiselle will look at this chain? Its art is secret. It is painted gold, the work of aged nuns in Hamburg.

QUINTE

Oh look, Claire-Louise, this flower for your hair. Many topazes were splintered to powder on the wheel before this perfect one.

THE JEWELER

Etiquette forbids, Mademoiselle, your buying that; it happens to be the very thing that Madame d’Hautillon bought for herself.

LA GRACILE

[Arousing herself, imperiously.]

Have you a little fat chronometer with many jewels in it?

THE JEWELER

[Proffering a tray.]

The best in Paris.

LA GRACILE

[Giving one to Quinte.]

That is for you, Quinte, from myself and from the dull King. Like my thoughts, it will rest on your heart, but long after it is sold as wire and rust my love will go on in the land where clocks do not mark off one sad moment from another.

QUINTE

[With tears.]

Claire-Louise, it can be of no pleasure to me. In a while it will only please me because it is a little cool in my hot hand.

LA GRACILE

[Softly, in pain.]

Courage, dearest Quinte, courage.

THE JEWELER

[Interrupting formally.]

Remember, Mademoiselle, that etiquette demands that you will choose a present that His Majesty will admire on you.

LA GRACILE

[Stormily.]

I shall choose what I please.

THE JEWELER

[Insinuatingly.]

Your life is only to please the King. He has chosen you. By sending you here he is telling you that.

LA GRACILE

You are mistaken.... But I am only a poor thin dancer that ... that has worked too hard. Besides, this is my husband.

THE JEWELER

[Smiling.]

No, Mademoiselle, he is not your husband.

LA GRACILE

[Jumps down and walks away, weeping bitterly, her little feet-sacks flopping against the polished floor. She suddenly turns with blazing eyes.]

I shall run away to Brittany.... I shall scratch his eyes out.

THE JEWELER

[Smiles at this foolish notion and leans across the counter, holding towards her a great jewel-encrusted buckle.]

LA GRACILE

[Wildly.]

Even though all Versailles kill me with steel pins, Quinte shall have the watch.

[But he has fallen among the gilt chairs.]