The Rescue of Céleste A Comedy in Five Acts DRAMATIS PERSONAE NINON DE L’ESPINASSE — A courtesan of Paris, thirty years of age, celebrated for her wit, beauty, and incomparable cleverness. She has loved and deceived enough men to know them all, yet retains a heart capable of friendship and loyalty. CÉLESTE — A young courtesan, twenty-two years old, Ninon’s dearest friend. Beautiful but naive, she dreams of escaping her profession through marriage, little knowing what traps await the unwary. MONSIEUR GÉRARD DE VAUTOUR — A wealthy bourgeois of Paris, fifty years old, who has purchased a minor noble title. Avaricious, brutal, and lecherous, he represents all the vices of the newly rich who ape aristocratic manners. ANTOINE DUBOIS — A poor but honest poet and tutor, twenty-eight years old, genuinely in love with Céleste. His virtue is matched only by his poverty. MADAME FANCHON — An elderly procuress, Céleste’s employer, who cares more for money than for the welfare of her girls. MONSIEUR LE PRÉSIDIAL HÉBERT — A magistrate of Paris, pompous and easily confused, who fancies himself a great legal mind. CLÉMENT — Vautour’s foolish servant, who serves as comic relief. MARIE — Ninon’s clever maid and confidante. VARIOUS SERVANTS, SOLDIERS, AND COURTIERS ACT ONE In Which Ninon Learns of Her Friend’s Misfortune and Vows to Save Her SCENE I. Ninon’s apartments in the Marais. A well-appointed room with a view of the gardens. Enter NINON, reading a letter, her face growing increasingly grave. MARIE attends her. NINON. (Reading aloud, with growing indignation) “Dearest Ninon, my sister in sorrow and in joy—” MARIE. From Mademoiselle Céleste, is it not, madame? NINON. The same. And I fear the news is not good. (Continues reading) “I write to you in haste and in despair, for I know not where else to turn. That monster whom I married—” MARIE. Monsieur de Vautour? NINON. The very devil himself, though he wears the mask of a gentleman. (Reading) “—has shown his true nature. Each day brings new cruelties. He beats me for the smallest fault—if his soup is too hot, if his shirt is not pressed to his liking, if I speak when he would have me silent. He has locked me in my chamber like a prisoner, and threatens worse if I attempt to flee. Dear Ninon, I beg you, if ever you loved me, come to my aid. I am at the Hôtel de Vautour in the Rue Saint-Honoré. Send word, I beseech you, or come yourself. Your desperate Céleste.” (She crumples the letter in her hand and paces the room) MARIE. The wretch! To treat a lady so! NINON. A lady? Nay, Marie, in the eyes of the world, we are but courtesans—women of pleasure, to be bought and sold, used and discarded at a man’s whim. Yet Céleste is my sister, my friend, the only creature in this world who has never betrayed me. And I shall not betray her now. MARIE. But what can you do, madame? Monsieur de Vautour is rich, powerful— NINON. (With a sharp laugh) Rich? Yes. Powerful? In the way that all vulgar men with money are powerful—able to purchase what they cannot earn. But clever? Ah, Marie, there is his weakness. He fancies himself a man of wit, a connoisseur of women, a judge of character. And men who fancy themselves clever are the easiest to deceive, for they cannot imagine that anyone might be cleverer than they. MARIE. You have a plan, then? NINON. (Sitting down, her eyes gleaming with calculation) I have the beginning of one. This Vautour—what do we know of him? MARIE. They say he made his fortune in the salt trade, then purchased his title from the King. He is newly arrived in Paris, eager to make his mark in society. They say he is cruel to his servants, stingy with his money except when it serves his vanity, and that he has an eye for pretty women that would shame a satyr. NINON. (Smiling) Excellent. A parvenu with pretensions, a miser with appetites, a brute who believes himself refined. Such men are clay in the hands of a skilled potter. (Rises and goes to her mirror) Marie, fetch my best gown—the blue silk with the silver embroidery. And my pearls. MARIE. You intend to visit him? NINON. Visit him? No, Marie. I intend to conquer him. (Turning from the mirror) This Vautour has never met a woman like me. He has bought women’s bodies, perhaps even their simulated affection. But he has never encountered a woman who can match him in cunning, who can anticipate his every move, who can make him believe that he is the hunter when in truth he is the prey. MARIE. But madame, is it not dangerous? If he discovers your purpose— NINON. (Laughing) Discover it? How can he discover what he cannot imagine? Men like Vautour believe that women are simple creatures—motivated by vanity, greed, or the desire for a husband. They cannot conceive that a woman might act from loyalty to another woman, from friendship, from principle. No, Marie, he will see in me only what he wishes to see: a beautiful courtesan, past her first youth, eager to secure a wealthy protector before her beauty fades. MARIE. And are you not? Eager for a protector, I mean? NINON. (With a bitter smile) I have had protectors enough, Marie. I have been kept by dukes and financiers, by poets and prelates. I have learned their secrets, their weaknesses, their ridiculous vanities. And I have learned one thing above all: that a woman who depends upon a man is a woman in chains, whatever gilded cage he may provide. No, I seek no protector. But I shall pretend to seek one—and in the seeking, I shall free my friend. (Enter ANTOINE DUBOIS, a young man in worn but clean clothing, his face marked by anxiety) ANTOINE. Ninon! I beg your pardon for this intrusion, but I have just learned—Céleste—she is married to that—that vulture— NINON. I know, Antoine. I have her letter here. ANTOINE. (Pacing distractedly) I warned her! I begged her to wait! I told her that I would find a position, that I would make my fortune, that we could marry with honor— NINON. Honor? (With gentle irony) What is honor to a courtesan, Antoine? You offered her love, yes, but also poverty, uncertainty, the scorn of the world. Vautour offered her escape from our profession, a respectable name, security. Can you blame her for choosing as she did? ANTOINE. But she loved me! NINON. Did she? Or did she love the idea of you—the poor but honest poet, the romantic figure from a pastoral? Vautour offered her something more tangible: a title, a house, the appearance of respectability. And Céleste, poor foolish child, believed that these things would bring her happiness. ANTOINE. (Sinking into a chair) Then it is hopeless. She is lost to me forever. NINON. (Sharply) Lost? Never say lost while I live and breathe! Antoine, listen to me carefully. I intend to rescue Céleste from this marriage. But I shall need your help. ANTOINE. (Eagerly) Anything! Name it, and it shall be done! NINON. Good. Here is what you must do. You must go to the Châtelet—the court of the Présidial—and there you must file a suit against Monsieur de Vautour. Claim that Céleste was betrothed to you before her marriage, that Vautour used force and fraud to take her from you. ANTOINE. But it is not true! She broke with me of her own free will— NINON. (Impatiently) Truth? We are not in a sermon, Antoine, we are in a comedy—a comedy in which the villain must be defeated and the lovers reunited. The law cares nothing for truth; it cares for documents, for witnesses, for the appearance of justice. You will say that you and Céleste were betrothed, that you gave her tokens, that her mother approved the match. Can you do this? ANTOINE. I—I suppose so. But what good will it do? Vautour has the marriage contract— NINON. Leave the marriage contract to me. You concern yourself with the lawsuit. And one thing more: you must find a lawyer—a good one, not too honest, not too expensive. Someone who knows how to play upon the sympathies of a judge. ANTOINE. I know just the man. Maître Fournier, who handled my uncle’s estate. He has a tongue that could persuade the devil to buy ice in hell. NINON. (Smiling) Perfect. Go to him at once. Tell him everything—well, not everything, but enough to establish your claim. And Antoine— ANTOINE. Yes? NINON. Do not despair. Céleste may have been foolish, but she is not wicked. And I promise you this: before I am done, she shall be free, and you shall have your chance to make her happy. ANTOINE. (Taking her hand and kissing it) Ninon, you are an angel! NINON. (Laughing) An angel? Oh, my dear boy, if you knew what schemes I am hatching, you would call me something quite different! But go now, and do as I have said. (Exit ANTOINE) MARIE. You are certain of success, madame? NINON. (Looking into the mirror, adjusting her hair) Certain? No, Marie. But I am certain of this: that I shall not rest until Céleste is free. And if I must deceive a hundred Vautours, if I must play the coquette until my dying breath—so be it. (Turning with a brilliant smile) Now, help me dress. I have a monster to charm and a friend to save. (They exit as the curtain falls) SCENE II. The Hôtel de Vautour. A grand but tastelessly decorated room, filled with expensive objects arranged without discernment. Enter VAUTOUR, a heavyset man of fifty, dressed in the height of fashion but with an air of vulgarity that no finery can conceal. He is examining a set of accounts with CLÉMENT. VAUTOUR. (Muttering as he reads) Three livres for wine? The scoundrel! I told him two, and no more! And this—candles? Does he think I am made of money? CLÉMENT. Monsieur, the candles are necessary for illumination— VAUTOUR. Necessary? Necessary? When I was a boy, we made do with tallow, and we were grateful for it! These new-fangled wax candles—pure extravagance! (He throws down the accounts) And my wife—how much has she spent this month? CLÉMENT. Madame de Vautour has made no purchases, monsieur. You have forbidden her to leave her chamber. VAUTOUR. (Satisfied) Good. Good. A woman with too much freedom is like a horse without a bridle—she will throw her rider every time. My first wife understood that. She knew that I was master in my own house. This new one—(he spits)—she thought she could wrap me around her finger with her pretty face and her simpering ways. Well, I showed her! Fifty lashes with my belt, and she has not complained since. CLÉMENT. (Nervously) Monsieur, the servants say—they say that Madame is unwell—that she has not eaten in two days— VAUTOUR. (Dismissively) She will eat when she learns obedience. A woman must be trained like a dog—firm hand, regular discipline, and plenty of scolding. My mother taught me that. (He rises and paces) But I confess, Clément, I am bored with her already. Too thin, too pale, too tearful. I like a woman with spirit, with fire—someone who can match my wit, appreciate my conversation. CLÉMENT. Perhaps, monsieur, if you were to seek company elsewhere— VAUTOUR. Elsewhere? Where? The theaters are full of vulgar women who would rob me blind. The salons are closed to me—these aristocrats, with their noses in the air, they look down on a man of commerce, even one who has purchased his title. (He sighs dramatically) What I need, Clément, is a woman of quality—someone who understands the world, who can guide me in society, who can make these snobs accept me as one of their own. CLÉMENT. Such a woman would be difficult to find, monsieur. VAUTOUR. Difficult, yes. But not impossible. (A knock at the door) Who is that? CLÉMENT. (Going to the door) I shall see, monsieur. (CLÉMENT opens the door to reveal a SERVANT) SERVANT. Monsieur, there is a lady to see you. A Mademoiselle Ninon de l’Espinasse. VAUTOUR. (Perplexed) Ninon de l’Espinasse? I do not know the name. SERVANT. She says she is a friend of Madame de Vautour—that she has come to pay her respects. VAUTOUR. (Suspicious) A friend of my wife’s? From where? SERVANT. She did not say, monsieur. But she is—(he hesitates)—she is very beautiful, monsieur. And very well dressed. VAUTOUR. (Interest piqued) Beautiful, you say? Well, show her in. But stay close, Clément. I do not trust women who appear unannounced. (Exit SERVANT. Enter NINON, dressed magnificently in blue silk and pearls, her beauty enhanced by art and confidence. She carries herself with the air of a woman who knows her own worth) NINON. (With a graceful curtsey) Monsieur de Vautour? I am honored to make your acquaintance. I am Ninon de l’Espinasse. VAUTOUR. (Bowing awkwardly, clearly impressed by her appearance) Mademoiselle—ah—welcome to my humble house. I confess, I do not recall— NINON. (Smiling warmly) You do not know me, monsieur, but I know of you. All Paris is talking of the distinguished gentleman who has purchased the Hôtel de Vautour, who has made such a splash in society with his elegance and his refinement. I could not resist the opportunity to make your acquaintance. VAUTOUR. (Preening) All Paris, you say? Well, I have tried to conduct myself with dignity— NINON. And with such success! Why, I heard only yesterday that the Duchesse de Montpensier herself was asking about you. She said, “Who is this Monsieur de Vautour, who has such taste, such discernment? I must meet him.” VAUTOUR. (Flustered and delighted) The Duchesse? She spoke of me? But I have never—I mean, we have not been introduced— NINON. (Waving her hand airily) Introductions! Mere formalities. In Paris, monsieur, it is not who you know, but how you are known. And you, I assure you, are known as a man of substance, of culture, of—(she pauses, looking him up and down)—of quite remarkable presence. VAUTOUR. (Beaming) You are too kind, mademoiselle. Too kind. But please, sit down. Clément, fetch wine—the good Burgundy, mind you, not that swill we serve to tradesmen. NINON. (Seating herself with elegant grace) You are most hospitable, monsieur. But I must confess, my visit has a purpose beyond mere social curiosity. VAUTOUR. (Eagerly) Yes? What purpose? NINON. I am a friend of your wife, monsieur. Céleste and I were—are—like sisters. We were raised together, you might say, in the same—(she hesitates delicately)—the same establishment. VAUTOUR. (His face darkening) You are a— NINON. (Interrupting smoothly) A courtesan? Yes, monsieur, I am. And proud of it. We do not all have the good fortune to be born to wealth and position. Some of us must make our way in the world as best we can, using the gifts that God has given us. (She looks at him directly, her eyes bright with challenge) Do you despise me for it? VAUTOUR. (Confused) Despise? No—no, of course not. I merely—I did not expect— NINON. (Laughing) You did not expect a courtesan to be so—what? Bold? Educated? Well dressed? We are not all ignorant drabs, monsieur. Some of us read Molière, discuss philosophy, paint, play the harpsichord. Why, I myself have had my portrait painted by Mignard. VAUTOUR. (Impressed despite himself) Mignard? The King’s own painter? NINON. The same. He said I had the face of a Madonna and the eyes of a devil. (She laughs again) I took it as a compliment. But I digress. I came here, monsieur, because I am concerned about my friend. Céleste has not answered my letters. I feared she might be unwell. VAUTOUR. (Defensive) Your friend is—she is resting. She has been—indisposed. NINON. (With feigned concern) Indisposed? Oh, dear. Nothing serious, I hope? VAUTOUR. (Hastily) No, no. Merely—a woman’s complaint. She will be well soon enough. NINON. (Rising and approaching him) Monsieur de Vautour, I hope you will not think me impertinent if I speak frankly. VAUTOUR. (Mesmerized by her proximity) Frankly? No—please— NINON. Céleste is very dear to me. We have shared—so much. And I know her, perhaps better than she knows herself. She is young, impressionable, inclined to—romantic notions. When she wrote to me of her marriage, of her happiness, I rejoiced for her. But now—(she pauses, her voice dropping to a whisper)—now I fear she may have made a mistake. VAUTOUR. (Stiffening) A mistake? What do you mean? NINON. (Placing her hand on his arm) I mean, monsieur, that she is not worthy of you. Oh, do not mistake me—she is pretty enough, in a common way. But you—you are a man of the world, of sophistication, of discernment. You need a woman who can match you, who can appreciate your wit, your culture, your—(she looks into his eyes)—your manly vigor. VAUTOUR. (Swallowing hard) You— you think so? NINON. I know so. (She steps back, smiling) But I have stayed too long. I merely wished to pay my respects, to assure myself of Céleste’s well-being. I shall take my leave. VAUTOUR. (Anxiously) But—you will return? You will—visit again? NINON. (At the door, turning with a look of promise) If you wish it, monsieur. I am always—(she pauses significantly)—at your service. (Exit NINON. VAUTOUR stands staring after her, his mouth slightly open) CLÉMENT. Monsieur? Monsieur, are you well? VAUTOUR. (Slowly) Clément—did you see her? Did you see her? CLÉMENT. I saw her, monsieur. Very beautiful, as the servant said. VAUTOUR. Beautiful? She is magnificent! A goddess! A—(he searches for words)—a queen among women! Did you hear what she said? She said I had sophistication! Discernment! Manly vigor! CLÉMENT. (Dryly) I heard, monsieur. VAUTOUR. (Pacing excitedly) And Mignard painted her portrait! The Duchesse de Montpensier speaks of me! Clément, do you know what this means? It means I have arrived! I am accepted! I am—(he strikes a pose)—a man of fashion! CLÉMENT. But monsieur—your wife— VAUTOUR. (Waving dismissively) My wife! Pah! A pale, weeping, useless creature. What do I want with her when I could have—(his eyes gleam)—when I could have Ninon? CLÉMENT. You intend to— VAUTOUR. (With decision) I intend to make Mademoiselle de l’Espinasse my own. She appreciates me, Clément. She understands me. She sees in me what others are too blind to see. (He rubs his hands together) And if she is a courtesan—well, what of it? I have money enough to keep her in style. I shall set her up in her own establishment, give her carriages, jewels—whatever she desires! CLÉMENT. And Madame de Vautour? VAUTOUR. (Thoughtfully) Céleste. Yes. There is a difficulty. I cannot have two wives—at least, not legally. (He ponders) But where there is a will, there is a way. Perhaps—perhaps if I were to offer her a settlement—some money, a small house in the country—she might be persuaded to— CLÉMENT. To leave, monsieur? VAUTOUR. Exactly! A divorce, Clément! I shall divorce Céleste and marry Ninon! It is the perfect solution! CLÉMENT. (Doubtfully) But monsieur, the scandal— VAUTOUR. Scandal? What scandal? I am a wealthy man. I can do as I please. And when people see me with Ninon on my arm, attending the opera, dining with the great—why, they will forget all about Céleste. They will say, “There goes Monsieur de Vautour, with his beautiful and accomplished wife. What a fortunate man!” CLÉMENT. And if Mademoiselle de l’Espinasse will not have you? VAUTOUR. (Laughing confidently) Will not have me? Did you see how she looked at me? How she touched my arm? She is mine already, Clément—she merely does not know it yet. But she will. Oh, yes—she will. (He exits, chuckling to himself. CLÉMENT shakes his head and follows) (Curtain) ACT TWO In Which Ninon Plays Her Part and Vautour Falls into the Trap SCENE I. Ninon’s apartments, three days later. Enter NINON and MARIE. MARIE. (Reading from a list) Three bouquets of roses, two of lilies, one of orange blossoms. A box of sugared almonds from the finest confectioner. A silver snuffbox with your initials. And—(she holds up a jeweled necklace)—this. NINON. (Examining the necklace) Not bad. The stones are genuine, at least. Vautour may be vulgar, but he is not stingy when he thinks it will advance his cause. MARIE. He has called every day, madame. He has taken you to the theater, to the opera, to dinner at the most expensive restaurants. He is quite—smitten. NINON. (Smiling) Smitten? He is besotted. He thinks himself in love—with me, with the idea of me, with the reflection of his own vanity that he sees in my eyes. And that, Marie, is the key to managing men: make them believe that you see in them what they most wish to see in themselves. MARIE. But has he spoken of Madame Céleste? Of the divorce? NINON. (Frowning slightly) Not yet. He is cautious, our Vautour—cautious and greedy. He wants me, yes, but he does not want to pay for his freedom. He hopes, I think, that Céleste will simply—disappear. That she will run away, or die, or do something that will relieve him of the necessity of action. MARIE. And will she? NINON. No. Céleste is many things, but she is not a fool. She knows that if she leaves without a formal separation, she will have nothing—no money, no position, no future. She will wait. And I will make Vautour act. MARIE. How? NINON. (Going to her writing desk) By making him jealous, Marie. By letting him see that he has rivals, that I am not a woman to be taken for granted, that if he does not act quickly, he may lose me forever. MARIE. Rivals? But you have refused all other suitors— NINON. (Laughing as she writes) Refused them to their faces, yes. But Vautour does not know that. He only knows what I choose to tell him. (She seals the letter) Here—take this to the Comte de la Roche. Invite him to call upon me tomorrow afternoon—at four o’clock precisely. MARIE. The Comte? But he is— NINON. A notorious rake, yes. And a friend of Vautour’s, which makes him perfect for my purposes. Vautour will hear of his visit, will imagine the worst, and will be driven to desperation. (She smiles) Desperate men do foolish things, Marie. And foolish men are easily manipulated. (A knock at the door) MARIE. That will be Monsieur de Vautour, madame. He said he would call at this hour. NINON. (Rising, arranging her dress) Show him in. And Marie—remember to look disapproving. Let him think that you do not trust him, that you fear for my virtue. MARIE. (With a grin) That will not be difficult, madame. (Exit MARIE. Enter VAUTOUR, dressed even more extravagantly than before, carrying a large bouquet) VAUTOUR. Ninon! My dear, my beautiful, my incomparable Ninon! (He presents the bouquet) For you—the rarest orchids, imported from the Indies at fabulous expense. NINON. (Accepting the flowers with a show of delight) Monsieur! You are too generous! But come, sit down. You look flushed—has something happened? VAUTOUR. (Sitting, mopping his brow) Happened? No—yes—oh, Ninon, I am in torment! NINON. (With concern) Torment? What is it? Tell me! VAUTOUR. It is my wife—that is—Céleste—she—(he stammers) NINON. (Coolly) She has not changed her mind, I hope? She does not wish to remain married to you? VAUTOUR. (Hastily) No, no, nothing like that. She—she has been ill, as I told you. Very ill. The doctors say—(he lowers his voice)—the doctors say she may not live. NINON. (Her eyes narrowing) May not live? How convenient for you, monsieur. VAUTOUR. (Shocked) Convenient? Ninon, how can you say such a thing? I am distraught! I am— NINON. (Rising, turning away) You are hoping she will die, so that you will be free to marry again without the scandal of a divorce. Do not deny it—I can see it in your face. VAUTOUR. (Following her) No! I swear to you— NINON. (Turning on him) Swear? What good are your swears? You have been courting me for three days, monsieur, and in all that time, you have not once spoken of ending your marriage. You bring me flowers, jewels, pretty words—but where is the substance? Where is the proof that you are serious? VAUTOUR. (Desperately) But I am serious! I have never been more serious in my life! It is only—only there are difficulties—legal complications— NINON. (With contempt) Difficulties! Complications! A man who truly loved would find a way. He would move heaven and earth, if necessary. But you—you are content to wait, to hope for your wife’s death, to— VAUTOUR. (Grabbing her hands) No! I will not wait! I will not hope for anything! I will—(he stops, suddenly decisive)—I will divorce her! Today! This very day! NINON. (Looking at him skeptically) You will? VAUTOUR. I swear it! I will go to my lawyer, I will draw up the papers, I will— NINON. (Interrupting) And what will you give her? Your wife, I mean. A woman cast off after only a few weeks of marriage—she will be ruined. She will have nothing. VAUTOUR. (Eagerly) I will give her a settlement! Five thousand livres—a house in the country— NINON. (Shaking her head) Five thousand? For a young woman’s reputation, her future, her life? Monsieur, you are richer than that. I have heard that your fortune exceeds two hundred thousand livres. VAUTOUR. (Startled) Two hundred—who told you— NINON. (Smiling) People talk, monsieur. And I listen. Ten thousand livres, I think, would be more appropriate. And the house, of course. And a pension—say, five hundred livres a year for life. VAUTOUR. (Gasping) Ten thousand! Five hundred a year! But that is—that is— NINON. (Coldly) Too much? Very well, monsieur. I see that your love has its limits. Perhaps I was mistaken in you. (She moves toward the door) I think you should go. VAUTOUR. (Blocking her path) No! Wait! I did not say—I mean—(he struggles with himself)—very well. Ten thousand. And the pension. It shall be done. NINON. (Softening) You mean it? VAUTOUR. (Taking her in his arms) With all my heart. I will go this very afternoon to my lawyer. The papers shall be drawn up, signed, delivered. And then—(he kisses her hand)—then, my dearest Ninon, you will be mine. We shall be married, you and I, and all Paris will envy me the most beautiful, the most accomplished, the most— NINON. (Extracting herself gently) Married, monsieur? Who spoke of marriage? VAUTOUR. (Confused) But—I thought—we agreed— NINON. We agreed that you would divorce your wife. We agreed that you would provide for her generously. But marriage? (She laughs) My dear Monsieur de Vautour, I am a courtesan. I do not marry. I have had offers from dukes, from princes, from men far richer and more powerful than you. Why should I accept you? VAUTOUR. (Stunned) But—you said—you led me to believe— NINON. (Approaching him, her voice softening) I said that I admired you. That I found you attractive. That I might—if you proved worthy—consider becoming your—companion. But marriage? (She touches his face) No, monsieur. That is not what I offer. That is not what any woman of sense would offer, knowing what she knows of men and their promises. VAUTOUR. (Desperately) But I love you! I will be faithful! I will give you everything— NINON. (Stepping back) Everything? Your fortune? Your houses? Your lands? VAUTOUR. (Hesitating) Well—I—naturally, there are certain—arrangements— NINON. (Laughing) Arrangements! Yes, I thought so. You would keep me, monsieur, as you keep your horses and your dogs—well fed, well housed, but always under your control. And when you tired of me, as you tired of Céleste? What then? VAUTOUR. (Weakly) I would never— NINON. (Sharply) You would. You know you would. Men are all alike—they want possession, not partnership. They want a slave, not a companion. No, monsieur, if you wish to be with me, it must be on my terms. Not as master and servant, but as—equals. VAUTOUR. (Bewildered) Equals? But how— NINON. (Sitting down, gesturing for him to sit beside her) Listen to me carefully, Gérard—may I call you Gérard? Good. I have a proposal for you. Not a marriage—marriages are for fools who believe in forever. But a partnership. A—business arrangement, if you will. VAUTOUR. (Sitting, intrigued despite himself) What kind of arrangement? NINON. You wish to be accepted by society, do you not? To move in the best circles, to be received by the great, to have your name spoken with respect? VAUTOUR. (Eagerly) More than anything! NINON. And I wish for—security. A home of my own. An income sufficient to maintain me in comfort. Not extravagance, mind you—comfort. In exchange, I will guide you. I will introduce you to the right people, teach you the right manners, help you navigate the treacherous waters of Parisian society. With me at your side, you will succeed. Without me—(she shrugs)—you will remain what you are: a wealthy provincial, laughed at behind his back by those he seeks to impress. VAUTOUR. (Thoughtfully) And in exchange? What do you require? NINON. A house. In my name, not yours. Ten thousand livres a year, paid quarterly. And—(she pauses)—your promise that you will never attempt to control me, to limit my freedom, to treat me as anything less than what I am: your partner, your advisor, your friend. VAUTOUR. (Calculating) Ten thousand a year—that is a great deal of money— NINON. It is less than you spend on wine and horses. And think what you gain: respectability, position, success. Is that not worth the price? VAUTOUR. (Slowly) It is—tempting. Very tempting. But my wife—Céleste—if I divorce her, there will be scandal— NINON. (Dismissively) Scandal passes. In six months, no one will remember. And with me to guide you, you will weather any storm. But you must act quickly, Gérard. I cannot wait forever. There are—others—who would be glad of my assistance. VAUTOUR. (Alarmed) Others? Who? NINON. (Smiling mysteriously) Does it matter? Suffice it to say that I have not lacked for offers. But I prefer you, Gérard. There is something about you—something genuine beneath the vulgarity, something that might, with proper cultivation, become admirable. VAUTOUR. (Swelling with pride) You really think so? NINON. I do. But the choice is yours. Divorce your wife, settle matters generously with her, and come to me as a free man. Or—(she rises)—continue as you are, and watch me walk out of your life forever. (She stands before him, magnificent and unattainable. VAUTOUR struggles with himself, then rises with decision) VAUTOUR. I will do it! I will divorce her! I will give her whatever you think proper—ten thousand, twenty thousand, it matters not! Only promise me—promise me that when it is done, you will be mine! NINON. (Taking his hand) I promise that when you are free, we shall discuss our future together. That is all I can promise, Gérard. That, and my sincere affection. VAUTOUR. (Kissing her hand fervently) It is enough! More than enough! I shall go at once to my lawyer! The papers shall be drawn up today! Tomorrow—tomorrow you shall hear from me! (He exits hastily, nearly tripping over his own feet. NINON watches him go, then turns to MARIE, who has entered unnoticed) MARIE. (Admiringly) Madame, you are magnificent! He will do it—he will actually do it! NINON. (Sitting down, suddenly weary) He will do it, yes. Men are so predictable, Marie. Flatter their vanity, threaten their pride, and they will rush to destruction like lemmings to the sea. (She sighs) But we are not done yet. Vautour is stupid, but he is not entirely without cunning. He may suspect something, may try to trick me. We must be prepared. MARIE. What do you need, madame? NINON. (Thinking) First, you must get word to Céleste. Tell her to be ready—ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Tell her to pack nothing but essentials, to leave everything else behind. And tell her—(she smiles)—tell her that her sister Ninon has not forgotten her. MARIE. I will go tonight, madame, when it is dark. NINON. Good. And second—(she goes to her desk, takes out a document)—I need you to find me a forger. A good one, discreet, reliable. Someone who can copy a signature so perfectly that even the signer himself would not know the difference. MARIE. (Alarmed) A forger, madame? But that is dangerous— NINON. (Calmly) All of this is dangerous, Marie. But I did not start this game to lose it. Vautour will give Céleste a divorce paper—that much I am sure of. But he may try to trick us—may give her a false document, or one with conditions that will trap her. I need to be prepared to—substitute—a more favorable version, if necessary. MARIE. I know a man, madame. Jacques, who works near the Pont Neuf. He is said to be the best in Paris. NINON. Then go to him. Tell him I need two documents prepared—one, a divorce decree in proper form, granting Céleste de Vautour her freedom and a settlement of twenty thousand livres; and two, a receipt for that sum, signed by Céleste, acknowledging payment in full. MARIE. Twenty thousand, madame? But you told Monsieur de Vautour— NINON. (Smiling) I told him ten thousand for Céleste, and ten thousand a year for me. But why should Céleste not have the full benefit? Vautour will never know the difference—he will be too busy counting the cost of his folly. (She rises, looking out the window) Go now, Marie. There is no time to lose. Tomorrow, or the day after, all will be decided. MARIE. Yes, madame. (She pauses at the door) Madame—are you not afraid? Of what may happen if you fail? NINON. (Without turning) Afraid? Yes, Marie, I am afraid. I am afraid of many things—of poverty, of old age, of dying alone and unmourned. But I am more afraid of betraying a friend, of standing by while injustice is done, of being the kind of woman who thinks only of herself. (She turns, her eyes bright) No, I will not fail. I cannot fail. Too much depends upon it. (Exit MARIE. NINON remains at the window, watching the sunset over Paris) NINON. (To herself) Céleste, my sister, my friend—hold on a little longer. Help is coming. Freedom is coming. And that monster who calls himself your husband—he will learn what it means to underestimate a woman. (Curtain) SCENE II. The Hôtel de Vautour, that evening. CÉLESTE sits in her chamber, a small, bare room with a narrow bed and a single window. She is pale and thin, her eyes red from weeping. Enter MARIE, stealthily, through the window. CÉLESTE. (Starting up) Who—who is there? MARIE. (Whispering) Hush, madame! It is I, Marie—Mademoiselle Ninon’s maid. I have come with a message. CÉLESTE. (Rushing to her) Ninon! Oh, thank God! I thought—I feared— MARIE. (Taking her hands) Madame, be calm. Mademoiselle Ninon has not forgotten you. She is working even now to secure your freedom. CÉLESTE. (Sinking onto the bed) Freedom? But how? He will never let me go—he swore he would kill me first— MARIE. He will let you go, madame. He will be made to let you go. Mademoiselle Ninon has a plan—a wonderful, clever plan. But you must be brave, and you must be patient. CÉLESTE. (Bitterly) Patient? I have been patient for three weeks! Three weeks of beatings, of insults, of being treated worse than a dog! Look—(she pulls up her sleeve, revealing bruises)—look what he has done to me! MARIE. (Horrified) The monster! But he will pay for this, madame—mark my words, he will pay. (She sits beside CÉLESTE) Now listen carefully. Mademoiselle Ninon has persuaded Monsieur de Vautour to divorce you. He will offer you a settlement—money, a house—and your freedom. CÉLESTE. (Disbelieving) Divorce? Vautour? But he would never—he said I was his property, that he would never let me go— MARIE. He has changed his mind. Or rather, Mademoiselle Ninon has changed it for him. She has made him believe that he is in love with her, that he cannot live without her—and that you are the only obstacle to his happiness. CÉLESTE. (Stunned) Ninon—she is doing this—for me? MARIE. For you, madame. And for justice. She has risked everything—her reputation, her safety, her future—to save you from this monster. CÉLESTE. (Weeping) Oh, Ninon! My sister! My friend! I do not deserve such devotion! MARIE. (Firmly) You do deserve it, madame. You are a good person, kind and gentle, and you did not deserve to be treated so cruelly. Now—(she rises)—I must go, before I am discovered. But remember: when the papers are brought to you, sign nothing until you have read every word. If there is anything you do not understand, ask for time to consider. And above all—do not let Monsieur de Vautour know that you have spoken with Mademoiselle Ninon, or with me. CÉLESTE. I will be careful, Marie. I swear it. MARIE. Good. And pack your things—only what you can carry easily. When the moment comes, you must be ready to leave at once. CÉLESTE. Where will I go? What will I do? MARIE. (Smiling) You will go to Mademoiselle Ninon’s house, and there you will be safe. And as for what you will do—(she pauses significantly)—there is a young man who has not forgotten you. A certain Monsieur Dubois— CÉLESTE. (Gasping) Antoine! He—he still— MARIE. He still loves you, madame. And he is working with Mademoiselle Ninon to secure your freedom. When this is over, when you are free—perhaps you will find happiness together, after all. CÉLESTE. (Clasping her hands) Oh, if only—if only that were possible! MARIE. It is possible, madame. More than possible—probable, if you have courage and faith. Now I must go. Be strong, Madame Céleste. Help is coming. (She exits through the window. CÉLESTE remains, her face transformed by hope) CÉLESTE. (To herself) Ninon, my guardian angel—may God bless you and keep you. And may He give me the strength to endure a little longer, until freedom comes. (She kneels by her bed in prayer as the curtain falls) End of Part One ACT THREE In Which the Trap is Sprung and Céleste Gains Her Freedom SCENE I. Ninon’s apartments, two days later. Enter NINON, dressed for travel, with MARIE. NINON. (Reading a letter) At last! The fool has done it! Listen, Marie: “My dearest Ninon, the papers are drawn, signed, and sealed. I have granted Céleste her freedom and a settlement of ten thousand livres, as you suggested. She leaves this very day for a house in the country, and I am free—free to be yours, my angel, my divinity! Come to me, I beg you, as soon as you receive this. Your devoted, your adoring Gérard.” MARIE. He has signed the divorce papers, then? NINON. He has signed them, and Céleste has them in her possession—or will have, by now. (She folds the letter) But we must move quickly, Marie. Vautour is stupid, but he is not entirely blind. When Céleste disappears, when I do not come to him as promised—he will suspect. MARIE. What shall we do, madame? NINON. First, you must go to the Hôtel de Vautour. Find Céleste, make sure she has the papers, and bring her here. If Vautour tries to stop you—(she reaches into her desk)—show him this. MARIE. (Taking the document) What is it, madame? NINON. A letter, purportedly from me to the Comte de la Roche, accepting his offer of marriage. I wrote it last night, in a hand sufficiently like my own to deceive anyone who does not know me well. If Vautour sees it, he will believe that I have betrayed him—that I never intended to keep my promise. MARIE. But madame—will that not make him furious? NINON. (Smiling) Furious, yes. But also—defeated. He will think that he has lost me, that he has been outwitted, that there is nothing to be gained by pursuing Céleste. And in his fury, he will not think to ask the important questions: where did the letter come from? Why was it delivered to him? He will simply accept it as confirmation of his worst fears. MARIE. You are—remarkable, madame. NINON. (With a touch of sadness) I am desperate, Marie. Desperate women do remarkable things. Now go—and hurry. I will prepare everything here for Céleste’s arrival. (Exit MARIE. NINON paces the room, then goes to her desk and begins to write) NINON. (As she writes) “Monsieur Dubois—Antoine—by the time you receive this, Céleste will be free. Bring your lawsuit against Vautour immediately—do not wait, do not hesitate. Strike while he is confused, while he does not know which way to turn. And have your lawyer ready—the Présidial Hébert is a pompous fool, but he can be swayed by eloquence and by evidence. Show him the divorce papers, show him Céleste’s bruises, show him the monster that Vautour truly is. And may God be with you.” (She seals the letter) There. Now for the next move in our little game. (Enter CLÉMENT, Vautour’s servant, looking nervous and disheveled) CLÉMENT. Mademoiselle de l’Espinasse? NINON. (Surprised) Clément? What are you doing here? Where is your master? CLÉMENT. (Wringing his hands) Oh, mademoiselle, it is terrible! A disaster! Monsieur de Vautour—he has discovered—he knows— NINON. (Calmly) Knows what, Clément? Speak plainly. CLÉMENT. He knows that Madame Céleste has left! She and her maid—they went out this morning, saying they were going to mass, and they never returned! And when Monsieur went to her room—(he gulps)—he found this! (He produces a letter. NINON takes it and reads, her expression unreadable) NINON. (Reading) “My dear husband—if husband you can be called—I have left you. Your cruelty has made my life a misery, and I can endure no more. Thanks to the generosity of a friend, I have the means to live independently, and I intend to do so. Do not try to find me—you will not succeed. And do not think to reclaim me through the law, for I have evidence of your abuse that would shock even the most hardened judge. Farewell forever. Céleste.” CLÉMENT. (Agitated) He is beside himself, mademoiselle! He rages, he swears, he threatens to kill you both! NINON. (Coolly) To kill me? Whatever for? CLÉMENT. He believes—he thinks—that you helped her escape! That you planned it all along! NINON. (Laughing) And did I? CLÉMENT. (Confused) I—madame, I do not know— NINON. (Approaching him) Clément, listen to me carefully. Your master is a violent man, a cruel man, a man who deserves whatever misfortune befalls him. You know this—you have seen how he treats his wives, his servants, everyone beneath him. Do you wish to continue serving such a man? CLÉMENT. (Hesitantly) I—I have no choice, mademoiselle. I need the position— NINON. (Interrupting) You have a choice. You can continue to serve Vautour, to endure his blows and his insults, to share in his eventual downfall. Or—(she pauses)—you can help me, and be rewarded for your assistance. CLÉMENT. (Interested) Rewarded, mademoiselle? NINON. (Taking out a purse) Two hundred livres, Clément. Enough to set you up in a small business, or to support you while you find a better position. All you need do is deliver a message for me—and keep silent about what you have seen and heard. CLÉMENT. (Eagerly) A message, mademoiselle? To whom? NINON. To your master. (She writes quickly, then folds the paper) Give him this. And tell him—tell him that I am gone, that he will never see me again, that I have left Paris with a—(she smiles)—with a certain nobleman who has offered me his protection. CLÉMENT. (Taking the letter and the money) The Comte de la Roche? NINON. (Sharply) How did you know? CLÉMENT. (Nervously) I—I saw him, mademoiselle. Yesterday. Leaving your house. My master had sent me to watch— NINON. (Laughing) To spy on me? Of course he did. Well, no matter. Yes, tell him I have gone with the Comte. Tell him that I laughed at his folly, that I never intended to marry him, that he has been thoroughly and completely deceived. CLÉMENT. (Grinning) He will be furious, mademoiselle. NINON. (Smiling) That is the idea, Clément. Now go—and remember: not a word to anyone about our conversation. CLÉMENT. (Bowing) You can trust me, mademoiselle. And—thank you. (Exit CLÉMENT. NINON watches him go, then turns as MARIE enters with CÉLESTE) CÉLESTE. (Rushing to embrace NINON) Ninon! Oh, my dearest friend! My savior! NINON. (Holding her close) Céleste! Thank God you are safe! Let me look at you—(she holds her at arm’s length)—thin, yes, and pale, but alive. And free. Do you have the papers? CÉLESTE. (Producing a document) Here—the divorce decree, signed by Vautour and witnessed by his lawyer. And this—(she produces another paper)—a receipt for ten thousand livres, which I most certainly did not receive. NINON. (Examining the papers) Excellent. The divorce is valid, properly executed—he cannot contest it. And the receipt—(she smiles)—the receipt will be useful if he tries to claim that he paid you. Which he did not, of course. CÉLESTE. Of course not. He gave me nothing but bruises and misery. NINON. (Fiercely) And for that, he will pay. But first—(she calls)—Marie! Draw a bath for Madame Céleste, and lay out her old clothes—the ones she left at my house. And prepare something to eat—she must be starving. MARIE. At once, madame. (Exit MARIE) CÉLESTE. (Sinking into a chair) I cannot believe it, Ninon. I cannot believe that I am free. That monster—that devil—he actually signed the papers! He actually let me go! NINON. (Sitting beside her) He did not let you go, Céleste. I took you from him. I made him believe that I would marry him, that I loved him, that his happiness depended upon setting you free. And like the vain, greedy fool that he is, he believed me. CÉLESTE. (Looking at her with wonder) You did all that—for me? NINON. (Simply) You are my sister, Céleste. Not by blood, but by choice. And I do not abandon my sisters. CÉLESTE. (Weeping) I was so foolish, Ninon. So blind. You warned me about him—you told me not to marry him—and I did not listen. I thought—I thought that a title, a fortune, a respectable name— NINON. (Gently) You thought they would make you happy. I know. Many women think so. And some find happiness that way, I suppose—though I have never met one. But you, Céleste—you were not made for that kind of life. You are too gentle, too trusting, too good for a man like Vautour. CÉLESTE. And now? What will become of me? I have no money, no position— NINON. (Smiling) You have friends, Céleste. You have me. And you have—(she pauses)—Antoine. CÉLESTE. (Blushing) Antoine. Does he—does he still— NINON. He still loves you. He has never stopped loving you. And he is working even now to secure your future—to make Vautour pay for what he has done. CÉLESTE. (Alarmed) Pay? How? NINON. (Rising) Through the law, Céleste. Antoine has filed a suit against Vautour—claiming that you were betrothed to him before your marriage, that Vautour used fraud and force to take you from him. With the divorce papers as evidence, with your testimony of abuse, with Antoine’s claim—we can destroy Vautour. We can take his money, his reputation, his very freedom. CÉLESTE. (Horrified) Destroy him? But Ninon—I do not want revenge! I only want to be free, to be safe— NINON. (Firmly) And if we do not destroy him, he will try to destroy us. Men like Vautour do not accept defeat gracefully. He will pursue us, harass us, make our lives a misery—unless we strike first, and strike hard. CÉLESTE. (Reluctantly) If you think it necessary— NINON. I know it is necessary. Trust me, Céleste. I have played this game longer than you, and I know how it ends. Now—(she helps her up)—go with Marie. Bathe, eat, rest. Tomorrow, or the day after, you may be called upon to testify. You must be strong, clear-headed, prepared. CÉLESTE. I will try, Ninon. For you—for all you have done—I will try. (Exit CÉLESTE, supported by MARIE. NINON goes to the window and looks out) NINON. (To herself) One battle won. But the war is not over yet. Vautour will fight—he has no choice, with his pride and his fortune at stake. And the courts—who knows which way they will decide? I must be prepared for anything. (She turns from the window) Anything at all. (Curtain) SCENE II. The Hôtel de Vautour, later that evening. VAUTOUR sits alone, surrounded by empty wine bottles, his face flushed with drink and fury. Enter CLÉMENT. VAUTOUR. (Roaring) Well? Did you find her? Did you bring her back? CLÉMENT. (Nervously) No, monsieur. I could not find Mademoiselle de l’Espinasse. Her house was closed, the servants dismissed— VAUTOUR. (Smashing a glass) The witch! The harlot! She has betrayed me! She has stolen my wife, made a fool of me, and now she has fled! CLÉMENT. (Producing the letter) I did find this, monsieur. It was left with her porter, with instructions to deliver it to you. VAUTOUR. (Snatching the letter) Give it here! (He reads, his face growing purple) “My dear Gérard—if dear you can be called—” The insolence! “—I write to inform you that I have left Paris, never to return. Your company was amusing for a time, but I have found a more—generous—protector, one who does not require me to waste my time on foolish schemes and vulgar displays. Your wife, I am told, has also left you. You are now quite alone, which is doubtless what you deserve. Do not attempt to find me—you will not succeed. Your former friend, Ninon.” CLÉMENT. (Daringly) She has gone with the Comte de la Roche, monsieur. I saw them together, yesterday— VAUTOUR. (Exploding) The Comte! That—that popinjay! That dandy! She prefers him to me? CLÉMENT. (Shrugging) Women are fickle, monsieur. VAUTOUR. (Pacing, muttering) Fickle? Treacherous! Deceitful! She played me for a fool—made me divorce Céleste, made me promise her a fortune—and all the time, she was planning to betray me! (He stops suddenly) But wait—if she has betrayed me, then Céleste—Céleste must be with her! They planned this together! They—(his eyes widen)—they have made a fool of me! CLÉMENT. (Dryly) It would seem so, monsieur. VAUTOUR. (Grabbing CLÉMENT by the throat) Do not mock me, you miserable worm! I will have my revenge! I will find them both, drag them through the courts, ruin them—! CLÉMENT. (Choking) Monsieur—please—you are hurting me— VAUTOUR. (Releasing him) Get out! Get out, all of you! Leave me alone! (Exit CLÉMENT, rubbing his throat. VAUTOUR collapses into a chair, his head in his hands) VAUTOUR. (Moaning) Ruined. I am ruined. My wife gone, my mistress gone, my money—how much did I give her? The jewels, the flowers, the promises—(he looks up, his eyes red)—but I will not accept it! I am Monsieur de Vautour! I am rich, powerful, respected! I will not be beaten by a pair of—of courtesans! (A knock at the door) VAUTOUR. (Shouting) I said get out! Leave me alone! VOICE. (Outside) Monsieur de Vautour? I am Maître Fournier, attorney at law. I have a summons for you, from the Présidial. VAUTOUR. (Stunned) A summons? What—what summons? (Enter MAÎTRE FOURNIER, a thin, sharp-faced man in black, carrying a document) FOURNIER. Monsieur Antoine Dubois has filed suit against you, monsieur. Claiming that you fraudulently induced Madame Céleste de Vautour to break her betrothal to him, and subsequently married her through force and deception. He demands damages of fifty thousand livres, and the annulment of your marriage. VAUTOUR. (Staggering) Fifty thousand! Annulment! But—but I am already divorced! I signed the papers— FOURNIER. (Consulting his document) So I understand. Which makes the annulment moot, of course. But the damages, monsieur—the damages are another matter. If Monsieur Dubois can prove his claim, you may be required to pay substantial compensation. Not to mention the damage to your reputation. VAUTOUR. (Desperately) But I did nothing wrong! Céleste came to me willingly—she wanted to marry me—she broke with Dubois of her own free will! FOURNIER. (Shrugging) That is for the court to decide, monsieur. You are summoned to appear before Monsieur le Présidial Hébert, three days hence, at ten o’clock in the morning. I suggest you engage counsel. VAUTOUR. (Grabbing him) Counsel? I need—who is this Dubois? Where did he come from? Is he in league with Ninon? With Céleste? FOURNIER. (Extricating himself) I am not at liberty to say, monsieur. Good day. (Exit FOURNIER. VAUTOUR stands frozen, then sinks back into his chair) VAUTOUR. (Whispering) A conspiracy. It is all a conspiracy. They have planned this from the beginning—Ninon, Céleste, this Dubois—all in league against me. (He rises, his face hardening) But I will not be beaten. I have money, influence, power. I will hire the best lawyers in Paris. I will expose them for the scheming harlots they are. I will— (He stops, realizing the emptiness of his threats. He looks around the room—at the expensive furniture, the gaudy decorations, the symbols of his wealth—and sees only their hollowness) VAUTOUR. (Softly) I will be the laughingstock of Paris. The man who was duped by a courtesan, who divorced his wife for a woman who never loved him, who is now being sued by a penniless poet. (He laughs bitterly) What a joke. What a magnificent, terrible joke. (He reaches for another bottle of wine as the curtain falls) ACT FOUR In Which the Case is Heard and Vautour Meets His Match SCENE I. The courtroom of the Présidial Hébert. A grand but shabby room, with a raised bench for the judge and seats for the litigants and spectators. Enter the PRÉSIDIAl HÉBERT, a pompous man in his sixties, followed by his clerks. He takes his seat, adjusts his robes, and clears his throat importantly. HÉBERT. (To his clerk) What case is first on the docket? CLERK. Dubois versus de Vautour, Your Honor. A suit for damages and annulment. HÉBERT. (Frowning) Annulment? But I understood the parties were divorced. CLERK. They are, Your Honor. The annulment is moot. But the suit for damages remains. HÉBERT. (Sighing) Very well. Bring in the litigants. (Enter ANTOINE DUBOIS, accompanied by MAÎTRE FOURNIER, and VAUTOUR, accompanied by a fat, sweating lawyer named MAÎTRE GROSJEAN. They take their places on opposite sides of the room. The spectators—mostly idle curiosity-seekers—settle into their seats) HÉBERT. (Clearing his throat) This court is now in session. The case of Dubois versus de Vautour. Monsieur Dubois, you claim that the defendant fraudulently induced your betrothed to break her engagement to you and marry him instead. Is that correct? FOURNIER. (Rising) It is, Your Honor. And we intend to prove not only fraud, but force, coercion, and subsequent abuse that would shock the conscience of any right-thinking person. GROSJEAN. (Rising hastily) Your Honor, my client denies all allegations. The plaintiff has no evidence of any betrothal, no witnesses, no documents— FOURNIER. (Interrupting) We have witnesses, Your Honor. And documents. May I call my first witness? HÉBERT. (Nodding) Proceed. FOURNIER. The plaintiff calls Madame Céleste—formerly de Vautour. (A murmur runs through the courtroom. Enter CÉLESTE, dressed simply but elegantly, her face pale but composed. She takes the witness stand) HÉBERT. (Leaning forward, interested) Madame—you are the former wife of the defendant? CÉLESTE. I am, Your Honor. Or rather, I was. We are now divorced, by mutual agreement. HÉBERT. And you were previously betrothed to the plaintiff? CÉLESTE. I was, Your Honor. To Monsieur Antoine Dubois, a poet and tutor. We were engaged for six months before Monsieur de Vautour—intervened. GROSJEAN. (Rising) Objection! The witness is prejudiced against my client— HÉBERT. (Waving him down) Sit down, counselor. The witness will answer the questions put to her. Madame—how did the defendant “intervene”? CÉLESTE. (Taking a deep breath) He flattered me, Your Honor. He told me that he loved me, that he would make me a great lady, that I would want for nothing. He gave me gifts—jewelry, clothes, promises of a brilliant future. And he told me—(her voice drops)—he told me that Monsieur Dubois was unworthy of me, that he was poor and would always be poor, that he could never give me the life I deserved. HÉBERT. And you believed him? CÉLESTE. (Shamefaced) I was young, Your Honor. And foolish. I thought that wealth and position would make me happy. I did not know—(she looks at Vautour, her eyes hardening)—I did not know what kind of man he truly was. VAUTOUR. (Shouting) Liar! She wanted to marry me! She came to me willingly— HÉBERT. (Banging his gavel) Silence! The defendant will remain silent or be held in contempt! FOURNIER. Madame—after your marriage, what happened? CÉLESTE. (Her voice steady) He changed, Your Honor. The man who had been so charming, so attentive—he became a monster. He beat me, Your Honor. For the smallest fault—a word out of place, a look he did not like, a dish that was not to his taste. He locked me in my room like a prisoner. He threatened to kill me if I tried to leave. (A gasp runs through the courtroom) HÉBERT. (Shocked) These are serious allegations, madame. Do you have proof? CÉLESTE. (Rolling up her sleeve) These bruises, Your Honor—still visible after two weeks. And I have witnesses—the servants who heard my cries, the doctor who treated my wounds, the neighbor who saw me through the window, pale and thin and desperate. FOURNIER. (Producing documents) We have sworn statements from all of them, Your Honor. And more—we have the divorce papers, signed by the defendant, granting Madame her freedom and a settlement of ten thousand livres. Why, we ask, would an innocent man pay so generously to be rid of a wife, unless he had something to hide? GROSJEAN. (Desperately) Your Honor, my client is a generous man—he wished only to spare his wife the scandal of a public trial— FOURNIER. (Laughing) Generous? This from a man who haggles over the price of candles? Who beats his servants for breaking a dish? Who—(he produces a paper)—who has been sued three times for non-payment of debts? HÉBERT. (Frowning) Is this true, Monsieur de Vautour? VAUTOUR. (Sullenly) I have had—financial difficulties— FOURNIER. Financial difficulties? Your Honor, this man claims a fortune of two hundred thousand livres! Yet he haggles over pennies, beats his wife for wasting food, and refuses to pay honest debts! What kind of man is this? What kind of husband? HÉBERT. (To Céleste) Madame—you say you were betrothed to Monsieur Dubois. Do you have any proof of this betrothal? CÉLESTE. (Producing a ring) This ring, Your Honor. Given to me by Monsieur Dubois on the day of our betrothal. And this—(she produces a letter)—a letter from my mother, giving her blessing to the match. GROSJEAN. (Rising) Your Honor, a ring and a letter prove nothing! The so-called betrothal was never formalized, never announced— FOURNIER. It was formal enough for Monsieur de Vautour to feel threatened by it, Your Honor. Threatened enough to use every means at his disposal to break it. HÉBERT. (Thoughtfully) This is a complex case. The marriage has been dissolved, so the question of annulment is moot. But the damages—if the plaintiff can prove that the defendant deliberately interfered with a valid betrothal, using fraud and deception— FOURNIER. We can prove it, Your Honor. And we can prove more. We can prove that the defendant’s conduct was not merely fraudulent, but criminal. That he is a danger to any woman unfortunate enough to fall into his power. VAUTOUR. (Leaping up) This is an outrage! I am a respectable man! I have a title, a position— FOURNIER. (Turning on him) A title you purchased, monsieur! A position you bought with money! You are no gentleman—you are a brute, a bully, a man who uses his wealth to oppress those weaker than himself! HÉBERT. (Banging his gavel) Order! Order in the court! (He sighs, looking from one party to the other) This case requires more evidence than has been presented. I will adjourn for one hour, during which time the parties may present additional witnesses or documents. Court is recessed. (He rises and exits. The litigants and spectators begin to disperse, talking excitedly among themselves) VAUTOUR. (To GROSJEAN, grabbing his arm) You must do something! You cannot let them destroy me! GROSJEAN. (Wiping his brow) I am doing my best, monsieur, but the evidence— VAUTOUR. The evidence is lies! All lies! That woman—that Ninon—she planned this! She is behind it all! FOURNIER. (Overhearing) Ninon de l’Espinasse? Yes, monsieur, she is a witness for our side. And a most convincing one, I think you will find. VAUTOUR. (Turning purple) She is here? In the court? FOURNIER. She is indeed. And she is most eager to testify. (VAUTOUR stares at him, then sinks into a chair, his face a mask of despair) VAUTOUR. (Whispering) Finished. I am finished. (Curtain) SCENE II. The courtroom, one hour later. The court has reconvened, and the spectators’ gallery is now packed with curious onlookers. Enter NINON, dressed magnificently, on the arm of MAÎTRE FOURNIER. She takes the witness stand with calm assurance. HÉBERT. (Looking at her with interest) You are Mademoiselle Ninon de l’Espinasse? NINON. I am, Your Honor. HÉBERT. And you are a—courtesan? NINON. (Smiling) I prefer the term “woman of independent means,” Your Honor. But yes, I have been a courtesan. I have loved many men, and been loved by them in return. I have learned much about human nature—perhaps more than is good for me. HÉBERT. (Clearing his throat) And you are a friend of Madame Céleste? NINON. I am her sister, Your Honor. Not by blood, but by choice. We have shared everything—joy and sorrow, hope and despair. And when she was in danger, I did what any sister would do: I came to her aid. FOURNIER. Mademoiselle de l’Espinasse—can you tell the court how you became involved in this matter? NINON. (Settling herself comfortably) It began with a letter, Your Honor. A desperate letter from Céleste, begging for my help. She told me of her sufferings at the hands of Monsieur de Vautour—of the beatings, the imprisonment, the threats. She told me that she feared for her life. And she asked me—her dearest friend—to save her. HÉBERT. And how did you propose to do that? NINON. (Smiling) By using the only weapons I possess, Your Honor: my wit, my beauty, and my knowledge of men. I knew that Monsieur de Vautour was a vain man, a greedy man, a man who believed himself irresistible to women. And I knew that if I could make him believe that I loved him—that I would marry him if only he were free—he would do anything to secure my affection. VAUTOUR. (Shouting) She seduced me! She tricked me! She— HÉBERT. (Banging his gavel) Silence! One more outburst, Monsieur de Vautour, and I will have you removed! NINON. (Continuing calmly) I visited Monsieur de Vautour, Your Honor. I flattered him. I told him that he was sophisticated, discerning, manly—everything that he wished to hear. And I told him that I could never be his while he remained married to Céleste. I suggested—delicately, of course—that if he were to divorce her, to provide for her generously, I might—just might—consider his suit. HÉBERT. And he believed you? NINON. (Laughing) He believed every word, Your Honor. Men like Monsieur de Vautour cannot imagine that a woman might be cleverer than they. They see only what they wish to see: a beautiful woman, captivated by their charms, eager to be theirs. It never occurred to him that I might be acting from friendship, from loyalty, from a desire to protect my sister. GROSJEAN. (Rising) Your Honor, this witness admits to deception! She confesses that she lied to my client, that she manipulated him— NINON. (Turning on him) I deceived a deceiver, counselor! I manipulated a man who had used fraud and force to steal my friend’s freedom! Is that a crime? Is it wrong to use cunning against cunning, to fight fire with fire? HÉBERT. (Thoughtfully) You are a remarkable woman, Mademoiselle de l’Espinasse. NINON. (Smiling) I am a desperate woman, Your Honor. Desperate to save my friend from a monster. And I would do it again—gladly, proudly—knowing that I have freed an innocent woman from bondage. FOURNIER. Mademoiselle—can you tell the court what happened after Monsieur de Vautour agreed to the divorce? NINON. He signed the papers, Your Honor—papers that I myself had helped to draft, ensuring that Céleste would receive a generous settlement and her complete freedom. And then—(she pauses)—then I disappeared. I left Paris, with a letter telling him that I had never loved him, that I had used him to fre