Gabrielle

Today I'm coming home

earlier than usual.

I took the inner circle train

I worked hard.

l won't go by the Club.

I have the ease of contentment,

not disdainful, but confident.

A man with money and friends.

I'm taIl and heaIthy.

Friends say I have the cold stare

of achievement,

like excelling in sports

or making money.

I'm not a sportsman,

but money comes easily.

Ive been married for ten years.

My wife is well bred and intelligent.

She was bored at home.

Her individuality had no play.

She seemed so much the right sort

that I succumbed to her charms.

Friends said I was very much in love

and I said so myself.

Every man fa is in love

once in his life,

and that was the real first time.

Before, Ive had seemed

an unnecessary bother.

After we were married,

our circle of frends grew.

Fifty peopIe became aware

of our existence.

Now thirty more invite us,

and we invite them.

Our dinners may be less famous

than others,

but many value ours more.

We're not being frivolous.

Those at our table are part of our set.

Men and women who fear

emotion and failure

more than fire, war, or fatal disease.

Let me give you the complete list:

A cuckold husband kills his wife.

A woman poisons her lover.

Infanticide. Patricide.

Virgins raped. Blood. Tears.

Death everywhere.

Thats theater today!

Revoltind stories that are all alike.

For there is my real misfortune

that looms up in life like a wall...

I look at my wife.

That placid face.

Gabrielle is perhaps paler today,

But that palor is part of her appeal.

Im proud of what she is: impassive.

She was like that ten years ago.

The same stol dity, the same smile.

You ove that.

t's monstrous! Like two hours

in your worst nightmares!

I aIways dream of very safe things,

with loving strangers.

I trust Gabrielle entirely.

She is candid and faithful.

I know her thoughts,

even her most secret ones,

and her dreams.

I never repeat what a stranger tells me.

I keep it to my self.

Not knowing me,

he didn't mean for me to repeat it.

Theres someone you still dont know?

What does it mean to know someone?

Who knows whom, in fact?

Well, I know Made eine,

and you, of course.

The others are enigmas.

Gnawing doubts are tiresome.

Take Jean, hes an absolute fortress.

But not GabrieIIe.

No, not GabrieIIe.

Not Gabrielle, what?

I dont see the need to know people

to enjoy their company.

I have no taste for the secrets

Madeleine loves.

Jean's acquantance a one is enough.

I enjoy your company.

As you should ours.

Or should we do without it?

Idealist, sentimental,

and incensed.

not too much for one person?

One day,

to give her individuality fair play,

Gabrielle took up philanthropic work.

I took an active interest in politics.

Having met a literary man

related to an early.

I was induced to finance

a moribund newspaper.

It was utterly devoid of convictions.

And then it started to pay.

I'd made a good investment.

He said something...

Who, Francis?

He said he was tired of playing.

No one is obliged to play.

They can just watch.

Playing cards is normaI.

Did he tell you?

He never speaks to me directly.

Hes afraid he might let himself go.

I think once let something slip

that he regrets...

Artist types started coming

to our house.

Our Thursdays became famous.

People from the paper joined us.

Why shouId Francis' attitude

affect your circle,

your home?

The editor, for one.

I must tell you about this editor.

Is it so important?

I don't like him.

He sits in the drawing room,

and taks for hours with a smile

on his thick lips.

He writes poetry.

Hes a jackass.

I shouldn't criticize, he's not alone.

Thats not what Francis said.

He said the game was over.

I remember now.

"Now, the game is over!" he said.

He also said he wanted

an illness to carry him off.

''But not too fast.''

He wanted to be sure to die,

but to have t me to ponder his errors,

to take stock, so to speak.

What? A saint committing errors?

Then he's no saint.

"Stock" is no overstatement.

He hasn't spent an evening home

in the past 20 years.

A staggering notion.

If one is so clear-sighted,

how can one bear to go out so often?

What for?

- I'm going.

- Goodbye.

EspeciaIly if each outing

is chance to commit an error.

The Martineaus are expecting me.

Are they as good as us?

They're society people.

Aren't we all?

Some more than others.

You may never get invited

to the Martineaus.

If you are, we will be.

Dont worry about that.

Did Francis stop coming to us first,

or the Caste -Blanchets?

I'm lost.

The idea of it being us first!

Why come every other week?

Stop coming for good!

Hes not sure not to love us.

Francis never loved anyone.

So its easy to be a saint.

The love we give

makes us what we are.

How can you not love anyone?

Not knowing your own heart.

One day yes, one day no.

How awful.

I think hes hiding.

Even his inflexibility,

everything people admire in him.

''Francis' love

is a step toward sainthood.''

He invests energy in his mask.

The veneer's cracked.

Never hide your true nature.

We have a certain quantity of things

to do in life.

Some do them faster than others.

and after that, they collapse.

Did I tell you how met Gabrielle?

It was years ago, I remember well.

We were strolling up a lawn.

Groups of guests

were scattered in the sunshine.

Colored parasols

peeked through the trees.

It was a truly splendid day.

Nothing could possibly go wrong.

The women wore page summer dresses.

The men in their dark suits smiled.

It was like in a magic garden,

where animated flowers smile at bewitched knights.

Madam isn't in.

There was a sumptuous serenity

to it all.

I knew then

that hapiness was the lot

of all mankind,

and I wanted something

of that splendor for myself.

That day.

Gabrielle was crossing a meadow.

Seeing her

l thought nothing could go wrong

in a world of such distinction.

I was proud,

l wanted to grasp it firmly,

get what gratification I could.

That brutal desire seemed suddenly

the most noble of aspirations.

I checked to see

if we were being observed,

I felt inspired.

I spoke to her. I proposed to her.

And I married her. Ten years ago.

GabrieIle is no ordinary woman.

I ove her as a collector

does his most prized item.

Once acquired,

it becomes his so e reason to live.

In t me we came

to know each other enough

for all practice purposes.

That's important.

We have no intimacy, nor need of any.

My desire s appeased.

lt's become a habit.

We share the same bedroom.

l insisted on that much.

I have no need for affairs,

just twin beds and two nightstands,

and Gabrielle in the other bed.

When we die, she will lie

in the grave next to...

Why write when she knows

ill be home for dinner?

A bit ridiculous, isn't it?

"Jean, in a hour I will have left...

"... go to a man...

''...hide it any longer...

"...it mey seem terrible and mad.

"It is terrible and right.

''Forgive me. Goodbye.''

I'M NOT TO BE DISTURBED!

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