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The Man Without a Past

Based on Jean Anouilh’s “Le Voyageur Sans Bagages," translated and adapted by Frank Reinhard.

Introduction

The year is 1936. Gaston who served in the French infantry was severely wounded in the trenches just before the end of the war. He has lost his memory and has been in a sanatorium for the past eighteen year. He does not remember his name, family or anything at all from his previous life. A wealthy lady, Madame de Grandmaison, is determined to find Gaston’s family. This is not easy as there still many French soldiers missing in action, and many parents have been looking for their sons for years. To help her protégé Gaston, Madame de Grandmaison has published old war-time photographs of his and is offering substantial monetary help to the parents that can positively identify Gaston as their son. On the basis of photographs a number of families came forward in the past, but none turned out to be Gaston’s. Madame Renaud, whose son Jacques has not returned from the war, saw a recent photo of him and is convinced that he is Jacques. She, her older son George and her daughter-in-law Valentine, live in the countryside outside Paris in comfortable circumstances. Madame de Grandmaison has agreed to bring Gaston to their home in hopes of determining if he is Jacques. The play opens in the living room of the Renaud home. The family is impatiently expecting Gaston’s arrival.

-------------------------

The Renauds are seated in their living room. The doorbell rings. George opens the door. Madame de Grandmaison and Gaston have arrived. Mme. De Grandmaison walks in door A, followed by Gaston. All get up. Greetings.

Mme. de Grandmaison: How do you do? You must be Madame Renaud. How very nice to meet you all. May I present my protégé? This is Gaston -- (to Gaston) My dear boy, I am leaving you now with the Renauds. Talk with these good people. Don’t rack your brain. Just talk and relax. And look at them carefully. They may or may not be your family. I’ll be back for you in the evening.

Madame Renaud: Oh, dear lady, I am so grateful to you and so terribly excited! So good of you to come and bring our dear Jacques. I recognized him right away. Won’t you sit down?

Madame de Grandmaison: I am so sorry I can’t, dear Madame Renaud, I have so very many things to attend to, but I will be back in the evening. Good-bye everybody (she exits door A)

Madame Renaud (to Valentine) Dear Valentine, do leave us for a little while. I think it is best if I first talk to my boys alone. (Valentine says ‘certainly, Mother’, as she goes out door B). ( Mme. Renaud to Gaston all the while looking into his face): My dear, dear Jacques, please do sit down, make yourself at home. This is your home. Yes, I know, I am sure it is, because I know you are Jacques. (all three sit down).

Gaston: I am sorry, Madame, but my name is Gaston.

Mme. R.: Yes, it is for now, but I cannot help but call you Jacques. Would you like something to drink? No? Are you comfortable in that chair?---Where shall we begin?. There are a thousand things to talk about! But look, I have our family photo album here, and I do so want to show you pictures from your childhood. Look at this one, for instance. This is you, 10 years old. (Gaston looks carefully at the picture).

Gaston: I always thought I was blond, and shy. This boy is so…….different.

Mme. R.: (smiles) You had brown hair, and you played soccer all day long. You were a tough little boy. (always smiling) And you know what: – I still have all your toys. Your train, your steam engine, and even your slingshot. You used to kill birds with it. And not just the birds in the garden. We had beautiful exotic birds in a large cage, and one day you got inside the cage and killed them all. You were quite a little monster!

Gaston: Birds, I killed little birds?

Mme R.: Yes, you did.

Gaston: How old was I then?

Mme. R.: Nine, maybe ten.

Gaston: I can’t believe that, I would like to believe that I went into the garden to feed them bread crumbs and have them eat out of my hand.

Mme.R.: I don’t think so. If you ever got that close to them you would have wrung their little necks! And then, (warming up to the subject) oh yes, there was the neighbor’s dog, and, Jacques, you were such a good shot, you smashed his leg with one well-aimed shot! (pause)

Gaston: What was I like in school – what subjects did I like best?

George: Geography, Jacques. When you were ten you could recite all the French departments forward and backward!

Gaston: Well, I have to say that so far what you are telling me brings back nothing. (to Mme.Renaud) The boy you are speaking of, your son Jacques, did he have many friends? Boy friends, girl friends? Maybe a friend with whom he liked to spend a lot of time, like trading stamps, climbing trees, - the sort of things boys do?

Mme. R.: Of course, of course. You had lots of friends from grade school on and all thru high school.

Gaston: What about girl friends….I mean women he went out with?

Mme. R. (a bit shocked): Oh, Jacques, you were still young, and then in 1918 you had to go off to war…..

Gaston: Did I….I mean, did Jacques….have a special boy friend?

Mme.R.: (with a quick nervous glance at George) You had many, not one special one.

Gaston: You son did not have a best friend? That’s a pity. I mean, it’s a pity because it would be comforting to know that I had a best friend, you know, so I could ask him about our adventures, the things we did together, the fun we had. It might help me remember. I was hoping for that.

Mme.R. Well, yes, actually there was one. He was your friend until you were fourteen. But we don’t like to talk about him. It’s such a sad story.

Gaston: Is he dead?

George: No, no. He is not dead, but you and he had a falling out. You quarreled.

Gaston: What was the quarrel about? (brief pause before George answers).

George; Well, I remember something about it,….. just vaguely.

Mme. R.: That was just before the war broke out. You got angry at each other over nothing, and you had a fight, you know, the way boys of that age start fighting over nothing, and there was….....an accident. I believe you must have been fighting near the staircase, and your friend fell down the stairs. It was terrible, he broke his back. He had to be in a cast for a very long time and has been an invalid ever since. You never saw him again. It would have been so hard for you to see him again after what had happened. (pause)

Gaston: I see.--- Your son and his friend never saw each other again? Your son did not go to visit him after the accident? He didn’t give up his Saturday afternoons to be with his friend? Not even once? ----- Did anybody see the fight?

George: There was the cook’s helper, Juliette. She said she saw it.

Gaston: Does she still work for you? I would like to talk to her.

Mme.R.: Oh, she is not here any more. I had to let her go long ago. But my dear Jacques, is this really necessary? It’s no good digging up those old stories. It’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Gaston: I can’t leave it at that, Madame Renaud. Something tells me there’s more to it. I must know what went on. So far I have not been able to see myself in any of the things you have told me. I am beginning to feel uneasy. What about the maid, Juliette? Why was she dismissed?

Mme.R.: This is nothing we want to discuss!

George: (hesitates): You liked her a lot. But you were very young. It’s long ago……

Gaston: Was I in love with her?

George: Well…..you might call it that….

Mme. R.: My dear Jacques, let’s talk about something else! Don’t inquire any further into this.

Gaston: Madame, don’t call me Jacques….at least, not yet. I must know everything. I have to be like a detective who checks into everything and questions everything mercilessly. Perhaps I shall have to accept that other Me, that ghost, eventually. But for now I am willing to simply hear all the facts, and accept them - whatever they may be. But I do not want to have to argue with you over that. Above all, I want to know the truth about that fight between the two friends, no matter how unpleasant the truth may be. And about Juliette.

Mme. R.: George, you tell him. I don’t want to talk about that.

George: Jacques –- excuse me, Monsieur Gaston, -- the fight was over Juliette. My brother and his friend were both in love with her. One day Jacques surprised his friend kissing her. They came to blows, Jacques was the stronger one and dragged his friend across the landing. Juliette said that the fight did not begin near the stairs, but that you…- that Jacques.. – dragged his friend to the edge of the staircase and threw him down. He went head first, and crashed at the bottom of the steps. They rushed him to the hospital. That’s all I know.

Gaston: And how do you know this?

George: Juliette told me. I asked her if she had seen the fight, and she told me how it happened…….the whole story..

Gaston: What do you mean ‘the whole story’? Why was Juliette let go? What else is there?

George (to Mme.R.) Mother, shall I go on? He insists! (Mme.R. shrugs, nods silently). We had to let Juliette go.

Gaston: Why??

George (visibly ill at ease): She…well, you know …it was one of those things that happen. She was quite young, barely fifteen. I felt sorry for her…. she cried….believe me, I really felt sorry for her. Mother was worried about what people would say, they were beginning to talk. Mother wanted Juliette out of the house, before it became too obvious. So she let her go.

Mme. R. And I felt quite right about that. I will not have a slut in my house! And now I don’t wish to hear about that any more. I will let the two of you talk alone. (she gets up and leaves door B)

Gaston: Thank you. At least I know that much. What else do you have to tell me?

George: Well, there was one other matter, Jacques –….uh, Monsieur Gaston…- It’s painful for me to talk about all that because I loved my brother. He was my kid brother, after all. Nine years younger, I had helped him with his first steps. But as you insist on knowing everything – and maybe it is useful to bring your memory back – there were other things people were talking about. You were terrible in more than one way.

Gaston: Would you please say ‘ he was terrible in more than one way’. What else was there that I ought to know?

George (hesitant): All right, I’ll tell you about that too. As I said, Jacques was my kid brother and I loved him. Mother was always rather strict with you, she had her principles, and I was too young to have any say. Well, there were these people, the Duvaliers, friends of ours. Nice old people. You needed money for some business deal – you were always involved in something like that -, so you went to old Madame Duvalier and talked her into lending you 5000 francs. You had a fake letterhead printed up, you forged receipts, One day the fraud was discovered, but it was too late: You had already spent all the money. Women, gambling houses, fancy suits – what do I know? The family had to reimburse the Duvaliers. Maybe you really believed in some of those deals. If you ever get your memory back perhaps you’ll be able to tell me. (brief pause)

Gaston: You are really looking forward to your brother’s return.

George (softly) More than you know, Jacques.

Gaston: I want to know if there is anything else you have to tell me.

George: Maybe there is, but let’s talk about it some other time.

Gaston: Why wait? Why not now? I must know all there is.

George: Please, not now.

Gaston: Listen. I am almost certainly not your brother. So please tell me everything there is to tell.

George: Well, you do look like him …….He was always the better-looking one. Maybe not more intelligent, but smarter than I in many ways. I loved him, and he loved me in his own way and that made it all the harder for me to accept this…. (looking down as though it was all his fault then breaking out:) I hated him, I hated him, and then again I couldn’t be angry at him. And in the end I forgave him.

Gaston: You forgave him, -- for what?

George: (looking up) Is it you, Jacques? (Gaston brushes that off with a gesture) . I told myself that he was young and weak and impulsive and that…well…... anything may happen on a beautiful summer night with a pretty girl whose husband was gone…….And I told myself that I was far away at the front and that she was young too….

Gaston: I am not following very well. Did he take up with….. your wife? (pause) Your wife? George nods sadly) THE BASTARD!

George: (with a sad little smile). Are you my brother Jacques?

Gaston: (after a pause, in a broken voice:). Is your name George?

George: Yes

Gaston: (with a helpless gesture and voice) Oh God, George….…(then to himself God, the lovely memories of one’s past. (Pause. Mme. R. comes back indoor B, sits down. Another pause) Madame, please, can you tell me something nice about me? Some nice childhood memory. I want to hear something nice about myself, something enjoyable. Maybe that would help me remember.

Mme R.: Oh, that’s easy. You were a fun-loving boy. You were so full of life. And…..so spoiled.

Gaston: Yes, but tell me more about me – about the Jacques that you remember..

Mme. R. Oh, that’s a little difficult, when you ask me like that I can’t think of anything right off.

Gaston: Anything, anything at all.

Mme. R.: When you were thirteen…….

Gaston: No, talk about when I was older, when I was already a man. Those childhood memories are too far in the past.

Mme. R.: Well, when you got older you weren’t telling me much any more. You were going out all the time, like all the boys. You went to bars, to the races. You all carried on as if you owned the world. You were close with your friends, but with me……… except when you came home with prizes and trophies, yes, then…..

Gaston: That’s not what I am interested in. What I want to know about are the months between the end of school and the day I was handed a uniform and a gun and a gas mask and sent off to war. That’s the period of my life I would like to know about.

Mme. R. Let me think…you know, you were pretty well grown-up then, you were going out all the time….

Gaston: Well, at eighteen, even though one may think of oneself as a man one is really still a child. But I want to hear about pleasant things, maybe some little joy, something funny that happened in the house. Maybe there was some funny incident, like when you couldn’t stop a bathroom leak, or when the cook had boiled the chicken instead of roasting it for your dinner company and you couldn’t stop laughing, anything like that, anything at all. Or my joy over a special present you gave me? -----You can’t recall anything like that?

Mme. R.: Not really, not off-hand.

Gaston: Nothing? I find that surprising. Well, tell me about anything else then, good or bad.

Mme. R.: (suddenly embarrassed). All right then, there was something else I think I have to mention. I meant to tell you some other time, but now that you’re insisting I will. I’ll do anything and tell anything that will help you remember. You see, we weren’t on very good terms at that time, you and I. Oh, it was just a silly quarrel. If you could remember it, it might seem more serious to you than it really was and that’s why I really didn’t mean to mention it. Yes, at that time, during those months between the end of school and your military service you and I did not speak to each other.

Gaston: Ah!

Mme. R.: Oh, over some silly little thing, you know.

Gaston: And this quarrel, how long did that last?

Mme. R.: Almost a year.

Gaston: Really? What perseverance! And who started it?

Mme. R.: (after some little hesitation, then determined): Oh, I did, if you will. But it was your fault because you were so silly and stubborn.

Gaston: What childish stubbornness could have caused you not to talk to your son for a whole year?

Mme. R.: You never did anything to make up.

Gaston: Do you mean to say, Madame, that you really let your son go to the front without speaking to him again after an entire year, without kissing him good-bye?

Mme. R.: (suddenly – after a silence - slowly): Yes, I did mean that. (now again speaking faster) It was all your fault. That day, yes, the day you had to leave I had been waiting for you in my room, and you just stayed in yours. You wanted me to take the first step, me, your mother! When you had really offended me so deeply! The others tried to bring us together. But you wouldn’t give in. You just wouldn’t. And then you had to leave.

Gaston: How old was I?

Mme. R. Eighteen.

Gaston: I must not have realized where I was going. At that age war seems like a great adventure. But that wasn’t 1914 when the girls put flower bouquets on the muzzles of the soldiers’ rifles as they went off to war and everybody thought it would be over quickly. No, that was in 1918 when the war raged in the trenches! You, as a mother, you had to realize that..

Mme. R. I thought the war would be over by the time you left training camp, or that I would see you again on furlough before you actually had to leave for the front.---- And then, you were always so hard on me, so harsh.

Gaston: You couldn’t bring yourself to come and say to me ‘we’ve been fools, let me kiss you, let’s make up’?

Mme. R,:(apologetic) I was so scared of your hard eyes, the way you’d look at me. You were so proud and stubborn.. I was scared you would shut the door in my face.

Gaston: Well, you could have come to my room, you could have cried at my door, you could have asked me to let you in, you should have asked me on your knees to let you kiss me before I had to go off to war. Why didn’t you, why??

Mme. R.: But I am your mother!!

Gaston: Your son was eighteen years old and sent off to war to die. I have to tell you this, Madame, that even though he may have been mean and proud and stupid you should have begged him on your knees to forgive you.

Mme. R.: Forgive me? Why? I hadn’t done anything!

Gaston: And what had I done for such a terrible rift to come between you and me?

Mme. R.: All right, Jacques, I’ll tell you. You had got it into your head to marry a little typist you had met somewhere, I don’t know where, and who had probably refused to be your mistress. Love and marriage are serious things. Could we allow you to mess up your life and bring this little girl into our family?? Don’t tell me you were in love with her! Does an eighteen-year old know what love is, what it means to start a family, to be a responsible person? At eighteen, after meeting a girl just three weeks before at some dance?? That’s what it was about.

Gaston: (after a brief pause) Certainly, that was silly of me. But you knew that my year would be called up soon, you knew I was going off to war and might get killed.

Mme. R.: But we didn’t think you would be killed, Jacques! And I haven’t told you everything yet: (her voice rising) Do you want to know what you yelled at me, with your face distorted by rage, and your fist raised against me, against me, your mother, do you really want to know? You shouted ‘I hate you, I hate you!’ – Yes, that’s what you did! ( pause). Now do you understand why I stayed in my room and waited for you to come to me, right up to the moment when I heard the door shut behind you?

Gaston (after a pause, softly): At eighteen I died, without even a little bit of comfort, without my mother’s love. And you never talked to me again. And one night at Verdun I was lying in a trench with my shoulder shattered, and I was twice as alone as my comrades who had their mothers to cry out to. (then as if talking to himself) It’s true, I hate you. (he gets up).

Mme. R (very alarmed): Jacques, what’s getting into you? (brief pause)

Gaston (as if getting back to reality, looks at her): What? I’m sorry. I apologize. (taking a few steps back from her): I am not Jacques Renaud. I recognize nothing of his past. I remember none of it. Momentarily, when I was listening to you, I confused myself with him. I am sorry about that. But, you see, for a man without memory, an entire past life, if it is his life, is a heavy burden to take on, and in such a brief span of time.----------Madame, it would be kind of you to let someone take me back to the sanatorium, now. It would be better for me. It’s my real world. I am happy there. I work in the garden, I polish floors, I serve at tables. It’s quiet there. The days go by, one after another. I am happy there. And during that second half of my life, in the sanatorium, I did not have to carry this heavy burden of the first half of my life, of those eighteen years that you talk about, and which you have called ‘ my past’.---- Madame, you must go on looking for your son. I am not he.

Mme. R.: But Jacques……..!

Gaston: Please don’t call me Jacques again. Jacques carries a terrible load. My name is Gaston. Gaston may be nobody, but at least I know who he is. But this Jacques whose memory is surrounded by little dead birds, this Jacques who cheated, deceived, raped, and who went off to war all alone without his mother’s love and blessing , this Jacques who seems to never have loved anyone at all, -- this Jacques, Madame, I am afraid of him..

Mme. R.: But, my dear……..!

Gaston: I am not your dear. Get away from me!

Mme. R. (very upset): Now you are speaking again the way you used to in the past!

Gaston: I have no past. Leave me alone! I am not your son, and you are not my mother.

Mme. R.: Very well, Jacques. When you realize that I am your mother you will have to come to me and apologize..(She rushes out doorB. Right after she leaves Valentine comes in door B. She has heard the last part of the conversation thru the door).

Valentine: You said Jacques never loved anyone? What do you know about it, you, who seems to remember nothing?

Gaston (staring at her): You too, leave me alone.

Valentine: Why are you talking like that to me? What’s wrong?

Gaston: Go away. I am not Jacques Renaud!

Valentine: Are you afraid of him?

Gaston: Maybe.

Valentine: Being afraid is one thing. Having to live under Jacques’ shadow is hard, yes, I can understand that. But why the hatred, and why against me?

Gaston: I didn’t like the way you looked at me from the moment you saw me. You were Jacques’ mistress, weren’t you?

Valentine: Who had the nerve to say that?!

Gaston: Your husband (pause)

Valentine: All right, let’s say you were my lover, and I wanted you back, as my lover ---- why should that bother you?

Gaston: Don’t you see, I am being thrust into a new world, a world that isn’t mine, that wasn’t mine, and that cannot be mine. And you think that it isn’t terrible to take the wife of a brother who loved me and who has been good to me?

Valentine: (softly and gently)Let me tell you the whole story. I was an orphan, I didn’t have a penny. My aunt took me in and took care of me. She used to make parties for me so I could meet somebody and get married, but I didn’t care for the men she introduced me to. And then I met your brother and you on holiday at Dinard, by the sea, I played tennis with you, I went swimming with you, a lot more often than with your brother. We went for walks along the cliffs, you and I. And then we kissed, but I never kissed your brother George. Later, when your mother made parties at her house your brother fell in love with me, but I went to her parties only to see you, to be with you.

Gaston: All the same you married him.

Valentine: To be near you how could I have married anybody else?

Gaston: If that’s a question you had better write to ‘Dear Madeleine’ in the ‘Figaro’!

Valentine: I became your mistress right after George and I came back from our honeymoon.

Gaston: Ah, well, couldn’t we have waited a little bit?

Valentine: A little bit? We did wait! Two months, two horrible months! But then after that, we had two wonderful years together, because the war had broken out and George had to leave almost immediately for the front; (softly) and after he left, Jacques….. (she tenderly touches his arm, he shrinks back from her).

Jacques: I am not Jacques Renaud.

Valentine: Then .please let me look at the ghost of the only man I have ever loved. ((she smiles) Oh, Jacques, the way you bite your lip…. (she looks into his face – he turns away) Does nothing you see remind you, not my eyes, my voice, nothing?

Gaston: Nothing.

Valentine: (gently) Can you understand how hard that is for a woman who was deeply in love with a man to find him again, after an eternity, to know him by the way he bites his lip, and he denies knowing her?

Gaston: Perhaps I am some ghost, but I am not Jacques Renaud.

Valentine: Look at me. Please look at me.

Gaston: I am looking at you. You are a very charming woman, but I am not Jacques Renaud!

Valentine: I am nothing to you, are you sure?

Gaston: Nothing.

Valentine: Then you will never get your memory back.

Gaston: I am beginning to hope so. (suddenly very disturbed) Why do you say I will never get my memory back?

Valentine: Because you don’t even remember someone you saw just two years ago!

Gaston: Two years ago?

Valentine: Don’t you remember the laundry girl, the replacement girl, that came to your sanatorium two years ago…..….?

Gaston: A laundry girl? (brief pause, suddenly). Who told you that?

Valentine: Nobody. After we had seen photographs of you I went to the sanatorium, with the family’s approval, to see if you could be Jacques, and I posed as a laundry girl. I wanted to find out if it was you, I wanted to get a very good look at you and to be near you. Now look at me carefully, you man without memory……

Gaston: (staring at her, troubled): That was you, the laundry girl, the one that stayed only one day?

Valentine: Yes, that was me.

Gaston: And you said nothing to me, that day?

Valentine: I didn’t want to say anything to you….before…..you see, I trusted so much in the power of love, your love, and I thought that if I made love with you, you would remember.

Gaston: But afterwards?

Valentine: Somebody saw us, in the laundry…

Gaston: Ah, yes, the supervisor.

Valentine: Yes, the supervisor.

Gaston: : And when you got home you didn’t shout from the roof tops that you had seen me and recognized me??

Valentine: Of course, I told George and mother. But there were many other families who were looking for men missing in action and who had also seen your photo and claimed you were theirs…. My mother-in-law immediately wanted to…..

Gaston: ….I am going crazy. The whole world believes I am Jacques Renaud, but that does not make me Jacques Renaud!

Valentine: And yet you suddenly remember the laundry girl and that large bale of linen she was carrying?

Gaston: Well, sure, I remember that. Apart from my amnesia there’s nothing wrong with my memory.

Valentine (coquettish): Will you now take her in your arms, your laundry girl?

Gaston: Let’s wait and see if I am Jacques Renaud.

Valentine: If you are Jacques Renaud??!

Gaston: If I were Jacques Renaud I wouldn’t become your lover again for anything in the world. I would never become the lover of my brother’s wife!

Valentine: But you already were!

Gaston: That is so long ago. I feel cleansed of my youth.

Valentine: (with a triumphant little laugh): So you have already forgotten your little laundry girl? If you are Jacques Renaud, then just two years ago you were the lover of your brother’s wife. You, yes, you, not some ghost from the past!

Gaston: I’m telling you, I am not Jacques Renaud!

Valentine: It’s time, Jacques, that you forgot your simple life as an amnesiac in a sanatorium and face up to your past. In the final analysis we all have to accept ourselves for what we are. You spent eighteen years having to think of no one but yourself , but today, Jacques, today are you reborn as a man, with all that this means, good and bad. You cannot escape your past. Accept it, Jacques, and (gently and urgently)…….. accept me.

Gaston: If I were forced by some proof, real proof, to accept the other Me, I would.. But I would never accept you. I would never take my brother’s wife from him again.

Valentine: You are using lofty words! Now that you are being reborn as a new man, the man will see that none of his new problems are so simple that he can apply simple formulas to them…… You already took me once before from your brother.

Gaston: I don’t want to listen to you. I am not Jacques. I am not the one that raised his hand against his mother, that cheated old people, that violated a young maid….

Valentine (startled): What maid?

Gaston: (angry): That was something else.-- ----The man that stands before you is not the man you think he is. He is not Jacques. I told an old woman that I hated her, but that woman was not my mother!

Valentine: Yes, she was. And that’s why you said what you said, and did what you did.. And, look, all it took for you was to brush up against the faces and facts of your past to go back to some of your old ways. Jacques, I am going up to my room for ten minutes because I see you are getting very angry as you always did. But I know your anger will blow over in ten minutes. It always has. Then I’ll come back.

Gaston: You are beginning to annoy me. What you are saying is that you know me better than I know myself.

Valentine: I do, Jacques. Before I go listen to one more thing I have to say: I have definite proof that you are Jacques, and I am the only one that has it...

Gaston: (taken aback) I don’t believe anything you say.

Valentine: Wait, I will tell you.

Gaston: I don’t want to believe you. I don’t want to believe what you or anybody says about me. I don’t want to hear about that man’s past. (as if speaking to himself) So you think you have real proof? As I listen to all of you, little by little I feel a spectre rising behind me, some hybrid being in which there is a little bit of each of the sons but nothing of me, Because I am not like them. Don’t you see? I am me. Me. This me exists in spite of all your stories….Just now you spoke of my simple life as an amnesiac. That’s true. It was simple.… And now you are again trying to make me believe that I am Jacques. Please understand: Jacques’ past is not my past.

Valentine: If you’ll just listen to me for one minute you will see that it’s really quite simple. I am giving you a simple solution of your problem.. Will you listen to me?

Gaston: I am listening.

Valentine: . Do you remember the terrible fight we had when I thought you were deceiving me? (G. shakes his head) You don’t remember? Ah, yes, I forgot you are not Jacques. I was in such a rage that I scratched your chest like a wild beast, and you were bleeding. You still don’t remember? Well, Jacques, if you are Jacques, and I know you are, you will find a small scar from that scratch. It’s shaped like a small V. It’s on your chest just below your heart. (she points at his chest) It’s small, and maybe even you never noticed it. But I know it’s there. Look for it, Jacques, you will find it. (she leaves door B).

(Gaston slowly opens his shirt and looks at his chest using a hand-mirror, but says nothing. P a u s e . Enter Madame de Grandmaison door A)

Mme. de Grandmaison.(bubbling): My dear Gaston, there you are, I am back early because I am done with all my business in town. I was so anxious to know how things have been coming along. Are the Renauds your family?(G.shakes his head) You are shaking your head? I must tell you that now there’s a new development. Imagine, there are some people that flew in from London, their name is Merchant, they say they are the English relatives of the Marchand family in Bordeaux, and they feel quite sure that you are a Marchand! I believe the Marchands are all dead and gone.Oh, this is thrilling and confusing! But we just have to find out without the shadow of a doubt. I told the Merchants to come straight away from Orly airport to Madame Renaud’s house without stopping in Paris. I told Madame Renaud about it and it upset her no end, poor dear, but then she graciously agreed to have the Merchants come here. You know, she is so very sure that you are her son. I must go at once and meet these people. (exits door B)

(Valentine returns door B)

Valentine: You have told her? About the scar?

Gaston: I didn’t find any scar. I looked carefully. There is no scar. You are mistaken.

Valentine: What are you saying??!! (she is stunned, stares at him, after a moment she screams). I hate you!! I hate you!!

Gaston: Maybe it’s better that way.

Valentine: Do you understand what you are about to do?

Gaston: Jacques is about to deny what others say is his past and everyone in it – himself included. Perhaps you are my family, I don’t know, but in any case ……… I don’t care for any of you. I don’t want you, and I refuse to accept you.

Valentine: (very upset) But that’s monstrous! One can’t deny one’s past. One can’t refuse to accept oneself!

Gaston: It’s a privilege others may only dream of, but I have this privilege.

Valentine: And my love for you, are you going to deny that too? And what if I were to shout now from the roof tops that you have that scar, and that I know how you got it, that I recognized you when I saw the scar that night two years ago in the sanatorium laundry?!

Gaston: I thought of that, but I doubt you would do it.---- And, if you don’t mind, I am supposed to see another family that has just arrived to meet me. (Valentine leaves indespair door B)

(long pause)

(A young girl enters hesitatingly door A – perhaps 16-17 years old - somewhat childish-naïve, looking around)

Young Girl: Excuse me, Monsieur, is this Madame Renaud’s home?

Gaston: It is. Are you looking for her?

Young Girl: Well, actually, no. I am looking for a man. They said he is an amnesiac, that’s someone, you know, who doesn’t remember anything. He came from a sanatorium. I am supposed to meet him here. The front door was open so I took the liberty of coming in. I’m Janie Merchant.

Gaston: My name is Gaston. I can have the butler call Madame Renaud.

Young Girl (Janie): No, please don’t. I just want to relax for a moment. This has been such a rush trip, quite strenuous. I am from London. My uncle and I flew into Paris and then we almost missed our train to come out here.. A Madame de Grandmaison asked us to come right away. My uncle should be here shortly. I hope we can meet the man who has lost his memory and help him get it back. (she lounges in her chair)

Gaston: Do you know what he looks like?

Janie: Well, last week in a newspaper my uncle Charles and I saw some photographs of him that were taken at the sanatorium. He was wounded in the war. Shell shock. They say he lost his memory. Poor man!. I I never met him in person.

Gaston: How are you connected with him, young lady?

Janie: That’s a long story. You see, I am his aunt.

Gaston: You are his aunt? How’s that possible? You look like you are barely sixteen, and if he was a soldier in the war he must be at least thirty-five by now. How could you be his aunt? Don’t you mean he is your uncle.?

Janie(chatty) : Not at all. He is my nephew. It’s a strange thing. My grandfather had children quite late in life. So that’s how it happened that my nephew, the man who lost his memory, is more than twice my age. My uncle Charles told me that there is some complication with the inheritance laws in England and France, which I don’t understand, and that we have to find this French nephew of mine. His name is Pierre, or Peter. My uncle saw his picture last week in a French newspaper. If we don’t find him it’ll be bad for us because we stand to lose an awful lot of money that should by rights be coming to me. I would be very upset about that. Wouldn’t you? The inheritance includes a beautiful estate in Essex with horses and hounds, and I just love to ride. Imagine how upsetting it would be to lose all that! Do you like horses? I am crazy about them. Legal things are so complicated. But my Uncle Charles understands them very well. He is a lawyer and an old friend of my father. My father and mother are dead and I rely completely on Uncle Charles.

Gaston: But how is it that there is only you here to represent your family?

Janie: That’s because all the rest of them perished when the “Neptunia” sank off the coast of New England many years ago. You must have heard of it. What a tragedy that was! All gone! Everyone of them. I was quite young then, practically a baby. Personally, I don’t remember anything about it at all. (pause)

Gaston (pensive) : I imagine your Uncle Charles must be very anxious to find your nephew.

Janie: Oh, yes, he is indeed. You see, he is getting a commission from the inheritance when it comes thru. Uncle Charles is really very nice, very family-minded.

Gaston: Where is Uncle Charles now?

Janie: He is in the garden having a cigarette. He is quite exhausted from the trip.

Gaston: Are you saying that your entire family perished at sea?

Janie: Oh yes, all of them, even all their friends. They had invited all their friends to join them on the cruise.

Gaston: Perfect. Perfect----- Will you excuse me? (He leaves the room quickly door A))

(George enters thru door B, sees Janie).

George: Who are you? What are you doing here?

Janie: The door was open, so I walked in.

George (irritably): This is my mother’s house! You can’t just walk into somebody’s home because the door is open.

Janie (apologetic) : I am so sorry. I think I am not very bright. I am supposed to be in college but I had to repeat three years in high school because I get things mixed up all the time. They tell me I am slow. I don’t know what they mean because I can run pretty fast, just as fast as the boys I really don’t like school. I like horses a lot better!

George: I don’t understand what this might have to do with us, and I certainly don’t know why you are here. I have things to take care of. Wait here for me. I’ll be back. (George goes out door B).

Gaston returns after a long pause door A, ( It is essential to make this pause last at least 2 minutes). He sits down again. He has a broad, somewhat shrewd smile on his face and is smoking a cigaette.

George: I am back. So what were we talking about, young Janie?

Janie (enthusiastic) I was telling you about the horses.

Gaston: Ah, yes, the horses.

(Uncle Charles comes in door A, smoking a cigarette, sees Gaston. Broad smile on his face)

Uncle Charles (ebullient): Ah, you must be Pierre Marchand! When the family used to talk about you they always referred to you as Peter, the Emglish version of Pierre. I see you have already met my niece Janie. (looking carefully at Gaston). Yes, I can see it, there’s no doubt, you look just like the old photos I have in my possession. Monsieur Marchand, or may I call you Pierre? I am so glad we have come, this has been a search of I don’t know how many years, but now that we have finally found you we shall take you back with us to England! As I look at you there is no question in my mind that you are our long lost Peter, or Pierre ! No doubt whatsoever! I know that for certain. Absolutely!

(Madame de Grandmaison enters door A)

Mme de Grandmaison: Ah, there you are, Gaston, I have been looking for you!

Gaston: (to Mme. de Grandmaison). Madame, may I present my aunt Janie Merchant and her uncle Charles Merchant, who is the legal advisor of the Merchant family. Imagine, this is really terrible, young Janie here is the only living member of the Merchant family. Her whole family died at sea. You know, the Merchants are the English relatives of the Marchand family in Bordeaux. I am totally surprised but Mr. Charles Merchant has just informed me of something quite startling and really very, very important. He told me that he is sure that I am Pierre Marchand, Miss Janie Merchant’s nephew, who has not returned from the war, and that I can be identified by a mark on my chest. A small V shaped mark, he says. This was mentioned in an old letter he discovered among the family papers. I understand that this mark is unmistakable and positive proof of my identity.

Uncle Charles: Yes, indeed I have this letter, and of course I’ll be happy to send copies to the French authorities and to the director of the sanatorium as soon as I get back to London. But first of all we have to look for this mark, to make sure it’s really there. I feel certain it must be.

Gaston: All right, that can be easily verified.. (he bares his chest, Uncle Charles and Mme. de Grandmaison both look carefully).

Janie: (to Gaston): I really hope you have that scar, Peter. I like you so much already. To think that I have such a good-looking nephew! I would be so disappointed if you were not my nephew.

Gaston: (to Janie while Mme. de Grandmaison and Uncle Charles are still examining Gaston’s chest)): Don’t worry, dear aunt Jane. I am certain I am your nephew. (softly).You cannot remember any of your family?....None of the faces?

Janie: Nothing at all. But if that troubles you in any way I could try to find out what they looked like.

Gaston: Don’t bother….. it’s really not important.

Mme de Grandmaison (who is still examining Gaston’s chest, suddenly very excited) I see it, I see it!. There it is, there it is! It’s really there!!

Uncle Charles: (also examining). Yes, indeed, there it is!

Mme de Grandmaison: My God, this is the greatest moment of my life! How we have been waiting for this! Oh, Gaston – or rather, I must call you Pierre now! – how we have waited for this all these years! I am so very happy! But, oh, the poor Renauds, they will be so devastated. How will I tell them about this amazing development??

Gaston: I shall leave this in your capable hands, because I will be gone in two minutes! And I cannot thank you enough, Madame, from the bottom of my heart, for all you have done for me. I shall never forget it.

Mme. de Grandmaison: My dear Pierre, all the best of luck to you! But is there no message you want me to give the Renauds from you?

Gaston: Tell George Renaud that I believe his brother rests peacefully in a grave of unidentified soldiers. And that he should forgive him for what he did to him when he was young.---. And now (putting his arm around Janie)……I would like some time with my family. We have so much to talk about, haven’t we?

C U R T A I N