BARON: I’m not joking. You may not know who he is, you might not even recognise him if you’ve seen him, but if this is Charenton, as you say . . .
VOICE: I’ve said nothing.
BARON: . . . he must be among us. And he’s my salvation. I must find the marquis.
VOICE: If he’s really the one you’re looking for . . .
BARON: Years ago I heard that he puts on plays with the lunatics, that it’s part of the revolutionary treatment. Have you seen any? You must have been present at one of them. It seems it calms the lunatics. Is that so? It seems that people come from Paris just to see them. Of course they’re not going to let me meet him. They’ll do everything to stop that. But I mustn’t go crazy. Even in the worst moments, I’ve kept my head. I damn nearly lost it. I was saved at the last minute. Thanks to the Count of Suz. I’m not going to lose it now. I have to concentrate, concentrate. Who knows if the marquis might not be putting on one of those plays soon? If I’m in the audience, perhaps, when I recognise him on stage, I could have my say.
VOICE: Have your say?
BARON: I could get up and say what’s happened to me.
VOICE: Why don’t you tell the story now?
BARON: Only he can help me.
VOICE: No one can help you.
BARON: He could solve the riddle.
VOICE: What riddle?
BARON: The man’s the devil himself, he’s a genius.
VOICE: I’ve been here for a while and no one’s called me a genius.
BARON: That’s what he is. Tell me once and for all if you know how I can meet him. If you’ve seen him in the asylum. If there are any plays planned.
VOICE: Why don’t you tell your story now?
BARON: Please!
VOICE: How can I solve the riddle if I don’t know what it is? (silence)
BARON: Who are you?
VOICE: I tried to spare you, but since you insist . . .
BARON: Master?
VOICE: Master?
BARON: It’s not possible! I must be dreaming. Tell me it’s true! I can’t believe my ears. What luck! Then it’s true. You were chucked into this pigsty to be forgotten. After all you did for the Revolution. After everything you renounced. With me it was the same. They’ve not got the balls for the real Revolution. Now that you’re old, at the end of your life, they want to do away with your name, silence your reputation. I always wanted to meet you!
VOICE: What are you talking about? And then you tell me you’re not mad.
BARON: No, I’m not mad. See what happened to me for following in your footsteps.
VOICE: Let’s start from the premise that everyone has responsibility for himself, all right?
BARON: (enraptured) Master!
VOICE: Don’t call me master, you buffoon!
BARON: I can’t believe my eyes. Pity I can’t see you. You here, among us. Let me at least touch you.
VOICE: No! Don’t do that!
BARON: At last, someone who speaks my language. Only you can explain to me what went wrong. We followed your instructions to the letter.
VOICE: Instructions?
BARON: The aniseed pastilles.
VOICE: I never gave instructions to anyone. What pastilles?
BARON: The ones from the night in Marseilles, with the Spanish fly, the aphrodisiac, remember?
VOICE: You’re an idiot.
BARON: We did exactly the same thing! To tell the truth, it wasn’t me. But the baroness swore it was the same recipe.
VOICE: That’s all I needed! To share my room with a . . .
BARON: Baron, Baron of LaChafoi.
VOICE: Baron . . .
BARON: Only you can solve this mystery.
VOICE: What mystery?
BARON: Have you never heard of the night of Lagrange?
VOICE: What are you talking about?
BARON: From what I’ve been told, it was in all the important European papers.
VOICE: Once and for all, say what you’ve got to say.
BARON: I am a libertine.
VOICE: Ah!
BARON: Like you, master.
VOICE: Buffoon!
BARON: Stories about you go round all the most secret salons in France. I learnt everything from them. I’m a perfect disciple. I’ve heard them all, from what you did with poor Rose Keller on Easter Sunday (he gives a shrill little laugh) right up to the fascinating night in Marseilles. It’s a legend already. And the baroness managed to get hold of the recipe.
VOICE: The baroness?
BARON: It was she who brought the crushed Spanish fly.
VOICE: Crushed?
BARON: According to the same formula you used.
VOICE: What formula?
BARON: The aphrodisiac, man! Sorry . . . sir. The aniseed pastilles! The baroness got hold of the same formula you gave to the four prostitutes on the celebrated night in Marseilles – she didn’t tell me how. Don’t pretend you’re surprised! You’re amongst friends. To my shock, she asked to be initiated, and planned the party along the lines of yours. She wanted to follow your night in Marseilles step by step. You, your vassal Latour and the four prostitutes. We had to adapt ourselves to the circumstances, since I was caught unawares, and instead of four women we had to make do with two. There was a girl as well as the baroness. For the first time, the baroness wanted to take part at all costs – her, of all people, minx!, she was dying to take part in an orgy after so many years refusing sex, so long as there were no prostitutes to make up the group, as when I’d organised my parties myself. There were only four of us: the baroness, my cousin the Count of Suz, who appeared with her at the last moment and also insisted on taking part for the first time: Martine, the loveliest maid the count could ever dream of having, and me. If my reasoning is correct, they must be here in Charenton too. They must have arrived this morning, like me, or not long ago. Yesterday, perhaps. Or maybe they’ll be here tomorrow. If they’re also suspected. You must have seen them. At least two of them. Those who survived. Whoever’s not here is the dead one.
VOICE: The dead one?
BARON: The victim. It could equally be the baroness, or the count or even the lovely Martine, which would certainly be a terrible misfortune, an irreparable loss. I don’t even know which would be the worst denouement for me. If it’s the baroness, they might allege that I tried to get rid of her to marry the count’s maid. Or that I wanted to get my revenge for her chaste behaviour during all these years, for the humiliation she submitted me to with her chaste wifely refusals, and that I decided to punish her during the orgy, now that she was finally submitting to my desires. Anyone who doesn’t know the story, and doesn’t know about everything she’s put me through since we married, might think I went mad with jealousy when my own wife asked me to take part in an orgy, after telling me she’d been told about my debaucheries by my cousin, the Count of Suz – the truth is, he bears no blame in this matter at all, everything she found out about me she heard in Marseilles and Bordeaux – and that I decided to submit her to the worst punishments so that no such temptation should ever again enter her head. They might think I lost control and killed her, a bit dizzy perhaps from the effect of the aphrodisiacs – what a strange formula! – while she was frightenedly asking me what was going on, what these tortures were. They’ll say that the punishments I inflicted on her got out of my control, and that she finally died from the lashes I gave her. According to the same hypothesis, they can say that I killed the count for having revealed my nights of debauchery to the baroness, but it wasn’t him, I’ve already said that. Or that I killed the count to try and free Martine from his yoke. If Martine is the victim, my love – but it can’t be her! – they’ll surely say that I couldn’t bear seeing her in the hands of the count and the baroness all night long, and that I killed her out of jealousy, and if I swear once again that I was dreaming all the time – what a strange formula! – they’ll say I’m lying. I don’t remember anything. When I awoke in the morning, I found out that someone had died. Or rather, had been murdered. But I don’t know who. Nor do I know who the murderer was. They arrested me on suspicion of murder. And the others too. I imagine so, because I’ve not seen them yet. I didn’t see them when I woke up in the château. We’re all under suspicion, waiting to be tried, I imagine. In court, I couldn’t understand a thing. They were speaking a strange language. All those who were still alive are suspects, that’s what I heard. If at least I knew if the others are here, who’s here with me, I could find out who died. By process of elimination. Whoever’s not here is dead.