FRANÇOIS

Ah! I hear. Will you take some roses, my boy?

MAURICE

You don't understand anything—you are beyond endurance! They are running in the streets, they are all running there, and papa is not here. I will run over there, too, at once. Perhaps he is there. What a day!

FRANÇOIS

Who is running?

MAURICE

You don't understand anything!

Shouts.

They have entered Belgium!

FRANÇOIS

Who has entered Belgium?

MAURICE

They—the Prussians. Can't you understand? It's war! War! Imagine what will happen. Pierre will have to go, and so will I go. I will not stay here under any circumstances.

FRANÇOIS

Straightening himself, dropping the scissors.

War? What nonsense, my boy! Who has entered Belgium?

MAURICE

They—the Prussians. Pierre will go now, and I will go—I will not stay away under any circumstances, understand? What will become of Belgium now?—it is hard to conceive it. They entered Belgium yesterday—do you understand—what scoundrels!

In the distance, along the narrow streets of the town, an uneasy sound of footsteps and wheels is growing rapidly. Distinct voices and outcries blend into a dull, suppressed, ominous noise, full of alarm. The tolling, as though tired, now subsides, now turns almost to a shriek. François tries vainly to hear something. Then he takes up the scissors again angrily.

MAURICE

François!

FRANÇOIS

Sternly.

That's all nonsense! What are you prating, my boy? There is no war—that is impossible.

MAURICE

You are a foolish old man, yourself! They have entered Belgium—do you understand—they are here already.

FRANÇOIS

That's not true.

MAURICE

Why isn't it true?

FRANÇOIS

Because that is impossible. The newspapers print nonsense, and they have all gone mad. Fools, and nothing more—madmen. What Prussians? Young man, you have no right to make sport of me like this.

MAURICE

But listen—

FRANÇOIS

Prussians! What Prussians? I don't know any Prussians, and I don't want to know them.

MAURICE

But understand, old man, they are already bombarding Liège!

FRANÇOIS

No!

MAURICE

They have killed many people. What a strange man you are! Don't you hear the tolling of the bells? The people are on the square. They are all running. The women are crying. What is that?

FRANÇOIS

Angrily.

You are stepping on the flower bed. Get off!

MAURICE

Don't bother me! Why are they shouting so loudly? Something has happened there.

The sound of a trumpet is heard in the distance. The shouting of the crowd is growing ever louder. Sounds of the Belgian hymn are heard faintly. Suddenly an ominous silence follows the noise, and then the lone sound of the tolling bells.

MAURICE

Now they are quiet.... What does it mean?

FRANÇOIS

Nonsense, nonsense!

Infuriated.

You are stepping on the flower bed again. Get off! You have all lost your reason! Go, go! The Prussians!...

MAURICE

You have lost your reason!

FRANÇOIS

I am seventy years old, and you tell me about the Prussians. Go!

Again the shouting of the crowd is heard. Silvina, the chambermaid, runs out of the house and calls: "Monsieur Maurice!"

SILVINA

Please, come into the house. Madame Jeanne is calling you. Madame is going away. Please, come.

MAURICE

And papa?

SILVINA

He isn't here yet. Come!

Both move away. François sits down at the flower bed impatiently.

MAURICE

You don't understand, Silvina. He does not believe that there is a war.

SILVINA

It is very dreadful, Monsieur Maurice. I am afraid—

They go out. François looks after them angrily, adjusts his apron, and prepares to resume his work.

FRANÇOIS

Madmen! I am seventy years old. I am seventy years old, and they want me to believe a story about Prussians. Nonsense, they are crazy! Prussians! But it is true that I don't hear anything.

Rising, he listens attentively.

No, not a sound. Or do I hear something? Oh, the devil take it! I can't hear a sound. Impossible! No, no, impossible! But what is that? How could I believe that in this calm sky—in this calm sky—

The din of battle is growing. François listens again and hears it. He grows thoughtful. His eyes express fright. He looks as though he had suddenly solved a terrible problem. He moves to and fro, his head bent down, as though trying to catch the sounds. Suddenly he throws down the scissors. He is seized with a feeling of terror. He raises his hands.

I hear it. No. No. Now I don't hear a sound. Oh, God, give me the power to hear!

He tries again to catch the fleeting sounds, his head bent, his neck outstretched. His hair is disheveled. His eyes stare. Suddenly, by a great effort, he hears the tolling of the bells and voices full of despair. He retreats and raises his hands again.

My God! They are tolling! They are crying! War! What war? What war? Eh, who is there—who is shouting "War!"?

The sound of the bells and the cries grows louder. Emil Grelieu appears, walking quickly in the alley.

EMIL GRELIEU

What are you shouting, François? Where is Maurice? No one is in the house.

FRANÇOIS

Is it war?

EMIL GRELIEU

Yes, yes, it is war. The Prussians have entered Belgium. But you don't hear anything.

FRANÇOIS

Painfully trying to catch the sounds.

I hear, I hear; are they killing?

EMIL GRELIEU

Yes, they are killing. The Prussians have entered Belgium. Where is Maurice?

FRANÇOIS

But, Monsieur Emil—but, Monsieur, what Prussians? Pardon me; I am seventy years old, and I lost my sense of hearing long ago.

Weeps.

Is it really a war?

EMIL GRELIEU

Yes, it is a real war. I can't understand it either. But the fighting has already commenced. I can't realize it myself, but it is war, old man.

FRANÇOIS

Tell me, Monsieur. Tell me about it. I believe you as I believe God. Tell me. I can hear you. Are they killing?

EMIL GRELIEU

It is war! What horror, François. It is very hard to understand it—yes, very hard.

Frowns and rubs his high, pale forehead nervously.

FRANÇOIS

Bent, weeps, his head shaking.

And the flowers? Our flowers?

EMIL GRELIEU

Absentmindedly.

Our flowers? Don't cry, François—ah, what is that?

The tolling of the bells subsides. The crying and the shouting of the crowd changes, into a harmonious volume of sound—somebody is hailed in the distance. An important announcement seems to have been made there.

EMIL GRELIEU

Absentmindedly.

Our people are expecting the King there—he is on his way to Liège! Yes, yes—

Silence. Suddenly there is a sound like the crash of thunder. Then it changes into a song—the crowd is singing the Belgian hymn.

Curtain

---

SCENE II

The reception hall in Emil Grelieu's villa. Plenty of air, light, and flowers. Large, windows overlooking the garden in bloom. One small window is almost entirely covered