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Transcript 3 Catalonia

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Rodolf Sirera

The Audition
Translated by John London
Gabriel
All right. You're the one who's directing the performance.

Marquis (softly)
Yes, Gabriel, I am, to all intents and purposes, the director.

Gabriel
Fine. Will you give me just a few seconds to get into the scene?

Marquis
Take your time.

Gabriel
Thank you.

(He reads the open page quickly, but closely. Long silence. He suddenly begins to proclaim in a rather affected manner.)

Tell me, friends... Tell me, you who are by me in this fatal hour . . .what is expected of me... what pose does history require me to strike .... in my death...? A heroic pose, with an expression of eternal rest on my face ... An example to be followed... But history knows nothing about death... about the deaths of individuals... History despises isolated cases. It generalises. It has no desire to know about symptoms, vital processes... It is only interested in the results. And what about me? What am I in all this machinery? Nothing more than a myth. And myths cannot cry out.

(Pause. The Marquis unconsciously begins to shake his head gently in disagreement, but Gabriel, gradually becoming more and more involved in the scene, does not notice.)

But men are the ones who die... And men die painfully, in convulsions, crying out for mercy... they die pathetically... soiling their bedclothes with excrement and the blood of their vomit . . . and they're scared . . . they're scared& terrified... not by a religious fear of what awaits them... no... by a nameless fear... the physical fear of the physical death everyone suffers... because death is consecration, it's the great ceremony of fear. . . Can't you understand that?

Marquis (suddenly in a tone of indifference)
No.

Gabriel (surprised, interrupts his performance. not knowing what to say, hesitating)
Pardon?

Marquis
All I said was no; I can't. Or, at least, I can't understand that from your performance.

Gabriel (rising from the throne, restraining his anger. Slowly)
Does that mean you don't like my acting?

Marquis
What I mean is that your style of acting doesn't manage to convey what's happening to the character.

(Convinced of what he is saying.)

How can I understand, when I can't feel what you're supposed to be feeling?

Gabriel (icily)
Your opinion of my artistic abilities, Monsieur le Marquis, seems rather personal, and is, in practice, contradicted by the overwhelming majority of Parisian audiences. And, when I say audiences, I'm obviously also referring to intelligent people... people as intelligent and as learned as yourself.

Marquis (in a conciliatory tone)
Gabriel, please. . . Listen.

Gabriel
In other words, you invited me to your home and made me act out this absurd farce just so you could make fun of me. Well, I'm sorry, but I won't play your game any more. I don't like being insulted. And, as far as I'm concerned, questioning my artistic talent would be like questioning your nobility.

Marquis (without raising his voice)
You're not making any effort to try and understand. My play is totally different from all other plays...

Gabriel (scornfully)
I've realised that. But I don't see how the two things are connected.

Marquis
It's obvious: a different literary style requires a completely new style of acting.

Gabriel (in a tone of superiority)
Oh, of course...! You're not content with making your debut as a dramatist. You also feel obliged to give me lessons about my profession.

Marquis (patiently)
All I mean is you can't adequately perform what you haven't ever experienced... What you haven't experienced directly and personally. Because you've never gone through the agony of real death...

Gabriel (whose sarcasm is barely restrained)
If I'd gone through the agony of real death, I would have died, and then I wouldn't be able to perform the part. (Surprised by his own reasoning.) Oh, you'll have me talking real rubbish in a minute! (Tying to explain what he means.) According to your argument, every time an actor performed the death of a
character. . .

(Stopping. Not knowing whether he should become yet angrier or burst out laughing.)

But, for heaven's sake! Do you think I'm an idiot? Characters who die on stage every night come back to life after the performance is over. And that's how plays are repeated, day after day.

Marquis (as if thinking out loud)
But they're never exactly the same in every performance... There are always... small differences...

Gabriel
Exactly. Small differences, that's all.

Marquis (becoming progressively more excited as he speaks) But I want to make my play a unique example! Just as my paintings are unique examples... my furniture... my clothes... (He walks round the room excitedly.) and my books (He points to some books, standing upnght between two classical statues, on a piece of furniture.) My books as well... Unique editions, of my favourite texts, made to my specifications.

Gabriel (without understanding)
But in the theatre, that's impossible. With the text of a play, maybe... But in the performance of it...

Marquis (quickly)
In the performance as well, Gabriel. The performance is precisely what I'm interested in!

Gabriel
And where are you going to keep it, then? (Amused.) You can't frame a theatrical performance, like a picture, or put it on a shelf.

Marquis
I want to keep it here. . . (Pointing to his head.) In my memory...

Gabriel (shrugging his shoulders)
If this is just one of your whims...

Marquis (solemnly)
It's not a whim, it's a need.

Gabriel (following a pause, in a tone of connived indifference; Gabriel is about to step off the stage)

All right... Sorry. It seems I'm not good enough for you. You'll have to look for another actor who can attain the level of realism you require. Though, if you don't mind my saying so, I very much doubt you'll find one. In one way or another, we are all products of the same school.

Marquis
But I don't want anybody else; I need you!

Gabriel (confused)
But you said that...

Marquis (annoyed)
You won't let me finish... You won't let me finish, and we've both almost forgotten that time is running out... (As if speaking to himself). Time is running out ... And that could be very dangerous...

Gabriel
Dangerous? Why...? I don't understand.

Marquis Oh, how can you understand, when every time I try and go into details, you make me lose my train of thought, with your academic disquisitions... which are now completely off the point? (Gabriel suddenly seems unable to keep his balance. He raises his hands to his head and stifles a groan. (The Marquis looks at him anxiously.) What's wrong? Are you all right?

Gabriel
My head's turning I feel dizzy... It's strange ... It's as if my legs won't support me... If you'll allow me to... sit down. . .I need to sit down for a bit. . (He drowsily stumbles towards the throne, and sits down. The Marquis does not move or give the slightest indication of wanting to help him.) Forgive me... but I find it very difficult... to concentrate ... You'll have to forgive me... I can't... I can't follow your arguments... Honestly... I can't remember... I don't know what you were talking about... I've forgotten ... And, really... now... I don't even know the reason why... I'm... suddenly... so tired.

Marquis (calmly, after a short pause)
The reason? The reason is very simple, Gabriel... The reason is a combination of that Cypriot wine... and the clock...

Gabriel The... wine?

Marquis (becoming impatient)
Oh! Do I have to spell it out to you in black and white, as if you were some kind of schoolboy? I wanted to test you, Gabriel! You've been part of my experiment!

Gabriel (now beginning to react and show his fear)
An artistic experiment? Is that what you mean?

Marquis
No, of course not! An experiment in physiology ... applied to an actor's technique.

Gabriel Physiology...

(Suddenly realising everything: he is terrified, but does not have the strength to stand up.)

The wine! That's what it is...! Oh, no! No! Oh, God, no! How could you do that!

Marquis (energetically)
I had to know!

Gabriel (panic-stricken; shouting)
You had to know? There's only one thing anybody has to know; and that's that you're a murderer!

Marquis (with dignity)
I'm not a murderer! I'm a scientist! The realm of aesthetics is artificial, and I can't bear artificiality. The only thing I'm interested in is the study of human behaviour! Human beings are real, living things, and the study of them gives me greater pleasure than all your plays and symphonies put together!

Gabriel
You're mad! You're inhuman!

Marquis (triumphant)
You see? Your attitude towards me is changing! Now... Now you're really afraid! Now you're really afraid, and your fear isn't simulated! You know you're going to die... That you've only got a few minutes left to live... Oh! This is the ideal moment to carry out my experiment! You're going to die just like my character! Fiction retreats, defeated by reality! There aren't two views of the world any more! Only one view, one unique view, the truth! The truth above all emotions and social conventions...! The truth, Gabriel! The truth is as precious as life itself!

Gabriel (who has struggled to reach a standing position, takes a few steps forward towards the footlights. Having lost all self-control in a hoarse voice)

If I must die, I'll kill you as well! I'll use all the strength I have left to get my revenge!

Marquis (stands firm; authoritatively)
Wait a minute, Gabriel! Stop! Let me propose... a pact...

Gabriel (hesitant, but still stepping forward)
There's no time left. . . There's no time left for that.

Marquis
Yes there is. (Looking at his watch.) Exactly eight minutes.

Gabriel (Finally stopping, without stepping off the stage) What?

Marquis
The drug is gradually taking over your body... your movements... but you'll be able to think clearly for a minute or two more... (Short pause. Energetically.) You want to save your own life, don't you? All right. Whether or not you do will depend on your own intelligence. (Takes a small bottle out of his pocket, and shows it to Gabriel.) You see this little bottle? It's the antidote.

Gabriel (threatening again)
Give it to me! I'll kill you if you don't!

Marquis (unmoved)
If you dare step off that stage, I'll smash the bottle on the floor.

Gabriel (after a long period of silence, his will is broken and he drops down, defeated, sobbing, overcome by an attack of hysteria)
Oh, no! No...!I...I don't want to die...I didn't mean what I said before.. . ! I don't want to die...!

Marquis (dispassionately, as if talking about a petty commercial transaction)
Stop crying, and listen. Will you accept my conditions? (Gabriel, holding back his tears, nods humbly, without rising from his position on the floor.) All right: you're going to give another performance.

Gabriel (beginning to cry again, frightened)
Act... Oh, no!... I. . . couldn't.

Marquis (unpitying)
You're going to have to.
Gabriel Even if I did... my performance would be, ah . . . would be . . . (Holding back his tears.) disastrous.

Marquis
It's going to have to be your best performance yet, Gabriel. If I don't like it . . . If I don't like it . . . I won't give you the antidote.

Gabriel (glimpsing in the Marquis's words a last glimmer of hope for the condemned man)
Do you swear? I mean, do you swear... Do you swear that if I manage to...?

Marquis (interrupting him)
I give you my word of honour. (Brief pause. Looking at his watch again.) You have six minutes left, Gabriel. A six-minute performance, in exchange for your life. And, if you do save your own life, I can assure you that you'll be paid more than you've earned in the course of your career. But don't waste time now. Make an effort to concentrate and be ready to begin at once. (Opens the drawer of the little table and takes out a small sandglass which he places on the table, beside the bottle containing the antidote.) When all the sand has dropped into the lower half of the sand-glass, the performance will end, and you will find out if you have passed the test. (Sits down in an armchair, next to the table on which he has placed the sand-glass and the bottle.) I'm ready when you are.

(After a pause, Gabriel drags himself up off the ground, and stumbles back to the throne. He sits down, picks up the book, and examines the open page with an impenetrable expression. Silence. Gabriel eventually nods to the Marquis, but does not look him in the face. The Marquis solemnly says:)

Marquis
The performance is now beginning.

(Then, the Marquis, slowly and with almost ceremonial care, turns the sand-glass upside down so that the sand starts to fall. Gabriel, as if jerked into action by an invisible spring, simultaneously begins his performance.

Gabriel, in spite of his physical state, is clearly seen to be making a great effort of willpower to excel. He is tense, concentrating on his role and trying to vary each part of the speech, each word, and to imbue every movement of his arms and head with meaning; even his slightest, most insignificant gestures are moved by a primitive desire to transcend his present wretchedness as an actor, and raise it to the category of a great sacrificial rite, offered up to the implacable categories of a supreme beauty free from affectation. Acting against himself, contrary to his own intuition, contrary to his convictions and his artistic experience, Gabriel devotes body and soul to the search for vibrant intonations which are, at the same time, full of humility, and completely removed from the rhetorical formulations he used in his first reading of the extract. His acting thereby becomes so natural, so sincere, that his first performance of the text seems artificial by comparison. He speaks very slowly, alert even during the pauses; he is carried along by his own vital rhythm, and is brilliantly fused with his character. In his eagerness, the Marquis holds his breath and stares at the actor's face. Thick beads of sweat begin to appear on the foreheads of both men. Every pause, every new word gathers on the walls and the furniture, which echo the mysterious rhythms and forebodings of death and hope.)


Gabriel
Tell me, friends... Tell me, you who are by me in this fatal hour... what is expected of me... what pose does history require me to strike... in my death...? A heroic pose, with an expression of eternal rest on my face... An example to be followed... But history knows nothing about death... about the deaths of individuals... History despises isolated cases. It generalises. It has no desire to know about symptoms, vital processes... It is only interested in the results. And what about me? What am I in all this machinery? Nothing more than a myth. And myths cannot cry out. But men are the ones who die... And men die painfully, in convulsions, crying out for mercy... they die pathetically... soiling their bedclothes with excrement and the blood of their vomit... and they're scared... they're scared. . . terrified . . . not by a religious fear of what awaits them... no... by a nameless fear... the physical fear of the physical death everyone suffers... because death is consecration, it's the great ceremony of fear... Can't you understand that?

(Gabriel stops when he reaches this point. It is exactly the same point at which he was interrupted by the Marquis in the first reading. Gabriel is in a state of panic because he knows that the fatal answer will soon be given; he cannot go on. The consequences of the great effort he has made to keep his self -control and act without showing his real state start to become more and more apparent.)

Marquis (after a long period of silence, faced by Gabriel's questioning anguished expression, and realising that the actor's resistance has reached its breaking point) There's no need for you to go on.

(Pause. Gabriel does not dare say anything. He is afraid to ask. The Marquis prolongs the tension of the situation by speaking very slowly.)

All of the sand hasn't yet dropped...

(He picks up the sand-glass and leaves it in a horizontal position on the table.)

But that will do.

(He stands up, takes the bottle cont