Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 347 The Curtain Falls!

This tycoon, a wealthy capitalist, didn't even appear on stage immediately, but his invisible pressure had already spread.

As the footsteps drew closer, he finally appeared—Charles de La Verne, the true owner of the estate.

He was dressed in a well-tailored black tuxedo, tall and with a stern face; his gray hair was neatly combed.

His eyes were sharp as an eagle's, scanning the living room without any warm greetings; instead, they seemed to be scrutinizing him.

This "Lord Laverne" has been suppressing everyone else in the living room from the very beginning, and he has "victoriously" achieved victory in all of them.

When "Anto" said his mother wasn't sick, he refuted him mercilessly—

[La Verne: Who told you that? Did you often come to ask about your mother's illness while I was away?]

When Antoine showed sympathy for Marcel and the working class he represented, he rebuked him with equal disdain—

[La Verne: Do you even know what society is? How many books have you read about socioeconomics? I remember when I was in university, I considered myself far more knowledgeable about this than you are with your half-baked understanding of society!]

Finally, his "summary" fell on the silent "Mrs. Madeleine"—

[La Verne (raising his head): I think you talked too much this time. (Turning to Madeleine) He's become very much like you these past two years.]

When his eldest son, Edward, said he was going to work in the mines, his first reaction was skepticism.

[La Verne (pauses, looks at Edward): Can you handle hardship? If you're going to do it, do it thoroughly. I don't want my son to be the subject of gossip.]

This style of conversation, characterized by constant confrontation and suppression, created a somewhat frozen atmosphere in the theater.

At this moment, the entire Comédie-Française, with its nearly two thousand audience members, fell completely silent, a heavy pressure permeating from the stage to every corner of the theater.

Those gentlemen who were usually aloof and elegant, whether nobles or wealthy businessmen, all subconsciously restrained their aura.

In Laverne, they saw the shadow of their own fathers, or even the cold, tyrannical patriarchs they themselves were portraying...

A mixture of awe, fear, and unease spread through the hearts of the audience.

This oppressive atmosphere reached its climax in the scene where La Verne forces his wife, Madame Madeleine, to drink the medicine—

Laverne (turning to Antoine, commanding): "Antoine, take the medicine to Mother."

Antoine (reluctantly): "Father!"

Laverne (glaring at him): "Go!"

Under his father's piercing gaze, Antoine had no choice but to take the medicine bowl from Fanny's hands, his hands trembling slightly with anger and helplessness.

He placed the medicine in front of his mother, then turned back, attempting a final act of protest: "Father! Please don't do this!"

Laverne (in a loud voice): "I want you to say it—please drink, Mother!"

...]

In the audience, the gentlemen subconsciously adjusted their bow ties, while the ladies held their breath.

Laverne's merciless imposition of his personal will on others, and his chilling sense of authority, suffocated everyone.

The audience personally experienced the oppression that Madame Madeleine endured.

Seeing that his wife still refused to take the medicine, La Verne simply ordered Edward to join in the "persuasion"—

[Ravel: "Edward, persuade your mother to drink it."]

Edward (suddenly looking up): "Father! I—"

Laverne (interrupting loudly): "Go! Go to your mother! Kneel down and plead with her!"

Edward (pleading in anguish): "Oh, Father!"

Laverne: "Kneel down!"

...]

Ultimately, Mrs. Madeleine could not bear the immense pressure. She almost cried as she drank the medicine and then fled the living room as if escaping.

On the stage, Lord Laverne stood expressionless, as if everything that had just happened was merely an insignificant disturbance.

Antoine stared blankly in the direction his mother had left, and tears finally fell.

Edward bowed his head deeply, his body trembling, as if the weight of the entire world was pressing down on his shoulders.

It's so depressing! So real!

Lord Laverne's cold, unquestionable authority gripped the throat of every audience member.

Whether it was the ladies who felt the same way or the gentlemen who also held power in the family, they all felt a fear that came from the depths of their souls.

It wasn't a fear of violence or death, but a fear of a system that used "reason" and "responsibility" as a pretext to exercise absolute control.

It is silent and insidious, yet powerful enough to crush one's will and distort one's soul.

Then, hushed gasps and whispers swept through the entire theater!
"God! I can't breathe!"

"This is despotism! A tyrant in the family!"

"Bernhardt's final performance...it broke my heart!"

"La Verne's eyes... are terrifying!"

"And those two sons... especially the eldest son, he's been through hell!"

The critics in the box were so excited they almost stood up—

"Power! That is the power of drama!"

"Sorel is too cruel; this stab went deeper than 'A Doll's House'!"

"This is no longer just a drama; it's a test for our entire society!"

And the first act of Thunderstorm came to a close amidst the almost self-absorbed words of Lord Laverne—

Laverne seemed pleased with his eldest son's silence. He walked to the fireplace, turned his back to his son, and looked at a family portrait hanging above the fireplace.

The man in the painting has a dignified expression, just like him.

His voice wasn't loud, but it resonated clearly in the quiet living room and in the theater where you could hear a pin drop.

Laverne (as if stating a truth): "My family is, in my opinion, the most complete and orderly; my sons, I also consider to be whole and healthy. I would never want anyone to say a word about the children I have raised."

"Healthy children"? "Unwilling to let anyone say a word about them"?
These words added fuel to the fire, provoking a fierce reaction from the audience.

On stage, Edward's body trembled violently, as if he had been whipped hard by those words.

Meanwhile, the expressions of the well-dressed gentlemen and ladies in the audience, who considered themselves elegant, became quite interesting.

An elderly woman covered her mouth with a handkerchief and whispered to her companion, "Oh God, how could he say such a thing so...without any conscience?"

An elderly, conservative gentleman, his face ashen, instinctively wanted to nod in agreement with Laverne's views on "order" and "decency"—

But the scenes that had just unfolded on stage—forcing his wife to drink medicine and the confrontation between father and son—made him feel extremely uneasy.

He muttered to himself, "What he said is true... but... but this..." At this moment, he couldn't find the right words to describe the inner conflict.

On the faces of many others, there was mockery, understanding, or even annoyance at having their secret exposed.

They're all too familiar with this kind of rhetoric!

In the countless mansions of Paris, how many respectable families use the same words to whitewash their true situation?
Maintaining a facade of "perfection" and "order," they tightly lock all scandals, incest, repression, and pain behind the door.

A young critic scribbled quickly in his notebook: "Most perfect? ​​Most orderly?"
Sorel, with Laverne's words, delivered the most resounding slap to the face of our modern, respectable society!

A wealthy-looking spectator, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, thought of his neglected wife at their country villa and glanced at his mistress beside him…

Isn't this the kind of "no one gossips" dignity they're pursuing? Even if they're already rotten to the core!
This is the first time that such a young writer has so cruelly torn away the veil of an entire "high society" family with a play.

He told everyone how fragile and ridiculous this seemingly solid facade was, and how much sorrow and distortion lay hidden beneath it.

Neglecting one's wife and keeping mistresses is almost common practice for many gentlemen present, and even a romantic affair worth boasting about.

But at this moment, these actions suddenly lose their romantic hue, revealing their selfish, cold-hearted, and hypocritical nature.

They felt a burning sensation on their faces, as if the cold and aloof Laverne on stage had also taken a piece of their souls.

The curtain of the first act falls heavily and slowly, amidst Laverne's lingering self-praise.

The lights in the stands came on.

A strange, long silence fell over Richelieu's room.

(End of this chapter)