Lautrec
A play in two acts
by
Harvey E. Ostroff
May 1898
{ Lights up on apron. Lautrec enters from the rear of the theatre and moves through the audience, pausing to shake a hand or clap a shoulder from time to time. so as to establish to the audience that they, too, are part of this play. He wears tails, an opera cape, a derby and a pince-nez. He carries a cane and uses it with great style. Under his arm is a leather case that carries his sketch pad and other supplies for his art. He is jovial, yet anxious and, as always, slightly inebriated. When the audience is clearly aware of his presence, He begins.}
Bas du cull ( Laughs) Bas du cull... Low arse. That's what they call me... behind my back. To my face they say that I am adorable. Of course anyone with half an eye can see that. (Prances) N'est ce pas? I am, in reality, just a friendly little puppy dog. Everyone loves to fondle me. ( Addresses a female member of the audience) How about you mademoiselle? Would'nt you just love to fondle me? ( Quickly) Too bad. You can't. I am occupe. ( To audience) She is heartbroken. It's all right cherie. (Whispers) Leave your address.
They think, when they insult me, that I cannot hear the whispers. I ... allow them their illusions. Why bother. If they cannot think of me as more than a mauvais dwarf that hobbles his way through life, it is their loss, for I am much, much more than that. I am an artiste and I can see your souls. (to a member of the audience) Yes, your's too, ma belle, although with a face and figure like that, it is exceedingly difficult to concentrate on your soul. You, too, can leave your address. ( laughs) Before this night is done I shall have filled my engagement book for the next three weeks. (To the woman) You are married? Bon. Then I suggest we...I am forgetting myself. Excuse´ moi. ( Back to the audience) Mesdames et Monsieurs bienvenu a´ ma vie. Welcome. I am Henrie Marie Raymonde de Toulouse Lautrec- Monfa and I am an artiste. Well people do purchase my paintings and my lithographs and the best galleries absolutely clamor to display my works and the critics say that I am unique among....Well the truth is that the critics hate my art. But they do write about it. Therefore I must be good at what I do. Mustn't I? ...Well? Mustn't I!! ( Waits for the audience to get the idea) Look. just repeat after me. Oui Monsieur Lautrec. .... That wasn't so bad was it. Look how you're all involved. Besides, I adore it when people agree with me.
Critics. Hmph!!! Do you know what Geoffroy says about me ? (Stops the response with a gesture.) That was rhetorical. You will have to learn the difference. Geoffroy calls my people " Horrible creatures. The Larvae of vice and poverty. " He is accurate in his remarks. Well perhaps larvae is putting it too strongly. I do not, however, disagree with the term "Horrible creatures." Well why should I paint only the pretty, well-dressed e´lite? I paint the world as I see it. Through my eyes and my hands all of you will see this poor world as it really is; full of filth, ugliness, deprivation and yet, joy and laughter and spirit. The great paradox of humanity. And here I stand, a humble little man. The only living artiste with sufficient courage, talent and insight to record it. Do you want to know why?... (To the audience) That one was not rhetorical. You will have to learn. S'il vous plait, dit "Oui Monsieur Lautrec!" Wait, I'll repeat the question. Do you want to know why?.... Because degradation and vice are wonderful fun. ( His laughter here, is infectious)
Bien, mes amis. I have work to do tonight. ( He gestures for the lights) Voila! Le Moulin de la Galette.
The stage area contains a cafe´ table and two chairs DRC. They are mounted on a small platform. On the table is a bottle of absinth, several glasses and a single candle. This area is lit so as to distinguish it from a series of similar tables scattered about the set. The other tables contain prints of Lautrec paintings and lithographs mounted on easels as though they were sitting at chairs. These are Lautrecs people and must share the stage with him. The sound of a single concertina mingles with a hubbub of voices. The atmosphere is gay nineties and there is lots of laughter and the tinkle of glasses.
Not one of the best clubs in Paris, but there are subjects here for the eye of Lautrec. Here I am a successful oddity. People flock to my table. Eh bien, Toulouse it is time to plant your smile upon your face and meet your admiring public ( Laughs) You adorable little man you!
Lautrec adjusts his clothing and preens. He takes a breath and then steps back from the apron and into the stage area. He greets the posters as if they are the people that they represent.
George Salut!!... Bonsoir Marie, comment? Much later. ( To audience) Not very likely ... Albert? He has arranged a rendez-vous with Isabel Lachance. Thats right Madame Choux-Choux. I doubt that he will return this evening. Perhaps not for several days. I think that Albert must be as depraved as you are Jaclyn. E´coutez Jaclyn. I may not know much about life, but on the subject of depravity, I an an expert. ... Now, now I clearly said depravity and not deprivation. I deprive myself of nothing. ( Laughs and moves on.) Van Gogh!! Over here. Yes, its good to see you too Vincent. I have developed a new technique for my lithographs. Will you come to my studio? Tomorrow. No Vincent, not before noon. Two o'clock? Bon. ( Starts to leave) Oh, I almost forgot, My friend Maurice Joyant will be joining me later with the reviews from my London exhibit. Perhaps you'd like to sit for a drink? I may have need of your friendship... Ah, you are waiting for Gaugin. I see. ( To audience) The reviewers have given Van Gogh a swelled head. I wish they were as kind to me. ( Quickly) Although, with this body, were my head any larger, I should have trouble keeping my balance.
Lautrec looks about. His gaze fixes upon one of the posters ( La Femme au Boa Noire.) He addresses a single male member of the audience.
There. Now there is a subject worthy of Lautrec. I knew I would find someone tonight. Isn't she magnifique! Tawdry, sensual, alluring. Truly the "Larvae of vice and poverty." Regard my technique.( He moves to the poster and stares) Mademoiselle, Do not move! ...Ah, ah, don't move I said. Good. ( To the audience member) How am I doing? Shhh! Just watch. ( Back to Boa noire) Good. Now, smile for me. Come now just a little one. Shall I make a face? ( He does so. Back to audience member. ) They love it when you are silly. It makes them think that you're soft and vulnerable. You see how she smiles? ( Back to Boa Noire) I shall faint. Never have I seen such a smile. It is truly incroyable. Tonight you shall be the subject of the infamous Henri de Toulouse Lautrec. Tomorrow, you shall be famous throughout Paris and all you need do is share a drink or two and flash that wonderful smile of yours at regular intervals. ( He smiles at her assent and addresses the audience member) Did you notice how easily I managed to win her over? Ah women! A little flattery, a touch of gentle persuasion and they fall into your arms with nary a qualm. Take notes. I don't mind.
He brings the portrait to his own table as if he is escorting Boa Noire, herself. He then sits, takes out his charcoal and sketch pad and begins to draw. He stops, looks at the table, and begins to shout.
Garçon...Garçon, ici!! Vite, Vite!!! (Sweetly) Ah, there you are. It's so nice to see you. Did I disturb your nap? No? Good. Now, you are new here, n'est ce pas? Oh, just today. Well,well,well... and you're from Provence. Well, that explains everything. You see, I had heard that the people of Provence were unreliable half-wits and here you are, the living proof of that theory. You have a name...a name boy, something people use when they wish to attract your attention.... Marcel... Well, Marcel from Provence allow me to call your attention to this table. Do you see this bottle of Absinthe and this tray of glasses. They are unique to this table. Oh you did happen to notice that. Very, very good. Now Marcel, would you be so kind as to look closely at this table? Exactly... (imitates Marcel) It is dirty Monsieur. To be more precise It is filthy Marcel. My table is filthy and I will.. not.. tolerate.. filth! ( Smiles) Is that understood? Bien. Next time I call you come quickly Marcel de Provence. ( To Boa Noire) Excuse the disturbance Mademoiselle. I cannot tolerate filth. Now, Try to burn into me with your eyes. Parfait! (He begins to draw in earnest. After a moment, He stops again and addresses the audience.)
She is staring at me. Can you see that. Everyone stares at first. She is of course curious about my appearance and too polite to ask. You too? No, no, don't protest. I can tell. Why don't I tell all of you about it. It will help pass the time while I wait for Joyant and those damn reviews. ( He sips his absinthe. There is a twinkle in his eye.)
I am the only son and heir of Le Compte Alphonse de Toulouse. ( He bows to a single audience member) Are you impressed? ..Nor am I, but it is part of the story. ( Back to the general audience) As the son of Le Compte, my boyhood was spent with private tutors, who...attempted to instruct me in all of the fine arts of genlemanly conduct. One among them, Monsieur Vaillancourt, a demanding and horrible man with a jagged scar on his forehead, was hired to acquaint me with the skills of horsemanship.
We quarreled. I told my Papa, an aclaimed equestrian himself, that Monsieur Vaillancourt had taught me all he could and requested his dismissal. Papa said that he would watch me ride the next day. It was to be a test.
Somehow, the next morning, my own horse came up lame. A moment, I need a drink. ( He takes one and enters the drama) It was a windy, fall day. The smell of a storm was in the air. I could taste the moisture in the northern breeze. The horse Monsieur Vaillancourt saddled for me was a grey arab, newly broken. His name was Sulemein. I was afraid but papa was watching and I was thirteen and full of myself. I mounted the stallion. He began to quiver, nervous from the sounds and the smells of the impending storm. As I began my ride, the sky opened with a burst of thunder and lightening flashed quite close to us. Sulemein bolted and began to gallop towards the fence at the edge of our property. I fought for control but I was too weak, too small... Sulemein could not take the fence. I was thrown to the ground and the horse fell on top of me crushing my legs..... They never healed.
(He addresses a female member of the audience) Romantic, n'est ce pas? Don't you just want to take me in your arms and comfort me? ( He begins to climb down from the stage and then stops and laughs uproariously) I cannot continue this charade. Not even for you Madamoiselle. Had I a choice, I would have loved for it to have happened just like that. The truth? I rarely tell the truth. It's so boring. All right! I'll tell you..if you ask me nicely. Would you like to hear the true story?..... And do you promise that you won't think less of me?... All right. I broke the left leg first. When I was thirteen. I slipped on a poorly waxed floor. My legs had always been weak. I was, in fact, using a cane at the time of the accident. I broke the right one a year later. I tripped on a tree root and tumbled into the bed of a dry creek. The bones wouldn't heal at first and when they were finally knit, they stopped growing altogether. A genetic problem..or so the Doctor said. So, you see, I am afflicted by a combination of clumsiness and bad genes. Fortunately, the accident did not effect my relationships with women. Ah, I adore women. I love especially to make love with women. They are insatiable. ( To a female member of the audience) Well, most of them are Madame, most of them.
I remember my first time. There was a model at the studio of Bonnat... Marie-Louise was her name. (sighs) Beautiful Marie-Louise. My friend and fellow student, Henri Rachou told me that she could be mine for the princely sum of ten francs. I wouldn't talk to him for days after that. I must have been incredibly naieve. Well, I was eighteen and in love. It wasn't reciprocated of course. Love, hmph! I will tell you about love. You may sing about it in every key but hold your nose my dear, hold your nose. If you were to sing about desire, one could understand but love....There is no such thing.
I was so young; I did not know at that time how tall one could become by means of a few drinks. Rachou and I, we got very drunk. Very drunk. I approached her lodging in the middle of the night. Rachou had previously made all of the arrangements. My knees were shaking. I could barely catch my breath to speak. ( He enters the past) Marie-Louise? ( His voice cracks) It's m..me. I mean... here I am I..I...want...I... Please close the lamp...Where did you go. Oh, is that you? I found you. There you are. (To audience) I couldn't have lights. I was afraid that when I removed the protective layer of clothing from my spindly legs that she would.... She did not laugh. She was very kind. Soft and warm and she smelled of Jasmine. I had no sooner entered her body when the explosion occurred . Two grunts, one thrust and a sigh. I have improved since then. Dont look so doubtful Madame. It's true. I followed her for days like a love-sick calf until she told me that..that I could see her again when I grew up. Well, so much for love.
Look there. That woman commands the love of all of Paris. Jan Avril. You know, she is the only woman alive that makes me feel once again like the eighteen year old that once visited Marie-Louise. ( He escorts the Portrait of Jan to his table) Jan, you look wonderful. It is good to see you. I have been hearing of your exploits. Jan Avril.. The toast of Paris.. Jan Avril Danseuse extrordinaire. Jan Avril said this. Jan Avril is wearing that. I played some small part in your illustrious career. Tell me Jan, are you pleased with your life? ( Grows sad.) I understand. We are, all of us, trapped by the expectations of those around us. I wish that I could be more like my Papa. He never cared what others thought of him. I depress you Jan, forgive me. Somehow when I am with you, I am able to stop the pretence... for a while.
(To the audience) My Papa (sighs)...My Papa loves to do the most outrageous...Never mind, I show you. Compte Alphonse marches down the MontMart dressed in the costume of a Canadian trappeur. Fringed Deerskin coat, fur cap, hair tangled and unkempt with a musket under his arm (Becomes Le Compte) I am Le Compte de Toulouse. I am hunting for Otter. Tell me where they are hiding. Shh...wait ( He lifts the musket to his shoulder) Bang!! (To audience)He lifts the sewer rat that he had shot and shows it to the crowd. (As Papa) Soon I shall have enough Otter for a beautiful coat. (To audience) Panache ?..or insanity? I don't know.
No matter how depraved or absurd I act, I shall never surpass my Papa.
Where is Joyant. (He looks at his pocket watch and takes a drink. He is clearly becoming inebriated) Pardon? Oui, I am Lautrec. Ah, You saw the exhibition in Brussels. Well, merci. Thank you very much. No, no trouble at all. Enjoy your stay in Paris. (To audience) Tourists! At least this one can recognize brilliance when he sees it. Do you know, I don't even remember Brussels. I was drunk from the moment I arrived until long after I left. Brussels, London, Paris, If I cannot surpass my Papa in absurdity, I can, at least,surpass him in the scope of my reputation. I am becoming an international disgrace. How we have fallen. Do you know that I am descended from Royalty? William of Aquitane, Raymonde de St. Gilles. It's true! Queen Victoria is my cousin.
I was born at Albi on November 24, 1864. That's right, thirty-four, hmpf, thirty-four. Time passes. Mama was my father's first cousin. And I.. I am the result of more than 1000 years of such noble breeding. Not bad...n'est ce pas? No matter. I am the last of the line. No marriage for me. Instead I shall live one hundred lifetimes in my span of years. I have my Art and my friends and a new century to look forward to. My Papa has never, in all his years, done anything.. of any use.. to anyone. In fact in my family, nobody has done a stroke of work for centuries. Were I not witty, I should be a fool indeed. I had a brother Richard. He survived but one year. Papa says constantly "If only Richard had survived. He would be a worthy heir..." Well, Perhaps he would have. I have always been weak and Papa regards physical strength as a great virtue. ( His drunkeness is becoming apparent)
I have always loved the sea. I used to spend many childhood hours piloting my toy boats in the little pond behind our Chateau. My American Clipper, sleek and beautiful, about... this long. Complete with masts and rigging. ( He becomes the little boy) I took off my shoes and waded into the pond. The wind was good. Papa came up to the shore to watch so I went deeper into the pond to show off, I suppose and then I slipped and fell into the water. I cried out for help, flailing my arms in panic. As my head broke the surface of the water, I caught a glimpse of Papa's face, I will never forget this... He was laughing. "Swim. Use your arms and swim." I didn't know how! I gave up and lay still. Only then did he come after me. His huge, rough hand grabbed my collar and deposited me on shore. " Learn to swim." he said and turned about and walked into his tent... Yes, tent. He and Mama didn't... Well often he would be angry and he would pitch a tent on the lawn. It was a great embarassment to Mama but then, he never cared about the feelings of others. Well, nor do I if the truth be known. Consider yourselves mes amis, always consider yourselves.
When I was three, we took my brother Richard to the Church to be baptised and I insisted on signing the parrish register along with the rest of the family.
"But you don't know how to write." said the Canoness.
"Well then, I'll draw an ox." I don't remember the incident itself but it's one of Mama's favorite stories.
So you see I have always been an artist... After the accident, art became my passion and my escape. It still is... I came to Paris in '82 and studied with Cormon and Bonnat, both of whom taught me to be a mediocre technician. There I met Emile Bernard, Anquitin, Gaugin, Van Gogh and Degas. They taught me about art. There too I met Rachou who taught me about life... but I already told you about that.
I am rambling...Merde!! Where is Joyant with those damn reviews!. I don't even know why I bother to read them. I know what they will say. It's always the same. I just keep hoping that for once they will approve or...Never mind. I can wait. ( He sits and takes a drink) I used to criticise Cormon for his drinking. I wonder why? ( Laughs, then looks around) Marcel! Marcel! ... Has Maurice Joyant arrived yet. Do you know who he is Marcel from Provence? Then answer me. Has he arrived? ... Well, did I tell you to show him to my table? ... Bon, don't forget.
( To the audience) Do you know Maurice Joyant? He is what we call un vrais ami; a true friend. Whenever I am excited or proud, I seek out Joyant to share my good news. He never tells me that I am arrogant or conceited and when I am depressed... then he is a rock to lean on. Moreover, he is an honest critic... Sacre´! Seventy eight pieces. Never have I worked so hard for a single showing. They won't like it.It will be the same in London as it has ever been. Anyone can be a critic. ( Begins to laugh and climbs onto his chair) I can be a critic! ( Shouts) Mes amis! E´coutez moi. Stop your chatter and listen. Vincent, Aristide, Pascal! Listen to me! I have decided ...Mes amis, I have decided to give up my art in order to become a critic. No, don't applaud too loud. I shall begin, right now with a review of..of the women's exhibit that took place last month. Marcel, leave me be. My public is waiting. (Becomes the pompous critic) The women's exhibit. Alors mesdames et Messieurs. If I am to be a true critic, I must therefore begin with a scathing remark. Attendez...Aha! "These good ladies rarely do good work except when the exaggerate the vigour of their craftsmanship."Patronizing and pompous... The perfect opening. "I have not seen a truly feminine canvas here." Mon Dieux what clarity! Hmm..Now for specifics. Madamoiselle De Gousaincourt is afraid of being too soft so she paints... wooden geraniums ( Laughs) Oh, she will love that. No Marcel. I am not finished. Leave me alone. " Madamoiselle Peyrol de Bonheur, faithful to the traditions of her family paints cows and bulls... Only she has forgotten to put in their skeletons, which gives them a tendency to collapse... And since this is the time of evening when I, too, have a tendency to collapse, I shall do just that... C'est fini Marcel. ( Saying that he falls from the chair and angrily shrugs off help)
I'm all right. Leave me alone. I can get up by myself. I said, I'm alright! ( He gets up unsteadily and resumes his seat) Tell me when Joyant arrives.
(To audience) I drink too much. I embarrass myself. You know, sometimes I think that I talk so that people will listen to me rather than look at me. Life is too large for me. Legs and bellies. Legs and bellies.... Children frighten me. They can be so cruel.
" Hey everyone, look! It's Bas du Cull. Let's chase him!!
" Look at the little man Mama. Isn't he ugly? He's no bigger than Little Pierrot."
"You look Albert. That's exactly what you will look like if you don't eat your vegetables."
I sound depressed . Non!! I have no right... What God removed from my legs he added to my sense of vision.
He rises and looks about him. Taking his sketch pad and charcoal, he fixes his gaze on one member of the audience and begins to draw.
I shall tell you a secret; the secret of my art. Do you want to know?... Oh, you've already forgotten leçon deux. Re´pe´tez la classe. Oui Monsieur Lautrec... Comme ci comme ca. Now there are very few artists who understand this... this device I use in my work so you mustn't say anything. Do you promise?.... Bon! If someone asks, lie. ...uh... tell them that artists are far too stupid to know what lies behind their art. I'm sure they'll believe that. Bon, ( With childish joy) I use motion. That's all there is to it. I capture a small moment in time that will never recur and try to reach beyond the surface of those that participate in that moment. ( He chortles) Motion... Motion and spirit. When I achieve that sense of movement in a still canvas. Hah! I feel wonderful. So wonderful.
( His head begins to sink to the table. All of a sudden, he rises with a start) Joyant, uh..uh.. What a surprise! You startled me. Well, since you are here, tell me about London. No. I am forgetting myself. First you must sit down and have a drink. How is your family? ( Lautrec is not listening. He is increasingly anxious.) Yes, good. and the little one? Really on your white carpet? How droll. (Pause) I can wait no longer. Where are the reviews? No don't tell me. I'll read them myself. ( He finds them on the table and holds them for a long moment staring at Joyant) I can't. Give me some words of reassurance or condolence or... Is it that bad. Merde!! Say something... Never mind. I'll judge for myself. We'll start with 'Art Journal' One of Degas' extreme followers. Well, they got that right. (Shouts) Did you hear that Degas? You even get first credit in my review. "His subjects are unlikely to commend themselves to old ladies." Apparently this critic does not know the same old ladies that I do. ...(Reads) Clever. So we are right back to Bonnat. (Imitates) "Your painting isn't bad Monsieur Lautrec. It's clever, but still it isn't bad." What else...(Reads a second one) "I must say that I do not care for the types Monsieur Lautrec draws. To me, this continuous insistance on ugliness and vulgarity. ( He falters) This painting of the same people over and over again is monstrous. ( He begins to destroy the papers methodically) I will read no more. No more!! Monstrous! Hah! They are monstrous. Little parasites that destroy from within. I will never succeed in making them understand. Merde!! How can they understand Joyant? They don't know the simplicity of the Japanese or the beauty contained in a moment of truth captured on canvas. What they want is a portrait of a clean soldier mounted on a pure white horse that never shits or worse an insipid landscape. Pah! That is not life. They are afraid of life. There is life in my work. ... It contains ugliness and vulgarity but they cannot even remotely see the beauty in it. Monstrous. Life is monstrous. ...Well I don't care. I don't care what they think or what they write. They can have their shitless horses. It is my particular excitement to find this...this monstrous beauty that no one else has ever seen ( Rises) and I will find it Joyant. I will find it. I will search in the houses of love and in all the forbidden alleyways of of this ugly-beautiful city. (Shouts) Did you hear that Paris? Ugliness is beautiful! I...am...Beautiful!!! (He is spent) Yes Marcel, I realize that I am disturbing your guests. Excusez moi. I shall leave now. Come Joyant. I go to visit the sewers. ( He exits with dignity)
Act One Curtain.