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Fear of De Sade

BARON: Charenton! It’s not possible! But isn’t it here that the Marquis de Sade is interned?

VOICE: Who?

BARON: De Sade! The marquis . . . That’s it! Charenton! At least that’s something. It’s my last chance. Luck must be on my side in some way.

VOICE: That’s the first time I’ve heard anything so stupid from someone who’s just arrived.

BARON: The marquis will be my salvation.

VOICE: There is no salvation.

BARON: Do you know why I’ve ended up here? I’m accused of murder.

VOICE: It happens to lots of people.

BARON: Only I’ve killed no one.

VOICE: That’s what they all say.

BARON: They don’t believe me, but the truth is that I don’t know who the murderer was – much less who died.

VOICE: It’s no accident they sent you here. Prisons are for murderers. The asylum is for madmen. Each to his own.

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?