The curtain rises on a room. Two identical beds, rather distant from each other.

In each bed there are a vague form molded covers: Peter and Solange seem asleep
. The room also features a piano, a large white paper placed on a desk. On the w
all, a mirror. Here and there, various objects (cup and ball, router, small glob
e, chess, puzzle ...). All the decoration is black and white. Only Solange wears
a costume color. Voiceover: In that time, the night was a blue curtain hanging
on the wall. At home, there was no clock. To fluff up the hours that you had you
r mother's voice, these fragments of images which was then placed on your eyelas
hes every night, and you in your dreams recounted as a collector of stars. Remem
ber ... You left me one day to a world without color. And I stay in a room of yo
ur forgotten past. A room where you got me locked up, and where you never come b
ack. A room where I wait for you, me, your childhood.
10
ALMOST TOO SERIOUS
Solange wakes up, lights a candle, a long yawn. Solange gets out of bed with a b
ound flexible. She walks to the mirror it looks long. SOLANGE: There she goes to
sleep ... Good night, Solange! In my turn to live a little. If we can call it l
iving ... (She calls.) Pierre! Pierrot! (Pierrot does not move. Solange looked a
gain the mirror. It seemed to speak to someone who finds the other side.) Pierre
! It's time to go to sleep! You work too hard! What an idea I had to share my ch
ildhood with a showman! They all have a soul of an owl. (She gets mad: She hits
him with the pillow. Peter did not move.) I'm afraid all alone in this room. I m
iss the light. (Pause) But ... we love the night. (Incertaine.) I love the night
... When I am afraid, I recite poems. They keep me company. This one, for examp
le: "Word of the moon." Word of the moon is a nice title: As she recites, Peter
is moving under its coverage. In the middle of the third stanza, his sleepy head
appears at the foot of the bed.
11
"Pass, nocturnal, Below my eye white. At night, many a tale j'affabule troubling
. I was always the option of grime rhyme. And the pun. The words of poets are no
more than sequins and drumbeats. Behind my mask and Ivory linen Empties the cle
ar bowl from my hug. You'll see the source where the drink Bear Cygnus, Orion. M
y curves amber rhythm, the tides, the crazy chime. You'll know the eclipse, the
bow and the crescent, you will follow the ellipse
12
ALMOST TOO SERIOUS
Throughout my blood. From my blood alabaster, Where are fighting the Hydra and t
he Dauphin of heart Blood Night, Cold as Saturn, Blood Moon, finally! Passe, Jea
n crying Beneath my eyes flat. I hear sound from my time beyond. It is dawn prou
d! My face chalky have to evaporate. My radius blunted ... Peter blows out the c
andle. SOLANGE: Pierrot! Rekindle. It's not funny! I'm scared! Pierrot! (She put
s her head between his knees. Pierre drew a sun on the blackboard, the light ret
urns. Peter goes pitifully.)
13
PIERROT: My ladybug? ... My firefly, my little shrew ... (pause) For alarm clock
, is a success. The curtain rises on our night of new adventures. Ladies and gen
tlemen, the little puddle of colors lying on the floor is Solange. She can spend
hours together, to believe in herself that she was afraid. Come I will write an
ode to the sun, since you love so light. SOLANGE (she looked up furtively): I d
o not like light. PIERRE (he looks): For someone who does not like the light, I
find you very bright. SOLANGE: And you're ridiculous in your coat with flour. Wh
y always this white suit and black, what a bore! Well, seen here, you got me all
 like a little soldier bisque. A shot of my fan on your shoulder, and you t'effr
iterais miserably on the floor. Besides, you should dress differently just now,
for the appointment ... STONE: The night we gave the costume that best reflected
our heart. For me, it made me look like the character drawn on the
14
ALMOST TOO SERIOUS
blue cover of my childhood. I'll stay as I am for an appointment! SOLANGE: Somet
imes I want you to be colorful, like me. I was dressed in the way of my hero, Ha
rlequin, Punchinello ... PIERRE Punch! The impostor who does not keep a secret!
Harlequin! That silly, this pleasant comedy,€this false hero who is never there
when you need him! SOLANGE: "The Adventures of Master Arlequin" was the title o
f the storybook that Mom read to me every night. Harlequin was always a trick to
get out of trouble. I thought it was clever. STONE: "Master Harlequin! "There's
one who did not invent gunpowder. Except perhaps the heels. SOLANGE: It was dra
wn on the first page. I admired her costume fireworks ... Look at you ... How to
know the true joy in such a dress? PIERRE (facetious): My dress is too colorful
! (It shows the black of his coat.) But they are all mixed up! My wealth to me i
s unique because it is
15
deeper. Harlequin scattered far and no longer found. It ignores gravity. He spen
ds his time to pounce, and persuades himself he flies, the funny. But he can not
fall gracefully. That is what he lacks true grace. That of the ballerina who is
to reap the boards after his spin. It's easy to take off. Any chick can do it.
But falling in harmony, is another matter. Harlequin, he falls like a sack of ch
ickpeas. SOLANGE (ironically): To hear you, it ignores all these fine qualities
simply because it has no white or black costume ... STONE: Sure. Because white i
s the absence, and absence is what gives us what we most beautiful: the power to
wait and hope. Harlequin is always filled with something. It occupies, it distr
acts him from himself. His mind is colorful as his body. There is no "nothing" i
n the world of Harlequin. (He shows his coat.) I have in me everything and nothi
ng. SOLANGE: And less than nothing, especially!
16
ALMOST TOO SERIOUS
PETER: I see ... Miss Solange makes the mind! I like it when you tease me. SOLAN
GE (for itself): We took care of our people's childhood colorful creatures ... T
here was Guignol ... That one scared me with his stick he held in his arms grote
squely. I pity the policeman who received beatings every Sunday. STONE: That doe
s not stop you to give me regularly. There are only a few minutes, you just leav
e me with blows on the pillow! Is it that I must put a cap for your pity wakes?
SOLANGE: Your absence made me uneasy. STONE: I remember some beatings for which
I indeed present. SOLANGE: Sometimes, it's your speech that exasperate me! I do
not like when you play the philosophers. You look to Thee lost in your thoughts
and have never found the exit. I prefer my Pierrot dreamer. The games, the one w
ho transcribed the words of the moon. Do not you failed to get ideas. An idea th
at is not to be recommended. Moreover, it is
17
no free lunch. You always lose something to have: you lose a little naive, a lit
tle more natural. PETER: If I understand you prefer me silly. SOLANGE (Laughing)
No! I like you better poet. I prefer you clown! Play me a tune to celebrate our
reunion, because only in this enclosure that is given us to reach us. Because o
nly in this room, every night, he gave me to dance with you, to frolic as an ant
, and wear my boots of seven leagues. There is reason to celebrate this miracle.
STONE: Vive les miracles! Peter goes to the piano. First musical interlude. Sol
ange, seated to the ground, listening carefully. PIERRE (bitter): So you call it
 a miracle? SOLANGE: What?
18
ALMOST TOO SERIOUS
STONE: This room, this world, the pit where we have a life without boundaries or
colors. SOLANGE: And why not? Have we not here all that we need? STONE: I liste
ned to you speak just now. "I love the night," you said. But you love him like a
prisoner like prison. SOLANGE: I much prefer it this prison than adults. STONE:
Not me. SOLANGE: You want they call you "Mr. Pierrot? (Pause) PIERRE (the idea
seems to please him): Mr. Pierrot ... SOLANGE: Spending your day strangled by a
tie? Drink coffee to wake you up in the morning? Taking pills to fall asleep at
night? Filling out tax returns? Participate in meetings of owners? PIERRE Seen t
his way, actually. SOLANGE (she continues, more and more pressing): Make the str
ike? spend hours in traffic? save for the after-
19
shave? You cut yourself shaving? Take the subway? STONE: Yes,€SOLANGE I underst
and ... (She harasses): Losing the lottery every week? Make you pull wisdom teet
h? Having a boss? Spend a fortune on insurance without ever having any accidents
? Losing your hair? STONE: Okay, okay ... SOLANGE: fall asleep watching TV? Wake
up to the TV? Eating while watching TV? STONE: Stop! The message is gone! (He l
ooks through the mirror.) Oh, look. Peter has forgotten to bring out the cat. SO
LANGE: Because he is afraid not to do it again. STONE: As he looks old ... SOLAN
GE: He is old ... PETER: Yes, I forgot ... Eighty years ago today ... SOLANGE (m
i mirror, half of Pierrot): Happy birthday, Peter ... STONE: Why do you look at
me like that! He is the old man, not me! (She laughs.) It's his fault! He should
not grow.
20
ALMOST TOO SERIOUS
SOLANGE: This is the only way that men have found to live longer. STONE: What a
lack of imagination ... (He speaks in Peter's mirror.) My poor old Peter ... You
do not have long to live. SOLANGE: It's a great day ... The day of our reunion
... PETER: It was time. Look at the still sleeping ... He rubs his shirt collar
between two fingers, like when I was little. SOLANGE: And Solange kept my habit
of stroking the tip of the ear. STONE: Finally, we have not changed much. When I
think they not wake ... SOLANGE (to herself): All these men and women who spend
their lives to kill time, and finally it's time to kill. STONE: Every day I see
them walking to their work, overwhelmed with the task ahead of them waiting, I
see them come back, exhausted with the task accomplished. His head bowed, should
ers hunched, eyes limp, none of them noticed the color of tamarisk trees or Jude
a. None of them stopped to
21
watch funny head ducks, or to throw a coin into the fountain. SOLANGE: The men t
hey have nothing more to wish? STONE: A penny saved is a penny ... as they say.
SOLANGE: Me I play the game honors. I do my Poem donations. It keeps me instead
of wealth. Thank for the robin vocalizations, for flavors of the ocean, to dance
... (more serious). ... Yes I like to thank. My heart finds a strange peace. Fo
r the rainbow ... To the scent of cedar ... PETER: For the fingers of the squirr
el ... SOLANGE: For the donkey and the fawn, for all the rivers of the earth, th
e sound of bells the distance ... PETER: For the snowflakes, to the rustling of
the fire in a chimney for the taste of olives ... SOLANGE: For the holidays, for
the hummingbird, the velvet raspberry ...
22
ALMOST TOO SERIOUS
PETER: For the heavy rains fall, the silence, the smell of polished shoes ... SO
LANGE: In the cool sheets of the bed for barefoot on the sand for the solitude o
f the forest ... PETER: For the rumor boulevards, for the bells of street lamps
on the water of a river ... SOLANGE: For journeys ... They started to move slowl
y. Peter goes to the piano. Second musical interlude. This time, Solange accompa
nying dancing. This must seem improvised, whimsical, carefree, full of interrupt
ions. SOLANGE: In a few hours, Peter and Solange will suffer their first night w
ith us ... should perhaps prepare the room to accommodate them ... (She puts som
e order into the room, move some objects) PIERROT: I have finally someone to pla
y with. If it is as bad player than me, it promises ... SOLANGE: I'm sure that s
omething is missing. What we love that we are old? PIERROT: Nothing. When you're
old, you only live
23
more are expected. SOLANGE: What do you know about old age, you? PIERROT: I know
it's going slowly ... At every time they snore! SOLANGE: We spend long evenings
listening to their memories. Solange I tell her travels. PIERROT (Sarcastic): Y
ippee! Well, we'll have fun. SOLANGE: Oh! You can play the piano four hands whil
e Solange I will talk about his grandchildren. (She also inspects the condition
of the room) should perhaps tulips to brighten up the room. PIERROT: A pot of ge
raniums, rather. SOLANGE: A four-poster bed. PIERROT: From slippers. SOLANGE: Si
lk sheets. PIERROT: A hot water bottle. SOLANGE: The balls of wool. PIERROT: A r
ocking chair. SOLANGE: A library PIERROT: Crosswords. SOLANGE (She realizes that
he
24
ALMOST TOO SERIOUS
laughs): Fortunately, we already have a game of chess. They love it,€the elderl
y. PIERROT: Very funny ... Ah! I know! (He looks for something in the piano) I k
new it would one day. (He pulls out an old cap) SOLANGE: It will be nice to them
. It's hard to sleep in a strange room. PIERROT: Especially when you sleep in th
e same bed for fifty years ... SOLANGE: I remember my first night. I'm dead. I t
hought: "That's ... Paradise is finally a room that is shared with his twin soul
, for eternity. "PETER: What bad luck! I thought to fall into a delicious nothin
gness, and I found myself in that cell with you! SOLANGE (met): Peter! STONE: Un
derstand me, my Solange. I have an affection for you superhuman, but the greates
t passion of my life is sleep! Ah Nap! No pictures, no dreams! Only the dead cal
m of the great lakes of sleep! Close your eyes and go without knowing
25
where ... But whatever I do, I am always with you in this room. SOLANGE: Now I k
now where you go when you t'assoupis! (Sarcastique.) You can not escape me! PETE
R (seriously): But I do not want to get away ... I've never wanted. On the contr
ary. But I wish, from time to time, to escape myself, and myself. Pour gently ou
t of this shack which serves as a carcass, like smoke from the chimney ... SOLAN
GE: Personally I like it, your carcass. From the outside, it is rather nice brig
ht. A bit frail, maybe ... Not very high ... But what pleases me more is fragile
. We tire quickly of force. I prefer to watch a poppy a thistle. STONE: Interior
view, there is nothing terrible, this carcass. First she takes water at the sli
ghtest storm. Yes, it is permeable to all the tears of the world. You see, Solan
ge, the worst in existence, are not our own tears. These, we are tolerated,
26
ALMOST TOO SERIOUS
they are tamed. Some even revel in it. SOLANGE: Of all the foods, the tears is t
he most vain. STONE: And the most ludicrous ... But when I tear foreign flows in
to the hand ... I do not know what to do. It burns as I let slip through my fing
ers. And the remorse that follows is even more challenging ... But tell me about
your secret house ... SOLANGE: Oh, the slightest insult gives him a crack on th
e wall, and leaves me scared inside. You know, when people you want, when they b
ully you, when you break it blindly. In their bad mood, they take you as their f
irst object that comes to hand and you break into a thousand pieces to use their
anger. They become rude, they insult you. I am powerless before the evil. STONE
: We must respond with lightness. He must dance on the dust impertinent and stup
id! Look at me, I wear the mask of indifference! (He puts a white mask lying on
the table.)
27
He does his dance number. SOLANGE: Yes, dance is a balm. What's more exhilaratin
g than a roll, not a mazurka or saltarello? That is what is lacking in humans, d
ance! It is the privilege of all that is alive! Even the trees dance ... We do n
ot realize it because their time is not ours. Our minutes must have seemed petty
and miserable! They who, with a breath, hug full years. A round polka tulip tak
es between two millennia. PETER (to himself): You guys, humans, by dint of gesti
culating, you're stuck in the sands of time. It paralyzes you ... SOLANGE: You c
alled the "big people", but you shrinks visibly. Have you ever been greater than
when you walk on your knees? "General, have you ever been more heroic than the
head of your toy soldiers?
28
ALMOST TOO SERIOUS
STONE: And you, Mr. Accountant, have you ever been worse than when you count you
r marbles under the trees of a school yard? SOLANGE (she looks at the mirror): M
y poor Solange, how do you dance with the body while animal which is no longer u
nder a table? STONE: The time you do not succeed ... You overflow with a bread t
hat comes out of the oven. SOLANGE (annoyed): You have not looked! You look like
a skeleton biology class! PIERRE (he looks in the mirror): At least I kept the
line ... (pause) SOLANGE: Life should stop when you can not count his age on his
fingers ... PETER: It has stopped. You're too old here. SOLANGE: But a few days
! A few months! Was it too much to ask? STONE: Yes.€The candle of your childhoo
d began to melt. You felt in the wax casting you.
29
SOLANGE: I wanted to remember the last drops hot. I wanted to blow the fuse half
dead for stirring! STONE: But you were not fooled. You knew that you breathed o
n the body of your childhood. SOLANGE: So is this? We were delighted with the wo
rld because we lost our childhood? (Silence of Pierrot.) Is true. I could not fi
nd the soft darkness of childhood. The children's questions are so heartbreaking
. In front of a river, they ask why water is wet, before the sun, they ask why t
heir skin brown rays. STONE: In that time, all our questions had a simple answer
, so simple that he saw no point in us saying. Me, I wondered where the sparrows
are sleeping, or what's in the trunk of trees. SOLANGE: I wanted to know where
the rainbow ends ... I wanted to know what prevents pink it is time to hatch ...
I wanted to know what cats think when, for hours, they lie eyes half-closed ...
Third musical interlude.
30
ALMOST TOO SERIOUS
SOLANGE: When I was Solange, I had dreams of my age. I wanted to see the mouse o
f our teeth, to surprise her when she asked a ten-franc piece under the pillow.
You know, this big piece of tobacco color, which weighed in our palm like a cart
on. We were winning the exchange: it was much heavier than the quenotte it repla
ced. PETER: When I was Peter, I wanted to meet the sandman. I imagined the whole
 day traveling the world to reap the finest sand, the most soothing. I saw him e
very night, leaning over a face, quietly distilling his sleepy eyes powder. It s
eemed the best job in the world. Sandman! SOLANGE: My smile, I saw a bug the siz
e of chestnuts, just enough light to land on the headboard without the grind and
on my own without waking, with finger spinner, and long ears pearl gray. STONE:
To all my friends I said proudly: "When I grow up I'll
31
sandman! And they laughed at my silliness. They had all the malice of their seve
n years. The same man who, growing up, would become the evil. SOLANGE: I struggl
ed ... I fought against your evil Sandman ... But I riveted the eye with blows o
f bags, as nimble a blimp. STONE: And the hounds chasing me across the yard, and
they all smeared mouth teased as a jam. They, the future firefighters, policeme
n them the future, they buried the shop of my dreams in its own sand! Children s
hould condemn this despicable! And freeze once and for all fangs and claws! SOLA
NGE (soft): You have been my dream shop, my shop nonchalance. What I like about
you, what are all these little bites that plagues thee engraved on the heart. I
would not have liked intact. Remember how I collected the dolls legged cups and
balls and strings removed.
32
ALMOST TOO SERIOUS
STONE: Yes, you mend the way you could with a stick, a hair. Mend me, Solange. (
He sobs.) SOLANGE: Poor child lame ... Come, I have left out a thimble and a str
aw for you mend. Come ... Your heart is too big, it takes too much space in the
chest sparrow. She consoles him. SOLANGE: There ... there ... You've never had t
he intelligence to be mean. That's why you were not done for the world. PETER: W
hen I was ten, I had two cats. One understood everything. He had received an ext
raordinary intelligence. And that intelligence had given him the power to be cru
el. He was able to lend a claw being aware that he was going to hurt. The other
was stupid, but he was good as wheat. He did not know the trick. The poor fool,
did not see beyond the tips of his mustache. When reprimanded, he would sit in h
is corner, crestfallen, and waited
33
be forgiven. That was me. I did not give the scratch. SOLANGE: "Leave the claws
to those who do not have enough ambition to do without the other. The claws are
useless. A shell is enough. Yours is just a bit too soft. STONE: I was so young!
How to harden in such a short time? Was I not what is called the "tender age"?
Why is it that our season is also the weakest most exposed? SOLANGE: Because the
world likes to prevent what will hatch.€He lacks the courage to address what c
an be defended, the coward. STONE: But it is cowardly for us. Look at the trees
when they are reborn! It gives them the softest sunshine, the winds are warmer.
Everything contributes to their budding! While their mother is! SOLANGE: Pierrot
's mother, and that Solange was well worth all the zephyrs and all spring sun ..
.
34
ALMOST TOO SERIOUS
PIERRE: Pierre's mother was a woman in apron. It was used, she watched, her hand
s were sculpted by the dough kitchens and wax floors. Constantly, mechanically,
she passed on her blouse to wipe them. And the little Pierre had caressed before
birth. Solange: Solange's mother lived in the air, between galaxies with a marq
uee. She took the strings plains, bars and trapezes for chairs. People, head up,
opened their mouths pelican, as for the gathering in a fall. But the virtuoso h
ad banned the fall of his repertoire as a pianist who does no wrong notes. PETER
: Peter's mother gave birth between two piles of clothes, like a cat. She quickl
y wrapped her little pile of arms and legs in her lap she held in one hand while
the other she folded cotton knits. And little Peter woke up with a smell of lau
ndry starch. Solange: Solange's mother gave birth under the legs of a trailer, w
ith a goat
35
pointing his nose out the window and slapped it gently between two rails to prev
ent grazing her hair. And Solange has emerged on the pitch stony roads. And his
rhymes were noisy, full of brass and cymbals, and rhythmic clapping by euphoric.
PIERRE: Pierre grew up in the attic of a house. He did not need an apron, her m
other filled the role. He held his little soul well folded in his pocket like a
handkerchief nine. When he felt soiled by the mud of the world, he was swimming
in the unfathomable soul of his mother. SOLANGE: It is on a steel wire that Sola
nge learned to walk. She did not back the needy of the earth. He needed a crown
for sharpening blades laughter. Because she had the bright laughter and pointed
to his mom. A smile that reflected all the joys surrounding. And his quick feet
took an early measure of the rope. He must always follow a straight path. She wa
lked on all climbers on all walls, fences on all pastures.
36
ALMOST TOO SERIOUS
STONE: In the morning, Peter was standing company. He was mountaineer on the ste
ps of the grand staircase. He was knighted on the chestnut of the ramp or on the
standard of the sewing table. Sometimes his mother went into the room, a tray o
f biscuits in hand, and the hero of the day was left comb her hair, allowed a de
ft hand adjusts his coat or clear a spot of chocolate on the corner of his mouth
. Then he stretched his forehead to the lips stealth smelling lavender. And it l
eft him shouting: "Yes, ma'am ... I'm coming, ma'am! And the valiant return to h
is adventure. SOLANGE: In the evening, Solange was afraid. She watched her mothe
r outsmart gravity. It measured the distances between the light towers, the heig
ht of the trapezoids. Then she closed her eyes and listened to "Oh! Ah "Spectato
r. And at each exclamation, she took his heart with both hands to stifle the jum
ps. Finally, she stopped his ears and waited for it to pass, until a pair of arm
s away to the heights and the press against a radiant face and sweating.
37
STONE: Peter was not always a good child. Sometimes, he broke the slats of her b
ed, he left pieces of his shirt in the brambles of roads. And his mother posted
himself in the doorway and said: "Pass! His voice was calm, which announced the
storm. And Peter went, and he received the lightning full posterior. Solange: So
lange also has had its share of reprimands. But we were like the branches that a
re twisted and violent one, and make them more fruitful. STONE: Yes, despite eve
rything, our beginning has been well kept. I see better now Where did you get th
ose impulses that make me dizzy. You have been elevated to the zenith of existen
ce. You are always in balance over the headers and parterres of reality without
ever falling. SOLANGE: For me, I understand the invisible links that you intervi
ews with loneliness. I understand your mind silent. You have the impatience of t
hose that have sprouted in a land considerate. You're like those requiring
38
ALMOST TOO SERIOUS
who pushed the fingers of a skilled and conscientious gardener. Fourth musical i
nterlude. SOLANGE: Where were our fathers? When I think of my own, I see a face,
but I do not know where to ask me. Looks like an old family portrait for which
there is no room, and that puts it in the attic waiting. STONE: A father ... it'
s always an enigma. Or rather, children are an enigma for a father. He does not
know what to do, clumsy, with these creatures who resemble him. SOLANGE: We do n
ot give it the gestures of his love. The feelings of a father do in life than rh
etoric. He does not express anything without the word. STONE: As they are pathet
ic when they survey the room while ruminating their affection! Mine might as wel
l go miles, passing back and forth in front of me. I could follow the entire pro
cess of his thought (it is thick glasses and caricatured
39
imitates his father): "I should tell him I love him ... no ... I should show him
I love him ... no ... I should give to PROVE that I love ... but how? Take her
hand? I do not know, I look like a dolt ... He caressed my hair? He does not lik
e ... The kiss? It would be incongruous, a kiss for no reason ... like that ...
should not I walk this way is ridiculous ... should not I speak, he would not un
derstand, I speak as a lecturer at the same time ... I see that my silence the t
rouble ... Do not sit, do not stand ... Smile, perhaps, just ... "(He's trying.)
What horror! It looks like a banker! (He starts, bold.) "Peter! Uh ... you ...
I ... I ... I want you to go and tidy up your room! (He eyes follow a figure lea
ving the room. Then, slowly and sadly.) "I want you to go and tidy up your room,
my love, my angel, my heart ..." And my room, I heard against my will the lovin
g mother reprimands. SOLANGE: I guess (it starts to turn a pair of glasses): "Wh
y did you speak so
40
ALMOST TOO SERIOUS
hard? She is very tidy her room. PIERRE (he gets annoyed): I do not know, leave
me alone! You tell him to tidy his room well, you, but it does not take it as an
order! He has even kiss! You give him the job and now he jumps you neck! This i
s unfair! (He sits down, puts his head between his hands, then bursts out laughi
ng.) It was ridiculous and adorable. SOLANGE: Mine was always saying: "She is be
autiful, my daughter ..." This was never "you're beautiful, girl ..." but "it is
beautiful," as a finding that he was himself . It's odd when a man is a complim
ent, he always tunes lord who inspects his lands. And what could I do, I simper
as if he wanted? Even in this role I was very at ease. It is believed until the
end ... (Sarcastique.) We are taught to flirt from childhood ... We fashions a l
ittle heart into sugar that melts in the hands of an idiot came first ... But yo
u appeared, and you given to a noble heart, which could burn permanently. I
41
remember our meeting. You passed under the cedar where I made my home. (She clim
bs on the piano.) You did not notice right away. You whistle one of your nagging
tunes, turning around the trunk. STONE: How old were we? Six years, seven years
? SOLANGE: We had the age of heroes of our dreams, that of all the fairies, spri
tes of all who inhabited our imaginations. STONE: No, we did not have any age. A
ge is an invention of adults. It is the day when they really know their multipli
cation tables. At school, we said "two times two, four," as we would have said "
The grasshopper who sang all summer ...." The arithmetic was more than a fable t
o learn by heart. But more years, that ... we could not do. SOLANGE: You were fu
nny with your face full moon, your music without head or tail! And your way to h
ug the tree as if it were a sulky friend who wants to play with you! You were ju
st the charm, the property remained stubbornly planted on his roots.
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STONE: What a surprise when a small laugh struck me as a handful of needles. Aro
und you, all branches waving your good humor. They replay the scene of their enc
ounter. SOLANGE: "What's your name, little korrigan? PIERRE: Pierre. SOLANGE: Th
at name does not suit me. Looks like a swinging door that lets all drafts. Howev
er,€It begins well, but does not finish properly. Peter ... Peter ... I'll call
Peter, if you allow me. STONE: Pierrot ... Nobody ever called me that. I agree.
 And who are you? SOLANGE: I Solange. This name also displeases me. He rhymes wi
th pretty words, and yet he has something stupid. But I'm not allowed to change
it. PETER: Why?
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SOLANGE: A name, it does not choose. This is received. And nobody ever asked me
permission to call me otherwise. PIERROT: Well me, I ask permission to call you
Solange, because I love this name. SOLANGE: So it's different. It does bother me
more if someone is benefiting. "PETER: We have grown up side by side, or rather
face to face. Your face has long been my only mirror. SOLANGE: It was a still l
ife, a life full of confidence as only friendship knows to get it. The friendshi
p ... it is reassuring that so much love. It's a feeling humble. We live in frie
ndship as in a field kitchen, around a good old oak table. We do not put a big "
A". And it lasts as long as those lives that farmers have no holidays. It feeds
on a daily basis by small handfuls, like chickens in the backyard.
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PETER: Do you remember how we were tired of the interminable games ... Even our
mothers endurance of our comrades was using it, and we always ended alone. Our a
rmies are decimated as the afternoon passed. We played a little bit all the role
s. I was both captain and soldier. SOLANGE: I was queen and servant. (She mimes.
) "Mary, you go pick up my lute player, he takes me in the mood for a compliment
. - At once, Your Highness ... "Fifth musical interlude. PETER: But is it still
called that play? Is it really plays when you have seven years? I've never been
more true than in these roles wizard or knight ... SOLANGE: No ... children do n
ot play, they all live. Growing up they learn to pretend. STONE: My heart is lik
e the trunk of trees. Each year, it is surrounded by a circle to protect the woo
d from his childhood.
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SOLANGE (she seems to awaken suddenly): Pierrot, remember how I loved the storie
s, the fireplace or under the stars. Tell me a story! STONE: We did not fire, yo
u see. As for the stars, they never dared to enter here. SOLANGE: Whatever! Noth
ing is more real to me that what begins with "once upon a time"! I close my eyes
, and I draw my own hearth, or the pile of logs in the middle of a clearing! I d
raw it myself each constellation above our heads! (It rekindles the spark plug.)
STONE: I remember ... You loved the stories and I loved to find yourself in the
big bag of legends ... SOLANGE: Yes! One day witch, one day shepherdess! I had
a hundred faces, for one hundred! And I lived every few hours, lying on my bed o
r huddled in a blanket! PETER: And it always ended with a little snore light!
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SOLANGE (Laughing) It's true! I always fell asleep at the most exciting! The end
less battle against dragons or Cyclops, but for me it was much less charm than l
engthy descriptions were you doing in my palace or my attic. STONE: I unpacked a
ll the boxes for you, I left all your dresses of the wardrobe. I drove you in ev
ery room of the castle or country house in the park around every laurel bush. SO
LANGE: I drank all the fountains and I tasted the figs and almonds in my garden!
Then the adventure began, more exhilarating, and I yawned discreetly before m'a
ffaler in one of my boudoir chairs! I let the knights and princes play their epi
c scenes without me, which I heard snatches of sleep between. See how you've bee
n really sandman, and with what skill! Remember, as I gathered your fables full
retinas! STONE: I saw you fall asleep. I knew all the messengers of your sleep,
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Solange. I knew you before you had one foot in another world. SOLANGE: What you
saw? STONE: First look at too awake to be honest. You opened the eyes of an owl,
to compensate for their bloat. And then came the beating of cilia, as if you ha
d wanted to shake the dust from the torpor which fill you. Then, the furrowed br
ows.€You were the big eyes of the angels sleep. You made them believe that they
do not impress. SOLANGE: I see that thou hast studied under the microscope ...
PETER: Well, it was the first yawn ... camouflaged, of course. A slight twitch o
f the jaw, almost imperceptible. A discrete swelling of the neck. SOLANGE (she m
imes a yawn hidden): And I convinced myself that you saw nothing! STONE: You lie
down, so more comfortably. Your head, that you had bravely sustained hitherto r
ested on the pillow or on your backpack. (She smiles and stretches out on the gr
ound, his head resting on his folded arms.) And you said (He
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imitated.): "Go on, I put myself at ease! And a few minutes later: "Do you mind
if I close my eyes a little to rest the eye? But do not stop! I'm listening ...
"And then nothing. You were on the other side. So I knew it was time to slay the
dragon, a sword. It was time to fold my set of puppeteer. The knight's armor wa
s emptied, the mirror evaporated like a puddle of water. Parts of the castle dov
etailed into each other like Russian dolls. The table started at a gallop toward
s the horizon, the curtains fantômisaient and left the scene, their rod under h
is arm. The rays of the sun were sieved and stored in a trunk until the next sto
ry. He remained in the air as memories of perfumes and shouts ... There were onl
y ... It looks Solange, she dozed off. Gently, he lays it on a blanket. Sixth mu
sical interlude. Silence ... We hear the sound of a bell. The light dims gradual
ly. Pierrot takes the mirror, and goes on
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placed in the clock as a pendulum. The end of the piece is accompanied by a tick
ing melancholy. SOLANGE: It's almost time ... PETER: Here they are ... SOLANGE:
Are they going to suffer much? STONE: It's a bad time to pass. Death is like all
births. It tore something, and it hurts. SOLANGE: I have the jitters ... You th
ink they'll recognize us? STONE: It's us who do not recognize. SOLANGE: I kept a
picture of her under my pillow. STONE: But it was thirty years younger. SOLANGE
: Yes, as time flies here! STONE: Time does not pass through here since eternity
... Peter and Solange will share their deaths as they shared their childhood. S
OLANGE: Have a special sharing ... push in the same soil ... It is never so clos
e to each other when our roots
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were watered the same rain ... Of all the meetings, the two childhood is the mos
t fertile. STONE: Two people have already trained mile to make adjustments to ma
tch. But two children ... they are forged from one another. They all build a com
mon home. Each puts its substance. SOLANGE: Yes ... our lives have come together
as we congregated our cabins. Rappelletoi, each bringing an armful of hay stole
n from the barn of the farm, a bit of string to tie it all. It was like that was
... And when the storm came a rampage, we stayed with the straw in his hands, n
ot knowing which of them had worn. So I see the days of my childhood. I do more
hours apart from those belonging to me that I inherited from you. STONE: The old
Pierre returned, once under a tree that had sheltered us. He found nothing in o
ur cabin, not even its location. He saw a pile of branches. No trace of our pass
age.
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SOLANGE: If we were like everyone else, you'd probably seen signs engraved on th
e trunk. But carving a bark was a sacrilege for us. Was assaulted flesh akin to
ours. STONE: Why is it necessary for men to spoil things to leave a trace of the
ir passage? SOLANGE: Man does not like what is invisible. He wants to touch, he
wants to take the time to round the body. He does not know that a simple look is
already witnessing a presence. STONE: Yes, our trees remember our laughs ... Ou
r image is trapped between the cracks of their branches like a butterfly in a ne
t ... SOLANGE: The laughter was our only occupation. Sometimes I laugh all alone
thinking about one of your facial expressions that amused me. And it is wonderf
ul that a simple memory can still shake the bell as worn ... PIERRE (sad): The i
nsane laughter of children ... They blow out the candle. The darkness is almost
total. Backstage, a light turns on,€bathes the scene
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few seconds, then off, like a door that opens and closes. Rideau.
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