In a garden.  M. Mazel and his wife are near a service table with long chairs.  beside them another salon merchant - it's the dye - is standing, with a hat on his head.

The Dyer
So you’re not coming?

Mazel
No, I  have no desire to watch my son perform his acrobatics which the press considers perilous

The Dyer
But that’s just a bluff!  It’s to attract the public!  There’s no real danger!

Mazel
For you…

The Dyer (Seriously)
It’s just as dangerous for me, the spectator, as it is for your son!

Mazel
How so?

The Dyer
If he falls, he has to fall somewhere.  That somewhere might be on top of me!

Mazel
I’d rather he fell on you than a cow.  At least on you, you don’t have horns

MME Mazel (dismally)
And again, we know nothing.

The Dyer (Relieved)
You can easily see that you’re not afraid, since you’re making jokes

Mazel
Oh!  Jokes…  Jokes about dying….
MME Mazel(exhasperated)
Don’t say such things or I’ll have a nervous breakdown!

The Dyer
So you’re not coming?

Mazel
No.  She wants to kill the colonel.  It would make me worse than the revenue…

The Dyer
Well, alright.  I’ll phone you when it’s over then…


MME Mazel
As soon as he sets foot on the ground!

The Dyer
I promise!
(Mr. Dyer man leaves gaily and joyously~)

MME Mazel (in a low voice)
We make a child, we suffer martyrdom, in temple for mumps, scarlet fever, teeth of milk.  We don’t sleep for five years, and voila…

Mazel
Voila, then what?  you are ridiculous to the end!  I’m very happy and very proud that my son is whatever he is!  We’re just shopkeepers, my poor Marie.  We pass our lives behind a counter like cattle at the rack.  What is more remarkable is when we bought the oriental Café to enlarge it and my dispute, in 1927, with the collector.  And yeah, for people like us, it doesn’t help much.  And it does give some solace to think about how we serve everyone and how we have a son who is as handsome as a god, gilded like a star, with broad shoulders, a small butt, black eyes and beautiful teeth. And this son who, thanks to our savings, could have been made useless all his life; this son wanted to become an officer.  And as being on the ground wasn’t dangerous enough, he made himself an aviator : And as an ordinary aviator, it didn’t risk mangling his body enough, he pursued hunting and acrobatics.  And alright, it’s better that he’s handsome, I like it, it has some allure; especially when one is as round as a pumpkin and have an arse that drags on the ground - which is sort of my case - That one should be proud to be the father of an eaglet.

MME Mazel
Because, apart from your son, you’ve done nothing.

Mazel
I’ve done what I could.

MME Mazel
At the war of ’14, you weren’t in the battle of Dixmude?

Mazel
I was there because I was sent there, without stating my desires.

MME Mazel
You did not stay for weeks, under the snow, and in the mud, with your fingers bursting with chilblains, and with water always up to the belly?

Mazel
Oh, I wasn’t alone!  And we would have all preferred to lie on benches on the azure coast.  But we were all told to stay and we stayed al long as we had to.




MME Mazel
And your military medals?  You have them because you found them in the street?

Mazel
I have them because they were given to me.

MME Mazel
And they were given to you because you were searching under enemy fire for a lieutenant…

Mazel (Stupified)
But he was my little cousin!  That was Maxime, the grocer of Cogulin!  The whole thing ends up looking like a family story.  But what is this feminine romanticism that’s taken you so late and abruptly?  I’ve tried to apply myself to what I do every day.   I did it without squabble, without glorifying myself, and with great sincerity, because I knew it was useful, because there was behind us a great country full of women and children, with heaps of small bell-towers amidst the orchards of almond trees, in the middle of the corn, in the middle of the vines.  I’m not a warrior, I’m not a jingoist (characterized by extreme patriotism, especially in the form of aggressive or warlike foreign policy.),  i’m not even what one would call a ‘patriot’.  But for me, if you’d like, I like France.  Come now, Marie, you shouldn’t exaggerate. While our son, what he did, he wanted to do, he chose it, and that is infinitely more brilliant, and more glorious, and more dangerous.  When I was in the trenches, I was below ground level, I was at no risk of falling any farther.  And yet he, he is just a child : he’s 25 years old!

MME Mazel
You too, you were 25 yeas old!

Mazel
Yes, but with me, I was a mature, I was a man…  while he… I don’t know if it’s our fault, or if it is the air of the age, but, frankly, the 25 year old boys of today, I see them as children… And I am proud of our boy, with the smile and courage of childhood, or at this very moment, doing all of this.

(He takes a program out of his pocket and starts to read it aloud.)

“ 1 - Vertical Swivel Turns” very dangerous…
“ 2 - The middle apparatus executes a barrel, the other two must turn round it in a double movement.”
(With less force)
he’s going to do that, a thousand metres in the air. That’s a bit concerning, but I’m proud.
“To close this event with dignity, a rocket fireworks display will shock the public with the rocket triggered by a loss of speed at the top of a vertical ascent.

(He pours himself a glass of rum)