_Scene II._ The Banks of the Loire.
[Illustration]
THE
GODDESS OF REASON
_ACT I_
_The Château of Morbec in Brittany. A formal garden and a wide
terrace with stone balustrade. In the background the château,
white and peak-roofed, with great arched doors. Beyond it a
distant prospect of a Breton village and of the sea beating
against a dangerous coast. To the left a thick wood, to the right
a perspective of garden alleys, fountains, and flowering trees. On
the terrace a small table set with bread, fruit, and wine. In the
angle formed by the level of the terrace and the wide stone steps
leading into the garden the statue of a nymph, its high and broad
pedestal draped with ivy. Scattered on the terrace and steps a
litter of stones, broken cudgels, rusty and uncouth weapons. The
sun shines, the trees wave in the wind, the birds sing, the
flowers bloom. It is a summer morning in the year 1791._
_Enter from one of the garden paths a lackey and_ RÉMOND LALAIN.
LALAIN _wears a riding dress with a tricolour cockade_.
LALAIN
Say to Monsieur the Baron of Morbec,
Rémond Lalain, the Deputy from Vannes,
In haste is riding north, but hath drawn rein—
Hearing to-day of Baron Henri’s death—
And audience craves that he may homage pay
To Morbec’s latest lord!
THE LACKEY
I go, monsieur!
[_Exit the lackey._
LALAIN
These gloomy towers!
[_He muses as he paces the garden walk before the
terrace._
Mirabeau is dead!
Gabriel Riquetti, dead, I salute thee,
Great gladiator! Who treads now the sand
That yesterday was trod by Mirabeau?
Barnave, Lameth, ye are too slight of frame!
There’s Lafayette. No, no, _mon général_!
Robespierre? Go to, thou little man!
Jean Paul Marat, dog leech and People’s Friend?
Wild beast to fight with beast! Faugh! Down, Marat!
Who stands this course, why, that man’s emperor!
Now how would purple look upon Marat?
Jacques Danton?—Danton! Hot Cordelier!
Dark Titan forging to a Titan’s end!
Shake not thy black locks from the tribune there,
Nor rend the heavens with thy mighty voice!
‘Tis not for thee, the victor’s golden crown,
The voice of France—
[_The doors of the château open. Enter three lackeys
bearing a great gilt chair, which they place with
ceremony at the head of the steps which lead from
the terrace into the garden._
FIRST LACKEY (_stamping with his foot upon the terrace_)
The gilded chair place here!
We always judge our peasants from this chair,
We lords of Morbec! North terrace, gilt chair!
SECOND LACKEY
Baron Henri sat here the day he died!
FIRST LACKEY
Now Baron René takes his turn!
[_They place the chair._
LALAIN (_as before_)
Danton!
Why not Lalain? It is as good a name!
Mirabeau’s dead! Out of my way, Danton!
THIRD LACKEY (_gathering up the stones which lie
upon the terrace_)
I’ll throw these stones into the shrubbery!
SECOND LACKEY (_lifting a rusty scythe from the steps_)
This scythe I’ll fling into the fountain!
FIRST LACKEY (_his hands in his pockets_)
Hé!
One sees quite well that we have stood a siege!
[_The lackeys gather up the stones, the sticks, the broken
and rusty tools and weapons._
LALAIN
Where lives the man who doth not worship Might?
O Goddess All-in-All! make me thine own,
As the bright moon did make Endymion;
And I will rim thy Phrygian cap with stars,
And give thee for thy cestus the tricolour!
_Enter_ GRÉGOIRE.
GRÉGOIRE
Monsieur Lalain!
LALAIN (_waving his hand_)
My good Grégoire!
GRÉGOIRE (_to the lackeys_)
Despatch!
Monseigneur will be here anon!
[_He glances at the stones, etc._
Rubbish!
Away with’t!
[_Passing the statue of the nymph, he strikes it with
his hand._
Will you forever smile?
Stone lips that long have smiled at bitter wrong!
You might, my dear, have lost that smile last night!
FIRST LACKEY
Last night was something like!
SECOND LACKEY (_throwing the stones one by one into
the shrubbery_)
Sangdieu! last night
My heart was water!
GRÉGOIRE
Ah, poltroon; your heart!
THIRD LACKEY (_making play with a broken stick_)
Our baron’s a swordsman! His rapier flashed!
FIRST LACKEY
_Keen as the blade of the Sieur de Morbec!_
—And that is a saying old as the sea!
SECOND LACKEY
_Hard as the heart of the Sieur de Morbec!_
—And that was said before the sea was made!
[_They laugh._
THIRD LACKEY (_pointing to_ LALAIN)
What’s he?
GRÉGOIRE
The advocate Rémond Lalain.
THIRD LACKEY
A patriot?
GRÉGOIRE
Hotter than Lanjuinais!
THIRD LACKEY
What does he at Morbec?
GRÉGOIRE
How should I know?
His home was once within the village there,
And now and then he visits the curé.
FIRST LACKEY
The curé! He visits Yvette Charruel!
LALAIN (_as before_)
Mirabeau and I were born in the south.
Oh, the orange flower beside the wall!
And the shaken olives when Mistral wakes!
GRÉGOIRE
Once they were friends, Baron René and he;
The Revolution came between—
FIRST LACKEY (_He sends a pike whirling into the
shrubbery_)
Long live
The Revolution!
GRÉGOIRE
My friend, ‘twill live
Without thy bawling!
THIRD LACKEY (_arranging the bottles upon the small
table_)
So! The red wine here,
The white wine there!
(_To a fallen bottle._) Stand up, Aristocrat!
LALAIN
The sun is high!
[_He approaches the terrace and addresses the nearest
lackey._
How long must I await
The pleasure of Monsieur the Baron here?
THE LACKEY
Monsieur?
LALAIN
Go, fellow, go! and to him say,
Rémond Lalain—
THE LACKEY
I go, monsieur!
[_Exit the lackey._
LALAIN
‘Tis well,
René de Vardes, to keep me waiting thus!
[GRÉGOIRE _pours wine into a glass and descending
the steps offers it to_ LALAIN.
GRÉGOIRE
The old vintage, Monsieur Lalain!
LALAIN
Thanks, friend.
The day is warm.
[_He raises the glass to his lips. Laughter and voices
from the winding garden paths._
What’s that?
GRÉGOIRE (_shrugging_)
More guests, no doubt!
The count, the vidame, and the young marquise!
All Morbihan felicitates Morbec,
And brings our baron bonbons and bouquets,
As if there were no hunger and no frost!
[_A distant sound from the wood of harsh and complaining
voices._
LALAIN
And that?
GRÉGOIRE
Soldiers and huntsmen beat the woods;
For half the village is in hiding there,
Having assayed last night to burn Morbec!
As if ‘twould burn! This time the soldiers came!
Mon Dieu! the times are bad.
LALAIN (_abruptly_)
All the village!
Did Yvette Charruel—
GRÉGOIRE (_shrugging_)
Yvette!
FIRST LACKEY (_from the terrace_)
Yvette!
SECOND LACKEY
I warrant monseigneur will hang Yvette!
[LALAIN _pours the wine upon the ground and throws
the glass from him. It shatters against the balustrade.
Laughter and voices. Guests appear in the garden
walks, the women in swelling skirts of silk or muslin,
powdered hair and large hats; the men in brocade
and silk with cane swords, or in hunting dress._
A LADY (_curtseying_)
Monsieur le Vicomte!
A GENTLEMAN (_bowing_)
Madame la Baronne!
MME. DE MALESTROIT
A heavenly day.
ENGUERRAND LA FÔRET
No cloud in the sky.
THE VIDAME (_saluting a gentleman_)
Count Louis de Château-Gui!
COUNT LOUIS
Ah, monsieur!
[_Presents his snuff-box._
MME. DE PONT À L’ARCHE
For laces I advise Louise. Fichus?
The Bleeding Heart above the flower shop.
THE VIDAME
—A _lettre de cachet_. To Vincennes he went!
MME. DE MALESTROIT
But ah! what use of laces or fichus!
We emigrate so fast there’s none to see!
THE ENGLISHMAN
I quote a great man—my Lord Chesterfield:
“Exist in the unhappy land of France
All signs that history hath ever shown”—
MME. DE PONT À L’ARCHE
The Queen wore carnation, Madame, pale rose,
The Dauphin—
LALAIN
What do I in this galley?
(_To_ GRÉGOIRE.) I’ll walk aside!
[_Exit_ LALAIN.
COUNT LOUIS (_to_ GRÉGOIRE)
Was that Rémond Lalain?
GRÉGOIRE
It was, Monsieur le Comte.
COUNT LOUIS
Ah, scélérat!
THE VIDAME
The talked-of Deputy for Vannes?
LA FÔRET
Tribune
Eloquent as Antony!
COUNT LOUIS
Demagogue!
THE ENGLISHMAN
I heard him in the Jacobins. He spoke,
And then they went and tore a palace down!
COUNT LOUIS
Stucco!
_Enter, laughing_, MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI, MELIPARS DE
L’ORIENT, _and_ CAPTAIN FAUQUEMONT DE BUC. DE
L’ORIENT _has in his hand a paper of verses_.
My daughter and De L’Orient,
Captain Fauquemont de Buc!
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
Messieurs, mesdames!
The poet and his verses!
THE COMPANY
Ah, verses!
COUNT LOUIS
Who is the fair, Monsieur de L’Orient?
Lalage or Laïs or little Fleurette?
Men sang of Célestine when I was young,—
Ah, Célestine, behind thy white rose tree!
DE L’ORIENT
I do not sing of love, Monsieur le Comte!
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
He sings of this day—
DE BUC
The Eve of Saint John.
DE L’ORIENT
It is a Song of Welcome to De Vardes!
DE BUC
But yesterday poor Colonel of Hussars!
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
To-day Monsieur the Baron of Morbec!
DE L’ORIENT
_Mars to Bellona leaves the tented field._
DE BUC
That’s Bouillé at Metz! Kling! rang our spurs—
De Vardes’ and mine—from Verdun to Morbec!
DE L’ORIENT
_The warrior hastens to his native weald._
COUNT LOUIS
Would I might see again Henri de Vardes!
DE BUC
It would affright you, sir! The man is dead.
COUNT LOUIS
Ah, while he lived it was as did become
A nobleman of France and Brittany!
He was my friend; together we were young!
From dawn to dusk, from dusk to dawn again,
We searched for pleasure as for buried gold,
And found it, too, in days when we were young!
From every flint we struck the golden sparks,
We plucked the thistle as we plucked the rose,
And battle gave for every star that shone!
O nymphs that laughing fled while we pursued!
O music that was made when we were young!
O gold we won and duels that we fought!
_On guard, monsieur, on guard! Sa! sa! A touch!
What shall we drink? Where shall we dine? Ma foi!
There’s a melting eye at the Golden Crown!
The Angel pours a Burgundy divine!
Come, come, the quarrel’s o’er! So, arm in arm!_
O worlds we lost and won when we were young!
O lips we kissed within the jasmine bower!
O sirens singing in the clear moonlight!—
With Bacchus we drank, with Apollo loved,
With Actæon hunted when we were young!
The wax-lights burned with softer lustre then.
The music was more rich when we were young.
Violet was the perfume for hair powder,
Ruffles were point and buckles were brilliant
And lords were lords in the old land of France!
We did what we would, and _lettres de cachet_,
Like cooing doves they fluttered from our hands!
DE L’ORIENT
_Our tribute take, last of a noble line!_
COUNT LOUIS
Women! There will come no more such women!
DE L’ORIENT
_The laurel and the empress rose we twine._
COUNT LOUIS
And Henri’s gone! And now his cousin reigns,—
René de Vardes that hath been years away!
The King is dead. Well, well, long live the King!
They say he’s brave as Crillon, handsome too,
With that _bel air_ that no De Vardes’s without!
_Enter_ MME. DE VAUCOURT _followed by the_ ABBÉ JEAN DE
BARBASAN.
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
Monsieur l’Abbé!
DE BUC
Madame de Vaucourt!
MME. DE VAUCOURT (_with outspread hands_)
You’ve heard? Last night they strove to burn Morbec!
ALL
What?
MME. DE VAUCOURT
The peasants!
COUNT LOUIS
Again!
DE BUC
Ah, I am vexed.
Messieurs, mesdames, the Baron of Morbec
Silence enjoined, or the tale I’d have told!
The abbé is so bold—
THE ABBÉ
De Buc’s so proud!
And just because he brought us help from Vannes!
The red Hussars to hive the bees again!
THE ENGLISHMAN
The seigneur and his peasants are at odds?
THE ABBÉ
Slightly!
COUNT LOUIS (_complacently_)
Henri was hated! Hate descends
With the land.
DE L’ORIENT
There is a girl of these parts—
COUNT LOUIS
Eh?
DE L’ORIENT
She plays the firebrand.
COUNT LOUIS
Bah!
DE L’ORIENT
She hath
The loveliest face!
COUNT LOUIS
Hm!
THE ABBÉ
I am unscathed.
De Vardes is slightly wounded!
ALL
Oh!
COUNT LOUIS
Morbleu!
And how did it happen, Monsieur l’Abbé?
THE ABBÉ
Behold us at our ease in the great hall,
De Vardes and I, a-musing o’er piquet!
Voltaire beside us, for we read “Alzire,”
A wine as well, more suave than any verse;
A still and starlit night, soft, fair, and warm;
Wax-lights, and roses in a china bowl.
He laid aside his sword and I my cap,
All tranquilly at home, the Two Estates!
He held carte blanche, I followed with quatorze.
The roses sweetly smelled, the candles burned,
At peace we were with nature and mankind.—
A crash of painted glass! a whirling stone!
A candle out! the roses all o’erturned!
The thunder of a log against our doors!
A clattering of sabots! a sudden shout!
_Morbec, Morbec, it is thy Judgment Night!
Admission, admission, Aristocrats!_
Red turns the night, the servants all rush in.
_Sieur! Sieur!_ the lackeys moan and wring their hands.
_Give, give!_ the terrace croaks. _Burn, Morbec, burn!_
The great bell swings in the windy tower
Till the wolves in the forest pause to hear.
_Fall, Morbec, fall! France has no need of thee!_
Upsprings a rosy light! a smell of smoke!
Mischief’s afoot! The Baron of Morbec
Lays down his cards and takes his rapier up,
Hums _Le Sein de sa Famille_, shuts _Alzire_,
Resignedly rises—
COUNT LOUIS (_rubbing his hands_)
Expresses regret
That monsieur his guest—
THE ABBÉ
Should be incommoded
And turns to the door. I levy the tongs.
The seneschal Grégoire hauls from the wall
An ancient arquebus! The lackeys wail,
And nothing do, as is the lackey’s wont!
Again the peasants thunder at the door!
_Open, De Vardes! Oh, hated of all names!
The new is as the old! Death to De Vardes!_
The log strikes full, and now a panel breaks;
In comes a hand that brandishes a pike;
A voice behind, _We’ve come to sup with thee!
For thou hast bread and we have none, De Vardes!_
THE ENGLISHMAN
Ha, ha! ha, ha! ha, ha!
COUNT LOUIS
You laugh, monsieur?
THE ABBÉ
I like calmness myself. Calm of the sea,
Calm skies, the calm spring, and calmness of mind!
A tempest’s plebeian! So I admired
René de Vardes when he walked to the door
And opened it! Behold the whole wolf pack,
As lean as ‘twere winter! canaille all!
Sans-culottes and tatterdemalions,
Mere dust of the field and sand of the shore;
Humanity’s shreds would follow the mode,
And burn the château of their rightful lord!
De Vardes’ peasants in fine. _Mort aux tyrans!
À bas Aristocrat! Vive la patrie!
Vive la Révolution!_ In they pressed,
Gaunt, haggard, and shrill, and full in the front—
Young and fair, conceive! dark-eyed and red-lipped—
A fury, a mænad, a girl called—
DE L’ORIENT
Yvette!
THE ABBÉ
So they named her, the peasants of Morbec,
Named and applauded the dark-eyed besom!
When, De Vardes’ drawn rapier just touching
Her breast-knot of blue as she stood in his path,
Up went her brown hand, armed with a sickle!—
De Vardes is a known fencer,—‘tis lucky!
His wound is not deep, and in the left arm!
THE VIDAME
She may hang for that! How high I forget
The gallows should be—
COUNT LOUIS (_offering his snuff-box_)
Monsieur le Vidame,
Thirty feet, I believe!
THE VIDAME
But not in chains—
COUNT LOUIS
No! It was the left arm.
DE L’ORIENT
What did De Vardes?
THE ABBÉ
De Vardes, with Liancourt and Rochefoucauld,
Holds that the peasant doth possess a soul!
I think it hurt him to the heart that he,
New come to Morbec, and unknown to these,
His vassals of the village, field, and shore,
Should be esteemed by them an enemy,
A Baron Henri come again, forsooth!
But since ‘twas so, out rapier! parry! thrust!
Diable! he’s a swordsman to my mind!
The mænad with the sickle he puts by;
Runs through the arm a clamourer of corvée,
Brings howling to his knees a sans-culotte,
And strikes a flail from out a claw-like hand!
They falter, they give way, the craven throng!
The women cry them on; they swarm again.
His bright steel flashes, rise and fall my tongs!
But the lackeys are naught, and Grégoire finds
A flaw in his musket; he will not fire!
Pardieu! the things this Revolution kills!
There is no faithfulness in service now!
Our peasants grow bold. Ma foi! we’re at bay!
De Vardes and De Barbasan, rapier, tongs!
Wild blows and wild cries, blown smoke and a glare,
And the girl Yvette with her reaping hook
Still pushed to the front by the women there!
Upon De Vardes’ white sleeve the blood is dark,
And his breath comes fast! I see the event
As ‘twill look in print in Paris next week,
In _L’Ami du Peuple or Journal du Roi_!
“The Vain Defence of an Ancient Château!
When we Burn so Much, why not Burn the Land?”
And I break with my tongs a young death’s-head
That’s bawling—What think you?—_Vive la République._
COUNT LOUIS
Death and damnation!
THE ABBÉ
So I said! And then,
Quite, I assure you, in time’s very nick,
The saint De Vardes prays to smiled on him!
A thunder clap!—_Pas de charge! En avant!_
Captain Fauquemont de Buc and his Hussars!
DE BUC
Warned by the saint, we galloped from Auray!
THE ABBÉ
Like the dead leaves borne afar on the blast,
Or like the sea mist when the sun rises,
Or like the red deer when the horn’s sounded,—
Like anything in short that’s light o’ heel,—
Vanished our peasants! The women went last;
And last of all the mænad with the eyes!
Jesu! She might have been Jeanne d’Arc, that girl!
The man who captures her has a hand full!—
To the deep woods they fled, are hunted now.—
De Vardes and I gave welcome to De Buc,
Put out the fire, attended to our wounds,
Resumed our cards, and finished our _Alzire_—
The Château of Morbec stands, you observe!
[_The company applauds._
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
But who was the saint?—
DE BUC
Ah, here is De Vardes!
_Enter_ DE VARDES. _He is dressed in slight mourning and
carries his arm in a sling._
THE GUESTS
Monsieur the Baron of Morbec!
DE VARDES
Welcome,
The brave and the fair, my old friends and new!
Welcome to Morbec!
COUNT LOUIS
Ah, your wounded arm!—
Our regret is profound!
DE VARDES
It is nothing.
The fraternal embrace of the people!
COUNT LOUIS
Oh, the people!
MME. DE VAUCOURT
The people!
DE L’ORIENT
The people!
COUNT LOUIS
My friend, permit us to hope you will make
Of the people a signal example!
DE VARDES
They are misguided.
COUNT LOUIS
Misguided! Morbleu!
DE VARDES
I will talk to them.
COUNT LOUIS
Monsieur le Baron,
Let your soldiers talk with a bayonet’s point,
Your bailiffs with a rope—
MME. DE VAUCOURT
But what good saint
Brought warning to Auray?
DE L’ORIENT
I guess that saint!
[_A lackey appears upon the terrace._
THE LACKEY
Madame la Marquise de Blanchefôret!
THE GUESTS
Ah!
La belle marquise!
_Enter_ THE MARQUISE.
DE BUC
The saint!
DE VARDES
My neighbour fair,
And to De Barbasan and me last night
A guardian angel—
[_He greets_ THE MARQUISE.
Madame la Marquise!
THE MARQUISE
Monsieur le Baron!
(_To the company._) Messieurs, mesdames!
DE VARDES
From Blanchefôret to Auray through the night
This lady rode—
THE MARQUISE (_with gayety_)
Ah, how I rode last night,
To Auray through the dark! This way it was:
I overheard two peasants yestereve
As in a lane I sought for eglantine.
“How long hath Morbec stood?” said one. “Too long!
But when to-morrow dawns ‘twill not be there!
And we were born, I think, to burn châteaux!—
Ten, by the village clock—forget it not!”
THE ABBÉ
Ah, ay, the while I dealt the clock struck ten.
THE MARQUISE
It was already dusk.—Like grey death moths
They slipped away! I knew not whom to trust,
For in these times there’s no fidelity,
No faithful groom, no steadfast messenger!
My little page brought me my Zuleika.
I knew the red Hussars were at Auray,
And that ‘twas said they loved their colonel well!
So to Auray came Zuleika and I!
DE BUC
We thought it was Dian in huntress dress!
DE VARDES
How deeply am I, Goddess, in thy debt!
No gold is coined wherewith I may repay!
[_Music within._
THE MARQUISE
Give me a rose from yonder tree!
[_Laughing voices within._
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
More guests,
They’re on the south terrace!
DE L’ORIENT
Violins too!
Ah, the old air—
[_He sings._
_There lived a king in Ys,
In Ys the city old!
Beside the sounding sea
He counted o’er his gold._
DE VARDES
Let us meet them.
[_He gives his hand to_ THE MARQUISE. _Exeunt_
COUNT LOUIS, THE ABBÉ, DE BUC, DE L’ORIENT,
_etc._ GRÉGOIRE _approaches_ DE VARDES.
GRÉGOIRE
Monseigneur—Monsieur the Deputy!
DE VARDES
Ah!
Say to monsieur I’m not at leisure now.
[_Exeunt_ DE VARDES _and_ THE MARQUISE. _The
terrace and garden are deserted save for_ GRÉGOIRE,
_who seats himself in the shadow of the balustrade_.
GRÉGOIRE
Humph!—Monseigneur’s not at leisure.
[_He draws a Paris journal from his pocket and
reads, following the letters with his forefinger._
What news?
What says Jean Paul Marat, the People’s Friend?
[_A cry from the wood and the sound of breaking
boughs._ YVETTE _and_ SÉRAPHINE _enter the garden_.
RAÔUL THE HUNTSMAN’S _voice within_.
THE HUNTSMAN
Hilloa!—Hilloa!—Hilloa!
[YVETTE _and_ SÉRAPHINE _turn towards one of the
garden alleys. Laughter and voices._
YVETTE
Go not that way!
SÉRAPHINE
There is no way!
THE HUNTSMAN (_within_)
Hilloa!—Hilloa!
SÉRAPHINE
We’re caught!
YVETTE
The terrace there! Behind the stone woman!
[_They cross the garden to the terrace._
SÉRAPHINE (_She stops abruptly and points to the table_)
Bread!
THE HUNTSMAN (_nearer_)
Hilloa!—Hilloa!
[YVETTE _and_ SÉRAPHINE _turn from the table and
hide behind the tall, ivy-draped pedestal of the
statue_. GRÉGOIRE _looks up from his paper and sees
them_.
_Enter_ RAÔUL THE HUNTSMAN.
THE HUNTSMAN
This way they came!
GRÉGOIRE (_jerking his thumb over his shoulder_)
Down yonder path!—plump to the woods again!
THE HUNTSMAN
The Hussars from Auray have twenty rogues!
GRÉGOIRE
Indeed!
THE HUNTSMAN
These two and my bag’s full!
[_Exit_ THE HUNTSMAN.
GRÉGOIRE
Diable!
[_He reads aloud._
_Weary at last of intolerable wrong,
The peasants of Goy in Normandy rose
And burned the château. Who questions their right?_
[_He folds his paper._
Saint Yves! this stone is much harder than Goy!
[_He looks fixedly at the statue and raises his voice._
Ma’m’selle who would smile at the trump of doom,
I think that all the village will be hanged!
And at its head that brown young witch they call
Yvette—
_Reënter_ DE VARDES _and_ THE MARQUISE.
DE VARDES (_to_ GRÉGOIRE)
Begone!
[_Exit_ GRÉGOIRE. DE VARDES _and_ THE MARQUISE
_rest beside the statue_, YVETTE _listening_.
Why, what’s a soldier for?
But pity me, pity me, belle Marquise!
Since pity is so sweet!
THE MARQUISE
I’m sure it is
A fearful wound!
DE VARDES
A fearful wound indeed!
But ‘tis not in the arm!
THE MARQUISE
No, monsieur?
DE VARDES
No!
The heart! I swear that it is bleeding fast!
And I have naught wherewith to stanch the wound.
Your kerchief—
THE MARQUISE
Just a piece of lace!
DE VARDES
‘Twill serve.
THE MARQUISE (_giving her handkerchief_)
Well, there!—Now tell me of last night.
DE VARDES
Last night!
Why, all this tintamarre was but a dream,
Fanfare of fairy trumpets while we slept.
A night it was for love-in-idleness,
And fragrant thoughts and airy phantasy!
There was no moon, but Venus shone as bright;
The honeysuckle blew its tiny horn
To tell the rose a moth was coming by.
_Clarice-Marie!_ sang all the nightingales,
Or would have sung were nightingales abroad!
_Hush, hush!_ the little waves kept whispering.
The ivy at your window still was peeping;
You lay in dreams, that gold curl on your breast!
THE MARQUISE
No, no! You cheat me not, monsieur! Last night
I did not sleep!
DE VARDES
Nor I!
THE MARQUISE
Miserable brigands!
DE VARDES
No, not brigands! Just wretched flesh and blood.
THE MARQUISE
You pity them?
DE VARDES
Ay.
THE MARQUISE
Were I a seigneur,
Lord of Morbec—
DE VARDES
Were I a poor fisher,
Sailing at sunrise home from the islands,
Over the sea, and all my heart singing!
And you were a herd girl slender and sweet,
With the gold of your hair beneath your cap,
And you kept the cows and you were my _douce_,
And you waved your hand from the green cliff head
When the sun and I came up from the sea!—
And there was a seigneur so great and grim
Who walked in his garden and said aloud,
“How many fish has he taken for me?
Which of her cows shall I keep for myself?
I leave him enough to pay for the Mass
The day he is drowned, and the girl shall have
The range of the hills for her one poor cow!
Why should the fisher fret, the herd girl weep?
There is no reason in a serf’s dull heart!
I might have taken all. It is my right!”
La belle Marquise, what would the herd girl do?
And should the fisher suffer and say naught?
THE MARQUISE
There is no fisher nor no herd girl here.
How fair the roses of Morbec, monsieur!
DE VARDES
Ay, they are lovely queens. They know it too!
I better like the heartsease at your feet.
THE MARQUISE
It is a peasant flower!—Sieur de Morbec,
Have you never loved?
DE VARDES
How fair is the day!
For loving how fit! ‘Tis the Eve of Saint John.
THE MARQUISE
Yes.
DE VARDES
Last year I loved on this very day.
Take the omen, madame!
THE MARQUISE
We had not met,
You and I!
DE VARDES
Ah, ‘tis true! We had not met!—
And so, fair as you are, you were not there,
In Paimpont Wood, on the Eve of Saint John?
THE MARQUISE
No!
DE VARDES
I wonder who was!
THE MARQUISE
In Paimpont Wood!
It is haunted!
DE VARDES
On the Eve of Saint John
I rode from Morbec here to Chatillon,
And through the wood of Paimpont fared alone.
It is a forest where enchantments thrive,
And a fair dream doth drop from every tree!
The old, old world of bitterness and strife
Is remote as winter, remote as death.
It was high noon in the turbulent town;
But clocks never strike in the elfin wood,
And the sun’s ruddy gold is elsewhere spent.
The light was dim in the depths of Paimpont,
Green, reverend, and dim as the light may be
In a sea king’s palace under the sea.
The wind did not blow; the flowering bough
Was still as the rose on a dead man’s breast.
On velvet hoof the doe and fawn went by;
In other woods the lark and linnet sang;
A stealthy way was taken by the fox;
The badger trod upon the softest moss;
And like a shadow flitted past the hare.
Without a sound the haunted fountain played.
The oak boughs dreamed; the pine was motionless;
Its silver arms the beech in silence spread;
The poplar had forgot its lullaby.
It was as still as cloudland in the wood,
For in a hawthorn brake old Merlin sleeps,
And every leaf is hushed for love of him.
There through the years they sleep and listless dream,
The wood of Paimpont and the wizard old.
They dream of valleys where the lilies blow;
They dream of woodland gods and castles high,
Of faun and Pan and of the Table Round,
Of dryad trees and of a maiden dark—
That Vivien whom old Merlin once did love,
Vivien le Gai whose love was poisonous!
THE MARQUISE
I’ve heard it said by women spinning flax,
“Who wanders in Paimpont wanders in love;
Let him who loves in Paimpont Wood beware!”
DE VARDES
Ah, idle word! Oh, many silver bells
Since Vivien’s day have rung, Beware, beware!
And rung in vain, for in every clime
Lies Paimpont Wood, dawns the Eve of Saint John!
THE MARQUISE
And in the forest there whom did you love?
DE VARDES
I do not know. I have not seen her since,
Unless—unless I saw her face last night!
YVETTE (_behind the base of the statue_)
Oh!—
DE VARDES
Did you not hear a voice?
THE MARQUISE
‘Tis the wind.—
You’re riding through the wood to Chatillon.
DE VARDES
It was a lonely forest, deep and vast,
A secret and a soundless trysting-place,
Where one might meet, nor be surprised to meet,
From out his past, or from his life to come,
A veilèd shape, a presence bitter-sweet,
A thing that was, a thing was yet to be!
It seemed a fatal place, a destined day.
Down a long aisle of beechen trees I rode,
And came upon a small and sunny vale,
And there I met a face from out a dream,
An ancient dream, a dark and lovely face.—
Give me your fan of pearl and ivory!
[_He takes the fan from_ THE MARQUISE.
I’ll turn enchanter, use it for my rod,
And make you see, Marquise, the very place!
[_He points with the fan._
Here sprang the silver column of a beech;
There, mossy knees of a most ancient oak;
Yonder a wall of thickest foliage rose;
And here a misty streamlet flowed
With a voice more low than the dying fall
Of a trouvère’s lute in Languedoc,
And on its shore the slender flowers grew;
Upon a foxglove bell hung _papillon_;
And all around the grass was long and fine.
Within this sylvan space, ah, ages since!
The white-robed Druids in the cold moonlight
Had reared an altar stone of wondrous height;
The fane was there, the Druids were away.
All fragrant was the air, and sunny still,—
On the Eve of Saint John ‘tis ever so!
Above, the sky was blue without a cloud;
The sun stood sentinel o’er the haunted wood.
And there she lay, the woman of a dream,
Against the Druid Stone, amid the bloom;
Her eyes were on the stream; she leaned her ear;
From far away the trouvère played to her;
In flakes of gold the sunlight blessed her hair;
Her lips were red; she seemed a princess old;
Mid purple bloom she lay and gazed afar,
In the magic wood on a magic day,
Listening to hear the mighty trouvère play.
Was she a princess or a peasant maid?
I do not know, pardie! She may have been
That Vivien who wrought old Merlin wrong.
I cannot tell if she were rich or poor;
I only saw her face; I only know
I loved the dream I met in Paimpont Wood
As I did ride last year to Chatillon
On Saint John’s Eve.—
[_He lays the fan upon the table._
So I have loved, Marquise!
THE MARQUISE
What did your pretty dream?
DE VARDES
As other dreams;
She fled!
THE MARQUISE
And you pursued?
DE VARDES
Yes, but in vain!
Trouble no dream that is dreamed in Paimpont!
The wood closed around her; she vanished quite.
It must have been that evil Vivien,
Since you, Marquise, have never trod the wood!
THE MARQUISE
Would I have fled?
DE VARDES
Why, then, without doubt
It was Vivien! But yet do you know
‘Tis the Eve of Saint John, and here, last night,
I dreamed that I saw my dream again!
[_The hand and arm of the statue fall, broken, to the
ground at the feet of_ THE MARQUISE.
THE MARQUISE
Ah!
DE VARDES (_pushes the marble aside with his foot_)
It is nothing! The stone was cracked last night.
Some crack-brained peasant had no better mark!
THE MARQUISE
‘Tis a _présigne_!—I feel it.—
DE VARDES
You shudder!
THE MARQUISE
One trod near my grave! I’m suddenly cold!
DE VARDES
The sun never shines on this terrace!
THE MARQUISE
No!
‘Twas an air from the Forest of Paimpont
Came over me!
[_Voices within._ DE L’ORIENT _sings_.
DE L’ORIENT
_In Ys they did rejoice,
In Ys the wine was free;
The Ocean lent its voice
Unto that revelry!_
THE MARQUISE
Oh, come away!
Let us find the violins and the sun!
There are other woods than Paimpont. Come away!
[_Exeunt_ DE VARDES _and_ THE MARQUISE.
YVETTE (_leaves the shadow of the statue_)
‘Twas he! That horseman who did waken me
That Saint John’s Eve I strayed in Paimpont Wood!
O Our Lady—
SÉRAPHINE (_from the statue_)
Saint Yves! There is bread!
[YVETTE _takes from the table a loaf of bread and
throws it to_ SÉRAPHINE, _who springs upon it like a
famished wolf_.
Ah—h—h!
[_Setting her teeth in the loaf._
[YVETTE, _about to lay her hand upon another round of
bread, sees the fan lying upon the cloth. She leaves
the bread and takes up the fan. It opens in her hand._
YVETTE
Oh!—
[_She sits in the great chair and waves the fan slowly
to and fro._
Were I a lady fair and free,
I would powder my hair with dust of gold,
I would clasp a necklace around my throat,
Of jewels rare, and a gown I would wear,
Blue silk like Our Lady of Toute Remède!
My shoes should be made of golden stuff,
And a broidered glove should dress my hand,
My hand so white that a lord might kiss!
I would spin fine flax from a silver wheel,
I would weave a web for my bridal sheets,
I would sing of King Gradlon under the sea,
Were I a lady fair and free!
_Enter_ GRÉGOIRE.
SÉRAPHINE (_from the statue_)
Yvette!
Yvette!
YVETTE
Peace, peace!
GRÉGOIRE
What have you there?
YVETTE
A fan.
So long I’ve wanted one!
GRÉGOIRE
A fan, forsooth!
You cannot eat a fan, drink it, wear it!
YVETTE
I would look on’t.
One day at Vannes the deputy’s sister
Showed me a fan, but it was not like this!
Oh, not like this with these wreaths of roses,
These painted clouds, this fairy ship!
GRÉGOIRE
The price
Would keep a peasant from starvation!
And belike it fell from the lifted hand
Of Madame la Marquise de Blanchefôret!
[_The fan breaks in_ YVETTE’S _hand_.
SÉRAPHINE (_leaving the statue_)
Thou evil-starred!
YVETTE
What have I done?
GRÉGOIRE
Diantre!
Now you will be beaten as well as hanged!
YVETTE
She called us miserable brigands!
_Enter_ DE VARDES.
SÉRAPHINE
Saint Yves! Saint Hervé! Saint Herbot!
DE VARDES (_to_ GRÉGOIRE)
Voices?
GRÉGOIRE
Monseigneur?
DE VARDES
The fan of Madame la Marquise.
GRÉGOIRE
Monseigneur?
DE VARDES (_perceiving_ YVETTE _and_ SÉRAPHINE)
What will you have, good people?
SÉRAPHINE
Saint Guenolé! Saint Thromeur! Saint Sulic!—
He did not see us in the dark last night!
[DE VARDES _regards them more closely_.
GRÉGOIRE
Séraphine Robin—Yvette Charruel—
They are not bad folk, monseigneur!
SÉRAPHINE
No, faith!
[DE VARDES _studies the name written upon a playing
card which he holds in his hand_.
DE VARDES (_to_ GRÉGOIRE)
Say to Monsieur the Deputy from Vannes
That I await him here.
[_Exit_ GRÉGOIRE. DE VARDES _looks intently at_
YVETTE.
YVETTE
It was so beautiful,
The fan—I took it in my hand—it broke!
SÉRAPHINE
All that she touches breaks!
DE VARDES (_to_ YVETTE)
Wast ever thou
In the Forest of Paimpont?
YVETTE
Oh, monseigneur!
Last Eve of Saint John, by the Druid Stone!
DE VARDES
Ah!—
[_He takes the fan from_ YVETTE’S _hand and examines it_.
Beyond all remedy!—Well, ‘tis done.
Do not tremble so!
YVETTE
I tremble not!
_Enter_ LALAIN.
SÉRAPHINE (_to_ YVETTE)
Here’s Monsieur Lalain!
YVETTE
I care not, I!
DE VARDES
Ah,
Rémond Lalain!
LALAIN (_stiffly_)
Monsieur—
DE VARDES
A moment, pray,
Until I’ve spoken with these worthy folk!
LALAIN (_coldly_)
Monsieur the Baron’s pleasure!
[_He moves aside, but in passing speaks to_ YVETTE.
Yvette! Yvette!
YVETTE
Monsieur the Deputy?
LALAIN
Too fair art thou!
Beware! This is the Seigneur of Morbec!
YVETTE
I know.
LALAIN
He is the foe of France!
YVETTE
I know.
DE VARDES (_to_ SÉRAPHINE)
Your business, well?
SÉRAPHINE (_stammering_)
Our business, monseigneur?—
Oh, give me help, Saint Yves le Véridique!—
Our business?—Saint Michel!—Well, since we’re here!—
Monseigneur, was the pullet plump and sweet?
DE VARDES
The pullet?
YVETTE
Our pullet, monseigneur.
LALAIN
Distrained for rent!
SÉRAPHINE
And Lisette, monseigneur?
May we enquire for Lisette’s health?
DE VARDES
Lisette?
YVETTE
Our cow, monseigneur.
LALAIN
Taken for taxes!
SÉRAPHINE
It was the best Lisette!
YVETTE
She followed me
Through the green lanes, and o’er the meadows salt.
Her breath was sweet as May!
DE VARDES
It would please you
To have your cow again?
YVETTE
Oh, monseigneur!
Monseigneur, I’m the herd girl of Morbec!
LALAIN (_aside_)
They gaze into each other’s eyes!
DE VARDES
What is
Thy name?
YVETTE
Yvette.
SÉRAPHINE
Ay, ay, ‘tis so!—Yvette.
Called also The Right of the Seigneur!—
DE VARDES
The Right of the Seigneur!
SÉRAPHINE (_nodding_)
Just so.
LALAIN (_aside_)
Recall
Just one of a great seigneur’s privileges!
_Baiser des mariées_, in short, my friend!
SÉRAPHINE
O holy Saints! the night that she was born!
The thunder pealed, the sea gave forth a cry,
The forked lightnings played, the winds were out
And in the hut her mother lay and wailed,
And called on all the saints, the while Jehan
(That was her mother’s husband, monseigneur),
He stood and struck his heel against the logs.
Up flew the sparks, for all the wood was drift,
Salt with the sea, and every flame was blue.
I held the babe—Yvette, show monseigneur
The mark beneath the ear!
YVETTE
No!
SÉRAPHINE
Stubbornness!
‘Tis there!
LALAIN
A birthmark—a small blue flower!
DE VARDES
Ah!
SÉRAPHINE
Ay! a little mark.—Jehan Charruel!
He was a violent man,—the sea breeds such!
He cursed Yvonne upon her pallet there,
So pale she was, and dying with the tide!
He cursed the saints, the purple mark, the babe,
And some one else I dare not name—
LALAIN
I dare!
Henri-Etienne-Amaury de Vardes,
Late Baron of Morbec!
SÉRAPHINE
Then out he goes,
A-weeping hard—Jehan—into the night.
Ouf! how it blew!—
The sea ran high, he met it in the dark,
Was drowned! Yvonne went with the ebb. Behold
Yvette!
[SÉRAPHINE _retreats to the table, where she furtively
drinks from a half-emptied wineglass_. LALAIN _follows
her and the two talk together_.
DE VARDES
That purple flower, that violet
By nature limned upon thy slender throat,—
From north to south, from east to west ‘tis known!
A De Vardes bore that mark at Poitiers.
The marshal, Hugues the Fair, and black Arnaud,
The late baron—Why, what hast thou to do
With burning down châteaux to make a light
To show the Morbihan that purple flower?
YVETTE
O Our Lady of Thorns!
DE VARDES
Herd girl too fair!
And vision of Paimpont, fair as I dreamed!
How fair was thy errand last night?
YVETTE
Monseigneur!
DE VARDES
In the ashes of Morbec what shouldst thou find?
YVETTE
We only wished to make a little light—
A little light to let the neighbours know
That we were hungry!
DE VARDES
What neighbours hast thou?
YVETTE
Normandy and Maine, Anjou and Poitou,
The sea, the sky, and somewhat far away,
The Club of the Jacobins at Paris.
DE VARDES
Thy father was a nobleman of France!
YVETTE
I never had a father, monseigneur!
I had a mother, and she loved, they say,
She dearly loved the fisherman Jehan!
When for the dead I pray, I pray for them.
DE VARDES
How old art thou?
YVETTE
How old? Ah, let me see!
[_She counts upon her fingers._
The year the hailstones fell and killed the wheat;
The year the flax failed and we made no songs;
The year I begged for bread; the bitter year
We buried Louison who died of cold,
And Jacques was hanged who shot the seigneur’s deer;
The Pardon of Sainte Anne I had a gown;
Came Angélique from Paris, told us how
The wicked Queen was smiling, smiling there;
Justine pined away, they shot Michel If,
Down fell the Bastille, I learned _Ça ira_;
The deputy came to the curé’s house,
Beside the deep blue sea I walked with him.
A day there was at Vannes, a glorious day,
When music played, and every banner waved,
And all the folk went mad and rang the bells!
_Vive la Révolution! Vive Mirabeau!
Vive Rémond Lalain!_ I wept when ‘twas o’er,
Last summer was so fair! I wandered far,
One day I wandered through a darksome wood—
‘Twas on the Eve of good Saint John, I know!
DE VARDES
Ah—
YVETTE
The summer fled, the light, the warmth did go,
The winter came that was so cruel cold,
Cold as the dead! And hunger, monseigneur,
With bread at the château!—Died Baron Henri.—
The summer came again, the roses bloomed,
The roses bloomed, but they were not for us!
For us the dank seaweed, the thorny furze.
The lark sang well, but ah, it sang too high!
We could not lift our hearts to heaven’s gate;
We only heard the wind moan at our door.
We cried to the saints, but they took no heed!
One told us what they did at Goy and Vannes,
At Goy and Vannes, pardieu! they helped themselves!
We heard there had come a new lord to Morbec,
A soldier and a stranger to us all!
Three days have gone since I did sit alone
Upon the cliff edge in the waving grass;
The mew and curlew cried, the night wind blew,
And in the sunset glow red turned Morbec!
I thought of my mother, I thought of France,
I looked at the château cruel and high,
And as I was hungry I ate my black bread!—
I think, monseigneur, that I am nineteen.
DE VARDES
_Pauvre petite!_
YVETTE
Ah, poor indeed!
DE VARDES
How dark
Thine eyes!
YVETTE
My mother’s were darker, they say!
DE VARDES
Thy face is the face of a picture there.
YVETTE
I know—the Duchess Jeanne, who died for love.
DE VARDES
Did Vivien teach thee magic in the wood?
YVETTE
Monseigneur?
DE VARDES
_Pauvre petite!_
YVETTE
O Our Lady!
The roses smell so sweet—
[LALAIN _comes forward_.
LALAIN
I pardon crave,
But I must sup to-night at Rennes. Please you,
Release this peasant girl! Affairs there are
Of which I’d speak—
DE VARDES
Ay, presently!
LALAIN
Now!
DE VARDES
Monsieur!
LALAIN
Citoyen René-Amaury Vardes—
DE VARDES
Is that, monsieur, the latest Paris mode?
_Citoyen René-Amaury Vardes_,
The _De_ left off, our hats (_Glances at_ LALAIN) left on!
LALAIN (_removing his hat_)
Monsieur
The Baron of Morbec!
DE VARDES (_bowing_)
Monsieur
The Deputy for Vannes!
[_Laughter and voices within._
_Enter from the château_ THE MARQUISE _and_ MLLE. DE
CHÂTEAU-GUI _with_ DE L’ORIENT _and_ DE BUC.
DE L’ORIENT (_sings_)
_Then spake the king of Ys
Above the song and shout,
Bring here the golden key
That keeps the ocean out!_
THE MARQUISE
Monsieur le Baron,
My lost fan!
YVETTE (_aside_)
Oh me!
DE VARDES
Madame la Marquise,
I will give you a fan that’s to my taste;
By Watteau painted, mounted by Laudet,
Fragile and fine, an Adonis of fans!
This that I broke I will keep for myself.
[_Pockets the fan._
Forgive the mere accident!
YVETTE
Ah!
SÉRAPHINE (_from the table_)
Ah—h—h!
LALAIN (_aside_)
Gods!
If _I_ forgive!
THE MARQUISE
At Blanchefôret, monsieur,
The Watteau, Laudet, Adonis of fans,
I’ll take from your hand—
DE VARDES
I ride there anon,
(_Aside._) But not through the Forest of Paimpont
And not on the Eve of Saint John.
THE MARQUISE
Come soon,
My garden is sweetest in June.
DE L’ORIENT (_sings_)
_In Ys they sing no more,
In Ys the city old!
The waves are rolling o’er
The king and all his gold._
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
Look at _my_ fan, Monsieur le Baron!
[LALAIN _crosses to_ YVETTE.
LALAIN
Hast thou forgot, hast thou forgot, Yvette,
Thy part, thy lot, the very name they give thee?
This is Morbec, this is the brazen castle!
There are no roses here.
YVETTE
So generous
He was!
LALAIN
Generous! Oh, well are you called
The Right of the Seigneur!
YVETTE (_passionately_)
Give me not that
Detestable name!
LALAIN
So meek under wrongs—
YVETTE
Oh!
LALAIN
So quick to forget—
YVETTE
Oh!
LALAIN
_La patrie_—
Sworn oaths—the tricolour—
YVETTE
Anger me not!
LALAIN
On your lips _Ça Ira_! but in your heart
_O Richard, O mon Roi!_
YVETTE
‘Tis false!
LALAIN
And I—and I—Yvette!
YVETTE
Speak not to me!
LALAIN
You gaze at that man! I tell you he wooes
Madame la Marquise de Blanchefôret!
[YVETTE _crosses to_ _The Marquise_, DE VARDES,
_and the guests_.
YVETTE (_to_ THE MARQUISE)
Madame!
I broke the fan! I would pay if I might.
I would keep your cows, or spin your flax—
THE MARQUISE
The fan!
You broke the fan—not monsieur there!
YVETTE
No, I!
THE MARQUISE
Sainte Geneviève!
_Enter_ COUNT LOUIS, THE VIDAME, MME. DE VAUCOURT,
_etc._
SÉRAPHINE
Yvette!
COUNT LOUIS
La belle Marquise!
[SÉRAPHINE _draws_ YVETTE _back to the base of the
statue_. COUNT LOUIS, THE MARQUISE, _and the
guests talk together_. LALAIN _crosses to_ DE VARDES.
LALAIN
René de Vardes!
DE VARDES
Rémond Lalain!
LALAIN
This day I bury our friendship of old!
DE VARDES
So!
LALAIN
I owe to you a thousand louis
Which I’ll repay, monsieur!
DE VARDES
I doubt it not.
LALAIN
Touch not the girl Yvette!
DE VARDES
At last the heart of the matter! I see
You have been through the Forest of Paimpont.
LALAIN
Or touch at your peril!
DE VARDES
Monsieur!
LALAIN
Oh, if
You lay your hand upon your sword, monsieur,
I’m for you there!
DE VARDES
Art mad, or drunk with power,
Monsieur the favourite of the Jacobins?
LALAIN
There’ll come a day when to be Jacobin
Is something more, monsieur, than to be king!
DE VARDES
Indeed!
[_A Sergeant of Hussars appears on the terrace and
salutes._
Sergeant!
THE SERGEANT
My Colonel!
DE VARDES
Well, your report.
THE SERGEANT
My Colonel, wood and shore we’ve searched since dawn,
And twenty bitter rogues we’ve found, no less!
They crouched behind the tall grey stones, or lay
Prone in the furze, or knelt at Calvaries!
Two women remain—
[_He stares at_ YVETTE _and_ SÉRAPHINE.
SÉRAPHINE
O Saint Thégonnec!
Saint Guirec! Saint Servan!
YVETTE
O Our Lady!
_Enter_ THE ABBÉ.
THE ABBÉ
De Vardes, your precious peasants—
[_He sees_ YVETTE.
Who is here?
The De Méricourt, the mænad, I swear!
Who wounded De Vardes!
YVETTE
Oh!—
MME. DE VAUCOURT
The Egyptian!
SÉRAPHINE
Monseigneur, monseigneur, she’s none of mine!
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
The poor girl!
SÉRAPHINE
Ah, mademoiselle, it is
The innocentest creature!
THE ABBÉ (_touches_ YVETTE _upon the cheek_)
Good-morning,
My dear!
COUNT LOUIS
Hm—m—m!—pretty!
THE VIDAME
Certainly the gallows
Should be thirty feet high.
COUNT LOUIS
Hm—m—m! Something less,
Monsieur le Vidame!
LALAIN
Diable!
DE VARDES (_to the sergeant_)
Where are your captives?
THE SERGEANT
My Colonel,
I have them safely here! Ha! you within!
[_Enter from the hall of the château soldiers and
huntsmen with peasants, men and women; some
sullenly submissive, others struggling against their
bonds. They crowd the terrace before the great
doors. The guests of_ DE VARDES _to the right and
left upon the terrace, the stairs, and in the garden_.
YVETTE _and_ SÉRAPHINE _beside the statue_; LALAIN
_near them_; DE VARDES _with his hand upon the
great chair_.
MME. DE VAUCOURT
Oh, the brigands!
COUNT LOUIS (_rubbing his hands_)
Here, Sergeant, range them here,
Upon the terrace! And take the great chair,
De Vardes! Ma foi! We will teach them, the rogues!
Monsieur l’Anglais, have you peasants at home
Plague you at times?—Word of a gentleman!
It seems like old days and Henri again!
[_The soldiers thrust their prisoners forward with
the butts of their muskets._
A MAN
Monseigneur!
ANOTHER
Monseigneur!
A WOMAN
Madame la Marquise!
My father was your father’s foster brother!
THE MARQUISE
Is that a reason you should burn châteaux?
A YOUNG WOMAN
Where’s Yvette Charruel?
YVETTE
Here, Angélique!
SÉRAPHINE (_aside to_ ANGÉLIQUE)
Of course! Betray the girl! I knew you would.
AN OLD WOMAN
Yvette said God would have mercy! I faint—
DE VARDES (_to_ GRÉGOIRE)
Give her wine!
A PEASANT
See! There is Rémond Lalain!
LALAIN
Patience, compatriot! Thursday I speak
In the Jacobins!
ANGÉLIQUE
Ah, monseigneur!
Ah, monseigneur, there’s she who led us here!
There’s she who said the shadow of Morbec
Blackened the land as sin blackens the soul!
THE GUESTS
Ah!—
ANGÉLIQUE
That same Yvette, who said, monseigneur,
That delving the earth, the peasants of France
In a long age had delved up a thought!
THE GUESTS
Ah!—
ANGÉLIQUE
She said that we were never born to starve!
She said the seigneur’s dues were all _infâme_!
THE GUESTS
Ah!—
THE VIDAME
Burn the witch!
DE VARDES
Have you done?
ANGÉLIQUE
Monseigneur,
She said the forest deer, the hare, the birds,
Were just as much the peasant’s as the lord’s!
THE ENGLISHMAN
What? What?
ANGÉLIQUE
She said the saints they wished no tithes!
THE ABBÉ
I give her up!
ANGÉLIQUE
Monseigneur, monseigneur,
She said that all our hope was the tricolour!
DE BUC
O lilies of Bourbon!
SÉRAPHINE (_to_ ANGÉLIQUE)
Thou little beast!
ANGÉLIQUE (_shrilly_)
Yvette said bitter hunger, cold, and want
Came with _noblesse_ and with _noblesse_ would go!
Yvette said the Queen was an Austrian!
Yvette said the King was a fainéant!
Yvette said the princes were traitors!
Yvette said the armies would turn to us!
Yvette heard the drums of the Republic!
THE GUESTS
Out!
COUNT LOUIS
Enough!
SÉRAPHINE
Thou hellicat!
A PEASANT
Monseigneur!
Saint Yves le Véridique knows it is truth!
She ever rings the tocsin in our hearts!
ANOTHER
Yvette Charruel!
A WOMAN
She led us here!
ANOTHER WOMAN
Yvette!
Yvette Charruel!
ANGÉLIQUE
Yvette?—
[_Several of the women laugh._
DE VARDES
Why, you are all cowards!
SÉRAPHINE
So they are, monseigneur, so they are!
DE VARDES (_to the peasants_)
Who speaks for you?
[_A silence._
THE PEASANTS
Monseigneur—monseigneur—
[_They break off._ DE VARDES _stands waiting for
them to speak, his hand upon the chair_.
AN OLD WOMAN
Yvette—
AN OLD MAN
Yvette—
THE PEASANTS
Monseigneur—
[_They break off. They make a sighing sound. The
old woman begins to say her beads._
YVETTE
Monseigneur,
They are so hungry! Monseigneur, ‘tis said
You are a soldier and have been to war!
Oh, to us all there comes one battle-field
When we must look into a conqueror’s eyes!
Think then upon that last dark plain and show
Mercy to us who in the shadow stand!
We are your enemies!
DE BUC
Faith of an officer!
De Vardes—
YVETTE
The children are crying at home,
Monseigneur!
A WOMAN
O Sainte Vierge, have pity!
YVETTE
With bowed heads the old men wait!
A WOMAN
Oh, my father!
YVETTE
The young men hear the ravens crying!
THE PEASANTS
Aie!—
YVETTE
The nets are dry, the red sails laid away,
And all the boats lie idle by the shore.
A FISHERMAN
Star of the Sea! Pray for poor fisherfolk!
A PEASANT
I left my sickle in the standing corn.
YVETTE
The wheat must fall, the flax be gathered soon,
Or else we’ll sing no songs in Morbihan!
THE PEASANTS
Aie! The songs of the _diskanerien_!
YVETTE
The hearths are cold and the wheels turn not,
And Hunger sits on every doorstep!
THE PEASANTS
Aie!—
YVETTE
To-morrow is the Pardon of the Birds.
The birds go free—the birds go free, monseigneur!
DE BUC
And so I swear should you!
THE PEASANTS
The birds go free!
A WOMAN
My little bird at home!
THE MARQUISE
Give her, monsieur,
Another fan to break!
YVETTE
Not one of yours,
Madame la Marquise!
DE VARDES (_to the sergeant_)
Give them liberty.
THE SERGEANT
My Colonel?
DE VARDES
Cut their bonds; set them free!
Make way for them there!
(_To the peasants._) Peasants of Morbec!
Last night you rose against your lord and strove
To burn his house, to slay his guest and him.
How shall he speak to you to-day? Poor fools!
Distraught and blind you struck ere that you looked,
And struck at one who fain would be your friend,
Who has his vision of a seigneur’s right!
These are the towers of Morbec, but I
Am not Baron Henri, blind that ye are!
I am Baron René, remember my name.
Bread you shall have, I will think of your wrongs.
No foe am I! There are the open doors.
Back to the village go! but look you well.
Mistake no more, it will be dangerous!
Creep not this way again in the dark night,
Or you may meet an ancient Lord of Morbec!
More loyal grow, cease all your traitorous talk,
Raise not Rebellion’s head or it will find
A soldier of the King with armèd heel!
Mistake no more! This once I pardon you.
Begone! The fields await you and the wind
Sits fair for Quiberon! Begone.
(_To_ YVETTE _and_ SÉRAPHINE.) Stay!
[_The peasants press in confusion toward the doors
of the château._
THE PEASANTS
Live Baron René!
LALAIN
O Breton fools!—Yvette!
[YVETTE _does not answer. She looks at_ DE VARDES.
THE MARQUISE (_with strained laughter_)
High justice at Morbec!
THE VIDAME
Mille diables!
The wretches all go free!
COUNT LOUIS
Is this Morbec?
Mort de ma vie! What is it that you do,
Monsieur le Baron de Morbec?
DE VARDES
My pleasure,
Monsieur le Comte de Château-Gui, upon
My peasants of Morbec!
_CURTAIN_
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
_ACT II_
_The garden of the Convent of the Visitation at Nantes. Long lines
of fruit trees which appear to sleep in the sunshine. In the
middle of the garden a stone fountain, where rises and falls a
little jet of water. To the left the white buildings of the
convent; in the background, between the convent and the street, a
high garden wall, the tops of trees, and the roof and spire of a
church. There is a barred door in the wall. The doors and windows
of the convent parlour giving upon the garden are open. It is the
summer of 1792._
_A nun appears for a moment at the door of the convent, then
vanishes, and_ DE VARDES _and_ YVETTE _enter the garden_.
DE VARDES
What hast thou learned to-day?
YVETTE
In history:
The battles of Rossbach and of Minden!
The Peace of Paris—
DE VARDES
Indeed!
YVETTE
Philosophy:
Man is born free—but who will break his chains?
DE VARDES
It is a question truly!
YVETTE
Theology:
God is the father of us all—and yet
I think I know how feels an orphan child!
DE VARDES
Defeat of France, Rousseau, and Modern Doubt!
And hast thou learnt all this in convent walls?
YVETTE
No!
DE VARDES
They are good to thee, the Sisters all?
YVETTE
Monseigneur, yes!
DE VARDES
When I did place thee here
After that day thou didst not burn Morbec!
I gave the Reverend Mother straitest charge,—
This convent oweth much to the De Vardes.
They have enriched it oft, and it in turn
Refuge hath given unto noble dames.
Oft did she sit beside the fountain there,
That Duchess Jeanne whose look thou wearest now!
YVETTE
Oh!—
DE VARDES
How mournfully thou sighest! Yet
How glorious are thine eyes this lovely day!
Thou’rt well, and thou art happy, art thou not?
YVETTE
There is no hunger here, no cold, no care!
I ever wished to learn and here I learn,
Here where the Duchess Jeanne did sit forlorn,—
And then I pray within the chapel there,
And then I count the stars as they are lit,—
And then I think of all the lights of Nantes!
DE VARDES
It hath been many days I’ve been away,
To Morbec and to Vannes and to Vitré.
YVETTE
I thought that thou wouldst never come again!
DE VARDES
Didst think the night had ceased to long for day?
Didst think the tide no more obeyed the moon?
The reed no longer bowed unto the wind?
YVETTE
Ah, do not jest!—There’s blood upon thy coat!
DE VARDES
‘Tis nothing!—We have had hard words to-day,
My men and I!
[_He gazes around at the quiet garden._
O holy peace! O balm!
O green and sunny quietude! Outside
There’s tumult, heat, confusion, enmity!
Here is a haven, here ‘tis blissful sweet!
[_They sit upon the marge of the fountain._
All is dismay and doubt in France to-day.
With troubled eyes men question destiny!
Outside I front the storm as best I may,
But here is anchorage profound and fair—
There fruit trees drifting bloom, this fountain marge!
YVETTE
I better love the wild and desolate shore!
DE VARDES
What is that ribbon closed within thy hand?
[_Yvette opens her hand and shows a ribbon cockade._
The tricolour!
YVETTE
Wilt thou not wear it?
DE VARDES
No!
YVETTE
It was my favour—Fare you well, monsieur!
DE VARDES
I might not wear that ribbon, no, not if
It were thy favour truly, Vivien!
Ah, when will cease this discord of our minds?
Wilt thou forever be a Jacobin?
[_A distant bugle, followed by a roll of drums and
martial music._
YVETTE
_Aux armes, Citoyens!
Formez vos bataillons!_
DE VARDES
Where learned’st thou the Marseillaise?
YVETTE
‘Tis in the air! Oh, on these moonlight nights
I dream of France and how he spoke to me
Of all the wrongs of France we should redress!
DE VARDES
Who spoke to thee?
YVETTE
Rémond Lalain.
DE VARDES
Rémond Lalain was once my closest friend.
He travels now a dark and winding way!
YVETTE
Where is she now, that lady bright and fair
Who’s named La Belle Marquise in Morbihan?
DE VARDES
She is in Nantes.
YVETTE
Ah!—Is she not fair?
DE VARDES
Most fair.
YVETTE
And nobly born?
DE VARDES
And nobly born.
YVETTE
Alas!
_Enter_ SISTER BENEDICTA.
SISTER BENEDICTA
Monsieur le Baron de Morbec,—
A courier, in haste, foam-flecked and spent,
Demands to speak with you.
DE VARDES
What tidings now?
Ill news like ravens to a cumbered field!
I come, my Sister!
(_To_ Yvette.) I’ll return.
[_Exeunt_ DE VARDES _and_ SISTER BENEDICTA.
YVETTE
Alas!
She is in Nantes! He sees her every day.
What is this pain that’s tearing at my heart?
[_Laughing voices of young girls. Enter from the
convent_ SISTER FIDELIS _and_ SISTER SIMPLICIA
_with a cluster of young girls, pupils of the nuns or
refugees from Royalist families. They seat themselves
upon the wide steps of the fountain._ YVETTE
_leans against the basin and plays in the water with
her hand_.
A YOUNG GIRL (_to_ YVETTE)
We’re telling stories!
ANOTHER
Finish thine, Louise!
LOUISE
‘Tis told. The beau prince wed the belle princesse,
And they lived happily ever after!
A YOUNG GIRL
Whose turn now?
ANOTHER
Tell us a story, Yvette!
YVETTE (_turning from the fountain_)
_Beneath the halfway tree,
‘Tween Josselin and Pontivy,
Suddenly, out of the dark,
I heard a grey wolf bark!
Hoée! Hoée! Hoée!_
_The snow was on the ground,
The shadows all around,
Laid a finger on my lip,
As I stood, hand on hip,
Listening the grey wolf bark.
Hoée! Hoée! Hoée!
Beneath the halfway tree,
‘Tween Josselin and Pontivy!_
_A little child came by.
“Yvette, the wolf is nigh!
Yvette, take thou me up,
I’ve neither bite nor sup!”
Hoée! Hoée! Hoée!_
_The child came to my arm.
He was so fair and warm!
The child came to my arm,
I kept him safe from harm!
Hoée! Hoée! Hoée!_
_A light grew round his head,
I felt all cheered and fed.
“Yvette, have thou no fear!
Who giveth aid, to me is dear!”
Hoée! Hoée! Hoée!
The child no longer pressed,
White snow lay on my breast!_
_The grey wolf ran away,
Hoée! Hoée! Hoée!
There broke a splendid day,
Beneath the halfway tree,
‘Tween Josselin and Pontivy!_
SISTER FIDELIS
A miracle?
YVETTE
I do not know.
A YOUNG GIRL
I liked best
The beau prince and the belle princesse.
ANOTHER GIRL
Oh,
Thou’rt an Aristocrat!
[_The young girls return to their embroidery._ YVETTE
_plays in the water of the fountain with her hand_.
YVETTE
Gold fish, gold fish,
How are the fish of Quiberon?
A YOUNG GIRL
Were I
A fairy prince, then my princess should be
Madame la Marquise de Blanchefôret!
ANOTHER
If I
Were a princess, I would have for my prince
Monsieur le Baron de Morbec.
[YVETTE _turns from the fountain_.
A THIRD GIRL
They say
That in all France there’s none more brave than he!
And far and near she’s called La Belle Marquise!
A little while and there’ll a wedding be!
THE FIRST
But then, the poor Yvette! He is, you know,
Her prince!
[_They laugh._
YVETTE
Oh, mockery!
SISTER FIDELIS
Hush, children, hush!
Monsieur le Baron is her benefactor!
SISTER SIMPLICIA
He plucked her from the dreadful world outside!
SISTER FIDELIS
He placed her here beneath Our Lady’s care.
SISTER SIMPLICIA
In everything he is her truest friend!
SISTER FIDELIS
But for his condescension, ah, who knows
What in these fearful days might be her lot!
Here in this fold she’s safe.
YVETTE (_aside_)
Alas! alas!
A YOUNG GIRL
Oh, she is fairer than the fairy queen!
Clarice de Miramand and Blanchefôret!
YVETTE (_aside_)
Is she so fair? Is she so fair indeed?
I broke her fan—now she will break my heart!
A YOUNG GIRL
He is a knight like Lancelot!
YVETTE
Oh me!
She is the Queen, she is that Guinevere!
[_Distant music. The noise of footsteps and voices in
the street beyond the wall._
A YOUNG GIRL
Oh, outside the wall what is there passing?
SISTER FIDELIS (_severely_)
We have nothing to do with outside the wall.
A YOUNG GIRL (_indicating the door in the wall_)
Might we open the door a little way?
SISTER FIDELIS
The blessed saints forbid!
[_From the street are heard the drums and fifes of
passing National troops. The bayonets of the soldiers
are visible above the wall._
VOICES (_in the street_)
_Allons, enfants de la patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrivé!_
A YOUNG GIRL
Oh, soldiers!
ANOTHER
Were the wall only down!
[_The circle about the fountain breaks. The young
girls walk up and down beneath the trees. The Sisters
watch them from a garden bench. The music
dies away._ YVETTE _sits upon the stone marge of the
fountain_.
YVETTE
What is this pain that’s tearing at my heart?
What matters it to me whom he doth love?
And what concern of mine that she is fair?
I would she were not so!—Oh, misery!
She is in Nantes, she is La Belle Marquise!
I would that she were dead!
[_The chapel bell rings._
O Seigneur Dieu!
Her death! I do not wish her death! Not I!
O Our Lady! let not ill thoughts possess me!
I would I were at Morbec this still eve,
Herding the cows amid the golden broom,
Above a sea of glass without a wind,
As stagnant calm as is this prisoned water!
I would gather the musk rose in the lane,
I would tread the wet sand and count the ships,
My brow would not burn, my heart would not ache,
No tears from my eyes would I wipe away!
Why should they not fall like the winter rain?
I am the herd girl here as at Morbec,
And she’s a great lady, loved for herself!
O love! is it love that stifles me so?
O love! is it love that makes me weep?
I thought that love was all splendour and light,
The bow in the sky, the bird at its height,
The glory and state of an angel bright!
What is this pain that burdens all my heart?
[_She bows her head upon her knees. The hum of the
street deepens to a continuous and sinister sound.
In the distance a roll of drums._ YVETTE _raises her
head_.
I sit by this fountain, he’ll not return!
He cares not for me,—he’s the Sieur de Morbec,
And I a herd girl wandering through his fields!
Mother, my mother, did you sit and wait,
By the wild sea rim on a glowing eve,
Mid the brown seaweed on the shining sands?
Your heart did it beat, and your senses swim?—
But your lover, the fisher, he came, he came!
[_The voice of the street deepens._
I will not have this pain! I’ll tear it out!
[_Her hand touches the purple mark on her throat._
Ha! how burns this hateful mark to-day!
[_There comes from the church towers of Nantes a
sudden and violent crash of bells._
SISTER FIDELIS (_rising_)
The tocsin!
THE YOUNG GIRLS (_They flutter forward to the
fountain_)
The tocsin! Oh, the tocsin!
Like a hive of bees hums the street without!
YVETTE
Oh, all ye iron bells! ring on! ring on!
_Enter_ MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI _and_ SISTER BENEDICTA.
THE YOUNG GIRLS
Here is Mademoiselle de Château-Gui!
She’ll tell us why the bells are ringing!
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
O Ciel!
Would you believe it? O blessed saints above!
The country is in danger!
A YOUNG GIRL
Oh! we thought
You brought us news!
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI (_joyously_)
Do you not hear the bells?
Oh, such a day outside! It is proclaimed!
_La patrie est en danger!_
[_Distant trumpets._
Well you may wail,
You brazen trumpets of the Revolution!
The Duke of Brunswick he is marching now,
And with him all our nobles back from Coblentz!
O bliss! _La patrie est en danger!_
SISTER FIDELIS
Oh, hush!
The very walls have ears!
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
My father says
The King shall have his own again, and all
Will go as merry as a wedding bell!
_La patrie est en danger!_
_Enter_ COUNT LOUIS, MELIPARS DE L’ORIENT, _and the_
ABBÉ DE BARBASAN.
Oh, here are
My father and Monsieur de L’Orient!
DE L’ORIENT
So sweet the flowers here—
COUNT LOUIS (_to the young girls_)
Mesdemoiselles,
One garden of rosebuds time hath not touched!
(_To the Sisters._) In your prayers, my Sisters, name Château-Gui!
[_The young girls curtesy, then exeunt between the
trees._ YVETTE _remains beside the fountain_. COUNT
LOUIS _looks at her through his glass_.
Ha!
DE L’ORIENT
The herd girl of Morbec!
COUNT LOUIS
I have eyes,
De L’Orient!
THE ABBÉ
Hm!—Fair child!
YVETTE (_coldly_)
Citoyen!
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
Monsieur de L’Orient, you promised me
My father should not walk abroad to-day!
DE L’ORIENT
What could I do? He is so young and rash!
COUNT LOUIS (_taking snuff_)
‘Tis true that Nantes is dangerous to-day
To all save those wild beasts the sans-culottes!
But that’s no reason I should stay at home.
Where is De Vardes? His man said he was here.
It is his wont, pardieu!
SISTER FIDELIS
Monsieur le Comte,
Monsieur the Baron of Morbec did come
To see that all was well with this our charge—
A peasant girl, monsieur, whom he did save
From cold and hunger and ill company.
But now she prospers and we think that he
Will come no more.
YVETTE
Jesu Maria!
COUNT LOUIS (_with satisfaction_)
Ma foi!
He is a soldier is De Vardes! He camps
One day beside the hedgerow in the field!
The next he’s for some royal mount of love,
High as the snow and splendid in the sun!
Since he’s not here I know where else he is!
DE L’ORIENT (_sings_)
_Mignonne, Mignonne!
Kiss me, rose of to-day!_
YVETTE
O heart! O world! O hedgerow in the field!
COUNT LOUIS
Well, well, her mother was as fair as she!
Clarice de Miramand, long-dead Clarice!
Her hair was golden too.—Old times, old times!
And now it is De Vardes and the Marquise!
[COUNT LOUIS, MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI, _and_ DE
L’ORIENT _walk up and down beneath the trees_. DE
L’ORIENT _sings_.
DE L’ORIENT
_Mignonne, Mignonne!
The red rose fades away!
Mignonne, Mignonne!
The white rose will not stay!_
THE ABBÉ
My dear, that is a pretty wrist of thine!
YVETTE
Citoyen!
THE ABBÉ
Hast said thy rosary to-day?
YVETTE
Citoyen!
THE ABBÉ
A melting eye!
YVETTE
Citoyen!
THE ABBÉ
Dame! She is only good to burn châteaux!
[_He joins_ COUNT LOUIS, _etc. They walk and talk
beneath the trees._
YVETTE
The high of heart bide no man’s scorning! I
Will break these bonds! I will be free! I will!
O royal mount of love, snow-high, sun-kissed,
Kissed by the sun which once did shine on me!
If I am of the fields—
[_Her hand touches the mark upon her throat. She
laughs._
O hated flower,
Which grew beneath no hedgerow on this earth!
Teach me, thou poison blossom, pride of heart!
Where is that Duchess Jeanne whom I am like?
They say for love her heart did rive in twain,
But now she smiles beside a shadowy stream
In some far land where none do die of love!
And where is he, Jehan the fisherman,
Who loved Yvonne, who met the sea and died?
They died for love who should have lived for hate!
I’ll live—
_Enter_ DE VARDES. COUNT LOUIS, _etc., come forward_.
Oh, here’s the soldier! Now we’ll know
How blow the winds around the camp of love!
COUNT LOUIS
What is it, René de Vardes? What is it, man?
DE VARDES
The King hath left the Tuileries! The mob
Forced the château and put his life in danger.
The Swiss are murdered, cut down to a man!
The Grenadiers joined with the Marseillaise!
De Maillé writes—the courier’s just arrived—
All is distraction, danger, and despair!
SISTER FIDELIS
Alas!
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
O Ciel!
THE ABBÉ
The soldiers in revolt.
DE L’ORIENT
The Swiss all murdered—the stanch Swiss!
SISTER SIMPLICIA
Alas!
COUNT LOUIS
The King hath left the Tuileries!
DE VARDES
To-night
I ride to Paris.
YVETTE
O God!
THE ABBÉ
To Paris!
As well say that you ride to death, De Vardes!
COUNT LOUIS
Ah, were I young again, I’d ride with you!
SISTER FIDELIS
Alas, they say it is a fearful place!
SISTER SIMPLICIA
It is so safe in Nantes!
DE VARDES
Ah, my Sister,
Because it is so safe in Nantes I go!
Once I did love this people; once I thought
Beyond this Revolution lay the morn,
The dewy morn of a most noble day!
It may be so; I know not; but I am
A soldier of the King. Needs must I go,
My bugles call; I’m breaking camp. Farewell!
SISTER FIDELIS
You will return.
DE VARDES
If I’m in life I will!
YVETTE
O Our Lady! O Our Lady!
[_The noise in the street increases. The tocsin rings.
The sky begins to darken before an approaching
storm._
COUNT LOUIS
Ring on!
Ye bells! ring on to the deaf sky! O France,
Of old thou wast a pleasant land and free,
In palace and in field a courteous place!
Now thou art desolate! Come, Austria, come!
Come, D’Artois, come, Brunswick, and come, Provence!
Rend the tricolour from the breast of France
And plant the fleur-de-lis where stood the Jacobins!
VOICES (_from the street_)
_Quoi! ces cohortes étrangères
Feraient la loi dans nos foyers!_
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
Hast said farewell to the Marquise?
DE VARDES
Not yet,
As far as Vannes I ride beside her coach.
YVETTE
Oh!—
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
Soon or late, she’ll draw you back to Nantes!
Now will she not?
DE VARDES (_smiling_)
Perhaps.
YVETTE
Jesu Maria!
SISTER FIDELIS
Monsieur, if you must go, oh, rest you sure
Jealously will we guard and spotless keep
The soul you stooped and drew from the foul mire!—
Yvette, come make your reverence to your lord!
YVETTE
I kiss your hand, monseigneur!
THE ABBÉ
There will be
A storm to-night!
COUNT LOUIS
Come, come, René de Vardes!
I’d see the courier who brought this news!
DE VARDES
I’ll follow you, Monsieur le Comte!
[_Exeunt_ COUNT LOUIS, _his daughter_, DE L’ORIENT,
THE ABBÉ, _and the Sisters_.
YVETTE
Wilt thou go?
DE VARDES
I must.
YVETTE
Why must thou go?
To-day the kingdom fell! Oh, in the dust
Of old things let it rest for evermore!
Take up the Revolution!
[_Lightning._
Oh, see!
The flaming sword before the gates of Eden!
Thou’rt safe within the garden! Go not forth.
Go not to Paris! Stay in Nantes, ah, stay!
Wear the tricolour—
[_Thunder._
Hark! It is the voice,
The menacing voice of the Republic!
It threatens thee, it threatens all who pass
That flaming sword, to lift the thing that was
And is not any more! Oh, let it lie!—
Thou’lt not to Paris?
DE VARDES
To-night, Citoyenne!
Ah, thou art skilful at betraying!
YVETTE
Quoi!
_Enter_ SISTER BENEDICTA.
SISTER BENEDICTA
Monsieur le Baron de Morbec, the page
Of Madame la Marquise de Blanchefôret
Attends—
YVETTE
Name of a name!
THE ABBÉ (_appearing in the door behind_ _Sister
Benedicta_)
De Vardes, De Vardes!
You gather the furze while the red rose waits!
DE VARDES
At once, my Sister!
(_To_ YVETTE.) Ah, not in anger,
Must thou and I part for this little while!
If I’m in life I will return, be sure,
To Nantes and all this garden loveliness,
Those fruit trees and this fountain!—Fare thee well.
The nuns will care for thee; I’ve ordered all.
Too fierce of aspect is the world without!
Here is fair peace, security, and calm;
Here thou art fenced from storm and violence.
Abide thou here until I come again!
[_Lightning._
YVETTE
The flaming sword!
DE VARDES
Hearest thou not, Yvette,
How sings the lark in Paimpont Wood to-day?
YVETTE
I hear the dirge of the salt sea!
DE VARDES
And there,
Seest thou not through yonder trees the stone,
The Druid Stone where thou didst lie in sleep?
YVETTE
I see a broken fan!
DE VARDES
Abide thou here
And dream of Paimpont Wood until I come.
I too will dream, I too will dream, Yvette!
YVETTE
Is not Clarice a lovely name?
DE VARDES
Why, yes,
A very lovely name.—Farewell, farewell!
I’ll see thy face, be sure, this very night,
Upon the road before me as I ride.
YVETTE
Oh, fare you well beneath the silver moon
As slow you ride beside a lady’s coach,
Discoursing of the dazzling, snowy heights!
I kiss your hand, monseigneur! Fare you well!
[THE ABBÉ’S _voice is heard from the doorway_.
THE ABBÉ
De Vardes! De Vardes!
DE VARDES
I come!
THE ABBÉ
The rose awaits!—
YVETTE
It is too much!
DE VARDES
Farewell, thou spirit of Paimpont!
[_Distant music._
YVETTE
Ah, ah! ‘tis worth all else—the Marseillaise!
DE VARDES
My Duchess Jeanne—
YVETTE
She is dead: cold and dead!
_Aux armes, Citoyens!
Formez vos bataillons!_
DE VARDES
Perverse and strange!
YVETTE
I’ll to my beads. Adieu!
_Over Ys, the sunken town,
When thou sailest look not down,
Mariner, mariner!_
DE VARDES
What wine hast thou drunken?
YVETTE
An old wine—
_For there dwells a fairy there
Will drag thee down by the long hair,
Mariner, mariner!_
DE VARDES
Oh, thou art too wilful!
THE ABBÉ
De Vardes! De Vardes!
YVETTE (_to the fish in the fountain_)
Gold fish, gold fish, how are the fish of Quiberon?
DE VARDES
Thou sullen witch, adieu!
[_Exit_ DE VARDES.
YVETTE
Monseigneur! ah!
He’s gone! He’s gone to meet the fairy queen!
He’s for the roses and the dazzling peaks!
The seaweed and the furze he’s left behind!
He’s left the storm, he’s left the storm and me!
[_The convent bell rings._
Toll, toll! as though thou’d toll my soul away!
Thou canst not toll him back! Oh, woe is me!
[_The nuns sing in the chapel._
VOICES
_O salutaris Hostia!
Quae coeli pandis ostium:
Bella premunt hostilia,
Da robur fer auxilium!_
[_Above the wall where it is shadowed by a fruit
tree, appear the head and shoulders of_ LALAIN. _He
draws himself up to the coping, watches_ YVETTE
_for a moment, then swings himself down to the garden.
He has a rose in his hand._
YVETTE
Where is the sunshine gone? Where is the gold?
It was a lovely day! ‘Tis cold and dead;
No light, no warmth, no cheer!—Oh, presently
Those two will take the summer road to Vannes!
Ha! does he think that I will meekly stay
Within this convent close, will kneel and pray,
Day in, day out, for all true lovers’ weal?
What is there now to do?—O Jealousy!
I dream of Paimpont Wood in June! I’ll dream
Of sunlit peaks, of roses named Clarice;
I’ll dream of furze that’s set about with thorns
And clings unto the common earth which bore it!
[_A roll of thunder._
On, on! It suits my mood, the crashing sound!—
Jehan the fisherman! rise from the sea,
Lay thy cold hand upon the heart of her
Who’s not thy child, and teach her how to hate!
Yvonne who parted from the earth one night,
Come through the storm that darkens overhead
And teach thy daughter how to hate! Thou too,
Thou other one, thou seigneur high and grand
Whose signet burns upon my aching throat,
Whose nature stirs within me suddenly,
Arise from hell and teach me how to hate!
[_Thunder._
VOICES FROM THE CHAPEL
_Tantum ergo sacramentum
Veneremur cernui_—
YVETTE
O Our Lady! O Our Lady! O Our Lady!
[LALAIN _throws the rose. It falls beside_ YVETTE.
Oh!—
[_She raises the flower to her lips._ LALAIN _comes
forward_.
Thou! I thought it was—I thought it was.
Go! No rose of thine would I have kissed,
Rémond Lalain!
[_With a wild petulance she throws down the flower
and treads upon it._
LALAIN
Now for that deed of thine
I will not spare him when the day is mine!
YVETTE
Of whom speakest thou?
LALAIN
The Citoyen Vardes.
YVETTE
Let him be!
LALAIN
The Citoyenne Blanchefôret.
YVETTE
Again!
LALAIN
‘Tis said the two will shortly wed—
A fitting match!—She’s fair and nobly born.
Thou mightst have seen, thou mightst have seen last night,
Walking by moonlight beside the Loire,
A lady the fairest and a great lord!
YVETTE
Say’st thou?
LALAIN
Beneath the trees, beside the flood,
Toying and whispering, the sword and fan!
YVETTE
Out and alas! Begone, thou torturer!
LALAIN
Oh, those old days when by the shore we walked
While sank the sun beneath the emerald waves,
And wild sea birds flashed all their silver wings,
And long we talked of France and liberty!
How thou art tamed, Yvette, Yvette Charruel!
Thou carest not now for France and liberty!
YVETTE
It is not true! Thou knowest that I care!
LALAIN
This sultry night I speak to patriot hearts
Of War, Dumouriez, Brunswick, Capet!
All Nantes will throng to hear me where I stand,
In the Church of Saint Jean, who’s now become,
From crypt to spire, one mighty Jacobin!
High in the gilt tribune beneath the roof,
The starry roof where the archangels live!
Faces me Michael with his flaming sword,
And Raphael watches me with widened eyes,
And Gabriel frowns between his splendid wings
Because there’s no more incense! When I speak,
The painted walls all vanish like a mist!
On distant plains the drum begins to beat,
The great dome lifts—above the angel heads
I see the stars—
YVETTE
There are no stars to-night!
LALAIN
There are! There are! Eternally they shine
Beyond this din, beyond these sulphurous clouds!
And there’s a stairway, red and white and blue,
By which to climb to some most famous star
Of glory and of love! Yvette! Yvette!
Climb thou with me unto that golden star!
YVETTE
Rémond Lalain—
LALAIN
Come thou with me, Yvette!
Come thou with me from out this sluggish place!
Come thou with me into the furious storm!
What dost thou here, thou spirit of the wind,
Restless, with deep eyes and with parted lips?
Thou knowest thou hast naught to do with holy things.
Tear off that white headdress! Red is thy colour!
YVETTE
Ay, red is my colour!
LALAIN
Last night, the while
I spake of War and all the place was still,
A sudden vision blazed above the lights—
I saw thee dance the Carmagnole!
YVETTE
Now, now!
What whispers he to her upon the road?
LALAIN
To-night—ah, should I raise my eyes to-night
And see thee smiling there, Yvette, Yvette!
Beside thy sisters in the galleries!
Upon thy twilight hair the bonnet-rouge,
At thy small waist a pistol and a dirk—
Only the Revolution in thy soul
And in thy heart my name, my name, Yvette!
[_Thunder._
It thunders now, but ‘twill be clear to-night.
The moon will shine, the roads will all be white.
YVETTE
The roads will all be white, the moon will shine,
The poplars quiver and the eglantine,
The broom and honeysuckle will be sweet,
Upon the road to Vannes—
[_Lightning and thunder._ LALAIN _walks to the door
in the wall, tries it, then with a stone from the
ground beats back the rusty bolt_.
LALAIN
An easy door!
YVETTE
The moon will shine—
LALAIN
I’ll go this way, ma foi!
Not by the wall!
YVETTE
The silver poplars sway!
LALAIN
René de Vardes, once I did call thee friend
And took a deal of pride in that possession!
How runs the world away! ‘Twas long ago!
YVETTE
Ah, ah, that fearful dream I had last night!
And while I dreamed they walked beside the Loire!
LALAIN
This night he rides away. Didst know?
YVETTE
I knew!
LALAIN
He’s said farewell to thee, but not to her!
YVETTE
Wilt thou begone!
LALAIN
Ay, through this door, Yvette!
‘Tis easy, as thou seest. And ah, to-night—
The storm o’er past and shining bright the moon
And the cold nuns all telling o’er their beads,
How simple ‘twere—O priceless liberty!
Thou wouldst not be the only one, I trow,
Who may not walk beside the silver Loire!
YVETTE
Name of a name!
LALAIN
Adieu, adieu! To-night
I’ll see thee sitting in the galleries—
[_Exit_ LALAIN.
YVETTE
Ah, how the thunder shakes the air!
[_She moves to the door in the wall and replaces the
bolt, then returns to the fountain._
‘Tis so!
He is her lover! Oh, he loves her true!—
What will they say and whisper all the night
Through light and shadow on the road to Vannes?
Despair!—But I’ll not stay within these walls!
[_Knocking at the door in the wall._ YVETTE _crosses
the stage to the door_.
Who is there?
SÉRAPHINE (_within_)
Yvette! Yvette!
YVETTE
Séraphine!
SÉRAPHINE (_within_)
And Nanon too!
YVETTE
The deputy’s sister!
NANON
Let us in!
YVETTE
I dare not.
SÉRAPHINE
What!
YVETTE
Wait: I dare!
[_She draws the bolts. The door opens. Enter_ SÉRAPHINE
_and_ NANON. _The former is dressed in complete
carmagnole: short skirt, rolled-up sleeves, sash
of tricolour, and a bonnet-rouge. Pistols at her belt._
NANON _is more soberly attired but wears the bonnet-rouge.
The door closes behind them._
Séraphine!
SÉRAPHINE
Chérie!
YVETTE
Nanon!
NANON
Dear Yvette!
YVETTE
How gay you are! What of the Revolution?
SÉRAPHINE
It goes.
NANON
It goes well.
SÉRAPHINE
We have a new song!
Faith! ‘Tis a greater song than _Ça Ira_!
YVETTE (_sings_)
_Aux armes, Citoyens!
Formez vos bataillons!_
SÉRAPHINE
That’s it!
NANON (_looking about her_)
So very triste it is in here!
SÉRAPHINE
So gay outside! All Nantes is dressed in red!
There’s a procession, and then to-night
We sit in the galleries to hear Lalain!
[_Distant music._
Hark to the fife! _Formez vos bataillons!_—
And your feet keep not time to the music!
YVETTE
But my heart, Séraphine, my heart keeps time.
SÉRAPHINE
Ho! Your heart is in barracks, says Céleste.
YVETTE
Céleste!
NANON
And Angélique.
YVETTE
Angélique!
SÉRAPHINE
Faith!
Angélique is in feather now you’re gone!
Cries _Vive la République!_ here in Nantes.
Rides on the cannon and handles a pike;
Thinks she’s in Paris and plays Théroigne,
And high from the galleries applauds Lalain!
NANON
He thinks not of her; he thinks of Yvette!
YVETTE
I care not of whom he thinks!
SÉRAPHINE
On a fête day,
In a car triumphal see her appear!
Dressed like a goddess just down from the skies,
All crowned with green oak leaves, borne shoulder high—
YVETTE
Angélique!
SÉRAPHINE (_nodding_)
Ah, you see you are not there!
But between you and me, red does not become her!
YVETTE
I should think not!—little blonde!
SÉRAPHINE
Ah, but red
Becomes you!
YVETTE
Yes!
SÉRAPHINE
Monseigneur’s gone from Nantes.
Yes, faith! I saw him ride away—
YVETTE
He’s gone!
Rememb’rest thou that lady fair and proud,
Madame la Marquise de Blanchefôret?
SÉRAPHINE
Ho!
(_To_ NANON.) Rememb’rest thou the Citoyenne Blanchefôret?
NANON
The proud piece! We are mire beneath her feet!
Last eve her coach threw mud upon my gown!
Let her beware! One day she’ll walk afoot.
Let her beware! And let him too beware
Who rode last eve beside her golden coach!
YVETTE
Ha, ha! ha, ha!
[_Music and voices in the street. Impatient knocking
at the door in the wall._
VOICES
Holà, Aristocrats!
Nanon! Séraphine!
NANON
Our friends await us.
SÉRAPHINE
We have business with the smith upon the quai,
Where by the old dovecot he fashions pikes!
VOICES
_Allons, enfants de la patrie!_
NANON
Come, come away! We’ll leave the nun alone
To say her beads for black Aristocrats!
How triste to be for aye in prison here!
YVETTE (_angrily_)
Prison! I am no prisoner, I!
NANON
Then come with us into the merry streets!
SÉRAPHINE
‘Twill be a heavy storm—all are within.
How easy ‘twere to slip away with us!
YVETTE
No, no!
VOICES
Citoyennes! Citoyennes!
NANON
Ma’m’selle!
YVETTE
Ma’m’selle!
NANON
Aristocrat!
YVETTE
Aristocrat!
SÉRAPHINE
Well—kept by an Aristocrat—
YVETTE
You lie.
SÉRAPHINE (_angrily_)
Saint Yves! I lie! Do I? O Seigneur Dieu!
This is Yvette, the herd girl of Morbec!
This is Yvette, the daughter of Yvonne!
This is that same Yvette who swore one day
That rather would she meet the blight of hell
Than take one favour from a seigneur’s hand!
Once you were hungry! Go you hungry now?
You went in rags. Where is your ragged gown?
Barefoot—what’s that about that throat of thine?
I swear it is a jewel!—and we pine
For bread, we women of the Revolution!
[YVETTE _unclasps the jewel from her neck and lets
it fall_.
I lie, do I? Diable! Just prove I lie!
This night we make a little noise in Nantes
Shall show Aristocrats who is in danger!
Lalain will speak and all the bells will ring,
And Angélique will deck herself in red!
Steal through yon door, be of us evermore!
I lie, do I? Then show me that I lie!
YVETTE
In Nantes where do you lodge?
SÉRAPHINE
With Angélique
Under the Lanterne, Sign of the Hour Glass.
VOICES
Nanon! Nanon! You are missing the sights!
[_Distant music._
OTHER VOICES
_Allons, enfants de la patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrivé!_
NANON
Come, come away!
[SÉRAPHINE _unbars the door in the wall. It swings
open_.
SÉRAPHINE
Faith! One can see the Loire!
‘Tis fine to walk beside it ‘neath the moon!
YVETTE
Oh!—
VOICES
_Tremblez, tyrans! et vous perfides_,—
NANON
Away! Away!
YVETTE
I’ll go—I’ll go with you.
Ye fruit trees and thou fountain, fare ye well!
[_Exeunt_ YVETTE, SÉRAPHINE, NANON. _The door
swings to. Lightning and thunder._ SISTER FIDELIS
_appears in the convent door_.
VOICES (_dying away_)
_Aux armes, Citoyens!
Formez vos bataillons!_
_CURTAIN_
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
_ACT III_
_A square in Nantes. On the left the deep porch of a church with
pillars. To the right and in the background, a perspective of
streets with tall, many-windowed houses. Opposite the church a
great plaster statue of Liberty. Over the church door is written
in white lettering: “The Republic One and Indivisible. Liberty,
Equality, Fraternity or Death. National Property.” A distant view
of the Loire. Men and women in holiday garb, wearing liberty caps
and great tricoloured cockades, cross and recross the square.
Life, movement, colour. Red the dominant note. It is the year
1794._
_Hoarse voices within. Hawkers of Revolutionary journals cross the
square._
A HAWKER
_Le Journal des Jacobins!_
ANOTHER
_Le Discours
De la Lanterne!_
_Enter_ GRÉGOIRE.
A THIRD
_L’Orateur du Peuple!_
A FOURTH
_Le père Duchesne! Le Père Duchesne!_
GRÉGOIRE (_stopping him_)
Here!—
[_He buys a paper._
And what to-day says Père Duchesne?
THE HAWKER
He says
That Paris envies Nantes her Carrier!
GRÉGOIRE
Humph!
A HAWKER
_La Bouche de Fer!_
ANOTHER
_Les Actes des Apôtres!_
A CITIZEN
I’ll buy the _Actes_.
ANOTHER
I’ll buy the _Bouche de Fer_.
[_Enter a man with a long brush and a pot of paste.
He proceeds to cover the wooden base of the Statue
of Liberty with placards._
THE CROWD
The placards! The placards!
A BRETON SAILOR
I cannot read!
[_He catches by the arm a man in a long cloak, with
a broad hat pulled low over his face._
Prithee, Citizen, what says the placard?
THE MAN IN THE CLOAK
It says Duport is dead; Biron is dead;
Barnave is dead.
THE CROWD
Ha, ha! Biron! Barnave!
A MAN
Through the little window they’ve looked at last!
_À bas les Aristocrats! Vive la Guillotine!_
ANOTHER
Ah, here in Nantes we drown them in the Loire!
THE CROWD
_Vive Carrier! Vive Lambertye! Vive Lalain!_
[_The man with the brush affixes a second placard._
THE BRETON
And this, Citizen?
THE MAN IN THE CLOAK
D’Alleray is dead;
Bailly is dead; Du Barry is dead.
THE CROWD
Ha!
A WOMAN
Ho! ho! The courtesan, she’ll kiss no more!
THE CROWD
She’ll kiss no more!
[_The man with the brush affixes the third placard._
THE BRETON
And this one, Citizen?
THE MAN IN THE CLOAK (_reads_)
_The Republic One and Indivisible.
It is Decreed
There is no God. To-day we worship Reason._
[_The crowd applauds._
A MAN
In a red mantle!
ANOTHER
That’s the Paris Reason!
Our Reason wears blue.
A THIRD
And oak leaves in her hair.
THE BRETON
Is Reason truly a woman?
THE MAN IN THE CLOAK
God knows!
A MAN
Ha! he says God! God is a word forbid!
THE MAN IN THE CLOAK
Then Reason knows.
A MAN
That’s better.
[_Singing within. A band of dancers, men and women,
whirl into the square._
THE CROWD
Carmagnole!
THE DANCERS
_Dansons la Carmagnole!
Vive le son, vive le son!
Dansons la Carmagnole!
Vive le son du canon!_
[_The crowd breaks and joins the dancers. They take
hands and with uncouth and extravagant gestures
circle once or twice around the statue, then with a
long cry exeunt._
A WOMAN
The great procession forms upon the quai!
ANOTHER
It winds and winds about and comes this way!
[_Exeunt men and women._ GRÉGOIRE _and the man
in the cloak remain_.
GRÉGOIRE
The priests are gone. It is Reason’s fête day.
THE MAN IN THE CLOAK
Reason, being a woman, will have her way.
GRÉGOIRE
Still, Monsieur l’Abbé—
THE ABBÉ
I am known!
GRÉGOIRE
To serve
Monsieur, I had the honour at Morbec.
THE ABBÉ
Monsieur le Baron’s seneschal, I think.
GRÉGOIRE
The same,—but I am gaoler now in Nantes.
THE ABBÉ
That night in June your musket would not fire!
Diable! I’ve played and lost! Well, fellow?
GRÉGOIRE
Hein?
THE ABBÉ
The wind blows cold in Nantes, and so I wear
This cloak! So long I’ve looked on fires of hell
I needs must have a hat to shade my eyes!—
But now I’ll cock it in the face of all—
Cold, wind, darkness, devils, and Republic!
GRÉGOIRE
I think the citizen has lost his head.
THE ABBÉ
Ay, and my heart as well. Holà! what’s that?
[_A noise without. Clash of steel and excited voices._
_Enter_ DE VARDES _and_ FAUQUEMONT DE BUC _pursued by
seven or eight red-capped men armed with pikes_. DE
VARDES _and_ DE BUC _use their swords_.
THE RED CAPS
Aristocrats! Aristocrats!
DE VARDES (_thrusting_)
Take that,
Republican!
DE BUC (_thrusting_)
Out, canaille!
THE ABBÉ
Here’s wine!
Have at you, brow-bound galley slaves!
DE VARDES (_over his shoulder_)
Ha! De Barbasan!
[_Wounds his adversary._
We’re at our last château!
THE ABBÉ
I’ve shut Voltaire! Here goes the candle out!
[_He throws his long cloak over the head of one of
the red caps and makes at another with his dagger._
DE VARDES
The window splinters!
[_He sends the pike flying from a red cap’s hand._
Take warning, sans-culottes!
THE ABBÉ
One, two, three!
DE BUC
My sword arm!
DE VARDES
Fight with your left.
I saw you do it at Nanci!
VOICES (_within_)
_Ah! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira!
Les Aristocrats à la Lanterne!_
DE VARDES
_O Richard, O mon Roi,
L’univers t’abandonne!_
[_A howl from the mob._
THE MOB
Aristocrats!
GRÉGOIRE (_from the statue_)
Desperate!
[_The red caps_, DE VARDES, THE ABBÉ, _and_ DE BUC
_fight across the stage and exeunt_. GRÉGOIRE _follows
them_.
VOICES (_within_)
_Ça ira!_
_Enter women and children of the Revolution._
A WOMAN
Upon the church steps I will take my stand!
ANOTHER
I have brought my knitting.
A THIRD
And I.
A FOURTH
And I.
ALL (_singing_)
_We are the tricoteuses!
Dyed wool we knit while rumbles by the cart.
Knit! knit! all knitting in the sun._
_We are the tricoteuses!
Red wool we knit while soul and body part.
Knit! knit! the knitting now is done!_
[_They seat themselves upon the church steps._
A CHILD
Maman! Maman! how many carts will pass?
A WOMAN
None, sweeting, none! It is a holiday.
_Enter_ CÉLESTE, ANGÉLIQUE, _and_ NANON.
NANON
It was the very night of the great storm
From those dull convent walls she ran away!
CÉLESTE
Two years agone—
ANGÉLIQUE
Would she had stayed!
NANON
Ah, then,
You had been Goddess, Angélique!
ANGÉLIQUE
The witch!
With her dark skin and with her purple flower!
Let her beware! I know a thing or two!
CÉLESTE
_I_ know who comes from Paris back to Nantes!
This morning on the quai I saw him!
NANON (_eagerly_)
Is’t
That ci-devant, that black Aristocrat,
De Vardes?
CÉLESTE
The man your brother loves? The same.
NANON
I spit upon his name!
CÉLESTE
Denounced!
NANON
The set of sun
Will see him so, or my name’s not Nanon!
CÉLESTE
The Loire—the Loire will close above his head!
_Enter_ SÉRAPHINE.
SÉRAPHINE
Whose head?
NANON
The Citizen Vardes.
SÉRAPHINE
Monseigneur!
He’s in the prison of La Force at Paris!—
One truly told me so—He’s not in Nantes.
NANON
And if he were—
SÉRAPHINE (_stammering_)
Why—why—
NANON
And if he were,
You would not give him up! I know you well!
I know you, Séraphine!
SÉRAPHINE
And if you do,
You know no ill of me, Citoyenne!
CÉLESTE
Yvette
Would not give him up either.
ANGÉLIQUE
No, i’ faith!
I’ll take my oath on that!
SÉRAPHINE
Your oath, lint-locks!
It’s worth a deal, your oath! _Your_ mind I know!
You would be Goddess, you and not Yvette!
ANGÉLIQUE
Let her beware!
SÉRAPHINE
Yvette! She’s coming now!
Bright as the star that’s highest in the night!
And all the men have turned astronomers!
Faith! ‘tis easy work to worship Reason,
When Reason is a woman, and that fair!
ANGÉLIQUE
I’ve seen her gather seaweed on the shore!
SÉRAPHINE
And now she gathers hearts in her two hands.
ANGÉLIQUE
Oh! oh!
NANON
Would that my brother hated her!
Disdainful prude!
CÉLESTE
Oh, love may turn to hate.
She’s Goddess now, but wait, but wait, but wait!
NANON
I join my brother at the Olive Tree.
Come, Angélique, Céleste!
[_Exeunt_ NANON, ANGÉLIQUE, CÉLESTE.
SÉRAPHINE
Were’t not too late,
I’d warn monseigneur just for old time’s sake!
When all is said and done, old times are best;
He gave us back Lisette, he fed us all—
Eh! ‘twere a pity. What now? Who’s this?
_Enter hurriedly_ THE MARQUISE. _She looks over her shoulder
as if fearing pursuit, then, drawing her cloak and hood
closely about her, attempts to cross the square unobserved.
Enter a rabble of men and women._
THE MOB
_Ah! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira!
Les Aristocrats à la Lanterne.
Ah! ça ira, ça ira, ça ira!
Les Aristocrats on les pendra!_
A TRICOTEUSE
She hides
Her face.
ANOTHER
She draws her cloak about her!
THE FIRST
Ho!
Her hand is white and there’s a jewel on’t!