_Gaspard_.
Nay, stop, Eloise!
Agree that when the clock strikes twelve you'll fare,
On timorous tiptoe, by the large North stair,
Down to this hall-- [_He pauses, looking off R._]
She's vanished like a dream!
Still, trust to fate, Gaspard, and work your scheme.
[_Exit_ Gaspard _at R., slapping breast confidently._
_Enter the_ Baron Beautemps _at L. The_ Baron _is disguised as
Santa Claus. He wears a white wig, a dark jerkin, with ruffled
breeches reaching a little below the knee; he carries a pack of
toys upon his back: he has a long white beard; his shoulders are
sprinkled with powdery substance, representing snow. He turns on
entering, and looks at the two stockings hung before chimney-place
with a fond, happy smile._]
_Baron_.
Dear spotless little stockings, viewed with joy,
Pure memories of my darling girl and boy,
How tenderly though silently you tell
Of lightsome, pattering footsteps loved so well!
[_Laughs to himself softly._]
Ah, me! that I, a noble great in rank,
Should thus at midnight play the mountebank!
And all because I guess how young Henri,
With curious eagerness, resolves to see
That mystic Saint of Christmas, whom no eye
Discerns, whom some believe in, some deny!
Zounds! what a foolish father I have grown!
Does Henri sleep, or will he come alone,
Just as the clock strikes twelve, in night array,
This fire-lit hall's weird shadows to survey?
Well, if he comes, the wicked rogue shall find
A Santa Claus quite suited to his mind.--
And yet, while fancying his childish glee,
A strange, unpleasant thought oppresses me:
Suppose it chanced that while I lingered here
The real Kris Kringle should himself appear!
That situation would indeed be fine
For one decked out in mimic robes like mine.
Still, since this garb was easy to obtain
From old ball costumes of our last King's reign,
And since I knew how Henri's heart was set
On seeing the good Saint whom so few have met,
I quietly determined for one hour
To frolic thus, forgetting state and power.
[_Listens intently at R._]
A movement in the turret overhead.--
Some servant, doubtless, climbing to his bed.
Hark! steps! I'll fly at once--the sound grows near.
Too late. I am seen. Confusion!--who is here?
[_Enter_ Gaspard _at R. He is disguised as Santa Claus. He wears a
pair of taffetas breeches uncouthly rolled up to his knees, gray
yarn stockings, and an old jacket trimmed with rusty silver
buttons. He has a broad hat shading his face, and carries upon his
back some sort of huge stuffed sack. He stoops affectedly while
walking, and employs the slow, tottering pace of an aged man. Just
as he appears on stage, and while the_ Baron _retreats bewilderedly
toward L., twelve loud, solemn strokes sound, as if from a distant
clock._]
_Gaspard_ (_who has observed the_ Baron) [_aside_].
Ah! Heaven, who can it be, in mercy's name?
That pack of toys, long beard, and stooping frame
'Tis Santa Claus, by everything that's queer!
My knees are failing me; I quake with fear.
_Baron_ (_watching_ Gaspard) [_aside_].
That loaded form--that hesitating gait--
'Tis Santa Claus himself, as sure as fate!
I've not sufficient strength to flee away.
I'm positively frozen with dismay.
[Gaspard _and the_ Baron _now eye each other in great comic
bewilderment. The_ Baron _gives a nervous cough, and_ Gaspard
_starts in ludicrous terror._]
_Gaspard_ [_aside_].
I'm nearly dead with fright--I choke and pant.--
I'll speak to him--ask pardon. No, I can't.
[Gaspard _here gives a heavy groan, at which the_ Baron _starts in
great alarm._]
_Baron_ [_aside_].
Of course he means to do some dreadful thing.
Even now he seems preparing for a spring.
[_The_ Baron _here makes a loud shuddering sound, at which_ Gaspard
_sinks upon his knees._]
_Gaspard_ [_aside_].
My legs have both collapsed--I'm most unwell.
_Baron_ [_aside_].
Ye saints! he's muttering some horrid spell,
Calling some gnome, perchance, with grip of ice,
To shoot me up the chimney in a trice!
[_While_ Gaspard _and the_ Baron _regard each other in the dimness
with glances of mutual fear_, Henri _and_ Lucienne _peep forth from
doors at R. and L._]
_Henri_ (_only perceiving_ Gaspard _at R., and speaking in an excited
whisper_).
'Tis he! I look on Santa Claus at last.
_Lucienne_ (_only perceiving the_ Baron, _her father, at L._).
He's here! And oh, my poor heart beats so fast!
_Henri_ (_alluding to_ Gaspard).
With that large hat, his face I scarce behold.
_Lucienne_ (_alluding to the_ Baron).
He wears no hat to shield him from the cold.
_Henri_.
How strange he has no beard, as tales declare!
_Lucienne_.
How long his beard is, and how white his hair!
_Henri_.