beautiful, but in such women you do not always discover beauty at your
first glance: it is disclosed with a subtle tardiness. It does not
dazzle; it is reluctant; but it grows as you look again and again. You
get a little here, a little there, like glimpses of children hiding in
a garden. It is shy, and sometimes closed in from you altogether, and
then, unexpectedly, this belated loveliness springs into bloom before
your very eyes. It retains the capacity of surprise, the vital element
of charm. But the Beauty lays all waste before her at a stroke: it is
soon over. Thus your Eloise, brought to court, startled Versailles;
the sensation was overwhelming. Then Versailles got used to her, just
as it had to its other prodigies: the fountains were there, the King
was there, the d'Anville was there; and naturally, one had seen them;
saw them every day--one talked of matters less accepted. That was
horrible to Eloise. She had tasted; the appetite, once stirred, was
insatiable. At any cost she must henceforth have always the sensation
of being a sensation. She must be the pivot of a reeling world. So she
went into politics. Ah, Citizeness, there was one man who understood
Beauties--not Homer, who wrote of Helen! Romance is gallant by
profession, and Homer lied like a poet. For the truth about the Trojan
War is that the wise Ulysses made it, not because Paris stole Helen,
but because the Trojans were threatening to bring her back.
ELOISE [_unwarily_]. Who was the man that understood Beauties?
VALSIN. Bluebeard. [_He crosses the room to the dressing-table, leans
his back against it in an easy attitude, his elbows resting upon the
top._]
ELOISE [_slowly, a little tremulously_]. And so Eloise d'Anville
should have her head cut off?
VALSIN. Well, she thought she was in politics, didn't she?
[_Suavely._] You may be sure she thoroughly enjoyed her hallucination
that she was a great figure in the Revolution--which was cutting off
the heads of so many of her relatives and old friends! Don't waste
your pity, my dear.
ELOISE [_looking at him fixedly_]. Citizen, you must have thought a
great deal about my unhappy friend. She might be flattered by so
searching an interest.
VALSIN [_negligently_]. Not interest in her, governess, but in the
Emigrant who cools his heels on the other side of that door, greatly
to my enjoyment, waiting my pleasure to arrest him. The poor wretch is
the one remaining lover of this girl; faithful because he let his
passion for her become a habit; and he will never get over it until he
has had possession. She has made him suffer frightfully, but I shall
never forgive her for not having dealt him the final stroke. It would
have saved me all the bother I have been put to in avenging the injury
he did me.
ELOISE [_frowning_]. What "final stroke" could she have "dealt" him?
VALSIN [_with sudden vehement intensity_]. She could have loved him!
[_He strikes the table with his fist._] I see it! I see it! Beauty's
husband! [_Pounding the table with each exclamation, his voice rising
in excitement._] What a vision! This damned, proud, loving Louis, a
pomade bearer! A buttoner! An errand-boy to the perfumer's, to the
chemist's, to the milliner's! A groom of the powder-closet--
ELOISE [_snatching at the opportunity_]. How noisy you are!
VALSIN [_discomfited, apologetically_]. You see, it is only so lately
that we of "the People" have dared even to whisper. Of course, now
that we are free to shout, we overdo it. We let our voices out, we let
our joys out, we let our hates out. We let everything out--except our
prisoners! [_He smiles winningly._]
ELOISE [_slowly_]. Do you guess what all this bluster--this tirade
upon the wickedness of beauty--makes me think?
VALSIN. Certainly. Being a woman, you cannot imagine a bitterness
which is not "personal."
ELOISE [_laughing_]. "Being a woman," I think that the person who has
caused you the greatest suffering in your life must be very
good-looking!
VALSIN [_calmly_]. Quite right. It was precisely this d'Anville. I
will tell you. [_He sits on the arm of a chair near her, and continues
briskly._] I was not always a politician. Six years ago I was a
soldier in the Valny regiment of cavalry. That was the old army, that
droll army, that royal army; so ridiculous that it was truly majestic.
In the Valny regiment we had some rouge-pots for officers--and for a
colonel, who but our Emigrant yonder! Aha! we suffered in the ranks,
let me tell you, when Eloise had been coy; and one morning it was my
turn. You may have heard that she was betrothed first to Louis and
later to several others? My martyrdom occurred the day after she had
announced to the court her betrothal to the young Duc de Creil, whose
father afterward interfered. Louis put us on drill in a hard rain: he
had the habit of relieving his chagrin like that. My horse fell, and
happened to shower our commander with mud. Louis let out all his rage
upon me: it was an excuse, and, naturally, he disliked mud. But I was
rolling in it, with my horse: I also disliked it--and I was indiscreet
enough to attempt some small reply. That finished my soldiering,
Citizeness. He had me tied to a post before the barracks for the rest
of the day. I remember with remarkable distinctness that the valets
of heaven had neglected to warm the rain for that bath; that it was
February; and that Louis's orders had left me nothing to wear upon my
back except an unfulsome descriptive placard and my modesty.
Altogether it was a disadvantageous position, particularly for the
exchange of repartee with such of my comrades as my youthful
amiability had not endeared; I have seldom seen more cheerful
indifference to bad weather. Inclement skies failed to injure the
spectacle: it was truly the great performance of my career; some
people would not even go home to eat, and peddlers did a good trade in
cakes and wine. In the evening they whipped me conscientiously--my
tailor has never since made me an entirely comfortable coat. Then they
gave me the place of honor at the head of a procession by torchlight
and drummed me out of camp with my placard upon my back. So I adopted
another profession: I had a friend who was a doctor in the stables of
d'Artois; and I knew horses. He made me his assistant.
ELOISE [_shuddering_]. You are a veterinarian!
VALSIN [_smiling_]. No; a horse-doctor. It was thus I "retired" from
the army and became a politician. My friend was only a horse-doctor
himself, but his name happened to be Marat.
ELOISE. Ah, frightful! [_For the first time she begins to feel genuine
alarm._]
VALSIN. The sequence is simple. If Eloise d'Anville hadn't coquetted
with young Creil I shouldn't be Commissioner here to-day, settling my
account with Louis. I am in his debt for more than the beating: I
should tell you there was a woman in my case, a slender lace-maker
with dark eyes--very pretty eyes. She had furnished me with a rival, a
corporal; and he brought her for a stroll in the rain past our
barracks that day when I was attracting so much unsought attention.
They waited for the afterpiece, enjoyed a pasty and a bottle of
Beaune, and went away laughing cozily together. I did not see my
pretty lace-maker again, not for years--not until a month ago. Her
corporal was still with her, and it was their turn to be undesirably
conspicuous. They were part of a procession passing along the Rue St.
Honore on its way to the Place of the Revolution. They were standing
up in the cart; the lace-maker had grown fat, and she was scolding her
poor corporal bitterly. What a habit that must have been!--they were
not five minutes from the guillotine. I own that a thrill of
gratitude to Louis temporarily softened me toward him, though at the
very moment I was following him through the crowd. At least he saved
me from the lace-maker!
ELOISE [_shrinking from him_]. You are horrible!
VALSIN. To my regret you must find me more and more so.
ELOISE [_panting_]. You _are_ going to take us back to Paris, then? To
the Tribunal--and to the--[_She covers her eyes with her hands._]
VALSIN [_gravely_]. I can give you no comfort, governess. You are
involved with the Emigrant, and, to be frank, I am going to do as
horrible things to Louis as I can invent--and I am an ingenious man.
[_His manner becomes sinister._] I am near the top. The cinders of
Marat are in the Pantheon, but Robespierre still flames; and he claims
me as his friend. I can do what I will. And I have much in store for
Louis before he shall be so fortunate as to die!
ELOISE [_faintly_]. And--and Eloise--d'Anville? [_Her hands fall from
her face: he sees large, beautiful tears upon her cheeks._]
VALSIN [_coldly_]. Yes. [_She is crushed for the moment; then,
recovering herself with a violent effort, lifts her head defiantly and
stands erect, facing him._]
ELOISE. You take her head because your officer punished you, six years
ago, for a breach of military discipline!
VALSIN [_in a lighter tone_]. Oh no. I take it, just as she injured
me--incidentally. In truth, Citizeness, it isn't I who take it: I only
arrest her because the government has proscribed her.
ELOISE. And you've just finished telling me you were preparing
tortures for her! I thought you an intelligent man. Pah! You're only a
gymnast. [_She turns away from him haughtily and moves toward the
door._]
VALSIN [_touching his scarf of office_]. True. I climb. [_She halts
suddenly, as if startled by this; she stands as she is, her back to
him, for several moments, and does not change her attitude when she
speaks._]
ELOISE [_slowly_]. You climb alone.
VALSIN [_with a suspicious glance at her_]. Yes--alone.
ELOISE [_in a low voice_]. Why didn't you take the lace-maker with
you? You might have been happier. [_Very slowly she turns and comes
toward him, her eyes full upon his: she moves deliberately and with
incomparable grace. He seems to be making an effort to look away, and
failing: he cannot release his eyes from the glorious and starry
glamour that holds them. She comes very close to him, so close that
she almost touches him._]
ELOISE [_in a half-whisper_]. You might have been happier with--a
friend--to climb with you.
VALSIN [_demoralized_]. Citizeness--I am--I--
ELOISE [_in a voice of velvet_]. Yes, Say it. You are--
VALSIN [_desperately_]. I have told you that I am the most susceptible
of men.
ELOISE [_impulsively putting her hand on his shoulder_]. Is it a
crime? Come, my friend, you are a man who _does_ climb: you will go
over all. You believe in the Revolution because you have used it to
lift you. But other things can help you, too. Don't you need them?
VALSIN [_understanding perfectly, gasping_]. Need what? [_She draws
her hand from his shoulder, moves back from him slightly, and crosses
her arms upon her bosom with a royal meekness._]
ELOISE [_grandly_]. Do I seem so useless?
VALSIN [_in a distracted voice_]. Heaven help me! What do you want?
ELOISE. Let these people go. [_Hurriedly, leaning near him._] I have
promised to save them: give them their permit to embark, and I--[_She
pauses, flushing beautifully, but does not take her eyes from him._]
I--I do not wish to leave France. My place is in Paris. You will go
into the National Committee. You can be its ruler. You _will_ rule it!
I believe in you! [_Glowing like a rose of fire._] I will go with you.
I will help you! I will marry you!
VALSIN [_in a fascinated whisper_]. Good Lord! [_He stumbles back from
her, a strange light in his eyes._]
ELOISE. You are afraid--
VALSIN [_with sudden loudness_]. I am! Upon my soul, I am afraid!
ELOISE [_smiling gloriously upon him_]. Of what, my friend? Tell me of
what?
VALSIN [_explosively_]. Of myself! I am afraid of myself because I am
a prophet. This is precisely what I foretold to myself you would do!
I knew it, yet I am aghast when it happens--aghast at my own
cleverness!
ELOISE [_bewildered to blankness_]. What?
VALSIN [_half hysterical with outrageous vanity_]. I swear I knew it,
and it fits so exactly that I am afraid of myself! _Aha_, Valsin, you
rogue! I should hate to have you on _my_ track! Citizen governess, you
are a wonderful person, but not so wonderful as this devil of a
Valsin!
ELOISE [_vaguely, in a dead voice_]. I cannot understand what you are
talking about. Do you mean--
VALSIN. And what a spell was upon me! I was near calling Dossonville
to preserve me.
ELOISE [_speaking with a strange naturalness, like a child's_]. You
mean--you don't want me?
VALSIN. Ah, Heaven help me, I am going to laugh again! Oh, ho, ho! I
am spent! [_He drops into a chair and gives way to another attack of
uproarious hilarity._] Ah, ha, ha, ha! Oh, my liver, ha, ha! No,
Citizeness, I do not want you! Oh, ha, ha, ha!
ELOISE. _Oh!_ [_She utters a choked scream and rushes at him._] Swine!
VALSIN [_warding her off with outstretched hands_]. Spare me! Ha, ha,
ha! I am helpless! Ho, ho, ho! Citizeness, it would not be worth your
while to strangle a man who is already dying!
ELOISE [_beside herself_]. Do you dream that I _meant_ it?
VALSIN [_feebly_]. Meant to strangle me?
ELOISE [_frantic_]. To give myself to you!
VALSIN. In short, to--to marry me! [_He splutters._]
ELOISE [_furiously_]. It was a ruse--
VALSIN [_soothingly_]. Yes, yes, a trick. I saw that all along.
ELOISE [_even more infuriated_]. For their sake, beast! [_She points
to the other room._] To save _them_!
VALSIN [_wiping his eyes_]. Of course, of course. [_He rises, stepping
quickly to the side of the chair away from her and watching her
warily._] _I_ knew it was to save them. We'll put it like that.
ELOISE [_in an anger of exasperation_]. It _was_ that!
VALSIN. Yes, yes. [_Keeping his distance._] I saw it from the first.
[_Suppressing symptoms of returning mirth._] It was perfectly plain.
You mustn't excite yourself--nothing could have been clearer! [_A
giggle escapes him, and he steps hastily backward as she advances upon
him._]
ELOISE. Poodle! Valet! Scum of the alleys! Sheep of the prisons!
Jailer! Hangman! Assassin! Brigand! _Horse-doctor!_ [_She hurls the
final epithet at him in a climax of ferocity which wholly exhausts
her; and she sinks into the chair by the desk, with her arms upon the
desk and her burning face hidden in her arms. VALSIN, morbidly
chuckling, in spite of himself, at each of her insults, has retreated
farther and farther, until he stands with his back against the door of
the inner room, his right hand behind him, resting on the latch. As
her furious eyes leave him he silently opens the door, letting it
remain a few inches ajar and keeping his back to it. Then, satisfied
that what he intends to say will be overheard by those within, he
erases all expression from his face, and strides to the dismantled
doorway in the passage._]
VALSIN [_calling loudly_]. Dossonville! [_He returns, coming down
briskly to ELOISE. His tone is crisp and soldier-like._] Citizeness, I
have had my great hour. I proceed with the arrests. I have given you
four plenty of time to prepare yourselves. Time? Why, the Emigrant
could have changed clothes with one of the women in there a dozen
times if he had hoped to escape in that fashion--as historical
prisoners _have_ won clear, it is related. Fortunately, that is
impossible just now; and he will not dare to attempt it.
DOSSONVILLE [_appearing in the hallway_]. Present, my chieftain!
VALSIN [_sharply_]. Attend, Dossonville. The returned Emigrant,
Valny-Cherault, is forfeited; but because I cherish a special
grievance against him, I have decided upon a special punishment for
him. It does not please me that he should have the comfort and
ministrations of loving women on his journey to the Tribunal. No, no;
the presence of his old sweetheart would make even the scaffold sweet
to him. Therefore I shall take him alone. I shall let these women go.
DOSSONVILLE. What refinement! Admirable! [_ELOISE slowly rises,
staring incredulously at VALSIN._]
VALSIN [_picking up the "permit" from the desk_]. "Permit the Citizen
Balsage and his sister, the Citizeness Virginie Balsage, and his
second sister, Marie Balsage, and Eloise d'Anville--" Ha! You see,
Dossonville, since one of these three women is here, there are two in
the other room with the Emigrant. They are to come out, leaving him
there. First, however, we shall disarm him. You and I have had
sufficient experience in arresting aristocrats to know that they are
not always so sensible as to give themselves up peaceably, and I
happened to see the outline of a pistol under the Emigrant's frock the
other day in the diligence. We may as well save one of us from a
detestable hole through the body. [_He steps toward the door, speaking
sharply._] Emigrant, you have heard. For your greater chagrin, these
three devoted women are to desert you. Being an aristocrat, you will
pretend to prefer this arrangement. They are to leave at once. Throw
your pistol into this room, and I will agree not to make the arrest
until they are in safety. They can reach your vessel in five minutes.
When they have gone, I give you my word not to open this door for ten.
[_A pistol is immediately thrown out of the door, and falls at
VALSIN's feet. He picks it up, his eyes alight with increasing
excitement._]
VALSIN [_tossing the pistol to DOSSONVILLE_]. Call the lieutenant.
[_DOSSONVILLE goes to the window, leans out, and beckons. VALSIN
writes hastily at the desk, not sitting down._] "Permit the three
women Balsage to embark without delay upon the _Jeune Pierrette_.
Signed: Valsin." There, Citizeness, is a "permit" which permits. [_He
thrusts the paper into the hand of ELOISE, swings toward the door of
the inner room, and raps loudly upon it._] Come, my feminines! Your
sailors await you--brave, but no judges of millinery. There's a fair
wind for you; and a grand toilet is wasted at sea. Come, charmers;
come! [_The door is half opened, and MADAME DE LASEYNE, white and
trembling violently, enters quickly, shielding as much as she can the
inexpressibly awkward figure of her brother, behind whom she extends
her hand, closing the door sharply. He wears the brocaded skirt which
MADAME DE LASEYNE has taken from the portmanteau, and ELOISE's long
mantle, the lifted hood and MADAME DE LASEYNE's veil shrouding his
head and face._]
VALSIN [_in a stifled voice_]. At last! At last one beholds the regal
d'Anville! No Amazon--
DOSSONVILLE [_aghast_]. It looks like--
VALSIN [_shouting_]. It doesn't! [_He bows gallantly to LOUIS._] A
cruel veil, but, oh, what queenly grace! [_LOUIS stumbles in the
skirt. VALSIN falls back, clutching at his side. But ELOISE rushes to
LOUIS and throws herself upon her knees at his feet. She pulls his
head down to hers and kisses him through the veil._]
VALSIN [_madly_]. Oh, touching devotion! Oh, sisters! Oh, love! Oh,
honey! Oh, petticoats--
DOSSONVILLE [_interrupting humbly_]. The lieutenant, Citizen
Commissioner. [_He points to the hallway, where the officer appears,
standing at attention._]
VALSIN [_wheeling_]. Officer, conduct these three persons to the quay.
Place them on board the _Jeune Pierrette_. The captain will weigh
anchor instantly. [_The officer salutes._]
ANNE [_hoarsely to LOUIS, who is lifting the weeping ELOISE to her
feet_]. Quick! In the name of--
VALSIN. Off with you! [_MADAME DE LASEYNE seizes the portmanteau and
rushes to the broken doorway, half dragging the others with her. They
go out in a tumultuous hurry, followed by the officer. ELOISE sends
one last glance over her shoulder at VALSIN as she disappears, and one
word of concentrated venom:_ "Buffoon!" _In wild spirits he blows a
kiss to her. The fugitives are heard clattering madly down the
stairs._]
DOSSONVILLE [_excitedly_]. We can take the Emigrant now. [_Going to
the inner door._] Why wait--
VALSIN. That room is empty.
DOSSONVILLE. What!
VALSIN [_shouting with laughter_]. He's gone! Not bare-backed, but in
petticoats: that's worse! He's gone, I tell you! The other was the
d'Anville.
DOSSONVILLE. Then you recog--
VALSIN. Imbecile, she's as well known as the Louvre! They're off on
their honeymoon! She'll take him now! She will! She will, on the soul
of a prophet! [_He rushes to the window and leans far out, shouting at
the top of his voice:_] _Quits with you, Louis! Quits! Quits!_ [_He
falls back from the window and relapses into a chair, cackling
ecstatically._]
DOSSONVILLE [_hoarse with astonishment_]. You've let him go! You've
let 'em _all_ go!
VALSIN [_weak with laughter_]. Well, _you're_ not going to inform.
[_With a sudden reversion to extreme seriousness, he levels a sinister
forefinger at his companion._] And, also, take care of your health,
friend; remember constantly that you have a weak throat, _and don't
you ever mention this to my wife_! These are bad times, my
Dossonville, and neither you nor I will see the end of them. Good
Lord! Can't we have a little fun as we go along? [_A fresh convulsion
seizes him, and he rocks himself pitiably in his chair._]
[THE CURTAIN.]
THE PIERROT OF THE MINUTE
_A DRAMATIC FANTASY IN ONE ACT_
By ERNEST DOWSON
_Performance Free_
Ernest Christopher Dowson, now generally known simply as Ernest
Dowson, was born at the Grove, Belmont Hill, Lee, Kent, August 2,
1867, and died in London thirty-three years later. His schooling,
because of his delicate health, was irregular, and he spent too short
a time at Queen's College, Oxford, to take a degree. He lived abroad
much, but during his sojourns in London in the 'nineties belonged to
the Rhymer's Club[26] that met in an upper room of Johnson's own
"Cheshire Cheese." His death from consumption brought to a close a
life marred by waste and sordid associations.
[Footnote 26: Yeats has commemorated this club in the
following lines in his poem, _The Grey Rock_:
"Poets with whom I learned my trade,
Companions of the Cheshire Cheese."]
_The Pierrot of the Minute_, Ernest Dowson's only dramatic attempt, is
touched like the preceding play with the glamour of the old regime.
Its charming artificiality suggests the pastoral games to which the
ladies and gentlemen of Louis XV's circle may have turned for relief
after the formalities and extravagances of their life at court.
Dowson's play, written in 1892, is mentioned in one of his letters,
dated October twenty-fourth of that year: "I have been frightfully
busy," he wrote, "having rashly undertaken to make a little Pierrot
play in verse ... which is to be played at Aldershot and afterwards at
the Chelsea Town Hall: the article to be delivered in a fortnight. So
until this period of mental agony is past, I can go nowhere." Anyone
who has ever had to write something that had to be ready on a certain
date will understand the quality of Dowson's emotion in this letter.
A recent critic who has studied the literary fashions of the group to
which Dowson belonged and found that the members were addicted to the
frequent use of the adjective, white, says: "Ernest Dowson was
dominated by a sense of whiteness.... _The Pierrot of the Minute_ is a
veritable symphony in white. He calls for 'white music' and the Moon
Maiden rides through the skies 'drawn by a team of milk-white
butterflies,' and farther on in the same poem we have a palace of many
rooms:
"'Within the fairest, clad in purity,
Our mother dwelt immemorially:
Moon-calm, moon-pale, with moon-stones on her gown,
The floor she treads with little pearls is sown....'"
When the play was given in this country at the McCallum Theatre at
Northampton, Massachusetts, it was "staged in black and white, the
garden set having black walls on which fantastic white forms were
stenciled. The bench, the statue, and Pierrot and his lady love were
in white. To have tried to depict a real garden would have crowded the
small stage, so a garden was suggested, and by suggestion caught the
spirit of the piece."[27]
[Footnote 27: Constance D'Arcy Mackay, _The Little Theatre in
the United States_, New York, 1917, p. 97.]
Granville Bantock, the English musician, composed _The Pierrot of the
Minute_. _A Comedy Overture to a Dramatic Phantasy by Ernest Dowson_,
which he conducted at the Worcester Festival in 1908. This music in
whole or part may be used in connection with a production of Dowson's
play.
THE PIERROT OF THE MINUTE
CHARACTERS
A MOON MAIDEN.
PIERROT.
_SCENE._--_A glade in the Parc du Petit Trianon. In the center a Doric
temple with steps coming down the stage. On the left a little Cupid on
a pedestal. Twilight._
_Enter PIERROT with his hands full of lilies. He is burdened with a
little basket. He stands gazing at the Temple and the Statue._
PIERROT.