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THE GODDESS OF REASON

A Drama in Five Acts


THE GODDESS OF REASON

by

MARY JOHNSTON







Boston and New York
Houghton, Mifflin and Company
MDCCCCVII

Copyright 1907 by Mary Johnston
All Rights Reserved

Published May 1907

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                   TO
                        THE HOUSEHOLD AT WOODLEY
                               THIS DRAMA
                      IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED

[Illustration]




                           _DRAMATIS PERSONÆ_


 RENÉ-AMAURY DE VARDES, _Baron of Morbec_
 RÉMOND LALAIN, _Deputy from Vannes_
 THE ABBÉ JEAN DE BARBASAN
 COUNT LOUIS DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
 CAPTAIN FAUQUEMONT DE BUC
 MELIPARS DE L’ORIENT
 ENGUERRAND LA FÔRET
 THE VIDAME DE SAINT-AMOUR
 THE ENGLISHMAN
 GRÉGOIRE
 RAÔUL THE HUNTSMAN
 A SERGEANT OF HUSSARS

 YVETTE
 THE MARQUISE DE BLANCHEFÔRET
 MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
 MME. DE VAUCOURT
 MME. DE MALESTROIT
 MME. DE PONT À L’ARCHE
 SISTER FIDELIS
 SISTER SIMPLICIA
 SISTER BENEDICTA
 NANON
 CÉLESTE
 ANGÉLIQUE
 SÉRAPHINE
 AN ACTRESS

_Guests of De Vardes; Peasants; Lackeys; Soldiers; Nuns; Young Girls;
The Mob at Nantes; Participants in the Fête of the Goddess of Reason;
Republican Commissioners; National Soldiers; Women of the Revolution;
Royalist Prisoners; Gaolers; Judges; Executioners; etc., etc._




                            _TIME 1791–1794_


    ACT   I. The Château of Morbec in Brittany.

    ACT  II. The Garden of the Convent of the Visitation in Nantes.

    ACT III. A Square in Nantes.

    ACT  IV. A Church in Nantes used as a Prison.

    ACT   V. _Scene I._ A Judgment Hall in Nantes.

             _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!

                    A MAN (_accosting_ THE MARQUISE)

 Citoyenne!

                              THE MARQUISE

            Citoyen—

                                THE MAN

                      Citoyenne, come!
 Join our _ronde patriotique_, our _carillon_!

                              THE MARQUISE

 Sainte Geneviève!

                                THE MAN

                   What?

                 A WOMAN (_her hand upon_ THE MARQUISE)

                         Where’s your cockade?

                             ANOTHER WOMAN

 Show!

                              THE MARQUISE

       _De grâce, Citoyennes!_

                              THIRD WOMAN

                               The cloak! The cloak!

                    [_They tear from_ THE MARQUISE _her hood and cloak_.

                                A CHILD

 Oh, the pretty lady!

                              THE MARQUISE

                      I’ll give you gold!
 There, there!—My rings, my brooch—take all!
 Ah! let me peaceably depart—

                                THE MOB

                               Ha! ha!
 Aristocrat!

                                A WOMAN

             It is the emigrée
 Clarice-Marie Miramand Blanchefôret!
 Are not her gold locks known in Brittany?

                                ANOTHER

 She fled to England.

                                A THIRD

                      She returned.

                              THE MARQUISE

                                    O death!
 (_To a woman._) Citoyenne, your cockade! I’ll wear it gladly,
 Ay, o’er my heart I’ll pin it—

                         [_She takes the cockade from the woman and with
                         trembling fingers pins it to her gown._

                               THE WOMAN

                                 Red cap as well—

                              THE MARQUISE

 With pleasure, Citoyenne.

                           [_She places the bonnet-rouge upon her head._

                                THE MOB

                           Ha, ha!

                                 A MAN

                                   Now cry
 _Vive la République!_

                              THE MARQUISE

                       _Vive la République!_

                                THE MAN

 _Mort aux tyrans!_

                              THE MARQUISE

                    _Mort aux tyrans!_

                                THE MAN

                                       _À bas
 Les Aristocrats!_

                                                             [_Silence._

                                THE MOB

                   Ah—h—h!

                                THE MAN

                             _Vive la Guillotine!_

                                                             [_Silence._

                                A WOMAN

 Take that!

                                         [_She strikes at_ THE MARQUISE.

                                THE MOB

            Down! Down!

                       [THE MARQUISE _breaks through the ring of men and
                       women and runs to_ SÉRAPHINE.

                              THE MARQUISE

                        I know your face!
 You are a Morbec woman! Save me! Save!

                               SÉRAPHINE

 Saint Servan! Saint Gildas! Saint Mériadek!—
 Ay, madame, you should have stayed in England!

                _Enter_ DE VARDES, _torn and bleeding_.

                               DE VARDES

 De Buc taken and De Barbasan! Dieu!
 The day’s not old. I’ll see them ere its close.
 We’ll meet, I think, at Carrier’s judgment bar,
 Then the dark river,—and then peace at last—

                              THE MARQUISE

 _À moi, Monsieur le Baron de Morbec!_

                               DE VARDES

 La belle Marquise!

                       [_He forces his way to the side of_ THE MARQUISE.

                  SÉRAPHINE (_from the church porch_)

                    Saint Yves le Véridique!

                                THE MOB

 Both! Both!

                              A TRICOTEUSE

             To prison with them!

                                ANOTHER

                                  To the Loire!
 Ho! ho! _Les Noces Républicaines!_

                        [_The mob surges forward, but with his sword_ DE
                        VARDES _keeps a clear space about him and_ THE
                        MARQUISE. _They move slowly backward to the
                        church steps, which they mount._

                     DE VARDES (_to_ THE MARQUISE)

                                    We’ll smile and die!

                              THE MARQUISE

 Together, yes!

                                THE MOB

                Down! Down! Aristocrats!

                     [DE VARDES _sends a knife whirling from the hand of
                     a red cap_.

                               DE VARDES

 Follow! Follow!
 (_To_ THE MARQUISE.) I have been long in prison.

                              THE MARQUISE

 In England I!—And there I pined for France—
 This sunshine dazzles me—

                               DE VARDES

                            Clarice-Marie!

                                                     [_Trumpets within._

                               SÉRAPHINE

 Hark! Hark, Citoyens, to the trumpets blowing!

                                THE MOB

 She comes! Nantes’ goddess comes!

                      [_Faces appear at the windows of the tall houses._

                              A TRICOTEUSE

                                   The windows fill!

                                                [_The rolling of drums._

                           ANOTHER TRICOTEUSE

 The drums begin to roll!

                                 A MAN

                         Citoyens, all!
 We’ll see best by the statue there!

               ANOTHER (_pointing to_ DE VARDES _and_ THE
                               MARQUISE)

                                     But these?—

                               THE FIRST

 They’re safe! Let them await our pleasure! Peste!
 We waited once on theirs!

                                A THIRD

                           That’s true!

                     [_The mob divides. Men and women cluster about
                     the base of the statue or upon the doorsteps of the
                     surrounding houses. Enter men with banners._

                                THE MOB

                                        Look! Look!
 The painted banners! _Vive la patrie!_

                     SÉRAPHINE (_to_ THE MARQUISE)

                                        Hist!
 Hist, madame! behind the pillar there!

                              [_She points to the pillar of the church._

                               DE VARDES

                                        Go!

                      [THE MARQUISE _conceals herself behind the pillar.
                      A crash of music._

                      _Enter_ LALAIN _and_ NANON.

                                 LALAIN

 No blood to-day! I’d have clean sleep to-night,
 Pure sleep and sweet, in which to dream of love!—
 Hast seen her in her mantle blue?

                                 NANON

                                   Who stands
 So steadfast there with a drawn sword?

                                 LALAIN

                                        Diable!

                   [_He makes as if to cross to the church steps, where_
                   DE VARDES, _sword in hand, stands with his back
                   against a pillar. The crowd comes between._

                                 NANON

 Patience, he’ll not escape!

                 LALAIN (_with affected indifference_)

                             It is as well,—
 To her he’s but a ci-devant, and he,
 O fool! shall see in her the Revolution!
 Then, then, when she has passed, I’ll deal with him!

                                                      [_Singing within._

                                A VOICE

                     _With sandals on her feet,
                       The Phrygian cap so red
                       Upon her sunny head,
                     She comes, she’s coming sweet!
                       Reason, to whom we pay
                       All homage on this day!_

                               THE CROWD

 The singers! The actors!

     [_Enter actors and actresses of the Theatre of Nantes, dressed
       as for the stage, and carrying garlands of paper flowers._

                                AN ACTOR

                          Way for Tartufe!
 The Citizen Jourdain, Phèdre, Célimène,
 Acaste, Armide, Aucassin, Nicolette!
 Make way! Make way!

                               THE SINGER

                      _Upon her lofty car
                        She sits in solemn state!
                        Of day the lovely mate,
                      Of night the shining star!
                        Reason, to whom we pay
                        All homage on this day!_

                               THE CROWD

                     Brava! What now?

                               THE ACTOR

 Voltaire, Rousseau, Franklin, Robespierre!

               [_Enter a band of students drawing a garlanded float.
               Upon the float the busts of Voltaire, Rousseau, Franklin,
               and Robespierre._

                               THE CROWD

 _Vive Robespierre!_

                         [_The Marseillaise. Enter Republican soldiers._

                               DE VARDES

                     Oh, for the red Hussars!

                   [_Enter four men wearing tricolour scarfs and plumes,
                   huge cockades, pistols and sabres._

                               THE CROWD

 The Commissioners!

                               DE VARDES

                    Hooded crows!

                 [_There crosses the stage a float upon which is fixed a
                 miniature guillotine._

                               THE CROWD

                                  Ha! ha!
 _Vive la Guillotine!_

                                 A MAN

                       _Vive les noyades!_

                               DE VARDES

                                           Cold
 Are thy baths, O Apollo!

                   [_Enter red-bonneted men and women dragging a tumbril
                   in which are heaped spoils of the church,—broken
                   images, crucifixes, candelabra, chalices, patens,
                   etc._

                               THE CROWD

                          Ha—h—h!

                               DE VARDES

                                    Jesu!

                                                  [_He crosses himself._

[_Music. The great tricolour flag of the Republic is borne across the
stage._

                               THE CROWD

 _La patrie! Vive la patrie!_

                               DE VARDES

                              France! France!

                      [_Stately music. Enter young men in Greek dress,
                      bearing a gilded framework upon which is fixed a
                      tall flambeau, wreathed with flowers. They advance
                      and place the structure before the church
                      steps._

                               A PEASANT

 Brave! But what is it?

                                ANOTHER

                        The torch of Reason!
 The Goddess lights it,—then we worship her!

                                A THIRD

 No, we worship Reason!

                               THE SECOND

                        ‘Tis the same thing!

                      [_Enter young girls clad in white, linked together
                      with tricolour ribbons and carrying osier baskets
                      from which they scatter flowers. They are followed
                      by children swinging censers, then by a shouting
                      throng drawing a triumphal car upon which sits the
                      Goddess of Reason. She is clothed in a white tunic
                      and a blue mantle; upon her loosened hair is a
                      wreath of oak leaves and she has in her hand a
                      light spear._

                               THE CROWD

 Reason! Reason!—Yvette! Yvette!

                               DE VARDES

                                  Mon Dieu!

                                       [_The car stops._ YVETTE _rises_.

                               THE CROWD

 _Vive la déesse! Vive Yvette!_ (LALAIN _comes forward_.) _Vive Lalain!_

                                 LALAIN

 People of Nantes! Citoyens! Patriots!
 Old things are past. To-day we welcome new.
 Gone are the priests, gone is the crucifix;
 Chalice and paten whelmed beneath the Loire!
 Kings, princes, nobles, priests, all crumbled down!
 Death on a pale horse hath ridden o’er them,
 The ravens and the sea mews pick their bones.
 Theirs are the yesterdays, the ci-devants!
 The red to-day is ours, the purple morrow!—
 Liberty, Equality, Fraternity!
 We worship Thee, Triune and Indivisible!—
 O Mother Nature, pure, beneficent,
 Redeemed from darkness of the centuries,
 Smile on thy children, come to worship thee!
 And thou, supernal Reason, Crown of Man,
 Eyes of the blind, divine, ascending flame,
 Pearl without price, rose, light, music, warmth!—
 O gushing spring where else were desert waste!
 O flooding light, celestial melody!
 O flower that blooms on either side the grave!
 O steadfast star that burns the night away!
 We worship thee!

                   [_He takes the censer from a boy and swings it to and
                   fro before the standing goddess. Clouds of incense
                   arise. The trumpets sound._

                       THE CROWD (_with ecstasy_)

                  We worship thee, Yvette!
 Yvette! Yvette! Reason! Yvette Charruel!

                                 YVETTE

 O God! I knew not ‘twas like this!

                                 LALAIN

                                    Reason, descend!
 Illume thy torch, among us mortals dwell.
 O sweetest Reason! ne’er regret the skies!
 Descend—

                      [_He gives his hand to_ YVETTE. _She descends from
                      the car._

                                 A MAN

           She is the fairest Reason!

                                ANOTHER

                                      Now
 She’ll light the torch!

                  [_A boy brings her lighted touchwood._ LALAIN _fastens
                  it to the point of her spear, and kneeling presents it
                  to her. She advances to the church steps and raises
                  the flaming lance in order to light the torch. She
                  sees_ DE VARDES. _The spear falls to the earth. The
                  flame goes out._

                                 YVETTE

                         O Our Lady!

                               THE CROWD

 Light the torch! Light the torch!

                                 LALAIN

                                   What witchcraft’s this?

                                 YVETTE

 None, none!—Oh, see the heavens open!

                                                [_Murmurs of the crowd._

                               ANGÉLIQUE

                                        Goddess!
 Goddess!

                                CÉLESTE

          She hears not!

                               THE CROWD

                         Light the torch!

                                 LALAIN

                                          I see
 Hell gaping! What’s that man to thee?
 Death and damnation! Dost still gaze at him?
 Then to the winds, Irresolution!

                                               [_He turns to the crowd._

                                 See,
 Patriots, see! The light of Reason dies!
 Out went the sacred flame beneath the eyes,
 The basilisk eyes of an Aristocrat!

                               THE CROWD

 Away with him to prison! Death! The Loire!
 Death to the emigré!

                        [_A rush toward the church steps._ DE VARDES
                        _throws himself on guard_. YVETTE _comes between
                        him and the mob_.

                                 YVETTE

                      Back!

                                THE MOB

                            Ah—h—h!

                                 LALAIN

                                      Art mad?
 Stand from between the lion and his prey!

                        DE VARDES (_to the mob_)

 Men of Nantes! leave women to one side!
 (_To_ YVETTE _with a gesture toward the car_.) Goddess of Reason! Mount
    Olympus waits!
 (_To_ LALAIN.) At last, Rémond Lalain!

                                 LALAIN

                                        René de Vardes!

                       [_A man strikes at_ DE VARDES _with a long pike.
                       His sword arm falls, and the sword rattles to the
                       ground. A shout of triumph from the mob._ THE
                       MARQUISE’S _cry from the pillar is not heard. The
                       mob moves forward._

                                 YVETTE

 Back, back, I say! You’ll do no murder here!
 What! One man against a score!—All Bretons!

                                THE MOB

 Death to the emigré!

                               DE VARDES

                      Not emigré!
 Good folk, I’ve been in prison in La Force.
 Released, I journeyed home to Brittany!

                                 A MAN

 Thou’lt journey farther yet, Aristocrat!

                               ANGÉLIQUE

 Thy boat shall travel down the Loire!

                                 YVETTE

                                       Shall it?
 Shall it, indeed, thou gold-locked leprous woman!
 _Thy_ bark shall be sucked down by black Ahès!
 I see three Vannetois!—big Rubik, Yann,
 And Rivarol who won the singer’s prize!
 À moi, Vannetois!—Who is that standing there?
 Huon! Rememberest thou the fields at dawn?
 Rememberest thou the dim green hazel copse?
 Rememberest thou one Pardon of Sainte Anne?

                               A PEASANT

 Yvette!

                                 YVETTE

         The sun went down, the stars shone out;
 We wandered round the wreckage of a ship;
 Beneath a shell we found a golden coin.
 Rememberest thou, Hervé the Cornouillaise?

                            A BRETON SAILOR

 Yvette!

                                 YVETTE

         Baptiste! Michael! Monik! Ronan!
 How loudly rang the bells of Quiberon!
 To beat of drum we danced beside the sea!

                               YOUNG MEN

 Ho, ho! That day!

                                 YVETTE

                   Eh, who spoke to us there,
 Of glory, of France, and of Liberty?
 Citoyen Deputy Rémond Lalain!
 Red wine he gave to you, to me a flower!
 Mon Dieu! I was so proud—

                                 LALAIN

                            Yvette!

                       YVETTE (_to an old woman_)

                                    Margot!
 ‘Twas I who watched with thee one stormy night
 When all thy seven sons were out at sea!

                             THE OLD WOMAN

 Ay, ay, and they came safely home to me!

                         YVETTE (_to a child_)

 O little Jeanne, where is the doll I gave thee?

                               THE CHILD

 Here!—‘tis named ‘Toinette!

                       A WOMAN (_with the child_)

                              She has another
 Named Yvette!

                  YVETTE (_to a band of young women_)

               Fifine, Laure, and Veronique!
 The moon shone bright, there was no wind at all,
 Below the heights the violet shadows slept,
 All sweetly smelled the gorse and white buckwheat,
 And dewy was the grass beneath our feet,
 And wet with dew the poppies in our hair!
 There came a sound of singing from the sea,
 Our hands we linked, we sped around Tantad,
 Fair shone the moon—

                              A YOUNG GIRL

                       Oh, Eves of Saint John!

                                A BRETON

 _Iou! Iou! An Tan! An Tan! An Tan!_

                               SÉRAPHINE

 Saint Ronan! Saint Primel!

                               THE CROWD

                            Yvette! Yvette!
 Yvette Charruel!

                                 YVETTE

                  O folk of Nantes!
 There is a thing I want so badly, I!
 Call it a fairing from the Fête of Reason,
 And give the trifle to the poor Yvette,
 The poor Yvette who’s done her best to please you!
 Oh, I’ve music made for you to dance by,
 And for you held on high the great tricolour;
 And in the night-time sung to you of dawn!
 And for you, too, I’ve plucked the lilies up,
 Fast locked a door and flung away the key,
 And left the ravished garden evermore!—
 A priest would say my soul I had imperilled.

                               THE CROWD

 No, no! No priests! Reason! Reason! Yvette.

                                 YVETTE

 This mantle blue, these oak leaves in my hair,
 These sandals and this spear, this tunic white,
 The wreathèd car, the music and the song!
 All, all a mockery, unless, unless—
 There is a thing I want so badly, I!

                             A COMMISSIONER

 It is thine!

                               THE CROWD

              Thine! Thine! Yvette Charruel!

                                 YVETTE

 Ah, I would play the goddess, that I would!
 I’d have my pardon like a Breton saint,
 And what I bound, it should be bound indeed!
 And what I loosed, it should be loosed indeed!

                             A COMMISSIONER

 Fast bind or freely loose, thy surety, I!

                                ANOTHER

 Command me, and the silver moon I’ll bring thee!

                                 YVETTE

 With what a sudden glory shines the sun!
 It gilds the streets, it gilds the running Loire!
 And from them both the blood-stains fade away!
 Ah, let us rest from death in Nantes to-day,
 And think how falls the eve in Bethlehem!—
 There is a little village that I know,
 A hungry village by a hungry sea,
 As worn and grey as any calvary!
 The hungry shadows ate the sunshine up;
 The children cried, the women wailed at morn;
 The very Christ looked hungry on the Cross;
 When lo! a miracle! for suddenly
 The starving, haggard folk began to laugh,
 The tender green put forth, the flowers bloomed,
 Blue shone the sky, the lark sang overhead,
 And mild the face of Christ and heavenly kind!
 The little village had its fill of bread,
 Yea, wine it drank, and cheerful breath it drew,
 And, by the well, of this strange plenty talked,
 Of tolls withdrawn, of perfect friendliness!

                                     [_She moves from before_ DE VARDES.

 And then it blessed the man who gave it bread,
 Who had a heart to feel with wretchedness,
 And a strong arm to drive the hunger forth
 As Arthur drove the giants from the land!
 O men of Nantes! you’ll keep your oath to me!
 In Nantes to-day ‘tis mine to loose or bind!—
 I loose this man—

                                 LALAIN

                    Out, witch!
 (_To_ DE VARDES.) Think not, think not,
 René de Vardes, that she shall save thee thus!—
 Mine, mine she is, she shall be, soul and all!

                               DE VARDES

 Rémond Lalain—

                         LALAIN (_to the mob_)

                 It is an emigré!
 A traitor and a black Aristocrat,
 The ci-devant De Vardes!

                               THE CROWD

                          De Vardes! De Vardes!

                                 YVETTE

 Rémond Lalain, stand from my path, I say!
 (_To the crowd._) Not emigré, but prisoner in La Force!
 Not traitor! That’s a wretch who doth betray!
 Aristocrat?—Who chooseth his birth star?
 Crieth at Life’s gate, “Of such an house I’m heir!”
 But in we drift from the great sea without;
 A current takes us—“Of my house are ye!”
 So you, so I, so this citoyen here,
 Rémond Lalain, who is Lalain by chance,
 And might have been Capet or Mirabeau!
 And so this other, standing gravely there
 Alone, a man alone upon a rock,
 And the tide mounts!—The current swept him there!
 Another drift, and he had been Lalain,
 Orator and idol of the Jacobins!—
 Names! They are the mist through which the man
 Is scarce discerned, the sea-drift hides the pearl.
 Ghosts of the past the present spurns! Dead leaves!
 Masks for the pauper and the prince! Mere names!
 I would not have them rule my spirit thus!—
 Aristocrat! I know not, but I know
 The man’s been known to lift a peasant’s load
 And gather seaweed with a fisher’s child!

                            A BRETON SAILOR

 ‘Tis true! And in my boat he’s been with me,
 When Ahès and the storm made black the sea!

                               A PEASANT

 He walked beside me in the field and told
 Name of the silver star above the fold!

                               A SOLDIER

 I was a red Hussar! He fought like Mars.
 Eh, my Colonel—

                                A WOMAN

                  We know, we Morbec folk!
 _Vive Baron René!_

                               SÉRAPHINE

                    Eh, eh, monseigneur!

                                 YVETTE

 Nantes! Nantes! you’ll keep the oath you’ve made to me!
 My fairing I shall have this holiday,
 And what I bind it shall be bound indeed,
 And what I loose is loosed to me for aye!
 I ask one gift—I shall not ask again!
 This is my hour, no other hour I want.
 I ask one life—is’t mine, is’t mine, Citoyens?

                               THE CROWD

 Yes, yes! ‘Tis thine!

                             A COMMISSIONER

                       Thine, Goddess!
 (_To_ DE VARDES.) Citoyen, thou art free!

                                 LALAIN

                                           Diable!

                                 YVETTE

                                                   I’m faint.—

                               SÉRAPHINE

 Saint Iguinou! What of the pillar there?

                             A COMMISSIONER

 Make way for the Citoyen Vardes!

                               THE CROWD

                                  Make way!

                               SÉRAPHINE

 Eh, eh, monseigneur; thou hadst best begone!

                   DE VARDES (_to the Commissioner_)

 Citoyen, thanks! but here I’ll watch awhile
 These pleasing rites, this worship new of Reason!

                            THE COMMISSIONER

 ‘Twill do thee good, Aristocrat!

                               DE VARDES

                                  No doubt,
 Citoyen!

                                 LALAIN

          Oh, depth of hell!

                                 NANON

                             Oh, patience!

                                 LALAIN

 Why takes he not his liberty? He stays!
 To feast his eyes upon her face he stays!
 Diable! He speaks to her—

                                 NANON

                            Patience! Patience!—
 What flutters there behind the pillar?

                                 LALAIN

                                        Where?

                     [_She points. They move together to the base of the
                     statue._

                        DE VARDES (_to_ YVETTE)

 I owe my life to thee, thou hapless child!
 Ah, couldst thou make this throng depart the place!

                                 YVETTE

 Monseigneur—

                               THE CROWD

               Goddess of Reason! light the torch!

                                 YVETTE

 I’m faint!—The houses all are dancing there!—
 Give me drink!

                                 A MAN

                Here’s wine!

                                 [_He pours wine into a great gold cup._

                                 YVETTE

                             ‘Tis in a chalice!

                               THE CROWD

 Drink!

                                                       [YVETTE _drinks_.

                                 YVETTE

        Nom de Dieu! ‘Tis right good wine, indeed!—
 Not now I’ll light the torch—‘Tis out for good!
 And while we linger here the sunlight goes!
 Let’s to the quai, let’s to the quai and dance—
 And dance the Carmagnole!

                               THE CROWD

                           The Carmagnole!

                         [_Men and women take hands and begin to dance._

                                 YVETTE

 Away! Down the long street, and to the quai!
 Take hands! Away! _Dansons la Carmagnole!_

                 [_She snatches from a boy a tambourine and strikes it._

                       _Vive le son, vive le son,
                       Vive le son du canon!_

                  [_The crowd disperses._ DE VARDES _remains standing
                  before the pillar behind which crouches_ THE MARQUISE.
                  SÉRAPHINE _watches from the church steps_;
                  LALAIN _and_ NANON _from the base of the Statue
                  of Liberty_.

 Monseigneur!

                               DE VARDES

              Ay.

                                 YVETTE

                  Now, now while the lark sings,
 And while the fairy wood is green, begone!
 Oh, ‘tis not safe in Nantes! They gave thy life,
 But oh, they’re fierce and fickle! Back they’ll come!
 I’ve enemies in Nantes, and there’s Lalain,
 Rémond Lalain who’ll work me woe at last!
 Thou must begone, but list, ah, list to me!
 I know a secret place where thou mayst bide,
 So safe! so safe! and I will bring thee food,
 White bread and wine, and find for thee a way
 Forth from the town—

                               DE VARDES

                       Ah, I may trust thee, sure!

                                 YVETTE

 I never knew thou wast in prison there!
 So sad, so dark the prison life, they say!
 My cagèd bird I freed the other day.
 There are so many prisoners in Nantes,
 I would not have it one!—

                               DE VARDES

                            My life I owe—

                                 YVETTE

 The spring draws on; ‘twill soon be June again!

                               DE VARDES

 Now for another life I make my suit—

                                 YVETTE

 In Paimpont Wood the trees are greening now,
 In sun and shade the purple violets blow!

                               DE VARDES

 In those old convent days, ah, ages gone!
 Beneath the fruit trees, by the fountain there,
 I’ve seen thee nurse a little fluttering bird,
 Wounded and frightened, fallen from the blue,
 But yet God’s bird, and with a life to save!
 And thou didst stroke its plumage tenderly,
 And gently fostered it between thy hands
 Awhile, and up it soared into the blue;
 A moment since and thou didst save my life.
 Lo now, there is another thing to do!
 Before my own life, I’ve a life in charge,
 And to thee now I turn, and plead for help.
 In this wild town thou rulest o’er the hour;
 Be now the goddess and the woman too,
 Pitiful, tender, generous, and true!—
 Lo! here a wounded bird—

                      [_He moves aside._ THE MARQUISE _leaves the shadow
                      of the pillar_.

                                 YVETTE

                           Death of my life!

                              THE MARQUISE

 Oh, guard me, all ye saints!

                               DE VARDES

                              Yvette! Yvette!

                                [LALAIN _comes forward from the statue_.

                          LALAIN (_to_ YVETTE)

 Right of the Seigneur!

                                 YVETTE

                        So! Thou hast returned,
 Beneath the trees, along the moonlit road!
 And in thine arms the rose and eglantine,
 And on thy lips the song of all the birds!
 Back! There is a furze field bars thy way!

                              THE MARQUISE

 Mon Dieu!

                                 YVETTE

           Hast thou another fan to break?
 Ha! shrinkest thou?

                              THE MARQUISE

                     Sainte Geneviève!

                      YVETTE (_raising her voice_)

                                       Nantes! Nantes!

                               DE VARDES

 By all the gods!—

                                 YVETTE

                    À moi! À moi! Nantes!

                                        [_An answering cry from within._

                               DE VARDES

 Herd girl of Morbec—

                                 LALAIN

                       Right of the Seigneur!

                                 YVETTE

 À moi! Citoyens! Patriots!

                             _Reënter mob._

                               DE VARDES

                            Courage,
 Clarice!

                              THE MARQUISE

          O all ye saints!

                                 YVETTE

                           Citoyens!
 This ci-devant, this black Aristocrat!
 Oh! all this while she was in hiding here!
 Beside the pillar there she kneeled and laughed.
 Do I not know her laughter, rippling sweet
 Or o’er a broken fan or broken heart,
 Or in green Morbec and a garden fair,
 Or on the moonlit road to ancient Vannes?—
 She, she the ci-devant, the emigrée!
 Who to false England with her jewels fled,—
 Rubies, emeralds, and long strings of pearls!
 The while in barren fields her peasants starved!—
 I denounce the Citoyenne Blanchefôret!

                               THE CROWD

 Ah—h—h!

                              THE MARQUISE

           O terror!

                               DE VARDES

                     Thy hand in mine, Clarice!

                                 YVETTE

 What of, what of the dark line of De Vardes?
 What tales are told of Morbec’s black château?
 More wicked and more lost than sunken Ys!
 Wolves were they all, the seigneurs of Morbec!
 Henri, Philippe, Gil, René, Amaury—
 All, all were wolves who lurked, who sprang, who tore,
 No heart of lamb, but just the heart of man!
 Heart of a man, heart of a woman too!
 Morbec! De Vardes! No direr names in France!
 Right hands of kings, priests, soldiers, cardinals,
 Courtiers and lovers of the fleur-de-lis!
 Passionate, proud, a whirlwind and a flame!
 Morbec! De Vardes! ‘Ware all who came between
 The whirlwind and its goal, the stubble and the flame!

                               DE VARDES

 Thou lost soul!

                                 LALAIN

                 Thou lovely fiend!

                                 YVETTE

 De Vardes! De Vardes! The name comes on the blast
 Up from the gulf where lie the thrones of kings.
 Battle, oppression, tyranny and wrong—
 Miramand, Blanchefôret! on sea winds in they float
 From that dim palace where that lost Ahès
 Down to her emerald windows beckons man
 And spreads the bridal bed in sunken Ys!

                                 NANON

 Mon Dieu! The bridal bed!

                                 YVETTE

                           By all the wrongs
 That both their houses through the ages long
 Have wrought us! By the blood that they have shed,
 The tears, the groans, the sweat, the servile knees,
 The bitter bread they gave us, and the cry
 From lonely graves of anguish and of wrath!
 By all the hunger and the freezing cold!
 By all the toil and all the hopelessness,
 The smitten cheek, the taunt, the burning heart!
 By all the Rights of all the Lords of Wrong!
 By _Corvée_ and _Gabelle_ and _Gibier_,
 _Quintaines_, _Milods_, _Ban d’Août_ and _Bordelage_,
 _Fouage_, _Leide_, _Corvée à miséricorde_,
 _Banvin_, _Chansons_, _Baiser des Mariées_!
 I do denounce these two Aristocrats:
 La Force’s prisoner, and the emigrée,
 La belle Marquise, the Hussar of the King,
 Citoyen Vardes, Citoyenne Blanchefôret!

                                 LALAIN

 So!

                                THE MOB

     Away! Away! Prison! Death! The Loire!
 Down, down, Aristocrats.

                      [_They close around_ DE VARDES _and_ THE MARQUISE.

                               SÉRAPHINE

                          Saint Maturin!
 Saint Corentin! Saint Jean!

                              THE MARQUISE

                             O bitter death!

                               DE VARDES

 I am thy death, who thought to save thee so!

                      [_The soldiers lay hands upon_ DE VARDES _and_ THE
                      MARQUISE _and force them from the church steps
                      and across the square_.

                                THE MOB

 Away!

                             A COMMISSIONER

       The nearest prison!

                                 A MAN

                           That’s the Church
 Of Saint Eustache!

                             A COMMISSIONER

                    Away! They shall be judged
 By Carrier!

                                THE MOB

             Carrier!—The Loire!

                                 YVETTE

                                  Ah!

                               ANGÉLIQUE

 Ha, ha! _Le Mariage Républicain!_

                                 YVETTE

 Quoi!

                               ANGÉLIQUE

       Eh, they’re lovers, are they not?

                                CÉLESTE

 The Loire shall marry them, the ci-devants!

                               ANGÉLIQUE

 Yvette has made the wedding, eh, Yvette?

                                THE MOB

 Ha, ha! _Le Mariage Républicain!_

                       [_Exeunt the mob, soldiers_, DE VARDES, _and_ THE
                       MARQUISE, _guarded, etc._

                           VOICES (_within_)

 _Le Mariage Républicain!_ Ha, ha!

                                 YVETTE

 What have I done?—

                         VOICES (_dying away_)

                     Ha, ha! ha, ha! The Loire!

                                 YVETTE

 The Loire!—O God!

                               _CURTAIN_

[Illustration]

[Illustration]




                                _ACT IV_


  _The interior of a church in Nantes used as a prison. Great broken
    windows of stained glass, purple and crimson, through which
    streams the sunlight. Prisoners of both sexes and all ages and
    conditions of life move to and fro, or lean against the pillars
    which support the vaulted roof. Some rest or kneel upon the steps
    before the altar rail. Three children play beside a broken font.
    Against a door at the left of the great altar lounge several
    turnkeys dressed in blue woollen with red liberty caps._ THE
    MARQUISE _sits beside a pillar. She talks with_ DE BUC _and_
    ENGUERRAND LA FÔRET. _Near her are_ COUNT LOUIS _and_ MLLE. DE
    CHÂTEAU-GUI. DE L’ORIENT _stands upon a bench beneath a shattered
    window_. DE VARDES _sits at a rude table writing_.

  _A butterfly enters at the broken window and flutters through the
    church._

                                A CHILD

 The butterfly! The butterfly!

                          MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

                               Oh, see
 Its painted wings!

                                A CHILD

                    There! There!

                          MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

 It comes my way!—I’ve caught it!—No!

                AN ACTRESS (_dressed as a shepherdess_)

                                        I!
 I have it fast, the pretty prisoner!

                              DE L’ORIENT

 It will not stay—

                              COUNT LOUIS

                    It soars into the roof!
 No! down again on yon long ray of light!—
 Give chase!

                              DE L’ORIENT

             Here!

                          MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

                   There!

                              THE ACTRESS

                          Oh, oh! It sails this way,
 The fairy boat—

                              DE L’ORIENT

                  With freight of heart’s desire!

                              THE ACTRESS

 I have it!

                              COUNT LOUIS

            No, I!

                                  [_The butterfly lights upon his hand._

                   ‘Tis youth!

                              DE L’ORIENT

                               ‘Tis gone!—

                                  [_The butterfly brushes his shoulder._

 ‘Tis joy!

                              THE ACTRESS

           Fled!—Ah, ah!—‘Tis hope!

                      [_The butterfly touches her outstretched arm, then
                      rises again._

                                      No longer!

              [_The butterfly rests upon the fair hair of_ THE MARQUISE.

                              THE MARQUISE

 As I was saying, then I felt despair—

                 [_The butterfly rises, flutters in a shaft of sunshine,
                 then passes out of the window. The prisoners watch
                 its flight._

                                A CHILD

 The butterfly has gone!

                          MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

                         Whither!

                              DE L’ORIENT

                                  ‘Tis for
 The blue skies and the sunny fields!

                              THE ACTRESS

                                      The flowers
 We shall not gather any more!

                              DE L’ORIENT

                               High hills,
 The water running in the sun and shade!

                           MME. DE MALESTROIT

 A garden old beside a winding stream—
 Oh, death in life!

                                 A NUN

                    It was a soul set free.
 By now a thousand shining leagues it’s mounted!

                             [_The door at the left of the altar opens._

                           _Enter_ GRÉGOIRE.

                          MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

 Here is Grégoire!

                                GRÉGOIRE

                   Good-morrow, Citoyens!

                              COUNT LOUIS

 Good-morrow, Gaoler.

                          MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

                      Ah, this place, Grégoire!
 It is so triste! Shall we forever stay
 Imprisoned in a church?

                                LA FÔRET

                         Oh, gayer far
 The Bastille or Vincennes!

                              THE ACTRESS

                            These frowning saints!
 The wind that whistles in!

                           MME. DE MALESTROIT

                            The stones so cold!

                              COUNT LOUIS

 The Church will make us martyrs ere our time!

                          MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

 And did you buy, Grégoire, the cards for ombre?

                              THE ACTRESS

 Masks for our play?

                              DE L’ORIENT

                     A violin?

                              THE ACTRESS

                               Wax-lights?

                                 DE BUC

 The foils?

                                A CHILD

            My ball, Grégoire?

                                GRÉGOIRE

                               I’ve nothing bought—
 The judges sit to-day. Complain to them.
 The church is cold! ‘Tis not so cold as Loire!
 The prisons are too crowded! Well, to-day
 We’ll weed them out!

                                 DE BUC

                      So!

                                GRÉGOIRE

                          You are warned! Prepare!
 Make your farewells—the time is very short!

                                                       [_Exit_ GRÉGOIRE.

                                 DE BUC

 Strike camp!

                              DE L’ORIENT

              The open road!

                              COUNT LOUIS

                             Who goes?

                                LA FÔRET

                                       Who stays?

                          MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

 Our comedy!—we cannot have it now!

                              THE ACTRESS

 Oh, we will rearrange the parts!

                 [DE VARDES _folds his letter and rises from the table_.

                               DE VARDES

                                  We’ll play,
 Though all the world is sliding ‘neath our feet!

                                 DE BUC

 The world’s a stage—

                                THE NUN

                       _De profundis clamavi
 Ad te Domine!_

      _Enter the_ ABBÉ JEAN DE BARBASAN, _pale, wounded, and with
                           disordered dress_.

                          MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

                Monsieur l’Abbé!

                               DE VARDES

                                 Ah!
 De Barbasan, we feared for you!

                                THE ABBÉ

                                 Morbleu!
 I am reprieved! Lambertye proved my friend!
 It seems that once I saved the villain’s life!—
 Pure accident!—stumbled on him in a ditch,
 Played the Samaritan!—so now I’m spared,
 Come forth like Daniel from the lions’ den,
 That Judgment Hall of theirs across the way!
 Lions! They are not lions, they are wolves,
 Hyenas, tigers, and baboons. Faugh!

                                 DE BUC

                                     So!
 They are hungry yet?

                                THE ABBÉ

                      Oh, they are portents!
 And portents are the folk that fill that hall!
 Not women they who sit aloft and knit;
 Not men, those scarecrow visages below;
 For robed judges, wolves at Lammas tide,
 And Nantes the winter forest for the pack!—
 But ah, the deer at bay, the little lambs!—
 The earth gives ‘neath their feet, they face the Loire!

                  [_A confused sound from the square without the window;
                  voices, menacing and execrating, a cry, then
                  silence._

                               DE VARDES

 One has not gained the Loire!

                                THE ABBÉ

                               Ah, oftentimes,
 They fall before they reach the Judgment Hall!
 There in the street, before that fatal door—
 Both youth and age, fair women and brave men.
 Their blood cries to another judgment seat!
 From yonder window you may see it all!

                              THE MARQUISE

 We will not look!

                              COUNT LOUIS

                   Fie, fie, De Barbasan!
 There is a time for everything! Not now,
 Nor in this place is’t meet or debonair
 To speak of ravening wolves or stricken deer!
 To work, my friend! You find us much concerned
 About this play of Molière’s! We give
 _Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme_.

                              THE MARQUISE

                             You’ll play Jourdain?
 Béjart had promised us, but then he went.
 He’s not returned.

                                THE ABBÉ

                    Nor will, I think. But, yes,
 I’ll take the part; I’ll speak in prose to you
 To whom I else would speak in poetry!

                    THE MARQUISE (_with a curtesy_)

 Monsieur Jourdain, your prose is ravishing!—
 I’m Dorimène.

                                 DE BUC

               And I Dorante!

                          MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

                              Lucille.

                           MME. DE MALESTROIT

 Nicole!

                              THE ACTRESS

         I am, Monsieur Jourdain, your wife!

                                LA FÔRET

 Your son-in-law the Turk!

                               DE VARDES

                           Behold, monsieur,
 Your fencing master!

                              DE L’ORIENT

                      Your _maître de danse_.
 Imagine, pray, you hear my violin:
 La, la—The minuet!—La, la, la!

                 [_He plays an imaginary violin. The prisoners hesitate,
                 laugh, then begin to step a minuet. The children
                 and the gaolers watch them._ DE VARDES _does
                 not dance. He leans against a pillar to the left_.

          _Enter a turnkey_, CÉLESTE, ANGÉLIQUE, NANON, _and_
                               SÉRAPHINE.

                     SÉRAPHINE (_crossing herself_)

 Eh! Eh! They dance!—Well, what a thing it is
 To be a noble born!

                         CÉLESTE (_jealously_)

                     We dance as well!

                               SÉRAPHINE

 Ay, the Carmagnole!

                               ANGÉLIQUE

                     ‘Tis a swifter dance!
 Why came we here? I never liked this church,
 They are too gay of heart, these ci-devants!
 Let’s to the Judgment Hall, or to the Loire.

                                CÉLESTE

 Séraphine would come—

                               SÉRAPHINE

                        Patience, Citoyennes,
 No haste! I’ve just a little word to speak
 Unto monseigneur there.

                                CÉLESTE

                         Monseigneur!

                               SÉRAPHINE

                                      Oh,
 The Citoyen Vardes! You know my tripping tongue.

                        NANON (_to the turnkey_)

 Where is that ci-devant men once did call
 La belle Marquise?

                              THE TURNKEY

                    ‘Tis she who dances there,
 Fair-haired and dressed in violet.

                                 NANON

                                    Awhile
 I’ll watch her dance.

                                CÉLESTE

                       Their cheeks are pale.

                               ANGÉLIQUE

                                              They smile.
 I would not smile if I were they.

                             [NANON, CÉLESTE, _and_ ANGÉLIQUE _watch the
                             dancers_. SÉRAPHINE _approaches_ DE VARDES.

                      SÉRAPHINE (_in a low voice_)

                                   Monseigneur!

                               DE VARDES

 Séraphine Robin, I believe?

                               SÉRAPHINE

                             Saint Yves!
 Now just to think! Monseigneur knows my name!—
 Eh! Morbec was my home for many a year.
 When all is said and done, Home is just Home,
 Hut or château—and always the De Vardes
 Were lords of Morbec did they good or ill!
 Most like ‘twas ill—but they were proper men!
 And when they smiled we always said ‘twas day;
 And old men say—but it was long ago—
 A baron lived was named René the Good!
 Saint Gil! Monseigneur gave us back Lisette.
 Saint Maudez! ‘Tis a dangerous thing, but see!

                             [_She takes from her bosom a silken purse._

 Eh, monseigneur, ‘tis yours! Take it! Quick, quick,
 Before Céleste—the baggage!—turns her head!

                                 [_She thrusts the purse into his hand._

                               DE VARDES

 From whom?

                               SÉRAPHINE

            Look in it! You will see. ‘Tis gold.

                               DE VARDES

 Gold!

                               SÉRAPHINE

       And something more.—Here is Angélique!

                               ANGÉLIQUE

 Aristocrat—That ring upon thy finger—

                               SÉRAPHINE

 Out!

                               DE VARDES

      Not yet, Citoyenne!

                               ANGÉLIQUE

                          Then afterwards!
 I’ll have it at the trenches or the Loire!

                     [_She rejoins_ CÉLESTE _and_ NANON. _They watch the
                     dancers._

                              DE L’ORIENT

 Nicole—Lucille—Cléonte—

                               SÉRAPHINE

                            My errand’s done—
 Look in the purse, monseigneur, look at once!

                              DE L’ORIENT

 La, la, la, la!

                               DE VARDES

                 I have no need of gold.

                               SÉRAPHINE

 Look, monseigneur!

                               DE VARDES

                    Again, from whom?

                               SÉRAPHINE

                                      A friend.

                               DE VARDES

 I have no friend in Nantes. Take back thy purse!

                               SÉRAPHINE

 It is not mine, the pretty, silken thing!
 I swore that I would leave it, so I will!
 And I was told to tell you, “Look within.”

                                                    [NANON _approaches_.

                                 NANON

 In Nantes one is Suspect when one is seen
 Whispering in shadows with Aristocrats!

                               SÉRAPHINE

 Nothing I said you might not hear, Nanon!
 Come, come away!
 (_To_ DE VARDES _as she turns from him_.) Monseigneur, have a care!

                    [SÉRAPHINE, NANON, CÉLESTE, _and_ ANGÉLIQUE
                    _watch the dancers. A grating sound is heard without
                    the door to the left of the altar. The turnkeys
                    move aside, the door opens and discloses a passage
                    lined with gaolers and soldiers._

        _Enter_ GRÉGOIRE _with three or four Patriots. They wear
       great boots, plumed hats, sashes of tricolour, sabres and
                               pistols._

                              DE L’ORIENT

 La, la, la, la, la!

                                GRÉGOIRE

                     The list for the day.

                                                    [_The dance ceases._

                                CÉLESTE

 Now, now we’ll see the birds drop one by one!

                               ANGÉLIQUE

 It is what I love!

            GRÉGOIRE (_He descends the step from the choir_)

                    The list, Citoyens!
 You whom I name pass out at yonder door.
 Across the square the judges sit—

                                 DE BUC

                                    Just so!
 Who leads?

                                GRÉGOIRE

            Citoyen, you!

                                 DE BUC

                          Promotion, by God!—
 Messieurs, mesdames, I have marching orders!
 (_To the Actress and_ MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI.) I cannot play Dorante!
    Is’t not a shame?
 De L’Orient there must take my part—Adieu!
 (_To_ THE MARQUISE.) Ah, Dorimène, you’ll let me kiss your hand?

                              THE MARQUISE

 Monsieur, monsieur—

                        DE BUC (_to_ DE VARDES)

                      I’m breaking camp.

                               DE VARDES

                                         Ma foi!
 We’ll meet at the end of the march, my friend!
 Meantime I’ll tell thee that Bouillé once said,
 “Brave as a Gascon, or Fauquemont de Buc!”

                                 DE BUC

 Did he so? Old Bouillé!

                                                          [_He salutes._

                         My Colonel!

                               DE VARDES

 Captain de Buc!

                   [DE BUC _mounts the step into the choir and passes
                   out of the door, between the lines of soldiers. There
                   is heard the voice of the mob in the square without._

                              DE L’ORIENT

                 Away with Melancholy!
 The curtain’s up, the play begins! Grégoire,
 My name is Thalia! Is’t on thy list?

            GRÉGOIRE (_his eyes upon the paper in his hand_)

 No, Citoyen.

                              DE L’ORIENT

              Another lifetime here!

                              COUNT LOUIS

 A golden louis to a paper franc,
 The next is Château-Gui!—

                                GRÉGOIRE

                            No, Château-Gui,
 You are reserved.

                      COUNT LOUIS (_taking snuff_)

                   Why, that is welcome news!
 Eh, my daughter, we will not miss the play!

                                GRÉGOIRE

 The Citoyen Charles Le Blanc.

                                LE BLANC

                               What damned star
 Flared and went out the night that I was born?

                                                       [_Exit_ LE BLANC.

                                GRÉGOIRE

 Hervé Rauderendec, called the Breton!

                               THE BRETON

 Good people all, it has been pleasant here,
 But now the tide draws to the full—Adieu!
 I must make sail!

                                                     [_Exit the Breton._

                                GRÉGOIRE

                   The Citoyenne Gérard.

                              THE ACTRESS

 I?

                                GRÉGOIRE

    Delphine Gérard.

                              THE ACTRESS

                    Oh, I knew, I knew
 The butterfly that touched me was ill luck!
 I named it Hope,—it fled, it fled away!

                                THE ABBÉ

 We’re loth to let you go, Delphine Gérard.

                              THE ACTRESS

 There is no choice—I have my cue, you see!—
 And after all the play’s a tragedy.

                                                    [_Exit the Actress._

                                CÉLESTE

 ‘Tis better worth our while across the square!

                               ANGÉLIQUE

 ‘Tis so! Let’s to the Judgment Hall.

                                 NANON

                                      Agreed.
 Come, Séraphine!

                               SÉRAPHINE

                  I’ll follow presently.

                               ANGÉLIQUE

 Do not delay. We’ll keep a place for you!

                              [_Exeunt_ NANON, CÉLESTE, _and_ ANGÉLIQUE.

                                GRÉGOIRE

 The Citoyenne Vaucourt.

                            MME. DE VAUCOURT

                         Children, children!
 Your father’s calling me from Paradise!—
 Thérèse, Philippe, farewell, farewell, farewell!
 Oh, clasp me close and kiss!—Forget me not!—
 Yes, yes, I’ll buy the bonbons and the doll!
 I’ll not forget—

                                GRÉGOIRE

                   The boy goes with you.

                      MME. DE VAUCOURT (_wildly_)

 With me! He’s but a babe! Not eight till June!

                      THE BOY (_clinging to her_)

 To the toy-shop, mother!

                            MME. DE VAUCOURT

                          Oh, yes, child, yes!
 To the toy-shop!

                                                [_They go out together._

                                GRÉGOIRE

 Maria Innocenta Sombreuil!

                     [_A young girl in the habit of a Carmelite novice
                     leaves the shadow of a pillar, with raised face and
                     hands crossed upon her breast mounts the step and
                     passes out between the soldiers._

 Gaspard Le Borgne!

                               LE BORGNE

                    An angel leads me on.

                                               [_He follows the novice._

                                GRÉGOIRE

 Enguerrand La Fôret!

                                LA FÔRET

                      Ha, ha!—ha, ha!
 Ha, ha!—

                    [_Hysterical and continued laughter._ GRÉGOIRE _and
                    the turnkeys look stolidly on, but the prisoners are
                    disturbed_.

                              COUNT LOUIS

           For shame, Enguerrand La Fôret!
 Before women!—Die like a gentleman!

       LA FÔRET (_He leans against the balustrade of the choir_)

 Ha, ha!

                              COUNT LOUIS

         Fie, fie! You shame us all!

                                LA FÔRET

                                     Ha, ha!
 I laugh because—ha, ha!—‘tis such a joke!

                      [_He mounts the step still laughing, then suddenly
                      recovers himself and turns with fury._

 Who calls me coward? I laughed because I laughed!

                       [_He wrests a musket from the nearest soldier and
                       stabs him with the bayonet._

 Take that!—There’s one at least will laugh no more!

                 [_Oaths and confusion among the gaolers and soldiers.
                 A sigh of satisfaction from the prisoners._ LA FÔRET
                 _is dragged out_. GRÉGOIRE _looks at his list, then at_
                 DE VARDES. _The latter advances._

                   GRÉGOIRE (_hurriedly to himself_)

 To-morrow—not to-day! I’ll risk that much,—
 Just for the way he fought that Morbec night!
 (_Aloud._) Stand back, Citoyen Vardes! Your time’s not yet.

                      [_A murmur of pleasure and congratulation from the
                      prisoners._

                          MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

 We are so pleased, Monsieur le Baron!

                                GRÉGOIRE

 Citoyens Rochedagon and Pincornet!

                     [_The men named go out. There is heard from the
                     square without and from the passage a sound of
                     acclamation. The door is flung open and the Actress
                     enters._

                              THE ACTRESS

 They harmed me not! “No, no!” they said. “No, no!
 Delphine Gérard must play for us in Nantes.”
 Oh, the people! Oh, the dear good people!
 Oh, blessed fortune!

                               DE VARDES

                      We are most happy!

                                THE ABBÉ

 Delphine Gérard!

                              COUNT LOUIS

                  Welcome, mademoiselle!
 You see the play is still a comedy!

                                GRÉGOIRE

 Marneil, Delille!

                                                [_Exeunt the men named._

                              DE L’ORIENT

                   The leaves fall fast,
 The tree will soon be bare!

                                GRÉGOIRE

                             The Citoyenne
 Clarice-Marie Miramand Blanchefôret.

                               DE VARDES

 Oh, wretch!

                             THE PRISONERS

             La belle Marquise!

                              THE MARQUISE

                                It is my name!—
 I had no thought I would be called to-day!—
 Unwarned! That’s horrible! Ah, good Grégoire!
 A little while—

                         GRÉGOIRE (_stolidly_)

                  Citoyenne Blanchefôret.

                              THE MARQUISE

 Ah, villain!

                       DE VARDES (_to_ GRÉGOIRE)

              Five minutes!

                   [_He slips into_ GRÉGOIRE’S _hand the purse of gold_.
                   GRÉGOIRE _hesitates a moment, then his hand closes
                   upon the purse. He thrusts it into his bosom._

                               SÉRAPHINE

                            Saint Michel!

              [DE VARDES _comes to_ THE MARQUISE _and they speak
              together_. GRÉGOIRE _turns to another group of prisoners_.

                                GRÉGOIRE

 Montfauçon and Guistelles.

                               SÉRAPHINE

                            Saint Guenolé!
 He hath the purse! The paper in it too!
 He’s rock; he, black Grégoire! Alack the day!
 Saint Huon! What’s to do?—

                                GRÉGOIRE

                             Sorel and Mornay!

                               SÉRAPHINE

 Saint Yves le Véridique! I will away!

                                                      [_Exit_ SÉRAPHINE.

                     DE VARDES (_to_ THE MARQUISE)

 Would I might die for thee!

                              THE MARQUISE

                             ‘Tis but a dream!

                               DE VARDES

 Clarice! Clarice!

                              THE MARQUISE

                   A vision of the night!

                               DE VARDES

 Clarice-Marie!

                              THE MARQUISE

                I will awake!

                               DE VARDES

                              My friend!

                              THE MARQUISE

 Ah, only that!

                               DE VARDES

                La belle Marquise!

                              THE MARQUISE

                                   No more!

                               DE VARDES

 How long have we been friends! And now—

                              THE MARQUISE

                                          And now!—

                               DE VARDES

 My friend, my friend!

                              THE MARQUISE

                       Alas! Alas, ‘tis true
 We are good friends—in life and death good friends!
 ‘Tis much—though there are lovers too in Nantes,
 And when one loves ‘tis not so hard to die!
 Or so I’ve heard, monsieur.

                               DE VARDES

                             O destiny!

                              THE MARQUISE

 The jasmine is my flower—a luckless bloom!
 Wear not the too-sweet jasmine flower,
 For then one loves, but is not loved again!

                               DE VARDES

 No, no! the rose—

                              THE MARQUISE

                    The rose unloved! Ay, ay!
 Last night I dreamed of roses and of lights,
 Beside a water still they burned and bloomed—
 Lit candles and pale roses with gold hearts,
 Like those that bloomed within my garden once,
 When you rode by, when you rode by, my friend!

                               DE VARDES

 Alas!

                              THE MARQUISE

       They’re dead, my garden roses, dead!
 They’ll bloom no more, nor wilt thou ride that way;
 Nor, Sieur de Morbec, dost thou love the rose.
 For once thou said’st to me upon a day
 When I did find the Morbec roses fair,
 “I better love the heartsease at thy feet.”
 The peasant flower! Rememb’rest thou that day?
 ‘Twas Saint John’s Eve—

                               DE VARDES

                          Would I remembered not!

                              THE MARQUISE

 The heartsease—

                               DE VARDES

                  The heartsease withered.

                      [_A roar from the square._ DE L’ORIENT _turns from
                      the window_.

                              DE L’ORIENT

                                           Ah!

                              COUNT LOUIS

 What do you see?

                              DE L’ORIENT

                  Too much!

                                                    [_A turnkey laughs._

                              THE TURNKEY

                            Carrier! Lalain!
 Oh, they judge quickly! _Vive la République!_

                              THE MARQUISE

 It was a summer day when first we met,
 And now we part within a prison here,
 And never shall we see each other more!

                               DE VARDES

 Oh, briefer than the fairest summer day
 The little hour before we meet again!
 Soon, soon I’ll follow thee, and all of these!
 The reaper hath his sickle in the corn.
 He is a madman, but the field is God’s,
 And God will garner up the fallen ears,
 And in another life we two shall meet!

                              THE MARQUISE

 And wilt thou love me then? Ah, no! Ah, no!

                               DE VARDES

 Thou art a lady brave and fair—

                              THE MARQUISE

                                  Alas!

                                GRÉGOIRE

 The Nun Benôite, an Ursuline!

                     [_A nun rises from her knees, makes the sign of the
                     cross, and passes out between the soldiers._

                              THE MARQUISE

                               Ah me!
 The unknown land, just guessed at and no more,
 To which this loud wind sends my cockle boat!—
 Where are my beads? Lost, lost with all things else!
 Jewels and gold and friends and lovers too!—
 Ah, short my shrift with Grégoire glowering there.
 My hatred of Madame la Maréchale,
 I’m sorry for’t. The Captal de Montgis
 Once did me wrong. Well, well, I can forgive!—
 Sieur de Morbec, where’s she that flung us down,
 Lifted her finger and behold us here!
 Her face is fair—ah, very fair her face.
 She was your mistress, yes?

                               DE VARDES

                             No!

                              THE MARQUISE

                                 What then?

                               DE VARDES

 Cold that I warmed, and hunger that I fed.

                              THE MARQUISE

 O strike her, Frost! O Hunger, with her wed!

                               DE VARDES

 Ah, curse her not! She knew not what she did!

                              THE MARQUISE

 Alas! Alas!

                                GRÉGOIRE

             The Citoyenne L’Esparre!

                              THE MARQUISE

 The women go—He’ll call my name! Ah, look!
 The purple saints within the windows there,
 See how they wave their palms and smile at me!
 They wave their palms, they strike their golden harps,
 Their aureoles are brighter than the sun!

                                GRÉGOIRE

 The Citoyenne Blanchefôret!

                              THE MARQUISE

                             The clock has struck!

                               DE VARDES

 All angels guard thee!

                              THE MARQUISE

                        Fatal is my name
 And hated through long years in Brittany.
 Perhaps I shall not live to cross the square!

                                        [_The noise of the mob without._

 Oh, hear!

                               DE VARDES

           Take courage!

                              THE MARQUISE

                         From the window there,
 Wilt watch me on my way?

                               DE VARDES

                          Ay!

                                GRÉGOIRE

                              Citoyenne!

                              THE MARQUISE

 Farewell! Ah, not my hand, my friend!

               DE VARDES (_He kisses her upon the brow_)

                                       Farewell!
 Farewell—

                       [THE MARQUISE _turns to the remaining prisoners_.

                              THE MARQUISE

            Messieurs, mesdames, ‘tis with regret
 I take my leave of this fair company!
 My part of Dorimène—it must be played
 By some more able, not more willing, one;
 For me—I’m bidden to a wider stage.
 Adieu! Adieu! Adieu!

                             THE PRISONERS

                      La belle Marquise!

                  [_Exit_ THE MARQUISE. DE VARDES _crosses to the
                  window_. DE L’ORIENT _gives him place, and he
                  stands upon the bench and watches the square without_.

                              COUNT LOUIS

 There are three names that most of all they hate:
 De Vardes and Château-Gui and Blanchefôret!

                                GRÉGOIRE

 Pasquier, Harlebeque, and Damazan.

                     [_There is heard from the street without a confused
                     sound of execration and triumph. The now small
                     company of prisoners exchange glances._

                      DE VARDES (_at the window_)

 Grand Dieu!

                       DE L’ORIENT (_beside him_)

             They dare not!—Ah!

                                   [_The sound without grows to a roar._

                              COUNT LOUIS

                                 What seest thou?

                              DE L’ORIENT

 Malediction!

                     [_A cry without._ DE VARDES, _at the window, raises
                     his voice_.

                               DE VARDES

              Clarice! Clarice!

                    [_There is a faint answering cry, followed by a roar
                    from the mob, then silence._

                          MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

                                O Ciel!

                              THE ACTRESS

 Miséricorde!

                               DE VARDES

              ‘Tis done—‘tis past—she’s dead.
 O God who makest man, forbear, forbear!

                         [_He covers his face with his hands. There is a
                         silence._ GRÉGOIRE _folds his papers_.

                  COUNT LOUIS (_with a shaking voice_)

 ‘Tis well with her at last; we need not weep.
 We all must die, for so the play goes on!
 Her father was a lord of Gascony;
 A golden spur he wore, and loved the chase!
 Her mother was more fair than Montespan.
 A thousand times we’ve hunted with the King,
 De Miramand and I; a thousand times
 We’ve watched the moon, that first Clarice and I!

                                GRÉGOIRE

 To-morrow, at this hour, another list!
 Meantime, Citoyens, you and you and you,
 And you, Citoyennes, who petitioned so,
 Your prayer is heard. Lalain is merciful!
 You shall not sleep on these cold stones to-night,
 Another gaol’s provided. Follow me!

                          MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

 O welcome change!

                              COUNT LOUIS

                   The stones were very cold!

                              THE ACTRESS

 And can we have our play there just the same?

                                GRÉGOIRE

 Just the same.

                        [_The prisoners move toward the door._ DE VARDES
                        _touches_ GRÉGOIRE _on the arm_.

                               DE VARDES

 I find the stones no colder than their wont,
 Time moves no heavier here than everywhere,
 And here, Grégoire, I will remain. The Church
 Will give me up when Carrier calls my name!

                              DE L’ORIENT

 I will keep you company—

                                GRÉGOIRE

                           As you will—
 To-morrow you’ll be called—you have one night.
 (_To the other prisoners._) Follow me.

                   [_Exeunt all but_ DE VARDES _and_ DE L’ORIENT.
                   _The latter flings himself upon the bench beneath the
                   window_; DE VARDES _paces to and fro. A silence,
                   then_ DE L’ORIENT _sings_.

                              DE L’ORIENT

                    _There is an herb, they say,
                      Gives light to all the blind.
                    ’Twill be a gracious day
                      When I that herb shall find.
                        And lighten all the blind!_

                    _There is a leaf that springs.
                      Will heal the very sad.
                    Ah, would that I had wings
                      To find that leaf so glad,
                        And heal the very sad!_

                    _There is a bloom o’ grace
                      Will bring the dead again.
                    Ah, for the flowret’s face!
                      Ah, for an end to pain!
                        Ah, for the dead again!_

                               DE VARDES

 Why, that’s a mournful thing!

                              DE L’ORIENT

                               It was so meant.
 Oh, happy days we sing the saddest things!—
 My heart is eased. I’ll sleep awhile and dream.

                      [_He pillows his head upon his arm and sleeps._ DE
                      VARDES _walks slowly to and fro_.

                               DE VARDES

 Sleep!—How long has it been since Sleep and I
 Met in the heavy road and laid us down,
 Took our dear ease, and let the world go by?—
 I well remember in the north one time,—
 Beside Moselle, where all the live-long day
 Upon a stairway old we stood on guard,
 De Buc and I, and looked on Mutiny,
 Brazen and bold, Death visible and dark!—
 And all the night before in council spent,
 After a day’s forced march from Lunéville,
 And a wild night of wine and rapiers drawn.—
 As the sun set we heard a bugle blown,
 Beat of the drums, and thunder of the guns,
 And Bouillé’s voice, assurance of relief!—
 Another night of council, then at dawn
 We slept. The moon was crescent and a star
 Shone on to guide the white, enchanted boat
 Through seas of ether coloured like a shell;
 The trees were dark beneath; there was no sound;
 The air was cold,—we laid us down and slept.
 Saint Gris! No dreams did trouble us that day!—

                                        [_He rests upon the choir step._

 To bring the dead again! No flowret blooms,
 No herb, no leaf, shall bring the dead again.
 No garden is there where for all one’s gold,
 The weightiest sceptre or the keenest sword,
 Might one obtain the happy gardener’s place,
 And find the bloom that brings the dead again.
 It grows not here, and there is naught will serve,
 No rain of tears, no delving earnestly,
 No lift of hope, no squandered treasury,
 Love nor remorse, nor longing nor great pain.
 The star has shot. The dead come not again.

                                 [_He rises and again walks to and fro._

 Happy the dead.—Ah, what of one who lives?
 What of that mask in this fantastic dance
 Who crowned herself with poison flowers and laughed
 To see the lilies fade before her breath?—
 O death! O love! O blasting treachery!
 O face that in the prison of La Force
 Visited my dreams—

                   [_The door opens._ YVETTE _leans against it, panting,
                   then comes forward_.

                                 YVETTE

                     Where is the paper?

                               DE VARDES

 The paper?

                                 YVETTE

            The letter to the judges!
 Folded and hidden in the purse I sent—

                               DE VARDES

 You sent?—

                                 YVETTE

             By Séraphine! You have it, sure?

                                                 [_She looks about her._

 Where is she?—The Citoyenne Blanchefôret?

                               DE VARDES

 She’s dead.

                                 YVETTE

             No.

                               DE VARDES

                 Yes.

                                 YVETTE

                      All is black before me!

                               DE VARDES

 They called her name—She said adieu and went.
 They slew her in the street.

                                 YVETTE

                              Alas!

                               DE VARDES

                                    She’s dead,
 Who was so fair. Why do you say alas?

                                 YVETTE

 Too late!—O God, I thought that all was well!

                               DE VARDES

 Why, so it is! With her ‘tis well. She’s dead.
 They say the dead are happy.

                                 YVETTE

                              You loved her!

                               DE VARDES

 Goddess of Reason, no! Mere friends were we.
 But I’ve a preference for my friends alive!

                                 YVETTE

 Oh, woe is me!

                               DE VARDES

                Thou hast what thou didst seek.
 Return to Olympus and hear “All hail,
 Well done, and like a deity!”

                                 YVETTE

                               The paper!

                               DE VARDES

 Thou dream of Paimpont Wood!—

                                 YVETTE

                                 The purse of gold!

                               DE VARDES

 Thou picture of the Duchess Jeanne!

                                 YVETTE

                                     The purse!
 Give, give!

                               DE VARDES

             The purse!—I gave it to Grégoire.

                                 YVETTE

 What!

                               DE VARDES

       It bought five minutes—I did not know
 ‘Twas thine.

                                 YVETTE

              To Grégoire! You did not open it!

                               DE VARDES

 No!

                                 YVETTE

     Oh, woe, woe is me!

                               DE VARDES

                         Thou standest there!
 Still, still the herd girl on the green cliff head
 Who waves her hand to a lost boat at sea!
 Still, still the vision of a haunted wood
 Soulless as is the stone thou leanest on,—
 Vivien musing on the thing she’s done!

                                 YVETTE

 A slip of paper in a silken purse—

                               DE VARDES

 Wilt thou begone? The Mountain waits.

                                 YVETTE

                                       Too late!

 Where is Grégoire?

                               DE VARDES

                    I know not. He’s away;
 He has thy gold—I’m sorry for’t.

                                 YVETTE

                                   No hope?—
 I thought the bridge was built and both were o’er.
 Then as I passed I heard “To-morrow morn
 Carrier himself will judge that ci-devant”

                               DE VARDES

 The Mountain waits—

                                 YVETTE

                      I’ll to Lalain again.

                               DE VARDES

 Ha!

                                 YVETTE

     She is dead; I’m lost. But thou—But thou—
 Farewell! Farewell!

                               DE VARDES

                     Thou said’st, _I’ll to Lalain_.
 I do forbid it utterly.

                                 YVETTE

                         Oh!

                               DE VARDES

                             Obey!
 It is thy seigneur’s last command.
                    (_To himself._) Thou fool!
 Touch not her hand. ‘Tis red!

                                 YVETTE

                               Monseigneur!

                               DE VARDES

 Why art thou both so fair and foul a thing?

                                 YVETTE

 Ay, call me that—I care not!

                               DE VARDES

                               I’ll call thee “Death,
 Sweet Death—fair Treachery!”

                                 YVETTE

                               Forgive, forgive!

                               DE VARDES

 There’s blood upon thy hand.

                                 YVETTE

                              Forgive!

                               DE VARDES

                                       Alas!
 Thou didst betray!

                                 YVETTE

                    I would that I were dead
 In Paimpont Wood, beside the Druid Stone!

                               DE VARDES

 I would that I had never strayed that way!

                                 YVETTE

 I won that paper in that purse of gold!
 And it was life, I tell thee, life for both!
 O God! how all things here miscarry!

                               DE VARDES

 I would that I had never seen thy face!

                                 YVETTE

 Oh, much I hated her, la belle Marquise,
 And yester morn I did betray her there,
 Just in the moment God gave o’er my soul!
 And she is dead—I cannot bring her back.
 Oh, swift the madness passed and came remorse,
 And I did hate myself, and strove to save!—
 Oh, woe, and double woe! He promised me!
 Oh, I have striven with a fiend from hell
 And not prevailed, though sorely I did strive!
 O God! O God! I’m weary of the light!
 Now, now thou too wilt die unless—unless—
 Ah, let me go—Farewell, a little while!

                               DE VARDES

 Not till I know where thou dost go, and why.

                                 YVETTE

 Rémond Lalain gave me that paper.
 It was an order, written by himself,
 Whom even Carrier would not offend—
 A secret paper not for every eye.
 Reward he asked for certain services,—
 Two lives, your life and hers—and hers, I swear!
 He does not leave his villa all this day,
 But at the judgment bar you were to show
 That paper to Lambertye or Sarlat,
 And both were saved—both, both, I swear it, both!
 And now she’s dead—‘Twas life you flung away
 Shut in that purse! You gave it to Grégoire!
 Grégoire! He serves the Revolution,
 Is flint to all beside! Oh me! Oh me!
 I could not come myself, I could but send.
 I won it not till cockcrow of this morn!

                               DE VARDES

 Till cockcrow!

                                 YVETTE

                The dawn came slowly on.
 The cock crew and I drew the curtain by
 And saw the morning star above the Loire!

                               DE VARDES

 The morning star!

                                 YVETTE

                   ‘Twas like the eye of God!
 I used to watch it from the fields at dawn;
 This morn ‘twas watching me!

                               DE VARDES

                              Rémond Lalain!

                                 YVETTE

 ‘Twas all in vain. She’s dead—ah, ages since!
 You’ll not forgive—So fare you well again!

                               DE VARDES

 Where goest thou, Yvette?

                                 YVETTE

                           To Séraphine,
 Beneath the Lanterne, Sign of the Hour Glass!

                               DE VARDES

 Hear and obey! It is a dying man
 Speaks to thee now and with authority!—
 Thy seigneur too, and head of all thy house.
 When I am dead, the last of the De Vardes
 Will be thyself, my cousin!—All song doth say
 That Duchess Jeanne who lived so long ago,
 Whose pictured face and thine are counterparts,
 E’en to the shadowy hair, the cheek’s soft curve,
 The light of eye, the slow, enchanting smile,—
 All song doth say she had a bruisèd heart,
 But in God’s sight a height of soul! So thou.
 Go thou to Morbec. Leave this Babylon.
 Back! from the travelled road thy foot’s upon!
 List not unto the music that is played;
 Touch not the scarlet flowers, the honey-sweet,
 They’ll poison thee! Think not the light is fair,
 It is false dawn. Take thou the darkling way
 Shall lead thee to white light and lasting bloom!
 Go thou to Morbec. Take thy distaff up,
 Spin thou thy flax and listen to old tales,
 Peacefully, with that smile upon thy lip!
 Or in the dewy dawn lift up thy head
 From dreamless sleep and drive thy cows afield,
 Stand mid the golden broom and mark the mist
 Rise from the hidden sea, and hear the lark
 Singing afar his strain of heavenly hope,—
 So wear thy years away, ah, tranquilly!—
 Thou art so young—All this will come to seem
 A dream of yesternight—

                                 YVETTE

                          Dost thou forgive?

                               DE VARDES

 And at the last when Death shall take thy hand,
 Smile at the due caress, and lightly come—
 If I am I, I’ll meet thee on the strand!

                                 YVETTE

 Dost thou forgive?

                               DE VARDES

                    I love!

                                 YVETTE

                            _Me?_

                               DE VARDES

                                  Thou sayest.

                                 YVETTE

 Where is the music playing?

                               DE VARDES

                             Long ago,
 To Paris and my King I rode away,
 Long ago, in the freshness of the world!
 I left thee there, all safe in convent fold—
 Fair were the fruit trees in that garden old,
 Warm shone the sun, the silver fountain played.
 I left thee there and thought to find again,
 When King and Crown were saved and devoir done,
 The battle o’er, the bugles sounding peace!—
 The King he is in heaven, the Crown is lost,
 The battle’s to the strong, the war drum rattles on.
 Long lay I in the prison of La Force;
 A dream I had that thou wouldst wait for me,
 Beside the fountain, by the bright fruit trees.
 Thou must have known that bars kept me from thee!
 Thou must have known that I did love thee true!
 Thou must have known that I did longing wait
 The rainbow after storm, the halcyon time
 When, stilled the jar and discord of the mind,
 The all unfettered heart might speak of love!
 But ah, the garden’s sealed. Thou art not there!
 Thou wouldst not wait the while—

                                 YVETTE

                                   Outside I kneel;
 Outside the garden, outside Paradise!
 Oh, woe! Oh, bliss!

                               DE VARDES

                     Weep not!

                                 YVETTE

                               I love thee so!

                               DE VARDES

 Paimpont! Paimpont! I feel thy magic wind!

                          _Reënter_ GRÉGOIRE.

                                GRÉGOIRE

 Citoyen Vardes—

                                 YVETTE

                  Grégoire, Grégoire! the purse—
 The purse of gold!—

                                GRÉGOIRE

                      Hein?

                               DE VARDES

                            Let be! Let be!
 No purse was there! Dost hear, dost hear, Yvette?
 No purse, no gold, no paper, no Lalain!
 Thou dost not think that I would take my life?

                                 YVETTE

 No!

                               DE VARDES

     Well said, and like the Duchess Jeanne!
 Let not Grégoire mistake thee either!

                                 YVETTE

 I said I know not what, Grégoire, nor why!
 Sometimes a woman says she knows not what.
 Why should I talk of purses, faith, now why!

                                GRÉGOIRE

 What do you here, Citoyenne?

                                 YVETTE

                              I know not.
 I strayed this way, a gaoler let me in.
 ‘Tis of the sights of Nantes, this church, this gaol!

                       GRÉGOIRE (_to_ DE VARDES)

 I have in charge to guard you through the street
 To the old Prison of the Séminaire.
 They who lodge there go onward to the Loire!

                                             [_He turns to_ DE L’ORIENT.

                        DE VARDES (_to_ YVETTE)

 Oh, sunken eyes! Oh, cheek so deadly pale!
 Oh, rest thee, rest thee, child, in still Morbec!
 Our Lady guard thee, guide thee with her hand.
 Farewell—

                                 YVETTE

            I’ll walk upon the banks of Loire.

                               DE VARDES

 No; come not there!

                                 YVETTE

                     I must. It is my road.

        GRÉGOIRE (_He touches_ DE L’ORIENT _upon the shoulder_)

 Awake, poet, and go along with us!

                              DE L’ORIENT

 I am awake! ‘Tis trudge again, De Vardes!

                      _Come, Fanchon and Babette,
                        Olympe and Joséphine!
                      The dancers all are met
                        Within the forest green!
                            Cerise to me,
                            Denise to thee,
                        But none to Léontine!_

                   [_He turns with_ GRÉGOIRE _to the door at left of the
                   altar_.

                               DE VARDES

 Farewell—my _douce_!

                                 YVETTE

                       Farewell—my fisherman!
 Oh—

                                GRÉGOIRE

      Come!

                              DE L’ORIENT

                      _The dancers all are met
                        Within the forest green!_

                       [_Exeunt_ DE VARDES, DE L’ORIENT, _and_ GRÉGOIRE.
                       _The church darkens._ YVETTE _moves to the choir
                       step_.

                                 YVETTE

 Oh, love in my heart! Oh, splendour and light!
 The bow in the sky, the bird at its height!
 The glory and state of the angels bright!

                  [_She kneels and stretches out her arms to the altar._

 Oh, mother of sorrows!

                               _CURTAIN_

[Illustration]

[Illustration]




                                _ACT V_


                                SCENE I

  _A Judgment Hall in Nantes. A dais upon which at a heavy table sit
    several members of the Revolutionary Committee. Behind them
    soldiers and a great tricolour flag. To one side a tribune draped
    with tricolour; opposite the tribune a gallery filled with women
    of the Revolution. Upon the floor of the hall a throng of
    red-capped men. To the right of the dais a number of the accused,
    men and women. To the left a small group of the condemned._

  _Uproar in the hall. An accused who has been standing before the
    judges rejoins the right-hand group of prisoners. One of the
    judges rings the bell on the table before him._

                               THE JUDGE

 Silence, Citoyennes in the gallery!
 You disturb judgment!

                  CÉLESTE (_leaning from the gallery_)

                       We would know up here
 Why you did free that man?

                        THE JUDGE (_soothingly_)

                            Ah, Citoyenne!
 He’s not free—he’s but acquitted!

                                CÉLESTE

                                    Ah, well!
 That’s different!
 (_To the women about her._) He’s but acquitted!

                   THE WOMEN (_They nod their heads_)

                                                 Ah!

              _Enter_ LALAIN _with_ NANON _and_ ANGÉLIQUE.

                                CÉLESTE

 Hé! Angélique! Nanon!

                          [NANON _and_ ANGÉLIQUE _make their way through
                          the press to the gallery stairs_.

                               THE CROWD

                       Rémond Lalain.

                                A JUDGE

 Thy place is here, Lalain!

                                 LALAIN

                            Make way, my friends.
 The Levée’s thronged to-day.

                               THE CROWD

                              Ha, ha, ‘tis so!
 Levée of the Citoyen Carrier!
 _Vive la République! Vive Rémond Lalain!_

                                       [LALAIN _sits beside the judges_.

                        A JUDGE (_to a gaoler_)

 The next.

                               THE GAOLER

           Dog of a priest!

                                         [THE ABBÉ _approaches the bar_.

                                THE ABBÉ

                            On yesterday,
 Messieurs the Judges, you acquitted me.

                                A JUDGE

 It is to-day.

                                THE ABBÉ

               Citoyen Lambertye—

                         LAMBERTYE (_hastily_)

 I give thee o’er—I give thee o’er—

                                THE ABBÉ

                                      Parbleu!
 Samaritan! Would I had played Levite!
 And left thee in the ditch with every wound
 Till Satan came to hale his minion forth!—
 Well, with this life I’ve done!

                              FIRST JUDGE

                                 Thou art a priest

                                THE ABBÉ

 Granted.

                              SECOND JUDGE

          Death!

                   A TRICOTEUSE (_from the gallery_)

                 Hé! Citoyen, below there!
 I’ve dropped my knitting. Throw it here to me!

                              THIRD JUDGE

 Thou hast aided emigrés.

                                THE ABBÉ

                          Granted.

                              SECOND JUDGE

                                   Death!

                              FIRST JUDGE

 And written unto exiles.

                                THE ABBÉ

                          Granted.

                              SECOND JUDGE

                                   Death!

                              THIRD JUDGE

 Thou hast been heard to scorn and to lament
 That which the Revolution hath achieved!

                                THE ABBÉ

 Scorn and lament! Why, no, I’ve wept with joy
 To see the things the Revolution hath achieved!
 As—

                              FIRST JUDGE

      As what?

                                THE ABBÉ

               Why, thou death’s-head, many things!
 It did achieve, for one, my brother’s death!

                              THIRD JUDGE

 Dost thou mourn for him?

                                THE ABBÉ

                          Ay!

                              SECOND JUDGE

                              Death!

                                THE ABBÉ

 Achieve! I like the word. Achieve, achieve!
 Ruin and downfall, death and waste of fame!
 Achievement of the Revolution! Ha,
 I’ll tell thee, farceur, what it hath achieved:
 It hath achieved the death of the Gironde,
 Death of Marat, and death of D’Orléans,
 Death of great part of its abhorrèd brood!
 It hath achieved the Company of Marat;
 It hath achieved Jacques Carrier in Nantes;
 It shall achieve more death and infamy!
 Death! The word you are so fond of. Death!
 And Infamy, the thing you can’t bestow!
 It shall achieve the death of Carrier,
 The death of Lambertye and of Lalain,
 The death of Danton and of Robespierre!—
 Nature will give a grave obscene and dark,
 And Time will see that docks and darnels grow!

                                                              [_Uproar._

                            THE FIRST JUDGE

 Death,—stand aside, condemned.

                           _Enter_ SÉRAPHINE.

                                CÉLESTE

                                 Ah, Séraphine,
 Come up here, Séraphine!

                  [SÉRAPHINE _mounts the stair and sits beside_ CÉLESTE,
                  ANGÉLIQUE, _and_ NANON.

                                 NANON

                          Where is Yvette?

                               SÉRAPHINE

 I know not, I!

                               ANGÉLIQUE

                I saw her gliding by,
 Beneath the moon, last night when all was still.
 Against a cannon in the empty square
 She leaned, and on the river looked.

                               SÉRAPHINE

                                      What harm?

                               ANGÉLIQUE

 Why, none!

             CÉLESTE (_her eyes upon the prisoners below_)

            Ha, ha! it is the old man’s turn!

                                A GAOLER

 Château-Gui!

                               THE WOMAN

              Ah, Château-Gui!

                              FIRST JUDGE

                               Château-Gui!

                          MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

 O my father!

                              COUNT LOUIS

              Unclasp thy hands, my child!
 What is it, Lambertye?

                              FIRST JUDGE

                        Thou ci-devant,
 Thou art accused, imprimatur, of this:
 Once thou didst serve Capet!

                              COUNT LOUIS

                              The King?

                              FIRST JUDGE

                                        Capet.

                              COUNT LOUIS

 I served the King of France.

                              FIRST JUDGE

 Twice over, death! For thou didst serve Capet;
 For thou dost dare say the King of France!

                              COUNT LOUIS

 The King of France!

                               THE CROWD

                     Ah!—

                              COUNT LOUIS

                           Son of Saint Louis!

                               THE CROWD

 Ah!—

                              COUNT LOUIS

       Royal Martyr!

                               THE CROWD

                     Ah—h—h.

                          MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

                               O my father!

                              THIRD JUDGE

 All titles, terms of honour and of state,
 Majesty and reverence are forbid,
 Not to be spoken! They are ci-devants,
 They are condemned.

                               THE CROWD

                     Condemned!

                              COUNT LOUIS

                                Ha, ci-devants,
 Titles and symbols, names and attributes,
 Condemned for splendour and for high estate!
 Ha, Croix de Saint Louis! Ha, Château-Gui!
 Thou goest to heaven in famous company:
 King, Saint, Martyr, Reverence, Majesty.—
 Best make the company a regiment—
 Regiment du Roi, in vestments gorgeous!
 Forbidden words! Who says to me “forbid”?
 Ye sans-culottes, ye bourgeois, creeping things,
 Adders and asps that slew a king and queen!
 I am a courtier of the olden time
 Who served le Grand Monarque, knew Mazarin,
 And in a Court shall still be courtier,
 Croix de Saint Louis, with the _grande entrée_,
 While ye do prowl in filthy ways of hell,
 Nor hardly see its red-lit Œil-de-bœuf
 Where everlasting Terror, groaning, reigns,—
 But, being lackeys, keep the lackeys’ place!

                              FIRST JUDGE

 Enough!

                              SECOND JUDGE

         Death!

                               THE CROWD

                Death! The Loire!

                              COUNT LOUIS

                                  O Kings of France!
 O sons of Clovis and of Charlemagne!
 Louis the Pious and the Debonair!
 Philippe August and Fair, and Charles the Wise!
 And thou the sainted King, the Blessed Louis!
 And Charles Bien-Aimé, Victorieux,
 Crowned by the maiden of Domrémy!
 And the good King Henri, Henri the Great!
 Louis the Just, Louis le Grand Monarque!
 Louis the Loved, and Louis lately dead,
 The Martyr King, the Martyr, Martyr King!—
 O Kings of France in that fair land ye be,
 To your châteaux and to your palaces
 Prepare to welcome dying loyalty!
 For knightly faith is marching forth from France.
 Throne, sceptre, orb, and majesty have passed,
 Ermine and coronet and spur of gold,
 Renown and splendid honour, valiant sway,
 Ancien Régime, noblesse of old France!
 The oriflamme upon its golden stem,
 The banner of the lilies waving high!—

                               THE CROWD

 Ah—

                              COUNT LOUIS

      The lily banner and the oriflamme!
 Forgotten yonder stripes of shame and woe!

                               THE CROWD

 The tricolour! Death! The Loire!

                              FIRST JUDGE

                                  Death to-night!

                              COUNT LOUIS

 Nightshade, mandrake, and hemlock o’er ye wave!—
 But I am going where, I make no doubt,
 The favourite flower is still the fleur-de-lis!

                               THE CROWD

 Ah!

                              COUNT LOUIS

     And the word forbid is _république_!

                               THE CROWD

 Down! down!

                              COUNT LOUIS

             Princes and peers of France!

                              FIRST JUDGE

                                          Have done!

                              COUNT LOUIS

 Anjou, Lorraine!

                               THE CROWD

                  Ah—h—h!

                              COUNT LOUIS

                            Bourbon and Valois!

                             [_Uproar in the hall._ MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
                             _clings to her father’s arm_.

 Forbidden words! Well, well, my child, I’m done!
 My breath is out.—Forbidden words! Ma foi!
 ‘Tis to my taste to deal in contraband!

                  [_The First Judge rings the bell violently. The tumult
                  subsides._

                                A GAOLER

 Château-Gui, take place beside the priest!

                                THE ABBÉ

                                            Ah,
 Monsieur le Comte!

                              COUNT LOUIS

                    Monsieur l’Abbé!

                                             [_He offers his snuff-box._

                              FIRST JUDGE

                                     The next.

                    _Enter_ YVETTE. _The crowd murmurs as it makes way._

                               THE CROWD

 Yvette Charruel!

                                 A MAN

                  Goddess of Reason!

               [YVETTE _mounts the stair to the gallery and sits beside_
               SÉRAPHINE.

                                CÉLESTE

 So pale!

                               ANGÉLIQUE

          No rose?

                                 NANON

                   Only her lips are red.

                                CÉLESTE

 So heavy-eyed?

                                 YVETTE

                I have not slept.

                       A YOUNG GIRL (_near her_)

                                  Oh, oh,
 Thy voice! ‘Tis like a violin playing!

                               ANGÉLIQUE

 I know thou didst not sleep.—How looked the Loire
 Beneath the moon last night?

                                 YVETTE

                              Much as ‘twill look
 Beneath the moon to-night.

                    [_With her chin upon her hand she studies the throng
                    below._

                               SÉRAPHINE

                            The prisoners—

                                 YVETTE

 Who rises there?

                              FIRST JUDGE

                  Thou ci-devant, De Vardes!

                               THE CROWD

 De Vardes! De Vardes! Aristocrat! De Vardes!

                               DE VARDES

 Rémond Lalain—

                                 LALAIN

                 René de Vardes.

                               DE VARDES

                                 This court—
 Pray you conceive it is some greensward trim,
 My cartel sent, received, the duel fought,
 And thou the victor, since so wags the world,
 Heart’s blood of mine upon thy rapier dark!
 And I the vanquished in the sight of men,
 Drowsing to death upon the bloody sod.
 And all this folk but seconds, witnesses,
 They are not here, nor there; we are the men!
 Now, seeing death hath some prerogative,
 I charge thee stand, antagonist! nor leave
 This sunny field with thy triumphant friends
 Until I bid thee go!

                                 LALAIN

                      I hear!
            (_To the crowd._) Silence!

                               DE VARDES

 When I do think that once I called thee friend,
 My wonder grows! The orchard’s blooming now
 Where we did lie at length on summer eves
 The while the mavis sang and sea winds blew,
 And to the nodding clover droned the bee,—
 Two striplings couched beneath an apple tree,
 Talking of knights at arms and paladins
 And what we each would dare in worthy cause!
 That brow of thine was not so swarthy then,
 Thine eyes were frank, we read from the same book
 The deeds of Palmerin and Amadis.
 Then up we lightly rose and went our way,
 Hand touching hand,—Orestes, Pylades!
 I, Jonathan the Prince, and David thou!
 The figure holds, for Jonathan will die,
 But wilt thou mourn him, David? No, I say!—
 Nor o’er his kingdom shalt thou reign, Rémond!

                                 LALAIN

 René—

                               DE VARDES

        I am, monsieur, the Baron of Morbec!

                               THE CROWD

 Ah!

                                 LALAIN

     Silence!
 (_To_ DE VARDES.) As thou wilt! He is long dead
 That youth thou namest David.

                               DE VARDES

                               Ay, Citoyen,
 He slew himself. I see his punishment.

                                 LALAIN

 Oh!—

                               DE VARDES

       Wretched man! What hast thou done? I know,
 And thou, Rémond, dost know I know! Enough.
 O better far to lie upon this sod
 And hear the wings of death above my head,
 Than to be thou, thou stainèd conqueror!
 Dishonoured thou from helm to bloody heel!
 Enough! When the cock crows and the morning star
 Shines steadfast over Loire I shall be gone.
 One stays, that’s God. Do thou beware, Rémond,
 For God will hearken unto Jonathan—
 Thou canst not hurt a flower that he loved!

                                 LALAIN

 No?

                               DE VARDES

     No!

                                 LALAIN

         Thou mightst have had thy life—

                               DE VARDES

                                          I?

                                                           [_He laughs._

                                 YVETTE

                                             Air!
 You hem me in, Citoyennes! Air! _De grâce!_

                                 NANON

 The air is good enough for us, Yvette!

                               ANGÉLIQUE

 Why do you grow so pale, so pale, Yvette?

                         [YVETTE _takes from her hair the bonnet-rouge_.

                               SÉRAPHINE

 Psst! Little fool! Put on the cap again!

                                 YVETTE

 It is too heavy!

                               SÉRAPHINE

                  Saint Yves! Put it on!

                               DE VARDES

 The duel’s o’er; the night is drawing on;
 Dark is thy form against the crimson sky,
 Rémond Lalain! Stand further off, my foe!
 And now I think I see thee not at all,
 And that is well! I would forget thee quite.
 Live out thy life unto its sordid close!
 Live on, and in the future find the past!
 But while thou treadest earth touch not again
 That flower I spoke of! Touch it not, Lalain!

                                 LALAIN

 Draws on the night—

                               DE VARDES

                      I’ll bathe me in the Loire!
 Death has been ever called a River wide.
 This ford I fear not!—Soldier of the King,
 I’ll pass the stream, though cold, though cold and dark!
 The bivouac lights are shining through the trees,
 He waits within my tent, my General!

                              FIRST JUDGE

 Death!

                              SECOND JUDGE

        Death!

                               DE VARDES

               Now sheath thy sword, Rémond!
 The field of honour leave to death and me!

                                         [_He crosses to the condemned._

                              COUNT LOUIS

 Monsieur le Baron!

                                THE ABBÉ

                    René de Vardes!

                               DE VARDES

 Monsieur le Comte, Monsieur l’Abbé, again
 I find myself in best of company!

                   [_The judges whisper together._ LALAIN, _his eyes
                   upon the floor, drums upon the table with his hand_.
                   YVETTE _unpins the tricolour cockade from her breast,
                   gazes upon it for a moment, then throws it from her.
                   The women about her watch her greedily._

                               SÉRAPHINE

 Name of a name! Yvette!

                                 YVETTE

                         I like white best.

                               SÉRAPHINE

 Saint Gildas! Saint Maudez!

                                 YVETTE

                             I ever loved
 The fleur-de-lis!

                               SÉRAPHINE

                   Saint Yves le Véridique!

                          YVETTE (_She rises_)

 _God and the King!_

                     [_Uproar in the hall. All turn toward the gallery._

                                A JUDGE

                     Who cried that?

                            A BRETON SAILOR

                                     Sainte Vierge!
 Yvette Charruel!

                                 LALAIN

                  No!

                               DE VARDES

                      Mon Dieu!

                               THE CROWD

                                Yvette—
 Yvette Charruel!

                               SÉRAPHINE

                  Saint Servan! Saint Linaire!

                                 YVETTE

 I denounce the Citoyen Rémond Lalain!

                               THE CROWD

 Ah!—

                                 NANON

       Ah, let me get at her!

                                 LALAIN

                              Citoyens!
 Heed her not—she’s mad!—The next prisoner!

                                 YVETTE

 I denounce Carrier and Lambertye!
 Chicanneau, Sarlat, Petit-Pierre, and Gaye,
 The Company of Marat, the hideous deaths,
 The Noyades and the Dragonades of Nantes!
 I tell you that the blood you shed must stop!
 One cannot sleep at night with thinking on’t.
 You put to sleep, O God! too many!

                               THE CROWD

                                    Ah!—

                                A VOICE

 There is no God! nor ever was in Nantes!

                             ANOTHER VOICE

 She has spoken against the Republic!

                                 YVETTE

 There was a glory in the morning sky,
 Where now is naught but miserable red!
 A trumpet blew, but we have listened since
 To the false jingle of a tambourine!
 There stood a mighty judge, robed, calm and proud,
 Where is he now? I see but murderers!

                                A VOICE

 But murderers!

                                 YVETTE

                I denounce the Republic!

                                                              [_Uproar._

                               THE CROWD

 Oh, harlotry!—No, blasphemy!—Down, down!
 The Bar! the Judgment Bar!—The river!—Death!
 The Loire!

                                 YVETTE

            I am coming.

                      [_She descends the stair. Men and women clutch her
                      and thrust her forward to the bar._

                         I am here!
 I am Yvette, called Right of the Seigneur.
 My mother was the peasant girl, Yvonne;
 My father was the Baron of Morbec.
 I am tired of _Ça ira, Carmagnole_,
 I would sleep with the Loire for my pillow!

                               THE CROWD

 Ah—h—h!

                                 LALAIN

           A head beside thine on that pillow!

                               DE VARDES

 Mon Dieu!

                                 YVETTE

           Perhaps, Citoyen!

                                A VOICE

                             I denounce
 Yvette Charruel!

                              OTHER VOICES

                  And I!—And I!—And I!

                               _CURTAIN_


                                SCENE II

  _The banks of the Loire. Night. Branching trees; between their
    trunks is seen the river. There is a full moon, but a drifting
    mist obscures the scene. In the background, upon the river bank,
    dimly appears a crowd of the condemned, men, women, and children,
    soldiers and executioners of the Company of Marat. From this
    throng comes a low, continued, confused sound of command,
    entreaty, distress, and lamentation. In the foreground the
    condemned form into groups or move singly to and fro._

  _Enter_ YVETTE _from the shadow of the trees_.

                      A SOLDIER (_following her_)

 Holà! Give us not the slip!

                                 YVETTE

                             Thou soldier!
 There is no gold could make me flee this place!
 How long dost think before they throw me in?

                              THE SOLDIER

 A little while!

                     [_He returns to the river._ YVETTE _sits upon the
                     earth at the foot of a tree, and with her chin upon
                     her hand watches those who come and go_.

                                 YVETTE

                 He comes not yet! O Our Lady!
 I would not drown till I have seen him once!

                     A WOMAN (_passing with a man_)

 How shines the moon! Did we not always say,
 We two would die by such a moon as this?
 Rememberest thou—

                                THE MAN

                    Rememberest thou that night,
 That Versailles night within the Orangerie?

                               THE WOMAN

 Rememberest thou—

                                                           [_They pass._

                    A SOLDIER (_calling to another_)

                    To bind them hand and foot,
 We need more rope!

                           THE SECOND SOLDIER

                    Just thrust them in the stream
 With bayonets!

                          A CRY FROM THE RIVER

                Miséricorde!

                   [_A child with flowers in her hand speaks to_ YVETTE.

                               THE CHILD

                             I’m tired—

                                 YVETTE

 Rest here, thou little bird!

                               THE CHILD

                              My name’s Aimée.
 I did not know that flowers grew at night.
 Is that the moon?

                                 YVETTE

                   It is the silver moon!
 Aimée’s a pretty name. My name’s Yvette.

                               THE CHILD

 Kiss me, Yvette—I’ll look now for Ursule!

                                 YVETTE

 Who is Ursule?

                               THE CHILD

                My _bonne_—Adieu, Yvette!

                                                 [_The child passes on._

                         VOICES FROM THE RIVER

 Hélas! Hélas! Miséricorde!

                    [_A nun advances from the shadow. She is in ecstasy,
                    her hands clasped, her eyes raised._

                                THE NUN

 The skies open: heaven appears!
 Heaven my home!
 O for the wings of the dove,
 The eagle’s speed!
 The gates of pearl are opening,
 My harp is strung.
 The Virgins come to meet me.
 Sainte Agnès, Sainte Claire!
 Our Lady stoops to greet me.
 My father smiles.
 My brothers two I see there!
 Who is that one
 Who kneels and to me beckons?
 ‘Tis he I loved!
 What radiance grows, what splendour?
 Who waiting stands?
 Light! O Light! O Christ my Lord!
 Heaven my home!
 O Love! O Death, come quickly!
 I would be gone!

                                    [_A soldier touches her on the arm._

                              THE SOLDIER

 Thy time it is!

                   [_The nun regards him with a radiant and dazzling
                   smile, then turns and moves swiftly before him to the
                   river._

                               THE VOICES

                 Woe, woe! Miséricorde!

                                 YVETTE

 Heaven my home! Shall I see heaven then?
 Oh me! so much of ill thou’st done, Yvette!
 Alas! Alas! What if I cannot win
 To heaven! but must ever weeping stand
 With all the lost and strain my eyes to see
 The form I love move ‘neath the living trees,
 And all in vain, so great the distance is!—
 Not see him! O Our Lady, let me in!

                               THE VOICES

 Woe, woe!—I die!—I die!—O countrymen!

                                 YVETTE

 O God, and is it true I murdered her,
 That lady high, that fair, so fair Clarice?
 O God! I would that she were happy here,
 Alive and laughing, gay of heart again!
 O God! I do repent me of my sin!

                               THE VOICES

 Ayez pitié!

                      [_From a group of the condemned is heard the voice
                      of_ THE ABBÉ.

                                THE ABBÉ

             _Miserere mei Deus
 Secundum magnam misericordiam tuam!_

                       THE CONDEMNED (_kneeling_)

 Have mercy, O God!

                         VOICES FROM THE RIVER

                    Miséricorde!

                                                       [YVETTE _kneels_.

                                THE ABBÉ

 _In manus tuas Domine commendo spiritum meum,
 Redemisti me Domine Deus veritatis!_

                             THE CONDEMNED

 O God, receive our souls!

                         VOICES FROM THE RIVER

                           Woe, woe! We die!

                                SOLDIERS

 That one is swimming there! Your musket! Fire!—

                                                       [_A musket shot._

 Ha, ha! Ha, ha!

                                THE ABBÉ

 _Dulcissime Domine Jesu Christe,
 Per virtutem sanctissimae Passionis tuae
 Recipe me in numerum electorum tuorum!_

                             THE CONDEMNED

 O Christ, receive our souls! O Christ who died!

                                THE ABBÉ

 _Maria, Mater gratiae, Mater misercordiae,
 Tu me ab hoste protege, et hora mortis suscipe!_

                             THE CONDEMNED

 O mother of God!

                                 VOICES

                  Miséricorde!

                                THE ABBÉ

 _Omnes sancti Angeli, et omnes Sancti
 Intercedite pro me, et mihi succurrite!_

                                 VOICES

 Miséricorde!

                                SOLDIERS

              Petit-Pierre!—André!
 ‘Tis time for yonder folk beneath the trees!

                                THE ABBÉ

 _Ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis,
 In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.
 Amen!_

                                [_The condemned arise from their knees._

                              THE SOLDIERS

        Come your ways!

                       [THE ABBÉ _and the condemned vanish into the mist
                       upon the river bank_.

                                 VOICES

                        Ayez pitié!

                    [YVETTE _rises from her knees. She plucks the yellow
                    broom that grows beneath the trees._

                                 YVETTE

 And if I may I will her servant be,
 And I will bring her posies every day!

                               THE VOICES

 We die!

                                SOLDIERS

         So, two and two! Ha, ha!

                    [_There appears in mid-stream on the river Carrier’s
                    festal barge. It is lit from stem to stern. There is
                    music aboard, singing and revelry of men and women._

                        LAUGHTER FROM THE RIVER

 Ha, ha! Ha, ha! Ha, ha!

                               THE VOICES

                         They laugh! They sing!

                           [_A sound of singing from the passing barge._

                            A WOMAN’S VOICE

                 _Fair Chloris bathed her in the flood,
                 Young Damon watching, trembling stood,
                 Behind the frailest hawthorn wall!
                 The month was May—_

                             A MAN’S VOICE

                      No, Prairial!

                           THE WOMAN’S VOICE

               _Her ivory limbs they gleamed and turned,
               Young Damon’s heart so hotly burned,
               Into the stream he leaped therefor!
               It seemed July—_

                            THE MAN’S VOICE

                   No, Thermidor!

                                                    [_The barge passes._

                         VOICES FROM THE RIVER

 O hearts so hard!

                              OTHER VOICES

                   Oh, woe! Adieu! Adieu!

                                       [_An old woman speaks to_ YVETTE.

                             THE OLD WOMAN

 They’ve drowned my son, my sailor son Michel!
 Oh, oh, my heart! he’s drifting out to sea!

                                 YVETTE

 Poor mother!

                             THE OLD WOMAN

              Oh, to and fro he sailed, he sailed!
 The Indies knew him and the Northern Seas!
 He’d bide at home a bit, then off he’d go,
 Another voyage make, strange things to see!
 Then home he’d come and of his travels tell.
 Oh, oh, my son, my sailor son Michel!

                                             [_The old woman passes on._

                           _Enter_ SÉRAPHINE.

                               SÉRAPHINE

 I’ve sought her here, I’ve sought her there, in vain!
 And perilous it is to seek one here!

                                 YVETTE

 Séraphine!

                               SÉRAPHINE

            Yvette!

                                 YVETTE

                    Where is monseigneur?

                         SÉRAPHINE (_weeping_)

 I know not, I!—Saint Lazaire and Saint Jean!
 I nursed thee ere thou wast so high!

                                 YVETTE

 Poor Séraphine! Dear Séraphine!

                               SÉRAPHINE

                                 Alack!
 They’re watching there!

                                 YVETTE

                         Oh, then away!
 ‘Tis death to weep for one who dies! Away!

                         SÉRAPHINE (_weeping_)

 Oh, oh! When thou wast but a little thing
 Thou hadst the coaxing ways! Alack! Alack!

                                 YVETTE

 Poor Séraphine!

                               SÉRAPHINE

                 Dost mind the sunny path
 Up the steep cliff to chapel in the woods?

                                 YVETTE

 I mind—I mind—To thy warm hand I clung,
 A little child. Now I must walk alone!

                               SÉRAPHINE

 Oh, oh! And thou wast Goddess yesterday,
 The fairest Goddess ever seen, they say!

                                 YVETTE

 Speak not of that!

                          A VOICE (_calling_)

                    Séraphine! Séraphine!

                                 YVETTE

 It warns, that voice! Adieu, adieu, adieu!
 Thou must begone!

                               SÉRAPHINE

                   If I do look at thee
 I’ll stay forever here! Adieu! Adieu!—
 Oh well-a-day! Oh well, oh well-a-day!

                                                      [_Exit_ SÉRAPHINE.

                                 YVETTE

 So late it grows, so long I’ve waited here!
 I feel the morning air!—Will he not come?
 O God! what if they’ve slain him otherwhere?
 Ha! Death is busy far and near to-night!
 They may have shot him yonder by the sea!
 He may have sunk above, below this place!
 Though Grégoire swore to me it would be here,
 Here where they brought me would they bring him too,
 And ere the set of moon we would be gone!—
 O God! The cries of drowning men I’ve heard,
 But not his voice among them! No, no, no!
 He’ll make no moan, he will die loftily!—
 Ah, God! only to see him ere I drown!

                               THE VOICES

 Miséricorde!

                                SOLDIERS

              Prenez garde! Halte là!

                             A MAN’S VOICE

 I die who fought for France in bloody fields;
 At Lille I fought, at Bordeaux, Avignon!

                                 YVETTE

 A soldier!

                                        [_Another voice sings hoarsely._

                               THE VOICE

                 _Tremblez, tyrans! et vous perfides,
                 L’opprobre de tous les partis!
                 Tremblez, vos projets parricides
                 Viennent enfin recevoir leur prix!
                 Tout est soldat pour vous combattre—_

                                                      [_The voice dies._

                                 YVETTE

 A soldier!

                             ANOTHER VOICE

            Diantre! A whiff of grapeshot now,
 A sabre-cut, or e’en a trampling charge!
 But this cold death—

                                                      [_The voice dies._

                                 YVETTE

                       A soldier!

                             ANOTHER VOICE

                                  Baste! I’ll tell
 The Duc de Biron—

                                 YVETTE

                    All soldiers!

                   _Enter_ DE VARDES _and_ GRÉGOIRE.

                                GRÉGOIRE

 I tell you truth, monsieur—

                               DE VARDES

                              So dense the throng
 I have looked up and down for this long hour,—
 This hour so long, this hour so fatal short,
 Seeing it is my latest hour of life,
 And that I cannot find her whom I seek!

                                GRÉGOIRE

 She is not dead, monsieur!

                               DE VARDES

                            So many are!

                                GRÉGOIRE

 I would have known.

                               DE VARDES

                     Some æons past thou wast
 A serviceable fellow! Get thee gone!
 And if thou findest her, I’ll give thee thanks,
 I have no gold—

                                GRÉGOIRE

                  Monsieur le Baron—

                               DE VARDES

                                      Go!

                                                       [_Exit_ GRÉGOIRE.

 And if I find her not, if time shall fail,
 Then through thy labyrinth, Eternity,
 Love’s silken clue shall lead me safe at last—

                                 YVETTE

 Monseigneur!

                                                     [DE VARDES _turns_.

                               DE VARDES

              Yvette!

                     [_Two soldiers of the Company of Marat pass beneath
                     the trees._

                           THE FIRST SOLDIER

                      ‘Tis near the cockcrow!
 What devil’s work we’ve had, and have!

                           THE SECOND SOLDIER

                                        Courage!
 There are not so many now! Then home and sleep!

                                                           [_They pass._

                               DE VARDES

 Oh, rest thee on thy lover’s breast, my heart!
 My life, my love, my dear, my Duchess Jeanne!
 Oh, ‘neath the moon thou’rt like a lily flower!

                                 YVETTE

 René, René!

                               DE VARDES

             Thy lips!

                                                           [_They kiss._

                       No, no, thou’rt not
 That Vivien whom I did call thee once.
 She was an evil fay; thou’rt pure and good!
 Nor art thou that fair piteous Duchess Jeanne
 Who died for love, whose look thou wearest now!
 Thou never wast that woman star-begirt,
 Whom they did hail as Goddess here in Nantes.
 No Goddess thou, thou wan and broken flower!—
 This is green Morbec, thou’rt the herd girl there
 And I thy fisher, home from out the west.
 My heart, my love, my silver rose, my _douce_!

                                 YVETTE

 The flowers drifting from the fragrant trees!
 Unearthly light—

                                                           [_They kiss._

                               DE VARDES

                   Now come, Eternity!

                         VOICES FROM THE RIVER

 It is so sad to die!—No, no, ‘tis sweet!
 Adieu, adieu!

                                SOLDIERS

               So, down! Ha, ha! _Les Noces
 Républicaines!_

                               DE VARDES

                 _Les Noces Républicaines!_

                                 YVETTE

 ‘Tis what they call this death—

                                SOLDIERS

                                  So near the dawn!
 Here are the _tricoteuses_.

                            VOICES OF WOMEN

                             Not yet they’ve done!
 Diantre! So many weddings in one night!
 Here are the girls from Carrier’s barge at last!

                              OTHER VOICES

 Petit-Pierre! André!

                                SOLDIERS

                      Céleste—Nanon!
 Zephine, ‘Toinette!

                               THE WOMEN

                       _Vive le son! vive le son!
                         Dansons la Carmagnole!_

                              A TRICOTEUSE

 ‘Tis light enough to knit! I’ll sit me down.
 Fi! how the grass is trampled here!

                               A SOLDIER

 Lalain and Lambertye—

                                A WOMAN

                        We left them there
 Upon the barge, Lalain and Lambertye;
 And they were drinking deep, and dicing too,
 And Lalain had his arm round Angélique!

                                                          [_They laugh._

                               DE VARDES

 Seest thou not through yonder trees the stone,
 The Druid Stone where I did see thee first
 When thou didst lie asleep upon the grass?
 How long I stood and looked, thou dost not know!

                                 YVETTE

 Beside the stream I slept and dreamed of thee!
 I knew it not, but sure I dreamed of thee,
 For in my sleep I thought I saw a king!

                               DE VARDES

 O love!—

                                 YVETTE

           It is Morbec arises there!
 The sands that stretch above the idle waves,
 And all the little shells upon the shore!

                               DE VARDES

 The convent bell is ringing! Seest thou not
 The fountain old, the fruit trees in the sun?

                                 YVETTE

 Oh, life was never made for happiness!
 The hour’s too short, the wine spills from the cup,
 The blossom’s shaken ere we know ‘tis sweet!

                         VOICES FROM THE RIVER

 Miséricorde!

                               A SOLDIER

              Those two have waited long!
 Hi! Petit-Pierre, ‘tis time to marry them—

                               DE VARDES

 This Saint John’s Eve we’ll walk in other woods!
 And we will find and name a castle fair,
 And rose and heartsease we will plant thereby!
 Here ends this road, but we must onward go.
 There is a longer hour, a deeper cup!
 The blossom’s gone, but we shall see the fruit.
 And life was made for happiness, my _douce_!

                         A VOICE FROM THE RIVER

                        _Mourir pour la patrie,
                        Mourir pour la France._

                               DE VARDES

 It is a hymn of Chénier’s.—France! France!
 Not since the days of Clovis hast thou lacked
 Strong sons to die for thee, thou Lioness!
 But now thy own brood hast thou eaten up,
 And in the desert shalt thou roar alone,
 Seeing the hunters nearer, nearer creep!
 They’ll snare thee fast, they’ll make of thee a show!
 France, France!—and yet thy sons shall ransom thee!

                               A SOLDIER

 A length of rope, André!

                                ANOTHER

                          Petit-Pierre—

                                 YVETTE

 They come!

                               DE VARDES

            I will go first.

                                 YVETTE

                             ‘Tis not their way!
 They’ll bind us fast together, throw us in
 Bound fast together—

                               DE VARDES

                       Is it so? Why, then
 We are together still, my heart, my life!
 We will not struggle as we sink to rest.

                               A SOLDIER

 Man and woman, come your ways!

                             SECOND SOLDIER

                                The river
 Waits, your marriage bed is spread!

                         [_The knitting women sing from the river bank._

                               THE WOMEN

              _We are the tricoteuses!
              Our wool we knit beneath the sun and moon!
                  Knit! knit! knitting every one!_

              _We are the tricoteuses!
              The skein we knit is ravelled out full soon!
                  Knit! knit! the knitting now is done!_

                                 YVETTE

 The light is growing in the east! My heart
 It is so full I cannot speak to thee!

                               DE VARDES

 Put thou thine arms about my neck, Yvette,
 And lay thy head upon thy lover’s heart,
 And veil thine eyes with all thy shadowy hair.
 Now let them bind us with what cords they will,
 The spirit moves unbound, triumphant, free,
 Not through the Loire, but through a vaster stream!
 Oh, it is something dimly great to die!
 And then to die together, is’t not sweet?
 And not through illness, age, decrepitude,
 But the armed man is ready for new wars.
 And thou—

                                 YVETTE

            I hear the lark!

                               A SOLDIER

                             Come, come away!

                  [YVETTE _and_ DE VARDES _move together towards
                  the river, into the mist and the shadow of the trees_.

                         A VOICE FROM THE RIVER

 _Vive la République!_

                               _CURTAIN_

[Illustration]




                          The Riverside Press
                       CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS
                               U · S · A

------------------------------------------------------------------------

                            By Mary Johnston


                  THE GODDESS OF REASON. _A Drama._
                     Tall 12mo, $2.00, _net_. Postage
                     extra.

                  AUDREY. With Illustrations in color.
                     Crown 8vo, $1.50.

                  PRISONERS OF HOPE. With
                     Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, $1.50.

                  TO HAVE AND TO HOLD. With 8
                     Illustrations by HOWARD PYLE, E.
                     B. THOMPSON, A. W. BETTS, and
                     EMLEN MCCONNELL. Crown 8vo,
                     $1.50.

                         HOUGHTON MIFFLIN & CO.
                          BOSTON AND NEW YORK.




------------------------------------------------------------------------




Transcriber’s note:

 1. Moved advertisement from first page to the last page.

 2. Silently corrected typographical errors.

 3. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.



***