»S 635 ^ ^ Z9 fA^ys 1475 'opy 1 La Marseillaise OR, THE MAID OF PLESSY. A Drama in Three Acts, Luey Sehley Mereein La Marseillaise OR, THE MAID OF PLESSY A Drama in Three Acts. /Ov a^^^^t^f < '6^ a M MILWAUKEE: CHAS. WEBSTER & CO., Booksellers and Stationers, 104 Wisconsin Street. f^^oj T54 3 r f LA MARSELLAISE, OR, THE MAID OF PLESSY. The Scenes are laid during the Reign of Terror, in the village of Plessy, the Prison of La Force, in Paris, and the Court of the Comte D'Artois, at Coblentz. CHARACTERS. Count Felix DeMercienne. Jules Lafarge. Val Duchard. Count D'Artois. Laurette Duchard. Mme St. Evremonde. Countess Valerie St. Cyril. Mother Mauprat. Mayor. Jailor. Prisoners. Court Ladies and GenUemen, Soldiers, Villagers. ACT FIRST.— SCENE FIRST. \_Interior of BucharcVs Cottage. Kettle suspended over fire. Dresser with tins, ciockery, etc., in rear. Spinning-wheel, tahle, chai7\>, etc. Mother Mauprat stirring soup. Enter Duchard ivith bafiket on arm, c. d. ] Duchard. How now Mother Mauprat. Spoiling that lazy daughter of mine by doing her work for her as usual ? Haven't you enough of your own at home ? Mother Mauprat. It's none of your business, I suppose, Val. Duchard, if I choose to give the child a mouthful of fresh air occasion- 4 LA MARSEILLAISE. ally. You keep her close enough housed, I warrant ye. A pretty idea if a neighbor can't do a neighborly turn without being snapped up for it! Duchard. Oh, as to that, suit yourself. "Liberty, equality, frater- nity," you know! S^Approaching kettle. '\ And what are you cooking us for supper, Mother Mauprat ? That detestable cabbage soup again! I tell you we have abolished that, with the rest of the tyrants! Give us some cheese, some eggs, a broiled capon or two. ' Mother Mauprat. \_gruindiing.'\ Very fine, Val. Duchard, turn up vour nose at your own doings, like a wise fool! Cheese, and eggs, and a broiled capon or two. Very fine! And why not some bottles of red wine and a handful of comfitures, beside ? That's a sight that hasn't been seen in this village since you and your fellows broke our good lady's heart, with your clubs, and your shoutings, and your red caps, and the rest of your devilments. Poor Madame la Comtesse, she would have died over again to have seen the good cure climb into the cart, side by side with the old count, and jog away to the guillotine, and all the village shouting and dancing round like fiends. Duchard. Take care old woman how you call names, or you may take a ride in the same cart yourself! Mother Mauprat. And leave nobody to show Laurette how to keep house for you ? That would be as sensible as your shutting up the chateau and sticking a big red sealingwax plate on the very door the good things used to come out of. That was the hen that laid our eggs, Val. Duchard, and you won't get any more till you put another of the same kind on the nest again. Duchard, [(ingri/y.'^ Hold your prate woman, and learn to speak respectfully of the national seal, or St. Guillotine will teach you. As you suggest, why not some bottles of red wine, {^producing thein'\ and a handful of comfitures \_producmg cakes], and perhaps a bunch of grapes and a peach or two! In short, a feast ? \Jiiying contents of basket on table.'] To the devil with your cabbage-soup and your black bread! [^upsetting kettle into fire.] This is a big day in the Du- chard family, and we'll do it justice patriotically. {Seizes a bottle, knocks off the head and empies it.] Liberty, fraternity, equality, Vive la' Republique, Vive la Guillotine, Vive Robespierre. Mother Mauprat. Holy Virgin, the man's mad! Duchard [seizing her by arvi.] How often must I tell you to drop that cant. Mother Mauprat? Is it not bad enough, in these dangerous limes, to have been intendant to an aristocrat' for twenty years ? Do you want to get me into trouble with the Revolutionary Committee ? [ tell you the Convention has done away with saints and virgins, and all the rest cf that traitorous stuff. Nobody is holy now but Robespierre and the guillotine. Do you understand ? Where's Laurette .-* Mother Mauprat. In the park, where she usually is. What do you want her for ? Duchard. Didn't I tell you it was a big day for the Duchard family ? I've got a husband for her. That's what I want her for. Mother Mauprat. Holy Mary! — Citizeness Mary, I should say — a husband for Laurette? Not the man from Paris, who has been hang- ing round the village the last week, ogUng her like a moonstruck calf? LA MARSEILLAISE. 5 Diichard. Precisely — the man from Paris. And it's a big strike, I can tell you. Mother Mauprat. Is he rich, then ? Duchard. He's better than rich — he's powerful. With Lafarge for my son-in-law, I can snap my fingers at the Revolutionary Committee. Mother Mauprat. She won't have him. Duchard. She wont have him? Hell and furies! But I say she shall have him. Is she to go mooning round for the rest of her life, bewailing the old animal of an aristocrat she calls her god-mother ? Why, the Convention is going to issue an edict next week, making it a crime against the nation to mourn for aristocrats. She'll cost me my head yet. with her tears and her hang-dog looks. Mother Mauprat. All the same, I tell you she won't have him. She is like her mother for sweetness and patience (poor Nanette, that's dead and gone — but she's your own flesh and blood when she's roused, Val Duchard! Dachard. She won't have him, eh? Hell and furies, we'll see about that! Here, you set the table for supper. Laurette's intended is coming to make her acquaintance this evening. And, mind you, Mother Mauprat, no slips. Citizen Lafarge is a member of the Com- mittee of Public Safely. A word or a wink from them is enough. llinitdtes cutting off head. K.xii Jj d.] Mother Mauprat. Ugh you horrid wretch ! The Lord made you out of all the "bully" and "coward" he had left over when he finished the rest of us. My poor little Laurette has a weary time of it here, and if it wasn't a husband of his choosing, I should welcome the day that saw her married. But to Lafarge, the police spy! Will he send her to the guillotine, I wonder, when he tires of her. It's but one jump from love to hate, with such a man as that. [Voices without.'] Ah, here she comes now, and her father's with her. So she knows already! {Door at back opened by Duchard, speaking off) Duchard. Like it or not, my girl, my will is law, and so you'll find before I am done with you. [Pushes Laurette in roughly and closes the door. She takes centre of stage and stands bewildered, pushing her broad hat back with one hand, and letting her basket of Jloivers fall from the other. Then ohsprving Mother Mauprat, embraces her im- petuously.] Laurette. Oh, mamalette, you have heard — you know! Is it not too dreadful ? I am to be married; think of that. Married ! Is it not a horrible idea? Mother Mauprat. Well as to that, little cabbage, I think the idea that you were never to be married would be more horrible still. Laurette. But to a man I have never seen — a man from that dread- ful Paris, where they wade in blood and play foot-ball with men's heads in the street. Why he must be a sort of a cannibal. The very idea makes my flesh creep. 6 LA MARSELLAISE. Mother Matiprat. Ill looking he is not, for I have seen him prowl- ing round after you, with his fierce, hungry face, and you, poor lamb, never dreaming a wolf so near. Laiirette. Alas, our little village is full of wolves, now-a-days. I never look up when I go abroad, lest I should see some strange, wild face, glaring at me under his red cap. Mother Mauprat. That's a risk you run, little cabbage, as long as yours is so good to look at. Come, pluck up a little spirit. You are not married yet, nor even betrothed. If we don't like the looks of this stranger we'll send him off "right-about-face," as my little Peterkin says. Meanwhile here are some of your flowers to put in your hair. [ Flits wreath on head and draws off admiringly. ] Laitrette. [ Too absorbed to notice'\ Oh, why am I alone in the world, with no one to teach me my duty? Is it not enough that my poor mother is dead, that now, when I need her most, my god-mother — my dear protectress and friend — must be taken also? Who will tell me what to do, weak, forlorn girl that I am, worse than orphaned ? The good cure said we must always obey our parents. Would he have taught me that, I wonder, if he had known my father was one day to send him to the guillotine ? Mme. la Comtese said all modest daugh- ters marry the husbands their fathers choose for them. But the crimes of such men as this my father chooses for vie broke her heart. Oh, my dearest madame, will you not rise in your grave to see your name-sake, your petted god-child, married to a Jacobin. \J)iiries face itt hands.'] Mother Mauprat. There, there, child, "don't creep while your feet are left," as the old saw says. What's this they are shouting about the village now-a days. Liberty, equality and some more nonsense. It's a pretty idea, when there's so much liberty goes a begging the daughter of the loudest shouter of all should be given away like a San Domingo slave. There, hurry to the spring for some water. \^Puls pail on head.] I'll stay to see the supper properly served. Latirette. Thank you, dear mammalette, you are the kindest neigh- bor that ever was. [Exit c. D.] DucHARD and Lafarge enter c. D. Diichard, {looking round.] Laurette out of the way ? That's lucky. There, old woman, take your old bones off in a hurry, I've company. D' ye see ? We are not ready for supper yet. There's a bit of busi- ness brewing that- has taken our appetites. Keep Laurette out of the way. We will attend to her to morrow. \_Mother Mauprat exit R. D.] Here is the quiet spot you requested, citizen Lafarge. No danger of visitors. Val. Duchard's cottage is not a popular resort for the vil- lagers, I believe, \J. ughing grimly.] Lafarge. Yet none of the palaces we have been getting rid of lately, boasted as fair an ornament as the beautiful Laurette, citizen. Duchard. Oh, Laurette's good enough, and pretty enough, and there's nothing to prevent your marrying her to-morrow if you say the word. But now to the matter in hand. How hot it is here! [ Throws open lattice window. 1 LA MAKSELLAISE. 7 Lafarge, {satirically .\ Your ardor in the good cause makes you warm. As you say, to the matter in hand. \_They draw close together, turning their hacks to the window. Laurette appears at lattice pail on head.^ Laitrette. What! my father returned already and the stransrer with him! If only I could catch a glunpse of his face! Mow provoking their backs are turned! \^Sets down pnil and zvatches through the zuindoju.'] Lafarge. Your information regarding the return of this emigre De Mercienne, is reliable then ? Diichard. Assuredly. \_Lanrette exhibits intense interest.} Lafarge. He will be at the chateau to-night, in fact is there already, you say "" Diichard, Here's the letter he was fool enough to write to that pig- headed old drunkard, Brissac. A quart of Burgundy broke the seal for me. They are all fools, as well as knaves, these emigres! \^Hands letter to Lafarge.} L^afarge. Hum, hum, "leave the south door open," "have money and title-deeds in the escritoire in the library," "be especially wary of that rascally intendant." Ha, Duchard, the ex-count pays his com- pliments to yoii. Duchard. As I will to him — curse him! before this night is out! Lafarge, {^continuing.} "And be careful of that old enemy of yours, the Burgundy in the maison Mauprat." That's a warning, it seems, he d\dc<\Wv&^di, {folding letter and rising.}. Well, my old school-mate de Mercienne, I think we may safely say we have got you! The Republic owes you much, Citizen Duchard. This malignant belongs to a dan gerous family, all of them untamable aristocrats, and it is well-knowi^ he is on his way to join the traitor D'Artois at Coblentz. His capture will reflect credit upon Plessy, and establish your own reputation as a good patriot. Without rudeness, citizen, I may say that your long con- nection with these traitors has damaged you somewhat in high quarters. Duchard. I know it — I feared it. Yet surely no one has worked harder than myself to arouse patriotism in the village. Already they call me Danton Duchard, and after to night's work, and with Citizen Lafarge for my son-in-law. {Bozving low.') Lafarge, {loftily.} The family of Mme. Lafarge will be necessarily above suspicion But, look you, citizen, they tell me in the village, your daughter has been badly brought up; aristocrat friends and so on. Perhaps she will give me the go-by after all ? Duchard. You don't know Val. Duchard yet, that's plain. Laurette shall be your wife, and the title-deeds of the chateau her wedding por- tion. My hand on it! {They shake hands. LMurette disappears from window.} And now to collect the mayor and villagers. {Exeunt c. D. Laurette enters 'Si. T).} Laurette. My dear lady's son at the chateau ? Is he mad— desper- ate ? A returned emigre is already tried and condemned. And it is my father who has betrayed him! Mother, mother, in that beautiful Heaven where you are, do you know this perfidy! She whom you loved so dearly — whose soft hand closed your eyes — it is her son he has given to 8 LA MARSIELLAISE. death! Ah, but my promise! Now is the lime to remember that. "Lauretie," said my mother, lying yonder on her pallet, "let them call my disease what ihey will, you and I know it is a broken heart. I could endure his scorn and cruelty, but when he made me a spy on my dearest lady, oh that was too much. Promise me, if ever you can render a service to her or hers, to do it for my sake. Perhaps it will ease my wicked soul in Purgatory.'' And so I promised, and she died with a smile on her lips. Well, he must be warned, and my father will kill me if he finds it out. But then I shall not have to marry the dreadful man from Parist They have gone back to the village. Il I run across the park and over the little bridge, I shall be at least ten minutes ahead of them, long enough for him to escape and me also, perhaps. If not, dear mother, dear benefactress, death cannot be cruel which unites us to our dearest friends. Mother Maiiprat,\enterinir hastily.^ There's some deviltry afloat. They are singing the Marsellaise! Lauretle. 1 hear it calling me! Adieu, dear mammalette, we shall never meet again. \^Exit c. D. Mother Mauprat gazing after her in dismayed surprise. Curtain Falls. ACT FIRST.— SCENE SECOND. \Lihrary at V e Chateau de Afercienne furnished in medioeval style, yioonliyht falling across front of the stage through a high latticed witidow. on left of stage Door on right, concealed by curtain. De Mercienne. wrapped in a military cloak, pacing back and forth. '\ De Mercienne. Not even a dog to bid me welcome ! The eyes of the very portraits have a stony, unrecognizing stare. Yet this is the spot to which my heart so long has turned with the exile's hungry affection - the dearest spot of all in this dear home of my childhood. Here stood my mother's chair, with the embroidery frame always near it. There the table where my father and the cure played interminable games of chess, during the sunny, summer afternoons. The corner yonder was Victoire's fort, this other mine; this rug our mimic battle field. Well, mother's slim, pale fingers are resting forever now from their works of love. Father and the cure, inseparable in life, mounted the guillotine together. Victoire sleeps with a sword thrust in his heart. And I am here ! Truly a lonely home coming. They called me mad, at Coblentz, to brave the dangers of a return into the lion's jaws. The Comte D'Artois said many flattering things, and I fancy the road to fortune he graciously pointed out, would not be hard to follow, with the Countess Valerie's dark eyes to light the way. But LA MARSEILLAISE. 9 their descriptions of the danger only sent the blood more gaily through my veins. It is this ghostly loneliness that chills my very soul. Not a voice, not a footfall. \_Calling off'\ Ho, there, Brissac, Brissac ! \_No ans%ver.'\ So then, the house of De Mercienne must, indeed, be a sinking ship, since even that old cellar rat has deserted it. Let me fol- low the general example, gather up the money and the papers which may yet save my shattered fortune, and be off. {^Opetis escritoire, takes out nwney, papers, etc. A distant chord of the Marsellaise is heard. De M. starts tj his feet.'\ Ha, what is that ? Has the solitude unstrung my nerves, or did I hear the Marsellaise? Ah-h-h — ! {The curtain before the door draws swiftly hack and Laiirette appears the moonligJtt falliny strong on her figure. Another burfit of the Marsellaise.^ De Mercie.me. {In a loud whisper. '\ Mother is it you come to wel- come your poor Felix ? {Approaches. "l But, no! That blonde hair — that slender figure ! It is a girl — a child. Who — what are you ? Lanretee, {breathUssly.'\ M, le Comte, not a moment! Fly! They are coming! De M. Enter M'dlle. You are fatigued — you are out of breath. Pray repose yourself and be seated. Lauretle. Do you not understand, M. le Comte ? They are coming — there is not a moment to lose. De M. Oh, vtdUe. is kind enough to bring me a warning — "they" being our friend Danton's cut throats no doubt. A thousand thanks, Mdlle. May I ask to whom 1 have the honor to owe so great an obli- gation ? Lanrette. Oh, I am only Val. Duchard's daughter — nobody of any consequence at all. But I have run all the way to warn you, and see, you are standing stock still; and they have already passed the park gates. Oh ! {wringing }ier hands'] am I to' be killed in vain ? Run, run! De M. What, Mdlle., have you risked so much for a poor proscribed emigre ? Let me first see you safely home again — my horse will easily carry double. After that Lanrette. Home again, M. the Comte? I have no home any more. Did I not tell you I am Val. Duchard's daughter ? He will kill me when he knows What I have done. But there is, at least, time for you to escape. De M. I should ill deserve the name I bear, Mdlle., could I be guilty of so great a cowardice. We will wait the coming of your fath- ers friends together. It may be, for old times' sake, I may still have enough influence with him to win you his forgiveness. And meantime, will you tell me why you have risked so much for a stranger? So fair a face is not easily forgotten, yet I do not recall — Lanrette, {modestty.] Mme. la Comtesse was my god-mother, my dearest friend. It is a very little thing to do for her who did so much for me, to save her favorite son from the dreadful guillotine. There is still time to escape, for your mother's sakel TO LA MARSEILLAISE. [Falls on her knees. A loud burst oj the Marsellaise is heard close at hand, Laurette clasps her hands in despair. '^ De Mercienne, [assisting her to rise.l Mdlle. I thank you with all my heart. Stand you here, while I receive these gentlemen. [Places her behind a high-backed chair. Assumes his chapeau and throws back his cloak, displaying a coloneVs uniform, then opens the door wide. A crowd of sans culottes, carrying torches, pour in, headed by Duchnrd and Lafarge. De M. places himself in front of Laurette, who clings to the back nf the chair. Bowing prof oundly] Gentlemen you wish to see the Comte de Mercienne ? He is at your service. Duchard. We wish to see a scoundrel of an aristocrat who has sold himself to his country's enemies. Comrades, this is he! De Mercienne, [involuntarily presenting pistols, then loivering them again — aside.'] But, no, that were to throw away my life, and leave that poor young creature defenseless. [The mob shout, **Down with the aristocrat T *' Seize the traitor r' *'To the guillotine with himV etc. De Mercienne stands calmly confronting t'xem during the hubbub.} Duchard. Where's the Mayor? Tell the Mayor to come forward. [The mob part and the mayor, wearing his tri-colored scarf, appears.] Pierre Garin, Mayor of the Commune of Plessy, we call upon you to arrest this man, calling himself Comte de Mercienne, a returned emigre, condemned by the decree of the 9th Fructidor. De M. [diaking the mayor'' s hand.] Ah, my old friend Pierre the miller! So you have grown to be mayor of a commune since I went a horse-back riding on your knee. Well, my friend, do your duty as M. I'intendant demands. Arrest the son of your seigneur and hurry him to the guillotine. He confesses himself a returned emigre. Mayor. Why, sure, its little Felix. I'd a-known him anywhere! Duchard. Ha, you hesitale ! Poltroon, traitor! Here neighbors, one of you lend me a torch, we'll see what the young scoundrel is hid- ing from us behind there. De M. [hastily.] I yield myself your prisoner, sir! There is nothing that concerns you there. Duchard. We'll see about that. [Lifts torch, the others crowd round. A strea7n of red light falls on Laurette. Tableau.] Mayor. Why, what is that! A woman, a girl. Why Citizen Du- chard it is your daughter! [A shout of laicghter from the crowd.] \ Duchard springs forward.] De M. [thrusting hitn back.] Your business is with me, not this child. LA MARSEILLAISE. II Duchard. What, a man finds his daughter turned traitress, and it is none of his business. The arrogance of these aristocrats! Vvue in the Croivd. Ha, ha, Duchard, can't you bring up a daugh- ter better than that ? Another Voice. He needed so much patriotism for himself, there wasn't any left for his family. [Crowd laughs and jeers.] Duchard. I tell you she is no daughter of mine. I disown the hussy. Lafarge, I annul our contract. Soldiers, carry this jade away with the prisoner; since she is so fond of his company, it would be a pity to separate them. My house is no har'oor for traitors to the nation. Lafarge, {aside.] Can love have nerved her to this ? Or, is it the old heroic spirit of self-devolion revived in these wonderful days. Why, then, Jules Lafarge, here's a woman worth the winning. Duchard, {to soldiers.] I tell you I'm in earnest. Why do we de- lay? Soldiers, do your duty. Arrest these culprits! Laurel te, {shrieks.] Ah, father! [The solditrs advance reluctantly, waiting for a sign from the Mai/or, ivho hesitates. De M. inttrpoaes hiim-elf between them and L'lurttte.] De M. This shall not be! Have none of you pity for a poor girl who has risked so much to save a stranger's life! She has lived among you; you all know her to be pure and innocent. As God is my witness, I never saw her before to-night. Mayor. Neighbors, this young man speaks the truth. Laurette is a good girl. Citizen Duchard, the glorious Republic does not expect fathers to turn themselves into fiends. You go too far. We are all good patriots here and love our country; is it not so, neighbors? Chortis. Vive la Republique! Mayor. But it is not necessary we should give our village a bad name by sending our girls to prison. I say again, you go too far. Now, I have an idea. In the old times they used to say, a man and his wife were one. I put it to you, friends and neighbors, is it not better to turn an aristocrat into a good citizen than to cut off his head ? Let us marry this young man to Laurette, who is doubtless as good a Republi- can as her father, and then send them both about their business. What say you ? [Shouts of laught'-r and eager talking in pantomime. Du- chard and Lafarge gesticulate violently in the negative] De M. {To mayor.] You may send me to death, if you please. My fate is in your hands; but my name and honor are my own. Mayor. I do not understand aristocrat ideas of honor. But it seems to a plain man like me when you have enticed a simple girl away — well, well — when she has enticed herself away — if you like that better — the least you can do is to get her out of the scrape. Her father has thrown her off— he's a bad one, is Val Duchard — and it would not do her any good to fall into that Lafarge's hands, who has had his eye on her this 12 LA MARSEILLAISE. month past, either. And, mind you, it's better to marry a pretty girl than to look out of the little window of the guillotine, as your father did, last year. De M. \_Regarding Z.] Poor, innocent, devoted girl, there she bends, like a crushed flower. And either way, my doom is sealed. Marry her — and adieu to freedom, ambition, the dark eyes of the Comtesse Valerie ! Reject her — but shall a De Mercienne be less gen- erous th^n a village maid ? \_To mayor'] I consent, if you promise no harm shall befall the child. And here — since they are doubtless of no further use to me — I place in your hands, for her benefit, the title deeds of the chateau. Mayor. \_Thrusting back papers.] Tut, tut, man, keep your prop- erty and take care of her yourself. You are free to go as soon (and let me hint in your ear) as far as you like. Neighbors, the citizen con- sents. Citizen Duchard, I congratulate you upon your son-in-iaw. Duchard. Hell and furies ! The title deeds have escaped me after all. l^Exit c. D.] Lajarge. This is a complication that rather upsets my plans. But he girl is worth trying for. I'll have her yet. \^Exit c. D.] \As each departs tht crowd laughs and jeers.] De M. \_To Luurette.] Mdlle., you risked your life for me. I offer you mine in return. The fate of war, which decrees my immediate departure, unites us but in name. But my honor and my fidelity will be unalterably yours. Will you accept me for your husband ? Laiirette. [Drazving back.] Oh ! it is too much, too much ! I could die for you M. le Comte ! That is but a moments' pang; but to marry you — thus — {^Covers her face with her hands.] Mayor. {^Removing her hands kindly, and placing one of tJiem in De M''s.] Come, come, my girl, complete the job. You set out to save this young man from the guillotine, and this is the way to do it. \LaureVt struggles a moment with hnstlf, then looking devoutly up to Heaven, slowly takes her place by De M's side, while the Mayo?' marries them in pantomime. The crowd sing the Marsellaise and the curtain slowly descends, j LA MARSEILLAISE. 13 ACT SECOND.— SCENE FIRST. [3Ime. St. Evremori'Ies Salon near Plessj/, opening onto a terrace with st^ps leading into a garden. Fortrait of a lady on a easel. Mme. St. Evremonde and De Mercitnne dis- covered. I Mme. St. Evremonde. Really my dear Felix, it is like a fairy story. I can hardly recover my breath. You leave me at sunset a gay young soldier of fortune, with Glory for your mistress. You return before midnight leading a pale snow-drop of a girl by the hand, whom you present to me as the Comtesse de Mescienne, my niece. Is it an ill- timed jest, or one of the dreams I spend my days in ? Shall I awake presently to find you my debonnaire Felix again, with that thoughtful line in your forehead erased ? De M. Alas, no, dear aunt, if my new responsibility has brought it there. I am married hard and fast and am trying to realize my strange position. Mme. S/. E. So you consider it a binding tie ? \^De M. bows assent.] And you will proclaim your marriage on your return to Coblentz? [Z>^ M. bows again.] I fancy there is some one else there, besides your liege, the Comte D'Artois, who will not be over-pleased. De M. Dear aunt, if I had other dreams; if there was perhaps an- other future, where gratified pride and ambition might play their part; mind you, I do not speak of love, that sacred emotion is yet to come — it is over now. The poor child yonder has my troth; for the rest, you will take care of her for me, will you not my dear aurit, till I return to claim her, or a chance shot sets her free? Mme. St. E. Assuredly, dear boy. You are right. Another might plead the informality, the compulsion, the unsuitableness of the con- nection. That is not for us. Noblesse oblige. She risked all for you. You give her all in return. So be it. De M. And now tell me of yourself. My time grows brief. The good mayor warned me not to let the day-break find me within twenty miles of Plessy. A fickle race, my countrymen. They found it a very good joke to marry me. They would think it equally funny to cut off my head. You are safe here ? Mme. St. E. Measuteably I believe. An occasional domiciliary visit warns me I have the honor to be on the list of the suspected; and my servants have seen fit to depart. I have also a lodger, Desnoyers by name, whom I shrewdly suspect to be my jailor as well — fortunately he is away to-night! But as he knows all about me already, I don't feel obliged to hold my tongue, always a difficult task as you know.. So we chat away in the most amicable manner, and if he sees fit to wind up his visit by sending me to the Abbaye, or La Force — I shall find myself in very good company, that's all! 14 LA MARSEILLAISE. De M. Brave and philosophic as ever, dear aunt. And now— [m- ing.-\ Mine. St. E. What, so soon, Fehx ? And to part so long! One by one I have seen them all go forth, and now the last, the best beloved. \_Passes hanlkerchief across eyes.] Well, what must be, must. Shall you care to see Jier before you go ? De M. ^hesitating.] Poor child, she is exhausted by the long walk over the roiigU country road. An 1 the man who has deprived her of home and friends cannot be a welcome sight. Nevertheless — there are cer- tain papers to place in her care. A word would do. Mme. St. E. {departing.] I go to summon her, and then into the garden. Do not be long, dear Felix. I can ill aiTord to lose one of the precious moments that have grown so few. \^Exit down the steps oj the terrace.] Le M. {approaching the portrait and contemplating it sadly.] Ah, smiling, saucy lips, the question I had hoped to ask you, must never be ventured now. The blows of fate fall swifily, when the hour is ripe. Yesteniay you might not have counted it presumption, that I lifted my eyes so high. To-day, the moon herself is not more inaccessible. Adieu, fair Valerie! {Drazus curtain across the picture.] ILaurette enters n. J). She pauses, ohsrrving the movement .\ Laurette, [timidly.] You sent for me, monsieur the Comte! De M. Yes madlle. — Madame, I have been so inconsiderate, not- withstanding your fatigue. {/low the poor child trembles.) I am about to rejoin the Comte D'Artois as you know. In view of the numerous accidents of war I should like to leove in charge of the Comtesse de Mercieniie the title deeds of the chateau, {offering papers. Laurette draws back.] Ljnrette, {passionately.] Oh you cannot be so cruel monsieur! You cannot mock me so dreadfully! Ah, I shall die of shame. Do you think I hold you to that wicked jest ? I tell you monsieur, proud as you nobles are, we of the people have our pride also. We do not give ourselves away unasked. T)e M. {gently.] Madame, it is a sentiment which is worthy of you, and of the name which I confide to your keeping. Lmrttte {eagerly.] But what if I refuse it? De M. Are you then so anxious to be free ? Perhaps, poor child, there is some one to whom you would more willingly be bound? Laurette. I, monsieur? I was not thinking of myself. Be M. {aside.] Again, that upliited look of devotion, {approaching and taking her hand tenderly.] My child, Providence interprets our designs more widely than we always comprehend. You have offered your life for me, and it is thus I am permitted to accept the sacrifice! \Bends and kisses her hand. Then slowly retires. The cur- tain falls. LA MARSEILLAISE. ACT yECOND.— SCENE SECOND. Scene the same. Mme. St. Evremonde and Lnfarge seated at a small g>/psy table. Lnurette bdween them, making tea, English style. Mme. S^. E. Another cup of that delicious beverage, Laurette, my dear. I hope it is not unpatriotic for a good French woman to possess such an Enghsh taste? At all events, citizen Uesnoyers, you are responsible for reviving it. This is the first I have tasted for three years. Lajarf^e. I am glad to have revived any of your accustomed pleas- ures, citizeness, in return for the discomforts my enforced presence must have caused. It is but for a short time longer, however. My duties at Plessy are nearly over. Mme. St. E. Is it so? We shall miss you sincerely, Laurette and I. [7'(? Z.] I dare say he is the reddest of Red Republicans, my dear, if we only knew it, and has the most shocking opinions. But all the same, we like our lodger, do we not ? Laurette. The last few we jks have certainly been very pleasant, dear aunt. Lafarge. You see, citizeness, your niece does not believe in puffing men up with praise. Laurette. The consciousness of performing a good action ought to be enough, monsieur. You know that you have used your influence to protect two helpless women from persecution, and you know that we know it What more can you desire ? Lafarge. \_Aside.'\ Still cold and cruel, Laurette ! Can I do noth- ing to win a kind look from you ? Laurette. Do you, then, doubt my gratitude, monsieur ? Lafarge. \^Fervently.] But it is not gratitude I want. Give me — Laurette. \_Archly.\ Another cup of tea ? [Lafarge refuses it in disgust.] L. No more tea, then ? Nor you, dear aunt? [S/ie declines.'\ Then I will remove the salver, and put away the tea things. [Lyfarge escorts her to r. d., and stands looking after her.] Lafarge. [Astcfe.} Tormenting, fascinating little witch! Jules Lafarge, you ai-e right — she is worth the winning. Mme. St. E. [A/so /oaring jfter her.] .What a dear child it is ! I shudder to think what my situation %vould have been during these dreary weeks, without her. And is it my partiality ? Or is she really very pretty ? As a man of the world, you ought to know. Z. As a man of the world, citizeness, I assure you she is pretty — enchant ngly pretty — and growing more so every day. {Aside.] And now, Lafarge alias Desnoyers, alias Chaumette, alias anything else that l6 LA MARSEILLAISE. suits your convenience, it is time to find out about this marriage busi- ness. I have loitered in a fool's paradise long enough, and when I go, she must go with me. [Reseats himself at table.] Mme. St. E. [Aside.] How fervently he spoke ! Poor young man! It is as I surmised — he has fallen in love with Laurette. Now is the time to tell him she is married. Ahem ! Z. You spoke citizeness ? Mmg. St. E. Ahem ! A beautiful day, citizen. L. [AsUe. Good gracious, it's raining hard ! [Aloud.] A trifle moist, citizeness. Mme. St. E. [Embarrassed.] Delightful weather for cabbages. [Aside.] I am being too diplomatic. He does not seem to understand me. [Aloud.] You are aware, citizen, that my niece, whom you seem to admire so much, is not my niece? L. [Aside.] Ha, ha, here we go ! Steady old lady — give her her head. [Aloud.] Indeed, citizeness, you surprise me. Mme. St. E. In fact, I only made her acquaintance a few weeks ago. She is my nephew — [Aside] No, it won't do to say that Who knows, he may be one of Fouche's spies, after all. Z. She is your nephew ! You surprise me more and more. Mme. St. E. Peste, citizen Desnoyers ! Is it Republican manners to catch one up so. I was about to say — I forget what I was about to say! In short she is a married woman ! Z. [aside.] Ha, so these fools of aristocrats do intend to consider that addle-pated mayor's joke, a marriage, do they? [aloud.] You amaze me citizeness. She seems a mere child. - Mme. St. E. [aside.] How startled he was! [aloud, complacently.] Yes, I presumed I should amaze you. I wished her to tell you some time ago, but there are some peculiar circumstances connected with the marriage, and she prefers lo be known merely as Laurette, my niece, at present. * Z. [aside.] There's hope for me! She suppresses the marriage. [aloud.] I understand citizeness; there is something irregular about it. Probably her husband has deserted her. Mme. St. E. [rising haughtily.] Sir, you insult us! My nephew is incapable of such baseness. Z. A thousand pardons, citizeness! But you forget to mention your nephew's share in the matter. Of course the ex-Comte de Mercienne is incapable of deserting his wife, that goes without saying. But sup- pose she is not his wife. Suppose — such things have happened so often of late, that it is not a stretch of imagination to suggest it; — suppose compulsion has been used, a mock ceremonial performed, perhaps even none at all, a mere tacit agreement, dissolved by immediate separation? Under such circumstances would he consider himself married, would you citizeness, if called upon to decide, consider him married? [aside], Go slow, old lady! You are about to choose between this snug retreat and a cell at La Force! LA MARSEILLAISE. I 7 Mme. St. E. You are either a wizard Citizen Desnoyers, or you know more of our private affairs even, than we had supposed. If you know under what circumstances this marriage was performed, you know also whether a man of honor would consider himself bound by it. Allow me to wish you -a good afternoon. [^Exit I.. D. haughtily.'^ L. Very neatly said, old lady, quite in the spirit of the ancient noblesse. Pity it becomes necessary for an insignificant individual named Lafarge to brush you out of the way! — So then, after the unexpected good luck of finding Laurette under the same roof with me, and all the opportu- nities of making headway since, I am to be met by this stumbling block of a marriage. A thousand plagues on that blundering mayor! And that accounts for her timidity and reserve. I feared at first she re- cognized her quandom suitor, "the dreadful man from Paris," as she called me in those naive revelations of hers. But she thinks herself married. Perhaps she loves him — or the idea of him — which is more dangerous still. Sacre diable! If I thought it possible! Jules Lafarge my friend, you alarm me. I do not recognize you. What charm is there in this slim, pale-faced girl to have set your pulse beating at such a rate ? After thirty years of satiety, have you retrograded into a love- struck boy! Does she love him ? That's the bee that buzzes in my bon- net! Ah, here she comes, pale, gentle, beautiful as ever. Laurette enters l. d. Laurette. What have you been saying to my aunt. Citizen Desnoyers ? I met her outside, just now, trembling with agitation. L. It is I rather, Mdlle. who should tremble. The citizeness has confided to me an item of family history. Laurette. Ah, how unkind, how inconsiderate! Z. Do not blame her Laurette. She spoke in mercy to a poor wf^tch who dared to cast his eyes upon fruit she deemed forbidden. Laurette. Then you know L. I know that you were married' in a drunken jest to a stranger who brought you here and departed for parts unknown immediately. Laurette. You know that ? Well, it is true. L. Laurette you cannot hold that a marriage ? Nor he either. Laurette. But he does! L. And you — ? Laurette. And I. L. Impossible, it is romantic folly. He does not want you; see he has deserted you. Doubtless he is already married to his fiancee. Laurette, \s tar tied. '\ Ah! Z. What, you did not know he was betrothed to a cousin of the Comte D'Artois, a very rich and distinguished woman, one of the greatest matches in Europe ? See, here hangs her portrait, painted by his own hand. [Leads her to portrait and uncovers /'/.] Laurette, [aside.'] It was before this he stood and sighed so pro- foundly! l8 LA MARSEILLAISE. L. Do you doubt me ? Here in the corner is a true-lovers knot en- closing their initials, " V. St. C", Valerie St. Cyril; '-F. de M.", FeUx de Mercienne. Laurette. But still, that does not make us free. L. But do you not understand ? Smce he has discharged his obli- gation by finding you a home, he feels himself no longer bound to you. Does your womanly pride permit you to claim him when he wishes to be free ? Laurette, {indignantly .'\ I claim him! Did I not beg him to release me, standing there on the very spot where you stand now. Did I not refuse the papers and beg him to set me free ? Sir, you insult me! L. Ah! and he? "What was his answer? Laurette. {Proudly.'\ I thank you for reminding me. He answered, "Madame, it is a sentiment which is worthy of you, and of the name which I confide to your keeping." L. And then ? Laurette And then he kissed my hand and left me. L For Coblentz, where ihe Countess Valerie resides? Laurette. {Aside.'\ Coblentz! Yes, that is the name he mentioned. Z. Ah, Laurette, is it for this stranger, this proud aristocrat, whose blue blood would scorn to mingle with the vulgar fluid which flows in our veins, that you are to waste your blooming youth ? His desertion is a tacit release. I tell you he has been betrothed for years to a woman in his own rank, who loves him devotedly. Lattrette. \_Looking at portrait.'] Did he resign so much for me ? I was not worthy such a sacrifice. L. {Eagerly.] You pause ! you hesitate! Laureite ! If instead of this cold, disdamful stranger, I were to tell you of a man whose heart is yours; who adores in you all that is beautiful and divine; who for your sake is ready to resign a career full of promise, to seek with you some quiet nook, devoted to love and happiness. If I were to tell you of such a man, and bid him kneel here at your feet — as I do — Laurette, what would you answer ? \_Laurette moves slowly away, speaking to herself.] Laurette. "My child," said he, "Providence sometimes interprets our designs more widely than we comprehend. You have offered your life for me, and it is thus I am permitted to accept the sacrifice." And then he bent low and kissed my hand — this hand. {Advances a few steps, and stands absorbed in thought.] No one ever kissed my hand before. I feel the touch of his warm lips on it still. {Re .ards her hand a moment, then raises it to her lips.] L. She does not answer. She has not even heard me ! Laurette. {Turning round to him.] Monsieur, I thank you very heartily for pointing out my duty. I have prayed God every day to show it to me, and now you make it clear. Since Monsieur the Comte acce^i.s me for his wife, my place is plainly by his side, and no difficulty LA MARSEILLAISE. 1 9 or danger should deter me. Monsieur, I bid you adieu. I am about to join my husband. \^Exit L. D.] L. \_furiously.'\ A thousand devils seize you, Jules Lafarge ! Fool, accursed fool ! you have taught her her own heart. [^ long, shrill ivhistlo is heard. Duchard mounts the steps of the terrace ] Duchard. Hi. Lafarge ! Citizen Lafarge ! Why the devil does he stand there staring. L. \^Iooki>7g over shoulder. '\ That blood-thirsty coward, Duchard, again ! What does it say, somewhere, about the seven devils entering in, and the second state of that man being worse than the first? The Convention rid us of the Bible, but it has not cured us of the bad habit of remembering it, I see. Child, child, I had my one moment of grace, and you have snatched it from me. ]_Duchard crosses terrace and touches hhn on shouhier ] So, you have traced me out, have you ? What do you want ? D. I want-to see why a good son of liberty sleeps at his post? There have been glorious doings at Nantes and Lyons. The National Lancet has cut out the plague-spots by thousands; even the neighboring villages are sending their offerings to glorious St. Guillotine. And still Plessy is unheard from! Do you want Danton to accuse us at the bar of the Convention ? Haven't you been sent down to ferret out the cursed traitors in their holes ? Do your duty, or! — [Shakes Jist in face ] L. One of your disagreeable traits. Citizen Duchard, is the inces- sant use of garlic. Another, is that dangerous strain upon the voice C'sWqA \\\Q biillyhig tonex \_with emphasis.'] I like neither. ^Duchard draivs back abashed.] You desire to know what I have been doing? Drinking tea with an old woman, chiefly. D. An old woman is it ? I suspected a petticoat somewhere about. And is it here you have spent all these weeks, while the nation has been crushing hydra-headed tyrany? L. Cutting it off, you mean. Yes, it is here. And you ? D. Searching high and low for that coniounded girl. You know who I mean. L. ^aside.] What my friend, are you developing that abnormal organ in egotists of your species, a heart ? {^Aloud.] You intend to take your daughter back then ? D. Hell and furies! Take her back; the wife of an emigre ? As if I didn't encounter enough suspicion now, to drive an honest man mad. No, I have done with the hussy for good and all. But I want to see her once. L. [aside ] W^hich is precisely what you shall not do. {A/oud.] In the interests of the Republic, 1 suppose? D. [violently.'] Hell and furies! Yes. Who's else do you suppose ? What the devil have I done that they are always accusing me of sus.- picious motives. 20 LA MARSEILLAISE. L. \_asidg.'] The impetuosity of these honest men! D. She has stolen the nation's property and it is my duty as — as — a good patriot. L. {dryly.'] Precisely. Z>. To get it back. Z. In effect, you have bought the chateau and you want the title-deeds which you suppose the emigre has left in charge of his wife? No subterfuges, Duchard, I know you. D, And if you do, you know a man who is not to be baulked. I suspect you have found out the hussy's hiding-place. Men of your sort when they get their eye on a girl, keep it there. Well, give me the papers and take the girl. That's fair. L. A bargain. I havn't got the papers, but they are in that room there, and I'll show you a way to get them and strike a blow for Plessy at the same time. [ They withdraw a few stepsy turning their backs to the audi- ence and whisper tn precisely the same attitude as in scene lat. Laurette enters r. d. unobserved.] Laurette. Strangers here in my aunt's salon? Hold! The voices sounded familiar. [Advances a step.] Ah, the holy saints defend us! Is it a dream; am I mad? Those figures whispering together; my father's cottage; the plot the betrayal! [app.oaching nearer and falling on her knees.] Ah mother in Heaven protect your poor child now. It is my father and Lafarge, "the awful man from Paris."] (curtain falls.) SCENE THIRD.— ACT SECOND. Scene the same. Laurette alone in the gardetiy pacing impa- tiently back and forth. Laurette. Like a caged animal, panting for liberty, and mocked by the free country beyond! Let neither bolt nor bar restrain me! I can- not \ea.yehei, my generous, devoted ftiend. But, oh! to escape from this frightful man! His fierce eye terrifies me— there's a threat in every tone of his voice! Yet, at first (my cheeks burn at the thought !) after the momentary thrill of terror, repulsion — I know not what to call it— how charming I thought him! how witty, how accomplished ! Are there human snakes, then, and am I the poor, fascinated victim, lured to destruction! Oh, for the wings of the free bird yonder, to fly where my heart leads me! He would protect the poor girl, who dares LA MARSEILLAISE. 21 to call him husba^id. My husband! There's strength and courage in the name 1 Oh, yes, I will be true to the trust he gave me — come what may. \^Noise without, clang of swords, etc. '\ Hush! What is that? The tramp of the patrol along the road — they come this way — they stop! Ah, merciful heaven! has it come so soon! [Loud knocking without. A voice says, **Open in the name of 'Libert!/, Fraternity, Equality.'' Others respond, '■Vive la Re- publique.' Mme St. Kvrem.nde apjjears on the terrace, above. Laurette runs up the steps and embraces her silently. Mme. St. E. Courage, dear child ! 'Tis only a^visit from the police. Positively, their attentions grow flattering. I begin to think myself an important personage. There, our lodger has opened the door — he par- leys with them ! Did I not tell thee, child, he is our good friend ? And here they come! Go into the garden and keep out of sight. Laurette. Before I go, one kiss, dear madame, and your forgiveness ? 'Tis I who have brought them here. Mfne. St. E. Ha! is it so? Not the first lamb who has lured a pack of wolves, then. There, go, dear child. yPiishes her down the steps. She stands in the garden^ partly concealed and listening. Duchard enters alone on the terrace above.] Duchard, [reading from a paper. '\ Widow Evremonde, calling her- self Dowager Countess of 3t. Evremonde in defiance of the edict of the Convention. M7?ie. St. E. The same, though I am sure I don't in the least mind what you call me. ^ Duchard^ [reading.'] Accused by a patriotic citizen of Plessy, of stealing the property of the nation, to- wit : The abstract, til le deeds, &c., of the chateau de Mercienne, confiscated to the nation by the edict of Brumaire as the property of a proscribed traitor. You are ordered by the Mayor and Revolutionary Committee to surrender said property. Mme. St. E. I should be delighted to obey the Mayor and the other gentlemen, but unfortunately no such papers are in my possession. Duchard, [reading.] In case of contumacy the house is to be search- ed. [Aloud.] Ho! there, citizens! [soldiers appear at wings. Con- tinues reading.] The citizeness to be arrested and searched. [Mme. St. E. shrinks back with an exclammation], and then conveyed to the prison of La Force at Paris. Mme. St. E. [calmly.] In effect, to the guillotine. I have expected your visit too long to be surprised, but not on such a plea as this. I am no thief. Your Mayor and your committee know it well, for I have lived a long life in this place and my character is known to you. Search the house if you will, every nook and cranny is open. There are no such papers here. But spare a woman that last degradation. Duchard, [to soldiers.] You can search the house first. [They disappear.] 22 LA MARSEILLAISE. \Lafarge appears in the garden. Laurette runs to him in violent a'jitation.'\ Laurette, [to Lafarge."] Oh, for Christ's sake, help us. Do you know what has happened ? They are searching for papers that they will not find and then they are going to search her. Those brutal men! Oh you know it will kill her; that delicate, high-born lady. Help! help! — Lafarge. Do you recognize that man Laurette ? Then you know there is no help possible, save to find the papers. Her fate rests with you, not me. Laurette. Merciful Heaven, what shall I do. They are a sacred trust. They are not mine to give. Lafarge, \coolly.'\ So be it. Either here of shame; see how she trembles; as you say, she is delicate and high-born, unaccustomed to rough handling — or a few hours later on, under the guillotine. Laurette. Cruel monster, do you tempt me ? They are not mine to give. {Soldiers reappear up above.) Due hard, [to soldiers.'] You find no papers ? jst soldier. None, citizen. TJiichard. You have searched everywhere ? [ii^ide."] Hell and furies! are they to escape me a second time, [aloud.] Then seize this old traitress, this thief and pilferer, and search her as the Mayor com- mands. {Mme. S!t. E. clutches the rail to support herse[f. Soldiers adoaiice reluctantly.) 1st soldier. A moment, Citizen Duchard, this old book-case inside here, we have over-looked thai. {Soldiers' diaajjpear. ) Laurette [to Lafarge.] Can you stand by and see her killed? A word from you will prevent this dreadful outrage. Tj. Say from you, rather. Laurette, give me one word of hope — cancel that imaginary bond— for your sake she shall be free. Child, why do you hesitate ? T love you as no man ever loved woman before. Can you resist devotion that abandons everything for your sweet sake ? [Endeavors to embrace her. She wards him off.] Laurette. Infamous man ! Do you try to buy my fidelity ? Do you think I do not know you ? In our village you were Lafarge, and here you are Desnoyers. Everywhere you are a police spy, an informer, a wretch. Away ! Not to buy my mother's life would I listen to you. LA MARSEILLAISE. 23 Lafarge. It is to be war between us, then. Do you think you can escape me ? Body and soul, you are mine. Your father removes the old woman, the only stumbling block in the way. In consideration of the papers you hide in your bosom, he gives you to me. Your hus- band has deserted you, and thus I claim my own. {Clasps her in his his arms. She siruggles. Meanwhile the soldiers have appeared above.) Buchard. No papers ? Then advance and seize her in the name of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity. {They surround Mme. Si. E.) Mine. St. E. As God is my witness, I have them not. Arrest me ! send me to the guillotine ! I gladly follow where His saints have led; but lor the sake of these gray hairs {snatches off cap] — by the memory of your mothers — spare me that cruel indignity. {They advance to seize her. Laurette rushes up steps and in- terferes.] Laurette. Never ! You shall not lay a hand upon her. Father, it is I, Laurette, who tell you so. Here are the papers you seek; but they belong to me, Countess de Mercienne, and you shall not have them. buchard, \aside.] Hell and furies, the wife of an emigre calls me father ! lam lost ! {Aloud.] Who is this woman who withholds the property of the nation ? I know her not ! Arrest her ! Lafarge. For shame, Duchard! It is your daughter, Buchard. I have no daughter ! Or if 1 had, and the good of the Republic needed it, I should disown her as I do now. Soldiers, arrest these traitors to the nation, and carry them to La Force. \_Laurelie and Mme. St. E. embrace. Soldiers surround them. Curtain falls .] 24 LA MARSEILLAISE. ACT THIRD.— SCENE FIRST. [The pris^on of La Force. A lady and gentleman on right hand playing cliess. A group of three gentleman on left hand playing cards. A long, narrow table at rear with ladies seated beside it, sewing, embroidering, writing, &c. The Marquis de Creve-Coeur on one end of the tabUf violin in hand. Two Abbes pacing back and forth readiiig their breviaries. Tivo nuns in corner praying. Countess Valerie St. Cyril and a gentleman dancing the minuet as the curtain rises. The Duchesse de Launay and M. de Malesherbes conversing in front of stage. The dancing continues a moment, then ceases and the dancers converse with their neighbors in animated pantomime. '^ M. Malesherbes, \to Duchesse.'\ It is marvelous to watch the spirit which supports our dear Valerie in this terrible place. I study the other ladies. Piety, despair, resignation gives the key to their deport- ment. With her, it seems an imperial courage. The Duchesse. Or rather the gaiety of a light-hearted child, Mon- sieur de Malesherbes. Observe her; how merrily she turns from one to another. Did you hear the pretty songs she sang for us yester- day ? All about love and hoping. And see now, she has niade even the Abbe Latil look up from his breviary. Come hither, dear child. How merry you are this morning. Valerie, \to Duchesse.'] Not more than usual, dear Duchesse de Lauuay. We are obliged to re-cast our litUe charade for this evening, so many vacancies occurred yesterday— they took 29 you know — and I am trying to coax Abbe Latil to take the lover's part, he reads so beau- tifully. But he declines and I accuse him of losing courage at last. Besides it is treason against the prison rules. We are pledged not to refuse anything that may promote the pleasure of anybody else. The Duchesse. A beautiful rule and one which you, at least, observe, dear Valerie. They have well named you "The Sunbeam." These dreary vaults would be dark, indeed, without you. Valerie, {shrugging shoulder s.'\ Oh, as to that, I must amuse my- self or I would die of terror. M. Malesherbes \io Valerie.'\ Are you then so afraid of death M'lle. Valerie ? Valerie. Hush, M. Malesherbes, you also break the rules of the community. That is a subject not to be mentioned here. M. Malesherbes. Permit me to transgress, just once, and answer me. You seem so brave and cheerful; are you then, like the rest of us, afraid to die ? Valerie, {gravely.'] Monsieur, I am eighteen; this world is beauti- ful for all the crimes and horrors that disfigure it now. Over yonder. LA MARSEILLAISE. 25 across the borders of our poor, distracted France, everything awaits me; security, wealth, friendship — perhaps even something more — and you ask me if I am afraid ? I tell you if I permitted myself to recollect what a day, an hour may bring forth, I should faint at your feet there in abject, cowardly terror, [furns a^uay.'] Where has my partner dis- appeared to. Please, dear Marquis, another figure of the minuet. \_The Marquis plays again. Dancers resume their places and perform a figure of the minuet. '\ Malesherbes, \to Buchesse during the dancing.'] This is truly the most wonderful side of our many-sided human nature! Who would suppose, in looking over thor>e animated groups that every member is in daily, nay, {glancing at the c'ock] momently peril of death — for see, the hands already approach the hour of noon when the jailors make their deadly round. 77^1? Buchesse. Yoa speak dispassionately. Are you yourself so secure that you can afford to marvel at the calmness of others? Malesherbes. On the contrary, dear friend, I have been warned to prepare. My defense of our martyred king is pronounced high treason, and my name is to head the list of to-day. I speak, therefore, with the calmness of one who is already beyond suspense. The Buchesse. And I listen to you as a statue might! My friend, I have no longer any tears to shed for you or for myself. My heart is wrung dry in this long agony. I too await the hour of noon. Hark! A noise without. \A rattling at the door; the dancing ceases suddenly, all look toward door, lohich opens and Lauretle appears, clinging to Mme. St. Evremonde, svrrounded hy National Guard. Jailor thrusts them in. All the prisoners rise ] yailor. Here pigs of aristocrats, the glorious Republic sends two more to join the drove. I advise some of you to make the most of their society, for you wont have it long. At noon I return, and I shan't go away alone, I promise you. {Laughs and shnls the door. The prisoners croiod around the new-comers, offering them seats, water, &c. Buchesse de Launay advances to Mme. St. Evremonde. ] The Buchesse. Ladies, as the oldest lady present, I regretfully wel- come you to the prison of La Force, and in the name of your compan- ions in misfortune, offer you such hospitalities as are in our power to extend. Mme. St. E. {looking earnestly at Buchesse i.] Is it the dim light? Do I dream ? Surely I recognize you, Louise de Launay, my child- hood's friend? ,26 LA MARSEILLAI&E. The Duchesse. Alas ! the same, and you are Therese. [ They embrace. The Duchesse presents her to the rest.} Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mme. St. Evremonde, the Chateleine of Plessy. {.They lead her away, talking eagerly among themselves. Lau- rette stands alone; Countess Valerie approaches her.} Valerie, [gently] Will you entrust yourself to me, Mdlle, ? [Laurette shows surprise.] Vou look bewildered. It is the effect of the place, doubtless; but you will soon recover. We are all friends here, for we all suffer in the same cause. [Seats her, removes shawl, smooths hair, etc.] My name is Valerie. We dispense with ceremony here —will you tell me yours ? Laurette. [Wearily, aside.] ISfy head swims so I cannot understand. She says she is Valerie and she has eyes like the picture's. But the real Valerie — his Valerie — is safe in Coblentz. [Looks at Ji£r earnestly.] What brings you here ? Let me feel you ! Are you flesh and blood? Surely you are the picture come to life ? Valerie, [aside.] She raves, poor child. Terror has turned her brain. Laurette. I cannot mistake those eyes. You are Valerie St. Cyril. Valerie. You know me then! And you —who are you? L'lurette, [vhose life and honor he saved was true to the trust he confided in her; that her dying prayer was for him, who was so generous, and if in Heaven it is per- mitted us to continue the thoughts of earth, she will love him there for- evermore ! Jailor, \at door.'\ Are you almost through within there ? The five minutes are up. Valeria. Just a moment, good citizen! Child, child, I have wronged you; forgive my jealous pride. Is there no hope, no escape ? Robespierre has proclaimed an amnesty to morrow in honor of his in- famous Fete. Laurette. To-morrow, I shall be already free! Valerie. But only twelve hours delay! Have you no influential friend to procure you that ? Laitrette. How should a poor village girl have influential friends? My only one is within these walls. No, Mdlle. there is no escape. I pray you do not disturb me with empty hopes. Jailor, {enter ing.l The five minutes are up I tell you! The guard is coming. {Seizes Valerie by the arm.'] Laurette. Adieu then, and remember! Valerie. As long as memory shall endure! {Emerges into the corridor, closing door after Iv^y, and is led aicay loeeping, by the Jailor, k. d. Lafarge and Count de Mercienne enter l. d., hurriedly. Lajarge. Waste no time in asking questions Count de Mercienne! Your arrival in Paris is known, and the Countess Valerie St. Cyril who is confined within there, summons you to her rescue. Be Mercienne. I am here to obey her, citizen Lafarge. Lafarge. And I to show you how. The amnesty which is to be ex- tended to all prisoners to-morrow does not include the condemned of to-day. Unless she is rescued before noon, she or some one else must complete the number. De Mercienne. Your plan is for me to occupy the Countess Valerie's place in the cell, while you spirit her away? So be it. {xside.\ As well one time as another. The poor little girl I married will not break her heart to find herself my widow. Though doubtless, she is already dead. LA MARSEILLAISE. 33 Lafarge. Life, it would appear, is not worth much to you either. On the contrary, my design is to occupy the cell myself, while you spirit her away. Listen! Here is a passport permitting Jules Lafarge and his wife to take leave of certain friends of theirs, now lying under the displeasure of the Republic, in the Prison of La Force. Mme. Lafarge being a woman of weak nerves, faints on leaving these friends, and has to be carried into the fresh air, in her husband's arms. A fiacre at the door receives them — she is very ill — a doctor is required — they drive rapidly av/ay. When the twelve are summoned, the tally is complete^ but by whom, no one observes, since the accuser of the twelfth — the man Duchard — went raving crazy from a fright he received yesterday, jumped into the Seine, and is consequently unable to identify his victim to-day. Should, however, the mistake be discovered, the fugi- tive and her husband are already beyond pursuit, and her substitute has only one head to lose. Hush! Not a word! Here is the key which admits me to her cell. Stand without while I enter, and the moment I place her in your arm, be off! Be Mercienne. Before you go, your hand, brave hero! If we meet no more — Lafarge. If we meet no more, when next you see your wife, De Mercienne, tell her (for we are old acquaintances) you also knew Lafarge, and called him— hero. [Enters cell, leaving door wide open. Laurette discovered on her knees within. Lafarge takes her in his arms, kisses her on forehead, then lays a handkerchief over her face. She str'uggles a moment, then gradually faints away. Lafarge carries her to Mil door.] Lafarge. Each for his own ! The priest for his religion — the noble for his king — the man of plots and intrigues for the woman he loves ! [Lays her in De M's arms. Tableau. Curtain falls.] ACT THIRD.— SCENE THIRD. A levee at the residence of the Count D'Artois in Cohlentz. Ladies a^id gentlemen in Court costume, promenading about. Soft music in the distance, as the curtain rises. Count D'Artois, leaning on the arm of Be Mercienne, advances gaily down the stage, bowing right and left, and occasionally kiss- ing his finger-tips to a lady. {The Count retains his plumed cap.) All bow and courtesy obsequiously in return.] D'Artois. Still that clouded look of care, my dear De Mercienne! Faith, for a prospective bridegroom, your aspect is the reverse of flat- tering. Were I the Countess Valerie, I should demand an explanation; in fact, as her cousin, I think it becomes my duty to do so. 34^ LAr-MA^iSEIL-LAISE. : De Mercienne. Your Royal Highness is at liberty to exact any explanation it is in my power to give. D'Artois. What an exasperating dog it is ! A year ago, vrnen the union of the houses of St. Cyril and De Mercienne was proposed, you exhibited a very becoming demeanor. In fact, if my memory serves, you were considered somewhat epris with the fair Valerie's dark eyes, and even went the length of requesting permission to paint her portrait, duly chaperoned, of course, and at conversational arms length. As a work of art, the portrait, I remember, was atrocious; but for a bit of gallantry, I considered it clever — very clever, indeed! Was there not something about initials and true lovers' knots in the corner — eh, you sly dog ? De Mercienne. Your Royal Highness' memory is correct, as usual. The portrait and the true lovers' knots still hang in my aunt's salon, at Plessy. I>ut — \sighs.'\ D'' Artois. "But" \imitating sigh'\ zSxax twice braving the fiends of the Revolution; after rescuing her from the guillotine, as you supposed — no fault of yours that you were tricked into carrying off the wrong woman, while Valerie arrived per dihgence a few days later; after a series of vicissitudes, in short, fit to rig out a three-volume novel, you return to find your inamorata still unwed — her family acquiescent — the lady herself not unapproachable — the documents ready to sign and seal — and all you have to say is — "But !" De Mercienne. Your Royal Highness omits one incident of the year D'' Artois. Your marriage a la Marseillaise ? By no means. That romantic bit of folly being over and done with, however, De Mercienne. Then you think the poor child really dead ? D' Artois. Undoubtedly. Did not the Countess Valerie bring you her parting message ? Had the guillotine relinquished its prey at the last moment, so remarkable an occurrence would have reached our cars, be sure. De Mercienne. Yes, undoubtedly, your Royal Highness is right. She is dead, and I am free, as you say, \Sighs.'\ D'' Artois. Another sigh! De Mercienne you are unendurable this evening. Go, pour your griefs into your aunt's bosom while I console the deserted Valerie. \^D' Artois retires to rear of stage and talks in animated pan- tomime loith the Countess Valerie. Mme. St. Evreinonde and De Mercienne promenade the stage.] Mme. St. Evrenionde. Is this alliance then so distasteful to you dear boy ? De Mercienne. Alas, dear aunt, Valerie is still beautiful, still charm- ing, but — it was a year ago I thought so. Do you remember my words at Plessy, "I speak not of love, that sacred emotion is yet to come.'^ Well Mtne. St. Evremonde. \\. has cov(\q\ [De M. doivs in acquiescence.^ But when, how, for whom ? LA MARSEILLAISE. 35 De Mercienne. It is a brief story, and I write myself fool when I tell it, but you are all the mother I have dear aunt, and you shall know. You have heard the history of my adventure in Paris ? How Lafarge procured a paper from Valerie summoning me to her rescue, and then, in some inexplicable spirit of self-devotion, substituting himself for the occupant of the condemned cell, placed an insensible woman in my arms, and bade me carry her off? Mme. St. EvTemoride. Yes, I know all that. Well ? De Mercienne. In the hurry and excitement of the moment I had no time to suspect an imposture. Her features were hidden, her figure slight; of course I supposed it Valerie. When we passed the barrier and the danger was fairly over, I called her name, thinking to reassure her; no response. I implored her to answer me; a sigh. Alarmed for the effect of the drug her heroic deliverer had used, I ventured to Hft her veil. A stranger lay in my arms! Mme. St. Evremonde. And it is this stranger ? De Mercienne. It is this stranger, dear aunt! ]^A pimsi.'\ Mme. St. Evremonde. Her name; her condition ? De Mercienne. I know neither, for she utterly refused them both. That she is gentle-born, I am sure, though she speaks with a Provincial accent. But so wisely, so sweetly, with shy, downcast glances out of her soft, brown eyes. Do you know, dear aunt, it is a silly fancy, but she recalled, so nehow, the poor child I married that night, — as she would look I mean, grown into a woman. Was she pretty, that child ? I only remember she had wistful eyes, and a braid of yellow hair down her back. Mme. St. Evremonde \drily.'\ Oh, yes ! Laurette was considered pretty. But this sti anger who reminds you of her, she is slight you say? Blonde, with brown eyes ? An. unusual combination. I should like to see her. De Mercienne. She is in Coblentz, where else could I bring her as she had no friends and her father was lately dead, she told me ? In fact, under this very roof, in charge of the mistress of the maids. Alme. St. Evremoftde. Your description excites my interest. I'll seek an interview with this fascinating unknown. Remain you here. [Hurrying off?'] My limbs tremble beneath me; is it Laurette re- turned to life! \Exit B. D. Count D^Ariois advances down the centre lead- iny Valerie by the hand. ^ D'Ariois. My sweetest cousin you are delicious to night. Positive- ly your lips grow redder, and your eyes brighter, and your smile saucier every hour you hve. Valerie. So much for being heart-whole your Royal Highness. D'Artois. That's bad news for somebody, my fair cousin. Come here, De Mercienne, this lady is talking treason. [De M. Joins them.'] The Countess Valerie says she is heart-whole. Valerie. And why not, your Royal Highness ? D'Artois. Why not? De Mercienne, she asks why not? [Aside^ punching him in the ribs.] Good heavens man, speak up. You do not expect me to do your courting for you ? $6 LA MARSEILLAISE. I?e Mercienne. As mademoiselle says, it is an enviable condition. D' Artois,\rnbbing his hands. '\ That's it! To be heart-whole is to be envied. You are not heart-whole, therefore the Countess must take pity on you. Very neatly put. \_Asid^.^ Speak up again man! \^An embarrassed paiise.'\ You see he is too overcome to express himself, Valerie. I find myself de trop. Adieu, mon cher, pray do not fail to ex- plain to her why not. [Walks off laughing. They stand embarrassed.^ Valerie. Is it not time to put an end to this farce, Monsieur le Comte? De Mercienne. This farce, Mdlle la Comtesse ? Valerie. This farce, which they would like to convert into a tragedy. A year ago our marriage might have been — to-day it is impossible. In that gloomy prison, yonder — with that pale heroic girl to teach me — think you I learned nothing ? Where my hand goes, my heart must follow, also, Monsieur ! I pray you to release the one, since you have not cared to win the other. De Mercienne. Mademoiselle, if I have been so unfortunate, it is because Destiny has been too strong for me. [Mme. St. E. and Laurette enter unobserved. R. H,] Valerit. You love then another ? De Mercienne. If to have constantly before one's mind the vision of a flu.^hing cheek and shyly, down-cast eyes — to hear but one sweet voice, low-toned and tremulous — if to dream by night and long by day, be loving, then mademoiselle is right — I love another! Valerie. But she is dead ? De Mercienne. Nay, the poor young girl who bore my name is dead, but she I love — Mrne. St. Evremonde, Is here! \^presenting Laurette.'\ My boy, I return the charge you confided to me. De Mercienne. The companion of my journey! What does this mean — who is this ? There are things one dares not believe ! Laurette. Believe them, nevertheless, Monsieur. The woman wiiom you saved from disgrace and death, whom you rescued from the guillotine, returns to claim the fidelity you pledged her, and tell you she has been true to her trust. De Mercienne. My wife! {^Embraces her.} And you have learned to love me, little one ? Laurette. Am I not here in your arms ? De Mercienne. Yet why so cruel during the long weeks we jour- neyed together, that might have been so happy ? A dozen times I sought to know your name. Laurette. But the first word I heard from your lips, when I recov- ered consciousness, was "Valerie!" How could I bring myself to tell you that instead of the woman you loved, you had only rescued a life-long impediment to your happiness. LA MARSEILLAISE. 37 De Mercientie. But you know all now ? Laurette. Yes, the dear aunt has explained all. Only tell me one thing — Lafarge ? De Mercienne. There were twelve condemned to the guillotine that day my child, and twelve suffered. Ask no more! Laurette. Who am I to have won such love as that! Valerie. Say rather, what is death since love can conquer it! UArtois, {advancing into the centre of the group.'] Away with such grave topics on a night like this ! Strike up the Marseillaise. We'll change the hymn of death into a marriage pean, prophetic of the day when Liberty and Peace clasp hands, and Fi-ance shall bless her re- united children! I Courtiers gather round. Tableau. Curtain falls, to a chorus of the Marseillaise. ] THE END. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS II! mil mil mil mil I