655 
 
 ZaYT' 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 P 6 b 3 " 
 Chap.____.._ Copyright No... 
 .Z SK7 7 
 Shelf. 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
«' «■ 
 
 [»r •* 
 
 ATALEOFTHE 
 
 3*/ 
 
 IN FOUR ACTS. 
 
 ■BY- 
 
 Bi. ■'^ 
 
 W% ^©WM^t 
 
 NOTE, 
 
 This work is printed solely for the author's private use. 
 Under the legal decisions which establish that such print- 
 ing does not constitute publication, all rights are strictly 
 reserved, and any infringment upon title, dialogue, or sit- 
 uations will be prosecuted to the extent of the law. 
 
 iSiiff^' 
 
 XENIA, OHIO. 
 
 PLTBLISIIED BY THE NONPAREIL PRINTING CO. 
 
 1877. 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Office of the Li))ravian 
 of Congress, in the year 1877, by W. W.Young. 
 
^b';^\<\ 
 
 SCENE: 
 Paris and Vicinage. 
 
 A 
 
 TIME: 
 
 The First Empire. 
 
 CHARACTERS : 
 
 Tristan, 
 -So}i and Heir of the Marquh de Gros CaiUon- 
 
 T[ie Baron Gerome, 
 
 Beaujolais, 
 
 CiNQEOIL, 
 
 Narcisse, 
 Anatole, 
 Mercure, 
 
 Cheron, 
 
 Joseph, 
 Maitre De Ballet, 
 
 Helene, 
 Margot, 
 Celeste, 
 Madelon, 
 Coralie. 
 
 TMP92-007599 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 The Foyer of the Dance. 
 
 Scene. — The dancers foyer of the Opera, undertime first Empire. For 
 plan and details see accompanying drawing. 
 
 Makgot, a coryphee, discovered, completing a ''pas", in the centre of 
 a group of figurantes. Madelon, Coralie, Celeste, and other cory- 
 phees and figurayites, r. and l., in conversation with Cinqfoh^, Nar- 
 cisse, Anatole, and other gentlemen. Cinqfoil a,nd Narcisse at 
 table R. F., Anatole, l. The ladies all in the costume of the ballet, 
 garbed to represent Bacchantes. The gentlemen in the fashionable even- 
 ing dress of the period. 
 
 At curtain, all eyes are fixed upon Margot. The fig urantei^ form 
 picture of which she is the centre. The gentlemen applaud vigorously. 
 
 All. Brava ! Brava ! Encore ! 
 
 Margot. \_Imposing silen^e.^ My children ! St! Do you wish 
 to "call out" the Director? \_JDrapps herself iu cloak which has been 
 thrown across back of cJmir, R.] 
 
 Cinqfoil. Terpsichore in person, newly descended from t'.ie blue 
 empyrean ! Poetry in motion ! 
 
 Margot. Ah, Monsieur Cinqfoil, so you are good euouLdi to 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 4 
 
 say ! But wait till Mademoiselle begins her step. For me a com- 
 pliment, behind the scenes — for her, an ovation, yonder! For me 
 a line in to-morrow's Feuilleton — for her a column ! And what 
 says the critic— Cinqfoil I hate her! 
 
 CiNQFOiL. That I can well believe. 
 
 Margot. And you ? 
 
 Cinqfoil. Oh — I — Mademoiselle— But would that I were critic 
 of the Feuilleton ! Then you should see. For instead of filling 
 my columns with silly comments on her dancing, I should publish 
 heV biography ! And I should come to you for my information. 
 
 Margot. [Clapping her hands.'] You shall have it now ! 
 
 Cinqfoil. Ag^reed ! 
 
 Anatole. Brava, again ! 
 
 Cinqfoil. The full and only true account of her rise and pro- 
 gress. 
 
 Margot. True ! on the honor of — . 
 
 Cinqfoil. Her rival ! 
 
 Margot. Umph ! Her rival ! Karcisse, fill the glasses. [SeaU 
 herself — folds her arms.'] We shall just have time. 
 
 Anatole. A treat ! A treat ! A chapter of memoirs ! \_All 
 gather about to IMen.] 
 
 Cinqfoil. Now, gentlemen 
 
 Nrcisse. And if Mademoiselle is as clever with her tongue as 
 with her — heels. 
 
 Cinqfoil. But upon such a topic ! Order ! 
 
 Margot, It was thus. One day in the course of his after din- 
 ner promenade — how long ago, ask Mademoiselle -Monsieur the 
 Paron, who was always of a mousing turn of mind, discovered in the 
 Place du Chatelet, an imp — a creature ot the streets — spare, sallow, 
 sullen — who pirouetted on the slack-rope whilst her master, the 
 c( njuror, rested after swallowing his sword. Something about the 
 cl iid — what was it ? — who can account for the fancies of these 
 men ? — her great round eyes — her meagre limbs — her glare like that 
 ot a famished wuld beast — something engaged his eye. He said to 
 her, "Follow me ! You shall be greater than Camargo !" 
 
 Cinqfoil. And she followed ! 
 
 Margot Trust her for that ! She followed ! 
 
 Cinqfoil. Lucky fellow ! 
 
 >.] ARGOT. Who? The Baron? 
 
 Cinqfoil. Oh, no. Mademoiselle — but I ! 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. O 
 
 Margot. That it was not you she followed ! That, you may 
 say, my poor Cinqfoil ! For reflect upon the cost ! The music 
 teacher^ and the dancing miuster ! the professor of etiquette, and 
 the professor of languages ! the milliner ! the dress-maker ! the jew- 
 eller ! the maker of stays ! and the painter of faces ! Yes— and a 
 himdred yet to mention ! ISiuce all these go to the making of a 
 greater than Camargo ! And iinally, when these have done their 
 'f^est— and worst— when she can sing, when she can pound the keys, 
 when she can curtsy, when she can converse with a Minister of 
 State, when she can repeat the creed in Latin, when she can even 
 (lance — after a fashion — Monsieur announces to the world : ''Be- 
 hold, a prodigy!" 
 
 Narcisse. And what does the world reply ? 
 Margot. Stupid ! What should the world reply ? 
 Cinqfoil. Yes, stupid ! What should the world reply ? 
 Margot. As though that little matter were not all arranged ! 
 Cinqfoil. Why certainly ! Monsieur Narcisse, your innocence 
 astounds me. Listen ! The world replies ! 
 
 [Long continued applause heard without Margot rises angerihj.'] 
 
 Enter Beaujolais, door "A." He claps his hands. 
 Beau. Encore ! Encore ! Come, ladies, where are your hands ? 
 I have observed this— when the boxes are most noisy, the foyer is 
 most silent— and vice verse How remarkable! Who can explain 
 it? Mademoiselle. [Bows to Margot ] 
 Margot, Well, blagueur, it is you again. 
 
 Beau. Like the inevitable pewter franc ! As you observe. 
 But to-night I have a good excuse ; since, though my name is not 
 Diogenes^ and I have loaned my lantern to the driver of the fiacre, 
 I positively seek an honest man. 
 
 Margot. What ! In the foyer of the dance ! 
 Beau. Mademoiselle is severe. If now I had said woman — 
 Cinqfoil. [Bising.~\ Well, Monsieur? 
 
 Margot, Cinqfoil, my friend, respect the cap and bells! I 
 present to you Monsieur Beaujolais, court-fool, and captain of 
 horse, who having failed as a soldier, fancies that he may now do 
 execution with his"^ wit— which, alas, is even rustier than his sword. 
 [Cinqfoil and Beau.tolais exchange bows,'] 
 
 Beau, You do me too much honor. Well just so ! .-\nd now 
 that the formalities, have been complied with, let the sport proceed ! 
 For I take it th;\t your occupation is to criticise the favorite. Now 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 6 
 
 I should be most happy to take part. Pray don't let the conversa- 
 tion flag on my account. If I can contribute anything, in the way 
 of personal anecdotes, or slanderous reminiscences, command me. 
 And I think I can. Indeed, did modesty permit I should feel 
 tempted to assert that you will find me quite an acquisition. For 
 see! I have come provided. [_Takes volume from his 2^ocket,~\ Should 
 the present phase of the subject be exhausted, I have here an ac- 
 count of her first appearance — 
 
 Maegot. No ? 
 
 Beau. Nearly three thousand years ago ! 
 - Margot. Save us ! She is even older than I thought. 
 
 Beau. A pocket edition, bound in calf; from samples furnished 
 by her admirers. 
 
 Margot. \_Embracing him,'] Jacques, I forgive you. 
 
 Beau. Shall we read a line ? 
 
 Margot. A line ! The entire volume if you like. 
 
 All, Hear ! hear ! 
 
 Beau. I regret that time will not permit. But you shall have 
 a taste of its quality ; and would that I could do the subject justice. 
 
 Margot. [^Seating herself.'] Silence! You, therQ ! Narcisse, 
 hold your tongue ! 
 
 Beau. With your very kind permission. Hem ! You will no- 
 tice that compared with modern journalism, the style is somewhat 
 overdone. [Beads.] 
 
 It so befell that once upon a time, 
 Before the shepherd Paris, as he roved— 
 
 Margot. Stuflf! It is poetry ! 
 
 Beau. Madamoiselle it was the fashion in that day. [Beads.] 
 
 It so befell that once upon a time, 
 Before the shepherd Paris, as he roved, 
 Guarding his flocks, upon aslope of Ida, 
 There came three Queens from Heaven, to contest 
 The palm of man's approval, and they spake: 
 "Which of us three is fairest—which best worth 
 The winning ? Choose— and as thy choice shall fall 
 Bestow the prize." Then in his hand they placed 
 The apple of red gold, which Eris cast 
 Upon the banquet table of the Gods. 
 
 And fi-st, the roj^al Hera, spouse of Jove, 
 Preferred her suit : "O, Paris, hear me well ! 
 Lo this fair apple is thy golden youth, 
 Which, so thou barter wisely, wins for thee 
 A seat upon Olympus — but he warned— 
 Once, and once only, shalt thou name thy choice, 
 And then keep silence. I am Hera— I— 
 
JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 
 
 .\nd, with this gift of gifts, I make thee mine !" 
 She ceased, and flashed before his dazzled siglit, 
 A naked sword, and on the blade was writ 
 "Power!"— But Paris mused a little space, 
 And turned aside, and answered, "Let me hear.'' 
 
 Then spake the second, hollow eyed, and pale. 
 With sad, stern voice : "I am Athena— I ! 
 And these my attributes among the Gods — 
 Knowledge, self- wisdom, virtue, self-control ! 
 Short is my wooing. Wilt thou reign with me? 
 Take up tliy scepter !" At his feet she cast 
 A reed, in fashion like a poet's pen. 
 And on the shaft, graven in lines of fire, 
 A word of rapture, "Fame." But Paris mused. 
 And turned aside, and answered : "Let me hear !" 
 
 Then third, the last, and fairest yet of all. 
 The subtle Aphrodite, ocean-born, 
 Arose, and stood, a flower amid the flowers. 
 No word she spake, but waved her hand, and, lo ! 
 Half-clad, at some fair vintage festival, 
 And leered upon by satyrs of the wood. 
 Through the mad measures of the Bacchic dance. 
 The Grecian Helen floated like a dream- 
 Fairer th5,n sin— her hair unbound— her eyes 
 Sultry with lightnings, and her lips apart. 
 As one who murmurs: "Follow ! follow ! follow !" 
 And ever onward— "Follow !" fainter still, 
 Still farther, lainter, till the vision paled. 
 And left him straining after, hands and eyes. 
 
 Margot. 
 Beau. - 
 
 • Then, through the silence, throbbed a tender voice 
 'Behold my gift !" 
 
 And Paris said "i choose !" 
 
 Bravo Paris ! 
 
 And Paris said I choose- 
 Yea, with a mighty, passionate, strong cry— 
 "Sweet are the dreams of power — sweet is fame- 
 But sweeter yet, than all sweet things that be, 
 Whether on earth, in heaven, sea, or air, 
 O, Love, take thou my youth !"— And thereupon— 
 
 Margot. \_Snatching the volume,'] 
 
 O, Love ! take thou my youth ! And thereupon— 
 
 Beau. But I have not yet finished. 
 
 Margot. Bah ! What need to finish ! Who could not guess 
 the rest ? Forever the stale old story — slander ! abuse of woman ! 
 Come ! It is a fable, as musty as a skull from the catacombs, but 
 what does it teach ? And he that cannot furnish a moral, shall pay 
 for the supper after the ballet. 
 
 CiNQFOiL. It is a contract! 
 
 Margot. Cinqfoil, you have the preference. 
 
JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 8 
 
 CiNQFOiL. Crystal could not be clearer ! This fable is simply 
 intended to remind us that since time began, whenever the devil 
 particularly wishes to tempt man, he takes the form of — \_Rising.^ 
 
 Margot. What? Coxcomb! 
 
 CiNQFOiL. \_Pirouetting with lifted arms.'] A lovely woman 
 floating through the dance ! 
 
 Margot. Let the undertaker be notified. Cinqfoil has per- 
 petrated a bon-mot. 
 
 Beau. [To Cinqfoil.'] Be encouraged. It is a sign of conva- 
 lescence. 
 
 Margot, Next ! Come, Sir Oracle ! 
 
 Beau. But really. Mademoiselle — 
 
 Margot. Then you will pay the forfeit. 
 
 Beau. Not while philosophy is cheaper than champagne. Let 
 us say then : — this fable is intended to remind us, that whereas Lu- 
 cifer tempted Eve, with the apple of knowledge, it has become nec- 
 essary to offer to her daughters, apples of gold ! 
 
 Margot. Slanderers all ! Now will you hear the truth ! This 
 fable is simply intended to remind us that as it is, and as it has been, 
 so it shall ever be ! let sages frown, and poets sneer and slander, 
 love is yet stronger than the sword, and greater than the pen ! 
 
 Beau, Alas! 
 
 Cinqfoil, Narcisse, and Anatole. [^Together.] Hear! Hear! 
 
 Margot. O warrior ! O poet ! Go, fight your battles — write 
 your .sonnets — struggle, and toil, and hope ! — and burn and freeze, 
 and starve ! — and, at last, when the victory is won, come ! lay your 
 laurels at my feet ; and I will — love you ! 
 
 Beau. For thirty days ! 
 
 Cinqfoil. Without grace. Hear ! Hear ! Hear ! 
 Enter Baron Gerome, door "a." 
 
 Margot. As behold ! by way of illustration ! \_Points to Ge- 
 rome.] 
 
 Beau. What an admirable illustration ! 
 
 Margot. Here is Monsieur, the Baron. The ribbons of a doz- 
 en orders decorate his breast , the twinge of age is in his bones — and 
 a nosegay in his button-hole. 
 
 Gerome. ]Bow{ng.] Yes, yes, yes ! Ladies, your most obedi- 
 ent ! Gentlemen, I trust I don't intrude. 
 
 Margot. This way, please. You are wanted. 
 
 Gerome. Ah ? In what capacity ? 
 
JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 9 
 
 Beau. By way of illustration, 
 
 Gerome, Charmed, I'm sure. \_Advanees c. f. to Margot.] 
 
 Margot. Monsieur, do you wish to know the future ? Give 
 me your hand. I am the seventh daughter of a seventh son. 
 
 Gerome. Pardon ! Will not the heart do as well ? 
 
 Margot. But if I were a dealer in preserved meats — 
 
 Gerome, Yes ! Oh, yes ! 
 
 Margot. \_In§2)ecting his pahn.'] Oh, fie ! Monsieur ! so old, 
 and yet so gallant ! 
 
 Gerome. Old ! — Mordieu ! 
 
 Margot. But the artist who painted your face, forgot your 
 palm. Heaven preserve us ! Can you bear the worst ? 
 
 Gerome. The very worst. 
 
 Margot, Prepare yourself. Alas, I spy a fatal influence cross 
 •ing your line of love. 
 
 Gerome. Dear ! dear ! You quite alarm me. 
 
 Margot. Have a care Monsieur ! 
 
 Gerome. In plainer terms. 
 
 Margot. [J?i stage whisper,'] A rival ! 
 
 Gerome. Ah ! I breathe again, 
 
 Margot, You smile ! 
 
 Gerome. But when you tell me something so amusing — \_Snuf- 
 box in hand. 
 
 Margot, Oh yes, smile ! No doubt ! You think youself in- 
 vulnerable, but beware ! Youth, and a pretty face ! These are ad- 
 vantages not to be despised. Do you wish to know the rest? [J?i- 
 climng her month to his ear. She will meet him here, to-night, at the 
 close of the dance. It is a rendezvous. Prove if my words be not 
 true, A hint to the w^ise — 
 
 Beau. [Crossing, and taking snuff-box from Gerome.'] Stay ! I 
 too have a li'ttle skill in divination. Piirdon the impertinence ! 
 
 Gerome. Monsieur ! 
 
 Beau. Croesus of Athens ! Let no one boast of luxury, till he 
 has taken snuff from a golden box ! See, ladies ! a crest in bril- 
 liants ! [^S/m/^.] Yes, I too have a little skill in divination, and 
 I say to you : Though your palm be wrinkled, and your back be 
 bowed, and your teeth as false as your smile — fear nothing ! Your 
 snuff-box lid is a ticket to Mahonet's paradise. \_Retimis box, which 
 Gerome takes angrily.] 
 
 Gerome. Bah ! [General laughter.] 
 
JUDGMENT OF PARIS, 10 
 
 Enter, Maitre de Ballet, door *'A." 
 
 Maitre DE Ballet. Ladies — the finale! [Exit.'] 
 
 CiNQFOiL. \_Rising.'\ Forward all ! [^A general confusioyi ensues. 
 The ladies wearing wrajjs, remove them and entrust them to their gentle- 
 men attendants.^ 
 
 Margot, La ! la ! la ! — la ! la ! Cinq foil ! My ftiu ! my wrap ! 
 my vinaigrette ! 
 
 CiNQFOiL. Gentlemen of the baggage train ! Attention ! [Tak- 
 ing the articles she hands him.^ 
 
 Margot. And don't forget — [Giving bouquet.'] when the proper 
 time arrives — 
 
 CiNQFOiL. And the proper person — [Margot strikes his cheek] 
 Trust me ! Where is Monsieur, the Director ? I demand my sal- 
 ary. La! la! la! — la! la! [Dancing, hk arm about Margot' sivaist.'] 
 
 Margot. Bye, bye, Baron ! This, to sweeten my prophecy ! 
 [Kisses her hand to Gerome ] 
 
 CiNQFOiL. [Catching her hand.] Excuse me ! After me. Mon- 
 sieur. [Attempts to kiss Margot ivho strikes him and runs out. door "A."] 
 
 CiNQFOiL. [Eolloiving.] La! la! la! — la! la! 
 Exeunt all but Gerome a7id Beaujolais — Cinqfoil being the last to 
 
 Beau. [Approaching Gerome.] Monsieur, even those who 
 know each other best, and therefore — as it sometimes happens — 
 love each other least, can afford to be polite. Shall we too, be 
 spectators from the wings ? 
 
 Gerome. Thanks ! I prefer not. . 
 
 Beau. Please yourself. 
 
 Gerome. I will. 
 
 Exit Beaujolais, door "a." 
 
 Gerome, Jackanapes ! Time was when clowns who jested 
 with their betters had their wits tickled at the tail of a cart. 
 But we have changed all that ! Oh, yes, Mordieu ! And in an- 
 other generation, if we are lucky, a man shall be accounted as good 
 as his tradesman — provided he have the money — and brains ! I 
 shall live to see it. Bnt be consoled, Gerome. Though the King 
 go a-begging, and the Queen a-borrowing, once a gentleman is al- 
 ways a gentleman ! Yes, yes, Mordieu ! they cannot rob us of that. 
 So ! It is true then — my lady has been making eyes. I half sus- 
 pected it. She begins to appreciate her worth ; her greatness 
 weighs upju her ! She wishes to test the practical value of her 
 
JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 11 
 
 charms. What a marvellous elixir is success ! — "She will meet 
 him — here — to-night — at the close of the dance !" Exactly so ! 
 Yes, yes ; so blows the wind ! I guessed as much. For it is sure 
 that I have observed of late, a something new — a certain sparkle of the 
 eye — a carriage of the body — a double significance of speech, which 
 — Well, well, well ! So much the better. Yes, so much the better, 
 on my proper life ! The prize that is too willing is but half a prize ! 
 To possess an article which no one else desires — that is becoming a 
 stale sensation. "She will meet him !" — Whom? — But what does 
 it matter? She is a woman of good taste.— A happy thought, by 
 all the gods ! She shall have leave to try her glances, and let him 
 that is hit, cry '_peccam!" Should the sport become too serious, it 
 is but to whisper the charm that she understands, and at the worst I 
 shall have the excitement of a second conquest. Yes, a happy 
 thought ! But first — to fathom her exact designs ! To ascertain 
 the name, and quality of this particular unknown who does me the 
 honor to indorse my taste. And how to begin? — Yes! Happy 
 thought the second ! Coaxing ties a woman tongue — anger loosens 
 it. I will touch her with a hint — a gentle reminder of her obliga- 
 tions, and if there be a secret, it will out. \_Loud and long applause 
 henrd without.^ Hark ! This is the sound that feeds her vanity ! 
 She bids them good night, and how the rascals respond ! Will she 
 come this way ? But it is not her custom. The route to the dress- 
 ing-room does not lie through the foyer. Happy thought the third ! 
 If she come, my suspicions are confirmed. [^Ajyplause ivithoiit re- 
 sumed and continned till the entrance of Helene. Gerome goes up 
 stage and pjlaf^es himself R. of door "A. "J Mordieu.! Like Jove, she 
 rides upon the thunder ! 
 
 [Helene, in the garb of a Bacchante, her hair streaming, comes flying 
 through door "A," to c. F^ She pauses, and drops her face between her 
 
 extended arms. 
 
 Gerome. *[^Aj)plauding.^ Brava ! Bravissima ! The vixen 
 spoke the truth. \_Bowing with mock obsequiousness.'] Upon my life, 
 an unexpected pleasure! — to meet you, Mademoiselle, at this hour? 
 — in the foyer ? [Helene turns her head and regards kim,, remaining 
 motionless.] Ah, but doubtless the fatigue has been so great, and 
 the atmosphere of the dressing room so stifling — 
 
 Helene. Please do not waken me. 
 
 Gerome. You sleep, then ? 
 
 Helene. I have had a dream, Monsieur. 
 
JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 12 
 
 Gerome. \_Ruhhmg his ha7ids,'] A dream ! Come ! That is 
 good. And was I the hero ? 
 
 Helene, Yes. 
 
 Gerome. Come ! That is very good ! 
 
 Helene, For I dreamed, Monsieur, that I danced again, in the 
 Place du Chatelet. 
 
 Gerome. [J.si(ie.] Upon my life, she leads the way. 
 
 Helene. It Avas a wintry day ; the air was cold ; I shivered ; 
 but I danced — because I knew no other happiness. I starved, and 
 I forgot my hunger. I had wings. I thought to myself "I am 
 free ! I shall never return to earth !" — And then I looked below 
 me on the crowd — and there — 
 
 Gerome. Behold — your future benefactor ! [^Pointing to hwiself.'] 
 
 Helene. [^After pause — regarding /im.] What should a soul 
 be worth Monsieur ? 
 
 Gerome. A soul ! 
 
 Helene. Or do they quote that article upon the market? 
 Come — for I understand ! You think you have surprised me — in 
 an offense against your authority ! — that I have expected some one, 
 who has not arrived ! and have met wdth some one — who was not 
 expected ! You hold yourself my creditor ; and you do not pro- 
 pose that I should forget your claims.— Well ! let us make up our 
 accounts ! 
 
 Gerome. [^Recoiling.'] Mordieu ! 
 
 Helene. [Turns quickly, goes up stage, catches up a wrap of strip- 
 ed satm, from table l. , and returning, folds her arms, and stands before 
 Gerome.] Present to me the bill of my indebtedness! Item by 
 item, let us reckon up the ledger and declare the balance. 
 
 Gerome, Shades of my honorable ancestors I 
 
 Helene. You are a learned man, Monsieur. All that I know 
 is but a feather's weight in the scales, against your wisdom and 
 experience. Yet you have taught me something ; and I wish to 
 prove to you that your pains have not been wasted — that, at last, I 
 have learned to estimate your bounty, at its proper value. You 
 shall speak first — and I jjromise to be patient. Use your time. We 
 shall have no better opportunity. 
 
 Gerome. Well, well, well, well! But, upon my life, aflfairs 
 begin to take a novel turn This disarranges my programme. 
 Artful devil ! she has stolen my powder. 
 
 Helene. ^Impatiently.'] Please do not keep me waiting. Sure- 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 13 
 
 ly you have preserved a record of your charities. Or if not, can 
 you not, at least, remind me of the rags in which you found me — 
 the tattered skirt — the tarnished spangles — the cast-off finery of 
 some more fortunate waif, with its shreds and fringes fluttering in 
 the wiad ! You see, I have not forgotten. Can you not speak of 
 the wretched booth of the mountebank, with its swaying, weather- 
 beaten curtains — of the cart, with its cushion of straw — the pony, 
 with his harness of thongs — the dinner of crusts, and herbs ! Ah, 
 Saints of Grace ! the happy, happy days ! 
 
 Gerome. [Quickly.'] Mordieu! Perhaps you would like them 
 to return. 
 
 Helene. [Quickly in reply.'] And if I should, would you pro- 
 vide the way ? — Then, can you not call to my remembrance the 
 spell, which hai^ Allien on this poverty- a transformation, like a 
 wonder of enchcintment — which has made of the conjuror's cart, a 
 Cinderella's coach ; which has exchanged the beads, for brilliants ; 
 and the clatter of the sabots and the brutal laughter of the streets, 
 for the thunders of the Opera ! And for all this, thanks to you. 
 
 Gerome. Yes, yes — 
 
 Helene. Well, shouhj I not be grateful ? Should I not be 
 satisfied ? Even, if this were all ! The list is long ; the items are 
 many ; the sum is great. And yet the balance is against you ! 
 Yes, Monsieur, to complete an equal barter, there is something 
 lacking! something, without which I am still your creditor! You 
 lift your brows. You profess to wonder. Have you nothing more 
 to urge. But the student in the song, who sold direct to the Evil 
 One, received wealth praise — and honor ! Now either he was over- 
 paid, or I am robbed ! Will you make your title perfect ? Give 
 me a name! 
 , Gerome, Ho ! ho-o ! 
 
 IIelene. J. 7i.a?/ie, Monsieur ! — You will not! Then you con- 
 fess the cheat. And this, which you withhold, is. of all the list, 
 the only bribe of real value. You have duped me ! You have 
 played upon my ignorance ! You have imposed upon me, with a 
 worthless bargain — and I owe you nothing! [Tm-ns, and calls, 
 stamping ivith her foot.] Mercure ! Are you there ? 
 
 Gerome. [Quickly,] But one more word / I comprehend you 
 — yes, my dear Mademoiselle — I comprehend— but upon my life — 
 Give me one little moment, pray, to recover breath — to recall my 
 ?cattered faculties, that I may express to you the admiration — yes. 
 
JUDGMENT OF PARIS, 
 
 14 
 
 the awe — with which your genius overwhehns me. So, t7<is is the 
 scheme which your ambition thinks to compass/ Beautiful! Oh, 
 more than beautiful / Magnificent / Superb / But who would have 
 dreamed it — on my soul and body / Veritably, Mademoiselle, you 
 have danced us many a brilliant measure — yes, yes, yes — many a 
 startling tour de force — O, yes — but what a step is this which you 
 propose ! — "lo," then^yes "lo" my fair Bacchante! Let the music 
 sound I And as I am a Baron, and a gentleman, depend upon it — 
 should you win — you will find me first, as ever heretofore, -to cry 
 ''Bravissima!" 
 Enter Tristan, door "a." HejMuses, and regards Gerome menace 
 
 ingly. Gerome starts, and glances backward. 
 \_Aside.~\ So, so ! And this is the party who will pay the fiddler ! 
 Everything is clear. What an apropos arrival! [To Tristan,] 
 Monsieur are you sure of foot? Have you steady nerves, and an 
 ear for time, and a head that does not soon grow dizzy ? If so, be- 
 hold your golden opportunity ; for here is a lady who desires a 
 partner, in 2i'pas de deux ! 
 
 Helene. [To Tristan.] No! I forbid you to speak. 
 
 Gerome, Well, well, well ; we shall see. Mordieu ! Yes, we 
 shall see. 
 
 Retreats bowing. Exit door "A." 
 
 Tristan, [Looking after Gerome.] Who is it ? 
 
 Helene. Well — it i-i no one that you know. 
 
 Tristan. But one of v>diom I have heard ! — I do not like him. 
 — And why do you admit him to such familiarties, when you know 
 that already — But to be sure, it is no affair of mine. [Helene 
 smiles.^ Oh laugh, then, since you find it so amusing ! 
 
 Helene. Savage ! And if I choose to laugh ? Am I an- 
 swerable to you ? But perhaps you prefer that I should be sad 
 when you are near. Well, if that will please you — 
 
 Tristan. ''Please me !" But that Avhich pleases me is of little 
 consequence ; since you prefer the honeyed lies of flattery, to the 
 truth from the lips of a friend. And when did you ever listen to 
 a sober word ? If I were to tell you that you wrong yourself — 
 that you justify the worst reports of malice when you but lend an 
 ear to the whispers of such parasites — why you would answer with 
 a smile : Do you know his age ? Do you know his reputation 
 among men ? Do you know the list of his villanies ? Oh, I couhl 
 tell you — 
 
JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 1 5 
 
 Helene. But you need not. 
 
 Tristan. No, since tliat might rob you of your last excuse — 
 the excuse of ignorance. 
 
 Helene. I know that you are jealous — very jealous — and with- 
 out a reason. I know that you are angry — very angry — and with- 
 out a cause. And let us reflect, Monsieur. You reproach me that 
 I listen to the "honeyed lies of flattery," and close my ears to the 
 "truth from the lips of a friend." But who is to teach me to dis- 
 tinguish, which is flatterer, and which is friend? Am I to know 
 them by their pretty speeches? But this one says : "You are 
 beautiful, Mademoiselle." Is this a "lie ?" AnothtT says : "My 
 dear Mademoiselle, you dance divinely!" — Well, is this a "lie ?" 
 But the third one says: "These otliers are but parasites ; you 
 must not believe them !" He warns me to distrust their praises. 
 He tells me that the air I breathe is foul, and reeking with poison ; 
 that this very rapture of applause, without which I have yiothing, 
 is an empty sound. He asks me to surrender all my joys, all my 
 triumphs — in return for what ? 
 
 Tristan. Well, in return for what ? 
 
 Helene. But you should know. 
 
 Tristan. Since I am the third ! 
 
 Helene. Yes— if you recognize the portrait. 
 
 Tristan. Let me hear. 
 
 Helene. In return. Monsieur, for that tvhicJi is not his to give, 
 Now whose offence is greatest ? 
 
 Tristan. Then I can give you but one more pledge. For I 
 guess your thoughts. I can give you but one more guaranty. 
 ]^Tahes miniature from his locket.'] See! In his name — yes in the 
 name of the ogre whom you dread, and whose consent assures our 
 happiness, I here renew my solemn obligation. I renew it, and I 
 claim you — yes, I cla/im. you. Mademoiselle — from this life, which 
 like a burning fever consumes your blood — from the glare of these 
 hateful lamps, which expose you to the eyes of lust, and insult ; I 
 claim you, for the love, the honor, the protection of a home ! And 
 now should you yet refuse to believe, it is because you will not.be 
 convinced. 
 
 Helene. [^TaJdng m.inidtnir.'] Your father? 
 
 Tristan. [Looking assent.~\ Others preserve the image of a 
 mother ; but to me there is no such being even in rememl^raj.ce — 
 for tlie date of my biith, is the date upon her tomb. Ami not well 
 
JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 16 
 
 named "Tristan ?" — "sorrowful year !" And yet, my loss has doubt 
 less been my gain, since it has given me, instead, this friend, the 
 first, the best of mortals! 
 
 Helene. \_Gla}ir,mg aside from the portrait, which she inspects cu- 
 riomly.'] Ah, Monsieur ! 
 
 Tristan. \_Kissing her hand.'] Save one ! — From the first dawn 
 of memory, I can recall but this one face, above my cradle. The 
 guardian of my infancy, it became the playmate of my childhood ; 
 in later years, my confidant, my brother. — In all our lives, we 
 have known but a single cause of difference, I was a pupil at St. 
 Cyr. I had my plans ; they were wild perhaps ; when was it other- 
 wise with the plans of youth ? But he, a simple hermit, buried 
 in the contemplation of a grief which he perpetually renews, and 
 shunning the society of men, how could he sympathize with my 
 ambition ? His love took fi»ight. He feared a separation. It was 
 not that his arguments were so convincing, but how could I resist 
 the pleadings of this pale, sad face? At length it is all arranged. 
 For a year I am free — if I choose. Then I am to return to Gros 
 Caillou. I am to live as my fathers lived, I am to read in the 
 hall of the old Chateau ; I am to hunt in its forests. I am to hold 
 my petty courts. I am to collect my rents. I am to die, as my 
 fathers died — and be buried. 
 
 Helene. You need not tell me more. 
 
 Tristan, [Co}itinuing, quickly.] And can you doubt that when 
 I retui-n to him for whom I have made this sacrifice — when I say 
 to him :"See, I do not even claim my year, lam content. I have 
 come — never again to leave you. But as you loved her, whose 
 loss you still deplore, so I, too, love ! — one who * is as pure — as 
 beautiful — who will wear her honors, just as worthily — whose smile 
 will again bring sunshine to these gloomy walls" — when I tell him 
 this, and more — when I say to him; "Refuse me this, and you lose 
 at once a daughter, and a son !" — do you not see that he will not, can- 
 not, dare not refuse ! 
 
 Helene. I see that he is a rival too dangerous for Helene ] 
 And an-wer me this — Why, do you not warn me with every word, 
 that your plans are desperate — are hopeless ! You ask me to be- 
 lieve that he loves you with a love so true, that it will conquer even 
 his jealousy — that he will consent to resign you to another — is not 
 this your plea ? — with a love so tender, so devoted, that, for your 
 sake, he will forgive me even my humble birth — is not this your 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 17 
 
 plea? Well, if I grant all this ! And heaven knows — how should 
 I judge of the strength of a father's love ! But if this be true — 
 confess — is it not also true, that something remains untold ? Is it 
 not true, that hermit though he be, the voice of slander has already 
 found him out? — that in his letters, which you guard from me, he 
 charges me with a crime for which there is 7io forgiveness ? You 
 cannot deny it ! It is true ! And why then do you mock me with 
 a })romise which can never be fulfilled ? Consider well ! Do you 
 know to whom you speak ? To one wdiose name is a bubble to be 
 blown about, by every drunken breath ! And who will be my 
 surety ? Who will go upon my bond ? 
 
 Tristan, I, Mademoiselle — 
 
 liELENE. Ah, you, indeed ! 
 
 Tristan. Yes, I will become your surety — I, who know your 
 purity, your innocence- 
 
 Helene. \_Placing her hand upon his mouth.^ I warn you do not 
 tempt me ! Here I am secure. At least I feel the eartH beneath 
 my feet. But yonder all is shadowy, uncertain. I do not under- 
 stand tlie weapons, with which great folks war ; and should I listen 
 — should I permit myself to be deceived — I should but involve you 
 in the ruin which must overtake me. You see, I can be just. If 
 half the evil, that they speak of me were true, I might break your 
 heart. But I will not. It is for his sake that I say to you, go — 
 forget me ! \_Returmng portrait.^ 
 
 Tristan. Then Mudemoiselle, you reject me ? 
 
 Helene. Ah, just heaven, hear him ! 
 
 Tristan. Give me my answer ! [Helene lifts her brows arid 
 surveys him ivith a look half-astonished, half-indignant. 'I^istan re- 
 sumes moodily. ~\ I know that I am a savage — that I bring to your 
 grand salons, the air, the manners of the woods. I speak of my- 
 self and my affairs, and that is not polite. But at least I offer you 
 that w^hich the proudest lady in France, need not disdain to accept ; 
 and do not think to keep me, like a puppet, dangling, for the amuse- 
 ment of your fashionable friends. To-night — this very night I will 
 know' tlie best, or worst. 
 
 Helene. M^^dman ! What evil fate provokes you ? And you 
 m^r^oi be refused? You tempt me ? You defy me? — If r.ov*- I 
 were to take you at your woi-d ! Wiiat will you do for me ? Come ! 
 You promise me your father's blessing. Well I do not trust you. 
 Give me leave to win it. 
 
JUDGMENT OF PARIS. . 18 
 
 Tristan. You Mademoiselle .' 
 
 Helene And why not, pray ? Am I not the one accused ? 
 And who shall plead my cause if not myself? Remember it is but 
 a possibility — a chance — but if there could be found a way — 
 
 Tristan. But I shall know — 
 
 Helene. Silly boy ! And you fimcy that I will confide our 
 only remaining hope, to your chunsy wits? You shall know noth- 
 ing ! And this shall be the proof of your love — you shall promise 
 to trust me blindly, and without a question — to asli me nothing — to 
 suspect nothing ! To the next message which arrives from Gros 
 Caillou, you shall return no answer ; no, nor yet to the next. To 
 sum up all, you shall be sileiit, till I give you leave to speak — 
 
 Tristan. And then? 
 
 Helene. And then. Monsieur, we' will speak of what comes 
 after. — But you refuse ! 
 
 Tristan. No — I consent! 
 
 Enter Beaujolais, door "a." 
 
 Helene, Ah, Saints of Grace ! But you must swear it ! 
 
 Tristan. Hear me then — 
 
 Beau. Swear not at all ! 
 
 Triltan, Jacques ! 
 
 Beau. Faith, you may well cry "Jacques!" But he that ar- 
 rives in time, is n<jt too late. And see, I have my eye upon you, 
 laggard / The dances are danced ; the lights are out ; the curtain 
 has fallen ; the hurly-burly is over and done. The nymphs are but 
 mortals ; the fiiirest vale of Greece, is a wilderness of painted can- 
 vas — and the coachman waits, at forty soi/s, the hour! But, ah, 
 you have an adieu to make ! Permit me ! \_Salutlng Helene.] 
 Mademoiselle, I tender my excuses. One month ago this truant 
 knocked at my door. — "Do you not know^ me? It is I — Tristan — 
 the comrade of your youth ! Embrace me for I have come to ex- 
 plore the wo'.'ld. Behold me set forth upon my travels, and I choose 
 you as my guide !" — Ah, luckless choice! [To Tristan, h'/^o en- 
 deavors to inter ruj)t.^ Have patience ! — But how could I decline? 
 For it is true — we have eaten the black bread together — we have 
 called each other "comrade," And, O, it would astonish you to 
 know how learned he is — in the wisdom of boohs ! But in the world, 
 Mademoiselle, — in the great w^orld, in which we find ourselves, it 
 is I who am the accomplished scholar ; while he, alas, is but a sorry 
 dunce ! You observe then — I but repay a debt. As he once solv- 
 
JUDGMENT OF PARIS, 19 
 
 ed my Euclid, aud construed my Greek, to day, I solve for him, 
 the mystery of rosy lips, and translate the language of bright eyes. 
 Come ! \_His hand on Tristan's ann.^ 
 
 Helene. \^Aside to Tristan.] i\W', if you love me! 
 
 Tristan. Yes! Hands off ! [Disengaging himself from B'EAV- 
 jOLAis' grifsp.^ 
 
 Beau. O, idiot! 
 
 Tristan. Who then are you, that you presume to play the 
 ancient cynie, and dispense the light of reason ? And is, to be in- 
 solent, a part of the character which you assume? But I release 
 you from a duty which is self-imposed. Salute, Monsieur, the lady 
 whom I choose to make my wife ! 
 
 Beau. \_Eecoiling, hot in hand.^ Your wife ! 
 
 Helene. [Haughtily, to Beaujolais, sweeping past him and 
 laying her hand on Tristan's arm.~\ Monsieur ! 
 
 Beau. [With low obeisance.^ Your ladyship's most humble 
 servant ! 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 ' ACT H. 
 
 I 
 
 IIelene. 
 
 Scene, — .4 boudoir, swnptously furnislied. Pier-glass, L. F. Glass 
 door^. F., marked ''B." in plan. Divans, rugs of tiger skin, etc. A 
 cockatoo, on gilt perch, c. For farther details see accompanying draiv- 
 I ^ng. 
 
 Stage discovered ivaiting, at curtain. Enter MbIjB^e, door ' c." 
 
 j Helene. [Pausing on threshold.^ Mercure ! Did not some one 
 knock? [Glances at cloGk.~\ But it is not his hour. — How my 
 heart beats ! Yet if he should fail me ! [Hurries to window, up c] 
 Fail me ! He dare not ! No, he dare not! [Omiing doivn, facing 
 pier-glass.'] Is it not so my sister! Ah, 7non Dieu, how pale! 
 ! [Surveying her reflection in mirror.] Ho ! ho ! x\nd yet it must be 
 I confessed, you are not ill-looking. No ! And how can one mis- 
 take the air, the carriage of the "grand world ?" Madame, I make 
 
JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 20 
 
 you welcome. So — you have come at last ! You have ventured 
 to pay your addresses. You are proud— but your jealousy is strong- 
 er than your pride. You have lost, perhaps the heart of a husband 
 
 a lover — and you think to find it here. AVell ! Look about you. 
 
 Here I am at home. And, after all, you see, ray nails are not 
 claws ! I am but a woman ! And what more are you ? Have I 
 not eyes, and ears, and hands — even as you have ? Can I not see, 
 and hear, and feel? Has not God made us, of one dnst? Why 
 then, when you pass me on the pavement, do you draw your robes 
 aside? Is it that men ?peak ill of me ? But is your name safe 
 from slander? Do they not say that you are cold— that you are 
 cruel !— that you are bought and sold, in the marriage market! — 
 that you give" to one, yom^ hand, and to another, your lips ! And 
 is it true? But it is not I that accuse you, — Or is it that you are 
 wiser than I? But what do you know ? Madame, at night, w^hen 
 the music sobs — when the foot-lights tremble — when you stare from 
 your cushioned box -what is it that you see? What is it that you 
 hear?— The winds that blow? The waters that run— and swirl — 
 and dance— and sparkle? The shouts and cries of the good and 
 evil spirits, that conterid together in the air ? Bah / You hear 
 but tne scraping of the violins, and you say , "How pretty !" [Im- 
 itating the fashionable applause.'] And yet it is for you, that God has 
 made the world so beautiful /^ For you, the priest prays— for you 
 masses are sung — wdiile I — [Turns suddenly, and addresses bird,'] 
 See, poor Turloutou, here are two red cherries from the garden ! 
 And that will please you — that will make you happy. Tell me 
 then! Will he come? Shall I lose? Shall I win ? But what 
 care you? Poor slave ! You eat, you drink, you sleep ; and you 
 are content. And do you never feel your chains — you that have 
 once been free ! Do you never dream of the lakes, the forests, the 
 mountains ? But if I w^ere you, I'd gnaw, and gnaw, and gnaw — 
 
 Enter Mercure, door "a.," with letter on salver. 
 A letter ! Give it me ! Who brought it ? 
 
 Mercure. a gentleman, who waits. 
 
 Helene. Let him come in. [iiJ.r/f Mercure.] I scarcely dare 
 to read. [Opens letter — reads.] "My only love-" Fie! Why 
 could he not have said ; "Madnnie la Marquise!" But that will 
 come in time. [Reads.] 
 
 "My only love- 
 Last night I supped at the "Cordon Bleu"— From 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 21 
 
 women to wine! Yes that is the way with men— "At the table 
 near, sat one who shall be nameless" — Ah ! — ' 'He was not alone, and 
 his tongue was free. Shall I repeat to you his words? lam mad ; 
 I am jealous. Tell me when I mav come to you. 
 
 Tristan." 
 Enter Beaujolais, door ''a.," in full cavalry uniform. 
 What it is to beloved ! But patience ! No ! Not yet, mrfriend, 
 [^Kisdng letter.*] Patience, a little longer. 
 
 Beau. Well, the answer ! [Helene starts at the sound of his 
 voice, and facing him, conceals the letter behind her. ~\ Pardon me ! I 
 frighten you. lam very sorry. I should, perhaps, have announced 
 myself, since Mercure forgot that duty. But to C'upid's messengers 
 all doors are open, Mademoiselle. You stare! But I have not 
 come to eat you. It is simply that the author of that perfumed 
 model of e])istolary art — which I have had the honor to deliver — 
 and whom I left, just now, in a state of mind more easily imasfined 
 than described, 'requests an immediate reply. [Helene regards 
 him fixedly,']— V^\\Y this should be more than fright. — -But surely 
 your do not fear me ! — Yes ? — .\nd why? 
 
 Helene. Because, Monsieur — because }-ou are my enony ! And 
 I know that you wish me harm, 
 
 Beau. "Your enemy !" Listen! I ?oi'e you, ! Don't be alarmed. 
 I love you — but I am poor. And though in love, I am not yet a 
 (':indidat3 for the madhouse. It is not my intention to tempt you, 
 W'ith ■ the salary of a Cnptnin of dragons. But here comes one 
 [Catching letter from her hands.] who brings you all that a man can 
 offer — youth, and the purest impulses of youth — a .first and a 
 lasting affection — an ample fortune, and a noble name ! To 
 him, then, I resign ray claim. At least I shall see you honored, 
 and respected. But, beware ! Yesterday, I said to you, "Desert 
 him!" Today, I say to you, "Desert him, or deceive him, at your 
 proper peril !" \^Goes to window, up "c."] Tell me ! Whose equip- 
 age is this. [^Points out.] Come ; for I wish to know. 
 
 Helene. Monsieur, I need not see to answer. And you need 
 not ask to know. It is the carriage of tlie Baron Gerome. 
 • Beau. At your door ! 
 
 Helene. i\.t my door. 
 
 Beau. With your consent ? 
 
 Helene. By my appointment ! 
 
 Beau. And\^ou do not blush ! 
 
JUDGMENT OF PARIS, 22 
 
 Helene. [^Confronting liim.'] What can I say to you that you 
 will believe? You suspect me. It is plain. You have come to 
 play the spy upon me. Will my words convince you ? 
 
 Beau. Would that I could be both complimentary, and truth- 
 ful. 
 
 Helene. See, then ! Let me teach you. [Oros-se-s to glass-door, 
 R. F.] This window opens on the court. It is but a step. I 
 promise not to betray you, and being a spy, you will know how to use 
 your eyes, and ears. 
 
 Beau. Aingel of light — or, spirit of darkness! 
 
 Helene. But you ask yet more ? 
 
 Beau. Yes, more ! And would you indeed convince me of the 
 innocence of your designs ? Will you give me a test that a man 
 of honor dare accept? It shall be proven. Write in answer to 
 this message — "now!" 
 
 Helene. [Shrinking bnek.^ Monsieur ! 
 
 Beau. Write : '-Conie to me, now'' — Or better — give me that 
 gold band oft' your finger. 
 
 Helene. You would make me yet more famou?, — as the hero- 
 ine of a duel — or a murder ! 
 
 Beau. God forbid ! But I do not love this fighting in the dark . 
 And better an honest bout at arms, must it come to that, than a 
 stab in the back. Come ! It is but four little words. Shall I 
 speak them for you? And the ring shall be my voucher. 
 
 Helene. You compel me ? 
 
 Beau. No — since you dare not. 
 
 Helene. [After pause, regarding him tvith a savage frown, clutches 
 off her ring, and extends it toward him.'] Now, do you believe ? 
 
 Beau. [Seizing, and kissing her hand.] Angel, or devil, what 
 does it matter ? Are you not Helene ? And who can resist you ? 
 You have conquered. Take back your pledge. But expect him, 
 none the less. For even did I wish it, I can not restrain him. And 
 see that you use him well. You play with fire. Be, in truth, but 
 the angel that you seem, and you shall yet have cause to be grateful, 
 believe me, for the counsel and assistance of your "enemy." But 
 be prepared. [Pointing to clock.] Perhaps before the clock strikes 
 — ye?, at any moment! [Exit, door ''a."] . 
 
 Helene. "Before the clock strikes !" But before the clock 
 strikes, I shall know. 
 
 Enter, the Baron Gbromb, door "a." 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 23 
 
 Gerome. Is it my cue ? May I come in ? Mordieii, Madem- 
 oiselle, I trust you have not been reading history. A certain per- 
 sonage, more noted than myself, once called upon a lady, by request, 
 and was met at the door, by a cut-throat, in cavalry boots. And 
 the lady is supposed to have been i)rivy to the deed. You will 
 pardon the allusion, but upon my life — Faugh ! What an odor of 
 the barracks ! Well, well, well, — you have been pleased to desire 
 my attendance, and — behold ! I need not remind you, that there 
 might have been excuses for my absence. But what would you 
 have? To-day, you dismiss your servants, and they go ; to-morroAV 
 you beckon, and they come. And is not that as it should be? You 
 see, you have not misjudged your powers. You summon me. Per- 
 haps to pronounce the decree of banishment. So belt ! I attend. 
 Happen what may, I shall bask again, if but for one brief moment, 
 in the sunshine of your presence. 
 
 Helene. \_Sloivly approaching him.^ Yes ; I have wished to 
 see you. \^Casts down her eyes. Her clasped hands writhe toget/fer, in 
 slow contortions.^ 
 
 Gerome. [ With gesture of iuaiting.~\ Thanks, for the honor ! 
 Helene. You have lived many years, Monsieur. 
 Gerome. \ With shrug.'] But, yes — 
 
 Helene. Your life has been a long and cloudless holiday. 
 
 j Have you known the meaning of trouble ? Disgrace or shame you 
 
 , cannot have known — -for you are the Baron Gerome. Your will is 
 
 j your only law ; your wishes are commands ; and even your faults 
 
 1 will be ascribed to you as virtues, when you rest, at last — where you 
 
 are sure of rest — under the escutcheon of, your house. But / am 
 
 Helene! To-day, you are pleased with me. You toss me a flower, 
 
 I a jewel But to-morrow there comes another — her step is lighter ; 
 
 ! her face is fairer ; her eyes are brisrhter. "Helene, adieu !" — Some- 
 
 j times I dream ; I am old ; I am like the withered leaf, that spins, 
 
 with the wind, through the dust of the street. Men pity me .' 
 
 I They despise me ! They forget me ! Fathers of mercies ! I feel 
 
 \ the earth already on my breast. To die? Yes, thrt is terrible. 
 
 But to live, and pray for death — to starve where one has feasted 
 
 — to serve, where one has reigned — and die at last, and be as though 
 
 one had not been — Monsieur, will you save me from this fate ? 
 
 [^Kneeling — attempts to grasp his hand.~\ 
 
 Gerome, I ! 
 
 Helene. You ! For listen — an honest man has offered me his 
 
JTJDGMENT OF PARIS. 24 
 
 hand in marriage. 
 
 Gerome. Ah, at last! 
 
 Helene. Do not, I implore you, do not refuse me this, the only 
 cup that may ever be offered to my lips ! By your rank, which 
 should impel you to noble deeds — by your age, which should make 
 you merciful to youth — by the memory of your mother — • 
 
 Gerome. Silence ! I deny your right to conjure me by such a 
 name. And what would you have me do ? Eh ? Yes — Mordieu / 
 What is this boon, which you ask of me? ''An honest man has of- 
 fered you his hand in marriage!" Ha ! Well, very good ! Accept 
 it then. Yes, that is my advice. Accept ! For honest men are 
 rare, that let me tell you. But am I your keeper? Surely, Mad- 
 emoiselle, the law does not require 7ny consent. Wed whom you 
 will — or can. But what do you ask of me? And have you sent 
 for me, to tell me this ? You are dumb ! Have you lost your 
 voice ? \_Daring the speech, Helene has risen, and stands regarding 
 him ivith a fixed stare. He grasps her arms. She shrinks back urith a 
 shudder.'] Well, well, but upon my life, to dare so much, and then 
 — Come, you have made a good beginning. You tall upon your 
 knees ; you reproach me with my rank ; you remind me of my 
 age. Doubtless, you wish to prefer some claim ; to make some 
 great demand upon my justice — or my generosity. But how can I 
 be just or generous — till I have heard. Tell me how I may serve 
 you. What is your request? 
 
 Helene. \_Afier short panse — coldly.] Go. I have nothing 
 more to say. iG-oes up stage.] 
 
 Gerome. Mordieu! Well, that is wonderful. A woman — 
 and with nothing more to say ! And such a woman ! But, 
 upon my life, though you may have finished, I have some- 
 thing more to say, Oh, yes, indeed ! And what is still more 
 wonderful, my narrative begins, where yours left off. Now is not 
 that surprising ? Come ! \_Points to tabouret beside ivhich he 
 stands.] For I wish to amuse you. Yes, to astonish you — if that 
 be possible. And since it is I, who am best acquainted with the 
 facts — Let me ask it, as a favor. In return. Mademoiselle, for the 
 little confidence with which you have been pleased to favor me, I 
 agree to relate to you, the most astounding experience of my life. 
 But you are otherwise engaged. Oh, very good ! Then I must 
 imagine you a listener. To begin, then, This morning, I received 
 a visit. A visit extraordinary — from the last survivor of a depart- 
 
JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 25 
 
 ed age. Would that I could depict to you, his air, his gait, his 
 manners, as he confronted me, across my toilet table. [Helene 
 approac'ies kim with a sloiv hesitating 7notio)i.~\ Figure to yourself, a 
 veritable relic of the night of St. Bartholomew — a Huguenot, of 
 the Huguenots — with his grizzled beard, his gloomy stare, his dress, 
 two centuries old. "Monsieur," he began, in a voice like the final 
 trump, "I am called Huguet, de Gros Caillou" — Aha! you listen ! 
 [Tunis suddenly upon Helene, wJio listens breathless, at his elbow. 
 She crouches upon the t ibouret, and hides her face.] Yes, "I am call- 
 ed Huguet de Gros Caillou, and I have come to place my honor in 
 your hands." — A pretty beginning, truly ! And then he was pleased 
 to continue; "My son, the last of his name, and race, whom, per- 
 haps in a moment of madness, I have permitted to visit this ac- 
 cursed Pari^, demands my consent to a contract of marriage." I 
 signify my interest He resumes, "That the person upon whom 
 he ha-^ fixed his affections is beneath him, in rank and fortune is an 
 objection, Monsieur, which the world need not consider^ — should I 
 see fit to pass it by. And youth, youth, who can war against 
 it? But there 28 an objection, which cannot be thus dismissed. 
 Scandal, Monsieur, has coupled, her name, with yours." Yas, those 
 were his words, "Scandal has coupled her name Avith yours. And 
 finally"— yes — "finally, through me, her spokesman, she calls upon 
 ym. Monsieur— upon pu — Qqwiihq— [Poiuting to himself. \ to estab- 
 li«;h the<e reports, if they be true; and if false, to refute them, by 
 that word which you alone can speak." 
 
 Helene, [Standing before him, defiant.'] Well ? 
 
 Gerome, Shade of the patron saint of impudence — whoever 
 he may be ! Could assurance further go / 
 
 Helene. Ah, Saints of Grace ! [Sinks again on tabouret.~] 
 
 Gerome. Could the great strategist, himself, have conceived a 
 scheme, so hopelessly audacious, so brilliantly impossible. But you 
 wait for my reply. Yes, yes. And you shall hear it. You shall 
 judge Mademoiselle, how well I have justified your confidence. I 
 glanced at the missive which he placed before me. It was rose- 
 tinted. The signature was not to be mistaken. It was sealed with 
 a well-known seal I said to him : "Monsieur, that I am honored 
 witli the acquaintance of this lady is most true. What then ? You 
 speak to me of scandal ? You come to retail the petty gossip of the 
 cabarets I Monsieur, it is an insult ! To myself ? Oh, no ! But 
 to virtue, to genius, to renown, which find in Mademoiselle their fit- 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 26 
 
 ting representative ! And you ask rae to guarantee her worthiness to 
 wear your name ? Morclieu, I will do more. I promise, as her 
 friend, and counsellor, to advise her to decline the honor which 
 you proffer." [Helene dowly draws herself erects fixing upon him 
 a stare of horror.~\ Yes, yes, yes. Was it not a happy thought ! 
 But you should have seen old Huguet gnaw his gray mus- 
 tache. 
 
 Helene. And you. Monsieur — and you — 
 
 Gerome. And I, Mademoiselle, have come to announce to you, 
 that though your scheme has failed — as perforce, it must have tail- 
 ed — you secret is yet safe ; and that you may now add this to your 
 list of triumphs — that you have positively rejected a coat of arms. 
 
 Helene. It is a jest ! Tell me that it is a jest. 
 
 Gerome, * 'A jest!" Why so it is, upon my soul; yes, and a 
 clever one ! And now that it is ended — 
 
 Helene. Do not touch me ! Is there no God in Heaven ? 
 [^Sinks helplessly upon tabouret.^ 
 
 Gerome. Mordieu, what a question ! But let us not speak of 
 Heaven ; that is so far away. Ah, glorious Helene ! How basely 
 have I undervalued you — yes even despite my knowledge luid appre- 
 ciation of your merits ! I am like a connoisseur who discovers amid 
 the rubbish of some old bazar, a canvas encrusted with mould. It 
 seems to contain a certain promise of beauty, and half in admiration, 
 half in curiosity, he sets himself to remove the stains. He labors, 
 but in doubt. Little by little the figure emerges from obscurity, 
 till at the final touch, behold, the priceless work of some great 
 master — the incarnation of an artist's last, most perfect dream / 
 And you ask me now, in the very flush of my discovery — 
 
 Enter Mercure, door "A " 
 
 Curse the imp ! \_To Mercure.] What next ? 
 Mercure. Pardon, Mademoiselle, a gentleman — 
 
 Enter, door "A.," Tristan. 
 Tristan, Wlio needs no introduction. [To Mercure.] Take 
 yourself away. 
 
 Enter, Beaujolais, and exit Mercure, door "a." 
 
 Beau. "And the wolf also, shall dwell with the lamb — the 
 
 leopard with the kid — and a little child shall lead them." Or words 
 
 to that efifoct. 'Baron, this is without excuse. We bade each other 
 
 adieu but a short ten minutes since, in the ante-room, and one of 
 
THE JTJDGMENT OF PARTS. 27 
 
 US should not be here. But we poor moths that circle about the 
 candle are forever bumping heads. 
 
 Gerome. \_Aside to Helene.] Well, are we friends, oi- — 
 
 Beau. \_Aside to Tristan.] Remember ! 
 
 Helene. [To Tristan, ivith effort.l^ Monsieur — an old — ac- 
 quaintance. [Tristan and Gerome exchange bows.'] 
 
 Gerome. Sir, we have met before. 
 
 Tristan. It is true. And once too often. 
 
 Beau. [Aside.] Oh! 
 
 Gerc^ie. Since that is your opinion ; well, exactly so. 
 
 Beau, [^.sir^e.] There is mischief in his eye. I must create a 
 diversion. [Crossing and addressing Gerome.] Ha! by-the-by, 
 speaking of wolves and lambs — Have you seen the "Moniteur?" 
 
 Tristan, [Endeavoring to interpose ] Jacques ! 
 
 Beau. Stirring news, Monsieur ! Latest edition ! Official ! 
 The eagles again fly northward. The challenge is given, and re- 
 ceived. The Czar will play a bout, with the Little Corporal. I 
 give you my word of honor, the drums are beatnig from Strasbourg 
 to Bordeaux. The diplomats have had their say, and now the can- 
 non will speak. At last we shall try the hug of the Russian bear. 
 
 Tristan. [Interrupting.] i^ this a time for 6a(iyia(/e? 
 
 Beau. ''For badinage !" And thus he speaks — 
 
 Tristan, Be silent, then. Am I a child that you should place 
 a curb upon my tongue ? But it is insufferable. 
 
 Beau. Ha ! That reminds me of a story — 
 
 Tristan. Pardon me ! But it is my story, that Monsieur de- 
 sires to hear. And would you have him think that I am not yet 
 competent to hold a conversation — to express myself in the elegant 
 phrases of the town ? I forbid you again to interrupt. [Crosses to 
 Gerome.] 
 
 Beau. [^si(ie.] The devil curb him now, if he can ! He has 
 taken the bits in his teeth. 
 
 Tristan. Monsieur, you were a merry party last night at tlie 
 ^'Cordon Bleu." 
 
 Gerome, So, so. 
 
 Tristan. A merry company ! And when your echo, with his 
 pretty lisp enquired, "Who, then, is this latest popinjay, who dances 
 attendance, in the train of Mademoiselle ?" you were kind enough 
 to reply — 
 
 Gerome. Sir ! 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 28 
 
 Teistan, You forget. Permit me to refresh your memory. 
 You were kind enough to reply : "It is the personage who in this 
 little comedy of life, rehearses the role of the Prodigal Son." 
 Beau. But of course you will understand — 
 Tkistan. [^Eejjressing B:eav., with geshire.'] Now I would not 
 have you think Monsieur, that were my name alone concerned I 
 should trouble myself to remember or repeat. your witticism. But 
 there is another — another, whose helplessness, and constant exposure 
 to impertinence, call for my protection ; and on her behalf, I an- 
 nounce through you, to all whom the information may concern, 
 that the Prodigal will return to his father's house. But not alone ! 
 Do not misunderstand me. I have other duties to perform, as 
 sacred as tiiose of a son — duties which neither the sneers of envy, 
 nor the detractions of malice shall com23el me to forget. At last — 
 do you comprehend ? 
 
 (jterome. I think I do. You wish to quarrel with me. [Tristan 
 bows.~\ 
 
 Beau. \_Coviing chnvn hetwixt them.j Not at all ! 
 Tristan. Jacques ! 
 
 Beau. I say no ! For herein lies the misconception — that the 
 concentrated effulgence of the Milky Way, condensed and focalized 
 by a double convex lens, can penetrate the Cimmerian darkness, in 
 the brain of a man, .who is determined upon/(?fo de se, in «pite of 
 common sense, and hocus-p(3cus. And if that is not enough, I ap- 
 peal to the gentleman who presides at all affairs of honor, 
 
 Enter Cheron, doirr "A." 
 I invoke his sooty Majesty, hoof, horn, and tail — 
 
 Cheron. IBowing.^ Will not I do as well ? \_AUturn. Helene 
 glides to door "c." and stands listening. ~\ 
 Beau. Faith ! "Speak of the — 
 Tristan. Monsieur ! 
 Beau. Have I raised him ? 
 
 Cheron. Your pardon, gentlemen. And yours Ma'mselle, 
 for presuming to relieve your servant of the duty of announcing n:e. 
 I beg that you will be at ease. \_Advances to Tristan.] Monsieur, 
 you are called Tristan de Gros Caillou, of the Marquisate of Gros 
 Caillou, in Normandy — a stranger, uva] a vi.'iitor in Paris. You 
 arrived by diligence, from Rouen., on the morning of the first of 
 May— and you share the appartmcnts of a friend, in the Rue St. 
 Honore. 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 29 
 
 Tristan, It is true, Monsieur. And then ? 
 Cheron. That information being correct, I am Cheron, secret 
 agent, and I beg your attention to the following order of arrest. 
 
 Tristan. IBecoiling.^ Arrest ! 
 
 Gerome. Mordieu ! Monsieur has found a friend. 
 
 Beau. Come, Baron, I propose a tour in the garden. [Takes 
 Gerome's a77M.] 
 
 Tristan. Not a step ! Let no one quit the room. In the name 
 of Justice! What do you suspect ? [To Cheron.] * 'Arrest ?" 
 But speak, Monsieur ! — Of what am I accused ? 
 
 Cheron. Permit me — 
 
 Tristan. Yes, I demand to know my crime. And is it thus — 
 But no concealment! Show me your warrant. Let the whole 
 world know ! What law have I transgressed? 
 
 Cheron. If Monsieur will give me leave, [^Reads from paper 
 in his haiids.^ "Tristan, surnamed de Gros Caillou, of Gros Caillou, 
 in Normandy, at the request of his legal guardian, and in accord- 
 ance with the provisions of article 377, of the Civil Code, is hereby 
 placed under the surveillance of the Police ; and is enjoined to re- 
 port, without delay, to the Perfect of his native department [Tris- 
 tan catehes the paper from his hand.^ — under penalty — " 
 
 Tristan. Great God ! my father's hand/ [^Crushes the ivrit in 
 his handy and stands glaring at Gerome. Helene shrinks backward 
 ami disappears through door "c."] 
 
 Beau, \To Cheron.] You have discharged your duty. Go ! 
 — But first Avill you do me a service ? 
 
 Cheron. That depends. Monsieur. 
 
 Beau. Then call this gentleman's carriage 
 
 Gerome. \_Risirig.'\ On my life — 
 
 Beau \_Restraining Tristan, tvho takes one step forward, then re- 
 mains motionless luatehing Gerome's every moveynent,^ Good morn- 
 ing, Baron. [Beaujolais boivs impresssvely.'] 
 
 Gerome. Oh, if you insist — But since you are master of cere- 
 m inies here, pray make my adieux to Mademoiselle. Yes, yes, yes, 
 yes. A pleasant morning for a journey. Lead the way my frie'nd. 
 [To Cheron, who boivs but remains. Exit Gerome, door "a." 
 
 Tristan, [As Gerome disappears. ~] He goes — [Starts forimrd, 
 Beaujolais detains him.'] Jacques — 
 
 Cheron. [Covering Gerome's retreat, bows profoundly.] xVpro- 
 pos ! The diligence, in which Monsieur will find his seat engaged, 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS, 30 
 
 will leave the barrier, at twelve, precisely. 
 
 Tristan. Oh! Let me not go mad! [Throws Beaujolais 
 off and falls into chair , his arms across table. Beaujolais points to- 
 ward door. Exit, Cheron, door "A."] 
 
 Beau. A serious case ! A. very serious case ! Progressing rap- 
 idly, by the customary stages, to the usual termination. I foresaw 
 it ! But while there is life there is hope — though it be a forlorn 
 one. And since there remains one remedy, yet untried — It is now 
 or never. [iSi/1^3 ; putting on his gauntlets.1 
 
 "Since all's well, that ends w^ll" — 
 The time has evidently arrived to test the virtues of heroic treat- 
 ment. [T((ps lightly on Tristan's shoulder. '\ 
 
 Tristan. \_ Without lookhig up.'] Leave me ! 
 
 Beau, [/Sm^s.] -'Ah, well, let us be gay !" 
 
 Tristan. [Springing to his feet.] Your sight is hateful to me ! 
 Leave me ! Have you no mercy ? What can you find in my misery 
 to amuse you? You have heard — Oh, could he devise no other 
 method of humiliation ? Here ! And before his very eyes, too I 
 Did you see — his sneer — his mocking — Yet he lives ! he lives ! — 
 because you wish it! Well then, all is over. Leave me! 
 
 Beau. My very dear friend I only wait to say adieu. 
 
 Tristan. [Wonderhighj.'] Adieu! 
 
 Beau. Why it is a proper word I think. You will find it in 
 the lexicon. It is spoken every day. But. ah, I had forgotten — 
 you are in love. True, you are in love. That is to say — you haev 
 chills and fevers, transports and furies. In your sanest moments 
 you cherish this delusion — that the universe contains but two inhab- 
 itants ; yourself, and one other. When your mistress frowns- that 
 is war. When she smiles attain — that is peace. Meanwhile, this 
 stony-hearted planet continues to revolve. Armies march; drums 
 beat to battle ; emperors, and kings divide betwixt themselves, 
 the maps of continents ! You hear nothing. Your ears are dull. 
 It thrills no answering chord — 
 
 Tristan. Stop ! You are ordered abroad ? Is it so ? You 
 will leave Paris ? 
 
 Beau. [Sings, hi attitude.] "To arms! To arms, ye ])rave !" 
 
 Tristan. Happy man ! You are a soldier, Jacques. You are 
 not dependent on the will of another. You have before you a fu- 
 ture — a career. But that is not all — my friendship wearies you ; it has 
 become a burden, and you bless the fate which gives you release 
 
• THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 31 
 
 Beau. Well, since my sight is hateful to you. 
 
 Tristan, \_Becoils — then extends his hands.'] Yes. Adieu. 
 [Beav J oi^Ais smiles and folds his a7'ms.'] Or whether you go, or 
 stay, for Heaven's sake don't pity me ! Anything but that. 
 
 Beau. Don't flatter yourself. My friend, my friend, my dear 
 unreasonable friend ! You wish to be rid of me. And in truth, 
 the physician who perceives his remedies rejected, and even his ad- 
 vice pooh-poohed, might well desert his patient to his inevitable 
 fate, and wash his hands of the result. In this case, I am the phy- 
 sician — much against my will. You are the patient. You have 
 seen fit to employ me. So far the responsibility is yours. But having 
 once assumed your treatment, pay or no pay, I am pledged to my 
 own good conscience, to kill, or cure. 
 
 Tristan. Is this a riddle, Jacques ? \_Crosses r.] 
 
 Beau. We shall come'to the solution soon. 
 
 Tristan. I never guessed a riddle in my life. 
 
 Beau. And yet the most of us find life itself a riddle, And now 
 you will be good enough to pay strict regard to what I am about 
 to say; and above all do not answer, till you have heard me to the 
 end. First then — I do not advise you to return to Gros Caillou, 
 No, and for the best of reasons. I know that you will not go. 
 And even were you so inclined, perhaps I do not think it best. It 
 is not in the gloom of the monastery, in the solitude of forests, that 
 you will recover that health of mind, which alone can fit you for 
 usefulness in the world. What you need is action — strife — the free 
 wind of Heaven to sweep these vapors from your brain, these cob- 
 webs from about your heart. What then is to be done? ' Moment- 
 ous question ! But it is Providence that supplies the answer. You, 
 too, have received the training of a soldier — 
 
 Tristan, [ With gesture of comprehension, and deridon ] Ah ! — 
 
 Beau. But hear me through That you do not wear the epau- 
 lets, is because you have prefered the milder victories of peace. 
 But to-day, France calls. upon her sons. On every hand her perils 
 thicken. It is the hour of her need. Will you deny the voice of 
 our common mother? Voilal You speak of a future, — a career! 
 It lies before you. Have you the courage to accept ? Why even 
 while we dally, brave men are dying ; honors are going begging. 
 Your rank — your very name insures you a favorable hearing. I 
 am known, by sight, to the Minister of War, too, would you believe 
 it? And I promise you ^my influence if acce})ted on the spot — 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. . 32 
 
 Tristan. \_Interrupting.'\ In a word — 
 
 Beau. In a word — in memory of the dreams, which we dreamed 
 together, in the dormitories of St. Cyr — of the plans which we 
 planned — of the future, which we painted — I impress you into the 
 service of Glory, l_Striking him on the shoulder.'] — and I say to you : 
 To the right, about ! Forward ! 
 
 Tristan. Truly ! And it is you who have devised all this ? 
 
 Beau. Well — yes — I claim that credit. 
 
 Tristan. What an admirable plot — O, admirable — for aromance 
 in real life ! And when do we set off"? 
 
 Beau. Come, the matter is too serious — 
 
 Tristan. "Serious" indeed I since you expect me — Jacques, 
 have I gone stark, staring mad — or is it you — that you make me 
 siuch a proposition, with a sober face ! And you hope to persuade me 
 that we live in the days of Bayard ! You ask me to become another 
 Don Quixote ! O, this is worse than pity I Yet you do not smile ! 
 You are * 'serious." Merciful Heaven, is it possible — then I do 
 you wrong. It is not a project of romance. No, it is a stratagem! 
 Ha, must I believe it ? 
 
 Beau. Good ! Go on ! 
 
 Tristan. Have I deserved this, Jacques ? But thank you for 
 this, at least, that you have removed the mask. Yes, I can doubt no 
 longer, monstrous though it seems. There can be but a single ex- 
 planation of your motives. I hoped that I had one friend left, in 
 whom I might confide. But he, too, joins the league. It is decided 
 that my affection is the idle whim of a boy, which may be cured by 
 absence ; and to you falls the honorable office of decoy, [Beaujo- 
 LAis shrugs his shoulders, with despairing gesture,] A service of love, 
 no doubt. Or, perhaps you expect a more tangible reward— - 
 
 Beau. Don't spare me. 
 
 Tristan. But you lose your labor ; for do not think that what 
 I refuse to a father's prayers, can be won from me by such a shal- 
 low subterfuge. Yet, in one thing you are right. I shall not re- 
 turn to Gros Caillou. 
 
 Beau. Good ! You will not return to Gros Caillou. That 
 much is decided. For you are a practical man. Oh, yes ! there 
 is no silly romance in your constitution. You will not return to 
 Gros Caillou. And of course you have arranged with the banker 
 for your next allowance. Or perhaps you are above such trifles. 
 Likely enough. And who can better afford it ! Since to-morrow, 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 33 
 
 about this time, as the almanacs say, expect Monsieur the Gendarme. 
 Then there remains one last expedient ; yea, two ; or haply, three. 
 With your few remaining sous, you will purchase a brazier of char- 
 coal ; or a bowl of cold poison ; or, cheaper yet, you will take a 
 header from the nearest quay. Next day, when they drag the 
 Seine, you shall be fished up, limp, and limber; you shall be lairl 
 upon a slab of the Morgue, and the people flattening their noses 
 against the bars shall say : "Behold! Another of the victims of 
 Mademoiselle !" 
 
 Tristan. Do you wish me to strangle you. 
 
 Beau. Observe, ye gods, the reward of the misguided mortal, 
 who thinks to assist a lover, in his difliculties ! I forsw^ear it. 
 From this time forth, till the end of my days, if I am ever again 
 found guilty of such lunacy, take my measure for a straight-jacket. 
 Come, old friend, we'll say no more. about it. Arrange your own 
 affairs to suit yourself. And so — \_Going tq^ stage, strikes his harid 
 into Tristan's.] 
 
 Tristan. \_Retahiin(j his hand.'] Jacques — do not leave me. 
 
 Beau, \_Aside.] Ah, it begins to take effect, 
 
 Tristan. My God, what a wretch I have become. And has it . 
 come to this ? Is there, indeed, no other way ? Only to think — 
 DO, it is past all belief! Why the veriest peasant who tills his 
 plot of ground — the slave in the galleys, is not such an abject — 
 But no more of that ! 
 
 Beau. [^l.siV/e.] I j^uarantee a cure. 
 
 Tristan. Jacques, is it not incredible ! 
 
 Beau It is — but, true. 
 
 Tristan. That he, too, of all men — he whom I have almost wor- 
 shiped, v^hose image I have worn next my heart— who has profess- 
 ed such tenderness, such constant, never-dying — that but to spare 
 me for a single hour from his sight — Well, it is terrible ! Yes, ter- 
 rible — but, true. And see, I am calm, now. Yes. and I 
 know the value of your friendship. You will not bear malice. For 
 the shock, at first, you will understand — But now I can compre- 
 hend. Surely there is yet some door, some route, by which I may 
 escape the dungeon. Come, let us speak as reasonable men. I 
 promise to be guided by your judgment. What do you advise?, 
 
 Beau, I ? I advise ? I'll see you hanged first. But bear in 
 mind, the question is simply this: Do you pi-efer my company — 
 to that of the gendarme ? 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 34 
 
 Tristan, Cruel ! 
 
 Beau. If "yes" — discussion is thirsty work-^we will drive to 
 the "Cordon Bleu," We will order another bottle. We will break 
 its neck. Cric-crac ! Farewell to the delights of Capua ! If 
 "no"— 
 
 Tristan, \_Crossing wildly.'] But to leave her Jacques ! To 
 leave her ! 
 
 Beau. Ah, to leave her ! 
 
 Tristan. A prey to every idle fool, who chooses to insult her, 
 with his compliments ! And to leave her thus ! To hope to win 
 her by deserting her ! The past all darkness, and the future utter 
 blackness ! It is madness, I tell you ; it is madness ! 
 
 Beau. I should not go. 
 
 Tristan. And yet — to be dragged — like a common felon — per- 
 haps from her very presence — 
 
 Beau. I should go. 
 
 Tristan. \_Turning on him, with sudden cahrmess.'] Should you? 
 I wUl ! 
 
 Beau. Huzza ! 
 
 Tristan. But moderate your transports, I will. And shall I 
 tell you why ? It is because I know, that at the barrack doors, the 
 authority of a father ceases ; and I choose this method of escape, 
 from a tyranny which oppresses me. Ah, that reason does not 
 please you ! But who shall presume to command my loves — my 
 hates ? Shall he, because I am his debtor for this miserable breath 
 of life ? But if he attaches such conditions to his gift, let him take 
 it again ! Yes, my heart is hardened. Jacques, I have sworn, by 
 my hopes of Heaven, to possess her. No other bribe can lure me — no 
 other loss can make me feel regret. Without her there can be no- 
 Heaven ! And though at the cost of my soul's salvation — 
 
 Beau. [^Seizing his uplifted hand.'] No ! 
 
 Tristan. Ah — take me then ! Forward ! — by any route, but 
 that to Gros Caillou! [^Falls upon Beaujolais' shoulder.] 
 
 Beau. Courage ! courage ! You rave — but it is a hopeful 
 symptom. All will be. well; yes, all will be well. Yet one more 
 sacrifice — a great one ! Courage. I know the danger of these 
 leave-takings. Even that luxury must be denied. This is imper- 
 ative. From the first post you shall write to her, explaining all, 
 and enclosing a thousand reminders of your love, each dearer than 
 the last. But for the present — -Caution ! She is here. 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS, 35 
 
 Eriter Hele^e, door "c." She pauses 07i the threshold, with eyes cast 
 
 down. 
 Some pretty excuse — Eemember! Nothiug more. And let it be 
 brief. I wait for you. [Sings, in supiyressed voice, to Tristan.] 
 ''Since all's well, that ends well — " 
 
 fGoes up, opposite Helene,] Mademoiselle — once more, adieu ! 
 Exit, door *'A."] 
 
 Tristan. \_After pause, in the position in which Beaujolais left 
 him.^ Helene! — You do not speak to me! \_Tarns and confronts 
 her, with a gesture of impatience,'] 
 
 Helene. [Lifting Juir eyes — coldly.] Of what should I <peak? 
 [She passes him slbwly, and seats herself on divan, l. f., her eyes 
 again cast down.] 
 
 Tristan. [JLsicie,] How changed ! — And you do not even re- 
 proach me/ — Well — we have ftiiled. Even your appeal could not 
 touch his heart. Do not think that I ask to know your secret, 1 
 will believe that your plans were wise and good But we have fail- 
 ed. — And now, it is I who must make good my obligations.^ 
 Helene ! — that night — you remember— that happy night in the 
 Foyer of the Dance ! [Throius himself down beside her ; endeavors to 
 look into her eyes.] You chose me out of all the world — you laid 
 your hand in mine — you said to me : "'I love you," Tell me — it was 
 not for the poor trappings of my rank — it was iiot — but I insult 
 you with the thought. Love does not stop to reckon titles and pos- 
 sessions. Love does not stop to count the gain or loss. Through 
 honor and shame — through sorrow, and trial, and doubt, and wait- 
 ing, and absence — it changes not, because it cannot change. And 
 it is thus that you love me^do you not ? Yes — answer me ! [Seizes 
 her hand.] And though our hap})iness should be delayed for weeks 
 — for months — even years, you would not forget ! Would you for- 
 get? [Rising,] But you shall not ! — Answer me! 
 
 Helene. Ah, gracious Heaven ! You will leave me then ? 
 
 Tristan. Yes — yes — For a little while. It is Jacques who 
 waits — [^sicfe.] If I dared let her know ! If I might give her 
 but a hint — a promise — Give m'e your hand. There is a hope — a 
 hope — You must not ask me what — not even with your eyes. A 
 hope ! But you will not despair. And that is all. Yes, yes^ — 
 and I am waited for, And so till I return — [ With fervor, pressing 
 his li2)s to hers. Recoils, and rising sloiuly, releases her hand. She cov- 
 ers her face.] Why you are ill, indeed. Your lips are marble! — 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PAKIS. 36 
 
 So, till I return— since Heaven wills that — this — must be our 
 parting, and- But do not doubt but that I shall return! [He 
 catches away her hands with a suddeyi impulse, and searches her face, 
 with a steady gdze.^ 
 
 Helene. Tristan — 
 
 Tristan. [After pause.'] Heaven's will be done ! IRetreating 
 slowly.] Till we meet— -till we meet— -again ! [Exit, rapidly, door 
 
 **A." 
 
 Helene. [J.s Tristan disappears, springing to her feet, and fac- 
 ing dooT'—her arms lifted as though addressing Heaven.] Till we meet 
 -—again ! 
 
 Enter Gerome, glass-door, '*b." 
 
 Gerome. [Triumphantly, extending his arins,] Helene! 
 
 [Helene cowers on divan l. f., with gesture of defeat, and re- 
 puliion.] 
 
 curtain. 
 
 [NOTE.— Mercure should be represeuted as a Moorish page, in gaudy liv«=;iy.| 
 
 ACT HI. 
 
 The Supper, after the Ballet, 
 
 Scene. The '^ Cordon Bleu," — Two apartments, separated by doors 
 and cuHains — tlie doors oven, hut curtains partially drawn. For plan 
 in full, see drawing. 
 
 Margot and Celeste discovered at door "b," listening. Gerome, 
 CiNQFOiL, Narcisse, Anatole, Helene, Madelon and Coralie 
 at supper, in inner apartment; the scene partially visible. 
 
 Uproar and, clinhing of glasses at curtain. 
 
 Margot. [To Celeste.] Hush! 
 
 Celeste. They drink her health ! 
 
 Cinqfoil. [Within.] Order! Order! Silence, for my song ! 
 
 Margot. O, the gamin! Next he will sing. 
 
 Cinqfoil. [Sings.] 
 
 Clickety-click ! He lifted the latch, 
 
 He opened the door— "Sir, \vho are you ? " 
 
THE JUDGMENT jOF PARIS. 37 
 
 Narcisse, llnterruj)tmg.~\ Chorus ! Chorus ! Have mercy on 
 us miserable sinners ! 
 
 CiNQFOiL. Order ! 
 
 Narcisse. Chorus ! 
 
 Margot. Screeeh-owl ! What a voice ! 
 
 Helene. Come ! To the piano ! 
 
 \_A crash heard, in inner apartment.^ 
 
 Margot. Save us ! 
 
 Celeste. They are here. [3fargot and Celeste cross r,] 
 
 Enter, from inner apartment, door ''b," Helene, Cinqfoil, An- 
 ATOLE, Narcisse and Madelon.-— Helene in advance, her dress 
 gathered into an apron, from luhich she distribides bon-bons. 
 
 Helene. This, for Monsieur Cinqfoil ! This, for Anatole ! 
 This f)r Monsieur Narcisse ! [TAe gentlemen scramble on the floor, 
 for the sweetmeats, which she scatters right and left.'] There, greedy 
 children, you have had your supper. But we shall have nothing 
 for to-morrow. Stay / This will do. A fig — a fig for to-morrow ! 
 [_Tosses if aloft. Goes to pnano, L.] 
 
 Cinqfoil. Yes, huzza! 
 
 Narcisse awf/ Anatole, \_Together.'] Huzza! 
 
 Cinqfoil. Viva, the new philosophy ! Bon-bons, to-day — a fig, 
 for to-morrow I— Buzz ! buzz! buzzl I am the new patent tee- 
 totum ! [^VhiTling, his hands to his head.~\ I am the next of kin to the 
 Wandering Jew ! When I come into my fortune, the fountains of 
 Paris shall run Champagne! Pates shall grow on trees ! A Stras- 
 bourg goose shall be sold for a sou ! And but one luxury shall 
 still be dear — woman — yes, lovely woman ! [Helene, ivho has 
 been playing ivith the keys, strikes a chord loudly, and turns her head. 
 Cinqfoil turns toward her, and boim.~\ Ladies, I particulary re- 
 quest that you will observe the moral of this woeful ballad. \_Sings, 
 to Helene's accompaniment,] — 
 
 Clickety-click ! He lifted the latch, 
 He opened the door— "Sir, who are you?" 
 "Oh, Madam, my dear, I ara Renard the Fox, 
 And where is your husband the Wolf Garou ? " 
 Garbu ! Garou ! Garou ! 
 
 A little more expression, Mademoiselle! A little more pathos, in 
 the pianissimo ! Hem ! Second stanza ! [^Sings.] 
 
 He boM^ed ; he flatt-'red ; he kissed her hand ; 
 He swore, on his knees, to be tender and true. 
 "Oh, Madam, my dear, your claws are sharp ! "— 
 "And so are my teeth ! " said the Woll Garou ! 
 Garou ! Garou ! Garou ! 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 38 
 
 Margot. [^Continumg Jier applause^ after the laughter of the oth- 
 ers has subsided. ~\ Encore ! Encore ! Encore ! Encore ! Encore ! 
 Or as a certain mutual friend might say — ''Bravissima !" [Helene, 
 her harids still on the keys, turns and regards /ler.] 
 
 CiNQFOiL. Excuse me ! You satirize ray voice. Mademoiselle ? 
 You depreciate ray chest-tones ? 
 
 Margot. Oh, Monsieur Cinqfoil ! But it is the accompani- 
 ment, not the song, that I applaud. What feeling ! One might 
 almost say — ^a personal reminiscence. [Helene strikes the keys vio- 
 lently, and rises.~\ 
 
 Cinqfoil. [Rubbing his hands.'] TiensI The battle begins. 
 
 Helene. Monsieur Cinqfoil — a chair ! 
 
 Cinqfoil. Yes, Mademoiselle. [Goes to fetch one of the two 
 chairs, R.] 
 
 Helene. No — I prefer the other. [Points to the one upon which 
 Margot leans.'] 
 
 Margot. Insolence! [Goes wp stage.] 
 
 Cinqfoil. [Fetching chair, luhich he places c] Non combatants 
 to the rear ! 
 
 Helene. [Seating herself] And now, pray tell me, have you 
 heard — since listeners — you know the adage — 
 
 Cinqfoil. Prepare for action. 
 
 Helene. It is said that Margot — our little Margot, of the bal- 
 let — who has thirsted so long for fame, will at last appear in print. 
 
 Cinqfoil. It is whispered, Mademoiselle. 
 
 Helene. She has made a conquest, it seems — a veritable 
 prize — a Russian Count, with an unpronounceable name, who has 
 loaned her his diamonds for the Opera ball. She has returned his 
 affection, too, if accounts be correct — but not in a way to please 
 him. And now he will sue her in the courts, for the jewels, which 
 she has not returned. Will it not make a pretty paragraph ? 
 
 Margot, Oh, excellent ! 
 
 Cinqfoil, Decidedly refreshing! 
 
 Margot. [Coming down sUtge.] If now I had but sent him to 
 the wars ! 
 
 Helene. [Eising.] Cinqfoil ! Who is this person ? 
 
 Margot. "Person ! " 
 
 Helene. True, this is the "Cordon Bleu!" To one who en- 
 tertains the public, all who pay are welcome ; but if / were mis- 
 tress here — 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 39 
 
 Margot. [^QuicUy.l Well, are you not mistress — everywlierel 
 \_A dead silence. They confront each other. ^ 
 
 Enter, door "b," Gerome, and Coralie. 
 
 CiNQFOiL. [ After shoii pause.'] Oh, ladies, ladies — 
 
 Helene. Why, what do you fear. Monsieur? That we will 
 bite each other, or scratch with these little nails ? But we have 
 sharper weapons. [To M argot.] Say your say, my child. You 
 have your motives. \_Crossing to table R. f., where lier wraps have 
 been thrown, puts on her hat.~\ 
 
 Gerome. And pray, for good digestion's sake, don't mention 
 anything of later date than yesterday. 
 
 Margot. \^Ta¥mg his arm.} Ah, Baron ! 
 
 Gerome. For what has been, is past; and for that much let us 
 be thankful. And what is yet to be, Mordieu, will find us, when 
 it arrives. What say you to that, my little moralist? [^To Margot.} 
 
 Margot. A comfortable creed. O, yes. Monsieur ! And I 
 should adopt it, too, had I as much to answer for, as — some I 
 know of. 
 
 Gerome. Umph ! Yes, yes. intended for wit, no doubt. To 
 change the subject — [To Helene,] Mademoiselle, it is proposed 
 that the carriages be ordered. Per contra, it is proposed that we 
 try our fortunes at ecarte. Which do you choose ? 
 
 Helene, [Tieingthe ribbons of her hat.} Whichever you do 
 not choose. 
 
 Margot. Ah! "Mordieu!" What say you to that. Sir 
 Moralist ? 
 
 Gerome. It is well ! It is well ! Yes, yes. Exactly so ! 
 But am I to understand — Once more — 
 
 Helene, O, understand that I wish to be alone ! {^Seating 
 herself, ptetidnntly; her arms across bach of chair.} 
 
 Joseph, appears in inner apirtment, and rearranges table. 
 
 Margot. \_Singsmochingly.} 
 
 "Oh, Madam, my dear, your claws are sharp ! " 
 Cinqfoil, double or quits ! I owe you the price of the greyhound 
 puppy, at the fancier's shop, in the Rue St. Lazare. I am in luck, 
 to-night. I claim my revenge. 
 
 Gerome. [Turning qidckhj.} And you shall have it. 
 
 Margot. Save us ! You — 
 
 Gerome. Yes, Mademoiselle, I cry you mercy. And I beg to 
 take a share in your revenge. Will you accept me as a partner ? 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS, 40 
 
 Margot. If you dare ! 
 
 Gerome. [Crosses l. f. — pulls bell-cord,~\ Joseph ! 
 Enter Joseph, door "b." 
 
 Joseph. Yes Monsieur. 
 
 Gerome, Coffee and cards ! We have arranged for a party, at 
 ecarte. 
 
 Joseph. Yes, Monsieur. 
 
 Gerome. And Joseph ! You may close the doors — since 
 Mademoiselle desires to be alone. 
 
 Margot. \_Sings tiniimphantly.'] 
 
 "And so are my teeth !" said the Wolf Garou ! " 
 
 CiNQFOiL. \_WhirUng.^ Buzz! buzz! buzz! I am the new 
 patent tee-totum ! 
 
 Margot. You are a fool, mon garcon, since you understand but 
 half of what you see, and nothing of what you hear. 
 Exeunt all hut Gerome, and Helene, door ''b," Joseph, going 
 last, doses the doors. 
 
 Gerome. So — Mademoiselle! You have led me a pretty chase ! 
 A pretty chase, Mordieu ! And this is my reward. I who believ- 
 ed myself the deceiver, am become the dupe — is this the state of 
 affairs ? — the dotard — the slave of your insatiable caprice, and the 
 laughing-stock of your amiable associates ! Is this the state of affairs? 
 Well, well, well, well ; but upon my life, will nothing satisfy the 
 exactions of your tyranny ? Are there no bounds to your ambi- 
 tion ? Veritably, Mademoiselle, whom the gods wish to destroy, 
 they first make mad ; and you should not have forgotten — Mordieu / 
 — that one may tire of fetters even as silken as yours, Yes, yes, 
 Mordieu ! Well, why do you not celebrate your triumph ! Why, 
 why, why ? Because you know that it is I who break the chain — 
 that it is I who weary, at last, of a chase which no longer amuses 
 me. [Helene rises, casthig upon Imn, a glance of Gontempt.~\ You 
 sneer! Butbehold the proof ! [^Tahes letter from his hosom, Helene 
 extends her hand.'} All in good time. Mademoiselle, I have seen 
 two score years, and ten — or nearly. I fancied that I knew the 
 world. But I ran an infant. The poets — their dreams only are 
 true. All else is fiction. For look — here is a stripling who threat- 
 ens my life — who positively thir.'ts for my blood ! And why ? 
 Heaven knows ! I remember him a moon -struck youth, not many 
 months ago, wlio foiled in a disreputable intrigue, swallowed his spite, 
 in a spasm of better sense, and tramped away, to the thump of his 
 
THE JUDGMENT OP PAEIS. 41 
 
 Majesty's drums. He has thriven too, it seems. He has cheated 
 the bullet. And now he returns — for what ? To thank me for 
 having cured him of his folly ? Mordieu, no, but to cut my throat 
 - mine — the throat of the only man in Christendom, who has 
 proven himself his friend. And this in an age of tailors, and hair- 
 dressers, of powders and cosmetics! But am I Herod, that I 
 should be guilty of a second slaughter of the innocents? Bah / I 
 give you his life. [Thrmmng letter at her feet.'] Yes, yes. And I 
 advise you to reward an affection which has proven itself so constant. 
 Madame, la Marquise, I wish you pleasant dreams. \_Exit door b.] 
 Helene. Coward ! Does every one desert me ? — But for all 
 that I shall live. The world will have me ? Let it take me then ! 
 Why should I struggle? [^Regarding the letter.'] And this is the 
 messenger, that brings me Avord ! O, little letter, little letter — 
 Who is there ? Can anything harm me after this ! Open 
 — tell me all ! [Kneels, catches up the letter.] 
 
 Enter Tm^ta:^ door ^' a" His face is haggard; his dress the worn 
 and travel-stained nniform of a snh-lientenant of cavalry. 
 
 Helene _perceives him, and staggers to her feci. 
 
 Tristan. If Madam will pardon the disorder of my dress — 
 since I have traveled far — far — and I scarce dared promise myself 
 the honor of this interview. Ah, this at last is warmth. This is, 
 indeed, another life than that of the frozen steppes. Here one need 
 dream, no longer, of the lance of the Cossack. Has Madam heard ? 
 A half a million souls we crossed the Niemen, Forty thousand we 
 return. But /return. And is this your welcome ? [Advancing.] 
 
 Helene. [Childishly — sinking into cJiair e.] Pity ! 
 
 Tristan. Pity ! But where should you be safe, if not with 
 me? And have I not come to you as I promised ? What has 
 been able to prevent me ? Think of the many who will watch to- 
 night, for those who shall not come ! Death has not spared the 
 husband to the wife, nor the father to the child — men who w^^re 
 bound to life by a thousand ties. They prayed, as they marched 
 beside mo— they stretched their bands, toward France — an army 
 of ghosts ! But I thought of you, aixl lived. And is this your 
 welcome? '*Pity!" Then the story is told. You have no ex- 
 cuse to urge — no plea ! Let me not her,i your voice, for even that 
 may turn me from my purpose. [Turns aivay.] Enough, that 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 42 
 
 there is one who may not be excused ! Yes, there is one who shall 
 find his tongue. [^Hand on sword.l 
 
 Helene. ^Hanging on his arm.l For the love of Heaven ! 
 
 Tristan. Ah ! And I know where he hides. I have written 
 him to meet me, but his answer is delayed ; and it is well, for un- 
 der that custom, which permits that noxious vermin may be crushed 
 wherever found, I have determined that his punishment shall be as 
 pubHc as his shame, that his last contortion may amuse that world, 
 before which he delights to pose and grimace. \_Springs toward 
 door *'b." Helene interposes.'] 
 
 Helene. As you love your life ! 
 
 Tristan. Helene — 
 
 Helene. Oh threaten, if you will ! I, too, can be firm. And 
 was it in Moscow, that you learned, Monsieur, to frighten women ? 
 But you should take another lesson: for know that those who have 
 nothing left to hope, have neither anything to fear. And why 
 should you wish to wreak your malice upon him f Once for all, 
 let us understand each other. Only have patience ; I swear to you 
 that at last, you shall know me as I am. Is it that you fancy he 
 has won my heart, from you ? — My heart ! — It is here, Monsieur. 
 [Hand upon heaH .] No one has stolen it. Assure yourself. It 
 beats, and beats, and fills my veins with blood. It is warm, too. It 
 is neither stone nor ice. Wound it, and it will bleed : frighten it, 
 and it will flutter : it is not so very brave. But tell me that the 
 kindest friend, whom I have ever known, is dead, and cursed me 
 dying, and you shall feel it beating — -just as calmly. Now will you 
 fight for me? 
 
 Tristan. O — horror ! 
 
 Helene. Or shall I tell you more ? Must I speak yet more 
 plainly? Do you demand my full confession ? Ai-e you then yet 
 so guileless, that you can guess at nothing ? Must I recount to you, 
 word bv word, how I have misled you — how I have deceived you — 
 and the motive, which has made me feign for you, a love which I 
 cannot feel? Love! What is love? See — here is your foolish 
 challenge to Monsieur. [Presenting the letter, which she has re- 
 ceived from the Baron.] To-morrow your name will be the by- word 
 of the streets. Do not be silly, though you may be mad, I 
 am nothing; I came from nothing; I return to nothing! And all 
 is over betwixt us. Go ! 
 
 Tristan. Surely my reason has deserted me. In dreams I have 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS, 43 
 
 listened to such horrors — But to be awake — and hear — 
 
 Helene. IFawning.l But you will not risk your life, Mon- 
 sieur, in such a cause ! 
 
 Tristan. My life! 
 
 Helene. Your future, too --the promise of your name ! 
 
 Tristan. My future ! 
 
 Helene, Ah, you are angry. Shall we not be friends ? If 
 you but knew how much I pity you ! Why did you come betwixt 
 me and my destiny ? But who can prevent what is to be ! Promise 
 me then, that at least you will spare me the guilt of blood 
 
 Tristan. Spare you ! But why do you plead to me? Since 
 it is destiny. We do not love — we do not hate — we do not avenge 
 ourselves. Oh no ! But who can prevent what is to be ? I 
 thank you. Madam. I, too, may have need of such excuses. I 
 have a w^ork to do — But let that pass. And we may part now — 
 may we not? Since all is over betwixt us. Yes — since all is over. 
 No more remonstrances! No more regrets. I thought to pur- 
 chase you — but I had not the price. Yet all I had I gave. Well, 
 well — we part as friends. Oh, yes. For let us not be silly, though 
 we. may be mad. Come! One last kiss ! [^Advancing on her.'] 
 Adieu ! Adieu ! What ! You refuse ? — Helene ! Helene ! 1 
 know not whether the sun shines any longer by day, or the stars by 
 night : whether virtue and shame be not myths of men's imagination. 
 This only I know, that I cannot live— I cannot die without you. Only 
 unsay those frightful words ! Be, but for one hour, again, the idol 
 that my heart first worshiped, and let the world go straight to ruin. 
 Or tell me that these are but the ravings of despair. That by their 
 slanders, by their persecutions, they have closed all other doors ! 
 Tell me, and I will believe. But leave me some trust, some 
 hope, some faith, in God or man. Speak to me. [Kneels — 
 caiches Jier dress.] 
 
 Helene. Monsieur — I hear your voice, but it is across a gulf 
 so broad, that all your kindness cannot bridge the way. My God, 
 why do I live ? 
 
 Tristan. [Rising.'] Why it is true, then — true ! And all the 
 horrible, ghastly, shuddering tale — Siren ! You for whom I have 
 forsworn the very author of iny being — you, for whose sake, I have 
 inherited, fvom lips now closed forever, a forgiveness, more terrible 
 than a curse — you, to whom I have sacrificed both memory, and hope 
 — shall I have nothing in return ? But there i^ yet a way. And 
 since you cannot cross to me, I come to you. Yes, even this la^t 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PAEIS. 44 
 
 barrier shall not divide us ! "Love ! " But who speaks of love ? 
 It is not your love I seek — No — no — no — no ! It is but this bit of 
 painted flesh, that I reclaim ; and who shall dispute my ri^ht ! 
 \^She yxtreats before him.'] Kank, fortune, name-- -I renounce them 
 all. But you shall not escape me ! 
 
 Helene. Ah! \_Shrieks, falls headlo7ig, c. F.] 
 
 Beaujolais springs through door A, interposing his arm, checks 
 Tristan's advance. 
 
 Beau. Stand fast ! 
 
 Tristan. She is dead — 
 
 Beau. Let us hope so — yes, for the sake or the living. 
 
 Tristan. Jacques, beware! 
 
 Beau. What ! You would bandy words ! You ! — I have 
 heard all. Miserable ! And is it here that you parade the trophies 
 of your valor ? [^Pointing to the decoration of the Legion, on Tristan's 
 breasf] Have you come thus far to crow^n your exploits, with a 
 public brawl, on the floor of the "Cordon Bleu ? " But do not an- 
 swer. Luckily, the door stands open! Go, then, and thank a too 
 indulgent fate, which for the second time has interposed me as a 
 shield betwixt you, and dishonor. Quick ! for already the hive 
 begins to buzz. In another instant we shall have the swarm about 
 our ears. There lies your road. 
 
 Tristan, [Struggling ivith him.] 1 will not. 
 
 Beau. Wretch ! Are you deaf to every call ! 
 
 Tristan. Yes ! Leave me ! Here lies 7ny fate. I go no 
 further. [Breaks away, crosses to Helene, hieels and kisses Jier 
 hand, endeavoring to restore her to consciousness.] 
 
 Beau. Perish then ! Monsieur, the Baron Gerome ! [^Stamp- 
 ing, and calling loudly.] 
 
 All enter, door "b" — Gerome m advance. 
 
 Gerome. Who calls ? 
 
 Beau. It is I, Monsieur. You have done well to come. An 
 hour since I came to you, the bearer of a cartel, demanding on 
 this man's behalf, the payment of a sacred debt of honor. I be* 
 lieved him true. I would have sworn to his bravery, and good 
 faith. But I was deceived. He is unworthy even of your sword. 
 And now that the crime which you have committed — a crime dis- 
 graceful, in the eyes of earth, and Heaven — may not go begging 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 45 
 
 for redress, take this, Monsieur, from me ! [^Strikes Gerome with 
 his glove. 
 
 Tristan. \_Seizing BEAVJOhAm.l Jacques — 
 
 Beau. ITuming upon Tristan.] Silence, dog/ Attend ! 
 This man was my friend, and a soldier of France. I tear his 
 friendship from my heart, as I tear this badge of knighthood from 
 his breast. [Tearing off {fie cross.'] I break his memory, as I break 
 this sword across my knee. [Drawing Tristan's sword and snap- 
 ping it.'] Henceforth, his name shall stand for infamy! Begone ! 
 
 Tristan, shaken off by Beaujolais, staggers toward Helens, and 
 faUs, kneeling above Iter, covering his face. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 In the Bois de Boulogne. 
 
 Scene. — A forest glade. Time. — Early dawn. For specifications 
 see drawing. 
 
 Beaujolais. [Heard without, singing.] 
 
 "Oh and if you are lover of mine," quoth she. 
 "And meet me, under tlie green-wood tree, 
 To-morrow at dawn, we'll wedded be !" 
 
 Tuwhit! Tuwhit! Tu whoo ! 
 
 Enter Beaujolais, c. from l. , through trees. Under the horseman's 
 cloak in whwh he is muffled, he wears the dress of the preceding act, 
 with sword. He looks about him. 
 
 No one? Then we are in time. [iSi?ij7S.] 
 
 The hour is here, come fair or foul ! 
 And here is the priest, with his cross and cowl, 
 "But wliere is the lady ?" quoth the owl. 
 Tuwhit! Tuwhit! Tu whoo ! 
 
 As Beaujolais concludes, enter Tristan, through trees, c. from. l. 
 He also is cloaked, and walks dejectedly, with head bent. 
 
 Beaujolais. By the eyelids of Morpheus, a proper time of 
 day ! Now under their silken coverlets, in their dim and perfumed 
 chambers, slumber all the rosy little imps that spread the snares of 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 
 
 46 
 
 hate, and treachery, ambition, greed, and murder, — slumber, and 
 purr, poor dears, with their pink toes turned to Heaven, as sweetly 
 as though an east wind never blew, and throats were never cut at 
 five o'clock in the morning. Ugh / What a nipping blast ! 
 
 Tristan, Jacques — 
 
 Beau. Aye, aye, you are there! Well, you have something to 
 say to me, before we part. • 
 
 Tristan. Yes — before we part. 
 
 Beau. Say on my friend. I listen. But be brief; time passes. 
 
 Tristan. Yes, you listen — but you do not wish to hear. You 
 hear — but you will not understand. And why do you say "my 
 friend," when in your heart, you curse me, and despise me ? As 
 who should not ? My punishment is just. Ah, Jacques, how often 
 have I envied you your strength ! You are the great firm oak, 
 you stand erect, you laugh at the winds, you defy the lightning ! 
 But the oak, too, has its parasite, a creeper so weak that a child 
 may break it — but deadly ! And such a friend, you have found 
 in me ! Can it be true ? What a horrid dream ! But at last, 
 thank God, I waken. So it is here that you will meet him? 
 
 Beau. What is that to you ! Come ! let us make an end of it. 
 Who can recall the past? Not you, my friend, with all your re- 
 grets. Learn this — the pad returns not. For what says the old 
 saw : "He that is lucky, shall see to-morrow. But no man living 
 shall see yesterday." That is why the foolish are not wise; Vi- 
 delicet — myself. As for you. I have known you — I have stood 
 beside you, at the cannon's mouth. You were brave ; you v»^ere a 
 man, then. Yes, I had better hopes for you. But it was not to 
 be. Then came this Circe, and transformed you into the likeness 
 of a brute. I heard your shameful words ; I marked you go down 
 upon your very knees, to forswear the little remnant of your man- 
 hood ; and then, for the sake of the common cloth we wear, I as- 
 sumed the charge of your honor. Yes, I have done this much, 
 and it will cost me. That, too, may happen. For never doubt it, my 
 friend, for all the fiddling, and for all the dancing, some one pays. 
 And to-day, perhaps, some one's debt is due. But that is my af- 
 fair. And what does it signify? To-day, or to-morrow? This 
 week, or the next ? Shall we, that have footed the measure, dis- 
 pute the bills ? Let us even save our merriest galop, till the last ; 
 and when that is finished — 
 
 Tristan. Ah, and when that is finished? 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 47 
 
 Beau. Quien sabe ! Do you take me for a conjuror ? But we 
 shall all be wiser — wheu we know. 
 
 Tristan. Right ! You are right. When we know ! And 
 since it is but a journey in the dark, why not be content to close 
 one's eyes — and plunge ! Is this the end of our philosophy ? Let us 
 part then. Farewell, Jacques. 
 
 Beau. Faith, none too soon. 
 
 Tristan. I understand. I shall be one too many. But you will 
 not refuse me one last embrace. I do not say * 'forgive me; for it 
 is reparation that I owe you — not repentance. And who shall re- 
 pair the consequences of my madness? These cannot be undone. 
 That is my curse. Forget me then. It is the one kindness that I 
 ask — [iTe embraces Beaujolais, and with a rapid movement, drmvs 
 thelatter's sword from its scabhard.^ and go ! A sword, for a sword ! 
 We are quits. 
 
 Beau. What! Thief! You would rob me, too? 
 
 Tristan, No, I repay myself. 
 
 Beau. Ah — \_Lni)osing silence upon Tristan.] 
 
 Enter, c.fromij., through trees, Gerome, Cinqfoil, and Nar- 
 CISSE, all in the dress of the preceding act, with cloaks. Narcisse 
 carries sword. 
 
 Gerome. Who goes, there? 
 
 Beau. [Asi(ie,] I am disgraced torever. [To Tristan, shield- 
 ing him from view^ Silence ! Not a whisper. 
 
 Gerome, Mordieu ! The ground is already occupied Advance, 
 Cinqfoil. 
 
 Cinqfoil. A frosty morning, gentlemen. The darkness forbids 
 a recognition of your features, but you see before you, an unhap- 
 py trio, who have consented to do penance for their sins, by a pil- 
 grimage, to witness the sun rise. Is this the route? 
 
 Beau. [^Li angry whisper to Trista^s, struggling for possession of 
 the siuord. Give it me ! 
 
 Cinqfoil. \_Alarmed.'] How now ? 
 
 Gerome. An ambuscade? 
 
 Beau. Ten thousand devils, no ! 
 
 Tristan. Look Baron, it is I — I — Tristan, whom you seek ! 
 Coward, do you fly from me ? 
 
 Gerome. To your arms, my friends ! 
 
 Beau. Hear me, Monsieur — 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 48 
 
 Gerome. To your arms ! It is the reiidezvoiis, of a bravo — an 
 assassination ; not a duel. 
 
 Beau. But hear me, I entreat, before you judge me. Shall I 
 swear to you, that this is but an infamous trick, of which I am 
 the victim — that this man's presence here, is contrary to my ex- 
 press commands — that I have forbidden him, with threats, with in- 
 sults, w^ith all but blows — 
 
 Tristan. Hear me, Monsieur, for I demand a hearing. Shall 
 I swear to you, that this man's words are true — that he is innocent 
 of all that may occur, and that I alone am guilty ! For disgraced, 
 dishonored, as you see me, believe me, I have yet that instinct of 
 my manhood, that I will not permit my dearest and most generous 
 friend, to sacrifice himself in my defence. The time, and place 
 you have rightly guessed, Monsieur, but your quarrel is with me. 
 
 Beau. Will you be quiet ? 
 
 Tristan. Never I 
 
 Narcisse. Oh, for shame! 
 
 CiNQFOiL, Come, Baron, to the carriage ! Leave the brigands 
 — I protest — 
 
 Tristan. \_To Gerome.] But speak. Monsieur. 
 
 CiNQFOiL, [c] No — let me speak, 
 
 Tristan. And who are you ? 
 
 CiNQFOiL. Monsieur, when sober, I am called Cinqfoil, as you 
 will find my name on any tradesman's book. And, if that does 
 not please you, consider me the code — 
 
 Tristan. O, stand aside, Sir. 
 
 Cinqfoil. At your peril ! I protest. — The code, Monsieur, 
 which forbids this meeting, as an outrage. 
 
 Tristan. [To Gerome.] Then, it remains with you. Monsieur, 
 to choose — and, on the instant — which best comports with the code, 
 by which you regulate your honor — to grant me, here, and now, 
 the redress, which my wrongs demand, or to receive, at my 
 hands, the chastisement due to a poltroon ? 
 
 Beau. Monsieur will not forget that it was I who struck him 
 with the glove — 
 
 Tristan. Let him decide 
 
 Cinqfoil. Baron — 
 
 Gerome. Cinqfoil, who appointed you my Mentor. [To Tris- 
 tan.'] Monsieur, you are young — let us say, perhaps, too young, — 
 to stake your life, on a game, so illy "worth the candle." And I, 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS, 49 
 
 Mordien , might well confess myself too old. But if nothing less 
 will suffice, understand that I yet profess myself a gentleman. 
 \_Boivlm(j.~\ 
 
 Tristan. You hear : I have won. 
 
 Beau. Not yet. 
 
 Tristan. But I shall win. 
 
 CiNQFOiL. Then, Baron, you will fight? You will positively 
 fight! 
 
 Gerome. My good Cinqfoil — [^Divesting himself of Ms doah,'] 
 
 CiNQFOiL. But to cut each other's throats, like common butchers I 
 
 Beau. Faith, if the gentleman is not yet satisfied, I undertake 
 to quiet his scruples — if some one will provide me with the means, 
 
 Tristan. Do not think of it. As you love fair play ! Let 
 the rush-light find its own extinguisher. I forbid you to lift an 
 arm. And now that all is arranged — 
 
 Beau. lAside to Tristan.] Madman ! He is the hero of a 
 dozen affaires. 
 
 Tristan. Pray gentlemen, let us have no more delay; for, see, 
 already it grows light. We shall be interrupted. 
 
 Beau. Then a final word of protest — 
 
 Tristan. Words ! Words ! Words ! Has Monsieur, a choice 
 of place, of weapons — let him name them. 
 
 Beau. Patience ! {_To Gerome.] Monsieur, I am your debt- 
 or, 
 
 Gerome. Pardon me. 
 
 Beau, And though the account has been transferred — 
 
 Gerome. Exactly so — the account has been transferred. 
 
 Tristan. Then what remains to be said ? 
 
 Gerome. Nothing. Monsieur is right. [To Beau.] You are 
 no longer a party to t\ie contract. I have accepted tlie obligation 
 of another, and I credit you in full. Eespect, I beg, the impatience 
 of youth. 
 
 Tristan. Enough ! 
 
 Beau. In that case, are you j-eady ? 
 
 Tristan. Yes ! 
 
 Gerome. Yes! 
 
 Beau. Guard ! Begin ! 
 
 They engage ; Tristai^ fighting fni'ioushj — Gerome warily. Tris- 
 tan receives a thrust 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 50 
 
 Beau. A hit ! 
 Tristan. No — it is nothing. 
 Beau, Hold, Monsieur, he bleeds. 
 
 Tristan. I tell you it is nothing. Look Monsieur, I ask no 
 quarter, and I give none. This decides. 
 Gerome. Come on. 
 
 They again engage. After a rapid exchange of thrusts, Tristan 
 strikes Gerome's sword from his hand. 
 
 Tristan. Ah ! 
 
 CiNQFOiL. Part them ! 
 
 Beau. Back ! 
 
 Narcisse, He is disarmed. Would you see him murdered ? 
 
 Tristan, Silence ! Let him speak. His life is in my hands. 
 He has played, and lost. If it be worth the saving, let him beg 
 for it. 
 
 Narcisse. Oh, monstrous! 
 
 Gerome. Narcisse — give me leave. [^Commanding himself, with 
 an effort — to Tristan,] At that cost, it is not worth saving. Strike, 
 Monsieur ! 
 
 Tristan. [Regards Gerome, for an instant, with his sword at the 
 latter's breast. Aside.^ Satan, himself, has yet one virtue. Gen- 
 tlemen, approach. You are the witnesses to this encounter. Has 
 it been fairly fought ? 
 
 Beau. ''Fairly ?" 
 
 Tristan, Answer! And even were it to cease here, honor 
 would be satisfied — without the necessity of further bloodshed ? 
 
 CiNQFOiL. That is without dispute. Monsieur. 
 
 Tristan. Why then, my debts are paid. 
 
 Gerome. Coward, will you strike ? 
 
 Tristan. No! I condemn you to live — [Throiving away his 
 8ivord.~\ for look — it is I alone, who claim the privilege of death. 
 [Tearing open his garments, and displaying the bloodstain above his 
 heart. Staggers.~\ 
 
 Beau. Ah ! He is wounded ! 
 
 Narcisse. Help ! 
 
 Tristan, Forbear! Let no man touch me! lam stabbed, 
 past surgery. And it b just. The life which I here surrender, 
 has been doubly forfeited ! Bat as for this man, who has loaned to 
 vice the authority of rank, and the gray hairs of age — who, in his 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS. 51 
 
 second childhood, shames the follies of his first — how shall I mark 
 him, that those who come after me, may avoid the contagion of 
 his crimes? How, but thus — with the accursed brand of Cain! 
 [_Fressing his hand upon his heart, steps forward and imprints the bloody 
 stain upon the forehead of Gbromb. Staggers, falls into Beaujolais' 
 arms.'] Ah, Jacques — bear witness for me, that I spared him — 
 and forgave — the oth^r. [Dies.] 
 
 Beau. [Lowering him to the ground, and kneeling above Aim.] 
 Dead ! 
 
 The sound of wheels, heard ivithout 
 
 CiNQFOiL. Hark ! 
 
 Nakcisse. Carriage wheels ! Fly! Save yourself, Monsieur ! 
 
 CiNQFOiL. We are discovered. [Attempts to drag away Ge- 
 ROME, luho remains spell-bound.'] 
 
 Gerome. Who accuses me ? Hands off, Cinqfbil ! I take you 
 all to witness, that I warned this man. 
 
 Beau. Trickster ! Assassin ! [Throws cloah, over Tristan's 
 body.~\ 
 
 Gerome. His blood be on his own head. 
 
 Beau. [Taking up the sword which has fallen from Tristan's 
 hand.~\ Guard! Defend yourself ! 
 
 Gerome. O, sir, I'll answer for my w^ork ! 
 
 Beau. Guard ! Guard ! [He attacks Gerome,] 
 
 Enter Helene, c. from l. 
 
 Helene. Help ! Part them, there! [Bushiug between the combat- 
 ants ; throiuing up their blades. Falls, kneeling.'] Put up your swords, 
 Messieurs, in the Emperor's name ! Ah, Saints of Grace ! I 
 feared to be too late ; but all is welL [Eising.] A pretty game, 
 to play. Monsieur, the Captaiu — O, and a shrewd one, too ! But 
 you shall answer for this. As for you, Monsieur, [To Gerome.] 
 a word, in your ear. Be wdse. I have given information — all is 
 known. The carriage waits for you yonder. Adieu ! — Well, why 
 does no one speak? 
 
 Beau. Be silent, all, I command you, 
 
 Helene. You ? You cruel Jacques ! You think to fright- 
 en me ? What masquerade is this ? 
 
 Beau, None — for the masque is ended. This is the unmask- 
 ing. [Drvps sword, and advancing, seizes her hand.] Why do 
 you shrink from me?— And you, too, sorceress — shall we not 
 
 4 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF PAEIS. 52 
 
 knov/ you at last, for what you are, despite, your many disguises? 
 To-day, you wear the dancer's tunic — to-inorrow the robe of the 
 princess ; but the heart that beats beneath, is one. Are you not she 
 who ravaged Greece — who desolated Troy ? You tremble. What 
 Lave you to fear? Your victims perish, but you are immortal. And 
 do you now come to celebrate your latest triumph ? Behold your 
 work ! [^Throwing her ]pctst him, tmvard Tkistan's body.'] 
 
 Helene. Ah ! [A piercing shriek, at sight of the body which she 
 now for the first time observes. She pauses for an instant, gazing wildly 
 alternately at Beaujolais, and Geeome ; kneels, extends her hand ; 
 ivithdraws it shuddering ; then with the swiftness of desperation, throws 
 back the covering from Tristan's face, and recoiling, stands erect.] 
 Murderer ! [ With a malignant backward glance at Beaujolais. 
 With a single movement of the arm, she ivraps her mantle about her 
 head, concealing her features, and facing audience, sinks slowly to her 
 knees,] 
 
 Beau. Look, look, my friends, this is indeed Helene ! This is 
 that gift of Aphrodite — fairest and most fatal of the daughters of 
 Eve, whose beauty, as of old, is still a curse, whose love is death; 
 but whose thousand wrongs, unrighted and unavenged of men, shall 
 plead to the good God, let us trust, in expiation of her follies -and 
 so, at His bar, let her answer. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 END, 
 
m 
 
 ATALEOFTHE 
 
 IN B^OIJK ACT8. 
 
 
 ¥% 
 
 af 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 This work is printed solely for the author's private use. 
 Under the legal decisions which establish that such print- 
 ing does not constitute publication, all rights are strictly 
 reserved, and any infringment upon title, dialogue, or sit- 
 uations will be prosecuted to the extent of the law. 
 
 XENIA, OHIO. 
 
 PUBT.ISHED BY THE NONPAREIL PRINTING CO. 
 
 1877. 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Office of the Librarian 
 of Congress, in the year 1877, by W. W. Young. 
 
u 
 
 PRIVATE COPY",