IRLF 
 
 5B 
 
 MARTYR 
 
 A DRAM 
 
 JEAN LEEMAN 
 
GIFT OF 
 
MARTYR A TRAGEDY OF 
 BELGIUM "DRAMA in FIVE 
 ACTS BY JEAN LEEMAN 
 
 <PRFAC BY M. HENRY LA FONTAINE 
 SENATOR OF BELGIUM T e I(ANSJ&lTe e D 
 FROM THE FRENCH BY MRS. ALICE 
 CHITTENDEN 
 
 PUBLISH ED BY THEBELGI AN WOMEN'S 
 WAR RELIEF COMMITTEE 1771 SUT- 
 TER STREET SAN FRANCISCO MCMXVI 
 
COPYRIGHTED, 1915 
 BY JEAN LEEMAN 
 
PATRONS 
 
 M. AND MME. L. ANCION 
 MELLE EVA ANCION 
 M. P. A. BERGEROT 
 MRS. F. BEATTY 
 M. A. BOUSQUET 
 MRS. D. T. CAMPBELL 
 MRS. J. B. CASSERLY 
 Miss M. CASSERLY 
 M. J. S. BRUN 
 
 M. H. COLOMBAT 
 
 M. D. G. DAVIS 
 M. FR. DE CONINCK 
 MME. Z. DE NIVERNAIS 
 M. AND MME. J. DE VILLERS 
 CTE. CH. DU PARC 
 
 3G0647 
 
PATRONS-Continued 
 
 M. J. M. DUPAS 
 
 MME. CHARLOTTE DUPUIS 
 
 M. ARM. DUPUIS 
 
 Miss M. EYRE 
 
 M. E. FRANCKEARTS 
 
 MME. LILIAN FRICOT 
 
 M. JEAN GALLOIS 
 
 M. AND MME. J. GODEAU 
 
 M. AND MME. P. LASSERRE 
 
 DR. ALF. LAMOTHE 
 
 M. AND MME. A. LOCHER 
 
 M. AND MME. ART. LEGALLET 
 
 MESSRS. LECHTEN BROS. 
 
 M. P. MAGENDIE 
 
 M. ALF. MESTRE 
 
PATRONS-Continued 
 
 MRS. E. T. NIBBLING 
 M. AND MME. J. PALACIN 
 M. AND MME. M. PAPIN 
 M. AND MME. E. PIRARD 
 
 M. G. POUCHAN 
 
 M. A. PRADELS 
 MRS. M. QUINN 
 M. L. L. KEY 
 
 PROF. DAVID STARR JORDAN 
 
 MME. FINA SOYEZ 
 
 MME. J. TIEULIE 
 
 MME. MARIE TROUILLET 
 
 PROF. AND MME. ALB. VAN DER NAILLEN, SR, 
 
 M. AND MME. J. B. VIGNAU 
 
 M. R. WEILL 
 
 MRS. W. WILSON 
 
MR. RAPHAEL WEILL 
 
 Chevalier de la Legion d'Honneur 
 
 And to 
 
 MR. ALB. VAN DER NAILLEN, SR. 
 
 Author, Chevalier de 1'Ordre de Leopold 
 
 Gentlemen; 
 
 I deem it an honor to dedicate my play to you; 
 kindly accept this as a token of appreciation and 
 
 respect. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 When, after his daily journey through heaven, at 
 the close of a summer day, the radiant wanderer in 
 a luminous apotheosis sets in the glittering west, the 
 ravished human soul contemplates this eternal 
 masterpiece of the Creator with a feeling of admi- 
 ration blended with sorrow and regret . . . 
 It is the end of a beautiful day. 
 
 So do we admire with the same sentiment the career 
 of the upright man and the philanthropist. 
 
 JEAN LEEMAN 
 
 San Francisco, California 
 
 July 14, 1915 
 
PREFACE 
 
 War, monstrous war, abhorred by the mothers, is 
 once more passing over the stricken world, which is 
 powerless to prevent or abolish the scourge. By a 
 thousand avenues, however, men and women are coming 
 forward to drive out forever this monster which for 
 centuries has fed on human blood. Some are already 
 planning the future civilization, others are showing up 
 the horrors by pencil and brush, by words and pen, 
 They stigmatize it and vow it to the gemonies. To 
 these latter the theatre is an ideal forum. Before the 
 crowds, worshipers of might, all those slain upon the 
 altar of the idol should arise from their graves and cry 
 out their miseries and terrors. 
 
 Among the horrors which the German invasion has 
 brought upon the tortured populations, that which has 
 subjected the women and girls to the lust of the drunken 
 soldiery is doubtless the most abominable, for it has 
 condemned these innocent victims to the most horrible 
 moral sufferings. 
 
 The drama, written by M. Jean Leeman, in a 
 simple and sustained action, shows us through the 
 anguish of one of these poor maidens. The author 
 most happily has avoided the declamatory phrases so 
 frequent in similar works. He makes his personages 
 speak their own every-day language, leaving the drama 
 a gripping reality. 
 
 Every character is painted with vigor and the rapid 
 action brings out all the pathetic plot in a powerful 
 manner. This will be of great value at the time of the 
 staging, for it will leave a deep and lasting impression 
 
 [IX] 
 
PREFACE 
 
 upon the public. Gradually intensified, the incidents 
 follow each other to the very end. 
 
 tfhe skillful manner in which the culprit is discov- 
 ered, unmasked, exposed, and finally compelled to 
 confess his crime; his tragic suicide when confronted 
 with eternal dishonor, maturing in a thrilling climax, 
 assures to the play a logical conclusion. 
 
 Among the numerous existing and future theatrical 
 works which will be produced on the stage during and 
 after this horrible and most criminal war, M. Leeman's 
 drama will surely survive for its co-ordination and the 
 intense sentiment of life with which it is conceived and 
 animated. It will remain one of the most incisive 
 pages of the indictment that finally will tear mankind 
 from the eternal nightmare of murder and violence. 
 
 H. LA FONTAINE, 
 
 Senator of Belgium. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 La guerre, la guerre monstrueuse detestee par les 
 meres, unefois de plus passe sur le monde, epouvante 
 de son impuissance a la prevenir et a Vabolir. Par 
 mille avenues pourtant on sent venir des hommes et des 
 femmes decides a livrer le combat formidable et geant 
 qui doit pour toujours la chasser de cette terre nourrie 
 de sang humain depuis des siecles. Les uns dressent 
 les plans de la cite prochaine, les autres formulent le 
 requisitoire terrifiant des mefaits de la guerre. Par le 
 pinceau et le crayon, par la parole et la plume. Us la 
 stigmatisent et la vouent aux gemonies. Et le theatre 
 s'offre a ces derniers comme une tribune ideale. II 
 faut que devant les foules, adoratrices de la force, Us 
 sortent de leurs tombes et crient leurs miseres et leurs 
 transes tous ceux qui ont ete immoles sur Vautel de 
 Vidole. 
 
 Parmi toutes les horreurs, que V invasion germanique 
 a deversees, sur les populations torturees, celle, qui a 
 livre au sadisme d j une soldatesque effrenee les femmes 
 et les filles, est certainement Vune des plus abominable s, 
 car elle a condamne des victimes sans defense aux plus 
 atroces souffrances morales. 
 
 Le drame conqu par M. Jean Leeman, en une 
 action simple et soutenue, nous fait vivre les angoisses 
 de l y une de ces malheureuses victimes. L auteur a 
 echappe au ton declamatoire si frequent, belas, dans 
 des oeuvres similaires. II a fait parler a ses person- 
 nages leur langage naturel et journalier, sans tomber 
 dans la brutalite ou la grossierete et son drame nean- 
 moins reste d'un realisme poignant. 
 
 [XI] 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Cbacun des personnages est esquisse avec vigueur 
 et la rapidite de certaines episodes en fait valoir toute 
 I'dprete. C'est un merite qui, lors de la mise en scene 
 de I'oeuvre, lui assurera une action certaine et forte 
 sur le public. Les incidents se suivent en une grada- 
 tion constante et V internet se maintient jusqu y au bout 
 sans flechir. 
 
 La maniere habile dont le coupable est decouvert, 
 demasque et accule a I'aveu de son crime et le denoue- 
 ment tragique qui r oblige a se f rapper lui-meme pour 
 echapper au pire des deshonneurs assurent au drame 
 une conclusion logique et pathetique a la fois. 
 
 Parmi les multiples oeuvres theatrales, qui ont vu 
 et qui verront le jour pendant et apres la plus af reuse 
 et la plus criminelle des guerres y le drame de M. Jean 
 Leeman sera certainement Tun de ceux qui meriteront 
 de survivre pour sa tenue et le sentiment tres intense 
 de vie qui Vanime tout entier. II demeurera comme 
 Vune des pages les plus incisives de Vacte d* accusation 
 qui doit arracher enfin Vhumanite a son cauchemar 
 seculaire de meurtre et de violence. 
 
 H. LA FONTAINE, 
 
 Senateur de Belgique. 
 
 XII 
 
MARTYR 
 
 Act I. 
 
MARTYR 
 
 The Cast 
 
 JEAN BRUNEELS A young farmer 
 
 HEINRICH VON RAUCH, Captain in the German Army 
 
 JOSEF SCHMIDT Von Ranch's orderly 
 
 BERNARD VALKIERS Fiance of Louise 
 
 JACQUES VALKIERS Brother of Bernard 
 
 ' 
 
 M. LE BRUN The judge 
 
 ROULANDS An innkeeper 
 
 LOUISE BRUNEELS Jean's sister 
 
 MARTHA Louise's rival 
 
 MME. BRUNEELS, The grandmother of Jean and Louise 
 
 A FOUR-YEAR-OLD CHILD 
 
 A LAWYER 
 
 A PRIEST 
 
 A SHERIFF 
 
 A SECRETARY 
 
 MALE AND FEMALE VILLAGERS 
 
 [31 
 
MARTYR 
 
 The play is laid in Belgium, in a village near 
 Louvain, at the beginning of the German invasion 
 
 of 1914- 
 
 JEAN BRUNEELS, a young farmer, and his sister 
 LOUISE, well-educated young people, such as are often 
 found in the Belgian villages, are working a farm 
 together; their old grandmother, a paralytic, lives with 
 them. At the first call to arms, JEAN rejoins his 
 regiment, leaving his grandmother to the care of LOUISE. 
 1%e servants take flight upon the approach of the 
 enemy; the two women are left alone on the farm. 'The 
 military authorities having levied upon all the horses, 
 LOUISE and her grandmother are unable to escape. 
 
 BERNARD VALKIERS, LOUISE'S fiance, and his 
 brother JACQUES, sons of a farmer of the same village, 
 have also rejoined their regiment. 
 
 In the first Act the stage represents a road; the 
 house of the B RUN EELS is at the right of the road; the 
 door of the house is facing the audience; the windows 
 look out upon the stage, and under them is placed a 
 bench along the house. At the left of the stage are 
 woods and fields. In the distance at the rear is seen 
 the city of Louvain. 
 
 At the rising of the curtain, JEAN is talking 
 with LOUISE and his GRANDMOTHER; the 
 latter is sitting on a chair placed near the 
 the door. JEAN is in military dress, and 
 carries his gun slung across his shoulder \ 
 
MARTYR 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene 1. 
 
 LOUISE. But how were you able to get here? 
 
 JEAN. For two days our regiment has been en- 
 camped in the woods on the road from Louvain 
 to Malines, three leagues from here; Bernard, 
 Jacques and I asked the officer in command for 
 leave of absence for a few hours; he allowed us to 
 go at our own risk; I was so eager to see you once 
 again. 
 
 LOUISE. And where are Bernard and Jacques? 
 
 JEAN. I have just left them on the road; they are 
 going to see their folks. 
 
 LOUISE. They are going to see their parents! Oh, 
 the poor boys! 
 
 JEAN. Well, what's the matter? 
 
MARTYR 
 
 LOUISE. What is the matter! . . . Their farm is 
 destroyed; the Germans have sacked the village 
 and killed many people; father Valkiers was 
 assassinated, as well as his wife, the two daughters 
 and the youngest son. Happily for us, we are 
 here a little distance from the road or you would 
 not have found us alive. 
 
 JEAN. [ Thoughtfully.] The parents dead. . . . 
 The farm destroyed. 
 
 LOUISE. Yes; there is not much left of the farm. 
 
 JEAN. My God! my God! My poor friends must 
 be mad with grief and rage. What a calamity! 
 [ Grasping his gun.} Let the Prussians beware; 
 they shall pay for all that. 
 
 LOUISE. Now, Jean, grandmother and I are afraid 
 to stay here. 
 
 JEAN. Of course, I understand that; it is abso- 
 lutely necessary that I get you away; but how is 
 it to be done, that's the question. 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. My dear boy, that will be 
 very difficult. You will not find a horse or car- 
 riage for ten leagues round. 
 
 LOUISE. That's true; what the military authorities 
 have not taken, the Germans have. 
 
 JEAN. Quite a problem, indeed; well, this is what 
 I will do; I will try to reach Louvain this evening, 
 and if I cannot return myself, I will send someone 
 to take you across the frontier; the roads to the 
 north are still open. 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. Try to do that, my son, for 
 
 [81 
 
MARTYR 
 
 we are not at all safe here; the Germans may 
 
 return at any moment. 
 LOUISE. Yes, we have escaped once, but if they 
 
 come back, it will surely be our turn. 
 
 [ Enter BERNARD and JACQUES. The brothers 
 come on the stage with their guns on their 
 shoulders; BERNARD is very sad, JACQUES 
 is sobbing. LOUISE goes to meet BERNARD 
 and takes his hand.} 
 LOUISE. My poor friend. 
 BERNARD. The bandits . . .the murderers . . . 
 
 they have killed our poor mother, our father, our 
 
 sisters; they did not even spare our little brother, 
 
 a child twelve years old; they killed him with the 
 
 bayonet. 
 LOUISE. I know all. After the Prussians had 
 
 passed, I was anxious to see your mother; when 
 
 I reached the farm only the barn was standing; 
 
 the dead bodies were there; I shall never forget 
 
 the sight. 
 BERNARD. Ah ... it only remains for us to 
 
 avenge them, and with that I charge myself. 
 
 [ He brandishes his gun.] Wherever I find one of 
 
 these vermin on my path, I will crush him without 
 
 pity. We have nothing left; henceforth my life 
 
 is consecrated to vengeance. 
 LOUISE. Bernard, have faith in God; better days 
 
 will come. 
 BERNARD. [ Putting his hand on LOUISE'S shoulder.} 
 
 Yes, Louise, I know you are good and brave, but 
 
 [91 
 
MARTYR 
 
 I cannot think of God now; vengeance first! 
 vengeance! nothing but vengeance! 
 
 LOUISE. Bernard, all these innocent victims will 
 be avenged. God will avenge them. 
 
 BERNARD. Perhaps; but I am going to do my part. 
 Come, Jacques, nothing will be gained by sorrow- 
 ing; let us rejoin our regiment. 
 
 JACQUES. Poor mother . . . she, so good. I will 
 never see her again! 
 
 BERNARD. Well, Jean, are you coming? 
 
 JEAN. I will go with you a little distance. I am 
 going to try to find a horse and carriage to take 
 grandmother and Louise to Holland. Then I will 
 rejoin the regiment. I have a sacred duty to 
 perform; they first, after that the regiment. 
 
 BERNARD. You are right; but how are you going 
 to do it? 
 
 JEAN. My faith, I don't know. Perhaps, crossing 
 the fields I may find a farm that has been spared, 
 where I can get a horse. 
 
 BERNARD. As you will, my friend, though there is 
 little chance of success. Well, good-bye, Madame 
 Bruneels. [ He shakes bands with the GRAND- 
 MOTHER.] Good-bye, Louise. 
 
 LOUISE. [ Going to BERNARD.] Farewell, Bernard. 
 Have courage, and may God keep you. 
 
 BERNARD. Good-bye, my dear, good-bye. [ He 
 embraces LOUISE.] 
 
 JACQUES. [ In a low voice.] Good-bye, Madame 
 Bruneels. Good-bye, Louise. 
 
 [10] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 JEAN. [ Embracing bis grandmother and his sister.} 
 I will try to return immediately, but if I do not, 
 then may God keep you. Farewell, farewell! 
 
 [ The three men leave the stage. LOUISE, 
 accompanying them to the rear, embraces 
 BERNARD again, and returns to her grand- 
 mother.} 
 
 LOUISE. Poor Bernard, poor brother; will they 
 ever return ? 
 
 [ A red light is thrown upon the scenery at 
 the back.] 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. Look, Louise! What is that 
 great column of smoke and fire in the distance? 
 
 LOUISE. Good heavens! The Germans have set 
 fire to the four corners of Louvain ! 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. Oh! my poor Louvain! Oh! 
 the poor people! What will become of them! 
 But why do the Germans commit all these cruel- 
 ties? They have nothing to gain in thus utterly 
 destroying the country. 
 
 LOUISE. Grandmother, it is not very hard to find 
 the reason. The resistance of the Belgians has 
 exasperated the Prussians. They had counted on 
 taking Paris by the I5th of August, but they had 
 to content themselves with Louvain, besides losing 
 many men. Mad with rage, they are massacring 
 all in their way. Since the Belgians blocked a 
 campaign carefully prepared for half a century, 
 the Germans have sworn to annihilate our country; 
 they are avenging themselves, killing women, old 
 
MARTYR 
 
 people, children; abusing maids and then shooting 
 them; burning towns and villages; sweeping every- 
 thing from their road; respecting nothing, neither 
 the cottage, nor the mother, nor the suckling, not 
 even God. 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. How frightful! how frightful! 
 Let us hope that they will not return this way; 
 they would surely burn the farm. 
 
 LOUISE. That's certain. For three weeks they 
 have not left off pillaging, murdering and burning. 
 They will not spare us. 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. Then they killed the whole 
 Valkiers family? 
 
 LOUISE. Yes, grandmother; I did not want to tell 
 you. I feared to frighten you. Happily Bernard 
 and Jacques had gone, or they would have shared 
 the same fate. Now they will at least be able to 
 avenge their dead. 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. But why did not father 
 Valkiers and his family leave before the Prussians 
 came ? 
 
 LOUISE. Well, father Valkiers, like everyone else, 
 thought the Germans were soldiers, and not 
 murderers. No one would have believed that 
 they would systematically assassinate the peace- 
 able inhabitants of the country. In leaving his 
 house, Valkiers would have scarificed his harvest; 
 the product of a whole year of labor would have 
 been lost by his flight. 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. Yes, and to remain was death. 
 
 [12] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 I understand how painful it is for the old to leave 
 
 their homes, but better that than to be killed. 
 
 And you, little girl, you should not remain here. 
 
 It is to be hoped that Jean may be able to take 
 
 us away. 
 LOUISE. If he comes to take us, we will go together; 
 
 if he does not come, then, grandmother, I remain 
 
 with you. 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. Yes, I know how good you 
 
 are, Louise, but it is not worth while to risk your 
 
 life for an old woman like me. 
 
 LOUISE. My duty is here, grandmother; and hap- 
 pen what may, I will not fail to do it. 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. Well, do not let us speak of 
 
 it any longer, and may God protect us. Do you 
 
 not think, dear, that it would be better to go in? 
 LOUISE. As you like, grandmother. 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. Let us go; I should like to 
 
 sleep awhile. 
 LOUISE. You are right. Since the Germans have 
 
 now passed, I believe all immediate danger is 
 
 over. Come. 
 
 [ LOUISE helps her grandmother to rise.] 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. I am very tired, Louise, and 
 
 much disturbed about our Jean. 
 LOUISE. God is good and just, grandmother; He 
 
 will protect him. Jean will return. 
 
 [ While talking^ the two women disappear 
 inside the house. 'They close the door and 
 slip the bolt. 'The stage is slightly dark- 
 ened^ 
 
 [13] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 Scene 2. 
 
 [ VON RAUCH and SCHMIDT approach the 
 house from the other side of the road and 
 listen at the door. VON RAUCH makes a 
 sign to SCHMIDT to examine the surround- 
 ings of the house; after a few moments they 
 return to the door and listen^ 
 VON RAUCH. They are alone. 
 SCHMIDT. Do you think so? 
 VON RAUCH. I am quite sure. [ Knocking at the 
 
 door.] Open ! 
 
 LOUISE. [From the inside.] Who are you? 
 VON RAUCH. Open, or we will break down the door. 
 LOUISE. What do you want? 
 VON RAUCH. We want something to eat and to 
 
 drink. 
 
 LOUISE. We are in bed; return tomorrow. 
 VON RAUCH. If you don't open instantly, we will 
 set fire to the house; make haste; in a moment it 
 will be too late. 
 
 LOUISE. Have pity on my poor grandmother! 
 VON RAUCH. Open! Give us to drink. Hurry! 
 
 hurry ! 
 
 LOUISE. We have nothing in the house. 
 VON RAUCH. [ To SCHMIDT.] Light the torch. 
 
 [ SCHMIDT pulls a small torch from his pocket 
 and lights it; VON RAUCH takes it from 
 him and goes toward the window; with a 
 horrible grin he shows it to LOUISE, then 
 
RTYR 
 
 gives a blow with it upon tbe frame, the 
 flame gushing out.] 
 
 [With a thundering voice \ By thunder! Open! 
 or I apply the torch! 
 LOUISE. [ Drawing the bolt and opening the door.] 
 Have pity! Have pity on two defenseless women. 
 VON RAUCH. [ Laughing diabolically and returning 
 the torch to SCHMIDT.] Ah! ah! . . . at last. 
 We are not going to hurt you. No, no, no, my 
 little darling; not the least in the world. [He 
 tries to embrace LOUISE.] 
 LOUISE. [ LOUISE with a quick movement repulses 
 
 him] Let me alone; what do you want? 
 VON RAUCH. First, my dear, give us something 
 
 good to drink. 
 
 LOUISE. We have only the beer of the country. 
 VON RAUCH. All right, the beer of the country 
 
 goes. My orderly will go with you to get it. 
 LOUISE. It is not necessary; I will bring it. 
 VON RAUCH. [ To SCHMIDT.] Follow this girl, and 
 look well at what she does; see if there is no wine. 
 SCHMIDT. Very well, Captain. 
 
 [ SCHMIDT and LOUISE diasppear into the 
 house. VON RAUCH reflects a moment, then 
 takes a piece of chalk from his pocket and 
 writes upon the door: 
 
 ES IS? VERBWEN DIESES HAUS 
 IN BRAND ZU SETZEN. 
 
MART YR 
 
 GUfE LEUTE. 
 
 HEINRICH VON RAUCH. 
 HAUPVMANN* 
 
 VON RAUCH. [ Rubbing bis bands together.} In this 
 way no one will disturb us. We are going to have 
 a fine time; later, if necessary, I well set the house 
 afire myself. 
 
 LOUISE. [ Still followed by SCHMIDT, wbo carries a 
 bottle of wine in each hand. LOUISE carries a pot 
 of beer and two glasses; she places all on the bench.} 
 There, sir. 
 
 VON RAUCH. Ah! ah! Wine! . . . I thought you 
 said you had no wine. You have lied to me. 
 [ To SCHMIDT.] Are there many of these bottles? 
 
 SCHMIDT. These are all that I found, Captain. 
 
 VON RAUCH. Tell me, darling, you have many 
 others, have you not? 
 
 LOUISE. No, sir. These two were for my grand- 
 mother. The doctor ordered her to take a little 
 every day. These are all that remained. 
 
 VON RAUCH. [ Taking a knife furnished with a cork- 
 screw from his pocket and drawing the cork.} Well, 
 well . . . that's a fine excuse; the old lady will 
 have to do without it for some days. We, we 
 need strength. [ He fills his glass.} To your 
 health, girly, and to that of the grandmother. 
 [ Empties the glass at a draught, and smacks his 
 lips.} Zounds! what a good wine ... a little 
 too rich for the grandmother. Ah, ah, ah. 
 
 *It is forbidden to burn this house. They are good people. 
 
 Henry Von Rauch, Captain. 
 
 fi61 
 
MARTYR 
 
 [ Laughs and refills the glass.] Eh, Schmidt, the 
 beer is for you. 
 
 SCHMIDT. Thank you, Captain. 
 
 [ He drinks a glass of beer, and then prowls 
 about the farm, still watching the two while 
 going and coming.] 
 
 VON RAUCH. Come, little girl, uncork the other 
 bottle for me. [ LOUISE makes a sign of refusal.] 
 How, you will not pour for me? 
 
 LOUISE. Help yourself, sir. 
 
 VON RAUCH. Well, little girl, you are neither 
 reasonable nor grateful; see what I have done in 
 your absence. I have written on your door not 
 to burn your house. I am thus making you a 
 present of your home. You are safe for the 
 duration of the war. No one will harm you now. 
 [ He uncorks the bottle and pours out a drink.] 
 
 LOUISE. I am very grateful to you, sir. 
 
 VON RAUCH. You say that very faintly, my girl. 
 Come, sit down here. [ He sits down on the bench.] 
 Let us talk a little. How old are you? 
 
 LOUISE. [ Seating herself at a good distance from 
 VON RAUCH.] I am nineteen, sir. 
 
 VON RAUCH. Really? You are a big girl for your 
 age. Where are your parents? 
 
 LOUISE. They are dead. I have only my grand- 
 mother, who is a paralytic, and my brother. 
 
 VON RAUCH. Your brother; where is he? 
 
 LOUISE. He was recalled to serve under his colors 
 at the beginning of the war. 
 
 VON RAUCH. Ah! he is one of these fellows who 
 
MARTYR 
 
 shoot us without mercy; these rascals fell upon 
 us last night and we lost many men; but they 
 will pay for that. 
 
 [ He empties his glass and fills it again.] 
 
 LOUISE. Do you not think they are doing their 
 duty? 
 
 VON RAUCH. Certainly, certainly; but we will do 
 ours also. In three months we will dictate the 
 law to Europe, then we will reward them for their 
 audacity. By the way, are you married? 
 
 LOUISE. No, sir. 
 
 VON RAUCH. You surely have a lover. All beau- 
 tiful girls have lovers. Ah, ah, ah . . . [ He 
 laughs.] 
 
 LOUISE. If you think I am in a mood for jesting 
 at this moment, you are mistaken. 
 
 VON RAUCH. There, there, there! that's all right, 
 that's all right. [ Approaching and taking LOUISE 
 by the chin.] Come, give a little kiss to the captain. 
 
 LOUISE. [ Getting up and recoiling a few steps.] 
 Let me alone. 
 
 VON RAUCH. [Again approaching.] Eh! eh! don't 
 play the prude; don't try that on us soldiers. 
 
 LOUISE. [ Still recoiling.] I don't know what you 
 mean, but all I ask is that you will leave me in 
 peace. 
 
 VON RAUCH. [ Seizing LOUISE'S wrist.] Oh, that's 
 all right, I like women who resist a little. Come 
 ... a little kiss; just a little one; ah, ah, ah! 
 
 LOUISE. [ With a sudden movement she escapes from 
 VON RAUCH and rushes toward the fields , but after 
 
 [18] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 a Jew steps he catches her again.} Leave me! 
 Leave me! Leave me! 
 
 VON RAUCH. Well, well, my beauty; so you wish 
 to run away. You are not reasonable. We 
 always take forcibly what is not granted willingly. 
 LOUISE. Leave me, leave me; take all that you 
 want from the house, but let me go. [ She strug- 
 gles.} Let me go! 
 
 VON RAUCH. [ Sneering.} It is very dangerous, 
 my dear, to run about the fields in these troublous 
 times; we shall be much better before a good table 
 with something to eat and to drink. 
 
 [ He puts his arm around her waist.} 
 LOUISE. If you touch me I will call for help. 
 
 [ 'Trying to free herself, she struggles with 
 VON RAUCH for a few moments, when he 
 picks her up and carries her into the house.} 
 LOUISE. Help! Help! Help! . . . 
 
 [ From the bottom of the stage, SCHMIDT looks 
 at what is going on with an air of indiffer- 
 ence, then slowly comes forward and mounts 
 guard before the house. For a few moments 
 the cries of LOUISE are heard, then there is 
 silence. SCHMIDT walks up and down; he 
 goes to the window, looks inside, and then 
 resumes his march along the house.} 
 SCHMIDT. And to say that we are commanded by 
 such brutes! 
 
 [ Enter JEAN, who approaches the house 
 stealthily, and, noticing SCHMIDT, conceals 
 
 [19] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 himself behind a tree. SCHMIDT, who has 
 heard some noise, goes toward the woods; 
 but seeing nothing he returns to the house 
 and takes up his post before the door. JEAN 
 waits until he reappears to send a ball after 
 him; then he rushes toward the house, while 
 SCHMIDT, wounded, makes his escape in the 
 woods. JEAN tries to open the door, but 
 finds it locked from the inside; he breaks it 
 with the butt of his gun. It yields just as 
 VON RAUCH takes flight through the window. 
 JEAN attacks him, and a struggle between the 
 two men takes place on the road.] 
 JEAN. Ah! you scoundrel! So you attack lonely 
 
 women ! 
 VON RAUCH. [ With sarcasm.} Come here, wretch 
 
 of a Belgian; I am going to send you to God or 
 
 to hell. Ah, ah, ah! . . . 
 JEAN. [ Giving VON RAUCH a wound with his 
 
 bayonet.} There, bandit, take that! 
 VON RAUCH. [ Feeling for a second his face, which 
 
 is bleeding; he throws himself on JEAN, and strikes 
 
 him in the breast with his sword.] There, comrade, 
 
 with interest! 
 
 [ JEAN sinks down and VON RAUCH escapes.] 
 JEAN. [ Dragging himself toward the house, gaining 
 
 ground slowly, one hand on the ground, the other on 
 
 his breast.] Louise! Louise! Help! Help! 
 
 [ He continues to crawl toward the house.} Louise! 
 
 Louise ! 
 
 [20] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 LOUISE. [ Tottering, her hair dishevelled, she appears 
 on the threshold; with haggard eyes she stops there 
 for a moment, then she rushes toward her brother.] 
 
 Jean! Jean 
 JEAN. Yes . 
 
 but here . . 
 LOUISE. Oh! 
 JEAN. What 
 
 You are wounded! 
 yes ... in the 
 
 in tne breast . . . 
 what has happened? 
 It is horrible! It is horrible! 
 
 . . what . . . have they killed 
 grandmother? 
 LOUISE. No, no, she is all right; she is in bed. 
 JEAN. Ah . . . then I understand ... I un- 
 derstand . . . the monsters! 
 
 LOUISE. [ Trying to raise him.] Come, lean on me. 
 [ JEAN raises himself a little, then slips to the 
 
 ground.] 
 
 LOUISE. Poor brother, poor brother. 
 JEAN. [ Carrying his hand to his throat.] Louise 
 ... ah ... I believe ... I am going . . . 
 to die ... farewell . . . farewell . . . 
 
 [ He falls backward and remains motionless. 
 LOUISE, weeping, kneels near him] 
 
 [21] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 Act II. 
 
MARTYR 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 'The farm of the BRUNEELS one year after. The 
 stage shows a room on the ground floor of the farm- 
 house. Two windows and a door at the left give on 
 the road; at the right two doors lead to the sleeping 
 rooms. A large table in the middle of the room, some 
 scattered chairs. On the wall a statue of the Virgin. 
 [ At the rising of the curtain, the GRAND- 
 MOTHER is sitting in an arm-chair near the 
 table. LOUISE sits near her grandmother. 
 While knitting, she rocks a cradle^ 
 LOUISE. Tell me, grandmother, has Jean spoken 
 
 again about this marriage? 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. Yes; he speaks of it every 
 day; he spoke of it last night; he spoke of it this 
 morning; he wishes you to marry as soon as pos- 
 sible. Bernard is a good fellow, who understands 
 your misfortune, and he is intelligent enough not 
 to care what people say. 
 
 [25] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 LOUISE. Grandmother, it is absolutely impossible. 
 I am very fond of Bernard, and for this reason I 
 cannot marry him. What would life be a few 
 months after marriage? It would be unbearable. 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. Bernard loves you; there is 
 nothing to justify your fears. 
 
 LOUISE. No, no; I have carefully considered my 
 situation. Bernard's first impulse is good, and I 
 believe him sincere; but as the child grows up, 
 when he will have every day under his eyes this 
 creature whom he must detest, and whom he can 
 only curse, what will be his sufferings? How will 
 he then regret this marriage which now he desires 
 so much? 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. Of course, the child is in the 
 way; but you might put it in the care of some 
 good woman near by, where you could see it from 
 time to time. 
 
 LOUISE. No, no, it is impossible. I love my child; 
 it is not his fault that he came into the world, the 
 poor thing! Did he ask to come? Must he sub- 
 mit to the consequences of a crime of which we 
 both were the victims? No, no; I wish to bring 
 him up myself, the poor darling. [ She gazes at 
 the cradle^ He has only me in the world. 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. Louise, you are not reason- 
 able; you are young and overwrought. Try to 
 follow the advice of your grandmother, who 
 desires only your good; you love your child, which 
 is only right and natural; but we must find a way 
 
 [26] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 out of every trouble. Be wise; marry Bernard. 
 That will assure your future and the child's. If 
 you undertake the struggle alone, with this child 
 on your arm, your life will be one great Calvary. 
 You will prepare for yourself a martyrdom. You 
 do not foresee the incessant suffering. Listen to 
 me, Louise, take my advice. 
 
 LOUISE. No, it is impossible! In a short time 
 Bernard would reproach me for having accepted 
 this marriage, and he would be right. My life is 
 ruined, but I have not the right to embitter his. 
 He would awake from this dream of a day, and 
 remember the outrage of the vile Prussian! No, 
 no; it is impossible. 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. My poor child! You don't 
 know the human heart. Little by little, forget- 
 fulness will come, and in a few years this sad story 
 will be entirely effaced from his memory; the bleed- 
 ing wound of today will close and become only a 
 remembrance. 
 
 LOUISE. Oh! your words are kind, and delude me 
 for a time. They would almost make me believe 
 in the possibility of this dream; but alas! as the 
 years go by, the child will grow and would always 
 be there to recall the crime. That destroys even 
 the illusion of happiness. 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. You are not reasonable. 
 
 LOUISE. Do not say that, grandmother; I see only 
 too clearly. 
 
MARTYR 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. If you tell your brother your 
 decision, he will again be angry. 
 
 LOUISE. Yes, I know my resistance displeases him; 
 but it is better to suffer alone than that others 
 should suffer too. . . . [ She rises and carries the 
 cradle near the window, then returns to the table.} 
 Tell me, grandmother, why does Jean keep 
 Schmidt on the farm? Now that this man is 
 completely cured, he should return to his country, 
 or at least go away from here; he also makes us 
 recall our misfortunes. 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. I have already spoken to your 
 brother about it. He says that Schmidt is a good 
 workman; he is very devoted to us. Jean will 
 keep him as long as he wishes to stay on the farm. 
 
 LOUISE. Yes, I know that Schmidt is very grateful 
 for the care I gave him after I found him dying 
 in the wood; but now that he is cured, his pres- 
 ence can only revive our miseries. 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. Yes, little girl, you saved his 
 life; when you took help to him he had not two 
 hours to live; so he would do anything in the 
 world to pay his debt of gratitude. You will see, 
 Schmidt will be of use to you one day. 
 
 LOUISE. Maybe; but I would rather see him gone. 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. Jean is very fond of him; he 
 is active and skillful. The new door that he has 
 just made for the house is beautifully done. By 
 the way, what did he do with the other door? 
 
 LOUISE. He stored it carefully away in the cellar.. 
 I wonder what he wants it for. 
 
 28 
 
MARTYR 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. I really wonder. 
 
 LOUISE. Jean and Schmidt have odd ideas. Jean 
 listens a little too much to him; they are always 
 brewing something between them. 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. Both wish you well. Jean is 
 a little quick-tempered, but his heart is good. 
 Here he is ! [ JEAN enters.} Well, my boy, what 
 good work have you done today? 
 
 JEAN. Oh, nothing particular; I just came back 
 with Bernard. He asked for news of you, Louise. 
 
 LOUISE. Bernard need not trouble himself about 
 me; one would say he takes a malicious pleasure 
 in bothering me. 
 
 JEAN. I think rather that it is you who abuse his 
 kindness and generosity. He loves you and wants 
 you for his wife; he wants to make you happy. 
 
 LOUISE. It is impossible. 
 
 JEAN. It is impossible! I see nothing impossible 
 in it. You are playing a risky game. Remaining 
 single, you will be at the mercy of people all your 
 life. You know the world is more inclined to 
 malice than to sympathy. Married, you would 
 be respected. You are trifling with your fate. 
 
 LOUISE. Yes, I know all that; Bernard is a good 
 fellow, but shall I not always carry with me the 
 shame of a ruined creature? Will I not eternally 
 drag this chain of infamy? What would become 
 of Bernard under this constant disgrace? No, no; 
 I do not want to marry; I must remain alone 
 with my child. 
 
 [29] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. Louise, Louise, you exaggerate. 
 At your age one should not see life so dark. If 
 Bernard marries you, it is because he has weighed 
 everything, looked everything squarely in the face. 
 He knows what he is doing; he will make you 
 happy, I am sure. 
 
 LOUJSE. The mere idea makes me shudder. To 
 give myself to this man, whom I esteem and love, 
 seems to me a crime; and if children should come 
 later, they would curse their mother. What 
 sufferings would then be his and mine! Oh! no, 
 no; never, never! 
 
 JEAN. You don't know what you are talking about. 
 Who do you suppose would tell to your children 
 the terrible fate that befell you without any fault 
 of yours? Once you are married, everyone will 
 forget. 
 
 LOUISE. No; the world never forgets. It cannot 
 forget that our house here was almost the only 
 one which the Germans left standing in the village. 
 You know how some of our neighbors talk. Last 
 Sunday at mass I heard a woman behind me say: 
 "See, there is Louise with her little Prussian brat." 
 I almost fainted with shame; I wanted to sink in 
 the earth. I repeat, it is impossible, impossible; 
 never, never, never! 
 
 JEAN. Who dared to say that? 
 
 LOUISE. I don't know; but what does it matter? 
 I cannot even go to mass any more. Henceforth 
 I will go and pray God in the solitude of the 
 
 [3] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 woods; happiness has been denied to me, but if I 
 go through life doing my duty, He will one day 
 give me a heart at peace. 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. [ Sobbing softly.] To think 
 that it is I who am the cause of this child's sorrow! 
 
 LOUISE. Grandmother, let us leave this subject; 
 speak of it no more, will you? 
 
 JEAN. Louise only did her duty. [ Going to LOUISE 
 and putting his band on her shoulder^ Console 
 yourself, little sister; we will make you happy. 
 Now go to your work. 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. [ Wiping her eyes.] Louise, 
 help me to bed; I am tired. 
 
 JEAN. Bernard is coming here presently; it is use- 
 less for him to see you. 
 
 LOUISE. That's true; but, above all, rid him of the 
 idea of this marriage. 
 
 THE GRANDMOTHER. Good night, my boy. 
 
 JEAN. Good night, grandmother. 
 
 [ he two women leave the stage.] 
 
 JEAN. [ <To himself.] What a sad thing is war! 
 What ruins it draws after it! How many inno- 
 cent victims are caught in its horrible machinery 
 and sacrificed without pity! What hate, what 
 wretchedness comes in its wake! One shudders 
 with horror. Now, what is to be done with that 
 child, the only obstacle to the happiness of Louise? 
 What is to be done? 
 
 [ Someone knocks at the door.] 
 
 JEAN. Come in! 
 
MARTYR 
 
 [ BERNARD and SCHMIDT enter and seat them- 
 selves at the table.} 
 
 BERNARD. Well, where is Louise? 
 JEAN. She is busy around the farm. 
 BERNARD. What did she decide? 
 JEAN. She will not consent. 
 BERNARD. I must speak to her. 
 JEAN. I think it is useless; what neither grand- 
 mother nor I could obtain, I doubt if you will. 
 
 The child is in the way; it is the main obstacle. 
 
 I think we had better to go back to our plan of 
 
 last week. 
 BERNARD. What! to take away the child? Don't 
 
 think of it. 
 JEAN. Just a moment. Let us send it to the 
 
 country for awhile; say for a month or two. 
 BERNARD. Louise would lose her mind. 
 JEAN. Bah! it would only be a question of a few 
 
 days. To get back her child, she will consent in 
 
 a short time. What do you think about it, 
 
 Schmidt? 
 SCHMIDT. You can use me as you please. For 
 
 Louise's sake no sacrifice will be too great. She 
 
 saved my life; it belongs to her. 
 JEAN. You said you had a brother at Coblenz? 
 SCHMIDT. Yes; he is a farmer near Coblenz. He 
 
 has several children; it would be simply one more. 
 BERNARD. I fear lest the taking away of her child 
 
 will drive her to frenzy. 
 JEAN. I believe there is no danger; it is only a 
 
 [32] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 question of time. Besides, Schmidt will send us 
 news every week. Anyway, let us try. I think 
 that once her child is gone, she will consent to 
 marry you. 
 
 BERNARD. How long does it take to make the trip? 
 
 SCHMIDT. About twelve hours. 
 
 BERNARD. There will be no danger for the child? 
 
 SCHMIDT. None; leaving here in the evening, it 
 would be in safety at noon the next day. 
 
 BERNARD. After our marriage, she could have her 
 child come back; you could bring it back to us. 
 
 SCHMIDT. Certainly, Bernard; I am at your orders. 
 
 JEAN. Then you are willing to leave with the 
 child? 
 
 SCHMIDT. Whenever you wish. 
 
 JEAN. Very well. What arrangements shall we 
 make; when will you start? 
 
 SCHMIDT. I could take the express this very even- 
 ing; it reaches Louvain about ten o'clock. I shall 
 be at Cologne tomorrow morning, and by noon 
 at my brother's. 
 
 JEAN. Yes, but I cannot give you the child till 
 Louise has gone to bed, about nine o'clock; that 
 would still leave you time enough to reach Louvain 
 before ten. 
 
 BERNARD. I will wait for Schmidt on the road 
 with the carriage. 
 
 JEAN. Schmidt will send you news, and we will 
 give it to Louise; she must not know where the 
 child is. 
 
 33 
 
MARTYR 
 
 SCHMIDT. It is understood. I will write to Bernard. 
 
 JEAN. Very well. Schmidt, go make your arrange- 
 ments; have some milk boiled to feed the child 
 on the way. 
 
 SCHMIDT. All right. I will be ready at nine o'clock, 
 and be here at the door; Bernard will be waiting 
 for me at the turn of the road. As soon as I 
 arrive at Coblenz, I will send you news. 
 
 JEAN. [Rising.] Well, that's all settled. Then 
 I'll see you later. 
 
 [ BERNARD and SCHMIDT exeunt^ 
 
 JEAN. [ Pensive.] Yes . . . yes ... it is not 
 very difficult to take the child away; but after- 
 ward, when Louise sees that her child has gone, 
 what a scene we shall have! I dare not think of 
 it. Of course, I could always bring it back if she 
 is too violent. Poor Louise . . . has she ever 
 deserved such sufferings ? People speak of divine 
 justice, but all this is too much of a muddle for 
 me. Surely, it was her courage and devotion to 
 duty that caused all her misfortune. Where, then, 
 is the recompense for worth, for right, for honor 
 and virtue. One would rather say that in this 
 life there is happiness only for knaves, and success 
 for villians. Poor sister; what will her awaken- 
 ing be! 
 
 LOUISE. [ She enters and goes at once to the cradle.] 
 The poor little thing; it is still asleep! 
 
 JEAN. Bernard and Schmidt have just gone. Let 
 us have supper, Louise. I will go to bed early; 
 
 [34] 
 
RTYR 
 
 tomorrow there will be a great deal of work to 
 do in the field. 
 
 LOUISE. Very well; I will lay the table. We shall 
 sup in five minutes. [ She takes the cradle and 
 carries it into the adjoining room, then returns and 
 sets the table; while she attends to her household 
 duties, the conversation continues.] Then Bernard 
 has abandoned his project? 
 
 JEAN. Not at all; not at all. He is patient, and 
 does not despair of convincing you. 
 
 LOUISE. The poor man! Sincerely, I pity him. 
 
 JEAN. Oh, he is a determined fellow; he decides 
 with energy. Nothing will stop him from carry- 
 ing out his purpose. You are wrong in vexing 
 him and driving him to desperation. 
 
 LOUISE. I wish only his good. In a few years he 
 will be very grateful to me for having resisted a 
 passion as unreasonable as it is wrong. He ought 
 to understand that it does not concern us alone, 
 but also those who might be born . . . There, 
 supper is ready. 
 
 [ 'They sit down and continue talking.] 
 
 JEAN. Oh, Bernard does not look into it so far; he 
 loves you, he wants you for his wife; he wishes to 
 protect you; as for consequences, he cares little. 
 
 LOUISE. He is wrong; it is precisely the conse- 
 quences from which I foresee terrible trouble, and 
 of which he should think. 
 
 JEAN. [ Sharply.] Listen, Louise; you tire me with 
 your foreboding and your arguments. 
 
 [351 
 
MARTYR 
 
 LOUISE. Yes, yes; I know it very well. You, who 
 
 should protect and advise me like a father, you 
 
 join with the others to harass me; besides, it is 
 
 not so much that you want to see me married to 
 
 Bernard; no, no, any other would do as well; you 
 
 would like to see me go away from here. You 
 
 want me to leave the farm; that is the truth. 
 
 JEAN. I confess that this is one of the reasons I 
 
 would like to see you married; the people of the 
 
 neighborhood are beginning to gossip. Once you 
 
 are married, they would keep still. 
 
 LOUISE. If you don't want me to stay here, I will 
 
 go to the city with my child; but marry, never! 
 
 Do you understand; never! 
 
 JEAN. [ Angrily.} You will probably change your 
 
 mind before long. 
 LOUISE. Never! never! 
 JEAN. [ Getting up.] We shall see. 
 
 [ Weeping quietly, she clears the table; JEAN 
 
 takes off his shoes and gets ready for bed; 
 
 he throws his shoes in a corner of the room.} 
 
 JEAN. [ Tawning.} Oouw ... I am glad to go 
 
 to bed; I am tired. Good night. 
 
 [ He disappears in his bedroom. LOUISE does 
 
 not answer; when alone, she goes to her child, 
 
 embraces it, and places it on the floor before 
 
 the Fir gin; then kneels before the statue.] 
 
 LOUISE. [ She prays.] O God, the compassionate! 
 
 You who have taken my father and mother. 
 
 Alone on earth, without friends, without support, 
 
 [36] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 what is going to become of me? What will 
 become of the child which Thou hast sent? . . . 
 What fate awaits us ? This child, born of a crime, 
 repulsed by everyone; what a life of wretchedness 
 is opened before it! No one to love it, no one to 
 protect it; what will become of it . . . what 
 will become of it! [Raising her arms toward the 
 Virgin.] Oh, Mother of our Lord, Thou who hast 
 suffered, regard our sufferings; have pity on my 
 child; have pity on this little innocent who did 
 not ask to be born. Mother of the Saviour, guide 
 his steps through the sad life which he begins. 
 [ She raises the child toward the Virgin.} Blessed 
 Mother, protect him . . . have pity . . . have 
 pity. 
 
 [ She rises, embraces the child, and carries it 
 back to her room. The stage is slightly 
 darkened. LOUISE withdraws into her room, 
 of which she leaves the door ajar. JEAN 
 opens his door softly, and watches the move- 
 ments of his sister. He waits awhile, then 
 quietly enters the room of LOUISE and 
 reappears with the child, which he wraps in 
 a blanket.} 
 LOUISE. [ Drowsily, from her room.] Is that you, 
 
 Jean ? 
 
 JEAN. Yes; it is I. 
 LOUISE. What are you doing? 
 JEAN. I forgot to unchain the dogs; I will be back 
 in a moment. 
 
 37] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 [He goes toward the door and opens it. 
 SCHMIDT enters and gives him a letter; he 
 puts his fingers on his lips to indicate silence. 
 JEAN throws the letter on the table, then the 
 two men go out. 'The stage is empty for a 
 moment, then LOUISE comes out in her 
 nightdress. She looks around, then slowly 
 she goes to the door and listens^ 
 
 LOUISE. What is that? ... a carnage on the 
 road . . . [ Thoughtfully she returns to the table 
 and sees the letter; she takes it, looks at it for an 
 instant perplexedly, then opens and reads it aloud.] 
 " Madamoiselle Louise : 
 
 "Your brother wishes me to take your child to 
 the country for a time. I will give you news 
 every week. Fear nothing; I swear to watch over 
 it. After your marriage, I will bring it back. 
 "Yours with devotion until death, 
 
 "Josef Schmidt." 
 
 [ She first rushes into her room; then, bewildered and 
 holding her head with both hands, she cries out in a 
 desperate low voice \ The child is gone! 
 
 [ She stops an instant, then flies to the door; 
 but JEAN enters and bars the way.] 
 
 LOUISE. My child! . . . my child! ... I want 
 my child! What have you done with it? You 
 have no right to take it from me. You are going 
 to kill it; without me it will die! 
 
 JEAN. Don't make so much noise. I have sent the 
 
 [38] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 child to the country for a few days. It will be 
 all right there. 
 
 LOUISE. No, no; I do not want to be separated 
 
 from my child! I do not want to! I do not 
 
 want to! No one has the right to take it from me. 
 
 [ She rushes again toward the door. He 
 
 forcibly restrains her.} 
 JEAN. Louise, stay here; do not make a scandal; 
 
 the neighbors meddle enough already. 
 LOUISE. [ Bursting into tears and throwing herself 
 at his feet '.] Jean! Jean! give me back my child! 
 give me back my child! In the name of our dear 
 mother, give me back my child! . . . 
 JEAN. All right! In a few days; in a week or two. 
 LOUISE. God! God! They are going to kill it! 
 They are going to kill it! Pity! pity! pity! 
 
 [ Holding her head, she totters, and falls in a 
 faint at his feet.] 
 
 [39] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 Act III. 
 
MARTYR 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 The stage shows the village market-place. The 
 church is at the right; three or four steps lead to the 
 entrance. On the other side of the square is a beer- 
 house, with a table and some chairs before the door.} 
 
 [ At the rising of the curtain BERNARD and 
 LOUISE are talking in the center of the 
 market place. LOUISE is dressed in black; 
 she wears a little silver cross at her neck. 
 The door of the church is open. It is Sun- 
 day, and the villagers are going to high mass.} 
 BERNARD. So Jean told you that I took your child 
 
 away, did he not? 
 
 LOUISE. Well, he told me that so long as I refused 
 to consent to marry you, you would keep my 
 child away. 
 
 BERNARD. Louise, the child is in good health, and 
 very well where it is. Schmidt is watching over 
 
 [43] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 it; but if you will marry me, we will return it to 
 you immediately. 
 
 LOUISE. I don't understand your conditions. What 
 right have you to take my child away? By what 
 right do you keep it, without telling me where it 
 is? By what right do you hinder me from seeing 
 it? It is infamous! Listen, Bernard. I loved 
 you; now, I hate you! 
 
 BERNARD. You can have your child back whenever 
 you wish. Let us marry, and two days after, it 
 will be at our home. 
 
 LOUISE. No! Besides, you fill me with horror. 
 You take advantage of my weakness because I am 
 without friends and without defense. You keep 
 my child from me; but beware! I will make a 
 complaint, and you will be obliged to return it 
 to me. 
 
 BERNARD. Louise, I love you, and I will have your 
 child brought back; but as for making a complaint, 
 that will not help you. You have no proof against 
 me; you will simply make trouble for your brother. 
 It is he who took it away. 
 
 LOUISE. Yes, yes; you depend upon that to keep 
 me quiet; but I will be revenged. 
 
 BERNARD. [ Approaching LOUISE and taking her 
 hand.} I beg you, my dear Louise, be calm; we 
 have taken your child away in the hope of making 
 you change your decision. 
 
 LOUISE. [ Drawing her hand away brusquely.} Yes, 
 and you have gained just the contrary. More 
 
 [44] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 than ever, I see how impossible this marriage is; 
 you yourself will be thankful one day that I 
 refused. 
 
 [ ne church bell strikes, calling the congre- 
 gation to the service. Some villagers pass 
 LOUISE whispering; a woman turns and 
 points her out scornfully '.] 
 BERNARD. [ Again taking LOUISE'S hand.} Come, 
 dear Louise; you know that I will never be happy 
 without you. It was wrong to take away your 
 child, but it was because of my love for you that 
 I consented to it. 
 
 [ At this moment MARTHA passes, going to 
 mass with two of her friends; they see 
 LOUISE, laugh sneer "ingly, and enter the 
 church.} 
 
 LOUISE. Do you see, Bernard, to what you would 
 be exposed from morning till night ? Do you hear 
 those girls? Their laugh breaks my heart. I die 
 with shame! Martha tattles in the village; she 
 is jealous; she loves you; marry her. 
 BERNARD. No, no; I cannot bear that woman. I 
 will make her keep silence. At the first oppor- 
 tunity, she is going to get a lesson. 
 LOUISE. For the love of Heaven, do not make a 
 scandal. Am I not unhappy enough as it is? 
 
 BERNARD. Dear Louise, it only depends upon your- 
 self to be happy. 
 
 LOUISE. Well, first have my child brought back; 
 
 [45] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 then later, when everything is forgotten, then 
 
 perhaps . . . One never knows. 
 BERNARD. Listen, Louise; I will have your child 
 
 brought back next week; I will talk to Jean about 
 
 it today. 
 LOUISE. Oh, Bernard! Thanks! thanks! We will 
 
 always be friends. 
 BERNARD. [ Shaking her hand.] That's all right; 
 
 that's all right. 
 
 LOUISE. Mass has begun; I must be off. Good bye. 
 BERNARD. Good bye, Louise. 
 
 [ She disappears in the church. BERNARD 
 goes over to the beer shop, seats himself at the 
 table before the door, and calls the keeper.} 
 BERNARD. Here, Roulands! Give me a pot of 
 
 beer. 
 ROULANDS. [ 'Thrusting his head out.] Yes, sir; 
 
 yes, sir. 
 
 [ He goes to get the beer.] 
 BERNARD. Poor Louise, poor little girl; to think 
 
 that it is these cursed Prussians who have caused 
 
 all my troubles. They murdered my parents; 
 
 they murdered my sisters, my young brother; 
 
 they burned our farm; Jacques is blind. The 
 
 ruffians have left me nothing. They violated my 
 
 fiance; they have embittered my whole life. 
 
 [ 'The innkeeper returns with a pot of beer y and 
 
 pours BERNARD a drink.} 
 BERNARD. [ Throwing money on the table.] Have 
 
 you seen Jean this morning? 
 
 [46] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 ROULANDS. No, Bernard, not yet; but he will 
 surely come. By the way, how is the little 
 Louise? I saw you talking together a few mo- 
 ments ago. 
 
 BERNARD. How is she? As you saw yourself, she 
 is very well. Why this question? 
 
 ROULANDS. They say in the village that she got 
 rid of her child. 
 
 BERNARD. Bah! and who says that? 
 
 ROULANDS. Oh, I heard it. You know very well 
 that we do not lack evil tongues. 
 
 BERNARD. People busy themselves about things 
 which don't concern them. 
 
 ROULANDS. It is true. Louise is a good girl, and 
 should be pitied. Martha has a vile tongue, and 
 sneers at her whenever she can. It seems to me 
 that she is jealous of Louise. 
 
 BERNARD. Martha will be sorry for it one of these 
 days; besides, I am going to stop all that gossip. 
 I am going to marry Louise; afterward, let the 
 first one I find slandering her beware. 
 
 ROULANDS. You are going to marry Louise! 
 
 BERNARD. And why not? What is there strange 
 in that? 
 
 ROULANDS. You would adopt the Prussian's child? 
 
 BERNARD. I will legalize Louise's child. 
 
 ROULANDS. That is very generous, Bernard. 
 
 BERNARD. I do not see any generosity in that. I 
 love Louise; I marry her, and quite naturally I 
 take the child also. 
 
 [47] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 ROULANDS. That's absolutely right, Bernard. Look, 
 
 there are your friends coming. 
 
 [JEAN and three other villagers enter; they 
 
 shake hands with BERNARD.] 
 JEAN. Good morning, old fellow. 
 THE THREE OTHER MEN. Hallo, Bernard. Good 
 
 morning, Bernard. 
 
 [ All shake hands and sit down.} 
 BERNARD. [ To the innkeeper.} Here, another pot 
 
 of beer! 
 
 [ The innkeeper brings the beer and glasses.} 
 JEAN. Then it is here that you go to mass on 
 
 Sunday, eh? 
 BERNARD. My boy, every Sunday I go to the first 
 
 mass in the early morning. I don't like to go to 
 
 high mass; it is too long and too dry. 
 [ The friends burst out laughing.} 
 JEAN. All right, all right! You are nothing but a 
 
 heathen. Come; to Bernard's health! 
 
 [ They drink.} 
 BERNARD. And then I come here to learn the 
 
 gossip of the village. It is sometimes very 
 
 interesting. 
 
 JEAN. True; and what is the news today? 
 BERNARD. It seems that Martha is slandering your 
 
 sister. 
 JEAN. Let her take care; one of these days I will 
 
 catch her. They say that she has a case on you. 
 BERNARD. She stops me every time she meets me. 
 JEAN. Does she speak to you of Louise? 
 
 [48] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 BERNARD. She has never dared. 
 
 JEAN. She is a sly one. By the way, it seems that 
 the government is preparing a new military 
 organization. 
 
 BERNARD. Yes, I saw that in the papers; they are 
 to get ready, by degrees, for a new butchery. 
 
 JEAN. It looks that way to me. Unhappily it is 
 always us, the people of the country, who are the 
 fools in the trick. Always we pay the piper. 
 
 BERNARD. If the Germans take forty years again 
 to prepare for the next war, we shall not see it. 
 
 JEAN. I don't want to see it again. 
 
 BERNARD. Neither do I. We have all seen enough. 
 
 JEAN. My faith! How we got out alive from some 
 of those furnaces, only the devil knows. For 
 example, at Healen, you remember how the 
 hulans ran into our guns and batteries, and rolled 
 pell mell in the ravine, cavalrymen and horses all 
 in the same porridge? 
 
 BERNARD. Heavens, if I remember it! But the 
 greatest day of butchery was at the battle of 
 Aerschot. That bayonet charge! My friends, I 
 shall always see it. My brother had just fallen 
 at my side, struck by a ball; I became mad with 
 fury; I howled that I would have the skin of ten 
 Teutons, and while ripping them up I counted 
 them. [ He gets up and pretends to charge with the 
 bayonet^ One . . . and two . . . and three 
 . . . and four . . . and five; and I ran them 
 through, sixteen, one after another; and that did 
 
MARTYR 
 
 not take me more than a quarter of an hour. 
 The seventeenth, seeing me come, threw himself 
 on his knees, let fall his gun, and begged for mercy, 
 crying: "Ich habe sieben Kinder; Ich habe sieben 
 Kinder."* I stopped, sorry for his seven children; 
 I went a little distance off; he seized his gun, 
 aimed at me, and was just going to fire, when he 
 received a blow on his head which stretched him 
 out on his back forever; a comrade had saved my 
 life. Without this masterly blow, I should not 
 be here to drink with you, my friends. Jacques 
 is blind, but I have avenged him; they have paid 
 dearly for it, the bandits! 
 
 JEAN. Yes, the Prussians will remember the Bel- 
 gians for a long time. You, Bernard, were mighty 
 lucky never to get a scratch. 
 
 BERNARD. That's true. I always came out safe 
 and sound; that allowed me to do my part of the 
 work. [ He raises his glass.] Come, my friends, 
 let us drink to the brave, fallen in these combats 
 of giants. 
 
 ALL. [Rising.] Bravo, Bernard! bravo! 
 
 [ They empty their glasses, and sit down again.] 
 
 JEAN. Yonder, see, Jacques is going to church; 
 
 the poor fellow will get there for the benediction! 
 
 [ JACQUES is advancing, groping with his cane, 
 
 toward the church; JEAN gets up and leads 
 
 him to the table.] 
 
 *"I have seven children." 
 
 [50] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 JEAN. Come, Jacques, drink a glass of beer with 
 your friends. 
 
 JACQUES. [Recognizing JEAN'S voice.] Oh, Jean! 
 
 It is you! Thank you, my friend, thank you. 
 
 [ All shake JACQUES'S band heartily.] 
 
 JEAN. Then you were going to mass, Jacques? 
 
 JACQUES. Yes; I think I shall be late. I made a 
 mistake and lost my way. I have been at least 
 an hour on the road, without knowing where 
 I was. 
 
 BERNARD. I told you not to venture so far alone. 
 
 JACQUES. That's true; but I love to go to mass on 
 Sunday. As I can no more see the light of day, 
 I am preparing myself to contemplate the divine 
 light. 
 
 JEAN. My dear Jacques, some misfortune will 
 happen to you one of these days, if you go about 
 the roads alone. 
 
 JACQUES. Ah! my friends, what greater evil can 
 come to me than being blind. [ He gets up.] I 
 am only twenty-three, and I am condemned to 
 an eternal night; ... for you, the glorious sun 
 rises every morning; ... for me it is night; 
 ... for you, spring returns with the roses, and 
 you see the flowers in the meadows bloom again; 
 ... for me it is night . . . always night. At 
 the close of the day you walk in couples along 
 the paths, and the valleys resound with your 
 songs of love. On Sunday evening, when music 
 invites the sweethearts to dance down there under 
 
MARTYR 
 
 the lindens, I, alone in my little room, hear their 
 cries of joy, which stab me to the heart. In my 
 solitude, night has at last penetrated even my 
 soul. You, my friends, who contemplate the 
 beauties of nature, you cannot understand the 
 intense torture of this night without end. Your 
 night, when it descends over the earth, is resplen- 
 dent with millions of stars, all scintillating, all 
 mysterious. Your night is full of beauty . . . 
 [ He stretches out his arms before him into space.] 
 Alas! . . . Alas! ... in mine, there is never 
 a ray; . . . mine is ever blackness, night with- 
 out a gleam . . . night everlasting . . . night 
 without hope . . . torment without end! 
 
 JEAN. [ 'Taking JACQUES by his arm.} Come, 
 Jacques; come, my friend, let us drink. 
 
 JACQUES. No, no; thanks, Jean, thanks; I am not 
 thirsty; I just drank at the f6untain at the turn 
 -of the road. Beer is good when one sees it run; 
 for me, it is insipid. But thank you just the 
 same, my friend. 
 
 [ He goes toward the church entrance, but at 
 this moment the mass is ended, and the 
 congregation come out. He turns, groping 
 his way with his stick; he leaves the stage.} 
 
 JEAN. Poor friend! 
 
 BERNARD. There; mass is finished. I will lead 
 Jacques home. Good-bye, my friends. 
 
 JEAN. Good-bye, Bernard, till this evening. 
 
 BERNARD. Yes, come to see me this evening; I 
 want to talk with you. 
 
MARTYR 
 
 [ The people are coming out of the church; they 
 stop in little groups on the market place to 
 talk. MARTHA stops with some friends near 
 the door. LOUISE comes out slowly. "The 
 door of the church is shut. Just as LOUISE 
 passes by y MARTHA stops her.} 
 MARTHA. [Mockingly.] He! Louise! How fine 
 you look today. 
 
 [ MARTHA'S friends giggle.} 
 LOUISE. [ 'Timidly.] Martha, I am as usual. 
 MARTHA. No, no; today you have put on your fine 
 dress. That is easily understood; when we go to 
 meet a lover we put on our fine dress! 
 LOUISE. I wear my best dress to go to mass on 
 
 Sunday. 
 MARTHA. [ Satirically.} Indeed; what do you come 
 
 to mass for? 
 
 LOUISE. Just what you come for, Martha. . 
 MARTHA. How; you dare to compare yourself to 
 
 me! 
 
 LOUISE. I do not understand you, Martha. 
 MARTHA. You do not understand me! What are 
 you doing among respectable people? 
 
 [ The villagers make a circle around the two 
 
 women.} 
 LOUISE. I think myself as respectable as you, 
 
 Martha. 
 
 MARTHA. What a cheek! Oh! oh! she is as respect- 
 able as we are! 
 
 [ 'The villagers seem much amused.} 
 
 [53] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 LOUISE. Why have you such a spite against me? 
 I have never done you the least harm. 
 
 MARTHA. No; but that does not say that you would 
 not do much better to stay at home, than to come 
 here to exhibit yourself at church. 
 
 LOUISE. You are trying to pick a quarrel. I have 
 never harmed you or anyone else, and I have the 
 same right to come to church as others. 
 
 MARTHA. No, you have not. The priest should 
 throw you out. 
 
 LOUISE. The priest orders me to come. Besides, 
 what is it to you? 
 
 MARTHA. Ha ! nothing, nothing at all ! [ Mock- 
 ingly.] You have a right to sell yourself to whom- 
 soever you please; even to the Prussians, as you 
 did during the war. 
 
 LOUISE. You know very well, Martha, that I 
 neither sold nor gave myself to anyone. 
 
 MARTHA. Yes, yes; we are agreed on this. Every- 
 one knows that your house is the only one in the 
 village that was not burned. 
 
 LOUISE. I have nothing to say. Everyone knows 
 what happened. 
 
 MARTHA. Yes, but nobody likes your story. 
 [ Some women make signs of assent.} 
 
 LOUISE. Listen, Martha, I'll tell you what started 
 all this fuss. You are jealous because Bernard 
 does not want you. 
 
 MARTHA. [Piqued.] Bernard! ... I snap my 
 finger at Bernard, the great blockhead; you can 
 
 ['54] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 have him. He will play father to your little 
 Prussian! By the way, what have you done with 
 your German sprout? 
 LOUISE. That is my affair. 
 
 MARTHA. You think so? Very well, we will 
 denounce you; we will find out what you have 
 done with it. [ Approaching LOUISE.] Good-for- 
 nothing girl . . . creature of soldiers . . . you 
 sold yourself to the Prussians so that they would 
 spare your farm. Now you have done away with 
 your child; but we will find it again; and we will 
 also stop you from soiling decent people here at 
 church. 
 
 LOUISE. I will not answer, my girl; I scorn your 
 insults. 
 
 [ She tries to go, but MARTHA bars the way.} 
 MARTHA. [ Going close to LOUISE.] Yes, you with 
 your sanctimonious airs! Nobody is your dupe; 
 everyone knows you. [ Noticing the silver cross 
 which LOUISE wears at her neck, she seizes it, and 
 holds it a moment between her fingers.] And so, 
 Miss carries a cross at her neck! An honest girl 
 like you has no need of that ! 
 
 [ She snatches the cross, throws it on the ground, 
 
 and steps on it.} 
 LOUISE. [ Angrily.] My mother's cross! 
 
 [ She thrusts MARTHA back in order to recover 
 her cross; MARTHA resists; finally LOUISE 
 regains the cross. MARTHA and her friends 
 threaten LOUISE, who has backed up to the 
 
 [55] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 steps of the church, ^he door opens, and 
 the PRIEST appears in his surplice.} 
 THE PRIEST. Well, well, what is the matter? Why 
 
 all these cries and all this noise on Sunday? 
 MARTHA. This creature has insulted us. 
 
 [ She points to LOUISE.] 
 
 THE PRIEST. My child, what has happened? 
 LOUISE. Martha waited for me coming out from 
 mass; she insulted me, snatched my mother's cross 
 from me, threw it on the ground, and stepped 
 on it. 
 
 MARTHA. We do not want this harlot in our church. 
 
 THE PRIEST. Martha, I forbid you to speak thus. 
 
 [ With a loud voice, and raising his arms as if to 
 
 protect LOUISE.] Understand well, my friends, 
 
 that Louise is as pure as the most virtuous among 
 
 you. Her soul is as virgin as that of an angel. 
 
 Do not you judge her; the Lord alone is the 
 
 supreme judge. [ ^To LOUISE.] Come, my child. 
 
 [ He leads LOUISE into the church; MARTHA 
 
 and her friends slink away; the villagers 
 
 applaud the priest.} 
 
MARTYR 
 
 Act IV. 
 
MARTYR 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 [ Four years later. The stage the same as in pre- 
 ceding act, showing the market-place. VON RAUCH, 
 now a general, is sitting with two officers before the 
 tavern at the table. They have been sent by their 
 government to witness the annual manoeuvres of the 
 Belgian army. VON RAUCH and VON BLIESS are 
 seated facing the audience ', and LIEUTENANT ROSSAK 
 at the side of the table in such a way that he sees the 
 stage. A large scar is visible on VON RAUCH' s face.] 
 VON RAUCH. Well, gentlemen, this is a country 
 through which I passed during the war. After 
 the Belgian manoeuvres, it will be necessary to 
 return immediately, so I wished to see it again 
 while we had leisure. 
 VON BLIESS. A fine country, indeed! 
 VON RAUCH. Yes; but the village was badly 
 demolished during the war. 
 
 [59] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 VON BLIESS. You don't see much of that now; 
 
 these good people have almost rebuilt it. 
 VON RAUCH. The inhabitants are marvellously 
 
 industrious. That, indeed, is the real wealth of 
 
 a country. 
 ROSSAK. What a pity that we were not able to 
 
 keep it! 
 VON BLIESS. Lieutenant, in twenty or thirty years 
 
 we shall come again, and then we will take better 
 
 precautions. 
 VON RAUCH. Dear Captain, you are wrong; what 
 
 the empire could not do in 1914, neither we, nor 
 
 our children, nor our grandchildren shall be able 
 
 to do; this is a certainty. 
 VON BLIESS. It is evident that we shall never find 
 
 our neighbors asleep again as at that time. 
 VON RAUCH. The lesson was a hard one for us as 
 
 well as for them. Remember that in times to 
 
 come, the allies will dispute among themselves; 
 
 they will perhaps fight, but when it comes to 
 
 keeping the empire in a circle of iron, they will 
 
 always agree. 
 ROSSAK. Then your conclusion, General, is that we 
 
 will have no more war? 
 VON RAUCH. That is my idea; in our country our 
 
 armies will only have to fight the enemy within 
 
 socialism, the people, the working classes; as for 
 
 outside, there will not be much to do for a long 
 
 time. 
 
 60 
 
MARTYR 
 
 ROSSAK. Then, General, you condemn me to remain 
 
 a lieutenant all my life? 
 VON RAUCH. Not exactly, not exactly; but you 
 
 will never be promoted general on the battle-field. 
 
 Don't count on it. 
 ROSSAK. Look, there is a blind man and a child 
 
 walking together. This man is quite young. 
 
 [ JACQUES comes on the stage, holding in one 
 hand a sticky and by the other a little boy 
 about four years old; they walk slowly.} 
 VON RAUCH, This man probably lost his sight 
 
 during the war. [ JACQUES passes near the three 
 
 officers; VON RAUCH calls him.} Eh! my friend; 
 
 where are you going? 
 
 JACQUES. [ Stopping.} Sir, are you calling me? 
 VON RAUCH. Yes, my friend, you. 
 JACQUES. Well, I have been taking a walk with 
 
 my little friend. Now I am taking him to his 
 
 mother. 
 VON RAUCH. [ 70 ROSSAK.] Lieutenant, lead this 
 
 brave fellow here to the table. [ 70 JACQUES.] 
 
 Say, my friend, will you have a drink? 
 
 [ ROSSAK seats JACQUES near VON RAUCH, 
 
 who takes the child on his knees} 
 JACQUES. Certainly, sir, with pleasure. I am 
 
 thirsty; it has been very hot today. 
 VON RAUCH. Here, innkeeper, give our friend 
 
 something to drink. 
 Rou LANDS. Very well, sir. Well, Jacques, what 
 
 will you take? 
 
 [61] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 JACQUES. Give me a glass of beer. 
 
 [ The innkeeper brings the beer.] 
 VON RAUCH. So you were walking with this pretty 
 
 little blond fellow? 
 
 [ He caresses the child.] 
 JACQUES. Yes, sir; the child has only a mother, 
 
 and she works very hard; I make myself useful, 
 
 and take him out for a walk. 
 VON RAUCH. [ Drawing a piece of money from his 
 
 pocket and giving it to the child.] Here, my little 
 
 boy; buy some bonbons. 
 THE CHILD. Thank you, sir. 
 
 [ He throws his little arms around VON 
 RAUCH 's neck. The General continues to 
 caress him during the conversation.] 
 JACQUES. Yes, sir, Johnny is a good little chap; 
 
 but the village children will not play with him. 
 VON RAUCH. Indeed; and why not? 
 JACQUES. Ah, it is quite a story, and not a very 
 
 pleasant one. Let us not speak of it. 
 VON RAUCH. As you like, my friend. . . . And 
 
 you, are you entirely blind? 
 JACQUES. Yes, completely; it is a present from the 
 
 Prussians. 
 
 [ The three men look at each other in silence.] 
 VON RAUCH. Do you not believe, my friend, that 
 
 the Germans also have many blind and crippled 
 
 among them? 
 JACQUES. Certainly, I believe it; it would be sad 
 
 if they had not. 
 
 [62] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 VON RAUCH. Why? 
 
 JACQUES. Well, because it is they who started the 
 war. They who fell on our country, and ruined 
 everything; then, when we were righting like men, 
 like soldiers, they made war like bandits, like 
 murderers. Their punishment can never be great 
 enough. 
 
 VON RAUCH. Were you born in this country? 
 
 JACQUES. Yes, sir; my parents had a large farm. 
 Before the war, we were all living happily; when 
 the Germans passed through here, they murdered 
 my parents, my two sisters, and my little brother, 
 a child of twelve years. 
 
 VON RAUCH. Probably someone at the farm shot 
 at the troops as they passed. 
 
 JACQUES. No, no; there was no weapon at our 
 house, not one. Besides, here in the village the 
 Germans committed every crime imaginable 
 murder, fire, assault! Nothing was lacking. 
 
 VON RAUCH. These things are inevitable during 
 war. 
 
 JACQUES. That's the excuse of the Germans; but 
 to kill children and violate women because the 
 sharpshooters fell upon them was a singular 
 fashion of defending themselves. The truth is, 
 they thought they could commit these crimes 
 with impunity; they were crimes doubled by 
 cowardice. 
 
 VON RAUCH. My friend, these cases of which you 
 speak were very rare. 
 
 [63] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 JACQUES. Very rare! ... on the contrary, very 
 frequent. We have thousands of German children 
 in our country; hundreds of nuns are mothers 
 today. [ Feeling the arm of the child, and pointing 
 to it.] Here, this very child is the son of a Prus- 
 sian officer, of a captain of the German army, 
 who outraged a young girl that was to be the bride 
 of my brother; he was called Von Rauch. 
 
 [ The two officers look at VON RAUCH with 
 surprise.] 
 
 VON RAUCH. [ Not at all disconcerted.] Well, well; 
 and are there any proofs against that Captain 
 Von Rauch. 
 
 JACQUES. I don't know, sir; it is a story that is 
 told in the country. 
 
 VON RAUCH. Do you know the people who spread 
 this story? 
 
 JACQUES. The only witness was Jean Bruneels, the 
 brother of the girl. He says he wounded the 
 scoundrel in the face with his bayonet just as he 
 was escaping from the house. 
 
 [ The two officers look at the scar on VON 
 RAUCH'S /<zr.] 
 
 VON RAUCH. [ Pointing to the child on his knees.] 
 Then this child would be the son of Von Rauch ? 
 
 JACQUES. Yes, sir; without any doubt. 
 
 VON RAUCH. Nevertheless, if this Jean Bruneels 
 has no proof, how can he claim that this child is 
 Von Rauch's son? 
 
 JACQUES. Bruneels says that he has the proofs. 
 
MARTYR 
 
 VON RAUCH. Truly, this Bruneels has proofs? 
 JACQUES. So it seems, sir. 
 
 [Enter LOUISE from the rear. VON RAUCH, 
 facing the audience -, does no see her; neither 
 does she recognize him.} ( 
 
 LOUISE. [ Stands motionless at the rear of the stage 
 for a few moments, contemplating the group.} Well, 
 well, Jacques; you are here drinking while I am 
 looking for you everywhere. I was much fright- 
 ened. [ Calling the child.} Come on, Johnny; 
 come quickly! 
 
 [ The child jumps from VON RAUCH'S knees 
 and runs to his mother, who embraces him; 
 the three men are silent} 
 JACQUES. [Getting up.] There, there, my good 
 
 Louise; I am coming. 
 
 LOUISE. [ Advancing toward JACQUES.] Come, it is 
 already late. 
 
 [ Approaching the table, she recognizes VON 
 RAUCH, cries out, and rushes away with the 
 child} 
 JACQUES. Louise! Louise! What's the matter? 
 
 What's the matter? 
 VON B LI ESS. Your friend has gone with the child, 
 
 but we will take you as far as the road. 
 JACQUES. But she cried out . . . someone has 
 
 harmed her. 
 
 VON RAUCH. No, no, my good fellow; but tell me, 
 who is this woman? 
 
MARTYR 
 
 JACQUES. It is Louise Bruneels; it is she of whom 
 I was just speaking. 
 
 VON RAUCH. Then she is the mother of the little 
 boy? 
 
 JACQUES. Yes, sir; it is she . . . but where has 
 she gone? 
 
 VON RAUCH. She has probably gone home. Gan 
 you take me to these people? 
 
 JACQUES. Certainly; I go that way every day. 
 
 VON RAUCH. All right; let us go together. I wish 
 to talk to them. [ 70 the two officers.] Gentle- 
 men, wait here for me; I will return presently. 
 
 [ VON BLIESS and ROSSAK salute. VON 
 RAUCH and JACQUES leave the stage \ 
 
 ROSSAK. Well, what do you say about that? 
 
 VON BLIESS. Moses! the General has a bad piece 
 of business on his hands. 
 
 ROSSAK. I believe so too; he would have done 
 better never to have risked himself here; better, 
 even, never to have come to Belgium. 
 
 VON BLIESS. It is a very strange psychological 
 phenomenon that one is always attracted toward 
 the places where he has committed any notable 
 action, good or bad. 
 
 ROSSAK. That's true; and the general has been 
 taken in like many others; but he will get out of 
 it with money. A few hundred francs will settle 
 it all. 
 
 VON BLIESS. I wish so, for his sake. 
 
 ROSSAK. If Madame Von Rauch learns this 
 
 [66] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 tomorrow at Brussels, there will be a pretty 
 scandal. 
 
 VON BLIESS. It would make a fine bit of gossip for 
 the whole world! 
 
 ROSSAK. O, the general will surely find a way to 
 avoid that. 
 
 VON BLIESS. Yes, I think so too; but suppose that 
 these good people are not willing to listen to any- 
 thing, which would not at all astonish me; then 
 the general's situation would be critical. The 
 woman recognized Von Rauch at once; the blind 
 man, although not seeing him, knew how to depict 
 him in a striking manner; everything seems to 
 indicate that they have the right man. 
 
 ROSSAK. Without any doubt. Do you believe that 
 he can be arrested? 
 
 VON BLIESS. Certainly, it is a crime; and although 
 committed in a time of war, it is no less a crime, 
 and punishable no matter when discovered. 
 
 ROSSAK. The general is in a fine mess. 
 
 VON BLIESS. Yes, ten years of hard labor await 
 our dear general if he cannot weather the storm. 
 
 ROSSAK. Ah, you understand, it is all right to have 
 a good time with the girls, but one must be careful 
 not to get caught. I am curious to know how the 
 general is going to effect his retreat. 
 
 VON BLIESS. I am afraid it will be hard. 
 
 ROSSAK. Since we are to witness all this sordid 
 affair, and since they will want to hush it up, we 
 may find an unexpected promotion immediately. 
 
MARTYR 
 
 VON BLIESS. My faith, Rossak, you are right! 
 No matter how it turns, we cannot lose; I hadn't 
 thought of that. 
 
 ROSSAK. I see you a colonel and me a captain in a 
 
 few months. It is an ill wind that blows nobody 
 
 good! Listen, people are coming down the road. 
 
 [ VON RAUCH, the SHERIFF, JEAN, and a 
 
 number of villagers arrive on the stage, 
 
 talking and gesticulating^ 
 
 JEAN. [ To VON RAUCH.] Ah! ah! my fine fellow; 
 so you thought that with a little gold you would 
 get out of this affair? 
 
 VON RAUCH. My boy, you accuse me of a thing 
 .of which you have absolutely no proof. To avoid 
 scandal, I offer you five thousand francs; you did 
 not accept; it is your business; you shall have 
 nothing, and I will prefer a complaint for defa- 
 mation of character. 
 
 JEAN. All right, all right; we know that you Prus- 
 sians do not want cheek, but this time it won't 
 do you any good. 
 
 [ The villagers surround VON RAUCH, JEAN 
 and the SHERIFF.] 
 
 VON RAUCH. [ To the SHERIFF.] Then you want 
 to take me to the justice court of Louvain in 
 order to file a complaint against me? 
 
 THE SHERIFF. That's where we are going, dear sir. 
 
 VON RAUCH. Do you not know that I am sent to 
 your country as the representative of the Em- 
 peror? You have no right to arrest me. 
 
 [681 
 
MARTYR 
 
 THE SHERIFF. [ Mockingly.] General, you might 
 be the representative of ten emperors, and you 
 would have to follow me; I do not arrest you, I 
 am taking you to the district attorney; he will 
 know what to do with you better than I. 
 
 VON RAUCH. You will surely lose your position. 
 Bruneels is mistaken; he has not the shadow of 
 proof for what he claims. 
 
 JEAN. Look, then, my friends, at the fine hole in 
 this face. [ He points to VON RAUCH'S scar.] 
 That is the scar of which I have so often spoken, 
 and he pretends that I have no proofs! I have 
 others, too, in reserve something carefully 
 guarded. 
 
 VON RAUCH. What do you mean ? 
 
 JEAN. Ah! it is useless to talk of that now; it will 
 dumbfound you. 
 
 VON RAUCH. [ 70 the two officers] Gentlemen, as 
 I told you, during the war I passed through this 
 village. One evening, I asked for something to 
 eat at the farmhouse of this man. His sister 
 seated me in the dining-room, when suddenly he 
 burst in like a madman. I had to escape by the 
 window. Once outside, he rushed upon me and 
 gave me a blow in the face with his bayonet; 
 now he pretends that this is the proof that I 
 abused his sister. These are the facts. As you 
 see, it is an accusation as ridiculous as it is insane. 
 
 JEAN. You forgot to tell that I had to break in 
 the door to get in my house; you forget that our 
 
MARTYR 
 
 grandmother was lying in the next room and 
 heard everything, and finally that the child was 
 born just at its time. 
 
 VON RAUCH. In all that you have said there is no 
 
 proof. Your sister had a sweetheart, did she not ? 
 
 [ BERNARD, forewarned by JACQUES, has come 
 
 on the stage unnoticed. He listens to the 
 
 general's words, then breaks through the 
 
 crowd and throws himself upon VON RAUCH.] 
 
 BERNARD. [ Grasping VON RAUCH by his shoulders 
 
 and raising his fist threateningly.} Wretch! . . . 
 
 Louise was my sweetheart. For four years I have 
 
 begged her to marry me; she always refused. 
 
 You, ruffian, you have destroyed not only her 
 
 happiness but also mine. 
 
 [ VON BLIESS and ROSSAK come to the help 
 of VON RAUCH; all fists are raised; the 
 villagers threaten to attack the three Germans.} 
 THE SHERIFF. [ In a thundering voice and thrusting 
 the villagers back, he protects VON RAUCH.] Enough 
 of that! enough of that! All these explanations 
 are useless. You, Bruneels, you will explain 
 before the judge. [ To VON RAUCH.] You, Gen- 
 eral, I order you to follow me. Here I am the 
 law. 
 
 [ The SHERIFF leaves the stage with JEAN and 
 VON RAUCH, followed by the two officers 
 and BERNARD. The villagers watch them 
 go, and comment on the incident^ 
 
 [70] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 Act V. 
 
MARTYR 
 
 ACTV. 
 
 [ The stage shows the office of the district attorney, 
 
 M. LE BRUN. A large table in the center. Behind 
 
 the table the chairs of the judge and his secretary. 
 
 the left and right, several chairs for the witnesses. 
 
 Some doors at the rear, of which one is hung with a red 
 
 drapery. At the rising of the curtain, JEAN, BERNARD 
 
 and LOUISE are seated awaiting the arrival of 'the judge '.] 
 
 JEAN. It seems that Von Rauch continues to deny 
 
 his guilt. All the newspapers are speaking of it 
 
 today; see, here is quite a lot of it; it finishes like 
 
 this: [ He shows the newspaper, and reads.] 
 
 "Madame Von Rauch, wife of the general, not 
 
 daring to show herself in public with her husband, 
 
 set out this morning for Berlin." 
 
 BERNARD. It is to be hoped the general will not 
 
 try to take this road also. 
 
 [73] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 JEAN. He would if they gave him a chance. But 
 you may be sure, he is well guarded. Besides, 
 the scar I gave him would not allow him to escape. 
 
 BERNARD. True, with that he would cross the 
 frontier with difficulty; You served him as they 
 did the criminals in the middle ages; you marked 
 him with the red iron. 
 
 JEAN. Yes, but I chose the face instead of the arm. 
 
 BERNARD. That was all the better. 
 
 LOUISE. Good heavens, how I wish all this was 
 over! 
 
 JEAN. You ought to be happy that this savage has 
 fallen into our hands again. 
 
 BERNARD. Yes, Louise; when this scoundrel is 
 behind bolts, and everyone knows that you were 
 a victim and not at fault, there will no longer be 
 any excuse for our not marrying. 
 
 LOUISE. True; but, unfortunately, the child will 
 always be there. What is going to become of 
 him? 
 
 BERNARD. Well, we will make an honest man of 
 him, a good workman. Morally, a child is not 
 the product of heredity, but of the environment 
 in which he is raised. 
 
 LOUISE. Fortunately. 
 
 [ The JUDGE enters, accompanied by his 
 SECRETARY; be goes toward the three; the 
 SECRETARY sits down at the table.} 
 
 LE BRUN. Good morning, gentlemen; good morn- 
 ing, Mile. Bruneels. [He shakes hands with 
 
 [74] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 LOUISE.] Well, how are you today? 
 LOUISE. Thank you, sir; very well. 
 LE BRUN. [ To JEAN.] Now, then, M. Bruneels; 
 
 we are going to prove the innocence of your sister. 
 JEAN. I hope so, sir. 
 LE BRUN. It is quite certain; Von Rauch can 
 
 never clear himself from this wretched business. 
 
 Anyway, we caught this one all right; what a 
 
 pity we cannot get a few thousands of these brutes ! 
 BERNARD. Will he be sentenced, your Excellency? 
 LE BRUN. He will get at least five years at hard 
 
 labor. 
 JEAN. Your laws are not logical; a man who kills 
 
 another is sentenced to death; but he who wrecks 
 
 the life of a fellow creature merely gets five years 
 
 in prison. 
 LE BRUN. There is some truth in your remark; 
 
 but we judges do not make the laws, we simply 
 
 apply them. 
 BERNARD. You agree, then, that this Von Rauch 
 
 deserves hanging rather than a few years in prison. 
 LE BRUN. Under the circumstances in which this 
 
 crime was committed, Von Rauch deserves no 
 
 pity; but law is law. 
 
 JEAN. I hope they will give him the maximum. 
 LE BRUN. [ Going to the table.] Have no fear; he 
 
 will get his full dose. 
 
 [ Someone knocks on the door.] 
 THE SECRETARY. Come in! 
 
 [ VON RAUCH and his lawyer enter.] 
 
 [75] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 LE BRUN. [ Bowing.] Gentlemen, be seated. 
 
 [ They seat themselves at the right of the table.} 
 
 LE BRUN. We are going to proceed at once with 
 the testimony of the witnesses. Mr. Secretary, 
 you will take it down; do not forget that this 
 testimony will be produced at the trial. [ He 
 rises.] General Henry Von Rauch, you are 
 accused of having violated Miss Louise Bruneels 
 under circumstances related in the preceding 
 examination. What have you to say in your 
 defense ? 
 
 VON RAUCH. All that these people assert is a plot 
 of lies; they wish to ruin me. 
 
 LE BRUN. General, you said in your first exami- 
 nation that Bruneels and his sister refused your 
 money. It is then a nobler impulse that prompts 
 them to demand justice. 
 
 VON RAUCH. Jean Bruneels, in not producing here 
 any tangible proof, has done me a great wrong, 
 for which I demand justice in my turn. 
 
 LE BRUN. [ With sarcasm} General, I promise 
 you that if Jean Bruneels does not bring material 
 proofs of your guilt, he shall be severely punished. 
 [ To JEAN.] M. Bruneels, take the stand, and 
 repeat your accusation. 
 
 JEAN. [ Coming forward and standing by the table.} 
 Yes, Your Excellency, I again accuse this man 
 [ he points to VON RAUCH ] of having abused my 
 sister on the same night when the Prussians set 
 fire to Louvain. 
 
 [76] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 LE BRUN. On what do you base your accusation? 
 
 JEAN. Returning to my house, I found at the door 
 of my dwelling a German sentinel; I fired at him, 
 and the man escaped, wounded. 
 
 VON RAUCH. [ Interrupting.] You have no proof 
 that I had placed a sentinel at your door. 
 
 JEAN. We will see that later. When I wished to 
 enter, the door was locked on the inside; I had to 
 break it in with the butt of my gun. When at 
 last the door yielded, a man was escaping by the 
 window and jumped out on the road. I attacked 
 him and wounded him in the face with my bayonet. 
 The accusing and ineffaceable mark is still on the 
 face of this man. 
 
 VON RAUCH. What a medley of lies! 
 
 LE BRUN. [ Making a sign to VON RAUCH to be 
 silent] Very well, Jean Bruneels; sit down. 
 Louise Bruneels, come forward! [ LOUISE ap- 
 proaches slowly with drooping head, and stands near 
 the table^ Miss Bruneels, do you recognize in 
 General Von Rauch the man who did the crime? 
 
 LOUISE. [ Raising her hand toward heaven.] I swear 
 that it is he. 
 
 LE BRUN. General, what do you answer? 
 
 VON RAUCH. This woman is mad. She accuses me 
 without giving any proof. These people are all 
 in a league with one another. 
 
 LE BRUN. General, I must tell you that the pre- 
 vious record of this woman is perfect. Her con- 
 duct before and after the crime has always been 
 
 [77] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 exemplary; she would not accuse you if she was 
 not absolutely certain. 
 
 THE LAWYER. I wish to remark to Your Honor 
 that this entire accusation rests only on words. 
 
 LE BRUN. I beg you, sir, to be patient; we will 
 see to that presently. [ To LOUISE.] You are 
 then certain that this man committed the assault? 
 
 LOUISE. Yes, Your Honor, I am certain. 
 
 LE BRUN. You have nothing more positive on 
 which to rest your accusation? 
 
 LOUISE. I have no material proof. My grand- 
 mother heard a man in the house; she heard my 
 cries; but as she is paralyzed, she could not get up, 
 so there were no witnesses. 
 
 [ JEAN goes to the door with the red curtain, 
 throws it on one side, and shows the old 
 door of the farmhouse on which is still seen 
 the German inscription written by VON 
 RAUCH.] 
 
 JEAN. One moment! one moment! [He unwraps 
 the door.] And this is this no witness ? 
 
 VON RAUCH. [ Visibly excited.] What do you 
 mean? 
 
 JEAN. Is this not the door that I broke in, in order 
 to get into my house? Is not this your writing 
 and your signature? 
 
 VON RAUCH. Certainly; but that simply proves 
 that instead of doing you a wrong, I rendered you 
 a service; that, thanks to me, your house was 
 spared; that, in return for a meal and a bottle of 
 
 [78] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 wine, I kept anyone from burning your dwelling. 
 LOUISE. This man never had a meal at our house. 
 The wine that he drank was intended for our sick 
 grandmother; he stole it. 
 
 JEAN. The reason why he wrote this [pointing to 
 the door] is very apparent. He feared that he 
 would be disturbed in his intentions. He prob- 
 ably planned to return often. 
 
 THE LAWYER. All these things are pure inventions, 
 or simply mere suppositions. You have still 
 brought nothing against my client, absolutely 
 nothing. As I do not wish to expose him any 
 longer to your sarcasm, we will await the trial. 
 [ He rises, and VON RAUCH does the same.] 
 LE BRUN. [ Stopping them.] Just a moment, gen- 
 tlemen; just a moment. You have not seen all 
 the witnesses. [ With a loud voice he calls.} 
 Josef Schmidt, orderly of Captain Von Rauch! 
 [ ^he door with the inscription opens, and 
 SCHMIDT appears in military costume, 
 carrying his gun as during the war of 1914. 
 He closes the door behind him, and remains 
 standing before it.] 
 VON RAUCH. [ Springing to bis feet, deadly pale.} 
 
 Mein Gott! Schmidt! 
 
 LE BRUN. Yes, Schmidt; it is indeed he ... 
 Josef Schmidt, what have you to say? 
 
 [ Before SCHMIDT can answer, VON RAUCH 
 takes a few steps toward the middle of the 
 stage, draws a pistol from his pocket, and 
 
 [79] 
 
MARTYR 
 
 shoots himself. His lawyer rushes to him, 
 but he is too late. He staggers and falls in 
 the center of the stage; he struggles some 
 moments in agony, and then remains still. 
 His lawyer makes a sign that the general 
 is dead.} 
 
 LE BRUN. My friends, this man did justice him- 
 self. It was the best he could do; respect and 
 repose to the dead! Bernard Valkiers, divine 
 justice returns you your bride; her sublime soul 
 has remained pure notwithstanding these terrible 
 trials. [ He takes the hand of LOUISE and places 
 it in that of BERNARD.] Mile. Bruneels, now you 
 may marry. May the Lord bless and protect you ! 
 LOUISE. [ Withdrawing her hand slowly.} No, no; 
 the child is still there. It is impossible! It is 
 impossible! 
 
 [ CURTAIN ] 
 
 [so] 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS 
 
 WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN 
 THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY 
 WILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTH 
 DAY AND TO $1.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY 
 OVERDUE. 
 
 FE&26 1935 
 
YC 
 
 3G0647 
 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY