Chapter I: Part 1

Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/goddessofreason00johnuoft

Transcriber’s note:

Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

THE GODDESS OF REASON

A Drama in Five Acts

THE GODDESS OF REASON

by

MARY JOHNSTON

Boston and New York Houghton, Mifflin and Company MDCCCCVII

Copyright 1907 by Mary Johnston All Rights Reserved

Published May 1907

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

TO
THE HOUSEHOLD AT WOODLEY
THIS DRAMA
IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED

_DRAMATIS PERSONÆ_

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

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

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

_TIME 1791–1794_

ACT I. The Château of Morbec in Brittany.

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

ACT III. A Square in Nantes.

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

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

_Scene II._ The Banks of the Loire.

THE

GODDESS OF REASON

_ACT I_

_The Château of Morbec in Brittany. A formal garden and a wide
terrace with stone balustrade. In the background the château,
white and peak-roofed, with great arched doors. Beyond it a
distant prospect of a Breton village and of the sea beating
against a dangerous coast. To the left a thick wood, to the right
a perspective of garden alleys, fountains, and flowering trees. On
the terrace a small table set with bread, fruit, and wine. In the
angle formed by the level of the terrace and the wide stone steps
leading into the garden the statue of a nymph, its high and broad
pedestal draped with ivy. Scattered on the terrace and steps a
litter of stones, broken cudgels, rusty and uncouth weapons. The
sun shines, the trees wave in the wind, the birds sing, the
flowers bloom. It is a summer morning in the year 1791._

_Enter from one of the garden paths a lackey and_ RÉMOND LALAIN.
LALAIN _wears a riding dress with a tricolour cockade_.

LALAIN

Say to Monsieur the Baron of Morbec, Rémond Lalain, the Deputy from Vannes, In haste is riding north, but hath drawn rein— Hearing to-day of Baron Henri’s death— And audience craves that he may homage pay To Morbec’s latest lord!

THE LACKEY

I go, monsieur!

[_Exit the lackey._

LALAIN

These gloomy towers!

[_He muses as he paces the garden walk before the
terrace._

Mirabeau is dead! Gabriel Riquetti, dead, I salute thee, Great gladiator! Who treads now the sand That yesterday was trod by Mirabeau? Barnave, Lameth, ye are too slight of frame! There’s Lafayette. No, no, _mon général_! Robespierre? Go to, thou little man! Jean Paul Marat, dog leech and People’s Friend? Wild beast to fight with beast! Faugh! Down, Marat! Who stands this course, why, that man’s emperor! Now how would purple look upon Marat? Jacques Danton?—Danton! Hot Cordelier! Dark Titan forging to a Titan’s end! Shake not thy black locks from the tribune there, Nor rend the heavens with thy mighty voice! ‘Tis not for thee, the victor’s golden crown, The voice of France—

[_The doors of the château open. Enter three lackeys
bearing a great gilt chair, which they place with
ceremony at the head of the steps which lead from
the terrace into the garden._

FIRST LACKEY (_stamping with his foot upon the terrace_)

The gilded chair place here! We always judge our peasants from this chair, We lords of Morbec! North terrace, gilt chair!

SECOND LACKEY

Baron Henri sat here the day he died!

FIRST LACKEY

Now Baron René takes his turn!

[_They place the chair._

LALAIN (_as before_)

Danton! Why not Lalain? It is as good a name! Mirabeau’s dead! Out of my way, Danton!

THIRD LACKEY (_gathering up the stones which lie
upon the terrace_)

I’ll throw these stones into the shrubbery!

SECOND LACKEY (_lifting a rusty scythe from the steps_)

This scythe I’ll fling into the fountain!

FIRST LACKEY (_his hands in his pockets_)

Hé!
One sees quite well that we have stood a siege!

[_The lackeys gather up the stones, the sticks, the broken
and rusty tools and weapons._

LALAIN

Where lives the man who doth not worship Might? O Goddess All-in-All! make me thine own, As the bright moon did make Endymion; And I will rim thy Phrygian cap with stars, And give thee for thy cestus the tricolour!

_Enter_ GRÉGOIRE.

GRÉGOIRE

Monsieur Lalain!

LALAIN (_waving his hand_)

My good Grégoire!

GRÉGOIRE (_to the lackeys_)

Despatch!
Monseigneur will be here anon!

[_He glances at the stones, etc._

Rubbish!
Away with’t!

[_Passing the statue of the nymph, he strikes it with
his hand._

Will you forever smile? Stone lips that long have smiled at bitter wrong! You might, my dear, have lost that smile last night!

FIRST LACKEY

Last night was something like!

SECOND LACKEY (_throwing the stones one by one into
the shrubbery_)

Sangdieu! last night
My heart was water!

GRÉGOIRE

Ah, poltroon; your heart!

THIRD LACKEY (_making play with a broken stick_)

Our baron’s a swordsman! His rapier flashed!

FIRST LACKEY

_Keen as the blade of the Sieur de Morbec!_ —And that is a saying old as the sea!

SECOND LACKEY

_Hard as the heart of the Sieur de Morbec!_ —And that was said before the sea was made!

[_They laugh._

THIRD LACKEY (_pointing to_ LALAIN)

What’s he?

GRÉGOIRE

The advocate Rémond Lalain.

THIRD LACKEY

A patriot?

GRÉGOIRE

Hotter than Lanjuinais!

THIRD LACKEY

What does he at Morbec?

GRÉGOIRE

How should I know? His home was once within the village there, And now and then he visits the curé.

FIRST LACKEY

The curé! He visits Yvette Charruel!

LALAIN (_as before_)

Mirabeau and I were born in the south. Oh, the orange flower beside the wall! And the shaken olives when Mistral wakes!

GRÉGOIRE

Once they were friends, Baron René and he; The Revolution came between—

FIRST LACKEY (_He sends a pike whirling into the
shrubbery_)

Long live
The Revolution!

GRÉGOIRE

My friend, ‘twill live
Without thy bawling!

THIRD LACKEY (_arranging the bottles upon the small
table_)

So! The red wine here,
The white wine there!

(_To a fallen bottle._) Stand up, Aristocrat!

LALAIN

The sun is high!

[_He approaches the terrace and addresses the nearest
lackey._

How long must I await
The pleasure of Monsieur the Baron here?

THE LACKEY

Monsieur?

LALAIN

Go, fellow, go! and to him say,
Rémond Lalain—

THE LACKEY

I go, monsieur!

[_Exit the lackey._

LALAIN

‘Tis well,
René de Vardes, to keep me waiting thus!

[GRÉGOIRE _pours wine into a glass and descending
the steps offers it to_ LALAIN.

GRÉGOIRE

The old vintage, Monsieur Lalain!

LALAIN

Thanks, friend.
The day is warm.

[_He raises the glass to his lips. Laughter and voices
from the winding garden paths._

What’s that?

GRÉGOIRE (_shrugging_)

More guests, no doubt! The count, the vidame, and the young marquise! All Morbihan felicitates Morbec, And brings our baron bonbons and bouquets, As if there were no hunger and no frost!

[_A distant sound from the wood of harsh and complaining
voices._

LALAIN

And that?

GRÉGOIRE

Soldiers and huntsmen beat the woods; For half the village is in hiding there, Having assayed last night to burn Morbec! As if ‘twould burn! This time the soldiers came! Mon Dieu! the times are bad.

LALAIN (_abruptly_)

All the village!
Did Yvette Charruel—

GRÉGOIRE (_shrugging_)

Yvette!

FIRST LACKEY (_from the terrace_)

Yvette!

SECOND LACKEY

I warrant monseigneur will hang Yvette!

[LALAIN _pours the wine upon the ground and throws
the glass from him. It shatters against the balustrade.
Laughter and voices. Guests appear in the garden
walks, the women in swelling skirts of silk or muslin,
powdered hair and large hats; the men in brocade
and silk with cane swords, or in hunting dress._

A LADY (_curtseying_)

Monsieur le Vicomte!

A GENTLEMAN (_bowing_)

Madame la Baronne!

MME. DE MALESTROIT

A heavenly day.

ENGUERRAND LA FÔRET

No cloud in the sky.

THE VIDAME (_saluting a gentleman_)

Count Louis de Château-Gui!

COUNT LOUIS

Ah, monsieur!

[_Presents his snuff-box._

MME. DE PONT À L’ARCHE

For laces I advise Louise. Fichus? The Bleeding Heart above the flower shop.

THE VIDAME

—A _lettre de cachet_. To Vincennes he went!

MME. DE MALESTROIT

But ah! what use of laces or fichus! We emigrate so fast there’s none to see!

THE ENGLISHMAN

I quote a great man—my Lord Chesterfield: “Exist in the unhappy land of France All signs that history hath ever shown”—

MME. DE PONT À L’ARCHE

The Queen wore carnation, Madame, pale rose, The Dauphin—

LALAIN

What do I in this galley?
(_To_ GRÉGOIRE.) I’ll walk aside!

[_Exit_ LALAIN.

COUNT LOUIS (_to_ GRÉGOIRE)

Was that Rémond Lalain?

GRÉGOIRE

It was, Monsieur le Comte.

COUNT LOUIS

Ah, scélérat!

THE VIDAME

The talked-of Deputy for Vannes?

LA FÔRET

Tribune
Eloquent as Antony!

COUNT LOUIS

Demagogue!

THE ENGLISHMAN

I heard him in the Jacobins. He spoke, And then they went and tore a palace down!

COUNT LOUIS

Stucco!

_Enter, laughing_, MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI, MELIPARS DE
L’ORIENT, _and_ CAPTAIN FAUQUEMONT DE BUC. DE
L’ORIENT _has in his hand a paper of verses_.

My daughter and De L’Orient,
Captain Fauquemont de Buc!

MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

Messieurs, mesdames!
The poet and his verses!

THE COMPANY

Ah, verses!

COUNT LOUIS

Who is the fair, Monsieur de L’Orient? Lalage or Laïs or little Fleurette? Men sang of Célestine when I was young,— Ah, Célestine, behind thy white rose tree!

DE L’ORIENT

I do not sing of love, Monsieur le Comte!

MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

He sings of this day—

DE BUC

The Eve of Saint John.

DE L’ORIENT

It is a Song of Welcome to De Vardes!

DE BUC

But yesterday poor Colonel of Hussars!

MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

To-day Monsieur the Baron of Morbec!

DE L’ORIENT

_Mars to Bellona leaves the tented field._

DE BUC

That’s Bouillé at Metz! Kling! rang our spurs— De Vardes’ and mine—from Verdun to Morbec!

DE L’ORIENT

_The warrior hastens to his native weald._

COUNT LOUIS

Would I might see again Henri de Vardes!

DE BUC

It would affright you, sir! The man is dead.

COUNT LOUIS

Ah, while he lived it was as did become A nobleman of France and Brittany! He was my friend; together we were young! From dawn to dusk, from dusk to dawn again, We searched for pleasure as for buried gold, And found it, too, in days when we were young! From every flint we struck the golden sparks, We plucked the thistle as we plucked the rose, And battle gave for every star that shone! O nymphs that laughing fled while we pursued! O music that was made when we were young! O gold we won and duels that we fought! _On guard, monsieur, on guard! Sa! sa! A touch! What shall we drink? Where shall we dine? Ma foi! There’s a melting eye at the Golden Crown! The Angel pours a Burgundy divine! Come, come, the quarrel’s o’er! So, arm in arm!_ O worlds we lost and won when we were young! O lips we kissed within the jasmine bower! O sirens singing in the clear moonlight!— With Bacchus we drank, with Apollo loved, With Actæon hunted when we were young! The wax-lights burned with softer lustre then. The music was more rich when we were young. Violet was the perfume for hair powder, Ruffles were point and buckles were brilliant And lords were lords in the old land of France! We did what we would, and _lettres de cachet_, Like cooing doves they fluttered from our hands!

DE L’ORIENT

_Our tribute take, last of a noble line!_

COUNT LOUIS

Women! There will come no more such women!

DE L’ORIENT

_The laurel and the empress rose we twine._

COUNT LOUIS

And Henri’s gone! And now his cousin reigns,— René de Vardes that hath been years away! The King is dead. Well, well, long live the King! They say he’s brave as Crillon, handsome too, With that _bel air_ that no De Vardes’s without!

_Enter_ MME. DE VAUCOURT _followed by the_ ABBÉ JEAN DE
BARBASAN.

MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

Monsieur l’Abbé!

DE BUC

Madame de Vaucourt!

MME. DE VAUCOURT (_with outspread hands_)

You’ve heard? Last night they strove to burn Morbec!

ALL

What?

MME. DE VAUCOURT

The peasants!

COUNT LOUIS

Again!

DE BUC

Ah, I am vexed. Messieurs, mesdames, the Baron of Morbec Silence enjoined, or the tale I’d have told! The abbé is so bold—

THE ABBÉ

De Buc’s so proud! And just because he brought us help from Vannes! The red Hussars to hive the bees again!

THE ENGLISHMAN

The seigneur and his peasants are at odds?

THE ABBÉ

Slightly!

COUNT LOUIS (_complacently_)

Henri was hated! Hate descends
With the land.

DE L’ORIENT

There is a girl of these parts—

COUNT LOUIS

Eh?

DE L’ORIENT

She plays the firebrand.

COUNT LOUIS

Bah!

DE L’ORIENT

She hath
The loveliest face!

COUNT LOUIS

Hm!

THE ABBÉ

I am unscathed.
De Vardes is slightly wounded!

ALL

Oh!

COUNT LOUIS

Morbleu!
And how did it happen, Monsieur l’Abbé?

THE ABBÉ

Behold us at our ease in the great hall, De Vardes and I, a-musing o’er piquet! Voltaire beside us, for we read “Alzire,” A wine as well, more suave than any verse; A still and starlit night, soft, fair, and warm; Wax-lights, and roses in a china bowl. He laid aside his sword and I my cap, All tranquilly at home, the Two Estates! He held carte blanche, I followed with quatorze. The roses sweetly smelled, the candles burned, At peace we were with nature and mankind.— A crash of painted glass! a whirling stone! A candle out! the roses all o’erturned! The thunder of a log against our doors! A clattering of sabots! a sudden shout! _Morbec, Morbec, it is thy Judgment Night! Admission, admission, Aristocrats!_ Red turns the night, the servants all rush in. _Sieur! Sieur!_ the lackeys moan and wring their hands. _Give, give!_ the terrace croaks. _Burn, Morbec, burn!_ The great bell swings in the windy tower Till the wolves in the forest pause to hear. _Fall, Morbec, fall! France has no need of thee!_ Upsprings a rosy light! a smell of smoke! Mischief’s afoot! The Baron of Morbec Lays down his cards and takes his rapier up, Hums _Le Sein de sa Famille_, shuts _Alzire_, Resignedly rises—

COUNT LOUIS (_rubbing his hands_)

Expresses regret
That monsieur his guest—

THE ABBÉ

Should be incommoded And turns to the door. I levy the tongs. The seneschal Grégoire hauls from the wall An ancient arquebus! The lackeys wail, And nothing do, as is the lackey’s wont! Again the peasants thunder at the door! _Open, De Vardes! Oh, hated of all names! The new is as the old! Death to De Vardes!_ The log strikes full, and now a panel breaks; In comes a hand that brandishes a pike; A voice behind, _We’ve come to sup with thee! For thou hast bread and we have none, De Vardes!_

THE ENGLISHMAN

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

COUNT LOUIS

You laugh, monsieur?

THE ABBÉ

I like calmness myself. Calm of the sea, Calm skies, the calm spring, and calmness of mind! A tempest’s plebeian! So I admired René de Vardes when he walked to the door And opened it! Behold the whole wolf pack, As lean as ‘twere winter! canaille all! Sans-culottes and tatterdemalions, Mere dust of the field and sand of the shore; Humanity’s shreds would follow the mode, And burn the château of their rightful lord! De Vardes’ peasants in fine. _Mort aux tyrans! À bas Aristocrat! Vive la patrie! Vive la Révolution!_ In they pressed, Gaunt, haggard, and shrill, and full in the front— Young and fair, conceive! dark-eyed and red-lipped— A fury, a mænad, a girl called—

DE L’ORIENT

Yvette!

THE ABBÉ

So they named her, the peasants of Morbec, Named and applauded the dark-eyed besom! When, De Vardes’ drawn rapier just touching Her breast-knot of blue as she stood in his path, Up went her brown hand, armed with a sickle!— De Vardes is a known fencer,—‘tis lucky! His wound is not deep, and in the left arm!

THE VIDAME

She may hang for that! How high I forget The gallows should be—

COUNT LOUIS (_offering his snuff-box_)

Monsieur le Vidame,
Thirty feet, I believe!

THE VIDAME

But not in chains—

COUNT LOUIS

No! It was the left arm.

DE L’ORIENT

What did De Vardes?

THE ABBÉ

De Vardes, with Liancourt and Rochefoucauld, Holds that the peasant doth possess a soul! I think it hurt him to the heart that he, New come to Morbec, and unknown to these, His vassals of the village, field, and shore, Should be esteemed by them an enemy, A Baron Henri come again, forsooth! But since ‘twas so, out rapier! parry! thrust! Diable! he’s a swordsman to my mind! The mænad with the sickle he puts by; Runs through the arm a clamourer of corvée, Brings howling to his knees a sans-culotte, And strikes a flail from out a claw-like hand! They falter, they give way, the craven throng! The women cry them on; they swarm again. His bright steel flashes, rise and fall my tongs! But the lackeys are naught, and Grégoire finds A flaw in his musket; he will not fire! Pardieu! the things this Revolution kills! There is no faithfulness in service now! Our peasants grow bold. Ma foi! we’re at bay! De Vardes and De Barbasan, rapier, tongs! Wild blows and wild cries, blown smoke and a glare, And the girl Yvette with her reaping hook Still pushed to the front by the women there! Upon De Vardes’ white sleeve the blood is dark, And his breath comes fast! I see the event As ‘twill look in print in Paris next week, In _L’Ami du Peuple or Journal du Roi_! “The Vain Defence of an Ancient Château! When we Burn so Much, why not Burn the Land?” And I break with my tongs a young death’s-head That’s bawling—What think you?—_Vive la République._

COUNT LOUIS

Death and damnation!

THE ABBÉ

So I said! And then, Quite, I assure you, in time’s very nick, The saint De Vardes prays to smiled on him! A thunder clap!—_Pas de charge! En avant!_ Captain Fauquemont de Buc and his Hussars!

DE BUC

Warned by the saint, we galloped from Auray!

THE ABBÉ

Like the dead leaves borne afar on the blast, Or like the sea mist when the sun rises, Or like the red deer when the horn’s sounded,— Like anything in short that’s light o’ heel,— Vanished our peasants! The women went last; And last of all the mænad with the eyes! Jesu! She might have been Jeanne d’Arc, that girl! The man who captures her has a hand full!— To the deep woods they fled, are hunted now.— De Vardes and I gave welcome to De Buc, Put out the fire, attended to our wounds, Resumed our cards, and finished our _Alzire_— The Château of Morbec stands, you observe!

[_The company applauds._

MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

But who was the saint?—

DE BUC

Ah, here is De Vardes!

_Enter_ DE VARDES. _He is dressed in slight mourning and
carries his arm in a sling._

THE GUESTS

Monsieur the Baron of Morbec!

DE VARDES

Welcome, The brave and the fair, my old friends and new! Welcome to Morbec!

COUNT LOUIS

Ah, your wounded arm!—
Our regret is profound!

DE VARDES

It is nothing.
The fraternal embrace of the people!

COUNT LOUIS

Oh, the people!

MME. DE VAUCOURT

The people!

DE L’ORIENT

The people!

COUNT LOUIS

My friend, permit us to hope you will make Of the people a signal example!

DE VARDES

They are misguided.

COUNT LOUIS

Misguided! Morbleu!

DE VARDES

I will talk to them.

COUNT LOUIS

Monsieur le Baron, Let your soldiers talk with a bayonet’s point, Your bailiffs with a rope—

MME. DE VAUCOURT

But what good saint
Brought warning to Auray?

DE L’ORIENT

I guess that saint!

[_A lackey appears upon the terrace._

THE LACKEY

Madame la Marquise de Blanchefôret!

THE GUESTS

Ah!
La belle marquise!

_Enter_ THE MARQUISE.

DE BUC

The saint!

DE VARDES

My neighbour fair, And to De Barbasan and me last night A guardian angel—

[_He greets_ THE MARQUISE.

Madame la Marquise!

THE MARQUISE

Monsieur le Baron!
(_To the company._) Messieurs, mesdames!

DE VARDES

From Blanchefôret to Auray through the night This lady rode—

THE MARQUISE (_with gayety_)

Ah, how I rode last night, To Auray through the dark! This way it was: I overheard two peasants yestereve As in a lane I sought for eglantine. “How long hath Morbec stood?” said one. “Too long! But when to-morrow dawns ‘twill not be there! And we were born, I think, to burn châteaux!— Ten, by the village clock—forget it not!”

THE ABBÉ

Ah, ay, the while I dealt the clock struck ten.

THE MARQUISE

It was already dusk.—Like grey death moths They slipped away! I knew not whom to trust, For in these times there’s no fidelity, No faithful groom, no steadfast messenger! My little page brought me my Zuleika. I knew the red Hussars were at Auray, And that ‘twas said they loved their colonel well! So to Auray came Zuleika and I!

DE BUC

We thought it was Dian in huntress dress!

DE VARDES

How deeply am I, Goddess, in thy debt! No gold is coined wherewith I may repay!

[_Music within._

THE MARQUISE

Give me a rose from yonder tree!

[_Laughing voices within._

MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

More guests,
They’re on the south terrace!

DE L’ORIENT

Violins too!
Ah, the old air—

[_He sings._

_There lived a king in Ys,
In Ys the city old!
Beside the sounding sea
He counted o’er his gold._

DE VARDES

Let us meet them.

[_He gives his hand to_ THE MARQUISE. _Exeunt_
COUNT LOUIS, THE ABBÉ, DE BUC, DE L’ORIENT,
_etc._ GRÉGOIRE _approaches_ DE VARDES.

GRÉGOIRE

Monseigneur—Monsieur the Deputy!

DE VARDES

Ah!
Say to monsieur I’m not at leisure now.

[_Exeunt_ DE VARDES _and_ THE MARQUISE. _The
terrace and garden are deserted save for_ GRÉGOIRE,
_who seats himself in the shadow of the balustrade_.

GRÉGOIRE

Humph!—Monseigneur’s not at leisure.

[_He draws a Paris journal from his pocket and
reads, following the letters with his forefinger._

What news?
What says Jean Paul Marat, the People’s Friend?

[_A cry from the wood and the sound of breaking
boughs._ YVETTE _and_ SÉRAPHINE _enter the garden_.
RAÔUL THE HUNTSMAN’S _voice within_.

THE HUNTSMAN

Hilloa!—Hilloa!—Hilloa!

[YVETTE _and_ SÉRAPHINE _turn towards one of the
garden alleys. Laughter and voices._

YVETTE

Go not that way!

SÉRAPHINE

There is no way!

THE HUNTSMAN (_within_)

Hilloa!—Hilloa!

SÉRAPHINE

We’re caught!

YVETTE

The terrace there! Behind the stone woman!

[_They cross the garden to the terrace._

SÉRAPHINE (_She stops abruptly and points to the table_)

Bread!

THE HUNTSMAN (_nearer_)

Hilloa!—Hilloa!

[YVETTE _and_ SÉRAPHINE _turn from the table and
hide behind the tall, ivy-draped pedestal of the
statue_. GRÉGOIRE _looks up from his paper and sees
them_.

_Enter_ RAÔUL THE HUNTSMAN.

THE HUNTSMAN

This way they came!

GRÉGOIRE (_jerking his thumb over his shoulder_)

Down yonder path!—plump to the woods again!

THE HUNTSMAN

The Hussars from Auray have twenty rogues!

GRÉGOIRE

Indeed!

THE HUNTSMAN

These two and my bag’s full!

[_Exit_ THE HUNTSMAN.

GRÉGOIRE

Diable!

[_He reads aloud._

_Weary at last of intolerable wrong, The peasants of Goy in Normandy rose And burned the château. Who questions their right?_

[_He folds his paper._

Saint Yves! this stone is much harder than Goy!

[_He looks fixedly at the statue and raises his voice._

Ma’m’selle who would smile at the trump of doom, I think that all the village will be hanged! And at its head that brown young witch they call Yvette—

_Reënter_ DE VARDES _and_ THE MARQUISE.

DE VARDES (_to_ GRÉGOIRE)

Begone!

[_Exit_ GRÉGOIRE. DE VARDES _and_ THE MARQUISE
_rest beside the statue_, YVETTE _listening_.

Why, what’s a soldier for? But pity me, pity me, belle Marquise! Since pity is so sweet!

THE MARQUISE

I’m sure it is
A fearful wound!

DE VARDES

A fearful wound indeed!
But ‘tis not in the arm!

THE MARQUISE

No, monsieur?

DE VARDES

No! The heart! I swear that it is bleeding fast! And I have naught wherewith to stanch the wound. Your kerchief—

THE MARQUISE

Just a piece of lace!

DE VARDES

‘Twill serve.

THE MARQUISE (_giving her handkerchief_)

Well, there!—Now tell me of last night.

DE VARDES

Last night! Why, all this tintamarre was but a dream, Fanfare of fairy trumpets while we slept. A night it was for love-in-idleness, And fragrant thoughts and airy phantasy! There was no moon, but Venus shone as bright; The honeysuckle blew its tiny horn To tell the rose a moth was coming by. _Clarice-Marie!_ sang all the nightingales, Or would have sung were nightingales abroad! _Hush, hush!_ the little waves kept whispering. The ivy at your window still was peeping; You lay in dreams, that gold curl on your breast!

THE MARQUISE

No, no! You cheat me not, monsieur! Last night I did not sleep!

DE VARDES

Nor I!

THE MARQUISE

Miserable brigands!

DE VARDES

No, not brigands! Just wretched flesh and blood.

THE MARQUISE

You pity them?

DE VARDES

Ay.

THE MARQUISE

Were I a seigneur,
Lord of Morbec—

DE VARDES

Were I a poor fisher, Sailing at sunrise home from the islands, Over the sea, and all my heart singing! And you were a herd girl slender and sweet, With the gold of your hair beneath your cap, And you kept the cows and you were my _douce_, And you waved your hand from the green cliff head When the sun and I came up from the sea!— And there was a seigneur so great and grim Who walked in his garden and said aloud, “How many fish has he taken for me? Which of her cows shall I keep for myself? I leave him enough to pay for the Mass The day he is drowned, and the girl shall have The range of the hills for her one poor cow! Why should the fisher fret, the herd girl weep? There is no reason in a serf’s dull heart! I might have taken all. It is my right!” La belle Marquise, what would the herd girl do? And should the fisher suffer and say naught?

THE MARQUISE

There is no fisher nor no herd girl here. How fair the roses of Morbec, monsieur!

DE VARDES

Ay, they are lovely queens. They know it too! I better like the heartsease at your feet.

THE MARQUISE

It is a peasant flower!—Sieur de Morbec, Have you never loved?

DE VARDES

How fair is the day!
For loving how fit! ‘Tis the Eve of Saint John.

THE MARQUISE

Yes.

DE VARDES

Last year I loved on this very day.
Take the omen, madame!

THE MARQUISE

We had not met,
You and I!

DE VARDES

Ah, ‘tis true! We had not met!— And so, fair as you are, you were not there, In Paimpont Wood, on the Eve of Saint John?

THE MARQUISE

No!

DE VARDES

I wonder who was!

THE MARQUISE

In Paimpont Wood!
It is haunted!

DE VARDES

On the Eve of Saint John I rode from Morbec here to Chatillon, And through the wood of Paimpont fared alone. It is a forest where enchantments thrive, And a fair dream doth drop from every tree! The old, old world of bitterness and strife Is remote as winter, remote as death. It was high noon in the turbulent town; But clocks never strike in the elfin wood, And the sun’s ruddy gold is elsewhere spent. The light was dim in the depths of Paimpont, Green, reverend, and dim as the light may be In a sea king’s palace under the sea. The wind did not blow; the flowering bough Was still as the rose on a dead man’s breast. On velvet hoof the doe and fawn went by; In other woods the lark and linnet sang; A stealthy way was taken by the fox; The badger trod upon the softest moss; And like a shadow flitted past the hare. Without a sound the haunted fountain played. The oak boughs dreamed; the pine was motionless; Its silver arms the beech in silence spread; The poplar had forgot its lullaby. It was as still as cloudland in the wood, For in a hawthorn brake old Merlin sleeps, And every leaf is hushed for love of him. There through the years they sleep and listless dream, The wood of Paimpont and the wizard old. They dream of valleys where the lilies blow; They dream of woodland gods and castles high, Of faun and Pan and of the Table Round, Of dryad trees and of a maiden dark— That Vivien whom old Merlin once did love, Vivien le Gai whose love was poisonous!

THE MARQUISE

I’ve heard it said by women spinning flax, “Who wanders in Paimpont wanders in love; Let him who loves in Paimpont Wood beware!”

DE VARDES

Ah, idle word! Oh, many silver bells Since Vivien’s day have rung, Beware, beware! And rung in vain, for in every clime Lies Paimpont Wood, dawns the Eve of Saint John!

THE MARQUISE

And in the forest there whom did you love?

DE VARDES

I do not know. I have not seen her since, Unless—unless I saw her face last night!

YVETTE (_behind the base of the statue_)

Oh!—

DE VARDES

Did you not hear a voice?

THE MARQUISE

‘Tis the wind.—
You’re riding through the wood to Chatillon.

DE VARDES

It was a lonely forest, deep and vast, A secret and a soundless trysting-place, Where one might meet, nor be surprised to meet, From out his past, or from his life to come, A veilèd shape, a presence bitter-sweet, A thing that was, a thing was yet to be! It seemed a fatal place, a destined day. Down a long aisle of beechen trees I rode, And came upon a small and sunny vale, And there I met a face from out a dream, An ancient dream, a dark and lovely face.— Give me your fan of pearl and ivory!

[_He takes the fan from_ THE MARQUISE.

I’ll turn enchanter, use it for my rod, And make you see, Marquise, the very place!

[_He points with the fan._

Here sprang the silver column of a beech; There, mossy knees of a most ancient oak; Yonder a wall of thickest foliage rose; And here a misty streamlet flowed With a voice more low than the dying fall Of a trouvère’s lute in Languedoc, And on its shore the slender flowers grew; Upon a foxglove bell hung _papillon_; And all around the grass was long and fine. Within this sylvan space, ah, ages since! The white-robed Druids in the cold moonlight Had reared an altar stone of wondrous height; The fane was there, the Druids were away. All fragrant was the air, and sunny still,— On the Eve of Saint John ‘tis ever so! Above, the sky was blue without a cloud; The sun stood sentinel o’er the haunted wood. And there she lay, the woman of a dream, Against the Druid Stone, amid the bloom; Her eyes were on the stream; she leaned her ear; From far away the trouvère played to her; In flakes of gold the sunlight blessed her hair; Her lips were red; she seemed a princess old; Mid purple bloom she lay and gazed afar, In the magic wood on a magic day, Listening to hear the mighty trouvère play. Was she a princess or a peasant maid? I do not know, pardie! She may have been That Vivien who wrought old Merlin wrong. I cannot tell if she were rich or poor; I only saw her face; I only know I loved the dream I met in Paimpont Wood As I did ride last year to Chatillon On Saint John’s Eve.—

[_He lays the fan upon the table._

So I have loved, Marquise!

THE MARQUISE

What did your pretty dream?

DE VARDES

As other dreams;
She fled!

THE MARQUISE

And you pursued?

DE VARDES

Yes, but in vain! Trouble no dream that is dreamed in Paimpont! The wood closed around her; she vanished quite. It must have been that evil Vivien, Since you, Marquise, have never trod the wood!

THE MARQUISE

Would I have fled?

DE VARDES

Why, then, without doubt It was Vivien! But yet do you know ‘Tis the Eve of Saint John, and here, last night, I dreamed that I saw my dream again!

[_The hand and arm of the statue fall, broken, to the
ground at the feet of_ THE MARQUISE.

THE MARQUISE

Ah!

DE VARDES (_pushes the marble aside with his foot_)

It is nothing! The stone was cracked last night. Some crack-brained peasant had no better mark!

THE MARQUISE

‘Tis a _présigne_!—I feel it.—

DE VARDES

You shudder!

THE MARQUISE

One trod near my grave! I’m suddenly cold!

DE VARDES

The sun never shines on this terrace!

THE MARQUISE

No! ‘Twas an air from the Forest of Paimpont Came over me!

[_Voices within._ DE L’ORIENT _sings_.

DE L’ORIENT

_In Ys they did rejoice,
In Ys the wine was free;
The Ocean lent its voice
Unto that revelry!_

THE MARQUISE

Oh, come away! Let us find the violins and the sun! There are other woods than Paimpont. Come away!

[_Exeunt_ DE VARDES _and_ THE MARQUISE.

YVETTE (_leaves the shadow of the statue_)

‘Twas he! That horseman who did waken me That Saint John’s Eve I strayed in Paimpont Wood! O Our Lady—

SÉRAPHINE (_from the statue_)

Saint Yves! There is bread!

[YVETTE _takes from the table a loaf of bread and
throws it to_ SÉRAPHINE, _who springs upon it like a
famished wolf_.

Ah—h—h!

[_Setting her teeth in the loaf._

[YVETTE, _about to lay her hand upon another round of
bread, sees the fan lying upon the cloth. She leaves
the bread and takes up the fan. It opens in her hand._

YVETTE

Oh!—

[_She sits in the great chair and waves the fan slowly
to and fro._

Were I a lady fair and free, I would powder my hair with dust of gold, I would clasp a necklace around my throat, Of jewels rare, and a gown I would wear, Blue silk like Our Lady of Toute Remède! My shoes should be made of golden stuff, And a broidered glove should dress my hand, My hand so white that a lord might kiss! I would spin fine flax from a silver wheel, I would weave a web for my bridal sheets, I would sing of King Gradlon under the sea, Were I a lady fair and free!

_Enter_ GRÉGOIRE.

SÉRAPHINE (_from the statue_)

Yvette!
Yvette!

YVETTE

Peace, peace!

GRÉGOIRE

What have you there?

YVETTE

A fan.
So long I’ve wanted one!

GRÉGOIRE

A fan, forsooth!
You cannot eat a fan, drink it, wear it!

YVETTE

I would look on’t. One day at Vannes the deputy’s sister Showed me a fan, but it was not like this! Oh, not like this with these wreaths of roses, These painted clouds, this fairy ship!

GRÉGOIRE

The price Would keep a peasant from starvation! And belike it fell from the lifted hand Of Madame la Marquise de Blanchefôret!

[_The fan breaks in_ YVETTE’S _hand_.

SÉRAPHINE (_leaving the statue_)

Thou evil-starred!

YVETTE

What have I done?

GRÉGOIRE

Diantre!
Now you will be beaten as well as hanged!

YVETTE

She called us miserable brigands!

_Enter_ DE VARDES.

SÉRAPHINE

Saint Yves! Saint Hervé! Saint Herbot!

DE VARDES (_to_ GRÉGOIRE)

Voices?

GRÉGOIRE

Monseigneur?

DE VARDES

The fan of Madame la Marquise.

GRÉGOIRE

Monseigneur?

DE VARDES (_perceiving_ YVETTE _and_ SÉRAPHINE)

What will you have, good people?

SÉRAPHINE

Saint Guenolé! Saint Thromeur! Saint Sulic!— He did not see us in the dark last night!

[DE VARDES _regards them more closely_.

GRÉGOIRE

Séraphine Robin—Yvette Charruel— They are not bad folk, monseigneur!

SÉRAPHINE

No, faith!

[DE VARDES _studies the name written upon a playing
card which he holds in his hand_.

DE VARDES (_to_ GRÉGOIRE)

Say to Monsieur the Deputy from Vannes That I await him here.

[_Exit_ GRÉGOIRE. DE VARDES _looks intently at_
YVETTE.

YVETTE

It was so beautiful,
The fan—I took it in my hand—it broke!

SÉRAPHINE

All that she touches breaks!

DE VARDES (_to_ YVETTE)

Wast ever thou
In the Forest of Paimpont?

YVETTE

Oh, monseigneur!
Last Eve of Saint John, by the Druid Stone!

DE VARDES

Ah!—

[_He takes the fan from_ YVETTE’S _hand and examines it_.

Beyond all remedy!—Well, ‘tis done.
Do not tremble so!

YVETTE

I tremble not!

_Enter_ LALAIN.

SÉRAPHINE (_to_ YVETTE)

Here’s Monsieur Lalain!

YVETTE

I care not, I!

DE VARDES

Ah,
Rémond Lalain!

LALAIN (_stiffly_)

Monsieur—

DE VARDES

A moment, pray,
Until I’ve spoken with these worthy folk!

LALAIN (_coldly_)

Monsieur the Baron’s pleasure!

[_He moves aside, but in passing speaks to_ YVETTE.

Yvette! Yvette!

YVETTE

Monsieur the Deputy?

LALAIN

Too fair art thou!
Beware! This is the Seigneur of Morbec!

YVETTE

I know.

LALAIN

He is the foe of France!

YVETTE

I know.

DE VARDES (_to_ SÉRAPHINE)

Your business, well?

SÉRAPHINE (_stammering_)

Our business, monseigneur?— Oh, give me help, Saint Yves le Véridique!— Our business?—Saint Michel!—Well, since we’re here!— Monseigneur, was the pullet plump and sweet?

DE VARDES

The pullet?

YVETTE

Our pullet, monseigneur.

LALAIN

Distrained for rent!

SÉRAPHINE

And Lisette, monseigneur?
May we enquire for Lisette’s health?

DE VARDES

Lisette?

YVETTE

Our cow, monseigneur.

LALAIN

Taken for taxes!

SÉRAPHINE

It was the best Lisette!

YVETTE

She followed me Through the green lanes, and o’er the meadows salt. Her breath was sweet as May!

DE VARDES

It would please you
To have your cow again?

YVETTE

Oh, monseigneur!
Monseigneur, I’m the herd girl of Morbec!

LALAIN (_aside_)

They gaze into each other’s eyes!

DE VARDES

What is
Thy name?

YVETTE

Yvette.

SÉRAPHINE

Ay, ay, ‘tis so!—Yvette.
Called also The Right of the Seigneur!—

DE VARDES

The Right of the Seigneur!

SÉRAPHINE (_nodding_)

Just so.

LALAIN (_aside_)

Recall Just one of a great seigneur’s privileges! _Baiser des mariées_, in short, my friend!

SÉRAPHINE

O holy Saints! the night that she was born! The thunder pealed, the sea gave forth a cry, The forked lightnings played, the winds were out And in the hut her mother lay and wailed, And called on all the saints, the while Jehan (That was her mother’s husband, monseigneur), He stood and struck his heel against the logs. Up flew the sparks, for all the wood was drift, Salt with the sea, and every flame was blue. I held the babe—Yvette, show monseigneur The mark beneath the ear!

YVETTE

No!

SÉRAPHINE

Stubbornness!
‘Tis there!

LALAIN

A birthmark—a small blue flower!

DE VARDES

Ah!

SÉRAPHINE

Ay! a little mark.—Jehan Charruel! He was a violent man,—the sea breeds such! He cursed Yvonne upon her pallet there, So pale she was, and dying with the tide! He cursed the saints, the purple mark, the babe, And some one else I dare not name—

LALAIN

I dare! Henri-Etienne-Amaury de Vardes, Late Baron of Morbec!

SÉRAPHINE

Then out he goes, A-weeping hard—Jehan—into the night. Ouf! how it blew!— The sea ran high, he met it in the dark, Was drowned! Yvonne went with the ebb. Behold Yvette!

[SÉRAPHINE _retreats to the table, where she furtively
drinks from a half-emptied wineglass_. LALAIN _follows
her and the two talk together_.

DE VARDES

That purple flower, that violet By nature limned upon thy slender throat,— From north to south, from east to west ‘tis known! A De Vardes bore that mark at Poitiers. The marshal, Hugues the Fair, and black Arnaud, The late baron—Why, what hast thou to do With burning down châteaux to make a light To show the Morbihan that purple flower?

YVETTE

O Our Lady of Thorns!

DE VARDES

Herd girl too fair! And vision of Paimpont, fair as I dreamed! How fair was thy errand last night?

YVETTE

Monseigneur!

DE VARDES

In the ashes of Morbec what shouldst thou find?

YVETTE

We only wished to make a little light— A little light to let the neighbours know That we were hungry!

DE VARDES

What neighbours hast thou?

YVETTE

Normandy and Maine, Anjou and Poitou, The sea, the sky, and somewhat far away, The Club of the Jacobins at Paris.

DE VARDES

Thy father was a nobleman of France!

YVETTE

I never had a father, monseigneur! I had a mother, and she loved, they say, She dearly loved the fisherman Jehan! When for the dead I pray, I pray for them.

DE VARDES

How old art thou?

YVETTE

How old? Ah, let me see!

[_She counts upon her fingers._

The year the hailstones fell and killed the wheat; The year the flax failed and we made no songs; The year I begged for bread; the bitter year We buried Louison who died of cold, And Jacques was hanged who shot the seigneur’s deer; The Pardon of Sainte Anne I had a gown; Came Angélique from Paris, told us how The wicked Queen was smiling, smiling there; Justine pined away, they shot Michel If, Down fell the Bastille, I learned _Ça ira_; The deputy came to the curé’s house, Beside the deep blue sea I walked with him. A day there was at Vannes, a glorious day, When music played, and every banner waved, And all the folk went mad and rang the bells! _Vive la Révolution! Vive Mirabeau! Vive Rémond Lalain!_ I wept when ‘twas o’er, Last summer was so fair! I wandered far, One day I wandered through a darksome wood— ‘Twas on the Eve of good Saint John, I know!

DE VARDES

Ah—

YVETTE

The summer fled, the light, the warmth did go, The winter came that was so cruel cold, Cold as the dead! And hunger, monseigneur, With bread at the château!—Died Baron Henri.— The summer came again, the roses bloomed, The roses bloomed, but they were not for us! For us the dank seaweed, the thorny furze. The lark sang well, but ah, it sang too high! We could not lift our hearts to heaven’s gate; We only heard the wind moan at our door. We cried to the saints, but they took no heed! One told us what they did at Goy and Vannes, At Goy and Vannes, pardieu! they helped themselves! We heard there had come a new lord to Morbec, A soldier and a stranger to us all! Three days have gone since I did sit alone Upon the cliff edge in the waving grass; The mew and curlew cried, the night wind blew, And in the sunset glow red turned Morbec! I thought of my mother, I thought of France, I looked at the château cruel and high, And as I was hungry I ate my black bread!— I think, monseigneur, that I am nineteen.

DE VARDES

_Pauvre petite!_

YVETTE

Ah, poor indeed!

DE VARDES

How dark
Thine eyes!

YVETTE

My mother’s were darker, they say!

DE VARDES

Thy face is the face of a picture there.

YVETTE

I know—the Duchess Jeanne, who died for love.

DE VARDES

Did Vivien teach thee magic in the wood?

YVETTE

Monseigneur?

DE VARDES

_Pauvre petite!_

YVETTE

O Our Lady!
The roses smell so sweet—

[LALAIN _comes forward_.

LALAIN

I pardon crave, But I must sup to-night at Rennes. Please you, Release this peasant girl! Affairs there are Of which I’d speak—

DE VARDES

Ay, presently!

LALAIN

Now!

DE VARDES

Monsieur!

LALAIN

Citoyen René-Amaury Vardes—

DE VARDES

Is that, monsieur, the latest Paris mode? _Citoyen René-Amaury Vardes_, The _De_ left off, our hats (_Glances at_ LALAIN) left on!

LALAIN (_removing his hat_)

Monsieur
The Baron of Morbec!

DE VARDES (_bowing_)

Monsieur
The Deputy for Vannes!

[_Laughter and voices within._

_Enter from the château_ THE MARQUISE _and_ MLLE. DE
CHÂTEAU-GUI _with_ DE L’ORIENT _and_ DE BUC.

DE L’ORIENT (_sings_)

_Then spake the king of Ys
Above the song and shout,
Bring here the golden key
That keeps the ocean out!_

THE MARQUISE

Monsieur le Baron,
My lost fan!

YVETTE (_aside_)

Oh me!

DE VARDES

Madame la Marquise, I will give you a fan that’s to my taste; By Watteau painted, mounted by Laudet, Fragile and fine, an Adonis of fans! This that I broke I will keep for myself.

[_Pockets the fan._

Forgive the mere accident!

YVETTE

Ah!

SÉRAPHINE (_from the table_)

Ah—h—h!

LALAIN (_aside_)

Gods!
If _I_ forgive!

THE MARQUISE

At Blanchefôret, monsieur, The Watteau, Laudet, Adonis of fans, I’ll take from your hand—

DE VARDES

I ride there anon, (_Aside._) But not through the Forest of Paimpont And not on the Eve of Saint John.

THE MARQUISE

Come soon,
My garden is sweetest in June.

DE L’ORIENT (_sings_)

_In Ys they sing no more,
In Ys the city old!
The waves are rolling o’er
The king and all his gold._

MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

Look at _my_ fan, Monsieur le Baron!

[LALAIN _crosses to_ YVETTE.

LALAIN

Hast thou forgot, hast thou forgot, Yvette, Thy part, thy lot, the very name they give thee? This is Morbec, this is the brazen castle! There are no roses here.

YVETTE

So generous
He was!

LALAIN

Generous! Oh, well are you called
The Right of the Seigneur!

YVETTE (_passionately_)

Give me not that
Detestable name!

LALAIN

So meek under wrongs—

YVETTE

Oh!

LALAIN

So quick to forget—

YVETTE

Oh!

LALAIN

_La patrie_—
Sworn oaths—the tricolour—

YVETTE

Anger me not!

LALAIN

On your lips _Ça Ira_! but in your heart _O Richard, O mon Roi!_

YVETTE

‘Tis false!

LALAIN

And I—and I—Yvette!

YVETTE

Speak not to me!

LALAIN

You gaze at that man! I tell you he wooes Madame la Marquise de Blanchefôret!

[YVETTE _crosses to_ _The Marquise_, DE VARDES,
_and the guests_.

YVETTE (_to_ THE MARQUISE)

Madame! I broke the fan! I would pay if I might. I would keep your cows, or spin your flax—

THE MARQUISE

The fan!
You broke the fan—not monsieur there!

YVETTE

No, I!

THE MARQUISE

Sainte Geneviève!

_Enter_ COUNT LOUIS, THE VIDAME, MME. DE VAUCOURT,
_etc._

SÉRAPHINE

Yvette!

COUNT LOUIS

La belle Marquise!

[SÉRAPHINE _draws_ YVETTE _back to the base of the
statue_. COUNT LOUIS, THE MARQUISE, _and the
guests talk together_. LALAIN _crosses to_ DE VARDES.

LALAIN

René de Vardes!

DE VARDES

Rémond Lalain!

LALAIN

This day I bury our friendship of old!

DE VARDES

So!

LALAIN

I owe to you a thousand louis
Which I’ll repay, monsieur!

DE VARDES

I doubt it not.

LALAIN

Touch not the girl Yvette!

DE VARDES

At last the heart of the matter! I see You have been through the Forest of Paimpont.

LALAIN

Or touch at your peril!

DE VARDES

Monsieur!

LALAIN

Oh, if You lay your hand upon your sword, monsieur, I’m for you there!

DE VARDES

Art mad, or drunk with power,
Monsieur the favourite of the Jacobins?

LALAIN

There’ll come a day when to be Jacobin Is something more, monsieur, than to be king!

DE VARDES

Indeed!

[_A Sergeant of Hussars appears on the terrace and
salutes._

Sergeant!

THE SERGEANT

My Colonel!

DE VARDES

Well, your report.

THE SERGEANT

My Colonel, wood and shore we’ve searched since dawn, And twenty bitter rogues we’ve found, no less! They crouched behind the tall grey stones, or lay Prone in the furze, or knelt at Calvaries! Two women remain—

[_He stares at_ YVETTE _and_ SÉRAPHINE.

SÉRAPHINE

O Saint Thégonnec!
Saint Guirec! Saint Servan!

YVETTE

O Our Lady!

_Enter_ THE ABBÉ.

THE ABBÉ

De Vardes, your precious peasants—

[_He sees_ YVETTE.

Who is here? The De Méricourt, the mænad, I swear! Who wounded De Vardes!

YVETTE

Oh!—

MME. DE VAUCOURT

The Egyptian!

SÉRAPHINE

Monseigneur, monseigneur, she’s none of mine!

MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI

The poor girl!

SÉRAPHINE

Ah, mademoiselle, it is
The innocentest creature!

THE ABBÉ (_touches_ YVETTE _upon the cheek_)

Good-morning,
My dear!

COUNT LOUIS

Hm—m—m!—pretty!

THE VIDAME

Certainly the gallows
Should be thirty feet high.

COUNT LOUIS

Hm—m—m! Something less,
Monsieur le Vidame!

LALAIN

Diable!

DE VARDES (_to the sergeant_)

Where are your captives?

THE SERGEANT

My Colonel,
I have them safely here! Ha! you within!

[_Enter from the hall of the château soldiers and
huntsmen with peasants, men and women; some
sullenly submissive, others struggling against their
bonds. They crowd the terrace before the great
doors. The guests of_ DE VARDES _to the right and
left upon the terrace, the stairs, and in the garden_.
YVETTE _and_ SÉRAPHINE _beside the statue_; LALAIN
_near them_; DE VARDES _with his hand upon the
great chair_.

MME. DE VAUCOURT

Oh, the brigands!

COUNT LOUIS (_rubbing his hands_)

Here, Sergeant, range them here, Upon the terrace! And take the great chair, De Vardes! Ma foi! We will teach them, the rogues! Monsieur l’Anglais, have you peasants at home Plague you at times?—Word of a gentleman! It seems like old days and Henri again!

[_The soldiers thrust their prisoners forward with
the butts of their muskets._

A MAN

Monseigneur!

ANOTHER

Monseigneur!

A WOMAN

Madame la Marquise!
My father was your father’s foster brother!

THE MARQUISE

Is that a reason you should burn châteaux?

A YOUNG WOMAN

Where’s Yvette Charruel?

YVETTE

Here, Angélique!

SÉRAPHINE (_aside to_ ANGÉLIQUE)

Of course! Betray the girl! I knew you would.

AN OLD WOMAN

Yvette said God would have mercy! I faint—

DE VARDES (_to_ GRÉGOIRE)

Give her wine!

A PEASANT

See! There is Rémond Lalain!

LALAIN

Patience, compatriot! Thursday I speak In the Jacobins!

ANGÉLIQUE

Ah, monseigneur! Ah, monseigneur, there’s she who led us here! There’s she who said the shadow of Morbec Blackened the land as sin blackens the soul!

THE GUESTS

Ah!—

ANGÉLIQUE

That same Yvette, who said, monseigneur, That delving the earth, the peasants of France In a long age had delved up a thought!

THE GUESTS

Ah!—

ANGÉLIQUE

She said that we were never born to starve! She said the seigneur’s dues were all _infâme_!

THE GUESTS

Ah!—

THE VIDAME

Burn the witch!

DE VARDES

Have you done?

ANGÉLIQUE

Monseigneur, She said the forest deer, the hare, the birds, Were just as much the peasant’s as the lord’s!

THE ENGLISHMAN

What? What?

ANGÉLIQUE

She said the saints they wished no tithes!

THE ABBÉ

I give her up!

ANGÉLIQUE

Monseigneur, monseigneur,
She said that all our hope was the tricolour!

DE BUC

O lilies of Bourbon!

SÉRAPHINE (_to_ ANGÉLIQUE)

Thou little beast!

ANGÉLIQUE (_shrilly_)

Yvette said bitter hunger, cold, and want Came with _noblesse_ and with _noblesse_ would go! Yvette said the Queen was an Austrian! Yvette said the King was a fainéant! Yvette said the princes were traitors! Yvette said the armies would turn to us! Yvette heard the drums of the Republic!

THE GUESTS

Out!

COUNT LOUIS

Enough!

SÉRAPHINE

Thou hellicat!

A PEASANT

Monseigneur! Saint Yves le Véridique knows it is truth! She ever rings the tocsin in our hearts!

ANOTHER

Yvette Charruel!

A WOMAN

She led us here!

ANOTHER WOMAN

Yvette!
Yvette Charruel!

ANGÉLIQUE

Yvette?—

[_Several of the women laugh._

DE VARDES

Why, you are all cowards!

SÉRAPHINE

So they are, monseigneur, so they are!

DE VARDES (_to the peasants_)

Who speaks for you?

[_A silence._

THE PEASANTS

Monseigneur—monseigneur—

[_They break off._ DE VARDES _stands waiting for
them to speak, his hand upon the chair_.

AN OLD WOMAN

Yvette—

AN OLD MAN

Yvette—

THE PEASANTS

Monseigneur—

[_They break off. They make a sighing sound. The
old woman begins to say her beads._

YVETTE

Monseigneur, They are so hungry! Monseigneur, ‘tis said You are a soldier and have been to war! Oh, to us all there comes one battle-field When we must look into a conqueror’s eyes! Think then upon that last dark plain and show Mercy to us who in the shadow stand! We are your enemies!

DE BUC

Faith of an officer!
De Vardes—

YVETTE

The children are crying at home,
Monseigneur!

A WOMAN

O Sainte Vierge, have pity!

YVETTE

With bowed heads the old men wait!

A WOMAN

Oh, my father!

YVETTE

The young men hear the ravens crying!

THE PEASANTS

Aie!—

YVETTE

The nets are dry, the red sails laid away, And all the boats lie idle by the shore.

A FISHERMAN

Star of the Sea! Pray for poor fisherfolk!

A PEASANT

I left my sickle in the standing corn.

YVETTE

The wheat must fall, the flax be gathered soon, Or else we’ll sing no songs in Morbihan!

THE PEASANTS

Aie! The songs of the _diskanerien_!

YVETTE

The hearths are cold and the wheels turn not, And Hunger sits on every doorstep!

THE PEASANTS

Aie!—

YVETTE

To-morrow is the Pardon of the Birds. The birds go free—the birds go free, monseigneur!

DE BUC

And so I swear should you!

THE PEASANTS

The birds go free!

A WOMAN

My little bird at home!

THE MARQUISE

Give her, monsieur,
Another fan to break!

YVETTE

Not one of yours,
Madame la Marquise!

DE VARDES (_to the sergeant_)

Give them liberty.

THE SERGEANT

My Colonel?

DE VARDES