  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— 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. 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, 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! 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. 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— 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, 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. 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? 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! 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. Would I might see again Henri de Vardes! De Buc It would affrig
ht 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, 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? 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. Bah! De L’Orient She hath The loveliest face! 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, 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! ‘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<
"> 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! 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? 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!— The Right of the Seigneur! SÉraphine (nodding) Just so. Lalain (aside) Recall Just one of a great seigneur
container-l"> 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! 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! 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! 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! |
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