University of Virginia Library

Scene 2.

The Village.—Prussian Soldiers and French Peasants.
Prussian Soldier (1)
(to French Peasant, who is vainly trying, or pretending to try, to catch a pig).

—Now then, Donner und
Blitz, you damned French cochon,
can't you even catch your own pig!
you slow-footed, lumbering, slumbering,
frog-breeder—stir your lagging
timbers.

[Another Soldier prods the Frenchman with his bayonet, who gesticulates wildly.
Prussian Sergeant.

—Gently, gently. A good
battle, a brave battle; the hills about
Worth and Speicheren were well washed
in the fresh French red wine when we
won our first victories, and now we're
treading the juicy grapes all through
the fields of France. There's much
German blood shed, too—alas! alas!

Soldier (2).

—What shall we do with this
prisoner? (Hauling a small French soldier up and down by the collar).

—Shoot him against the barn door there?
I think he was a spy; he may stand
and drop for a spy at any rate; uniforms
and scarlet breeches don't go
for much on such a day as this. Put
him up against the barn door, I say.
He looks for all the world like a Cochin

China cock with his baggy trousers.
Come along, comrades.

[While the Sergeant is occupied with some pigs and fowls, they put him up against the barn door, and prepare to shoot him: he curses them in bitter guttural French. Just before they fire, in rushes Amine, the maid of the village, a very pretty French girl; she fixes her eyes on the French soldier, recognises him, and exclaims—

Ah, Gustave, Gustave, my love. (She rushes towards him, embraces him, throws her body in front of him, endeavouring to shield him with her arms. The Prussian soldiers look on and laugh. The French soldier is pale, but resolute and silent. At last he speaks with emotion)—

Amine, Amine, darling, this is no
place for you. Go—go, I beseech you,
go, for my sake. What does it matter
about me? Go.

Am.

—What, go! and leave you to be shot?
Gustave, you are a Frenchman, but
you don't understand a French woman,
a French girl, even yet. Go and leave
you! Ah! my Gustave—poor silly,
silly Gustave.

Gus.

—Poor silly, silly Amine, you can do no
good. Go, to your mother, give her
my love. Tell her I died as no base spy,
no foul German coward. (Looking

towards the Germans with unutterable hatred and contempt).
But as a true
soldier; a true lover of France, and
of—Amine. And tell my father the
same—my father, far away in the little
cottage that looks on the vineyard—
what is he doing, I wonder? What
will he do when he hears? What,
Amine, you will not go? Then (rising to his full height)

I order you to go.
You promised you would always obey
me.

Am.

—I will not obey you. I will not go.

Gus.

—But I shall be angry, sweet one. Good
God! they will have no mercy. I tell
you to go.

Am.

—And I say I will not go—not if you told
me ten thousand times. Through my
maiden body they shall shoot my hero,
my darling, my lover—through my
heart, through my breast. (Hastily she throws off her shawl and neckerchief and stands in front of him, her arms extended, her eyes flashing, her bosom bare.)

The Sergeant steps forward, smiling brutally

—Not so bad—not so bad for a French
girl. (Aside to his comrades.)
And as
pretty a woman too, as ever I saw.
What eyes now she's angry. She's
the best bird in the farmyard—a peacock,
all eyes and fury, is better than

a goose or a fluffy fowl. (Winks at them.)

Now, I'll just tell you what,
young woman. You come along with
us—along with us, I say, and we'll let
your lover go free. We don't care
about him—scurvy French scoundrel,
but you—you're not a man, you know.
Come, my darling. (He advances nearer.)

[The girl turns round to her lover and kisses him. She puts her hand in her bosom.
The Sergeant.

—What, you won't come, soft
and quiet, little fool. Why, I am a
better looking man than your paltry
private, any day of the month. (Draws himself up.)

Come, boys, pull her
away there, but don't hurt her
white arms—too pretty for that.
Shoot the men, and spare the women
—“The gallant they slaughtered, the
lovely they spared”—you know the
old ditty.

[The Soldiers advance upon Amine and her lover.
Ser.

—Pretty red lips, they are, my dear.
Don't waste them upon him, and don't
begin too soon. You'll have plenty of
kisses presently.

Am.

—Fool.

[As the Soldiers advance she suddenly draws out a knife, turns to her lover (who has been unable to move, being bound to the paling) kisses him passionately, and says—
Do you remember, love, this knife you gave me?
'Twas years ago, when first you came a courting.
It might be useful some day—so you said.
Its use has come—to strike two lovers dead.
[She stabs him to the heart, and then pierces her own bosom. As she falls she looks towards the Sergeant, half smiling.
Poor fool!

[The Soldiers gather round the bleeding bodies in some dismay, and the curtain falls.