 | A Son of The Soil |  |
Scene Third.
—A Room in Martel's House.Martel discovered seated, L., with a letter in his hand.
Mart.
She is coming here to-night to this house. “Be at
home this evening.” How bare the room looks! I must send
for some flowers to brighten it.
You here?
Hoche.
Good news, Martel; my arrangements are made.
I start to-morrow for Brittany, and have full power to choose
my own officers. I want you to be my adjutant.
Mart.
Me?
Hoche.
The place is in great request, but none but you
shall have it, old friend. Be ready to-morrow morning.
Mart.
To-morrow?
Hoche.
Don't answer like an echo! Are you holding back?
I tell you, man, the war has begun.
Mart.
Give me a fortnight, a week only, and I will join you.
Hoche.
The English won't wait a week or a day for you.
Do you mean to arrive when the battle is over? Is your
spirit grown cold? For shame! Start with me to-morrow,
or you shall never serve with me again. Take my offer, or let
it alone.
34
Servant.
The Duchess d'Armine.
Exit, R. 2 E.
Hoche.
Ah! I understand.
Mart.
Leave me—at once.
Hoche.
This is what keeps you from the army.
Mart.
Leave me, I say. For pity's sake, go.
Hoche.
I will leave you for a few minutes, but for pity's
sake I shall come back again. Think over it.
Exit, L. 2 E., as Beatrice enters, R. 2 E.
Mart.
Welcome to my poor house, my queen, my love!
I have waited, with this letter at my lips,
For you and happiness.
Beat.
(R. C.)
I bring to you
Sorrow, not happiness. Call up your courage,
For you will need it.
Mart.
(L. C.)
Why, what does this mean?
Our marriage—
Beat.
Is impossible!
Mart.
Who dares
To come between us? Who—
Beat.
My father! None
But he can alter me.
Mart.
And you submit?
Beat.
I have done all I could—all woman can.
I have pleaded, prayed and struggled, hard and long;
But struggled, prayed and pleaded, all in vain.
Mart.
Oh!
Beat.
If I marry you, I kill my father.
I cannot do it.
Mart.
Oh!
Beat.
Martel, my friend—
Mart.
One moment. And, to make your work complete,
You mean to be your cousin's wife?
Beat.
Oh, no!
Mart.
You may be; there is no impediment.
I have resigned my post, and he is free.
You have played your game most skilfully, Madame.
Beat.
You don't believe that.
Mart.
Have no fear of me.
I spare you both entreaty and complaint.
Your low-born lover will not hurt your pride
By words of passion or of insolence.
I loved you, it is true, and and with a love
In which my friends, my country, and the world
Were buried and forgot. I thought in you
To find a heart and not a coat of arms.
35
And I can laugh at the mistake I made—
Taking a high-born lady for a woman!
Bah! I can break my chain as easily
As you can. Go!
(she goes silently to the door, R., when he breaks out suddenly, and she pauses, trembling)
Great heaven! was it not you
Who gave me hope I dreamed not of? You placed
The cup of happiness between my lips
To dash it down when I was drunk with it!
I would have fled from you—you held me back!
If you had crushed and spurned me in your scorn
I should have had no right to hate you. But
To do this is a devil's cruelty!
I loved you, woman, as men seldom love!
I loved you to the peril of my honour—
Ay, and I knew it. I could see, for you,
Old friends look coldly on me. What were they
Or anything to me? I could forget
To hate, to work, to think—and all for you!
What can I do now? How shall I revive
The fire that you have trodden out, the soul
That you have parched within me? Give me back
The power of loving anything but you!
Give me my old life and old strength again.
And make me what I was before I knew you,
Or keep your word to me. Oh, God! Oh, God!
Beat.
If only for a moment, look at me.
Look at me, Louis! Are you then so blind,
Or is my face so subtle a dissembler?
Can you not read my bitter suffering there?
Can you not hear the echo in my voice
Of the same blow that kills my heart and yours?
Louis, I love you—and the wound you bear
Is not more mortal or more sharp than mine.
The thought of you has grown into my life,
And it will never leave me till I die.
I love you, and I neither wish nor care
To hide or to deny it. Reason bade me.
To write, but not to come. My heart rebelled,
And forced me here, to look on you once more;
And then I thought that—if I told you this—
You might be—less unhappy—I myself
Be stronger to endure. Think kindly of me;
Forget me—No! I know you can't do that!
Forgive me—pity me! and now good-bye!
Mart.
You love me?
36
Yes.
Mart.
Then leave your world, as I will!
Give up your father—I give up my country.
Come with me—where you will, and let our lives
Be only for each other—all in all!
If you love me, what matters all the rest?
Will you do this?
Beat.
I cannot. Let me go.
Mart.
You love me? It's a lie!
Beat.
No! but I leave you!
Exit, R. 2 E.
(he stands overcome for a moment, then takes out Beatrice's picture, looks at it, throws it on the ground, and sets his foot on it)
Mart.
So be it with my dream!
Enter Hoche, L. 2 E.
I'll go with you!
Hoche.
Good! But we start to-morrow.
Mart.
No, to-night!
Hoche.
Why is your purpose changed so suddenly?
Mart.
What matters that! I long to meet these nobles—
I long to fight—to murder them—that's all!
Hoche.
Well said! You are yourself again.
Mart.
I? (aside)
Never!
(he falls into a chair—Hoche watching him)
| A Son of The Soil | |