University of Virginia Library

Scene III.—Sunset, which deepens towards the close of the scene. The Forest. Booths, tents, canvas encampments. Torchfires, and wandering lights among the distant trees. A space cleared in the midst, with a rude gallows erected. Men and women dancing round it. Various groups passing over the foreground. Orval and The Novice. Orval advances, holding the Novice by the hand, who follows reluctantly. Orval is enveloped in a long mantle, and wears the Cap of Liberty.
Orval.
Remember!

Novice.
On my life, my lord, I swear it!
I will return you safely—if myself
Do 'scape the perils you have put upon us
By this most desperate venture.

Orval.
Glance of eye,
Or turn of head, and at my foot thou liest,
A bullet in thy scull. Sir, I am arm'd.
And,—mark me!—I am risking my own life,—
Thine hath for me less value than a dog's.

Novice.
Hi! ... You will crush my wrist-bone! Zounds, my lord,
Your hand hath iron claws! How must I serve you?

Orval.
Address me as a comrade—newly come.
What are those—dancing yonder?

Novice.
Round the gallows?
That is the new dance of the Libertines,—
Freedom's bolero.

Orval.
On, then! let us see it.

Chorus
(of men and women, half naked, dancing round the gallows in caps of Liberty).
Bread to eat! bread to eat!
Or we will have heads to gnaw.
We have cook'd the cooks that cook'd the meat,
And so we must eat it raw.
Hourrah!
For, that men should starve while there's flesh to carve,
Is neither logic nor law,
Hourrah!
Kings have had no pity on us:
Dance about the gallows!
Priests have had no pity on us:
Dance! dance, good fellows!
God hath had no pity on us:
Dance about the gallows!
Down, then, with God, and with Priests, and Kings!
Enough, and too much have we had of these things!
Dance, dance, good fellows!

Orval
(to a girl dancing).
Wench, I rejoice to see thee step so brisk.
Thy leg is stockingless,—but, 'faith! 'tis stout,
And jigs it bravely!

The Girl
(dancing).
God a' mercy, man!
This day hath kept us waiting long enough.
All my life long have I wash'd dishes up,
And scour'd floors,—ay, with never a good word,
Never a Thank-ye! Only cuffs and kicks,
And offal, when the dogs had had enough.
Damnation! it is time for me to feed
When I am hungry, sleep when I am tired,
And dance when the whim takes me!

Orval.
Dance, girl! dance!

Novice.
The devil on it, we must budge, my lord,
Or you will be discover'd.

Orval.
If I am,
'Twill be the worse for thee. Come further on.
What have we yonder?

Novice.
By the oak-stump?

Orval.
Ay.

Novice.
That is the Lackeys' Club.

Orval.
Why then, no doubt,
We shall find old acquaintances this way.

Novice
(aside).
Ten thousand ducats to be out o' the wood!
This man is mad!

First Lackey.
Yes, friend: I had the honour
To slit my master's throat last night.

Second Lackey.
Fine fellow!
Your health. I'm looking for my Baron still.

A Valet.
Citizens, pray let us admire ourselves!
Already—long ago—whilst blacking boots,
Even till our backs grew crookèd,—long ago,
Whilst curling wigs, and powdering noble pates,
Even till our own wax'd bald, ... we felt within us
The glorious consciousness of our own rights.
Not vainly, have we stood behind the chairs
Of sage Philosophers, and heard them talk:
Whilst stirring up the chocolate we served them,
They stirr'd in us the philosophic soul!
Not vainly, by the tables of the great
Have we been watchers: secrets, grudged to kings,
Slipp'd out to us. And truly, if we cringed
To carry the bread-basket up and down,
Whilst for the banquet we did count out loaves,
We for the scaffold then were counting heads.
Ay! and if, when we pour'd the wine, we smiled,
It was because the wine began to smell
Already like the blood it was enriching
For us to taste hereafter! Drink, then, all,
Drink, Citizens, with me ... health to our Club!

Chorus of Lackeys.
Health to our Club! and to our President!
For he is a Philosopher. Drink death
To all our Masters! Live Philosophy!
Live Freedom, and the Rights of Man!

The Valet.
My friends,
I thank you,—with emotion, not unworthy
The generous sentiments you have express'd.

Chorus of Lackeys.
Broken! broken are the bonds of servile duty!
Burst at length in man's supreme emancipation!
From the boudoirs, perfumed sweet, of painted Beauty,
From the languid-lighted halls and haunts of Fashion,
From the satin-circled walls and scented ambers
Of the sleek and whisper-swarming antechambers
Of dethronèd Royalty,
And the primly-paced saloons of Art and Science,
We together are come forth to hurl defiance
On the victor-voice of Freedom, freely, under the free sky,
At the doors where courtiers cringe,
Slaves to every creaking hinge,
Creatures to a golden key, and students of a lie!

Semi-chorus.
And the statesman, with his scheme
Of little frauds to cheat the state:

Second Semi-chorus.
And the poet with his theme
Of little flatteries to the great:

First Semi-chorus.
And the soldier, o'er his sword
Ducking to the slave he serves:
And the king, whose kingly word
Shifts each way his terror swerves!

Second Semi-chorus.
And the dainty Dame of Honour
With the badge of shame upon her!

Chorus.
We have seen, and we can tell
All that's hid 'twixt Heaven and Hell!

First Semi-chorus.
What was whisper'd shall be shouted!
What was trusted shall be doubted!
What was honour'd shall be scouted!

Second Semi-chorus.
What was unknown all shall know!
What was high shall then be low.
For such secrets blood must flow.

Chorus.
Ay, such filth to be wash'd clean,
Blood shall flow of King and Queen.
Such strange sickness needs strange cures.
This is our Credo. What is yours?

Orval.
Excellent company! Why these are men
Of rarest information,—full of matter!
What are those voices from the hill, that sound
Like wild beasts howling?

Novice.
'Tis the Butcher's Club.

Chorus of Butchers.
Hatchet and axe
Shall pay no tax
To any king on his throne,
Whilst bones and blood
Are the People's food,
So keep ye the blood and the bone,
Hah ha!
Keep ye the blood and the bone!
We are The Jolly Butchers, we:
Our purple palace the shambles be.
Hither, good fellows, and sing with me,
Merrily, merrily sing;—
Cutting of throats is a rare good trade!
For love, or for money—'tis all one thing.
And it matters not if the knife be laid
To the throat of a calf or a king,
Hah ha!
For a calf will bleed like a king!
We are the children of Strength and Blood:
And we know what blood and strength can do.
It is we that find the People food.
Though the kings provide for the business too.
To every man his due, my friend,
To every man his due!
For the kings we have slaughter'd the calf and ox:
For the People we slaughter the kings.
While there's flesh in the shambles or blood on the blocks,
The Jolly Butcherman sings,
Hah ha!
The Jolly Butcherman sings:
Hatchet and axe
Shall pay no tax
To any king on his throne:
For bones and blood
Are the People's food,
So keep ye the blood and the bone,
Hah ha!
Make much of the blood and the bone!

Orval.
I like these fellows better. They, at least,
Have grace to leave Philosophy alone,
And spare us that vile cant, that sickens me,
Of Freedom, and Enlightenment, and so forth.
Madam, your Humble Servant!

Novice.
You forget!
Pray call her Citizen, or Freedom's Daughter,
Or else Emancipated Bondswoman.
You will destroy us with your old-world titles.
As you love life, be careful!

The Woman.
Madam, quotha?
What is this fellow? Fy! O thou dost stink
Most villanous strong, methinks, of the old leaven!

Orval.
'Faith! my tongue tripp'd then.

The Woman.
Man, I am as thou.
A woman—free—unfetter'd—independent!
My favours I distribute without stint
To that society whence I derive
The rights I exercise in doing thus.
To all free men, freely, I give my love.
Hark! .... an' thou hadst not such a frosty eye ....
Thou art a sturdy knave .... I like thee well....
Kiss!

Orval.
And, pray, hath this same society
Given thee also, worthiest of women,
These jewels? that gold bracelet? those pearl earrings?
O most exceeding generosity!
O rare, beneficent Society!

The Woman.
This trash? ... and yet 'tis pretty .... truly, pearls
Suit well enough this sort of hair! ... Nay, these
Were given me by my husband—I would say
My enemy—the enemy of Woman—
The enemy of Liberty and Love—
In the old days, ere I enjoy'd my freedom.
Husbands are Man's and Woman's Enemies!

Orval.
(They pass on.)

Novice.
He yonder?
Oh, he is Fortune's soldier. Brave enough!
But yet—a hireling. I do know the man.
The Revolution hath employ'd him thrice
In divers foreign countries. He hath won
Nine battles—taken seven towns ...

The Soldier.
Fools! Though in Freedom ye may be my brothers,
In Genius ye are not my kindred. Go!
My plans are known but by the victories
Which they achieve. Disturb me not. Away!

Orval.
Hark ye! Take my advice. Hang up that fellow.
Hang him to-night. This, trust me, is the stuff
That makes an Aristocracy.

A Weaver.
Too late!
Curses, and maledictions!

Orval.
What is this?

Novice.
No beggar, or he would be better clothed.

Orval.
What dost thou there in the rank ditch, poor wretch?
Why, how now? Look! there is not so much skin
Upon this mummy, sir, as would suffice
To cover the whole compass of thy valour!

Weaver.
Curses, and maledictions! Curse, and curse,
And curse, again, the Merchants of the Earth!

Orval.
This knave is strong in the arithmetic.
Hark, how he adds and multiplies! And yet
Methinks he doth repeat himself too oft.

Weaver.
Accursèd be the Merchants of the Earth!
For they have suck'd the life-blood out of me.
My fairest years—the years when other men
Wander about the free and happy fields,
In blissful hand-in-hand with her they love,
And breathe the blessèd air, and the fresh flowers,
Till they bless God that they are young, and live,
And do enjoy the joyfulness of living,
I evermore was weaving my death-shroud
At their rapacious and remorseless looms;
Coffin'd alive in their damn'd factories!

Orval.
Drink, then, the cup thou clutchest in thy hand.
The wine will yet refresh thee.

Weaver.
Late! too late!
I have no strength to lift it to my lips.
I have crawl'd here to die. Alas! for me
The Day of Freedom dawns too late. I curse
The Merchants of the Earth that do sell silk!
Ay, and the Princes of the Earth that wear it!
I curse the Trader, for he buys men's bodies!
I curse the Courtier, for his glossy coat
Is woven from the fibre of men's lives!
Curses, and maledictions! curses, curs— ....

(He dies.)
Novice.
Pah, what a hideous corpse! It stinks already.

Orval.
Look on this carrion, miserable hound!
Where now be your big-mouthèd promises?
Where be your virtues? your philosophies?
What now? the dust hath claim'd fraternity
With your free brother. Warn the worm away,
Lest he make free with this starved inch of Freedom;
For he is Nature's tyrant; and it seems
He loves a savoury meal. Come, Citizen,
And study here the perfect state of man!
The Emancipation of the Human Race!

Novice
(aside).
Insolent Noble! may thy carcase too
Rot ere 'tis older, and the dogs devour it!
(Aloud).
My lord, we must away! The sun hangs low.
And I am sworn to give account this night
To him that sent me, of my mission.

Orval.
Hold!
I have a fancy to see more of this.
March! march, sir!

A Voice from the Trees.
Son of Freedom, bid good-night
To the old Sun!

Another Voice from the Forest.
Good-night to thee, old tyrant!
I do salute thee with a parting curse.
Long while hast thou our hard taskmaster been.
Long hast thou driven us to labour, forth
From stall and shed,—to sweat, and still to groan;
Thou only smiling from thy golden chair
Up yonder, evermore the same damn'd smile.
To-morrow shalt thou find thy slaves set free.
Now to the devil with thee! off! give place
To the Dark Hour, our friend.

Novice.
Here comes a band
Of peasants. We must draw aside, my lord,
Or we shall be accosted.

Peasants
(passing).
Forwards, friends!
Yonder, among the booths, the girls are dancing.
What fun! d'ye hear the fiddle squeak? up yonder
There's beer and wine, and cakes, and junketing.
And there our friends are roasting for us all
The oxen from the plough! Hourrah! hourrah!

A Girl's Voice from the Crowd.
March! march, old guts! This is a lazy lord.
Kick him up, wooden-shoes! That's right.

Voice of a Noble.
Good friends,
Mercy! I am an old man. Mercy! mercy!

A Man's Voice.
The more sins, then, hast thou to answer, grey-beard!
Yah-ha! Oh, Kate hath got him. Take her off.
There's ne'er a terrier hath a sharper tooth
Than Kate. She'll kill him!

The Noble's Voice.
Friends, if you would hear me!

A Girl's Voice.
Give back my lover's blood, my father's curse!

A Man's Voice.
Give back to me my long days of forced labour!

A Woman's Voice.
Give back my poor boy that was flogg'd to death!

A Man's Voice.
Give back, give back to me my daughter's shame!

Other Voices.
Up with him! By the devil's beard, old sir,
You shall hang high, as suits a gentleman!

The Noble's Voice.
Children, ... why I might be your father! Mercy!
Indeed I never meant you any wrong.
And, if I did you wrong and knew it not,
I do repent me. Look on these grey hairs.
An old man's blood, what can it profit you?
Sins have I, that is sure, to answer for,
But which among you must not say the same?
O let me live! take anything but life,
For that is robbing God, whose gift it is!
And I will give you up my parks, and manors,
My castles, and my summer villas all.
And you shall have my bailiffs, all of them,
To roast, or hang, or anything you please.
If these have done you wrong, I knew it not.

A Man's Voice.
If you talk more, we'll put a pitchfork through you.
Come, hoist him! We shall miss the dancing else.

Chorus of Peasants.
A bluebottle fly of Beëlzebub
Came buzz on the hive of the working bees.
We have clipp'd the wing of this gilded grub,
And we bring him now to rot at his ease.
Their Lordships lordly carcases
Shall be thick as straw on the stubble lands.
When their castles burn like furnaces,
We shall have fuel to warm our hands.
As for us, who are hungry, and poor, and cold,
And weary enough of the long day's work,
We must have fire, food, slumber, and gold,
So up with the torch and the three-prong'd fork!

(They pass on.)
Orval.
I could not mark his features in the crowd,
Nor recognize his voice.

Novice.
No doubt it was
One of your Lordship's noble friends or kinsmen.

Orval.
Whoe'er he was, I care not. I despise him.
For he will die, a coward. Him I scorn,
And thee I loathe. Move on, sir! Here's a path
Should lead us somewhere. Bah! some day, who knows?
We shall make poetry of all this filth.
Come, sirrah! Do you hear me?

(They disappear into the forest).