 | A Son of The Soil |  |
Scene Second.
—Ante-room in Madame Tallien's House.Enter Hoche and Madame Tallien, R. 1 E.
Mad. T.
Your wonderful Martel will not come then, General?
Hoche.
Nothing will persuade him. He is the most intolerant,
intolerable, excellent fellow whom this giddy wheel
of ours has brought to the surface.
Mad. T.
And yet a member of that bloodthirsty Committee,
to which brave men like you lend their swords!
Hoche.
I lend mine to our common country, not to them.
They are but the accidents of the hour-glass, but Time itself
is not more steady than she.
Mad. T.
Then why do men like you bend to these accidents
of the moment? Such stories as we hear of them! They
have their sittings in the richest saloons of the Tuileries, and
to them the best men of your party come humbly to solicit
missions and commands. The National Representatives are
the mere shadow of their power, and the Convention exists
only to register their decrees. And they are the mere dregs
of the people! One of them—my guest to-night—worked for
me as a joiner, and now we pay him eighteen francs a day to
decimate us. Why do you submit to these men, General?
Hoche.
Why do you invite them to your house, madame?
Mad. T.
Because I have no wish to go to theirs. I submit
because I can't help myself.
Hoche.
Nor can I. We never know in France why we
obey this leader or that. It is enough for me that the country
is above all, and Martel at least is not like his fellows. I obey
him as readily in the council-chamber as he obeys me in the
field; a pure and noble heart, without a touch of bloodthirstiness,
or selfish ambition. His influence has already done as
much to humanise his colleagues as even yours.
Mad. T.
Yet you cannot bring these influences together.
Hoche.
I have done my best, but he is an incurable woman-hater.
Mad. T.
How many women does he know? A woman-hater
generally means a man whom some woman wouldn't like!
Let me once see him here, and I will soon convert him.
Believe me, in my way I work for my country too.
Hoche.
I know it, or I should not be here. But the task
you have undertaken is almost impossible. The clouds are
gathering again in Brittany.
Mad. T.
We shall disperse them yet; but I want the good
men of all parties to help me. I am bent upon securing Martel.
Hoche.
He will never come.
Mad. T.
Must I try another ambassador?
Hoche.
If I fail, no one will succeed.
Mad. T.
(to Beatrice)
Have you seen him?
Beat.
(to Madame Tallien)
Yes.
Mad. T.
Have you succeeded?
Beat.
In obtaining my father's pardon? Yes.
Mad. T.
And in bringing this Martel here?
Beat.
I think so.
Mad. T.
That means that you know you have. Well done.
(to Hoche)
General, go and join the company. Before the
evening is over you will see Martel there.
(Hoche laughs)
Are
you open for a wager?
Hoche.
I have nothing to wager but my sword, and a pair
of white horses with which the Republic presented me this
morning.
Mad. T.
All she ever presented you with? Grateful
Republic.
Hoche.
I will venture them on such a stake as this—Martel
will not come.
Mad. T.
He will.
Hoche.
And if he does, let your fine gentlemen guests be
more careful of their tonges. You will be sorry he came
before the evening is over.
Mad. T.
Now, must I yield the palm to you, indeed;
My fascinations are but weak to yours;
My magic arts, so boasted and so feared,
Ne'er tamed so fierce a lion in his den,
Or civilised so tough a democrat.
You are like Cæsar, with a difference—
You come, are seen, and conquer! Tell me, now—
What is the thing like, dear? Is it an ogre?
Beat.
N—no!
Mad. T.
No! But awkward? heavy? badly dressed?
Like some of my menagerie within—
A happy family of bears and peacocks.
He'll be a bear, of course?
Beat.
Yes. I suppose so.
And yet his words are strangely passionate,
Fired with a soul that checks the rising smile
Upon a softer lip. You know I hate
The paltry talk and sickly gallantries
That make up all the fashion of our world.
His rough and rude sincerity was new,
And moved me more than polished compliment.
For the first time, I found myself alone
With one of these, our deadly enemies,
Frightened and curious both, at first. But soon,
By a strange feeling—sympathy—I know not.
Oh! after all, these men are great and strong
To do the work that they have done in France;
To break the mighty statue of the past
In atoms from its storied pedestal,
To wipe out rank and manners, form and laws.
As they had never been—to change a dream
To a reality that rules the world.
There is more manhood in their nameless blood
Than in the pride of all our coats of arms.
Mad. T.
Why, Beatrice!
Beat.
I grant you all their crimes,
Nor would excuse them,—I myself their victim,
Their victim's child and widow. But I feel
That we had driven them to extremity;
And on my life, had I been peasant born,
My very soul had risen in arms with them,
Against the tyranny and wrongs of years.
Mad. T.
Ah!—tell me—Is he young, this citizen?
Beat.
Four or five years my elder,
Mad. T.
So exact?
Beat.
His father was a serf on our estate,
Did not I tell you so? The young Martel
Was a close student, taught himself to read,
But left the village when the wars began,
Enlisted in the Army of the Rhine,
There won high name and honour, and is now
All powerful in the Convention.
Mad. T.
We live in curious times, when ranks change places.
Shall I tell you what fancy crossed my mind?
Beat.
What was it?
Mad. T.
Too absurd, even for days
When most absurdities are probable;
So never mind it. But just tell me, dear,
Have you obtained the Count de Valmont's freedom?
Beat.
He was released to-day.
Mad. T.
By this Martel?
Your hand, I think, is promised to the Count?
Beat.
Half-promised—yes. It is my father's wish
That I some day should be my cousin's wife,
But this is not the time to think of it.
Mad. T.
You love him?
Beat.
I suppose so. Change the subject.
Mad. T.
Most willingly. I am rather sorry for him;
His head was never fit for graver work
Than theatres and horses. Poor De Valmont!
Valm.
(L.)
A woman pitying me! Who was the fool who
said that listeners never hear any good of themselves?
Mad. T.
(C.)
M. de Valmont!
Beat.
(R.)
Ah! you are free already.
Valm.
What a chilling reception! more free than welcome,
I fear! I see you are afraid of giving way to your feelings in
public. But our hostess will excuse us, I know. My beautiful
cousin and betrothed, come to my arms! You won't! Then
I must come to yours!
(crosses R.)
Beat.
The hand is far enough. There!
(gives him her hand
to kiss)
Valm.
As cold as ever!
Beat.
As foolish as ever!
Valm.
If devotion be folly, yes! I declare, cousin mine,
that you don't seem half rejoiced at my escape from captivity.
Beat.
I am not sure, cousin, that captivity is not better for
you than freedom! I fear that a fortnight's imprisonment is
scarcely enough to teach you common sense.
Valm.
That quality is perfectly thrown away in these days.
And what does it mean, at the best? To lay plans which an
accident may upset in a moment—to be always looking forward,
and always on your guard. Life isn't worth having at the price.
My philosophy is to laugh at what makes the rest of the world
cry, and throw myself blindly into the arms of the great god,
Chance, who carries me wherever he pleases, which is sure
to please me.
Beat.
Extravagant as ever!
Valm.
Not I. It's the world that's extravagant, and has
been for the last four years, not to say mad. Peasants turn
into kings, bootmakers into generals, and dukes into dancing-masters.
It would be horrible, if it wasn't so deliciously
absurd. I met a fellow as I came in, all gold and feathers, who
condescended to bow to me. He was one of my own farmers,
and has millions, while I haven't a half-penny. Isn't it funny?
Mad. T.
And you propose to devote your newly acquired
freedom to enjoying this kind of fun?
Valm.
Not entirely. I shall combine business with pleasure.
I have begun conspiring already, I have.
Mad. T.
Oh, hush! Take care!
Valm.
I have, I assure you; but that's nothing. Everybody
does it, and everybody knows that everybody does. Seriously,
this game of plunder and death is nearly played out, and the
accursed Republic will soon commit suicide, if we only wait and
encourage her. It will be a good joke to see her cut her own
throat in her own den.
(aside)
The Republic is not quite so easy to deal with,
I suspect.
Mad. T.
Stop. You are becoming dangerous, and as a
hostess I must not encourage you. Come, both of you, and
join my animals. Count, give me your hand.
Valm.
Too much honoured. It is worth going to prison,
for the new relish it gives to an evening party!
Mad. T.
(to Beatrice)
Beatrice!
Beat.
I follow you.
Exeunt Madame Tallien and Valmont, R. 1 E.
So, we have met again.
The mistress and the serf, the helpless woman,
And the all-powerful ruler—in whose hand
Are names and fortunes, lands, and laws, and lives!
The foremost of the dread decemvirate,
Whose seat of justice is the guillotine.
Is this the man I thought to find so changed?
It is the very boy I knew of old.
A silver echo from our native hills
Rings in his voice, tender and true as then.
His presence brought my girlhood back again;
We moved again in the green woods, and dreamed
Under the open sky. Is this man cruel?
Is it of him that half France is afraid?
If so, all France should be afraid of me.
Why, I could melt this iron with mine eye,
And in these little finger-tips there lurks
A spirit of power to draw him where I would.
Oh, thou down-trodden country of my love,
Dear France, what might I do through him, for thee!
Exit, R. 1 E.
| A Son of The Soil | |