AT THE RISE OF THE CURTAIN Francis Howard JVilliams (SorttcU Inioeraitg Sjibrarg 3tlfata. NrtD ^nrk FROM THE BENNO LOEWY LIBRARY COLLECTED BY BENNO LOEWY 1B54-19I9 BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY Cornell University Library PS 3319.W71A8 At the rise of the curtain :dramatic pre 3 1924 022 228 856 The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022228856 AT THE RISE OF THE CURTAIN SDratttatic ^tAv3it» By FRANCIS HOWARD WILLIAMS . AUTHOR OF "THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH", "THE FLUTE- PLAYEK AND OTHER POEMS," ETC. BOSTON: RICHARD G. BADGER 1904 Copyright 1903 by Francis Howard ^STilliams All rights reserved /\.Sf-^^''^' PRINTED AT THE GORHAM PRESS BOSTON, U. S. A. CONTENTS Page HOLYROOD, 5 NEMESIS, 79 MARIE DEL CARMEN, . . . . .\\\ r HOLYROOD THE EPISODE OF A DAY March g, 1566 PERSONS. Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots. The Countess of Argyle, Half-sister to the Queen. Mary Beaton, ) Attendant upon the Margaret Garwood, f Queen. Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, King Consort. Lord George Douglas, Uncle to Darnley. James Douglas, Earl of Morton, Chancellor. Lord Ruthven. Lord Patrick Lindsay. Lord Robert Stuart. Sir Arthur Erskine, Captain of the Guard. Pierre de Bourdeilles, Abbe de Brantome. M. DE ViLLEMONT, Envoy from Catherine de Medici. Sir Thomas Randolph, Envoy from Queen Elizabeth. John Knox. David Riccio, Private Secretary to the Queen of Scots. Halberdiers, Pages, Servants. I. MORNING. Holyrood. The Audience Chamber of the Queen of Scots. Mary Beaton. Margaret Garwood. From without voices are heard singing Luther's hymn " Ein feste burg ist unser Gott," part of the ■first stanza being sung before the rise of the cur- tain. A mighty fortress is our God, A bulwark never failing; Our helper he, amid the flood Of mortal ills prevailing. For still our ancient foe , Doth seek to work us woe ; His craft and power are great, And, armed with cruel hate, On earth is not his equal. Beaton {closing the window). They gain in volume what they miss in tone, And seem to deem a wailing through the nose The essence of religion. Ah ! it grates Upon the nerves like salt upon a wound. I'll shut it out. ' Garwood. In mercy do. 'Tis strange How heresy grows flatulent and flaunts Its rags i' the market place. What shout was that? Beaton {reopening the window). I know not ; haply some fanatic churl Grown one degree more mad. (7) HOLYROOD. Voices {without). Long life to Master Knox ! God save Master Knox! Old Satan cry! Beaton. Oh yes, the same A Loud Voice {without). And ye must guard yourselves well, my mas- ters ; else harlotry, running rampant in high places, bring confusion to the realm. {Cheers without.) Beaton. Truth from the mouths of fools ! Voice {without). How long, oh Lord ! how long must we endure ? Shall these thy people see idolatry — the idol of the Mass — and all such abominations practiced, even in the midst of them, and yet withhold to speak ? Voices {without). Nay, Nay, Nay. Other Voices. Long live Master Knox! God keep the pious Master John Knox! Garwood. Pray close again the casement. {From without the hymn is again heard more faintly. ) HOLYROOD. 9 For still our ancient foe Doth seek to work us woe ; His craft and power are great, And, armed with cruel hate, On earth is not his equal. {4s Mary Beaton closes the window, shutting out the sound of the hymn, the tinkle of a lute is heard from the Qneen's apartments at the right. ) Beaton. Ay. But yet, In barring out a futile unison, We do but make a silence here within. Wherethrough melodious dalliance lures the soul And drops slow poison in the flower of love. So have I seen, upon a breezy noon. The heather sway before an amorous sigh. Born o'er the silent sand-dunes near the sea, Savored of salt and bitten with strange desire, — A sigh that kissed and killed, — then kissed again The dead face of its victim. Garwood. Listen ! (The voice of Riccio heard within, singing to the accompaniment of a lute.) Pretty Katie, bonnie lass. With your hair so brown. Well I love you, by the Mass ! Tender feet o'er tender grass Tripping to the town ; Pretty Katie, bonnie lass, I can never let you pass With your eyes cast down; Well I love you, by the Mass ! lo HOLYROOD. And your lip a redness has That a kiss would drown ; Pretty Katie, bonnie lass, While you're angry I, alas ! Care not for a crown. Well I love you, by the Mass ! And had I a looking-glass You should see your frown. Pretty Katie, bonnie lass, Well I love you, by the Mass ! Beaton. Burr! 'Tis sorry stuff to feed a surfeit heart. Poor tinsel in succession of pure gold. And yet she'll take it, and turn red withal, And pull a pout athwart her succulent lips, And arch her mouth about the singer's name As though she loved its syllables and breathed Intoxication in an uttered word. She can do anything to lure delight, — She hath done all things that do murder love. Garwood. Beaton! For shame! If Mary Stuart blooms Each day more beautiful, shall thou and I Who do attend her grow thus keen of tongue To slander her? Beaton. To slander? Nay for I Keep still a memory, keeping still my head, — A memory of one who lost his head HOLYROOD. 1 1 Because his memory failed him on a time, And he put trust in her who took his songs, — Who took his kisses, and then took his life. Some souls there be too base for slander. Carwood. Oh! And shall you never cease to think of him, — Of him who came from France with nought to do But wed soft verse to softer madrigals? His very name is half a poesy. . . . Beaton. Pierre de Boscosel de Chastelard. Garwood. The syllables are honey on your lips, The while the memory cankers in your heart What else were wholesome. Beaton. Here confession comes, — The Abbe de Brantome, — who still doth grant A priestly blessing to a wounded soul. Garwood. And with him one who neither blessing hath Nor soul to feel one. Beaton. Yes, de Villemont. See, They're coming hither for an audience. Soon They'll have to bow to Riccio, — and bow low. Garwood. Pray come away. 12 HOLYROOD. {Enter de Brantome and de Villemont.) Brantome. I do but little doubt Your excellency's never-failing tact; Diplomacy in France hath little need Of helps to understanding. Ah ! You here ? Her Majesty is not yet risen? Beaton. Nay, We go but now to wait upon her call. Garwood (aside). Pray come away. (Mary Beaton bows to the Abbe de Brantome and receives his blessing. Then exeunt Beaton and Garwood.) Villemont. Mon Dieu! They're comely both. I will be sworn the dark one comes from France. Perhaps the Queen, whose judgment is so true In canons of pure beauty, hath a mind To make a flower garden of fair maids To match her Cavaliers. Brantome. It were wiser, though. To pass the Cavaliers, or mayhap to feign To know no butterflies about a nest Inhabited of wasps. Your mission done, (And done it shall be in a short half-hour,) We shall erewhiles be freer to give tongue To that which, spoke too soon, had thwarted all. HOLYROOD. 13 ViLLEMONT. Ah, my dear Abbe, statesmen still must come To mother church to learn good politics. Your words are charged with wisdom to the brim And put me to the blush. Are we not sure To gain our ends, having upon our side The parvenu Italian? Or is he But half a friend? Brantome. A whole friend for the time, And by the rood! I do believe his heart Is ever with our holy faith. He fears, — And fearing hates, — the heresies of Knox. He will do all to rivet to our cause Mary of Scotland and the loyal lords ; Yet I foresee the bursting of a storm Shall make the path of Master David rough And scarcely suited to soft shodden feet. And ere it burst I'd fain be safe in port ; For neither you nor I can well afford To link our fortunes to disaster, — you The envoy of the great de Medici, And I an humble priest who loves no whit To fast upon a feast-day. ViLLEMONT. Think you then The storm is ripe for breaking? Brantome. Yes, at once, Haply to-night. Each minute on the dial Makes your quest more precarious. 14 HOLYROOD. ViLLEMONT. And the bond — The solemn compact of the Catholic League, — The Queen will sign it? Brantome. If he bids her, — yea. ViLLEMONT. And he will bid her ? Brantome. If you blind him, — yea. But you must fawn on him and speak him fair. The man is drunk with power, and holds his head High in an air too rare for his base lungs To thrive upon. I do think in his soul He yearns to see vile heresy crushed out And ended utterly. Yet if you thought To gain your ends with Mary, barring him And careless of his aid, 'tis sure he'd throw His weight against your suit. ViLLEMONT. He must be bought With flattery, more potent than coined gold. We must cajole, speak softly, hint our thanks, — A very wealth of humble gratitude, — The thanks of Catherine de Medici, Coupling with hers his low-born name. 'Tis thus We fish for gudgeons with bright colored straws. Brantome. And thus you'll catch this gudgeon through the gills, HOLYROOD. 15 And he shall spring more nimbly to your bait Being already in the cunning net By himself half devised. ViLLEMONT. Which is to say . . .? Brantome. The Queen's French correspondence, which at first Had been the charge of Riccio, proved full soon His altitude for wider fields, and so He gathered up her duties, one by one. Relieving her and making her his pawn ; She, leaning on him more and more each day. Nurtured the blossom liking to the flower Which shallow souls call friendship, and ere long Gave to the tongue of gossip such a cue As scandalized one half the Scottish realm. {Rings bell.) But we waste precious moments. Naught avails In conning history when our business means The making of it. (Enter a Page.) Take this scroll within. And see it come to Master Riccio's hand. Page. His Excellency has enjoined, my lord, That no one . . . Brantome. Do my bidding and fear not ; We have a fixed appointment and are here In virtue of his leave. i6 HOLYROOD. Page. I go, my lord. {Page takes scroll and exit.) ViLLEMONT. It galls a little thus to bow the neck To one who . . . Brantome. All too soon shall bow his own ; Believe me, Sieur de Villemont, 'tis but oil We pour upon the hinges of a trap Not of our setting but of us foreknown. Ere many hours be sped we can afford To cry quits lustily, and gather up The broken fragments of our dignity. Cast for the nonce at Master David's feet. Villemont. Poor devil ! Is his shrift so short ? Brantome. Indeed 'Tis briefer than a schoolboy's love, and holds But half the glamour of it. {Enter Page.) Page. It doth please His Excellency to receive within His lordship die Ambassador from France. Brantome. Alone ? Page. Alone, my lord. I'm charged to say HOLYROOD. 17 His Excellency doth rely upon The service of the Abbe de Brantome To meet with Master Knox, who comes anon For audience with the Queen. Brantome (aside). In short, to hold In leash this baying hound that frights the fold. (To Villemont.) Pray you within, and give your message tongue ; Press home your puissant lady's wish, and make No question of the outcome. {Exit ■within de Villemont, ushered by Page.) So he dares To bar me from the counsels most germane To mine own calling! We shall see. {Cries without: " Hail Master Knox! Health to good Master Knox!" etc.) But list ! Here comes humility's protagonist. Lean from long fasting, yet withal o'erfed With flattery fit for Kings ! He comes, in faith. For spiritual disputations with her Grace, Who'd liefer draw her nurture from the source Whence springs all strength to turn the barbs of Hell. And I, because she'd fain escape the breath Of heretic vaporings, must perforce stand guard Upon the outer bastions, and turn back The foul flood of rebellious doctrine! See How high he strides and how the crowd makes way! {More cries without. Enter another Page.) i8 HOLYROOD. Page. 'Tis Master Knox who comes to claim his right Of audience with the Queen. Brantome (aside). To claim his right? E'en rights may be denied. (to Page.) Show Master Knox Into the audience chamber. {Exit Page.) It were well This cockatrice should sometimes find the bars Secured against his coming. For to-day He shall but enter in and fling his spleen About a gilded cage whose bird hath flown. As for polemics, if he that way leans, He'll find me ready. (Enter Knox, escorted by Page.) Page. Master Knox. (Page bows and exit.) Brantome. In faith You come most seasonably, Master Knox ; Yet do I fear her Grace, against her wish Must still deny you audience. She is pressed With weighty matters, and hath set me here To answer for her, and to speak 'you fair In greeting and in welcome. Knox. It were well HOLY ROOD. 19 The Queen of Scots deign sometimes to perform State duties ; it were well she sometirnes show Her royal countenance in the house of God. I hither came, intent to plead, exhort, — If need be, to condemn ; for be it known No earthly prince is set too high to draw The righteous arrows of our faith. Brantome. Methinks Ye are more prone to preaching than to prayer. Knox. The congregations daily offer up Their supplications for the Queen. For her We bear the pains of spiritual sickness. Brantome. Ay. Ye pray for the Queen's Majesty; yet pray With a condition ever ; ye uplift Your supplication to Almighty God : " Illuminate her heart if this should be Thy pleasure." Where in God's word shall ye find Example of such prayer? Knox. Wherever be The examples, I the promise well believe. If we shall ask for anything at all According to His will, He sure will hear Our supplication ; and 'twas Christ who taught The potent meaning of " Thy will be done." Brantome. A manifest perversion. When ye pray 20 HOLYROOD. That God, if it so please Him, may give light Unto the Queen, ye do imply that she Now sits in darkness. In the people's minds Ye plant a doubt of her conversion. Knox. Not I, in truth, but her own obstinate And sad rebellion. Brantome. Wherein hath the Queen Rebelled against her God ? Knox. In every deed Of her short life ; but most of all in this : She will not hear the preaching of the word. And still maintains the idol of the Mass. Brantome. Because your lips know not their sacrilege Your words may be forgiven. For the Queen, She thinks not that rebellion, but in faith The essence of religion. Knox. So thought they Who unto Moloch offered up their own Most unoffending children, yet the Lord Affirms that in such offering they made A sacrifice to devils, not to God. Brantome. And can you give examples of a prayer In such wise prayed before ? HOLY ROOD. 21 Knox. Ay. Peter said These words to Simon Magus : " Of thy sin Repent and pray to God that, if it be In mercy possible, this thought of thine Obdurate heart may be forgiven thee." And think you not, good Abbe de Brantome, That the same doubt may dwell within my soul. As touching the conversion of the Queen, That then did wring from Peter his stern call To spiritual cleansing? Brantome. I would not In willingness hear you or other cast Such doubt upon my lady. Knox. But your will Is no assurance to my conscience. Brantome. Why Say you she doth refuse or cast aside Your admonitions? She will gladly hear The words of any man. Knox. Yet what ensues Of true obedience? Or when is she seen To give her presence or to lend her ear To public preaching? Brantome. On my life, I think She never need to while her presence there Is thus entreated. 22 HOLYROOD. Knox. Then I say that ye Must rest content that I shall pray to God In manner certain to be heard of Him, Entreating that the Queen may grace His church, Or if He hath appointed her to be A scourge and sorrow, then that we and all Who bear His name may dwell in patience till She hath been bridled. Brantome. On my life, a Queen Would seem a beast of burden born to bear State fardels and withal to wear a yoke Fixed by her subjects' hands. You'd bridle her? {Enter Riccio, followed by de Villemont. They are intent upon a paper held between them.) Villemont. You see the main point's here. Riccio. 'Tis plain. 'Tis plain. Ha! Master Knox, I might have known 'twas you; I heard a disputatious echo, — saw A touch of deeper shadow in the room. Brantome. And might have heard, an you had earlier come, A subject's purpose to subdue his Queen With bit and bridle. Knox. Ay, though all the hosts Of nether Hell forfend it. HOLYROOD. 23 Riccio. No such aid Is needed of her Grace. Knox. That shall we learn When I have questioned her. Riccio. That shall you not, Nor now nor any day henceforth. Knox. And who Shall stay me? Riccio. One who, ere you can protest. Shall be the Chancellor. Brantome (aside). 'Tis as I feared. You? Knox. Riccio. I. Knox. The congregation of the Lord Doth me commission with a sacred trust To turn her Majesty to holier ways. She is firm bounden, by agreement sealed And sanctioned of her lords, to grant full time For privy audience, that I may entreat Her soul to turn to Zion. 24 HOLY ROOD. Brantome. Yet she hath In virtue of that same decree the right Of holding Mass within the sheltering walls Of her own private chapel Knox. Which last right Involves the other duty. Riccio. I care not For rights or duties graven into laws By alien hands despite the Queen's desire. Knox. I do not seek approval of your will, But claim fulfillment . . . Riccio. Claiming but in vain. The Queen will not see Master Knox to-day. Knox. And hath she so empowered you to say? Riccio. I speak in virtue of the general power To me imparted of my sovereign. She will not see you. Knox (aside). So he seals his doom. I know my course. HOLYROOD. 25 ViLLEMONT (aside to Riccio). And she will sign the bond ? Riccio (aside to de Villemont). Hold it aside till he be gone. Knox. Enough ! Be well assured that, though ye shall make clean The outside of the platter, we do know The ravening and wickedness which dwell Within your inward parts. Enough ! Enough ! (Exit Knox. ) Riccio. How holy is the rage of hypocrites ! We should be grateful for whatever fate ■ Relieves us of his presence. Brantome (aside). Though mayhap Not of his power. (Cries without. Long live Master Knox! Health and happiness to thee, pious Master John Knox!) Riccio. Hark to the ribald crew ! They cheer less loud for their anointed Queen. And now, my lord, I'll hearken to your quest Touching this compact. Villemont. And may I then hope For the Queen's signature? 26 HOLYROOD. Riccio. Your lordship seems A firm believer in the ancient saw That he who seeks success must seize old Time By his gray forelock. The Queen's Majesty Is scarce adjusted to her daily task, — Dispatch of matters of the state, — 'tis scarce Ten by the clock. ViLLEMONT. The youth of day ; and yet The night comes swiftly and our work hath wings. This matter is most weighty and surcharged With gravest import. I do pray the Queen Will of her grace give instant audience to it. My august lady, Catherine, rests sure Of loyal aid from one so near allied. If we may but find favor in the eyes Of you, her trusted counsellor, we fear No other issue than the one we crave. Riccio. The signing of this document. And then ? ViLLEMONT. The early triumph of a holy cause. The Catholic League, whose nurture is from heaven. Will spring to bloom and blossom on the earth. To crush out heresy is the loftiest call Of God to man. The duty comes to all, — To lowly and to great, — but unto them HOLY ROOD. z-j Who sit on earthly thrones that duty wears The garb of vast responsibility. The document . . . Riccio. I've read it and know all. The Queen, whate'er her private sympathies, Must tread a careful way between the thorjis Of the opposing hedges. Brantome. Yet methinks Whatever thorns lurk in this hedge but prove The presence of the roses. Earnestly I add my supplication that the Queen Be urged to sign. Riccio. Good Abbe de Brantome And will you aid refusal to the lords Of their unseemly purpose to upraise The matrimonial crown to Darnley's head? Will you give pence for porridge, — coin for corn, — An equal barter for a service done? Br-^ntome. With all my heart. Riccio. Then, Monsieur de Villemont, Pray you await me but a moment. {Exit Riccio.) Villemont. How Like to a haggling li'jckster doth he trade ! 28 HOLY ROOD. Brantome. The world goes round by law of give-and-take; 'Tis ever quid pro quo. {Enter a Page.) Page. My lords, without Wait the lords Morton, Ruthven, Lindsay and. In hotter haste, my lord George Douglas, bent On instant audience with Her Majesty. ViLLEMONT. My life upon it. Abbe, they are come To put your promise to the touch. This same Crown matrimonial, which a moment since You gave a pledge should be opposed of you. Is to these lords a long-desired goal. We know of it in France, and haply gain Through long perspectives sanity of view. Darnley enthroned, yet lacking that whereto A throne owes half its awe, is Darnley still, But only half a King. They seek to force The Queen to grant her spouse an equal share In outward symbols, which bespeak the full Power and prerogative of royalty. I envy not your office, yet am prone To thank you for the service done, through me, To my most gracious mistress Catherine. Brantome. The matter fits my liking. I would see The Queen of Scots sole mistress of her throne, And should so shape my course without the plea Of Master David. HOLYROOD. 29 ViLLEMONT. Ah, he comes. {Enter Riccio.) Riccio {to page). What is your message ? Well, boy, Page. Four lords wait without To gain admittance for a little space To the Queen's Majesty. Riccio. They may not come Until the day be riper. {Exit Page.) Of her grace The Queen hath signed. The great de Medici Thus gains new favoring winds to sit within The shoulder of her sail to forward urge Her pious undertaking. ViLLEMONT {receiving the paper). For yourself. Good Master Riccio, you have gained our deep And lasting gratitude. {Loud commotion without.) Riccio. What riot's here? Have some loud brawlers, reeling from a tap. Blundered into the palace ? {Lord George Douglas bursts into the room.) so HOLYROOD. Douglas. By my blood ! I'll know what peasant sends me, by a page, His insolent veto of my rightful quest. Where is the Queen? Riccio. The Queen is private. There Within her own apartments, she remains Until a later hour, when, if it please, She may allow an audience. Douglas. Upstart knave! When handed she her sceptre to a churl ? Who holds a warrant from the Queen to speak? {Enter the Queen.) Queen. The Queen speaks for herself. This gentle- man, — My private secretary, — knowing well My preferences, doth but say withal What mine own lips would utter. When the time Is meet, I'll hear whatever you desire, — Whether petition or complaint, — till then I grant no audience. Douglas. It were well, Your Grace, As you so prize your secretary's weal. That you appoint the hour of hearing soon. Our business is o'er ripe and -will not keep Here in this courtly carrion-breeding sun. It shall be soon. HOLYJiOOU. 31 Queen. Douglas. The hour? Riccio. At three to-day. Douglas. Not you. I asked not you to fix the time. The hour? Riccio. At three. Douglas. Your Grace. . . .? Queen. At three to-day. Douglas (aside). This mantling shame shall cease ere modest dawn Waken to-morrow. Riccio. Good my lady, come. (Riccio gives his hand to the Queen, leading her towards her apartment, and glancing tri- umphantly at Douglas, who stands enraged, his hand upon the hilt of his sword. De Villemont is seen to whisper to Brantdme as the scene closes. ) 32 HOLYROOD. II. NOON. The Garden at Holyrood. The Queen, Count- ess of Argyle, Mary Beaton, Margaret Garwood, Riccio, Brantome, Robert Stuart, and Erskine, at tennis. Stuart. That was well played. Argyle. Obliquely. . . . Riccio. And why not? The veriest fool can meet an even ball With a flat racquet ; but to fend a blow That comes perversely, — there you have the skill Which conquers victory. Erskine. 'Tis the same in war. . . Or coquetry. Garwood. Beaton. Or worse. Stuart. Now, by the gods ! When woman judges woman, charity Puts on her mourning weeds. HOLYROOD. 33 Beaton. And justice smiles. Riccio. Your Grace is lithe. Aha ! well followed. Brantome. So We do return a gift with usury. Queen. Have a care. Abbe. One. . . Garwood. No. . . Riccio. Mistress, yes, 'Tis easier than lying to a clown. On guard there. Beaton. . Oh, it needs no striving. See Queen (aside). And thrust with every chance. I parry thus. . Erskine. Have at you now. Two. . . Argyle. On my life! a drive Well worthy a staunch captain of the guard. Thus I return. . . 34 HOLYROOD. Queen. Nay, Countess, 'tis but meet You garner up your own. Take that! Beaton {aside). Oblique ; She meets no issue squarely. Riccio. I do think No hand that is not royal could so turn An adverse tide successward. Argyle. Ah, I miss ! Erskine. Who misses not hath never known the joy Of winning at the finals. * Stuart. 'Tis a joy Needing no fillip. . . . Brantome. Yet methinks no joy But gains by contrast. Queen. That's a priestly creed. In sooth, good Abbe, you've an austere lip To chide our slips withal. One's confessor Must needs be charv of distraction. HOLYROOD. ^ Brantome. Oh, Your Grace is quite too literal. Beaton (aside). And, methiaks. Too liberal on occasion. Queen. How was that? Riccio. Straight to its destiny. Ha ! Stuart sends The ball into the net. Carw^ood. A better one Mounts o'er it thus. Brantome. Here comes a messenger, To thrust dull duty on our lighter hours ; He seems in haste. Queen. Oh, shall one never know A space of freedom from the cares of State? {Enter a Page.) Riccio. Well, boy? Page. My lord of Morton doth make known The coming of Sir Thomas Randolph, bent 36 HOLYROOD. On early audience with Her Majesty Touching the queries of the English Queen. Riccio. Sir Thomas Randolph cannot be received At such an hour, at such a place as this ; So tell my lord of Morton. Brantome {aside). By the rood ! He grows insufferable. Page. But, so please. He hath sent this. {Delivering a letter.) Eeskine {aside to Stuart). Sir Thomas Randolph holds Commission as Ambassador, — he is Accredited from proud Elizabeth. This trifling is a danger. Stuart {aside to Erskine). Yes, but one Of many. Riccio. Well, I'll take it for Her Grace ; 'Twill be forthwith considered. Say you this To my lord Morton. Queen. Is it then so grave As will not brook delay? The day's at flood. HOLYROOD. 37 And 'tis but rare inhospitable March Smiles such a sunny radiance from the sky. Riccio. Your Grace, I fear we must forthwith give thought To what's herein contained. Beaton {aside to Garwood) . We must give thought ! Mark you the arrogance that lifts its head . And courts destruction through self ignorance. Queen. Why then, sweet friends, our game must stay awhile ; Take down the nets that do but serve our sport While closer nets of statecraft mesh our brains. Open the letter ; let us know the worst. Our English sister, what's her last demand ? Stand by us, friends, 'twere well the envoy find The Scottish Queen not all bereft of state Nor uncompanioned quite. {The nets are removed. The Queen seated, Riccio beside her. The others grouped apart.) I read the letter? Riccio. Is it your will Queen. , Yes. Perchance it holds Only some new credentials, though I fear It bodes some further interference. Read And let us know how dolorous our fate. 38 HOLYROOD. Riccio {scanning theietter). Her Majesty of England craves herein Your hearing for her special envoy, come To intercede for clemency and full Pardon for each and all the lords now held In banishment by your express decree. Queen. 'Tis the old story and it grows more stale With iterated telling. I'll no more Of this long wailing for the banished lords. 'Twere tiresome an it came from home-bred hearts ; It grows offensive on an alien tongue; I'll no more of it. Riccio. It doth warm the blood To hear Your Grace speak resolutely. Brantome. Yet Sir Thomas Randolph, thus commissioned here. Should be entreated courteously. Riccio. Oh, In brevity there is no stint of form ; Quick courtesy say I. . . . Queen. We'll not forget Decorum, and will see the envoy straight; But he must to the point ; there is nor time Nor use for lengthy parleying. HOLYROOD. 39, Riccio {to Page). Forthwith Inform my lord the Queen is pleased to grant An audience to Sir Thomas. (Exit Page.) Beaton (aside to Garwood). She will cut His well-turned phrases like an orange through, And show the bitter seed-pods. Garwood (aside to Beaton). Else he bear So bold a front as shall affright her. I Feel half a sorrow for the banished lords. Beaton. You are too tender. Riccio. I do think the time Is ripe to mellowness for words that ring, Fearless of consequence. Your Grace were wise To thrust a spear-point deeper than the skin. The English Queen must learn. Brantome. The English Queen Hath learned long since ; 'twere well she be ap- peased. Riccio. And Scotland humbled ! Such hath been the plan And policy of statecraft fallen to seed. 40 HOLYROOD. Brantome. Say rather politics that ruin all. The realm is sick. . . . Riccio. And needs perchance a leech. Well, he at least must be one. . . . Queen. Grentlemen, I value at its worth your deep concern ; I shall not fail. Erskine. And here the envoy comes. {Enter Sir Thomas Randolph, escorted by a Page.) Riccio. Sir Thomas Randolph, envoy bearing from Her Majesty of England, greetings. (Randolph kneels to Queen.) Queen. We Are pleased to welcome from our Sister's hand Letters so worthily bestowed. Randolph. Your Grace, I trust your royal pleasure may outlive The ending of my mission. Queen. Doubtless. So Let us to essences ; affairs of weight HOLYROOD. 41 Press on our time with such insistent claim As makes despatch a creditor. Randolph. Your Grace Hath pleased to banish from your realm, and from Your royal presence, certain worthy lords. Who, reft of their estates and sore distrest By loss of dignities and revenues Rightly to them pertaining, pine and bear The daily sorrow of an exile felt The deeper that they feel it undeserved. Their names — ... Queen. No need to name them. We full well Have taken cognizance and noted down The fault of each. 'Twere well you come at once E'en to the kernel of your mission. Speak That which your orders bid you to impart. Randolph. I'm charged to make full plain the grievance felt By my most sovereign lady that these lords Are kept aloof from rightful occupancy Of their estates and lands, — from customed use Of privileges, titles and what else In legal right is theirs. I'm bid to show The wound so dealt to justice at the hands Of one whose province 'tis to be the fount Of justice and of constituted law. Not thus have monarchs made their thrones se- cure 42 HOLYROOD. And reared them altars of affection set Within the popular heart. Not thus have peace And civic virtue been implanted deep, To raise a bulwark about royalty And keep the state secure. Queen. And do you come To threat rebellion, or to give a cue To those whose restless spirits ever tend To rend and to destroy? Who than your Queen Is quicker to tear out a treacherous weed Upspringing in the garden of her realm ? Who more than she hates the cabals of men Disloyal to the core? Randolph. She hath not seen The evidence of such disloyalty In these your banished subjects. She hath been At much pains to discover wherein lie The faults imputed to them, and can find No semblance or suspicion of a crime. Queen. In verity, our English sister gives Attention to a neighbor's needs, meseems. Beyond the law of custom. Does she deem Her judgment truer and her wits more meet Than mine to solve a problem of my realm And search a secret out the which pertains Solely to Scotland ? By my troth ! I think HOLYROOD. 43 There is a savor of such meddling here As is not wholesome to the palate. Randolph. So Your Grace would spurn advice because it comes Across the border of a friendly land, — From one whose love hath ever shown itself Beyond suspicion of a motive base, — Above reproach, unselfish. . . . Queen. And withal Alert to magnify its own desert. Time was when, in the guilelessness of youth, I took the glitter for the gold, and wept To think how tender the great world had grown In mine own sole behalf. The years have brought. Out of the travail of a wounded soul. The pain of disillusion. I have learned Somewhat of life, — not as I'd have it be But as it is ; somewhat, mayhap, of deeds That carry rapiers 'neath their cloaks of love. I am more keen to-day. Randolph. Which is to say . . . ? Queen. That I have well decided on the course Required of me and of my dignity, — A course considered well and clear defined By prudence and security, by right And every sense of justice. 44 HOLYROOD. Randolph. And that course? Queen. To have these lords, as they have well deserved, Attainted of high treason by the vote Of the coming parliament. Does it seem so strange A sovereign should assert a sovereign right To guard a throne from traitors ? That a queen. Mindful of her sworn duty, should uphold The ermine of her oiiSce from the stain Of rebel fingers, though the hand that grasp Should be a brother's ? Of them all, not one Is so recalcitrant as mine own kin — James Stuart, Earl of Moray. He and all Who do hold converse with his vile intents, Shall be attainted . . . and forthwith. Randolph. Your Grace Commands me so to answer to my Queen? Queen. Ay. And the sooner you the answer bear The better will my mood be pleasured. Randolph. Then My duty forces from my lips the word I well had wished unspoken. I am bid. If that Your Grace refuses counsel meet And will not hear a roya,l sister's plea. To say in candor that the worst hath come ; HOLYROOD. 45 Her Majesty Elizabeth proclaims Her deep displeasure, and her royal will To have grave satisfaction. Queen {to Riccio). Put that down ; Fix it on parchment that the English Queen Threatens us with her vengeance. It were well We have so grave an issue clear defined Beyond the peradventure of mistake. Forthwith proceed; your mission's ended. Randolph. How Shall I construe Your Grace ? Queen. You are dismissed. Randolph. Dismissed ? Queen. Ay. Hath the word a dubious sound? Erskine, call in your guard. (£;jrjY Erskine.) The hour is come For action that shall bear decision out And make a deed effective. Brantome. Pray, Your Grace, Think on the station of this gentleman, — The envoy of the English Queen. 46 HOLYROOD. Queen. Enough ! I am o'erweighted with thoughts doubly thought To a conclusion. I'll no more. {Enter Erskine "with haldberdiers.) Erskine. Your Grace. . . . Queen. Escort this gentleman with the deference due An envoy of a foreign prince. He leaves At once for England. Randolph. Now upon my life ! Indignity such as Your Grace inflicts Shall fail not of report. I take my leave. (Exit Randolph, escorted by Erskine and the guard. ) Riccio. So struts the peacock flouting in his rage. Brantome. I warrant we shall see more anon than mere Eyes in a peacock's feather. Queen. It were well We wait in patience, — those who have it. I Perforce am ravisht of the little share Vouchsafed to me by nature. HOLYROOD. 47 So, good friends. Pray leave us for a little. Here I'd fain Rest in the shadow of this friendly vine That braves the breath of March. 'Twill need a balm To soothe the sore disquiet of the last Bad quarter of an hour. Brantome. • As you will. Stuart. Yet pray forget not that the lusty sun Waits on our pleasure ere the afternoon Glides to the twilight. I invite a game Brought to the high pitch of a final test Betwixt matched forces. Queen. Nay, I'll not forget. I shall have breath for tennis by and by. Beaton {aside to Garwood). An he should leave her any. Mark you, now, She'll keep him by her. Garwood. I mark nothing. Stuart. Good. We shall gain zest in waiting. Queen. David, thou 48 HOLYROOD. Stay to make plain the meaning underneath, — The truth between the lines of this device, — The message of Elizabeth. Beaton {aside to Garwood). You see? Garwood {aside to Beaton). Nothing. I'm here to serve and not to see. Beaton {aside). A very serviceable servitor. This game of chess comes close to mating time; I know a king whose " check " will serve my turn, I'll play him 'gainst the Queen. {Exeunt all but the Queen and Riccio.) Queen. This upstart world. Like to a beaten slave who sudden gains A liberty and license, loves to deal Blows of his whiplash whether on friend or foe. So he but feel the glory of a power Newly acquired. I had liefer plod Each morning to a maid's task overfield And back again at sunset with the kine. Than thus to wear a crown that galls my brow And feed heart-hunger with the crumbs of state. I am aweary of it ! Riccio. Ah! my Queen, I, who do love you with a love more deep HOLYROOD. 49 Than ever statecraft dreamed or worldlings knew, I who do serve you with a duty born More of a man's soul than the menial sense Miscalled diplomacy, — I best can feel The weariness which lies across your brow. Like some cloud-shadow on a silent mere Whose upturned face is beauty.- 'Twas but now When righteous wrath lit your awakened eyes With fires to stir a kingdom to great deeds, I noted how, beneath the outer show, Lay all the slumberous splendor to proclaim The woman ever mightier than the Queen. Queen. Too deep; too deep you note. I pray you find The steel beneath the glove. (Taking the letter from Riccio's hand.) What meaning's here. Writ large, mayhap, though in a cipher hid Between the polished phrasings of the lines? What would the English Queen? What's here — and here? Not said in candor but implied in guile, — Vague as imagined fear? Riccio. I do not know, — I do not care, — my Queen. Why should we pause To spell some weary lesson of defeat. Wrought out with cunning of intriguing men. When all the passion of a sunlit world Warms to a new delight? Why rack our minds 50 HOLYROOD. To solve dark problems of diplomacy, At such a moment, when the favoring fates Bend kindly faces near? Queen. It were not well, — It were not safe, — to list to that soft voice Which ever laughs a lyric to our souls, — To mark too deep the miracle of life Forever felt yet nameless. Riccio. 'Tis the strange Wild joy of love, — the alchemy of youth, — Turning earth's dross to gold. ( Taking the letter and dropping it at her feet. ) There let it lie. Its message and its meaning under foot. (Kneeling to the Queen.) I bring a yet profounder problem here For your solution, — yours, — whose regal eyes Have shone upon my life to shed delight And make the world divine. Queen. Nay, nay ; rise up. Dear God ! The very leaves have eyes, and all The garden paths are strewn with treachery. I that am Queen must bury in its grave The flower of love, and burn to its last ash The fruit and blossom of a woman's joy. Rise up, I pray. RiCCIO; Nay, for a little space HOLYROOD. SI Suffer my soul to worship. (He takes her hands, looking up into her face. Mary Beaton enters silently, regarding them in- tently.) Beaton {aside). As I thought! If Darnley will but follow where I lead, My checkmate is complete. Poor fool ! he dreams I do but fly to spur him to the chase, — Being enamored of his moonfaced smile ! He needs to take a lesson in light love, — The trick of David Riccio and the Queen. They're more intent to read each other's eyes Than to construe state policies. If now This King that is but half a King would come, He should behold a picture sure to goad His soul to madness. {Looking off.) Ah! He sees me, — thinks I'm eager for his coming. So I am, — Yet not because I crave his soft caress, — Rather because I hate both him and her. He sees and hastens hither. Voice of Darnley {from without). Caught at last! My pretty bird, that flies before the breeze. Beaton. My liege. {Enter Darnley.) Darnley. Sweet light-o'wing, how fleet you are ! 52 HOLYROOD. A chase you've led me through the garden-close. I sought you burning to say that withal You most should wish to hear. But ever, on You fled. I marvel that you pause e'en now. Beaton. Small wonder! Pray you speak with bated breath ; 'T would spoil the picture an they heard you. See! Darnley {seeing Riccio and the Queen). Hell and destruction! What delusion's here? Beaton. The picture of a queen who ponders well The deep complexities of state affairs. Guided by all the diplomatic lore Of a most faithful secretary. Darnley. Pah! I've scented scandal ; now I smell the rank Corruption of the offal. Beaton. I'll away; This is no place for ladies of the Queen. (Exit Mary Beaton.) Darnley (striding before them). Doubtless most difficult must be the task Of rulers of the realm ! I pray you call The King into your counsels. You startled me. HOLY ROOD. S3 Riccio {fisirlg quickly). Good my liege! Queen. Darnley. Quite probably. You, sir, Seem doubly serviceable to the Queen. Such qualities of statesmanship are rare. Albeit Her Grace lack gratitude to show Her deep befriending of your gallant toil. Haply the service were as well performed Within doors ; and this gusty wind of March Is treacherous as the love sighs of a queen. You, Madam, will excuse a little while .The presence of your secretary? Riccio. I Forestall the answer, knowing well Her Grace Had liefer prove the pureness of her soul To him alone who hath a questioner's fight. I go. {Exit Riccio.) Darnley. You, Madam, would do well to seek The shelter of your private rooms before Breaks the oncoming storm. Queen. The storm, my lord? Darnley. Ay. Hear its mutterings now. {Sounds of voices without.) 54 HOLYROOD. Queen. Whose voices these? Darnley. No need to ask. I see them, everyone ; Morton and Douglas, Lindsay, and I think One other. • (Looking off.) They are come, I make no doubt, To claim a promised audience with the Queen. I'm told you fixed on three this afternoon. Queen. 'Tis not so late. I will not see them now. Darnley. Then will I see them for you, — I, the King. Queen. 'Tis as you please; but, mark you, I am bound By no will but mine own. Darnley. Here are they come. Queen. And I am gone. (Exit Queen, hastily.) Darnley. My lords, with all my heart Give you good morrow. {Enter Lords Morton, Douglas, Lindsay, and Ruthven. ) HOLY ROOD. ss Douglas. Is the Queen not here? We come, my liege, to claim her clemency For the despoiled lords, who still repine In exile, and we hope for your large aid In gaining this just quest. Darnley. 'Tis well bethought; When I do gain my own most righteous cause. And wear the matrimonial crown, perchance I can the better serve you. Morton {aside to Lindsay). Now the .time Conspires unto our liking. Lindsay {aside to Morton). Ay, 'tis ripe. Morton. We'll not dissemble ; there's no longer need ; We stand here mindful each of other's rights. And able each to bring the other's fruit To ripe perfection. 'Tis the harvest time. But pledge your fullest pardon to these lords. And we will answer with our lives and lands That on your head shall rest, full diademed. The matrimonial crown. What say you all? All. We pledge our lives and lands! Darnley. Then, on my faith 56 HOLY ROOD. And honor as a King, I'll do my part, — Restoring to their own our banished kin. But yet . . . Douglas. But yet . . .? Darnley. There is one traitor still. That blot must be removed. . . . Douglas. By heaven! 'Tis done. A scorpion hatching mischief in the realm ! A beggar, set on horseback, to proclaim His own immensity! This Piedmontese. . . . RUTHVEN. Nay, nay! 'Twere better that no names were spoke. The deed is surer when' the words are few. Darnley. And, my lord Ruthven, may I count on you? RUTHVEN. Ay. And on all. We enter here a pledge. Douglas. And we shall do the deed. Darnley. To-night ? HOLYROOD. 57 Douglas. To-night. Darnley {aside). And so mine outraged honor is avenged ! (All raise their swords in token of the com- pact. The scene closes.) III. NIGHT. {Private apartment of the Queen of Scots. A table set for supper. Servants busy with the preparations. 1ST Servant. {Answering a call from without.) Yes my lord, all's prepared. {To 3d servant.) That ottoman Nearer the table . . . Ay, at once, my lord. {Opens door. Enter Lord Robert Stuart.) Stuart. You have the flowers as I ordered? Good. Come hither Erskine, we've a breathing space. {Enter Erskine.) The knaves have set the table all agleam And made a brave array of nothingness ; If one could fill a paunch of flesh with thought Or make good muscle out of moonshine, I Should go to sleep and dream a loin of beef. 58 HOLY ROOD. 1ST Servant. No dream, my lord, for here the pasty comes. . . {Enter servants with pasties, fruit, and wine.) Erskine. And something that outranks it, two for one ; The tardy palate waits on this banquet; Upon my honor, muscatel. Stuart. A breed Of that same grape which set the gods aflame; And here's the lute, too; marry, we've no mind To temper feasting with austerity. Or set our songs to Calvinistic tunes. Erskine. And yet methinks the, Queen was sad but now. I met her in the gallery and saw How red her lids were. She hath much to bear. Stuart. And yet there is a spring of laughter there. Close to the marge of dolorous lament. Forever ready to upswell . . . {Laughter without.) Erskine. As thus. Stuart. Ay, like the outrider of a speeding joy. The music of her cadenced voice prevents The music of her footfall. {Enter the Queen and Countess of Argyle, fol- lowed by Riccio.) HOLYROCD. 59 Queen. Gentlemen, Your forethought leaves no lightest wish forlorn ; And e'en to sup is to inform the mind Of duty well performed. (Erskine holds the Queen's chair, while she seats herself at back of table. Countess of Ar- gyle at her left.) You, David, here Where I may hear your ditties by and by ; For see, your lute waits patient for the touch Of cunning fingers to coax forth sweet lies. Argyle. Nay, nay, not lies. Queen. Yes, sister, know you not Songs are to sense what psalmody's to truth? (Riccio seated at right. Attendants serving supper.) Stuart. My lady of Argyle would fain believe All love-songs laden with that deeper truth Which is the heart's philosophy. Queen. I know But that the heart's philosophy is sad. And yet. . . . Argyle. And yet you hold it still at bay. And list a song that is but falsehood. 6o HOLYROOD. Queen. Yes. For one must live — and love mayhap — to-day, Though grim to-morrow bring a funeral. Ah! how I shudder! Pray you, Riccio, say If dull foreboding shadows every joy. And people of all nations nurture dread. Do you who ripen in Italian sun Carry at heart a canker bred of fear To blight the happiness of eyes and hands Uplifted to delight? In southern hearts Is there a bitterness like that which lurks Within the kernel of some luscious fruit, — A premonition striking cold as steel And turning hope to ashes? Riccio. Yes, my Queen ; There is no happiness but surely waits Upon swift disillusion, — no desire But finds fulfillment mingled with a pang. Argyle. A mournful creed. Riccio. All creeds are mournful. This But holds to truth,- my lady. Yet Her Grace Hath warrant for the song that blooms to-day, Although to-morrow's chant shall wither sere. Queen. I'll have to-day's song, though in very truth My soul is heavy — nay, I know not why : HOLYROOD. 6i Haply it is the wind upon the heath Or sighing draughts that, up the corridors, Waft ghostly rumors through old Holyrood. I know not why . . . Riccio. There is no need to know ; Leave reasons to philosophy. (Erskine is seen giving directions to attend- ants, who retire.) Stuart. Amen. By the Queen's leave I'll give a toast. May all Her Grace's songs be merry to the end. {All drink.) Queen. The toast was to my songs and not to me. So I may drink too. Riccio. Queen, you grow too sad ; I pray you let us not sit all bereft Of the light laughter which your lips have taught Us that do love you to have pleasure in. Queen. Oh, I shall laugh, and laugh again. Methinks There's stuff for merriment in Scotland now ; There's Arran making faces at the moon. . . . Argyle. And Morton's arrogance. . . . And Knox's jaw! 62 HOLYROOD. Riccio. (Laughter.) Stuart. A Scriptural implement, the one wherewith Samson slew the Philistines. Queen. Pray, have care ! If we are overheard I shall be taxed With seeking to curtail my subjects' rights To worship all untrammeled. On my faith, I think we are much bounden to the zeal Of Master Knox. He acts as foil for all Our lighter moods and gives a fillip oft To cloying sweets of life. Argyle. Like to the gall Which keeps our gratitude alive for that Which makes life worth the living. Queen. 'Tis my turn To give a toast. I pledge you here the Queen's Most trusted counselor, — most cherished friend, — The minstrel of sweet music and the poet Of all soft numbers wrought to perfectness. I drink to David Riccio. Riccio. Ah, my Queen, HOLY ROOD. 63 Where love so seconds all the gifts of God, Music and versing are but playtime things, The dew upon a roseleaf. Queen. It is meet You give us in this hour of rest some taste Of these same pla)ftime things. Argyle. And look you to it You mar not love's fair seeming, nor forget That he hath wings. Riccio (to Queen). What shall I sing? Queen. Indeed I care but for the singing, not the song; So you be not obdurate to the hurt Of Love flung back and wounded unto death Within the house of his own friends, I make No fine distinction of the words you sing. Stuart (aside). Methinks the fine distinctions are his own. Riccio. I've something in my mind that once I dreamed. Sleeping within the garden in the noon ; The roses were a-drowse beneath the hum O' the blundering bees, and all the world seemed ripe 64 HOLYROOD. For some hot ravage. Suddenly I woke And wished for sleep, — for sleep and dreams again — (He sings.) Sweetheart, your lips are over red. Like to the rose the wild bee sips. As deep into its heart he dips His busy feet, his powdered head ; And from within his scented bed I hear the call of his honeyed lips : Sweetheart, your lips are over red, Like to the rose the wild hee sips. Sweetheart, your drooping lashes wed The tear that o'er your blushes slips ; And from my tongue the cadence trips, — A melody on beauty fed, — Sweetheart, your lips are over red Like to the rose the wild hee sips. Argyle. A pretty bit of rhyming, on my life. Queen. A rondel tripping as a nymph at play. It sets the pulse a-tingle like a song Of that mad renegade Francois Villon. David, thy verses are an antidote For all distempers ; prithee sing again. Argyle. Ay, once again. Riccio. Oh, if you will, but what ? HOLYROOD. 6s Stuart. So it be full of life, what matter ? Riccio. Naught Matters to him who drinks of life . . . Queen. And love. Stuart (aside). Forget not love. Riccio. Well, here's a triolet; Pray you, keep time with me. It lacks its zest In missing sympathy. (He sings.) Life lasts but a day Let us love while we're living, And humming the lay Life lasts but a day. Find courage to say. All its folly forgiving. Life lasts but a day. Let us love while we're living. All. Again ! again ! (He repeats the song, to the clink of their glasses, but breaks off suddenly at the sound of a heavy tread without.) Stuart. Hark! What was that? 66 HOLYROOD. Queen. Erskine. Erskine. Your Grace? (Enter Darnley.) Erskine and Stuart. The King! Darnley. Let me not break the revels. 'Tis a scene Too fine to be abridged. I pray you, sir, Resume your station at Her Grace's feet; 'Tis most becoming to a cavaHer. I heard some song as I came up the stair, — A song of Hfe and love. 'Twas pretty stuff. And doubtless worthy of a wedded Queen. Riccio. Your Majesty, I . . . Darnley. Did but do your part Of piping in the ring-time. Queen. Good my lord. Have you supped? Darnley. Nay, I've some distemper here That hurts digestion. I would kiss you, thus. And thus again, to steady o'erwrought nerves. HOLYROOD. 67 (He seats himself by the Queen, passing his arm about her waist and kissing her. ) Haply one sees distorted things at times, And lets imagination slip the leash To one's undoing; 'Tis a scurvy knave, — This thing we call imagination, — full Of power to cast us to the nether hell While pointing with a rosy finger up To highest heaven. It may lift a poet To utter the divine, and all the while Turn a Queen's heart to lewdness. 'Tis my hope, Good Master David, that you'll sing again. Your Majesty, I Riccio. Darnley. Oh, you are a poet, — A poet-secretary ; or shall we say A polyglot musician? 'Tis all one, So that your versing be but workmanlike And mortised with nice jointing. You are paid To fit soft phrases to an amorous ear ; But let me still advise you, an I may ; Make your vows hotter ; run them in the mould Of one whose versing empties passion-clean A lover's lusty heart. Your mistress here {Pushing the Queen from him roughly.) Will drink the dainty draught down to its dregs. Pour out your soul . . . Queen. For shame ! my lord. 68 HOLYROOD. Darnley. For shame? Madam, the word is but the temious wraith Of something perished. You have murdered shame, And written red across your unruffled brow A name which I pronounce . . . Stuart (half drawing his sword). By God ! My liege ! I am a Stuart, and were you a King Anointed thrice . . . Queen. Robert, for my sake, hold! Darnley. Nay let him whip his bodkin out and mouthe ; I care for neither. ( To Riccio. ) 'Tis to you I speak, — You, secretary of the Queen of Scots, Musician, poet, lover. Queen. Oh, my lord! How basely you degrade your manhood, thus To shame your wife and vilify a queen. Riccio. I do protest, my liege ... Darnley. Protest no more! We've somewhat too much protestation. Go HOLYROOD. 69 Take up your lute and sing another song, And fill it with desire that gains its goal ; Tell of the glory of the Queen of Scots, And praise the blue of Mary Stuart's eyes ; And lest the rondure of her breasts should lack Meet celebration, let the task be yours To act as celebrant. From old Provence You'll gather ditties moulded to your need. And . . . Stuart. Liar! (Stuart is restrained by Erskine from rushing upon Darnley.) Erskine. Madam, shall I call the guard? Queen. Nay, nay. We've now too many witnesses Of such a shame as never woman bore. (To Darnley.) My lord ! my lord ! What baseness in the blood Has lured you to this vileness ? Darnley. Vileness ? Ay. The vileness that stands there (To Riccio.) You, sirrah, you. You sing of life that lasts but for a day, — I'll show you that its tenure's yet more brief. {Darnley stamps twice and Ruthven enters clad in full armor. Riccio shrinks behind the Queen. ) 70 HOLYROOD. Queen. My liege, I do demand forthwith to know If this intrusion is contrived by you. Who is this knight? Darnley. One who is used to deeds And hath small joyance in a lute-string. Queen (to Ruthven). 'Sir, Upon your loyalty I do command An instant revelation. {Ruthven raises his visor.) Ruthven! You! What may this mean? It had been told to me That you were ill, and I had thought to come To visit you, not thus to see you here Envisored and in armor. Ruthven. I, indeed. Have been most ill in body and in mind, Yet do I find myself in strength to come Here for your good, — yours, Queen. Queen. What good to me Can bode such visitation? Ruthven. There's no harm Intended to Your Grace. 'Tis yon poltroon With whom we come to deal. HOLYROOD. 71 Queen. What hath he done? RUTHVEN. Inquire well of your husband, Madam ; I Am here to act. Queen. What would you? RUTHVEN. 'Tis soon told. Hola! Without there! {Armed men crowd into the room, led by Lord George Douglas.) Erskine. 'Tis some treachery! {Ruthven advances to seize Riccio, but the Queen throws herself before him. Darnley ad- vances towards the Queen and Robert Stuart and Erskine drazv their swords in her defense.) Ruthven. Force them away. 'Tis by the King's command. Stuart and Erskine fight desperately but are overpowered and gradually forced from the room, the clink of swords being heard from with- out for some time. Darnley seizes the Queen and rudely drags her away. In the confusion the table is overturned. The Countess of Argyle rushes out, meeting Morton and Lindsay, who enter with drawn swords. The conspirators drag Riccio behind the screen, and he is heard to groan and fall heavily. 72 HOLY ROOD. Queen (struggling). Traitor! Hold off your hands. I am the Queen. Darnley. Traitress ! I am the husband of the Queen, And know full well mine own prerogative. Queen. Ah God ! What hideous deed is here performed? What bloody villainy! (Riccio's groan again heard.) Darnley. Your eyes shall see How pitiful a crawling thing like this Becomes when justice works her perfect ends. (He throws down the screen, revealing Riccio wounded unto death. The lords stand grouped apart, their swords red. The Queen reaches out her arms and sinks into a chair. Riccio drags himself to her feet. Darnley looks at him scornfully and withdraws to the rear, with the others.) Riccio. See how they stand apart, these lords, whose hands Have bungled i' the work, else had their points Made me a cleaner exit. Thfey mayhap, Granting short shrift, would yet bestow a balm To soothe the pang and poison of the end. My Queen ! thy throat is stung to sudden flowers, Tinct with strange colors new begot of love; HOLYROOD. 73 May I not kiss thee on the mouth and eyes, Seeing how sternly this gaunt foe denies All quarter to the vanquished? Let me hear The old, quick breathing, breaking to desire. To lull the sense and turn the pulses mad. I am a penitent ; ah, gracious Love, Be thou my rosary, and let me tell My sins upon thy perfectness ; as here. Where shadows make a twilight of thy hair, I've dared to feel myself a very god; Or here, renascent in thy eyes, have dreamed That no diviner beacon burns in heaven. O ! little mouth, half rounded to a song, — My soul hath lost itself to compass thee And rues no whit the barter. Queen. Prithee peace! For God's love turn thy gaze to heaven. Riccio. And so Gaze still, my Queen, on thee. Nay, nay, fear not ; The poisoned chalice destined to my lips Is sweeter that I drain it at thy feet. Ah ! the wounds rankle ! It will not be long. For see how gorgeous the cold stone hath grown In colors of my life . . . Queen. Mother of pain! Be thou compassionate . . . Riccio. There were no need 74 HOLYROOD. To pray compassion did God please to grant But one hour longer; but the ebb hath set Strong on the scarlet sea. Cease weeping, Sweet, Libations such as this become divine In being offered. Queen. Ay. But on the same Sad altar of my heart I lay a heart's Petition. I, who brought a song from France, Have heard but thunder from these Scottish hills. And for the cates and dainties of delight Have been made drunk with blood. Sweet Heaven, hear A prayer for justice, and endow the arm Of him whose life is yet a part of mine With puissance to right a hideous wrong. Riccio. Nay, nay ; leave justice ; I would speak of love. Queen. And love is justice. Ah, poor clammy brows ! And kindly eyes that I have found so fair ! Would God a queen were not so poor a thing. Beggared of easement to a friend . . . Riccio. But stoop A little nearer till I feel thee through, And catch life's light distilment spent like wine Upon the lip's curve. So! thine eyes are fires. Quenched and relighted where the drooping lids Turn gold to umber. Ah, yet nearer, Sweet ; My lips are hot, but soon shall wed wet clay, HOLYROOD. 75 And grow less passionate when my mouth is filled With pitiless earth. Methinks, in faith, to ask A hearing loverwise were little now, For that the warmth of my embrace falls off In touching Death. Queen. Nay, I am here, look up ; Start not so wild! Riccio (brokenly). The fragrance of thy breath Fades to the faint remembrance of a joy Too fine to linger. Prithee, — speak more close, — My ears are strangely dull, — and yet, — and yet I hear the wrack of bursting worlds ! More close, — God ! I am blind. — More close, — and guide my hands To find again thy face. Ah, Heart of mine! Death is so potent ! — It is very dark, — Night hath no stars. — I drain this stirrup-cup For love — and for the Queen ! (He clings to the Queen's knees, and then rolls over upon the floor. George Douglas snatches Darnley's dagger, and, reaching across the Queen's lap, drives it into the dead body of Riccio.) Douglas. This for the Kins'.' 16 HOLY ROOD. (Exeunt all except the Queen, who is left standing over the body of Riccio. Enter hastily Mary Beaton, followed by the Abbe de Brantome. Brantome supports the Queen, who seems about to fall.) Beaton (aside). God! How she suffers! May her heart bleed now As mine did bleed when she slew Chastelard, Turning her head from his appealing eyes To answer Bothwell with a wanton smile. May that same anguish which did stab me then Now rend her false flesh and her falser soul! Brantome. Daughter, look up. Beaton (aside). Nay. Down forevermore. (The Queen remains speechless and horror- stricken. Brantome supports her, looking down upon the dead and raising his hand in priestly invocation. ) Brantome (intoning) . Kyrie eleison! Christe eleison! Domine Deus, Rex ccelestis, Deus pater omnipotens! Domine Filii unigenite, Jesu Christe altissime, Domine Deus, Agnus Dei, Filius Patris. Qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis, sus- cipe deprecationem, nostram. (From without a chorus of many voices is heard singing a stanza of Luther's hymn " Ein feste burg.") HOLY ROOD. 77 And though this world, with devils filled, Should threaten to undo us, , We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us. {Mary Beaton quickly closes a window in order to shut out the sound. ) Brantome {still intoning) . Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis. Dona nobis pacem. {The hymn is again heard from without, more faintly.) The Prince of Darkness grim — We tremble not for him; His rage we can endure. For lo! his doom is sure, One little word shall fell him. The intoning of the priest upon the stage and the singing of the hymn without are simultaneous and continuous, — the chorus being a background for the low recitative of the priest. Both con- tinue some moments after the fall of the curtain. NEMESIS A LITTLE TRAGEDY PERSONS BlANCA ViSCONTI Margh£rita Alf£o, a Jester Place, Milan. Time, 1441 NEMESIS. 8 1 The Ducal Palace at Milan. An ante-room adjoining the grand hall. A window opening to the balcony. Dance-music heard. Margherita (comes in from the balcony). 'Tis beautiful, this moonlight soft as sleep Upon the eyelids of the flowers. The air Would woo me back, but still I fear to leave And lose a lovelier counsellor within. But now he said the music mocked his soul When I, that gave the music all its words. Had left him lonely mid a sea of smiles. Should I believe him ? There, the measure halts ; I have been missed; he searches for me, he; I will believe him ; surely even a Duke May love as men have loved since life began. I will believe him. As Margherita passes into the ballroom at the left, a quick movement is heard at the right, and Bianca enters angrily. Alfeo, the Jester, half erect and catching at the fringes on her train, is immediately behind her. Bianca. 'Tis the same, the same — For me the empty phrase of courtly grace. The vice of compliment, but . . . Alfeo. But for her . . .? Bianca. Silence! Who lists the mouthings of a fool Or courts the counsel of a court buffoon? 82 NEMESIS. Alfeo. Mark how you rail ! I do but ply my trade ; Of all the fools i' the palace I alone Am wise enough to live with open eyes. Your ladyship has been asleep for months. BlANCA. This insolence shall cost thee dear. Alfeo. Oh nay! The chastisement of truth is very sweet. Why rant because the Duke should lightly smile Upon a new-found beauty? BlANCA. Silence ! Alfeo. Nay. I do but speak in consolation. True, The girl is handsome, but she's very young, And if you'll please to wait but years enough She may grow plain. Ha ha ha ! BlANCA. Cease, or here I strip from thy base brow the cap that gives Thy baser tongue its license. Alfeo. To speak true? BlANCA. It is not true ; thou canst not choose but lie. NEMESIS. 83 Alfeo. In faith the choice is hard to all but fools Within the Ducal Palace of Milan. BlANCA. Out on thee! Thou art paid to make us laugh, Not hired to teach us morals. Alfeo. Heaven forbid! BlANCA. I think there lurks a purpose in thy spleen. What is it to thee if that my lord should please To show a courtesy beyond bare need To one of the court ladies? Alfeo. Less than nought; What is it to you? BlANCA. To me who am betrothed? To me, affianced by my father's will? Francesco Sforza's bride, — what is it to mef Alfeo. Ah, you are right. The comedy's superb ! Visconti, Duke of Milan, finding frail The tenure of his dukedom, searches out The means to strengthen it by family ties. And covets Sforza for a son-in-law : And so he bargains . . . BlANCA. Fool, thou dost presume. 84 NEMESIS. My father, Duke of Milan, sought no son. He yielded to Francesco Sforza's plea Inspired by love that could not choose but plead. Francesco loved me . . . Alfeo. Oh, and does so still ; His love's so great he prates of it to all ; I overheard the word. he spoke but now Close to the lady Margherita's ear, — 'Twas " Love." No shade of doubt 'twas love of you. BlANCA. Devil, 'tis false. Alfeo. Nay, angel, it is true. BlANCA. Thou heardst him, thou? Alfeo. With one of my fool's ears. The hearing of the wise dulls as they age, But we who fool grow keen with passing years. (Bianca passes up and gases out at the balcony window.) Alfeo. Madonna, are you cold ? Ha ha ha ! BlANCA. No. I am aflame. But think not that thy jibes Can move me. They befit a shallow court But idly fall on women. NEMESIS. . 8s Alfeo. Oh, for them, I'm satisfied if I can make them weep. BlANCA. I do not weep ; my eyes are dry. Alfeo. With you Francesco gains Cremona and a crown, — Fair Pontremoli and a coronet. BlANCA. Thy wits have lost their cunning; what should gain My father by the loss of lands and crown And dower of a daughter ? Alfeo. One strong arm To save the fortunes of Visconti's throne, — Sforza the dauntless leader. All too well Visconti sees the clouds that fill the sky. From Venice come the rumblings of a storm, Montferrat scowls. Visconti bargains close ; First try Cremona. No, 'tis not enough. Then add, as makeweight, Pontremoli. No. Then add — Bianca. She perhaps will serve To tip the scale . . . BlANCA. Stop, on thy life! Alfeo. 'Tis quaint. 86 NEMESIS. Bianca's but a woman, yet enough. Cremona, Pontremoli, and by way Of gospel measure, throw a daughter in. Oh 'tis a comedy to crack one's ribs. BlANCA. Malevolent buffoon, thy venom works. I hate thee and thy kind ; but still I'm apt. Give me the proof, and thou shalt see a rare, — A precious vengeance ; one to make thee smile In very envy of my power for ill. Alfeo. There spake your ladyship's late sweet mamma. She was most dainty with a dagger's point And doated on a poisoned chalice. BlANCA. Cease. No more of that. Speak of the living. Thou Hast too large license in my father's court. I've heard thee, for that thou wast once my guide — Wast wont to take me once upon thy knee And tell me tales of chivalry, and teach My childhood of the wonders of the sky. Thou wast the boon companion of my mirth, Thy wit untinct of malice and thy laugh Light as the air. Alfeo. I do remember. BlANCA. I Was happy then. NEMESIS. 87 Alfeo. And I. BlANCA. And Thou wast all kind . wholesome then. But one day came a change. Alfeo (aside). Ah! Speak of that"; it makes me hard as steel! BlANCA. Thy brow grew grave ; thy manner turned to gall; The laughter on thy lips seemed born of tears. Whence came this change? Alfeo. I'll tell you; all too long I have endured. At last my time has come. BlANCA. Have you a wrong to right? Alfeo. Have I a wrong? Oh ! sainted eyes of love that shine on me Through life's long darkness and the death of hope, Answer. You knew me as I was of old, — The Court Buffoon who brought an honest laugh Even to the lips of intrigue. Then you say One day there came a change. You know the day? 88 NEMESIS. BlANCA. I nought remember, save that on it came Francesco Sforza's greeting to the Duke, Craving permission for a favored band Of followers to cross our territory. Alfeo. But I remember more. 'Tis graven here, — Here on the shattered tablets of my heart. The pennons of Francesco, making gay The valley with their color, were to me The funeral plumes of her who was my love. BlANCA. And hast thou loved? Alfeo. Ay. Grotesque, is it not? Strange that I harbor manhood 'neath my stripes ! That I, a thing to scorn, to spit upon, A hooded fool, should dare be human too! BlANCA. I never heard of this. Alfeo. I had indeed But poorly learned of my experience Had I not kept my joys where also I Kept my ambitions, — out of sight of men. But list. Madonna ; I had chanced one day Upon a maid as fair as some sweet flower And as a flower gentle. Her I loved. And her I wooed and wed. She found in me NEMESIS. 89 nan aflame with all ambitious ends, puppet made to raise a laugh at court. Id her how I strove to lift me up such a life as should not shame her soul. ras she alone who did believe in me, — it in my being dwelt a power for good, lotency of growth. BlANCA. She played thee false ? Alfeo. ish the word that holds so base a lie ! ; could no more be false than some bright spirit lose wings beat on the balmy air of Heaven. BlANCA. lat then ? Where is she now ? Alfeo. BlANCA. Alfeo. There. Dead? Ay, dead. i band of licensed brigands who had gained >m Duke Visconti leave to cross his realm, ised by my cottage door. There stood my wife, — ily framed in roses vfhich about ; portal clustered. On her fell the eyes the vile leader of the ravening band ; ; was too fair to live so deep immured ; had her seized . . . You must piece out the rest, ever saw her after. 90 NEMESIS. BlANCA. And this man . . .? Alfeo. 'Twas he, Francesco Sforza, who but now Spake love's hot words in Margherita's ear, — He who wrongs you as he has injured me. BlANCA. Oh! Alfeo. Do you blench ? The tale is but half told. BlANCA. Hold, I can hear no more. Alfeo. And yet you must. My child, the little girl whose sunlit eyes Had borrowed comfort from her mother's smile, — Wild at that mother's loss, — had run abroad. And would have plunged to a more dreadful fate, But that a lady of the Court, — some kind And noble soul, — found out and saved the child. BlANCA. Who was she? Alfeo. That I know not. She has kept Herself unrecognized. 'Tis so, I think, The angels work. But I have set my wits To find her, that my lips may bless her name. She cannot be far from me. NEMESIS. 91 BlANCA. And the child . . .? Alfeo. Is in the convent of Saint Agnes safe. BlANCA. Now do I know whence comes thy bitterness. Poor fool, I pity thee. Alfeo. Nay, spare the pains. Your ladyship hates all my kind, you say. 'Tis well, in faith, I'm a good hater too. This false Duke, that is your affianced lord . . . BlANCA. Ay, and the words set all my blood aflame ! Because thou hast a wrong to right, forsooth. Must / become an instrument to aid The forging of a thunderbolt for thee? Alfeo. Ay, for in righting me you do avenge Your own most outraged honor. Sf Another Alfeo. .0 aven -mryr. Sforza loves BlANCA. Death ! I do believe 'tis false. Thy story isi a fiction meant to goad My soul to madness, that my jealous arm May strike a blow to right thy private wrongs. I'll not be juggled with. If Sforza loves Give me the proof. 92 NEMESIS. Alfeo. 'Tis here ! BlANCA. Ha! what! Alfeo. Stand close. Alfeo is leaning close to the curtained entrance to the ball room. The music comes softly from ■within. As Bianca presses to his side, he grasps her wrist, to enjoin silence. Bianca {whispering, after a pause). Oh, Heaven! Alfeo. It is Francesco's voice. How low He pleads! Bianca. And thou art his interpreter? Alfeo. His judge! You are quite certain of the voice? Bianca. Sure, tho' perdition hung upon the chance. Alfeo. But there are two, my lady. Bianca. Tempter, yes. NEMESIS. 93 Alfeo. You know the other ? 'Tis perchance too soft In honeyed accent to be recognized. And yet methinks you might recall it, eh ? BlANCA. 'Tis Margherita's ; and may life for her Be rhade alone of hours like this to me. I'm choking; let me go. Alfeo. Not yet. List, list. He whispers now ; his passion grows more deep. Men's voices sink to cadences as low As summer zephyrs when their hearts are hot And love flames into fire. BlANCA. Oh, cease . . . ! Alfeo. And now She answers him in tones that thrill with joy. She must be leaning on his shoulder. Hark, How muffled is the voice. Methinks he draws Her head upon his breast. _ If we could see But through the damask, I'll a wager lay You'd find her soft hair mingled with his beard. BlANCA. Oh, I am mad . . . Alfeo. And list ! he says to-night . . . 94 NEMESIS. " To-night within the garden when the monks Sing Benedicite." Ha, ha! they plan Their meetings by a holy signal. Ah, A rustle. They are parting. Now lean close. Now ! now ! He kisses her upon the mouth ! BiANCA {breaking away). Death ! Fool, thy work is done. Show me the way. Alfeo. What would you? BlANCA. Kill ! Leaning across the jester, she has drawn his dagger, and runs up the steps of the balcony. Alfeo (aside). The hounds have slipped the leash. BlANCA. Come, be not dull ; thy wits are keen to scent A treachery; be thou as quick to find The method of a vengeance. Alfeo. Upon him ? BlANCA. Am I but half a woman to demand But half a justice? NEMESIS. Alfeo. 95 Ah, my lady, she, — Fair Margherita, — knows not of your troth. She's innocent . . . BlANCA. But Still dishonors me. Think not thou canst awaken in my soul The fire that lurked within my mother's veins, And then cry quarter when thy turn is served. Alfeo. Put up the dagger ; there's a surer way. BiANCA (whispering). Poison ? Alfeo. Saints save us! Poison's out of date. They only wear old-fashioned trunks and hose Who keep no record of the current style. BlANCA. Vitelli's bravos? Alfeo. A plebeian mode. BlANCA. What then? Alfeo (whispering). Montf errat ! 96 NEMESIS. BlANCA. Ah! The carbines! Alfeo. 'Ssh! BlANCA. But how to plan it. Alfeo. 'Tis already planned. You know, Madonna, how Montferrat seeks His gain at every hazard. Every night His outposts prowl close to the castle walls. No single blow within his hope could give So great help to his cause as Sforza's death. Mayhap you've noticed that I wander oft Into the wood. 'Tis said by some the Fool Fools wiselier for a season of repose. And others say the Jester goes to weep And so find respite from eternal smiles. [ went to weep — and stayed to find revenge. BlANCA. What meanest thou? Be quicker. While we talk The dancers are dispersing and time flies. Alfeo. Be patient, tender love ; thy love will wait ! BlANCA. Malignant mocker! Alfeo. Well, within the wood. NEMESIS. 97 But yesterday I met Montferrat's spies And bargained with them to unbar the gate That opens to the gardens. BlANCA. What! To-night? Alfeo. To-night. 'Tis done already. See you there The shadow deepening to the southern wall ? BlANCA. I see the sward grown umber where the moon Is barred of access by the coping ; see The shadowed stone upon the living green ; See this ; nought else. Alfeo. One cannot trust one's eyes For a whole story. Now behind that hedge Six of Montferrat's carbineers are placed. BlANCA. To kill the Duke . . .? Alfeo. To give him a long rest, — A long, much-needed rest. . . . BlANCA. And if I choose Yet to denounce thee . . . ? 98 NEMESIS. Alfeo. Why the Duke will live To whisper love to Margherita. So My trade is balked and you are made a targe For many a court- jest. BlANCA. Ah, thou sayest right. I'm glad thou hast bargained for his death. Glad! glad! Alfeo. I thought you'd be so. You've so fine a taste. Your ladyship's so like your dear mamma, Late Duchess de Visconti. I was sure The fragrance of the night and Sforza's thirst For freer air would draw him to the garden. Now, better still, I know the tryst he keeps, — The hour the Benedicite is sung BlANCA. Good, my sweet Jester, thou'rt a very Fool After my own heart! Will the men aim sure? Alfeo. They've practiced on French peasants for a year ! BlANCA. Then to the work. There's but one gallery From the hall to the garden ; he must go by that Alfeo. Unless he take this balcony. I'll place NEMESIS. 99 The men on either side; it is but fair To give an even chance to wing the game. BlANCA. But if he come this way? Alfeo. Leave that to me. I'll guard the balcony that none but he Shall pass the portal. BlANCA. Ah ! thou plannest well. Ah, my sweet Jester, I've a something here Leaping like flame to goad me. Alfeo (aside). How she grows More like the Duchess daily ! The convent-bell is heard to toll. BlANCA. 'Tis the bell Tolls midnight, and the monks who vigil keep Shall sing the Benedicite ere thou Shalt gather fruitage of thy labor. Go. Alfeo. Fear not my tardiness ; no maiden e'er Fled to love's arms with more elate a soul. Alfeo runs up the steps and "disappears from the balcony, Bianca drawing back the curtains and gazing after him. loo NEMESIS. BiANCA (sola). He runs across the pathway to the fountain, — Now disappears in shadow . . . once again Into the moonlight where the roses bow To kiss the illumined spray. Now lost . . . No, there. There stealthily he hugs the lichened wall That hedges in the garden to the south . . . He creeps . . . yes . . . yes ... he turns and disappears. They must be there! Ah, trust a Fool to do Wise work to cure heart sorrows. — Ha! 'Tisshe. Suddenly turning, Bianca has glanced through the doorway leading to the dancing-hall. She's coming hither. Will he follow, too? . Methinks the blood hath spread upon her brow A wreath of triumph. 'Twill be pale anon. We'll find a way to temper brilliant hues Upon my lady's temples. We shall fling Some lilies 'mid the roses. Wait ; be still, — Be still, my heart! Bianca draws behind one of the curtains as Margherita enters from the dancing-hall. Margheeita. Methinks the breeze doth sleep Like some tired love-song on the lips of night. 'Tis strangely silent here. This way, he said, — Here from the balcony ; and when the monks Sing Benedicite. 'Tis near the hour, — It must be near the hour. I'll listen for The dulcet signal here. NEMESIS. 1 01 As Margherita is seated upon a low ottoman, her head leaning on her hand, Bianca steals he- hind her. The dagger is upraised to strike, when Alfeo enters hurriedly from the balcony, and un- derstanding the situation, runs forward in time to catch Bianca' s wrist as her arm descends. He wrests the dagger from her grasp, and Marghe- rita for the first time becomes aware that she is not alone. Margherita. Oh! ah! Alfeo. So, so! Good morrow, fair my ladies. By my faith It is a pretty trinket. {Showing Margherita the dagger.) See how rare These jewels of the hilt. {To Bianca.) I think you said It came from Genoa? Margherita {examining the dagger). Oh, rare indeed! 'Tis very beautiful. Alfeo {aside to Bianca). You will spoil all. {Aloud.) From Genoa, you say? Bianca. Ay, Fool. Margherita. Indeed ! And is it yours, my lady? I02 NEMESIS. Alfeo. Yes, i' faith . . . Her ladyship's as careless of her jewels As Christians of their souls. But for my care The toy were lost ere this; it was but now I found it in the garden. Margherita. Of a truth. Lady Bianca, you would better give Such treasures to my keeping . . . Bianca. Of a truth, I well had wished . . . Alfeo. To give a costlier thing. Munificence which ever doth outrun The utmost thought of friendship ! Margherita. Ah! the point Is very keen. Alfeo. Hard as men's hearts and keen As women's tongues. Margherita. Thou art merry. Fool. Alfeo. Why not? Life's such a game! NEMESIS. 103 BiANCA (aside to Alfeo). Is everything prepared 7 Alfeo {aside to Bianca). Yes. Watch the gallery. If he passes thence Give notice of it to me. Bianca. Ay. (Aloud.) By your leave I'm weary, so good night. Margherita. Good night. Sweet dreams Wait on your slumbers, lady. Bianca. And on yours. As Bianca passes out, Alfeo comes down and leans close to Margherita. Alfeo. Gold for your thoughts. Margherita. A flush dwells on the brow Of Lady Bianca. Has there ought occurred To mar her calm? Alfeo. Nought ; she but plays, like you Too much at archery. Margherita. At archery? I04 NEMESIS. Alfeo. Yes. With Cupid's bows and arrows. Margherita. I'd forgot The Fool must always jest ; and on my faith I did not look to find thee here. Alfeo. Goto! You thought to wander through Visconti's halls Nor stumble on a fool? Sweet innocent! There are enough to sink Filippo's realm Albeit the state council takes the best. Margherita. Satiric rogue! Why dost thou say I play Too much at archery ? Alfeo. Ask Sforza that. Margherita. 'Ssh! Then thou knowest . . .? Alfeo. All. Margherita. Soft, soft, I pray. Oh, my good Jester, keep the secret well. I love him so. Dost hear me, Alfeo? I love him. If thou didst but know what 'tis To love! NEMESIS. I OS Alfeo. Ah, if I did but know ! Margherita. Why, then, I'm sure that thou wouldst aid me. I'm anon To meet him in the garden . . . Alfeo. When the monks Sing Benedicite . . . Margherita. You know that, too? Alfeo. I said that I knew all; and, being a Fool, Said what I meant. Madonna. Margherita. Then I pray Yet more thy good will. And desiring it, I'll tell thee that will show thee I deserve Well at thy hands, Alfeo. Alfeo. Well of mef Your ladyship deserves good will of mef Margherita. Ay. Listen. There's a girl called Beatrix Within the convent of Saint Agnes. She Is thine own child. io6 NEMESIS. Alfeo. Great Heaven! How learned you that . . .? Margherita. Her eyes are soft ; her hair is tarnished gold ; She wears her mother's radiance on her brow . . Alfeo. Yes, yes. Be pitiful. Be quick . . . Margherita. This girl Had shared her mother's fate, but that a hand — A friendly hand — had saved her. Alfeo. Oh, 'tis true; And I have consecrated my wrecked life To find this guardian angel, — to outpour At her feet all a father's grateful love, — But still it is a mystery, and she To whom I owe the one thing in this world That keeps me human, keeps her secret well. Margherita. She keeps it now no longer. It was I. Alfeo. You! You! No! No! 'It cannot — must not be. Say anything but that. Margherita. Why, what is this ? 'Twas I who took the child and placed her safe With the good sisters. NEMESIS. 107 The first chords of the Benedicite float inzvard from the garden. Alfeo. I say No! No! No! Heaven is too merciful to smite me so. Not you! Margherita. Yes, I. Alfeo. The Benedicite! Love's signal. Margherita. Alfeo. No. A knell of death ! Margherita. Ha! Alfeo. Hark! You wrought an angeFs work on me and mine, I have repaid you with a devil's wrong. You gave me life and I have murdered you. Margherita. Murdered ! Alfeo. Ay! In my blindness have destroyed More than your life, — your love. Francesco Margherita. In mercy speak io8 NEMESIS. Alfeo. Oh, I have contrived his death; In the next minute he will cease to be. ■ Oh, fool! fool! fool! Margherita. What would you do? Alfeo. Beat out My wretched brains! Margherita. In mercy, try to think ; Is there no way to save him? Alfeo. No, they wait, Finger on trigger, who are hired to kill. Stay ! There may yet be time. As he runs to the doorway, he meets Bianca. BiANCA (aside to Alfeo).. He has passed down The gallery. Alfeo. Too late! Bianca. Too late? Margherita. Dear God! Is there no way? NEMESIS. Alfeo. Yes; there is one way. 109 Margherita. Alfeo. What? To draw their fire. Margherita. How? Alfeo. Thus. Alfeo has caught up a long cloak which lies across the ottoman, and Hinging it about his shoulders, has run out upon the balcony. There is a sudden flare of light and the quick report of carbines. The Jester reels backward into the room. He tears off his fool's cap and fails near the table. BlANCA. Margherita. Great Heaven ! Oh! BlANCA. What does it mean? Speak, speak. Is Sforza dead? Alfeo. No, lady. Sforza's death is garnered here. BlANCA. 'Tis Nemesis ! Alfeo {drawing Bianca's dagger from her girdle). Swear to forgive — forget. no NEMESIS. Margherita. Not upon that. Death's symbol. Alfeo reverses the dagger, so that the hilt forms a cross. Alfeo. Nay . . . the sign Of life . . . My foolscap's off . . . I die a man . . . Farewell ... I think the sun ... is setting . . . As the Jester sinks down, the upturned dagger is left in the joined hands of B.ianca and Marghe- rita. BiANCA {with -linger to lip). 'Ssh! Margherita draws the black cloak over the Jester's form. The tones of the Benedicite arc still heard from without. The curtain falls. MARIE DEL CARMEN PERSONS Raoul de Peralta Carmen, his Wife Jules Surault, Colonel of French Infantry Gaston Lafarge, a private soldier A SMALL detachment OF THE IMPERIAL GuARD MARIE DEL CARMEN. 113 The interior of a Spanish country-house. Fruit and a flask of zvine upon a table. An infant sleeping in the cradle. At back, a curtained door- way opening to the garden. Carmen. Raoul. Carmen touches the cradle and sings: Sleep my pretty one, Sleep my little one, Rose in the garden is blooming so red ; Over the flowers the fleet-footed hours Dance into dreamland to cadences wed To the voice of the stream, — to a song in a dream, Sung low by the brook to its stone-covered bed ; Sung soft as it goes. And the heart of the rose Gives a tremulous leap As the melody flows. Ah, little one, sleep, My pretty one, sleep, Sleep ! Carmen. Ah, it were almost like the days of peace To sit thus with thee, Raoul, and watch the babe Show forth upon her sleeping lips and brow The benison of God. Sweet days of peace. Shall they not ever come again? Raoul. Oh, ay; They're sure to come as sunshine follows storm ; But this accursed order for a price Upon my head because I served the King; 114 MARIE DEL CARMEN. 'Tis that which mingles dread with every joy. True to the Emperor I could not be, Being loyal to the King, and so I chose, In loyal service, still to serve the King. Carmen. And chose, so choosing, honor's only path. Nay, we shall have the order soon revoked; They will not, dare not, put it to the test, And, even daring, they have not the power ; Trust a wife's wit to baffle a foe's spleen ; Thou art bestowed all safely. Raoul. Ay, but where? Within my own home. Is it safe for thee, — Safe for the child? Carmen. Yes. Home is the last place They'd think to seek thee. Hush! Chiquita wakes. (Again she lightly rocks the cradle and sings.) Peace my little one. Peace my pretty one. Lilies bend low to the breath of the breeze ; Lithe as a willow, the boat on the billow High tosses the spray for the sunlight to tease With a kiss and a tear, — with a rainbow, — a fear; For the light is the sun's and the spray is the sea's ; And the wind o'er the lea Breaks to harmonies, free As the waves that release The low laugh of the sea. MARIE DEL CARMEN. "5 Ah, pretty one, peace, My little one, peace. Peace ! {The last words of the lullaby are interrupted by the distant roll of a drum, and then the steady, precise beat, growing gradually louder. The song dies on Carmen's lips. Raoul rushes to the window and peers out.) Raoul Ay, 'tis as I feared. They have outgeneral'd even thee, my Carmen. 'Tis a detachment of French infantry. Carmen. Oh, holy mother, give me time for thought. Thou must be hid. Raoul. Ay, but to what good? Soon They will unearth thy secret. {Shaking his clenched fist in the direction of the approaching drums.) Curses light Upon their French heads and their French deceit. My Carmen, they shall take me as I stand, — A Spaniard, with his wife and babe, at bay ! Carmen. Nay, nay, for my sake, Raoul. Thou knowest how The panel in the closet near the hearth Counterfeits well the wainscot. Keep thee there Until thou hearest me sing, (as signal to thee,) Another stanza of the slumber-song. 'Twill not be long. I'll balk them. ii6 MARIE DEL CARMEN. Raoul. Ay, but thou, — ? Chiquita ? Carmen. Trust Chiquita to my care, — Me to the care of Heaven. {The roll of the drums comes nearer and the tramp of troops is heard.) Quick! they come. Let nothing tempt thee from thy covert till Thou hear'st the song. Then, when I sing, steal forth And seek the river bank ; thy boat is there ; Once in it, thou 'It elude them. Quick! Raoul. Nay. Carmen. Oh, But for our love's sake, Raoul ! Raoul. As thou wilt. (Raoul runs to the cradle and hends over the sleeping child. Then he tenderly embraces Car- men, and passes out through the doorway at the side. Quickly Carmen draws the curtains and seats herself near the cradle. The drums and the marching feet come nearer. Carmen {leaning over the cradle). Ah, little prophet, whose hand rests in God's, Hast thou no message for me? Ah, she smiles! {From without is heard the order "Halt," MARIE DEL CARMEN. 117 which is repeated by a second officer a little further off. The drums and the marching cease.) Sweet mother! Still this fluttering, — this wild fear Which hangs upon the skirts of hope, and stays Almost my heart from beating. {A heavy knock at the door. Carmen draws back the bolt. Enter Colonel Surault.) SURAULT. On my life! A pretty picture. I have nowhere seen On the peninsula a truer type Of a Spanish interior. Well, my pretty one, I'm sorry we must trouble you. I've here A bit of paper which makes clear the need To search your premises. This is your house? Carmen. It is, Senor. Surault. My men call me Colonel. Carmen. I am not your men. Surault {aside). Mechante diablesse ! What A spirit she has ! (Aloud.) Then, by your leave, I would You'd call me by my title but because It is my wish. My men are soldiers, I An officer of the Emperor's guards. ii8 MARIE DEL CARMEN. Carmen. And I A Spanish woman who has not yet learned To do the bidding of a foreigner. SuRAULT (aside). Upon my soul ! I like the mettle in her ; And she has eyes would turn a Christian Turk, Or melt a glacier. (Aloud.) Eh bien, as you like; I came not here to quarrel with a whim ; You shall, if it please you, call me Jew or churl ; But, by our Lady ! I will levy toll Upon those red lips. Carmen (retreating). Sir, stand back. SuRAULT. Not I. The exchange is fair w^iichever way you look ; Your lips have robbed me of a soldier's name; The soldier robs your lips that robbed him so. 'Twere surely worth a kiss to earn the right To call an officer-of-the-line of France By a poor Spanish title. Carmen. Sir, I am A soldier's wife. (Pointing to the cradle.) This is a soldier's child. Pray you stand back. MARIE DEL CARMEN. 119 SURAULT. Ha, ha, mon ange, not I. Chivalry shall not daunt me. Carmen. Then shall shame . . . (She eludes him and suddenly flings open the door at back. A detachment of infantry is seen drawn up, outside, across the pathway. Surault pauses and stands motionless in the center of the room.) Carmen. Attention, Frenchmen! 'Tis your Colonel gives A lesson how to carry by assault. I'm but a Spanish woman. You and he Are gentlemen of France. Surault {aside). Perdition . . . {Aloud.) Well, Enough. You need not fear. You are, I think, Marie del Carmen de Peralta ; this Your home. Carmen. It is true. Raoul de Peralta? Surault. And your husband's name Carmen. Ay, sir. I20 MARIE DEL CARMEN. SuRAULT. Well, Madame, We seek this Raoul, and if what we know Come not quite wide o' the mark, he's hereabout. What say you? Carmen. It were needless to say aught. Your argument is force. SuRAULT. Nay, do not fear ; Nothing shall be disturbed beyond the need, But we must know the truth. Sergeant ! {A Sergeant comes forward and salutes.) SuRAULT. You'll put A corporal and ten men within the garden. Possess the door and place a sentry here. {Sergeant salutes and is seen to give orders without. Gaston Lafarge steps from the ranks and enters the room. The men are marched off at back.) Now, fair Seiiora, since you are so keen A stickler for propriety, we'll abstain From all that may offend you, so you lend Your honest aid to help us in our search. Raoul de Peralta is adjudged to be Guilty of treason. If he's harbored here You, too, participate in this his crime; But if you give him up of your free will. You show yourself the minister of law And will be so rewarded. MARIE DEL CARMEN. 121 There have been Some general orders issued, which insure To you, Madame, a grace of half an hour Ere I proceed to place a vandal foot Upon your household's altar. Be advised; Give us your willing aid in time and save Me from a painful duty. It were vain To try concealment ; we shall search each nook ; But if you force us to such search, 'twill be 111 for you, fair Senora. Carmen. Nought more ill Than being crushed by an unmanly foe. SURAULT. Ha, Ha; you're spirited. Well, take your choice ; I leave you under guard. ( To Gaston. ) The charge is yours ; Let none pass in or out. ( Gaston salutes. ) Meanwhile, Madame, My compliments. {He bows low to Carmen. As he starts to go out, his eye falls upon the cradle.) Parbleu ! a good idea ! A hostage may prove useful, and perhaps May help you to decide. No harm shall come To this rare bit of baggage . . . (He approaches the cradle, and Carmen springs forward.) 122 MARIE DEL CARMEN. Carmen. What mean you? SURAULT. But you'll the sooner have it back again If you confess Peralta's hiding-place. Come, petite enfant . . . {He reaches for the child, but Carmen throws herself across the cradle.) Carmen. Sir! You will not dare. Oh! Holy Mother help me . . . SURAULT. There, stand back! Le temps perdu ne se rattrape jamais. I have no time to waste in idle words. I want the child as hostage. Carmen. And I say You shall not have her tho' your arm contain The strength of all the regiments of France. Stand off! Beware a desperate woman's deed. Stand oiif ! I tell you I can tear and rend. You shall not, — dare not . . . Surault. On my life ! I dare. Carmen (struggling). Oh, monster ! Heaven help me ... ! . . . Sir! Make way ! MARIE DEL CARMEN. 123 SuRAULT {snatching the infant from the cradle). My duty is to find the traitor Raoul By such means as I may. Carmen. Mercy!' My child! SuRAULT. Enough of this ! {Exit Col. Surault with the child at left. Car- men rushes after him, but is stopped by Gaston, who bars the way with his musket. She struggles madly against the level barrel of the piece, and in a moment falls exhausted and sobbing to the ■floor. Gaston brings his piece to his shoulder, and resumes his pace before the door. ) Carmen. Chiquita ! Oh my God ! {For a few moments nothing is heard but the steady tramp of Gaston and the low sobs of Car- men. Then she lifts her hands imploringly to the sentry. ) Carmen. Oh, sir, my child. Give me my child again. {Gaston silently continues his pace.) You do not answer me. Have you no soul Or pity for the anguish of your kind? How can a babe, whose tong^ie has not yet learn'd To lisp her mother's name, work harm to France ? She falters but Chiquita with a lisp ; She could not say a bos I'Empereur Tho' Christendom should wish it. On my breast, 124 MARIE DEL CARMEN. Each evening since she came to this sad world, Her valved voice has murmured broken songs, — Dissolving links that bound her to the land Of fair unsullied dreams. Each evening I Have watched the last fires of the setting sun Repaint their waning glories in her eyes, Ere she had dropped to slumber. Oh! Be kind. ( There is a pause, during which Carmen comes nearer to the sentry, intently regarding him; but he makes no sign and steadily continues his march. ) Carmen. No voice! No heart! Chiquita ! if you wake And call for me in sounds that alien ears Shall comprehend not! Oh, I shall go mad ! By Heaven ! I will be heard. {She faces Gaston and stands directly in his path. ) Sir, on your faith! Be pitiful. You are a man. Gaston. Seiiora, I am a soldier. Carmen. Has a soldier, then, No heart of flesh to feel another's woe? Have you no sense of duty? Gaston. 'Tis the first Of duties to obey. MARIE DEL CARMEN. 125 Carmen. I ask you not To disobey, but help me to regain My stolen baby. Gaston. She will be restored When you a:id in the search. Carmen. But if there be None here to call for searching? Gaston. Then you risk Nought in so aiding it. Carmen. But if there be ... ? Gaston. The end will be the same. 'Twere wise to make A virtue of necessity, and so Reclaim the child by yielding up the sire. Carmen {aside). Better quick death than that. I must see Raoul. {Aloud.) Pardon me for a moment. I'll return. {She goes towards the door at right, but Gas- ton bars her passage.) 126 MARIE DEL CARMEN. Gaston. Senora, pardon me. You must remain. Carmen. May I not leave the room ? Gaston. Senora, no; You are my prisoner. (Aside.) The man is there. Carmen (aside). He is my gaoler, yet there's that about His mien that speaks of something true within. (Aloud.) What is your name? Gaston. My name? Gaston Lafarge. Carmen. Your station ? Gaston. Private in the infantry Of the Imperial Guard. Carmen. How many men Are there in your battalion? Gaston. Pardon me. Carmen. You cannot tell me? MARIE DEL CARMEN. 12,7 Gaston. Can, but will not.. Carmen. No? ou told your name and station. Gaston. They are mine, tatistics of the army are the state's. Carmen. Iia;ll you be long in Spain ? Gaston. I know not. Carmen. But Ih.2A. think you? Gaston. I think nothing. Carmen. May you not hen even hope? Gaston. My highest hope is now o do my duty. Carmen. And your duty is . . .? 128 MARIE DEL CARMEN. Gaston. Never to think. Carmen (aside). A strange, inflexible And sphinx-like man! Time flies, and yet I stand Pleading in vain for husband and for child. But half an hour vouchsafed me, and of that Half gone already! There must be some way To reach him, could I learn it. (Aloud.) Have you ever known Great aspirations ? Gaston. Yes. Carmen. To win command? Higher. Gaston. Carmen. To lead an army? Gaston. Carmen. Gaston. Higher. What? To reach the stars. MARIE DEL CARMEN. 129 Carmen. Ah, they who have aspired To reach the stars have left no name on earth ; They soared beyond the ken of human eyes. And died unknown. ' Gaston. Better to die unknown Than live unknowing. Carmen. Well, since Fate decrees That all your aspirations do but serve To make of you a gaoler set to keep A woman from her liberty, at least You can partake of that which is at hand To cheer you. {She pours out wine.) Will you drink? Gaston. I thank you, no. Carmen. And why? Gaston. In France, a soldier-of-the-line May neither sleep, nor eat, nor drink while he Is at his post. Carmen. This is not France. Gaston. I crave 130 MARIE DEL CARMEN. Your pardon. France is always with her flag. Her soul is in the colors that we bear. France is in Spain to-night. Carmen. And when Spain goes To France, we'll show you how to wage a war Without kidnapping children! Pray you, drink. Gaston. I thank you, no. Carmen. Perhaps you fear the wine ; If so, learn faith. I've had no time to drug it. See. To the King! (She drinks the wine herself. Gaston silently bows.) Carmen {pouring out another glass) . Now will you drink? Gaston. Carmen. You are abstemious for a soldier. Gaston. Are pleased to flatter. Not I. You Carmen (aside). Had I but the means To unbend his sternness or to reach his heart ! MARIE DEL CARMEN. 131 {A distant bell is heard striking the hour.) Ha! Saints have mercy! 'Tis the convent bell Tolling eleven ; and the half -hour chime Sounded but little e'er the French arrived. My time of grace has dwindled to a span ! {She scrutinizes Gaston as he paces up and down, at back, seemingly buried in thought. Then she passionately runs to him, lifting her hands im- ploringly. ) Carmen. Oh hear me, you who hold your duty dear, Who set the soldier so above the man ; Oh help me ! Gaston. Gladly. Bid me summon here The corporal of the guard, and lead him in . . . (Significantly.) To yonder room . . . Carmen. Man ! man ! You cannot know How, costlier than her life, a woman's love Is treasured up for him who taught her lips Its first sweet utterance. Oh, be pitiful ! I throw myself upon your mercy. There, — Within that room . . . Gaston. Stop ! I am here to guard. Not to extort confessions. Carmen. But my heart Is breaking, and I know not where to turn. Your aid alone can serve me, and your aid 132 MARIE DEL CARMEN. I only hope for if I tell you all. Were you an officer in high command. Would you refuse to grant me the poor chance To save the life I love and live for? Gaston. If I were an officer in high command, My duty doubtless would be clear to me ; Being a private soldier, I must do My duty as it lies before my eyes. That duty now is to obey. Carmen. And why Are you then but a private? Gaston (bitterly). I am poor. Carmen (aside). Ha ! And 'tis said that poverty half opes The door unto temptation. (Aloud.) How should that Explain the lowly station of great gifts? Gaston. The rich step into place by right divine; The poor must wait the crowd's " plebiscite." , I wait to earn promotion. Carmen (aside). Ah, I'll try A golden key. MARIE DEL CARMEN. 133 (She goes to the closet and from a drazver takes out a purse. ) (Aloud.) Gaston Lafarge, I know You do full well your duty. There is that Which gives me certainty, (I know not how,) That, in yourself, I'm dealing with a man. But the first right of every man is life, — Man's chiefest duty to compassionate His suffering fellows. Look upon this purse, — A cunning bit of silken handicraft Embroidered by the pale and patient hands Of Sister Mary of the Sacred Heart. I fain would show my gratitude for all The kind words you have spoken. I'll not ask That you should help a refugee to fly. Only be blind to that which I shall do. The purse is filled, and every piece is gold. See. You are poor, you say. To such an one This were a little fortune. It is yours. Gaston. Senora! It is well you wear the garb Of womanhood! What ! Do I look so base That you should dare to pander to my greed ? I am a Frenchman. Carmen. And is there no use For gold in France? 134 MARIE DEL CARMEN. Gaston. Not when it is the price Of honor sold in Spain. Carmen. And do you deem It were dishonor for a man to aid A woman in distress ? Gaston. For sake of gold, Yes. Carmen. Then for sake of tears. See, at your feet I beg for mercy. Gaston. That alas ! pertains, Sefiora, to the General in command ; The rank and file deal but in justice. Carmen (aside). Oh! This man is noble somewhere at the core. And must be reached by noble methods. (For a moment Carmen ponders, while Gaston continues his pace. Then there is the tread of troops heard at a short distance, and Carmen looks out at door, hack.) Carmen. Ha! They're changing guard. They will be here anon And you will be relieved ! MARIE DEL CARMEN. 135 Gaston. Yes. Carmen (aside). Then my all Depends on this last chance. (Aloud.) See, there beyond The single sentinel who guards the lane, The way is open for escape. Alas! Is there no one within your France who holds The love of your hard heart ; no wife to whom You look for tenderness in hours of trial? No child who calls you Father and whose lips Pipe soft their treble message from sweet Heaven To make life holy and your home a shrine? (Gaston averts his face, but remains silent.) Carmen. Is your home other than a name ? Gaston. The one thing real as heaven. It is Carmen (aside). Hope harbors here. (Aloud.) Where is it? Gaston. On the coast, near Honfleur. Carmen. Ah! These Norman women have the softest eyes, 136 MARIE DEL CARMEN, If one but touch them with the light of love. Perhaps you have . . . Gaston. One whose soft eyes are lit With love for me, — my wife. Carmen (aside). His wife! Gaston. One who Fills out the measure of all goodly hope And scatters this waste ground of life with flowers. One who, — but I forget — Carmen. Yet still forgive My questions, tho' you answer not. Is there Within your home no bond to hallow love ? Have you no child? Gaston. I have a child. Carmen (aside). There lies The potency to win my dearest hopes. Gaston. She is fair-haired, tho' in her eyes there dwells The same dark languor . . . (Aside.) I forget again. MARIE DEL CARMEN. Carmen. 137 Oh, I can see the mother stooping low To listen to the music of her breath. But that my cradle is so cruel to stand, — An empty vase with all its flower gone, — I could recall the attitude she bore When last you saw her . . . The sun falls apace Across the ruffled waters of La Manche ; The lights flame out upon the headlands. Soft Within your home, the gentler lights that hold All lovely memories glow in radiance. Here, The mother, touching with her foot the while The cradle, sings some quaint Provencal song. Rhymed to fall, golden tasseled, and upborne Upon a melody as . . . Gaston. Hold! No more. Carmen (aside). This is the key more powerful than gold ! (Aloud.) Nay, I but draw a picture. May I not Think on another's joy, tho' all my own Be rifled from me? See, Gaston Lafarge, The pillows there still bear upon their face The impress of the child I bended o'er As o'er your own bent her whose eyes are full Of love for you, — one who would plead as I Plead now for him whose hopes of freedom hang Upon the fleeting minutes. Ah, but think. 138 MARIE DEL CARMEN. Were you a Spanish soldier, set to guard The hearth and home of one Gaston Lafarge, — Were I, — here on' my knees — Lafarge's wife, — I may not, - Gaston. Stop. On your life, Senora ! I dare not listen. Carmen. Oh, 'twas but a tale; You're not a Spanish soldier. Gaston. But the tale Unmans a soldier tho' he come from France. I'm here to guard myself as well as you. You must not speak. Carmen. Nay, surely you'll not bar My sad lips from the privilege to mould The words of vanished happiness. I think That even now your wife is singing low A mother's melody to that small heart In far off Normandy . . . See how she sits, — The lamplight sleeping soft upon her brow, — The patient drone of her all-patient chair Repeated by the cradle. There, the hearth, With the quaint crane of soot-begrimed device Fashioned at tip into a dragon bent To bear the pendant kettle. MARIE DEL CARMEN. 139 Gaston. Yes, yes. Carmen. Here, The table spread for supper, with its brave Bright show of porcelain; while beyond, your chair Awaits your coming . . . Gaston. Ay, 'twas always so ; Louise remembered always, — never failed. Carmen. {Aside.) Louise! (Aloud.) Above the wainscot at the left, A picture of the sad Madonna hangs. And further . . . Gaston. Nay, 'tis at the right. Carmen. Of course ; Why said I left? And now the mother sings Once more the lullaby. I do forget What name you call it by . . . Gaston. The slumber song They sing in Picardy . . . Carmen. The same that I 14° MARIE DEL CARMEN. Sing daily to Chiquita. 'Twas the song Died on my lips at sound of your French drums. Gaston {aside). At sounds of drums ! That word recalls my sense ; I have been dreaming! Carmen. Let me sing it you . . . Gaston. No, no, I dare not . . . Carmen. Oh, for sake of home! One stanza only, — it shall be the last. {Aside.) I will stake all upon this signal. Gaston. No. I must not. Ah, Senora; I, who care No whit for batteries, am afraid of you, Pray do not sing. Carmen. Nay, 'tis a voice that floats From Normandy across the Pyrenees. See, at the cradle thus the mother sits, Her foot just touching it, while upward gaze, — As gaze the stars sung in the lullaby, — The child's eyes into hers. 'Tis very hard I must imagine that; — no eyes are here. Alas, none — none — MARIE DEL CARMEN. 141 Gaston. Seiiora! Do not weep. Carmen. Nay, nay, I do not weep. This is a scene Far off in Normandy. , The song is . . . Gaston. No! I charge you do not sing . . . Carmen. For sake of home ! {Sings.) Joy my pretty one, Joy my little one. Fairies of night, in their bright jeweled cars, Fling a faint sheen and shimmer o'er ripples where glimmer The up-gazing eyes of the down-gazing stars ; And the boat, while it glides, sings the song of the tides, As they kiss into languor the sand of the bars. Oh! river flow fleet. Ere the melody meet The sea's breath to destroy What the echoes repeat : My little one, joy, Ah, pretty one, joy, Joy! {As Carmen sings, Gaston's fortitude gives way. He rests his head upon his musket and weeps. Stealthily, through the doorway at the right, Raoul enters, looking fearfully about him. 142 MARIE DEL CARMEN. Carmen, as she finishes the song, rises from the cradle and lays her hand gently upon Gaston's shoulder.) Carmen. If now the way were open for my love! 'Twere but a moment . . . Gaston (with deep emotion). Quick then. I am blind! {Carmen motions to Raoul, who runs to the door, but suddenly pauses as he sees a sentry at a short distance in the garden. Carmen runs to door, and back to Gaston.) Carmen. Alas ! The single sentry they have placed In this part of the garden, holds the path By which alone escape is possible. Life hangs on moments for the man I love. If he but knew . . . Gaston {quickly.) No ! no ! Oh, ask it not . Carmen. 'Tis life and death! If Raoul did but know The countersign ! Gaston. Oh God ! 'Tis treason ! Carmen. No! MARIE DEL CARMEN. 143 Fealty to love ! Oh, think on the sweet voice Of the sweet wife in Normandy ! I plead For her sake . . . Gaston. Oh! Great Heaven! Carmen. The countersign. Gaston {with effort). " La valeur c'est la Foi." Carmen (repeating in a whisper to Raoul) . "La valeur c'est La Foi." Raoul {in a whisper) . "La valeur c'est la Foi." (Raoul runs out through doorway at back. Then from without, at a short distance, is heard the challenge of the sentry.) Sentry. Goes there? Raoul. A friend. Halt! Who The countersign. Sentry. Advance then, friend, and give 144 MARIE DEL CARMEN. Raoul. " La valeur c'est la Foi." Sentry. Pass! (As the voices are heard, Gaston trembles.) Gaston. Pass? It is my honor's knell of death. {Carmen throws herself on her knees before Gaston and clasps his hand.) Gaston. Kneel not before a traitor. Carmen. You have saved Another's life. Gaston. And by all laws of war, Have forfeited my own. Rise quickly. Here Comes the relief. {Carmen rises and Gaston resumes his steady pace at back. A corporal's guard enters and halts. A soldier steps from the ranks and ap- proaches Gaston. The countersign is passed in dumb-show. The soldier relieves Gaston, who is marched off.) Carmen (asid^). All yet is quiet. Oh! If he but reach the river. (Enter, at left, Col. Surault.) MARIE DEL CARMEN. 145 SURAULT. Well, Seiiora; Time's up. I give you the last chance to say Whether you'll render such aid as you may In the search which my duty bids me make. What say you? Carmen. So you give me back my child, I'll lead you everywhere. SuRAULT. Well said. The child Shall be restored the moment we are sure That all has been revealed. If that we find Peralta, it will save our further pains ; If that we fail to find him, it will be My duty to express regret that war Should so have forced us to assume the role Of most unwelcome guests. Carmen. And you will fail To find him. Here, begin. This room contains The only secret hiding place within The house. {Carmen draws hack curtain at doorway right. Surault motions off left; and enter a corporal.) Beyond, the sole remaining room ; You've come but now from the other side . . . Surault. I know Full well he is not there. 146 MARIE DEL CARMEN. 'Tis here alone I wish to search. {To sentinel.) Guard you the inner door. I'll scan this room. {Exuent Surault, corporal and sentinel at right.) Carmen (sola). And there alone, thank Heaven, You'll never find him. {She looks out through doorway at hack.) Ha! He seeks the bank. I caught but there the outline as he stole Across the meadow sloping to the reeds That line the river. Yes, the boat swings out ; He gains it ! He is snatching up an oar ; The rope drops in the water, and a rim Of silver spray springs upward, where the moon Sends a slant ray to mock the world with light. He is afloat! He is afloat! Thank Heaven! Out, out upon the river, drifts a speck, — A point of light, that carries at its heart My all of life ! He's saved ! {Enter, hurriedly, at right, Surault and cor- poral.) Surault. 'Tis very strange! I could have sworn Peralta was concealed Behind that panel ; but, Senora, you Have counterfeited well. The day is yours. Why did you not at once throw open wide Each door, and so the sooner rid your home Of our intrusion? MARIE DEL CARMEN. 147 Carmen. Sir, 'tis rare that we Are honored with a Colonel in command. I wished to know how felt the feudal lords When all their battlements gleamed bright with spears, — A brief half-hour of glory. (Surault motions to the corporal, who goes out at left.) Surault. Ah, Senora, Your wit is brilliant as your eyes. I crave Forgiveness for a rudeness which, perchance, My calling rendered needful. {Enter corporal, carrying the child, which he places in the cradle.) Here behold My tender of repentance! ( Carmen turns, and, with a cry, throws herself across the cradle.) Carmen. Chiquita ! {Surault again motions to the corporal, who goes out at hack.) Surault. And so farewell, Madame — I crave your grace, Senora. Carmen. A Dios, Seiior, — ah, I crave Your pardon, — Colonel. 148 MARIE DEL CARMEN. {Surault bows profoundly and exit, at back, laughing. ) Carmen {at cradle). Ah, sweet light of life. Thou sleepest still, as tho' no thought of fear Had ever crossed thee. They have brought thee back. And we have saved thy father, — thou and I, — We two, — ha ! {The sound of drums heard.) Yes and he, — he most of all. {Carmen rises. The detachment of troops marches past the open doorway at back. Surault raises his sword and salutes Carmen. Gaston glances into the room, falters slightly, but im- mediately steadies himself. Carmen kisses her hand to him, but he makes no motion. The de- tachment passes. Carmen runs to doorway and watches the soldiers out of sight, — the sound of the drums dying very gradually in the dis- tance.) Carmen {sola). Strange, silent man! You yet shall reach the stars! CURTAIN.