LUCILE
A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS
Adapted from Owen Meredith
By
Marcus Danto
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS
Two Copies Received
APR 6 1904
Copyright Entry
Class D XXc No,
4840
Copy A
Synopsis
Act I
Time-- 1852
Scene:-- Parlor in Continental Hotel at Bigorre, France.
Act II
Scene:--- Drawing room in Lucile's Chalet at Serchon, France.
Act III
Time-- 1853
Scene:-- On lawn in front of gambling casino at Ems, Germany.
Act IV
Time— 1854
Scene:-- Crimea. The Siege of Sebastapol.
CHARACTERS
Eugene. Duke de Luvois
Lord Alfred Vargrave
Jack Vargrave
Sir Ridley McNab
French Officer
Aide-de-camp
Orderly
Courier
Guide
Mrs. Darcy
Matilda Darcy
Lady McNab
Balla
Sister Hortense
Lucile, Countess de Nevers
Sister Seraphine
Soldiers of English and French armies.
SETTING OF STAGE
Act I
Scene:-- Parlor in Hotel at Bigorre -- open window showing quaint French houses and street. Writing desk, bell, etc. Lord Alfred Vargrave musing over open letter.
Act II
Scene:-- Drawing room in Lucile's chalet at Serchon-- furnished with exquisite taste-- light blue hangings and bamboo furniture-- flowers in profusion-- window opening on a balcony-- leading into garden-- view of the Pyrnees beyond-- door opening into hall at back where characters enter and exit-door at side leading into Lucile's boudoir which is Only used as she exits at end of scene.
Act III
Scene:-- Moonlight on lawn in front of gambling casino at Ems-- and arch of linden trees at left over walk where characters enter-- a ball is going on at a hotel-- orchestra Is faintly heard at intervals-- any romantic accessories-- rustic seats, statuary, etc., etc.
Act IV
Scene:-- Siege of Sebastopol-- time, early morning-- a large tent in foreground-- Duke de Luvois bending over some plants on a camp table-- officer standing near-- orderly outside.
COSTUMES
Act I
Time 1850
Lord Alfred Vargrave, English morning dress
Jack Vargrave, an affected costume, half mountaineer, half English
Sir Ridley McNab, in traveling attire
Mrs. Darcy, indoor morning costume
Matilda Darcy, riding habit with hat, Whip, etc.
Act II
Lord Vargrave, morning dress
Duke de Luvois, same
Lucile, fetching white gown, a rose in her hand
Hindoo nurse, face stained; fantastic Oriental costume with turban
Guide, short jacket, loose canvas trousers, red silk sash about waist and woollen capote
Act III
Time 1851
All characters in full evening dross
Courier in British uniform
Act IV
Time 1854
Duke de Luvois, uniform of general in French army
Lord Vargrave, captain in Coldstream Guards.
Jack Vargrave, Lieut. in same
French officer, aide and orderly in regulation dress
Lucile, Sister of Charity
Hortense, same
Soldiers of French and English armies
Act 1
Time-- 1852
Scene:-- Morning parlor in Hotel at Bigorre, France. Lord Vargrave musing over letter.
Alfred.
Confound it! A man is— (Jack rushes in)
Jack.
A fool, Alfred, a fool, a most motley fool.
Alfred
You relieve me, and I think you do yourself full justice, yet there are fools and fools.
Jack.
As for instance: A man who so far forgets himself as to travel about with a woman in love,— unless she is in love with himself.
Alfred.
Why are you here then, dear Jack?
Jack.
Can't you guess it?
Alfred.
Not I.
Jack.
Because I've nothing that's better to do, but to bo literally dragged at your victorious chariot wheels over since you made a conquest of Miss Darcy. I shall never forget my dance through these everlasting hills.
Alfred.
You should go back to the army.
Jack.
At the first trup or war. The British lion has but to lash his tail in real fury, and I go to the front at once.
Alfred.
And I'll go with you.
Jack.
'Tis a compact. (They shake hands) And the diplomatic corps would be one less.
Alfred.
Don't dispose of me in that fashion (John laughs) I believe you would grin at my funeral.
Jack.
You're a selfish beast.
Alfred.
Stop grumbling and read this. (Hands Jack letter)
Jack
(Reads aloud) I hear you are now in Bigorre. I am told you are going to marry Miss Darcy. (Breaks off) What is this?
Alfred.
Read on to the end and you'll know.
Jack.
(Reads) When we parted your last words recorded a vow. The tine has come to fulfill it. (Breaks off) I swear! This smells all over of adventures and a mysterious perfume which steals all my senses. An intrigue, my lord?
Alfred.
No, my Saint Anthony. Read on.
Jack.
(Reads) I ask you to return my letters. (Breaks off) Humph, letters! The matter is worse than I thought. I still have my misgivings.
Alfred.
Well, master the contents and advise me.
Jack.
Eh! —— where was I? (Reads) These letters I desire to receive from your hand. Miss Darcy, perchance, will grant me one leaf-- one brief page from the summer romance of her courtship. (Breaks off) A romance I'd forego every page of and not break my heart.
Alfred.
You are inconsistent. Proceed!
Jack.
(Reads) And spare you one day from your place at her feet. (Breaks off) Really, Alfred, that's too ridiculous as that has been MY place.
Alfred
Will you finish the letter?
Jack.
(Reads) The distance to Serchon is short. I remain a month in these mountains (Breaks off) Bless me! Your friend, Lucile-- the Countess de Nevers! (Jack returns letter)
Alfred.
Yes!
Jack.
You cant go.
Alfred.
I must.
Jack.
And Miss Darcy?
Alfred.
Oh, that you most manage.
Jack.
Must I? I decline it though-- flat. And who will manage her mother?
Alfred.
Oh, tell Mrs. Darcy, that-- lend me your wits, Jack— The deuce!
Jack,
If you can find them in this maze.
Alfred.
Can you not stretch your genius to fit a friend's use? Excuses are clothes which good breeding spares to naked
Necessity. You must have a whole wardrobe, no doubt.
Jack.
It is growing threadbare in your serve. Why go to Serchon?
Alfred.
Not go to Lucile! I have not a choice. Besides, shall I own an uncontrollable desire to see once again the woman who first roused in me the latent shadow of love.
Jack.
You weary me.
Alfred.
I am wasting this time to convince you. (Goes to desk and writes)
Jack.
Shall I answer the letter for you?
Alfred.
(Ignores remark) How does this sound? (Reads) I shall be at Serchon tonight, where a line will find me at Duval's awaiting your orders.
Jack.
Rather faulty in construction. I could do better. A brilliant idea strikes me. I will go in your place.
Alfred.
You go to-- (Rings bell, Enter servant) Dispatch this letter at once. (Hands letter to servant who exits. Alfred fidgets about the room)
Jack.
One word, are you in love with Matilda!
Alfred.
Love, eh! What a question! Of course.
Alfred.
Were you really in love with Lucile?
Alfred.
What, Lucile! No, by Jove, not really.
Jaok.
She's an attractive woman.
Alfred.
Decidedly so. There was something in her that set one thinking of those strange backgrounds in Raphael's picture.
Jack.
Inherited no doubt from that Indian Begum.
Alfred.
Begum! Her mother was an Indian princess and that half-
Eastern blood is her greatest charm.
Jack.
But her father was a Parisian?
Alfred.
Yes, and though Lucile was born in India, she was educated in Paris and she has acquired the matchless grace of a French-woman. You have known a few in your tine, Jack.
Jack.
To my sorrow. Women change so.
Alfred.
Of course.
Jack.
If one can believe Rumor, the Countess da Nevers holds an absolute court of devoted admirers and really makes sport of her subjects. The Duke de Luvois is back for the winter.
Alfred.
(Frowns) Eugene de Luvois! -- the most dissolute noble in all Paris!
Jack.
When she broke off her engagement with you, her heart did not break with it.
Alfred.
Pooh! Pray would you have her dress always in black and shut herself up in a convent?
Jack.
She did not wear it long for her husband whose successor you once wished to be. Don't philander again after a widow.
Alfred.
Her married life was a mere episode. You know the customs of France. Lucile was a orphan, and her aunt married her at seventeen to the old and rich Count de Nevers, who died in less than a year. I met her soon after. She has often told me that she wept as a bride.
Jack.
And rejoiced as a bride.
Alfred.
Your heart is as dry as a reed. Lucile has not a relative in the world.
Jack.
Cause for congratulation I should say.
Alfred.
At the sight of such callous indifference I--
Jack.
Reflect, and decline the invitation?
Alfred.
No, I just keep my promise. 'Tis a matter of sentiment.
Jack.
Queer proceedings for a man who is not in love.
Alfred.
There are some things, my mentor, for you to learn yet. To be always on the edge of the precipice, and yet not fall over is a stimulating sensation.
Jack.
And if you should topple over, don't come whining around me.
Alfred.
The woman does not live who can cause no one pain.
Jack.
Don't brag! And stay in Bigorre, Alfred.
Alfred.
I must go-- only three days at the most.
Jack.
(Walks to the window) If you are not back at the expiration I'll marry Matilda myself. Here she comes now, cantering down the street, followed by her groom. She is looking up, and by Jove she is frowning.
Alfred.
You must tell her I meant to have called to leave word, but the time was so pressing. Good-bye, Jack, I'm off to Lucile. (Exit Alfred)
Jack.
(Shouts) Go, and be hanged! Now for it! I invoke Ananias and Sapphire, the most famous liars on record -- bar none. (Enter Matilda with her poodle Beau in leading strings)
Matilda.
Why, Jack, where is Alfred? I have not seen him this morning.
(Enter Mrs. Darcy unobserved)
Jack.
(Flounders). Alfred, why, eh--- am I not here? He has been called to Serchon a most serious affair-- an old affair, in fact, an affair of the heart. His most intimate friend is dying of heart disease. (Aside) Complicated by an acute attack of love.
Matilda.
Dying! Why he told me that you were his most intimate firend.
Jack.
So I am. I should say so; but you see this is not a parallel case. She is (aside) Oh, what a slip!
Mrs. Darcy.
(In a tragic voice) Matilda! I beg of you not to cause Mr. Vargrave any further elasticity of his phenomenal inventive powers. (They start)
Jack
(Aside) Which are stretched to the utmost.
Mrs. Darcy.
Remember, you are my daughter, and you will not forgot your dignity. (To Jack) I heard Lord Vargrave shouting in the corridor and absolutely swearing at his man. Now, why this haste?
Jack.
The cause is very urgent, Mrs. Darcy.
Matilda.
(Puts her hand in Jack's arm) Don't nag him, mamma.
Mrs. Darcy.
Stable slang from my daughter's lips! Oh, if your poor father—
Matilda
My poor father is better-- dead.
Mrs. Darcy.
You are an unnatural child. (Matilda puts handkerchief to eyes. Jack embraces Matilda)
Jack.
Don't cry, little girl.
Mrs. Darcy.
Release her this instant! Your behaivor is shocking-- positively shocking!
Jack.
I know it. I an a monster.
Mrs. Darcy.
Lord Alfred broke his engagement with me this morning. Am I not to be considered as the mother of his betrothed? (To Matilda) Dear child you may as well face it at once, Lord Alfred does not love you— your—
Matilda.
Not another word, mamma, you are going to drag in that everlasting money of mine.
Jack.
Don't despise money, child. It is good in its way, and I can assure you there is no everlasting mint in England. But Alfred loves you, be sure of that.
Mrs. Darcy.
You are a promising student, and I congratulate you on your finesse, as diplomacy is the trade of your family.
Jack.
(Aside) That was a nasty one (Aloud) And the trade of yours as adopted by Matilda— is the sweetist of tempers-- a most royal gift. (Bows low before Matilda)
Mrs. Darcy.
I had a fine spirit at her age.
Matilda.
(Throws her arm around her mother's neck) And you havn't lost it yet. Oh mamma, be kind to poor Jack.
Jack.
(Aside) I did not think it as in her.
Mrs. Darcy.
You need not apologise any more for your cousin. When I was young Mr. Darcy knelt at my feet. Now-a-days the case is reversed, and Matilda must be the suppliant and also humiliated by the tidings that her betrothed has deserted her. For what. For whom? I don't understand.
Jack.
Nor I, Mrs. Darcy. (Mrs. Darcy walks to window.) I am aweary of the world and fain would rest.
Matilda.
You are an antidote for the blues, but I an jealous. Who is she? Tell me, tell me, tell me.
Jack.
SHE is Matilda, and HE will return in three days. Believe me, but ask no no questions. Remember Bluebeard's wife and her fatal curiosity. Throw away the keys and be happy.
Matilda.
(Pouts) Alfred might have made his farewells in person. He did not even wish to -- kiss me.
Jack.
But I do— by proxy, of course. (Matilda laughs, and Mrs. Darcy turns from window).
Mrs. Darcy.
Matilda, you do not understand the enormity of today's proceedings, but Lord Alfred Vargrave shall account for this to my brother, Sir Ridley McNab. He ie now on his way to the Pyrenees. He nay reach here today.
Jack.
Escapade! you are taking things too seriously. However, I shall be very glad to meet your brother.
Mrs. Darcy.
And Matilda too lightly. She does not understand men and their ways, but I have been married.
JacK.
I should hope so, indeed --
Mrs. Darcy.
MR. VARGRAVE! (servant enters with card on tray, which he proffers to Mrs. Darcy) Sir Ridley McNab! Show him up at once. (Exit servant) Most opportune! My way is now clear! I am relieved of a tremendous responsibility. (Enter Sir Ridley McNab) Oh, my brother, you are welcome, more than welcome. (He disengages her arms from his neck)
McNab.
Hysterics! You are forgetting the warning of your physician. Really, Minerva, you have disarranged my tie. (Kisses Matilda on the tip or her nose) Bless my soul, child, you are Aphrodite after her bath in the sea. What is it Virgil says youth and— and — whose old duffers had an eye for the fair sex. (Matilda hugs him.)
Matilda.
You are the dearest old uncle in the world.
Mrs. Darcy.
(Wh is trying to prevent Jack) Allow me, Sir Ridley McNab, Mr. JOHN Vargrave (They shake hands)
Jack.
My baptismal name.
McNab.
(Puts up his eye glass) Matilda's betrothed?
Jack.
No such luck.
Mrs. Darcy.
Lord Vargrave is not here.
McNab.
Egad! Not here. How is that? You wrote me that I should meet him in Bigorre, and I have come on for the--
Matilda.
(She takes poodle in her arms) Jack, what's the matter with Beau?
Jack.
(Holds Beau's paw, and then takes out his watch) He is certainly feverish. I would pronounce it — mumps.
Matilda.
Then, we must see the dog-doctor at once.
Jack.
By all means, and I will consult him on my own account -- for nervous prostration.
Matilda.
(Kisses her mother) Good-bye, mamma. (Exit Jack and Matilda)
Mrs. Darcy.
A complication has arisen.
McNab.
Nonsense. Matilda seems happy.
Mrs. Darcy.
Matilda does not comprehend.
McNab.
Thank God for that, if there is anything wrong. Now, Minerva, remember your own married life, and don't distill poison before Matilda's a bride.
Mrs. Darcy.
You, then, take sides with a stranger.
McNab.
I take sides with no one. I have come on as your banker to manage the arrangements, and to do the best I can for Matilda.
Mrs. Darcy.
To return to Lord Vargrave. He has gone to Serchon. There's a woman in the case.
McNab.
A woman in the case, you interest me.
Mrs. Darcy.
At your time of life.
McNab.
(Walks to mirror) At my time of life! I am in my prime -- never felt better.
Mrs. Darcy.
(Sneezes) A sort of second childhood.
McNab.
Did it never occur to you that the beautiful Mrs. Darcy has now a grown daughter about to be married, and you may be a grandmother-- the whilom beauty and former toast of the county— a grandmother. Ha, ha, ha!
Mrs. Darcy.
This is unseemly.
McNab.
Run up your flag of truce then, Minerva, and we'll stop these pleasant family recriminations. Now, tell me, what do you wish? Lord Vargrave for a son-in-law? If so, we'll hasten the wedding.
Mrs. Darcy.
Matilda fancies herself in love with him.
McNab.
Will you leave the affair in my hands? If he has not already eloped, I'll book him to time. I'm not averse to his penchant for pretty women. I love them too well myself.
Mrs. Darcy.
What dotage! Are you never to grow old!
McNab.
Nor wholly. I shall not starve In the sight of luxurious things.
Mrs. Darcy.
And life's grand possibilities which you have missed. You might have been a statesman.
McNab.
A live banker is better -- financially, than a dead statesman -- politically. I am satisfied. You can bring up the future Vargraves to be statesmen and duchesses, and thus realise your ambition. As for me, I shall return to London and Blanche, and incidentally enter my mare, Boadicea for the Derby.
Mrs. Darcy.
And some day you will die.
McNab.
Not having discovered the fountain of perpetual youth — eventually.
Mrs. Darcy.
And when you look back and review your past life,--
McNab.
I can reflect that I never lost a chance to please myself. What boots it, a stone at his head and a brass on his breast, when a man is once dead. Yet I would fain believe as a mohammadan because it is a pleasant belief, — a future Paradise of black-eyed houris where softly falling fountains perfume the air, and where one is lulled to sweetest repose by voluptuous music.
Mrs. Darcy.
You imbibe your paganish taste from that actress with whom you associate.
McNab.
I hope to imbibe more freely.
Mrs. Darcy.
What a sacrifice! A woman who toils for her living and on the stage.
McNab.
The dearest and pluckiest little woman in the world, and the most famous Juliet in the decade. I am not fit to tie her shoes laces.
Mrs. Darcy.
But you need not marry her.
McNab.
No Morganistic marriage for Blanche. Her undisputed title will be Lady McNab. (Re-enter Jack and Matilda. She
throws herself into her mother's arms, and sobs)
Matilda.
Oh, momma, poor Beau is very ill. We have left him at the dog hospital.
Mrs. Darcy.
(To Jack) This is very sudden!
Jack..
The doctor gave him the wrong medicine, and he is threatened with heart failure any moment.
Mrs. Darcy.
Beau always had a weak heart. You should have warned the physician.
Jack.
Put me in the tower at once. I'm guilty.
Matilda.
(Sobs) If Alfred were only here.
McNab.
What a row over a dog — and a man. (Aside) More the man than the dog. I'll be the hound to follow the fox. (To Jack) Cheer up, Vargrave, this is the land of rare wine. What is the oldest vintage in this accursed place?
Jack.
In the time of Julius Ceasar, probably.
McNab.
So much the better. We'll cross the Rubicon this very night, and wade in ruby wine, and drink deep deep to all those old heathen goddesses whom the Romans worshipped. I feel maudlin at the BARE suggestion. No pun I assure you.
'
Jack.
Ha, ha, ha! Clever, very clever!
Mrs. Darcy.
All men are brutes!
McNab.
I may be a brute, but you are a martyr, a martyr, by gad sir, a martyr. (Wrings Jack's hand)
CURTAIN
Act II
Scene II - Room in Lucile's chalet. The door bell rings. Balla ushers in Lord Vargrave.
Alfred.
You remember me, Balla?
Balla.
(Shows delight) Lord Alfred Vargrave!
Alfred.
Your mistress expects me. (Exit Balla) What a shrine of sweet thoughts! And that same Eastern perfume so faint, so elusive. How it stirs slumbering memory. (Enter Lucile) I never dreamed you could look so enchanting.
Lucile.
(Simulating indifference) Let me thank you sincerely, Milord, for the honor with which you adhere to your word.
Alfred.
Your latest command, Madame, has secured my immediate obedience. You restore me my freedom today? (Lays letters on table)
Lucile.
Freedom! Have you rested in my chains till now? I have not so flattered myself.
Alfred.
For heaven's sake, do not jest. Has the moment no saddness?
Lucile.
'Tis an ancient tradition, a tale often told, this tale of love, and our position is the one of the legend.
Alfred.
Alas! You smile with a confident pity at the frail vows we plighted. We believe them eternal.
Lucile.
Because we dreamed with that vanity common to youth, that our love was an exception. You remember Lord Vargrave. Be assured I retain you no more in my fetters. (She takes his letters from an antique casket. He refuse them by a gesture)
Alfred.
No, Lucile, keep them as a reminder of the incense we burned on the altar of Venus.
Lucile.
(Laughs merrily) And I will in truth burn them.
Alfred.
(Sighs) Ah, you are indeed changed. Do not make sport of the holiest emotions of our youth. Has life left no illusions?
Lucile.
Ah, no! 'Twas the youth of our youth, Milord. Shall we blame it because we survive it?
Alfred.
Can you ao coldly pronounce the death-warrant of love, you who wrote with such abandon, such—
Lucile.
You know me well enough, or what I would say, you recollect enough of my nature to know that these pledges of what was perhaps a foolish affection, I do not recall from those motives of prudence which actuate most women when their love ceases. If you have such a doubt to dispell it, I need only to remind you of the years these letters have rested unclaimed in your hands.
Alfred.
You are generous, Madame, you trace life's epitaph with a cold finger.
Lucile.
Come, do not think I abuse the occasion. I alone was to blame.
Alfred.
No, no! Could I make reparation?
Lucile.
As your countrymen say, I wore my heart on your sleeve. What scenes I made! How I yielded myself to every transient emotion of grief not knowing that sorrow can only beautify the heart, not the face of the woman.
Alfred.
Because you loved me then, Lucile.
Lucile.
Not always. Have you forgotten our quarrels?
Alfred.
I only remember the last one.
Lucile.
How I bored you, and how you showed it!
Alfred.
You reproached me, and, of course, I retorted.
Lucile.
And I cried.
Alfred.
And was I not contrite and submissive?
Lucile.
But when I softened, you hardened.
Alfred.
Still I lingered, Lucile.
Lucile.
You lingered with too sullen an aspect, and when I reproached, you flew in a rage and declared yourself uncomprehended, and returned to your pout at Naples.
Alfred.
Did I not fly back to Paris when I heard you were ill, and ask you to renew the engagement, and you declined?
Lucile.
Why should we walk over graves? Tell me of Miss Darcy. I hear she is charming and blonde, one of your English girls so much like a flower.
Alfred.
She is all that you hear, but too young. What can she understand of that subtle sympathy that should eIist between man and wife.
Lucile.
But if she loves you, you can mould her to your will.
Alfred.
I should marry a woman who understands me.
Lucile.
Did I understand you? The woman who loves, should be the friend of the man that she loves. She should heed not her selfish, and often mistaken, desires, but his interest. Ah, Lord Vargrave, I have learned much of the world.
Alfred.
In pleasant surroundings I trust, though you denied me all knowledge. Where have you been all these years?
Luclie.
After we parted, I went back to the land of my birth. To the land of the palm and the fountain. To the tombs! To the still sacred river! With ny old nurse I sat on the house-tops, and watched night after night the stars, the large Indian moon, as it shone on the old ruined God. 'Twas a sublime experience, and that grief of the past became vague. My storm-beaten heart found repose. If I go there again, shall I find the child heart that I left there, or find my lost youth?
Alfred.
You are far more beautiful. You have gained that appeal to one's homage which only an anchorite could withhold.
Lucile.
And you have been adept in flattering.
Alfred.
And you a woman of the world. My pride fights in vain with the truth that leaps from me. I can feel nothing here but your presence. I humble my head and my heart. I entreat your pardon for the past. I implore for the Future your mercy, implore it With more passion than prayer ever breathed?
LUcile.
Recall your rash words.
Alfred.
I can never recall what my lips have avowed.
Lucile.
And your pledge to another? Your honor?
Alfred.
'Twas poor honor to give to another that life which you keep the heart. Could I live in the light of those young eyes suppressing a lie. Alas, no! Your hand holds my whole destiny.
Lucile.
Then I command you to return to Bigorre.
Alfred.
To Matilda? Her youth will renew its emotions, but who else can revere the passionate nature in you as I. Come to me, Lucile.
Lucile.
No, no! 'Tis best as it is. And what would your world say?
Alfred.
Theleast of: your regard is worth all the world can offer. You and I, Lucile, know how hollow are all earthly enjoyments without love.
Lucile.
I have wearily wandered from place to place in search of rest and forgetfullness.
Alfred.
Then you consent?
Lucile.
No, Alfred, the glamour of the past is over you. Forgive, forgive me. I have made you forgot what was due to yourself and that other one. Yes, mine the fault, and mind the repentance. When I asked you to come to Serchon, I forsaw not the sorrow--
Alfred.
Which you feel?
Lucile.
True, this meeting I sought, I alone, but it was not with the thought to regain your affection or to re-awaken the past. No, believe me, it was with the firm conviction at least that our meeting would be without peril to you.
Alfred.
You avow your love for me in those very words.
Lucile.
I own when the rumor first reached me -- your engagement -- my heart and my mind suffered torture intense. 'Twas cruel to find that so much of my life, unknown to myself, had been silently settled on one, whom it would be a crone but to think! Then, I said to myself, there rests but one hope of escape from the thralldom which time has not weakened. I will see him again. The being I love as a phantom. I only behold the young hero of my dreams. So we meet; but the danger I did not forsee has occurred — the danger -- alas! to yourself.
Alfred.
But If I should come to you free, Lucile, free to implore your love, then, I might hope? (Bell rings) And we are to be interrupted?
Lucile.
Listen! (A tap at the door) Come! (Enter Balla)
Balla.
The Duke de Luvois has just entered and insists-- (Enter Duke unperceived)
Lucile.
The Duke! Explain to him! I have business of private importance. I do not receive till evening. (Duke comes forward)
Duke.
(In low tone) Not even a declaration of love.
Alfred.
(Aside) The Frenchman! He lacks the breeding of a savage.
Lucile.
Sir Alfred Vargrave, the Duke de Luvois. (They salute distantly)
Duke.
(Aside) The Englishman! Her former lover?
Luclie.
You have met before?
Alfred.
Such a slight acquaintance, it is not worth mentioning.
Duke.
Not in the least.
Lucile.
But I am interested.
Duke.
It is not worthy of your serious regard. (To Vargrave) Somewhere in Paris, was it not?
Alfred.
Yes, in the theater Francais. Rachel was playing Phedre, and he made a most indelible impression, that is why I remember every TRIVIAL incident
Duke.
I can only recall a dancing girl's ankles, one Fatima, a sumptuous beauty, who was the idol of all Paris.
Alfred.
Ah, yes, I remember her, one of Napoleon proteges. Louis is always conspicuous.
Duke.
By his amours, Milord!
Alfred.
Yes, and by his efforts to drag the whole of Europe into a war, where he would be the chief disturber and yet pose as a peace-maker. It would be well did he confine himself to boudoirs.
Duke.
And atop dictating a policy to England.
Lucile.
Pray do not discuss politics.
Duke.
It's in the blood, my countess, we are two men from the antipodes -- England and France, and when those two nations Join hands they have each an object to gain.
Alfred.
And Napoleon much to lose -— in prestige.
Duke.
As for this nephew of an illustrious soldier, we of the old regime are tolerant, merely tolerant -- for the sake of France.
Lucile.
Poor France! Her grand old dynasty has fallen.
Duke.
(Aside) And you reign in my heart forever.
Alfred.
Do not distress yourself, Lucile, there must be more congenial subjects close at hand.
Duke.
(Duke goes to table)) There is evidence more interesting one (Picks up and throws down letters) Old love letters! Records of eternal constancy! Does some former swain seek your now broken vows? Ah, what causes of regret!
Alfred.
A nisnomer! Regret is an old cloistered nun, but these vows were once wed to young Pleasure.
Duke.
Though now divorced from her bed!
Lucile.
Why veiled meanings! Why speak in charades?
Duke.
Have you not kept the thread of the story?
Alfred.
I have. 'Tis an easy solution.
Duke.
(To Luclie) Do you need an Interpreter? (To Vargrave) However, I don't think you will solve it.
Lucile.
That is for me to decide.
Alfred.
Then remember the suspense of your subjects.
DuKe.
Your most devoted slaves, madam.
Lucile.
And what if I was obdurate?
Alfred.
I shall retire from the world.
Duke.
Ah, 'tis so with us all. Our lips would be curled with disdain of the world should you cease to smile on us. When you retired so early lost night from the ball, I the soul of dejection.
Alfred.
The ball was a bore.
Duke.
As balls go a perfect success, still, Folly soon wears her shoes out. The season is nearly over.
Lucile.
(Lucile to Vargrave) You were at the ball? At what time?
Alfred.
The clock struck twelve as I entered the door.
Lucile.
What detained you?
Alfred.
I came late from Bigorre, and I did not make up my mind to go, till-- till—
Lucile.
Till you received my note?
Duke.
(Aside) Coquette!
Alfred.
You force a delightful confession.
Lucile.
I had given you up, you were so late.
Alfred.
The waltz was just over. A crowd blocked the door.
Lucile.
And you could not find me? When the clock struck twelve I vanished like Cinderella in the fairy tale.
Alfred.
And the prince was disconsolate.
Duke.
However, he carried the glass slipper in his pocket.
Alfred.
Why not produce it?
Lucile.
Alas! I have lost its mate. How unfortunate! (Enter Balla)
Balla
Pardon, Madam. (Speaks low to her)
Lucile.
(To Balla) I will come. (Exit Balla)
Lucile.
One of my pensioners is without, one whom I never deny. He is an old retainer of my father's house.
Duke.
Then like a gracious sovereign you must give him audience, and nay I offer him this? (Tosses a purse to Lucile)
Lucile.
Money is always welcome to the poor. (Vargrave fumbles in pockets, and finds nothing but a cigar case)
Alfred.
I can give him no solace but my blessing.
Duke.
Which is a curse from a heretic.
Lucile.
And now I crave your indulgence for a short time.
Alfred.
And I yours. May we smoke?
Lucile.
Yes, and be sure to settle the affairs of Europe in my absence. (Exit Lucile)
Duke.
(Aside) We'll do well if we settle our own affairs.
Alfred.
May I offer you one? (Duke accepts cigar)
Duke.
I trust that the incipient blaze (strikes a match) between England and France has ended where wisdom begins —- in smoke.
Alfred.
Our journalists united their wits and the press put it out. Great are the scribes! (puffs) This weed is a talisman Which should make all men brothers.
Duke.
A very calumet of peace, eh? If so I beg your permission to ask a few questions.
Alfred.
Most assuredly, providing they do not touch on my personal affairs.
Duke.
MY personal affairs, Lord Vargrave, and most inevitably yours also. I learn that you are to marry Miss Darcy, a young heiress.
Alfred.
This is indeed presumptious. Go on!
Duke.
Before you came here I had reason to believe that the Countess do Nevers might be my wife though her suitors, are many, for I know some since Castlemar was refused, though a prince with at least half a million a year.
Alfred.
There must be some reason.
Duke.
You know the reason. Your rude English hand crushed the flower of her youth.
Alfred.
'Tis false. I will throw all reserve to the winds. I love Lucile.
Duke.
And this is the chivalry of your cold Northern land. And has Miss Darcy no brother to avenge the insult to her maidenhood? Your place is by her side. I ask you to leave her at once.
Alfred.
By what right do you usurp Lucile's privilege.
Duke.
The right of precedence, and the right of close companionship. She has shown me marked preference. You are not yet in the arms of Lucile, Milord.
Alfred.
Don't try me too far, you insolent--
Duke,
Mere words do not kill, but swords do. Away with disguise. There is only one way with a Frenchman. Need I say what it is?
Alfred.
I decline to put a lady's fame in jeopardy for a moments anger. Think of Lucile, man?
Duke.
'Tis from vanity wanton and selfish that you stop in between her and me. I am no saint and I was never in love before with a woman who was not a wife, but I protect the woman I love.
Then leave the field open for m. I admit not a rival in fortune or rank to the hand of a woman whatever be hers or her suitor's. I love the Countess de Nevers. You return to her side and the woman is suddenly changed. She denied herself to all callers for you who are betrothed to another. You whose name was coupled with Lucile's some years ago. You that left her so lightly. I will not thus tamely yield what a few days ago, I believed to be mine. I shall yet be a rival. You dare not despise, you cannot love her as I love her. I ask only one word. Say at once you renounce her, and return to your lady at Bigorre. Say it!
Alfred.
You have not the right, Duke, and still less the power to make terms and conditions with me. I refuse to reply. (Enter Lucile who steps between the infuriated men as they spring toward other)
Lucile.
You would stain the honor of my name, and rend and tear each other like wild beasts?
Duke.
Ah, Lucile, I would fight to the death for you.
Alfred.
By the right I have over you, I demand that you forbid the Duke de Luvois your presence.
Lucile.
The rights, Lord Vargrave, you demand! I owe allegiance to no one, but Lucile de Nevers.
Duke.
Ha, ha, Milord, you should be more diplomatic.
Lucile.
I forbid you both my presence.
Alfred.
(Alfred to Duke in low tone) I accept your challenge.
Duke.
(In some tone) So you've come to your senses at last? (To Lucile) I am at your service fair lady, and I shall await your commands and forgiveness (As he exits to Vargrave) Meet me at the old ruined abbey within the hour.
Lucile.
"By the old ruined abbey within the hour." (Vargrave goes) Stay! What means the Duke?
Alfred.
An affair of honor, Madam.
Lucile.
A duel! No, no!
Alfred.
Do you fear for his life or nine?
Lucile.
I fear the dishonor.
Alfred.
Dishonor?
Lucile.
Yes, is there no dishonor in the smile of a woman when men gaming on her can shudder, can say, in that smile lies a grave?
Alfred.
Better the grave for one of us.
Lucile.
I make one last appeal, nor for myself, but for the young English girl.
Alfred.
And you can think of another in this supreme moment. While I bow to the beauty of your nature, Lucile; I can only think of you. Must I go perhaps to my death, perhaps in suspense? Will you not answer me?
Lucile.
I am in no mood to reply.
Alfred.
'Tis for this favored Luvois you hesitate.
Luciile.
I am humilated that you should so misunderstand me, and outraged at the attitude of yourself and the Duke.
Alfred.
But if all goes well with me, may I come tonight, Lucile?
Lucile.
With your hands red with blood, no, a thousand times, no. This is no time for an avowal of love.
Alfred.
I go then, Lucile. Farewell, farewell! (Exit)
Lucile.
I could not be false to the promptings of my own heart. Could he not read through ny woman's reserve the struggle between warmest love and the chill sense of loyalty to one whom he would forget, and perhaps doom to such suffering as I have known. And he is gone to meet Eugene de Luvols, the most expert swordsman in all Europe. I must save Alfred, what matters it now? Balla! Balla!
(Enter Balla) A messenger at once, Bernard, the guide, who lives below the hill. (Exit Balla) I must appeal to the Duke -- but how? (She reflects a moment) There is only one way. (Writes) With no moment's delay, I entreat, I conjure, by all you profess to come to me directly. --Lucile.
(Enter guide and Balla) As you are fleet of foot so is your reward. (Tosses gold to guide) Hasten to the old ruined abbey and give this note to the Duke de Luvois (Hands note) You know him?
Guide.
Yes, Madame.
Lucile.
If he is not there, wait until he comes, and do not fail.
Guide.
And the answer, Madam?
Lucile.
Will not be in your keeping. You lag like the veriest novice. Away! Away! (Exit guide. Lucile throws herself into Balla's arms) I am in sore distress.
Balla.
Unburden thy heart as in the old childish days, it will ease the regret which is consuming thee.
Lucile.
You always know Balla, you, and you alone.
Balla.
Did I not receive into my arms thy little body as it came into the world, ay, and thy nature has always been as naked to old Balla, my child, care not for the quarrels of men.
Lucile.
But I am in suspense, suspense the most cruel. Ah, if I could only know what is occurring beyond those grin mountains.
Balla.
Patience! We cannot seal up the caverns the earthquakes have rent.
Lucile.
Nor dream the old dreams. Mine haunts me again.
Balla.
So repose hath fled from thy life, and thou wouldst then read the same page backward, for the three intense stars are again o'er thy path.
Lucile.
The stars of my birth! And you who can read then so well saw neither disaster — nor death.
Balla.
No, my nursling, only a shadow. (Aside) And it augurs a strange and tragic ending for the one whom it follows.
Lucile.
Wherefore strive? Your gods must themselves yield at last.
Balla
Whatsoever befalls thee is written and unchangeable. (Balla sighs).
Lucile.
You are weary from last night's vigil with the planets.
Balla.
(Goes to table) Yes, I need rest, but I will first say a few words to thee. A woman is a slight thing and Jealousy is a reckless passion. Dost understand me? (Balla takes small dagger from secret drawer) Wear thy mother's dagger.
Lucile.
'Tis a whim, yet I will humor thy fancy. (Conceals it about her person)
Balla.
Now I can sleep. (Exit Balla. Lucile opens long window and steps on balcony. Twilight begins to fall and deepens till end of scene)
Lucile.
There is the cool star of the eve. Like a sentinel on guard watches the valley below and the long rocky line of the blue Pyrenees. All is at rest and at peace save my unquiet soul. (Luvois enters on balcony)
Duke.
I saw the gleam of your dress from afar, and hastened to relieve your suspense. Ah, Lucile, you relent, because you fear for my life. ( Lucile haughtily enters room, closely followed by the Duke. In her agitation she sweeps letters from table. They scatter) Allow me. (Under cover of assisting her he conceals one)
Lucile.
I am sincere in my desire to save men's lives -- woman's honor.
Duke.
The honor of woman was not threatened. (Lucile places letters in casket) Lock up that tomb of the Past. We have only to do with the Present. I can, afford to be generous, if you are not trifling with me. Milord Vargrave must not forfeit the liberty he has gained this night. A few moments more and one of us would have kissed the sod.
Lucile.
Cease your threats. Is it yours to bestow or to take human life?
Duke.
I would take his life as a tiger drinks blood. He has only a respite.
Lucile.
Duke, I forbid the contest you menace. By all human laws I forbid it. By all sanctities of man's social honor.
Duke.
I obey, but beware how you play fast and loose with my despair and the storm in my heart. Madame, yours was the right when you saw that I hoped to extinguish that hope forever. You should have done this at first for know from the first that I loved you.
Lucile.
I thought you too self-conscious to lose all in love. Was I wrong? Is it so? You're right to reproach me. You say that I knew that you loved me. But what if this knowledge were known at a moment in life when I felt most alone and least able to be so -- a moment when I strove to be free from one haunting regret, would you still so bitterly blame me? If I wished to see the promise of united affection? I deemed my heart free from all saving sorrow. I thought that in me there was yet strength enough to mould it once more to my will, to uplift it once more to my life. Do you still blame me, Duke, that I did not then bid you refrain from hope? I too then
hoped.
Duke,
Oh, again; yet again, say that thrice blessed word.
Lucile.
Yes, to hope I could feel and could give to you, that without which all else given were but to deceive and injure you even -- a heart free from thoughts of another. Then I had to own to my heart that the dream it had cherished was over, and forever say to you now, hope no more.
Duke.
What, then! He re-crosses your path —- this man -— and you have but to see him, despite this troth to another, to take back that false, worthless heart to your own -- which he wronged years ago.
Lucile.
No, no! 'Tis not that, but alas! I have forgotten. I could not accept all those gifts on your part -- in return for what -- ah, Duke, what is it? A heart that is only a ruin.
Duke.
Trusts me yet to build and restore it, so dear is that ruin. Ah, yield it to me (approaches and she shrinks back) You madden me with the invitation of your beauty, and you forget the instincts that dominate and sway a man tempted as I am. Men have killed for less.
Lucile.
There are times when Death would be a welcome lover -- more welcome than any living one. Every woman has felt the same.
Duke.
And most women console themselves. Why not you, Lucile?
Lucile.
I can only weep o'er the strange destinies shaped for us.
Duke.
Your tears could not quench the fire that is consuming me. I would feel your warm lips on mine, and your heart beating against my own. Have you never felt passion, Lucile, the desire for one being who alone could satisfy your craving for love? Ah, to think that I should be denied you -- the star of my dreams -- the only woman who could make me suffer rapture and pain -- the rapture of your presence, and the pain of parting.
Lucile.
Ah, cannot we be friends?
Duke.
Do you know so little of nan's nature as to offer him the dry husk of friendship when there is within the ripe fruit of love?
Lucile.
Which has not ripened for you, Duke. Why prolong this painful interview?
Duke.
I exact but one condition. Give no more time, and promise me that you will not accept him.
Lucile.
Accept? Is he free? Free to offer?
Duke.
You evade me. He might make himself free. Oh, you blanch -- turn away. Dare you openly look in my face while you deign to reply to one question. I may hope not. But tell me nay he? -— What! Silent! I alter my question. If he were freed in faith from this truth?
Lucile.
Then, he might hope --
Duke.
But you may not. Lord Vargrave stood by when the guide handed me your note. I flung all honor to the winds, and he read it.
Lucile.
Ah, I did not foresee, and you conveyed the impression that — that --
Duke.
You had bidden no to a rendezvous. A man does not need to perjure his soul. He can convey a damning suspicion by a glance -- a sneer -- a gesture.
Lucile.
You are Lucifer himself. I will undeceive him. Before the dawn he shall know.
Duke.
He may be now on his way to Bigorre — to Miss Darcy. He flung all his English reticence to the winds, and raved like Othello.
Lucile.
He cannot believe it. No, no!
Duke.
If you had sinned through loving, I would take you to my heart. To me you are the wonan. All else is naught.
Lucile.
And even so, would I confess to you, who are your own god, your own devil.
Duke.
You are a true daughter of the Orient. That half savage instinct which is inbred, leaps to meet my own.
Lucile.
Your fierce passions have chased from its realm human reason. You would ruin his life and mine. Ah, how I have loved him!
Duke.
Would I yield you to another? No, you've crushed all that is good in my nature, roused all that is fierce, and killed my last scruple. What remains but to possess you, ay, as Tarquin possessed Lucrece. We are alone and you are defenceless before me.
Lucile.
Nor defenseless. The presence of death stands between us. (Lucile draws dagger and retreats toward inner room) for I an protected by the amulet of my race. We, alas, have mistaken one another. Once again illusion in my life is over. Adieu, Duke de Luvois, you're out of my heart forever. (Lucile goes into inner room and locks door)
Duke.
(Throws himself against the door any shakes it violently) Come back, Lucile, forget my wild words. The red glare of hell shone before me. It was madness, not love, that spoke in this dark soul of mine -- so brief the moment and so long the life. I repent! I repent! Ah, forgive me. (Sinks on his knees at the door)
CURTAIN
Act III
Time--1853
Scene:-- Moonlight on lawn in front of Casino at Ems.
Enter Sir Ridley and Lady McNab from casino. The cry of the croupier is heard.
Blanche.
(Uses fan) The air is very warm.
McNab.
(Stagily) 'Tis a night fit for old Verona and the balcony of a Juliet.
Blanche.
(Matter of fact) No more tottering balconies for me. I prefer love making in a more prosaic fashion.
McNab.
And I adore Romance. I shall never forget the first night I saw you bending over in the moonlight with your arms out-stretched to that cad who played Romeo.
Blanche.
(Laughs) Ah, how jealous you are of a mere stage lover. The feud of the Montagues and Capulets paled in intensity.
McNab.
Because that Romeo was in earnest. He tried to carry off my little Blanche under my very nose, but you loved your Ridley. (endearments)
Blanche.
Must I always be rehearsing the same scene?
McNab.
I don't need a prompter.
Blanche.
No, you are letter perfect.
McNab.
As a husband, my lady? (She pouts) Never mind, I will win enough gold tonight to deck you with pearls like that old Russian princess who gambles all day and all night.
Blanche.
No doubt, you'll break the bank.
McNab.
The Duke de Luvois and Lord Vargrave are making a close running.
Blanche.
Lord Alfred plays for high stakes.
McNab.
I am afraid he is squandering his own fortune, but I managed well for Matilda. Her money is tied up for herself and her future possible heirs.
Blanche.
That is well. Her husband is the shadow of that handsome Countess de Nevers. I wouldn't trust him.
McNab.
I wouldn't trust him either any further than you can swing a cat by the tail -— not as far as she is concerned.
Blanche.
Wasn't there some trouble at Bigorre?
McNab.
The devil reigned! Mrs. Darcy harangued and Matilda spent one half of her time mooning over a sick dog -- which recovered to snap at my heels -- and the other half in bewailing her lover's absence, so I followed him to Serchon. Although it was night when I arrived at Duval's and everything in full swing, my lord was not visible, so I sent up ny visiting card and played my other cards so well that I had him on the road to Matilda in less than an hour, though I must say he was pale and desperate; but a firm hand on ny part and a little sugar from Matilda brought him to his oats. It was neck and neck though between the two women, and his old sweetheart had the pole, too. Matilda won by a length. There was jockeying everywhere. I think the race was sold.
Blanche.
And is that the reason Boadicea did not win the Derby?
McNab.
(Chucks her under the chin) You're a clever little puss! I lost a pot of money on her, though Lord Vargrave gave me the straight tip. I must say he did the square thing all around. Bless you, I knew he was in love with the countess.
Blanche.
And you still persisted in urging on the marriage?
McNab.
I did it all for Matilda. No man shall tamper with her affections.
Blanche.
Then she does not know?
McNab.
Certainly not. Most men have many affairs in their lives and few of us marry our first love.
Blanche.
But you did?
McNab.
Well, hardly, my dear, though I did much better -- I married my last love.
Blanche.
Way do men always deceive their wives?
McNab.
(Aside) That's a poser.
Blanche.
There comes Jack. He is just from London.
McNab.
Jack! You're very familiar, my lady. (Enter Jack) What a relief! I was in close quarters.
Jack.
Where are all those honey-moon couples?
McNab.
Where you ought to be -- honey-mooning.
Jack.
(Bows over Blanche's hand) ) O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek.
McNab.
(Aside) Another Romeo! I believe he is fond of Blanche.
Jack.
(To McNab) Have you been toying with Madame Roulette again or eating too heavy a dinner?
McNab.
My dinner never disagrees with me. I'll lay you five to one that I can drink more wine and digest it -- mind, than any man in England.
Jack.
But not in France. You failed on that rare old vintage of Bigorre. Ha, ha ha! There was a symposium worth recording.
Blanche.
A symposium! What is that?
McNab.
A meeting of bank directors, my love.
Blanche.
And was Jack there?
McNab.
Yes, yes, he read the minutes.
Blanche.
(To Jack) You read the minutes?
Jack.
I did. (Aside) Under the table.
Blanche.
Minutes by the clock?
Jack.
No, ninutes by the GLASS.
McNab.
There is an old-fashioned hour glass in the bank, Blanche. (Aside to Jack) You harry the life out of one. (aloud) Why don't you marry. You are always poaching on other men's preserves.
Jack.
How can I, unless you die? When you go off the hook, I am first on Lady McNab's list.
Blanche.
Now, I know three married women you've said the same thing to. Fie, Jack.
McNab.
(Aside to Blanche) Your levity is unbecoming.
Blanche.
That is a slight affair, so long as my gown becomes me.
McNab.
(To Jack) What's the latest news?
Jack.
The situation in the East is threatening, but England is as yet very conservative.
McNab.
Then, look out for squalls!
Jack.
That would suit me amazingly. The Czar is enraged at the invasion of the Straits by English and French fleets, and as Turkey holds the key through the Bosphorus, it may be a serious thing for Nicholas of Russia.
Blanche.
Then I can't go to Petersburg this winter, and you promissed that I should see the ice-palace.
McNab.
You are going to England and to the country, ay lady. (To Jack) Did you call on Mrs. Darcy?
Jack.
Yes, but she has never forgiven me.
McNab.
Nor me. I an a blot on the family escutcheon. (An orchestra is heard playing Von Weber's Invitation to the Waltz)
Jack.
The ball has just opened. Listen! Von Weber's Invitation to the Waltz. Now, he is asking her to dance.
Blanche.
Does she consent?
Jack.
She has consented. (Jack puts his arm about Blanche's waist, and they waltz off the stage)
McNab.
That buck needs a lesson, and I'll yet touch him one with a moral though Jack Vargrave would dance with the devil himself and yet rise in [six to eight words lost as page was filmed askew] the primrose paths of dalliance with Dame Fortune. (Goes into Casino. Orchestra is playing. Men and women in evening dress are moving about. Lord Alfred comes out of Casino and meets Duke who enters from walk)
Duke.
(Holds out his hand) Let us be better friends. Your wife is most charming, and now that you are married there can be no more rivalry between us. (Alfred ignores his hand) As you will. We have met her once more -- the woman for whom we two mad men laugh, moncher Alfred, laugh -- were about to destroy one another.
Alfred.
The champagne is heady, Eugene De Luvois, else you'd not raise the ghost of that once troubled time. Can you recall it with coolness and quietude now?
Duke.
Yes! I am a true Parisian. Now, the Red Revolution, the tocsin -- and then the dance and the play. I am now at the play.
Alfred.
At the play are you? Then, may I unfold the argument?
Duke.
As you wish. Better the guillotine than the dungeon.
Alfred.
Duke, you were called to a meeting -- no doubt you remember it yet -- with Lucile. It was night when you went --
Duke.
And before I returned it was morning.
Alfred.
How, then, after that, can you and she meet as acquaintances?
Duke.
What! Did she not herself solve the riddle with those soft lips of hers?
Alfred.
Lucile avoids the past.
Duke.
Indeed! But that question, Milord, stirs your heart -— your passion for her is not conquered.
Alfred.
And is yours? I havo presented Lucile to my wife, understand to my wife. They are now in the Casino together.
Duke.
Fascinated by the whirling of the wheel, and the spinning of the ball?
Alfred.
You are pleased to be facetious, but we gentlemen owe respect to the name that is ours, and the woman who bears it, a twofold respect. Answer! Duke de Luvois! Did Lucile then reject the proffer you made of your hand and your name, or did you relinquish a hold on her love you possessed long before? I ask bluntly this question because my title to do so is clear by the codes that all gentlemen honor. Make only one sign that you know ought of Lucile, in short, if your own virgin sister were by, would you shield her from approaching Lucile? If so, Matilda and I leave Ems on the morrow.
DUKE.
(Aside) Leave Ems! That wold mar all. (Aloud) Nay, the Countess de Nevers rejected me. She feared for your life. She wrote me that note which showed you to save you Lord Vargrave.
Alfred.
And for that I doubted her. A light word, -- a look.
Duke.
'Tis all for the best. You are wedded, blessed English man, wedded to one whose past can be called into question by no one, and I fickle Frenchman, can still laugh. I am lord of myself and the Mode; and Lucile still shines from her pedestal, frigid and cold as yon German moon o'er the Linden-tops. A Diane in marble that scorns any truth with the little love-gods. Stay at Ems! (Turns on his heel. Lucile and Matilda come out of Casino. Vargrave walks toward them) Good! The gods fight my battle tonight. The family doctor's the part I must play. Very well! The patient shall pay for my visits. (Lucile, Matilda and Vargrave come forward. Duke bows low before Lucile who is slightly in advance)
Lucile.
Do you still persist in remaining here.
Duke.
Even though you banish me from Ems with the alr of a queen, your Hindoo refused me admittance yesterday.
Lucile.
Do not hazard a second refusal.
Duke.
That is indeed a blow from a jeweled hand. You do not lack courage Lucile, though you are pale from that stab in your own hand, and something too has gone fron your face. Dare you look in my own and trace the wicked scroll wrought by your hand ? Ah, you shudder. Do you feel no reproaches when you look in your own heart?
Lucile.
No Duke, in my conscience I do not deserve your rebuke-- not yours.
Duke.
What I once was I have not forgotten, but I shall be none the less welcome wherever I go, for one passion survived. Perhaps I have here an attraction. (Glances towards Matilda)
Lucile.
Then, it bodes ill for you. (She turns her back and talks to Alfred and Matilda)
Duke.
(Aside) So, they re-weave the old charm. My imperial countess wishes to regain full sway over the man she has lost, and as before I might prove too serious an obstacle. (Orchestra is heard at intervals. Duke offers Matilda his arm) I claim the promised dance, my lady (Lucile and Alfred take seats)
Matilda.
(Hesitates) I had almost forgotten, I am so weary tonight.
Duke.
A profound weariness, perhaps and some sadness. Every heart has its sorrow.
Matilda.
(Glances toward Alfred and Lucile) My complaint is purely physical, I assure you.
Duke.
Yet, you bloom like a rose. Still, the close air of a ball-room may cause the rose to droop. Shall we stay in the open?
Matilda
Oh, no. I prefer the ball room. (Exit Duke and Matilda)
Alfred.
Pardon me, Lucile, I have learned all tonight. That note to Eugene de Luvois was to save me. The mistake of a moment has been the mistake of a lifetime. I know now, though I know it too late, what passed at that meeting.
Lucile.
You know what passed at that meeting. Oh, spare me. Nay, interrupt me not yet; but say what is due to yourself -—
Alfred.
-- due to me -- say it, Lucile.
Lucile.
Hush! Hush! All will be well.
Alfred.
Oh Lucile, what was left me when my life was defrauded of you, but to marry Matilda? I strove to fill up the void in my heart, and if I have failed to renew what I felt for you, I, at least have been loyal.
Lucile.
Then remember the motto of your house -— "Loyal until death" -- I care not to hear your regrets.
Alfred.
I would not offend you, nor do I forget the ties that are around me, but may we not be friends, friends the dearest.
Lucile.
Alas! For one monent did it pass through my own heart, that dream which forever hath brought to those who indulge it. So fatal and so evil a waking. No! for in lives such as ours are, the dream flower would bloom on the borders of Hade. Beyond it what lies? The cries of the lost and tormented. The days are departed when we could discuss dreams like these with innocence. Oh, believe me the best friend you have is your wife! I felt on my brow not one blush when I first took her hand, with no blush shall I clasp it tonight when I leave you.
Alfred.
You leave Ems to tonight?
Lucile.
Yes, and I must invade for a few moments the sanctity of your inner-most life. Women learn by an instinct men never attain to discern each other's true natures. Matilda is young. She must love and be loved.
Alfred.
Matilda's a statue.
Lucile.
Yesterday all that you say night be true: it is false, wholly false though, today.
Alfred.
How? What mean you?
Lucile.
I mean that today the statue with life has become vivified. I mean that the child to a woman has grown, and that woman is jealous.
Alfred.
What! She! She jealous! Matilda! Of whom? Pray not of me?
Lucile.
She is jealous of no one but you, and thank Heaven too that this passion has grown so lately, or the knowledge might have cost you most dear.
Alfred.
Explain! Explain, Madame!
Lucile.
How blind are you men! Can you doubt that a woman, young, fair and neglected--
Alfred.
Speak out, Lucile, you mean what? Do you doubt her fidelity?
Lucile.
No, no! What I wish to unfold is so hard to shape into words. I could almost refrain from touching a subject so fragile; but jealousy in a woman is a disease, healed too often by a criminal cure.
Alfred.
Such thoughts could never have reached the heart of Matilda.
Lucile.
Oh, no! But reflect, When such thoughts do not come of themselves to the heart of a jealous woman, there rarely is wanting some voice at her side to conjure them [for] her.
Alfred.
Woe to him that shall feel such a hope, for I swear if he show but one glimpse, it shall be the last hope of his life.
Lucile.
You forget that you menace yourself, and you care more for Matilda than you are aware of.
Alfred.
She is my wife, and my honor is most dear.
Lucile.
Ah, so it is with men. My wife, my honor!
Alfred.
Your honor is most dear to me.
Lucile.
Alas! Alfred Vargrave shall we stand in our own light wherever we go and fight our own shadows forever?
Alfred.
You know all that I would say, Lucile, and all that the repression costs me.
Lucile.
I know that between you and me yawns a gulf. We each of us stand on the opposite shore. You must go your way and I mine. (She turns away)
Alfred.
One word, I implore you! You have shown my pathway to me, but what is your own.
Lucile.
I know not. I follow the way Fate will lead me. I cannot foresee to what end. I only know that far, far away from all places in which we have met, or might meet. (She breaks down; he catches her in his arms)
Alfred.
The old love is not dead. Shall we revive it?
Lucile.
No, no! Love is not the sole part of life, and if we once loved -- let it be not corrupted. (She releases herself from his arms)
Alfred.
I both understand and obey, and wheresoever you say nay go may all angels attend you. Now, one kiss of farewell. (Enter Matilda and the Duke. They see the caress. Exit Alfred and Lucile)
Duke.
(Aside) My hate shall yet find him.
Matilda.
(Aside) And I have tried to lull my heart in a fatal security, when its innermost voice warned me of this.
Duke.
(Feigns sympathy) Ah, lady, there are meetings in life which seem like a fate.
Matilda.
Leave me! I need a moment of solitude and silence.
Duke.
Not until I have opened your eyes still further. I know years ago of the singular power which Lucile exercised over your husband. Have I by a word or look betrayed his secret. Ho! Do me justice, and have I not respected his rights till he neglected your rights as a wife.
Matilda.
I beseech you, have pity.
Duke.
Have pity for what, for him? Has he pity? He, the lord of a life fresh as new-fallen dew. He neglects you for whom? for a fairer than you? No, you surpass this lady as youth surpasses its best imitations. He neglects you for -- but I will not judge her. You saw the caress.
Matilda.
True, still I never had cause to suspect my husband. (Aside) He shall not know how I suffer.
Duke.
Has marriage not taught you the ways of this world? Well, the day may yet come when you will perceive the difference twixt the one that neglects and the one that can wait. Your husband signed your release by that kiss.
Matilda.
I shall be loyal to him. He will explain all to me. (Duke takes the stolen letter from his pocket and hands it to Matilda)
Duke.
Can he explain this? (She stands in the light from Casino and examines letter) (Aside) How intensely feminine!
Matilda.
'Tis my husband's seal -- the Vargrave coat-of-arms. The letter is addressed to the Countess de Nevers.
Duke.
Ay, read it.
Matilda.
No, no, I cannot!
Duke.
I will then. (Snatches letter from her hand. Enter Lucile unperceived) My own Lucile:-- This short reply to your dear letter is only to assure you of my eternal fidelity and affection. I trust the time is not far distant when you and I will be together forever. (Matilda takes letter and reads aloud)
Matilda
I trust the time will be not far distant when you and I will be together forever. Oh, Alfred, my husband.
Duke.
Anticipate then. Do not stand before the world as a deserted wife. If my heart be the reflex of yours, you need not be alone.
Matilda.
Between man and woman these things differ so. The world would pardon you.
Duke.
But I would be such a shield, my lady, that the world could never approach you. I would make of you a shrine, and kneel daily in humble adoration at your feet.
Matilda.
We must not be seen here together. The night is advancing. I feel overwhelmed with affright. It is time to return to my husband.
Duke.
To your husband! Do you think he awaits you? Is he anxiously missing your presence? Return to your lord, and hinder the glances which are not for you. No, no, another is there in your place, another consoles him, another receives his embrace.
Lucile.
An infamous deception. That other is here.
Matilda.
Lucile!
Duke.
What eavesdropping, Madame? You know that your place is not here.
Lucile.
My place is where my duty calls, and I come to save the love of an innocent wife for her husband (to Matilda) You alone can save his honor.
Matilda.
Oh, I am so bewildered by the events of this wretched night. Whom shall I believe?
Lucile.
I can clear your husband, and the Duke de Luvois shall explain how the letter came into his possession? (Pauses for reply) I will be patient, but not merciful, Duke. (Matilda hands Lucile the letter)
Matilda.
So, Countess my husband is my [i.e., your?] lover.
Lucile.
It was many years ago, a memory faded like the ink on this crumpled paper.
Matilda.
If so, why did Alfred not tell me? How much better that I should have learned the truth from his lips. My love for him has waned. I shall never feel the same again.
Lucile.
Your husband was fooled by a fancy. (To Duke) Confess to Lady Vargrave when the letter was written, and how it came into your possession.
Duke.
The letter is not dated, Madame.
Lucile.
Not dated!
Matilda.
And how did it fall into your hands?
Duke.
By the merest chance, I assure you.
Lucile.
When your engagement to Lord Vargrave was announced, I wrote for him to return the letters I had written ten years ago. He came to me at Serchon.
Matilda.
And when he left me without one word Of farewell, he went to you, Madame, and I grieved. Oh, how I grieved.
Lucile.
He came at my bidding. No gentleman could have refused. The letters were lying on a table in my drawing-room. The Duke de Luvois was there shortly afterward. You can divine how this letter came into his possession.
Matilda.
(To Duke) And is this true?
Duke.
So you too are drawn by the subtle magnetism which Lucile possesses? It is marvelous, simply marvelous.
Lucile.
Duke, I have been lenient and silent about many things, out of respect for the proud name you bear, and because you are the head of a family who have always shown me much courtesy. I could blazon your name throughout every court in Europe, or I might only whisper in the ear of a certain prince who in France is all-powerful.
Duke.
(Aside) The Emperor! I could never cringe to that upstart. (Aloud) Madame, your last trump wins the game. The prisoner at the bar pleads guilty. Is sentence suspended, my fair judge?
Lucile.
Your own deeds are working doom for you that no flippancy can disguise.
Duke.
Ah, then, I consider myself discharged. (Duke enters Casino)
Lucile
He, who comes from an old princely line sunk to such degradation.
Matilda.
Yes, the Duke stole your letter, but you have robbed me of a kiss.
Lucile.
A kiss of renunciation like a kiss after death.
Matilda.
And I believe in the chivalry of men, and the purity of women.
Lucile.
You are young, therefore you are severe. (Matilda weeps) Time will soften your heart, and you may yet have tears to shed for the frailty of woman and the passions of men. I would not chide because you have been sore tried this night, yet did not you nearly waver?
Matilda.
You saved me for what fate? Tears, and prayers, yes, but not hopes?
Lucile.
You will be drawn to your husband again. How, I know not. (Enter Alfred)
Alfred.
Both,-- here. Tears, Matilda? (She turns away from him) What means this, Lucile?
Lucile.
Make of your wife a confessor. She will absolve you.
Alfred.
Absolve me! (Enter Jack closely followed by courier, Sir Ridley and Blanche)
Jack.
(To Alfred) I have been looking for you everywhere. A courier has just arrived.
Courier.
(In uniform covered with dust) I have important dispatches for Sir Alfred Vargrave. My orders were to deliver them safely into your hands. (Hands dispatches)
Alfred.
Which you have obeyed like a faithful servant of the queen. (Exit courier. Alfred runs up the steps of Casino and stands in the light while hastily tearing them open) (Reads) England and France have declared war almost simultaneously. They enter into an alliance to defend Turkey against the encrochments of the Czar. (Enter Duke)
Jack.
England and France! What an alliance! A mighty engine Of defense.
Duke.
(Aside) so France shows her hand.
Lucile.
(Aside) And Napoleon unchains the gaunt spectre of war.
Blanche.
Oh, I am so glad you are too old.
McNab.
Don't feel too sure of that Blanche. I feel the thrill of all the fighting blood in a long line of ancestry.
Alfred.
(Reads) A Russian Admiral came from Sebastopol and crushed the Turkish squadron and that almost within the light of the allied naval powers. A treacherous act. The honor of France is wounded, and England is touched to the quick.
Jack.
(To Alfred) We must help to avenge the insult. You remember our compact.
Alfred.
I do, and I renew it. (They clasp hands. Aside to Jack) There is a very important communication in cipher. (Aloud) We must start at once for London, and then to the East with the shrill clang of arms.
Matilda.
(Throws herself on her husband's neck) Oh, I do love you. Forgive me, forgive me.
Alfred.
Forgive you? For what child, I have never blamed you for aught that I know. The tidings of war have completely unnerved you.
Matilda.
You must not leave me! You must not leave me! (An affective tableau is here shown. The English grouped together. Matilda clinging to her husband, while Lucile stands conspicuously alone, and the Duke is in the background)
CURTAIN
ACT IV
Time - 1854
Hour early morning
Scene:- Crimea: in front of Sebastopol. The Duke de Luvois seated in his tent bending over some plans on a camp-table. His left arm is bandaged. French officer standing near. Orderly pacing up and down in the rear of stage.
Officer.
General your commands have been obeyed.
Duke.
And the hospital service?
Officer.
It is now very efficient owing to the devotion of the Sisters of Charity. One is known throughout the camp as a seraph of mercy. She is seen in all places where suffering is seen, silent, active, --the sister, sister -- how do they call her.
Duke.
The Sister Seraphine? I rarely forget names once heard.
Officer.
Yes, the Sister Seraphine.
Duke.
Ay, truly of her I have heard much, and more we owe her already, unless rumor lies, the lives of not few of our bravest.
Officer.
Your own heads the list, General.
Duke.
And you tell me it was the Sister Seraphine's soft, moist hand so administered to my pain.
Officer.
Yes, she nursed you with the face of an angel.
Duke.
I fancy I trace something more than the grace of an angel. I mean an acute mind, ingenious and intelligent.
Officer.
She manages the corps of sisters like a skilled general. Rigid in discipline, yet kind to every one.
Duke.
All through my delerium her soothing presence was with me, but when slowly returning reason abided in my tent, she vanished, and with her these apparations which fever had fashioned. (Enter Aide)
Aide.
Bosquet moves his troops to the front.
Duke.
The Federoff attack us today, or I an much in error. (Bells are heard ringing faintly in the distance) The church bells in Sebastopol. So the Russians go to early mass to pray for victory. The fanatics!
Officer.
Did they know of our real strength, or rather weakness, they might have made a night attack, and the Russian bear would have shown his claws in vain.
Duke. He would fight at bay then as fights a hunted bear.
Officer.
But the pass, at the entrance to the ravine is unguarded.
Duke.
Unguarded! Lord Raglan was to station a company there. It was so decided in our Council. I thought him too wary to give them a sign of advantage. (To Aide) Report at once to Lord Raglan that the Pass is unguarded. (Exit Aide)
Officer.
You are on dangerous ground, General.
Duke.
I am out of the noise and tumult of the camp, and it is here that I have regained life and what little strength is vouchafed me. (Hands plans to officer) Take these plans to the hospital (Officer goes) One moment, find if possible persuade the Sister Seraphine to visit me once again. We shall, I think, aid each other.
Officer.
Yes, my general, but rest assured, you can now dismiss the hospital question, and direct all your energies towards speedy recovery. (Exit Officer)
Duke.
The Sister Seraphine! Strange that any face should so strongly remind me of Lucile. Even in a delirium, for I was as a disembodied spirit wandering I knew not whither. Hands unseen raised the veil of a great mystery. I caught the great choral chant, and marked a dread pageant move onward to Death. What does it signify? Images of a disordered brain. But the vision of Lucile was sweet, her eyes full of tenderness. I would suffer again all the anguish for one such glance in the flesh, again be a lonely and tremulous phantom who follows the mystical.
(Enter Lucile and Sister Hortense at back of stage. The Duke busies himself at table)
Lucile.
Our round is nearly finished. You must not forget the young English boy who lies in yonder tent. I shall rely on you to comfort him.
Hortense.
He will find me but a poor substitute for his revered Sister Seraphine.
Lucile.
You are too modest, Sister Hortense. Read to him this letter from his mother which has been in my keeping. It is over now to him, (hands letter) this story of maternal love the purest and the most enduring of all earthly passions.
Hortense.
And as holy today as when the Virgin Mother told it to here beloved son.
Lucile.
Who is both merciful and divine. He hears and answers many daily prayers from these grief-stricken earthly mothers. Now, go on your errand, I have much to accomplish. (Exit Hortense)
Lucile.
(To Orderly) I would speak to the Duke de Luvois. (He enters tent)
Orderly.
General, a Sister of Charity craves the grace of an interview.
Duke.
Bid her declare her mission then -— no, her name.
Orderly.
'Tis the Sister Seraphine.
Duke.
Admit her.
Orderly
(To Lucile) You may enter.
Duke.
(merely glances at her) Sit, Holy Sister, I owe you my life, and though I know not why you seek me, you have only to command, even though you brought back from the portals of eternity a life which is valueless; but I thank you for the brave and useful ones you have saved to our army. State the cause of your mission. (He looks up. Aside) Fool, again the delirium, the dream. Is this some cheat of my fanciful brain?
Lucile.
The cause, Eugene de Luvois, which call me again to your side is a promise which rests unfulfilled.
Duke.
Lucile!
Lucile.
A promise made to myself, here in the still watches of the night, for you have done penance.
Duke.
Then, my vision was a reality, and it was you who received me from death.
Lucile.
I found you on the gory plains of Inkerman, wounded, unconscious
Duke.
How fitting that you out of the whole corps of Sisters should find me, you who were once my world. (She rises and passes out of tent. He follows her) Yet, bide as you are for one moment. Could I gaze thus a while on your face, the old innocent days might come back, and this searching heart free itself in hot tears, for I have sown such a harvest of barren regrets.
Lucile.
From ruins like these rise the deeds that shall last; but do not like a prisoner in chains, drag the iron ball of memory at your heels.
Duke.
Every spendthrift to passion is debtor to thought. And has the Sister Seraphine no memories?
Lucile.
I will not be a vassal to the past. Now, let me retrace the life of the soldier. When you unsheathed the old sword of St. Louis, the sword ever true and loyal of your ancestors, your work and your fame became the pride of a nation. With how many a blessing, how many a tear, and how many a prayer I have traced every stage of the strife, guessed the thought in the deeds, blessed the man in the man's work.
Duke.
Thy work, oh, not mine! Thine, all the worth of it if worth there bo in it, and you sweet spirit, a poor Sister of Charity, your life spent in one silent effort for others. (The tramp of men is heard. Lord Vargrave and Jack pass with a troop of soldiers across back of stage. They march with military precision, and do not turn their heads) 'Tis to him then I owe these late greetings, for him you are here. You know the danger that menaces him.
Lucile.
Danger! No, no! (Firing is heard in the distance. Aide rushes on)
Aide
General, I obeyed orders, but Lord Raglan had already sent a detachment of English under Captain Vargrave, and none too soon, for the enemy are even now advancing down the ravine. Federoff is driving in our pickets!
Duke.
(Looks through field-glass) They come in large numbers. The English are a mere handful of men.
Lucile.
But you have the power to aid them.
Duke.
To aid HIM! No! Foes we were -- foes we are to the end.
Lucile.
Let this day upon one final victory set, and complete a life's conquest. There's a sort of slow justice in this, that the word that one man's finger hath writ in fire on my heart, I return him at last. Never!
Lucile.
Think of all those brave men! You must answer to the highest tribunal for their lives, and their souls which survive after death. To thy soul I would speak. 'Tis my soul pleads to thine.
Duke.
And in vain. How often have I prayed for one hope.
Lucile.
But your honor as a soldier. Even a savage respects the code of warfare.
Duke.
I recognize no code. Do not you remember, Lucile? (Firing is again heard, Duke looks through glass) The English are preparing to resist the attack. (Loud cheering is heard) Lord Vargrave leads them on to victory or death.
Lucile.
I myself will go to headquarters. They will not refuse me. (She goes, but he detains her)
Duke.
No, no, Lucile. You could not reach there in time. I will save him. (He writes and reads) Send relief at once to the pass which guards the ravine. The English are caught like rats in a trap. It only awaits my signature, and at your command -- the command of my future wife -- the Duchess de Luvois. (All is silent for a few seconds, then closer firing)
Lucile.
Sign!
Duke.
(Signs) Luvois! So will I sign your marriage dowery -- a royal one, so that you can dispense charity with a lavish hand and still be known as a Lady of Mercy. (Hands paper to Aide) To French headquarters ! Mount my horse and ride as if pursued by the Russians. (Exit Aide)
Now, I can value the life you have saved. No woman ever held a more potent sceptre for good or for evil, and you shall love me Lucile -— even as I love you. (Approaches with extended arms)
Lucile.
I must remind you of my sacred calling. Respect the robes which I wear.
Duke.
And you, Lucile, until you doff them for more regal ones. I kiss the hem of your garments. (Carries her robe to his lips) Do not fear that I shall trespass. (He again looks through glass) I admire bravery in any nation, and the English are holding their ground like their own blooded bull dogs. (No dialogue for a few seconds. The noise of the battle approaches). Ah, the English wave! Their close line is breaking. (The bugle call of the
French is heard. He throws aside glass)
Lucile
The French soldiers! They come! They come! (Aside) Something tells me that I too shall find relief (The French pass across the stage in quick precision. The battle rages fiercely)
Duke.
The main body of the Russians are fleeing. The English retreat this way followed by some fool-hardy Cossacks. Come, Lucile, I have blind to your danger. (As they go a stray bullet strikes her, and she is
caught in Lord Vargrave's arms, who enters with Jack and some English soldiers in great disorder)
Jack.
A Sister of Charity is wounded. (All soldiers uncover)
Alfred.
My God, 'tis Lucile! Speak to me once more! Lucile! Lucile!
Lucile.
At last, Alfred, victory for you, and victory for me. (Duke steps forward, but Alfred motions him back. She dies)
CURTAIN
Last revised: 18 August 2011