The Goddess of Reason 17
Oh, soldiers!
ANOTHER
Were the wall only down!
[_The circle about the fountain breaks. The young
girls walk up and down beneath the trees. The Sisters
watch them from a garden bench. The music
dies away._ YVETTE _sits upon the stone marge of the
fountain_.
YVETTE
What is this pain that’s tearing at my heart?
What matters it to me whom he doth love?
And what concern of mine that she is fair?
I would she were not so!—Oh, misery!
She is in Nantes, she is La Belle Marquise!
I would that she were dead!
[_The chapel bell rings._
O Seigneur Dieu!
Her death! I do not wish her death! Not I!
O Our Lady! let not ill thoughts possess me!
I would I were at Morbec this still eve,
Herding the cows amid the golden broom,
Above a sea of glass without a wind,
As stagnant calm as is this prisoned water!
I would gather the musk rose in the lane,
I would tread the wet sand and count the ships,
My brow would not burn, my heart would not ache,
No tears from my eyes would I wipe away!
Why should they not fall like the winter rain?
I am the herd girl here as at Morbec,
And she’s a great lady, loved for herself!
O love! is it love that stifles me so?
O love! is it love that makes me weep?
I thought that love was all splendour and light,
The bow in the sky, the bird at its height,
The glory and state of an angel bright!
What is this pain that burdens all my heart?
[_She bows her head upon her knees. The hum of the
street deepens to a continuous and sinister sound.
In the distance a roll of drums._ YVETTE _raises her
head_.
I sit by this fountain, he’ll not return!
He cares not for me,—he’s the Sieur de Morbec,
And I a herd girl wandering through his fields!
Mother, my mother, did you sit and wait,
By the wild sea rim on a glowing eve,
Mid the brown seaweed on the shining sands?
Your heart did it beat, and your senses swim?—
But your lover, the fisher, he came, he came!
[_The voice of the street deepens._
I will not have this pain! I’ll tear it out!
[_Her hand touches the purple mark on her throat._
Ha! how burns this hateful mark to-day!
[_There comes from the church towers of Nantes a
sudden and violent crash of bells._
SISTER FIDELIS (_rising_)
The tocsin!
THE YOUNG GIRLS (_They flutter forward to the
fountain_)
The tocsin! Oh, the tocsin!
Like a hive of bees hums the street without!
YVETTE
Oh, all ye iron bells! ring on! ring on!
_Enter_ MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI _and_ SISTER BENEDICTA.
THE YOUNG GIRLS
Here is Mademoiselle de Château-Gui!
She’ll tell us why the bells are ringing!
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
O Ciel!
Would you believe it? O blessed saints above!
The country is in danger!
A YOUNG GIRL
Oh! we thought
You brought us news!
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI (_joyously_)
Do you not hear the bells?
Oh, such a day outside! It is proclaimed!
_La patrie est en danger!_
[_Distant trumpets._
Well you may wail,
You brazen trumpets of the Revolution!
The Duke of Brunswick he is marching now,
And with him all our nobles back from Coblentz!
O bliss! _La patrie est en danger!_
SISTER FIDELIS
Oh, hush!
The very walls have ears!
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
My father says
The King shall have his own again, and all
Will go as merry as a wedding bell!
_La patrie est en danger!_
_Enter_ COUNT LOUIS, MELIPARS DE L’ORIENT, _and the_
ABBÉ DE BARBASAN.
Oh, here are
My father and Monsieur de L’Orient!
DE L’ORIENT
So sweet the flowers here—
COUNT LOUIS (_to the young girls_)
Mesdemoiselles,
One garden of rosebuds time hath not touched!
(_To the Sisters._) In your prayers, my Sisters, name Château-Gui!
[_The young girls curtesy, then exeunt between the
trees._ YVETTE _remains beside the fountain_. COUNT
LOUIS _looks at her through his glass_.
Ha!
DE L’ORIENT
The herd girl of Morbec!
COUNT LOUIS
I have eyes,
De L’Orient!
THE ABBÉ
Hm!—Fair child!
YVETTE (_coldly_)
Citoyen!
MLLE. DE CHÂTEAU-GUI
Monsieur de L’Orient, you promised me
My father should not walk abroad to-day!
DE L’ORIENT
What could I do? He is so young and rash!
COUNT LOUIS (_taking snuff_)
‘Tis true that Nantes is dangerous to-day
To all save those wild beasts the sans-culottes!
But that’s no reason I should stay at home.
Where is De Vardes? His man said he was here.
It is his wont, pardieu!
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