LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. Class tf f^^ Mars Disarmed A Play in Four Acts Mars Disarmed A PLAY Jn Jour ^ctfii BY R. CUNNINGHURST OF THC SAN FRANCISCO The Whitaker and Ray Company (Incorporated) 1901 Copyright, 1901, By R. Cunninghtjrst. THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY. General Vimont, in the service of the Emperor Napoleon. Alixe, his sister. Count de Birson, secretary to Vimont and preceptor to Alixe. Marquis de Mirvoisin, nephew of Birson' s. Fresney. Sellier. Madeleine de Marot. Madame de la Marthe. Mademoiselle de la Marthe. AuDRE, an Orderly. The Mayor of Marcy. The Abbot of Narmontier. An Old Farmer, Bosquet, \- Tenants of Vimont. ViGNIER, Latour, Ghartier, Meaupert, > ^^<^onds. Beaumont, Armand :( T^ I Servants. Edmond, Gaston, a Page. Clement, an Agent of the Police. A Gardener. Guests, Farmers, Tenants, Etc. PERIOD A.D. 1807. The Year of the Battle of Friedland The Scene in the First, Second, and Third Acts takes place in the Chateau of the Vimonts. The Scene in the Fourth Act takes place in the adjoining Chateau of the Marquis de Mirvoisin. The Action takes place in Four successive Days • THE FIRST ACT THE RETURN FROM FRIEDLAND THE SECOND ACT THE DESCRIPTION OF FRIEDLAND THE THIRD ACT THE CHALLENGE THE FOURTH ACT THE DUEL MARS DISARMED. THE FIRST ACT. THE EETURN FROM FRIEDLAND. Time: Afternoon. Library, richly furnished. To the right, long table covered with books, documents, rolls of paper, etc. In a prominent place, opposite table, an antique arm-chair with high back. In a cor- ner, a page sleeps. Birson (a man of forty; shoulders slightly suggestive of those of a hunch- back; light mustache, waxed upwards; slow of speech; dressed in black, style Louis XVI.; fastidiously neat; obviously vain; dignified and serious in the presence of others; frivolous and theatrical when alone) is seated at the table, reading and correcting a MS. Occa- sionally he reads a passage aloud; runs his pen through a line; alters a paragraph; nods approvingly, or shakes his head in disap- proval. Birson. [Reading aloud.'] '' But mortals, for being aus- tere, are none the less mortal" . . . That sounds 7 8 MARS DISARMED. well . . . IReads to himself; corrects; then aloud.} " The Princess grew more restless — like a bird, long caged, sighing for the fields and forests" . . . Exquisitely poetic. [Reads to himself; then aloud.] " What, Princess, would you think of the slave who dared to look longingly in the eyes of his mistress ? " . . . That is to the point — very much to the point . . . [Looks at clock and calls page.} Gaston! [No response.] Gaston 1 [No response. He waits a second and calls louder.} Gaston I [Still receiving no response j he turns slowly in his chair and sees the page asleep. Ap- proaching, he takes him by the ear and raises him from the seat. Page awakens with frightened look.} AVhat pranks were you up to last night, that you need slumber in broad daylight? Take a book and sit in the ante-chamber. I'll call you when I need you; and be careful not to come till I call you. [Page goes out, rubbing his eyes. BiRSON goes to the table, takes the MS. in hand and arranges the sheets carefully.} Yes — this may reveal to her my sentiments; failing which, it may facilitate my declaring them . . . Dehcate conception! . . . Admirable plan! . . . I wonder how it will sound when it falls upon her ears . . . [He reads.} " On the wooded banks of the Arno, not far from the ancient city of Florence . . ." No — let the picture be complete in my mind, that I may better grasp the r61e I am to play . . . [He advances to the door, bows low to an imaginary lady, offers her his hand, and escorts her to the old- fashioned arm-chair with high back; he bows low again and withdraws to a point at end of table, MARS DISARMED. 9 where he takes position to read. After loolcing earnestly in the direction of the arm-chair, he reads the MS. aloud.] " On the wooded banks of the Arno, not far from the ancient city of Florence, stood a palace, surrounded by a vast domain. Here, attended by her maids, lived the Princess Amarinta — now in her sixteenth year — the sole survivor of the princely house of Borimenti. The last worldly act of her father was to confide her to the care of Luigi, his faithful secretary, a man of noble birth but shattered fortune . . . l^Page enter s."] Page. Monsieur de la Marsignerie sends to inquire whether there is news of Colonel Vimont, BiRSON. Tell the messenger to convey to Monsieur de la Marsignerie my regrets at having to inform him that, up to the present moment, there is no news of the Colonel. [_Page goes out. Birson mutters to himself.] I am bothered all day long with in- quiries as to whether there is news of the Colonel — as to whether there is any prospect of hearing from the Colonel — as to when I expect the Colonel to return . . . The Colonel will never return — alive. [^He resumes his attitude and reads the MS.] "On the wooded banks of the Arno . . ." [A servant enters. Birson looks annoyed.] What do you wish? 10 MARS DISARMED. Servant. [Obsequiously.'] I wish to know whether Mon- sieur has any orders for me. ft BiRSON. None — or I should have sent for you. [Ser- vant is about to withdraw, when Birson recalls him.'] Armand! ... on reflection, I have something to tell you. Servant. [Obsequiously] At your service, Monsieur. BiRSON. I hear you have been speaking of me. Servant. Ah, Monsieur, I know I have enemies. Birson. None worse than yourself. To speak dispar- agingly of your superiors is not incumbent on you. Servant. Disparagingly, Monsieur — oh, I beg your par- don. Birson. Excuses are useless. I know whereof I speak. MARS DISARMED. 11 Servant. At least Monsieur might tell me what I said. BiRSON. Need I tell you that which you already know? Servant. Ah, pardon, Monsieur. I know nothing. BiRSON. Well, then, listen to your own words: Monsieur de Birson — that is myself — assumes a great deal in trying to control this establishment. Monsieur de Birson — that is myself — affects a great many airs. Monsieur de Birson — that is myself — thinks that because he is connected with the nobility of a regime that is no more, he is a superior person, whereas he is but a paid hireling of Colonel Vi- mont, like Monsieur Armand — that is yourself. Servant. Ah, pardon. Monsieur. I never uttered such sentiments. Birson. Not only you Ued when you spoke thus, but you lie now, when you deny having spoken thus. I wish you to understand that if I assume to control this establishment, it is because I have been commissioned to do so by Colonel Vimont; 12 MARS DISARMED. and in virtue of the power vested in me by him, I dismiss you from his service. Servant. Dismissed! Is this the reward of faithful ser- vice to my master — the Colonel? BiRSON. It is the reward of faithful service to your master — Falsehood. Servant. I am to go, then, Monsieur? BiRSON. You are to leave this house within an hour. [^He turns his hack to the servant and reads the MS. in his handJ] Servant. [Losing his obsequious manner and speaking ex- citedly.] 1 wish you to understand. Monsieur, that every word I said of you, and which you have repeated, is true. You are a hireling and you try to play the master. You are a nonentity and you affect the manners of the Grand Sei- gneur. Furthermore, I know that you dislike me, and dismiss me, because I am a Bonapartist, like the Colonel, while vou are a Rovalist, like the cowards beyond the frontier. You . . . MAES DISARMED. 13 BiRSON. [Calmly. Facing the servant.'] Do you see the door? Servant. [With an air of defiance. Door half open.] My day will come. [Servant withdraws. After a minuteh pausCy BiRSON rings hell. Page enters.] BiRSON. Tell Edmond I wish to see him. [Page goes out. Edmond enters.] Edmond, I have, for good cause, dismissed Armand. It pained me to do so. Material is becoming scarce. All the men are being drawn into the army. If this con- tinues, we shall have no more servants, no more tenants, no more farmers — nothing but women and children . . . and [aside] obviously few of the latter . . . Edmond, you will take Armand's place, but profit by his experience; don't talk too much — especially about me. Servant. [Bowing.] Thank you. Monsieur; thank you ... I shall profit by Armand's experience . . . [Edmond goes out. Birson, his hands behind his back, walks up and down the room, speaking to himself, and occasionally aloud ^ 14 MAES DISARMED. BiRSON. I shall be master here . . . and continue mas- ter .. . Page. Madame and Mademoiselle de la Marthe. BiRSON. {^Evidently annoyed. Hesitating, and then in a resigned tone.'\ I'll see them. [Page goes out, and, the next moment, ushers in the ladies — both of them curiosities in their icay. The elder, dressed in the utmost simplicity, has preciseness of speech and dignity of manner. The younger — her daugh- ter — tries to conceal her forty years by an elabo- rate toilette and a frivolity of speech and manner bordering on the ludicrous.'] Ah, my dear aunt and charming cousin! [He kisses their hands.] I am delighted to see you. To what am I indebted for this unexpected visit ? Madame de la Marthe. [Solemnly.] Family news of importance. Mdlle. de la Marthe. [Rolling her eyes and clasping her hands in an ecstatic manner.] Of importance, indeed! of im- portance to me! BiRSON. [Astonished.] What ? Are you to be married, Christine ? MARS DISARMED. 15 Mdlle. de la Marthe. Yes — I am to be married — before long. Madame de la Marthe. Christine is speaking inferentially. The fact is that Corisande is to marry St. Arnauldt. BiRSON. Indeed! Both are to be congratulated. Madame de la Marthe. And you remember the old family tradition? BiRSON. [Confused.'] Of so many, which one? Mdlle. de la Marthe. The most delightful of all! Madame de la Marthe. One marriage in the family always followed by two others within the twelvemonth. BiRSON. [Joyfully.] It never failed. Mdlle. de la marthe. [More joyfully.] It never will. 16 MARS DISARMED. Madame de la Marthe. Be calm, my child. [Turning to Birson.'] The question which puzzles us is this: Does the tra- dition refer to three marriages in the family, or to three members of the family being married? Mdlle. de la Marthe. • [With emphasis J] I claim it is three mar- riages. Birson. Why do you insist? [Mademoiselle looks coy — moves her foot nerv- ously — and remains silent.^ Madame de la Marthe. Because it gives her one chance more — poor child. Birson. How so? Mdlle. de la Marthe. Corisande and St. Arnauldt are not only cousins of ours — but they, themselves, are cous- ins. Being cousins, it follows that while there are two members of the family being married, there will be but one wedding — hence, according to tradition, two other weddings will follow. [She takes a few steps of a merry dance. 1 MARS DISARMED. 17 Madame de la Marthe. [Solemnly.'] With prospects of peace, the offi- cers will be returning. Mdlle. de la Marthe. [Rapturously.'] What joy! Madame de la Marthe. Up to now, victories abroad have accumulated, and opportunities at home have diminished. Mdlle. de la Marthe. All this glory has been purely masculine. It has not brought joy to maidens' hearts. Madame de la Marthe. Do not complain, my child. Had you married earlier, you would probably be, to-day, one of the thousands of widows in France. Birson. Do not despair, my cousin; Corisande and St. Arnauldt are to marry, and two marriages in the family will follow. Madame de la Marthe. [Sighing.] I hope Christine's will be the sec- ond. BiRSON. [Prophetically.] If at all, it will be the third. 18 MARS DISARMED. Madame and Mdlle. de la Marthe. The third! The third 1 Mdlle. de la Marthe. And pray, whose will the second be ? BiRSON. [Hesitating a moment — then drawing himself up proudly.} Mine — Jean Gabriel de Birson's. Madame de la Marthe. You? Birson. I — as stated. Mlle. de la Marthe. To whom? BiRSON. [^After looking around the room, and seeing that the door is closed.'] To Mademoiselle Vimont. Madame de la Marthe. The Colonel's sister? BiRSON. The Colonel's sister. Madame de la Marthe. Have you proposed to her? MARS DISARMED. 19 BlESON. No — but I propose doing so — and while you are here, I wish to consult you as to the best manner to proceed. You know she has no par- ents here whom I can approach. Madame de la Marthe. But her brother? . . . She tells everyone she promised her brother never to pledge herself without his consent. BiRSON. True — but her brother will never return. Madame de la Marthe. What do you mean? BiRSON. Vimont is a maniac on the battlefield; he is always in the thick of the fight, where danger is greatest; and, mark my words, the battlefield will claim him as a victim. Madame de la Marthe. A victim to the greed, the ambition, of Na- poleon. Mdlle. de la Marthe. You think she will accept you? 20 MAES DISARMED. BiRSON. [Swelling with pride. 1 Why not? She has always been amiable to me. I am her brother's best friend, as my father was to his father. And then you know there is always a tendency — a natural and a wise tendency — on the part of a new regime to associate itself with the old — es- pecially with a family as old and as distinguished as ours. Madame de la Marthe. I hope so. She may rehabilitate the family fortunes. She must be very rich. BiRSON. Immensely rich . . . and exquisitely charm- ing. But tell me, which of the two plans would you think the likelier to succeed: a proposal — a direct proposal . . . Frankly, I do not quite ap- prove of this method ... I am so timid in such matters ... or an indirect proposal, by means of what we might call a ruse? Madame de la Marthe. A ruse — What do you mean to imply there- by? BiRSON. This — You know that one of my duties as Mademoiselle Vimont's preceptor is to read to her three times a week — any subject I please. I have composed something . . . the MS. is MARS DISARMED. 21 there . . . [he 'points to the tahW] in which I relate — as having occurred in the olden times — a case somewhat similar to mine. This will intro- duce the situation, and by leading gently to the subject, allow me to approach it with greater ease. Mdlle. de la Marthe. How romantic! Madame de la Marthe. [Rising to leave.~\ Any plan will do, my dear Jean, provided it succeeds. I hope you and Christine will not be disappointed . . . Do not fail to write and congratulate Corisande and St. Arnauldt. [BiRSON escorts them to the door and bows them out. He walks the floor silently for a few moments. Looks at the clock.^ BiRSON. Half an hour before she comes ... I shall risk it to-day. I must not miss the opportunity of making mine one of the three weddings the family is to celebrate this year. [He takes the MS. in hand; resumes his position at head of the table. Reads.'] "On the wooded banks of the Arno, not far from the ancient city of Florence . . ." [Alixe, a girl of eighteen, in Empire dress, enters. Birson, embarrassed, bows low.] I am flattered, though somewhat disconcerted, by 22 MARS DISARMED. Mademoiselle's appearance before the usual hour. Alixe. I was induced to come earlier, Monsieur de Birson, by my desire to know whether you have news of my brother. BiRSON. I have none, or I should have hastened to in- form Mademoiselle. Alixe. I have weird apprehensions. It is over two months since Friedland was fought, and yet not a word from Eugene, not a word from his friends. I am growing anxious, impatient. BiRSON. I am convinced Mademoiselle's anxiety is un- founded. Alixe. If my anxiety be unfounded, then, surely, my impatience is well founded. If he be alive and well, why does he not write? BiRSON. [Gallantly.'] Letters, like love sighs, Mademoi- selle, do not always reach destination. MARS DISARMED, 23 Alixe. I fear that dream — that constant dream of his — the marshal's baton — will lure him on to reck- less deeds, to unforeseen dangers. BiKSON. Have no fear, Mademoiselle; the Colonel will come when least expected, as do most things in life. Alixe. Then I shall try not to expect him, and listen attentively to your discourse. BiRSON. The punctuality with which Mademoiselle at- tends my lectures pleases me, and leads me to believe that the part, however humble, I am called upon to play in her education is not dis- agreeable to her. Alixe. What I first considered a duty, in obedience to my brother's wishes, I now consider a pleasure. What is your subject to-day. Monsieur de Birson? BiRSON. My subject? Let me see — ah! it is not exactly what might be called a subject ... A scene from an old Italian romance ... by one little known, in the world of letters at least. It will, 24 MARS DISARMED. I hope, prove a pleasant diversion for Mademoi- selle. Alixe. [Taking her seat in the old arm-chair with high hack.~\ I am interested. BiRSON. [Going to the table and turning over the pages of the MS. Apparently embarrassed.^ The origi- nal is in Italian; the translation is my own. [He takes a position at the head of the table, op- posite Alixe. He recites mainly from memory, referring occasionally to the MS. His delivery is slow and clear; his attitude and manner that of a poet reciting his verses to his lady-love.^ On the wooded banks of the Arno, not far from the ancient city of Florence, stood a palace sur- rounded by a vast domain. Here, attended by her maids, lived the Princess Amarinta — now in her sixteenth year — the sole survivor of the princely house of Borimenti. The last worldly act of her father was to confide her to the care of Luigi, his faithful secretary — a man of noble birth but shattered fortune. The austerity of Luigi's life compensated, in the Prince's eyes, for his lack of years. His child would be safe in the hands of one who, without the priest's robes, had all the priest's virtues. But mortals, for being austere, are none the less mortal. They have eyes which reflect the beauty around them; they have passions which surge within them. Luigi, having vainly resisted his nature, became MARS DISARMED. 25 a slave to the charms of the fair Princess. But his heart beat secretly; his tongue was silent, and Amarinta little dreamed there dwelt in her palace one who found within its gloomy walls more than the entire outer world could offer. She — she sighed to wander beyond those walls, to find that which she could not find within. Timidly at first, and then with increased candor, she spoke to Luigi of many things of which she had heard; of the great cities — Florence, Rome, Naples. And he, with solemn look, shook his head and said, " Snares these cities be; traps for the unwary; traps for morals, for unsuspect- ing virtue." When, anon and again, the Prin- cess thus spoke of the world without, Luigi grew sad, and deemed his fair world approaching an end. Once, alas for him! she asked if there lived in her day, as of old, knights who were handsome and bold, who, to win their lady's hand, sought adventure in distant lands, return- ing with laurels on their brow. She had read of such in books; did they live in the flesh? Luigi, with severe brow but tender voice, bade her beware of the poet's fancy — the glamour of romance. The days of chivalry were over . . . her books referred to times of long, long ago. \_Page enters.'] BiRSON. [Looking angrily at page.] Is it important that you should disturb me ? 26 MARS DISARMED. Page. [With an air of triumph.'] A letter for Mad- emoiselle I Alixe. [As the page advances towards her.] Can it be news from Eugene? [She opens the letter and reads it.] Alas no! Others, like myself, are anxious for news of him. [She goes to the table, writes a short note, which she hands to page. Page ivithdraws.] How good our neighbors are . . . Monsieur de Birson, I was following you with interest. Pray continue. Birson. [Resuming his attitude and continuing the nar- rative.] Day by day the Princess grew more restless, like a bird, long caged, sighing for the fields and forests. Her maids worried as they noticed her increasing melancholy. The oldest of them made bold to speak to Luigi. *'I fear," she said, "our mistress, the Princess, is pining away. She craves excitement; she craves . . ." — "Youth craves many things," quoth Luigi; "but is not the bitterness of ignorance less than that of knowledge? The world of our imagination is fairer than the world of our vision. Should we, willfully, draw aside the veil of Illusion, beyond which is concealed the specter of Disenchant- ment? The fool's paradise is at least a paradise. The wise man — so called — lives in a laboratory, a dissecting-room; he analyzes all things and MARS DISARMED. 27 learns to despise all things . . ." — ''Ah me!" sighed the duenna; "you are a learned man." And returning to the maids, she whispered with an air of wisdom, " The Princess is unhappy as she is, it is true; but might she not be unhappier if she were otherwise than she is?" Luigi continued to hear — too often for his peace of mind! — of the outer world, of brave knights, of bold deeds, and he began to fear lest — unless he, himself, proved brave and bold — joy should vanish from his life forever . . . One soft, quiet evening, as the sun, in a blaze of color, was setting beyond the trees on the southern bank of the Arno, Amarinta sat at her lattice, gazing less at the scene before her than meditat- ing on what lay beyond her view, when Luigi, moved by some power beyond his control, entered the room and stood in her presence. " Fair Princess," he said — his voice trembling with emotion — " do you deem it audacious of mortal to gaze at the sun in the heavens? " " The sun is in the heavens to give light and warmth to mortals," answered Amarinta. " Fair Princess, do you deem it presumptuous of the violet to rest on the bosom of the maiden? "^ " For that purpose," replied Amarinta, " the violet is sought and is prized." "And what, O Princess! would you think of the slave who dared look longingly in the eyes of his mistress? " "Ah, therein, I surmise, lies something of a dif- ference." " And yet, fair Princess, less difference lies be- 28 MARS DISARMED. tween the slave and his mistress, than between the violet and the maiden. They, at least, are of the same nature; both have hearts, both have passions . . ." " True/' said the Princess ..." Continue, good Luigi, continue ..." But Luigi stood silent and dared not proceed. [Reciting these last lines, Birson's voice betrays his inner thoughts. With one hand he rests against the table, while the other nervously clutches the MS.'\ Alixe. Continue . . . BiRSON. [With faltering voice.^ I cannot. Alixe. Continue, I pray you. Monsieur de Birson; I would know the end. [Birson remains silent — now looking fixedly at the floor, then, in a semi-im- ploring loay, at Alixe. The latter, alarmed, rises and approaches him.^ The story you have re- lated has affected you deeply. Birson. [With suppressed emotion.'] It has — deeply. Alixe. Yet it is but fiction. MARS DISARMED. 29 BiRSON. [With emphasis.'] It is reality. Alixe. Its characters are dead. BiRSON. They both live. Alixe. Where ? BiRSON. In this chateau. Alixe. Who are they? BiRSON. [After a moments pause.] The Princess is yourself; her lover [he falls on his knees before her] myself. [Page enters. Birson, confused, rises.] Page. The Marquis de Mirvoisiii desires to see Mon- sieur. BiRSON. [Impatiently.] That ever-present nephew of 30 MARS DISARMED. « mine! Tell him I am engaged . . . that I can- not see him. Alixe. Pardon, Monsieur de Birson — I should like to see Monsieur de Mirvoisin. Maybe he, or some of his friends, has later news from Friedland. [BiRSON, disconcerted, looks appealingly at Alixe. Page opens door. The Marquis — a bright, jovial young man, in riding suit — comes in with a dash, but, upon perceiving Alixe, he stops short and bows low.^ Mirvoisin. I crave your pardon. Mademoiselle, for appear- ing before you thus. In truth, I expected to see my uncle alone — but, for once, realization has surpassed expectation. [He kisses her hand.^ Alixe. You will be forgiven cheerfully. Monsieur de Mirvoisin, if you give me tidings of my brother. Have you heard from him, or of him? Mirvoisin. It pains me to be unable to give the an- swer you desire. But rest assured. Mademoiselle, that one so favored by fortune — loved by the fairest of sisters and cared for by the mightiest of emperors — will never be in a position other than to awaken the envy of all men. MARS DISARMED. 31 Alixe. I pray this may be so. And now — since you came to see Monsieur de Birson, and not me — I leave you to his good care. [Alixe goes out — the Marquis bowing low and following her with his eyes.'] MiRVOISIN. Ah, uncle, there is in that woman a charm — a something, I know not what — which makes me feel that I would do great, yes, desperate, things to win her. BiRSON. [Sarcastically^ I have heard something to that effect before. MiRVOISIN. I know I have been in love ere this — and often — but until I saw Mademoiselle Vimont I never felt what is called, and truly called, a grand pas- sion. And do you know — why should I not tell you, since you are so close to me ? — there is an inner voice which whispers that she is not indif- ferent to my love. It is not conceit . . . BiRSON. [Raising his eyes.] Conceit, indeed! MiRVOISIN. But when I bring her hand to my lips, I feel it 32 MARS DISARMED. tremble, and I fancy it lingers willingly within my grasp. BiRSON. Your fancy does offense to your modesty. MiRVOISIN. Ah, uncle, dear, cynical uncle — you sneer at all this. BiRSON. Cynicism may be part of my composition, but obviously intuition does not enter into yours. MiRVOISIN. I have often heard you state — wherein, by the way, I do not agree with you — that the Bona- partists are all parvenus. BiRSON. With rare exceptions, they are. MiRVOISIN. Admitting, for the sake of argument, your statement to be true, it should follow that an alliance with a member of the old nobility would be exceedingly gratifying to a Bonapartist. BiRSON. [With an air of satisfaction.^ I quite agree with you. MAES DISARMED, 33 MiRVOISIN. It would give them a cachet which they other- wise lack. BiRSON, I fully agree with you. MiRVOISIN. It would also give them that which, according to you, they need — a foundation of stability. BiRSON. I agree with you there, also; but where I do not agree with you is, that the Vimonts, who un- doubtedly aspire to all this, need fall back on you to secure it. MiRVOISIN. Ah, indeed! [With malicious smile.'] And, pray, what would be their objections to me? BiRSON. \_With an air of authority.'] Be satisfied with the information I offer — that they will secure what they wish in that line, and will secure it without your intervention. MiRVOISIN. Would the objections, you imagine, come from Mademoiselle Vimont, or from her brother ? or THE V/N? 3ITY 34 MARS DISARMED. BiRSON. Your question is pointed. The Colonel would object . . . but that I put aside as of little con- sequence. MiRVOISIN. By that you mean? BiRSON. Simply this: foolhardiness must meet the fate it courts. A man may brave the cannon's mouth once, twice, a dozen times perhaps, but the can- non's day will come. [Mysteriously.'] Have not more than two months elapsed since Friedland, and not a sign from him ? MiRVOISIN. He may be the bearer of his own sign — your forebodings notwithstanding. But tell me, uncle mine, you who know so much, who is the lucky man who is to win Mademoiselle Vimont's hand? BiRSON. Inquisitiveness seldom hears the answer it expects. [A pause.] By the way, who do you imagine will be the lucky man? MiRVOISIN. Supposing I were to tell you it was I . . . what would you say ? MARS DISARMED. 35 BiRSON. I would say that, like iEsop's, your mind runs to fables. MiRVOISIN. It is in the fable we find the greatest truth. BiRSON. Your assertion is the fable minus the truth. MiRVOISIN. It is the truth minus the fable. [Taking Bir- son's hands.~\ Congratulate me, uncle. BiRSON. [Drawing his hands away^ You . . . You . . . I do not believe it. MiRVOISIN, Your disbelief does not alter the fact. BiRSON. [With bitterness.'] Did you propose to Madem- oiselle Vimont ? MiRVOISIN. I did. BiRSON. Did she say ''yes"? 86 MARS DISARMED. MiRVOISIN. She did not say " no.'* BiRSON. Ah I as I thought . . . like a woman, you jumped at a conclusion. MiRVOISIN. No — unlike you, I did not jump at a conclu- sion. BiRSON. What, then, did she say? MiRVOISIN. She said what I knew — what you know — that having promised her brother not to engage herself definitely without first consulting him, I should have to wait — that he would return before long, and then ... Is it clear enough ? BiRSON. It would be clearer if your statement were con- firmed by the young lady herself ... I propose to ascertain ... MiRVOISIN. \^\Vith an angry movement.^ It will be at your peril ! . . . Now mark what I say — if you betray my secret, which is also her secret, not only will MARS DISARMED. 37 you incur her eternal displeasure, but [^changing his voice to gentler tones] you will injure my cause, and this, dear uncle, I know you would not do. [A moment'' s pause, during which Birson shows great nervousness. Mirvoisin approaches him and takes his hands affectionately.] May I not depend on you to remain silent on what 1^ have just revealed to you ? May I not count also on your material assistance ? Praise me to Mad- emoiselle Vimont — you can praise so sweetly when you desire; to Vimont, when he returns, relate my virtues, even exaggerate them — this, coming from you, will not be out of place — and" you exaggerate so artfully when the spirit moves you. BiRSON. \^]Vith affected calmness.] I shall, as you re- quest, remain silent in regard to the statement you have just made; silent, also, I shall remain in regard to the praises you would have me sing in your behalf. I cannot utter words which do not find an echo in my heart. Nay, if I spoke at all, I should express indignation that you, a Mirvoisin — a Mirvoisin whose ancestors have been loaded with favors by the King — should think of allying yourself to a family whose head is fighting under the usurper's banner. Mirvoisin. Still harping on that subject! 38 MARS DISARMED. BiRSON. Since you present it to me, why should I not harp thereon? The step you have taken con- vinces me of that which I have long suspected: your total lack of principles. MiRVOISIN, Principles, esteemed uncle, are excellent things so long as they can be followed. Where they can- not be followed, you might as well chase rain- bows — beautiful, certainly, but as useless as they are intangible. You do reverence to dead princi- ples; I do reverence to living ones. Were the King alive, no more loyal subject would he have than I; no more vaUant soldier — but Royalty is no more. BiRSON. [With emphasis.'] Royalty never dies. The King is dead; long live the King! MiRVOISIN. But where is the King? Where his court, his courtiers? Who witnesses his presence? Who hears his commands? The King is dead, and no King lives to take his place. Napoleon lives, he reigns . . . BiRSON. He usurps . . . MARS DISARMED. 39 MiRVOISIN. He is an actuality — a personality. BiRSON. He is a dark cloud; — a shadow — passing over France. MiRVOISIN. A shadow! — a shadow, the hero of Marengo! a shadow, the victor of Austerlitz! a shadow, the conqueror at Friedland! a shadow, the power which compelled Austria, Prussia, Russia, to bite the dust, and made of France the mistress of Europe. Ah, let us. Royalists at heart, bow to the inevitable, especially since it is a glorious inevitable ! BiRSON. What words from one who once professed loy- alty to his country! MiRVOISIN. [Striking his chest.'] And still professes it! BiRSON. It is obvious that you have caught the conta- gion of the age — the spirit of revolution, of change. That the timid and the adventurous should submit to the new order of things, I understand — but you . . . 40 MARS DISARMED. MiRVOISIN. And you — have you not submitted to the new order of things in a most striking manner — sec- retary to a Bonapartist colonel; preceptor to his Bonapartist sister ? [Laughs.'\ BiRSON. If I submit, it is, as you well know, because circumstances compel me. You, on the contrary, still have wealth; you are independent . . . MiRVOISIN. ^Sarcastically.'] What would you have me do — overthrow Bonaparte? [Alixe enters, in an excited state, a letter in her hand.] • Alixe. I have news from Eugene . . . news . . . but what news! {^She hands the letter to Birson.] Read it. Birson. [Glancing at the letter.] From Colonel Les- trier! [He reads.] I write at the command of the Emperor. It is with mixed feelings of grief and joy that I fulfill the duty imposed upon me by his Majesty. Your brother, Colonel Vimont, distinguished himself gallantly at Friedland. He won the approval of the Emperor, the admira- tion of the army, and an enduring place in the MARS DISARMED, 41 realms of Fame. Unfortunately, and by a re- markable coincidence — rare even in the strange annals of war — he was, within the space of a few moments^ wounded in the two arms, necessitat- ing the amputation of both members. But be reassured. Mademoiselle; your esteemed brother, whose valuable life was once despaired of, now enjoys excellent health. You may expect to em- brace him shortly after the receipt of this letter. It affords me a lively satisfaction. Mademoi- selle, to inform you that it has pleased his Ma- jesty the Emperor, in recognition of Colonel Vimont's gallant services, to promote him to the rank of General and to confer on him the cordon of the Legion of Honor. I beg of you, Mademoiselle, to accept the ex- pression of my most distinguished consideration. Lestrier. [BiRSON, embarrassed, hands the letter to Alixe.] Alixe. I know not whether to mourn or to rejoice. MiRVOISIN. Rejoice, Mademoiselle, rejoice. Let us be thankful that where so many brave men lost their lives, the bravest of all only lost his arms. Alixe. True, it is fitting we should rejoice — for has he 42 MARS DISARMED. not escaped the grave by the rarest of miracles? . . . Ah, what joy to think he Uves — that every instant brings him nearer to us — that he may be here at any moment . . . Quick! we must pre- pare. Let the chateau assume a festal appear- ance; let the flag be unfurled from the eastern turret. . . . You, Monsieur de Mirvoisin, do me a service. I cannot, in my present state of mind, write to our friends to give them the news. Will you see them — the Marsigneries, the Marots, Fresney, all of them — and say I wish them to at- tend a little fete the day after Eugene's arrival — to drink to his health and celebrate his return. Mirvoisin. I am always at your service, Mademoiselle, but never more cheerfully so than on this occasion. \_He kisses her hand, and goes out J] Alixe. You, Monsieur de Birson, be good enough to tell Edmond to see that Eugene's apartments are prepared. Birson. Mademoiselle ... Alixe. [Listening.^ What is that I hear ? MARS DISARMED, 43 BiRSON. Mademoiselle . . . Alixe. Listen. [^The cracking of whips j the tramping of horses, and rolling of wheels are heard in the courtyard. Alixe rushes to the window.^ It is he I it is he! \_She goes to the door, which opens at her approach, and Eugene, in the uniform of a General, enters. He is young, and wears a military cape to conceal the loss of his arms. Alixe throws her arms around his neck.~\ Thanks be to heaven — here you are at last! ViMONT. [ Wearily.'] Yes, here I am — what is left of me. Alixe. [Disappointed.] What! You do not seem happy to see me. ViMONT. Yes, I am happy to see you — happier, no doubt, to see you well and strong, than you to see me thus. Alixe. It is you — that suffices . . . Let me remove your kolbach. 44 MARS DISARMED. ViMONT. [Shaking his head impatiently.'} No! [He sits in an arm-chair. A servant offers to remove his cape. He rises abruptly, and, with an angry look, says in a loud voice.} Leave me alone I I am not paralyzed, impotent. I know what I want; I do what I desire. [With a sudden, rapid move- ment of the head, he throws his kolhach to the floor, and turning to the servant.} My cape remains; I wish it to remain. Do you understand ? [Every one has a frightened look. Birson withdraws to a corner. The servants escape from the room. Alixe approaches her brother, places her hands on his shoulders, looks appealingly into his eyes.} END OF FIRST ACT. THE SECOND ACT. THE DESCRIPTION OP FRIEDLAND. Time: Afternoon of the Following Day. Terrace adjoining chateau, a wing of which is seen. Large overhanging tree, through the branches of which appears a landscape in the distance. Broad steps, to the left, lead up to the terrace, in the wall of which is a curved stone seat. A table, with books and papers — several chairs — shrubs in large pots. A gardener is pla- cing a few plants on the terrace. Edmond is arranging the tables and chairs. They stop near the steps, the gardener with a flower-pot in hand, Edmond holding on to the back of a chair. The latter acts nervously, as though afraid of being surprised. Gardener. Is he very much changed? Edmond. What a question? Suppose you were to lose two of something you have on your body — two legs, two ears, two eyes — wouldn't you be changed? 45 46 MARS DISARMED. Gardener. I suppose so — but it might have been worse. Edmond. In one way, yes; in another way, no. When he lets loose his temper [he looks around anxi- ously] it would put a whole regiment to flight. Gardener. It is fortunate, then, that, with such a temper, he has no arms to strike with. Edmond. IdiotI Can't you understand — it is because he lost his arms that he loses his temper. Gardener. That's so. Then we had better keep away from his boots. Edmond. [Looking towards chateau.] Here he comes — let us escape. [They disappear below the terrace. Vimont, in uniform, followed by his orderly, emerges from the chateau. He stands near the wall of the terrace, and looks out at the country before him — then he turns suddenly to orderly.] MARS DISARMED. 47 ViMONT. Audre — the Moniteur. Audr:6. Yes, General. [^Orderly enters chateau and returns in an in- stant. He spreads the Moniteur on the table. ViMONT sits down and scans the sheet.'\ ViMONT. \_After reading a whilcl^ What is this? . . . [Reads further.] Of course, of course — it is as I expected . . . Renaud is promoted . . . Another campaign, and he'll be a marshal. \_He reads further.] Ah! England is being aroused . . . Humph I She had better beware, or London will witness the same scenes as did Vienna and Berlin . . . With a genius like the Emperor's, the channel counts for naught . . . Audre, turn the page. [Audre does as directed. After glan- cing over the columns, Vimont rises and paces the terrace impatiently.] Yes, yes, everywhere there is feverish excitement — everything is in a state of turmoil — everyone on the tiptoe of expectancy — the map of Europe is being changed — great events are preparing — the world moves, and here I am, like a prisoner, caged in a castle . . . [Alixe, in Empire gown, appears on the terrace. After embracing him, she stands for a moment, looking at him silently. Orderly withdraws.] 48 MARS DISARMED. Alixe. Ah, Eugene, what a joy it is to have you home again I Even as I am? Even as you are. ViMONT. Alixe. ViMONT. Alas! I cannot embrace and caress you as of yore, Alixe. Alixe. No — but I can embrace and caress you. [She places her arms around his neck.'\ You will never Know the loss of your arms; mine will replace yours, and do for you what your own would have done. [He looks at her affectionately, suppresses a sigh, and falls heavily into a seat. She sits on a stool, at his feet.'\ You are tired, Eugene? ViMONT. Yes, I am tired. It will take many days to recover from that long, wearisome trip — and under such circumstances. Alixe. I regret now having asked our friends to meet you so soon after your arrival — but they MARS DISARMED. 49 were so anxious to welcome you and celebrate your return. ViMONT. Celebrate my return! . . . Your thought was a kind one, I know, Alixe; but {looJcing at his sides, where once his arms were^ does this call for celebration? Alixe. [Embarrassed. ~\ But why . . . why not? ViMONT. Look at mel Armless, useless, a subject of curiosity. People will ridicule me. Alixe. Oh, no! Ridicule a brave general, who lost his arms in the service of his Emperor — never! ViMONT. A general without an army; a general, alas! who will never again mount a horse, never again see a battlefield, never again serve his country — my uniform becomes a mockery, and people, I tell you, mock me. Alixe. I cannot believe it. ViMONT. Believe it or not, it is a fact. While eating in 50 MARS DISARMED. a cafe in a frontier town, four days ago, all eyes were turned on me, and as my orderly cut the meat and brought it to my mouth, the onlookers chuckled . . . the brutes! [Edmond enters.'] Edmond. The tenants are here and express a desire to . . . ViMONT. I do not wish to see them — to see anyone. [He rises to leave.] Alixe. Eugene! . . . Receive them — they will re- main but a moment. ViMONT. [Impatiently.'] Very well. [To Edmond.] I'll see them. [Edmond goes out.] How many or- deals shall I have to go through ? [He paces the terrace.] You will see that my tenants, like everyone else, will feel embarrassed on approach- ing me. [The tenants — ten or twelve in number — as- cend the steps J escorted by Edmond. They wear the costume of the day. Their embar- rassment is obvious. They bow frequently. Some say, "Welcome, Monsieur Vimont"; others, "Welcome, Colonel"; others, " Wel- come, General." Vimont advances to meet them.] MARS DISARMED. 51 ViMONT. I am glad to see you again. [An old farmer, of quaint appearance and comical expression, advances with extended hand towards Vimont, who retreats, as the farmer advances, to escape the extended hand. The other tenants look at each other, alarmed.'] My arms are on the battlefield; I can- not shake hands with you. Old Farmer. [Looking apologetically at his companions.] I had forgotten that. [To Vimont.] We are glad to see you home, Colonel, and rejoice that you only lost your arms . . . [Pause.] May the Al- mighty, without whose will nothing happens, long preserve you from further misfortunes . . . [Silence.] We have asked Monsieur Bosquet to express to you our sentiments on this auspicious occasion. [He steps aside, and Bosquet, elaborately dressed for the occasion, moves forward. Timidity, combined with consciousness of the importance of his mission, gives Bosquet an awkward appearance. He bows low, coughs loud, unrolls a large sheet of paper which he reads, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, halting frequently and repeating the last word of each sentence.] Bosquet. [Reading.] Mon General ! The duties of a 52 MARS DISARMED. great nation are divided — divided. There are those whose duty it is to cultivate the land for the people — the people — and those whose duty it is to protect the land from the invader — the in- vader. We are amongst the first — first — you are amongst the last — last. We have endeavored to perform our duty to the best of our ability, and we have every reason to beUeve that you have done the same — the same. Have you not fol- lowed the great Emperor in his perilous and yet victorious march across the continent — conti- nent? Have you not thrashed the Prussians, the Russians, the Austrians, the whole world — world? Have you not returned from the war with proof of your bravery? Mixed with our sincere sympathy for you and for Mademoiselle, your sister, are sentiments of pride, in which the entire nation joins — joins. We honor j^ou and re- spect you, and you may always count on our de- votion and attachment — attachment. Long live the Emperor! \^He bows low several times and backs awk- wardly into his companions.^ ViMONT. I thank you all for your kind sentiments, which I reciprocate. I congratulate you upon still being able to perform that duty which, as you say, is incumbent on a portion of the nation. [He goes amongst them and addresses a few words to each. He stops a moment before a tall, robust fellow.'] How have you been, Vignier? MARS DISARMED. 53 ViGNIER. With me, General, as with the country — every- thing is flourishing since the great Emperor rules France. I have but one anxiety. ViMONT. And that is? ViGNIER. That I may be called at the next conscription — for I have no boys to work my farm — but par- dieu! if it happens that way, I'll be ready — I'll throw down the spade and take up the musket, and shouting, " Long live the Emperor," rush to the battlefield. ViMONT. Lucky man to have in prospect such a noble career . . . \_Tenants withdraw in a confused manner — some bowing to Alixe, others to Vimont — some to the right, others to the left. Vimont turns to his sister.'] You see how embarrassing it is for me and for others. A man in my con- dition should avoid these scenes. Alixe. You are oversensitive, Eugene. ' Many men have Hved, and filled the world with their fame, though more unfortunate than you. There was the great poet ... H MARS DISARMED. ViMONT. Ah, your poet is a writer of rhymes, of ballads, of love songs — a dreamer! I — I am, or was, a soldier, a man of action. The smell of powder was my incense, the roar of cannon my music, the battlefield my playground. Fame, based on performance; fame, based on heroic deeds, was my ambition — and now . . . now all is over. My life can be of no further use to myself or to others. Alixe. [^Chagrined J] You include me in the others? ViMONT. I include you in the ''others," Alixe, not in accordance with my desire, but in recognition of a law which, perhaps, it is best you should sub- mit to. You are young . . . you are beau- tiful . . . you are rich; you will, some day, meet one to whom you will give more, to whom you will owe more, than to your poor brother. Do not protest — it is well, it is right, that you should do so. My life would be a double burden to bear, were I to realize that you, sweet Alixe, were doomed to be a sister of charity — ever tend- ing me, ever watching by my side. Alixe. It would be no burdensome task. It would pain me less, far less, than does the gloomy view you take of your condition. MARS DISARMED. 55 ViMONT. Take! I do not take it — it is forced upon me, impressed upon me — incessantly, irresistibly — wherever I go. I cannot escape it . . . Ah! the miserable wretch! I remember his face well — if only I could have smitten it! It was the day I left the hospital; I was surrounded by some officers and a few civilians. One of the latter was offering me consolation for what he termed my great misfortune. He spoke as though it were a personal mishap, and nothing more, while I, a soldier, thinking only of my country, exclaimed, "Alas! what grieves me most is that my arms are lost to France." — "Console your- self," muttered a bystander, "Napoleon still lives!" . . . Blindness, lameness, may be becom- ing to a poet, but an armless body for a soldier ... Alixe. Forget that you were a soldier; remenaber . . . ViMONT. Forget that I was a soldier! Forget all I once aspired to: a place in the heart of my country- men; a page in the annals of history — side by side with the greatest heroes of all time. You, of a gentle sex, you know not the fire of ambition, the allurements of fame. You, who have passed your days in this peaceful abode; you, who have never wandered in the fields of glory, you know naught of its pleasures, its intoxication. Ah! to 56 MARS DISARMED. have fought at Austerlitz and partaken of the feasts of Schonbrunn; to have participated in the victory of Jena, and the triumphant entry in the great Frederick's capital; to have seen the mighty hosts of the north flee before our victori- ous eagles; to have heard the shouts, the huz- zahs, of the admiring multitudes; to have had the great Emperor extend his imperial hand and place on my breast the Cross of Honor; to have tasted of victory, drunk from the cup of glory, and seen rising before me dazzling altitudes of fame, and then, suddenly, in a cruel hour, have the ladder I was ascending cut from under me . . . and you wonder, Alixe, that I have lost the joy of living 1 Alixe. That was the dream of the soldier ... it is dispelled. You are still a man, and other vistas, less glaring, perhaps, but far nobler, open up before you. War . . . ViMONT. War was my profession. Alixe. But war is cruel — its profession inhuman. You remember its glories and forget its horrors. Vic- tory for some implies defeat for others. Triumph on one side means humiliation on the other — and oh! the tears, the anxiety — I know them, I have felt them . . . MARS DISARMED. 57 ViMONT. And yet — what am I to do? What can I do? Alixe. The world is large — its occupations many. There are emotions, better, nobler, more elevat- ing, than those which war engenders. Surely, if you are willing, if you try, if you look around, you will find something to occupy you, to inter- est you. [Alixe rises and enters the chateau. A minute later, an old melody — ^^ Amaryllis,^ ^ for in- stance — is heard on the piano. Vimont, who has been -pacing the terrace impatiently, stops suddenly as he hears the notes; he seems to waken, as though from a dream; his face brightens; he listens atten- tively. The music ceases. Alixe returns to her brother.'] Do you remember? Vimont. It is the melody Madeleine used to play. Alixe. And which you were so fond of. Vimont. [Dreamingly^ Sweet memories of youth — now buried forever. Alixe. Sweet memories which may be revived . . . \^A momenfs silence.] You have not forgotten Madeleine? 58 MARS DISARMED. ViMONT. [^Sighing.^ No — I have not. Alixe. You never declared your love to her? ViMONT. I never dared to. Alixe. You so brave — so brave as to face a score of men, you dared not face a single maiden. ViMONT. I know what to expect from a score of men, but not from the single maiden. Alixe. You will see her . . . She will be here pres- ently. [Edmond enters and announces^ as they arrive, the guests, who come on the terrace from the chateau.^ Edmond. The Count de Fresney. Fresney. Welcome home, General. We have heard ac- MARS DISARMED. 69 counts of your daring, your casting aside precau- tion and defying the Fates. Under these circum- stances, we rejoice that you return to us — if not whole, at least alive. ViMONT. Thank you, Fresney; thank you — though ray view of the case differs somewhat from yours. Fresney. Ah — I see . . . You mean . . . Edmond. Monsieur and Madame de la Marsignerie. [An elderly, distinguished couple. Monsieur goes up to Vimont and places both hands on his shoulders.'] Marsignerie. Fate is kinder to us than to you, my dear General — for now, I hope, we shall keep you here. Madame de la Marsignerie. An old friend of your mother, I claim a privi- lege. [She kisses him.'] Edmond. The Marquis de Mirvoisin. MiRVOISIN. Welcome — a hundred times welcome! Believe 60 MARS DISARMED. me, my dear Vimont, you came none too soon to relieve the anxiety of Mademoiselle [he hows to Alixe], as well as that of a host of friends. Edmond. Monsieur, Madame, and Mademoiselle de Marot. [When Madeleine de Marot makes her ap- pearance and faces Vimont, a silent scene must take place — clear in its meaning and yet not over-demonstrative — wherein the emotions which sway them both are be- trayed.^ Marot. You see we lose no time. Only yesterday did we hear of your arrival, and here we are to bid you welcome. Vimont. [Embarrassed.^ I thank you — I am pleased to see you. Madame de Marot. Yours was not the only household which re- joiced at your return. Vimont. You are indeed kind, Madame. Madeleine. We are deUghted to see you again, and MARS DISARMED. 61 proud too, for you left us a Colonel and return a General. ViMONT. A General — alas! Mademoiselle — who is de- prived not only of the satisfaction of raising his hand against the enemy, but of raising to his lips the hand of one he . . . esteems. [Madeleine, confused, hesitates a moment, and then slowly raises her hand for him to kiss. BiRsoN enters in time to witness this scene. He looks on, unobserved, from the rear of the terrace. Servants bring out chairs, tables, refreshments. A desultory conversation ensues — the ladies sitting around, the tables — some of the gentlemen leaning over to talk to them. Now and then a ripple of laughter. M. de la Mar- siGNERiE is speaking earnestly to Vimont. BiRSON takes Mirvoisin's arm and leads him aside. He whispers to him.. A moment later Mirvoisin approaches Madeleine and pays her special attention. Vimont is in- different to what M. de la Marsignerie is telling him. He watches Madeleine and Mirvoisin.] Fresney. [Approaching Vimont.] I need not tell you, my dear General, that the entire neighborhood has shared the anxiety of Mademoiselle Vimont on your account. First we thought the mails had miscarried or even, perhaps, been inter- cepted. Then we thought you were mortally 62 MARS DISARMED. wounded; then we thought . . . well, in sub- stance, we did not know what to think. [At this point Madeleine drops her handker- chief. ViMONT rushes to pick it up and suddenly realizes his inability to do so. Awkward silence. Mirvoisin picks it up and hands it to Madeleine with a how. Edmond enters.'] Edmond. His Honor the Mayor of Marcy, accompanied by a delegation, expresses a desire to pay his respects. [ViMONT looks annoyed. He whispers to Alixe, who argues with him, and then makes a sign to Edmond to admit the party. Edmond goes out. The ladies keep up a lively chatter till Edmond reappears, fol- lowed by the Mayor — a corpulent, pompous individual, arrayed in the regalia of his office. He is accompanied by three prosper- ous villagers. All bow low to the General, and then to the assembled company. The latter, whenever they can do so unobserved, give evidence of the amusement afforded them by the opera-bouffe appearance and performance of the Mayor.] The Mayor. [Giving his address all due oratorical effect.] Mon General I We have come — I, the Mayor of MARS DISARMED. 63 Marcy, and my three distinguished colleagues, Monsieur Rossignol, Monsieur Crespinet, and Monsieur Montjoli — whom I have the honor to introduce to you — [he maJces a sweeping gesture to the entire company, while his three colleagues how frequently and low^ — to say that we claim the privilege to share with your family and friends the pleasure of seeing you once more in the peaceful valley of Marcy. No more, no doubt, will you hear the shouts of command, the martial music, the roar of cannon; but you will find compensation for these in the tender voices of loved ones, in the rustic music of field and forest, in the hum of industrial life, which, while far be it from me to deprecate the noble profession of the soldier, is, nevertheless, fully as essential to the welfare and glory of the nation. You have done your duty nobly — [with a pa- tronizing air] — be satisfied. You have attained high rank — step aside graciously, and leave open to others the road to promotion. I could, as Mayor of this flourishing commune, dwell length- ily, and with some authority, upon the charms, also the responsibilities, of civic life, as compared with military life; but I shall refrain and reserve my observations for a future, and more suit- able, occasion. Before concluding, however, permit me, my dear General — speaking for my- self, as well as for the commune I have the honor to preside over — to say that the joy we ex- perience at your return is only equaled by the regret we felt when you left us to follow the path of glory in distant lands. Many years have 64 MARS DISARMED. elapsed since then; you have served your Em- peror and your country with distinction; your fame has preceded you, and the valor of your deeds has become a household word in the cottages as well as in the manor-houses of the valley of Marcy. Having accompUshed so much, you have earned a rest. Whatever the love of your family and the respect and esteem of your neighbors can do to make that rest agreeable — Otium cum dignitate — will, I am sure, be done. Once more I bid you welcome. May good health and prosperity always attend you and yours. Long live the Emperor! Long live the brave General VimontI [The Mayor uses his handkerchief freely to wipe the perspiration from his brow.^ m ViMONT. I thank you, Monsieur le Maire, and Messieurs your colleagues, for your friendly visit and the kind sentiments you have expressed. As much as I regret my enforced retirement from active service in the army, I find pleasure and comfort in the hearty welcome home of friends and neighbors. Once more I thank you. [The Mayor and his colleagues how low and are about to with- draw, when ViMONT, after a moments hesitation, addresses them.'\ Will you not do us the honor to join our party and partake of some refresh- ments ? The Mayor. \^ After consulting his colleagues by glances."} MARS DISARMED. 65 The honor, I assure you, General, is all on our side. [They join the ladies — "partaTce of refresh- ments — pay extravagant compliments — make extraordinary breaches of etiquette. Their manners and speech stand out in hold con- trast with those of the other guests. Some shepherds and a shepherdess, in holiday at- tire, and with rustic instruments, appear at the foot of the terrace. They play, sing, and dance. These gone, Madeleine turns to ViMONT.] Madeleine. I remember, General, your description of the battle of Austerlitz, and oh I how interesting it was. Will you not tell us something of the great battle of Friedland? ViMONT. If it will interest you, Mademoiselle, I shall do so with pleasure. \_While the ladies remain seated in groups, the men form a semi-circle around Vimont, and assume an expectant attitude. To his right is old M. DE LA Marsignerie. To the extreme left of the semi-circle is Mirvoisin. Next to the latter is Fresney. Vimont com- mences his narrative in a rather languid tone, hut waxes excited as he recalls and describes the picture, the action, of the battle. He uses his feet to indicate the position of the two armies.J 66 MARS DISARMED. It was the fourteenth of June — the anniversary of Marengo. A good omen! . . . The Tsar seemed anxious for an opportunity to redeem the defeat of Eylau; the Emperor, no less anxious to add another to the Hst of his glorious victories. The inactivity which the past season had im- posed upon the contending armies made us all eager for an encounter. The river Alle runs thus. {^Drawing a line with the point of his boot.^ The Russians were there. [Pointing with his foot.l We here. [Same movement.'\ Contrary to expecta- tions, Benningsen — obviously changing his plans — crossed the Alle and encountered the corps of Lannes here [pointing with his foot^ on the left bank of the river. A fierce engagement followed, during which Oudinot and his grenadiers per- formed wonders of valor — never to be equaled, never to be forgotten. Although the entire Rus- sian forces were massed against him, Lannes — tenacious hero that he is! — held his position bravely. Attack upon attack was met, withstood, repulsed. Yet the fate of the day still hung in the balance, and it seemed impossible for our ex- hausted columns to stand much longer the fierce and ever-recurring onslaught of the enemy, when, suddenly, midst the shouts and huzzahs of the soldiers, the Emperor and his staff galloped on to the battlefield. What a sight! a sight which no mortal tongue can describe — a sight which might have brought envy to the god of war himself! In a moment the scene changed. The presence of the chief gave new hope, renewed courage, to all. The weak grew stronger; the hesitating 3fARS DISARMED. 67 waxed determined; even the wounded raised their headSj and seemed to breathe more freely, more hopefully, as their eyes followed the figure on the white charger against the darkening horizon . . . Under orders from the Emperor, Ney made a bold, a wild, dash upon Friedland. The battery of Posthenau thundered — it sounded like the crumbling of the heavens. Brave men were fall- ing fast around us — friends, companions of cam- paigns of old — yet on we marched where the Emperor had bid us march, protected by the ar- tillery of Victor and assisted by the cavalry of Latour-Marbourg, till, at last, we came face to face with the Imperial Russian Guard. What a charge! What a resistance! What valor! What slaughter! The Russians fought like lions — 'twas the courage of despair — and for a moment, terrible moment! it looked as though we should be com- pelled to fall back, when Dupont's division, arriv- ing in the nick of time, broke through the Rus- sian lines. With the certainty of victory in our hearts, and with shouts of " Long live the Em- peror! " we rushed into the burning ruins of Fried- land. Night was upon us, and yet the fight con- tinued. The wild cries of the soldiers and the moaning of the wounded mingled with the tramp- ing of the horses and the roar of the cannon. The heavens were illuminated by the fierce con- flagration of buildings and bridges. Everywhere could be seen, resplendent and advancing, the victorious Imperial Eagles . . . The Russians were in full retreat; my regiment was following in close pursuit, when suddenly . . . 68 MARS DISARMED, [At this moment Vimont's eyes fell upon Mir- voisiN, whose attention had been called by Fresney to the intensity of expression of old M. DE LA Marsignerie, whose interest in the narrative had been worked up to the highest pitch. This caused Mirvoisin to make an effort to suppress laughter, and Vi- MONT, taking this to refer to himself, brings his narrative to an abrupt ending.'\ Several Voices. Continue, General — continue. ViMONT. [Looking fiercely at Mirvoisin.] No! . . . [A pauseJ] I should have known better than ever to have commenced ... I should have known that an armless man could not describe the ac- tion of a battle without exposing himself to ridi- cule. Mirvoisin. Pardon me, General; my laughter was insti- gated in no way either by your action or by your narrative. ViMONT. Indeed! . . . We happen to know for what purpose excuses were made. It is not my first ex- perience. Under my own roof, however, I expected . . . The Mayor. [Rushing up to Vimont and then to Mirvoisin.] MAES DISARMED. 69 Permit me in my official capacity . . . Permit me to use my influence . . . Permit me to give my views . . . Permit me . . . [_No one pays attention to him. There is con- fusion amongst the guests. Some of them surround Vimont and attempt to explain matters to him in undertones. He seems indisposed to listen. Others ( Alixe amongst the number) surround Mirvoisin and beg him not to leave. Vimont, disregarding all explanations, casts an angry glance at Mir- voisin and moves towards the chateau. BiR- SON, /rom his corner, seems to have scored a victory.'} END OF THE SECOND ACT. THE THIRD ACT. THE CHALLENGE. Time: Evening of Third Day. Library, as in first act, lighted. The antique arm- chair relegated to a corner. Audr6, the Gen- eral's orderly, is standing erect near the door. A servant — a stupid-looking fellow — enters with a bundle of mail. He seems frightened at the rigid, immovable form of the orderly. He looks inquiringly at the latter to ascertain where he is to deposit the bundle he is carrying cautiously before him. Servant. [^Standing before the table.^ Here? \_Orderly gives no answer.^ Where? Orderly. [/n a stentorian voice.'\ There! [^Servant, frightened, drops the mail on the table, and looking one way — at the orderly — moves the other way — to the door. Vimont, in a loose, long garment, like a morning robe, enters. The orderly salutes him. He approaches the table and sees the mail.^ 70 MARS DISARMED. 71 ViMONT. Where is Monsieur de Birson? Orderly. I do not know, General. ViMONT. [Muttering .~\ A pity a good man like Birson should be uncle to a laughing idiot like Mirvoi- sin . . . [He glances at the bundle of mail on the table — shrugs his shoulders — sits down and gazes at the floor. While in this attitude he is taken with a coughing fit. ^ Audre, my tonic. [Orderly goes to the closet, fills a glass and brings it to the General, holding it up to his mouth.^ No, Audre, that, at least, is something I can do without my hands. Place it on the table. [Orderly places the glass on the edge of the table and resumes his place near the door. Vimont, sitting down, takes a sip, then walks silently across the room; returns and takes another sip. In his endeavor to empty the glass, it falls to the floor with a crash.^ An- other disabled, useless thing in this world! [Vimont stamps his foot and leaves the room. Orderly gets on his knees to pick up the broken pieces. While in that attitude, Bir- son enters.l Birson. At your evening devotions, Audre? Orderly. Devotions — no! The General's tonic . . . 72 MAES DISARMED. BiRSON. The General's tonic! [Aside.] Malum omen! [He goes to the table; looks anxiously over the letters; takes one in his hand and mutters, '* Still un- opened." He is reading the Moniteur when Vimont enters^ General, I hope you feel rested after this quiet day. ViMONT, As rested, I presume, as a man destined to eternal restlessness can ever expect to be . . . [He makes a sign to orderly to leave the room.] Ah, Birson, this is a rude awakening from a life-long dream 1 What a vista lies before me; what a prospect to contemplate: but one life, and that life blasted I BiRSON. But, General, do you not beUeve . . . Vimont. [With emphasis.] I believe what I see, what I know . . . What, to me, are vaporous imagin- ings of things above, of things unseen, unknown, when confronted with such realities as now con- front me? Oh, Birson — I am weary of plati- tudes . . . Some thousand years ago, I'm told, there lived one Beli sarins, who, having long served the state and brought laurels to his Emperor, lost both eyes; wherefore I, living some ten centuries later, and having, in the ser- vice of my country and my Emperor, lost both arms, have less cause to complain than Belisa- MARS DISARMED. 78 rius. They bid me compare, and go my way re- joicing. Compare the living with the dead I What are eyes to Behsarius, he moldering in the grave? I live — I live — armless, useless — envy- ing Belisarius his fate. Life is a burden, yet death is denied me. I cannot point a pistol to my brains; I cannot bring poison to my lips; hang — I cannot; drown — some peering fool would rescue me, with a reward in view. Go forth and live; be merry, they say; look for something to distract, to amuse you . . . Where? . . . What? • • • [He falls in a seat and gazes vacantly before him.'] BiRSON. Believe me. General, you take an unjustifiable view of your condition; and furthermore, I am convinced it will prove ephemeral. When you are more rested, you will feel more cheerful. ViMONT. [Indifferently.'] Maybe — but I doubt it. BiRSON. I had proposed. General, giving you an account of what transpired during your absence — a syn- opsis, so to speak, of your affairs. ViMONT. [Languidly.] Proceed, Birson — that as well as anything else. 74 MARS DISARMED. BiRSON. \^With a satisfied air.'] In the first place, I think it will cause you a lively satisfaction to hear that I have succeeded in finding a purchaser for " Noi tiers," which you were anxious to dis- pose of. [BiRSON pauses. Vimont nods his head unconcernedly,] I have invested one hundred and sixty thousand francs in rentes. [Birson pauses. ViMONT nods his head.] Should your revenue and expenditures continue at the same ratio for the next ten or fifteen years, you will be one of the richest men in the department. ViMONT. [Meditatively.] Yes, Birson, yes . . . but of what avail will it be to me? What can I do with great wealth? Birson. Great wealth is great power. Of what avail would be the genius, even of a Napoleon, unless he had the wealth of France to back him? ViMONT. The Emperor has the use of all his faculties — all his members — whereas I . . . Birson. You, General, might lose both legs as well as both arms, and, for that matter, both eyes too, provided you had millions at your command MARS DISARMED, 75 you would be a power in the land. Money — money is king! It is money which maintains armies; it is money which builds navies; it is money which erects palaces; it is money which gives position; yes, and it is money which, in many cases, attracts love . . . ViMONT. [Startled, as though a revelation had been made to him,'] Love! Think you so, Birson? BiRSON. I am convinced of it. ViMONT. Even in my case? BiRSON. Ah, General, it is obvious you are more famil- iar with the tactics of Mars than with those of Venus. Yours, from early youth, has been the tented field, and not the field of gallantry. ViMONT. In either field a man who is armless is dis- abled. Birson. If riches cover a multitude of sins, they should have little difficulty covering the absence of arms . . . 76 MARS DISARMED. ViMONT. 1 have seen but one woman with whom I should wish to spend my life . . . and she, I fear, would not care to marry me now. A disarmed soldier falling into the arms of love! . . . Caressing love, armless — what a parody I [He makes an impa- tient movement, and then as though to change the subject.'] Birson, oblige me by looking over these letters. BiRSON. [Opening a letter and reading.] " My dear Gen- eral, how can I convey to you the expression of my deep regret and sympathy ". . . ViMONT. [Impatiently.] That will do. Try another. BiRSON. [Opening a second letter and reading.] " My dear General, allow me to assure you that it was with profound emotion "... ViMONT. Enough — enough! Expressions and emotions will never festore my arms . . . [Edmoni> enters and holds a card before the General.] ViMONT. [Reading the card.] Monsieur Clement . . . I do not know him. MARS DISARMED. 77 Edmond. He begged me to say he was an agent of his Excellency the Minister of Police, and wished to see the General privately. ViMONT. Show him in. [BiRSON goes out. Edmond ushers in M. Clement — a mysterious-looking man.'\ Clement. [Looking around. '\ We are alone? ViMONT. Alone. Clement. x^ XJ £j -i^fX Jld Irt X • I am informed you have under your roof a plotter against the government. Vimont. Indeed! His name? Clement. Monsieur de Birson. Vimont. And who is your informant? 78 MARS DISARMED, Clement. One Armand — until recently employed in your household. ViMONT. I do not know for what reason Armand was discharged, but I am convinced that his discharge by Monsieur de Birson is the cause of the pres- ent complaint. Monsieur de Birson is no plotter; he is my faithful secretary. His father and mine were friends. It was the memory of this friend- ship which induced me to give Monsieur de Bir- son, who was rendered penniless by the Revo- lution, a position in my household. He fills this position to my satisfaction. Tell you chief that I stand as surety for Monsieur de Birson. Clement. Personally I am satisfied with your explana- tion, which shall be duly reported to headquar- ters. Good day, General. ViMONT. Good day. [Clement goes out. Vimont calls Birson, ivho resumes his seat at the table and looks over the letters.'] Why was Armand discharged ? Birson. For insolence. Vimont. To whom? MARS DISARMED. 79 BiRSON. To myself. ViMONT. You did well . . . You were reading a letter. BiRSON. Yes. [He picks up an open letter^ Ah, yes — from Jamont. [He reads.'] " It seems years since the last campaign, but the success of the Emperor is destined to awaken the jealousy of the powers. They will combine and attack him, in the hope of recovering what they have lost — and will lose still more" ... ViMONT. [Interrupting.] Jamont is not only a good sol- dier, but a good prophet . . . From whom is that letter near your hand ? BiRSON. [Opening envelope and glancing over letter.] Here, indeed, is a strange letter. [_Reads^ " Wel- come home, brave soldier, to the peaceful home of your childhood, though peaceful to you I fear it will never prove hereafter. As a warrior you had no rival; as a lover you have a dangerous one. Beware of him. He will burden you with professions of friendship; but the same melliflu- ous tones which dwell on amity for you breathe, the next moment, passion for one you love. He had his doubts, but now that you are disarmed, 80 MARS DISARMED. he is confident of victory, and proclaims you hors de combat in more ways than one. Have an eye on him, and, before too late, regain the ground you have lost through absence. A Friend." ViMONT. It is as I expected — as was inevitable. BiRSON. [Perplexed.^ What can this mean ? ViMONT. Mean ? [He hesitates a moment.] You are an old friend, Birson, and I may safely unbosom myself to you. This letter means that the last thread wliich held me to earth is snapped. BiRSON. I do not understand. ViMONT. You know Mademoiselle de Marot ? BiRSON. Yes — she was here yesterday — a marvel of grace and beauty. ViMONT. [Muttering.'] Madeleine . . . Madeleine . . . [Then turning to Birson.] I knew her, Birson, MARS DISARMED, 81 when she was a child — a sweet, loving child. I watched her grow and develop into maidenhood. I was present on the occasion — the eventful occa- sion — when, casting aside her girlish dress, she donned woman's attire. Ah! well do I remem- ber the night — the night of her first ball. How proud I was to lead her to the dance — a hundred envious eyes following me. These were sweet memories, Birson, which cheered me during weary marches in the cold northern climes; which haunted me in the stillness of the night, when the camp was asleep; yes, and flashed across my mind, anon and again, in the heat of battle . . . There is no soldier, Birson, however fierce he be, who has not in him some bit of sentiment. That was mine, and I have been robbed of it. Birson. Ah! I begin to understand ... I perceive a clue. ViMONT. A clue to what ? Birson. To something I overheard last night. ViMONT. And what was that ? Birson. [Hesitating^ On reflection, it is not worth re- peating — an idle yarn, no doubt. 82 MARS DISARMED. ViMONT. An idle yarn which may interest me . . . BiRSON. Which may afflict you. ViMONT. One affliction more or less, after the many I have suffered, signifies little. To the point, Birson. BiRSON. But, General, I am convinced it was not uttered seriously — a yarn, believe me, nothing more. ViMONT. [With authority.'] Let us admit it to be a yarn and nothing more, and relate it to me. [Interest should he given to the following scene by the contrast between the calm, deliberate manner of Birson and the excited, passion- ate manner of Vimont.] Birson. But, General . . . ViMONT. Speak. Birson. Since you command, I shall obey, and relate what I heard, word for word. MARS DISARMED. 83 ViMONT. Word for word. BiRSON. Well — I was alone in a room adjoining one where several gentlemen were drinking and con- versing. The door was partly open. I paid little attention to what was said till I heard your name mentioned, and, being interested in all that concerns you, I listened . . . \_He hesitates.^ ViMONT. Proceed. BiRSON. First promise me, General, that no matter what comes of this, you will never repeat it to mortal soul — never mention my name in con- nection with it. ViMONT. On my word, as a soldier. BiRSON. This is what I overheard: " Vimont marry! What can one conceive more ludicrous? An innocent bride — an armless man ! Vimont, who has studied strategy, should understand this." Vimont. Were those his words? 84 MARS DISARMED. BiRSON. His very words. ViMONT. And what else, pray? BiRSON. " Why — he would require a nurse — a nurse to bathe him — a nurse to dress him — a nurse to feed him — a nurse to ... to do everything for him," and then laughing: " The idea of starting married life with a nurse!" ViMONT. The miserable cur! He shall pay dearly for his insolence. Who is the man, Birson, who dared speak of me thus? BiRSON. I beg of you. General, for your sake and mine, do not insist. ViMONT. I must know. Speak! BiRSON. Alas! I have already spoken too much. I cannot mention his name. ViMONT. I insist. If you have my interest at heart, you will not hesitate. MARS DISARMED. 85 BiRSON. My interest in you has, I fear, betrayed the interest I have in one who is, or was, dear to me. ViMONT. [Looking earnestly at Birson.] Can it be Mir- voisin? [BiRSON is silent^ Is it Mirvoisin? [BiRSON hangs his head.'] It is Mirvoisin! . . . Oh I how clear it all appears to me now. That prearranged meeting on the terrace — those whis- perings in the corner — those exchanges of mys- terious glances — and finally the open insult; mocking me in my own house! . . . and this let- ter. [Looking at the open letter.] He shall make aniends for this. I will . . . [He stops suddenly, hesitates, and then with a painful expression on his face, and a sadness in his voice.] But, Birson, what can I do? What shall I do? ... I can- not strike him ... I cannot challenge him . . . Oh, what a helpless wretch I am! What right have I to live, if I must live and be mocked with impunity; if I need must face an insolent cur, and yet not be able to strike him ? [Appealingly .] Surely, Birson, some means can be devised — some means must be devised — to chastise such as he. Birson. It is an unfortunate, a provoking, a perplexing case . . . ViMONT. Here I stand, grievously offended, and yet un- 86 MARS DISARMED. able to secure amends, to inflict punishment. I am denied even that satisfaction which is ac- corded a woman — a duel by proxy. Who, on this broad earth, would offer to fight for me — to defend my honor — to avenge this insult? On whom have I sufficient claim to ask that he risk his life in my behalf? BiRSON. [Meditatively. His chin resting on his hand."] Perplexing . . . perplexing . . . You have no friend you could appeal to ? ViMONT. My friends are far away — in the army; those here are also friends of his — more so, perhaps, than mine. BiRSON. [Still meditatively.^ Let me see . . . Let me see . . . Ah I I have an idea — while fighting by proxy may be out of the question in your case, shaking dice by proxy is not necessarily so. ViMONT. [Eagerly.'] And the loser blows out his brains ! BiRSON. Precisely — provided the loser be not yourself. ViMONT. In which eventuality poison will do the work. MARS DISARMED. 87 Birson, this must be settled without delay. Send at once to Maupert and Beaumont and tell them I wish to see them — the sooner, the better. BiRSON. Reflect, General. Supposing the dice should turn against you? ViMONT. That is not the point. I am determined — go. [BiRSON withdraws, and returns instantly.^ What is it? BiRSON. The seconds will wish to know the cause of the challenge. ViMONT. Well — is not the cause sufficient? BiRSON. Amply so — but how can you name the cause without naming me? ViMONT. Why not name you? BiRSON. You gave me your word, General — your word as a soldier. ViMONT. True — I did. A soldier must keep his word; I shall keep mine. But, Birson, a cause for the 88 MARS DISARMED. challenge — a cause must be found . . . the letter? BiRSON. The letter bears no name; it mentions no name. ViMONT. And his insult on the terrace, when he laughed in my face? BiRSON. That might be deemed insufficient cause. ViMONT. But what if / deem it sufficient cause? BiRSON. The seconds might disagree on that point. ViMONT. I shall give them no opportunity to disagree. They may think what they wish of his action — so may I — and I propose to resent it. I shall crowd him, trip him, heap insult upon him, and thus compel him to challenge me. BiRSON. Ah — there indeed you would have him cor- nered. ViMONT. Yes, cornered, and no escape. Go, Birson, let MARS DISARMED. 89 no time be lost. Send word to Beaumont and Maupert, while I seek Mirvoisin. [BiRSON goes out by one door. Vimont is about to leave by another, when he meets Alixe entering.'] ViMONT. [Astonished.] Alixe! Alixe. [Joyously.] Eugene, I am here to tell you of a delightful plan I have formed for to-morrow. Lestrange has been in the tower and consulted the heavens. He has scanned the horizon; he has studied the four points of the compass, and he predicts for to-morrow a sun of Austerlitz. We are to drive to the old castle near Moisart; we shall lunch under the trees, and linger there till twilight. ViMONT. I trust Lestrange has made no blunder. Alixe. He is not infallible, and yet he seldom errs . . . You will accompany us, will you not, Eu- gene? ViMONT. [After a moments hesitation.] No, Alixe; go without me — amuse yourselves. 90 MARS DISARMED. Alixe. [With a disappointed air.'\ But we will not go without you. The party is already made up. The Marsigneries are going — the Marcourts — Eugenie de Vitoy — and [eyeing him without his perceiving if] Madeleine de Marot — and [with hesitancy] Monsieur de Mirvoisin . . . [At the mention of the two last names together Vimont he- trays intense emotion.] What is it, Eugene? ViMONT. Nothing — only I shall not be of the party. Alixe. [Anxiously.] There is something the matter with you . . . [He is silent.] Tell me — what is it? [He continues silent.] I must know . . . ViMONT. You will know to-morrow. Alixe. [Seizing the lapel of his coat.] No — now, now! ViMONT. If you must know, then listen: Monsieur de Mirvoisin shall be called to account for his . . . insulting manner. Alixe. What — yesterday on the terrace? Why, he MARS DISARMED. 91 himself told me that he laughed at Monsieur de la Marsignerie, who was so excited at your de- scription of Friedland, that he thought his eyes would drop from his head. ViMONT. It is all very well for him to say that now, but I happen to know that his feelings towards me are far from being friendly. Alixe. \_With emphasis.l I cannot believe he harbors aught against you. ViMONT. \_With greater emphasis.^ You cannot — but I can. Alixe. Well, supposing he does, what will you do? ViMONT. Challenge him. Alixe. [Amazed.'] Challenge him I But how will you fight? ViMONT. The dice will decide our fate. Alixe. [Collapsing.] And mine! [She checks herself — pauses — approaches Vimont.] Eugene, do you know that Monsieur de Mirvoisin . . . 92 MARS DISARMED. ViMONT. [Interrupting. 1 I know that Monsieur de Mir- voisin is an insolent cur, and he or I shall pay . . . [Alixe, as though stunned, brings her hands to her temples, reels, and falls in a chair. Vimont kneels at her side^ calls her by name, kisses her hand. She makes a vain movement to loosen her robe at the neck, and gasps, "Air, air." Vimont rushes to the window, and on realizing that he cannot open it, assumes a despairing attitude. Then he leans against the window with all his weight, and this proving futile, he batters it with his shoulder till it falls with a crash. Several of the servants, hearing the crashing of the window, appear at the various doorways. Vimont turns fiercely towards them.^ What are you doing here? Who called you? Who needs you? I am not quite as weak as a crawling infant, or as helpless as a palsied octo- generian. When I require your assistance I shall cause you to be notified. [Servants go out. Alixe recovers slowly. Vimont stands at her side, looking at her anxiously. Then he speaks in a low, affectionate voice.^ I am sorry I caused you pain ... I did not mean to . . . Forgive me, Alixe . . . You know my affection for you . . . Come, be yourself again . . . Embrace me with those fond arms of yours ... [She rises and embraces him.^ Alixe. Promise me, Eugene . . . [Edmond enters.'] MARS DISARMED. 93 Edmond. General, a messenger from Paris wishes to see you alone. [ViMONT goes out, followed by Edmond. Alixe alone, seated in a chair; her hands clasped; her eyes fixed steadily before her.^ Alixe. My joy was too great ... It could not last . . . [Her face lights up.] If I were to tell him? . . . [Despairingly.'] He would remind me of my promise; he would accuse me of loving his enemy. [Birson enters. Alixe rises and goes forth to meet him.] Monsieur de Birson, lend me your hand, for mine is chained, powerless; lend me your mind, for mine is clouded, confused. BiRSON. My hand, my mind, are yours. Mademoiselle, . . . [he approaches her and half whispers] like- wise my heart. Alixe. [Drawing back with suppressed emotion.] I ap- pealed to you, as a friend, for assistance, and you compel me to withdraw my appeal. BiRSON. [Kneeling.] On bended knee, I beg you . . . Alixe. [In despair.] Spare me! 94 MARS DISARMED. BiRSON. \_Rising.'\ Pardon me, Mademoiselle, for as- suming to . . . [Alixe rushes from the room. He bows to the door, which closes in his face.^ The fair Amarinta and the faithful Luigi are not on encouraging terms . . . Ugh! Failure to-day may mean success to-morrow. {^He meditates.'\ She would have me stop this duel . . . [Pause.^ Stop this duel — why? It might serve her pur- pose, not mine . . . [Pause.^ Stop the duel — why? Whoever loses, I win. If Mirvoisin, he will be well out of the way; if Vimont, would she dare marry Mirvoisin, who caused her brother's death? [Triumphantly.'] Let the duel proceed I [ViMONT enters.] ViMONT. I am called to Paris, but I shall not leave till I have settled matters with Mirvoisin. BiRSON. [Affecting despondency.] General, I wish I had not spoken. ViMONT. Speaking as you did was rendering me a ser- vice; and while I think of it, Birson — who knows what may happen? — I wish to make an altera- tion in my will . . . You will find in the left upper drawer of my desk a bunch of keys. Bring them here. [Birson goes out. He returns with the keys.] Remove that cabinet. [Indicating a MARS DISARMED, 95 piece of furniture against the wall, which Birson moves with difficulty, Vimont assisting with his shoulder.] Take the large key and open that door. \_A door concealed behind the cabinet.^ Take out the strong box to the right . . . Open it. The key? Let me see . . . [Birson holds up each key in turn.] That one . . . [Birson opens box.'] You will find a sealed envelope marked "Last Testament." [Birson, on his knees, looks carefully over the papers and objects in the strong box. While doing this he lays hand on a mini- ature of Madeleine. Still kneeling before the box, he holds the miniature up to the light and contemplates it earnestly. Vimont, em- barrassed, watches him from the rear.] Birson. [With uncertainty.] This looks like Mademoi- selle . . . de Marot. Vimont. [With emotion.] It is Mademoiselle de Marot. Birson. [Deliberately.] Shall I replace it in the box? Vimont. No — give it to me. [Birson, absent-minded, and looking in the box, stretches his hand, which holds the miniature, towards Vimont. The latter 96 MARS DISARMED. looks distressed as he realizes he cannot take if.] Birpon, place it on the mantel. [Birson rises and moves slowly towards the mantel, where he places the miniature, Vimont following him with his eyes. Birson returns to the box, he/ore which he kneels, and continues the search of the will. He examines a number of papers, and finally holds up a large envelope to Vimont.] Yes — that is it. I'll dictate my wishes, which you will convey to Monsieur Corvin, my notary, and ask him to in- corporate them in my will, in due legal form. [Birson sits at the table, prepared to write. Vi- mont walks the floor nervously and then stops to dictate.^ I bequeath to Jean Gabriel Antoine — son of my father's old friend, the Count de Bir- son — as a token of my appreciation of his con- stant and faithful services, my signet ring and the sum of ... [a pause"] one hundred thousand francs ... Birson. But, General . . . '> Vimont. We shall not discuss the question now. Go, Birson — see that those matters which press are attended to. [Birson, with a resigned air, with- draws. Vimont, alone, stands for a moment, gaz- ing at the floor. Then he raises his eyes and fixes them on the miniature of Madeleine. He ap- proaches nearer and nearer to the mantel, till he stands close to the miniature, on which his eyes re- main riveted. He speaks tenderly at first.] Yes 3fARS DISARMED. 97 — you are beautiful . . . but beauty, like all else in life, will fade . . . youth and grace will dis- appear , . . Your body, which I once deemed sweet, will be cold and lifeless ... a feast for worms . . . [ffis voiee vibrates with passion.^ That will be . . . that must be . . . but now — now! it is arms you crave for . . . arms to em- brace you . . . arms to encircle your waist . . . arms . . . arms . . . You shall have them . . . [ivith emphasis^ perhaps . . . [^With bitterness.l But they will weary of you, these arms — it is so written — and seek elsewhere. Your dream of happiness will vanish ... as did my dream of happiness . . . You will, as I do, know loneli- ness. Then — yes, then — you will think of the days of old, which now you have forgotten — but too late — too late! Go from my thoughts, my life; go to that other's arms . . . arms . . . arms ... [^He makes an impulsive movement with his head to dash the miniature from the mantel. He fails. He makes a second attempt. He fails again. He looks around the room, as though seeking assistance. He tries once more, and the miniature falls to the floor. He is in the act of raising his foot to crush it, when the door opens and Edmond enters.'\ Edmond. The Marquis de Mirvoisin wishes to see the General. 98 MARS DISARMED. ViMONT. [Astonished.'] The Marquis de Mirvoisin! [Pause.'} I'll see the Marquis. [Edmond goes out. Vimont faces the door, at a distance. A moment later the door is opened by Edmond, ivho withdraws immedi- ately. Mirvoisin enters briskly and ad- vances towards Vimont, with a smile on his lips, but, on perceiving the menacing attitude of Vimont, he stops short, and for a few seconds the two men, erect, with heads thrown back, gaze at each other silently. Determi- nation is on the face of Vimont; uncertainty on that of Mirvoisin.] Mirvoisin. General, I have come ... [a pause] I intended coming ... to see you, to explain the little in- cident of the terrace. Vimont. Indeed 1 Well, I beg to assure you, sir, that you will have difficulty — great difficulty — ex- plaining what you are pleased to call the little incident of the terrace. Mirvoisin. [Assuming the haughty demeanor of Vimont.] Your manner takes me by surprise. General. I fail to understand what you mean. MARS DISARMED. 99 ViMONT. [Moving towards Mirvoisin.] I'll tell you what I mean — you are a miserable cur — and not having a hand with which to slap your face, take that — [He spits in his face. Mirvoisin, with clenched fist, makes a movement to strike Vimont — hut stops suddenly, making a visible effort to con- trol himself. A moment of silence, during which the two men stare angrily at each other.^ Mirvoisin. I do not wish to be misunderstood. You have insulted me mortally. If I do not resent it, it is that I feel I have undue advantage over you. ViMONT. [With disdain.] Subterfuge! Mirvoisin. Subterfuge — no! My honor forbids my resent- ing the insult of an armless man, as it would for- bid my resenting that of a woman. ViMONT. Oh, this is not the first time you have harped on my misfortune; but, let me inform you, sir — to relieve your delicate sense of honor, or any superfluous scrupulousness on your part — that though I am armless, and more defenseless than a woman, there is, unless you be an arrant coward, a means whereby you may obtain satis- faction for the insult I have offered you. 100 MARS DISARMED. MiRVOISIN. I shall welcome any means that may be sug- gested to avenge my honor, even though the suggestion come from him who has wronged me. ViMONT. Since, as you observed, you have undue advan- tage over me; since I cannot fight, nor induce anyone to fight for me — let dice decide our fate. Here, at least, I can secure a proxy; here we meet on equal ground. MiRVOISIN. So be it. ViMONT. Should you lose, you blow out your miserable brains; should I . . . poison will end my life. MiRVOISIN. So be it. ViMONT. This evening our seconds meet; to-morrow you and I meet. MiRVOISIN. So be it . . . Till then. General. [He bows low and withdraws.^ END OF THE THIRD ACT. THE FOURTH ACT. THE DUEL. Time: Morning of Fourth Day. Large room in Mirvoisin's chateau. Ancestral pictures, armor, tapestries, etc. MmvoisiN * and Sellier enter. MiRVOISIN. This is the chamber — the chamber where, in years gone by, many similar affairs, but none so sad, have been discussed, arranged. But why, Sellier, was it decided that it should be held under my roof, not his? Sellier. Because under his own roof Vimont fears in- terruption, if not more serious interference in the matter. MiRVOISIN. Ah, Sellier, how uncertain are human affairs — how ephemeral our prospects of happiness! Yesterday I still indulged the dream that Alixe might be my bride, and Vimont my brother; to-day my dream has vanished — Vimont and I meet, not as brothers, but as enemies. 101 102 MARS DISARMED. Sellier. Yes, His sad, Mirvoisin — and the sadder that I am convinced there is a misunderstanding. Mirvoisin. A misunderstanding beyond peradventure — but one which he will not admit of — will not even discuss. Sellier. He is bent on carrying out the programme, and dismisses all explanations as an effort to trick him into surrendering his position. Mirvoisin. And I — so long as he refuses an apology — am compelled to maintain my position. Sellier. Yes — there is no escape. He has created an impasse. He threatens — should you refuse to resent this insult — to repeat it, and repeat it, till you do. Mirvoisin. Is there — in this broad world — anything more difficult to deal with than sensitiveness such as his? Put me face to face with a tiger, and I should know what to do; with a madman; but with one of your . . . MARS DISARMED. 103 Sellier. Never mind, Mirvoisin — calm yourself. Let us hope victory will be on your side. Mirvoisin. An unwelcome victory that which will make her, whom I love most, unhappy — nay, will cause us to remain strangers forever. \^A servant enters.^ Servant. There is a lady who insists on seeing Monsieur le Marquis. Mirvoisin. Her name? Servant. She refuses to give it, Monsieur le Marquis. Mirvoisin. Let the lady enter. [Servant goes out.'\ Who can my mysterious visitor be? Sellier, will you see that my pistols are in good order? [Sellier withdraws. Alixe, with cloak and hat to disguise her, enters. Mirvoisin hows, with an air of uncer- tainty.^ Whom have I the honor of saluting? [Alixe slowly casts aside her disguise.^ Alixe I you here? Alixe. Yes, driven hither by despair — by hope. Oh, Roger, this meeting must be stopped. 104 MARS DISARMED. MiRVOISIN. [Taking her hands.^ You know, Alixe, that it pains me no less than it does you. Have you seen him ? Alixe. I have begged and implored on bended knee; he caresses, but will not answer me, and you — have you done nothing ? MiRVOISIN. All that lay in my power. I have done, in his case, what I should have done in the case of no other man. I have offered to apologize for the imaginary offense of which I am accused, pro- vided he apologize for the actual insult he prof- fered me. Alixe. And his answer was ? MiRVOISIN. That he would neither accept nor offer an apology. Alixe. And you will meet him ? MiRVOISIN. [Despairingly.'] What else can I do ? Alixe. Refuse to see him. MARS DISARMED. 105 MiRVOISIN. He threatens, in that event, to heap insult upon insult till I be compelled to resent them. Alixe. Flee, then. MmvoisiN, And leave behind that without which I could not live — my love and my honor. Alixe. Conceal yourself; assume indisposition. MiRVOISIN. To what purpose ? Alixe. The encounter would be avoided. MiRVOISIN. It would be but postponed. Alixe. I shall tell him we are betrothed. MiRVOISIN. It would aggravate his animosity, since you would thereby confess you had broken your pledge to him. 106 MARS DISARMED. Alixe. What, then, am I to do? I appeal to you in vain; I appeal to him in vain. Oh, heavens I was woman ever placed in such a plight — to have her heart torn in twain by her brother and her lover ? MiRVOISIN. [^Takes her hand. After a pause. ^ If you will make a sacrifice, AHxe, I shall. Alixe. What do you mean ? MmvoisiN. I shall consider Vimont as having won, and pay the penalty of defeat. Alixe. [^Clinging to him.^ Never 1 MiRVOISIN. But should Vimont lose ? Alixe. He must not lose. MiRVOISIN. Yet one of us . . . MARS DISARMED. 107 Alixe. No — neither of you . . . \^Distractedly.^ Where do you meet ? MiRVOISIN. [Embarrassed. 1 Where do we raeet? Wher- ever Vimont decides. Alixe. And that is ? MiRVOISIN. You know how erratic he is. He has decided that the meeting shall take place; it is for him to decide where. Alixe. When is it to be ? MiRVOISIN. [Perplexed.'] When? [Pause.] Ah, Alixe, ask me not what I cannot tell you. Alixe. [Looking at him appealingly and, for a moment, silently.] Then you will do nothing for me ? MiRVOISIN. I'll give my life for you. 108 MARS DISARMED. Alixe. It would be taking mine. MiRVOISIN. I'll give ... Alixe. You will give everything except that which I ask. MiRVOISIN. IReproachfullyJ] Alixe I Alixe. Instead of a wedding, it will be a funeral; in- stead of the bridal veil, I shall wear the veil of crape. MiRVOISIN. Alixe 1 Alixe. Let the dice perform their mournful task! Avenge your injured honor! Invoke chance — as surely as it will spare one of you, so surely will it strike me . . . [Alixe makes a rapid movement towards the door, hut is intercepted by Mirvoisin.] MiRVOISIN. Do not, I implore you, leave me thus. MARS DISARMED. 109 Alixe. It is you who will it. MiRVOISIN. Far from it! It is a fate I v/ould crush that wills it . . . But since we must part, Alixe, at least let us part as friends . . . Oh, how I re- member the endless days spent in sadness — sad- ness which sprung from doubt of your sentiments towards me. How I remember, Alixe, those short, happy hours — happy because doubt had vanished, and our hearts knew each other's secret. How I remember, Alixe, that supreme moment when, for the first time . . . [He presses her in his arms.^ Alixe. And I, too, remember — and my remembrance is sweeter than yours, since I would have those happy hours continue — whereas you . . . MiRVOISIN. Alas! their memory embitters the prospect of losing them. Alixe. Listen, Roger; my love for Eugene is more in- tense than your hate of him. If I sacrifice the greater, you might sacrifice the lesser. I should rather incur his eternal resentment than follow his dear body to the grave; I should rather . . . \_She checks herself and lowers her eyes-l 110 MARS DISARMED. MiRVOISIN. What is it, Alixe ? Alixe. [Hesitating.'] You force me to utter pleadings that should come from your lips. MiRVOISIN. Coming from yours, they will prove more irre- sistible. Alixe. [Betraying deep emotion.'] Will you leave this place if I leave it with you? [She seizes his hand.] Let us fly, Roger — let us fly to a land far away — from strife and from anger, to peace and to love . . . [She pauses.] You are silent . . . you hesitate . . . [She draws herself hack, assumes an injured look, then, with majestic dignity, moves to the door. He follows her, calling, "Alixe, Alixe" — hut her manner forbids further in- terference. She glides silently out of the room. Sellier enters, carrying the box of dueling pistols. He places it on the table. MiRVOISIN opens the box, and with a calm — half-mocking, half-serious — look, takes one of the pistols in his hand, examines it, and tests the trigger.] Sellier. I have fulfilled the duty imposed on me. May MARS DISARMED. Ill these [pointing to the pistols] not be called upon to perform theirs. MiRVOISIN. I ask myself whether, after all, Sellier, it is not as well to go this way as any other — now as well as later. The time must come, and in a hundred years . . . Sellier. To-morrow you will not speak thus. MiRVOISIN. [With a hitter smile.'] Perhaps not. [A servant enters.] Servant. The Abbot of Narmontier. [MiRVOISIN makes an impatient movement. Sellier withdraws to one side and stands leaning against the hack of a chair. The Abbot — a venerable man — enters^ Abbot. Benedicite — In nomine Patri, et Filii, et Spiritu Sancto. MiRVOISIN. Welcome, reverend father. To what good grace am I indebted for this unexpected visit ? 112 MARS DISARMED. Abbot. It is the mission of the holy Church to main- tain peace amongst men. MiRVOISIN. The holy Church has a difficult mission at this moment, with Napoleon in the field. Abbot. The ways of Providence are manifold. Napo- leon serves as a means, and still more will he serve as a moral. Who breaks the peace shall, in his time, suffer defeat. MiRVOISIN. Meanwhile victory follows the martial eagles • • • Abbot. Hush I History is of all time, and we see but the present . . . My son, it was not of Napoleon — may Heaven have mercy on his soul — but of yourself that I came to speak. MiRVOISIN. My services have not yet been called into requisition — I am still a man of peace. Abbot. {^Approaching him with a mysterious air.] You indulge, this day, in an unholy contest . . . MARS BIS ARMED. 113 MiKVOISIN. Father Abbot. I know all ... I come, in the name of the great Father above, and in the name of your honored sire, whose confidence and friendship in God I enjoyed to his last breath, to enjoin you from carrying out your nefarious purpose. MiRVOISIN. [Perplexed^ How came you, holy father, who live within cloistered walls, to learn of unholy worldly doings? Abbot. The Lord is almighty, and where his own glory and man's welfare are concerned, he spares not his might. MiRVOISIN. Well, father, your time, I know, is precious; and mine, I fear, is short. \^He looks at the clock.] I shall be brief and frank. Your informant, whether voice of earth or spirit of heaven, is well informed. I am about to engage in an unholy and, I do sincerely believe, a most unjustifiable contest; you are not more anxious than I, my- self, to prevent it — but it lay not in our power . . . Abbot. Heaven above . . . 114 MARS DISARMED. MiRVOISIN. You speak of heaven ... I bow my head — not only heaven above, but heaven on earth itself, was risked by me, when I picked up the glove that was cast defiantly at my feet. It was not of my doing, father, nor is it subject to my undo- ing. It was forced upon me, and however I ab- hor it, being in it, I shall see it to the end. Abbot. But, my son . . . MiRVOISIN. But, father, believe me — this is beyond your power and mine. Your thought is the same as mine; your wish the same; yet you and I can do nothing — but submit. Abbot. By the memory of all you hold sacred, I con- jure you . . . MiRVOISIN. [Impatiently.'] Pray, father, retire . . . [Look- ing at the clock.] In five minutes they will be here. Abbot. Confess, my son . . . MiRVOISIN. There is time, good father. This is to be a MARS DISARMED. 115 trial by jury. The verdict precedes execution. Between the two there will be room for confession. Abbot. The Lord have mercy on your soul. [Mirvoi- siN kneels; the Abbot blesses him.'] I shall not be far — send for me, my son. \_Abbot goes out, followed by Sellier. Birson enters, carrying a small bag.] MiRVOISIN. Good morning to you, esteemed uncle. By the way, your prognostications of the other day are not verified. BiRSON. [Placing the bag on the table.] In what respect? MiRVOISIN. The cannon's day never came. Vimont lives, and is still bent on fighting ... in his own peculiar way. BiRSON. A rather solemn occasion for you to indulge in your own peculiar humor. MiRVOISIN. \_With disdain.] Think you so, esteemed uncle ? What have you in that bag ? 116 MARS DISARMED. BiRSON. {^Embarrassed.^ Nothing much — a thing or two the General may require. MiRVOISIN. Ah — ah — I seel What a type of the tradi- tional preacher you are I BrnsoN. [Sarcastically. 1 What does the oracle mean? MiRVOISIN. This — that you, the most fervent of Royalist preachers, have gone over [tapping his hag], bag and baggage, to the Bonapartist camp. BiRSON. Listen, Roger, listen . . . MiRVOISIN. [Moving to the door.] Listen to more of your moral preaching? No, uncle, not now. The moment is inopportune — I have other matters to attend to. [MiRVOISIN goes out. Birson, alone, opens the bag and takes out a small phial. He exam- ines it closely.] BiRSON. Guaranteed effective — beyond the recourse of MARS DISARMED. 117 medicine. \_He replaces the phial in the hag, and takes out a box of dice, which he shakes hurriedly and throws the dice on the tahle.'\ Vimont, three duces — good! [Shakes the box and throws the dice again.] Mirvoisin, two fives — and nothing more — he loses! [Mirvoisin enters, accompanied by his sec- onds. They look at the clock. It strikes eleven, in deep sonorous tones. All are silent. At the last stroke Vimont and his seconds are announced. Vimont acts with suppressed excitement and speaks with forced calmness.] Vimont. Is everything ready, Birson? BiRSON. So far as I am concerned, all is ready, General. [Mirvoisin stands on one side of the table^ Vimont on the other, as though eager to test the dice. The four seconds group themselves at a distance and are engaged in an ani- mated discussion. Birson stands alone, apparently indifferent to the issue.] Vimont. Gentlemen, Monsieur de Birson has consented to act as my proxy. [Birson offers the box of dice to Mirvoisin, who, with an air of deference, hands it back to Birson. The latter, eagerly watched by 118 MARS DISARMED. allj who have approached the table, shakes the box violently and throws the dice.^ Three fives! [MiRVOisiN takes the box and is in the act of shaking it, when one of his seconds steps up.'\ Chartier. This is irregular. The dice have not been ex- amined; the signal has not been given. ViMONT. There are the dice; examine them. We await the signal. [The seconds withdraw to a comer j and once more indulge in a discussion.^ Latour. [Addressing Vimont and Mirvoisin.] I am compelled to inform you, gentlemen, that while we came to a conclusion last evening, we are far from agreeing this morning. ViMONT. In what respect? Latour. Monsieur Chartier and I are of the opinion that there is something unmanly, nay, repellant, in leaving to the cast of a die the lives of two brave men. MARS DISARMED. 119 ViMONT. And I am of the opinion that this is a pre- pared plan — a trick — a trick, I say — to interfere with my securing satisfaction from this man [turning fiercely to Mirvoisin]. Chartier. You seem to forget, General Vimont, that you are the challenged party. Latour. Believe me. General, there is no desire on our part to deprive you or the Marquis of the means of securing satisfaction. ViMONT. [With emphasis.'] Then carry out the pro- gramme agreed upon. Chartier. Monsieur Latour and I do not consider that programme satisfactory. ViMONT. Then suggest a better one. Latour. Remember, General, the Emperor's aversion to duels. "Good duelist, poor soldier" — is one of his axioms. 120 MARS DISARMED. ViMONT. A good duelist I can never be; a poor soldier I am doomed to be always. But that is not the point. We have met here for a specific purpose. Let us carry out that purpose. Latour. But, General, while we are here for a specific purpose, and while we all agree, more or less, that the purpose is not inconsistent with your sense of honor, or our sense of duty in the prem- ises, we differ widely as to the propriety of satis- fying that purpose in the manner referred to. Chartier. While I know I am not expressing Monsieur de Mirvoisin's wishes, I am convinced that, if free from passion, he would agree with Monsieur Latour and myself that the vindication of a man's honor should depend, not upon the cast of a die, but upon a test of superior strength or skill. ViMONT. That is your opinion — very well — I shall accept it as though my own. Vindication shall depend upon a test of superior strength or skill. Tie the Marquis's wrists behind his back. Thus he will have no advantage over me. Draw three parallel lines — ten, twenty, thirty feet apart, one here, one there, one there. We shall meet at the central line — face to face, chest to chest. He MARS DISARMED. 121 who shall, twice out of three times, force his adversary to the further line, shall be victorious. If the Marquis, poison shall end my life; if I, he shall blow out his brains. Latour. [Addressing his colleague J] He is bent on fighting. ViMONT. I am bent on settling this matter, now and on this spot. MiRVOISIN. [Calmly.'] The suggestion of the General meets with my approval. [The seconds confer for a few moments.] Latour. [Addressing his colleagues, but loud enough to he overheard.] With all respect to the General, the proposition he has made, however ingenious, is impracticable. ViMONT. [With passion.] It is not impracticable! And even if it were a hundred times less so, you would still object — it is your game, your plan. Dice were decided upon, and objections were brought forth because our fate was to be left to chance. It was claimed that strength and skill were required. I now suggest something wherein strength and skill will be brought into play, and still you object. 122 MARS DISARMED. Latour. Personally, I object, because it would be con- verting an affair of honor — a most serious matter — ^into a farce. A case of this nature can only be settled by fighting — with swords or pistols. ViMONT. The time was when there were no swords, no pistols, yet men fought. Latour. True — but they had fists. ViMONT. Animals fight, and they have no fists. If, as you insist, a duel should be a test of strength between adversaries, what matters it whether the issue be decided by means of pistols, swords, fists, horns, teeth, or chests? Latour. It matters this much: that one is recognized as civilized, the other as barbarous. ViMONT. Recognized — but on what grounds, by what right? The vain subtilities of custom, the incon- sistent regulation of nations! I have seen men killed in my day — by the hundred, by the thou- sand. I have galloped over battlefields covered MARS DISARMED. 123 with slain. They were dead — dead — quite dead. What mattered it to thera what killed them — balls, swords, bayonets, arrows, blows? Life was gone — gone beyond recourse; gone without their help, without their will; taken from them by the enemy. And you talk of civilized methods! The barbarian kills his man; so do we. What he does is barbarous; what we do is civilized. In either case the man is killed. Does the method employed make any difference to the man who is slain? Does it increase or diminish his chances of coming to life again? Does it relieve the man who killed him from the responsibility of his act? Throw poisoned food to the bird, or shatter its wings as it flies across the azure sky, does not the bird die? and are you not the cause of its death? Bah! Talk not to me of your civilized and your barbarous methods! Man may recognize what he pleases, resort to any distinctions, any niceties, he chooses — but in either case his nature remains the same, his pur- pose the same, the result the same. \_The seconds look at each other, perplexed, amazed. Mirvoisin stands immovable, his eyes riveted on Vimont.] Latour. Pardon me. General; there is a difference between what you suggest and the accepted form of duel . . . ViMONT. ^Interrupting ."] A difference, if you will — but 124 MARS DISARMED. no greater than that existing between a duel with swords and one with pistols. Chartier. ^ This is a perplexing case. ViMONT. It is perplexing to those only who wish to make it so. Latour. It is a most unusual case, and the means suggested for its settlement are of such a nature that we appeal to you — to both of you — if not to forget your differences, at least not to allow them to force you, and ourselves, into a position the consequences of which . . . ViMONT. I shirk none of the consequences. If the Mar- quis is disposed to do so, let him say so. [He pauses and casts a searching look at Mirvoisin.] In which case we shall ascertain the source of all these objections, these pourparlers. Mirvoisin. I shirk, or fear, none of the consequences. And I beg to inform you, sir, that I have not, as you have, attempted to influence the decision of the seconds. I placed my case in their hands, and there I have silently allowed it to remain. [The seconds confer. Vimont paces the floor impatiently, stopping, for a moment, to whisper something to Birson.] MARS DISARMED. 125 Chartier. [^Talking forcibly to his colleague.'] There is not, in my mind, sufficient cause for this duel. ViMONT. What! I spat in your principal's face and you do not deem that sufficient cause ? Would you have me repeat the offense ? Chartier. The original cause is the one I referred to. ViMONT. The secondary cause is the one I refer to. Chartier. Since you insist, we shall reluctantly perform the duty imposed upon us. Mirvoisin, are you ready ? Mirvoisin. [Stepping forward briskly.'] Ready Chartier. With what shall his wrists be tied ? BiRSON. Here! [iJe draws from his pocket a large handker- chief and hands it to the seconds. One 126 MARS DISARMED. of Vimont's seconds ties Mirvoisin's wrists tightly behind his back. All the seconds examine the knot carefully and nod approv- ingly. Then they measure the distance be- between the two walls, on either side of the room, moving the furniture for the purpose.^ Chartier. The central line shall be here. [He places a handkerchief on the floor to indicate the spot."} The outer lines shall be here [touching the wall], and there [pointing to the wall on the opposite side, and which one of the seconds touches.] Latour. Now, gentlemen, I appeal to you once more. Is there no possibility of reconciUng your differ- ences ? ViMONT. None. Let the contest begin. MiRVOISIN. So say I. Chartier. It is understood, then, that you shall meet here [j)ointing to the central line], chest to chest — and that he who shall, twice out of three times, force his adversary to the outer line, shall be victor. ViMONT. It is so understood and agreed. MARS DISARMED. 127 MiRVOISIN. It is so understood and agreed. Chartier. What time shall be allowed to elapse between the contests ? ViMONT. For my part, I say let them follow in quick succession. MiRVOISIN. In quick succession. \_The two men meet on the line, chest to chest. The seconds take position to observe the con- test. One of the latter puts the question, Are you ready? The principals respond in a firm voice. Yes. In deliberate tones one of the seconds counts. One, two, three. The struggle commences. With teeth set, the contestants strain every muscle to overcome each other. At first there is no perceptible advantage on either side; then, in turn, they gain on one another. Finally, Mirvoisin, making a supreme effort, pushes Vimont, with a rush, to the opposite wall. The sec- onds take note, while the two adversaries, looking fiercely at each other, resume their position at the central line. The question, "Are you ready ?" is asked and responded to. One, two, three. The second contest commences. From the start Vimont has the advantage. He is on the point of rush- ing Mirvoisin to the wall, when the latter slips and falls to his knees.^ 128 MARS DISARMED. ViMONT. [Turning excitedly to the seconds.^ I protest! MiRVOISIN. [Rising."] It was an accident — I swear 1 ViMONT. An accident which you can bring about when- ever you are on the point of losing. MiRVOISIN. Since he doubts my statement, I give him the second contest. ViMONT. [Indignantly.'] Give! You cannot give that which is not yours. Latour. The absurdity of the situation is obvious. The contest must end. ViMONT. It shall end at the conclusion of the third con- test, not before. MiRVOISIN. Since he refuses to accept, as his, the second contest, let it be resumed here, where it was in- terrupted. MARS DISARMED. 129 ViMONT. Let it be resumed from the central line, where it originally started — but with the understanding that a fall is to be considered equivalent to de- feat. MiRVOISIN. Agreed. [The two men face each other. They await the signal — but the seconds hesitate.^ ViMONT. We are waiting for the word. Latour. Gentlemen, we beg you — desist. ViMONT. If you will not give the word, we shall. [He waits a minute, then turns fiercely to the seconds.^ Since when is it the duty of principals to call seconds to time? Latour. The entire situation is abnormal, and the pro- ceedings irregular. ViMONT. Your presence here is evidence of your having accepted the situation. If you retract, we shall proceed without you. The question! [Hewaits.'l The question! [He waits.] The question! [He 130 MARS DISARMED. waits — the seconds are silent. He addresses Mir- voisiN.] Are you ready? MiRVOISIN. Ready 1 ViMONT. Birson — count three. BiRSON. One — two — three. [JVie second contest is resumed. It is a shorty but sharp, struggle, resulting in Vimont pushing Mirvoisin to the wall. The two men face each other again. They wait. Vimont looks inquiringly to the seconds. They are silent.^ Vimont. [Addressing Mirvoisin.] Are you ready? Mirvoisin. Ready I Vimont. Birson — count three. Birson. One — two — three. [The third struggle commences, more deter^ MARS DISARMED. 131 mined, more prolonged than the previous ones. One has the advantage; then the other. Both come near being pushed to the wall, when a supreme effort saves them, and the contest is resumed near the central line. The seconds are carried away by excitement, and follow the contestants with vivid interest. BiRSON looH on anxiously, swaying his body to and fro, as though his efforts coidd in- fluence the issue. Finally Mirvoisin takes a firm stand and, inch by inch, he pushes ViMONT to the wall. The latter, out of breath, walks up to Birson.] ViMONT. The phial, Birson! [Mirvoisin and the seconds step up briskly.li Mirvoisin. For tny part, General, I cheerfully withdraw the conditions that were imposed. Nay, I beg of you, as a favor, not to insist on carrying them out. ViMONT. [Haughtily.^ Thank you, sir, but I have no favors to ask at your hands; nor do I wish to receive any. Birson, the phial I Chartier. I beg of you, General, do not persist. [One of the seconds removes the handkerchief from Mirvoisin's wrists^ 132 MARS DISARMED. ViMONT. Birson, the phial! [Birson hesitates.'] Remem- ber your promise. [Birson opens the hag and pro- duces the phial.] Uncork it, Birson. [Birson, his fingers on the cork, looks at Vimont and still hesi- tates.] Uncork it, I say; uncork it, if you be a man of your word. [Birsoi^ uncorks the phial. The seconds rush between him and Vimont and exclaim, " We implore you, desist."—" What folly." —" It is a crime." — " It must not be." Vimont attempts to force his way to Birson. This scene must he full of action, Vimont struggling against the four sec- onds, who wish to keep him from Birson.] Fie on you! Fie! You cannot deter me with words. Break your compact if you will, I shall observe mine, to the letter. [He makes another desperate effort to reach Birson.] Stand back, I say! That man [looking at Birson] is bound to me by a solemn vow. Would you have him break his word? Would you have me despise him? Back — back! [Again he tries to force his way to Bir- son. During the scHmmage which follows, a half- suppressed scream is heard, a portiere is drawn aside, and Alixe and M.ABEi.EmE, followed by the Ahhot, appear on the scene. Madeleine, fright- ened, partly clinging to the Ahhot, remains at a distance from the group of men, while Alixe rushes forth to her brother. Vimont seems staggered for a moment. He draws himself away from Alixe. He looks at her and then at Madeleine.] What are you doing here? MARS DISARMED. 133 Alixe. I am here to stop the perpetration of a crime. ViMONT. You are here to try and stop the fulfillment of a sacred duty. Alixe. Duty, I know, Eugene, is, from your stand- point, the carrying out of your word — given in excitement, under the influence of false impres- sions. But is there not a duty — a nobler, a higher, duty — which you owe to others? Forget me, if you will — me, who love you, look up to you, depend on you; but remember one other, one whose sentiments I make bold to voice when I say — what circumstances would otherwise for- bid me saying — that you once led her to believe you loved her, and that she has vowed her life to you. ViMONT. [Astonished.'] To whom do you refer? [Alixe turns towards Madeleine, who stands silent, with hands clasped and head bowed low.] Indeed you do make bold, for, unless I am grossly misin- formed, the lady Madeleine is prepared to bestow on another that which you say she has vowed to me. Alixe. On another! And pray, Eugene, to whom do you refer? 134 MARS DISARMED. ViMONT. [Turning to Mirvoisin.] To this man. Madeleine. {^Raising her head, with a look of surprise and indignation, moves towards Alixe and takes her hand.] Monsieur de Mirvoisin ! Never did he utter a word of love to me, or cast a loving glance. More than this, I shall say — what cir- cumstances would otherwise forbid me saying — that not only has Monsieur de Mirvoisin never sighed at my feet, but I know him to be the ever- constant lover of this fair lady [looking at Alixe] and I know full well that he loves her not in vain. ViMONT. [Perplexed.] Is this some plot, some precon- certed action, to deter me from my resolve? Abbot. [Stepping forward.'] I betray no secret of the confessional when I confirm as facts what these ladies have here related. Alixe. [Still holding Madeleine's hand, advances tow- ards ViMONT.] Men swear on their honor, as gentlemen. Permit us, then, to swear on our honor — not a whit less sacred to us than theirs — as gentlewomen, that what we say is true. MARS DISARMED. 135 Madeleine. And believe us — since we are women, and have said and done what woman's nature forbids her saying and doing — that our words and actions, which you have just heard and wit- nessed, sprang not from desire on our part, but from circumstances which we pray may be spared to others of our sex. Otherwise, silence would have chained our tongue, and our love died rather than betray itself. ViMONT. [Looking intently at Alixe and Madeleine, as though to read their thoughts^ and then turning to BiRSON.] How is this, Birson? This tale does not correspond with yours. [Birson hangs his head and is silent, Vimont turns to Mirvoisin.] Did you, or did you not, refer to me in insulting terms? Mirvoisin. No words concerning you ever escaped my lips, save words of praise. No thoughts ever dwelt in my mind, save thoughts of kindness. Wish- ing, above all else, to win your fair sister's hand, how could I have ventured to offend him from whom I was to ask that hand? ViMONT. I take your word for it — \he pauses'] — and crave your forgiveness. I cannot offer you my hand, but [facing Alixe] take hers — 'tis yours. 136 MARS DISARMED. [MiRVOisiN takes Alixe's hand.'] Love her, be kind to her — His all I ask. [Turning to Birson.] Birson, for reasons you well understand, I took you, a penniless wanderer, to my home. I gave you shelter, I gave you my confidence, I had reason to hope . . . Quick I quick! [The sec- onds rush forward and take from Birson the phial of poison which he is about to bring to his lips.] No, Birson, live — live, but go elsewhere if you would find victims for your vile deceit. It will prove less offensive if practiced on those to whom you do not owe a debt of gratitude. [Birson, with bowed head, is about to with- draw, when Madame and Mademoiselle de LA Marthe enter. They salute the company, who salute in turn. During this scene, Alixe and Madeleine are conversing, hold- ing each other^s hand, while Vimont and Mirvoisin are talking earnestly, in low tones.] Mdlle. de la Marthe. [Addressing Birson.] We have been seeking you everywhere. Madame de la Marthe. [Taking Birson aside and folloived by Madem- oiselle DE LA Marthe.] A letter received this morning announces more family news of impor- tance. MARS DISARMED. 137 Mdlle. de la Marthe. Our cousin Antoinette is to marry Monsieur de Bastiac. Madame de la Marthe. [Solemnly^ How true the family tradition! Only four days have elapsed, and already the second engagement is announced. Mdlle. de la Marthe. [To Birson. Maliciously. '\ That kills your chance. BiRSON. [ With greater evidence of malice.'] Yours like- wise. Madame and Mdlle. de la Marthe. How so? How so? BiRSON. The third engagement is announced. Madame and Mdlle. de la Marthe. [Eagerly.'] Whose? Whose? BiRSON. Our nephew de Mirvoisin is engaged to Mad- emoiselle Vimont. [Consternation of the two ladies^ who withdraw to a corner, followed by Birson. Vimont and Mirvoisin join Alixe and Made- leine.] 138 MARS DISARMED. Alixe. Did I not tell you, Eugene, that, if you tried, you should find something nobler than war, sweeter than renown — something that would awaken a new ambition? ViMONT. [Looking at Alixe, then at Madeleine, whom he approaches.'] Yes, fair sister, I have indeed found both the incentive to, and the reward of, true ambition. MiRVOISIN. [Smilingly.] Mars disarmed . . . Abbot. Laus Deo semper! the end. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY BERKELEY THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW Books not returned on time are subject to a fine of 50c per volume after the third day overdue, increasing to $1.00 per volume after the sixth day. Books not in demand may be renewed if application is made before expiration of loan period. JUL 26 1929 50m-7 Yb 27853 y