THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 SISTER BEATRICE 
 
 AND 
 
 ARDIANE AND BARBE BLEUE
 
 THE WORKS OF MAURICE MAETERLINCK 
 
 ESSAYS 
 
 THE TREASURE OF THE HUMBLE 
 
 WISDOM AND DESTINY 
 
 THE LIFE OF THE BEE 
 
 THE BURIED TEMPLE 
 
 THE DOUBLE GARDEN 
 
 THE MEASURE OF THE HOURS 
 
 ON EMERSON, AND OTHER ESSAYS 
 
 OUR ETERNITY 
 
 THE UNKNOWN GUEST 
 
 THE WRACK OF THE STORM 
 
 PLAYS 
 
 SISTER BEATRICE, AND ARDIANK AND BARBI BLEUI 
 
 JOYZELLE, AND MoNNA VANNA 
 
 THE BLUE BIRD, A FAIRY PLAY 
 
 MARY MAGDALENE 
 
 PLLEAS AND MELISANDE, AND OTHER PLAYS 
 
 PRINCESS MALEINE 
 
 THE INTRUDER, AND OTHER PLAYS 
 
 AGLAVAINE AND SELYSETTE 
 
 THE MIRACLE OF SAINT ANTHONY 
 
 POEMS 
 
 HOLIDAY EDITIONS 
 
 OUR FRIEND THE DOG 
 
 THE SWARM 
 
 DEATH 
 
 THOUGHTS FROM MAETERLINCK 
 
 THE BLUE BIRD 
 
 THE LIFE OF THE BEE 
 
 NEWS OF SPRING AND OTHER NATURE STUDIM 
 
 THE LIGHT BEYOND
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 and 
 
 Ardiane Sf Barbe Bleue 
 
 TWO PLAYS 
 
 Translated into English Verse from the 
 Manuscript of 
 
 MAURICE MAETERLINCK 
 
 By 
 
 BERNARD MIALL 
 
 New York 
 
 Dodd, Mead and Company 
 1918
 
 iV Copyright, I go I 
 BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 
 ^11 rightt reserved
 
 College 
 JLibrary 
 
 Translator's Preface 
 
 " THESE two little plays," says the author, 
 "are really librettos. Music is being written to 
 them by M. Gilkas." The French version is 
 in unrhymed alexandrines, if the term be per- 
 missible ; that is, in unrhymed lines of twelve 
 syllables. It is of course possible to employ 
 this metre in English verse, but it is a medium 
 as yet too little polished by use to refract, with- 
 out theft or distortion, its immanent sense ; it 
 is, so to speak, one of your material metres, 
 more ready to present itself in body than in 
 spirit, being still in a primitive stage of evolu- 
 tion, and waiting the master-hand which shall 
 teach it an easy delivery and self-effacement.
 
 Translator's Preface 
 
 In short, it is a metre neither so far familiar 
 nor so far developed as to justify its use by a 
 translator, whose duty is to interpret his author, 
 in some remote degree, as his author might 
 wish, rather than to experiment as himself 
 might please. 
 
 For myself, I had no envy to attempt it, and 
 so, with my author's approval, I have turned 
 his play into such blank verse as I might j hold- 
 ing, with him, that our English unrhymed verse 
 of ten syllables, iambic in scheme, trochaic, 
 dactylic, anapaestic, catalectic, and what not by 
 incident, is an equivalent sufficiently near, 
 and perhaps the most proper, of the French 
 unrhymed verse of twelve syllables. But I do 
 not pretend that the author's mood may not be 
 betrayed by the staccato effect of the shorter 
 line. To the French alexandrine, of all metres, 
 is possible at times a " linked sweetness long 
 drawn out," which by a shorter metre, or, in- 
 deed, by any metre consisting, as ours, very 
 largely of accent, is rarely attainable. 
 vi
 
 Translator's Preface 
 
 Readers may miss in "Sister Beatrice " what 
 they are used to call the glamour, the atmo- 
 sphere, of the Maeterlinckian drama. They 
 will miss it partly, no doubt, because I have 
 translated it ; but partly also because it is partly 
 absent in the French ; they may, perhaps, find 
 more of it in the music, if they have the fortune 
 to hear it. But the play unsung, unstaged, 
 it is, as I have said, a libretto is the play of 
 M. Maeterlinck's which most nearly approaches, 
 in the matter of treatment, the avowedly obvious 
 spirit of the English drama. That the story is 
 all spiritual, or rather, that the spiritual in the 
 play has a story, is no doubt the reason why 
 the treatment may be material and articulate. 
 
 Other plays of this author might be described 
 
 he himself, I think, might so describe them 
 
 as belonging to static or potential drama: 
 
 the plays were the dramas of a state of feeling. 
 
 Here, I think, we have for the first time in 
 
 M. Maeterlinck's theatre the treatment of a 
 
 legend already crystallised : a legend in Eng- 
 
 vii
 
 Translator's Preface 
 
 land familiar to readers of Mr. John David- 
 son's poetry in " The Ballad of a Nun." It 
 has also been treated by Miss Adelaide Anne 
 Procter, and a singularly charming translation 
 of the original Dutch version for in Dutch 
 we find it first told and first printed may be 
 found in the first volume of a publication called 
 the "Pageant," issued some years ago. This 
 version was translated by Mr. Laurence Hous- 
 man and Mr. J. Simons; whether it be the 
 oldest or the original version I am unable to 
 say. 
 
 This to explain why " Sister Beatrice" is not 
 most obviously by M. Maeterlinck, and by no 
 one else. 
 
 LIDO, VENICE, 
 May 10, 1900. 
 
 viii
 
 Translator's Preface 
 
 II 
 
 IN translating "Ardiane and Barbe Bleue," 
 which, like "Sister Beatrice," was written as a 
 libretto, I have again used the ordinary " blank 
 verse " line to represent the unrhymed French 
 line of twelve syllables. But in the original 
 text of this drama there are many passages in 
 vers libre, both rhymed and otherwise. To 
 make irregular metres readable in English re- 
 quires no less than inspiration, and if inspiration 
 is not always at the service of the poet it is still 
 less often at the beck of the translator. In 
 such passages I have therefore preserved, so far 
 as possible, the original measures, but have in 
 all cases, or nearly all, retained or added rhyme. 
 It was not easy to decide whether I should 
 call our familiar hero-villain Bluebeard or Barbe 
 Bleue. As children we connect him with Ali 
 Baba and the Forty Thieves ; but if he be any- 
 thing less than universal he would appear to be 
 French. Some would relegate him merely to 
 ix
 
 Translator's Preface 
 
 the post of an accidentally baptized variety of 
 the Myth of the Closed Chamber; 1 some 
 identify him with a certain Marshal and Con- 
 stable of France, 2 companion-in-arms to the 
 Duke of Brittany; some say he is Henry VIII. ; 
 at all events one Gilles de Lavalle, sieur de 
 Rais, and lord in all of some eight goodly 
 chateaux, for the most part in Brittany, con- 
 stable and marshal as aforesaid, did commit cer- 
 tain atrocities upon certain women and children, 
 though his wife survived him, and he was 
 in 1440 executed therefore, at the age of 
 thirty-six. One popular legend has it that the 
 brothers of seven deceased wives arrived with 
 Saint Gildas, whereupon the castle crumbled 
 away, and the brothers killed the marshal and 
 
 1 See "The Forbidden Chamber : " E. Sydney Hart- 
 land, Folk-lore Journal 1885, vol. iii. Also Mr. Lang's 
 edition of Perrault. It was from Perrault that M. 
 Maeterlinck obtained the legend, which he has altered 
 to suit himself. 
 
 2 See " Un Marechal et un Connetable de France. 
 La Barbe Bleue de la legende et de 1'histoire," in the 
 British Museum. 
 
 X
 
 Translator's Preface 
 
 constable. Whether this feudal dignitary, who 
 in his twenties was marshal, constable, and 
 councillor to King Charles VII., was or was 
 not the original of the Bluebeard legend, it is 
 certain that of the ruins of his numerous castles 
 all are known by the latter's name, and are 
 connected with legends of his atrocities ; and 
 in one, the castle of Chantoce, which one 
 Thiphaine or Triphine d'Anguille gave in noo 
 to the forbears of one Marie de Grain, who in 
 marriage brought it to Gui, father of Rais, 
 father of Barbe Bleue, or Gilles de Lavalle, 
 may be seen to this day a long subterranean 
 hall, communicating with another, low and 
 square, which is entered by three staircases. 
 Chantoce is built on a flat rock, surrounded by 
 a moat, and was defended by two towers with 
 drawbridges. It is interesting to note that the 
 depravity of Gilles was attributed to the fervent 
 study of pernicious literature in his youth. 
 
 As the story of Bluebeard pure and simple, 
 as distinguished from that of Bluebeard Gilles,
 
 Translator's Preface 
 
 n found in Greek, French, Tuscan, Icelandic, 
 Esthonian, Gaelic, and Basque, it seems unlikely 
 that Gilles was the origin of the legend. It is 
 most likely that the Myth of the Forbidden 
 Chamber found, as all stories will sooner or 
 later find, an exposition in actual life ; so that 
 the real drama, in course of years and popular 
 relation, took to itself some or all of the inter- 
 national Forbidden Chamber details, while the 
 Forbidden Chamber stories were given, in 
 many countries, a name, and in France a local 
 habitation or rather some eight or nine such. 
 The name of the victorious and final wife is 
 variable. Often it is Anne. Sometimes she 
 finds the corpses, sometimes the heads ; the 
 wives, who are usually seven, are sometimes 
 her sisters and sometimes not. Sometimes her 
 brothers kill the polygamous husband ; some- 
 times she has no brothers, and restores the 
 wives to life, as she does in one of the Gaelic 
 versions. In the version of Perrault, which is 
 probably the original of all our English versions, 
 xii
 
 Translator's Preface 
 
 she finds the bodies of the wives, and her 
 brothers execute justice. 
 
 When I thought of retaining the French 
 name of the hero, it was, as I say, to preserve 
 the reader from reminiscences of the pantomime 
 and the Arabian Nights, which somehow do 
 not " march together " with the drama of M. 
 Maeterlinck. I finally determined to retain 
 " Barbe Bleue " for the name of our hero 
 because the names of all the other characters 
 are French, and untranslatable, and it seemed 
 to me that the contrast of the English name 
 of our hero would still further accentuate the 
 illegitimate Arabian and pantomimic reminis- 
 cences that, for some of us, cling to it. Plain 
 " Bluebeard " is hardly congruous with these 
 other names ; we have never thought of our 
 childhood's monster as the warden of a harem 
 of maidens out of a play by M. Maeterlinck. 
 The point is difficult as it is nice, and also 
 trivial, and perhaps it is best to leave the reader 
 to give our hero the name that his individual 
 xiii
 
 Translator's Preface 
 
 taste dictates. My apology is to disarm the 
 captious. 
 
 A word as to the versification of these two 
 translations. They are for the most part 
 written in what is popularly called "blank 
 verse." At the same time, besides employing 
 the slight variations which precedence allows 
 in such verse, I have introduced, here and there, 
 what I conceive to be a variation especially 
 desirable in a translation, wherein one cannot 
 always, or often, choose one's words, and is 
 sometimes compelled to employ a phrase that 
 would, if handled in the ordinary way, be 
 unmusical in the extreme. This variation 
 consists in the employment of the well-known 
 principle of catalexis where not to employ that 
 principle would result in cacophony. To 
 render certain concatenations of consonants, 
 especially those containing sibilants, tolerable 
 to the ear, I have allowed for the time which 
 their pronunciation actually demands, by count- 
 ing them as a syllable, so that the decasyllabic 
 xiv
 
 Translator's Preface 
 
 line, though still having the time of ten sylla- 
 bles, has only nine syllables in it if estimated 
 in the ordinary way. An example of such a 
 line is : 
 
 " In silence shed before a queen's feet." 
 Another example is 
 
 " Open the fifth door." "Not even there ?" 
 
 I should not have referred to this matter had 
 not a critic quoted one of the above lines as a 
 proof that I was ignorant of the elementary 
 rules of versification. 
 
 BERNARD MIALL. 
 LONDON, April 18, 1901. 
 
 XV
 
 Con tents 
 
 Page 
 
 SISTER BEATRICE i 
 
 ARDIANE AND BARBE BLEUE ... 93
 
 SISTER BEATRICE 
 
 A MIRACLE PLAY IN THREE ACTS.
 
 THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY 
 
 THE HOLY VIRGIN (in the likeness of 
 
 SISTER BEATRICE) 
 SISTER BEATRICE 
 THE ABBESS 
 SISTER EGLANTINE 
 SISTER CLEMENCY 
 SISTER FELICITY 
 SISTER BALBINE 
 SISTER REGINA 
 SISTER GISELA 
 THE PRIEST 
 PRINCE BELLIDOR 
 LITTLE ALLETTE 
 
 Beggars, Pilgrims, &c. 
 
 TIME The Thirteenth Century. PLACE A Convtnt 
 in the neighbourhood of Louvain,
 
 SISTER BEATRICE 
 
 ACT THE FIRST 
 
 A corridor ; in the centre of which is the great 
 entrance-door of the convent. To the 
 right) the door of the chapel, to which 
 a few steps give access, makes an angle 
 with the wall of the corridor. In the 
 angle so formed an image of the VIRGIN, 
 of the stature of an ordinary woman, 
 stands within a niche, on a pedestal of 
 marble, which is raised on steps and 
 enclosed within a grille. I'he image is 
 attired after the Spanish manner, in 
 vestments of silk and precious brocades, 
 which give it the semblance of a celes- 
 tial princess. A broad girdle, wrought 
 3
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 in gold, encircles the waist, and a golden 
 fillet, on which glitter precious stones, 
 confines, like a diadem, the tresses of 
 woman s hair that fall about the shoul- 
 ders of the image. To the left of the 
 convent door is seen the cell of SISTER 
 BEATRICE. The door of the cell is ajar. 
 The whitewashed cell is furnished with 
 a chair, a table, and a pallet-bed. It 
 is night. Before the VIRGIN a lamp is 
 burning, and at her feet is prostrated 
 SISTER BEATRICE. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Pity me, Lady : me about to fall 
 In mortal sin, for he is coming back 
 To-night, to-night, and I am all alone ! 
 What must I say to him, what must I do? 
 He looks at me with trembling hands, 
 
 and I 
 
 I know not what it is that he desires. 
 Since I came first into this holy house 
 4
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 Four years are nearly gone ay, four 
 
 years quite 
 But for six weeks, when August meets 
 
 July. 
 
 Then I knew nothing : I was quite a child : 
 And now I still know nothing : nor I dare 
 Ask of the Abbess, nor to any tell 
 This matter that torments my heart 
 
 this woe, 
 
 Or else, this happiness. It is, they say, 
 Allowed to love a man in marriage : he, 
 When first of all I leave the convent, says, 
 Before he even kiss me, there shall be 
 A hermit, one who does miraculous things, 
 One that he knows, who shall unite us 
 
 both. 
 
 We are told often of the lures of sin, 
 And of the snares of man : but him you 
 
 know ; 
 
 He is not like the others. Long ago, 
 When I was little, he would often come 
 Into my father's garden of a Sunday ; 
 5
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 We played together there. Him I forgot, 
 But oftentimes I would remember that 
 When I was miserable, or in my prayers. 
 Pious he is and wise : his eyes are gentler 
 Than those of a little child that kneels to 
 
 pray. 
 
 Here at your feet he knelt the other night, 
 Under the lamp : did you not see him 
 
 there ? 
 To look at, like your Son. Gravely he 
 
 smiles, 
 
 As if he spoke to God, though but to me, 
 To me who cannot answer him he speaks, 
 Me who have no possessions. See, I tell 
 
 you 
 
 All : for I seek not to deceive you ; see, 
 I am very wretched, though for three days 
 
 now 
 
 I have been unable to cry any more. 
 Did I refuse to listen to his prayer 
 He swore that he would die ! And I 
 
 have heard 
 
 6
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 That such a thing may happen ; such as 
 
 he, 
 Men that are beautiful, and tall, and 
 
 young, 
 Have slain themselves because of love. 
 
 One day 
 
 They spoke of this to Francis and to Paul. 
 If this be true I know not : but the earth 
 Is full of trouble, and they tell us naught. 
 O Mother, hear ! I know not what to 
 
 do! 
 And who knows, Mother, that these 
 
 trembling hands 
 
 Held forth to your holy image shall not be 
 Torches unquenchable in the blaze of Hell 
 To-morrow ? 
 
 \There is heard without the sound of 
 many approaching horsemen. 
 
 Listen ! Listen ! Do you 
 
 hear ? 
 There are horses many ! Now they 
 
 stop ! Ah, now 
 7
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 Feet on the threshold ! now they try the 
 door ! 
 
 \A knock on the great door. 
 What, what to do ? Mother, I will not go 
 I will not, if you wish it ! 
 
 \_She rises, and runs to the door. 
 Bellidor? 
 
 BELLIDOR (from without). 
 Yes, open quickly, Beatrice ! it is I ! 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 Yes, yes ! 
 
 [She throws wide open the door of the 
 convent, and BELLIDOR, clad in a 
 coat of mail and a long blue cloak, 
 is seen upon the threshold. On 
 his right hand is a boy laden 
 with costly garments and glittering 
 jewels. Not far from the door is 
 an old man, who holds two richly- 
 appointed horses by their bridles,
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 and leads them to and fro beneath 
 a tree. In the distance, under 
 the starry sky, a limitless moonlit 
 country. 
 
 BEATRICE (advancing). 
 
 You are not alone ? Who is it there, 
 Under the tree ? 
 
 BELLIDOR. 
 
 Draw nigh, and have no fear ! 
 \Kneeling upon the threshold he kisses 
 
 the hem of BEATRICE'S robe. 
 O, beautiful, as you come forward so, 
 Beatrice ! to front the stars that wait for 
 
 you 
 As you upon the threshold trembling 
 
 stand ! 
 
 Surely they know a mighty happiness 
 Has come to birth, and, like the dust of 
 
 gold 
 
 In silence shed before a queen's feet, 
 9
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 They are strewn over all the long blue 
 
 ways 
 We go to travel through. What is it? 
 
 Say! 
 What would you, what ? O, do your feet 
 
 already 
 Falter ? You turn your head ? O no, 
 
 no, no ! 
 My arms enlace you, hold you forever 
 
 fast 
 In the sight of Heaven ? No ! you shall 
 
 not fly, 
 
 For by enchaining love delivers you ! 
 O come, come, seek no more the shadows 
 
 dim 
 Of the lamps wherein love slumbered. 
 
 Love has seen 
 
 The light he never saw before : the light 
 Whose every passing ray his triumph 
 
 gilds, 
 
 Unites our youthful spirits, and ensures 
 Our destinies. O, Beatrice,, Beatrice ! 
 10
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 Behold, I see you, I am near you, touch, 
 Embrace you and salute you the first 
 time ! 
 
 \_At these words he abruptly rises, seizes 
 BEATRICE about the body, and 
 kisses her on the lips. 
 
 BEATRICE (recoiling, and feebly defending 
 
 herself}. 
 
 No, do not kiss me ! You had promised 
 me ! 
 
 BELL i DOR (redoubling his kisses). 
 
 O, those were never promises of love ! 
 Love cannot say that love will not adore, 
 And lovers make no promises ; never 
 
 they 
 Shall promise aught who once have given 
 
 all! 
 
 Love every moment gives the all it has, 
 And if it promise to reserve or stay 
 ii
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 One kiss, it gives a hundred thousand 
 
 more 
 To efface the wrong done to its lips itself. 
 
 \_Embracing her more ardently and seek- 
 ing to draw her away. 
 Come, come ! The night is passing, and 
 
 the sky 
 
 Already paler, and the horses fret. 
 There is now one step only more to take, 
 One to descend 
 
 \_Suddenly observing that BEATRICE is 
 failing in his arms. 
 
 You do not answer me ? 
 I do not hear you breathe : your knees 
 
 give way ! 
 Come ! Never wait until the envious 
 
 dawn 
 
 Outlays its golden snares across the path 
 That leads to happiness ! 
 
 BEATRICE (who is almost swooning). 
 
 No, I cannot yet ! 
 
 12
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 BELLIDOR. 
 
 Love, you grow pale ! and all my kisses 
 
 die 
 Quenched on your lips like sparks in 
 
 waters cold. 
 Raise your fair face and give me your 
 
 dear mouth, 
 That strives to smile no more. Oh ! it 
 
 is this, 
 This heavy veil that so constrains your 
 
 throat, 
 And weighs upon your heart. 'Twas 
 
 made for death, 
 Never for life ! 
 
 \With slow and cautious movements he 
 unwraps the 'veil which envelops 
 the face of BEATRICE, who is still 
 unconscious. Presently the first 
 tresses of hair begin to fall, then 
 others and still others^ till at last 
 al^ like flames unimprisoned t fall 
 13
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 suddenly over BEATRICE'S face. 
 She seems to awaken. 
 
 BELLIDOR (with a cry of ecstasy]. 
 
 O! 
 
 BEATRICE (softly, as if she came from 
 a dream). 
 
 Ah, what have you done ? 
 Bellidor? What is this my hands per- 
 ceive ? 
 This softness that is tender with my face ? 
 
 BELLIDOR (passionately kissing her di- 
 shevelled hair). 
 
 Behold, behold ! It is your proper fire 
 Awakens you, and you are overwhelmed 
 With your own beauty ! Lo, you are 
 
 enmeshed 
 With your own radiance ! O, you never 
 
 knew, 
 I never knew, how beautiful you were !
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 I thought that I had seen you, and I 
 
 thought 
 I loved you ! Ay, and but a moment 
 
 gone 
 
 You were the fairest of my boyish dreams : 
 Most beautiful of all most beautiful 
 I find you now to my awakened eyes, 
 And to my hands that touch you, and in 
 
 my heart 
 That now discovers you ! Ah, wait, wait, 
 
 wait ! 
 You must in all be like your face 
 
 must be 
 Utterly liberated, wholly queen ! 
 
 [He removes BEATRICE'S mantle with 
 a sudden gesture^ and she appears 
 clad in a robe of white woollen; 
 then, while he makes a sign in the 
 direction of the door., and the boy 
 who was with him at the opening 
 of the scene draws near^ bearing 
 costly raiment, a golden girdle, and 
 15
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 a necklet of pear Is , BEATRICE y^//j 
 to kneeling on the flags, prostrate 
 and sobbing, her face hidden in the 
 folds of the mantle and veil, which 
 she has gathered up. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 N^ t no ! I would I would not ! 
 [Moving on her knees to the VIRGIN'S /<?<?/. 
 
 O, you see, 
 
 Lady ! I cannot struggle any more ! 
 No, not without you succour me! I can 
 
 pray 
 No more, no more, if you abandon me ! 
 
 BELLIDOR (hastening to BEATRICE and wrap- 
 ping her in the costly garments which 
 he has taken from the child}. 
 
 It is time, Beatrice ! See the raiment, see 
 The raiment of your life that now begins ! 
 You are no slave I rescue from her lord, 
 You are a queen I bring to happiness ! 
 16
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 BEATRICE (still kneeling, her hands clinging 
 to the grille that encloses the base of 
 the image]. 
 
 Our Lady, hear me ! I can speak no 
 
 more, 
 
 And no more can I any longer pray ; 
 No, I can only sob. I did not know 
 I loved him quite like this ; I did not 
 
 know 
 That I loved you so much. O listen, 
 
 look! 
 
 All that I ask you is a sign, a sign, 
 A sign of your hand, a smile of your eyes, 
 
 no more ! 
 
 I am only a girl who does- not under- 
 stand . . . 
 They have so often told me that you 
 
 grant 
 Everything, and that you were very 
 
 kind, 
 
 That you were pitiful . . . 
 * 17
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 BELLI DOR (endeavouring to raise her up y and 
 to draw her gently away from the grille). 
 
 Ay, so she is, 
 For she is queen of a heaven that love 
 
 has made ! 
 Unclasp these tender hands the iron 
 
 chills, 
 
 Look in her face it is in no wise wroth, 
 It smiles, it shines ; her eyes have seen 
 
 the prayer 
 That shines in yours ; it is as though 
 
 your tears 
 Illumed her eyes that smile. Is it not 
 
 she 
 That asks, and you that pardon ? In my 
 
 eyes 
 
 You are confounded, and I seem to see 
 Two sisters, and I know that love is 
 
 here ; 
 And they bless one another with their 
 
 hands. 
 
 18
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 BEATRICE (raising her head and looking at 
 the VIRGIN). 
 
 I was told often I was like her. 
 
 BELLIDOR. 
 
 Look! 
 
 Regard, across your own, her tresses 
 thus, 
 
 While so my hands outspread the shim- 
 mering veil. 
 
 Would one not say, rays of the self-same 
 light, 
 
 The self-same bliss ? 
 
 \JVhile he speaks three hours are struck 
 on the convent clock. 
 
 BEATRICE (suddenly rising). 
 Listen ! 
 
 BELLIDOR. 
 
 Three hours ! 
 19
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 The hour 
 
 Of matins that I should have sounded ! 
 
 BELLIDOR. 
 
 Come ! 
 
 The dawn grows nigh, the windows pale 
 to blue ! 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 The windows I would always open wide 
 Before the dawn, so might the morning 
 
 air, 
 Fresh, and the daylight, and the song of 
 
 birds 
 Welcome my sisters as they came from 
 
 sleep. 
 
 There is the cord that rings the bell to say 
 Night and their sleep are ended; there 
 
 the door, 
 The chapel door of which no more my 
 
 hands 
 
 20
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 Will push apart the leaves to greet the 
 
 dawn, 
 
 And altar-candles other hands will light. 
 Here is the basket of the poor : ay, soon 
 They will come hither, and will call my 
 
 name, 
 
 And see no one at all, and vainly seek 
 These hands they are wont to bless when 
 
 I dispense 
 
 The humble garments that my sisters sew 
 In peace and silence of the spacious halls 
 The while they pray. . . . 
 
 BELLIDOR. 
 
 Come, for the day is nigh ; 
 Your sisters will awaken ; and it seems 
 Already that I hear their steps resound. . . . 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Ay, they are coming, ay, my sisters come, 
 Who loved me all so well, and held me 
 too 
 
 21
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 So holy ! Here will they discover all 
 That of the lowly Beatrice remains ; 
 Her veil and mantle lying on the stones. 
 
 [Suddenly she takes up the veil and 
 mantle and deposits them on the 
 grille at the feet of the image. 
 But no ; I would never one of them 
 
 should think 
 
 I trampled underfoot the robe of peace 
 They gave me, Mother see, I give 
 
 them you, 
 And you will keep them. In your hands 
 
 I place 
 
 All my possessions, all that I received 
 In these four years. 
 
 I lay my chaplet here, 
 My chaplet with the cross of silver ; here 
 My discipline, and here the three great 
 
 keys 
 
 I carried at my girdle : this the key 
 That opens the great door ; the garden, 
 
 this, 
 
 22
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 And this, the chapel. I shall see no more 
 The garden growing green, and no more 
 
 now 
 
 Unlock the chapel where we used to sing 
 'Mid odour of the incense. You know 
 
 all, 
 Lady, and I know nothing. 
 
 There on high 
 Is it writ that naught is pardoned ? And 
 
 that love 
 
 Is cursed, and that none may expiate it ? 
 Tell, tell, O tell me ! For I am not lost 
 Except you will it ! I am not now lost 
 If you but make a sign ! I do not ask 
 Aught of impossible miracle, only this: 
 A single sign were all enough ; a sign 
 So small that none should see it ! If the 
 
 shadow 
 Cast by the lamp, slumbering on your 
 
 brow, 
 
 Move but a line I will not go away" 
 I will not go away ! O look at me . 
 23
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 Mother ! I gaze and gaze ! I wait ! 
 
 [She gazes for a long while at the 
 VIRGIN'S face. All is motionless 
 and silent. 
 
 BELLIDOR (embracing her and kissing her 
 passionately on the lips). 
 
 Come! 
 
 BEATRICE (for the first time returning his 
 kiss). 
 
 Yes! 
 
 [Enlaced in one another's arms y they go 
 forth into the dawning world. The 
 door is left open. Soon is heard the 
 sound of horses that gallop away, 
 away into the distance. The cur- 
 tain falls, and shortly afterwards 
 the bell of the convent is heard in 
 the dawn, loudly ringing matins. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST ACT. 
 24
 
 ACT THE SECOND 
 
 The last strokes of the bell ringing matins 
 are heard. Then the curtain rises. The 
 scene is that of the last Act, save that 
 now the great door of the convent is 
 closed, and all the corridor windows 
 are of en to the first rays of the sun. 
 Hardly has the curtain risen when the 
 VIRGIN, as at the end of a long, divine 
 sleep, is seen to stir, to come to life; 
 then slowly she descends the steps of the 
 pedestal, and reaches the grille, and over 
 her glorious robe and tresses she puts on 
 the veil and mantle that BEATRICE has 
 abandoned. Then as she begins to sing 
 softly under her breath, she turns to the 
 right, stretching forth her hand, when, 
 2 5
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 through the door of the chapel, which 
 opens to her gesture, are seen the tapers 
 of the altar ; which are magically one 
 by one being kindled ; then, continuing 
 her holy song, she revives the flame of 
 the lamp, and having placed before the 
 pedestal the basket which contains the 
 garments to be given to the poor, she 
 advances to the great door of the 
 convent. 
 
 THE VIRGIN (singing}. 
 
 I hold to every sin, 
 
 To every soul that weeps, 
 
 My hands with pardon filled 
 Out of the starry deeps. 
 
 There is no sin that lives 
 If love have vigil kept ; 
 
 There is no soul that dies 
 If love but once have wept. 
 26
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 And though in many paths 
 Of earth love lose its way, 
 
 Its tears shall find me out, 
 And shall not go astray. 
 
 [During the last words of the song, a 
 hand knocks timidly at the gate of 
 the convent. The VIRGIN opens ; 
 and there appears on the threshold 
 a little girl, barefooted, and very 
 ragged and poor. She is half 
 hidden behind the oaken door-post ; 
 she advances only her head, and 
 gazes at the VIRGIN with as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 THE VIRGIN. 
 
 Good day, Allette, why do you hide 
 yourself? 
 
 [Enraptured and afraid, making the sign 
 of the cross as she approaches. 
 27
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 ALLETTE. 
 
 Why have you put that light upon youf 
 robe ? 
 
 THE VIRGIN. 
 
 There is light everywhere when the sun 
 comes. 
 
 ALLETTE. 
 
 Why have you put those stars into your 
 eyes? 
 
 THE VIRGIN. 
 
 There are often stars in the depth of eyes 
 that pray. 
 
 ALLETTE. 
 
 Why have you put that light inside your 
 hands ? 
 
 THE VIRGIN. 
 
 There is always light in the hands of 
 alms-givers. 
 
 8
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 ALLETTE. 
 I have come alone here. 
 
 THE VIRGIN. 
 Where are our poor brothers ? 
 
 ALLETTE. 
 
 They dare not come because of what folk 
 say. 
 
 THE VIRGIN. 
 What do they say ? 
 
 ALLETTE. 
 
 They say that they have seen 
 Beatrice riding on the Prince's horse. 
 
 THE VIRGIN. 
 Am I not like the lowly Beatrice ? 
 
 ALLETTE. 
 
 They say they have seen her that she 
 spoke to them. 
 29
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 THE VIRGIN. 
 
 Only God saw her not, and nothing heard. 
 
 [Taking the child in her arms and kiss- 
 ing her on the forehead. 
 O little one, Allette, there is no one else 
 To-day that I can kiss. Ay, innocence 
 Cannot betray me, though it comprehend. 
 \Looking into the child's eyes 
 How pure the human soul when thus one 
 
 sees it ! 
 
 Most beautiful the angels are, but they 
 Never know tears. Poor child, enough, 
 
 enough ! 
 Behold yours falling ; you shall know 
 
 their number ! 
 
 \_She sets the child down on the threshold. 
 But our poor brothers where are they ? 
 
 Allette, 
 
 Go forth to them, and tell them all of love 
 Full of impatience : go, and bid them 
 
 haste. 
 
 30
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 ALLETTE (who turns her head and looks 
 away from the convent}. 
 
 O Sister Beatrice, they are coming see ! 
 [And indeed the poor, the sick and in- 
 firm, the women carrying little 
 children, have timidly drawn nigh, 
 and, thinking that they recognize 
 BEATRICE, fearful, hesitating, and 
 astonished, they approach the 
 threshold, and, halting outside the 
 door, they gaze and wait. 
 
 THE VIRGIN (leaning over the poor-basket, 
 which contains clothes]. 
 
 What has befallen ? Brothers, wherefore 
 
 stay ? 
 Hasten ! the sun already mounts : the 
 
 time 
 
 Is ripe for prayer; shortly my sisters pass. 
 The door will soon be shut ; then, till the 
 
 morrow
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 No more of alms. O come you, all of 
 
 you ! 
 O hasten, all of you ; the time is now. 
 
 A POOR OLD MAN (coming forward). 
 
 Now, sister, we to-night have seen two 
 ghosts. . . . 
 
 THE VIRGIN (giving him a cloak, which 
 suddenly becomes radiant as she draws 
 it out of the basket). 
 
 Dream now no more of phantoms of the 
 night. 
 
 A CRIPPLE (advancing in turn). 
 
 We have had wicked thoughts this night, 
 my sister. 
 
 THE VIRGIN (drawing from the basket an- 
 other garment, which seems suddenly to 
 become covered with jewels). 
 
 Open your eyes, my brother : it is now 
 3 2
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 The hour of pardon. Come, O all of 
 you, come ! 
 
 A POOR WOMAN. 
 I, sister, for my mother need a shroud . . . 
 
 ANOTHER POOR WOMAN. 
 
 I beg you, sister, that our latest-born . . . 
 [The poor folk, lamenting, and greedy 
 of charity, their arms outheld, press 
 in a crowd about the VIRGIN, 
 who, leaning over the basket, fills 
 her arms from it again and again 
 with garments glittering with rays 
 of light, sparkling 'veils, and robes 
 of linen that grow luminous. In 
 measure as the VIRGIN exhausts 
 the basket it overflows with a still 
 greater abundance of raiment, more 
 and more costly, and more and more 
 resplendent ; and as though intoxi- 
 cated by the miracle she herself 
 3 33
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 has worked, she cries out, as she 
 distributes her treasures to the 
 poor folk, filling their hands, cov- 
 ering their shoulders, and wrap- 
 ping their infants in dazzling and 
 blazing tissues. 
 
 THE VIRGIN. 
 
 O come you hither, hither, all of you 
 
 come ! 
 The snowy shroud is here, and here 
 
 behold 
 The smiling swaddling-bands ! Ah, here 
 
 behold 
 Life, death, and life again ! Come hither 
 
 all! 
 
 It is the hour of love : and what of love ? 
 It has no limits ! Come you, all of you, 
 
 come ! 
 
 Give one another aid ! and all offence 
 Let each forgive the other ! And through 
 
 life 
 
 34
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 Mingle your happinesses and your tears ! 
 Love one another : pray for those that 
 
 fall; 
 Come all, come hither, all of you pass 
 
 by! 
 Come, all of you ! God does not see the 
 
 ill 
 
 Done without hatred. Pardon one an- 
 other : 
 
 There is no sin forgiveness does not reach. 
 [Now the poor people, stupefied and 
 bewildered, are covered with re- 
 splendent garments. Some, their 
 raiment rustling with precious 
 stones, waving and swaying as 
 they go, flee into the open, shout- 
 * n & f or jy- Others, sobbing for 
 gratitude, surround the holy VIR- 
 GIN, and seek to kiss her hands. 
 But the greater number, silent, 
 and as though smitten with a 
 divine terror, kneel upon the steps 
 35
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 of the entrance and murmur their 
 prayers. Then a stroke of the 
 bell is heard; the basket is sud- 
 denly exhausted; the VIRGIN 
 gently disperses the poor folk who 
 press about her y and closes the 
 door on them. 
 
 THE VIRGIN. 
 
 Go in peace, brethren : 't is the hour of 
 prayer. 
 
 \_The murmur of the poor folk at prayer 
 is still heard through the closed 
 door. The murmur little by little 
 becomes an indistinct hymn of grati- 
 tude and ecstasy. A second^ then 
 a third stroke of the bell resounds ; 
 and proceeding from the left end 
 of the corridor, the NUNS, with 
 the ABBESS at their head, advance 
 toward the chapel. 
 36
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 THE ABBESS (halting before the VIRGIN, 
 who, with bended head, and hands dis- 
 posed upon her breast, waits by the 
 closed door). 
 
 Hear, Sister Beatrice. This month of sun 
 
 Matins are rung a quarter short of three. 
 
 Now you shall three days fast, shall three 
 nights pray 
 
 Before the Virgin's feet that was a mother, 
 
 THE VIRGIN (bowing with the humblest 
 gestures of assent). 
 
 My Mother, God be praised ! 
 
 [THE ABBESS, resuming her steps, 
 reaches the pedestal, which before 
 ' was hidden from her by the wall 
 from which springs the vaulting 
 of the great doorway. There she 
 is about to kneel, when, upon rais- 
 ing her eyes, she stops, cries aloud, 
 lets fall the book that sht carries., 
 37
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 and makes a gesture of unspeak- 
 able surprise and horror. 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 She is not there ! 
 
 [Disquieted, then terrified, the NUNS 
 run to the ABBESS, surrounding her 
 and crowding about the pedestal. 
 The first moment of stupefaction 
 having passed, they all speak, cry 
 aloud, moan, and lament at the 
 same moment, by turns outraged, 
 terrified, sobbing, upright, kneeling, 
 prostrated, or staggering. 
 
 THE NUNS. 
 
 She is no longer there ! 
 
 The Virgin gone ! 
 Her image has been stolen ! 
 
 Infidels ! 
 Our Mother, O our Mother ! 
 
 Sacrilege ! 
 38
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 The cloister is profaned ! 
 
 O sacrilege ! 
 The roof will fall upon us ! 
 
 Sacrilege ! 
 Sacrilege ! 
 
 Sacrilege ! 
 
 Sacrilege ! 
 
 THE ABBESS (calling aloud}. 
 
 Sister Beatrice ! 
 
 [The VIRGIN advances, and halts before 
 the pedestal, close to the ABBESS. 
 She gazes fixedly at the spot where 
 her image used to stand, and her 
 impassive eyes and face, as though 
 sealed from the outer world, are, 
 as it were, radiant with an im- 
 perturbable hope and silence. 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 You, sister Beatrice, were she in charge, 
 And it was yours by day or night to wake 
 39
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 And watch above the majesty of her 
 Who made this convent-house her treasury 
 Of graces, and to house her predilections: 
 I understand your anguish, and your 
 
 fear 
 I share. Yet fear you naught ! Tha 
 
 Will Divine 
 
 Has oftentimes designs that must confound 
 Our vigilance and zeal. But answer me ; 
 Speak, for you must have seen ; speak, 
 
 you must know ! 
 
 \he VIRGIN is si lent. 
 Answer me ! Speak ! What is amiss with 
 
 you ? 
 It seems to me there is somewhat strange 
 
 it seems 
 
 At moments that your face grows ra- 
 diant . . . 
 And say, what are these garments, now 
 
 no more 
 The same as all we wear ? Why, do my 
 
 eyes 
 
 40
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 Deceive me? One that looks at you 
 
 would say 
 You are no more the same. What have 
 
 you there, 
 There, there, beneath your mantle, this 
 
 that gleams 
 So brightly through it ? 
 
 \S he feels the VIRGIN'S mantle. 
 
 Ay, and what this stuff 
 Whose folds translucent run ablaze with 
 
 light, 
 When my hands touch it? 
 
 [She opens the VIRGIN'S mantle, and 
 beholds the girdle of wrought gold. 
 Mercy ! What is this ? 
 \She removes the mantle entirely, and 
 in the same moment of outraged 
 stupefaction she snatches off the 
 'veil which covers the VIRGIN'S 
 hair., and the latter, always mo- 
 tionless, and as though insensible, 
 appears suddenly clothed after the 
 41
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 manner of and exactly in all points 
 resembling her image that occupied 
 the pedestal during the First Act. 
 At this spectacle there falls on the 
 ABBESS and the NUNS who crowd 
 round her a moment of silent stu- 
 pefaction and incredulous anguish. 
 Then the ABBESS, who is the first 
 to regain control over herself, covers 
 her face with a gesture of despair- 
 ing horror and malediction^ and 
 cries : 
 Lord God ! 
 
 THE NUNS. 
 
 Our Lady ! She has robbed the image S 
 Speak, Sister Beatrice ! 
 
 She does not answer ! 
 The Demons ! O, the Demons ! 
 
 Beware the walls ! 
 They will avenge themselves ! 
 
 O madness, madness I 
 42
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 O horror, horror ! Let us not await 
 The thunder-bolt! O sacrilege, sacrilege ! 
 Sacrilege ! Sacrilege ! 
 
 \T"here is a movement of recoil, terror, 
 and flight among the NUNS; but 
 the ABBESS restrains them, rais- 
 ing her hands and her voice. 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 Listen all, my daughters ! 
 Nay, do not fly ! Let us await our lot ; 
 Let us not separate ; let all our hands 
 And all our prayers hedge in the sacrilege, 
 And strive to appease the ensuing wrath ! 
 
 SISTER CLEMENCY. 
 
 I pray 
 
 Mother, you will not tarry ! 
 
 SISTER FELICITY. 
 
 Let us go 
 
 To find the priest ! 
 
 43
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 SISTER CLEMENCY. 
 
 I saw him passing by 
 Deep in the chapel. 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 You are right ; yes, go, 
 Sisters Felicity and Clemency. 
 Go quickly ; yes, go quickly ; he will 
 
 know 
 Better than we what should be done to 
 
 stay, 
 
 If yet it be not all too late to stay, 
 The sword of the Archangel, and to foil 
 The triumph of the Accursed One. Ah 
 
 me ! 
 
 My sisters, my poor sisters ! Horror has 
 A name no longer, and our eyes have 
 
 plumbed 
 The deepest abysms of hell ! 
 
 SISTER GISELA (approaching the VIRGIN). 
 
 Profanatrix ! 
 44
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 SISTER BALBINA (also approaching her). 
 Sacrilege ! Sacrilege ! 
 
 SLSTER REGINA (beside herself}. 
 
 Demon ! Demon ! Demon ! 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE (in a mournful and 'very 
 gentle 'voice]. 
 
 O, Sister Beatrice, what have you done ? 
 \_At the sound of this 'voice the VIRGIN 
 turns her head^ and looks at SISTER 
 EGLANTINE with a smile of divine 
 sweetness. 
 
 SISTER BALBINA (to SISTER EGLANTINE). 
 She looks at you. 
 
 SISTER GISELA. 
 
 She seems to awake. 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE. 
 
 Perhaps. 
 
 You did not know 
 45
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 No, Sister Eglantine, 
 I will not have you speak to her ! 
 
 \At this moment the PRIEST, wearing 
 his priestly appointments, appears 
 at the door of the chapel^ followed 
 by two NUNS and the terrified 
 Choristers. 
 
 THE PRIEST. 
 
 Pray, pray ! 
 My sisters, pray for her ! 
 
 THE ABBESS (throwing herself on her knees'], 
 You know, my father . . . 
 
 THE PRIEST (in a stern 'voice]. 
 
 Hear, Sister Beatrice ! 
 
 \T*he VIRGIN remains motionless. 
 
 THE PRIEST (in a loud voice]. 
 
 Sister Beatrice ! 
 VIRGIN remains motionless. 
 46
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 THE PRIEST (in a, terrible voice}. 
 
 Hear, Sister Beatrice ! Now, for the third 
 
 time 
 
 I call you, in the name of the living God, 
 Whose anger trembles round about these 
 
 walls 
 I call you by your name ! 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 She does not hear ! 
 
 SISTER REGINA. 
 She does not wish to hear ! 
 
 SISTER BALBINA. 
 
 O misery ! 
 O woe to all of us ! 
 
 SISTER GISELA. 
 
 Father ! Intercede ! 
 Have pity on us ! 
 
 47
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 THE PRIEST. 
 
 Doubt is at an end. 
 Now do I recognise the gloomy pride 
 Of the Prince of Darkness and the Father 
 of Pride ! 
 
 [Turning to the ABBESS. 
 
 My sister, I deliver her to you, 
 
 And mark that man's indulgence nowise 
 
 may 
 
 Cheat the prerogatives of Love Divine. 
 Go, go, my sisters ; drag the culprit forth 
 To the foot of the holy altars; then tear 
 
 off, 
 
 There, in the presence of that One to whom 
 The angels bow there tear off, one by 
 
 one, 
 
 The vestments and the gems of sacrilege. 
 Unloose your girdles; every scourge twist 
 
 tight, 
 
 And from the pillars of the portal take 
 The heavy lashes of prevaricators, 
 48
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 And rods of grievous penance. May 
 
 your arms 
 
 Be cruel, may your hands be pitiless ! 
 Mercy it is that lends them strength, and 
 
 Love 
 
 That blesses them ! Go forth, my sisters, 
 go! 
 
 \_The NUNS drag the VIRGIN away. 
 She walks indifferent in their 
 midsty docile and impassive. All, 
 save SISTER EGLANTINE, have 
 already untied the double-knotted 
 cords which gird their loins. They 
 enter the chapel, and the doors 
 close; only the PRIEST remains, 
 and bows himself before the for- 
 saken pedestal. There is for some 
 time silence. Suddenly a song 
 of unspeakable sweetness filters 
 through the doors of the chapel. 
 It is the sacred canticle of the 
 VIRGIN, the Ave Mar is Stella, 
 4 49
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 which sounds as though sung by 
 the distant voices of angels. Little 
 by little the hymn becomes more 
 distinct, draws near, grows fuller, 
 becomes universal, as though an 
 invisible host, ever more and more 
 innumerable, took it up with a 
 might ever more and more ardent, 
 ever more and more celestial. At 
 the same time there is heard from 
 within the chapel the sound of 
 teats overturned, of candelabras 
 falling, of stalls thrown into con- 
 fusion, and the exclamations of 
 terrified human voices. Finally 
 the two leaves of the door are 
 violently thrown wide, and the 
 nave appears all inundated with 
 flames and strange splendours, 
 which undulate, blossom forth, 
 gyrate, and sweep past one an- 
 other, infinitely more dazzling than 
 5
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 the splendour of the sun whose rays 
 light the corridor. Then, amid 
 the delirious Alleluias and Ho- 
 sannas which burst forth on 
 every hand confounded^ hag- 
 gard, transfigured, mad with joy 
 and superhuman awe, waving 
 armsful of blossoming boughs that 
 overflow with miraculous flowers 
 which increase their ecstasy^ en- 
 veloped from head to foot in living 
 garlands which fetter their steps, 
 blinded by the rain of flower- 
 petals which stream from the 
 vaulting the NUNS tumult u- 
 ously surge into the too narrow 
 doorway^ and uncertainly descend 
 the steps, encumbered by the mar- 
 vellous showers ; and while at 
 each step they strip their burdens 
 of their flowers, only to see them 
 renewing themselves in their hands t 
 5 1
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 they surround the ancient PRIEST, 
 who now again stands upright^ 
 those that follow advancing in turn 
 through the billows of blossoms that 
 surge continually over the steps of 
 the chapel-door. 
 
 THE NUNS (all together and on every hand> 
 while they emerge from the chapel^ Jill 
 the corridor^ singing and embracing one 
 another amid the deluge of flowers}. 
 
 A miracle ! 
 
 A miracle ! 
 
 A miracle ! 
 My father, O, my father ! 
 
 I am blind ! 
 My father, O my father ! 
 
 A miracle ! 
 Hosanna ! 
 
 O, Hosanna ! 
 
 O, the Lord 
 5 2
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 Is close about us ! O, the Heavens are 
 
 open ! 
 
 The angels overwhelm us, and the flowers 
 Pursue us ! Hosanna ! Hosanna! Sister 
 
 Beatrice 
 Is holy ! Ring the bell, O peal the 
 
 bell, 
 Until the bronze be shattered ! She is 
 
 holy! 
 Ah, Sister Beatrice is holy, holy ! 
 
 SISTER REGINA. 
 
 I sought to touch her holy vestments. 
 Then 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE (crowned with flowers 
 more radiant than the rest], 
 
 The flames brake forth, the shafts of light 
 spoke ! 
 
 SISTER CLEMENCY. 
 
 The angels of the altars toward us turned ! 
 S3
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 SISTER GISELA. 
 
 The saints bowed over her, and joined 
 their hands ! 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE. 
 And all the statues of the pillars knelt ! 
 
 SISTER FELICITY. 
 
 The archangels all their wings unfurled 
 and sang ! 
 
 SISTER GISELA (waving heavy garlands of 
 roses). 
 
 And living roses brake her bonds in twain ! 
 
 SISTER BALBINA (waving enormous stems of 
 lilies]. 
 
 Miraculous lilies blossomed on the rods ! 
 
 SISTER FELICITY (waving luminous palm- 
 branches}. 
 
 The lashes blazed into long golden palms ! 
 54
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 THE ABBESS (kneeling at the feet of the 
 PRIEST). 
 
 My father, O my father, I have sinned. 
 For Sister Beatrice is holy ! 
 
 THE PRIEST (kneeling also], 
 
 Yea! 
 My daughters, yea, my daughters, I have 
 
 sinned ! 
 LJehold the ways of God past finding out ! 
 
 \_At this moment there is heard a knock 
 on the entrance-door of the convent, 
 and the VIRGIN, once more human 
 of aspect, and humbly clad in the 
 mantle and veil of BEATRICE, 
 appears in the threshold of the 
 chapel. She descends the steps, 
 her eyes downcast and her hands 
 folded together, passes among her 
 kneeling sisters, over the flowers, 
 which stand erect as she goes, and 
 55
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 resuming, as if nothing had hap- 
 pened, the duties of her charge, she 
 goes to the door and throws it 
 open wide. 'Three pilgrims enter, 
 poor, old, and haggard, to whom 
 she bows low, and taking from a 
 tripod of bronze near by the as- 
 pergus and the basin of silver, she 
 sprinkles the water over their pon- 
 derous hands in silence. 
 
 THE END OF THE SECOND ACT.
 
 ACT THE THIRD 
 
 The scene is the same. On the -pedestal the 
 image of the VIRGIN stands , as in the 
 First Act ; the veil, mantle ', and keys 
 of SISTER BEATRICE are hanging on 
 the grille ; the chapel-door is open, and 
 the candles of the altar are lit; the 
 lamp is burning before the image, and 
 the poor-basket overflows with clothing : 
 in a word, all is precisely as it was at 
 the moment when the NUN fled with 
 PRINCE BELLIDOR, except that the en- 
 trance-door of the convent is now closed. 
 It is early dawn in winter : the last 
 strokes of matins are heard, though no 
 one rings the bell, and in the porch of 
 the chapel the bell-rope is seen to rise 
 57
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 and fall in empty air. Then, the bell t 
 having ceased to sound, a silence falls, 
 which is broken by three blows struck 
 slowly on the convent door. At the 
 third blow the door moves without sound 
 on its hinges, though no one opens it ; 
 and the two leaves are thrown wide 
 open on the white, desolate, vacant 
 countryside ; and, amid the whirling 
 of the snow which drives upon the 
 threshold there advances, haggard, thin, 
 and unrecognisable, she who was once 
 SISTER BEATRICE. She is covered 
 with rags ; her hair, already grey, is 
 scattered over her face, which is griev- 
 ously pinched and livid. Her eyes, 
 bruised and black, have in them only 
 the remote and impassive gaze of those 
 who are about to die, and hold no longer 
 any shadow of hope. She halts a mo- 
 ment in the open doorway, and then, as 
 sbe beholds no one, she enters, swaying, 
 58
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 groping, and leaning on the doors, sweep* 
 ing the corridor with her eyes, with the 
 uneasiness of an animal long bunted. 
 But the corridor is empty, and she takes 
 a few more fearful steps, until, perceiv- 
 ing the image of the VIRGIN, she gives 
 a cry, in which are mingled who shall 
 say what vain and weary hopes of 
 deliverance ? and throws herself, 
 kneeling and fainting, at the feet of 
 the statue. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 My Mother, I am here ! Repulse me 
 
 not, 
 
 For you are all I have now in the world ! 
 I hoped that I should see you once again, 
 And I have come too l^te, because my 
 
 eyes 
 
 Are closing : I no longer see you smile ; 
 And when I stretch my hands out after 
 
 you 
 
 59
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 I feel they are dead. I have forgotten how 
 To pray, I have forgotten how to speak, 
 And since I needs must tell you every- 
 thing 
 
 I have wept so many tears that long ago 
 I lost all heart ever to cry again. 
 Forgive me, O forgive me, if I speak 
 A name that never should again be heard: 
 You would not recognise your daughter 
 else. 
 
 see to what estate have brought her 
 
 love, 
 And sin, and all that men call happiness ! 
 
 1 left you more than twenty years ago ; 
 And if so be 't is not the will of God 
 Men should be happy, surely then to me 
 He should intend no ill, for happy O, 
 I have not been that ! Thus I to-day 
 
 return, 
 
 But ask for nothing, for the hour is gone, 
 And to receive I have no longer strength. 
 I come to die here in this holy house, 
 60
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 If but my sisters will permit that I 
 
 Fall where I fall. O, never doubt, they 
 
 know ! 
 
 The scandal of my life has been so great 
 Down yonder in the town, they will have 
 
 heard . . . 
 
 But they, they know so little ; even you, 
 You who know all things, you will never 
 
 know 
 The wickedness that they have made me 
 
 do, 
 And all that I have suffered. 
 
 I would fain 
 Tell them to all, the agonies of love ! 
 
 [Looking around her. 
 
 But why am I alone ? Lo, all the house 
 Is void as though my sins had emptied 
 
 it ... 
 
 O, who has taken up the place I fled, 
 My place before the holy altars, who ? 
 Who guards the threshold that my feet 
 
 have soiled ? 
 
 61
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 The lamp is lit : I see the tapers shine ; 
 Matins have rung, and here behold the 
 
 day 
 That grows, and none appears. 
 
 [Perceiving the mantle and veil that 
 bung upon the grille. 
 
 But what is here ? 
 
 [She raises herself a little, draws nearer 
 on her knees, and feels the veil and 
 mantle. 
 
 Already my poor hands are so near death 
 They know no longer if the things they 
 
 touch 
 
 Are things of this life or the other world : 
 
 But is not this the mantle that I left . . . 
 
 Yesterday . . . five-and-twenty years ago ? 
 
 [Faking up the mantle and mechanically 
 
 putting it on. 
 It seems the shape and yet seems very 
 
 lo.ng. 
 
 When I was happy, when I went erect, 
 It fitted well enough. [faking the veil 
 62
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 Now the long veil, 
 That now shall be my winding-sheet. O 
 
 Mother, 
 
 Forgive me if it be a sacrilege ! 
 1 am cold, I am naked ; for my wretched 
 
 clothes 
 
 No longer know my body how to hide, 
 That knows no longer where to hide 
 
 itself. 
 Was it not you, my Mother, kept them 
 
 safe, 
 
 Is it not you who give them to me now 
 Against the hour redoubtable, that thus 
 The pitiless flames that wait me may 
 
 perhaps 
 A little hesitate and be less cruel ? 
 
 \_A sound of steps and of opening doors 
 
 is heard. 
 What do I hear ? 
 
 [Three strokes of the bell resound, an- 
 nouncing^ as before, the arrival of 
 ' the NUNS in the corridor. 
 63
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 What do I hear? O Mother! 
 The door swings open, and my sisters 
 
 come ! 
 
 I cannot ! Never ! O, have pity, pity ! 
 For the walls crush me, the light suffocates, 
 And shame, shame, shame, is graven on 
 
 the stones 
 
 That rise up, up against me ! Ah ! Ah ! 
 Ah! 
 
 [She falls fainting at the feet of the 
 image. 'The NUNS, preceded by 
 the ABBESS, advance along the 
 vaulted passage, as in the preceding 
 Act, on their way to the chapel. 
 Many of them are very old; and 
 the ABBESS walks painfully, bent 
 double, supporting herself on a 
 staff. Scarcely have they entered 
 but they perceive BEATRICE lying 
 motionless across the corridor', they 
 run to her and crowd about her, 
 uneasy, frightened, and dismayed. 
 64
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 THE ABBESS (who first sees her). 
 O, Sister Beatrice is dead I 
 
 SISTER CLEMENCY. 
 
 The Heavens 
 Gave her, the Lord has taken her away ! 
 
 SISTER FELICITY. 
 
 Her crown was ready, and the angels 
 called. 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE (raising and supporting 
 the head of SISTER BEATRICE, which 
 she kisses with a kind of pious awe). 
 
 No, no, she is not dead : she shudders, 
 breathes ! 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 But look, how pale she is ! But see, how 
 thin! 
 
 5 65
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 SISTER CLEMENCY. 
 
 As though one night had aged her ten 
 long years ! 
 
 SISTER FELICITY. 
 
 She must have suffered, striving, till the 
 dawn ! 
 
 SISTER CLEMENCY. 
 
 And all alone against the angelic host 
 That sought to draw her hence ! 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE. 
 
 She suffered much 
 
 Already yesternight; she trembled, wept, 
 Who, ever since the miracle of flowers, 
 Nursed in her eyes that smile miraculous. 
 She would not have me take her place ; 
 
 she said 
 
 " I wait," she said, " until my saint 
 returns." 
 
 66
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 SISTER BALBINA. 
 What saint ? 
 
 \he ABBESS, raising her eyes at hazard^ 
 sees the image of the VIRGIN re- 
 established in the pedestal. 'The 
 NUNS raise their he ads > and, with 
 the exception of SISTER EGLAN- 
 TINE, who continues to hold the 
 fainting form of BEATRICE in her 
 armSy they all turn with cries of 
 ecstasy and throw themselves on 
 their knees at the foot of the 
 pedestal. 
 
 THE NUNS. 
 
 The Virgin has returned ! Our Lady ! 
 Our Mother is saved ! And she has all 
 
 her jewels ! 
 Her crown is brighter, and her eyes more 
 
 deep, 
 
 And sweeter her regard ! She has come 
 back 
 
 67
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 From Heaven, and brought Heaven back 
 
 again to us ! 
 Yea, on the wings of her most holy 
 
 prayers . . . 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE. 
 
 Come, come ! I hear her heart no longer! 
 Come ! 
 
 [The NUNS turn and once more crowd 
 about BEATRICE. 
 
 SISTER CLEMENCY (kneeling near her}. 
 
 Ah, Sister Beatrice, you shall not leave 
 Your sisters on this high miraculous day J 
 
 SISTER FELICITY. 
 The Virgin smiles on you ; her lips appeal ! 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE. 
 
 Alas, she cannot hear ! She seems to 
 
 suffer ; 
 
 Her face grows hollow 
 68
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 SISTER CLEMENCY. 
 
 Bear her to her bed 
 Come, let us bear her yonder to her cell. 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE. 
 
 No: let us rather leave her nigh to Her 
 Who loves and fences her with miracles. 
 \_The NUNS enter the cell, returning 
 with cloaks and linen sheets, on 
 which they lay BEATRICE at the 
 feet of the statue, 
 
 SISTER CLEMENCY. 
 
 She cannot breathe undo her veil and 
 mantle. 
 \She does as she advises, and the NUNS 
 
 behold BEATRICE covered with 
 
 rags. 
 
 SISTER FELICITY. 
 
 My Mother, have you seen her dripping 
 rags?
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 SISTER BALBINA. 
 O, she is quite benumbed with melting 
 
 snow ! 
 
 SISTER CLEMENCY. 
 
 We never knew her hair had grown so 
 white. 
 
 SISTER FELICITY. 
 
 Her naked feet are soiled with wayside 
 mire ! 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 Hold we our peace, my daughters ; for we 
 
 live 
 Near heaven ; the hands that touch her 
 
 will remain 
 Luminous. 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE. 
 
 See, her breast is heaving ! See ! 
 Her eyes are going to open ! 
 
 [BEATRICE opens her eyes, moves her 
 bead a little, and gazes about her. 
 70
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 BEATRICE (as though emerging from a dream> 
 and still bewildered, in a remote voice). 
 
 When they died 
 My children when they died. . . . Why 
 
 do you smile ? 
 They died of want. 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 We do not smile ; we are glad, 
 Ay, glad to see you coming back to life. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 I coming back to life ! 
 
 [Looking about her with advancing 
 recognition. 
 
 Yes, I remember, 
 
 I came here in the depth of my distress. 
 Look on me not so fearfully : I no more 
 Shall be the butt of scandal : you shall now 
 Have all your will of me. No, none shall 
 know,
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 If you should fear that any should ver 
 
 tell- 
 
 I shall say nothing. I submit to all, 
 For they have broken all my body and soul. 
 I know it cannot be allowed that I, 
 Here in this place, and at the Virgin's feet, 
 So near the chapel, and so near to all 
 That holy is and pure, should die. You 
 
 are all, 
 
 O, very good ; you have been patient ; yes ; 
 You have not cast me out of doors at once. 
 But if you may, if God allow it too, 
 O, do not cast me forth too far from here ! 
 There is no need that any tend me now, 
 No need that any me commiserate, 
 Though I am very sick', I suffer now 
 No more, no more. . . . Why have you 
 
 laid me here, 
 On these fair sheets of white ? Alas ! 
 
 white sheets 
 
 Are nothing to me now hut a reproach, 
 And straw polluted is the fitting bed 
 7*
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 Of dying sin. But you still look at me, 
 And still say nothing. And you do not 
 
 look 
 
 Angry. I see tears in your eyes. I think 
 You do not know me yet. 
 
 THE ABBESS (kissing her bands). 
 
 But yes, yes, yes ! 
 
 Surely we know you, surely you, our 
 saint ! 
 
 BEATRICE (snatching away her hands in a 
 kind of terror). 
 
 Kiss not these hands they have done so 
 much ill ! 
 
 SISTER CLEMENCY (kissing her feet}. 
 O soul elect come down to us from heaven! 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 Kiss not these feet that used to run to sin! 
 
 73
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE (kissing her forehead). 
 
 I kiss this pure brow, crowned with 
 miracles. 
 
 BEATRICE (biding her face in her hands). 
 
 What would you all ? What has befallen ? 
 
 Once, 
 When I was happy, one was never 
 
 pardoned ; 
 Kiss not this brow : it has been friends 
 
 with lust ! 
 But you that touched it, tell me who you 
 
 are? 
 
 I am not certain if my weary eyes 
 Betray me; but if they see yonder still, 
 You are Sister Eglantine. 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE. 
 
 Yes, I am she. 
 
 That Sister Eglantine whom you have 
 loved. 
 
 74
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 You, five-and-twenty years ago, I told 
 I was unhappy. 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE. 
 
 Five-and-twenty years 
 Since, among all our sisters, God chose 
 you. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 You tell me that, and no least bitterness 
 Lurks in your voice. What has befallen me 
 I cannot fathom. I am weak and ill, 
 And cannot recollect and every word 
 Astounds me. I was inattentive. See, 
 I think that you deceive yourselves. I 
 
 am 
 
 Cover your faces, make the holy sign ! 
 I am Sister Beatrice ! 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 But yes, we know ! 
 Our Sister Beatrice, our sister, ours, 
 75
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 Purest among us, the miraculous lamb, 
 Godchild of angels, the immaculate flame! 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Ah, is it truly you ? I did not know. 
 Mother, you used to go so upright ; now 
 How you do stoop ! I have also learned 
 
 to stoop, 
 
 And now behold me fallen. Yes, I know 
 All of you : there is Sister Clemency. 
 
 SISTER CLEMENCY (bending her head and 
 
 smiling). 
 Yes, yes. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Sister Felicity. 
 
 SISTER FELICITY (smiling). 
 
 It is. 
 
 Sister Felicity who came the first 
 Out of the blossoming chapel. 
 76
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 And I think 
 You have not suffered, for you seem not 
 
 sad. 
 I was the younger : I am the elder now. 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 Tnat is no doubt because of love divine 
 Being a terrible burden. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Mother, no. 
 
 It is the love of man that is the burden, 
 The weary burden. You do pardon me, 
 You also pardon me ? 
 
 THE ABBESS (kneeling at BEATRICE'S/"^/). 
 
 O daughter mine, 
 
 If any have need of pardon, it is she 
 Who can at last prostrate herself before 
 Your feet. 
 
 77
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 But do you know what I have done ? 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 You have done naught but miracle, have 
 
 been 
 Since the great day of flowers, our soul's 
 
 light, 
 
 The incense of our prayers, and the source 
 Of grace, the gate of marvels ! 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 But I fled 
 
 One night, now five-and-twenty years ago, 
 With the Prince Bellidor. 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 Of whom do you speak, 
 Of whom do you speak, my daughter? 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Of myself ! 
 I say myself! You will not understand?
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 One evening, five-and-twenty years ago, 
 I fled, and when three months were at an 
 
 end 
 He did not love me. Then I lost all 
 
 shame, 
 
 I lost all reason, and I lost all hope. 
 All men by turns this body have profaned, 
 r ^his clay to its God unfaithful. And I 
 
 took 
 
 Pleasure in this, and called men after me. 
 I fell so low that Heaven's angels thence 
 Could not have risen for all their mighty 
 
 wings. 
 
 So many crimes I have committed, I 
 Have often even sin itself defiled ! 
 
 THE ABBESS (gently placing her hand on 
 BEATRICE'S lips). 
 
 Daughter, the Shadow tempts you ; speak 
 
 no more, 
 
 For rising anguish robs you of yourself. 
 79
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 SISTER CLEMENCY. 
 She is worn out with miracle. 
 
 SISTER FELICITY. 
 
 And grace 
 Confounds her. 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE. 
 The air of heaven weighs her down. 
 
 BEATRICE (who struggles, pushes away the 
 band of the ABBESS and sits up). 
 
 I do not wander ! No, I tell you, no ! 
 This is no air of heaven, but of earth, 
 And this is truth ! Ah, you are all too 
 
 mild! 
 
 You are too soft and imperturbable ! 
 And you know nothing ! I would rather 
 
 far v 
 
 You should afflict me, but should learn at 
 
 last! 
 
 O, you live here and do your penances, 
 So
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 And say your prayers, and seek to expiate 
 
 sin, 
 
 But look you, it is I, and all my kind, 
 Who live beyond the pale and have no 
 
 rest, 
 
 That do the bitterest penance to the end ! 
 I 
 
 ABBESS. 
 Pray, pray, my sisters; now the final trial? 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE. 
 The triumph of the angel's irks the Fiend ! 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Yes, yes, it is the Fiend, the Fiend 
 prevails ! 
 
 See you these hands ? They have a hu- 
 man shape 
 
 No longer ; see, they cannot open now. 
 
 I had to sell them after soul and body. 
 
 They buy hands also when no more is left 
 6 81
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 THE ABBESS (wiping the sweat from 
 BEATRICE'S face). 
 
 May Heaven's angels, who about thy 
 couch 
 
 Now watch thee, deign before thy stream- 
 ing face 
 
 To spread their wings ! 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Ah ! Heaven's angels ! Ah ! 
 Where are they, tell me, and what do they 
 
 do? 
 Have I not told you ? Why, I have not 
 
 now 
 My children, for the three most lovely 
 
 died 
 
 When I no more was lovely, and the last, 
 Lest it should suffer, being one night mad, 
 I killed. And there were others never 
 
 born, 
 Although they cried for birth. And still 
 
 the sun 
 
 82
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 Shone, and the stars returned, and justice 
 
 slept, 
 And only the most evil were happy and 
 
 proud. 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 The strife is terrible about great saints. 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE. 
 
 It is at Heaven's gates the infernal fire 
 Wastes the huge angers of its futile rage. 
 
 BEATRICE (falling back exhausted). 
 
 I care no more I stifle what you will 
 Be done to me. I had to tell you all. 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE. 
 The archangels bear her forth. 
 
 SISTER FELICITY. 
 
 The phalanxes 
 
 Of the celestial host have brought back 
 peace. 
 
 83
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 The evil dream has fled. Now smile 1 
 
 again, 
 
 My poor and holy sister, while you think 
 On all the blasphemies you did not speak- 
 A baneful voice usurping on your lips 
 Exhaled them in the rage of final loss. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 It was my voice. 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 My good and holy sister, 
 Assure your heart, and have you no 
 
 regrets. 
 For that was not the voice that all we 
 
 know, 
 The dear and gentle voice, the angel's 
 
 pilot, 
 
 The health of sickness, that so many years 
 Quickened our prayers. 
 84
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE. 
 
 Fear nothing, sister ; nay, 
 In the last conflict you shall never lose 
 The palm and diadem of a life of love, 
 And innocence, and prayer. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Never one hour 
 
 Since that unhappy hour, in all my life, 
 There never was an hour that was not 
 
 marked 
 By mortal sin. 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 My daughter, pray to God ! 
 You are most holy ; yet the enemy 
 Tempts you, and scruples lead your sense 
 
 astray. 
 How should you have committed all these 
 
 sins 
 So dreadful ? It ip nigh on thirty years
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 You have been here, of threshold and of 
 
 altar 
 
 Most humble servitor : my very eyes 
 Have followed you in all your deeds and 
 
 prayers, 
 
 And I can answer before God for them 
 As I would for my own. But would to 
 
 Heaven 
 That mine were like to yours! It is not 
 
 here, 
 
 Within these cloisters, but without, be- 
 yond, 
 Out in the world estrayed, that sin 
 
 triumphs : 
 And of that world, all thanks to God, you 
 
 know 
 
 Nothing, for never have you issued forth 
 Out of the shadow of the sanctuary. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 Never gone forth ? O, I can think no 
 
 more I 
 
 86
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 It was too long, so long, too long ago ! 
 I am near death ; but you should tell me 
 
 truth ; 
 
 Is it that you forgive me, or deceive, 
 Unwilling I should know it ? 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 None deceives, 
 None pardons. We have seen you every 
 
 day 
 
 Before the altar punctual, to our hours 
 Attentive, and to all the humble cares 
 Of alms and of the threshold. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 I am here, 
 
 My Mother, and I do not think I dream. 
 Look at this hand : I tear it with my nails; 
 See, the blood shows and flows ; the blood 
 
 is real. 
 
 I have no other proofs. So tell me now, 
 If you have pity, here, in face of God, 
 For we are close to God when people die, 
 87
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 If you do wish it, I will say no more, 
 But if you can for pity tell me, now, 
 What did you say, and what it was you did 
 When five-and-twenty years ago you found 
 One morning that the door was opened 
 
 wide, 
 
 The corridor deserted when you found 
 The altar abandoned when you found 
 
 the veil, 
 The veil and mantle ? . . . Mother, I can 
 
 no more. 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 Daughter, this memory, 1 understand, 
 Must trouble you and overwhelm you still, 
 Though five-and-twenty years ago befell 
 The wondrous miracle whereby your God 
 Elected you. The Virgin left us then, 
 To mount again to heaven ; ere she went 
 Investing you with her most holy robe 
 And sacred ornaments, and lastly crowned 
 You with her golden crown, to teach us so 
 88
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 In boundless mercy that while she was gone 
 You took her place. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 But who then took my place ? 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 Why, no one took it, since you still were 
 there. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 There, every day ? I was among you all ? 
 I moved, I spoke, you touched me with 
 your hands? 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 As now, my child, I touch you with ray 
 hand. 
 
 BEATRICE. 
 
 Mother, I know no more ; except I think 
 
 I have no longer strength to understand. 
 
 I am still submissive, and I ask you naught. 
 
 89
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 I feel that all are very good : I feel 
 That death is very gentle. 
 
 Is it you 
 Who understand the soul is wretched 
 
 you ? 
 There was no pardon here when here I 
 
 lived. 
 
 I have said often, when I was not happy, 
 God would not punish if He once knew all. 
 But you are happy, and have learned it all. 
 In other days all folk ignored distress, 
 In other days they cursed all those that 
 
 sinned ; 
 But now all pardon, and all seem to 
 
 know . . . 
 
 One of the angels, one would almost say, 
 Had spoken out the truth. Mother, and 
 
 you, 
 
 My Sister Eglantine, give me your hands 
 You are not angry with me ? Tell them all, 
 My sisters . . . what is it they should be 
 
 told? 
 
 90
 
 Sister Beatrice 
 
 My eyes no longer open, and my lips 
 Stiffen. ... At last I fall asleep. I have 
 
 lived 
 
 In a world wherein I knew not what desired 
 Hate and ill-will, and in another world 
 I die, and understand not what desire, 
 Nor whereat aim mercy and love. 
 
 \_Sbe falls back exhausted among the 
 sheets. Silence. 
 
 SISTER EGLANTINE. 
 
 She sleeps. 
 
 THE ABBESS. 
 
 Pray, pray, my sisters, till the triumphant 
 hour ! 
 
 NUNS fall on their knees around 
 the bed of BEATRICE. 
 
 THE END OF SISTER BEATRICE
 
 ARDIANE AND BARBE BLEUE 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE USELESS DELIVERANCE
 
 THE PERSONS OF THE PLA1 
 
 ARDIANE 
 
 SELYSETTE 
 
 MELISANDE 
 
 YGRAINE 
 
 BELLANGERE 
 
 ALLADINE 
 
 A NURSE (foster-mother to ARDIANK) 
 
 BARBE BLEUE 
 
 Peasants, the Crowd.
 
 ARDIANE AND BARBE 
 BLEUE 
 
 ACT THE FIRST 
 
 A vast, resplendent ball, of semi-circular 
 form, in the castle of BARBE BLEUE. 
 At the remoter end, in the centre of 
 the semi-circular wall, is an enormous 
 door ; on either hand of this are three 
 smaller doors, of ebony, with locks and 
 ornaments of silver ; each door is set 
 within a niche, and all these niches are 
 enclosed by a semi-circular colonnade of 
 marble, the pillars of which support the 
 balcony overhead. Above these doors, 
 but set further back, are six great win- 
 dows, to which the aforesaid balcony 
 95
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 gives access ; these may be gained from 
 either side, of the ball, by two flights of 
 stairs, which follow the curve of the 
 walls, and lead up to the semi-circular 
 gallery. 
 
 It is evening ; the great windows are open, 
 and the candelabra lit. Without, below 
 the windows, is an invisible, excited 
 crowd, whose cries, now uneasy, now 
 terrified, now threatening, together with 
 the sound of sudden movements, the 
 trampling of feet, and the murmur of 
 persons speaking, are heard with great 
 distinctness. During the first bars of 
 the overture the curtain rises, and the 
 voices of the hidden crowd are at once 
 heard above the music. 
 
 VOICES IN THE CROWD. 
 
 So ... she was in the chariot ? Did 
 
 you see ? 
 
 All the village lingered there, 
 96
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 There, to see her. ... Is she fair ? 
 
 She looked at me. . . . And me. . . , 
 
 And me. 
 
 O miserable child ! . . . Yet all the while 
 She seemed to smile. 
 Whence hath she come? . . . From very 
 
 far away, 
 To know not . . . what awaits her here 
 
 to-day. 
 Their journey hath endured for thrice ten 
 
 days. . . . 
 He cannot see us ... shout, that he 
 
 may know. . . , 
 
 {All together. 
 Back! Back! . . . Advance no nearer! 
 
 Never go 
 Up to the castle ! ... It is death, death, 
 
 death ! 
 
 {Isolated voices. 
 She does not understand. ... I hear they 
 
 say 
 
 No less than twenty men pursued her way, 
 y 97
 
 Ardiane and Barbc Bleue 
 
 That dwelt about her home. . . . You 
 
 wonder why ? 
 Because they loved her. . . . Many used 
 
 to cry 
 Along the roads. . . . Why has she come, 
 
 O why ? 
 They tell me that she knew. . . . He 
 
 shall not have her, no ! 
 She is too fair for you ! ... He shall not 
 
 have her, no ! ... 
 
 see them, see them, there they go ! 
 Where are they going ? . . . They are 
 
 coming through, 
 By the red gate. . . . It is not true . . . 
 
 1 see their torches in the avenue ! 
 There the great chariot goes between the 
 
 trees ! 
 He is afraid. . . . He shall not have her, 
 
 no ! 
 He is mad, mad, mad ! He is mad ! He 
 
 has done enough ! 
 It is too much ! ... So she will be the 
 
 sixth ! 9 s
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 O murderer, butcher ! . . . Death to the 
 
 butcher, death ! 
 Fire, fire ! . . . Bring fire ! . . . I have 
 
 brought my hay-fork, see ! 
 And I my scythe! They are entering 
 
 the yard . . . 
 Hey, let me see ! . . . Take care ! . . . 
 
 The gates are barred ! 
 Wait for them here. . . . They say she 
 
 knows it all ! 
 What does she know ? . . . She knowi 
 
 what I know too. . . . 
 What do you know ? . . . I know they 
 
 all are dead ! 
 Not dead, not dead? ... I buried them 
 
 myself! 
 
 But I one evening once as I went by 
 Heard singing voices. . . . So did I. . . . 
 
 And I ... 
 
 Ay, they come back, they say. . . . But he 
 Brings down misfortune on our heads. . . . 
 
 O see, 
 
 99
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 The windows ! . . . They are closing of 
 
 themselves ! 
 Now . . . they are going in ! They are 
 
 going in. ... 
 
 Nothing to see ! . . . Death to him ! 
 Death ! Death ! Death ! 
 [And at this moment the six great win- 
 dows above the interior balcony 
 close of their own motion, stifling 
 little by little the voices of the 
 crowd. Soon nothing is heard 
 but an indefinite murmur which 
 is almost silence. Shortly after- 
 wards ARDIANE and the NURSB 
 enter by a side door. 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 Where are we ? ... Listen ! . . . Ah ! 
 
 . . . that muttering there ! 
 It is the peasants : they were eager, yes, 
 To save us : yes, they ran along the roads, 
 zoo
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 But never dared to speak : they made us 
 
 signs, 
 They made us signs that meant we should 
 
 return. . . . 
 
 [She goes forward to the great door at 
 
 the end of the hall. 
 They are here, behind this door ! . . . I 
 
 hear them : some 
 Tramp to and fro. . . . Now let us try 
 
 to flee. . . . 
 
 He leaves us here alone : we can escape, 
 Perhaps. ... I tell you plainly, he is 
 
 mad ! 
 
 O, it is death ! For all they say is true, 
 He has killed five women. . . . 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 No, they are not dead . . . 
 Yonder I heard it spoken of at times, 
 In the far place whereto his savage love, 
 That yet was tremulous, came to seek me 
 out, 
 
 101
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 A of a thing incomprehensible. 
 I was suspicious of the truth, and here 
 Am sure. He loves me : I am beautiful : 
 So shall I learn his secret. But ere all 
 We must be insubordinate. When the 
 
 future 
 
 Is threatening to us and inscrutable 
 That is ere all our duty. For the rest, 
 They were mistaken ; and if they are lost 
 They were lost by hesitation. 
 
 Here are we, 
 
 Within the outer hall whence opens out 
 The chamber where his love awaits me. 
 
 Here 
 
 Are keys he gave me of the treasure-chests 
 Of bridal raiment, and the silver keys 
 Are ours to use : the golden is forbid. 
 That is the only one of import. These, 
 The six, I cast away : the last I keep. 
 
 \jShe throws away the keys of silver, 
 which tinkle and ring on the marble 
 fags. 
 
 1 02
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 THE NURSE (who hastily picks them up 
 , again). 
 
 What are you doing? He has given you 
 The treasures, all the treasures that they 
 open ! 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Open them you, then, if it give you 
 
 pleasure ; 
 
 For me, I seek for the forbidden door. 
 Open the others if you will ; but all 
 That is permitted us will tell us nought. 
 
 THE NURSE (looking at the keys and then 
 about the hall). 
 
 The doors are yonder, set within the 
 
 marble, 
 And we may know, since all have locks 
 
 of silver, 
 
 They answer to the keys : but first of all, 
 Which one shall I unclose ? 
 103
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 What matter which ? 
 They are but there to turn aside our 
 
 minds 
 From that we need to know. ... I do 
 
 not find, 
 Although I seek for it, the seventh 
 
 door. . . . 
 
 THE NURSE (trying the lock of the first 
 door). 
 
 Is this the key of the first? ... Or 
 this ? ... Or this ? 
 
 Not yet, not yet. . . . Ay, but the third 
 goes in, 
 
 Dragging my fingers after it ! ... Be- 
 ware ! . . . 
 
 Fly ! . . . The two panels both have 
 come to life ! 
 
 They are gliding back like curtains ! . . . 
 What is this ? 
 
 104
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 Beware, beware ! . . . It is a hail of fire, 
 That beats upon my hands, that wounds 
 
 my face ! 
 O! 
 
 [The Nu RSE springs backward, for while 
 she is speaking the two leaves of 
 the door glide of their own motion 
 into lateral recesses, and suddenly 
 disappear, disclosing a vast heap 
 of amethysts piled up to the top of 
 the doorway. Then, as though 
 delivered suddenly from centuries 
 of constraint, countless gems and 
 jewels of every size and form, 
 but all of the one substance, ame- 
 thyst necklaces, bracelets, rings, 
 aigrettes, buckles, girdles, collars, 
 diadems fall like a crumbling 
 mass of violet flames, and rebound 
 as far as the further side of the 
 ball ; and, while the first to fall 
 spread themselves over the marble 
 105
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 flags, others, more and more numer- 
 ous and more and more resplen- 
 dent, begin to fall from all the 
 mouldings of the enchanted vault- 
 * ings, and flow therefrom continu- 
 ally with an incessant sound of 
 living jewels. 
 
 THE NURSE (fascinated, bewildered, gather- 
 ing up jewels with both her hands'). 
 
 Gather them up, O stoop, gather them up ! 
 Take the most beautiful ! Enough are here 
 To glorify a kingdom ! Still they fall ! 
 They pierce my hair, they stone my hands ! 
 
 O look ! 
 Unheard-of gems are raining from the 
 
 vaults, 
 
 Miraculous violets, purple, lilac, mauve ! 
 Plunge your arms into them and hide your 
 
 face, 
 
 And I will fill my mantle full with them ! 
 1 06
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 These amethysts are noble. Open now 
 The second door. 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 The second ? I dare not ! . . . 
 Yet I would know if ... 
 
 \JShe inserts the key in the lock of the 
 second door. 
 
 O, beware, beware! 
 The key already turns ! And they have 
 
 wings, 
 The doors : the walls too tear themselves 
 
 asunder ! 
 O! 
 
 scene is the same as on the open- 
 ing of the first door, but this time 
 is seen the accumulated wealth, 
 the rebounding irruption, the daz- 
 zling aud musical fall of a blue 
 rain of sapphires. 
 107
 
 Ardianc and Barbe ,Blcue 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 These are fine sapphires. Open now the 
 third. 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 Wait, wait until I see that I have here 
 Indeed the most magnificent. My cloak 
 Will break beneath the weight of blue, blue 
 
 sky ! 
 
 O see them overflow ! on every hand 
 They pour, pour, pour ! a violent tor- 
 rent here, 
 And yonder in a stream of azure blue ! 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Come, come, Nurse, quickly, for the chance 
 
 to sin 
 Is rare and fugitive. . . . 
 
 THE NURSE (opens the third door, when the 
 same thing befalls, save that this time 
 follows the pale invasion, the milky 
 1 08
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 rushy of a deluge of pearls, a shower 
 less heavy, but more illimitable than 
 those preceding). 
 
 I will but take 
 
 A handful of them, so they may caress 
 The sapphires. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 Open now the fourth door. 
 
 THE NURSE (opens the fourth door, when as 
 before there is a shower of jewels, but 
 this time of emeralds). 
 
 O, these are greener than the Spring that 
 
 runs 
 
 Along the poplars thick with drops of dew 
 
 That catch the lovely sunlight in my home ! 
 
 [Shaking her mantle, which overflows 
 
 with amethysts, sapphires, and 
 
 pearls. 
 
 Away, away, ye others ! give you place 
 For the most beautiful for I was born 
 109
 
 Ardianc and Barbe Bleue 
 
 Under the boughs, and love the light of 
 leaves. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 Open the fifth door. 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 O, not even these ? 
 You do not love them ? 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 What I love is fair 
 Beyond all fairness of miraculous gems. 
 
 THE NURSE (opening the fifth door, to set 
 free a blinding irruption, a living incan- 
 descence ', a sinister deluge and cascade of 
 rubies). 
 
 O, these are terrible : I will not touch ! 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Now we approach the end : the threat lies 
 
 here. 
 Open the sixth. 
 
 no
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 It is the last key. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Open it quickly. 
 
 e NURSE, hesitating, opens the sixth 
 door. All passes as before : but 
 the radiance is this time intolerable. 
 Cataracts of enormous diamonds of 
 the first water four into the hall; 
 myriads of sparks, flashes, flecks 
 of fire, and prismatic rays mingle, 
 are extinguished, blaze forth again 
 and multiply, outspreading as they 
 fall. ARDIANE, startled, gives a 
 dazed cry. She stoops, picks up a 
 diadem, a necklace, and handfuls 
 of the glistening splendour, and 
 therewith she decks at random her 
 hair, her arms, her throat, her 
 hands. Then, flashing before her
 
 Ardiane and Barbc Bleue 
 
 eyes and raising before her face 
 diamonds that shed a brilliance 
 upon her. 
 
 O, my flashing diamonds ! 
 For you I never sought, but on my way 
 I greet you ! O immortal dew of light ! 
 Stream o'er my hands, illuminate my arms, 
 Dazzle my very flesh ! O, you are pure, 
 And you are tireless, and you never die : 
 And that which in your fires eternally 
 Trembles, like to a populace of spirits, 
 That have constrained and wear the stars 
 
 of Heaven, 
 
 It is the passion of that Radiance 
 Which, penetrating all things, knows no 
 
 rest, 
 
 And finds no more to conquer, save itself! 
 [She approaches the door, and looks up 
 
 at the vaulted arch. 
 Rain on, O supreme heart of summer, 
 
 rain! 
 O shards of light, O limitless soul of flame! 
 
 112
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 Yea, wound my eyes, yet shall you never 
 tire 
 
 Those eyes of gazing ! 
 
 [Leaning yet further back. 
 O, what is it there ? 
 
 O Nurse, where are you ? For the splen- 
 did rain 
 
 Hangs motionless, suspended in a bow, 
 
 A diamond rainbow of prismatic fire ! . . , 
 
 O see the seventh door, with golden bars, 
 
 With golden lock and hinges ! 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 Come away ! 
 No, never touch it ! No, withdraw your 
 
 hands ! 
 Withdraw your eyes, lest of itself it 
 
 open! 
 Come, let us hide ! These diamonds - 
 
 after them 
 
 Or fire will come, or death ! 
 1 113
 
 Ardianc and Barbe Blcuc 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Go back, go back ! 
 
 Hide you yourself behind a marble shaft: 
 
 I will alone go forward. 
 
 [She steps into the recess under the 
 vaulted doorway , and inserts the 
 key in the lock. 'The door divides 
 into two panels, and disappears: 
 nothing is visible save an opening 
 full of darkness : but the sound of 
 singing, muffled and remote, rises 
 from the depths of the earth, and 
 spreads through the hall. 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 Ardiane ! 
 What are you doing ? Is it you that sings ? 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Listen ! 
 
 114
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleu* 
 
 THE DISTANT VOICES. 
 
 Orlamonde's five daughters, 
 
 When the faery died, 
 Orlamonde's five daughters 
 
 Sought to win outside. 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 They are . . . the other women ! 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 O, shut the door ! Their singing fills the 
 
 hall: 
 It will be heard, heard everywhere ! 
 
 ARDIANE (trying to close the door). 
 
 I cannot ! 
 "5
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Blcue 
 
 THE DISTANT VOICES. 
 
 They lit their five lanterns, 
 
 Through all the towers they sought, 
 And in four hundred chambers ; 
 
 The day, they found it not. 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 Now it is louder, always louder ! Come ! 
 Come, let us close help me the outer 
 
 door. . . . 
 
 \hey try to close the door that concealed 
 
 the diamonds. 
 This too resists ! We cannot shut them in ! 
 
 THE DISTANT VOICES. 
 
 Then they found an echoing deep, 
 
 And let it them enfold : 
 And upon a stubborn door 
 
 Found a key of gold. 
 116
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleuc 
 
 THE NURSE (bewildered, and also entering 
 the recess). 
 
 Be silent, silent ! . . . We shall all be lost ! 
 Stifle that voice ! [Stretching out her mantle. 
 
 The doorway ah, my cloak 
 Will cover it. ... 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 I see beyond the sill 
 
 Steps. I am going down to where they 
 sing. 
 
 THE DISTANT VOICES (always louder). 
 
 Through the chinks they see the ocean : 
 
 Ah, they fear to die ! 
 
 They strike the door they dare not open, 
 And the hours go by. 
 
 \_At the last words of the song BARBE 
 
 BLEUE enters the hall. For a 
 
 moment he stops short ^ gazing ; 
 
 then he draws near to the women. 
 
 117
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 BARBE BLEUE. 
 You too ! 
 
 ARDIANE (who starts, leaves the door w ay ^ 
 and advances , glittering with diamonds, 
 towards BARBE BLEUE). 
 
 I above all. 
 
 BARBE BLEUE. 
 
 I thought that you 
 
 Were stronger, wiser than your sisters 
 were. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 How long did they avoid the thing forbid ? 
 
 BARBE BLEUE. 
 
 This, for some days ; that, a few months ; 
 
 and one, 
 
 The last of all, a year. 
 xz3
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 It was the last, 
 
 Only the last, that there was need to 
 punish. 
 
 BARBE BLEUE. 
 It was a very little thing to ask. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 You asked of these more than you ever 
 gave. 
 
 BARBE BLEUE. 
 The happiness I willed for you you lose. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 The happiness I would lives not in 
 
 darkness. 
 When I know all to pardon will be mine. 
 
 BARBE BLEUE (seizing ARDIANE by the arm). 
 
 Come ! Come ! 
 
 119
 
 Ardianc and Barbe Bleuc 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 Where would you, then, that I should go ? 
 
 BARBE BLEUE. 
 Where I shall lead you. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 No. 
 
 [BARBE BLEUE strives to drag her 
 away by force. She gives a long 
 cry of pain. 'This cry is answered 
 at first by a low murmur from 
 without. 'The struggle between 
 the two continues for a few mo- 
 ments, and the NURSE gives vent 
 to despairing outcries. Suddenly a 
 stone, hurled from without, shat- 
 ters one of the windows, and the 
 crowd is heard, excited and en- 
 raged. Other stones fall ; the 
 NURSE, running to the great door 
 at the end of the hall t raises 
 
 I 20
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 the bars and shoots the bolts. 
 A sudden rush from outside 
 splinters the door and forces it 
 in ; and the peasants, infuriated 
 but hesitating^ crowd upon the 
 threshold. BARBE BLEUE, releas- 
 ing ARDIANE, draws his sword 
 and prepares for the onset. But 
 ARDIANE, tranquil, advances 
 towards the crowd. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 What would you ? He has not done me 
 any ill. 
 
 [She gently disperses the peasants, and 
 carefully closes the door, while 
 BARBE BLEUE, with lowered eyes, 
 gazes at the point of his sword. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 Ill
 
 ACT THE SECOND 
 
 At the rising of the curtain the scene is a 
 vast subterranean ball, with a vaulted 
 roof supported by many columns ; it is 
 plunged in almost total darkness. From 
 the extreme right , almost in the wings, 
 there runs back a narrow, winding sub- 
 terranean passage, also with a vaulted 
 roof; it debouches into the great hall 
 towards the front of the stage by a 
 roughly-arched opening. 
 
 At the further end of this passage ARDIANE 
 and the NURSE are seen, descending the 
 last few steps of a stairway ; ARDIANE 
 carries a lamp. 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 Hush ! Do you hear ? He shuts the 
 iron door.
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 Over our heads ! Why would you not 
 
 give way ? 
 We never shall behold the day again. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Fear not ; he is wounded, he is overcome ; 
 But knows it not as yet. With supplica- 
 tion 
 
 He will re-open it : but let us seek 
 First if we cannot of ourselves win free. 
 Meanwhile his wrath all that his love 
 
 refused 
 
 Has granted : we shall find what here is 
 hid. 
 
 [She advances , holding the lamp high 
 above her head, to the mouth of 
 the passage, and there bends for^ 
 ward, seeking to penetrate the 
 darkness of the hall. At the first 
 ray of light which pierces the ob- 
 scurity is heard the sound of husked 
 123
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 and fearful flight. ARDIANE turns 
 towards the NURSE to call her. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Come ! They are here ! 
 
 \_Sbe enters the ball, which the lamp 
 illuminates pillar by pillar. 
 
 Where are you ? 
 
 \_A terrified moan replies. ARDIANE 
 directs the rays of her lamp toward 
 the part from which it seems to 
 proceedy and perceives the forms 
 of five women, motionless with 
 fright, who are huddled together 
 in the shadows of the remotest 
 pillars. 
 
 ARDIANE (in a muffled voice, still half fearful). 
 
 They are there ! 
 Nurse, nurse, where are you ? 
 
 \_The NURSE hastens toward ARDIANE : 
 ARDIANE gives her the lamp, and 
 124
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 takes a few hesitating steps toward 
 the five. 
 
 Sisters, O my sisters ! 
 \_Thefive start. 
 
 They live ! They live ! They live ! 
 Behold me here ! 
 
 [She runs to them with open arms, clasps 
 them with hesitating hands , strains 
 them to her breast, and kisses them 
 and caresses them, feeling about 
 her with uncertain gestures, in a 
 kind of impassioned and convulsive 
 tenderness, while the NURSE, lamp 
 in hand, stands still a little apart. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 O, I have found you ! . . . They are full 
 
 of life, 
 They are full of sweetness ! . . . When I 
 
 saw the hall 
 
 Open in darkness from the passage end, 
 125
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleuc 
 
 I thought to find ... ah me ! . . . dead 
 
 bodies here. . . . 
 And lo . . . I kiss these loveliest lips in 
 
 tears ! 
 Have you not suffered ? O, your lips 
 
 how fresh, 
 Your cheeks how like the cheeks of 
 
 children ! See, 
 Your naked arms are supple, ay, and 
 
 warm ; 
 Your round round breasts are throbbing 
 
 through their veils ! 
 Why do you tremble ? . . . O, how many 
 
 you are ! 
 Now I clasp shoulders ; now my arms 
 
 entwine 
 Hips, and my touch on whom I know 
 
 not rests. . . . 
 On every hand my lips meet lips, my 
 
 breast meets breasts. 
 O this that bathes you all, this hair ! 
 You must be fair, so fair ! 
 126
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 Waves, faintly warm, are parted by my 
 
 hands, 
 My arms are lost amid rebellious 
 
 strands. . . . 
 Have you a thousand tresses ? . . . and 
 
 are they 
 
 Like night, or like the day ? 
 I see no longer what I do, 
 But I am kissing, kissing all of you, 
 And one by one I gather all your hands ! 
 It is the least of you I find the last : 
 O never tremble ! See, I hold you fast, 
 My arms enfold you close to me ! 
 Nurse, nurse, what are you doing there ? 
 Behold me like a mother here, 
 Feeling in darkness, and my children . . . 
 
 they 
 Await the dawn to clear. 
 
 \_Tbe NURSE draws near, bearing the 
 
 lamp, and its light falls on the 
 
 group of women. The captives 
 
 are then seen to be clad in rags, 
 
 127
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Blcue 
 
 their hair in disorder, their faces 
 emaciated and their eyes dazzled 
 and alarmed. ARDIANE, for a. 
 moment astonished, takes the lamp 
 from the NURSE, in order the 
 better to light them, and to re- 
 gard them more closely. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 O, you have suffered here ! 
 
 And O, how gloomy does your prison 
 
 seem ! 
 Great clammy drops are falling on my 
 
 hands, 
 And my lamp's flame is flickering all the 
 
 while ! 
 How strange your eyes are when you look 
 
 at me ! 
 And you draw back as I approach but 
 
 why ? 
 
 What, are you still afraid ? 
 And who is that who seeks to flv ? 
 izS
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 Is it not she, the youngest of you all, 
 
 She that I kissed but now ? 
 
 O, has my long long sister's kiss 
 
 Done to you any harm ? 
 
 Come to me, come then ! Do you fear 
 
 the light ? 
 Tell me, what is her name ? 
 
 Two OR THREE TIMID VOICES. 
 Selysette. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Selysette a smile ? 
 
 It is the first that I have seen this while ! 
 Your wide eyes falter as though they saw 
 
 the Dead, 
 Although in truth they look on life 
 
 instead : 
 And O, these delicate bare arms that 
 
 tremble, 
 Both waiting to be loved ! Come, my 
 
 arms too 
 9 129
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 Arc waiting, though I tremble not as you ! 
 
 {Embracing her. 
 
 You have been in this tomb how many 
 days? 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 We count the days but ill here, oftentimes 
 Deceive ourselves, but none the less I 
 
 think 
 I have been here for upwards of a year. 
 
 [YGRAINE advances : she is paler than 
 the others. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 It is a long while since you saw the light ! 
 
 YGRAINE. 
 
 I used not to unclose my eyes ; I wept 
 So long alone. 
 
 SELYSETTE (looking fixedly at ARDIANE). 
 
 How beautiful you are ! 
 How could he bring himself to punish you 
 130
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 As he used us ? You also in the end 
 Have disobeyed him ? 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 No, it was not so ! 
 
 No, I obeyed more swiftly than the rest, 
 But other laws than his. 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 Why have you come ? 
 O why have you come here ? 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 To set you free. 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 How should we be set free ? 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 But follow me : 
 
 No more than that. . . . What used you 
 here to do ?
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 We prayed, sang, wept, and then we waited 
 always. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 You never sought escape ? 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 We could not flee, 
 For all the ways are shut, and flight forbid. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 That we shall see. . . . But she that looks 
 
 at me 
 
 Between the tangles of her fallen hair 
 That seems to wrap her round in frozen 
 
 flame 
 What is her name ? 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 Her name is Melisande. 
 132
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Come hither, Melisande ! And she whose 
 
 eyes, 
 Wide, eager eyes, are following my lamp ? 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 Bellangere. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 And that other, who is hid 
 Behind the heavy pillar? 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 She has come 
 From very far away, poor Alladine ! 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 Why do you call her poor ? 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 Because she came 
 Last of us all, and speaks another tongue.
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 ARDiANE(^0/*# out herarmsto ALLADINE). 
 
 Come, Alladine ! . . . You see that I 
 
 speak hers, 
 When I embrace her thus. 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 She has not yet 
 Ever ceased weeping. 
 
 ARDIANE (looking at SELYSETTE and the 
 others with astonishment]. 
 
 Why, but you yourself, 
 Can you not laugh yet laugh and clap 
 
 your hands ? 
 
 And all the rest are silent ! What is this? 
 What are you ? Will you live in terror thus 
 Always ? I do not see you smile at all, 
 While with your eyes incredulous eyes ! 
 
 you watch 
 
 My every gesture. Will you not believe 
 
 The joyful news ? O, do you not regret 
 
 J34
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 The light of day, the birds among the 
 
 boughs, 
 
 The high green gardens blowing overhead ? 
 Do you not know the world is in the 
 
 Spring ? 
 
 I y ester-morning, wandering by the way, 
 Drank in the light, the sense of space of 
 
 dawn, 
 
 So many flowers beneath my every step, 
 I knew not where to set my careless feet ! 
 Have you forgot the sunlight and the dew, 
 Dew in the leaves, and laughter of the sea? 
 The sea but now was laughing as it laughs 
 On days whereon it knows the wind of joy, 
 And all its thousand ripples approved my 
 
 feet, 
 Its ripples singing on the sands of light. . . . 
 
 \_At this moment one of the drops of 
 water which drip incessantly from 
 the roof falls upon the flame of the 
 lamp which ARDIANE holds be- 
 fore her, as she turns towards the
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleuc 
 
 mouth of the subterranean passage, 
 and the light flickers and is extin- 
 guished. The NURSE gives a cry 
 of terror, and ARDIANE stops, 
 dismayed. 
 
 ARDIANE (in the darkness}. 
 O, but where are you ? 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 Hither : take my hand. 
 Stay by me : water, stagnant and profound, 
 Lies yonder. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 What, and you can see it still ? 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 Yes, we have lived so long in darkness here. 
 
 BELLANGERE. 
 
 Come hither : it is lighter here by far. 
 136
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 Yes, let us all go thither to the light. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Then is there in this deepest darkness 
 light? 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 Yes, there is light. Do you not see it there, 
 A wide, pale glow illumining the depth 
 Beyond the further arches ? 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Where ? 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 O blind ! 
 O, let me kiss you. . . . 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Yes, there is indeed 
 A faint light, growing wider. . . .
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 O no, no ! 
 
 It is your eyes, your lovely astonished eyes 
 That widen ! 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 O, whence is it ? 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 We do not know. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 But we must know ! 
 
 [She goes toward the back of the scene, 
 
 and moves to and fro, feeling along 
 
 the wall with her hands. 
 
 Here is the wall . . . and here . . . 
 
 But higher . . . here . . . it is no longer 
 
 stone ! 
 
 Help me to mount upon this mass of rock ! 
 [She climbs, supported by the others. 
 Here it is like an altar. Here the roof 
 '38
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 Is moulded in a pointed arch. . . . And 
 
 here 
 
 O, O, enormous bolts and iron bars ! 
 You have sought to push them ? Have 
 
 you ? 
 
 SELYSETTE, 
 
 Never ! No ! 
 No, never touch them : for they say the 
 
 sea 
 Washes the walls great waves will tumble 
 
 in! 
 It is the sea that makes it glimmer green ! 
 
 YGRAINE. 
 We have so often heard it : have a care ! 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 O, I see water tremble above our heads ! 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 No, no, it is the light that seeks you out I 
 
 139
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 BELLANGERE. 
 
 She is trying to force it open ! 
 
 \^he terrified women recoil, and take 
 refuge behind a great column, 
 whence they follow with widened 
 eyes ARD JANE'S every movement. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 My poor sisters ! 
 Why, if you love your darkness, do you 
 
 seek 
 
 Deliverance from any quarter ? Why, 
 If you were happy, did you use to weep ? 
 O, the bars rise ! They rise ! And now 
 
 the doors 
 Are going to open ! Wait ! 
 
 \_A nd indeed the heavy -panels of a sort 
 of great interior shutter are seen, 
 while yet she is speaking, to open, 
 but as yet only a very faint, dif- 
 fused, and sombre light illuminates 
 140
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 the round aperture perceived under 
 the 'vaulted ceiling. 
 
 ARDIANE (continuing her search). 
 
 No light as yet, 
 
 No real light ! But now I pass 
 My hands across. . . . What is it ? Glass ? 
 Or maybe marble. . . . One would say 
 This were a window, sealed away, 
 Blackened with pitch. . . . My nails are 
 
 broken ! Nay, 
 
 Where are your distaffs ? Melisande, 
 Selysette, give me in my hand 
 A distaff: nay, a stone, 
 A single pebble of the thousands strown 
 Over the floor. . . . 
 
 [SELYSETTE runs to ARDIANE, holding 
 up to her a stone, which she takes. 
 
 Behold before your eyes 
 The key of your sunrise ! 
 
 \She strikes a violent blow upon the 
 glass. One of the square panes is 
 141
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleuc 
 
 shattered into fragments, and a 
 great dazzling star seems to burst 
 forth in the darkness. The women 
 give a cry of almost delighted 
 terror, and ARDIANE, now be- 
 side herself, and wholly submerged 
 in a more and more intolerable 
 radiance, breaks all the remaining 
 panes with heavy, hurried blows, 
 in a kind of ecstatic delirium. 
 
 Yet another pane ! 
 
 Now, and now again ! 
 
 Till they fall, great and small, shattered, 
 down to the last of all ! 
 
 All the panes in ruin crack, 
 
 And O the flames are driving back 
 
 My hands, my hair ! 
 
 I can see nothing now of what is there ! 
 
 Nor do I longer dare 
 
 To raise my lids, for now it seems 
 
 They are mad with fury, the dazzling 
 beams ! 
 
 142
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 Stir not from where you were ! 
 I can no longer stand upright, 
 But shut my eyes behold the sight 
 Of bright long strings of pearls, my eye- 
 lids lashing ! 
 I know not what assails me, o'er me 
 
 dashing: 
 
 Is it the skies or else the seas, 
 Is it the light or else the breeze ? 
 All my tresses bright have grown a torrent 
 
 of light, 
 
 And miracle all over me is flashing ! 
 I see no longer, but I hear 
 A myriad rays of light beating on either 
 
 ear ! 
 
 But how to hide my eyes I do not know, 
 For no shade now my two hands throw ; 
 My eyelids dazzle me ; my arms, that try 
 To cover them, do cover, but with light ! 
 Where are you ? Hither, all of you ! for I 
 Am helpless to descend ; I cannot see 
 aright ; 
 
 H3
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleuc 
 
 1 see not, know not, where to press 
 
 My feet amid the surf of fire that sway my 
 dress ! 
 
 Come hither, hither all, or I shall fall 
 
 Into your darkness ! 
 
 [At this cry SELYSETTE<Z#</ MELISANDE 
 leave the shadows wherein they had 
 taken refuge, and run to the win- 
 dow, their hands pressed upon 
 their eyes, as though to pass 
 through flame ; and thus, groping 
 in the light, they mount beside 
 ARDIANE on the mass of rock. 
 'The others follow them, and do 
 as they ; and thus all crowd to- 
 gether in the stream of blinding 
 radiance, which forces them to 
 lower their heads. 'Then passes 
 a moment of dazzled silence, dur- 
 ing which is heard the murmur of 
 the sea without, the caress of the 
 wind among grasses, the song of 
 144
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 birds, and the bells of a flock of 
 sheep going by in a distant pasture. 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 I can hear the sea ! 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 And I can see the sky. . . . 
 
 Covering her eyes with the bend of her 
 arm. 
 
 One cannot look 1 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 My eyes are growing calmer 'neath my 
 
 hands. 
 Where are we ? 
 
 BELLANGERE. 
 
 Trees are all that I would see. 
 Where are they ? 
 
 YGRAINE. 
 
 O, but how the world is green ! 
 10 145
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Blcue 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 We are midway upon the cliff-side here. 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 Down there the village! Do you sec 
 the village ? 
 
 BELLANGERE. 
 
 We cannot reach the village : all around 
 Is water, and the bridges all up-drawn. 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 Where are there people ? 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 There is a peasant there 
 Yonder. 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 He saw is looking at us now. 
 See, I will make a sign to him. . . . 
 
 [She waves her long hair. 
 
 He saw ! 
 146
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 He saw my hair, he takes his bonnet off! 
 He makes the sign of the Cross ! 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 A bell, a bell ! [Counting the strokes, 
 Seven, eight, nine ! 
 
 BELLANGERE. 
 Ten . . . and eleven . . . twelve ! 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 So it is noon. . . . 
 
 YGRAINE. 
 Who is it singing so ? 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 Why, those are birds ! Do you see them ? 
 
 There they are ! 
 There are thousands in the lofty poplar 
 
 trees 
 That grow along the river.
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 Alladine ! 
 
 Where is she, O where is she, Alladine ? 
 For I would kiss her. 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 i Alladine is here, 
 And I, I kiss her. 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 You O Melisande, 
 You are so pale ! 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 You also, you are pale ! 
 No, do not look at me ! 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 And see, your dress 
 
 Is all in tatters : I can see you through 
 it. ... 
 
 148
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 And yours ; for your uncovered breasts 
 
 appear, 
 Parting your tresses. . . . Do not look 
 
 at me. 
 
 BELLANGERE. 
 How long our tresses are ! 
 
 YGRAINE. 
 
 How pale our checks ! 
 
 BELLANGERE. 
 The sun shines through our hands. . . . 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 O, Alladine ! 
 She is sobbing ! 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 I am kissing, kissing her. . . . 
 149
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Ah yes, kiss one another : do not yet 
 Look in each other's faces : more than 
 
 all 
 You shall not think that light will make 
 
 you sad. 
 
 You shall by your intoxication profit 
 To issue from the tomb. Here steps of 
 
 stone 
 Descend the cliff-side. Though I do not 
 
 know 
 Whither they lead, yet they are full of 
 
 light, 
 And the free winds of heaven assail them. 
 
 Come ! 
 Follow me all ! A thousand thousand 
 
 rays 
 Are dancing, dancing on the crests of the 
 
 sea ! 
 
 [She goes out through the opening and 
 disappears in the light without. 
 150
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 SELYSETTE (who follows, drawing the others 
 after her}. 
 
 Come, yes, O come, my poor, my happy 
 
 sisters ! 
 
 Let us too dance, dance, dance the dance 
 of the light ! 
 
 [ They all climb the great stone and dis- 
 appear^ singing in the brilliance 
 of outer day. 
 
 THE RECEDING VOICES. 
 
 Orlamonde's five daughters 
 
 (The faery's days were o'er), 
 Orlamonde's five daughters 
 Found at last the door. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 ACT THE THIRD 
 
 The curtain rises on the same scene as in the 
 First Act. The scattered jewels are 
 still glistening in the niches , and on the 
 marble floor. Between the -pillars of 
 the semi-circular colonnade are open 
 coffers, overflowing with costly raiment. 
 It is now night without, and under the 
 hanging candelabra, the tapers of which 
 are lit, ALLADINE, SELYSETTE, MELI- 
 SANDE, YGRAINE and BELLANGERE are 
 standing before the great mirrors, and 
 each is giving the touches of completion 
 to the dressing of her hair, or adjusting 
 the folds of her glittering attire, or 
 decking herself with jewels and flowers, 
 while ARDIANE, passing from one to 
 15*
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 the other , assists and advises them all. 
 The great windows are open. 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 Though from the spell-bound castle we as 
 
 yet 
 
 Discover no escape, yet wherefore fear, 
 Since he is here no longer? 
 
 [Embracing ARDIANE. 
 
 We are happy, 
 And still, because you tarry with us, free. 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 Where has he gone ? 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 I know no more than you. 
 Yet gone he has. It may be he is troubled : 
 It may be for the first time disconcerted. 
 It well may be the anger of the peasants 
 Left him uneasy ; he has felt their hate 
 Brim over : who shall say he has not gone
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 To search out guards or soldiers to chastise 
 The mutinous, and so return a master ? 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 You will not go away ? 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 How should I go, 
 When all the castle moats are brimming 
 
 full, 
 
 When all the drawbridges are hoisted high, 
 When all the doors and gates are locked 
 
 and barred, 
 
 When all the walls are inaccessible ? 
 Though none are seen to guard them, none 
 
 the less 
 
 The doors are not abandoned ; all our steps 
 Are closely spied ; he must have given out 
 Mysterious orders. But on every side 
 The peasants wait and watch upon the 
 
 roads. 
 Meanwhile, my sisters, the eventful hour
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 Draws nigh ; we must be very beautiful. 
 
 But is it so that you prepare yourselves? 
 
 Your hair was full of miracle, Melisande! 
 
 Below, it lit the darkness of the vaults, 
 
 Steadfast it smiled upon the night of the 
 tomb, 
 
 And now you have extinguished every 
 flame ! 
 
 Again I come to liberate the light ! 
 
 [She removes MELISANDE'S veil, cuts 
 with her scissors the fillets that 
 constrain her tresses, and all her 
 hair suddenly flows downwards^ 
 streaming resplendent over her 
 shoulders. 
 
 YGRAINE (turning about to look at 
 
 MELISANDE). 
 O! 
 
 SELYSETTE (also turning). 
 
 I can hardly think it still is she ! 
 She is so beautiful ! 
 
 155
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 And you, and you ! 
 Those loveliest arms, where are they, 
 
 Selysette ? 
 What have you done ? 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 Within my silver sleeves, 
 Here are my arms. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 I cannot see them, no, 
 Not as I saw them but a while ago, 
 Saw those arms I worshipped so, 
 The while I watched you, saw you dress, 
 Every strand and every tress ; 
 They seemed as they were raised above 
 Your head to reach, to appeal for love. 
 My loving eyes caressed your every 
 
 gesture : 
 
 I turned about, and when I turn again 
 156
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 I see their shadow merely through their 
 
 vesture 
 That shone but now so bright. But now 
 
 these twain 
 Twin rays of happiness I liberate ! 
 
 [She detaches the sleeves. 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 My poor bare arms ! O, they will shake 
 with cold ! 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 No, for they are too beautiful ! And you, 
 
 [Turning to YGRAINE. 
 
 Ygraine, where are you ? For. there shone 
 
 but now, 
 
 Deep in this mirror, shoulders, and a throat, 
 That flooded it with happy, tender light : 
 Come, I must liberate you all ! My sisters, 
 In truth I do not wonder any more 
 He never loved you as he should have 
 
 loved,
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 Or that he coveted a hundred, yet 
 Possessed no woman. 
 
 [Removing the mantle that YGRAINE 
 has thrown over her shoulders. 
 
 O two fountain-heads 
 Of beauty into darkness cast away ! 
 This above all : fear nothing ! And to-night 
 Let us be beautiful ! 
 
 [The NURSE, haggard and dishevelled, 
 enters by a side door. 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 O, he is here ! 
 He is returning ! 
 
 THE OTHERS. 
 Who? Who? He? To-night? 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 Who told you ? 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 Were you able to go out ? 
 158
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 Have you seen any one? 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 Yes, yes, a guard ! 
 He has seen you, he admires you ! 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 I have seen 
 
 No creature since the hour he went away. 
 All gates, all doors of their own motion 
 
 close, 
 Though none knows how; the palace seems 
 
 deserted. 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 They hide, I say they hide, 
 
 And we are all espied 
 
 Forever here. 
 
 It was the youngest spoke to me ; 
 
 He is returning ; he must be, 
 
 He said, quite near.
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 The peasants are in arms. The peasants 
 
 know ! 
 
 They are rising ! All the village is below, 
 Lurking among the hedges ! Hark ! A 
 cry ! 
 
 {She mounts by one of the curving lat- 
 eral stairways to the windows of 
 the gallery. 
 
 There are torches in the copses going 
 by! 
 
 [The women, terrified, give a cry of 
 horror, and run to and fro through 
 the hall, seeking a point of exit. 
 The NURSE endeavours to stop 
 them. 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 Seek not to fly : you know the doors are 
 
 shut. 
 Where would you go ? Stay here, stay 
 
 here, and wait ! 
 1 60
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleuc 
 
 SELYSETTE (also mounting to the windows). 
 
 O, the great chariot! It is stopping ! 
 
 \_All mount the stairs to the windows, 
 crowding together on the interior 
 balcony r , and leaning out into the 
 night. 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 See! 
 Now he steps out ! I see him ! And he 
 
 makes 
 Signs, signs of anger ! 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 All around him stand 
 His negroes ! 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 And they all have naked swords 
 That glitter in the moon ! 
 ii 161
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 SELYSETTE (taking refuge in ARDIANE'S 
 arms). 
 
 O Ardiane ! 
 O Ardiane, I am frightened ! 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 Do you see? 
 The peasants are appearing ! There they 
 
 come! 
 See, there again ! And O, they have their 
 
 scythes, 
 Their pitch-forks ! 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 They are going to fight! 
 [Murmurs, cries, uproar, tumult, blas- 
 phemy, and the clashing of arms 
 in the distance without. 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 They fight ! 
 162
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 YGRAINE. 
 One of the negroes there has fallen ! 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 O, 
 The peasants, they are terrible ! Their 
 
 scythes ! 
 
 They are so huge ! And all the village 
 there ! 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 O look, the negroes are deserting him ! 
 They fly, they fly ! They are hiding in 
 the woods ! 
 
 YGRAINE. 
 
 And he is flying also ! Now he runs ! 
 Now he is making for the castle court ! 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 The peasants after him ! 
 163
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Blcue 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 O, they will kill him ! 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 They are going out to help him ! See 
 
 the guards ! 
 They have opened wide the castle gates ! 
 
 They run ! 
 They run to help him ! 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 One, two, three, four, five . . . 
 Now six . . . now seven. . . . There are 
 only seven ! 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 O look, the peasants are surrounding them ! 
 They are there in hundreds ! 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 O, what are they doing ? 
 164
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 I see them dancing round about a man: 
 The rest have fallen ! 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 And the man is he ! 
 
 I caught a sight of his blue mantle then : 
 He is lying on the grass ! 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 Now they are still ! 
 Now they are raising him ! 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 O, is he hurt ? 
 
 YGRAINE. 
 He staggers ! 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 He is bleeding ! I saw blood ! 
 Ardiane ! 
 
 165
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleuc 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Come away then, look no more ! 
 Hide your head here in my arms ! 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 They are bringing ropes ! 
 They are disputing ! Now they tie his 
 limbs ! 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 Where are they going? For they carry 
 
 him. . . . 
 They are dancing, they are singing ! 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 Hither, see ! 
 They are coming hither: see them on the 
 
 bridge ! 
 
 The gates are open. They are halting. O, 
 They mean to cast him in the moat ! 
 166
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 ARDIANE AND THE OTHERS (terrified, cry- 
 ing aloud) and rocking to and fro in 
 desperation at the windows). 
 
 No, no! 
 Help, help him ! Do not kill him ! Help 
 
 him, help ! 
 No, no, not that ! Not that ! Not that! 
 
 Not that ! 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 They do not hear. . . . The others thrust 
 them on. . . . 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 He is saved ! 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 And now they are before the gate, 
 And now they seek to break into the yard ! 
 [Cries from the CROWD, who have 
 caught sight of the women at the 
 windows. 'They then sing. 
 167
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 THE CROWD. 
 Open ! Open ! Open ! Open the door ! 
 
 Open wide the door ! 
 
 Open in God's name! 
 The candle gutters o'er, 
 
 The wick has no more flame ! 
 
 THE WOMEN. 
 
 We cannot ! ... It is barred ! . . . They 
 
 break it in ! 
 Hear it give way ! They all are coming 
 
 in! 
 And now they struggle up the flight of 
 
 steps 
 Before the door below. . . . Beware ! 
 
 Beware ! 
 They are all drunken ! 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 I am going now 
 
 To unbar the door below. . . . 
 168
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 THE OTHERS. 
 
 O Ardiane ! \T"errified and imploring. 
 No ! They are drunken ! Bolt it, Ardiane ! 
 They are at the door ! 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Fear nothing : stay you there. 
 Do not come down, for I will go alone. 
 
 five women descend the stairs 
 which lead down from the win- 
 dows ', and recoil towards the nearer 
 end of the hall, and there remain, 
 grouped rigidly together in an 
 attitude of terrified attention. 
 ARDIAVIE, followed &y the NURSE, 
 goes to the great central door, 
 under the colonnade, and throws 
 back both leaves of it. 'There is a 
 sound of trampling feet, of shout- 
 ing, singing, and laughter. "The 
 foremost members of the crowd 
 169
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 appear , amid the red glare of the 
 torches, as it were framed in the 
 doorway , which they entirely fill, 
 but without crossing the threshold. 
 'They are folk of brutal appear- 
 ance, savage or hilarious according 
 to disposition ; their clothes are torn 
 and disordered after their strug- 
 gle. 'They are carrying BARBE 
 BLEUE, who is tightly pinioned, 
 and pause for a moment, discon- 
 certed at the appearance of 
 ARDIANE, who is standing before 
 the grave, unperturbed, and im- 
 perial. At the same time, further 
 back among those peasants who 
 are crowded together on the flight 
 of steps, and cannot see what is 
 passing, there are cries, sudden 
 thrusts and pushes, shouts, and 
 laughter that lasts a moment and 
 is then extinguished by the per- 
 170
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 flexed and respectful whisperings 
 of those about the door. At the 
 moment of the invasion of the door- 
 way by the crowd \ the five women 
 silently and instinctively fall on 
 their knees at the end of the hall 
 remoter from the door. 
 
 AN OLD PEASANT (removing his bonnet and 
 rolling it in his hands). 
 
 Well, lady, can a man come in ? 
 
 ONE OF THOSE THAT CARRY BARBE BLEUE. 
 
 You see, 
 He '11 do you no more ill ! 
 
 A THIRD PEASANT. 
 
 He 's heavy. . . . Ouf ! 
 
 THE FIRST PEASANT. 
 
 Where would you have us put him ? 
 171
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 ANOTHER PEASANT. 
 
 Over there 
 Down in the corner. 
 
 [They lay BARBE BLEUE down. 
 
 There now, there he lies 
 Now he will never stir again ! No more ! 
 Much evil has he done us ! 
 
 ANOTHER PEASANT. 
 
 Have you got 
 Somewhat to kill him with ? 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Yes, never fear. . . . 
 
 THE PEASANT. 
 Will you have some one help you? 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 No, no need. . . . 
 We shall do well. 
 
 173
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 A PEASANT. 
 
 But look you have a care : 
 Beware lest he escape you ! 
 
 \_Baring his chest. 
 See you now, 
 What he has done to me ! 
 
 ANOTHER PEASANT (baring his arm). 
 
 Now see my arm ! 
 It came in here, and then out there it went. 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 You are all brave folk, but do you leave 
 
 us now. 
 We shall avenge ourselves, and well ; but 
 
 now 
 
 Leave us, I pray, for night is growing late, 
 And see to all your wounds. 
 
 THE OLD PEASANT. 
 
 Now show respect, 
 Because we are not savages, to ladies.
 
 Ardianc and Barbe Blcuc 
 
 We shall not make a sound. ... It is 
 
 not, lady, 
 
 Words, merely but you are too beautiful. 
 Good-bye, good-bye. 
 
 ARDIANE (closing the door). 
 
 Good-bye ; you have my thanks. 
 [She turns and sees the five women on 
 their knees at the other end of the 
 hall. 
 You were on your knees ! 
 
 [Approaching BARBE BLEUE. 
 
 And you are wounded ? Yes ! 
 
 The blood is flowing here 'tis in the 
 
 neck 
 'T is nothing; no, the wound is shallow. 
 
 This, 
 Here on the arm but hurts upon the 
 
 arm 
 
 Are seldom very grave but as for 
 this 
 
 J74
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 The bleeding will not stop : the hand is 
 
 pierced. 
 First we must dress it. 
 
 [While ARDIANE is speaking the Jive 
 women draw nigh, one by one, and 
 without speaking kneel or lean 
 about BARBE BLEUE. 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 His eyes are open now. 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 How pale he is ! He must have suffered ! 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 O! 
 
 Those peasants are so terrible ! 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Some water ! 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 Yes, I will go and seek some. . . . 
 175
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Have you linen ? 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 Here is my kerchief. 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 He is stifling ! O, 
 Would you not have me hold his head up? 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 / 
 
 Stay, 
 See, I will help you. 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 No, for Alladine 
 Is helping me. 
 
 [ALLADINE indeed is helping her to 
 raise BARBE BLEUE'S head y and 
 she furtively kisses his forehead, 
 sobbing the while. 
 176
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleuc 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 O softly, Alladine ! 
 What are you doing ? 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 How his forehead burns ! 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 His beard is shaven, and he is not now 
 So terrible. . . . 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 Have you not some water? See, 
 His face is covered all with dust and Wood. 
 
 YGRAINE. 
 He breathes with effort. . . . 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Yes, it is these cords, 
 They stifle him. The bonds are drawn 
 so tight
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Blcue 
 
 A rock would crumble in them. . . . Have 
 
 you not, 
 Some one, a knife ? 
 
 YGRAINE. 
 
 Two knives were on the table. . . . 
 Here is the larger. 
 
 {She gives it to ARDIANE. 
 
 THE NURSE (who has returned with the 
 water terrified}. 
 
 You are going to ... 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 But he is not you see ... he looks 
 at us ! 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Raise well the cord, so I may do no 
 hurt. . . . 
 
 178
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 [One by one she cuts the bonds which 
 imprison BARBE BLEUE. When 
 she comes to those that pinion his 
 arms behind his back the NURSE 
 seizes her hands to check her. 
 
 \ 
 THE NURSE. 
 
 Wait till he speaks ... we do not know 
 at all. . . . 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Have you another knife ? This blade is 
 
 broken. . . . 
 The cords are very hard. 
 
 MELISANDE (giving her the knife). 
 Here is the other 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 Thank you ! 
 
 [She cuts the last turns of the cord* 
 Silence : the beating of their hearts 
 is heard. BARBE BLEUE, feeling 
 179
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 himself free, rises slowly to a sit- 
 ting posture, his arms still be- 
 numbed, and moves his hands to 
 make them supple. He then re- 
 gards each of the women about 
 him fixedly, and in silence. 'Then, 
 leaning against the wall, he stands 
 upright and remains motionless^ 
 looking at his injured hand. 
 
 ARDIANE (drawing near to him). 
 
 Good-bye. 
 
 [She kisses him upon the brow. BARBE 
 BLEUE makes an instinctive move- 
 ment to detain her. She gently 
 frees herself, and proceeds toward 
 the door, followed by the NURSE. 
 
 SELYSETTE (running after her and stopping 
 her). 
 
 Ardiane, Ardiane ! 
 Where are you going ? 
 1 80
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Far away from here, 
 
 Down yonder, where I am awaited still. . . 
 Do you come with me, Selysette ? 
 
 SELYSETTE. 
 
 I too? 
 But when will you return? 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 I shall not. 
 
 MELISANDE. 
 
 O! 
 Ardiane ! 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Are you coming, Melisande ? 
 [MELISANDE looks to and fro from 
 ARDIANE to BARBE BLEUE and 
 does not reply. 
 
 O see the open door, the far blue hills ! 
 Ygraine, are you not coming ?
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 [YGRAINE does not turn her head. 
 
 Now the moon, 
 
 The stars, illumine every road. And you, 
 Bellangere, do you come? 
 
 BELLANGERE (shortly). 
 
 No. ... 
 
 ARDIANE. 
 
 Alladine, 
 Do I go forth alone ? 
 
 [At these words ALLADINE runs to 
 ARDIANE, throws herself into 
 her arms, sobbing convulsively, 
 and holds her in a long and fever- 
 ish embrace. 
 
 ARDIANE (embracing her in turn, and softly 
 disengaging herself, in tears). 
 
 You too remain, 
 
 Alladine ! O be happy ! And farewell. . . . 
 \_She goes out hastily, followed by the 
 NURSE. 'The five women look at 
 182
 
 Ardiane and Barbe Bleue 
 
 one another and at BARBE BLEUE, 
 who slowly raises his head. BEL* 
 
 LANGERE and YcRAINE shrug 
 
 their shoulders^ and go to close 
 the door. Silence. 
 
 THE CURTAIN FALLS. 
 
 THE END OF ARDIANE AND BARBE BLEUE.
 
 COLLEGE LIBRARY 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below. 
 
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