MONSEIGNEUR.(Suggested by a Provençalconteof Alphonse Daudet’s.)
(Suggested by a Provençalconteof Alphonse Daudet’s.)
(The scene is a bedchamber inMonseigneur’spalace in Provence, and the time is a morning in early spring, towards the close of the fifteenth century.
Behind the closely-drawn, heavily-embroidered curtains of his vast state-bed, lies the littleMonseigneur, most desperately ill. Notwithstanding the gay and brilliant sunshine that floods the palace, in the open fireplace ofMonseigneur’sbedchamber there is a blazing scented fire of logs piled; while all the windows, with their stained armorial bearings, and all the heavy tapestry hangings over the narrow doorways that lead to garde-robe and oratory and corridor, are mercilessly closed. One would say, indeed, that the Doctor and Nurse who are in attendance were bent on killing the child, if only by depriving him of the faintest flutter of the revivifying spring air without. Yet they fully believe they are doing the best for their patient, and now are giving him the drink he cries for, faintly and fretfully, from within the tightly-drawn bed-curtains, putting the cup into the thin little hand that closes on it so feverishly.
Then the heavy hangings at the back are drawn, rattling sharply on their iron rings, and the Bishop of Langres enters. Behind him, in the blazing sunshine of the corridor,Beppowaits for permission to follow him; a ragged, sunburnt, Spanish-looking little boy, who carries a bird’s-nest with young thrushes in it, over which, as he stands there motionless, he seems entirely absorbed.)
Bishop(as he enters). Mother of God! The heat in this chamber!—Doctor Mabrise! (at which the Doctor merely shrugs his shoulders, as if to say: ‘What else can one do? In cases of fever!⸺’) But out of doors, my good Doctor, it is spring; the sun is hot enough already to split the stones. Is it really necessary?
Doctor(severely). Of course!
Bishop(in a low tone). Tell me—how is the boy?
Doctor(gloomily). Very bad.
Bishop.So?
Doctor.Passing rapidly, even beyond my skill! (So he goes to the fire, and stirs it ill-humouredly to an even more furious activity.)
Bishop.Already? (Murmurs.) Then we must make haste.
(Meanwhile the Nurse, as a hot little hand returns the drinking cup through the bed-curtains, softly asks:)
Nurse.Is that better? (To which the sick child within makes inarticulate, fretful reply. So she closes the curtains again tightly.) Try now to go to sleep again, and you will wake up quite well. (Soothingly.) Quite well!
(Then, with a profound obeisance to the Bishop, she goes to the table at the foot of the bed and replaces the cup among the many, many medicine bottles and phials of drugs; while outside, in the sunshine of the corridor,Beppochants tunefully and joyously over his birds’-nest.)
Beppo.Mon-seig-neur!
(He looks up startled as both Nurse and Doctor make angry, violent gestures towards him of ‘’Ssh! ’Ssh!’, and then at his good friend, the Bishop, wondering what wrong it is he has done. A slight pause, while no sound comes from the bed. Then the Nurse goes up to him, beckoning him angrily, and once he is within the chamber draws the heavy hangings again over the corridor entrance.)
Nurse(in an angry whisper). Bawling and singing, like a drunken gipsy!
Beppo(faces her with an engaging smile). Mind my pretty nestlings. (And chants over them, softly and melodiously.) They are for Mon-seig-neur!
Nurse(in his face, sharply). ’Ssh! Vagabond!
Beppo(while the Nurse goes to the bed and peeps through the curtains, chants again very softly over his birds’-nest). For Mon-seig-neur!
Nurse(turns towards them and whispers). He is just off again. Fast asleep. (So she sits and resumes her sewing at the foot of the bed, while the Bishop also glances through the curtains, andBeppo, always absorbed over the birds’-nest, goes to show it to the Doctor.)
Bishop(with a heavy sigh). The last of his race! It would have killed his father. (Pause.)
Beppo.Doctor Mabrise! Look!
Doctor.What are they?
Beppo.Young thrushes. I found them this morning, in a great lilac-bush, below the Black Dog bastion. See! There are five.
Doctor(gloomily). They will die.
Beppo.In this hot chamber? Ah! Before Monseigneur can even see them?Malheur!(As if at once to take them into the open air.)
Bishop.Beppo! (Beppopauses and looks up at him with a smile.) My poor boy! Thou art seeming very ragged and dirty this morning.
Beppo.Truly? (As he looks himself over.)
Bishop.If thou art to play once more with Monseigneur, we must have thee washed.
Beppo(troubled). Washed?
Bishop.It will not hurt thee; it may even do thee some good. Nurse! Take our young friend here and wash him. Wash him well!
Nurse(pleased with the commission, rises). Ah!
Beppo.Not with soap?
Nurse(menacingly). With soap and with pumice-stone. Come!
Bishop.Leave me thy birds’-nest. And, Nurse, let him at the same time be neatly dressed. Perhaps in some old suit of Monseigneur’s.
Beppo(annoyed). Old suit?
Bishop.They are of the same age and height. And to play with Monseigneur in those rags!—(AsBeppostill lingers.) Go, my child.
Nurse.Come! I will give thee the best washing!—
Beppo(with recovered spirits). I am not afraid. Thou art only an old woman!
Nurse.Ah! Sayest thou?
Beppo(whispers, shaking a finger in her face). ’Ssh, old woman! ’Ssh! (So they leave the chamber, the Nurse angrily pushing him out in front of her.)
Bishop(tenderly, overBeppo’sbirds’-nest). Little, hungry, weak birds! There is something infinitely pathetic, Doctor, in these young things of Nature.
Doctor(gloomily). So many of them die.
Bishop.It seems so; even without the aid of a surgeon. (He hands the Doctor the nest, who, not knowing what else to do with it, nor how to reply to the Bishop’s impertinence, places it on the ledge of the high and sloping couvre-feu over the fireplace.)
Doctor.There! The heat will do them good; nourish them. For heat is life.Calor est vita optima.(Mumbling and muttering to himself.) Galen hath said it.—Galen!—
Bishop(after a long pause, softly). Doctor Mabrise—tell me—is there no way, no hope, of keeping Monseigneur alive?
Doctor(warming his thin brown hands in front of the fire).My science knows none; she is at her wits’ end. And when science is at her wits’ end⸺
Bishop(drily). Methinks she hath but a short road to travel!
Doctor(piqued). Then let the Church try, my good Bishop; let the Church try. For if ever there were need for one of your miracles⸺
Bishop(gravely). Ah!
Doctor(points to the bed). There is your subject, ready for you; waiting. A dying child. You have my authority to begin.
Bishop(drily). Then we will begin by opening the windows; we will admit some of this soft spring air. (He unlatches and throws wide open one of the few windows of the bedchamber; while the Doctor, himself a poor consumptive, shivers and cowers over the fire.) You don’t like it?
Doctor(angrily). Seeing that all diseases enter by the mouth!
Bishop(amused). What? In springtime? In Provence?
Doctor(grumbles). Especially in springtime. Always! (Mumbling, with cloak drawn over his mouth.) Plague and fever!
Bishop.At any rate, Doctor, you will agree with me that if Monseigneur dies it means ruin for the Duchy.
Doctor(scornfully). If?
Bishop.There will infallibly be civil war here all through the summer. There will be neither harvest nor vintage!
Doctor(shortly). I agree.
Bishop.And in the autumn, here, in the very palace of Monseigneur, will most surely be found securely seated that dangerous ruffian, the Comte de Poix. An infidel; a pronounced foe to Holy Church! While you and I, my good friend⸺
Doctor(drily). All the more reason, Bishop, for you to set to work at once with your miracle. You have my full permission—plena auctoritas—to begin.
Bishop(with a glance at the bed). After all, Beppo is Monseigneur’s brother. You knew that, Doctor?
Doctor.Doubtless. What of it?
Bishop.Beppo and he are of precisely the same age. They are not unlike—at a distance. And at a distance, for some few years, it will be that the people will always see him.
Doctor(scoffs). You don’t call that a miracle? To substitute one boy for the other?
Bishop(gently). Not if it succeeds?
Doctor.Bishop! And Beppo? What will the people think has become of Beppo?
Bishop.Only that he has run away again somewhere, and got lost.
Doctor.Lost!
Bishop.Why, who is there ever gives him a moment’s thought here? Is he not a gipsy—a vagabond?
Doctor.And you propose to place him—in a palace?
Bishop(whispers). ’Ssh! Monseigneur is waking. (Goes to the bed and draws the curtains.) But how is this, Doctor? The boy is not undressed?
Doctor.He refused. He said that if he had to die he would die as his father did, in his clothes.
Bishop.Brave lad! (So he seats himself on the edge of the bed, outside of which the littleMonseigneurlies, fully dressed, propped up by pillows. And after a while, as the Bishop leans forward and gently places his large peasant’s hand on the poor child’s small and scorching palm,Monseigneurturns towards him, feebly and languidly, and looks at him with wide-open, frightened eyes. Soothingly.) Well, Monseigneur? And how are we?
Monseigneur(murmurs). Bishop of Langres! Tell me—am I really going to die?
Bishop(gently). To die! After all, what is it to die? It is only to go from one room to another. And to another, better!
Monseigneur(fretfully). I would rather stay here. Here are all my friends, and my soldiers, and my new cannon. Besides, to die in spring! So early in the year, when there is so much to do; when my people want me. (Raising himself slightly.) Where is Beppo?
Bishop.He will be here directly. He is only being washed.
Monseigneur(smiles faintly). Poor Beppo! That is not one of his favourite amusements.
Bishop.You are fond of Beppo? Is it not so, Monseigneur?
Monseigneur.Very fond.
Bishop.You would like to do something for him? How shall I say? Assure his future? (OnMonseigneur’ssilence.) You understand what I mean, by assuring Beppo’s future?
Monseigneur.Of course! It means seeing that he has always somewhere to sleep, that he does not go so often hungry, and, in the winter, fireless; that he keeps himself clean. Thedifficulty will be to make him accept. (Smiles.) He is such a vagabond.
Bishop.Hitherto, no one has shown him any care.
Monseigneur.And yet—he is my brother.
Bishop(while the Doctor, who is listening, starts). Monseigneur! You knew? But how? Since when?
Monseigneur.Since one day—a long time ago—when I was quite a child, and my father and my mother were quarrelling.
Bishop.So?
Monseigneur.It seems, Messire, that when people quarrel—even before their own children—they will tell each other unpleasant truths.
Bishop(nods, gravely). Sometimes.
Monseigneur.So it was that my mother told my father he ought to be ashamed of himself. He had so many little bastards.
Bishop(shocked, with raised hands). Monseigneur!
Monseigneur.I did not understand. I had never heard the word. Therefore, one day I asked Lorrain, the big man-at-arms⸺ (Pauses.)
Bishop.And he told your lordship?
Monseigneur.He told me nothing. He only laughed. So did my father, when my mother charged him.—Aie! how well I remember!
Bishop.ButMadame la Duchesse, your mother? She did not laugh?
Monseigneur(simply). Not at all. She was very angry. She said it was a scandal; particularly, with poor Beppo. Do you know why, Bishop? (Confidentially.) Because it seems he was born on the same day, the very same day, as I. Yet, somehow, she was not his mother. That was why she was so angry, I suppose?
Bishop.Very likely. (Pause, while the Doctor, after exchanging glances with the Bishop, resumes his seat by the fire).
Monseigneur.Bishop!
Bishop.Monseigneur?
Monseigneur.Do you think that if I gave my brother Beppo money—a great deal of money—he would die instead of me? Do you think the good God would mind?
Bishop(guardedly). It would be difficult.
Monseigneur(proudly). After all, the good God is my cousin. Dukes are all cousins of the Almighty God, Bishop. Are they not?
Bishop.They very often make the claim, Monseigneur. I do not know whether it has ever been allowed.
Monseigneur(with dignity). At least, Messire, I trust that in heaven I shall keep my proper rank? I shall not be required to mix with all the common people?
Bishop.Common people, Monseigneur? It is not the common people, believe me, who rise to heaven at all. Indeed, one must have uncommon qualities!⸺
Monseigneur(eagerly). And then my fine clothes; my ermine and my velvet? Doubtless I shall be allowed to wear them?
Bishop.Alas, my child, in heaven there are no distinctions; neither of rank nor of clothes. Sometimes I doubt whether even the sacred order of Bishops⸺
Monseigneur(angrily). Then what good to me is my birth? If I am to keep neither my rank nor my clothes, if I am not to be treated with proper respect, I might as well be Beppo! I will not die! I will not! I will not!
Bishop.Monseigneur!
Monseigneur(leaning on his elbow, screams,) Lorrain! Lorrain! (And while the Bishop rises,Lorrain, the big man-at-arms, comes clanking in through the hangings from the corridor.)
Lorrain(hoarsely). Monseigneur?
Monseigneur.Lorrain—listen! I have a duty for thee—at once!—a solemn duty!
Lorrain.Name it, Monseigneur. It shall be done.
Monseigneur(feverishly). Lorrain—thou knowest Death, dost thou not? Thou hast often seen him?
Lorrain.Death and I have often looked at each other, Monseigneur—many times!—straight in the eyes. I know him well.
Monseigneur.Good! Then take thy comrades, Lorrain—forty, fifty of thy stoutest men-at-arms—my Lansquenets! Post them at every door of this my palace; and if Death tries to enter, tell them to fire on him and kill him. My strictest orders!
Lorrain.Monseigneur, it shall be done. He shall not enter. We ourselves will die first. (Salutes and is going.)
Monseigneur(faintly, as he lies back). And, Lorrain⸺
Lorrain.Monseigneur?
Monseigneur.Fill the courtyard with cannon. Our new cannon. The villain might come on horseback—and try to storm—the great staircase.
Lorrain(gravely). Monseigneur, before Death enters thepalace precincts, either on horseback or on foot, we will fire all thegrosses pièceson him and blow him back to hell. It shall be done! (WhereuponMonseigneur, lying back on the pillows with closed eyes, makes a feeble little gesture of dismissal, andLorrainsalutes and disappears. From outside in the corridor is heard the clank of armour; thenLorrain’shoarse voice ‘En avant, la garde! Mar-r-chez!’—while the Bishop returns to the bedside.)
Bishop(whispers). Doctor! (As the Doctor joins him and feels the child’s pulse.) How much longer?
Doctor.Moriturus!⸺Perhaps an hour.
Bishop.Ah!
Doctor.If your miracle is to succeed!⸺
Bishop.Beppo is coming. Let us leave them alone together. Come, Doctor, come.
Doctor.And the miracle? The famous miracle!
Bishop.We shall see. Only give them time. Come.
Doctor(with a scornful shrug). Time?
(So they go out into the corridor, and after a pauseBeppoenters, washed and combed, smartly dressed in one of Monseigneur’s discarded suits, out of which he seems indeed to swell, it being somewhat too small for him, with pride and satisfaction. For it is the first time in all his life that he has worn anything but rags; and for the first time, also, he looks like what in fact he is,Monseigneur’sbrother.)
Beppo(as he swaggers gaily in). Monseigneur enters! Monseigneur salutes with condescension the gay and gallant company assembled to welcome him! Monseigneur turns to the Court Physician, and in haughty tones⸺Tiens!Where is the Court Physician? Doctor Mabrise? Where the plague have they put my birds’-nest? (Screams.) Mabrise!—You old fool! (Then he sees the nest on the ledge of the couvre-feu.) Ah! So near the fire? (He jumps up on the footstool and takes the nest, whileMonseigneurgradually recovers, and, raising himself on the pillows, watches him.) Dead! Every one of them dead! (As he jumps off the footstool.) The wretch has killed my thrushes! My sweet, beautiful, living thrushes!Ah, ça!(As he draws his dagger) Mabrise! Mabrise! (and runs towards the corridor.)
Monseigneur.Beppo!
Beppo.But he has killed my thrushes; the thrushes I brought thee! Look!
Monseigneur(as he takes the nest). So much the better. They will be all ready for me to play with—in heaven.
Beppo(crying with rage). I did not bring them for thee to play with in heaven; but here, with me.
Monseigneur.Perhaps they have only swooned, as I did just now. Take them, Beppo, place them in the sunshine, by the window. It is very likely they will recover.
Beppo(whimpering). Nay, I know they are dead. But, by Heaven, they shall be revenged!
Monseigneur.Beppo!
Beppo(as he places the nest in the sun on the window-ledge). I will lie in wait for their murderer; and one night when he is crawling about the streets—like an old cat in the dusk, as I have so often seen him—I will creep up behind, and I will stab him in the back.
Monseigneur(struggling to rise). In the back? Beppo! Dost thou think that the action of a knight?
Beppo.I am not a knight, but, like my mother, a gipsy, and I will stab him where I can.
Monseigneur(feebly, on the edge of the bed). Help me. Help me to the chair.
Beppo(as he helps him down off the bed, and into the Nurse’s chair). One—two—three! So! (Laughing.) Why, one would say thou wert drunk!
Monseigneur(with a wan little smile). Nay, Beppo! (and lies back in the chair with closed eyes.)
Beppo.Ah! Listen!
Monseigneur(languidly). Well?
Beppo.In the courtyard! (Running to the open window, he looks out.) Philippe! Cannon! The courtyard is full of cannon.
Monseigneur.I know. I ordered it.
Beppo.But is there some attack? The Comte de Poix? Already?
Monseigneur.One never knows. The times are troublous.
Beppo.But who will lead them, if thou art so ill?
Monseigneur(smiles). Why not thou? My brother?
Beppo(radiant). To battle? Philippe!
Monseigneur.Sit, Beppo, and I will give thee charge. Sit at my feet here, like a scholar, and I will teach thee.
Beppo.Monseigneur Philippe! (And looks up at him, breathless with interest, admiration, and attention.) Go on now; teach me! I am ready.
Monseigneur(gently). Thou knowest thou art my brother? (AsBepponods.) Who has told thee?
Beppo(laughs). Everyone.
Monseigneur.Not in scorn?
Beppo.Nay! They know better.
Monseigneur.My mother was a wronged lady, Beppo.
Beppo.So was mine. Yet she never complained. She was too proud.
Monseigneur.Where is she now?
Beppo.She is dead.
Monseigneur.Ah?
Beppo.They killed her.
Monseigneur.Killed her?
Beppo.The tribe. They said she had disgraced them. She was a princess.
Monseigneur.Then thou art indeed alone in the world, Beppo; for thy father, thy father and mine, is dead, too.
Beppo(stoutly). I think it is a good thing to be alone in the world. One is all the stronger.
Monseigneur.To be hungry? Homeless? Friendless? Is that to be stronger?
Beppo.It seems so. Am not I stronger than thou?
Monseigneur(sighs). Indeed!
Beppo(patronisingly). If only they had let thee alone, Philippe; sent thee out hungry to play in the fields, sometimes to sleep there; kept thee away from that foolish book-learning; thou would’st not be so weak and languid. So childish! Thou would’st be strong like me. Strong as a mule!
Monseigneur(tearfully). Thou art a knave to say I am childish—a knave!—and when I am well again⸺
Beppo(boastfully). See, Philippe, how strong I am, and how active. See how I can jump! (As he jumps on to the settle by the fireplace, and vaults over the back.)Holà, there!Holà!And I can dance—and run—and swim!
Monseigneur(feebly and vindictively, drawing his dagger). If I could only reach thee—with my dagger!
Beppo.And I can fight, too! (Laughing.) Why, thou dost not even hold thy weapon rightly. See, Philippe, it is so!—the point upwards! Not so! That is how women fight, with bodkins. This is how men fight. (Stabbing at an imaginary foe.) Ha! Thou rapscallion! Thou mountebank! I will show thee!
Monseigneur.Beppo!
Beppo.Let me but reach thee, thou coward! I will split thee!
Monseigneur(screams). Beppo! Beppo! (As the Bishop hurries in from the corridor.)
Bishop.Children! Children! Quarrelling? With daggers drawn? (Severely.) Beppo?
Beppo(rather alarmed, explains). } I was only just showing him—(Together.)
Monseigneur(crying with rage). } He was teasing me!—teasing me.
Bishop(angrily). Beppo!
Beppo.I will not do it again. It was only to amuse him.
Bishop(aside, as he takesBeppoby the ear). Senseless! Dost not know he is dying?
Beppo(startled). Dying?
Bishop.Tease him no more, Beppo. Go; make friends with him; comfort him.
Beppo(distressed). Dying? Oh, my Philippe! (So he goes and throws himself on his knees beforeMonseigneur, huddled up, crying, in the Nurse’s chair.)
Bishop.I shall be here, within earshot, in the oratory. And if I so much as hear thee!⸺Remember! (And disappears through the hangings into the oratory.)
Beppo(gently). Give me thy dagger, Philippe; let us be friends again. So! (as he throws the daggers on the bed.) And if thou wilt, I will cure thee. (Winningly.) Shall I, Philippe?
Monseigneur(feebly). When I am well again, brute, I will knock thy head.
Beppo(soothingly). Thou shalt! Thou shalt! (as he puts his head onMonseigneur’slap.) Knock it now, if it pleases thee. (Monseigneurgives him a feeble, vindictive little slap.) There! Is that better? Do it again. (Monseigneurpushes him fretfully away.) And now I will cure thee; make thee one day as strong as I. Only thou must obey me. Art ready—to obey me? Thou art still crying, Philippe? Nay, but why?
Monseigneur.To think how I leave my poor Duchy! Defenceless! Ah, if only thou wert my true brother!—if only there were not the bar!
Beppo(laughs). Why, then I might one day be duke. A droll duke; one that would need a deal of washing. Nay, I would notbe duke, to be washed every day. (Gravely.) But if duke I ever were—there are things I should know. (With a wise nod.) Ah!
Monseigneur.What things?
Beppo.About the poor, the hungry, the homeless, the old. It does not matter so much for me; I am young and can bear it. But the old!—To be old is dreadful; but to be old and hungry, in autumn without a roof, without a fire in winter! If I were duke, Philippe, dost thou know what I would do? (AsMonseigneur, lying back in the chair, feebly shakes his head.) In winter I would have all the old people here to live with me in the palace; feed them, and keep them warm.
Monseigneur.Ah? And in summer?
Beppo.They should come here, too, and rest all day in the shade of the corridors, to keep them cool. And I would go about among them and fulfil all their wants, and make them laugh with my antics and gay stories. Not pity them! The poor do not like to be pitied.
Monseigneur(wearily). Thou art very ignorant, Beppo.
Beppo.It is possible. Yet there are things I know one cannot learn from books. And of book-learning, Philippe, it seems to me that thou hast had too much.
Monseigneur.How can one have too much, if one is one day to be duke?
Beppo(laughs). Nay!
Monseigneur.Call me the Bishop, Beppo.
Beppo(troubled). The Bishop? But why?
Monseigneur(fretfully). Call him. (SoBepporises, grumbling and muttering, and goes to the oratory doorway.)
Beppo(shouts ill-humouredly through the hangings). Bishop of Langres!
Bishop(as he enters). Monseigneur?
(WhileBepposeizes the opportunity to steal away from them on tiptoe back to the open window and his birds’-nest. He almost screams with rapture to find that in the fresh air and broad, genial sunshine the nestlings are recovering, faintly stirring, ravenously opening their soft yellow beaks for food. Over them he is soon absorbed, touching them here and there and singing to them one of his many tuneful peasant songs.)
Monseigneur.Bishop of Langres—I have a charge for thee, a sacred charge.—Beppo, my brother.
Bishop.Monseigneur?
Monseigneur.Let him be taught. Only see to it, Bishop, that they do not try to teach him too much. Weary him not with lessons, as they have so often wearied me.
Bishop.And what would Monseigneur have him? A priest?
Monseigneur.I would have him a soldier and a gentleman; a leader of men. Bad times are ahead of us, Bishop, and it is possible—that one day—(he pauses, and then calls.) Beppo! (ButBeppois too absorbed to hear him.)
Bishop(angrily). Beppo! (AndBeppoturns, startled, and on the Bishop’s gesture drags himself down to them unwillingly.)
Monseigneur.Beppo, I have determined to⸺(He pauses; then, puzzled, to the Bishop.) What was it?
Bishop.Assure his future.
Monseigneur.Yea, assure thy future. Thou shalt be taught to read (at whichBepposhifts his feet uneasily)—and, if God will, some day to write. Thou shalt learn history, statecraft, poetry; to dance, to ride.
Beppo(defiantly). I can do both already, to perfection.
Monseigneur(fretfully). To perfection!—when I myself have seen thee, lumping about like a servitor. Best of all, thou shall be taught courtly behaviour; to consider others; to be just and merciful, to speak the truth.
Beppo(shiftily). I never lie.
Monseigneur.I hope not, but I do not altogether believe it. Even I have lied—I!—who have been taught so much.
Beppo(mutters). There are certain things I do not call lies.
Monseigneur.Thou seest, Bishop, how ignorant he is? Take him, Messire, and teach him, and one day—doubtless—he will be all I might have been⸺
Bishop.Monseigneur!
Monseigneur.If only they had not killed me, by teaching me so much. So many lessons; so little play! Promise me, Beppo, thou wilt always do thy best.
Beppo(lightly). I promise.
Monseigneur(fiercely). Nay, not like that! Swear it! Or, by the Blood, I will come to thee at nightfall in thy bed—ride on thy throat—choke thee!
Beppo(terrified). Philippe! I swear!
Monseigneur.Good Beppo! Kiss me!
Beppo(tearfully). Willingly! Beloved Philippe! (And while the boys affectionately embrace, to hide his emotion, the good Bishopleaves them and disappears through the hangings out into the corridor. ThenBeppokneels lovingly at his brother’s feet.) And now it is my turn.
Monseigneur.To teach me?
Beppo.To cure thee, as I said I would.
Monseigneur.And how?
Beppo.Out there, in the sunshine. It has cured the thrushes, and why not thee?
Monseigneur(languidly). Ah! Out there?
Beppo.It is the place I always go to, when I myself am feeling wretchedly.
Monseigneur.Wretchedly? Thou?
Beppo.Sometimes.
Monseigneur(tenderly). Hungry?
Beppo.Hunger is nothing. But to be restless, dissatisfied; not often, but still sometimes. To feel oneself a beggar, an outcast, friendless; to be neither of the palace nor the hovel, yet to know oneself a part of each. In a word, Philippe, to feel oneself nothing; just the foam on the surface of the river, the bubble that breaks and vanishes even before the broad stream is aware of its existence.
Monseigneur.Thou hast such feelings? Thou?
Beppo.Sometimes. But when they come I take them where they always pass, and I am cured—as I will cure thee.
Monseigneur(smiles). And where is it?—this wonderful healing-place of thine.
Beppo.Out there—not far—on the warm slope below the Black Dog bastion. Thou knowest it; beneath the great lilac bush, where this morning I found for thee the baby thrushes.
Monseigneur(dreamily). I know it well. Thence one can see for many, many leagues.
Beppo(eagerly). Is it not so? The wandering river that looks like milk and steals away, a ribbon fading in the mist. The woods, the farms, the little towers of the châteaux; the distant steeple that points a finger for the country folk to God! And here and there the bright glint of sunlight one fancies striking on the spears of some brave knight’s company, riding and singing through the meadows; yet ’tis only gleaming on the window of some lonely, peaceful manor.
Monseigneur(gently). I think thou art a poet, Beppo.
Beppo(offended). I hope not. I only tell thee what there is to see.
Monseigneur.I know it well. I saw it last in summer with my mother.
Beppo.Now shalt thou see it in springtime, and with me; with all the orchard blossom, white and gay as brides with their bouquets. Come!
Monseigneur.Thou wilt take me there?
Beppo.Aye! and cure thee of thy sickness. Thou wilt come?
Monseigneur(yearningly). If only thou wilt help me.
Beppo.Walk but through the corridor, and I will carry thee down the great staircase and through the street and up the hill upon my back. And once there—under the lilac!—Come! (As he helpsMonseigneurto struggle to his feet.) Now, then! Give me thine arm. So! Thine round my neck, and mine around thy body—so!—like girls who love each other. (Laughing.) Only we are men!En avant! Marche!
(So they turn, laughing gaily, towards the hangings that mask the corridor; when suddenly is heard sharply and faintly from the courtyard below the brisk challenge of a sentinel—‘Qui va là?’ The boys pause and listen, while gradually nearer and louder each sentinel in turn rapidly repeats it—‘Qui va là?—Qui va là?’—until close outside, at the end of the corridor, a rough, hoarse voice shouts—‘On ne passe pas!’ Follows the dash of steel, and a short, sharp cry of terror. Then complete silence.)
Monseigneur(in a frightened whisper). Beppo!
Beppo.But what is it? An alarm? Some thief? A gipsy?
Monseigneur(trembling). Nay, it is Death—for me!
Beppo(with his arms tightly round him). Death?
Monseigneur.He hath broken into the palace. Ah, Lorrain! Lorrain!—false soldier! Beppo! I can feel him—drawing nearer, ever nearer! He is there, behind the hanging. It is Death!
Beppo(whispers). Art thou sure? Shall I look?
Monseigneur.Aye, look. I dare not. (And whileBeppostands there, shaken and undecided:) Darest thou not?
Beppo.Yea, I dare! (With fear in his heart, he marches boldly to the hanging and swiftly withdraws it, the iron rings rattling and rippling sharply backwards along the rod; and behold! the wall of the corridor that faces them appears wondrously illuminated and transfigured into the faint vision of a chapel; and there on athrone, under the dim high altar, the Angel of Death is seated, an austere and lonely figure, just visible under the mild and steady gleam of many a tall candle and hanging sanctuary lamp. There he sits waiting, as though the youthful Michelangelo had carved him there, with the dreadful dart!—AndBepposees it and screams.) Monseigneur Death! Nay, take me—I beseech thee! Take me—in my brother’s place. I am useless, friendless—a gipsy!—a vagabond!
Monseigneur.Nay, Beppo! I am still the duke here, and I do not permit it. It is for me he has come.
Beppo.Philippe!
Monseigneur.Out of my way, brother; wouldst disgrace me before Him?
Beppo.Philippe!
(And the littleMonseigneurdraws himself to his full height, and, as though proudly entering the court and presence of some great rival power, bravely steps some of the few paces still left him towards the faint line, on the other side of which, only that he must cross it, there lies he knows not what. Only this he knows, that neither rank, nor ermine, nor soldiers, nor cannon will now avail him. So he boldly demands of the Figure that seems to look at him so kindly, full in the face:)
Monseigneur.Thou wilt suffer me to kiss my brother first? To say good-bye? (And asBeppostill tries to hold him fast:) Farewell, brother!—and remember! Nay, Beppo! (And so he turns willingly towards the Angel, who now slowly rises to receive him.)
Beppo(as he beats the air passionately with his hands). Philippe! Don’t leave me! Beloved Philippe!
Monseigneur.But see, Beppo! He knows my quality; after all, he rises to receive me! Ah, now—it is easy! See, Beppo; how easy it is! (And the littleMonseigneurpasses into the Angel’s arms with a smile on his face and the happy laugh of a tired child who at last finds rest, and the vision fades; whileBeppo, with a desolating cry, tries to follow him, but his forces fail and he falls there in a swoon.
The cry is so loud, so bitter, that the Nurse comes hurrying in.)
Nurse(angrily). Who is it, screaming so? (She seesBeppo.) Ah! Monseigneur! See!—he has fainted! Doctor! (as the Doctor and the Bishop come quickly in from the corridor.) Monseigneur! (Then she sees it is notMonseigneur, butBeppo.) Nay! it is⸺
Bishop(with authority). Monseigneur! Beppo has gone. I saw him. This time he has run away—for good.
Nurse(puzzled). Ah? (As she helps the Doctor to carryBeppoto the chair.)
Bishop(gaily). He is better, Doctor, is he not? The crisis hath passed; he will recover?
Doctor(doubtfully, bending over the inanimateBeppoin the chair). I think so—with care.
Bishop.Ah! (So he goes back into the corridor and shouts:) The trumpets, Lorrain!—the trumpets! Sound a fanfare! A miracle! Monseigneur recovers. The Duchy is safe!
Nurse(after a glance at the Doctor). A miracle, indeed! (And as the trumpets peal joyously and defiantly, she crosses herself and murmurs:)—Monseigneur!
Walter Frith.