C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
From ‘Patrie!’
By Victorien Sardou (1831–1908)
J
Galèna—Where are you taking me?
Jonas—Under the belfry, your Honor. Here is the staircase leading to the bells.
Galèna—Oh, yes, now I know where I am.
Jonas—Up there is the Great Hall, where our masters of the Commune used to deliberate.
Galèna—And now—what neglect and ruin!
Jonas—It’s easy to see that the Spanish señors have passed this way![Turning his lantern in the direction of the damaged statues.]See—our poor burgomasters!
Galèna—Patience! Those dead will resume their places again—and the living, too! Are you sure no one ever comes here?
Jonas—No one but myself.[He lays the swords on the table.]At any rate, here are weapons for us. I cleaned them purposely for carnival time.
Galèna—Will you fight, too?
Jonas—To protect my bells! Indeed, I will![He lays the lantern on the table.]
Galèna—Sh! Did you hear?
Jonas[pointing to the right]—There?
Galèna—Yes!
Rysoor—Is that you, Galèna?
Galèna—Yes.
Rysoor—Is Karloo here?
Karloo—Have patience, friends! Here he is.
Rysoor—Ah! welcome!
Galèna—What news?
Karloo—The best.
Galèna—The Spaniards?
Karloo—Safe! I have just come from the Duke’s.
Rysoor—And the chains?
Karloo—Let down with my own hands!
Rysoor and Galèna[joyfully]—Good!
Rysoor—Then nothing is suspected at the Palace? How about the road?
Karloo—No danger. The usual sentinels and patrols! On the Place there is a guard of only fifty men, half of them asleep around the fire, while the other half are trying to sober down after their Mardi-gras debauch.
Rysoor—Your musketeers?
Karloo—All ready! From the Hôtel de Nassau as far as the Grand-Marché I gave the signal agreed on at more than fifty doors, and every one gave back the answer: “We are ready!” Bakkerzeel, who is on guard below, has left all his weavers at the Porte de Flandre, hiding in their cellars. Lalos stationed his brewers on the lookout under some sheds. Throughout this sad and silent city, where not a ray of light shines from a window, where the snow deadens the sound of everything, even our footsteps, there is no house but has its eyes peering in the black of the night, its ears pricked up—fully armed—impatient for battle.
Rysoor—Let us make ready, friends; the hour is near. Galèna, warn Cornélis and our friends who are waiting under the arcades. Let them all join us, and then—forward!
Galèna—I shall go at once.[To Jonas.]Come, Jonas![They go out at the back.]
Rysoor[after laying his cape and hat on the table]—And now, Karloo, let me tell you what I expect of you.
Karloo—Tell me!
Rysoor—I have named this rendezvous for all our leaders, because it is the Town Hall, the communal meeting-place of the people.
Karloo—I understand.
Rysoor—In this place, Karloo, our fathers framed the laws which we are about to defend. From these very windows they proclaimed those rights which we are about to assert once more! This is the very heart of the city, of which the Spaniards have made a corpse. Now let this corpse live again! May it rise up in the night, magnificent with the flare of our torches and our bare swords, and cry, “To arms!” at the call from every bell! Then will this disheartened people know that Flemish liberty still exists—its great soul stirs again—beneath our roofs! The people know what they are struggling for: for our flag—for the ringing bells. They are the spirit of the city! Better still, the nation; best of all, the Patrie! And they will fight and die for Her, for She says to them: “Defend me, oh, my sons, and save me, for I am being crushed—and I am your mother!”
Karloo—Indeed she is.
Rysoor—Here, then, Karloo, is the centre of the struggle; here must we take our stand at any cost, until the Liberator arrives! I leave this sacred building in your care. Command it, defend it.
Karloo—In yours, rather.
Rysoor—No, no! I have not yet won the right, as you have at Saint-Quentin and Gravelines, to lead these brave men to battle. Karloo, I shall follow you; you must march at their head! You are the only one who can teach them to conquer; I can but teach them to die.
Karloo—Very well, since you wish it; but if I consent, the honor will be yours as well as mine, while for me the danger is merely greater.
Rysoor—Your sword?
Karloo—It was taken from me at the Palace!
Rysoor—Then take this![He takes the sword lying on the table, and is about to give it to Karloo, who extends his ungloved hand to receive it.Rysoor takes the hand and utters a cry.]Ah!
Karloo[surprised]—What is the matter?
Rysoor[looking at him, very pale]—That hand!
Karloo—Yes?
Rysoor[leading Karloo to the table, and examining the palm of his hand by lantern light]—This wound?
Karloo—Ah, yes; it is only a trifle; my arm can still do its duty.
Rysoor[as before]—And you? Have you done yours?
Karloo[uneasily]—Rysoor, what do you mean?
Rysoor—This wound? How did you get it?
Karloo[hesitating]—I was careless with a sword.
Rysoor—A Spanish soldier, was he not?
Karloo—Why?
Rysoor—At night—at my home?
Karloo[terrified]—Oh!
Rysoor[bursting forth]—You miserable——! It is you!
Karloo—Rysoor!
Rysoor[raising the sword]—You thief of love! Destroyer of my honor! I have a right to kill you!
Karloo[desperately, as he falls on his knees]—Kill me, then! Death at your hands would be the sweetest of tortures! Kill me! You have every right! Kill me!
Rysoor—Blackguard, you think you can soften me!
Karloo—For God’s sake, kill me, Rysoor; only kill me at once! Your words wound me far more than the cold steel of your sword could possibly do! Yes, I am a blackguard and a coward! I have deceived you—it was infamous; I confess, and I now weep tears of blood! Death! I ask you for it on bended knees—death!
Rysoor[letting his sword fall and looking down, as he sobs in desperation]—I am so unhappy! I loved you too much—and for this woman! That was horrible enough, but that of all men it should be you who—— You, Karloo—Karloo, to whom I have unburdened my whole heart! And loved you as a son! What poison is there in your love for this woman that turns a loyal and generous soul like yours to a festering mass of treason and ingratitude? I had faith in but three things: the Patrie, her, and you! You see what remains—and it is your fault! Only tell me—tell me what I have done to you, that you should make me suffer as I do?
Karloo—You are torturing me! This is frightful! Stop! Don’t reproach me this way!
Rysoor—What if I do kill you? Will your death give me back my honor? My peace that has been destroyed? Will it heal the wound which is now sapping my life’s blood?
Karloo—My God! You still insist——
Rysoor—What good will your death do me? Satisfy my desire for revenge? Will it serve the cause which we are now defending?
Karloo—Do you want——
Rysoor—Will your dead body lead these men into battle?
Karloo—I am no longer worthy!
Rysoor—Worthy or not, does your blood belong to me? When the whole city has scarcely enough in its veins for to-night’s struggle! Should it waste these precious drops, should I strike low this arm of yours which must defend us all? Great God, no! If I did that, I should be guilty of treason as great against Her as yours is against me. I have no more right to rob Her of your courage than you have to deprive me of my happiness!
Karloo—Then you refuse?
Rysoor—Make ready, and take that sword!
Karloo—I?
Rysoor—Take that sword, I tell you, and go battle! Go where your duty calls, where my duty sends you! If God will that you die, do not die like a criminal, but like a martyr, like a soldier. Then at least your death will have served some cause!
Karloo[dejectedly taking the sword]—You will never again see me living: that I swear to you!
Rysoor[quickly]—Living? Very well, it makes no difference, so long as you conquer!
Karloo[standing up, warmly]—That gives me some hope of forgiveness, Rysoor!
Rysoor—Go, now—and take revenge on yourself. You have robbed me of my honor; give me my liberty! A woman, ha! Give me back my Patrie! We shall see later whether your bravery has washed clean your crime, and whether I ought to be grateful to you or hate you!
Karloo—You will forgive me, Rysoor! I will make you![To his sword.]Ready, now, and help me win my cause!
Galèna—Rysoor, all the men are below, waiting for the signal. It is time now.
Rysoor[pointing to Karloo]—Karloo is to command you!
Bakkerzeel—Karloo, here we are!
Karloo—Are you all armed and ready?
All—All!
Karloo—Ready to brave the stake, to face torture and death?
All—All of us!
Karloo—To work, then! Now if the heart of one of you fail in the thick of the fight, remember that your defeat delivers your wives and children to the fury of the Spaniards! Think of your city being pillaged, your homes in ashes—and blame this infamous Spain!
All[together in confused uproar]—Yes, yes! To arms! Forward! Let us attack!
Rysoor—Silence! Listen!
Karloo—The drum!
Rysoor—Beating the charge!
Jonas[running down from the back of the stage]—The Spaniards![Gunshots are heard.]
All—Treason!
Karloo—Very well! Let us lose no time! Cry out in the Place: “To arms!” my friends! Ten thousand fighters will come forth out of the night in answer.[More gunshots; trumpets sound, and the beat of drums approaches, on the charge.]Guard the archway, Cornélis! Bakkerzeel, you the stairway!
Galèna[from above]—There they are on the Place!
Karloo—Rysoor, watch this door![He points to the door at the right, to which Rysoor quickly goes.]And the signal. For God’s sake, Jonas, the signal, or we are lost![To the others.]You there, guard the windows!
Karloo—To the Great Gate!
Rysoor[showering blows on the closed door]—This door!
Karloo—Break it in![He takes a hatchet and beats furiously on the door.]
Noircarmes[from above]—Surrender!
Karloo[who continues his task]—Never! Long live Flanders!
All the Conspirators—Long live Flanders!
Noircarmes[to his men]—Fire!
Karloo[as before]—Fire!
Rysoor—Courage, Karloo!
Karloo[finally breaking the lock]—The door is giving!
Noircarmes[raising his staff]—Forward!
Rysoor—Now we have only to die!
Karloo—Fire, you cowards—fire! You see, we will not surrender!
Alba[to the conspirators, after a pause]—Which of you, Messieurs, do you consider your leader?
Karloo—I!
Rysoor[interrupting him]—In battle, yes, but here—it is I! Comte de Rysoor!
Alba—Very well, Monsieur le Comte. Now that we are in a position to receive William of Orange we shall ask him to enter the city—[consternation among the conspirators]—and then make an end to the rebellion by depriving him of his head.
Rysoor[anxiously, to Karloo]—Ah! if he enters he is lost.
Alba—What signal have you agreed on?
Rysoor[hopefully]—Thank God, you don’t know that, hangdog!
Alba—Rincon, bring me the bellringer Jonas.
Jonas[trembling]—Yes, Monseigneur!
Alba—Loose his hands, and let him sound it.
Karloo[quickly]—Jonas, don’t do it!
Rysoor—Don’t!
Jonas[terror-stricken]—I’m only a poor man, Messieurs. They’ll kill me, and I have a wife and children!
Karloo[supplicating him]—There are three million souls to save! Your children are among them!
Rysoor—Save the Prince!
Karloo—Save Flanders!
Rysoor—On my bended knees, Jonas. I beg you on bended knees——
Jonas[who, after being free, has been taken to the left by Rincon]—My God! My God!
Alba[furiously]—Put an end to this!
The Conspirators[intercepting Jonas, clinging to him as he is being taken out into the passage]—Jonas—don’t ring!
Alba[to Rincon]—Put a pistol to his throat; if he winces, kill him!
Alba—Has everything been made ready, Noircarmes?
Noircarmes—Oh, Monseigneur, the moment the Prince enters the city he will find himself between two fires: not a man will get as far as the Place.
Alba[triumphantly]—At last I have him between my fingers!
Rysoor—Good God, merciful Saviour, do not allow this iniquity! Save the Prince, save him! Thou owest us at least that much!
Alba[nervously, as he looks at the conspirators]—The death-knell!
Noircarmes—Yes, Monseigneur.
Alba—Is that the signal?
Karloo[radiantly]—Yes, Monsieur le Duc, that is the signal, but it says to the Prince: “Do not enter—go away!” It is the signal that saves him, and with him the liberty of Flanders!
Alba[furiously]—By the fires of hell, stop that man! Kill him, kill him! Kill him! I say.
Noircarmes—It is done!
Alba—But too late—he will escape. I must wait for another chance!
Rincon[stopping the soldiers, and raising the mantle which covers Jonas, to see whether the man is dead]—He is dead, Monsieur le Duc!
Rysoor[taking off his hat before the body, as do all the conspirators]—Poor obscure martyr, we honor you! One second’s deed has made a martyr of you! May our children revere your memory, and, when they are free, take thought of the humble bellringer to whom they will owe their freedom.
The Conspirators—Long live Flanders!
Alba—Take away these men, Noircarmes—the scaffold on the Place, there—to-night, and every night hereafter!
La Trémoïlle[as they mount the first steps]—Messieurs—[they stop and turn around]—I salute you—and I have but one regret: to be deprived of the honor of being one of your number.
Alba—Marquis!
La Trémoïlle[putting on his hat again and looking straight at the Duke]—For all the gold of my ransom, Monsieur le Duc, I would not say the same to you!
Curtain.