Harper's Young People, December 21, 1880 (Illustrated)

A Christmas Play in One Act.

BY EDGAR FAWCETT.

CHARACTERS.

The Baron Beautemps, a wealthy French nobleman.
Henri, his son, aged twelve.
Lucienne, his daughter, aged ten.
Gaspard, serving-man in the château.
Eloise, maid of the Baroness Beautemps.
(The action passes in the spacious old castle of the Baron. The time is about a.d. 1600.)
Scene.

A portion of the grand upper hall in the Château de Beautemps. Large antique fire-place at back, in which burns a sleepy wood fire. Tapestried doors R. and L. Also R. and L., beyond either door, entrances to corridors that communicate with main hall. Large draped window R. of fire-place. Near R. door small cabinet, on which is a silver candelabrum with lighted candle. Near door at L. a similar candelabrum resting on heavy carved chair. As curtain rises, Henri and Lucienne are discovered beside chimney-place in act of hanging up stockings before it. Lucienne wears a costume of brocaded silken stuff reaching to the ground, and a small velvet hood, whence her hair flows in rich abundance. Henri wears doublet with large collar, and knee-breeches.
Lucienne (going to window, drawing curtains, and looking out. She then comes to front of stage).
How cold and still! With what an icy glow
The stars are shining over the château!
And yonder, where the chapel roofs rise dark,
The crusted snow gives out a diamond spark.
Eleven strokes the great hall clock has rung.
Well, brother Henri, is your stocking hung?
Henri (joining Lucienne at front of stage).
All's ready, sister; see how slim and white
Both stockings glimmer in the doubtful light.
I can't help wondering, as I watch them thus,
What gifts the Christinas Saint will bring to us.
Lucienne.
Oh, everything we've wanted for a year!
To me a painted doll in bridal gear;
To you a sword, a cup and ball, a top;
To me, again—
Henri.
Lucienne, I pray you, stop.
Dear sister, I've a secret to confess.
Lucienne (eagerly).
What is it, Henri? Anything I'll guess?
Ah, there! your face reveals it ere you speak:
You want a falcon, beautiful and sleek,
To hunt with in the spring, when field and glade
Hear the sweet bugles of the cavalcade.
Who knows?—Perchance good luck your bird may bring,
Tied to the chimney by a silken string.
Henri.
No, no, Lucienne; in vain your wits would tire
To guess just what it is that I desire.
I want—come closer; let me speak it low—
I want—
Lucienne (in alarm).
Why, Henri, what disturbs you so?
Henri.
The wish to look on that famed Saint who brings
At twelve each Christmas-eve such pretty things;
To watch old Santa Claus, as plain as day,
Steal to this hall in some mysterious way;
To mark his long white beard, his elfish mien,
And see what others have so rarely seen.
Lucienne (agitated).
Oh, Henri, brother, I am filled with dread!
How came so queer a fancy in your head?
Henri.
Call it a whim, freak, folly, if you choose;
Only keep watch with me. You'll not refuse?
Lucienne.
I should not dare! And yet—if I relent—
Henri (kissing her).
Dear, kind Lucienne! I thought you would consent.
Now hear my plan. Although a dangerous one,
Its very spice of danger lends it fun.
Our nurse, Florine, till two o'clock at least
Will dance, most likely, at the village feast.
She's stolen away, and begged me not to tell;
And I, be sure, will keep her secret well.
We to our chambers will meanwhile repair.
And till the clock strikes twelve hold vigil there.
Then we shall both glide out on stealthy feet,
And—
Lucienne.
Feel my heart, Henri. Just hear it beat!
Henri.
Oh, nonsense! Think how glorious it will be
To find him here, and know 'tis really he!
They say that midnight is his favorite hour
To show the merry magic of his power.
And if we spy upon his movements then,
We'll see him here alive. Oh, think, Lucienne!
Lucienne (starting and looking about).
But if your plan by any chance he knew,
What awful deed might Santa Claus not do?
Suppose that quickly as the turn of dice
His anger changed us into cats or mice?
Suppose as reindeers he should make us drag,
With monstrous horns, and feet that never flag,
The tinkling sled in which he journeys forth
Each Christmas-eve, from wild realms of the North?
Henri (laughing).
A doleful penance for so slight a sin!—
Come; they who nothing venture, nothing win.
Lucienne.
But, mind, we'll only peep from either door;
We might indeed repent if we did more.