Part 1

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VOL. II.--NO. 60. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR CENTS.

Tuesday, December 21, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per Year, in Advance.

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WHEN THE CLOCK STRUCK TWELVE.

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.

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(_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.

_Henri_ (_kissing her_).

True, sister; for a little while we part. Until the clock strikes twelve be stout of heart.

_Lucienne_ (_as they separate_).

On kind old Santa Claus to play the spies?

_Henri_ (_taking candle from R._).

Our plan is made. Good-night till twelve o'clock.

_Lucienne_ (_taking candle from L._).

What noise was that? It gave me such a shock!

_Henri_ (_listening_).

A wainscot mouse that somehow came to grief. Good-night.

_Lucienne_.

Good-night. I'm trembling like a leaf.

[_Exeunt_ Henri _and_ Lucienne _at R. and L. doors. Each carries away candle, and the stage is now wrapped in dimness._

_Enter_ Gaspard _and_ Eloise _from R. corridor._ Gaspard _follows_ Eloise _in slow, attentive way. He wears a doublet of some dull red material, with yarn stockings and low buckled shoes._ Eloise _wears a dress that reaches above her ankles, and a dainty white apron, into which she occasionally thrusts both hands._]

_Eloise_.

I pray you, Gaspard, cease these foolish airs, These love-sick sighs and sentimental stares. They've thrown Madame already in a pet; She thinks me quite too young to marry yet.

_Gaspard_.

Unpitying girl! I scarcely can believe You'd show such cruelty on Christmas-eve. I'll hang no stocking ere I rest to-night; If filled at all 'twould not be filled aright. [_Sighs deeply._]

_Eloise_ (_archly_).

And how would you prefer it filled, Sir Tease?

_Gaspard_.

How save with one kind smile from Eloise!

_Eloise_.

My smiles are not so cheaply gained as that. Be off at once, and stop your silly chat! 'Tis nearly twelve--the hour, as rumor tells, When Santa Claus begins his goblin spells. Ah, could I once, with these two favored eyes, The good Saint at his kindly task surprise, I'd give--

_Gaspard_ (_eagerly_).

You'd give--well, what, Eloise?--your heart?

_Eloise_.

Why, certainly. But then you need not start. There's no occasion to express content By quite misunderstanding what I meant.

_Gaspard_ (_very agitatedly_).

I don't misunderstand--oh, not at all. You meant that if by chance it should befall Yourself, Eloise, at midnight here to stray, And look on Santa Claus, you might repay Such privilege by--

_Eloise_.

Ah, could I see the Saint, Speeding his jovial pranks, with visage quaint, 'Twere hard to warn you where my grateful mood Would place the limit of its gratitude.

_Gaspard_ [_aside_].

What if to-night, disguised with cunning art, I should myself enact Kris Kringle's part?

_Eloise_.

Well, I must hurry on; the hour grows late.

_Gaspard_.

One moment, Eloise, I beg you wait. The genial sprite whom you desire to meet Perchance your longing gaze may really greet. Steal here by twelve o'clock, with cautious pace, And turn your look toward yonder chimney-place, Then who shall say what marvel yet untold 'Twill be your happy fortune to behold?

_Eloise_ [_aside_].

The sly deceiver! Would he dare assume The guise of Santa Claus, and in the gloom Of this deserted hall delude my sense, Hoping to dupe me by some bold pretense? I half believe so. Well, if this were true, How nicely such deception he should rue!

_Gaspard_.

You'll come, Eloise?

_Eloise_.

Perhaps. I can't decide. [_Going toward corridor at R._]

_Gaspard_ (_following her_).

By all means let your wish be gratified. Accept my counsel.--Stop one moment, please.

_Eloise_ (_hurrying off_).

I'll think of it. Good-night. [_Exit_ Eloise _at R._]

_Gaspard_.

Nay, stop, Eloise! Agree that when the clock strikes twelve you'll fare, On timorous tiptoe, by the large North stair, Down to this hall-- [_He pauses, looking off R._]

She's vanished like a dream! Still, trust to fate, Gaspard, and work your scheme.

[_Exit_ Gaspard _at R., slapping breast confidently._

_Enter the_ Baron Beautemps _at L. The_ Baron _is disguised as Santa Claus. He wears a white wig, a dark jerkin, with ruffled breeches reaching a little below the knee; he carries a pack of toys upon his back: he has a long white beard; his shoulders are sprinkled with powdery substance, representing snow. He turns on entering, and looks at the two stockings hung before chimney-place with a fond, happy smile._]

_Baron_.

Dear spotless little stockings, viewed with joy, Pure memories of my darling girl and boy, How tenderly though silently you tell Of lightsome, pattering footsteps loved so well!

[_Laughs to himself softly._]

Ah, me! that I, a noble great in rank, Should thus at midnight play the mountebank! And all because I guess how young Henri, With curious eagerness, resolves to see That mystic Saint of Christmas, whom no eye Discerns, whom some believe in, some deny! Zounds! what a foolish father I have grown! Does Henri sleep, or will he come alone, Just as the clock strikes twelve, in night array, This fire-lit hall's weird shadows to survey? Well, if he comes, the wicked rogue shall find A Santa Claus quite suited to his mind.-- And yet, while fancying his childish glee, A strange, unpleasant thought oppresses me: Suppose it chanced that while I lingered here The real Kris Kringle should himself appear! That situation would indeed be fine For one decked out in mimic robes like mine. Still, since this garb was easy to obtain From old ball costumes of our last King's reign, And since I knew how Henri's heart was set On seeing the good Saint whom so few have met, I quietly determined for one hour To frolic thus, forgetting state and power.

[_Listens intently at R._]

A movement in the turret overhead.-- Some servant, doubtless, climbing to his bed. Hark! steps! I'll fly at once--the sound grows near. Too late. I am seen. Confusion!--who is here?

[_Enter_ Gaspard _at R. He is disguised as Santa Claus. He wears a pair of taffetas breeches uncouthly rolled up to his knees, gray yarn stockings, and an old jacket trimmed with rusty silver buttons. He has a broad hat shading his face, and carries upon his back some sort of huge stuffed sack. He stoops affectedly while walking, and employs the slow, tottering pace of an aged man. Just as he appears on stage, and while the_ Baron _retreats bewilderedly toward L., twelve loud, solemn strokes sound, as if from a distant clock._]

_Gaspard_ (_who has observed the_ Baron) [_aside_].

Ah! Heaven, who can it be, in mercy's name? That pack of toys, long beard, and stooping frame 'Tis Santa Claus, by everything that's queer! My knees are failing me; I quake with fear.

_Baron_ (_watching_ Gaspard) [_aside_].

That loaded form--that hesitating gait-- 'Tis Santa Claus himself, as sure as fate! I've not sufficient strength to flee away. I'm positively frozen with dismay.

[Gaspard _and the_ Baron _now eye each other in great comic bewilderment. The_ Baron _gives a nervous cough, and_ Gaspard _starts in ludicrous terror._]

_Gaspard_ [_aside_].

I'm nearly dead with fright--I choke and pant.-- I'll speak to him--ask pardon. No, I can't.

[Gaspard _here gives a heavy groan, at which the_ Baron _starts in great alarm._]

_Baron_ [_aside_].

Of course he means to do some dreadful thing. Even now he seems preparing for a spring.

[_The_ Baron _here makes a loud shuddering sound, at which_ Gaspard _sinks upon his knees._]

_Gaspard_ [_aside_].

My legs have both collapsed--I'm most unwell.

_Baron_ [_aside_].

Ye saints! he's muttering some horrid spell, Calling some gnome, perchance, with grip of ice, To shoot me up the chimney in a trice!

[_While_ Gaspard _and the_ Baron _regard each other in the dimness with glances of mutual fear_, Henri _and_ Lucienne _peep forth from doors at R. and L._]

_Henri_ (_only perceiving_ Gaspard _at R., and speaking in an excited whisper_).

'Tis he! I look on Santa Claus at last.

_Lucienne_ (_only perceiving the_ Baron, _her father, at L._).

He's here! And oh, my poor heart beats so fast!

_Henri_ (_alluding to_ Gaspard).

With that large hat, his face I scarce behold.

_Lucienne_ (_alluding to the_ Baron).

He wears no hat to shield him from the cold.

_Henri_.

How strange he has no beard, as tales declare!

_Lucienne_.

How long his beard is, and how white his hair!

_Henri_.

I thought his clothes were snowy--it is not so.

_Lucienne_.

He's very thickly covered o'er with snow.

_Henri_ (_discovering the_ Baron _also_).

What! two of them! I can't believe it true.

_Lucienne_ (_discovering_ Gaspard).

Oh dear! I never dreamed there would be _two_!

_Gaspard_ (_rising, and staggering helplessly toward back of stage_) [_aside_].

I feel that he observes me like a lynx; No doubt of some dark punishment he thinks. I'll try to escape from his revengeful glare; Perhaps he'll drag me back, though, by the hair. He turns his head--pursues me with his eye. My doom is sealed.--I'm very young to die!

[_Enter_ Eloise _at R. She comes slowly and cautiously upon stage. As she does so_, Gaspard _conceals himself behind the curtain of window at R. of chimney-place._ Eloise _discovers the_ Baron, _gives a sudden start, and then addresses audience in quick, agitated aside._]

_Eloise_ [_aside_].

Beyond a doubt Gaspard is waiting there, In beard and wig disguised with subtle care. The artful scamp! how easy to perceive This web of crafty guile he means to weave! So, so, my clever trickster, you shall meet Your match to-night in cunning and deceit.

[_Aloud_] (_addressing the_ Baron.)

Pray are you Santa Claus? If this be true, It gives me joy, great Saint, to welcome you.

_Gaspard_ (_half hidden behind curtain_) [_aside_].

What store of courage has the charming jade! Now on my life, she's not a bit afraid! She thanks her stars for this fine stroke of luck; Her curiosity has lent her pluck.

_Baron_ [_aside_].

It's Eloise.--An awkward thing, forsooth, If this young waiting-maid should learn the truth! No gossip for a mile but straight would know That I, their lord, had wandered his château At midnight, clad more like a circus clown Than some proud nobleman of high renown. How _shall_ I act? what say? I'm sick with dread. The minx would doubtless follow if I fled. Kris Kringle's gone, and I escape his ire, Yet leave the frying-pan to find the fire.

[_While the_ Baron _speaks this aside_, Eloise _slowly draws nearer to him, examining his appearance as closely as the dim light will allow. Her manner shows extreme suppressed fun; she now and then places her hand over her mouth, as though to restrain herself from laughing aloud. Meanwhile_ Gaspard, _still half concealed behind curtain, watches very intently what is passing. He seems distressed by the boldness of_ Eloise. _He makes one or two gestures of eager learning, but_ Eloise _entirely fails to perceive his presence. This affords_ Gaspard _opportunity for much comic alarm and generally humorous by-play. The_ Baron _retreats a little to L. as_ Eloise _approaches him from R. At length_ Eloise _addresses him, in a voice of mock gravity._]

_Eloise_.

Great Saint of Christmas! pardon, I beseech, My wish to address you in poor mortal speech. Yet now, while gazing on your reverend face, I long to beg of you one special grace.

_Gaspard_ (_with signs of marked surprise_) [_aside_].

Her words arouse in me an interest keen. "One special grace." What can the vixen mean?

_Baron_ [_aside_].

Was ever man more oddly placed than I? She'll recognize my voice if I reply.

_Eloise_.

Ah! treat me not with silent unconcern, But grant, great Saint, the boon for which I yearn!

_Gaspard_ [_aside_].

What is the boon that she has come to seek? And why on earth does Santa Claus not speak?

_Baron_ [_aside_].

I must respond; it is my only choice. Yet _can_ I properly disguise my voice?

_Henri_ (_from doorway at R._) [_aside_].

It's Eloise; some favor she would crave. Upon my word, she's wonderfully brave.

_Lucienne_ (_from doorway at L._) [_aside_].

How dare she go as near to him as that? And where's the Santa Claus who wore the hat?

[Henri _and_ Lucienne _have been standing on the threshold of either chamber in foreground, with only their heads peeping forth from either doorway. They seem immensely concerned and occupied with all that is now going on. A little while previously they have discovered each other's presence, and made mutual signs of astonishment._ Henri _has lifted two fingers of right hand, thus indicating by expressive pantomime what surprise it has given him to find that there are two Santa Clauses instead of one._ Lucienne _has responded by similar pantomime._]

_Eloise_.

You're silent still. Oh, is it, then, because You speak some different language, Santa Claus? I know, for my part, but a single tongue; I left off going to school when rather young.

[_Aside_] (_with great secret amusement, while she looks toward audience._)

The wily rascal, he is dumb from fear, His voice being so familiar to my ear. I'll make him talk, or else my woman's wit Is less adroit than I imagine it.

[_Aloud once more, and in a voice of earnest pleading._]

Majestic Saint! how pitiless you are! I wished to question you of one Gaspard, A serving-man in Baron Beautemps' train, Who loves me, and who grieves at my disdain.

[Eloise _now lifts finger roguishly at audience, and turns sly looks toward the_ Baron _as she does so._ Gaspard _leans forward from curtains, and listens with deep attention._]

_Baron_ (_speaking in a very gruff, hollow voice, totally unlike his usual tones_).

Gaspard? Of him what question would you ask? To deal with sweethearts never was my task. If love's coquettish moods your phrase would paint, 'Twere best you should consult another saint.

[Eloise _shows marked surprise as these words are spoken. The voice which the_ Baron _uses evidently arouses her astonishment. But by the time he has ended she is once more looking at audience with same sly expression as before. Meanwhile_ Henri _and_ Lucienne, _as though terrified by the stern voice of him whom they suppose to be Santa Claus, close doors at R. and L., disappearing wholly from stage._]

_Eloise_ [_aside_].

He's changed his voice; he's warier than I guessed. Well, now, till all's revealed I'll never rest.

[_Aloud._]

Nay, mighty Saint, I tell it to my grief, This lad, Gaspard, torments me past belief. In hall or corridor I scarce can pause But there he waits to accost me, Santa Claus. His flattery turns me ill; with sigh and groan He vows that Nature wrought my heart from stone; Now rude and fierce, now penitent and meek, He swears to hang himself three times a week; But most, indeed, my wearied soul regrets The doleful chant of stupid canzonets Which night by night below my window's ledge, Perched like a monkey on a slant roof's edge, He drones when all the vast château is mute, Hugging against his breast a crack-stringed lute.

_Gaspard_ [_aside, and in tones of great melancholy_].

Oh, Eloise, relentless and untrue! Complained of as a nuisance! and by you!

[Gaspard _covers face with hands, as though overwhelmed by grief._]

_Baron_ [_at first aside_].

Good! I have fooled her, and with effort faint. How easy it is to play the Christmas Saint! A few more words that neatly shall beguile, And lo! I'll flit away in ghostly style!

[_Aloud, to_ Eloise.]

No more, I pray. 'Tis not for me to deal With lovers' destinies, their woe or weal. That here within my presence you should come But proves you singularly venturesome. This once to o'erlook your rashness I will deign; Pardon hereafter you shall seek in vain. So stern the penalty for deeds thus bold, Your very blood would curdle were it told; Both limbs would fail your trembling form beneath, Both jaws would scarce contain your chattering teeth.

[_The_ Baron _speaks these latter words in a terribly severe tone._ Gaspard _audibly shivers as he hears them._ Eloise _recoils and seems at first quite horrified. Then suddenly, as though reminding herself that it is, after all, not Santa Claus, but only her sweetheart disguised for the purpose of deceiving her, she tosses her head and regards the_ Baron _very courageously, placing a hand, in the most saucy way, on each of her hips._]

_Eloise_.

No doubt I should be frightened half to death-- Should scream, should stagger, and should catch my breath, And thus, indeed, I really might behave-- Being not by temperament very brave-- Did I not chance to more than merely guess The shrewd impostor whom I now address.

_Baron_ [_aside_].

Impostor? She discovers, then, my sham? Has she discovered also who I am?

[_Aloud, in same voice as before_].

Retire in haste, young maid, and wisely shirk To insult Kris Kringle at his goodly work!

_Eloise_ (_with sudden anger, stamping her foot, and, coming much nearer to the_ Baron).

Retire, indeed! And do you still surmise I've not the sense to pierce your thin disguise? I wonder, wicked knave that you appear, The real Kris Kringle does not find you here, And soundly punish you for this offense In due proportion to its impudence.

[Eloise _here gives a loud, mocking laugh, and abruptly tears wig from the_ Baron's _head, afterward pulling beard from his face also._]

Of me, Gaspard, I'll teach you to make sport With mask and mummery of this idle sort. I'll bid you learn if Eloise will bear Being juggled with by stratagems unfair. I'll have you know--

(_Discovering that it is the_ Baron, _and showing great consternation._)

Ah, Heaven! what have I done?

_Baron_ (_good-humoredly_).

You've counted on your game before 'twas won.

[Henri _and_ Lucienne _now peep forth cautiously from doors R. and L. They gaze for a moment in amazement at the_ Baron, _and then advance toward him from either side of stage._]

_Henri_.

Papa, as I'm alive! How strange it seems!

_Lucienne_.

It's like the way things happen in one's dreams.

[Gaspard, _as if thunderstruck, now quits his hiding-place, taking off hat and throwing aside his pack._]

_Gaspard_ (_to_ Eloise).

Ah, then, Eloise, those cruel words you spoke Were all intended as a harmless joke?

_Eloise_ (_agitatedly_).