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A DRAMATIC DIALOGUE.

(From the French of Jean Mace.)

Dramatis Personae.

Peace.
War.
A French Grenadier.
A German Hussar.
A Scotch Highlander.
A Cossack.
A Russian Peasant Woman.
A French Peasant Woman.
A German Peasant Woman.
An English Peasant Woman.

Soldiers are lying on the ground. Peace is seated at the back, leaning her elbow on one knee, her head resting on her hand.

Enter War.

War. To-day is the 18th of June, the anniversary of the battle of Waterloo, the day of a wrath which still mutters, and of a hatred yet unappeased. Let us employ it in re-animating this torpid century, which succumbs to the coward sweetness of an inglorious peace. After forty years of forced repose brighter days seemed at last to have returned to me. Twice did I unfurl the old colours in the breeze; twice I made hearts beat as of old at the magic din of battles; and twice that hateful Peace, rising suddenly before me, snatched the yet rusty sword from my hands.

Up! up! O heroes of great battles! you whom twenty-five years of warfare did not satiate: rise from your graves and shame your degenerate successors. Up! up! Bid some remember that they have a revenge to take, and tell others that they are not yet enough avenged.

Peace rises.

Peace. What do you want here, relentless War? Dispute the world of the living with me if you will, but at least respect the peace of the grave.

War. I have a right to summon the Dead when it is in the name of their country.

Peace. The Dead are with God; they have but one country among them.

War. You may dispense with set speeches, most eloquent Peace, for I pay no attention to them. I go forward, and leave talk to chatterers. The world belongs to the brave.

Peace. The world belongs to those who are in the right. Since, however, you will not listen to me, you shall hear the Dead themselves, and see if they agree with you. (Turns to the Dead.) Arise, my children; come and confound those who wish to fight with the bones of the departed.

The Dead rise.

Grenadier. I have slept a long time since Austerlitz. Who are you, comrades?

Hussar. I come from the battle-field of Leipsic, where the great German race broke the yoke which your Emperor had laid upon it.

Grenadier. You were left upon the field?

Hussar. I am proud to say so.

Grenadier. And you are right, old fellow; every man owes himself to his country. We others have done just the same. If you had let us alone in ’92 we should not have come to you.

Cossack. I was killed under the walls of Paris, where great Russia went to return the insult she had received at Moscow.

Highlander. I fell at Waterloo, avenging the great English people for the threats of the camp at Boulogne. I drowned in my blood the last effort of your Imperial Eagle.

Grenadier. Well! we are well matched. My blood reddened the plain of Austerlitz, where the great French nation was avenged on Brunswick and Souwaroff. We have all perished, buried in a triumph. We can shake hands upon it.

Cossack. Brave men are equals, in whatever dress. Let us shake hands.

Hussar. We have all died for our country. Let us be brothers.

Highlander. Let us be brothers. The hatreds of earth do not extend beyond the grave.

[They join hands.

Grenadier. And now Peace is proclaimed, let us tell each other what we used to do before we became warriors.

Cossack. I cultivated a piece of ground in the steppes and took care of my old mother.

Highlander. I brought up my daughter by farming a piece of ground which I had cleared on my native heath.

Hussar. I lived with my wife on the piece of land which we cultivated.