Home Pastimes; or Tableaux Vivants Part 7

The sun is bright and glad, but not for me; My heart is dead to all but pain and sorrow; No care nor hope have I in all I see, Save from the fear that I may starve to-morrow.

Alas, for you, poor famishing, patient wife, And pale-faced little ones! Your feeble cries Torture my soul; worse than a blank is life Beggared of all that makes that life a prize: Yet one thing cheers me,--is not life the door To that rich world where no one can be poor?

TUPPER.

Three Female and Two Male Figures.

This tableau represents the interior of one of the homes of the starving poor, such as are found in all large towns, where vice and intemperance go hand in hand. To make the scene look as natural as possible, a part.i.tion should be made to fill up the back of the stage, covered with cheap room paper. Two old window sashes should be inserted in it, with the gla.s.s partially broken out, and filled up with old hats and articles of clothing. The furniture of the room consists of an old and broken table, a large chest, three or four old and broken chairs, a few pieces of broken crockery on the table, a black bottle, a candlestick, a bundle of straw, with a few ragged bed clothes, and a few cheap prints hanging from the wall. The table is placed at the back part of the room, and supports the crockery, bottle, and candlestick. The bed is at the left side of the room, and on it reclines a female dressed in dirty and ragged clothing; her hair hangs loosely over her shoulders; right hand supporting her head, and eyes directed to a group of children in the foreground of the picture; the face should be made as white as possible; a small quant.i.ty of dark paint about the eyes will give a haggard and sickly look to the features. On the opposite side of the room, seated on the old chest, is the woman's husband. He is dozing in a drunken slumber; his clothes hang about him in tatters; his hat is partially drawn down over his forehead, his matted hair protruding through a hole in the crown; face bloated, from the effects of liquor. By the use of water colors, the face can be made to a.s.sume the above description. His position is such that a partial front view is had of the body, the arms hanging carelessly at his side, feet crossed and stretched out on the floor.

Seated at the table, and sewing by the light of the candle, is a young girl. She is dressed in dirty and ragged clothes; her hair is tied up in a rough manner; the body bent forward, and eyes cast down upon her work; her face should be made white; the eyes slightly shaded with dark paint, to give a haggard look to the features. In the centre of the room are grouped three small children; they are engaged in eating crusts of bread from a broken plate. Their costume may be varied, and of cheap material. The light for this piece should come from the side on which the man is sitting. The front of the scene must be quite light, while the background is thrown in shadow. Music of a mournful order.

DEATH OF MINNEHAHA.

O the long and dreary Winter!

O the cold and cruel Winter!

Ever thicker, thicker, thicker Froze the ice on lake and river, Ever deeper, deeper, deeper Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, Fell the covering snow, and drifted Through the forest, round the village.

O the famine and the fever!

O the wasting of the famine!

O the blasting of the fever!

O the wailing of the children!

O the anguish of the women!

"Give us food, or we must perish!

Give me food for Minnehaha, For my dying Minnehaha!"

Through the far-resounding forest, Through the forest vast and vacant-- Rung that cry of desolation; But there came no other answer Than the echo of his crying, Than the echo of the woodlands, "Minnehaha! Minnehaha!"

All day long roved Hiawatha In that melancholy forest, Through the shadow of whose thickets, In the pleasant days of Summer, Of that ne'er forgotten Summer, He had brought his young wife homeward From the land of the Dacotahs.

In the wigwam with Nokomis, With those gloomy guests, that watched her, With the Famine and the Fever, She was lying, the Beloved, She the dying Minnehaha.

"Hark!" she said; "I hear a rushing, Hear a roaring and a rushing, Hear the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to me from a distance!"

"No, my child!" said old Nokomis, "'Tis the night wind in the pine trees!"

"Look!" she said; "I see my father Standing lonely at his doorway, Beckoning to me from his wigwam In the land of the Dacotahs!"

"No, my child," said old Nokomis; "'Tis the smoke, that waves and beckons!"

"Ah!" she said, "the eyes of Pauguk Glare upon me in the darkness, I can feel his icy fingers Clasping mine amid the darkness!

Hiawatha! Hiawatha!"

And the desolate Hiawatha, Far away amid the forest, Miles away among the mountains, Heard that sudden cry of anguish, Heard the voice of Minnehaha Calling to him in the darkness, "Hiawatha! Hiawatha!"

Over snow-fields waste and pathless, Under snow-enc.u.mbered branches, Homeward hurried Hiawatha, Empty-handed, heavy-hearted;

And he rushed into the wigwam, Saw the old Nokomis slowly Rocking to and fro and moaning, Saw his lovely Minnehaha Lying dead and cold before him, And his bursting heart within him Uttered such a cry of anguish, That the forest moaned and shuddered, That the very stars in heaven Shook and trembled with his anguish.

LONGFELLOW.

One Male and Two Female Figures.

This affecting tableau is a representation of the death of the beautiful Minnehaha. The scene is at the moment when Hiawatha draws back the door of the wigwam, and there beholds his lovely Minnehaha lying dead and cold before him. The scenery of this picture is the same that is used in the tableau of Hiawatha and his Bride's Arrival Home. It is mid-winter, and the fields and woods are covered with snow; and to represent this scene it will be necessary to cover the ground with cotton flannel, instead of the green bocking which we used in the summer scene. The trees, wigwam, and vines should be covered with small pieces of cotton wool, to represent snow. Large bags, filled with straw, may be covered in the same manner, and placed around the doorway of the wigwam at each side of the stage, to represent snow banks. Minnehaha has on the same costume we have before described, and is reclining on a bed of robes near the entrance of the wigwam. Her body should be propped up so that she can be easily seen.

A dark robe is thrown across the lower portion of her form, a calm, resigned look is on the countenance. Her hands are folded on her breast, eyes closed as if in sleep. At her side, sitting on a low seat, is Nokomis. She wears the same costume which is described in the return of Hiawatha, with a fur robe gathered about her. She is leaning forward towards the couch, and presses both hands against her face.

Her eyes are cast down to the ground, while grief and melancholy are depicted on the countenance. The dying embers of a fire send up a curling smoke by her side. This should be placed in an iron furnace, and surrounded by the imitation snow. Hiawatha stands on one side of the doorway, and is in the position of one running. He clasps the door with his right hand, and is in the act of stepping into the wigwam.

His eyes are fixed on Minnehaha; the left hand is pressed against his forehead; grief and amazement are depicted on his countenance. While the picture is being exhibited, a portion of the accompanying poem may be read by the announcer. The music should be quite soft, and of a plaintive character. The lights for this piece must be of medium brightness, and come from the side opposite the door of the wigwam.

THE MOTHER'S LAST PRAYER.

Her hands were clasped, her dark eyes raised; The breeze threw back her hair; Up to the cross she fondly gazed, And raised her voice in prayer.

While there she knelt in deep despair Beside her own first born, And bowing her deep soul in prayer Forth on the rushing storm.

She wiped the death damps from his brow With her pale hands and soft, Whose touch upon the lute chords low Had stilled his heart so oft.

ANON.

One Female and One Male Figure.

This tableau represents a mother and child kneeling at the foot of a cross, amid the drifting snows and icy winds of the Alpine Mountains.

Having lost their way, and being unable to travel any farther, the mother kneels in prayer at the foot of one of the crosses which are placed as landmarks along the road, to guide the traveller on his journey. The floor of the stage should be made uneven by placing boxes of various sizes at irregular distances, and covering them with white cotton flannel. A number of spruce trees can be arranged at the sides and at the background, all of which should be covered with small particles of cotton wool; small bags, stuffed with hay, and covered in the same manner, must be placed around the foot of the cross and at various parts of the stage, to represent snow banks. A few handfuls of lint thrown into the air just as the curtain rises, will float about and appear like falling snow. Make the cross of wood, and cover it with brown paper. It should be five feet long and two feet wide; thickness of frame, six inches. It must be placed in the centre of the stage, and sprinkled with the imitation snow. The lady who represents the mother should be of good figure and features, and costumed in a dark plaid dress, a white fur cape fastened about the neck, a velvet cloak worn over the shoulders, and a plaid scarf tied about the head, the ends hanging down on the shoulders. Position is, at the foot of the cross, so that a side view is had of the body; the head thrown back, eyes cast upward, hands clasped and raised in front of the face.

The boy is dressed in a dark suit, and reclines on the snow by the side of the mother; his head rests on her dress, arms stretched out towards her waist; his eyes closed in that cold and dreamy sleep which ends in death. The light for this piece must be quite dim, and come from the side of the stage that will reflect on the mother's face.

Music, of a low and mournful style, representing the moaning of the winds.

LOUIS XVI. AND HIS FAMILY.

I hear thy whisper, and the warm tears gush Into mine eyes; the quick pulse thrills my heart.

Thou bidd'st the peace, the reverential hush, The still submission, from my thoughts depart.

Dear one, this must not be!

The past looks on me from thy mournful eye; The beauty of our free and vernal days; Our communings with sea, and hill, and sky-- O, take that bright world from my spirit-gaze.

Thou art all earth to me!

Shut out the sunshine from my dying room, The jasmine's breath, the murmur of the bee; Let not the joy of bird-notes pierce the gloom; They speak of love, of summer, and of thee Too much, and death is here!

ANON.

Three Female and Four Male Figures.

On the 20th of January, 1793, at three o'clock in the morning, the second year of the French republic, the final vote was taken by the Convention, that Louis XVI. should be executed. All the efforts to save the king were now exhausted, and his fate sealed. The decree of the Convention was sent to the king, declaring him to be guilty of treason; that he was condemned to death; that the appeal to the people was refused; and that he was to be executed within twenty-four hours.

The king listened to the reading unmoved; he conversed earnestly with his spiritual adviser respecting his will, which he read, and inquired earnestly for his friends, whose sufferings moved his heart deeply.

The hour of seven had now arrived, when the king was to hold his last interview with his family. But even this could not be in private. He was to be watched by his jailers, who were to hear every word and witness every gesture. The door opened, and the queen, pallid and woe-stricken, entered, leading her son by the hand. She threw herself into the arms of her husband, and silently endeavored to draw him towards her chamber. "No, no," whispered the king, clasping her to his heart, "I can see you only here." Madame Elizabeth, with the king's daughter, followed. A scene of anguish ensued which neither pen nor pencil can portray. The king sat down, with the queen upon his right hand, his sister on his left, their arms encircling his neck, and their heads resting upon his breast. The dauphin sat upon his father's knee, with his arm around his neck. The beautiful princess, with dishevelled hair, threw herself between her father's knees. An hour pa.s.sed, during which not an articulate word was spoken; but cries, and groans, and occasional shrieks of anguish, which pierced even the thick wall of the Temple, and were heard in the street below, rose from the group. For two hours the agonizing interview was continued.

As they gradually regained some little composure, in low tones they whispered messages of tenderness and love, interrupted by sobs, and kisses, and blinding floods of tears. Louis XVI. described his trial, excusing those who had sentenced him, gave some religious advice to his children, enjoined them to forgive his enemies and bless them. A few beams of daylight began to penetrate the grated windows of the gloomy prison. The hours pa.s.sed away, while the king listened to the gathering of the troops in the court yard and around the Temple. At nine o'clock a tumultuous noise was heard of men ascending the staircase. The _gens d'armes_ entered, and conveyed him to the carriage at the entrance. The morning was damp and chilly, and gloomy clouds darkened the sky; sixty drums were beating at the heads of the horses, and an army of troops, with all the most formidable enginery of war, preceded, surrounded, and followed his carriage. They reached the _Place de la Revolution_ at twenty minutes past ten o'clock. An immense crowd filled the place, above which towered the guillotine.

With a firm tread he ascended the steps of the scaffold, looked for a moment on the keen and polished edge of the axe, and then, turning to the vast throng, said, in a voice clear and untremulous, "People, I die innocent of all the crimes imputed to me. I pardon the authors of my death, and pray to G.o.d that the blood you are about to shed may not fall again on France." The drums were ordered to beat, and Louis XVI.

was no more.