The play, Cato, A Tragedy, was written by Englishman, Joseph Addison, in 1712. It held a Republican theme, and also virtue, youthful love and loyalty. It was George Washington's favorite play and he had it performed during the winter in Valley Forge to increase morale. The lines Marie and Marguerite say are from Scene 6 of Act 1. Enjoy this chapter, and review/fav/follow! (you know you want to!)
Armand could barely contain his luck as he strolled the streets of Paris almost seeing it in a new light. He wished the people he normally loved and tried to help would just get out of his way! Hags, merchants, barefoot children, and politicians crowded the narrow streets. If he didn't call on the St. Cyr home soon, he would have to wait until tomorrow, and he knew he could not wait so long, not after Marguerite's encouragement. Her warning did not even register in his mind about the Marquis' hate for plebeians or the rising bourgeois politicians. Angele had nothing to do with her father, she didn't even seem to be an aristocrat.
He realized he could not fight the people for a way through, so he turned onto a side street and was soon in the same neighborhood Angele lived in. He turned a a corner and saw the house. After another block, he was so entranced with the sight of that mansion, that he did not notice the lady turning the corner from the perpendicular road. He blinked and held her elbow to steady her. She smiled and his whole world lit up. It was Angele St. Cyr! All the words he had practiced in his mind beforehand betrayed and left him to just stare at her. She was beautiful and interesting and entrancing, and he realized only after a few seconds, his mouth hung slightly open.
"St. Just." She nodded, dusting herself off and then started to walk away.
"Mademoiselle," he caught up to her, "May I escort you home?" She smiled and nodded, making him tremble with nervousness.
"I actually," he started and then paused, trying to remember every intelligent word he learned from the university. He failed of course, this had always happened to him from the moment he first saw her. "I was on my to see you."
"You were?" She raised an eyebrow and Armand forgot to nod, only stared at her. She blushed and looked away.
"Yes," he stuttered. "I wanted to give you this." He opened his palm , revealing a sweaty piece of paper. She took it, but did not read it.
"Thank you St. Just." She did not look his way for the rest of the walk to her home. Instead of walking her to the door, Armand stopped where the path met the street. He kissed her hand with perfect grace and nearly passed out when she did not remove her hand out of his. It stayed there for at least 5 seconds after he had straightened. Then, she nearly fled down the path to her home, and opened the door, not looking back. Armand stared after her for while before coming to his senses. This was bad... he almost staggered away, trying to recover from these drunken effects.
If Marguerite had seen the exchange, she would have laughed and made him try again. He had meant to charm her and then give her the poem. She would then read it and perhaps bless him with a kiss, but no, he had made a fool of himself and failed in everything he hoped for. She would not understand perhaps, what his intentions were, or why he felt that way. He peeled his eyes to the ground until he got back to Rue de Richelieu. He climbed up he apartment steps and was about to open the door when a large man came through it. He had dark hair and features which were momentarily enraged.
"Get out of my way," he muttered and pushed Armand. Halfway across the hallway, he stopped and then laughed, "You are coming to call on her too? Good luck boy."
"I am actually Armand St. Just, her brother. I don't think 'calling' is going to be a problem," he remarked. The stranger then stalked away and down the steps. Armand smirked and unlocked the door, stepping in. Marguerite was not in the parlor, and he checked the clock, she must have been preparing herself for her performance. He sat on the sofa and sighed, rubbing his eyes in anxiety and shame.
After a quarter of an hour, Marguerite swept into the room, pulling on her cloak and smirking at him. Her hair was done up in her curly do normal for performances. Armand feigned a smile and stood, meeting her at the door. He kissed her cheek and said, "You look beautiful tonight, Marguerite. It is no wonder that I run into men every day totally bewitched by you. Like that one suitor today."
"Oh Simon?"she snorted. "If you could call him a suitor at all."
"Why? Is he not suitable enough for you?"
Marguerite giggled and then asked, "Are you coming tonight? I am playing Marcia from Cato for the first time."
"Your new role?"
"Yes! Marie and I will be the love interests." She looked so excited but he knew he would have to disappoint. The St. Cyrs could be in attendance, however slight that chance would be.
"I am sorry Marguerite, but I don't think I will be very sociable tonight."
"So your 'angel' rejected you?" Armand rolled his eyes and sighed.
"I don't want to talk about it, but let's just say I made a downright fool of myself."
"Oh, my poor little papa-daring to write a love poem to an aristo! What did she let you do in response? Kiss the dust of her feet?"
"Ha ha ha," he laughed sarcastically. "But I didn't see her reaction. She didn't read it in front of me."
"Why? Did you run away before she got the chance to?" She smirked and then opened the door. Armand sighed and leaned against the wall, trying not to show his reaction to her jest.
"Shouldn't you get going? Practice is at-"
"Seven, I know, but don't say I didn't tell you so about St. Cyr."
"Sure, now get going!" he shooed and then softened, "I know you'll do great tonight."
"How can you know the quality of my performance if you aren't there to witness it!" she called over her shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah. I'll be there to 'witness' your acting tomorrow night. Is that better?" She didn't answer or look back at him before leaving the hall of their apartment, even though he could imagine her expression- merry and amused.
When Marguerite entered the stage in Scene V, she could not help but blush as an applause resounded through the Comedie Francaise hall. She glided through her lines of Joseph Addison's Cato, as Marcia, daughter of Cato and love interest to Juba, the Prince of Numidia. Even though the play was originally English, it somehow held Republican themes, which was something impressive to Marguerite, and had held some media influence with the American colonies with their revolution.
With distaste though, she viewed Simon Mollan in the audience, scrutinizing each movement she made. When Scene VI came along, she got excited, for this was the part she loved most of Marcia. Marie, as Lucia, the daughter of Lucius, the Senator, asked her:
"Marcia, you're too severe: How could you chide the young good-natur'd prince, and drive him from you with so stern an air, a prince that loves and dotes on you to death?"
Marcia answered,"Tis therefore, Lucia, that I chide him from me. His air, his voice, his looks, and honest soul speak all so movingly in his behalf, I dare not trust myself to hear him talk"
Lucia walked to her and looked out to the audience, "Why will you fight against so sweet a passion, And steel your heart to such a world of charms?" Marcia smiled and then met the eyes of Simon.
She replied, "How, Lucia! would'st thou have me sink away in pleasing dreams, and lose myself in love, when every moment Cato's life's at stake? Caesar comes arm'd with terror and revenge, and aims his thunder at my father's head: should not the sad occasion swallow up my other cares, and draw them all into it?"
Lucia sighed and then turned away, "Why have not I this constancy of mind, who have so many griefs to try its force? Sure, nature form'd me of her softest mold, enfeebled all my soul with tender passions, and sunk me even below my own weak sex: pity and love, by turns, oppress my heart." Marcia paused a moment before returning to her correct stage position. Hopefully, that would give Simon an idea.
Marguerite heard the knock on the dressing room door in between her and Marie's sniffles. They were always sensitive to the ending of Cato, after all, it was a tragedy. They had gone to their mirrors to wipe off the smeared eye makeup their tears had created. Marguerite could never hold them back whenever Cato chose to die honorably by committing suicide rather than be a slave of Caesar and see the death of Republican Rome. Just like philosopher's writings from the Age of Reason, the play's themes gave her the belief that she could choose between slavery underneath a caste system, or liberty and democracy.
"Mademoiselle St. Just?" It was Simon, holding a huge bouquet of roses to her at the doorway.
"Monsieur Mollan!" She stood and gratefully took them from him.
"I came to apologize Mademoiselle, for my behavior today. It was unacceptable." He looked ashamedly to the ground.
"I forgive you Monsieur, but I have not changed my mind," she laughed, "even with this ten pound bouquet of roses meant to woo me."
"No," he laughed sheepishly. "They are congratulating you on your role, and as an apology."
"You liked my Marcia?"
"Yes," he admitted. "Though," he whispered, "I would have preferred to see more of Marcia rather than Cato." Marguerite blushed and set the roses on her desk.
"Thank you for the flowers, Monsieur Mollan. They are beautiful and I appreciate your attendance at my performance." He recognized his dismissal and kissed her hand, soon disappearing from the room. Marguerite could not meet Marie's gaze, full of humor and amusement.
Her friend quoted Lucia, "Why will you fight against so sweet a passion, And steel your heart to such a world of charms?"