Scene 1

Incomplete.  Directly following "Who Are You Now?"  Callie, we need to work on this one, too.


(While Lucy and Chauvelin were singing, they have moved forward of the curtain on opposite sides of the stage, Lucy on the left, Chauvelin on the right.  The curtain has closed behind them for setting change.  They speak as if to themselves, without looking at each other.)

Lucy:  Someone better.  Yes, someone much better.
Chauvelin:  Someone who can follow her heart and ignore her head . . .
Lucy:  Someone who can bury his soul under his convictions . . .
Chauvelin:  Someone who can marry within her class, as her family wishes her to . . .
Lucy:  Someone for whom emotions are useless distractions from his purpose . . .
Both: (in unison)  Someone like you were when first we met.
Lucy:  A bright and beautiful spring day,
Chauvelin:  A day when all Paris seemed to dance with joy,
Lucy:  Five years ago.
Chauvelin: (almost at the same time) Seven years ago.
Lucy:  Or was it seven?
Chauvelin:  No, maybe it was five . . .
Both:  (in unison)  Six years ago.

(The curtain opens on Paris, in May of 1785, polished and shining, the glory of the French monarchy.  In the distance we hear the clack of horse's hooves on the cobblestones and the rattle of carriages; we see brightly clothed noblemen and ladies strolling leisurely down the street, with ragged beggar-women shrinking dejectedly into the shadows after being denied a sou from the nobles to buy bread with.  It is a stark contrast between dazzling wealth and degrading poverty all too prevalent in these days.

As Lucy and Chauvelin continue their narration, they gradually move to take their positions in the scene unfolding on stage.)

Lucy:  My first trip abroad . . . Andrew had promised tot ake me when I turned twenty, and he always keeps his promises . . . but he didn't tell me Percy was coming, too.  There was no reason for that.  (turns to join Percy and Andrew, who have just entered the scene on the left, two well-dressed young Englishmen, Percy slightly taller than Andrew.  After a few steps she turns back around indignantly, already acting younger.)  I did not need to be kept "under control"--I was behaving myself just fine on my own.

(Lucy joins Percy and Andrew, gazing with wonder around her as if seeing everything for the very first time.)

Andrew:  (gently) Lucy, don't stare . . . it's undignified of a lady.
Lucy:  (rolls eyes, sighing)  How I hate that word.
Percy:  (teasing)  Undignified?  I admit, it's not the most attractive-sounding word in the dictionary . . .
Lucy:  (glaring)  No, Percival.  I meant lady.  The one word that can deprive a young girl of everything enjoyable in life . . . because "a lady doesn't do such things," or "a lady mustn't behave that way," or "a lady never says such things in polite company . . ."  I'm sick of it all.

I typed this all directly from an old notebook.  That's all I have.  It ought to be continued.  We'll work on that.