casements are on one side--opposite is the fireplace--and a
staircase in the back scene conducts to an upper chamber--a table
with a lamp burning, and a frugal supper stands in the middle of the
stage.--Florian is discovered when the scene draws, kneeling at the
hearth and chaffing his hands before the fire._
_Flor._ Eternal praise to the architect who first invented
chimney-corners? the man who built the pyramids was a dunce by
comparison. [_rises and looks round him._] All solitary and silent:
faith, my situation here is somewhat whimsical. Well, I am left in
undisturbed possession, and that's a title in law, if not in equity.
[_he takes off his cloak and hangs it on a chair_] Yes, this shall be my
barrack for the night. What an unsocial spirit must the fair mistress of
this cottage possess. Egad, she seemed to think it necessary, like the
man and woman in the weather-house, that one sex should turn forth into
the storm, so soon as the other sought a shelter from its peltings:
a plague on such punctilio.
[_Monica_ enters down the staircase from her chamber.]
_Mon._ [_speaking as she descends._] There, my garments are changed, and
we may now enjoy our supper.
_Flor._ Ha! another woman! but old, by the mother of the Graces!
_Mon._ A stranger!
_Flor._ Not an impertinent one, I trust. One, who in the darkness of the
storm has missed his road, despairs of regaining it till morning, and
craves of your benevolence a shelter for the night. You shall be soon
convinced I am no dangerous guest.
_Mon._ [_with a voluble civility._] Nay, young gentleman, never trouble
yourself to inform me of your rank; you have told me your necessity, and
that's a sufficient claim to every comfort my little cabin can afford;
pray, sir, take a seat: I am much honoured by your presence: we have a
little supper toward; you must partake it, sir: here! my good Silence!
come hither. Ah! I do not see--[_looking anxiously round the cottage._]
_Flor._ I am afraid, my good madam, you miss one of your family.
_Mon._ I do, indeed, sir; and--
_Flo._ It was my misfortune to drive a female out of your house at the
moment I entered it.
_Mon._ Sir!
_Flor._ But not intentionally, I protest. The fact is, though I have
always esteemed myself as a well-manufactured person, yet something in
my appearance so terrified the lady that--
_Mon._ Ah, I comprehend; you wear the habit of a soldier, sir, and my
poor Silence never can abide to look upon that dress.
_Flor._ Indeed! that's rather a singular antipathy for a female. May I
inquire--is she a daughter of yours?
_Mon._ Not by blood, sir; but she is the child of misfortune, and as
such may claim a parent in every heart that has itself experienced
sorrow; but come, sir, take a seat, I beseech you; my alarm ceases now I
know the cause of her absence. She is accustomed to wander in the woods
by night when any thing disturbs her mind. She'll return to me anon calm
and passive as before: I have known it with her often thus. You look
fatigued, sir; let me recommend this flask of Rhenish: pray drink, sir;
it will do you good; it always does me good.
_Flor._ Madam, since you are so pressing, my best services to you--a
very companionable sort of old gentlewoman this (_aside_); I protest,
madam, I feel myself interested for this unfortunate under your
protection; there was a wild and melancholy sweetness in her eye that
touched me at our first exchange of looks with awe and pity; is her
history a secret?
_Mon._ Oh, no--not a secret, but quite a mystery, you know nearly as
much of it as I do; but since we are on the subject--another draught of
wine, sir!
_Flor._ Madam, you will pledge me. And now for the mystery.
_Mon._ Well, sir, about sixteen years ago when I lived in Languedoc, for
you must know I am but newly settled _here_, a stranger in Alsace, ay!
about sixteen or seventeen years ago, there came a rumour to our
village, of a _wild woman_, that had been caught by some peasants in the
woods near _Albi_, following quite a savage and unchristian life;
gathering fruits and berries for her food by day, and sleeping in the
mossy hollows of a rock at night. She was brought round the country as a
show. All the world in our parts went to look upon the prodigy, and you
may be sure _I_ made one among the crowd. Well, sir, this wild woman was
the very creature you beheld but now. At that time she was in truth a
piteous object; her form was meagre and wasted, and her wretched garment
hung over it in filthy tatters; her fine hair fell in matted heaps, and
the sun and the wind together had changed her skin like an Indian's. Yet
even in the midst of all this misery, there was a something so noble and
so gentle in her air, that the moment I looked upon her, my curiosity
was lost at once in pity and respect. The people by whom she was
surrounded, were stunning her with coarse and vulgar questions, but
never an answer did she deign to give, though some wheedled and some
threatened; still 'twas to all alike: so most persons concluded she was
dumb.
_Flor._ And a very natural conclusion it was, when a female remained
silent, who had so excellent an opportunity of exercising her tongue.
_Mon._ Well, Sir, presently _my_ turn came to approach her, when somehow
my heart swelled quite painfully, to see the gracious image of our Maker
degraded, and one's own fellow creature treated like the brutes of the
field, so, that when I touched her, my tears started unawares and fell
upon her trembling hand. Would you believe it, sir? the poor desolate
statue felt the trickling drops, and reason was rekindled by the warmth
of pity. Suddenly her eyes, so lately dull and vacant, flashed with
recovered brightness. She cast herself at my feet--clasped my knees--and
cried out, in tones that might have moved a heart of rock--"Angel of
compassion! save me from disgrace?" All present started as if a miracle
were worked. "Will you preserve me?" cried the suppliant. I was a
widowed and a childless woman; in an instant I raised the forlorn one to
my arms, as a companion, as an adopted daughter. Her keepers were
ignorant men, but not cruel; their hearts were softened by the scene,
and they yielded their claims to my entreaties. I led the unfortune to
my dwelling; from that moment, she has shared my mat and partaken of my
morsel. I love her with the affection of a real parent, and were I now
to lose her, I think my heart would break upon the grave that robbed it
of its darling.
_Flor._ By heavens, I reverence your feelings! in truth 'tis a
melancholy story.
_Mon._ Yes, sir; and melancholy stories make people dry, so let me
recommend another cup of wine.
_Flor._ Madam, I can't refuse the challenge-- (_aside_) the old lady
certainly designs to send me under the table. But pray, madam, have you
never discovered the cause of that distress, from which you first
relieved this suffering woman?
_Mon._ Never. On the subject of her early adventures she remains
inflexibly silent. I have often tried to win the secret from her, but
though she is mild and rational enough upon all other themes, yet, let
but a hint remind her of her former wretchedness, her wits directly
start into disorder, and for whole hours, nay, sometimes days together,
she remains a lunatic. I do not even know her name, but call her
Silence, because her voice is heard so very rarely. I think her
dejection has increased since we quitted Languedoc, for about two months
since, a kinsman of mine died, and bequeathed me this cottage with some
land here in Alsace; 'tis a lone house, and the thick woods about I fear
remind my poor Silence too much of her former way of life, sometimes she
wanders in them half the night.
_Flo._ Are you not fearful of her safety? these woods are full of
danger; within this half hour, I myself have encountered three ruffians
lurking for their prey.
_Mon._ Ruffians! young gentleman. Blessed Mary save us!--'tis true, I am
a stranger in these parts, but never did I hear of such neighbours.
Well, well, I fear not for my child, she has no wealth to tempt a
plunderer. Poverty is the mother of ills, but her offspring generally
respect each other. Come, sir, finish the flask; and now let me prepare
your chamber for the night. (_rises._)
_Flor._ Kind hostess! I am bounden to you ever. (_rises and fills his
glass_) Here's woman! beauteous, generous woman! _admired_ when we are
happy, but in our adversity _adored_! (_drinks._)
_Mon._ (_curtseying_) Sweet sir, down to the very ground I return your
gallantry.
_Flor._ Hist!--don't I hear footsteps in the wood?
_Mon._ (_listening_) Ah, yes, perhaps my child returns to us.
[The casement is thrust open, and _Bertrand_ with the two bravoes
look into the cottage.]
_Mon._ Ah! men in masks!
_Bert._'Tis he! (_they disappear from the casement._)
_Flor._ Swift! help me swift to bar the door!
_Mon._ Ah! 'tis forced already! (_noise at door._)
[The door is burst, the two bravoes instantly spring upon
_Florian_ and grapple with him. _Bertrand_ seizes the woman.]
_Mon._ Murder! murder!
_Bert._ Silence, or you die!
[_Florian_ struggles towards the centre of the stage in front, and
is there forced down upon one knee.]
_Flo._ Is it plunder that you seek? what is your purpose with me? speak!
_San._ Learn it by this! (_raises his dagger._)
_Bert._ Hold! not _here_, drag him into the wood, despatch him _there_!
_Flo._ Inhuman villains! by your soul's best hope--I charge you--I
implore you--
_Bert._ (_stamping furiously, and casting Monica from him_) Toward the
wood! --Follow me!
[_Bertrand_ turns to the door, and the bravoes struggle to force
_Florian_ after him, at that instant, the unknown female enters
from the wood, and pauses in the door-way exactly opposite to
_Bertrand_, his advanced arm falls back nerveless by his side, his
limbs shake with strong convulsion, and he reels backwards.]
_Bert._ Support me, ah! save me, or I die!
[The bravoes release _Florian_ to fly towards _Bertrand_, who
sinks in their arms. The female, with a light and rapid step
crosses in front of the group to the middle of the stage where
_Florian_ remains kneeling, she spreads her wild drapery before
the victim, and places herself between him and the ruffians in
the attitude of protection.]
_Bert._ (_pursuing her with his eye deliriously_) Look! look! she rises
from the grave! she blasts me with her frown! away! away! heaven itself
forbids the deed!
[The ruffians rush forth into the wood again. _Florian_ and
_Monica_ catch the hands of the unknown to their lips in
transport, and the curtain falls suddenly upon the scene.]
End of act I.
ACT II.
SCENE I.--_A gallery in the chateau._
Enter _Longueville_ and _Bertrand_.
_Long._ Traitor! infamous, unblushing traitor! Florian has arrived,
arrived in safety: every way I have been betrayed; and now to screen
your perfidy from punishment, you dare insult my ear with forgeries too
monstrous and too gross for patience.
_Bert._ Hear me, my lord! as I have life, as I have a soul, so have I
spoken truly, the grave yawned asunder to forbid the blow, it was no
vision of my cowardice--I saw--distinctly saw-it was _Eugenia_! as in
her days of nature, entire and undecayed, the spectre-form stood
terribly before me, it moved--it gazed--it frowned me into madness!
_Long._ Villain! still would you deceive me!
_Bert._ Ah, my lord, you would deceive yourself. I swear it was Eugenia,
her shadowy arms were stretched between the lifted dagger and the
prostrate youth; while her swift dark eye flashed on mine with
brightness insupportable: such was her dreadful look, when, with her
bleeding infant clinging to her breast, she sprang into the flames,
and--
_Long._ Hush! [_the doors of an inner chamber open, and De Valmont
appears conversing with Florian and Geraldine._] We are interrupted;
quick! change those ruffled features into smiles, quick! mark me,
wretch!
_De Val._ (_coming forward_) My boy, your preservation was indeed a
miracle. Ascribe not to the vague results of chance, that which belongs
to Providence alone. Ah, here is my kinsman--one, whose anxious fears on
your account, have held him a sleepless watcher through the night.
_Long._ (_with affected fervency_) Florian! a thousand welcomes: the
return of friends at all times is a joy, but when they come through
dangers to our arms, there's transport in the meeting. Tell me--what
strange tale is this I catch imperfectly from every lip? can it be
possible you were assailed last night by ruffians in the wood?
_Flor._ Yes, my dear baron, yes! but morning has chased away night, and
I am out of the wood now; therefore let us banish gloomy retrospections,
and yield the present hour to bliss without alloy.
_De Val._ Not so: in this your friends must claim an interest dearer
than your own: these men of blood shall be pursued to justice, if Alsace
yet hold them.
_Long._ Be that my task. (_to Flor._) Should you recognize their
persons?
_Flo._ Positively no--their disguises were impenetrable.
_Ger._ But their voices, Florian, you heard them speak?
_Flo._ True, sweet Geraldine, a few broken sentences; but their accents
were not framed like thine, to touch the ear but once, yet vibrate on
the memory forever.
_Long._ Indulge my curiosity, how were you preserved?
_Flo._ Well, baron, since you will force me to act the hero in my own
drama, thus runs my story: I was defenceless, helpless, hopeless: two
sturdy knaves had mastered my struggling arms, and the dagger of a third
gleamed against my throat, when suddenly a female form appeared before
us; in an instant, as if by magic, the murderers relaxed their hold,
shuddered, recoiled, uttered cries, and fled the spot, the female mute
and motionless remained.
_Bert._ (_aside to Longueville._) You mark.
_Long._ (_repulsing him._) Silence!
_Flo._ Cowardice is ever found the mate of Cruelty: this stranger was
doubtless regarded by the villains as a preternatural agent, she proved
however, a mere mortal, frail and palpable as ourselves.
_Bert._ (_listening with tremulous attention._) God! living!
_Long._ (_not regarding Bertrand, who has drawn behind._) Whence came
this woman? What was she?
_Flo._ Alas! the most pitiable object in nature--an unhappy maniac; she
resides at the same cottage where I found shelter from the storm.
_Bert._ (_as if electrified by a sudden thought._) Direct me, heaven!
[He glides silently out of the gallery unobserved by all.]
_Long._ Were not any other circumstances linked with this adventure?
_Flo._ None of consequence: but I suspect one of the ruffians was known
to this wretched woman; her incoherent words implied that she recognized
in him an ancient enemy; but her frail remains of intellect, were, for a
time, quite unsettled by the terror of the scene; she fled from me to
her chamber in dismay, and at daybreak I left the cottage without a
second interview.
_Long._ Florian! it is necessary this woman should be interrogated
further-- (_with much emotion_) not a moment must be lost--dear count,
excuse me for an hour, my anxiety admits not of delay. I will myself
visit this cottage instantly. [_Exit._
_Ger._ (_half aside to De Valmont_) Uncle, if the baron tarries beyond
the hour, we must not wait for his return, recollect it is to be at noon
exactly.
_Flo._ (_overhearing._) And what at noon, dear Geraldine?
_De Val._ (_smiling_) Florian, you are destined to be our hero in peace
as well as war--my niece has planned a little fete in compliment to the
conquerors of Nordlingen.
_Ger._ Fy, uncle, Florian was not to have known of it till the moment,
you have betrayed my secret, now as a due punishment for the treason,
I impose upon you to appear at our fete in person.
_De Val._ What a demand! --I, who never--
_Ger._ Nay, if it be only for a minute, positively you must come among
us--nay, I will not be denied.
_De Val._ Well, you reign a fairy sovereign for the day, and if it be
your will to play the despot, your subjects, though they murmur, must
obey.
_Ger._ (_embracing him_) There's my kindest uncle! thanks! Florian I
warn you not to stir towards the terrace till I summon you, beware of
disobedience, I have the power to punish.
_Flor._ And to reward also.
_Ger._ Ah! at least I have the inclination, it will be your own fault if
ever my actions and my wishes dissociate, or Geraldine refuse a boon
when Florian is the suitor. [_Exit._
_Flor._ (_looking after her_) Geraldine! too kind, too lovely Geraldine,
ah! sir, is she not admirable?
_De Val._ She has been accounted so by many in your absence. I cannot
estimate her beauty, but I know her virtue; and the last fond wish left
clinging to this heart is Geraldine's felicity. I shall endeavour to
secure it, by uniting her in marriage with a worthy object.
_Flor._ Sir!--marriage did you say? Gracious heaven! Marriage!
_De Val._ What is it that surprizes you? I can assure you, Geraldine
already has been addressed by lovers.
_Flor._ To doubt it were a blasphemy against perfection. Oh! Sir, it is
not that--oh! no.
_De Val._ Wherefore, my dear Florian, so much emotion? Does the idea of
Geraldine's marriage afflict you?
_Flor._ I am not such an ingrate--her happiness is the prayer of my soul
to heaven, and I would perish to insure it.
_De Val._ (_after a pause, during which he regards the agitated Florian
with tender earnestness._) Young man, I have long since determined to
address you with a brief recital of circumstances necessary to your
future decisions in life. Every word of that recital must draw with it a
life-drop from my heart, for I shall speak to you of the past, and
recollection to me is agony. The trial we once have considered as
inevitable, it is fruitless to defer. Draw yourself a seat, and afford
me for a few minutes your fixt attention.
(_Florian_ presents a chair to the _Count_, and then seats
himself.)
_De Val._ Florian, you now behold me, such as I have seemed, even from
your infancy--a suffering, querulous, cheerless, hopeless,
broken-hearted man--one who has buried all the energies of his nature,
and only preserves a few of its charities tremblingly alive. It was not
with me always thus--I once possessed a mind and a body vigorously
moulded, a heart for enterprize, and an arm for achievement. Grief, not
time, has palsied those endowments. Born to exalted rank, and
luxuriously bread, like the new-fledged eaglet rushing from his nest at
once against the sun, eager, elate, and confident, I entered upon life.
_Flor._ Ah! that malignant clouds should obscure so bright a dawn!
_De Val._ My spirit panted for a career of arms--civil war then
desolated France, and, at the age of twenty, I embraced the cause of my
religion and my king. Fortune, prodigal of her flatteries, twined my
brow with clustering laurels, and at the close of my first campaign, my
sovereign's favor and the people's love already hailed me by a hero's
title. Fatigued with glory--then--ah! Florian! then it was I welcom'd
love!--a first, a last, an only and eternal passion! (_Pauses with
emotion._)
_Flor._ Nay, sir, desist--these recollections shake your mind too
strongly.
_De Val._ No, no--let me proceed. I can command myself--Florian! I wooed
and won an angel for my bride--my expression is not a lover's
rhapsody--at this distant period, seriously I pronounce it--Eugenia
approached as closely to perfection as the Creator has permitted to his
creature! Such as she was, to say I loved her were imperfect phrase! my
passion was enthusiasm--was idolatry! Our marriage-bed was early blessed
with increase--and as my lip greeted with a father's kiss the infant, my
heart bounded with a new transport towards its mother.--My felicity
seemed perfect! Now, Florian, mark! My country a second time called me
to her battles; I left my kinsman, Longueville, to guard the dear-ones
of my soul at home, then sped to join our army in a distant province.
I was wounded and made prisoner by the enemy. When I recovered health
and liberty, I found a rumour of my death had in the interval prevailed
through France. I trembled lest Eugenia should receive the tale, and
flew in person to prevent her terrors. It was evening when I reached the
hills of Languedoc, and looked impatiently towards my cheerful home
beneath. I looked--the last sunbeam glared redly upon smoking ruins! Oh!
oh! the blood now chills and curdles round my heart--the wolves of war
had rushed by night upon my slumbering fold--fire and sword had
desolated all. I called upon my wife and my infant. I trembled on their
ashes while I called! (_he sinks back exhausted in his chair._)
_Flo._ Tremendous hour! so dire a shock might well have paralized a
Roman firmness.
_De Val._ (_resuming faintly._) Florian, there is a grief that never
found its image yet in words. I prayed for death--nay, madness! but
heaven, for its own best purposes, denied me either boon. I was ordained
still to live, and still be conscious of my misery. For many weeks I
wandered through the country, silent, sullen, stupified! My people
watched, but dared not comfort me. Abjuring social life, I plunged into
the deepest solitudes, to shun all commerce with my kind. 'Twas at the
close of a sultry day, the last of August, that I entered a forest at
the foot of the Cevennes, and worn with long fatigue and misery,
stretched myself upon the moss for momentary rest. On the sudden,
a faint and feeble moan pierced my ear; instinctively I moved the
branches at my side, and at the foot of a rude stone-cross beheld a
desolate infant, unnaturally left to perish in the wilderness! It was
famishing--expiring. I raised it to my breast, and its little arms
twined feebly round my neck Florian! thou wert heaven's gracious
instrument to reclaim a truant to his duties! Welcome! I cried to thee,
young brother in adversity!--"thou art deserted by thy mortal parents,
and my heavenly father has forsaken me!" From that moment I felt I had a
motive left to cherish life, since my existence could be useful to a
fellow-being--my wanderings finished, and I settled in Alsace. Eighteen
years have followed that event; but I shall not comment on their course.
_Flor._ (_with energy._) Yet, sir, those years must not, shall not pass
forgotten. Deeds of generous charity have made them sacred, and an
orphan's blessing wafts their eulogy to heaven--_he casts himself at De
Valmont's feet_). Friend! protector! more than parent! the beings who
had called me into life denied my claim, and you performed the duties
nature had renounced. Ah! sir, I am thoughtless, volatile, my manners
wild--but, from my inmost soul, I love, I reverence, I bless my
benefactor!
_De Val._ Rise young man! your virtues have repaid my cares. Here let us
dismiss the past, and advert to the future. Geraldine is my heiress; my
niece and my vassals must receive the same master: both are objects of
my care, and I would confide them only to a man of honor. Florian! let
Geraldine become your wife--be you hereafter the protector of my people.
_Flor._ Merciful powers! what is it that I hear? I?--the child of
accident and mystery: a wretched foundling: I?
_De Val._ Young man, your sentiments and your actions have proved
themselves the legitimate offspring of honor, and I require no pedigree
for limbs and features. Fortune forbade you to inherit a name, but she
has granted you a prouder boast: you have founded one. Common men vaunt
of the actions of their forefathers, but the superior spirit declares
his own! Nay, no reply--I never form or break a resolution lightly.
I know your heart: I am acquainted with Geraldine's; they beat
responsive to each other--your passion has my consent: your marriage
shall receive my blessing. Farewell. [_He exits suddenly, and prevents
Florian by his action from any reply._]
_Flor._ Heard I aright? Yes, he pronounced it--"Geraldine is thine."
Earth's gross substantial touch is felt no more: I mount in air, and
rest on sunbeams! Oh! if I dream now--royal Mab! abuse me ever with thy
dear deceits; for in serious wakeful hours, truth ne'er can touch my
senses with a joy so bright. O! I could sing, dance, laugh, shout; and
yet methinks, had I a woman's privilege, I'd rather weep; for tears are
pleasure's oracles as well as grief's.
Enter _L'Eclair_.
_L'Ec._ So, Captain! you are well encountered. I have sad forebodings
that our shining course of arms is threatened with eclipse. If I may use
the boldness to advise, we shall strike our tents, and file off in quick
march without beat of drum. Our laurels are in more danger here than in
the midst of the enemy's lines.
_Flor._ How now! my doughty 'squire: what may be our present jeopardy?
_L'Ec._ Ah! captain, the sex--the dear seductive sex; this house is the
modern Capua, and we are the Hannibals of France, toying away our severe
virtues amid its voluptuousness. One damsel throws forward the prettiest
ancle in anatomy, and cries, "Mr. L'Eclair, I'm your's for a Waltz":
a second languishes upon me from large blue melting eyes, and whispers,
"Mr. L'Eclair, will you take a stroll by moonlight in the grove?" while
a third, in all the ripe round plumpness of uneasy health, calls the
modest blood to my fingers' ends, by requesting me "to adjust some error
in the pinning of her 'kerchief." O! captain, captain, heros are but
men, men but flesh, and flesh is but weakness; therefore, let us briefly
put on a Parthian valor, and strive to conquer by a flight!
_Flor._ Knave! prate of deserting these dear precious scenes again, and
I'll finish your career myself by a coup-de-main. No, no; change
churlish dreams and braving trumpets to mellifluous flutes. I am to be
married. Varlet, wish me joy.
_L'Ec._ Certainly, captain, I _do_ wish you joy; when a man has once
determined upon matrimony he acts wisely to collect the congratulations
of his friends beforehand, for heaven only knows, whether there may be
any opportunity for them afterwards. May I take the freedom to inquire
the lady?
_Flor._ 'Tis _she_--L'Eclair, 'tis _she_, the only she, the peerless,
priceless Geraldine.
_L'Ec._ "_Peerless_" I grant the lady, but as to her being
"_priceless_," I should think for my own poor particular, that when I
bartered my liberty for a comely bedfellow, I was paying full value for
my goods, besides a swinging overcharge for the fashion of the make.
_Flor._ Tush! man, 'tis not by form or feature I compute my prize.
Geraldine's _mind_, not her beauty, is the magnet of my love. The
_graces_ are the fugitive handmaids of youth, and dress their charge
with flowers as fleeting as they are fair; but the _virtues_ faithfully
o'erwatch the couch of age, and when the flaunting rose has wither'd,
twine the cheerful evergreen, crowning true lovers freshly to the last!
[_Exit._
_L'Ec._ "True lovers!" well, now I love Love, myself, particularly when
'tis mix'd with brandy! like the loves of the landlady of Lisle, and the
bandy-legg'd captain.[*]
SONG.
A landlady of France, she loved an officer, 'tis said,
And this officer he dearly loved her brandy, oh!
Sigh'd she, "I love this officer, although his nose is red,
And his legs are what his regiment call bandy, oh!"
2
But when the bandy officer was order'd to the coast;
How she tore her lovely locks that look'd so sandy, oh!
"Adieu my soul!" said she, "if you write, pray pay the post,
But before we part, let's take a drop of brandy, oh!"
3
She fill'd him out a bumper, just before he left the town,
And another for herself, so neat and handy, oh!
So they kept their spirits up, by their pouring spirits down,
For love is, like the cholic, cured with brandy, oh!
4
"Take a bottle on't," said she, "for you're going into camp;
In your tent, you know, my love, 'twill be the dandy, oh!"
"You're right," says he, "my life! for a tent is very damp;
And 'tis better, with my tent, to take some brandy, oh!"
[Footnote: For this speech, and the song that follows, the author
is indebted to the pen of George Colman, Esq.]
SCENE II.--_The Cottage._
Enter _Monica_ and _Bertrand_.
_Mon._ In truth, sir, I have told you every circumstance I know
concerning my poor lodger. But wherefore so particular in your
inquiries?
_Bert._ Trust me, I have important motives for my curiosity. Seventeen
years ago, I think you said: and in the woods near _Albi_?
_Mon._ Ay, ay, I was accurate both in time and place.
_Bert._ Every incident concurs. Gracious heaven! should it prove--my
good woman, I suspect this unfortunate person is known to me; bring me
directly to the sight of her!
_Mon._ Hold! sir, I must know you better first. I fear me, this poor
creature has been hardly dealt with; who knows, but you may be her
enemy?
_Bert._ No, no, her friend; her firm and faithful friend: suspence
distracts me: lead me to her presence instantly!
_Mon._ Well, well, truly, sir! you look and speak like an honest
gentleman; but tho' I consent, I doubt whether my lodger will receive
you; her mind is ill at ease for visitors. All last night I overheard
her pacing up and down her chamber, moaning piteously and talking to
herself; towards day-break, all became quiet, then I peeped thro' the
crevice of her door and saw that she was writing. I never knew her write
before, I knocked for admittance, but she prayed me not to interrupt her
for another hour.
_Bert._ Does she still keep her chamber?
_Mon._ She has not quitted it this morning--hark! I think I hear her
stir, (_goes to the stair-foot and looks up_) ay! her door now stands
open, place yourself just here, and you may view her plainly without
being seen yourself; her face is turned towards us, but her eyes are
fixed upon a writing in her hands.
[_Bertrand_ looks for a moment to satisfy his doubts, then rushes
forward and casts himself upon his knee transportedly.]
_Bert._ She lives! Eternal mercy! thanks! thanks!
_Mon._ Holy St. Dennis! the sight of her has strangely moved you:
collect yourself, I pray, she comes towards us.
_Bert._ Oh! let me cast myself before her feet!
_Mon._ (_restraining him_) Hold, sir! whatever be your business,
I beseech you to refrain a little, I must prepare her for your
appearance, her spirits cannot brook surprise, back! back!
[_Bertrand_ withdraws, and _Eugenia_ descends the stair with a
folded paper in her hand--she appears to struggle with emotion,
and running towards _Monica_, casts her arms passionately around
her.]
_Eug._ My kind mother! this is perhaps our last embrace; we must part.
_Mon._ Part! my child! what mean you?
_Eug._ Ah! it is my fate, my cruel unrelenting fate that drives me from
you, from the last shelter and the only friend I yet retain on earth.
_Mon._ Explain yourself; I cannot comprehend.
_Eug._ Mother! I have an enemy, a dreadful one. Seventeen years have
veil'd me from his hate in vain: those years have wasted the victim's
form, but the persecutor's heart remains unchanged: my retreat is
discovered: the wretches who were here last night too surely recognized
me; soon they may return, and force me; oh! thought of horror. No, no,
here I dare not stay.
_Mon._ My poor innocent! whither would you go?
_Eug._ To the woods and caves from which you rescued me. Mother, the
wilderness must be my home again. I fly to wolves and vultures to escape
from man! Receive this paper, 'tis the written memoir of my wretched
life; read it when I am gone: my head burned and my hand trembled while
I traced those characters: yet 'tis a faithful history. Mother! I dare
not thank your charity, but heaven will remember it hereafter: bestow
upon me one embrace, and then let me depart in silence.
(_Monica_ gives a sign to _Bertrand_ to advance.)
_Mon._ Yet hold some moments; a stranger has been inquiring here this
morning who describes himself your friend.
_Eug._ Ah! no, no: the tomb long since has covered all my friends; 'tis
some wily agent of my foe! Ah! forbid him mother; let him not
approach me.
_Mon._ 'Tis too late; he is already in the house.
_Eug._ Where?
(_Monica_ points, and _Eugenia's_ eyes following her direction,
rest upon the prostrate figure of _Bertrand_, who has placed
himself in a posture of supplication, and concealed his face with
his hands.)
_Eug._ (_gazing intensely with apprehension._) Speak! you kneel and
still are silent. Ah! what would you require of me?
_Bert._ (_uncovering his face without raising his eyes_) Pardon! pardon!
_Eug._ (_shrieking and flying_) Ah! Bertrand.
_Bert._ (_catching her mantle_) Stay! angel of mercy, stay and hear me.
He that was your scourge now yields himself your slave: a wretched
penitent despairing man lies humbled in the dust before you, and
implores for pardon.
_Eug._ (_pauses--presses her crucifix to her lips, and then replies with
fervor._) Yes! charity and peace to all! Nay, heaven forgive thee,
sinful man, I never will accuse thee at its bar.
_Bert._ Angel! my actions better than my prayers may plead with heaven
for mercy: the cruel wrongs that I have offered, yet in part may be
atoned--lady, I come to serve and save you.
_Eug._ Ah! to what fresh terrors am I yet devoted?
_Bert._ Might we converse without a witness? in your ear only dare I
breathe my purpose.
_Mon._ Nay, I will not be an eaves-dropper: my child you do not fear
this person now? I'll leave you with him--nay, 'tis best--perchance he
comes indeed with service. My blessings go with you, stranger, if you
mean her fairly, but if you wrong or play her false, a widow's curse
fall heavy on your death-bed. [_Exit up the staircase._
(A pause of mutual agitation.)
_Eug._ Speak! man of terrors--say what has the persecuted and undone
Eugenia yet to dread?
_Bert._ The baron Longueville--
_Eug._ That fiend!
_Bert._ He now is in the neighbourhood; as yet he dreams not that you
live: but accident this very hour might betray you to his knowledge.
Lady! I possess the means. O blessed chance! to shield you from his
malice.
_Eug._ And wilt thou; O! wilt thou, Bertrand, at last extend a pitying
arm to raise the wretch, thy former hate had stricken to the ground?
I have been despoiled of fortune, fame, and health: my brain has been
distracted by thy cruelty: yet now preserve me from this worst extreme
of fate: let me not die the slave of Longueville, all my injuries, all
my sufferings are forgotten, and this one gracious act shall win thy
pardon for a thousand sins.
_Bert._ Lady! my o'er weighed conscience heaves impatiently to cast its
load. (_sinks on his knee_) Lo! at your injured feet I kneel, and
solemnly pronounce a vow, the tyrant Longueville shall mar your peace no
more.
[The cottage-door silently opens, and _Sanguine_ looks in--he
makes a sign to _Longueville_ who follows, and they glide to the
further end of the cottage unperceived; where they remain in
anxious observation of the characters in front.]
_Eug._ Rise! your penitence wears nature's stamp, and I believe it
honest.
_Bert._ Oh! lady, your words redeem me from despair: but say, to ease a
heart that aches with wonder: say, by what prodigy you 'scaped the
flames of that tremendous night, when all believed you perished?
_Eug._ (_shuddering._) Ah! what hast thou said? my dream of confidence
dissolves, and now I turn from thee again with horror! Again I view thy
murderous poniard reared to strike! Again my wounded infant shrieks upon
my bosom, and the fiery gulf yawns redly at my feet! begone? begone! for
now I hate thee!
_Bert._ Ah, not to me--to Longueville ascribe the horrors of that night.
(_Aside_) What shall I say? I dare not own to her that De Valmont lives.
Hear me, lady; scarce was your lord's untimely fall reported, when the
cruel Longueville in secret plotted to remove his infant heir, the only
bar that held him from a rich succession; by hellish means he won me to
his cause: _his_ hand it was that oped the castle gates at midnight to
the foe, and when the fierce Huguenots rushed shouting through the
halls, still _his_ hand it was that fired the chamber where you slept in
peace: to save your child you rushed distracted to the rampart's edge;
just as I followed to complete my prey, a falling turret crossed my
path, and presently the general fabric sank in ruin.
_Eug._ A wayward destiny that night was mine; at once both saved and
lost! a hidden passage dug beneath the rampart, twining through many a
cavern'd maze, at distance opened to the woods. I reached the secret
entrance of that pass, just as the turret fell and screened me from
pursuit. Concealing darkness wrapt my flying steps: the roar of death
sank far behind, and ere the dawn, in safety with my child, I gained the
forest.
_Bert._ Your child! eternal powers! the infant then escaped my blow.
_Eug._ Thy dagger's point twice scarred his innocent hand, but failed
to reach the life. (_Bertrand gesticulates his transport_) A sanguine
cross indelibly remained; but nature and his mother's tears assuaged the
pain. Charitable foresters, ignorant of our rank, relieved our wants and
changed our robes for rustic weeds; thus disguised, my infant in my
arms, on foot I travelled far and long, seeking ever by the loneliest
paths, to reach my sovereign's court, and at the throne of power implore
for justice.
_Bert._ O! does the infant yet survive? Speak, lady! bless me with those
words--he lives.
_Eug._ No, Bertrand, no; fortune but mocked me with a moment's hope to
curse me deeper still through ages of despair. In vain I snatched my
darling boy from poniard and from flame: when way-lost in the
wilderness, but for a moment did I quit my treasure, the mazes of the
wood ensnared my step: the fever of my body rushed upon my brain:
I wandered, never to return; while my forsaken infant--he perished,
Bertrand. Ah! my brain begins to burn afresh! mark me, he perished
terribly: inquire not further.
_Bert._ (_deeply affected._) Thou suffering excellence! be witness
heaven! the monster that I was, no longer has a life; thy tears have
drowned it quite, and now it strangely melts in pity and remorse. Come,
lady, let me bestow thee in a safe retreat: the hoarded wages of my
sinful youth, I'll use as offerings to redeem thy peace: far hence in
foreign lands a certain refuge waits our flight, and there secure from
Longueville--
[The _Baron_ suddenly stands before them in the centre: _Eugenia_
shrieks and _Bertrand_ stands aghast and trembles.]
_Bert._ Undone forever?
_Long._ (_furiously to Sanguine_) Guard well the door--let not a
creature enter or depart.
[_Sanguine_ advances by his direction. _Eugenia_ flies by the
stairs to the upper chamber. _Longueville_, after a short pause of
indecisive passion, draws a poniard and seizes upon _Bertrand_.]
_Long._ Wretch!
_Bert._ Strike! yes, deep in this guilty bosom, strike at once, and rid
me of despair.
_Long._ Thou double traitor! thy perjuries now meet their just reward.
Tremble at impending death.
_Bert._ No; I have not feared to live in vice, and will not shrink at
least to die for virtue.
_Long._ (_throwing him off._) No; I will not take the wretched forfeit:
thou'rt spared from hate, not pity; I gave thee back thy life, but I
will study punishments, to make the boon a curse unutterable.
_Bert._ Tyrant, I defy thy vengeance to increase my torments; the
innocent, I pledged myself to save, already stands devoted to
destruction, and the measure of my anguish and despair is full.
_Long._ (_to Sanguine_) Sanguine, ascend the stair, and force that
wretched woman to my presence.
_Bert._ Hold, hold, my lord! recal those threatning words. O God! what
damning crime is in your thoughts? pause--yet for a moment, pause, ere
you barter to the fiend your soul for ages. Omnipotence hath interposed
with miracles and still preserved you from the guilt you sought, your
conscience yet is undefiled with blood.
_Long._ Away! my purpose is resolved.
_Bert._ Will you then reject the mercy Heaven extends? (_kneels and
catching his cloak._) Hear me, my lord; nay, for your own eternal being,
hear me; as you now deal with this afflicted innocent, even so,
hereafter, shall the God of judgment deal with you.
_Long._ I brave the peril, (_call aloud_) hasten, Sanguine, produce my
victim.
_Bert._ (_Desperately._) Cover me mountains! hide me from the sun! (_He
casts himself upon the ground._)
(_Sanguine_ returns precipitately from above.)
_Sang._ My lord, one fatal moment has undone your scheme, the female has
escaped.
_Long._ Villain! escaped.
_Bert._ (_raising himself in frantic joy._) Ha!
_Sang._ I found the casement of the upper chamber open, some twisted
linen fastened to the bar, nearly reached to the ground without, and
proved the method of her flight; a beldame who must have aided her
escape, remains alone above, (_turning towards the window_,) ha! I catch
a female figure darting through the trees at a distance; she runs with
lightning speed,--now--she turns towards the castle.
_Long._ Distraction! if she gains the castle, I am lost forever; pursue!
pursue!
[_Longueville_ and _Sanguine_ rush out.
_Bert._ (_Vehemently._) Guardians of innocence, direct her steps!
[_He follows them._
SCENE III.--_A Gallery in the Chateau._
Enter _Rosabelle_ followed by _Gaspard_.
_Gasp._ Ha! young mistress Rosabelle, whither so fast I pray? 'faith,
damsel, you are fleet of foot.
_Ros._ Yet my steps are heavier than my heart, for that's all feather,
ready for any flight in fancy's hemisphere; give thought but breath, and
'twere blown in a second to the moon or the antipodes, wilt along with
me, Gaspard?
_Gasp._ What, to the moon or the antipodes? Alack! damsel, I should
prove but a sorry travelling companion upon either road; no, no, youth
is for night; but age for falls.
_Ros._ Wilt turn a waltz anon, and be my partner in the dance?
_Gasp._ Hey! madcap, have we dances toward?
_Ros._ Ay! upon the terrace presently, all the world will assemble
there; the lady Geraldine and myself for beauty; and then for rank, we
shall have the count himself, and the baron, and the chevalier, and--
_Gasp._ Out upon you, magpie; would you delude the old man with fables?
his lordship, the count, among revellers! truly a pleasant jest; I have
been his watchful servant these twenty years, and never knew him to
abide the sight or sound of pleasures.
_Ros._ Then I can acquaint you, he proposes on this day to regale both
his eyes and his ears with a novelty; I heard him promise lady Geraldine
to join the pastimes on the terrace.
_Gasp._ Oh! the blest tidings: damsel, thy tongue has made a boy of me
again.
_Ros._ Now charity forefend, for so should I bring thee to thy second
childhood.
_Gasp._ Ah! would you fleer me! his lordship among revellers! oh! the
blest prodigy! well, well, I give no promise, mark; but should a certain
damsel lack a partner, adod. I know not--sixty-live shows with an
ill-grace in a rigadoon, but for a minuet: well, well, St. Vitus
strengthen me, and I accept thy challenge. [_Exit._
_Ros._ Go thy ways, thou antique gallantry; thy pledge shall never be
endangered by my claim; I'm for a brisker partner in every dance through
life, I promise thee.
AIR.--_Rosabelle._
On the banks of the Rhine, at the sun-setting hour,
Oh! meet me, and greet me, my true love, I pray!
Or feasting, or sleeping, in hall, or in bower,
To the Rhine-bank, oh! true love, rise up and away!
On that bank, an old willow dejectedly grieves
And drops from each leaf, for love's falsehoods, a tear;
Go! rivals, and gather the willow's pale leaves,
For falsehood ne'er cross'd between me and my dear.
[_Exit._
SCENE IV.--_The Castle Gardens decorated for a Fete, and crowded
with Dancers and Musicians: a lofty Terrace crosses the extremity of
the Stage, from which Village-Girls advance, scattering flowers
before Geraldine, who is led by Florian to an open Temple between
the Side-scenes, containing three Seats._
_Ger._ (_Pointing to the centre seat_) There is our hero's seat of
triumph: nay, my commands are absolute, and you have no appeal,
I reserve this for my uncle, he will join us presently.
(They seat themselves--a ballet immediately commences--boys,
habited as warriors, pay homage before _Florian_, and hang military
trophies round his seat. Girls enter, as wood-nymphs, &c. who
surprise and disarm the warriors, then remove the trophies, and
replace them with garlands. The warriors and nymphs join in a
general dance--Suddenly a piercing shriek is heard: the action of
the scene abruptly stops, and _Eugenia_, entering from the top of
the stage, rushes distractedly between the groups of dancers, and
casts herself at the feet of _Geraldine_.)
_Eug._ Save me! save me!
_Ger._ Ah! what wretched supplicant is this?
_Flor._ By heavens! the very woman who yesternight preserved my life.
_Longueville_ enters in pursuit.
_Long._ (_Advancing rapidly, with instant self-command_) Dear friends!
Heaven has this hour appointed me the agent of its grace. I have
discovered in this wretched woman, the long-lost wife of an ancient
friend, at Baden; lend your assistance to secure her person 'till I can
apprise the husband of this unexpected meeting.
_Eug._ No, no, I have no husband--they have murdered him; he would
betray--destroy me. (_catching Geraldine's robe_) Oh! you, whose looks
are heavenly-soft, to _you_ I plead: protect me from this fiend.
_Ger._ How earnestly she grasps my hand, indeed--indeed her agony seems
genuine.
_Long._ You are deceived, she utters nought but madness, her mind has
been for years incurably diseased; come, away! away!
(He seizes violently upon _Eugenia_ to force her with him, she
clings to _Geraldine_ in anguish.)
_Eug._ Forsake me not! I have no protector to invoke but you.
_Ger._ Forbear, my lord, I cannot find that wildness you proclaim;
forbear, and recollect the rights of hospitality never yet were violated
at my uncle's gate. Lady, dismiss your fears, here sorrow ever meets a
ready shelter, for here resides the Count De Valmont.
_Eug._ Who?
_Ger._ The excellent, the suffering Count De Valmont.
_Eug._ (_starting up with recurring insanity._) Ha! ha! ha! come to the
altar,--my love waits for me, weave me a bridal crown!
_Long._ (_triumphantly._) Behold! can you doubt me now?
_Ger._ Too painfully I am convinced; miserable being! Ah! remove her
hence, before my uncle joins us; so terrible an object would
inexpressibly afflict him.
_Flor._ Yes, yes; remove her hence! but O! I charge you treat her with
the tenderest care.
_Long._ (_eagerly to his people._) Advance! bear her to my pavilion!
mark! to _my_ pavilion on the river-bank!
(The men seize upon _Eugenia_--the _Count_ appears at the same
moment advancing from the extremity of the Terrace.)
_De Val._ My friends! I come to join your pleasures.
_Eug._ (_struggling violently._) Hark! he calls me to his arms--unhand
me! nay, then oh! cruel, cruel, cruel.
(Overcome by her exertions, she sinks into a swoon and falls in
the arms of the two men. _Longueville_ rapidly draw her veil
across to conceal her features from the _Count_ as he advances.)
_Long._ Away with her this instant!
[He turns quickly toward the Terrace and catches De Valmont's arm
as he descends to prevent his approach--then turns imperatively to
the men.]
_Long._ Quick! Quick! away!
_De Valmont_ pauses in surprize: _Longueville_ maintains his
restraining attitude. _Florian_ and _Geraldine_ join to arrest his
steps: the bravos withdraw the insensible and unresisting _Eugenia_
upon the opposite side: The various characters dispose themselves
into a picture, and the curtain falls upon the Scene.
End of act II.
ACT III.
SCENE I.--_The Steward's Room, _Gaspard_ and _L'Eclair_ discovered
drinking, the latter half-intoxicated._
_Gas._ Adod! a very masterpiece of the military art? Why this Turenne
must be a famous captain. I'll drink his health, (_drinks_) Odso! where
did we leave the enemy? Oh! the Bavarians were just driven across the
Neckar, and had destroyed the bridge. Well, and then what did our
troops?
_L'Ecl._ They clashed after them thro' the river like a pack of otters.
_Gasp._ Hold; you said just now the river wasn't fordable.
_L'Ecl._ Did I? Pshaw, I only meant, it wasn't fordable to the enemy:
no, poor devils! they couldn't ford it certainly; but as to our hussars:
whew! such fellows as they would _get_ thro' any thing, were it ever so
deep to the bottom. (_takes the flask from Gaspard and drinks_).
_Gasp._ O! the rare hussars! Now this is a conversation just to my
heart's content. I dearly love to hear of battles and sieges. The
household are all retired to rest, and my room is private; so here we
may sit peaceably, and talk about war for the remainder of the night.
_L'Ec._ Bravo! agreed: we'll make a night of it; but harkye, is not this
room of yours built in a queer sort of a circular shape?
_Gasp._ No; a most perfect square.
_L'Ec._ Well, I never studied mathematics; but, for a perfect square,
methinks it has the oddest trick of turning round with its company I
ever witnessed.
Enter _Rosabelle_.
_Ros._ Here's a display of profligacy! So, gentlemen, are these your
morals? Methinks you place a special example before the household;
drinking and carousing thus after midnight, when all decent persons
ought to be at rest within their beds.
_Gasp._ Marry now, my malapert lady! How comes it you are found abroad
at these wild hours?
_Ros._ I have always important motives for my conduct. A strange female
waits at the castle-gate, who clamors for admittance; she seems in deep
distress, refuses to accept denial or excuse, and demands to speak with
the person of first consequence in the family. Now, Mr. Gaspard, as you
happen to be steward--
_Gasp._ (_rises pompously_) I am of course the personage required. You
say a female?
_Ros._ Yes; she waits for you in heavy trouble at the gate.
_Gasp._ I fly. Gallantry invites, and I obey the call. Good Mr.
L'Eclair, I cast myself upon your courtesy for this abrupt departure:
'Tis woman tempts from friendship, war, and wine--
My fault is human--my excuse divine! [_Exit._
_Ros._ In sooth, the old gentleman has not forgotten his manners in his
cups; but as to you, sir, (_to L'Eclair_) how stupidly you sit--have you
nothing to say for yourself?
_L'Ec._ (_rising and reeling towards her_). Much, very much--
love--midnight--all snug and private.
_Ros._ Mercy O me! the wretch is certainly intoxicated; how wickedly his
eyes begin to twinkle. Why, Scapegrace, I'm sure you're not sober.
_L'Ec._ Don't say so, pray don't, you wound my delicacy. O! Rosabelle!
beautiful but misjudging Rosabelle! I am unfortunate, but not criminal.
This morning I beheld only one Rosabelle, and yet I was undone; now I
seem to behold two Rosabelles; ergo, I either see double, or am doubly
undone. There's logic for you. Now, could a man who wasn't sober, talk
logic? only answer me that.
_Ros._ What shall I do with him? If I leave him here, he'll drink
himself into a fever. I must e'en coax him. L'Eclair, come, come, my
dear L'Eclair, let me prevail upon you to go to bed; I'm going to bed
myself.
_L'Ec._ O! fy, that's too broad; I blush for you; would you delude my
innocence?
_Ros._ The profligate monster! I delude!
_L'Ec._ Well, I yield to fate: stars! veil your chaste heads, and thou.
O! little candle, hide thy wick! behold the lamb submitting to the
sacrifice. (_Reels to embrace her._)
_Ros._ Why, you heathen monster! how dare you talk to me about lambs and
sacrifices? ah! if you stir another step, I'll alarm the family! I can
scream, sir!
_L'Ec._ I know you can; but pray, don't, somebody might hear you, and
that would be very disappointing, recollect I have a character to lose.
_Ros._ And have not I a character too, Sir?
_L'Ec._ Hush! hush! Let's drops the subject.
_Ros._ How now, sirrah! have you any thing to say against my character?
_L'Ec._ Oh! no, I never speak ill of the dead.
_Ros._ Why, you vile insinuating, but I shall preserve my temper though
you have lost your manners: well, assuredly of all objects in creation,
the most pitiable is a man in liquor.
_L'Ec._ There's an exception--a man in love.
DUETT.--_Rosabelle and L'Eclair._
_Ros._ The precept of Bacchus to man proves a curse,
The head it confounds, and the heart it bewitches.
_L'Ec._ I'm sure, the example of Cupid is worse,
For he walks abroad without shirt, drawers, or breeches.
_Ros._ Pshaw! Cupid, you dolt, has rich garments enough.
_L'Ec._ Nay, his wardrobe's confin'd to a plain suit of buff.
_Ros._ 'Twas Bacchus taught men to drown reason in cans.
_L'Ec._ 'Twas Cupid taught ladies the first use of fans.
_Ros._ How diff'rent the garland, their votaries twine,--
How genteel is the myrtle--how vulgar the vine!
_L'Ec._ Of myrtle or vine I pretend not to know,
But a fig-leaf I think would be most apropos: [_Exeunt._
SCENE II.--_The Count's Chamber--De Valmont is discovered gazing in
profound meditation upon a miniature picture._
_De Val._ Eugenia!
Now of the angel race, and hous'd in Heaven!
Forgive, dear saint! these blameful eyes that flow
With human love, and mourn thy blessedness.
O! ye strange powers! with what excelling truth
Has Art's small hand here mimic'd mightiest Nature!
What cheeks are these! could Death e'er crop such roses?
Eyes! star-bright twins! fair glasses to fair thoughts,
Where, as by truest oracles confest,
The godlike soul reveals itself in glory.
Your glances thrill me! amber-twinkling threads!
Half bound by grace, half loos'd by winds, how strays
This shining ringlet o'er this clear white breast!
Like the pale sunshine streaking wintry snows!
These lips have life--yea! very breath; a sweet
Warm spirit stirs thru' the cleft ruby now!
They move--they smile--they speak. Soft! soft! sweet heavens!
I'll gaze no more; there's witchcraft in this skill,
And my abus'd weak brain may madden soon!
(conceals the picture in his bosom)
The spell is hidden, still th' illusion works:
O! in my heart Eugenia art thou trac'd--
There--there--thou livest--speakest--yet art mortal.
Strong memory triumphs over death and time,
In all my circling blood--each vein--each pulse
Wherever life is, ever there art thou.
(Gaspard speaks without.)
_Gasp._ Go, go; his lordship may not be disturb'd.
_Mon._ (_without_) Away! I have a cause that must be heard.
_De Val._ How now! voices in the anti-room! Ho!
Enter _Gaspard_.
_Gasp._ Alack! that folk will be so troublesome: my good lord! here's a
strange woman; truly a most obstinate spirit, who craves vehemently to
be heard, on matters (so she reports) of much importance to your
lordship.
_De Val._ Nay, in the morning be it; not at this hour.
_Gasp._ I told her so; my very words; but truly, her grief seems to have
craz'd her reason.
_De Val._ How! is she unhappy then? her sorrows be her passport here;
admit her instantly: where should the afflicted heart prefer a prayer,
if kindred wretchedness deny its sympathy?
(_Gaspard_ introduces _Monica_.)
_Mon._ So! you are seen at last, my lord! men say your heart is good;
grant Heaven! I find it so; but ah! perhaps it is too late. Yes, yes;
I fear it: the dove is in the vulture's grip already.
_De Val._ Woman! what strange distraction's this? Give me a knowledge of
your griefs with method.
_Mon._ I will, I will, but anguish stifles me; O! my lord, my lord, this
is your castle, and here she fled for shelter, yet cruel hearts refused
her prayer. I have been told by your people that the baron's pavilion on
the river-bank is made her prison; she will be murdered there: oh! my
lord, gracious lord, save her, save her!
(She throws herself passionately at his feet.)
_De Val._ Rise; attempt composure, your words are riddles to me.
_Gasp._ My lord! 'tis of the poor lunatic she speaks; she whom the baron
has confined: this woman claims her as her charge.
_De Val._I saw the person not, but heard in brief her story from the
baron; rest, good woman, rest; my kinsman is her friend.
_Mon._ No, no, he is a monster thirsting for her blood: here, here,
I have read his character.
(Producing Eugenia's MSS.)
_De Val._ Beware! you offend me; grief yields no privilege to slander.
_Mon._ I am not a slanderer, indeed, _indeed_, I am not; here are
proofs: your lordship, I find, is called the Count De Valmont; had you
not once a relation of the same title, who fell in battle with the
Huguenots eighteen years ago!
_De Val._ Never.
_Mon._ Yet 'twas the same title: ay, here 'tis written: "in forcing the
passage of the Durance."
_De Val._ How! 'tis of myself assuredly you read; I was reported falsely
in that very action to have fallen; and for a time my death was credited
through France.
_Mon._ Ah! my lord! my lord! O! it rushes on my heart--nay, give but a
moment; speak; were you once wedded to a lady named Eugenia?
_De Val._ Woman! ah, name beloved!--wherefore that torturing question?
_Mon._ Yes, yes; it is--it must be so--I cannot, here--read--this!--
(_giving the scroll_).
_De Val._ Eternal Powers! Eugenia's well-known character! when and
whence did you procure this writing?
_Mon._ This very morning, from her own hand, my lord, Eugenia lives to
bless and to be blessed again.
(_De Valmont_ starts as if stricken to the center, for a moment
his features express amazement, then incredulity, and lastly
indignation.)
_De Val._ Begone! thou wretched woman, lest I forget thy sex, and kill
thee for thy cruelty.
_Mon._ Nay, let me die, but not be doubted: read, read, and let your
eyes assure your soul of joy!
(The _Count_ faintly staggers back into a seat, and then fastens
his eyes upon the scroll with a frenzied earnestness.)
_Gasp._ Woman! if you have spoken falsely, my noble master's heart will
break at once.
_Mon._ By the great issue, let my words be judged!
_De Val._ (_reading_) "The chamber burst in flames, I snatched my infant
from its slumber, I heard the voice of Longueville direct our murder,
ruffians rushed towards us to perform his bidding." (_starting forward
with uncontrolable fury_) Oh! God of wrath and vengeance! hear thou a
husband's and a father's prayer! strike the pale villain! oh! with thy
hottest lightning blast him dead! a curse, a tenfold curse o'erwhelm his
death-bed! Traitor! thou shalt not 'scape, this hand shall rend thy
heart-strings, I'll smite thee home.
(In the delirium of his passion he draws his sword, and strikes
with it as at an ideal combatant, his bodily powers forsake him in
the effort, he reels, and falls convulsed into Gaspard's arms.)
_Gasp._ Help! help! death is on him, help there swiftly!
(_Geraldine_ rushes in, followed by domestics.)
_Ger._ Whence these cries? ah Heavens! what killing sight is this?
uncle, uncle, speak to me, 'tis Geraldine that calls.
Enter _Florian_ from the opposite side.
_Flor._ My patron! ha! convulsed! dying. Eternal Mercy spare his sacred
life!
_Ger._ Nay, bend him forward, his eyes unclose again--he sees--he
knows us.
(The _Count_ in silence draws a hand from _Geraldine_ and _Florian_
within his own, and presses them together to his heart.)
_Flor._ How fares it, sir? bless us with your voice.
_De Val._ Ah! Ah! (_he grasps the scroll and points to it emphatically,
but cannot articulate._)
_Flor._ O! for a knowledge of your gracious pleasure, speak sir,
pronounce one word.
_De Val._ (_very faintly and with effort._) Longueville: ah fly,
preserve-- (_again his accents fail him, he seems to collect all his
remaining strength for one short effort, and a second time just
articulates_) --Longueville! (_he relapses into insensibility._)
_Flor._ Enough! I comprehend your will; nay, bear him gently in, I'll to
the river-bank and seek the Baron!
(_Geraldine, &c. bear the count off on one side, Florian rushes
away by the opposite._)
SCENE III.--_A rugged Cliff that overhangs the River._
Enter _Longueville_ and _Sanguine_.
_Long._ Tardy, neglectful slave! still does he loiter?
_Sang._ Nay, return to the pavilion; the signal soon must greet us: you
bade Lenoire to sound his bugle when he reached the bank.
_Long._ Ay, thrice the blast should be repeated; still must I listen for
those notes of destiny in vain? hark! here you nothing now?
_Sang._ Only the rising tide that murmurs hoarsly as it frets and chafes
against the bank below us.
_Long._ Is midnight passed?
_Sang._ Long since: just as we crossed the glen the monastery chime
swang heavy with the knell of yesterday.
_Long._ A guiltless end that flighted yesterday hath reached. O! that
the morrow found as clear a tomb! When the next midnight tolls, Eugenia,
thou wilt rest in blessedness, whilst thy murderer-- Ah! what charmed
couch shall bring the sweet forgetful slumber at that hour to me?
Midnight, the welcome sabbath of unstained souls, O, to the murderer
thou art terrible--silence and darkness that with the innocent make
blessed time, to him bring curses, for then through sealed ears and
close-veiled eyes, strange sounds and sights will steal their way, that
in the hum and glare of day-light dare not stir: then o'er the wretch's
forehead ooze cold beads of dew--in feverish, brain-sick dreams, with
starts and groans: on beds of seeming down he feels the griding rack,
and finds himself a hell more fierce, than fiends can show hereafter.
_Sang._ How now, my lord? unmanned by conscience? Nay, then, let Eugenia
live.
_Long._ Not for an angel's birthright! think'st thou I would deign to
breathe on wretched sufferance? No, no; her death is necessary to my
honor and my peace. Come on! my hand may falter, but my heart's
resolved; 'tis sworn, inexorably sworn: Eugenia dies. [_Exeunt._
SCENE IV.--_The river-bank--the Rhine flows across the stage at
distance--on one side a pavilion extends obliquely, through the
lower windows of which lights appear--nearly opposite is a small
bower of lattice-work.--The moon at full, has just risen above the
German bank, and pours its radiance upon the water. _Bertrand_ is
discovered watching the pavilion._
_Bert._ I watch in vain; all means of access to the prisoner are
debarred: her chamber now is dark and silent: still tapers glare and
voices murmur from the hall beneath: the baron and Sanguine are there:
'tis against life these midnight plotters stir. Oh! that this heart
might bleed to its last guilty drop in ransom for Eugenia! Soft! does
not the dashing of a distant oar disturb the silence of the tide? Yes;
just where the moonlight gleams a boat now crosses rapidly; it rows
towards this bank; it pauses now in stillness--what may this mean? the
hour so late, the spot so unfrequented and remote. (_A bugle is sounded
three times_) Ha! a bugle sounded thrice! too sure the omen of some
fatal deed. I will not quit this spot--no, Eugenia, I will preserve or
perish with thee! Soft, the pavilion opens. Bower, receive me to thy
friendly shades! watch with me blessed spirits.
(He retires into the bower fronting the pavilion. _Longueville_
advances cautiously from the pavilion.)
_Long._ 'Twas the signal! the boat has reached the bank, Ho! Lenoire!
advance: no eye observes thy step.
Enter _Lenoire_ along the bank by an entrance between the bower
and the river.
_Len._ All is prepared: your orders are fulfiled.
_Long._ Laggard! too many precious moments have been wasted in their
execution: the moon has risen high, and casts a brightness round scarce
feebler than the day: your course may be observed.
_Len._ Dismiss that fear: nothing that lives hath voice or motion: now,
not e'en the solitary fisher spreads his nets upon the stream.
_Long._ Where have you left the boat?
_Len._ Under the bank in shade, fastened to the roots of yon tall
willow.
_Long._ Sanguine shall accompany you; then when you reach the middle of
the current--
_Len._ Ay, where it flows deep and strong; Eugenia's funeral rites are
few and brief.
_Long._ To-morrow, I shall report she has been conveyed in safety to her
friends upon the German bank--thus all inquiry stands forever barred.
[_Bertrand_, who watches from the bower, clasps his hands in
despair and groans aloud.]
_Long._ Ha! what sound was that?
_Len._ (_looking cautiously round._) Some tree moaning to the blast--no
more.
_Long._ Now then! yet hold! wherefore come you not masked? some of the
peasantry may chance to stir ere you return, and I should wish your
persons were unmarked by any.
_Len._ I left a mask within the boat; this flowing mantle will conceal
my dress--trust me both form and feature shall effectually be hid.
(_Bertrand_ makes a gesticulation of hope towards the pavilion,
then glides silently round the angle of the bower, and starts
along the bank.)
_Long._ 'Tis well! (_to the pavilion._) Ho! Sanguine! lead forth your
charge: despatch, Lenoire! return to the boat, and row it swiftly
hither! Away!
[Exit _Lenoire_.
She comes! Ill-starred Eugenia! fate chides the lingering echo of thy
step, yet but a moment and 'tis hushed forever.
_Sanguine_ leads _Eugenia_ from the pavilion._
_Eug._ Ah! whither do you lead me? Speak, in pity--nay, nay, I prithee
force me not; this is a savage hour, and I must fear your purpose,
speak, whither would you hurry me? Ah! Longueville! now then I read my
answer--'tis to death--to murder!
_Long._ Lady, you misjudge my purpose--true, that once I proved myself
your foe, perhaps a kindless one; time and pity have extinguished hate.
Across the Rhine, upon the German bank, a safe asylum is provided, where
peace shall gild the evening of your life, and cure the memory of its
early woes; 'tis necessary you should cross the river before dawn;
a boat is now in readiness to bear you over.
_Eug._ No, no, I find a language in your eye more certain than your
lip--murder--midnight murder is its direful theme. Thou wretched man!
rather for thee than for myself I kneel. Pause, Longueville! raise but
thine eye to yon clear world, thick-sown with shining wonders--think,
that throughout the boundless beauteous space, an omnipresent, and
all-conscious spirit is; think, that within his awful eye-beam, now thy
actions pass, and presently before his throne must wait for judgment;
think, that whene'er he touched the veriest worm, that crawls on this
base sphere, with life, mighty his will encompassed it with safety!
then, tremble, creature as thou art, to spurn his law by whom thou wert
created, nor quench with impious hand, that gifted spark Omnipotence
hath once ordained to glow.
_Long._ Lady, already I have said, your auguries wrong me (_the noise of
a combat sounds from the bank._) Ha! the crash of swords! Sanguine! fly
to the spot. Lenoire, I fear me, is in danger.
[Exit _Sanguine_.
Confusion to my hopes! what ill-beamed planet rules the hour? Eugenia,
return to the pavilion.
_Eug._ Not, while succour seems so nigh, help! help!
_Long._ Dare but repeat that cry, by heavens! this very moment is your
last. (_draws a dagger._) Nay, nay, you strive in vain,--away!
[_Longueville_ forces _Eugenia_ into the pavilion, then drags a bar
across the door.
What cursed step has wandered on these banks to thwart my ripe design?
Perdition to the meddling slave! his life shall pay the forfeit of his
rashness.
Re-enter _Sanguine_.
_Sang._ My lord, the combatants, whoe'er they were, had vanished ere I
reached the spot; close to the water's edge the turf was stained with
blood, and already to a distance from the bank, Lenoire had rowed away
the boat; I called aloud, but he increased his speed, and gave no
answer.
_Lon._ 'Sdeath! some prying hind has stolen on our plans; doubtless
Lenoire has been assailed and for a while avoids the bank, fearful of
further ambush; follow me to search yon winding path; if the villian
have received a wound, traces of blood will guide us to his
haunt,--vengeance direct our steps! [_Exit, with Sanguine._
[_Eugenia_ appears at the lower windows through a grating.]
_Eug._ Fond, trusting heart! art thou again deceived? does the great
thunder sleep, and are the heavens still patient of a murderer's crimes;
yes, yes, the sounds have ceased, and now a dreadful stillness sits upon
the night; the tomb seems imaged in the hour. Hope in the breathless
pause forsakes my breast forever.
Enter _Florian_.
_Flor._ Ha! lights still burning--fortunately then he has not retired to
rest,--baron! baron! [_Runs to the door._
_Eug._ (_Shrieks._) Ah! the voice of succour--turn, turn in pity--snatch
me from despair--preserve me from the grave.
_Flor._ Heavens!
[Involuntarily he withdraws the bar, and _Eugenia_ darting forth,
clings wildly round him.]
_Flor._ Unhappy woman! whence these transports?
_Eug._ Swear to preserve me, swear not to yield me to the murderer's
dagger; no, no, you have a human heart; am I not safe with you?
_Flor._ My honor and my manhood both are pledges for your safety: but
who is the enemy you dread!
_Eug._ Longueville; he seeks my life: nay, nay, I am not mad, indeed I
am not; turn not from me: look with compassion on a desolate, devoted
creature, whom man conspires to wrong, and Heaven forgets to aid.
_Flor._ Appease these agonies; by my eternal hope, I swear, whatever the
danger, or the foe that threatens, I will defend you with my life from
injury.
_Eug._ A wretch's blessing crown thee for the generous vow! oh! let my
soul dissolve and gush in tears upon this gracious hand!
[_Eugenia_ enthusiastically clasps Florian's hand, and covers it
with tears and caresses; suddenly a new impulse appears to direct
her actions: she rubs the back of the hand she has seized with
strange earnestness, and a tremor pervades her entire frame.]
_Flor._ Why do you fasten thus your looks upon my hand: what moves your
wonder?
_Eug._ (_tremblingly._) This scar, this deep, _deep_ scar, that with a
crimson cross o'erseams your hand; speak, how gained you first this
dreadful mark?
_Flor._ From infancy I recollect the stamp, its cause remains unknown.
_Eug._ Who were your parents?
_Flor._ Alas! that knowledge never blessed my heart. I am a foundling:
eighteen years since, in a forest at the foot of the Cevennes--
_Eug._ Ah! did watchful angels then--yes, yes, twice the dagger struck!
'tis nature's holy proof!
_Flor._ Merciful heavens! you then possess the secret of my birth:
woman! woman! pronounce my parents' name, and I will worship you.
_Eug._ Your parents! ah! they were, ah! ah!
[She attempts to enfold him with her arms, but faints as he
receives the embrace.]
_Flor._ Speak! I conjure you, speak! breathe but their sacred name! she
hears me not, and nature struggles at my heart in vain!
Enter _Longueville_ and _Sanguine_ at distance.
_Long._ The lurking knave, whate'er his aim, has fled beyond our search,
and all is now secure. Has Lenoire return'd your signal to approach the
bank?
_Sang._ He rows towards us now--nay, look--the boat draws close.
_Long._ Then to our last decisive deed!
[Passing to the pavilion he beholds the characters in front, and
starts.]
Ha! confusion and despair! Eugenia rescued, and in Florian's arms!
_Flor._ Help, baron!--swiftly help!--aid me to preserve a dying woman!
_Long._ Florian! by what wild chance at such unwonted hour I find you on
this spot, admits not of inquiry now--but for this fair impostor, resign
her to my care--with me her safety is at once assured.
_Flor._ Pardon me, Longueville; whate'er the laws of courtesy demand,
I yield--but to this female's fate my soul is newly bound by ties so
strange and strong, that even your displeasure must not part us.
[The alarum-bell tolls from the castle.]
_Long._ Ha! the castle is alarmed--look out, Sanguine:--what means this
tumult?
_Sang._ My lord! the glare of numerous torches wavers through the
grove--this way the crowd directs its course.
_Long._ Distraction! --Florian, beware my just resentment, and instantly
resign this woman! (_Attempting to force her from him._)
_Flor._ Never!--my word stands pledged for her protection, and only with
my life will I desert my honor.
_Long._ Hell!--ho! Lenoire! --Lenoire!
[He rushes furiously to the bank, and motions to the boat.]
_Eug._ (_just recovering._) Stay, blessed vision!-- (_recognizing
Florian_) ah! 'twas real--I fold him to my heart, and am blessed at
last.
[The boat, rowed by a man enveloped in a mantle and a masque, at
that instant gains the bank.]
_Long._ (_triumphantly_) Ha! the boat arrives!--now then presumptuous
boy! receive the chastisement you dare provoke.
[He draws and rushes upon _Florian_, who disengages himself from
_Eugenia_ and stands upon the defence.]
_Flor._ In the just cause I would not shrink before a giant's arm!
(_they engage._)
_Eug._ (_frantic_) Inhuman Longueville!--forbear! forbear!
[While _Florian_ encounters _Longueville_, _Sanguine_ suddenly
darts upon _Eugenia_, who is too enfeebled to resist; by the
action of a moment he transports her from her protector's side to
the Baron's. Florian's position is next to the audience, so that
Longueville's sword now equally intercepts him from _Eugenia_ and
from the river.]
_Long._ (_Perceiving his advantage_) Away!--drag--her to the boat--be
mine the task to curb her champion's valor.
_Flor._ Hold! dastard--unless thou art dead to every sense of
manhood--hold!
_Long._ Boy! I triumph, and deride thy baffled spleen.
[_Sanguine_ lifts _Eugenia_ into the boat, and the masque receives
her.]
_Eug._ (_from the boat_) Great nature! speed my dying words! --Thou
dear-lov'd youth! thy mother blesses thee--long-lost--late-found--
behold! she struggles _now_ to bless her child--and _now_ she dies
content!
_Flor._ Eternal Providence! what words were those? --Longueville!
--Barbarian! --Fiend!
[He rushes madly upon the _Baron_, who parries the assault; then
in an agony casts himself before his feet.]
Oh! if thou art human, hold! --I kneel--I fall thy slave--spurn
me--trample on my neck--take my life--but O! respect and spare my
parent!
_Sang._ (_from the boat_) Decide, my lord; the crowd approach, already
they o'erlook the bank.
_Long._ 'Twere vain to pause--I founder upon either course--nay then,
revenge shall brighten ruin; swift! plunge your poniards in Eugenia's
bosom! let me behold my victim perish, and then commit me to my fate!
_Flor._ (_starting up in desperation_) Monster!
_Long._ They come--obey me, slaves!
[_Sanguine_ draws _Eugenia_ back, and the _Masque_ lifts a dagger
over her.]
_Sang._ We are prepared.
_Long._ Now.
_Sang._ Comrade! strike!
_Masque._ Ay! to the heart!
[The _Masque_ rapidly darts his arm across Eugenia's figure and
plunges the dagger into _Sanguine_, who reels beneath the blow and
falls into the stream.
(_triumphantly_) Eugenia is preserved!
[With one arm he supports the lady, and with the other snatches
away the masque and discovers the features of _Bertrand_.
_Long._ Bertrand--perfidious slave! eternal palsies strike thy arm!
[_Gaspard_, _Monica_, _Domestics_, &c. with torches, enter at the
moment and surround the baron, whose surprise bereaves him of
power to resist.]
_Flor._ Secure the villain, yet forbear his life--Mother! Mysterious
blessing--ah! yield her to my arms--my heart!
[_Bertrand_ resigns _Eugenia_ to Florian's embrace.]
_Eug._ My boy, my only one--Bertrand! life is thy gift, and now indeed I
bless thee for the boon.
_Bert._ I swore to save you, I have kept my oath, unseen I watched,
unknown I ventured in your cause--your forgiveness half relieves my
soul, and now I dare to pray for heaven's!
Enter _De Valmont_, supported by _Geraldine_ and _Domestics_.
_De Val._ Ah! 'tis she, dear worshipp'd form; she lives--she lives.
_Eug._ Ah! shield me--Florian, yon phantom shape--death surely hovers
near--
_De Val._ Nay, fly me not, Eugenia! tis thy lord, thy living lord, thy
once beloved De Valmont calls: thou dear divorced-one bless these
outstretch'd arms--I kneel and woo thee for my bride again!
[_Florian_ leads _Eugenia_ trembling and uncertain to the _Count_,
he catches her irresolute hand.]
_Eug._ Indeed, my wedded lord! --I wept for a dear warrior once; and did
the sword forbear so just a heart?--ah! chide not love, joy kills as
well as grief--
[She sinks gradually into his embrace, and he supports her on his
breast in speechless tenderness.]
_Long._ Detested sight! well, well, curses are weak revenge, and I'll
disdain their use.
_Flor._ Remove the monster to some sure confinement. The Count hereafter
shall pronounce his punishment.
_Long._ Already I endure my heaviest curse. I view the objects of my
hatred crown'd with joy. Come! to a dungeon!--darkness is welcome, since
it hides me from exulting foes! [_Exit._
_Ger._ (_advancing with tenderness._) Florian!--friend--ah! yet a dearer
name--you rob me of a birth-right, still I must greet my new-found
kinsman.
_Flor._ Geraldine! what means my love?
_De Val._ Florian! Heaven mysteriously o'er-watch'd thy hour of peril,
and led a father through the desert, unconsciously to succour and redeem
his child.
_Flor._ Ha! De Valmont's glorious blood then circles in these veins!
--My parent, my preserver! Ha! twice has existence been my father's
gift.
_De Val._ My pride thus long in humbleness!--my forest-prize! my
foundling boy!--thou had'st my blessing ere I knew thy claim. Eugenia,
greet our mutual image. Ah! wilt thou weep, sweet love. Thou bendest
o'er his forehead e'en as a lily, brimming with clear dews, that stoops
in beauteous sorrow to embathe its neighbouring bud. Thro' many a storm
of perilous and marring cares o'erborne, our long-benighted loves at
last encounter on a sun-bright course, and reach the haven of domestic
peace.
Thus Judah's pilgrim--one whose steps in vain
Climb sky-crown'd rocks--o'erpace the burning plain,
Just when his soul despairs--his spirits faint,
Achieves the threshold of his long-sought Saint:
The desert's danger--storms and ruffian-bands--
All sink forgotten as the shrine expands--
Feet cure their toil that touch the hallow'd floors--
He rests his staff--kneels, trembles, and adores!
[Exeunt Omnes.
* * * * *
* * * *
Errors and Inconsistencies: The Foundling
Spellings were changed only when there was an unambiguous error,
or the word occurred elsewhere with the expected spelling.
Variation between "Flo." and "Flor." is as in the original.
Names in stage directions were inconsistently italicized; they have
been silently regularized. Missing or invisible periods have been
silently supplied.
_Unchanged:_
anti-room [both occurrences use this spelling]
did'nt [both occurrences are in this form]
I could as soon compose an almanac as and a clue
[error for "find a clue"?]
For falsehood ne'er cross'd between me and my dear.
[inconsistent indendation in original]
I led the unfortune to my dwelling
[error for "unfortunate"?]
_Corrections:_
to be disconcerted by a hail-stone [to de disconcerted]
_Bert._ (_pursuing her with his eye deliriously_) [Bart.]
_Mon._ She has not quitted it this morning [Lon.]
and solemnly pronounce a vow [solemny]
SCENE III.--_A Gallery in the Chateau._ [Scene III.]
presses her crucifix to her lips [pressess]
she clings to Geraldine in anguish. [he clings]
catches De Valmont's arm as he descends [decends]
a most obstinate spirit [obsinate]
the dove is in the vulture's grip already [gripe]
_Len._ All is prepared: your orders are fulfilled. [fulfiled]
[Exit _Lenoire_. [Lenoir]
_Punctuation:_
I don't want a husband [dont]
wouldst thou find happiness [woulds't]
_1st Br._ Sanguine! [printed "1st. _Br._"]
vibrate on the memory forever. [, for .]
SCENE II.--_The Cottage._ [invisible dash]
How she tore her lovely locks that look'd so sandy, oh! [? for !]
you said just now the river wasn't fordable [was'nt]
amazement, then incredulity, and lastly indignation._)
[period after close parenthesis]
instantly resign this woman! [? for !]