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 THE 
 
 DRAMATIC WORKS 
 
 THE RIGHT HON. LORD LYTTON 
 
 < I 
 
 COMPRISINO 
 
 THE BUCIIESS DE LA VALLIEUE 
 
 RICHELIEU 
 
 THE LADY OF LYONS 
 
 MONEY 
 
 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM 
 
 3, JBeto QEOitton 
 
 LONDON 
 GEOUGE llOUTLEDGE AND SONS 
 
 THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE 
 NEW YORK: 416, BROOME STREET
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE Page 1 
 
 THE LADY OJ? LYONS ; OR, LOVE AND PEIDE 103 
 
 RICHELIEU ; OR, TUB CONSPIRACY 177 
 
 MONEY 299 
 
 NOT SO BAD AS W£ SEEM ; OR, MANY SIDES TO A CUAEACXEH 409
 
 THE DUCHESS DE LA TAILIERE.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Louis the Fourteenth. 
 
 The Duke de Lauzun, 
 
 Count de Grammont, ^ Courtiers. 
 
 Marquis de Montespan, 
 
 The Marquis de Bragelone, hetroilied to Mademoiselle 
 
 de la Valliere. 
 Bertrand, the Amiour&r. 
 
 Courtiers, Gentlemen of the Chamber, Priests, <fec. 
 
 Madame de la Yalliere. 
 
 Mademoiselle (afterwards Duchess) de la Valliere. 
 
 Madame de Montespan. 
 
 Abbess. 
 
 Nuns, Ladies, Maids o/Honov/Tj &e.
 
 PKOLOGUE. 
 
 To paint the Past, yet in the Past portray 
 
 Such shapes as seem dim prophets of To-day ;— 
 
 To trace, through all the garish streams of art. 
 
 Nature's deep fountain — woman's silent heart ;— 
 
 On the stirr'd surface of the soften'd mind 
 
 To leave the print of holier truths behind ; — 
 
 And, while through joy or grief — through calm or strife, 
 
 Bound the wild Passions on the course of Life, 
 
 To share the race — yet point the proper goal, 
 
 And make the Affections preachers to the Soul ; — 
 
 Such is the aim with which a gaudier age 
 
 Now woos the brief revival of the stage ; — 
 
 Such is the moral, though unseen it flows. 
 
 In Lauzun's wiles and soft La Valliere's woes ; 
 
 Such the design our Author boldly drew. 
 
 And, losing boldness, now submits to YOU. 
 
 Not new to climes where dreamy Fable dwells — 
 That magic Prospero of the Isle of Spells — 
 Now first the wanderer treads, with anxious fear. 
 The fairy land whose flowers allured him here. 
 Dread is the court our alien pleads before ; 
 Your verdict makes his exile from the shore. 
 Yet, ev'n if banish'd, let him think, in pride. 
 He trod the path with no unhallow'd guide ; 
 Chasing the light, whose face, though veil'd and dim. 
 Perchance a meteor, seem'd a star to him. 
 Hoping the ray might rest where Truth appears 
 Beneath her native well — your smiles and tears. 
 B 2
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 When a wide waste, to Law itself unknown. 
 Lay that fair world the Drama calls its own ; 
 When all might riot on the mines of Thought, 
 And Genius starved amidst the wealth it wrought ; 
 He who now ventures on the haunted soil 
 For nobler labourers won the rights of toil. 
 And his the boast — that Fame now rests in ease 
 Beneath the shade of her own laurel-trees. 
 Yes, if with all the critic on their brow, 
 His clients once have grown his judges now. 
 And watch, like spirits on the Elysian side, 
 Their brother ferried o'er the Stygian tide, 
 To where, on souls untried, austerely sit 
 (The triple Minos) — Gallery — Boxes — Pit — 
 'Twill soothe to think, howe'er the verdict end. 
 In every rival he hath served a friend. 
 
 But well we know, and, knowing, we rejoice. 
 The mightiest Critic is the public voice. 
 Awed, yet resign'd, our novice tmsts in you. 
 Hard to the practised, gentle to the new. 
 Whate'er the anxious strife of hope and fear. 
 He asks no favour — let the stage be clear. 
 If from the life his shapes the poet draws, 
 In man's deep breast lie all the critic's lawa : 
 If not, in vain the nicely-poised design. 
 Vain the cold music of the labour'd line, 
 Before our eyes, behold the living rules ; — 
 The soul has instincts wiser than the schools ! 
 Yours is the Great Tribunal of the Heart, 
 And touch 'd Emotion makes the test of Art. 
 Judges august ! — the same in every age. 
 While Passions weave the sorcery of the Stage,— 
 Wliile Nature's sympathies are Art's best laws,— 
 To you a stranger has referr'd his cause : — 
 If the soft tale he woos the soul to hear 
 Bequeaths the moral, while it claims the tear. 
 Each gentler thought to faults in others shown 
 He calls in court — a pleader for his own !
 
 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIBRE. 
 
 ACT I.— SCENE I. 
 
 Time, sunset. On the foreground an old Chateau ; beyond, Vine- 
 yards and Woods, which present, through their openings. Views of a 
 River, reflecting the snnset. At a distance, the turrets of the Convent of 
 the Carmelites. 
 
 Madame and Mademoiselle de la Yalliere. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. 'Tis our last eve, my mother ! 
 
 Mme. de la Vail. Thou regrett'st it, 
 
 My own Louise ! albeit the court invites thee — 
 A court beside whose glories, dull and dim 
 The pomp of Eastern kings, by poets told ; 
 A court 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. In which I shall not see my 
 mother ! 
 Nor these old walls, in which, from every stone, 
 Childhood speaks eloquent of happy years ; 
 Nor vines and woods, which bade me love the earth, 
 Nor yonder spires, which raised that love to God ! — 
 
 [The vesper hell tolls. 
 The vesper bell ! — my mother, when, once more.
 
 6 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT I. 
 
 I bear from tliose grey towers that holy chime, 
 May thy child's heart be still as full of Heaven, 
 And callous to all thoughts of earth, save those 
 Which mirror Eden in the face of Home ! 
 
 Mme. de la Vail. Do I not know thy soul ? — through 
 every snare 
 My gentle dove shall 'scape with spotless plumes. 
 Alone in courts, I have no fear for thee : — 
 Some natures take from Innocence the lore 
 Experience teaches ; and their delicate leaves, 
 Like the soft plant, shut out all wrong, and shrink 
 From vice by instinct, as the wise by knowledge : 
 And such is thine ! My voice thou wilt not heai', 
 But Thought shall whisper where my voice would warn, 
 And Conscience be thy mother and thy guide ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Oh, may I merit all thy care, and 
 most 
 Thy present trust ! — Thou'lt write to me, my mother, 
 And tell me of thyself : amidst the court 
 My childhood's images shall rise. Be kind 
 To the poor cotters in the wood ; — alas ! 
 They'll miss me in the winter ! — and my birds ? — 
 Thy hand will feed them ? 
 
 Mme. de la Vail. And that noble heart 
 
 That loves thee as my daughter should be loved — 
 The gallant Bragelone 1 * — should I hear 
 Some tidings Fame forgets — if in the din 
 Of camps I learn thy image makes his solace. 
 Shall I not write of him ? — 
 
 * The author has, throughout this play, availed himself of the 
 poetical license to give to the name of Bragelone the Italian pro- 
 nunciation, and to accent the final e.
 
 BCENE I.j THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 7 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail, [with indifference]. His name will 
 breathe 
 Of home and friendship ; — yes ! — 
 
 Mme. de la Vail. Of nought beside 1 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Nay, why so pressing 1 — let me 
 change the theme. 
 The king ! — you have seen him ; — is he, as they say, 
 So fair — so stately ? 
 
 Mme. de la Vail. Ay, in truth, my daughter, 
 A king that wins the awe he might command. 
 Sjilendid in peace, and terrible in war ; 
 Wise in the council — gentle in the bower. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Strange, that so often through mine 
 early dreams 
 A royal vision flitted ; — a proud form, 
 Upon whose brow nature had written " empire ;" 
 While, on the lip, — love, smiling, wrapp'd in sunshine 
 The charmed world that was its worshipper — 
 A form like that which clothed the gods of old. 
 Lured from Olympus by some mortal maid, — 
 Youthful it seemed — but with ambrosial youth ; 
 And beautiful — but half as beauty were 
 A garb too earthly for a thing divine : — 
 Was it not strange, my mother 1 
 
 Mme. de la Vail. A child's fancy, 
 
 Breathed into life by thy brave father's soul. 
 He taught thee, in thy cradle yet, to lisp 
 Thy sovereign's name in prayer — and still together, 
 In thy first infant creed, were link'd the lessons 
 '• To HONOUR God and love the king ;" it was 
 A part of that old knightly fliith of France 
 Which made it half religion to be loyal.
 
 8 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT I. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. It might be so. I have preserved the 
 lesson, 
 Ev'n with too weak a reverence. — Yet, 'tis strange ! 
 A dream so oft renew'd ! — 
 
 Mme. de la Vail. Here comes thy lover I 
 
 Thou wilt not blame him if his lips repeat 
 The question mine have ask'd 1 Alphonso, welcome I 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Bragelone, Madame and Mademoiselle de la 
 Vallikre. 
 
 Brage. My own Louise ! — ah ! dare I call thee so ? 
 War never seem'd so welcome ! since we part, 
 Since the soft sunshine of thy smiles must fade 
 From these dear scenes, it soothes, at least to think 
 I shall not linger on the haunted spot, 
 And feel, forlorn amidst the gloom of absence. 
 How dark is all once lighted by thine eyes. 
 
 [Mme. de la Valliere retires into the chdteau. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Can friendship flatter thus ? — or 
 wouldst thou train 
 My ear betimes to learn the courtier's speech 1 
 
 Brage. Louise ! Louise ! this is our parting hour : 
 Me war demands — and thee the court allures. 
 In such an hour, the old romance allow'd 
 The maid to soften from her coy reserve. 
 And her true knight, from some kind words, to take 
 Hope's talisman to battle ! — Dear Louise ! 
 Say, canst thou love me ? —
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Sir ! — I ! — love ! — methinks 
 It is a word that 
 
 Brage. Sounds upon thy lips 
 
 Like " laud " upon the mariner's, and speaks 
 Of home and rest after a stormy sea. 
 Sweet girl, my youth has pass'd in camps ; and war 
 Hatli somewhat scathed my manhood ere my time. 
 Our years are scarce well-mated : the soft spring 
 Is thine, and o'er my summer's waning noon 
 Grave autumn creeps. Thou say'st " I flatter ! " — well 
 Love taught me first the jjolden words in which 
 The honest heart still coins its massive ore. 
 But fairer words, from falser lips, will soon 
 Make my plain courtship rude. Louise ! thy sire 
 Betroth'd us in thy childhood : I have watch'd thee 
 Bud into virgin May, and in thy youth 
 Have seem'd to hoard my own ! — I think of thee, 
 And I am youthful still ! The passionate prayer — 
 The wild idolatry — the purple light 
 Bathing the cold earth from a Hebe's urn ; — 
 Yea, all the soul's divine excess which youth 
 Claims as its own, came back when first I loved thee ! 
 And yet so well I love, that if thy heart 
 Recoil from mine, — if but one single wish, 
 A shade more timid than the fear which ever 
 Blends trembling twilight with the starry hope 
 Of maiden dreams, would start thee from our union,— 
 Speak, and my suit is tongueless ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Oh, my lord ! 
 
 If to believe all France's chivalry 
 Boasts not a nobler champion, — if to feel 
 Proud in your friendship, honour'd in your trust,—
 
 10 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT L. 
 
 If this be love, and I have known no other, 
 Why then 
 
 Brage. Why then, thou lov'st me ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. \aside\. Shall I say it 1 
 
 I feel 'twere to deceive him ! Is it love 1 
 Love, no, it is not love ! — [Aloudi] My noble lord, 
 As yet I know not all mine own weak heart ; 
 I would not pain thee, yet would not betray. 
 Legend and song have often painted love, 
 And my heart whispers not the love which should be 
 The answer to thine own : — thou hadst best forget me ! 
 
 Brage. Forget ! 
 
 Mdlle: de la Vail. I am not worthy of thee ! 
 
 Brage. Hold ! — 
 
 My soul is less heroic than I deem'd it. 
 Perchance my passion asks too much from thine 
 And would forestall the fruit ere yet the blossom 
 Blushes from out the coy and maiden leaves. 
 No ! let me love ; and say, perchance the time 
 May come when thou wilt bid me not forget thee. 
 Absence may plead my cause ; it hath some magic j 
 T fear not contrast with the courtier-herd ; 
 And thou art not Louise if thou art won 
 By a smooth outside and a honey'd tongue, 
 No ! when thou seest these hunters after power, 
 These shadows, minion'd to the royal sun, — 
 Proud to the humble, servile to the great, — 
 Perchance thou'lt learn how much one honest heart, 
 That never wrong'd a friend or shunn'd a foe, — 
 How much the old hereditary knighthood, 
 Faithful to God, to glory, and to love. 
 Outweighs a universe of cringing coux'tiers !
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 11 
 
 Louise, I ask no more ! — I bide my time ! 
 
 Re-enter Mme, de la Valliere ^rom the cMteau. 
 
 Mme. de la Vcdl. The twilight darkens. Art thou, 
 now, Alphonso, 
 Convinced her heart is such as thou wouldst have it 1 
 
 Brage. It is a heavenly tablet — but my name 
 Good angels have not writ there ! 
 
 Mme. de la Vail. Nay, as yet, 
 
 Love wears the mask of friendship : she must love thee. 
 
 Brage. [Iialf incredulously]. Thiuk'st thou so? 
 
 Mine, de la Vail. Ay, be sure ! 
 
 Brage. I'll think so too. 
 
 [Turns to Mdlle. de la Valliere. 
 Bright lady of my heart ! — [^sic/e.] By Heaven ! 'tis true ! 
 The rose grows richer on her cheek, like hues 
 That in the silence of the virgin dawn, 
 Predict, in blushes, light that glads the earth. 
 Her mother spoke aright ; — ah, yes, she loves me ! 
 Bright lady of my heart, farewell ! and yet 
 Again — farewell ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Honour and health be with 
 
 you ! 
 
 Mme. de la Vail. Nay, my Louise, when warriors wend 
 to battle. 
 The maid they serve grows half a warrior too ; 
 And does not blush to bind on mailed bosoms 
 The banner of her colours. 
 
 Brage. Dare I ask it 1 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. A soldier's child could never blush, 
 my lord. 
 To belt so brave a breast ; — and yet, — well, wear it. 
 
 [Placing her scarf round Bragelone's hauherh.
 
 12 THE DUCiiESS DE LA. VALLIERE. [aCT I. 
 
 Br age. Ali . add for thy sake. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. For tlie sake of one 
 
 Who honours worth, and ne'er since Bayard fell, 
 Have banners flaunted o'er a knight more true 
 To France and Fame ; — 
 
 Brage. And love 1 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Nay, hush, my lord ; 
 
 I said not that. 
 
 Brage. But France and Fame shall say it ! 
 
 Yes, if thou hear'st men speak of Bragelone, 
 If proudest chiefs confess he bore him bravely, 
 Come life, come death, his glory shall be thine, 
 And all the light it borrow'd from thine eyes. 
 Shall gild thy name. Ah ! scorn not then to say, 
 " He loved me well ! " How well ! God shield and bless 
 thee ! [Exit Bragelone. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. \aside\. Most worthy love ! why can 
 I love him not % 
 
 Mine, de la Vail. Peace to his gallant heart ! when next 
 we meet. 
 May I have gain'd a son — and thou — 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail, [quickly]. My mother. 
 
 This night let every thought be given to thee / 
 Beautiful scene, farewell ! — farewell, my home ! 
 And thou, grey convent, whose inspiring chime 
 Measures the hours with pi'ayer, that morn and eve 
 Life may ascend the ladder of the angels. 
 And climb to heaven ! serene retreats, farewell ! 
 And now, my mother ! — no ! some hours must yet 
 Pass ere our parting. 
 
 Mme. de la Vail. Cheer thee, my Louise ! 
 And let us now within ; the dews are falling: —
 
 SCENE III.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLlfeRE. 13 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. And I foi-got how ill thy frame 
 may bear them. 
 Pardon ! — within, within ! — 
 
 \^Sl(ypping short, and gazing fondly on Mme. de la Vallij&ke. 
 Your hand, dear mother 1 
 
 [^Exeunt 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 An old Armoury, of the heavy French Architecture preceding the 
 time of Francis the First, in the Castle of Bragelone. Bektrand, 
 the armourer, employed in polishing a sword. 
 
 Bert. There now 1 I think this blade will scarcely 
 shame 
 My gallant master's hand ; it was the weapon, 
 So legends say, with which the old Lord Rodolph 
 Slew, by the postern gate, his lady's leman ! 
 Oh, we're a haughty race — we old French lords ; 
 Our honour is unrusted as our steel, 
 And, when provoked, as ruthless ! 
 
 Enter Bragelone. 
 
 JBrage. Ah, old Bertrand ! 
 
 Why, your brave spirit, 'mid these coats of mail, 
 Grows young again. So ! this, then, is the sword 
 You'd have me wear. God wot ! a tranchant blade. 
 Not of the modern fashion. 
 
 Bert. My good lord. 
 
 Yourself are scarcely of the modern fashion. 
 They tell me, that to serve one's king for nothing, 
 To deem one's country worthier than one's self.
 
 14 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT I. 
 
 To hold one's honour not a phrase to swear by. — 
 They tell me, now, all this is out of fashion. 
 Come, take the sword, my lord ! — you have your father's 
 Stout arm and lordly heart : they're out of fashion, 
 And yet you keep the one — come, take the other. 
 
 Brage. Why you turn satirist ! 
 
 Ber. Satirist ! what is that ? 
 
 Brage. Satirists, my friend, are men who speak the truth 
 That courts may say — they do not know the fashion ! 
 Satire on Yice is Wit's revenge on fools 
 That slander Virtue. How now ! look ye, Bertrand ! 
 Methinks there is a notch here. 
 
 Ber. Ay, my lord ; 
 
 I would not grind it out ; — 'twas here the blade 
 Clove through the helmet, ev'n unto the chin, 
 Of that irreverent and most scoundrel Dutchman 
 Who stabb'd you, through your hauberk-joints — what 
 
 time 
 You placed your breast before the king. 
 
 Brage. Hence, ever 
 
 Be it believed, that, in his hour of need, 
 A king's sole safeguard are his subjects' hearts ! 
 Ha, ha ! good sword ! that was a famous stroke ! 
 Thou didst brave deeds that day, thou quaint old servant. 
 Though now — thou'rt not the fashion. 
 
 Ber. Bless that look, 
 
 And that glad laugh ! they bring me back the day 
 When first old Bertrand arm'd you for the wars, — 
 A fair-faced stripling ; yet, beshrew my heart. 
 You spurr'd that field before the bearded chins. 
 And saved the gallant Lord La Yalliere's standard, 
 And yet you were a stripling then.
 
 SCENE III.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIKRE. 15 
 
 Brage. La Valliere ! 
 
 The very name goes dancing tlirough my veins. 
 Bertrand, look round the armoury. Is there nought 
 I wore that first campaign 1 Nay, nay ! no matter, 
 I wear the name within me. Hark 5'-e, Bertrand ! 
 We'i'e not so young as then we were : when next 
 We meet, old friend, we both will end our labours, 
 And find some nook, amidst yon antique trophies. 
 Wherein to hang this idle mail. 
 
 Ber. Huzza ! 
 
 The village dames speak trutli — my Lord will marry ! 
 And I shall nurse, in these old wither'd arms. 
 Another boy — for France another hero. 
 Ha, ha ! I am so happy. 
 
 Brage. Good old man ! 
 
 Why this is like my father's hall — since thus 
 IVIy father's servants love me. 
 
 Ber. All mi;st love you! 
 
 Brage, All ! — let me think so. [Bugle sounds. 
 
 Hark, the impatient bugle ! 
 I hear the neigh of my exultant charger. 
 Breathing from far the glorious air of war. 
 Give me the sword ! 
 
 Enter Servant, toith a letter. 
 
 Her mother's hand ! — "Louise, 
 Arrived at court, writes sadly, and amidst 
 The splendour pines for home," — I knew she would ! 
 My own Louise ! — " Speaks much of the king's good- 
 ness ;" — 
 Goodness to her ! — that thought shall give the king 
 A tenfold better soldier ! — " From thy friend, 
 Who trusts ere long to hail thee as her son."
 
 16 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT I. 
 
 Her son ! — a blessed name. These lines shall be 
 My heart's true shield and ward away each weapon. 
 He who shall wed Louise has conquer'd Fate, 
 And smiles at earthly foes ! — Again the bugle ! 
 Give me your hand, old man. My fiery youth 
 Went not to battle with so blithe a soul 
 As now burns in me. So ! she pines for home — 
 I knew she would — I knew it ! Farewell, Bertrand ! 
 
 [Exit Bragelone. 
 
 £er. Oh ! there'll be merry doings in the hall 
 When my dear lord returns ! A merry wedding, 
 And then — and then — oh, such a merry christening ! 
 How well I fancy his grave manly face 
 Brightening upon his first-born. 
 
 [As lie is going. 
 Re-enter Bragelone. 
 
 Brage. Ho, there ! Bertrand ! 
 
 One charge I had forgot : — Be sure they train 
 The woodbine richly round the western wing — 
 My mother's old apartment. Well, man ! well ! 
 Do you not hear me 1 
 
 Ber. You, my lord ! the woodbine ? 
 
 Brage. Yes ; see it duly done. I know she loves it j 
 It clambers round her lattice. I would not 
 Have one thing absent she could miss. 
 
 Remember \ 
 
 [Exit Bragelone. 
 
 Ber. And this is he whom warriors call '•' the Stern ! " 
 The dove's heart beats beneath that lion breast. 
 Pray Heaven his lady may deserve him ! Oh, 
 What news for my good dame ! — i' faith, I'm glad 
 I was the first to learn the secret. So,
 
 SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLI^RE. 1%' 
 
 This year a wife — next year a boy ! I'll teach 
 The young rogue how his father clove the Dutchman 
 Down to the chin ! Ha, ha ! old Bertrand now 
 Will be of use again on winter nights, — 
 I know lie'll be the picture of his father. 
 
 [Exit Bertrand. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 An Antechamber in the Palace of Fonfainehleau, 
 
 Enter Lauzun and Grammont at opposite doors. 
 
 Lau. Ah, Count, good day ! Were you at court last- 
 night ? 
 
 Gram. Yes ; and the court has grown the richer by 
 A young new beauty. 
 
 Lau. So ! — her name 1 
 
 Gram. La Vallicre.- 
 
 Lau. Ay, I have heard ; — a maid of honour ? 
 
 Gram. Yes. 
 
 The women say she's plain. 
 
 Lau. The women ! oh. 
 
 The case it is that's plain — she must be lovely. 
 
 Gram. The dear, kind gossips of the court declare 
 The pretty novice hath conceived a fancy — 
 A wild, romantic, innocent, strange fancy — 
 For our young king ; a girlish love, like that 
 Told of in fairy tales : she saw his picture, 
 Sigh'd to the canvas, murmur'd to the colours, 
 And — fell in love with carmine and gambouge. 
 
 c
 
 18 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT I. 
 
 Lau. The simple dreamer ! Well, she saw the king % 
 
 Gram. And while she saw him, Hke a rose, when May 
 Breathes o'er its bending bloom, she seem'd to shrink 
 Into her modest self, and a low sigh 
 Shook blushes (sweetest rose-leaves !) from her beantj. 
 
 Lanjb. You paint lu well. 
 
 Gram. And ever since that hour 
 
 She bears the smiling malice of her comrades 
 With an unconscious and an easy sweetness ; 
 As if alike lier virtue and Ids greatness 
 Made love impossible : so, down the stream 
 Of purest thought, her heart glides on to danger. 
 
 Lau. Did Louis note her ? — Has he heard the gossip ? 
 
 Grcmo: Neither, methinks : his Majesty is cold. 
 The art of pomp, and not the art of love, 
 Tutors his skill — Augustus more than Ovid. 
 
 Lau. The time will come. The king as yet is young. 
 Flush'd with the novelty of sway, and fired 
 With the great dream of cutting Dutchmen's throats : 
 A tiresome dream — the poets call it " Glorv," 
 
 Gram. So much the better, — 'tis one i-ivak less ; 
 The handsome king would prove a dangerous suitor. 
 
 Lau. Oh, hang the danger ! He must have a mistress ; 
 'Tis an essential to a coui't : how many 
 Favours, one scarcely likes to ask a king, 
 One flatters from a king's inamorata ! 
 We courtiers fiitten on the royal vices ; 
 And, while the king lives chaste, he cheats^ he robs me 
 Of ninety-nine per cent. ! 
 
 ^''^w^- Ha, ha ! Well, duke, 
 
 We meet again to-night. You join the revels ? 
 Till then, adieu.
 
 SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 19 
 
 Lau. Adieu, dear count. 
 
 \Ex%t Grammont. 
 The king 
 Must have a mistress : I must lead that mistress. 
 The times are changed ! — 'twas by the sword and spear 
 Our fathers bought ambition-^vulgar butchers ! 
 But now our wit's our spear — intrigue our armour ; 
 The antechamber is our field of battle ; 
 And the best hero is — the cleverest rogue % 
 
 \_Exit Lauzux. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Nigltt — the Gardens of the Fontainebleau, brilliantly illuminated 
 with coloured lamps — Fountains, vases, and statues in j>ers2-)cctive* — 
 A pavilion in the bacJcground — to the right the Palace of the Fontaine- 
 bleau, illuminated. Enter Courtiers, Ladies, &c. 
 A Dance. 
 
 E'iiter JjOVIS followed by Courtiers, <tc. 
 
 Louis. Fair eve and pleasant revels to you all ! 
 Ah, Duke ! — a word with you. 
 
 [Courtiers give v.ay. 
 Thou hast seen, my Lauzun, 
 The new and fairest floweret of our court, 
 Tliis youngest of the graces — sweet La Valliere, 
 Blushing beneath the world's admiring eyes ? 
 
 Lau. \Aside\. (So, so ! — he's caught !) Your Majesty 
 speaks warmly ; 
 Your praise is just — and grateful — 
 
 * The effect of the scene should be principally made by jets-d'eau, 
 waterfalls, &c. 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT I. 
 
 Louis. Gi'ateful ? 
 
 Lau. Ay. 
 
 Know you not, Sire, it is the jest, among 
 The pretty prattlers of the royal chamber, 
 That this young Dian of the woods has found 
 Endymion in a king, — a summer dream, 
 Bright, but with vestal fancies ! — scarcely love, 
 But that wild interval of hopes and fears 
 Through which the child glides, trembling, to the woman ? 
 
 Louis. Blest thought ! Oh, what a picture of delight 
 Your words have painted ! — 
 
 Lau. While we speak, behold, 
 
 Through yonder alleys, with her sister planets. 
 Your moonlight beauty gleams. 
 
 Louis. 'Tis she ! — this shade 
 
 Shall hide us ! — quick — 
 
 [^Enters one of the bosquets. 
 
 Lau. [following hiirt\. I trust my creditors 
 Will grow the merrier from this night's adventure. 
 
 Enter Mdlle. de la Valliere and Maids of Honour. 
 
 First Maid. How handsome looks the Duke de Guiche 
 to-night ! 
 
 Second Maid. Well, to my taste, the graceful Graui- 
 mont bears 
 The bell from all !— 
 
 Third Maid. But, then, that charming Lauzun 
 
 Has so much wit. 
 
 First Maid. And which, of all these gallants, 
 
 May please the fair La Valliere most % 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. In truth, 
 
 I scarcely mark'd them ; when the king is by, 
 Who can have eye, or ear, or thought for others 1
 
 SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 21 
 
 First Maid. You raise your fancies liigli ! 
 
 Second Maid. And raise them vainly ! 
 
 The king disdains all love ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. "Who spoke of love ? 
 
 The sunflower, gazing on the Lord of heaven, 
 Asks but its sun to shine ! — "Who spoke of love 1 
 And who would wish the bright and lofty Louis 
 To stoop from glory 1 Love should not confound 
 So great a spirit with the herd of men. 
 "Who spoke of love 1 
 
 First Maid. My country friend, you talk 
 
 Extremely well ; but some young lord will teach you 
 To think of Louis less, and more of love. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Nay, ev'n the very presence of his 
 greatness 
 Exalts the heart from each moi*e low temptation. 
 He seems to walk the earth as if to raise 
 And purify our wandering thoughts, by fixing 
 Thought on himself ; — and she who thinks on Louis 
 Shuts out the world, and scorns the name of love ! 
 
 First Maid. "Wait till you're tried — [Music. 
 
 But, hai'k ! the music chides us 
 For wasting this most heavenly night so idly. 
 Come ! let us join the dancers. 
 
 [Eocetmt Maids. 
 
 \^As La Valli^re follows, the King steals from the bosquet, 
 and takes her hand, ivhile Lauzun retiresin the opposite 
 direction. 
 
 Louis. Sweet La Yalliere ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Ah !— 
 
 Louis. Nay, fail* lady, fly not, ere we welcome 
 
 Her who gives night its beauty !
 
 22 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT I. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Sire, permit me ! 
 
 My comrades wait me. 
 
 Louis. What ! my loveliest subject 
 
 So soon a rebel ? Silent ! — Well, he mute. 
 And teach the world i\e eloquence of blushes. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. I may not listen — 
 
 Louis. What if / had set 
 
 Thyself the example 1 What if / had listen'd, 
 Veil'd by yon friendly boughs, and dared to dream 
 That one blest word which spoke of Louis absent 
 Might charm his presence, and make Natux'e music ? 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. You did not, Sire ! you could not ! 
 
 Louis. Could not hear thee, 
 
 Kor pine for these divine, unwitness'd moments. 
 To pray thee, dearest lady, to divorce 
 No more the thought of love from him who loves thee. 
 And — foithful still to glory — swears thy heart 
 Unfolds the fairest world a king can conquer ! 
 Hear me, Louise ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. No, Sire ; forget those words ! 
 I am not what their foolish meaning spoke me, 
 But a poor simple girl, who loves her king. 
 And honour more. Forget, and do not scorn me ! 
 
 [Exit Mdlle. de la Yalliere. 
 
 Louis. Her modest coyness fires me more than all 
 Her half-unconscious and most virgin love. 
 
 Enter Courtiers, Ladies, Guests, &c. ; Lauzukt, 
 Grammont, cmd Montespak. 
 Well, would the dancers pause awhile 1 
 
 Lau. Ev'n pleasure 
 
 Wearies at last.
 
 SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIKRE, 23 
 
 Louis. We've but to cliange its aspect, 
 
 And it resumes its freslmess. Ere the banquet 
 Calls us, my friends, we have prepared a game 
 To shame the lottery of this life, wherein 
 Each prize is neighbour'd by a thousand Ijlanks. 
 Methinks it is the duty of a monarch 
 To set the balance right, and bid the wheel 
 Shower nought but prizes on the hearts he loves. 
 What ho, there ! with a merry music, raise 
 Fortune, to show liow Merit conquers Honours ! 
 
 \JMusic. 
 
 \Tfce Pavilion at the hack of the stage opens, and discovers 
 the Temple of Fortune superlhj illuminated. Fortune ; 
 at her feet, a wheel of light ; at either hand, a golden 
 vase, over each of which presides a figure — the one 
 representing Merit, the other Honour. 
 
 Louis. Approach, fair dames and gallants ! Aye, as now, 
 May Fortune smile upon the friends of Louis ! 
 
 [The Courtiers and Ladies group around the vases. From, 
 the one over which Merit presides they draw lots, and 
 receive in return from Honour various gifts of jewels, die. 
 
 Enter IMdlle. de la Yallikre at the hack of the stage. 
 
 Louis [to Mdlle. de la Vall^. Nay, if you smile not on 
 me, then the scene 
 Hath lost its charm. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Oh, Sire, all eyes are on las ! 
 Lords. All eyes shoidd learn where homage should be 
 render'd. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. I pray you. Sire 
 
 Lau. Will't please your Majesty 
 
 To try your fortune ?
 
 24 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIEKE. [aCT II. 
 
 Louis. Fortune ! Sweet La Yalli^re, 
 
 I only seek my fortune in thine eyes. 
 
 [Music. Louis draws, and receives a diainond hracelet. 
 L.idies crowd round. 
 
 First Lady. How beautiful ! 
 
 Second Lady. Each gem were worth a duchy ! 
 
 Third Lady. Oh, happy she upon whose arm the king 
 Will bind the priceless band ! 
 
 Louis [cipproaching Mdlle. de la Vail.], Permit me, lady. 
 
 [Clasps tlie bracelet. 
 
 Lau. Well done — well play'd ! In that droll game 
 call'd Woman, 
 Diamonds are always trumps for hearts. 
 
 First Lady. Her hair's 
 
 Too light ! 
 
 Second Lady. Her walk is so provincial ! 
 
 Third Lady. D'ye think she paints ? 
 
 Lau. Ha, ha ! What envious eyes, 
 
 What fawning smiles, await the king's new mistress ! 
 
 ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 Tlie Gardens of the Fontainehleau. 
 
 EiUer Bragelone. 
 
 Brage. Why did we suffer her to seek the court ? 
 It is a soil in which the reptile Slander 
 Still coils in slime around the fairest flower. 
 Can it be true ? — Strange rumours pierced mv tent
 
 aCESE I.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 25 
 
 Coupling her name with — pah ! — how foul the thought 
 
 is!— 
 The maid the king loves ! — Fie ! I'll not believe it ! 
 I left the camp — sped hither : if she's lost, 
 Why theu I — down — down, base heart ! wouldst thou 
 
 suspect her 1 
 Thou — who shouldst be her shelter from suspicion 1 
 But I may warn, advise, protect, and save her — 
 Save — 'tis a fearful word ! 
 
 Unter Lauzun. 
 
 Lau. Lord Bragelone ! 
 
 Methought your warrior spirit never breathed 
 The air of palaces ! No evil tidings, 
 I trust, from Dunkirk 1 
 
 Brage. No. The fleur-de-lis 
 
 Rears her white crest unstain'd. Mine own. affairs 
 Call me to court. 
 
 Lau. Affairs ! I hate the word ; 
 
 It sounds like debts. 
 
 Brage. \Aside\. This courtier may instruct me. 
 [J.foMc?.] Our king — he bears him well 1 
 
 Lau. Oh, bravely, Marquis ; 
 
 Engaged with this new palace of Versailles. 
 It costs some forty millions ! 
 
 Brage. Ay, the People 
 
 Groan at the burthen. 
 
 Lau. People ! — what's the People ? 
 
 I never heard that word at court ! The Feo'ple ! 
 
 Brage. I doubt not, duke. The People, like the 
 Air, 
 Ts rarely heard, save when it speaks in thunder.
 
 26 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT IL 
 
 I pray you grace for that old-fashion'd phrase. 
 What is the latest news ? 
 
 Lau. His Majesty 
 
 Dines half an hour before his usual time. 
 That's the last news at court ! — it makes sensation ! 
 
 Brage. Is there no weightier news ? I heard at Dunkirk 
 
 How the king loved a loved a certain maiden — 
 
 The brave La Yalliere's daughter. 
 
 Lau. How, my lord, 
 
 How can you vegetate in such a place ? 
 I fancy the next tidings heard at Dunkirk 
 "Will be that — Adam's dead ! 
 
 Brage. The news is old, then ? 
 
 Lau. News ! news, indeed ! Why, by this time, our 
 lackeys 
 Have worn the gossip threadbare. News ! — 
 
 Brage. The lady 
 
 (She is a soldier's child) hath not yet barter'd 
 Her birthright for ambition 1 She rejects him ? 
 Speak ! — She rejects him ? 
 
 Lau. Humph ! 
 
 Brage. Oh, duke, I know 
 
 This courtier air — this most significant silence — 
 With which your delicate race are Avont to lie 
 Away all virtue ! Shame upon your manhood ! 
 Speak out, and say Louise La Vallicre lives 
 To prove to courts — that woman can be honest I 
 
 Lau. Marquis, you're warm. 
 
 Brage. You dare not speak ; — I knew it ! 
 
 Lau. Dare not ? 
 
 Brage. Ob, yes, you dare, witli hints and smiles* 
 
 To darken fame — to ruin the defenceless —
 
 SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 27 
 
 Bliglit "witli a gesture — wither with a sneer ! 
 Did I say " dare not 1" — No man dares it better ! 
 
 Lau. My lord, these words must pass not ! 
 
 Brage. Duke, forgive me ! 
 
 I am a rough, stern soldier — taught from youth 
 To brave offence, and by the sword alone 
 Maintain the license of my speech. Oh, say — 
 Say but one word ! — say this poor maid is sinless, 
 And, for her father's sake — (lier father loved me !) 
 I'll kneel to thee for pardon ! 
 
 Lau. Good, my lord, 
 
 I know not your interest in this matter : 
 'Tis said that Louis loves the fair La Valliere ; 
 But what of that 1 — good taste is not a crime ! 
 'Tis said La Yalliere does not hate the king ; 
 But what of that 1 — it does but prove her — loyal ! 
 I know no more. I trvist you're satisfied ; 
 If not 
 
 Brage. Thou liest ! 
 
 Lau. Nay, then, draw ! 
 
 [They fight — after a few passes, Lauzun is disa/rmed. 
 
 Brage. There, take 
 
 Thy sword. Alas ! each slanderer wears a weapon 
 No honest arm can baffle — this is edgeless. 
 
 [Exit Bragelone. 
 
 Lau. Pleasant ! Tliis comes, now, of one's condescending 
 To talk with men who cannot understand 
 The tone of good society. Poor fellow ! 
 
 [Uxit Lauzun",
 
 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT II. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter Mademoiselle de la Valliere. 
 
 Mdllc. de la Vail. He loves me, then ! He loves me ! 
 Love ! wild word ! 
 Did I say love ? Dishonour, shame, and crime 
 Dwell on the thought ! And yet — and yet — he loves me! 
 
 [Re-enter Bragelone, at the hack of the stage. — She takes 
 out the 'K.mg's picture. 
 
 Mine early dreams were prophets ! — Steps ! The king 1 
 
 Br age. No, lady ; pardon me ; — a joint mistake ; 
 You sought the king — and / Louise la Valliere ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. You here, my lord ! — you here ! 
 
 Brage. There was a maiden 
 
 Fairer than many fair ; but sweet and humble, 
 And good and spotless, through the vale of life 
 She walk'd, her modest path with blessings strew'd 
 (For all men bless'd her ); from her crystal name, 
 Likt; the breath i' the mirror, even envy pass'd : 
 I sought that maiden at the court ; none knew her. 
 May I ask you — where now Louise la Valliere 1 
 
 I'Idlle. de la Vail. Cruel ! — unjust ! You were my fa- 
 ther's friend, 
 Dare you speak thus to me ? 
 
 Brage. Dare ! dare ! — ^"Tis welL 
 You have learnt your state betimes ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. My state, my lord I
 
 fiCEKE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 29 
 
 I know not by what right you thus assume 
 The privilege of insult ! 
 
 Brage. Ay, reproach ! 
 
 The harlot's trick — for shame ! Oh, no, your pardon ! 
 You are too high for shame : and so — farewell ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. My lord ! — my lord, in pity — 
 No ! — injustice, 
 Leave me not thus ! 
 
 Brage. Louise ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Have they belied me? 
 
 Speak, my good lord ! — What crime have I committed ? 
 
 Brage. No crime — at courts ! 'Tis only Heaven and 
 Honour 
 That deem it aught but — most admired good fortune ! 
 Many, who swept in careless pride before 
 The shi'inking, spotless, timorous La Valliere, 
 Will now fawn I'ound thee, and with bended knees 
 Implore sweet favour of the king's kind mistress. 
 Ha, ha ! — this is not crime ! Who calls it crime 1 
 Do prudes say "Crime?" Go, bribe them, and they'll 
 
 swear 
 Its name is greatness. Crime, indeed ! — ha, ha ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. My heart finds words at length ! — 
 'Tis false ! 
 
 Brage. 'Tis false ! 
 
 Why, speak again ! Say once more it is false — 
 *Tis ya^se ! — again, His false ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Alas, I'm wretched ! 
 
 Brage. No, lady, no ! not wretched, if not guilty t 
 
 [Mademoiselle de la Valliere after walking to and fro 
 in great agitation, seats herself on one of the benches of 
 the garden, and covers her face with her hands.
 
 30 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT II 
 
 Brage. [Aside]. Are these the tokens of remorse 1 No 
 matter ! 
 I loved her well ! And love is pride, not love, 
 If it forsake ev'n guilt amidst its sorrows ! 
 [^foitc/.] Louise ! Louise ! — Speak to thy friend, Louise ! 
 Thy father's friend ! — thine own ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. This hated court ! 
 
 Why came I hither ? Wherefore have I closed 
 My heart against its own most pleading dictates ? 
 Why clung to virtue, if the brand of vice 
 Sear my good name ? 
 
 Brage. That, when thou pray'st to Heaven, 
 
 Thy soul may ask for comfort — not forgiveness ! 
 
 Malle. de la Vail, [rising eagerly]. A blessed thought ! 
 I thank thee ! 
 
 Brage. Thou art innocent ! 
 
 Thou hast denied the king ? 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. I have denied him. 
 
 Brage. Curst be the lies that wi-ong'd thee ! — doubly 
 curst 
 The hard, the icy sel6shness of soul, 
 That, but to pander to an hour's caprice, 
 Blasted that flower of life — fair fame ! Accurst 
 The king who casts his purple o'er his vices ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Hold ! — thou malign'st thy \di\<r [ 
 
 Brage. He spared not thee. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. The king — Heaven bless him ! 
 
 Brage. Wouldst thou madden me ? 
 
 Thou ! — No — thou lov'st him not 1 — thou hid'st thy face 1 
 Woman, thou tremblest ! Lord of Hosts, for this 
 Hast thou preserved me from the foeman's sword, 
 And through the incarnadined and raging seas
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 31 
 
 Of war upheld me ? — made botli life and soul 
 
 The sleepless priests to that fair idol — Honour ? 
 
 Was it for this ? I loved thee not, Louise, 
 
 As gallants love ! Thou wert this life's ideal, 
 
 Breathing through earth the Lovely and the Holy, 
 
 And clothing Poetry in human beauty ! 
 
 When in this gloomy world they spoke of sin, 
 
 I thought' of thee, and smiled — for thou wert sinless ! 
 
 And when they told of some diviner act 
 
 That made our nature noble, my heart whisper'd — 
 
 " So would have done Louise ! " — 'Twas thus I loved thee ! 
 
 To lose thee, I can l^ear it ; but to lose, 
 
 With thee, all hope, all confidence, of virtue — 
 
 This — this is hard ! — Oh ! I am sick of earth ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la VaU. Nay, speak not thus ; — be gentle with 
 me. Come, 
 I am not what thou deem'st me, Bragelone ; 
 Woman I am, and weak. Support, advise me ! 
 Forget the lover, but be still tlie friend. 
 Do not desert me — thou ! 
 
 Brage. Thou lov'st the king ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. But I can fly from love. 
 
 Brage. Poor child ! And whither ? 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Take me to the old castle, to my 
 mother. 
 
 Brage. The king can reach thee there ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. He'll not attempt it. 
 
 Alas ! in courts, how quickly men forget ! 
 
 Brage. Not till their victim hath surrender'd all ! 
 Hadst thou but yielded, why thou might'st have lived 
 Beside his very threshold, safe, unheeded ; 
 But thus, with all thy bloom of heart unrifled,—
 
 32 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT II. 
 
 The fortress storm'd, not conquer'd, — why man's pride, 
 If not man's lust, would shut thee from escape ! 
 Art thou in earnest, — wouldst thou truly fly 
 Prom gorgeous infamy to tranquil honour, 
 God's house alone may shelter thee ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. The convent \ 
 
 Alas ! alas ! to meet those eyes no more ! 
 Never to hear that voice ! 
 
 Brage. [departing^. Enough. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Yet, stay ! 
 
 I'll see him once ! one last farewell — and then — 
 Yes, to the convent ! 
 
 Brage. I have done ! — and yet, 
 
 Ere I depart, take back the scarf thou gav'st me. 
 Then didst " thou honour worth ! " now, gift and giver 
 Alike are worthless. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Worthless ! Didst thou hear 
 me 1 
 Have I not said that — 
 
 Brage. Thou wouldst see the king ! 
 
 Vice first, and virtue after ! O'er the marge 
 Of the abyss thou tremblest. One step more, 
 And from all heaven the Angels shall cry "Lost ! " 
 Thou ask'st that single step ! Wouldst thou be saved ? 
 Lose not a moment. — Come ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. \in great agony\. Beside that tree, 
 When stars shone soft, he vow'd for aye to love me ! 
 
 Brage. Think of thy mother ! At this very hour 
 She blesses Heaven that thou wert born — the last 
 Fair scion of a p/-oud and stainless race. 
 To-morrow, and thy shame may cast a shade 
 Over a hundred 'scutcheons, and thy mother
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLlfeRE. 33 
 
 Feel thou wert born that she might long to die I 
 Come ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. I am ready — take my hand. 
 
 [Her eye falls on the bracelet. 
 Away ! 
 This is his gift ! And shall I leave him thus ? 
 Not one kind word to break the shock of parting — 
 
 Brage. And break a mother's heart ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Be still ! Thou'rt man ! 
 
 Thou canst not feel as woman feels ! — her weakness 
 Thou canst not sound. O Louis, Heaven protect thee ! 
 May fate look on thee with La Vallifere's eyes ! 
 Now I am ready, sir. Thou'st seen how weak 
 Woman is ever where she loves. Now, learn, 
 Proportion'd to that weakness is the strength 
 With which she conquers love ! O Louis, Louis ! 
 Quick ! take me hence ! — 
 
 Brage. The heart she wrongs hath saved her ! 
 
 And is that all ! — The shelter for mine age — 
 The Hope that was the garner for Affection — 
 The fair and lovely tree, beneath whose shade 
 The weai-ied soldier thought to rest at last. 
 And watch life's sun go calm and cloudless down, 
 Smiling the day to sleep — all, all lie shatter'd ! 
 No matter. I have saved thy soul from sorrow, 
 Whose hideous depth thy vision cannot fathom, 
 Joy ! — I have saved thee ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. All ! when last -Te parted 
 
 I told thee, of thy love I was not worthy. 
 Another shall replace me ! 
 
 Brage. [smiling sadly]. Hush ! Another ! 
 No ! — See, I wear thy coloui-s still ! Though Hops 
 
 x>
 
 34 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLltRE. [aCT II. 
 
 Wanes from the plate, the dial still remains, 
 And takes no light from stars ! I — / am nothing ! 
 But thou — N"ay, weep not ! Yet these tears are honest : 
 Thou hast not lived to make the Past one blot, 
 Which life in vain would weep away ! Poor maiden ! 
 I could not cheer thee then. Now, joy ! — I've saved thee I 
 [Exeunt Mdlle. de la Valliere and Bragelone. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The King's Cabinet at Fontaincbleau ; * the King seated at a table, 
 covered with papers, &c., writing. 
 
 Enter Lauzun. 
 
 Louis. Lauzun, I sent for you. Your zeal has served me, 
 And I am grateful. There, this order gives you 
 The lands and lordship of De Vesci. 
 
 Lau. Sire, 
 
 How shall I thank your goodness 1 
 
 Louis. Hush ! — by silence ! 
 
 Lau. \aside\. A king's forbidden fruit has pretty wind- 
 falls ! 
 
 Louis. This beautiful Louise ! I never loved 
 Till now. 
 
 Lau. She yields not yet ? 
 
 * To some it may be interesting to remember th.T,t this cabinet, in 
 ■which the most powerful of the Bourbon kings is represented as 
 rewarding the minister of his pleasures, is the same as that in which 
 is yet shown the table upon which Napoleon Bonaparte (son of a 
 gentleman of Corsica) signed the abdication of the titles and 
 dominions of Charlemagne !
 
 SCENE III.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 35 
 
 Louis. But gives refusal 
 
 A voice that puts ev'n passion to the blush 
 To own one wish so soft a heart denies it ! 
 
 Lau. A woman's No ! is but a crooked path 
 Unto a woman's Yes ! Your Majesty 
 Saw her to-day ? 
 
 Louis No ! — Grammont undertakes 
 
 To bear, m secret, to her hand, some lines 
 That pray a meeting. — I await his news. 
 
 \Continues writing-,. 
 
 Lau. \aside\. I'll not relate my tilt with Bragelone. 
 First, I came off the worst. — No man of sense 
 Ever confesses that ! And, secondly, 
 This most officious, curious, hot-brain'd Quixote 
 Might make him jealous ; jealous kings are peevish ; 
 And, if he fall to questioning the lady, 
 She'll learn who told the talq, and spite the teller. 
 Oh ! the great use of logic ! 
 
 Louis. 'Tis in vain 
 
 I strive by business to beguile impatience ! 
 How my heart beats ! — Well, count ! 
 
 Enter Grammont. 
 
 Cham. Alas, my liege \ 
 
 Louis. Alas ! — Speak out ! 
 
 Gram. The court has lost La Valliere ! 
 
 Louis. Ha ! — lost ! 
 
 Gram. She has fled, and none guess whithei, 
 
 Louis. Fled : 
 
 I'll not believe it !— Fled ! 
 
 Lau. What matters, sire 1 
 
 No spot is sacred from the king ! 
 D 2
 
 36 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT IL 
 
 Louis. By Heaven 
 
 I am a king ! — Not all the arms of Europe 
 Could wrest one jewel from my crown. And she — 
 "What is my crown to her ! I am a king ! 
 Who stands between the king and her he loves 
 Becomes a traitor — and may find a tyrant ! 
 Follow me ! 
 
 [Exit Louis. 
 
 Gram. Who e'er heard of maids of honour 
 
 Flying from kings ? 
 
 Lau. Ah, had you been a maid, 
 
 How kind you would have been, you rogue ! — Come on ! 
 [Exeunt Lauzun and Grammont 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Tlie Cloisters of a Convent — Night — TJiunder and Lighlniny^ the latter 
 made visible through the long oi-id windows. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. [rising\. Darkly the night sweeps on. 
 No thought of sleep 
 Steals to my heart. What sleep is to the world 
 Praver is to me — life's balm, and grief's oblivion ! 
 Yet-4 c v'ti before the al fcar of my God, 
 Unhatiow'd fire is raging through my veins — 
 Heav'n on my lips, but earth within my heart — 
 And while I pi-ay his memory prompts the prayer, 
 And all I ask of Heaven is — " Guard my Louis ! " 
 Forget him — that I dare not pray ! I would not, 
 Ev'n if I could, be happy, and forget him ! 
 
 [Thunder.
 
 SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 37 
 
 Roll on, I'oll OD, dark chariot of the storm, 
 Whose wheels are thunder ! — the rack'd elements 
 Can furnish forth no tempest like the war 
 Of passions in one weak and erring heart ! 
 
 [The hell tolls one. 
 Hark to night's funeral knell ! How through the roar 
 Of winds and thunder thrills that single sound, 
 Solemnly audible ! — the tongue of time, 
 In time's most desolate hour ! — it bids us muse 
 On worlds which love can reach not ! Life runs fast 
 To its last sands ! To bed, to bed ! — to tears 
 And wishes for the grave ! — to bed, to bed ! 
 
 [A trumpet is heard without 
 
 Two or three Nuns hurry across the stage. 
 
 First Nun. Most strange ! 
 
 Second Nun. In such a night, too ! The great gates, 
 That ne'er unclose save to a royal guest, 
 Unbarr'd ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. What fear, what hope, by turns dis- 
 tracts me ! 
 
 [The trumpet sounds again. 
 First Nun. Hark ! in the court, the ring of hoofs ! — 
 the door 
 Creaks on the sullen hinge ! 
 
 Lau. [witliout\ Make way ! — the king ! 
 
 Enter Louis amd Lauzun. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail, [rushing forward]. Oh, Louis ! — oh, 
 beloved ! [Then pausing abruptly.] No, touch 
 me not ! 
 Leave me ! in pity leave me ! Heavenly Father,
 
 38 THE DUCHESS DE LA YALLIERE. [aCT II. 
 
 I fly to thee ! Protect me from his arms — 
 Protect me from myself ! 
 
 Louis. Oh bliss ! — Louise ! 
 
 Enter Abbess amd other Nuns. 
 
 Abbess. Peace, peace 1 What clamour desecrates the 
 shrine 
 And solitudes of God ? 
 
 Lau. Madam, your knee— 
 
 The king ! 
 
 Abbess. The king ! — you mock me, sir ! 
 
 Louis [quitting Mdlle. de la Valliere]. Behold 
 
 Your sovereign, reverend mother ! We have come 
 To thank you for your shelter of this lady, 
 And to i-eclaim our chax'ge. 
 
 Abbess. My liege, these walls 
 
 Are sacred even from the purple robe 
 And sceptred hand. 
 
 Louis. She hath not ta'en the vow ! 
 
 She's ftee ! — we claim her ! — she is of our court ! 
 Woman, — go to ! 
 
 Abbess. The maiden, sire, is free ! 
 
 Your royal lips have said it ! — She is free ! 
 And if this shrine her choice, whoe'er compels hei' 
 Forth from the refuge, doth incur the curse 
 The Roman Church awards to even kings ! 
 Speak, lady ! — dost thou claim against the court 
 The asylum of the cloister ? 
 
 Louis. Darest thou brave us ? 
 
 Lau. [aside to Louis]. Pardon, my liege ! — reflect ! Let 
 not the world 
 ■ Sav that the kins —
 
 SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 39 
 
 Louis. O&n break his bonds ! — Away ! 
 
 I "was a man before I was a king ! 
 
 [Approaching Mdlle. de la VAXLiiaii; 
 Lady, we do command your presence ! [Lowering his voice.] 
 
 Sweet ! 
 Adored Louise ! — if ever to your ear 
 My whispers spoke in music — if my life 
 Be worth the saving, do not now desert me ! 
 
 MdRe. de la Vail. Let me not hear him. Heaven ! — 
 Strike all my senses ! 
 Make — make me dumb, deaf, blind, — but keep me honest ! 
 
 Abbess. Sire, you have heard her answer ! 
 
 Louis [advancing passionately, pauses, and then with 
 great dignity]. Abbess, no ! 
 
 This lady was intrusted to our charge — 
 A fatherless child ! — The king is now her father I 
 Madam, we would not wrong you ; but we know- 
 That sometimes most unhallow'd motives wake 
 Your zeal for converts ! — This young maid is wealthy, 
 And nobly born ! — Such proselytes may make 
 A convent's pride, but oft a convent's victims ! 
 No more ! — we claim the right the law awards us, 
 Free and alone to commune with this maiden. 
 If then her choice go with you — be it so ; 
 We are no tyrant ! Peace ! — retire ! 
 
 Abbess. My liege ! 
 
 Forgive — 
 
 Louis. We do ! Retire ! 
 
 [Lauzun, the Abbess, &c., vnthdravo, 
 
 Louis. We are alone ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Alone ! — No, God is present, and tie 
 conscience !
 
 40 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLI^RE. [aCT II. 
 
 Louis. Ah ! fear'st thou, then, that heart that would 
 resign 
 Ev'n love itself to guard one pang from thee ? 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. I mmt speak ! — Sire, if every drop 
 of blood 
 "Were in itself a life, I'd shed them all 
 For one hour's joy to thee ! — But fame and vii'tue — 
 My father's grave — my mother's lonely age — 
 These, these — [Thunder. 
 
 I hear their voice ! — the tires of Heaven 
 Seem to me like the eyes of angels, and 
 Warn me against myself ! — Farewell ! 
 
 Louis. Louise, 
 
 I will not hear thee ! What ! farewell ! that word 
 Sounds like a knell to all that's worth the living ! 
 Farewell ! why, then, farewell all j^eace to Louis, 
 And the poor king is once more but a thing 
 Of state and forms. The impulse and the passion — 
 The blessed air of happy human life — 
 The all that made him envy not his subjects. 
 Dies in that word ! Ah, canst thou — dar'st thou say it ? 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Oh, speak not thus ! — Speak harshly ! 
 threat, command ! — 
 Be all the king ! 
 
 Louis. The king ! he kneels to thee ! 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. I'm weak — ^be generous ! My own 
 soul betrays me ; 
 But thou betray me not } 
 
 Louis. Nay, hear me, sweet one ! 
 
 Desert me not this once, and I will swear 
 To know no guiltier wisli — to curb my heart — 
 To banish hope from love — and nurse no dream
 
 SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIEKE. 41 
 
 Thy spotless soul itself shall blush to cherish ! 
 Hear me, Louise — thou lov'st me 1 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Love thee, Louis \ 
 
 Lmds. Thou lov'st me, — then confide ! Who loves, 
 
 trusts ever ! 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. Trust thee ! — ah ! dare 1 1 
 Louis [clasping her in his arms]. Ay, till death ! What 
 ho ! 
 Lauzun ! I say ! 
 
 Enter Lauzuk. 
 
 Mdlle. de la Vail. No, no ! 
 
 Louis. Not trust me, dearest ? 
 
 [She falls on his shoulder — the Abbess and Nuns advance. 
 
 Abbess. Still firm ! 
 
 Lau. No, madam ! — Way there for the king I 
 
 ACT IIL— SCENE L 
 
 An Antechamber in the Palace of Madame la Duchesse 
 DE tA Valliere at Versailles. 
 
 Enter Lauzun and Madame de Montespan 
 at opposite doors. 
 
 Lau. Ha ! my fair friend, well met ! — how fares 
 
 Athene ? 
 Mme. de Mon. Weary with too much gaiety ! Now, 
 
 tell me. 
 Do you ne'er tire of splendour 1 Does this round
 
 42 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aC3T III. 
 
 Of gaudy pomps — this glare of glitt'ring nothings — 
 Does it ne'er pall upon you ? To my eyes 
 'Tis as the earth would be if turf'd with scarlet, 
 Without one spot of green. 
 
 Lau. "We all feel thus 
 
 Until we are used to it. Art has grown my nature, 
 And if I see green fields, or ill-dress'd people, 
 I cry " How artificial ! " With me, " Natv/re" 
 Is " Paris and Yersailles." The word, " a man," 
 Means something noble, that one sees at court. 
 Woman 's the thing Heaven made for wearing trinkets 
 And talking scandal. That's my state of nature ! 
 You'll like it soon ; you have that temper which 
 Makes courts its elemeut. 
 
 Mme. de Mon. And how ? — define, sir. 
 
 Lau. First, then — but shall I not ofiend % 
 
 Mme. de Mon. Be candid. 
 
 I'd know my faults, to make them look like virtues. 
 
 Lau. First, then, Athene, you've an outward franknessi 
 Deceit in you looks honester than truth. 
 Thoughts, at court, like faces on the stage. 
 Require some rouge. You rouge your thoughts so well, 
 That one would deem their only fault, that nature 
 Gave them too bright a bloom ! 
 
 Mme. de Mon. Proceed ! 
 
 Lau. Your wit 
 
 Is of the true court breed — it plays with nothings ^ 
 Just bright enough to warm, but never bum — 
 Excites the dull, but ne'er oflfends the vain. 
 You have much energy ; it looks like feeling ! 
 Your cold ambition seems an easy impulse ; 
 Your head most ably counterfeits the heart,
 
 SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLI£RE. 43 
 
 But never, like the heart, betrays itself ! 
 
 Oh ! you'll succeed at court ! — you see I know you ! 
 
 Not so this new-made duchess — young La Yalli^re. 
 
 Mme. de Mon. The weak, fond fool ! 
 
 Lau. Yes, weak — slxe, has a heart ; 
 
 Yet you, too, love the king ! 
 
 Mme. de Mon. And she does ticL t 
 
 She loves but Louis — I but love the king : 
 Pomp, riches, state, and power — these, who would love not? 
 
 LatL Bravo ! well said ! — Oh, you'll succeed at court ! 
 I knew it well ! it was for this I chose you — 
 Induced your sapient lord to waste no more 
 Your beauty in the shade — for this prepared 
 The duchess to receive you to her bosom, 
 Her dearest friend ; for this have duly fed 
 The king's «ar with your praise, and clear'd your way 
 To rule a sovereign and to share a throne. 
 
 Mme. de Mon. I know thou hast been my architect of 
 power ; 
 And, when the pile is built — 
 
 Lau. [with a smile]. Could still o'erthrow it, 
 
 If thou couldst play the ingrate ! 
 
 Mme. de Mon. I ! — nay ! 
 
 Lau. Hear me ! 
 
 Each must have need of each. Long live the king ! 
 Still let his temples ache beneath the crown. 
 But all that kings can give — wealth, rank, and power — 
 Must be for us — the king's friend and his favourite. 
 
 Mme. de Mon. But is it easy to supplant the duchess ? 
 All love La Yalliere ! Her meek nature shrinks 
 Ev'n from our homage ; and she wears her state 
 As if she pray'd the world to pardon greatness.
 
 44 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT IIL 
 
 Lau. And thus destroys herself ! At court, Athene, 
 Vice, to win followers, takes the front of virtue, 
 And looks the dull plebeian things called moral 
 To scorn, until they blush to be unlike her. 
 Why is De Lauzun i;ot her friend % Why plotting 
 For a new rival ? Why % — Because De Lauzun 
 Wins not the power he look'd for from her friendship ! 
 She keeps not old friends ! — and she makes no new 
 
 ones 
 
 For who would be a friend to one who deems it 
 
 A crime to ask his Majesty a favour ? 
 
 " Friends " is a phrase at court that means Promotion ! 
 
 Mme. de Mon. Her folly, I confess, would not be mine, 
 But, grant her faults — the king still loves the duchess ! 
 
 Lau. Since none are by, I'll venture on a treason, 
 And say, the king 's a man ! — and men will change ! 
 I have his ear, and you shall win his eye. 
 'Gainst a new face, and an experienced courtier. 
 What chance hath this poor, loving, simple woman ? 
 Besides, she has too much conscience for a king ! 
 He likes not to look up, and feel how low, 
 Ev'n on the throne that overlooks the world, 
 His royal greatness dwarfs beside that heart 
 That never stoop'd to sin, save when it loved him ! 
 
 Mnu. de Mon. You're eloquent, my lord ! 
 
 Lau. Ah ! of such natures 
 
 You and I know but little ! — \Aside.'\ This must cease, 
 Or I shall all disclose my real aims ! 
 \Alovd^ The king is with the duchess ? 
 
 Mme. de Mon. Yes. 
 
 Lau. As yet 
 
 She doth suspect you not ?
 
 SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIEKE. 45 
 
 Mme. de Mon. Suspect ! — the puppet ! 
 
 No j but full oft, her head upon my bosom, 
 Calls me her truest friend ! — invites me ever 
 To amuse the king with my enlivening sallies, — 
 And still breaks off, in sighing o'er the past. 
 To wish her spirit were as blithe as mine. 
 And fears her Louis wearies of her sadness. 
 
 Lau. So, the plot ripens ! — ere the king came hither, 
 I had prepared his royal pride to chafe 
 At that sad face, whose honest sorrow wears 
 Reproach unconsciously ! You'll learn the issue ! 
 Now, then, farewell ! — We understand each other ! 
 
 \Exit Lauzun. 
 
 Mme. de Mon. And once I loved this man ! — and still 
 might love him, 
 But that I love ambition ! Yes, my steps 
 Now need a guide ; but once upon the height, 
 And I will have no partner ! Thou, lord duke, 
 With all thine insolent air of proud protection, 
 Thoih shalt wait trembling on my nod, and bind 
 Thy fortune to my wheels ! O man ! — vain man 1 
 Well sung the poet, — when this power of beauty 
 Heaven gave our sex, it gave the only sceptre 
 Which makes the world a slave ! And I will wield it ! 
 
 \Exit Mme. de Montespan,
 
 46 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT III. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The scene opens and discovers the King, and the Duchess de la 
 Valliere at chess. 
 
 • Louis. But one move more ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Not so ! I check the king. 
 
 Louis. A vain attempt ! — the king is too well guarded ! 
 There, — check again ! Your game is lost ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. As usual, 
 
 Ev'n from this mimic stage of war you rise 
 Ever the victor. 
 
 [They leave the table and advance. 
 
 Louis. 'Twere a fairer fortune, 
 
 My own Louise, to reconcile the vanqiiish'd ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. \sadl)j\. My best-loved Louis ! 
 
 Louis. Why so sad a tone 1 
 
 Nay, smile, Louise ! — Love thinks himself aggrieved 
 If Care casts shadows o'er the heart it seeks 
 To fill with cloudless sunshine ! Smile, Louise ! 
 Ev'n unkind words were kinder than sad looks. 
 There — now thou gladd'st me ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Yet ev'n thou, methought, 
 
 Didst wear, this morn, a brow on which the light 
 Shone less serenely than its wont ! 
 
 Louis. This morn ! 
 
 Ay, it is true ! — this morn I heard that France 
 Hath lost a subject monarchs well might mourD ! 
 Oh ! little know the world how much a king,
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 47 
 
 "Whose life is past in purchasing devotion, 
 
 Loses in one who merited all favour 
 
 And scorn to ask the least ! A king, Louise, 
 
 Sees but the lackeys of mankind. The true 
 
 Lords of our race — the high chivalric hearts — 
 
 Nature's nobility — alas, are proud, 
 
 And stand aloof, lest slaves should say they flatter ! 
 
 Of such a mould was he whom Finance deplores. 
 
 Dv,ch. cle la Vail. Tell me his name, that I, with thee, 
 may mourn him, 
 
 Louis. A noble name, but a more noble bearer ; 
 Not to be made by, but to make, a lineage. 
 Once, too, at Dunkirk, 'twixt me and the foe, 
 He thrust his gallant breast, already seamed 
 With warrior-wounds, and his blood flow'd for mine. 
 Dead ! — his just merits all unrecompensed ! — 
 Obscured, like sun-light, by the suppliant clouds ! 
 He should have died a marshal ! Death did wrong 
 To strike so soon ! Alas, brave Bragelone ! 
 
 Duch. cle la Vail. Ha ! — did I hear aright, my liege — 
 my Louis ? 
 That name— that name ! — thou saidst not " Bragelone " ? 
 
 Louis. Such was his name, not often heard at court. 
 Thou didst not know him ? What ! thou art pale ! thou 
 
 weepest ! — 
 Thou art ill ! Louise, look up ! 
 
 [He leads her to a seat. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Be still, O Conscience ! 
 
 I did not slay him ! — Died too soon ! Alas ! 
 He should have died with all his hopes unblighted, 
 Ere I was — what I am ! 
 
 Louis. What mean these words %
 
 48 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIfiRE. [ACT lit. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. How did death strike hi in 1 — what 
 disease ? 
 
 Louis. I know net. 
 
 He had retired from service ; and in peace 
 Breathed out his soul to some remoter sky ! 
 France only guards his fame ! What was he to thee 
 That thou shouldst weep for him ? 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Hast thou ne'er heard 
 
 We were betrothed in youth 1 
 
 Louis [agitated and aside^. Lauzun speaks truth ! 
 I'd not her virgin heart — she loved another ! 
 [Aloud.'\ Betrothed ! You mourn him deeply ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Sire, I do. 
 
 That broken heart ! — I was its dream — its idol ! 
 And with regret is mingled — what repentance ? 
 
 Louis \coldly\. Bepentance, madam ! Well, the word 
 is gracious ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Bardon ! oh, pardon ! But the blow 
 was sudden ; 
 How can the heart play courtier with remorse 1 
 
 Louis. Bemorse ! — again. Why be at once all honest, 
 And say you love me not ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Xot love you, Louis 1 
 
 Louis. Not if you feel repentance to have loved ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. What ! think'st thou, Louis, I should 
 love thee more 
 Did I love virtue less, or less regret it ? 
 
 Louis. I pray you truce with these heroic speeches ; 
 They please us in romance — in life they weary. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Louis, do I deserve this 1 
 
 Louis. Bathex", lady, 
 
 Do / deserve the mute reproach of sorrow ?
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALUERE. 49 
 
 Still less these constant, never-soothed complaints — 
 This waiting- woman jargon of " lost virtue." 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Sire, this from you ! 
 
 Louis. Why, oft, could others hear thee, 
 
 Well might they deem thee some poor village Phoebe, 
 Whom her false Lubin had deceived, and left, 
 Hobb'd of her only dower ! and not the great 
 Duchess la Valliere, in our realm of France 
 Second to none but our anointed race , 
 The envy of the beauty and the birth 
 Of Europe's court — our city of the world ! 
 Is it so great disgrace, Louise la Valliere, 
 To wear, unrivall'd, in thy breast, ^e heart 
 Of Bourbon's latest, nor her least, of kings ? 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Sire, when you deigned to love me, I 
 had hoped 
 You knew the sunshine of your royal favour 
 Had fallen on a lowly flower. Let others 
 Deem that the splendour consecrates the sin ! 
 I'd loved thee with as pure and proud a love, 
 If thou hadst been the poorest cavalier 
 That ever served a king — thou know'st it, Louis ! 
 
 Louis. I would not have it so ! my fame, my glory, 
 The purple and the orb, are part of me ; 
 And thou shouldst love them for my sake, and feel 
 I were not Louis were I less the king. 
 Still weeping ! Fie ! I tell thee tears freeze back 
 The very love I still would bear to thee ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. " Would still ! " — didst thou say 
 « still ? " 
 
 Louis. Come, lady ! 
 
 Woman, to keep her empire o'er the heart,
 
 50 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT III. 
 
 Must learn its nature — mould unto its bias — 
 And rule by never differing from our humours. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. I'll school my features, teach my lips 
 to smile, 
 Be all thou wilt ; bvrt say not " still," dear Louis ! 
 
 Louis. Well, well ! no further words ; let peace be 
 with us. 
 [^siWe.] By Heaven, she weeps Avith yet intenser 
 
 jiassion ! 
 It must be that she loved this Bragelone, 
 And mourns the loftier fate that made her mine ! 
 [Aloud^ This gallant soldier, madam, your betrothed. 
 Hath some share in your tears 1 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Oh, name him not ; 
 
 My tears are all unworthy dews to fall 
 Upon a tomb so honour'd ! 
 
 Louis. Grant me patience ! 
 
 These scenes are very tedious, fair La Yalliere. 
 In truth, we kings have, in the council-chamber, 
 Enough to make us tearful ; — in the bower 
 We would have livelier subjects to divert us, 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Again forgive me ! I am sick at 
 heart ; 
 I pray you pardon ; — these sad news have marr'd 
 The music of your presence, and have made me 
 Fit but for solitude. I pray you, sire, 
 Let me retire ; and when again I greet you, 
 I'll wear the mien you'd have me ! 
 
 Louis. Be it so ! 
 
 Let me no more disturb you from your thoughts ; 
 They must be sad. So brave — and your betrothed 1 
 Your grief becomes you.
 
 SCENE III.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 51 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. You forgive me, Louis ? 
 We do not part unkindly ? 
 
 Louis. Fair one, no ? 
 
 [Exit La VALLif:RE. 
 
 Louis. She was my first love, and my fondest. — Was ! 
 Alas, the woi'd must come ! — I love her yet, 
 But love wanes glimmering to that twilight — friendship ! 
 Grant that she never loved this Bragelone ; 
 Still, teai's and sighs make up dull interludes 
 In passion's short-lived drama ! She is good, 
 Gentle, and meek, — and I do think she loves me, 
 (A truth no king is sure of ! ) — But, in fine, 
 I have begun to feel the hours are long 
 Pass'd in her presence ! what I hotly sought, 
 Coldly I weary of. I'll seek De Lauzun : 
 I like his wit — I almost like his knavery ; 
 It never makes us yawn, like high-flown virtues. 
 Thirst, hunger, rest — these are the wants of peasants : 
 A courtier's wants are titles, place, and gold ; 
 But a poor king, who has these wants so sated, 
 Has only one want left — to be amused ! 
 
 \Exit Louis. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Re-enter the Duchess de la Valli^re. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Louis ! dear Louis ! — Gone ! alas ! 
 and left me 
 Half in displeasure ! — I was wrong, methinks, 
 K 2
 
 52 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT III. 
 
 To — ^no ! — I was not wrong io fed remorse, 
 But wrong to give it utterance ! 
 
 Enter Madame de Montespan. 
 
 Mine, de Mon. What ! alone, 
 Fair friend ? I thought the king 
 
 Buck, de la Vail. Has gone, in anger ; 
 
 Cold, and in anger. 
 
 Mme. de Mon. What, with thee, dear iady 1 
 On the smooth surface of that angel meekness 
 I should have thought no angiy breath could linger. 
 But men and kings are 
 
 Buck, de la Vail. Hush ! I was to blame. 
 
 The king's all goodness. Shall I write to him ? 
 Letters have not our looks — and, oh, one look ! 
 How many hardest hearts one look hath won, 
 A life consumed in words had woo'd in vain ! 
 
 Mme. de. Mon. To-night there is high revel at the 
 court ; 
 There you may meet your truant king. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. To-night \ 
 
 An age ! — How many hours to night ? 
 
 Mme. de Mon. You know 
 
 My office makes my home the royal palace ; 
 I serve the queen, and thus shall see your Louis 
 Ere the sun set. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. You ! — happy you ! 
 
 Mme. de Mon. Perchance 
 
 (The king is ever gracious to your friends. 
 And knows me of the nearest), I might whisper. 
 Though with less sweet a tone, your message to him, 
 And be your dove, and bear you back the olive ?
 
 SCKNE III.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 63 
 
 Duck, de la Vail. My kind Athen^ ! 
 
 Mine, de Mon. Nay, 'tis yours the kindness, 
 
 To wear my love so near your heart. But, tell me, 
 Since you accept my heraldry, the cause 
 Of strife between you in this court of love. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Alas ! I know not, save that I 
 offended ! 
 The wherefore boots the heart that loves to know ? 
 
 Mme. de Mon. Not much, I own, the poor defendant — 
 woman. 
 But much the advocate ; I need the brief 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Methinks his kingly nature chafes to 
 see 
 It cannot rule the conscience as the heart ; 
 But, tell him, ever henceforth I will keep 
 Sad thoughts for lonely hours. — Athenfe, tell him, 
 That if he smile once more upon Louise, 
 The smile shall never pass from that it shines on j 
 Say — ^but I'll write myself. 
 
 [Sits down to the table and writes. 
 
 Mme. de Mon. [aside\ "What need of schemes — 
 Lauzun'a keen wit — Athene's plotting spirit ? 
 She weaves herself the web that shall ensnare her ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. There; back these feeble words with 
 all thy beauty. 
 Thy conquering eyes, and thy bewitching smile. 
 Sure never suit can fail with such a pleader ! 
 And now a little while to holier sadness, 
 And thine accusing memory, Brageloue ! 
 
 Mme. de Mon. "Whom speak you of 1 — the hero of the 
 Fronde ? 
 Who seem'd the last of the old Norman race,
 
 5i THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT III. 
 
 And half preserved to this degenerate age 
 The lordly shape the ancient Bayards wore ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. You praise him well ! He \fas my 
 father's friend, 
 And should have beea his son. We were affianced, 
 And — but no more ! Ah ! cruel, cruel Louis ! 
 You mourn'd for him — how much more cause have I ! 
 Mme. de Mon. \quicJcly\. What ! he is dead 1 your grief 
 the king resented ? 
 Knew he your troth had thus been plighted ? 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Yes : 
 
 And still he seem'd to deem it sin to mourn him ! 
 
 Mme. de Mon. \aside\. A clue — another clue — that I 
 will follow, 
 Until it lead me to the throne ! — [.i^owc?.] Well, cheer 
 
 thee; 
 Trust your true friend ; rely on my persuasion. 
 Methinks I never task'd its powers tiU now. 
 Farewell, and fear not ! Oh ! I'll plead your cause. 
 As if myself the client ! — [Jisw/e.] Thou art sentenced ! 
 [^Exit Madame de Montespan. 
 Duch. de la Vail. 'Tis a sweet solace still to have a 
 friend — 
 A friend in woman ! Oh, to what a reed 
 We bind our destinies, when man we love ! 
 Peace, honour, conscience lost — if I lose him, 
 What have I left 1 How sinks my heart within me ! 
 I'll to my chamber ; there the day of tears 
 Lends night its smile ! And Fm the thing they envy ! 
 
 [Exit Duchess de la VALLiJaK
 
 SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA yALLI£KE. 65 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 The Gardens oj Versailles — Lauzun, Grammont, and Coartiera. 
 
 Lmi. 'Tis now the hour in which our royal master 
 Honours the ground of his rejoicing gai'clens 
 By his illustrious footsteps ! — there, my lords, 
 That is the true style-courtier ! 
 
 Gram. Out upon you ! 
 
 Your phrase would suit some little German prince, 
 Of fifteen hundred quarterings and five acres, 
 And not the world's great Louis ! 'Tis the hour 
 "When Phoebus shrinks abash'd, and all the stars 
 Envy the day that it beholds the king ! 
 
 Enter Louis. 
 
 Louis. • My lords, 
 
 Pray you be cover'd. Hark ye, dear De Lauzun. 
 
 [Exeunt ^Ae Courtiers, as the King takes LAUZUNflwirfe- 
 The fair De Montespan 1 
 
 Lau. Is worth the loving ; 
 
 And, by mine honour, while we speak she comes ! 
 A happy fortune. Sire, may I withdraw ? \Exit. 
 
 Enter Madame de Montespan. \Saluies the King 
 and 2)asses on.'\ 
 
 Louis. Fair madam, we had hoped you with you brought 
 Some bright excuse to grace our cheerless presence 
 With a less short-lived light ! You dawn upon us 
 Only to make us more regret your setting.
 
 66 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT III. 
 
 Mme, de Mon. Sire, if I dared, I would most gladly hail 
 A few short moments to arrest your presence. 
 And rid me of a soft, yet painful duty. 
 
 Louis. 'Tis the first time, be sure, so sweet a voice 
 E'er craved a sanctioL for delighting silence. 
 Speak on, we pray thee ! 
 
 Mine, de Mon. Gracious sire, the duchess, 
 
 Whom you have lately left, she fears, in anger, 
 Besought me to present this letter to you. 
 
 Louis \takes the letter, and aside\. She blushes while she 
 speaks ! — 'Tis passing strange, 
 I ne'er remark'd those darkly-dreaming eyes, 
 That melt in their own light ! 
 
 \Iieads, and carelessly puts up the letter. 
 It scarcely suits 
 Her dignity, and ours, to choose a witness 
 To what hath chanced between us. She is good , 
 But her youth, spent in some old country castle. 
 Knows not the delicate spirit of a court. 
 
 Mme. de Mon. She bade me back her suit. Alas ! my 
 liege, 
 "Who can succeed, if fair La Valliere fail 1 
 
 Louis. She bade thee 1 — she was prudent ! Were / 
 woman, 
 And loved, I'd not have chosen such a herald. 
 
 Mme. de Mon. Love varies in its colours with all tem- 
 pers ; 
 The duchess is too proud to fear a rival. 
 Too beautiful to find one. May I take 
 Some word of comfort back to cheer her sadness, 
 Made doubly deep by thoughts of your displeasure, 
 And grief for a dear friend 1
 
 SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 57 
 
 Louis. A J, tlia€s the sadness ! 
 
 Mme. de Mon. He was a gallant loi-d, this Bragelone, 
 And her betrothed. Perchance in youth she loved him, 
 Ere the great sun had quench'd the morning star ! 
 
 Louis. She loved him ! — think'st thou so *? 
 
 Mme. de Mon. Indeed I know not ; 
 
 But I have heard her eloquent in praise, 
 And seen her lost in woe. You will forgive her ! 
 
 Louis. Forgive her ? — there's no cause ! 
 
 Mme. de Mon. Now, bless you, sire, 
 
 For that one word. My task is done. 
 
 Louis. Already 1 
 
 Mme. de Mon. What can I more ? Oh, let me hasten 
 back ! 
 What rapture must be hers who can iDut fill 
 An atom of the heart of godlike Louis ! 
 How much more the whole soul ! — To lose thy love 
 Must be, not grief, but some sublime despair. 
 Like that the Roman felt who lost a world ! 
 
 Louis [aside\ By Heaven, she fires me ! — a brave, 
 royal spirit, 
 Worthy to love a king ! 
 
 Mme. de Mon. To know thee hers, 
 
 What pride ! — what gloiy ! Though all earth cried 
 
 " Shame ! " 
 Earth could not still the trumpet at her heart, 
 That, with its swelling and exultant voice. 
 Told her the earth was but the slave of Louis, 
 And she the partner ! And, O hour of dread ! 
 When (for the hour must come) some faii'er form 
 Shall win thee from her — still, methinks, 'twould be 
 A boast to far posterity to point
 
 58 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [ACT III. 
 
 To all the trophies piled about thy throne, 
 
 And say — " He loved me once !" — O sire, your pardon ; 
 
 I am too bold. 
 
 Louis. Why, this were love, indeed. 
 
 Could we but hope vo win it. And such love 
 Would weave the laurel in its wreaths of myrtle. 
 Beautiful lady ! while thou speak'st, I dream 
 What love should be, — and feel Avhere love is not ! 
 Thou com'st the suitor, to remain the judge ; 
 And I could kneel to thee for hope and mercy. 
 
 Mme. de Mon. Ah, no ! — ah, no ! — she is my friend. 
 And if 
 She love not as I love — I mean, I might love — 
 Still she believes she loves thee. Tempt me not. 
 Who could resist thee ! Sire, farewell ! 
 
 [Exit Madame de'Montespan. 
 
 Louis. Her voice 
 
 Is hush'd ; but still its queen-like music lingers 
 In my rapt ears. I dreamt Louise had loved me ; 
 She who felt love disgrace ! Before the true, 
 How the tame counterfeit grows pale and lifeless. 
 By the sad brow of yon devout La "Valliere 
 I feel a man, and fear myself a culprit ! 
 But this high spii'it wakes in min« the sense 
 Of what it is — I am that Louis whom 
 The world has called " The Great ! " — and in her pride 
 Mirror mine own. This jaded life assumes 
 The zest, the youth, the glory of excitement ! 
 To-night we meet again ; — speed fast, dull hours ! 
 
 \Exit Louis.
 
 SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 59 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Grand Saloon in the Palace of Versailles — in the hackground the suite 
 of apartments is seen in perspective — Courtiera, Ladies, &c. 
 
 First Cour. [approaching the Duch. de la Vall.'\. Madam, 
 
 your goodness is to France a proverb ! 
 If I might dai'e request, this slight memorial 
 You would convey to our most gracious master ? 
 The rank of colonel in the royal guard 
 Is iust now vacant. True, I have not served ; 
 But I do trust my valour is well-known : 
 I've kill'd three noted swordsmen in a duel ! — 
 And, for the rest, a word from you were more 
 Than all the laurels Holland gave to others. 
 
 Bitch, de la Vail. My lord, forgive me ! I might ill 
 
 deserve 
 The friendship of a monarch, if, forgetting 
 That honours are the attributes of merit ; — 
 And they who sell the service of the public 
 For the false coin, soft smiles and honey 'd words 
 Forged in the antechambers of a palace, 
 Defraud a people to degrade a king ! 
 If you have merits, let them plead for you ; 
 Nor ask in whispers what you claim from justice. 
 
 Mme. de Mon. \to first Courtier, as the Duch. de la Vail. 
 
 turns away]. Give me the paper. Hush ! the king 
 
 shall see it ! 
 
 [Music.
 
 ^0 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT III. 
 
 Enter the King, Grammont, and other Courtiers. He 
 
 pauses hy the Queen, and accosts her respectfully 
 
 in dumb show. 
 
 Gram, [aside]. Wi*fch what a stately and sublime decorum 
 His majesty throws grandeur o'er his foibles ! 
 He not disguises vice ; but makes vice kingly — 
 Most gorgeous of all sensualists ! 
 
 Lau. How different 
 
 His royal rival in the chase of pleasure, 
 The spendthrift, sauntering Second Charles of England ! 
 
 Gh'am. A.Y, Jove to Comus ! 
 
 Lau. Silence ! Jove approacbes ! 
 
 \The crowd Ireaks up into groups ; (lie King passes slowly 
 from each till he joins the DucHESS de la Vallieee ; 
 the Courtiers retire. 
 
 Louis. Why, this is well. I thank you. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. And ftrgive me 1 
 
 Louis. Forgive you ! You mistake me : wounded feeling 
 Is not displeasui'e. Let this pass, Louise. 
 Your lovely fi-iend has a most heavenly smile ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. And a warm heart. In truth, my 
 liege, I'm glad 
 You see her with my eyes. 
 
 Louis. You have no friend 
 
 Whose face it glads me more to look upon. 
 
 \Aside, and gazing on Montespak. 
 (What thrilling eyes !) — [.i^oMc/.] My thanks are due to 
 
 her, 
 Eor, with the oil of her mellifluous voice, 
 Smoothing the waves the passing breeze had ruffled. 
 
 [Joins Madame de Montespan, and leads her through the 
 a-owd to the bach of the stage.
 
 SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 61 
 
 Lau. Your grace resolves no more to be content 
 Eclipsing others. You eclipse yourself. 
 
 Bucli. de la Vail. I thought you were a friend, and not 
 a flatterer. 
 
 Lau. Friendship would lose its dearest privilege 
 If friendship were forbidden to admire ! 
 Why, ev'n the king admires your grace's friend, — 
 Told me to-day she was the loveliest lady 
 The court could boast. Nay, see how, while they speak. 
 He gazes on her. How his breathing fans 
 The locks that shade the roses of her clieek ! 
 
 Ducli. de la Vail. Ha ! Nay, be still, my heart. 
 
 Lau. It is but friendship; 
 
 But it looks wondrous warm ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. He cannot mean it ! 
 
 And yet — and yet — he lingers on her hand — 
 He whispers ! 
 
 Lau. How the gossips gaze and smile ! 
 
 There'll be much scandal. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Lauzun ! — what ! — thou think'st not — 
 No, no, thou canst not think 
 
 Lmi. That courts know treachery, 
 
 That women are ambitious, or men false ; 
 I will not think it. Pshaw ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. My brain swims round ! 
 
 Louis, of late, hath been so changed. How fair 
 She looks to-night ! — and, oh, she has not fallen ! 
 He comes — be nears us — he has left her. Fie ! 
 My foolish fancies wronged him ! 
 
 Lau. The spell works. 
 
 Mme. de. Mon. \as the king quits her, to First Courtier, 
 giving him hack the paper\ My lord, your suit is 
 granted.
 
 ^2 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIEBE. [aCT III. 
 
 First Cour. Blessings, madam ! 
 
 [The other Courtiers come round him. 
 
 Second Cour. Her influence must be great, I know 
 three dukes 
 Most pressing for tht post. 
 
 Third Cour. A rising sun, 
 
 Worthier of worship than that cold La Yalliei'e. 
 The king as well, methinks, might have no mistress. 
 As one by whom no courtier grew the richer. 
 
 [The Courtiers group round Madame de Montespan. 
 
 Louis. My lords, you do remember the bright lists 
 Which, in the place termed thenceforth " The Carrousel^' * 
 We sometime held ? — a knightly tournament. 
 That brought us back the age of the first Francis ! 
 
 Lau. Of all your glorious festivals, the greatest ! 
 Who but remembers ? 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. [Aside]. Then he wore my colours. 
 How kind to bring back to my yearning heart 
 That golden spring-time of our early loves ! 
 
 Louis. Next week we will revive the heroic pageant. 
 Proud plumes shall wave, and levell'd spears be shiver'd j 
 Ourself will take the lists, and do defy 
 The chivalry of our renowned France, 
 In honour of that lady of our court 
 For whom we wear the colours, and the motto 
 Which suits her best — " Most bright where all are bril- 
 liant ! ' 
 
 * The Place du Carromel was so named from a splendid festival 
 given by Louis. On the second day, devoted to knightly games, 
 the king, who appeared in the character of Roger, caiTied oflF four 
 prizes. All the crown jewels were prodigalized on bis anns and the 
 trappings of his horse.
 
 SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 63 
 
 Gram. Oh, a most kingly notion ! 
 
 Louis. Ere we part, 
 
 Let each knight choose his colours and his lady. 
 Oarself have set the example. 
 
 \The Courtiers mingle with the Ladies, &c., many Ladiea 
 give their colours. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. \tir)iidly\. Oh, my Louis ! 
 I read thy heart ; thou hast chosen this device 
 To learn thy poor La Valliere to be proud. 
 Nay, turn not from my blessings. Once before 
 You wore my colours, though I gave them not. 
 To-night I give them ! — Louis loves me still ! 
 
 [Takes one of the knots from her breast, and presents it. 
 
 Louis. Lady, the noblest hearts in France would beat 
 More high beneath your badge. Alas ! my service 
 Is vow'd already here. 
 
 [Turning to Madame de Montespan, and placing a knot 
 of her colours over his order of the Saint Esprit. 
 
 These are my colours ! 
 Duch. de la Vail. How ! How ! 
 
 [The King converses mpart with Madame de Montespan. 
 Lau. [to the Duch. de la Vail.] Be calm, your grace ; a 
 thousand eyes 
 Are on you. Give the envious crowd no triumph. 
 Ah ! had my fortune won so soft a heart 
 
 I would have • 
 
 Duch. de la Vail, Peace 1 — Away ! Betray'd !— Un- 
 done !
 
 64 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIKRE. [aCT IV. 
 
 ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 The Owrdena at Versailles. 
 Enter Lauzun. 
 
 Lau. So far, so prosperous ! From the breast of Louis, 
 The blooming love it bore so long a summer 
 Falls like a fruit o'er-ripe ; and, in the court, 
 And o'er the king, this glittering Montespan 
 Queens it without a rival, — awes all foes, 
 And therefore makes all friends. State, office, honoura, 
 lleflect her smile, or fade before her frown. 
 So far, so well ! Enough for Montespan, 
 For Lauzun now ! — I love this fair La Valliire, 
 As well, at least, as woman's worth the loving ^ 
 And if the jewel has one trifling flaw. 
 The gold 'tis set in will redeem the blemish. 
 The king's no niggard lover ; and her wealtb 
 Is vast. I have the total in my tablets — 
 (Besides estates in Picardy and Provence.) 
 I'm very poor — my debtors very pressing. 
 I've robb'd the duchess of a faithless lover, 
 To give myself a wife, and her a husband. 
 Wedlock's a holy thing, — and wealth a good one ! 
 
 Enter Louis. 
 
 Louis. The day is long — I have not seen AthenS. 
 Pleasure is never stagnant in her presence ; 
 But every breeze of woman's changeful skies 
 Eipples the stream, and freshens e'en the sunshina
 
 8CENE I.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 65 
 
 Lau. 'Tis said, your Majesty, " that contrast's sweet/*^ 
 And she you speak of well contrasts another. 
 Whom once 
 
 Louis. I loved ; and still devoutly honour, 
 
 Tliis poor La Valliere ! — could we will affection, 
 I would have never changed. And even now 
 I feel Athene has but charm'd my senses. 
 And my void heart still murmurs for Louise ! 
 I would we could be friends, since now not lovers-^ 
 Nor dare be happy while I know her wretched. 
 
 Lau. "Wearies she still your Majesty with prayer^ 
 Tender laments, and passionate reproaches ? 
 
 Louis. Her love outlives its hopes. 
 
 Lau. An irksome task - 
 
 To witness tears we cannot kiss away, 
 And with cold friendship freeze the ears of love ! 
 
 Louis. Most irksome and most bootless ! 
 
 Lau. Haply, sire, - 
 
 In one so pure, the charm of wedded life 
 Might lull keen griefs to rest, and curb the love 
 Thou fliest from to the friendship that thou seekest ? 
 
 Louis. I've thought of this. The Duke de Longueville 
 loves her. 
 And hath besought before her feet to lay 
 His princely fortunes. 
 
 Lau. [(juicMy]. Ha ! — and she — 
 
 Louis. Rejects him. 
 
 Lau. Sire, if love's sun, once set, bequeaths a twilight, 
 'T would only hover o'er some form whom chance 
 Had link'd with Louis — some one (though unworthy) 
 Whose presence took a charm from brighter thoughts 
 That knit it with the past.
 
 66 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLlERE. [aCT IV. 
 
 Louis. Why, how now, duke ! — 
 
 Thou speak'st not of thyself? 
 
 Lau. I dare not, sire ! 
 
 Louis. Ha, ha ! — poor Lauzun !— what ! the soft La 
 Valliere 
 Transfer her sorrowing heart to thee ! Ha, ha ! 
 
 Lau. My name is not less noble than De Longueville's ; 
 My glory greater, since the world has said 
 Louis esteems me more. 
 
 Louis. EsteeTHS .'No ; — favours ! 
 
 And thou dost think that she, who shrunk from love, 
 Lest love were vice, would wed the wildest lord 
 That ever laugh'd at virtue ? 
 
 Lau. Sire, you wrong me, 
 Or else you (pardon me) condemn yourselt. 
 Is it too much for one the king calls friend 
 To aspire to one the king has call'd 
 
 Louis. Sir, hold ! 
 
 I never so malign'd that hapless lady 
 As to give her the title only due 
 To such as Montespan, who glories in it — 
 The last my mistress ; but the first my victim : 
 A nice distinction, taught not in your logic, 
 Which, but just now, confused esteem and favour. 
 Go to ! we kings are not the dupes you deem us. 
 
 Lau. \aside\. So high ! I'll win La Valliere to avenge me, 
 And humble this imperial vanity. 
 \Aloud.'\ Sire, I ofiend ! Permit me to retire, 
 And mourn your anger ; nor presume to guess 
 Whence came the cause. And, since it seems yowxfoAJOur 
 Made me aspire ^-oo high, in that I loved 
 Where you, sire, made love noble, and half-dream'd
 
 SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE, 67 
 
 Might he — nay, am not — wholly there disdain'd — 
 
 Louis. How, duke ? 
 
 Lazi. I do renounce at once 
 
 The haughty vision. Sire, permit my absence. 
 
 Louis. Lauzun, thou hintest that, were suit allow'd thee, 
 La Valliere might not scorn it ; — is it so ? 
 
 Lau. I crave your pardon, sire. 
 
 Louis. Must I ask twice ? 
 
 Lau. I do believe, then, sire, with time and patience. 
 The duchess might be won to — not reject me ! 
 
 Louis. Go, then, and prove thy fortune. We permit 
 thee. 
 And, if thou prosperest, why then love's a riddle, 
 And woman is — no matter ! Go, my lord ! 
 We did not mean to wound thee. So, forget it ! 
 Woo when thou wilt — and wear what thou canst win. 
 
 Lau. My gracious liege, Lauzun commends him to thee ; 
 And if one word, he merit not, may wound him, 
 He'll think of favours words can never cancel. 
 Memory shall med'cine to his present pain. 
 God save you, sire ! — [J.sic/e] to he the dupe I deem you ! 
 
 [Exit Lauzun. 
 
 Louis. I love her not ; and yet, methinks, am jealous ! 
 Lauzun is wise and witty — ^knows the sex ; 
 What if she do ? — No ! I will not believe it. 
 And what is she to me ? — a friend — a friend ! 
 And I would have her wed. 'Twere best for both — 
 A balm for conscience — an excuse for change ! 
 'Twere best : — I marvel much if she'll accept him ! 
 
 [Exit Louis. 
 
 r 2
 
 68 THE DUCHESS DE LA. VALLIERE. [aCT IV. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 A Private Apartment in the Palace of the Duchess de la ValliIibe. 
 
 Enter the Duchess de la Valliere. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. He loves me, tlien, no longer ! All 
 the words 
 Earth knows shape but one thought — " He loves no 
 
 longer ! " 
 Where shall I turn ? My mother — my poor mother ! 
 Sleeps the long sleep ! 'Tis better so ! Her life 
 Ran to its lees. I will not mourn for her. 
 But it is hard to be alone on earth ! 
 This love, for which I gave so much, is dead. 
 Save in my heart ; and love, surviving love, 
 Changes its nature, and becomes despair ! 
 Ah, me ! — ah, me ! how hateful is this world ! 
 Enter Gentleman of the Chamber. 
 
 Gent. The Duke de Lauzun ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. News, sweet news, of Louis ! 
 
 Enter Lauzun. 
 
 Lau. Dare I disturb your thoughts ? 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. My lord, you're welcome ! 
 
 Came you from court to-day ? 
 
 Lau. I left the king 
 
 But just now, in the gardens. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail, [eagerly]. Well ! 
 
 Lau. He bore him 
 
 With his accustom'd health f
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIKRE. 69 
 
 Duck, de la Vail. Proceed. 
 
 Lau. Dear lady, 
 
 I have no more to tell. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail, [aside]. Alas ! iVb message I 
 
 Lau. We did converse, 'tis true, upon a subject 
 Most dear to one of us. Your grace divines it 1 
 
 Buch. de la Vail. \joyfulhJ\. Was it of me he spoke ? 
 
 Lau. Of you 
 
 / spoke, and he replied. I praised your beauty — 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. You praised ! 
 
 Lau. Your form, your face — that wealth of mind 
 
 Which, play'd you not the miser, and conceal'd it. 
 Would buy up all the coins that pass for wit. 
 The king, assenting, wish'd he might behold you 
 As happy — as your virtues shoidd have made you. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. 'Twas said in mockery ! 
 
 Lau. Lady, no ! — in kindness. 
 
 Nay, more (he added), would you yet your will 
 Mould to his wish — 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. His wish ! — the lightest ! 
 
 Lau. Ah ! 
 
 You know not how my heart throbs while you speak ! 
 Be not so rash to promise ; or, at least. 
 Be faithful to perform ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. You speak in riddles. 
 
 Lau. Of your lone state and beautiful affections, 
 Form'd to make Home an Eden, our good king, 
 Tenderly mindful, fain would see you link 
 Your lot to one whose love might be your shelter. 
 He spake, and all my long-conceal'd emotions 
 Gush'd into words, and I confess' d — O lady. 
 Hear me confess once more — how well I love thee !
 
 70 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT IV. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. You dared ? — and he — tlie king — 
 
 Lau. Upon me smiled, 
 
 And bade me prosper. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Ah ! 
 
 \SinTcs dovm, and covers her face with her hands. 
 
 Lau. Nay, nay, look up ! 
 
 The heart that could forsake a love like thine 
 Doth not deserve regret. Look up, dear lady ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. He bade thee prosper ! 
 
 Lau. Pardon ! My wild hope 
 
 Outran discretion. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Louis bade thee prosper ! 
 
 Lau. Ah, if this thankless — this remorseless love 
 Thou couldst forget ! Oh, give me but thy friendship, 
 And take respect, faith, worship, all, in Lauzun ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Consign me to another ! Well, 'tis 
 well ! 
 Earth's latest tie is broke ! — earth's hopes are over ! 
 
 La/u. Speak to me, sweet Louise ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. So, thou art he 
 
 To whom this shatter'd heart should be surrender'd ? — 
 And thou, the high-born, glittering, scornful Lauzun, 
 Wouldst take the cast-off leman of a king, 
 Nor think thyself disgraced ! Fie ! — fie ! thou'rt shame- 
 less ! 
 
 Lau. You were betray'd by love, and not by sin, 
 Nor low ambition. Your disgrace is honour 
 By the false side of dames the world calls spotless. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Go, sir, nor make me scorn you. If 
 I've err'd, 
 I know, at least, the majesty of virtue, 
 And feel — what you forget.
 
 SCENE III,] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLI^aiE. 71 
 
 Lau. Yet hear me, madam ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Go, go ! You are the king's friend—* 
 you were mine ; 
 I "would not have you thus debased — refused 
 By one at once the fallen and forsaken ! 
 His friend shall not be shamed so ! 
 
 [Exit the Duch. de la Yalliere. 
 
 Lau. \jpassing his hand over his eyes\. I do swear 
 These eyes are moist ! And he who own'd this gem 
 Casts it away, and cries " divine " to tinsel ! 
 So falls my hope. My fortunes call me back 
 To surer schemes. Before that ray of goodness 
 How many plots shrunk, blinded, into shadow ! 
 Lauzun forgot himself, and dreamt of virtue ! 
 
 \Exit Lauzun. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Gentleman of the Chamber, and Bragelone, as a 
 Franciscan Jriar. 
 
 Gent. The duchess gone ! I fear me that, to-day. 
 You are too late for audience, reverend father. 
 
 Brage. Audience ! — a royal phrase ! — it suits the 
 duchess. 
 Go, son ; announce me. 
 
 Gent. By what name, my father 1 
 
 Brage. I've done with names. Announce a nameless 
 monk, 
 Whose prayers have risen o'er some graves she honours. 
 
 Gent. \aside\. My lady is too lavish of her bounty
 
 72 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT 17, 
 
 To these proud shavelings : yet, methinks, this friar 
 Hath less of priest than warrior in his bearing. 
 He awes me with his stern and thrilling voice, 
 His stately gesture, and imperious eye. 
 And yet, I swear, he comes for alms ! — the varlet ! 
 Why should I heed him ? 
 
 Brage. Didst thou hear ? Begone ! 
 
 [Exit Gentleman. 
 Yes, she will know me not. My lealest soldier, 
 One who had march'd, bare-breasted, on the steel. 
 If I had bid him cast away the treasure 
 Of the o'er-valued life ; the nurse that rear'd me, 
 Or mine own mother, in these shroudlike robes. 
 And in the immature and rapid age 
 Which, from my nurab'd and withering heart, hath crept 
 Unto my features, now might gaze upon me, 
 And pass the stranger by. Why should she know me. 
 If they who loved me know not 1 Hark ! I hear her : 
 That silver footfall ! — still it hath to me 
 Its own peculiar and most spiritual music. 
 Trembling along the pulses of the air. 
 And dying on the heart that makes its echo ! 
 'Tis she ! How lovely yet ! 
 
 ErUer the Duchess de la Valliere. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Your blessing, father. 
 
 Brage. Let courts and courtiers bless the favour'd 
 duchess : 
 Courts bless the proud ; Heaven's ministers, the humble. 
 Duch. de la Vail. He taunts me, this poor friar ! Well, 
 my father, 
 I have obey'd your summons. Do you seek
 
 SCENE III.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLlfeRE. 73 
 
 Masses for souls departed ?— or the debt 
 The wealthy owe the poor 1 — say ou ! 
 
 Brage. \as{de\. Her heart 
 
 Is not yet harden'd ! Daughter, such a mission 
 Were sweeter than the task which urged me hither : 
 You had a lover once — a plain, bold soldier ; 
 He loved you well ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Ah, Heaven ! 
 
 Brage. And you forsook hin]. 
 
 Your choice was natural — some might call it noble ! 
 And this blunt soldier pardon'd the desertion, 
 But sunk at what his folly term'd dishonour. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. O father, spare me ! — if dishonour 
 were, 
 It rested but with me. 
 
 Brage. So deem'd the world, 
 
 But not that foolish soldier ! — he had learn'd 
 To blend his thoughts, his fame, himself, with thee ; 
 Thou wert a purer, a diviner self ; 
 He loved thee as a warrior worships glory ; 
 He loved thee as a Eoman honour'd virtue ; 
 He loved thee as thy sex adore ambition ; 
 And when Pollution breathed upon his idol. 
 It blasted glory, virtue, and ambition, 
 Fill'd up each crevice in the world of thought, 
 And poison'd earth with thy contagious shame ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Spare me ! in mercy, spare me ! 
 
 Brage. This poor fool, 
 
 This shadow, living only on thy light, 
 When thou wert darken'd, could but choose to die. 
 He left the wars ; no fame, since thine was dim : 
 He left his land ; — what home without Louise ?
 
 r4 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT IT. 
 
 It broke — that stubborn, stern, unbending heart — 
 It broke ! and, breaking, its last sigh — forgave thee ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. And I live on ! 
 
 Brage. One eve, methinks, he told me, 
 
 Thy hand around his hauberk wound a scarf; 
 And thy voice bade him " Wear it for the sake 
 Of one who honour'd worth ! " Were those the vrords ? 
 
 DvA:h. de la Vail. They were. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Brage. He wore, it lady, 
 
 Till memory ceased. It was to him the token 
 Of a sweet dream ; and, from his quiet grave, 
 He sends it now to thee. — Its hues are faded. 
 
 Luch. de la Vail. Give it me ! — let me bathe it with 
 my tears ! 
 Memorial of my guilt — 
 
 Brage. \in a soft and tender accent]. And his forgive- 
 ness ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. That tone ! ha ! while thou speakest, 
 in thy voice, 
 And m thy presence, there is something kindred 
 To him we jointly mourn : thou art — 
 
 Brage. His brother : 
 
 Of whom, perchance, in ancient years he told thee ; 
 Who, early wearied of this garish woi'ld, 
 Fled to the convent-shade, and found repose. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail, [approaching'j. Ay, is it so 1 — thou'rt 
 Bragelone's brother 1 
 Why, then, thou art what he would be, if living — 
 A friend to one most friendless ! 
 
 Brage. Friendless — Ay, 
 
 Thou hast learnt, betimes, the truth, that man's wild 
 passion
 
 SCENE III.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 75 
 
 Makes but its sport of virtue, peace, affection ; 
 And breaks the plaything when the game is done ! 
 Friendless ! — I pity thee ! 
 
 Buck, de la Vail. Oh ! holy father, 
 
 Stay with me ! — succour me ! — reprove, but guide me : 
 Teach me to wean my thoughts from earth to heaven, 
 And be what God ordain'd his chosen priests — 
 Foes to our sin, but friends to our despair. 
 
 Brage. Daughter, a heavenly and a welcome duty, 
 But one most rigid and austere : there is 
 No composition with our debts of sin. 
 God claims thy soul ; and, lo ! his creature there ! 
 Thy choice must be between them — God or man. 
 Virtue or guilt ; a Louis or — 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. A Louis ! 
 
 Not mine the poor atonement of the choice ; 
 I am, myself, the Abandon'd One ! 
 
 Brage. I know it ; 
 
 Therefore my mission and my ministry. 
 "When he who loved thee died, he bade me wait 
 The season when the sicklied blight of change 
 Creeps o'er the bloom of Passion, when the way 
 Is half prepared by Sorrow to Repentance, 
 And seek you then, — he trusted not in vain : 
 Perchance an idle hope, but it consoled him. 
 
 Dueh. de la Vail. No, no ! — not idle ! — in my happiest 
 hours, 
 When the world smiled, a void was in this heart 
 The world could never fill : thy brother knew me ! 
 
 Brage. I do believe thee, daughter. Hear me yet ; 
 My mission is not ended. "When thy mother 
 Lay on the bed of death (she went before
 
 76 THE DUCHESS DE LA. VALLIERE. [aCT IV, 
 
 The sterner heart the same blow broke more slowly), — 
 
 As thus she lay, around the swimming walls 
 
 Her dim eyes wander' d, searching through the shadows, 
 
 As if the spirit, half-redeem'd from clay, 
 
 Could force its will to shape, and, from the darkness, 
 
 Body a daughter's image — (nay, be still !) 
 
 Thou wert not there ; — alas ! thy shame had murd'^r'd 
 
 Even the blessed sadness of that duty ! 
 
 But o'er that pillow watch'd a sleepless eye, 
 
 And by that couch moved one untiring step. 
 
 And o'er that suffering rose a ceaseless prayer ; 
 
 And still thy mother's voice, whene'er it call'd 
 
 Upon a daughter — found a son ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. O Heaven ! 
 
 Have mercy on me ! 
 
 Brage. Coldly through the lattice 
 
 Gleani'd the slow dawn, and, from their latest sleep, 
 "Woke the sad eyes it was not thine to close ! 
 And, as they fell upon the haggard brow, 
 And the thin hairs — grown grey, but not by Time — 
 Of that lone watcher — while upon her heart 
 Gush'd all the memories of the mighty wrecks 
 Thy guilt had made of what were once the shrines 
 For Honour, Peace, and God ! — that aged -woman 
 (She was a hero's wife) upraised her voice 
 To curse her child ! 
 
 BvAih. de la Vail. Go on ! — be kind, and kill me ! 
 
 Brage. Then he, whom thoughts of what he was to tJiee 
 Had made her son, arrested on her lips 
 The awful doom, and, from the earlier past. 
 Invoked a tenderer spell — a holier image ! 
 Painted thy gentle, soft, obedient childhood —
 
 SCENE in.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 77 
 
 Thy guileless youth, lone state, and strong temptation ; 
 
 Thy very sin the overflow of thoughts 
 
 From wells whose source was innocence j and thus 
 
 Sought, with the sunshine of thy maiden spring, 
 
 To melt the ice that lay upon her heart, 
 
 Till all the mother flow'd again ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. And she ! 
 
 Brage. Spoke only once again ! She died — and bless d 
 thee ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. \rushi')ig out\. No more ! — I can no 
 no more ! — my heart is breaking ! 
 
 Brage. The angel hath not left her ! — if the plumes 
 Have lost the whiteness of their younger glory, 
 The wings have stUl the instinct of the skies, 
 And yet shall bear her up ! 
 
 Louis \without\. We need you not, sir ; 
 
 Ourself will seek the duchess. 
 
 Brage. The king's voice ! 
 
 How my flesh creeps ! — my foe, and her destroyer ! 
 The ruthless, heartless — 
 
 {His hand seeks rapidly and mechanically for his sword-hilt. 
 Why, why ! — where's my sword 1 
 Lord ! I do forget myself to dotage : 
 The soldier, now, is a poor helpless monk. 
 That hath not even curses. Satan, hence ! 
 Get thee behind me, Tempter ! — There, I'm caloa.
 
 78 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT IY. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Louis and Bragelone. 
 
 Louis. I can no more hold parley with impatience, 
 But long to learn how Lauzun's courtship prospers. 
 She is not here. At prayers, perhaps. The duchess 
 Hath grown devout. A friar ! — Save you, father ! 
 
 Brage. I thank thee, son. 
 
 Louis. He knows me not. Well, 
 
 monk, 
 Are you her grace's almoner ? 
 
 Brage. Sire, no ! 
 
 Louis. So short, yet know us ? 
 
 Brage. Sire, I do. You are 
 
 The man — 
 
 Louis. How, priest ! — the man ! 
 
 Brage. The woi'd offends you ? 
 
 The king, who raised a maiden to a duchess. 
 That maiden's father was a gallant subject : 
 Kingly reward ! — ^you made his daughter duchess. 
 That maiden's mother was a stainless matron : 
 Her heart you broke, though mother to a duchess ! 
 That maiden was affianced from her youth 
 To one who served you well — nay, saved your life : 
 His life you robb'd of all that gave life value ; 
 And yet — you made his fair betroth'd a duchess ! 
 You are that king. The world proclaims you " Great j* 
 A million warriors bled to buy your laurels ;
 
 SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 79 
 
 A million peasants starved to build Versailles : 
 Your people famish ; but your court is splendid ! 
 Priests from the pulpit bless your glorious reign ; 
 Poets have sung you greater than Augustus ; 
 And painters placed you on immortal canvass, 
 Limn'd as the Jove whose thunders awe the world : 
 But to the humble minister of Heaven, 
 You are the king who has betray 'd his trust— 
 Beggar'd a nation but to bloat a court. 
 Seen in men's lives the pastime to ambition, 
 Look'd but on virtue as the toy for vice ; 
 And, for the first time, from a subject's lips. 
 Now learns the name he leaves to Time and God ! 
 
 Louis. Add to the bead-roll of that king's offences, 
 That when a foul-mouth'd monk assumed the rebel. 
 The monster-king forgave him. Hast thou done ? 
 
 Brage. Your changing hues belie your royal mien ; 
 111 the high monarch veils the trembling man ! 
 
 Louis. Well, you are privileged ! It ne'er was said 
 The Fourteenth Louis, in his proudest hour, 
 Bow'd not his sceptre to the Church's crozier. 
 
 Brage. Alas ! the Church ! 'Tis true, this garb of serge 
 Dares speech that daunts the ermine, and walks free 
 Where stout hearts tremble in the triple mail. 
 But wherefore 1 — Lies the virtue in the robe. 
 Which the moth eats % or in these senseless beads ? 
 Or in the name of Priest ? The Pharisees 
 Had priests that gave their Saviour to the cross ! 
 No ! we have high immunity and sanction. 
 That Truth may teach hunaanity to Power, 
 Glide through the dungeon, pierce the armed throng, 
 A.waken Luxury on her Sybarite couch,
 
 80 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIEKE. [aCT IV 
 
 And, startling souls that slumber on a throne, 
 
 Bow kings before that priest of priests — the Conscience ! 
 
 Louis \ajside\. An awful man ! — unlike the reverend 
 crew 
 Who praise my royal virtues in the pulpit, 
 And — ask for bishoprics when church is over ! 
 
 Brage. This makes us sacred. The profane are they 
 Honouring the herald while they scorn the mission. 
 The king who serves the Church, yet clings to Mammon ; 
 Who fears the jiastor, but forgets the flock ; 
 Who bows before the monitor, and yet 
 Will ne'er forego the sin, may sink, when age 
 Palsies the lust and deadens the temptation, 
 To the priest-ridden, not repentant, dotard,— 
 For pious hopes hail superstitious terrors. 
 And seek some sleet Iscariot of the Church, 
 To sell salvation for the thirty pieces ! 
 
 Louis \aside\. He speaks as one inspired ! 
 
 Brage. Awake ! — awake ! 
 
 Great though thou art, awake thee from the dream 
 That earth was made for kings — mankind for slaughter — 
 Woman for lust — the people for the palace ! 
 Dark warnings have gone forth ; along the air 
 Lingers the crash of the first Charles's throne ! 
 Behold the young, the fair, the haughty king ! 
 The kneeling courtiers, and the flattering priests ; 
 Lo ! where the palace rose, behold the scafibld — 
 The crowd — the axe — the headsman — and the victim 1 
 Lord of the silver lilies, canst thou tell 
 If the same fate await not thy descendant ! 
 If some meek son of thine imperial line 
 May make no brother to yon headless spectre !
 
 SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIKRE. 81 
 
 And when the sage who saddens o'er the end 
 
 Tracks back the causes, tremble, lest he find 
 
 The seeds, thy wars, thy pomp, and thy profusion 
 
 Sow'd in a heartless court and breadless people, 
 
 Grew to the tree from which men shaped the scaffold, — 
 
 And the long glare of thy funereal glories 
 
 Light unborn monarchs to a ghastly grave ! 
 
 Beware, proud King ! the Present cries aloud, 
 
 A prophet to the future ! Wake ! — beware ! 
 
 [Exit Bragelone. 
 Louis. Gone ! Most ill-omen'd voice and fearful shape ! 
 Scarce seem'd it of the earth ; a thing that breathed 
 But to fulfil some dark and dire behest ; 
 To appal us, and to vanish. — The quick blood 
 Halts in my veins. Oh ! never till this hour 
 Heard I the voice that awed the soul of Louis, 
 Or met one brow that did not quail before 
 My kingly gaze ! And this unmitred monk ! 
 I'm glad that none were by. — It was a dream ; 
 So let its memory like a dream depart. 
 I am no tyrant — nay, I love ray people. 
 My wars were made but for the fame of France ! 
 My pomp ! why, tush ! — what king can play the 
 
 hermit ? 
 My conscience smites me not ; and but last evo 
 I did confess, and was absolved ! — A bigot ; 
 And half, methinks, a heretic ! I wish 
 The Jesuits had the probing of his doctrines. 
 Well, well, 'tis o'er '.—What ho, there ! 
 
 Enter Gentleman of the Chamber. 
 
 Louis. Wine ! Apprise
 
 82 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT IV. 
 
 Once more the duchess of our presence. — Stay ! 
 Yon monk, what doth he here ? 
 
 Gent. I know not. sire, 
 
 Kor saw him till this day. 
 
 Louis. Strange ! — Wine ! 
 
 [Exit Gentleman. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 Duchess de la Valliere <md Louia. 
 
 Louis. Well, madam, 
 
 We've tarried long your coming, and meanwhile 
 Have found your proxy in a madman monk, 
 Whom, for the future, we would pray you spare us. 
 
 Ee-enter Gentleman vnth loine. 
 
 So, so ! the draught restores us. Fair La Valliere, 
 Make not yon holy man your confessor ; 
 You'll find small comfort in his lectures. 
 
 Buck, de la Vail. Sire, 
 
 His meaning is more kindly than his manner. 
 I pray you, pardon him. 
 
 Louis. Ay, ay ! No more ; 
 
 Let's think of him no more. You had, this morn, 
 A courtlier visitant, methinks — De Lauzun ? 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Yes, sire. 
 
 Louis. A smooth and gallant gentleman. 
 
 You're silent. Silence is assent ; 'tis well ! 
 
 Buck, de la Vail, [aside]. Down, my full heart ! The 
 duke declares your wish
 
 SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 83 
 
 Is that — that I should bind this broken heart 
 And — no ! I cannot speak — 
 
 [With great and sudden energy.'] 
 
 You wish me vjed, sire ? 
 Louis. 'Twere best that you should wed ; and yet, De 
 Lauzun 
 Is scarce the happiest choice. — But as thou wilt. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. " 'Twere best that I should wed ! " — 
 thou saidst it, Louis ; 
 Say it once more ! 
 
 Louis. In honesty, I think so. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. My choice is made, then — I obey the 
 fiat. 
 And will become a bride ! 
 
 Louis. The duke has sped ! 
 
 i trust he loves thyself, and not thy dower. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. The duke ! what, hast thou read so 
 ill this soul 
 That thou couldst deem thus meanly of that book 
 Whose every page was bared to thee ? A bitter 
 Lot has been mine — and this sums up the measure. 
 Go, Louis ! go ! — All glorious as thou art — 
 Earth's Agamemnon — the great king of men — 
 Thou wert not worthy of this woman's heart ! 
 
 Louis. Her passion moves me ! — Then your choice Las 
 fallen 
 Upon a nobler bridegroom ? 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Sire, it hath I 
 
 Louis. May I demand that choice. 
 Duch. de la Vail. Too soon thou'lt learn it. 
 
 Not yet ! Ah me ! 
 
 Louis. Nay, sigh not, my sweet duchess. 
 
 G 2
 
 84 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLliKE. [aCT V. 
 
 Speak not so sadly. What though love hath past, 
 Friendship remains ; and still my fondest hope 
 Is to behold thee happy. Come ! — thy hand ; 
 Let us be friends ! We are so ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail Friends ! — no more ! 
 
 So, it hath come to this ! I am contented ! 
 Yes — we are friends ! 
 
 Louis. And when your choice is made, 
 
 You will permit your friend to hail your bridals ? 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Ay, when my choice is made ! 
 
 Louis. This poor De Lauzun 
 
 Hath then no chance ? I'm glad of it, and thus 
 Seal our new bond of friendship on your hand. 
 Adieu ! — and Heaven protect you ! 
 
 \Exit Louis. 
 
 Ducli. de la Vail, [gazing after him\. Heaven hath 
 lieard thee ; 
 And in this last most cruel, but most gracious. 
 Proof of thy coldness, breaks the lingering chain 
 That boimd my soul to earth. 
 
 Evt&r Bragelone. 
 
 holy father ! 
 Brother to him whose grave my guilt prepared, 
 Witness my firm resolve, support my struggles, 
 And guide me back to Virtue through Bepentance ! 
 
 Brage. Pause, ere thou dost decide. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. I've paused too lon'» 
 
 And now, impatient of this weary load, 
 Sigh for repose. 
 
 Brage. O Heaven, receive her back ! 
 
 Through the wide earth, the sorrowing dove hath flown.
 
 SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 85 
 
 And found no haven ; weary though her wing 
 And sullied with the dust of lengthen'd travail, 
 Now let her flee away and be at rest ! 
 The peace that man has broken — thou restore, 
 Whose holiest name is Father ! 
 
 DvuJi. de la Vail. Hear us, Heaven. 
 
 ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 
 The Gardens at Versailles. 
 
 Enter Madame de Montespan, Grammont, and 
 Courtiers. 
 
 Mme. de Mon. So she has fled from court — the saintly 
 duchess ; 
 A convent's grate must shield this timorous virtue. 
 Methinks they're not so many to assail it ! 
 Well, trust me, one short moon of fast and penance 
 Will bring us back the recreant novice 
 
 Gram. And 
 
 End the eventful comedy by marriage. 
 Lauzun against the world were even odds ; 
 But Lauzun 'with the world — what saint can stand it 1 
 
 Mrm. de Mon. \aside\ Lauzun ! — the traitor ! What ! 
 to give my rival 
 The triumph to reject the lawful love 
 Of him whose lawless passion first betray'd me ! 
 
 Gram. Talk of the devil ! Humph — you know the 
 proverb.
 
 S6 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT V. 
 
 Unter Lauzun. 
 
 Lau. Good day, my friends. Your pardon, madam ; I 
 Thought 'twas the sun that blinded me. — [Aside.] Athene ! 
 Pray you a word. 
 
 Mme. de Mon. [alovd, and turning away disdainfully]. 
 We are not at leisure, duke. 
 
 Lau. Ha ! [aside]. Nay, Athene, spare your friend 
 these graces. 
 Eorget your state one moment ; have you ask'd 
 The king the office that you undertook 
 To make my own ? My creditors are lu'gent. 
 
 Mine, de Mon. [aloud]. No, my lord duke, I have not 
 ask'd the king ! 
 I grieve to hear your fortunes are so broken, 
 And that your honour'd and augiist device, 
 To mend them by your marriage, fail'd. 
 
 Gram. She hits him 
 
 Hard on the hip. Ha, ha ! — the poor De Lauzun ! 
 
 Lau. Sir ! — Nay, I'm calm ! 
 
 Mme. de Mon. Pi^ay, may we dare to ask 
 
 How long you've loved the duchess? 
 
 Lau. Ever since 
 
 You were her friend and confidante. 
 
 Mme. deMon. You're bitter. 
 
 Perchance you deem your love a thing to boast of. 
 
 Lau. To boast of ! — Yes ! 'Tis something ev'n to love 
 The only woman Louis ever honour'd ! 
 
 Mme. de Mon. [laying her hand on Lauzun's arm]. In- 
 solent ! You shall rue this ! If I speak 
 Your name to Louis, coupled with a favour, 
 The suit shall be your banishment ! 
 
 [Exit Madame de Montespak.
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 87 
 
 First Courtier. Let's follow. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! — Dear duke, your game, I fear, is lost ! 
 You've play'd the knave, and thro-wn awxiy the king. 
 
 Courtiers. Ha ! ha ! — Adieu ! \Exeunt. 
 
 Lau. Ha ! ha ! — The devil take you ! 
 
 So, she would ruin me ! Fore-arm'd — fore-warn' d ! 
 I have the king's ear yet, and know some secrets 
 That could destroy her ! Since La Yalliere's flight, 
 Louis grows sad and thoughtful, and looks cold 
 On her vain rival, who too coarsely shows 
 The world the stuff court ladies' hearts are made of. 
 She will undo herself— and I will help her. 
 Weave on thy web, false Montespan, weave on ; 
 The bigger spider shall devour the smaller. 
 The war's declared — 'tis clear that one must fall : — 
 I'll be polite — the lady to the wall ! 
 
 [Exit Lauzun. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Smiset — the old Chateau of La Valliere — the Convent of the 
 Carmelites at a distance — the same scene as that with which theplaiy 
 opens. 
 
 Enter the Duchess de la Valliere and Bragelone 
 from the Chateau. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Once more, ere yet I take farewell of 
 earth, 
 I see mine old, familiar, maiden home ! 
 All how unchanged ! — The same the hour, the scene, 
 The very season of the year ! — the stillness
 
 88 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT V 
 
 Of the smooth wave — the stillness of the trees. 
 Where the winds sleep like dreams ! — and, oh ! the calm 
 Of the blue heavens around yon holy spires. 
 Pointing, like gospel truths, through calm and storm, 
 To man's great home ! 
 
 Brage. [aside]. Oh ! how the years recede ! 
 
 Upon this spot I spoke to her of love, 
 And dreamt of bliss for earth ! [The vesper-bell tolls. 
 
 JDuch. de la Vail. Hark ! the deep sotmd, 
 
 That seems a voice from some invisible spirit, 
 Claiming the world for God. — When last I heard it 
 Hallow this air, here stood my mother, living ; 
 And I — was then a mother's pride ! — and yonder 
 Came thy brave brother in his glittering mail ; 
 And — ah ! these thoughts are bitter ! — were he living. 
 How would he scorn them ! 
 
 Brage. [wlio has been greatly agitated]. No ! — ah, no ! — 
 thou wrongest him ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Yet, were he living, could I butreceive 
 From his own lips my pardon, and his blessing, 
 My soul would deem one dark memorial rased 
 Out of the page most blister'd with its tears ! 
 
 Brage. Then have thy wish ! and in these wrecks of man 
 Worn to decay, and rent by many a storm. 
 Survey the worm the world call'd Bragelone. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Avaunt ! — avaunt ! — I dream ! — the 
 dead return'd 
 To earth to mock me ! — No ! this hand is warm ! 
 I have one murther less upon my souL 
 I thank thee, Heaven ! — [swoons]. 
 
 Brage. [supporting Iter]. The blow strikes home ; and yet 
 What is my life to her 1 Loui&e ! — She moves not ;
 
 SCENE II.J THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 89 
 
 She does not breathe ; how still she sleeps ! I saw her 
 
 Sleep in her mother's arms, and then, in sleep 
 
 She smiled. TJiere s no smile now ! — poor child ! One kiss! 
 
 It is a brother's kiss — it has no guilt ; 
 
 Kind Heaven, it has no guilt. — I have survived 
 
 All earthlier thoughts : her crime, my vows, effaced them. 
 
 A brother's kiss ! — Away ! I'm human still ; 
 
 I thought I had been stronger ; God forgive me ! 
 
 Awake, Louise ! — awake ! She breathes once more ; 
 
 The spell is broke ; the marble warms to life ! 
 
 And I — freeze back to stone ! 
 
 Dudi. de la Vail. I heard a voice 
 
 That cried " Louise ! " — Speak, speak ! — my sense is dim, 
 And struggles darkly with a blessed ray 
 That shot from heaven. — My shame hath not destroy 'd 
 thee! 
 
 Brage. No ! — life might yet serve thee ! — and I lived on, 
 Dead to all else. I took the vows, and then, 
 Ere yet I laid me down, and bade the Past 
 Fade like a ghost before the dawn of heaven, 
 One sacred task was left. — If love was dust, 
 Love, like ourselves, hath an immortal soul, 
 That doth survive whate'er it takes from clay j 
 And that — the holier part of love — became 
 A thing to watch thy steps — a guardian spirit 
 To hover round, disguised, unknown, undream'd of. 
 To soothe the sorrow, to redeem the sin. 
 And lead thy soul to peace ! 
 
 Diu:h. de la Vail. bright revenge ! 
 
 Love strong as death, and nobler far than woman's ! 
 
 Brage. To peace — ah, let me deem so I — the mute 
 cloister,
 
 90 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT T. 
 
 The spoken ritual, and the solemn veil, 
 
 Are nought themselves ; — the Huguenot abjures 
 
 The monkish cell, but breathes, perchance, the prayer 
 
 That speeds as quick to the Eternal Throne ! 
 
 In our own souls must be the solitude ; 
 
 In our own thoughts the sanctity ! — 'Tis then 
 
 The feeling that our vows have built the wall 
 
 Passion can storm not, nor temptation sap, 
 
 Gives calm its charter, roots out wild regret, 
 
 And makes the heart the world-disdaininsr cloister. 
 
 This — this is peace ! but pause, if in thy breast 
 
 Linger the wish of earth. Alas ! all oaths 
 
 Are vain, if nature shudders to record them — 
 
 The subtle spirit 'scapes the sealed vessel ! 
 
 The false devotion is the true despair ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Fear not ! — I feel 'tis not the walls of 
 stone, 
 Told beads, nor murmur'd hymns, that bind the heart, 
 Or exorcise the world ; the spell's the thought 
 That where most weak we've banish'd the temptation. 
 And reconciled, what earth would still divide, 
 The human memories and the immortal conscience. 
 
 Brage. Doubt fades before tliine accents. On the day 
 That gives thee to the veil we'll meet ouce more. 
 Let mine be man's last blessing in this world. 
 Oh ! tell me then, thou'rt happier than thou hast been ; 
 And when we part, I'll seek some hermit cell 
 Beside the walls that compass thee, and prayer, 
 Morning and night, shall join our souls in heaven. 
 
 Buch. de la Vail. Yes, generous spirit ! think not that 
 my future 
 Shall be repining as the past. Thou livest.
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 91 
 
 And conscience smiles again. The shatter'd bark 
 Glides to its haven. Joy ! the land is near. 
 
 [Eodt Duchess de la Valliere into the Chateau. 
 Brage. So, it is past ! — the secret is disclosed ! 
 The hand she did reject on earth has led her 
 To holier ties. I have not lived in vain ! 
 Yet who had dream'd, when through the ranks of war 
 "Went the loud shout of " France and Bragelone !" 
 That the monk's cowl would close on all my laurels 1 
 A never-heard philosopher is life ! — 
 Our happiest hours are sleep's ; — and sleep proclaims, 
 Did we but listen to its warning voice, 
 That rest is earth's elixir. Why, then, pine 
 That, ere our years grow feverish with their toil. 
 Too weary-worn to find the rest they sigh for, 
 We learn betimes the moral op repose ? 
 I will lie down, and sleep away this world. 
 The pause of care, the slumber of tired passion, 
 Why, why defer till night is well-nigh spent ? 
 When the brief sun that gilt the landscape sets, 
 When o'er the music on the leaves of life 
 Chill silence falls, and every fluttering hope 
 That voiced the world with song has gone to rest, 
 Then let thy soul, from the poor labourer, learn 
 " Sleep's sweetest taken soonest ! " 
 
 \As he moves away, his eye falls upon a glove dropped by the 
 Duchess de la Vallieee— Ae talces it zip. 
 And this hath touch'd her hand ! — it were a comfort 
 To hoard a single relic ! 
 
 [Kisses the glove, and tlien suddenly dropping it. 
 No !— 'Tis sinful ! 
 
 [Exit BragelonEt
 
 92 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIEBE. [aCT V. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The exterior of tlie Gothic Convent of the Carmdites — The windows 
 illumined — Music heard from within — A crowd without — Eiiter 
 Courtiers, Ladies, Priests, &c., and pass thraagh tJie door of the 
 chapel, in the centre of the iuilding. 
 
 Enter Lauzun yrom a door in die side wing of the 
 Convent — to him, Grammont. 
 
 Lau. Where hast thou left the king ? 
 
 Gram. Not one league hence. 
 
 Lau, Ere the clock strikes, La Valliere takes the veil. 
 
 Gram. Great Heaven ! so soon ' — and Louis sent me on, 
 To learn how thou hadst prosper'd with the duchess. 
 He is so sanguine — this imperious king, 
 Who never heard a " No " from living lips ! 
 How did she take his letter 1 
 
 Lau. In sad silence ; 
 
 Then mused a little while, and some few tears 
 Stole down her cheeks, as, with a trembling hand, 
 She gave me back the scroll. 
 
 Gram. You mean her answer. 
 
 Lau. No ; the king's letter. " Tell him that I thank 
 him ;" 
 (Such were her words ;) ' but that my choice is made ; 
 And ev'n this last assurance of his love 
 I dare not keep : ' tis only when I pray. 
 That I may think of him. This is my answer ** 
 
 Gram. No more ? — no written word ? 
 
 Lau, None, Grammont. Then
 
 SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 93 
 
 She rose and left me ; and I lieard the bell 
 Calling the world to see a woman scorn it. 
 
 Gra/m. The king will never brook it. He will grasp 
 her 
 Back from this yawning tomb of living souls. 
 The news came on him with such sudden shock ; 
 The long noviciate thus abridged ! and she — 
 Ever so waxen to his wayward will ! — 
 She cannot yet be marble. 
 
 Lcm. Wrong'd affection 
 
 Makes many a Niobe from tears. Haste, Grammont, 
 Back to the king, and bid him fly to save. 
 Or nerve his heart to lose, her. I will follow, — 
 My second charge fulfill'd. 
 
 Gram. And what is that ? 
 
 Lau. Revenge and justice ! — Go ! 
 
 [Exit Grammont. 
 
 Lau. \loohing dovm the stage\. I hear her laugh — 
 
 I catch the glitter of her festive robe ! 
 Athen^ comes to triumph — and to tremble ! 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Madame de Montespan, Courtiers, and Lauzun. 
 
 Mme. de Mon. \aside\. Now for the crowning cup of 
 sparkling fortune ! 
 A rarer pearl than Egypt's queen dissolved 
 I have immersed in that delicious draught,
 
 94 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT V. 
 
 A woman's triumph o'er a fairer rival ! 
 
 [As she turns to enter the convent, she perceives Lauzun. 
 What ! you here, duke ! 
 
 La/u. Ay, madam ; I've not yet 
 
 To thank you for — my banishment ! 
 
 Mme. de Mon. The Ides 
 
 Of March are come — not over ! 
 
 Lau. Are they not ? 
 
 For some they may be ! You are hei'e to witness — 
 
 J/me. de Mon. My triumph ! 
 
 Lau. And to take a. friend's condolence. 
 
 I bear this letter from the king ! 
 
 Mme. de Mon. The king ? 
 
 [Reads tlie letter. 
 " "We do not blame you ; blame belongs to love, 
 And love had nought with you." — What ! what ! I 
 
 tremble ! 
 " The Duke de Lauzun, of these lines the bearer, 
 Confirms their purport : from our royal court 
 We do excuse your presence." Banish'd, duke ? 
 Is that the word 1— What, banish'd ! 
 
 Lau. Hush ! — you mar 
 
 The holy silence of the place. 'Tis true ; 
 You read aright. Our gracious king permits you 
 To quit Versailles. Versailles is not the world. 
 
 Mnie. de Mon. Perdition ! — banish'd ! 
 
 Lau. You can take the veiL 
 
 MeanwhUe, enjoy your triumph ! 
 
 Mme. de Mon. Triumph ! — Ah ! 
 
 She triumphs o'er me to the last. My soul 
 Finds hell on earth — and hers makes earth a heaven 1 
 Lau. Hist ! — will you walk within ?
 
 SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 95 
 
 Mme. de Mon. O, hateful world ! 
 
 What ? — hath it come to this ? 
 
 Lau. You spoil your triumph ! 
 
 Mme. de Mon. Lauzun, I thank thee — thank thee — 
 thank — and curse thee. 
 
 \Exit Madame de Montespan. 
 Lau. \looking after her with a subdued laugh]. Ha, 
 ha ! — the broken heart can know no pang 
 Like that which racks the bad heart when its sting 
 Poisons itself. Now, then, away to Louis. 
 The bell still tolls : there's time. This soft La Vallicre ! 
 The only thing that ever baffled Lauzun, 
 And felt not his revenge ! — revenge, poor soul ! 
 Revenge upon a dove ! — she shall be saved 
 From the pale mummies of yon Memphian vault, 
 Or the great Louis will be less than man, — 
 Or that fond sinner will be more than woman. - 
 
 [Exit Lauzun. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 T7ie interior of the Chapel of the Carmelite Convent — On the fore- 
 ground, Courtiers, Ladies, &c. — At the bach of the stage, the altar, 
 only partially seen through the surrounding throng — Tlie officials pass 
 to and fro, swinging the censers — The stage darkened — Lights sus- 
 pended along the aisle, and tapers by the altar. 
 
 As the scene opens, solemn music, to which is chaunted the following 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 Come from the world, weary soul. 
 
 For run the race and uear the goal J
 
 96 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT T. 
 
 Flee from the net, lonely dove. 
 Thy nest is built the clouds above ! 
 Turn, wild and worn with panting fear. 
 And slake thy thirst, thou wounded deer. 
 In Jordan's holy springs ! 
 
 Arise ! O fearful soul, arise I 
 For broke the chain and calm the skies ! 
 As moths fly upward to the star. 
 The light allures thee from afar. 
 Though earth is lost, and space is wide. 
 The smile of God shall be thy guide. 
 And Faith and Hope thy wings ! 
 
 [As the Hymn ends, Bbagelone enters, and stands apart *» 
 the backgroicnd. 
 
 First Cour. Three minutes more, and earth has lost 
 La Valliere ! 
 
 Second Cour. So young ! — so fair ! 
 
 Third Cour. 'Twas whisper'd, that the king 
 
 Would save her yet ! 
 
 First Cour. What ! snatch her from the altar ? 
 
 He durst not, man ! 
 
 Fnter Louis, Grammont, and Lauzun. 
 
 Louis. Hold ! we forbid the rites ! 
 
 [As the King advances hastily up theaisl&, Bbagelone />Zac«a 
 himself before him. 
 Back monk ! revere the presence of the king ! 
 
 Brage. And thou the palace of the King of kings ! 
 
 Louis. Dotard ! we claim our subject. 
 
 Brage. She hath past 
 
 The limit of your realm. Ye priests of Heaven, 
 Complete your solemn task ! — The church's curse 
 Hangs on the air. Descendant of Saint Louis, 
 Move — and the avalanche falls !
 
 «!CEKE v.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIME, 97 
 
 [The Duchess de la Valli^ee, still dressed in the bridal 
 and gorgeous attire assumed before the taking of the 
 veil, descends from the altar. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. No, holy friend ! 
 
 I need it not ; my soul is my protector. 
 TsTay, thou mayst trust me. 
 
 Brage. [after a paibse\ Thou art right. — I trust 
 thee? 
 
 Louis [leading the Duch. de la Valli^re to the front of the 
 stage]. Thou hast not ta'en the veil 1 — Ev'n Time 
 had mercy. 
 Thou art saved ! — thou art saved ! — to love — to life ! 
 
 Dvx:h. de la Vail. Ah, sire ! 
 
 Louis. Call me not sire ! — forget that dreary time 
 When thou wert duchess, and myself the king. 
 Fly back, fly back, to those delicious hours 
 When / was but thy lover and thy Louis ! 
 And thou my dream — my bird — my fairy flower — 
 My violet, shrinking in the modest shade 
 Until transplanted to this breast — to haunt 
 The common air with odours ! Oh, Louise ! 
 Hear me ! — the fickle lust of change allured me, 
 The pride thy virtues wounded arm'd against thee, 
 Until I dream'd I loved thyself no longer ; 
 But now this dread resolve, this awe of parting, 
 Re-binds me to thee — bares my soul before me — 
 Dispels the lying mists that veil'd thine image, 
 And tells me that I never loved but thee ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. I am not then despised ! — thou lov'st 
 me still ! 
 And when I pray for thee, my heart may feel 
 That it hath nothing to forgive ! ,
 
 98 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT V. 
 
 Louis. Louise ! 
 
 Thou dost renounce this gloomy purpose ? 
 ' Buck, de la Vail. Never 1 
 
 It is not gloomy ! — think'st thou it is gloom 
 To feel that, as my soul becomes more pure, 
 Heaven will more kindly listen to the prayers 
 That rise for thee ? — is that thought gloom, my Louis ? 
 
 Louis, Oh ! slay me not with tenderness ! Return ! 
 And if thy conscience startle at my love. 
 Be still my friend — my angel ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. I am weak, 
 
 But, in the knowledge of my weakness, strong ! 
 I could not breathe the air that's sweet with thee, 
 Nor cease to love ! — in flight my only safety ; 
 And were that flight not made by solemn vows 
 Eternal, it were bootless ; for the wings 
 Of my wild soul know but two bournes to speed to — 
 Louis and Heaven ! And, oh ! in Heaven at last 
 My soul, unsinning, may unite with Louis ! 
 
 Louis. I do implore thee ! — 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. No ; thou canst not tempt me ! 
 
 My hea7-t already is the nun. 
 
 Louis. Thou know'st not 
 
 I have dismiss'd thy rival from the court. 
 Return ! — though mine no more, at least thy Louis 
 Shall know no second love ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. What ! wilt thou, Louis, 
 
 Renounce for me eternally my rival, 
 And live alone for 
 
 Louis. Thee ! Louise, I swear it ! 
 
 Ihich. de la Vail, [raising her arms to He(weTb\. Father ! 
 at length, I dare to hope for pardon,
 
 SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. 99 
 
 For now remorse may prove itself sincere ! 
 
 Bear witness. Heaven ! I never loved this man 
 
 So well as now ! and never seem'd his love 
 
 Built on so sure a rock ! Upon thine altar 
 
 I lay the oflFering. I revoke the past ; 
 
 For Louis, Heaven was left — and now I leave 
 
 Louis, when tenfold more beloved, for Heaven ! 
 
 Ah ! pray with me ! Be this our latest token — 
 
 This memory of sweet moments — sweet, though sinless ! 
 
 Ah ! pray with me ! ihat I may hive till death 
 
 The thought — " we pray'd together for forgiveness ! " 
 
 Louis. Oh ! wherefore never knew I till this hour 
 The treasure I shall lose ! I dare not call thee 
 Back from the Heaven where thou art half already ! 
 Thy soul demands celestial destinies. 
 And stoops no more to earth. Be thine the peace, 
 And mine the penance ! Yet these awful walls. 
 The rigid laws of this severest order, 
 Yon spectral shapes, this human sepulchre, — 
 And thou, the soft, the delicate, the highborn. 
 The adored delight of Europe's mightiest king, — 
 Thou canst not bear it ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. I have borne much worse — 
 
 Thy change and thy desertion ! — Let it pass ! 
 There is no terror in the things without ; 
 Our souls alone the palace or the prison j 
 And the one thought that I have fled from sin 
 Will fill the cell with images more glorious. 
 And haunt its silence with a mightier music,, 
 Than ever throng'd illumined halls, or broke 
 From harps by mortal strung ! 
 
 Louis. I will not hear thee ! 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT V. 
 
 I cannot brave these thouglits. Thy angel voice 
 
 But tells me what a sun of heavenly beauty 
 
 Glides from the earth, and leaves my soul to darkness. 
 
 This is my work ! — 'twas I for whom that soul 
 
 Forsook its native element ; for me, 
 
 Sorrow consumed thy youth, and conscience guaw'd 
 
 That patient, tender, unreproachful heart. 
 
 And now this crowns the whole ! the priest — the altar— 
 
 The sacrifice — the victim ! Touch me not ! 
 
 Speak not ! I am unmann'd enough already. 
 
 I — I — I choke ! These tears — let them speak for me. 
 
 Now ! now thy hand — farewell ! farewell, for ever ! 
 
 \Exil Louis. 
 Buch. de la Vail. Be firm, my heart, be firm ! 
 
 \_After a pause, turning to Bragelone, with a slight smile. 
 'Tis past ! we've conquer'd ! 
 
 IThe Ddchess de la Valli^re re-ascends to the altar — the 
 crowd close around. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Hark ! to the nuptial train are open'd wide 
 The Eternal Gates. Hosanna to the bride ! 
 
 Gra/ni. She has ta'en the veil — the last dread rite ia 
 
 done. 
 Abbess [from the altar]. Sister Louise ! before the eter- 
 nal grate 
 Becomes thy barrier from the living world, 
 It is allow'd thee once more to behold 
 The face of men, and bid farewell to friendship.
 
 SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLlfiRE. 101 
 
 Brage. \aside\. Why do I shudder 1 why shrinks back 
 my being 
 From our last gaze, like Nature from the Grave ? 
 One moment, and one look, and o'er her image 
 Thick darkness falls, till Death, that morning star, 
 Heralds immortal day. I hear her steps 
 Treading the mournful silence ; o'er my soul 
 Pauses the freezing time. O Lord, support me ! 
 One effort more — one effort ! — Wake, my soul ! 
 'Tis thy last trial ; wilt thou play the craven ? 
 
 \Tlie crowd give way, the Duchess de la Valli^ee in the 
 habit of the Carmelite nuns, passes down the steps of the 
 altar, led by the Abbess — As she j^auses to address those 
 whom she recognizes in the croivd, the chorus chaunts : — 
 
 Sister, look and speak thy last, 
 From the workl thou'rt dying fast ; 
 While farewell to life thou'rt giving, 
 Dead already to the living. 
 
 Duch. de la Vail, [coming to the front of the stage sees 
 Lauzun]. Lauzun ! thou serv'st a king, whate'er 
 his faults, 
 Who merits all thy homage : honour — love him. 
 His glory needs no friendship j but in sickness 
 Or sorrow, kings need love. Be faithful, Lauzun ! 
 And, far from thy loud world, one lowly voice 
 Shall not forget thee. 
 
 Brage, [aside]. All the strife is hush'd ! 
 
 My heart's wild sea lies mute ! 
 
 Duch. de la Vail, [approaching Bragelone, and kneeling 
 to him]. Now ! friend and father, 
 
 BlesB the poor Nun !
 
 102 THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE. [aCT V. SC. V. 
 
 Brage. As Duchess of La Vallidre 
 
 Thou wei't not happy ; as the Carmelite Sister, 
 Say — art thou happy 1 
 
 Duch. de la Vail. Yes ! 
 
 Brage. laying his hand on her head\. Father, bless 
 her ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Hark ? in heaven is mirth ! 
 
 Jubilate ! 
 Grief leaves guilt on earth ! 
 
 Jubilate ! 
 Joy for sin forgiveu ! 
 
 Jubilate ! 
 Come, Bride of Heaven ! 
 
 Jubilate ! 
 
 \Cuiiain falls slowly.
 
 THE LADY OF LYONS; 
 
 CB, 
 
 IiOVE AND PEIDE.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 An indistinct recollection of the very pretty little tale, calleci 
 "The Bellows-Mender," suggested the plot of this Drama. The 
 incidents are, however, greatly altered from those in the tale, and 
 the characters entirely re-cast. 
 
 Having long had a wish to illustrate certain periods of the 
 French history, so, in the selection of the date in which the scenes of 
 this play are laid, I saw that the era of the Republic was that in 
 which the incidents were rendered most probable, in which the pro- 
 bationary career of the hero could well be made sufficiently rapid 
 for dramatic effect, and in which the character of the time itself 
 was depicted by the agencies necessary to the conduct of the narra- 
 tive. For during the early years of the first and most brilliant suc- 
 cesses of the French Republic, in the general ferment of society, 
 and the brief equalization of ranks, Claude's high-placed love, his 
 ardent feelings, his unsettled principles (the struggle between 
 which makes the passion of this drama), his ambition, and his 
 career, were phenomena that characterized the age, and in which 
 the spirit of the nation went along with the extravagance of the 
 individual. 
 
 The play itself was composed with a twofold object. In the first 
 place, sympathizing with the enterprise of Mr. Macready, as 
 Manager of Covent Garden, and believing that many of the higher 
 interests of the Drama were involved in the success or failure of an 
 enterprise equally hazardous and disinterested, I felt, if I may so 
 presume to express myself, something of the Brotherhood of Art ; 
 and it was only for Mr. Macready to think it possible that I might 
 serve him in order to induce me to make the attempt.
 
 106 ■ PREFACE. 
 
 Secondly, in that attempt I was mainly anxious to see whether 
 or not, after the comparative failure on the stage of "The Duchess 
 de la Vallifere," certain critics had truly declared that it was not in 
 my power to attain the art of dramatic construction and theatrical 
 effect. I felt, indeed, that it was in this that a writer, accustomed 
 to the narrative class of composition, would have the most both to 
 learn and wnlearn. Accordingly, it was to the development of the 
 plot and the arrangement of the incidents that I directed my chief 
 attention ; — and I sought to throw whatever belongs to poetry less 
 into the diction and the "felicity of words" than into the construc- 
 tion of the story, the creation of the characters, and the spirit of the 
 pervading sentiment. 
 
 The authorship of the play was neither avowed nor suspected 
 until the play had established itself in public favour. The announce- 
 ment of my name was the signal for attacks, chiefly political, to 
 which it is now needless to refer. When a work has outlived for 
 some time the earlier hostilities of criticism, there comes a new race 
 of critics to which a writer may, for the most part, calmly trust for 
 a fair consideration, whether of me faults or the merits of his per- 
 formance.
 
 to 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "ION," 
 
 WHOSB QENIUS AND EXAMPLE HAVE ALIKE CONTBQUTED 
 TOWARDS THE REGENERATION OP 
 
 ^ijt i^ational IBtatna, 
 THIS PLAY IS INSCRIBED.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 
 
 Beauseant, a oich gentleman of Lyons, in love tmth, and 
 
 refused by, Pauline Deschappelles. 
 Glavis, his friend, also a rejected suitor to Pauline. 
 Colonel (afterwards General) Damas, cousin to Mme. 
 
 Deschappelles, and an officer in the French a/rniy. 
 Monsieur Deschappelles, a Lyonneae merchant, father 
 
 to Pauline. 
 Landlord op the Golden Lion. 
 Gaspar. 
 
 Claude Melnotte. 
 First Officer, Second Officer, Third Officer. 
 
 Servants, Nota/ry^ &c. 
 
 Madame Deschappelles. 
 
 Pauline, her daughter. 
 
 The Widow Melnotte, mother to Claude. 
 
 Janet, th^ innkeeper's daughter. 
 
 Marian, maid to Pauline. 
 
 Scene — Lyons and the neighbourhood, 
 rime— 1795-1798.
 
 THE LADY OF LYONS; 
 
 OE, 
 
 LOVE AND PEIDE. 
 
 ACT I.— SCENE I. 
 
 A room in the house of M. Deschappelles, at Lyons. Pauline 
 reclining on a sofa ; Marian, her maid fanning her — Flmvers and 
 notes on a table beside the sofa — Madame Deschappelles seated — 
 Tlbc gardens are seen from the open window. 
 
 Mine. Descfiap. Marian, put that rose a little more to 
 the left. — [Marian alters the position of a rose in Pau- 
 line's /iostV.] — Ah, so ! — that improves the hair, — the 
 tournure, the je ne sais quoi ! — You are certainly very 
 handsome, child ! — quite my style ; — I don't wonder 
 that you make such a sensation ! — Old, young, rich, and 
 poor, do homage to the Beauty of Lyons ! — Ah, we live 
 again in our children, — especially when they have our eyes 
 and complexion ! 
 
 Pauline [languidli/]. Dear mother, you spoil your 
 Pauline ! — [j4sic?e.] I wish I knew who sent me these 
 flowers ! 
 
 Mme. Deschap. No, child ! — If I praise you, it is only 
 to inspire you with a proper ambition. — You are born to
 
 110 THE LADY OF LYONS j [aCT I, 
 
 make a great marriage. — Beauty is valuable or worthless 
 according as you invest the property to the best advan- 
 tage. — Marian, go and order the carriage ! 
 
 [Exit Marian. 
 Pauline. Who can it be that sends me, every day, 
 these beautiful flowers '( — how sweet they are ! 
 
 Unter Servant. 
 
 Servant. Monsieur Beauseant, madam. 
 
 Mme. Deschap. Let him enter. Pauline, this is another 
 offer ! — I know it is ! — ^Your father should engage an 
 additional clerk to keep the account-book of your con- 
 quests. 
 
 Unier Beauseant. 
 
 Beau. Ah, ladies, how fortunate I am to find you at 
 home ! — [^Isic^e.] How lovely she looks ! — It is a great 
 sacrifice I make in marrying into a family in trade ! — 
 they will be eternally grateful ! — [Aloud.^ Madam, you 
 will permit me a woi'd with your charming daughter. 
 — [Approaches Pauline, who rises disdainfully.] — Made- 
 moiselle, I have ventured to wait upon you, in a hope 
 that you must long .since have divined. Last night, 
 when you outshone all the beauty of Lyons, you com- 
 pleted your conquest over me ! You know that my for- 
 tune is not exceeded by any estate in the province, — you 
 know that, but for the Revolution, which has defrauded 
 me of my titles, I should be noble. May I, then, trust 
 that you will not reject my alliance 1 I offer you my 
 hand and heart. 
 
 Pauline [aside]. He has the air of a man who confers 
 a favour ! — [^foiio?.] Sir, you are very condescending — I 
 thank you humbly ; but, being duly sensible of my own
 
 SCENE I ] OB, LOVE AND PRIDE. Ill 
 
 demerits, you must allow me to decline the honour you 
 propose. 
 
 [Curtsies, and turns away. 
 
 Becm. Decline ! impossible ! — you are not serious ! — 
 Madam, suffer me to appeal to you. I am a suitor for 
 your daughter's hand — the settlements shall be worthy 
 her beauty and my station. May I wait on M. Des- 
 chappelles ? 
 
 Mme. Deschaj). M. Deschappelles never interferes in 
 the domestic arrangements, — you are very obliging. If 
 you were still a marquis, or if my daughter were intended 
 to marry a commoner, — why, perhaps, we might give you 
 the preference. 
 
 Beau. A commoner ! — we are all commoners in France 
 now. 
 
 Mme. Deschap. In France, yes ; but there is a nobility 
 still left in the other countries in Europe. We are quite 
 aware of your good qualities, and don't doubt that you 
 will find some lady more suitable to your pretensions. 
 We shall be always happy to see you as an acquaintance, 
 M. Beauseant ! — My dear child, the carriage will be here 
 presently. 
 
 Beau. Say no more, madam ! — say no more ! — [-4si(^.] 
 Refused ! and by a merchant's daughter ! — refused ! It 
 will be all over Lyons before sunset ! — I will go and bury 
 myself in my chateau, study philosophy, and turn woman- 
 hater. Refused ! they ought to be sent to a madhouse ! 
 — ^Ladies, I have the honour to wish you a very good 
 morning. [Exit. 
 
 3fme. Deschap. How forward these men are ! — I think, 
 child, we kept up our dignity. Any girl, however inex- 
 perienced, knows how to accent an offer, but it requires a
 
 112 THE LADY OF LYONS; [aGT L 
 
 vast deal of address to refuse one witli proper condescen- 
 sion and disdain. I used to practise it at school with the 
 dancing-master. 
 
 Enter Damas. 
 
 Damas. Good morning, cousin Deschappelles. — AVell, 
 Pauline, are you recovered from last night's ball ? — So 
 many triumphs must be very fatiguing. Even M. Glavis 
 sighed most piteously when you departed ; but that might 
 be the effect of the supper. 
 
 Pavline. M. Glavis, indeed ! 
 
 Mme. Deschap. M. Glavis 1 — as if my daughter would 
 think of M. Glavis ! 
 
 Damas. Hey-day ! — why not ? — His father left him a 
 very pretty fortune, and his birth is higher than yours, 
 cousin Deschappelles. But perhaps you are looking to 
 M. Beauseant, — his father was a marquis before the Revo- 
 lution. 
 
 Pauline. M. Beauseant ! — Cousin, you delight in tor- 
 menting me ! 
 
 Mvie. Deschap. Don't mind him, Pauline ! — Cousin 
 Damas, you have no susceptibility of feeling, — there is a 
 certain indelicacy in all your ideas. — M. Beauseant knows 
 already that he is no match for my daughter ! 
 
 Damas. Pooh ! pooh ! one would think you intended 
 your daughter to marry a prince ! 
 
 Mme. Deschap. Well, and if I did ? — what then ?-— 
 Many a foreign prince — 
 
 Damas [interrupting her\ Foreign prince ! — foreign 
 fiddlestick ! — ^you ought to be ashamed of such nonsense 
 at your time of life. 
 
 Mme. Deschap. My time of life ! — That is an expression 
 never applied to any lady till she is sixty-nine and three-
 
 SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PPJBE. 113 
 
 quarters ; — and only then by the clergyman of the 
 
 parish, 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Servant. Madame, the carriage is at the door. [Exit. 
 
 Mme. Desckap. Come, child, pnt on your bonnet — ^you 
 really have a very thorough-bred air — not at all like your 
 poor father. — \Fondly.^ Ah, you little coquette ! when a 
 young lady is always making mischief, it is a sure sign 
 that she takes after her mother ! 
 
 Pauline. Good day, cousin Damas — and a better 
 humour to you. — \Going back to tlve table a/nd taking the 
 flowers^ Who could have sent me these flowers ? 
 
 [Exeunt Pauline and Madame Deschappelles. 
 
 Damas. That would be an excellent girl if her head 
 had not been turned. I fear she is now become in- 
 corrigible ! Zounds, what a lucky fellow I am to be still 
 a bachelor ! They may talk of the devotion of the sex — 
 but the most faithful attachment in life is that of a woman 
 in love — with herself. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The exterior of a small Village Inn — sign, the Golden Hon — a few 
 leagues from Lyons, which is seen at a distance. 
 
 Beau, [behind the scenes]. Yes, you may bait the horses ; 
 we shall rest here an hour. 
 
 Enter Beauseant and Glavis. 
 
 Gla. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have 
 promised to spend a day or two with you at your chateau,
 
 114 THE LADY OF LYONS. [ACT I. 
 
 — that I am quite at your mei'cy for my entertainment, — 
 and yet you are as silent and as gloomy as a mute at a 
 funeral, or an Englishman at a party of pleasure. 
 
 Beau. Bear with me ! — the fact is that I am misei-able, 
 
 Gla. You — the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons 1 
 
 Beau. It is because I am a bachelor that I am mise- 
 rable. — Thou knowest Pauline — the only daughter of the 
 rich merchant. Mens. Deschappelles ? 
 
 Gla. Know her ? — who does not ? — as pretty as Venus, 
 and as proud as Juno. 
 
 Beau. Her taste is worse than her pride. — [Bo'aioing 
 himself up^ Know, Glavis, she has actually refused me I 
 
 Gla. \ciside\ So she has me ! — very consoling ! In 
 all cases of heart-ache, the application of another man's 
 disappointment draws out the pain and allays the irri- 
 tation. — [w4foz<(7.] llefused you ! and wherefoi-e 1 
 
 Beau. I know not, unless it be because the Revolution 
 swept away my father's title of Marquis, — and she will 
 not marry a commoner. Now, as we have no noblemen 
 left in France, — as we ai'e all citizens and equals, she can 
 only hope that, in spite of the war, some English Milord 
 or German Count will risk his life, by coming to Lyons, 
 that this Jille du Roturier may condescend to accept him. 
 Refused me, and with scorn ! — By Heaven, I'll not submit 
 to it tamely : — I'm in a perfect fever of mortification and 
 rage. — Refuse me, indeed ! 
 
 Gla. Be comforted, my dear fellow, — I will tell you 
 a secret. For the same reason she refused me ! 
 
 Beau. You ! — that's a very different matter ! But 
 give me your hand, Glavis, — we'll think of some plan to 
 humble her. Mille diahles ! I should like to see her 
 married to a sti-oUing player !
 
 SCENE II.] OK, LOVE AND PRIDE. 115 
 
 Enter Landlord and his Daughter yrom the Inn. 
 
 Land. Your servant, citizen Beauseant, — servant, sir. 
 Perhaps you will take dinner before you proceed to your 
 chateau ; our larder is most plentifully supplied. 
 
 Beau. I have no appetite. 
 
 Gla. Nor I. Still it is bad travelling on an empty 
 stomach. What have you got ? [Takes and looks over 
 the hill offare.^ 
 
 \Shout toithout.J " Long live the Prince ! — Long live 
 the Prince ! " 
 
 Beau. The Prince ! — what Prince is that ? I thought 
 we had no princes left in France. 
 
 Land. Ha, ha ! the lads always call him Prince. He 
 has just won the prize in the shooting-match, and they 
 are taking him home in triumph. 
 
 Beau. Him ! and who's Mr. Him ? 
 
 Land. Who should he be but the pride of the village, 
 Claude Melnotte 1 — Of course you have heard of Claude 
 Melnotte 1 
 
 Gla. [giving back the bill o/ fare]. Never had that 
 honour. Soup — ragout of hare — roast chicken, and, in 
 short, all you have ! 
 
 Beau. The son of old Melnotte, the gardener ? 
 
 Land. Exactly so — a wonderful young man. 
 
 Beau. How, wonderful 1 — Are his cabbages better than 
 other people's ? 
 
 Land. Nay, he don't garden any more ; his father left 
 left him well off. He's only a genus. 
 
 Gla. A what 1 
 
 Land. A genus ! — a man who can. do everything iu 
 life except anything that's useful ; — that's a genus. 
 
 Beau. You raise my curiosity j— proceed. 
 I 2
 
 116 THE LADY OF LYONS; [ACT L 
 
 Land. Well, then, about four years ago, old Melnotte 
 died, and left his son well to do in the world, "We then 
 all observed that a great change came over young Claude : 
 he took to reading and Latin, and hired a professor from 
 Lyons, who had so rcuch in his head that he was forced 
 to wear a great full-bottom wig to cover it. Then he 
 took a fencing-master, and a dancing-master, and a music- 
 master ; and then he learned to paint ; and at last it was 
 said that young Claude was to go to Paris, and set up for 
 a painter. The lads laughed at him at first ; but he is a 
 stout fellow, is Claude, and as brave as a lion, and soon 
 taught them to laugh the wrong side of their mouths ; 
 and now all the boys swear by him, and all the girls pray 
 for him. 
 
 Beau. A promising youth, certainly ! And why do 
 they call him Pi-ince 1 
 
 Land. Partly because he is at the head of them all, and 
 partly because he has such a proud way with him, and 
 weai's such fine clothes — and, in short, looks like a prince. 
 
 Beau. And what could have turned the foolish fellow's 
 brain ? The Revolution, I suppose ? 
 
 Land. Yes — the revolution that turns us all topsy- 
 turvy — the revolution of Love, 
 
 Beau. Romantic young Cory don ! And with whom is 
 he in love ? 
 
 Land. Why — but it is a secret, gentlemen. 
 
 Beau,. Oh ! certainly. 
 
 Land. Why, then, I hear from his mother, good soul \ 
 that it is no less a person than the Beauty of Lyons, 
 Pauline Deschappelles. 
 
 Beau, and Glavis. Ha, ha ! — Capital ! 
 
 Land. You may laugh, but it is as true as I stand here.
 
 SCENE II.] OE, LOVE AND PRIDE. 117 
 
 Beau. And what does the Beauty of Lyons say to his 
 suit? 
 
 Land. Lord, sir-, she never even condescended to look 
 at him, though when he was a boy he worked in her 
 father's garden. 
 
 Beau. Ai-e you sure of that % 
 
 La/nd. His mother says that Mademoiselle does not 
 know him by sight. 
 
 Beau, \takhig Glavis aside]. I have hit it, — I have it ; — - 
 here is our revenge ! Here is a prince for our haughty 
 damsel. Do you take me ? 
 
 Gla. Deuce take me if I do ! 
 
 Beau. Blockhead ! — it's as clear as a map. What if 
 we could make this elegant clown pass himself off as a 
 foreign prince ? — lend him money, clothes, equipage for 
 the purpose 1 — make him propose to Pauline % — marry 
 Pauline 1 Would it not be delicious 1 
 
 Gla. Ha, ha ! — Excellent ! But how shall we support 
 the necessary expenses of his highness 1 
 
 Beau. Pshaw ! Revenge is worth a much larger sacri- 
 fice than a few hundred louis ; — as for details, my vale 
 is the trustiest fellow in the world, and shall have the 
 appointment of his highness's establishment. Let's go 
 to him at once, and see if he be really this Admirable 
 Crichton. 
 
 Gla. With all my heart ; — but the dinner ? 
 
 Beau. Always thinking of dinner ! Hark ye, landlord ; 
 how far is it to young Melnotte's cottage ? I should like 
 to see such a prodigy. 
 
 Land. Turn down the lane, — then strike across the 
 common; — and you will see his mother's cottage. 
 
 Beau. True, he lives with his mother. — [.4sic?e.] We
 
 118 THE LADY OP LYONS; [aCT L 
 
 will not trust to au old woman's discretion ; better send 
 for him hither, I'll just step in and write him a note. 
 Come, Glavis. 
 
 Gla. Yes, — Beauseant, Glavis, and Co., manufacturers 
 of princes, wholesale and retail, — an uncommonly genteel 
 line of business. But why so grave 1 
 
 BeaiL You think only of the sport, — I of the revenge. 
 
 [Exeunt within the Inn. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The interior of Melnotte's cottage ; flowers placed here and there ; 
 a guitar on an oaken table, with a portfolio, die. ; a picture on an easel, 
 covered bg a C2irtain ; fencing -foils crossed over the mantelpiece ; an 
 attempt at refinement in spite of the homeliness of the furniture, <fcc. ; 
 a staircase to the right conducts to the upper stoi"y. 
 
 \Shout toithout.] " Long live Claude Melnotte ! " " Long 
 live the Prince .' " 
 
 The Widow Mel. Hark ! — there's my dear son ; — car- 
 ried off the prize, I'm sure ; and now he'll want to treat 
 them all. 
 
 Claude Mel. \opening the doorj. What ! you will not 
 come in, my friends ! Well, well, — there's a trifle to make 
 merry elsewhere. Good day to you all, — good day ! 
 
 [Shout,] " Hurrah ! Long live Prince Claude ! " 
 £nter Claude Melnotte, ivith a rifie in his homd. 
 
 Mel. Give me joy, dear mother ! — I've won the prize ! 
 —never missed one shot ! Is it not handsome, this gun % 
 
 Widow. Humph ! — Well, what is it worth, Claude ?
 
 SCENE III.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 119 
 
 Mel. Worth ! What is a riband worth to a soldier 1 
 Worth ! everything ! Glory is priceless ! 
 
 Widoio. Leave glory to great folks. Ah ! Claude, 
 Claude, castles in the air cost a vast deal to keep up ! 
 How is all this to end 1 What good does it do thee to 
 learn Latin, and sing songs, and play on the guitar, and 
 fence, and dance, and paint pictures ? All very fine ; but 
 what does it bring in ? 
 
 Mel. Wealth ! wealth, my mother ! Wealth to the 
 mind — wealth to the heart — high thoughts — bright 
 di'eams — the hope of fame — the ambition to be worthier 
 to love Pauline. 
 
 Widow. My poor son ! — The young lady will never think 
 of thee. 
 
 Mel. Do the stars think of us ? Yet if the prisonei- 
 see them shine into his dungeon, wouldst thou bid him 
 turn away from their lustre 1 Even so from this low cell, 
 poverty, I lift my eyes to Pauline and foi'get my chains. 
 — \Goes to the picture and draws aside the curtain.^ See, 
 this is her image — painted from memoxy. Oh, how the 
 canvas wrongs her ! — [Takes iip the brush and throws it 
 aside.] I shall never be a painter ! I can paint no like- 
 ness but one, and that is above all art. I would turn 
 soldier — France needs soldiers ! But to leave the air 
 that Pauline breathes ! What is the hour 1 — so late ? 
 I will tell thee a secret, mother. Thou knowest that for 
 the last six weeks I have sent every day the rarest flowers 
 to Pauline 1 — she wears them. I have seen them on her 
 breast. Ah, and then the whole universe seemed filled 
 with odours ! I have now grown more bold — I have 
 poured my worship into poetry — I have sent the verses 
 to Pauline — I have signed them with my own name. My
 
 120 THE LADY OF liYONS ; [aCT I. 
 
 messenger ought to be back by this time. I bade hia\ 
 ■wait for the answer. 
 
 Widov). And what answer do you expect, Claude 1 
 
 Mel. That which the Queen of Navarre sent to the 
 poor troubadour : — ' Let me see the Oracle that can tell 
 nations I am beautiful ! " She will admit me. I shall 
 hear her speak — I shall meet her eyes — I shall read upon 
 her cheek the sweet thoughts that translate themselves 
 into blushes. Then — then, oh, then — she may forget that 
 I am the peasant's son ! 
 
 Widow. Nay, if she will but hear thee talk, Claude ? 
 
 Mel. I foresee it all. She will tell me that desert is 
 the true rank. She will give me a badge — a flower — a 
 glove ! Oh rapture ! I shall join the armies of the 
 republic — I shall rise — I shall win a name that beauty 
 will not blush to hear. I shall return with the right to 
 say to her — " See, how love does not level the proud, but 
 raise the humble ! " Oh, how my heart swells within 
 me ! — Oh, what glorious prophets of the future are youth 
 and hope ! [Knock at the door. 
 
 Widow. Come in. 
 
 Enter Gaspar. 
 
 Mel. Welcome, Gaspar, welcome. Where is the letter 1 
 Why do you turn away, man ? where is the letter 1 
 [Gaspar gives him one.'] This ! This is mine, the one 
 I intrusted to thee. Didst thou not leave it ? 
 
 Gaspar. Yes, I left it. 
 
 Mel. My own verses returned to me. Nothing else ! 
 
 Gaspar. Thou wilt be proud to hear how thy messenger 
 was honoured. For thy sake, Melnotte, I have borne 
 that which no Frenchman can bear without disgrace. 
 
 Mel. Disgrace, Gaspar ! Disgrace?
 
 SCENE III.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 121 
 
 Gaspa/r. "I gave thy letter to the porter, who passed it 
 from lackey to lackey till it reached the lady it was 
 meant for. 
 
 Mel. It reached her, then ; — you are sure of that ! It 
 reached her, — well, well ! . 
 
 Gaspar. It reached her, and was returned to me with 
 blows. Dost hear, Melnotte 1 with blows ! Death ! are 
 we slaves still, that we are to be thus dealt with, we 
 peasants 1 
 
 Mel. With blows ? No, Gaspar, no ; not blows ! 
 
 Gaspar. I could show thee the marks if it were not so 
 deep a shame to bear them. The lackey who tossed thy 
 letter into the mire swore that his lady and her mother 
 never were so insulted. "What could thy letter contain, 
 Claude % 
 
 Mel. \looking over the letter]. Not a line that a serf 
 might not have written to an empress. No, not one. 
 
 Gaspar. They promise thee the same greeting they 
 gave mC; if thou wilt pass that way. Shall we endure 
 this, Claude 1 
 
 Mel. [wringing Gaspar's hand]. Forgive me, the 
 fault was mine, I have brought this on thee ; I will not 
 forget it'; thou shalt be avenged ! The heartless 
 insolence ! 
 
 Gaspar. Thou art moved, Melnotte ; think not of me ; 
 I would go through fire and water to serve thee ; but, — 
 a blow ! It is not the bruise that galls, — it is the blush, 
 Melnotte. 
 
 Mel. Say, what message 1 — How insulted ! — Where- 
 fore ? — What the offence 1 
 
 Gaspar. Did you not write to Pauline Deschappelles, 
 the daughter of the rich merchant 1
 
 122 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [aCT I. 
 
 Md. Well?— 
 
 GasTpar. And are you not a peasant — a gardener's 
 son % — that was the offence. Sleep on it, Melnotte. 
 Blows to a French citizen, blows ! \Exit. 
 
 Widow. Now you are cured, Claude ! 
 
 Md. [tearing the letter]. So do I scatter her image to 
 the winds — I will stop her in the open streets — I will 
 
 insult her — I will beat her menial ruffians — I will 
 
 [Turns suddenly to Widow.] Mother, am I humpbacked — 
 deformed — hideous ? 
 
 Widow. You ! 
 
 Md. A coward — a thief — a liar 1 
 
 Widow. You ! 
 
 Mel. Or a dull fool — a vain, drivelling, brainless 
 idiot ? 
 
 Widow. No, no. 
 
 Mel. What am I then — worse than all these 1 Why, 
 I am a peasant ! What has a peasant to do with love ? 
 Vain revolutions, why lavish your cruelty on the great ? 
 Oh that we — we, the hewers of wood and drawers of 
 water — had been swept away, so that the proud might 
 learn what the Avorld would be without us ! — 
 
 [Knock at the door. 
 Unter Servant y?'om the Inn. 
 
 Servant. A letter for Citizen Melnotte. 
 
 Mel. A letter ! from her perhaps — who sent thee 1 
 
 Servant. Why, Monsieur — I mean Citizen — Beauseanfc, 
 who stops to dine at the Golden Lion, on his way to his 
 chateau. 
 
 Mel. Beauseant ! — [Beads.] 
 
 " Young man, I know thy secret — thou lovest above 
 thy station : if thou hast wit, courage, and discretion, I
 
 SCENE III.] OB, LOVE AND PKIDE. 123 
 
 can secure to thee the realization of thy most sanguine 
 hopes; and the sole condition I ask in return is, that 
 thou shalt be steadfast to thine own ends. I shall 
 demand from thee a solemn oath to marry her whom 
 thou lovest j to bear her to thine home on thy wedding 
 night. I am serious — ^if thou wouldst learn more, lose 
 not a moment, but follow the bearer of this letter to thy 
 friend and patron, — Charles Beauseant." 
 
 Mel. Can I believe my eyes ? Are our own passions 
 the sorcerers that raise up for us spirits of good or evil ? 
 I will go instantly. 
 
 Widow. What is this, Claude 1 
 
 Mel. " Marry her whom thou lovest " — " bear her to 
 thine own home." — Oh, revenge and love ; which of you 
 is the stronger? — \Gazing on the picture.'] Sweet face, 
 thou smilest on me from the canvas : weak fool that I 
 am, do I then love her still ? No, it is the vision of my 
 own romance that I have worshipped : it is the reality 
 to which I bring scorn for scorn. Adieu, mother : I will 
 return anon. My brain reels — the earth swims before 
 me. — \Looks again at the letter^ No, it is not a mockery ; 
 I do not dream ! [Exit.
 
 124 THE LADY OF LYONS j [aCT IL 
 
 ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 The gardens of M. Deschappblles' house at Lyons — the house seen 
 at the hack of the stage. 
 
 Enter Beauseant and Glavis. 
 
 Beau. Well, what think you of my plot % Has it not 
 succeeded to a miracle ? The instant that I introduced 
 his Highness the Prince of Como to the pompous mother 
 and the scornful daughter, it was all over with them : he 
 came — he saw — he conquered : and, though it is not 
 many days since he arrived, they have already promised 
 him the hand of Pauline. 
 
 Gla. It is lucky, though, that you told them his 
 highness travelled incognito, for fear the Directory (who 
 are not very fond of princes) should lay him by the heels ; 
 for he has a wonderful wish to keep up his rank, and 
 scatters our gold about with as much coolness as if he 
 were watering his own flower-pots. 
 
 Beau. True, he is damnably extravagant ; I think the 
 sly dog does it out of malice. However, it must be 
 owned that he reflects credit on his loyal subjects, and 
 makes a very pretty figure in his fine clothes, with my 
 •diamond snuff-box. 
 
 Gla. And my diamond ring ! But do you think he 
 will be firm to the last ? I fancy I see symptoms of 
 relenting : he will never keep up his rank, if he once let 
 out his conscience.
 
 SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 125 
 
 Beau. His oath binds liira ! he cannot retract without 
 being forsworn, and those low fellows are always 
 superstitious ! But, as it is, I tremble lest he be dis- 
 covered : that bluff Colonel Damas (Madame Deschappelles' 
 cousin) evidently suspects him : we must make haste 
 and conclude the farce : I have thought of a plan to end 
 it this very day. 
 
 Gla. This very day ! Poor Pauline : her dream will 
 be soon over. 
 
 Beau. Yes, this day they shall be married ; this evening;, 
 according to his oath, he shall carry his bride to the 
 Golden Lion, and then pomp, equipage, retinue, and title, 
 all shall vanish at once ; and her Highness the Princess 
 shall find that she has refused the son of a Marquis, to 
 marry the son of a gardener. — Oh, Pauline ! once loved, 
 now hated, yet still not relinquished, thou shalt drain the 
 cup to the dregs, — thou shalt know what it is to be 
 humbled ! 
 
 Enter from the house, Melnotte, as the Prince of Como, leading ire 
 
 Pauline ; Madame Deschappelles, fanning herself; and 
 
 Colonel Damas, 
 
 [Beauseant and Glavis hoio respectfully. Pauline and 
 Melnotte ivalk apart. 
 
 Mme. Descha/p. Good morning, gentlemen ; really I am 
 80 fatigued with laughter ; the dear Prince is so enter- 
 taining. What wit he has ! Any one may see that he 
 has spent his whole life in courts. 
 
 Damas. And what the deuce do you know about 
 courts, cousin Deschappelles? You women regard men just 
 as you buy books — you never care about what is in them, 
 but how they are bound and lettered. 'Sdeath, I don't
 
 126 THE LADY OP LYONS ; [aCT II. 
 
 think you would even look at your Bible if it Lad not a 
 title to it. 
 
 Mme. Deschap. How coarse you are, cousin Damas ! — 
 quite the manners of a bai'rack — you don't deserve to be 
 one of our family ; really we must drop your acquain- 
 tanc(^ when Pauline marries. I cannot patronize any 
 relations that would discredit my future son-in-law, the 
 Prince of Como. 
 
 Mel. [advancing]. These are beautiful gardens, madame, 
 (Beauseant and Glavis retire) — who planned them ? 
 
 3Ime. Deschap. A gai'dener named Melnotte, your 
 highness — an honest man who knew his station. I 
 can't say as much for his son — a presuming fellow, who, 
 — ha ! ha ! actually wrote verses — such doggerel ! — to 
 my daughter. 
 
 Pauline. Yes, how you would have laughed at them, 
 Prince ! — you, who write such beautiful verses ! 
 
 Mel. This Melnotte most be a monstrous impudent 
 person ! 
 
 Damas. Is he good-looking 1 
 
 Mme. Deschap. I never notice such canaille — an ugly, 
 mean-looking clown, if I remember right. 
 
 Da/mas. Yet I heard your porter say he was wonder- 
 fully like his highness. 
 
 Mel. [taking snuff]. You are complimentary, 
 
 Mme. Deschap. For shame, cousin Damas ! — like the 
 Prince, indeed ! 
 
 Paidine. Like you ! Ah, mother, like our beautiful 
 prince ! I'll never speak to you again, cousin Damas. 
 
 Mel. [aside]. Humph ! — rank is a great beautifier ! I 
 never passed for an Apollo while I was a peasant ; if I 
 am so handsome as a prince, what should I be as an
 
 Scene i.] or, love and pride. 127 
 
 emperor ! [Aloud.] Monsieur Beauseant, will you 
 honour me ? [Offers snuff] 
 
 Beau. No, your highness ; I have no small vices. 
 
 Mel. Nay, if it wei'c a vice, you'd be sure to have it, 
 Monsieur Beauseant. 
 
 Mme. Deschap. Ha ! ha ! — how very severe ! — what 
 wit ! 
 
 Beau, [in a rage and aside\. Curse his impertinence ! 
 
 Mme. Deschap. What a superb snuff-box ! 
 
 Pauline. And what a beautiful ring ! 
 
 Mel. You like the box — a trifle — interesting perhaps 
 from associations — a present from Louis XIV. to my 
 great-great-grandmother. Honour me by accepting it. 
 
 Beau, [plucking him by the sleeve"]. How ! — what the 
 devil ! My box — are you mad ? It is worth five hun- 
 dred louis. 
 
 Mel. [unheeding him, and turning to Pauline]. And 
 you like this ring 1 Ah, it has, indeed, a lustre since 
 your eyes have shone on it [placiiig it on her finger]. Hence- 
 forth hold me, sweet enchantress, the Slave of the King. 
 
 Gla. [pulling ?mn]. Stay, stay — what are you about ? 
 My maiden aunt's legacy — a diamond of the first water. 
 You shall be hanged for swindling, sir. 
 
 Mel. [pretending not to hear]. It is curious, this ring ; 
 it is the one with which my grandfather, the Doge of 
 Venice, married the Adriatic ! 
 
 [Madame and Pauline examine the ring. 
 
 Mel. [to Beauseant and Glavis]. Fie, gentlemen ! 
 princes must be generous? — [Turns to Damas, who 
 watches them closely.] These kind friends have my interest 
 so much at heart, that they are as careful of my property 
 as if it were their own 1
 
 128 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [aCT 11. 
 
 Beau, a/ad Gla. [confusedly]. Ha ! ha ! — very good 
 joke that ! 
 
 [Appea/r to remonstrate with Melnotte in dwmh sliow. 
 
 Damas. What's all that whispering ? I am sure there 
 is some juggle here : hting me, if I think he is an Italian 
 after all. Gad, I'll try him. Servitore umillissimo, 
 Eccellenza.* 
 
 Mel. Hum — what does he mean, I wonder ? 
 
 Damas. Godo di vedervi in buona salute, t 
 
 Mel. Hem — hem ! 
 
 Damas. Fa bel tempo — che si dice di nuovo 1 % 
 
 Mel. Well, sir, what's all that gibberish ? 
 
 Damas. Oh, oh ! — only Italian, your highness ! — The 
 Prince of Como does not understand his own language ! 
 
 Mel. Not as you pronounce it ; who the deuce 
 could ? 
 
 Mme. Deschap. Ha ! ha ! cousin Damas, never pretend 
 to what you don't know. 
 
 Pauline. Ha ! ha ! cousin Damas ; you speak Italian, 
 indeed ! [Makes a mocking gesture at him. 
 
 Beau. \to Glavis]. Clever dog ! — how ready ! 
 
 Gla. Ready, yes ; with my diamond ring ! — Damn 
 his readiness ! 
 
 Da/mas. Laugh at me ! — laugh at a colonel in the 
 French army ! — the fellow's an impostor ; I know he is. 
 I'll see if he understands fighting as well as he does 
 Italian. — [Goes up to him, and aside.] Sir, you are a 
 jackanapes ! — Can you construe that 1 
 
 Mel. No, sir ; I never construe affronts in the presence 
 
 * Your Excellency's most humble servant. 
 + I am glad to see you in good health. 
 J Fine weather. What news is there ?
 
 SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 129' 
 
 of ladies ; by-and-by I shall be happy to take a losson — 
 or give one. 
 
 Damas. I'll find the occasion, never fear ! 
 
 Mme. Deschap. Where are you going, cousin ? 
 
 Damas. To cori'ect my Italian. [^Eodt. 
 
 Beau. \to Glavis ]. Let us after, and pacify him ; he 
 evidently suspects something. 
 
 Gla. Yes ! — but my diamond ring ! 
 
 Beau. And my box ! — We are over-taxed, fellow-sub- 
 jects ! — we must stop the supplies, and dethrone the 
 prince. 
 
 Gla. Prince ! — he ought to be heir-apparent to King 
 Stork. [Exeunt Beauseant and Glavi3. 
 
 Mme. Deschap. Dare I ask your highness to forgive 
 my cousin's insufferable vulgarity ? 
 
 Pauline. Oh yes ! — you will forgive his manner for the 
 sake of his heart. 
 
 Mel. And the sake of his cousin. — Ah, madam, there 
 is one comfort in rank, — we are so sure of our position 
 that we are not easily affronted. Besides, M. Damas has 
 bought the right of indulgence from his friends, by never 
 showing it to his enemies. 
 
 Pauline. Ah ! he is, indeed, as brave in action as he is 
 rude in speech. He rose from the ranks to his present 
 grade, and in two years ! 
 
 Mel. In two years ! — two years, did you say 1 
 
 Mme. Deschap. \asxde\. I don't like leaving girls alone 
 with their lovers ; but, with a prince, it would be so ill- 
 bred to be prudish. \_Exit. 
 
 Mel. You can be proud of your connection with one 
 who owes his position to merit, — not birth. 
 
 Pawbline. Why, yes ; but still — 
 K
 
 130 THE LADY OF LYONS; [aCT IL 
 
 Mel. Still wliit, Pauline ! 
 
 Pauline. There is something glorious in the heritage 
 of command. A man who has ancestors is like a repre- 
 sentative of the past. 
 
 Mel. True ; but, ilke other representatives, nine times 
 out of ten he is a silent member. Ah, Pauline ! not to 
 the past, but to the future, looks true nobility, and finds 
 its blazon in posterity. 
 
 Pauline. You say this to please me, who have no 
 ancestors; but you, prince, must bo proud of so illus- 
 trious a race ! 
 
 Mel. 1^0, no ! I would not, wore I fifty times a 
 prince, be a pensioner on the dead ! I honour birth and 
 ancestry when they are regarded as the incentives to ex- 
 ertion, not the title-deeds to sloth ! I honour the 
 laurels that overshadow the graves of our fathers ; — it is 
 our fathers I emulate, when I desire that beneath the 
 evergreen I myself have planted my own ashes may 
 repose ! Dearest ! couldst thou but see with my 
 eyes ! 
 
 Pauline. I cannot forego pride when I look on tliee, 
 and think that thou lovest me. Sweet Prince, tell me 
 again of thy palace by the Lake of Como ; it is so pleasant 
 to hear of thy splendours since thou didst swear to me 
 that they would be desolate without Pauline ; and when 
 thou describest them, it is with a mocking lip and a noble 
 scorn, as if custom had made thee disdain greatness. 
 
 Mel. Kay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint 
 The home to which, could love fulfil its prayers, 
 This hand would lead thee, listen ! * — A deep vale 
 
 * The reader will observe that Melnotte evades the request of 
 Pauline. He proceeds to describe a home, which he does not say
 
 SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AXD PRIDE. 131 
 
 Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude v\^orId ; 
 Near a clear lake, margin'd by fruits of gold 
 And whispering myrtles ; glassing softest skies, 
 As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows, 
 As I would have thy fate ! 
 
 Pauline. My own dear love ! 
 
 Mel. A palace lifting to eternal summer 
 Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower 
 Of coolest foliage musical with birds. 
 Whose songs should syllable thy name ! At noon 
 "We'd sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder 
 Why Earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens 
 Still left us youth and love ! We'd have no friends 
 That were not lovers ; no ambition, save 
 To excel them all in love ; we'd read no books 
 That were not tales of love — that we might smile 
 To think how poorly eloquence of words 
 Translates the poetry of hearts like ours ! 
 And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens 
 We'd guess what star should be our home when love 
 Becomes immortal ; while the perfumed light 
 Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps, 
 And every air was heavy with the sighs 
 Of orange-groves and music from sweet lutes, 
 
 he possesses, but to which he would lead her, " could Love fulfil its 
 prayers." This caution is intended as a reply to a sagacious critic 
 who censures the description, because it is not an exact and prosaic 
 inventory of the characteristics of the Lake of Como ! — When Mel- 
 notte, for instance, talks of birds " that syllable the name of Pauline" 
 (by the way, a literal translation from an Italian poet), he is not 
 thinking of ornithology, but probably of the Arabian Nights. He 
 is venting the extravagant, but natural, enthusiasm of the poet and 
 the lover. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 THE LADY OF LYONS j [aCT IL 
 
 And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth 
 
 I' the midst of roses ! — Dost thou like the picture t 
 
 Pauline. Oh, as the bee upon the flower, I hang 
 Upon the honey of thy eloquent tongue ! 
 Am I not blest ? And if I love too wildly, 
 Who would not love thee like Pauline ? 
 
 Mel. [bitterly]. Oh, false «ie ! 
 
 It is the prince thou lovest, not the man : 
 If in the stead of luxury, pomp, and power, 
 I had painted poverty, and toil, and care. 
 Thou hadst found no honey on ray tongue ; — Pauline, 
 That is not love ! ^. 
 
 Pauline. Thou wrong'st me, cruel Prince ! 
 
 At first, in truth, I might not have been won. 
 Save through the weakness of a flatter'd pride ; 
 But now, — oh ! trust me, — couldst thou fall from power 
 And sink 
 
 Mel. As low as that poor gardener's son 
 
 Who dared to lift his eyes to thee 1 — 
 
 Pauline. Even then, 
 
 Methinks thou wouldst be only made more dear 
 By the sweet thought that I could prove how deep 
 Is woman's love ! We are like the insects, caught 
 By the poor glittering of a garish flame ; 
 But, oh, the wings once scorch'd, the brightest star 
 Lures us no more ; and by the fatal light 
 We cling till death ! 
 
 Mel. Angel ! 
 
 [^s?cZe.] O conscience ! conscience ! 
 It must not be ; — her love hath grown a torture 
 Worse than her hate. I will at once to Beauseant, 
 And — ha ! he comes. Sweet love, one moment leave met
 
 1 
 
 SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 133 
 
 I have business with these gentlemen — I — I 
 Will forthwith join you. 
 
 Pauline. Do not tarry long I 
 
 Enter Beauseant and Glavis. 
 
 Mel. Release me from my oath, — I will not marry her ! 
 
 Beau. Then thou art perjured. 
 
 Mel. No, I was not in my senses when I swore to thee 
 to marry her ! I was blind to all but her scorn ! — deaf 
 to all but my passion and my rage ! Give me back my 
 poverty and my honour ! 
 
 Beau. It is too late, — you must marry her ! and this 
 day. I have a story already coined, and sure to pass 
 current. This Damas suspects thee, — he will set the 
 police to work ; — thou wilt be detected — Pauline will 
 despise and execrate thee. Thou will be sent to the com- 
 mon gaol as a swindler. 
 
 Mel. Fiend! 
 
 Beau. And in the heat of the girl's resentment (you 
 know of what resentment is capable), and the parents' 
 shame, she will be induced to marry the first that offers — 
 even perhaps yoiir humble servant. 
 
 Mel. You ! No ; that were worse — for thou hast no 
 mercy ! I will marry her — I will keep my oath. Quick, 
 then, with the damnable invention thou art hatching ; 
 — quick, if thou wouldst not have me strangle thee or 
 myself. 
 
 Gla. What a tiger ! Too fierce for a prince ; — he 
 ought to have been the Grand Turk. 
 
 Beau. Enough — I will despatch ; be prepared. 
 
 [Exeunt Beauseant and Gi-avis,
 
 134 THE LADY OF LYONS; [aCT IL 
 
 Enter Damas with two swords. 
 
 Dcumas. Now, thin, sir, the ladies are no longer joxvc 
 excuse. I have brought you a couple of dictionaries ; 
 let us see if your Highness can find out the Latin for 
 hilbo. 
 
 Mel. Away, sir ! I am in no humour for jesting. 
 
 Damas. I see you understand something of the gram- 
 mar ; you decline the noun-substantive " small-sword " 
 with great ease ; but that won't do — you must take a 
 lesson in parsing. 
 
 Mel. Fool! 
 
 Damas. Sii', as sons take after their mother, so the 
 man who calls me a fool insults the lady who bore me ; 
 there's no escape for you — fight you shall, or 
 
 Mel. Oh, enough ! enough ! — take your ground. 
 
 \They fight ; Damas is disarmed. Melnotte takes up the 
 sword and returns it to Damas respectfully. 
 
 A just punishment to the brave soldier who robs the State 
 of its best property — the sole right to his valour and liis 
 life. 
 
 Damas. Sir, you fence exceedingly well ; you must be 
 a man of honour — I don't care a jot whether you are a 
 prince ; but a man who has carte and tierce at his fingers* 
 ends must be a gentleman. 
 
 Mel. [aside\. Gentleman ! Ay, I was a gentleman 
 before I turned conspirator ; for honest men are the gen- 
 tlemen of Nature ! Colonel, they tell me you rose from 
 the ranks. 
 
 Damas. I did. 
 
 Mel. And in two years ! 
 
 Damas. It is true j that's no wonder in our army at
 
 SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 135 
 
 present. Why the oldest general in the service is scarcely 
 thirty, and we have some of two-and-twenty. 
 
 Mel. Two-and-twenty ! 
 
 Damas. Yes ; in the French army, now a days, pin- 
 motion is not a matter of purchase. We ?vre all heroes, 
 because we may be all generals. We have no fear of the 
 cypress, because we may all hope for the laurel. 
 
 Mel. A general at two-and-twenty ! [turimig away\ — 
 Sir, I may ask you a favour one of these days, 
 
 Damait, Sir, I shall be proud to grant it. It is 
 astonishing how much I like a man after I've fought 
 with him. [Hides the swords. 
 
 Enter Madame Desciiappelles and Beauseant. 
 
 Mme. Deschap. Oh, prince, — prince ! — What do I 
 hear 1 You must fly — you must quit us ! 
 
 Mel. I!— 
 
 Beau. Yes, prince : read this letter, just received from 
 my friend at Paxis, one of the Directory ; they suspect 
 you of designs against the Republic : they are very 
 suspicious of princes, and your family take part with the 
 Austrians. Knowing that I introduced your highness 
 at Lyons, my friend writes to me to say that you must 
 quit the town immediately, or you will be arrested, — 
 thrown into prison, perhaps guillotined ! Fly ! — I will 
 order horses to your carriage instantly. Fly to Marseilles ; 
 there you can take ship to Leghorn. 
 
 Mme. Deschap. And what's to become of Pauline ? Am 
 I not to be mother to a princess, after all 1 
 
 Enter Pauline and MoNt^iEUR Deschappeles. 
 Pardine [throwing herself into IMelnotte's arins\ You 
 must leave us ! — Leave Pauline !
 
 136 THE LADY OF LYONS; [aCT II. 
 
 Beau. Not a moment is to be wasted. 
 
 M. Deschap. I will go to the magistrates and in- 
 quire — 
 
 Beau. Tlien he is lost ; the magistrates, hearing he is 
 suspected, will order his arrest. 
 
 Mme. Deschap. And I shall not be a princess- 
 dowager ! 
 
 Beau. "Why not ? There is only one thing to be done : 
 — send for the priest — let the marriage take place at once, 
 and the prince carry home a bride ? 
 
 Mel. Impossible ! — \Aside\. Villain. 
 
 Mme. Deschap. What, lose my child ? 
 
 Beau. And gain a princess ! 
 
 Mme. Deschap. Oh, Monsieur Beauseant, you are so 
 Vfery kind, it must be so, — we ought not to be selfish, my 
 daughter's happiness at stake. She will go away, too, 
 in a carriage and six ! 
 
 Fauline. Thou art here still, — I cannot part from 
 thee, — my heart will break. 
 
 Mel. But thou wilt not consent to this hasty union ? — 
 'thou wilt not wed an outcast — a fugitive ? 
 
 Pauline. Ah ! if thou art in danger, who should share 
 it but Pauline ? 
 
 Mel. \aside\. Distraction ! — If the earth could swallow 
 me ! 
 
 M. Deschap. Gently ! gently ! The settlements — the 
 contracts — my daughter's dowry ! 
 
 Mel. The dowry ! — I am not base enough for that ; 
 no, not one farthing ! 
 
 Beau. \to Madam]. Noble fellow ! — Keally your good 
 husband is too mercantile in these matters. Monsieur 
 Deschappelles, you hear his highness : we can arrange
 
 SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 137 
 
 the settlements by proxy ; 'tis tlie way with people of 
 quality. 
 
 M. Deschap. But 
 
 Mme. Deschckp. Hold your tongue ! — Don't expose 
 yourself ! 
 
 Beau. I will bring the priest in a trice. Go in all of 
 you and prepare ; the carriage shall be at the door before 
 the ceremony is over. 
 
 Mme. Deschap. Be sure there are six horses, Beauseant ! 
 You are very good to have fox'given us for refusing you ; 
 but you see — a prince ! 
 
 Beau. And such a pi-ince ! Madame, I cannot blush 
 at the success of so illustrious a rival. — [.Isi'c/e.] Now 
 will I follow them to the village, enjoy my triumph, and 
 to-morrow, in the hour of thy shame and grief, I think, 
 proud girl, thou wilt prefer even these arms to those of 
 the gardener's son. \Exit. 
 
 Mme. Descha'p. Come, Monsieur Deschappelles, give 
 your arm to her highness that is to be. 
 
 M. Deschap. I don't like doing business in such a 
 hurry ; 'tis not the way with the house of Deschappelles 
 and Co. 
 
 Mme. Deschap. There, now, you fancy you are in the 
 counting-house, don't you ? \Pushes him to Pauline. 
 
 Mel. Stay, stay, Pauline — one word. Have you no 
 scruple, no fear ? Speak — it is not yet too late. 
 
 Pauline. When I loved thee, thy fate became mine. 
 Triumph or danger — joy or sorrow — I am by thy 
 side. 
 
 Damas. Well, well, prince, thou art a lucky man to be 
 so loved. She is good little girl in spite of her foibles — 
 make her as happy as if she were not to be a princess
 
 138 THE LADY OF LYONS; [ ACT III. 
 
 [slapping him on the shoulder]. Come, sir, I wish you 
 joy — young — tender — lovely ; — zounds, I envy you ! 
 
 Mel. [who has stood apart in glooms/ abstraction]. Do 
 you? * 
 
 ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 The exterior of the Golden Lion — time, twilight. The moon rises 
 during the scene. 
 
 Enter Landlord and his Daughter y^'om the Inn, 
 
 Land. Ha — ha — ha ! Well, I never shall get over it. 
 Our Claude is a prince with a vengeance now. His 
 carriage breaks down at my inn — ha — ha ! 
 
 Janet. And what airs the young lady gives herself ! 
 " Is this the best room you have, young woman 1 " with 
 such a toss of the head. 
 
 Land. Well, get in Janet : get in and see to the 
 Bupper ; the servants must sup befoi*e they go back. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 * On the stage the following lines are added : — 
 
 " Do you ? Wise judges are we of each other. 
 ' Woo, wed, and bear her home ! ' So runs the bond 
 To which I sold myself, — and then — what then ? 
 Away ? — I will not look beyond the hour. 
 Like children in the dark, I dare not face 
 The shades that gather round me in the distance. 
 You envy me — I thank you — you may read 
 •'^y joy upon my brow — I thank you, sir ! 
 If hearts had audible language, you would hear 
 What mine would .-xnswer when you talk of envyt"
 
 SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. IC9 
 
 Enter Beauseant and Glavis. 
 
 Beau. You see our princess is lodged at last — one 
 Btage more, and she'll be at her journey's end — the 
 beautiful palace at the foot of the Alps ! — ha — ha ! 
 
 Gla. Faith, I pity the poor Pauline — especially if she's 
 going to sup at the Golden Lion [j^a^es a wry face]. I 
 shall never forget that cursed ragout. 
 
 Unter Melnotte from the Inn. 
 
 Beau. Your servant, ray prince ; you reigned most 
 worthily. I condole with you on your abdication. I 
 am afraid that your highness's retinue are not very 
 faithful servants. I think they will quit you in the 
 moment of your fall — 'tis the fate of greatness. But 
 you are welcome to your fine clothes — also the diamond 
 snuff-box, which Louis XIV. gave to your great-great- 
 grandmother. 
 
 Gla. And the ring, with which your grandfather the 
 Doge of Venice married the Adriatic. 
 
 Mel. I have kept my oath, gentlemen — say, have I 
 kept my oath 1 
 
 Beau. Most religiously. 
 
 Mel. Then you have done with me and mine — away 
 with you ! 
 
 Beau. How, knave 1 
 
 Mel. Look you, our bond is over. Proud conquerors 
 that we are, we have won the victory over a simple giil 
 — compromised her honour — embittered her life — blasted, 
 in their very blossoms, all the flowers of her youth. This 
 is your triumph, — it is my shame ! [Tui-ns to Beauseant.] 
 Enjoy thy triumph, but not in my sight. I was her be- 
 trayer — I am her protector ! Cross but her path — ■
 
 140 TIIK LADY OF LYOXS ; [aCT III. 
 
 one word of scorn, one look of insult — nay, but one 
 quiver of that mocking lip, and I will teach thee that 
 bitter word thou hast graven eternally in this heart — 
 Repentance ! 
 
 Beau. His highness is most grandiloquent. 
 
 Mel. Highness me no more ! Beware ! Remorse has 
 made me a new being. Away with you ! There is 
 danger in me. Away ! 
 
 Gla. \aside\ He's an awkward fellow to deal with : 
 come away, Beauseant. 
 
 Beau. I know the respect due to rank. Adieu, my 
 prince. Any commands at Lyons ? Yet hold — I pro- 
 mised you 200 louis on your wedding-day ; here they 
 are. 
 
 Mel. [dashing the purse to the ground\ I gave you re- 
 venge, I did not sell it. Take up your silver, Judas ; 
 take it. — Ay, it is fit you should learn to stoop. 
 
 Beau. You will beg my pardon for this some day. 
 \Aside to GLA.VIS.] Come to my chateau — I shall return 
 hither to-morrow, to learn how Pauline likes her new 
 dignity. 
 
 Mel. Are you not gone yet ? 
 
 Beau. Your highness's most obedient, most faithful — 
 
 Gla. And most humble servants. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 [Exeunt Beauseant and Gla vis. 
 
 Mel. Thank heaven I had no weapon, or I should have 
 slain them. Wretch ! what can I say ? Where turn ? 
 On all sides mockery — the very boors within — [Laughter 
 from the Imi\. — 'Sdeath, if even in this short absence th'i 
 exposure should have chanced. I will call her. We will 
 go hence. I have already sent one I can trust to my 
 mother's house. There, at least, none can insult her
 
 SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 141 
 
 agony — gloat upon her shame ! There alone must she 
 learn what a villain she has sworn to love. 
 
 [As he turns to the door enter PAULiNK/rom the inn. 
 
 Pauline. Ah ! my lord, what a place ! I never saw 
 such rude people. They stare and wink so. I think 
 the very sight of a prince, though he travels incognito, 
 turns their honest heads. What a pity the carriage 
 should break down in such a spot ! You are not 
 well — the drops stand on your brow, — your hand is 
 feverish. 
 
 Mel. Nay, it is but a passing spasm ; the air 
 
 Pauline. Is not the soft air of your native south — 
 How pale he is ! — indeed thou art not well. 
 Where are our people ? I will call them. 
 
 Mel. Hold r 
 
 I — I am well. 
 
 Pauline. Thou art ! — Ah ! now I know it. 
 
 Thou fanciest, my kind lord — I know thou dost — 
 Thou fanciest these rude walls, these rustic gossips, 
 Brick'd floors, sour wine, coarse viands, vex Pauline ; 
 And so they might, but thou art by my side. 
 And I forget all else. 
 
 Enter Landlord, the Servants peeping and laughing 
 over his shoulder. 
 
 Land. My lord — your highness — 
 
 Will your most noble excellency choose — 
 
 Mel. Begone, sir ! [Exit Landlord laughing. 
 
 Pauline. How could they have learn'd thy rank ? 
 
 One's servants are so vain ! — nay, let it not 
 Chafe thee, sweet prince ! — a few short days and we 
 Shall see thy palace by its Jake of silver,
 
 142 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [aCT III. 
 
 And — nay, nay, spendthrift, is thy wealth of smiles 
 Already di-ain'd, or dost thou play the miser ? 
 
 Mel. Thine eyes would call up smiles in deserts, fair 
 one. 
 Let us escape these rustics : close at hand 
 There is a cot, where I have bid prepare 
 Our evening lodgment — a rude, homely roof, 
 But honest, where our welcome will not be 
 Made torture by the vulgar eyes and tongues 
 That are as death to Love ! A heavenly night ! 
 The wooing air and the soft moon invite us. 
 Wilt walk 1 I pray thee, now, — I know the path, 
 Ay, every inch of it ! 
 
 Pauline. What, thou ! methought 
 
 Thou wert a stranger in these parts ? Ah, truant, 
 Some village beaiity lured thee ; — thou art now 
 Grown constant 1 
 
 Mel. Trust me, 
 
 Pauline. Princes are so changeful ? 
 
 Mel. Come, dearest, come. 
 
 Pauline. Shall I not call our people 
 
 To light us ? 
 
 Mel. Heaven will lend its stars for torches I 
 
 It is not far. 
 
 Pauline. The night breeze chills me. 
 
 Mel. ISTay, 
 
 Let me thus mantle thee ; — it is not cold. 
 
 Pauline. N"ever beneath thy smile ! 
 
 Mel. \aside\. O Heaven ! forgive me ! 
 
 [Exeuvi. 
 
 i
 
 SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE, 143 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Melnotte's cottage — Widow bustling about — a table spread for 
 supper. 
 
 Widow. So, I think that looks very neat. He sent me 
 a line, so blotted tliat I can scarcely read it, to say he 
 would be here almost immediately. She must have loved 
 him well indeed to have forgotten his birth ; for though 
 he was introduced to her in diguise, he is too honourable 
 not to have revealed to her the artifice, which her love 
 only could forgive. Well, I do not wonder at it ; for 
 tliough my son is not a prince, he ought to be one, and 
 that's almost as good. [Knock at the door.^ Ah ! here 
 they are. 
 
 Unter Melnotte cmd Pauline. 
 
 Widow. Oh, my boy — the pride of my heart ! — wel- 
 come, welcome ! I beg pardon, ma'am, but I do lovehim so ! 
 
 Pauline. Good woman, I really — why prince, what is 
 this ? — does the old lady know you 1 Oh, I guess, you 
 have done her some service. Another proof of your kind 
 heart ; is it not 1 
 
 Mel. Of my kind heart, ay ! 
 
 Pauline. So you know the prince ? 
 
 Widow. Know him, madam 1 — Ah, I begin to fear it 
 is you who know him not ! 
 
 Pauline. Do you thint' she is mad ? Can we stay 
 here, my lord 1 I think there's something, very wild 
 about her.
 
 144 THE LADY OF LYONS; [aCT III. 
 
 Mel. Madam, I — no, I cannot tell her ; my knees knock 
 together : what a coward is a man who has lost his 
 honour ! Speak to her — speak to her \to his motherj — 
 tell her that — O Heaven, that I were dead ! 
 
 Pauline. How conf jsed he looks ! — this strange place ! 
 — this woman — what can it mean ? — I half suspect — "Who 
 are you, madam ! — who are you 1 can't you speak ? are 
 you struck dumb 1 
 
 Widow. Claude, you have not deceived her 1 — Ah, 
 shame upon you ! I thought that, before you went to the 
 altar, she was to have known all. 
 
 Pauline. All ! what ! — My blood freezes in my veins ! 
 
 Widow. Poor lady ! — dare I tell her, Claude ? 
 [Melnotte makes a sign of assent^ Know you not then, 
 madam, that this young man is of poor though honest 
 parents % Know you not that you are wedded to my son, 
 Claude Melnotte? 
 
 Pauline. Your son ! hold — hold ! do not speak to me, 
 — \Af'proaclies Melnotte, and lays her hand on his arm.^ 
 Is this a jest? is it ? I know it is, only speak — one 
 word — one look — one smile. I cannot believe — I who 
 loved thee so — I cannot believe that thou art such a — 
 No, I will not wrong thee by a harsh word — Speak ! 
 
 Mel. Leave us — have pity on her, on me : leave us. 
 
 Widow. Oh, Claude, that I should live to see thee 
 bowed by shame ! thee of whom I was so proud ! 
 
 \Exit hy the staircase. 
 
 Pauline. Her son — her son ! 
 
 Mel. Now, lady, hear me. 
 
 Pauline. Hear thee f 
 
 Ay, speak — her son ! have fiends a parent ? speak, 
 That thou mayst silence curses — speak 1
 
 SCEiTE ll.j OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 145 
 
 Mel. No, curse me : 
 
 Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness. 
 
 Pauline [laughing wildly]. " This is thy palace, where 
 the perfumed light 
 Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps, 
 And every air is heavy with the sighs 
 Of orange-groves, and music from sweet lutes. 
 And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth 
 r the midst of roses ! " Dost thou like the picture ? 
 2'his is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom. 
 
 fool — O dupe — O wretch ! — I see it all — 
 The by-word and the jeer of every tongue 
 
 In Lyons. Hast thou in thy heart one touch 
 Of human kindness 1 if thou hast, why, kill me, 
 And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot — 
 It cannot be : this is some horrid dream : 
 
 1 shall wake soon. — [Touchin{/ him.] Art flesh ? art man 1 
 
 or but 
 The shadows seen in sleep ? It is too real. 
 What have I done to thee ? how sinn'd against thee. 
 That thou shouldst crush me thus ? 
 
 Mel. Pauline, by pride 
 
 Angels have fallen ere thy time : by pride — 
 That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould — 
 The evil spirit of a bitter love. 
 And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. 
 From my first years my soul was fill'd with thee : 
 I saw thee midst the flow'rs the lowly boy 
 Tended, unmark'd by thee — a spirit of bloom. 
 And joy, and freshness, as if Spring itself 
 "Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape ! 
 I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man
 
 146 THE LADY OF LYONS; [aCT HI 
 
 Enter'd the bi-east of the wild-dreaming boy. 
 
 And from that hour I grew — what to the last 
 
 I shall be — thine adorer ! Well, this love 
 
 Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became 
 
 A fountain of ambition and bright hope ; 
 
 I thought of tales that by the winter hearth 
 
 Old gossips tell — how maidens sprung from kings 
 
 Have stoop'd from their high sphere ; how love, like death, 
 
 Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook 
 
 Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home 
 
 In the soft palace of a fairy Future ! 
 
 My father died j and I, the peasant-born. 
 
 Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise 
 
 Out of the prison of my mean estate ; 
 
 And, with such jewels as the exploring mind 
 
 Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom 
 
 From those twin gaolers of the daring heart — 
 
 Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright image 
 
 Glaas'd in my soul, took all the hues of glory. 
 
 And lured me on to those inspii'ing toils 
 
 By wliich man masters men ! For thee I grew 
 
 A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages. 
 
 For thee I sought to borrow from each grace. 
 
 And every muse, such attributes as lend 
 
 Ideal charms to love. T thought of thee, 
 
 And passion taught me poesy — of thee, 
 
 And on the painter's canvas grew the life 
 
 Of beauty ! Art became the shadow 
 
 Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes ! 
 
 Men call'd me vain — some mad— I heeded not ; 
 
 But still toil'd on — hoped on — for it was sweet, 
 
 If not to win, to feel more worthy thee 1
 
 SCENE II.] OE, LOVE AND PRIDE. 147 
 
 Pauline. Has he a magic to exorcise hate ? 
 
 3fel At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour 
 The thoughts that burst their channels into song, 
 And sent them to thee — such a tribute, lady. 
 As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. 
 The name — appended by the burning heart 
 That long'd to show its idol what bright things 
 It had created — yea, the enthusiast's name, 
 That shoidd have been thy triumph, was thy scorn ! 
 That very hour — when passion, turn'd to wrath, 
 Eesembled hatred most — when thy disdain 
 Made my whole soul a chaos — in that hour 
 The tempters found me a revengeful tool 
 For their revenge ! Thou hadst trampled on the worm — » 
 It turn'd and stung thee ! 
 
 Pauline. Love, sir, hath no sting. 
 
 What was the slight of a poor powerless girl 
 To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge 1 
 Oh, how I loved this man ! — a serf ! — a slave I 
 
 Mel. Hold, lady ! No, not slave ! Despair is free I 
 I will not tell thee of tlie throes — the strusfgles — 
 The anguish — the remorse : No, let it pass ! 
 And let me come to such most poor atonement 
 
 Yet in my power. Pauline ! 
 
 [^Approachinri her with ffreat emotion, and about to taTce her hand. 
 
 Pauline. No, touch me not ! 
 
 I know my fate. You are, by law, my tyrant ; 
 And I — O Heaven ! — a peasant's wife ! I'll work — 
 Toil — drudge — do what thou wilt — but touch me not ; 
 Let ray wrongs make me sacred ! 
 
 Mel. Do not fear me. 
 
 Thou dost not know me, madam : at the altar 
 L 2
 
 148 THE LADY OF LYONS; [ACT IV. 
 
 My vengeance ceased — my guilty oath expired ! 
 
 Henceforth, no image of some marble saint, 
 
 Niched in cathedral aisles, is hallow'd more 
 
 From the rude hand of saci-ilegious wrong. 
 
 I am thy husband — nay, thou need'st not shudder ; — 
 
 Here, at thy feet, I lay a husband's rights, 
 
 A marriage thus unholy — unfulfill'd — 
 
 A bond of fraud — is, by the laws of France, 
 
 Made void and null. To-night sleep — sleep in peace. 
 
 To-morrow, pure and virgin as this morn 
 
 I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the shrine^ 
 
 Thy father's arms shall take thee to thy home. 
 
 The law shall do thee justice, and restore 
 
 Thy right to bless another with thy love. 
 
 And when tliou art happy, and hast half forgot 
 
 Him who so loved — so wrong'd thee, think at least 
 
 Heaven left some remnant of the angel still 
 
 In that poor peasant's nature ! 
 
 Ho ! my mother I 
 Enter Widow. 
 'Conduct this lady — (she is not my wife ; 
 She is our guest, — our honour'd guest, my mother) — 
 To the poor chamber, where the sleep of virtue, 
 Never, beneath my father's honest roof, 
 Ev'n villains dared to mar ! Now, lady, now, 
 . I think thou wilt believe me. Go, my mother ! 
 
 , Widow. She is not thy wife ! 
 
 Mel. Hush, hush ! for mercy's sake ! 
 
 Speak not, but go. 
 
 [Widow ascends the stairs ; T avli'SK follows weeping — turns 
 to look hack. 
 
 Mel. \sinhing down]. All angels bless and guard her !
 
 SCENE I.j OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 149 
 
 ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 21ie cottage as 6e/ore— Melnotte seated before a table — writing 
 implements, d;c. — {Day breaking.) 
 
 Mel. Hush, hush ! — she sleeps at last ! — thank Heaven, 
 for a while she forgets even that I live ! Her sobs, which 
 have gone to my heart the whole, long, desolate night, 
 have ceased ! — all calm — all still ! I will go now ; I will 
 send this letter to Pauline's father : when he arrives, I 
 will place in his hands my own consent to the divorce, 
 and then, O France ! my country ! accept among thy 
 protectors, thy defenders — the Peasant's Son ! Our coun- 
 try is less proud tnan custom, and does not refuse the 
 blood, the heart, the right hand of the poor man. 
 Enter Widow. 
 
 Widow. My son, thou hast acted ill ; but sin brings its 
 own punishment. In the hour of thy remorse, it is not 
 for a mother to reproach thee. 
 
 Mel. What is past is past. There is a future left to all 
 men, who have the virtue to repent, and the energy to 
 atone. Thou shalt be proud of thy son yet. Meanwhile, 
 remember this poor lady has been grievously injured. For 
 the sake of thy son's conscience, respect, honour, bear 
 with her. If she weep, console — if she chide, be silent. 
 'Tis but a little while more — I shall send an express fast 
 as horse can speed to her father. Farewell ! I shall 
 return shortly. 
 
 Widow. It is the only course left to thee — thou wert
 
 150 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [aCT IV 
 
 led astray, but thou art not hardened. Thy heart is right 
 still, as ever it was when, in thy most ambitious hopes, 
 thou wert never ashamed of thy poor mother. 
 
 2fel. Ashamed of thee ! No, if I yet endure, yet live, 
 yet hope — it is only because I would not die till I have 
 redeemed the noble heritage I have lost — the heritage I 
 took unstained from thee and my dead father — ^a proud 
 conscience and an honest name. I shall win them back 
 yet — Heaven bless you ! \^Exit. 
 
 Widow. My dear Claude ! How my heart bleeds for 
 him. 
 
 [Pauline looks doion from above, and after a pause descends. 
 
 Pauline. Not here ! — he spares me that pain at least : 
 so far he is considerate — yet the place seems still more 
 desolate without him. Oh, that I could hate him — the 
 gardener's son ! — and yet how nobly he — no — no — no I 
 A^-ill not be so mean a thing as to forgive him ! 
 
 Widoiv. Good morning, madam ; I would have waited 
 on you if I had known you were stirring, 
 
 Pauline. It is no matter, ma'am — your son's wife ought 
 to wait on herself. 
 
 Widow. My son's wife — let not that thought vex you, 
 madam — he tells me that you will have your divorce. 
 And I hope I shall live to see him smile again. There 
 are maidens in this village, young and fair, madam, who 
 may yet console him. 
 
 Pauline. I dare say — they are very welcome — and 
 when the divorce is got — he will marry again. I am sure 
 I hope so. l^Weeps. 
 
 Widow. He could have married the richest girl in the 
 province, if he had pleased it ; but his head was turned 
 poor child ! he could think of nothing but you. [Weeps.
 
 SCKNEI.] OK, LOVE AXD PRIDE. 151 
 
 Pauline. Don't weep, inother. 
 
 Widow. Ah, he lias behaved very ill, I know, but love 
 is so headstrong in the young. Don't weep, madam. 
 
 Pauline. So, as you were saying — go on. 
 
 Widow. Oh, I cannot excuse him, ma'am — he was not 
 in his right senses. 
 
 Pauline. But he always — always [sobbing] loved — 
 loved me then ? 
 
 Widoio. He thought of nothing else. See here — he 
 leamt to paint that he might take your likeness \u7icovers 
 the picture]. But that's all over now — I trust you have 
 cured him of his folly ; — but, dear heart you have had no 
 breakfast ! 
 
 Paidine. I can't take anything — don't trouble your- 
 self. 
 
 Widow. Nay, madam, be persuaded ; a little coffee will 
 refresh you. Our milk and eggs are excellent. I will 
 get out Claude's coffee-cup — it is of real Sevres ; he saved 
 up all his money to buy it three years ago, because the 
 name of Pauline was inscribed on it. 
 
 Pauline. Three years ago ! Poor Claude ! — Thank 
 you ; I think I will have some coffee. Oh ! if he were 
 but a poor gentleman, even a merchant : but a gardener's 
 son — and what a home ! — Oh no, it is too dreadful ! 
 
 [^TJiey seat themselves at the table, Beause^vxt opens the 
 lattice and looks in. 
 
 Beau. So — so — the coast is clear ! I saw Claude in 
 the lane — I shall have an excellent opportunity. 
 
 [Shuts the lattice and knocks at the door. 
 
 Pauline [starting]. Can it be my father ? — he has not 
 sent for him yet 1 No, he cannot be in such a hurry to 
 get rid of me.
 
 152 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [aCT IV. 
 
 Widow. It is uot time for your father to arrive yet ; 
 it must be some neighbour. 
 
 Pauline. Don't admit any one. 
 
 [Widow opoi^ the door, Beauseant pws/tes her aside and 
 enters. 
 
 Ha ! Heavens ! that hateful Beauseant ! This is 
 indeed bitter ! 
 
 Beau. Good morning, madam ! O widow, your son 
 begs you will have the goodness to go to him in tlie 
 village — he wants to speak to you on particular business ; 
 you'll find him at the inn, or the grocer's shop, or the 
 baker's, or at some other friend's of your family — make 
 haste. 
 
 Pauline. Don't leave me, mother ! — don't leave me. 
 
 Beaii. \with great respect]. Be not alarmed, madam. 
 Believe me your friend — your servant. 
 
 Pauline. Sir, I have no fear of you, even in this house ! 
 Go, madam, if your son wishes it ; I will not contradict 
 his commands whilst, at least, he has still the right to be 
 obeyed. 
 
 Widow. I don't understand this ; however, I shan't be 
 long gone. [Exit. 
 
 Pauline. Sir, I divine the object of your visit — you 
 wish to exult in the humiliation of one who humbled 
 you. Be it so 3 I am prepared to endure all — even your 
 presence ! 
 
 Beau. You mistake me, madam — Pauline, you mistake 
 me ! I come to lay my fortune at your feet. You must 
 already be disenchanted with this impostor ; these walls 
 are not worthy to be hallowed by your beauty ! Shall 
 that form be clasped in the arms of a base-box'n
 
 BCENKI.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 153 
 
 peasant ? Beloved, beautiful Pauline ! fly with me — my 
 carriage waits without — I will bear you to a home more 
 meet for your reception. Wealth, luxury, station — all 
 shall yet be yours. I forg t your past disdain — I re- 
 member only your beauty and my unconquerable love ! 
 
 Pauline. Sir ! leave this house — it is humble : but a 
 husband's roof, however lowly, is, in the eyes of God and 
 man, the temple of a wife's honour ! Know that I would 
 rather starve — yes — with him who has betrayed me, than 
 accept yoiir lawful hand, even wei'e you the prince whose 
 name he bore ! — Go. 
 
 Beau. What is not your pride humbled yet ? 
 
 Pauline. Sir, what was pride in pi'osperity in affliction 
 becomes virtue. 
 
 Beau. Look round : these rugged floors — these homely 
 walls — this wretched struggle of poverty for comfort — 
 think of this ! and contrast with such a picture the re- 
 finement, the luxury, the pomp, that the wealthiest gen- 
 tleman of Lyons ofiers to the loveliest lady. Ah, hear 
 me ! 
 
 Pauline. Oh ! my father ! — why did I leave you ? — 
 why am I thus friendless 1 Sii-, you see before you a 
 betrayed, injured, misei-able woman ! — respect her 
 anguish ! 
 
 [Melnotte opens the door silently, and pauses at the 
 threshold. 
 
 Beau. No ! let me rather thus console it ; let me 
 snatch from those lips one breath of that fragrance which 
 never should be wasted on the low churl thy husband. 
 
 Pauline. Help ! Claude ! — Claude ! — Have I no pro- 
 tector 1 
 
 Beau. Be silent ! \showing a pistol.^ See, I do not come
 
 154 THE LADY OF LYONS; [aCT IY. 
 
 unprepared even for violence. I will bi-ave all things — 
 thy husband and all his race — for thy sake. Thus, then, 
 I clasp thee ! 
 
 Mel. [dashing him to the other end of the stage]. Pauline 
 — look up, Pauline ! ihou art safe. 
 
 Beau, [levelling his pistol]. Dare you thus insult a 
 man of my birth, rufl&an 1 
 
 Fauline. Oh, spare him — spare my husband ! — Beau- 
 seant — Claude — no — no [faints]. 
 
 Mel. Miserable trickster ! shame upon you ! brave 
 devices to terrify a woman ! Coward ! — you tremble — 
 you have outraged the laws — you know that your weapon is 
 harmless — you have the courage of the mountebank, not 
 the bravo ! — Pauline, there is no danger. 
 
 Beau. I wish thou wert a gentleman — as it is, thou art 
 beneath me. — Good day, and a happy honeymoon. — 
 [^siJc] I will not die till I am avenged. [Exit. 
 
 Mel. I hold her in these arms — the last embrace ! 
 Never, ah never more, shall this dear head 
 Be pillow'd on the heart that should have shelter'd 
 And has betray'd ! — Soft — soft ! one kiss — poor wretch ! 
 No scorn on that pale lip forbids me now ! 
 One kiss — so ends all record of my ci'ime ! 
 It is the seal upon the tomb of hope. 
 By which, like some lost, sorrowing angel, sits 
 Sad memory evermore ; — she breathes — she moves — 
 She wakes to scorn, to hate, but not to shuddei 
 Beneath the touch of my abhorred love. 
 
 [Places her on a seat. 
 There — we are strangers now ! 
 
 Pauline. All gone— all calm — 
 
 Is every thiug a dream ? thou art safe, unhurt —
 
 SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 155 
 
 I do not love thee ; but — but I am woman, 
 And — and — no blood is spilt ? 
 
 Mel. No, lady, no ; 
 
 My guilt hath not deserved so rich a blessing 
 As even danger in thy cause. 
 
 Enter "Widow. 
 Widow. My son, I have been everywhere in search of 
 you ; why did you send for me ? 
 
 Mel. I did not send for you. 
 
 Widow. No ! but I must tell you your express has re- 
 turned. 
 
 Mel. So soon ! impossible ! 
 
 Widow. Yes, he met the lady's father and mother on 
 the road ; they were going into the country on a visit. 
 Your messenger says that Monsieur Deschappelles turned 
 almost white with anger when he read your letter. They 
 will be here almost immediately. Oh, Claude, Claude ! 
 what will they do to you 1 How I trembk^ ! Ah, 
 madam ! do not let them injure him — if you knew how 
 he doated on you. 
 
 Pauline. Injure him ! no, ma'am, be not afraid ; — my 
 father ! how shall I meet him ? how go back to Lyons ? 
 the scoff of the whole city ! Cruel, cruel, Claude [m great 
 agitation]. Sir, you have acted most treacherously. 
 
 Mel. I know it, madam. 
 
 Pauline [aside]. If he would but ask me to forgive him ! 
 — I never can forgive you, sir. 
 
 Mel. I never dared to hope it. 
 
 Pauline. But you are my husband now, and I have 
 sworn to — to love you, sir. 
 
 Mel. That was under a false belief, madam ; Heaven 
 and the laws will release you from your vow.
 
 1-56 THE LAD? OF LYONS ; [aCT IV. 
 
 Pauline. He will drive me mad ! if he were but less 
 proud — if he would but ask me to remain — hark, hark — 
 T hear the wheels of the carriage — Sir — Claude, they are 
 coming 3 have you no word to say ere it is too late ? 
 Quick — speak. 
 
 Mel. I can only congratulate you on your release. Be- 
 hold your parents ! 
 
 JUnter Monsieur and Madame Deschappelles and 
 Colonel Damas. 
 
 M. Deschap. My child ! my child ! 
 
 M7ne. Beschap. Oh, my poor Pauline ! — what a villanous 
 hovel this is ! Old woman, get me a chair — I shall faint 
 ■ — I certainly shall What will the world say 1 Child, 
 you have been a fool. A mother's heart is easily broken. 
 
 Damas. Ha, ha ! most noble Prince — I am sorry to 
 see a man of your quality in such a condition ; I am 
 afraid your highness will go to the House of Correction. 
 
 Mel. Taunt on, sir ; I spared you when you were 
 unarmed — I am unarmed now. A man who has no 
 excuse for ci'ime is indeed defenceless ! 
 
 Damas. There's something fine in the rascal, after all ! 
 
 M. Deschap. Where is the impostor 1 — Are you thus 
 shameless traitor ? Can you brave the presence of that 
 girl's father 1 
 
 Mel. Strike me, if it please you — you are her father. 
 
 Pauline. Sir — sir, for my sake ;— whatever his guilt, 
 he has acted nobly in atonement. 
 
 Mme. Deschap. Nobly ! Are you mad, girl ? I have 
 no patience with you — to disgrace all your family thus ? 
 — Nobly ! Oh you abominable, hardened, pitiful, mean, 
 ugly villain !
 
 SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 157 
 
 Damas. Ugly ! Why he was beautiful yesterday ! 
 
 Pauline. Madame, this is his roof, and he is my husband. 
 Respect your daughter, or let blame fall alone on her. 
 
 Mrae. Deschap. You — ^you — Oh, I'm choking. 
 
 M. Deschap. Sir, it were idle to waste reproach upon a 
 conscience like yours — you renounce all pretensions to 
 the person of this lady % 
 
 Mel. I do. \(jrives a "paper?^ Here is my consent to 
 a divorce — my full confession of the fraud which annuls 
 the marriage. Your daughter has been foully wronged — 
 I grant it, sir ; but her own lips will tell you that, from 
 the hour in which she crossed this threshold, I returned 
 to my own station, and respected hers. Pure and 
 inviolate, as when yestermorn you laid your hand upon 
 her head, and blessed her, I yield her back to you. For 
 myself — I deliver you for ever from my presence. An 
 outcast and a criminal, I seek some distant land, where 
 I may mourn my sin, and pray for your daughter's peace. 
 Farewell — farewell to you all, for ever ! 
 
 Widow. Claude, Claude, you will not leave your poor 
 old mother % She does not disown you in your sorrow — 
 no, not even in your guilt. No divoi'ce can separate a 
 mother from her son. 
 
 Pauline. This poor widow teaches me my duty. No, 
 mother, — no, for you are now my mother also ! — nor 
 should any law, human or divine, separate the wife 
 from her husband's sorrows. Claude — Claude — all is 
 forgotten — forgiven — I am thine for ever ! 
 
 Mme. Deschap. What do I hear? — Come away, or 
 never see my face again. 
 
 M. Deschap. Pauline, we never betrayed you ! — do you 
 forsake us for him 1
 
 158 THE LADY OF LYOXS ; [aCT IV. 
 
 Pauline [going hack to her father']. Oh no — but you 
 will forgive hiin too ; we v.-ill live together — he shall be 
 your son. 
 
 31. Beschap. Never! Cling to him and forsake your 
 parents ! His home shall be yours — his fortune yours — 
 his fate yours : the wealth I have acquired by honest 
 industry shall never enrich the dishonest man. 
 
 Pauline. And you would have a wife enjoy luxury 
 while a husband toils ! Claude, take me ; thou canst 
 not give me wealth, titles, station — but thou canst give 
 me a true heart. I will work for thee, tend thee, bear 
 with thee, and never, never shall these lips reproach thee 
 for the past. 
 
 Damas. I'll be hanged if I am not going to blubber ! 
 
 Mel. This is the heaviest blow of all ! — What a heart 
 I have wronged ! — Do not fear me, sir ; I am not all 
 hardened — I will not rob her of a holier love than mine. 
 Pauline ! — angel of love and mercy ! — your memory shall 
 lead me back to virtue ! — The husband of a being so 
 beautiful in her noble and sublime tendex*ness may be 
 poor — may be low-born ; — (there is no gvnlt in the 
 decrees of providence ! ) — but he should be one who can 
 look thee in the face without a blush, — to whom thy 
 love does not bring remorse, — who can fold thee to his 
 
 heart, and say, — "Here there is no deceit ! " 1 am 
 
 not that man ! 
 
 Damas [aside to Melnotte]. Thou art a noble fellow, 
 notwithstanding ; and wouldst make an excellent soldier. 
 Serve in my regiment. I have had a letter from the 
 Directory — our young general takes the command of the 
 army in Italy,— I am to join him at Marseilles, — I will 
 depart this day, if thou wilt go with me.
 
 SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 159 
 
 Mel. It is the favour I -would have asked thee, if I 
 dared. Place me wherever a foe is most dreaded, — 
 wherever Finance most needs a life ! 
 
 Damas. There shall not be a forlorn hope without. 
 thee! 
 
 Mel. There is my hand ! — mother, your blessing. I shall 
 see yon again, — a better man than a prince, — a man who 
 has bought the right to high thoughts by brave deeds. 
 And thou! — thou! so wildly worehipped, so guiltily 
 betrayed, — all is not yet lost ! — for thy memory, at least, 
 must be mine till death ! If I live, the name of him thou 
 hast once loved shall not rest dishonoured ; — if I fall, amidst 
 the carnage and the roar of battle, my soul will fly back 
 to thee, and love shall share with death my last sigh ! — 
 More — more would I speak to thee ! — to pray ! — to bless ! 
 But no ; — When I am less unworthy I will utter it to 
 
 Heaven ! — I cannot trust myself to \tuTmng to 
 
 Deschappelles] Your pardon, sir ; — they are my last 
 words — Farewell ! [^Exit. 
 
 Damas. I will go after him. — France will thank nje 
 for this. \_ExiL 
 
 Pauline [starting from her father s arms'\. Claude ! — 
 Claude ! — my husband ! 
 
 M. Deschap. You have a father still I
 
 160 THE LADY OF LYONS; [aCT V. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Two years and a half from the date of Act IV. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 The Streets of Lyoiis. 
 Enter First, Second, and Third Officers. 
 
 First Officer. Well, here we are at Lyons, with gallant 
 old Damas : it is his native place. 
 
 Second Officer. Yes ; he has gained a step in the army 
 since he was here last. The Lyonnese ought to be very 
 proud of stout General Damas. 
 
 Third Officer. Promotion is quick in the French army. 
 This mysterious Morier, — the hero of Lodi, and the 
 favourite of the commander-in-chief, — has risen to a 
 colonel's rank in two years and a half. 
 
 Enter Damas, as a General. 
 
 Damas. Good morrow, gentlemen ; I hope you will 
 amuse yourselves during our short stay at Lyons. It is 
 a fine city : improved since I left it. Ah ! it is a pleasure 
 to grow old, — when the years that bring decay to our- 
 selves do but ripen the prosperity of our country. You 
 have not met with Morier 1 
 
 First Officer. No : we were just speaking of him. 
 
 Second Officer. Pray, general, can you tell us who this 
 Morier really is 1 
 
 Damas. Is ! — why a colonel in the French army. 
 
 Third Officer. True. But what was he at first ?
 
 SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 161 
 
 Damas. At first? Why a baby in long clotbes, I suppose. 
 
 Fij'st Officer. Ha, lia ! Ever facetious, general. 
 
 Second Officer [to Third]. The general is sore upon this 
 point ; you will only chafe him. — Any commands, general 1 
 
 Damas. None. Good day to you. 
 
 \Exeunt Second and Third OflScers. 
 
 Damas. Our comi-ades are very inquisitive. Poor 
 Morier is the subject of a vast deal of curiosity. 
 
 First Officer. Say interest, rather, general. His con- 
 stant melancholy, the loneliness of his habits, — his daring 
 valour, his brilliant rise in the profession, — ^your friend- 
 ship, and the favours of the commander-in-chief, — all tend 
 to make him as much the matter of gossip as of admira- 
 tion. But where is he, general ? I have missed him all 
 the morning. 
 
 Damas. Why, captain, I'll let you into a secret. My 
 young friend has come with me to Lyons in hopes of find- 
 ing a miracle. 
 
 First Officer. A miracle ! 
 
 Damas. Yes, a miracle ! in other words, — a constant 
 woman. 
 
 First Officer. Oh ! an affair of love ! 
 
 Damas. Exactly so. No sooner did he enter Lyons 
 than he waved his hand to me, threw himself from his 
 horse, and is now, I warrant, asking every one who can 
 know anything about the matter, whether a certain lady 
 is still true to a certain gentleman ! 
 
 First Officer. Success to him ! — and of that success 
 there can be no doubt. The gallant Colonel Morier, the 
 hero of Lodi, might make his clioice out of the proudest 
 families in France. 
 
 Damas. Oh, if pride be a recommendation, the lady 
 
 3£
 
 162 THE LADY OF LYONS j [aCT V. 
 
 and her mother are most handsomely endowed. By the 
 way, captain, if you should chance to meet with Morier, 
 tell him he will find me at the hotel. 
 
 First Officer. I will, general. [Exit. 
 
 Damas. Now will I go to the Deschappelles, and make 
 a report to my young Colonel. Ha ! by Mars, Bacchus, 
 Apollo, Virorum, — here comes Monsieur Beauseant ! 
 
 Enter Beauseant. 
 
 Good morrow, Monsieur Beauseant ! Howfares it with you? 
 
 Beau. \aside\, Damas ! that is unfortunate ; — if the 
 Italian campaign should have filled his pockets, he may 
 seek to bafiie me in the moment of my victory. [Aloud.^ 
 Your servant, general, — for such, I think, is your new 
 distinction ! Just arrived in Lyons % 
 
 Damas. Not an hour ago. Well, how go on the Des- 
 chappelles ? Have they forgiven you in that afiair of 
 young Melnotte 1 You had some hand in that notable 
 device, — eh 1 
 
 Beau. Why, less than you think for ! The fellow im- 
 posed upon me. I have set it all right now. What has 
 become of him ? He could not have joined the army, 
 after all. There is no such name in the books. 
 
 Damas. I know nothing about Melnotte. As you say, 
 I never heard the name in the Grand Army. 
 
 Beau.. Hem ! — You are not married, general ? 
 
 Damas. Do I look like a married man, sir 1 — l^o, thank 
 Heaven ! My profession is to make widows, not wives. 
 
 Beau. You must have gained much booty in Italy ! 
 Pauline will be your heiress — eh ? 
 
 Damas. Booty ! Not I ! Heiress to what ? Two 
 trunks and a portmanteau, — four horses. — three swords,
 
 SCENE I.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 163 
 
 — two suits of regimentals, and six pair of wliite leather 
 inexpressibles ! A pretty fortune for a young lady ! 
 
 Beau. \(iside\. Then all is safe ! [^Zowd] Ha ! ha ! 
 Is that really all your capital, General Damas ? Why, I 
 thought Italy had been a second Mexico to you soldiers. 
 
 Bamas. All a toss-up, sir. I was not one of the lucky 
 ones ! My friend Morier, indeed, saved something hand- 
 some . But our commander-in-chief took care of liim, and 
 Morier is a thrifty, economical dog, — not like the rest of 
 us soldiers, who spend our money as carelessly as if it 
 were our blood. 
 
 Beau. Well, it is no matter ! I do not want fortune 
 with Pauline. And you must know, General Damas, 
 that your fair cousin has at length consented to reward 
 my long and ardent attachment. 
 
 Bamas. You ! — ^the devil ! Why, she is already mar- 
 ried ! There is no divorce ! 
 
 Beau. True ; but this very day she is formally to 
 authorize the necessary proceedings, — this very day she 
 is to sign the contract that is to make her mine within 
 one week from the day on which her present illegal mar- 
 riage is annulled. 
 
 Bainas. You tell me wonders ! — Wonders ! No ; I 
 believe anything of women ! 
 
 Beau. I must wish you good morning. 
 
 \As he is goitig, enter Deschappelles. 
 
 M. Beschap. Oh, Beauseant ! well met. Let us come 
 to the notary at once, 
 
 Bamas \to Beschap.'j. Why, cousin ! 
 
 M. Beschajy. Damas, welcome to Lyons. Pray call on 
 us ; my ■v\'ife will be delighted to see you. 
 M 3
 
 1C4 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [aCT V. 
 
 Damas. Your wife be — blessed for her condescensiou ! 
 Bat \tdking him aside\ what do I hear ? Is it possible 
 that your daughter has consented to a divorce 1 — that she 
 will marry Monsieur Beauseant 1 
 
 M. Deschap. Certainly ! What have you to say against 
 it ! A gentleman of birth, fortune, character. We are 
 not so proud as we were ; even my wife has had enough 
 of nobility and pi-inces ! 
 
 Bamas. But Pauline loved that young man so ten- 
 derly ! 
 
 M. DesclwLp. [taking smiff"^. That was two years and a 
 half ago ! 
 
 Bamas. Very true. Poor Melnotte ! 
 
 If. Beschajx But do not lalk of that impostor ; I hope 
 he is dead or has left the country. Nay, even were he in 
 Lyons at this moment, he ought to rejoice that, in an 
 honourable and suitable alliance, my daughter may forget 
 her sufferings and his crime. 
 
 Bamas. Nay, if it be all settled, I have no more to say. 
 Monsieur Beauseant informs me that the contract is to 
 be signed this very day. 
 
 M. Beschap. It is j at one o'clock precisely. Will you 
 be one of the witnesses ? 
 
 Bamas. I ? — No ; that is to say — ^yes, certainly ! — ?.t 
 one o'clock I will wait on you. 
 
 M. Bcs<:hap. Till then, adieu — come Beauseant. 
 
 [Exeunt Beauseant and Deschappelles. 
 
 Bamas. The man who sets his heart upon a woman 
 Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air ; 
 From air he takes his colours — holds his life, — 
 Changes with every wind, — grows lean or fat, 
 Rosy with hope, or green with jealousy,
 
 [scene 1. OK, LOVE AND PRIDE. 165 
 
 Or pallid witli despair — just as the gale 
 
 Varies from north to south — from heat to cold ! 
 
 Oh, woman ! woman ! thou shouldst have few sins 
 
 Of thine own to answer for ! Thou art the author 
 
 Of such a book of follies in a man, 
 
 That it would need the tears of all the angels 
 
 To blot the record out ! 
 
 Enter Melnotte, 2jO-Ig and agitated. 
 
 I need not tell thee ! Thou hast heard — 
 
 Mel The worst ! 
 
 I have ! 
 
 Damas. Be cheer'd ; others are fair as she is ! 
 
 Mel. Others ! — The world is crumbled at my feet ! 
 She was my world ; fill'd up the whole of being — 
 Smiled in the sunshine — walk'd the glorious earth — 
 Sate in my heart — was the sweet life of life. 
 The Past was hers ; I dreamt not of a Future 
 That did not wear her shape ! Mem'ry and Hope 
 Alike are gone. Pauline is faithless ! Henceforth 
 The universal space is desolate ! 
 
 Damas. Hope yet. 
 
 Mel. Hope, yes ! — one hope is left me still — 
 
 A soldier's grave ! Glory has died with love. 
 I look into my heart, and, where I saw 
 Pauline, see Death ! 
 
 [Afte7- a pause]. — But am I not deceived ? 
 I went but by the rumour of the town ; 
 Bumour is false, — I was too hasty ! Damas, 
 Whom hast thou seen 1 
 
 Damas. Thy rival and her father. 
 
 Arm thyself for the truth. — He heeds not —
 
 166 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [aCT V. 
 
 Mel. She 
 
 Will never know how deeply she was loved ! 
 The charitable night, that wont to bring 
 Comfort to-day, in bright and eloquent dreams, 
 Is henceforth leagued with misery ! Sleep, farewell, 
 Or else become eternal ! Oh, the waking 
 From false oblivion, and to see the sun, 
 And know she is another's ! 
 
 Damas. Be a man ! 
 
 Mel. I am a man ! — it is the sting of woe 
 like mine that tells us we are men ! 
 
 Bomhas. The false one 
 
 Did not deserve thee. 
 
 Mel. Hush ! — No word against her ! 
 
 Why should she keep, through years and silent absence, 
 The holy tablets of her virgin faith 
 True to a traitor's name ! Oh, blame her not ; 
 It were a sharper grief to think her worthless 
 Than to be what I am ! To-day, — to-day ! 
 They said " To-day ! " This day, so wildly welcomed — 
 This day, my soul had singled out of time 
 And mark'd for bliss ! This day ! oh, could I see her, 
 See her once more unknown ; but hear her voice. 
 So that one echo of its music might 
 Make ruin less appalling in its silence. 
 
 Damas. Easily done ! Come with me to her house ; 
 Your dress — your cloak — moustache — ^the bronzed hues 
 Of time and toil — the name you bear — belief 
 In your absence, all will ward away suspicion. 
 Keep in the shade. Ay, I would have you come. 
 There may be hope ! Pauline is yet so young. 
 They may have forced her to these second bridals
 
 SCENE I.] OK, LOVE AND PRIDE. 167 
 
 Out of mistaken love. 
 
 Mel. No, bid me liope not ! 
 
 Bid me not liope ! I could not bear again 
 To fall from such a heaven ! One gleam of sunshine, 
 And the ice breaks and I am lost ! Oh, Damas, 
 There's no such thing as courage in a man ; 
 The veriest slave that ever crawl'd from danger 
 Might spurn me now. When first I lost her, Damas, 
 I bore it, did I not ? I still had hope, 
 And now I — I [Bursts info an agony of grief. 
 
 Damas. What, comrade ! all the women 
 
 That ever smiled destruction on brave hearts 
 Were not worth tears like these ! 
 
 Mel 'Tis past — forget it. 
 
 I am prepared ; life has no further ills ! 
 The cloud has broken in that stormy rain. 
 And on the waste I stand, alone with Heaven. 
 
 Damas. His very face is changed ; a breaking heart 
 Does its work soon ! — Come, Melnotte, rouse thyself: 
 One effort more. Again thou'lt see her. 
 . Mel. See her ! 
 
 There is a passion in that simple sentence 
 That shivers all the pride and power oi reason 
 Into a chaos ! 
 
 Damas. Time wanes ; — come, ere yet 
 
 It be too late. 
 
 Mel. Terrible words—" Too late I" 
 Lead on. One last look more, and then 
 
 Damas. Forget her ! 
 
 Md. Eorget her ! yes. — For death remembers not. 
 
 [ExeuvU.
 
 168 THE LADY OF LYONS ;. [aCT V. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A room in the house of Monsiece Deschappelles ; Patjlii?e 
 seated in great dejection. 
 
 Pauline. It is so, tlien. I must be false to Love, 
 Or sacrifice a father ! Oli, my Claude, 
 My lover, and my husband ! Have I lived 
 To pray that thou mayst find some fairer boon 
 Than the deep faith of this devoted heart, — 
 Nourish'd till now — now broken ? 
 
 Enter Monsieur Deschappelles. 
 
 M. Bescliaf. My dear child, 
 
 How shall I thank — how bless thee ? Thou hast saved, 
 I will not say my fortune — I could bear 
 Keverse, and shrink not — but that prouder wealth 
 "Which merchants value most — my name, my credit — 
 The hard-won Iwuours of a toilsome life : — 
 These thou hast saved, my child ! 
 
 Pauline. Is there no hope ? 
 
 No hope but this % 
 
 M. Deschap. None. If, without the sum 
 
 Which Beauseant ofiers for thy hand, this day 
 Sinks to the west — to-morrow brings our ruin ! 
 And hundi'eds, mingled in that ruin, curse 
 The bankrupt merchant ! and the insolvent herd 
 "We feasted and made merry cry in scorn, 
 " How pride has fallen ! — Lo, the bankrupt merchant ! " 
 My daughter, thou hast saved us !
 
 SCENE II. j OR, LOVE AND PKIDE. 169 
 
 Fauline. And am lost ! 
 
 J/. Deschap. Come, let me hope that Beauseant's love — 
 
 Pauline. His love ! 
 
 Talk not of love. Love has no thought of self ! 
 Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold 
 The loathsome prostitution of a hand 
 Without a heart ? Love sacrifices all things 
 To bless the thing it loves ! He knows not love. 
 Father, his love is hate — his hope revenge ! 
 My tears, my anguish, my remorse for falsehood — 
 These are the joys that he wrings from our despair ! 
 
 M. Deschap. If thou deem'st thus, reject him ! Shame 
 and ruin 
 Were better than thy misery ; — think no more on't. 
 My sand is wellnigh run — what boots it when 
 The glass is broken ? We'll annul the contract : 
 And if to-morrow in the prisoner's cell 
 These aged limbs are laid, why still, my child, 
 I'll think thou art spared ; and wait the Liberal Hour 
 That lays the beggar by the side of kings ! 
 
 Pauline. No — no — forgive me ! You, my honour'd 
 father, — 
 You, who so loved, so cherish'd me, whose lips 
 Never knew one harsh word ! I'm not ungrateful ; 
 I am but human ! — hush ! Now, call the bridegroom— 
 You see I am prepared — no tears — all calm ; 
 But, father, talk no more of love ! 
 
 M. Deschap. My child, 
 
 'Tis but one struggle ; he is young, rich, noble ; 
 Thy state will rank first 'mid the dames of Lyons ; 
 And when this heart can shelter thee no more, 
 Thy youth ^vill not be guardianless.
 
 170 THE LADY OF LYOKS ; [aCT V. 
 
 Pauline. I have set 
 
 ]\Iy foot upon the ploughshare — I will pass 
 The fiery ordeal, [^.s^c/e.] Merciful Heaven, support me ! 
 And on the absent wanderer shed the light 
 Of happier stars — lost evermore to me ? 
 
 Enter Madame Deschappelles, Beauseant, Glavis, 
 and Notary. 
 
 Mine. Deschap. Why, Pauline, you are quite in deshabille 
 — you ought to be more alive to the importance of this 
 joyful occasion. We had once looked higher, it is true ; 
 but you see, after all, ]\Iousieur Beauseant's father was a 
 Marquis, and that's a great comfort. Pedigree and join- 
 ture ! — you have them both in Monsieur Beauseant. A 
 young lady decorously brought up should only have two 
 considerations in her choice of a husband : first, is his 
 birth honourable ? secondly, will his death be advan- 
 tageous ? All other trifling details should be left to pa- 
 rental anxiety. 
 
 Beau. [a2)proaching and waving aside Madaine\. Ah, 
 Pauline ! let me hope that you are reconciled to an event 
 which confers such rapture iipon me. 
 
 Pauline. I am reconciled to my doom. 
 
 Beau. Doom is a harsh word, sweet lady. 
 
 Paidine \ciside\. This man must have some mercy — his 
 heart cannot be marble. [-4Zowc/.] Oh, sir, be just — be 
 generous ! Seize a noble triumph — a great revenge ! Save 
 the father, and spare the child. 
 
 Beau. \aside\. Joy — joy alike to my hatred and my 
 passion ! The haughty Pauline is at last my suppliant. 
 \Aloud^ You ask from me what I have not the sublime 
 virtue to grant — a virtue reserved only for the gardener's
 
 SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 171 
 
 son ! I cannot forego my hopes in the moment of their 
 fulfilment ! I adhere to the contract — your father's ruin 
 or your hand. 
 
 Pauline. Then all is over. Sii-, I have decided. 
 
 \The, clock strikes one. 
 
 Enter Damas and Melnotte. 
 
 Da/mas. Your servant, cousin Deschappelles. Let me 
 introduce Colonel Morier. 
 
 Mme. Deschap. \curtsying very low\ What, the cele- 
 brated hero ? This is, indeed, an honour ! 
 
 [Melnotte ioios, and remains in the hackground. 
 
 Damas \to Pauline\. My little cousin, I congratulate 
 you. What, no smile — no blush ? You are going to be 
 divorced from poor Melnotte, and marry this rich gentle- 
 man. You ought to be excessively happy ! 
 
 Pauline. Happy ! 
 
 Damas. Why, how pale you are, child ! — Poor Pauline ! 
 Hist — confide ii".. mt : Do they force you to this 1 
 
 Pauline. No ! 
 
 Damcds. You act with your own free consent ? 
 
 Pauline. My own consent — yes. 
 
 Damas. Then you are the most — I will not say what 
 you are. 
 
 Pauline. You think ill of me — be it so — yet if you 
 knew all 
 
 Damas. Thei'e is some mystery — speak out, Pauline. 
 
 Pauline [suckle7ily'\. Oh, perhaps you can save me ! 
 you are our relation — our friend. My father is on the 
 verge of bankruptcy — this day he requires a large sum to 
 meet demands that cannot be denied ; that sum Beauseant 
 will advance — this hand the condition ot the barter. Save
 
 172 THE LADY OF LYONS; [aCT V, 
 
 me if you have the means — save me ! You will be repaid 
 above ! 
 
 Damas \aside\. I recant — Women are not so bad after 
 all ! [Aloud.'] Humph, child ! I cannot help you — I am 
 too poor. 
 
 Pauline. The last plank to which I clung is shivered. 
 
 Damas. Hold — you see my friend Morier : Melnotte is 
 his most intimate friend — fought in the same fields — slept 
 in the same tent. Have you any message to send to 
 Melnotte 1 any word to soften this blow ? 
 
 Pauline. He knows Melnotte — he will see him — he 
 will bear to him my last farewell — [approaches Melnotte] 
 — He has a stern air — he turns away from me — he despises 
 me ! — Sir, one word I beseech you. 
 
 Mel. Her voice again ! How the old time comes o'er me ! 
 
 Damas \to Madame\. Don't interrupt them. He is 
 going to tell her what a rascal young Melnotte is ; he 
 knows him well, I promise you. 
 
 Mme. Descha/p. So considerate in you, cousin Damas ! 
 
 [Damas approaches Deschappelles ; converses apart vAth 
 Mm in dumb slioio — Deschappelles sliows him a paper, 
 xohich he inspects and takes. 
 
 Pauline. Thrice have I sought to speak ; my courage 
 fails me. — 
 Sir, is it true that you have known — nay, are 
 The friend of— Melnotte ? 
 
 Mel. Lady, yes !— Myself 
 
 And misery know the man ! 
 
 Pauline. And you will see him, 
 
 And you will bear to him — ay — word for word, 
 All that this heart, which breaks in ^)arting from him, 
 Would send, ere still for ever ?
 
 SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 173 
 
 Mel. He hath told me 
 
 You have the right to choose from out the world 
 A worthier bridegroom ; — he foregoes all claim, 
 Even to murmur at his doom. Speak on ! 
 
 Pauline. Tell him, for years I never nursed a thought 
 That was not his ; — that on his wandering way, 
 Daily and nightly, pour'd a mourner's prayers. 
 Tell him ev'n now that I would rather share 
 His lowliest lot, — walk by his side, an outcast, — 
 Work for him, beg with him, — live upon the light 
 Of one kind smile from him, — than wear the crown 
 The Bourbon lost ! 
 
 Mel. [asicle^. Am I already mad 1 
 
 And does delirium utter such sweet words 
 Into a dreamer's ear 1 [Aloud]. You love him thus, 
 And yet desert him 1 
 
 Pauline. Say, that, if his eye 
 
 Could read this heart, — its struggles, its temptations, — 
 His love itself would pardon that desertion ! 
 Look on that poor old man, — he is my father j 
 He stands upon the verge of an abyss ! — 
 He calls his child to save him ! Shall I shrink 
 From him who gave me birth 1 — withhold my hand, 
 And see a parent perish 1 Tell him this. 
 And say — that we shall meet again in Heaven ! 
 
 Mel. Lady — I — I — what is this riddle ? — what 
 The nature of this sacrifice ? 
 
 Pauline [pointing to Dajias]. Go, ask him ! 
 
 Beau, [from tJie table]. The papers are prepared — we 
 only need 
 Your hand and seal. 
 
 Mel. Stay, lady — one word more.
 
 174 THE LADY OF LYONS ; [aCT V. 
 
 Were but your duty with your faith united, 
 Would you still share the low-borii peasant's lot ? 
 
 Pauline. Would 1 1 Ah, better death with him I love 
 Than all the pomp — which is but as the flowers 
 That crown the victim ! — [Turning away^ I am ready. 
 
 [Melnotte rushes to Damas. 
 
 Damas. Thei'e — 
 
 This is the schedule — this the total. 
 
 Beau. \to Deschappelles, showing notes\. These 
 Are yours the instant she has sign'd ; you are 
 Still the great House of Lyons ! 
 
 [The Notary is about to hand the contract to Pauline, ivhen 
 Melnotte seizes it and tears it. 
 
 Beau. Are you mad 1 
 
 M. Deschap. How, sir ! What means this insult ? 
 i'ld. Peace, old man ! 
 
 I have a prior claim. Before the face 
 Of man and Heaven I urge it ; I outbid 
 Yon sordid huckster for your priceless jewel. 
 
 \Giving a iwcket-booJc. 
 There is the sum twice told ! Blush not to take it : 
 There's not a coin that is not boiight and hallow'd 
 In the cause of nations with a soldier's blood ! 
 Beau. Torments and death I 
 
 Pauline. That voice ! Thou art— 
 
 -^^ei. Thy husband ! 
 
 [Pauline rushes into his amis. 
 Look up ! Look up, Pauline ! — for I can bear 
 Thine eyes ! The stain is blotted from my name. 
 I have redeem'd mine honour. I can call 
 On France to sanction thy divine forgiveness !
 
 SCENE II.] OR, LOVE AND PKIDE, 175 
 
 Oh, joy ! — Oh, rapture ! By the midnight watchfires 
 Thus have I seen thee ! thus foretold this hour ! 
 And 'midst the roar of battle, thus have heard 
 The beating of thy heart against my own ! 
 
 Beau. Fool'd, duped, and triumph'd over in the hour 
 Of mine own victory ! Curses on ye both ! 
 May thorns be planted in the marriage-bed ! 
 And love grow sour'd and blacken'd into hate — 
 Such as the hate that gnaws me ! 
 
 Bamas. Curse away ! 
 
 And let me tell thee, Beauseant, a wise proverb 
 The Arabs have, — " Curses ai-e like young chickens, 
 \_Solemnly.'\ And still come home to roost ! " 
 
 Beau. Their happiness 
 
 Maddens my soul ! I am powerless and revengeless ! 
 
 \To Madame. 
 I wish you joy ! Ha ! ha ! the gardener's son ! [Exit. 
 
 Bamas [to Glavis]. Your friend intends to hang 
 himself ! Methinks 
 You ought to be his travelling companion ! 
 
 Gla. Sir, you are exceedingly obliging ! [Bant, 
 
 Paulme. Oh ! 
 
 My father, you are saved, — and by my husband ! 
 Ah, blessed hour ? 
 
 Mel. Yet you weep still, Pauline ! 
 
 Paulme. But on thy breast ! — these tears are sweet 
 and holy ! 
 
 M. Beschap. You have won love and honour nobly, 
 sir ! 
 Take her ; — be happy both ! 
 
 Mme. Beschap. I'm all astonish'd ! 
 
 WTio, then, is Colonel Morier ?
 
 176 SHE LADY OF LYONS. [aCT V. SC. II. 
 
 Damas. You behold Mm ! 
 
 Mel. Morier no more after this happy day ! 
 I would not bear again my father's name 
 Till I could deem it spotless ! The hour's come ! 
 Heaven smiled on conscience ! As the soldier rose 
 From rank to rank, how sacred was the fame 
 That cancell'd crime, and raised him nearer thee ! 
 
 Mme. Desclmp. A colonel and a hero ! Well, that's 
 something ! 
 He's wondrously improved ! I wish you joy, sir ! 
 
 Mel. Ah ! the same love that tempts us into sin, 
 If it be true love, works out its redemption ; 
 And he who seeks repentance for the Past 
 Should woo the Angel Virtue in the future.
 
 RICHELIEU; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE CONSPIRACY.
 
 " Le Comte de Soissons, et le Due de Bouillon, avaient une bonne 
 armee, et ils savaient la conduire ; et pour plus grande stiret^, 
 tandis que cette arm^e devait s'avancer, on devait assassiner le 
 Cardinal et faire soulever Paris. . . Les Conjurfe faisaient un 
 traits avec I'Espagne pour introduire des troupes en France, etpour 
 y mettre tout en confusion dans une E^gence qu'on oroyait pro- 
 cliaine, et dont chacun esp&ait profiter. , . Richelieu avait 
 perdu toute sa faveur, et ne conservait que I'avantage d'etre 
 n^cessaire. Le bonheur du Cardinal vculut encore que le complot 
 fut d^couvert, et qu'une copie du traits lui tombat entre les mains." 
 — Voltaire, Mist. Gen.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The administration of Cardinal Richelieu, whom (despite all hia 
 darker qualities) Voltaire and history justly consider the true archi- 
 tect of the French monarchy, and the great parent of French civil- 
 ization, is characterised by features alike tragic and comic. A weak 
 king — an ambitious favourite ; a despicable conspiracy against the 
 minister, nearly always associated with a dangerous treason against 
 the State — these, with little variety of names and dates, constitute 
 the eventful cycle through which, with a dazzling ease, and an arro- 
 gant confidence, the great luminary fulfilled its destinies. Blent 
 together, in startling contrast, we see the grandest achievements 
 and the pettiest agents ; — the spy — the mistress — the capuchin ; — 
 the destruction of feudalism ; — the humiliation of Austria ; — the 
 dismemberment of Spain. 
 
 Richelieu himself is still what he was in his own day — a man of 
 two characters. If, on the one hand, he is justly represented as 
 inflexible and vindictive, crafty and unscrupulous ; so, on the other, 
 it cannot be denied that he was placed in times in which the long 
 impunity of every license required stern examples — that he was 
 beset by perils and intrigues, which gave a certain excuse to the 
 subtlest inventions of self-defence — that his ambition was insepar- 
 ably connected with a passionate love for the glory of his country — 
 and that, if he was her dictator, he was not less her benefactor. It 
 has been fairly remarked, by the most impartial historians, that he 
 was no less generous to merit than severe to crime — that, in the vari- 
 ous departments of the State, the Army, and the Church, he selected 
 and distinguished the ablest aspirants — that the wars which he con- 
 N 2
 
 180 PREFACE. 
 
 ducted were, fc* the most part, essential to the preservation of 
 France, and Europe itself, from the formidable encroachments of 
 the Austrian House — that, in spite of those wars, the people were 
 not oppressed with exorbitant imposts — and that he left the king- 
 dom he had governed in a more flourishing and vigorous state than 
 at any former period of the French history, or at the decease of 
 Louis XIV. 
 
 The cabals formed against this great statesman were not carried on 
 by the patriotism of public virtue, or the emulation of equal talent : 
 they were but court struggles, in which the most worthless agents 
 had recourse to the most desperate means. In each, as I have 
 before observed, we see combined the twofold attempt to murder the 
 minister and to betray the country. Such, then, are the agents, 
 and such the designs with which truth, in the drama as in history, 
 requires us to contrast the celebrated Cardinal ; — not disguising his 
 foibles or his vices, but not unjust to the grander qualities (espe- 
 cially the love, of country), by which they were often dignified, 
 and, at times, redeemed. 
 
 The historical drama is the concentration of historical events. 
 In the attempt to place upon the stage the picture of an era, that 
 license with dates and details, which Poetry permits, and which the 
 highest authorities in the Drama of France herself have sanctioned, 
 has been, though not unsparingly, indulged. The conspiracy of the 
 Due de Bouillon is, for instance, amalgamated with the denouement 
 oiThe Day of Dupes ; * and circumstances connected with the treason 
 of Cinq Mars (whose brilliant youth and gloomy catastrophe tend to 
 subvert poetic and historic justice, by seducing us to forget his 
 base ingratitude and his perfidious apostasy) are identified with 
 the fate of the earlier favourite Baradas, f whose sudden rise and 
 
 * " Le Cardinal se croit perdu, et prepare sa retrai^e. Ses amis 
 lui conseillent de tenter enfin auprfes du Eoi un nouvel efibrt. Le 
 Cardinal va trouver le Roi k Versailles. Le Eoi, qui avait sacrifie 
 son ministre par faiblesse, se remit par faiblesse entre ses mains, et 
 11 lui abandonne ceux qui I'avaient perdu. Ce jour qui est encore 
 k present appell^ La Journee des Dupes, fat celui du pouvoir absolu 
 du Cardinal."— 7oZ<azVe, Hist. Gen. 
 
 t " En six mois il (le Roi) fit (Baradas) premier Ecuyer, premier 
 Gentilhomme de la Chambre, Capitaine de St. Germain, et Lieutenant
 
 PREFACE. 181 
 
 as sudden fall passed into a proverb. I ought to add, that the 
 noble romance of " Cinq Mars suggested one of the scenes in 
 the fifth act ; and that for the conception of some portion of the 
 intrigue connected with De Mauprat and Julie, I am, with great 
 alterations of incident, and considerable if not entire recon- 
 struction of character, indebted to an early and a-umirable novel by 
 the author of " Picciola." * 
 
 London, March 1839. 
 
 de Eoi, en Champagne. En moins de temps encore, on lui 6ta tout, 
 et des debris de sa grandeur, k peine lui resta-t-il de quoi payer ses 
 dettes : de sorte que pour signifier une grande fortune dissip^e 
 aussi qu'acquise on disait en commun proverbe. Fortune de Baradas." 
 — Anqueiil. 
 
 * It may be as well, however, to cautwn the English reader 
 against some of the impressions which the eloquence of both the 
 writers I refer to are calculated to leave. They have exaggerated 
 the more evil, and have kept out of sight the nobler quali:ies of the 
 Cardinal.
 
 NOTE. 
 
 Ths length of the play necessarily requires curtailments on the 
 stage — the jDrincipal of which are enclosed within brackets. Many 
 of the passages thus omitted, however immaterial to the audience, 
 must obviously be such as the reader would be least inclined to dis- 
 pense with — viz., those which, without being absolutely essential to 
 the business of the stage, contain either the subtler strokes of charac- 
 ter, or the more poetical embellishments of description. An im- 
 portant consequence of these suppressions is, that Richelieu himself 
 is left, too often and too unrelievedly, to positions which place him 
 in an amiable light, without that shadowing forth of his more 
 sinister motives and his fiercer qualities, which is attempted in the 
 written play. Thus, the character takes a degree of credit due 
 only to the situation. To judge the author's conception of Richelieu 
 fairly, and to estimate how far it is consistent with historical por- 
 traiture, the play must be read.
 
 TO 
 
 THE MAEQIJIS OP LANSDOWNE, E.G., 
 
 &c., &c., 
 THIS DRAMA 
 
 IB INSCRIBED, 
 
 IN TBIBUTE TO THE TALENTS WHICH COMMAND, AND THB 
 QUALITIES WHICH ENDEAR, EESPECT.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 
 
 Louis the Thirteenth. 
 
 Gaston, Duke of Orleans, brother to Louis XIII. 
 
 Baradas, favoitrite of the King, First Gentleman of tJia 
 
 C/uomher, Premier Ecuyer, &c. 
 Cardinal Richelieu. 
 The Chevalier de Mauprat. 
 The Sieur de Beringhen, in attendance on the King* 
 
 one of the Conspirators. 
 Joseph, a Capuchin, Hichelieu's confdani. 
 HuGUET, an officer of RichelieiCs household guard — a 
 
 Spy. 
 Francois, First Page to Eichelieu. 
 First Courtier. 
 Captain of the Archers. 
 First, Second, Third Secretaries of State. 
 Governor op the Bastile. 
 Gaoler. 
 
 Courtiers, Pages, Coyispirators, Officers, Soldiers, etc. 
 
 Julie de Mortemar, an Orphan, ward to Richelieu. 
 Marian de Lorme, Mistress to Orleans, hut in Pichelieic's 
 pay. 
 
 * Properly speaking,, the King's First Valet de Chambre — a posi 
 of great importance at that time.
 
 EICHELIETJ; 
 
 OB, 
 
 THE CONSPIRACY. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 FIRST DAY 
 
 SCENE I. — A room in the hoxhse of Marion de Loeme ; a table 
 totvards the front of the stage {with wine, fruits, <frc.), at which are 
 seated Bakadas, Four Courtiers, splendidly dressed in the costume 
 of 1641-2 ; — the Duke op Orleans reclining on a large fauteuil ; — 
 Marion de Lokme standing at the hack of his chair, offers him a goblet, 
 and then retires. At another table, De Beringhen, De ISIauprat, 
 i:)laying at dice ; otiier Courtiers, of inferior ranh to those at the table 
 of the Duke, looking on. 
 
 Orle. \drinhing'\. Here's to our enterprise ! 
 
 Bar. [glancing at Marion]. Hush, sir ! 
 
 Orle. \_aside\. ^ay, Count, 
 
 You may trust her ; she doats on me ; no house 
 So safe as Mai-ion's. *[At our statelier homes 
 The very walls do play the eaves-dropper. 
 There's not a sunbeam creeping o'er our floors 
 But s(;ems a glance from that malignant eye 
 
 * The passages enclosed in brackets are omitted in represen- 
 tation.
 
 136 KicHELiEu; [act I. 
 
 Which reigns o'er France ; our fatal greatness lives 
 In the sharp glare of one relentless day. 
 But Richelieu's self forgets to fear the sword 
 The myrtle hides ; and Marion's silken robe 
 Casts its kind charity o'er fiercer sins 
 Than those which haunt the rosy path between 
 The lip and eye of beauty. — Oh, no house 
 So safe as Marion's.] 
 
 Bar. Still, we have a secret. 
 
 And oil and water — woman and a secret — 
 Are hostile properties. 
 
 Orle. Well — Marion, see 
 
 How the play prospex-s yonder. 
 
 [Marion goes to the next table, looTcs on for a few moments 
 then exit. 
 
 Bar. \j)roducing a parchmentj. I have now 
 All the conditions dra\sTi ; it only needs 
 Our signatures : upon receipt of this, 
 (Whereto is join'd the schedule of our treaty 
 With the Count-Duke,* the Eichelieu of the Escurial,) 
 Bouillon will join his army with the Spaniard, 
 March on to Paris, — there, dethrone the King : 
 You will be Regent ; I, and ye, my Lords, 
 Form the new Council. So much for the core 
 Of our great scheme. 
 
 Orle. But Richelieu is an Argus ; 
 
 One of his hundred eyes will light upon us, 
 And then — good-bye to life. 
 
 Bar. To gain the prize 
 
 We must destroy the Argus : — ay, my Lords, 
 
 * Olivares, Minister of Spain,
 
 SCENE I.J OE, THE CONSPIRACY. 187 
 
 The scroll the core, but blood must fill the veins, 
 Of our design ; — while this despatch'd to Bouillon, 
 Richelieu despatch'd to heaven ! — The last my charge. 
 Meet here to-morrow night. You, sir, as first 
 In honour and in hope, meanwhile select 
 Some trusty knave to bear the scroll to Bouillon ; 
 Midst Richelieu's foes Fll find some desperate hand 
 To strike for vengeance, while we stride to power. 
 
 Orle. So be it ; — to-morrow, midnight. Come, my 
 Lords. 
 
 [Exeunt Orleans, and the Courtiers in Ms train. TJiose at 
 the other table rise, salute Orleans, and reseat themselves. 
 
 Be Ber. Double the stakes. 
 
 De Mau. Done. 
 
 De Ber. Bravo ; faith, it shames me 
 
 To bleed a purse already in extremis. 
 
 De Mau. Nay, as you've had the patient to yourself 
 So long, no other doctor should despatch it. 
 
 [De Mauprat throws and loses. 
 
 Omnes. Lost ! Ha, ha ! — poor De Mauprat ! 
 
 De Ber. One throw more ? 
 
 De Mau. No ; I am bankrupt [jmshing gold]. There 
 goes all — except 
 My honour and my sword. [^hey rise. 
 
 De Ber. Long cloaks and honour 
 
 Went out of vogue together, when we found 
 We got on much more rapidly without them ; 
 The sword, indeed, is never out of fashion, — 
 The devil has care of that. 
 
 First Gamester. Ay, take the sword 
 
 To Cardinal Richelieu : — he gives gold for steel. 
 When worn by brave men.
 
 188 xin.xir!LIEU ; [aCT I. 
 
 De Mau. Richelieu ! 
 
 Be Ber. [to Baradas]. At that name 
 
 He changes colour, bites his nether lip. 
 Ev'n in his brightest moments whisper " Richelieu," 
 And you cloud all his sunshine. 
 
 Bar. T have mai-k'd it, 
 
 And I will learn the wherefore. 
 
 De Mau. The Egyptian 
 
 Dissolved her richest jewel in a draught : 
 "Would I could so melt time and all its treasures, 
 And drain it thus. [Drinking. 
 
 De Ber. Come, gentlemen, what say ye, 
 
 A walk on the parade ? 
 
 Omnes. Ay ; come, De Mauprat. 
 
 De Mau. Pardon me ; we shall meet again ere nightfall. 
 
 Bar. I'll stay and comfort Mauprat. 
 
 De Ber. Comfort ! — when 
 
 We gallant fellows have run out a friend, 
 There's nothing left — except to run him thi'ough ! 
 There's the last act of friendship. 
 
 De Mau. Let me keep 
 
 That favour in reserve ; in all beside 
 Your most obedient servant. 
 
 [Exeunt De Beringhen, &c. MoMmt De Mauprat 
 and Baradas. • 
 
 Bar. You have lost — 
 
 You are not sad. 
 
 De Mau. Sad ! — Life and gold have wingg, 
 
 And must fly one day : — open, then, their cages 
 And wish them merry. 
 
 Bar. You're a strange enigma : — 
 
 Fiery in war — and yet to glory lukewarm ;
 
 SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 189 
 
 All mirtli in action — in repose all gloom — 
 
 These are extremes in which the unconscious heai't 
 
 Betrays the fever of deep-fix'd disease. 
 
 Coniide in me ! our young days roll'd together 
 
 In the same river, glassing the same stars 
 
 That smile i' the heaven of hope ; — alike we made 
 
 Bright-winged steeds of our unform'd chimeras, 
 
 Spurring the fancies upward to the air, 
 
 Wherein we shaped fair castles from the cloud. 
 
 Fortune of late has sever'd us — and led 
 
 Me to the rank of Courtier, Count and Favourite, — 
 
 You to the titles of the wildest gallant 
 
 And bravest knight in France ; — are you content % 
 
 No ; — trust in me — some gloomy secret 
 
 De Mau. Ay : — 
 
 A secret that doth haunt me, as, of old. 
 Men were possess'd of fiends ! — Where'er I turn, 
 The grave yawns dark before me ! — I will trust you ;— 
 Hating the Cardinal, and beguiled by Orleans, 
 You know I join'd the Languedoc revolt — 
 Was captured — sent to the Bastile 
 
 Bar. But shared 
 
 The general pardon, which the Duke of Orleans 
 Won for himself and all in the revolt, 
 Who but obey'd his orders. 
 
 De Mau. Note the phrase ; — 
 
 *' Obey'd his orders." Well, when on my way 
 To join the duke in Languedoc, I (then 
 The down upon my lip — less man than boy) 
 Leading young valours — reckless as myself. 
 Seized on the town of Faviaux, and displaced 
 The royal banners for the rebel. Orkana
 
 190 RICHELIEU ; [act I. 
 
 (Never too daring,) when I reacli'd the camp, 
 Blamed me for acting — mark — loithout his orders : 
 Upon this quibble Eichelieu razed my name 
 Out of the general pardon. 
 
 £ar. Yet released you 
 
 Fi'om the Bastile 
 
 De Mau. To call me to his presence, 
 
 And thus address me : — " You have seized a town 
 Of France, without the orders of your leader. 
 And for this treason, but one sentence — Death." 
 
 Bar. Death! 
 
 De Mem. " I have pity on your youth and birth, 
 Nor wish to glut the headsman ; — join your trooj). 
 Now on the march against the Spaniards ; — change 
 The traitor's scaffold for the soldier's grave ; — 
 Your memory stainless — they who shared your 
 
 crime 
 Exiled or dead — your king shall never learn it." 
 
 Bar. tender pity ! — most charming prospect ! 
 Blown into atoms by a bomb, or drill'd 
 Into a cullender by gunshot ! — Well 1 — 
 
 Be Mau. You have heard if I fought bravely. — Death 
 became 
 Desired as Daphne by the eager Daygod. 
 Like him I chased the nymph — to grasp the laurel ! 
 I could not die ! 
 
 Bar. Poor fellow ! 
 
 Be Mau. When the Cardinal 
 
 Review'd the troops — his eye met mine ; — he frown'd, 
 Summon'd me forth — " How's this ! " quoth he ; " you 
 
 have shunn'd 
 The sword— beware the axe ! — 'twill fall one day ! "
 
 SCENE I.] OK, THE CONSPIRACY. 191 
 
 He left me thus — we were recall'd to Paris, 
 And — ^you know all ! 
 
 Bar. And, knowing this, wliy halt you, 
 
 Spell'd by the rattle-snake, — while in the breasts 
 Of your firm friends beat hearts, that vow the death 
 Of yovir grim tyrant 1 — Wake ! — Be one of us ; 
 The time invites — the king detests the Cardinal, 
 Dares not disgrace — but grocins to be deliver'd 
 Of that too great a subject — join your friends, 
 Pree France, and save yourself, 
 
 De Mau. Hush ! Richelieu bears 
 
 A charmed life ; — to all, who have braved his power, 
 One common end — the block. 
 
 Bar. Nay, if he live, 
 
 The block your doom ; — 
 
 De Mau. Better the victim, Count, 
 
 Than the assassin. — France requires a Pdchelieu, 
 But does not need a Mauprat. Truce to this ; — 
 All time one midnight, where my thoughts are 
 
 spectres. 
 What to my fame ? — What love '? — 
 
 Bar. Yet dost thou love not ? 
 
 De Mau. Love ? — I am youug 
 
 Bar. And Julie fair ! \Asicle.'\ It is so, 
 
 Upon the margin of the grave — his hand 
 Would pluck the rose that I would win and wear 1 
 [it^oMcZ.]— [Thou lov'st— 
 
 De Mau. Who, lonely in the midnight tent, 
 
 Gazed on the watch-fires in the sleepless air, 
 Nor chose one star amidst the clustering hosts 
 To bless it in the name of some fair face 
 Set in his soirit, as that star in Heaven 1
 
 192 EiCHELiEu ; [act l 
 
 For our divine affections, like the spheres. 
 Move ever, ever musical. 
 
 Bar, You speak 
 
 As one who fed on poetiy. 
 
 De Mau. Why, man, 
 
 The thoughts of lovers stir with poetry 
 As leaves with summer-wind. — The heart that loves 
 Dwells in an Eden, hearing angeMutes, 
 As Eve in the Fii'st Garden. Hast thou seen 
 My Julie, and not felt it henceforth dull 
 To live in the common world — and talk in words 
 That clothe the feelings of the frigid herd ? — 
 Upon the perfumed pillow of her lips — 
 As on his native bed of roses flushed 
 With Paphian skies — Love smiling sleeps : — Her voice 
 The blest interpreter of thoughts as pure 
 As virgin wells where Dian takes delight, 
 Or fairies dip their changelings ! — In the maze 
 Of her harmonious beauties — Modesty 
 (Like some severer grace that leads the choir 
 Of her sweet sisters) eveiy airy motion 
 Attunes to such chaste charm, that Passion holds 
 His burning breath, and will not with a sigh 
 Dissolve the spell that binds him ! — Oh those eyes 
 That woo the eai'th — shadowing more soul than lurka 
 Under the lids of Psyche ! — Go ! — thy lip 
 Curls at the purfled phrases of a lover — 
 Love thou, and if thy love be deep as mine, 
 Thou wilt not laugh at poets. 
 
 Bar. \aside\. With each word 
 
 Thou wak'st a jealous demon in my heart, 
 And my hand clutches at my hilt. — "[ 
 
 II
 
 SCENE 1.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 195: 
 
 De Mau. [yaUy], No more ! — 
 
 I love ! — Your breast holds both my secrets ! — Never 
 Unbury either ! — Come, while yet we may, 
 We'll bask us in the noon of rosy life : — 
 Lounge through the gardens, — flaunt it in the taverns, — 
 Laugh, — game, — drink, — feast: — If so confined my 
 
 days," 
 Faith, I'll enclose the nights. — Pshaw ! not so grave ; 
 I'm a true Frenchman ! — Vive la bagatelle ! 
 
 [^As they ai^ going out, enter HoGDET and four Arquebusiegt. 
 
 Hug. Messire De Mauprat, — I arrest you ! — Pollovf 
 To the Lord Cardinal. 
 
 De Mau. You see, my friend, 
 
 I'm out of my suspense ! — the tiger's play'd 
 Long enough with his prey. — Farewell ! — Hereafter 
 Say, when men name me, " Adrien de Mauprat 
 Lived without hope, and perish'd without fear ! " 
 
 [Exeunt De Mauprat, Huguet, (fee; 
 
 Bar. Farewell ! — I trust for ever ! I design'd thee 
 
 For Richelieu's murderer but, as well his martyr \ 
 
 In childhood you the stronger — and I cursed you ', 
 In youth the fairer — and I cursed you still ; 
 And now my rival ! — While the name of Julie 
 Hung on thy lips — I smiled — for then I saw, 
 In my mind's eye, the cold and grinning Death 
 Hang o'er thy head the pall ! — Ambition, Love, 
 Ye twin-born stars of daring destinies. 
 Sit in my house of Life ! — By the king's aid 
 I will be J ulie's husband — in despite 
 Of my Lord Cardinal ! — by the king's aid 
 I will be minister of France — in spite 
 o
 
 194 RICHELIEU; [act I. 
 
 Of my Lord Cardinal ! — And then — what then 1 
 The king loves Julie — feeble prince — false master — 
 
 \_Produci71g and gazing on the parchment. 
 Then, by the aid of Bouillon, and the Spaniard, 
 I will dethrone the king ; and all — ha ! — ha ! — 
 All, in despite of my Lord Cardinal ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A room in the Palais Cardinal, the walls hung with arras. A 
 large sa'een in one corner. A table covered with hooks, papers, &c. 
 A rude clocTc in a recess. Busts, statues, hooTc-cases, weapons of 
 different periods and banners- suspended over RlCHEUEO'a chair. 
 
 Richelieu and Joseph. 
 
 Bich. And so you think this new conspiracy 
 
 The craftiest trap yet laid for the old fox 1 
 
 Fox ! — Well, I like the nickname ! "What did Plutarch 
 Say of the Greek Lysander ? 
 
 Joseph. I forget. 
 
 Hich. That where the lion's skin fell short, he eked it 
 Out with the fox's ! A great statesman, Joseph, 
 That same Lysander ! 
 
 Joseph. Orleans heads the traitors. 
 
 Rich. A very wooden head, then ! Well ? 
 
 Joseph. The favourite, 
 
 Count Baradas — 
 
 Rich. A weed of hasty growth ; 
 
 First gentleman of the chamber — titles, lands, 
 And the king's ear ! — It cost me six long winters 
 To mount as high, as in six little moons
 
 SCENE II.] OB, THE CONSPIRACY. 195 
 
 This painted lizard But I hold the ladder, 
 
 And when I shake — he falls ! What more ? 
 
 Joseph. A scheme 
 
 To make your orphan-ward an instrument 
 To aid your foes You placed her with the queen, 
 One of the royal chamber, — as a watch 
 I' th' enemy's quarters — 
 
 Rich. And the silly child 
 
 Visits me daily, — calls me " Fathei'," — prays 
 Kind Heaven to bless me — And fo^" all the rest 
 As well have placed a doll about the queen ! 
 She does not heed who frowns — who smiles ; with whom 
 The king confers in whispers ; notes not when 
 Men who last week were foes, are found in comers 
 Mysteriously affectionate ; words spoken 
 Within closed doors she never hears ; — by chance 
 Taking the air at keyholes — Senseless puppet ! 
 No ears — nor eyes ! — and yet she says, " She loves me ! " 
 Go on 
 
 Joseph. Your ward has charm'd the king 
 
 Rich. Out on you ! 
 
 Have I not, one by one, from such fair shoots 
 Pluck'd the insidious ivy of his love ? 
 And shall it creep around my blossoming tree 
 Where innocent thoughts, like happy birds, make music 
 That spirits in Heaven might hear ? They're sinful, too, 
 Those passionate surfeits of the rampant flesh. 
 The church condemns them ; and to us, my Joseph, 
 The props and pillars of the church, most hurtful. 
 The king is weak — whoever the king loves 
 Must rule the king ; the lady loves another, 
 The other rules the lady — thus we're balk'd 
 o 2
 
 196 RiCHEUEU ; [act I. 
 
 Of our own proper sway — The king must have 
 
 No goddess but the State : — the State — that's Richelieu ! 
 
 Joseph. This not the worst ; — Louis, in all decorous, 
 And deeming you her least compliant guardian, 
 Would veil his suit by marriage with his minion, 
 Your prosperous foe, Count Baradas ! 
 
 Rich. Ha! ha! 
 
 I have another bride for Baradas. 
 
 Joseph. You, my lord ? 
 
 Rich. Ay — more faithful than the love 
 
 Of fickle woman : — when the head lies lowliest. 
 Clasping him fondest ; — Son'ow never knew 
 So sure a soother, — and her bed is stainless ! 
 
 Joseph \aside\ . If of the grave he speaks, I do not wonder 
 That priests are bachelors ! 
 
 Enter FRAN901S. 
 
 Fran. Mademoiselle de Mortemar, 
 
 Rich. Most opportune — admit her. [^Exit FRAN901S. 
 
 In my closet 
 You'll find a rosary, Joseph ; ere you tell 
 Three hundred beads, I'll summon you. Stay, Joseph ; — 
 I did omit an Ave in my matins, — 
 A grievous fault ; — atone it for me, Joseph ; 
 There is a scourge within ; I am weak, you strong. 
 It ware but charity to take my sin 
 On such broad shoulders. Exercise is healthful. 
 
 Joseph. I ! guilty of such criminal presumption 
 
 As to mistake myself for you — No, never ! 
 
 Think it not ! {Aside.'\ Troth, a pleasant invitation ! 
 
 [Eodt Joseph. 
 Enter Julie de Mortemar. 
 
 Rich. That's my sweet Julie ! — why, upon this face
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 197 
 
 Blushes such daybreak, one might swear the mornings 
 Were come to visit Tithon. 
 
 Julie \jplacing herself at hisfeei\. Are you gracious I— 
 May I say " Father ? " 
 
 Rich. Now and ever ! 
 
 Julie. Father ! 
 
 A sweet word to an orphan. 
 
 Rich. No ; not orphan 
 
 While Kichelieu lives ; thy father loved me well ; 
 My friend, ere I had flatterers (now, I'm great, 
 In other phrase, I'm friendless) — he died young 
 In years, not service, and bequeath'd thee to me ; 
 And thou shalt have a dowry, girl, to buy 
 Thy mate amidst the mightiest. Drooping 1 — sighs 1 
 Art thou not happy at the court ? 
 
 Julie. Not often. 
 
 Rich. \aside\ Can she love Baradas ? Ah ! at thy 
 heart 
 There's what can smile and sigh, blush and grow pale, 
 All in a breath 1 Thou art admired — art young ; 
 Does not his majesty commend thy beauty — 
 Ask thee to sing to him ? — and swear such sounds 
 Had smooth'd the brows of Saul 1 
 
 Julie. He's very tiresome, 
 
 Our worthy king-. 
 
 Rich. Fie ! kings are never tiresome, 
 
 Save to their ministers. What courtly gallants 
 Churm ladies most ? — De Sourdiac, Longueville, or 
 The favourite Baradas 1 
 
 Julie. A smUeless man — 
 
 I fear and shun him. 
 
 Rich. Yet he courts thee %
 
 198 RICHELIEU j [act I. 
 
 Jy^ie. Then 
 
 He is more tiresome than his Majesty. 
 
 Rich. Right, girl, shun Baradas. Yet of these flowers 
 Of France, not one, in whose more honied breath 
 Thy heart hears summer whisper ? 
 
 Enter Huguet. 
 
 Hug. The Chevalier 
 
 l)e Mauprat waits below. 
 
 Julie [starting up]. De Mauprat ! 
 
 Eich. Hem ! 
 
 He has been tiresome too ! — Anon. [Exit HuGUET. 
 
 Julie. What doth he ? — 
 
 I mean — I — Does your Eminence — that is — 
 Know you Messire de Mauprat 1 
 
 Rich. Well ! — and you — 
 
 Has he address'd you often 1 
 
 Julie. Often ! — No — 
 
 Nine times ; — nay, ten ; the last time, by the lattice 
 Of the great staircase. \In a melancholy tone.^ The Court 
 sees him rarely. 
 
 Rich. A bold and forward royster ! 
 
 Julie. He ? nay, modest, 
 
 Gentle, and sad, methinks. 
 
 Rich. Wears gold and azure ? 
 
 Julie. No ; sable. 
 
 Rich. So you note his colours, Julie 1 
 
 Shame on you, child ; look loftier. By the mass, 
 I have business with this modest gentleman. 
 
 Julie. You're angry with poor Julie. There's no cause. 
 
 Rich. No cause — you hate my foes ? 
 
 Julie. I do ! 
 
 -Sic^. Hate Mauprat 1
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 199' 
 
 Julie. Not Mauprat. No, not Adrien, father. 
 
 Rich. Adrien ! 
 
 Familiar ! — Go, child ; no, not that way ; wait 
 In the tapestry chamber ; I will join you, — go. 
 
 Julie. His brows are knit ; I dare not call him father 1 
 But I TYiust speak — Your Eminence 
 
 Rich, [sternly]. Well, girl ! 
 
 Jidie. Nay, 
 
 Smile on me — one smile more ; there, now I'm happy. 
 Do not rank Mauprat with your foes ; he is not, 
 I know he is not ; he loves France too well. 
 
 Rich. Not rank De Mauprat with my foes 1 So be it. 
 I'll blot him from that list. 
 
 Julie. That's my own father. 
 
 l^Exit Julie. 
 
 Rich, [ringing a small bell on the table\. Huguet ! 
 
 Enter Huguet. 
 De Mauprat struggled not, nor murmured 1 
 
 Hug. No ; proud and passive. 
 
 Rich. Bid him enter.— Hold : 
 
 Look that he hide no weapon. Humph, despair 
 Makes victims sometimes victors. When he has enter'd 
 Glide round unseen ; — place thyself yonder [pointing tQ 
 
 the screen] ; watch him ; 
 If he show violence — (let me see thy carbine ; 
 So, a good weapon ;) — if he play the lion, 
 Why — the dog's death. 
 
 Hug. I never miss my mark. 
 
 [Exit Htjgcet ; Richelieu seats himself at the tahle, and 
 slowly arranges the 'papers before him. Enter De Mau- 
 PKAT, -preceded by Huguet, who then retires behind tJte 
 screen.
 
 : 200 RICHELIEU ; [act I. 
 
 Rich. Approach, sir. — Can you call to mind the hour, 
 Now three years since, when in this room, methinks, 
 Your presence honour'd me ? 
 
 De Mau. It is, my Lord, 
 
 One of my most 
 
 Eich. \drily\. Delightful recollections. * 
 
 De Mau. [aside\. St. Denis ! doth he make a jest of 
 axe 
 And headsman ? 
 
 Rich. \sternly\. I did then accord you 
 A mercy ill requited — you still live ? 
 
 De Mau. To meet death face to face at last. 
 
 \Rich. Your words 
 
 Are bold. 
 
 De Mau. My deeds have not belied them. 
 
 Rich. Deeds ! 
 
 miserable delusion of man's pride ! 
 Deeds ! cities sack'd, fields ravaged, hearths profaned, 
 Men butcher'd ! In your hour of doom behold 
 The deeds you boast of ! From rank showers of blood. 
 And the red light of blazing roofs, you build 
 The rainbow glory, and to shuddering conscience 
 'Cry, — Lo, the bridge to Heaven ! 
 
 De Mau. If war be sinful, 
 
 Your hand the gauntlet cast. 
 
 Rich. It was so, sir. 
 
 Note the distinction : — I weigh'd well the cause 
 
 * There are many anecdotes of the irony, often so terrible, in 
 which Richelieu indulged. But he had a love for humour in its 
 more hearty and genial shape. He would send for Boisrobert " to 
 make him laugh," — and grave ministers and magnates waited in the 
 ante-room, while the great cardinal listened and respoD led to the 
 aallies of the lively wit
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 201 
 
 Which made the standard holy ; raised the war 
 But to secure the peace. France bled — I groan'd ; 
 But look'd beyond ; and, in the vista, saw- 
 France saved, and I exulted. You — but you 
 "Were but the tool of slaughter — knowing nought. 
 Foreseeing nought, nought hoping, nought lamenting, 
 And for nought fit — save cutting throats for hire. 
 Deeds, marry, deeds ! 
 
 Be Mail. If you would deign to speak 
 
 Thus to your armies ere they march to battle. 
 Perchance your Eminence might have the pain 
 Of the throat-cutting to yourself. 
 
 Rich, [asic/e]. He has wit. 
 
 This Mauprat — [^fowc?.] Let it pass ; there is against you 
 What you can less excuse.] Messire de Mauprat, 
 Doom'd to sure death, how hast thou since consumed 
 The time allotted thee for serious thought 
 And solemn penitence 1 
 
 De Man. \emharrassed\. The time, my lord % 
 Rich. Is not the question plain ? I'll answer for thee. 
 Thou hast sought nor priest nor shrine ; no sackcloth 
 
 chafed 
 Thy delicate flesh. The rosary and the deathVhead 
 Have not, with pious meditation, purged 
 Earth from the carnal gaze. What thou hast not done^ 
 Brief told ; what done, a volume ! Wild debauch, 
 Turbulent riot ; — for the moi'n the dice-box — 
 Noon claim'd the duel — and the night the wassail ; 
 These, your most holy, pure preparatives. 
 For death and judgment. Do I wrong you, sir ? 
 
 De Mau. I was not always thus : — if changed my nature, 
 Blame that which changed my fate. — Alas, my lord,
 
 302 RICHELIEU ; 
 
 [There is a brotherhood which calm-eyed reason 
 
 Can wot not of betwixt despair and mirth. 
 
 My birth-place mid the vines of sunny Provence, 
 
 Perchance the stream that sparkles in my veins 
 
 Came from that wine of passionate life which, erst, 
 
 Glow'd in the wild heart of the troubadour : 
 
 And danger, which makes steadier courage waiy, 
 
 But fevers me with an insane delight ; 
 
 As one of old who on the mountain crags 
 
 Caught madness from a Maenad's haunting eyes. 
 
 Were you, my lord, — whose path imperial power, 
 
 And the grave cares of reverent wisdom, guard 
 
 From all that tempts to folly meaner men, — ] 
 
 Were you accursed with that which you inflicted — 
 
 By bed and board, dogg'd by one ghastly spectre — 
 
 The while within you youth beat high, and life 
 
 Grew lovelier from the neighbouring frown of death— 
 
 The heart no bud, nor fruit — save in those seeds 
 
 Most worthless, which spring up, bloom, bear, and wither 
 
 In the same hour — Were this your fate, perchance, 
 
 You would have err'd like me ! 
 
 Rich. I might, like you. 
 
 Have been a brawler and a reveller ; — not, 
 Like you, a trickster and a thief — 
 
 De Mau. [advancing threateningly^ Lord Cardinal ! 
 Unsay those words ! — 
 
 [HuGUET deliberately raises the carbine. 
 
 Rich, [waving his hand]. Not quite so quick, friend 
 Huguet ; 
 Messire de Mauprat is a patient man, 
 And he can wait ! — 
 
 You have outrun your fortune ; —
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPICACY. 203 
 
 I blame you not, that you would be a beggar — 
 
 Each to his taste ! — But I do charge you, sir. 
 
 That, being beggar' d, you would coin false moneys 
 
 Out of that crucible, called debt. — To live 
 
 On means not yours — be brave in silks and laces. 
 
 Gallant in steeds — splendid in banquets ; — all 
 
 Not yours — ungiven — uninherited — unpaid for ; — 
 
 This is to be a trickster ; and to filch 
 
 Men's art and labour, which to them is wealth, 
 
 Life, daily bread, — quitting all scores with — " Friend, 
 
 You're troublesome ! " — Why this, forgive me, 
 
 Is what — when done with a less dainty grace — 
 
 Plain folks call " Theft ! " You owe eight thousand pistoles, 
 
 Minus one crown, two liards ! 
 
 De Mau. \aside\. The old conjuror ! 
 
 Sdeath, he'll inform me next how many cups 
 I drank at dinner ! 
 
 Rich. This is scandalous. 
 
 Shaming your birth and blood. I tell you, sir. 
 That you must j^ay your debts. 
 
 De Mau. With all my heart, 
 
 My lord. Where shall I borrow, then, the money ? 
 
 Rich, [aside and laughing]. A humorous dare-devil ! — 
 The veiy man 
 To suit my purpose — ready, frank, and bold ! 
 
 \Rising and earnestly. 
 Adrien de Mauprat, men have called me cruel ; — 
 I am not ; — I am just ! — I found France rent asunder, — 
 The rich men despots, and the poor banditti ; — 
 Sloth in the mart, and schism within the temple ; 
 Brawls festering to rebellion ; and weak laws 
 Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths.
 
 204 RICHELIEU ; [act I. 
 
 I have re-created France ; and, from the ashes 
 
 Of the old feudal and decrepit carcase, 
 
 Civilization on her luminous wings 
 
 Soars, phoenix-like, to Jove ! What was my art ? 
 
 GeTiius, some say, — soL-^e, fortune, — witchcraft, some. 
 
 Not so ; — my art was justice ! — Force and fraud 
 
 Misname it cruelty — you shall confute them ! 
 
 My champion you 1 You met me as your foe, 
 
 Depart my friend — You shall not die. — France needs you. 
 
 You shall wipe off all stains, — be rich, be honour'd, 
 
 Be great. 
 
 [Db M.xvf rat falls on his knee — Richblied reuses him. 
 
 I ask, sir, in return, this hand, 
 To gift it with a bride, whose dower shall match, 
 Yet not exceed, her beauty. 
 
 J)e Mau. I, my lord, — \Joesitating] 
 
 I have no wish to marry. 
 
 Rich. Surely, sir. 
 
 To die ■^ere worse. 
 
 De Mau. Scarcely ; the poorest coward 
 
 Must die, — but knowingly to march to marriage — 
 My lord, it asks the courage of a lion ! 
 
 liicli. Traitoi", thou triflest with me ! I know all ! 
 Thou hast dared to love my ward — my charge. 
 
 De Mau. As rivers 
 
 May love the sunlight — basking in the beams, 
 And hurrying on ! — 
 
 Rich. Thou hast told her of thy love t 
 
 De Mau. My lord, if I had dared to love a maid. 
 Lowliest in France, I would not so have wronged her. 
 As bid her link rich life and virgin hope
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 205 
 
 With one, the deathman's gripe might, from her side, 
 Pluck at the nuptial altar. 
 
 Rich. I believe thee ; 
 
 Yet since she knows not of thy love, renounce her j 
 Take life and fortune with another ! — Silent ? 
 
 De Mau. Your fate has been one triumph — you know not 
 How bless'd a thing it was in my dark hour 
 To nurse the one sweet thought you bid me banish. 
 Love hath no need of words ; — nor less within 
 That holiest temple — the Heaven-builded soul — 
 Breathes the recorded vow. Base knight, — false lover 
 "Were he, who barter'd all, that brighten'd grief, 
 Or sanctified despaii', for life and gold. 
 Revoke your mercy ; — I prefer the fate 
 I look'd for ! 
 
 Rich. Huguet ! to the tapestry chamber 
 
 Conduct your prisoner. \To Mauprat.] 
 
 You will there behold 
 The executioner : — your doom be private — 
 And Heaven have mercy on you ! 
 
 De Mau. When I am dead. 
 
 Tell her, I loved her. 
 
 Rich. Keep such follies, sir, 
 
 For fitter ears ; — go — 
 
 De Mau. Does he mock me ? 
 
 [Exeunt De Mauprat, Huguet. 
 
 Rich. Joseph, 
 
 Come forth. 
 
 Erder Joseph. 
 
 Methinks your cheek hath lost ifs rubies ; 
 I fear you have been too lavish of the flesh ; 
 The scoui'ge is heavy.
 
 206 RICHELIEU ; [act I. 
 
 Joseph. Pray you, change the subject. 
 
 Rich. You good men are so modest ! — Well, to business ! 
 Go instantly — deeds — notaries ! — bid my stewards 
 Arrange my house by the Luxembourg — my house 
 No more ! — a bridal present to my ward, 
 Who weds to-morrow. 
 
 Josejih. Weds, with whom ? 
 
 Rich. De Mauprat. 
 
 Joseph. Penniless husband ! 
 
 Rich. Bah ! the mate for beauty 
 
 Should be a man, and not a money-chest ! 
 When her brave sire lay on his bed of death, 
 I vow'd to be a father to his Julie : — 
 And so he died — the smile upon his lips ! — 
 And when I spared the life of her young lover, 
 Methought I saw that smile again ! — Who else, 
 Look you, in all the court — who else so well, 
 Brave, or supplant the favourite ; — balk the king — 
 Baffle their schemes ? — I have tried him : — He has honour 
 And courage ; — qualities that eagle-plume 
 Men's souls, — and fit them for the fiercest sun, 
 Which ever melted the weak waxen minds 
 That flutter in the beams of gaudy Power ! 
 Besides, he has taste, this Mauprat : — When my play 
 Was acted to dull tiers of lifeless gapers,* 
 
 * The Abbe Arnaud tells us that the queen was a little avenged 
 on the cardinal by the ill success of the tragi-comedy of " Mirame" 
 • — more than suspected to be his own — though presented to the 
 world under the foster-name of Desmarete. Its representation (says 
 Pelisson) cost him 300,000 crowns. He was so transported out of 
 himself by the performance, that at one time he thrust his person 
 half out of his box to show himself to the assembly ; at another time 
 he imposed silence on the audience, that they might not lose " de»
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 207 
 
 Who had no soul for poetry, I saw him 
 Applaud in the proper places : — trust me, Joseph, 
 He is a man of an uncommon promise 1 
 
 Joseph. And yet your foe. 
 
 Rich. Have I not foes enow ?-— 
 
 Great men gain doubly when they make foes friends. 
 Remember my grand maxims : — First employ 
 All methods to conciliate.* 
 
 Joseph. Failing these ? 
 
 Rich, [fiercely]. All means to crush : as with the 
 opening, and 
 The clenching of this little hand, I will 
 Crush the small venom of these stinging courtiers. 
 So, so, we've baffled Baradas. 
 
 Joseph. And when 
 
 Check the conspiracy ? 
 
 Rich. Check, check ? Full way to it. 
 
 Let it bud, ripen, flaunt i' the day, and burst 
 To fruit, — the Dead Sea's fruit of ashes ; ashes 
 
 endroits encore plus beaux ! " He said afterwards to Desmarets : — 
 " Eh bien, les Fran9ais n'auront done jamais de goUt. lis n'ontpas 
 6t6 charm^s de Mirame ! " Amaud says pithily, — " On ne pouvoit 
 alors avoir d'autre satisfaction des oflFenses d'un homme qui ^toit 
 maitre de tout, et redoutable k tout le monde." Nevertheless, his 
 style in prose, though not devoid of the pedantic affectations of the 
 time, often rises into very noble eloquence. 
 
 * "Vialart remarque une chose qui pent expliquer la conduite 
 de Richelieu en d'autres circonstaaces : — c'est que les seigneurs h, 
 qui leur naissance ou leur merite pouvoit permettre des pretensions, 
 il avoit pour systfeme, de leur accorder au-dela meme de leurs droits 
 et de leurs esp^rances, mais, aussi, une fois combl^s — si, au lieu de 
 reconnoitre ses services ils se levoient contre lui, et ils traitoit sans 
 mis^ricorde." — Anqmtil. See also the Political Testament, and the 
 Memoires de Cardinal Richelieu, in Petitot's collection.
 
 208 RICHELIEU ; [act J. 
 
 Which I will scatter to the winds. 
 
 Go, Josepli j 
 When you return, I have a feast for you ; 
 The last great act of my great play : the verses, 
 Methinks, are fine, — ali, very fine. — You write 
 Verses ! * — \aside\ sv/ilh verses ! — You have wit, discern- 
 ment. 
 
 Joseph \aside\. Worse than the scourge ! Strange that 
 so great a statesman 
 Should be so bad a poet. 
 
 Rich. What dost thou say ? 
 
 Joseph. That it is strange so great a" statesman 
 should 
 Be so sublime a poet. 
 
 Rich. Ah, you rogue ; 
 
 Laws die, Books never. Of my ministry 
 I am not vain ! but of my muse, I own it. 
 Come, you shall hear the verses now. \Takes up a MS. 
 
 Joseph. My lord, 
 
 The deeds, the notaries ! 
 
 Rich. True, I pity you ; 
 
 But business first, then pleasure. \Exit Joseph. 
 
 Rich, \seats himself and reading^. Ah, sublime ! 
 
 * *'Tant6t fanatique — tant6t fourbe — fonder les r^ligieuses de 
 Calvaire— /aire des vers." Thus speaks Voltaire of Father Joseph. 
 His taleuts and influence with Richelieu, grossly exaggerated in hia 
 own day, are now rightly estimated. 
 
 " CMtoit en effet un homme infatigable — portant dans les entre- 
 prises, I'activit^, la souplesse, ropini§,tret^ propre k les faire r(?ussir." 
 — Ai*qu6til. He wrote a Latin poem, called "La Turciade," in 
 which he sought to excite the kingdoms of Christendom against the 
 Turks. But the inspiration of Tyrtseus was denied to Father 
 Joseph.
 
 SCENE II.] OK, THE CONSPIRACY. 200 
 
 Enter De Mauprat and Julie. 
 
 l)e Mau. Oh, speak, my lord — I dare not think 3pi 
 mock me. 
 And yet — 
 
 Rich. Hush — hush — This line must be coosider'd ! 
 
 J^die. Are we not both your children ? 
 
 Rich. What a couplet ! 
 
 How now ! Oh, sir — you live ! 
 
 De Mau. Why, no, methinks, 
 
 Elysium is not life ! 
 
 Julie. He smiles ! — you smile, 
 
 My father ! From my heart for ever, now, 
 I'll blot the name of orphan ! 
 
 Rich. Rise, my children, 
 
 For ye are mine — mine both ; — and in your sweefc 
 And young delight — your love (life's first-born gloi'y) — 
 My own lost youth breathes musical ! 
 
 De Mau. I'll seek 
 
 Temple and priest henceforward, were it but 
 To learn Heaven's choicest blessings. 
 
 Rich. Thou shalt seek 
 
 Temple and priest right soon ; the morrow's sun 
 Shall see across these barren thresholds pass 
 The fairest bride in Paris. — Go, my children, 
 Even / loved once ! — Be lovers while ye may ! 
 How is it with you, sir ! You bear it bravely : 
 You know, it asks the courage of a lion. 
 
 \Exeunt Julie and De Mauprat. 
 
 Rich. Oh godlike Power ! Woe, Rapture, Penury, 
 Wealth,— 
 Marriage and Death, for one infirm old man 
 Through a great empire to dispense — withhold— 
 
 P
 
 210 RICHELIEU ; [act 1L 
 
 As the will whispers ! And shall things— like motes 
 
 That live in my daylight — lackeys of court wages, 
 
 Dwarf'd starvelings — manikins, upon whose shoulders 
 
 The burthen of a province were a load 
 
 More heavy than the globe on Atlas, — cast 
 
 Lots for my robes and sceptre 1 France ! I love thee ! 
 
 All Earth shall never pluck thee from my heart ! 
 
 My mistress France — my wedded wife, — sweet France, 
 
 Who shall proclaim divorce for thee and me ! 
 
 [Exit Richelieu. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 second DAY. 
 
 SCENE I. — A splendid apartment in Maupeat's new Souse. 
 Casements opening to the Gardens, ieyond which the domes of the 
 Luxembourg Palace. 
 
 Enter Baradas. 
 
 Bar. Mauprat's new home : — too splendid for a soldier ! 
 But o'er his floors — the while I stalk — methinks 
 My shadow spreads gigantic to the gloom 
 The old rude towers of the Bastile cast far 
 Along the smoothness of the jocund day. — 
 Well, thou hast 'scaped the fierce caprice of Richelieu ; 
 But art thou fai'ther from the headsman, fool ? 
 Thy secret I have whisper'd to the king ; 
 Thy marriage makes the king thy foe.— Thou stand'st 
 On the abyss — and in the pool below 
 I see a ghastly, headless phantom mirror'd ; —
 
 SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY 211 
 
 Thy likeness ere the marriage moon hath waned. 
 Meanwhile — meanwhile — ha — ha, if thou art wedded. 
 Thou art not wived. 
 
 Enter Mauprat \splendidly dressed']. 
 
 De Mau. Was ever fate like mine ? 
 
 So blest and yet so wretched ! 
 
 Bar. Joy, De Maujirat ! — 
 
 VVhy, what a brow, man, for your wedding-day ! 
 
 De Mau. Jest not ! — Distraction ! 
 
 Bar. What, your wife a shrew 
 
 Ah'eady 1 Courage, man — the common lot ! 
 
 De Mau. Oh ! that she were less lovely, or less loved ! 
 
 Bar. Riddles again ! 
 
 De Mau. You know what chanced between 
 
 The cardinal and myself. 
 
 Bar. This morning brought 
 
 Your letter : — faith, a strange account ! I laugh'd 
 And wept at once for gladness. 
 
 De Mau. We were wed 
 
 At noon ; — the rite perform'd, came hither ! — scarce 
 Arrived, when 
 
 Bar. Well ?— 
 
 De Mau. Wide flew the doors, and lo, 
 
 Messire de Beringhen, and this epistle ! 
 
 Bar. 'Tis the king's hand ! — the royal seal ! 
 
 De Mau. Read — read — 
 
 Bar. [reading]. "Whereas Adrian de Mauprat, Colonel 
 and Chevalier in our armies, being already guilty of High 
 Treason, by the seizure of our town of Faviaux, has pre- 
 sumed, without our knowledge, consent, or sanction, to con- 
 nect himself by marriage with Julie de Mortemar, a 
 p 2
 
 •'212 RICHELIEU ; [act II. 
 
 wealthy orphan, attached to the person of Her Majesty, 
 ■without our knowledge or consent — We do hereby pro- 
 claim and declare the said marriage contrary to law. On 
 penalty of death, Adrieu de Mauprat will not cbmmuni- 
 cate with the said Julie de Morteraar by word or letter, 
 save in the presence of our faithful servant, the Sieur de 
 Beringhen, and then with such respect and decorum as 
 ai'e due to a demoiselle attached to the Court of Fnaice, 
 until such time as it may suit our royal pleasuie to confer 
 with the Holy Church on the formal annulment of the 
 marriage, and with our Council on the punishment to be 
 awarded to Messire de Mauprat, who is cautioned, for hia 
 own sake, to preserve silence as to our injunction, more 
 especially to Mademoiselle de Mortemar. 
 
 " Given under our hand and seal at the Louvre. 
 
 '' Louis." 
 
 Bar. \rehirning the letter]. Amazement ! — Did not 
 Richelieu say, the king 
 Knew not your crime 1 
 
 De Mau. He said so. 
 
 Bar. Poor De Mauprat ! — 
 
 See you the snare, the vengeance worse than death, 
 * Of which you are the victim 1 
 Be. Mau. Ha ! 
 
 Bar. \aside^ It v/orks ! 
 
 [Julie and De Bekinghen in tlie Garderis, 
 You have not sought the cardinal yet to 
 
 De Mau. Ko ! 
 
 ■ Scarce yet my sense awaken'd from the shock ; 
 Now I will seek him. 
 
 Bar. Hold, beware ! — Stir not 
 
 ' Till we confer again.
 
 SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 21 S 
 
 Be Mau, Speak — out, man ! 
 
 Bar. Hush ! 
 
 Your wife ! — De Beringheii ! — Be on your guard- 
 Obey the royal orders to the letter. 
 I'll look around your palace. By my troth 
 A princely mansion ! 
 
 De Mau. Stay — 
 
 Bar. So new a bridegroom 
 
 Can want no visitors ; — Your servant, madam ! 
 Oh ! happy pair — Oh ! charming picture ! 
 
 [Exit through a side-doiov. 
 
 Julie. Adrien, 
 
 You left us suddenly — Are you not well ? 
 
 Be Mau. Oh, very well — that is — extremely ill ! 
 
 Julie. Ill, Adrien 1 [Taking his hand. 
 
 Be Mau. Not when I see thee. 
 
 [Jffe is about to lift her hand to his lips when De Bebinohek 
 couglis and pulls his mantle. Madpbat drops the hand 
 amd walks away. 
 
 Jvlie. Alas ! 
 
 Should he not love flae ? 
 
 Be Ber. \asidel\ Have a care ; I must 
 Report each word — each gesture to his Majesty. 
 
 Be Mau. Sir, if you were not in his Majesty's service, 
 You'd be the most officious, impudent, 
 Damn'd busy-body ever interfering 
 In a man's family aflfairs. 
 
 Be Ber. But as 
 
 I do belong, sir, to his Majesty — 
 
 Be Mau. You're lucky ! — Still, were we a story 
 higher, 
 'Twere prudent not to go too near the window.
 
 214 RICHELIEU ; [act II. 
 
 Julie. Adrien, what have I done 1 Say, am I 
 changed 
 Since yesterday 1 — or was it but for wealth, 
 Ambition, life — that —that — you swore you loved me ? 
 
 De Mau. I shall go mad ! — I do, indeed I do — 
 
 De Ber. \aside.'\ Not love her ! that were highly dis- 
 I'espectful. 
 
 Julie. You do — what, Adrien ? 
 
 De Mau. Oh ! I do, indeed 
 
 I do think, that this weather is delightful ! 
 
 A charming day ! the sky is so serene ! 
 
 And what a prospect ! — \to De BekinghenJ Oh ! you 
 
 popmjay 
 
 Julie. He jests at me ! — he mocks me ! — yet I love 
 him. 
 And every look becomes the lips we love ! 
 Perhaps I am too grave 1 — You laugh at Julie ; 
 If laughter please you, welcome be the music ! 
 Only say, Adrien, that you love me. 
 
 De Mau. \hissing her hand.^ Ay ; 
 
 With my whole heart I love you ! 
 
 Now, sir, go, 
 And tell that to his Majesty ! — Who ever 
 Heard of its being a state offence to kiss 
 The hand of one's own wife ? 
 
 Julie. He says he loves me, 
 
 And starts away, as if to say " I love you " 
 Meant something very dreadful. — Come, sit by me, — 
 I place your chair ! — fie on your gallantry ! 
 
 [They sit down ; as he pushes his chair back, she draws hers 
 nearer. 
 
 Why must this strange Messire de Beringhen
 
 SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIBACY. 215 
 
 Be always here 1 He never takes a hint. 
 Do you not wish him gone ? 
 
 De Mau. Upon my soul 
 
 I do, my Julie ! — Send him for your bouquet, 
 Your glove, your — anything. 
 
 Julie. Messire de Beringhen, 
 I dropp'd my glove in the gardens by the fountain, 
 Or the alcove, or — stay — no, by the statue 
 Of Cupid ; may I ask you to 
 
 De Ber. To send for it ? 
 
 Certainly \ringing a hell on the table.^ Andre, Pierre, 
 
 (your rascals, how 
 Do ye caU them 1 ) 
 
 Enter Servants. 
 
 Ah — Madcmie has dropp'd her glove 
 In the gardens, by the fountain, — or the alcove ; 
 Or — stay — no, by the statue — eh ? — of Cupid. 
 Bring it. 
 
 De Mau. Did ever now one pair of shoulders 
 CarrY such waggon-loads of impudence 
 Into a gentleman's drawing-room 1 
 
 Dear Julie, 
 I'm busy — letters — visitors — the devil ! 
 I do beseech you leave me — I say — leave me. 
 
 Julie [weeping.l^ You are unkind. [Exit. 
 
 [As she goes out, Mauprat drops on one knee and hisses the 
 hem of her mantle, unseen by her. 
 
 De Ber. Ten millions of apologies 
 
 De Mau. I'll not take one of them. I have, as yet, 
 
 Withstood all things — my heart — my love — my rights. 
 
 But Julie's tears ! When is this farce to end?
 
 216 RICHEUEU ; [act II. 
 
 I)e Ber. Oh ! when yoix please. His Majesty requests 
 me. 
 As soon as you infringe his gracious orders, 
 To introduce you to the Governor 
 Of the Bastile. I should have had that honour 
 Before, but, gad, my foible is good-nature ; 
 One can't be hard upon a friend's infirmities. 
 
 De Mau. I know the king can send me to thescafifold — 
 Dark prospect ! — but I'm used to it ; and if 
 The Church and Council, by this hour to-morrow, 
 One way or other settle not the matter, 
 I will » 
 
 Be Ber. What, my dear sir ? 
 
 Be Mau. Show you the door 
 
 My dear, dear sir ; talk as I please, with whom 
 I please, in my own house, dear sir, until 
 His Majesty shall condescend to find 
 A stouter gentleman than you, dear sir. 
 To take me out ; and now you understand me, 
 My dear, most dear — oh damnably dear sir ! 
 
 Be Ber. What, almost in a passion ! you will coot 
 Upon reflection. Well, since Madam^s absent, 
 I'll take a small refreshment. Now, don't stir ; 
 Be careful ; — how's your burgundy 1 — I'll taste it — 
 Finish it all before I leave you. Nay, 
 No form ; — you see I make myself at home. 
 
 Exit De Bering hen. 
 
 De Mau. [going to the door through which BarADAS had 
 passed^ Baradas ! Count ! 
 
 Enter Baradas. 
 
 You spoke of snares — of yengeance 
 Sharper than death — be plainer.
 
 SCENE 1.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 217 
 
 Bar. What so clear ? 
 
 Richelieu has but two passions — 
 
 De Mmi. Richelieu \ 
 
 Bar. Tes } 
 
 Ambition and revenge — in you both blended. 
 First for ambition — Julie is his ward, 
 Innocent — docile — pliant to his will — 
 He placed her at the court — foresaw the rest— • 
 The king loves Julie ! 
 
 De Mail. Merciful Heaven ! The king ! 
 
 Ba/r. Such Cupids lend new plumes to Richelieu's 
 wings : 
 But the court etiquette must give such Cupids 
 The veil of Hymen — (Hymen but in name.) 
 He look'd abroad — found you his foe : — thus served 
 Ambition — by the grandeur of his ward, 
 And vengeance — by dishonour to his foe ! 
 
 De Mau. Prove this. 
 
 Bar. You have the proof — the royal Letter : — 
 
 Your strange exemption from the general pardon, 
 Kno'^n but to me and Richelieu ; can you doubt 
 Your friend to acquit your foe ? The truth is 
 
 glaring- 
 Richelieu alone could tell the princely lover 
 The tale which sells your life, — or buys your honour ! 
 
 De Mau. I see it all 1 Mock pardon — hurried nup- 
 tials — 
 False bounty ! — all ! — the serpent of that smile ! 
 Oh ! it stings home ! 
 
 Bar. You yet shall crush his malice ; 
 
 Our plans are sure : — Orleans is at our head ; 
 We meet to-night ; join us, and with us triumph.
 
 218 RICHELIEU j [act II, 
 
 De Mau. To-night ? — Oh, Heaven ! — my marriage 
 night ! — Kevenge ! 
 
 Bar. [What class of men, whose white lips do not curse 
 The grim, insatiate, universal tyrant ? 
 We, noble-born — whciS are our antique rights — 
 Our feudal seigniories — our castled strength, 
 That did divide us from the base Plebeians, 
 And made our swords our law — where are they ? Trod 
 To dust — and o'er the graves of our dead power 
 Scaffolds are monuments — the kingly house 
 Shorn of its beams — the Royal Sun of France 
 'Clipsed by this blood-red comet. Where we turn, 
 Nothing but Richelieu ! — armies — church — state — laws, 
 But mirrors that do multiply his beams. 
 He sees all — acts all — Argus and Briarseus — 
 Spy at our boards — and deatlisman at our hearths ; 
 Under the venom of one laidley nightshade, 
 Wither the lilies of all France. 
 
 Be Mau. [impatiently']. But Julie — 
 
 Uar. [unheeding ]dni\. As yet the Fiend that serves 
 hath saved his power 
 Fi'om every snare ; and in the epitaphs 
 Of many victims dwells a Avarning moral 
 That preaches caution. Were I not assured 
 That what before was hope is ripen'd now 
 Into most certain safety, trust me, Mauprat, 
 I still could hush my hate and max'k thy wrongs. 
 And say " Be patient ! " Now, the King himself 
 Smiles kindly when I tell him that his peers 
 Will rid him of his Priest. You knit your brows, 
 Noble impatience ! — Pass we to our scheme !] 
 'Tis Ptichelieu' s wont, each morn, within his chapel
 
 SCEXE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 219 
 
 (Hypocrite worship ended), to dispense 
 Alms to the Mendicant-friars, — in that guise 
 A hand (yourself the leader) shall surround 
 And seize the despot. 
 
 De Jfau. But the king 1 — but Julie 1 
 
 Bar. The king, infirm in health, in mind more feeble, 
 Is but the plaything of a minister's will. 
 Were Richelieu dead — his power were mine ; and Louis 
 Soon should forget his passion and your crime. 
 But whither now 1 
 
 I>e Mau. ' I know not ; I scarce hear thee ; 
 
 A little while for thought : anon I'll join thee ; 
 But now, all air seems tainted, and I loathe 
 The face of man ! 
 
 [Exit De ;Mauprat through the Gardens. 
 
 Bar. Start from the chase, my prey, 
 
 But as thou speed'sfc the hell-hounds of revenge 
 Pant in thy track and dog thee down. 
 
 Enter De Beringhen, his mouth full, a naphin in 
 his hand. 
 
 De Ber. Chevalier, 
 
 Your cook's a miracle, — what, my host gone 1 
 Faith, count, my office is a post of danger — 
 A fi,ery fellow, Mauprat ! touch and go, — 
 Match and saltpetre, — pr — r — r — r — ! 
 
 Bar. You 
 
 WiU be released ere long. The king resolves 
 To call the bride to court this day. 
 
 De Ber. Poor Mauprat I 
 
 Yet, since you love the lady, why so careless 
 Of the king's suit 1 
 
 Bar. Because the lady 's virtuous,
 
 220 RICHELIEU ; [act II. 
 
 And the king timid. Ere lie win the suit, 
 
 He'll lose the crown, — the bride will be a widow,^ 
 
 And I — the Richelieu of the Regent Orleans. 
 
 De Ber. Is Louis still so chafed against the Fox 
 For snatching yon fair dainty from the Lion ? 
 
 Bar. So chafed, that Richelieu totters. Yes, the king 
 Is half conspirator against the cardinal. 
 Enough of this. I've found the man we wanted, — 
 The man to head the hands that murder Richelieu,-;:- 
 The man, whose name the synonym for daring, 
 
 De Ber. He must mean me ! No, count ; I am, I own, 
 A valiant dog — but still 
 
 Bar. Whom can I mean 
 
 But Mauprat ? — Mark, to-night we meet at Marion's. 
 There shall we sign ; thence send this scroll [showing ii\ 
 
 to Bouillon. 
 You're in that secret \affectionaiely\ — one of our new 
 Council. 
 
 De Ber. But to admit the Spaniard — France's foe— 
 Into the heart of France — dethrone the king — 
 It looks like treason, and I smell the headsman. 
 
 Bar. Oh, sir, too late to falter : when we meet 
 We must arrange the separate, coarser scheme. 
 For Richelieu's death. Of this despatch De Mauprat 
 Must nothing learn. He only bites at vengeance, 
 And he would start from treason, — We must post him 
 Without the door at Marion's — as a sentry. 
 [-4sicZe] — So, when his head is on the block — his tongue 
 Cannot betray our 'more august designs ! 
 
 De Ber. I'll meet you if the king can spare me.— 
 [Aside^ No ! 
 I am too old a goose to play with foxes,
 
 SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 221 
 
 I'll i-oost at home. Meanwhile, ia the next room 
 There's a delicious pate, — let's discuss it, 
 
 Bcur. Pshaw ! a man fiU'd with a sublime ambition 
 Has no time to discuss your pates. 
 
 De Ber. Psha'vy ! 
 
 And a man fiU'd with as suHime a pate 
 Has no time to discuss ambition. — Gad, 
 I have the best of it ! 
 
 Enter Julie hastily loithjwst Courtier. 
 
 Julie \to Courtier]. A summons, sir. 
 
 To attend the Louvre 1 — On this day, too ? 
 
 Cour. Madame, 
 
 The royal carriage waits below. — Messire \to Db Berin- 
 
 ghen] 
 You will return with us. 
 
 Julie. What can this mean 1— 
 
 Where is my husband 1 
 
 Bar. He has left the house, 
 
 Perhaps till nightfall — so he bade me tell you. 
 Alas, were I the lord of such fair treasure — 
 
 Julie \impatiently\. Till nightfall ? — Strange — my 
 heart misgives me ! 
 
 Cour. Madam, 
 
 My orders will not broke delay, 
 
 Julie \to Baradas]. You'll see him— 
 
 And you will tell him ! 
 
 Bar. From the flowers of Hybla 
 
 Never more gladly did the bee bear honey. 
 Than I take sweetness from those rosiest lips, 
 Though to the hive of others ! ! 
 
 Cour. \to De Bering hen]. Come, Messire. '
 
 222 RICHELIEU ; [act II. 
 
 Be Ber. \liesitatimj\. One moment, just to — 
 
 Cour. Come, sir. 
 
 De Ber. I shall not 
 
 Discuss the pate after all. 'Ecod, 
 I'm puzzled now. T don't know who's the best of it ! 
 
 [Exeunt Julie, De Beringhen, and Courtier. 
 
 Bar. Now will this fire his fever into madness \ 
 .A.11 is made clear : Mauprat must murder Richelieu — 
 Die for that crime : — I shall console his Julie — 
 This will reach Bouillon ! — from the wrecks of France 
 I shall carve out — who knows — perchance a throne ! 
 All in despite of my Lord Cardinal. — 
 
 Enter De Mauprat ^o»i the Gardens. 
 
 De Mau. Speak ! can it be ? — Methought, that from 
 the terrace 
 I saw the carriage of the king — and Julie ! 
 No ! — no ! — my frenzy peoples the void air 
 With its own phantoms ! 
 
 Bar. l^ay, too true. — Alas ! 
 
 Was ever lightning swifter, or moi'e blasting, 
 Than Richelieu's forked guile 1 
 
 De Mau. I'll to the Louvi-e 
 
 Bar. And lose all hope! — The Louvre! — the sure 
 gate 
 To the Bastile ! 
 
 De Mau. The king 
 
 Bo/r. Is but the wax. 
 
 Which Richelieu stamps ! Break the malignant seal, 
 And I will rase the print. Come, man, take heart I 
 Her virtue well could brave a sterner trial 
 Than a few hours of cold imperious courtship.
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 223 
 
 Were Richelieu dust — no danger ! 
 
 De Mau. Ghastly Vengeance ! 
 
 To thee, aud thine august and solemn sister, 
 The unrelenting Death, I dedicate 
 The blood of Armand Richelieu ! When Dishonour 
 Reaches our hearths Law dies and Murther takes 
 The angel shape of Justice ! 
 
 Bar. Bravely said ! 
 
 At midnight, — Marion's ! — Nay, I cannot leave thee 
 To thoughts that 
 
 De Mau. Speak not to me ! — I am yours ! — 
 
 But speak not ! There's a voice within my soul. 
 Whose cry could drown the thunder. — Oh ! if men 
 Will play dark sorcery with the heart of man. 
 Let them, who raise the spell, beware the Fiend ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 A room in the Palais Cardinal (as in tJee First Act). 
 
 Richelieu and Joseph. 
 
 FRAN901S uyriting at a table. 
 
 Joseph. Yes ; — Huguet, taking his accustom'd round, — 
 Disguised as some plain bui-gher, — heard these rufflers 
 Quoting your name : — he listen'd, — " Pshaw," said one, 
 " We are to seize the Cardinal in his palace 
 To-morrow ! " — " How ? " the other ask'd : — " You'll hear 
 The whole design to-night : the Duke of Orleans 
 And Baradas have got the map of action
 
 224 RICHELIEU ; [act II. 
 
 At their fingers' end." — " So be it," quoth the other, 
 " I will be there, — Marion de Lorme's — at midnight ! " 
 
 Rich. I have them, man, — I have them ! 
 
 Joseph. So they say 
 
 Of you, my lord ;^beiieve me, that their plans 
 Are mightier than you deem. You must employ 
 Means no less vast to meet them ! 
 
 Rich. Bah ! in policy 
 
 We foil gigantic danger, not by giants, 
 But dwarfs. — The statues of our stately fortune 
 Are sculptured by the chisel — not the axe ! '^ 
 Ah ! were I younger — by the knightly heart 
 That beats beneath these priestly robes,+ I would 
 Have pastime with these cut-throats ! — Yea, — as when 
 
 * Richelieu not only employed the lowest, but would often con- 
 sult men commonly esteemed the dullest. " II disait que dans des 
 choses de trfes grande importance, il avait experiments, que lea 
 moins sages donnaient souvent les meilleurs expSdiens." — Lc Clcrc 
 
 + Both Richelieu and Joseph were originally intended for the 
 profession of arms. Joseph had served before he obeyed the spiritual 
 inspiration to become a Capuchin. The death of his brother opened 
 to Richelieu the bishopric of Luyon ; but his military propensities 
 were as strong as his priestly ambition. I need scarcely add that 
 the cardinal, during his brilliant campaign in Italy, marched at the 
 head of his troops in complete armour. It was under his adminis- 
 tration that occurs the last example of proclaiming war by the 
 chivalric defiance of herald and cartel. Richelieu valued hintself 
 much on his personal activity, — for his vanity was as universal as 
 his ambition. A nobleman of the house of Grammont one day found 
 him employed m jumping, and with all the savoir vivre of a French- 
 man and a courtier, offered to jump against him. He suffered the 
 cardinal to jump higher, and soon after found himself rewarded by 
 an appointment. Yet, strangely enough, this vanity did not lead to 
 a patronage injurious to the state ; for never before in France was 
 ability made so essential a requisite in promotion. He was lucky in 
 finding the cleverest fellow among his adrr*«st flatterers.
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 225 
 
 Lured to the ambush of the expecting foe, — 
 I clove my pathway through the plumed sea ! 
 Reach me yon falchion, Francois, — not that bauble 
 For carpet-warriors, — yonder — such a blade 
 As old Charles Martel might have wielded when 
 He drove the Saracen from France. 
 
 [FEAI1901S brings him one of the long tvjo-handed sworda 
 worn in the middle ages. 
 
 With this 
 I, at Rochelle, did hand to hand engage 
 The stalwart Englisher, — no mongrels, boy, 
 Those island mastiffs, — mark the notch — a deej) one — • 
 His casque made here, — I shore him to the waist ! 
 A toy — a feather — then ! [Ti'ies to loield, and lets it fall. 
 
 You see, a child could 
 Slay Richelieu now. 
 
 Fran. \his hand on his hilt]. But now, at your command 
 Are other weapons, my good lord. 
 
 Hich. \who has seated himself as to ivriii, lifts the jyen.^ 
 
 True,— This ! 
 Beneath the rule of men entirely great 
 The pen is mightier than the sword. Behold 
 The arch-enchanter's wand ! — itself a nothing ! — 
 But taking sorcery from the master-hand 
 To paralyse the Csesars — and to strike 
 The loud earth breathless ! — Take away the sword — 
 States can be saved without it ! [Looking on the clock. 
 
 'Tis the hour, — 
 Retire, sir. [Exit FRAN901S. 
 
 [A Tcnock is heard. A door concealed in the arras ojiens 
 cautiously. Enter Marion dk Lokme. 
 
 Joseph [amazed\ Marion de Lorrae ! 
 
 Q
 
 226 RICHELIEU; [act II 
 
 Rich. Hist ! Joseph ! 
 
 Keep guard. 
 
 [Joseph retires to tfie principal entrance. 
 
 My fai'^hful Marion ! 
 
 Marion. Good, my Lord, 
 
 They meet to-night in my poor house. The Duke 
 Of O-leans heads them. 
 
 Rich. Yes, go on. 
 
 Marion. His Highness 
 
 Much question d if I knew some brave, discreet, 
 And vigilant man, whose tongue could keep a secret, 
 And who had those twin qualities for service, 
 The love of gold, the hate of Richelieu. — 
 
 Rich. You ?— 
 
 Marion. Made ansv/er, "Yes — my brother ; — bold and 
 trusty ; 
 Whose faith, my faith could pledge;" — the Duke then 
 
 bade me 
 Have him equipp'd and arm'd — well mounted — ready 
 This night to i)art for Italy. 
 
 Rich. Aha ! — 
 
 Has Bouillon too turn'd traitor? — So, methouglit ! — 
 What part of Italy 1 
 
 Marion. The Piedmont frontier, 
 
 Where Bouillon lies encamp'd. 
 
 Rich. Now there is danger ! 
 
 Great danger ! — If he tamper with the Spaniard, 
 And Louis list not to my counsel, as, 
 Without sure proof, he will not, — France is lost. 
 What more ? 
 
 Marion. Dark hints of some design to seize 
 Your person in your palace. Nothing clear —
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE COKSPIBACY. 227 
 
 His Highness trembled wliile he spoke — the words 
 Did choke each other. 
 
 Rich. So ! — Who is the brother 
 
 You recommended to the Duke ? 
 
 Marion. Whoever 
 
 Your Eminence may father ! — 
 
 Rich. Darling Marion ! * 
 
 \_Goes to the table, and returns with a large bag of gold. 
 
 There — pshaw — a trifle ! — What an eye you have ! 
 
 And what a smile— child i — [kisses her.^ — ^^Ah ! you fair 
 
 perdition — 
 'Tis well I'm old ! 
 
 Marion [aside and seriously]. What a great man he is ! 
 
 Rich. You are sure they meet 1 — the hour ? 
 
 Marion. At midnight. 
 
 Rich. And 
 
 You will engage to give the Duke's Despatch 
 To whom I send 1 
 
 Marion. Ay, marry ! 
 
 Rich, [aside]. Huguet 1 No ; 
 
 * Voltaire openly charges Richelieu with being the lover of 
 Marion de Lorme ; and the great poet of France, Victor Hugo, has 
 sacrificed History to adorn her with qualities which were certainly 
 not added to her personal charms. She was not less perfidious than 
 beautiful. Le Clerc, properly, refutes the accusation of Voltaire 
 against the discretion of Richelieu, and says, very justly, that if the 
 great minister had the frailties of human nature, he learnt how to 
 veil them, — at least when he obtained the scarlet. In earlier life 
 he had been prone to gallantries which a little prepossessed the 
 king (who was formal and decorous, and threw a singular coldness 
 into the few attachments he permitted to himself), against the 
 aspiring intriguer. But these gayer occupations died away in the 
 engagement of higher pursuits or of darker passions. 
 <i 2
 
 228 RICHELIEU ; [act n. 
 
 He will be wanted elsewhere. — Joseph ? — ^zealous, 
 But too well known — too much the elder brother ! 
 Mauprat ? — alas ! it is his wedding-day ! — 
 rran9ois 1 — the Man of Men ! — unnoted — young — 
 Ambitious — \Goe8 to the door.] — rran9ois ! 
 
 JEnier Francois. 
 
 Eich. Follow this fair lady ; 
 
 (Find him the suiting garments, Marion,) take 
 My fleetest steed : — arm thyself to the teeth ; 
 A packet will be given you — with orders, 
 No matter what ! — The instant that your hand 
 Closes upon it — clutch it, like your honour. 
 Which Death alone can steal, or ravish — set 
 Spurs to your steed — be breathless, till you stand 
 Again before me. — Stay, sir ! — You will find me ■ 
 Two short leagues hence — at Ruelle, in my castle. 
 Young man, be blithe ! — for — note me — from the hour 
 I grasp that packet — think your guai'dian Star 
 Eains fortune on you ! — 
 
 Fran. If I fail — 
 
 Rich. Fail— fail ! 
 
 In the lexicon of youth, which Fate reserves 
 For a bright manhood, there is no such word 
 As — -fail ! — (You will instruct him further, Marion) 
 Follow her — but at distance ; — speak not to her. 
 Till you are housed. — Farewell, boy ! Never say 
 " Fail " again. 
 
 Fran. I will not ! 
 
 Bi(^. [patting his locks]. There's my young hero !^ 
 [Exeunt Francois, Marion 
 
 Bich. So, they would seize my person in this palace 1—
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE COXSPIRACY. 229 
 
 I cannot guess their scheme ; — but my retinue 
 Is here too large ! — a single traitor could 
 Strike impotent the faith of thousands ; — Joseph, 
 Art sure of Huguet ? — Think — we hang'd his Father ! 
 Joseph. But you have bought the Son ; — heap'd favours 
 
 on him ! 
 Rich. Trash ! — favours past — that's nothing. — In his 
 hours 
 Of confidence with you, has he named the favours 
 To come — he counts on ? 
 
 Joseph. Yes : — a Colonel's rank, 
 
 And Letters of Nobility. 
 Rich. What. Huguet ! — 
 
 [^Here Hcguet enters, as to address the Cardinal, iclio does 
 not perceive Mm, 
 
 Hug. My own name, soft — [glides behind the scree7i\. 
 
 Rich. Colonel and Nobleman ! 
 
 My bashful Huguet — that can never be ! — 
 "We have him not the less — we'll projnise it ! 
 And see the King withholds ! — Ah, kings are oft 
 A great convenience to a minister ! 
 No wrong to Huguet either : — Moralists 
 Say, Hope is sweeter than Possession ! — Yes ! — 
 We'll count on Huguet ! Favours past do gorge 
 Our dogs ! leave service drowsy — dull the scent, 
 Slacken the speed ; — favours to come, my Joseph, 
 Produce a lusty, hungry gratitude, 
 A ravenous zeal, that of the commonest cur 
 Would make a Cerberus. — You are right, this treason 
 Assumes a fearful aspect : — but once crush'd, 
 Its very ashes shall manure the soil 
 Of power ; and ripen such full sheaves of greatness,
 
 •230 RICHELIEU; [act II. 
 
 That all the summer of my fate shall seem 
 Truitless beside the autumn ! 
 
 [HuGUET holds up his hand menacingly, and creeps out. 
 
 Joseph. The saints grant it ! 
 
 Rich, [solemnly]. Yes — for sweet France, Heaven grant 
 it ! — O my country, 
 For thee — thee only — though men deem it not — 
 Are toil and terror my familiars ! — I 
 Have made thee great and fair — upon thy brows 
 Wreatli'd the old Roman laurel : — at thy feet 
 Bow'd nations down. — No pulse in ray ambition 
 Whose beatings were not measured from thy heart ! 
 [In the old times before us, patriots lived 
 And died for liberty — 
 
 Joseph. As you would live 
 
 And die for despotry — 
 
 Rich. False monk, not so, 
 
 But for the pui'ple and the power wherein 
 State clothes herself. — I love my native land 
 Not as Venetian, Englisher, or Swiss, 
 But as a Noble and a Priest of France ; 
 " All things for France " — lo, my eternal maxim ! 
 The vital axle of the restless wheels 
 That bear me on ! With her I have entwined 
 My passions and my fate — my ci-imes — ray virtues — 
 Hated and loved,* and schemed, and shed men's blood, 
 
 * Richelieu did in fact so thoroughly associate himself with the 
 State, that in cases where the extreme penalty of the law had been 
 incurred, Le Clerc justly observes that he was more inexoiable to 
 those he had favoured — even to his own connections — than to other 
 and more indifferent offenders. It must be remembered, as some 
 excuse for his unrelenting sternness, tliat before his time the great 
 had been accustomed to commit any disorder witli imjuniity, even 
 
 I
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 231 
 
 As the calm crafts of Tuscan Sages teach 
 
 Those who would make their country great. Beyond 
 
 The map of France — my heart can travel not, 
 
 But fills that limit to its farthest verge ; 
 
 And while I live — Bichelieu and France are one.] 
 
 We -Priests, to whom the Church forbids in youth 
 
 The plighted one — to manhood's toil denies 
 
 The soother helpmate — from our wither'd age 
 
 the crime of treason ; — "auparavant on ne faisoit poser les armes 
 aux rebelles qu'en leur accordant quelque recompense." On enter- 
 ing into the administration, he therefore laid it down as a maxim 
 necessary to the existence of the State, that "no crime should be 
 committed with impunity." To carry out this maxim, the long- 
 establi.shed license to crime made even justice seem cruel. But the 
 victims most commiserated, from their bh'lh or accomplishments, as 
 Montmorenci, or Cinq Mars, w^ere traitors in actual conspiracy 
 against their country, and would have forfeited life in .any land 
 where the punishment of death existed, and the lawgiver was 
 strong enough to vindicate the law. Kichelieu was, in fact, a 
 patriot unsoftened by philanthropy. As in Venice (where the fa- 
 vourite aphorism was — "Venice first, Christianity next," *) so, with 
 Richelieu, the primary consideration was, " What will be best for 
 the country ?" He had no abstract principle, whether as a politician 
 or a priest, when applied to the world that lay beyond the bound- 
 aries of France. Thus he, whose object was to found in France a 
 splendid and imperious despotism, assisted the Parliamentary party 
 in England, <ind signed a treaty of alliance and subsidies will) the 
 Catalan rebels, for the establishment of a republic in Barcelona : to 
 convulse other monarchies was to consolidate the growing monarchy 
 of France. So he, who completely crushed the Protestant party at 
 home, braved all the wrath of the Vatican, and even the resentment 
 of the King, in giving the most essential aid to the Protestants 
 abroad. There was, indeed, a largeness of view in his hostility to 
 the French Huguenots, which must be carefully distinguished from 
 the intolerance of the mere priest. He opposed them, not as a 
 
 'Pria Veneziana, poi Christiane."
 
 232 RICHELIEU , Fact ii 
 
 Shuts the sweet blossoms of the second spring 
 That smiles in the name of Father — we are yet 
 Not holier than Humanity, and must 
 Fulfil Humanity's condition — Love ! 
 Debarred the Actual, we but breathe a life 
 To the chill Marble of the Ideal— Thus, 
 In thy unseen and abstract Majesty, 
 My France, my Country, I have bodied forth 
 A thing to love. What are these robes of state. 
 This pomp, this palace ? perishable baubles ! 
 In this world two things only are immortal- 
 Fame and a People ! 
 
 Enter Huguet. 
 
 Htig. My Lord Cardinal, 
 
 Your Eminence bade me seek you at this hour. 
 
 Rich. Did I ? — True, Huguet. — So — you overueard 
 Strange talk amongst these gallants 1 Snares and traps 
 For Richelieu 1 — Well — we'll balk them ; let me think — 
 The men-at-arms you head — how many ? 
 
 Hug. Twenty,* 
 
 My Lord. 
 
 Catholic, but as a statesman. The Huguenots were strong repub- 
 licans, and had formed plans for dividing France into provincial 
 commonwealths ; and the existence of Rochelle was absolutely in- 
 compatible with the integrity of the French monarchy. It was a 
 second capital, held by the Huguenots, claiming independent 
 authority and the right to treat with foreign powers. Richelieu's 
 final conquest was marked by a humanity that had nothing of the 
 bigot. The Huguenots obtained a complete amnesty, and had only 
 to regret the loss of privileges and fortifications which could not 
 have existed with any security to the rest of France. 
 
 * The guard attached to Richelieu's person was, in the first 
 instance, fifty arquebusiers, afterwards increased to two companies
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 233 
 
 Rich. All trusty 1 
 
 Hug. Yes, for ordinary- 
 
 Occasions — if for great ones, I would change 
 Three-fourths at least. 
 
 Rich. Ay, what are great occasions ? 
 
 Hug. Great bribes ! 
 
 Rich. \to Joseph]. Good lack, he knows some paragons 
 Superior to great bribes ! 
 
 Hug. True Gentlemen 
 
 Who have transgress'd the laws — and value life 
 And lack not gold ; your Eminence alone 
 Can grant them pardon. Ergo, you can trust them ! 
 
 Rich. Logic ! — So be it — let this honest twenty 
 Be arm'd and mounted. — [^si(fe.] So they meet at mid- 
 night, 
 The attempt on me to-morrow — Ho ! we'll strike 
 'Twixt wind and water. — [Alovd.'\ Does it need much 
 
 time 
 To find these ornaments to Human Nature ? 
 
 Hug. My Lord — the trustiest of them are not birds 
 That love the daylight. — I do know a haunt 
 Where they meet nightly — 
 
 Rich. Ere the dawn be grey, 
 
 All could be arm'd, assembled, and at Ruelle 
 In my old hall ? 
 
 Hug. By one hour after midnight. 
 
 Rich. The castle's strong. You know its outlets, 
 Huguet ? 
 
 of cavalry and two hundred musqueteers. Huguet is therefore to 
 be considered merely as the lieutenant of a small detachment of this 
 little army. In point of fact, the subdivisions of the guard took it 
 in turns to serve.
 
 234 RICHELIEU ; [act II. 
 
 Would twenty men, well posted, keep such guard 
 That not one step — (and Murther's step is stealthy) — 
 Could glide within — unseen 1 
 
 Ilurj. A triple wall — 
 
 A drawbridge and portcullis — twenty men 
 Under my lead, a month might hold that castle 
 Against a host. 
 
 Rich. They do not strike till morning, 
 
 Yet I will shift the quarter — Bid the grooms 
 Prepare the litter — I will hence to Ruelle 
 "While daylight last — and one hour after midnight 
 You and you.r twenty saints shall seek me thither ! 
 You're made to rise ! — You are, sir ; — eyes of lynx, 
 Ears of the stag, a footfall like the snow ; 
 You are a valiant fellow ; — yea, a trusty, 
 Eeligious, exemplary, incorrupt. 
 And precious jewel of a fellow, Huguet ! 
 If I live long enough, — ay, mark my words — 
 If I live long enough, you'll be a Colonel — 
 Koble, perhaps ! — One hour, sir, after midnight. 
 
 Hug. You leave me dumb with gratitude, my Lord ; 
 I'll pick the trustiest — [as^V/e.] Marion's house can furnish ! 
 
 \Ex%t Huguet. 
 
 Pdcli. How like a spider shall I sit in my hole, 
 And watch the meshes tremble. 
 
 Jose])h. But, my Lord, 
 
 Were it not wiser still to man the palace, 
 And seize the traitors in the act % 
 
 Rich. No ; Louis, 
 
 Long chafed against me — Julie stolen from him. 
 Will rouse him more. He'll say I hatch'd the treason, 
 Or scout my charge : — He half desires my death ;
 
 SCKXE II. J 01^ THE CONSPIKACT. 235 
 
 But tlie despatch to Bouillon, some dark scheme 
 Against Ids crown — there is our weapou, Joseph ; 
 With that, all safe — without it, all his peril ! 
 Meanwhile to my old castle ; you to court, 
 Diving with careless eyes into men's hearts, 
 As ghostly churchmen should do ! See the King, 
 Bid him peruse that sage and holy treatise. 
 Wherein 'tis set forth how a Premier should 
 Be chosen from the Priesthood — Low the King 
 Should never listen to a single charge 
 Against his servant, nor conceal one whisper 
 That tlie rank envies of a court distil 
 Into his ear — to fester the fair name 
 Of my — I mean his Minister ! — Oh ! Joseph, 
 A most convincing treatise.* 
 
 Good — all favours. 
 If Frangois be but bold, and Huguet honest. 
 Huguet — I half suspect — he bow'd too low — 
 'Tis not his way. 
 
 Josejyh. This is the curse, my Lord, 
 
 Of your high state ; — suspicion of all men. 
 
 Rich. \sadly\. True ; — true ; — my leeches bribed to 
 poisoners ; — pages 
 To strangle me in sleep. — My very King 
 (This brain the unresting loom, from which v/as woven 
 The purple of his greatness) leagued against me. 
 
 * This tract, on the "Unity of the Minister," contains all the 
 doctrines, and many more to the same effect, referred to in the text, 
 and had a piodigious iiiflueiice on the conscience of the poor King. 
 At the oii.set of his career, liichelieu, as deputy of the clergy of 
 Poitou, complained in his harangue to the King that ecclesiastics 
 were too rarely summoned to the royal councils, and invoked the 
 examj^le of the Druids.
 
 236 RICHELIEU; [act II. 
 
 Old — childless — friendless — broken— all forsake — 
 All— all— but— 
 
 Joseph. What ? 
 
 Rich. The indomitable heart 
 
 Of Armand Eichelieu 1 
 
 Joseph. Nought beside ?■ 
 
 Rich. Why, Julie, 
 
 My own dear foster-child, forgive me ; — yes : 
 This morning, shining through their happy tears, 
 Thy soft eyes bless'd me ! — and thy Lord, — in danger, 
 He would forsake me not. 
 
 Joseph. And Joseph 
 
 Rich, [after a pause.] You — • 
 
 Yes, I believe you — yes — for all men fear you 
 And the world loves you not. And I, friend Joseph, 
 I am the only man who could, my Joseph, 
 Make you a Bishop.* Come, we'll go to dinner. 
 And talk the while of methods to advance 
 Our Mother Church.t Ah, Joseph, — Bishop Joseph ! 
 
 * Joseph's ambition was not, however, so moderate ; he lefased 
 a bishopric, and desired the cardinal's hat, for which favour Eichelien 
 openly supplicated the Holy See, but contrived somehow or other 
 never to effect it, although two ambassadors applied for it at Rome. 
 
 t The peculiar religion of Pfere Joseph may be illustrated by the 
 following anecdote : — An officer, whom he had dismissed upon an 
 expedition into Germany, moved by conscience at the orders he had 
 received, returned for further explanations, and found the Capuchin 
 disant sa messe. He approached and whispered, " But, my father, 
 if these people defend themselves — " " Kill all" {Quon tue tout), 
 answered the good father, continuing hia devotions.
 
 SCENE I.J OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 237 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SECOND DAY (MIDNIGHT). 
 
 SCENE I. — Eichelied's Castle at Ruelle. A Gotldc Chamler. 
 Moonlight at the window, occasionally obscured. 
 
 Rich. \reading\.* " In silence, and at night, the 
 Conscience feels 
 That life should soar to nobler ends than Power." 
 So sayest thou, sage and sober moralist ! 
 But wert thou tried ? Sublime Philosophy, 
 Thou art the Patriarch's ladder, reaching heaven. 
 And bright with beck'ning angels — but, alas ! 
 We see thee, like the Patriarch, but in dreams, 
 By the first step — dull-slumbering on the earth. 
 I am not happy ! — with the Titan's lust 
 I woo'd a goddess, and I clasp a cloud. 
 When I am dust, my name shall, like a star, 
 Shine through wan space, a glory — and a prophet 
 
 * I need not say that the great length of this soliloquy ad-ipts it 
 only for the closet, and that but few of the lines are retained on the 
 stage. To the reader, however, the passages omitted in representa- 
 tion will not, perhaps be the most uninteresting in the play, and 
 may be deemed necessary to the completion of the Cardinal's 
 portrait, — action on the stage supplying so subtly the place of words 
 in the closet. The self-assured sophistries which, in the text, mingle 
 with Richelieu's better-founded arguments, in apology for the darker 
 traits of his character, are to be found scattered throughout the 
 writings ascribed to him. The reader will observe that in this self- 
 confession lies the latent poetical justice, •which separates happiness 
 from success.
 
 238 fiiCHELiEu; [act III. 
 
 Whereby pale seers sliall from their aery towers 
 
 Con all the ominous signs, benign or evil, 
 
 That make the potent astrologue of kings. 
 
 But shall the Future judge me by the ends 
 
 That I have wrought, — or by the dubious means 
 
 Through which the stream of my renown hath run 
 
 Into the many-voiced unfathom'd Time 1 
 
 Foul in its bed lie weeds — and heaps of slime, 
 
 And with its waves — when sparkling in the sun, 
 
 Ofttimes the secret rivulets that swell 
 
 Its might of waters — blend the hues of blood. 
 
 Yet are my sins not those of circumstance, 
 
 That all-pervading atmosphere, wherein 
 
 Our spirits, like the unsteady lizard, take 
 
 The tints that colour, and the food that nurtures ? 
 
 * O ! ye, whose hour-glass shifts its tranquil sands 
 
 In the unvex'd silence of a student's cell ; 
 
 Ye, whose untempted hearts have never toss'd 
 
 Upon the dark and stormy tides where life 
 
 Gives battle to the elements, — and man 
 
 Wrestles with man for some slight plank, whose weight 
 
 Will bear but one — while round the desperate wretch 
 
 The hungry billows roar — and the fierce Fate, 
 
 Like some huge monster, dim-seen through the surf, 
 
 Waits him who drops ; — ye safe and formal men, 
 
 Who write the deeds, and with unfeverish hand 
 
 Weigh in nice scales the motives of the Great, 
 
 Ye cannot know what ye have never tried ! 
 
 History preserves only the fleshless bones 
 
 Of what we are — and by the mocking skull 
 
 The would-be wise pretend to guess the features 1 
 
 * Eetained in representation.
 
 SCENE I.] OR. THE CONSPIRACY. 239 
 
 Without the roundness and the glow of life 
 How hideous is the skeleton ! Without 
 The colourings and humanities that clothe 
 Our errors, the anatomists of schools 
 Can make our memory hideous ! 
 
 I have wrought 
 Great uses out of evil tools — and they 
 In the time to come may bask beneath the light 
 Which I have stolen from the angry gods, 
 And warn their sous against the glorious theft, 
 Foi'getful of the darkness which it broke. 
 I have shed blood — but I have had no foes 
 Save those the State had * — if my wrath was deadly, 
 'Tis that I felt my country in my veins, 
 And smote her sons as Brutus smote his own.t 
 And yet I am not happy — blanch'd and sear'd 
 Before my time — breathing an air of hate. 
 And seeing daggers in the eyes of men. 
 And wasting powers that shake the thrones of eartii 
 In contest with the insects — bearding kings 
 And braved by lackies J — murder at my bed ; 
 And lone amidst the multitudinous web, 
 
 * It is well known that when, on his death-beil, Tiiclielieu was 
 asked if he forgave his enemies ; he replied, " I never had any, but 
 those of the State." And this was true enougl;, for Richelieu and 
 the State were one. 
 
 t Richelieu's vindication of himself from cruelty will be found in 
 various parts of Petitot's Collection, vols. xxi. xxx. (bin). 
 
 J Voltaire has a striking passage on the singular fate of Richelieu, 
 recalled every hour from his gigantic schemes to frustrate some 
 miserable cabal of the ante-room. Richelieu would often exclaim, 
 that " Six pieds de terre," as he called the king's cabinet, "lui don- 
 naient plus de peine que tout le reste de I'Europe." The death of
 
 240 RICHELIEU ; [act III. 
 
 With the dread Three — ^that are the Fates who hold 
 The woof and shears — the Monk, the Spy, the Headsman. 
 And this is power ? Alas ! I am not happy. 
 
 [After a pause. 
 And yet the Nile is fretted by the weeds 
 Its rising roots not up ; but never yet 
 Did one least barrier by a ripple vex 
 My onward tide, unswept in sport away. 
 Am I so ruthless then that I do hate 
 Them who hate me ? Tush, tush ! I do not hate ; 
 Nay, I forgive. The Statesman writes the doom, 
 But the Priest sends the blessing. I forgive them. 
 But I destroy ; forgiveness is mine own, 
 Destruction is the State's ! For private life. 
 Scripture the guide — for public, Machiavel. 
 Would fortune serve me if the Heaven were wroth t 
 For chance makes half my greatness. I was bom 
 Beneath the aspect of a bright-eyed star, 
 And my triumphant adamant of soul 
 Is but the fix'd persuasion of success. 
 Ah ! — here ! — that spasm ! — again ! — How Life and Death 
 Do wrestle for me momently ! And yet 
 
 Wallenstein, sacrificed by the Emperor Ferdinand, produced a most 
 lively impression upon Eicheliexi. He found many traits of com- 
 parison between Ferdinand and Louis — Wallenstein and himself. 
 In the Memoirs — now regarded by the best authorities as written by 
 his sanction, and in great part by himself — the great Frenchman 
 bursts (when alluding to Wallenstein's murder) into a touching and 
 pathetic anathema on the misere de cette vie of dependence on jealous 
 and timid royalty^ which he himself, while he wrote, sustained. It 
 IS worthy of remark, that it was precisely at the period of Wallen- 
 stein's death that Richelieu obtained from the king an augmentatioa 
 of his guard.
 
 SCENE I.] OB, THE CONSPIRACY. 2il 
 
 The King looks pale. I shall outlive the King ! 
 
 And then, thou insolent Austrian — who didst gibe 
 
 At the ungainly, gaunt, and daring lover,* 
 
 Sleeking thy looks to silken Buckingham, — 
 
 Thou shalt — no matter ! — I have outlived love. 
 
 O ! beautiful — all golden — gentle youth ! 
 
 Making thy palace in the careless front 
 
 And hopeful eye of man — ere yet the soul 
 
 Hath lost the memories which (so Plato dream'd) 
 
 Breathed glory from the earlier star it dwelt in — 
 
 Oh ! for one gale from thine exulting morning, 
 
 Stirring amidst the roses, where of old 
 
 Love shook the dew-drops from his glancing hair !. 
 
 Could I recall the past — or had not set 
 
 The prodigal treasures of the bankrupt soul 
 
 In one slight bark upon the shoreless sea ; 
 
 The yoked steer, after his day of toil, 
 
 Forgets the goad, and rests — to me alike 
 
 Or day or night — Ambition has no rest ! 
 
 Shall I resign 1 — who can resign himself? 
 
 For custom is ourself ; as drink and food 
 
 Become our bone and flesh — the aliments 
 
 Nurturing our nobler part, the mind — thoughts, dreams. 
 
 Passions, and aims, in the revolving cycle 
 
 Of the great alchemy — at length are made 
 
 Our mind itself ; and yet the sweets of leisure — 
 
 An honour'd home — far from these base intrigues — 
 
 * Richelieu was commonly supposed, though I cannot say I find 
 much evidence for it, to have been too presuming in an interview 
 with Anne of Austria (the Queen), and to have bitterly resented the 
 contempt she expressed for him. The Duke of Buckingham's frantic 
 and Quixotic passion for the Queen is well known. 
 
 R
 
 242 RICHELIEU ; [act III. 
 
 An eyrie on the lieaven-kiss'd heights of wisdom— 
 
 [Taking iip the hook. 
 Speak to me, moralist ! — I'll heed thy counsel. 
 Were it not best 
 
 Enter FRAN901S hastily, amd in jmrt disguised. 
 
 Rich, [flinging away the hoo1c\. Philosophy, thou liest ! 
 Quick' — the despatch ! Power — Empire ! Boy — the 
 packet ! 
 
 Fran. Kill me, my Lord. 
 
 Rich. They knew thee — they suspected — 
 
 They gave it not 
 
 Fran. He gave it — he — the Count 
 
 De Baradas — with his own hand he gave it ! 
 
 JR.ich. Baradas ! Joy ! out with it ! 
 
 Fi'an. Listen, 
 
 ,'And then dismiss me to the headsman. ' 
 
 Rick. Ha ! 
 
 Go on. 
 
 Fran. Tliey led me to a chamber — There 
 Orleans and Baradas, and some half-score. 
 Whom I know not — were met 
 
 R^ich. Not more ! 
 
 Fran. But frerra 
 
 The adjoining chamber broke the din of voices, 
 The clattering tread of arm'd men ; at times 
 A shriller cry, that yell'd out, " Death to Richelieu ! " 
 
 Mich. Speak not of me : thy country is in danger ! 
 The adjoining room — So, so — a separate treason ! 
 The-one thy ruin, France ! — the meaner crime, 
 heiit to their tools, my murder ! ■*' 
 
 Fran, Baradas
 
 SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIEACY. 243 
 
 Question'd me close — demurr'd — until, at last, 
 O'erruled by Orleans, — gave the packet — ^told me 
 That life and death were in the scroll — this gold 
 
 Rich. Gold is no proof 
 
 Fran. And Orleans promised thousands, 
 
 When Bouillon's trumpets in the streets of Paris 
 liang out shrill answer. Hastening from the house, 
 My footstep in the stirrup, Marion stole 
 Across the threshold, whispering, " Lose no moment 
 Ere E-ichelieu have the packet : tell him too — 
 Murder is in the winds of Night, and Orleans 
 Swears, ere the dawn the Cardinal shall be clay." 
 She said, and trembling fled within ; when, lo ! 
 A hand of iron griped me ; through the dark 
 Gleam'd the dim shadow of an arm'd man : 
 Ere I could draw — the prize was wrested from me, 
 And a hoarse voice gasp'd — " Spy, I spare thee, for 
 This steel is virgin to thy Lord ! " with that 
 He vanish 'd. — Scared and trembling for thy safety 
 I mounted, fled, and, kneeling at thy feet, 
 Implore thee to acquit my faith — but not, 
 Like him, to spare my life. 
 
 Rich. "Who spake of life ? 
 
 I bade thee grasp that treasure as thine honour — 
 A jewel worth whole hecatombs of lives ! 
 Begone I — redeem thine honour — back to Marion — 
 Or Baradas — or Orleans — track the robber — 
 Kegain the packet — or crawl on to Age — 
 Age and grey hairs like mine — and know, thou hast 
 
 lost 
 That which had made thee great and saved thy countiy. — 
 See me not till thou'st bought the right to seek me. — 
 B 2
 
 244 RICHELIEU ; [act III 
 
 Away ! — Nay, cheer thee, thou hast not fail'd yet, — 
 There s no such word as *^fail I " 
 
 Fran. Bless you, my Lord, 
 
 For that one smile !— I'll wear it on my heart 
 To light me back to triumph.* \ExiL 
 
 Rich. The poor youth ! 
 
 An elder had ask'd life ! — I love the young ! 
 For as great men live not in their own time, 
 But the next race, — so in the young, my soul 
 Makes many Eichelieus. He will win it yet. 
 Fran9ois ! — He's gone. My murder ! Mai'ion's warning ! 
 This bravo's threat ! Oh for the morrow's dawn 1 
 ril set my spies to work — I'll make all space 
 (As does the sun) a Universal Eye — 
 Huguet shall track — Joseph confess — ha ! ha ! 
 Strange, while I laugh'd I shudder'd — and ev'n now 
 Through the chill air the beating of my heart 
 Sounds like a death-watch by a sick man's pillow ; 
 If Huguet could deceive me — hoofs without — 
 The gates unclose — steps near and nearer ! 
 
 Eoiter Julie. 
 
 Julie. Cardinal ! 
 
 My father ! [Falls at hisjeet. 
 
 Rich. Julie at this hour ! — and tears ! 
 AVhat ails thee ? 
 
 * The fear and the hatred which Eichelieu generally inspired 
 were not shared by his dependents and those about his person, who 
 are said "to have adored him." — " Ses domestiques le regardaient 
 comme le meilleur dea maitres." — Le Ckrc. In fact, although " il 
 ctoil orfjxidlleux et colere," — he was, "en meme temps, affable et pkin 
 de doucmr dans I'abord;" and he was no less generous to those who 
 served than severe to those who opposed him.
 
 SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 245 
 
 Julie. I am safe ; I am with thee ! — 
 
 Rich. Safe ! why ia all the storms of this wide world 
 What wind would mar the violet 1 
 
 Julie. That man — 
 
 Why did I love him 1 — clinging to a breast 
 That knows no shelter ? 
 
 Listen — late at noon — 
 The marriage-day — ev'n then no more a lover — 
 He left me coldly, — well, — I sought my chamber 
 To weep and wonder — but to hope and dream. 
 Sudden a mandate from the King — to attend 
 Forthwith his pleasure at the Louvre. 
 
 Rich. Ha ! 
 
 You did obey the summons ; and the King 
 Reproach' d your hasty nuptials. 
 
 Julie. Were that all ! 
 
 He frown'd and chid ; proclaim'd the bond unlawful : 
 Bade me not quit my chamber in the palace, 
 And there at night — alone — this night — all still — 
 He sought my presence — dared — thou read'st the heart, 
 Head mine ! — I cannot speak it ! 
 
 Rich. He a king, — 
 
 You — woman ; well, — you yielded ! 
 
 Julie. Cardinal — 
 
 Dare you say " yielded 1 " — Humbled and abash'd, 
 He from the chamber crept — ^this mighty Louis ; 
 Crept like a baffled felon ! — yielded ! Ah ! 
 More royalty in woman's honest heart 
 Than dwells within the crown'd majesty 
 And sceptred anger of a hundred kings ! 
 Yielded ! — Heavens ! — ^yielded ! 
 
 Rich. To my breast, — close — close !
 
 246 RICHELIEU ; [act iil 
 
 The world would never need a Eiclielieu, if 
 
 Men — bearded, mail'd men — the Lords of Earth — 
 
 Eesisted flattery, falsehood, avarice, pride. 
 
 As this poor child with the dove's innocent scorn 
 
 Her sex's tempters. Vanity and Power ! — 
 
 He left you — well ! 
 
 Julie. Then came a sharper trial ! 
 
 At the King's suit the Count de Baradas 
 Sought me to soothe, to fawn, to flatter, while 
 On his smooth lip insult appear'd more hateful 
 For the false mask of pity : letting fall 
 Dark hints of treacliery, with a woi-ld of sighs 
 That Heaven had granted to so base a Lord 
 The heart whose coldest friendship were to him 
 What Mexico to misers ! Stung at last 
 By my disdain^ the dim and glimmering sense 
 Of his cloak'd words broke into bolder light, 
 And THEN — ah ! then, my haughty spirit fail'd me ! 
 Then I was weak — wept — oh ! such bitter tears ! 
 For (turn thy face aside and let me whisper 
 The horror to thine ear) then did I learn 
 That he — that Adrien — that my husband — knew 
 The King's polluting suit, and deem'd it honour ! 
 Then all the terrible and loathsome trath 
 Glared on me ; — coldness — waywardness, reserve — 
 ^Mystery of looks — words — all unravell'd, — and 
 I saw the impostor, where I had loved the god ! 
 
 Rich. I think thou wrong'st thy husband — but proceed. 
 
 Julie. Did you say "wrong'd" him ? — Cardinal, my father, 
 Did you say " wrong'd 1 " Prove it, and life shall grow 
 One prayer for thy reward and his forgiveness. 
 
 Fdch. Let me know alL
 
 SCEXE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 24T 
 
 Julie. To the despair he caused 
 
 The courtier left me j but amid the chaos 
 Darted one guiding ray — to 'scape — to fly — 
 Keach Adrien, learn the worst — 'twas then near midnight ; 
 Trembling I left ray chamber — sought the Queen — 
 Fell at her feet — reveal'd the unholy peril — 
 Implored her aid to flee our joint disgrace. 
 Moved, she embraced and soothed me ; nay, preserved | 
 Her word sufficed to unlock the palace-gates : 
 I hasten'd home — but home was desolate, — 
 No Adrien there ! Fearing the worst, I fled 
 To thee, directed hither. As my wheels 
 Paused at thy gates — the clang of arms behind — 
 The ring of hoofs — 
 
 Pdch. 'Twas but my guards, fair trembler. 
 
 (So Huguet keeps his word, my omens wrong'd him.) 
 
 Julie. Oh, in one hour what years of anguish crowd ! 
 
 Rich. Nay, there's no danger now. Thou needest rest. 
 Come, thou shalt lodge beside me. Tush ! be cheer'd. 
 My rosiest Amazon — thou wrong' st thy Theseus. 
 All will be well — yes, yet all well. 
 
 [Exeunt through a side door. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Enter Huguet — De Mauprat, in complete armour, his vizor down. 
 The moonlight obscured at the casement. 
 
 Hug. Not here ! 
 
 De Mau. Oh, I will find him, fear not. Hence and 
 guard 
 The galleries where the menials sleep — plant sentries
 
 248 EICHELIEU ; [act III. 
 
 At every outlet — Chance should throw no shadow 
 Between the vengeance and the victim ! Go ! — 
 Ere yon brief vapour that obscures the moon, 
 As doth our deed pale conscience, pass away. 
 The mighty shall be ashes. 
 
 Hug. Will you not 
 
 A second arm ? 
 
 Bq Mail. To slay one weak old man ? — 
 
 Away ! No lesser wrongs than mine can make 
 This murder lawful. Hence ! 
 
 Hug. A short farewell ! 
 
 \Emt HUGUET. 
 
 Re-enter Eichelieu \not 'perceiving De Mauprat]. 
 
 Rich. How heavy is the air ! — the vestal lamp 
 Of the sad Moon, weary with vigil, dies 
 In the still temple of the solemn heaven ! 
 The very darkness lends itself to fear — 
 To treason 
 
 De Mau. And to death ! 
 
 Rich. My omens lied not ! 
 
 What art thou, wretch ? 
 
 De Mau. Thy doomsman ! 
 
 Rich. Ho, my guards ! 
 
 Huguet ! Montbrassil ! Vermont ! 
 
 De Mau. Ay, thy spirits 
 
 Forsake thee, wizard ; thy bold men of mail 
 Are my confederates. Stir not ! but one step. 
 And know the next — thy grave ! 
 
 Rich. Thou liest, knave I 
 
 I am old, infirm — most feeble — but thou liest ! 
 Armand de Pdchelieu dies not by the hand <
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 249 
 
 Of man — the stars have said it * — and the voice 
 
 Of my own prophet and oracular soul 
 
 Confirms the shining Sibyls ! Call them all 
 
 Thy brother butchers ! Earth has no such fiend — 
 
 No ! as one parricide of his father-land, 
 
 Who dares in Richelieu murder France ! 
 
 De Mau. Thy stars 
 
 Deceive thee. Cardinal ; thy soul of wiles 
 May against kings and armaments avail, 
 And mock the embattled world ; but powerless now 
 Against the sword of one resolved man. 
 Upon whose forehead thou hast written shame ! 
 
 Rich. I breathe ; he is not a hireling. Have I wrong'd 
 thee? 
 Beware surmise — suspicion — lies ! I am 
 Too great for men to speak the truth of me ! 
 
 De Mau. Thy acts are thy accusers, Cardinal ! 
 In his hot youth, a soldier, urged to crime 
 Against the State, placed in your hands bis life ; — 
 You did not strike the blow — but o'er his head, 
 Upon the gossamer thread of your caprice, 
 Hover'd the axe. His the brave spirit's hell, 
 The twilight terror of suspense ; — your death 
 Had set him free ; he purposed not, nor pray'd it. 
 One day you summon'd — mock'd him with smooth 
 
 pardon — 
 Shower'd wealth upon him — bade an angel's face 
 Turn Earth to Paradise 
 
 Rich. Well ! 
 
 * In common with his contemporaries, Richelieu was credulons 
 in astrology and less lawful arts. He was too fortunate a man not 
 to be superstitious.
 
 250 RICHELIEU ; [act III. 
 
 De Mail. Was this mercy ? 
 
 A Csssar's generous vengeance 1 — Cardinal, no ! 
 Judas, not Ceesar, was the model ! You 
 Saved him from death for shame ; reserved to grow 
 The scorn of living men — to his dead sires 
 Leprous rei^roach — scoff of the age to come — 
 A kind convenience — a Sir Pandarus 
 To his own bride, and the august adulterer ! 
 Then did the first great law of human hearts, 
 Which with the patriot's, not the rebel's, name 
 Crown'd the first Brutus, when the Tarquin fell, 
 Make Misery royal — raise this desperate wretch 
 Into thy destiny ! Expect no mercy ! 
 Behold De Mauprat ! [Lifts his vizor. 
 
 Rich. To thy knees, and crawl 
 
 For pardon ; or, I tell thee, thou shalt live 
 For such remorse, that, did I hate thee, I 
 Would bid thee strike, that I might be avenged ! 
 It was to save my Julie from the King, 
 That in thy valour I forgave thy crime ; — 
 It was, when thou — the rash ancL ready tool — 
 Yea, of that shame thou loath'st — didst leave thy hearth 
 To the polluter — in these arms thy bride 
 Found the protecting shelter thine withheld. 
 
 \Goes to the side door. 
 Julie de Mauprat — Julie ! 
 
 Enter Julie, 
 
 Lo ! my witness ! 
 De Mau. What marvel's this ? — I dream ! my Julie— 
 thou 1 
 This, thy beloved hand ?
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 251 
 
 Julie. Henceforth all bond 
 
 "Between us twain is broken. Were it not 
 For this old man, I might, in truth, have lost 
 The right — now mine — to scorn thee ! 
 
 Rich. So, you hear her 1 
 
 De Mem. Thou with some slander hast her sense in- 
 fected ! 
 
 Julie. No, sir 3 he did excuse thee in despite 
 Of all that wears the face of truth. Thj friend — 
 Thy confidant — familiar — Baradas — 
 Himself reveal'd thy baseness. 
 
 De Mau. Baseness ! 
 
 Rich. Ay ; 
 
 That thou didst court dishonour. 
 
 De Mau. Baradas ! 
 
 Where is thy thunder, Heaven 1 — Duped ! — snared ! — 
 
 undone ! 
 Thou — thou couldst not believe him ! Thou dost love me ! 
 Love cannot feed upon falsehoods ! 
 
 Julie \aside\. Love him ! — Ah ! 
 
 Be still, my heart ! [J.ZomJ.] Love you I did ; — how 
 
 fondly. 
 Woman — if women were my listeners now — 
 Alone could tell ! — For ever fled my dream : 
 Farewell — all's over ! 
 
 Rich. Nay, my daughter, these 
 
 Are but the blinding mists of day-break love 
 Sprung from its very light, and heralding 
 A noon of happy summer. — Take her hand 
 And speak the truth, with which your heart runs 
 
 over — 
 That this Count Judas — this Incarnate Falsehood —
 
 252 RICHELIEU ; [a(3T III. 
 
 Never lied more, than when he told thy Julie 
 That Adrien loved her not — except, indeed, 
 When he told Adrien, Julie could betray him. 
 
 Julie [embracing De Mauprat]. You love me, then ! — 
 you love me ! — and they wrong'd you ! 
 
 De Man. Ah ! couldst thou doubt it ? 
 
 Rich. Why, the very mole 
 
 Less blind than thou ! Baradas loves thy wife ; — 
 Had hoped her hand — aspired to be that cloak 
 To the King's will, which to thy bluntness seems 
 The Centaur's poisonous robe — hopes even now 
 To make thy corpse his footstool to thy bed ! 
 Where was thy wit, man 1 — Ho ! these schemes are 
 
 glass ! 
 The very sun shines through them. 
 
 De Mau. 0, my Lord. 
 
 Can you forgive me ? 
 
 Rich. Ay, and save you ! 
 
 De Mau. Save ! — ■ 
 
 Terrible word ! — O, save thyself ; — these halls 
 Swarm with thy foes : already for thy blood 
 Pants thirsty Murder ! 
 
 Julie. Murder ! 
 
 Rich. Hush ! put by 
 
 The woman. Hush ! a shriek — a cry — a breath 
 Too loud, would startle from its horrent pause 
 The swooping Death ! Go to the door, and listen ! — 
 Now for escape ! 
 
 De Mau. None — none ! Their blades shall pasa 
 
 This heart to thine. 
 
 Rich. \dTihj\. An honourable outwork 
 
 But much too near the citadel. I think
 
 SCENE III.] OB, THE CONSPIRACY. 253 
 
 That I can trust you now [slowly, and gazing on hini\ : — 
 
 yes ; I can trust you. 
 How many of my troop league with you ? 
 
 De Mau. All !— 
 
 We are your troop ! 
 
 Rich. And Huguet ? 
 
 De Mau. Is our captain. 
 
 Rich. A retributive Power ! — This comes of spies ! 
 All ? then the lion's skin 's too short to-night, — 
 Now for the fox's ! 
 
 Julie. A hoarse, gathering murmur ! — 
 
 Hurrying and heavy footsteps ! 
 
 Rich. Ha ! — the posterns 1 
 
 De Mau. No egress where no sentry ! 
 
 Rich. Follow me — 
 
 I have it ! — to my chamber — quick 1 Come, Julie ! 
 Hush ! Mauprat, come ! 
 
 [Mu^'mur at a distance.] — Death to the Cardinal ! 
 
 Rich. Bloodhounds, I laugh at ye ! — ha ! ha ! — we will 
 Baffle them yet. — Ha ! — ha ! 
 
 [Exeunt Julie, Mauprat, Richelieu, 
 
 Hug. [without]. This way — this way ! 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Unter Huguet and the Conspirators. 
 
 ITug. De Mauprat's hand is never slow in battle ; — - 
 Strange, if it falter now ! Ha ! gone ! 
 
 First Con. Perchance
 
 254 BICHELIEU ; [act III. 
 
 The fox had crept to rest ; and to his lair 
 Death, the dark hunter, tracks him. 
 
 [Enter Maupkat, throwing open the doors of the recess, in 
 which a bed whereon Richelieu lies extended. 
 
 De Mau. Live the King ! 
 
 Richelieu is dead ! 
 
 Ilug. [advancing towards the recess ; M.kXSVVih.i! following, 
 his hand on his dagger^. Are his eyes open ? 
 
 Be Mau. Ay, 
 
 As if in life ! 
 
 Il2'.g. [turning backl. I will not look on him. 
 You liiive been long. 
 
 De Mau. I watch'd him till he slept. 
 
 Heed me. — No trace of blood reveals the deed ; — 
 Strangled in sleep. His health hath long been broken — 
 Found breathless in his bed. So runs our tale, 
 Remember ! Back to Pax'is — Orleans gives 
 Ten thousand crowns, and Baradas a lordship, 
 To him who first gluts vengeance with the news 
 That Richelieu is in heaven ! Quick, that all France 
 May share your joy ! 
 
 Hug. And you 1 
 
 Be Mau. Will stay, to crush 
 
 Eager susj)icion — to forbid sharp ej-es 
 To dwell too closely on the clay ; prepare 
 The rites, and place him on his bier — this my task. 
 I leave to you, sirs, the more grateful lot 
 Of wealth and honours. Hence ! 
 
 Sug. I shall be noble ! 
 
 Be Mau. Away ! 
 
 First Con. Five thousand crowns ! 
 
 Omnes. To horse ! — to horse ! [Exeunt Conspirators.
 
 SCENE IV.] OB, THE CONSPIRACY j 255 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Siill night — A room in the house of Count de Babadas, lighted, &c. 
 Orleans and De Beringhen. 
 
 De Ber. I understand. Maupvat kept guard without : 
 Knows nought of the desj^atch — but heads the troop 
 Whom the poor Cardinal fancies his protectors. 
 Save us from such protection ! 
 
 Orle. Yet, if Huguet, 
 
 By whose advice and proffers we renouiiced 
 Our earlier scheme, should still be Richelieu's minion, 
 And play us false — 
 
 De Ber. The fox must then devour 
 
 The geese he gripes (I'm out of it, thank Heaven !) 
 And you must swear you smelt the trick, but seem'd 
 To approve the deed — to render up the doers. 
 
 IJnter Baradas. 
 
 Bar. Julie is fled : — the King, whom now I left 
 To a most thorny pillow, vows revenge 
 On her — on Mauprat — and on Richelieu ! Well ; 
 We loyal men anticipate his wish 
 Upon the last — and as for Mauprat, — lShow{7ig a writ. 
 
 De Ber. Hum ! 
 
 They say the devil invented printing ! Faith, 
 He has some hand in writing parchment — eh, Count ? 
 What mischief now 1
 
 256 KicHELiEu ; [act iu. 
 
 Bar. The King, at Julie's flight 
 
 Enraged, will brook no rival in a subject — 
 So on this old offence — the affair of Faviaux — 
 Ere Mauprat can tell tales of us, we build 
 His bridge between the dungeon and the grave. 
 
 Orle. Well ; if our courier can but reach the army, 
 The cards are ours ! — and yet, I own, I tremble. 
 Our names are in the scroll — discovery, death ! 
 
 Bar. Success, a crown ! 
 
 De JSer. [apart to Bar ad as]. Our future Regent is 
 No hero. 
 
 £ar. [to De Beringhen]. But his rank makes others 
 valiant ; 
 And on his cowardice I mount to power. 
 Were Orleans Ptegent — what were Baradas 1 
 Oh ! by the way — I had forgot, your Highness, 
 Friend Huguet whisper'd me, " Beware of Marion : 
 I've seen her lurking near the Cardinal's palace." 
 Upon that hint, I've found her lodging elsewhere. 
 
 Orle. You wrong her. Count. Poor Marion ! — she 
 adores me. 
 
 Bar. [apologetically]. Forgive me, but — 
 
 Enter Page. 
 
 Page. My Lord, a rude, strange soldier, 
 
 Breathless with haste, demands an audience. 
 
 Bar. So !— 
 
 The archers 1 
 
 Page. In the ante-room, my Lord, 
 
 As you desired. 
 
 Bar. 'Tis well— admit the soldier. [Exit Page. 
 
 Huguet ! — I bade him seek me here.
 
 SCENE IV.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 257' 
 
 Enter Huguet. 
 
 Htig. My Lords, 
 
 The deed is done. Now, Count, fulfil your word, 
 And make me noble ! 
 
 Bar. Richelieu dead 1 — art sure ? 
 
 How died he ? 
 
 Hug. Strangled in his sleep : — no blood, 
 
 No tell-tale violence. 
 
 Bar. Strangled ? — monstrous villain \ 
 
 Reward for murder ! Ho, there ! [Stamping'^ 
 
 Enter Captain withjive Archers. 
 
 Hug. No, thou durst not ! 
 
 Bar. Seize on the ruffian — bind him — gag him ! Off 
 To the Bastile ! 
 
 Hug. Your word — your plighted faith ! 
 
 Bar. Insolent liar ! ho, away ! 
 
 Hug. Nay, Count ; 
 
 I have that about me, which 
 
 Bar. Away with him ! 
 
 [Exeunt Huguet and Archers; 
 Now, then, all's safe ; Huguet must die in prison, 
 So Mauprat : — coax or force the meaner crew 
 To fly the country. Ha, ha ! thus, your highness. 
 Great men make use of little men. 
 
 De Ber. My Lords, 
 
 Since our suspense is ended — you'll excuse me ; 
 'Tis late — and, entre nous, I have not supp'd yet I 
 I'm one of the new Council now, remember j 
 I feel the public stirring here already ; 
 A very craving monster. Au revoir 1 
 
 [Exit De BERDfG'Hiat 
 e
 
 258 RICHELIEU ; [act III. 
 
 Orle. No fear, now Richelieu's dead. 
 
 Bar. And could he come 
 
 To life again, he could not keep life's life — 
 His power, — nor save De Mauprat from the scaffold, — 
 Nor Julie from these arms — nor Paris from 
 The Spaniard — nor your highness from the throne ! 
 All ours ! all ours ! in spite of my Lord Cardinal ! 
 
 Enter Page. 
 
 Page. A gentleman, my Lord, of better mien 
 Than he who last 
 
 Bar. Well, he may enter. [Exit Page 
 
 Orle. Who 
 
 Can this be ? 
 
 Bar. One of the conspirators : 
 
 Mauprat himself, perhaps. 
 
 Enter rRAN90is. 
 
 Fran. My Lord 
 
 Bar. Ha, traitor ! 
 
 In Paris still ? 
 
 Fran. The packet — the despatch — 
 
 Some knave play'd spy without, and reft it from me. 
 Ere I could draw my sword. 
 
 Ea/r. Play'd spy loithout ' 
 
 Did he wear armour 1 
 
 Frail. ' Ay, from head to heel. 
 
 Orle. One of our band. Oh, Heavens ! 
 
 Bar. Could it be Mauprat 1 
 
 Kept guard at the door — knew nought of the despatch— 
 How HE % — and yet, who other ? 
 
 ■^''«'^- Ha, De Mauprat 1 
 
 The night was dark — his vizor closed.
 
 SCENE rV.] OR, TilE CO^^SPlRACT. 259 
 
 Bar. 'Twas he ! 
 
 How could he guess ? — 'sdeath ! if he should betray us. 
 His hate to Eichelieu dies with Richelieu — and 
 He was not great enough for treason. Hence ! 
 Find Mauprat — beg, steal, filch, or force it back, 
 Or, as I live, the halter 
 
 Fran. By the morrow 
 
 I will regain it \aside\, and redeem my honour ! 
 
 \_Exit Fbanqois. 
 
 Orle. Oh, we are lost — 
 
 Bar. Not so ! But cause on cause 
 
 For Mauprat's seizure — silence — death ! Take courage. 
 
 Orle. Should it once reach the King, the Cardinal's arm 
 Could smite us from the grave. 
 
 Ba/r. Sir, think it not ! 
 
 1 hold De Mauprat in my grasp. To-morrow, 
 And France is ours ! Thou dark and fallen Angel, 
 Whose name on earth's Ambition — thou that mak'st 
 Thy throne on treasons, stratagems, and murder, — 
 And with thy fierce and blood-red smile canst quench 
 The guiding stars of solemn empire — hear us 
 (For we are thine) — and light us to the goal !
 
 260 KiCHELiEU ; [act IV, 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 THIRD DAY. 
 
 SCENE I.— The Gardens of the Louvre.— Oelv^ahs, Cabadas, 
 De Beringhen, Courtiers, &c. 
 
 Orle. How does my brother bear the Cardinal's death ? 
 
 Bar. With grief, when thinking of the toils of State ; 
 With joy, when thinking on the eyes of Julie : — 
 At times he sighs, " Who now shall govern France 1 " 
 Anon exclaims — " Who now shall baffle Louis ? " 
 Enter Louis and other Courtiers. [They uncover.] 
 
 Orle. Now, my liege, now, J can embrace a brother, 
 
 Louis. Dear Gaston, yes. — 1 do believe you love me ; — 
 Richelieu denied it — sever'd us too long. 
 A great man, Gaston ! Who shall govern France 1 
 
 Bar. Yourself, my liege. That swart and potent star 
 Eclipsed your royal orb. He served the country, 
 But did he serve, or seek to sway the King ? 
 
 [Louis. You're right — he was an able politician — 
 That's all : — between ourselves, Count, I suspect 
 The largeness of his learning — specially 
 In falcons * — a poor huntsman, too ! 
 
 * Louis XIII. is said to have possessed some natural talents, an J 
 in earlier youth to have exhibited the germs of noble qualities ; but 
 a blight seems to have passed over his maturer life. Personally 
 brave, but morally timid, — always governed, whether by his mother 
 or his minister, and always repining at the yoke. The only affection 
 amounting to a passion that he betrayed was for the sports of the 
 field ; yet it was his craving weakness (and this throws a kind of 
 false interest over his character) to witih to be loved. He himself
 
 SCENE I.] OE, THE CONSPIRACY. 261 
 
 Bar. Ha — lia ! 
 
 Your IMajesty remembers 
 
 Louis. Ay, the blunder 
 
 Between the greffier and the souillard when — 
 
 \Cliecks and crosses himself. 
 Alas ! poor sinners that we are ! we laugh 
 While this great man — a priest, a cardinal, 
 A faithful servant — out upon us ! — 
 
 Bar. Sire, 
 
 If my brow wear no cloud, 'tis that the Cardinal 
 No longer shades the King. 
 
 Lotds \loohing up at the skies\ Oh, Baradas ! 
 Am I not to be pitied ? — what a day 
 For— 
 
 Bar. Sorrow ?— No, sire ! 
 
 Louis. Bah ! for huntinrj, man, 
 
 And Richelieu's dead ; 'twould be an indecorum 
 Till he is buried — [yaiWHs] — life is very tediou:?. 
 I made a madrigal on life last week : 
 You do not sing,''" Count 1 — Pity ; you should leai'h. 
 
 loved no one. He suffered the only woman who seems to have been 
 attached to hi»a to wither in a convent ; — he gave up favourite after 
 favourite to exile or the block. When Richelieu died, he said 
 coldly, " Voilk un grand politique mort ! " and when the ill-fated 
 but unprincipled Cinq Mars, whom he called "le cher ami," was 
 beheaded, he drew out his watch at the fatal hour, and said with a 
 smile, " I think at this moment that le cher ami fait unc vilainc 
 mine." Nevertheless, his conscience at times (for he was devout 
 and superstitious) made him gentle, and his pride and honour would 
 often, wheu least expected, rouse him into haughty but brief 
 resistance to the despotism under which he lived. 
 
 * Louis had some musical taste and accomplishment, wherewith 
 he often communicated to his favourites some of that wearisotne 
 ennui under which he himself almost unceasingly languished.
 
 262 RICHELIEU ; [act IV. 
 
 Poor Eichelieu had no ear— yet a great man. 
 Ah ! what a weary weight devolves upon me ! 
 These endless wars— these thankless Parliaments — 
 The snares in which he tangled States and Kings, 
 Like the old fisher of the fable, Proteus, 
 Netting great Neptune's wariest tribes, and changing 
 Into all shapes when Craft pursued himself : 
 Oh, a great man ! 
 
 Bar. Your royal mother said so, 
 
 And died in exile. 
 
 Louis \sadly\. True : I loved my mother.* 
 Bar. The Cardinal dies. — Yet day revives the 
 earth ; 
 The rivers run not back. In truth, my liege. 
 Did your high orb on others shine as him, 
 Why, things as dull in their own selves as I am 
 Would glow as brightly with the borrow'd beam.t 
 
 * One of Louis's most bitter complaints against Richelieu was tht 
 continued banishment of the Queen Mother. It is impossible, 
 however, not to be convinced that the return of that most worthless 
 intriguante was wholly incompatible with the tranquillity of the 
 kingdom. Yet, on the other hand, the poverty and privation which 
 she endured in exile are discreditable to the generosity aud the 
 gratitude of Richelieu ; she was his first patron, though afterwai'ds 
 his most powerful persecutor. 
 
 t In his Memoirs, Richelieu gives an amusing account of the 
 insolence and arts of Baradas, and observes, with indignant astonish- 
 ment, that the favourite was never weary of repeating to the King 
 that he (Baradas) would have made just as great a minister as 
 Richelieu. It is on the attachment of Baradas to La Cressias, a maid 
 of honour to the Queen Mother, of whom, according to Baradas, the 
 King was enamoured also, that his love for the Julie de Mortemar of 
 the play has been founded. The secret of Earadas's sudden and 
 extraordinary influence with the King seems to rest in the personal
 
 SCENE I.J OR, THE COXSPIUACY. 263 
 
 Louis. Ahem ! — He was too stern. 
 
 Orle. A very Nero. 
 
 Bar. His power was like the Capitol of old — 
 Built on a human skull. 
 
 Louis. And, had he lived, 
 
 I know another head, my Baradas, 
 
 That would have propp'd the pile : I've seen him eye thee 
 With a most hungry fancy. 
 
 Bar. \anxiously\. Sire, I knew 
 
 You would protect me. 
 
 Louis, Did you so ? of course ! 
 
 And yet he had a way with him — a something 
 
 That always But no matter — he is dead. 
 
 And, after all, men call his King " The Just," * 
 And so I am. Dear Count, this silliest Julie, 
 I know not why, she takes my fancy. Many 
 As fair, and certainly more kind ; but yet 
 It is so. Count, I am no lustful Tarquin, 
 And do abhor the bold and frontless vices 
 Which the Church justly censures ; yet, 'tis sad 
 On rainy days to drag out weaiy hours t — 
 Deaf to the music of a woman's voice — 
 Blind to the sunshine of a woman's eyes. 
 
 adoratiou which he professed for Louis, with whom he afifected all 
 the jealousy of a lover, but -whom he flattered with the ardent 
 chivalry of a knight. Even after his disgrace he placed upon his 
 banner, "Fiat voluntas tua." 
 
 * Louis was called The Just, but for no other reason than that 
 he was boi-n under the Libra. 
 
 t Louis XIII. did not resemble either his father or his son in the 
 ardour of his attachments ; if not wholly platonic, they were wholly 
 unimpassioued : yet no man was more jealous, or more unscrupu- 
 lously tyrannical when the jealoiisy was aroused.
 
 264 RICHELIEU ; [act IV. 
 
 It is no sin in Kings to seek amusement ; 
 And that is all I seek. I miss her much — 
 She has a silver laugh — a rare perfection. 
 
 Bar. Richelieu w.-'s most disloyal in that marriage.] 
 
 LiMis [querulously]. He knew that Julie pleased me : — 
 a clear proof 
 He never loved me ! 
 
 £ar. Oh, most clear ! — But now 
 
 No bar between the lady and your will ! 
 This writ makes all secure : a week or two 
 In the Bastile will sober Mauprat's love, 
 And leave him eager to dissolve a hymen 
 That brings him such a home. 
 
 Louis. See to it; Count. 
 
 [Eodt Baradas. 
 I'll summon Julie back. A word with you. 
 
 [Takes aside First Courtier, and De Beringhen, and passes, 
 conversing loith them, through the Gardeiis. 
 
 Enter Francois. 
 
 From. All search, as yet, in vain for Mauprat ! — Not 
 At home since yesternoon — a soldier told me 
 He saw him pass this way with hasty strides ; 
 Should he meet Baradas — they'd rend it from him — 
 And then — benignant Fortune smiles upon me — 
 I am thy son ! — if thou desert'st me now, 
 Come, Death, and snatch me from disgrace. But, no, 
 There's a great Spirit ever in the air 
 That from prolific and far-spreading wings 
 Scatters the seeds of honour — yea, the walls 
 And moats of castled forts — the barren seas — 
 The cell wherein the pale-eyed student holds
 
 SCENE I.j OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 265 
 
 Talk with melodious science — all are sown 
 With everlasting honours, if our souls 
 Will toil for fame as boors for bread— 
 
 Enter Mauprat. 
 
 De Man. Oh, let me — 
 
 Let me but meet him foot to foot — I'll dig 
 The Judas from his heart ; — albeit the King 
 Should o'er him cast the purple ! 
 
 Fran. Mauprat ! hold : — 
 
 Where is the 
 
 De Mau. Well ! What wouldst thou ? 
 
 Fran. The despatch ! 
 
 The packet. — Look on me — I serve the Cardinal — 
 You know me. — Did you not keep guard last night 
 By Marion's house ? 
 
 De Mau. I did ; — no matter now ! 
 
 They told me, he was here ! — 
 
 Fran. joy ! quick — quick — 
 
 The packet thou didst wrest from me 1 
 
 De Mau. The packet ? 
 
 What, art thou he I deem'd the Cardinal's spy 
 (Dupe that I was) — and overhearing Marion — 
 
 Fran. The same— restore it ! haste ! 
 
 De Math. I have it not ', 
 
 Methought it but reveal'd our scheme to Eichelieu, 
 And, as we mounted, gave it to 
 
 Enter Baradas. 
 
 Stand back ! 
 Now, villain ! now — I have thee ! 
 
 \To FRAN501S.] Hence, sir ! — Draw I
 
 266 KTCHELiEu; [act IV. 
 
 Frayi. Art mad ?— the King's at hand ! leave him to 
 Richelieu ! 
 Speak — the despatch — to whom — 
 
 De Mail, [dashing him aside, and rushing to Baradas]. 
 Thou triple slanderer ! 
 I'll set my heel upon thy crest ! \A feio passes. 
 
 Fran. Fly— fly !— 
 
 The King ! 
 
 Entej' at one side Louis, Orleans, De Beringhen, Cour- 
 tiers, <tc. ; at the other, the Guards hastily. 
 
 Louis. Swords drawn — before our very palace ! 
 
 Have our laws died with Kichelieu ? 
 
 Bar. Pardon, Sire, — 
 
 3Iy crime but self-defence.* [Aside to King.] It is De 
 Mauprat ! 
 Louis. Dare he thus brave ns 1 
 
 [Baradas goes to the Guard, and gives the writ. 
 
 De Mau. Sire, in the Cardinal's name — 
 
 Bar. Seize him — disarm — to the Bastile ! 
 
 [De Mauprat seized, struggles with the Guard — Francois 
 restlessly endeavouring to pacify and speak to him — 
 when the gates open. Enter EiCHELtEU — Joseph — 
 followed hy Arquebusiers. 
 
 * One of Richelieu's severest and least politic laws was that 
 which made duelling a capital crime. Never was the punishment 
 Against the offence more relentlessly enforced ; and never were duels 
 BO desperate and so numerous. The punishment of death must be 
 evidently ineffectual so long as to refuse a duel is to be dishonoured, 
 and so long as men hold the doctrine, however wrong, that it is 
 better to pari with the life that Heaven gave than the honour man 
 makes. In fact, the greater the danger he incurred, the greater 
 was the punctilio of the cavalier of that time in braving it.
 
 SCENE 1.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 267 
 
 Ba/r. The Dead 
 
 Return'd to life ! 
 
 Louis. What a mock death ! this tops 
 
 The Infinite of Insult. 
 
 Be Mau. [breaking from the Guards]. Priest and Hero ! — 
 For you are both — protect the truth ! 
 
 Rich, [taking the writ from the Guard]. What's this ? 
 
 De Ber. Fact in Philosophy. Foxes have got 
 Nine lives, as well as cats ! 
 
 Bar. Be firm, my liege. 
 
 Louis. I have assumed the sceptre — I will wield it ! 
 
 Joseph. The tide runs counter — there'll be shipwreck 
 somewhere. 
 
 [Baradas and Orleans keep close to the King, whispering 
 and prompting him when Richelieu speaks. 
 
 Rich. High treason — Faviaux ! still that stale pretence! 
 My liege, bad men (ay, Count, most knavish men !) 
 Abuse your royal goodness. For this soldier, 
 France hath none braver — and his youth's hot folly, 
 Misled — (by whom your Highness may conjecture !) — 
 Is long since cancell'd by a loyal manhood. — 
 I, Sire, have pardon 'd him. 
 
 Louis. And we do give 
 
 Your pardon to the winds. Sir, do your duty ! 
 
 Rich. What, Sire ? — you do not know — Oh, pardois 
 me — 
 You know not yet, that this brave, honest heart. 
 Stood between mine and mui'der ! — Sire ! for my sake — ' 
 For your old servant's sake — undo this wrong. 
 See, let me rend the sentence. 
 
 Louis. At your peril ! 
 
 This is too much : — Again, sii", do your duty 1
 
 268 KicuELiEU ; [act iv 
 
 Rich. iSpeak not, but go : — I would not see younir Valour 
 So humbled as gvey Service. 
 
 De Mau. Fare you well ! 
 
 Save Julie, and console her. 
 
 Fran, [aside to Maupkat]. The despatch ! 
 Your fate, foes, life, hang on a word ! — to whom 1 
 
 De Mau. To Huguet. 
 
 Fran. Hush — keep counsel ! — silence — hope ! 
 
 [Eoceunt Mauprat and Guard. 
 
 Bar. [aside to FRANgois]. Has he the packet ? 
 
 Fran. He will not I'eveal — 
 
 [Aside^ Work, brain ! — beat, heart ! — " There's no such 
 
 word as fail !" [Exit Franqois. 
 
 Rich, [fiercely]. Room, my Lords, room ! — the Minister 
 of France 
 Can need no intercession with the King. [They fall hack. 
 
 Louis. What means this false report of death, Lord 
 Cardinal 1 
 
 Rich. Are you then anger'd. Sire, that I live still 1 
 
 Louis. No ; but such artifice — 
 
 Rich. Not mine : — look elsewhere ! 
 
 Louis — my castle swarm'd with the assassins. 
 
 Bai: [advancing]. We have punish'd them already. 
 Huguet now 
 In the Basfcile. — Oh ! my Lord, we were prompt 
 To avenge you — we were — 
 
 ^ich- We 1 — Ha, ha ! you hear, 
 
 My liege ! What page, man, in the last court grammar 
 Made you a plural 1 Count, you have seized the hireling : — 
 Sire, shall I name the master ? 
 
 Louis. Tush, my Lord, 
 
 The old contrivance : — ever docs your wit
 
 BCENEI.] ORj THE CONSPIRACY. 269 
 
 Invent assassins, — that ambition may 
 Slay rivals — — 
 
 Rich. Rivals, Sire, in what ? 
 
 Service to France ? / have nmie I Lives the man. 
 Whom Europe, paled before your glory, deems 
 Rival to Armand Richelieu ? 
 
 Louis. "What, so haughty ! 
 
 Remember, he who made, can unmake. 
 
 Rich. Never I 
 
 Never ! Your anger can recall your trust. 
 Annul my office, spoil me of my lands, 
 Rifle my coffers, — but my name — my deeds, 
 Are royal in a land beyond your sceptre ! 
 Pass sentence on me, if you will ; from Kings, 
 Lo ! I appeal to time ! [Be just, my liege — 
 I found your kingdom rent with heresies 
 And bristling with rebellion ; lawless nobles 
 And breadless serfs ; England fomenting discord ; 
 Austria — her clutch on your dominion ; Spain 
 Forging the prodigal gold of either Ind 
 To arm'd thunderbolts. The Arts lay dead. 
 Trade rotted in your marts, your Armies mutinous, 
 Your Treasury bankrupt. Would you now revoke 
 Your trust, so be it ! and I leave you, sole 
 Supremest Monarch of the mightiest realm. 
 From Ganges to the Icebergs : — Look without ; 
 No foe not humbled ! — Look within ; the Arts 
 Quit for your schools — their old Hesperides 
 The golden Italy ! while through the veins 
 Of your vast empire flows in strengthening tides 
 Trade, the calm health of nations ! 
 
 Sire, I know
 
 270 RICHELIEU ; [act rv 
 
 Your smootlier courtiers please you best — nor measure 
 Myself with them, — yet sometimes I would doubt 
 If Statesmen rock'd and dandled into power 
 Could leave such legacies to kings ! 
 
 [Louis appears irresohde. 
 
 Bar. [passing him, whispers]. But Julie, 
 Shall I not summon her to court ?] 
 
 Louis [motions to Baradas, and turns hatightily to Hie 
 Cardinal]. Enough ! 
 Your Eminence must excuse a longer audience. 
 To your own palace : — For our conference, this 
 Nor place — nor season. 
 
 Rich. Good ray liege, for Justice 
 
 All place a temple, and all season, summer ! — 
 Do you deny me justice ? — Saints of Heaven ! 
 He turns from me ! — Bo you deny me justice ? 
 For fifteen years, while in these hands dwelt Empire, 
 The humblest craftsman — the obscurest vassal — 
 The very leper shrinking from the sun. 
 Though loathed by Charity, might ask for justice ! — 
 Not with the fawning tone and crawling mien 
 Of some I see around you — Counts and Princes — 
 Kneeling iov favours ; — but, erect and loud, 
 As men who ask man's rights ! — my liege, my Louis, 
 Do you refuse me justice — audience even — 
 In the pale presence of the baffled Murther % * 
 
 * For the haughty and rebuking tone which Richelieu assumed 
 in his expostulations with the King, see his Memoirs (pcissim) ia 
 Petitot's collection, vols. 22-30 (bis). Montesquieu, in one of hia 
 brilliant antitheses, says well of Richelieu, "lUavila le roi, maia 
 il iiluiitra le rfegne."
 
 SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 271 
 
 Louis. Lord Cardinal — one by one you have sever'd 
 from me 
 The bonds of human love. All near and dear 
 Mark'd out for vengeance — exile or the scaffold. 
 You find me now amidst my trustiest friends, 
 My closest kindred ; — you would tear them from me ; 
 They murder you forsooth, since me they love ! 
 Eno' of plots and ti'easons for one reign ! 
 Home ! — Home ! and sleep away these phantoms ! 
 
 Rich. Sire ! 
 
 I patience, Heaven ! — sweet Heaven ! Sire, from the 
 
 foot 
 Of that Great Throne, these hands have raised aloft 
 On an Olympus, looking down on mortals 
 And worshipp'd by their awe — before the foot 
 Of that high throne, — spurn yoii the grey-hair'd man, 
 Who gave you empire — and now sues for safety ? 
 
 Louis. No : — when we see your Eminence in truth 
 At the foot of the throne — we'll listen to you. 
 
 [Exit Louis. 
 
 Orle. Saved ! 
 
 Bar. For this deep thanks to Julie and to Maiaprat ! 
 
 Rich. My Lord de Baradas — I pray your pardon — 
 You are to be my successor ! — your hand, sir ! 
 
 Bar. \aside\. What can this mean ? 
 
 Rich. It trembles, see 1 it trembles ! 
 
 The hand that holds the destinies of nations 
 Ought to shake less ! — poor Baradas — poor France ! 
 
 Bar. Insolent 
 
 [Exeunt Baradas and Obleans.
 
 272 RICHELIEU ; [act IV. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Rich. Joseph — Did you hear the King ? 
 
 Joseph. I did — there's danger ! Had you been less 
 haughty* 
 
 Rich. And suffei-'d slaves to chuckle — " See the 
 Cardinal — 
 How meek his Eminence is to-day " — I tell thee 
 This is a strife in which the loftiest look 
 Is the most subtle armour 
 
 Joseph. But 
 
 Rich. No time 
 
 For ifs and buts. I will accuse these traitors ! 
 Fran9ois shall witness that De Baradas 
 Gave him the secret missive for De Bouillon, 
 And told him life and death were in the scroll. 
 I will — I will — 
 
 Joseph. Tush ! Francois is your creature ; 
 
 So they will say, and laugh at you ! — your witness 
 Must be that same Despatch. 
 
 * However " orgiieilleux " and " colere " in his disputes with Louis, 
 the Cardinal did not always disdain recourse to the aits of the 
 courtier ; once, after an angry discussion with the King, in which, 
 as usual, Eichelieu got the better, Louis, as they quitted the palace 
 together, said, rudely, " Sortez le premier ; vous gtes bien le roi de 
 France." "Si je passe le premier," replied the minister, after a 
 moment's hesitation, and with great adroitness, " ce ne pent etre 
 que comme le plus humble de vos serviteurs ;" and he took a flam- 
 beau from one of the pages to light the King as he walked betore 
 him— "en reculant et sans tourner le dos."
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIEAOY. 273 
 
 Rich. Away to Marion ! 
 
 Joseph. I have been there — she is seized — removed— 
 imprison'd — 
 By the Count's orders. 
 
 Rich. Goddess of bright dreams, 
 
 My country — shalt thou lose me now, when most 
 Thou need'st thy worshipper % My native land ! 
 Let me but ward this dagger from thy heart, 
 And die — but on thy bosom ! 
 
 Enter Julie. 
 
 Julie. Heaven ! I thank thee ! 
 
 It cannot be, or this all-powerful man 
 Would not stand idly thus. 
 
 Rich. What dost thov. here ? 
 
 Home ! 
 
 Julie. Home ! — is Adrien there ? — you're dumb — yet 
 strive 
 For words ; I see them trembling on your lip. 
 But choked by pity. It loas truth — all truth ! 
 Seized — the Bastille — and in your presence, too ! 
 Cardinal, where is Adrien ? — Think — he saved 
 Your life : — your name is infamy, if wrong 
 Should come to his ! 
 
 Rich. Be soothed, child. 
 
 Julie. Child no more j 
 
 I love, and I am woman ! Hope and suffer' — 
 Love, suffering, hope, — what else doth make the strength 
 And majesty of woman ? — Where is Adrien 1 
 
 Rich. \to Joseph]. Your youth was never young — you 
 never loved :• — 
 Speak to her — y
 
 274 EiCHELiEU ; [act IV- 
 
 Joseph. Nay, take heed — the King's command, 
 
 'Tis true — I mean — the — 
 
 Julie \to KiCHELiEu]. Let thine eyes meet mine ; 
 Answer me but one word — I am a wife — 
 I ask thee for my home — my fate — my all ! 
 Where is my husband ? 
 
 Rich. You are Richelieu's ward, 
 
 A soldier's bride : they who insist on truth 
 Must out-face fear ; — you ask me for your husband ? 
 There — where the clouds of Heaven look darkest, o'er 
 The domes of the Bastille ! 
 
 Julie. I thank you, father ; 
 
 You see I do not shudder. Heaven forgive you 
 The sin of this desertion ! 
 
 Jiich. [detaining herj. Whither wouldst thou 1 
 
 Julie. Stay me not. Fie ! I should be there already. 
 I am thy ward, and haply he may think 
 Thou'st taught me also to forsake the wretched ! 
 
 Mich. I've fill'd those cells — with many — traitors all. 
 Had they wives too 1 — Thy memories. Power, are solemn ! 
 Poor sufferer t — think' st thou that yon gates of woe 
 Unbar to love ? Alas ! if love once enter, 
 'Tis for the last farewell ; between those walls 
 And the mute grave * — the blessed household sounds 
 Only heard once — while hungering at the door, 
 The headsman whets the axe. 
 
 Julie. O, mercy ! mercy ! 
 
 Save him, restore him, father ! Art thou not 
 The Cardinal-King 1 — the Lord of life and death — 
 
 * "Selon I'usage de Louis XIII., faire arreter quelqu'un pour 
 Clime d'etat, et le faire mourir, I'^tait h. peu prfes la meme chose."^ 
 Le Ckrc.
 
 SCENE II.] OB, THE CONSPIRACY. 275 
 
 Beneath whose light, as deeps beneath the moon, 
 The solemn tides of Empire ebb and flow 1 
 Art thou not Richelieu ? 
 
 Bich. Yesterday I was ! — • 
 
 To-dajr, a very weak old man ! — To-morrow, 
 I know not what ! 
 
 Julie. Do you conceive his meaning 1 
 
 Alas ! I cannot. But, methinks, my senses 
 Are duller than they were ! 
 
 Joseph. The King is chafed 
 
 Against his servant. Lady, while Ave speak, 
 The lackey of the ante-room is not 
 More powerless than the Minister of France. 
 
 \_Bich. And yet the air is still ; Heaven wears no cloud ; 
 From Nature's silent orbit starts no portent • 
 To warn the unconscious world ; albeit this night 
 May with a morrow teem which, in my fall. 
 Would carry earthquake to remotest lands. 
 And change the Christian globe. What wouldst thou, 
 
 ■woman ? 
 Thy fate and his, with mine, for good or ill, 
 Are woven threads. In my \'ast sum of life 
 Millions such units merge.] 
 
 Enter First Courtier. 
 
 First Cour. Madame de Mauprat ! 
 
 Pardon, your Eminence — even now I seek 
 This lady's home — commanded by the King 
 To pray her presence. 
 
 Julie [clinging to Eichelieu]. Think of my deact 
 father ! — 
 Think, how, an infant, clinging to your knees, 
 T 2
 
 276 RICHELIEU ; [act IV. 
 
 And looking to your eyes, the wrinkled care 
 Pled from your brow before the smile of childhood, 
 Fresh from tlie dews of Heaven ! Think of this, 
 And take me to your breast. 
 
 Rich. To those who sent you ! — 
 
 And say you found the virtue they would slay 
 jjere — couch'd upon this heart, as at an altar, 
 And shelter'd by the wings of sacred Rome ! 
 Begone ! 
 
 First Cour. My Lord, I am your friend and .servant — 
 Misjudge me not ; but never yet was Louis 
 So roused against you : — shall I take this answer ? — 
 It were to be your foe. 
 
 Rich. All time my foe, 
 
 If I, a Priest, could cast this holy Sorrow 
 Forth from her last asylum ! 
 
 First Com: He is lost ! \^Exit First Courtier. 
 
 Rch. God help thee, child ! — she hears not ! Look 
 upon her ! 
 The storm, that rends the oak, uproots the flower. 
 Her father loved me so ! and in that age 
 "When friends are brothers ! She has been to me 
 Soother, nurse, plaything, daughter. Ai'e these tears ? * 
 Oh ! shame, shame ! — dotage ! ■ 
 
 * Like Cromwell and Elenzi, Richelieu appears to have been 
 ear.ily moved to tears. The Queen Mother, who put the hardest in- 
 terpretation on that humane weakiiess, which is natural with very 
 excitable temperaments, said that " il pleurait quand il voulait." 
 I may add, to those who may be inclined to imagine that Richelieu 
 f.ppears in parts of this scene too dejected for consistency with so 
 imperious a character, that it is recorded of him that " quand ses 
 affaires ne r(Suissis3oient pas, il se trouvoit abattu et epouvante, et 
 quand il obtenoit ce qu'il souhaitoit, il ^toit fier et insultant."
 
 SCENE II.] OK, THE CONSriKACY. 277' 
 
 Joseph. Tears are not for eyes 
 
 That rather need the lightning, which can pierce 
 Through barred gates and triple walls, to smite 
 Crime, where it cowers in secret ! — The Despatch ! 
 Set every spy to work ; — the morrow's sun 
 Must see that written treason in your hands. 
 Or rise upon your ruin. 
 
 Rich. Ay — and close 
 
 Upon my corpse ! — I am not made to live — 
 Friends, glory, France, all reft from me ; — my star 
 Like some vain holiday mimicry of fire, 
 Peii'cing imperial Heaven, and falling down 
 Rayless and blacken' d, to the dust — a thing 
 For all men's feet to trample ! Yea ! — to-morrow 
 Triumph or death ! Look up, child ! — Lead us, Joseph. 
 [As they are going out, enter Baradas and De Beringhen. 
 
 Bar. My Lord, the King cannot believe your Eminence 
 So far forgets your duty, and his greatness. 
 As to resist his mandate ! Pray you, Madam, 
 Obey the King — no cause for fear ! 
 
 Julie. My father ! 
 
 Rich. She shall not stir ! 
 
 Bar. You are not of her kindred— 
 
 An orphan — 
 
 Rich. And her country is her mother ! 
 
 Bar. The country is the King ! 
 
 Rich. Ay, is it so ?— =■ 
 
 Then wakes the power which in the age of iron 
 Burst forth to curb the great, and raise the low. 
 Mark, where she stands ! — around her form I draw 
 The awful circle of our solemn church ! 
 Set but a foot within that holy ground,
 
 27S RICHELIEU ; [act v. 
 
 And on thy head — yea, though it wore a crown — 
 I launch the curse of Rome ! 
 
 Ba/r. I dare not brave you ! 
 
 I do but speak the orders of my King, 
 The church, your rank, power, very word, my Lord, 
 Suffice you for resistance : — blame yourself, 
 If it should cost you power ! 
 
 Rich. That my stake. — Ah ! 
 
 Dark gamester ! wliat is thine ? Look to it well ! — 
 Lose not a trick. — By this same hour to-morrow 
 Thou shalt have France, or I thy head ! 
 
 Bar. [aside to De Beringhen]. He cannot 
 
 Have the Despatch ? 
 
 Be Ber. No : were it so, your stake 
 
 Were lost already. 
 
 Josejyh [aside^. Patience is your game : 
 
 Beflect, you have not the Despatch ! 
 
 Eich. O ! monk ! 
 
 Leave patience to the saints — for / am human ! 
 Did not thy father die for France, poor orphan ? 
 And now they say thou hast no father ! — Fie ! 
 Art thou not pure and good 1 — if so, thou ai-t 
 A part of that — the Beautiful, the Sacred — 
 Which, in all climes, men that have hearts adore, 
 By the great title of their mother country ! 
 
 Bar. [aside^. He wanders ! 
 
 Rich. So cling close unto my breast, 
 
 Here where thou droop'st lies France. I am very 
 
 feeble — 
 Of little use it seems to either now. 
 Well, well — we will go home. 
 
 Bar. In sooth, my Lord,
 
 SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 279 
 
 You do need rest — the burthens of the State 
 O'ertask your health ! 
 
 Rich. \to Joseph]. I'm patient, see ! 
 
 Bar. \aside\. His mind 
 
 And life are breaking fast ! 
 
 Rich, [overhearing himj. Irreverent ribald ! 
 If so, beware the falling ruins ! Hark ! 
 I tell thee, scorner of these whitening hairs, 
 When this snow melteth there shall come a flood ! 
 Avaunt ! my name is Richelieu — I defy thee ! 
 Walk blindfold on ; behind thee stalks the headsman. 
 Ha ! ha ! — how pale he is ! Heaven save my country ! 
 
 [Falls back in Joseph's a/rms. 
 
 [Baradas exit, followed by De Bekinghen, betraying his 
 exvitation by his gestures. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 FOURTH DAY. 
 
 SCENE I. — The Bastille — a Corridor ; in the bacTc-growad the door 
 of one of the condemned cells. 
 
 Enter Joseph and Gaoler. 
 
 Gaoler. Stay, father ; F »i»ill call the Governor. 
 
 [Exit Gaoler. 
 
 Joseph. He has it, then — this Huguet ; — so we learu 
 From rran9ois ; — Humph ! Now if I can but gain 
 One moment's access, all is ours ! The Cardinal 
 Trembles 'tween life and death. His life is power ; 
 Smite one — slay both ! No .^^^sculapian drugs,
 
 280 RICHELIEU ; [act v. 
 
 By learned quacks baptized with Latin jargon, 
 E'er bore the healing which that scrap of parchment 
 Will medicine to Ambition's flagging heart. 
 France shall be saved — and Joseph be a bishop. 
 
 Enter Governor and Joseph. 
 
 Gov. Father, you wish to see the prisoners Huguet 
 And the young knight De Mauprat ? 
 
 Joseph. So my office, 
 
 And the Lord Cardinal's order, warrant, .on ! 
 
 Gov. Father, it cannot be : Count Baiadas 
 Has summon'd to the Louvre Sieur de Mauprat. 
 
 Joseph. Well, well ! But Huguet 
 
 Gov. Dies at noon. 
 
 Joseph. At noon ! 
 
 No moment to delay the pious rites 
 Which fit the soul for death. Quick — quick — admit me ! 
 
 Gov. You cannot enter, monk ! Such are my orders ! 
 
 Joseph. Orders, vain man ! — the Cardinal still is 
 minister. 
 His orders crush all others ! 
 
 Gov. [lifting his hat]. Save his king's ! 
 
 See, monk, the royal sign and seal affix'd 
 To the Count's mandate. None may have access 
 To either prisoner, Huguet or De Mauprat, 
 Not even a priest, without the special passport 
 Of Count de Baradas. I'll hear no more ! 
 
 Joseph. Just Heaven ! and are we baffled thus 1 Despair ! 
 Think on the Cardinal's power — beware his anger. 
 
 Gov. I'll not be menaced, Priest ! Besides, the Cardinal 
 Is dying and disgraced— all Paris knows it. 
 You hear the prisoner's knell ! [Bell tolls.
 
 SCENE I.] OB, THE CONSPIRACY. 281 
 
 Joseph. I do beseech you — 
 
 The Cardinal is not dying. But one moment, 
 And — hist ! — five thousand pistoles ! — 
 
 Gov. How ! a bribe !««» 
 
 And to a soldiei', grey with years of honour ! 
 Begoue ! — 
 
 Joseph. Ten thousand — twenty ! — 
 
 Gov. Gaoler ; put 
 
 Tiiis monk without our walls. 
 
 Joseph. By those grey hairs — 
 
 Yea, by this badge \touching the cross of St. Louis worn 
 
 by the Governor] — The guerdon of your valour — 
 By all your toils — hard days and sleepless nights — 
 Borne in your country's service, noble son — 
 Let me but see the prisoner ! — 
 
 Gov. No ! 
 
 Joseph. He hath 
 
 Secrets of state — papers in which 
 
 Gov. \interrupting\. I know — ■ 
 
 Such was his message to Count Baradas : 
 Doubtless the Count will see to it ! 
 
 Joseph. The Count ! 
 
 Then not a hope ! — You shall 
 
 Gov. ' Betray my trust ! 
 
 Never — not one word more. You heard me, gaoler ! 
 
 Joseph. What can be done? — Distraction ! Richelieu yet 
 Must — what 1 — I know not ! Thought, nerve, strength. 
 
 forsake me. 
 Dare you refuse the Church her holiest lights ? 
 
 Gov. I refuse nothing— I obey my orders. 
 
 Joseph. And sell your country to her parricides I 
 Oh, tremble yet ! — Richelieu
 
 282 EicHELiEU ; [act v. 
 
 Gov. Begone ! 
 
 Joseph. Undone ! [Esdt Joseph. 
 
 Gov. A most audacious shaveling — interdicted 
 Above all others by the Count. 
 
 Goaler. I hope, sir, 
 
 I shall not lose my perquisites. The Sieur 
 De Mauprat will not be reprieved ? 
 
 Gov. Oh, fear not : 
 
 The Count's commands by him who came for Mauprat 
 Are to prepare headsman and axe by noon ; 
 The Count will give you perquisites enough — 
 Two deaths in one day ! 
 
 Gaoler. Sir, may Heaven re\vard him ! 
 
 Oh, by the way, that troublesome young fellow, 
 Who calls himself the prisoner Huguet's son 
 Is here again — implores, weeps, raves to see him. 
 
 Gov. Poor youth, I pity him ! 
 
 Enter De BERiKGHEN,/o?foiot'c? by FRAN901S. 
 
 De Ber. \to FRAN901S]. Now, prithee, friend, 
 Let go my cloak ; you really discompose me. 
 
 Fran. No, they will drive me hence : my father ! Oh! 
 Let me but see him once — ;but once — one moment ! 
 
 De Ber. \to Governor]. Your servant, Messire ; this 
 poor rascal, Huguet, 
 Has sent to see the Count de Baradas 
 Upon state secrets, that afflict his conscience. 
 The Count can't leave his Majesty an instant : 
 I am his proxy. 
 
 Gov. The Count's word is law ! 
 
 Again, young scapegrace ! How com'st thou admitted 1 
 
 De Ber. Oh ! a most filial fellow : Huguet's son 1
 
 SCENE I.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 283 
 
 I found him whimpering in the court below, 
 I pray his leave to say good-bye to father, 
 Before that very long, unpleasant journey, 
 Father's about to take. Let him wait here 
 Till I return. 
 
 Fran. No ; take me with you. 
 
 De Ber. Nay ; 
 
 After me, friend — the Public first ! 
 
 Gov. The Count's 
 
 Commands are strict. No one must visit Huguet 
 Without his passport. 
 
 De Ber. Here it is ! Pshaw ! nonsense ! 
 
 I'll be your surety. See, my Cerberus, 
 He is no Hercules ! 
 
 Gov. Well, you're responsible. 
 
 Stand there, friend. If, when you come out, my Lord, 
 The youth slip in, 'tis your fault. 
 
 De Ber. So it is ! 
 
 [Exit through the door of the cell, followed by the Gaoler. 
 
 Gov. Be calm, my lad. Don't fret so. I had once 
 A father, too ! I'll not be hard upon you. 
 And so, stand close. I must not see you enter : 
 You understand ! Between this innocent youth 
 And that intriguing monk there is, in truth, 
 A wide distinction. 
 
 He-enter Gaoler. 
 
 Come, we'll go our rounds ; 
 I'll give you just one quarter of an hour ; 
 And if my Lord leave first, make my excuse. 
 Yet stay, the gallery's long and dark : no sentry 
 Until he reach the grate below. He'd best
 
 284 RICHELIEU ; [act V 
 
 Wait till I come. If he should lose the way, 
 We may not be in call. 
 
 Fran. I'll tell him, sir. 
 
 [Exeunt Governor and Gaoler. 
 He's a wise son that knoweth his own father. 
 I've forged a precious one ! So fai*, so well ! 
 Alas ! what then 1 this wretch hath sent to Baradas — 
 Will sell the scroll to ransom life. Oh, Heaven ! 
 On what a thread hangs hope ! \Listens at the door. 
 
 Loud words — a cry ! 
 [Looks through the keyliole. 
 They struggle ! Ho ! — the packet ! ! ! 
 
 [Tries to open the door. 
 Lost ! He has it — 
 The courtier has it — Huguet, spite his chains, 
 Grapples ! — well done ! Now — now ! [Draivs back. 
 
 The gallery's long — 
 And this is left us ! 
 
 [Drawing his dagger, and standing behind the door. Re-enter 
 De Beringhen with the packet. 
 
 Victory ! 
 
 Yield it, robber — 
 
 Yield it — or die — [A sJwrt struggle. 
 
 De Ber. Off ! ho !— there !— 
 
 Fran, [grappling with hirn]. Death or honour I 
 
 [Exeunt struggling.
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 285 
 
 SCENE IT. 
 
 The King's doset at the Lovwre. A suite of roovis in perspectivf. 
 at one side. 
 
 Baradas and Orleans. 
 
 Bar. All smiles ! the Cardinal's swoon of yesterday 
 Heralds his death to-day. Could he survive, 
 It would not be as minister — so great 
 The King's resentment at the priest's defiance ! 
 All smiles ! — And yet, should this accursed De Mauprat 
 Have given our packet to another — 'Sdeath ! 
 I dare not think of it ! 
 
 Orle. You've sent to search him ? 
 
 Bar. Sent, sir, to search 1 — that hireling hands may find 
 Upon him, naked, with its broken seal. 
 That scroll, whose every word is death ! No — No — 
 These hands alone must clutch that awful secret. 
 I dare not leave the palace, night nor day, 
 While Richelieu lives — his minions — creatures — spies — 
 Not one must reach the King ! 
 
 Orle. What hast thou done 1 
 
 Bar. Summon'd De Mauprat hither. 
 
 Orle. Could this Huguet, 
 
 Who pray'd thy presence with so fierce a fervour, 
 Have thieved the scroll ? 
 
 Bar. Huguet was housed with us, 
 
 The very moment we dismiss'd the courier. 
 It cannot be ! a stale trick for reprieve.
 
 286 RICHELIEU ; [ACT V. 
 
 But, to make sure, I've sent our trustiest friend 
 To see and sift him.— Hist !— here comes the King- 
 How fare you, Sire ? 
 
 Enter Louis. 
 
 Louis. lu the same mind. I have 
 
 Decided ! — Yes, he would forbid your presence, 
 My brother— yotu-s, my friend, — then Julie, too ! 
 Thwarts — braves — defies — [suddenly turning to BaradasJ 
 
 We make you minister. 
 Gaston, for you — the baton of our armies. 
 You love me, do you not 1 
 
 Orle. Oh, love you. Sire 1 
 
 r^sitfe.] Never so much as now. 
 
 Bar. May I deserve 
 
 Your trust [asicfe] until you sign your abdication ! 
 My liege, but one way left to daunt De Mauprat, 
 And Julie to divorce. — We must prepare 
 The death-writ ; what, though sign'd and seal'd 1 we can 
 Withhold the enforcement. 
 
 Lmiis. Ah, you may prepare it ; 
 
 We need not urge it to effect. 
 
 Bar. Exactly ! 
 
 No haste, my liege. \Locking at his watch and aside."] He 
 may live one hour longei\ 
 
 Enter Courtier. 
 
 Bour. The Lady Julie, Sire, implores an audience. 
 
 Louis. Aha ! repentant of her folly ! — Well, 
 Admit her. 
 
 Bar. Sire, she comes for Mauprat's pardon. 
 And the conditions
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 287 
 
 Louis. You are minister — 
 
 We leave to you our answer. 
 
 [As Julie enters, the Captain of the Archers by another 
 door, and whispers Bar ad AS. 
 
 Capf. The Chevalier 
 
 De Mauprat waits below. 
 
 Bar. [aside]. Now the despatch ! 
 
 [Exit vnth Officer. 
 
 Enter Julie. 
 
 Jidie. My liege, you sent for me. I come where Grief 
 SJiould come when guiltless, while the name of King 
 Is holy on the earth ! Here, at the feet 
 Of Power, I kneel for mercy. 
 
 Louis. Mercy, Julie, 
 
 Is an affair of state. The Cardinal should 
 In this be your interpreter. 
 
 Julie. Alas ! 
 
 I know not if that mighty spirit now 
 Stoop to the things of earth. Nay, while I speak, 
 Perchance he hears the orphan by the throne 
 Where kings themselves need pardon ; my liege. 
 Be father to the fatherless j in you 
 Dwells my last hope ! 
 
 Enter Bakadas. 
 
 Bar. \aside\. He has not the despatch ; 
 
 Smiled, while we search'd, and braves me. — Oh ! 
 
 Louis [gently]. What wouldst thou t 
 
 Julie. A single life. — You reign o'er millions. — What 
 
 Is one man's life to you 1 — and yet to me 
 
 'Tis France — 'tis earth — ^'tis everything ! — a life — 
 
 A human life — my husband's.
 
 288 RICHELIEU ; [act v. 
 
 Louis [aside]. Speak to her, 
 I am not marble, — give her hope — or 
 
 Bar. Madam, 
 
 Vex not your King, whose heart, too soft for justice. 
 Leaves to his ministers that solemn charge. 
 
 [Louis loalks up tJic stage. 
 
 Julie. You were his friend. 
 
 Bar. I was before 1 loved thee. 
 
 Julie. Loved me ! 
 
 Bar. Hush, Julie : couldst thou misinterpret 
 
 My acts, thoughts, motives, nay, my very words, 
 Here — in this palace ? 
 
 Julie. Now I know I'm mad j 
 
 Even that memory fail'd me. 
 
 Bar. I am young, 
 
 Well-born and brave as Mauprat ! — for thy sake 
 I peril what he has not — fortune — power ; 
 All to great souls most dazzling. I alone 
 Can save thee from yon tyrant, now my puppet ! 
 Be mine ; annul the mockery of this marriage, 
 And on the day I clasp thee to my bi'east 
 De Mauprat shall be free. 
 
 Julie. Thou durst not speak 
 
 Thus in his ear [poimiing to Louis]. Thou double traitor ' 
 
 — tremble ! 
 I will unmask thee. 
 
 Bar. I will say thou ravest. 
 
 And see this scroll ! its letters shall be blood ! 
 Go to the King, count with me word for word ; 
 And while you pray the life — I write the sentence ! 
 
 Julie. Stay, stay \riosMng to the King]. You have a 
 kind and princely heart,
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 289 
 
 Tho' sometimes it is silent : you were born 
 
 To poioer — it has not flush'd you into madness, 
 
 As it doth meaner men. Banish my husband — 
 
 Dissolve our marriage — cast me to that grave 
 
 Of human ties, where hearts congeal to ice, 
 
 In the dai'k convent's everlasting winter — 
 
 (Surely eno' for justice — hate — revenge) — 
 
 But spare this life, thus lonely, scath'd, and bloomless ; 
 
 And when thou stand'st for judgment on thine own, 
 
 The deed shall shine beside thee as an angel. 
 
 Louis \inuch affected]. Go, go, to Baradas : annul thy 
 
 marriage. 
 And 
 
 Julie [anxiously, and watching his cotmtenance]. Be his 
 bride ! 
 
 Louis. A form, a mere decorum ; 
 
 Thou know'st I love thee. 
 
 Julie. O thou sea of shame, 
 
 And not one star ! 
 
 [The King goes up the stage, and passes thrcnigh the suite of 
 rooms at the side, in evident emotion. 
 
 Bar. Well, thy election, Julie ; 
 
 This hand — his grave ! 
 
 Julie. His grave ! and I 
 
 Bar. Can save him. — 
 
 Swear to be mine. 
 
 Jidie. That were a bitterer death ! 
 
 Avaunt, thou tempter ! I did ask his life 
 A boon, and not the barter of dishonour. 
 The heart can break, and scorn you : wreak your malice ; 
 Adrien and I will leave you this sad earth. 
 And pass together hand in hand to Heaven ! 
 
 D
 
 290 RICHELIEU ; [act V. 
 
 Bar. You liave decided. 
 
 [IVitlidnms to the side scene for a moment, and reiurm. 
 Listen to me, Lady ; 
 I am no base intrigx^er, I adored thee 
 From the first glance of those inspiring eyea ; 
 With thee entwined ambition, hope, the future. 
 / will not lose thee ! I can place thee nearest — 
 Ay, to the throne — nay, on the throne, perchance ; 
 My star is at its zenith. Look upon me ; 
 Hast thou decided ? 
 
 Julie. No, no ; you can see 
 
 How weak I am : be human, sir — one moment. 
 
 Bar. [stamping his foot, De Mauprat appears at tJte 
 side of the stage guarded ]. Behold thy husband ! — Shall 
 
 he pass to death, 
 And know thou couldst have saved him ? 
 
 Julie. Adrien, speak ! 
 
 But say you wish to lite I — if not, your wife. 
 Your slave, — do with me as you will. 
 
 De 3Iau. Once more ! — 
 
 Why this is mercy. Count ! Oh, think, my Julie, 
 Life, at the best, is short, — but love immortal ! 
 
 Bar. [taking Julie's hand^. Ah, loveliest — 
 
 Julie. Go, that touch has made me iron. 
 
 We have decided — death ! 
 
 Bar. [to De Mauprat]. Now say to whom 
 Thou gavest the packet, and thou yet shalt live. 
 
 Be Mau. I'll tell thee nothing ! 
 
 Bar. Hark,— the rack ! 
 
 -Oe Mau. Thy penance 
 
 For ever, wretch ! — What rack is like the conscience ? 
 
 Julie. I shall be with thee soon.
 
 SCENE II.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 291 
 
 Bar. [giving the writ to the Officer.] Hence, to the 
 headsman ! 
 
 [The doors are throton open. The Huissier announces " His 
 Eminence the Cardinal Duke de Richelieu." 
 
 Enter Richelieu, attended by Gentlemen, Pages, &c., ^3a?^, 
 feeble, and leaning on Joseph, foUoived by three Secretaries 
 of State, attended by Sub-Secretaries with ^mpci's, d:c. 
 
 Julie \rushing to Richelieu]. Yon live — yon live — ^and 
 Adrien shall not die ! 
 
 Bich. Not if an old man's prayers, himself near death, 
 Can aught avail thee, daughter ! Count, you now 
 Hold what I held on earth : — one boon, my Lord, 
 This soldier's life. 
 
 Bar. The stake, — my head ! — you said it. 
 
 I cannot lose one trick. — Remove your pi-isoner. 
 
 Julie. No ! — No ! — 
 
 Enter l^ovis from the rooms heyond. 
 
 Eich. \to Officer]. Stay, Sir, one moment. My good liege, 
 Your worn-out servant, willing, Sire, to spare you 
 Some pain of conscience, would forestall your wishes. 
 I do resign my office. 
 
 De Mau. You ! 
 
 Julie. All's over ! 
 
 Rich. My end draws near. These sad ones, Sire, I love 
 them. 
 I do not ask his life ; but suffer justice 
 To halt, until I can dismiss his soul. 
 Charged with an old man's blessing. 
 
 Louis. Surely ! 
 
 Ba/r. Sire 
 
 Louis. Silence — small favour to a dying servant. 
 
 Rich. You would consign yotir armies to the baton 
 u 2
 
 292 RICHELIEU ; [act V, 
 
 Of your most honoured brother. Sire, so be it ! 
 
 Your minister, the Count de Bai'adas ; 
 
 A most sagacious choice ! — Your Secretaries 
 
 Of State attend me, Sire, to render up 
 
 The ledgers of a realm. I do beseech you, 
 
 Suffer these noble gentlemen to learn 
 
 The nature of the glorious task that waits them, 
 
 Here, in my presence. 
 
 Louis. You say well, my Lord. 
 
 [To Secretaries, as he seats himself. 
 Approach, Sirs. 
 
 Rich. I — I — faint ! — air — air ! 
 
 [Joseph and a Gentleman assist 7dm to a sofa, placed 
 beneath a teindow. 
 
 I thank you — 
 
 Draw near, my children. 
 
 Bar. He's too weak to question. 
 
 Nay, scarce to speak ; all's safe. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Manent Richelieu, Madpbat, and Jclie, the last kneeling beside 
 the Cardinal; the Officer of the Guard behind Maupeat. Joseph 
 near Eichelieu, watching the King. Louis. Bakadas at the back 
 of the King's chair, anxious and disturbed. Orleans at a greater 
 distance, careless and triumphant. The Secretaries. As each Secre- 
 tary advances in his turn, he takes the portfolios from the Sub- 
 Secretaries. 
 
 First Sec. The affairs of Portugal, 
 
 Most urgent, Sire : One short month since the Duke 
 Braganza was a rebel. 
 
 Louis. And is still ! 
 
 First Sec. No, Sire, he has succeeded ! He is now
 
 SCENE III.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 293 
 
 Crown'd King of Portugal — craves instant succour 
 Against the arms of Spain. 
 
 Louis. We will not grant it 
 
 Against liis lawful king. Eh, Count ? 
 
 Bar. No, Sire. 
 
 First Sec. But Spain's your deadliest foe : whatever 
 Can weaken Spain must strengthen France. The Cardinal 
 Would send the succours : — [solemnly] — balance, Sire, of 
 Europe ! 
 
 Louis. The Cardinal ! — balance ! — We'll eon? 'der.— - 
 Eh, Count 1 
 
 Bar. Yes, Sire ; — fall back. 
 
 First Sec. But 
 
 Bar. Oh ! fall back, Sir. 
 
 Joseph. Humph ! 
 
 Second Sec. The affairs of England, Sire, most urgent • 
 Charles 
 The First has lost a battle that decides 
 One half his realm, — craves moneys, Sire, and succour. 
 
 Louis. He shall have both. — Eh, Baradas 1 
 
 Bar. Yes, Sire. 
 
 (Oh that despatch ! — my veins are fire !) 
 
 Rich, [feebly, hut with great distinctness]. My liege — 
 Forgive me — Charles's cause is lost ! A man. 
 Named Cromwell, risen, — a great man ! — your succour 
 Would fail — yoiTr loans be squander'd ! — Pause — reflect.* 
 
 Louis. Reflect. — Eh, Baradas? 
 
 Bar. Reflect, Sire. 
 
 Joseph. Humph ! 
 
 Louis [aside]. I half repent ! — No successor to Riche- 
 lieu ! — 
 
 * See in "Cinq Mars," Vol. V., the striking and brilliant chapter 
 from which the interlude of the Secretaries is borrowed.
 
 294 RICHELIEU ; [act v. 
 
 Round me thrones totter ! — dynasties dissolve ! — 
 The soil he guards alone escapes the earthquake ! 
 
 Joseph. Our star not yet eclipsed ! — you mark the King? 
 Oh ! had we the despatch ! 
 
 Rich. Ah ! Joseph !— Child- 
 
 Would I could help thee ! 
 
 Enter Gentleman, whispers Joseph, who exit hastily. 
 
 Bar. [to Secretary]. Sir, fall back. 
 
 Second Sec. But 
 
 Bar. Pshaw, Sir ! 
 
 Third Sec. [mysteriously]. The secret correspondence, 
 Sire, most urgent, — 
 Accounts of spies — deserters — heretics — 
 
 Assassins — poisoners — schemes against yourself ! 
 
 Louis. Myself ! — most urgent ! — [looking on the docu- 
 ments^ 
 
 Re-enter Joseph with Feanjois, whose pourpoint is streaked with 
 blood. FEANfOis passes behind the Cardinal's Attendants, 
 and, sheltered by them from the sight o/Baeadas, &c., falls 
 at EiCHELiEu's feet. 
 
 Fran. O ! my Lord ! 
 
 Rich. Thou art bleeding ! 
 
 Fran. A scratch — I have not fail'd 
 
 [Gives the packet. 
 
 Rich. Hush ! — 
 
 [Looking at the contents. 
 
 Third Sec. [to King]. Sire, the Spaniards 
 
 Have reinforced their army on the frontiers. 
 The Due de Bouillon 
 
 Rich. Hold ! — In this department — 
 
 A paper — here. Sire, — read yourself — then take 
 The Count's advice in 't.
 
 SCENE III.] OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 295 
 
 Eyder De Beringhen hastily, and draws aside Baradas. 
 fRlCHELlEU to Secretarjj glvhig an open parchment. 
 Bar. [bursting from De Beringhen]. What ! and reft 
 it from thee ! 
 Ha !— hold ! 
 
 Joseph. Fall back, son, it is your turn now i 
 Bar. Death ! — the despatch ! 
 
 Louis [reading]. To- Bouillon — and sign'd Orleans ! — 
 Baradas, too ! — league with our foes- of Spain ! — 
 Lead our Italian armies — what ! to Paris ! — 
 Capture the King — my health requires repose — 
 Make me subscribe my proper abdication — 
 Orleans, my brother, Kegent ! — Saints of Heaven ! 
 These are the men I loved ! 
 
 [Baeadas draws, — attempts to rush out, — is aii-ested. — 
 Orleans, endeavourhuj to escape more quicJcly, meets 
 Joseph's eye and stops short. 'RicaELiEU falls bade. 
 
 Joseph. See to the Cardinal ! 
 
 Bar. He's dying ! and I yet shall dupe the King ! 
 
 Louis [rushing to Richelieu]. Richelieu ! — Lord 
 Cardinal ! — 'tis / resign ! — 
 Reign thou ! 
 
 Joseph. Alas ! too late ! — he faints ! 
 
 Louis. Reign, Richelieu ! 
 
 Rich, [feebly]. With absolute power? 
 
 Louis. Most absolute ! — Oh ! live ! 
 
 If not for me — for France ! 
 
 Rich. France ! 
 
 L(mis. Oh ! this treason ! — 
 The army — Orleans — Bouillon — Heavens ! — the Spa- 
 niard ! — 
 Where will they be next week %
 
 296 RICHELIEU ; [act v. 
 
 Rich, [starting up]. There, — at my feet ! 
 
 [To First and Second Secretary. 
 Ere the clock strike ! — the Envoys have their answer ! 
 
 [To Third Secretary, ivith a ring. 
 This to De Chavigny — he knows the rest — 
 No need of parchment here — he must not halt 
 Eor sleep — for food. — In my name, — mine ! — he will 
 Arrest the Due de Bouillon at the head 
 Of his army ! — Ho ! there, Count de Baradas, 
 Thou hast lost the stake ! — Away with him ! * 
 
 [As the Guards open the folding-doors, a view of the ante- 
 room beyond, lined with Courtiers. Baeadas passes 
 through the line. 
 
 Ha !— ha !— 
 [Snatching De Maupeat's death-7varrant from the Officer. 
 See here De Mauprat's death-writ, Julie ! — 
 Parchment for battledores ! — Embrace your husband !— 
 At last the old man blesses you ! 
 
 Julie. O joy ! 
 
 You are saved ; you live — I hold you in these arms. 
 Mau. Never to part — 
 
 Julie. No — never, Adrien — never ! 
 
 Louis [peevishly]. One moment makes a startliug cure, 
 
 Lord Cardinal.f 
 JRich. Ay, Sire, for in one moment there did pass 
 Into this wither'd frame the might of France ! — 
 
 * The passion of the drama requires this catastrophe for Baradas. 
 He however survived his disgrace, though stripped of all his rapidly- 
 acquired fortunes ; and the daring that belonged to his character 
 ■won him distinction in foreign service. He returned to France after 
 Eichelieu's death, but never regained the same court influence. He 
 had taken the vows of a Knight of Malta, and Louis made him a Prior. 
 
 t The sudden resuscitation of Eichelieu (not to strain too muoh
 
 SCENE III.j OK, THE CONSriKACY. 297 
 
 My own dear France — I have thee yet — I have saved 
 
 thee! 
 I clasp thee still ! — it was thy voice that call'd me 
 Back from the tomb ! — What mistress like our country ? 
 
 Louis. For Mauprat's pardon — well ! But Julie, — 
 Kichelieu, 
 Leave me one thing to love ! — 
 
 Rich. A subject's luxury ! 
 
 Yet, if you must love something, Sire, — love me ! 
 
 Louis [smiling in spite of himself \ Fair proxy for a 
 young fresh Demoiselle ! 
 
 Hick. Your heart speaks for my clients : — Kneel, my 
 children, 
 And thank your King, — 
 
 Julie. Ah, tears like these, my liege, 
 
 Are dews that mount to Heaven. 
 
 Louis. Rise — rise — be happy. 
 
 [Richelieu beckons to De Beringhen. 
 
 De Ber. [falteringli/]. My lord — you are — most — 
 happily — recover'd. 
 
 Bich. But you are pale, dear Beringhen ; — this air 
 Suits not your delicate frame — I long have thought so : — 
 Sleep not another night in Paris : — Go, — 
 Or else your precious life may be in danger. 
 Leave France, dear Beringhen ! 
 
 on the real passion which supports him in this scene) ia in con- 
 formance with the more dissimulating part of his character. The 
 extraordinary mobility of his countenance (latterly so deathlike, 
 .save when the mind spoke in the features) always lent itself to stage 
 effect of this nature. The queen-mother said of him, that she bad 
 seen him one moment so feeble, cast down, and "semi-mort," that 
 he seemed on the point of giving up the ghost — and the next moment 
 he would .start up full of animation, energy, and life.
 
 298 BICHELIEU [act V. SC. III. 
 
 De Ber. I shall have time, 
 
 More than I ask'd for — to discuss the pate. 
 
 [Exit De Beringhen. 
 
 Rich. \to Orleans]. For you, repentance — absence — 
 
 and confession ! [To Francois. 
 
 Never say fail again. — Brave boy ! [To Joseph. 
 
 He'll be— 
 A Bishop first. 
 
 Joseph. Ah, Cardinal — 
 
 Bich. Ah, Joseph ! 
 
 [To Louis — as De Mauprat and Julie converse apart. 
 See, my liege — see thro' plots and counterplots — 
 Thro' gain and loss — thro' glory and disgi'ace — 
 Along the plains, where passionate Discord rears 
 Eternal Babel — still the holy stream 
 Of human happiness glides on ! 
 
 Louis. And must we 
 
 Thank for that also — our prime Minister ? 
 
 Hich. No — let us own it : — there is One above 
 Sways the harmonious mystery of the world, 
 Ev'n better than prime ministers ; — 
 
 Alas! 
 Our glories float between the earth and heaven 
 Like clouds which seem pavilions of the sun. 
 And are the playthings of the casual wind ; 
 Still, like the cloud which drops on unseen crags 
 The dews the wild flower feeds on, our ambition 
 May from its airy height drop gladness down 
 On unsuspected virtue ; — and the flower 
 May bless the cloud when it hath pass'd away ! * 
 
 * The image and the sentiment in the concluding lines are borrowed 
 from a passage in one of the writings attributed to the Cardinal.
 
 MONEY,
 
 " Tis a very good world we live in, 
 
 To lend, or to (spend, or to give in ; 
 But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man's own, 
 'Tis the very worst world that ever was known." 
 
 Old Truisms 
 
 '■ KnlJ, ts })£rrst|)t fter €rae (J&rtt, Bas ffirlK."— Schilies,
 
 DEDICATED TO 
 
 JOHN FORSTER, ESQ., 
 
 Author of " The Lives of Statesmen of the Commonwealth.'* 
 
 A SLIGHT MEMOKIAIi 
 OF SINCERE BESPECT AND CORDIAL FRIENDSHIP ; 
 
 ALTHOOCH 
 
 ^FOR WE ARE ALL HUMAN I) 
 
 BE HAS, IN ONE INSTANCE, AND BUT ONE, 
 
 •CrVBRED HIS JUDGMENT TO BE UISLED BY TOO GREAT A RBOARD FOB 
 
 "MONEY!"
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 
 
 Lord Glossmore. 
 
 Sir John Yesey, Bart., Knight of the Guelph, 
 
 F.R.S., F.S.A. 
 Sir Frederick Blount. 
 Stout. 
 Graves. 
 Evelyn. 
 
 Captain Dudley Smooth. 
 Sharp. 
 
 TOKE. 
 
 Frantz, Tailor. 
 
 Tabouret, Upholsterer. 
 
 MacFinch, Jeweller and Silversmith. 
 
 MacStucco, Architect. 
 
 Kite, Horse-dealer. 
 
 Crimson, Portrait-painter. 
 
 Grab, Publisher. 
 
 Patent, Coach-builder. 
 
 Members of the * * * Club. Servants, &c. 
 
 Lady Franklin, half-sister to Sir John Vesey. 
 
 Georgina, daughter to Sir John. 
 
 Clara, companion to Lady Franklin, cousin to Evelyn», 
 
 Scene — London, 1840. 
 
 I
 
 MONEY. 
 
 ACT I.— SCENE I. 
 
 A drawing-room in SiK John Veset's house ; folding-doors at 
 the hack, which open on another draioing-room. To the right a table, 
 with newspapers, hools, &c. ; to the left, a sofa writing-table. 
 
 Sir John, Georgina. 
 
 Sir Jo] in \reading a letter edged with blacJc\. Yes, he 
 says at two precisely. " Dear Sir John, as since the 
 death of my sainted Maria," — Hum ! — that's his wife ; 
 she made him a martyr, and now he makes her a saint ! 
 
 Geor. Well, as since her death ? — 
 
 SirJohn\reading'\."l- have beenliving in chambers, where 
 I cannot so well invite ladies, you will allow me to bring 
 Mr. Sharp, the lawyer, to read the will of the late Mr. 
 Mordaunt (to which I am appointed executor) at your 
 house — your daughter being the nearest relation. I 
 shall be with you at two precisely. — Henry Graves." 
 
 Geor. And you really feel sure that poor Mr. ]Mordaimt 
 has made me his heiress ? 
 
 Sir John. Ay, the richest heiress in England. Can 
 you doubt it ? Are you not his nearest relation ? Niece
 
 304 jiONEY. [act I. 
 
 by your poor mother, his own sister. All the time he 
 was making this enormous fortune in India did we ever 
 miss sending him little reminiscences of our disinterested 
 affection 1 When he was last in England, and you only 
 so high, was not my house his home ? Didn't I get a 
 surfeit out of complaisance to his execrable curries and 
 pillaws 1 Didn't he smoke his hookah — nasty old — that 
 is, poor dear man — in my best drawing-room 1 And 
 didn't you make a point of calling him your " liandsome 
 uncle " 1 — for the excellent creature was as vain as a 
 peacock, — 
 
 Geor. And so ugly ! — 
 
 Sir John. The dear deceased ! Alas, he rvas, indeed ; — 
 like a kangaroo in a jaundice ! And if, after all these 
 marks of attachment, you are oiot his heiress, why then 
 the finest feelings of our nature — the ties of blood — the 
 principles of justice — are implanted in us in vain. 
 
 Ge<yi: Beautiful, sir. Was not that in your last speech 
 at the Freemasons' Tavern upon the great Chimney-sweep 
 Question 1 
 
 Sir John. Clever girl ! — what a memory she has ! Sit 
 down, Georgy. Upon this most happy — I mean melan- 
 choly — occasion, I feel that I may trust you witli a 
 secret. You see this fine house — our fine servants — our 
 fine plate — our fine dinnei's : every one thinks Sir John 
 Vesey a rich man. 
 
 Geor. And are you not, papa ? 
 
 Sir John. Not a bit of it — all humbug, child — all 
 humbug, upon my soul ! As you hazard a minnow to 
 hook in a trout, so oiae guinea thi-own out with address is 
 often the best bait for a hundred. There are two rules 
 in life — First, Men are valued not for what they are,
 
 SCENE I.] MONEY. 305 
 
 but what they seem to be. Secondly, It' you have no 
 merit or money of your own, you nnist trade on the 
 merits and money of other people. My father got the 
 title by services in the army, and died penniless. On 
 the strength of his services I got a pension of £400 
 a yeai- ; oi*. the strength of £400 a year I took credit for 
 ^800 ; on the strength of £800 a year I married your 
 mother with £10,000 ; on the strength of £10,000 I took 
 credit for £40,000 and paid Dicky Gossip three guineas 
 a week to go about eveiywhere calling me " Stingy Jack !'' 
 
 Geor. Ha ! ha ! A disagreeable nickname. 
 
 Sir John. But a valuable reputation. When a man i;> 
 called stingy, it is as much as calling him rich ; and when 
 a man 's called rich, why he's a man universally respected. 
 On the strength of my respectability I wheedled a con- 
 stituency, changed my politics, resigned my seat to a 
 minister, who, to a man of such stake in the country, 
 could oflfer nothing less in return than a patent office of 
 £2,000 a year. That's the wa}'' to succeed in life. 
 Humbug, my dear ! — all humbug, upon my soul. 
 
 Geor. I must say that you 
 
 Sir John. Know the world, to be sure. Now, for 
 your fortune, — as I spend more than my income, I can 
 have nothing to leave you ; yet, even Avithout counting 
 your uncle, you have always passed for an heiress on the 
 credit of your expectations from the savings of " Stingy 
 Jack." The same with your education. I never grudged 
 anything to make a show — never stuffed your head with 
 histories and homilies ; but you draw, you slug, you dance, 
 you w^alk well into a room ; and that's the way youn:; 
 ladies are educated nowadays, in order to become a pride 
 to their parents, and a blessing to their husband — that is, 
 
 X
 
 306 MONEY. ' I ACT 1- 
 
 when they have caught him. Apropos of a husband : 
 you know we thought of Sir Frederick Blount. 
 
 Geor. Ah, papa, he is charming. 
 
 Sir John. He was so, my dear, before we knew your 
 poor uncle was dead ; but an heiress such as you will be 
 should look out for a duke. — Where the deuce is Evelyn 
 this morning ? 
 
 Geor. I've not seen him, papa. What a strange 
 character he is ! — so sarcastic ; and yet he can be 
 agreeable. 
 
 Sir John. A humorist — a cynic? one never knows 
 how to take him. My private secretary, — a poor cousin, 
 has not got a shilling, and yet, hang me, if he does not 
 keep us all at a sort of a distance. 
 
 Geor. But why do you take him to live with us, papa, 
 since there's no good to be got by it 1 
 
 Sir John. There you are wrong ; he has a great deal of 
 talent : prepares my speeches, writes my pamphlets, looks 
 up my calculations. My Report on the last Commission 
 has got me a great deal of fame, and has put me at the 
 head of the new one. Besides he is our cousin — he 
 has no salary : kindness to a poor relation always tells 
 well in the world ; and Benevolence is a useful virtue, — 
 particularly when you can have it for nothing ! With 
 our other cousin, Clara, it was different : her father 
 thought fit to leave me her guardian, though she had 
 not a penny — a mere useless encumbrance : so, you see, I 
 got my half-sister. Lady Franklin, to take her off" my hands. 
 
 Geor. How much longer is Lady Franklin's visit to be ? 
 
 Sir John. I don't knovv', my dear ; the longer the 
 better, — for her husband left her a good deal of money at 
 her own disposal. Ah, here she comes !
 
 SCENE II.] MONEY. 307 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Lady Franklin, Clara, Sir John, Georgina. 
 
 Sir John. My dear sister, we were just loud in your 
 praises. But how's this 1 — not in moui*ning 1 
 
 Lady Fran. Why should I go into mourning for a 
 man I never saw ? 
 
 Sir John. Still, there may be a legacy. 
 
 Lady Fran. Then there'll be less cause for affliction ! 
 Ha ! ha ! my dear Sir John, I'm one of those who think 
 feelings a kind of property, and never take credit for 
 them upon false pretences. 
 
 Sir John \aside\. Very silly woman ! But, Clara, I 
 see you are more attentive to the proper decorum : yet 
 you are very, very, very distantly connected with the 
 deceased — a third cousin, I think 1 
 
 Cla/ra. Mr. Mordaunt once assisted my father, and these 
 poor robes are all the gratitude I can show him. 
 
 Sir John. Gratitude ! humph ! I am afraid the minx 
 has got expectations. 
 
 Lady Frank. So, Mr. Graves is the executor — the will 
 is addressed to him % The same Mr. Graves who is 
 always in black — always lamenting his ill-fortune and his 
 sainted Maria, who led him the life of a dog % 
 
 Sir John. The very same. His liveries are black — his 
 
 carriage is black — he always rides a black galloway — and, 
 
 faith, if he ever marry again, I think he will show his 
 
 respect to the sainted Maria by marrying a black woman. 
 
 X 2
 
 308 MOKEY. [act I. 
 
 Lady Fran. Ha ! ha ! we shall see. — \As^de^^ Poor 
 Graves, I always liked him : he made an excellent 
 husband. 
 
 Enter Evelyn \seo,ts himself, and takes up a book 
 unobserved^. 
 
 Sir John. What a crowd of relations this Will brings 
 to light ! Mr. Stout, the Political Economist — Lord 
 Glossmore — 
 
 Lady Fran. Whose grandfather kept a pawnbroker'^ 
 shop, and Avho, accoi-dingly, entertains the profoundest 
 contempt for everything popular, parvenu, and plebeian. 
 
 Sir John. Sir Frederick Blount — 
 
 Lady Fran. Sir Fwedewick Blount, who objects to the 
 -letter R as being too wough, and thei'efore diwops its 
 acquaintance : one of the new class of prudent young 
 gentlemen, who, not having spirits and constitution ibv 
 the hearty excesses of their predecessors, intrench them- 
 selves in the dignity of a lady-like languor. A man of 
 fashion in the last century was riotous and thoughtless — 
 in this he is tranquil and egotistical. He never does 
 anything that is silly, or says anything that is wise. 
 I beg your pardon, my dear ; I believe Sir Frederick is 
 an admirer of yours, provided, on reflection, he does not 
 see " what harm it could do him " to fall in love with 
 your beauty and expectations. Then, too, our poor 
 cousin the scholar — Oh, Mr. Evelyn, there you are ! 
 
 Sir John. Evelyn — the very person I wanted : where 
 have you been all day ? Have you seen to those pa])er.-i 1 
 — ^have you written my epitaph on poor Mordaunt ? — 
 Latin, you know ? — have you reported my speech at 
 Exeter Hall 1 — have you looked out the debates on the
 
 SCENE n.] MO^^EY. 309 
 
 Customs 1 — aud, oil, have you mended uj) all the old pens 
 in the study 1 
 
 Geor. And have you brought me the black floss silk? 
 — have you been to Storr's for my ring ? — and, as we 
 cannot go out on this melancholy occasion, did you call 
 at Hookham's for the last HB. and the Comic Annual ? 
 
 Lady Fran. And did you see what was really the 
 matter with my bay horse ? — did you get me the Opera- 
 box 1 — did you buy my little Charley his peg-top 1 
 
 Eve. \always reading]. Certainly, Paley is right upon 
 
 that point ; for, put the syllogism thus [looJd7ig «tj>] 
 
 Ma'am — Sir — Miss Vesey — you want something of me 1 
 
 Paley observes, that to assist even the undeserving 
 
 tends to the better regulation of our charitable feelings — 
 No apologies — I am quite at you service. 
 
 Sir John. Now he's in one of his humours ! 
 
 Lady Fran. You allow him strange liberties. Sir John. 
 
 Eve. You will be the less surprised at that, madam, 
 when I inform you that Sir John allows me nothing else. 
 — I am now about to draw on his benevolence. 
 
 Lady Fran. I beg your pardon, sir, and like your 
 spirit. Sir John, I'm in the way, I see ; for I know 
 your benevolence is so delicate that you never allow any 
 one to detect it ! [Walks aside. 
 
 Eve. I could not do your commissions to-day — I have 
 been to visit a poor woman, who was my nurse and my 
 mother's last friend. She is very poor, very — sick — dying 
 — and she owes six months' rent ! 
 
 Sir John. You know I should be most happy to do 
 anything for yourself But the nurse — [Aside. Some 
 people's nurses are always ill !] — there are so many 
 impostors about ! — We'll talk of it to-morrow. This
 
 '310 MONEY. [act I. 
 
 most mournful occasion takes up all my attention. 
 \LooMng at his loatch.'j Bless me ! so late ! I've letters 
 to write, and — none of the pen.s are mended ! [Exit. 
 
 Geor. [taking out her jnirse], I think I will give it to 
 him — and yet, if I don't get the fortune, after all ! — Papa 
 allows me so little ! — ^then I must have those earrings 
 [puts up the purse]. ]\Ir. Evelyn, what is the address of 
 your nurse 1 
 
 £ve. [ivj'ites and gives it]. She has a good heart with 
 all her foibles ! — Ah ! Miss Yesey, if that poor woman 
 had not closed the eyes of my lost mother, Alfred Evelyn 
 would not have been this beggar to your father. 
 
 [Claka looks over the address. 
 
 Gem: I will certainly attend to it — [asiWe] if I get the 
 fortune. 
 
 Sir John [calling without]. Georgy, I say ! 
 
 Geor. Yes, papa, [Exit. 
 
 [EvELTN has seated himself again at the table {to the right), 
 and leans his face on his hands. 
 
 Clara. His noble spirit bowed to this ! — Ah, at least 
 here I may give him comfort — [sits down to write]. But 
 he will recognize my hand. 
 
 Lady Frank. What bill are you paying, Clara? — 
 putting up a bank-note ? 
 
 Clara. Hush ! — O Lady Franklin, you are the kindest 
 of human beings. This is for a poor person — I would not 
 have her know whence it came, or she would vefuse it. 
 Would you ? — No, — he knows her handwriting also ! 
 
 Lady Frank. Will I — what ? — give the money myself? 
 •evith pleasure ! Poor Clara — Why this covers all your 
 savings — and I am so rich ! 
 
 Clara. Nay, I would wish to do all myself ! — it is a
 
 SCENE III.] MONEY. 311 
 
 pride — a duty — it is a joy ; and I have so few joys ! 
 But, hush ! — ^this way. 
 
 [They retire into the inner room and converse in duml) show. 
 
 Eve. And thus must I grind out my life for ever ! — I 
 am ambitious, and Poverty drags me down ; I have 
 learning, and Poverty makes me the drudge of fools ! — 
 I love, and Poverty stands like a spectre before the altar ! 
 But no, no — ^if, as I believe, I am but loved again, I will 
 — will — what 1 — turn opium-eater, and dream of the Eden 
 I may never enter. 
 
 Lady Frrnik. \to Clara]. Yes, I will get my maid to 
 copy and direct this — she writes well, and her hand will 
 never be discovered. I will have it done and sent in- 
 stantly. [Exit. 
 [Clara advances to the front of the stage, and seats herself — 
 Evelyn reading.— Enter Sir Frederick Blount. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Clara, Evelyn, Sir Frederick Blount. 
 
 Blount. No one in the woom ! — -Oh, Miss Douglas ! — 
 Pway don't let me disturb you. "Where is Miss Yesey — 
 Georgina ? [Talcing Clara's chair as she rises. 
 
 Eve. [looking up, gives Clara a chair and re-seats him- 
 self\ [Aside.^ Insolent puppy ! 
 
 Clara. Shall I tell her you are here. Sir Fredei'ick ? 
 
 Blount. Not for the world. Yewy pwetty girl thii» 
 companion !
 
 312 MONEY. [act I. 
 
 Clara. What did yovt think of the Panorama the other 
 day, Cousin Evelyn ? 
 Eve. l^readingj. — 
 
 " I cannot talk with civet in the room, 
 A fine puss gentleman that's all perfume ! " 
 
 Rather good lines these. 
 
 Blount. Sir ! 
 
 Eve. \offering the hoolc\. Don't you think so ? — Cowper. 
 
 Blount [declining the book^. Cowper ! 
 
 Eve. Cowper. 
 
 Blount [shrugging his shoulders, to Clara]. Stwange 
 person, Mr. Evelyn ! — quite a chawacter ! — Indeed the 
 Panowama gives you no idea of Naples — a delightful 
 place. I make it a wule to go there evewy second year 
 — I am vewy fond of twavelling. You'd like Wome (Rome) 
 — bad inns, but vewy fine wuius ; gives you quite a taste 
 for that sort of thing ! 
 
 Eve. [reading^. — 
 
 " How much a dunce that has beei> sent to roaiu 
 Excels a dunce that has been kept at home ! " 
 
 Blount [aside^. That fellow Cowper says vewy odd 
 things ! — Humph ! — it is beneath me to quawwell. — 
 [-4^^^d] It will not take long to wead the will, I sup- 
 pose. Poor old Mordaunt ! — I am his nearest male 
 welation. He was vewy eccentwic. By the way, Miss 
 Douglas, did you wemark my cuwicle ? It is bwingiug 
 cuwicles into fashion. I should be most happy if you will 
 allow me to dwive you out. Nay — nay — I should, upcm 
 my word. [Trying to take her hand. 
 
 Eve. [starting up\. A wasp ! — a wasp ! — just going to 
 settle. Take care of the wasp, Miss Douglas ! 
 
 Blount. A wasp ! — where ! — don't bwing it this way, 
 
 i
 
 SCENE IV.] MONEY, 313 
 
 — some people don't mind them ! I've a particular dis- 
 like to wasps ; they sting damnably ! 
 Eve. I beg pardon — it's only a ga-dfly. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Sir John will be happy to see you in his study, Sir 
 Frederick. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Blount. Vewy well. Upon my word, there is some- 
 thing vewy nice about this gii'l. To be sure, I love 
 Georgina — but if this one would take a fancy to me 
 \t1ioug1itfully\ — Well, T don't see what harm it could d© 
 me ! — Au plaisir ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IT. 
 Evelyn and Clara. 
 
 Eve. Clara ! 
 
 Clara. Cousin ! 
 
 Eve. And you too are a dependent ! 
 
 Clara. But on Lady Franklin, who seeks to make me 
 forget it. 
 
 Eve. Ay, but can the world forget it ? This insolent 
 condescension — this coxcombry of admiration — more gall- 
 ing than the arrogance of contempt ! Look you now — 
 Robe Beauty in silk and cashmere — hand Virtue into 
 her chariot — lackey their caprices — wrap them from the 
 winds — fence them round with a golden circle — and Virtue 
 and Beauty are as goddesses both to peasant and to prince.
 
 314 MONEY. [act I. 
 
 Strip them of the adjuncts — see Beauty and Virtue poor 
 — dependent — solitary — walking the "world defenceless ! 
 oh, then the devotion changes its character — the same 
 crowd gather eagerly around — fools — fops — libertines — 
 not to worship at the shrine, but to sacrifice the victim ! 
 
 Clara. My cousin, you are cruel ! 
 
 Eve. Forgive me ! There is a something when a man's 
 heart is better than his fortunes, that makes even affec- 
 tion bitter. Mortification for myself — it has ceased to 
 chafe me. I can mock where I once resented. But you 
 — ^You, so delicately framed and nurtui'ed — one slight to 
 you — one careless look — one disdainful tone — makes me 
 feel the true curse of the poor man. His pi"ide gives armour 
 to his own breast, but it has no shield to protect anothei*. 
 
 Clara. But I, too, have pride of my own — I, too, can 
 smile at the pointless insolence 
 
 Eve. Smile — and he took your hand ! Oh, Clai'a, you 
 know not the tortures that I suffer hourly ! When othei's 
 approach you — young — fair — rich — the sleek darlings 
 of the world — I accuse you of your very beauty — I writhe 
 beneath every smile that you bestow. No — speak not ! — 
 my heart has broken its silence, and you shall hear the 
 rest. For you I have endured the weary bondage of this 
 house — the fool's gibe — the hireling's sneer — the bread 
 purchased by toils that should have led me to loftier 
 ends : yes, to see you — hear you — breathe the same air — 
 be ever at hand — that if others slighted, from one at least 
 you might receive the luxury of respect : — for this — ^for 
 this I have lingered, suffered, and. forborne. Oh ! Clai'a, 
 we are orphans both — friendless both : you ai'e all in the 
 world to me : turn not away — my very soul speaks in 
 these words — I love you !
 
 SCENE IV.] MONEY. 315 
 
 Clara. No — Evelyn — Alfred — No ! say it not ; think 
 it not ! it were madness. 
 
 Eve. Madness ! — nny, hear me yet. I am poor, penni- 
 less — a beggar for bread to a dying servant. True ! — But 
 I have a heart of iron ! I have knowledge — patience — 
 health, — and my love for you gives me at last ambition ! 
 I have trifled with inj own energies till now, for I de- 
 spised all things till I loved you. With you to toil for — 
 your step to support — your path to smooth — and I — I 
 poor Alfred Evelyn — promise at last to win for you even 
 fame and fortune ! Do not withdraw your hand — tida 
 hand — shall it not be mine ? 
 
 Clara. Ah, Evelyn ! Never — never ! 
 
 Eve. Never. 
 
 Clara. Forget this folly ; our imion is impossible, and 
 to talk of love were to deceive both ! 
 
 Eve. \bitterly\. Because I am poor ! 
 
 Clara. And / too ! A marriage of privation — of 
 penury — of days that dread the morrow ! I have seen 
 such a lot ! Never return to this again. 
 
 Eve. Enough — you are obeyed. I deceived myself — 
 ha ! — ha ! — I fancied that I too was loved. I, whose 
 youth is already half gone with care and toil ! — whose 
 mind is soured — whom nobody can love — who ought to 
 have loved no one ! 
 
 Clara \aside\. And if it were only I to suffer, or per- 
 haps to starve? — Oh, what shall I say? [.4^omc?.] Evelyn 
 —-Cousin ? 
 
 Eve. Madam. 
 
 Clara. Alfred — I — I — 
 
 Eve. Reject me ! 
 
 Clara. Yes ! It is past ! [Exit.
 
 316 MONEY. [act I. 
 
 Ew. Let me think. It was yesterday her hand trembled 
 when mine touched it. And the rose I gave her — yes, 
 she pressed her lips to it once when she seemed as if .she 
 saw me not. But it was a trap — a trick — for I was as 
 poor then as now. This will be a jest for them all ! Well, 
 coui'age ! it is but a poor heart that a coquet's contempt 
 can break ! And now, that I care for no one, the world 
 is but a great chess-board, and I will sit down in earnest 
 and play with Fortune ! 
 
 Enter Lord Glossmore, preceded hy Servant. 
 
 Ser. I will tell Sir John, my Lord ! 
 
 [Evelyn takes up the newspaper. 
 
 Gloss. The seci-etary — hum ! Fine day, sir ; any news 
 from the East ? 
 
 Eve. Yes ! — all the wise men have gone back there ! 
 
 Gloss. Ha, ha ! — not all, for here comes Mr. Stout, the 
 great political economist. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 Stotjt, Glossmore, Evelyn. 
 
 Stout. Good morning, Glossmore. 
 
 Gloss. Glossmore ! — the parvenu ! 
 
 Stout. Afraid I might be late-^been detained at the 
 Vestry — Astonishing how ignorant the English poor are ! 
 Took me an hour and a half to beat it into the head of a 
 stupid old widow, with nine children, that to allow her
 
 SCENE v.] MOXEY. 317 
 
 three shillings a week was against all the rules of public 
 morality ! 
 
 Eve. Excellent ! — admirable ! — your hand, sir ! 
 
 Gloss. What ! you approve such doctrines, Mr. Evelyn 1 
 Are old women only fit to be. starved 1 
 
 Eve. Starved ! popular delusion ! Observe, my Lord 
 — to squander money upon those who starve is only to 
 d3brd encouragement to starvation ! 
 
 Stout. A very superior person that ! 
 
 Gloss. Atrocious principles ! Give me the good old 
 times, when it was the duty of the rich to succour the 
 distressed. 
 
 Eve. On second thoughts, you are right, my Lord. I, 
 too, know a poor womann — ill — dying — in want. Shall 
 she, too, perish 1 
 
 Gloss. Perisli ! horrible ! — in a Christian country ! 
 Perish ! Heaven forbid ! 
 
 Eve. [holding out his ha^id]. What, then, will you give 
 her ? 
 
 Gloss. Ehem ! Sir — the parish ought to give. 
 
 Stout. No ! — no ! — no ! Certainly not ! \ioith great 
 vehemence^. 
 
 Gloss. No ! no ! But I say, yes ! yes ! And if the 
 parish refuse to maintain the poor, the only way left to a 
 man of firmness and resolution, holding the principles 
 that I do, and adhering to the constitution of our fathers, 
 is to force the poor on the parish by never giving them 
 a farthing one's sel£
 
 318 MONEY. [act I. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 Sir John, Blount, Lady Franklin, Georgina, 
 Glossmore, Stout, Evelyn. 
 
 Sir John. How d'ye do ? — All ! How d'ye do, gentle- 
 men 1 This is a most melancholy meeting ! The poor 
 deceased ! what a man he was ! 
 
 Blount. I was chwistened Fwedewick after him ! He 
 was my first cousin. 
 
 Sir John. And Georgina his own niece — next of 
 kin ! — an excellent man, though odd — a kind heart, but 
 no liver ! I sent him twice a year thirty dozen of the 
 Cheltenham waters. It's a comfort to reflect on these 
 little attentions at such a time. 
 
 Stout. And I, too, sent him the Parliamentary debates 
 regularly, bound in calf. He was my second cousin — 
 sensible man — and a follower of Malthus : never mari'ied 
 to increase the surplus population, and fritter away his 
 money on his own children. And now 
 
 Eve. He reaps the benefit of celibacy in the prospective 
 gratitude of every cousin he had in the world ! 
 
 Lady Frank. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir John. Hush ! hush ! decency. Lady Franklin ; de- 
 cency ! 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Mr. Graves— Mr. Sharp. 
 
 Sir John. Oh, here's IMr. Graves ; that's Sharp the 
 lawyer, who brought the will from Calcutta,
 
 SCENE Vll.] MONEY. 31ft 
 
 SCENE VII. 
 
 Graves, Sharp, Sir John, &c. 
 Chorus of Sir John, Glossmore, Blount, Stout. 
 
 Ah, sir — Ah, Mr. Graves ! 
 
 [Georgina holds her hcmdkerchief to her eyes. 
 
 Sir John. A sad occasion ! 
 
 Graves. But everything in life is sad. Be comforted. 
 Miss Vesey. True, you have lost an uncle ; but I — I 
 have lost a wife — such a wife ! — the first of her sex — 
 and the second cousin of the defunct ! Excuse me, Sir 
 John ; at the sight of your mourning my wounds bleed 
 afresh. [Servants hand round loine and sandiuiches. 
 
 Sir John. Take some refreshment — a glass of wine. 
 
 Graves. Thank you ! — (very fine sherry !) — Ah ! my 
 poor sainted Maria ! Sherry was her wine : everything 
 reminds me of Maria ! Ah, Lady Franklin ! you knew 
 her. Nothing in life can charm me now. — [^sic^e.] A 
 monstrous fine woman that ! 
 
 Sir John. And now to business. Evelyn, you may 
 retire. 
 
 Sha/rp \looking at his notes^. Evelyn — any relation to 
 Alfred Evelyn ? 
 
 Uve. The same. 
 
 Sharp. Cousin to the deceased, seven times removed. 
 Be seated, sir ; there may be some legacy, though trifling : 
 all the relations, however distant, should be present.
 
 320 MONEY, [act I. 
 
 Lady Fran. Then Clara is related — I will go for her. 
 
 Geor. Ah, Mr. E/elyn; I hope you will come in for 
 something — a few hundreds, or even more. 
 
 Sir John. Silence ! Hush ! Wugh ! ugh ! Attention ! 
 
 \ While the Lawyer opens the will, re-enitcr Lady Fkanelin 
 and Claka. 
 
 Sharp. The will is very shoi't — being all personal 
 property. He was a man that always came to the point. 
 
 Sir John. I wish there were more like him ! — \Gvoojns 
 and shakes his head.^ 
 
 [Chorus groan and shake their heads.' 
 
 Sharp [reading]. "I, Frederick James Mordaunt, of 
 Calcutta, being at the present date of sound mind, 
 though infirm body, do hereby give, will and bequeath — 
 Inprimis, To my second cousin, Benjamin Stout, Esq., of 
 
 Pall Mall, London [Chants exhibit lively emotion. 
 
 Being the value of the Parliamentary Debates with 
 which he has been pleased to trouble me for some time 
 past — deducting the carriage thereof, which lie always 
 forgot to pay — the sum of £14. 26". ^d. 
 
 [Chorus breathe more freely. 
 
 Stout. Eh, what 1— £14 ? Oh, hang the old miser ! 
 
 Sir John. Decency — decency ! Proceed, sir. 
 
 Sharp. " Item. — To Sir Frederick Blount, Baronet, my 
 
 nearest male relative " 
 
 [Chorus exhibit lively emotion. 
 
 Blount. Poor old boy ! 
 
 [Georgina puts her arm over Blount's chair. 
 
 Sharj). " Being, as I am inf(n'med, the best-dressed 
 young gentleman in London, and in testimony to the
 
 SCENE VII.] MONEY. 221 
 
 only merit I ever heard he possessed, the sum of £500 
 to buy a dressing-case." 
 
 [Chorus breathe more freely ; Geoegina catclies her father's 
 eye, and removes her arm. 
 
 Blount [laughing confusedly]. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Vewy 
 poor wit — low ! — vewy — vewy low ! 
 
 Sir John. Silence, now, will you ? 
 
 Sharp. " Item. — To Charles Lord Glossmore — who 
 asserts that he is my relation — my collection of dried 
 butterflies, and the pedigree of the Mordaunts from the 
 reign of King John." [Cho7-us as before. 
 
 Gloss. Butterflies ! — Pedigree ! — I disown the plebeian ! 
 
 Sir John [aoigrily]. Upon my word, this is too revolting ! 
 Decency ! Go on. 
 
 S/iarp. " Item. — To Sir John Vesey, Baronet, Knight 
 of the Guelph, F.R.S., F.S. A., &c." [Chorus as be/ore. 
 
 Sir John. Hush ! How it is really interesting ! 
 
 Sharp. " Who married my sister, and who sends ine 
 every year the Cheltenham waters, which nearly gave me 
 my death, I bequeath — the empty bottles." 
 
 Sir John. "Why, the ungrateful, rascally, old 
 
 Chorus. Decency, Sir John — decency. 
 
 Sharp. " Item. — To Henry Graves, Esq., of the 
 Albany " [Chorus as before. 
 
 Graves. Pooh ! gentlemen — my usual luck — not even 
 a ring, I dare swear ! 
 
 Sharp. " The sum of £5,000 in the Three per Cents." 
 
 Lady Fran. I wish you joy ! 
 
 Grames. Joy — pooh ! Three per Cents ! — Funds sure 
 to go ! Had it been lamd, now — though only an acre ! — 
 just like my luck. 
 
 Y "^
 
 '32£ MONEY. [act II. 
 
 Sharp. " Item. — To my niece Geoi-gina Vesey " 
 
 \Choms as before. 
 
 Sir John. Ah, now it comes ! 
 
 Sharp. "The sum of £10,000 India Stock, being, with 
 her father's reputed savings, as much as a single woman 
 ought to possess." 
 
 Sir John. And what the devil, then, does the old fool 
 do with all his money ? 
 
 Chorus. Really, Sir John, this is too revolting. 
 Decency ! Hush ! 
 
 Sharp. "And, with the aforesaid legacies and exceptions, 
 I do will and bequeath the whole of my fortune, in India 
 Stock, Bonds, Exchequer Bills, Three' per Cent. Consols, 
 and in the Bank of Calcutta, (constituting him hereby 
 sole residuary legatee and joint executor with the afore- 
 said Henry Graves, Esq.) to Alfi-ed Evelyn, now, or 
 formerly of Trinity College, Cambridge — 
 
 [ Universal excitement. 
 Being, I am told, an oddity, like myself-— the only one 
 of my relations who never fawned on me ; and, who 
 having knoAvn privation, may the better employ wealth." 
 — And now. Sir, I have only to wish you joy, and give] 
 you this letter from the deceased — I believe it isj 
 important. 
 
 Eve. [crossing over to Clara]. Ah, Clara, if you hadl 
 but loved me ! 
 
 Clara [turning aioay\. And his wealth, even more than! 
 poverty, sepai'ates us for ever ! 
 
 \Omnes crowd round to congratulate Evelyn.I 
 
 Sir John \to Georgina]. Go, child — put a good face orij 
 it — he's an immense match ! My dear fellow, I wish yoij 
 joy : you are a great man now — a very great man !
 
 SCENE I.J MONEY. 333 
 
 Eve. \a.side\. And her voice alone is silent ! 
 
 Lord Gloss. If I can be of any use to you 
 
 Stout. Or I, sir 
 
 Blount. Or I ! Shall I put you up at tlie clubs ? 
 
 Sharp. You will want a man of business. I transacted 
 all Mr. Mordaunt's affairs. 
 
 Sir John. Tush, tush ! Mr. Evelyn is at home here — 
 always looked on him as a son ! Nothing in the world 
 we would not do for him ! Nothing ! 
 
 Eve. Lend me £10 for my old nurse ! 
 
 \Chorus put their hands into their pockets. 
 
 ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 An anteroom in Evelyn's new house; at one corner, behind a 
 large screen, Mb. Sharp writing at a desk, books and parchments 
 before him. — Mr. Crimson, the portrait-painter-; Mb. Grab, the 
 pablUher ; Mr. MacStucoo, the architect; Mr. Tabouret, the 
 upholsterer ; Mr. MacFinch, the silversmith; Mr. Patent, the 
 eoachmaker; Mr. Kite, the hwse-dealer ; and Mr. Frantz, the 
 tailor. — (Servants cross to and fro the stage.) 
 
 Patent [to Fbantz, showing a drawhig\. Yes, sir ; this 
 is the Evelyn vis-^-vis ! No one more the fashion thail 
 Mr. Evelyn. Money makes the man, sir. 
 
 Frantz. But de tailor, de Schneider, make de gentle- 
 man ! It is Mr. Frantz, of St. James's, who take his 
 measure and his cloth, and who make de fine handsome 
 noblemen and gentry, where de faders and de mutters 
 make only de ugly little naked boys ! 
 Y 2
 
 324 :.iONEY. [act n. 
 
 Macstuc. He's a mon o' teeste, Mr. Evelyn. He taulks 
 o' buying a veela (villa), just to pool down and build 
 cop again. — Ah, Mr. Macfinch ! a design for a piece of 
 pleete, eh ? 
 
 Macfinch [showing the drawing]. Yees, sir ; the shield o' 
 Alexander the Great, to hold ices and lemonade ! It 
 will coost two thousand poon' ! 
 
 Macstuc. And it's dirt cheap — ^ye're Scotch, arn't ye ? 
 
 Macfinch. Aberdounshire • — scraitch me, and I'll 
 scraitch you ! 
 
 [Docy}' at the back thrown open. — Enter Evelyn. 
 
 Eve. A levee, as usual. Good day. Ah, Tabouret, 
 your designs for the draperies ; very well. And what do 
 you want, Mr. Crimson ? 
 
 Grim. Sir, if you'd let me take your portrait, it would 
 make my fortune. Every one says you're the finest judge 
 of paintings. 
 
 Eve. Of paintings ! paintings ! Are you sure I'm a 
 judge of paintings ? 
 
 Crim. Oh, sir, didn't you buy the great Correggio for 
 4,000. 
 
 Eve. True — I see. So £4,000 makes me an excellent 
 judge of paintings. I'll call on you, Mr. Crimson, — good 
 day. Mr. Grab — oh, you're the publisher who once 
 refused me £5 for a poem 1 You are right, it was a sad 
 doggerel. 
 
 Grab. Doggerel ! Mr. Evelyn, it was sublime ! But 
 times were bad then. 
 
 Eve. Very bad times with me. 
 
 Grab. But now, sir, if you will give me the preference, 
 I'll push it, sir, — I'll push it ! I only publish for poets
 
 SCENE I.] MONEV. 325 
 
 in high life, sir ; and a gentleman of your station ought 
 to be pushed ! — £500 for the poem, sir ! 
 
 Eve. ,£500 when I don't want it, where £5 once would 
 have seemed a fortune. 
 
 " Now I am rich, what value in the lines ! 
 How the wit brightens — how the sense refines ! " 
 
 \TuTns to the, rest who surround him. 
 
 Kite. Thirty young horses from Yorkshire, sir ! 
 
 Patent [shoioing draiving]. The Evelyn vis-a-vis ! 
 
 JIacJinch [showing draiving]. The Evelyn salver ! 
 
 Frantz \o-pening his bundle, and with dignity]. Sare, I 
 have brought de coat — de great Evelyn coat. 
 
 Eve. Oh, go to —that is, go home ! Make me as 
 
 celebrated for vis-a-vis, salvers, furniture, and coats, as I 
 already am for painting, and shortly shall be for poetr}-. 
 I resign myself to you — go ! 
 
 [Exeunt Macfinch, Patent, cDc. 
 
 Enter Stout. 
 
 Eve. Stout, you look heated ! 
 
 Stout. I hear you have just bought the great Grogiu- 
 hole property. 
 
 Eve. It is true. Sharp says it's a bargain. 
 
 Stout. "Well, my dear friend Hopkins, member for 
 Groginhole, can't live another month — but the interests 
 of mankind forbid regret for individuals ! The patriot 
 Popkins intends to start for the borough the instant 
 Hopkins is dead ! — your interest will secure his election ! 
 — now is your time ! put yourself forward in the march 
 
 of enlightenment ! By all that is bigoted, here comets 
 
 Glossmore !
 
 326 MONEY. [act If. 
 
 SCENE II, 
 Stout, Glossmore, Evelyn ; Sharp still at his desk 
 
 Gloss. So lucky to find you at home ! Hopkins, of 
 Groginhole, is not long foi' this world. Popkins, the 
 brewer, is already canvassing underhand (so very 
 ungentlemanlike !). Keep your interest for young Lord 
 Cipher — a most valuable candidate. This is an awful 
 moment — the constitution depends on his return ! Vote 
 for Cipher. 
 
 Stout. Popkins is your man ! 
 
 JEve. [musingly]. Cipher and Popkins — Popkins and 
 Cipher ! Enlightenment and Popkins— Cipher and the 
 Constitution ! I AM puzzled ! Stout, I am not known 
 at Groginhole. 
 
 Stout. Your property's known there ! 
 
 Eve. But purity of election — independence of votes 
 
 Stout. To be sure : Cipher bribes abominably. Frustrate 
 his schemes — preserve the liberties of the borough — turn 
 every man out of his house who votes against enlighten- 
 ment and Popkins ! 
 
 Eve. Right ! — down with those who take the liberty 
 to admire any liberty except our liberty ! That is liberty ! 
 
 Gloss. Cipher has a stake in the countiy — will have 
 d^50,000 a year — Cipher will never give a vote without 
 considering beforehand how people of £50,000 a year will 
 be affected by the motion. 
 
 Eve. Plight : for as without law there would be no pro-
 
 SCENE II.] MONEY. 327' 
 
 perty, so to be the law for property is the only proper 
 property of law ! — That is law ! 
 
 Stout. Popkins is all for economy — there's a sad waste 
 of the public money — they give the Speaker £5,000 a year, 
 when I've a brother-in-law who takes the chair at the 
 vestiy, and who assures me confidentially he'd consent to 
 be speaker for half the money 1 
 
 Gloss. Enough, Mr. Stout. — Mr. Evelyn has too much 
 at stake for a leveller. 
 
 Stout. And too much sense for a bigot. 
 
 Bve. Mr. Evelyn has no politics at all ! — Did you ever 
 play at battledore ? 
 
 Both. Battledore? 
 
 Uve. Battledore ! — that is a contest between two par- 
 ties : both parties knock about something with singular 
 skill — something is kept up — high — low — here- — ^there — 
 everywhere — nowhere ! How grave are the players ! 
 how anxious the bystanders ! how noisy the battledores ! 
 But when this something falls to the ground, only fancy 
 — it's nothing but cork and feather ! Go, and play by 
 yourselves — I'm no hand at it ! 
 
 Stout [ftside]. Sad ignorance ! — Aristocrat ! 
 
 Gloss. Heartless principles ! — Parvenu ! 
 
 Stout. Then you don't go against us 1 — I'll bring Pop- 
 kins to-morrow. 
 
 Gloss. Keep yourself free till I present Cipher to you. 
 
 Stout. I must go to inquire after Hopkins. The return 
 of Popkins will be an era in history. [Exit. 
 
 Gloss. I must be off to the club — the eyes of the country 
 are upon Groginhole. If Cipher fail, the constitution is 
 gone ! [Exit. 
 
 Eve. Both sides alike ! Money versus Man ! — Sharp,
 
 328 MONEY. [act ii- 
 
 come here — let me look at you ! You are my agent, my 
 lawyer, my man of business. I believe you honest ; — but 
 what is honesty 1 — where does it exist 1 — in what part 
 of us ? 
 
 Sharp. In the heart, I suppose, sir. 
 
 Uve. Mr. Sharp, it exists in the breeches-pocket ! Ob- 
 serve : I lay this piece of yellow earth on the table — I 
 contemplate you both ; the man there — the gold here ! 
 Now, there is many a man in those streets honest as you 
 are, who moves, thinks, feels and reasons as well as we 
 do ; excellent in form — imperishable in soul ; who, if his 
 pockets were three days empty, would sell thought, reason, 
 body, and soul too, for that little coin ! Is that the fault 
 of the man 1 — no ! it is the fault of mankind 1 God made 
 man ; behold what mankind have made a god ! ^Vhen I 
 was poor, I hated the world ; now I am rich, I despise it ! 
 
 Fools — knaves — hypocrites ! By the bye, Sharp, send 
 
 £100 to the poor bricklayer whose house was burned 
 
 down yesterday 
 
 Enter Graves. 
 
 Ah, Graves, my dear friend ! what a world this is ! — 
 a cur of a world, that fawns on its mastei-, and bites the 
 beggar ! Ha ! ha ! it fawns on me now, for the beggar 
 has bought the cur. 
 
 Graves. It is an atrocious world ! — But astronomers 
 say that there is a travelling comet which must set it on 
 fire one day, — and that's some comfort ! 
 
 Uve. Every hour brings its gloomy lesson — the temper 
 sours — the affections wither — the heart hardens into 
 stone ! Zounds, Sharp ! what do you stand gaping thei-e 
 for ? — have you no bowels ? — why don't you go and see to 
 the bricklayer 1 [Exit Sharp.
 
 SCENE III.] MONEY. 329 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Graves and Evelyn. 
 
 Eve. Graves, of all my new friends — and their name is 
 Legion — you are the only one I esteem ; there is sym- 
 pathy between us — we take the same views of life. I am 
 cordially glad to see you ! 
 
 Graves [groaning]. Ah ! why should you be glad to see 
 a man so miserable 1 
 
 Eve. Because I am miserable myself. 
 
 Graves. You ! Pshaw ! you have not been condemned 
 to lose a wife ! 
 
 Eve. But, plague on it, man, I may be condemned to 
 take one ! — Sit down, and listen, I want a confidant ! — 
 Left fatherless, when yet a boy, my poor mother grudged 
 herself food to give me education. Some one had told 
 her that learning was better than house and land — that's 
 a lie. Graves. 
 
 Graves. A scandalous lie, Evelyn ! 
 
 Eve. On the strength of that lie I was put to school — 
 sent to college, a sizar. Do you know what a sizar is 1 
 In pride he is a gentleman — in knowledge he is a scholar 
 — and he crawls about, amidst gentlemen and scholars, with 
 the livery of a pauper on his back ! I carried off the great 
 prizes — I became distinguished — I looked to a high degree, 
 leading to a fellowship ; that is, an independence for 
 myself — a home for my mother. One day a young lord 
 insulted me — I retorted — he struck me — refused apology
 
 330 MONEY. [act II. 
 
 — refused redress. 1 was a sizar ! — a Pariah ! — a thing to 
 he struck ! Sir, I was at least a mau, and I horsewhipped 
 him in the hall before the eyes of the whole College ! A 
 few days, and the lord's chastisement was forgotten. The 
 next day the sizar was expelled — the career of a life 
 blasted ! That is the difference between Rich and Poor : 
 it takes a whirlwind to move the one — a breath may 
 uproot the other ! T came to London. As long as my 
 mother lived, I had one to toil for ; and I did toil — did hope 
 — did struggle to be something yet. She died, and then, 
 somehow, my spirit broke — I resigned myself to my fate ; 
 the Alps above me seemed too high to ascend — I ceased to 
 care what became of me. At last I submitted to be the 
 poor relation — the hanger-on and gentleman-lackey of Sir 
 John Vesey. But I had an object in that — there was one 
 in that house whom I had loved at the first sight. 
 
 Graves. And wei'e you loved again ? 
 
 Eve. I fancied it, and was deceived. Not an hour 
 before I inherited this mighty wealth I confessed ray love 
 and was rejected because I was pooi\ Now, mark : you 
 remember the letter which Sharp. gave me when the will 
 was read ? 
 
 Graves. Perfectly ; what were the contents ? 
 
 Eve. After hints, cautions, and admonitions — half in 
 irony, half in earnest (Ah, poor Mordaunt had known the 
 world !), it proceeded — but PU read it to you : — " Plaviug 
 selected j'ou as my heir, because I think money a trust to 
 be placed where it seems likely to be best employed, I 
 now — not impose a condition, but ask a favour. If you 
 have formed no other and insuperable attachment, I could 
 wish to suggest your choice : my two nearest female i-e- 
 lations are my niece Georgina, and my third cousin. Clara 
 
 i
 
 SCENE III.] MOJS^EY. 331 
 
 Douglas, the daughter of -a ouce dear friend. If you could 
 see in either of these one whom you could make your wife, 
 such would be a marriage that, if I live long enough to 
 return to England, I would seek to bring about before I 
 die." My friend, this is not a legal conditi<»^> — the fortune 
 does not rest on it ; yet, need I say that mv gratitude con- 
 siders it a moral obligation ? Several months have elapsed 
 since thus called upon — I ought now to decide : you hear 
 the names — Clara Douglas is the woman who rejected 
 me ! 
 
 Graves. But now she would accept you ! 
 
 Eve. And do you think I am so base a slave to passion, 
 that I would owe to my gold what was denied to my 
 affection 1 
 
 Graves. But yoii must choose one, in common gratitude ; 
 you oioght to do so — yes, there you are right. Besides, 
 you are constantly at the house — ^the world observes it : 
 you must have raised hopes in one of the girls. Yes ; it 
 is time to decide between her whom you love and her 
 whom you do not ! 
 
 Eve. Of the two, then, I would rather marry where I 
 should exact the least. A marriage, to which each can 
 bring sober esteem and calm regard, may not be hap2")iness, 
 but it may be content. But to marry one whom you 
 could adore, and whose heart is closed to you — to yearn 
 for the treasure, and only to claim the casket — to worship 
 the statue that you never may warm to life — Oh ! such a 
 marriage would be a hell, the more terrible because Para- 
 dise was in sight. 
 
 Gra/oes. Georgina is pretty, but vain and frivolous. — 
 [J.sicZe.] But he has no right to be fastidious — he has 
 never known ]\Iaria ! — [.4fcMc/.] Yes, my dear friend,
 
 332 MONEY. [act II. 
 
 aow I think ou it, you will be as wretched as myself ! — 
 When you are married, we will mingle our groans together ! 
 
 Eve. Yow may misjudge Georgina ; she may have a 
 nobler nature than appears on the surface. On the day, 
 but before the hour, in which the will was read, a letter, 
 in a strange or disguised hand, signed " From an unknown 
 friend to Alfred Evelyn" and enclosing what to a girl 
 would have been a considerable sum, was sent to a poor 
 woman for whom I had implored charity, and whose 
 address I had only given to Georgina. 
 
 Graves. Why not assure yourself? 
 
 Eve. Because I have not dared. For sometimes, against 
 my reason, I have hoped that it might be Clara ! \takiny 
 a Utter from his hosom and looking at it\. No, I can't 
 recognize the hand. Graves, I detest that girl. 
 
 Graves. "Who ? Georgina ? 
 
 Eve. No ; Clara ! But I've already, thank Heaven ! 
 taken some revenge upon her. Come nearer. — [Wliispers.^ 
 I've bribed Sharp to say that Mordaunt's letter to ine 
 contained a codicil leaving Clara Douglas £20,000. 
 
 Graves. And didn't it ? How odd, then, not to have 
 mentioned her in his will ! 
 
 Eve. One of his caprices : besides, Sir John wrote him 
 word that Lady Franklyn had adopted her. But I'm glad 
 of it — I've paid the money — she's no more a dependent. 
 No one can insult her now — she owes it all to me, and 
 does not guess it, man — does not guess it ! — owes it to me, 
 — me, whom she rejected ; — me, the poor scholar ! — Ha ! 
 ha ! — there's some spite in that, eh % 
 
 Graves. You're a fine fellow, Evelyn, and we under- 
 stand each other. Perhaps Clara may have seen the 
 address, and dictated this letter after all !
 
 SCENE IV.] MONEY. .333 
 
 Eve. Do you think so? — I'll go to the house this instant ! 
 
 G^'aves. Eh 1 Humph I Then I'll go with you. That 
 Lady Franklin is a fine Avoman ! If she were not so gay, 
 I think — I could 
 
 Eve. No, no ; don't think any such thing ; women 
 are even worse than men. 
 
 Graves. True ; to love is a boy's madness ! 
 
 Eve. To feel is to suffer. 
 
 Graves. To hope is to be deceived. 
 
 Eve. I have done with romance ! 
 
 Graves. Mine is buried with Maria ! 
 
 Eve. If Clara did but write this — ^ 
 
 Graves. Make haste, or Lady Franklin will be out ! — 
 A vale of tears ! — a vale of tears ! 
 
 Eve. A vale of tears, indeed ! \Exeunt. 
 
 Re-enter Graves for his hat. 
 
 Graves. And I left my hat behind me ! Just like my 
 luck ! If I had been bred a hattex', little boys would 
 have come into the world without heads.* [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Drawing-rooms at Sir John Vesey's, as in Act I., Scene I. 
 
 Lady Franklin, Clara, Servant. 
 
 Lady Frank. Past two, and I have so many places to 
 go to i Tell Philij^ps I want the carriage directly — in- 
 stantly. 
 
 * For this melancholy jest Mr. Graves is indebted to a poor 
 Italian poet.
 
 !^34 MONEY [act II. 
 
 Ser. I beg pardon, my Lady ; Philipps told me to say 
 the young horse had fallen lame, and could not be used 
 to-day. [Exit. 
 
 Lady Frank. Well, on second thoughts, that is lucky ; 
 now I have an excuse for not making a great many tedious 
 visits. I must borrow Sir John's horses for the ball to- 
 night. Ob, Clara, you must see my new turban from 
 Carson's — the prettiest thing in the world, and so be- 
 
 commo; 
 
 Clara. Ah, Lady Franklin, you'll be so sorry — but- — 
 but 
 
 Lady Frank. But what ? 
 
 Clara. Such a misfortune ! poor Smith is in tears — I 
 promised to break it to you. Your little Charley had 
 been writing his copy, and spilt the ink on the table ; 
 and Smith not seeing it — and taking out the turban to 
 put in the pearls as you desired — she — she 
 
 Lady Frank. Ha ! ha ! laid it on the table, and the 
 ink spoilt it. Ha ! ha ! — how well I can fancy the face 
 she made ! Seriously, on the whole it is fortunate ; for 
 I think I look best, after all, in the black hat and feathers. 
 
 Clara. Dear Lady Franklin, you really have the sweetest 
 temper ! 
 
 Lady Frank. I hope so — for it's the most becoming 
 turban a woman can wear ! Think of that when you 
 marry. Oh, talking of marriage, I've certainly made a 
 conquest of Mr. Graves. 
 
 Clara. Mr. Graves ! I thought he was inconsolable. 
 
 Lady Frank. For his sainted Maria ! Poor man ! not 
 contented with plaguing him while she lived, she must 
 needs ha\xnt him now she is dead. 
 
 Clara. But why does he regret her 1 
 
 I
 
 SCFJJE IV.] JIONEY. 335 
 
 Lady Frarik. WI15' % Because he has everything to 
 make him happy — easy fortune, good health, respectable 
 character. And since it is his delight to be miserable, he 
 takes the only excuse the world will allow him. For the 
 rest — it's the way with widowers ; that is, whenever they 
 mean to marry again. But, my dear Clara, you seem ab- 
 sent — pale — unhappy — ^tears, too ? 
 
 Clara. No — no — not tears. No ! 
 
 Lady Frank. Ever since Mr. Mordaunt left you £20,000 
 everyone admiresyou. Sir Frederick is desperately smitten. 
 
 Cla/ra \with disdain\. Sir Frederick ! 
 
 Lady Frank. Ah ! Clara, be comforted — I know your 
 jiecret : I am certain that Evelyn loves you. 
 
 Clara. He did — it is past now. He misconceived me 
 when he was poor ; and now he is rich, it is not for me to 
 explain. 
 
 Lady Frank. My dear child, happiness is too rare to be 
 sacrificed to a scruple. Why does he come here so often? 
 
 Cla/ra. Perhaps for Georgina ! 
 
 Enter Sir John, and turns over the books, &c., on the table, 
 as if to look for the newspaper. 
 
 Lady Frank. Pooh ! Georgina is my niece ; she is 
 handsome and accomplished — but her father's worldliness 
 has spoilt her nature — she is not worthy of Evelyn ! Be- 
 hind the humour of his irony there is something noble — 
 something that may yet be great. For his sake as well 
 as yours, let me at least 
 
 Clara. Eecomraend me to his pity ? Ah, Lady Frank- 
 lin ! if he addressed me from dictation, I should again 
 refuse him. No ; if he cannot read my heart — if he will 
 not seek to read it, let it break unknown.
 
 336 MONEY. [act ii. 
 
 Lady Franh You mistake me, my dear cliild : let me 
 only tell liim that you dictated that letter — that you sent 
 that money to his old nurse. Poor Clara ! it was your 
 little all. He will then know, at least, if avarice be your sin. 
 
 Clara. He would have guessed it had his love have been 
 like 7)iine. 
 
 Lady Frank. Guessed it! — nonsen.se! The hand- 
 writing unknown to him — every reason to think it came 
 from Georgina. 
 
 Sir John \aside\. Hum ! Came from Geoi'gina ! 
 
 Lady Franh. Come, let me tell him this. I know the 
 effect it would have upon his choice. 
 
 Clara. Choice ! oh, that humiliating word I No, Lady 
 Franklin, no ! Promise me ! 
 
 Lady Frank. But 
 
 Clara. No ! Promise — faithfully — .sacredly. 
 
 Lady Frank. Well, I promise. 
 
 Clara. You know how fearful is my character — no 
 infant is more timid : if a poor spider cross the flooi', you 
 often laugh to see me grow pale and tremble ; and yet I 
 would lay this hand upon the block — I would walk bare- 
 foot over the ploughshare of the old ordeal — to .save 
 Alfred Evelyn one moment's pain. But I have refused to 
 share his poverty, and I should die with shame if he 
 thought I had now grown enamoured of his wealth. My 
 kind friend, you will keep your promise ? 
 
 Lady Frank. Yes, since it must be so. 
 
 Clara. Thanks. I — I — forgive me — I am not well. 
 
 [Eocit. 
 
 Lady Frank. What fools these girls are ! — they take 
 as much pains to lose a husband as a poor widow does to 
 get one I
 
 8CENE v.] MONEY. 337 
 
 Sir John. Have you seen " The Tinici^" newspaper? 
 Where the deuce is the newspaper l I can't find " The 
 Times " newspaper. 
 
 Ladi/ Frank. I think it is in my room. Shall I fetch it ? 
 
 6'ir John. My dear sister — you're the best creature. 
 Do ! \Exit Lady Fkaxklin. 
 
 Ugh ! you unnatural conspirator against your own 
 family ! What can this letter be ? Ah ! I recollect 
 something. 
 
 Enter Georgina. 
 
 Geor. Papa, I want 
 
 Sir John. Yes, I know what you want well enough ! 
 Tell me — wei'e you aware that Clara had sent money 
 to that old nurse Evelyn bored us about the day of the 
 wiin 
 
 Geor. No ! He gave me the address, and I promised, 
 if 
 
 Sir John. Gave you the address ? — that's lucky ! Hush ! 
 
 Enier Servant. 
 Mr. Graves — Mr. Evelyn. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Graves, Evelyn, Sir John, Georgina, Lady Franklin. 
 
 Lady Frank. \ireturning\. Here is the newspaper. 
 Gi'aves. Ay — read the newspapers ! — they'll tell you 
 what this world is made of. Daily calendars of roguery 
 
 z
 
 338 MONEY. [act 11> 
 
 and woe ! Here, advertisements from quaclis, money- 
 lenders, clieap warehouses, and sjjotted boys with two 
 heads. So much for dupes and impostors ! Turn to the 
 other column — police reports, bankruptcies, swindling, 
 forgery, and a biographical sketch of the snub-nosed man 
 who murdered his own three little cherubs at Pentonville. 
 Do you fancy these but exceptions to the general virtue 
 and health of the nation 1 — Turn to the leading articles ; 
 and your hair will stand on end at the horrible wickedness 
 or melancholy idiotism of that half the population who 
 think differently from yourself. In my day I have seen 
 already eighteen crises, six annihilations of Agriculture 
 and Commerce, four overthrows of the Church, and three 
 last, final, awful, and iiTemediable destructions of the 
 entire Constitution. And that's a newspaper ! 
 
 Ladi/ Frank. Ha ! ha ! your usual vein ! always so 
 amusing and good-humoured ! 
 
 Graves \_frovming and very angry]. Ma'am — good- 
 humoured ! 
 
 Lady Frank. Ah ! yoii should always wear that agree- 
 able smile ; you look so much younger — so much hand- 
 somer — when you smile ! 
 
 Graves \softened\ Ma'am A charming creature, 
 
 upon my word ! 
 
 Lady Frank. You have not seen the last HB. ? It is 
 excellent. I think it might make you laugh. But, by 
 the bye, I don't think you can laugh. 
 
 Ch-aves. Ma'am — I have not laughed since the death of 
 my sainted Ma 
 
 Lady Frank. Ah ! and that S23iteful Sir Frederick says 
 you never laugh, because But you'll be angry ^ 
 
 Graves. Angry I— pooh ! I despise Sir Frederick too
 
 SCENE v.] MONEY. 339 
 
 much to let anything he says have the smallest influence 
 over me ! He says I don't laugh, because 
 
 Lady Frank. You have lost your front teeth ! 
 
 Graves. Lost my front teeth ! Upon my word ! Ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! That's too good — capital ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 [laiu/hing from ear to ear^ 
 
 Lady Frank. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 \They retire to the table in the hiuer drawing-i'ooni. 
 
 Eve \aside\. Of course Clara will not appear ! — avoids 
 me as usual ! But what do I care ? — Avhat is she to me 1 
 Nothing ! I'll swear this is her glove ! — no one else has 
 so small a hand. She'll miss it — so — so — ! Nobody's 
 looking — I'll keep it, j ust to vex her. 
 
 Sir John \to Georgina]. Yes — yes — leave me to 
 manage : you took his poi'trait, as I told you ? 
 
 Geor. Yes — but I could not catch the expression. I 
 got Clara to touch it up. 
 
 Sir John. That girl's always in the way ! 
 
 Enter Captain Dudley Smooth, 
 
 Smooth. Good morning, dear John. Ah, Miss Vesey, . 
 you have no idea of the conquests you made at Almack's 
 last night ! 
 
 Eve. [examinvng him curiously lohile Smooth is talking' 
 to Georgina.] And that's the celebrated Dudley Smooth ! 
 
 Sir John. More commonly called Deadly Smooth ! — 
 the finest player at whist,, ecarte, billiards, chess, and 
 picquet, between this and the Pyramids — the sweetest 
 manners ! — always calls you by your Christian name. But 
 take care how you play at cards with him ! 
 
 Eve. He does not cheat, I suppose ? 
 
 Sir John. Hist ! A^o .' — but he always tvins I Eats 
 z 2
 
 340 MONEY. [act n. 
 
 up a brace of lords and a score or two of guardsmen 
 every sca-jon, and runs through a man's fortune like a 
 course of the Ca'isbad waters. He's an micommonly 
 clever fellow ! 
 
 Eve. Clever 1 yes ! When a man steals a loaf we cry 
 down the knavery — when a man divei'ts his neighbour'^; 
 mill-stream to grind his own corn, we cry up the clever- 
 ness ! — And every one coux'ts Captain Dudley Smooth ! 
 
 Sir John. Why, who could offend him ? — the best-bred, 
 civillest creatui'e — and a dead shot ! There is not a 
 cleverer man in the three kingdoms. 
 
 Uve. A study — a study ! — let me examine him ! Such 
 men are living satires on the world. 
 
 Smooth \_2y(i'Ssin(/ his arm caressingly/ over Sir JoHN'y 
 shoulder]. My dear John, how well you are looking ! A 
 ;new lease of life ! Intx'oduce me to Mi'. Evelyn. 
 
 JiJve. Sir, it's an honour I've long ardently desired. 
 
 [The^ bow mid shake liands. 
 
 Enter Sir Frederick Blount. 
 
 Blount. How d'ye do, Sir John ? Ah, Evelyn — I wished 
 so much to see you. 
 
 Eve. 'Tis my misfortune to be visible ! 
 
 Blount. A little this way. You know, perhaps, that 
 I once paid my addwesses to Miss Vesey ; but since that 
 vewy eccentwic will Sir John has shuffled me off, and hints 
 at a pwior attachment — [asic^e] which I know to be false. 
 
 Eve. [seeing Clara]. A prior attachment ! — (Ha ! 
 Clara !) Well, another time, my dear Blount. 
 
 Enter Clara. 
 
 Blount. Stay a moment — I want you to do me a favour 
 ■with regard to Miss Douclas.
 
 SCENE v.] MO^KV. 341 
 
 Eve. Miss Douglas ! 
 
 Blount. Yes ; — you see, though Georgina has gweat 
 expectations, and Stingy Jack will leave her all that he 
 has, yet she has only her legacy of £10,000 at the moment 
 — no uoubt closely settled on herself too : Clawa has 
 £20,000. And, I think, Clawa always liked me a little. 
 
 Eve. You ! I dare say she did ! 
 
 Blount. It is whispered about that you mean to pwopose 
 to Georgina. Nay, Sir John more than hinted that was 
 her pwior attachment ! 
 
 Eve. Indeed ! 
 
 Blount. Now, as you are all in all with the family, if 
 you could say a word for me to Miss Douglas, I don't see 
 what harm it could do me ! — [4sic/e.] I will punish 
 Georgina for her pwerfidy. 
 
 Eve. 'Sdeath. man ! speak for yourself ! you are just 
 the sort of man for young ladies to like — they understand 
 you — you're of their own level. Pshaw ! you're too 
 modest — you want no mediator ! 
 
 Blount. My dear fellow, you flatter me. I'm well 
 enough in my way. But you, you know, Avould cawwy 
 evewything before you ! — you're so confoundedly wich ! 
 
 Eve. \turning to Clara]. Miss Douglas, what do j^ou 
 think of Sir Frederick Blount '^ Observe him. He is 
 well dressed — young — tolerably handsome — (Blount 
 hawing) bows with an air — has plenty of small-talk — 
 every thing to captivate. Yet he thinks that, if he 
 and I were suitors to the same lady, I should be more 
 successful because I am richer. — What say you ! Is 
 love an auction 1 — and do women's hearts go to tlie 
 highest bidder 1 
 
 Cla/ra. Their hearts ? — No.
 
 342 MONEY. [act II 
 
 Eve. But their hands — yes ! You turn away. Ah, 
 you dai'e not answer that question ! 
 
 Geor. \ciside\. Sir Fredei'ick flirting with Clara 1 I'll 
 punish him for his perfidy. You are the last person to 
 talk so, Mr. Evelyn ! — you, whose wealth is your smallest 
 attraction—- T2:f, whom everyone admires — so witty, such 
 'taste, such talaai ! Ah, I'm very foolish ! 
 
 Sir John [clapping him on the sho^dder\. You must not 
 turn my little girl's head. Oh, you're a sad fellow ! 
 Apropos, I must show you Georgina's last drawings. 
 She has wonderfully improved since you gave her lessons 
 in perspective. 
 
 Geor. No, papa ! — No, pray, no ! Nay, don't ! 
 
 Sir John. Nonsense, child ! — it's very odd, but she's 
 more afraid of you than of any one ! 
 
 Smooth \to Blount taking snuff^ He's an excellent 
 father, our dear John ! and supplies the place of a mother 
 to her. \Turns away to Lady Fkanklin and Graves. 
 
 [Evelyn and Geoegina seat themselves, and look over the 
 dra^vings ; Sir John leans over them ; Sir Frederick 
 converses with Clara ; Evelyn ivatching them. 
 
 Eve. Beautiful ! — a view from Tivoli. (Death ! — she 
 looks down while he speaks to her !) Is there a little 
 fault in that colouring % (She positively blushes !) But 
 
 this Jupiter is superb. (What a d d coxcomb it is !) 
 
 [Rising^ Oh, she certainly loves him — I too can be 
 loved elsewhere — I too can see smiles and blushes on the 
 face of another. 
 
 Geor, Are you not well ? 
 
 Eve. I beg pardon. Yes, you are indeed irapi'Oved ! 
 
 Ah, who so accomplished as Miss Vesey % 
 
 \Ta1ces up the drawings ; 'p<''y^ ^'■^f marked attention in 
 dumb show.
 
 SCENE V.j MONEY. 343 
 
 Clara. Yes, Sir Frederick, the concert was very crowded. 
 Ah, I see that Georgina consoles him for the past ! He 
 has only praises for her, nothing but taunts for me ! 
 
 Blount. I wish you would take my opewa-box next 
 Saturday — 'tis the best in the house. I'm not wich, but 
 I spend what I have on myself ! I make a point to have 
 evewy thing the best in a quiet way. Best opewa-box — 
 best dogs — best horses — best house of its kind. I want 
 nothing to complete my establishment but the best wife ! 
 
 Clara \abstractedly\. That will come in good time. Sir 
 Frederick. 
 
 Eve. Oh, it will come — will it ? Georgina refused the 
 trifler — she courts him \taMng up a portrait]. Why, what 
 is this 1 — my own 
 
 Gear. You must not look at that — you must not, in- 
 deed. I did not know it was there. 
 
 /Sir John. Your own portrait, Evelyn ! Why, child, I 
 was not aware you took likenesses ; — that's something- 
 new. Upon my word it's a strong resemblance. 
 
 Geor. Oh, no — it does not do him justice. Give it to 
 me. I will tear it. [^sic?e.] That odious Sir Frederick ! 
 
 Uve. Nay, you shall not. 
 
 Clara. So — so — he loves her, then ! Misery — misery ! 
 But he shall not perceive it ! No — no — I can be proud 
 too. Ha! ha! — Sir Frederick — excellent — excellent — 
 you are so entertaining — ha ! ha ! [laughs hysterically]. 
 
 Eve. Oh, the affectation of coquets — they cannot even 
 laugh naturally ! 
 
 [Cl^vba looks at him reproachfully, and walks aside with 
 SiE Feedeeick. 
 
 But where is the new guitar you meant to buy, Miss 
 Vesey — the one inlaid with tortoiseshell 1 It is nearly a
 
 344 MONEY. [act Hi, 
 
 year since you set your heart on it, and I don't see it yet ! 
 
 jSir John [taking him aside co7ijide.ntially\. The guitai- 
 — oh, to tell you a secret — she applied the money I gavo 
 her for it to a case of charity several months ago — the 
 very day the will was read. I saw the letter lying on the 
 table, with the money in it. Mind, not a word to her — 
 she'd never forgive me ! 
 
 Eve. Letter ! — monej'- ! What was the name of the 
 person she relieved ? — not Stanton ? 
 
 Sir John. I don't remember, indeed. 
 
 Eve. \taMng otU the letterj. This is not her hand ! 
 
 Sir John. No ! I observed at the time it was not her 
 hand, but I got out from her that she did not wish the 
 thing to be Jcnoion, and had employed some one else to 
 copy it. May I see the letter 1 Yes, I think this is the 
 wording. But I did not mean to tell you what case of 
 chai'ity it was. I promised Georgy I would not. Still, 
 how did she know Mrs. Stanton's address ?— -you never 
 gave it to me ! 
 
 Eve. I gave it to her. Sir John. 
 
 Clara \at the distance]. Yes, I'll go to the opera, if 
 Lady Franklin will. Do go, dear Lady Franklin ! — on 
 Saturday, then, Sir Frederick. [Exit Blount. 
 
 Eve. Sir John, to a man like me, this simple act of un- 
 ostentatious generosity is worth all the accomplishments in 
 the world. A good heart — a tender disposition^ — a cha- 
 rity that shuns the day — a modesty that blushes at its 
 own excellence — an impulse towards something more 
 divine than Mammon ; — such are the true accomplish- 
 ments which preserve beauty for ever young. Such I 
 have sought in the partner I would take for life ; — such 
 have I found — alas ! not where I had dreamed ! — Miss
 
 SCENE I.] MOXEY. 345 
 
 Vesey, I will be honest — I say then, frankly — [as Clara 
 approaches, raising his voice and looking fixedly at Aer] — 
 I have loved another — deeply — truly — bitterly — vainly ! 
 I cannot offer to you, as I did to her, the fair first love of 
 the human heart — rich with all its blossoms and its ver- 
 dure. But if esteem — if gratitude — if an earnest resolve 
 to conquer eveiy recollection that would wander from 
 your image; — if these can tempt you to accept my hand and 
 foi'tune, my life shall be a study to deserve your confidence. 
 
 [Clara stands motionless, clasping her hands, and, then 
 slowly seats herself. 
 
 Sir John. The happiest day of my life ! 
 
 [Clara falls hacTc in her chair. 
 
 Eve. [darting forward]. [A.<iide.] She is pale ; she 
 faints ! What have I done ? Oh heaven ! — Clara ! 
 
 Clara [rising loith a smile\. Be happy, my cousin — be 
 happy ! Yes, with vi\y whole heart I say it — be happy, 
 Alfred Evelyn ' 
 
 ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 The drawing-rooms in Sir John Veset's house. 
 Sir John, Georgina. 
 
 Sir John. And he has not pressed you to fix tlie wetl- 
 ding-day 1 
 
 Geor. No ; and since he proposed he comes here so 
 seldom, and seems so gloomy. Heigho ! Poor Sir 
 Frederick was twenty times more amusing.
 
 346 MONEY. [act III. 
 
 kiir John. But Evelyn is fifty times as rich ! 
 
 Ge<yi\ Sir Frederick dresses so well ! 
 
 Sir John. You'll have magnificent diamonds ; but a 
 word with you : I saw you yesterday in the square witli 
 Sir Frederick ; that must not happen again. When a 
 young lady is engaged to one man, nothing is so inde- 
 corous as to flirt with another. It might endanger your 
 marriage itself. Oh, it's highly indecoi-ous ! 
 
 Geor. Don't be afraid, papa, — he takes up with Clai'a. 
 
 Sir John. Who, Evelyn ? 
 
 Geor. Sir Frederick. Heigho ! — I hate artful girls. 
 
 Sir John. The settlements will be splendid ! if any- 
 thing happens, nothing can be handsomer than your 
 jointure. 
 
 Geor. INIy own kind papa, you always put things so 
 pleasantly. But do you not fear lest he discover that 
 Clara wrote the letter 1 
 
 Sir John. ISTo ; and I shall get Clara out of the houe^ 
 But there is something else that makes me very uneasy. 
 You know that no sooner did Evelyn come into possession 
 of his fortune than he launched out in the style of a prince 
 His house in London is a palace, and he has bought a great 
 estate in the country. Look how he lives ! — Balls — ban- 
 quets — fine arts — fiddlers — charities— and the devil to pay ! 
 
 Geor. But if he can afibrd it 
 
 Sir John. Oh ! so long as he stopped there I had no 
 apprehension ; but since he proposed for you he is more 
 exti-avagant than ever. They say he has taken to gam- 
 bling : and he is always with Captain Smooth. No for- 
 tune can stand Deadly Smooth ! If he gets into a scrape 
 he may fall off from the settlements. We must px'ess the 
 marriage at onc«.
 
 SCENE II. J MONEY. 347 
 
 Geor. Heigho ! Poor Frederick ! You don't think he 
 is really attached to Clara ! 
 
 Sir John. Upon my word I can't say. Put on your 
 bonnet, and come to Storr and Mortimer's to choose the 
 jewels. 
 
 Gecn\ The jewels ; — yes — the drive will do me good. 
 So you'll send away Clara % — she's so very deceitful. 
 
 Sir John. Never fear — yes — tell her to come to me. 
 
 [Exit Geokgina. 
 
 Yes ! I must press on this marriage ; Geoi-gina has not 
 wit enough to manage him — at least till he's her husband, 
 and then all women tind it smooth sailing. This match 
 will make me a man of prodigious importance ! I suspect 
 he'll give me up her ten thousand pounds. I can't think 
 of his taking to gambling, for I love him as a son — and I 
 look on his money as my own. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Clara and Sir John. 
 
 Sir John. Clara, my love ! 
 
 Clara. Sir 
 
 Sir John. My dear, what I am going to say may appear 
 a little I'ude and unkind, but you know my character is 
 frankness. — To the point then ; my poor child, I am 
 aware of your attachment to Mr. Evelyn 
 
 Clara. Sir ! my attachment ? 
 
 Sir John. It is generally remarked. Lady Kind says 
 you are falling away. My poor girl, I pity you — I do,
 
 348 MONEY. [act III. 
 
 indeed ! Now, thei'e's that letter you wrote to liis 
 old nurse — it has got about somehow — and the woi-ld h 
 so ill-natured. I don't know if I did right ; but after he 
 had proposed to Georgy — (of course not befoi'e !) — I 
 thought it so unpleasant for you, as a young lady, to be 
 suspected of anything forward with resjiect to a man who 
 was not attached to you, that I rather let it be supposed 
 that Geoi'gy herself wrote the letter. 
 
 Clara. Sir, I don't know Avhat right you had to 
 
 Sir John. That's very true, my dear : and I've been 
 thinking since that I ought perhaps to tell Mr, Evelyn 
 that the letter was yours — shall I ? 
 
 Clara. No, sir ; I beg you will not. I — I — [weep.s]. 
 
 Sir John. My dear Clara, don't cry ; I would not have 
 said this for the world, if I was not a little anxious about 
 my own girl. Georgina is so unhappy at what every one 
 says of your attachment 
 
 Clara. Every one 1 — Oh, torture ! 
 
 Sir John. That it preys on her spirits — it even irritates 
 her temper ! You see, though the marriage will take 
 place almost immediately, Mr. Evelyn does not come so 
 often as he ought. In a word, I fear these little jealousies 
 and suspicions will tend to embitter their future union. 
 — I'm a father — forgive me. 
 
 Clara. Embitter their union ! Oh, never ! What 
 would you have me do, sir ? 
 
 Sir John. Why, you're now independent. Lady Frank- 
 lin seems resolved to stay in town. Surely she can't 
 mean to take her money out of the family by some foolisli 
 inclination for Mr. Graves? He is always purring and 
 whining about the house, like a black cat in the megrims, 
 What think you, eh ?
 
 SCENE II.] MONEY. 349 
 
 Clara. Sir, it was of myself — my unhappy self, you 
 were speaking. 
 
 Sir John. Sly! True; true! What I meant to say 
 
 was this : — Lady Franklin persists in staying here : you 
 are your own mistress. Mrs. Carlton, aunt to my late 
 wife, is going abroad for a short time, and would be de- 
 lighted if you would accompany her. 
 
 Clara. It is the very favour I would have asked of you. 
 [^siWe.] I shall escape at least the struggle and the 
 shame. When does she go ? 
 
 Sir John. In five days — next Monday. — You forgive 
 ine? 
 
 Claixi. Sir, I thank you. 
 
 Sir John [drawing the table]. Suppose, then, you write 
 a line to her yourself, and settle it at once ? 
 
 Unter Servakt. . 
 
 Servant. The carriage, Sir John ; Miss Vesey is quite 
 ready. 
 
 Sir John. Wait a moment. Shall I tell Evelyn you 
 wrote the letter 1 
 
 Clara. No, sir, I implore you. 
 
 Sir John. But it would be awkward for Georgy, if 
 discovered. 
 
 Clara. It never shall be. 
 
 Sir John. Well, well, as you please. I know nothing 
 could be so painful to a young lady of pride and delicacy. 
 
 James, if Mr. Serious, the clergyman, calls, say I'm 
 
 gone to the great meeting at Exeter Hall : if Lord Spruce 
 calls, say you believe I'm gone to the rehearsal of Cinder- 
 ella. Oh ! and if Mac Finch shcflli come — (Mac Finch, 
 who duns me three times a week}- -<5ay I've hurried off
 
 350 MONEY. [act III. 
 
 to Gavraway's to bid for the great Bulstrode estate. Just 
 put the Duke of Lofty's card carelessly on the hall table. 
 And I say, James, I expect two geutlemen a little before 
 dinner — Mr. Squab the Radical, and Mr, Qualm of the 
 great Marylebone Conservative Association. Show Squab 
 into the study, and be sure to give him the '• Weekly 
 True Sun," — Qualm into the back parlour, with the 
 " Times " and the " Morning Post." One must have 
 a little management in this world. All humbug ! — all 
 humbug, upon my soul ! [^Exit. 
 
 Clara [folding ihe letter]. There — it is decided ! A 
 few days, and we are parted for ever ! — a few weeks, and 
 another will bear his name — his wife ! Oh, happy fate ! 
 She will have the right to say to him — though the 
 whole world should hear her — " I am thine ! " And I 
 embitter their lot — I am the cloud upon their joyous 
 sunshine ! And yet, O Alfred ! if she loves th«e — if she 
 knows thee — if she values thee — and, when thou wrong'st 
 her, if she can forgive, as I do — I can bless her when fax^ 
 away, and join her name in my prayer for thee ! 
 
 Eve. \without'\. Miss Vesey just gone? Well, I will 
 write a line. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Evelyn a/ad Clara. 
 
 Eve. \_aside\. So — Clara ! Do not let me disturb you, 
 Miss Douglas. 
 
 Clara [going] ISTay, I have done.
 
 SCENE III.] MOaSEY. 35 1 
 
 Eve. I see that my prewence is always odious to you, 
 it is a reason why I come so seldom. But be cheered, 
 madam : I am here but to fix the day of my marriage, 
 
 and I shall then go into the country — till — till In 
 
 short, this is the last time my visit will banish you from 
 the room I enter. 
 
 Clara \ciside\. The last time ! — and we shall then meet 
 no more ! — And to jiart thus for ever — in scorn — in 
 anger — I cannot bear it ! \Approaching Am.] Alfred, 
 my cousin, it is true, this may be the last time w6 shall 
 meet — I have made my arrangements to quit England. 
 
 Eve. To quit England 1 
 
 Clara. But before I go let me thank you for many a 
 past kindness, which it is not for an orphan easily to forget. 
 
 Eve. [mechanically]. To quit England ! 
 
 Clara. I have long wished it : but enough of me. 
 
 Evelyn, now that 3''0u are betrothed to another — now, 
 without recurring to the past — now, without the fear of 
 mutual error and mistake — something of our old friend- 
 ship may at least return to us. And if, too, I dared, 
 
 I have that on my mind which only a friend — a sister — 
 might presume to say to you. 
 
 Eve. [moved]. Miss Douglas — Clara — if there is ought 
 that I could do — if, while hundreds — strangers — beggars 
 tell me that I have the power, by opening or shutting 
 this worthless hand, to bid sorrow rejoice, or poverty 
 despaii- — if — if my life — my heart's blood — could rendeif 
 to 2/ou one such service as my gold can give to others — 
 why, speak ! — and the past you allude to — yes, even 
 that bitter past — I will cancel and forget. 
 
 Clara [holding out her hand]. We are friends, then ! 
 you are again my cousin ! my brother.
 
 352 MONEY. [act (II. 
 
 Eve. \dropping her ]iand~\. Brother ! Ah ! say on ! 
 
 Clara. I speak, then, as a sister — herself weak. 
 inexperienced, ignorant, nothing — might speak to a, 
 brother, in whose career she felt the ambition of a man. 
 Oh, Evelyn, when you inherited this vast wealth I pleased 
 myself with imagining how 3'ou would wield the power 
 delegated to your hands. I knew your benevolence — 
 your intellect — your genius ! — the ai'dent mind couched 
 beneath the cold sarcasm of a long-baffled spirit ! I .saw 
 before me the noble and bright career open to you at 
 last — and I often thought that, in after-year.s, when far 
 away — as I soon shall be — I should hear your name 
 identified, not with what fortune can give the base, but 
 with deeds and ends to which, for the great, fortune is 
 but the instrument ; — I often thought that I should say 
 to my own heart — weeping proud and delicious tears — 
 " And once this man loved me ! " 
 
 Eve. No more, Clara ! — oh. Heavens ! — no more ! 
 
 Clara. But has it been so ? — have you been true to 
 
 your own self 1 Pomp — parade — luxuries — pleasures 
 
 — follies ! — all these might distinguish others — they do 
 
 but belie the ambition and the soul of Alfred Evelyn ! 
 
 Oh ! pai'don me — I am too bold — I pain — I offend you. 
 
 Ah, I should not have dared thus much had I not 
 
 thought at times, that — that 
 
 Eve. That these follies — these vanities — this dalliance 
 with a loftier fate were your own work ! You thought 
 that, and you were right ! Perhaps, indeed, after a youth 
 ftteeped to the lips in the hyssop and gall of penury — 
 perhaps I might have wished royally to know the full 
 value of that dazzling and starry life which, from the last 
 Btep in the ladder, I had seen indignantly and from afar. 
 
 i
 
 SCENE III.] MONEY. 353 
 
 But a mouth — a week would have sufficed for that 
 experience. Experience ! — Oh, how soon we learn that 
 hearts are as cold and souls as vile — no matter whether 
 the sun shine on the noble in his palace, or the rain 
 drench the rags of the beggar cowering at the porch. 
 The extremes of life differ but in this : — Above, Vice 
 smiles and revels — below. Crime frowns and starves. But 
 you — did not you reject me because I was poor 1 Despise 
 me if you please ! — my revenge might be unworthy — I 
 wished to show you the luxuries, the gaud, the splendour 
 I thought you prized, — to surround with the attributes 
 your sex seems most to value the station that, had you 
 loved me, it would have been yours to command. But 
 vain — vain alike my poverty and my wealth ! You loved 
 me not in either, and my fate is sealed ? 
 
 Clara. A happy fate, Evelyn ! — you love ! 
 
 Uve. And at last I am beloved. [After a pause, and 
 turrdng to her ahruptly.'\ Do you doubt it 1 
 
 Clara. No, I believe it firmly ! — [^s^(^e.] Were it 
 possible for her not to love him ? 
 
 JEve. Georgina, perhaps, is vain — and light — and 
 
 Clara. No — think it not ! Once removed from the 
 worldly atmosphere of her father's counsels, and you will 
 form and raise her to your own level. She is so young 
 yet — she has beauty, cheerfulness, and temper ; — the rest 
 you will give, if you will but yet do justice to your own 
 nature. And, now that there is nothing unkind between 
 us — not even regret — and surely \with a simle\ not revenge, 
 my cousin, you will rise to your nobler self — and so, farewell! 
 
 Eve. No ; stay, one moment ; — you still feel interest 
 in my fate ! Have I been deceived ? Oh, why — why 
 did you spurn the heart whose ofierings were lavished at 
 2 A
 
 354 MONEY. [act III. 
 
 your feet 1 Could you still — still ? Distraction — I 
 
 know not what I say : — my honour pledged to anothei- — 
 my vows accepted and returned ! Go, Clara, it is best 
 so ! Yet you will miss some one, perhaps, more than me 
 — some one to whose follies you have been more indul- 
 gent — some one to whom you would permit a yet tenderer 
 name than that of brother ! 
 
 Clara \aside\. It will make him, perhaps, happier to 
 think it ! Think so, if you will ! — but part friends. 
 
 Eve. Friends — and that is all ! Look you, this is life ! 
 The eyes that charmed away eveiy sorrow — the hand 
 whose lightest touch thrilled to the very core — the 
 presence that, like moonlight, shed its own hallowing 
 beauty over the meanest things ; a little while — a year 
 — a month — a day, and we smile that we could dream so 
 idly. All — all — the sweet enchantment, known but once, 
 never to return again, vanished from the world ! And 
 the one who forgets the soonest — the one who robs your 
 earth for ever of its summer — comes to you with a care- 
 less lip, and says — " Let us part friends ! " Go, Clara, 
 
 — go, — and be happy if you can ! 
 
 Clara \weeping\. Cruel — cruel — to the last ! 
 
 Heaven forgive you, Alfred ! \E3cit. 
 
 Eve. Soft ! let me recall her words, her tones, her 
 looks. — Does she love me ? She defends her rival — she 
 did not deny it when I charged her with attachment to 
 another ; and yet — and yet — there is a voice at my heart 
 which tells me I have been the rash slave of a jealous anger. 
 But I have made my choice — I must abide the issue ! 
 
 Enter Graves, 2'>^Gceded hy Servant. 
 
 Ser. Lady Franklin is dressing, sir.
 
 SCENE IV.] MONET. 355 
 
 SCENE TV. 
 Graves and Evelyn. 
 
 Graves. Well, I'll wait. [Exit Servant.] She was 
 worthy to have known the lost Maria ! So considerate 
 to ask me hither — not to console me, that is impossible-=~ 
 but to indulge the luxury of woe. It will be a mournful 
 
 scene. [Seehig Evelyn.] — Is that you, Evelyn? — I 
 
 have just heard that the borough of Gx'oginhole is vacant 
 at last. Why not stand yourself ? — with your property 
 you might come in without even a personal canvass. 
 
 Uve. I, who despise these contests for the colour of a 
 straw — this everlasting litigation of Authority versus 
 Man — I to be one of the wranglers 1 — never ! 
 
 Graves. You are quite right, and I beg your pardon. 
 
 ^ve. [Aside]. And yet Clara spoke of ambition. She 
 
 would regret me if I could be distinguished. [Aloud.] 
 
 To be sure, after all, Graves, corrupt as mankind are, it 
 is our duty to try at least to make them a little better. 
 An Englishman owes something to his country. 
 
 Graves. He does, indeed ! [counting on his fingers^ 
 East winds. Fogs, Rheumatism, Pulmonary Complaints, 
 and Taxes — [Evelyn walks about in disorder]. You seem 
 agitated — a quarrel with your intended ? Oh ! when 
 you've been married a month, you'll not know what to do 
 without one ! 
 
 Eve. You are a pleasant comforter. 
 
 Graves. Do you deserve a comforter ? One morning 
 2 A 2
 
 356 MONEY. [act iir. 
 
 you tell me you love Clara, or at least detest her, 
 which is the same thing (poor Maria often said she detested 
 me) — and that very afternoon you propose to Georgina ! 
 
 Eve. Clara will easily console herself — thanks to Sir 
 Frederick ! 
 
 Graves. He is young ! 
 
 Eve. Good looking ! 
 
 Graves. A coxcomb ! 
 
 Eve. And therefore irresistible ! 
 
 Graves. Nevertheless, Clara has had the bad taste to re- 
 fuse him. I have it from Lady Franklin, to whom he 
 confided his despair in re-arranging his neck-cloth ! 
 
 Eve. My dear friend — is it possible ? 
 
 Graves. But what then '? You must marry Georgina, 
 who, to believe Lady Franklin, is sincerely attached to — 
 your fortune. Go and hang yourself, Evelyn ; you have 
 been duped by them. 
 
 Eve. By them — bah ! If deceived, I have been my 
 own dupe. Is it not a strange thing that in matters of 
 reason — of the arithmetic and logic of life — we are sen- 
 sible, shrewd, px'udent men ; but touch our hearts — move 
 our passions — take us for an instant from the hard safety 
 of worldly calculation — and the philosopher is duller than 
 the fool ? Duped — if I thought it ! — 
 
 Graves. To be sure ! — you tried Clara in jonv j^overti/ ; 
 it was a safe experiment to try Georgina in your wealth. 
 
 Eve. Ha ! that is true — very true. Go on. 
 
 Graves. You'll have an excellent father-in-law. Sir 
 John positively weeps when he talks of your income ! 
 
 Eve. Sir John, possibly — but Georgina ? 
 
 Graves. Plays affection to you in the afternoon, after 
 jiiactising first with Sir Frederick in the morning.
 
 SCENE IV.] MONEY. 357 
 
 Eve. On your afe, sir, be serious : what do you mean ? 
 
 Graves. That in passing this way I see her very often 
 walking in the square with Sir Frederick. 
 
 Eve. Ka ! say you so ? 
 
 Graves. What then 1 Man is born to be deceivocl. 
 You look nervous — ^your hand trembles ; that comes oi 
 gaming. They say at the clubs that you play deeply. 
 
 Eve. Ha ! ha ! Do they say that 1 — a few hundreds 
 lost or won — a cheap opiate — anything that can lay tlie 
 memory to sleep. The poor man drinks, and the rich 
 man gambles — the same motive to both ! But you nre 
 right — it is a base resource — I will play no more. 
 
 Graves. I am delighted to hear it, for your friend Cap- 
 tain Smooth has ruined half the young heirs in London. 
 To play with him is to advertise yourself a bankrupt. 
 Even Sir John is alarmed. I met him just now in Pall 
 Mall ; he made me stop, and implored me to speak to 
 you. By the by, I forgot — do you bank with Flash, 
 Brisk, Credit, and Co. 1 
 
 Eve. So, Sir John is alarmed ? — [^sic^e.] Gulled by this 
 cogging charlatan 1 — Aha ! I may beat him yet at his own 
 
 weapons ! Humph ! Bank with Flash ! Why do you 
 
 ask me 1 
 
 Graves. Because Sir John has just heard that they are 
 in a very bad way, and begs you to withdraw anything 
 you have in their hands. 
 
 Eve. I'll see to it. So Sir John is alarmed at my 
 gambling 1 
 
 Graves. Terribly ! He even told me he should go him- 
 self to the club this evening, to watch you. 
 
 Eve. To watch me ! — ^good — I will be there. 
 
 Graves. But you will promise not to play 1
 
 358 MONEY. [act III. 
 
 Eve. Yes — to play. I feel it is impossible to give it up ! 
 
 Graves. No — no ! 'Sdeath, man ! be as wretclied as 
 you please ; break your beai't, that's nothing ! but damme, 
 take care of your pockets. 
 
 Eve. I will be there — I will play with Captain Smooth 
 — I will lose as much as I please — thousands — millions 
 — billions ; and if he presume to spy on my losses, hang 
 me if I don't lose Sir John himself into the bargain ! 
 [Going out and returning.'] I am so absent ! What was 
 the bank you mentioned 1 Flash, Brisk, and Credit ? 
 Bless me, how unlucky ! and it's too late to draw out to- 
 day. Tell Sir Joliu I'm very much obliged to him, and 
 he'll find me at the club any time before day-break, hard 
 at work with my friend Smooth ! [Exit. 
 
 Graves. He's certainly crazy ! but I don't wonder at it. 
 What the approach of the dog-days is to the canine species, 
 the approach of the honeymoon is to the human race. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Ser. Lady Franklin's compliments — she will see you in 
 the boudoir, sir. 
 
 Graves. In the boudoir ! — go, go — I'll come directly. 
 
 \Eodt Servant. 
 
 My heart beats — it must be for grief. Poor Maria ! 
 [Searching his pockets for his handkerchief. '\ Not a white 
 one ! — just like my luck : I call on a lady to talk of the 
 dear departed, and I've nothing about me but a cursed 
 gaudy, flaunting, red, yellow, and blue abomination from 
 India, which it's even indecent for a disconsolate widower 
 to exhibit. Ah ! Fortune never ceases to torment the 
 susceptible. The boudoir I — ha ! ha ! the boudoir J [Exit.
 
 SCENE v.] MONEY. 359 
 
 SCENE V. 
 A Boudoir in the same hoiise. 
 
 Lady Fraiik. I take so mucii compassion on this poor 
 man, who is determined to make himself wretched, that I 
 am equally determined to make him happy ! Well, if my 
 scheme does but succeed, he shall laugh, he shall sing, he 
 shall Mum ! — here he comes ! 
 
 Enter Graves. 
 
 Graves \sighing'\. Ah, Lady Franklin ! 
 
 Lady Frank. \_sighing\. Ah, Mr. Graves ! [They seat 
 themselves^ Pray excuse me for having kept you so long. 
 Is it not a charming day ? 
 
 Graves. An east wind, ma'am ! but nothing comes amiss 
 to you ! — 'tis a happy disposition ! Poor Maria ! she, too, 
 was naturally gay. 
 
 Lady Frank. Yes, she was gay. So much life, and a 
 great deal of spirit. 
 
 Graves. Spirit ? Yes ! — nothing could master it. She 
 woidd have her own way ! Ah ! there was nobody like her ! 
 
 Lady Frank. And then, when her spirit was up, she 
 looked so handsome ! Her eyes grew so brilliant ! 
 
 Graves. Did not they ? — Ah ! ah ! ha ! ha ! ha ! And 
 do you remember her pretty trick of stamping her foot ? 
 — the tiniest little foot — I think I see her now. Ah ! 
 this conversation is very soothing ! 
 
 Lady Frank. How well she acted in your private 
 theatricals !
 
 360 MONEY, [act III. 
 
 Graves. You remember her Mrs. Oaklej", in " The 
 Jealous Wife % " Ha ! ha ! how good it was ! — 
 ha ! ha ! 
 
 Lady Franh. Ha ! ha ! Yes, in the very first scene, 
 when she came out with [mimicking] " Your unkindness 
 and bai-barity will be the death of me ! " 
 
 Graves. No — no ! that's not it ! more energy. [Mimick- 
 ing-l " Your unkindness and barbarity will be the death 
 of me." Ha ! ha ! I ought to know how she said it, for 
 she used to practise it on me twice a-day. Ah ! poor 
 dear lamb ! [Wi2Jes his eyes.'] 
 
 Lady Frank. And then she sang so well ! was such a 
 composer ! What was that little French air she was so 
 fond of? 
 
 Graves. Ha ! ha ! sprightly 1 was it not 1 Let me see 
 — ^let me see. 
 
 Lady Frank. \Jm771ming]. Tum ti — ti turn — ti — ti — ti. 
 No, that's not it. 
 
 Graves [humming]. Tum ti — ti — tum ti — ti — tum — 
 tum — tum. 
 
 Loth. Tum ti — ti — tum ti — ti — tum — tum — tum. 
 Ha! ha! 
 
 Graves [throwing himself back]. Ah! what recollections 
 it revives ! It is too affecting. 
 
 Lady Frank. It is affecting ; but we are all mortal. 
 [Sighs.] And at your Christmas party at Cyprus Lodge, 
 do 3'ou remember her dancing the Scotch reel with 
 Captain Macnaughten ? 
 
 Graves. Ha ! ha ! ha ! To be sure — to be sure. 
 
 Lady Frank. Can you think of the step % — somehow 
 thus, was it not % [Dancing.] 
 
 Graves. No — no — quite wrong! — just stand there.
 
 SCENE v.] MONEY. 361 
 
 Now then [humming the tune]. — La — la-la-la. — La la, &c, 
 
 [They dance. 
 That's it — excellent — admirable ! 
 
 Lady Frank, [aside.] Now 'tis coming. 
 Enter Sir John, Blount, Georgina, — they stand amazed. 
 [Lady Franklin continues to dance. 
 
 Graves. Bewitching — irresistible ! 'Tis Maria herself 
 
 that I see before me ! Thus — thus — let me clasp Oh, 
 
 the devil ! Just like my luck ! — [Stopping o})posite Sir 
 John]. [Lady Franklin runs off. 
 
 Sir John. Upon 7ny word, Mr. Graves ! 
 
 Geor., Blount. Encore — encore ! Bravo — bravo ! 
 
 Graves. It's all a mistake ! I — I — Sir John. Lady 
 
 Franklin, you see — that is to say — I Sainted Maria ! 
 
 you are spared, at least, this affliction ! 
 
 Geor. Pray go on ! 
 
 Blount. Don't let us interwupt you. 
 
 Graves. Interrupt me ! I must say that this rudeness 
 — this gross impropriety — to pry into the sorrows of a 
 poor bereaved sufferer, seeking comfort from a sympa- 
 thising friend — But such is human nature ! 
 
 Geor. But, Mr. Graves ! — [following hiin]. 
 
 Graves. Heartless ! 
 
 Blount. My dear Mr. Graves ! — [following hhn]. 
 
 Graves. Frivolous ! 
 
 Sir John. Stay and dine ! — [follovnng hini]. 
 
 Graves. Unfeeling ! 
 
 Omnes. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Graves. Monsters ! Good day to you.* 
 
 [Exit, followed by Sir John, <Scc. 
 
 * For the original idea of this scene the author is indebted to a 
 little proverbe, never, he believes, acted in public.
 
 362 MONEY. [act hi. 
 
 SCENE VI. 
 
 The interior of * * * * 's Club ; night ; lights, <Lx. Small 
 sofa-tables, with boohs, papers, tea, coffee, die. Several Members grouped 
 by the fireplace ; OTie Member with his legs over the bach of his chair ; 
 another ivith his legs over his table; a third with Ms legs on the 
 chimney-piece. To the left, and in front of the Stage, an old Member 
 reading the newspaper, seated by a small round table ; to the right a 
 card-table, before which Captain Dodlet Smooth is seated, and 
 sipping lemonade ; at the bottom of the Stage another card-table. 
 
 Glossmoee and Stout. 
 
 Gloss. You don't come often to tlie club, Stout 1 
 
 Stout. No ; time is mouej. An hour spent at a club 
 is unproductive capital. 
 
 Old Mem. \i'eading the 7iewspaper\. Waiter ! — the snuff- 
 box. [Waiter brings it. 
 
 Gloss. So, Evelyn lias fallen to play ? I see Deadly 
 Smooth, " hushed in grim repose, awaits his evening prey." 
 Deep work to-night, I suspect, for Smooth is drinking 
 lemonade — keeps his head clear — monstrous clever dog ! 
 
 Enter Evelyn ; salutes and shahes hands with different 
 members in passing up the Stage. 
 
 How d' ye'do, Glossmore? How are you. Stout ? i/ou 
 don't 'pla.j, I think ? Political Economy never plays at 
 cards, eh ? — never has time for anything more frivolous 
 than Rents and Profits, Wages and Labour, Higli Prices, 
 and Low — Corn-Laws, Poor-Laws, Tithes, Currency — 
 Dot-and-go-one — Pates, Puzzles, Taxes, Kiddles, and
 
 SCENE VI.] MONEY. 363 
 
 Botheration ! Smooth is the mau. Aha ! Smooth. Piquet, 
 eh ? You owe me my revenge ! 
 
 [3f embers touch each other significantly ; Stodt ^valTcs aivay 
 with the snuff-box; Old ilember lochs at him savagely. 
 
 Smooth. My dear Alfred, anything to oblige. 
 
 [They seat themselves. 
 Old Mem,. "Waiter ! — the snufT-box. 
 
 [Waiter tahes it from Stout and brings it bacTc to Old Member. 
 Enter Blount. 
 
 Blount. So, so ! Evelyn at it again, — eh, Glossmore 1 
 
 Gloss. Yes, Smooth sticks to him like a leech. Clever 
 fellow, that Smooth ! 
 
 Blount. Will you make up a wubber ? 
 
 Gloss. Have you got two others ? 
 
 Blount. Yes ; Flat and Green. 
 
 Gloss. Bad players. 
 
 Blount. I make it a wule to play with bad players ; it 
 is five per cent, in one's favour. I hate gambling. But 
 a quiet wubber, if one is the best player out of four, can't 
 do one any harm. 
 
 Gloss. Clever fellow, that Blount ! 
 
 [Blodnt tahes up the snuff-box and walJcs offvxith it ; Old 
 Member loolcs at him savagely. 
 
 [Blount, Glossmoke, Flat, and Gkeen, mahe up a table 
 at the bottom of the Stage. 
 
 Smooth. A thousand pardons, my dear Alfred, — ninety 
 repique — ten cards ! — game ! 
 
 BJve. [passiiig a note to hini\. Game ! Before we goon, 
 one question. This is Thursday — how much do you 
 calculate to win of me before Tuesday next ? 
 
 Smooth. Ce cher Alfred ! He is so droll !
 
 364 MONEY. [act III. 
 
 JEve. \writing in his 2)ocket-book]. Forty games a-night 
 — four nights, minus Sunday — our usual stakes — that 
 would be right, I think ! 
 
 Smooth ^glancing over the account^. Quite — if I win all 
 — ^which is next to impossible. 
 
 £ve. It shall be possible to win twice as much, on one 
 condition. Can you keep a secret 1 
 
 Smooth. My dear Alfred, I have kept myself! I never 
 inherited a farthing — I never spent less that £4,000 
 a-yeai' — and I never told a soul how I managed it. 
 
 Uve. Hark ye, then — a word with you — [the^ ivhispei-]. 
 
 Old Mem. Waiter ! — ^the snuff-box ! 
 
 [Waiter takes it from Blount, <L'c. 
 Enter Sir John. 
 
 Eve. You understand ? 
 
 Smooth. Perfectly ; anything to oblige. 
 
 Eve. [cuttmgj. It is for you to deal. 
 
 [Thei/ go on -playing. 
 Sir John [groaning^. There's my precious son-in-law, 
 that is to be, spending my consequence, and making a 
 fool of himself 
 
 [Takes iip the snuff-box ; Old Member lools at him savagely. 
 
 Blount. I'm out. Flat, a poney on the odd twick. 
 That's wight. — [Coming up counting his mo7ie2/.] Well, 
 Sir John, you don't play ! 
 
 Sir John. Play ? no ! Confound him — lost again ! 
 
 Eve. Hang the cards ! — double the stakes ! 
 
 Smooth. Just as you please — done ! 
 
 Sir John. Done, indeed ! 
 
 Old Mem. Waiter ! — the snuff-box. 
 
 [Waiter takes it from Sir John.
 
 SCENE VI.] MONEY. 3G5 
 
 Blount. I've won eight points and the bets — I never 
 lose — I never play in the Deadly Smooth set ! 
 
 [Takes up the snuff-box ; Old Jlember as leforc. 
 
 Sir John [looking over Smooth's hand, and fidgdting 
 hackioards and forwards\. Lord, have mercy on us ! 
 Smooth has seven for his point ! What's the stakes ? 
 
 Eve. Don't disturb us — I only throw out four. Stakes, 
 Sir John ? — immense ! Was ever such luck ? — not a card 
 for my point. Do stand back. Sir John — I'm getting 
 irritable. 
 
 Old Mem. Waiter ! the snuff-box. 
 
 [Waiter brings it hack. 
 
 Blount. One hundred pounds on the next game, Evelyn ? 
 
 Sir John. Nonsense — nonsense — don't disturb him ! 
 All the fishes come to the bait ! Sharks and minnows 
 all nibbling away at my son-in-law ! 
 
 Eve. One hundred pounds, Blount ? Ah ! the finest 
 gentleman is never too fine a gentleman to pick up a 
 guinea. Done ! Treble the stakes, Smooth ! 
 
 Sir John. I'm on the rack ! \seizing the snuff-hox\. Be 
 cool, Evelyn ! take care, my dear boy ! Be cool — be cool. 
 
 Eve. What — what ? You have four queens ! — five to 
 the king. Confound the cards ! a fresh pack. \Throws 
 the cards behind him over Sir John.] 
 
 Old Mem. Waiter ! the snuff-box, 
 
 [Different members gather round. 
 ^ First Mem. I never before saw Evelyn out of temper. 
 He must be losing immensely ! 
 
 Second Mem. Yes, this is interesting ! 
 
 Sir John. Interesting ! There's a wretch ! 
 
 First Mem. Poor fellow ! he'll be ruined in a month ! 
 
 Sir John. I'm in a cold sweat.
 
 366 MONEY. [act III. 
 
 Second Hem. Smooth is the very devih 
 
 Sir John. The devil's a joke to him ! 
 
 Gloss, [skq^ping Sir John on the baclc\. A clever fellow 
 that Smooth, Sir John, eh 1 [Takes up the snuff-hox. 
 Old Member as before.'\ £100 on this game, Evelyn ? 
 
 Uve. [half turning roundly. You ! well done the Con- 
 stitution ! yes, £100 ! 
 
 Old Mem. "Waiter ! — the snufif-box. 
 
 Stout. I think I'll venture £200 on this game, Evelyn ? 
 
 Uve. [quite turning round]. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — Enlighten- 
 ment and the Constitution on the same side of the question 
 at last ! Oh Stout, Stout ! — greatest happiness of the 
 greatest number — greatest number, number one ! Done, 
 Stout !— £200 ! ha ! ha ! ha !— deal, Smooth. Well done, 
 Political Economy — ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir John. Quite hysterical — drivelling ! Ar'nt you 
 ashamed of yourselves ? His own cousins — all in a con- 
 spiracy — a perfect gang of them. [Members indignant. 
 
 Stout [to Members]. Hush ! he's to marry Sir John's 
 daughter. 
 
 First Mem. What, Stingy Jack's ? oh ! 
 
 Chorus q/Mems. Oh ! oh ! 
 
 Old Mem. Waiter ! the snufF-box. 
 
 Uve. [risiiig in great agitation]. No more, no more — 
 
 I've done ! — quite enough. Glossmore, Stout, Blount — 
 
 I'll pay you to-morrow. !■ — I — Death ! — this is ruinous ! 
 
 [Seizes the snuff-box ; Old Member as before. 
 
 Sir John, Ruinous 1 I dare say it is. What has he 
 lost ? what has he lost, Smooth ? Not much ? eh ? eh ? 
 
 [Omnes gatlier round Smooth. 
 
 Smooth. Oh, a trifle, dear John ! — excuse me ! We 
 never tell our winnings. — [To Blount.] How d'ye do,
 
 SCENE VI.] MONEY. 367 
 
 Fred ? — [To Glossmore.] By the by, Charles, don't you 
 want to sell your house in Grosvenor Square 1 — £12,000, 
 eh? 
 
 Gloss. Yes, and the furniture at a valuation. About 
 £3,000 more. 
 
 Smooth [looking over his pocket-bookj. Um ! — Well, we'll 
 talk of it. 
 
 Sir John. 12 and 3— £15,000. What a cold-blooded 
 rascal it is !— £15,000, Smooth ? 
 
 Smooth. Oh, the house itself is a trifle ; but the estab- 
 lishment — I'm considering whether I have enough to keep 
 it up, my dear John. 
 
 Old Mem. Waiter, the snuflT-box ! [Scrajnng it round, 
 and imth a lory face.'] — And it's all gone ! 
 
 [Gives it to the Waiter to fill. 
 
 Sir John [tur7iing round']. And it's all gone ! 
 
 Eve. [starting up and laughing hysterically]. Ha ! ha ! 
 all gone 1 not a bit of it. Smooth, this club is so noisy. 
 Sir John, you are always in the way. Come to my house ! 
 come ! Champagne and a broiled bone. Nothing ven- 
 ture, nothing have ! The luck must turn, and by Jupiter 
 we'll make a night of it ! 
 
 Sir John. A night of it ! ! ! For Heaven's sake, Eve- 
 lyn ! Evelyn ! ! — think what you are about ! — think of 
 Georgina's feelings ! think of your poor lost mother ! — 
 think of the babes unborn ! think of 
 
 Eve. I'll think of nothing ! Zounds ! — you don't know 
 
 what I have lost, man ; it's all your fault, distracting my 
 
 attention. Pshaw — pshaw ! Out of the way, do ! Come, 
 
 Smooth. Ha ! ha ! a night of it, my boy — a night of it ! 
 
 [Exeunt Smooth and Evelyn. 
 
 Si'! John [following']. You must not, you shall not '.
 
 3C8 MONEY. [act IV. 
 
 Evelyn, my dear Evelyu ! he's drunk — he's mad ! "Will 
 no one send for the police 1 
 
 Mems. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Poor old stingy Jack ! 
 
 Old Mem. [rising for the first time, and in a great rage\. 
 Waiter ! — the snuff-box ! 
 
 ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 Tlie Ante-room in Evelyn's house, as in Scene I., Act II. 
 Tabouret, Macfinch, Frantz, and other Tradesmen. 
 
 Tahou. \lialf whispers'\. So, I hear that Mr. Evelyn has 
 turned gamester ! There are strange reports about to- 
 day — I don't know what to make of it ! We must look 
 sharp, Mr. Macfinch, we poor tradesmen, and make hay 
 while the sun shines. 
 
 Macfinch. I wuish those geeming-houses were aw at the 
 deevil ! — It's a sheam and a sin for gentlemen to gang 
 and ruin themselves, when we honest tradesmen could do 
 it for them with sae muckle advantage to the arts and 
 coummerce o' the country ! [Omnes shake their heads 
 wpprovingly.^ 
 
 Enter Smooth yi'o??* the inner room, with a pocJcei-hook and 
 pencil in his hand. 
 
 Smooth [looking roimd\ Hum ! ha ! Fine pictures ! — 
 [Feeling the curtains.^ The uew-fashioned velvet, hum ! 
 good proportioned rooms ! Yes, this house is better than
 
 SCENE I.] MONEY. 369 
 
 Glossmoi'e's ! Oh, Mr. Tabouret, the upholsterer ! you 
 furnished these rooms 1 All of the best, eh 1. 
 
 Tabou. Oh, the very best ! Mr. Evelyn is not a man 
 to grudge expense, sir ! 
 
 /Smooth. He is not, indeed. You've been paid, I sup- 
 pose, Tabouret ? 
 
 Tabou. No, sir, no — I never send in my bills when a 
 customer is rich. [J4s^(^.] Bills are like trees, and grow 
 by standing. 
 
 Smooth. Humph ! Not paid 1 humph ! 
 
 [Omnes gather round. 
 
 Macfinch. I dinna like that hoomph, there's something 
 vai'a suspeecious abun' it. 
 
 Tabou. [to the tradesmeri]. It is the great card-player. 
 Captain Smooth — finest player in Europe — cleaned out 
 the Duke of Sillyvale. Uncommoningly clever man ! 
 
 Smooth [jxicing about the room^. Thirty-six feet by 
 twenty-eight — Um ! I think a bow-window there woidd 
 be an improvement : could it be done easily, Tabouret 1 
 
 Mac/inch. If Mr. Evelyn wants to pool about his house, 
 there's no mon like my friend Mr. MacStucco. 
 
 Smooth. Evelyn ! I was speaking of myselj. Mr. 
 MacStucco % — humph ! 
 
 Tabou. Yourself? Have you bought the house, sir ? 
 
 Smooth. Benight it? — hum! — ha! — it depends — So 
 you've not been paid yet ? — um ! Nor you — nor you — 
 nor you ? Hum ! ha ! 
 
 Tabou. No, sir ! — what then ? No fear of Mr. Evelyn I 
 Ha! ha! 
 
 Omnes [anxioiisli/]. Ha ! ha ! — what then ? 
 
 Macfinch. Ah, sir, what then 1 I'm a puir mon with 
 a family ; this way. Captain ! You've a leetle account in 
 2 B
 
 370 MONEY. [act IV. 
 
 the buiks ; an' we'll e'en wipe it out altogether, gin you'll 
 say what you mean by that Hoom ha ! 
 
 Smooth. MacfincL, my dear fellow, don't oblige me to 
 cane you ; I would not have Mr. Evelyn distressed for 
 the world. Poor fellow ! he holds very bad cards. So 
 you've not been paid yet 1 Don't send in your bills on 
 any account — Mind ! Yes ; I don't dislike the house 
 with some alteration. Good day to you — ^Hum ! ha ! 
 
 \_Exit, looking about him, examining the chairs, tables, <L-c. 
 
 Tahou. Plain as a pike-staff ! staked his very house on 
 an odd trick ! 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Tlie foregoing. — Enter Shaep /rom the inner room, agitated, 
 and in a hurry. 
 
 Sharp. O Lord ! O Lord ! — who'd have thought it ■? 
 Cards are the devil's books ! John ! — Thomas ! — Harris ! 
 — [ringing the belli. 
 
 Enter Two Servants. 
 
 Tom, take this letter to Sir John Vesey's. If not at home, 
 find him — he will give you a cheque. Go to his banker's, 
 and get it cashed instantly. Quick — quick ! oft' with you ! 
 
 Tahou. [seizing Servant]. "What's the matter — what's 
 the matter ? How's Mr. Evelyn ? 
 
 Ser. Bad — very bad ! Sate up all night with Captain 
 Smooth ! [Rims off.
 
 SCENE II.] MONEY. 371 
 
 Sharp \to the other Servant]. Yes, Harris, your poor 
 master ! O dear ! dear ! You -will take this note to 
 the Belgian minister, Portland-place. Passport for 
 Ostend! Have the travelling carriage ready at a 
 moment's notice ! 
 
 2Iacfinch \sto]ppmg Servant]. Passport ! Harkye, my 
 mon ; is he gaun to pit tlie saut seas between us and the 
 siller 1. 
 
 Ser. Don't stop me — something wrong in the chest — 
 change of air — late hours — and Captain Smooth ! [JSadi. 
 
 Sharp [walking about]. And if the bank should break ! 
 — if the bank is broke, and he can't draw out ! — bound to 
 Smooth. 
 
 Tahou. Bank ! — what bank ? 
 
 Sharp. Flash's bank ! Flash, brother-in-law to Captain 
 Smooth ! What have you heard 1 — eh ? — eh ? 
 
 Tahou. That there's an awful run on it ! 
 
 Sharp. I must be off. Go — go — ^you can't see Mr. 
 Evelyn to-day ! 
 
 Tahou. IMy account, sir ! 
 
 Macfinch. I've a muckle bairns and a sma' bill ! 
 
 Frantz. sare, de great gentlemen always tink first of 
 de tailor ! 
 
 Sharp. Call again — call again at Christmas. The bank, 
 — the cards, — the bank ! O dear ! O dear ! [Exit. 
 
 Tahou. The bank ! 
 
 Macfinch. The passport ! 
 
 Frantz. And all dat vil be seen of de great Evelyn 
 coat is de back of it ! Bonner und Hagel I — I vil an-est 
 him — I vil put de salt on de tail of it ! 
 
 Tahou. [(.iside\. I'll slip down to the city and see how 
 the bank goes ! 
 
 2 D 2
 
 372 MONEY. [act IV. 
 
 Macfinch \_aside\. I'll e'en gang to my coosin the la'yer. 
 Nothing but peetience for us, Mr. Tabouret. 
 
 Tahou. Ay, ay, — stick by each other — share and share 
 alike — that's my way, sir. 
 
 nines. Share and share alike. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Enter Servant, Glossmore, and Blount. 
 
 Ser. My master is not very well, my lord ! but I'll let 
 him know. [Exit. 
 
 Gloss. I am very curious to learn the result of his 
 gambling tete-a-tete. 
 
 Blount. Oh, he's so howwidly wich, he can afford even 
 a tete-a-tete with Deadly Smooth ! 
 
 Gloss. Poor old Stingy Jack ! why Georgina was i/our 
 intended. 
 
 Blount. Yes ; and I really liked the girl, though out 
 of pique I pwoposed to her cousin. But what caia a man 
 do against money ? 
 
 Enter Evelyn. 
 
 If we could start fair, you'd see whom Georgina would 
 pwefer : but she's sacwificed by her father ! She as 
 much as told me so ! 
 
 Eve. So, so, gentlemen, we've a little account to settle 
 — one hundred each. 
 
 Both. Don't talk of it. 
 
 m
 
 SCENE III.] MONEY. 373 
 
 Eve. [jjutting up his 2')Oclcet-hook'\. Well, I'll not talk of 
 it ! — [Taking Blount aside\. Ha ! lia ! you'd hardly 
 believe it — but I'd rather not jjay you just at present : 
 my money is locked up, and I must wait, you know, for 
 the Groginhole rents. So, instead of owing you one 
 hundred pounds, suppose I owe you five 1 You can give 
 me a cheque for the other four. And, harkye ! not a 
 word to Glossmore. 
 
 Blount. Glossmore ! the gweatest gossip in London ! 
 I shall be delighted ! — [J.sic/e]. It never does harm to 
 lend to a wich man ; one gets it back somehow. By 
 the way, Evelyn, if you want my gwey cab-horse, you 
 may have him for two hundwed pounds, and that will 
 make seven. 
 
 Eve. \ciside\. That's the fashionable usury : your friend 
 does not take interest — he sells you a horse — [iiloud\. 
 Blount, it's a bargain. 
 
 Blount [ymting the cheque, and musingli/]. Xo ; I don't 
 see what harm it can do me ; that off-leg must end in a 
 spavin. 
 
 Eve. \to Glossmore]. That hundred pounds I owe you 
 is rather inconvenient at present ; I've a large sum to 
 make up for the Groginhole property — perhaps you would 
 lend me five or six hundred more — just to go on with ? 
 
 Gloss. Certainly ! Hopkins is dead : your interest for 
 Cipher would ■ 
 
 Eve. Why, I can't promise that at this moment. But 
 as a slight mark of friendship and gratitude, I shall be 
 very much flattered if you'll accept a splendid grey cab- 
 horse I bought to-day — cost two hundred pounds ! 
 
 Gloss. Bought to-day ! — then I'm safe. My dear fellow, 
 you're always so princely 1
 
 374 MONET. [act IV 
 
 Eve. Nonsense ! just write the cheque ; and, harkye, 
 not a syllable to Blount ! 
 
 Gloss. Blount ! lie's the town-criei- ! \Goes to write. 
 
 Blount [giving Evelyn the cheque\. "Wansom's, Pall- 
 mall East. 
 
 Eve. Thank you. So you 2^i'oposed to Miss Douglas ! 
 
 Blount. Hang it ! yes ; I could have sworn that she 
 fancied me ; her manner, for instance, that vewy day you 
 pwoposed for Miss Vesey, otherwise Georgina 
 
 Eve. Has only half what Miss Douglas has. 
 
 Blount. You forget how much Stingy Jack must have 
 saved ! But I beg your pardon. 
 
 Eve. Never mind ; but not a word to Sir John, or 
 he'll fancy I'm ruined. 
 
 Gloss, [giving the cheque^. Hansom's, Pall-mall East. 
 Tell me, did you win or lose last night 1 
 
 Eve. Win ! lose ! oh ! No more of that, if you love 
 me. I must send off at once to the banker's [looking at 
 the two cheques^. 
 
 Gloss, [asiclel. "Why ! he's borrowed from Blount, too ! 
 
 Blount [aside]. That's a cheque from Lord Gloss- 
 more ! 
 
 Eve. Excuse me ; I must dress ; I have not a moment 
 to lose. You remember you dine with me to-day — seven 
 fi'clock. You'll meet Smooth. [With tears in his voice]. 
 It may be the last time I shall ever welcome you here ! 
 
 My what am I saying 1 — Oh, merely a joke ! — good 
 
 bye — good bye. 
 
 [Shaking them heartily iy the hand. Exit hy the inner room. 
 
 Blount. Glossmore ! 
 
 Gloss. Blount ! 
 
 Blount. I am afraid all's not wisrht ! 
 
 J
 
 SCENE IV.] MONEY. 375 
 
 Gloss. I incline to your opinion ! 
 
 Blount. But I've sold my gwey cab-horse. 
 
 Gloss. Grey cab-horse ! you ! What is he really worth 
 now ? 
 
 Blount. Since he is sold, I will tell you — Not a 
 sixpence ! 
 
 Gloss. Not a sixpence ? he gave it to me ! 
 
 [Evelyn at the door giving directions to a Servant in dumb 
 show. 
 
 Blount. That was devilish unhandsome ! Do you 
 know, I feel nervous ! 
 
 Gloss. Nervous ! Let us run and stop payment of our 
 cheques. 
 
 [Evelyn shuts the door, and Servant runs across the sta/je. 
 
 Blount. Hollo, John ! where so fast ? 
 
 Ser. \in great haste\. Beg pardon, Sir Frederick, to 
 Pall-mall East — Messrs. Ransom. [Exit. 
 
 Blount [solemnly]. Glossmore, we are fwoored ? 
 
 Gloss. Sir, the whole town shall know of it. [Bxeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Enter Toke and other Servants. 
 
 Tolce. Come, come, stir yourselves ! we've no tiiiie to 
 lose. This room is to be got ready for the shawls. Mrs. 
 Crump and the other ladies of the household are to wait 
 here on the women before they go up to the dia\ ing-
 
 376 MONEY. [act IV. 
 
 room. Take away that desk : don't be lazy ! and give 
 me the newspaper. 
 
 [ToKE seeds himself ; the Servants hustle about. 
 Strange reports about my patron ! and the walley is 
 gone for the passport ! 
 
 Enter Frantz with a bundle. 
 
 Frantz. Mr. Toke, my goot Mr. Toke, I've brought you 
 von leetel present. 
 
 Toke. John and Charles vanish ! [Exeunt Servants. 
 
 I scorn to corrupt them 'ei'e working classes ! 
 
 Frantz [producing a pair of small-clothes %ohich Toke 
 exainines\. Your master is von beggar ! He \ ants to 
 run avay ; ve are all in de same vat-you-call-it — Je same 
 leetel nasty boat, Mr. Toke ! Just let my friend Mr. Clutch 
 up through the area. I vill put vat you call un execution 
 on de gutes and de catties dis very tay. 
 
 Toke. I accept the abridgements : but you've forgotten 
 to line the pockets ! 
 
 Frantz. Blesh my soul, so I have ! [giving a note\. 
 
 Toke. The area-gate shall be left undefended. Do it 
 quietly, no claw, as the French say. 
 
 Frantz. Goot Mr. Toke — to-morrow I vill line de oter 
 pocket. [Exit. 
 
 Toke. My patron does not give me satisfaction ! 
 
 Enter Footman. 
 
 Foot. What chandeliers are to be lighted, Mr. Toke ? — 
 it's getting late. 
 
 Toke. Don't disturb me — I'm rum-mynating ! — yes, ye* 
 there's no doubt of it ! Charles, the ax"ea-gate is open. 
 
 Foot. And all the plate in the pantry ! I'll run and —
 
 SCENE v.] MONEY. 377 
 
 Toke. Not a step ! leave it open. 
 
 Foot. But 
 
 Toke ^mth dignity\. 'Tis for the sake of wentilation ! 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 A splendid saloon in Evelyn's home. 
 Evelyn and Graves. 
 
 Graves. You've witlidrawii your money from Flash and 
 
 Brisk 1 
 Eve. No. 
 Graves. No ! — then 
 
 Enter Sir John, Lady Franklin, and Georgina. 
 
 Sir John. You got the cheque for £500 safely 1 — too 
 happy to 
 
 Eve. [interrupting hirri\. My best thanks ! — my warm- 
 est gratitude ! So kind in you ! so seasonable ! — ^that 
 £500 — you don't know the value of that £500. I shall 
 never forget your nobleness of conduct. 
 
 Sir John. Gratitude ! Nobleness ! — [^sic/e.] I can't 
 have been taken in ? 
 
 Eve. And in a moment of such distress ! 
 
 Sir John \ciside\. Such distress ! He picks out the 
 ugliest words in the whole dictionary ! 
 
 Eve. I've done with Smooth. But I'm still a little 
 crippled, and you must do me another favoui'. I've only 
 as yet paid the deposit of ten per cent, for the great
 
 378 • , MONEY. [act IV. 
 
 Groginhole property. I am to pay tlie rest tliis -week — 
 nay, I fear to-morrow. I've already sold out of the 
 Funds ! the money lies at the banker's, and of course I 
 can't touch it ; for if I don't pay by a certain day, I 
 forfeit the estate and the deposit. 
 
 Sir John. What's coming now, I wonder 1 
 
 Eve. Georgina's fortune is £10,000. I always meant, 
 my dear Sir John, to present you with that little sum. 
 
 Sir John. Oh, Evelyn ! your generosity is positively 
 touching \ir:i2oes his eyes]. 
 
 Eve. But the news of my losses has frightened my 
 tradesmen ! I have so many heavy debts at this moment 
 
 that — that — that . But I see Georgina is listening, 
 
 and I'll say what I have to say to her. 
 
 Sir John. No, no — no, no. Girls don't understand 
 business ! 
 
 Eve. The very reason I speak to her. This is an affair 
 not of business, but of feelinj. Stout, show Sir John my 
 Correggio. 
 
 Sir John \asicle\. Devil take his Correggio ! The mai) 
 is born to torment me ! 
 
 Eve. My dear Georgina, whatever you may hear said 
 of me, I flatter myself that you feel confidence in my 
 honour. 
 
 Geor. Can you doubt it ? 
 
 Eve. I confess that I am embarrassed at this moment : 
 I have been weak enough to lose money at play ; and 
 there are other demands on me. I promise you never to 
 gamble again as long as I live. My affairs can be re- 
 trieved ; but for the first few years of our marriage it 
 may be necessary to retrench. 
 
 Geor. Retrench !
 
 SCENE v.] MONEY. 379 
 
 Eve. To live, perhaps, altogether in the country. 
 
 Geor. Altogether in the country ! 
 
 Eve. To confine ourselves to a modest competence. 
 
 Geor. Modest competence ! I knew something horrid 
 was coming ! , 
 
 Eve. And now, Georgina, you may have it in your 
 power at this moment to save me from much anxiety and 
 humiliation. My money is locked up — my debts of 
 honour must be settled — you are of age — your £10,000 
 in your own hands 
 
 Sir John [Stout listening as ivell as Sir John]. I'm 
 standing on hot iron ! 
 
 Eve. If you could lend it to me for a few weeks 
 
 You hesitate ! oh ! believe the honour of the man you 
 will call your husband before all the calumnies of the fools 
 whom we call the world ! Can you give me this proof of 
 your confidence ? Keraember, without confidence what 
 is wedlock 1 
 
 Sir John \aside to her^. No ! [Aloud, ^Minting his glass 
 at the Correggio.] Yes, the painting may be fine. 
 
 Stout. But you don't like the subject ? 
 
 Geor. [aside^. He may be only trying me ! Best leave 
 it to papa. 
 
 Eve. Well 
 
 Geor. You — ^you shall hear from me to-morrow. — 
 [ilsi(ie.] Ah, there's that dear Sir Frederick ! 
 
 [Goes to Blount, 
 
 Enter Glossjiore and Smooth ; Evelyn salutes them, 
 paying Smooth servile respect. 
 
 Ladg Frank [to Graves]. Ha! ha! To be so disturbed 
 
 yesterday, — was it not droll ?
 
 3S0 MONEr. [act IV. 
 
 Graves. Never recur to that humiliating topic. 
 
 Gloss. \to Stout]. See how Evelyn fawns upon Smooth \ 
 
 Stout. How mean in him ! — Smooth — a professional 
 gambler — a fellow who lives by his wits ! I would not 
 know such a man on any account ! 
 
 Smooth \to Glossmore]. So Hopkins is dead — you want 
 Cipher to come in for Groginhole, eh 1 
 
 Gloss. What ! — could you manage it ? 
 
 Smooth. Ce cher Charles ! — anything to oblige ! 
 
 Stout. Groginhole ! What can he have to do with 
 Groginhole ? Glossmore, present me to Smooth, 
 
 Gloss. What ! the gambler — the fellow who lives by his 
 wits ? 
 
 Stout. Why, his wits seem to be an uncommonly pro- 
 ductive capital ? I'll introduce myself. How d'ye do, Cap- 
 tain Smooth ? We have met at the club, I think — I am 
 charmed to make your acquaintance in private. I say, 
 sir, what do you think of the affairs of the nation 1 Bad ! 
 very bad ! — no enhghtenment ! — great fall off in the 
 revenue ! — no knowledge of finance ! There's only one 
 man who can save the country and that's Popkins ! 
 
 Smooth. Is he in Parliament, Mr. Stout ? What's your 
 Christian name, by-the-bye ? 
 
 Slout. Benjamin.' — No ; — constituencies are so ignorant, 
 they don't understand his value. He's no orator : in fact, 
 he stammers so much — but devilish profound. Could not 
 we ensure him for Groginhole ? 
 
 Smooth. My dear Benjamin, it is a thing to be thought 
 on. 
 
 Eve. [advancing]. My friends, pray be seated ; — I wish 
 to consult you. This day twelve months I succeeded to 
 an immense income, and as, by a happy coincidence, on
 
 SCENE v.] MONEY. SSI 
 
 the same day I secured your esteem, so now I wish to 
 ask you if you think I ceuld have spent that income in 
 a way more worthy your good opinion. 
 
 Gloss. Impossible ! excellent taste — beautiful house ! 
 
 Blount. Vewy good horses — [Aside to Glossmore] 
 especially the gwey cab ! 
 
 Lady Frank. Splendid pictures ! 
 
 Graves. And a magnificent cook, ma'am ! 
 
 Smooth [thrusting his hands into his pockets^. It is my 
 opinion, Alfred — and I'm a judge — that you could not 
 have spent your money better ! 
 
 Omnes [except Sir John]. Yery true ! 
 
 Uve. What say you, Sir John ? You may think me a 
 little extravagant ; but you know that in this world the 
 only way to show one's self thoroughly respectable is to 
 make a thoroughly respectable show. 
 
 Sir John. Certainly — certainly ! No, you could not 
 have done better, [^s^(ie]. I don't know vrhat to make 
 of it. 
 
 Geo?: Cei'tainly. — [Coaxingly'j. Don't reti-ench, my 
 dear Alfred ! 
 
 Gloss. Retrench ! nothing so plebeian i 
 
 Stout. Plebeian, sir ! — worse than plebeian ! — it is 
 against all the rules of public morality. Every one knows, 
 now-a-days, that extravagance is a benefit to the popu- 
 lation — encourages art — employs labour — and mi;ltiplies 
 spinning -j ennies. 
 
 Eve. You reassure me ! I own I did think that a man 
 worthy of friends so sincere might have done something 
 better than feast — dress — drink — play 
 
 Gloss. Nonsense! — we like you V!io better for it. 
 [Aside\ I wish I had my £6(X) bacV; ihough.
 
 382 MONEY. [act IV. 
 
 Eve. And you are as much my friends now as when 
 you offered me £10 for my old nurse ? 
 
 Sir John. A thousand times more so, my dear boy ! 
 
 \Omnes approve. 
 Enter Sharp. 
 
 Smooth. But who's our new friend ? 
 
 Eve. Who ! the very man who first announced to me 
 the wealth which you allow I have spent so well. But 
 what's the matter, Sharp 1 
 
 Sharp \iohispering Evelyn]. 
 
 Eve. \cdoud\ The bank's broke ! 
 
 Sir John. Broke ! — what bank ? 
 
 Eve. Flash, Brisk, and Co. 
 
 Gloss, [io Smooth]. And Flash was your brother-in-law. 
 I'm very sorry. 
 
 Smooth [taking snuff\ Not at all, Charles, — I did not 
 bank there. 
 
 Sir John. But I warned you — you withdrew ? 
 
 Eve. Alas ! no ! 
 
 Sir John. Oh ! Not much in their hands 1 
 
 Eve. Why, I told you the purchase-money for Grogin- 
 
 hole was at my bankers' but no, no : don't look so 
 
 frightened ! It was not placed with Flash — it is at 
 Hoare's — it is, indeed. Nay, I assure you it is. A mere 
 trifle at Flash's, upon my word, now ! To-morrow, Sharp, 
 Ave'll talk of this ! One day more — one day, at least, for 
 enjoyment. 
 
 Sir John. Oh ! a pretty enjoyment ! 
 
 Blount. And he borrowed £700 of me ! 
 
 Gloss. And £600 of me ! 
 
 Sir John. And £500 of me 1
 
 SCENE v.] MONEY. 333 
 
 Stout. Oh ! a regular Jeremy Diddler ! 
 
 Smooth \to Sir John]. John, do you know, I think I 
 ■would take a handsome offer for this house just as it 
 stands — furniture, plate, pictures, books, bronzes, and 
 statues ! 
 
 Sir John. Powers above ! 
 
 Stout \to Sir John]. I say, you have placed your 
 daughter in a very unsafe investment. What then 1 — a 
 daughter's like any other capital — transfer the stock in 
 hand to t'other speculation. 
 
 Sir John [going to Georgina]. Ha ! I'm afraid we've 
 been very rude to Sir Frederick. A monstrous fine young 
 man ! 
 
 Enter Toke. 
 
 Tohe \to Evelyn]. Sir, I beg your pardon, but j\Ir. 
 Macfinch insists on my giving you this letter instantly. 
 
 Eve. \reading\. How ! Sir John, this fellow, Mactinch, 
 has heard of my misfortunes, and insists on being paid ; — 
 a lav/yer's letter — quite insolent ! 
 
 Toke. And, sir, Mr. Tabouret is below, and declares he 
 will not stir till he's paid. 
 
 Eve. Not stir till he's paid ! What's to be done, Sir 
 John ? — Smooth, what is to be done ? 
 
 Smooth. If he'll not stir till he's paid, make him up a 
 bed, and I'll take him in the inventory, as one of the 
 fixtui'es, Alfred ! 
 
 Eve. It is very well for you to joke, Mr. Smooth. 
 But 
 
 Enter Sheriflf 's Officer, giving a paper to Evelyn, 
 and ichispering. 
 
 Eve. What's this ? Frantz, the tailor. Why, the
 
 33 i MONEY, [act IV. 
 
 impudent scoundrel ! Faith, this is more than I bargained 
 for — Sir John, the bailiffs are in the house ! 
 
 Stout [slapping Sir John on the back ivith glee]. The 
 bailiffs are in the house, old gentleman ! But I didn't 
 lend him a farthing. 
 
 JEve. And for a mere song — £150 ! Sir John, pay this 
 fellow, will you 1 or see that my people kick out the 
 bailiffs, or do it ycirself, or something, — wliile we go to 
 dinner ! 
 
 Sir John. Pay— kick— I'll be d d if I do !— Oh, 
 
 my £500 ! my £500 ! Mr. Alfred Evelyn, I want my 
 £500 ! 
 
 Graves. I'm going to do a very silly thing — I shall 
 lose both my friend and my money : — ^just like my luck ! 
 — Evelyn, go to dinner — I'll settle this for you. 
 
 Lady Frank. I love you for that ! 
 
 Graves. Do you 1 then I am the happiest — Ah ! ma'am, 
 I don't know what I am saying ! 
 
 [Exeunt Graves and Officer. 
 
 Bve. [to Georgina]. Don't go by these appeai'ances ! I 
 repeat £10,000 will more than cover all my embarrass- 
 ments. I shall hear from you to-morrow ? 
 
 Geor. Yes — yes ! 
 
 Uve. But you're not going 1 — You, too, Glossmore 1 — 
 you, Blount 1 — you, Stout — ^you. Smooth ? 
 
 Smooth. No ; I'll stick by you as long as you've a 
 guinea to stake ! 
 
 Gloss. Oh, this might have been expected from a man 
 of such ambiguous political opinions ! 
 
 Stout. Don't stop me, sir. No man of common en- 
 lightenment would have squandered his substance in this 
 ■way. Pictures and statues ? — baugh !
 
 SCENE v.] MONEY. 385 
 
 Eve. Wty, you all said I could not speud my money 
 better ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! — the absurdest mistake ! — you 
 don't fancy I'm going to prison 1 — Ha ! ha ! — Why don't 
 you laugh, Sir John 1 — Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir John. Sir, this horrible levity ! — Take Sir Frede-' 
 rick's arm, my poor, injured, innocent child! — Mr. 
 Evelyn, after this extraordinary scene, you can't be 
 surprised that I — I — Zounds ! I'm suffocating ! 
 
 Smooth. But, my dear John, it is for us at least to put 
 an execution on the dinner. 
 
 Stout \aside\. The election at Groginhole is to-morrow. 
 This news may not arrive before the poll closes. — 
 [Bushing to Evelyn.] Sir Popkins never bribes : but 
 Popkins will bet you £1,000 that he don't come in for 
 Groginhole. 
 
 Gloss. This is infamous, Mr. Stout ! Cipher is a man 
 who scorns every subterfuge ! — [Aside to Evelyn.] But, 
 for the sake of the Constitution, name your price. 
 
 JSve. I know the services of Cipher — I know the pro- 
 fundity of Popkins: but it is too late — the borough's 
 engaged ! 
 
 Take. Dinner is served. 
 
 Gloss. [paicsing\. Dinner ! 
 
 Stout. Dinner ! a very good smell ! 
 
 Eve. [to Sir John]. Turtle and venison too. [Thei/ stop 
 irresolute^ 
 
 Eve. That's right — come along. But, I say, Blount — 
 Stout — Glossmore — Sir John — one word first ; will you 
 lend me £10 for my old nurse ? [They all fall hack. 
 
 Ah ! you fall back. — Behold a lesson for all who build 
 friendship upon their fortune, and not their virtues ! — ■ 
 You lent me hundreds this morning to squander upon 
 2 c
 
 386 MONEY. [act V 
 
 pleasure — you would refuse me £10 uow to bestow 
 upon benevolence. Go — we have done with each other 
 —go! 
 
 \Exeimt, indignantly, all hut Evelyn and Smooth. 
 
 Re-enter Graves. 
 
 Graves. Heyday I — what's all this ? 
 
 Eve. Ha ! ha ! — the scheme prospers — the duper is 
 duped ! Come, my friends — come : when the standard 
 of money goes down, in the great battle between man and 
 fate — wby, a bumper to the brave hearts tliat refuse to 
 desert us. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT v.— SCENE I. 
 * * * *'s Club; Smooth, Glossmore — other Members. 
 
 Gloss. Will his horses be sold, think you ? 
 
 Smooth. Very possibly, Charles ! — a fine stud — hum ! 
 — ha ! Waiter, a glass of sherry ! 
 
 Gloss. They say he must go abroad ! 
 
 Smooth. Well ; 'tis the best time of year for travelling, 
 Charles ! 
 
 Gloss. We are all to be paid to-day : and that looks 
 suspicious ! 
 
 Smooth. Very suspicious, Charles ! Hum ! — ah ! 
 
 Gloss. My dear fellow, you must know the rights of the 
 matter : I wish you'd speak out. What have you really 
 won ? Is the house itself gone ? 
 
 Smooth. The house itself is certainly not gone, Charles,
 
 SCENE I.] MONEY. 387 
 
 for I saw it exactly iu the same place this morning at half- 
 past ten — it has not moved an inch. 
 
 [Waiter gives a letter to Glossmore. 
 
 Gloss. \Teading\. From Groginhole — an express ! What'a 
 this 1 I'm amazed ! ! ! [Reading.^ " They've actually, 
 at the eleventh hour, started Mr. Evelyn ; and nobody 
 knows what his politics are ! We shall be heat ! — the 
 Constitution is gone ! — Cipher ! " Oh ! this is infamous 
 in Evelyn ! Gets into Parliament just to keep himself 
 out of the Bench. 
 
 Smooth. He's capable of it. 
 
 Gloss. Not a doubt of it, sir ! — Not a doubt of it ! 
 
 Enter Sir John and Blount, talking. 
 
 Sir John. My dear boy, I'm not flint ! I am but a 
 
 man ! If Georgina really loves you — and I am sure that 
 
 she does — I will never think of sacrificing her happiness to 
 
 ambition — she is yours : I told her so this very morning. 
 
 Blount \ciside\. The old humbug ! 
 
 Sir John. She's the best of daughters ! — the most obe- 
 dient, artless creature ! Oh ! she's been properly brought 
 up r a good daughter makes a good wife. Dine with me 
 at seven, and we'll talk of the settlements. 
 
 J Blount. Yes ; I don't care for fortune ; — but 
 
 Sir John. Her £10,000 will be settled on herself — that 
 V| of course. 
 
 ! Blount. All of it, sir ? Weally, I 
 
 1 Sir John. What then, my dear boy 1 I shall leave you 
 ii both all I've laid by. Ah ! you know I'm a close fellow ! 
 }1 " Stingy Jack," — eh ? After all, worth makes the man ! 
 ■ I Smooth. And the more a man 's worth, John, the wor- 
 li thier man he must be. [Exit. 
 
 ' 2 c 2 
 
 i! 
 
 i
 
 388 MONEY. [act v. 
 
 Blount \_aside\. Yes ; lie has no other child ! she 7)iust 
 have all his savings ; I don't see what harm it could do 
 me. Still that £10,000,-1 want that £10,000 : if she 
 would but wun off now, one could get wid of the settle- 
 ments. 
 
 Enter Stout \wipingh,isforeliead\a/ad takes Sir John aside^ 
 
 Stout. Sir John, we've been played upon ! My secre- 
 tary is brother to Flash's head clerk ; Evelyn had not 
 £300 in the bank ! 
 
 Sir John. Bless us and save us ! you take away my 
 breath ! But then — Deadly Smooth — the execution — 
 the oh, he must be done up ! 
 
 Stout. As to Smooth, he'd " do anything to oblige." 
 All a trick, depend upon it ! Smooth has already de- 
 ceived me, for before the day 's over, Evelyn will be mem- 
 ber for Groginhole. I've had an express from Popkins ; 
 he's in despair ! not for Imnself — but for the country, Sir 
 John — what's to become of the country 1 
 
 Sir John. But what could be Evelyn's object ? 
 
 Stout. Object ? Do you look for an object in a whim- 
 sical creature like that 1 — a man who has not even any 
 political opinions ! Object ! Perhaps to break off his 
 match with your daughter ! Take care, Sir John, or the 
 borough will be lost to your family ! 
 
 Sir John. Aha ! I begin to smell a rat ! But it is not 
 too late yet. 
 
 Stout. My interest in Popkins made me run to Lord 
 Spendquick, the late proprietor of Groginhole. I told 
 him that Evelyn could not pay the rest of the money 1 
 and he told me that 
 
 Sir John. What ?
 
 SCENE I.] MONEY. 389 
 
 Stout. Mr, Sharp had just paid it him ; there's no hope 
 for Popkins ! England will rue this day ! 
 
 Sir John. Georgina shall lend him the money ! I'll 
 lend him — every man in my house shall lend him — I feel 
 again what it is to be a father-in-law! — [J.sif?e.] But 
 stop ; I'll be cautious. Stout may be on his side — a trap 
 — not likely ; but I'll go first to Spendquick myself. Sir 
 Frederick, excuse me — you can't dine with me to-day. 
 And, on second thoughts, I see that it would be very un- 
 handsome to desert poor Evelyn, now he's down in the 
 world. Can't think of it, my dear boy — can't think of 
 it ! Very much honoured, and happy to see you as a 
 friend. Waiter, my carriage ! Um ! What, humbug 
 Stingy Jack, will they? Ah ! a good joke, indeed ! [£xit. 
 
 Blount. Mr. Stout, what have you. been saying to Sir 
 John 1 Something against my chawacter ; I know you 
 have ; don't deny it. Sir, I shall expect satisfaction ! 
 
 Stout. Satisfaction, Sir Frederick ? as if a man of en- 
 lightenment had any satisfaction in fighting ! Did not 
 mention your name ; we were talking of Evelyn. Only 
 think ! — he's no more ruined than you are. 
 
 Blowat. Not wuined ! Aha, now I understand ! So, 
 so ! Stay, let me see — she's to meet me in the square 1 
 \Pulls out his watch ; a very small one. 
 
 Stout [pulling out his own : a very large one]. I must 
 be off to the vestry. 
 
 Blount. Just in time ! — ten thousand pounds ! 'Gad, 
 my blood 's up, and I won't be tweated in this way, if he 
 •were fifty times Stingy Jack ! [£xit.
 
 390 MONET, [act V. 
 
 SCENE TI. 
 
 The drawing-rooms in Sir John Vesey's house. 
 Lady Franklin, Graves. 
 
 Graves. Well, well, I am certain that poor Evelyn 
 loves Clara still, but you can't persuade me that she cares 
 for him. 
 
 Lady Fra/nk. She has been breaking her heart ever 
 since she heard of his distress. Nay, I am sure she 
 would give all she has, could it save him from the con- 
 sequences of his own folly. 
 
 Graves [half asidel^. She would only give him his own 
 money, if she did. I should like just to sound her. 
 
 Lady Frank, [ringing the beir\. And you shall. I take 
 so much interest in her, that I forgive your friend every- 
 thing but his offer to Georgina. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Where are the young ladies ? 
 
 Ser. Miss Vesey is, I believe, still in the square : Miss 
 Douglas is just come in, my lady. 
 
 Lady Frank. What ! did she go out with Miss Vesey? 
 
 Ser. No, my lady ; I attended her to Drummond's the 
 banker. [Exit. 
 
 Lady Frank. Drummond's ! 
 
 Enter Clara. 
 
 Why, child, what on earth could take you to Drummond's 
 at this hour of the day % 
 
 {
 
 SCENE II.] MONEY. 391 
 
 Clara [confused]. Oh, I that is — I — Ah, Mr, 
 
 Graves ! How is Mr. Evelyn ? How does he bear up 
 againt so sudden a reverse 1 
 
 Graves. With an awful calm. I fear all is not right 
 here ! [Touching his head]. — The report in the town is, 
 that he must go abroad instantly — perhaps to-day. 
 
 Clara. Abroad ! — to-day ! 
 
 Graves. But all his creditors will be paid ; and he only 
 seems anxious to know if Miss Vesey remains true in hia 
 misfortunes. 
 
 Clara. Ah ? he loves her so much, then ! 
 
 Graves. Um ! — That's more than I can say. 
 
 Clara. She told me last night, that he said to the last 
 that £10,000 would free him from all his liabilities — that 
 was the sum, was it not ? 
 
 Graves. Yes ; he persists in the same assertion. Will 
 Miss Vesey lend it 1 
 
 Lady Frank. \aside\. If she does, I shall not think so 
 well of her poor dear mother ; for I am sure she'd be no 
 child of Sir John's ! 
 
 Graves. I should like to convince myself that my poor 
 friend has nothing to hope from a woman's generosity. 
 
 Lady Franh. Civil ! And are men, then, less covetous ? 
 
 Graves. I know one man, at least, who, rejected in his 
 poverty by one as poor as himself, no sooner came into a 
 sudden fortune than he made his lawyer invent a codicil 
 which the testator never dreamt of, bequeathing independ- 
 ence to the woman who had scorned him. 
 
 I^ady Franh. And never told her ? 
 
 Graves. Never ! There's no such document at Doctors' 
 Oommons, depend on it ! You seem incredulous, Miss 
 Clara ! Good day !
 
 392 MONEY. [act v. 
 
 Cla/ra [^following him\ One word, for mercy's sake ! 
 Do I understand you riglit 1 Ah, how could I be so 
 blind ! Generous Evelyn ! 
 
 Graves. You appreciate, and Georgina will desert liim. 
 jVIiss Douglas, he loves you still. — If that's not just like 
 me ! Meddling with other people's affairs, as if they 
 were worth it — hang them ! \Exit. 
 
 Clara. Georgina will desert him. Do you think so 1 — 
 [^s^d'e.] Ah, he will soon discover that she never wrote 
 that letter ! 
 
 Lady Frarik. She told me last night that she would 
 never see him again. To do her justice, she's less inter- 
 ested than her father, — and as much attached as she can 
 be to another. Even while engaged to Evelyn, she has 
 met Sir Frederick every day in the square. 
 
 Clara. And he is alone — sad — forsaken — ruined. And 
 I, whom he enriched — I, the creature of his bounty — I, 
 once the woman of his love — I stand idly here to content 
 myself with tears and prayers ! Oh, Lady Franklin, have 
 pity on me — on him ! We are both of kin to him — as 
 relations, we have both a right to comfort ! Let us go to 
 him — come ! 
 
 Lady Franh. No ! it would scarcely be right — re- 
 . member the world — I cannot ! 
 
 Clara. All abandon him — then I will go alone ! 
 
 Lady Franh. You ! — so proud — so sensitive ! 
 
 Clara. Pride — when he wants a friend ? 
 
 Lady Frank. His misfortimes are his own fault — a 
 gambler ! 
 
 Clara. Can you think of his faults now ? / have no 
 right to do so. All I have — all — ^his gift ! — and I never 
 to have dreamed it ! 
 
 I
 
 SCENE III.] MONEY. 393 
 
 Lady Frank. But if Georgiua do iudeed release him — 
 if she have ah'eady done so — what will he think 1 What 
 but 
 
 Clara. What but — that, if he love me still, I may 
 have enough for both, and I am by his side ! But that 
 is too bright a dream. He told me I might call him 
 brother ! Where now, should a sister be '] But — but — 
 
 I — I — I — tremble ! If, after all — if — if In one word, 
 
 am I too bold ? The world — my conscience can answer 
 that — but do you think that he could despise me ? 
 
 Lady Frank. No, Clara, no ! Your fair soul is too 
 transparent for even libertines to misconstrue. Some- 
 thing tells me that this meeting may make the happiness 
 of both ! You cannot go alone. My presence justifies 
 all. Give me your hand — we will go together ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENEIII. 
 
 A room in Evelyn's house. 
 
 Eve. Yes ; as yet, all surpasses my expectations. I am 
 sure of Smooth — I have managed even Sharp ; my elec- 
 tion will seem but an escape from a prison. Ha ! ha ! 
 True, it cannot last long ; but a few hours more are all I 
 require, and for that time at least I shall hope to be 
 thoroughly ruined. 
 
 Enter Graves. 
 Well, Graves, and what do people say of me 1 
 
 Gra/ves. Everything that's bad !
 
 394 MONEY. [act v. 
 
 Eve. Three days ago I was univei'sally respected. I 
 awake this morning to find myself singularly infamous. 
 Yet I'm the same man. 
 
 Graves. Humph ! why, gambling 
 
 Eve. Cant ! it was not criminal to gamble — it was 
 criminal to lose. Tut ! — will yon deny that if I had 
 ruined Smooth instead of myself, every hand would have 
 grasped mine yet more cordially, and every lip would have 
 smiled congi'atulation on my success 1 Man — Man ! I've 
 not been rich and poor for nothing ! The Vices and the 
 Virtues are written in a language the world cannot 
 construe ; it reads them in a vile translation, and the 
 translators are — Failure and Success ! You alone 
 are unchanged. 
 
 Graves. There's no merit in that. I am always ready 
 to mingle my tears with any man. — [^sirt^e.] I know I'm 
 a fool, but I can't help it. Hark ye, Evelyn ! I like you 
 — I'm rich ; and anything I can do to get you out of your 
 hobble will give me an excuse to grumble for the rest of 
 my life. There, now 'tis out. 
 
 Eve. \touched'\. There's something good in human 
 nature, after all ! My dear friend, I will now confide in 
 you : I am not the spendthrift you think me — my losses 
 have been trifling — not a month's income of my fortune, 
 [Graves shakes him heartily hy the handi\ No ! — it has 
 been but a stratagem to prove if the love, on which was 
 to rest the happiness of a whole life, were given to the 
 Money or the Man. Now you guess why I have askec 
 from Georgina this one proof of confidence and affection 
 — Think you she will give it % 
 
 Graves. Would you break your heart if she did not ? 
 
 Eve. It is in vain to deny that I still love Clara ; oui 
 
 I
 
 SCENE III.J MONEY. 395 
 
 last conversation renewed feelings which would task all 
 the energies of nay soul to conquer. What then 1 I am 
 not one of those, the Sybarites of sentiment, who deem it 
 impossible for humanity to conquer love — who call their 
 own weakness the voice of a resistless destiny. Such is 
 the poor excuse of eveiy woman who yields her honour — 
 of every adulterer who betrays his friend. No ! the heart 
 was given to the soul as its ally, not as its traitor. 
 
 Graves. What do you tend to ? 
 
 Eve. This : — If Georgina still adhere to my fortunes 
 (and I will not put her to too harsh a trial) ; if she can 
 fate the prosj^ect, not of ruin and poverty, but of a mode- 
 rate independence ; if, in one word, she love me for my- 
 self, I will shut Clara for ever from my thoughts. I am 
 pledged to Georgina, and I will carry to the altar a soul 
 resolute to deserve her affection and fulfil its vows. 
 
 Graves. And if she reject you 1 
 
 Eve. [joyfully]. If she do, I am free once more ! And 
 then — then I will dare to ask, for I can ask without dis- 
 honour, if Clara can explain the past and bless the future ! 
 
 Enter Servant with a letter. 
 
 Eve. [after reading it]. The die is cast — the dream is 
 over ! Generous girl ! Oh, Georgina ! I will deserve 
 you yet. 
 
 Graves. Georgina ! is it possible ? 
 
 Eve. And the delicacy, the womanhood, the exquisite 
 grace of this ! How we misjudge the depth of the human 
 heart ! How, seeing the straws on the surface, we forget 
 that the pearls may lie hid below ! * I imagined her in- 
 capable of this devotion. 
 
 * " Errors like straws," &c.
 
 •396 MONEY. [act V' 
 
 Graves. And ■/ too. 
 
 Eve. It were base in me to continue this trial a moment 
 longer : I will write at once to undeceive that generous 
 heart \wi-iting\. 
 
 Graves. I would have given £1,000 if that little jade 
 Clara had been beforehand. But just like my luck : if I 
 want a man to marry one woman, he's sure to marry 
 another on purpose to vex me. [Evelyn rings the hell. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Eve. Take this instantly to Miss Vesey ; say I will call 
 in an hour. [Exit Servant.] And now Clara is resigned 
 for ever ! Why does my heart sink within me 1 Why, 
 why, looking to the fate to come, do I see only the memory 
 •of what has been ? 
 
 Graves. You are re-engaged then to Georgina % 
 
 Eve. Irrevocably. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Enter Servant, announcing Lady Fbanklin and Miss Douglas. 
 
 Evelyn and Graves. 
 
 Lady Frank. My dear Evelyn, you may think it strange 
 *to receive such visitors at this moment ; but, indeed, it is 
 no time for ceremony. We are your relations — it is re- 
 ported you are about to leave the country — we come to 
 -ask frankly what we can do to serve you ? 
 
 Eve. Madam — I
 
 SCENE IV.] MONEy. SQIl 
 
 Lady Frank. Come, come — do not hesitate to confide; 
 in us ; Clara is less a stranger to you than I am : your 
 friend here will perhaps let me consult with him. — \Aside. 
 to Graves.] Let us leave them to themselves. 
 
 Graves. You're an angel of a widow ; but you come toO' 
 late, as whatever is good for anything generally does. 
 
 [They retire, into the inner room, which should be partiallyi 
 open. 
 
 Eve. Miss Douglas, I may well want words to thank 
 you ; this goodness — this sympathy 
 
 Clara [abandoning herself to her emotioii\. Evelyn ! 
 Evelyn ! Do not talk thus ! — Goodness ! sympathy ! — 
 I have learned all — all ! It is for me to speak of grati- 
 tude ! What ! even when I had so wounded you — when 
 you believed me mercenary and cold — when you thought, 
 that I was blind and base enough not to know you for 
 what you are ; even at that time you thought but of my 
 happiness — my fortunes — my fate ! — And to you — yoti — 
 I owe all that has raised the poor orphan from servitude 
 and dependence ! While your words were so bitter, your 
 deeds so gentle ! Oh, noble Evelyn, this then was your 
 revenge ! 
 
 Eve. You owe me no thanks — that revenge was sweet !' 
 Think you it was nothing to feel that my presence haunted 
 you, though you knew it not 1 — that in things the pettiest 
 as the greatest, which that gold could buy — the very 
 jewels you wore — the very robe in which, to other eyes, 
 you might seem more fair — in all in which you took the 
 woman's young and innocent delight — / had a part — a 
 share ? that, even if separated for ever — even if another's 
 — ^.even in distant years — perhaps in a happy home, listen- 
 ing to sweet voices that might call you " mother ! " — even
 
 398 MONEY. [act v. 
 
 then should the uses of that dross bring to your lips one 
 smile — that smile was mine — due to me — due, as a sacred 
 debt, to the hand that you rejected — to the love that you 
 despised ! 
 
 Clara. Despised ! See the proof that I despise you ! — 
 see : in this hour, when they say you are again as poor as 
 before, I forget the world — my pride — perhaps too much 
 my sex : I remember but your sorrows — I am here ! 
 
 Eve. \aside\. Oh, Heaven ! give me strength to bear 
 it ! — \Aloud.^ And is this the same voice that, when I 
 knelt at your feet — when I asked but owe day the hope to 
 call you mine — spoke only of poverty, and answered, 
 "Never" ? 
 
 Clara. Because I had been unworthy of your love if I 
 had insured your misery. Evelyn, hear me ! My father, 
 like you, was poor — generous ; gifted, like you, with ge- 
 nius — ambition : sensitive, like you, to the least breath of 
 insult. He married, as you would have done — married 
 one whose only dower was penury and care ! Alfred, I 
 saw that genius the curse to itself ! — I saw that ambition 
 wither to despair ! — I saw the struggle — the humiliation 
 — the proud man's agony — the bitter life — the early 
 death ! — and heard over his breathless clay my mother's 
 groan of self-reproach ! Alfred Evelyn, now speak ! Was 
 the woman you loved so nobly to repay you with such a 
 doom ? 
 
 Eve. Clara, we should have shared it ! 
 
 Clara. Shared ? Never let the woman who really loves, 
 comfort her selfishness with such delusion ! In marriages 
 like this, the wife cannot share the burden ; it is he — the 
 husband — to provide, to scheme, to work, to endure — to 
 grind out his strong heart at the miserable wheel ! The
 
 SCENE IV.] MONEY. 399 
 
 wife, alas ! cannot share the struggle — she can but witness 
 the despair ! And therefore, Alfred, I rejected you. 
 
 Eve. Yet you believe me as poor now as I was then. 
 
 Clara. But / am not poor : we are not so poor. Of 
 this fortune, which is all your own — if, as I hear, one half 
 would free you from your debts, why, we have the other 
 half still left. Evelyn ! it is humble — but it is not penury. 
 
 Eve. Cease, cease — you know not how you torture me. 
 Oh, that when hope was possible ; — oh, that you had bid 
 me take it to my breast and wait for a brighter day ! 
 
 Clara. And so have consumed your life of life upon a 
 hope perhaps delayed till age — sliut you from a happier 
 choice, from fairer fortunes — shackled you with vows that, 
 as my youth and its poor attributes decayed, would only 
 have irritated and galled — made your whole existence 
 one long suspense ! No, Alfred, even yet you do not 
 know me ! 
 
 Eve. Know you ! Fair angel, too excellent for man's 
 harder nature to understand ! — at least it is permitted me 
 to revere. Why were such blessed words not vouchsafed 
 to me before ? — why, why come they now 1 — too late ! 
 Oh, Heaven — too late ! 
 
 Clara. Too late ! What, then, have I said ? 
 
 Eve. Wealth ! what is it without you 1 With you, I 
 recognize its power ; to forestall your every wish — to 
 smooth your every path — to make all that life borrows 
 from Grace and Beauty your ministrant and handmaid ; 
 and then, looking to those eyes, to read there the trea- 
 sures of a heart that excelled all that kings could lavish ; 
 — why that were to make gold indeed a god ! But vain 
 — ^vain — vain ! Bound by every tie of faith, gratitude, 
 loyalty, and honour, to another !
 
 400 ' MONEY. [act V. 
 
 Clara. Another ! Is she, then, true to ycair reverses 1 
 I did not know this — indeed I did not ! And I have 
 thus betrayed myself ! O, shame I he must despise me 
 now ! 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 The foregoing. — Enter Sik John ; at the same time Graves and 
 Lady Franklin advance from the inner room. 
 
 Sir John [loith dignity and frankness\. Evelyn, I was 
 hasty yesterday. You must own it natural that I should 
 be so. But Geoi'gina has been so urgent in your defence^ 
 
 that [as Lady Fkanklin comes up to listeii\ Sister, 
 
 just shut the door, will you that I cannot resist her. 
 
 What's money without happiness ? So give me your 
 security ; for she insists on lending you the £10,000. 
 
 Eve. I know, and have already received it. 
 
 Sir John. Already received it ! Is he joking ? Faith, 
 for the last two days I believe I have been living amongst 
 the Mysteries of Udolpho ! Sister, have you seen Geor- 
 gina 1 
 
 Lady Frank. Not since she went out to walk in the 
 square. 
 
 Sir John \aside\. She's not in the square nor the house 
 — where the deuce can the girl be ? 
 
 Eve. I have written to Miss Vesey — I have asked her 
 to fix the day for our wedding. 
 
 /Sir John [joyfully]. Have you 1 Go, Lady Franklin, 
 fimd fcer instantly — she must be back by this time : take
 
 SCENE v.] MONEY. 401 
 
 my carriage, it is but a step — you will not be two minutes 
 gone. — [-4sic?e.] I'd go myself, but I'm afraid of leaving 
 him a moment while he's in such excellent dispositions. 
 
 Lady Frank, [repulsing Clara]. No, no : stay till I 
 return, [Exit. 
 
 Sir John. And don't be down-hearted, my dear fellow ; 
 if the worst come to the worst, you will have everything 
 I can leave you. Meantime, if I can in any way help 
 you 
 
 Uve. Ha ! — ^you ! — you, too ? — Sir John, you have seen 
 my letter to Miss Vesey 1 — [^sirfe] — or could she have 
 learned the truth before she ventured to be generous ? 
 
 Sir John. No ! on my honour. I only just called at 
 
 the door on my way from Lord Spend that is, from 
 
 the City. Georgina was out ; — was ever anything so 
 unlucky 1 — [Without.^ [Hurrah — hurrah ! Blue for ever !] 
 —What's that ? 
 
 Enter Sharp. 
 
 Sharp. Sir, a deputation from Groginhole — poll closed 
 in the first hour — you are returned 1 Holloa, sir — 
 holloa ! 
 
 Eve. And it was to please Clara ! 
 
 Sir John. Mr. Sharp — Mi*. Sharp — I say, how much 
 has Mr. Evelyn lost by Messrs. Flash and Co ? 
 
 Sharp. Oh, a great deal, sir, — a gTeat deal. 
 
 Sir John, [alarmed]. How 1 — a great deal ! 
 
 Eve. Speak the truth. Sharp, — concealment is all over. 
 
 Sharp. £223. 6s. 3d. — a great sum to throw away ! 
 
 Graves. Ah, I comprehend now ! Poor Evelyn caught 
 in his own trap ! 
 
 Sir John. Eh ! what, my dear boy 1 — what ? Ha ! 
 ha ! all humbug, was it t — all humbug, upon my soul ! 
 2 D
 
 402 MONEY. [act V. 
 
 So, Mr. Sharp, isn't lie ruined after all 1 — not the least, 
 wee, rascally, little bit in the world, ruined ? 
 
 Sharp, Sir, he has never even lived ujd to his income, 
 
 Sir John. Worthy man ! I could jump up to the 
 ceiling! I am the happiest father-in-law in the three 
 kingdoms. — And that's my sister's knock, too. 
 
 Clara. Since I was mistaken, cousin, — since, now, you 
 do not need me, — forget what has passed ; my business 
 here is over. Farewell ! 
 
 JEve. Could you but see my heart at this moment, with 
 what love, what veneration, what anguish it is filled, yoxi 
 would know how little, in the great calamities of life, 
 fortune is really worth. And must we part now, — now, 
 
 when — when 1 never wept before, since my mother 
 
 died! 
 
 Unter Lady Franklin and GEonam a, followed hy 
 BiiOUNT, loho looks shy and ernbarrassed. 
 
 Gra/ves. Georgina herself — then there's no hope. 
 
 Sir John. What the deuce brings that fellow Blount 
 here ? — Georgy, my dear Georgy, I want to 
 
 Eve. Stand back. Sir John ! 
 
 Sir John. But I must speak a word to her — 1 want 
 to 
 
 Eve. Stand back, I say, — not a whisper — not a sign. 
 If your daughter is to be my wife, to her heart only will 
 I look for a reply to mine. 
 
 Lady Frank. \to Geokgina]. Speak the truth, niece. 
 
 Eve. Georgina, it is true, then, that you trust me with 
 your confidence — your fortune ? It is also true, that when 
 you did so you believed me ruined 1 Oh, pardon the 
 ^oubt ! Answer as if your father stood not there — answer
 
 SCENE v.] MONEY. 403 
 
 me from that truth the world caunot yet have plucked 
 from your soul — answer as if the woe or weal of a life 
 trembled in the balance — answer as the woman's heart, 
 yet virgin and unpolluted, should answer to one who has 
 trusted to it his all ! 
 
 Geor. What can he mean ? 
 
 Sir Jolm [making signs]. She '11 not look this way^ 
 she will not — hang her — Hem ! 
 
 Uve. You falter. I implore — I adjui-e you — answer I 
 
 Ladg Frank. The truth ! 
 
 Geor. Mr. Evelyn, your fortune might well dazzle me, 
 as it dazzled others. Believe me, I sincerely pity your 
 reverses. 
 
 Sir John. Good girl ! you hear her, Evelyn. 
 
 Geor. What's money without happiness % 
 
 Sir John. Clever creature ! — my own sentiments ! 
 
 Geor. And so, as our engagement is now annulled, — 
 papa told me so this very morning, — I have promised my 
 hand where I have given my heart — to Sir Frederick Blount. 
 
 Sir John. I told you, — I ? No such thing — no such 
 thing : you frighten her out of her wits — 'she don't know 
 what she's saying. 
 
 Eve. Am I awake ? But this letter — this letter, 
 received to-day 
 
 Lady Frank, [looldng over the letter]. Drummond's — 
 from a banker ! 
 
 Fve. Bead — read. 
 
 Ladg Frank. " Ten thousand pounds just placed to your 
 account — from the same unknown friend to Evelyn." Oh, 
 Clara, I know now why you went to Drummond's this 
 morning. 
 
 Fve. Clara ! What ! — and the former one with the 
 2 D 2
 
 404 MONEY. [act V. 
 
 same signature, on the faith of which I pledged my hand 
 and sacrificed my heart 
 
 Lady Frcmh. Was written under my eyes, and the 
 secret kept that 
 
 Eve. Look up, look up, Clara — I am fi-ee ! — I am 
 released ! you forgive me 1 — you love me 1 — you are 
 mine ! We are rich — rich ! I can give you fortune, 
 power, — I can devote to you my whole life, thought, 
 heart, soul — I am all yours, Clara — my own — my wife ! 
 
 Sir John. \to Georgina]. So, you've lost the game by 
 a revoke, in trumping your own father's best of a suit ! — 
 Unnatural jade ! — Aha, Lady Franklin — I am to thank 
 you for this ! 
 
 Lady Franh. You've to thank me that she's not now 
 on the road to Scotland with Sir Frederick. I chanced 
 on them by the Park just in time to dissuade and save 
 her. But, to do her justice, a hint of your displeasure 
 was sufficient. 
 
 Geor. [half-sohbing]. And you know, papa, you said this 
 very morning that poor Frederick had been ver}'^ ill-used 
 and you would settle it all at the club. 
 
 Blount. Come, Sir John, you can only blame yourself 
 and Evelyn's cunning device. After all, I'm no such 
 vewy bad match ; and as for the £10,000 
 
 Fve. I'll double it. Ah, Sir John, what's money with- 
 out happiness? 
 
 Sir John. Pshaw — nonsense — stuff! Don't humbug 
 xne! 
 
 Lady Frank. But if you don't consent, she'll have no 
 husband at all. 
 
 Sir John. Hum ! there's something in that. [Aside to 
 Evelyn.] Double it, will you ? Then settle it all tightly
 
 SCENE V.J MONEY. 405 
 
 on lier. Well — well — my foible is not avarice. Blount, 
 make her happy. Child, I forgive you. — [Pinching her 
 arm.] Ugh, you fool ! 
 
 Graves [to Lady Franklin]. I'm afraid it's catching. 
 What say you ? I feel the symptoms of matrimony creep- 
 ing all over me. Shall we, eh 1 Frankly, now, frankly 
 
 Lad'/ Frank. Frankly, now, there's my hand, on one 
 condition, — that we finish our reel on the wedding- 
 day. 
 
 Graves. Accepted. Is it possible ? Sainted Maria ! 
 thank Heaven you are spared this affliction ! 
 
 Enter Smooth. 
 
 Smooth. How d'ye do, Altred 1 I intrude, I fear \ 
 Quite a family party. 
 
 Blount. Wish us joy, Smooth — Georgina's mine, and — 
 
 Smooth. And our four friends there apparently have 
 made up another rubber. John, my dear boy, you look 
 as if you had something at stake on the odd trick. 
 
 Sir John. Sir, your very Confound the fellow ! — 
 
 and he's a dead shot, too ! 
 
 Enter Stout and Glossmore hastily, talking loith 
 each other. 
 
 Stovit. I'm sure he's of our side ; we've all the intelli- 
 gence. 
 
 Gloss. I'm sure he's of our's if his fortune is safe, for 
 we've all the property. — My dear Evelyn, you were out 
 of humour yesterday — ^but I forgive you. 
 
 Stout. Certainly ! — what would become of public life if 
 a man were obliged to be two days running in the same 
 mind ? — I rise to explain. — Just heard of your return, 
 Evelyn. Congratulate you. The great motion of the
 
 406 MONEY. [act V 
 
 session is fixed for Friday. We count on your vote. 
 Progress with the times ! 
 
 Gloss. Preserve the Constitution ! 
 
 Stout. Your money will do wonders for the party ! — 
 Advance ! 
 
 Gloss. The party respects men of your property ! — 
 Stick fast ! 
 
 Eve. I have the greatest respect, I assure you, for the 
 worthy and intelligent flies ujdou both sides the wheel ; 
 but whether we go too fast or too slow, does not, I fancy, 
 depend so much on the flies as on the Stout Gentleman 
 who sits inside and pays the post-boys. Now all my 
 politics as yet is to consider what's best for the Stout 
 Gentleman ! 
 
 Smooth. Meaning John Bull. Ce cher old John ! 
 
 Stout. I'm as wise as I was before. 
 
 Gloss. Sir, he's a trimmer ! 
 
 Eve. Smooth, we have yet to settle our first piqnet 
 account and our last ! And I sincerely thank you for the 
 service you have rendered to me, and the lesson you have 
 given these gentlemen. — [^Turning to Claka.] Ah, Clara, 
 you — ^you have succeeded where wealth had failed ! You 
 have reconciled me to the world and to mankind. My 
 friends — we must confess it — amidst the humours and the 
 follies, the vanities, deceits^ and vices that play their parts 
 in the great Comedy of Life — it is our own fault if we do 
 not find such natures, though rare and few, as redeem the 
 rest, brightening the shadows that are flung from the 
 form and body of the time with glimpses of the everlast- 
 ing holiness of truth and love. 
 
 Graves. But for the truth and the love, when found, to 
 make us tolerably happy, we should not be without
 
 SCENE v.] MONET. 407 
 
 Lady Frank. Good health ; 
 
 Graves. Good spirits ; 
 
 Clara. A good heart ; 
 
 Smooth. An innocent rubber ; 
 
 Geor. Congenial tempers ; 
 
 Blount. A pwoper degwee of pwudence ; 
 
 Stout. Enlightened opinions ; 
 
 Gloss. Constitutional principles ; 
 
 Sir John. Knowledge of the world ; 
 
 Eve. And plenty of Money !
 
 NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM; 
 
 OB, 
 
 MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER
 
 g^Matmn. 
 
 TO 
 
 HIS GEACE THE DUKE OF DEVONSHIKE, K.G. 
 
 My Lord Duke, 
 
 This Play is respectfully dedicated to your Grace in 
 token of tlie earnest gratitude, botli of Author and Performers, for 
 the genial and noble sympathy which has befriended their exertions 
 in the cause of their brotherhood. 
 
 The debt that we can but feebly acknowledge, may those who 
 come after us seek to repay ; and may each loftier Cultivator of 
 Ai"t and Letters, whom the Institution established under your 
 auspices may shelter from care and penury, see on its corner-stone 
 your princely name, — and perpetuate to distant times the affec- 
 tionate homage it commands fixim ourselves. 
 
 It is this hope that can alone render worthy the tribute which, 
 in my own name as Author, and in the names of my companions 
 the Performers, of the Play first represented at Devonshire House, 
 I now offer to your Grace, with every sentiment that can deepen 
 and endear the respect and admiration 
 
 With which I have the honour to be, 
 My Lord Duke, 
 Your Grace's most obedient and faithful Servant, 
 
 E. BULWER LYTTON.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 The Duke of Middlesex, "X Peers attached to tlie son of James II., 
 The Earl of Loftus, > commonly called the First Pretender. 
 
 Lord Wilmot, a young man at the head of the Mode more than a 
 century ago, son to Lord Loftus. 
 
 Mr. Shadowly Softhead, a young gentleman from the city, friend 
 and double to Lord Wilmot. 
 
 Hardman, a rising Member of Parliament, and adherent to Sir Robert 
 
 Walpole. 
 Sir Geoffrey Thornside, a gentleman of good family and estate. 
 Mr. Goodenough Easy, in business, highly respectable, and a friend 
 
 of Sir Geoffrey. 
 Colonel Flint, a Fire-eater. 
 Mr. Jacob Tonson, a Bookseller. 
 Smart, Valet to Lvrd Wilmot. 
 Hodge, Servant to Sir Geoffrey Thornside. 
 Paddy O'Sullivan, Mr. Fallen's Landlord. 
 Mr. David Fallen, Orubb Street Author and Pamphleteer. 
 
 Coffee-House Loungers, Drawers, Newsmen, Watchvien, dec. die. 
 
 Lucy, daughter to Sir Geoffrey Thornside. 
 
 Barbara, daughter to Mr. Easy. 
 
 The Lady of Deadman's Lane (Lady Thornside). 
 
 Date of Play — The Eeign of George I. Scene — London. 
 
 Time supposed to be occupied, from the noon of the first day to the 
 afternoon of the second. 
 
 I
 
 NOT SO BAD AS ¥E SEEM; 
 
 OS, 
 
 MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 
 
 ACT I.— SCENE I. 
 Lord Wilmot's Apartment in St. James's. 
 
 Smart [shawi/ng in a Masked Lady]. My Lord is dress- 
 ing. As you say, madam, it is late. But though he 
 never wants sleep more than once a week, yet when he 
 does sleep, I am proud to say he sleeps better than any 
 man in the three kingdoms. 
 
 Lady. I have heard much of Lord Wilmot's eccen- 
 tricities — but also of his generosity and honour. 
 
 Sma/rt. Yes, madam, nobody like him for speaking ill 
 of himself and doing good to another. 
 
 Enter Wilmot. 
 
 Wil. *' And sleepless lovers just at twelve awake." Any 
 duels to-day, Smart ? No — I see something more dan- 
 gerous — a woman. [To Smart.] Vanish. \Pladng a 
 chair for Lady.] Madam, have I the honour to know
 
 414 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT I. 
 
 you ? Condescend to remove your vizaixl. [Lady lifts 
 her viash^ Yevy fine woman, still — decidedly dangerous. 
 Madam, allow mc one precautionary observation — My 
 affections are engaged. 
 
 Lady. So I conjectured ; for I have noticed you from 
 the window of my house, walking in the garden of Sir 
 Geoffrey Thomside with his fair daughter : and she seems 
 worthy to fix the affections of the most fickle. 
 
 Wil. My dear madam, do you know Sir Geoffrey ? 
 Bind me to you for life, and say a kind word to him in 
 my favour. 
 
 Lady. Can you need it? — young, highborn, accom- 
 plished 
 
 Wil. Sir Geoffrey's very objections against me. He 
 says I am a fine gentleman, and has a vehement aversion 
 to that section of mortals, because he implies that a fine 
 gentleman once did him a mortal injury. But you seem 
 moved — dear lady, what is your interest in Sir Geoffrey 
 or myself ? 
 
 Lady. You shall know later. Tell me, did Lucy Thorn- 
 side ever speak to you of her mother ? 
 
 Wil. Only to regret, with tears in her eyes, that she 
 had never known a mother — that lady died, I believe, 
 while Lucy was but an infant. 
 
 Lady. When you next have occasion to speak to her, 
 say that you have seen a friend of her mother, who 
 has something to impart that may contribute to her 
 father's happiness and her own. 
 
 Wil. I will do your bidding this day, and ■ 
 
 Soft. \witliout\. Oh, never mind announcing me, 
 Smart. 
 
 Lady [startiiig itp]. I would not be seen here — I must
 
 SCENE I.] OE, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 415 
 
 be gone. Call on me at nine o'clock this evening ; this 
 is my address. 
 
 Enter Softhead, as Lord Wilmot is protecting Lady's 
 retreat, and stares aghast. 
 
 Wil. \aside\. Do not fear him — best little fellow in the 
 wox'ld, ambitious to be thought good for nothing, and 
 frightened out of his wits at the sight of a petticoat. 
 [Aloud, as he attends her out.^ Allow me to escort your 
 Ladyship. 
 
 Sojt. Ladyship ! — lucky dog. But then he's such a villain ! 
 
 Wil. [returning, and looking at the addi'ess]. Very mys- 
 terious visitor — sign of Crown and Portcullis, Deadman's 
 Laue — a very funereal residence. Ha, Softhead ! my 
 Pylades — my second self ! Animce 
 
 Soft. Enemy ! 
 
 Wil. Dimidium mece. 
 
 Soft. Bimi ! that's the oath last in fashion, I warrant. 
 \With a swagger and a slap on the bacJc.^ Dimidum mece, 
 how d'ye do 1 But what is that lady ? — masked too 1 
 Oh, Fred, Fred, you are a monster ! 
 
 Wil. Monster ! ay, horrible ! That lady may well 
 wear a mask. She has poisoned three husbands. 
 
 Soft. Dimidum mece. 
 
 Wil. A mere harmless gallantry has no longer a charm 
 for me. 
 
 Soft. Nor for me either ! [.isirfe.] Never had. 
 
 Wil. Nothing should excite us true men of pleasure 
 but some colossal atrocity, to bring our necks within an 
 inch of the gallows ! 
 
 , Soft. He's a perfect demon ! Alas, I shall never come 
 up to his mark !
 
 416 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT L 
 
 Enter Smart. 
 
 Smart. Mr. Hardman, my Lord. 
 
 Wil. Hush ! Must not shock Mr. Hardman, the most 
 friendly, obliging man, and so clever — will be a minister 
 some day. But not one of our set. 
 
 Enter Hardman. 
 
 Hard. And how fares my dear Lord ? 
 
 Wil. Bravely — and you ? Ah ! you men who live for 
 others have a hard life of it. Let me present you to my 
 friend. Mi-. Shadowly Softhead. 
 
 Ha/rd. The son of the great clothier who has such 
 weight in the Guild 1 I have heard of you from Mr. 
 Easy and others, though never so fortunate as to meet 
 you before, Mr. Softhead. 
 
 Soft. Shadowly Softhead : — my grandmother was one of 
 the Shadowlys — a genteel family that move about Court. 
 She married a Softhead 
 
 Wil. A race much esteemed in the city. 
 
 Hard. A new picture, my Lord ? I'm no very great 
 judge — but it seems to me quite a master-piece. 
 
 Wil. I've a passion for art. Sold off my stud to buy 
 that picture. [^sic?e.] And please my poor father. 'Tis 
 a Murillo. 
 
 Hard. A Murillo ! you know that Walpole, too, has a 
 passion for pictures. — In despair at this moment that he 
 can't find a Murillo to hang up in his gallery. If ever 
 you want to corrupt the Prime Minister's virtue, you have 
 only to say, " I have got a Murillo." 
 
 Wil. Well, if, instead of the pictures, he'll just hang up 
 the men he has bought, you may tell him he shall have my 
 Murillo for nothing ! 
 
 1
 
 SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 417 
 
 Hard. Bought ! now really, my Lord, this is so vulgar a 
 scandalagainst Sir Robert. Letmeassure your Lordship 
 
 Wil, Lordship ! Plague on these titles among friends. 
 Why, if the Duke of Middlesex himself — commonly styled 
 " the Proud Duke " — who said to his Duchess, when she 
 astonished his dignity one day with a kiss, " Madam, 
 my first wife was a Percy, and she never took such a 
 liberty ; " * 
 
 Hard. Ha ! ha ! well, if " the Proud Duke " 
 
 Wil. Could deign to come here, we would say, " How 
 d'ye do, my dear Middlesex ! " 
 
 Soft. So we would, Fred ! Middlesex. — Shouldn't you 
 like to know a Duke, Mr. Hardman 1 
 
 Hard. I have known one or two — in opposition : and 
 had rather too much of 'em. 
 
 Soft. Too much of a Duke ! La ! I could never have 
 eno' of a Duke ? 
 
 Hard. You may live to think otherwise. 
 Enter Smart. 
 
 Smart. His Grace the Duke of Middlesex. 
 Enter Duke. 
 
 Duke. My Lord Wilmot, your most obedient servant. 
 
 * This well-known anecdote of the Proud Duke of Somerset, and 
 some other recorded traits of the same eminent personage, have 
 been freely applied to the character, intended to illustrate the 
 humour of pride, in the comedy. None of our English memoirs 
 afford, however, instances of that infirmity so extravagant as are to 
 be found in the French. Tallamant has an anecdote of the cele- 
 brated Duchesse de Longueville, which enlivens the burlesque by a 
 bull that no Irish imagination ever surpassed. A surgeon having 
 probably saved her life by bleeding her too suddenly and without 
 Bufi&cient ceremonial — the Duchesse said, on recovering herself, that 
 "he was an insolent fellow to have bled her — in her presence," 
 2 E
 
 418 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT I. 
 
 Wil. [Aside. Now then, courage !] How d'ye do, my 
 dear Middlesex-? 
 
 JDuke. "How d'ye do?" "Middlesex!" Gracious 
 Heaven ; what will this age come to ? 
 
 Hard, [to Softhead]. Well, it may be the fashion, — 
 yet I could hardly advise you to adopt it. 
 
 Soft. But if Fred 
 
 Hard. Oh ! certainly Fred is an excellent model 
 
 Soft. Yet there's something very awful in a live Duke ! 
 
 Hard. Tut ! a mere mortal like ourselves, after all. 
 
 Soft. D'ye really think so ? — upon your honour ? 
 
 Hard. Sir, I'm sure of it, — upon my honour, a mortal ! 
 
 Duke [turning stiffly round, and half rising from his 
 chair in majestic condescension^ Your Lordship's friends ? 
 A good day to you, gentlemen ! 
 
 Soft. And a good day to yourself. My Lord Du 
 
 I mean, my dear boy ! — Middlesex, how d'ye do ? 
 
 Duke. " Mid ! "— " boy ! "— " sex ! "— " dear ! " I must 
 be in a dream. 
 
 Wil. [to Softhead]. Apologise to the Duke. [To 
 Hardman.] Then hurry him off into the next room. 
 Allow me to explain to your Grace 
 
 Soft. But what shall I say ? 
 
 Hard. Anything most civil and servile. 
 
 Soft. I — I — my Lord Duke, I really most humbly en- 
 treat your Grace's pardon, I 
 
 Duke. Small man, your pardon is granted, for your ex- 
 istence is effaced. So far as my recognition is necessary 
 to your sense of being, consider yourself henceforth — 
 annihilated ! 
 
 Soft. I humbly thank your Grace ! Annihilated ! 
 •vsrhat's that 1
 
 SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 419 
 
 Hard. Duke's English for excused. [Softhead wants 
 to get hack to the Duke.] What ! have not you had 
 enough of the Duke 1 
 
 Soft. No, now we've made it up. I never bear malice. 
 I should like to know more of him ; one can't get at a Duke 
 every day. If he did call me " small man," he is a Duke, 
 — and such a remarkably fine one ! 
 
 Hard, [drawing him away]. You deserve to be haunted 
 by him ! No — no ! Come into the next room. 
 
 [Exeunt through side-door. Softhead very reluctant to 
 leave the Duke, 
 
 Duke. There's something portentous in that small man's 
 audacity. — Quite an aberration of Nature ! But we are 
 alone now, we two gentlemen. Your father is my friend, 
 and his son must have courage and honour. 
 
 Wil. Faith, I had the courage to say I would call your 
 Grace " Middlesex," and the honour to keep to my word. 
 So I've given good proof that I've courage and honour 
 enough for anything ! 
 
 Duke \aff'ectio7iately\. You're a wild boy. You have 
 levities and follies. But alas ! even rank does not exempt 
 its possessor from the faults of humanity. Yery strange ! 
 My own dead brother — [with a look of disgust.] 
 
 Wil. Your brother, Lord Henry de Mowbray 1 My 
 dear Duke, pray forgive me ; but I ho^je there's no truth 
 in what Tonson, the bookseller, told me at "Will's, — that 
 your brother had left behind certain Confessions or Me- 
 moirs, which are all that might be apprehended from a 
 man of a temper so cynical, and whose success in the gay 
 world was so — terrible. [Aside. Determined seducer and 
 implacable cut-throat !] 
 
 Duke. Ha ! then those Memoirs exist ! My brother 
 3 e 2
 
 420 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM; [aCT I. 
 
 kept his profligate threat. I shall be ridiculed, lampooned. 
 I, the head of the Mowbrays ! Powers above, is nothing 
 on earth, then, left sacred ! Can you learn in whose 
 hands is this scandalous record ? 
 
 Wil. I will try. Leave it to me. I know Lord Henry 
 bore you a grudge for renouncing his connexion, on account 
 of his faults — of humanity ! I remember an anecdote 
 how he fought with a husband, some poor devil named 
 Morland, for a boast in a tavern, which — Oh, but we'll 
 not speak of that. We must get the Memoir. "We gen- 
 tlemen have all common cause here. 
 
 JDuke [taking his hand]. Worthy son of your father. 
 You deserve, indeed, the trust that I come to confide to 
 you. Listen. His Majesty, King James, having been 
 deceived by vague promises in the Expedition of 'Fifteen, 
 has very properly refused to imperil his rights again, 
 unless upon the positive pledge of a sufiicient number of 
 persons of influence, to risk life and all in his service. 
 Myself and some others, not wholly unknown to you, 
 propose to join in a pledge which our King with such 
 reason exacts. Your assistance, my Lord, would be valu- 
 able, for you are the idol of the young. Doubts were 
 entertained of your loyalty. I have come to dispel them 
 — a word will suffice. If we succeed, you restore the son 
 of a Stuart ; if we fail, — you will go to the scafibld by the 
 side of John Duke of Middlesex ! Can you hesitate ? or 
 is silence assent ? 
 
 Wil. My dear Duke, forgive me that I dismiss with a 
 jest a subject so fatal, if gravely entertained. I have so 
 many other engagements at present that, just to recollect 
 tiiem, I must keep my head on my shoulders. Accept 
 my humblest excuses.
 
 SCENE I.] OK, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 421 
 
 Duke. Accept mine for mistaking the son of Lord 
 Loftus. [Goes up to C. D. 
 
 Wil. Lord Loftus again ! Stay. Your Grace spoke 
 of persons not wholly unknown to me. I entreat you to 
 explain. 
 
 Duke. My Lord, I have trusted you with my own life ; 
 but to compromise by a word the life of another ! — permit 
 me to remind your Lordship that I am John Duke of 
 Middlesex. [Uxit. 
 
 Wil. Can my father have entangled himself in some 
 Jacobite plot ? How shall I find out ? — Ha ! Hardman, 
 Hardman, I say ! Here's a man who finds everything 
 out. 
 
 Unter Hardman and Softhead. 
 
 Softhead,' continue annihilated for the next five minutes 
 or so. These books will help to the cessation of your 
 existence, mental and bodily. Mr. Locke, on the Under- 
 standing, will show that you have not an innate idea j and 
 the Essay of Bishop Berkely will prove you have not an 
 atom of matter. 
 
 Soft. But 
 
 Wil. No buts ! — they're the fashion. 
 
 Soft. Oh, if they're the fashion 
 
 [Seats himself at the further end of the room ; commences 
 vigorously ivith BerJcely and Locke, first one and then 
 the other, and after convincing himself that they are 
 above his compreliension, gradually subsides from despair 
 into dozing. 
 
 Wil. [to Hardman]. My dear Hardman, you are the 
 only one of my friends whom, in sj^ite of your politics, 
 my high Tory father condescends to ajjprove of. Every
 
 422 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT I. 
 
 one knows that his family were stout cavaliers attached 
 to the Stuarts. 
 
 Hard. \Aside\. Ah ! I guess why the Jacobite Duke 
 has heen here. I must look up David Fallen ; he is in 
 all the schemes for the Stuarts. Well — and 
 
 Wil. And the Jacobites are daring and numei'ous ; and, 
 — in short, I should just like to know that my father 
 views things with the eyes of our more wise generation. 
 
 Hard. Why not ask him yourself 1 
 
 Wil. Alas ! I'm in disgrace ; he even begs me not to 
 come to his house. You see he wants me to marry. 
 
 Hard. But your father bade me tell you, he would 
 leave your choice to yourself; —would marriage then 
 seem so dreadful a sacrifice ? 
 
 Wil. Sacrifice! Leave my choice to myself 1 My dear 
 father. \Rings tlie hand-bell] Smart ! [Entet Smart.] 
 Order my coach. 
 
 Hard. This impatience looks very like love. 
 
 Wil. Pooh ! what do you know about love 1 — you, — 
 who love only ambition ! Solemn old jilt, with whom 
 one's never safe from a rival. 
 
 Hard. Yes ; — always safe from a rival, both in love and 
 ambition, if one will watch to detect, and then scheme to 
 destroy him. 
 
 Wil. Destroy — ruthless exterminator ! May we never 
 be nvals ! Pray keep to ambition. 
 
 Hard. [Aside]. But ambition lures me to love. This 
 fair Lucy Thornside, as rich as she's fair ! woe indeed to 
 the man who shall be my rival with her. I will call 
 there to-day. 
 
 Wil. Then, you'll see my father, and sound him ? 
 
 Hard. I will do so.
 
 SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 423 
 
 iVil. You are the best friend I have. If ever I can 
 serve you in return 
 
 Hard. Tut ! in serving my friends, 'tis myself that I 
 serve. [Exit. 
 
 Wil. [after a moment's thought^. Now to Lucy. Ha ! 
 Softhead. 
 
 Soji. [waking up\. Heh ! 
 
 Wil. [Asidel. I must put this suspicious Sir Geoffrey 
 on a wrong scent. If Softhead were to make love to the 
 girl — violently — desperately. 
 
 Soft, [yauming^. I would give the world to be tucked 
 up in bed now ! 
 
 Wil. I've a project — an intrigue — ^be all life and all 
 fire ! Why, you tremble 
 
 Soft. With excitement. Proceed ! 
 
 Wil. There's a certain snarling, suspicious Sir Cyeoffrey 
 Thornside, with a beautiful daughter, to whom he is a 
 sort of a one-sided bear of a father — all growl and no 
 hug. 
 
 Soft. 1 know him ! 
 
 Wil. You. How? . 
 
 Soft. Why, his most intimate friend is Mr. Goodenough 
 Easy. 
 
 Wil. Lucy presented me to a Mistress Barbara Easy. 
 Pretty girl. 
 
 Soft. You are not courting her ? 
 
 Wil. Not at present. Are you ? 
 
 Soft. Why, my father wants me to marry her. 
 
 Wil. You refused 1 
 
 Soft. No. I did not. 
 
 Wil. Had she that impertinence ? 
 
 Soft. No ; but her father had. He wished for it once ;
 
 424 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT I. 
 
 Lut since I've become a la 7)iode, and made a sensation at 
 St. James's, he says that his daughtei' shall be courted no 
 juore by a man of such fashion. Oh ! he's low, Mr. Easy : 
 very good-humoured and hearty, but respectable, sober, 
 and square-toed ; — decidedly low ! — City bred ! So I can't 
 go much to his house ; but I see Barbara sometimes at 
 Sir Geoflrey's. 
 
 Wil. Excellent ! Listen : I am bent upon adding LiTcy 
 Thornside to the list of my conquests. But her churl of 
 a father has already given me to understand that he hates 
 a loi'd 
 
 Soft. Hates a lord ! Can such men be ? 
 
 Wil. And despises a man ci, la mode. 
 
 Soft. I knew he was eccentric, but this is downright 
 insanity. 
 
 Wil. Brief. I see very well that he'll soon shut his 
 doors in my face, unless I make him believe that it is not 
 his daughter who attracts me to his house ; so I tell you 
 ■what we will do ; — you shall make love to Lucy — violent 
 love, you rogue. 
 
 /Soft. But Sir Geoffrey knows I'm in love with the other. 
 
 Wil. That's over. Father refused you — transfer of af- 
 fection ; natural pique and human inconstancy. And, in 
 return, to oblige you, I'll make love just as violent to 
 Mistress Barbara Easy. 
 
 Soft. Stop, stop ; I don't see the necessity of that. 
 
 Wil. Pooh ! nothing more clear. Having thus duped 
 the two lookers on, we shall have ample opportunity to 
 change partners, and hands across, then down the middle 
 and up again. 
 
 Enter Smart. 
 
 Sma/rt. Your coach waits, my Lord.
 
 SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 425 
 
 Wil. Come along. Fie ! that's not the way to conduct 
 a cane. Has not Mr. Pope, oiu- great poet of fashion, 
 given you the nicest instructions in that art 1 
 
 "Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain, 
 And the nice conduct of a clouded cane." 
 
 The cane does not conduct you ; you conduct the cane. 
 Thus, with a dehonnair swing. Now, t'other hand on 
 your haunch ; easy, degage — impudently graceful ; with 
 the air of a gentleman, and the heart of a — monster ! 
 Allans! Vivelajoie. 
 
 Soft. Vive la jaw, indeed. I feel as if I wei'e going to 
 be hanged. Allans ! Vive la jaw ! [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II.— SCENE I. 
 
 Library in the hoiibi of Sir Geoffket Thornside — At the lach 
 a large window opening nearly to the ground — Side-door to an adjoin- 
 ing room — Style of decoration, that introduced from the Dutch in the 
 reign of William III. {old-fashioned, therefore, at the date assigned to 
 the Play) — rich and heavy; oak panncls, i-jartly gilt; high-hacked 
 chairs, dx. 
 
 Enter Sir Geoffrey and Hodge. 
 
 Sir Geof. But I say tlie dog did howl last night, and 
 it is a most suspicious circumstance. 
 
 Hodge. Fegs, my dear Measter, if you'se think that 
 these Lunnon thieves have found out that your honour's 
 rents were paid last woik, mayhap I'd best sleep here iu 
 the loibery.
 
 426 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT II. 
 
 Sir Geo/. [Aside]. How does he know I keep my monies 
 here 1 
 
 Hodge. Zooks ! I'se the old blunderbuss, and that will 
 boite better than any dog, I'se warrant ! 
 
 Sir Geof. [Aside. I begin to suspect him. For ten 
 years have I nursed that viper at my hearth, and now he 
 wants to sleep in my library, with a loaded blunderbuss, 
 in case I should come in and detect him. I see murder 
 in his very face. How blind I've been !] Hodge, you 
 ai'e very good — very; come closer. [Aside. What a felon 
 step he has !] But I don't keep my rents here, they're 
 all gone to the banker's. 
 
 Hodge. Mayhap I'd best go and lock up the plate ; or 
 will you send that to the banker's ? 
 
 Sir Geof, [Aside.- I wonder if he has got an accomplice 
 at the banker's ! It looks uncommonly like it.] ISTo, I'll 
 not send the plate to the banker's, I'll — consider. You've 
 not detected the miscreant who has been flinging flowers 
 into the library the last four days ? — or observed any one 
 watching your master when he walks in his garden, from 
 the window of that ugly old house in Deadman's Lane 1 
 
 Hodge. With the sign of the Crown and Poor CuUey ! 
 Why, it maun be very leately. 'Tint a week ago 'sin it 
 war empty. 
 
 Sir Geof. [Aside. How he evades the question ! — just 
 as they do at the Old Bailey.] Get along with you and 
 feed the house-dog — Ms honest ! 
 
 Hodge. Yes, your honour. [Exii. 
 
 Sir Geof. I'm a very unhappy man, very. Never did 
 harm to any one — done good to many. And ever since 
 I was a babe in the cradle, all the world have been con- 
 spiring and plotting against me. It certainly is an ex- 
 
 I
 
 SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER, 427 
 
 ceedingly wicked world ; and what its attraction can be 
 to the other worlds, that they should have kept it spin- 
 ning through space for six thousand years, I can't possibly 
 conceive — unless they are as bad as itself; I should not 
 wonder. That new theory of attraction is a very sus- 
 picious circumstance against the planets — there's a gang 
 of 'em ! [A bunch of flow&rs is thrown in at the window^ 
 Heaven defend me ! There it is again ! This is the fifth 
 bunch of flowers that's been thrown at me through the 
 window — what can it possibly mean % — the most alarming 
 circumstance. 
 
 \Cautiously poking at the flowers with his sword. 
 
 Mr. Goodenough Easy \without\. Yes, Barbara, go and 
 find Mistress Lucy. [Entering^ How d'ye do, my hearty? 
 
 Sir Geof. Ugh ! hearty, indeed ! 
 
 Easy. Why, what's the matter ? what are you poking 
 at those flowers for?^ — is there a snake in them 1 
 
 Sir Geof. Worse than that, I suspect ! Hem ! Good- 
 enough Easy, I believe I may trust you 
 
 Easy. You trusted me once with five thousand pounds. 
 
 Sir Geof. Dear, dear, I forgot that. But you paid me 
 back, Easy 1 
 
 Easy. Of course ; but the loan saved my credit, and 
 made my fortune : so the favour 's the same. 
 
 Sir Geof. Ugh ! Don't say that ; favours and perfidy 
 go together 1 a truth I learned early in life. What favoui'S 
 I heaped on my foster-brother. And did not he conspire 
 with my cousin to set my own father against me ; and 
 trick me out of my heritage ? 
 
 Easy. But you've heaped favours as great on the son of 
 that scamp of a foster-brother ; and he
 
 438 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT 1L 
 
 Sir Geof. Ay ! but he don't know of them. And then 
 there was my that girl's mother 
 
 Easy. Ah ! that was an affliction which might welt 
 turn a man, pre-inclined to suspicion, into a thorough 
 self-tormentor for the rest of his life. But she loved you 
 dearly once, old friend ; and were she yet alive, and could 
 be proved guiltless after all 
 
 Sir Geof. Guiltless ! Sir ? 
 
 Easy. Well — well ! we agreed never to talk upon that 
 subject. Come, come, what of the nosegay ? 
 
 Sir Geof. Yes, yes, the nosegay ! Hark ! I suspect 
 some design on my life. The dog howled last night. 
 When I walk in the garden, somebody or something 
 (can't see what it is) seem? at the watch in a window 
 in Deadman's Lane — pleasant name for a street at the 
 back of one's premises ! And what looks blacker than 
 all, for five days running, has been thrown in at me, 
 yonder, surreptitiously and anonymously, what you call — 
 a nosegay ! 
 
 Easy. Ha ! ha ! you lucky dog ! — you are still not 
 bad-looking ! Depend on it the flowers come from a 
 woman. 
 
 Sir Geof A woman ! — my worst fears are confirmed ! 
 In the small city of Placentia, in one year, there were no 
 less than seven hundred cases of slow poisoning, and all 
 by women. Flowers were among the instruments they 
 employed, stecj^ed in laurel water and other mephitic 
 prepai'ations. Those flowers are poisoned. Not a doubt 
 of it ! — how very awful ! 
 
 Easy. But why should any one take the trouble to 
 poison you, Geoff"rey ? 
 
 Sir Geof. I don't know. But I don't know why seven
 
 SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHAEACXER. 429 
 
 hundred people iu one year were poisoned in Placentia. 
 Hodge ! Hodge ! 
 
 Enter Hodge. 
 
 Sweep away those flowers ! — lock 'em up with the rest in 
 tlie coal-hole. I'll examine them all chemically, by and 
 by, with precaution. \Exit Hodge.] Don't smell at 'em ; 
 and, above all, don't let the house-dog smell at 'em. 
 
 Easy. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Sir Geof. \Aside. Ugh! — that brute's laughing! — no 
 more feeling than a brick-bat 1] Goodenough Easy, you 
 are a very happy man. 
 
 Easy. Happy, yes. I could be happy on bread and water. 
 
 Sir Geof. And would toast your bread at a conflagration, 
 and fill your jug from a deluge ! Ugh ! I've a trouble 
 you are more likely to feel for, as you've a girl of your 
 own to keep out of mischief A man named Wilmot, and 
 styled " my Lord," has called here a great many times ; 
 
 he pretends he saved my ahem ! — that is, Lucy, from 
 
 footpads, when she was coming home from your house in 
 a sedan chair. And I suspect that man means to make 
 love to her ! 
 
 Easy. Egad ! that's the only likely suspicion you've hit 
 on this many a day. I've heard of Lord Wilmot. Soft- 
 head professes to copy him. Softhead, the son of a trader ! 
 he be a lounger at White's and Will's, and dine with wits 
 and fine gentlemen ! He live with lords ! — he mimic 
 fashion ! No ! I've respect for even the faults of a man ; 
 but I've none for the tricks of a monkey. 
 
 Sir Geof. Ugh ! you're so savage on Softhead, I suspect 
 'tis from envy. Man and monkey, indeed ! If a ribbon 
 is tied to the tail of a monkey, it is not the man it enrages ; 
 it is some other monkey whose tail has no ribbon !
 
 430 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT II. 
 
 Easy [angrily]. I disdain your insinuations. Do you. 
 mean to imply that I am a monkey ? I will not praise 
 myself ; but at least a more steady, respectable, sober ■ 
 
 Sir Geo/. Ugh ! sober I — I suspect you'd get as drunk 
 as a lord, if a lord passed the bottle. 
 
 Easy. Now, now, now. Take care ; — ^you'll put me in 
 a passion. 
 
 Sir Geo/. There — there — beg pardon. But I fear 
 you've a sneaking respect for a lord. 
 
 Easy. Sir, I resjject the British Constitution and the 
 House of Peers as a part of it ; but as for a lord in him- 
 self, with a mere handle to his name, a paltry title ! Tliat 
 can have no effect on a Briton of independence and sense. 
 And that's just the difference between Softhead and me. 
 But as you don't like for a son-in-law the real fine gen- 
 tleman ; perhaps you've a mind to the copy. I am sure 
 you are welcome to Softhead. 
 
 Sir Geo/. Ugh ! I've other designs for the girl. 
 
 Easy. Have you ? What ? Perhaps your favourite, 
 young Hardman ? — ^by the way, I've not met him here 
 
 lately. 
 
 Enter Lucy and Barbara, 
 
 Lucy. O, my dear father, forgive me if I disturb you ; 
 but I did so long to see you ! 
 
 Sir Geof. Why ? 
 
 Lucy. Ah, father, is it so strange that your child 
 
 Sir Geof. [interrupting her]. Why ? 
 
 Lucy. Because Hodge told me you'd been alarmed last 
 night — the dog howled ! But it was full moon last night, 
 and he will howl at the moon ! 
 
 Sir Geof. \Aside\. How did she know it was full moon ? 
 I suspect she was looking out of the window
 
 SCENE 1.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 431 
 
 [Enter Hodge, announcing Lord Wilmot and Mr. 
 Shadowlt Softhead]. — Wilmot ! my suspicions are con- 
 firmed ; she was looking out of the window ! This comes 
 of Shakspeare having written that infernal incendiary 
 trash about Romeo and Juliet ! 
 
 Enter Wilmot and Softhead. 
 
 Wil. Your servant, ladies ; — Sir Geoffrey, your servant. 
 I could not refuse Mr. Softhead's request to inquire after 
 your health. 
 
 Sir Geo/. I thank your lordship ; but when my health 
 wants inquiring after I send for the doctor. 
 
 Wil. Is it possible you can do anything so dangerous 
 and rash 1 
 
 Sir Geo/. How 1 — how 1 
 
 Wil. Send, for the very man who has an interest in 
 your being ill ! 
 
 Sir Geo/ [Aside^. That's very true. I did not think he 
 had so much sense in him ! 
 
 [Sir Geoffrey and Easy retire up the stage. 
 
 Wil. I need not inquire how you are, ladies 1 When 
 Hebe retired from the world, she divided her bloom 
 between you. Mistress Barbara, vouchsafe me the honour 
 a queen accords to the meanest of her gentlemen. 
 
 [Kisses Barbara's hand, and leads lier aside, conversing in 
 dumb show. 
 
 So/t. Ah, Mistress Lucy, vouchsafe me the honour 
 which — [Aside. But she don't hold her hand in the 
 ■same position.] 
 
 Easy. Bravo ! — bravo ! Master Softhead ! — Encore ! 
 
 So/t. Bravo ! — Encore ! I don't understand you, Mr, 
 Easy.
 
 432 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT II. 
 
 Easy. That bow of yours ! Perfect. Plain to see you 
 have not forgotten the old Dancing Master in Crooked 
 Lane. 
 
 Soft. [Aside. I'm not an inconstant man ; but I'll 
 show that City fellow, there are other ladies in town 
 besides his daughter.] — Dimidum 7nece, how pretty you 
 are, Mistress Lucy ! [Walks aside with her. 
 
 Sir Geof. That popinjay of a lord is more attentive to 
 Barbai'a than ever he was to the other. 
 
 Easy. Hey ! hey ! D'ye think so ? 
 
 Sir Geof. I suspect he has heard how rich you are. 
 
 W1LM.0T and Barbara approaxiliing. 
 Bar. Papa, Lord Wilmot begs to be presented to you. 
 
 [Bows interdianged. Wilmot offers snuff-box. Easy at first 
 declines, then accepts — sneezes violently ; unused to snuff. 
 
 Sir Geof. He ! he ! quite clear ! — titled fortune- 
 hunter. Over head and ears in debt, I dare say. [Takes 
 Wilmot aside.] Pretty girl, Mistress Barbara ! Eh ? 
 
 Wil. Pretty ! Say beautiful ! 
 
 Sir Geof. He ! he ! Her father will give her fifty 
 thousand pounds down on the wedding-day. 
 
 Wil. I venerate the British merchant who can give 
 Ills daughter fifty thousand pounds ! What a smile she 
 lias ! [Hooking his arm into Sir Geoffrey's.] I say, 
 Sir Geoffrey, you see I'm very shy — bashful, indeed — and 
 Mr. Easy is watching every word I say to his daughter : 
 so embarrassing ! Couldn't you get him out of the room 1 
 
 Sir Geof. Mighty bashful, indeed ! Turn the oldest 
 friend I have out of my room, in order that you may 
 make love to his daughter ! [Turns away. 
 
 Wil. [to Easy]. I say, Mr. Easy. My double, there,
 
 SCEXE I.] OU, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 433 
 
 Softhead, is so shy — bashful indeed — and that suspicious 
 Sir Geoffrey is watching every word he says to Mistress 
 Lucy : so embarrassing ! Do get your friend out of the 
 room, will you ! 
 
 Easy. Ha ! ha ! Certainly, my lord. \^Aside. I see 
 he wants to be alone with my Barbara. What will they 
 say in Lombard-street, when she's my lady? Shouldn't 
 wonder if they returned me M.P. for the city.] Come 
 into the next I'oom, Geoffrey ; and tell me your designs 
 for Lucy. 
 
 Sir Geof. Oh, very well ! You wish to encourage that 
 
 pampered young — Satrap ! How he does love a lord, 
 
 and how a lord does love fifty thousand pounds ! He ! he ! 
 
 \Exeunt Sir Geoffrey and Easy. 
 
 Wil. [running to LucY and p^isJdng aside Softhead]. 
 Return to your native allegiance. Truce with the enemy 
 and exchange of prisoners. 
 
 \Leads Lucy aside — she rather grave and reluctant. 
 
 Bar. So, you'll not speak to me, Mr. Softhead ; words 
 are too rare with you fine gentlemen to throw away upon 
 old friends. 
 
 Soft. Ahem ! 
 
 Bar. You don't remember the winter evenings you 
 used to pass at our fire-side ? nor the mistletoe bough at 
 Christmas ? nor the pleasant games at Blind-man's BuS 
 and Hunt the Slipper ? nor the strong tea I made you 
 when you had the migraine 1 Nor how I pi-evented your 
 eating Banbury cake at supper, when you know it always 
 disagrees with you ? — But I suppose you are so hardened 
 that you can eat Banbury cake every night now ! — I'm 
 sure 'tis nothing to me ! 
 
 Soft. Those recollections of one's early innocence are 
 2f
 
 434 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT II. 
 
 very melting ! One renounces a great deal of happiness 
 for renown and ambition. — Barbara ! 
 
 Bar. Shadowly ! 
 
 Soft. However one may rise iu life — however the 
 fashion may compel one to be a monster 
 
 Bar. A monster ! 
 
 Soft. Yes, Fred and I are both monsters ! Still — 
 still — still — 'Ecod, I do love you with all my heart, and 
 that's the truth of it, 
 
 WiLMOT and Lucy advancing. 
 
 Lucy. A friend of my lost mother's. Oh ! yes, dear 
 Loi'd Wilmot, do see her again — learn what she has to 
 say. There are times when I so long to speak of that — 
 my mother ; but my father shuns even to mention her 
 name. Ah, he must have loved her well ! 
 
 Wil. What genuine susceptibility ! I have found what 
 I have sought all my life, the union of womanly feeling 
 and childlike innocence. 
 
 [Attem'pts to take her hand ; LuOY withdraws it coyly. 
 
 Nay, nay, if the renunciation of all youthful levities 
 and follies, if the most stearlfast adherence to your side — 
 despite all the chances of life, all temptations, all dan- 
 gers [Hard^ian's voice loithout. 
 
 Bar. Hist ! some one coming. 
 
 Wil. Change partners ; hands across. My angel 
 Barbara ! 
 
 Enter Hardman. 
 
 Hard. Lord Wilmot here ! 
 Wil. What ! does he know Sir Geoffrey ? 
 Bar. Oh yes. Sir Geoffrey thinks there's nobody like 
 him.
 
 SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 435 
 
 Wil. Well met, my clear Hardman. So you are 
 intimate liere ? 
 
 Hard. Ay ; and you ? 
 
 WU. An acquaintance in its cradle. Droll man, Sir 
 Geoffrey ; I deliglit in odd characters. Besides, here ar^ 
 other attractions. \_Rehtrning to Barbara. 
 
 Hard. \Aside\. If he be my rival ! Hum ! I hear 
 from David Fallen that his father's on the brink of high 
 treason ! That secret gives a hold on the son. 
 
 \Jo%ns Lucy. 
 
 Wil. \to Barbara]. You understand ; 'tis a compact. 
 You will favour my sti'atagem % 
 
 Bar. Yes ; and you'll engage to cure Softhead of his 
 taste for the fashion, and send him back to the City. 
 
 Wil. Since you live in the City, and condescend to 
 regard such a monster ! 
 
 Bar. Why, we were brought up together. His health 
 is so delicate ; I should like to take care of him. Heigho ! 
 I am afraid 'tis too late, and papa will never forgive his 
 past follies. 
 
 Wil. Yet papa seems very good-natured. Perhaps 
 there's another side to his character ? 
 
 Bar. Oh yes ! He is such a very independent man, 
 my papa ! and has such a contempt for people who go 
 out of their own rank, and make fools of themselves for 
 the sake of example. 
 
 Wil. Never fear ; I'll ask him to dine, and open his 
 heart with a cheerful glass. 
 
 Bar. Cheerful glass ! You don't know papa — the 
 soberest man ! If there's anything on which he's severe, 
 'tis a cheerful glass. 
 
 Wil. So, so ! does not he ever — get a little excited ? 
 2 P 2
 
 43G NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT III. 
 
 Bar. Excited ! Don't think of it ! Besides, he is so 
 in awe of Sir Geoffrey, who would tease him out of his life, 
 if he could but hear that papa was so inconsistent as to — 
 as to 
 
 Wil. As to get — a little excited % [Aside. These hints 
 should suffice me ! 'Gad, if I could make him tipsy for 
 once in a way ! — I'll try.] Adieu, my sweet Barbara, 
 and rely on the zeal of your faithful ally. Stay ; tell Mr. 
 Easy that he must lounge into Will's. I will look out 
 for him there in about a couple of hours. He'll meet 
 many friends from the City, and all the wits and fine 
 gentlemen. AIL as ! Vive la joie ! Softhead, we'll have 
 a night of it ! 
 
 fSo/L Ah ! those were pleasant nights when one went 
 to bed at half after ten. Heigho ! 
 
 [As Hakdman Icisscs Lucy's hand, Wilmot ffaily Jcisscs 
 Bahbaea's — Hardman observes him ivith a little siis- 
 picion — WlLiiOT returns his look lightlij and carelessly 
 — Lucy and Barbara conscious. 
 
 ACT III.— SCENE I. 
 
 Will's Coffee-house; occupying the depth of the stage. Various 
 groups; some seated in hoxes, some standing. In a hox at the side, 
 David Fallen seated xcrltincj. 
 
 Enter Easy, sjMaJdng to various acquaintances as he 
 2)asses to the hachground. 
 
 How d'ye do 1 — Have you seen my Lord Wilmot 1 
 — Good day. — Yes ; I seldom come here ; but I've pro- 
 mised to meet an intimate friend of mine — Lord Wilmot.
 
 SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 437 
 
 — Servant, sir ! — looking for my friend Wilmot : — Oh 5 
 not come yet ! — hum — ha ! — charming young man, Wil' 
 mot : head of the mode ; generous, but prudent. I know 
 all his affairs. 
 
 Enter Newsman. 
 
 Great news ! great news ! Suspected Jacobite Plot ! 
 Fears of ministers ! — Army to be increased ! — Great news ! 
 
 [CoJ^ec-house frequenters gather round Newsman — tahipapert 
 — form themselves into fresh groups. 
 
 Enter Hardman. 
 
 Hard. I have sent ofi" my letter to Sir llobert Walpole. 
 This place, he must give it ; the iai'st favour I have asked. 
 Hope smiles ; I am at peace with all men. Now to save 
 Wilmot's father. \Ap2w0aches the box at which David 
 Fallen is tvriting, and stoops down, as if arranging his 
 buckle.] [To Fallen. Hist ! Whatever the secret, re- 
 member, not a word save to me.] 
 
 [Passes doivn the stage, and is eagerly greeted hy various 
 frequenters of the Coffee-house. 
 
 Enter Lord Loftus. 
 
 Lord Lof. Di'awer, I engage this box ; give me the 
 newspaper. So — "Rumoured Jacobite plot — " 
 
 Enter the Duke of Middlesex. 
 
 Duke. My dear Lord, I obey your appointment. But is 
 not the place you select rather strange ? 
 
 Lof. Be seated, I pray you. No place so fit for our 
 purpose. First, because its very publicity prevents all 
 suspicion. We come to a coffee-house, where all ranks 
 and all parties assemble, to hear the news, like the rest. 
 And, secondly, we could scarcely meet our agent anywhere
 
 438 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT III. 
 
 else. He is a Tory pamphleteer : was imprisoned for our 
 sake in the time of William and Mary. If we, so well 
 known to be Tories, are seen to confer with him here, 
 'twill only be thought that we are suggesting some points 
 in a pamphlet. May I beckon our agent ? 
 
 Duke. Certainly. He risks his life for us ; he shall be 
 
 duly rewarded. Let him sit by our side. [Lord Loftus 
 
 motions to David Fallen, who takes wp his pamphlet and 
 approaches openly.^ — I have certainly seen somewhere 
 before that very thin man. Be seated, sir. Honourable 
 danger makes all men equal. 
 
 Fal. No, my Lord Duke. I know you not. It is the 
 Earl I confer with. [Aside. I never stood in his hall, 
 with lacqueys and porters.] 
 
 Duke. Powers above ! That scare-crow rejects ray ac- 
 quaintance ! Portentous ! [Stunned and astonished. 
 
 Lqf. Observe, Duke, we speak in a sort of jargon. 
 Pamphlet means messenger. [To Fallen aloud^ Well, 
 Mr. Fallen, when will the pamphlet be ready ? 
 
 Fal. [aloud\ To-morrow, my Lord, exactly at one 
 o'clock. 
 
 Duke [still bewildered'\. I don't understand — 
 
 Lqf. Hush ! Walpole laughs at pamphlets, but would 
 hang messengers. [ilfowcT]. To-morrow, not to-day ! 
 Well, more time for 
 
 Fal. Subscribers. Thank you, my Lord. [Whispering. 
 Where shall the messenger meet you ?] 
 
 Lof. At the back of the Duke's new house, thei-e is a 
 quiet, lone place 
 
 Fal. [w]dspering~\. By the old mill near the Thames ? 
 I know it. The messenger shall be there. The signal 
 word, "Marston Moor." No conversation should pass.
 
 SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 439 
 
 But who brings the packet 1 That's the first step of 
 danger, 
 
 Duke [suddenly rousing himself, and with dignity\. Then 
 'tis mine, sir, in right of my birth. 
 
 Fed. \aloud\. I'll attend to all your Lordship's sugges- 
 tions ; they're excellent, and will startle this vile adminis- 
 tration. Many thanks to your LordshijD. 
 
 [Returns to his table and resumes Ms writing. Groups point 
 and murmicr. Jacob Tonson advances. 
 
 Easy. Thnt pestilent scribbler, David Fallen ! Another 
 libellous pamphlet as bitter as the last, I'll swear. 
 
 Ton. Bitter as gall, sir, I am proud to say. Your 
 servant ; Jacob Tonson, the bookseller, — at your service. 
 I advanced a pound upon it. 
 
 Duke. I will meet you in the Mall to-morrow, a quarter 
 after one precisely. We may go now 1 Powers above ! 
 — his mind 's distracted — he walks o\it before me ! 
 
 Lof. \drawing hack at the door\. I follow you, Duke. 
 
 Duke. My dear friend — if you really insist on it ? 
 
 [Exeunt, hawing. 
 
 Hard. \as the Drawer ^)Z«ce6- the wine, &c., on the table]. 
 Let me oflfer you a glass of wine, Mr. Fallen — [Aside. 
 Well ?— ] 
 
 [Fallen, wlio has been writing, pushes the paper toioards him. 
 
 Hard. [i'eading'\. " At one to-morrow — by the old mill 
 near the Thames — Marston Moor — the Duke in person ' 
 — So ! We must save these men. — I will call on you in 
 the morning, and concert the means. 
 
 Fal. Yes, save, not destroy, these enthusiasts. I'm re- 
 signed to the name of a hireling — not to that of a butcher ! 
 
 Hard. You serve both Whig and Jacobite ; do you 
 care then for either ?
 
 440 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEJI j [aCT IIL 
 
 Fal. Sneering politician ! what has either cared for nie % 
 I entered the world, devoted heart and soul to two causes 
 — the throne of the Stuart, the glory of Letters. I saw 
 them both as a poet. My father left me no heritage 
 but loyalty and learning. Charles the Second j^raised 
 my verse, and I starved ; James the Second praised my 
 prose, and I starved : the reign of King William — I 
 passed that in prison ! 
 
 Hard. But the ministers of Anne were gracious to 
 writers. 
 
 Fal. And offered me a pension to belie my past life, 
 and write Odes on the Queen who had dethronod her 
 own father. I was not then disenchanted — I refused. 
 That's years ago. If I starved, I had fame. Nosv came 
 ray worst foes, my own fellow-writers. What is fame 
 but a fashion % A jest upon Grub Steet, a rhyme from 
 young Pope, could jeer a score of gray laboui'ers like me 
 out of their last consolation. Time and hunger tame all. 
 I could still starve myself ; I have six children at home 
 — they must live. 
 
 Hard. [Aside. This mai bas genius — he might have 
 been a grace to his age.] I 'n. perplexed ; Sir Robert 
 
 Fal. Disdains letters'— ^'> e renounced them. He pays 
 services like these. W-hH- ,I serve him. Leave me ; go ! 
 
 Hard. \rising\. Not ^o bad as he seems — another side 
 to the character. 
 
 Enter Drawer wiih a letter to Hardman. 
 
 Hard. \Aside\. From Walpole ! Now then ! my fate 
 — my love — my fortunes ! 
 
 Easy [peeping over Hardman's shoidder^ He has got a 
 letter from the Prime Minister, marked "private and
 
 SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 441 
 
 confidential.*' [Great agitation.] After all, lie is a very 
 
 clever fellow. 
 
 [Cojjee-liousc frequenters evince the readiest assent, and the 
 liveliest admiration. 
 
 Hard, [advancing and reading the letter]^. " My dear 
 Hardman, — Extremely soriy. Place in question abso- 
 lutely wanted to conciliate some noble family otherwise 
 dangerous.'''' Another time, more fortunate. Fully 
 sensible of your valuable service. — Hobert Walpole.'' 
 — Refused ! Let him look to himself ! I will — I will — 
 Alas ! he is needed by my country ; and 'I am powerless 
 against him. [Seats himself. 
 
 Enter Wilmot and Softhead. 
 
 Wil. Drawer ! a private room — covers for six — dinner 
 in an hour ! t And — drawer ! Tell Mr. Tonson not to 
 go yet. — Softhead, we'll have an orgy to-night, worthy the 
 days of King Charles the Second. 
 
 Softhead, let me present you to our boon companions ; 
 — my friend, Loi'd Strongbow (hardest drinker in Eng- 
 land) ; Sir John Bruin, best boxer in England — threshed 
 Figg ; quarrelsome but pleasant : Colonel Flint — finest 
 gentleman in England, and, out and out, the best fencer ; 
 
 * As Walpole was little inclined to make it a part of his policy 
 to conciliate those whose opposition might be dangerous, while he 
 was so fond of power as to be jealous of talent not wholly subser- 
 vient to him, the reluctance to promote Mr. Hardman, implied in 
 the insincerity of his excuse, may be supposed to arise from his 
 knowledge of that gentleman's restless ambition and determined 
 selfwill. 
 
 ■f- Is was not the custom at Will's to serve dinners ; and the 
 exception in favour of my Lord Wilmot proves his influence fts a 
 man a la mode.
 
 442 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT III. 
 
 mild as a lamb, but can't bear contradiction, and, on tbe 
 point of honour, inexorable. Now, for the sixth. Ha, 
 Mr. Easy ! (I ask him to serve you.) Easy, your hand ! 
 So charmed that you've come. You'll dine with us — 
 give up five invitations on purpose. Do — sans ceremonie. 
 
 Easy. Wliy, really, my Lord, a plain sober man like me 
 would be out of place 
 
 WiL If that's all, never fear. Live with us, and we'll 
 make another man of you. Easy ! 
 
 Easy. What captivating familiarity ! Well, I cannot 
 resist your Lordship. [Strutting down the room, and 
 speaking to his acquaintances.'\ Yes, my friend Wilmot 
 — Lord Wilmot — will make me dine with him. Pleasant 
 man, my frieud Wilmot. We dine together to-day. 
 
 [Softhead retires to the background with the other invited 
 guests ; hut trying hard to escax>e Sir John Bruin, the 
 lexer, and Col. Flint, the fencer, fastens himself on 
 East with an air oj patronage. 
 
 WiL [Aside. Now to serve the dear Duke.] You 
 have not yet brought the memoir of a late Man of Quality. 
 
 Ton. Not yet, my Lord ; just been trying ; hard work. 
 [Wipes his forehead.] But the person who has it is luckily 
 very poor ! one of my own authors. 
 
 Wil. [Aside. His eye turns to that forlorn-looking 
 spectre I saw him tormenting.] That must be one of 
 your authors : he looks so lean, Mr. Tonsou 1 
 
 Ton. Hush ; that's the man ! made a noise in his day ; 
 David Fallen. 
 
 Wil. David Fallen, whose books, when I was but a 
 schoolboy, made me first take to reading, — not as task- 
 work, but pleasure. How much I do owe him ! 
 
 [Bows very low to Mr. Fallen.
 
 SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 443 
 
 Ton. My Lord bows very low ! Oh, if your Lordship 
 knows Mr. Fallen, pray tell him not to stand in his own 
 light. I would give him a vast sum for the memoir, — 
 two hundred guineas ; on my honour I would ! [ Whis'per- 
 ing?^ Scandal, my Lord ; sell like wild-fire. — I say, Mr. 
 Hardman, I observed you speak to poor David. Can't 
 you help me here ? [Whispering.^ Lord Henry de 
 Mowbray's Private Memoirs ! Fallen has them, and 
 refuses to sell. Love Adventures : nuts for the public. 
 Only just got a peep myself But such a confession 
 about the beautiful Lady Morland. 
 
 Hard. Hang Lady Morland ! 
 
 Ton. Besides — shows up his own brother ! Jacobite 
 family secrets. Such a card for the Whigs ! 
 
 Hard. Confound the Whigs ! What do I care ? 
 
 Wil. I'll see to it, Tonson. Give me Mr. Fallen's 
 private address. 
 
 Ton. But pray be discreet, my Lord. If that knave 
 Curll should get wind of the scent, he'd try to spoil my 
 market with my own author. The villain ! 
 
 Wil. [Aside. Curll 1 Why, I have mimick'd Curll so 
 exactly that Pope himself was deceived, and, stifling with 
 rage, ordered me out of the room. I have it ! Mr. Curll 
 shall call upon Fallen the first thing in the morning, 
 and outbid Mr. Tonson.] Thank you, sir. [Taking the 
 address.'\ Moody, my Hardman ? some problem in 
 political ethics 1 You turn away, — you have a grief 
 you'll not tell me — why, this morning I asked you a 
 favour ; from that moment I had a right to your con- 
 fidence, for a favour degrades when it does not come from 
 a friend. 
 
 Hard. You charm, you subdue me, and I feel for once
 
 444 NOT so BAB AS WE SEEM ; [aCT tiJ. 
 
 how necessary to a man is the sympathy of another. 
 Your hand, Wihnot. This is secret — I, too, then presume 
 to love. One above me in fortune ; it may be in birth. 
 But a free state lifts those it employs to a par with its 
 nobles. A post in the Treasury of such nature is vacant ; 
 I have served the minister, men say, with some credit ; 
 and I asked for the gift without shame — 'twas my due. 
 Walpole needs the office, not for reward to the zealous, 
 but for bribe to the doubtful. See, [givhig letter] " Noble 
 family to conciliate." Ah, the drones have the honey ! 
 ■ WiL [reading and returning the letter]. And had you 
 this post, you think j'-qu could gain the lady you love ? 
 
 Hard. At least it would have given me courage to ask. 
 "Well, well, well, — a truce with my egotism, — you at 
 least, my fair Wilmot, fair in form, fair in fortune, you 
 need fear no rebuff where you place your affections. 
 
 Wil. Why, the lady's father sees only demerits in what 
 you think my advantages. 
 
 Hard. You mistake, I know the man much better 
 than you do ; and look, even now he is gazing upon you 
 as fondly as if on the coronet that shall blazon tbe coach 
 of my lady, his daughter. 
 
 Wil. Gazing on me 1 — where ? 
 
 Hard. Yonder — Ha ! is it not Mr. Easy, whose 
 
 Wil. Mr. Easy ! you too taken in ! Hark, secret for 
 secret — 'tis Lucy Thornside I love. 
 
 Hard. You — stun me ! 
 
 Wil. But what a despot love is, allows no thought, not 
 its slave ! They told me below that my father had been 
 here ; have you seen him ? 
 
 Hard. Ay. 
 
 Wil. And sounded ?
 
 SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. iij 
 
 Hard. No — better than that — I have taken pi'ecavitions. 
 I must leave you now ; you shall know the result to- 
 morrow afternoon. [Aside. Your father's life in these 
 hands — his ransom what I please to demand. — Ah, joy ! 
 I am myself once again. Fool to think man could be my 
 friend ! Ah, joy ! born but for the strife and the struggle, 
 it is only 'mid foes that my invention is quickened ! Half- 
 way to my triumph, now that I know the rival to 
 vanquish !] [To Fallen. Engage the messenger at one, 
 forget not. Nothing else till I see you.] [To Wilmot.] 
 Your hand once again. To-day I'm your envoy ; [Aside : 
 to-morrow your master.] 
 
 [Fallen folds up pa2')e7's and exit. 
 
 Wil. The friendliest man that ever lived since the days 
 of Damon and Pythias : I'm a brute if I don't serve 
 him in return. To lose the woman he loves for want of 
 this pitiful place. Saint Cupid forbid ! Let me consider ! 
 Many sides to a character — I think I could liere hit the 
 right one better than Hardman. Ha ! ha ! Excellent ! 
 My Murillo ! I'll not sell myself, but I'll buy the Prime 
 Minister ! Excuse me, my friends ; urgent business ; I 
 shall be back ere the dinner hour ; the room is prepared. 
 Drawer, show in these gentlemen : Hardman shall have 
 his place and his wife, and I'll bribe the arch-briber ! Ho ! 
 my lackies, my coach, there ! Ha, ha ! bribe the Prime 
 Minister ! There never was such a fellow as I am for 
 crime and audacity. [Exit Wilmot. 
 
 Colonel Flint. Your arm, Mr. Softhead. 
 
 Soft. And Fred leaves me in the very paws of this 
 tiger ! . . [Exeunt.
 
 446 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT III. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Library in Sir Geoffrey's Home. 
 
 Enter Sir Geoffrey. 
 
 I'm followed ! I'm clogged ! I go out for a walk 
 unsuspiciously ; and behind creeps a step, pit, pat ; feline 
 and stealthy ; I turn, not a soul to be seen — I walk on ; 
 pit, pat, stealthy and feline ! turn again ; and lo ! a dark 
 form like a phantom, muffled and masked — -just seen and 
 just gone. Ouf ! The plot thickens around me — I can 
 struggle no more. ^Sinks into a seat. 
 
 Enter Lucy. 
 
 Who is there ? 
 
 Lucy. But your child, my dear father. 
 
 Sir Geo/. Child, ugh ! what do you want ? 
 
 Lucy. Ah, speak to me gently. It is your heart that I 
 want ! 
 
 Sir Geof. Heart — I suspect I'm to be coaxed out of 
 something ! — Eh ; eh ! Why she's weeping. What ails 
 thee, poor darling % 
 
 Lucy. So kind. Now I have courage to tell you. I 
 was sitting alone, and I thought to myself — " my father 
 often doubts of me — doubts of all " — 
 
 Sir Geof. Ugh — what now ? 
 
 Lucy. " Yet his true nature is generous — it could not 
 always have been so. Perhaps in old times he has been 
 deceived where he loved. Ah, his Lucy, at least, shall 
 
 i
 
 SCENE II.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 447 
 
 never deceive him." So I rose and listened for your 
 footstep — I heard it — and I am here — here, on your 
 bosom, my own father ! 
 
 iSir Geo/. You'll never deceive me — right, right — go on, 
 pretty one, go on. [Aside. If she should be my child 
 after all ?] 
 
 Lucy. There is one who has come here lately — one who 
 appears to displease you — one whom you've been led to 
 believe comes not on .my account, but my friend's. It is 
 not so, my father ; it is for me that he comes. Let him 
 come no more — let me see him no more — for — for — I feel 
 that his presence might make me too happy — and that 
 would grieve you, O my father ! 
 
 [Mask appears at the windoio watching. 
 
 Sir Geo/. [Aside. She must be my child ! Bless her !] 
 I'll never doubt you again. I'll bite out my tongue if it 
 says a harsh word to you. I'm not so bad as I seem. 
 Grieve me 1 — yes, it would break my heart. You don't 
 know these gay courtiers — I do ! — tut — tut — tut — don't 
 cry. How can I console her 1 
 
 Lucy. Shall I say ? — let me speak to you of my 
 mother. 
 
 Sir Geo/, [o'ecoiling]. Ah ! 
 
 Lucy. "Would it not soothe you to hear that a friend of 
 hers was in London, who 
 
 Sir Geo/, [rising., and a change iii his whole deportment^. 
 I forbid you to speak to me of your mother, — she dis- 
 honoured me — 
 
 Mask [in a low voice 0/ emotion\. It is false ! 
 
 [Mask disappea/rs. 
 
 Sir Geof. [sta/rting\ Did you say " false ? " 
 
 Lucy [sohhing'\. No — no — but my heart said it !
 
 448 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM j [aCT III. 
 
 Sir Geo/. Strange ; or was it but my own faucy ? 
 
 Lucy. Oh, father, father ! — How I shall pity you if you 
 discover that your suspicions erred. And again I say — I 
 feel — feel in my heart of woman — that the mother of the 
 child who so loves and honours you, was innocent. 
 
 Harchnan s voice without. Is Sir Geoffrey at home ? 
 
 [Lucy starts up, and exit. — Twilight— diivinr/ the preceding 
 dialogue in the scene, the stage has gradually darl-ened. 
 
 Enter Haedman. 
 
 Hard. Sir Geoffrey, you were deceived ; Lord Wilmot 
 has no thought of Mr. Easy's daughter. 
 
 Sir Geof. I know that — Lucy has told me all, and 
 begged me not to let him come here again. 
 
 Hard. \_joyfuUy\. She has ! Then she does not love 
 this Lord "Wilmot ? — But still be on your guard against 
 him. Remember the arts of corruption — the emissary — 
 the letter — the go-between — the spy ! 
 
 Sir Geof. Arts ! Spy ! Ha ! if Easy was right after 
 all. If those flowers thrown in at the window ; the 
 watch from that house in the lane ; the masked figure 
 that followed me ; all bode designs but on Lucy 
 
 Hard. Flowers have been thrown in at the window ? 
 You've been watched 1 A masked figure has followed 
 you ? One question more. All this since Lord Wilmot 
 knew Lucy 1 
 
 Sir Geof. Yes, to be sure ; how blind I have been ! 
 
 [llasked figure ap'pears. 
 
 Hard. Ha ! look yonder ! Let me track this mystery 
 \Figure disai)i')ears\ : and if it conceal a scheme of Lord 
 Wilmot's against your daughter's honour, it shall need 
 not your sword to protect her. \Lea'ps from the window. 
 
 Jl
 
 SCENE III.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 449 
 
 Sir Geo/. What does lie mean 1 Not m7/ sword ? 
 Zounds ! he don't think of his own ! If he does, I'll 
 discai'd him. I'm not a coward, to let other men risk 
 their lives in my quarrel. Served as a volunteer under 
 Marlbro', at Blenheim ; and marched on a cannon ! 
 Whatever my faults, no one can say I'm not brave. 
 [Starting.] Ha ! bless my life ! What is that 1 I 
 thought I heard something — I'm all on a tremble ! 
 Who the deuce can be brave when he's surrounded by 
 poisoners — followed by phantoms ; with an ugly black 
 face peering in at his window ? — Hodge, come and bar 
 up the shutters — lock the door — let out the house-dog ! 
 Hodge ! Hodge ! Where on earth is that scoundrel ? 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 T/ie Streets — in perspective, an Alley inscribed Deadnian's Lam — 
 a large, old-faskioned, gloomy Hoiise in the Corner, with the door on 
 the stage, above which is impanelled a sign of the Crown and Port- 
 cullis. Enter a Female Figure, masked — holes round, pauses, and 
 enters the door. — Dark — Lights down. 
 
 Enter Hardman. 
 
 Hard. Ha ! enters that house. I have my hand on 
 the clue ! some pretext to call on the morrow, and I shall 
 quickly unravel the skein. ZExit. 
 
 2 a
 
 450 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT III. 
 
 Goodenough Easy [singing without]. — 
 
 " Old King Cole 
 Was a jolly old soul, 
 And a jolly old soul was he 
 
 [Entering, with LoKD Wilmot and Softhead, East, his 
 dress disordered, a inpe in his moiUh, in a state of in- 
 toxication, hilarious, musical, and oratorical — Soft- 
 head in a state of intoxication, abject, remorseful, and 
 lachrymose — Wilmot sober, but affecting inebriety. 
 
 " He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl, 
 And he called for his fiddlers three." 
 
 Wil. Ha, ha ! I imagine myself like Bacchus between 
 Silenus and his — ass ! 
 
 Easy. Wilmot, you're a jolly old soul, and I'll give you 
 my Barbara. 
 
 Soft. \hlubhering'\. Hegh ! hegh ! hegh ! Betrayed in 
 my tenderest affections. 
 
 Wil. My dear Mr. Easy, I've told you already that I'm 
 pre-engaged. 
 
 Easy. Pre-engaged ! that's devilish unhandsome ! But 
 now I look at you, you do seem double : and if you're 
 double, you're not single ; and if you're not single, why 
 you can't marry Barbara, for that would be bigamy ! But 
 I don't care ; you're a jolly old soul ! 
 
 Wil. Not a bit of it. Quite mistaken, Mr. Easy. But 
 if you want, for a son-in-law, a jolly old soul — there he 
 is! 
 
 Soft, [bursting out afresh]. Hegh ! hegh ! hegh ! 
 
 Easy. Hang a lord ! What's a lord ? I'm a respect- 
 able, independent family Briton ! — Softhead, give us your 
 fist : you're a jolly old soul, and you shall have Barbara I 
 
 4
 
 SCENE III.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 451 
 
 Soft. Hegh ! hegli ! I'm not a jolly old soul. I'm a 
 sinful, wicked, miserable monster. Hegli ! hegli ! 
 
 Easy. What's a monster % I like a monster ! My girl 
 shan't go a-begging any farther. You're a precious good 
 fellow, and your father's an alderman, and has got a great 
 many votes, and I'll stand for the City : and you shall 
 have my Barbara. 
 
 Soft. I don't deserve hei', Mr. Easy ; I don't deserve 
 such an angel ! I'm not precious good. Lords and tigers 
 have corrupted my innocence. Hegh ! hegh ! I'm going 
 to be hanged. 
 
 Watch, [ivithoutl. Half- past eight o'clock ! 
 
 Wil. Come along, gentlemen ; we shall have the watch 
 on us ! 
 
 Busy. — 
 
 " And the bands that guard the City, 
 Ci'ied — ' Rebels, yield or die ! ' " 
 
 Enter Watchman, 
 
 Watch. Half-past eight o'clock ! — move on ! move on ! 
 
 Easy. Order, order ! Mr. Vice and gentlemen, here's a 
 stranger disturbing the harmony of the evening. I knock 
 him down for a song. [Seizes the Watchman's rattle^ 
 Half-past Eight, Esq., on his legs ! Sing, sir ; I knock 
 you down for a song. 
 
 Watch. Help ! help ! Watch ! watch ! 
 
 [Cries vnthin, " Watch ! 
 
 Soft. Hark ! the officers of justice ! My wicked career 
 is approaching its close ! 
 
 Easy [who has got astride on the Watchman's head, and 
 p&rsuades himself tlmt the rest of the Watchman is the 
 table]. Mr. Vice and gentlemen, the toast of the evening 
 2 Q 2
 
 452 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT III. 
 
 what's the matter with the table ? 'Tis bobbing up 
 
 and down. The table's drunk ! Order for the chair — 
 you table, you ! [TliumiJS the Watchman loith the rattle^ 
 Fill your glasses — a bumper toast. Prosperity to the City 
 of London — nine times nine — Hip, hip, hurrah ! [TFaves 
 the rattle over his head ; the rattle springs, and makes all 
 the noise of which rattles are cajjable.] [Amazed.^ Why, 
 the Chairman's hammer is as drunk as the table ! 
 
 Enter Watchmen vnth staves, springing tlieir rattles. 
 
 Wil. \dravnng Softhead q^ into a corner]. Hold your 
 tongue — they'll not see us here ! 
 
 Watch, [escaping]. Murder! — murder! — this is the 
 fellow ! — most desperate ruflSan. 
 
 [Easy is upset by the escape of the Watchman, and, after 
 some effort to remove him otherwise, the Chiardiana of the 
 Night hoist him on their shoulders. 
 
 Easy. I'm being chaired member for the City ! Free- 
 men and Electors ! For this elevation to the post of 
 member for your metropolis, I return you my heartfelt 
 thanks ! Steady there, steady ! The proudest day of my 
 life. — 'Tis the boast of the British Constitution that a plain, 
 sober man like me may rise to honours the most ex- 
 alted ! Long live the British Constitution. Hip — hip — 
 hurrah ! 
 
 [Is carried off waving the rattle. Softhead continues to 
 weep in speechless sorrow. 
 
 Wil. [coining forth]. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — My family Briton 
 being chaired for the City ! " So severe on a cheerful 
 glass." Well, he has chosen a son-in-law drunk ; and, 
 egad ! he shall keep to him sober ! Stand up ; how do 
 you feel 1
 
 SCENE III.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 453 
 
 Soft. Feel ! I'm a ruin ! 
 
 Wil. Faith, I never saw a more mournful one ! It must 
 be near Sir Geoffrey's ! — Led them here — on my way to 
 this sepulchral appointment, Deadman's Lane. Where the 
 plague can it be 1 Ha ! the very place. Looks like it ! 
 How get rid of Softhead. — Ha, ha ! I have it. Softhead, 
 awake ! the night has begun — the time for monsters and 
 their prey. Now will I lift the dark veil from the mys- 
 teries of London. Behold that house, Deadman's Lane ! 
 
 Soft. Deadman's Lane ! I'm in a cold perspiration ! 
 
 Wil. In that house — under the antique sign of Crown 
 
 and Portcullis — are such delightful horrors at work as 
 
 would make the wigs of holy men stand on end ! The 
 
 adventure is dangerous, but deliriously exciting. Into 
 
 that abode which woman were lost did she enter, which 
 
 man is oft hanged when he leaves — into that abode will 
 
 we plunge, and gaze, like Macbeth, " on deeds without a 
 
 name." 
 
 Enter Masked Figure from the door in Deadman's Lane, and 
 approaches WiLMOT, who has, till notv, Jtold o/Softhead. 
 
 Soft. Hegh ! hegh ! hegh ! I won't gaze on deeds 
 without a name ! I won't plunge into Deadmen's abodes ! 
 [Perceiving the figure.] Ha ! Look th6i-e ! Dark veil, 
 indeed ! Mysteries of London ! Horrible apparition, 
 avaunt ! [Breaks from Wilmot, who releases him here, 
 and not till noio, as he sees the figure.^ Hegh ! hegh ! I'll 
 go home to my mother. [Exit. 
 
 [Mask motions to Wilmot, vjho follows her into the house.l 
 
 [Exeunt Mask and Wilmot within tha house.
 
 454 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT IV. 
 
 ACT IV.— SCENE I. 
 
 The Library in Sm Geoffrey's hmiae. 
 Hardman and Sir Geoffrey. 
 
 Sir Geof. Yes ! I've seen that you're not indifferent 
 to Lucy. But before I approve or discourage, just tell 
 me more of yourself, — your birth, your fortune, past life. 
 Of course, you are the son of a gentleman 1 \Aside.^ Now 
 as he speaks truly or falsely I will discard him as a liar, 
 or reward him with Lucy's hand. — He turns aside. He 
 wUl lie ! 
 
 Hard. Sir, at the risk of my hopes, I will speak the 
 hard truth. " The son of a gentleman ! " I think not. My 
 infancy passed in the house of a farmer ; the children with 
 whom I played told me I was an orphan. I was next 
 dropped, how I know not, in the midst of that rough 
 world called school. " You have talent," said the master, 
 " but you're idle ; you have no right to holidays ; you 
 must force your way through life ; you are sent here by 
 chai-ity." 
 
 Sir Geof. Charity ! There, the old fool was wrong ! 
 
 Hard. My idleness vanished — I became the head of the 
 school. Then I resolved no longer to be the pupil of — 
 Charity. At the age of sixteen I escaped, and took for 
 my motto — the words of the master — "You must foi'ce 
 your way through life." Hope and pride whispered — 
 " You'll force it ! " 
 
 Sir Geof. Poor fellow ! What then %
 
 SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 455 
 
 Hard. Eight years of wandering, adventure, hardship, 
 and trial. I often wanted bread — never courage. At the 
 end of those years I had risen — to what % A desk at a 
 lawyer's office in Noi'folk. 
 
 ti'ir Geof. [Aside\. My own lawyer 1 where 1 first caught 
 trace of him again. 
 
 Hard. Party spirit ran high in town. Politics began 
 to bewitch me. There was a Speaking Club, and I spoke. 
 My ambition rose higher — took the flight of an author. 
 I came up to London with ten jiounds in my pocket, and 
 a work on the " State of the Nation." It sold well ; the 
 publisher bi'ought me four hundred pounds. " Vast for- 
 tunes," said he, " are made in the South Sea Scheme. 
 Venture your hundreds, — I'll send you a broker." 
 
 Sir Geof. He ! he ! I hope he was clever, that broker ? 
 
 Hard. Clever indeed : in a fortnight he said to me, 
 " Your hundreds have swelled into thousands. For this 
 money I can get you an Annuity on land, just enough for 
 a parliamentary qualification." The last hint fired me — I 
 bought the Annuity. You now know my fortune, and 
 how it was made. 
 
 Sir Geof. [Aside\. He ! he ! I must tell this to Easy : 
 how he'll enjoy it. 
 
 Hard. Not long aftei', at a political coffee-house, a man 
 took me aside. " Sir," said he, " you are Mr. Hardman 
 who wrote the famous work on ' The State of the Nation.' 
 Will you come into Parliament 1 We want a man like 
 you for our borough ; we'll return you free of expense ; 
 not a shilling of bribery." 
 
 Sir Geof He ! he ! Wonderful ! not a shilling of 
 bribery. 
 
 Hard. The man kept his Avord, and I came into Par-
 
 456 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [acT iV. 
 
 liament — inexperienced and friendless. I spoke, and was 
 laughed at ; spoke again, and was listened to ; failed often ; 
 succeeded at last. Here, yesterday, in ending my tale I 
 must have said, looking down, " Can you give your child 
 to a man of birth more than doubtful ; and of fortunes so 
 humble 1 " Yet aspiring even then to the hand of your 
 heiress, I wrote to Sir Robert for a place just vacated by 
 a man of high rank, who is raised to the peerage. He 
 refused. 
 
 Sii' Geo/. Of course, [^sic^e.] I susjiect he's very rash 
 and presuming. 
 
 Hard. To-day the refusal is retracted — the office is mine. 
 
 Sir Geo/, \astonislied and aside]. Ha ! I had no hand 
 in that ! 
 
 Hard, I am now one — if not of the highest — yet still 
 one of that Government through which the Majesty of 
 England administers her laws. And, with front erect, I 
 say to you — as I would to the first peer of the realm — " I 
 have no charts of broad lands, and no roll of proud fathers. 
 But alone and unfriended, I have fought my way against 
 Fortune. Did your ancestors more ? My country has 
 trusted the new man to her councils, and the man whom 
 she honours is the equal of all." 
 
 ,Sir Geo/. Brave fellow, your hand. Win Lucy's con- 
 sent, and you have mine. Hush ! no thanks ! Now 
 listen ; I have told you my dark story — these floAvers 
 cannot come from Wilmot. I have examined them again — 
 they are made up in the very form of the posies I had the 
 folly to send, in the days of our courtship, to the wife who 
 afterwards beti'ayed me 
 
 Hard. Be not so sure that she betrayed. No proof 
 -but the boast of a profligate.
 
 SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 457 
 
 Sir Geo/. Who had been my intimate friend for years 
 — so that, torture ! I am haunted with the doubt 
 whether my heiress be my own child ! and to whom (by 
 the confession of a servant) she sent a letter in secret the 
 very day on which I struck the mocking boast from the 
 villain's lips, in a public tavern. Ah, he was always a 
 wit and a scofi'er — perhaps it is from him that these 
 flowei's ai'e sent, in token of gibe and insult. He has 
 discovered the man he dishonoured, in spite of the change 
 of name 
 
 Hard. You changed your name for an inheritance. 
 You have not told me that which you formerly bore. 
 
 Sir Geo/. Morland? 
 
 Hard. Morland — Ha — and the seducer's 
 
 Sir Geo/. Lord Henry de Mowbray 
 
 Hard. The reprobate brother of the Duke of Middlesex ! 
 He died a few months since. 
 
 Sir Geqf. [sinking doiv7ij. Died too ! Both dead ! 
 
 Hard. [Aside\. Tonson spoke of Lord Henry's Memoir 
 — Confession about Lady Morland in Fallen's hands. — I 
 will go to Fallen at once. [ilfoW.] You have given me 
 a new clue. I will follow it up. — When can I see you 
 again 1 
 
 Sir Geo/. I'm going to Easy's — you'll find me there all 
 the morning. But don't forget Lucy, — we must save her 
 from Wilmot. 
 
 Hard. Fear Wilmot no more. — This day he shall 
 abandon his suit. \_Exit Haedman. 
 
 Sir Geo/ Hodge !_ Well— well 
 
 Unter Hodge. 
 —Hodge, take your hat and your bludgeon — attend me
 
 458 NOT so BAD AS AYE SEEM ; [aCT IV. 
 
 to the City, [-isicfe.] She'll be hapj^y with Hardman. 
 Ah ! if she were my own child after all ! 
 
 [Uxeunf SiE Geoffrey and Hodge. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 David F^vllen's Garret. The scene resembling that. 0} Hor/arth's 
 " Distrest Poet." 
 
 Fal. [opening the casement]. So, the morning air breathes 
 fresh ! One moment's respite from drudgery. Another 
 line to this poem, my graud bequest to my country ! Ah ! 
 this description ; unfinished ; good, good. 
 
 " Methinks we walk in dreams on fairy laud 
 Where — golden ore — lies mix'd with " * 
 
 Enter Paddy. 
 
 Paddy. Please, sir, the milkwoman's score ! 
 Fal. Stay, stay ; — 
 
 "Lies mixed with — common sand ! " 
 
 Eh ? Milkwoman ? She must be paid, or the children 
 — I — I — [Fumbling in his pocket, and looking about tlie 
 fable]. There's another blanket on the bed ; pawn it. 
 Paddy. Agh, now ! don't be so ungrateful to your ould 
 
 * As it would be obviously presumptuous to assign to an author 
 60 eminent as Mr. David Fallen, any verses composed by a living 
 writer, the two lines in the text are taken from Mr. Dryden's Indian 
 Emperor.
 
 SCENE II.] OK, MANY SIDES TO A CHAKACTEK. 459 
 
 friend, the blanket. When Mr. Tonson, the great book- 
 shiller, tould me, says he, " Paddy, I'd giv two hunder 
 gould guineas for the papursh Mr. Fallen has in his disk ! '* 
 
 Fal. Go, go ! {Knock. 
 
 Faddy. Agh, murther ! "Who can that be distarbin' 
 the door at the top of the mornin' ? \Exit. 
 
 Fal. Oh ! that fatal Memoir ! My own labours scarce 
 keep me from starving, and this wretched scrawl of a 
 profligate worth what to me were Golconda ! Heaven 
 sustain me ! I'm tempted. 
 
 Enter Paddy, and AVilmot disguised as Edmund Curll. 
 
 Paddy. Stoop your head, sir. 'Tis not a dun, sir ; 'tis 
 Mr. Curll ; says he's come to outbid Mr. Tonson, sir. 
 
 Fal. Go quick ; pawn the blanket. Let me think my 
 children are fed. [Exit Paddy.] N"ow, sir, what do you 
 want ? 
 
 Wil. [faking out his handkerchief and whimperingl. My 
 dear good Mr. Fallen — no offence — I do so feel for the 
 distresses of genius. I a7n a bookseller, but I have a 
 heart — and I'm come to buy 
 
 Fal. Have you 1 this poem 1 it is nearly finished — 
 twelve books — twenty years' labour — twenty-four thou- 
 sand lines ! — ten pounds, Mr. Curll, ten pounds 1 
 
 Wil. Price of Paradise Lost ! Can't expect such jDrices 
 for poetry now-a-days, my dear Mr. Fallen. Nothing 
 takes that is not sharp and spicy. Hum .! I hear you 
 have some most interesting papers ; private Memoirs 
 and Confessions of a Man of Quality recently deceased. 
 Nay, nay, Mr. Fallen ! don't shrink back ; I'm not like 
 that shabby dog, Tonson. Threij hundred guineas for the 
 Memoir of Lord Henry de Movi bray.
 
 460 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT IV. 
 
 Fal. Three hundred guineas for that garbage ! — not ten 
 for the Poem '.—and — the children ! Well ! \Talces 
 out the Memoir in a portfolio, splendidly hound, with the 
 arms and supporters of the Mowhrays blazoned on the 
 sides^ Ah ! — but the honour of a woman — the secrets 
 of a family — the 
 
 Wil. [grasping at the portfolio which Fallen still 
 detains.^ Nothing sells better, my dear, dear Mr. Fallen ! 
 But how, how did you come by these treasures, my ex- 
 cellent friend 1 
 
 Fal. How 1 Lord Henry gave them to me himself, on 
 his death-bed. 
 
 Wil. Nay ; what could he give them foi, but to publish, 
 my sweet Mr. Fallen ; no doubt to immortalize all the 
 ladies who loved him. 
 
 Fal. No, sir ; profligate as he was, and vile as may be 
 much in this Memoir, that was not his dying intention, 
 though it might be his first. There was a lady he had 
 once foully injured — the sole woman he had ever loved 
 eno' for I'eraorse. This Memoir contains a confession that 
 might serve to clear the name he himself had aspei'sed ; 
 and in the sudden repentance of his last moments, he bade 
 me seek the lady, and place the whole in her hands, to 
 use as best might serve to establish her innocence. 
 
 Wil. Howcouldyou knowthe lady, my benevolent friend? 
 
 Fal. I did not ; but she was supposed to be abroad 
 with her father, — a Jacobite exile, — and I, then a Jacobite 
 agent, had the best chance to trace her. 
 
 Wil. And you did ? 
 
 Fal. But to hear she had died somewhere in France. 
 
 Wil. Then, of course you may now gratify our intelli- 
 gent Public, for your own personal profit. Clear as day
 
 SCENE II.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 461 
 
 my magnanimous friend ! Three hundred guinea'"^ 1 I have 
 'em here in a bag ! 
 
 Fal. Begone ! I will not sell man's hearth to the public. 
 
 Wil. \Asxde. Noble fellow !] Gently, gently, my too 
 warm, but high-spirited friend ! To say the truth, I don't 
 come on my own account. To whom, my dear sir, since 
 the lady is dead, should be given these papers, if unlit for 
 a virti^ous, but inquisitive public 1 Why, surely to Lord 
 Henx-y's nearest relation. I am employed by tlie rich 
 Duke of Middlesex. Name your terms. 
 
 Fal. Ha ! ha ! Then at last he comes crawling to me, 
 your proud Duke 1 Sir, years ago, when a kind word 
 from his Grace, a nod of his head, a touch of his hand, 
 would have turned my foes into flatterers, I had the 
 meanness to name him my patron — inscribed to him a 
 work, took it to his house, and waited in his hall among 
 porters and lackeys — till, sweeping by to his carriage, he 
 said, " Oh ! you are the poet 1 take this," — and extending 
 his alms, as if to a beggar. " You look very thin, sir ; 
 stay and dine with my people." People — his servants ! 
 
 Wil. Calm yourself, my good Mr. Fallen ! 'tis his 
 Grace's innocent way with us all. 
 
 Fed. Go ! let him know what these Memoirs contain ! 
 They would make the proud Duke the butt of the town 
 — the jeer of the lackeys, who jeered at my rags ; expose 
 his frailties, his follies, his personal secrets. Tell him 
 this ; and then say that my poverty shall not be the tool 
 of his brother's revenge : but my pride shall not stoop 
 from its pedestal to take money from him. Now, sir, am I 
 right ? Reply, not as tempter to pauper; but if one spark 
 of manhood be in you, as man speaks to man. 
 
 Wil. [resuming his own mannerj. I reply, sir, as man
 
 462 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT IV 
 
 to man, and gentleman to gentleman. I am Frederick, 
 Lord Wilmov. Pardon this imposture. The Duke is my 
 father's friend. I am here to obtain, what it is clear that 
 he alone should possess. Mr. Fallen, your works first 
 raised me from the world of the senses, and taught me to 
 believe in such nobleness as I now hope for in you. Give 
 me this record to take to the Duke — no price, sir ; for 
 such things are priceless — and let me go hence with 
 the sight of this poverty before my eyes, and on my soul 
 the grand picture of the man who has spurned the bribe 
 to his honour, and can humble by a gift the great prince 
 who insulted him by alms. 
 
 Fal. Take it — take it ! [Gives the portfolio.^j I am 
 saved from temptation. God bless you, young man ! 
 
 Wil. Now you indeed make me twofold your debtor — 
 in your books, the rich thought ; in yourself the heroic 
 example. Accept from my superfluities, in small part of 
 such debt, a yearly sum equal to that which your poverty 
 refused as a bribe from Mr. Ton son. 
 
 Fal. My Lord — my Lord [Bursts into tears. 
 
 Wil. Oh, trust me the day shall come, when men will 
 feel that it is not charity we owe to the ennoblers of life 
 — it is tribute ! When your Order shall rise with the 
 civilization it called into being ; and shall refer its claim 
 to just rank among freemen, to some Queen whom even a 
 Milton might have sung, and evena Hampden havedied for. 
 
 Fal. dream of my youth ! My heart swells and 
 chokes me ! 
 
 Fnter Hardman. 
 
 Hard. What's tl»is ? Fallen weeping 1 — Ah ! is not 
 that the tyrannical sneak, Edmund Curll 1
 
 SCENE II ] OB, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 463 
 
 Wil. {changhuf his tone to Fallen into one of imjjerious- 
 ness\. Can't hear of the poem, Mr. Fallen. Don't tell me. 
 Ah ! Mr. Hardman \concealing the portfolio^ your most 
 humble ! Sir — sir — if you Avant to publish something 
 smart and spicy — Secret Anecdotes of Cabinets — Sir 
 Robert Walpole's Adventures with the Ladies — I'll come 
 down as handsomely as any man in the Row — smart and 
 spicy 
 
 Hard. Offer to bribe me, you insolent rascal ! 
 
 Wil. Oh, my dear good Mr. Ilardman, I've bribed the 
 Premier himself. Ha ! ha ! Servant, sir ; servant. 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 Hard. Loathsome vagabond ! My dear Mr. Fallen, 
 you have the manuscript Memoir of Lord Henry de 
 Mowbray. I know its great value. Name your own 
 price to permit me just to inspect it. 
 
 Fal. It is gone ; and to the hands of his brother, the 
 Duke. 
 
 Hard. The Duke ! This is a thunder-stroke ! Say, 
 sir : you have read this Memoir — does it contain aught 
 respecting a certain Lady Morland ? 
 
 Fal. It does. It confesses that Lord Henry slandered 
 her reputation as woman in order to sustain his own as 
 a seducer. That part of the Memoir was writ on his 
 death-bed. 
 
 Hard. His boast, then — — 
 
 Fal. Was caused by the scorn of her letter rejecting 
 his suit. 
 
 Hard. What joy for Sir Geoffrey ! And that letter ? 
 
 Fal. Is one of the documents that make up the Memoir. 
 
 Hard. And these documents are now in the hands of 
 the Duke !
 
 464 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT IV. 
 
 Fal. They are. For, since Lady Morland is dead 
 
 Hard. Are you sure she is dead 1 
 
 Fjtl. I only go by report — 
 
 Hard. Report often lies. \ Aside. Who hut Lady 
 Morland can this mask be % I will go at once to the 
 house and clear up that doubt myself. But the Duke's 
 appointment ! Ah, that must not be foi'gotten ; my 
 rival must be removed ere Lucy can be won. And what 
 hold on the Duke himself to produce the Memoir, if I 
 get the despatch.] Well, Mr. Fallen, there is no more to 
 be said as to the Memoir. Your Messenger will meet 
 his Grace, as we settled. I shall be close at hand ; and 
 mark ! the messenger must give me the despatch which 
 is meant for the Pretender. \Exit Hardman. 
 
 Enter Paddy, 
 
 Paddy. Plase, sur, an' I've paid the milk-score 
 
 Fal. [interrupting him]. I'm to be rich — so rich ! 'Tis 
 my turn now. I've shared your pittance, you shall share 
 my plenty ! [Scene closes. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Tlie Mall. 
 
 Enter Softhead, his arms folded, and in deep thought. 
 He is forming a virtuous resolution. 
 
 Soft. Little did I foresee, in the days of my innocence, 
 when Mr. Lillo read to me his affecting tragedy of George
 
 SCENE III.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 465 
 
 Barnwell,* how I myself was to be led ou, step by step, to 
 the bviuk of deeds without a name. Deadman's Lane ! — 
 that funereal apparition in black ! — a warning to startle 
 the most obdurate conscience ! 
 
 Enter Easy, recently dismissed from the Watch-house ; 
 slovenly, skulking, and crestfallen. 
 
 Easy. Not a coach on the stand ! A pretty pickle I'm 
 in if any one sees me ! A sober, respectable man like me, 
 to wake in the watch-house, be kept there till noon among 
 thieves and pickpockets, and at last to be fined five shillings 
 for drunkenness and disorderly conduct ; all from dining 
 with a lord who had no thoughts of making Barbara my 
 Lady after all ! — Deuce take him ! 
 
 Easy [discovering Softhead]. Softhead ! how shall I 
 escape him 1 
 
 Soft, [discovering Easy]. Easy ! What a fall ! I'll 
 appear not to remember. Barbara's father should not 
 feel degraded in the eyes of a wretch like myself ! How 
 d'ye do, Mr. Easy ? You're out early to-day. 
 
 Easy. [Aside. Ha ! He was so drunk himself he has 
 forgotten all about it.] Yes, a headache. You were so 
 pleasant at dinner. I wanted the air of the park. 
 
 Sojt. Why, you look rather poorly, Mr. Easy ! 
 
 Easy. Indeed, I feci so. A man iu business can't 
 afford to be laid up — so I thought, before I went home to 
 the City, that I'd just look into — Ha, ha, a seasoned toper 
 like you will laugh when I tell you — I thought I'd just 
 look into the 'pothecary's ! 
 
 * We have only, I fear, Mr. Softhead's authority for supposing 
 George Barnwell to be then written: it was not acted till some years 
 afterwards. 
 
 2 H
 
 466 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT IV, 
 
 Soft. Just been there myself, Mr. Easy. 
 
 \Slioioing a iiiliiaL 
 
 Easy \7'egarding it vnth mournful disgust^ Not taken 
 physic since I was a boy ! It looks very nasty ! 
 
 Soft. 'Tis worse than it looks ! And this is called 
 Plectsure ! Ah ! Mr. Easy, don't give way to Fred's fasci- 
 nation ; you don't know how it ends. 
 
 Easy. Indeed I do \Aside. It ends in the watch-house]. 
 And I'm shocked to think what will become of yourself, 
 if you are thus every night led away by a lord, who 
 
 Soft. Hush ! talk of the devil — look ! he's coming up 
 the Mall ! 
 
 Easy. He is ? then I'm off ; I see a sedan-chair. Chair ! 
 chair ! stop ! — chair ! chair ! [Exit. 
 
 Enter Wilmot and Duke. 
 
 Duke [looking at portfolio]. Infamous indeed ! His 
 own base lie against that poor lady, whose husband he 
 wounded. Her very letter attached to it. Ha ! — what 
 is this ? — Such ribaldry on me ! Gracious Heaven ! My 
 name thus dragged through the dirt, and by a son of my 
 house ! Oh, my Lord, how shall I thank you ? 
 
 Wil. Thank not me ; but the poet, whom your Grace 
 left in the hall. 
 
 Duke. Name it not — I'll beg his pardon myself ! Adieu ; 
 I must go home and lock up this scandal till I've leisure 
 to read and destroy it • never again shall it come to the 
 day ! And then, sure that no blot shall be seen in my 
 'scutcheon, I can peril my life without fear in the cause 
 of my king. ' [Exit Duke. 
 
 Wil. [chanting]. 
 
 " Gather you rosebuds while you may. 
 For time is still a-flying. "
 
 SCENE III.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 467 
 
 Since my visit last night to Deadman's Lane, and my 
 hope to give Lucy such happiness, I feel as if I trod upon 
 air. Ah, Softhead ! why, you stand there as languid and 
 lifeless, as if you were capable of — fishing ! 
 
 Hoft. I've been thinking 
 
 Wil. Thinking ! you do look fatigued ! What a horrid 
 exertion it must have been to you ! 
 
 Soft. Ah ! Fred, Fred, don't be so hardened. What 
 atrocity did you perpetrate last night ? 
 
 Wil. Last night ? Oh, at Deadman's Lane : monstrous, 
 indeed. And this morning, too, another ! Never had so 
 many ati'ocities on my hands as within the last twenty- 
 four hours. But they are all nothing to that which I 
 perpetrated yesterday, just before dinner. Hark ! I 
 bribed the Prime Minister. 
 
 Soft. Saints in Heaven ! 
 
 Wil. Ha ! ha ! Hit him plump on the jolly blunt side 
 of his character ! I must tell you about it. Drove home 
 from Will's ; put my Mui-illo in the carriage, and off to Sir 
 Robert's — shown into his office, — "Ah ! my Lord Wilmot," 
 says he, with that merry roll of his eye ; " this is an honour, 
 what can I do for you ?" — '• Sir Robert," says I, " we men 
 of the world soon come to the point ; 'tis a maxim of youra 
 that all have their price." — " Not quite that," says Sir 
 Robert, " but let us suppose that it is." Another roll of his 
 eye, as much as to say, '•' I shall get this rogue a bargain !" 
 — " So, Sir Robert," quoth I, with a bow, " I've comt> tj 
 buy the Prime Minister," — " Buy me," cried Sir Robert, 
 and he laughed till I thought he'd have choked; " my price 
 is rather high, I'm afraid." Then I go to the door, bid my 
 lackeys bring in the Murillo. " Look at that, if you please ; 
 about the mark, is it not V Sir Robert runs iro the picture 
 2 H 2
 
 468 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT IV. 
 
 his breast heaves, his eyes sparkle : " A Murillo ! " cries he, 
 " name your price !" — " I have named it." Then he looks 
 at me so, and I look at him so ! — turn out the lackeys, 
 place pen, ink, and paper before him ; " That place in the 
 Treasury just vacant, and the Murillo is yours." — " For 
 yourself? — I am charmed," cried Sir Robert. " No, 'tis for 
 a friend of youi own, who's in want of it." — " Oh, that 
 alters the case : I've so many friends troubled with the sanu; 
 sort of want." — '•' Yes, but the IMurillo is genuine, — pray 
 what are the friends 1 " Out laughed Sir Robert, " There'a 
 no resisting you and the Murillo together ! There's the 
 appointment. And now, since your Lordship has bought 
 me, I must insist upon buying your Lordship. Fair play 
 is a jewel." Then I take my grand holiday air : " Sir 
 Robert," said I, "you've bought me long ago! you've 
 given us peace where we feared civil war ; and a Consti- 
 tutional King instead of a despot. And if that's not 
 enough to buy the vote of an Englishman, believe me. Sir 
 Robert, he's not worth the buying." Then he sti'etchod 
 out his bluff hearty hand, and I gave it a bluff hearty 
 ehake. He got the Murillo — Hardman the place. And 
 here stand I, the only man in all England, who can boast 
 that he bought the Prime Minister ! Faith, you may well 
 call me hardened : I don't feel the least bit of remorse. 
 
 Soft. Hardman ! you got Hardman the place? 
 
 Wil. I did not say Hardman 
 
 Sojt. You did say Hai'dman. But as 'tis a secret that 
 might get you into trouble, I'll keep it. — Yet, Dimidum 
 mece, that's not behaving much like a monster ? 
 
 Wil. Why, it does seem betraying the Good Old Cause ; 
 — but if there's honour among thieves, there is among 
 monsters ; and Hardman is in the same scrape as our-
 
 SCENE III.] OR, irA>fY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 469^ 
 
 selves — ill love ; — this place may secure him the haud of 
 the lady. But mind — he's not to know I've been med- 
 dling with his affairs. Hang it ! no one likes that, Not 
 a word then 
 
 ^oft. Not a word. My dear Fred, I'm so glad you're not 
 so bad as you seem. I'd half a mind to desert you \ but I 
 have not the heart; and I'll stick by you as long as I live ! 
 
 Wil. \ciside\. Whew ! This will never do ! Poor dear 
 little fellow ! I'm soiTy to lose him ; but my word's 
 passed to Barbara ; and 'tis all for his good. [tI/omc^.] 
 As long as you live % Alas ! that reminds me of your 
 little affair. I'm to be your second, you knov/, 
 
 Soft. Second ! — affair ! 
 
 Wil. With that fierce Colonel Flint, I warned you 
 against him ; but you have such a deuce of a spirit. 
 Don't you remember % 
 
 Soft. No ; why, what was it all about 1 
 
 Wil. Let me see — oh, Flint said something insolent 
 about Mistress Barbara. 
 
 Soft. He did ?— Ruffian ! 
 
 Wil. So — you called him out ! But if you'll empower 
 me in your name to retract and apologize 
 
 Soft. Not a bit of it. Insolent to Barbara ! Dimidum 
 mece. I'd fight him if he were the first swordsman in 
 England. 
 
 Wil. Why, that's just what he is ! 
 
 Soft. Don't care ; I'm his man — though a dead one, 
 
 Wil. [Aside. Hang it — he's as brave as myself, on that 
 side of his character. I must turn to another.] No, Soft- 
 head, that was not the cause of the quarrel — said it to 
 rouse you, as you seemed rather low. The fact is that it 
 was a jest on yourself, that you took up rather warmly.
 
 470 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT IV. 
 
 Soft. Was that all — only myself ? 
 
 Wil. No larger subject ; and Flint is such a good 
 fencer ! 
 
 Soft. My clear Fred ; I retract, I apologize ; I despise 
 duelling — absurd and unchristianlike. 
 
 Wil. Leave all to me. Dismiss the subject. I'll settle 
 it ; only, Softhead, you see our set has very stiff rules on 
 such matters. And if you apologize to a bravo like Flint ; 
 nay, if you don't actually, cheerfully, rapturously fight him 
 — though sure to be killed — I fear you must resign all 
 ideas of high life ! 
 
 Soft. Dimidum mece, but low life is better than no life 
 at all ! 
 
 Wil. There's no denying that proposition. It will con- 
 sole you to think that Mr. Easy's kind side is Cheapside. 
 And you may get upon one, if you return to the other. 
 
 Soft. 1 was thinking so, when you found me — thinJdng 
 [hesitatingly/] — But to leave you 
 
 Wil. Oh, not yet ! Retire at least with eclat. Share 
 with me one grand, crowning, last, daring, and desperate 
 adventure. 
 
 Soft. Deadman's Lane again, I suppose 1 I thank you 
 for nothing. Fred, I have long been your faithful follower. 
 [With emotion.] Now, my Lord, I'm your humble servant.* 
 [Aside. Barbara will comfort me. She's perhaps at Sir 
 Geoffrey's.] [Exit. 
 
 Wil. "Well ! his love will repay him, and the City of 
 London will present me with her freedom, in a gold box 
 for restoring her prodigal son to her Metropolitan bosom. 
 
 * A play upon words plagiarised from Favquhar. The reader 
 must regret that the author had not the courage to plagiarise more 
 from Farquhar.
 
 SCENE III.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 471 
 
 Deadman's Lane — tliat was an adventure, indeed. Lucy's 
 mother still living — implores me to get her the .«ight of 
 her child. Will Lucy believe me 1 Will 
 
 Enter Smart. 
 
 —Ha, Smart? Well — Well ? — You — baffled Sir 
 Geoffrey ? 
 
 Smart. He was out. 
 
 Wil. And you gave the young lady my letter 1 
 
 Smart. Hist ! my Lord, it so affected her — that — here 
 she comes. [Exit Smart. 
 
 Enter Lucy. 
 
 Lucy. Oh, my Lord, is this true ? Can it be ? A 
 mother lives ! Do you wonder that I forget all else ? — 
 that I am here — and with but one prayer, lead me to that 
 mother ! She says, too, she has been slandered — ^.blesses 
 me — that my heart defended her, but — but — this is no 
 snare — ^you do not deceive me ? 
 
 Wil. Deceive you ! Oh, Lucy — I have a sister myself 
 at the hearth of my father. 
 
 Lucy. Forgive me — lead on — quick, quick — oh, mother, 
 mother ! [Exeunt Lucy and Wilmot.
 
 472 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM j [aCT V. 
 
 ACT v. — SCENE I. 
 
 Old Mill near the Tliames. 
 
 Enter Hakdman. 
 
 Hard. The despatch to the Pretender \opening ii\. Ho ! 
 Wilmot is in my power; here ends Lis rivalry. The 
 Duke's life, too, in exchange for the Memoir 1 No ! 
 Fear is not liis weak point ; but how can this haughtiest 
 of men ever yield such memorials 1 Even admit the base 
 lie of his brother ? Still her story has that which may 
 touch him. Since I have seen her, I feel sure of her inno- 
 cence. The Duke comes ; now all depends on my chance 
 to hit the right side of a character. 
 
 Enter Duke op Middlesex. 
 
 Duhe. Lord Loftus not here yet ! Strange ! 
 
 Hard. My Lord Duke — forgive this intrusion ! 
 
 Duke. T'other man I met at Lord Wilmot's. Sir, your 
 servant ; I'm somewhat in haste. 
 
 Hard. Still I presume to delay your Grace ; for it is on 
 a question of honour ! 
 
 Duke. Honour ! that goes before all ! Sir, my time is 
 your own. 
 
 Hard. Your Grace is the head of a house, whose fame 
 is a part of our history ; it is therefore that I speak to 
 you boldly, since it may be that wrongs were inflicted by 
 one of its members 
 
 Duke. How, sir !
 
 BCENK I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 473 
 
 Hard. Assured that if so (and should it be still iu your 
 power), your Grace will frankly I'epair them, as a duty 
 you took with the ermine and coronet. 
 
 Duhe. You speak well, sir. — [Aside. Very much like a 
 gentleman !] 
 
 Hard. Your Grace had a brother, Lord Henry de 
 3Iowbray. 
 
 Duke. Ah ! Sii', to the point. 
 
 Hard. At once, my Lord Duke. Many years ago a 
 duel took place between Lord Henry and Sir Geoffrey 
 Morland — your Grace knows the cause. . 
 
 Duke. Hem ! yes ; a lady— who — who 
 
 Hard. Was banished her husband's home, and her in- 
 fant's cradle, on account of suspicions based, my Lord 
 Duke, on — what your Grace cannot wonder that the 
 husband believed — the word of a Mowbray ! 
 
 Duke. \Aside. Villain !] But what became of the hus- 
 band, never since heard of? He 
 
 Hard. Fled abroad from men's tongues, and dishonour. 
 He did not return to his native land, till he had changed 
 for another the name that a Mowbray had blighted. 
 Unhappy man ! he lives still. 
 
 Duke. And the lady — the lady 
 
 Hard. Before the duel, had gone to the house of her 
 father, who was forced that very day to fly the country. 
 His life was in danger. 
 
 Duke. How? 
 
 Ha/rd. He was loyal to the Stuarts, and — a Plot was 
 discovered. 
 
 Duke. Brave, noble gentleman ! Go on, sii". 
 
 Hard. Her other ties wrenched from her, his daughter 
 went with him into exile — his stay, his hope, his all. His
 
 474 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM j [aCT V. 
 
 lands were confiscated. She was high-born : she worked 
 for a father's bread. Conceive yourself, my Lord Duke, in 
 the place of that father — loyal and penniless ; noble ; 
 proscribed ; dependent on the toils of a daughter ; and 
 that daughter's name sullied by 
 
 Dvke. A "word ? 
 
 Hard. From the son of that house to which all the 
 chivalry of England looked for example. 
 
 Duke. [Aside. Oh, Heaven ; can my glory thus be 
 turned to my shame ?] But they said she had died, sir. 
 
 Hard. When her father had gone to the grave, she 
 herself spread or sanctioned that rumour — for she i-esolved 
 to die to the world. She entered a convent, prepared to 
 take the noviciate — when she suddenly learned that a 
 person had been inquiring for her at Paris, who stated 
 that Lord Henry de Mowbray had left behind him a 
 Memoir 
 
 Duke. Ah ! 
 
 Hard. Which acquits her. She learned, too, the clue 
 to her husband — resolved to come hither — arrived six 
 days since. No proof of her innocence save those for 
 which I now appeal to your Grace ! 
 
 Duke. O pride, be my succour ! [Haughtily.^ Appeal 
 to me, sir, and wherefore 1 
 
 Hard. The sole evidence alleged against this lady are 
 the fact of a letter sent from herself to Lord Henry, and 
 the boast of a man now no more. She asserts that that 
 letter would establish her innocence. She believes that, 
 on his deathbed, your brother retracted his boast ; and 
 that the Memoir he left will attest to its falsehood. 
 
 Duke. Asserts — believes — go on — go on. 
 
 Hard. No, my Lord Duke, I have done. I know that 
 
 i
 
 SCENE I.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER, 475 
 
 that lettei', that Memoir exist ; that they are now in your 
 hands. If her assertion be false — if they prove not her 
 innocence — a word, nay, a sign, from the chief of a house 
 so renowned for its honour, suffices. I take my leave, and 
 condemn her. But if her story be true, yovi have heard 
 the last chance of a wife and a mother to be restored to 
 the husband she loves and forgives, to the child who has 
 grown into womanhood remote from her care ; and these 
 blessings I pledged her my faith to obtain, if that letter, 
 that Memoir, should prove that the boast was 
 
 Duke. A lie, sir, a lie, a black lie ! — the coward's worst 
 crime — a lie on the fair name of a woman ! Sir, this heat, 
 perhaps, is unseemly ; thus to brand my own brother ! 
 But if we, the peers of England, and the representatives 
 of her gentlemen, can hear, can think, of vile things done, 
 whoever the doer, with calm pulse and cold heart — perish 
 our titles ; where would be the use of a Duke ? 
 
 Hard. \_asicle\. A very bright side of his character. 
 
 Duke. Sir, you are right. The Memoir you speak of 
 is in my hands ; and with it. Lady Morland's own letter. 
 Much in that Memoir relates to myself; and so galls all 
 the pride I am said to possess, that not ten minutes since 
 methought I had rather my duchy were forfeit than have 
 exposed its contents to the pity or laugh of a stranger. I 
 think no more of myself A woman has appealed for 
 her name to mine honour as a man. Now, sir, your 
 commands ? 
 
 Hard. No passage is needed, save that which acquits 
 Lady Morland. Let the memoir still rest in your hands. 
 Condescend but to bring it forthwith to my house ; and 
 may I hope that my Lord Loftiis may accompany you — 
 there is an affair of moment on which I would speak to 
 you both.
 
 476 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM; [aCT V. 
 
 Duke. Your address, sir ; I will but return home for 
 tlie documents, and proceed at once to your house. Hurry 
 not j I will wait. Allow me to take your hand, sii\ 
 You know how to speak to the heart of a gentleman. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Hard. \ciside\. Yet how ignorant we are of men's hearts 
 till we see them lit up hy a passion ! This noble has made 
 what is honour so clear to my eyes. Let me pause — let 
 me think — let me choose ! I feel as if I stood at the 
 crisis of life. 
 
 Enter Softhead. 
 
 Soft. What have I seen ! — Where gol — Whom consult ? 
 Oh, Mr. Hardman ! You're a friend of Lord Wilmot's, 
 of Sir Geoffrey '.s, of Lucy's 1 
 
 Hard. Speak — quick — to the pui'pose. 
 
 Soft. On my way to Sir Geoffrey's, I passed by a house 
 of the most villanous character. I dare not say how 
 Wilmot himself has described it. [Earnestly. '\ Oh, sii-, 
 you know Wilmot ! you know his sentiments on marriage. 
 I saw Wilmot and Lucy Thornside enter that infamous 
 house ! — Deadman's Lane ! 
 
 Hard. \aside\. Deadman's Lane 1 He takes her to the 
 arms of her mother ! forestalls my own plan, will reap 
 my reward. Have I schemed, then, for him ! No, by 
 yon heavens ! 
 
 Soft. I ran on to Sir Geoffrey's — he was out. 
 
 Hard. \who has been tvriting in his tablets, tears out a 
 page]. Take this to Justice Kite's, hard by : he will send 
 two special officers, placed at the door, Deadman's Lane, 
 to wait my instructions. They must go instantly — ai-rive 
 as soon as myself. Then hasten to Mr. Easy's : Sir Geof-
 
 SCENE 11.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 477 
 
 frey is there. Break your news with i)recautioi), and 
 bring him straight to that house. Leave the rest to my 
 care. Away with you ; quick. 
 
 Soft. I know he will kill me ! But I'm right. And 
 when I'm right, — Dimiclum mem ! [Exit. 
 
 Hard. Ho ! ho ! It is war ! My choice is made. 
 I am armed at all points, and strike for the victory. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Apartment in the house, Deadman's Lane, Crown and Portcullis, 
 very old-fashioned and sombre, faded tapestry on the walls, high 
 mantel-piece, with deep ingles; furniture rude and simple; general 
 air of the room not mean, hut foi'lorn, as of that in some house neglected 
 and little inhabited since the days of Elizabeth ; the tapestry, drawn 
 aside at the back, shows a door into an inner room — Lucy and her 
 mother. — Wilmot seated. 
 
 Lady Thorn. And you believe me. Dear child — this 
 indeed is happiness. — Ah ! if your cruel father — 
 
 Lucy. Hush — he will believe you, too. 
 
 Lady Thorn. No ; I could not venture into his presence, 
 without the proof that he had wronged me. 
 
 Wil. Oh, that I had known before what interest you 
 had in this Memoir ! — how can I recover it from the 
 Duke !— 
 
 Lucy. You will — you must — dear — dear Lord Wilmot 
 — you have restored me to my mother ; restore my 
 mother to her home.
 
 478 KOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT V. 
 
 Wil. Ah — and this hand — would you "withdraw it 
 then? 
 
 Lucy. Never from him who reunites my parents. 
 
 Lady Thorn. Ha ! — a voice without — steps ! 
 
 Wil. If it should be Sir Geoffrey — in some rash violence 
 he might — retire — quick — quick. 
 
 \Ex«unit Lady Thornside and Luct iti the inner room. 
 
 Enter Hardjian. 
 
 Hard. Alone ! Where is Lucy, my lord 1 
 
 Wil. In the next room with 
 
 Ha/rd. Her mother ? 
 
 Wil. "What ! you know ? 
 
 Hard. I know that between us two there is a strife, 
 and I am come to decide it ; you love Lucy Thornside. 
 
 Wil. Well ! I told you so. 
 
 Hard. You told it, my Lord, to a rival. Ay, smile. 
 You have Avealth, rank, fashion, and wit ; I have none of 
 these, and I need them not. But I say to you — ^that ere 
 the hand on this dial moves to that near point in time, 
 your love will be hopeless and your suit be withdrawn. 
 
 Wil. The man's mad. Unless sir, you wish me to 
 believe that my life hangs on your sword, I cannot quite 
 comprehend why my love should go by your watch. 
 
 Hard. I command you, Lord Wilmot, to change this 
 tone of levity : I command it in the name of a life which, 
 I think, you prize more than your own ; a life that is now 
 in my hands. You told mc to sound your father. I have 
 not done so — I have detected 
 
 Wil. Detected ! Hold, sir ! that word implies crime. 
 
 Hard. Ay, the crime of the great. History calls it 
 Zeal. Law styles it High Treason.
 
 SCENE Il.J OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 47D 
 
 Wil. What do I hear 1 Heavens ! — my father ! Sir, 
 your word is no proof? 
 
 Hard. But this is ! [Producing the Requisition to the 
 Pretender.^ 'Tis high treason, conspiring to levy arms 
 against the King on the throne — here called the Usurper. 
 High treason to promise to greet with banner and trump 
 a pretender — here called James the Third. Such is the 
 purport of the paper I hold — and here is the name of 
 your father. 
 
 Wil. \Aside\. Both are armed and alone. 
 
 [Locks the outer door hy which he is standing. 
 
 Hard. [Aside]. So, I guess his intention. [Ojyens the 
 window and looks out.] Good, the officers are come. 
 
 Wil. What the law calls high-treason I know not ; 
 what the honest call treason I know. Traitor, thou who 
 hast used the confidence of a son against the life of a 
 father, thou shalt not quit these walls with that life in 
 thy grasp — yield the proof thou hast plundered or forged. 
 
 [Sei:::es him. 
 
 Hard. 'St! the officers of justice are below; loose 
 thine hold, or the life thou demandest falls from these 
 hands into theirs ! 
 
 Wil. [recoiling]. Foiled ! Foiled ! How act ! what do ? 
 And thy son set yon bloodhound on thy track, O my 
 father ! Sir, you say you are my lival ; I guess the terms 
 you now come to impose ! 
 
 Hard. I impose no terms. What needs the demand ? 
 Have you an option 1 I think better of you. We both 
 love the same woman ; I have loved her a year, you a 
 week ; you have her father's dislike, I his consent. One 
 must yield — why should I ? Rude son of the people 
 though I be, why must I be thrust from the sunshine
 
 480 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM; [aCT V. 
 
 because you cross my path as the fair and the high-born 1 
 WJiat have I owed to your order or you ? 
 
 Wil. To me, sir 1 Well, if to me you owed some slight 
 favour, I should scorn at this moment to speak it. 
 
 Hard. I owe favour, the slightest to no man ; 'tis my 
 boast. Listen still, I schemed to save your father, not 
 to injure. Had you rather this scroll had fallen into the 
 hands of a spy 1 And now, if I place it in yours — save 
 your name from attainder, your fortunes from confiscation, 
 your father from the axe of the headsman — why should I 
 ask terms 1 Would it ho possible for you to say, " Sir, 
 I thank you ; and in return I would do my best to rob 
 your life of the woman you love, and whom I have just 
 known a week 1 " Could you, peer's son, and gentleman, 
 thus reply, — when, if I know aught of this grand people 
 of England, not a mechanic who walks thro' yon streets, 
 from the loom to the hovel, but what would cry " Shame ! " 
 on such answer 1 
 
 Wil. Sir, I cannot argue with, I cannot rival the man 
 who has my father's life at his will, whether to offer it as 
 a barter, or to yield it as a boon. Either way, rivalry 
 between us is henceforth impossible. Fear mine no more ! 
 Give me the scroll — I depart. 
 
 Hard. [Aside. His manliness moves me !] Nay let 
 me pray your permission to give it myself to your father, 
 and with such words as will save him, and others whose 
 names are hereto attached, from such perilous hazards in 
 future, 
 
 Wil. In this too I fear that you leave aie no choice ; 
 I must trust as I may to your honour ! but heed well 
 if 
 
 Hard. Menace not ; you doubt, then, my honour 1
 
 SCENE II.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 481 
 
 Wil. [loith suppressed passion]. Plainly, I do ; our 
 characters differ. I had held myself dishonoured for ever 
 if our positions had been reversed, — if I had taken such 
 confidence as was placed in you, — concealed the rivalry, — 
 prepared the scheme, — timed the moment, — forced the 
 condition in the guise of benefit. No, sir, no ; that may be 
 talent, it is not honour. 
 
 Hard. [Aside. This stings ! scornful fool that he is, 
 not to see that I was half relenting. And now I feel but 
 the foe ! How sting again ? I will summon him back 
 to witness himself my triumph.] Stay, my Lord ! 
 [Wriiing at the table.] You doubt that I should yield 
 up the document to your father ? Bring him hither at 
 once ! He is now at my house with the Duke of 
 Middlesex ; pray them both to come here, and give this 
 note to the Duke. [ With a smile.] You will do it, my 
 Lord. 
 
 Wil. Ay, indeed, — and when my father is safe, I will 
 try to think that I wronged you. [Aside. And not one 
 parting word to — to — S'death — I am unmanned. Show 
 such emotion to him — No, no ! — ^Vnd if I cannot watch 
 over that gentle life, why the angels will !] I — I go, sir, 
 — fulfil the compact ; I have paid the price. [Exit. 
 
 Hard. He loves her more than I thought for. But 
 she ? Does she love him ? [Goes to the door.] Mistress 
 Liicy ! [Leads forth Lucy. 
 
 Lucy. Lord Wilmot gone ! 
 
 Sard. Nay, speak not of him. If ever he hoped that 
 your father could have overcome a repugnance to bis suit 
 he is now compelled to resign that hope, and for ever 
 [Lucy turns aside, and weeps quietly.] Let us speak of 
 
 your pare'-its — your mother 
 
 2 I
 
 482 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT V. 
 
 Lv/iy. Oh, yes — my dear mother — I so love her already. 
 
 Hard. You have heard her tale ! Woidd you restore 
 her, no blot on her name, to the hearth of your 
 father ? 
 
 Lucy. Speak ! — speak ! — can it be so ? 
 
 Hard. If it cost you some sacrifice 1 
 
 Lucy. Life has none for an object thus holy. 
 
 Hard. Hear, and decide. It is the wish of your father 
 that I should ask for this hand 
 
 Lucy. No ! — no ! 
 
 Hard. Is the sacrifice so hard ? Wait and hear the 
 atonement. You come from the stolen embrace of a 
 mother; I will make that mother the pride of your 
 home. You have yearned for the love of a father ; I will 
 break down the wall between yourself and his heart — I 
 will dispel all the clouds that have darkened his life. 
 
 Lucy. You will — you will ! O blessings upon you ! 
 
 Hard. Those blessings this hand can confer ! 
 
 Lucy. But — but — the heart — the heart — that does not 
 go with the hand. 
 
 Hard. Later, it will. I only pray for a trial. I ask but 
 to conquer that heart, not to break it. Your father will 
 soon be here — every moment I expect him. He comes 
 in the full force of suspicion — deeming you lured here by 
 Wilmot — fearing (pardon the vile word) your dishonour. 
 How explain ? You cannot speak of your mother till I 
 first prove her guiltless. Could they meet till I do, words 
 would pass that would make even union hereafter too 
 bitter to her pride as a woman. Give me the power at 
 once to destroy suspicion, remove fear, delay other expla- 
 nations. Let me speak — let me act as your betrothed, 
 your accepted. Hark ! voices below — ^your father comes !
 
 SCEKE II.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 485 
 
 — I Lave no time to plead ; excuse what is harsh — seems 
 ungenerous 
 
 Sir Geof. \ioithout\. Out of my way ! — loose my sword ! 
 
 Ltbcy. Oh save my mother ! — Let him not see my mothei\ 
 
 Hmrd. Grant me this trial — pledge this hand now — 
 retract hereafter if you will. Your mother's name — your 
 parents' reunion ! Ay or no ! — will you pledge it % 
 
 Lucy. Can you doubt their child's answer % I pledge it ! 
 
 Enter Sir Geoffrey, struggling from Easy, Softhead, 
 Barbara. 
 
 Sir Geof. "Where is he % where is this villain ? let me 
 get at him ! What, what, gone % [Falling on Hardman's 
 breast.'] Oh Hardman ! You came, you came ! I dare 
 not look at her yet. Is she saved ? 
 
 Hard. Your daughter is innocent in thought as in deed 
 — I speak in the name of the rights she has given me ; 
 you permitted me to ask for her hand ; and here she has 
 pledged it ! 
 
 Sir Geof. O my child ! my child ! I never called you 
 that name before. Did I ? Hush ! I know now that 
 thou art my child ; know it by my anguish ; know it by 
 my joy. Who could wring from me tears like these, but 
 a child ! 
 
 Easy. But how is it all, Mr. Hardman ? you know 
 everything ! That fool Softhead, with his cock-and-bull 
 story, frightened us out of our wits. 
 
 Soft. That's the thanks I get ! How is it all, Mr. 
 Hardman ? 
 
 Sir Geof. Ugh, what so clear? He came here — he 
 saved her ! My child was grateful. Approach, Hard- 
 man, near', near. Forgive me, if your childhood was 
 2 I 2
 
 484 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM; [aCT V. 
 
 lonely ; forgive me, if you seemed so unfriended. Your 
 father made me promise that you should not know the 
 temptations that he thought had corrupted himself, — 
 should not know of my favours, to be galled by what he 
 called my suspicions, — should not feel the yoke of depend- 
 ence ; — should believe that you forced your own way 
 through the world — till it was made. Now it is so. Ah, 
 not in vain did I pardon him his wrongs against me ; not 
 in vain fulfil that sad promise which gave a smile to his 
 lips in dying ; not in vain have I bestowed benefits on 
 you. You have saved — I know it — I feel it ; saved from 
 infamy — my child. 
 
 Liicy. Hush, sir, hush ! 
 
 \Throws herself into Barbae a's arms. 
 
 Hard. My father 1 Benefits % You smile, Mr. Easy. 
 What means he ? No man on this earth ever bestowed 
 benefits on me ! 
 
 Easy. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Nay, excuse me ; but when I 
 think that that's said by a clever fellow like you — ha ! 
 ha ! — the jest is too good : as if any one ever drove a 
 coach through this world but what some other one built 
 the carriage, or harnessed the horses ! Why, who gave 
 you the education that helped to make you what you are ? 
 Who slily paid Tonson, the publisher', to bring out the 
 work that first raised you into notice ? Who sent you 
 the broker with the tale of the South-Sea Scheme ? From 
 whose purse came the sum that bought your annuity ? 
 Whose land does the annuity burthen ? Who told 
 Fleece'em, the boroughmonger, to offer you a seat in 
 Parliament 1 Who paid for the election that did not 
 cost you a shilling ? — who, but my suspicious, ill-tempered, 
 good-hearted friend there ? And you are the son of his
 
 SCENE II.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 48.5 
 
 fostei'-brother, the man who ih-st wronged and betrayed 
 him ! 
 
 Soft. And this is the gentleman who knows everybody 
 and everything ? Did not even know his own father ! 
 La ! why he's been quite a take-in ! Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Easy. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Hard. And all the while I thought I was standing 
 apart from others, — needing none ; served by none ; 
 mastering men ; moulding them, — the men whom my 
 father had wronged went before me with noiseless benefi- 
 cence, and opened my path thi'ough the mountain I 
 fancied this right hand had hewn ! 
 
 Sir Geof. Tut ! I did but level the ground ; till you 
 were strong eno' to rise of yourself; / did not give you 
 the post that you named with so manly a pride ; / did 
 not raise you to the councils of your country as the 
 " Equal of All ! " 
 
 Soft. No ! for that you'll thank Fred. He bribed the 
 Prime Minister with his favourite Murillo. He said you 
 wanted the post to win the lady you loved. Dlmidium 
 mei, — I think you might have told him what lady it was. 
 
 Hard. So ! Wilmot !— It needed but this ! 
 
 Easy. Pooh, Mr. Softhead ! Sir Geoffrey would never 
 consent to a lord. Quite right. Px*actical, steady fellow 
 is Mr. Hardman ; and as to his father, a disreputable 
 connection — quite right not to know him ! All you want, 
 Geoflfrey, is to secure Lucy's happiness. 
 
 Sir Geof. All ! That, now, is his charge; 
 
 Ha/rd. I accept it. But first I secure yours, O my 
 benefactor ! This house, in which you feared to meet 
 infamy, is the home of sorrow and virtue ; the home of a 
 woman unsullied, but slandered, — of her who, loving you
 
 486 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT V. 
 
 still, followed your footsteps ; watched you night and day 
 from yon windows ; sent you those flowers, the tokens of 
 innocence and youth ; in romance, it is true — the romance 
 only known to a woman — the romance only known to the 
 pure ! Lord Wilmot is guiltless ! He led your child to 
 the arms of a mother ! 
 
 Sir Geof. Silence him ! — silence him ! — ^'tis a snare ! 
 I retract ! He shall not have this girl ! Her house ? 
 Do I breathe the same air as the woman so loved and 
 so faithless 1 
 
 Lucy. Pity, for my mother ! — No, no ; justice for her ! 
 Pity for yourself and for me ! 
 
 Sir Geof. Come away, or you shall not be my child, I'll 
 disown you. That man speaks 
 
 Enter Wilmot, Duke, and Lord Loftus. 
 
 Hard. I speak, and I prove — [To the Duke] — The 
 Memoirs — [Glancing over them.^ Here is the very letter 
 that the menial informed you your wife sent to Lord 
 Henry. Eead it ; and judge if such scorn would not goad 
 such a man to revenge. What I'cvenge could he wield ? 
 Why, a boast ! 
 
 Sir Geof. [reading]. The date of the very day that he 
 boasted. Ha ! brave words ! proud heart ! I suspect !— 
 I suspect ! 
 
 Hard. Lord Henry's confession ! It was ^mt on his 
 deathbed. 
 
 Lord Lof. 'Tis his hand. I attest it. 
 
 Duke. I, too, John, Duke of Middlesex. 
 
 Sir Geof. [who has been reading the confessioii]. Heaven 
 forgive me ! Can she ? The flowers ; the figures ; 
 the How blind I've been ! Where is she ? where
 
 SCENE II.] OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHARACTER. 487 
 
 is slie 1 You said she was here ! [Lady Thornside 
 apx>ears at the door.'\ EUiuor ! Elliuor ! to my arms — to 
 my heart — O my wife ! Pardon ! Pardon ! 
 
 Lady Thorn. Nay, all was forgiven when I once more 
 embraced our child. 
 
 Hard, [to Loftus and DukeJ. My Lords, destroy this 
 Uequisition ! When you signed it, you doubtless believed 
 that the Prince you would serve was of the Church of 
 your Protestant fathers 1 You are safe evermore ; for 
 your honour is freed. The Prince has retired to Rome, 
 and abjured your faith. I will convince you of this later. 
 
 [Duke and Softhead continue to shun each other toith mutual 
 ajypj'ehcnsion. 
 
 Easy \to Wilmot]. Glad to find you are not so bad as 
 you seemed, my Lord ; and now that Lucy is engaged to 
 Mr. Hardmau 
 
 Wil. Engiiged already ! \Aside. So ! he asked me here 
 to insult me with his triumph !] Well ! 
 
 Hard. Lucy, your parents are united — my promise 
 fulfilled ; permit me — [Takes her hand.] Sir Geoflrey, 
 the son of him who so wronged you, and whose wrongs 
 you pardoned, now reminds you, that he is entrusted 
 with the charge to ensure the happiness of your child ! 
 Behold the man of her choice, and take from his presence 
 your own cure of distrust. With his faults on the surface, 
 and with no fault that is worse than that of concealing 
 his \-irtues ; — Here she loves and is loved ! And thus 
 I discharge the ti-ust, and ensure the happiness ! 
 
 [Placing her hand in Wilmot's. 
 
 Sir Geof. How ? 
 
 Lady Thorn. It is true — do you not read in her blush 
 the secret of her heart ?
 
 4S8 NOT so BAD AS WE SEEM ; [aCT V' 
 
 Wil. How can I accept at tliD price of- 
 
 Hard. Hush ! Foi- the third time to-day, you have but 
 one option. You cannot affect to be generous to me at 
 the cost of a heart all your own. Take your right. Come, 
 my Lord, lest I tell all the world how you bribed the 
 Prime Minister. 
 
 Soft. \y)ho has taken Easy aside]. But, indeed, Mr. 
 Easy, I reform ; I repent. Mr. Hardman will have a 
 bride in the country — let me have a bride in the city. 
 After all, I was not such a very bad monster. 
 
 JEasy. Pooh ! Won't hear of it ! Want to marry only 
 just to mimic my Lord. 
 
 Bar. Dear Lord Wilmot ; do say a good word for us. 
 
 Easy. No, sir; no! Your head's been tuvntd by a 
 lord. 
 
 Wil. Not the first man whose head has been turned 
 by a lord, with the help of the Duke of Bui'gundy — eh, 
 Mr. Easy 1 I'll just appeal to Sir Geoffrey. 
 
 Easy. No — no — hold your tongue, my Lord. 
 
 Wil. And you insisted upon giving your daughter to 
 Mr. Softhead ; forced her upon him. 
 
 Easy. I — never ! — When ? 
 
 Wil. Last night, when you were chaired member for 
 the City of London. I'll just explain the case to Sir 
 Geoffrey 
 
 Easy. Confound it — hold — hold !— You like this young 
 reprobate, Barbara? 
 
 Bar. Dear papa, his health is so delicate ! I should 
 like to take care of him. 
 
 Easy. There, go, and take care of each other. Ha ! 
 ha ! I suppose it is all for the best. 
 
 I
 
 SCENE II.J OR, MANY SIDES TO A CHAKACTER. 489 
 
 [Duke takes forth, and puts on, his spectacles; examines 
 Softhead curiously — is convinced that he is human, 
 approaches, and offers his hand, ichich Softhead, 
 emboldened by Barbara, though not without misgivhujs, 
 accepts. 
 
 A great deal of dry stuff, called philosophy, is written 
 about life. But the grand thing is to take it coolly, and 
 have a good-humoured indulgence 
 
 Wil. For the force of example, Mr. Easy ! 
 
 Soft. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Wil. For the follies of fashion, and the ciimes of mon- 
 sters like myself, and that terrible Softhead ! 
 
 Sir Geof. Ha ! ha ! 
 
 Hard. You see, my dear Wil mot, many sides to a 
 character ! 
 
 Wil. Plague on it, yes ! But get at them all, and we're 
 not so bad as we seem 
 
 Soft. No, Fred, not quite so bad ! 
 
 Wil. Taking us as we stand — Altogether !
 
 ''DAVID FALLEN IS DEAD!" 
 
 OR, 
 
 A KEY TO THE PLAY. 
 
 (an after-scex'e, by way of am epilogue.) 
 {Intended to have been spoken by the Original Amateur Performers.) 
 
 SCENE. 
 
 Wilmot's Aimrtmcnt. — ^Wilmot, Sir Geoffrey, Softhead, Easy, 
 and Hakdman, seated at a Table. Wine, Fruits, tLx. 
 
 Wil. Pass the wine — what's the news ? 
 
 JEasy. Funds have risen to-day. 
 
 Sir Geof. I suspect it will rain. 
 
 Easy. Well, I've got in my hay. 
 
 Hard. David Fallen is dead ! 
 
 Omnes. David Fallen ! 
 
 Wil. Poor fellow ! 
 
 iSir Geof. I should like to have seen him ! 
 
 Soft. I saw him ! So yellow ! 
 
 Hard. Your annuity killed him ! 
 
 Wil. How — how ? to the point. 
 
 Hard. By the shock on his nerves — at the sight of a joint. 
 A very great genius 
 
 Easy. I own — now he's dead, 
 That a writer more charming 
 
 Wil. Was never worse fed !
 
 492 DAVID FALLEN IS DEAD ; 
 
 Hard. His country was grateful 
 
 Boft. \surprised\ He looked very shabby ! 
 
 Hard. His bones 
 
 Soft. You might count ihem !— — 
 
 Hard. Repo.se in tlie Abliey ! 
 
 Soft, \cifter a stare of astonishment^ So that is the way 
 that a country is grateful ! 
 Ere his nerves grew so weak, — if sheVl sent him a ];latefal. 
 
 Easy [hastily -producing a long ^;a^;er]. My Taxes ! 
 Your notions are perfectly liateful ! 
 
 [Pause. — Evident feeling that theres no getting over ^lu. 
 ^xsy's paper. 
 
 Wil. Pope's epigram stung hini. 
 
 Hard. Yes, Pope has a sting. 
 
 Wil. But who writes the epitaph ? 
 
 Hard. Pope : a sweet thing ! 
 
 Wil. 'Gad, if I were an author, I'd rather, instead, 
 Have the epitaph living — the epigram dead. 
 If PojDe had but just reconsidered that matter. 
 Poor David 
 
 Soft. Had gone to the Abbey much fatter ! 
 
 Easy. He was rather a scamp ! 
 
 Wil. Put yourself in bis place. 
 
 Easy \Jiorror-struclc\. Heaven forbid ! 
 
 Hard. Let us deem him the Last of a Race \ 
 
 Sir Geof But the race that succeeds may liave little 
 more pelf. 
 
 Hard. Ay ; and trials as sharp. I'm an author myself 
 But the remedy? Wherefore should authors not build 
 
 Easy, An alms-house ? 
 
 Hard. No, merchant, their own noble guild ! 
 
 Some fortress for youth in the battle for fame ;
 
 OK, A KEY TO THE PLAY. 493 
 
 Some shelter that Age is not humbled to claim ; 
 
 Some roof from the storm for the Pilgrim of Knowledge ; — 
 
 Wil. Not unlike what our ancestors meant by — aCollege; 
 Where teacher and student alike the subscriber, 
 Untaxing the Patron, — 
 
 Uasy. The State 
 
 Hard. Or the briber, 
 
 Wil. The son of proud Learning shall knock at the door 
 And cry This* is rich, and not whine That\ is poor. 
 
 Hard. Oh right ! For these men govern earth from 
 their graves — 
 Shall the dead be as kings, and the living as slaves ! 
 
 Easy. It is all their own fault — they so slave one another; 
 Kot a son of proud Learning but knocks — down his bi-other ! 
 
 Wil. Yes ! other vocations, from Thames to the Bordci", 
 Have some esprit de corps, and some pride in their order ; 
 La^vyers, soldiers, and doctors, if quarrels do pass, 
 Still soften their spite from respect to their class ; 
 Why should authors be spitting and scratching like tabbies, 
 To leave but dry bones 
 
 Soft. For those grateful cold Abbeys ! 
 
 Hard. Worst side of their character ! 
 
 Wil. True to the letter. 
 
 Are their sides, then, so fat, we can't hit on a better ? 
 
 Hard. Why — the sticks in the fable ! — our Guild be 
 the tether. 
 
 Wil. Ay : the thorns axe rubbed oft' vvhen the sticks 
 cling together. 
 
 Soft. \jnusinghj\. I could he — yes — I cotdd be a Pilgrim 
 of Knowledge, 
 If you'd change Deadmau's Lane to a snug little College. 
 * The head. f The pocket.
 
 494 DAVID FALLEN IS DEAD; 
 
 Sir Geo/. Ugli ! stuff ! — it takes money a College to 
 found. 
 
 Uasy. I will head the subscription myself — with a pound. 
 
 Hard. Quite enough from a friend : for we authors 
 should feel 
 We must put our own shoulders like men to the wheel. 
 Be thrifty when thriving — take heed of the morrow, — — 
 
 Easy. And not get in debt 
 
 Sir Geof. Where the deuce could they borrow ? 
 
 Hard. Let us think of a scheme. 
 
 Easy. He is always so knowing. 
 
 Wil. A scheme ! I have got one ; the wheel 's set a- 
 going ! 
 A play from one axtthor. 
 
 Hard. With authors for actors. — 
 
 Wil. And some benefit nights, 
 
 Both. For the world's benefactors. 
 
 Sir Geof. Who'll give you the play 1 it will not be 
 worth giving, 
 Authors now are so bad ; always are while they're living ! 
 
 Easy. Ah ! if David Fallen, great genius, were here 
 
 Omnes. Great genius ! 
 
 Hard. A man whom all time shall revere i 
 
 Sojt. \impatienthj\. But he's dead. 
 
 Omnes \luguhriously\ He is dead ! 
 
 Easy. The true Classical School, sir ! 
 
 Ah ! could he come back ! 
 
 Wil. He'll not be such a fool, sir. 
 
 [Tahing Hardman aside, whispers. 
 We know of an author. 
 
 Hard, [doubtfully^. Ye — s — s, David was brighter. 
 
 Omnes. But he's dead.
 
 OB, A KEY TO THE PLAY. 495 
 
 Hard. This miglit do — as a live sort of writer. 
 
 Easy. Alive ! that looks bad. 
 
 Soft. Must we take a live man ? 
 
 Wil. To oblige us he'll be, sir, — as dead as he can ! 
 Soft. Alive ; and will write, sir ? 
 Hard. With pleasure, sir. 
 
 Soft. Pleasure ! 
 
 Hard. With less than your wit, he has more than your 
 leisure. 
 
 Coquets with the Muse 
 
 Sir Geof Lucky dog to afford her ! 
 
 Wtl. Can we get his good side ? 
 
 Hard. Yes, he's proud of his order, 
 
 Wil. Then he'll do ! 
 
 Sir Geof. As for wit — he has books on his shelves. 
 
 Hard. Now the actors ? 
 
 Wil. By Jove, we will act it ourselves. 
 
 [Omnes, at first swprisedinto enthusiasm, succeeded hy great 
 consternation. 
 
 Sir Geof Ugh, not I '. 
 
 Soft. Lord ha' mercy ! 
 
 Basy. A plain, sober, steady — 
 
 Wil. I'll appeal to Sir Geoffrey. There's one caught 
 already ! 
 This suspicious old knight ; to his blind side, direct us. 
 
 Hard. Your part is to act 
 
 Wil. True ; and his to suspect us. 
 
 I rely upon you. 
 
 Hard, [looking at his watch]. Me ! I have not a minute ! 
 
 Wil. If the Play has a plot, he is sure to be in it. 
 Come, Softhead ! 
 
 Soft. I won't. I'll go home to my mother.
 
 496 DAVID FALLEN IS DEAD. 
 
 Wil. Pooh ! monsters like vis always help one another. 
 
 Sir Gcof. I suspect you will act. 
 
 Soft. Well, I've this consolation — 
 
 Still to imitate one 
 
 Hard. Who defies imitation. 
 
 Wil. Let the public but favour the plan we have hit on, 
 And we'll chair through all London, — our Family Briton. 
 
 Sir GeoJ. What ? — what ? Look at Easy ! He's drunk, 
 or I dream 
 
 Easy \rising\. The toast of the evening — SUCCESS TO 
 THE Scheme ! 
 
 THE EKO< 
 
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