PR 1271 L33 1860Z MAIN \CY'S HOME PLAYS. h. DRAMAS FOR GOLLEBE CAMP & CABIN.! SERIO-COMIC PLATS » FOE MALE CHAKACTEKS ONLY. ^ ONE SHILLING-POST FREE. ^ ! UC-NRLF "^^ ■; B3 13T4S7 ^^ THOMAS HAILES LACY, 89, BTBAND, LONDON. GIFT OF Mrs. F. Scott Smith 61 DRAMAS, SERIOUS AND SERIO-COMIC, FOB COLLEGE, CAMP, AND CABIN, Adapted for Male Characters only, ,i>y a ',') *» -5 THO:\rAS HAILES LACY, H 89, STKAND, LONDON. ^^\6'^, y xp HOW TO CARRY OUT A PERFORMANCE SUCCESSFULLY. In preparing an apartment for the representation of charades, where the convenience of a raised stage is not available, the best ^temative will be in an arrangement of moreen or woollen curtains for the proscenium,* with two large ones, running upon a rod, for an act drop, meeting in the centre of the stage, and to be drawn to and fro by a person on each side. The back scene may be formed by other curtains, to open in the centre and at each side, or more simply by two large screens, the last folds of which will make capital centre doors. The early resource of the stage may also be adopted with great advantage, and a placard on which is written in large characters a description of the scene where the incidents about to be represented take place, thus : — This should be hung upon n hook previously affixed to the curtain or screen at the back, and must be changed with each change of scene. The friends assembled upon such occasions are always prepared to en- joy the entertainment provided ; if much is not attempted, much will not be expected. Homely and queer contrivances, if frankly offered, will be cheerfully received. But one deficiency will not, nor should it be excused : when a character is accepted by either lady or gentleman, it ought to become a point of honour that the words of that part be correctly committed to memory ; any neglect of this entails disgrace upon the individual, and annoy- ance and disappointment to all around ; actors and audience will alike suffer, and reprobate the carelessness that compromises not itself alonc^ but others. If amateurs will but take the pains to become what is professionally termed dead perfect in the words, and stand still whilst speaking them, they will always bo able to acquit, J^^eqjselvcs Jo tlieir 9>fn ^satisfaction, and that of the spectators. •: • *• *. .* 1 I*': • I # ••• • • ••••"•, • •• • •••••*••-.• ••• . 1.11. 1j. DRAWING ROOM IN WELBORN'S HOUSE. • Muriln curUlnj and drapery of combustiWc materirtl should be riiiidly excluded. The frightful catastrophe at the Austrian Ambassador's entertainment upon the marriage of Napoleon and Marie Louise, arose from the ignition of a gauze featoon, carried by the draught of a large chamber against an adjacent chandelier. EXPLANATION OF THE STAGE DIRECTIONS. The Actor is supposed to face the AuULcace. D. R. C. C. D. D. L. C. R. u. E. ikene. l. u. js* B. 3 E. B. 2 E. R. 1 E. / I.. 3 E . I \ \ L.2E. L. 1 E. B. C. C. Audience. t.c. L. Left. L. c. Left Centre. L. 1 E. Left First Entrance L. 2 E. Left Second Entrance. I.. 3 E. Left Third Entrance. L. u. E. Left Upper Entrance (wherever the Scene may be.) o. L. c. Door Left Centre. c. Centre. R. Right. R. 1 E. Right First Entrance. R. 2 E. liight Second Entrance. E. 3 K. Right Third Entrance. E. u. E. Kight Upper Entrance. D. R. c. Door Right Centre. M151939 CONTENTS. 1.— JOSEPH IN EGYPT. 2.— THE HARVEST STORM. 3.— THE CROSS OF ST. JOHN. 4.-.THE BLIND BOY. JOSEPH IN EGYPT. IN ONE ACT. BY THE COUNTESS LE GENLIS. Translated hy THOMAS HOLCROFT, And arranged for Bepresentation* ! / 4 S" / ^ 5 ^ THOMAS HAILED LACY, 89, STRAND, {Oppositi SoutJiampton Street^ Covent Garden MarJcety) LONDON. Ci&aratterjEi, JOSEPH^ Minister and Favourite of Pharaoh, King of Egypt, Wider the name of O.RASIS, atid San of Jacob and Rachel. BENJAMIN, Second Son of Jacob and Rachel. SIMEON, Y Brethren of Joseph and Benjamin, and Sons REUBEN, J of Jacob and Leah, PHASE AR, an Egyptian Noble, the Friend of Joseph. ZARES, one of the Servants of Joseph. Four other Brethren of Joseph, mute. The Scene lies at Memphis, iu the Palace of Joseph. JOSEPH IN EGYPT. "Say not thou I will recompense evil." — Prov. xx. 22. "■ He that foUoweth after righteousness and mercy, findeth life, righteousness, and honour." — Prov. xxi. 21. Scene. — A magnificent Hall — a raised chair of state^ R. c. Enter Phasear. l., meeting Zares, r. Phasear. I wish, Zares, to speak to thy master in private. Zares. At present his duty detains him with the king. Phasear. I will wait. But tell me, Zares, wherefore refuseth he to see these Hebrews, on whom he hath heaped so many benefits ? Zares. I* know not, my lord; and I am the more sur- prised at it, in that he seems deeply interested concerning them. These strangers have given a narrative, in a writing which I have presented him, of the famine which at present devours their land. Orasis was deeply affected : he bade me question the Hebrews concerning their father ; and his joy was great, when he heard the old man had not hitherto suffered amid the public calamity. Some one comes — it is Orasis. Phasear. Leave us, Zares. Exit Zares, r. Now will I avenge myself of a perfidious brother. Orasis knows the extent of his ingratitude, and will not refuse to serve me. That friendship, by which we are united, will make him participate the just resentment with which my bosom burns. A 2 8 JOSEPH IN EGYPT. Enter Orasis, r. u. e. My lord, I have waited for you with impatience. You now may render me the most important service. Orasis. Speak, dear Phasear. Phasear. [takes a letter from his pocket) My lord, you know the writing of Cleophis. Orasis. Yes, it is your brother's hand. Phasear. My brother! Give not the name of brother to the most ungrateful of men. Cleophis, as you know, my lord, owes to me his fortune ; nor are you ignorant of the manner in which he has repaid all my benefactions and all my love. My ruin he hath sought, and every tie by which we are united, is broken. Orasis. [after having read the letter) This imprudent letter informs me that, seduced by a silly passion, Cleophis is the rival of his master, and dares to adore the object of Pharaoh's affection— his mistress. But how came this letter into your hands? PiiASEAR. I bribed the slave who is his confidant Orasis. And what mean you to do? Phasear. To be revenged. To inform the king, this very day, he is betrayed. You only, Orasis, may approach and speak to him at all times. Give him this letter. Orasis. Think what you ask— an act that would debase us both. Phasear. I ask but what for you I would perform, without hesitation. Ah, were you in my situation, and I in yours Orasis. Phasear ! your better understanding passion blinds. Hurried away by resentment and hatred, you are not yourself, or you would think like me. Phasear. Can you, whom I have seen so indignant at the ingratitude of Cleophis, can you oppose my just ven« geance ? Orasis. Cleophis is an ungrateful man, but he is your brother. How may you break the indissoluble ties which nature forms ? Cleophis may justly lose the name of friend, but of the title of brother he may never be deprived. It is sacred and indelible. In vain would you estrange and separate yourselves ; the will of heaven, the laws of JOSEPH IN EGYPT. 9 nature, the opinions of men, reason, prejudice itself, all dras? you towards each ether ; all invite you to love, or at least, to serve each other like brethren. Phasp:ar. Ah, my lord, how easy is it for those to condemn resentment, who have never felt the envenometl wounds of ingratitude ! Had you basely, like me, been betrayed by a brother Orasis. Phasear ! Had I been ! Phasear. My lord. Orasis. Your brother never yet attempted your life ; and, though he even had been guilty of a crime so horrid, still I should have told you — vengeance were not for you. He is your brother. Phasear. Did you feel my wrongs, my lord, your thoughts would be diifereiit. However, are you determhicd to refuse the favour I request ? Orasis. Phasear 1 by the sacred name of friendsliip, let me entreat you will not be thus precipitate. Take time at least to reflect. Phasear. Well, my lord, till to-morrow I will wait, but, should you persist in your refusal, I then will go myself, and present this paper to tlie king. Orasis. Yourself ! Yourself the accuser of your brother ! Phasear. The avenger of my wrongs. Orasis. Think of the indelible disgrace. Phasear. Let us speak no more on the subject, my lord ; to-morrow you will inform me of your determination. I have another favour to ask : the Hebrews whom your bounty hath assisted, have had recourse to me to obtain a moment's audience. Orasis. What is their request? Phasear. Deeply affected by your benevolence, they wish to express their gratitude to you in person. Orasis. Let them depart. Let them return to their aged father — I cannot see them. And have you, Phasear, spoken to these strangers ? Phasear. I have, my lord, and confess that the youth and appearance of the youngest have greatly interested me. Orasis. {with agitation) "What ! have they brouglit the youngest of their brethren! Know you the name of the boy? 10 JOSEPH IN EGYPT. Phasear. Benjamin. Orasis. (aside) What is it I hear ! Is Benjamin with th(?m ! (aloud) Well, my lord, in compliance with your request, I will see the youth. Let one of his brethren conduct him hither. Phasear. They are all assembled near the palace. I will go myself and bear your answer. Exitj l. Orasis. thou! my nearest, dearest brother, beloved boy, whom Rachel bore, and whom I never saw but in thy cradle ; how may I conceal that strong emotion with w^hich thy presence agitates my bosom ! What, so young, and undertake so long a journey, and so painful ! And, great heaven ! unto whose care hast thou been committed ? To the sons of Leah, Jacob has entrusted Benjamin. But, alas ! my father knows them not. Envious and cruel men, who vowed my destruction. If Benjamin be the beloved of Jacob, if he be dear to his father as Joseph was, I have every thing to fear for his life. How shall I protect him from the ferocious jealousy of his inhuman brethren ? Brethren ! and are these barbarous men my brethren? Alas ! how shall I behold, and hide my emotion, the face of him who is to bring hither Benjamin ? But what would his be, did he know that the Orasis w^ho governs Egypt; Orasis, minister and favourite of a mighty monarch, is that same Joseph whom he sold like a vile slave ! The very recollection makes my blood run cold with horror. The sight of one of these perfidious men, more powerfully will retrace to memory that day of hatred, rage and terror, when my brethren became a band ojf murderers. Again their tumultuous cries, their menacing and dreadful words resound in my ears. Again I behold them, inspired with mad fury, rejecting remorse, yielding to guilt, surrounding, seizing, and plunging me into the black pit they had chosen for my grave. From the depth of darkness, I implored the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and my feeble voice was heard even in heaven ; and never can I better repay its benefactions, than by forgetting the injuries I have received. By triumphing over just resentment, imitating thy clemency, and pardon- ing guilt, shall I render thee homage most worthy of thee, and best express my gratitude for all thy goodness — such JOSEPH IN EGYPT. 11 aiB the sacrifices most acceptable in thine eyes. I hear footsteps — perhaps 'tis Benjamin ! How shall I suppress all the affection I feel ? Yet let me be calm. That his brother and conductor should know me in my present rank, under this disguise, and after the change of features which age and this burning climate have produced, I need not fear. They approach. Let me, if possible, dissemble that agitation and affection by which, alone, I can be betrayed, (sits on a chair , r. c.) Enter Benjamin and Simeon, l. [aside^ and holing earnestly at Benjamin) 'Tis he ! 'Tis Benjamin ! affecting picture of a beloved mother, how many former ideas, dear to memory, dost thou excite! [aloud) Come near, (they approach and kneel) Simeon. Thus at your feet, most puissant and benevolent minister of good, permit us to express our gratitude. Orasis. What is it you do ? You had need of suste- nance, and I had the power to serve. What have I done more than humanity required ? If pity be not a sensation foreign to your bosom, you will cease to admire an action so natural and so necessary, [beckons^ they rise) What is your name ? Simeon, (c.) Simeon, my lord ! Orasis. And the name of that youth ? Simeon. Benjamin. Orasis. Is he your brother ? Simeon. Jacob is our father, but Kachel, his mother, was not my mother. Orasis. And had Rachel only this son? Simeon. Alas ! She had yet another. Orasis. And how was he called ? Simeon. Joseph. Orasis. Is he come with you ? Simeon. My lord Orasis. Why seem you so disturbed? SixMEON. In pity, forbear to question me farther. Orasis. What, was this son, this Joseph, unworthy of his father ? Was he perfidious and cruel to his brethren ? Deserved he their hatred ? Simeon, [overpowered) He was innocent and virtuous. 12 JOSEPH IN EGYPT. Orasis. You weep. Simeon. My lord, you know not how you rend my heart. Orasis. (aside) His reint)rse affects me ; let me forbear to increase his affliction, (aloud) Come hither, Benjamin, and speak to me. (Benjamin crosses, c.) Should I desire to detain you awhile in Egypt, would you be contented to stay with me ? Benjamin. Alas ! my lord, how might I stay ? My father dwelleth in the land of Canaan. Orasis. Riches and honours I could easily procure you. Benjamin. Riches and honours could not supply the loss of a father, the want of his society, the happiness of comforting his old age. Orasis. Your feelings are natural and just, and only increase the desire I have — you should remain. Yet, you shall see Jacob again. Suffer your brethren to depart ; they will inform him why you are left in Egypt, and, whenever you desire, you shall again revisit the country he inhabits. Simeon, (l.) x4h, my lord, what is it you propose ? Since Jacob hath lost the eldest son of Rachel, Benjamin is become the object of his dearest, tenderest affection. When to us he confided the beloved youth, he made us swear we would bring him back. If Benjamin be not with us, how shall we dare present ourselves before our father ? The relation of your kindness towards Benjamin, will appear unto him but as a tale ; and he will say unto us. — It is ye who have robbed me of my child. Orasis. What you ! the brethren of Benjamin ! Would it be possible he could suspect, could accuse you of a crime so horrible and unnatural? And wherefore should your father suspect you of barbarity, from which nature would shrink with detestation? How imagine you so inhumanly blood-thirsty, as to conspire together and murder an innocent brother, by whom you are all beloved? No, such wickedness may not be, nor such suspicion. Simeon, (aside) Each word he utters confounds and overwhelms me with shame. Orasis. Since, however, I see you will not grant me the favour I ask, you shall suffer no constraint. Depart, JOSEPH IN EGYPT. 13 Benjamin, with your brethren, only remam here some little while in the palace. A banquet is prepared, my friends will soon assemble, and I invite ye all to be my • guests. When the duties of hospitality are fulfilled, ye shall be detained no longer ; you may then go hence. Simeon. Gracious lord, your goodness Orasis. Bring hither your brethren — go. Simeon and Benjamin how and exeunt^ L. Jacob prefers Benjamin to the children of Leah. Have 1 not, therefore, cause to fear Benjamin is envied and Ijated by his brethren? Not to restore him to his father did they refuse me. He alone could supply the loss of me to my father ; he has received those benedictions, those paternal caresses of which, by the perfidy of my brethren, I have been deprived. 0, my father, not all the gifts of fortune, wealth, or honour, can make me forget thee. But here established, in a strange land, by ties the most sacred, minister of a sovereign who is my benefactor, ought I to to abandon Egypt — the government of which he has confided to my cares ? Ought I to quit the wife whom he, or the children whom heaven hath given me ? Enter Phasear, l. Phasear, I have need of thy friendship. May I depend on secrecy inviolable ? Phasear. Doth Orasis doubt my faith? Orasis. Time is jDrecious — hear me. The Hebrews, with whom I have spoken, are now at a splendid banquet, here in this palace. I intend not to be present, but you shall supply my place. See that my cup of gold be placed before the youth, Benjamin, and when they depart, let the cup be secretly put into the mouth of the sack that belongeth to Benjamin. This only was the request I had to make. Phasear. How, my lord ! secretly conceal the cup in his sack ! I understand you not. Do you mean it as a gift ? Orasis. Far from it. When you conceal it, be careful not to be seen. Phasear. And what is your intent ? Orasis. Ere they arrive at the gates of Memphis, they shall be arrested by my order, and my cup demanded ; 14 JOSEPH IN EGYPT. which, being found in the sack of Benjamin, they shall be reconducted to the palace like criminals disgraced by the meanest of actions. Phasear. Heavens! What is it I hear ! Orasis. I see I yet shall augment your surprise. Learn then my whole secret. These strangers, forwhom you are so much^interested — are my brethren. Phasear. Your brethren ! Orasis. Yes, but brethren most inhuman, most per- fidious; who together plotted to take away my life. Their covetousness only saved me. Ishmaelite merchants happened to pass, and I was sent a slave among strangers, here into Egypt. Phasear. The tale makes me shudder. Yes, it was atrocious, unheard-of guilt. Yet, my lord, these men are your brethren. Orasis. Phasear! And is it you who speak thus? You, whose breast burns with the desire of your brother's destruction? You, who so earnestly have conjun.d me to aid your vengeful project. Phasear. My lord ! But think how fearfully <5riminal is the action you require from me. Orasis. And have you not required me to accuse a man who never was my enemy ? Were I to show Pharoah the letter which you have obtained, the punishment of Cleophis would be inevitable. Phasear. At least, I have not employed deceit to obtain his punishment. Orasis. Yes, you have had recourse to artifice and treason, by seducing the slave from whom you obtained the letter. And can you compare your situation to mine? Cleophis has forgotten to be grateful, has betrayed the duties of friendship ; but has he sought your death? Has he attempted to bereave you of life or liberty ? Phasear. But the youngest of them I Surely you cannot hate that sweet, that innocent youth ? He had no part in the wickedness of his unhappy brethren. Orasis. Hate him ! hate Benjamin ! Oh, no, you know not how dear he is to my heart. Be not anxious for his safety ; that he has nothing to fear, let my most sacred promise be the pledge. JOSEPH IN EGYPT. 15 Phasear. I think I understand you. You would accuse the Hebrews of the double baseness of steah'ng the cup, and seeking to cast the guilt on Benjamin, who may- entertain some suspicions of his brethren, and thus partake your hatred, and abandon them without regret. Orasis. Be that as it may — do you consent to the request I have made ? Phasear. These wretched men have implored my pro- tection, and may I enter into a plot to do them evil ? Not long since, you, Orasis, exhorted me to forget offences ; would it not be an act worthy of you, to set me this noble example ? Orasis. Would you follow it ? Phasear. {after a momenfs consideration) Wherefore hesitate ? Never was resentment better founded than yours. Your brethren are monsters unworthy to behold the light of day. And yet, I hope, in the moment of vengeance, you will listen to the voice of nature and humanity pleading for mercy. You do not desire their death ? Orasis. Certainly not. Phasear. Swear to me their lives shall be safe. Orasis. Willingly. Phasear. Whatever other punishment you mean to inflict, it cannot be too severe for the crime of which they are guilty. You see, Orasis, my friendship for you hath vanquished my scruples ; and now I have a right to exact from you the convincing proof, I ask, of an attachment equal to that of which you find me capable. Orasis. I understand you. Give me the letter of Cleophis — your brother. Phasear. Here it is. You promise to give it to the king. Orasis. Yes, tomorrow morning, if you then should continue in your present disposition. Phasear. Thus, into your hands, I give my means of vengeance, and undertake to see yours executed. Exit, l. Orasis. Into what fatal excesses are we hurried by our passions ! How is Phasear borne away by their impetuous power, even while his reason detects their influence, and shrinks with horror from the same efl'ects in others. 0, Thou who knowest my heart, God of my fathers, deign 16 JOSEPH IN EGYPT. to aid my attempt, deign to preserve Benjamin from the dangers which threaten him, those dreadful dangers from which thy arm delivered me. Exit^ r. Enter Phasear, l. Phase AR. It is done. I have fulfilled my guilty promise. But who shall stifle the remorse I feel ? These miserable men, with hearts overflowing with gratitude, now, on quitting the palace, prayers and blessings have bestowed on Orasis — the cruel Orasis — who only hath heaped bene- fits upon them to make their ignominy the greater. This favourite of heaven, this deliverer of Egypt, this Orasis, so famous for his genius and aggrandisement, how have I been deceived in him ! I admired — I loved him ; but now I feel he hath lost all place in my heart. How could he suppose himself indebted to friendship for the unworthy service I have just performed? No — I have become his accomplice, but have ceased to be his friend. Yet, what have I to reproach him with ? The desire of vengeance — a passion by which I myself am consumed ! Oh, no ! To-morrow, vengeance shall be satiated. Orasis comes. Enter Orasis, r. Orasis. I sought you, Phasear, to inform you of the success of our artifice. Zares hath just brought me in- telligence of the loss of the cup, and orders are dispatched to follow and seize on Benjamin and his brethren. They will presently be here. Phasear. Ah, my lord, in vain would I dissemble. Spite ot myself, my heart reproaches me for having thus abetted your revenge. Orasis. And am not I to abet yours also? If you still desire the punishment of Cleophis from me, at least, hide your remorse. Phasear. (aside) Ah, the recollection restores me to myself, (aloiidj Yes, we will be revenged All means are lawful to punish the perfidious and confound the guilty. Wherefore should we then feel remorse ? The innocent we oppress not. To me, Cleophis is indebted for all his wealth — all his prosperity. To me he hath returned ingratitude and deceit. And have I not the right to JOSEPH IN EGYPT. 17 take that from him which I gave, since he only uses it to injure me. Enter Zares, l. Orasis. Well, Zares? Zares. My lord, I have found the cup. Orasis. In whose possession ? Zares. The youngest of these base Hebrews. Yet his surprise and grief were so great, that I scarcely could believe him guilty. The crime, no doubt, was committed by his brethren ; and, perhaps, without his knowledge. Orasis. Did they deny the theft ? Zares. They appeared confounded — annihilated; spoke of remorse — divine justice ; but only in half sentences, interrupted by sighs, groans, and tears. Orasis. Where are they ? Zares. At the palace gates, under the guard of your slaves. Orasis. Go, find, bring them before me — all of them. Exit Zares, l. Phasear. Let me fly ; let me quit this place. Orasis. No — stay. Phasear. I cannot. How can I, face to face, behold these men? Ah, if your heart were not inaccessible to pity, you would, at least, conceive what are my present feelings !. Orasis. Pity! And what then is thy heart? Thou weepest the misfortune of strangers — of assassins — yet askest the destruction of a brother 1 I hear the voice of Benjamin. Phasear, go not hence, I must exact this proof of your friendship, [sits^ r. c. — Phasear goes to r.) Enter Zares, Simeon, Reuben, Benjamin, with all the Brethren 0/ Joseph, and Guards, l. Zares. Behold the criminals, my lord. Orasis. Wretched strangers, whom my bounty too easily admitted here ! Wherefore have you violated the sacred ties of hospitality ? You, no doubt, are the accom- plices of your younger brother. I might deprive you all of the happiness of ever returning to your country ; but 18 JOSEPH IN EGYPT. I will detain him, only, whose guilt cannot be doubted. Benjamin must remain in Egypt. As for the rest, depart ; you are at liberty. Phasear. [aside, u,) Ah! I breathe again. Simeon, (c.) No, my lord, Benjamin is not guilty. Punish us, whom the wrath of heaven pursues. Oh ! restore Benjamin to his country and his father, and let all your indignation be on our heads ! Reuben, (l.) Only let Benjamin be free, and we will accept slavery as a just judgment, which we have but too well merited. Benjamin, (l. c.) What is it you say, my brethren ! Would you justify me by accusing yourselves ? Shall I be thought innocent by your making yourselves seem guilty ? Or shall I see you sacrificed to my safety? No — I will partake your misfortunes. Orasis. What ! do you all confess yourselves criminals ? All the Brethren o/Joseph. {except Benjamin, suddenly exclaim) All ! all I Simeon. Benjamin is innocent. Benjamin. my brethren ! Simeon. Yes, my lord, from me you hear the truth. Overwhelmed with remorse, long have we dragged a deplorable life. — A moment of mad and guilty error has for ever deprived us of innocence, happiness, and peace. Pursued by remorse, most fearful, a most injured, most dreadful spectre haunts us incessantly. Fears, omens, and hovering evils add ten thmisi-^id imaginary torments to our real woes ! — Nay, strange to thought ! you, my lord, your presence, the sight of you, alone, first struck and still strikes our hearts with trouble and terror! — Your feature??, the very sound of your voice, recal to mind the object and the cause of all our guilty fears. — Yes, my lord, you hath heaven chosen to punish the crime which repentance, however sincere, however bitter, never can expiate ! — Oh, that by offering ourselves the victims of divine justice, that heaven might but, in mercy, restore a moment's tranquiHity to our bosoms ! — Dispose of us, therefore, as you please, be it slavery or death ; but oh, cast an eye of compassion on this child — on Benjamin ! Oh, consider and spare his yonth, his innocence! He, JOSEPH IN EGYPT. 19 alone, among us all, is worthy to console a virtuous father. Oh suffer him to live, that he may dry up his tears, and tell him, the wretched children of Leah have sacrificed themselves to preserve the last of the sons of Rachel ! Orasis. [turning towards his Brethren) And is your repentance, then, your remorse so great — so sincere? Happy that I am I Again you are my brethren ! I ! — I am Joseph ! I am your brother ! Omnes. [drawing back with terror and surprise) Joseph! Joseph. Everything is forgotten. I am your brother, and my heart is yours ! Yes, I am your brother ! [they fall upon his neck and weep) And thou, dear J3enjamin, child of a beloved mother. Ah, how sweet it is to hold thee thus — to call thee brother ! Oh, speak ! telf me, in til is happy moment, what thy thoughts — what thy sensa- tions are I Benjamin. Alas, my brother, though I knew you not, how often have 1 wept your death — how often partook the sorrows of my father ! Imagine then how great is my joy, how vast my happiness, to find myself thus in the arms of Joseph ! Joseph. Praised be the God of Jacob, who hath wrought these things ! Never, my brethren, was I so vil^ as to have a thought to harm you. Benjamin only did I wish to retain, and therefore was this stratagem contrived. But I have read your hearts, have seen your grief, and my fears are dispelled. Depart then to our father, take Benjamin with you, and restore him to the arms of Jacob. To the benefits you have received from the minister of Pliaraoh, I will add the gifts of a brother — a brother whose heart is divided among you Say to my iather that duties, the most sacred, detain me in Egypt ; but that I cannot enjoy my fortune without partaking it with him and with my brethren. Pray him to come — him and his family; then, when my father and my brethren are at Memphis, again I shall have found my country. Simeon. Behold our tears, my lord, let them speak for us ! — It is not for our tongues to express the feelings of our hearts ! — Joseph dares confide Benjamin to our pro- tection. — 0, my lord, lest those inquietude^, whicli, by the nobleness of your own mind, are at present dissipated. 20 JOSEPH IN EGYPT. should again revive before our return, permit me to remain at Memphis ; let Simeon be the pledge. Joseph. No, Simeon. No, my brother. Suspicion towards you is for ever banished this bosom. Simeon. Nay, my lord, but I will not leave you. Your tranquillity is now become dear to me, Joseph. Well, my brother, be it as thou wilt, and be thou master here, Simeon. Be this the house of thy father ; so consider, so use it. My brethren, the stratagem I used, and your innocence, must be publicly proclaimed ; then will I give orders for your safe condu-ct, and receive your farewell. Phasear. Noble and generous friend ! Thinkest thou that Phasear only would admire thy virtues? Give me back that fatal letter. Joseph, (returning the letter) Phasear, when I accepted this paper, be certain I knew thou wouldest ask me to return it. Phasear. Henceforth be hatred and vengeance — those dreadful sensations — those insensate passions of feeble and cruel minds — banished my breast. Thou hast in- formed — thou hast taught me to feel the happiness and glory of knowing to pardon, [he destroys the letter) JosepIi. Thou hast done well, my friend. On that solemn day, when Pharaoh, in the midst of the mighty and the wise, proclaimed me the minister and ruler of his empire — then, glorious as was that day to me, I felt less great, less happy than now, when I embrace and weep with my brethren I CTttrtatn* THE HARVEST STORM. a ©omestic ©rama, IN ONE ACT. C. Hf HAZLEWOOD, AUTHOR OF " Return of the Wanderer,'' " Jenny Foster,'' " Blanche and Perrinettej" " The Eagle's Nest," " Bonnet Builder's Tea Party," &c. (&c. THOMAS HAILES LACY, "^ 89, STRAND, {Opposite JSoutliampton Street, Coveni Garden Market, LONDON. i f'k V ^ ^ "nT^^^^^^co^ o? -V- .v/>. THE HARVEST STOKM. Hi « " .^ M .2 «» H *♦ !' "^ III @ = n -2 — -x ffl r « S = » 2 ^5rl§UitH"'K-' h ft p-l « THE HARVEST STORM. Scene. — Country View, with distant corn fields^ Farm House L., Barn R. 2 E. Enter MichaeIj from farm — music, Michael. Another fine day for the harvest ; lucky weather, this, for the farmers, and I'm sure no one merits it more than my good master. I owe everything to him; for when my parents died he became a second father to my brother and I ; to me he gav^ sheUer and education, and procured for my dear brother a clerk's situation at a banker's in London, where he has been these seven years. Good worthy master, may providence smile upon your crops and fill your barns with harvest's boun- teous store, {takes letter f am his pocket) I have just received this letter from my brother, in which he tells me that his salary has again been raised ; how happy it makes me to know that. He writes to me every week. I wonder when he's coming to see us ; I wish he was here now. The ham door opens, r. 2 e., and Andrew Radford, looking pale and agitated enters from it. Andrew. He is here, Michael. Michael. My dear Andrew! (going to him and taking his hand) Andrew. Hush, hush! not so loud, don't mention my name, some one might hear you. Michael. Not mention your name ! why not ? Andrew. Brother, I am flying from justice, hide me, save me. THE HARVEST STORM. O Michael. Flying from justice ! Oh, what have you done ? Is Andrew Radford, my brother, a hunted thief! Andrew. No, Michael, no, I am as mnocent as you are. Michael. Then why dread your name being mentioned. Andrew. Brother, listen to my story, then pity, believe, and assist me. At our bank in London, the clerks take it in turn to sleep in the room which contains the iron safe, wherein all the money, deeds and securities are placed ; last Thursday week it was my turn to sleep there, but scarcely had I entered the room when a sudden dizziness overtook me, and I remem- bered no more ; the next morning I was roused by master and his partner with the fearful news that the iron safe had been opened and its contents stolen. I was questioned; but bewildei . d and horrified, I knew not what I said. I was accused as tie robber, my lodging searched, and tliere, secreted in my wrltiii^ desk, was found a bundle of notes that had been stolen from ray master's house. Michael. But you were innocent? Andrew. As you are, Michael ; but no one would believe me so, all looked on me with doubt and suspicion. 1 was gi\ lu until the next day to confess my guilt or else be arrested on the charge of robbery. I knew I had no one to speak for me. I felt I was incapable of proving my innocence, so, hi the de;id of night, I fled. Michael. Oh, rash and weak resolve! by doing that you have confirmed their suspicions, Andrew. I feel I have, I see my folly. But it is now too late. I must gain some seaport and sail for America — have you the means to help me to do so, brother ? Michael. Alas, no ! all that 1 have is in our savings bank, and caimot be drawn out under a notice. Meet this charge. Andrew. I should be condemned as guilty, I am sure of it, all looks so black against me ; time, I am assured, will prove my innocence, and then I can stand erect again in the eyes of the world ; but if once I get the taint of a prison on me, 1 feel 6 THE HARVEST STORM. I shonld break down under it, and hear the world say the weight of my guilt had crushed me. Aid me, aid me, dear brother, to escape for the sake of my good name and your own ! Michael. I would willingly if I had the means, but I have not. What can I do ? John, {viithin farm) Michael, Michael, it's breakfast time, lad. Michael. My master comes ! quick, Andrew, do not let him see you ! (Andrew returns in ham, r.) John, [entering from farm) IVe been looking for thee everywhere, my lad. Michael. I heard you call, sir; I was just coming, John. You seem scared— what's the matter? Michael. I am not very well, sir, I — I — Dear master, will you do me a favour ? I never asked you one before. John. Do thee a favour, Michael ? Aye, that I will. What is it ? Michael. I want you to lend me ten pounds, master ; you can stop it out of my wages. John. What on earth can you want with ten pounds ? Michael. T want to lend it to a friend, sir. John. Why you silly fellow ! Dost think thouM ever see it again ? What's tlie name of the person who wants to borrow it of thee ? Michael. I shouldn't like to tell you that, sir; but it will do a young man I know, a great deal of service ; it will, indeed, I master ! John. Well, let me know who the young man is, and what he wants the money for, and then perhaps out of respect to you, I may let him have it. Michael. You must excuse me telling you his name, sir. John. Then you must excuse me lending you the money. No, no, my lad, I'll not see you imposed upon ; this is some ! new acquaintance of yours, who wants to wheedle you out | of your little savings. Come into breakfast ; and don't say • ! THE HARVEST STORM. 7 another word on the subject, or else you'll offend me. So come in with me, for I want thee. Exit into farm^ L. Michael, {following him) My poor brother! what will become of him ? Exit into farm^ L. Enter Dick Barrel, a young f armer^ R. u. e., looTcing at farm Dick. That farmer Garnham's a lucky man — never saw better crops in my life ; he's pretty warm, I warrant ! Every- thing he touches seems to prosper ; wliile, on the contrary, all I fneddle with, goes wrong. To be sure, he doesn't bet on horse-racing — I do ; I suppose that makes all the difference. That Michael who lives with him, I'll warrant he'll come into the best part of the old man's property — if I could only get round him he might help me to some of the farmer's money ; but he does'nt seem to cotton to me somehow. Enter Samuel Lexicon, with note book in his hand, R. u. E. Samuel. " Cotton." {writing in hook) *' Cotton, a material from which shirts are made ; and by which women easily make their fortunes." Dick. Were you listening to me, sir? Samuel. Certainly not, sir ; but the fact is, I am compiling a new dictionary, forming a new signification to the English language, and I take the words as I hear them spoken —saves me a deal of trouble. Dick. Oh, indeed ! now I took you for some rascal of a lawyer. Samuel. You don't like lawyers, then ? Dick. No, I don't ; what's your opinion of them ? Samuel. I'll read it to you out of my dictionary, {reads) " Lawyer. — A learned gentleman who rescues your estate from your enemies and keeps it himself." Dick. True enough, my friend, for I know an instance of that ; and to think of my taking you for a limb of the law ! excuse my oversight. 8 THE HARVEST STORM. Samuel. Oversight ! I haven't got that word, (writes in book) " Oversight. — Leaving your old umbrella in a coffee room and bringing away a new one in mistake." Dick, (aside) A curious fellow this, (aloud) A stranger about here, I suppose? Samuel. Yes, sir, merely travelling to pick up information. Dick. Nice land about here. Samuel. Beautiful ! I suppose youVe a tidy slice of k. Dick. I had at one time, but I lost a good deal by speculation. Samuel, (writes in hook) ''Speculation. — Making yout fortune by swindling your creditors and then turning insolvent." Dick. You see I spent a good deal on my land trying to improve it by science. Samuel, (writing in hook) " Science. — Tying a tin canister to a dog's tail and observing which way he runs." Dick, (aside) I wonder who this is ; he must be rich, or he wouldn't be so eccentric, (aloud) Yes, sir, joke as you will, but science to a beginner in the farming line is a young man's best companion. Samuel. Allow me to differ with you, this is my definition : (reads from hook) " Young man's best companion. — A friend who sees you safe home when you're unable to take yourself there." Dick, (aside) I see Michael coming, I wish I could g^i rid of him. (aloud) If you wish to see the beauty of the country, sir, there's a fine view when you get through the corn fields. (points L. u. E.) Samuel, (looking) Ah! I see, whose large red brick house is that yonder ? Dick. It belongs to Mr. Bowen, our magistrate. Samuel, {^writes va hook) " Magistrate, a worthy old gentleman, who goes to sleep all the time a case is being tried, then wakes up and says ' I see it all. Three months.' " Dick, (aside) Confound the fool, why don't he go. (aloud) I beg pardon, friend, but you are acting in a manner that THE HARVEST STORM. 9 Samuel. Acting! I beg yfur pardon, I'm doing nothing of the kind. He takes me for an actor, a tragedian perhaps ! {writes in book) " Tragedian, a fellow who runs about the stage with a tin pot on his head and gets into a passion at so much a night." Well I'll be oft] for I see you want to be left alone with your lady love. It's the dairy-maid I dare say. {writes in booh) " Dairy-maid, supposed by cockneys to be a rustic Venus, but who eats a pound of fat bacon for breakfast, and drinks a quart of table ale to wash it down." {going R. u. E.) " Oh, that we can call these delicate creatures ours, and not their appetites." — Sliakespere ! Encit R. u. E. Dick. Gone at last, and here comes Michael. Enter Michael /row /orm. Michael. What can I do, how obtain the money ? I dread every moment that my master will enter the barn and discover him. {aside) Dick. Good morning, Michael. Michael, {starting) Good morning, sir. Dick. Sir ! Why don't you call me Dick, youVe known me long enough. Michael, {aside) I have, but never knew anything to your credit though. Dick. I was wishing to speak to you, Michael. I have been thinking that we ought to be good friends, and it shall not be my fault if we are not. Michael. If you mean to abandon your bad and dissipated habits, so that one who respects himself can be your friend, I will be so ; but until your actions give proof of tliis, I must beg you to let us continue as we are — not enemies, but certainly not friends. Dick. " Certainly not friends."— How fine we talk, you ought to be proud of my notice, you who came here a friendless child. 10 THE HARVEST STORM. ^fiCHAEL. Some people rise by industry, others fall by dissipation. Dick. You've a high spirit, my lad, but I may break it yet ; since you will turn my goodwill into hate, beware of me ! Exit^ R. 1 E. Michael, {watching him off) He is gone, {goes to harn^ r.) Andrew, you may venture, there is no one here. Andrew. The money, quick ; the torments of suspense— the fear of detection make me tremble like a child. Michael. Oh, my poor brother 1 what will you do ? My master refuses to lend me the money, and I have no other friend I can ask. Andrew. Then I am lost ! I cannot remain longer in con- cealment, and to venture on the road would be equally dangerous, for T feel assured the officers are on my track. Michael. What can I do? Tell my master all? No, T dread to do that, for so strict are his notions of justice that he would instantly order his arrest. Andrew, {starts) Hark ! I hear footsteps. Michael. Quick, conceal yourself! Exit Andrew to ham. Re-enter Dick, r. 1 e., with posting hill in his hand. Dick. You are still here then ? I am glad of it ; I hold something in my hand that will crush your proud heart and level your pride to the earth if I choose to make it known. Michael, {aside) What can he mean ? Dick, {shows bill) I'll read you what is printed here — listen. {reads hill) " £100 reward for the apprehension of Andrew Radford, late clerk in the employ of Sterling & Co., London, who is charged with robbery to a large amount. The above reward will be paid to any person or persons giving such information as may lead to his apprehension." {to Michael, v^ho is aqitated and tremhling) Ah ! does ray news strike home ? THE HARVEf^T STOKM. 11 You didn't think your brother was an outcast flying from justice, a wretched thief with a price set on his head ! Michael. Neither do I think so now, for I know he is innocent ; this cloud which now hangs over my brotlier's name is but for a time, and I will trust to heaven to clear his name, and reveal the guilty, Dick, {going up) So be it ; since you are so bouncible, I know what to do, and so I leave the thief's brother to his meditations. Exit^ l. u. e. Michael. He will be captured ; I shall be turned from the farm, and my brother branded with crime! Oh, merciful providence ! what will be the end of this ? Enter Mr. Lynx, a detective^ r. u. b, Mr. L. {looMng about) Burton Farm, near the five-acre field, this must be the place. Good morning, does one Mr. John Garner, a farmer, live hereabouts ? Michael. Yes, sir, in yonder farm. Mr. L. Do you know one Michael Radford, who lives with him as servant ? Michael. I am Michael Radford, sir. Mr. L. Indeed ! now answer me truly, for I assure you it will be to your advantage to tell me all you know. Have you seen your brother lately ? I want him, I'm a detective from London. Michael, {starting, aside) A detective ! (aloud) My brother, I regret in that it is not in my power to afford you any information regarding him. Mr. L. You are certain ? Be sure of what you say, for much depends on the truth of your answer. Michael. I have already told you, sir, that I cannot direct you to his retreat. Mr. L. Well, I'll take your word, but if you are deceiving me you'll be sorry for it, I assure you, my dear fellow. 12 THE HARVEST STORM. Enter Samuel Lexicon, overhearing the last words, r. u. e. Samuel, (tvriting in book) " Dear fellow — dear," an expres- sion used by man and wife at the commencement of a quarrel." Mr. L. {to Michael) If you should see your master about say I wish to speak to him, will you ? Michael. I will, sir. {going up to house and looking toioards ham unobserved) He is lost ! Exit in farm, L. Mr. L. {to Samuel) Nice weather, sir. Samuel, {loriting in hook) " Weather, an uncertain article, sure to be very wet if you go out with a new hat on, and very bright and fine if you go out in your old one and carry an umbrella.'" Mr. L. An artist, I presume. Samuel. You do presume, sir, and I am not an artist; no, sir, I am a lexicographer. Mr. L. Oh, I see, one of those chaps who takes likenesses, and hang a board outside their shops, " A portrait and a black- pudding for a penny." Samuel, {writing in hook) " Black-pudding, a mysterious article of food, supposed to be composed of bullock's blood and sawdust." But allow me to correct you, sir, I said a leoctco- grapher not a photographer — one illustrates words, the other faces. May I be allowed to ask what you are ? Mr. L. I am a detective. Samuel, {sorites in hook) ^' Detective, one who puts down thieves by taking them ?«;;." Mr. L. But to business. Have you seen a suspicious looking character about here ? Samuel. Nobody but yourself. Mr. L. Oh, you flatter me. SamuF':l. No, I don't, I'm speaking the truth, I am indeed; don't be offended, you ought to feel proud at an author taking notice of you — author ! I Imven't got that word, {wj-ites in book) *' Author, a man who writes a lot of lies every week, and kills people in penny numbers." THE HARNEST STORM. 13 ETUer John GauseRj from farm, L. John, {to Mr. L.) I hear you wish to speak with me, sir. Mr. L. Yes ; your servant Michael has a brother named Andrew Radford, I believe. John. Quite right, and an honest young man he is. I recommended him to hig present employers in Loudon. Mr. L. I am aware of it, have you seen him lately ? John. Not these three months. Mr. L. Are you certain ? John. Positive ! why do you doubt my word. I never lie to any man ; what is your business ? Mr. L. That must be told in secret. John. Will you step into the house ? Mr. L. No, I have no time to stay. John. Well, I am going round the farm, will you walk with me? Mr. L. I will. John. This way then, {going up, r. u. e.) We can talk as we go. Mr. L. Not here ; silence until we are alone. Exeunt, r. u. e. Samuel, {vrrites in hooJc) " Silence, a thing never to be found where three women are." If this book don't astonish the literary world I am much mistaken, my dictionary goes straight to the point and tells people the real meaning of the words. I wonder how many I've got down, {looks over his book) Enter Charley Cooper and Nat Lovel, two gipsies, observing him, from L. u. E. Na^ {aside to Charley) I thought you told me there was nebody here ; who's that chap ? Charley. You don't call him anybody do you ? Let's chaflf him. {they advance on each side of him) Nat. {slaps Samuel on shoulder) Hope you're well, sir. 14 THE HARVEST STORM. Ci FARLEY, {slaps Samuel on the other) The aforesaid, sir. tiAMUEL. {looks at them) Gipsies ! 1 haven't got them in my dictionary, {writes in book) ** Gipsies, mahogany coiFee- coloured people supposed to be able to read the stars and tell fortunes, but ill reality the greatest liars and thieves under the sun." Nat and Chakley. Hollo ! hollo, mate, draw it mild I Samuel. No, I shall not draw it mild ; mine's a dictionary that shall tell people what they really are in plain English. Nat. How dare you take away our characters ? Samuel. Really, gentlemen, I was not aware you had any ! Nat. {draws knife) Do you know what this is ? Charley, {drawing another) And do you know what this is? and what it's likely to do ? Sam. Yes ; what I'm going to do. Charley. And what's that ? Sam. Cut ! {runs off^ r. u. e.) Nat. {)x)oks after him) Ha, ha, ha ! yonder he goes. I thought he wouldn't chop logic with us long ; if he had I'd have chopped his ears off. {looks round) Nobody seems about. Now's our time ! Charley. To business then! You say the old farmer always has money in the house ? Nat. Heaps ! Our Nell came round yesterday to observe the premises ; under the pretence of selling cabbage nets, and telling fortunes. She tells me she peeped in at the window ; and twigged the old man counting his money into the cash box; and it was all in gold, my lad ; think of that ! no numbered notes to nail a chap ; but shining gold ! — lovely canaries that we must fly off with! Charley. Is there ever a dog on the premises likely to spoil us? • Nat. Not one ! and all the people are in the fields as busy as bees. Charley. How grateful we ought to be to Providence for being so kind to us. Follow me \ and let us sneak in. {they go THE HARVEST STORM. 15 towards house, and peep in) Hold hard I here's somebody I To cover! to cover! {they conceal themselves behind house) Michael. {ente7nng from farm, with food in basket) I wonder if I can take this to my brother unperceived ? How I long to save him from the crime which is so unjustly laid to his charge! But what chance ? what hope have 1 of doing so ! But yet I must! — I will save him at all hazards ! for his capture and dis- grace would be my death ! But courage, Michael ; courage I he is not taken yet ; and if I but can secure his safety until to- morrow, I'll go into the town, and try every friend 1 have in the world, but I'll raise the money he requires for his escape ! There seems to be no one about ; now, then, is the time to venture. Music — goes cautiously into barn. Re-enter Nat and Charley from behind farm. Nat. Now's our time, quick does it. {they exeunt into Farm) Enter Mr. Lynx and John Garner, r. u. e. John. Can it be possible ! Mr. L. I thought my news would surprise you, farmer. John. Whoever would have thought it? I hope you are convinced that I cannot tell you where to find Andrew, Mr. L. Perfectly, or else you would, I am assured. John. Why not see his brother and ask him ? Mr. L. I have already done so, and he, like you, says he does not know where he is to be found. John. It's the strangest affair I've heard of for some time. Mr. L. I thought it would astonish you ; for my own part it's as queer a case as ever I was employed upon. John. Well but do you think there is no way to find him, look here, {they talk together in dwmb shov^ Enter Nat and Charley from farm, with bags of money and cash box, they steal off, R. u. E. John. Do you mean to continue your search ? .1. 16 THE HARVEST STORM. Mr. L. I never give up my game till I've run it down. John. I trust you may find him, and that speedily. Mr. L. Trust me for that ; I'm Lynx by name and Lynx by nature ; let's in and question the lad again. John. -If he knows anything depend on his telling you. Mr. L. Not till he's heard my news, I'm afraid ; but I'll try him. {they exeunt in farm) Re-enter Dick Barrel, r. u. e. Dick. If I haven't had my way with Michael at 1-east I've had my revenge; there's two officers down at the Barley Mow from London and they swear they'll have him if he's in the country. Now, Michael Radford, your proud spirit will soon rue the day when you insulted Dick Darrel. Re-enter John and Mr. Lynx/t-otti Farm — Music. John. Ruin ! beggary ! poverty stares me in the face, for I have been robbed — robbed of all I had in the world. Mr. L. The cleanest thing I ever heard of, when did you last see the money safe ? John. When I rose this morning. Let search be made everywhere ; you are an officer, tell me what is to be done, for heaven's sake ? Dick. What's the matter ? John. I am robbed, Richard — robbed of every penny I had in the world, it was but yesterday I drew it from the bank to place it in the London one ; and I find it gone ! gone ! Dick. But where was Michael, your careful favourite ? John. Aye, true, true ; why did he leave the farm ? Dick. Why indeed ! if he don't know something of it I'm a Dutchman. Samuel re-entering^ r. u. e. Samuel. Bless me, what's the matter ? your faces seem as full of meaning as my dictionary. Mr. L. There's been a thief on the premises. THE HARVEST STORM. 17 Samuel, {writes in book) " Thief, a dishonest character ; a rogue, who is better fed and treated than many poor paupers Michael is seen to enter from ham, and tries to enter the farm unperceived. John, {turning and seeing him) Michael ! how is this ? why- are you out of the house ? you have been my ruin ; for by your carelessness, my house has been robbed of every penny. Michael. Robbed ! no, no, master ; impossible ! it was but this moment that I left all safe. John. What business could have taken you into the barn ? Dick. Aye, what indeed ? Mr. L. This looks very strange, young man. Michael. Why do you all look at me in this manner? surely to heaven you do not think that I know anything of this ? Mr. L. What is your master to think? when knowing that there is a large sum of money in the house, you leave the premises without a soul to take care of them. Michael. Master! master, don't think, pray don't, that I know a word of this villany ; you don't think so ? I'm sure you don't. Oh ! let me at least hear you say that. John. What can I think, Michael ? no one but you knew where my money was kept. Michael. But why should I rob you ? what need have I of money ? John. What need had you of the ten pounds, you w?inted to borrow of me a short time ago ? Michael, {confmed) Oh ! that — I — I wanted for — for John. For what ? Michael. Oh ! I cannot, dare not tell you. DigK. {to Lynx) You see how the case is ? Mr. L. I'm afraid I do, I've seen too many eases of the same kind not to understand all this. A good and virtuous youth, as T hear he has been, forms an acquaintance with some 18 THE HAllVEST STORM. cfafty fellow ; let's him have the run of the house when his master's out, and in return he runs off with the cash box, a common case. My experience tells me that a thief seldom carries so large a sum with him but mostly hides it ; so my plan is to begin to search the premises, let's look over the barn in the first place, {going to barn, Michael places himself before it) Michael. No! no, there is nothing there, indeed there is not. Mr. L. Well if there is nothing there why should you mind my searching for it ? Dick, {to John) What do you think of Master Innocence now V Samuel, {writes in booh) " Innocence, a thing we all possess till we're found out." John. Michael, if you do not wish me to think you guilty, stand from the door. Michael. I cannot ! I will not, your money is not there ; but still you must not enter. Mr. L. {aside) I see we shall have a tough job with this fellow, {to Samuel) Obhge me by stepping down to the Barley Mow ; and asking my brother constables to come here, and bring their handcuffs with them. Samuel, {writing in booh) " Handcuffs, heavy steel bracelets for light fingers." I'm off like the first edition of my dictionary. Exit, R. U. E. John. Stand aside, Michael. Michael. No — no, master, {hneels) in mercy take my word, that not one penny is in this barn ; but I do not wish you to enter— why I dare not tell you ; but here, under the broad sky, in the face of heaven and man, swear I am guiltless of robbing my kind old master. Dick. Oh, this is child's play ; if you won't force him from the door, I will, {going up to him) Out of my way or I'll make you. Stand aside, thief ! {as he advances to seize him, Andrew hastily enters from bam and knochs him down) THE HARVEST STORM. 19 John. Andrew ! and here. Andrew. Could I bear more? could I listen longer to the taunts and accusing words that proclaimed my brother and myself dishonest. No, I am here ; do with me what you please, for the two brothers will brave their fate together. Re-enter Samuel, r. u. e. Samuel. Your brother's innocent if you're rot, for 3'our brother officers {to Lynx) have caught the real thieves with the money in their possession ; and here they come with it. Enter Barker and another Officer, with cash box and money, bringing on Cooper and Lovel, hand-cuffed^ i\. u. E. Barker, {gives them to John) This money is yours I believe, be kind enough to attend before the magistrate in the morning to give evidence against the men if you please. Charley. Well I'm blessed ! you're not agoing to persecute us in that way for next to nothing. We didn't mean to prig it, not by no means ; we only took it to see how fur we could carry it without dropping it. It was a wager betwixt us. I bet Nat here, a tanner that I could carry it furder than he could bring it back, and you grabbed us both afore I had carried it half as far as I could — It was only a wager — You wouldn't go for to lag a poor cove for a wager, would you now ? Mr. L. Away with them, we know something else of you. You'll get a travelling ticket you may be sure of it. Off with them. Charley. Well then, blow you all, that's what I say. I shall hemigrate, I won't give a cuss to stay in a country vot persecutes the hindustrious poor in this way. Come, Nat, keep up your pecker ; we shall only have fourteen years' board and lodging for nothing. So off we goes, and blow the expense. They are taken off, R. u. E. Michael. Oh ! joyful event, that clears my good name in the eyes of all. Dick. But still your brother's guilty. 20 THE HARVEST STORM. Mr. L. How do you know he's guilty ? Dick. Why isn't there a reward offered for him ? Mr. L. There was yesterday, but there is not to day. Michael a«c? Andrew, No! Dick. Why how the devil's that ? Mr. L, {to Dick) The real robber confessed his guilt this morning at the Mansion House, he was a fellow clerk of this young man's ; and on the night he had to guard the bank, he drugged the drink, plundered the strong room, and by the aid of an accomplice placed some of the notes at your lodgings — and that shuts up your note I believe, my friend. John, {congratulating Andrew^) Andrew, my lad, thou art the honest fellow I always took thee for. {shakes his hand) Andrew. My kind, my earliest friend. Dick. Well ! this is a strange go. Samuel, {writes in hook) <' Go " a word of one syllable, which some people would be wise to adopt ; before they are kicked out, {to Dick) Dick, you look Dickey. Dick. Curse me, if I ever enter the village again. Exit r. 1 E. Samuel. For which the village ought to be very much obliged to you. John, {taking a hand each o/* Michael awe? Andrew) Andrew and Michael, you shall be my heirs; the money I will leave you must prosper threefold in your hands for it has been gained honestly, and may every honest lad meet with a friend like me to help them. Michael. I see friends around me on every side, whose bright looks tell me that we have reaped their praise and gained their smiles, and if a few clouds gathered over our Harvest Moon, Providence has dispersed the storm we hope for ever. Short is the date in which ill acts prevail. But honesty's a rock can never fail. Cttttam* THE CEOSS OF ST. JOHN'S. A STOEY OF GHENT. a ©rama, IN THEEE ACTS. FOR MALE CHARACTERS ONLY. W. j; LUCAS, AUTHOR OP Traitor's Gate, Court of Edward IV., The Death Plank, The White Farm, The Chapel of the Hermitag^e, or The Sacrilegious Hand, &e., *c. THOMAS HAILES LACY, 89, STRAND, LONDON. THE CROSS OF ST. JOHN'S. TIME OF ACTION — 1535. CHARACTERS IN PART FIRST— GHENT. Balthazar Merx, Leather Merchant, jf^f^j^y Simeon Merx, Ms 8mi. fj-'K,^ ^ Theodore Mauville, Simeiyn's Coimn. ScnuLMANN, a Youth in employ of Merx. . ; BoNAVENTURE, an ager] Man, ditto. ■.- f^ySH " i Burgomaster of Ghent. ^ f{ q PART SECOND-PARIS. Simeon Merx. \lf^^Q Theodore Mauville. ^ V^^ Cornelius Kedge, 6t9 Lord Fuhicius Flaf^hivtjton. '% f ^/> Samson Snooze, as Hon. Lumpkin Lightlaw. Baron de Beaumonde. Colonel von Blusterbob. Jean, a Waiter. . > Lacon Lester, an English Student, /M. |h PART THIRD-GHENT. John's. ,. .• ' Provost op Ghent. Curate op St. John's, Balthazar Merx. Simeon Merx. ,, . ^^^x Schulmann. /}V", *i/^* Theodore Mauville, ^ " Bonaventure. t^\ -^ Advocate General. ' Counsel, Officers, d;c. THE CROSS OF ST. JOHN'S; A STORY OF GHENT. ■ "gSaS^J ^ PART I.— GHENT. Scene. — A Closet in the House ofMerx^ door h,—i(nndoio, R. C, to ichich are practicable shutters. ThroiKjh the window is seen a 'peri^pective of roofs — among them at a dutance the spire of St. Johi's Churchy surmounted with a cross. Large iron chest, R ; door, R. — clmirs, table, &c. Balthasar and Bonaventure seated at opposite ends of a table. Balth. (l.) Good ! friend Bonaventure, excellent ! I indorse every word you say. You make at once to the point, and it's as hard to pick up an answer to your logic as to that of a learned doctor in dispute. Yet others will see more force therein than I can find, and for manifest reason. Bona, (r.) You are a father. Balth. Ay, there it is, and a fond one. I love my boy : I loved his mother. In truth she was not only a loveable woman, (a quality of some vaunt in this world), but she was a sound Christian and an excellent wife, cards of strong recommendation wherewith to enter upon the other. An epidemic tliat ravaged this quarter of Ghent took her from me when Simeon was but a year old. Bona. I well remember it, and all who knew her felt her loss. Balth. {affected, yet resigned ) Ah, well, well ! Providence willed, then so be it, for she left us reason to hope that our loss was her gain. But in the matter of my son, you think me too indulgent, eh ? Bona. I say not so in tone that's positive; I merely hint that youth has indiscretions. Balth. And age suspicions, oft founded on its own ex- perience. Now I warrant me, Master Bonaventure, that you, whose gravity might make an owl seem, gay, could rouse a boon companion into glee with tale of many a freak. 4 CROSS OF ST. JOHN S. Bona. There may be in the journal of my memory some entries of the kind, but 'tis a folio to which I care not now to turn. Balth. Ah, your days are gone by. You no longer knock down the guard, smash lamps, or are found at daybreak sleeping in a gutter unable to puzzle out a reply to that irresolvible question, " How came you so ? Bona. You are hard upon my youthful errors, Master Merx, they were but dwarfs, though you outstretch them into giants. But 'tis not of their like or other follies that I charge your son. I do but proffer counsel purely meant, that being now of age enough, he be received a partner into trade, and in. its conduct take an active share. Balth. {reflecting) Hum! {after a short 'pause) I give all credit to your friendly meaning, but Simeon's over young, let him enjoy his youth. The partnership is ready whene'er his disposition bids him wish it. He'll nothing lose in finding out the world's intricate ways. And in young Theodore Mauville, his cousin on the mother's side, he has an able pilot to steer him safely through. Bona. True, if experience bring wisdom in its train (for he has travelled far therein) and purchased knowledge at his fortune's cost. Balth. 'Tis for such inadvertence that he is now a leather- seller's second clerk, next to yourself, our worthy number one. His mother was my Catherine's sister, and in fair memory of them both I must not leave her son to penury. And then withal he's cheerful, gay, amusing, replete with anecdote, and most important to my boy, whose life seems nought without him. Bona. Ay, each is ever with the other. Things are not ripe then for a change. You thought of some advancement for young Schulmann. Balth. 'Twill come anon, good Bonaventure, when t'other change takes place. The youth's reliable, and hitherto has guarded well the house. No woman sleeps herein, she who prepares our meals and beds, departs at night and leaves its charge to him. But now my hour is up, {they rise) I have to meet a merchant in the square of Calendar upon tlie purchase of uncurried hides. Anon, good Bonaventure, Til return to count such cash out as my purchase calls for. Erit^ L. Bona. Go you to your market, I'll to my books. If you are an adept in the art of amassing money, Master Merx, T am afraid your son is in training to become equally so in that of scattering it. However deep the well, it may withal be drained. But let us hope the gold your massive coffer boasts, a goodly heap to have and look upon, may not be doomed to dwindle worthlessly. Exit^ l. CROSS OF ST. JOHN'S. 5 Enter Simeon and Theodore, l. Simeon, {entering) Unlucky still ! 'tis strange and sad. In our last stake I'd every confidence, 'twas risked in faith of calculations called infallible. It seems, howe'er, the vaunted table of good chances is woefully misreckoned. Theo. Nay, good cousin, the table's not in blame, it does but give you probabilities from long experience gained, and which besides, show reason in their face. Take one to wit. ft tells you, that if black turn up in seven successive throws, *twere safer, seven to (xie, to cover red. And so with you it fell, as the table bade you, covered red, but black turned up again. What may be said thereto but this ? 'tis a slippery prank of that strange jade, called Fortune. Simeon. A slippery prank indeed I a freak that mulct me in a thousand florins tine. Theo. Well, well, whoe'er pays court to Fortune must shape his mind to suit with her vagaries. Her frowns are soon forgotten in her smiles. The jade's exacting though, and needs a constant wooing. Simeon. Would that were all. Nor must her votaries be constant only in their worship — of more importance still, they must be well supplied. Her temple doors are closed against all empty wooers. Theo. Hum ! true ! how stand we then ? how reckon up our present means to carry on the suit V Simeon. Our present means are nil. Tlie thousand florins that I lost this day are my next quarter's allowance forestalled. Mark that unhappy word, forestalled ! Theo. That word proclaims with trumpet tongue that it must be regained. Simeon. Must is a potent word, yet 'tis not always answered to. And you, my friend, may mmt it long enough, before my empty pocket yields supply to that imperious call. Theo. An empty pocket ! among all negative evils positively the superlative, the worst looked upon, the last pardoned. Fill up the gap, and instantly. Simeon. Fain would I, could I master deeds, as you can call up words. Fill up the gap indeed, when all I have to fill it with lies in this hollow hand ! {holds open hand) Theo. Tut, man, you have cash at will, and plenty. Simeon, {astonished) Where? Theo. In yonder chest. Simeon. That chest ! It holds a store of wealth, I know, but 'tis my father's, 'tis not mine. Theo. 'Tis hoarded up for you, it will be yours, and you can make it so whene'er you list. Simeon. How? 6 CROSS OF ST. JOHN'S. Theo. By joining him in trade. The proposition waits but your assent. Resolve your mind thereto, meantime take in advance a trifling loan from out the common stock. Simeon. A loan. TiiEO. 'Twill quickly be repaid. 'Tis fortune's turn to smile, and in thus using it, you make the idle cash industrious. Simeon. But with such plenteous pocket as my father keeps me in, 1 need a bolder face, ere I can dare to ask him for a loan. TiiKO. What need to ask it? AVhat you have lost, a throw will restore fivefold, the borrowed sum will be at once returned, and those now hungry pockets rejoice again in more than wonted plenty. Simeon. I do not comprehend you, cousin ; you labour at an end to guess at which o'erstrains my wildest thought Your words come forth as from a battery that's masked ; 1 see not whence tliey are aimed, nor at what mark they point. Theo. Their whence is this — they come from the regard and love I entertain for you. Their aim is to release you from the dark brake in which you are entangled. That safe {points significantly and pauses) Simeon, {in doubt and curiosity) Well ? Theo. {continuing) Contains not less than twenty thousand florins. Two thousand borrowed would be scarcely missed ; and then, when speedily restored, no wrong will have been done, nor meant. Simeon, {reflecting) True, but I am not partner yet, and therefore have not access. My father holds the key, of wliich no counterpart exists. Theo. {significantly) And if there should exist a counterpart ? Simeon. If there should ! Tliose words are strange, and yet significant. Oh, if there should, I know not into what excess I might be tempted. My case is desperate ; I would not for ten thousand worlds my father knew how deeply I have dipped in play ; his confidence would be for ever lost. Theo. It would, for he is stern in things of right or wrong. Simeon. He must not know it, Theodore. Oh, I would risk life itself to come out scathless from this horrid coil. Theo. You would not then hesitate {significantly) to borrow a thousand or two, {seeing Simeon start) just for a day or so, from yon well replenished cofier ? Simeon That cofter! 'twere a startling deed to do, e'en if it could be done. But in what purpose do you hint at this ? Why name what cannot be ? E'en as I told you now, my father has the key, and there's no counterpart. Theo. And as I asked you then, and now repeat —should there exist a counterpart ? . Simeon, {gazing at him) There is a meaning in your words I CROSS OF ST. John's, 7 | and looks at which I dread to guess, yet yearn to know. Out ' with't at once. What would you have me know? Theo. That to your father's key — that treasured key which never quits his side — there is a counterpart. Simeon. A counterpart ! art serious, cousin Theodore ? and does my father know that such an implement exists ? Theo. He neither knows, nor in the slightest way suspects it. I would not for the wealth of Ghent he did. Simeon. In whose possession is it ? Theo. In mine. ^^IMEON. In mercy's name, how came you by it ! Theo. I'll tell you, cousin, and if you blame me, still bear this in mind, 'twas to serve you I ran the dangerous risk. 'Tis, as you know, your father's wont to slumber after dinner. One special day, oppressed with toil, his i?leep was deep and heavy. This was my opportunity. I ventured cautiously to raise the key then dangling at his side, and took a fair impression of its wards in wax. You shudder. Simeon. I do. Tmeo. And yet 'tis late to think. Deeds, not thoughts must save us from destruction. AVill you borrow this money ? Simeon. Shall I be able to repay ? Theo. Is Fortune ever frowning and perverse? No, no, her lengthened course of frowns must now in turn relax, and change to sweetest smiles. SiMKON. But such an act's rebellion against law. Theo. There is a proverb held as past dispute, " Necessity knows nought of law." Now, our necessity is pressing, me- nacing, and will not be denied or trifled with. Simeon. 'Tis true — alas I too true— but yet to rob a parent is a monstrous deed. Theo. Granted — to roh. But I have yet to learn that loan and robbery is one. Do justice to yourself and your intent, and give the deed its name — a loan. Simeon. Well, well, a loan then let it be, and surely as it is the first, so surely shall it be the last. Theo. Of course, {aside) first crimes are always meant to be the last, {aloud) To business then. Where's Bonaventure? Simeon, {goes to R. door and looks out) Engaged in business with a customer. Theo. Good ; he's safe then for a while. And now for Schulmann, our youth-of-all-work, the steady-going model. We call him young Morality, and well he earns the name. How few would stint themselves, like him, to keep an aged mother in needful comforts that her years require. We must dispatch him on an errand, while he's about the house each momentli \,i its fear of interruption. 8 CROSS OF ST. JOHN'S. Simeon. True — call him, Theodore. Theo. {at la. door) Schulmann 1 Enter Schulmann, l. Well, young Morality, how wags this wliimsy world with you ? In ancient jog-trot style, no doubt : your days of top and taw gone by, you've cast the jovial and put on the sage. ScHUL. My occupation is incessant, and to be followed well, leaves little time for idleness or thought on other matters. Simeon. Yet there is one on which at times you think — your mother. ScHUL. That is a duty, and a solemn one. Thko. {scoffingly) You're pious, young Morality, and — — Simeon Peace, Theodore ; the virtue that we practise not let us, at least, respect. Theo. Good, — to our business. Go to the merchant Bonne- mann ; ask him if letters came for us in this day's Paris packet, then bring them straightway hither. SCHUL. It shall be done in all dispatch. Exit^ L. Theo. Another peep at Bonaventure. ijoohs out at side door) Still fully occupied, {looks out at window) and Schulmann's on his way. The opportunity is golden, and gold shall be its produce, {produces key) Look hither. Simeon. Nay, ask me not to look. What must be done, do you and quickly. I will watch at yonder door. {goes to watch at h. door ; Theodore opens the coffer and takes out two hags, each marked '* 1000." He puts one into his doublet, the other upon the table, locks the coffer, taps Simeon on shoulder, and points to the bag on the table) Theo. Behold, the seed is here, the harvest is at hand ; that bag I prophecy, will bring before the midnight hour, two more of greater Avorth. Simeon. So, may you be a prophet good and true. Come on ! —a challenge now to Fortune. Theo. And may she nobly answer it. {touching the hag from his pocket as he follows Simeon — aside) The labourer is worthy of his hire. Exeunt, L. door. After a short pause, enter Bonaventure, r. Bona. So, young men, scarcely entered than out again. Pleasure seems in high demand — business may go begging. Well, well — if the master be content, why should the servant ! rumble? 1 may wish to see the current in another course : but as I cannot turn it, I must e'en look on and say nothing. CROSS OF ST. JOHN'S. 9 Chwtis of Street'Minstrels without^ L. {this is ad lib.) Let's merrily sing, life wears away ; Liglit-hearted we'll live, sirs, while in it we stay ; AVe'll laugh, be jolly, be free and gay, A¥e know not the hour, sirs, we know not the day. Then folks of all ages, young and grey, A fig for old Care, keep the goblin at bay ; Witli goblet in hand — hip, hip, hurra ! We know not the hour, sirs, we know not tlie day. As chortis ceases, enter Balthasak, l. door. Balth. So, worthy Bonaventure, the minstrel world gives sign of life, and business seems to take the cue. Our bargain soon was closed — {gives papers) There are the memorandums for entry ; and while you book them, I'll withdraw the cash. Bona. Good ! I'll take them to the counting-house, and post them off at once. Exit, R. Balth. A goodly bargain this, of English hides. Now to count out the cash, [holds up key with intricate ivards, wJiich is hanging by a chain at his side) Come forth my friend, and guardian of my wealth ; you keep my money, and in return I take good care of you. We are ever seen in company, like truest friends. Long last our mutual care, and when I need your services no more be faithful to my son as you have been to me. {opens coffer, puts forth his hand to take out money, bid casting a look within at the same moment, starts and loithdraws it) Merciful heaven! Do I dream ! {as continuing to count) ten, twelve, fourteen, sixteen, {with surprise and a look ofincredidity) eighteen ; no more ! Oh, I could swear, sans slightest peril to my soul, that there were twenty, (^runs to R. door and calls) Ho, Bonaventure I hither man, and quickly. Enter Bonaventure, r. You know not what has happened here ; you would not, could not think it. I must tell it you, but of this I am sure, that you are not the thief. Bona, (starting) The thief, sir? is there then a thief? Balth. I tell you, 'tis not you, old man ; you need not start, it is not possible you could have robbed me ! Bona. Robbed you, sir ! Balth. You see this large key, so cleverly fashioned ? You know it, don't you? Bona, Know it ! I've seen it daily for years, but never touched it. Balth. I know that, Bonaventure. Well, this is the key of my coffer. It never leaves me ; by day it is chained to my 10 CROSS OF ST. John's. girdle and by night it rests beneath my pillow — and yet my coffer has been opened. Bona. Oh, sir, your coffer ! — and is the loss great? Balth. Two thousand florins. Bona. It must have been done in the night. Balth. But how is it the thief did not empty the chest ? How is it that he took only the tenth part of its contents ? Bona. sir, this is terrible. The thief must havB hoped your eye would not discern the loss. Balth. As you said, old man, the robbery must have been in the night. I suspect Schulmann, and yet, with his apparent honesty, I blame myself for such suspicion. Bona. Schulmann ! the cunning rogue. And yet he has the look and manner of one who scorns all wrong. Balth. I wish I could carry my suspicion elsewhere ; but it is he only who could have entered my chamber and have taken the key. Bona. But, sir, we must not proceed lightly in so serious a charge. BAL'm. I will try this youth, {ste'ps heard) Hark ! I hear him on the stairs ! keep silence for the present — I will after- wards explain ! {shuts coffer) Enter Schulmann with letters^ L. Schul. {presenting letters) From the Merchant Bonnemann, by the Paris mail — he sends with them, remembrance and respects. Balth. {taJdng them) Good ! have you seen my son within the hour past ? Schul, I left him here, sir, with his cousin Theodore. Balth. No matter. Hark you, Schulmann, I sleep this night at Alost, and I do not return till to-morrow. At what hour my son and his friend may return I know not. (begin to lower lights gradually) Schul. They'll find admittance readily, whate'er the hour may be. Balth We know your punctuality. You then will remain alone with the two mastifts. No stranger {delivers these mords emphatically) can approach the house without their joint and fierce alarm, and as for entering it, the trial's fit for lunatics only. {lights lower) feCHUL. True, sir, with Hassan and Muley your house is safely guarded. Balth. Take care, however, to put the iron bans behind the doors. We shall remain a few moments : when you hear us go, clope the door after us and make all fast. SciiUL. It shall be done. CROSS OF ST. JOHxN'S. 11 Balth. Bring us lights, then close the window and retire. (ScHULMANN hows and exit, L.) On his departure I'll tell you what my project is, (Schulmann re-enters, L.,with two candles which he places on the table, then closes the window — lights up as he enters) That will do, good night. ScHUL. {bows respectfully) Sirs, good-night. Exit, L. Balth. Now, Bonaventure, this is my intent, and if the robbery be repeated 'twill give the author up beyond all doubt. In going down we'll slip into my room, I'll leave my key upon the bed, a fact which you shall witness. None but young Schulmann has a right to enter ; he must go in to close the window. Then if we're robbed again, there cannot hang a doubt on who's the thief. Bona. That's true, but should there be no robbery ! Balth. Then we must cast about for other proof. But this first trial it were well to make, and heaven, I trust, will point the guilty out, that innocence bear neither blame nor penalty. I will not go to Alost, as I said, but will return in secret. The interim I'll pass with you till we come back together. Exeunt, L. {after a momenfs pause, the noise of a door shutting is heard — another short pause — step)s are heard and Schul- mann enters, L., the key of the coffer in his hand) Bcihul. 'Tis strange that Master Merx, so careful of this key, should leave it on his bed. AVhat will he think on missing it ? I never until now beheld it from his side. Well, if it be a charge of such anxiety to him, I'm doubly bound to hold it in my utmost care, {ties it to his girdle) There 'twill be safe till bed-time, I'll place it then beneath my pillow, and who robs me of it, shall rob me first of life, {knock heard, L.) A knock ! I must be careful whom I may admit, {opens window and calls) Who knocks ? Simeon, {without) Good Schulmann, 'tis I, and my cousin Theodore. Theo. {without) All right, young Morality. Be quick I don't keep us waiting at the door. ScHUL. I will descend immediately. Exit, l. Door heard to open, then shut — steps — then enter Simeon, Theodore, and Schulmann, l. door. Theo. The night is cold and piercing. ScHUL. AYhat hour is it, then ? Theo. Eleven, high time for young Moralitys to don their nightcaps, eh ? Simeon. Is my father gone to bed ? SciiUL. He is at Alost, he sleeps not here to-night. 12 CROSS OF ST. JOHN'S. Theo. {aside to him) Capital ! as if the old buck had managed it expressly for our service. ScHUL. {observing them) You look disordered, sirs, and pale ; is aught the matter ? Theo. No, nothing, we are a little exhausted with cold and fatigue. Rest will make us all right. ScHUL. You'll surely have some supper, 3''ou must be in want of some — there's a cold chicken left. Theo. Thank you, no ; give us a pitclier of Geneva and a couple of glasses. ScHUL. Is tiiat all ? you are wrong to take nothing but that — vou surely cannot be ill? Simeon. No, we supped at Alost. I wonder we did not meet my father there. Get what we asked, and then retire to bed. SciiUL. {going to a cupboard — takes jug and two glasses from cupboard and sets them on table) Is there aught further I can do for you ? Theo. Nought further, young Morality; so say your prayers right piously, once for yourself, twice for us, and then to bed. ScHUL. 1 will, sirs, good night. {the moon is seen in the horizon and rises slowljf. THEODORE looks after Schulmann, who goes off, r.) Theo. All right, he has entered his room — the house is our our own. {reseating himself) Our luck is desperate ; we have nothing remaining, and we want one thousand two hundred florins. Simeon. We will pay nine hundred, and ask a little time to meet the rest, {they drink) Theo. Time for debts of play ! debts of honour ! What mortal ever heard such proposition? Why, man, they are not debts of honesty to be put off, perhaps denied in toto. No, no, they must be paid, or we are for ever ruined. Simeon. My father will find out all ; we have already taken two thousand. Theo. Very well! let us take five more. We shall regain our losses and make good the deficiency without any one being the wiser. Your father does not count the contents of his chest. {during this dialogue and wJiat follows they drink frequently.) Simeon. But if he should ? Theo. He is from home. We shall come back to-morrow evening. I have a calculation which assures us of enormous gains but it requires a good sum. Simeon. But if we lose ? Theo. Impossible. Simeon. Suppose it. Theo. Then you would write to your father and confess all. shall sacrifice me, and he would forgive you. CROSS OF ST. John's. 13 Simeon. I can^t make up my mind to it. TiiEO. Talking and thinking are alike in vain. It must be done— the moments are precwus; 'twere madness only that could let them slip. {opens the coffer , takes out five bags and places them on the table — ichile so engaged, the K. door oj^ens and SciiULMANN enters unseen by them) SciiUL. {aside) I forgot to say that Paris letters await them in the box. {aloud, and seeing v)hat is going on) Merciful heavens ! {rusJies and throws himself on Ids knees befoi'C Simeon) Ah, Mr. Simeon I Theo. {letting fall two bags he was in the act of extracting) Discovered ! {momentary tableau) ScHUL. Ah, Mr. Simeon, what are you about? Does your father let you want money ? And will you for this wretched lucre lose your soul for ever? Oh, if you do not shudder at the crime, kill me. I cannot, living, suffer you to move one florin hence. Then if you take my life 'twill be set down the work of robbers' hands. No one will know it, I am here alone, your father will not have the misery to find his son a thief, and may heaven by speedy penance from my death release your soul. Theo. {enraged) He is right, he must be killed, {draws a dagger) He would ruin us, we must compromise liim. (rushes towards him) SciiUL. Oh, my poor mother! Simeon, {rushing hastily between them) Hold ! Theo. Back, madman ! if we kill him, your father will not accuse us, and we shall be able to carry off the whole contents of the chest. Simeon, {boldly) I will not have him killed ; you shall kill me first! Let us go. Theo. Since all is found out we have nothing to care for, Take then these bags, and let us go if you will, {offers two bags to Simeon wlw takes them with an air of indifference) Go on. I'll follow. Simeon. No, I will not leave you alone with this youth ; he has too little to expect from your mercy. Theo. Nonsense ! I tell you we are compromised, and must acquit ourselves Listen to me • ScHUL. No, no, Simeon, hear him not. Eve listened to the serpent ; had she closed her ear 'gainst his deceitful tongue, we had not then been lost. This man will destroy you body and 60ul for ever. His are the serpent's wiles, the serpent's lying tongue. Hear me, who love and honour you, hear me for your mother's sake, who as a guardian angel enerished mine in her distress, and rescued her from misery. The d«bt of gratitude 14 CROSS OF ST. JOHN'S. I owe her memory I would repay with life, and for the mother that she saved to me, I'll die to save her son. (a ^;cfz/.9e during v'liich SiMKON seems contending against i^owerfid emotion — TiiKODOKi': is filling a hag from the contents of the coffer) Tinco. (at the end of the pause co illy suspending the operation, aside) Well promised, young Morality, we'll put you to the proof auon. SciiUL. {continuing) 0, if your mother's memory has not the power to touch your heart, think on your father who is yet in life. Or, if you will, cast off that tie of nature — suppose it ne'er existed— then what a benefiictor will you see in him. But he is both, and in his double character, what limit to the gratitude and duty that you owe? Do not, in licaven's name, i pray you ! do not rob your father. If you want money, ask it of him ; confide your troubles toliim, he will not reject you. And if he did, I would beseech him to listen to you, and would give him my future wages — I would serve him for ;nothing the rest of his days. {eniphaJ^icalln) Do not murder your lather ! (Simeon starts and looks enquiringlg at him) for to find you out a thief would be his certain death. TiiHo. {to Simeon drawing him on) Come on, I have the booty here all safe, {shows a fall hag) We will go to Paris, and write to your father ; he can't help forgiving. Simeon. Oh, Schulmann will not betray us ; he'll say robbers have broken in. Adieu, Schulmann, pity and pray for me. ScHUL. {rushing between them as TiiEOBORE draws him off) It is you, vou, who are ruining me and my young master. For whom shall I accuse ? AVere I to name you, you would have your support in the son of tlie house, {looking towards the ivin- dow, starts and points to the moon which, having ascended, is seen hehind the cross on the top of the steeple^ giclng the appear- ance of a black cross upon its surface) Ah ! behold yon threat- ning sign, the vengeance of heaven is even noAv preparing to fall upon you. (Theodore and Simeon start at seeing the cross on the moon. Simeon gazes on it in terror. Tiieodoue, percelcing the cause, after a moment^s gaze, bursts into a scornful laugh) Tiieo. Ha, ha, ha ! So young Morality, you think to friglit me with a sign like that, but I've a mind above all superstitious fears. If you would make me quail, get up some spell more potent than is yonder prodigy that's passing even now. ScuUL. So you despise that sign ; mark well my words, it will avenge me yet. Tiieo. Psha ! Come, Simeon, come. {as Theodore is drawing Simeon away, Schulmann 7'ushes between them; Theodore witlc violence throws him into CROSS OF ST. JOHN'S. 15 the centre of the room — he falls senseless; theij exeunt, L., having extinguished the lights — a short pause — loud knocking heard L. ) Baltii. {without) Ho, there ! Schulmaim ! No answer ; what can this mean? {calls again) Schulmann ! Still silent. Kun, Bonaventure, for a smith, and let him force the door. Go, some of you, nnd fetch tlie Provost hither, {noise of the murmuring of a crowd — " How now?" " What's the matter?" '^ Ah, the smith!" •' Here's the Provost," c{:c.— crash, and approaching strps ; Baltii ASAii rushes in i,., followed, hy BoNA- VENTUiiL:, the PK0^•0ST, and People icith torches— lights up — Baltiiasar rushes strnight to coffer, which he finds open and empty) Ah, 1 am robbed! this time I'm robbed of all — of eighteen thousand florins ! AVhere is Schulmann ? Bona, {seeing him) Here on the ground, {looks at him) apparently insensible. Baltii. {seizing him hy the arm and ^caking him up) Ho, there, young viper, rouse you up ! look round and gaze upon your vile work. SciiUL. {scarcely conscious) My master! {looks round, seeing all about) Good heavens ! what means all this? {sees the ciffcr open — loitli a shriek) Ah ! 1 remember now. Baltii. No doubt, such work will not be readily forgotten. SciiUL. Oh, sir, you -cannot surely think me guilty. I'm innocent, indeed, indeed I am ! Baltii. That we shall see. Provost, your prisoner. (Guard stand on each side of him) SciiL'L. A prisoner! may heaven look down in pity upon me, and save my hapless mother ! {tableau and drop) END OP ACT THE FIRST. ACT IL Scene. — A gamhling saloon in Paris — Dice and card tables^ Chandeliers, cCc, a table with wine, glasses, &c. Kedge, as Lord Flushington, seated at a small table, drinking, his dress outre, Kedge. Excellent claret, if I can tell a grape from a damson. It shames the slush of our boozing ken in Lant Street. Ah ! Cornelius Kedge ! you've made a tip-top swop of it — you have. London's overrun with your exploits ; Paris 16 CKOSS OF ST. JOHN'S. has room for them in plenty. Kedge, the sharper! Kedge^ the swindler ! Kedge, the pickpocket ! the distinguished titles under which I am recognised in England, I kicked off on leaving my native shore, like a pair of worn out shoes no longer fit lor walking in, and here I am, cutting away among the swells of Paris, as my Lord Filucius Flushington. An excellent game it is too ! the city is full, and flat-fish catching in prime season. Enter Jean tlte waiter, c. Jean. Beg pardon, my lor* {presenting a card on a silver tray) a compatriot — an autre mi lor Anglais. Kedge {talcing card with vulgar affectation) Ah, eh, no! merely an honorable — the Hon. Lumkin Lightlaw (aside) Another nibble, no doubt, {aloud) Ah! I— aw— don't exactly know the name, but show him in. {Exit Waiter) We shall make something of him, never fear. Re-enter Jean introducing Samson Snooze, as the Hon, Lumhin Lightlaw, Jean hows to both and exit — Kedge having risen to meet kirn, the two sharkers survey each other with much minuteness, Kedge. {tJie card in his hand) The Hon. Lumkin Lightlaw, as per card, I presume. Snooze. The same, your lordship's devoted and very humble, for I believe, I have the honour of addressing my Lord Filucius Flushington. Kedge. The same : as a countryman most welcome. And if in this strange city of Paris, I can be of any service, or assist you in the profitable disposal of your time or money, (they as lani'ially how, Kedge abstracts Snooze's purse and transfers it to hts own pocket) I shall be most happy to do it. Snooze. And I, on my part, assure your lordship, I shall be most happy (in the utmost of my power) to return the obliga- tion, {they again bow ceremoniously, during which, Snooze abstracts Kedge's watch, vnth chain and seals) Kedge. I don't doubt it a moment. And now may I ask, to what motive we are indebted for the honour of your visit to this gay place ? Snooze. Pleasure, merely pleasure ! England is a stale worn out, unprofitable place. Having become utterly tired of it, I took my leave ; luckily as it happened, in the nick, for I heard that some of my friends, annoyed at the thought of my departure, had taken measures to prevent it. Kedge Singularly enough ! the same circumstance happened to myself. I was everywhere in request ; indeed, such was the dudgeon manifested at my retirement, that the Lord Mayoi CROSS OF ST. John's. 17 -commissioned his officers to seek me out, and prevail on me to retm*n. Snooze. You felt of course that the idea was a bore, not to be entertained a moment, Kedge. Certainly not ! So importunate were my friends upon the subject, that every outgoing vessel was ordered to be searched. Snooze. Tyranny ! friendship indeed ! downright tyranny. Kedge. Precisely, and as such being determined to resist it, I feed a fisherman, donned his jacket, and sailed over one fine night in liis smack. Snooze. Excellently done ! no doubt a longer stay would have driven me into a similar expedient {putting his hand to the j^ocket in ichich the watch is, and apparently anxious to rjet away) But I beg pardon, your lordship will excuse me for the present, 1 have not yet made my arrangements. I shall have the honor of seeing your lordship on my return. Kedge. Certainly, but there's one little favour I must beg of you to do for me before you go. Snooze. By all means, my lord, what is it? Kedge. You'll have the kindness just to hand me over my watch. Snooze, {startled) Watch ! your lordship's watch ! Really, my lord, I — I don't Kedge. Understand ! Yet it's plain enough. Hand me over my watch, that you slipped into your right waistcoat-pocket, a few moments ago. {points to pocket) Snooze. Waistcoat pocket, {puts his hand on to it) Well, there is something strange in it, sure enough ; what can it be? {takes it out) Why, it's a watch, I declare! by wliat incon- ceivable chance could it have found it's way into my pocket ? Kedge. By a natural chance enough; 1 should have been more surprised had it managed to keep itself out. Snooze. I'm dumbfoundered 1 {(jiving it) There it is. Kedge. {taking it) Thank you. One good turn deserves another. Do me the favour to accept of this purse ? {hands tlte purse to him) Snooze. A purse ! with the greatest plea {looking at it v:ith astonishment) Am I awake ? {ndjs his eyes) My purse, that Oh ! 1 could have sworn was safe in this pocket ! {slapping his pocket) I smell a rat as big as a weazel. Kedge. Do you? I smell another as sharp as a ferret. Snooze. Tliere was but one man in England could beat me in practice as a conveyancer — that was Con. Kedge. Kedge. And tlie acknowledged second to Con Kedge was, Sam Snooze. I never saw him before, but I'm jolly mistaken if I don't see liim now. Sam, my boy, how are you? B 18 CROSS OF ST. John's. Snooze. Quite the kick, Con, never was better. How's your noble self — noble lordship, 1 should say ? {bowing with moch ceremony) Kedgi:. Spruce and prime, as your " honourableship'^ beholds me. Well met ! good luck has brought us together, let us then make the most of it in Co. like sociable fellows. I've done a neat stroke of business here, single-handed as I am. Snooze. You do me honour, friend Kedge. It will be the boast of my life, to liave worked in team with a leader of such blood. 15ut how stands the game ? any prime heads worth bringing down, eh? Kedue. Take a chair, my boy. {they sit) We'll hold a council of war, and sketch out a plan of the campaign. I've a couple at bay here, a pair of Flemings, fresh from Ghent. They .sport freely, and have oeen allowed to pick up a little by way of lure. Snooze. Nothing like tickling the trout, it gratifies the simple lish till the hand is ready for the grasp. 1ved(;e. Precisely so ; the tickling season is over, and you are just in time to assist in the take. This is the night appointed for the ruvongo. I have prepared all, not forgetting a plentiful supply of this potent auxiliary — wine. (JholcU iiphottie) Snoo/e. (jiencralship, that. An excellent ally, when thrown into the enemy's ranks, but be careful to keep it clear of your own. Ked.je. Be well assured in that. We begin in mirth, end how we may. An Em^lish student from Cambridge joins, and a German othcer, a Colonel von Blusterbob, as he calls himself. I suspect him, we must Avatch him closely. Jean. {witJiont) This way, my lors, this way! {opens door, R.) The saloon is ready. Enter SiMEON, TlIEODORE, BlUSTERIIOB, BaUON DE BeAU- MONDE, ajid Lacon Lester — Kedge receives them and introduces Snooze, c. Kedge. Gentlemen, a valuable addition to our party most opportunely arrived from England— the Honourable Bumpkin Brigh.tsaw. Snooze, {aside— midging him) That cogno won't do, old chap — look at the card. Kedgi:. {correcting himself) Beg pardon, I was thinking of another friend — an absent one. {looking at card) The Honour- able Lumkin Lightlaw. {they hoiv to Snooze— 7^c returns it) And now allow me. {introducing each to Snooze as he gives the name) Ilerr Simeon Merx, of Ghent — Herr Theodore de Mauville, of Ditto — Monsieur le Baron de I5oaumonde — Herr Von Blankerino de Blendendorzen de Blinkensteinen de Blub- CROSS OF ST. John's. 19 berblazes Blusterbob — Mr. Lacon Lester. And now, gentle- men, for a little exliiliration to raise up our spirits to the business of the evening. Kedgk. (^oBakon) I'm engaged, Baron — what say you to a party witli my friend here ? Baron. IMais certainment, de tout mon ccenv. (bo wsfo Snooze) Snooz::. {to Kedge — aside) I don't spatter their lingo here. Did he call me a cur ? Kedge. Psha, man, no ! Keep yourself in, don't be ready to take offence. Come, gentlemen, the wine waits, but time runs. To table ! {as- they are sitting down) And may Fortune favour the bold. Simeon, {glass in hand) Ay, let the jade do that, I shall be content, for I mean to stake deep. All. {glass in hand) ^May Fortune favour the bold ! Kedge. Our worthy friend, the collegian, has promised to enliven us with a song. Lacon. Classical, of course. No common-place, but right philosophical and prim. I mean, in my lyric, to disabuse you of vulgar errors respecting certain ancient philosophers, and give a true key to the oddities and eccentricities attributed to them. Gentlemen, it sliall be a thoroughly blended fusion of the lecture and song. Sings. Old Plato was reckoned divine. He wisely to virtue was prone, But had he not tippled good wine His merits liad never been known. By wine we are generous made, It furnishes Fancy witli wings, Without it we ne'er should have had Philosophers, poets, or kings. Chorus. By wine we are generous made, It furnishes fancy with wings. Without it we ne'er should have had Philosophers, poets, or kings. Diogenes, surly and proud. Who snarled at the Macedon youth, Delighted in wine that was good, Because in good wine there is truth. 'Till growing as poor as a Job, Unable to purchase a flask. He chose for his mansion a tub And lived by the scent of the cask. Chorus* By wine, &c. B 2 20 CROSS OF ST. John's. Heraclitus would never deny A bumper to comfort his heart, But when he was maudlin would cry Because he had emptied his quart. Though some are sucli flats as to think That he wept at man's folly and vice, 'Twas only his custom to drink Till the liquor flowed out at his eyes. Chorus, By wine, &C. Democritus always was glad To tipple and cherish his soul ; Woidd laugh like a man tliat is mad When over a good flowing bowl. As long as his cellar was stored His liquor he'd merrily quafi:', And when he was as drunk as a lord At those who were sober he'd laugh. Chorm. By wine, &c. Theo. Good! Our friend has certainly amused and en- lightened us. A refresher! {filling glass) and then to business. Kedge. Agreed! Now, gentlemen, glass in hand! Hip! hip ! hurra ! All. {glass in hand) Hurra ! {theij toss off the contents and rise) TiiEO. {to SniEON as they advance) Which are to be the tools, cards or dice ? Simeon. We'll try a hand first, if that foil us, then for the " two small rattling bits of bone." Kedge. Good ! To the table then. Theo. {aside to Simeon) Well double as we go on, luck must be ours at last, (aside) At all hazards I'll secure three thousand to myself. Kedge. How shall we begin — single-handed or in partners? Simeon. AVe'U make a start at single-hand — I rather fancy myself against you. I have shown you how to win on more occasions than one, Kedge. True, you have been lucky, an item that fills up a blank perfectly perceptible in my pocket. (Kedge and Simeon sit opposite each other to play at cards — Theodore standing behind him — loliile they are this occupied the Baron and Blusterp.ob ad oance forward) Blusterbob. Vat say you, mine vriend, shall we shufFel von another togcder vid der cards ? Baron. Ah! oui, mon colonel, I am not com for do nothing, non. (tliey sit down to 2>l^y) Lacon. {advancing with Snooze) Then I have the honor of CROSS OF ST. John's. 21 I i being in company of tlie second son of the late distinguished Chancellor, Karl Lightlaw? ) Snoozi:. {aside after bowing assent) Glad to know it, wasn*t j aware of the fact. j Lacon. I assure yon, I quite prize this accidental encounter. Your elder brother, the present earl, was my fellow collegian. Snoozi:. Indeed! {aside) A jolly lucky job it wasn't myself. • Lacox. Many a merry anecdote has he told me of yohr I bygone frolics. According to him you were a sad dog in your j juvenile season of life. Snoozk. Well, I was always set down for a rum 'un. People would have me so, and I thought it a pity to put them out in their reckoning. | Lacon. You haven't forgotten that little trick of yours that i you got so soundly iiogged for, eh? ! Snoozk. {shrugging shoulders and wincing) Blest if I have, j or ever shall, ugli ! {shuddering — aside) He must have heard j of my conveyancing the alderman's purse from his pocket to j my own wiiile on his way to a city feast, {aloud) AVhy, who • in this mortal world ever told you of that ? j Lacon. Your brother, to be sure. He gave me the whole j history of your slipping into the housekeeper's room when she \ was making tarts, substituting basket salt for powdered sugar, •' and rubbing cayenne into the apricots after you had pricked j holes in them with the old lady's darning needle. j Snooze. that was it, was it ? I thought you meant a very * different affair. I Lacon. lie told me of many such. But the frolics of the boy are forgotten in the gravity of the man. Your father was an excellent lawyer. Snoozi:. And no mistake about it. The bullyingest Old Bailey counsellor as ever was — and they can bully above a bit, can them chaps — warn't never up to half his dodges. AVhy the members of the profession looked up to him as a father and a guide. Lacon. No doubt, no doubt. Well, he reached at last the highest point that man, in that course of life can attain. Snooze. He just did. {makes the sign of hanging) and no sooner liad he reached that eminent post than down he dropped, gave a brace or two of sliakes, ajid all was over. Lacon. True, his death followed quickly upon his elevation, ^* Sic transit gloria mundi." Snooze. You are quite right, it was on a ISIonday. Well, He was surrounded by his friends, there warn't one as didn't go to see him otf. Simeon, {dashing cards violently on talk) Confusion ! ill luck again! are tiie cards bewitched? 1 thoucrht I might 22 CROSS OF ST. JOHN'S. have safely sworn the game was in my liands. "Well,, well, I double the stakes, it can't last for ever. TiiKO. True, a change must take place, perseverance will be crowned with success. SiMEOX. Go on, I stake two thousand. TiJEO. And here's two thousand to cover it. Shuffle, I deal. (Snooze watches the game) Lacon. (aside) There's somethin,^ wrong here, I'll try him a little further, {to Snooze) I sliall be happy to see you at a future time in London ; perhaps you will oblige me with the whereabouts. Snooze. Whereabouts I live you mean? Oh, certainly. (aside) You don't think I'm going to invite you to the boozing ken, do you ? Hookey ! (aloud, giving a card) There's my card. Lacon. (loohing at it) Your card, sir ! Snooze. My card. Lacon. (reads) " Pledge and Pop, Three Balls-alley ; coat, 10s." Snooze, (hastily re-tahing the card) I beg pardon, that's my uncle's card ; rich old hunks that uncle ol" mine — regular grub and no mistake, [gives another card) This is mine. Lacon. (reads) " Dashiugton-terrace, Bayswater-road." (aside) There's no such place. I'm now convinced the fellow is not what he seems to be, and tlie other betrays too little of the maimers and sentiments of English nobles to impose on one accustomed to their society. There is a deeper game on foot tiian mere cards or dice. The baron and colonel I suspect are shams, appendages to make up the stall* of the house, and iight its battles when the sword is needed. I came to learn, and I suspect I shall here meet with a lesson. Enter Jean, 2vith tray, c. Jean, (lyresenting letter on tray) Monsieur Lacon Lester. Lacon. My noble self, (takes letter^ Jean boirs and exit) I left word at my lodging to send hither in case of any message. (loolcs at letter) From Ghent, I have but one correspondent there — perhaps it's an invitation, a glance will tell, (opens letter and looks over it) Simeon, (flushed with rage) Unfortunate still ! Brandy, Theodore, a glass of brandy. (Theodore gives it, he drinks it off at once) Ah! no more cards — dice! dical (])lays fi-aiitically) Lacon. (aside, having looked over letter) What is this ? (^reads) " An altair recently transpired has thrown this city into a state of excitement. The rich leather seller, Balthasar Merx, during the absence of his son and nephew, whose present locality is CROSS OF ST. John's. 23 unknown, has been robbed of cigliteen tbonsnnd florins. A voiith, named Schiihnan, resident in the house is charged with the tlicft, Ills trial comes oti' in a few days, and notliing sliort of liis condenuiation and execution is expected.'* — Poor l^al- thasar Merx, liis son and nei)hew Avaste liL^ substance abroad while his servant robs him at home. I must let this thought- less young man into what is going on at Ghent, — but hold, as a precautionary measure, I'll send a notice to the police. AVork may be needed for which we are not prepared, {tcriks) Simeon, {excited) Ha! two thousand won back, so fortune lias turned — double — four thousand, I put down four thousand. Kedce. I cover it — throw. l^AcoN. {foldu/fj and sealing Utter) Undercover to my land- lord, it will not be suspected, {rings) Simeon. Lost again! Enter Waiter, c. Lacon. {to Jean) Send this at once to my landlord, 'tis close at hand as you see by the address, {points it out to hint) Jean. Oui, Monsieur. Exit^ c. Simeon, {rising) This run of ill luck wearies and excites me. Tiieodore, take you the dice, in your hands our fortune may take a turn, {gives way to Tiieodoke, who continues the game^ Lacon meets Simeon, and conducts him forward) Lacon. {to Simeon) Young man, a word with you, and one of serious import. Simeon, {coolly) You are a stranger, sir. Lacon. Not so much a stranger, out that I know somewhat of you and your aliViirs, 1 have just received a letter from (Jhent, whicli contains tlie relation of an affair in which you are intimately concerned ; your father has been robbed, and to a large amount. Simeon, {starting) Ha! Lacon. Kead this letter, and while you are so occupied, I'll watrh the game. You are among sharpers; it is my lirm bel.cf that we are the only honest persons in the room, {goes to / 'lay -table) • Simeon, {aside) Honest! that word's a poniard, searcln'ng to the heart. Honest ! {hiiUn-ly) And I'm a thief! away, dread thought, away. What says this letter? {reads it to hinistif with tncreasinr/ agitation) TiiEO. {at play) Now for the final throw, all or nothing, the stake is fourteen thousand florins. Kedge. Throw ; (Theodoke throws) eight. TiiEO. Confusion ! Kedge. {having throivn) Twenty, 'tis mine! (going to take it up J Lacon j^r events him) 24 CROSS OF ST. JOHN'S. Lacon. Not SO, 'tis none of yours, tlie dice are false. f^^'^^- I False! Snooze, j Lacon. Ay, and I'll prove tliem so. (snatches tliem up aiid pockets them) Let them not touch the money, they are sharpers, swindlers Kedge. Ah ! have at him — ho ! friends, (to Baron aiid Colonel) to the rescue. Lacon. (to Simeon a^id Theodore) They are four to three, no matter, keep them at bay awhile, and all will yet be well. (Baron and Colonel rise, draw swords, and take side tvith Kedge and Snooze — Simeon pw^s the letter into his pocket, draws and advances to support Lacon and Theodore — the three endeavour to keep them from seizing the stakes on the table.') Theo. We are unused to weapons, but we will do our best. Kedge. Come on, curs, I will annihilate you all. Lacon. Indeed ! my brave bully, we will see that ; if you dare cross swords with me, let the general quarrel rest on the issue. Kedge. So be it. Let me be what I may, you will find I am no coward. (they take off their coats, and a regular set duel takes place — Lacon conquers and ivounds Kedge, who falls — a party of Police hiirst open door and disarm all present, then stand on guard at tlie door — Lacon produces the false dice, lohich he gives to the Officer in command, he then signifies hy gesture that the staJces belong to Simeon on one side and Kedge on the other — the Officer takes up Kedge' s part, and signs Simeon to take the other — He does so, and holding out the letter to Lacon, calls Theodore's attention to it, and says emphatically, " To Ghent," as he points to the door — Tableau, and) END OF act the SECOND. CU0S3 OF ST. JOHN'S. 25 ACT III. Scr.NE. — Palais de Justice, Ghent. Interior. Three seats for Jtidfjes soniew/jdt elevated on a dais. Bench and desh for Clerk and Counsel, in front oj the Judges seat, R. ; har for Prisoner placed diagoiially, w. — one for Witnesses oiyposite,!,. — benches for Spectators j'l^^ced lonf/icise of the Stage, leaving iliejird entrances open. Over the Judge's seat a large icindow through which is seen the steeple and Cross of St. John's, Enter Simeon and Theodore, l. TiiEO. What, here — into the court of justice itself ? Are you mad, Simeon, or am I worse than mad to have ventured at your advice into its very jaws ? In faith, I shall begin to repent me of having accompanied you back to Ghent. Simeon. What have you to fear ? TiiEO. Everything! You will answer with youi life, you say, that Schulmann will not betray us. Yet, if he should, your life will not save mine, which would be more than perilled by the stripling's indiscretion. What if they put him to the torture? Simeon. Torture ! Think you, I would suffer that blameless youth to bear the punishment I've merited ? No, no, it shall not be. TiiEO. Suppose the infliction threatened, what will you do? Simeon. What I shall still do, whether it be threatened or not. Keturn, like the prodigal, to my father, humble myself before him, and confess the truth. TiiEO. You'll save yourself and hang me ? Simeon. No, I will acquit you and take on my own respon- sibility all blame. There ara twelve thousand florins yet unspent, and these I must return. Theo. {mockingly) Conscientious youth I (aside) It*s moro than I'll do with tlie four thousand I've privately secured. Simeon. Oh, 'twas indeed an act of Providence that placed the English student in our way. Where our career had stopped, or wliat had been its end, I shudder when I contemplate. Theo. I'm not so aguish; no common-place event could force a shudder out of me. A fine career was open to us, to which your scruples put untimely end. Simeon. And that career, had not my scruples stopped it, had brought untimely end on us. Theo. ^Vell, well— let that be how it may, we'U leave the 26 CROSS OF ST. JOHN'S. fanciful and come to fact. The trial will shortly begin — we cannot stop lure. ^Yh;it's to be done? Simeon. Til send a message to my father, seek an interview, and own the fact. TiiKO. Take my advice. While the twelve thousand are yet in your hands, bid Ghent a long farewell. Simeon. I dare not. On this act eternity depends. It must be done while I have irrace to entertain the thought; or if I let tlie moment slip, a like may ne'er return. Theo. Well, as you list; but yet, betiiink you on the adage, ^^ Quern Deus vult perdere prius demeutat.^' If you are mad enough to risk the ordeal, I am not. I feel that 1 am standing upon hot ashes, and shall make instant preparation for the worst. There is no time to be lost. Simeon- AVhat will you do ? TiiEO. Give me your solemn word that you will send a messenger to me, with the result of your attempt, the moment you have made it. Simeon. I give you my solemn word. Where will the messenger find you ? Tiii-X). You see yon steeple, crowned with the iron cross — the instrument that is to punish me ? at least, so said the propliet, young Morality. Simeon. I see it, Theodore — from every part of Ghent 'tis visible. I also, with young Schulmann, bid you to beware. Not, as in his agony he did, of yon particular and sacred emblem, but of that most di^moniac vice — the mockery of holy things. If mere neglect bring punishment, what may he Iook for who to liis gross neglect adds insolence and mockery ? TiiEO. Why you are growing serious, Simeon ; I shouldn't wonder if, after all your racketing, you disappoint your father's hopes, study for the church, and turn monk. But to our present purpose. T will wait under that steeple with a fleet horse, saddled, and all ready for immediate liight in case of an unfavourable turn. Simeon. Agreed. I guarantee no moment sliall be lost in giving timely warning if danger shoidd impend. TiiEO. Farewell then, here we part, mayhap for ever, {sliake hwuh — aside, going) four thousand florins to the good! let come the worst at liome, on their foundation will I raise in France a noble fortune. Exitf L. Simeon, {loolcing after liim) Avaunt ! thou'st been an evil spii-it in my path, and to the last, in thy vocation true, wouldst tempt me to destruction. How bitter the confession I must make to my o'erdoting father ! his son a thief! the basest, most ungrateful, wor^t of thieves ! a coward too, abandoning a CROSS OF ST. JOHN'S. 27 fuithfnl heart to suffer for his evil deeds! Oh! what an overwlit'lminc^ load of crime one slight offence, one base propciij^ity uncluicked has led me into! But heaven is merciful, sincere repentance yet may cancel all. Exit^ L. Entei' CuKATE, Provost, two Guards wiih Sciiulmanx lirisoner^ R. Provost. Certainly, Reverend Father, we leave you at your request, some moments with the prisoner. He has hitherto shown much obstinacy and refuses to admit his guilt, strong and overwlielming as are the proofs against liim. Let us hope that your exhortations will soften his heart and induce him to relieve justice by a full and faithful disclosure. (r'ar,' in Antwerp- MTtct, and abstracting therefrom the sum of eighteen thousand ilorins. lie is furthermore charged with having secreted, or pMsstjd away by the hands of an accomplice or accom}>lices, tlie said sum of eighteen thousand florins, and with con- temptuously refusing to give any account of the stolen money, or tn name the said person or ])ersons, Ids accomplice or acccjm- plices in tiie rubbery.'" (puts donm brief aiul sjjeaks) If it meet the ajiprobation of my Lords Judges, 1 purpose jiroving ilie situation in which the ])ri>oncr was found on the night of tlie robbery, a position wliich cstal dishes the fact of his guilt beyofid all moral doubt. We will subsequently examine him personally, as to various circumstances connected with this ilagiiit.us affair. ruovosT. We approve that course. Proceed ! Ai>vo. Thefirr^t witness 1 shall call is the clerk of Mr. Merx, by nan>e, lionaventure. {to Usher) Introduce him. (Usher Za/7V/.s- lioN A venture into the box, l..,oppositeiicn\:L^lA^N) Before i b(!gui the examination it may be as well to say tiiere are certain facts in this ciise, which being allowed by the prisoner, need only to be rrcapitulated in his hearing. He admits that lie was alone in his n^aster's house on the night of the robbery. He asserts that he did not hear the knocking at the door from liaving fallen into a swoon. He allows that no trace of violence shows the house to have been broken into. That the cotfer was opened by means of a duplicate key, and the money in (jue;stion removed. But he denies possession of this money, and all knowledge of its locality. He admits that there were robbers, but denies that he was their accomplice. It has been asked— what motive could the prisoner have for this robbery? 30 CROSS OF That T will proceed to show. Bonaventure, lias not the prisoner a mother living ? ]>0NA. He has. Advo. 'What is her condition in life? Bona. She is poor and iniirin, subsisting cltiefly on the bonntv of my master, and lier son's wages. Advo. Where does she live ? Bona. At Zotteghem, three leagues from Ghent. Advo. Yon went to see her, I believe, after the robbery? Bona. I did, in company of an officer. We searched the cottaucc for the missing money, but none was found. Advo. Hum ! Wliat appearance does tlie dwelling present? Bona. It is a perfect model of cleanliness and comfort, surpassing in both respects the abodes of many in higher grades of life. Advo. You were in fact surprised at the more than neat- ness, tlie almost elegance of the furniture and appointments. Bona. Certain [I am, that 1 little expected to see such in the dwelling of one so poor. Advo. {to Court) Here then, we have a fact that I may describe in all conscience as replete with suspicion. Plow happens it, that the cottage of a poor woman, dependant upon chjirity, is furnished in elegance and taste? 1 answer this question with another. Is it not an acknowledged proposition that no one ever falls at one swoop into grievous crime? Certainly it is, and hence springs a reasonable assum.ption^ that the accused prepared himself for this extensive theft by a series of previous, petty, undiscovered larcenies. That he> jiad been in fact robbing his master upon a {«mall scale, until impunity begat its usual otispring, audacity, {to Bonaventure) How long has the accused been in the service of Mr. Merx? Bona. He has been in his service from boyhood. Advo. AVhat had been his conduct ? ]>ona. Up to this discovery, most exemplary — in fact he was held up as a pattern to the youth of the neighbourhood. Advo. Of course, the mask fitted, and was gracefully worn. Is Mr. Merx in Court ? liONA. Not vet, 1 left him in conversation with his son who is just ret^-urned from Paris. ScHUL. His son! Advo. 1 am not aware that his evidence would throw any further light upon this hitherto unfathomed atiair. {to liONA- venture) You may leave the box. {to Court) But if we have not yet reached the depth of this transaction, we have gone far enough to prove the prisoner's guilt. But this is not suliicient; justice is yet unsatisfied; therefore, as the prisoner obstinately refuses its requirements, persisting in concealment cuo-ss OF ST. John's. 31 of the nnincs of his accomplices, and tlie place to which the stolon money has been conveyed, it becomes my painful duty in vindication of the law to move the application of the torture. {first signs of an opproacldng storm — light rain^ gradually increasing^ and darkness increasing icitli it — occasional flashes of lightning — thunder after each flashy at first distant^ then approaching) SciiUL. Torture ! good heaven ! is such a monstrous crime then possible? Can justice be so foully mocked e'en in her sacred court? AVhat wicked, vile, sophisticated plea can crloss this horror o'er? Torture the innocent to wring a lie from out his agony. 'Twere hard to say if such proceeding be more mad or wicked. What torment that the subtlest human liend may from the hell of his invention conjure up, can drag out knowledge from the sufferer that he himself has not. I know not where the money is. I am no thief, therefore I have no accomplices, {thunder^ lightning, rain, and darkness still increasing) And you, {to Advocate) whose aim it is to hunt me to the death, because the law so calls upon you— have you not tortured me already in foul perversion of the truth to gain my condemnation ? Have you not turned the very virtues that adorn my poor but honoured mother, to venomed (hirts wherewith to sting her son to death ? As the base blow-fly lays its filthy eggs upon the finest meat, so drop you down your foulest slanders upon the priceless virtues of the poor. 1 shunned the pleasures youth enjoy to keep my mother's home, while she in her economy made it a home that I might love and live in when it had pleased kind heaven to call her to a better. Things saved and kept by strict economy, you fear not to proclaim must needs be had by theft. But heaven forgive the slander as I forgive it now. I have no friend on earth — all human agency seems turned to my destruction, and yet I fear not. There's one above on whom I ever have relied ; in him I trust, and he will give me good deliverance, {vivid lightning, loud thunder — a hall of fire strikes the Cross of St. John's, and throas it down — all start up in alarm) Behold ! the Cross of St. Jolin's is stricken down. Ha ! I remember a warning that in the excitement of mental agony escaped me. Merciful heaven ! can it have been fulfilled ? {storm clears away) Enter Baltiiasar and Simeon, l. 1 e. Baltit. Justice, my Lord Provost, I come for justice. PiiOYOST. It is to adminster justice that this Court is assembled. 32 CROSS OF ST. JOHN'S. Baltii. Then let the innocent be released. The culprit, under heavy chastisement from the arm of heaven is being brought hither to confess his crime and die ! Provost. The culprit. Baltii. Theodore de Manville, stricken down by the fall of the Cross of St. John's, has confessed himself the robber and the forger of the duplicate key. Schulmann is innocent, and sixteen thousand florins of the stolen money are returned, {munnttrs heard ivlbhoiit) Here is the hapless youth. (Theodoee Is hroiujlit hi on a Ut^cr, from L. 1 E. , and set down hi centre of Stage — he is j^ale and ivau..) Provost, (advanchig to him) Theodore de Manville, do you confess yourself the perpetrator of the robbery of which that youth stands charged ? TiiEO. (faintly) I do, upon myself I take it all. Provost. Enough, {to Officer) Kelease the prisoner. (Schulmann is released, he goes toBALTiixsAii, luho offers him his hand) Theo. {to Simeon, ivho has aioproached) I have exculpa- ted you, keep your secret and repent, {seeing the Curate, draws near) Father, death is upon me, ray moments arc few, can there be mercy for a wretch like me ? Curate. There's mercy, son, for all who truly seek it, and in the reparation made is sign of true repentance. {holds a crucifix to him) Take this and clasp it to your breast, {he does so) My friends, {turning to the others) the dying man implores the Church's aid. Kneel, and while he outpours his hidden sins in humble penitence, pray that his repentance be accepted, and his crimes forgiven. (all Icneel as the Curate inclines hi.'; ear to listen to the confession of Theodore — tahleau— solemn music, and) ilTurtain. :>tulrents' ^oiig in " 5'i)e (Cross of ^t. John's." 3^=1^3=: P r -^p -. p ,,- I I > OM Pla - to was reck - on*d di - vine, He wise - Ir to aiii zdi =7:z:zt- -^^.,_ £^-=^-Z^E??*J vir-tue was prone, But had he not tip-pled good wine, ll is merits liad 77^i*~9Z i^ m .___ — 1_-_ ne-verbeen knuwn. By wine we are gen- e-roiis niadtr, It fur-nish - es f(v:S=3: ^^. «y ^ — — • 0- EE^35:5^E^i3£| ^n"^ fan-cv wifli wings, Without it we neer should liave had Phi- lo - so-pli-r)!. CS>?^= iszznz ■ -•??~ jv) - cts, or kings. Repeat from ^ tn Chorus. Three more, verses, 8 //n^^ ejc<^ ; Chorus after each. IKittSticls' (Blu in " Ef^t Ctross of 3t. Joiju's." f, > Allegro vivace. - < XL C^I-*- :$5z Zi^ZZiZZiil izps: zV^d^-=fc Let's mer - ri - ly sing, life wears a-way, Light - hearted we'll f .>-i. ^ N V 'T^^Tzzr -f— «p — #>- ^ :^^a*5=i: i^flrZZ. ^.^Tempo, -n-n- p,_-5-ii:=qs-HS-.s ^=|--qv v^iHi- live, sirs, while in it we star ; We'll smile, be jol-ly, be free and gav,We /7\ rr\ ^^Jif'i'itzaz w -W=.^- Ih ^M=:^■:=fc=fc ]^5z=]^izqsrnq^q- zi^—i^z -^ — »-i—m — •' . ^V- =^=i^ latzpi Ivnow not the hour, sirs,we know not the day. Then folks of all a - ges. m tAdiz (-<#■ IS^KZ j^z^^z'? 'izz:=iv=H^ young and grey, A fig for old Care, keep the goblin at bay, Witli s^ m zmz z>z ^ . I 'I I . I '•— goblet in hflnd, hip, hip, hurra. We know not the hour, sirs, we know not tlie d.iy. ■y<-P- THE BLIND EOT. ^ iJfiCel0::=trfama, IN THREE ) ACTS. JAMES KENNEY, AUTHOR OP ^^ Matrimony ^^^ ''^ Raislnrj tlie Wlnd,^^ ^^ Tlie Alcakl,^^ ^^ Illustviom Stranger,''^ ''^ EUa llosenhurg^''^ '■^ Love, Law, and Plujsic,''^ &c. Adapted for Male Characters only, 3^/^ I j •} THOMAS HAILES LACY, 89, STRAND, LONDON. TIIK BLIND li(jY. First performed at the Tli-iatre Roy/rtJ, Cuvent Gardcrij on December lc.7, 1^507. STAMSLAUS {Khg of Sarmntia) Mrt. ^Ivakm.ky. KUMOND {the Blind Brnj) Mus. C. Kkmiile I'llINCE UODOLllI (prtHumptlve JLir to the Throve) Mk. lIiiUNTOX. OIJEKTO {a Fdiuicr) Mr. F.ovcrrr. KLVLNO {Soil of Oberto) Miss Noirrox. ^TAKOW {a clllai)iouH Co>fmall ricer from K. 3 K. to L. U. ]•:., over ivhich id a rnat'ic hridf/e from n. 4 K. to L. 3. E., in very had repair ; steps to descend, L. c ; in the distance, a rural view — on a stand, under a tcindow, near the j door of the ho7ise, K., are some jioicer -pots — a rustic se(d under \ the iciiidov) of the outhouse — chairs and a small tahle — curtoin \ rises to soft mvsic, expressice of die liarmowj (f a fine summer \ tnorn. \ Enter Elvino, from the house, R., vyith a small waterinrj-r.ot, \ ichich he pnts dou'u, exaniines the flowers under the tcindotv. and takes avxry one of them. I Elvino. These flowers already begin to fade ; while Edmond i is away, I will replace them with some Avhich are but newly blown. (Music — he brinys a jx t from the house in the place of \ the one he t(da:s au-ay) l*oor Edmond cannot see tlieir v;;ricd ; tints, but their sweet pert'unie will assure him that Elvino ; ceases not to thiids: of him. (MoLiNO sings without, h,) Here i comes that foolisli fidlow, Molino. j Enter AFoMNo, L., icith a ichip. \ MOLINO. (l. c.) Ah ! there's my young neiglibour — how j do you do to-day, Master Elvino ? ! Elvino. (r. c.) Very well, tliank you ; I hope you are j well, too, Molino. j Moling. Odsbobs, I am as well as a young man can be ■ expected to be, who hasn't had his breakfast, and is as hungry i as a hunter. Is neighbour Oberto at home? I Elvino. No; my father went out at sunrise to look after | the reapers in the lield, near the wootl. 4 THE BLIND BOY. [ACT 1. • MoLTNO. And Where's tlie young blind boy? Is he still m the nnns of Orpheus, as our schoohnasters say ? KhViNO. Kdmond is with my fatlier. MoLiNO. Ha, ha! what business, now, can he have there, I wonder? Poor lad ! it's all the same to him, whether iu the open iields, or at the bottom of a well. Elvin(). There, Moliuo, you are mistaken : though his eyes are not blessed with the brilliant light of day, his other senses more exquisitely feel the soft impression of the sun's first be.-uns, and the fresh morning breeze, wliich breathes its fragrance around him. Even now. seated on a bank, near my fatiicrand Ids men, he sees them not, 'tis true — but he hears their cheerful song, their joyous tales, and our dear Edmond is luippy. MoLiNO. I believe he is, indeed ! a precious fool he'd be if he was not. He lias plenty to eat, j^lenty to drink, plenty of sleep, and nothing to do — 1 don't doubt he is happy, " our dear Edmond." Ei.viNO. vSoftly, ^lolino ! thiidc of tlie poor youth's misfor- tune. Instead of jeering at and mocking iiim, you should pity and sympatidse with his atTliction. {/ookinr/ towards K. U. E.) Ah ! I see my father comhig towards the bridge. Eiit^r Obi:i;to, ovcj* the hruh/e, from r. to L. u. E. Obfhto. (c.) Why, Elvino, the bridge has given way since I jiassed it this morning? Ei.viNO. (i..) Yes; part of the parapet gave way just as the wagL-'on had got over; but, my dear father — what! is not Etiinond with you? OiiEKTO. Don't be uneasy, — I left him with the reapers. ?vloLiN(). (h.) Never fear, if he has a mind to come alone, he'll find his v%'ay safe enough. Eve often laughed to sec how he clears the posts, bushes, and cart-ruts. ICgad ! one would think he had an eye at the end of his w^alking-stick. Elvino. Silence, Molino, I desire you. Oiu:iiTO. AVhat, angry with Molino? — that must not be; but, i)ray. neigiibour; are you not going to Warsaw? Molino. To be >ure lam ! Taliving of that, you had better take advantage of my car. Gad ! yuu should go to the city now or never. OnEKTO. Why so ? i\l0LiX(). AVhat! don't you know that all AA'arsaw will be turned topsy-turvy to-morrow. There'll be such fetes, feasting, and fiddling! and all to celebrate the marriage of Prince Ivodolph, the son of our good King Stanislaus, with the I^rincess Lida, Grand Duchess oif Lithuania. Oh! 'twill be a capital sight! Come go with me in the car; there will be room for Act 1.] THE BLIND BOY. 5 Edmond, too. I knows very well you would have no pleasure witliout him. Poor lad ! he'll not often find himself at such a grand to do. Such rich dresses! such illuminations! such — Oberto. All tliesc would not be very intereL>tingto Edmond. Elvino. My good Molino, we thank you ; pleasures of tliis kind we do not covet. ]\IoLiNO. You'll have a very great loss ; for my part I love a jolly row and a good squeeze. Exit^ L. Oiji:rto. My dear son, the time has at length arrived when it becomes necessary that you should no longer be ignorant of the real circumstances of Edmond's introduction to our family, listen. {tJiey sit — Obhrto, r. c, Elvino, c.) I had been a soldier fifteen years when I married your mother. We had retired to a village near Gesna, and we lived there poor and miserably enough. One fine day we were sitting at our cottage door. Yow were then three years old, and playing near us, when a stranger arrived, followed by a woman who held an infant in her arms. He stopped and examined us attentively. You left your play, and ran to the woman, to let you kiss the child. The stranger observed you, and advanced to us, — " My honest fellow," says he, '' here is a purse contains five hundred pieces of ixohl — it is for him who will take charge of this child. ►Speak, will you have the infant and money?" My wife and I looked at each other, when you cried, ''Yes, papa, do take it, do take the little baby, it's so pretty." We accepted the proposal, but the stranger added one condition to it, that we should directly quit the village, and remove at least thirty leagues from Gesna. We took the child Elvino. 'Twas Edmond. Orerto. And soon discovered he was blind. Our arrange- ments were soon made. We quitted Gesna, and settled in this village, four leagues from Warsaw, where, with the money which the purse contained, we bought this farm. My industry has made it prosper,a nd but for your mother's death (tJiey rise) P^LViNO. Oh, don't speak of that, dear father. Orerto. At that time Gesna was the residence of our sovereign. 'Twas not till some years after, that Stanislaus preferred Warsaw. Our being required to remove from the vicinity of the court, and the large sum which the purse con- tained, have often led me to suspect that Edmond might be the child of some great lord of the court, who, for Aveighty reasons, was compelled to make use of this cruel precaution. I have confided this secret to you, that in the event of accidciit to myself you may assume my station to Edmond. For the present it must be a secret from him, but at a future time he may know all. 6 THE BLIND BOY. [ACT 1. Kilter Edmond, K. U. E., cuhmnclnQ lownrrJs fhe I/rnlf/e, feeling with hk stick. — Mudic, exjrresMire offsar. Elvino. (sees him on the hj-itfye, rcith ilrend) Oh. heavens ! Obeuto. {calling) Take care, Kclinoiul — take care — you — Klvino. Silence, father ! if you startle liini, lie'll fall. You're rery safe, Edmond, but don't stir — wait for me. {he runjf io .Ei>xM()ND, takes him hg the hftnd, assists him over the hriilgey leads him to tJie seat under the window, and sits hg him, K. — Music — Op.ERTO places a chair near the table, L. — he goes in the outhouse, and returns ivifh a book, pen, and ink, and seats himself at the table, L.) My dear Edmond, how could you pass tliis dangerous bridge alone ? Part of it has fallen in since the morning, and the rest scarce holds together. Edmond. I waited for you in the corn field, Elvino, you came not, and I was weary of being so long absent from you. Hark ! Elvino, don't you hear the sound of the horn? Elvino. {after a pause) No, I hear nothing, {goes up to listen) Edmond. There is certainly some one hunthig in the forest ! There again ! the huntsman's call distinctly. Elvino. {lisfodng) I cannot hear it. OiJHHTO. {toho has been listening) Nor I, either — surely you arc mistaken, Edmond. Edmond. No, father, listen— there again — the sound is louder ; tliey come this way. {horn) (Elvino aiid his father listen attentively — the sound of a horn is heard at a great disf an ce) Elvino. Edmond is right, father. OiJKirro. Yes, yes, very true. How fine his sense of hearing! {horn sounds again) I can scarcely hear it now, though it's so much nearer. Elvino. IVrliaps 'tis the Prince Rodolph hunting. OiiKitTo. Prince Podolph ! No, lie has other game to hunt. He is to be married to-morrow. Elvino. I forgot; it can't be him. Edmond. 1 pity the lady who marries him, with all my heart ; they say he's a most wicked young prince. He, like me, had tlie nu^^fortune to be born blind; but Providence heard his parents' prayers, and restored his sight, while I alas ! am left without siglit or parents. (Edmond vjeeps, turns towards ujindnv, stretches out one hand, and places the other on his hfort — soft music) AVhere are you, Elvino ? Jj.viNo. {goes io him quickly) Here I am, Edmond. Edmond. Dear Elvino, thank you. Act 1.] THE BLIND BOY. 7 Elvino. What, for Edmond ? Edmonp. For having ornamented my window with fresh flowery, Elvino ? Elvino. What, can you perceive it ah*eady ? Edmond. None of the attentions you bestow on me can ever escape my observation. Ah! Elvino, my friend! if you knew liow sensible I am to tliem ! 'Tis not tlie privation of iin enjoyment I have no idea of, whicli makes me grieve at my misVortune, but I lament to (eel the obligations I am under, without a possibility of returning them. Elvino. You love us, Edmond — that is an ample recom- pense. 013ERT0. The hunters come this way. Enter Molino, l., lie runs on h^idge to look out, MoLiNO. Neighbour, neighbour, come and see, come and see ! The hunters are coming out of the wood, and seem to take this way. OnERTO. Well, let them come. Molino. (advanciiH/) Don't you know who it is? They say 'tis the Prince Ilodolph, son to King Stanislaus. OiJLKTO. Oh, if it's he MoLiNO. This prince, by gum! he must be main fond of the chase, to be hunting so far from home, the day before he is to be married, {from the bridge) There ! there ! 'tis a wild boar they have killed. Lud, lud ! how angry he is at it ! Quick ! quick ! Come and see, Elvino I Come and see, Edmond ! Ed.v:okd. {smiling) I thank you, Molino. OnLiiTO. The silly fool ! MfjLiNO. Oh ! I must, I must sec the Prince Rodolph— that I must ! {on the bridge) There, they are close by — there, they dismount ! I'ftiith, neighbours, they are coming straight this way. Obkrto. The deuce ! I wish they'd take some other road. 3/f/.w— Officers, Huntsmen, (fr., arrive on iJie other side, ^. of bridge — KoDOLPii, Starow, Kalig and SuiTE, poss the br.'dge, from R. to L., and descend by Hie shpe^ L. — MusiCj horiis^ &c. lioDDLPii. Are you the master of the farm ? OnEKTO. (r.") I am, your highness. UoDOLPii. Well, my friend, you'll oblige me much by getting us some refreshment. The chase was long. I feel tmrsty. Oherto. With the greatest pleasure, your highness, {to Elvino} Go, my son, call Frank and his comrade — they will help you. Esit Elvino into house^ R. 8 , THE BLIND BOY. [ACT 1. Would your highness please to sit here, or go into the large hall? liODOLPii. We shall he very well here, {sits at a small tahlCy L.) You have been a soldier, or I'm mistaken ? Oberto. Yes, my prince ; I served fourteen years, and I hope with honour, in the legion of Plosko. RoDOLPH. Your name ? Oberto. Oberto — at your service, prince. Kaltg. (l., cfside) O])orto ! (lie looks around, sees Edmond, and excuniJies Mm attentively) Enter Elyino, r., icith a small jug and gohlets, zvJiich he places on table, L. — Music. Edmond. {apart, to Elyino) Come, Elvino, let us begone. Elyino. With all my heart. Elyino takes his arm, and leads hwi to the docn' of the house, R., hut stops to let two Servants pass luho enter with large jugs — Op.erto signs to them to help the Hunters and attendants. MoLiNO. {aside looking at IvODOLPii) Zounds ! the prince drinks just like another man, I declare. Kalig. {taking MoLiNO aside to n., loitJi great agitation) Is " tlic young man who just left us, blind ? MoLiNO. Oh, yes, that he is, he is blind with one e3'e and can't see out of the other. Kalig. Is he son to this farmer ? IMOLINO. No ; but all as one. Kalig. Um ! urn ! {aside, considering) Oh, should this be him I seek ! {goes up c.) KoDOLPii. {rising) Starow, my friend, e'en the pleasures of the chase aifordcd me no relief. Starow. (l. c.) Cheerly, my prince! 'Tis the fatigue of this long day's chase depresses you. ItODOLPii. No, Starow, no; 'tis not the body now com- plains, it is the mind disordered that weighs me down. Starow. Consider, sir, Lithuania's charming duchess soon I will grace your bed. Her smiles will chase away intruding j melancholy. I lloDOLpJi. Never, never! Oh, Starow, there is a being ■' breathes tliis air, whose existence is poison to my happiness. Starow. {half draius his dagger) My prince, shall 1 RoDOLPii. Officious fool! Think'st thou, if I could find, this enemy to my repose, I should want thy feeble aid? No* more ! Starow, give orders to depart. (Starow turns towards the Suite— they advance — he gives his orders to depart — Oberto Act 1.] THE BLIND BOY. 9 approaches the Pkin'CE and hows) And there, my honest friend. {presentbuj a purse to Obfjito) Ohkuto. Your highness, 1 hope, w41l not wound an old soldier's feelings, by offering payment for so slight a service. KoDOLPii. {iakl'ig his hand) Well, my brave fellow, I shall not forget your generous hospitality. Away. Music— Exit RoDOLPii and Starow, ovei' thehridrjc to ii., follouml by IlUNTEKS— Kalig remains — MoUNo////o//>.s icith the Peasants, to see the Prince, l. — Kalig, after being assured that they are gone, approaches Ocerto, and looks at him attentively, Kaltg. Are we alone? 0»ERTO. AVhy do you ask? Kai.ig. I wouhl speak witli you. OriKirro. {cistonlihed) Ha! {looks through the door, v.., and then returns) Speak on. Kaug. Your name, I think, is Oberto? OnKRTO. It is. Kalig. You lived in another village before this? Oberto. I did; at Urzena, six leagues from Gesna; but it's a long time back. Kalig. (l. c.) 'Twas there that a blind infant was given to your charge ? Oberto. (r. c. nveaf^y) "\Yliat say you? Kalig. Is that cliiUl still living? Oi'.ERTO. Thanks l)c to heaven, yes ! you saw him, as you cnmc in ; he Avas with my son. KalKt. Y^es, I saw him tlien. OiJERTO. Ah, sir, for pity's sake, tell me who were his parents? Kalig. I am simply charged with a commission to you. For more than two years, I have made every search for you, but in vain, {takrs a parchment from his bosom) This writing I have always carried about me, in the hope that chance might one (lay bring us together, it was to be given to you, in case tlie cliild entrusted to your care was living. The condition exists; then take the writing, — it is addressed to you. {offers him the packet) Oi'.KRTO. {faking it hesitatinghj) To me I Addressed to mel (looks at the seal) Ha I the seal Kalig. Of our late queen. OiJERTO. The queen! {his hand trembles — the packet falls — Kalig tcdtcs it up,^ and gives it to him) Enter ELViNO,/ro??z the house, E. Elvjxo. Fatlicr, breakfast is ready, we wait for you. 10 THE BLIND BOY. [ACT 1. OiiEHTO. {confused and endeavourwg to hide the pa elect Jrom Mm) Very well, very well — Tin not hungry — go in, go in. Elv'no. {af^tonishcd) AVliat ails you, iktlier ? You seem uneasy — this stranger Ohki.to. I'm busy. I tell you again, go in. Klvinu. (sadhj) Never did you treat me so before, father! Ohehto. Heed me not, Elvino! {emhraci/ig Jiim) Go in, my boy — go in, 1 beg of you. He coudticls him icitJi affcdiin to the door — Exit Elvino,//?/^ the houHc^ K., loolcing anxioiidtj at Ids Fatiilik and Kalig. Pardon me; now proceed, {refurniitf/) Kmag. Then there — 1 have but one injunction more ; it is to b.d you read that packet without witnesses. Fare you well, Oberto". Or.KKTO. "Wait a moment. At least, I may read it before you. Kalig. Xo; I must follow instantly to prevent suspicion. But, remember, if you have occasion to make a journey to AVarsaw, beware of Prince liodoli)h. My name is Kalig — remember it, Oberto! Jieek me out, and at the hazard of my life, I will serve you. Music — Krit over the bridfje, to K. Oin:uTO. {remains almost motioidess) My hand trembles! I dare not break the seal — let me breatlie awhile ! Oh, my dear Edmond, it is your fate which I am about to discover, and 'tis the Queen that Courage, Oberto ! a soldier and afraid ! Music, expressive of viohid af/itadou — he LrcaJcs the seal eagerly-— a pause— imf olds die packet, turns it in various directions, rubs his eyes, wipes his forehead, and at last reads — as he reads his surprise and emotion increases — he exhibits the most violent agitation. OnEHTO. Edmond, the son of Stanislaus! heir to the throne of Srirmatia! {Music, expressive of his agitation) But let me linish — (endeavours to read) there is a mist before my eyes — I can't see a letter! AVhat, my Edmond— my dear boy, my prince ? {soft Music —his eyes Jill icitli tears — he vdpes them) Come, come — I must be calm. {Music — ivalks about in great agitation, v'ith hasty strides) What ! the Prince Kodolph is no longer Ha ! this is no trilUng matter. {walks about as before — Music) Enter Moling over bridge, running from R. ^lOLiNO, Any commands for Warsaw ? I'm just going. Obeuto. {without heeding him) Oberto, the fate of Warsaw, of the whole empire of Sarmatia, is this day in your hands. If vou are silent, all remains ; if you speak, all is changed. Say but H word — the truth comes out, and the crown Moling, {approaddng him) Eh! what's that you say neighbour ? Act 1.] THE BLIND BOY. 11 Oberto. (anodously) Were you listening ? MoLiNO. (l.) I just came this moment, to tell you our car is ready, and to ask if you have any commissions. But what the deuce were you talking about, neighbour? the crown and Warsaw ! 'Tis my belief that you were dreaming, with your eyes open. Oberto. Yes, yes; I Did you never dream that you were some rich powerful great lord ? MoLiNO. Oh, yes — yes ; I often dreamed that I was become rich — very rich; and that I was going to town to sell our provisions in a coach and six ; but, for all that, when I waked I was only Molino. Oberto. (aside) He has not heard me. Well, neighbour, Tm much obliged to you, but I liave nothing to trouble you with. You must excuse me — but I have a good deal to do. MoLiNO. Good bye, neighbour, {going^ L.) Oberto. {calling him hacfS) Stay, Molino ! {aside) We may take advantage of this opportunity. Can't you delay your departure for a few minutes ? MoLiNO. Oh, yes — certainly. Oberto. Perhaps we may be inclined to go with you. Molino. Gadzooks ! will you? That will be mighty agreeable. Oberto. Well, my friend, return in a quarter of an hour, and we'll be ready for you. Molino. I'll just go and put on the head of the car, and make everything snug for Elvino. Oberto. And for Edmond, too. Molino. Edmond! Oberto. Yes, yes — Edmond. If he don't go Molino. Well, well— we'll take care of him too. {aside) There, there ! neither father nor son can think of any tiling but Edmond. Buns off^ L. Oberto. I must go find my children. Enter Elvino, r., meeting his Father at tJie door. Oh, Elvino — gre^it news ! Such news, my son ! call Edmond to me. Elvino. (r.) Great news ! You frighten me, father. Oberto. (l.) The news is good — very good. Call Edmond, I tell you. Elving. Here he is. Enter Edmond, r.—Elvino leads him forward, Oberto. (r., runs to embrace him) My dear Edmond ! • -I forgot, {falls on his hnees) Oh ! my prince, permit me to be the first to offer you my homage. 12 THE BLIND BOY. [ACT 1. Edmond. (r., ;puts his hands upon him) On your knees, Oberto ! Oberto. (c.) This is the great news, my children. Look, my son, look at this packet, — it's the hand of our late queen. Eodolph is not, but Edmond is, the son of King Stanislaus. Edmond. I? Elvino. (l.) Edmond? Edmond. Gracious powers, explain ! Oberto. Yes, yes, I'll read you the letter: listen to me. {reads) '' Oberto," — you see, she knew my name — " Oberto, if this packet " — 'Here, Elvino, take it yourself, 1 shall never get through it. {crosses, L. — he gives Elvino ihe letter.) Elvino. (c, reads with emotion) " Oberto, if the child, en- trusted to your care at Urzena, be still alive, learn his destiny from this. I have deceived the people ; 1 have deceived my husband. Rodolph is not my son, nor is he the son of Stanislaus. My child was born blind. The bitter disappointment my husband experienced inspired me with the guilty design of deceiving him by a supposed miracle. I had the baibarity to suffer my infant to be taken from me, — that infant, whom you, Oberto, so readily received." Oberto. Read, Elvino, read ! Elvino. {reads) " The Palatine of Rava had a son, the same age as mine. It was reported he was dead, and believed so. The child was named Theobald ; — 'tis Rodolph." Oberto. Let me finish, {reads) " I feel my last hour ap- proach; I shall never behold my child, but, if the officer who is entrusted with this packet should perchance discover your retreat, I command you, Oberto — {raidng his voice) 1 command you, in the name of the good powers who watch over the safety of Samartia, instantly to divulge the truth. To your prudence I leave the manner of disclosing it, and of restoring to the true heir of the throne, that name, and those rights, of which my guilt has so long despoiled him. Farewell ! Judith, of Bohemia, Queen of Sarmatia." I shall obey you, madam, (bows respect- fidly over the jiaclcet.) Edmond. My father — oh, let me destroy this writing. Oberto. My ijrince, my king that will be, what mean you ? Edmond. Say Edmond, my father — always Edmond! Oberto, keep the strictest silence; let Rodolph reign, and let me be still the happy son of Oberto, the brother of Elvino. Oberto. Keep silent ! — No, my dear children, the Queen's commands are rendered sacred by her death ; they must be obeyed: she calls upon me from me from the tomb—" In the name of the gods, who watch over the safety of Sarmatia, I Act 2.] the blind boy. 13 command you instantly to divulge the truth." — Come, my prince, let us away. Enter MOLINO, hastily, smaclcing his lohip, L. MoLiNO. Come, neighbour, everything is ready. Music. — Oi?i:rto hurries Edmond and Elyino off re- luctantly — Exeunt, L. END OP ACT THE FIRST. ACT 11. Scene. — A manmficent Temple, luith a flight of steps leading to the Vealihale, at the hack of tchick are large folding doors. — Music. Enter Kalig, r., who stations the OuARDS, to prevent the PoPULACr: from pressing too forward, R. — When they are ar- ranged, exit Kalig, l. — Shouts, drums, &c., R. Enter Oberto, Elvino, and Edmond, r. 1 e. Oberto. Well, my children, here we are at Court. We must endeavour now to get access to the king ; and that I fear, will not be easy. Elvino. Oh, father! I shudder at the consequences of your resolution. We were so happy ! OiViOirro. AVe sliall bo more so — I pledge myself, we shall. Edmond. Can you believe so, Oberto? Alas! I fear not. The confused noise of the multitude, who throng towards the palace ; their acclamations ; the tumultuous preparations for X\\Q fete; everything here confuses my senses, and makes me the more regret my peaceful habitation. Oh, my father! let us return to the village and leave this place and all its pleasures. Oberto. No, no ; my resolution's fixed. This royal mag- niticence, {trumpets heard at a distance, R.) this superb palace, transport me beyond myself. Already I think I hear them call you Prince. Come, my children, courage ; we must be resolute, {they are proceeding when stopped hy the Guards, l.) Guard, {at the gate) You must not pass. Kalig. {coming forward,!,,) Ah, 'tis Oberto! (to f^e Guards) Let them pass — pass them. This young man has the misfortune to be blind : it would be dangerous to let him stay in the crowd. The Guards retire, L. Oberto. Sir, is it you ? 'Tis fortunate we have met you here so soon. Behold the prince {pointing to Edmond) 14 THE BLIND BOY. [ACT 2. Kalig. {prevents hts finishing Ms sentence} Beware, Oberto I You are surrounded by Prince Rodolph's spies. Enter Molino, who is repulsed by the Guards, r. MoLiNO. Let me pass, let me pass ! I am of the same party, I tell you. Kalig. {to the Guards, r.) Pass him. MoLiNO. Indeed ! I'd have you know Lord ! it's my neighbour Oberto; that's his son, and the young gentleman that came in my chaise ; and you would not, ha, ha, ha ! {to Kalig)— Why, these droll gentlemen wouldn't let me pass. Obeuto. Silence, I say. {takes Kalig aside) What is to be done ? The paper you gave me — I must show its contents to the king — aye, to the king himself; I must speak to him — some one must help me to an interview, and you are that person. Kalig. Oberto, I fear there is an insurmountable bar. For a long time past, Stanislaus has only been accessible by Prince Rodolph. Through Rodolph every application must pass before the king will listen to it. Tliink, then, how impossible {trumpets without, R.) Moling. There's a sight. Law, law ! how fine, to be sure ! Look, Elvino, do look ! Look, Edmond I Ah, what a pity Edmond can't see. Oherto. Molino, be quiet. {looJcing out) *Tis Prince Rodolph passing to the marriage ceremonj^. What if I throw myself in his way and say I have a petition to present to the king ? When he was at my house yesterday, he spoke to me, often called me a brave fellow, and said he would not forget my hospitality. Kalig. You know him not ; his pride will spurn you from him : besides, should he, by chance, but see tlie poor blhid prince, his suspicions will be instantly awakened. His father, the late Palatine, on his death-bed revealed to him the dreadful secret of his birth ; and the fear always haunts him of the discovery of Sarmatia's rightful heir. Oberto. {in great perplexity) What is to be done? I must hazard something, {crosses^ c.) Children — Molino, retire while the prince passes. They go off^ R. u. e. Grand March — Enter RoDOLPii, R., richly dressed j thoughtful and discontented, followed by Attendants. Oberto. {§irowing himself in his icay) Prince, I would speak with you. (Rodolph looks at him haughtily and goes on) My lord, 1 am the old soldier, whom yesterday Rodolph. {interrupting him Jiastilijj Some other time. Oberto. ^lolding him by the cloak) My prince, the aflfair will admit of no delay. Act 2.] the blind boy. 15 RoDOLPH. (disengaging himself quickly) What audacity! Guards ! {turn Guards advance — they seize Oberto — Mtisic) Enter Edmond a??^ Elvino, hastily, R. IT. E.-she throios her arms around her Father's neck — Kalig steps before JiiDyiOJ^Dj to x)r event his being seen by liODOLPii. RoDOLPii. (after a pause) Could no other time but this be found for your intrusion? But, as you were attentive to me yesterday in the forest, I pardon you. Guards, let them pass; but see tliat you intrude no more, {march recommences — RoDOLrii passes on to the ceremony^ L.) Enter MoLiNO, R. u. E. ]\[0T.iN0. oil, dear! oh, dear! what does all this mean? When [ saw you step up, and speak to the prince, I expected from liis fair promises yesterday, to see you and him go cheek by jowl — free and easy — no ceremony : you gave him your best wine, and that generally makes an intimacy between the lord and the cliiuiney-sweeper. Oberto sends Molinoo^, l. Elvino. Father, Edmond, let us begone; and leave this scene of danger for our peaceful home. Edmond. Oh, more than father! Oh, dear Oberto ! let us return. Till this day I was most happy. What was wanting to make me so ? I was beloved by all around me ; here, my life is sought by wicked men I never injured. Oh! then, beloved father, listen to me. These poor sightless eyes are filled Avith drops of gratitude. Let them fall on your dear dear hand, and induce you to pity and indulge me. Oberto. {much affected) My child, my prince, what can I say ? Think of my atlection, think of my duty. Your mother calls from the grave — remember her injunction: "In the name of the good powers, who watch over the safety of Sarmatia, I command you to divulge the truth." Kalig. Hear me, Oberto. When last we parted, I promised, at the hazard of my life, to serve you ; wiUingly would I lay down that life to save my prince ; but danger presses him on every side. Then let his country be his champion — proclaim his wrongs aloud, and in one instant, every loyal heart will swell to serve a prince, so wronged, so virtuous. OiiERTO. Ay, but the voice that first proclaims his wrongs will also sound his knell. Kalig. Stanislaus loves Rodolph as his son. He is about to give his hand in marriage to the fair Lida, Duchess of Lithu- ania ; should the king find Edmond blind, and lowly bred, he might wish to conceal his rights ; a public declaration would render that impossible. (trumpats are heard without, L.) Oberto. The procession advances. The moment is at hand. 16 THE BLIND BOY. [ACT 2. How my old heart beats. Rouse, rouse ! Recollect, Oberto, the fate of Sarmatia is in your hands. Exit with Edmond, Elvino, and Kalig, r. u. e. Trumpets, &c. flourish as the King advances. — Enter the King vnth LiDA on his L., and Eodolph on his R., attended by his CoUHT. from the L. — grand procession — they go towards R. — Music. Stanis. My loyal subjects, indulge your mirth — celebrate the liappiness of your prince, of your king, who, in this august aUiance, has considered but your welfare and the happiness of Sarmatia. {the c. doors are thrown open — the Bishop, attended by Priests, Incense Bearers, c5e., receives hhn — the be- trothed couple how before him — the Bishop raises his hands over them, in the act of blessing them) High Priest. I here betroth Prince Podolph, son of Stanislaus Oberto comes forward. B.., followed by Edmond and Elvino. Oberto. (loith all Ids force) He is not the son of Stanislaus! [Music — expressive of astonishmeut and general confusion — the King, Lida, and Rodolph come forward) Stanis. Who is the rash, audacious man? Oberto. {taking Edmond's hand) My liege, behold your son ! Rodolph. (l.) His son I Oberto. {offers the King the packet) Yes, my liege, your son. Deign but to cast your eyes on this writing. Stanis. 'Tis the writing of the queen. {Miisic — expressive of astonishment — the King .^eems greatly agitated while reading and frequently takes his eyes off the packet to look at Edmond, then reads on) Stanis. {aside) What have I read ? {approaches Edmond, takes his hand, and looks at him with fixed attention) Oberto. {low to Edmond) 'Tis tne king. {Music — Edmond Tcneels with reverence and affection) Stanis. Tliese features— so like the queen ! The writing too! {aside) We will return to the pakce. (/o Edmond) Come, unfortunate youth I Rodolph, let the council he instantly assembled ! E.nl Rodolph, l. In their presence we will read this letter, and interrogate Oberto — no means must be left untried to ascertain the truth. Act 3.] the blind boy. 17 {to the High Priest) lioly pontiff, the marriage rites must be suspended. Mmic—iJie High riiicsT, cC-c, turn to the Temj^le — Tableau^ closed in by END OP ACT THE SECOND. ACT III. Scene. — The BanJcs of the Vistula. — A terrace, under which the water is seen — high and icinding rocJcs, R., against lohich the river dashes with great far y. Enter Stanislaus and Rodolph, l. u. e. Stanis. Rodolpli, I have sought to be alone with you. By the extraordinary occurrences of the day, I have recovered a son whom Nature bid.s me cherish and regard; but he shall not destroy the patcrnnl nllection I feel for thee, my Rodolph. RoDOLrii. Not Rodolph now, my liege. Stanis. But still tiie Palatine of Rava, by the right of birth. Rodolph, though he ceases to be my son, has still a claim on my atlection, and on my justice, too : I will repay it, therefore, with the fair hand of the duchess, whom you so much love, and the dukedom of Lithuania, which you so well deserve. Rodolph. Ah ! my liege, Avhen Edmond once begins to wind himself about your heart, then farewell Lithuania's new-made duke ! Stanis. Never, Rodolph ; for, should fate call Edmond from me, Lithuania's duke succeeds to Stanislaus. My confi- dence in you is as unbounded as my love : I have committed young Edmond to your charge ; and, as a farther earnest of my love, I place this ring, of value most inestimable, upon your linger. Should you, at any time, perceive my affection diminish, present this to my view, and I will instantly fold you to my heart, and you shall be my son again. Exit, L. u. E. Rodolph. Ah ! then Lithuania's duke succeeds, if Edmond falls — why, then, my hopes revive. I have already placed a guard, devoted to my service, over the young prince — I have also taken care to have Oberto and his daughter removed fi?om him. Now, Starow, where is that dagger which peeped, officious, from its scabbard, to greet the enemy I only dreaded. He's found, he's found, he's found ! and now, indeed, I lack thy murderous aid. B 18 THE BLIND BOY. [ACT 3. Enter Starow, r. 1 e. RoDOLPH. Ah, Starow, this accursed boy ! Starow. (r.) My prince, IVe heard it all ; but joy to find you have him in your power. llODOLPH. (c.) I have, my friend ; and 'tis your kind hand must rid me of the charge ; but how, my friendly Starow — how ? Starow. My lord, the night is dark, the wind rages, and the Vistula rolls wide and deep under the window of young Edmond's prison. KoDOLPH. 'Tis well conceived; but I must not appear in this. Is there no friendly hand, whose aid you can confide in for the task ? Starow. My lord, have you observed a dejected man about the court, who seems to brood in silence over his wrongs ? RoDOLPH. What, Kalig? Starow. The same, my prince. Him I've noted for a pur- pose like the present. RoDOLPii. I like him not ; but, better he than one I do, for he must not survive, to blab the tale. Thus let it be : soon as tlie day shuts in, I will myself conduct the prince — you shall receive him from my hand — my voice must not be heard; you and Kalig force him on board a boat — then make what speed you can to gain the centre of the river, leaving Kalig to watch tlie shore — be sure to gain the middle of the stream, and there Starow. I understand, my lord. EoDOLPii. Be careful to repeat the name of Kalig frequently ill Erlmond's hearing, that if any chance should thwart us, he may bear the odium of the crime ; and when the boy sinks in tlie Avavc, give the signal of success with your horn, and row with all speed some distance down the river. When I hear the signal, I will alarm tlie palace with the loss of Edmond, and myself encourage the vain search tliat will be made. Starow. My prince, I fully comprehend — will instantly find out Kalig, and answer, with my life, that all shall be as you desire. Crosses^ and exit, L. KoDOLPH. Farewell, villain ! Sooner than you suspect, your life shall answer it. Enter Oberto and Elyino, e. — stage darkens. Oi5J:i:TO. My lord, you have given orders that no person slijill api)roach the apartments of Prince Edmond. 1 suppose 'twas tliroLigh forgetfulness that my son and myself were not excepted. RoDOLpji. The order is a general one, and admits of no exception. SC. 1.] THE BLIND BOY. 19 Elvino. What are we forbidden to see the prince ? we, who have sworn never to leave him ? RoDOLPii. You may sometimes, perhaps be allowed to see him. Elvino. Sometimes ! oh, lieavens ! Obekto. My child, the prince means daily. KoDOLPH. The prince has no such meaning. Oberto, you forget ; you fail in the respect you owe me. Oberto. Pardon me, my lord, but I shall fiiil still more, if 'tis your intention to imprison the son of your master. RoDOLPir. Oberto, leave me. {partly draios his sword) Elvino. Oh, my father ! ObeuTO. Boy, I tell you, I will speak ; it shall never be said that Oberto brought up the heir to Sarmatia's crown, that he loved kim as his son for twenty years, and that in one day he tamely gave consent to a life-long banishment from the boy he so loved. My lord, I ask not, for what I have done, honour, dignity, or wealth, but let me be near my Edmond. I have told you how I love him, and must and will see him daily. EoDOLPir. {aside) Let me constrain my rage, {to Oberto) Well, sir, calm your anger — wait patiently but till to-morrow, and then Exit, L. Oberto. Oh! Elvino, what does he mean? Wait till to- . morrow ! A dreadful night intervenes before that morrow. Ah ! why did I not listen to the poor afflicted boy this morning ? He said right — we were happy. Wretch that I am ! my cursed ambition has destroyed him. Ye protectors of innocence op- pressed, avert all dangers from Piince Edmond's head ! On me, on me, direct their murderous aim. ! Come, my child, let us fly to save our prince, or perish nobly with him. Exeunt, l. — Music. Kalig a7id Starow enter in a boat — they advance— Kalig appears to swear fidelity — they part — Starow goes towards the terrace — Music. Starow. {on the terrace) Remember, you have sworn, {music) Exit Starow, l. u. e. Kalig. What is to be done? A few short moments, and Edmond will be here; and I am singled out to help in this base murder! what if I fly to the palace, and reveal the whole? But assistance will arrive too late, and the crime — hold, let me consider — Starow said Rodolph will not be with us — Starow alone — then, danger, I defy you. Music. — Rodolph appears on the terrace, l. u. e., holding Edmond hyone hand — YiT>i>io^T) appears uneasy — Starow has a horn suspended round his neck. Edmond. Why does this hand grasp mine so violently? 20 THE BLIND BOY. [ACT 3. Why does it tremble so ? Pray answer me. Where would you lead me? {he is led forward by Rodolph — Rodolph signs Starow to answer) Stakow. {advancing close to Edmond, c.) I have already told you, my lord, to that part of the palace where Oberto and his son wait for you. AVe could not resist their entreaties and wliilst Prince Kodolpli is busy with the king, we have seized the opportunity to lead you to your friends. Come, my lord, come on. (Rodolph endeavoiirs to force him) Edmoni). {resisting) But I am not in the palace now; the air which blows upon me Stakow. We are in one of the courts which we must cross to Edmond. (c.) a court! 'tis a very large one, then. 'Tis filled with trees and flowers. I^ODOLPii. (R. c.) Ha! Edmond. And bordered by a river. Starow. {embarrassed) A river ! Edmond. {i^ointing iclth left hand) Yes ; 'tis there — I hear the noise of water. 1 feel the moisture that exhales from it. Rodolph. {low and impatiently) Come on — come on. Edmon'D. Is not that Prince Rodolph's voice ? Starow. No, my lord; my comrade, Kalig. Edmond. Kalig? Starow. Yes ; he urges us to lose no time. Let us begone. Edmond. {uneasy) You must conduct me back from whence you brought me. Starow. I mean it, my prince. Edmond. I am not safe here. . Starow. Why so, my lord ? (Rodolph tries to get his It and away from Edmond) Edmond. I tell you, 1 am not in safety. Kalig. (r.) Indeed, my prince, I promise you, you are. I answer to you, you have nothing now to fear. (Rodolph struggles with Edmond) Edmond. Why do you force your hand from me? — If you leave me in this strange place, I shall be in danger. (Rodolph gets his hand away) Kalig. My prince, I only wish, as the evening is dark, to explore the way for you. {coming up to him, and tcdcing his hand) All is safe, and now I can conduct you without danger. Edmond. Oh, heaven! how many of you are there? — This is not the hand wliich just now Kalig. 'Tis the hand of a friend, my lord; be not uneasy. Edmond. Oh, who could be so cruel as to take advantage of my wretched situation. Rodolph makes sigm of impatience^ and points to the boat. SC. 2.] THE BLIND BOY. 21 Starow. {jjulls him forward) Come, my prince, come. Edmond. No ; a storm threcatens, and if we go farther Starow. A storm, did he say? Kalig. Yes, he's right, the night looks bUick. (lightning) Starow. 'Tis nothing but a few passing clouds, and will soon be over. Edmond. I tell you, 'twill be terrible, (distant thunder) Did you hear that ? — The thunder rolls already. RODOi.PH mounts the terrace, and exit, L. u. E., iiointing to the boat — Starow leads 'EtD^O'SD a few paces towards the terrace, and then turns away, R. Starow. Well, then, my lord, we will return to your apart- ment. Edmond. Stop — this is not the way we came — there — (point- ing to tJie L. — Starow forces him towards the boat, c. — Edmond resists forcibly) Villains! where is the traitor that employs you? Starow. My lord, 'tis needless — you must come with us. Edmond. Vile wretches ! Oh, that my cries may Music, Kalig. Now, heaven assist me ! Kalig leaves the Prince, and goes round to Starow, takes hold of the horn that hangs to his neck, and tJirows him from the Prince round to R. — the chain of the horn breaks, and Kalig dravjs his sabre — they stand for a moment, gazing at each otJier. Starow. Ah, traitor ! Kalig. Thou liest — I am no traitor, but while this arm can wield a sword, it shall protect its lawful prince, (combat — they fight off towards the rock, R. u. E.) Edmond. Oh, whither shall I fly ! Oh, Oberto ! oh, Elvino, come to my aid! (lightning — lie goes off, L. 1 E.) Enter Elvino /rom the terrace, l. u. e. Elvino. (comes forward) Sure I heard the voice of Edmond. He called on me! on my father! Ha! what noise is that? (noise of swords up the rock, r. u. e.) Swords gleam through the darkness of the night. Perhaps some succour to the oppressed. I see them — good heavens ! what fury animates . them ! Kalig. (on the top of the rock, R. u. E.) Die, perfidious wretch ! (thrusls his sword into Starow's breast^ and forces him over the rock into the rlver^ R. u. E.) Elvino. How dreadful this suspense ! I see not Edmond. (thunder and ligJvtning) Hark ! did I not hear footsteps ? (looks out) 'Tis one of the men who — all, he comes this way. (hurry- ing — Mu^ic — he runs and hides himself, K.) 22 THE BLIND BOY. [ACT 3. Enter "Kajag, from the rocJc^ R. U. K., hairing about with cautious uneasiness J holding the Jiorn vjhich Stakow had. KA.LIG. Not here ! What lias become (;f him ? Where is he gone? What's to be clone? Ah! Til sound this horn, with ^vhich the traitor Starow was to inform ]i\.< mastoi' tliat tlie ] -since wns dead. Rodolpli, deceived by the well-known signal, will alarm the palace, and assist me to save him whom ho had devoted to destruction. Kalig goes towards tlielxdvstrade at the hottom, and sounds the horn, then exit up the terrace^ L. U. E. Elvino. Good lieavens ! 'tis some dreadful signal ! perhaps the one that llodolph waits for ; where sliall I bend my steps? — oh, Edmond ! Edmond ! answer me. Goes ofi] R. — lightning. Re-enter Edmond, l., and ci^osscs to the rock^ w. Edmond. Here Elvino, here. This way I lieard his voice Elvino! Elvino! {goes up the rock, R. u. e.— Elvino j-ims on in ten-or, R. 1 E.) Elvino. {looldng off, r.) I heard him call my name, {light- ning) Oh, heavens! by the gleam of the lightning's flash, I thought I saw him upon the rock. (ligJ/tvinf/) Yes, 'tis Ed- mond! unhappy youth! one false step!-- -oh! let me fly to save him ! Music — he 'runs up the rocJc, r. u. e. — thunder and light- ning increase — during the flashes^ Edmond is seen on the summit of the roch, R. u. E. Edmond. Almighty powers ! send some pitying mortal to conduct my steps. From the sharp air which surrounds me, I think 1 stand on the edge of some frightful precipice. I- will advance a few steps more. (Elvino is seen clvahing up the roch — oi the sight of l^D'SiO^iD, tvho is just at the edge of the precipice, he stops a moment and litters a shriek of horror, and exclaims, " Edmond ! Edmond !" — Music) Edmond. Elvino! Che falls into his arms, R. u. E. — Elvino leads Edmond doicn the winding ^ja/A behind a large mass of trees, &c., whicli conceal them from the spectaVjrs) Enter Rodolph, from the terrace, speaking to the Guards, hearing torches, v'ho have Kalig in custody — stage Hght. Rodolph. Soldiers, disperse yourselves throughout the gar- dens ; be watchful ; prevent a dreadful crime. One of the villains I have already secured. Exeunt Four Guards, r. and l. u. e SC. 2.] THE BLIND BOY. 23 Entei* ObehtOj from the terrace, L. u. E. Obkrto. Oh, a curse upon all traitors ! Edmond has dis- appeared : who had the care of him ? Wiio but Rodolph ? liudulph is the murderer. JioDOLPH. {half draics his sword) Ah ! Ohkuto. Yes, viUuin, strike! You tohl me I sliould see my child to-morrow. Then, for once, keep thy hellish promise; strike through this poor broken heart, and let me join my murdered boy. Enter Stanislaus, from the terrace, l. — Officers, Guards, Domestics. Stanis. Say, Rodolph, have they yet found my son? KoDOLPii. My liege, the guards this moment search the park, the gardens, and the borders of the river. Stanis. Who can have planned this act of horror? Rodolph. It is difficult to guess. Elvino and Edmond enter, R. u. e. Oberto. Prince Edmond — Prince Edmond is safe! {rum and embraces him. Stanis. {emhrocbig him) My son ! my son ! Rodolph. [aside] I am betrayed. Stanis. My son, know you the traitors who assailed you? Edmond. I think there were three; one of them scarce spoke. A single word, in a low tone, escaped him, and I thought I recognized — but no, it cannot be — I might have been deceived. Rodolph. {to Edmond) My lord, did not the assassins address each other by their mimes ? Edmond. Yes ; one of them, I think, was called Kalig. Stanis. (l. u. e.) Kalig ! Rodolph. (r., to Stanislaus) Mark that, my liege — the man I have taken. Oberto. {with energy) No, my king, never believe it. Though he should himself confess, I never could believe it. Kalig, speak — what means all this ? Kalig. It means, my sovereign, that Starow was engaged by Rodolph to destroy the Prince. Starow employed me to aid him, but I slew the villain. Rodolph. Starow dead I Stanis. Rodolph! Rodolph. {to Stanislaus) Vain subterfuge ! If Starow is no more, he has lost his life in endeavouring to save the prince. Edmond. I have every reason to think that one of them resolved to defend me. But, for the wicked man who dragged me from the palace, he perhaps, may be discovered. 24 THE BLIND BOY. Stanis. How, my dear son ? Edmond. Why, in dm^pn^ away his liand, which I wished to keep in mine, he left tliis ring. {gives it to the King — pause of astonishment — Music) Stanis. Tis the ring I gave to Rodolph. Guards, seize him. rJonoLPH. I know the punishment that awaits me ; but I prefer death to the torment of seeing my rival mount that throne, so long my destined prize. (Stanislaus motiom the Q^jhJiTy^^ ivho lead offRoDOLVu, l.) Stanis. (to Kalig) Brave man, I Avill reward your zeal. My age requires repose. Yon, I invest with the sovereign po\ver — exercise it as you think riojht. Edmond. (takes Elvino's hand) Oh, my father, then I am blessed indeed ! Elvino will be my friend, and Oberto still my father. Music, Guards. Guards. Obbrto. Elvino. Edmond. Kino. Kalig. {kneeling) CTurtaitt. I ■f^-^^ijsfsmsiiydis.* 14 DAY USE RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED LOAN DEPT. This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the date to which renewed. Renewals only: Tel. No. 642-3405 Renewals may be made 4 days prior to date due. Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 1 41972 3 5 mmo ^*^ 4^ "^^ LD21A-40m-8,'71 (P6572sl0)476-A-32 General Library University of California Berkeley YA 0900 f r lACrS ACTING EDITION OF PLAYS, COMEDIES, DRAMAS, FARCES, AND EXTRAVAGANZAS, AxfiBftift>rBioden» rcpreseutAtioa, in 50 volumes, containlnf 15 pbjrf oacb, •Uffaotty bound for 7s>» or the complett work toT£Xt lOf* UCrS AMATEUR THEATRE, Ia U .TOIum^ kiV-moroeeo, £6 ; comprising S25 Dramti^ per&oUy adftptod for prirate or fAmily performt&Mu THE OLD PLAY-GOER. A colleetioa of esMyi and criticismi upon the Actors and Aetrestes of the last Sixty Yeara, with origiaal anecdotes and comparative dedactions of the talent exhibited on the stage for the last Half Century. By a Constant Observer and (often) a Personal fSiend.— A work deserrinp the perusal of all truo firieads of tbo Drama. Published at Qs- «old at l8> 6d» MISS FOOTE ^'r,us HAYNE. A few copies t the trial of this celebrated ease of Breach of FfMBlae^ at 2s» each. READING, SPEAKING, AND ACTION, Betef Um iBSenee THOMAS KEYWGQD'S PiAYS, WITH MEMOHI. Two volumes, half-moroeoo. Price 18s« REV. J. GENEST'S HISTORY OF THE STAGE, With 'the oHcinal casts of each play, a description of the plot— Wographfcaj sketches of dramatists and performers — a complete history of the London, Dublin, and Bath theatres — a diary of performances, be., altogether formlnic a most copious and authentic record of the British Stage, 10 thick 8ro. Tola., boards, (published at j^ 5s)t reduced to 4c2s% earraige free. HAZUn'S DRAMATIC CRITICISMS On Kemble, Kean, Macready, Mrs. Siddons. Miss. O'Neil, and the other Celo- britios of the day. THE EXHIBITICN REcItERHN 2 PARTS Is. EACH. Containing sereral favouiitc Dramas, arranged only for male characters