VT A2M6 J 802 U.C BERKLLEY LIBRARY UC-NRLF i -^ \^ B 3 b7E fiES THE STEANGEE: ^ flag, in Sm Jlrfs, BY AUGUSTUS FREDERIC FERDDTAND YON KOTZEBUE TO WmCH ARE ADDED A DISCRIPTIOli OP THE COSTTTMES— ENTRANCES AND EXITS— RBLATIVB POSITIONS OP THB PKRPORMERS ON THE STAGE, AND THE WHOLE OP THE STAGE BUSINESS. BOSTON: ^i'uJi^//^0^£r-^^^ THE STRANGER. INTRODUCTION. 1 The Stranger was written by Kotzebue Ia the year 1787, during a period of severe illness. " Never before or snice," he says, " did I feel such a rapid flow of ideas and imagery as during that period ; and I belie\e it to be undeniable that b)' some kinds of illness, particularly those in yhich the irritation of the nerves is increased, the powers of the mind are abun- dantly elevated, as diseased muscles alone produce pearhy There have been several English versions of the Stranger. The present one, which is the most approved, is by Benjamin Thompson, and has had the advantage of the emendations of Sheridan and John Philip Kemble. One of the most distinguished personators of the character of the Stranger was John Palmer, whose tragical death will always be remembered in con- nection with the history of this play. He was enacting the part of the hero on the Liverpool stage, and had exerted himself with great effect until, on uttering, in a tone of indescribable pathos, the words, " There is atwther s^ndi a better world," he seemed overpowered with emotion. He paused for the space of almost ten seconds as if waiting for the prompter to give him the word — then put out his right hand — heaved a convulsive sigh — fell, and never breathed after — dying apparently without a pang. Augustus Von Kotzebue, the author of the "Stranger," was doomed at the age of fifty-eight to meet with a death quite as tragical as any he had imagined for the hero of his dramas. The 23d of March, 18 19, he was assassinated in his own house at Manheim by Karl Ludwig Sand, apolitical fanatic, who denounced his v ictim as a traitor to his country and a stipen- diary of Russia. Two or three minutes before receiving his death-wound, Kotzebue was seated with his family. Some lady visitors entered the room, and after the usual compliments were exchanged, he remarked, while hold- ing his youngest son, scarcely two months old, in his arms, " I was exactly the age of this child when my father died." The next moment Kotzebue was called out to see Sand, and, before many moments more had elapsed, his mortal career was terminated. Of such coincidences we may say with Hamlet, " there is something in ihem more than natural, if philosophy could but find it out." EXITS AND ENTRANCES. R. means Right ; L. Left;"Si. D. Right Door; L. D. Left Door; S. E. Second Entrance ; U. E. Upper Entrance ; M. D. Middle Door, RELATIVE POSITIONS. R. means Right; L. Left; C. Center; R. C. Right of Center; L. C. Left of Center, N. B. — Passages marked with inverted commas, are usually omitted in the representation. ioiaciorvio THE STRANGER. PERSONS REPRESENTED. THE STRANGER, COUNT'S SON (five years old), BARON STEINFORT, STRANGER'S SON (five years old), COUNT WINTERSEN, MRS. HALLER, MR. SOLOMON, COUNTESS WINTERSEN, PETER, CHARLOTTE, FRANCIS, ANNETTE, TOBIAS, CLAUDINE, GEORGE, STRANGER'S DAUGHTER (five years old). SUSAN, SERVANTS, DANCERS, &C. COSTUMES. Stranger. — Dark grey doublet and pantaloons trimmed with black velvet, boots, and slouch hat. Baron Steinfort. — White body and pantaloons, with scarlet hussar cloalj and sleeves, hanging over one shoulder, the whole trimmed with gold' lace ; hessian boots, cap and feathers. Count Wintersen. — A green dress of the same make. Solomon. — Brown coat, scarlet embroidered waistcoat, black velvet breeches, striped stockings, shoes, buckles, full curled powdered wig. Second Dress : Flowered silk suit and white stockings. Francis. — Drab colored doublet and pantaloons, russet boots, and round cap. Peter. — White cotton body, grey fly and trunks, blue stockings, russet I _ shoes, small round white hat, broad shirt collar. Second Dress: Flow- ered silk suit and white stockings. Tobias. — Dark drab or grey body, with trunks of same, blue stockings, cap, and shoes. Count's Son. — Light blue suit, silver buttons and sash, white stockings, shoes, and cap. William (the Stranger's Son). — Buff-colored dress, white stockings, shoes, sash, and cap. George. — Drab or grey jerkin and trunks, blue stockings, and shoes. Mrs. Haller. — Neat white muslin dress, very plainly trimmed, white lace head dress, confined in the center of the forehead and falling over the shoulders. Countess. — Traveling pelisse, hat and tassel. Second Dress: White satin. richly trimmed. Charlotte. — Blue or pink body and white muslin petticoat, trimmed with the same color as the body. THE STRANGER. ACT I. SoENE I. — The skirts of Count WiNTEKSEN's^a/*^. — The park gates in the centre. — On the k. side, a low lodge among the trees. — On thei.., in the background, a Peasants hut. Enter Peter, l. Pet. Pooh ! pooh ! — never tell me. I'm a clever lad, for all father's crying out every minute, " Peter," and ''stupid Peter !" But I say, Peter is not stupid, though father will always be ^o wise. First, I talk too much ; then I talk too little ; and f I talk a bit to myself, he calls me a driveller. Now I like best to talk to iinself; for I never contradict myself, and I don't laugh at myself as other folks do. That laughing is often a plaguey teazing custom. To be sure, when Mrs. Haller laughs one can bear it well enough ; there is a sweetness even in her reproof, that somehow — But lud! I had near forgot what I was sent about. Yes, then they would have laughed at me indeed. {Draws a green purse from his pocket.) I am to carry this money to old Tobias ; and Mrs. Haller said I must be sure not to blab, or say that she had sent it. Well, well, she may be easy for that matter ; not a word shall drop from my lips. Mrs. Haller is charming, but silly, if father is right ; for father says, ''He that sp^ds his money is not wise," but "he who gives it away, is stark mad." [Going up to the Hut. l. u. e. 6 THE STKANGER. [AcT 1. Enter the Stranger from the Lodge, r. u. e., followed hy Francis. At sight of Peter, the Stranger stops, looks sus- jnciously at him. Peter stands opposite to him, with his mouth wide oj^en. At length he takes off his hat, scrajpes a how, and goes into the hut, l. u. e. Stra. Who is that ? Fra. The steward's son. Stra. Of the Castle? Fra. Yes. Stra. {After apaiose.) You were — you were speaking last night Fra, Of the old countryman ? Stra. Ay. Fra. You would not hear me out. Stra. Proceed. Fra. He is poor. Stra. Who told you so. Fra. Himself. Stra. Ay, ay ; he knows how to tell his story, no doubt. J^ra. And to impose, you think. Stra. Eight! Fra. This man does not. Stra. Fool ! F/'a. A feeling fool is better than a cold skeptic. Stra. False ! Fra. Charity begets gratitude. Stra. False ! Fra. And blesses the giver more than the receiver. Stra. True. Fra. Well, sir. This countryman Stra. Has he complained to you? Fra. Yes. Stra. He who is really unhappy, never complains. (Pauses.) Francis, you have had means of education beyond your lot in \:^ ;, and hence you are encouraged to attempt im- posing on me : — but go on. Fra. His only ^on has been taken from him. Stra. Taken from hitn? Scene i.] THE STKANUEK. Fra. By the exigency of the times, for a soldier. Stra. Ay ! Fra. The old man is poor. Stra. 'Tis likely. Fra. Sick aud forsaken. 8tra, I cannot help him. Fra. Yes. 8tra. How? Fra. By money. He may buy his son's release. 8tra. I'll see him myself. Fra. Do so. 8tTa. But if he is an impostor? Fra. He is not. Stra. In that hut? Fra. In that hut. (Stranger goes into the hut, l. u. e.) A good master, though one almost loses the use of speech by livmg with him. A man kind and clear — though I cannot understand him. He rails against the whole world, and yet no beggar leaves his door unsatisfied. I have now lived three years with him, and yet I know not who he is. A hater of so- ciety, no doubt; but not by Providence intended to be so. Misanthropy in his head, not in his heart. Enter Peter and the STRANGER^lc master. leaven reward liim ! ™ Fra. Jnst like him. He sent ;'»- with his b( ok, that no one might be witne s to his bounty. -^1 Toh. He would not even take n- ■ thanks. He was gone be- fore I could speak. v Scene ii.] the stranger. IB Fra. Just his way. Toh. Now I'll go as quick as these old legs will bear me. What a delightful errand ! I go to release my Robert ! How the lad will rejoice ! There is a girl, too, in the village, that will rejoice with him. O. Providence, how good art thou ! \Exit^ L. Scene II. — An Antechamber in Wintersen Castle, Enter Susan, r. meeting George, l. Susan. Why, George ! Harry ! Where have you been loiter- ing? Put down these things. Mrs. Haller has been calling for you this half hour. Geo. Well, here I am, then. What does she want with me ? 8iis(tn. That she will tell you herself. Here she comes. Enter Mrs. Haller, with a letter : Hannah Jhllowing, r. Mrs. IT. Yery well ; if those things are done, let the draw- ing room be made ready immediately. {Exeunt Maids, r.) And, George, run immediately into the park and tell Mr. Solo- mon I wish to speak with him. {Eait George, l.) I cannot understand this. I do not learn whether their coming to this place be but the whim of a moment, or a plan for a longer stay. If the latter, farewell, solitude! Farewell, study! — farewell ! — Yes, I must make room for gaiety, and mere fri- volity. Yet could I willingly submit to all : but should the Countess give me new proofs of her attachment, perhaps of her respect, oh, how will my conscience upbraid me ! Or if this seat be visited by company, and chance should conduct hither any of my former acqiwntance ! Alas ! alas ! how wi*etched is the being who fears tt?, sight of any one fellow-creature ! But, oh, superior misery t > dread still more the presence of a former friend ! (Peti^i knocks^ l.) Who's there % Enter Peter, l. PeL iN^obody. It's only me. 14 THE STRANGER. [AcT I. Mrs. H. So soon returned % Pet. Sharp lad, aint I. On the road I've had a bit of talk too, and Mrs. H. But you have observed my directions % Pet. Oh, yes, yes. I told old Tobias as how he would never know, as long as he lived, that the money came from you. Mrs. H. You found him quite recovered, 1 hope ? Pet. Ay, sure did I. He's coming out to-day, for the first time. Mrs. H. I rejoice to hear it. Pet. He said that he was obliged to you for all ; and before dinner would crawl up to thank you. Mrs. H. Good Peter, do me another service. Pet. Ay, a hundred, if you'll only let me have a good long stare at you. Mrs. II. With all my heart. Observe when old Tobias comes, and send him away. Tell him I am busy, or asleep, or un- well, or what you please. Pet. I will, I will. Sol. ( Without.) There, there, go to the post-office. Mrs. H. Oh ! here comes Mr. Solomon. Pet. What! Father? Ay, so there is. Father's a main clever man ; he knows what's going on all over the world. Mrs. H. No wonder; for you know he receives as many letters as a prime minister and all his secretaries. Enter Solomon, l. — Peter crosses hehiiid^ l. 8ol. Good morning, good morning to you, Mrs. Haller. It gives me infinite pleasure to see you look so charmingly well. You have had the goodness to send for your humble servant. Any news from the great city ? There are very weighty matters in agitation. I have had my letters, too. Mrs. II. {Siniling.) I think, Mr. Solomon, you must cor- respond with the four quarters of the globe. Sol. Beg pardon, not with the whole world, Mrs. Haller ; but, {consequentially,) to be sure, I have correspondents, on whom I can rely, in the chief cities of Europe, Asia, Africa, and America. Scene n.] the stkangek. 15 Mrs. H. And yet I have my doubts whether you know what is to happen this very day, at this very place. Sol. At this very place ! Nothing material. We meant to have sown a little barley to-day, but the ground is too dry; and the sheep-shearing is not to be till to-morrow. I^et. No, nor the bull-baiting till Sol. Hold your tongue, blockhead! Get about your busi- ness. Pet. Blockhead ! There again ! I suppose I'm not to open my mouth. [To Mrs. H.) Good bye. [Exii^ r. Mrs. R. The Count will be here to-day. Sol. How! What! I Mrs. H. With his lady, and his brother-in-law. Baron Stein- fort. Sol. My letters say nothing of this. You are laughing at your humble servant. Mrs. H. You know, sir, I'm not much given to jesting. Sol. Peter ! {Crosses, k.) Good lack-a-day ! His Right Honorable Excellency the Count VV^intersen, and her Honorable Excellency the Countess Wintersen, and his Honorable Lord- ship Baron Steinf ort, — and. Lord have mercy ! nothing in proper order ! Here, Peter ! Peter ! Enter Petek, e. Pet. Well, now, what's the matter again ? Sol. Call all the house together, directly ! Send to the game- keeper ; tell him to bring some venison. Tell Rebecca to uncase the furniture, and take the covering from the Venetian looking- glasses, that her Right Honorable Ladyship the Countess may look at her gracious countenance ; and tell the cook to let me see him without loss of time ; and tell John to catch a brace or two of cai-p. And tell — and tell — and tell — tell Frederick to friz my Sunday wig. Mercy on us — tell — there — go! {Exit, Petek, r.) Heavens and earth ! So little of the new furnishing this old castle is completed ! Where are we to put his Honor- able Lordship the Baron? Mrs. H. Let him have the little chamber at the head of the stairs ; it is a neat room, and commands a beautiful prospect 16 THE STRANGER [AcT I. Sol. Yery right, very right. {Crosses, l.) But that room has always been occupied by the Count's private secretary. Suppose — Hold, I have it ! You know the little lodge at the end of the park ; we can thrust the secretary in that. Mrs. H. You forget, Mr. Solomon ; you told me that the Stranger lived there. 8ol: Pshaw ! What have we to do with the Stranger ^ Who told him to live there % He must turn out. Mrs. H. That would be unjust ; for you said that you let the dwelling to him, and by your own account he pays well for it. 8ol. He does, he does. But nobody knows who he is. The devil himself can't make him out. To be sure, I lately received a letter from Spain, which informed me that a spy had taken up his abode in this country, and from the desc^ription Mrs. H. A spy ! Ridiculous ! Everything I have heard bespeaks him to be a man who may be allowed to dwell any where. His life is solitude and silence. Sol. So it is. Mrs. H. You tell me, too, he does much good. Sol. That he does. Mrs. H. He hurts nothing; not the worm in his way. Sol. That he does not. Mrs. H. He troubles no one ? Sol. True, true. Mrs. H. Well, ^hat do you want more ? Sol. I want to know who he is. H the man would only converse a little, one might have an opportunity of jpumjping ; but if one meets him in the lime walk, or by the river, it is nothing but " Good morrow ; " and off he marches. Once or twice I have contrived to edge in a word : " Fine day." — " Yes." " Taking a little exercise, 1 perceive." " Yes " — and off again like a shot. The devil take such close fellows, say I. And, like master like man ; not a syllable do I know of that mumps, his servant, except that his name is Francis. Mrs. H. You are putting yourself into a passion, and quite forget who are expected. Sol, So I do — mercy on us ! There now, you see what mis- fortunes arise from n(^t knowing people. Scene i.] the stranger. 17 Mrs. H. 'Tis near twelve o'clock ! If his lordship has stolen an hour from his usual sleep, the family must soon be here. I. go to my duty ; you will attend to yours, Mr. Solomon. \Ex,it^ K. Sol. Yes, I'll look after my duty, never fear. There goes another of the sannfe class. Nobody knows who she is, again. However, thus much 1 do know of her, that her Right Honor- able Ladyship the Countess, all at once, popped her into the house, like a blot of ink upon a sheet of paper; but why, wherefore, or for what reason, not a soul can tell. ^' She is to manage the family within doors." She to manage ! Fire and faggots ! Havn't I managed everything, within and without, most reputably, these twenty years? I must own I grow a little old, and she does take a deal of pains; but all this she learned of me. When she first came here — mercy on us, she didn't know that linen was made of flax ! But what was to be expected from one who has no foreign correspondence ? [Exit., L. END OF ACT I. ACT II. Scene I. — A Drawing Room in the Castle, with Sofa and Chairs. Enter Solomon, l. — Rural music hea7'd l., without. Pet. ( Without, L.) Stop ; not yet, not yet ; but make way there, make way, my good friends, tenants, and villagei-s. John, George, Frederick ! Good friends, make way. Sol. It is not the Count ; its only Baron Steinfort. Stand back, I say ; and stop the music ! Enter Baron Steinfort, l. ushered in hy Peter, who mimics and ajpes his father, I have the honour to introduce to your lordship myself, Mr. 18 THE STRANGER. [AcT H. Solomon, who blesses the hour in which fortune allows him to become acquainted with the Honorable Baron Steinfort, (Baron passes Solomon and throws himself on the sofa^ brother-in- law of his Right Honourable Excellency Count Wintersen, my noble master. Pet. Bless our noble master! \_Pet^r is on r. of sofa. Bar. {Aside.) Old and young, I see they'll allow me no peace. {To Sol.) Enough, enough, good Mr. Solomon, I am a soldier. I pay but few compliments, and require as few from others. Sol. I beg pardon my lord. We do live in the country, to be sure, but we are acquainted with the reverence due to exalted personages, \_8itting heside the Baron, l. Pet. Yes, we are acquainted with exalted personages. Bar. What is to become of me ? Well, well, I hope we shall become better acquainted. You must know, Mr. Solomon, I intend to assist, for a couple of months at least, in alftacking the well-stocked cellars of Wintersen. Sol. Why not whole years, my lord ? Inexpressible would be the satisfaction of your humble servant. And, though I say it, well-stocked indeed are our cellars. I have, in every respect, here, managed matters in so frugal and provident a way, that his Eight Honorable Excellency the Count will be astonished. (Baron yawns. ) Extremely sorry it is not in my power to enter- tain your lordship. Pet. Extremely sorry. Sol. Where can Mrs. Haller have hid herself ? Bar. Mrs. Haller ! Who is she ? Sol. Why, who she is I can't exactly tell your lordship. Pet. No, nor I. Sol. None of my correspondents give any account of her. She is here in the capacity of a kind of a superior housekeeper. Methinks I hear her silver voice upon the stairs. (Crosses r., Peter crosses behind to l.) I will have the honor of sending her to your lordship in an instant. Bar. Oh, don't trouble yourself. Sol. No trouble whatever. I remain, at all times, your honorable lordship's most obedient, humble, and devoted servant. [Exit, bowing, r. Scene l] the sthan(.ek. 19 Pet. Devoted servant. {^Exit, lowing, l. Bar. Now for a fresh plague. Now am I to be tormented by some chattering old ugly hag, till I am stunned by her noise and officious hospitality. O, patience, what a virtue art thou ! Enter Mrs. Haller, r., with a courtseij ; Baron rises, and re- turns a how in confusion. .Aside.) No, old she is not. {Casts another glance at her.) Xo, •y Jove, nor ugly. 3frs. IT. I rejoice, my lord, in thus becoming acquainted with the brother of my benefactress. Bar. Madam, that title shall be doubly valuable to me since it gives me an introduction equally to be rejoiced at. Mrs. II. ( Without attending to the coinjjliinent.) This lovely wearher, then has enticed the Count from tlie city. Bar. Not exactly that. You know him. Sunshine or clouds are to him alike, as long as eternal Summer reigns in his own heart and family. Mrs H. The Count possesses a most cheerful and amiable philosophy. Ever in the same happy humor ; ever enjoying each minute of his life. But you must confess, my lord, that he is a favourite child of fortune, and has much to be ajrateful to her for. Not m^*ly because she has given him birth and riches, but for a native sweetness of temper, never to be acquired ; and a graceful suavity of manners, whose school must be the mind. And need 1 enumerate among fortune's favoi-s, the hand and affections of your accomplished sister ? Bar. {More and more struclc.) True, madam. My good, easy brother, too, seems sensible of his happiness, and is re- >olved to retain it. He has quitted the service, to live here. I am yet afraid he may soon grow weary of Wintersen and re- tirement. Mrs. H. I should trust not. They who bear a cheerful and unreproaching conscience into solitude, surely must increase the measure of their own enjoyments. They quit the poor, pre- carious, the dependent pleasures which they borrowed from the world, to draw a real bliss from tluit exhanstless source <»f true delight, the fountain of a pure unsullied heart. Bar. Has retirement long possessed so lovely an advocate ? 20 ' THE STRANGER. [AcT II. Mrs. H. I have lived here three years. Bar. And never felt a secret wish for the society you left, and must have adorned % Mrs. H. Never. Bar. To feel thus, belongs either to a very rough or a very polished soul. The first sight convinced me in wliich class I am to place you. Mrs. H. ( With a sigh.) There may, perhaps, be a third class. Bar. Indeed, madam, I wish not to be thought forward ; but women always seemed to me less calculated for retirement than men. We have a thousand employments, a thousand amusements, which you have not. Mrs. H. Dare I ask what they are % Bar. We ride, we hunt, we play, read, write. Mrs. II. The noble enjoyments of the chase, and the still more noble enjoyments of play, I grant you. Bar. Nay, but dare I ask, what are your employments for a day ? Mrs. H. Oh, my lord, you cannot imagine how quickly time passes, when a certain uniformity guides the minutes of our life. How often do 1 ask, " Is Saturday come again so soon % " On a bright cheerful morning, my books and break- fast are carried out upon the grass-plot. Then is tlie sweet picture of reviving industry, and eager innocence, always new to me. The bird's notes so often heard, still waken new ideas : the herds are led into the fields : the peasant bends his eye upon his plough. Every thing lives and moves; and in every creature's mind, it seems as it were morning. Towards evening, I begin to roam abroad : f i-om the park into the meadows. And sometimes, returning, I pause to look at the village boys and girls as they play. Then do I bless their innocence, and pray to Heaven those laughing thoughtless houi*s could be their lot forever. Bar. This is excellent ! But these are Summer amusements. The Winter ! The Winter ! Mrs. H. Why for ever picture Winter like old age, torpid, tedious, and uncheerful? Winter has its own delights : this is Scene i.] the strangek. 21 the time to instruct and mend the mind by reading and re- flection. At this season, too, I often take my harp and amuse myself by playing or singing the little favorite airs that remind me of the pa»t, or solicit hope for the future. Bar. Happy indeed are they, who can thus create and vary their own pleasures and employments. Enter Peter, l. (Mrs. Haller crosses to Peter.) Pet, Well — well — Pray now — I was ordered — I can keep him out no longer — 'Tis old Tobias : he will come in. Enter Tobias, i..^ forcing his way. Exit Peter, l. Toh. I must, good Heaven, I must. Mrs. H, {Confused.) I have no time at present — I — I — You see I am not alone. Toh. Oh ! this good gentleman will forgive me. Bar. What do you want ? Toh. To return thanks. Even charity is a burden if one may not be grateful for it. Mrs. H. To-morrow, good Tobias ; to-morrow. Bar. Nay, no false delicacy, madam. Allow him to vent the feelings of his heart; and permit me to witness a scene which convinces me, even more powerfully than your conver- sation, how nobly you employ your time. Speak, old man. Toh. Oh, lady, that each word which drops from my lips might call down a blessing on your head ! I lay forsaken and dying in my hut : not even bread or hope remained. Oh ! then you came in the form of an angel ; brought medicines to me ; and your sweet consoling voice did more than those. I am re- covered. To-day, for the first time, I have returned thanks in the presence of the sun : and now I come to you, noble lady. Let me drop my tears upon your charitable hand. For your sake, Heaven has blessed my latter days. The Stranger, too, who lives near me, has given me a purse of gold to buy my son's release. I am on my way to the city : I shall purchase my Robert's release. Then I shall have an honest daughter-in- la^**'- \nd you, if ever after that you pass our cottage, oh! v«'iiat must y(,n feel when you say to yourself, " This is my \' Drk ! '' 22 THE STKANGEK. [AcT II. Mrs. II. {In a tone of entreaty.) Enough, Tobias ; enough ! Toh. I beg pardon. I cannot utter what is breathing in my breast. There is One who knows it. Ma}^ His blessing and jour own heart reward you. • [Ea^t, l. Mrs. II. {Endeavoring to bring about a conversation^ I suppose, my lord, we may expect the Count and Countess every ; moment now? Bar. Not just yet, madam. He travels at his leisure. I am seltish, perhaps, in not being anxious for his speed : the delay has procured me a delight which I never shall forget. Mrs. II. {Smiling.) You satirise mankind, my lord. Bar. How so ? Mrs. H. In supposing such scenes to be uncommon. Bm\ I confess I was little prepared for such an acquaint- ance as yourself. I am extremely surprised. When Solomon told me your name and situation, how could I suppose that Pardon my curiosity ; you have been, or are married ? Mrs. H. {Suddenly sinking from her cheerful raillery into mournful gloom.) I have been married, my lord. Bar. { Whose enquiries evince curiosity ., yet are restrained within the hounds of the nicest res^pect.) A widow, then ? Mrs. H. I beseech you — there are strings in the human heart, which, touched, will sometimes utter dreadful discord — I beseech you Bar. I understand you. I see you know how to conceal every thing except your perfections. Mrs. H. My perfections, alas ! {Rural music without^ l.) But 1 hear the happy tenantry announce the Count's arrival. Your pardon, my lord ; I must attend them. \^Eodt^ l. Bar. Excellent creature ! What is she, and what can be her history ? I must seek my sister instantly. How strong and how sudden is the interest I feel for her! But it is a feeling I ought to check. And yet, why so ? Whatever are the emotions she has inspired, I am sure they arise from the perfections of the mind ; and never shall be met by unworthiness in mine. {Exit, - Scene ii.] the stranger. 23 Scene II. — The Lawn. {Rural Music^ l.) Enter Solomon and Peter, l., ushering in the Count, Child, Countess Wintersen hading the Child j' Mrs. Hauler, ^^^ Baron, and ^^^yk^t^ following. Sol. Welcome, ten thousand welcomes, your Excellencies ! Count. Well, here we are. Heaven bless our advance and retreat! Mre. Haller, I bring you an invalid, who in future will swear to no flag but yours. Mrs. H. Mine flies for retreat and rural happiness. Count. But not without retreating Graces, and retiring Cupids, too. Countess. ( Who has in the nieantim.e kindly emhraced Mrs. Haller, and hy her heen welcomed to Wintersen. ] My dear Count, you forget that I am present. Count. Why, in the name of chivalry, how can I do less than your gallant brother, the Baron, who has been so kind as nearly to kill my four greys, in order to be here five minutes before me ? Bar. If I had known all the charms of this place, you should have said so with justice. Countess. Don't you think William much grown % [Puts William over to Mrs. Haller. Mrs. H. The sweet boy ! {Stoops to kiss him^ and deep melancholy overshadows her countenance. Retires with the Child a little^ \..) Count. Well, Solomon, you've provided a good dinner ? Sol. As g(^od as haste would allow, please your Right Hon-. oral)le Excellency. Pet. Yes, as good as [Count retires a little r., with Solomon and Peter. Bar. Tell me, I conjure you, sister, what jewel you have thus buried in the country? Qountess Ha ! ha ! What, brother, you caught at last % a' ' /?•. Answer me. .fens. Well, her name is Mrs. ll;dler. 24 THE STRANGER. [AcT II. Bar. That I know ; but Countess. But ! Biit I know no more myself. Bar. Jesting apart, I wish to know. Countess. And, jesting apart, I wish you would not plague me. I have at least a hundred thousand important things to do. Heavens ! the vicar may come to pay his respects to me before I have been at my toilet ; of course, I must consult my looking- glass on the occasion. Come, William, {crossing, r.) will you help to dress me, or stay with your father ? Count. We'll take care of him. [Goes to the Child, c. Countess. Come, Mrs. Haller. [Mrs. Haller crosses to the CouNTEbS. [Exit with Mrs. Haller, Susan and Hannah following, r. Bar, {Aside, and going.) I am in a very singular humor. [Crosses, k. Count. Whither so fast, good brother ? Bar. To my apartment : I have letters to — I , Count. Pshaw ! Stay. Let us take a turn in the park to- gether. Bar. Excuse me. I am not perfectly well. I should be but bad company. I [Exit, r. Count. (Solomon and Peter advance, howing, r.) Well, Solomon, you are as great a fool as ever, 1 see. Sol. Ha ! ha ! At your Eight Honorable Excellency's ser- vice. Count. {Points to Peter.) Who is that ape at your elbow \ Sol. Ape ! Oh ! That is — with respect to your Excellency be it spoken — the son of my body ; by name, Peter. [Peter hows. Count. So, so ? Well, how goes all on ? Sol. Well and good ; well and good. Yonr Kxcellency will see how I've improved the park. You'll not know it again. A hermitage here ; serpentine walks there ; an obelisk ; a ruin ; and all so sparingly, all done with the most economical econo- my. . Count. Well, I'll have a peep at your obelisk and ruins while they prepare for dinner. Scene hi.] the stranger. 25 Sol. I have already ordered it and will have the honor of attending your Eight Hororable Excellency. Count. Come, lead the way. (Solomon crosses, l.) Peter, attend your young master to the house ; ( Gives the Child over to Peter, r.) we must not tire him. [J^xeunt, l. u. s. con- ducted hy Solomon ; Geokge and ^absly follow. Pet. "We'll go round this way, your little Excellency, and then we shall see the bridge as we go by ; and the new boat, with all the fine ribands and streamers. This way, your little Excellency. [Exit, leading the Child, k. u. e. Scene III. — The Antechamber. Enter Mrs. Haller, r. Mrs. H. What has thus alarmed and subdued me? My tears flow ; my heart bleeds. Already had I apparently over- come my chagrin : already had I at last assumed that easy gaiety once so natural to me, when the sight of this child in an instant overpowered me. When the Countess called him Wil- liam — Oh ! she knew not that she plunged a poignard in my heart. 1 have a William, too, who must be as tall as this, if he be still alive. Ah ! yes, if he be still alive. His little sister, too! Why, fancy, dost thou rack me thus? Why dost thou image my poor children, fainting in sickness, and crying to their mother? To the mother who has abandoned them? {Weeps.) What a wretched outcast am L And that just to- day I should be doomed to feel these horrible emotions ? Just to-day, when disguise was so necessary. Enter Charlotte, r. Char. {Entering.) Very pretty, very pretty indeed ! Better send me to the garret at once. Your servant, Mrs. Haller. I beg, madam, I may have a room fit for a respectable person. Mrs. H. The chamber into which you have been shown is, I think, a very neat one. Char. A very neat one, is it? Up the back stairs, and over the laundry ! I should never be able to close my eyes. Mrs, H. { Very mildly.) I slept there a whole year. 26 THE STltANGEK. [AcT II. Chour. Did you ? Then I advise yon to remove into it again, and the sooner the better. . I'd have you to know, madam, there is a material difference between certain persons and certain per- sons. Mucli depends upon the manner in which one has been educated. I think, madam, it would only be proper if you re- signed your room to me. Mrs. H. If the Countess desires it, certainly. Char. The Countess ! Very pretty, indeed ! Would you have me think of plaguing her ladyship witli such trifles ? I shall order my trunk to be carried wherever 1 please. Mrs. H. Certainly ; only not into my cliamber. Char, Provoking creature ! But how could I expect to find breeding among creatures born of one knows not whom, and coming one knows not whence ? Mrs. H, The remark is very just. Enter Peter, in haste, l. Pet. Oh lud ! Oh lud ! Oh lud ! Oh lud ! • Mrs. H. What's the matter % Pet. The young Count has fallen into the river 1 His little Excellency is drowned ! Mrs.H. Who? What? Pet. Ills honor, my young master ! Mrs. H. Drowned? Pet. Yes. Mrs.H. Dead? Pet. No ; he's not dead. Mrs. H. Well, well, then softly ; you will alarm the coun- tess. Pet. Oh lud ! Oh lud ! Enter the Baron, r. Bar. What is the matter ? Why all this noise % Pet. Noise '{ Why Mrs, n. Be not alanned, my lord. Wliatever may have happened, the dear child is now at least safe. You said so, I think, master Peter? Pet. Why, to be sure, his little Excellency is not hurt ; but Scene hi.] the stijanger. 27 he's very wet, though, and the Count is taking him by the gar- den door to the house. Bar. Right, that the Countess may not be alarmed. But how could it happen ? Pray tell us, young man. Pet. What, from beginning to end? \^Crossing to Baron. Mrs. H. Never mind particulars. You attended the dear child % Pet. True Mrs. E. Into the park % Pet. True. Mrs. H. And then you went to the river ? Pet. True. Why, rabbit it, I believe you're a witch. Mrs. H. Well, and what happened further ? Pet. Why, you see, his dear little Excellency would see the bridge that father built out of the old summer house ; and the streamers, and the boat, and all that. I only turned my head round for a moment, to look after a magpie. Crush ! Down went the bridge with his little Excellency ; and oh, how I w^as scared to see him carried down the river ! Bar. And you drew him out again directly ? Pet. No, Idid'nt. Mrs. H. No ; your father did ? Pet. No, he did'nt. Mrs. H. Why, you did not leave him in the water ? Pet. Yes, we did ! But we bawled as loud as we could. You might have heard us down to the village. Mrs. H. Ay ; and so the people came immediatly to his as- sistance ? Pet No they did'nt ; but the Stranger came, that lives yon- der, clooe to old Toby, and never speaks a syllable. Odsbodkins ! What a devil of a fellow it is ! With a single spring bounce he slaps into the torrent; sails and dives about and about like a duck ; gets me hold of the little angel's hair, and. Heaven bless him, pulls him safe and sound to dry land again. Ha ! ha I ha ! Bar. Is the Stranger with them ? Pet. Oh, lud, no. He ran aw^ay. His Excellency wanted to thank him, and all that ; but he was off ; vanished — like a ghost. [ Crosses to r. 28 THE STKANGEE. [AcT II. Enter Solomon, l. Sol. Oh ! thou careless varlet ! I disown you ! What an accident might have happened ! And how you have terrified his Excellency! {Crosses to Mrs. Haller.) But I beg pardon. {Bows.) His Eight Honorable Excellency, the Count, requests your Bar. "We come. [ Crosses, and exit with Mrs. Haller, l. Char. {Advances, r.) Ha! ha! ha! Why, Mr. Solomon, you seem to have a hopeful pupil. Sol. Ha ! sirrah ! Char. But, Mr. Solomon, why were you not nimble enongli to have saved his young lordship ? Sol. Not in time, my sweet Miss. Besides, mercy on us, I should have sunk like a lump of lead ; and I happened to have a letter of consequence in my pocket, which would have been made totally illegible, a letter from Constantinople, written by Chevalier What's his niime? {Draws a letter from his pochet, and putting it up again directly, drops it. Peter takes it up slily and unohserved.) It contains momentous matter, I assure you. The world will be astonished when it comes to light ; and not a soul will suppose that old Solomon had a finger in the pie. ChUr. No, that I believe. Sol. But I must go and see to the cellar. Miss, your most obedient servant. Oh, sirrah, oh ! [^Exit, l. Char. {With pride.) Your servant, Mr. Solomon. Pet. Here's the letter from Constantinople. I wonder what it can be about. Now for it ! [ Opens; it. Char. Aye, let's have it. Pet. (Reads.) " If so he you say so, Pll never work for you, never no more. Considering as how your Sunday waistcoat has heen turned three times, it doesnH look amiss, and I've charged as little as any tailor of^em all. You s'ay I must p)ay for the huckram ; hut 1 say, Fll he damned if I do. So na more from your loving nephew, Timothy Twist." From Constantinople ! Why, Cousin Tim writ it. Char. Cousin Tim ! Who is he ? Scene i.] the stranger. 29 Pet. Good lack ! Don't you know cousin Tim ? Why he's one of the best tailors in all Clim\ A tailor ! No, sir, I don't know him. ( Crosses l.) My father was a state coachman, and wore his Highness's livery. \Exit^ L. Pet. {Mimicking.) " My father was a state coachman, and wore his Highness's livery." Well, and cousin Tim could have made his Highness's livery, if you go to that. State coachman, indeed ! END OF ACT H. ACT III. Scene I. — The Skirts of the Park and Lodge, c&c, «5 hefore. The Stranger is discovered on a seat, reading. Enter Francis, from the Lodge. Fra. Sir, sir, dinner is ready. \_Comes forward, l. Stra. I want no dinner. Fra. I've got something good. Stra. Eat it yourself. Fra. You are not hungry ? Stra. No. [Pises. Fra. Nor I. The heat does take away all appetite. St7'a. Yes. Fra. I'll put it by ; perhaps at night Stra. Perhaps. Fra. Dear sir, dare I speak ? Stra. Speak. Fra. You have done a noble action. Stra. What ? Fra. You have saved a fellow creature's life. Stra. Peace. Fra. Do you know who he was 1 Stra. No. ■ 30 THE STKANGEK. [AcT III» Fra. The only son of Count Wintersen. Stra. Immaterial. Fra. A gentleman, by report worthy and benevolent as your- self. Stra. {Angry.) Silence ! Dare you flatter me ? Fra. As I look to Heaven for mercy, I speak from my heart. When I observe how you are doing good around you, how you are making every individual's wants your own, and are yet your- self unhappy, alas ! my heart bleeds for you, Stra. I thank you, Francis. {Crosses l.) lean only tliank you. Yet share this consolation with me ; — my sufferings are unmerited. [ Crosses^ r. Fra. My poor master ! Stra. Have you forgotten what the old man said this morn- ing ? '' There is another and a better world !" Oh, 'tis true. Then let us hope with fervency, and yet endure with patience. {QnARi^oTT^ sings. without.) What's here? Enter Charlotte, [singing ,'] from the Park Gate^ l. u. e. Char. I presume, sir, you are the strange gentleman that drew my young master out of the water ? {The Stranger reads.) Or, {To Francis) are you he? (Francis makes a wry face.) Are the creatures both dumb? {Looks at thevi hy turns.) Surely, old Solomon has fixeJ two statues here, by way of orna- ment ; for of any use there is no sign. {AjjproacJies Francis.) No, this is alive, and breathes ; yes, and moves its eyes. {Baivls in his ear.) Good friend ! Fra. I'm not deaf. Char. No, nor dumb, I perceive at last. Is yon lifeless thing your master ? Fra, That honest, silent gentleman, is my master. Char. The same that drew the young Count out of the water ? Fra. The same. Char. (To the Stranger.) Sir, my master and mistress, the Count and Countess, present their respectful complinunis, and reipiiest the honor of your company at a family supper this even- Scene i. ] the stranger. 31 Stra. I shall not come. Char. But you'll scarce send such an uncivil answer as this. The Count is overpowered with gratitude. You saved his son's life. Stra. I did it willingly. Char And won't accept of " I thank you," in return ? Stra. No. Char. You really are cruel, sir, I must tell you. There are three of us ladies at the Castle, and we are all dying with curi- osity to know who you are. {Exit Stranger, r.) The master is crabbed enough, how^ever. Let me try what I can make of the man. Pray, sir — (Francis crosses, r.) The beginning promises little enough. Friend, why won't you look at me. Pra. I like to look at green trees better than green eyes. Char. Green eyes, you monster! Who told you that my eyes were green? Let me tell you, there have been sonnets made on my eyes before now. Green eyes ! Fi'a. Glad to hear it. Char. To the point, then, at once. What is your master ? jpm. A man. Char. I surmised as much. But what's his name \ Fra. The same as his father's. Char. Not unlikely ; and his father was Fra. Married. Char. To whom ? Fra. To a w^oman. Char. {Enraged^ I'll tell you what ; who your master is, I see I shall not learn, and I don't care; but I know what you are. Fra. Well, what am I % Char. A bear ! \Exit at gate. Fra. Thank you ! Now to see how habit and example cor- rupt one's manners. I am naturally the civilest spoken fellow in the world to the pretty prattling rogues ; yet, following my master's humor, I've rudely driven this wench away. I must have a peep at her, though. {Looking towards the Pa/rh Gate* Enter Stranger, e. Stra. Is that woman gone ? 32 THE STRANGER. [ACT III. Fra. Yes. Stra. Francis. Fra Sir. Stra. We must be gone, too. Fra. But whither % Stra. I don't care. Fra. I'll attend you. Stra. To any place ? Fra. To deatli. Stroy. Heaven grant it — to me, at least ! There is peace. Fra. Peace is every where. Let the storm rage without if the heart be but at rest. Yet I think we are very well where we are : the situation is inviting ; and nature lavish of her beauties, and of her bounties too. Stra. But I am not a wild beast to be stared at, and sent for as a show. Is it fit I should be ? Fra. Another of your interpretations ! That a man, the life of whose only son you have saved, should invite you to his house, seems to me not very unnatural. Stra. I will not be invited to any house. Fra. For once, methinks, you might submit. {Half aside.) You'll not be asked a second time. Stra. Proud wretches! They believe the most essential service is requited, if one may but have the honor of sitting at their table. Let us begone. [^Crosses^ j.. Fra. Yet hold, sir ! This bustle will soon be over. Used to the town, the Count and his party will soon be tired of simple nature, and you will again be freed from observation. Stra. Not from your's. Fra This is too much. Do I deserve your doubts ? Stra. Am I in the wrong? Fra. You are, indeed ! Stra. Francis, my servant, you are my only friend. Fra. That title makes amends for all. Stra. But, look ! look, Francis ! There are uniforms and gay dresses in the walk again. No, I must be gone. Here I'll stay no longer. [ Crosses^ r. Fra. Well, then, I'll tie up my bundle. Scene i.] the stranger. 33 Stra. The sooner the better ! They cotae this way. Now must I shut myself in my hovel, and lose this tine breeze. Nay, if they be 3'our high-bred class of all, they may have im- pudence enough to walk into my chamber. Francis, 1 shall lock the door. [ Goes into the Lodge, locks the door, and is fastening the shutters. Fra. And I'll be your sentinel. Stra. Very well. {Closes the shutters, Fra. Now, should these people be as inquisitive as their maid, I must summon my whole stock of impertinence. But their questions and my answers need little study. They can learn nothing of the Stranger from me, for the best of all pos- sible reasons — I know nothing of him myself. Enter Baron a/i^ Countess, //•c>77i Gates. Countess. {Comes down c.) There is a strange face. The servant, probably. Bar. (l.) Friend, can we sueak to your master ? F7^a. (r.) No. Bar. Only for a few minutes. Fra. He has locked himself in his room. Countess. Tell him a lady waits for him. Fra. Then he's sure not to come. Countess. Does he hate our sex ? Fra. He hates the whole human race, but women parti- cularly. Countess. And why ? Fra. He may have been deceived. Countess. This is not very courteous. Fra. My master is not over courteous ; but when he sees a chance of saving a fellow creature's life, he'll attempt it at the hazard of his own. Bar. You are right. Now hear the reason of our visit. The wife and brother-in-law of the man whose child your mas- ter has saved, wish to acknowledge their obligations to him. Fra. That he dislikes. He only wishes to live unnoticed. Countess. He appears to be unfortunate. 34 THE STKANGER. [AcT III. Fra. Appears ! Countess. An affair of honor, perhaps, or some unhappy at- tachment may have Fra. It may. Countess. Be this as it may, I wish to know who he is. Fra. So do I. Countess. What ! Don't you know him yourself ? Fra. Oh ! I know him well enough. J mean his real self — his heart, his soul, his worth, his honor! Perhaps you think one knows a man when one is acquainted with his name and person. Countess. 'Tis well said, friend ; you please me muci. And now I should like to know you. Who are you % Fra. Your humble servant. {^Exit^ k. Countess. This is affectation. A desire to appear singular. Every one wishes to make himself distinguished. One sails roimd the world ; another creeps into a hovel. Bar. And the man apes his master. Countess. Come, brother, let us seek the Count. He and Mrs. Haller turned into the lawn [Going. Bar. Stay. First, a word or two, sister. 1 am in love. Coimtess. For the hiindreth time. Bar. For the first time in my life. Countess. I wish you joy. Bar. Till now, you have evaded my inquiries. Who is she? I beseech you, sister, be serious. There is a time for all things.^ Countess. Well, if I am to be serious, I obe3\ I do not know who Mrs. Haller is, as I have already told you ; but what I do know of her shall not be concealed from you. It may now be three years ago, when, one evening, about twilight, a lady was announced, who wished to speak with me in private. Mrs. Haller appeared with all that grace and modesty which have enchanted you. Her features, at that moment, bore keener marks of the sorrow and confusion which have since settled into gentle melancholy. She threw herself at my feet, and besought me to save a wretch who was on the brink of despair. She told me she had heard much of my benevolence, and offered herself as a servant to attend me. I endeavoured to dive into the cause Scene i.] the strangek. 35 of her sufferings, but in vain. She concealed her secret ; yet opening to me more and more each day a heart, chosen by virtue as her temple, and an understanding improved by the most re- fined attainments. She no longer remained my servant but be- came my friend, and, by her own desire, has ever since resided here. {Curtseying.) Brother, I have done. Bar, Too little to satisfy my curiosity, yet enough to make me realize my project. Sister lend me your aid ; I would marry her. Countess. You ! Bar. I. Countess. Baron Steinfort ! Bar. For shame! If I understand you. Countess. Not so harsh, and not so hasty. Those great senti- ments of contempt of inequality in rank are very fine in a romance ; but we happen not to be inhabitants of an ideal world. How could you introduce her to the circle we live in ? You surely would not attempt to present her to Bar. Object as you will, my answer is — Hove. Sister you see a man before you who Countess. Who wants a wife. Bar. No; who has deliberately poised advantage against disadvantage — domestic ease and comfort against the false gaieties of fashion. I can withdraw into the country. I need no honors to make my tenants happy, and my heart will teach me to make their happiness my own. With such a wife as this, children who resemble her, and fortune enough to spread com- fort around me, what would the soul of man have more ? Countess. This is all vastly fine. I admire your plan, only you seem to have forgotten one trifling circumstance. Bar. And that is Countess. Whether Mrs. Haller will have you or not. Bar. There, sister, I just want your assistance. Good Hen- rietta. Coimtess, Well, here's my hand. I'll do all I can for you. St! We had near been overheard. They are coming. Be patient and obedient. 36 THE STRANGER. [AcT 111. Enter at the Gates, Count, and Mrs. Hallek leaning on /lis arm, l. They advance, c. Count. Upon my word, Mi-s. Haller, you are a nimble walker ; I should be sorry to run a race with you. Mrs. H. Custom, my lord. You need only take the same walk every day for a month. Count. Yes; if I wanted to resemble my greyhounds. Well, what says the Stranger ? Countess. He gave Charlotte a flat refusal ; and you see his door, and even his shutters are closed against us. Count. What an unaccountable being. But it won't do. I m ust show my gratitude one way or other. ( Crosses to Steinfort. ) Stein fort, we will take the ladies home, and then you shal) try once again to see him. You can talk to these oddities better than I can. JBar. If you wish it, with all my heart. Count. Thank you, thank you. Come, ladies ; come Mi*s. Haller. [Exeunt Countess and Mrs. H., Count <3^??^ Baron, thro'' Gates. Scene II. — A Chamber in the Castle. Enter Countess and Mrs. Haller, r. Countess. Well, Mrs. Haller, how do you like the man that just now left us ? Mrs II. Who do you mean, madam ? Countess. My brother. Mrs. II. He deserves to be your brother. Countess. {Curtesying.) Your most obedient ! That shall be written in my pocket book. Mrs. II. Without flattery, then, madam, he appears to be most amiable. Countess. Good ! And a handsome man 'i Mrs. II ( With indifference.) Oh, yes. Countess. "Oh, yes!" It sounded almost like "Oh, no!" But I must tell you, that he looks upon you to be a handsome woman. (Mrs. Hallee smiles.) You make no reply to this ? Scene il] the stranger. 37 Mrs. H. What shall I reply % Derision never fell from your lips; andl am little calculated to support it. Countes^\ As little as you are calculated to be the cause of it. No; I was in earnest. Now! Mrs. II. You confuse me ! But why should I play the prude? I will own there was a time when I thought myself handsome. 'Tis past. Alas! The enchanting beauties of a female countenance arise from peace of mind — the look, which captivates an honorable man, must be reflected from a noblesoul. Countess. Then heaven grant my bosom may ever hold as pure a heart as now these eyes bear witness lives in yours. Mrs. U. ( With siulden wildness.) Oh, heaven forbid ! Countess. {Astonished.) How ! Mrs. H. (Checking her tears.) Spare me ! I am a wretch. The sufferings of three years can give me no claim to your friendship — no, not even to your compassion. Oh, spare me ! [ Going. Countess. Stay, Mrs. Plaller. For the first time, I beg your confidence. My brother loves you. Mrs. II. {Starting and gazhigfull in the face of the Count- ess.) For mirth, too much — for earnest, too mournful ! Countess. I revere that modest bhish. Discover to me who you are. You risk nothing. Pour all your griefs into a sister's bosom. Am I not kind ? And can I not be silent ? Mrs. H. Alas! But a frank reliance on a generous mind is the greatest saciifice to be off'ei'ed by trtie repentance. Tnis sacrifice I will ( ffer. {Hesitating^ Did you never hear — ^pardon me — did you never hear — Oh ! how shocking it is to unmask a deception, which alone has recommended me to your regard! But it must be so. Madam — Fie, Adelade ! Does pride be- come you? Did you ever liear of the Countess Waldbtnirg? Countess. I think I did hear, at the neighboring court, of >uch a creature. She plunged an honorable husband into mis- ery. She ran away with a villian. Mrs. II, She did indeed. {Falls at the feet of the Countess.) Do not cast me from you. Countess. For Heaven's sake ! You are Mrs. II. I am that wretch. 38 THE STKANGEE. [AcT III. Cou7itess {Turning from her in hor7'or.) Ha! Begone! {Go- ing^ hut her heart draws her hack.) Yet, she is iinfortuuate : she is unfriended. Iler image is repentance — her life the proof. Be still awhile, remorseless prejudice, and let the genuine feel- ings of my soul avow — they do not truly honor virtue who can insult the erring heart that would return to her sanctuary. {Look- ing vjith sorrow on her.) Rise, I beseech you, rise ! My husband and my brother may surprise us. I promise to be silent. \^Raising her. Mrs. II. Yes, you will be silent. l^ut, oh, conscience ! conscience ! Thou never wilt be silent. [Clasping her hands.) Do not cast me from you. Countess. Never ! Your lonely life, your silent anguish and contrition, may at length atone your crime. And never shall you want an asylum, where jour penitence may lament your loss. Your fault was youth and inexperience. Your heart never was, never could be concerned in it. Mrs. H. Oh, spare me ! My conscience nevei- reproaches me so bitterly as when I catch my base thoughts in search of an excuse. No, nothing can palliate my guilt; and the only just consolation left me is to acquit the man I wronged, and own I erred without a cause of fair complaint. Countess, And this is the mark of true repentance. Alas ! my friend, when superior sense, recommended, too, by superior charms of person, assail a young though wedded Mrs. H. Ah ! not'even that mean excuse is left me. In all that merits admiration, respect, and love, he was far, far beneath my husband. But to attempt to account for my strange infatu- ation — 1 cannot bear it. I thought my liusband's manner grew colder to me. 'Tis true, I knew that his expenses, and his confi- dence in deceitful friends, had embarrassed his means and clouded his spirits ; yet I thought he denied me pleasures and amusements still within our reach. My vanity was mortified. My confidence not courted. The serpent tongue of my seducer promised ever}' thing. But never could such arguments avail, till, assisted by forged letters, and the treachery of a servant, whom I most confided in, he fixed my belief that my lord was false, and that all the coldness I complained of was disgust to me and love Scene n.] the stranger. 39 for another — all his home- retrenchments but the means of satisfying a rival's luxury. Maddened with this conviction, (conviction it was. for artifice was most ingenious in its proof,) I left my children — father — husband, to follow — a villian. Coimtess. But with such a heart, my friend could not re- main long in her delusion ? Mrs. H. Long enough to make a sufficient penitence im- possible. Oh, what where my sensations when the mist dis- persed before my eyes ! I called for my husband, but in vain ! I listened for the prattle of my children, but in vain ! Countess. (Embraoing her.) Here, here, on this bosom only shall your future teai-s be shed ; and may I, dear sufferer, make you again familiar with hope ! ,Mrs. H. Oh ! impossible ! Countess. Have you never heard of your children? Mrs. H. . Never. Countess. We must endeavor to gain some account of them. We must— Hold ! My husband and my brother ! Oh, my poor brother ! I had quite forgotten him. Quick, dear Mrs. Haller, wipe your eyes. Let us meet them. Jf?'s. H. Madam, I'll follow. Allow me a moment to com- pose myself. {Exit Countess, r.) I pause ! Oh ! yes — to compose myself! {Ironically.) She little thinks it is but to gain one solitary moment to vent my soul's remorse. Once, the purpose of my unsettled mind was self-destruction. Heaven knows how I have sued for hope and resignation. I did trust my prayers were heard. Oh ! spare me further trial ! I feel, I feel my heart and brain can bear no more. [Exit, R. END OF ACT HI. 40 THE STK ANGER. . ICT IV. ACT lY. Scene \.— The Skirts of the Park, Lodge, (&g., as hefore, A Table, spread with Fruits, c&c. Francis discovered placing the Supper. Fra. I know he loves to have his early supper in the fresh air; and, while he sups, not that I believe anything can amuse him, yet I will try my Savoyard's pretty voices. I have heard him speak as if he had loved music. {Music vnthouf, l.) Oh, here they are. Enter, l., Annette and Claudine, playing on their Guitars. Ann. To welcome %nirth and harmless glee, We rambling minstrels, blithe and free, With song the laughing hours beguile. And wear a never fading smile : Where'er we roam, We find a home. And greeting to reward our toil. Clau. No anxious griefs disturb our rest. Nor busy cares annoj-^ our breast ; Fearless we sink in soft repose, While night her sable mautle throws. With grateful lay, Hail, rising day. That rosy health and peace besto\\> ! During the Duet, the Stranger looks from the Lodge wind(ni\ and at the conclusion, comes out. Stra. (r.) What mummery is this ? Fra. (r. c.) I hoped it might amuse you, sir. Stra, Amuse me — fool ! Fra. Well, then, I wished to amuse myself a little. I don't think my recreations are so very numerous. Stra. That's true, my poor fellow; indeed they are not. Let them go on. I'll listen. [Hetires and sits down, r. Fra. But to please you, my poor master, I fear it must be a sadder strain. Annette, have you none but these cheerful Bongs ? Ann. O, plenty. If you are dolefully given, we can be as sad as night. I'll sing you an air Mrs. Haller taught 71 ^ the first year she came to the Castle. •n< \ SCENK I.] THE STKANGEK. 41 Fra. Mrs. Haller ! I should like to hear that. Ann. I have a silent sorrow here, A grief I'll ne'er impart ; It breathes no eigh, it sheds no tear, But it consumes my heart. This cherish'd woe, this loved despair. My lot forever be, So, my soul's lord, the pangs I bear. Be never known by chee ! And when pale characters of death Shall mark this alter'd cheek, When my poor wasted trembling breath My life's last hope would speak, I shall not raise my ej'es to Heaven, Nor mercy ask for me ; \ My soul despairs to be forgiven, Unpardon'd, love, by thee. 8tra. {Surprised and moved?) Oh ! I have heard that air before, but 'twas with other words. {Rises.) Francis, share our supper with your friends ; I need none. [^Enters the Lodge. Fra. So 1 feared. Well, {Crosses^ c.) my pretty favorites, here are refreshments. {Leads them to the table.) So, dis- turbed again ! Now, will this gentleman call for more music, and make my master mad ? Go, go, and return when you ob- serve this man is gone. {Fxeunt, l , Annette aiid Claudine, singing. Francis sits and eat><.) I was in kopes that I might at least eat my supper peaceably in the open air ; but they follow at our heels like bloodhounds. Enter Baron y/'6'm Gates. Bar. (l.) My good friend, I must speak to your master. Fra. (r.) Can't serve you. Bar. Why not ? Fra. It's forbidden. Bar. {Offers money.) There ! Announce me. Fra. Want no money. Bar. Well, only announce me, then. Fra. {Rising.) I will announce you, sir; but it won't avail. I shall be abused, and you rejected. However, we can but try. [ Going. Bar. I only ask half a minute. (Francis goes into the 42 THE STRANEER. [AcT I\ . Lodge.) But when he comes^ how am I to treat him ? I never encountered a misanthrope before. I have heard of instructions as to conduct in society, but how am I to behave towards a be- ing who loathes the whole world, and his own existence, I have never learned. Enter the Stranger, yr6>m Lodge. Stra. (r.) Now ; what's your will ? £ar. (l.) I beg pardon, sir, for — {Suddenly recognizing him.) Charles ! Stra. Steinfort! [They emhrace. Bar. Is it really you, my dear friend ? Stra. It is. Bar. Merciful Heavens ! How you are altered ! Stra. The hand of misery lies heavy on me. But how came you here ? What want you ? Bar. Strange ! Here was I ruminating how to address this mysterious recluse ; he appears, and proves to be my old and dearest friend. Stra. Then you were not in search of me, nor knew that I lived here ? Bar. As little as I know who lives on the summit of Cau- casus. You this morning saved the life of my brother-in-law's only son : a grateful family wishes to behold you in its circle. You refused my sister's messenger; therefore, to give more weight to the invitation, I was deputed to be the bearer of it. And thus has fortune restored to me a friend whom my heart has so long missed, and whom my heart just now so much re- quires. Stra. Yes, I am your friend; j^our sincere friend. You are a true n m ; an uncommon man. Towards you my heart is still the saine. But if this assurance be of any value to you, go — leave me, and return no more. Bar. Stay ! All that I see and' hear of you is inexplicable. 'Tis you ; but these, alas, are not the features which once en- chanted every female bosom, beamed gaiety through all society, and won you friends before your lips were opened. Why do you avert your face ? Is the sight of a friend become hatef "1 ? rCENE I. THE STRAIN GKK. 43 Or, do A'ou fear that I should read in your eye what passes in y(/nr sonl ? Where is that open look of fire which at once pene- ti-ated into every heart and revealed your own ? Stra. ( With asjperity.) My look penetrate into every heart I Ha ! ha I ha I Bo/r. Oh, Heavens.^. Rather may I never hear you laugh, than in such a tone! -For Heaven's sake, tell me, Charles, tell me, I conjure you, what has happened to you • Stra. Things that happen every day ; occurrences heard of in every street. Steinfort, if I am not to hate you, ask me not another question. If I am to love you, leave me. Bar. Oh, Charles, awake the faded ideas of ])ast joys. Feel that a friend is near. Recollect the days we passed in Hungary, when we wandered arm in arm upon the banks of the Danube, wliile nature opeiied our hearts and made us enamored of benevolence and friendship. In those blessed moments you gave me this seal as a pledge of your regard. Do j^ou remem- ber it? S'rd. Yes. Bar. Am I, since that time, become less worthy of your confidence ? ^?m. No I Bar. Charles, it grieves me that I am thus compelled to enforce my rights upon you. Do you know this scar? Sfra. Comrade I Friend ! It received and resisted the stroke aimed at my life. I have not forgotten it. You knew not -^'hat a present you then made me. Bar. Speak, then, I beseech you. Stra. You cannot help me. Bar. Then I can mourn with you. Stra. Tliat I hate. Besides, 1 cannot weep. Bar. Then give me words instead of tears. Both relieve the heart. Stra. Relieve the heart! My heart is like a close shut sepulchre. Let what is within it moulder and decay. Why, why open the wretched charnel-house to spread a pestilence around ? Bar. How horrid are your looks ! For shame ! A man like you thus to crouch beneath the chance of fortune ! 4:4: VNGKR. | AcT l\ . Stra. Steinfort! I did think ^lat r jp'.vuor of all man- kind was alike indifferent to me; but . feel that it is not so. Mj friend, you. shall not quit me without learning how I have been robbed of every joy which life afforded. Listen ; much misery may be contained in few words. Attracted by my native country, I quitted you and the service. What pleasincr pictures did 1 form of a life employed in improving society and diffusing happiness! I fixed on Cassel to be my abode. All went on admirably. I found friends. At length, tjo, I found a wife ; a lovely, innocent creature, scarce sixteen years of age. Oh ! how I loved her ! She bore me a son and a daughter. Both were endowed by nature with the beauty of their mother. Ask me not how I loved my wife and children ! Yes ; then, then I was really happy. ( Wiping his eyes.) Ila ! a tear ! I could not have believed it. Welcome, old friends I 'Twas long since we have known each otiier. Well, my story is nearly ended. One of my friends, for whom I had become engaged, treacherously lost me more than half my fortune. This hurt me. I was obliged to letrench my expenses. Contentment needs but little. I forgave him. Another friend — a villain ! to whom I was attached heart and soul, whom 1 had assisted with my means, and promoted by my interest — this fiend seduced my wife, and bore her from me. Tell me, sir, is this enough to justif}' my hatred of mankind, and palliate my seclusion from the world ? Kings, laws, tyranny, or guilt, can but im- prison me, or kill me. But, O God ! O God ! Oh, what are chains or death, compared to the tortures of a deceived yet doting husband ! [ Crosses, l. Ba7\ To lament the loss of a faithless wife is madness. Stra. Call it what you please — say what you please — I love her still. Ba/r. And where is she ? Stra, I know not, nor do 1 wish to know. Bar. And your children ? Stra, I left them at a small town hard by. Bar, But why did you not keep your children with you ? They would have amused you in many a dreary hour. Stra. Amused me ! Oh, yes ! while their likeness to their {Scene i.] the strange u. 45 mother should every hour remind me of my past happiness ! ]^o. For tlirce yeai*s I have never seen them. I hate that any human creature should he near me, young or old. Had not ridiculous habit made a servant necessary, I should never have engai(ed liim, thouiih lie is not the worst among the bad. Bar. Such too often are tlie consequences of great alliances. Tlierefoi'e. Charles, I have resolved to take a wife from a lower rank of life. Sir a. You marry ! Bar. You shall see hei*. She is in the house where you are expected. Come with me. Stra. AVhat ! I mix again with the world ! Bar. To do a generous action without requiring thanks is noble and praiseworthy. But so obstinately to avoid those thanks as to make the kindness a burthen, is affectation. Stra. Leave me ! leave me! Every one tries to form a circle, of which he may be the center : so do I. As long as there re- mains a bird in these woods to greet the rising sun with its melody I shall court no other society. [Crosses e. Bar. Do as you please to-morrow ; but give me your company this evening. Stra. No ! Bar. Not though it were in your power, by this single visit, to secure the happiness of your friend for life ? Stra. Ha ! Then I must. But how ? Bar. You shall sue in my behalf to Mi-s. Hailer. You have the talent of persuasion. Stra. I, my dear Steinfort ! Bar. The happiness or misery of your friend depends u])on it. ril contrive that you shall speak to her alone. Will you ? Stra. I will ; but upon one condition. Bar. Name it. Stra. That you allow me to be gone to-morrow, and not en- deavor to detain me. Bar. Go ! Whither ? Stra. No matter. Promise this, or I will not come. Bar. Well, I do promise. Come. Stra. I have directions to give my servant. [Crosses, l. 46 THE STRANGER. [x\CT IV. Bar. In half an hour, then, we shall expect you. liemember, you have given your word. Stra. I have. {Exit Baron through gates. The Stranger walks up and down^ thoiightful and melancholy.) Francis! Francis! Enter Frances, j/r^'m Lodge, Stra. Why are you out of the way ? Era. Sir, I came when 1 heard you call. Stra. I shall leave this place to-morrow. Era. With all my heart. Stra. Perhaps to go into another land. E/'a. With all my heart again. Stra. Perhaps into another quarter of the globe. Era. With all my heart still. Into which quarter ? Stra. Wherever Heaven directs ! Away ! away ! from Europe ! From this cultivated moral lazaret ! Do you hear, Francis ? To-morrow, early. Era. Yery well. [Going. Stra. Come here, come here first, I have an errand for you. Hire that carriage in the village ; drive to the town hard by ; you may be back by sunset. I shall give you a letter to a widow who lives there. With her you will find two children. They are mine. Era. (Astonished.) Your children, sir? Stra. Take them and bring them hither. Era. Your children, sir ? Stra. Yes, mine ! Is it so very inconceivable ? Era. That I should have been three years in your service, and never heard them mentioned, is somewhat strange. Stra. Pshaw ! Blockhead ! Era. You have been married, then ? Stra. Well — go, go, and prepare for our journey. Era. That I can do in five minutes. [Going. Stra. I shall (jome and write the letter directly. Era. Very well, sir. [Exit^ l. Stra. Yes, I'll take them with me. I'll accustom myself to the sight of them. The innocents ! They shall not be poisoned Scene ii.] the stkangek. 47 by the refinements of society. Ratlier let them hunt their daily snstejiance upon desert island with their bow and arrow ; or creep, like torbid Hottentots, into a corner, and stare at each other. Better to do nothing than to do evil. Fool that I was, to be prevailed upon once more to exhibit myself among these apes! What a ridiculous figure shall I make! And in the character of a suitor, too. He cannot be serious. 'Tis but some friendly artifice to draw me from my solitude. Why did I pro- mise him ? Yet, my sufferings have been many ; and to oblige a friend, why should I hesitate to add another painful hour to the wretched calendar of my life ! I'll go, I'll go. \_Exit into Lodge- Scene II. — The Antechamber, , Enter CnAKLorTE, r. Char. No, indeed, my lady ! If you choose to bury yourself in the country, I shall take my leave. I am not calculated for a country life. And, to sum up all, when I think of this Mrs. Haller Enter Solomon, l. Sol. ( Overhearing her last words.) What of Mrs. Haller, my sweet Miss ? Char. Why, Mr. Solomon, who is Mrs. Haller? You know everything ; you hear everything. Sol. I have received no letters -from any part of Europe on the subject. Miss. Char. ^ But who is to blame? The Count and Countess. She dines with them, and at this very moment is drinking tea with them. Is this proper ? Sol. By no means. Char. Should not a Count and Countess, in all their actions, show a proper degree of pride and pomposity ? Sol. To be sure ! To be sure they should ! Cha/r. No, I won't submit to it. I'll tell her ladyship, when I dress her to-morrow, that either Mrs. Haller or I must quit the house. 48 THE STRANGER. [AcT IV. Sol. {Seeing the Baron.) St ! Enter Bakon, r. Bar. Didn't I hear Mrs. Haller's name here 'i Sol. {Confused.) Why — yes — we — we Bar. Charlotte, tell my sister I wish to see her as soon as the tea-table is removed. {^Crosses, l. Char. Either she-or I go, that I'm determined. \_Exit, r. Bar. May I ask what it was you were saying ? Sol. Why, please your Honorable Lordship, we were talk- ing here and there — this and that Bar. 1 almost begin to suspect some secret. Sol. Secret ! Heaven forbid ! Mercy on us ! No ! I should have had letters on the subject if there had been a secret. Bar. Well, then, since it was no secret, I presume I may know your conversation. Sol. You do us great honor, my lord Why, then, at tirst, we were making a few common place observations. Miss Charlotte remarked we all had our faults. I said, "Yes." Soon after, 1 remarked that the best persons in the world were not without their weaknesses. She said, "Yes." Bar. If you referred to Mi's. Haller's faults and weaknesses, I am desirous to hear more. Sol. Sure enough, sir, Mrs. Haller is an excellent woman ; but she's not an angel, for all that. I am an old faithful ser- vant to his Excellency the Count, and therefore it is my duty to speak when anything is done disadvantageous to his interest. Bar. Well ! Sol. For instance, now ; his Excellency may think he has at least some score of dozens of the old six-and-twenty hock. Mercy on us ! There are not ten dozen bottles left ; and not a drop has gone down my throat, I'll swear. Bar. {SmiUng.) Mrs. Haller has not drank it, I suppose ? Sol. Not she herself, for she never drinks wine. But if anybody be ill in the village, any poor woman lying-in, away goes a bottle of the six-and-twenty ! Innumerable are the times that I've reproved her : but she always answers me snappishly, that she will be responsible for it. Scene il] the stranger. 49 Bar. So will I, Mr. Solomon. Sol. Oh, with all my heart, your Honorable Lordship. It makes no difference to me. I had the care of the cellar twenty years, and can safely take my oath, that I never gave the poor a single drop in the whole course of my life. Bar. How extraordinary is this woman ! [ Crosses, r. Sol. Extraordinary ! One can make nothing of her. To- day, the vicar's wdfe is not good enough for her. To-morrow, you may see her sitting with all the women in the village. To be sure, she and I agree pretty well ; for between me and your Honorable Lordship, she has cast an eye upon my son Peter. Bar. Has she ? Sol. Yes. Peter's no fool, I assure you. The schoolmaster is teaching him to write. Would your Honorable Lordship please to see a specimen ? I'll go for his copy-book. He makes his pot-hooks capitally. Bar. Another time, another time. Good bye for the pres- ent, Mr. Solomon. (Solomon hoios without attempting to go.) Good day, Mr. Solomon. Sol. {Not understanding the hint.) Your Honorable Lord- ship's most obedient servant. Bar. Mr. Solomon, I wish to be alone. Sol. As your lordship commands. If the time should seem long in my absence, and your lordship wishes to hear the newest news from the seat of war, you need only send for old Solomon. I have letters from Leghorn, Cape Horn and every known part of the habitable globe. [Exit, l. Bar. Tedious old fool! Yet hold. Did he not speak in praise of Mrs. Haller? Pardoned be his rage for news and politics. Enter Countess, r. Well, sister, have you spoken to her ? Countess. I have : and if you do not steer for another haven, you will be doomed to drive upon the ocean for ever. Bar. She is married ? Countess, I don't know. Bar. Is she of a good family ? 50 THE STRANGER. [AoT IV. Countess. I can't tell. Bar. Does she dislike me ? Coxmtess. Excuse my making a reply. Bar. I thank you for your sisterly affection, and the explicit- ness of your communications. Luckily, I placed little reliance on either, and have found a friend, who will save your ladyship all further trouble. Countess. A friend ! Bar. The Stranger, who saved your son's life this morning, proves to be my intimate friend. Countess. What's his name ? Bar. I don't know. Countess, Is he of good family ? Bar. I can't tell. Countess. Will he come hither? Bar. Excuse my making a reply. Countess. Well, the retort is fair — but insufferable. Bar. You can't object to the Da Cajpo of youl* own composi- tion. Enter Count and Mrs. Haller, r. Count. Zounds ! do you think 1 am Xenocrates; or like the poor sultan with marble legs % There you leave me, tete-a-tete with Mrs. Haller, as if my heart were a mere flint. So you prevailed, brother. The Stranger will come then, it seems. Bar. I expect him every minute. Count. I am glad to hear it One companion more, how- ever. In the country we nevei* can have too many. Bar. This gentleman will not exactly be an addition to your circle, for he leaves this place to-morrow. [ Crosses behind Mrs. Haller^ r. Cownt. But he won't, I think. Now, Lady Wintersen, summon all your charms. There is no art in conquering us poor devils ; but this strange man who dcjes not care a doit for you all together, is worth your efforts. Try your skiU. I shan't be jealous. Countess. I allow the conquest to be worth the trouble. Scene i.J the stranger. 51 But what Mrs. Haller has not been able to effect in three months, ought not to be attempted by me. Mt8. H. Oh, madam, he has given me no opportunity of try- ing the force of my charms, for I never once happened to see him. Count, Then he's a blockhead, and you an idler. 8ol. ( Without^ L.) This way, sir ! This way ! Enter Solomon, l. 8ol. The Stranger begs leave to have the honor Count. Welcome! Welcome! [^a?^^ Solomon. [Buns to meet the Stranger, whom he conducts in by the hand. My dear sir — Lady Wintersen — Mrs. Haller [Mrs Haller, as soon as she sees the Stranger, shrieks, and swoons in the arms of the Baron. The Stranger casts a look at her, and, struck with astonishment and horror, rushes out of the room, l. 2%6 Baron and Countess hear Mrs. Haller off, r. ; Count following in great surprise. END OF act IV. ACT Y. Scene I. — The Antechamber. Enter Baron, r. Bar. Oh! deceitful hope! Thou phantom of future hap- piness. To thee have I stretched out my arms, and thou hast vanished into air ! Wretched Steinfort ! The mystery is solved. She is the wife of my friend ! I cannot myself be happy, but I may, perhaps, be able to reunite two lovely souls whom cruel fate has severed. Ha! they are here. I must propose it instantly. Enter Countess and Mrs. Haller, r. Countess. Into the garden, my dear friend ! Into the air ! 62 THE STRANGER. [AcT ^•. Mrs. H. I am quite well. Do not alarm yourselves on my account. Bar. Madam, pardon my intrusion ; but to lose a moment may be fatal. He means to quit the country to-morrow. We must devise means to reconcile you to the Stranger. Mrs. H. How, my lord ! You seem acquainted with my history ? Bar. I am. Waldbourg has been my friend ever since we were boys. We served together from the rank of cadet. We have been separated seven years. Chance brought us this day together, and his heart was open to me. Mrs. H. How do I feel what it is to be in the presence of an honest man, when I dare not meet his eye. Bar. H sincere repentance, if j^ears without reproach, do not give us a title to man's forgiveness, what must we expect here- after ? No, lovely penitent ! your contrition is complete. Error for a moment wrested from slumbering virtue the dominion of your heart ; but she awoke, and, with a look, banished her enemy forever. I know my friend. He has the firmness of a man ; but, witli it, the gentlest feelings of your sex. I hasten to him. With the fire of pure, disinterested friendship will 1 enter on this work; that, when I look back upon my past life, I may derive from this good action consolation in disappointment, and even resignation in despair. [Going, l. Mrs. H. {Crosses, c.) Oh, stay! What would you d(^? No ! never ! My husband's honor is sacred to me. I love him unutterably : but never, never can I be his wife again, even if he were generous enough to pardon me. t JSar. Madam ! Can you. Countess, be serious ? \ Mrs. E. Not that title, I beseech you ! I am not a child who wishes to avoid deserved punishment. What were my penitence, if 1 hoped advantage from it beyond the consciousiie>s of atonement for past offence ? Countess. But if your husband himself Mrs. H. Oh ! he will not— he cannot ! And let him rest assured I never would replace my honor at the expense of his. Bar. He still loves you. Scene ii.] the stranger. ^ -53 Mrs. H. Loves me ! Then he must not — no — he must purify his heart from a weakness which would degrade him ! Bar. Incomparable woman ! I go to my friend — perhaps for the last time ! Have you not one word to send to him ? Mrs. H. Yes, I have two requests to make. Often, when, in excess of grief, I have despaired of e\ery consolation, I have thought I should be easier if I might behold my husband once again, acknowledge my injustice to him, and take a gentle leave of him forever. This, therefore, is my first request — a conversa- tion for a few short minutes, if he does not quite abhor the sight of me. My second request is — oh — not to see, but to hear some account of my poor children. Bar. If humanity and fi-iendship can avail, he will not for a moment delay your wishes. Countess. Heaven be with you ! Mrs. H. And my prayei-s. {Exit Baeox, l. Countess. Come, my friend, come into the air, till he returns with hope and consolation. Mrs. H. Oh, my heart, how art thou afflicted! My lius- band ! My little ones ! Past joys and future fears. Oh, dearest madam, there are moments in which we live years ; moments which steal the roses from the cheek of health, and plough deep furrows in the brow of youth. Counters Discard these sad reflections. ( Crosses^ l.) Come, let us walk. The sun will set soon ; let nature's beauties dis- sipate anxiety. Mrs. H. Alas ! Y es, the setting sun is a proper scene for me. Countess. Kever forget that a morning will succeed. {Exeunt^ l. Scene II. — The Shirts of the Park^ Lodge, c&c, as hefore. Enter B^:ro^, from Gates. Bar. On earth, there is but one such pair. They shall not be parted. Yet what I have undertaken is not so easy as I at first hoped. What can I answer when he asks me whether I would persuade him to renounce his character and l^ecome the derision of society ? For he is right : a faithless wife is a dishonor ; 64 « THE STliANGER. [AcT V. and to forgive her is to share her shame. What though Ade- laide may be an exception ; a young deluded girl, who has so long and so sincerely repented ; yet what cares an unfeeling world for this ? The world ! He has quitted it. 'Tis evident he loves her still ; and upon this assurance builds ray sanguine heart the hope of a happy termination to an honest enterprise. Enter Francis with two children^ William amd Amelia, r. Fra. (r. c.) Come along, my pretty ones — come. ^ Will. (l. c.) Is it far to home ! Fra. No, we shall be there directly now. Bar. (l.) Hold ! Whose children are these % Fra. My master's. Will. Is that my father ? Bar. It darts like lightning through my brain. A word with you. (Francis jpiits the cliildren a little hacJc.) I know you love your master. Strange things have happened liere. Your master has found his wife again. Fra. Indeed ! Glad to hear it. Bar. Mrs. Ilaller Fra. Is she his wife ? Still more glad to hear it. Bar. But he is determined to go from her. Fra. Oh ! Bar. We must try to prevent it. Fra. Surely Bar. The unexpected aj^pearance of the children may per- liaps assist us. Fra. How so ? Bar. Hide yourself with them in that hut. Before a quarter of an hour is passed you shall know more. Fra. But Bar. No more questions, I entreat you. Time is precious. Fra. Well, well ; questions are not much in my way. Come, children. [^Takes them in ea^h hand. Will. Why, I thought you told me I should see my father ? Fra. So you shall, my dear. Come, moppets. [ Goes into the Hut with the Children^ l. u. e. Bar. Excellent! I promise myself nnich from this little Scene ii.] the stk anger. 55 artifice. If the mild look of the mother fails, the innocent smiles of these, his own children, will surely find the way to his heart. {Taps at the Lodge door ; the Stranger comes out.) Charles, I wdsh you joy. Stra. Of what ? Bar. You have found her again. Stra. Show a bankrupt the treasure which he once possessed and then congratulate him on the amount ! Bar. Why not, if it be in your power to retrieve the whole ? Stra. I understand you : you are a negotiator from my wife. It won't avail. Bar. Learn to know your wi fe better. Yes, I am a messenger from her ; but without power to treat. ,Slie, who loves you im- utterably, who without you never »an be happy, renounces your forgiveness; because, as she thinks, your honor is incompatible with such a weakness. Stra. Pshaw ! I am not to be caught. Bar. Charles, consider well Stra. Steinfort, let me explain all this. I have lived here three years. Adelaide knew it. Bar. Knew it! She never saw you till to day. Stra. That you may make fools l>elieve. Hear further ; she knows, too, that I am not a common sort of man ; that my heart is not to be attacked in the usual manner. She, therefore, framed a deep-concerted plan. She played a charitable part, but in such a way, that it always reached my ears. She played a pious, modest, reserved part, in order to excite my curiosity. And, at last, to-day, she plays the prude. She refuses my forgiveness, in hopes, by this generous device, to extort it from my com- passion. Ba^r. Charles, I have listened to you with astonishment. This is a weakness only to be pardoned in a man who has so often been deceived by the world. Your wife has expressly and steadfastly declared that she will not accept your forgive- ness, even if you yourself were weak enough to offer it Stra. What then has brought you hither ? Bar. More than one reason. First, I am come in my own name, as your friend and comrade, to conjure you solemnlj- not 56 THE STRANGER. [ACT V. to spurn this creature fi-om you ; for, by my soul, you will not find her equal. Stra. (rive yourself no further trouble. Bar. Be candid, Charles. You love her still ? Stra. Alas ! yes. Bar. Her sincere repentance has long since obliterated her crime. Stra. Sir ! a wife, once induced to forfeit her honor, must be capable of a second crime. Bar. Not so, Charles. Ask your heart what portion of the blame may be your own. Stra. Mine ? Bar. Yours. Who told you to marry a thoughtless inexpe- rienced girl? One scarce expects established principles at ^y^- and-twenty in a man, yet you require them in a gii-1 of sixteen ! But of this no more. She has erred : she has repented ; and, during three years, her conduct has been so far above reproach, that even the piercing eye of calumny has not discovered a speck upon this radiant orb. Stra. Now, were I to believe all this — and I confess I would willingly believe it — yet she can never again be mine. -^ =Ah ! what a feast would it be for the painted dolls and vermih of the world, when I appeared among them with my runaway wife upon my arm ! What mocking, whispering, pouting ! Never ! Never! Never! \_Cro8 m^\.. Bar. Enough! . As a friend I have done inyduty; I now ajDrpear as Adelaide's ambassador. She requests one moment's conversation : she wishes once again to see you, and never more ! You cannot deny her this only, this last request. Stra. I understand this, too. She thinks my firmness will l)e melted by her tears : she is mistaken. She may come. Bar. She will come to make you feel how much you mis- take hei*. I go for her. Stra. Another word. Bar. Another word ! Stra. Give her this paper, and these jewels. They belong to her. S^Presenting them. Bar. That you may do yourself. {^Exit at Gate, c. Scene il] the stkanger. 57 Stra. The last anxious moment c^f mv life draws near. I shall see her once again ; I shall see her on whom my soul doats. Is this the language of an injured Iiiisbaud ? What is this principle which we call honor ? Is it a feeling of the heart, or a quibble in the brain? I must be resolute: it cannot now be otherwise. Let me speak solemnly, yet mildly ; and beware that nothing of reproach escape my lips. Enter Countess, Mrs. Hallek and Baron, ^6W2- Gates. Yes, her penitence is real, it is real. She shall not be obliged to live in mean dependence ; she shall be mistress of herself, she shall. Ha ! they come. Awake, insulted pride ! Protect me, injured honor ! {Gets over to r. of Stage. Mrs. H. {^Advances slowly^ and in a tremor^ l. Colntess attemjpts to support her.) Leave me now, I beseech you. (Baron and Countess retire into the hut, l. u. e. Approaches the Stranger, who, with averted countenance, and in extreme agitation, awaits her address.) My lord ! Stra. ( With gentle tremulous utterance, and face still turned away.) What would you with me, Adelaide ? Mrs. II. {Much agitated^) No — for Heaven's sake ! I was not prepared for this — Adelaide! — Xo, no. For Heaven's sake ! Hai-sh words alone are suited to a culprit's ear. Stra. {Endeavoring to give his voice firmness.) Well, ma- dam I Mrs. H, Oh ! If you will ease my heart, if you will spare and pity me, use reproaches. Stra. Reproaches ! Here they are ; here on my sallow cheek — here in my hollow eye — here in my faded form. These reproaches I could not spare you. Mrs. H. Were I a hardened sinner, this forbearance would be charity : but 1 am a suffering penitent, and it overpowers me ! Alas ! then I must be the herald of my own shame. For where shall I find peace till I have eased my soul by my con- fession. Stra. No confession, madam. 1 release you from every humiliation. I perceive you feel that we must part forever. Mrs. H. I know it. Nor come I here to supplicate your 58 THE STRANGER. [AcT V. pardon ; nor has my lieart contained a ray of hope that you would grant it. All I dare ask, is, that you will not curse my memory. Stra. Xo, I do not curse you. I shall never curse you. Mrs. H. From the inward conviction that I am unworthy of your name,! have, during three j'ears abandoned it. But this is not enough ; you must have that redress which will en- able you to choose another — another wife ; in whose chaste arms may Heaven protect your hours of bliss ! This paper will be necessary for the purpose ; it contains a written acknowledg- ment of my guilt. [ Offers it, trembling. Stra. {Tearing it.) Perish the record forever! No, Ade- laide, you only have possessed my heart ; and I am not ashamed to own it, you alone will reign there forever. Your own sen- sations of virtue, your resolute honor, forbid you to profit by my weakness; and even if — this is beneath a man! But — never — will another fill Adelaide's place here. Mrs, H. Then nothing now remains but that one sad, hard, just word — farewell ! [^Going, l. Stra. Stay a moment. For some months we have, without knowing it, lived near each other. I have learnt much good of you. You have a heart open to the wants of your fellow crea- tures. 1 am happy that it is so. You shall not be without the power of gratifying your benevolence. I know you have a spirit that must shrink from a state of obligation. This paper, to which the whole remnant of my fortune is pledged, secures you independence, Adelaide; and let the only recom:nendation of the gift be that it will administer to you the means of in- dulging in charity, the divine propensity of your nature. Mrs. II. Never ! To the labor of my hands alone will I own my sustenance. A morsel of bread, moistened with the tear of penitenc^e, will suffice my wishes, and exceed my merits. It would be an additicnial reproach, to think that I served my- self, or even others, from the bounty of the man whom I had so deeply injured. Stra. Take it, madam ; take it. Mrs. H. I have deserved this. But 1 throw myself upon your generosity. Have compassion on me! Scene ii.] the stkanger. 59 Stra. {Aside.) Yillain! Of what a woman hast thou robbed me ! {Puts up thepajper.) Well, madam, I respect your senti- ments and withdraw my request ; but on condition that if ever you shall be in want of anything I may be the first and only person in the world to whom you will make your application. Mrs. H. I promise it, my lord. Stra. And now I may, at least, desire you to take back what is your own — your jewels. [Gives her the cdsket. Mrs. H. {Opens it and vjeejps.) How well do I recollect the sweet evening when you gave me these ! That evening my father joined our hands ; and joyfully 1 pronounced the oath of eternal fidelity. It is broken. This locket you ga\e me on my birthday. That was a happy day ! AVe had a country feast ; how cheerful we all were ! This bracelet 1 received after my William was born ! No ! Take them — take them ; I cannot take these, unless you wish that the sight of them should be an incessant reproach to my almost broken heart. [Gives them hack. Stra. I must go. My soul and pride will hold no longer. Farewell. Mrs. H. Oh ! But one minute more ! An answer to but one more question. Feel for a mother's heart I Are my child- ren still alive % Stra. Yes, they are alive. Mrs. H. And well ? Stra. Yes, they are well. Mrs. H. Heaven be praised ! William must be much grown ? Stra. I believe so. Mrs. II. What ! Have you not seen them, then ? And little Amelia, is she still yom favorite ? {The Stranger, who is in violent agitation throughout this scene^ remains in silent contention hetvjeen honor and affection.) Oh ! generous man, allow me to behold them once again ! Let me once more kiss the features of their father in his babes, and 1 will kneel to you, and part with them forever. [She kneels- he raises her. Stra. Willingly, Adelaide ! This very night. I expect the children ever}^ minute. They have been brought up near this 60 THE STRANGER. [AcT V. spot. I have already sent my servant for them. He might, ere this time, have returned. I pledge my word to send them to the Castle as soon as they arrive. There, if you please, they may remain till daybreak to-morrow ; then they must go with me. [ Tlie Countess and Baron, having re-entered and listened to ■ the whole conversation with the warmest sympathy^ exchange signals. Baron goes into Hid^ and soon returns with the Children. He gives the Girl to the Countess, who places herself hehind the Stranger. He himself walks with the Boy hehind Mrs. Haller. Mrs. H. In this world, then, we have no more to say ! {Seizing his hand.) Forget a wretcli who never will forget you. Let me press this hand once more to my lips — this hand which once was mine. And when my penance sliall have broken my heart, — ^when we again meet in a better world Stra. There, Adelaide, you may be mine again. Mrs:H. fO''' ^^'- [Parting. \B\ity as they are going ^ she encounters the Boy^ and he the Girl. Children. Dear father! Dear mother! [They press the Children in their arms with speechless affec- tion ; then tear themselves away — gaze at each other — spread their arms and rush into an emhrace. The Child- ren run and cling around their parents. The Curtain falls. DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS AT THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN. Countess. Baron. Amelia. Stranger. Mrs. Haller. William. the end. A NEW COAJIC IRISH PLAY. FINNIGAN'S FORTUNE. AN IRISH STEW IN THREE ACTS. By CHARLES TOWNSEND, AUTHOR OF "RIO GRANDE," "THE SPY OF GETTYSBURG," "THE JAIL BIRD," "MOUNTAIN WAIF," "THE MAN FROM MAINE," "BORDER LAND," "TONY THE TRAMP," ETC. Five male, three female characters. Modem costumes. Scenery, two interiors. Time of playing, two hours and u quarter. Tiiis play marks a new departure in Irish plays, and every dramatic club with a gfood Irish comedian is hound to have it. It depicts life among the middle classes of New Yorl< Citv with the same deft touches that Mr. Harrigan employs in his famous " Mulligan Guard" series. It is full of breezv Irish wit, quaint "humor, hits of pathos, and the action is so rapid that it almost " plays itself." Larry Finnigan, the good-natured old mason, is a favorite role with the author, who plays it with marked success. Mrs. Finnigan, Dutch Jake, his daughter Katy, the rascally Count, — in short, all the characters, are first- class, as there is not a small part in the play. SYNOPSIS. ACT 1. — The home in Finnigan's Ailey, New York. Mrs. Finnigan's ambition, " And me a-dyin'to see tlie Italian Opery ! " An unwelcome visitor. RafFerty's news. " Me wife's mother's uncle's aunt is dead!" On a strike. "What for I dunno. They said strike, an' we struck." Rafferty .n hot water. Finnigan's song. His opinion of dudes. Tammanv Hall. Pat the dainty. " He'll be axin' for pie next." Katy's reason. " Taffy." Katv gets mad. " What a nice, quiet time I'm having tlie day." The telegram. Fortune smiles. "Now I'll lick the Dutchman ! " " Is dot so ? " Tableau. ACT II. — Finnigan's new lunne on Murray Hill. Mrs. Finnigan's trouble. How to speak " Frinch." Coney Island. The Count and Lady Hannah. A bit of scandal. Kaiy's loyalty. " Hegorry, the ould mon has wan friend left." High society. Snubs all' around. Father and son. The bank check. A bashful lover. The proposal. " Don't you dare kiss me! " A jiretty pair of swindlers. Lady Hannah's advice. A dangerous game. More snubs. Poor Finnigan's desperation. '* I'll connuit suicide av it costs me me life." Good advice. Tempted. " It looks like whiskey." Finnigan's assertion. A row. ACT III. — The next morning. Finnigan a wreck. " I'm a blowed-up steam- boat! " Husband and wife. Cold comfort. Jake brings startling news. The swindlers compare notes. Jake wants to light. " Luff me got at him! " Finni- gan steps in. " I can do me own slugging." The attempted murder. The surprise. Policeman Ilafferty. Finnigan's vow. Finale, TERMS. This play is not published, nor for sale, but on receipt of an Author's Royalty of $10.00, paid to us, we will mail a complete set of the plays, prepared directly from the Author's Acting Copy, containing explicit stage directions, together with perpetual right to perform the play. This offer afjplies only to Amateurs. The Professional stage right is retained bv the author. A SAMPLE BOOK will lie mailed ON receipt of $i.oo, which will be re- funded when the book is returned. All persons are warned under penalty not to Eroduce this play without due authority from the Author's Agents, WALTER H. AKER & CO., BOSTON, MASS. A NE W SOCIETY D RAMA. THB TRUSTEE. A. F*i>A.Y IN KouR Acts. By WILLIAM MAYNADIER BROWNE. AuTHOB OF *' A Fool for Luck," " Red or White," *' Bachelor's Hall," " An April Day," " Betty," etc. As originally performed by " Tfie Players," of West Newton, Mass., at City Hall, November 24, 1890. Ten male and five female characters. Costumes, modern and elegant. Scenery three easy interiors, capable, however, of any amount of elaboration. This really admirable play, upon a purely American subject, with American scenes ami American characters, is a capital piece for a good company. Its story is absorbing in interest, its dialogue crisp and bright, its action and inci- dents stirring, ita tone dignified and its humor refined. In its general character it is not unlike the popular " Jim, the Penman," and like tliat piece every part is a strong and important one. Price 25 Cents. SYNOPSIS: ACT T. —Drawing-room in the Trustee's house. A doubtful character. A tell- tale letter. A little deal. Barbara and business. $60,000 in bills. Peacock's prescription. Philip and Barbara. "The birthday of our happiness." The sleeping draught. "This will smooth the way to the safe." A toasi. foiled. ACT II. — Office of the Trustee. The blind guardian. The burglary. Puz- zled. " My eyes, my eyes ! With them I could have told." The Trustee and his trust Suspicion. Husband and wife. The inquiry. "It is uselesii — the criminal is in this room ! " ACT III. — The Trustee's house. Under arrest. A mystery. " We mustj^rorr- him innocent in spite of himself." The Trustee's confession. "It is not true." Conn O'Hara to the rescue. "Now's your chance. Sure, it's askei- lam." Husband and wife. "Will you force me to prove your guilt?' Light at last. " I am innocent — I swear it on my honor ! " ACT IV. — The trial. Pettibone and Peacock. A mysterious errand. Astron.: case. The blind witness. The fur coat. Not "proven. The hands (>; JUSTICE. "Hold him! These are the hands that gagged me!" Run t . earth at last. Counterfeit money and real affection. " Dora, darling, there ^ not a cloud left." Acquitted. FOR FEMALE CHARAC TERS. GAFFER GREY'S LEGACY. A. CoNiEDY IN T^?vo Acts. For Female Characters Only. Eight female characters. Costumes modern ; mourning dresses in the first act. gay gowns in the second. A very sprightly and humorous little play, tull '>f i'Uiiian nature and fun. Prire !.'» Onfg. RETURN CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT T0»-^ 202 Main Library LOAN PERIOD 1 HOME USE 2 3 4 5 6 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS Renewals and Recharges may be made 4 days prior to the due date. Books may be Renewed by calling 642-3405. DUE AS STAMPED BELOW ^ ( FORM NO. DD6 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELE^ BERKELEY, CA 94720