Ai Ai O! Oj 1 ; 41 2i 4; 1 7 5 >?^vr. >t?f Dramas and Poems SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON BOSTON ROBERTS BROTHERS 1874 .A\"' Cambridge: presswork by john wilson and soi» PHEFAC E TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. In the preparation of this vohime, it has been the wish of the pubHshers to bring together, in a convenient form, the best of Sir E. B. Lytton's dramas, and a selection of his minor productions in verse, which should adequately repi'esent his characteristics as a lyric and nari'ative poet. It is for the reader to determine how far this at- tempt has been successful ; but it is believed that no piece has been inserted which is not worthy of the estabhshed reputation of the author, and that the volume will be an acceptable addition to the pocket library. Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton is the youngest son of the late General Bulwer of Heydon Hall, Norfolk, and ujjon his mother's side he is de- scended from a weaUhy family in Hereford, whose surname he has assumed instead of his father's patronymic. He was boi'n in 1805, and is said to have exhibited proofs of superior tal- ents at a very early age. His preliminary stud- PKEFACE. ies were conducted vmder the eye of his mother, ■who appears to have been a woman of cultivated taste and rare accomplishments. He Avas subse- quently entered of Trinity College, Cambridge, where he graduated with honor, having won the Chancellor's medal for the best English poem. In 1826, at the age of twenty-one, he published a small volume of poems, under the title of "Weeds and Wild-Flowers; and the next year his first novel, Falkland, appeared. Since that time he has been constantly before the public as an author both in prose and verse, and with a gradually increasing reputation. The list of his novels includes, besides other woi'ks of lesser merit and popularity, Pelham, The Disowned, Devereux, Paul Clifford, Eugene Aram, The Last Days of Pompeii, Rienzi, Er- nest Malti-avers, and Alice, or the Mysteries, — all of which were published before he was thirty- five, — and The Last of the Barons, Zanoni, Harold, The Caxtons, and My Novel, or Varie- ties of English Life, which belong to quite a different class of compositions. He has also just commenced the publication of a new serial romance, which seems likely to furnish fresh evi- dence of the remarkable versatility of his genius. Though these works are of different degrees of merit, they all exhibit great powers, and it is by them that Sir Edward is best known. But he has not neglected other walks of liter- ature. Soon after the publication of Eugene Aram, he became editor of the New Monthly Magazine ; and to that journal he contributed a series of essays and criticisms, subsequently pub' lished in a collected form, under the title of The Student. In 1833, he published two volumes of clever and sarcastic observations on England and the English, embodying many shrewd remarks on English literature and society. This was followed by a beautifully illustrated tale, The Pilgrims of the Rhine, in which he wrought up the materials ■collected during a Continental tour. In 1842, he published Eva and Other Poems, a volume which met with some success. At a later period, he published anonymously his two longest and most celebrated poems, The New Timon and King Arthur, both of them elaborate productions, Avhich jittracted much notice at the time, and are likely to have a permanent ^ilace in English literature. In the mean time, our author had attempted still another species of composition. As early as 1807 he produced his first play. The Duchess de la Valliere, which Avas brought out at Covent Garden Theatre, but was not favorably received. Quickened to fresh exertions by the failure of tliis piece, he subsequently Avrote The Lady of Lyons, Richelieu, and Money, three of the most popular plays now upon tlie stage. He also wrote, for the benefit of the Guild of Literature and Art, a short play entitled Not so Bad as We Seem, which has been frequently represented by Mr. Charles Dickens's amateur company. Besides his literary labors, Sir E. B. Lytton has also found time to take part in political life. In 1831, he entered Parliament as a Whig, and subsequently became conspicuous for his advo- cacy of the rights of dramatic authors, and for his liberal opinions on other questions. When Sir Robert Peel formed his first ministry, in De- cember, 1834, Mr. Bulwer, as he isvas then de- nominated, published a pamphlet on The Crisis, which ran through more than twenty editions, and produced a very considerable effect. Upon the return of the AYhigs to power, he was raised to a baronetcy, as a reward for his services. In the general election of 1842, he lost his seat, and was not again returned to Parliament until 1852, when he became a member for the county of Hertford, having in the mean time joined the Conservative party under the leadership of tlue Earl of Derby. Sir Edward has not been a frequent speaker in Parliament, but his occa- sional speeches and addresses have served to raise his reputation. His inaugural address as Hector of the University of Glasgow, in particu- lar, has been greatly admired. CONTENTS. The Lady of Lyons : or, Love and Pride Richelieu : or, The Conspiracy PAGE 1 POEMS. Eva The Fairy Bride The Beacon .... The Lay of the Jliiistrel's Heart Napoleon at Isola Bella JIazarin .... Andre Chenier The First Violets Love and Death . Ganymede Jlemnon To a Withered Tree in June A Lament Tlie Sabbath . Absent, yet Present The Last Crusader . The Souls of Books The Beautiful descends not The LonK Life and the Full Life 257 270 284 291 293 298 303 307 309 311 311 313 314 315 316 318 321 326 327 Money 329 THE LADY OF LYONS: OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. PREFACE. An indistinct recollection of tlie very pretty little tale, called " The Bellows-jMender," suggested the plot of this Drama. The incidents are, however, greatly altered from those in the tale, and the char- acters entirely recast. Having long had a wish to illustrate certain periods of the French history, so, in the selection of the date in which the scenes of this play are laid, I saw that the era of the Republic was that in which the inci- dents were rendered most probable, in which the pro- bationary career of the hero could well be made sufliciently rapid for dramatic eflect, and in which the character of the time itself was depicted by the agencies necessary to the conduct of the narrative. For during the early years of the first and most brilliant successes of the French Republic, m the general ferment of society, and the brief ecpialization of ranks, Claude's high-placed love, his ardent feel- ings, his unsettled principles, — (the straggle between which makes the passion of this drama,) — his ambi- tion, and his career, were phenomena that character- ized the age, and in which the spirit of the nation went along with the extravagance of the individual. The play itself was composed with a twofold ob- ject. In the first place, sj-mpathizing with the enter- prise of Mr. INIacready, as JManager of Covent Gar- den, and believing that many of the higher interests of the Drama were involved in the success or failure of an enterprise equally hazardous and disinterested, 1 felt, if I may so j^resume to express myself, some- thing of the Brotherhood of Art; and it was only for Mr. INIacready to think it possible that I might serve him in order to induce me to make the attempt. Secondly, in that attempt I was mainly anxious to see whether or not, after the comparative failure on the stage of " The Duchess de la Valliere," certain critics had truly declared that it was not in my power to attain the art of dramatic construction and theatri- cal effect I felt, indeed, that it Avas in this that a writer, accustomed to the narrative class of composi- tion, would have the most both to learn and to un- learn. Accordingly, it was to the development of the plot and the arrangement of the incidents that I dii-ected mv chief attention ; — and I souQ;ht to throw whatever belongs to poetry less into the diction and the " felicity of words " than into the construction of the story, the creation of the characters, and the spirit of the pervading sentiment. The authorship of the play was neither avowed nor suspected luitil the play had established itself in public favor. The announcement of my name was the signal for attacks, chiefly political, to which it is now needless to refer. When a work has outlived for some time the earlier hostilities of ci'iticism, there comes a new race of critics to which a writer may, for the most part, calmly trust for a fair considera- tion, whether of the fxults or the merits of his per- formance. THE AUTHOR OF "ION," WHOSE GENIUS AND EXAMPLE HAVE ALIKE CONTRIBUTED TOWARDS THE REGENERATION OF 2C 1) e National 2D r a in a , THIS PLAY IS INSCRIBED. DEAMATIS PEKSONJ:. Beauseaxt, a rich gentleman of Lyons, i/i love tciih, and refused by, Pauline Deschappelles. Glavis, his/rienJ, also a rejected suitor to Pauline. Colonel (aflerwards General) Damas, cousin to Madame Deschappelles, and an officer in the French army. MoxsiEUR Deschappelles, a Lyonnese merchant, father to Pauline. Lasdlop.d of the Golden Lion. Gaspar. Clatde Melxotte. First Officer, Second Officer, Third Officer. Servants, Notary, ^-c. JIada:me Deschappelles. Pauline, her daughter. The Widow Melnotte, mother to Claude. Janet, the inl-eepei-'s daughter. Marian, maid to Pauline. Scene. — Lyons and the neighborhood. Time. — 1795-1798. THE LADY OF LYOXS LOVE AND PRIDE. ACT I. Scene I. — A room in the house of JI. Deschappelt.es, al Lyons. Pauline reclining on a sofa; Maijian, her maid, fanning her. — Flowers ami notes on a table beside the sofa. — !Ma»ame DEScirATPELLES seated. — The Gardens ai-e seen from the open window. MADAME DESCHAPPELLES. Marian, put that rose a little more to the left- — (]\Iariax alters the position of a rose in Pau- ijxk's hair.) — Ah, so! — that improves the air, — the tournure, the Je ne sais qwd ! — You are cer- tainly very handsome, child! — quite my style; — I don't wonder that j'ou make such a sensation ! — Old, young, rich, and poor, do homage to the Beauty of Lyons ! — Ah, we live again in our children, — especially when they have our eyes and complexion ! PAULINE {languidly). Dear mother, j'OU spoil your Pauline! — (Aside.) I wish I knew who sent me these flowers ! 10 THE LADY OF LYONS: HIADAME DESCIIArPEI.LES. No, child ! — if I praise you, it is only to inspire you with a proper ambition. — You arc born to make a great marriage. — Beauty is valuable or ■worthless according as you invest the property to the best advantage. — Marian, go and order the carriage ! [Exit JIakian. PAULINE. Who can it be that sends me, every day, these beautiful flowers ? — how sweet they are ! Enter Servant. SERVANT. Monsieur Beauseant, Madam. JIADAME DESCIIAPPELLES. Let him enter. Pauline, this is another offer ! — I know it is ! — Your father should engage an addition- al clerk to keep the account-book of j'our conquests. E7iter Beauseant. BEAUSEANT. Ah, ladies, how fortunate I am to find you at home! (Aside.) How lovely she looks! — It is a great sacrifice I make in marrying into a family in trade! — they will be eternally grateful! {Aloud.) Madam, you will permit me a word with your charming daughter. (Aj>proaclies Paulixk, who rises disdainful! ij.) IMademoiselle, I have ventured to wait upon you, in a hope that you must long since h£ive divined. Last night, when you out- shone all the beauty of Lyons, you completed your conquest over me ! Y'^ou know that my fortune is on, LOVE AXD PRIDK. 11 not exceeded by any estate in the province, — you know that, but for the Revolution, Avhieh has de- frauded me of my titles, I should be noble. IMay I, then, trust that you will not reject my alliance ? I oiler you my hand and heart. PAULINE {aside). He has the air of a man who confers a favor! — (^Aloud.') Sir, you are very condescending, — I thank you humbly ; but, being dulj' sensible of my own demerits, j'ou must allow me to decline the honor you purpose. [ Curtsies, and turns away. BEAUSEANT. Decline ! impossible ! — you are not serious ! — IMadame, suffer me to appeal to ijou. I am a suitor for your daughter's hand, — the settlements shall be Avorthy of her beauty and my station. May I wait on M. Deschappelles ? MADAME DESCHAl'PELLES. M. Deschappelles never interferes in the domestic arrangements, — you are very obliging. If you were still a manpiis, or if my daughter wore intended to marry a commoner, — why, perhaps, we might give you the preference. P.EAUSEANT. A commoner ! — we are all commoners in France now. JIAPAME DKSCHAPrEI.LE.S. In France, yes ; but there is a nobility still left in the other countries in Europe. Via are quite aware of your good qualities, and don't doubt that you will 12 THE LADY OF LYONS: find some lady more suitable to your pretensions. We shall be always happy to see }ou as an acquaint- ance, ]M. Beauseant ! — My dear child, the carriage will be here presently. BKAUSEANT. Say no more, INIadame ! — say no more ! — (^IstWe.) lleftised ! and by a merchant's daughter ! — refused ! It will be all over Lyons before sunset ! — I will go and bury myself in my chateau, study philosophy, and tui-n woman-hater, lletused ! they ought to be sent to a madhouse ! — Ladies, I have the honor to Avisli you a very good morning. [ Exit. MADAME DKSCHAri'KLLKS. How forward these men are ! — I think, child, we kept up our dignity. Any girl, however inexperi- enced, knows how to accept an offer, but it requires a vast deal of address to refuse one with proper condescension and disdain. I used to practise it at school Avith the dancing-master. Enter Damas. DA. MAS. Good morning, cousin Deschappelles. — Well, Pau- line, are you recovered from last night's ball ? — So many triumphs must be very fatiguing. Even jM. Glavis sighed most piteously when you departed ; — but that might be the effect of the supper. rAULINE. ]\I. CJlavis, indeed ! MADASIK DESCIIAPrEI.LES. ]\I. Glavis ? — as if my daughter would think of ]\L Glavis ! OR, LOVK AXD PRIDE. 13 DA MAS. Iloyday ! — why not? — His father left him a very j)retty fortune, and liis birtli is hiijher than yours, cousin Deschappelles. But perhaps you are looking to M. Beauseant, — his father was a marquis before the Revolution. PAULINK. ]\I. Beauseant ! — Cousin, you delight in torment- ing me ! MADA3IE PESCIIAPPELT.es. Don't mind him, Pauline ! — Cousin Damas, you have no susceptibility of feeling, — there is a certain indelicacy in all your ideas. — M. Beauseant knows already that he is no match for my daughter ! da:mas. Pooh I pooh ! one would think you intended your daughter to marry a prince ! JIAn.\.ME DESCHAPPELLES. Well, and if I did ? — what then ? — ]\Iany a foreign prince — DAMAS {interrupting her). Foreign prince! — foreign fiddlestick! — you ought to be ashamed of such nonsense at your time of life. MADAME DESCHAPPELI/ES. My time of life ! — That is an expression never applied to any lady till she is sixty-nine and three- quarters ; — and only then by the clergyman of the parish. Enter Servant. SEi:VANT. Madame, the carriage is at the door. \Exit. 14 THE LADY OF LYONS: MADAME DESCHAPPELLES. Come, child, put on your bonnet, — you really have a very thorough-bred air, — not at all like your poor father. — (^Fondli/.) Ah, you little cociuette! Tvhen a young lady is always making mischief, it is a sure sign that she takes after her mother ! PAULINE. Good day, cousin Damas, — and a better humor to you. — (^Goin(j hack to the table and taking the Jlowers.) AVho could have sent me these flowei-s V [Exeunt Pauline and Madame Deschappelles. DAMAS. That would be an excellent girl if her head had not been turned. I fear she is now become incor- rigible ! Zounds, what a lucky fellow I am to be still a bachelor ! They may talk of the devotion of the sex, — but the most faithful attachment in life is that of a woman in love — with herself 1 \_Exit. SCENE II. The exterior of a small Village Inn, — sign, the Golden Lion, — afeio leagues from Lyons, which is seen at a distance. 15EAUSEANT (behind the scenes). Yes, you may bait the hoi-ses, we shall rest here an hour. Enter Beauseant and G la vis. GLAVIS. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have OR, I.OVE AND PRIDE. 15 promised to spend a day or two with you at your chateau, — that I am quite at your mercy for my entertaimuent, — and yet you are as silent and as gloomy as a mute at a funeral, or an Englishman at a party of pleasure. BEAUSEANT. Bear with me ! — the fact is, that I am miserable. GLAVIS. You, — the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons ? BEAUSEAXT. It is because I am a bachelor that I am miserable. — Thou knowest Pauline, — the only daughter of the rich merchant, Mons. DeschappcUes ? GLAVIS. Know her ! — who does not ? — as pretty as Venus, and as proud as Juno. BEAUSEANT. Her taste is worse than her pride — {Draicing him- self up.) Know, Glavis, she has actually refused 7}ie ! GLAVIS (aside). So she has me ! — very consoling ! In all cases of heart-ache, the application of another man's disap- pointment draws out the pain and allays the irrita- tion. — (^Aloitd.) Refused you ! and wherefore ? BEAUSEANT. I know not, unless it be because the Revolution swept away m)' father's title of Marquis, — and she will not marry a commoner. Xow, as we have no noblemen left in Franco, — as we are all citizens and equals, she can only hope that, in spite of the war, some English Milord or Cierman Count will 16 THE LADY OK LYONS : risk his life, by coming to Lyons, that this fiUe da lioturler \w\y condescend to accept him. Refused me, and with scorn! — By heaven, I'll not submit to it tamely: — I 'm in a perfect fever of mortifica- tion and rage. — Refuse me, indeed ! CLAVIS. Be comforted, my dear fellow, — I will tell you a secret. For the same reason she refused me ! r.EAUSEAXT. You ! — that 's a very different matter ! But give me your hand, Glavis, ' — we '11 think of some plan to humble her. M'lUe Diables ! I should like to see her married to a strolling player ! Enter Landlord and his Daughter ^Vom the Inn. LANDLORD. Your servant, citizen Beauseant, • — servant, sir. Perhaps you will take dinner before you proceed to your chateau ; our larder is most plentifully supplied. I5EAUSEAXT. I have no appetite. fJLAVIS. Xor I. Still it is bad travelling on an empty stomach. "What lia\e }ou got ? ( Takes and looks over the hill of fare.) (Shout icithoul) — " Long live the Prince ! — Long live the Prince ! " r.EAi:SEANT. The Prince ! — what Prince is that ? I thought we had no princes left in France. LAXDLOr.D. Ila, ha ! the lads always call him Prince. He has OR, LOVE AXD PRIDK. 17 just ■won the prize in the shooting-match, and they ai'O taking him home in triumph. BKAUSKAXT. Him ! and -Wiio 's jNIr. Ilim ! LAXDLORn. Who should lie bu but the pride of the village, Claude Melnotte ? — Of course you have heard of Claude Melnotte ? GLAVis {fjicing back the bill of fare). Never had that honor. Soup — ragout of hare — roast chicken, and, in short, all you have I BEAUSEAXT. The son of old IMelnotte, the gardener ? LANDLORD. Exactly so, — a Avonderful young man. BEAUSEANT. How wonderful ? — Are his cabbages better than other people's ? LAXDLOKD. Nay, he don't garden any more ; his father left him well off. He 's only a genus. GLAVIS. A what ? LAXDLonn. A genus ! — a man who can do everything in life except anything that 's useful ; — that 's a genus. P.EALSEAXT. You raise my curiosity ; — pi'oeeed. LANDLORD. Well, then, al)out four years ago, old INIelnotte died and left his son well to do in the world. We 2 18 THE LADY OF LYONS: then all observed that a great clianue came over young Claude : he took to reading and Latin, and hired a professor from Lyons, who had so much in his head that he was forced to wear a great full- bottom wig to cover it. Then he took a fencing- master, and a dancing-master, and a music-master ; and then he learned to paint ; and at last it was said that young Claude was to go to Paris, and set up for a painter. The lads laughed at him at first ; but he is a stout fellow, is Claude, and as brave as a lion, and soon taught them to laugh the wrong side of their mouths; and now all the boys swear by him, and all the girls pray for him. BEAUSKANT. A promising youth, certainly ! And why do they call him Prince ? LANDLORD. Partly because he is at the head of them all, and parti}- because he has such a proud way with him, and wears such fine clothes, — and, in short, looks like a prince. BEAUSEAXT. And what could have turned the foolish fellow's brain ? The Revolution, I suppose ? LANDLORD. Yes, — the Revolution that turns us all tojisy-turvy, — the revolution of Love. P.KArSEANT. Romantic young Cor^don I And with whom is he in love ? LANDLORD. Why — but it is a secret, gentlemen. OR, LOVE AND PKIDE. 19 BEAUSEANT. Oil ! cei-tainly. . LANDLORD. Why, then, I hear from his mother, good soul ! tliat it is no less a person than the Beauty of Lyons, Pauline Deschappelles. BEAUSEANT ttlld GLAVIS. Ha! ha! — Capital! LANDLORD. You may laugh, but it is as true as I stand here. BEAUSEANT. And what does the Beauty of Lyons say to his suit? LANDLORD. Lord, sir, she never even condescended to look at him, though when he was a boy he worked in her father's garden. BEAUSEANT. Are you sure of that ? LANDLORD. His mother says that Mademoiselle docs not know him by sight. BEAUSEANT {taking Glavis aside). I have liit it, — I have it ; — here is our revenge ■' Here is a prince for our haughty damsel. . Do you take me ? OLAVIS. Deuce take me if I do ! BEAUSEANT. Blockhead ! — it 's as clear as a map. What if we could make this elegant clown pass himself oti' as a 20 THK LADY OF LYONS: foreign prince? — lend him money, clothes, equipage for the purposed — nrake him propose to Pauline? — many Pauline ? Would it not be delicious? GLAVIS. Ha ! ha ! — Excellent ! But how shall Ave support the necessary expenses of his highness ? I5EAUSEANT. Pshaw ! Revenge is worth a much larger sacrifice than a few hundred louis ; — as for details, my valet is the trustiest fellow in the world, and shall have the appointment of his highness's establishment. Let 's go to him at once, and see if he be really thia Admi- rable Crichton. GLAVIS. With all my heart ; — but the dinner ? BEAUSEAXT. Always thinking of dinner ! Hark ye, landlord, how ftir is it to young Melnotte's cottage? I should like to see such a prodigy. L.VXDLORD. Turn down the lane, — then strike across the com- mon, — and you will see his mother's cottage. BEAUSEAXT. True, he lives with his mother. — (Aside.') We will not trust to an old. woman's discretion; better send for him hither. I '11 just step in and write him a note. Come, Glavis. GLAVIS. Yes, — Beauseant, Glavis, and Co., manufacturer of princes, wholesale and retail, — an uncommonly genteel line of business. But why so grave ? OR, LOVE AXD PRIDE. 21 BEAUSEANT. You think only of the sport, — I of the revenge. [Exeunt within the Inn, SCENE III. Tlie Interior q/" JIelnotte's Cottage; Jloioers placed here and there ; a r/uitcir on an oaken table, with a jjortfolio, {fr. ; a picture on an easel, covered by a curtain ; fencing- foils crossed over the mantelpiece ; an attempt at refine- ment in spite of the homeliness of the furniture, ifc. ; a staircase to the ric/hi conducts to the upper story. {Shout without.) — " Long live Claude Melnotte ! " " Long live the Prince ! " THE WIDOW MELNOTTE. Hark ! — there 's my dear son ; — carried off the prize, I 'm sure ; and now he '11 want to treat them all. CLAUDE MELNOTTE {opening the door). What ! you will not come in, my friends ! Well, well, — there's a trifle to make merry elsewhere. Good day to you all, — good day ! (Shout.) — " Hurrah ! Long live Prince Claude ! " Enter Claude Melnotte, with a rifle in his hand. MELNOTTE. Give me joy, dear mother ! I 've won the prize ! — never missed one shot ! Is it not handsome, this gun V WIDOW. Humph ! — Well, wliat is it worth, Claude ? 22 THi: I.ADY OF LYONS : MELXOTTE. Worth ! Wliat is a ribbon worth to a soldic ? Worth I everything ! Glory is priiele&s ! WIDOW. Leave glor^- to great folks. Ah ! Claude, Claude, castles in the air cost a vast deal to keep up ! How is all this to end? "\Miat good does it do thee to learn Latin, and sing songs, and play on the guitar, and fence, and dance, and paint pictures ? AH very- fine ; but what does it bring in ? MELNOTTE. Wealth ! wealth, my mother ! — Wealth to the mind, — wealth to the heart, — high thoughts, — bright dreams, — the hope of fame, — the eimbitioa to be worthier to love Pauline. ^vIDOw. ^ly poor son ! — The young lady will never think of thee. MELXOTTE. Do the stars think of us V Yet if the prisoner see them shine into his dungeon, wouldst thou bid him turn away from their lustre 'i Even so from this low cell, poverty, I lift my eyes to Pauline and forget my chains. — (Goes' to the picture and draws aside the cwtainJ) See. this is her image, — painted from memory. — Oh. how the canvas wrongs her ! — ( Tales up the brush and throws it aside.) — I shall never be a painter ! I can paint no likeness but one, and that is above all art I would turn soldier, — France needs soldiers I But to leave the air that Pauline breathes! What is the hour? — so late? OS. LOVE AND PRIDEU 23 I will tell thee a secret, mother. Thou knowest that for the last six weeks I have sent every day the rarest flowers to Pauline? — she wears theni. I have seen them on her breast. Ah, and then the whole universe seemed filled with odors! I have now grown more bold, — I have poured my worship into poetrj-, — I have sent the verses to Pauline. — I have signed them with my own name. My mes- senger ought to be back by this time. I bade hitn wait for the cuiswer. WIDOW. And what answer do you expect, Claude ? MELXOTTE. That which the Queen of Xavarre sent to the poor troubadour : — " Let me see the Oracle that can tell nations I am beautiful ! " She will admit me. I shall hear her speak, — I shall meet her eyes, — I shall read ujx)n her cheek the sweet thoughts that translate themselves into blushes. Then — then, oh. then — she may for^t that I am the peas- ant's son I ■WIDOW. Xay, if she will but hear thee talk, Claude "? MELNOTTE. I foresee it all. She will tell me that desert is the true rank. She will give me a badge. — a flower. — a glove! Oh rapture! I shall join the armies of the Republic, — I shall rise, — I shall win a name that beauty will not blush to hear. I shall return with the right to say to her — •• See. how love does not level the proud, but raise the humble!" Oh, 24 THK LADY OF I.YOXS : how my heai't swells within me ! — Oh, what glorious Prophets of the Future are Youth and Hope ! IKiwck at Uie door- WIDOW. Come in. Enter Gasi'ak. MELNOTTK. Welcome, Gaspar, welcome. Where is the letter ? AVhy do jou turn away, man ? where is the letter ? (Gaspar gives Jtim one.') This ! This is mine, the one I intrusted to thee. Didst thou not leave it ? GASPAIJ. Yes, I left it. MELXOTTE. My own verses returned to me. Nothing else ? GASPAR. Thou wilt be proud to hear how thy messenger ■was honored. For thy sake, ]\Ielnotte, I have borne that which no Frenclmian can bear without disgrace. MELXOTTE. Disgrace, Gaspar ! Disgrace ? CASPAR. I gave thy letter to the porter, who passed it from lackey to lackey till it reached the lady it was meant for. MELXOTTE. It reached her, then ; — you are sure of that ? It reached her, — well, well ! CASPAR. It reached her, and was returned to me with blows. Dost hear, Melnotte ? with blows ! Death ! OR, LOVE AXD PRIDE. 25 are we slaves still, that we are to be thus dealt with, we j^uasants ? MELXOTTE. With blows ? No, Gaspar, no ; not blows ! GASrAR. I could show thee the marks if it were not so deep a shame to bear them. The lackey who tossed thy letter into the mire swore that his lady and her motlier never were so insulted. What could thy letter contain, Claude V MELNOTTE (lookinr/ over (he letter). Not a line that a serf might not have written to an empress. No, not one. CASPAR. They promise thee the same greeting they gave me, if thou wilt pass that way. Shall we endure this, Claude V MEi.NOTTE {wringinrj Caspar's hand). Forgive me, the fault was mine, I have brought this on thee ; I will not forget it ; thou shalt be avenged ! The heartless insolence ! GASPAR. Thou art moved, Melnotte ; think not of me ; I would go through fire and water to serve thee ; but — a blow ! It is not the bruise that galls, — it is the blush, Melnotte. JIEI/NOTTE. Say, what message ? — Ilow insulted ? — Where- fore ? — AVhat the ofTencc ? CASPAR. Did yon not wi-ite to Pauline Deschappelles, the daughter of the rich merchant? 26 THE LADY OF LYONS: JIKLXOTTK. Well? — CASPAR. And are you not a peasant, — a gardener's son ? — that was the offence. Sleep on it, Melnotte. Blows to a French citizen, blows ! WIDOW. Now you are cured, Claude ! MELNOTTE (^tearing the letter). So do I scatter her image to the winds, — I will stop her in the open streets, — I will insult her, — I will beat her menial ruflians, — I will ( Turns suddt'niij to Widow.} Llother, am I humpbacked, — deformed, — hideous ? WIDOW. You ! BIELNOTTE. A coward, — a thief, — a liar ? WIDOW. You! JIEI.NOTTE. Or a dull fool, — a vain, drivelling, brainless idiot ? WIDOW. No, no. MELXOTTE. What am I then — worse than all these ? Why, I am a peasant! What has a peasant to do with love ? A'^ain Revolutions, why lavish your cruelty on the great ? Oh that we — we, the hcAvers of wood and drawers of water, had been swept away, OR, LOVK AND PRrD3. 27 SO that the proud might learn what the world would be without us ! — [Knock at the door. Enter Servant y/'tiw the Inn. SEKVANT. A letter for Citizen Melnotte. MKLNOTTE. A letter ! from her perhaps. Who sent thee ? SEltVAXT. Why, JMonsieur — I mean Citizen — Beauseant, who stops to dine at the Golden Lion, on his way to his chateau. MELNOTTE. Beauseant ! — (Reads.) " Young man, I know thy secret, — thou lovest above thy station : if thou hast wit, courage, and discretion, I can secure to thee the realization of thy most sanguine hopes ; and the sole condition I ask in return is, that tliou shalt be steadfast to thine own ends. I shall demand from thee a solemn oath to marry her whom thou lovest; to bear her to thine home on thy wedding niglit. I am serious, — if thou Avouldst learn more, lose not a moment, but follow the bearer of this letter to thy friend and patron, — ClIAKLES BeAUSKANT." 5IELNOTTE. Can I believe my eyes ? Are our own passions the sorcerers that raise up for us spirits of good or evil ? I will go instantly. WIDOW. What is this, Claude ? 28 THE LADY OF LYONS: MELNOTTE. " !Marry her whom thou lovest," — " boar her to thine own home." — O, revenge and love ; which of 3"ou is the stronger? — (^Gazing on the picture.) Sweet face, thou smilest on me from the canvas : weak fool that I am, do I then love her still ? No, it is the vision of my own romance that I have wor- shipped : it is the reality to whicli I bring scorn for scorn. Adieu, mother : I will return anon. My brain reels, — the earth swims before me. — (Looks again at the letter.) 'So, it is nut a mockery ; I do not dream ! [Exit. OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 29 ACT 11. ScEXE I. — The Gardens ofM. Dkschappelles' House at Lyons — the House seen at the back of the starje. Enter Beauseaxt and Glavis. BEAUSEANT. Well, what think you of my plot ? Has it not suc- ceeded to a miracle ? The instant that I introduced His Highness the Prince of Como to the pompous mother and the scornful daughter, it was all over with them : he came — he saw — he conquered ; and, though it is not many days since he arrived, they have already promised him the hand of Pauline. GLAVIS. It is luck}-, though, that )0U told them his High- ness travelled incognito, for fear the Director}' (who are not very fond of princes) should lay him by the heels ; for he has a wonderful wish to keep up his rank, and scatters our gold about with as nuich cool- ness as if he were watering his own llower-pots. ISEAUSEANT. True, he is damnably extravagant ; I think the sly dog does it out of malice. However, it nuist be owned that he reflects credit on his loyal subjects, and makes a very pretty figure in his fine clothes, with my diamond snuff-box — (iLAVIS. And my diamond ring-! But do you think he will 30 THE LADl' OF LYOXS: be finn to tlic last ? I fency I see symptoms of re- lentlno;: lie will never keep U]) liis rank, if he once let out his consuience. BE A USE A NT. Ilis oath binds him ; he cannot retract without be- ing forsworn, and those low fellows are always super- stitious ! But, as it is, I tremble lest he be dis- covered : that blutr Colonel Damas (Madame Des- chappollcs' cousin) evidently suspects him : we must make haste and conclude the farce ; I have thought of a plan to end it this very day. OLA VIS. This very day ! Poor Pauline : her dream will be soon over. REAUSEANT. Yes, this day they shall be married ; this evening, according to his oath, he shall cai-ry his bride to the Golden Lion, and then pomp, equipage, retinue, and title, all shall vanish at once ; and her Highness the Princess shall find that she has refused the son of a ]\lar([uis, to marry the son of a Gardener. Oh, Pauline! once loved, now hated, yet still not relin- quished, thou shalt drain the cup to the dregs, — thou shalt know what it is to be humbled ! Enter from the noiise, Melnotte, as the Prince of Conio, leadhifj in Pauline*; Mada:«e Desciiappelles, Jcin- niny herself; and Colonel Dajias. [Beauseant and Glavis how respectfully. Pauline and Melnotte walk apart. MADAME DESCHAPPELLES. Good morning, gentlemen ; really I am so fatigued OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 31 ■with laughter; the dear Prince is so entertaining. AA^liat wit lie has ! Any one may see that he has spent liis whole life in courts. DAMAS. And what the deuce do yon know about courts, cousin Deschappelles ? You women regard men just as j'ou buy books, — }ou ne^'er care about what is in them, but how they are bound and lettered. S'death, I don't think you would even look at }'Our Bible if it had not a title to it. MADAMK DESCIIAPPELLES. How coai-se you are, cousin Damas ! — quite the manners of a barrack, — you don't deserve to be one of our family ; really we must drop your acquaint- ance when Pauline marries. I cannot patronize any relations that would discredit my future son-in-law, the Prince of Como. MELNOTTE (admncin/j). These are beautiful gardens, ]\Iadame, — (Beau- SEANT and Glavis retire,) — wlio plauneil them ? M.A.DAME nESCHAI'PELLES. A gardener named Melnotte, your Highness, — an honest man who knew his station. I can't say as much for his son, — a presuming fellow, who — ha ! ha ! actually wrote verses — such doggerel I — to iny daughter. PAULINE. Yes, how you would have laughed at them, Prince ! — i/ou who write such beaiiliiid verses! :Mi;r.X()TTi;. This ISIelnotte must be a monstrous impudent person ! 32 THE LADY OF LYONS : DAMAS. Is he good-looking ? MADA5IE Dp;SCnAPrELLES. I never notice such canaille, — an ugly, mean- looking clown, if I remember right. DAMAS. ■ Yet I heard }-our porter say he was wondei-fully like his Highness. JIELXOTTE (tal-inr/ smiff.) You are complimentary. MADAME DESCHAPPELLES. For shame, cousin Damas ! — like the Prince, in- deed! PAULINE. Like you ! Ah, mother, like our beautiful Prince ! I '11 ue^er speak to you again, cousin Damas. 5IELXOTTE {ttsick). Humph ! — rank is a groat beautifier ! I never passed for an Apollo ■while I was a peasant ; if I am so handsome as a prince, Avhat should I be as an emperor ? — (Aloud.) Monsieur Beauseant, will you honor me ? [ Offers srrnff. BEAUSEANT. No, your Highness ; I have no small vices. MELXOTTE. Nay, if it were a vice you 'd be sure to have it, iMonsieur Beauseant. MADAME DESCHArPELLES. Ha ! ha ! — how very se\ere ! — what wit ! BEAUSEANT {in a rage and aside). Curse his impertinence ! OU, LOVE AXD PKIDE. 33 3IADAME DESCHAPPELLES. What a superb snuif-box ! PAULINE. And what a beautiful ring ! JlELXoTTE. You like the box, — a trllle, — interesting perhaps from assoL-iations, — a present from Louis XIV. to niy great-great-grandmother. Honor me by accepting it. BEAUSEANT (plucTchig him by the sleeve). How ! — what the devil ! My box, — are you mad ? It is worth five hundred louis. MELNOTTE {unheeding him, and turning to pauline). And you like this ring ? Ah, it has, indeed, a lustre since your ej'es have shone on it. (^Placing it on her finger.') Henceforth hold me, sweet enchantress, the Slave of the Ring. GLAVis (pulling him). Stay, stay — what are you aboiit ? ]My maiden aunt's legacy, — a diamond of the first water. You shall be hanged for swindling. Sir. jiELXOTTE (pretending not to hear). It is curious, this ring; it is the one with which mj' grandfather, the Uoge of Venice, married the Adriatic ! [ilADAME and Pauline examine the ring. MELNOTTE (to Beauseant and Glavis). Fie, gendenien, princes must be generous ! — (^Turntt to Damas, who vxttchea them closely.) These kind friends have my interest so much at heart, that they are as careful of my property as if It were their own ! 3 34 THE LADY OF LYONS-. BKAUSEAXT fMlC? GLAYIS (confusedllj). Ha ! ha ! — very good joke that ! [Ajjpem- to remonstrate ivith JIelnottjc in dumb show. DAM AS. What 's all that whispering ? I am sure there is some juggle here : hang me, if I think he is an It'alian after all. Gad ! I '11 try him. Servitore umillissimo, Eccellenza.* MELNOTTK. Hum — what does he mean, I wonder ? DAJIAS. Godo di vedervi In buona salute.f MELNOTTE. Hem — hem ! D All AS. Fa bel tempo — elie si dice di nuovo ? % :Mn:LNOTTE. Well, Sir, Avhat 's all that gibberish ? DAM AS. Oh, oh ! — only Italian, your Highness ! — The Prince of Como does not understand his own lan- guage ! MELNOTTE. Not as you pronounce it ; who the deuce could ? JIADAME DESCH.A.PPEI,LES. Ha ! ha ! cousin Damas, never pretend to what vou don't know. * Your Excellency's most Imiiilile servant, t 1 am glad to see you in good liealtli. t Fine weather. What news is there ? OR, LOVE AND PRIDK. 35 PAULINE. ITa ! ha! cousin Danias; you speak Italian, indeed! [Makes a mochinrj gesture at him. BEAUSEANT (to GLAVIS.) Clever dog ! — how ready ! GLAVIS. Ready, yes ; with my diamond ring ! — Damn his readiness ! DAMAS. Laugh at me ! — laugh at a Colonel in the French army! — the fellow's an impostor; I know he is. I '11 see if he understands fighting as well as he does Italian. — (Goes up to him, and aside. ^ Sir, you are a jackanapes ! — Can you construe that ? MELNOTTE. No, Sir ; I never construe affronts in the presence of ladies ; by and by I shall be happy to take a lesson — or give one. BAMAS. I '11 find the occasion, never fear ! MADAJIE DESCHAPl'ELLES. Where are }'ou going, cousin ? UAJIAS. To correct my Italian. [Exit. BEAUSEANT (to GlAVIS). Let US after, and pacify him ; he evidently suspects something. GLAVIS. Yes ! — but my diamond ring ! BEAUSEANT. And my ])ox I — We are over-taxed, fellow-sub- 36 TIIK LADY OF LYONS : jects ! — we must stop the supplies and dethrone the Prince. GLAVIS. Prince ! — he ought to be heir-apparent to King Stork! [Exeunt Beauseast and Glavis. MADAME BESCHAPPIiLT-KS. Dare I ask your Highness to forgive my cousin's insufferable vulgarity ? PAULIXE. Oh, yes ! — you will forgive his manner for the sake of his heart. JIELNOTTE. And the sake of his cousin. — Ah, IMadame, thei'e is one comfort in rank, — we are so sure of our posi- tion that we are not easily atfrontod. Besides, M. Damas has bought the riglit of indulgence from his friends, by ne\er showing it to liis enemies. PAULINE. Ah ! he is, indeed, as brave in action as he is rude in speech. He rose from the ranks to his present grade, — and in two years ! MELXOTTE. In two years ! — two years, did you say ? MADAME DESCHAPPELl-ES (asuh). I don't like leaving girls alone with their lovers; but, with a jJi'hice, it would be so ill-bred to be prudish. [E^it. ■MFA.yOTTF.. You can be proud of your connection with one who owes his position to merit, — not bii-th. OR, LOVE AXD PRIDE. 37 PAULINE. AYhy, yes ; but still — :melnotte. Still what, Pauline ! PAULINE. There is something glorious in the Heritage of Command. A man avIio has ancestors is like a Rep- resentative of the Past. JIELNOTTE. True ; but, like other representatives, nine times out of ten he is a silent member. Ah, Pauline ! not to the Past, but to the Future, looks true nobility, and finds its blazon in posterity. PAULINE. You say this to please me, who have no ancestors ; but you, Prince, must be proud of so illustrious a race ! 5IELN0TTE. No, no ! I would not, were I fifty times a prince, be a pensioner on the Dead ! I honor birth and ancestry when they are regarded as the incentives to exertion, not the title-deeds to sloth ! I honor the laurels that overshadow the graves of our fathers ; — it is our fathers I emulate, when I desire that be- neath the evergreen I mjself have planted my own ashes may repose ! Dearest ! couldst thou but see with my ej'cs ! PAULINE. I cannot forego pride when I look on thee, and think that thou lovest me. Sweet Prince, tell me again of thy palace by the Lake of Como ; it is so 38 THE LADY OK LYOXS : pleasant to hear of thy splendors since thou didst swear to me that they would be desolate Avithont Pauline ; and when thou describest them, it is with a mocking lip and a noble scorn, as if custom had made thee disdain greatness. IMi;i,X()TTK. Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint The home to wliich, could Love fulfil its prayers, This hand would lead thee, listen ! * — A deep vale Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world ; Near a clear lake, margined by fruits of gold And whispering myrtles; glassing softest skies As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows. As I would have thy fate ! PAULINE. INIy own dear love ! JIELNOTTE. A palace lifting to eternal summer Its marble walls, from out a gloss}- bower Of coolest foliage musical with birds, "Whose songs sliould syllable thy name ! At noon * The reader will observe that Melnotto evade? the request of Pauline. lie proceeds to describe a home, wliich he does not say lie possesses, but to which lie would lead her, '' could Lnvc fuljil its prayers," This caution is intended as a reply to a sajiacious critic who censures the description, because it is not an exact and prosaic inventory of the characteristics of the Lake of Comol — When Rlelnotte, for instance, talks of birds "that syllable the name of Pauline," (by the way a literal translation from an Italian poet,) iie is not thinking of ornithology, but probably of the Arabian Nislits. He is ventins the extravagant, but natural, enthusiasm of the Poet and the hover. OK, LOVK AND I'KIDE. 39 "We 'd sit beneath tlie arcliing vines, and wonder AVhy Earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens Still left us youth and love ! We 'd have no friends That were not lovers ; no ambition, save To excel them all in love ; we 'd read no books That were not tales of love, — that we might smile To think how poorly eloquence of words Translates the poetry of hearts like ours ! And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens We 'd guess what star should be our home when love Becomes immortal ; while the perfumed light Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps, And every air was heavy with the sighs Of orange-groves and music from sweet lutes, And murmers of low fountains that gush forth I' the midst of roses ! — Dost thou like the picture ? PAULIXi;. Oh, as the bee uoon the flower, I hang Upon the honey of thy eloquent tongue ! Am I not blest ? And if I love too wildly, AV^ho would not love thee like Pauline ? MELNOTTK {bitterly). Oh, false one ! It is the prince thou lovest, not the man : If in the stead of luxury, ])omp, and power, I had painted poverty, and toil, and care, Thou hadst found no honey on my tongue ; — Pauline, That is not love ! rAULINK. Thou wrong'st me, cruel Prince ! At first, in truth, I might not have been won. 40 THE LADY OF LYONS : Save through the weakness of a flattered pride ; But noil- — Oh ! trust me, — couldst thou fall from power And sink — JtELXOTTE, As low as that poor gardener's son Who dared to lift his eyes to thee ? — I'.VULIKK. Even then, Methinks thou wouldst be only made more dear By the sweet thought that I eould prove how deep Is woman's love ! AV^e are like the insects, caught By the poor glittering of a garish flame ; But, oh, the wings once scorched, the brightest star Lures us no more ; and by the fatal light We cling till death ! aiELXOTTE. Angel ! (^Asidc.') O conscience ! conscience ! It must not be; — her love hath grown a torture A\^orse than her hate. I Avill at once to Beauseant, And ha ! he comes. Sweet love, one mo- ment leave me. I have business with these gentlemen — I — I Will forthwith join you. PAULIXK. Do not tarry long ! Enter Bic.vusEANT and Glavis. :\!I".LNOTTE. Release me from my oath, — I will not marry her ! OR, LOVE AXD PRIDE. 41 BEAUSEANT. Then tliou art perjured. JIELXOTTE. No, I was not iu my senses when I swore to thee to marry her ! I was blind to all but ber scorn ! — deaf to all but my passion and my rage ! Give me back my poverty and my honor ! BEAUSEANT. It is too late, — you must marry her ! and this day. I have a story already coined, and sure to pass cur- rent. This Damas suspects thee, — he will set the police to work ; — thou wilt be detected, — Pauline will despise and execrate thee. Thou wilt be sent to the common gaol as a swindler. MELNOTTE. Fiend ! BEAUSEANT. And in the heat of the girl's resentment (you know of what resentment is capable) and the par- ents' shame, she will be induced to marry the first that offers, — even perhaps your humble ser- vant. MELNOTTE. You ! No ; that were worse, — for thou hast no mercy! I will marry her, — I will keep my oath. Quick, then, with the danmable invention thou art hatching ; — cpiick, if thou Avouldst not have me strangle thee or myself. GI-AVIS. "What a tiger ! Too fierce for a prince ; — he ouY ok lyoxs: r.KMSKANT. Kuough, — I will ili'spatih ; be proiKirod. [ luruiit Rkavsk.vnt and Glavis. iMter Damas trilh firo swonk. DAM AS. Now, then. Sir, the ladies are no longer your ex- cuse. I have brought yon a couple ot'dietionaries ; let us see it" your llighnej^s can lind out the Latin lor hllbo. M Kl.NOTTK. Away, Sir! — I am in no humor for jesting. PV>1AS. I see yon understand something of the granuuar; you decline the noim-snbstautive " small sword " ■with great ease ; but that won't do, — you must take a lesson in parsin (he st(t>nl ami reftiriig it to Damas i-ispnt/itlhi. A just punishment to the brave soldier who nibs the State of its best property, — the sole right to his valor and his lite. P \M AS. Sir, you fence exceedingly well ; you must be a OR, LOVK AND PRIDE. 43 man of honor — I don't care a jot whether you are a prince ; l>ut a man who has carte and tierce at his fingers' ends must be a gentleman. Mi;i.Nl)TTK (dside). Gentleman ! Aj-, I was a gentleman before I turned conspirator ; for honest men are the gentle- men of Nature ! Colonel, they tell me you rose from the ranks. DAMAS. I did. MKI.XOTTK. And in two years ? DAJIAS. It is true-; that's no wonder in our army at pres- ent. Why, the oldest general in the service Is scarcely thirty, and we have some of two-and-twenty. MELXOTTK. Two-and-twenty ! PAMAS. Yes; in the French army, now-a-days, promotion is not a matter of purchase. We are all heroes, Ijccause we may be all generals. We have no fear of the cypress, because we may all hope for the laurel. MELXOTTK- A general at two-and-twenty! ((uritiiifj aira>/) — Sir, T may ask vou a lavor one of these days. DAMAS. Sir, T shall be proud to grant it. It is astonishing how much 1 like a man after I 've fought wilh him. [//ides the swords. 44 THE LADY OF LYONS: Enter Madame DEscHAPrELi^KS and Beauseant. MADA5rE DESCIIAPPELLES. Oh, Prince ! — Prince ! — AVliat do I hear ? You must fly, you must quit us ! melnotte. I! — BEAUSEANT. Tes, Prince : read this letter, just received from my friend at Paris, one of the Directory ; they sus- pect you of designs against the Republic ; they are very suspicious of princes, and your family take part with the Austrians. Knowing that I introduced your Highness at Lyons, my friend writes to me to say that you must quit the town immediately, or )'ou will be arrested, — thrown into prison, perhaps guillo- tined ! Fly ! — I will order horses to your carriage instantly. Fly to Marseilles ; there you can take ship to Leghorn. IMADAME DESCHAPPELLES. And what's to become of Pauline '? Am I not to be a mother to a princess, after all ? Enter Pauline and M. Desohappelles. PAULINE (throwing herself into JIelnotte's arms). You must leave us ! — Leave Pauline ! beauseant. Not a moment is to be wasted. MONS. DESCIIAPPELLES. I will go to the magistrates and incpiire BEAUSEANT. Then he is lost ; the magistrates, hearing he is suspected, will order his arrest. OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 45 MAnA:\rE nEsciiArrELT.ES. Ami I shall not be a Priiu'ess Dowager ! r.EAUSKANT. Why not ? There is only one thing to be done : — send lor tlie priest — let tlie marriage take place at once, and the Prince carry home a bride ! MELNOTTE. Impossible ! — (Aside.') Villain ! JIADAME DESCHAPPELLES. What, lose my child ? 15EAUSEANT. And gain a jirincess ! MADAME DESCHAPPELI-ES. Oh, INIonsieur Beauseant, you are so very kind, it must be so, — we ought not to be selfish, my daugh- ter's happiness at stake. She will go away, too, in a carriage and six: ! PAULINE. Thou art here still, — I cannot part from thee, — my heart will break. MELNOTTE. But thou wilt not consent to this hasty imion ? — thou wilt not Aved an outcast, — a fugitive ? PAULINE. Ah ! If thou art in danger, who should share it but Pauline ? MELNOTTE {aside.) Distraction ! — If the earth could swallow me ! MONS. DKSCMAI'I'KLLES. (Icntly ! gently ! The settlements — the contracts — my daughter's dowry ! 46 THE LADY OF LYONS: MELNOTTE. The dowry ! — I am not base enough for that ; no, not one farthhig ! liEAUSEANT {tO JIadAME). Noble fellow ! — Really your good husband is too mercantile in these matters. Monsieur Deschap- pelles, you hear his Highness : we can arrange the settlements by proxy; 'tis the way with people of quality. JIONS. descuappelles. But MADAME DESCIIAPPELI.KS. Hold your tongue ! — Do n't expose yourself ! BEAUSEANT. I will bring the priest in a trice. Go in all of you and prepare ; the carriage shall be at the door be- fore the ceremony is over. MADAME DESCHAPPELLES. Be sure there are six horses, Beauseant ! You are very good to have forgiven us for refusing you ; but you see — a prince ! BEAUSEANT. And such a prince ! Madame, I cannot blush at the success of so illustrious a rival. — (Aside.) Now will I follow them to the village, enjoy my triumjih, and to-morrow, in the hour of thy shame and grief, I think, proud girl, thou wilt prefer even these arms to those of the gardener's son. [Exit. MADAME Di;srH ArlMCLf.ES. Come, Monsieur Desdiappelles, give your arm to her Highness that is to be. OK, LOVE AND PRIDE. 47 5IOXS. UESCIIAPPELLES. I don't like doing business in such a hurry : 't is not the way with the house of Deschappelles and Co. JIADAJIE DliSCHAPPELLKS. There, now, you fancy you are in the counting- house, don't you V [Pushes Mm to Paulixk. JIKLNOTTE. Stay, stay, Pauhne, — one word. Have you no scruple, no fear? Speak, — it is not yet too late. PAULINE. When I loved thee, thy fate became mine. Tri- umph or danger, — joy or sorrow, — I am by thy side. DAMAS. Well, well, Prince, thou art a lucky man to be so loved. She is a good little girl in spite of her foi- bles, — make her as happy as if she were not to be a princess Qilapping lain on the shoulder). Come, Sir, I wish you joy ; — young — tender — lovely ; — zounds, I envy you ! Melnotte {iclio has stood apart in gloom// abstraction). Do you ? * * On tlie stage the following linos are added : — " Do you .' Wise judges are we of eacli other. ' Woo, wed, and bear Jier lioiuc 1 ' So runs the bond To which I sold myself — and then — what then.'' Away ! — I will not look beyond tlie Hour. Like children in the dark, 1 dure nut face The shrulcs that gather round nie in tlio distance. You envy nie — I thank you — you may read Wy joy upon my brow — I thank you, Sir ! If liearts had audible language, you would lioar Wliat mine would answer when you talk oi envy ! " 48 THE LADY OF LYONS: ACT III. ScEXE I. — The Exterior of ihe Golden Lion — time, iwilif/ht. The moon 7-ises during the Scene. Enter Landlord and his Daughter from ihe Inn. LANDLORD. Ha — ha -r- ha ! Well, I never shall get over it. Our Claude is a prince with a vengeance now. His carriage breaks clown at my inn — ha — ha ! J A NET. And what airs the young lady gives herself! " Is this the best room you have, young woman ? " with such a toss of the head. LANDLOr.D. Well, get in, Janet : get in and see to the supper : the servants must sup before they go back. [Exeu7it. Enter Beauseant and Glavis. r.KAUSKANT. You see our Princess is lodged at last, — one stage more, and she '11 be at her journey's end, — the beautiful palace at the foot of the Alps ! — ha — ha ! GLAVIS. Faith, I pity the poor Pauline, — especially if she 's going to sup at the Golden Lion. (^Makes a wryface.^ I shall never forget that cursed ragout Enter JIelxotte y^'o^H the Inn. I5EAUSKANT. Your servant, my Prince ; you reigned most wor~ OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 49 thily. I condole with you on your abdication. I am afraid that your liighness's retinue are not very faithful servants. I think they will quit you in the moment of your fall, — 't is the fate of greatness. But you are welcome to your fine clothes, — also the diamond snulF-box, which Louis XIV. gave to your great-grcat-grandmother. GLAVIS. And the ring, with which your grandfather the Doge of Venice married the Adriatic. JI KI.XOTTK. I have kept my oath, gentlemen, say, — have I kept my oath ? BEAUSEANT. Most religiously. JIKLNOTTE. Then you have done with me and mine, — away with you ! BEAUSEANT. How, knave ? 5IELNOTTE. Look you, our bond is over. Proud conquerors that we are, we have won the victory over a simple girl, — compromised her honor, — embittered her life, — blasted, in then- very blossoms, all the flow- ers of her youth. This is your triumph, — it is my shame! {Turns to Beauskant.) Enjoy thy tri- umpli, but not in my sight. I ivas her betrayer, — I am her protector ! Cross but her path, — one word of scorn, one look of insult, — nay, but one quiver of that mocking lip, and I will teach thee that bitter 4 50 THE LADY OF LYONS: word thou hast graven eternally in this heart, — Repentance ! r.EAUSKANT. His Highness Is most grandiloquent. JIKLNOTTE. Highness me no more. Beware ! Remorse has made me a new being. Away with you ! There is danger in me. Away ! GLAvis (aside.) He 's an awkward fellow to deal with ; come away, Beauseant. BEAUSEANT. I know the respect due to rank. Adieu, my Prince. Any commands at Lyons ? Yet hold, — I i^romlsed you two hundred louis on your wedding- day ; here they are. JiELNOTTE (dashing (he purse to the ground). I gave you revenge, I did not sell it. Take up your silver, Judas ; take it. — Ay, it is fit you should learn to stoop. BEAUSEANT. You will beg my pardon for this some day. (Aside to Glavis.) Come to my chateau, — I shall return hither to-morrow to learn how Pauline likes her new dignity. aiELNOTTE. Are you not gone yet ? BEAUSEANT. Your Highness's most obedient, most faithful — GLAVIS. And most humble servants. Ha! ha! [l^xeunf Beauseant and Glavis. OR, LOVK AND PRIDE. 51 JIKT.NOTTE. Thank Heaven, I had no weapon, or I should have slain them. Wrekh ! what can I say ? Where turn ? On all sides mockery — the very boors with- in — (^Lfnujhtcr from the Inn.^ — 'Sdeath, if even in this short absence the exposure should have chanced. I will call her. We will go hence. I have already sent one I can trust to my mother's house. Tiiere at least none can insult her agony, — gloat upon her shame ! There alone must she learn what a villain she has sworn to love. \^As he turns to the door enter Pauline from the Inn. PAULINE. Ah ! m}' Lord, what a place ! I never saw such rude people. Tliey stare and wink so. I think the vei'}' sight of a prince, though he travels incognito, turns their honest heads. AVhat a pity the carriage should break down in such a spot ' You are not Avell — the drops stand on your brow — your hand is feverish. IMKLXOTTK. Naj-, it Is but a passing spasm ; the air ■ PAULINE. Is not the soft air of your native south — How jiale he is ! — indeed tliou art not well. AVlierc are our people ? I will call them. MELXOTTE. Hold ! I — I am Avell. PAULINE. Thou art ! — Ah ! now I know it. 52 THE LADY OF LYONS : Thou fanciest, my kind Lord — I know thou dost — Thou fanciest these rude walls, these rustic gossips, Bricked floors, sour wine, coarse viands, vex Pauline? And so they might, but thou art by my side, And I forget all else. Enter Luudlord, the SeiTants peejnng and laurjhing over his shoulder. LANDLORD. ]\I}- Lord — your Highness — Will your most noble Excellency choose — MELNOTTE. Begone, Sir ! [Exit Landlord, laughing. PAULINE. How could they have learned thy rank ? One's servants are so vain ! — nay, let it not Chafe thee, sweet Prince ! a few short days, and we Shall see thy palace by its lake of silver. And — nay, nay, Spendthrift, is thy wealth of smiles Already drained, or dost thou j)lay the miser V BIELNOTTE. Thine eyes would call up smiles in deserts, fair one ; Let us escape these rustics. Close at hand There is a cot where I have bid prepare Our evening lodgement — a rude, homely roof, But honest, where our welcome will not be ]\Lade torture by the vulgar eyes and tongues That are as death to Love ! A heavenly night ! The Avooing air and the soft moon invite us. Wilt walk V I pray thee, now, — I know the path, Ay, every inch of it ! OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 53 PAULIXK. A^^lat, thou ! metliought Thou wert a stranger in these parts ? Ah ! truant, Some village beauty lured thee ; — thou art now Grown constant '? aiELNOTTE. Trust me. taulixe. Princes are so changeful ! MKLNOTTE. Come, dearest, come. PAULINE. Shall I not call our people To light us ? JIELXOTTE. Heaven will lend its stars for torches ! It is not far. PAULINE. The night breeze chills me. MELXOTTE. Nay, Let me thus mantle thee ; — it is not cold. PAULINE. Never beneath thy smile ! MELNOTTE (aside). Oh, Heaven ! forgive me ! [Exeunt. 54 THE LADY OF LYONS : SCENE II. JIelnotte's Cottage — Widow hustling abcmt — A iahh spread for supper. WIDOW. So, I think tliat looks very neat. He sent me a line, so blotted that I can scarcely read it, to say he would be here almost immediately. She must have loved him well indeed to have forgotten his birth- for though he was introduced to her in disguise, he is too honorable not to have revealed to her the arti- fice which her love only could forgive. AA'^ell, I do not wonder at it ; for though my son is not a prince, he ought to be one, and that 's almost as good. (Knock at the door.') Ah ! here they are. Enter ]\Ielnotte and Pauline. WIDOW. Oh, my boy — the jiride of my heart ! — welcome, welcome ! I beg pardon, JNIa'am, but I do love him so! PAULINE. Good woman, I really — why. Prince, what is this ? — does the old lady know you ? Oh, I guess 3011 have done her some service. Another proof of your kind heart, is it not ? IMELNOTTE Of my kind heart, ay I I'AIILINE. So you know the Prince ? OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 55 winow. Know him, ]\Iadam ? — Ah, I begin to fear it is you who know him not ! r.VULINE. Do you think she is mad ? Can wc stay here, my Lord ? I think there 's something very wild about her. MELNOTTE. Madam, I — no I cannot tell her, my knees knock together : what a coward is a man who has lost his honor ! Speak to her — speak to her (to his mother) >— tell her that — Oh, Heaven, that I were dead ! PAULINE. How confused he looks ! — this strange place — this woman — what can it mean ? — I half suspect — Who are you, Madam ? — who are you ? can't you speak ? are you struck dumb ? WIDOW. Claude, j-o^^ have not deceived her ? — Ah, shame upon )-ou ! I thought that, before you went to the altar, she was to have known all. PAULINE. All ! what ? — My blood freezes in my veins ! WIDOW. Poor lady! — dare I tell her, Claude? (Mel- NOTTE makes a sign of assent.) Know you not tlien, Madam, that this J'oung man is of poor though honest parents ? Know you not that you are wed- ded to my son, Claude Melnotte ? PAULINE. Your son ! hold — hold ! do not speak to me. — 56 THE LADY OF LYONS : {Approaches Melnotte, and lays her hand on his arin.^ Is this a jest ? is it ? I know it is, only speak — one word — one look — one smile. I can- not believe — I who loved thee so — I cannot believe that thou art such a — No, I will not wrong thee by a harsh word — Sjieak ! WELXOTTE. Leave us — have pity on her, on me : leave us. WIDOW. Oh, Claude, that I should live to see thee bowed by shame ! — thee of whom I was so proud ! [Exit, hy the staircase. PAULINE. Her son — her son ! 5IELNOTTE. Now, lady, hear me. PAULINE. Hear thee! Ay, speak — her son ! have fiends a parent V speak, That thou mayst silence curses — speak ! MELNOTTE. No, curse me : Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness. Pauline {laughing u-ildly). " This is thy palace, where the perfumed light Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps, And every air is heavy Avith the sighs Of orange-groves, and music from sweet lutes, And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth r the midst of roses ! " Dost thou like the picture ? This is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom ! OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 57 fool — O dupe — O wretch ! — I see it all — The byword and the jeer of every tongue In Lyons. Hast thou in thy heart one touch Of human kindness ? if thou hast, why, kill me, And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot — It cannot be : this is some horrid dream : 1 shall wake soon. — (^Toucliing Jilin.) Art flesh? art man ? or but The shadows seen in sleep ? — It is too real. What have I done to thee ? how sinned against thee, That thou shouldst crush me thus ? SIELNOTTE. Pauline, by pride — Angels have fallen ere thy time : by pride — That solo alloy of thy most lovely mould — The evil spirit of a bitter love, And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. From my first years my soul was filled with thee : I saw thee 'midst the flowers the lowly boy Tended, unmarked by thee — a spirit of bloom, And joy, and freshness, as if Spring itself Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape ! I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man Entered the breast of the wild-dreaming boy. And from that hour I grew — what to the last I shall be — thine adorer ! Well ; this love, Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became A fountain of ambition and bright hope ; I thought of tales that by the winter hearth Old gossips tell — how maidens sprung from Kings Have stooped from their high sphere ; how Love, like Death, 58 THE LADY OF LYONS : Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home In the soft palace of a fairy Future ! My father died ; and I, the peasant-born, Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise Out of the prison of my mean estate ; And, with such jewels as the exploring Mind Brings from the caves of Knowledge, buy my ransom From those twin gaolers of the daring heart — Low Birth and iron Fortune. Thy bright image, Glassed in my soul, took all the hues of glory, And lured me on to those insjiiring toils By which man masters men ! For thee I grew A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages ! For thee I sought to borrow from each Grace, And every Muse, such attributes as lend Ideal charms to Love. I thought of thee, And Passion taught me poesy — of thee, And on the painter's canvas grew the life Of beauty ! — Art became the shadow Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes ! Men called me vain — some mad — I heeded not; But still toiled on — hoped on — for it was sweet. If not to win, to feel more worthy tTiee ! PAULINE. Has he a magic to exorcise hate ? MELXOTTE. At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour The thouglits that burst their channels into song. And sent them to thee — such a tribute, lady, As beauty rarely scorns, even i'roni the meanest. oil, LOVE AND PRIDE. 59 The name — appended by the burning heart That longed to show its idol what bright things It had created — j-ea, the enthusiast's name, That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn ! That very hour — when passion, turned to Avrath, Kesembled hatred most — when thy disdain ]\Iade my whole soul a chaos — in that hour The tempters found me a revengeful to6\ For their revenge ! Thou hadst trampled on the ■worm — It turned and stung thee ! PAULINE. Love, Sir, hath no sting. What was the slight of a poor powerless girl To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge ? Oh, how I loved this man ! — a serf! — a slave ! JIEI.NOTTE. Hold, lady ! — No, not slave ! Despair is free ! I will not tell thee of the throes — the struggles — The anguish — the remorse : No — let it pass ! And let me come to such most poor atonement Yet in my power. Pauline ! \_Approaut no ! — When I am less unworthy, I will utter it to Heaven! — I cannot trust myself to (Junihifi U) Desciiappelles.) Your pardon, Sir ; — they are my last words — Farewell ! \Exil. 76 THE LADY OF LYOXS : DA5IAS. I will go after bim. — France "will thank me for this. [Exit. PAULINE (starting from her father'' s arms), Claude ! — Claude ! — my husband ! MONS. DESCHAPPELLES. STou have a father «tili ! OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 77 ACT V. Two years and a half from the date of Act IV. ScKNE I. — The Streets of Lyons. Enter First, Second, and Third Officers. FIKST OF'FICER. Well, here we are at Lyons, witli gallant old Daraas : it is liis native place. SECOND OFFICER. Yes ; he has gained a step in the army since he was here last. The Lyonnese ought to be very proud of stout General Damas. TIIIKD OFFICER. Promotion is quick in the French army. This mysterious Morier — the hero of Lodi, and the fa- vorite of the Commander-in-Chief — has risen to a colonel's rank in two years and a half. Enter Damas, as a General. DAMAS. Good morrow, gentlemen ; I hope you will amuse yourselves during our short stay at Lyons. It is a fine city : improved since I left it. Ah ! it is a pleas- ure to grow old, — when the years that bring decay to ourselves do but ripen the prosperity of our coun- try. You have not met with Morier? FIHST OFFICER. No : we were just speaking of him. 78 THE LADY OF LYONS : SECOND OFFICER. Pray, General, can you tell us who this IMorier really is ? DAMAS. Is ! — why, a Colonel in the French army. THIRD OFFICER. True. But what was he at first ? DAJIAS. At first ? — Why, a baby in long clothes, I suppose. FIRST OFFICER. Ha ! — ha ! — Ever facetious, General. SECOND OFFICER (io Third). The General is sore on this point; you will only chafe him. — Any commands. General ? DAMAS. None. — Good day to you ! [Exeunt Second and Third Officers. DAJIAS. Our comrades are very in(|uisitive. Poor Morier is the subject of a vast deal of curiosity. FIRST OFFICER. Say interest, rather. General. His constant melan- choly, the loneliness of his habits, — his daring valor, his brilliant rise in the profession, — your friendship, and the favors of the Commander-in-Chief, — all tend to make him as much the matter of gossip as of admiration. But where is he, General ? I have missed him all the morning. DAMAS. "\^'hy. Captain, I '11 let you into a secret. My young friend has come with me to Lyons in hopes of findiiior a miracle. OR, LOVK AXD PRIDE. 79 FIRST OFFICER. A miracle ! — DAMAS. Yes, a miracle ! in other words, — a constant wo- man. FIRST OFFICER. Oh ! — an affair of love I DAMAS. Exactly so. No sooner did he enter Lyons than he waved his hand to me, threw himself from his horse, and is now, I warrant, asking every one who can know anything about the matter, whether a cer' tain lady is still true to a certain gentleman ! B'lRST OFFICER. Succ-ens to him ! — and of that success there can be no doubt. The gallant Colonel IMorier, the hero of Lodi, might make his choice out of the proudest families in France. da:mas. Oh, if pride be a recommendation, the lady and her mother are most handsomely endowed. By the way, Captain, if you should chance to meet with ]\Io- rier, tell him he will find me at the hotel. FIRST OFFICER. I will. General. [ Exit. DAMAS. Now will I go to tlie Dcschappelles, and make a report to my }'oung Colonel. Ila ! by ]\Iars, Bac- chus, Apollo, Yirorum, — here comes Monsieur Beauseant ! §0. THE LADY OF LYONS*. Enter Beauseant. Good morroAv, Monsieur Beauseant ! How fares it with you ? BEAUSEANT {aside). Damas ! that is unfortunate ; — if the Italian cam- paign should have filled his pockets, he may seek to baffle me in the moment of my victory. (^Aloud.) Your servant, General, — for such, I think, is jour new distinction ! Just arrived in Lyons ? DAMAS. Not an hour ago. AVoll, how go on the Deschap- pelles ? Have they forgiven you in that affair of young Melnotte ? You had some hand in that nota- ble device, — eh ? BEAUSEAKT. Why, less than you think for ! The fellow im- posed upon me. I have set it all right now. "What has become of him ? He could not have joined the army, afler all. There is no such name in the books. DAMAS. I know nothing about Melnotte. As you say, I never heard the name in the Grand Army. BEAUSEANT. Hem ! — Y'ou are not married, General V DAJIAS. Do I look like a married man. Sir ? — No, thank Heaven ! My profession is to make widows, not wives. BEAUSEANT. Y'ou must have gained much booty in Italy ! Pau- line will be your heiress — eh ? OK, LOVE AND PRIDE. 81 DAMAS. Booty ! Not I ! Heiress to what ? Two trunks and a portmanteau, — four horses, — three swords, — two suits of regimentals, and six pair of white leather inexpressibles ! A pretty fortune for a young lady ! BEAUSEANT. (Aside.) Then all is safe! (Aloud.) Ha! ha! Is that really all your capital, General Damas ? Why, I thought Italy had been a second Mexico to you soldiers. DAJIAS. All a toss-up, sir. I was not one of the lucky ones ! My friend, Morier, indeed, saved something handsome. But our Commander-in-Chief took care of him, and Morier is a thrifty, economical dog, — not like the rest of us soldiers, who sjiend our money as carelessly as if it were our blood. BEAUSEANT. Well, it is no matter ! I do not want fortune with Pauline. And you must know. General Damas, that your fair cousin has at length consented to reward my long and ardent attachment. UAJIAS. You ! — the devil ! Why she is already married ! There is no divorce ! BEAUSEANT. True ; but this very day she is formally to author- ize the necessary proceedings, — this very day she is to sign the contract that is to make her mine Avithin one week from the day on which her present illegal marriage is annulled. 6 82 THE LADY OF LYONS: DAMAS. You tell me ■wonders ! — AVonders ! No ; I be- lieve anything of women ! BKAUSKANT. I must wish you good morning. [As he. is (joing , enter Deschappelles. MOXS. DESCHAPPELLES. Oh, Beauseant! well met. Let us come to the notary at once. DAMAS [to Deschappelles.) Why, cousin ! Moxs. deschappelles. Damas, welcome to Lyons. Pray call on us ; ni}- wife will be delighted to see you. damas. Your wife be blessed for her condescension ! But (taking him aside) what do I hear ? Is it possi- ble that your daughter has consented to a divorce V — that she will marry Monsieur Beauseant ? Moxs. deschappelles. Certainly I What have you to say against it ! A gentleman of birth, fortune, character. We are not so proud as we were ; even my Avife has had enougli of nobility and princes ! damas. But Pauline loved that young man so tenderly ! MONS. DESCHAPPELLES (Idki Hf/ SlUlJf ). That was two years and a half ago ! DAjrAS. Very true. Poor j\Ielnotte ! OK, LOVE AND PKIDE. 83 MOSS. DESCIIAPPELLES. But do not talk of that impostor; I hope ho is dead or has left the country. Nay, even were he in Lyons at this moment he ought to rejoice that, in an hon- orable and suitable alliance, my daughter may forget her suilerings and his crime. DAJIAS. Nay, if it be all settled, I have no more to say. Jlonsieur Beauseant informs me that the contract is to be signed this very day. MONS. DESCirAPPELLES. It is ; at one o'clock precisely. Will you be one of the witnesses ? T>AM\S. I ? — No ; that is to say — yes, certainly ! — at one o'clock I will wait on you. MOXS. DESCHAPPELEES. Till then, adieu — come, Beauseant. [Exeunt Beauseant antZ Desciiappelles. DAJIAS. The man who sets liis heart upon a woman Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air ; From air he takes his colors, — holds his life, — Changes with every wind, — grows lean or fat, Rosy with hope, or green with jealousy, Or pallid with despair — just as the gale Varies from north to south — from heat to cold ! Oh, woman ! woman ! thou shouldest have few sins Of thine own to answer for ! Thou art the author Of such a book of follies in a man. That it would need the tears of all the angels To blot the record out ! 8.4 THE LADY OF LYONS: Enter Melnottk, pale and ar/itated. I need not tell thee ! Thou hast heard — I have ! MELNOTTK. The worst ! PA5IAS. Be cheered ; others are fair as she is ! MELSOTTE. Others ! — The world is crumbled at my feet ! She zcas my world ; filled up the whole of be- ing — Smiled in the sunshine — walked the glorious earth — Sate in my heart — was the sweet lile of life. The past was hers ; I dreamt not of a Future That did not wear ber shape ! Memory and Hope Alike are gone. Pciuline is faithless ! Henceforth The universal space is desolate ! DAMAS. Hope yet. MELXOTTE. Hope, yes ! — one hope is loft me still — A soldier's grave ! Glory has died with love. I look into my heart, and, where I saw Pauline, see Death I (Aftei- a pause.) — But am I not deceived ? I went but by the rumor of tlie town ; Rumor is false, — I was too hasty ! Damas, Whom hast thou seen ? DAMAS. Thy rival and her father. Arm thyself for the truth — He heeds not — OR, LOVE AND I'lUDE. 85 MELNOTTE. She "Will never know how deeply she Avas loved ! The charitable night, that wont to bring Comfort to day, in bright and eloquent dreams, Is henceforth leagued with misery ! Sleep, farewell, Or else become eternal ! Oh, the waking From false oblivion, and to see the sun, And know she is another's ! 1>AMAS. Be a man ! MELNOTTE. I am a man ! — it is the sting of woe Like mine that tells us we are men ! DAMAS. The false one Did not deserve thee. MELNOTTE. Hush ! — No word against her ! "Why should she keep, through years and silent ab- sence, The holy tablets of her virgin faith True to a traitor's name ! Oh, blame her not ; It were a sharper grief to think her worthless Than to be what I am ! To-day, — to-day ! They said, " To-day ! " This day, so wildly wel- comed — This day, my soul had singled out of time And marked for bliss ! This day ! oh, could I see her, See her once more unknown ; but hear her voice. So that one echo of its music might ^lake ruin less appalling in its silence. 86 THE LADY OF LYONS: DAJIAS. Easily done ! Come with me to her house ; Your dress — your cloak — moustache — the bronzed hues Of time and toil — the name you bear — belief In your absence, — all will ward away suspicion. Keep in the shade. Ay, I would have you come. There may be hope ! Pauline is yet so young, They may have forced her to these second bridals Out of mistaken love. jMKLXOTTE. No, bid me hope not ! Bid me not hope ! I could not bear again To fall from such a heaven ! One gleam of sun- shine, And the ice breaks and I am lost ! Oh, Damas, There 's no such thing as courage in a man ; The veriest slave that ever crawled from danger Might spurn me now. When first I lost her, Damas, I bore it, did I not ? I still had hope, And now I — I — ■^g^ [Bursts into an agony of giief. DAMAS. What, comrade ! all the women That ever smiled destruction on brave hearts Were not worth tears like these ! MELNOTTE. 'T is past — forget it. I am prepared ; life has no further ills ! The cloud has broken in that stormy rain, And on the waste I stand, alone with Heaven. OK, LOVE AND I'llIDE. 87 DAMAS. His very face is changed ; a breaking heart Does its work soon ! — Come, JNIelnotte, rouse thy- self: One effort more. Again thou 'It see her. JIELNOTTK. See her ! There is a passion in that simple sentence That shivers all the pride and power of reason Into a chaos ! DAMAS. Time Avanes ; — come, ere yet It be too late. JIELNOTTK. Terrible words — " Too late ! " Lead on. One last look more, and then DAMAS. Forget her ! MELNOTTE. Forget her, yes ! — For death remembers not. [^Exeunt. SCENE II. A room in the house of ^Io^sikvr Deschappelles; Pau- line seated in tjreat (lejeciion. I'AULINK. It is so, then. I must be false to Love, Or sacrifice a lather! Oh, my Claude, o8 THE LADY OF LYONS : My lover, and my husband ! Have I lived To pray that thou mayest find some fairer boon Than the deep fiiith of this devoted heart, — Nourished till now — now broken ? Enter Monsieur Deschappelles. MONS. DESCHAPPELLES. My dear child, How shall I thank — how bless thee ? Thou hast saved, I will not say my fortune — I could bear Reverse, and shrink not — but that prouder wealth Which merchants value most — my name, my cred- it— The hard-won honors of a toilsome life : — These thou hast saved, my child ! PAULINE. Is there no hope ? No hope but this ? BIOXS. DESCHAPPELLES. None. If, without the sum Which Beauseant offers for thy hand, this day Sinks to the west — to-morrow brings our ruin ! And hundreds, mingled in that ruin, curse The bankrupt merchant I and the insolvent herd We feasted and made merrj' cry in scorn, " How pride has fallen ! — Lo, the bankrupt mer- chant ! " "My daughter, thou hast saved us ! PAULINE. And am lost ! 5IONS. DESCHAPPELLES. Come, let me hoj^jc that Beauseaut's love OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. 89 PAULINE. His love ! Talk not of love. Love has no thought of self! Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold The loathsome prostitution of a hand AVithout a heart ? Love sacrifices all things To bless the thing it loves ! He knows not love. Father, his love is hate — his hope revenge ! My tears, my anguish, my remorse for falsehood — These are the joys that he wrings from our despair ! MONS. DESCHAITELLES. If thou deemest thus, reject him ! Shame and ruin AVere better than thy misery ; — think no more on 't. ]\Iy sand is well-nigh run — what boots it when The glass is broken ? AVe '11 annul the contract : And if to-morrow in the prisoner's cell These aged limbs are laid, why still, my child, 1 '11 think thou art spared ; and wait the Liberal Hour That lays the beggar by the side of kings ! PAULINE. No — no — forgive me ! You, my honored father, — You, who so loved, so cherished me, whose lips Never knew one harsh word ! 1 'm not ungrateful ; 1 am but human ! — hush ! Now, call the bride- groom — You see I am prepared — no tears — all calm ; But, father, talk no more of love ! MONS. DESCHAPPKLLKS. My child, 'Tis but one struggle ; he is young, rich, noble; Thy state will rank first 'mid the dames of Lyons ; 90 THE LADY OF LYOXS : And wlicn this heart can shcUer thee no more, Thy youth will not be guardianless. PAULINE. I have set ]Mj" foot upon the ploughshare — I will pass The fiery ordeal. (Anide.) INIeiriful Heaven, sup- port me ! And on the absent wanderer shed the light Of happier stars — lost evermore to me ! £nter JIad.\3ie Desciiappet.les, Beauseaxt, Glavis, and Notary. MADAME UESCIIArPELLES. "Why, Pauhne, you are quite in cleshahille — you oui, iiui avait sacritie son niinistre par faiblesse, se remit par faiblessc entre ses mains, et il lui abandonne ceux qui I'avaient perdu. Co jour qui est encore a present ap|)elle La Journee des Dupes, fut celui du ponvoir absolu du Cardinal." — Voltaire, Hint. Oeii. t "En six mois il (le Roi) fit (Baradas) premier Ecuyer, pre- mier Gentilhomnie de la Chainbre, Capitaine de St. Germain, et Lieutenant de Roi, en Clianipagnc. En moins de temps encore, on lui Ota tout, et des debris de sa grandeur, a peine Ini rcsta-t-il do quoi payer ses dettes : de sorte que pour signitier une grande for- tune dissipee aussi qii'acquise on disait en commun proverbe, Fortune de Baradas." — Anquetil. 104 in the fifth act ; and that for the conception of some portion of the intrigue connected with ])e IMauprat and Juhe, I am, with great alterations of incident, and considerable if not entire reconstruction of char- acter, indebted to an early and admirable novel by the author of " Picciola." * London, March, 1839. * It may be as well, however, to caution the English reader against some of the impressions which the eliiqnenco of both the writers I refer to are calculated to leave. They have exagger- ated the more evil, and have kept out of sight the nobler ([ualities of the Cardinal. NOTE. The length of the Plaj^ necessarily requires curtailments on the Stage, — tlie principal of wliich are enclosed within brackets. Many of the passages thus omitted, however im- material to the audience, nnist obviously be such as the reader would be least inclined to dis))ense with, — viz. tliose which, witliout being absolutely essential to the business of the Stage, contain either the subtler strokes of character, or the more poetical embellishments of description. An im- portant consequence of these suppressions is, that Riche- lieu himself is left, too often and too unrelievedly, to posi- tions which place him in an amiable light, without that shadowing forth of his more sinister motives and his fiercer qualities, which is attempted in the written plaj\ Thus, the character takes a degree of credit due only to the situa- tion. To judge the Author's conception of Richelieu fairly, and to estimate how far it is consistent with historical por- traiture, the Play must be read. THE MARQUIS OF LANSDOWNE, K. G., &c. &c., THIS D E A JI A IS INSCRIBED, IN TRIBUTE TO THE TALENTS WHICH COMMAND, AND THE QUALITIES WHICH ENDEAR, RESPECT. DRAMATIS PERSONiE. Louis the Thirteenth. Gaston, Duke of Orleans, brother to Louis the Thirteenth. 'Baradas, favorite of the Kitiff, First Gentleman oj" the Cham- ber, Premier JScuyer, SfC. Cardinal Richelieu. The Chevalier de jNIauprat. The Sieur de Bekinghen, in attendance on the King,* one of the Conspirators. Joseph, a Capuchin, Richelieu's confidant. HuGUET, an officer of RichelieiCs household guard, — a Spy. Francois, First Page to Richelieu. First Courtier. Captain of the Archers. First, Second, Third Secretaries of State. Governor of the Bastile. Gaoler. Courtiers, Pages, Consjnrators, Officers, Soldiers, SfC. Julie de Mortemar, an Orphan, ward to Richelieu. Marion de Lorme, 3Iistress to Orleans, but in Richelieu's pay. * Properly speaking, the King's First Valet de Cliambre, — a post of great importance at that time. EICHELIEU: OR, THE CONSPIEACY ACT I. FIRST DAY. Scene I. — A room in the house of Marion de Lorme ; a table toioards the front of the statje (with wine, fruits, E MAUPKAT. Nay, as you 've had the patient to yoiu'self So long, no other doctor should despatch it. [De Maupkat ihroics and loses- 05IXES. Lost ! Ha, ha ! — poor De Mauprat ! DE BERISGHEN. One throw more ? DE jiauprat. No; I am bankrupt (jjusJiinf/ gold). There goes all — except My honor and my sword. [They rise. DE EERIXGHEN. Long cloaks and honor Went out of vogue together, when we found We got on much more rapidly without them ; The sword, indeed, is never out of fashion, — The Devil has care of that. FIRST GAMESTER. Ay, take the sword To Cardinal Richelieu : — he gives gold for steel, When worn by brave men. DE MAUPRAT. Richelieu ! DE BERIXGHEX (toBARADAS). At that name He changes color, bites his nether lip. Ev'n in his briglitest moments whisper '' Richelieu," And you cloud all his sunshine. OR, THE CONSPIRACY. Ill BARADAS. I have marked it, And I win learn the wherefore. DE MAUPKAT. The Egyptian Dissolved her richest jewel In a draught : AV^ould I could so melt time and all its treasures, And drain It thus. [Drinking. DE BERIXGIIEN. Come, gentlemen, what say ye, A walk on the parade ? OMNES. Ay ; come, De Mauprat. DE MAUPRAT. Pardon me ; we shall meet again ere nightfall. BARADAS. I '11 stay and comfort Mauprat. DE BERINGHEX. . Comfort ! — when We gallant fellows have run out a friend, There 's nothing left — except to run him through ! There 's the last act of friendship. DE MAUPRAT. Let me keep That favor in reserve ; in all beside Your most obedient servant. [£xeu7it De Beringhen, cfc. Ifanent De Maupkat and Baradas. BARADAS. You have lost — Yet are not sad. 112 RICHELIEU: DE MAUPHAT. Sad ! — Life and gold have wings, And must fly one day : — open, then, their cages And wish them merry. BAKADAS. Yoli 're a strange enigma : — Fiery in war — and yet to glory lukewarm ; All mirth in action — in repose all gloom These are extremes in Avhich the unconscious heart Betrays the fever of deep-fixed disease. Confide in me I our young days rolled together In the same river, glassing the same stars That smile i' the heaven of hope ; alike we made Bright-winged steeds of our unformed chimeras, Spurring the fancies upward to the air, Wherein we shaped fair castles from the cloud. Fortune of late has severed us — and led Me to the rank of Courtier, Count, and Favorite, — You to the titles of the wildest gallant And bravest knight in France ; are you content ? No ; — trust in me — some gloomy secret DE MAUPRAT. Ay:- A secret that doth haunt me, as, of old. Men were possessed of fiends ! — Where'er I turn. The grave yawns dark before me ! — I tvill trust you ; — Hating the Cardinal, and beguiled by Orleans, You know I joined the Languedoc revolt — Was captured — sent to the Bastile OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 113 BARADAS. But shared The general pardon, which the Duke of Orleans Won for himself and all in the i-evolt, Who but obeyed his orders. DE MAUPKAT. Note the phrase ; — " Obeyed Ids orders."" Well, when on my way To join the Duke in Languedoc, I (then The down upon my lip — less man than boy) Leading young valors, reckless as myself, Seized on the town of Faviaux, and displaced The Royal banners for the Rebel. Orleans, (Never too daring,) when I reached the camp. Blamed me for acting — mark — tvithout his orders : Upon this quibble Richelieu razed my name Out of the general pardon. BAEADAS. Yet released you From the Bastile r)E MAUPRAT. To call me to his presence, And thus address me : — " You have seized a town Of France, without the orders of your leader, And for this treason, but one sentence — Death." BARADAS. Death ! DE MALTRAT. " I have pity on your youth and birth, Nor wish to glut the headsman; — join your troop. Now on the march against the Spaniards ; — change 114 RICHELIEU : The traitor's scaffold for the soldier's grave : — Tour memory stainless — they who shared your crime Exiled or dead — your king shall never learn it." PARADAS. tender pity ! — O most charming prospect ! Blown into atoms by a bomb, or drilled Into a cullender by gunshot ! — Well ? — DE MAUPKAT. You have heard if I fought bravely. — Death be- came Desired as Daphne by the eager Day-god. Like him I chased the nymph — to grasp the laurel ! 1 could not die ! BAEADAS. Poor fellow ! DE MAUl'RAT. AVhen the Cardinal Reviewed the troops, his eye met mine ; — he frowned, Summoned me forth — " How 's this ? " quoth he ; " you have shunned The sword — beware the axe ! — 't will fall one day!" He left me thus — we were recalled to Paris, And — you know all ! BARADAS. And, knowing this, why halt you, Spelled by the rattlesnake, — while in the breasts Of your firm friends beat hearts, that vow the death Of your grim tyrant '? — "Wake ! — Be one of us ; The time invites — the King detests the Cardinal, OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 115 Dares not disgrace — but groans to be delivered Of tiiat too great a subject — join your friends, Free France, and save yourself. DE MAUPRAT. Husli ! Richelieu bears A charmed life ; — to all, who have braved his power, One common end — the block. BARADAS. Nay, if he live, The block your doom ; — DE MAUPRAT. Better the victim, Count, Than the assassin. — France requires a Richelieu, But does not need a Mauprat. Truce to this ; — All time one midnight, where my thoughts are spec- tres. What to me fame ? — What love ? — BAEADAS. Yet dost thou love not ? DE MAUPRAT. Love ? — I am young — BARADAS. And Julie fair ! (^Aside.) It is so. Upon the margin of the grave — his hand Would pluck the rose that I would win and wear ! [(Aloud.) Thou lov'st — DE MAUPRAT. ^^Iio, lonely in the midnight tent, Gazed on the watch-fires in the sleepless air, Nor chose one star amidst the clustering hosts 116 KICIIKLIEU : To bless it in the name of some fair face Set in his spirit, as that star in Heaven ? For our divine Afteetions, lilie the Spheres, ]\Iove ever, ever musical. BARADAS. You speak As one who fed on poetry. DK JIALTEAT. ^Vhy, man, The thoughts of lovers stir with poetry As leaves witli summer-wind. — The heart that loves Dwells in an Eden, hearing angel-lutcs. As Eve in the First Garden. Hast thou seen My Julie, and not felt it henceforth dull To live in the common world — and talk in words That clothe the feelings of the frigid herd ? — Upon the perfumed pillow of her lips — As on his native bed of roses flushed AVith Paphian skies — Love smilling sleeps : — Her voice The blest interpreter of thoughts as pure As virgin wells where Dian takes delight, Or Fairies dip their changelings ! — In the maze Of her harmonious beauties — Modesty (Like some severer Grace that leads the choir Of her sweet sisters) every airy motion Attunes to such chaste charm, that Passion holds His burning breath, and will not with a sigh Dissolve the spell that binds him ! — Oh those eyes That woo the earth — shadowing more soid than lurks OK, THK CONSPIRACY. 117 Under the lids of Psyche ! — Go ! — thy lip Curls at the purfled phrases of a lover — Love thou, and if thy love be deep as mine, Thou wilt not laugh at poets. BAiiADAS (aside). With each word Thou wak'st a jealous demon in my heart, And my hand clutches at my hilt. — ] DE MAUPRAT {(jayhj). No more ! — I love ! — Your breast holds both my secrets ; — Never Unbury either ! — Come, while yet we may, We '11 bask us in the noon of rosy life : — Lounge through the gardens, — flaunt it in the tav- erns, — Laugh, — game, — drink, — feast : — If so confined my days, Faith, 1 '11 enclose the nights. — Pshaw ! not so grave ; I 'm a true Frenchman ! — Vive la hagatelle ! \_As they are (jointj out, enter Huguet and four Ar- quebusiers. HUGUET. INIessire De Mauprat, I arrest you ! — Follow To the Lord Cardinal. DE 5IAUPRAT. You see, my friend, 3 'm out of my suspense ! — the tiger 's played Long enough with his prey. — Farewell ! — Hereafter 118 RICHELIEU: Say, Tvlien men name me, " Adrien de Mauprat Lived without hope, and perished -without fear ! " [Exeunt De I^Iaupkat, Huguet, cfc. BARADAS. Farewell ! — I trust for ever ! I designed thee For Richelieu's murderer but, as well his martyr ! In childhood }ou the stronger — and I cursed you ; In youth the fairer — and I cui-sed you still ; And now my ri\'al ! — AVhile the name of Julie Hung on thy lips — I smiled — for then I saw, In my mind's eye, the cold and grinning Death Hang o'er thy head the pall ! — Ambition, Love, Ye twin-born stars of daring destinies, Sit in my house of Life ! — By the King's aid I will be Julie's husband — in despite Of my Lord Cardinal ! — by the King's aid I will be minister of France — in spite Of my Lord Cardinal ! — And then — what then ? The King loves Julie — feeble Prince — false mas' ter — [Producing and gming on the jiarchment. Then, by the aid of Bouillon, and the Spaniard, I will dethrone the King ; and all — ha ! — ha ! — All, in despite of my Lord Cardinal ! [Exit. OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 119 SCENE II. A room in ike Palais Cardinal, the walls hung with arras. A large screen in one corner. A table covered with books, papers, cfo. A rude clock in a recess. Busts, statues, book-cases, weapons of different pei'iods and banners sus- pended over RiCHEi-iEu's chair. EiCHELiEU and Joseph. KICHELIEU. And so you think this new conspiracy The craftiest trap yet laid for the old fox ? Fox!— Well, I like the nickname ! — What did Plutarch Say of the Greek Lysander ? JOSEPH. I forget. EICHELIEU. That where the lion's skin fell short, he eked it Out with the fox's ! A great statesman, Joseph, That same Lysander ! JOSEPH. Orleans heads the traitors. RICHELIEU. A very wooden head then ! Well ? JOSEPH. The favorite, Count Baradas — RICHELIEU. A weed of hasty growth ; First gentleman of the chamber — titles, lands, 120 Richelieu: And the King's ear ! — It cost me six long ■winters To mount as high, as in six little moons This painted lizard But I hold the ladder, And when I shake — he falls ! AVhat more ? JOSEPH. A scheme To make your orphan-ward an instrument To aid your foes. You placed her Avith the Queen, One of the royal chamber, — as a watch r th' enemy's quarters — KICHELIEU. And the silly child Visits me daily, — calls me " Father," — prays Kind Heaven to bless me — And for all the rest. As well have placed a doll about the Queen ! She does not heed who frowns — Avho smiles ; with whom The King confers in whispers ; notes not when Men who last week were foes, are found in corners ]\Iysteriously affectionate ; words spoken Within closed doors she never hears ; — by chance Taking the air at keyholes — Senseless puppet ! No ears — nor eyes I — and }-et she sajs — " She loves me ! " Go on JOSEPH. Yom' ward has charmed the King EICHELIEU. Out on you ! Have I not, one by one, from such fair shoots Plucked the insidious ivy of his love ? OR, THE CONSPinACY. 121 And shall it creep aronncl my blossoming tree, Where innocent thoughts, like happy birds, make music That spirits in Heaven might hear ? — They 're sin- ful too. Those passionate surfeits of the rampant flesh. The Church condemns them ; and to us, my Joseph, The props and pillars of the Church, most hurtful. The King is weak — Avhoever the King loves jNlust rule the King ; the lady loves another. The other rules the lady — thus we 're balked Of our own proper sway — The King must have No goddess but the State : — the State — That 's Richelieu ! josF.rii. This not the worst ; — Louis, in all decorous, Anil deeming you her least compliant guardian, Would veil his suit by marriage with his minion. Your prosjierous foe, Count Baradas ! RICHELIEU. Ha! ha! I have another bride for Baradas. You, my Lord ? P.ICHELIEU. Ay — more faithful than the love Of fickle woman : — when the head lies lowliest, Clasping him fondest ; — Sorrow never knew So sure a soother, — and her bed is stainless! 122 KICIIELIEU : JOSEPH (asiffe). If of the grave he speaks, I do not •wonder That priests are bachelors ! Enter Fkancgis. FEAN901S. Mademoiselle De Mortcmar RICHELIEU. Most opportune — admit her. [Exit Fkanoois. In my closet You '11 find a rosary, Joseph ; ere }ou tell Three hundred beads, I '11 summon you. — Stay, Joseph ; — I did omit an Ave in my matins, — A grievous fiiult; — atone it for me, Joseph ; There is a scourge -vvithin ; I am weak, you strong. It were but charity to take my sin On such broad shoulders. Exercise is healthful. JOSEPH. I ! guilty of such criminal presumption As to mistake myself for j'ou — No, ne^'er ! Think it not ! — (^Aside.^ Troth, a pleasant invita- tion ! [Exit Joseph. Enter Julie De SIortemak. lilCHELIEU. Tiiat 's my sweet Julie ! — why, upon this face Blushes such daybreak, one might swear the Morning Were come to visit Tithon. on, THE CONSPIRACY. 123 JULIE (placinr/ herself at his feet). Are you gracious ? — IMay I say " Father " ? KICHELIKU. Now and ever ! JULIE. Father ! A sweet word to an orphan. KICHELIEU. No ; not orphan AYliile RicheUeu lives ; thy father loved me well ; ]\Iy friend, ere I had flatterers (now, I 'm great, In other phrase, I 'ni friendless) — he died young In years, not service, and bequeathed thee to me ; And thou shalt have a dowry, girl, to buy Thy mate amidst the mightiest. Drooping ? — sighs ? Art thou not happy at the court ? JULIE. Not often. KICHELIEU {aside). Can she love Baradas ? — Ah ! at thy heart There 's what can smile and sigh, blush and grow pale, All in a breath ? — Thou art admired — art young ; Does not his Majesty commend thy beauty — Ask thee to sing to him '? — and swear such sounds Had smoothed the brows of Saul ? — JULIE. He 's very tiresome, Our worthy King. 124 RICHELIEU : KICIIELIEU. Fie ! kings are never tiresome, Save to their ministers. — AVIiat courtly gallants Charm ladies most ? — De Sourdiac, Longuevillc, or The favorite Baradas ? JULIK. A smileless man — I fear and shun him. RICHELIEU. Yet he courts thee ? JULIE. Then He is more tiresome than his ^lajesty. KICniiLIEU. Right, girl, shun Baradas. — Yet of these flowers Of France, not one, in whose more honeyed breath Thy heart hears Summer whisper ? Enter Huguet. HUGUET. The Chevalier De Maviprat waits below. JULIK (starting up). De ISIauprat ! RICHELIEU. Hem ! He has been tiresome too ! — Anon. {Exit PIuGUET. JULIE. What doth he ? — I mean — I — Does your Eminence — that is — Know you Messire de Maujirat ? OK, THE COXSPIRACY. 125 KICHKLIKU. Well ! ■ — and you Has he addressed you often ? JULIE. Often!— No — Nine times ; — nay, ten ; — the last time, by the lat- tice Of the great staircase. — (/;i a melanchohj tone.') The Court sees him rarely KICHELIEU. A bold and forward royster ? JULIE. He ? — nay, modest, Gentle, and sad, methinks RICHELIEU. Wears gold and azure ? JULIE. No ; sable. RICIIFXIEU. So you note his colors, Julie ? Shame on yon, child ; look loftier. By the mass, I have business with this modest gentleman. JULIE. You 're angry with jioor Julie. There 's no cause. lUCHELlKU. No cause — you hate my foes ? JULIE. I do ! EICIIELIEU. Hate ]\Iauprat ? 126 RICHELIEU: JULIE. Not Mauprat. No, not Adrien, father. KICHELIEU. Adrien ! Familiar ! — Go, child ; no, — not that way ; — wait In the tapestry chamber ; I will join you, — go. JULTE. His brows are knit ; — I dare not call him father ! But I must speak — Your Eminence KICHELIEU {sternlij). Well, girl ! JULIE. Nay- Smile on me — one smile more ; there, now I 'm happj". Do not rank Mauprat with your foes ; he is not, I know he is not ; he loves France too well. RICHELIEU. Not rank De Mauprat Avitli my foes? So be It. I '11 blot him from that Hst. JULIE. That 's my own father. [Exit Julie. EICHELIEU {ringing a small bell on the table). Huguet ! Enter Huguet. De ]\Iauprat struggled not, nor murmured ? HUGUET. No ; proud and passive. EICHELIEU. Bid him enter. — Hold : Look that he hide no weapon. Humph, despair OR, THK CONSPIRACY. 127 Makes victims sometimes victors. When he has enti^red Glide round unseen ; — place thyself yonder (^point- ing to the screen') ; watch him ; If he show violence — (let me see thy carbine ; So, a good weapon ;) — if lie play the lion, Why — the dog's death. HUGUET. I never miss my mark. [Exit Huguet; Eichelieu scats himself at the table, and slowly arranges the j^apeis before him. Enter De Maupkat preceded by Huguet, who then retires be- hind the screen. EICHEMEU. Approach, Sir. — Can you call to mind the hour. Now three years since, when in this room, raethinks, Your presence honored me ? DE MAUPKAT. It is, my Lord, One of my most KICHELIEU {dryly). Delightful recollections.* DE BEAUPKAT (aside). St. Denis ! doth he make a jest of axe And headsman ? * Tliero are many anecdotes of tlio irony, often so terrible, in which Richelieu indulged. But he had a lo^'e for humor in its more hearty and genial shape. He would send for Boisrohert ''to make him laugli," — and grave ministers and magnates waited in the anteroom, wliilo the great Cardinal listened and resi)onded to tJie sallies of the lively wit. 128 RICHELIKU: RICHELIEU {sternly). I did then accord you A mercy ill requited — you still live ! DE MAUPliAT. To meet death face to face at last. [kichelieu. Your woi'ds Are bold. DE MALTRAT. !My deeds have not belied them. EICHELIEU. Deeds ! O miserable delusion of man's pride ! Deeds ! cities sacked, fields ravaged, hearths profaned. Men butchered ! In your hour of doom behold The (leech you boast of ! From rank showers of blood, And the red light of blazing roofs, you build The Rainbow Glory, and to shuddering Conscience Cry, — Lo, the Bridge to Heaven ! DE MAUPRAT. If war be sinful, Your hand the gauntlet cast. KICHELIEU. It was so, Sir. Note the distinction : — I Aveighed well the cause AVhich made the standard holy ; raised the war But to secure the j^eace. France bled — I groaned •, But looked beyond ; and, in the vista, saw France saved, and I exulted. You — but you Were but the tool of slaughter — knowing naught, Foreseeing naught, naught hoping, naught lamenting, OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 129 And for nanght fit — save cutting tliroats for hire. Deeds, marry, deeds ! DE JIAUPKAT. If yoii would deign to speak Thus to your armies ere they march to battle, Perchance your Eminence might have the pain Of the throat-cutting to yourself. KICHELIEU {aside). He has wit, This Mauprat — (Aloud.) Let it pass ; there is against you AVhat you can less excuse.] Messire de ]Mauj)rat, Doomed to sure death, how hast thou since consumed The time allotted thee for serious thought And solemn penitence ? DK MAUPUAT (emljftrrasseil). The time, in}' Lord ? EICHKLIEU. Is not the question plain ? I '11 answer for thee. Thou hast sought nor priest nor shrine : no sackcloth chafed Thy delicate flesh. The rosary and the death's-head Have not, with pious meditation, purged Earth from the carnal gaze. What thou hast 7iot done Brief told ; what done, a volume ! AVild debauch, Turbulent riot: — for the morn the dice-box — Noon claimed the duel - — and the night the wassail ; Tliese, your most holy, pure preparatives For death and judgment. Do I wrong you, Sir? DE MAUI'P.AT. I was not alwa}'s thus : — if changed my nature, 9 130 RICHELIEU: Blame that -which changed my fate. — Alas, my Lord, [There is a broUierhood which calm-eyed Reason Can wot not of betwixt Despair and Mirth. My birth-place 'mid the vines of sunny Provence, Perchance the stream that sparkles in my veins Came from that wine of passionate life which, erst, Glowed in the wild heart of the Troubadour : And danger, which makes steadier courage wary, But fevers me with an insane delight ; As one of old avIio on the mountain crags Caught madness from a Magnad's haunting eyes. AV'ere you, my Lord, — whose path imperial power, And the grave cares of re\'erent wisdom, guard From all that tempts to folly meaner men, — ] Were you accursed with that which you inflicted — By bed and board, dogged by one ghastly spectre — The while within you youth beat high, and life Grew lovelier from the neighboring frown of death — The heart no bud, nor fruit — save in those seeds Most worthless, Avhich spring up, bloom, bear, and wither In the same hour — Were this jour fate, perchance You would have erred like me ! RICHELIEU. I might, like you, Have been a brawler and a reveller ; — not, Like you, a trickster and a thief. — Di<; siAUPKAT {adcancing threateningly). Lord Cardinal ! Unsay those words ! — [HuGUET deliberately raises the carbine. OU, THE CONSPIRACY. 131 EiCHELiEU {icavinfj his hand). Not quite so quick, friend Huguet; IMessire de Mauprat is a patient man, And he can wait ! — You have outrun your fortune ; — I blame you not, that you would be a beggar — Each to his taste ! — But I do charge }0u, Sir, That, being beggared, you Avould coin false moneys Out of that crucible, called debt. — To live On means not yours — be brave in silks and laces, Gallant in steeds — s^jlendid in bam^uets ; — all Not yours — ungiven — uninherited — unpaid for; — This is to be a trickster ; and to filch Men's art and labor, which to them is wealth. Life, daily bread, — • quitting all scores with — "Friend, You 're troublesome ! " — Why this, forgive me. Is what — when done with less daint}- grace — Plain folks call " Tlieft ! " — • You owe eight thousand pistoles INIinus one crown, two liards ! UE MAUPKAT {aside). The old conjurer ! — 'Sdeath, he '11 inform me next how many cups I drank at dinner ! — RICHELIEU. This is scandalous. Shaming your birth and blood. 1 tell you, Sir, That you must pay your debts. — DE SIAUPltAT. ^Yith all my heart, 1\I)' Lord. — Where shall I borrow, then, the money ? 132 RICHELIEU: EiCMELiEU {aside atid laughing). A humorous dare-devil ! — The very man To suit my purpose — ready, frank, and bold ! [Rising ami earnestly. Adrien de Mauprat, men have called me cruel; — I am not ; — I am Just ! — I found France rent asun- der, — The rich men despots, and the poor banditti; — Sloth in the mart, and schism within the temple ; Brawls festering to Rebellion ; and weak Laws Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths. — I have re-created France ; and, from the ashes Of the old feudal and decrepit carcase, Civilization on her luminous wings Soars, phoenix-like, to Jove ! — What was my art ? Genius, some say, — some. Fortune, — Witchcraft some. Not so ; — my art was Justice ! — Force and Fraud Misname it cruelty — you shall confute them! My champion you ! — You met me as your foe. Depart my friend — You shall not die. — France needs you. You shall wipe off all stains, — be rich, be honored, Be great. [De '},Iavv'r\t falls on his knee — Richelieu raises him. I ask, Sir, in return, this hand, To gift it with a bride, whose dower shall match, Yet not exceed, her beauty. de JIAUl'KAT. I, my Lord, — (Jiesitatinrj) I have no wish to marry. OR, THE COXSPIUACY. 133 KICHELIEU. Surely, Sir, To die were "worse. DE MAUPKAT. Scarcely ; the poorest coward ]\Iust die, — but knowingly to march to marriage — JNIy Lord, it asks the courage of a lion ! RICHELIEU. Traitor, thou triflest with me ! — I know all ! Thou hast dared to love my ward — my charge. DE SIAUPIIAT. As rivers May love the sunlight — basking in the beams. And hurrying on ! — KICHELIEU. Thou hast told her of thy love ? DE MAUPKAT. I\Iy Lord, if I had dared to love a maid. Lowliest in France, I would not so have wronged her, As bid her link rich life and virgin hope With one, the deathman's gripe might, from her side, Pluck at the nuptial altar. KICHELIEU. I believe thee ; Yet since she knows not of thy love, renounce her ; -- Take life and fortune with another ! — Silent ? DE MAUPKAT. Your fete has been one triumph — You know not How blessed a thing it was in my dark hour To nurse the one sweet thought you bid me banish. Love hath no need of words ; — nor less within 134 RICHELIEU: That holiest temple — the Heaven-builderl soul — Breaths the recorded vow. — Base knight, — falsa lover "Were he, who bartered all that brightened grief, Or sanctified despair, for life and gold. Revoke your mei'cy ; — I prefer the fate I looked for ! EICHELIEU. Huguet ! to the tapestry chamber Conduct }-our prisoner. ( To Maupkat.) You will there behold The executioner : — your doom be private — And Heaven have mercy on you ! — DK MAUPKAT. When I am dead, Tell her, I loved her. P.ICHELIEU. Keep such follies. Sir, For fitter ears ; — go — DE MAUPKAT. Does he mock me ? [Exeunt De Maupkat, Huguet. P.ICHELIEU. Joseph ! Come forth. Enter Joseph. INIethinks your cheek hath lost its rubies ; I fear you have been too lavish of the flesh ; The scourge is heavy. JOSEPH. Pray you, change the subject. OK, THE CONSPIUACY. 135 RICHELIEU. You good men are so modest — Well, to business ! Go instantly — deeds — notaries ! — bid my stew> ards Arrange my liouse by the Luxembourg — my house No more ! — a bridal present to my ward, Who weds to-morrow. JOSEPH. Weds, with whom ? RICHELIEU. De Mauprat. JOSEPH. Penniless husband ! RICHELIEU. Bah ! the mate for beauty Should be a man , and not a money-chest ! When her brave sire lay on his bed of death, I ^•owed to be a father to his Julie : — And so he died — the smile upon his lips ! — And when I spared the life of her young lover, Me thought I saw that smile again ! — Who else, Look )ou, in all the court — who else so well Brave or supplant the favorite ; — balk the King — Baffle their schemes V — I have tried him : — He has honor And courage ; — qualities that eagle-plume Men's souls, — and fit them for the fiercest sun, Which ever melted the weak waxen minds That flutter in the beams of gaudy Power ! Besides, he has taste, this Mauprat : — When my play 136 RICHELIEU: Was acted to dull tiers of lifeless gapers,* Who had no soul for poetry, I saw him Applaud in the proper places ; — trust me, Joseph, He is a man of an unconnuon promise ! JOSEPH. And yet your foe. P.ICHELIEU. Have I not foes enow ? — Great men gain doubly when they make foes friends. Remember my grand maxims : — First employ All methods to conciliate.f * The Abbe Arnaiid tells us that the (iiieeii was a little avniged on the Cardinal by the ill success of the tragi-conicdy of " Jliranie " — more tlian suspected to be his own — thoui;h pre- sented to the world under the foster-name of Dcsmarets. Its rep- resentation (says Pelisson) cost him 300,000 crowns. He was so transported out of himself by tlie performance, that at one time he thrust his pers' C'etoit en effet un lioinine infatigable — portant dans les en- treprises, I'activite, la souplesse, I'opiniatrete proj)re u les fairo reiissir." inqnel'd. He wrote a Latin poem, called " La Tur- ciade," in which he sought to excite the kingdoms of Cliristendoni against the Turks. But the inspiration of Tyrta;us was denied to Father Joseph, 138 KICHELIEU: jdsKi'ii {aside.) Worse than the scourge ! Strange that so great a statesman Should be so bad a poet. KICHELIEU. What dost thou say ? JOSEPH. That it is strange so great a statesman should Be so sublime a poet. EICHELIEU. Ah, you rogue ; Laws die, Books never. Of my ministry I am not Aain ! but of my muse, I own it. Come, you shall hear the verses now. [ Takes xqi a MS. JOSEPH. ]\Iy Lord, The deeds, the notaries ! EICHELIEU. True, I pity you ; But business first, then pleasure. [Exit Joseph. KICHELIEU (seats himself and readme/). Ah, sublime ! Enter De ]\Iauprat and Julie. DE MAUPUAT. Oh, speak, my Lord — I dare not think you mock me. And yet RICHELIEU. Hush — hush — This line must be considered ! OU, THE CONSPIRACY. 139 JULIE. Are we not both your children ? KICllKLIKU. What a couplet ! How now ! Oh ! Su- — you Hve ! DIS MAUFEAT. AVhy, no, methinks, Elysium is not life ! JULIE. He smiles ! — you smile, ]My father ! From my heart for ever now I '11 blot the name of orphan ! ItlCHELIEU. E-ise, my children, For ye are mine — mine both ; — and in your sweet And young delight — your love — (life's first-born glory) My own lost youth breathes musical ! DE MAUPRAT. I '11 seek Temple and priest henceforward ; — Avere it but To learn Heaven's choicest blessings. KICHELIEU. Thou shalt seek Temple and pi-iest right soon ; the morrow's sun Shall see thee across these barren thresholds pass The fairest bride in Paris. — Go, my children ; Even I loved once ! Be lovers Avhile ye may ! How is it with you, Sir ? You bear It bravelj' : You know, it asks the courage of a lion. \^Exeunt .Julie and De Mauprat. 140 KICHELIEU : RICHELIEU. Oh ! godlike Power ! "Woe, Rapture, Penury, Wealth,— Marriage and Death, for one infirm old man Through a great empire to dispense — withhold — As the will whispers I And shall things — like motes That live in my daylight — lackeys of court wages. Dwarfed starvelings — manikins, upon whose shoul- ders The burden of a province were a load More heavy than the globe on Atlas, — cast Lots for my robes and sceptre ? France ! I love thee ! All Earth shall never pluck thee from iny heart! My mistress France — my wedded wife, — sweet France, Who shall proclaim divorce for thee and me ! [£xit ElCHELIEU. OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 141 ACT 11. SECOXD DAY. Scene I. — A splendid apartment in Mauprat's neio House. Casements opening to the Gardens, beyond icliick the domes of the Luxembourg Palace. Enter Baeadas. BAKADAS. Mauprat's new lionie : — too splendid for a soldier ! But o'er his floors — the while I stalk — methinks My shadow spreads gigantic to the gloom The old rude towers of the Bastile cast far Along the smoothness of the jocund day. — Well, thou hast 'scaped the fierce caprice of Biche- lieu ; But art thou farther from the headsman, fool ? Thy secret I have whispered to the King; — Thy marriage makes the King thy foe. — Thou stand'st On the abyss — and in the pool below I see a ghastly, headless phantom mirrored ; — Thy likeness ere the marriage moon hath waned. Meanwhile — meanwhile — ha — ha, if thou art wed~ ded, Thou art not wived. Enter Mauprat {splendidly dressed). DE MAUPRAT. Was ever fate like mine ? So blest, and yet so wretched ! 142 RICHELIEU: BAliADAS. Joy, De INIauprat ! — Why, wliat a brow, man, for your Avedding da}' ! DE .■MAUPHAT. Jest not ! — Distraction ! BARADAS. AVhat, A'our wife a shrew Ah'eady ? Courage, man — the common lot ! DE MAUPKAT. Oh ! that she were less lovely, or less loved ! BARADAS. Riddles again ! DE SrAUPRAT. You know what chanced between The Cardinal and myself. BARADAS. This morning broiiglit Your letter : — faith, a strange account ! 1 laughed And wept at once for gladness. DE MAUPRAT. We were wed At noon ; — the rite performed, came hither ; ■ — ■ scarce Arrived, when BARADAS. Well? — DE JIAUPRAT. Wide flew the doors, and lo, Messire de Beringhen, and this epistle ! BARADAS. 'T is the KinGf's hand ! — the royal seal ! OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 143 DE JIAUPRAT. Read — read — BARADAS {readhif/). " Whereas Adrien de Mauprat, Colonel and Chev- alier in our armies, being already guilty of High Treason, by the seizure of our town of Faviaux, has presumed, without our knowledge, consent, or sanc- tion, to connect himself by marriage with Julie de IMortemar, a wealthy orphan attached to the person of Her Majest)', without our knowledge or consent — ^Ye do hereby proclaim and declare the said marriage contrary to law. On penalty of death, Adrien de Miuprat will not communicate with the said Julie de Mortemar by word or letter, save in the presence of our faithful servant the Sieur de Beringhen, and then with such respect and decorum as are due to a Demoi- selle attached to the Court of France, until such time as it may suit our i-o}"al pleasure to confer witli the Holy Church on the formal annulment of the mar- riage, and with our Council on the punishment to be awarded to Messire de Mauprat, who is cautioned for his own sake to preserve silence as to our injunction, more especially to Mademoiselle de Llortcmar. " Given under our hand and seal at the Louvre. " Louis." BARADAS {relurnlng the letter). Amazement ! — Did not llichelieu say, the King Knew not your crime ? DK JIAUrKAT. He said so. BARADAS. Poor De Mauprat ! — 144 KICHELIKU: See you the snare, the vengeance worse than death, Of which you are the victim ? DE MAUPKAT. Ha! BAR ADAS (aside).. It works ! [Julie aiid De Berixghen in the Gardens. You have not sought the Cardinal yet to DE MAUPEAT. No! Scarce yet my sense awakened from the shock ; Now I will seek him. BAliADAS. Hold, beware ! — Stir not Till we confer again. DE MAUPRAT. Speak out, man ! — BARADAS. Hush ! Your wife ! — De Beringhen ! — Be on your guard — Obey the royal orders to the letter. I'll look around your palace. By my troth A princely mansion ! DE MAUPRAT. Stay BARADAS. So new a bridegroom Can want no visitors ; — Your servant, IMadani ! Oh ! happy pair — Oh ! charming picture ! [JlxU tliroiigh a side-door. OR, TUE CONSPIRACY. 145 JULIE. Adrien, You left us suddenly — Are you not well ? DE MAUPHAT. Oh, very well — that is — extremely ill ! JULIE. El, Adrien ? [ Taling his hand. DE MAUPRAT. Not when I see thee. [He is about to lift her hand to his lijis when De Bekinghen courjhs andjndls his viantle. JIaupkat droj)s the hand and walks away. JULIE. Alas! Should he not love me ? DE BERINGHEN (aside). Have a care ; I must Report each word — each gesture to his INIajesty. DE MAUPRAT. Sir, if you were not in his Majesty's service, You 'd be the most officious, impudent, Damned busy-body ever interfering In a man's family affairs. DE BERINGHEN. But as I do belong, Sir, to his JNIajesty — DE MAUPr.AT. You 're lucky ! — Still, were we a story higher, 'T were prudent not to go too near the window. JULIE. Adrien, what have I done ? Say, am I changed 10 146 RICHELIEU : Since yesterday ? — or was it but for wealth, Ambition, life — that — that — you swore you loved me? DE MAUPEAT. I shall go mad ! — I do, indeed I do — BE BEKiXGiiEX {aside). Not love her ! that were highly disrespectful. JULIE. You do — what, Adrien ? DE JMAUPRAT. Oh ! I do, indeed I do think, that this weather is delightful ! A charming day ! the sky is so serene ! And Avhat a prospect! — (to De Beuinghen) — Oh! you Popinjay ! JULIE. He jests at me ! — he mocks me ! — yet I love him, And every look becomes the lips we love ! Perhaps I am too grave ? — You laugh at Julie ; If laughter please you, welcome be the music ! Only say, Adrien, that you love me. DE siAUPKAT {Icissiitfj her hand). Ay; With my whole heart I love you ! Now, Sir, go, And tell that to his INIajesty ! — "Who ever Heard of its being a state offence to kiss The hand of one's own wife V JULIE. He says he lo^■es me, And starts away, as if to say " I love you " OU, THK CONSPIRACY. 147 ]\Ieant somethino; very dreadful. — Come, sit by me, — I place your chair! — fic on your gallantry ! [They sit doivn; as Ite pushes his chair bach, she draws hers nearer. Why must this strange Messire de Beringhen Be always here ? He never takes a hint. Do you not wish him gone ? DE IMAUPHAT. Upon my soul I do, my Julie ! — Send him for your bouquet, Your glove, your — anything. JULIE. Messire de Beringhen, I dropped my glove in the gardens by the fountain. Or the alcove, or — stay — no, by the statue Of Cupid ; may I ask you to DE BEIilXGIIEN. To send for it ? Certainly (rinrjing a hell on the table). Andre, Pierre, (your rascals, how Do ye call them ?) Enter Servants. Ah — Madame has dropped her glove In the gardens, by the fountain, — or the alcove ; Or — stay — no, by the statue — eh ? — of Cupid. Bring It. DE JIAUI'RAT. Did ever now one pair of shoulders Carry such wagon-loads of impudence Into a gentleman's drawing-room ? Dear Julie, 148 RICHELIEU : I 'm busy — letters — visitors — the devil ! I do beseech you leave nie — I say — leave me. JULIE {weeinng). You are unkind. [Exit. [As she goes out, Maupeat chops on one knee and kisses the hem of her mantle, unseen by her. DE BEIUNGIIEN. Ten million of apologies DE MAUPHAT. I '11 not take one of them. I have, as yet, Withstood all things — my heart — my love — my rights. But Julie's tears ! When Is this farce to end? DE BEP.INGIIEN. Oh ! when you please. His IMajesty requests me, As soon as you Infringe his gracious orders. To introduce you to the Governor Of the Bastlle. 1 should have had that honor Before, but, 'gad, my foible is good-nature ; One can't be hard upon a friend's infirmities. DE MAUPP.AT. I know the King can send me to the scaffold — Dark prospect ! — but I 'm used to it ; and If The Church and Council, by this hour to-morrow, One way or other settle not the matter, I will ^— DE r.ETUNGHEN. What, my dear Sir? OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 149 DE MAUPKAT. Show you the door, My dear, dear Sir ; talk as I please, with whom I please, in my own house, dear Sir, mitil His Majesty shall condescend to find A stouter gentleman than you, dear Sir, To take me out ; and now you understand me. My dear, most dear — Oh, damnably dear Sir ! DE BEKINGHEN. What, almost in a passion ! j'ou will cool Upon reflection. Well, since Madame 's absent, I'll take a small refreshment. Now, don't stir ; Be careful ; — how 's }our burgundj' ? — I '11 taste it ; Finish it all before I leave you. Nay, No form ; — you see I make myself at home. [Exit De Berixghen. DE MAUPKAT (rjolng to (he door ihrcmr/h which Baeadas had 2>assed). Baradas ! Count ! Enter Baradas. You spoke of snares — of vengeance Sharper than death — be plainer. EARADAS. Richelieu has but two passions — DE BIAUPKAT. What so clear ? Richelieu ! Yes! Ambition and revenge — in you both blended. Fii-st for Ambition — Julie is his ward, 150 RICHELIEU: Innocent — docile — pliant to his -will — He placed her at the court — foresaw the rest — The King loves Julie ! PE MAUrrAT. Merciful Heaven ! The King ! BARADAS. Such Cupids lend new plumes to Richelieu's wings : But the court etiquette must give such Cupids The veil of Hymen — (Hymen but in name). He looked abroad — Ibund }ou his foe : — thus served Ambition — by the grandeur of his ward, And vengeance — by dishonor to his foe ! DE SIAUrRAT. Prove this. BARADAS. You have the proof — the royal Letter : — Your strange exemption from the general pardon, Known but to me and Richelieu ; can you doubt Your friend to acquit your foe ? The truth is glar- ing — ■ Richelieu alone could tell the princely Lover The tale which sells your life, — or buys your honor ! DE JIAUPRAT. I see it all ! — jNIock pardon — hurried nuptials — False bounty ! — all ! — the serpent of that smile ! Oh ! it stings home ! BARADAS. You j'ct shall crush his malice; Our plans are sure : — Orleans is at our head ; We meet to-night ; join us, and Avith us triumph. Oli, THE CONSl'lKACY. 151 DE JIAIIPKAT. To-night ? — Oh Heaven ! — my marriage night ! — Revenge ! BARADAS. [What chxss of men, whose white lips do not curse The grim, insatiate, universal tyrant ? We, noble-born — where are our antique rights — Our feudal seigniories — our castled strength, That did divide us from the base Plebeians, And made our swords our law — where are they ? — trod To dust — and o'er the graves of our dead power Scaffolds are monuments — the Kingly House Shorn of its beams — the Royal Sun of France 'Clijjsed by this blood-red comet. AVhere we turn, Nothing but Richelieu ! — Armies — Church — State — Laws, But mirrors that do multiply his beams. He sees all — acts all — Argus and Briarseus — Spy at our boards — and deathsman at our hearths, Under the venom of one laidly nightshade, Wither the lilies of all France. DE MAUi'RAT {hnpatiently). But Julie — BARADAS {unlieedivy him). As yet the Fiend that serves hath saved his power From every snare ; and in the epitaphs Of many victims dwells a warning moral That preaches caution. Were I not assured That what before was hope is ripened now Into most certain safety, trust me, Mauprat, 152 lUCHELIEU: I still could hush my hate and mark thy wrongs, And say, " Be patient ! " — JVow, the King him- self Smiles kindly when I tell him that his peers Will rid hira of his Priest. You knit your brows, jSToble impatience ! — Pciss we to our scheme ! ] 'T is Richelieu's wont, each morn, within his chapel, (Hypocrite Avorship ended,) to dispense Alms to the INIendicant friars, — in that guise A band (yourself the leader) shall surround And seize the despot. DE 3IAUPKAT. But the King ? — but Julie ? BARADAS. The King, infirm in health, in mind more feeble. Is but the plaything of a Minister's will. Were Richelieu dead — his power were mine ; and Louis Soon should forget his passion and your crime. But whither now ? DE SIAUPRAT. I know not : I scarce hear thee ; A little while for thought : anon I '11 join thee ; But now, all air seems tainted, and I loathe The face of man ! {Exit De JIauprat through the Gardens. BARADAS. Start from the chase, my prey, But as thou speed'st, the hell-hounds of Revenge Pant in thy track and dog thee down. OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 153 Enter De Beringhen, his mouth full, a napkin in his hand. DE BEKINCillEN. Chevalier, Your cook 's a miracle, — what, my Host gone ? Faith, Count, my office is a post of danger — A fiery fellow, Mauprat ! touch and go, — ]\Iatch and saltjietre, — pr — r — r — r — ! BAltADAS. You Will be released erelong. The King resolves To call the bride to court this da}-. DE BEUINGHEN. Poor Mauprat ! Yet, since you love the lady, why so careless Of the King's suit ? BARADAS. Because the lady 's virtuous, And the King timid. Ere he Avin the suit He '11 lose the crown, — the bride Avill be a widow, — And I — the Richelieu of the Regent Orleans. BE BERINGHEN. Is Louis still so chafed against the Fox For snatching yon fair dainty from the Lion ? BARADAS. So chafed, that Richelieu totters. Yes, the King Is half conspirator against the Cardinal. Enough of this. I 've found the man we wanted, — The man to head the hands that murder Richelieu, — The man, whose name the synonyme for daring. DE HEHIXGTIEN. He must mean me ! — No, Count, I am — I own, A valiant dog — but still — 154 RICHELIEU : BARADAS. T^^lom can I mean B.ut IManprat ? — ]\Iark, to-niglat we meet at jMarion's, There shall we si^iu : thence send this scroll {showing it) to Bouillon. You 're in that secret (ciffL'ctionatehj~) — one of our new Council. DE BERIXGHEN. But to admit the Spaniard — France's foe — Into the heart of France, — dethrone the King, — It looks like treason, and I smell the headsman. haeapas. Oh, Sir, too late to falter: when we meet We must arrange the separate — coarser scheme, For Richelieu's death. Of this despatch De Mauprat Must nothing learn. lie only bites at vengeance, And he would start from treason. — ^Ve must post him "Without the door at INIarion's — as a sentry. {Aside.') — So, when his head is on the block — his tongue Cannot betray our more august designs ! UE BERIXGHEN. I '11 meet you if the Iving can spare me. — {Aside.) Nol I am too old a goose to play with foxes, I '11 roost at home. jMeanwhile, in the next room There 's a delicious jiate, — let 's discuss it. 1! A RAD AS. Pshaw ! a man filled with a sublime ambition Has no time to discuss your pates. OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 155 DE BEIUNGIIEN. Pshaw ! And a man filled with as sublime a \K\ie Has no time to discuss ambition. — 'Gad, I have the best of it ! Enter Julie liastlhj, loith first Courtier. JULIE (to Courtier). A summons. Sir, To attend the Louvre ? — On tJiis daj^, too ? COURTIER. Madame, The roj-al carriage waits below. — Messire, (to De Beuinghex,) You Avill return with us. JULIE. ^Vhat can this mean ? — AVhere is my husband ? BARADAS. He has left the house, Perhaps till nightfall — • so he bade me tell you. Alas, were I the lord of such fair treasure — JULIE [impatiently). Till nightfall ? — Strange — my lieart misgives me ! COURTIER. Madame, My orders will not brook delay. JULIE (to Baradas). You '11 see him — And you will tell him ! BARADAS. From the flowers of Ilybla 156; KICHELIEU : Never more gladly did the bee bear honey, Than I take sweetness from those rosiest lips, Though to the hive of others ! COURTIEK {to De BeKINGHEX.) Come, Messlre. DE nEUiNGHEN (Jiesituting). One moment, just to — COUltTIER. Come, Sir. DE BEKIXGIIEN. I shall not Discuss the pate after all. 'Eeod, I 'm puzzled now. I don't know who 's the best of it ! [Exeunt Julie, De Beiunghen, and Courtier. BAltADAS. Now will this fire his fever into madness ! All is made clear : Mauprat must murder Richelieu — Die for that crime : — I shall console his Julie — This will reach Bouillon ! — from the wrecks of France I shall carve out — who knows — perchance a throne ! All in despite of my Lord Cardinal. — Enter De MAUPRATyro»i the Gardens. DE MAUPRAT. Speak ! can it be ? — Methought that from the terrace I saw the carriage of the King — and Julie! No ! — no ! — my frenzy peoples the void air With its own phantoms ! BARADAS. Nay, too true. — Alas ! Was ever lightning swifter, or more blasting, Than Richelieu's forked guile ? OR, THE COXSPIUACY. 15T DE JIAUPr.AT. I '11 to the Louvre ^• BAKADAS. And lose all hope ! — The Louvre ! — the sure gate To the Bastlle ! DE MAUPRAT. The King BARADAS. Is but the wax, "Which Richelieu stamps ! Break the malignant seal, And I will raze the print. Come, man, take heart ! Iler virtue well could brave a sterner trial Than a few hours of cold, imperious courtship. AVere Richelieu dust — no danger ! DE JIAUPKAT. Ghastly Vengeance ! To thee, and thine august and solemn sister, Tlie unrelenting Death, I dedicate The blood of Armand Richelieu ! AVhen Dishonor Reaches our hearths. Law dies, and Murder takes The angel shape of Justice ! BAP.ADAS. Bravely said ! At midnight, — Marlon's ! — Nay, I cannot leave thee To thoughts that DE MAUPRAT. Speak not to me ! — I am yours ! — But speak not! There 's a voice within my soul, AVhose cry could drown the thunder. — Oh ! if men Will play dark sorcery with the heart of man. Let they who raise the spell beware the Fiend ! [Exezmt. 158 RICHELIEU : SCENE II. A Room in the Palais Cardinal {as in the First Act). EiCHELiEU and Joseph. Francois ivriting at a table. josErii. Yes ; — Iluguet, taking his accustomed round, — Disguised as some plain burgher, — heard these rufflers Quoting your name : — he listened, — " Pshaw ! " said one, " We are to seize the Cardinal in his palace To-morrow !" — " How?" the other asked. — "You'll hear The whole design to-night ; the Duke of Orleans And Baradas have got the map of action At their fingers' end."- — •" So be it," quoth the other, " I will be there — Marion de Lornie's — at mid- night ! " RICHELIEU. I have them, man, — I have them ! ■JOSEPH. So they say Of you, my Lord; — believe me, that their plans Are mightier than you deem. You must employ Means no less vast to meet them ! RICHELIEU. Bah ! in policy We foil gigantic danger, not by giants, OR, THE COiNsriRACY. 159 But dwarfs. The statues of our stately fortune Are scul2)tured by tbe chisel — not the axe ! * Ah ! were I younger — by the knightly lieart That beats beneath these jjriestly robes,f I would Have pastime with these cut-throats ! — Yea, as when, Lured to the ambush of the expecting foe, — I clove my pathway through the plumed sea ! Reach me yon falchion, Francois, — not that bawble For carpet-warriors, — yonder — such a blade As old Charles JMartel might have wielded when Ho drove the Saracen from France. [Francois brings 1dm one of the lonr/ two-liaiuled swords worn in the middle ages. * Richelieu not only employed the lowest, hut would often consult men commonly esteemed the dullest. "II disuit que dens des clioses de tres grande importance, il avail experimente, quo les moins sages donnoient souvent les meilleurs expediens." — Lc Clcrc. f Both Richelieu and .Joseph were originally intended for the profession of arms. Joseph had served before he obeyed the spiritual inspiration to become a Capuchin. The death of his brother opened to Richelieu the bishopric of Lu^,on ; but his military propensities were as strong as his priestly ambition. I need scarcely add that the Cardinal, during his brilliant campaign in Italy, marclied at the head of his troops in conii)lete armor. It was under his administration tliat occurs the last example of pro- claiming war by the chivalric defiance of herald and cartel. Richelieu valued himself much on his personal activity, — for his vanity was as universal as his ambition. A nolileinan of the JiDUse of Grammont one day foimd him employed in jumpuiiT, and, witli all tlie savulr vinre of a Frenchman and a courtier, offered to jiiiup against him. lie suffered the ('ardiu^l to jump hislicr, and soon after found himself rewarded by an appointment. Yet, strMigely enough, this vanity did not lead to a patronage injurious to the state; for never before in Franco was ability made so es- w,ntial a requisite in prouKJtion. lie was lucky in finding the cleverest fellow among iiis adroitest flatterers. 160 KICHELIKU: With this I, at Rochelle, did hand to hand engage The stalwart Englisher, — no mongrels, boy, Those island mastiffs, — mark the notch — a deep one — His casque made here, — I shore him to the Avaist ! A toy — a feather — then ! [ Tries to -wield, and lets it fall. You see, a child could Slay Richelieu, now. FKAN90IS (Ms hand on Jtis hilt). But non\ at your command Are other weapons, my good Lord. niCHELiEU {who has seated himself as to write, lifts the pen). True, — This ! Beneath the rule of men entirely great The pen is mightier than the sword. Behold The arch-enchanter's wand ! — itself a nothing ! — But taking sorcery from the master-hand To paralyze the Cassars — and to strike The loud earth breathless ! — Take away the sword — States can be saved without it ! [LooUnrj on the docTc. 'T is the hour, — Eetire, Sir. [Exit FKAxrois. [A hnoch is heard. A door concealed in the arras ojjens cautiousltj. Enter Makion de Lokme. JOSEPH {amazed). Marion de Lorme ! RICHELIEU. Hist ! — Joseph, OU, THE CONSPIRACY. 161 Keep guard. [Joseph retires to the principal entrance. ]My fiiithful IMarion ! BiAiaox. Good, mj' Lord, They meet to-nifjlit in my poor house. The Duke Ot" Orleans heads them. KICHKLIEU. Yes — go on. MAEION. His Highness ]Much questioned if I knew some brave, discreet, And vigilant man, whose tongue could keep a secret, And who had those twin qualities for service, The love of gold, the hate of Richelieu. — lUCHELIEU. You ? — MAEION. Made answer, " Yes — my brother ; — bold and trusty ; Whose faith, my faith could j)ledge ; " — the Duke then bade me Have him equipped and armed — well mounted — ready This night to part for Italy. KICIIELIEU. Aha ! — Has Bouillon too turned traitor ? — So methought ! — ■ "What part of Italy V MAiaON. The Piedmont frontier. Where Bouillon lies encamped. 11 162 RICHELIEU : KICIIEI.IEU. Now there is danirer ! Great clanger ! — If he tamper witli the Spaniard, And Louis list not to my counsel, as. Without sure proof, he will not, — France is lost. AMiat more ? MAKION. Dark hints of some design to seize Your person in your palace. Nothing clear — His Highness ti'cmbled while he spoke — the words Did choke each other. RICHELIEU. So ! — AVho is the brother You recommended to the Duke ? 5IAl:iON. Your Eminence may father ! — EICHELIEU. Whoever DarlinfT iMarion ! * * Voltaire openly charges Richelieu with being tlie lover of Marion de Lornie ; and the great ])oct of France, Victor Hugo, has sacrificed History to adorn her with qualities which were certainly not added to lier personal charms. She was not less perfidious tlian beautiful. Le Clorc, properly, refutes the accusa- tion of Voltaire against the discretion of Richelieu, and says, very justly, that, if the great minister had the frailties of human nature, lie learnt how to veil them, — at least when lie obtained tlie scar- let. In earlier life lie had been prone to gallantries which a little prepossessed the King (who was formal and decorous, and threw a singular coldness into the few attachments he permitted to liiin- scIQ against the aspiring intriguer. But these gayer occupations died away in the engagement of higher pursuits or of darker pas- sions. OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 1G3 [Goes to tlie table, am?, returns icilh a Inrf/e hag of gold. Tliere — • psiuiw — a trifle ! — Wliat an eye you have ! And what a smile — child! — (Jdsses her^ — Ah! you fair perdition — 'T is well I 'ni old ! MAiaoN ( aside and serioushj). AVhat a gi'cat man he is ! KICHKLIEU. You are sure they meet ? — the hour ? JIAIUON. At midnight. lUCIIELIEU. And You will engage to give the Duke's despatch To- whom I send ? JIAIUON. A)', marry ! incuKLiEU {aside). Iluguet ? No ; lie will he wanted elsewhere. — Joseph 2 — zealous, But too well known — too much the elder brother ! Mauprat — alas ! it is liis wedding day ! — FranCj'ois ? — the ]Man of jMen ! — imnoted — J'oung ; Ambitious — {[/oes to the door^ — Franc^^ois ! Enter Fuan(;ois. laCIIKLIEU. Follow this fair lady ; (Find him the suiting garments, ]\Iarion,) take My fleetest steed : — arm thyself to the teeth ; A packet will be given you — with orders. 1G4 RICHELIEU: Ko matter what I — The instant tliat your hand Closes upon it — chitch it, like your honor, AVhieh Deatli alone can steal, or ravish — set Spurs to your steed — be breathless, till you stand Ajiaiu before me. — Stay, Sir ! — You -will find me Two short leagues hence — at Ruelle, in my castle. Young man, be blithe ! — for — note me — from the hour I grasp that packet — think your guardian Star Kains fortune on you ! — FEAX901S. If I fail — KICIIELIEi:. Fail — fail ? In the lexicon of youth, ■which Fate reserves For a bright manhood, there is no such word As — fail ! — (You will Instruct him further, jNIarion.) Follow her — but at distance ; — speak not to her, Till you are housed. — Farewell, boy ! ^ever say " Fad " again. FRANCOIS. I will not ! EICHELIEU {patiintj his locks). I There 's my young hero ! — [Exettnt FKAX901S, JIakiox. KICHELIEU. So, they would seize my person in this palace V — I cannot guess their scheme ; — but my retiiuie Is here too large I — a single traitor could Strike impotent the faith of thousands ; — Joseph, OR, THE CONSPIllACY. 1G5 Art sure of Iluguet ? — Think — avc hanged his Fa- ther ! josErn. But you have bought the Son ; — heaped favors on him ! r.ICHELIEU. Trash ! — flivors past — that 's nothing. — In his hours Of confidence with you, has he named the favors To come, — he counts on ? JOSEPH. Yes : — a Colonel's rank, And Letters of Nobility. KICHELIEU. What, Huguet ! — [7/ere Huguet enters, as to address the Cardinal, ivhd dues not jjerceive him. HUGUET. ]\Iy own name, soft — {r/lUles ieJiind (lie screen^. lUCIIELIEU. Colonel and Xobleman ! ]\Iy bashful Iluguot — that can never be ! — AVe have him not the less — we '11 promise h ! And see the King Avithholds ! — Ah, kings are oft A great convenience to a minister ! No wrong to Huguet either ; — Moralists Say, Hope is sweeter than Possession ! — Yes ! — We '11 count on Huguet ! Favors paxl do gorge Our dogs ; leave service drowsy — dull the scent, Slacken the speed ; — favors to come, my Joseph, 166 RICHELIEU: Produce a lusty, hunnjiy gratitude, A ravenous zeal, that of the commonest cur Would make a Cerberus. — You are right ; this treason Assumes a fearful aspect : — but once crushed. Its very ashes shall manure the soil Of power; and ripen such full sheaves of greatness, That all the summer of my fate shall seem Fruitless beside the autumn ! [HuGUET holds up his hand menacinrihj, and creeps out. JOSEPH. The saints grant it ! EinrELiEU {solemnhj). Yes — for sweet France, Heaven grant it ! — O my country. For thee — thee only — though men deem it not — Are toil and terror my familiars ! — : I Have made thee great and fair — upon thy brows Wi-eathed the old Roman laurel : — at thy feet Bowed nations down. — No pulse in my ambition ^^^hose beatings were not measured from thy heart ! [In the old times before us, patriots lived And died for liberty — josEPn. As you would live And die for despotry — IIICHELTKU. False monk, not so, But for the purple and the power wherein State clothes herself. — I love my native land Not as Venetian, Englisher, or Swiss, OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 167 But as a Noble and a Priest of France ; " All things for France " — lo, my eternal maxim ! The vital axle of the restless wheels That bear me on ! With her I have entwined My passions and my fate — my crimes, my virtues — ■ Hated and loved,* and schemed, and shed men's blood. * Richelieu did in fact so thorouglily associate liimsclf with the State, that, in cases where the extreme penalty of the law had been incurred, Le Clerc justly observes tliat he was more inex- orable to those he had favored — even to his own connections — tlian to other and more indifTerent otTenders. It nuist be remem- bered, as some excuse for his unrelenting sternness, tliat before his time the great had been accustomed to commit any disorder with impunity, even the crime of treason ; — " auparavant on ne faisoit poser les armes aux rebellcs qu'en leur accordant quclque recompense." On entering into the administration, lie therefore laid it down as a maxim necessary to the existence of the State, that " no crime should be committed with impunity." To carry out this maxim, the long-established license to crime made even justice seem cruel. But the victims most commiserated, from their birth or accomplishments, as Montmorenci, or Cinq Mars, were traitors in actual conspiracy against tlieir country, and would have forfeited life in any land where tlio punishment of death existed, and the lawgiver was strong enough to vindicate the law. Richelieu was in fact a patriot unsoftened by philan- thropy. As in Venice, (where the favorite aphorism was — " Ven- ice tirst, Christianity next," f) so, with Richelieu, the primary consideration was, •' What will be best for the country ? " He liad no abstract principle, whetlier as a politician or a priest, when applied to the world that lay beyond the boundaries of France. Thus he, whose object was to found in France a splen- did and imperious despotism, assisted the Parliamentary party in England, and signeIKU. A retributive Power ! — Tliis comes of spies ! All ? then the lion's sl^cin's too short to-night, — Xow for the fox's ! JI'LIE. A lioai'se, gathci'ing murmur ! — Ilurr}!ng and heavy footsteps ! UICIIELIKU. Ila ! — the posterns ? DE MAUPKAT. Ko egress where no sentry ! lUCHELIKU. Follow me — I have it ! — to my chamber — cpiiek ! Come, Julie ! Hush ! ]\Iauprat, come I (^Murmur at a distance') — Death to the Cardinal ! KICHELIKU. UloodhoiUKls, I laugh at ye ! — ha ! ha ! — we will EaOle them yet. — Ila ! ha ! [Exeunt Julie, Maupp.at, IhcirKi.iKU. HUGUET (without). This way — this Avay ! SCENE III. Enter IIucuet and the Conspirators. IIUGUET. De IMauprat's hand is never slow in battle ; — Strange, if it falter now ! Ha ! gone ! 196 RICHELIEU : FIKST COSSPH'.ATOK. Perchance The fox had crept to rest ; and to his lair Death, the dark hunter, ti-acks hinx. [Enter Maupuat, ihrowin(] open the doors of the re- cess, in which a bed, ichereon Eichelieu lies ex- tended. DE MAUPHAT. Live the King! Kicheheu is dead ! HUGUET {advancing toivards the recess; JIaupuat JbUowinffj his hand on his dagrjev). Are his eyes open ? DE JIAUPKAT. Ay, As if in life ! iiUGUET (turning hack). I will not look on him. You have been long. DE MAUPP.AT. I watched him till he slept. Heed me. — No trace of blood reveals the deed ; — Strangled in sleep. His health hath long been broken — Found breathless in his bed. So runs our tale, Remember ! Back to Paris — Orleans gives Ten thousand crowns, and Baradas a lordship. To him who first gluts vengeance Avith the news That Richelieu is in heaven ! Quick, that all France May share jour joj- ! HPGUET. And you ? OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 197 DE MAUrKAT. Will stay, to crush Eager suspicion — to forbid sharp eyes To dwell too clossly on the clay ; prepare The rites, and place him on his bier — this mij task. I leave to you, sirs, the more grateful lot Of wealth and honors. Hence ! HUGUET. I shall be noble ! DE MAUPRAT. Away ! FIKST CONSPIRATOR. Five thousand crowns ! OMNES. To horse ! — to horse ! [Exeunt Conspirators. SCENE IV. Still nif/ht. — A Room in the 7(o?(se o/" Count de Baradas, Uuild His bridge between the dungeon and the grave. OIU.EAXS. Well ; if our courier can but reach the army. The cards are ours ! — and yet, I OAvn, I tremble. Our names are in the scroll- — discoAery, death! OK, THE CONSPIRACY. 199 BARADAS. Success, a crown ! DE BEUiNGHEN (apart to Bauadas). Our future Regent is No hero. BARADAS {to De BeRINGHEN). But his rank makes others valiant ; And on his cowardice I mount to power. Were Orleans Regent — what Avere Baradas ? Oh ! by the way — I had forgot, your Highness, Friend Huguet Avhispered me, " Beware of JNlarion : I 've seen her lurking near the Cardinal's palace." Upon that hint, I 've found her lodgings elsewhere. ORLEANS. You wrong her. Count. Poor Marion ! — she adores me. BARADAS [apologetically). Forgive me, but Enter Page. PAGE. ]\Iy Lord, a rude, strange soldier, Breathless with haste, demands an audience. BAKADAS. So! — The archers ? PAGE. In the anteroom, my Lord, As you desired. P.ARADAS. 'T is well — admit the solilier. [^Exit Page. Husuet ! — I bade him seek me here. 200 RICHELIKU: Enter Huguet. HUGUET. ]\Iy Lords, The deed is done. Now, Count, fulfil your word, And make me noble ! BAKABAS. Richelieu dead ? — art sure ? How died he ? HUGUET. Strangled in his sleep : — no blood, No telltale violence. BARADAS. Strangled ? — monstrous villain ! Reward for murder ! Ho, there ! [Stamping. Enter Captain iri/li Jive Archers. HUGUET. No, thou durst not ! BARADAS. Seize on the ruffian — bind him — gag him ! Olf To the Bastile ! HUGUET. Your word — your plighted faith ! BARAD.\S. Insolent liar ! — ho, away ! HUGUET. Nay, Count; I have that about me, which BARADAS. Away with him ! [Exeunt Huguet and Archers. Now, then, all 's safe ; Huguet must die in prison, OK, THE CONSPIRACY. 201 So ]\I;uiprat : — coax or foi'ce the meaner crew 'l"o lly the country. Ila, ha! thus, your highness, Great nieu make use of little men. DE ISlililNGUEN. My Lords, Since our suspense is ended — you '11 excuse me; 'T IS late — and, enfre tum^, I have not supped yet ! I'm one of the new Council now, remember; I feel the public stirring here already; A very craving monster. Au recoir ! [Exit Die BEmNGHKx. oi;li-:.\ns. No fear, now R:.:helieu 's dead. ISAKADAS. And could he come To life again, he could not keep life's life — His power, — nor save De Mauprat from the scaf- fold, — Isor Julie fi'om these arms — nor Paris from The Spaniard — nor your Highness from the throne ! ^,11 ours ! all ours ! in spite of my Lord Cardinal ! Enter Page. I'AGE. A gentleman, my Lord, of better mien Than he who last ISAHADAS. Well, he may enter. [Exit Page. ORLEANS. Who Can this be V 202 RICHELIEU : BARADAS. One of the conspirators : Mauprat himself, perhaps. Enter Feancois. FRAN901S. My Lord BAKADAS. Ha, traitor ! In Paris still ? FRAXOOIS. The packet — the despatch — Some knave played spy without, and reft it from nie, Ere I could draw my sword. BARADAS. Played spy loithout ! Did he wear armor ? FRANCOIS. Ay, from head to heel. ORLEANS. One of our band. O, heavens 1 BAKADAS. Could it be Mauprat ? Kept guard at the door — knew naught of the de- spatch — How HE ? — and yet, who other ? FRANCOIS. Ha, De Mauprat ! The night was dark — his visor closed. BAKADAS. 'T was he ! How could he guess ? — 'sdeath ! if he should be- tray us. OR, THE COXSPIRACY. 203 His hate to Richelieu dies with Richelieu — and He was not great enough for treason. — Hence ! Find ^Nlauprat — beg, steal, filch, or force it back, Or, as I live, the halter FKANOOIS. By the morrow I will regain it, (^aside) and redeem my honor ! [£xit Fkan^ois. ORLEANS. Oh, we are lost — BARADAS. Kot so ! But cause on cause For Mauprat's seizure — silence — death! Take courage. ORLEANS. Should it once reach the King, the Cardinal's arm Could smite us from the grave. I3ARADAS. Sir, think it not ! I hold De ^Mauprat in my grasp. To-morrow, And France is ours ! Thou dark and fallen Angc^l, "Whose name on earth's Ami$itiox — thou that mak'st Thy throne on treasons, stratagems, and murder — And with thy fierce and blood-red smile canst quench The guiding stars of solemn empire — hear us — (For we are thine) — and light us to the goal ! 204 liiciiELiEU ; ACT IV. THIRD DAY. Scene I. — Tlie Gardens of the Louvre. — Orleans, Ba- EADAs, De 1>ki:in(;iiex, Courtiers, i.fc. ORLEANS. How does my brother bear tlie Cardinal's death ? BAKADAS. Witli grief, when thinking of the toils of State ; With joy, Avhen thinking of the eyes of Julie : — At times he sighs, " Who now shall govern France ?" Anon exclaims, " Who now shall baffle Louis V " Enter Louis and other Courtiers. ( Tliey uneover.) ORLEANS. Now, my liege, now, I can embrace a brother. LOUIS. Dear Gaston, yes. — I do believe you loce me ; — Richelieu denied it — severed us too long. A great man, Gaston ! Who shall govern France ? BAKADAS. Yourself, my liege. That swart and potent star Eclipsed your royal orb. He served the country, But did he serve., or seek to sicay the King ? [louis. You 're right — he was an able politician — That's all: — between ourselves, Count, I suspect OR, THE COXSPIUACY. 205 The largeness of liis learning — specially In falcons * — a poor huntsman, too ! UAKADAS. Ila — ha ! Your jMajesty remembers LOUIS. Ay, the blunder Between the fjrcfjier and the souillard when — [ Checks and crosses himself. Alas ! poor sinners that Ave are ! we lau^h While this great man — a priest, a cardinal, A faithful servant — out upon us ! — EAKADAS. Sire, * Louis XIII. is said to have possessed some natural talents, and in earlier youth to have exliibited tlic germs of nolile quali- ties ; but a l)lij;lit seems to have passed over his niatiirer life. Personally brave, but morally timid, — always governed, whether by his in;>thcr or his minister, and always repinin;; at tlic yoke. The only afiocl ion anioiintiiif; to a passion that he betrayed was for the sports of the field ; yet it was his craving weakness, (and this throws a kind of false interest over his character,) to wish to be loved. He himself loved no one. Ho suffered the only woman who seems to have been attached to him to wither in a convent; — he pave up favorite after favorite to exile or tlio block. When Riche ieu died, ho said coldly, "Voili un grand politique mort ! " and when the ill fated but un|irincipled Cinq Wars, whom ho called " le cher ami," was beheaded, he drew out his watch at the fatal hour, and said with a smile, "I think at this moment that le cher ami fait une vilaine mine.'''' Never- theless, his conscience at tunes (f.ir he was devout and supersti- liou.) made him gentle, and his pride and honor would often, ■\\bcn least exported, rou.-e him into liauglity but brief resist- ance to the despotism Uncer vvji(.,i '.>o lived. 206 niCHELiEU : If my brow wear no cloud, 't is that the Cardinal No longer shades the King. LOUIS {looh'mg np at the shies). O, Baradas ! Am I not to be pitied ? — what a day For — BARADAS. Sorrow ? — No, sire ! LOUIS. Bah ! for Jiunting, man, And Richelieu 's dead ; 't would be an indecorum Till he is buried — {jjawns) — life is very tedious. I made a madrigal on life last week : You do not sing,* Count? — Pity; you should learn. Poor Richelieu had no ear — yet a great man. Ah ! Avhat a weary weight devolves upon me ! These endless wai's — these thankless Parliaments — The snares in which he tangled States and Kings, Like the old fisher of the fable, Proteus, Netting great Neptune's wariest tribes, and chang- ing Into all shapes when Craft pursued himself: O, a great man ! BARADAS. Your royal mother said so, And died in exile. * Louis had some musical taste and accomplisliii>ent, wliere- witli lie often communicated to his favorites some of tliat weari- some ennui under which lie himself almost unceasingly laii- giiisheU. 207 OR, THE COXSriRACY. LOUIS {sadlij). True : I loved my mother.* BAKADAS. The Cardinal dies. — Yet day revives the earth •, Tiie rivers rim not back In truth, my liege, Did your high orb on others shine as him, Why, things as dull in their own selves as I am Would >j)atch. ailCHELIEU. Away to ]\Iarion ! JOSKPU. I have been there — she is seized — removed — imprisoned — By the Count's orders. ItlCHELIEU. Goddess of bright dreams, ]\Iy country — shalt thou lose me now, when most Tiiou need'st thy worshipper ? ]\Iy native land ! Let me but ward this dagger from th}- heart, And die — but on thy bosom ! Enter Julie. . JULIE. Heaven ! I thank thee ! OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 'J21 It cannot be, or this all-powerful man Would not stand idly thus. laCIIKLIEU. ^Vhat dost tliou here V Home ! JULIE. Home ! — is Adrien there ? — you 're dumb — yet strive For words ; I see them trembling on your lip. But choked by pity. It was truth — all truth ! Seized — the Bastile — and in your presence, too ! Cardinal, where is Adrien ? — Think — he saved Your life : — your name is infamy, if wrong Should come to his ! KICHKLIEU. Be soothed, child. JULIE. Child no more ; I love, and I am woman ! Hope and softer — Love, suftering, hope, — what else doth make the strength And majesty of woman ? — "Where is Adrien ? EiciiELiEu {to Joseph). Your youth was never young — you never loved : — Speak to her — josErn. Nay, take heed — the King's command, 'T is true — I nu'un — the — Jl LIE {to ItlCHELIEU). Let thine eyes meet mine ; Answer me but one wovd — I am a wife — 222 RICHELIEU: I ask thee for my liome — my fate — my all ! Whore is my huaband? RICHELIEU. You are Richelieu's Avard, A soldier's bride : they who insist on truth Must outface fear ; — you ask me for }our husband V There — where the clouds of heaven look darkest, o'er The domes of the Bastile ! JULIE. I thank }ou, father ; You see I do not shudder. Heaven forgive you The sin of this desertion ! MCHELIEU (detaininr/ hei-). "Whither wouldst thou ? JULIE. Stay me not. Fie ! I should be there already. I am thy ward, and haply he may think Thou 'st taught vie also to forsake the wretched ! laCHELIEU. I 've filled those cells — with many — traitors all. Had they wl\es too ? — Thy memories, Power, are solemn ! Poor suiferer ! — think'st thou that yon gates of woe Unbar to love ? Alas ! if love once enter, 'T is for the last farewell ; between those walls And the mute grave * — the blessed household sounds * " Selon l'iis;if;e de Louis XIII., faire arreter qiiel(|u'uii pour crime d'etat, et le faire luourir, I'etait J. jieu prcs le meirie chose." — Le C'LEnc. OR, THE COXSPIRACY. 223 Only heard once — while, hungering at the door. The headsman whets the axe. JUUK. O mercy ! mercy ! Save him, restore him, father ! Art thou not The Cardinal-King? — the Lord of lite and death — ■ Beneath whose light, as deeps beneath the moon, The solemn tides of Empire ebb and flow ? — Art thou not Richelieu ? KICHELIEU. Yesterday I Avas ! — To-day, a very weak old man ! — To-morrow, I know not what ! JULIE. Do you conceive his meaning ? Alas! I cannot. But, methinks, my senses Are duller than they were ! JOSKIMI. The King is chafed Against his servant. Lady, while we sjieak, The lackey of the anteroom is not ]More powerless than the JNlinister of France. [I'.ICHELIEU. And yet the air is still ; Heaven wears no cloud ; From Nature's silent orbit starts no portent To warn the unconscious world ; — albeit this night ]\Iay witli a morrow teem which, in my fall, AVould carry earthquake to remotest lands. And change the Christian globe. What wouldsl thou, woman ? 224 RiciiELiKU : Thy fate and liis, Avith mine, for good or ill, Are woven threads. In my va^ sura of life Millions such units merge.] Filter Fii-st Courtier. FIKST COUKTIER. ^ladame de INIauprat ! Pardon, your Eminence — even now I seek This lady's home — commanded by the King To pray her presence. JULIK {clinging to Eichelieu). Think of my dead father! — Think how, an infant, clinging to your knees, And looking to )'our eyes, the wrinkled care Fled from your brow before the smile of childhood, Fresh fi-om the dews of heaven ! Think of this, And take me to your breast. KICIIELIEU. To those who sent you ! — - And say you found the virtue they would slay Here — couched upon this heart, as at an altar, And sheltered by the wings of sacred Home ! Begone ! FIRST COURTIER. ]My Lord, I am your friend and servant — Misjudge me not ; but never yet was Louis So roused against }-ou : — shall I take this answer V — It were to be your foe. RICHELIEU. All time my foe. If I, a Priest, could cast this holy Sorrow Forth from her last asylum ! I on, THE CONSPIRACY. 225 FIKST COUItTIEK. He is lost ! [Exit First Courtier. KICHELIF.U. Goil help thee, child ! — she hears not ! Look upon her! The storm, that rends the oak, uproots the ilower. Her tather loved me so ! and in that age Wlien friends are brothers ! She has been to nie Soother, nurse, plaything, daughter. Are these tears V * O shame, shame ! — dotage ! JOSEPH. Tears are not for eyes That rather need the lightning, which can pierce Through barred gates and triple walls, to smite Crime, where it cowers in secret ! — The Despatch ! Set every spy to work ; — the niorrow's sun Must see that written treason in your hands, Or rise upon your ruin. aaCHELIEU. Ay — and close * Like Cromwell and Rienzi, Ridielieii appears to Iiave been easily moved to tears. The lineen Mother, who |iut the hardest interpretation on that liiiinane weakness, which is natural with very excitahle teniperanients, said that " II ])leiirait qiiand il voulait." I may add. to those who may he inclined to iniafrino that Richelieu appears in parts of this scene too dejected for con- sistency with so imperious a character that it is recorded of him that "(|iiand ses affaires ne reussissoient pas, il se iroiivoit aliaitu et epoiivante, et quand il obtenoit co qii'il souhaitoit, il etoit lior et insultant." 15 226 RICHELIEU : Upon my corpse ! — I am not made to live — Friends, glory, France, all reft from me ; — my star Like some vain holiday mimicry of fire. Piercing imperial heaven, and falling down, Kayless and blackened, to the dust — a thing For all men's feet to trample ! Yea ! — to-morrow Triumph or death ! Look up, child ! — Lead us, Joseph. [As they are going out, enter Bakadas aiul De Beringhen. BARADAS. My Lord, the King cannot believe your Eminence So far forgets your duty, and his greatness, As to resist his mandate ! Pray you, Madam, Obey the King — no cause for fear ! JULIE. My father ! RICHELIEU. She shall not stir ! An orphan ■ BAKADAS. You are not of her kindred • RICHELIEU. And her country is her mother ! BARADAS. The country is the King ! RICHELIEU. Ay, is it so ? — Then wakes the power which in the age of iron Burst forth to curb the great, and raise the low. Mark, where she stands ! — around her form I draw The awful circle of our solemn Church ! Olt, THE COXSPIRACY. 227 Set but a foot within that holy ground, And on thy licad — yea, though it wore a crown — I hiunch the curse of Rome ! BAEADAS. I dare not brave you ! I do but speak the orders of my King. Tlie Church, your rank, power, very word, my Lord, Suffice you for resistance : — blame yourself, If it should cost you power ! RICHELIEU. That mij stake. — Ah ! Dark gamester ! ivliat in thine f Look to it well ! — Lose not a trick. — By this same hour to-morrow Thou shalt have Fi-ance, or I thj- head ! BAKADAs {aside to De Beuingiien). lie cannot Have the Despatch V DE HEiaNGHEN. Jso : were it so, your stake "\Yei-e lost already. josEiMi {aside.) Patience is your game : Reflect, you have not the Despatch ! KICHELIEU. O monk ! Leave patience to the saints — for I am human ! Did not thy father die for France, poor orphan V And now they say thou hast 710 fatlier ! — Fie ! Art thou not pure and good ? — if so, thou art A part of that — the Beautiful, the Sacred — Whicii, in all climes, men that have hearts adore, By the great title of their mother country ! 228 RICHKLIEU : BARAUAS (aside). He wanders ! EICHF.LIEU. So cling close vnito my breast, Here where thou drooji'st lies France ! I am veiy feeble — Of little use it seems to either now. Well, well — we will go home. BAKADAS. In sooth, my Lord, You do need rest — the burdens of the State O'ertask your health ! EiCHELiEU (to Joseph). I 'm patient, see ! BAKADAS {aside). His mind And life are breaking fast ! iuchelieu {overhearing him). Irreverent I'ibald ! If so, beware the foiling ruins ! Hark ! I tell thee, scorner of these whitening hairs, When this snow melteth there shall come a flood ! Avaunt ! my name is liichelieu — I defy thee ! Walk blindfold on ; behind thee stalks the headsman. Ha! ha! — how pale he is! Heaven save my coun- try ! [Fidls hack in Joseph's rtrms. [Baradas exit.follotred by De Beuixghen, betraijing his exultation by his (/esttires. OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 229 ACT V. FOURTH DAY. ScKNE I. — The Bitstile — a Corridor; in the baclcgroimd the door of one of the condemned cells. Enter Joseph and Gaoler. GAOLEK. Stay, father, I will call the governor. [Exit Gaoler. JOSEPH. lie has it then — this Hiiguet ; — so we learn From Fran(,-ois. — Humph ! Now if I can btit gain One moment's access, all is ours ! The Cardinal Trembles 'tween life and death. His life is power ; Smite one — slay both! No ^sculapian drugs, By learned quacks baptized with Latin jargon, E'er bore the healing which that scrap of parchment Will medicine to Ambition's flagging heart. France shall be saved — and Joseph be a bishop. Enter Governor a7id Joseph. GOVERNOIl. Father, you wish to see the prisoners Huguet And the young knight De Mauprat ? JOSEPH. So my oflice, And the Lord Cardinal's order, warrant, son ! GOVERNOR. Father, it caimot be : Count Baradas H:is summoned to the Louvre Sieur de Mauprat. 230 KicnF.LiEu: JOSEPH. "Well, well ! But Huguet — GOVERNOR. Dies at noon. JOSEPH. At noon ! No moment to delay the pious rites Which fit the soul for death. Quick — quick — admit me ! GOVERNOR. You cannot enter, monk ! Such are my orders ! JOSEPH. Orders, vain man ! — - the Cardinal still is Ministei*. His orders crush all others ! GOVERNOR [Uft'tng his hat). Save his King's! See, monk, the royal sign and seal affixed To the Count's mandate. None may have access To either prisoner, Huguet or De Mauprat, Not even a priest, without the special passport Of Count de Baradas. I '11 hear no more ! JOSEPH. Just Heaven I and are we baffled thus ? Despair ! ! Think on the Cardinal's power — beware his anger. GOVERNOR. I '11 not be menaced, Priest ! Besides, the Cardinal Is dying and disgraced — all Paris knows it. You hear the pi'isoner's knell ! [Bell lolls. JOSEPH. I do beseech you — . OR, THK CONSPIUACY. 231 The Cardinal is not dying. But one moment, And — hist ! — five thousand pistoles ! — GOVEKXOK. IIow ! a bribe — And to a soldier, gray with years of honor ! Begone ! — josKrir. Ten thousand — twenty ! — GOVKKNOK. (Jaoler ! put This monk without our walls. JOSKPH. By those gray haii*s — Yea, by this badge (^loncMng the cross of St. Louts worn hij the Governor) — The guerdon of your valor — By all your toils — hard days and sleejjless niglits — • Borne in your country's service, noble son — Let me but see the prisoner ! — GOVKHXOK. No! JOSKl'lI. He hath Secrets of state — papers in which GoviiUNOR i^intcrruptinrj). I know — Such was his message to Count Baradas : Doubtless the Count will see to it ! JOSEPH. The Count ! Then not a hope ! — You shall 232 KICIIELIKU: GOVKRNOU. Betray my trust ! Never — not one word more. — You heard me, gaoler ! JOSEPH. What can be done? — ])istraction ! . Kichelieu yet ! JMust — what? — I know not! — Thouglit, nerve, strength, forsake me. Dare you refuse the Church her holiest rights V ^ COVKIIXOIJ. I refuse nothing — I obey my orders. JOSEIMI. And sell your country to her parricides ! O, tremble yet! — Richelieu COVKIIXOR. Begone ! josEwr. Undone ! [/■h;U Joav.pu. C.OVICKXOR. A most audacious shaveling — interdicted Above all others by the Count. GAOLKU. I hojie. Sir, I shall not lose my perquisites. The Sieur ])e ]\Iauprat will not be reprieved? GOVKKNOIt. O, fear not : The Count's commands by him who came for ]Mau- prat Are to piepare headsman and axe by noon ; OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 233 The Count ■will give j-ou perquisites enough — Two deaths in one day ! GAOI.EK. Sir, may Heaven reward him ! O, by the way, that troublesome young fellow, Vii'ho calls himself the prisoner Huguet's son, Is here again — implores, weeps, raves to see him. GOVKKNOi;. Poor youth, I pity him ! Enter De BKniyGUKyj/blloiced bi/ Francois. VK ISEKIXGUKN (tO FUA.NC^OIS). Now, prithee, friend. Let go my cloak ; you really discompose me. ITvANOOIS. N05 they will drive me hence : my father! Oh ! Lei, me but see him once — but once — one moment ! T>K BKitixGiiEN (to Govenior). Yo'ir servant, Mcssirc ; this poor rascal, Huguet, Hai sent to see the Count de Baradas Up^n state secrets, that afflict his conscience. The Count can't leave his Majesty an instant: I avn his proxy. GOVERNOR. The Count's word is law I Agiin, young scapegrace ! How com'st thou admit- ted ? I>E r.ERIXGHEX. Oh ! a most filial fellow : Huguet's son ! I found him whiinjx'ring in the court below. I i)ray his leave to say good-by to father, Before that very long, unpleasant journey, 234 RICIIKLIEU : Father 's about to take. Let Lim wait here Till I return. i-'HAN(;ois. No ; take ine with you. DK ISEHINGHKN. Nay; After me, friend — the Public first! GOVP;]tNOR. The Count's Commands are strict. No one must visit Huguet ^Vithout his passport. i)E beiumghex. Here it is ! Pshaw ! nonsense ! I '11 be your surety. See, my Cerberus, He is no Hercules ! GOVEUNOn. Well, you 're responsible. Stand there, friend. If, when you come out, my Lord, The youth slip in, 't is your fluilt. DK r-EniNGUEN. So it is ! [Exit ilirouyh the door of the cell, followed hy the Gaoler. GOVERNOR. Be calm, my lad. Don't fret so. I had once A fither, too ! I '11 not be hard upon you. And so, stand close. 1 must not see you enter: You understand ! Between this innocent jouth And that intriguing monk there is, in ti-uth, A wide distinction. Reenter Gaoler. Come, we '11 go our rounds ; OR, THK CONSrXRACY. 235 I '11 give you just one quartei" of an hour ; And if my Lord leave first, make my excuse. Yet stay, the gallery 's long and dark : no sentry Until he reach the grate below. He 'd best Wait till I come. If he should lose the way, ^Vti may not be in call. FRANCOIS. I '11 tell him, Sir. [Exeunt Governor and Gaoler. He 's a "wise son that knoweth his own father. I 've forged a 2:)recious one ! So far, so well ! Alas ! what then ? this wretch hath sent to Baradas — Will sell the scroll to ransom life. O Heaven ! On what a thread hangs hojie ! [Listens at the door. Loud words — a cry ! [Looks tltroucjh the keyhole. They struggle ! Ho ! — the packet ! ! ! [ Tries to open the door. Lost ! He has it — The courtier has it — Iluguet, spite his chains. Grapples ! — Avell done ! Now — now ! [Drau-s back. Tlie gallery 's long — And this is left us! [Drawin;/ his dngrjer, mid standi nt/ behind the door. Re- enter Dk BEKiSGnKX, with the packet. Victory ! — Yield it robber — Yield it — or die — [A short strugcjle. I)K liEItl^fUIEN'. Olf! ho! — there.' — FISAXf'Ols {(jrcqrpUnrj xuith him). Deatli or honor ! [Exeunt strufjyling. 236 KicuKLiKU : SCENE ir. Tlie King's closet at the Louvre. A suit of rooms iniyer- spettive at one side. BaKADAS a7ld OULEANS. BAItADAS. All smiles ! the Cardinal's swoon of yesterday Heralds his death to-day. Could he survive, It would not be as minister — so great The King's resentment at the priest's defiance ! All smiles! — And yet, should this accursed De ]\Iauprat Have given our packet to another — 'Sdeath ! I dare not think of it ! OltLKANS. You 've sent to search him ? BAEADAS. Sent, Sir, to search ? — that hireling hands may find Upon him, naked, with its broken seal. That scroll, Avhose every word is death ! No — No — These hands alone must clutch that awful secret. I dare not leave the palace, night nor day, "While Eichelieu lives — his minions — creatures — spies — Not one must reach the King ! OKI.KAXS. What hast thou done V BAKADAS. Summoned De ISIaupi-at hither. OKLEAXS. Could this Huguet, OR, THK CONSPIRACY. 237 Who prayed tliy presence with so fierce a ferA'or, Have thieved the scroll ? BAKADAS. Huguet was housed with us, The veiy moment we dismissed tlie courier. It cannot be ! a stale trick for reprieve. But, to make sure, I 've sent our trustiest friend To see and sift him. — Hist ! — here comes the. King — How fare you, Pire ? Enter Louis. ^,ouls. In the same mind. I have Decided ! — Yes, he would forbid your presence, My brother — yours, my friend, — then Julie, too ! Thwarts — braves — defies — {suddenly turn'ui(j to Bar ADAS) We make you minister. Gaston, for you — the baton of our armies. You love me, do you not ? OKLKANS. O, love you, Sire ? {Aside.) Never so much as now. BAHADA.S. ]\Iay I deserve Your trust {aside) viiitil you sign your abdication ! My liege, but one way left to daunt De INIauprat, And Julie to divorce. — We must prepare The death-writ ; what, though signed and sealed ? we can Withhold the enforcement. 238 RICHELIEU : LOUIS. All, you may prepare it ; We need not urge it to efl'eot. BAIIADAS. Exactly ! No haste, my liege. (Loolinr/ at his zcatch, and aside.^ He may live one hour longer. F.nler Courtier. COURTIKH. The Lady Julie, Sire, implores an audience. LOUIS. Aha ! repentant of her folly ! — Well, Admit her. BARADAS. Sire, she comes for Mauprat's pardon, And the conditions LOUIS. You are minister — We leave to you our answer. [As Julie enters, ike Captain of the Archers % another door, and wMsj}ei's Baradas. CArTAIN. The Chevalier De Mauprat waits below. BAitAUAS (aside). Now the despatch ! [Exit icilh Oflicer. Enter Julik. jULu:. ]\Iy liege, you sent for me. I come where Cirief Shoidd come when guiltless, while the name of King OK, THE COXSrilJACY. 239 Is holy on the earth ! Here, at the feet Of Power, I kneel for mercy. LOUIS. INIerey, Julie, Is an affair of state. The Cardinal should In this be your interpreter. JULIE. Alas ! I know not if that mighty spirit now Stoop to the things of earth. Nay, while I speak, Perchance he hears the orphan by the throne AMiere Kings themselves need pardon ; O my liege, Be father to the fatherless ; in you Dwells my last hope ! Enter Bakadas. BAEADAS [aside). He has not the despatch ; Smiled while we searched, and braves me. — O'l ! LOUIS ((jenthj). What wouldst tliou ? JULIK. A single life. — You reign o'er millions. — A\^hat Is one man's life to you '? — and yet to me 'T is France — 't is earth — 'tis everything ! — a life, A human life — ni}' husband's. LOUIS (aside). Speak to her, 1 am not marble, — give her hojie — or — BAKADAS. Madam, 240 RICHELIKU: Vex not your King, wliose heart, too soft for justice. Leaves to liis ministers that solemn charge. [Loi.'is ivalks up the sicuje. JULIK. You were his friend. I'.AUADAS. 1 was before I loved thee. Loved me ! BA15ADAS. Hush, Julie : (!Ouldst thou misinterpret My acts, thoughts, motives, nay, my very words, Here — in this palace ? JULIE. Now I know I 'm mad ; Even that memory failed me. ISAUADAS. I am young, ^^' ell-born and brave as ^lauprat : — for thy sake I peril what he has not — fortune — power ; All to great souls most dazzling. I alone Can save thee from yon tyrant, now my puppet ! B(; mine ; annul the mockery of this marriage, And on the day I clasp thee to my breast Dc Mauprat shall be free. JULIK. Thou durst not speak Thus in Tiix ear (^pointing to Louis). Thou double traitor ! — tremble 1 I will unuiask thee. BARADAS. I will say thou ravest. OR, THE CONSPIKACY. 241 And see this scroll ! its letters shall be blood ! Go to the King, count with me word for word ; And while you pray the life — I write the sentence ! JULIE. Stay, stay ! (rushing to the King.) You have a kind and princely heart, Though sometimes it is silent : you were born To power — it has not flushed you into madness, As it doth meaner men. Banish my husband — Dissolve our marriage — cast me to that grave Of human ties, where hearts congeal to ice, In the dark convent's everlasting winter — (Sui'cly enough for justice — hate — revenge) — But spare this life, thus lonely, scathed, and bloom- less; And when thou stand'st for judgment on thine own, The deed shall shine beside thee as an angel. LOUIS {much ajf'ecled). Go, go, to Baradas : annul thy marriage. And JULIK {anxiouslij, ami walchhif/ his countenance). Be his bride ! LOUIS. A form, a mere decorum ; Thou know'st 1 love thee. JULTK. O thou sea of shame. And not one star ! [ The Ktxg (jocs vp the st(if/c, and passes thrmiE MAUPRAT. Thy penance For ever, wi-ctch ! — What rack is like the con- science ? JULIK. I shall be with thee soon. 244 RicuKLiEU : BARADAs {(/iving the writ to the Officer). Hence, to the headsman ! [The doors are thi-oicn open. The Yi\i\^^\eY announces " His EnKiience tlie Cardinal Due de Richelieu." Enter Eichelieu, attended by Gentlemen, Pages, tfc, jjale, feeble, and leaning on Joseph, followed by three Secreta- ries of State, attended by Sub-Secretaries loith pa2>ers, tfc. JULIE (rushing to Richelieu). You live — yon live — and Adrien shall not die ! lilCHELlEU. Not if an old man's prayers, himself near death, Can aught avail thee, daughter ! Count, you now Hold what I held on earth : — one boon, my Lord, This soldier's life. hai'.adas. The stake, — my head ! — you said it. I cannot lose one trick. — llemove your jjrisoner. JULIE. No! — No! — Enter Louis from the rooms beyond. r.iciiELiEU [to Officer). Stay, Sir, one moment. ]\Iy good liege, Your worn-out servant, willing. Sire, to spare you Some pain of conscience, would forestall }Our wishes. I do resign my office. BE MAUPltAT. You! JULIE. All's over! KICHELIEU. My end draws near. These sad ones. Sire, I love them. on, THK CONSPIUACY. 245 I do not ask his life ; but sufTer justice To halt, until I can dismiss his soul, Charged with an old man's blessing. LOUIS. Surely ! i!Ai:adas. Sire LOUIS. Silence — small favor to a dying servant. ItlCIIEI-lEU. You would consign jour armies to the baton Of your most honored brother. Sire, so be it! Your minister, the Count de Baradas ; A most sagacious choice ! — Your Secretaries Of State attend me. Sire, to render up The ledgers of a realm. — I do beseech you, Suffer these noble gentlemen to learn The nature of the glorious task that waits them, Here, in my presence. LOUIS. You say well, my Lord. [ To Secretaries, as he seals himself. Approach, Sirs. kichelieu. I — I — faint ! — air — air ! [JosEiMi and n Gentleman assist him lo a saj'a, placed beneath a icindow. 1 (liank you — Draw near, my children. UAItADAS. Hc! 's too weak to (piestion. Nay, scarce to speak ; all 's safe. 246 RICHELIEU ; SCENE III. Manent Eichet.ieu, JIaupp.at, and Julik, the last Jcneel- ing beside the Cardinal; the Officer of the Guard behind Maufkat. Joseph near Richelieu, zcnichint/ the King. Louis. Baradas at the back of the King's chair, anxious and disturbed. Oi;leans at a greater distance, careless and triumphant. The Secretaries. As each Secretary ad~ vances in his turn, he takes the porlfuUos from the Sub- Secretaries. FIRST SECRETARY. The affiiirs of Portugal, Most urgent, Sire : one short month since the Duke Braganza was a rebel. LOUIS. And is still ! first SECRETAItY. No, Sire, he has succeeded ! He is now Crowned King of Portugal — craves instant succor Against the arms of Spain. LOUIS. We will not grant it Against his la^\'ful king. Eli, Count ? BAItADAS. No, Sire. FIRST SECRETARY. But Spain 's your deadliest foe : whatever Can weaken Spain must strengthen France. The Cardinal Would send the succors : — (^solemnly) — balance, Sire, of Europe ! OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 247 LOUIS. The Cardinal ! — balance ! — We '11 consider. — Kh, Count V HARADAS. Yes, Sire ; — fall back. FIRST SECKETAUY. But BAKADAS. Oh ! fall back, Sir. JOSEPH. Humph ! SECOND SECRETARY. The affairs of England, Sire, most urgent : Charles The First has lost a battle that decides One half his realm, — craves moneys. Sire, and succor. LOUIS. He shall have both. — Eh, Baradas ? BARAUAS. Yes, Sire; , (Oh that despatch ! — my veins are fire !) RiCHELiicu {feebly, but with great distinctness'). ]\Iy liege — = Forgive me — Charles's cause is lost ! A man, Named Cromwell, risen, — a great man ! — your suc- cor AVould fail — your loans be squandered ! — Pause — reflect.* LOUIS. Reflect. — Eh, Baradas ? * See in " Cinq Mars," Vol. V., tlie striking and brilliant cliap- ter from which the interlude of tlic Secretaries is borrowed. 248 RICHKMEU : BARADAS. Reflect, Sire. JOSEPH. Humph ! LOUIS (aside). I half repent ! — No successor to Richelieu ! — Round me thrones totter ! — dynasties dissolve ! — The soil he guards alone escapes the earthquake ! JOSEl'H. Our star not yet eclipsed ! — you mark the King ? Oil ! had we the despatch ! KICHELIEU. Ah! Joseph! — Child — Would I could help thee ! Enter Gentleman, whispers Joseph, iclio exit hastily. BAi{ADAs(to Secretary). Sir, fall back. SECOND SECKETARY. But BARADAS. Pshaw, Sir ! THIRD SECRETARY {mysteviouslt/). The iiccrct correspondence, Sire, most urgent, — Accounts of spies — deserters — heretics — Assassins — poisoners — schemes against yourself ! — i.ouis. Mijself! — most urgent ! — {looking on the documents.') Re-enter Joseph with Francois, whose pourpoint is streaked with blood. FRAN901S passes behind the Cardinal's At- tendants, and, sheltered by them from the si(jhl q/" Bara- DAS, cfc, falls at RiCHELiEU'syec<. OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 249 FRANCOIS. O my Lord ! EICIIELIEU. Thou art bleeding ! FKAN(;'OIS. A scratch — I have not foilod [Gkes thej)acket. KICIIEI.IEU. Hush ! — [Looking at the contents. THIRD SECRETARY (to King). Sire, the Spaniards Have reinforced their army on the frontiers. The Due de Bouillon . RICHELIEU. Hold ! — In this department — A paper — here, Sire, — read yourself — then take The Count's advice in 't. Enter De Beringhen hastily, and draws aside Baradas. [Richelieu, to Secretary, giving an open parclinient. BARADAS {bursting from De Berixghen). "What ! and reft it from thee ! Ha! — hold! JOSEPH. Fall back, son, it is your turn now ! BARADAS. Death ! — the despatch ! LOUIS (re(tding). To Bouillon — and signed Orleans! Baradas, too ! — league with our foes of Spain ! — Lead our Italian armies — what ! to Paris ! — Capture the King — my health require repose — 250 RICHELIEU : Make me subscribe my proper abdication — Orleans, my brother, Regent ! — Saints of Heaven ! These are the men I loved ! [Bahapas drmcs, — attempts to msh out^ — is arrested. OiSLKAXS, endeavoring to escape mure quicLly, meets Joseph's eye, and stops short. [Richelieu yalls back. JOSEPH. See to the Cardinal I BARADAS. He 's dying ! — and I shall yet dupe the King ! LOUIS {rushing to Richelieu}. Richelieu 1 — Lord Cardinal ! — 't is 7 resign ! — Reign thou ! JOSEPH. Alas ! too late ! — he faints ! LOUIS. Reign, Richelieu ? RICHELIEU ifeeblij). WItli absolute power V LOUIS. IMost absolute ! — Oh ! live ! If not for me — for France ! RICHELIEU. France ! LOUIS. O this treason ! — The army — Orleans — Bouillon — Heavens ! — the Spaniard ! — Where will they be next week V OR, THE CONSPIRACY. 251 RICHELIEU {starting up). There, — at my feet ! [ To First and Second Secretary. Ere the clock strike ! the Envoys have their answer ! [ To Third Secretary-, icith a rinfj. This to De Chavigny — he knows the rest — No need of parchment here — he must not halt For sleep — for food. — In mij name, — mine ! — he will Arrest the Due de Bouillon at the head Of his army ! — Ho thei'C ! Count de Baradas, Thou hast lost the stake ! — Away with him I * \_As the Guards opera the foldinfj-dnors, a view of the anteroom beyond, lined with Courtiers. Baradas passes tki'ouyh the line. Ha! — ha! — [Sna^f/^^"?^5^ De Mauprat's death-ioarrant from the Officer. See here De Mauprat's death-writ, Julie ! — Parchment for battledores ! — Embrace jour hus- band ! — At last the old man blesses you ! JL'LIE. Ojoy! You are saved ; you live — I hold you in these arms. * The passion of the drama requires this catastrophe for Bara- das. He however survived liis disgrace, thouf;)i stripped of all Ills rapidly-acquired fortunes ; and the daring tliat belonged to his character won him distinction in foreign service. IIo returned to France after Riclielieu's death, but never rejiained the same court influence. He had taken the vows of a ICni;;lit of Malta, and Louis made him a Prior ! 252 RiciiELiKU : MAUPr.AT, Never to part — JULIE. No — never, Adrien — never ! LOUIS {peevishly). One moment makes a startling cure, Lord Cardinal.* RICHELIEU. Ay, Sire, for in one moment there did pass Into this withered frame the might of France ! — My own dear France — I have thee yet — I have saved thee ! I clasp thee still ! — it was thy voice that called me Back from the tomb ! — AVhat mistress like our country ! LOUIS. For Mauprat's pardon — well ! But Julie, — Riche- lieu, Leave me one thing to love ! — KICIfELIEU. A subject's luxurj' ! Yet, if you must love something, Sire, — love me ! LOUIS (smiling in spite of liimsclf). Fair proxy for a young fresh Demoiselle ! * The sudden resuscitation of Richelieu (not to strain too much on the real passion which supports him in this scene) is in con- formance with tlie more dissimulating part of his character. The extraordinary mobility of liis countenance (latterly so deatiilike, save when the mind spoke in the features) always lent itself to stage etTect of this nature. The Queen Mother said of him, that she had seen him one moment so feeble, cast down, and " semi- mort," that he seemed on the point of giving up the ghost — and the next moment he would start up full of animation, energy, and iife. OK, THE CONSPIRACY. 253 IIICIIKLIKU. Your heart speaks for my clients : — Kneel, my chil- dren, And thank your King. — JULIE. Ah, tears like these, my liege, Are dews that mount to Heaven. LOUIS. Rise — rise — be happy. [Richelieu beckons to De Bekinghen. DE beuinghen (faltcrinr/ly). My Lord — you are — most — happily — recovered. RICHELIEU. But you are jiale, dear Beringhen : — this air Suits not your delicate frame — I long have thought so: — Sleep not another night in Paris : — Go, — Or else your precious life may be in danger. Leave France, dear Beringhen ! DE BEUIXGHEN. I shall have time. More than I asked for, — to discuss the pate. [Exit De BEItlNGHKN. ItlCHELIEU {to OULEANS). For you, repentance — absence — and confession ! [ To FltANfOIS. Never say fail again. — Brave boy ! [To Joseph. He'll be— A bishop first josErit. Ah, Cardinal — - 254 RICHELIEU. KICHEI.IEU. Ah, Joseph ! [ To Louis — as De !Mauprat and Julie converse apart. See, my liege — see through plots and counterplots — Through gain and loss — through glory and dis- grace — Along the plains, where passionate Discord rears Eternal Babel — still the holy stream Of human happiness glides on ! LOUIS. And must we Thank for tliat also our prime Minister ? mCHELIEU. No — let us own it : — there is OxE above Sways the harmonious mystery of the world, Ev'n better than prime ministers ! — Alas! Our glories float between the earth and heaven Like clouds which seem pavilions of the sun, And are the playthings of the casual wind ; Still, like the cloud which drops on unseen crags The dews the wild-flower feeds on, our ambition May from its airy height drop gladness down On unsusjiected virtue ; — and the flower ]\Iay bless the cloud when it hath passed away ! * * Tlie image and tlie sentiment in the concluding lines are bor- rowed from a passage in one of the writings attributed to tho Cardinal. POEMS. EVA. A TKUE STORY. THE MAIDEN S HOME. A COTTAGE in a peaceful vale ; A jasmine round the door ; A liill to shelter from the gale ; A silver brook before. O, sweet the jasmine's buds of snow, In mornings soft with May ! O, silver-clear the waves that flow, Reflecting heaven, away ! A sweeter bloom to Eva's youth Rejoicing Nature gave ; And hea\'en was mirrored in her truth More clear than on the wave Oft to that lone, sequestered place My boyish steps would roam, There was a look in Eva's face Tiiat seemed a smile of home. And oft I paused to hear at noon A voice that sang for glee : Or mark the white neck glancing down, ■ The book upon the knee — 17 THE IDIOT BOY. Who stands between thee and the sun ? — A cloud himself, — the Wandering One! A vacant wonder in the eyes, — The mind, a blank, unwritten scroll ; — The light Avas in the laughing skies. And darkness in the Idiot's soul. He touched the book upon her knee — He looked into her gentle face — " Thou dost not tremble, maid, to see Poor Arthur by thy dwelling-place. I know not why, but where I pass The aged turn away ; And if my shadow vex the grass, The children cease from play. Mtj only playmates are the wind, The blossom on the bough ! Why are thy looks so soft and kind ? Thou dost not tremble — thou ! " Though none were by, she trembled not — Too meek to wound, too good to fear him : And, as he lingered on the spot. She hid the tears that gushed to hear him. III. PRAYER OF Arthur's father. " O Maiden ! " — thus the sire begun — " O Maiden, do not scorn my prayer : EVA. 259 I have a hapless idiot-son, To all my •wealth the only heir : And day by day, in shine or rain, He wanders forth, to gaze again Upon those ej'es, Avhose looks of kindness Still haunt him in his world of blindness ; A sunless world ! — all arts to yield Light to the mind from Childhood sealed Have been explored in vain. Few are his joys on earth ; — above, For every ill a cure is given — God grant me life to cheer with love The wanderer's guileless path to Heaven." He paused — his heart was full — " And now, What brings the suppliant father here ? Yes, few the joys that life bestows On him whose life is but repose — One night, from year to year ; — Yet not so dark, O maid, if thou Couldst let his shadow catch thy light, Couldst to his lip that smile allow AVhich comes but at thy sight ; Couldst — (for the smile is still so rare, And oh ! so innocent the joy !) — His presence, though it pain thee, bear, Nor fear the harmless idiot boy ! " Then Eva's father, from her brow Parted the golden locks, descending To veil the sweet face, downwards bending; — • And pointing to the swimming eyes, The dew-drops glist'ning on the cheek, 260 " Mourner ! " tlie happier father cries, " These tears her answer speak ! " O, sweet the jasmine's buds of snow, In mornings soft with May ! O, silver-clear the waves that flow In summer slcies away ! But sweeter looks of kindness seem O'er human trouble bowed, And gentle hearts reflect the beam Less truly than the cloud. THE YOUNG TEACHER. Of wonders on the land and deeps Slie spoke, and glories in the sky — The Eternal life the Father keeps. For those who learn from Him to die. So simply did the maiden speak — So simply and so earnestly. You saw the light begin to break. And Soul the Heaven to see ; You saw how slowly, day by day, The darksome waters caught the ray, Confused and broken — come and gone • The beams as yet uncertain are. But still the billows murmur on, 261 THE STRANGER-SUITOR. There came to Eva's maiden home A Stranger from a sunnier clime ; The lore that Hellas taught to Rome, The wealth that Wisdom works from Time, Which ever, in its ebb and flow, Heaves to the seeker on the shore The waifs of glorious wrecks below, The argosies of yore ; — Each gem that in that dark profound The Past, — the Student's soul can find ; Shone from his thought, and sparkled round The Enchanted Palace of the Mind. In man's best years, his form was fair. Broad brow with hyacinth locks of hair ; A port, though stately, not severe ; An eye that could the heart control ; A voice whose music to the ear Became a memory to the soul. It seemed as Nature's hand had done Her most to mould her kingly son ; But oft beneath the sunlit Nile The grim destroyer waits his prey, And dark, below that fatal smile, The lurking demon lay. How trustful in the leafy June, She roved with him the lonely vale ; 2G2 How trustful by the tender moon, She bkished to hear a tenderer tale. O happy Earth ! the dawn revives, Day after day, each drooping flower — Time to the heart once only gives The joyous Morning-Hour. " To him — oh, wilt thou pledge thy youth For whom the world's false bloom is o'er ? My heart shall haven in thy truth, And tempt the faithless wave no more. In my far land, a sun more bright Sheds rose-hues o'er a tideless sea ; But cold the wave, and dull the light, Without the sunshine found in thee. Say, wilt thou come, the Stranger's bride, To that bright land and tideless sea ? There is no sun but by thy side — My life's whole sunshine smiles in thee ! " Her hand lay trembling on his arm, Averted glowed the happy face ; A softer hue, a mightier charm, Grew mellowing o'er the hour — the place; Along the breathing woodlands moved A PRESEN'CE dream-like and divine — IIow sweet to love and be beloved. To lean upon a heart that 's thine ! Silence was o'er the earth and sky — By silence Love is answered best — Iler answer was the downcast eye, The rose-cheek pillowed on his breast. 2G3 What rustles through the moonlit brake ? What sudden spectre meets their gaze ? What face, the hues of life forsake, Gleams ghost-like in the ghostly rays ? You might have heard his heart that beat, So heaving rose its heavy swell — No more the Idiot — at her feet, The Dark One, roused to reason, fell. Loosed the last link that thralled the thought, The lightning broke upon the blind — The jealous love the cure had wrought. The Heart in waking woke the Mind. THE MARRIAGE. To and fro the bells are swinging. Cheerily, clearly, to and fro ; Gayly go the young girls, bringmg Flowers the fairest June may know. Maiden, flowers that bloomed and perished Strewed thy path the bridal day ; May the Hope thy soul has cherished Bloom when these are passed away ! The Father's parting prayer is said, The daughter's parting kiss is given ; The tears a happy bride may shed, Like dews ascend to heaven ; And leave the earth from whicli they rise, But balmier airs, and rosier dyes. 264 EVA. THE HERMIT. Years fly ; beneath the yew-tree's shade Thy father's holy dust is laid ; The brook glides on, the jasmine blows ; But where art thou, the wandering wife, And what the bliss, and what the woes, Glassed in the mirror-sleep of life ? For whether life may laugh or weep, Death the true waking — life the sleep. None know ! afar, unheard, unseen — The present heeds not what has been ; This herded world, together prest, Can miss no straggler from the rest — Not so ! Nay, all one heart may find, Where Memory lives, a saint enshrined — Some altar-hearth, in which our shade The Household-god of Thought is made, And each slight relic hoarded yet AVith fiilth more solemn than regret. Who tenants thy forsaken cot — Who tends thy childhood's favorite flowers ■ Who wakes, from every haunted spot. The Ghosts of buried Hours ? 'T is He whose sense was doomed to borrow From thee the Vision and the Sorrow — To whom the Reason's golden ray, In storms that rent the heart, was given ; The peal that burst the clouds away Left clear the face of heaven I 265 And wealth was his, and gentle birth, A form in fair proportions cast ; But lonely still he walked the earth — The Hermit of the Past. It was not love — that dream was o'er ! No stormy grief, no wild emotion ; For oft, what once was love of yore. The memory soothes into devotion ! He bought the cot : — The garden flowers — The haunts his Eva's steps had trod. Books — thought — beguiled the lonely hours, That flowed In peaceful waves to God. VIII. DESERTION. She sits, a Statue of Despair, In that far land, by that bright sea; She sits, a Statue of Despair, Whose smile an Angel seemed to be — An angel that could never die, Its home the heaven of that blue eye ! The smile is gone for ever there — She sits, the Statue of Despair ! She knows it all — the hideous tale — The wrong, the perjuiy, and the shame; — Uefore the bride had left her vale, Another bore the nuptial name ; Another lives to claim the hand Whose clasp, in thrilling, had defdcd : A^nother lives, O God, to brand The Bastard's curse upon her ciiild ! 266 AxoTHER ! — through all space she saw The face that mocked th' unwedded mother's ! In every voice she heard the Law, That cried, " Thou hast usurped another's ! " And who the horror first had told ? — From his false lips in scorn it came, — " Thy charms grow dim, my love grows cold ; INIy sails are spread — Farewell." Rigid in voiceless marble there — Come, sculptor, come — behold Despair ! The infant woke from feverish rest — Its smile she sees, its voice she hears — The marble melted from the breast, And all the Mother gushed in tears. THE IXFAXT-BURIAL. To and fro the bells are swinging, Heavily heaving to and fro ; Sadly go the mourners, bringing Dust to join the dust below. Through the church-aisle, lighted dim. Chanted knells the ghostly hymn, Dies irce, dies ilia, Solvet sceclum in favilld ! Mother ! flowers that bloomed and perished Strewed thy path the bridal day ; Now the bud thy grief has cherished. With the rest has passed away ! 267 Leaf that fadeth — bud that bloometh, Mnigled there, must wait the day When tlie seed the gravQ entombeth Bursts to glory from the clay. Dies vxc, dies ilia, Sol vet sceclum in favillu ! Happy are the old that die, AVith the sins of life repented ; Happier he whose partmg sigh Breaks a heart, from sin jn-evented I Let the earth thine infant cover From the cares the living know ; Happier than the guilty lover — ]\Iemory is at rest below ! Memory, like a fiend, shall follow, Night and day, the steps of Ci-ime ; Hark ! the church-bell, dull and hollow, Shakes another sand from time 1 Through the church-aisle, lighted dim, Chanted knells the ghostly hymn ; Hear it. False One, where thou fliest, Shriek to hear it when thou diest — Dies irce, dies ilia, Solvet sceclum in Javilld ! X. THE KETURN. The cottage in the peaceful vale. The jasmine round the door, Tlic hill still slielters from the gale, Tlie brook still glides before. 2G8 "Without tlie porch, one summer noon, The Hermit-dweller see ! In musing silence bending down, The book \i])on his knee. "Who stands between thee and the sun ? — A cloud herself, — the Wandering One ! — A vacant sadness in the eyes, The mind a razed, defeatured scroll ; The light is in the laughing skies, And darkness, Eva, in thy soul ! The beacon shaken in the storm Had struggled still to gleam above The last sad wreck of human love, Upon the dying child to shed One ray — extinguished with the dead : O'er earth and heaven then iiished the night ! A wandering dream, a mindless form — A Star hurled headlong from its height, Guldeless its course, and quenched its light. Yet still the native instinct stirred The darkness of the breast — She flies, as flies the wounded bird Unto the distant nest. O'er hill and waste, from land to land, Her heart the faithful instinct bore ; And there, behold the "Wanderer stand Beside her Childhood's Home once more ! 269 LIGHT AND DARKNESS. Wlien earth is fair, and winds are still, When sunset gilds the ■western hill, Oft by the porch, with jasmine sweet, Or by the brook, with noiseless feet. Two silent forms are seen ; So silent they — the place so lone — They seem like souls, when life is gone, That haunt where life has been : And his to watch, as in the past Her soul had watched his soul. Alas ! Iter darkness waits the last, The grave the only goal ! It is not what the leech can cure — An erring chord, a jarring madness : A calm so deep, it must endure — So deep, thou scarce canst call it sadness ; A summer night, whose shadow falls On silent hearths in ruined halls. Yet, through the gloom, she seemed to feel Ills presence like a happier air, Close by his side she loved to steal. As if no ill could harm her there ! And when her looks his own would seek, Some memory seemed to wake the sigh, Strive for kind words she could not speak, And bless him in the tearful eye. O sweet the jasmine's buds of snow. In mornings soft with INIay, 270 THK FAIRY BRIDE. And silver-clear the waves that flow To shoreless deeps away ! But heavenward from the faithful heart A sweeter incense stole ; — The onward waves their source desert, But Soul returns to Soul ! THE FAIRY BRIDE. A TALE. * PART I. " And how canst thou in tourneys shin^ Or tread the glittering festal floor ? On chains of gold and cloth of pile, The looks of high-born Beauty smile ; Nor peerless deeds, nor stainless line. Can lift to fame the Poor ! " His IMother spoke ; and Elvar sighed — The sigh alone confessed the truth ; He curbed the thoughts that galled the ba-east — High thoughts ill suit the russet vest ; Yet Arthur's Court, in all its pride, Ne'er saw so fair a youth. * As the subject of this tale is suggested by one of the Fabliaux, the author has represented Arthur and Guenever according to the view of their characters taken in those Frencli Romances — which he hopes he need scarcely say is very different from tliat taken in his niaturer Poem upon the adventures and ordeal of the Dragon- King. THE FAIR!' BRIDE. 271 Far, to the forest's stillest shade, Sir Elvar took his lonely way ; Beneath an oak, whose gentle frown Dimmed noon's bright eyes, he laid him down ; And watched a Fount that through the glade Sang, spai'kling ujj to day. " As sunlight to the forest tree " — 'T was thus his murmured musings ran — " And as amidst the sunlight's glow, The freshness of the fountain's flow — So — (ah, they never mine may be !) — Are Gold and Love to Man." And while he spoke, a gentle air Seemed stirring through the crystal tides ; A gleam, at first both dim and bright, Trembled to shape, in limbs of light, Gilded to sunbeams by the hair That glances where it glides ; * Till, clear and clearer, upward borne, The Fairy of the Fountain rose : The halo quivering round her grew ]\Iore steadfast, as the shape shone througli — O sure, a second, softer Morn The Elder Daylight knows ! Born from the blue of those deep eyes, Such love its happy self betrayed " With liair that gilds tlio water as it plides." Marlowe, Edw. K. 272 THE FAIRY BRIDE. As only haunts that tender race, With flower or fount, their dwelling-place — The darhng of the earth and skies She rose — that Fairy Maid ! " Listen ! " she said, and wave and land Sighed back her munnur, murmurously — " A love more true than minstrel sings, A wealth that mocks the pomp of kings, To him who Avins the Fairy's hand A Fairy's dower shall be. " But not to those can we belong AVhose sense the charms of earth allure ? - If human love hath yet been thine. Farewell, — our laws forbid thee mine. The Children of the Star and Song, We may but bless the Pui-e ! " " Dream — lovelier far than e'er, I ween, Entranced the glorious Merlin's eyes — Through childhood, to this happiest hour, All free from human Beaut}'s power, My heart unresting still hath been A prophet in its sighs. " Tliough never living shape hath brought Sweet love, that second life, to me, Yet over earth, and through the heaven. The thoughts that ])ined for love were driven : I see thee — and I feel I sought Through Earth and Heaven for thee ! " THE FAIUY CUIDE. 273 PART II. Ask not the Bard to lift the veil That hides the Fairy's bridal bower ; If thou art young, go seek the glade, And win thyself some fairy maid ; And rosy lips shall tell the tale lu some enchanted houi*. " Farewell ! " as by the greenwood tree The Fairy clasped the INlortal's hand — • " Our laws forbid thee to delay — Not ours the life of every day ! — And j\Ian, alas ! may rarely be The Guest of Fairy-land. " Back to thy Prince's halls depart, The stateliest of his stately train : Henceforth thy wish shall be thy mine — Each toy that gold can purchase, thine — A Fairy's coffers are the heart A mortal cannot drain." " Talk not of wealth — tliat dream is o'er !- These sunny locks be all my gokl ! " " Nay ! if in courts thy tlioughts can stray Along the fairy-forest way. Wish but to see thy bride once more — Thy bride thou shalt behold. 18 274 THE FAIRY BRIDE. " Yet hear the law on which must rest Thy union with thine elfin bride. ; If ever by a word — a tone — Thou mak'st our tender secret known, The spell will vanish from thy breast — The Fairy from thy side. " If thou but boast to mortal ear The meanest charm thou find'st in me, If" — here his lips the sAveet lips seal, Low murmuring, " Love can ne'er reveal - It cannot breathe to mortal ear The charms it finds in thee ! " PART III. High joust, by Carduel's ancient town, The Kingly x\rthur holds to-day ; Around their Queen, in glittering row, The Starry Hosts of Beauty glow. Smile down, ye stars, on his renown Who bears the wreath away I O chiefs who gird the Table Round — O war-gems of that Avondrous ring ! — Where lives the man to match the might That lifts to song your meanest knight, Who sees preside, on Glory's ground, ILs Lady and his King ? THE FAIRY BRIDE. 275 What prince, as from some throne afar, Shines onwai'd — shining np the throng ? Broidered with pearls, his mantle's fold Flows o'er the mail embossed with gold ; As rides, from cloud to cloud, a star, The Bright One rode along ! Twice fifty stalwart Squires, in air The stranger's knightly pennon bore ; Twice fifty Pages, pacing slow. Scatter his largess as they go ; Calm through the crowd he passed, and, there, Reined in the Lists before. Light question in those elder days The heralds made of birth and name. Enough to wear the spurs of gold, To share the jiastime of the bold. " Forwards I " their wands the Heralds raise, And in the Lists he came. Now rouse thee, rouse thee, bold Gawaine ! Think of thy Lady's ej^es above ; Now rouse thee for thy Queen's sweet sake, Thou peerless Lancelot of the Lake ! Vain Gawaine's might, and Lancelot's vain ! — • Tlicy know no Fairy's love. Before liim swells the joyous tromp. He comes — the victor's wreath is won I Low to his Queen Sir Elvar kneels. 276 THE FAIUY IJIIIDE. Tlic helm no more liis face conceals ; And one pale form amidst the pomp Sobs forth — " My gallant son ! " Sir Elvar is the fairest knight That ever lured a lady's glance ; Sir Elvar is the wealthiest lord That sits at good King Arthur's board ', The bravest in the joust or fight, The lightest in the dance. And never love, methinks, so blest As his, this weary world has known ; For, every night before his eyes, The charms that ne'er can fade arise — • A Star unseen by all the rest — A Life for him alone. And yet Sir Elvar is not blest — He walks apart with brows of gloom — - " The meanest knight in Arthur's hall His ladye-love may tell to all ; He shows the flower that glads his breast ■ His pride to boast its bloom ! " And I, who clasp the foirest form That e'er to man's embrace was given, Must hide the gift as if in shame ! THE FAIRY BKIDE. What boots a prize we dare not name ? The sun must slilne if it would warm — A cloud is all my heaven ! " Much proud Genevra * marvelled, how A knight so fair should seem so cold ; What if a love for hope too high, Has chained the lip and awed the eye? A second joust — and surely now The secret shall be told. For, there, alone shall ride the brave Whose glory dwells in Beauty's fame ; Each, for his lady's honor, arms — His lance the test of rival charms. Joy unto him whom Beauty gave The right to gild her name ! Sir Lancelot burns to win the pi'ize — First in the Lists his shield is seen ; A sunflower for device he took — " Where'er thou shinest turns my look." So as he paced the lists, his eyes Still sought the Sun — his Queen ! " And why. Sir Elvar, loiterest thou ? — Lives there no fair thy lance to claim ? No answer Elvar made the King; * As Guenever is ortcn called Genevra in the Fronch Romances, the latter name is here adopted for the sake of euphony. 278 THE FAIRY BRIDE. Sullen he stood witliout the ring. " Forwards ! " An armed whirlwind now On horse and hoi'seman came ! And down goes princely Caradoc — Down Tristan and stout Agrafrayn, — Unscathed, alone, amidst the field, Great Lancelot bears his victor-shield ; The sunflower bright'ning through the shock, And through that iron rain. " Sound trumpets, sound ! — to South and North! I, Lancelot of the Lake, proclaim, That never sun and never air Or shone or breathed on form so fair As hers — thrice, trumpets, sound it forth ! — Our Arthur's royal dame ! " And South and North, and West and East, Upon the thunder-blast it flies ! Still on his steed sits Lancelot, And even echo answers not ; Till, as the stormy challenge ceast, A voice was heard — " He lies 1 " All turned their mute, astonished gaze To where the daring answer came. And lo ! Sir Elvar's haughty crest ! — Fierce on the knight the gazers prest ; — Their wands the sacred Heralds raise, — Genevra weeps for shame. THE FAIRY BRIDE. 279 *' Sir Knight," King Arthur smihng said, (In smiles a king should wrath disguise,) " Know'st thou, in truth, a dame so fair. Our Queen may not with her conij^are ? Genevra, weep, and hide thy head — Sir Lancelot, yield the prize." " O, grace, my liege, for surely each The dame he serves should peerless hold, To loyal eye and faithful breast The loved one is the loveliest." The King replied, " Not crafty speech — Bold deeds — excuse the bokl ! " So name thy fair, defend her right ! A list ! - — IIo Lancelot, guard thy shield. Iler name ? " — Sir Elvar's visage fell : " A vow forbids the name to tell." " Now out upon the recreant Knight Who courts yet shuns the field ! " Foul shame, were royal name disgraced By some light leman's tainiting smile ! Whoe'er — so run the tourney's laws — Would break a lance in Beauty's cause, Must name the High-born and the Chaste : The nameless are the vile." Sir Elvar glanced, where, stern and high. The scornful champion reined his steed ; Where o'er the Lists the seats were raised. 280 THE FAinY BRIDE. And jealous dames disdainful gazed, He glanced, ncr caught one gentle eye — Courts grow not friends at need : " King ! I have said, and keep my tow." " Thy vow ! I pledge thee mine in turn, Ere the third sun shall sink, — or bring A fair outshining yonder viug, Or find minu oath as thine is now Inrte:abie and stern. " Thy sword, unmeet to serve the right, — Thy spurs, unfit for churls to wear. Torn from thee ; through the crowd, which heard Our Lady weep at vassal's word. Shall hiss the hoot, — ' Behold the knight, Whose lips belie the fair ! ' " Three days I give ; nor think to fly Thy doom ; for on the rider's steed, Though to the flirthest earth he ride, — Disgrace once mounted, clings beside ; And Mockery's barbed shafts defy Her victim's swiftest speed." Far to the forest's stillest shade, Sir Elvar took his lonely way ; Beneath the oak, whose gentle frown Still dimmed the noon, he laid him down, And saw the Fount that through the glade Sang sparkling up to day. THE FAIUY BRIDE. 281 Alas ! in vain his lieart addrest, With sighs, with prayers, his elfin bride ; — What though the vow concealed the name, Did not the boast the charms proclaim ? The spell has vanished from his breast. The fairy from his side. O, not for A'ulgar homage made. The holier beauty formed for one ; It asks no wreath the arm can win, Its lists — its world — the heart within ; All love, if sacred, haunts the shade — The star shrinks from the sun ! Three days the wanderer roved in vain ; Uprose the flital dawn at last ! The Lists are set, the galleries raised. And scorned by all the eyes that gazed, Alone he fronts the crowd again. And hears the sentence past. Now, as, amidst the hooting scorn, Rude hands the hard command fulfil. While rings the challenge — " Sun and air Ne'er shone, ne'er breathed, on form so fair As Arthur's Queen," — a single horn Came from the forest hill. A note so distant and so lone. And yet so sweet, — it thrilled along, It hushed the Champion on his steed, 282 THE FAIRY BRIDE. Startled the rode hands from then- deed, Charmed the stern Arthur on his throne, And stilled the shouting throng. To North, to South, to East and West, They turned their eyes ; and o'er the plain, On palfrey white, a Ladye rode ; As woven light her mantle glowed. Two lovely shapes, in azui'e drest, Walked first, and led the rein. The crowd gave way, as onward bore That vision from the Land of Dreams 5 Yelled was the gentle rider's face. But not the two her path that grace. How dim beside the charms they wore All human beauty seems ! So to the throne the pageant came, And thus the Fairy to the King : " Not imto thee for ever dear, By minstrel's song, to knighthood's ear. Beseems the wrath that wrongs the a'ow "\^^lich hallows ev'n a name. " Bloom there no flowers more SAveet by night ? Come, Queen, before the judgment thi'one ; Behold Sir Elvar's nameless bride ! Now, Queen, his doom thyself decide." She raised her veil, — and all her light Of beauty round them shone ! THE FAIRY BRIDE. 283 The bloom, the eyes, the locks, the smile, That never earth nor time could dim; — Day grew more bright, and air more clear, As Heaven itself were brought more near. — And oh ! 7«« joy, who felt, the while, That light but glowed for him " My steed, my lance, vain Champion, now To arms : and Heaven defend the right I " — ■ Here spake the Queen, " The strife is past," And in the Lists her glove she cast, " And I myself will crown thy brow, Thou love-defended Knight ! " He comes to claim the garland crown ; The changeful thousands shout his name ; And faithless beauty round him smiled, How cold, beside the Forest's Child, Who asked not love to bring renown, And clung to love in shame ! He bears the prize to those dear feet : " Not mine the guerdon ! oh, not mine ! " Sadly the fated Fairy hears, And smiles through unreproachful tears : " Nay, keep the flowers, and be they sweet When I — no more am thine ! " She lowered the veil, she turned the rein. And ere his lips replied was gone. As on she went her charmed way. 284 THE BEACON. No mortal dared tlie steps to stay ; And when she -Nanished from the plain All space seemed left alone ! Oh, woe ! that fairy shape no more Shall bless thy love nor ronse thy pride ! He seeks the wood, he gains the spot — The Tree is there, the Fountain not ; — Dried up : — • its mirthful play is o'er. Ah, where the Fairy-bride ? Alas, with fairies, as with men. Who love are victims from the birth ! A fearful doom the fairy shrouds. If once unveiled by day to crowds. The Fountain vanished from the glen, The Fairy from the earth ! THE BEACON. I. IIow broad and bright athwart the wave, Its steadfast light the Beacon gave ! Far beetling from the headland shore, The rock behind, the surge before, — How lone and stern and tempest-seared, Its brow to Heaven the turret reared ! T}'pe of the glorious souls that are The lamps our wandering barks to light. THE BEACOX. 28? AVith storm and cloud round every star, The Fire-Guides of the Kicrht ' How dreary was that solitude ! Around it screamed the sea-fowl's brood ; The only sound, amidst the strife Of wind and wave, that spoke of life, Except, when Heaven's ghost-stars were jiale, The distant cry from hurrying sail. From year to year the weeds had grown O'er walls slow-rotting with the damp ; And, with the weeds, decayed, alone. The Warder of the lamp. III. But twice in every week from shore Fuel and food the boatmen bore ; And then so dreary was the scene, So wild and grim the warder's mien, So many a darksome legend gave Awe to that Tadmor of the wave. That scarce the boat the rock could gain, Scarce heaved the pannier on the stone, Than from the rock and from the main Th' unwilling life was gone. IV. A man he was whom man had driven To loathe the earth and doubt the heaven ; A tyrant foe, (beloved in youth,) 286 THE BEACON. Had called the law to crush the truth ; Stripped hearth and home, and left to shame The broken heart — the blackened name. Dark exile from his kindred, then, He hailed the rock, the lonely wild ; Upon the man at war with men The frown of Nature smiled. But suns on suns had rolled away ; The frame was bowed, the locks were gray And the eternal sea and sky Seemed one still death to that dead eye ; And Terror, like a spectre, rose From the dull tomb of that repose. No sight, no sound, of human-kind ; The hours, like drops upon the stone ! What countless phantoms man may find In that dark word — " Alone ! " Dreams of blue Heaven and Hope can dwell With Thraldom in its narrowest cell ; The airy mind may pierce the bars, Elude the chain, and hail the stars : Canst thou no drearier dungeon guess In space, when space is loneliness ? The body's freedom profits none ; The heart desires an equal scope ; All nature is a gaol to one Who knows nor love nor hope ! THE BEACON. 287 VII. One day, all summer in the sky, A happy crew came gliding by, "With songs of mirth, and looks of glee — A human sunbeam o'er the sea ! " O Warder of the Beacon," cried A noble youth, the helm beside, " This summer-day how canst thou bear To guard thy smileless rock alone. And through the hum of Nature hear No heart-beat save thine own ? " VIII. " I cannot bear to live alone, To hear no heart-beat save my own ; Each moment, on this crowded earth, The joy-bells ring some new-born birth ; Can ye not spare one form — but one, The lowest — least beneath the sun. To make the morning musical With welcome from a human sound ? " " Nay," spake the youth — " and is that all ? Thy comrade shall be found." IX. The boat sailed on, and o'er the main The awe of silence closed again ; But in the wassail hours of night. When goblets go their rounds of light. And in the dance, and by the side Of her, yon moon shall mark his bride, 288 THK BEACOX. Before tliat Child of Pleasure rose The loneh' i-oc-k — llie lonelier one, A haunting spectre — till be knows The human wish is won ! X. Low-murmuring round the turret's base Wave glides on wave its gentle chase ; Lone on the rock, the warder hears The oar's faint nuisic — hark ! it nears — It gains the rock ; the rowei-'s hand Aids a gray, time-worn form to land. " Behold the comrade sent to thee ! " He said — then went. And in that placo The Twain Avere left ; and INlisery And Guilt stood face to face 1 XI. Yes, face to face once more arrayed, Stood the Betrayer — the Betrayed ! Oh, how through all those gloomy years, "When Guilt revolves what Conscience iears, Had that wronged victim breathed the vow That^ if hut face to face — And now. There face to face with him he stood, By the great sea, on that wild steep ; Ai'ound, the voiceless Solitude, Below, the funeral Deep ! They gazed — the Injurer's face grew pale ■ Pale writhe the lips, the murmurs fail. TIIK 15KACON. 289 And thrice he strives to speak — in vain ! — The sun looks blood-red on the main, The boat glides, waning less and less — No Law lives in the wilderness, Except Revenge — man's first and last ! Those wrongs — that wretch — could thej^ for- give ? All that could sweeten life was past, Yet, O how sweet to live ! xiir. He gazed before, he glanced behind, There, o'er the steep rock seems to wind The devious, scarce-seen path, a snake In slime and sloth might, laboring, make ; With a wild cry he springs; — he crawls; Crag upon crag he clears ; — and tails Breathless and mute ; and o'er him stands, Pale as himself, the chasing foe — jNIercy ! what mean those clasped hands, Those lips that tremble so ? XIV. " Thou hast cursed lu)- life, my wealth despoiled ; My hearth is cold, my name is soiled ; The wreck of what was ]\Ian, I stand 'JMid the lone sea and desert land ! Well, I forgive thee all ; but be A human voice and face to me ! O stay — O stay — and let me yet One thing that speaks man's language know ! 19 290 THE BEACON. The waste hath taught me to forget That earth once held a foe ! " XV. O Heaven ! methhiks, from thy soft skies, Looked tearful down the angel-eyes ; Back to those walls to mark them go, Hand clasped in hand — the Foe and Foe ! And when the sun sunk slowly there, Low knelt the prayerless man in prayer. He knelt, no more the lonely one ; Within, secure, a comrade sleeps ; That sun shall not go down upon A desert in the deeps. XVI. He knelt — the man who half till then Forgot his God in loathing men, — He knelt, and prayed that God to spare The Foe to grow the Brother there ; And, reconciled by Love to Heaven, Forgiving — was he not forgiven ? " Yes, man for man thou didst create ; Man's wrongs, man's blessings can atone ! To learn how Love can spring from Hate — Go, Hate, — and live alone." THE LAY OF THE MIXSTREL's HEART. 291 THE LAY OF THE MIXSTEEL'S HEART. It was the time when Spring on Earth Gives Eden to the yonng ; — On Provence shone tlie Vesper star; Beneath fair IMarguerite's lattice-bar The Minstrel, Aymer, sung : — " The year may take a second birth, But May is swift of wing ; The Heart whose sunshine lives in thee One ]\Iay from year to year shall see ; — Thy love, eternal Spring ! " The Ladye blushed, the Lad}-e sighed, All Heaven was in that Hour ! The Heart he pledged was leal and brave — And what the pledge the Ladye gave ? — — Her hand let fall a flower ! And when shall Aymer claim his Bride ? It is the hour to part ! lie goes to guard tlie Savour's grave ; — Her pledge, a flower, the Maiden gave, And his — the IMinstrel's heart. Behold, a Cross, a Grave, a Foe ! TF/;a; else — Man's II»/;/ Land? High deeds, that level K;iuk to Fame, 2D2 THE LAY OF THE MIXSTliEl/S HEART. Have boujilit young Aymer's right to claim The high-boni Maiden's hanch High deeds shonkl ai^k no meed below — Their meed is in the sky. The poison-dart, in Yietory's hour, Has jiierced the Heart where lies the flower, And hers its latest sigh ! It is the time when Spring on Earth Gives Eden to the young, And harp and hymn proclaim the Bride, Who smiles, Count Eaimond, by thy side, — The Maid whom Aymer sung ! And, darkly through the wassail mirth, A pale procession see ! — Turn, Marguerite, from the bridegroom turn- Thine Aj^mer's heart — the funei'al iirn, — His 2)ledge, comes back to thee ! Lo, on the Urn how withered lies Thy gift — the scentless flower ! Amid tliose garlands, fresh and fair, 1 That prank the hall and glad the air, What does that withered flower ? One tear bedewed the Ladye's eyes. No tears beseem the day. The dead can ne'er to life return, " A marble tomb shall grace the Urn," She said and turned away. NAPOLEOX AT ISOI.A BELLA. 293 The marble rose the Urn above, Tlie world went on the same ; The Ladye smiled, Count Raimond's bride. And flowers, like hers, that bloomed and died, Each ]\Iay returning came. The faded flower, the dream of love. The poison and the dart. The tearful trust, the smiling wrong, The tomb, — behold, O Child of Song, The History of thy Heart ! XArOLEOX AT ISOLA BELLA. In tho Isola Bella, upon tlie Lago Maggiore, wliero the richest vegetation of tlio tropics grows in the vicinity of tlie Alps, there is a lofty laurel-trce (Ilie bay), tall as the tallest oak, on which, a few (lays before tlie battle of Marengo, Napoleon carved the word " BATTAGLiA." Tile bark has fallen away from the inscription, most of the letters arc gone, and tlio few left are nearly effaced. I. O FAIRY island of a fairy sea, Wherein Calypso might have spelled the Greek, Or Flora piled her fragrant treasury. Culled from each shore her Zephyr's wings could seek. — From rocks Avhere aloes blow, Tier upon tier, Hesperian fruits arise ; The hanging bowers of this soft Babylon ; 294 NAPOLEOX AT ISOI-A BELLA. An India mellows in the Lombard skies, And changelings, stolen from the Lybian sun, Smile to yon Alps of snow. IL Amid this gentlest dream-land of the wave, Arrested, stood the wondrous Corsican ; As if one glimpse the better angel gave Of the bright garden-life vouchsafed to man Ere blood defiled the world. He stood — that grand Sesostris of the North — While paused the car to Avhich were harnessed kings ; And in the airs, that lovingly sighed forth The balms of Araby, his eagle-wings Their sullen thunder furled. IIL And o'er the marble hush of those large brows. Dread with the awe of the Olympian nod, A giant laurel spread its breathless boughs, The prophet-tree of the dark Pj'thian god. Shadowing the doom of thi-ones ! What, in such hour of rest and scene of joy, Stire in the cells of that imfathomed brain ? Comes back one memory of the musing boy. Lone gazing o'er the yet unmeasured main, AVhose waifs are human bones ? NAPOLEON AT ISOLA BELLA. 295 IV. To those deep ej'es doth one soft dream return ? Soft with the bloom of youth's unrilled spring, AVhen Hope first fills from founts divine the urn, And rapt Ambition, on the angel's "wing, Floats first through golden air ? Or doth that smile recall the midnight street, When thine own star the solenm ray denied, And to a stage-mime,* for obscure retreat From hungry "Want, the destined Csesar sighed V — Still Fate, as then, asks prayer. Under that prophet-tree thou standest now ; Inscribe thy wish upon the mystic rind ; Hath the warm human heart no tender vow Linked with sweet household names V — no hope enshrined Where thoughts are priests of Peace. Or, if dire Hannibal thy model be. Dread lest, like him, thou bear the thunder lioiiie ! Perchance ev'n now a Scipio dawns for thee, Thou doomest Carthage while thou smitest Rome — Write, write, " Let carnage cease ! " Whispers from heaven have strife itself informed ; — " Peace " was our dauntless Falkland's latest sigh, * Talma. 296 NAPOLEON AT ISOLA BELLA. Navarre's frank Henry fed the forts he stormed, Wild Xerxes wept the hosts he doomed to die ! Ev'ii ^Var pays dues to Love ! Note how harmoniously the art of Man Blends Avith the Beautiful of Nature ! see How the true Laurel of the Delian Shelters the Grace ! — Apollo's peaceful tree Blunts ev'ii the bolt of Jove. VII. Write on the sacred bark such votive prayer, As the mild Power may grant in coming years, Some word to make thy memory gentle there ; More than renown, kind thoup;ht for men endears A Hero to Mankind. Slow moved the mighty hand — a tremor shook The leaves, and hoarse winds groaned along the wood ; The Pythian tree the damning sentence took. And to the sun the battle-word of blood Glai'cd from the gashing rind. VIII. So thou hast writ the word, and signed thy doom : Farewell, and pass upon thy gory wa\', The direful skein the pausing Fates resume ! Let not the Elysian grove thy steps delay From thy Promethean goal. NAPOLEOiSr AT ISOLA BELLA. 297 The fatal tree the abhorrent word retained, Till the last Battle on its bloody strand Flung what wei-e nobler had no life remained, — The crownless front and the disarmed hand And the foiled Titan Soul ; Now, year by year, the warrior's iron mark Crumbles away from the majestic tree. The indignant life-sap ebbing from the bark Where the grim death- word to Humanity Profaned the Lord of Day. High o'er the pomp of blooms, as greenly still. Aspires that tree — the Arohetyj)e of Fame, The stem rejects all chronicle of ill ; The bark shrinks back — the tree survives the same — The record rots away. Baveno, Oct. 8, 1845. 298 MAZARIN. FAREWELL TO THE BEAUTIFUL, WITHOUT. " I was walking, some days after, in the new apartments of liis palace. I recognized the approach of the Cardinal (Mazarin) by the sound of his slippered feet, wiiich lie dragged one after the otlier, as a man enfeebled by a mortal malady. I concealed my- self behind tlie tapestry, and I heard liini say, ' II faut quitter tout cela ! ' ('I must leave all that ! ') He stopped at every step, for he was very feeble, and casting his eyes on each object that attracted him, he sighed forth, as from the bottom of his heart, ' II faut quitter tout cela ! What pains have I taken to acquire these things ! Can I abandon tlicni without regret ? I shall never see them more where I am about to go ! ' " &c. — JIemoires inedits de Louis Henri, Comte de Brienne, Bar- riere's Edition, vol. ii. p. 115. Serene the Marble Images Gleamed down, in lengthened rows ; Their life, like the Uranides, A glory and repose. Glowed forth the costly canvas spoil From many a gorgeous frame ; One race will starve the living toil, The next will gild the name. That stately silence silvering through, The steadfast tapers shone Upon the Painter's pomp of hue, The Sculptor's solemn stone. Saved fi-om the deluge-storm of Time, Within that ark, survey MAZARIN. 299 Wliate'er of elder Art sublime Sur\ives a world's decay ! There creeps a foot, there sighs a breath, Along the quiet floor ; An old man leaves his bed of death To count his treasures o'er. Behold the dying mortal glide Amidst the eternal Art ; It were a sight to stir with pi-ide Some pining Painter's heart ! It were a sight that might beguile Sad Genius from the Hour, To see the life of Genius smile Upon the death of Power. The ghost-like master of that hall Is king-like in the land ; And France's proudest heads could fall Beneath that spectre hand. Veiled in the Roman pui-ple, preys The cankei--worm within ; And more than Bourbon's sceptre, sways The crook of Mazarin. Italian, yet more dear to thee Than sceptre, or than crook, The Art in which thine Italy Still charmed thy glazino- look ! 300 MAZAUIN'. So feebly, and with wistful eyes, He ci-awls along the floor ; A dying man, who, ere he dies, Would count his treasures o'er. And, from the landscape's soft repose, Smiled thy calm soul, Lorraine ; And, from the deeps of Raphael, rose Celestial Love again. In pomp, which his own pomp recalls, The haggard owner sees Thy cloth of gold and banquet halls, Thou stately Veronese ! While, cold as if they scorned to hail Creations not their own, The Gods of Greece stand marble-pale Around the Thunderer's throne. There, Hebe brims the urn of gold ; There, Hermes treads the skies ; There, ever in the Serpent's fold, Laocoon deathless dies. There, startled from her mountain rest, Young Dian turns to draAV The arrowy death, that waits the breast Her slumber failed to awe. There, earth subdued by dauntless deeds, And life's large labors done, MAZARIN. 301 Stands, sad as Worth -with mortal meeds, Alcmena's mournful son.* They gaze vipon the fading form With mute immortal eyes ; — Here, clay that waits the hungry -worm. There, children of the skies. Then slowly as he tottered by. The old Man, unresigned. Sighed forth : " Alas ! and must I die, And leave such life behind ? " The Beautiful, from which I part. Alone defies decay ! " Still, while he sighed, the eternal Art Smiled down upon the clay. And as he waved the feeble hand, And crawled unto the porch. He saw the Silent Genius stand With the extinguished torch ! The world without, for ever yours. Ye stern remorseless Three ; * Ccrtninly tlio Sculptor of the Farnese Hercules well con- ceived tli:it ido.il character of the demigod, which makes Aris- totle (Prol). 31)) class the grand Personification of Lalior amongst the Melancholy. It is tlio union of mournful repose with colossal power, which gives so profound a moral sentiment to tliat master- piece of art. 302 MAZARIN. Wliat, from tliat changeful world, secures Calm Immortality ? Nay, soon or late decaj-s, alas ! Or canvas, stone, or scroll ; From all material forms must pass To forms afresh, the soul. 'T is but in that lohich doth create, Duration can be sought ; A worm can waste the canvas ; — Fate Ne'er swept from Time a Thought. Lives Phidias in his works alone ? — His Jove returns to air : But wake one godlike shape from stone, And Phidian thought is there 1 Blot out the Iliad from the earth, Still Homer's thought would fire Each deed that boasts sublimer worth, And each diviner lyre. Like light, connecting star to stai". Doth Thought transmitted run : — Rays tliat to earth the nearest are, Have lonscest left the sun. AXDRE CnENIER. 303 ANDRE CIIENIER. FAREWELL TO THE BEAUTIFUL, VVITHIPf. " Andre Clienier, the original of whatever is truest to nature and genuine passion in tlie modern poetry of France, died at the guillotine, July 27, 1794. In ascending tlio scaffold, he cried, ' To die so young ! ' ' And there was something here ! ' he added, striking his forehead, not in the fear of death, but the despair of genius! " — See Thiers, vol. iv. p. 83. WiTHix the prison's dreary girtli, The dismal night, before That morn on which the dungeon Earth Shall wall the soul no more, There stood sercnest images AVhere doomed Genius lay, The ever young Uranides Around the Child of Clay. On blackened walls and rugged floors Shone cheerful, through the night, The stars — like beacons from the shores Of the still Infinite. From Ida to the Poet's cell The Pain-beguilers stole ; Apollo tuned his silver shell And Hebe brimmed the bowl. 304 ANDRE CHEXIEE. To grace those walls lie needed naught That tint or stone Bestows ; Creation kindled from his thought: He called — and gods arose. The visions Poets only know Upon the captive smiled As bright within those walls of woe, As on the sunlit child ; He saw the nameless, glorious things Which youthful dreamers see, When Fancy first with murmurous wings O'ershadows bards to be ; Those forms to life spiritual given By high creative hymn ; From music born — as from their heaven Are born the Seraphim.* Forgetful of the coming day. Upon the dungeon floor He sat to count, poor child of clay, The wealth of genius o'er ; To count the gems, as yet unwrought, But found beneath the soil ; The bright discoveries claimed by thought, As future crowns for toll. ' Aus den Saiten, wie aus iliren Himmeln, Neugebor 'ne Seraphim." — Schiller. k AXDUE CIIENIER. 305 He sees The Work his breath should warm To life, fi'om out the air ; The Shape of Love his soul should form, Then leave its birthright there ! He sees the new Immortal rise From her melodious sea ; The last descendant of the skies For man to bend the knee — He sees himself within your shrine, O hero gods of Fame ! And hears the praise that makes divine The human holy name. True to the hearts of men shall chime The song their lips repeat ; When heroes chant the strain, sublime ; When lovers breathe it, sweet. Lo, from the brief delusion given, He starts, as through the bars Gleams wan the dawn that scares from Heaven And Thought alike — its stars. Hark to the busy tramp below ! The jar of iron doors ! The gaoler's heavy footfall slow Along the funeral floors ! 20 306 ANDRE CHENIER. The mTirmur of the crowd that round The human shambles throng ; That muffled, sullen thunder-sound — The Death-cart gi-ates along ! " Alas, so soon ! — and must I die," lie groaned forth vuiresigncd ; " Flit like a cloud athwart the sky, And leave no wrack behind ! " And yet my Genius speaks to me ; The Pythian fires my brain ; And tells me what my life should be ; A Prophet — and in vain ! " O realm more wide, from clime to clime, Than ever Cajsar swayed ; O conquests in that world of time My grand desire surveyed ! " — Blood-red upon his loathing eyes Now glares the gaoler's torch : " Come forth, the day is in the skies, The Death-cart at the porch ! " Pass on ! — to thee the Parcas give The fairest lot of all ; — In golden poet-dreams to live. And, ere they fade — to fall ! THE FIRST VIOLETS. 307 The shrine that longest guards a Name Is oft an early tomb ; The Poem most secure of fame Is — some wronged poet's doom ! THE FIRST VIOLETS. Who that has loved knows not the tender tale Which flowers reveal, when lips are coy to tell ? "WTiose youth has paused not, dreaming, in the vale Where the rathe violets dwell ? Lo, where they shrink along the lonely brake Under the leafless, melancholy tree ; Not yet the cuckoo sings, nor glides the snake, Nor wild thyme lures the bee ; Yet at their sight and scent entranced and thralled, All June seems golden in the April skies ; How sweet the days we yearn for, — till fuljilled : O distant Paradise, Dear Land to which Desire for ever flees ; Time doth no present to our grasp allow, Say in the fixed Eternal shall we seize At last the fleeting Now ? Dream not of dajs to come — of that Unknown Whither Hope wanders — maze without a clew ; 308 THE FIRST VIOLETS. Give their true •witchery to the flowers ,• — thine own Youth, in their jouth renew. Avarice, remember Avhen the cowshp's gold Lured and j-et lost its glitter in thy grasp. Do thy hoards glad thee more than those of old ? Tliose withered in thy clasp, From these thy clasp falls palsied. It was then That thou wert rich — thy coffers are a lie ; Alas, poor fool, Joy is the wealth of men, And Care their penury. Come, foiled Ambition, Avhat hast thou desired ? Empire and power ? — O wanderer, tempest-tost 1 These once were thine, when life's gay spring inspired Thy soul with glories lost. Let the flow^ers charm thee back to that rich time When golden Dream-land lay Avithin thy chart. When Love bestowed a realm indeed sublime — The boundless human heart. Hark, hark again, the tread of bashful feet! Hark the bouglis rustling round the trysting-place ! Let air again with one dear breath be sweet, Earth fair with one dear face. Binef-hved first flowers — first love ! The hours steal on To pi-ank the world in summer's ^^omp of hue, LOVE AND DKATH. 309 But what can flaunt beneath a fiercer sun Worth what we lose in j'ou ? Oil by a flower, a leaf, m some loved book We mark the lines that charm us most ; — Retrace Thy life ; — recall its loveliest passage ; — Look, Dead violets keep the place ! LOVE AND DEATH. O STRONG as the eagle, O mild as the dove, IIow like and how unlike O Death and O Love ! Knitting earth to the heaven, The near to the far, With the step in the dust, And the eye on the star. Ever changing your symbols Of liglit or of gloom ; Now the rue on the altar, The rose on the tomb. From Love, if the infant Receiveth his breath, The love that gave life Yields a subject to Death. 310 LOVE AND DEATH. When Death smites the aged, Escaping above Flies the soul re-delivered By Death unto Love. And therefore in wailing We enter on life ; And therefore in smiling Depart from its strife. Thus Love is best known By the tears it has shed ; And Death's surest sign Is the smile of the dead. The purer the spirit, The clearer its view. The more it confoundeth The shapes of the two ; For, if thou lov'st truly. Thou canst not dissever The grave from the altar, The Now from the Ever And if, nobly hoping, Thou gazest above. In Death thou beholdest The aspect of Love. GAXYMEDE. 311 ga:nymede. " When Ganymede was caught up to Heaven, he let fall Iiis pipe, on which he was playiug to his slieep." — Alexander Ross, Myst. Poet. Upox the Phrygian hill He sat, and on liis reed the shepherd played. Sunlight and calm : noon in the dreamy glade, Noon on the lulling vill. He saw not, where on high The noiseless eagle of the Heavenly King Rested, — till rapt upon the rushing wing Into the golden sky. When the bright Nectar Hall And the still brows of bended gods he saw. In the quick instinct both of shame and awe His hand the reed let fall. Soul ! that a thought divine Bears into heaven, — thy first ascent survey ! What charmed thee most on earth is cast away ; — - To soar — is to resirecedcd by Servant. Servant. I will tell Sir John, my Lord. [Evelyn takes up the neivspaper. Gloss. The secretary — hum ! Fine day, sir ; any news from the East ? 348 MONEY. [ACT I. Evelyn. Yes ! — all the wise men have gone back there ! Gloss. Ha ! ha ! — not all, for here comes Mr Stout, the great political economist. SCENE V. Stout, Glossmgee, Eveltw. Stout. Good morning, Glossmore. Gloss. Glossmore ! — the parvenu ! Stout. Afraid I might be late — Been detained at the Vestry — Astonishing how ignorant the Eng- lish poor are ! Took me an hour and a half to beat it into the head of a stupid old widow, with nine children, that to allow her three shillings a week was against all the rules of public morality ! Evelyn. Excellent ! — admirable ! — your hand, sir ! Gloss. What ! you approve such doctrines, Mr. Evelyn ? Are old women only fit to be starved ? Evelyn. Starved ! popular delusion I Observe, my Lord — to squander money upon those who starve is only to afford encouragement to starva- tion ! Stout. A very superior person that ! Gloss. Atrocious principles ! Give me the good old times when it was the dutj- of the rich to succor the distressed, Evelyn, On second thoughts, you are right, my SCENE TI.] MONEY. 349 Lord. I, too, know a poor woman — ill — djing — in want. Shall .s7«e, too, perish ? Gloss. Perish ! horrible ! — in a Christian coun- try. Perish ! Heaven forbid ! Ecebjn (JiolJing out his liand^. What, then, will you give her ? Gloss. Ehem ! Sir — the parish ought to give. Slout. No I — No ! — No ! Certainly not ! {with great vehemence.^ Gloss. No ! no 1 But I say yes ! yes ! And if the parish refuse to maintain the poor, the only way left to a man of firmness and resolution, holding the principles that I do, and adhering to the constitution of our fathers, is to force the poor on the parish by never civine: them a farthinjr one's self. SCENE VI. Sir John, Blount, Lady Franklin, Geokgina. Glossmore, Stol't, Evelyn. Sir John. How d'ye do ? — Ah 1 How d'ye do, gentlemen V This is a most melancholy meeting ! The poor deceased I what a man he was 1 Blount. I was chwistened Fwedewick after him 1 He was my first cousin. Sir John. And Georgina his own niece — next of kin ! — an excellent man, though odd — a kind heart, but no liver ! I sent him twice a year thirty dozen of the Cheltenham waters. It 's a comfort to reflect on these little attentions at such a time I 350 MONEY. [ACT I Stout. And I, too, sent him the Parliamentary debates regularly, bound in calf. He was my sec- ond cousin — sensible man — and a follower of Malthus : never married to increase the surplus population, and fritter away his money on his own children. And now — Evelyn. He reaps the benefit of celibacy in the prospective gratitude of every cousin he had in the world ! Lady F. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Sir John. Hush ! hush ! decency, Lady Fi'ank- lin ; decency ! Enter Servant. Servant. Mr. Graves — Mr. Sharp. Si- John. O, here's Mr. Graves; that's Sharp the iS.wyer, who brought the will from Calcutta. SCENE VII. Gkaves, Sharp, Sir John, &c. Chorus of Sir John, Gloss., Blount, Stout. Ah, Sir — Ah, Mr. Graves ! [Geokgina holds her handkerchief to her eyes. Sir John. A sad occasion ! Graves. But everything in life is sad. Be com- forted, Miss Vesey. True, you have lost an uncle ; but I — I have lost a wife — such a wife ! — the first of her sex — and the second cousin of the de- SCENE vn.] MONEY. 351 funct ! Excuse me, Sii* John ; at the sight of your mourning my wounds bleed afresh. [Servants hand round ivine and sandwiches. Sir John. Take some refreshment — a glass of wine. Graves. Thank you ! — (very fine sherry !) Ah ! my poor sainted Mai'ia ! Sherry was her wine : everytliing reminds me of Maria ! Ah, Lady Franklin ! you knew her. Nothing in life can charm Ae now. (^Aside.) A monstrous fine woman that! Sir John. And now to business. Evel3'n, you may retire. Sharp (looking at his notes). Evelyn — any rela- tion to Alfred Evelyn ? Evelyn. The same. Sharp. Cousin to the deceased, seven times re- moved. Be seated, sir ; there may be some legacy, though trifling ; all the relations, however distant, should be present. Lady F. Then Clara is related: I will go for her. \_Exit. Georg. Ah, Mx. Evelyn ; I hope you will come in for something — a few hundreds, or even more. Sir John. Silence ! Hush ! Wugh ! ugh ! At- tention ! \_While the Lawyer opens the Will, re-enter Lady FiiANKLix and Claka. Sharp. The will is very short — being all per- sonal property. He was a man that always came to the point. 352 MONEY. [ACI \. Sir John. I wish there -were more like him ' {^Groans and shalces his head.) l_Chorus groan and shake their heads. Sharp (reading). " I, Frederick James Mordaunt, of Calcutta, beinu; at the present date of sound mind, though infirm body, do hereby give, will and be- queath — Imprimis, To my second cousin, Benjamin Stout, Esq., of Pall Mall, London [ Chorus exhibit Uvehj emotion. Being the value of the Parliamentary Debates with which he has been pleased to trouble me for some time past — deducting the carriage thereof, which he always forgot to pay — the sum of 14/. 2s. Ad." [Chorus breathe more freelg. Stout. Eh, what?— 14/. ? O, hang the old miser ! Sir John. Decency ! — decency ! Proceed, sir. Sharp. " Item. — To Sir Frederick Blount, Baro- net, my nearest male relative " [Chorus exhibit lively emotion. Blount. Poor old boy ! [Georgina puts her arm over Blount's chair. Sharp. • " Being, as I am informed, the best-dressed young gentleman in London, and in testimony to the only merit I ever heard lie possessed, the ijum of 500/. to buy a dressing-case." [Chorus breathe more f reel n ; Geokgina catc^ta her father's eye, and removes Iter arm. Blount {laughing confusedly). Ha ! ha ! ha ! Vewy poor wit — low ! — vewy — vewy low ! SCENE VII.] MONEY. 353 Sir John. Silence, now, will jou ? Sharp. " Item. — To Charles Lord Glossmore — who asserts that he is my relation — my collection of dried buttertlies, and the jjedigree ot" the Mor- daunts from the reign of King John." \_Chorus as before. Gloss. Butterflies ! — Pedigree ! — I disown the plebeian ! Sir John (angrily). Upon my woi'd, this is too revolting ! Decency ! Go on. Sharp. " Item. — To Sir John Vesey, Baronet, Knight of the Guelph, F.R.S., F.S.A., &c." [Chorus as before. Sir John. Hush! iVbiy it is really interesting ! Sharp. " Who married my sister, and who sends me every year the Cheltenham waters, which nearly gave me my death, I bequeath — the empty bottles." Sir John. Why, the ungrateful, rascally old — Chorus. Decency, Sir John — decency ! Sharp. " Item. — To Henry Graves, Esq., of the Albany " \_Chorus as before. Graves. Pooh ! gentlemen — my usual luck — not even a ring, I dare swear ! Sharp. " The sum of 5,000Z.J in the Three per Cents." JakIij F. I wish }-ou joy ! Graves. Joy — pooh ! Three per Cents ! Funds sure to go ! Had it been land, now — though only an acre ! — just like my luck. Sharp. " Item. — To my niece, Georgina Vesey — " \_Choi-us as before. 2.3 354 MONEY. lACT I Sir John. Ah, now it comes ! Shcn-p. " The sum of 10,000Z. India stock, being, with her flither's reputed savings, as much as a single woman ought to possess." Sir John. And what the devil, then, does the old fool do with all his money ? Chorus. Really, Sir John, this is too revolting. Decency ! Hush ! Sharp. " And, with the aforesaid legacies and exceptions, I do will and bequeath the whole of my fortune, in India Stock, Bonds, Exchequer Bills, Three per Cent. Consols, and in the Bank of Cal- cutta (constituting him hereby sole residuary legatee and joint executor with the aforesaid Henry Graves, Esq.), to Alfred Evelyn, now, or formerly of Trinity College, Cambridge — [ Universal excitement. Being, I am told, an oddity, like myself — the only one of my relations who never fawned on me ; and who, having known privation, may the better em- ploy wealth." And now, sir, I have only to wish you joy, and give you this letter from the deceased ; I believe it is important. Evelyn [crcssing over to Clara'). Ah, Clara, if you had but loved me ! Clara {turning axvai/). And his wealth, even moie than poverty, separates us forever ! [Omnes crowd round to congratidate Evelyn. Sir John (to Georgind). Go, child — put a good face on it — he 's an immense match ! My dear fellow, I wish you joy — you are a great man now — a very great man ! SCENE vu-l MONEY. 355 Evelyn (aside). And her voice alone is silent ! Lord Gloss. If I can be of any use to you — Stout. Or I, sir — Blount. Or I ! Shall I put you up at the clubs ? Sharp. You will want a man of business. I transacted all Mr. Mordaunt's affairs. Sir John. Tush, tush ! Mr. Evelyn is at home here — always looked on him as a son ! Nothing in the world we would not do for him ! Nothing ! Evelyn. Lend me 10/. for my old nurse ! ^Chorus jmt their hands into their pockfi.tJi. ACT II. Scene I. — An ante-room in Kvelyn's new hovse; at me corner, behind a larije screen, JIk. Shakp wrilinf/ at a desk, books and parchments before him. — Mk. Ckimson, the portrait-painter ; JIis. Grab, the publisher ; JIi:. JLvc- Stucco, i/(e architect; Mr. 'I'abouhet. /Ae uphulslerer; Mk. !MacFinch, the silversmith ; JIr. Patent, the coach- maker; JIr. Kite, the horse-dealer; and JIr. Fkaxtz, the tailor. — (Serv.aiits cross to and fro the siat/e.) Patent (to Frantz, ahowinrj a drawing'). Yes, sir , this is the Evelyn vis-il-vis ! No one more the fashion than Mr. Evelyn. Money makes the man, sir. Frantz. But de tailor, de Schneider, make de gentleman ! It is Mr. Frantz, of St. James's, who take his measure and his cloth, and who make de fine handsome noblemen and gentry, where do faders and de mutters make only de ugly little naked boys ! MacStucco. He 's a mon o ' teeste, Mr. Evelyn. He taulks o' buying a veela (villa), just to pool down and build oop again. Ah, Mr. MacFinch ! a design for a piece of pleete, eh ? MacFinch (sliowing the drawing). Yees, sir, the shield o' Alexander the Great, to hold ices and lemonade ! It will coost two thousand poon' ! MacStucco. And it 's dirt cheap — ye 're Scotch, arn't ye ? 6CENE I.] MONEY. 357 MacFinch. Aberdounsbire ! — scraitch me, and I'll scraitch you ! \_Door at the back throivn open. — Enter Evelyn. Evehjn. A levee, as usual. Good day. Ah, Ta- bouret, your designs for the draperies; very \vell And what do you want, Mr. Crimson ? Crimson. Sir, if you 'd let me take your portrait, it would make my fortune. Every one says you 'I'e the finest judge of paintings. Evelyn. Of paintings ! paintings ! Are you sure I'm a judge of paintings ? Crimson. O, sir, did n't you buy the great Cor- reggio for 4,000/. ? Evelyn. True — I see. So 4,000/. makes me an excellent judge of paintings. I '11 call on you, Mr. Crimson, — good day. Mr. Grab — oh, you 're the publisher who once refused me bl. for my poem ? You are right, it was a sad doggerel. Grab. Doggerel ! Mr. Evelyn, it was sublime ' But times were bad then. Evelyn. Very bad times with me. Grab. But now, sir, if you will give me the preference, I '11 j^ush it, sir, — I '11 push it ! I only publish for poets in high life, sir; and a gentleman of your station ought to be pushed ! — 500/. for the poem, sir ! Evelyn. 500/. when I don't want it, where 5/. once would have seemed a fortune. " Now I am rich, what value in the lines ! How the wit brightens — how the sense refines! " [ Turns to the rest, who surround him 358 :\I0NEY. (act .i. Kite. Thirty young horses from Yorkshire, sir ! Patent {xhoicing drawing). The Evolyn vis-^-vis ! MacFinch {showing draiving). The Evelyn salver ! Frantz {opening his bundle, and with dignity). Sar e, I have brought de coat — de great Evelyn coat. Evelyn. O, go to that is, go home ! Make me as celebrated for vis-h.-vis, salvers, furniture, a.id coats, as I already am for painting, and shortly sh ill be for poetry. I resign myself to you — go ! \_Exeunt MacFinch, Patent, §-e. Enter Stout, Evelyn. Stout, you look heated. Stout. I hear you have just bought the great Groginhole property. Evelyn. It is true. Sharp says it 's a bargain. Stout. Well, my dear fi-iend Hopkins, member for Groginhole, can't live another month — but the interests of mankind forbid regret for individuals ! The patriot Popkins intends to start for the borough the instant Hopkins is dead I — your interest will secure his election ! — now is your time ! put your- self forward in the march of enlightenment ! — By all that is bigoted, here comes Glossmore ! SCESE n.] MONEY. 359 SCENE II. Stout, Glossmore, Evelyn ; Sharp still at his desk. Gloss. So lucky to find you at home ! Hopkins, of Groginhole, is not long for this world. Popkins, the brewer, is already canvassing underhand (so very ungentlemanlike !). Keep your interest for young Lord Cipher — a most valuable candidate. This is an awful moment — the constitution depends on his return ! Vote for Cipher ! Stout. Popkins is your man ! Evelyn {inusingly^. Cipher and Popkins — Pop- kins and Cipher ! Enlightenment and Popkins — Cipher and the Constitution ! I am puzzled ! Stout, I am not known at Groginhole. Stout. Your property 's known there ! Evelyn. But puiuty of election — independence of votes — Stout. To be sure : Cipher bribes ahominahly. Frustrate his schemes — preserve the liberties of the borough — turn every man out of his house who votes against enlightenment and Popkins ! Evelyn. Eight ! — down with those who take the liberty to admire any liberty except our liberty ! That is liberty! Gloss. Cipher has a stake in the country — will have 50,000^. a year — Cipher will never give a vote without considering beibrehand how people of 50,000/. a year will be affected by tlie motion ! Evelyn. Eight: for as without law there would 360 sroxEY. [act n be no property, so to be the law for property is the only proper property of law ! That is law ! Sluut. Popkins is all for economy — tliere 's a sad waste of the public money — they give the Speaker 5,000/. a year, when I 've a brother-in-law who takes the chair at the vestry, and who assures me contidentially he'd consent to be Speaker for half the money ! Glo.ss. Enough, Mr. Stout. Mr. Evelyn has too much at stake for a leveller. Stout. And too much sense for a bigot. Evehjn. Mr. Evelyn has no politics at all ! Did you ever play at hattledoor ? Both. Battledoor ? Evelyn. Battledoor — that is a contest between two parties : both parties knock about something with singular skill — something is kept up — high — low — here — there — everywhere — nowhere ! How grave are the players! how anxious the by- standers ! how noisy the battledoors ! But when this something falls to the ground, only fancy — it's nothing but cork and feather ! Go, and play by yourselves — I 'm no hand at it ! Stout (aside). Sad ignorance ! Aristocrat ! Gloss. Heartless principles ! Parvenu ! Stout. Then you don't go against us ? I 'II bring Popkins to-morrow. Gloss. Keep yourself free till I present Cipher to you. Stout. I nmst go to inquire after Hopkins. The return of Popkins will be an era in history. lExit. SCENE ii-l MONEY. 361 Glosx. I must be off to the club — the eyes of the country are upon Groginhole. If Cipher fail, the constitution is gone ! [^Exit. Evelyn. Both sides alike ! Money versus Man ! Sharp, come here — let me look at you ! You are my agent, my lawyer, my man of business. I be- lieve you honest; — but what is honesty? — where does it exist ? — in what part of us ? Sharp. In the heart, I suppose, sir. Evebpi. Mr. Sharp, it exists in the breeches' pocket ! Observe : I lay this piece of j'ellow earth on the table — I contemplate jou both ; the man there — the gold here ! Now, there is many a man in those streets honest as j'ou are, who moves, thinks, feels, and reasons as well' as we do ; excellent in form — imperishable in soul ; who, if his pockets were three days empty, would sell thought, reason, body, and soul too, for that little coin ! Is that the fault of the man ? No ! it is the fault of mankind ! God made man ; behold what mankind have made a god ! When I was poor, I hated the world ; now I am rich, I desp'iseit! Fools — knaves — h3po- erites ! By the bye. Sharp, send 100/. to the poor bricklayer whose house was burned down yester- day — Enter Gravks. Ah, Graves, my dear friend ! what a world this is I — a cur of a world, that fawns on its master, and bites the beggar ! Ha ! ha ! it fawns on vie now, for the beggar has bought the cur. Oraves. It is an atrocious world. But astron- 362 Mo.NKY. [act n. omers say that there is a ti-avelling comet -which must set it on fire one day, — and that 's some com- fort! Evelyn. Every hour brings its gloomy lesson — the temper sours — the affections wither — the heart hardens into stone ! Zounds, Sharp ! what do you stand gaping there for ? — have you no bowels ? — why don't you go and see to the brick- layer? ' \_Exit Sharp. SCENE III. Graves and Evelyn. Evelyn. Graves, of all my new friends — and their name is Legion — you are the only one I esteem ; there is sympathy between us ; we take the same views of life. I am cordially glad to see you ! Graves (^groaning). Ah ! why should you be glad to see a man so miserable ? Evelyn. Because I am miserable myself. Graves. You ! Pshaw ! you have not been con- demned to lose a wife ! Evelyn. But, plague on it, man, I may be con- demned to take one ! Sit down, and listen. I want a confidant ! Left fatherless, when yet a boy, my poor mother grudged herself food to give me educa- tion. Some one had told her that learning was better than house and land ; that 's a lie, Graves. SOtNE m.] MONEY. 363 Graves. A scandalous lie, Evelyn ! Ercli/n. On the strength of that lie I was put to scliool — sent to college, a sizar. Do you know what a sizar is ? In pride he is a gentleman — in knowledge he is a scholar — and he crawls, about, amidst gentlemen and scholars, with the livery of a pauper on his back ! I carried off the great prizes — I became distinguished — I looked to a high de- gree, leading to a fellowship ; that is, an indepen- dence for myself — a home for my mother. One day a young lord insulted me — I retorted — he struck me — refused apology — refused redress. I was a sizar ! — a Pariah ! — a thing to be struck ! Sir, I was at least a man, and I horsewhipped him in tlie hall before the eyes of the whole College ! A few days, and the lord's chastisement was forgotten. The next day the sizar was expelled — the career of a life blasted ! That is the difference between Rich and Poor: it takes a whirlwind to move the one — a breath may uproot the other ! I came to London. As long as my mother lived, I had one to toil for; and I did toil — did hope — did struggle to be something yet. She died, and then, somehow, my spirit broke — I resigned myself to my fate ; the Alps above me seemed too high to ascend — I ceased to care what became of me. At last I submitted to be the poor relation — the hanger-on and gentle- man-lackey of Sir John Vesey. But I had an object in that — there was one in that house whom I had loved at the first sight. Graves. And were you loved again ? 364 MONKY. [ACT n. Evelyn. I fancied it, and was deceived. Not an hour before I inherited this mighty wealth I con- fessed my love, and was rejected because I was poor. Now, mark : you remember the letter which Sharp gave me when the will was read ? Graves. Perfectly; what were the contents V Eveh/n. After hints, cautions, and admonitions — half in irony, half in earnest (Ah, poor Mordaunt had known the world !), it proceeded — but I "11 read it to you : — " Having selected you as my heir, because I think money a trust to be placed where it seems likely to be best employed, I now — not impose a condition, but ask a favor. If you have formed no other and insuperable attachment, I could wish to suggest your choice : my two nearest female relations are my niece Georgina, and my third cousin, Clara Douglas, the daughter of a once dear friend. If you could see in either of these one whom you could make your Avife, such would be a maiTiage that, if I live long enough to return to England, I would seek to bring about before I die." My friend, this is not a legal condition — the fortune does not rest on it ; yet, need I say that my gratitude considers it a moral obligation ? Several months have elapsed since thus called upon — I ought now to decide : you hear the names — Clara Douglas is the woman who rejected me ! Graves. But now she would accept you ! Evelyn. And do you think I am so base a slave to passion, that I would owe to my gold what was denied to my affection ? SCENE in.1 MONEY. 365 Graves. But you must choose one, in common gratitude ; you ovghl to do so — yes, there you are right. Besides, you are constantly at the house — the world observes it : you must have raised hopes in one of the girls. Yes, it is time to decide between her whom you love and her whom you do not ! Evelyn. Of the two, then, I would rather marry where I should exact the least. A marriage, to which each can bring sober esteem and calm re- gard, may not be happiness, but it may be content. But to marry one whom you could adore, and whose heart is closed to you — to yearn for the treasure, and only to claim the casket — to worship the statue that you never may warm to life — Oh ! such a mar- riage would be a hell, the more terrible because Paradise was in sight. Graves. Georgina is pretty, but vain and frivo- lous. — {Aside.') But he has no right to be fastidi- ous — he has never known Maria ! — (^Aloud.) Yes, my dear friend, now I think on it, you iciU be as wretched as myself! AVhen you are married Ave will mingle our groans together ! Evelyn. You may misjudge Georgina ; she may have a nobler nature than appears on the surface. On the day, but before the hour, in which the will was read, a letter, in a strange or disguised hand, signed " From an unknown friend to Alfred Evelyn" and enclosing what to a girl would have been a con- siderable sum, was sent to a poor woman for whom I had implored charity, and wliose address 1 had only given to Georgina. 366 M02>EY. [act a Graves. Why not assure yourself? Eoelj/n. Because I have not dared. For some • times, against my reason, I have hoped that it might be Clara ! {taking a letter from Ids bosom and holing at it.) No, I can't recognize the hand. Graves, I detest that girl. Graves. "Who? Georgina? Evehjn. No; Clara! But I've already, thank Heaven 1 taken some revenge upon her. Come nearer. — {Wlusper.^i.') I've bribed Sharp to say that ]\Iordaunt's letter to me contained a codicil leaving Clara Douglas 20,000/. Graves. And did n't it ? How odd, then, not to have mentioned her in his will ! Ecehjn. One of his caprices: besides, Sir John wrote him word that Lady Franklin had adopted her. But I 'm glad of it — I 've paid the money — she's no more a dependant. No one can insult her now — she owes it all to me, and does not guess it, man — does not guess it ! — owes it to me, — me ■whom she I'ejected ; — me, the poor scholar ! Ha ! ha ! there 's some spite in that, eh ? Graves. You 're a fine fellow, Evelyn, and we understand each other. Perhaps Clara may have seen the address, and dictated this letter after all 1 Evehjn. Do you think so ? I '11 go to the house this instant ! Graves. Eh? Humph ! Then I '11 go with you. That Lady Franklin is a line woman ! If she were not so gay, I think — I could — Evelyn. No, no; don't think any such thing; women are even worse than men. SCENE I7.J MONEY. 367 Graves. True ; to love is a boy's madness I Evelyn. To feel is to suffer. Graves. To hope is to be deceived. Evelyn. I have done with romance ! Graves. Mine is buried with Maria ! Evelyn. If Clara did but write this — Graves. Make haste, or Lady Franklin will be out ! A vale of tears ! — a vale of tears ! Evelyn. A vale of tears, indeed ! \_Exeunt Re-enter Guavks for his hat. Graves. And I left my hat behind me ! Just like my luck ! If I had been bred a hatter, little boys would have come into the world Avithout heads.* \_Exit. SCENE IV, Drawing-rooms at Sir John Vesey's, as in Act I., Scene I. Lady Franklin, Clara, Servant. Lady F. Past two, and I have so many places to go to ! Tell Philipps I want the carriage directly — instantly. Servant. I beg pardon, my Lady ; Philipps told me to say the young horse had fallen lame, and could not be used to-day. [_Exit. * For this melancholy jest Mr. Graves is imltbtod to a poor Ital ian poet. 368 MONEY. [act u Lady F. Well, on second thoughts, that is lucky ; now I have an excuse for not making a great many tedious visits. I must borrow Sir John's horses for the ball to-night. O, Clara, you must see my new turban from Carson's — the prettiest thing in the world, and so becoming ! Clara. Ah, Lady Franklin, you '11 be so sorry — but — but — Lady F. But what ? Clara. Such a misfortune ! poor Smith is in tears — I promised to break it to you. Your little Charley had been writing his copy, and spilt the ink on the table ; and Smith not seeing it — and taking out the turban to put in the pearls as you desired — she — she — Lady F. Ha ! ha ! laid it on the table, and the ink spoilt it. Ha ! ha ! — how well I can fancy the face she made ! Seriously, on the whole it is fortunate ; for I think I look best, after all, in the black hat and feathers. Clara. Dear Lady Franklin, you really have the sweetest temper ! Lady F. I hope so — for it 's the most becom- ing turban a woman can wear ! Think of that when you marry. Oh, talking of marriage, I 've certainly made a conquest of Mr. Graves. Clara. ]\Ir. Graves ! I thought he was incon- solable. Lady F. For his sainted INIaria ! Poor m^in 1 not contented with plaguing him while she Uved, she must needs haunt him now she is dead. SCESE IV.] MONEY. 369 Clara. But why does he regret her ? Lady F. Why ? Because he has everything to make him happy — easy fortune, good health, respectable character. And since it is his delight to be miserable, he takes the only excuse the world will allow him. For the rest — it 's the way ■with widowers ; that is, whenever they mean to marry again. But, my dear Clara, you seem ab- sent — pale — unhappy — tears, too ? Clara. No — no — not tears. No ! Lady F. Ever since Mr. Mordaunt left you 20,000Z. every one admires you. Sir Frederick is desperately smitten. Clara {with disdain). Sir Frederick! Lady F. Ah ! Clara, be comforted — I know your secret : I am certain that Evelyn loves you. Clara. He did — it is past now. He miscon- ceived me when he was poor ; and now he is rich, it is not for me to explain. Lady F. My dear child, happiness is too rare to be sacrificed to a scruple. Why does he come here so often ? Clara. Perhaps for Georgina I Filter Sir John, and turns over the hooJcs, Sj'c, on the table, as if to look for the newspaper. Lady F. Pooh ! Georgina is my niece ; she is handsome and accomplished — but her father's worMHiiess has oilt her nature — she is not worthy of Evelyn ! Behind the humor of his 24 370 MONEY. [act a. irony there is something noble — something that may yet be great. For his sake as well as yours let me at least — Clara. Eecommend me to his pity ? Ah, Lady Franklin ! if he addressed me from dicta- tion, I should again refuse him. No ; if he can- not read my heart — if he will not seek to read it — let it break unknown. Lady F. You mistake me, my dear child : let me only tell him that you dictated that letter — that you sent that money to his old nurse. Poor ^ Clara ! it was your little all. He will then know, at least, if avarice be your sin. Clara. He would have guessed it, had Ids love been like mine. Lady F. Guessed it ! — nonsense ! The hand- writing unknown to him — eveiy reason to think it came from Georgina. Sir .John (aside'). Hum ! Came from Georgina ! Lady F. Come, let me tell him dds. I know the effect it would have upon his choice. Clara. Choifce ! oh, that humiliating word ! No, Lady Franklin, no ! Promise me ! Lady F. But — Clara. No ! Promise — fiiithfully — sacredly. Lady F. Well, I promise. Clara. You know how fearful is my character — no infant is more timid: if a poor spider cross the floor, you often laugh to see me grow pale and tremble ; and yet I would lay this hand upon the block — I would walk barefoot over SCENE IV.] MONEY. 371 the ploughsliare of the old ordeal — to save Al- fred Evelyn one moment's pain. But I have refused to share his poverty, and I should die with shame if he thought I had now grown en- amored of his wealth. My kind friend, you will keep your promise ? Lady F. Yes, since it must be so. Clara. Thanks. I — I — forgive me — I am not well. \_Exit. Lady F. AVhat fools these girls are ! — they take as much pains to lose a husband as a poor widow does to get one ! Sir John. Have you seen " The Times " news- paper ? Where the deuce is the newspaper ? I can't find " The Times " newspaper. Lady F. I think it is in my room. Shall I fetch it? Sir John. My dear sister — you 're the best creature. Do ! \_Exit Lady Franklin. Ugh ! you unnatural conspirator against your own family ! What can this letter be ? Ah ! T recollect something. Enter Georglna. Georgina. Papa, I want — Sir John. Yes, I know what you want well enough ! Tell me — were you aware that Clara had sent money to that old nurse Evelyn bored us about the day of the will V Georg. No ! He gave me the address, and I promised, if — 372 MONEY. [act n. Sir John. Gave you the address ? — that 's lucky ! Hu>h ! Enter Servant. Mr. Graves — Mr. Evelyn. SCENE V. Graves, Evelyn, Sir John, Georgina, Lady Franklin. Lad// F. (returning). Here is the newspaper. Graves. Ay — read the newspapers ! — they 'U tell you what this world is made of. Daily calen- dartT of roguery and woe ! Here, advertisements from quacks, money-lenders, cheap warehouses, and spotted boys with two heads. So much for dupes and impostors ! Turn to the other column — police reports, bankruptcies, swindling, forgery, and a biographical sketch of the snub-nosed man who murdered his own three little cherubs at Pentonville. Do you fancy these but exceptions to the general virtue and health of the nation ? — Turn to the leading articles; and your hair will stand on end at the horrible wickedness or melancholy idiotism of that half the population who think differently from yourself In my day I have seen already eighteen crises, six annihila- tions of Agriculture and Commerce, four over- throws of the Church, and three last final, awful, SCENE v.] MONEY. 373 and irremediable destructions of the 'entire Con- stitution. And that 's a newspaper ! Lacbj F. Ha ! ha ! your usual vein ! always so amusing and good-humored ! Graves {frowning and very anr/rij~). Ma'am — good-humored ! — Lady F. Ah ! you should always wear that agreeable smile ; you look so much younger — so much handsomer — when you smile ! Graves (softened). Ma'am — A charming crea- ture, upon my word ! Lady F. You have not seen the last HB. ? It is excellent. I think it might make you laugh. But, by the by, I don't think you can laugh. Graves. Ma'am — I have not laughed since the death of my sainted Ma — Lady F. Ah ! and that spiteful Sir Frederick says you never laugh, because — But you '11 be angry ? Graves. Angrj' ! — pooh ! I despise Sir Fred- erick too much to let anything he says have the smallest influence over me ! He says I don't laugh, because — T-^ady F. You have lost your front teeth ! Graves. Lost my front teeth I Upon my word ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! That 's too good — capital ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! (laugJilng from ear to ear). Lady F. Ha! ha! ha! [ They retire to the table in the inner draioing-room. Evelyn (aside). Of course Clara will not ap- pear ! — avoids me as usual ! But what do I 374 MONEY. [ACT n. care ? — "wliat is she to me ? Notliing ! I '11 swear this is her glove ! — no one else has so small a hand ! She '11 miss it — so — so ! .No- body 's looking — I.'ll keep it, just to vex her. Sir John (to Georr/.). Yes — yes — leave me to manage : you took his portrait, as I told you ? Georg. Yes — but I could not catch the ex- pression. I got Clara to touch it up. Sir John. That girl 's always in the way ! Enter Captaix Dudley Smooth. Smooth. Good morning, dear John. Ah, Miss Vjsey, you have no idea of the conquests you made a,i Almack's last night ! Evelyn {examining him curiously tcMle Smooth is talking to Georgina). And that's the celebrated Dudley Smooth ! Sir John. More commonly called Deadly Smooth! - - the finest player at Avhist, ecarte, billiards, chess, and picquet, between this and the Pyramids — the sweetest manners ! — always calls you by your Chris- tian name. But take care how you play at cards with him ! Evelyn. He does not cheat, I suppose ? Sir John. Hist! No! — but he always toins! Eats up a brace of lords and a score or two of guardsmen every season, and runs through a man's fortune like a course of the Carlsbad waters. He 's an uncommonly clever fellow ! Evelyn. Clever ? yes ! When a man steals a loaf we cry down the knavery — when a man di- SCENE r.] MO>'KY. 375 verts his neiglibor's mill-stream to grind his own corn, we cry up the cleverness! — And everyone courts Captain Dudley Smooth ! Sir John. Why, who could offend him? — the best-bred, civillest creature — and a dead shot! There is not a cleverer man in the three kingdoms. Evelyn. A study — a study ! — let me examine him ! Such men are living satires on the world. Smooth (passing his arm caressingly over Sir John's shoulder). My dear John, how well you are look- ing ! A new lease of life ! Introduce me to Mr. Evelyn. Evelyn. Sir, it 's an honor I 've long ardently desired. [ They bow and shake hands. Enter Sir Fredekick Blount. Blount. How d'ye do, Sir John ? Ah, Evelyn — I wished so much to see you. Evelyn. 'T is my misfortune to be visible ! Blount. A little this way. You know, perhaps, that I once paid my addwesses to Miss Vesey ; but since that vewy eccentwic will Sir John has shuffled me off', and hints at a pwior attachment — (aside) which I know to be false. Evelyn (seeing Clara). A prior attachment ! — (Ha ! Clara !) Well, another time, my dear Blount. Enter Clara. Blount. Stay a moment — I want you to do me a favor with regard to Miss Douglas. Evelyn. Miss Douglas ! 376 MONEY. lACT n Blount. Yes ; — you see, though Georgina has gweat expectations, and Stingy Jack will leave her all that he has, yet she has only her legacy of 10,000Z. at the moment — no doubt closely settled on herself too : Clawa has 20,000L And I think Clawa always liked me a little. Evel//n. You ! I dare say she did ! Blount. It is whispered about that you mean to pwopose to Georgina. Nay, Sir John more than hinted that was her pwior attachment ! Evelyn. Indeed ! ■ Blount. Now, as yon are all in all with the fam- ily, if you could say a word for me to Miss Douglas, I don't see what harm it could do me ! — (^Aside.) I will punish Georgina for her pwerfidy. Eveli/n. 'Sdeath, man ! speak for yourself! You are just the sort of man for young ladies to like — they understand you — you 're of their own level. Pshaw ! you 're too modest — you want no media- tor ! Blount. ^ly dear fellow, you flatter me. I 'm •well enough in my way. But you, you know, would cawwy evewy thing befoi-e you ! — you 're so con- foundedly wich ! Eveli/n {furninrj to Clara). Miss Douglas, what do you think of Sir Frederick Blount V Observe him. He is well dressed — young — tolerably hand- some — (Blount bowing) bows Avith an air — has plenty of small-talk — everything to captivate. Yet he thinks tliat, if he and I were suitors to the same ladj', I should be more successful because I am SCENE v.] MONEY. 377 richer. What say you r Is love ar, auction ? and do women's hearts go to the highest bidder ? Clara. Their liearts ? — No. Evelyn. But their hands — yes ! You turn away. Ah, you dare not answer that question ! Georg. (aside). Sir Frederick flirting with Clara? I '11 punish him for his perfidy. You are the last person to talk so, Mr. Eveljn ! — you, whose wealth is your smallest attraction, — you, whom everyone admires, — so witty, such taste, such talent! Ah, 1 'm very foolish 1 Sir John (clapping Mm on the shoulder). You must not turn my little girl's head. Oh, you 're a sad fellow ! Apropos, I must show a-ou Georgina's last drawings. She has wonderfully improved since you gave her lessons in perspective. Georg. No, papa ! — No, pray, no ! Nay, don't ! Sir John. Nonsense, child ! — it 's very odd, but she 's more afraid of you than of any one ! Smooth (to Blount., taking snuff). He 's an excel- lent father, our dear John ! and supplies the place of a mother to her. [Turns away to Lady Franklin and Graves. [Evelyn and Georgina seat themselves, and look over the drawings ; Siit John leans over them ; Sir Frederick converses with Clara; Eve- lyn watching them. Evelyn. Beautiful ! — a view from Tivoli. ( Death ! — she looks down while he speaks to her !) Is there a little fault in that coloring ? (She positively 378 MONEY. [hct a blushes !) But this Jupiter is superb. (What a d d coxcomb it is !) (lllsing.) Oh, she certainly loves him — I too can be loved elsewhere — I too can see smiles and blushes on the face of another. Georg. Are you not well V Evelyn. I beg pardon. Yes, you are indeed im- proved ! Ah, who so accomplished as Miss Vesey ? \_Takes up the drawings; j^aijs her marked attention in dumb shoiv. Clara. Yes, Sir Frederick, the concert was very crowded! — Ah, I see that Georgina consoles him for the past ! He has only praises for her, nothing but taunts for me ! Blount. I wish you would take my opewa-box next Saturday — 't is the best in the house. I 'm not wich, but I spend what I have on myself! I make a point to have evewything the best in a quiet way. Best opewa-box — best dogs — best horses — best house of its kind. I want nothing to complete my establishment but the best wife ! Clara (abstractedlg). That will come in good time. Sir Frederick. Evelyn. Oh, it will come — will it ? Georgina refused the trifler — she courts him {taking up a por- trait'). Why, what is this ? — my own — Georg. You must not look at that — you must not, indeed. I did not know it was there ! Sir John. Your own portrait, Evelyn ! Why, child, I was not aware you took likenesses : — that 'a something new. Upon my word it 's a strong resem- blance. SCENE v.] MONEY. 379 Georg. Oh, no — it does not do him justice. Give it to me. I will tear it. (^Aside.^ That odious Sir Frederick ! Evelyn. Nay, you shall not. Clara. So — so — he loves her, then ! Misery — misery ! But he shall not perceive it ! No — no — I can be proud too. Ha ! ha ! — Sir Frederick — excellent — excellent — you are so entertaining — ha! ha! Qaughs hijslericallij). Evelyn. Oh, the affectation of coquettes — they cannot even laugh naturally ! [Clara looks at Mm reproachfully, and ivalks aside with Sir Frkderick. But where is the new guitar you meant to buy, Mivs Vesey — the one inlaid with tortoise-shell ? It is nearly a year since you set your heart on it, and I don't see it yet ! Sir John Qaking him aside conjideyitially). The guitar — oh, to tell you a secret — she applied the money I gave her for it to a case of charity several months ago — the very day the will was read. I saw the letter lying on the table, with the money in it. ]\Iind, not a word to her — she 'd never forgive me ! Evelyn. Letter ! — money ! What was the name of the person she relieved? — not Stanton? Sir .John. I don't remember, indeed. Evelyn (Jakiny out the letter). This is not her hand ! Sir John. No ! I observed at the time it was not her hand, but I got out from her that she did not wish the thing to be known, and had emj^loyed some 380 MONEY. [act u one else to copy it. May I see the letter ? Yes, I think this is the wording. But I did not mean to tell you what case of charity it was. I promised Georgy I would not. Still, how did she know Mrs. Stanton's address V — you never gave it to me ! Evelyn. I gave it to her, Sir John. Clara (at the distance). Yes, I '11 go to the opera, if Lady Franklin will. Do go, dear Lady Frank- lin ! — On Saturday, then, Sir Frederick. \_Exit Blount. Evelyn. Sir John, to a man like me, this simple act of unostentatious generosity is worth all the accomplishments in the world. A good heart — a tender disposition — a charity that shuns the day — a modesty that blushes at its own excellence — an impulse towards something more divine than Mam- mon ; — such are the true accomplishments which preserve beauty forever young. Such I have souglit in the pai'tner I would take for life; — such have I found — alas ! not where I had di-eamed ! — Miss Vesey, I will be honest — I say, then, frankly — (as Clara approaches, raising his voice and looking fixedly at her) — I have loved another — deeply — truly — bitterly — vainly ! I cannot offer to you, as I did to her, the fair first love of the human heart — rich with all its blossoms and its verdure. But if esteem — if gratitude — if an earnest resolve to conquer every recollection that would wander from vour image ; — if these can tempt you to accept my hand and fortune, my life shall be a study to deserve your confidence. SCENE v.] MONEY. 381 [Clara stands motionless, clasping her hands, and then slowly seats herself. Sir John. The happiest day of my life ! [Clara ya//s back in her chair. Evelyn (^dartinfj forward). (Aside.) She is pale ; she faints ! What have I done ? Oh Heaven ! — Clara ! Clara (rising roith a smile). Be happy, my cousin — b« happy! Yes, with my whole heart I sav it — be happy, Alfred Evelyn I ACT in. Scene I. — The drawing-rooms in Sir John Vesey's house. Sir John, Geokgina. Sir John. And he has not pressed you to fix the ■wedding-day ? Georg. No ; and since he proposed he comes here so seldom, and seems so gloomy. Heigho 1 Poor Sir Frederick was twenty times more amus- ing. Sir John. But Evelyn is fifty times as rich ! Georg. Sir Frederick dresses so well ! Sir John. You '11 have magnificent diamonds ; but a word with you : I saw you yesterday in the square with Sir Frederick; that must not happen again. When a young lady is engaged to one man, nothing is so indecorous as to flirt with another. It might endanger your marriage itself. O, it 's highly indecorous ! Georg. Don't be afraid, papa, — he takes up with Clara. Sir John. Who, Evelyn ? Georg. Sir Frederick. Heigho ! — I hate artful girls. Sir John. The settlements will be splendid ! if anything happens, nothing can be handsomer than your jointure. ;^'igy herself wrote the letter. SCENE II.] MONEY. 385 Clara. Sir, I don't know wliat right you Lad to — Sir John. '^Cliat 's very true, my dear : and I've been thinking since that I ought perhaps to tell Mr. Evelyn that the letter was yours, — shall I ? Clara. No, sir ; I beg you will not. I — I — [ Weeps. Sir John. My dear Clara, don't cry ; I would not have said this for the world, if I was not a little anxious about my own girl. Georgina is so un- happy at what every one says of your attach- ment — Cki.''z. Every one ? O, torture ! Sir John. That it preys on her spirits, — it even irritates her temper ! You see, though the marriage will take place almost immediately, Mr. Evelyn does not come so often as he ouglit. In a word, I fear these little jealousies and suspicions will tend to irabitter their future union. — I'm a father — for- give me. Clara. Imbitter their union ! O, never ! What would you have me do, sir ? Sir John. Why, you 're now independent. Lady Franldin seems resolved to stay in town. Surely she can't mean to take her money out of the ftimiiy by some foolish inclination for Mr. Graves V He is always purring and whining about the house, like a black cat in the megrims. What think you, ehV Clara. Sir, it was of myself, — my unhappy .self, you were speaking. Sir John. Sly ! — True ; true ! What I meant 25 386 MONEY. [act in. to say was this : — Lady Franklin persists in staying here : you are your own mistress. Mrs. Carlton, aunt to my late wife, is going abroad for a short time, and would be delighted if you would accom- pany her. Clara. It is the very favor I would have asked of you. (Aside.) I shall escape at least the strug- gle and the shame. When does she go ? Sir John. In five days, — next Monday. — You forgive me ? Clara. Sir, I thank j'ou. Sir John {drawing the table). Suppose, then, you write a line to her yourself, and settle it at once ? Enter Servant. Sei'vant. The carriage, Sir John ; Miss Vesey is ' quite ready. Sir John. Wait a moment. Shall I tell Evelyn you wrote the letter ? Clara. No, sir, I implore you. Sir John. But it would be awkward for Georgy, if discovered. Clara. It never shall be. Sir John. Well, well, as you please. I know nothing could be so painful to a young lady of pride and delicacy. — James, if Mr. Serious, the clergy- man, calls, say I 'm gone to the great meeting at Exeter Hall : if Lord Spruce calls, say you believe I 'm gone to the rehearsal of Cinderella. Oh ! and if MacFinch should come — (MacFinch, who duns me three times a-week) — say I 've hurried off to SCENE 11.] MONEY. , 387 Garraway's to bid for the great Bulstrode estate. Just put the Duke of Lofly's card carelessly on the hall table. And I say, James, I expect two gentle- men a little before dinner, — Mr. Squab the Radi- cal, and Mr. Qualm of the great Marylebone Con- servative Association. Show Squab into the study, and be sm-e to give him the " Weekly True Sun," — Qualm into the back parlor, with the " Times ' and the " Morning Post." One must have a little management in this world. All humbug! — all humbug, upon my soul ! [Exit. Clara {folding the letter). There, — it is decided ! A few days, and we are parted forever ! — a few weeks, and another will bear his name — his wife ! Oh, happy fate ! She will have the right to say to him — though the whole world should hear her — "I am thine ! " And I imbitter their lot — I am the cloud upon their joyous sunshine ! And yet, O Alfred ! if she loves thee — if she knows thee — if she values thee — and, when thou wrong'st her, if she can forgive, as I do — I can bless her when far away, and join her name in my prayer for thee! Evelyn (tvitJiout). Miss Vesey just gone ? Well, I will write a line. 388 MONEY. [act uL SCENE III. Evelyn and Clara. Evelyn (aside). So — Clara ! Do not let me disturb you, Miss Douglas. Clara {going). Nay, I have done. Evelyn. I see that my presence is always odious to you. It is a reason why I come so seldom. But be cheered, madam : I am here but to fix the day of my marriage, and I shall then go into the country — till — till — In short, this is the last time my visit will banish you from the room I enter. Clara (aside). The last time! — and we shall then meet no more ! — And to part thus forever — in scorn — in anger — I cannot bear it ! (Approach- ing him ) Alfred, my cousin, it is true this may be the last time Ave shall meet — I have made my ar- rangements to quit England. Evebjn. To quit England '? Clara. But before I go, let me thank you for many a past kindness, which it is not for an orphan easily to forget. Evelyn (mechanically). To quit Ent land ! Clara. I have long wished it : but enough of me Evelyn, now that you are betrothed to another — now, without recurring to the past — now, without the fear of mutual error and mistake — something of our old friendship may at least return to us. — And if, too, I dared, I have that on my mind which only a friend — a sister — might presume to say to you. SCENE hi.] money; ■ 389 Evelyn (rnoved). Miss Douglas — Clara — if there is aught that I could do — if, while hundreds — strangers — beggars — tell me that I have the power, by opening or shutting this worthless hand, to bid sorrow rejoice, or poverty despair — if — if my life — my heart's blood — could render to you one such service as my gold can give to others — why, speak! — and the past you allude to, — yes, even that bitter past, — I will cancel and forget ! Clara (Jiolding out. her hand). We are friends, then ! you are again my cousin ! my brother. Evelyn {dropping her hand). Brother ! Ah ! say on ! Clara. I speak, then, as a sister — herself weak, inexperienced, ignorant, nothing — might speak to a brother, in whose career she felt the ambition of a man. Oh, Evelyn, when you inherited this vast wealth I pleased myself with imagining how you would wield the power delegated to your hands. I knew your benevolence — your intellect — your genius ! — the ardent mind couched beneatii the cold sarcasm of a long-baffled spirit ! I saw before me the noble and bright career open to you at last — and I often thought that, in after years, when far away — as I soon shall be — I should hear your name identified, not with what fortune can give the base, but with deeds and ends to which, for the great, fortune is but the instrument \ — I often thought that I should say to my own heart — weeping proud and delicious tears, — " And once this man loved me ! " 390 MOXET. Iact m. Er^t/n. Xo more, Clara ! — ob, heAvens 1 — no more ! Oara. But has it been so? — have you boon true to >-our own self? Pomp — j>aracle — luxuries — pleasui\»s — follies;! — all the^^ might distinguish others — they do but belie the ambition and the s^iul af Alfred Evelyn ! — Oh I parxion me — I am ttxt bold — I pain — I offend you. — Ah. I sliould not have dared thus much had I not thought at times, that— tliat — Epelifii, That these follies — these vanities — Uiis dalliance with a loftier fiite were j^oiu" own work I You thought that, and you were right ! Perhaps, indeed, after a youdi steepetl to the lij^s in the. h\-ssop and gall of penury — j>erhaps I might have wished royallj- to know the full value of that dazzling and slarry life which, from the last step in the ladder, I had seen indignantly and from a&r. But a month — a week would have sufficed for that exj>erience. Experience I — Oh. how soon we learn that hearts are as cold and souls as vile — no matter whether the sun shine on the noble in his palace, or the rain drench the rags of the beggar cowering at the porch. The extremes of life differ but in tliis : — Above, Vice smiles and revels — below, Crbne frowns and starves. But you — did not you reject me because I was |>oor ? Despise me if you please ! — my revenge might be unworthy — I wished to show you the luxuries, the gaud, the splendour I thought you prized, — to surround with the attri- bates TOUT sex seems most to value the station tiiat. BCESB 13.1 MONEY. 351 had you loved mc, it would have been yours to command. But vain — vain alike my poverty and my wealth ! You loved me not in either, and my fate is sealed '/ Clara. A happy fate Evelyn ! — you love ! Evelyn. And at last I am beloved. {^Afler a paufe., and turning to her abruptly.) Do you doubt it? Clara. !No, I believe it firmly I — {Aside.) Were it possible for her not to love him V Evelyn. GJeorgina, perhaps, is vain — and light — and — Clara. Xo — think it not ! Once removed from the worllly atmosphere of her father's counsels, and you will form and raise her to your own level. She is so young yet — she has beauty, cheerfulness, anril temper; — the rest you will give, if you will but yet do justice to your own nature. And, now that there is nothing unkind between us — not even regret — and surely {icith a ismile) not revenge, my cousin, you will rise to your nobler self — and so, farewell ! Evelyn. No ; stay, one moment ; you still feel interest in my fate ! Have I been deceived V Oh, why — why did you spurn the heart whose offerings were lavished at your feet ? Could you still — still — V Distraction — I know not what I say : — my honor pledged to another — my vows ac- epted and returned ! Go, Clara, it is best so ! Yet you will miss some one, perhaps, more than me — some one to whose follies you have been more 392 MONEY. [act in hidulgent — some one to whom you would permit a yet tenderer name than that of brother ! Clara (aside). It will make him, perhaps, hap- pier to think It ! Think so, if you will ! — but part friends. Ecelyn. Friends — and that is all! Look you, this is life ! The eyes that charmed away every sorrow — the hand whose lightest touch thrilled to the very core — the presence that, like moonlight, shed its own hallowing beauty over the meanest things ; a little while — a year — a month — a day, and we smile that we could dream so idly. All — all — the sweet enchantment, known but once, never to return again, vanished from the world ! And the one who forgets the soonest — the one who robs your earth forever of its summer — comes to you with a careless lip, and says — " Let us part friends ! " Go, Clara, — go, — and be happy if you can ! Clara (loeeping). Cruel — cruel — to the last! — Heaven forgive you, Alfred ! [Exit. Evelyn. Soft ! let me recall her words, her tones, her looks. — Does she love vie? She defends her rival — she did not deny it Avhen I charged her with attachment to another ; and yet — and yet — there is a voice at my heart which tells me I have been the rash slave of a jealous anger. — But I have made my choice — I must abide the issue 1 Enter Graves, preceded by Servant. Servant. Lady Franklin is dressing, sir- OCISK tv.] MONEY. 393 SCENE IV. Graves and Evelyn. Graves. Well, I 'II wait. {Exit Se ■/■•mt.) She was worthy to have known the lost //larla ! So considerate to ask me hither — not t»./ console me, that is impossible — but to indulge the luxury of woe. It will be a mournful scece. — (^Seeing EvKLYN.) Is that you, Evelyn? — 1 nave just heard that the borough of Groginhole is vacant at last. Why not stand yourself? — with your prop- erty you might come in without even a personal canvass. Evelyn. I, who despise these conftRsts for the color of a straw — this everlasting litijraticm of Au- thority versus Man — I to be one of the "vn anglers ? — never ! Graves. You are quite right, and 1 oeg your pardon. Evelyn (aside). And yet Clara spojce of ambi- tion. She would regret me if I couid be distin- guished. — (Aloud.) To be sure, alter all, Graves, corrupt as mankind are, it is our auty to try at least to make them a little better. An Englishman owes something to his country. Graces. He does indeed ! (counting on Jus fin- gers.) East winds, Fogs, Rheumatism, Pulmonary Complaints, and Taxes — (Evelv^t loalks about in disorder.) You seem agitated — a quarrel Avith your intended ? Oh I when you 've been married 394 MONEY. [ACT m. a month, you '11 not know what to do without one ! Evelyn. You are a pleasant comforter. Graves. Do }ou deserve a comforter ? One morning you tell me you love Clara, or at least detest her, which is the same thing (poor Maria often said she detested me) — and that very after- noon you propose to Georgina ! Evehjn. Clara will easily console herself — thanks to Sir Frederick ! Graves. He is young ! Evelyn. Good-looking ! Graves. A coxcomb ! Evelyn. And therefore irresistible ! Graves. Nevertheless, Clara has had the bad taste to refuse him. I have it from Lady Franklin, to whom he confided his despair in rearranging his neckcloth ! Evelyn. My dear friend — is it possible ? Graves. But what then ? You inust marry Geor- gina, who, to believe Lady Franklin, is sincerely attached to — your fortune. Go and hang yourself, Evelyn ; you have been duped by them. Evelyn. By them — bah ! If deceived, I have been my own dupe. Is it not a strange thing that in matters of reason — of the arithmetic and logic of life — we are sensible, shrewd, prudent men ; but touch our hearts — move our passions — take us for an instant from the hard safety of worldly calcula- tion — and the philosopher is duller than the fool ? Duped — if I thought it ! — BCENB IV.] MONEY. 395 Gj-aves. To be sure ! — you tried Clara in j'our poverty ; it was a safe experiment to try Georgina in your weallh. Ei-eli/n. Ha ! that is true — very true. Go on. Graves. You 'II have an excellent father-in-law Sir John positively weeps when he talks of your income ! Evelyn. Sir John, possibly — but Georgina ? Graves. Plays affection to you in the afternoon, after practising first with Sir Frederick in the morning. Evelyn. On your life, sir, be serious : what do you mean ? Graves. That in passing this way I see her very often walking in the square with Su- Frederick. Evelyn. Ha ! say you so ? Graves. A^'^hat then ? Man is born to be de- ceived. You look nervous — your hand trembles ; that comes of gaming. They say at the clubs that you play deeply. Evelyn. Ha ! ha ! Do they say that ? — a kvf hundreds lost or won — a cheap opiate — anything that can lay the memory to sleep. The poor man drinks, and the rich man gambles — the same mo- tive to both ! But you are right — it is a base resource — I will play no more. Graves. I am delighted to hear it, for your friend Captain Smooth has ruined half the young heirs in London. To play with him is to advertise yourself a bankrupt. Even Sir John is alarmed. I met him just now in Pall Mall ; he made mc stop, 396 MONEY. [act in. and implored me to speak to you. By the by, I forgot — do you bank with Flash, Brisk, Credit, and Co.? Evelyn. So, Sir John is alarmed ? — {Aaide.') Gulled by this cogging charlatan ? — Aha ! I may beat him yet at his own weapons ! — Humph ! Bank with Flash ! Why do you ask me ? Graves. Because Sir John has just heard that they are in a very bad way, and begs you to with- draw anything you have in their hands. Evelyn. I '11 see to it. So Sir John is alarmed at my gambling ? Graves. Terribly ! He even told me he should go himself to the club this evening, to watch you. Evelyn. To watch me ! — good — I will be there. Graves. But you will promise not to play ? Evelyn. Yes — to play. I feel it is impossible to give it up ! Graves. No — no ! 'Sdeath, man ! be as wretch- ed as you please ; break your heart, that 's nothing ! but damme, take care of your pockets. Evelyn. I will be there — I will play with Cap- tain Smooth — I will lose as much as I please — thousands — millions — billions; and if he presume to spy on my losses, hang me if I don't lose Sir John himself into the bargain ! (^Going out and return- ing.) I am so absent! What was the bank you mentioned ? Flash, Brisk, and Credit ? Bless me, how unlucky ! and it 's too late to draw out to-day. Tell Sir John I 'm very much obliged to him, and he '11 find me at the club any time before daybreak hai'd at work with my friend Smooth ! [Exit. BOBNB v.] MONEY. 397 Graves. He's certainly crazy ! but I don't Avon - der at it. What the approach of the dog-days is to the canine species, the approach of the honeymoon is to the human race. Enter Servant. Servant. Lady Franklin's compliments — she will see you in the boudoir, sir. Graves. In the boudoir ! — go, go — I '11 come directly. [^Exit Servant. My heart beats — it must be for grief. Poor Maria ! (^Searching his pockets for his handkerchief.) Not a white one ! — just like my luck : I call on a lady to talk of the dear departed, and I've nothing about me but a cursed gaudy, flaunting, red, yellow, and blue abomination from India, which it 's even inde- cent for a disconsolate widower to exhibit. Ah ! Fortune never ceases to torment the susceptible. The boudoir! — ha! ha! the boudoir ! l_Exit. SCENE V. A Boudoir in the same home. Lady F. I take so much compassion on this poor man, who is determined to make himself wretched, that I am equally deterniiiied to make him happy ! Well, if my scheme does but succeed, he shall laugh, he shall sing, he shall — Mum ! — here he comes 1 398 MONEY. [act m. Enter Graves. Graves (sighinf/). Ah, Lady Franklin ! Ladi/ F. (sighing). Ah, Mr. Graves ! (They seat themselves.) Pray excuse me for having kept you so long. Is it not a charming day ? Graves. An east wind, ma'am ! but nothing comes amiss to you ! — it 's a happy disposition ! Poor Maria ! — she, too, was naturally gay. Lady F. Yes, she was gay. So much life, and a great deal of spirit. Graves. Spirit ? Yes ! — nothing could master it. She would have her own way ! Ah ! there was nobody like her ! Lady F. And then, when her spirit was up, she looked so handsome ! Her eyes grew so bril- liant ! Graves. Did not they ? — Ah ! ah ! ha ! ha ! ha ! And do you remember her pretty trick of stamp- ing her foot ? — the tiniest little foot — I think I see her now. Ah ! this conversation is very sooth- ing! Lady F. How well she acted in your private theatricals ! Graves. You remember her Mrs. Oakley, in " The Jealous Wife " ? Ha ! ha! how good it was ! — ha! ha! Lady F. Ha ! ha ! Yes, in the very first scene, when she came out with (mimicking) " Your uiikind- ness and barbarity will be the death of me ! " Graves. No — no 1 that 's not it ! more energy. iCEXE v.] MONEY. 399 (Mimickinfj.) " Your unkindiiess and barbarity wiU be the death of me." Ha ! ha ! I ought to know- how she said it, for she used to practise it oa me twice a-day. Ah ! poor dear lamb ! ( Wqjes his eyes.) Lady F. And then she sang so well ! was such a composer ! What was that little French air she was so fond of ? Graves. Ha ! ha ! sprightly ? was it not ? Let me see — let me see. Lady F. (Iiumming). Tum ti — ti turn — ti — ti — ti. No, that 's not it. Graves (Jaimming'). Tum ti — ti — tum ti — ti — tam — tum — tum. Both. Tum ti — ti — tum ti — ti — tum — tum — tum. Ha ! ha ! Graves (throwing himself JkicIl). Ah! what recol- lections it revives ! It is too affecting. Lady F. It is affecting ; but we are all mortal. {Sighs.) And at your Christmas party at Cyprus Lodge, do you remember her dancing the Scotch reel with Captain Macnaughten ? Graves. Ha ! ha 1 ha ! To be sure — to be sure. Lady F. Can you think of the step ? — somehow thus, was it not ? (Dancing.) Graves. No — no — quite wrong! — just stand there. Now then (Jiwnming the tune.) — La — la-la-la. — La la, &c. [ They dance. That 's it — excellent — admirable 1 Lady F. (aside). Now it's coming. 400 MONEY. [act n- Enter Sir John,. Blount, Georgina, — iJiey stand amazed. [Lady Franklln continues to dance. Graves. Bewitching — irresistible ! It 's Maria herself that I see before me ! Thus — thus — let me clasp — Oh, the Devil ! Just like my luck ! — (^Stopping opposite Sir John.) [Lady Franklin runs off. Sir John. Upon my word, Mr. Graves ! Georg., Blount. Encore — encore ! Bravo — bravo ! Graves. It 's all a mistake ! I — I — Sir John, Lady Franklin, you see — that is to say — I — Sainted Maria ! you are spared, at least, this afflic- tion ! Georg. Pray go on ! Blount. Don't let us interwupt you. Graves. Interrupt me ! I must say that this rudeness — this gross impropriety — to pry into the sorrows of a poor bereaved sufferer, seeking comfort from a sympathizing friend — But such is human nature ! Georg. But, Mr. Graves ! — {following Jiim.) Graves. Heartless ! Blount. My dear Mr. Graves ! — (follomng hiin.) Graves. Frivolous ! Sir John. Stay and dine ! — (folloicing Mm.) Graves. Unfeeling ! Omnes. Ha ! — ha ! — ha ! 6CKSB TI.] MONEY. 401 Graves, Monsters ! Good day to you.* \_Exit, followed hy Sir Joux, ijC. SCENE VI. The interior of * * * * 's Club; night; lights, cfc. Small sofa-tables, with books, papers, tea, coffte, ^-c. Several Members grouped by the f replace ; one Member icith his legs over the bach of his chair ; another with his legs over Ms table ; a third with his legs on the chimney-piece. To the left, and in front of the Stage, an old Member reading the newspaper, seated by a small round table ; to the right a card-table, before which Captain Dudley Sjiooth is seated, and sipping lemonade ; at the bottom of the Stage another card-table. Glossmore and Stout. Gloss. You don't come often to the club, Stout ? Stout. No ; time is money. An hour spent at a club is unproductive capital. Old Mem. (^reading the newspaper). Waiter! — the snuff-box. [Waiter brings it. Gloss. So, Evelyn has taken to play ? I see Deadly Smooth, " hushed in grim repose, awaits his evening prey." Deep work to-night, I suspect, for Smooth is drinking lemonade — keeps his head clear — monstrous clever dog ! * For the original idea of this scene the autlior is iodebted to a little ^rouerie, never, he believes, acted in public. 26 4^2 MONEY. [ACT m. hnter Evelyx ; salutes and shakes havds with 'dif- ferent members in 2^(issing up the Stage. How d' ye do, Glossmore ? How are you, Stout ? you don't play, I think ? Political Economy never plays at cards, eh ? — never has time for anything more frivolous than Rents and Profits, Wages and Labor, High Prices and Low — Corn-Laws, Poor- Laws, Tithes, Currency — Dot-and-go-one — Kates, Puzzles, Taxes, Riddles, and Botheration ! Smooili is the man. Aha ! Smooth. Piquet, eh ? You owe me my revenge 1 [Members touch each other signifcanthj : Stout walks away with the snuff-box; Old Member looks at him savagely. Smooth. My dear Alfred, anything to oblige. [ They seat themselves. Old Mem. Waiter ! — the snuO-box. [AVaiter takes it from Stout and brings it hack to Old Member. Enter Blount. Blount. So, so ! Evelyn at it again, — eh, Gloss- more ? Gloss. Yes, Smooth sticks to him like a leech. Clever fellow, that Smooth ! Blount. Will you make up a wubber ? Gloss. Have you got two others ? Blount. Yes ; Flat and Green. Gloss. Bad players. Blount. I make it a wule to play with bad play- SCENE VI.] MONEY. 403 ers ; it is five per cent in one's favor. I hate gambling. But a quiet wubber, if one is the best player out of four, can't do one any harni. Gloss. Clever fellow, that Blount ! [Blount takes up the snuff-hox and walks off with it ; Old Member looks at him savagely. [Blount, Glossmore, Flat, and Green make up a table at the bottom of the Stage. Smooth. A thousand pardons, my dear Alfred, — ninety repique — ten cards ! — game ! Evelyn (^passing a note to him). Game! Before we go on, one question. Tliis is Thursday — how much do you calculate to win of me before Tuesday next? Stnooth. Ce cher A Ifred ! He is so droll ! Ei'elgn (^writing in hu> pocket-book') . Forty games a-night — four nights, minus Sunday — our usual stakes — that would be right, I think ! Smooth (glancing over the account). Quite — if I win all — which is next to impossible. Evelyn. It shall be possible to win twice as much, on one condition. ' Can you keep a secret ? Smooth. My dear Alfred, I have kept myself ! I never inherited a farthing — I never spent less than 4000L a-year — and I never told a soul how I managed it. Evelyn. Hark ye, then — a word with you — • {iiiey whisper). Old Mem. Waiter ! — the snuiF-box ! [Waiter takes it from Blount, Sfc. 404 MONEY. [act in. Enter Sir John. Evelyn. You understand ? Smooth. Perfectl}' ; anything to oblige. Ecehjn (cutting^ It is for you to deal. [ They go on playing. Sir John (groaning). There 's my precious son-in- law, that is to be, spending my consequence, and making a fool of himself. [_Takes up the snuff-box; Old Member looks at him savagely. Blount. I 'm out. Flat, a poney on the odd twick. That's wight. — (Comii^g up counting his money.) AVell, Sir John, you don't play ? Sir John. Play ? no ! Confound him — lost again ! Evelyn. Hang the cards ! — double the stakes ! Smooth. Just as you please — done ! Sir John Done, indeed ! Old Mem. Waiter ! — the snuff-box. [Waiter takes it from Sir John. Blount. I 've won eight points and the bets — I never lose — I never play in the Deadly Smooth set! \^Takes up the snuff-box; Old Member as before. Sir John (looking over Smooth's hand, and fidget- ing backwards and forwards) . Lord, have mercy on us ! Smooth has seven for his point ! What 's the stakes ? Evelyn. Don't disturb us — I only throw out four. Stakes, Sir John ? — immense ! Was ever BOENE PI.] MONEY. 405 such luck ? — not a card for my point. Do stand back, Sir John — I 'm getting irritable. Old Mem. Waiter ! — the snuff-box. [Waiter brings it hacTc. Blount. One hundred pounds on the next game, Evelyn ? Sir John. Nonsense — nonsense — don't disturb him ! All the fishes come to the bait ! Sharks and minnows all nibbling away at my son-in-law ! Erelyn. One hundred pounds, Blount ? Ah ! the finest gentleman is never too fine a gentleman to pick up a guinea. Done ! Treble the stakes, Smooth ! Sir John. I 'm on the rack ! (seizing the .^^niiff- box.) Be cool, Evelyn ! take care, my dear boy ! Be cool — be cool. Evelyn. What — what ? You have four queens ! — five to the king. Confijund the cards ! a fresh pack. (Throws the cards behind him over Sir John.) Old Mem. Waiter ! — the snuff-box. \_Different members gather round. 1st Mem. I never before saw Evelyn out of tem- per. He must be losing immensely ! 2d Mem. Yes, this is interesting ! Sir John. Interesting ! there 's a wretch ! 1st Mem. Poor fellow ! he '11 be ruined in a month ! Sir ,Tohn. I 'm in a cold sweat. 2d Mem. Smooth is the very Devil, Sir John. The Devil's a joke to himl 406 MONEY. [ACT m. Glos!^. (^dapping Sir John on the hack). A clever fellow that Smooth, Sir John, eh ? (Takes up the snuff-box. Old Member as before.') 100/. on this game, Evelyn ? Eveh/n {half turning round). Yon ! well done the Constitntlon ! yes, 100/.! Old Mem. Waiter ! — the snuff-box. Stout. I think I 'll venture 200/., on this game, Evelyn ? Evelyn {quite turning round). Ha! ha! ha! — Enlightenment and the Constitution on the same side of the question at last ! O, Stout, Stout I — greatest happiness of the greatest number — greatest number, number one ! Done, Stout ! — 200/. ! — ha ! ha ! ha ! — deal, Smooth. Well done, PoUticed Economy — ha ! ha ! ha ! Sir John. Quite hysterical — drivelling ! Ar'n't you ashamed of yourselves ? His own cousins — all in a conspiracy — a perfect gang of them. \_Members indignant. Stout (to Members) . Hush ! he 's to marry Sir John's daughter. \st Mem. AVhat, Stingy Jack's ? oh ! Chorus of Members. Oh ! oh ! Old Mem. Waiter ! the snuff-box. Evelyn (rising in great agitation). No more, no more — I 've done ! — quite enough. Glossmore, Stout, Blount — I '11 pay you to-morrow. I — I — Death ! — this is ruinous ! ^Seizes the snuff-box ; Old Member as before. Sir John. Ruinous ? I dare say it is. What SCENE VI.] MONEY. 407 has he lost ? what has he lost, Smooth ? Not much ? eh ? eli ? \_Omnes gather round Simooth. Smooth. Oh, a trille, dear John ! — excuse me ! We never tell our winnings. — (7^o Blount.) How d'ye do, Fred? — (7o Glossmore.) By the by, Charles, don't you want to sell your house in Gros- venor-square ? — 12,000/., eh ? Gloss. Yes, and the furniture at a valuation. About 3,000/. more. Smooth (looking over his pocket-hook^. Um ! — Well, we '11 talk of it. Sir John. 12 and 3 — 15,000/. What a cold- blooded rascal it is ! — 15,000/., Smooth ? Smooth. Oh, the house itself is a trifle ; but the establishment — I 'm considering whether I have enough to keep it up, my dear John. Old Mem. Waiter, the snuff-box ! (Scraping it round, and with a wry face. ^ — And it 's all gone I \_Gives it to the Waiter to Jill. Sir John (turning round). And it 's all gone I Evelyn (starling up and laughing hysterically'). Ha ! ha ! all gone ? not a bit of it. Smooth, this club Is so noisy. Sir John, you are always in the way. Come to my house ! come ! Champagne and a broiled bone. Nothing venture, nothing have ! The luck must turn, and by Jupiter we '11 make a night of it ! Sir John. A night of it ! ! ! For Heaven's sake, Evelyn ! Evelyn I ! — think what you are about J — think of Georgina's feelings ! think of your poor 408 MONEY. UcT in. lost inotlier ! — think of the babes unborn ! think of— Evelyn. I '11 think of nothing ! Zounds 1 — you don't know what I have lost, man ; it 's all your fault, distracting my attention. Pshaw — pshaw '. Out of the way, do ! Come, Smooth. Ha ! ha ! a night of it, my boy — a night of it ! [Exeunt Smooth and Evelyn. Sir John {following). You must not, you shall not ! Evelyn, my dear Evelyn ! he 's drunk — he 's mad ! Will no one send for the police '? Members. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Poor old Stingy Jack ! Old Mem. (rising for the first time, and in a great rage). Waiter ! — the snuff-box ! ACT IV. Scene I. — The Anieroom in Evelyn's hcnise, as in Scene A, Act II. Tabodket, MacFinch, Feantz, and other Tradesmen. Tab. (Jialf wldspers) . So, I hear that Mr. Evelyn has turned gamester ! There are strange reports about to-day — I don't know what to make of it ! We must look sharp, Mr. MacFinch, we poor trades- men, and make hay while the sun shines. MacFinch. I wuish those geeming-houses were aw at the Deevil ! — It 's a sheam and a sin for gen- tlemen to gang and ruin themselves, when we hon- est tradesmen could do it for them with sae muckle advantage to the arts and coummerce o' the country ! \^Omnes shake their heads approvingly. Enter Smooth from the inner room, roith a pocket- hook and pencil m his hand. Smooth (looking round). Hum! ha! Fine pic- tures I — (^Feeling the curtains.) The new-fashioned velvet, hum ! good proportioned rooms ! Yes, this house is better than Glossmore's ! Oh, Mr. Tab- ouret, the upholsterer ! you furnished these rooms V All of the best, eh ? Tab. Oh, the VERY best ! Mr. Evelyn is not a man to grudge expense, sir ! 410 MONEY. [ACT IV. Smooth. He is not, indeed. You Ve been paid, I suppose, Tabouret ? Tab. No, Sir, no — I never send in my bills when a customer is rich. {Aside.) Bills are like trees, and grow by standing. Smoolli. Humph ! Not paid ? humph ! [^Omnes gather round. MacFinch. I dinna like that hoomph, there 's something vara suspeecious abun' it. Tab. (to the tradesmeii). It 's the great card- player. Captain Smooth — finest player in Europe — cleaned out the Duke of Sillyvale. Uncommonly clever man ! Smooth {pacing about the rooni). Thirty-six feet by twenty-eight — Um ! I think a bow-window there would be an improvemerit : could it be done easily, Tabouret ? MacFinch. If Mr. Evelyn wants to pool about bis house, there 's no mon like my friend Mr. Mi.G- Stucco. Smooth. EveljTi ! I was speaking of myself. Mr. Mac Stucco ? — humph ! Tab. Yourself? Have you bought the house, sir ? Smooth. Bought it ? — hum ! — ha ! — it depends — So you 've not been paid yet ? — um ! Nor you — nor you — nor you V Hum ! ha ! Tab. No, sir! — what then? No fear of Mr. Evelyn ! Ha ! ha ! Omnes (anxiously') . Ha ! ha ! — what then ? MacFinch. Ah, sir, what then ? I 'm a puir mon BCEifE II J MONEY. 411 with a femily ; this way, Captain ! You 've a leetle accomit in the builcs ; an' we '11 e'en Avipe it out altogether, gin you '11 say what you mean by that Hoom ha ! Smooth. MacFinch, my dear fellow, don't oblige me to cane you ; I would not have Mr. Evelyn dis- tressed for the world. Poor fellow ! he holds very bad cards. So you 've not been paid yet ? Don't send in your bills on any account — Mind ! Yes ; I don't dislike the house with some alteration. Good day to you — Hum ! ha ! [Exit, lool'ing about Jdm, examining the chairs, tablea, Sj-c. Tab. Plain as a pike-stafl"! staked his very house on an odd trick ! SCENE II. Tlie foregoing. — Enter Sharp y}"o??( the inner room, agi- tated, and in a hurrg. Sliarp. O Lord ! O Lord ! — who 'd have thought it? Cards are the Devil's books! John ! — Thomas ! — Harris ! — (^ringing the bell.^ Enter Two Servants. Tom, take this letter to Sir John Vesey's. If not at home, find him — he will give you a check. Go to his banker's, and get it cashed instantlg. Quick — quick ! off with you ! 412 MONEY. [act IV. Tab. (aeizlng Servant). What 's the matter — what 's the matter ? How 's Mr. Evelyn ? Servant. Bad — very bad ! Sat up all night with Captain Smooth. [^Runx off. Sharp (to the other Servant). Yes, Harris, your poor master ! O dear ! O dear ! You will take this note to the Belgian minister, Portland-place. Passport for Ostend ! Have the travelling carriage ready at a moment's notice ! MacFinch {stopping Servant). Passport ! Hark ye, my mon ; is he gaun to pit the saut seas between us and the siller ? Servant. Don't stop me — something wrong in the chest — change of air — late hours — and Cap tain Smooth ! \_Exit. Sharp {xoalk'mg about'). And if the bank should break ! — if the bank is broke, and he can't draw out ! — bound to Smooth. Tab. Bank ! — what bank ? Sharp. Flash's bank I Flash, brother-in-law to Captain Smooth ! What have you heard ? — eh ? — ch V Tab. That there 's an awful run on it ! Sharp. I must be off. Go — go — you can't see Mr. Evelyn to-day ! Tab. My account, sir ! MacFinch. I 've a niuckle bairns and a sma' bill! Frantz. O sare, de great gentlemen always tink first of de tailor ! Sharp. Call again — call again at Christmas. 8CEHE in.] MONEY. 413 The bank, — the cards, — the bank ! O dear ! O dear ! [Exit. Tab. The bank! MacFinch. The passport ! Frantz. And all dat vil be seen of de great Evelyn coat is de back of it ! Donner und Harjel ! — I vil arrest him — I vil put de salt on de tail of it! Tah. (aside). I'll slip down to the city and see how the bank goes ! MacFinch (aside). I '11 e'en gang to my coosin the la'yer. Nothing but peetience for us, Mr. Tabouret. Tab. Ay, ay, — stick by each other — share and share alike — that 's my way, sir. Omnes. Share and share alike. \_Exeunl. SCENE III. Enter Servant, Glossmore, and Blount. Servant. My master is not very well, my lord ! but I'll let him know. [Exit. Gloss. I 'm very curious to learn the result of his gambling tete-a-tete. Blount. Oh, he 's so howwidly wich, he can afford even a tete-iVtete with Deadly Smooth ! Gloss. Poor old Stingy Jack ! why Georgina was your intended. Blount. Yes ; and I really liked the girl, though 414 MONEY. [ACT IV. out of pique T pwoposed to her cousin. But what can a man do against money ? Enter Evelyn. If we could start fiiir, you 'd see whom Georgina would jtwefer : but she 's sacwificed by her father She as much as told me so ! Evelyn. So, so, gentlemen, wc 've a little account to settle — one hundred each. Both. Don't talk of it. Evelyn {putting up his poclcet-hoolc). Well, I '11 not talk of it ! — {Talimj Blount aside.) Ha ! ha ! you 'd hardly believe it — but I 'd rather not pay you just at present : my money is locked up, and I must wait, you know, for the Groginhole rents. So, instead of owing you one hundred pounds, suppose I owe you five ? You can give me a check for the other four. And, hark ye ! not a word to Gloss- more. Blount. Glossmore ! the gweatcst gossip in Lon- don ! I shall be delighted ! — {Aside.) It never does harm to lend to a wich man ; one gets it back somehow. By the way, Evelyn, if you want my gway cab-horse, you may have him for two hundwed pounds, and that will make seven. Evelyn (aside). That 's the fasliionable usury : your friend does not take interest — he sells you a horse. — {Aloud.) Blount, it 's a bargain. Blount {writing the check, and musingly). No ; I don't see what harm it can do me ; that off-leg must end in a spavin. SCENE in.] MONEY. 415 Evehjn (to Glossmore). That hundred pounds I owe you is rather inconvenient at present ; I 've a large sum to make up for the Groginhole property — perhaps you would lend me five or six hundred more — just to go on with ? Gloss. Certainly ! Hopkins is dead : your inter- est for Cipher would — Evelyn. Why, I can't promise that at this mo- ment. But as a slight mark of fi-iendship and grati- tude, I shall be very much flattered if you '11 accept a splendid gray cab-horse I bought to-day — cost two hundred pounds ! Gloss. Bought to-day ! — then I 'm safe. My dear fellow, you 're always so princely ! Evelyn. Nonsense ! just write the check ; and, hark ye, not a syllable to Blount ! Gloss. Blount ! He 's the town-crier ! \_Goes to imte. Blount {giving Evelyx the check). Wansom's, Pall-mall East. Evelyn. Thank you. So you proposed to Miss Douglas ! Blount. Hang it ! yes ; I could have sworn that she fancied me ; her manner, for instance, that vewy (lay you pwoposed for Miss Vesey, otherwise Georgina — Evelyn. Has only half what Miss Douglas has. Blount. You forget how much Stingy Jack must have saved ! But I beg your pardon. Evelyn. Never mind ; but not a word to Sir John, or he '11 fancy T 'm ruined. 416 MONEY. [act it Gloss, (giving the check). Ransom's, Pall-mall East. Tell me, did you win oi' lose last night ? Evelyn. Win ! lose ! oh ! No more of that, if you love me. I must send off at once to the bank- er's (looking at the two checks). Gloss, (aside). Why ! he 's borrowed from Blount, too! Blount (aside). That 's a check from Lord Glossmore ! Evelyn. Excuse me ; I must dress ; I have not a moment to lose. You remember you dine with me to-day — seven o'clock. You '11 meet Smooth. ( With tears in his voice.) It may be the last time I shall ever Avelcome you here ! My — what am I saying? — Oh, merely a joke! — good by — good by. [Shaking them heartily by the hand. Exit by the inner room. Blount. Glossmore ! Gloss. Blount ! Blount. I am afraid all 's not wight ! Gloss. I incline to your opinion ! Blount. But I 've sold my gway cab-horse. Gloss. Gray cab-horse ! you ! What is he really worth now ? Blount. Since he is sold, I will tell you — Not a sixpence ! Gloss. Not a sixpence ? he gave it to me ! [Evelyn at the door giving directions to a Servant in dumb shmo. SCENE IV-l MONKY. 417 Blount. That was devilish unhandsome ! Do you know, I feel nervous ! Gloss. Nervous I Let us run and stop payment of our checks. [EvELYX shu/s the door., and Servant runs across the stage. Blount. Hollo, John ! where so fast V Servant (in great haste). Beg pardon, Sir Fred- erick, to Pall-mall East — Messrs. Ransom. [^Exit. Blount (solemnly). Glossmore, we are fwoored ? Gloss. Sir, the whole town shall know of it. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Enter ToicE and other Servants. Toke. Come, come, stir yourselves ! we 've no time to lose. This room is to be got ready for the shawls. Mrs. Crump and the other ladies of the household are to wait here on the women before they go up to the drawing-room. Take away that desk ; don't be lazy ! and give me the news- paper. [TOKE seats himself; the Servants hnslle about. Strange reports about my patron ! and the walley is gone for the passport ! Enter Frantz toilh a bundle. 27 418 MONEY. [ACT IV Frantz. Islv. Toke, my goot Mr. Toke, I 've brought you von leetel present. Toke. John and Charles, vanish ! \Exeunt Servants. I scorn to corrupt them 'ere working classes ! Frantz {producing a pair of small-clothes wliich Toke examines'). Your master is von beggar! He vants to run avay ; ve are aU in de same vat- you-call-it — de same leetel nasty boat, Mr. Toke ! Just let my friend Mr. Clutch up through the area. I vil put vat you call un execution on de gutes and de catties dis very tay. Toke. I accept the abridgments: but you've forgotten to line the pockets ! Frantz. Blesh my soul, so I have ! (giving a note). Toke. The area-gate shall be left undefended. Do it quietly — no claw, as the French say. Frantz. Goot Mr. Toke — to-morrow I vill line de oter pocket. \_Exit. Toke. My patron does not give me satisfaction ! Enter Footman. Footman. What chandeliers are to be lighted, Mr. Toke ? — it 's getting late. Toke. Don't disturb me — I 'm rum-m}nating ! — yes, yes, there 's no doubt of it ! Charles, the ai-ea- gate is open ? Footman. And all the plate in the pantry ! I '11 run and — Toke. Not a step ! leave it open. 80KNE v.] MONEY. 419 Footman. But — Take (with dignilij). It 's for the sake of wentila- tion ! [_Exeunt. SCENE V. A splendid saloon in Evelyn's house, Evelyn and Graves. Graves. You 've withdrawu your money from Flasli and Brisk ? Evelyn. No. Gra ves . No ! — then — Enter Sir John, Lady Franklin, and Georgina. Sir John, You got the check for 500Z. safely ? — too happy to — Evelyn {interrupting him). My best thanks ! — Tiy warmest gratitude ! So kind in you ! so season- able ! — that 500/. — you don't know the value of 500Z. I shall never forget your nobleness of con- duct. Sir John. Gratitude ! Nobleness ! — (Aside.) I can't have been taken in ? Evelyn. And in a moment of such distress ! Sir John (aside). Such distress ! He picks out the ugliest words in the whole dictionary ! Evelyn. I 've done with Smooth. But I 'm still a little crippled, and you must do me another favor. 420 MONEY. Iact it. I've only as yet paid the deposit of ten per cent for the great Groginhole property. I am to pay the rest this week — nay, 1 fear to-morrow. I 've already sold out of the Funds ; the money lies at the banker's, and of course I can't touch it ; for if I don't pay by a certain day, I forfeit the estate and the deposit. Sir John. What 's coming now, I wonder ? Evelyn. Georgina's fortune is 10,000/. I alway? meant, my dear Sir John, to present you with that little sum. Sir John. Oh, Evelyn ! your genei'osity is posi- tivel}' touching (wipes his eyes). Evelyn. But the news of my losses has frightened my tradesmen ! I have so many heavy debts at this moment that — that — that — But I see Geor- gina is listening, and I '11 say what I have to say to her. Sir John. No, no — no, no. Girls don't under- stand business ! Evelyn. The very reason I speak to her. This is an affair not of business, but of feeling. Stout, show Sir John my Correggio. Sir John (aside). Devil take his Correggio ! The man is born to torment me ! Evelyn. ]\Iy dear Georgina, whatever you may hear said of me, I flatter myself that you feel con- iidence in my honor. Georg. Can you doubt it ? Evelyn. I confess that I am embarrassed at this moment : I have been weak enough to lose money SCENE v.) MONKV. 421 at play; and there are other demands on me. I promise you never to gamble again as long as I live. My affairs can be retrieved; but for the first few years of our marriage it may be necessary to retrench. Georg. Retrench ! Evelyn. To live, perhaps, altogether in the country. Georg. Altogether in the countr}' ! Evelyn. To confine ourselves to a modest com- petence. Georg. Modest competence ! I knew something horrid was coming ! Evelyn. And now, Georgina, you may have it in your power at this moment to save me from much anxiety and humiliation. My money is locked up — my debts of honor must be settled — you are of age — your 10,000^. in your own hands — Sir John (Stout listening as well as Siu John). I 'm standing on hot iron ! Evelyn. If you could lend it to me for a few weeks — You hesitate ! oh ! believe the honor of the man you will call your husband before all the calumnies of the fools whom we call the world ! Can you give me this proof of your confidence ? Re- member, without confidence, what is wedlock ? Sir John (aside to her). No! (Aloud, ■pointing his glass at the Correggio.) Yes, the painting may be fine. Stout. But you don't lilce the subject ? Georg. (aside). He may be only trying me ! Best leave it to papa. 422 MONEY. [act IV Evehjn. Well — Georg. You — you sliall hear from me to-mor- row. — (^Aside.) Ah, there 's that dear Sir Fred- erick ! \_Goes to Blount, Bnter Glossmore and Smooth ; Evelyn saluies them, paying Smooth servile respect. Lady F. {to Graves). Ha ! ha I To be so dis- turbed yesterday, — was it not droll ? Graves. Never recur to that humiliating topic. Gloss, (to Stout). See how Evelyn fawns upon Smooth ! Stout. How mean in him ! — Smooth — a profes- sional gambler — a fellow who lives by his wits ! 1 would not know such a man on any account ! Smooth (to Globs.). So Hopkins is dead — you want Cipher to come in for Groginhole, eh ? Gloss. What ! — could you manage it ? Smooth. Ce cher Charles ' — anything to oblige ! Stout. Groginhole ! What can he have to do with Groginhole ? Glossmore, present me to Smooth. Gloss. What ! the gambler — the fellow who lives by his wits ? Stout. Why, his wits seem to be an uncommonly productive capital ? I '11 introduce myself How d' ye do, Captain Smooth ? We have met at the club, I think — I am charmed to make your acquaint- ance in private. I say, sir, what do you tliink of the afiairs of the nation ? Bad ! very bad ! — no enlightenment ! — great fall off in the revenue ! — ROUSE v.] MONEY. 423 no knowledge of finance ! There 's only one man who can save the country — and that 's Popkins ! Smoolli. Is he In Parliament, Mr. Stout V What 's your Christian name, by-the-by V Stout. Benjamin. — No ; — constituencies are so ignorant, they don't understand his value. He 's no orator : in fact, he stammers so mvich — but devilish profound. Could not we insure him for Grogin- hole V Smooth. My dear Benjamin, it 's a thing to be thought on. Evelyn (advancing). My friends, pray be seated ; — I wish to consult you. This day twelve months I succeeded to an immense income, and as, by a happy coincidence, on the same day I secured your esteem, so now I wish to ask you if you think I could have spent that income in a way more worthy your good opinion. Gloss. Impossible ! excellent taste — beautiful house ! Blount. Vewy good horses — (Aside to Gloss- more) especially the gway cab ! Lady F. Splendid pictures ! Graves. And a magnificent cook, ma'am ! Smooth {thrusting his hands into his pockets). It 's my opinion, Alfred — and I 'm a judge — that you could not have spent your money better ! Omnes (except Sir John). Very true ! Evelyn. What say you, Sir John ? You may think me a little extravagant ; but you know that in this world the only way to show one's self thoroughly 424 MONEY. [act it respectable is to make a thoroughly respectable show. Sh' John. Certainly — certainly ! No, you could not have done better. (Aside.) I don't know what to make of it. Georg. Certainly. — {Coaxingly.) Don't re- trench, my dear iVlfred ! Gloss. Retrench ! nothing so plebeian ! Stout. Plebeian, sir ! — worse than plebeian ! — it is against all the rules of public morality. Every one knows, now-a-days, that extravagance is a benefit to the population — encourages art — em- ploys labor — and multiplies spinning-jennies. Evelijn. You reassure me ! I own I did think that a man worthy of friends so sincere might have done something better than feast — dress — drink — play — Glosa. Nonsense — we like you the better for it. (^Aside.) I wish I had my 600/. back, though. Evelyn. And you are as much my friends now as when you offered me IQL for my old nurse ? Sir John. A thousand times more so, m}- dear boy! \_Omnes approve. Enter Sharp. Smooth. But who 's our new friend ? Evelyn. Who ! the very man wlio first an- nounced to me the wealth which you allow I have spent so well. But what 's the matter, Sharp '^ Sharp (ivhisperiny Evel I'x). SCENE v.] MONEY. 425 Evelyn (aloud). The bank 's broke ! Sir John. Broke ! — what bank ? Evelyn. Flash, Brisk, and Co. Gloss, (to Smooth). And Flash was your brother-in-law. I 'm very sorry. Smooth (tallng snuff). Not at all, Charles, — 1 did not bank there. Sir John. But I warned you — you withdrew ? Evelyn. Alas ! no ! Sir John. Oh ! Not much in their hands ? Evelyn. Why, I told j'ou the purchase-money for Groginhole was at my bankers' — but no, no don't look so frightened ! It was not placed with Flash — it is at Hoare's — It is, indeed. Nay, I assure you it is. A mere trifle at Flash's, upon my ■word, now ! To-morrow, Sharp, we '11 talk of this ! One day more — one day, at least, for enjoyment Sir John. Oh ! a pretty enjoyment ! Blount. And he borrowed 700/. of me ! Gloss. And 600Z. ofme! Sir John. And 500/. of me I Stout. Oh ! a regular Jeremy Diddler ! Smooth (to Sir Joiix). John, do you know, I think I Avould take a handsome offer for this house just as it stands — furniture, plate, pictures, books, bronzes, and statues ! Sir John. Powers aboA'e ! Stout (to Sir Joiix). I say you have placed your daughter in a very unsafe investment. What then ? — a daughter 's like any other capital — transfer the stock in hand to t' other speculation. 426 MONEY. [act it. Sir John (going to Georg.). Ha ! I 'm afraid we 've been very rude to Sir Frederick. A moa- strous fine young man ! Enter Toke. Take (to Evelyn). Sir, I' beg your pardon, but Mr. MacFinch insists on my giving you this letter instantly. Evelyn (reading). How ! Sir John, this fellow, MacFinch, has heard of my misfortunes, and insists on being paid ; — a lawyer's letter — quite in- solent ! Tohe. And, sir, Mr. Tabouret is below, and declares he won't stir till he 's paid. Evelyn. Won't stir till he 's paid ! What 's to be done, Sir John ? — Smooth, what is to be done ? Smooth. If he won't stir till he 's paid, make him up a bed, and I '11 take him in the inventory as one of the fixtures, Alfred ! Evelyn. It is very well for you to joke, Mr. Smooth. But — Enter SherifTs Officer, giving a paper to Evelyn, and whispering. Evelyn. What 's this ? Frantz, the tailor. "Wliy, the impudent scoundrel ! Faith, this is more than I bargained for — Sir John, the bailiffs ai-e in the house ! Stout (slapping Sir John on the bach wiOi glee). The bailiffs are in the house, old gentleman ! But I did n't lend him a farthing. BCENE V.J MONEY. 427 Evelyn. And for a mere song — 150Z. ! Sir John, pay this fellow, will you ? or see that my people kick out the baililfs, or do it yourself, or something, — while we go to dinner ! Sir John. Pay — kick — I '11 be d^ d if I do ! — Oh, my 500;. ! my 500Z. ! Mr. Alfred Evelyn, I want my 500Z. ! Graves. I'm going to do a very silly thing — I shall lose both my friend and my money ; — just like my lurk ! — Evelyn, go to dinner — I '11 settle this for you. Lady F. I love you for that ! Graves. Do jou ? then I am the happiest — Ah 1 ma'am, I don't know what I am saying ! \_Exeunt Graves and Officer. Evelyn (to Georg.). Don't go by these appear- ances ! I repeat 10,000L will more than cover all my embarrassments. I shall hear from you to-mor- row ? Georg. Yes — yes ! Evelyn. But you 're not going ? — You, too, Glossmore ? — you, Blount ? — you. Stout ? — you, Smooth ? Smooth. No ; I '11 stick by you as long as you 've a guinea to stake ! Gloss. Oh, this might have been expected from a man of such ambiguous political opinions ! Stout. Don't stop me. Sir. No man of common enlightenment would have squandered his substance in this way. Pictures and statues ? — baugh ! Evelyn. Why, you all said I could not spend my 428 MONEY. [act nr, money better ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! — the absurdest mis- take ! — you don't fancy I'm going to prison? — Ha ! ha ! — Why don't you laugli, Sir John ? — Ha! ha! ha! Sir John. Sir, this horrible levity ! — Take Sir Frederick's arm, my poor, injured, innocent child I — Mr. Evelyn, after this extraordinary scene, you can't be surprised that I — I — Zounds! I'm suffo- cating ! Smooth. But, my dear John, it is for us at least to put an execution on the dinner. Slout (^aside). The election at Groginhole is to- morrow. This news may not arrive before the poll closes. — (RitsJdng to Evelyn.) Sir, Popkins never bribes : but Popkins will bet you 1,000/. that he don't come in for Groginhole. Gloss. This is infamous, Mr. Stout ! Cipher is a man who scorns every subterfuge ! — (^Aside to Evelyn.) But, for the sake of the Constitution, name your price. Evelyn. I know the services of Cipher — I know the profundity of Popkins : but it 's too late — the borough 's engaged ! Toke. Dinner is served. Gloss, (^pausing). Dinner ! Stout. Dinner ! it 's a very good smell ! Evelyn (to Sir John). Turtle and venison, too. [They stop irremlute. Evelyn. That 's right — come along. But, I say, Blount — Stout — Glossmore — Sir John — one word first; will you lend me lOl. for my old nurs ; ? [ They all fall back. SCENE v.] MONEY. 429 Ah ! you fall back. — Behold a lesson for all who build friendship upon their fortune, and not their virtues ! — You lent me hundreds this morning to squander upon pleasure — you would refuse me 10/. now to bestow upon benevolence. Go — we have done with each other — go ! [Exeunt, indignantly, all hut Evelyn and Smooth. Re-enter Graves. Grares. Heyday! — what's all this? Evelyn. Ha ! ha ! — the scheme prospers — the duper w duped ! Come, my friends — come ! when the standard of money goes down, in the great bat- tle between man and fate — why, a bumper to the brave hearts that refuse to desert us ! [Exeunt. ACT V. ScEms I. — * * * * *'s Club; Smooth, Glossmoke — other Members. Gloss. W'll his horses be sold, think you ? Smooth. Very possibly, Charles ! — a fine stud — hum ! ha ! — Waiter, a glass of sherry ! Gloss. They say he must go abroad. Smooth, ^^'^ell ! it 's the best time of year for travelling, Charles ! Gloss. We are all to be paid to-day : and tliat looks suspicious ! Smooth. Very suspicious, Charles ! Hum ! — ah! Gloss. ]\Iy dear fellow, you must know the rights of the matter : I wish you 'd speak out. What have you really won ? Is the house itself gone ? Smooth. The house itself is certainly not gone, Charles, for I saw it exactly in the same place this morning at half-past ten — it has not moved an inch ! [Waiter gives a letter to Glossmoke. Gloss, (reading). From Groginhole — an ex- press ! What 's this ? I 'm amazed ! ! ! {Read- ing.') " They've actually, at the eleventh hour, started Mr. Evelyn ; and nobody knows what his politics are ! We shall be heat ! — the Constitution is gone ! — Cipher ! " Oh ! this is infamous in SCESE I.] MONEY. 431 Evelyn ! Gets into Parliament just to keep himself out of the Bench. Smooth. He 's capable of it ! Gloss. Not a doubt of it, sir! — Not a doubt of it! Enter Sir John and Blount, talking. Sir John. My dear boy, I 'm not flint ! I am but a man ! If Georgina really loves you — and I am sure that she does — I will never think of sacri- ficing her happiness to ambition — she is yours ; I told her so this very morning. Blount (^aside). The old humbug ! Sir John. She 's the best of daughters ! — the most obedient, artless creature ! Oh ! she 's been properly bi'ought up ; a good daughter makes a good wife. Dine with me at seven, and we '11 talk of the settlements. Blount. Yes ; I don't care for fortune ; — but — Sir John. Her 10,000/. will be settled on herself — that of course. Blount. All of it, sir ? Weally, I — Sir John. What then, my dear boy ? I shall leave you both all I 've laid by. Ah ! you know I 'm a close fellow ! " Stingy Jack " — eh ? After all, worth makes the man ! Smooth. And the more a man 's worth, John, the worthier man he must be ! \_Exit. Blount (aside). Yes ; he has no other child ! she must have all his savings ; I don't see what harm it could do me. Still that 10,000^. — I want that i32 MONEY. [act V 10,000Z. ; if she would but -vvun off now, one could get wid of the settlements. Enter Stout (wiping his forehead'), and takes Sir John aside. Stout. Sir John, we *ve been played upon ! My secretary is brother to Flash's head clerk ; Evelyn had not 300/. in the bank ! Sir John. Bless us and save us I you take away my breath ! But then — Deadly Smooth — the execution — the — oh, he must be done up ! Stout. As to Smooth, he 'd " do anytliing to oblige." All a trick, depend upon it ! Smooth has already deceived me, for before the day 's over Evelyn will be member for Groginhole. I 've had an express from Popkins; he 's in despair ! not for himself — but for the country. Sir John — what 's to become of the country ? Sir John. But what could be Evelyn's object ? Stout. Object? Do you look for an object in a whimsical creature like that ? A man who has not even any political opinions ! Object ! Perhaps to break off his match with your daughter ! Take care, Sir John, or the borough will be lost to your family ! Sir John. Aha ! I begin to smell a rat ! But it 's not too late yet. Stout. INIy interest in Popkins made me run to Lord Spendrpiick, the late proprietor of Groginhole. I told him that Evelyn could not pay the rest of the money ; and he told me that — SCENE I.] MONEY. 433 Sir John. What ? Stout. Mr. Sharp had just paid it him ; there 's no hope for Popkins ! England will rue this day ! Sir John. Georgina shall lend him the money ! I'll lend him — every man in my house shall lend him — I feel again what it is to be a father-in-law ! — (^ side^ But stop ; I '11 be cautious. Stout may be on his side — a trap — not likely; but I'll go first to Spendquick myself. Sir Frederick, excuse me — you can't dine with me to-day. And, on sec- ond thoughts, I see tliat it would be very unhand- some to desert poor Evelyn, now he 's down in the world. Can't think of it, my dear boy — can't think of it ! Very much honored, and happy to see you as a friend. Waiter, my carriage ! Um ! What, humbug Siinr/}/ Jack, will they ? Ah ! a good joke, indeed ! [^Exit. Blount. Mr. Stout, what have you been saying to Sir John '? Something against my chawacter ; I know you have ; don't deny it. Sir, I shall expect satisfaction ! Stout. Satisfaction, Sir Frederick ? as if a man of enlightenment had any satisfaction in fighting I Did not mention your name ; we were talking of Evelyn. Only think ! — he 's no more ruined than you are. Blount. Not wuined ! Aha, now I understand I ■ — So, so ! Stay, let me see — she 's to meet me in the squai-e ! \_PuUfi Old his toatch ; a very small one. 28 434 MO>»EY. [ACT T. Stout ( pulling out Jus mon ; a very large one). I must be off to the vestry. Blount. Just in time ! — ten thousand pounds 1 'Gad, my blood 's up, and I won't be tweated in this "wsLy, if he were fifty times Stingy Jack' [Exit. SCENE II. The drawing-rooms in Sik John Veset's house. Lady Feanklin, Graves. Graves. Well, well, I am certain that poor Eve- lyn loves Clara still, but you can't persuade me that she cares for him. Lachj F. She ha§ been breaking her heart ever sinc6 she heard of his distress. Nay, I am sure she would give all she has, could it save him from the consequences of his own folly. Graves {half aside). She would only give him his own money, if she did. I should like just to sound her. Larfi/ F. {rincjing the hell). And you shall. I take so much interest in her, that I forgive your fi'iend everything but his offer to Georgina. Enter Servant. Where are the young ladies ? Servant. Miss Vesey is, I believe, still in the square : JMiss Douglas is just come in, my lady. SCENE II.] MONEY. 435 Lady F. What I did she go out with liliss Vesey ? Servant No, my lady ! I attended her to Drum- mond's the banker. \_Exit. Lady F. Drummond's I Enter Clara. Why, child, what on earth could take you to Drummond's at this hour of the day ? Clara {confused). Oh, I — that is — I — Ah, Mr. Graves ! How is Mr. Evelyn V How does he bear up against so sudden a reverse ? Graves. With an awful calm. I fear all is not right here! {Touching his head). — The report in the town is, that he must go abroad instantly, — perhaps to-d;\y ! Clara. Abroad ! — to-day ! Graves. But all his creditors will be paid ; and he only seems anxious to know if Miss Vesey re- mains true in his misfortunes. Clara. Ah ! he loves her so much, then ! Graves. Um ! — that 's more than I can say. Clara. She told me last night, that he said to the last that 10,000^. would free him from all his liabili- ties, — that was the sum, was it not ? Graves. Yes ; he persists in the same assertion. Will Miss Vesey lend it ? Lady F. (aside). If she does, I shall not think so well of her poor dear mother; for I am sure she 'd be no child of Sir John's ! Graves. I should like to convince m}self that 436 MONEY. [act v. my poor friend has nothing to hope from a woman's generosity'. Lathj F. Civil ! And are men, tlien, less cov- etous V Graves. I know one man, at least, who, rejectea in his poverty by one as poor as himself, no sooner came into a sudden fortune than he made his law yer invent a codicil which the testator never dreamt of, bequeathing independence to the woman who had scorned him. Lady F. And never told her ! Graves. Never ! There 's no such document at Doctors' Commons, depend on it ! You seem in- credulous, Miss Clara ! Good-day ! Clara {following Jiim). One word, for mercy's sake ! Do I understand you right ? Ah, how could 1 be so blind ? Generous Evelyn ! Graves. You appreciate, and Georgina will de- sert him. Miss Douglas, he loves you still. — I that 's not just like me ! Meddling with other peo- ple's affairs, as if they were worth it — hang them ! \_Exit. Clara. Georgina will desert him. Do you think 80 ? — {Aside.) Ah, he will soon discover that she never wrote that letter ! Lady F. She told me last night that she would never see him again. To do her justice, she 's less interested than her father, — and as much attached as she can be to another. Even while engaged to Evelyn she has met Sir Frederick every day in the square. BCESEnJ MONEY. 437 Clara. And he is alone — sad — forsaken — ruined. And I, -whom he enriched — I, the crea- ture of his bounty — I, once the woman of his love — I stand idly here to content myself with tears and prayers ! O, Lady Franklin, have pity on me ■ — on him ! We are both of kin to him — as rela- tions we have both a right to comfort ! Let us go to him — come ! Ladi/ F. No ! it would scarcely be right — re- member the world — I cannot ! Clara. All abandon him — then I will go alone ! Lady F. You ! — so proud — so sensitive ! Clara. Pride — when he wants a friend ? Lady F. His misfortunes are his own fault — a gambler ! Clara. Can you think of his faults now ? / have no right to do so. All I have — all — his gift ! — and I never to have dreamed it ! Lady F. But if Georgina do indeed release him — if she have already done so — what will he think ? What but — Clara. What but — that, if he love me still, I may have enough for both, and I am by his side ! But that is too bright a dream. He told me I might call him brother ! Where now, should a sister be ? — But — but — I — I — I— tremble ! If, after all — if — if — In one word am I too bold ? The world — my conscience can answer that — but do you think that HE could despise me ? Lady F. No, Clara, no ! Your fair soul is too transparent for even libertines to misconstrue. 438 MONEY. (ACT T. Something tells me that this meeting may make the happiness of both ! You cannot go alone. My presence justifies all. Give me your hand — we will go together! \_Exeunt. SCENE m. A room in Evelyn's house. Evelyn. Yes; as yet, all surpasses my expecta- tions. I am sure of Smooth — I have managed even Sharp : my election will seem but an escape from a pi'ison. Halhal True, it cannot last long; but a few hours more are all I require, and for that time at least I shall hope to be thoroughly ruined. Enter Graves. "Well, Graves, and what do people say of me ? Graces. Everything that 's bad ! Evelyn. Three days ago I was universally re- spected. I awake this moi-ning to find myself singu- larly infamous. Yet I 'm the same man. Graves. Plumph ! why gambling — Evelyn. Cant ! it was not criminal to gamble — it was criminal to lose. Tut! — will you deny that if I had ruined Smooth instead of myself, every hand would have grasped mine yet more cordially, and every lip would have smiled congratulation on my success ? Man — Man ! I 've not been rich and poor for nothing ! The Vices and the Virtues are SCENE III.] MONEY. 439 ■written in a language the World cannot construe ; it reads them in a vile translation, and the transla- tors are — Failure and Success ! You alone are unchanged. Graves. There 's no merit in that. I am always ready to mingle my tears with any man. — {Aside.) I know I 'm a fool, but I can't help it. Hark ye, Evelyn ! I like you — I 'm rich ; and anything I can do to get you out of your hobble will give me an excuse to grumble for the rest of my life. There, now it 's out. Evelyn {touched). There 's something good in human nature after all ! My dear friend, I will now confide in you : I am not the spendthrift you think me — my losses have been trifling — not a month's income of my fortune (Graves shakes him heartily by the hand). No ! — it has been but a strat- agem to prove if the love, on which was to rest the happiness of a whole life, were given to the Money or the Man. Now, you guess why I have asked from Georgina this one proof of confidence and affection. — Tliink you she will give it ? Graves. Would you break your heart if she did not? Evelyn. It is in vain to deny that I still love Clara ; our last conversation renewed feelings which would task all the energies of my soul to conquer. What, then? I am not one of those, the Sybarites of sentiment, who deem it impossible for humanity to conquer love — who call their own ■weakness the voice of a resistless destiny. Such ia 440 MONEY. [act v. the poor excuse of every •woman who yields her honor, of every adulterer who betrays his fricud ! No ! the heart was given to the soul as its ally, not as its traitor. Graves. What do you tend to? Evelyn. This : — If Georgina still adhere to my fortunes (and I will not put her to too harsh a trial) ; if she can face the prospect, not of ruin and poverty, but of a moderate independence ; if, in one word, she love me for myself, I will shut Clara forever from my thoughts. I am pledged to Georgina. and I will carry to the altar a soul resolute to deserve her affection and fulfil its vows. Graves. And if she reject you ? Evelyn (^joyfully). If she do, I am free once more I And then — then I will dare to ask, for I can ask without dishonor, if Clara can explain the past and bless the future I Enter Servant with a letter. Evelyn (after reading it). The die is cast — the dream is over ! Generous girl I O Georgina ! I will deserve you yet. Graves. Georgina ! is it possible ? Evelyn. And the delicacy, the womanhood, the exquisite grace of this ! How we misjudge the depth of the human heart! How seeing tlie straws on the surfixce, we forget that the pearls may lie hid below ! * I imagined her incapable of this de- votion. * " Errors like straws," &c. SCENE IV.] MONEY. 441 Graves. And I too. Evelyn. It were base in me to continue this trial a moment longer : I will write at once to undeceive that generous heart {wrilimj). Graves. I would have given 1,000Z. if that little jade Clara had been beforehand. But just like my luck : if I want a man to marry one woman, he 's sure to marry another on purpose to vex me ! [EVKLYN rinc/x the bell. Enter Servant. Evelyn. Take this instantly to ]\'Iiss Vesey ; say I will call in an hour. (Exit Servant.) And now Clara is resigned forever ! Why does my heart sink within me ? Why, why, looking to the fate to come, do I see only the memory of what has been V Graves. You are re-engaged then to Georgina? Evelyn. Irrevocably. SCENE IV. Enter Servant, announcing Lady Franklin and Miss Douglas. Evelyn and Graves Lady F. My dear Evelyn, you may think it strange to receive such visitors at this moment; but, indeed, it is no time for ceremony. We are your relations — it is reported you are about to 442 -'.iONEY. [act V leave the country — we come to ask frankly what we can do to serve you ? Evelyn. Madam — I — Lady F. Come, come — do not hesitate to con- fide in us ; Clara is less a stranger to you than I am : your friend here will perhaps let me consult with him. — (Aside to Graves.) Let us leave them to themselves. Graves. You 're an angel of a widow ; but you come too late, as whatever is good lor anything generally does. {They retire into the inner room, zcJiich shnuld be partially open. Eretyn. Miss Douglas, I may well want words to thank you ; this goodness — this sympathy — Clara (abandoninr/ herself to her emotion). Evelyn I Evelyn ! Do not talk thus ! — Goodness; sympathy ! — I have learned all — all ! It is for me to speak of gratitude ! What ! even when I had so wounded you — when you believed me mercenary and cold — when you thought that I was blind and base enough not to know you for what you are; — even at thai time you thought but of my happiness — my fortunes — my fate ! — And to you — you — I owe all that has raised the poor orphan from servitude and depend- ence ! While your words were so bitter, your deeds so gentle ! Oh, noble Evelyn, this then was your revenge ! Evelyn. You owe me no thanks — that revenge was sweet ! Think you it was nothing to feel that my presence haunted you, though you knew it not V SCENE IV.J MONEY. 443 — that in things, the pettiest as the greatest, which that gold could buy — the very jewels you wore — the very robe in which, to other eyes, you might seem more fair — in all in which you took the woman's young and innocent delight — / had a part — a share ? that, even if separated forever — even if another's — even in distant years — perhaps in a happy home, listening to sweet voices that might call you " mother ! " even then should the uses of that dross bring to your lips one smile — that smile was mine — due to me — due, as a sacred debt, to the hand that you rejected — to the love that you despised ! Clara. Despised ! See the proof that I despised you ! — see : in this hour, when they say you are again as poor as before, I forget the world — my pride — pei'haps too much my sex : I remember but your sorrows — I am here ! Evelyn (aside). Oh, Heaven! give me strength to bear it ! — (Aloud.) And is this the same voice that, when I knelt at your feet — when I asked but one day the hope to call you mine — spoke only of poverty, and answered, " Never " ? Clara. Because I had been unworthy of your love if I had insured your misery. Evelyn, hear me ! My father, like you, was poor — generous ; gifted, like you, with genius — ambition : sensitive, like you, to the least breath of insult. He married, as you would have done — married one whose only dower was penury and care ! Alfred, I saw that genius the curse to itself! — I saw that ambition 444 MONEY. [ACT T •wither to despair ! — I saw the struggle — the humiliation — the proud man's agony — the bitter life — the early death ! — and heard over his breath- less clay my mother's groan of self-reproach ! Al- fred Evelyn, now speak ! Was the woman you loved so nobly to repay you with such a doom ? Evelyn. Clara, we should have shared it ! Clara. Shared ? Never let the woman who really loves, comfort her selfishness with such delu- sion ! In marriages like this the wife cannot share the burden ; it is he — the husband — to provide, to scheme, to work, to endure — to grind out his strong heart at the miserable wheel ! The wife, alas ! can- not share the struggle — she can but witness the despair ! And therefore, Alfred, I rejected you. Evelyn. Yet you believe me as poor now as I was then. Clara. But / am not poor : we are not so poor ! Of this fortune, which is all your own — if, as I hear, one half would free you from your debts, why, we have the other half still left. Evelyn ! it is humble — but it is not penury. Evelyn. Cease, cease — you know not how you torture me. Oh, that when hope was possible; — oh, that you had bid me take it to my breast and ■wait for a brighter day ! Clara. And so have consumed your life of life upon a hope perhaps delayed till age — shut you from a happier choice, from fairer fortunes — • shackled you with vows that, as my youth and its poor attributes decayed, would only have irritated SCENE ir.] MONEY. 445 and galled — made your whole existence one long suspense ! No, Alfred, even yet you do not know me ! Evelyn. Know you ! Fair angel, too excellent for man's harder nature to understand ! — at least it is permitted me to revere. Why were such blessed words not vouchsafed to me before ? — why, why come they now V — too late ! Oh, Heaven — too late ! Clara. Too late ! What, then, have I said ? Evelyn. Wealth ! wliat is it without you ? With you, 1 recognize its power ; to forestall your every wish — to smooth your every path — to make all that life borrows from Grace and Beauty your ministrant and handmaid; and then, looking to those eyes, to read there the treasures of a heart that excelled all that kings could lavish ; — why that were to make gold indeed a god ! But vain — vain — vain ! Bound by every tie of faith, grati- tude, loyalty, and honor, to another ! Clara. Another ! Is she, then, true to your re- verses ? I did not know this — indeed, I did not 1 And I have thus betrayed myself! O, shame I he must despise me now I 446 MONET. [act V SCENE V. The foregoing. — Enter Sir John; at the same time Graves and Lady Franklin advance from the inner room. Sir John (ivith dignity and frankness). Evelyn, I was hasty yesterday. You must own it natural that I should be so. But Geoi'gina has been so urgent in your defence, that — {as Lady Frank- Lix comes up to luten) Sister, just shut the door, will you — that I cannot resist her. What 's money without happiness ? So give me your security ; for she insists on lending you the 10,000/. Evelyn. I know ; and have already received it. Sir John. Already received it ! Is he joking ? Faith, for the last two days I believe I have been living amongst the Mysteries of Udolpho ! Sister, have you seen Georgina ? Lady F. Not since she went out to walk in the square. Sir John (aside). She 's not in the square nor the house — where the deuce can the girl be ? Evelyn. I have written to Miss Vesey — I have asked her to fix the day for our wedding. Sir John (joyfully). Have you ? Go, Lady Franklin, find her instantly — she must be back by this time : take my carriage, it is but a step — you won't be two minutes gone. — (Aside.) I 'd go my- self, but I 'm afraid of leaving him a moment while he 's in such excellent dispositions. SCENE v.] MONEY. 447 Lachj F. (^repulsing Clara). No, no : stay till I return. \_Exit. Sir John. And don't be down-hearted, my dear fellow ; if the worst come to the worst, you will have everything I can leave you. Meantime, if I can in any way help you — Evelyn. Ha ! — you ! — you, too ? Sir John, you have seen my letter to Miss Vesey ? (^Aside) or could she have leai*ned the truth before she ven- tured to be generous ? Sir John. No ! on my honor. I only just called at the door on my way from Lord Spend — that is, from the City. Georgina was out ; — was ever anything so unlucky ? — ( Without.') [Hurrah — hurrah ! Blue for ever ! ] — What 's that ? Enter Sharp. Sharp, Sir, a deputation from Groglnhole — poll closed in the first hour — you are returned! Holloa, sir — holloa ! Evelyn. And it was to please Clara ! Sir John. Mr. Sharp — Mr. Sharp — I say, how much has INIr. Evelyn lost by Messrs. Flash and Co. ? Sharp. Oh, a great deal, sir, — a great deal. Sir John {alarmed) . How ? — a great deal ! Evelyn. Speak the truth. Sharp, — concealment is all over. Sharp. 223L 6s. Zd. — a great sum to throw away ! Graves. Ah, 1 comprehend now ! Poor Evelyn caught in his own ti'ap 1 448 MONEY. [ACT V. Sir John. Eh ! what, my dear boy ? — what ? Ha! ha! all humbug, was it? — all humbug, upon my soul ! So, Mr. Sharp, is n't he ruined after all ? — not the least, wee, rascally, little bit in the world, ruined V Sharp. Sir, he has never even lived up to his income. Sir John. Worthy man ! I could jump up to the ceiling ! I am the happiest father-in-law in the three kingdoms. — And that's my sister's knock, too. Clara. Since I was mistaken, cousin, — since, now, you do not need me, — forget what has passed ; my business here is over. Farewell ! Evelyn. Could you but see my heart at this moment, with what love, what veneration, what anguish it is filled, you would know how little, in the great calamities of life, fortune is really worth. And must we part now, — now, when — when — I never we2:)t before, since my mother died ! Enter Lady Fraxiclix and Gkougixa, followed by Blount, xoho looks shy and embarrassed. Graves. Georgina herself — then there 's no hope. Sir John. What the deuce brings that fellow Blount here? — Georgy, my dear Georgy, I want to — Evelyn. Stand back, Sir Jolm ! Sir .Mm. But I must speak a word to her — 1 want to — Evelyn. Stand back, I say, — not a whisper — SCENE V-l MOXKY. 44 9 not a sign. If your daughter is to be my wife, to her heart only will 1 look for a reply to mine. Lady F. (to Gkoug."). Speak the truth, niece. Evelyn. Georgina, it is true, then, that you trust me with your confidence — your fortune ? It is also true, that when you did so you believed me ruined ? Oh, pardon the doubt ! Answer as if your father stood not there — answer me from that truth the world cannot yet have plucked from your soul — answer as if the woe or weal of a life trembled in the balance — answer as the woman's heart, yet virgin and unpolluted, should answer to one who has trusted to it his all ! Georg. What can he mean ? Sir John (making signs). She won't look this way, she Avon't — hang her — Hem ! Evelyn. You falter. I implore — I adjure you — answer ! Lady F. The truth I Georg. Mr. Evelyn, your fortune might well dazzle me, as it dazzled others. Believe me, I sincerely pity your reverses. Sir John. Good girl ! you hear her, Evelyn. Georg. What's money without happiness ? Sir John. Clever creature ! — my own senti- ments ! Georg. And so, as our engagement is now an- nulled, — papa told me so this very morning, — I have promised my hand where I have given my heart — to Sir Frederick Blount. Sir John. I told you, — 1 ? No such thing — 29 450 MONEY. [ACT r. no sucli thing : you frighten her out of her wits — she don't know Avhat she 's saying. Evelyn. Am I awake ? But this letter — this letter, received to-day — Lady F. (looling over the letter). Drummond's — from a banker! Evelyn. Head — read. Lady F. " Ten thousand pounds just placed to your account — from the same unknown friend to Evelyn." Oh, Clara, I know now why you went to Drummond's this morning. Evelyn. Clara ! What ! — and the former one with the same signature, on the faith of which I pledged my hand and sacrificed my heart — Lady F. Was written under my eyes, and the secret kept that — Evelyn. Look up, look up, Clara — I am free ! — I am released ! you forgive me ? — you love me ? — you are mine ! We are rich — rich ! I can give you fortune, power, — I can devote to you my whole life, thought, heart, soul — I am all yours, Clara — my own — my wife ! Sir Jolm {to Georg.). So, you 've lost the game by a revoke, in trumping your own father's best of a suit ! — Unnatural jade ! — Aha, Lady Franklin — I am to thank you for this ! Lady F. You 've to thank me that she 's not now on the road to Scotland with Sir Frederick. I chanced on them by the Park just in time to dis- siuade and save her. But, to do her justice, a hint of your displeasure was sufficient. SCENE v.] MONEY. 451 Georg. (half sobbing). And you know, papa, you said this very morning that poor Frederick had been very ill-used, and you would settle it all at the club. Blount. Come, Sir John, you can only blame yourself and Evelyn's cunning device. After all, I 'm no such vewy bad match ; and as for the 10,000/. — Evelyn. I '11 double it. Ah, Sir John, what 's money without happiness? Sir John. Pshaw — nonsense — stuff. Don't humbug me ! Ladij F. But if you don't consent, she '11 have no husband at all. Sir John. Hum! there 's something in that. (^Aside to Evelyn.) Double it, will you ? Then settle it all tightly on her. Well — well — my foible is not avarice. Blount, make her happy. Child, I forgive you. — {Pinching her arm.) Ugh, you fool ! Graves (to Lady F.). I'm afraid it 's catching. What say you ? I feel the symptoms of matrimony creeping all over me. Shall we, eh? Frankly, now, frankly — Lady F. Frankly, now, there 's my hand, on one condition, — that we finish our reel on the wedding-day. Graves. Accepted. Is it possible ? Saimed Maria 1 thank Heaven you are spared this afflic- tion ! Enter Smooth. 452 MONEY. UCT V Smooih. How d 'ye do, Alfred ? I intrude, I fear ! Quite a family party. Blount. "Wish us joy, Smooth — Georgina 'a mine, and — Smooth. And our four friends there apparently have made up another rubber. John, my dear boy, you look as if you had something at stake on the odd trick. Sir John. Sir, your very — Confound the fel- low ! — and he 's a dead shot, too ! E7iter Stout and Glossmore hastily, talking with each other. Stout. I 'm sure he 's of our side ; we've all the intelligence. Gloss. I 'm sure he 's of our's if his fortune is safe, for we 've all the property. — My dear Eve- lyn, you were out of humor yesterday — but I forgive you. Stout. Certainly ! — what would become of pub- lic life if a man were obliged to be two days run- ning in the same mind? — I rise to explain. — Just heard of your return, Evelyn. Congratulate you. The gi-eat motion of the session is fixed for Friday. We count on your vote. Progress with the times ! Gloss. Preserve the Constitution ! Stout. Your money will do wonders for the party ! — Advance. Gloss. The party respects men of your prop- erty ! Stick fast ! Evelyn. I have the greatest respect, I assure SCENE v.] MONEY. 453 you, for the -worthy and intelligent flies upon both sides the wheel ; but whether we go too fast or too slow, does not, I fancy, depend so much on the flies as on the Stout Gentleman who sits inside and pays the post-boys. Now all my politics as yet is to con- sider what 's best for tlie Stout Gentleman ! Smooth. Meaning John Bull. Ce clier old John ! Stout. I 'm as wise as I was before. Gloss. Sir, he 's a trimmer ! Evelyn. Smooth, we have yet to settle our first piquet account and our last ! And I sincerely thank you for the service you have rendered to me, and the lesson you have given these gentlemen. — (Turning to Clara.) Ah, Clara, you — you have succeeded where wealth had failed ! You have reconciled me to the world and to mankind. My friends — we must confess it — amidst the hu- mors and the follies, the vanities, deceits, and vices that play their parts m the Great Comedy of Life — it is our own fault if we do not find such natures, though rare and few, as redeem the rest, brightening the shadows that are flung from the form and body of the time with glimpses of the everlasting holiness of truth and love. Graves. But for the truth and the love, when found, to make us tolerably happy, we should not be without — Ladjj F. (iood health ; Graves. Good spirits ; Clara. A good heart ; Smooth. An innocent rubber: 454 MONEY. |act t Georg. Congenial tempers ; Blount. A pwoper degwee of pwudence ; Stout. Enlightened opinions; Gloss. Constitutional principles ; Sir John. Knowledge of the world ; Evelyn. And — plenty of Money ! THE END. Messrs. Robe^'ts Bj'others' Pithlications. VERSES. By H. H. Second New Enlarged Edition. Sqiiare \%mo. Uniform with "-Bits of Talk:' Price $1.25. " The volume is one which will make H. H. dear to all the lovers of true poetry. Its companionsliip will be a delight, its nobility of thought and of purpose an inspiration. . . . This new edition comprises not only the former little book with til" same modest title, but as many more new poems, . . . The best critics have already assigned to H. H. her high place in our catalogue of authors. She is, without doubt, the most highly intellectual of our fema'e poets . . . The new poems, while not inferior to the others in poir.t of literary art, have in them more of fervor and of feeling ; more of that lyric sweetness which catches the attention, and makes the song sing itself over and over afterwards in the remembering brain. . . . Some of the new poems seem among the noblest H. H has ever written. They touch the high-water mark of her intellectual piwer, and are full, besides, of passionate and tender feeling. Among these is the ' I'uiieral March.'" — N. Y. Tribune "A delightful book is the elegant little vo'ume of 'Verses.' by H. H., — instinct with the quality of the finest Christian wonianhood. . . . Some wives and mothers, growing sedate with losses and cares, will read many of these 'Verses' with a feeling of admiration that is full of tenderness." — Advance. "The poems of this lady have taken a place in public estimation perhaps higher than that of any living American living poetess. . . . They are the thoughts of a delicate and refined sensibility, which views life through the i uie, still atmos- phere of religious fervor, and unites all thought by the tender talisman of love." — Jnter-Ocenn. "Since the days of poor ' L. E. L.,' no woman has sailed into fame under a flag inscribed with her initials only, until the days of ' H. H.' Here, however, the parallelism ceases ; for the fresh, strong beauty which pervades these ' Verses ' has nothing in common with the rather languid sweetness of the earlier writer. Unless I am much mistaken, this enlarged volume, double the size of that origi- nally issued, will place its author not merely above all American poetesses and all living English poetesses, but above all women who have ever written jioetry in the English language, except Mrs. Browning alone. 'H. H.' has not yet proved herself equal to Mrs. Browning in range of imagination ; but in strength and depth the American writer is quite the equal of the English, and in compactness and sym- metry altogether her superior." — T. IV. H. in the Indsx. Sold by all booksellers. Mailed, postpaid, by the Pub- lishers, ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston. jTfcssrs. Rohc7-ts Brothers' Pithli cat ions. WIT AND WISDOM OF GEORGE ELIOT. Square i^vio. Unrform with " Bits of Talk" Price $1.25. " It is impossible to read George Eliot, either in prose or poetry, without being reminded of Shakespeare ; and the resemblar.ee is borne out in that habit of nei mind which throws oif thought in crystals, in terse and lucid generalizations, in flashing surprises of wit, and in epigrams that will pass into the immortal cur- rency of the world's p'overbs. From no other writer, it seems to us, since Shakes- peare, could so many gems or statements — witty and wise — be culled as from the works of this wonderful inind ; and in ' Wit and Wisdom of George Eliot ' we have a collection which cannot fail to be greatly enjoyed, and of which we can only sny that it is so good that we wonder at its not having been done before." — Chris- tian Union. "The novels of George Eliot are full of nuggets of wisdom and bits of felici- tous characterization that dwell in the memory of the attentive reader. Some one ■as had the ' happy thought ' to gather up a great number of these gems and mange them in a volume to themselves, with a good index to aid the render in inding his favorite. 'The Wit and Wisdom of George Eliot' is a dainty little 01 ok that the readers of that thoughtful novelist will eagerly seek and heartily c-njoy." — Cleveland Herald. Sold by all booksellers. Mailed, postpaid, by tJie Pub- lishers, ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston. 3 1205 02044 0218 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FAa THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA Santa Barbara THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW. i..