L., c^J^^^^-^^v^^^ 
 
 ' 
 
 

THE BETROTHED 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM SHARSWOOD 
 
A few copies have been printed for private diftribution, which are 
 diftinguifhed from the regular edition, by being numbered. 
 
 Tragedy, then, has every requifite in common with the epopee, 
 (since it may equally ufe verfe,) with the additional ornaments of 
 mufic and scenery, which are no small parts of its compofition, and 
 which render the pleafure it excites more striking. It is, therefore, 
 effecting both, when it is read and acted. And it possesses another 
 advantage, in having the period of its duration confined to a shorter 
 space. For, being, as it were, condenfed, it is more agreeable 
 than if it were protracted through a longer succession of time. 
 
 THE POETICS OF ARISTOTLE CH. xxvi. 
 
 The Right of reprefenting this Play is referved. 
 
THE BETROTHED 
 
 OR 
 
 LOVE IN DEATH 
 
 A 
 
 PLAY 
 
 IN FIVE ACTS 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM SHARSWOOD A. M. PH. D. (JENA) 
 
 HONORARY MEMBER OF THE GEOLOGICAL SOCIETY OP EDINBURGH NON 
 
 RESIDENT MEMBER OF THE SYRO-EGYPTIAN SOCIETY OF LONDON 
 
 CORRESPONDENT OF THE IMPERIAL GEOLOGICAL INSTITUTE OF 
 
 VIENNA FOREIGN MEMBER OF THE BOTANICAL SOCIETY 
 
 OF EDINBURGH AND CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF 
 
 THE BOTANICAL SOCIETY OF CANADA OF THE 
 
 BOSTON SOCIETY OF NATURAL HISTORY 
 
 OF THE ACADEMY OF SCIENCE OF 
 
 ST. LOUIS AND MEMBER OF THE 
 
 BERWICKSHIRE NATURALISTS' 
 
 CLUB 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 ASHMEAD & EVANS 724 CHESTNUT STREET 
 
 MDCCCLXV 
 
Univ. Library, UC Santa Cruz 1 m 
 
 COPY No. // 
 
 Entered) according to Act of Congrefs, in the year 1865, by 
 WILLIAM SHARSWOOD, 
 
 "in the Clerk's Office of the Diftrict Court of the United States, in and 
 for the Eaftern District of Pennfylvania. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 PRINTED BY KING & BAIRP, 607 SANSOM STREET, 
 
TO 
 
 ALOIS AUER VON WELSBACH 
 
 Knight of the Imperial Austrian Orders of the Iron Crown and Francis Joseph 
 
 One of his Imperial Apostolic Majesty 's Court Counsellors 
 
 Director of the Imperial and Royal Court and State Press 
 
 Member of the Imperial Academy of Science of Vienna 
 
 As a slight but most sincere token of his talents 
 Profound respect for his character 
 
 And as an occasion 
 
 For thus publicly acknowledging the obligations under which . 
 His favoritism has placed the Author 
 
 This fruit 
 Of a desire for contributing to the Legitimate English Drama 
 
 IS INSCRIBED 
 
 The unworthy performance which is inscribed to you is entitled 
 THE BETROTHED OR LOVE IN DEATH 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, 2,6 December, 1862. 
 
N publifhing the following Drama, I fhould 
 remark that the plot may be confidered as 
 having no foundation in hiftory, nor as being 
 borrowed from the romance, excepting a 
 portion of the epifode in the firft fcene of the 
 fourth aft, the incidents of which have been very freely 
 taken from the French of Alphonfe Karr, though the 
 characters have been entirely re-caft. 
 
 The author has endeavored in every inftance to 
 approach if not to rigidly preferve the three unities of 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 action, time, and place, fo far as he thought confiftent 
 with fcenic reprefentation ; conceiving, with the few of 
 the eligible authors of the more modern fchool, any dif- 
 tant departure from fuch a courfe to be unadvifable, if at 
 all admiflible in a drama in any way adapted, or intended 
 for the ftage. In this connection it is quite fatiffactory to 
 know that the unity of time and place, after having been 
 ftrongly adhered to in the Greek and Roman Theatre, 
 inculcated by the mediaeval fchool, and fubfequently ad- 
 mitted more or lefs as a matter of tafte, rather than an 
 opinion of judgment, has been fubfequently infifted on by 
 certain of the Continental-European critics of Dramatic 
 propriety as one of the moft eflential criterions for the 
 legitimate Drama. 
 
 It is of no ufe to hold out the example of certain un- 
 approachably fuccefTful predeceflbrs, who wrote without 
 any definite or regular formation of ftructure, as any 
 reafon for an utter abandonment of any and all rules. If 
 the Drama is an Art, it muft be fubjected to the ufage of 
 art, and become fubmiflive to rule. It is quite certain, 
 however, that even Shakefpeare deviated from an obferv- 
 ance of the unities through ignorance of their exiftence, 
 rather than rejected them by defign, if we confider his 
 leaft methodical performances, however perfect in all 
 thofe effects derivable from a knowledge of focial nature, 
 as the productions of his earlier years, when he may 
 reafonably be fuppofed to have written his leaft method- 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 ical pieces ; while he may have produced thofe* charac 
 terized by a nicer obfervance of rule at the period of 
 his more matured judgment. 
 
 The faults of the Play I do not pretend to fet forth, 
 or defend ; trufting, if the performance be worthy of fair 
 and juft criticifm, they may be found elfewhere. 
 
 I am aware that this is a period when the ftage, or 
 rather the public tafte which rules the ftage, is too fenfa- 
 tionai and melo-dramatic to admit of the expectation of a 
 fchool, bafed on the nobler paffions alone, becoming popu- 
 lar in theatrical reprefentation ; a fchool which has for its 
 higher effects the exhibition of moral beauty and fitnefs, 
 rather than the reprefentation of the viler paffions, and 
 the accumulation of everything hideous, revolting, in- 
 
 * Of thefe, [The Tempeft, Midfummer Night's Dream, Macbeth and 
 Hamlet,] The Tempeft, however, it comes to be placed the firft by the pub- 
 lifhers of his works, can never have been the firft written by him : it feems 
 to me as perfect in its kind, as almoft anything we have of his. One may 
 obferve, that the unities are kept here, with an exactnefs uncommon to the 
 liberties of his writing 5 though that was what, 1 fuppofe, he valued himfelf 
 leaft upon fmce his excellencies were all of another kind." Some account 
 of the Life of Mr. William Shakefpeare, written by Mr. [Nicholas] Rowe. 
 
 Coleridge formed the fame opinion from different data. He judged from 
 the redundancy of double epithets occurring in Love's Labour Loft, Romeo 
 and Juliet, Venus and Adonis and Lucrece, compared with their difcre- 
 tionary ufe in Lear, Macbeth, Othello and Hamlet of this dramatift, that 
 the former were the earlier productions, as he attributes this defecl to young 
 authors. (Biographia Literaria, Ch. I., Jirji foot note.) This reafoning 
 would feem to difcard the claim of The Tempeft to a chronological prece- 
 dence in the arrangement of his plays, and not only not militate againft 
 but ftrongly corroborate the ftatement of Rowe. 
 
X PEE FACE. 
 
 decent, and confequently reprehenfible to morals, difguft- 
 ful to tafte, and difgraceful to art, however attractive to 
 an audience of the prefent day. It is, therefore doubtlefs, 
 that the prefent attempt may be confidered defective from 
 the very abfence of the diftinguifhing qualities of the latter 
 fchool. 
 
 I am, moreover, confident that a production like this, 
 written folely with the view to reprefentation, however ill 
 adapted it may prove to be, can have but little intereft 
 for the clofet, and in view of this my feelings may be anti- 
 cipated by the conviction that the undoubted faults of 
 the play at beft a meagre example of the power that the 
 fyftem is capable of producing in the hands of thofe 
 who may be immeafurably more fitted for performing the 
 tafk mould be attributed to the failure of the architect 
 rather than the peculiar fyftem which he has ventured 
 
 to illuftrate and defend. 
 
 W. S. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, February^ 1862.* 
 
 * I fhould reconcile an apparent difcrepancy between the date of the Preface 
 (February, 1862), and that attached to the title page (1865), by ftating, 
 that, after an edition in quarto of the Play, embodying certain philobiblian 
 taftes, had been carried on through the firft act in 1862, it was fufpended 
 indefinitely : and the prefent edition of a limited number of copies has been 
 executed in anticipation of the publication, at a future day, of another 
 edition, with fuch emendations as the mellowing hand of time may fuggeft. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, May i/?, 1865. 
 
THE BETROTHED 
 
 OR 
 
 LOVE IN D.EATH 
 
TIME DURING WHICH EACH ACT IS SUPPOSED 
 TO TAKE PLACE. 
 
 ACT I. The Night of the firft day. 
 
 ACT II. The Evening of the fecond day. 
 
 ACT III. The Noon of the third day. 
 
 ACT IV. The Evening of the fourth day. 
 f ( Sc. i. The Evening of the fifth day. 
 
 I ~ ( Sc. 2. and 3. The Night of the fifth day. 
 
 CORRECTIONS. 
 
 ACT II, line 55, for throwing pebbles read throwing a 
 pebble. 
 
 ACT II, line 57, after circle, insert each. 
 
 ACT III, line 140, for was as dear read am and have beer 
 as dear. 
 
 ACT IV, line 2.6 j, for jointed read tri-jointed. 
 
 ACT V, line 286, for giving read given. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 MEN. 
 
 Count MANDERSTEM, God Father of Levangeline, 
 
 Appears ACT i, Sc. 3 : ACT ii, Sc. 4. 
 FREDERICK Baron DIETRICHSTEIN. 
 
 Appears ACT i, Sc. i, 3 ; ACT ii, Sc. i, 4; ACT v, Sc. i, 2. 
 ALEXANDER Baron WIED. 
 
 Appears ACT i, Sc. i, 3 ; ACT ii, Sc. i, a, 45 ACT iii, Sc. i j 
 
 ACT v, Sc. i, 3. 
 NICHOLAS Count TERTSKY. 
 
 Appears ACT ii, Sc. 4 ; ACT iii, Sc. i ; ACT iv, Sc. i. 
 FRANCIS Count RETSKY. 
 
 Appears ACT i, Sc. 3; ACT ii, Sc. i, 4; ACT iii, Sc. 25 
 
 ACT iv, Sc. 2 ; ACT v, Sc. i, 2. 
 Friar WILLIAM. Appears ACT v, Sc. 2, 3. 
 MICHAEL valet de Chambre to ALEXANDER. 
 
 Appears ACT i, Sc. i, 2; ACT ii, Sc. 3 ; ACT iv, Sc. i j ACT 
 
 v, Sc. 2. 
 ALFRED valet de Chambre to FREDERICK. 
 
 Appears ACT i, Sc. i, a j ACT ii, Sc. 3 5 ACT v, Sc. 2. 
 Butler. Appears ACT v, Sc. a. 
 Five Muficians. Appear ACT ii, Sc. 3. 
 An attendant on the Muficians. Appears ACT ii, Sc. 3. 
 Highwayman. Appears ACT i, Sc. 2. 
 Street Watch. Appears ACT i, Sc. 2. 
 Meffenger. Appears ACT iii, Sc. i. 
 Two Friars. Appear ACT v, Sc. 3. 
 ARNOLD,) , , _, . __ _ 
 PHILIP L a other Chamois Huntfmen, and Boys. 
 JOHN I ApP ear ACT iv, Sc. i. 
 
 Lords. Appear ACT i, Sc. i. 
 Friars and Chorifters. Appear ACT iv, Sc. i. 
 Pages and Servants. Appear ACT i, Sc. 3. 
 
 WOMEN. 
 
 LEVANGELINE Countefs MANDERSTEM. 
 
 Appears ACT i, Sc. 3 ; ACT ii, Sc. 2, 4 ; ACT iii, Sc. i ; ACT 
 
 iv, Sc. 2 ; ACT v, Sc. i, 3. 
 
 JOSEPHINE, friend of Levangeline. Appears ACT i, Sc. 7 
 EULALIE. Appears ACT i, Sc. 3. 
 CLARA. Appears ACT i, Sc. 3. 
 IDA, attendant on Levangeline. Appears ACT i, Sc. 3 ; ACT iii, 
 
 Sc. i ; ACT iv, Sc. i ; ACT v, Sc. i. 
 Ladies. Appear ACT i, Sc. 3. 
 Hunters' Wives. Appear ACT iv, Sc. i. 
 
 SCENE. Aultria on the borders of the Styrian Alps. 
 
COSTUMES. 
 
 COUNT MANDERSTEM. Firft drefs: Purple or lilac colored 
 velvet drefs, richly trimmed with gold embroidery. Second drefs: 
 Loofe fitting fuit. 
 
 ALEXANDER BARON WIED. Fir/} drefs: Full court drefs, 
 chapeau and fword. Second drefs : According to tafte of ator. 
 
 FREDERICK BARON DIETRICHSTEIN. First drefs: Full 
 evening drefs, with decoration, chapeau and fword. Second drefs : 
 According to tafte of ator. 
 
 NICHOLAS COUNT TERTSKY. After the ftyle of Alex- 
 ander's firft drefs. 
 
 FRANCIS COUNT RETSKY. Loofe frock coat, black cloth 
 cap and oftrich plumes, filk fafh decoration and fword. 
 
 Friar WILLIAM. Grey gown, girdle and fandals. 
 
 MICHAEL. Blue livery, with metal buttons ; red waiftcoat ; knee 
 breeches of fame; white party-colored ftockings $ fmall top boots ; 
 French cap, with leather front. 
 
 ALFRED. Drab colored doublet and pantaloons, ruflet boots and 
 round cap. 
 
 Street Watch Grey frock, numbered on the left breaft ; long 
 leather apron 5 black gaiters, and large tin hat, turned up in front, 
 & 1'Efpagnol, marked by letters and characters ; with a leather 
 bafket thrown over the moulders, fufpended to a belt, a la mili- 
 taire ; long pole or ftaff tipped with iron. 
 
 Butler. Brown coat, fcarlet veftcoat, black breeches, ftriped ftock- 
 ings, fhoes, buckles. 
 
 Chamois Huntfmen. Dark jackets ; pantlets of fame color, fup- 
 ported by leather belts j worfted ftockings ; fhoes, buckles and 
 felt hat ; long climbing ftaffs finifhed with an iron point at one 
 end, and with a hook at the other end. 
 
 LEVANGELINE COUNTESS MANDERSTEM. Firft drefs: 
 White fatin drefs with ftraw-colored filk bodice and train, richly 
 embroidered with gold and filver. Second drefs : Plain white 
 muflin. Third drefs: Blue filk. fourth drefs: According to 
 tafte of aftrefs. Fifth drefs: Plain white muslin wrapper. Sixth 
 drefs : Rich white fatin drefs with a purple or lilac robe embroid- 
 ered with gold. 
 
 IDA. Slate colored robe trimmed with black velvet. 
 
 JOSEPHINE. Firft drefs: White filk, trimmed with amber or 
 ftraw-colored filk. Second drefs: According to the tafte of a&refs. 
 
 EULALIE. ) . .. r r ,. , r a , r 
 
 CLARA I &ini " ar to Jofephme s firft drefs. 
 
THE BETROTHED; 
 
 OR, 
 
 LOVE IN DEATH. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE 1. An apartment in the house of Frederick the 
 Baron von Dietrichstein. Time Night, Frederick 
 seated, (R. C.) musing over a letter and medallion. He 
 paces the stage a few times and pauses (R. C.) as in a 
 reverie. 
 
 FREDERICK. 
 
 [AS it even so, then, Cleomira? 
 Thou didst love me ! and I too secretly 
 Worshipped thee ! Thou didst love me 
 to suffering ! 
 
 And still with a passion unknown to me ! 
 
 Thou, whose love might call into life 
 
 The very images thou look'st upon 
 
 Within yon dim cloister'd cell ; and cause their 
 
 Sculptured veins to beat with animation ! 
 
 All's now vain joy and thirst insatiable, 
 
 As is the glist'ning lizard's form, basking 
 
 In sunshine, to the bruised serpent's eye, 
 
 10 
 
16 THE BETROTHED. ACT I. 
 
 Powerless from its impotence of power ! [ Crossing L. 
 But must I be blamed for the tenderness 
 Which took possession of her lab'ring heart, 
 15 And caused her to put on rigid convent vows 
 Not to bleach anew her sordid breast, for 
 It ever was immaculate ? Rather 
 Say innocent yet not entirely so. 
 
 Enter ALFRED, L. 
 
 Alf (L. c.) The Baron von Wied presents his duty 
 20 To your lordship, and waits without. 
 
 Fred. ( Taken by surprise.) Have you 
 
 Correctly carried the title ? 
 
 Alf. 'Twas thus, 
 
 Your lordship, I read the card. 
 25 Fred. I'm at home, 
 
 To his lordship. [Exit ALFRED. 
 
 Fred. But two days at most elapsed 
 
 Since I had his accustomed fortnight's letter 
 Of such contents as leads me to suspect 
 30 He'd not thought of this unlocked for visit. 
 
 Enter ALEXANDER, c. from L. 
 
 Alexander, is it you, my dear friend ? [ They embrace. 
 
 Alex. Frederick, it is ! It is the same that 
 Three years ago and more, went forth endowed 
 By our native Austria's peerless realm, 
 35 With an official charge to a distant court, 
 
 The same that bade farewell, within these halls, 
 To friendship, born and nurtured in childhood's 
 Early acquaintance. 
 
 Fred. 'Tis true. A friendship 
 
 40 Not revived, since it has ne'er been broken, 
 Is worth the cherishing. 
 
 Alex. 'Tis like the proved blade 
 
 Which breaks ere it yields to a second power. 
 
 Fred. I'm glad to find you so content with that 
 45 In youth and childhood hath been our home. 
 
SCENE I. THE BETROTHED. 17 
 
 Alex. I am so, Frederick ; the memories of 
 The days long since gone by, crowd on my mind, 
 When I could think so fondly on trivial things, 
 As to imagine a heaven of happiness 
 
 From free indulgence of those appetites 50 
 
 That have now cloyed with satietjr ; 
 When the sun scarce left the noontide's angle, 
 Than graver duties gave way to mirthful sports . 
 The hazy lake, where it hath been our pleasure 
 To drift along as lightly as a leaf, 55 
 
 Dropping here and there our breeze-swollen lines, 
 With the varying fortune of the sport 
 Those dear old trees and circumambient walks, 
 Where we've emulated each the other 
 
 In the courser's speed and other pastimes 60 
 
 That summed up the wealth of youthful pleasure. 
 
 Fred. There's nothing in what the world calls pleasure 
 But is common to the attributes of 
 Knowledge, power, and love. What can be reckoned 
 Pleasure after love ? As the sleek hound which 65 
 
 Hath once tasted blood, the heart can ne'er be 
 Sated with aught else. 
 
 I wish at times this world or life was over : 
 Nought happens when we come of reason's age, 
 But is a reproduction of the ceaseless, fO 
 
 Changeless, hopeless round through which we have passed 
 In childhood's days. 
 
 And most we wish ne'er happens, but much more 
 Of trial and disaster than we counted on, 
 Displaces pleasure with a sad relief. 75 
 
 Alex. Frederick ! There's something altered in that 
 
 face ; 
 'Tis not the same I left three years ago. 
 
 Fred. All things show unto me their darkest sides, 
 And nought enchains me longer to the earth. 
 
 Alex. I see confession in thy countenance. 80 
 
 [Crosses, R. 
 
 Forget the scenes around you. Meantime, 
 My friendship shall prove more than wordy vaunting ; 
 And believe you, hope will yet plan anew 
 The road to full accomplishment. 
 
 3 
 
18 THE BETKOTHED. ACT I. 
 
 85 Fred. Dost thou remember, 
 
 The legend of Italy's laureled bard, 
 Spoken by the eternal doomed souls in hell, 
 "Only so far afflicted, that we live 
 Desiring without hope ?"* Where hope comes not, 
 90 Is death ; and what have I to longer hope. 
 
 [Crosses, L. 
 
 Press me no further. What brings you hither ? 
 If 'tis a cause no excess of modesty 
 Forbids thee to divulge, unbosom thee, 
 And prove thy confidence above wordy vaunting. 
 95 My friendship would scarce be worth the keeping, 
 Should I appear incurious of your 
 Inmost secrets. 
 
 Alex. Thou mightst have judged, by 
 
 The accustomed quickness of thy apprehension, 
 
 100 That the cause might be 
 
 Fred. A lady ? 
 
 Alex. You smile. 
 
 Fred. Dost thou recall the tale thou oft hast told 
 Nought but ambition's course you'd e'er pursue ; 
 105 But time, the unerring interpreter 
 
 Of man's acts, as actions are of his thoughts, 
 
 Has thus disproved thy claim to rightful judgment. 
 
 Alex. 'Tis not by heav'n granted, that our lives should 
 Always be directed by our wishes. 
 
 Fred. I would not have thee turn tell-tale of thy 
 110 heart, 
 
 And vows of her that may be doubly sacred ; 
 But so much of the lady's quality, 
 And of the occurrence of thy meeting, 
 As befits thy willingness to unfold, 
 115 I would gladly learn. 
 
 Alex. Her name and station 
 
 'Twere best to say I can't divulge at present. 
 
 Fred. Quite explicit so far pray you proceed 
 How long since you first declared your passion ? 
 120 Alex. The night of the day on which we first met. 
 
 * Che senza speme vivemo in dis'o. 
 
 DANTE, IS Inferno, Canto IV. 
 
SCENE I. THE BETROTHED. 19 
 
 Fred. The night of the day on which you first met ? 
 But the occasion 
 
 Alex. Hear, then, I'll tell thee : 
 
 'Twas at a Parisian banquet, to which 
 
 The lady, from this distance had been asked. 125 
 
 In a balcony we were standing mute, 
 Except in aspects that speak more than words, 
 And looking out upon the star-pearled heav'n, 
 As if to take a breath of fresh'ning air ; 
 
 I longed that we might have a little star, 130 
 
 Where we might dwell unknown but to ourselves ; 
 Where unknown bliss should nestle round our hearts, 
 And all creation seem happy for our sakes. 
 She faltered : the silver hue of night was hid, 
 But soon breaking through a fleecy cloudlet, 135 
 
 Relieved the glowing blushes on her cheeks ; 
 I took her hand in mine, my lips touched hers ; 
 The magic touch cemented both our hearts together ; 
 We heard a rustling in the room close by, 
 Which parted us. 140 
 
 Fred. You saw her soon again ? 
 
 Alex. What since has crossed her thoughts I'm 
 
 stranger to, 
 
 Content to know her beaming eyes bespoke 
 The meaning of her soul. Dost know our friend 
 Count Manderstem gives a banquet to-night ? 145 
 
 Fred. Yes ; and all that are known to him as friends 
 Have been invited. 
 
 Alex. A thought has struck me ; 
 
 Would'st have with me to your uncle's mansion ? 
 More than thou thinkst of may there be witnessed 150 
 
 Of that which besteads me to keep secret. 
 Wilt join me then ? 
 
 Fred. I will ! 
 
 Alex. Have thither now ! 
 
 [Exeunt, c D. 
 
 Alf. ( Without, L.) Hurry on, boys, hurry on. 155 
 
 Euf<'r ALFRED, L. 
 Alf. (L.) For these three months master hasn't gone 
 
20 THE BETKOTHED. ACT I. 
 
 into company, and scarcely has a smile wrinkled his 
 face when of a sudden, he gives me orders to follow his 
 steps with agility. Now I don't like doing things with 
 1GO agility, for when one tries to do things better or quicker 
 than he can, he always does them the worse. 
 
 Enter MICHAEL, c. from L, 
 
 Who is there ? 
 
 Mich. It's only myself. I have the honor to introduce 
 myself the valet to his lordship the Baron Alexander 
 
 165 Wied, secretary to his most faithful Majesty's Envoy- 
 Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to the Court 
 of Paris. My master told me that your master had 
 asked him to tell me to tell you, that I should have myself 
 in readiness to join you. 
 
 110 Alf. (Observing a rent in MICHAEL'S stocking.) What's 
 this? 
 
 Mich. I pray your pardon, the cause is this as I was 
 leaving the lodge, the usher bade me beware of the quad- 
 ruped within the walls, as he had a taste for muscle, 
 
 115 and as I thought myself to be nigh the doors, I mistook 
 my path and came on the meat house, when the animal 
 taking me for some straggler seized me by my ankle, and 
 destroyed this stocking. 
 Alf. What is that ? 
 
 180 Mich. What is that ! These stockings were left to 
 my' father by his father, when he fled from France to 
 Spitalsfields on the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, 
 for no better generosity that he couldn't take them with 
 him. 
 
 135 Alf. Mercy on us mercy on us I most forgot what 
 
 I have to do. [Exit ALFRED, L. 
 
 Mich. Now I must be preparing to wait on my master, 
 
 but first of all I'll take a look to see how the streets run 
 
 in these quarters. (Goes up to window L., and opens it; 
 
 190 dog heard without.) Oh! (Clasping his ears, and closing 
 the window. Approaches the window, R., and opens it; 
 dog heard.) This must be the triple-headed dog of 
 Hades. It's very hard to lose a nether stock (looking at 
 his foot,) of such as were left to my grandsire, by one 
 
SCENE II. THE BETROTHED. 21 
 
 that fled his home on the revocation of the Edict of 
 Nantes, for no better generosity than he couldn't take 195 
 them with him. 
 
 He-enter ALFRED, c. D. 
 
 Alf. What would you ? 
 
 Mich. Now for the outfits of my master. 
 
 [Exit ALFRED, c. D. 
 I'm not right yet. [Ringing the bell. 
 
 Re-enter ALFRED, L. 
 
 First of all, for fear you should fall, let me have the cha- 200 
 peau ; and next in order let me have the sword ; however, 
 to save your steps, just call in your badgers. 
 Alf. Here Peter, George, John. 
 
 Enter SERVANT with a chapeau, c. D., and one attendant, 
 with a sword, L., and another with a box, R. 
 
 Alf. I must tell you as a stranger in these parts, that 
 it's very needful for you to be at least guarded by a 205 
 pistol, if you wish to take the shortest road round to the 
 count's. 
 
 Mich. I never yet received from mortal man an injury, 
 but I paid back with threefold interest before demand. 
 
 Alf. Where's your means ? 210 
 
 Mich. I'm a peace commissioner, yet I always carry 
 my pistol in my pocket. (Taking out a flask.) And 
 now you are to see me safe through these grounds : you 
 taking the lead, and you the aft, and you to the side 
 nearing the quadruped. Well now, each keep his proper 215 
 distance. [Exeunt. The dog heard without. 
 
 SCENE II A Street in a dilapidated part of the Town. 
 
 Enter MICHAEL, L., covered with a cloak, carrying a cha- 
 peau box, and sword ; who is met by a Highwayman, 
 with a dark lantern, that has entered from, a house, L. c 
 
 Highw. (Accosting.) Ho, there, neighbour ! you'll not 
 mistrust my penury when I demand five florins. 
 
22 THE BETROTHED. ACT I. 
 
 Mich. What's that to me ? 
 
 Highw. ( Unperceived seizes MICHAEL by the coat collar 
 with one hand, and brandishes a knife before him with the 
 220 other hand.) My demand, or your life on it. 
 
 Mich. Hold, hold, let's reason! (Aside.) I must dis- 
 semble to my best. (Aloud.) You're not going to deny 
 my claim to a partnership in your art don't you perceive 
 in me one of your company what luck has been to you 
 225 to-day ? 
 
 Highw. Why none at all and just as I thought to 
 
 have my game in yoil 
 
 Mich. You found us both bait together. 
 Highw. Yes, my good fellow. Come in and have 
 230 a look over my last haul. 
 
 Mich. The next time that I am passing. the next 
 
 time 
 
 Highw. But I never plant my stakes twice in the same 
 place. I always remove before any danger is at hand ; 
 235 when the authorities are ready to search one house, I 
 shift my quarters to the nearest at hand, and thus keep 
 just near enough to my enemies to know my danger. 
 Come in, come in. 
 
 Mich. The next time. (Aside.) If he should trap me in 
 240 the end, I'm lost. 
 
 Highw. But you'll not think me generous till I empty 
 a bottle between us at my own expense. 
 
 Mich. No, thank you, thank you. I have too much 
 consideration for your art, to indulge in such an extrava- 
 245 gance at your cost ; but instead of it, you can do me 
 a favor in another way. 
 Highw. What is it ? 
 
 Mich. You'll not mistake me the next time we meet ? 
 Highw. Oh, no we're in bonded brotherhood hereafter. 
 
 [Going towards the door. 
 250 Mich. Yes, remember, in bonded brotherhood. 
 
 [Exit Highwayman by the door, L. C. 
 Voices, (within.) Halves, halves ! 
 
 Mich. An adventure well played out boarded and 
 
 brought to within a hand's grasp, the third mishap 
 
 this night : if this be the aspect of my lordship's town, 
 
 255 it was never made for peace commissioners. How- 
 
SCENE II. THE BETEOTHED. 23 
 
 ever, I'll make profit of this occasion to publish my 
 card in the " Staats Zeitimg," as Michael Cabale, valet cle 
 chambre to his lordship, Alexander the Baron von Wied, 
 one of the secretaries of his Majesty's Minister Plenipo- 
 tentiary and Envoy Extraordinary at the Court of Paris. 260 
 I'll note the house, and have the notice headed, " Wanton 
 Act of Violence on strangers, and outrage on peace com- 
 missioners ! Robbery on the highways by moonlight !" 
 I'll have it ushered in by a profusion of marks of ex- 
 clamation fore and aft, and with an illustration taken by 265 
 their eye witness artist. It's lucky he did not ask, nay 
 more, demand a sight of my supposed, but his mistaken, 
 spoils. However, I'll be going, my nerves begin to 
 shake, my limbs to quake, anon my very bones to crack ; 
 it must be a low-land part of the town ; I use to be a fit 21 
 subject for the ague. (Taking a drink from his flask.) 
 I'm a peace commissioner. Peace be to my followers. 
 
 [Exit, L. 
 
 Enter WATCHMAN, L., running in search of the Highway- 
 man and meeting ALFRED takes him for the man. 
 
 Watchm. I'll take my stand for you. 
 
 Enter ALFRED, R. 
 
 Watchm. What calls you hither ? 
 
 Alf. I'm the attendant of my good and noble master, 21 6 
 von Dietrichstein. 
 
 Watchm. Then show me your mark, if you serve his 
 lordship, before I give the pass. 
 
 Alf. Here it be. [Showing the name-plate on the sword. 
 
 Watch. Pass on, you are not my man. 280 
 
 [Exit, R., rapping thrice with his staff. 
 
 Alf. He's taken me so aback, I've most forgotten to 
 note the spot of this my first adventure. (Looking about.) 
 Oh, yes, it's opposite Nick Bogg's home for stragglers. 
 If Michael be safe through, it proves the force of diplo- 
 macy against arms, ammunition, and belligerent sway. 285 
 
 [Exit, L. 
 
21 THE BETROTHED. ACT I. 
 
 SCENE III A magnificent apartment, lighted up with, 
 festal splendor, in the mansion of the Count Mander- 
 stem ; in the rear, two folding doors opening into another 
 saloon, with a table elegantly supplied with viands, c., 
 and servants in waiting ; the centre doors of the second 
 saloon, which are standing open, gives to the prospect a 
 view of the hall containing statuary and other works of 
 art. The whole having the appearance of a banquet ad- 
 vanced close on to the dawn of day. 
 
 ALEXANDER and LEVANGELINE discovered on a couch, R., 
 engaged in conversation. On the side directly opposite, 
 FREDERICK, by himself, apparently lost in thought, and 
 taking no part in any thing that is going on. The 
 middle space between the Proscenium, at some distance 
 from the edge of the stage, is filled up by the COUNT, 
 FRANCIS, JOSEPHINE, EULALIE, and CLARA. A portion 
 of the company are promenading, some are examining 
 the works of art, and others seated throughout the apart- 
 ments. 
 
 Count, (c.) 'Tis late, 'tis late ; the golden hue of dawn 
 Streaks through the lattice upon our moping lights. 
 It is a lovely scene ; but good, my friends, 
 The sun reproves us for our lengthened merriment, 
 
 290 And, jealous of his matchless state, will teach 
 
 That pleasure waxes heavy towards the morn ; [ Grosses, L. 
 Then let what remains, of this full late hour, 
 Be eked out in pleasures, as brilliant as 
 This morn's onsetting dawn can happy greet. 
 
 295 We'll think no more there's aught of earthly ills, 
 Where power, beauty, love, wit, wealth, and wine 
 Earth's chiefest pleasures, supremely reign. 
 The sprightly bowl once more shall be refilled, 
 And as we pass it gaily round drink deep 
 
 300 Filling again and emptying the same 
 
 At each toast, as it goes merrily round. [Crosses, R. 
 
 I'll first command, that each may do the most 
 What most each likes, which each that thinks ay 
 
 with me, 
 Will signify- by emptying his glass. 
 
SCENE III. THE BETROTHED. 25 
 
 Resume the dance, your instruments advance, 305 
 
 [Crosses, c. 
 
 Sound the trumpet, inspire the octave flute, 
 And let the cords to their own measures bend : 
 Bid ev'ry note of harmony awake, 
 To beat down sorrow, and assuage trial. 
 
 [A portion of the company arrange themselves in the attitude 
 of the Minuet; the Orchestra plays the music of the 
 Minuet ; in the course of which flashes of lightning are 
 seen, and peals of thunder heard. EULALIE falters, 
 pauses, and faints in FRANCIS' arms; the Minuet is 
 broken up in the utmost confusion. All exeunt, c., ex- 
 cept ALEXANDER and LEVANGELINE. 
 
 Lev. ( To ALEXANDER.) Nay, do not go, but linger yet 
 
 awhile, 310 
 
 We'll not be missed among the gay throng. 
 
 Alex. I'll nor go, nor stay, except thou will'st it so. 
 
 Lev. Then sit, and I will teach myself to thee. 
 Last night I dreamt that thou had'st loved me, 
 And, then, alas ! that thou had'st something proved 315 
 
 Alex. Love's oft end, falsehood more or less, I judge. 
 
 Lev. Though it pains me much, I can't dissuade the 
 
 truth, 
 
 That methought I was not thy only love, 
 But still resolved to love thee, till this heart 
 As flesh in dust lies adamantine cold. 320 
 
 Alex. Nay, I love thee, and will never leave thee, 
 Till death's dark veil shall hide me from thy face, 
 And then methinks, my soul would stay with thee I 
 
 Lev. Wilt swear to that ? 
 
 Alex. Ay, by any oath you'll frame. 325 
 
 If earth can from its circled orb be turned, 
 And leave the Sun, and he in turn the zones, 
 If yon clustered stars, that mark the North, 
 Can leave their rightly appointed places, 
 
 Dark'ning the very spots they once illumined, 330 
 
 Bright beguilers to the watchful pilot, 
 If creation's rule can leave the world, 
 That it by will ordained hath justly fashioned, 
 
 4 
 
26 THE BETROTHED. ACT I. 
 
 Soul, Sun, Earth, Stars, Creation's rule may part, 
 335 I shall never from thee, Levangeline ! 
 
 My thoughts, and actions are alone of thee. 
 Lev, Most amply, be thy pardon, then ; 
 Alex. In proof 
 
 Whereof our lips to lips thus purge all doubt. [Kissing. 
 340 Lev. It is fabled of certain fruits, though touched 
 
 By Autumn's searching frosts when all nature 
 
 Seems blossoming with hues of red and gold 
 
 Lose nothing of the tempting color of their rinds, 
 
 That are all dust and lothed decay within. 
 345 Such had I feared to be thy love for me ; 
 
 And when we parted, as e'er since, I felt 
 
 A certain aching here, for whose relief 
 
 [Pointing to her heart. 
 
 Flavia* has long since prescribed despair ; 
 
 And to my father's tormenting queries, 
 350 " What ails thee, child ? look'st never so before" 
 
 I answered that which cast his mind in greater doubt ; 
 
 Lest by revealing my true feeling sense, 
 
 I should have thine own disclosed. 
 
 Now methinks I should have been less open, 
 355 And feigned to be less captious. 
 
 But where on this earth should'st thou look for truth, 
 
 If on my tongue thou should'st fail to find it. 
 
 Alex. The thought I ne'er should meet thee more, as 
 then 
 
 Thou wert, a countess of eighteen summers, 
 360 And three from out a far distant convent, . 
 
 And thy parting glance had such an aspect 
 
 Of that, to which your actions testified, 
 
 And lacked but confirmation from thy tongue, 
 
 Conspired to make me e'er since to languish 
 365 Till this propitious night. 
 
 Lev. My own true sense ! 
 
 He-enter FRANCIS and CLARA, c. D. from L. 
 
 Let us retire awhile till these pass on. 
 
 [Exeunt ALEXANDER and LEVANGELINE, R. s. E. 
 
 * On whose gardens George Granville, Lord Lansdown, Baron 
 Bideford wrote some verses. 
 
SCENE III. THE BETROTHED. 27 
 
 Fran. How fortunate am I, who after having visited 
 so many courts while on my travels, where I have seen 
 ladies that justly may be called beautiful, but since my 370 
 return have met with no one that could bring herself into 
 comparison with their faces, till I met with one that not 
 only sums up all the qualities of loveliness in others, but 
 has that which can only be described as a treasure pecu- 
 liar to herself. 315 
 
 Glar. These encomiums from such a source, my lord, 
 have quite overpowered my senses ;- but if, there was a 
 probability of my being ignorant of my own defects, 
 so good natnred a compliment might of itself give me 
 graces which I was not possessed of before. 380 
 
 Fran. Nay, further some may be empowered to move 
 the heart by slow degrees, and others with some one 
 charm may take the senses captive, but you, my lady, 
 have that combination of graces which attack and as soon 
 subdue each faculty at sight. 385 
 
 Glar. How unfortunate that I should have studied the 
 lesson self so well, that all the advantage I can gain from 
 your report, is the honor I have in being in the com- 
 pany of one whose wit can find something to praise in 
 those so little praiseworthy. 390 
 
 Fran. Did I not hear thee address thyself to the look- 
 ing-glass an hour ago that it was no wonder that so 
 many loved thee for thou wert so beautiful. 
 
 Glar It was very wrong to overhear me. 
 
 Fran. It is worse for thee not to believe it from others. 395 
 
 Glar. My lord, I have a trifling favor to gain from 
 thee. 
 
 Fran. (Kneels.) Whatever thou wilt. 
 
 Glar. Promise me that thou wilt excite extreme jealousy 
 amongst my rivals, Josephine and Eulalie. 400 
 
 Fran. I'll do my best to serve thee in such an inglori* 
 ous service. 
 
 Glar. Inglorious ! 
 
 Fran. Pardon me, for disloyalty to your royalt}^ as 
 thou art my queen to-night. 405 
 
 Glar. I have my ideas schooled into a plan. So if it 
 please thee, come. [Exeunt FRANCIS and CLARA, L. s. E. 
 
28 THE BETBOTHED. ACT I. 
 
 He-enter FRANCIS and EULALIE, c. from R. 
 
 Eul. (c.) From whom took'st thou that rose ? 
 Fran, (c.) From thee, dearest. 
 
 410 'Twas surely wrong to harm the harmless rose, 
 For to harm it is to harm the one, that 
 Takes from it so much to make her lovely. 
 
 Eul. I dread to think how deep thou canst dissemble, 
 And that too when thou look'st so much devout. 
 415 Fran. For many days I've been striving to learn 
 The course that should be run by one, that longs 
 To gain a name amongst the nations ; and 
 Return to bask in earth's every pleasure, 
 And fly all but love and thee. 
 
 420 Eul. Count Francis, 
 
 Thou art far more gallant than faithful. 'Twas 
 But a moment since I saw thee kneeling 
 To another, breathing the like false vows. 
 
 Fran. Why was I formed so passing beautiful, 
 425 Or women turned such fools, that all must love me, 
 Else should I not play truant to so many hearts. 
 
 [JOSEPHINE and CLARA, who have been occasionally crossing 
 the stage, in the middle apartment, observing FRANCIS, and 
 EULALIE, L., enter in the back ground, and stand c. JO- 
 SEPHINE expresses in her countenance visible signs of 
 surprise and emotion. 
 
 Jos. ( To CLARA.) Had I not seen it, I would not have 
 
 believed it. 
 Fran. Wilt walk without, dearest ? 
 
 Eul. But the damp air 
 
 430 Fran. Will only prove how pleasure may outweigh pain. 
 
 [As he leads her off, L., JOSEPHINE comes forward and 
 accosts him. EULALIE exits, L. s. E., and CLARA with- 
 draws. 
 
 Jos. (L.) Hear! I came to tell thee something, Francis, 
 'Tis but to say we part for ever part. 
 
SCENE III. THE BETROTHED. 29 
 
 Fran. Not so, my lady, 'twould be more than death. 
 
 Jos. With thee, love is to sue, to gain, deceive ; 
 And next to tire of, to neglect, and leave. 435 
 
 Fran. Cease, fair lady, cease those ill-timed wails ; 
 And shake those aching sighs from off thine eye-lids ; 
 Nor let a thought of discord trouble thee : 
 But may new vows restore the heart once mine. 
 
 CLARA re-enters c. from L., and EULALIE, L. 
 
 Jos. Thou art ever free to wander here and there, 449 
 
 And swear thy love to others as thou hast to me. 
 
 Eul. And to me before 
 
 Clar. And again to me. 
 
 [CLARA immediately exits c, to L., and EULALIE, L. JOSEPH- 
 INE hurries off, R. , followed by FRANCIS. 
 
 Re-enter ALEXANDER and LEVANQELINE, c. from L. 
 
 Lev. Good night, good night ! sweet repose come o'er thee, 
 Not as slumber to my languishing eyes, 445 
 
 Which thought of thee long has to them denied. 
 
 Alex. As the rose is not all flower, but hath much, 
 If bound into a garland, 'twould tear our brows, 
 So hope rewards not without some sorrow. [Going. 
 
 Lev. Pray linger yet a moment. 450 
 
 [Retires to the couch on which she has been seated during 
 the evening, and returns with a bouquet. 
 
 Alex. (Aside.) Would I were 
 
 A mote of dust, to float along the -air, 
 As the thin bright gossamer line, which yields 
 Its flitting movements to the summer's air, 
 Perchance to light upon that unsunned breast. 455 
 
 Lev. To assure thee of my first and only choice 
 Take this. 
 
 Alex. I thank thee truly. (Cuts a slit in the left bread of 
 his coat) and inserts the bouquet therein.) If aught 
 Has made me blest since first we met, it is 460 
 
 In what thou say'st in giving me these flowers ; 
 For they will teach me how to think of bliss. 
 
30 THE BETKOTHED. ACT. I. 
 
 Asa memento of my faith's vow, take this ; 
 "Tis of jewels formed that I received 
 465 From one, who took them from an Ethiop's ear. 
 
 [ Takes a ring from off his finger and offers it to LEVAN- 
 
 GELINE. 
 
 A ring fashioned as a serpent coiled, 
 
 Most ancient emblem of eternity.* 
 
 The diamond, say a token of our true 
 
 Loves' eternal purity. Take it then. 
 470 There are no nobler heav'n-born ornaments, 
 
 Than the ideas of beauty it calls up, 
 
 And just qualities of love it emblems. 
 
 Lev. Why how beautiful ! How cam'st thou by it ? 
 
 Some teach that diamonds are of all things purest, 
 475 Their strength exceeds all others save their own, 
 
 But their embodied light by fire consuming, 
 
 Renders to earth nought but an empty vapor ; 
 
 Such may never be our loves' purity. 
 
 Alex. Jewels are not of all things in my sight, 
 480 As to the world's enslaved, most precious. 
 
 * The form of the serpent coiled into a circle with its tail in its 
 mouth is one of the most ancient and most significant symbols 
 devised by the intelligence of man ; even vying with the cross in 
 antiquity. Nor was its use confined to any one people, but it 
 has been employed by nations, as well as painters, sculptors, and 
 poets. In Skandinaviaii Mythology we are told that Loki's 
 offspring by Angurbodi, a giantess of Jotunheim, were called the 
 Wolf Fenrir, the Midgard Serpent, and Hela, or Death. When 
 the offspring of Loki were born, Odin sent for them, and after 
 having put the Wolf Fenrir in fetters, threw the Midgard Serpent 
 into the ocean that encompassed the earth, here the monster 
 grew to such an enormity that he encircled the entire earth, with 
 his tail in his mouth. 
 
 The Egyptians used it as an emblem of the heavens, and its 
 scales and variegated spots denoted the stars, and was sometimes 
 used by them as a hieroglyphic of the universe itself. The tail in 
 the mouth was expressive of the fact that Time destroys his own 
 productions, and from this arose its association with the Scythe 
 in the representations of Saturn, for a symbol of Time and the 
 revolutions of the year. It was also used to denote the continuity 
 or perpetuity of the heavenly motions, and through all time, and 
 in all places in the Eastern Countries, it was and still remains the 
 emblem of Eternity. 
 
SCENE III. 
 
 THE BETROTHED. 
 
 'Tis in the ends to which they may be turned 
 
 Their value lies, as is ambition's strife 
 
 To good ends turned. Once more adieu ! [Going. 
 
 Lev. Adieu 1 
 
 Remember what you said about the flowers. 
 
 [Exeunt ALEXANDER, c. to L., and LEVANGELINE, c. to R. 
 
 31 
 
 485 
 
 END OF ACT I. 
 
32 THE BETROTHED. ACT II. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. A Drawing Room in the House of the BARON 
 DIETRICHSTEIN, as before. FREDERICK discovered 
 R. c. 
 
 Enter ALFRED, c. D. from R. 
 
 ALFRED, R. c. 
 
 ^E waits below, that says your lord- 
 ehip is expecting, but refused me his 
 name as though I could not bear it 
 in my memory this distance. 
 Fred. Describe his person. 
 Alf. By his appearance I'd judge 
 him to be a candidate for philosophy's doctorship. 
 
 Fred. It's none other than Nicholas the Count Roussac, 
 lately returned from his studies at Jena, the pride of the 
 10 scholastics, and the victor of more fair hearts in this 
 last week, than his years amount to. Admit him, and 
 further if the Baron Wied should call, have him shown 
 here. [ Exit ALFRED, c. D. off L. 
 
 Enter FRANCIS, c. D. from R. 
 
 How late you are I had provided supper at the hour of 
 15 our engagement the last night. 
 
 Fran. I returned too late from the play, where I had 
 been induced to go by meeting a friend who was hither 
 bound, and would have me join him to converse before 
 the piece commenced. 
 20 Fred. Pray who was there ? 
 
 Fran. Opposite me were seated the Baron Wied and 
 Countess Manderstem. 
 
 Fred. Ah me ! there's truly love where I had wished 
 to find but friendship. 
 25 Fran. Why it would be easier to weigh the earth by 
 
SCENE I. THE BETROTHED. 33 
 
 a new invented formula, than to determine the line 
 'twixt friendship and love between man and woman. 
 
 Fred. Which of thy dark lettered tomes has taught thee 
 this ? 
 
 Fran. My midnight reveries, based on my own ex-* 30 
 perience. 
 
 Fred. It is quite the hour he should be here. 
 
 Fran. I'll be glad to meet him once again, before I 
 must be back to Jena, to await promotion-clay. 
 
 Fred. I think I heard his voice without this moment. 35 
 
 Enter ALEXANDER, c< D. 
 
 How do you ? 
 
 Alex. Quite well. 
 
 Fran. One's self must least be acquainted, then, with 
 his own condition. 
 
 Alex. How so ? 40 
 
 Fran. Well, allow me to prescribe for you. 
 
 Alex. First assure me that you know my case. 
 
 Fran. I'll take you there, your heart is the cause 
 of your distemper ; I'm glad to be leaving the town so 
 soon, for it's not yet proved if love be not contagious. 45 
 
 Alex. Well, since you have so well merited a hearing 
 in my case, let us have it. 
 
 Fran. Love is but another name for the queen of 
 charming cares, and while the cherished draught is 
 in your breast, believe it will ferment, then madden, 50 
 and after strengthen, diseased with jealousy, harassed 
 by absence, distrust, and ever-anxious joys, life's powers 
 are softened, and you lay dissolved in languor. Get you 
 to bed this night, and dream of a child upon a gravelly 
 bank, throwing pebbles into the stream, which first forms 55 
 a little indentation of its own size, and then circle after 
 circle, yielding to another larger in turn, until growing 
 wider and wider, at last is lost in distant view, while the 
 power and instrument that formed it remain unseen. This 
 is the dream of fame. 60 
 
 Fred. ( To ALEXANDER.) Does this case apply to you ? 
 
 Alex. Too well so, and too far afflicted to prove the 
 antidote. Let us change the subject. There is news 
 
 5 
 
34: THE BETROTHED. ACT. II. 
 
 65 afloat ; you told me of the unexpected return of the Count 
 Tertsky from the embassy at Constantinople, and that he 
 comes, too, by the mandate of the Count Manderstein. 
 ( To FRANCIS.) Have you heard of it ? 
 
 Fran. I have heard, (FREDERICK motions to FRANCIS in 
 TO dumb show to keep silence,) some vague idea of his return 
 at a distant day. 
 
 Alex. What can be the nature of his negotiation with 
 the Count Manderstem ? 
 
 Fred. (As if endeavoring to change his thoughts.) Ex- 
 ?5 cuse my interruption, but the day has hung very heav}^ 
 with me, and I propose that we have some thing to try 
 our throats. 
 
 Fran. I concede to that. 
 
 [Exeunt ALEXANDER, FREDERICK, and FRANCIS. 
 
 SCENE II. T7ie balcony of COUNT MANDERSTEM'S Man- 
 sion, with a view of the garden. Time sunset, with the 
 Moon in the heavens. 
 
 ALEXANDER and LEVANGELINE enter from the house, L. 
 
 Lev. (Entering.) What have you been doing since noon ? 
 80 Alex. I've been engaged in busy idleness, in thinking 
 of you, and how I could have spent three weeks out of 
 your sight. 
 
 Lev. But you have learned, no doubt, ere this, that 
 absence strengthens love. 
 
 85 Alex. It would ne'er strengthen mine. I see you and 
 leave you each time we meet, as a play-worn child, which 
 longs for its night of rest, only to languish for its next 
 day's play in turn. Dost thou still love me, Levangeline ? 
 
 Lev. Do I still love you I 
 
 90 Alex. It is surely wrong to question thee thus, Levan- 
 geline. But I fear lest thy love may prove flickering or 
 transient as the bow in the cloud, which while we admire 
 is lost in vanishment. 
 
 Lev. It is unjust to question me in this wise. The 
 95 only wise thing I ever did was to love thee, nor would I 
 have another as wise. 
 
SCENE II. THE BETKOTHED. 35 
 
 Alex. (After a pause.) I must be gone, Levangeline. 
 
 Lev. That is not just, nor kind. Thou should'st be with 
 none other but me. It was but yesterday, thou said'st 
 thou would'st be with none but me. 100 
 
 Alex. Was I not with thee all this morn ? 
 
 Lev. Thou truly wert : but then 
 
 Alex. But what ? 
 
 Lev. Often and often, when I looked on thee, thou 
 wast not thinking of me. . 105 
 
 Alex. (Looking fondly on her.) Levangeline! 
 
 Lev. I know that thou lovest me ; and for that reason 
 alone, I cannot bear to think, speak, or look on any one 
 but thee. 
 
 Alex I was thinking of a dream. 110 
 
 Lev. Pray, what was the subject ? 
 
 Alex. Love, to be sure. 
 
 Lev. Then tell me of it ; for if it be something about 
 love, it can't be wrong. 
 
 Alex. The details, I have quite forgot. 115 
 
 Lev. Reflect a moment ! 
 
 Alex. I can't recall it. 
 
 Lev. I don't like this ; Thou art not in earnest, 
 
 Alex. Well, then, the story is quickly told. There 
 once existed two lovers. 120 
 
 Lev. Once ! indeed, how strange ! Pray, proceed. 
 
 Alex. Their name and place, it is best for the present 
 purpose, to say that, I forget. 
 
 Lev. Say, then, it was ourselves. 
 
 Alex. That's so personal. 125 
 
 Lev. Grant it. 
 
 Alex. The lady was, as you would surely grant, most 
 beautiful, and he the same. They used to meet, speak, 
 write, sing, walk, sail upon the waters, care for and look 
 on nothing on earth besides themselves. 130 
 
 Lev. Just as all the like would do. Quite natural so 
 far pray go on. 
 
 Alex. I dare not love. 
 
 Lev. Well, then, I will not tire you longer with entreaty. 
 
 [ Walks aside. 
 
 Alex. Come hither, Levangeline, the evening air is sweet. 135 
 
 l<ev. Yes, how conducive is this time for love, 
 
36 THE BETKOTHED. ACT II. 
 
 sun falls golden on the dark moor hill, and the moon, now 
 rising slow, beams on the pebble-margined lake, each 
 seeming envious of its proffered light. When all things 
 140 seem so bright and lovely for our sakes, is it not wrong 
 for us not to be happy ! 
 
 Alex. Would it were ever so ! 
 
 Lev. What do you mean ? 
 
 Alex. I cannot tell. 
 145 Lev. I have no secrets from thee. 
 
 Alex. I would the reason was unknown to me. 
 
 Lev. Why is every thing you say, this evening, so 
 buried in mystery ? 
 
 Alex. To be then as candid, as I have been seemingly 
 
 150 dark, Levangeline ! the day may be close at hand, when 
 
 you shall find a rightful lover, in one whom you have 
 
 spoken of as a friend. In that is summed the dream, 
 
 Levangeline. 
 
 Lev. Again, you throw these barriers between me and 
 155 your love. 
 
 Alex. It was but a moment since you would know all. 
 
 Lev. Well, so I did, for nothing comes to us too soon 
 but ill news, and I was not thinking of that. The even- 
 ing breeze chills me. 
 160 Alex. Will you have a mantle ? [Going off, R. 
 
 Lev, Yes oh, no, I'm warm now. 
 
 Alex. Levangeline ! it could not have been the even- 
 ing air. 
 
 Lev. Feel my heart now.-~-Alexander ! for the last 
 
 165 three weeks my life has been one long loving thought of 
 
 thee-^-for I could say that I have loved and that is all. 
 
 And when I was away from thee the world seemed gone 
 
 with thee. Though I have suffered much by absence, 
 
 and distrust, yet I would not exchange my sorrows 
 
 170 for twice the happiness of others, for they were the 
 
 woes that I endured to conquer gloom, and my present 
 
 wretchedness, from anxious cares, grows dear to me, since 
 
 it is suffering for one I love. 
 
 Alex. Then forget all you have heard. 
 115 Lev. I must know more before I can grant that. 
 
 Alex, I will feed thy ears to satiety, if I have but thy 
 
SCENE II. THE BETROTHED. 37 
 
 prayers in expiation, for the pain I would occasion thee 
 in listening to my tale. 
 
 Lev. Let me hear the rest, for I was born to gratify 
 myself, so that I only wronged no one else. 180 
 
 Alex. The one in whom you have reason to find a lover, 
 is the Count Tertsky, who by the request of your god- 
 father is on his return from the embassy at Constantinople 
 this very hour. 
 
 Lev. Where, and from whom, have you learned this ? 185 
 
 Alex. From those who are in your father's secret coun- 
 sel ; and though I had it in the first instance as an 
 insinuation, yet hourly musings has strengthened it into 
 a fact. 
 
 Lev. But surety you are not jealous of Nicholas. You 190 
 know when I was very young, he was the only one that I 
 often met, and sought to please me ; to humor me in every 
 little fancy ; and thus we often spent hours together, and 
 really in our childish hearts fancied ourselves as lovers. 
 Afterwards in my ignorance, and perhaps his own too, 195 
 we thought indeed we loved, and it may have been rightly 
 too ; for our feelings were different from what the world 
 calls friendship, and not of the same nature that exists 
 between sister and brother ; years have gone by since 
 last we parted, and with them my sensations, and I trust 200 
 his own. 
 
 Alex. You sadly wrong me, how could you, Levange- 
 line, thus brand me with jealousy he is as dear to me as 
 myself. [ Walks aside, and looks into the sky. 
 
 Lev. (Humorously.) Are you an astrologer that you 205 
 are looking on the stars to decide our fate ? 
 
 Alex. Pardon me, Levangeline. I was gazing there, 
 as on an empty space, I have no thoughts that are not 
 of you. 
 
 Lev. I am called, I will be with you again, Alexander. 210 
 
 Alex, I cannot linger, dearest. 
 
 Lev. You would not leave me thus ? 
 
 Alex, When would you have me with you again ? 
 
 Lev. (Takes a flower from her bouquet.) See this 
 flower, it was a favorite with my father, and when he 215 
 died, my mother planted others like it on his grave. It 
 is a curious one too, which philosophy has named Mi- 
 
38 THE BETKOTHED. ACT II. 
 
 mosa ; but most do vulgarly call the sensitive plant, 
 
 beautifully associated by name to the idea it emblems. 
 220 Tender, timorous, and pale, it contracts and even closes 
 beneath the touch ; and if rudely handled dies at once. 
 Take it, Alexander, and when it next sleeps, come to me. 
 Alex. It contracts already beneath my touch. 
 Lev. I knew it would ere I gave it thee. 
 
 225 Alex. It has a blest meaning, interpreted you would 
 have me never from you. 
 Lev Yes ! 
 
 Alex. I promise then, to be enslaved to thee, the four 
 faces of the dial around. Farewell ! [Exit, L. 
 
 230 Lev, Adieu ! [Exit by the balcony. 
 
 SCENE III. .4 Street. 
 Enter MICHAEL, L. 
 
 Mich. (L.) Alas and alack-a-day that brought my 
 master from the legation at Paris, for here I am clung 
 to his lordship as a trail to a falling star, whichever way 
 his fancy turns, I must be shifted, for, like every one 
 235 in love's service, his thoughts begin with the cock's crow- 
 ing, and never cease till the cooing of the nightingale, 
 and his task, and my service much the same. I am to 
 prepare for a serenade to his lady this night that is I 
 am to make the arrangements, and then to see that they 
 540 are carried out therefore I must be looking after the 
 musicians. (Takes a card from his pocket.) The house 
 must be near by, from the direction on the card. (Music 
 heard in one of the houses off, R.) There it is. ( Walks up to 
 the door, n.,and knocks. Music ceases, and five Musicians, 
 245 with an attendant enter from the house.) 
 
 Mus. (c.) Here we are your will. 
 
 Mich. (To 1st Mus.) Pray, my good friend, art thou 
 akin to the musician of the Grand Opera at Paris, that 
 charged each flourish of his trumpet, for signalizing the 
 250 entrance of the army, as a solo ? 
 
 1st Mus. Nay, my good sir. 
 
 Mich. ( To 2d Mm.) What is your instrument ? 
 
 %d Mus. Mine is the clarionet, sir. 
 
SCENE III. THE BETROTHED. 39 
 
 Mich. I like that the most for my purpose, for it car- 
 ries the air so well. What other instruments have we to 255 
 fill a quintette ? 
 
 3d Mm. Mine is the violin, one that I would not 
 exchange for a bank. 
 
 Mich. (Humorously.) That is not for a broken one. 
 
 4th and 5th Mus. We play the violin. 260 
 
 1st Mus. I perform the part of the violoncello. 
 
 Mich. (To Attendant.) What is your part ? 
 
 Attend. My part, or let me rather say duty, is to carry 
 the lug-gage all the week, and like all others that have but 
 one shirt, to lay a bed all Saturday. 265 
 
 Mich. You must have learnt of old, it is no crime to 
 be poor. 
 
 Attend. No, no, your honor, else I would have been 
 born in a prison. [All laugh. 
 
 Mich. But you could change your calling. 270 
 
 Attend. Pray tell me how ? 
 
 Mich. Simply by learning another trade. 
 
 Attend. It is very hard to learn old dogs new tricks. 
 
 Mich. Well, now, to the object of my errand. I am 
 here to arrange for a serenade this night. 215 
 
 1st Mus. To whom ? 
 
 Mich. To the Countess Manderstem. 
 
 1st Mus. Is she as handsome as it is said ? 
 
 Mich. I think I might join in common report, and call 
 her passing fair, though I have never seen her ladyship, 280 
 
 1st Mus.. You'll not be compromised by that opinion. 
 
 Mich. What sum do you name as the terms of our 
 engagement ? 
 
 1st Mus. A sum of florins counted to the twentieth; 
 
 Mich. Agreed. 285 
 
 Enter ALFRED, unobserved, L< 
 
 Alf. (Approaching.) But there is one part of the bttr* 
 gain you have not touched on. 
 
 Mich. (Anxiously.) What is that ? 
 
 Alf. The price for leaving off. ( Takes MICHAEL aside, 
 and speaks to him apart.) The Count is ill of a distemper, 290 
 and your master bade me tell you to put off the serenade. 
 
40 THE BETKOTHED. ACT II. 
 
 Mich. (Aloud.) Do you hear that your services for 
 this night are hereby dispensed With. 
 
 Attend. I'm glad of that, for I had already felt as the 
 295 circus rider in facing the balloon. 
 Alf. That was ? 
 
 Attend. He wished he was well through it. 
 Mich. Well, then, I do not know that I can advise you 
 better, than, for each to return by the Way he came, and 
 300 keep himself in readiness for my next orders. 
 1st Mus. Let us know your orders in time. 
 
 [Musicians exeunt by the house. 
 Alf. (To MICHAEL.) Let's follow into the house. 
 Mich. You will oblige them better, by keeping out of it. 
 [Exeunt ALFRED and MICHAEL, by the house. 
 
 SCENE IV. An ante-chamber in the mansion of the COUNT 
 MANDERSTEM ; table supplied with medicine and a crystal 
 cup, L. c. 
 
 COUNT MANDERSTEM discovered seated before a table, c., 
 resting his head on a pillow. Servant in waiting. 
 
 Count. (Raising his head.) Ugh ! ugh ! 
 305 Serv. (L. c.) Will your lordship have anything ? 
 Count. Is is, Levangeline in the house ? 
 Serv. I think I heard her voice without, the moment 
 that your lordship wakened, 
 
 Count. Tell her I would see her. \JZ&it Servant, L. 
 
 Enter LEVANGELINE, L. , followed by the Servant. 
 
 310 Count. (To Servant.) You may retire to await com- 
 mands. [Exit Servant, L. 
 Lev. Were you wanting anything, father ? 
 Count. No, I have been dosing till this moment. 
 What is the hour ? 
 315 Lev. Near eight. 
 
 Count. (Aside.) And he is not yet come to claim her ! 
 (aloud.) I feel chilly about my shoulders, I thought I 
 heard the cracking of the wood on the hearth, but I don't 
 feel the heat, cover my shoulders. 
 
SCENE III. THE BETKOTHED. 41 
 
 Lev. (Aside.) He is flighty. (Aloud.) It is spring time, 320 
 close on to Easter. 
 
 Count. I must have been dreaming then. My child ! I 
 must have a word with you. Strengthen me with my 
 tonic. 
 
 Lev. (Handing a glass.) Drink this, and let me know 325 
 if it be strong enough. 
 
 Count. Ay, it could not be improved. Come be seated 
 near me. (Seats herself, L.) This is what I would tell 
 you. Your father was a younger branch of a most noble 
 family, whose deeds of moment that shed lustre on their 330 
 lives, and brought credit to their country's name, have 
 long been annalled amongst the "worthy of our race ; 
 your mother, I see her, as I often have, most beautifully 
 by nature pencilled in thy own countenance, could boast 
 of descent from ancestral names that held places in this 335 
 world's history quite as meritorious, whose lives are 
 likewise written in their country's chronicles. You were 
 their only child, and were bred in all the care their 
 enviable and most happy lot could fully offer ; you were 
 just of the age that increasing interest first sets strongly 340 
 on, and marks her own, w r heii it was your misfortune to 
 lose your father, in whom I myself was so severely bereft 
 of a friend, and brother, I say first a friend, for there 
 may be a friend still dearer than a brother, but he was 
 both. To proceed, ^-his loss was so severely felt by your 345 
 dear mother, that she remained for a long time inconsolable, 
 and though never returning to her former gaiety, that had 
 made her the peculiar charm to the court and circle she 
 had ever moved in, yet, as was thought by all around, 
 her Ladyship had quite withstood her life's most sore trial, 350 
 when suddenly she drooped, and died, -just distancing 
 her lamented Lordship's fate by eighteen months. (Pauses. ) 
 That pain again. I have past through in rapid succession 
 two paroxysms, the bane of this disordered state, as you 
 have witnessed,- but soon in turn my third may come 355 
 upon me, and as these are of such a nature when thus 
 ushered on by such small intervals of time, the fevers 
 become more obstinate, and life more doubtful, a feeling 
 pervades me as though the next would be my last. 
 
 Lev. Nay, nay, my father ! give not thought to such 360 
 
 6 
 
42 THE BETROTHED. ACT II. 
 
 devouring fancies, think of me ! You have been all to 
 me I could desire, in you I have had a father, a pro- 
 tector, what would I have been without } r ou ? 
 
 Count. Levangeline ! you are, as ever, my inmost 
 365 thought. 
 
 Enter SERVANT, L. 
 
 Serv. A letter for your lordship, and an answer if it be 
 your pleasure. 
 
 Count. (Handing the letter to LEVANGELINE.) What 
 are the contents ? 
 
 370 Lev. (Breaks the seal, and reads.) " In accordance with 
 your Lordship's instructions, and expressed desire, as con- 
 tained in your favor last received, I have the honor to 
 inform you, that I have lost no time in making the neces- 
 sary arrangements for my return ; although the legation 
 is at this time much occupied by questions and delibera- 
 tions of moment. I would further state, that, I am here 
 in town, to wait upon you at any moment your Lordship 
 may be pleased to command me. In haste, but most 
 sincerely and obediently, DE TERTSKY." 
 
 \_0n perceiving the signature she exhibits signs of the 
 deepest emotions, unobserved by the COUNT. JOSEPHINE 
 has entered during the reading of the communication. 
 
 380 Count. I would have you follow my dictation hastily 
 make my due acknowledgments, and further state it 
 to be my pleasure to receive his Lordship at the earliest 
 possible moment. 
 
 [LEVANGELINE motions in dumb show with JOSEPHINE, 
 who writes, seals the note, and with it follows her in con- 
 versation to the door. 
 Count. Command the presence of a servant. 
 
 [LEVANGELINE rings the bell. 
 
 Enter SERVANT, L. 
 
 385 Serv. Your Lorship's commands ? 
 
 Count. Immediately go and inform Frederick to come, 
 
SCENE HI. THE BETKOTHED. 43 
 
 say to Alexander, Tm dying, leave word with Francis, in 
 case he should have remained in town till this hour, to 
 come and be with me in my last moments. 
 
 \_Exit SERVANT, L. 
 
 Enter ALEXANDER and NICHOLAS, c. D. 
 
 [ALEXANDER and NICHOLAS take the hand of the COUNT, 
 and gaze upon LEVANGELINE with a look of hesitation as 
 whether to speak, when she starts up from her knees, on 
 which she has remained in a state of mental stupefaction, 
 and collecting herself converses with NICHOLAS apart for 
 a moment. 
 
 Count. Most too late, (TJiey seat themselves, L.) closer, 390 
 closer, while I speak of what I have brought you from a 
 distance, and what concerns each of you. Levangeline, 
 I've already told you of your father and mother, when I 
 paused from weakness,- in your mother's last moments 
 she sent for me, as I have for you, and impressed upon 395 
 me a duty to fulfill, the last that remains unperformed 
 of your father's testimony. It is this,- as a mark of his 
 friendship for the Count Tert sky's regards for his only 
 child, Levangeline, and in deference to what he looked 
 upon as a mutual tenderness on their part from childhood, 400 
 he thereby offered him her hand whenever his lordship 
 should desire to ask it. He, a dying man, made this 
 
 request of me, and I have called you from afar to 
 
 that pain again ! 
 
 Count. Allow me to recover strength for my next 405 
 encounter. [LEVANGELINE arranges his pillow. 
 
 Enter FREDERICK and FRANCIS, c. D. 
 
 Fran. (L. c.) Your servant instructed us to be with 
 your Lordship immediately, as we were passing the man- 
 sion. 
 
 Count And so I did, for I thought that I was dying, 410 
 and would have had you with me. But I am happy again 
 in my strength. You, too, are happy, Francis : you arc 
 entering life amid friends beloved, and academic laurels. 
 
44 
 
 415 
 
 420 
 
 THE BETROTHED, 
 
 ACT IL 
 
 And Frederick, you remember how I have counselled 
 with you ! Levangeline ! where are your hands that have 
 so often pressed my forehead ? You have not left me ! 
 Levangeline ! 
 
 Lev. What is your pleasure, father ? 
 
 Count. (After some exertion.) Come nearer, and give 
 me your hand ; and Nicholas, yours. ( To LEVANGELINE.) 
 Receive this, as one whom your father deemed fit to be 
 your husband, and his son. This day be happy both, and 
 may to-morrow's Sun, shine down to grace your nuptials. 
 [LEVANGELINE sinks into ALEXANDER'S arms*. FREDERICK 
 
 rests the COUNT'S head. NICHOLAS rests his head on his 
 
 hand. 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
SCENE L 
 
 THE BETROTHED, 
 
 ACT III 
 
 SCENE I.- A drawing room in the mansion of the COUNT 
 MANDERSTEM ; a transparent door, G. 
 
 Enter LEVANGELINE, L. 
 
 LEVANGELTNE. (L. c.) 
 
 I'M all estranged since yesternoon. So 
 many strange goings on have happened 
 since then, that I believe all things 
 possible 'twixt now and the morrow. 
 Something of earthly bliss have I en- 5 
 joyed, but now it seems to me, the Sun 
 
 is setting on my fate ; and what's to follow I'm 
 
 ignorant of, 
 
 Enter ALEXANDER. 
 
 Alex. (Entering from -L.) Levangeline ! 
 
 Lev. Alexander 1 (Aside.) Hope has not proved deceit- 10 
 ful ;-- (Aloud*) yet, there's a melancholy thought that is 
 striving to shun the light, which I see lurking beneath 
 that sadness in thy countenance. 
 
 Alex. (Aside.) It has been the midnight's study with 
 me to determine how I can speak the last farewell, to 15 
 tell her, we must part. I could one death endure, but 
 how the death that is comprised in that one word depart ; 
 death is but the temporary separation of the soul and 
 body, but this parting is more than that, it is the death 
 of love, the ultimate separation of one's soul's far better 20 
 part ! 
 
 Lev. jCome, be seated. ( They seat themselves, R.) What 
 has detained you till this hour ? 
 
 Alex. I cannot tell. 
 
 Lev. You are then possessed of a mystery, and are for- 25 
 bidden by the dictates of your conscience to unfold it. 
 
46 THE BETROTHED, ACT III. 
 
 Alex. Levangeline ! no woman can truly love the man 
 that she suspects. 
 
 Lev. It was not thus you talked, when we parted last 
 
 30 in the garden. At the midnight of that day I blessed 
 thee on my knees, for I looked on thee and sincerely be- 
 lieved thee my friend and lover. Oh ! the wages of folly 
 that fall on me now, a blindfold and credulous mistaken 
 soul ! Should not thy voice falter to express thy thoughts, 
 
 35 and thy very countenance blush when thou recallest how 
 you gently tied me within thy arms, and with a fond en- 
 dearment, and gentle touch, that made all nature smile 
 upon our love, as when first thou fixedst upon my finger, 
 This cherished memento of thy faith's vow : 
 
 40 " A ring fashioned as a serpent coiled, 
 Most ancient emblem of eternity. 
 The diamond, say a token of our true 
 Love's eternal purity ;" which I have 
 Sworn, that I will grasp ev'n in my death's pang ! 
 
 45 Alex. Levangeline ! I well knew that I was dear to thee, 
 
 I saw it in the first animated glance that you cast upon 
 me, those flowers you gave me as an assurance of your 
 first and only love I kept a vigil eye upon for half this 
 day, and though fast fading do yet remain to witness thy 
 
 60 own love and pledge of faith. 
 Lev. Pray proceed, 
 
 Alex. This very morn I woke from a dream with the 
 words of Ossian on my mind. Have you ever read that 
 author ? 
 
 65 Lev. Not since I left the convent, and my recollection 
 
 of his writings has grown very faint. 
 
 Alex. I will then remind you of the passage,- it occurs 
 in the description where Ossian deplores the loss of 
 Malvina. It is this : -"Bend thy blue course, stream 1 
 
 60 round the narrow plain of Lutha.* Let the green woods 
 hang over it, from their hills : the sun look on it at noon. 
 The thistle is there on its rock, and shakes its beard to 
 the wind. The flower hangs its heavy head, waving, at 
 times, to the gale. ' Why dost thou awake me, t) gale ?' 
 
 65 it seems to say. ' I am covered with the drops of heaven ! 
 The time of my fading is near, the blast that shall scatter 
 
 * Lutha, swift stream. 
 
SCEXE I. THE BETKOTHED. 47 
 
 my leaves. To-morrow shall the traveller come ; he that 
 saw me in my beauty shall come ; his eyes will search 
 the field, but they will not find me !' * 
 
 Lev. Alexander! (He throws himself at her feet, seizes 10 
 her hands, and covers his forehead with them.) Our part- 
 ing would be to me only a changed name for death, and 
 though you do not know what grief would do with me, 
 I'll tell you my life would not long remain. 
 
 Alex. How would you have me act you have learned 15 
 that there is another who has a prior claim to your endear- 
 ment ; a seal that has long been promised with your own 
 father's blessing. You know that the sacred bond of friend- 
 ship binds me to him as strongly as the cord of love 
 between ourselves : I have concluded that one of us three 80 
 must make the sacrifice, it shall be me. 
 
 Lev. I ask it of you as a favor, that you will not go on 
 farther in this manner, I ask it in the name of the love 
 you bear for my peace and tranquillity. 
 
 Enter IDA, R. 
 
 Ida. The Count Tertsky awaits your pleasure. g5 
 
 Lev. Tell him I am now engaged that I cannot see 
 him this moment that I will meet him presently. 
 
 [Exit IDA, R. 
 
 I feel in such a condition that I scarce know the mean- 
 ing of the words I uttered. Will you not linger, and 90 
 let us receive him together. 
 
 Alex. I cannot. 
 
 Lev. Then say adieu, and of this be assured that the 
 joy of our next meeting will repay the pangs that this has 
 occasioned. 95 
 
 Alex. I cannot say so. 
 
 Lev. Thou would'st not leave me to despairing hope ! 
 Look on me heart and soul I am thine own since I 
 have known thee I have been thine, and only thine. 
 Thou know'st I am and have been but thine only. Dost 100 
 thou not hear me ? Have I done nothing, suffered, 
 
 * <7/., the Elegy on the death of Malvina, the daughter of Tos- 
 can in Ossian's poein of Berrathon ; translated by James Macpher- 
 son, Esq. 
 
48 THE BETKOTHED. ACT III. 
 
 and abandoned nothing for thee, since I have known thee ? 
 Why was it so ill-fated that we should meet, or else 
 should I never have been plunged into this wretchedness ! 
 
 105 But now, methinks, though thou should'st hate me, still am 
 I thine ! Though thou should'st leave me ! no no, thou 
 could'st not do so base a thing as leave me could'st thou ? 
 
 Alex. I could for ever listen, but 
 
 Lev. Alexander ! remember, thou mayst deny me, but 
 
 110 I shall be as ever, true to thee, sole possessor of this heart, 
 as life and thought will witness, while they remain within 
 me. And though death should steal on me, and reason 
 itself should leave me, thy own dear name would be the 
 last upon my lisping breath ! 
 
 115 Alex. Ah, dearest ! would that thy faith from on high, 
 was crowned with blessings endless as thy love. (Aside, 
 after a pause.) While thou art standing near me, sorrow 
 seems but something without a being, but in thy absence 
 shall I soon learn its meaning. (Aloud.) Adieu ! 
 
 120 Lev. Adieu ! (Exit, ALEXANDER, R.) Adieu ! adieu ! . 
 ( Throws herself into a chair, R. ) Though I am crossed by 
 many forethoughts, still can I no wrong ever conceive of 
 thee. 
 
 Enter IDA, c. D. 
 
 Ida. (c.) Count Tertsky awaits, [Exit, R. 
 
 Enter NICHOLAS, c. D., dressed as a huntsman. 
 
 125 Lev. (With a courtsey.) Nicholas! 
 Nich. (R. c.) Levangeline ! 
 
 Lev. (Approaching.) We were not so distant when we 
 met of old ; you are not looking the same as on your 
 return yesterday : are you well ? 
 
 130 Nich. I am in body. (Aside.) If but iny heart was as 
 the sage of old would have had the breast of man, 
 a mirror in which we could view each the other's faults, 
 and learn our feelings ! I must say something. (Aloud.) 
 We are nine years older, and the remembrance of our 
 
 135 former love, say friendship if you choose, has returned to 
 us amidst sorrowful trials and disasters. 
 
SCENE I. THE BETROTHED. 49 
 
 Lev. True it is silent grief that gnaws the deepest; it 
 is your consolation for the loss you may meet at an early 
 day in one, that has been bound to you by the strongest 
 cords of friendship; and to whom I was as dear as his 140 
 only child. 
 
 NicJi. (Aside.) If I go on thus, I shall never have the 
 fortitude to gain the object of my visit. I must change 
 her thoughts. Tell me wherefore looks Frederick so 
 altered ? 145 
 
 Lev. A cloister in a far distant convent would tell the 
 tale of one coarsely attired, but well pleased to calmly 
 endure religious hardships, to fast and next to chill at 
 midnight prayers, to live with melancholy, half speechless 
 souls like herself, and bless kind heaven that her days are 150 
 lengthened to expiate her grief occasioned by one she 
 loved. 
 
 Nich. As has often happened. But the cause 
 
 Lev. Was this ; while he was mistrusting the faithful- 
 ness of the tenderness that had taken possession of the 155 
 heart of one towards him, he became attracted by another. 
 
 Enter IDA, hurriedly, R. 
 
 Ida. (c.) A letter for my lady. Excuse my rude 
 interruption, but the bearer bade me lose not the earliest 
 opportunity to give it to you. [Exit, R. 
 
 Lev. Who can have such an urgent call on my atten- 160 
 tion ? (Observes the address.) It is Alexander's writing ! 
 (7s about to break the seal, when NICHOLAS interferes.) 
 
 Nich. I pray you, Levangeline, not to break the seal 
 in my presence. 
 
 Lev. You must be acquainted with its contents, or 
 something connected with its history. I am warned of 165 
 something wrong in your hesitation and silence. 
 
 Nich. Levangeline ! have I ever deceived you thus far 
 in my life ? 
 
 Lev. No no ! 
 
 Nich. I have not learned its contents, but but 170 
 (aside) the truth would kill her ; (aloud) it is a lasting- 
 proof of his love for you, his friendship for me. 
 
 * 
 
50 THE BETKOTHEP. ACT III. 
 
 Lev. This contention between hope and fear has made 
 me frantic. 
 
 175 Nidi. Levangeline ! by that confidence you place in 
 me, I again pray you to so far respect my feelings as not 
 to open it in my presence. 
 
 Lev. Here then let it rest, within my breast I'll keep 
 it, and read it quietly to myself alone. 
 
 180 Nick. (Goes up to window.) This beauteous evening is 
 such an one as that on which we used to pass upon the 
 waters, caring for and seeing nought but ourselves ; those 
 long, gentle moonlights, when my fond guitar and thy 
 sweet voice went up to Heaven in softest melody. It is 
 185 gone ! 
 
 Lev. Oh, Nicholas, speak not of it ! There are inci- 
 dents in this world, which to look back and to dwell on, 
 only occasion the most painful sensations to our pres- 
 ent life. Let us enjoy the present and forget the past. 
 190 Nidi. Levangeline, it is in keeping with those senti- 
 ments which you have just expressed, that I would speak. 
 You were my first love, and shall be my last. Mine was 
 a passion that like a seedling planted in the peasant's 
 early life, who goes afar, and returns in hope of finding 
 195 his seed grown to a tree, with swelling trunk, and 
 
 spreading leaves, but 
 
 Lev. (Interrupting.) Spare me ! I know I am thy 
 
 rightfully affianced bride, but 
 
 Nich. Levangeline ! what passed between your father 
 200 and the Count, save what thou hast heard thyself, I am a 
 stranger to. That thy father should have deemed me a 
 fit suitor for thy hand, was just, and I am grateful to his 
 memory, but true love looks to one alone for its sanction- 
 ing, its chosen subject. 
 
 205 Lev. Thou meanest, 
 
 Nich. That he would have blown the bud open too 
 suddenty, genial warmth and dew alone can by degrees 
 effect its unfolding, and cause it to open its heart, and 
 give forth its perfume, for if suddenly opened it will fade 
 210 away before the morrow, leaving nothing of its perfume 
 behind. Levangeline ! I can never receive such a gift love 
 desires freedom, and constraint or even that which bears 
 
SCENE I. THE BETROTHED. 51 
 
 its appearance causes discontent, and debases the nobler 
 heart of man and woman. 
 
 Lev. I listen let me hear more 215 
 
 Nich. But it is to another end that I would speak, Le- 
 vangeline. I know your heart, and the one to whom 
 you have already given it, and rather than he should 
 sacrifice life, name, ambition's hopes for me in the 
 name of the friendship I bear him, in the name of your 220 
 love for him I have resolved to make a sacrifice for both. 
 
 Lev. Oh! no no. [Looking fondly on him. 
 
 Nich. It is not despair that drives me to it, but the 
 conviction that I have filled up the measure of my life ; 
 that I have reached the day on which I must sacrifice 225 
 myself to the love you bear him. Why should I not con- 
 fess it ? One of us three must do it it shall be me. 
 
 Lev. Listen, listen, to reason's voice, let me entreat 
 you to be more calm, and hear me ! 
 
 Nich. Speak then. 230 
 
 Lev. Be yourself again, and overcome an unfortunate 
 attachment to me, whose only lot is to pity you. Why 
 must it be only me me, who has sworn, by a purity that 
 equals love itself, to belong to another ! 
 
 Nich. (Who has been pacing the stage ; stops suddenly, 
 and interrupting LEVANGELINE.) Reason on the subject 235 
 as you may, combine all the arguments which you can 
 propose as an inducement for me to desist from my inten- 
 tions, and you will not have in the least affected my 
 determinations. 
 
 Lev. Grant me but a moment's patience, and listen 240 
 further ; you are deceiving yourself, you are seeking 
 not only your own destruction, but my sorrow, and what 
 more I dare not tell. Is it not only the impossibility of 
 possessing me, that makes the desire the stronger ? Seek, 
 and you will certainly find in this world, another woman 245 
 whose love remains unpledged, and who has the power, 
 and would wish to make you happy. Look for such a 
 woman, and be persuaded of it, that you will certainly 
 I'm d her. I have passed a dreadful day of apprehension 
 for each of us, the peculiar conditions that bind us 250 
 mutually together only strengthen it. Seek from 
 another quarter a woman worthy of your tenderness, 
 
52 THE BETROTHED. ACT III. 
 
 come back, and let us together enjoy the happiness to 
 the fullest degree that can spring from the most perfect 
 
 255 friendship that exists ! Do as I have spoken. Come 
 again soon, but not before to-morrow, for I will send for 
 Alexander yet to-day. [Gems-horn heard faintly. 
 
 Nich. I will reflect, Levangeline. I must now be away, 
 for the huntsmen were already collecting when I entered : 
 
 260 and I promised to join in the chase. 
 
 Enter IDA, R. 
 
 Ida. There is a messenger without that craves to give 
 a communication to the Count Tertsky. 
 
 Lev. Ask him to come here. \_Exit, R. 
 
 Enter MESSENGER,- R. 
 
 Mess. I beg your lordship's pardon, and my lady's. 
 265 This is the Count de Tertsky. 
 Nich. I am. 
 
 Mess. (Handing a note.) This is a note addressed to 
 your lordship. 
 
 Nich. How came you acquainted of my presence here ? 
 270 Mess. I was directed to wait with it on the grounds, 
 and to deliver it into no one's hands but your lordship's. 
 I did so, but learning that your lordship had not arrived 
 at the hunting lodge, and was most probably at the man- 
 sion, since your lordship had been seen some time since 
 275 entering the doors, I thought it would be most advisable 
 for me to lose no time in enquiring as I have done. 
 
 Nich. You were quite right. You may retire. (Exit 
 Messenger, R.) It is Alexander's writing. (Opens it with 
 hesitation.) I cannot read it. 
 
 Lev. Read, read let me know the worst, though it 
 280 should prove poison's own draught. 
 
 Nich. Then I will read. (Reads.) " My dear Tertsky: 
 the morning of that day (to-morrow) on which you have 
 invited me to the hunt, at the very hour when we had 
 destined to depart, cold mother nature may hold all that 
 285 is mortal of this agitated, broken, but once happy man, 
 who in his last hours of life knows no pleasure so great 
 
SCENE I. THE BETROTHED. 53 
 
 as that of being loved by one, with whose welfare we are 
 so intimately connected. (He pauses, and then resumes 
 in irregular accent*.) Since 3-011 left me I have passed a 
 dreadful hour, or rather let me say a propitious one ; for 290 
 it has fixed my purpose ; / am resolved to die ! When 
 I tore myself from her this very hour, my senses were in 
 the utmost tumult and disorder, my heart beat heavy, 
 hope and every ray of pleasure were fled from me for ever, 
 and destruction seemed to encompass my very being. 295 
 My troubled soul has been tossed to and fro by many 
 ideas, and as many schemes ! at length I have resolved on 
 one thought which is fixed firmly on my mind, I will 
 die a sacrifice for you." 
 
 Lev. ( Who has been listening to the letter, with visible 
 signs of the deepest agitation, slowly advances, and throws 
 herself into his arms.) Oh! 300 
 
 Nich. What would you have me do ? 
 
 Lev. What can you ! 
 
 Nich. I will tell you. (LEVANGELTNE withdraws from 
 him. Aside.) This is the last and worst struggle of all. 
 What hearts I have to contend with ! (Aloud,) Fear 305 
 nothing. I would not rob him of a holier love than mine. 
 / will depart ! 
 
 Lev. Depart ? 
 
 Nich. (Endeavoring to evade his meaning.) That is, I 
 will away, seek for him, and find him. He may be ap- 310 
 proaching here this very moment, and it would be best 
 for us not to meet in this condition it would only serve 
 to fix his resolution the deeper. It is best for you to 
 meet him alone. I shall return, and will be at the hunt- 
 ing lodge. You can send for me there, if you should wish 315 
 to see me. How how should I ever lose such a friend 
 as that ! If he comes, you will endeavor to calm him, 
 and use your best efforts to assuage him from his deter- 
 mination. We may yet all be happy, happy as we have 
 always been since our childhood ! I have nothing to ask 320 
 your pardon, since first we met ; have I ? 
 
 Lev. Oh, no ! 
 
 Nich. Do you remember when last we parted ? I came 
 one evening, and saw you weeping by my side, I kissed 
 you, and put that cross upon your neck, the same as that 325 
 
54 THE BETROTHED. ACT III. 
 
 you wear ; and its brilliants aided by the gentle light of 
 dawn I remember well the tint, I've seen it often in the 
 East seemed to cast upon your face a ray of hope ; the 
 great cathedral bell tolled out for Easter morn's mass, we 
 
 330 bade farewell, you went afar to an Italian convent, where 
 you remained till I departed for the East. You counted 
 scarcely twelve years when last I saw your face ; we 
 would still have recognized ourselves, would'st thou not, 
 Levangeline ? 
 
 335 Lev. Ah yes, ah yes ! I only cared to be mistress of 
 this cross, for it was of the few things that I loved half- 
 killingly. 
 
 Nick. Have you ever opened the clasp that closes its 
 back ? 
 
 340 Lev. I never have. (She opens it with the aid of NICH- 
 OLAS, and takes out a folded paper, which he opens and 
 presents her to read.) "Love, you will not now under- 
 stand these words written in that most beautiful of all 
 languages ; but at an early day, when you shall have 
 
 345 arrived in that land, you will find those that may intro- 
 duce you to their sense. Be careful in whom you confide, 
 for fear of being compromised." 
 Nich. Read the lines in Italian. 
 Lev. I cannot but to myself alone. 
 
 350 Nich. Then I will save you that pain ; and when soon 
 you shall think how fondly hope has risen on you, and 
 one shall take you as the pledge of future fortune, 
 remember the past: but do not grieve over me, when 
 you shall soon learn how I have loved you both. 
 
 355 Lev. Adieu ! 
 
 Nich. Farewell ! (Aside.) it may be forever. (Aloud.) 
 Think of me sometimes whilst distance divides us, but 
 it never shall unless you wish, if spirits think and are 
 empowered to look on the world beneath, for you ever 
 
 360 shall be my first and only thought. 
 
 [He draws close to her, their eyes meet, sJie stands silent for 
 a moment, and then perceiving for the first time the firm- 
 ness of his resolution, throws herself into his arms ; he 
 presses her to his heart. Door alarum heard without, c. 
 
SCENE I. 
 
 THE BETROTHED. 
 
 55 
 
 Nich. Hark, what's that noise ? 'tis the alarum ! 
 
 [ALEXANDER is observed at c. D., as in the act of entering, 
 but pauses, and intently gazes on NICHOLAS and LEVAN- 
 GELINE unobserved by either. 
 
 Lev. Heavens ! let's be gone ! if he should be come ! 
 [ They part from their embrace. NICHOLAS exits, R. 
 
 Lev. Oh, Nicholas ! till this unpropitious moment, I 
 never knew, how dear I was to thine memory : but in 
 these unaccountable issues, my senses seem dissolved, 
 and my only solace seems to be destruction. 
 
 [As LEVANGELINE approaches c. D., she beholds ALEX- 
 ANDER, and shrieks. He enters just in time to catch her 
 in his arms in the act of fainting. 
 
 365 
 
 END OF ACT III, 
 
56 THE BETKOTHED. ACT IV. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. A woody place adjoining the grounds aMached 
 to COUNT MANDERSTEM'S Mansion; a vieiv of mountains 
 in the distance ; across the stage back runs a practicable 
 winding rocky pass ; Hunter 's Lodge, R. 1. E., stake, spit 
 and other arrangements for a roast, R. c. front. 
 
 MICHAEL, (Enteriny from L.) 
 
 IDN'T know that it was of 
 any use, scratched on it, 
 and burnt it for waste paper. 
 
 Enter IDA, from Lodge, R. 1. E., with a 
 bouquet of yellow roses in her hand, 
 
 Ida. Good day to you, Monsieur 
 5 Michael how passes the day with you ? 
 Mich. Ask of my note. 
 Ida. Where is it ? 
 
 Mich. Ask of master's coachman's daughter, ask of 
 the fire. 
 10 Ida. It's not burnt ? 
 
 Mich. She did not know that it was of any use, 
 scratched on it, and burnt it for waste paper. 
 Ida. Of what did it speak ? 
 
 Mich Of woeful absence from thee, to be sure, for the 
 15 last twelve hours. 
 Ida. Truly? 
 
 Mich. As you are an angel. 
 
 Ida. Not a fallen one, from whom you have any harm 
 to look for ? 
 20 Mich. Nay, nay, an archangel. 
 
 Ida. (Observing for the first time the difference in the 
 color of his stockings.} Oh, my ! 
 Mich. What's that ? 
 
SCENE I. THE BETROTHED. 57 
 
 Ida. Oh, you'll kill me with laughter ! 
 
 Mich. You don't understand me ! 
 
 Ida. Did eyes ever behold the like ! 25 
 
 Midi. The like ! why I was handsome yesterday ! 
 
 Ida. Oh, Michael, do look at your stockings ! 
 
 Mich. Yes I've lost another stocking 
 
 Ida. How, not by that dog again ? 
 
 Mich. This time, it blew off the clothes' line, and 30 
 master's coachman's daughter lost all sight of it. Those 
 stockings, the only relic that my grand sire left when he 
 was forced to leave his native France, on the revocation 
 of the edict of Nantes. 
 
 Ida. But still you have got one pair remaining. 35 
 
 Mich. But how ? 
 
 Ida. Why the dog tore one hose of the first pair, and 
 the wind took one of the second pair, and still there's two 
 remaining. 
 
 Mich. Yes, but they are each of a different color : and 40 
 apropros, let me tell you another morning's incident 
 
 Ida. This daughter of your master's coachman must 
 have some designs on you. 
 
 Mich. Believe me, you have no need to fear jealousy 
 now : but when I was first seated at the table, where she 45 
 sat at my right hand, I could not help observing that her 
 eye was constantly and steadily fixed on me. It was not 
 for me to take notice of it at first, judging, as any one 
 would, that it was 4ue to the attractive power of my per- 
 sonal charms, and that time would induce her to some 50 
 bolder device. But finding that my face was still the 
 object to which her eyes were directed, I began to grow 
 much abashed at my own modesty, when, to my sorrow- 
 ful satisfaction, master informed me, that the eye which 
 I thought had been so steadily fixed on me, and excited 55 
 my vanity, was only a glass eye, and was as unmeaning 
 in its look by day, as it was quiet at night, when it rested 
 on her toilet table, by the side of her glass. 
 
 Ida. From high expectations often comes lofty tum- 
 bling. 60 
 
 Mich. (Kneeling and taking her hand.) As lowly as I 
 am now : the sight of those yellow roses has made me feel 
 years younger, for since I have seen them in your hand 
 
 8 
 
58 THE BETKOTHED. ACT IV. 
 
 these five minutes, I have become in love with a woman, 
 
 65 who, if she be still alive must be five years within my own 
 age. 
 
 Ida. Then you have have loved before ? 
 Midi. Let me tell you the story it is the remembrance 
 of which, just refreshed by the sight of that rose, that, 
 
 TO even now, does not fail to agitate me to an extreme 
 degree. I was twenty years of age ; that was thirty 
 years ago, when my uncle announced to me one morning, 
 that he had determined on placing me in the army, in a 
 regiment that had been raised in our village. I must 
 
 T5 confess to my being greatly shocked at this, not that I 
 
 had any distaste to a military life, for I should have 
 
 . wished to have seen nothing more to my taste, than to 
 
 find myself in a uniform, surrounded by the roll of the 
 
 drum but I was in love ! nor, indeed, did I venture to 
 
 80 speak a word of this to uncle, for I well knew, as there 
 was an old faction between the families, he would have 
 urged my enlistment, if for no other reason than to 
 thwart my attaining the thought of my days and nights. 
 But I fixed on another plan.. I had another uncle of 
 
 85 nearly the same age as I am at this time, who had much 
 fondness for young folk, and had the good sense to be 
 never better pleased than when he was the occasion of 
 pleasing others he made himself the confidant and pro- 
 tector of all the youth of the neighborhood, assisted 
 
 90 every worthy applicant in cases of debt 
 
 Ida. (Interrupting.) But what did he do in your case ? 
 
 Mich. As I was soon a going to say, I went to his 
 
 hous<e, and said to him,- Dear uncle, I have fallen into a 
 
 misfortune. " You don't know what that means," sai(J 
 
 95 he. Don't joke, uncle. " I will bet you, that you have 
 met with rw* misfortune." Now, uncle, I have too much 
 consideration $o be the occasion of your losing, which 
 you most undoAiubftedly would. "Well, tell me, then, 
 what has befell y<s& t" Uncle Joseph has told me, that, 
 100 he ims decided that 1 $&aH enlist, ' ' There's no misfortune 
 in that, or. setting asfcf^ ibhe rfek of life, you have always 
 promotion iin view." Tjg^ always in vj#w, answered I. 
 " Are you 'wanting in couigg ?" Oh ! no, " Well, then, I 
 can't .understand tfeat you hitys any reapon for not wishing 
 
THE BETROTHED. 59 
 
 to be a soldier." The reason is that that I wish to 105 
 be married. " Bah !" That is no consolation for one in 
 love ! "I should like to be in love myself, once more, 
 up to my neck. But, tell me, who this girl may be ?" 
 Uncle, she is an angel ! " Oh ! yes, I don't doubt but she 
 is an archangel but what earthly name does she answer 110 
 to ?" Her name is Ida. " That is her Christian name, I 
 want to know her family name." I hesitated at this, 
 knowing that there had been years ago, a faction between 
 the families I nevertheless answered his demand by tell- 
 ing him her name is Ida Amelot. 115 
 
 Ida. (Aside.) 'Tis strange Ida Amelot but then my 
 lover's name was Michael Bonasse, not Michael Cabale. 
 
 Mich. And I continued, without leaving uncle time for 
 chiding me, that for all her name is Amelot, she has a 
 mind and heart ! " Ah, yes ! I don't doubt but you think 120 
 so and if our family used to have sad wranglings, it is 
 no reason that the effect of the evil should descend like an 
 heirloom to our children. But is 3 r our affection paid in 
 return, as we used to s&y ?" Really, uncle, that is just 
 what I wish to learn ; for I do not know that she even 125 
 suspects me of loving her. " You know very little of the 
 sex, to know so little she knew it as soon as yourself," 
 said he. " Well," he continued, " there are some chances 
 against her being yours. You know of the family dissen- 
 sions, and I doubt if your uncle will bestow his nephew 130 
 upon her." Well then, uncle, there's only one course for 
 me to choose. " Nonsense !" said he, " don't commit any 
 folly, but follow my course." Very well, uncle. " In 
 the first place you cannot marry at eighteen," he con- 
 tinued. Why not ? " Because I won't allow you, and if 135 
 you cross my admonitions you will lose my aid, and this 
 marriage will never take place at all." He continued 
 " now, if the girl loves you, and should be willing to wait 
 three years for you Three years ! said I. Uncle 
 reassured me, " if I began to argue about it, he would desist 140 
 from lending me any aid whatever," at the same time 
 declaring, as before, that " without his aid the marriage 
 would never take place. If she will wait," he went on, 
 "you can join a regiment, and thus fulfil your uncle 
 Joseph's wishes. But not at Cherbourg! I will contrive 145 
 
60 THE BETROTHED. ACT IV. 
 
 to have you put in one a few leagues from .town, where 
 you can return at times." Well, uncle, the only ques- 
 tion is, if she loves me how am I to find this out ? 
 " Why simply, by asking her." I dare not I have often 
 150 wished to tell her that I loved her, when I have been 
 abashed at my own timidity, though I have tried to 
 obtain courage in all ways ; I have even written notes 
 avowing my intentions, and burnt them undelivered ; 
 and when an opportunity offered for speaking to her on 
 155 the point, the first word always choked me and I ab- 
 ruptly changed my talk to some other subject it is 
 always the first word that is the difficulty. Dear uncle, 
 a sudden idea strikes me. " What is it ?" I have 
 determined to write to her. " Do so." I returned home, 
 160 and sat about writing my note at once. There was no 
 difficulty in the writing, but it was the delivery of the 
 note that was to be planned. I lost no time, however, 
 in fixing upon the means of its delivery to her : I pro- 
 cured a bouquet of yellow roses, loosened the string, and 
 165 placed the billetdoux in the middle of the bouquet, and 
 tied it up again. 
 
 Ida. Of what did it tell ? 
 
 Mich. Of the avowal of my love, and of the desire to 
 have her acknowledged return, that she would wait for 
 110 me till such time as I asked her, if she listened to my 
 entreaties, to wear in her bosom, on that evening, one of 
 my yellow roses, which I would take as a signal to speak 
 with her, and I would tell her all that would be necessary 
 for her to do to secure our happiness. 
 
 175 Ida. (Aside.) I become bewildered what ! did you 
 place a billet within the bouquet ? 
 Mich. Yes. 
 
 Ida. And what followed ? 
 
 Mich. In the evening Ida did not wear a yellow rose 
 
 180 in her hair. I was frantic. I told it to my uncle, who 
 
 declared, that, "I had been deceived from the first, that 
 
 she had never loved me." To which I added, that she 
 
 had always acted as though she did, she always looked 
 
 so mild, and seemed so glad whenever she met me, and 
 
 185 gently reproached me when I came a little late. " Ah, 
 
 women are but women, and love to affect love, for the 
 
SCENE I. THE BETROTHED. 61 
 
 sake of having it," said uncle. In this condition, I will- 
 ingly consented to be mustered in the service for three 
 years, in the hopes of my being able to forget my Ida, 
 but it was of no use at the end of the three years I 190 
 returned to my uncle's. house, and found that she had 
 even left the country. And, do you believe, that I still 
 at times think of her, not as she must now appear after 
 twenty years, but as the youthful dame of seventeen, 
 with her beautiful brown hair, and, as I used to call them, 19t> 
 velvety black eyes. 
 
 Ida. Did you never learn what became of Ida Amelot ? 
 
 Mich. Only this much that she became the wife of 
 one of your countrymen, whom she met in France, and 
 settled in his country. 200 
 
 Ida. But your name has not always been Michael 
 Cabale ? 
 
 Mich. No ; that is the name I adopted while under my 
 Uncle's roof. My father's name was Michael Bonasse. 
 
 Ida. Is it possible! Mich ml! 205 
 
 Mich. What means this ? 
 
 Ida. Yes, she loved you ! 
 
 Mich. She who who told you so ! But what of the 
 yellow roses ? 
 
 Ida. She never saw the billet. 210 
 
 Mich. (Aside.) What is the meaning of this there's 
 witchcraft at work. 
 
 Ida. Your sudden departure threw her into such a con- 
 dition that her life was for a time despaired of; but in 
 course of time, like you, she married Stralenheim and is 215 
 now a widow. 
 
 Mich. Stralenheim ! 
 
 Ida. Yes, whose widow Jam. 
 
 Mich. What, are you ! you ! Ida Stralenheim ? 
 
 Ida. As sure as you are Michael Cabale, and once were 220 
 Michael Bonasse. 
 
 Mich. And the clay has come when we should have met, 
 and loved afresh, without recognizing each other ! 
 
 Ida. Yes, strange as it appears. 
 
 , Mich. But tell me something of the bouquet of yellow 225 
 roses. 
 
62 THE BETROTHED. ACT IV. 
 
 Ida. The bouquet I have always preserved it in a 
 drawer of my bureau, though it has years since faded. 
 
 Mich. Bring it out bring it out. (!DA ex-its hastily 
 
 into the house, and re-enters with the bouquet in her hand.) 
 
 230 Untie it untie it. (She unties the bouquet, apparently 
 
 with much emotion ; when the billet falls out ; both remain 
 
 for a while silent.) 
 
 Ida,. Will you see me again to-day at another hour 
 
 Mich. I understand you, Ida. You are right. It is 
 
 best that this renewal of our hearts in youth should not 
 
 effect an event, which is to afford us happiness for the rest 
 
 235 of our lives, and thus at least atone for the misfortunes 
 
 of the past. Who are these n earing ? 
 
 Ida. The band of monks belonging to the monastery 
 that lies on the mountain yonder. 
 
 [MICHAEL and IDA ivalk up the stage, R. c. 
 
 [A band of Monks and Choristers passes over the stage, 
 from R. to o., and enters the rocky pass ; goes over to L., 
 and exits, R; the Choristers singing the following re- 
 frain of a chant : 
 
 Give ear, ye blessed above, give ear, 
 
 Harken to our ev'ning prayer, 
 
 Harken to our fear of despair, 
 And with success our efforts cheer. 
 
 Mich. You tell me that the monastery lies beyond on 
 o AQ the mountains ? 
 
 Ida. Yes : many is the huntsman that could tell of 
 the hospitable treatment he has met with at the hands 
 of these monks, when he has been compelled to seek 
 shelter over night, under their roof. 
 
 [Exeunt MICHAEL and IDA, L. 
 
 [ The inarticulate refrain of a hunting chorus is heard 
 in the distance, off R. 
 
 Hilloa ho ! hilloa ho ! 
 
 The mountains are echoing with hilloa ho ! 
 Up through the woodlands, down through the dale, 
 Our gemshorns sounding inspire the gale, * 
 
 And echo, mocking the hunter's tale, 
 
 Resounds hilloa ! hilloa ! 
 
SCENE II. THE BETROTHED. 6S 
 
 [At the conclusion of the refrain, PHILIP enters from the 
 lodge, stands at the door, and sounds a strain on the 
 gemshorn, which is refected in an echo, and exits 
 through the door of the lodge. The same inarticulate 
 echo of the refrain is again heard, and dies away as 
 though the party had reached that part of the mountain 
 pass which destroys the echo. A hunting party, headed 
 by JOHN and HENRY, bearing their prey, enter R., on to 
 the rocky pass, and cross over the stage to L , and then 
 over to R., and to c., on to the stage, singing the fore- 
 going refrain. PHILIP and his party enter from the 
 lodge, followed by their wives and children, leading a- 
 chamois. Other women and children enter from L. I 
 and 2 E. All the characters take up the chorus. Some 
 bring forward a chamois from the lodge, which they 
 arrange on the .spit ; while others bring forward a dog, 
 which they place in the turnspit. The moon rises, and 
 all the characters join in a waltz. 
 
 SCENE II An Ante-chamber in the mansion of COUNT 
 MANDERSTEM. 
 
 Enter LEVANGELINE, L. 
 
 Lev. (L. xj.) Not all the morn, not all the live- long 245 
 
 morn, 
 
 Hast tkou l been with me 1 yet a feeling sense, 
 Within this breast speaks out, thou think'st of me I 
 And that is at least a consolation, 
 Though lit "be aught else vain and profitless*; 250 
 
 [ Grosses, R. 
 
 Thus -.am. I granted, as In a cloister closed, 
 Pressed by the weight of sadness ancfc of love,, 
 To ask .forgetful dullness stealing oa isae-, 
 To soften and assuage this gnawing paioa frou* secret 
 Dwelling -ojn mj melancholy thoughts- ; 255 
 
 When waking as from a watchful Bkoafee?, 
 On every side I turn my anxioi?s& eyes^ 
 To look for hope, ;aoid find thajfc one' hope lost. 
 And though I waaider thro u^ tkese loft y 
 
64 THE BETROTHED. ACT IV. 
 
 260 Or pace the balconade with longing eyes, 
 Nought can I fix my watchful eyes upon, 
 But his dear image constanly appears, 
 And I become thus savage and forlorn. 
 
 [Crosses. to L., and seats herself , .resting her head on her 
 hand ; and directing her eyes to that part of the wall, 
 where she discovers a spider's nest. 
 
 Oh that I were but a child of nature, 
 
 265 To admire as an infinitely curious 
 Thing, yon creature upon the wall, 
 Which moves this way and that its jointed limbs, 
 And by the sole powers of nature's instinct, 
 Guides aright each nicely balanced motion 
 
 270 Of its frail frame to pleasurable ends, 
 
 A moment to distract my unstable mind 
 From its dark foreboding of forlorn hope ! 
 I have tried all : yet vainly vainly tried. 
 The very luxury spread 'neath my feet, 
 
 275 And air that floats heavy with fresh'ning sweets, 
 Seem but a something wearily loathsome. 
 
 [LEVANGELINE pauses for a moment as in hesitation; 
 then exits, R. ; Ee-enters with FRANCIS, c. 
 
 Lev. (R. c.) Do tell me something of Nicholas. 
 Fran. Are you prepared for the worst, Levangeline ? 
 Lev. (Gazes on him for a moment, ivith a countenance 
 expressive of amazement.) Yes. 
 
 280 Fran. He was scaling a mountain with others, in hot 
 pursuit of a chamois that had just fell on his view, when 
 from behind a stone, with peerless speed, the animal 
 rushed forth, and became entrapped in a bush by his 
 crooked horns, that stood high upon his head. In that 
 
 285 position it remained till Nicholas quite neared to it, 
 when as by love of life, it struggled by a despairing leap 
 to extricate itself from among the twigs, when Nicholas 
 renewed the pursuit leap after leap, till stepping on a 
 stone that chanced to be loosened from the rock, he fell 
 
 290 a distance of several yards, and when we reached the 
 
SCENE II. THE BETROTHED. 65 
 
 spot, we found him senseless, and in this condition we 
 bore him to the monastery, intent that he should be made 
 a subject of all faithful care. 
 
 Lev. Is he seriously injured ? 
 
 Fran. It is the belief that he is not, and that by a 295 
 proper subsequent course he may quite recover. 
 
 Lev. But what of Alexander ? wiry do you turn 
 aside from me ? (FRANCIS and LEVANGELINE rise.) Tell 
 me tell me, Francis I 
 
 Fran. I am told 300 
 
 Lev. What are you told ? 
 
 Fran. That Alexander is-r 
 
 Lev. Is what ? do not keep me in such dread sus* 
 pension. 
 
 Fran. That he is in a severe state of fever, from which 305 
 his physicians say, his recovery is doubtful. 
 
 [LEVANGELINE, as soon as she hears this, shrieks, and 
 swoons in the arms of FRANCIS. 
 
 END OP ACT IV. 
 
THE BETROTHED. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 15 
 
 20 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I. LEVANGELINE'S bedchamber ; a large window 
 extending to the floor, closed by inside shutters, and 
 Italian sash in side flat, R. 1. E. Door communicating 
 with the hall, in R. c. flat. Two windows, darkened by 
 curtains, in L. flat. At the back, L. c., a bedstead, with 
 drawn curtains. Bureau R., near tuindow. Couch 
 down stage, L. c. Small table with a goblet of water, a 
 crystal cup, and different phials on it, R., near window. 
 
 As the curtain rises Cathedral chimes faintly heard off R. 
 LEVANGELINE discovered asleep on the couch, L. c. -/IDA 
 seated by the window, L., has fallen asleep. 
 
 LEVANGELINE, (Awakening as from a dream.) 
 
 IHOU art then saved, and return- 
 ed to me. (Holds out her arms, 
 as if in the act of embracing some 
 object. ) What shall now part us ? 
 (Suddenly awaking and collect- 
 ing her thoughts.) It is but a 
 dream a dream at last ! All 
 has been but a succession of 
 empty images, and I awake to 
 dispel the charm. (Calls faintr 
 ly.) Ida Ida! 
 Ida. (Awaking and coming over, L.) What would the 
 Countess ? 
 
 Lev. Poor creature, you were sleeping too ; I thought 
 you looked fatigued when you assisted me from yonder 
 bed to this couch. 
 
 Ida. I pray pardon of my lady : I kept my eyes open so 
 long as I could, and even commenced to count the hairs 
 that were left in the comb from the last time I dressed 
 your hair, in the hope of its entertaining me ; but the 
 exertion proved worse than the pleasure, and I fell asleep 
 over it. 
 
 Lev. Give me some some water. 
 
 Ida. (Handing a goblet.) Here it is, my lady 
 
SCENE I. THE BETKOTHED. 67 
 
 Lev. (Takes a mouthful and returns the glass.) That 25 
 will do, Ida, you have been so long with me, that you 
 have almost learnt to anticipate my wants from the ex- 
 pression of my countenance. 
 
 Ida. Yes, my lady, and would I had my life over to 
 serve you, that I might show you how dear you are tome. 30 
 
 Enter FRANCIS, R. 
 
 Lev. Who is that ? 
 
 Fran. My voice is my usher. 
 
 Lev. (liaising herself.) Why, Francis ! how glad I am 
 to see you. (Extends her hand.) I have always liked you, 
 and if I had not, I would now, because you and Alexan- 35 
 der were mutual friends, and whatever he liked is dear 
 to me. Ida, you may retire. Francis, will you let in a 
 little of that sun light. (FRANCIS opens the middle shut- 
 ters, and looks out upon the view.) It must be near sunset ? 
 
 Fran. Yes, and the moon is already in the heavens. 40 
 
 Lev. (Aside.) And so it was, when Alexander and my- 
 self parted in the garden. (Aloud.) What is the hour, 
 Francis ? 
 
 Fran. (Observing his watch.) It is just half-past six. 
 
 Lev. It is the hour, and over, that I should take my 45 
 powder ; I passed the last fever, and had a tranquil 
 slumber. 
 
 Fran. What sleep have you had, Levangeline ? 
 
 Lev. I slept from four o'clock till within a few moments 
 before you entered. 50 
 
 Fran. I'll prepare your powders myself, Levangeline: 
 you know it would be uncourteous to say the least, if not 
 unjust, to distrust my ability. 
 
 Lev. True, Francis, this is the first time I have seen 
 you since your promotion to the degree of Doctor of Phi- 55 
 losophy. 
 
 Fran. I only returned at three this afternoon. 
 
 Lev. How kind and considerate to think of me so 
 early. 
 
 Fran. Don't speak of that now, if my task, when fully 60 
 finished, should be proved to have been of value by its 
 good ends, then I shall find my best reward in the con- 
 
68 THE BETROTHED. ACT V. 
 
 sciousness of having faithfully served you. (Mixes the 
 powders in a glass of water.) 
 
 Lev. What do you mean by serving me, Francis ? 
 
 65 Fran. Well, to the point, I'm going to take my tempo- 
 rary lodgings at the house whose chimney top is just 
 peeping on a line with yonder window, and though my 
 address will be there, my residence is here through all 
 your trials. 
 
 70 Lev. Oh ! Francis, my days will be drawn out in 
 thanking you ; but I fear my wants will come between 
 you and your dear ambitious objects too often. 
 
 Fran. This powder is not dissolved sufficiently. (Shakes 
 the glass a few times.) There, its last traces have now 
 
 75 disappeared. Perhaps I ought to act as the steward 
 to one of the Roman emperors ; taste the food before 
 offering it, to prove its quality beyond suspicion. 
 
 Lev. Oh, no ; I'm sure it's quite right, if you have 
 prepared it. (Drinks the medicine, and returns the glass.) 
 
 80 It's an improvement on the last I took, which could not 
 have been thoroughly mixed, for it clung to my throat 
 after I had drank it. Francis, give me your hand, and 
 remember my words ! If one day, you should meet a 
 lonely, handsome, chaste girl that may possess all to 
 
 85 make her worthy of yourself, and you should seek her 
 love, tell her that one who loved you as a brother, would 
 tell her to take all of you. Now open yonder stand 
 drawer, and a little to the left, you will find a small key 
 connected to another by a pink ribbon, with it open the 
 
 90 casket on the bureau top, and there you will find a like- 
 ness : I had it lately taken, and you well know for 
 whom. If under the patient care, you have so kindly 
 proffered, I should not linger long, hang it in a treasured 
 spot within your own apartments, and as often as you 
 
 95 look upon it, think of one that regarded you as / do ! 
 
 Fran. I'll keep it amongst my choicest jewels of the 
 kind. 
 
 Lev. And more, the day that Alexander and myself 
 were strolling in the garden, just the same hour, and 
 
 100 much the same weather too as this, I wore upon my left 
 breast a delicate mimosa, a piece of which I gave to him 
 on parting, the rest I have ever since preserved, still fresh 
 
SCENE I. THE BETROTHED. 69 
 
 and blooming in yonder little vase. If, as I said before, 
 I should not linger long under your faithful service, bury 
 them with me, and strew my grave with leaves of others 105 
 like those my mother planted on my father's grave ; and 
 perhaps chance or the wind will cast a few of the seeds of 
 some of them amidst the grass which shall cover his own ! 
 
 Fran. Levangeline ! you must not broach such thoughts. 
 I am a sensitive disposition, and you would be the means 110 
 of my losing faith in my own services. I did not enter 
 life by dealing in improbabilities, much less impossibili- 
 ties. Mark me, you are yet to be happy, but I know as 
 little of the means, as the little that your faith depends 
 on. 115 
 
 Lev. Will you draw to the left shutter, the light strikes 
 my eyes ? 
 
 Fran. (Goes to the window, and closes the left inside 
 shutter, at the same time looking out upon the road.} I 
 descry a cloud of dust, from which I observe Frederick to 
 prick forth on horseback, as it rolls on towards the 120 
 house. I suppose he is on some errand of compassion, 
 you know he has relinquished the world, and has offered 
 himself to it as a friend to misery. He has not turned 
 the corner forsooth he is Hearing here. I'll leave you 
 for a moment, and will place the alarum within your 125 
 grasp, in case you should be suddenly in want of any 
 thing. [Places a hand bell on the couch. Exit, R. 
 
 Lev. He is not designed for this world : I'm sure 
 such a devoted, disinterested heart, aspiring soul, will be 
 abused on this cold earth. Now that letter, whose seal I 130 
 never yet have had the courage to break. 
 
 [She rises on the couch, makes a few steps, and is obliged 
 to pause ; then resumes her steps, and reaches the win- 
 dow, R., after some exertion, which she opens ; seats her- 
 self, and looks out into the street. A peal is heard from 
 the chimes of the Cathedral, which is supposed to be 
 directly opposite, intermingled with the tones of the 
 organ. 
 
 It is a holyday in the Church, Good-Frida}^, and there 
 are the pious souls wending their way to Vespers. It is 
 
70 THE BETKOTHED. ACT V. 
 
 Good-Friday ! and distant only two days from Easter, 
 
 135 the day on which three years ago, I left the Convent. 
 'Twere better I never had. Oh ! that was a cruel thought, 
 for how well purchased were those few days of bliss, 
 though at the price of the life of misery I now lead. 
 (Goes to the stand, opens the drawer, takes out a letter, 
 drops it, picks it up, breaks it open, and reads.) "It is 
 
 140 midnight now. All the world is hushed around me, and 
 I am possessed of calmness I know not how ! Levange- 
 line, I have just opened my eyes on the heavens, and 
 through a faint breach in a dense cloud that was just 
 passing over my window, I saw some stars, and amongst 
 
 145 the others Vesper, the Evening Star, it is a beautiful 
 name, and one of the favorites too with the astronomer, 
 it was this that shone upon us at our last parting in the 
 garden, and on which I have often since looked with rap- 
 ture, and made it a witness of our past felicity ! I see 
 
 150 you in it as I do in all things that make life dear to me. 
 You are, therefore, even with me now. Levangeline ! I am 
 obliged to a friend for noting these my freshest thoughts." 
 
 [She drops the letter, and remains for some moments in a 
 state of mental stupefaction, then starts up with a shriek. 
 
 He-enter FRANCIS, R. 
 
 Fran. Levangeline ! how came you there ? 
 
 Lev. By my resolution. 
 155 Fran. There's strange news abroad ! 
 
 Lev. Strange news ! 
 
 Fran. Yes, what you would least believe, but would 
 most wish true for your own happiness. 
 
 Lev. (Eaisi'ng herself.) Do not taunt me thus with 
 160 base deception; 
 
 Thy eye something foretells ; thy tongue says nothing. 
 
 Fran. Alexander lives ! 
 
 Lev. He lives ! [Falling on him. 
 
 Fran. Ay, truly. 
 
 1 65 Lev. If he still lives, wherefore said'st thou he died ? 
 
 Fran. Levangeline ! you soon shall learn the whole ; 
 For Frederick's come, full of haste and joy. 
 
SCENE I. THE BETROTHED. 71 
 
 Enter FREDERICK, n. 
 
 Lev. He lives ! speak it again ! Speak it again ! 
 It comes to me each time with new born freshness, 
 As an untold tale ! Speak it again ! 170 
 
 Let me be sure of it, for I'm carried 
 In exstacy be}^ond my senses ! 
 If it be true, I'll fall and worship thee ; 
 'Tis the pride of thy dear philosophy 
 
 To speak consolation to distracted spirits, 175 
 
 And mine is one of them. 
 Speak it again ! does Alexander live ? 
 
 Fred. Keep in calmness while I speak. 
 
 Lev. Speak at once, 
 
 I hang upon the utterance of thy lips, 1 80 
 
 Drinking their accents, though they should prove vain. 
 
 Fred. As I was about leaving the body of our friend 
 for a short absence, I thought I observed something 
 seeming much like a muscular contraction, when, aided 
 by this little glass which I hold in my hand, (Exhibiting 1 85 
 a watch glass,) by placing it quite over his lips, and keep- 
 ing it thus arranged for a few seconds, I removed it to 
 where the light shone bright upon it, when I witnessed 
 that the glass was become slightly clouded by a dense 
 moisture, which was in truth his own condensed breath. 190 
 I lost no moments in questioning the rightful authority, 
 his own physician, when, on my return, I found that he 
 had even provided for his doom, for according to his 
 sealed instructions, directed to me, his body was to be 
 buried by four household menials, accompanied by a sole 195 
 priest, and his own faithful valet, and after the first day 
 to be reduced to ashes, enclosed in a silver urn, fashioned 
 as a broken anchor, and thus finally interred in the man- 
 ner that his friends should agree on. 
 
 Lev. Oh ! let me thank thee, who hast thus saved him, 200 
 Whose life was part of mine ; and though languishing 
 Faintness forbids me more to express, 
 My heart would tell thee, I'm grateful to thee ! 
 I ever thought thee to be more than friendly, 
 And if thou art thus empowered, grant me this ! 205 
 
 Bring him I love, one moment, lest I die. 
 
72 THE BETROTHED. ACT V. 
 
 [FREDERICK nods assent, and exits, R., FRANCIS helps her 
 to a seat, then exits, R. 
 
 Ay, I will, must see him while I may live. 
 My love ! haste, a word might kill me outright. 
 Those hollow footsteps on the outer hall ! 
 210 I hear him ; he is come ; it is he ! it is he ! 
 
 ALEXANDER enters unobserved by LEVANGELINE. 
 
 Alex. Levangeline ! 
 
 Lev. That voice ! it is still his own ! 
 
 [ They rush into an embrace. 
 Alex. Levangeline ! thou art mine ! 
 My love ! my joy ! my world ! sum of my life, 
 215 Thought of my thoughts, thy smiles my blessings ! 
 In a sad hour I dreamt of a future 
 
 That did not wear thy love, Thou'st still been faithful : 
 Henceforth, our lives are one for evermore ! 
 
 Lev. Which, say but which of you shall I kneel to, 
 220 Thou, who art spared to me, or he who by 
 Thus saving thy life, in that has saved mine ! 
 Alex. Let us talk of joy, joy, Levangeline. 
 Let us banish the past whose grim visage 
 Falls on us with such deep and hideous blackness. 
 225 We'll fly to the future, to the morrow. 
 
 By to-morrow morn's dawn, if thou shouldst chose, 
 Our clasping hands shall meet by the altar, 
 As waves upon the shore, that part no more. 
 
 Lev. Ah, yes ; but there will be an eternity 
 230 Before the morrow. 
 
 Alex. But think not on it, 
 
 Levangeline ! and 'twill steal upon us, 
 As the midnight hymn, on that beauteous night, 
 When we were seated beneath thy lattice, 
 235 In speechless intercourse, listening to all 
 Creation syllabing our tales of love. 
 
 Lev. It is but evening yet the sun hath 
 Just fell golden on his pavilioned arch 
 The moon sits like a white beacon of light 
 240 In the darkening silence of twilight- 
 
SCENE II. THE BETKOTHED. 73 
 
 The restless breeze doth gently sway the trees, 
 Rocking to rest the birds that build upon them. 
 Do not thus come to speak of the morrow 
 With power in thyself to scare off Time's hand. 
 
 Alex. The sun no more shall look on us in sorrow ; 245 
 The night is nigh. Would we might be empowered, 
 To move the dial without waiting its return. 
 
 Lev. Yet I do weep to see the day die out ; 
 The death-knell of a day, how beautiful ! 
 A short time since, I woke as from a dream, 250 
 
 And fancied that thou hadst come to see me. 
 Thou saw'st me flew to me half out of breath ; 
 Thy hand was on my arm thou kissed me oft, 
 And put my long black locks backwards. 
 
 I dreamt and woke and then methought, alas ! 255 
 
 'Tis but a dream those arms will never fold me. 
 
 Alex. Without, without, I'll tell thee much without. 
 [ALEXANDER leads her off, R. 
 
 Enter IDA, L. 
 
 Ida. (c.) The bed chamber is empty ; my lady 
 Is not here to be found ! The Count Francis too, 
 Who watched near her, is gone too. If she should 260 
 
 Have fled but wherefore fled ? I must call up 
 The menials of the house. I think I hear 
 Voices and footsteps below ! I will go, 
 And listen without the door. Hark, who is that ? 
 I hear the pacing of steps through the hall. [Exit, R. 265 
 
 SCENE II. The liquor vaults in the mansion of 
 
 MANDERSTEM ; barrels, baskets, and flasks strewed 
 throughout the apartment. 
 
 Enter FRANCIS, FREDERICK, and the BUTLER, followed by 
 MICHAEL, ALFRED, and Servants. FRANCIS and FREDE- 
 RICK come forward, R. c. BUTLER, MICHAEL, and AL- 
 FRED, c. as in conversation. Servants pass to andfroin 
 the rear. 
 
 Fran. If the old Count and his lady could but see these 
 
 10 
 
74 THE BETROTHED. ACT V. 
 
 strange issues to their preconceived plans, their very 
 vaults would echo with their bodies turning over on their 
 couches. 
 
 2YO Fred. Yes, yes, my lord. It is but true there never 
 was a story of more mysterious turns, and such an unex- 
 pected end, than this we have each witnessed. But I fear 
 this connection however agreeable to themselves, and 
 pleasing to us, looks forward to no good. 
 
 2*15 Fran. That is 
 
 Fred. It is attained under the most unpropitious cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 Fran. Heaven forbid. Never did a marriage, under 
 such peculiar conditions too, seem to offer a brighter pros- 
 
 280 pect. 
 
 Fred, Well, well, if those are your thoughts, be con- 
 tented to remain by them. 
 
 Fran. Yes, for I am the better persuaded of it on this 
 head, had I not ventured, even against my own convic- 
 
 285 tions, the kind deception allowed to all physicians, and 
 giving her the appeasing assurance that convalescence 
 was not far distant, and with it speedy recovery to hopes 
 unknown, she would never have been braced in spirit 
 against her bodily weakness to leave this mansion for the 
 
 290 altar before the hour of the morning mass. 
 
 Fred. Though the Church would tell you, there's 
 nothing like religion for a wounded spirit. 
 
 Fran. I well knew that, and lost no time to prepare my- 
 self against the dogmas of those scalp-headed Carmelites, 
 that would have taught her, shut in a cloister, to treasure 
 every moment of her life, to pray for the lengthening of 
 her days, that by fasting, tears, and midnight chilling 
 prayers, she could draw out her days, till every ray of 
 hope was spent, then at the end to say, you may now 
 
 300 die, for you have well grieved enough. 
 
 Enter MICHAEL, L. 
 
 Mich. Friar William awaits, and would have a word 
 with your lordship. 
 
 Fred. Ask his reverence to come below. 
 
 [Exit MICHAEL, L. 
 
SCENE II. THE BETROTHED. 75 
 
 Fran. Yes, ask him to see us here, for if the apart- 
 ment is fitted for a Baron and a Doctor of Philosophy, it 805 
 is enough so for his reverence. 
 
 Fred. (To the BUTLER.) Have a flowing bowl in readi- 
 ness, and I'll warrant that you'll receive plenty of abso- 
 lution in return. 
 
 [FREDERICK and FRANCIS walk aside as in conversation. 
 
 Butler. The best of wine the vaults can afford- a bottle 310 
 of the last fifty years vintage of Madeira or Port, and 
 add one of Rhenish from the Count's own possessions. 
 Let's try that cask of Cognac to the left. (Servants roll 
 a cask down, c.) Now, the further one to the right. Why 
 do you stand loitering there ? I'll find if you have any 315 
 hearing presently that cask that stands furthest to the 
 right. Look you to the Champagne cases, and examine 
 if none of the flasks be broken ; (the Servants bring for- 
 ivard a case of Champagne wine ;) see, there's one broken 
 before your eyes. 320 
 
 ^Re-enter MICHAEL, L. 
 
 Mich. His reverence, Friar William approaches. 
 Enter FRIAR WILLIAM, L. 
 
 Friar. Benedicite vos. 
 
 Fred. Good evening to your reverence. 
 
 Friar. Have your lordships nigh prepared for the mor- 
 row's nuptial ceremonies ? 325 
 
 Fred. They are well nigh prepared, your reverence, 
 all to the decking of the festal halls. 
 
 Friar. I have come at this late hour of the day, to see 
 that we have brought into use on the morrow, the bowl 
 with which the punch was served at our Lady's christen- 330 
 ing ceremony. 
 
 Fred. ( To the BUTLER.) Do you know the vessel ? 
 
 Sutler. Ay, well, my lord. (Aside to Servant. Bring me 
 the bowl that lies in the case on the upper shelf of the 
 plate room. 335 
 
 Fran. (To the FRIAR.) The Butler has ordered the 
 vessel to be brought hither. He says it is well known to 
 him. 
 
76 THE BETROTHED. ACT V. 
 
 Butler. Ay, it was first used on the occasion of the 
 340 marriage of her ladyship's father, and there's not another 
 piece more precious in the whole contents of the closets. 
 
 Re-enter SERVANT, L., with the bowl. 
 
 Fran. Is that the one your reverence used at the 
 christening of her ladyship, eighteen years ago ? 
 
 Friar. (Examining the bowl.) Ay, the same. 
 345 Mich. (Aside to ALFRED.) This will be something to 
 figure in the Vienna Zeitung. 
 
 Fred. Allow me to have a look at it. (Handles it.) It 
 is a rare gem, indeed, and how heavy too. 
 
 Fran. As well it may be, for it is solid gold, -judging 
 350 by its weight, as compared with its size. 
 
 Fred. And what neat chasing is embossed upon its 
 outside. How natural and elegant is this figure ; yet one 
 cannot divest himself of the thought, that it bears a like- 
 ness to the panel paintings executed on the chancel doors 
 355 by the friars of old ; while the paintings outside the door 
 represented the passion of our Lord, the inside pictured 
 wantonness by representing the loves of Cupid and Venus. 
 So in this vessel, while the chasing illustrates the Passion 
 of our Lord, its contents, or the punch, would denote a 
 360 source of revelry. 
 
 Fran. Let's have a toast. 
 
 Fred. To beauty's fairest flowers, Alexander and 
 Levangeline, the offspring of our birthland. 
 
 Fran. Be it so ! a glorious toast. 
 
 365 Fred. I cannot drink the toast, that I have given, for 
 fear of drinking to the dead. 
 
 Fran. Then have out upon your conscience ; and drink 
 though it be but to drown its officious preachings within. 
 
 Friar Will. Life's pleasures are a battle of long date, 
 3fO and when they're won, we grasp for the bright bubble, 
 which breaks in its rise. [ They drink the toast. Exeunt 
 FRIAR WILLIAM, FREDERICK, and FRANCIS, R. 
 
 Butler. (As he is going off.) Of what shall I sing '( 
 
 Mich. Of any thing merry, of wine. 
 
 Butler, (ftinyx.) 
 
SCENE III. THE BETROTHED. 77 
 
 While the wine's flowing, 
 The senses are glowing, 
 As lightly as the cork floating, 
 On the beer froth o'erflowing. 
 
 [Exeunt MICHAEL and ALFRED, L. : BUTLER and SER- 
 VANTS, R. 
 
 SCENE III. The interior of the Cathedral; banners 
 bearing the coat armor of families on either side; a 
 monument to the memory of the M ANDERSTEM family, R. 
 c. ; another bearing the name of WIED further back. 
 
 LEVANGELINE and ALEXANDER discovered kneeling before 
 the altar, c., as at the close of the marriage service, before 
 whom stands FRIAR WILLIAM ; after which they approach 
 near front of stage, c. preceded by FRIAR WILLIAM 
 LEVANGELINE faulters and falls into ALEXANDER'S arms, 
 where she remains for some moments in speechless 
 embrace. 
 
 Lev. Oh! 
 
 Alex. Levangeline ! 375 
 
 Lev . ( With an effort.) Alexander ! 
 Do not be unwilling to hear me ! 
 
 Alex. Wherefore should I ? 
 
 Lev. Thou wilt surely be ! 
 
 Alex. Thy silent look has killing sounds foretold. 380 
 
 But speak, speak the mournfuFst thought thou hast* 
 While I gaze on thine eyes, thou seem'st to me 
 As the stars in the prisoner's dark'ned cell : 
 Thus would I drink the music of thy voice, 
 
 And if its words should prove poison's own draught, 385 
 
 There may be richest pleasure in its dregs. 
 
 Lev. Hither we're come to take our last farewell ; 
 For life's billows are fast breaking o'er me, 
 Steeped in the sunlight of eternity I 
 I feel that I am going ! 390 
 
 Alex. Not dying ! 
 
 Lev. Ah, yes, nearer, there's something I would tell, 
 Ere we part for evermore, but not forever. 
 
78 THE BETROTHED. ACT V. 
 
 For we shall yet meet in spite of sorrows, 
 395 At last in heaven, thus forget the past: 
 And if the fate of her by thee beloved 
 Doth cause one grief, then think she suffers nought : 
 But if, perchance, thou wilt weep still, then think 
 That love's thy fancied sorrow, and live to 
 400 Love the dead, and me whose spirit shall live 
 In peace, and saint-like purity, and prayer ; 
 And then, when, thine shall fly afar from earth, 
 I'll pray to heaven, that it may join mine there. 
 
 Alex. I cannot dare not, look upon thee, love ! 
 405 For fear of looking on the dying. 
 
 Lev. Speak to me as to the dying, my best loved ! 
 The dead are never faithless dost hear me ? 
 
 Alex. Thus, thus, art thou punished for others 7 wrongs. 
 Leu. You were my life, but death triumphs o'er it. 
 410 Alex Forbear, forbear, to farther pierce this stricken 
 
 breast. 
 
 Oh heav'n and earth ! should'st thou resolve to die, 
 And tear all beauty from this widowed earth, 
 Then let a couch of lead, let death's cold mantle, 
 415 And the earth's tall grass together hold us ; 
 Ere such a fate shall on my life be come, 
 For in death alone I should find peace. 
 
 Lev. (In broken accents ) Alexander ! still here ! Oh, 
 
 killing joy ! 
 420 Am I alive ! is this delirium ! 
 
 'Tis he, 'tis my best loved lover, husband ! 
 (Sinking.) Thou art fast, fast vanishing from my sight, 
 Let me feel thee still, my heart would tell thee more, 
 It breaks, it melts, it is not adamant ! 
 
 Alex. ( With his whole form expressive of a sudden out- 
 burst of anguish, raises his eyes, and falls by the 
 425 side q/" LEVANGELINE.) Levangeline ! Levangeline ! 
 
 Still deeper be my life atoned for thine ! 
 
 Lev. I am passing away changing scenes 
 Is this death then life's a dream I see birds 
 Of ever varying plumes, yonder I hear 
 430 The rustling of breezes fanned by angel wings 
 
 'Tis spring time leaves have no time of falling there 
 They're talking of things past, present, and to come 
 
SCENE 111. THE BETKOTHED. 79 
 
 I am so cold strew leaves over me. 
 
 (Looks into the face of ALEXANDER for a moment, and 
 
 holds out her hand to him.) Come ! [Dies. 
 
 Friar. Help ! help ! support him ! 435 
 
 Alex. Nay, nay, 'tis too late ! 
 
 In a few moments has my fate been sealed, 
 
 And with it thus soon my life's accomplished. 
 
 This much in death be granted us one sepulchre. 
 
 Hard by the sepulchres of our forefathers. 440 
 
 Friar. I will, and more, a tablet to thee raise, 
 
 Of deeds as noble as thou hast early achieved ; 
 
 There peaceful be the sleep of this fair pair, 
 
 Than whom none brighter ere on earth have shone. 
 
 Pure fame, true beauty, with transcendant worth, 445 
 
 Kude stone ! beneath thy lettered breast be laid 
 
 Go hence, to others speak of these sad things. 
 
 O house of death and sorrows ! it seems to me 
 
 A very charnel hall, with rooms dressed up, 
 
 With the lean gloom that melancholy wears. 450 
 
 [.Exit Friar. 
 
 THE CURTAIN FALLS. 
 
 Philadelphia : Printed by King & Baird. 
 
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