No. IX MODERN STANDARD DRAMA, EDITED BY EPES SARGENT, AUTHOR OF "VELASCO, A TBAGEDY," &c. THE STRANGE. IN FIVE ACTS. B\ AUGUSTUS FREDERIC FERDINAND VON KOTZEBUE. WITH kTAGE DIRECTIONS, AND COSTUMES, MARKED AND CORRECTED BT J. B. ADDIS, PROMPTER. NEW YORK : WM. TAYLOR & CO. (s. FRENCH, GENERAL AGENT,) 151 NASSAU-STREET, COBNER OF SPRUCE. F EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION THE Stranger was written by Kotzebue in the year 1 787, during a period of severe illness. " Never before or since," he says, " did I feel such a rapid flow of ideas and imagery as during that period ; and I believe it to be un- deniable that by some kinds of illness, particularly those in which the irritation of the nerves is increased, the pow- ers of the mind are abundantly elevated, as diseased mus- cles alone produce pearls" Few dramatic works have ever been so much abused as this by the critics. Even in our own day, we continually hear it condemned as a mawkish" combination of false sen- timent, exaggerated passion and unnatural incident. And yet for more than half a century it has kept rooted posses- sion of the stage in every city of Europe and America where the drama exists ; and at the present time its popu- larity seems greater than ever, if we may judge from the frequency of its representation. It is therefore idle for the critics to storm and sneer. Time, the great umpire, and the popular heart, give them the lie. That interpretation of human passion cannot be wholly false, which awakens so many responses. The sentiment cannot be wholly mawkish or sickly, which, among various people and at various times, touches the deepest sensibilities of an audi- ence. It cannot be denied, however, that there is something repulsive in the terminating scene of this play as it exists in the original German, where the erring wife and the misanthropic husband are reconciled. It is but fair to give the author's own views on this subject. " Among other accusations that have been brought against me," he says, ' it has been urged that I have not administered strict po- IT EDITORIAL INTRODUCTION etical justice in granting unqualified pardon to Eulalia (Mrs. Haller), and restoring so great a criminal to her sta- tion in society and to every joy of life. But no one seems to have considered the dreadful punishment she has neces- sarily incurred from the reflections upon her own'miscon- duct, or to have examined whether any pardon could re- lease her from those reflections, and whether a woman with such a mind, laboring under the pressure of a sullied con- science, could ever be happy again. This is an ingenious, but by no means a satisfactory de- fence of Kotzebue's conception. The characters of both man and wife suffer in their reconciliation. At any sacri- fice of her own feelings, Mrs.- Haller should have saved her husband's honor from the profanation involved in that reconciliation ; and he, like every man with a true reve- rence for the pure and beautiful in woman, should have shunned while he forgave the fascinating penitent. He loses our respect the moment he takes her again to his arms. Some of our best actors have been of this opinion ; and on the American stage, the reconciliation scene is ge- nerally omitted, and the play is supposed to end with the catastrophe of the final separation of husband and wife. There have been several English versions of the Stran- ger. The present one, which is the most approved, is by Benjamin Thompson, and has had the advantage of the emendations of Sheridan and John Philip Kemble. One of the most distinguished personators of the character of the Stranger was John Palmer, whose tragical death will always be remembered in connection with the history of this play. He was enacting the part of the hero on the Liverpool stage, and had exerted himself with great effect until, on uttering, in a tone of indescribable pathos, the words, " There is another and a better world," he seemed overpowered with emotion. He paused foi the space of almost ten seconds as if waiting for the prompter to give him the word then put out his "right hand heaved a convulsive sigh fell, and never breathed after dying apparently without a pang. The audience for some minutes supposed he was merely acting his part ; but, on the truth being known, the excitement was intense, and the house was immediately - cleared. Palmer had TO THK STRANGER. been suffering for some days from great dt pression of spirits occasioned by the loss of his wife and a favorite son. A parallel instance to this is that of Peterson, the actor, who, in 1758, while playing the Duke in Measure for Measure, in an unusually masterly style, came to these words : " Reason thus with life: ft If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing ' That none but fools would keep : a breath thou art" here he dropped into the arms of Mr. Moody, the Claudio of the evening, and never spoke more ! Augustus Von Kotzebue, the author of the " Stranger," was doomed at the age of fifty-eight to meet with a death quite as tragical as any he had imagined for the hero of his many dramas. The 23d of March, 1819, he was assassina- ted in his own house at Manheim by Karl Ludwig Sand, a political fanatic, who denounced his victim as a traitor to his country and a stipendiary of Russia. Two or three minutes before receiving his death-wound, Kotzebue was seated with his family. Some lady visitors entered the room, and after the usual compliments were exchanged, lie remarked, while holding his youngest son, scarcely two months old, in his arms, " I was exactly the age of this child when my father died." The next moment Kotzebue was called out to see Sand, and, before many momenta more had elapsed, his mortal career was terminated. Of such coincidences we may say with Hamlet, " there is something in them, more than natural* if philosophy could but find it out." CAST OF CHARACTERS. Drury Lane, 182C. Park, I"4B. 'She Stranger Mr. Kent). Mr. G. Vundcuhott Baron Si einf art " Archer. " DyotU Count Wiuterten " Mp.rcer. " Bland. Mr. Solomon " Terry. " Bass. Peter Harloy. " Fisher. Francis " Powell. " Barry. Tobias ' Penley. " Amlrrson. George " Povey. " Gallot. Count's Son (five year g old) Muster I. Carr. Master Jones. Stranger's Son, do. Master J. Carr. Master House. Mrs. Holler Mrs. West. Mrs. Mowatt. Countess Wintersen " Orger. " Abbott. Charlotte .* " Hughes. " Knight. Annette Miss Povey. Miss W ilk ins. Claadiite Miss Cubit. Miss Burrows. Stranger'* Daughter (four yean old) . . Miss King. Susan, Servants, Dancer*, t(C. COSTUMES. STRANGER. Dark grey doublet and pantaloons trimmed with black yelvet, boot* and slouch hat. BARON STEIN FORT. White body nnd pantaloons, with scarlet hussar cloak and sleeves, hanging over one shoulder, the whole trimmed with gold lace; lies- sian boots, cup and leathers. COUNT WINTERSEN. A gretn dress of the same make. SOLOMON. Brown coat, scarlet embroidered waistcoat, black velvet breeches, striped stockings, shoes, buckles, full curled powdered wig. Second dress: flow- ered silk .-mi and white stocking*. FRANCIS. Drab-colonred doublet and pantaloons, russet boots, and round cap. PETER. White cotton body, grey fly und trunks, blue stockings, russet shoes, small round white hat, broad shirt collar. Second dress : Flowered silk suit and white stockings. TOBIAS. Dark drab or grey body, with trunks of same, blue stockings, cap, and shoes. COUNT'S SON. Light blue suit, silver buttons and sash, white stockings, shoes, and cap. WILLIAM (the Stranger's Son.) Buff-coloured dress, white stockings, shoes, sush, and cap. GEORGE. Drab or grey jerkin and trunks, blue stockings and shoes. MRS. 11ALLER. Neat white muslin dress, very plainly trimmed, wliite lace head dress, confined in ll;e centre of the forehead. amWalling over the shoulders. COUNTESS. Travelling pelisse, hat and tassel. Second dress: While satin richly trimmed. A CHARLOTTE. Blue or pink body and white muslin petticoat, trimmed with th sauu; colour as the body. EXITS AND ENTRANCES. R. means Right ; L.Left: R. D. Right Door; L. D. Left Door 8. E. Second Entrance; LI. E. Upper Entrance; M. D. Middle Door RELATIVE POSITIONS. R., means Right; L., Left; C., Centre ; R. C., Right of Cenl-e L. C., Left of Centre. N.B. Postage* marked icilh Inverted Commas, are usually omitted in tkt representation. THE STRANGER, AC T I. SCENE I. The skirts of Count Winter sen' spark. The park gates in the centre. On the R. side, a low lodge among the trees. On the L., in the back-ground, a Peasant's hut. Enter PETER, L. Pet. POOH ! pooh ! never tell me. I'm a clever lad, for all father's crying out every minute, " Peter," and " stupid Peter !" But I say, Peter is not stupid, though father will always be so wise. First, I talk too much ; then I talk too little ; and if I talk a bit to myself, he calls me a driveller. Now I like best to talk to myself; for I never contradict myself, and I don't laugh at myself as other folks do. That laughing is often a plaguy teazing custom. To be sure, when Mrs. Haller laughs, one can bear it well enough ; there is a sweetness even in her re- proof, that somehow But, hid ! I had near forgot what I was sent about. Yes, then they would have laughed at me indeed. [Draws a green purse from his pocket.} I am to carry this money to old Tobias ; and Mrs. Haller said, I must be sure not to blab, or say that she had sent it. Well, well, she may be easy for that matter; not a word shall drop from my lips. Mrs. Haller is charming, but silly, if father is right ; for father says, " He that spends his monoy 's not wise," but "he that gives it away, is stark mad." [Going up to the Hut, L. u. E. 8 THE STRANGER. I ACT I. Enter the STRANGER from the Lodge, R. p. E. followed by FRANCIS. Jit sight of Peter, the Stranger stops, looks sus- piciously at him. Peter stands opposite to him, with his mouth wide open. At length he takes off" his hat, scrapes a bow, and goes into the Hut, L. u. E. Sfra. Who is that 1 Fru. The steward's son. Stra. Of the Castle? Fra. Yes. Stra. [After a pause. .] You were you were -speaking last uijfht Fra. Of the old countryman ? Stra,. Ay. Fra. You would not hear me out. Stra. Proceed. Fra. He is poor. Stra Who told you so 1 Fra. t Himself. Stra. Ay, ay ; he knows how to tell his story, no doubt. Fra. And to impose, you think ] Stra. Right ! Fra. This man does not. Stra. Fool! Fra. A feeling fool is better than a cold skeptic. Stra. False ! Fra. Charity begets gratitude. Stra. False ! Fra. And blesses the giver more than the receiver Stra. True. Fra. Well, sir. This countryman Stra. Has he complained to you ? Fra. Yes. Stra. He who is really unhappy, never complains. [Pauses.] Francis, you have had means of education be- yond your lot in life, and hence you are encouraged to at- tempt imposing on me : but go on. Fra. His only son has been taken from him. Stra. Taken from him 1 Fra. By the exigency of the times, for a soldier. Stra. Ay ! Fra. The old man ^s poor. SCEKE I.] THE STRANGER Stra. Tis likely. Fra. Sick and forsaken. Stra. I cannot help him. Fra. Yes. Stra. How 1 Fra. By money. He may buy his son's release. Stra. I'll see him myself. Fra. Do so. Stra. But if he is an impostor! Fra. He is not. Stra. In that hut ? Fra. In that hut. [Strangir goes into the hut, L. u. E.] A good master, though one almost loses the use of speech by living with him. A man kind and clear though I cannot understand him. He rails against the whole world, and yet no beggar leaves his door unsatisfied. I have now lived three years with him, and yet I know not who he is. A hater of society, no doubt ; but not by Providence in- tended to be so. Misanthropy in his head, not in his heart. Enter PETER and the STRANGER^T-OW the Hut, L. u. E. Pet. Pray walk on. Stra. [To Francis.] Fool ! [Crosses to Francis. So soon returned ! Stra. What should I do there ? Fra. Did you find it as I said 1 Stra. This lad I found. Fra. What has he to do with your charity ? Stra. The old man and he understand each other per- fectly well. (Crosses to R. Fra. Howl Stra. What were this boy and the countryman doing? Fra. [Smiting, and shaking his hcad.\ Well, you shall hear. [To Peter. \ Young man, what were you doing in that hut 1 ? Pet. Doing ! Nothing. Fra. Well, but you could r~>t, go there for nothing? Pet. And why not, pray ] But I did go there for no thing, though. Do you think one must be paid for every- thing 1 If Mrs. Haller were to give me but a smiling look, I'd jump up to my neck in the great pond for nothirg. 10 THE STRANGER. [Acx I Fra. It seems then Mrs, Haller sent you ? Pet. Yes she did But I'm not to mention it to any- body. Fra. Why so ] Pet. How should I know? "Look you," says Mrs. Haller, " Master Peter, be so good as not to mention it to anybody," [ With muck consequence ] " Master Peter, be so good" Hi ! hi ! hi ! " Master Peter, be so" Hi ! hi! hi! Fra. Oh ! that is quite a different thing. Of course you must be silent then. Pet. I know that ; and so I am too. For I said to old Tobias says I, " Now, you're not to think as how Mrs. Haller sent this money ; for she told rne not to say a word about that as long as I live," says I. Fra. There you were very right. Did you carry him much money 1 Pet. I don't know ; I did'nt count it, It was in a bit of a green purse. Mayhap it may be some little matter that she has scraped together in the last fortnight 1 Fra. And why just in the last fortnight. Pet. Because about a fortnight since, I , carried him some monSy before. Fra. From Mrs. Haller ? Pet. Ay, sure ; who else, think you ] Father's not such a fool. He says it is our bounden duty as Christians, to take care of our money, and not give anything away, espe- cially in summer ; for then, says he, there's herbs and roots enough in conscience to satisfy all the reasonable hungry poor. But I say, father's wrong, and Mrs. Haller right, Fra. Yes, yes. But this Mrs. Haller seems a strange woman, Peter ? Pet. Ay, at times she is plaguy odd. Why she II sit and cry you a whole day through, without any one know- ing why, or wherefore. And somehow or other, whenever she cries I always cry too without knowing why or where- fore. % Fra. [To the Stranger.] Are you satisfied 1 Stra, Rid me of that babbler. Fra, Good day, Master Peter, THE STRANGER. 11 Pet. You're not going yet, are you 7 Fra. Mrs. Haller will be waiting for an answer. Pet. So she will. And I have another place or two to call at. [Takes off' fits liat to the Stranger.] Servant, sir ! Stra. Pshaw ! Pet. Pshaw ! What he's angry. [Peter turns to Fran- cis in a half whisper.} He's angry, I suppose, because he can get nothing out of me. Fra. It almost seems so. Pet. Ay, I'd have him to know I'm no blab ! \Exit, L. Fra. Now, Sir ! Stra. What do you want ] Fro.. Were you not wrong, sir ] Stra. Hem ! Wrong ] [Crosses, L. Fra. Can you still doubt 1 Stra. I'll hear no more ! Who is this Mrs. Haller 1 Why do I always follow her path] Go where I will, when- ever I try to do good, she has always been before me. Fra. You should rejoice at that. Stra. Rejoice ! Fra, Surely ! that there are other good and charitable people in the world beside yourself. Stra. Oh, yes ! Fra. Why not seek to be acquainted with her ] I saw her yesterday in the garden up at the Castle. Mr. Solo- mon, the steward, says she has been unwell, and confined to her room almost ever since we have been here. But one would not think it to look at her ; for a more beauti- ful creature I never saw. Stra. So much the worse. Beauty is a mask. Fra. In her it seems a mirror of the soul. Her chari- ties Stra. Talk not to me of her charities. All women wish to be conspicuous : in town by their wit ; in the country ry their heart. Fra. 'Tis immaterial in what way good is done. Stra. No ; 'tis not immaterial. Fra. To this poor old man, at least. Stra. He needs no assistance of mine. Fra. His most urgent wants, indeed, Mrs. Haller may have relieved ; but whether she has, or could have given as much as would purchase liberty for the son, the prop a? his age 12 THE STRAJNOER [Acr I Stra. Silence ! I will not give him a doit ! [Crosses, n.] You interest yourself very warmly in his behalf. Perhaps you are to be a sharer in the gift. Fra. Sir, sir, that did not come from your heart. Stra. [Recollecting himself. \ Forgive me ! Fra. My poor master ! How must the world have used you, before it could have instilled this hatred of mankind, this constant doubt of hopesty and virtue ! Stra. Leave me to myself ! \ Throws himself on a seat, R. u. E. ; takes from liis pocket 11 Zimmerman on Solitude" and reads. Fra. [Aside, surveying him.] Again reading ! Thus it is from morning till night. To him nature has no beauty ; life no charm. For three years I have never seen him smile. [Tobias enters from the hut.] What will be his fate at last 1 Nothing diverts him. Oh, if he would but at- tach himself to any living thing ! Were it but an ani- mal for something man must love. TOBIAS advances, L. Tab. Oh ! how refreshing, after seven long weeks, to feel these warm sun-beams once again ! Thanks ! thanks ! bounteous Heaven, for the joy I taste. [Presses his cap between his hands, looks up and prays, [The Stranger observes him attentively. Fra. [To the Stranger.] This old man's share of earthly happiness can be but little ; yet mark how grateful he is for his portion of it. Stra. Because, though old, he is but a child in the lead- ing strings of Hope. Fra. Hope is the nurse of life. Stra. And her cradle is the grave. [Tobias replaces his cap. Francis crosses behind to L. Fra. I wish you joy. I am glad to see you are &o much recovered. Tob. Thank you. Heaven, and the assistance of a kind lady, have saved me for another year or two. Fra. How old are you, pray ] Tob. Fourscore and four. To be sure, I can expect but little joy before I die. Yet, there is another and a better world. Fra. To the unfortunate, then, death is scarce an evil ? SCENE I.] THE STRANGER. 13 Tab. And am T so unfortunate ? Do I not enjoy this glorious morning \ Am I not in health again 1 Believe me, sir, he, who, leaving the bed of sickness, for the first time breathes the fresh pure air, is, at that moment, the happiest of his Maker's creatures. Fra. Yet 'tis a happiness that fails upon enjoyment. Tob. True ; but less so in old age. Some sixty years ago, my father left me this cottage. I was a strong lad ; and took an honest wife. Heaven blessed my farm with rich crops, and my marriage with five children. This last- ed nine or ten years. Two of my children died. I felt it sorely. The land was afflicted with a famine. My wife assisted me in supporting our family ; but four years after she left our 'dwelling for a better place. And of my five children, only one son remained. This was" blow upon blow. It was long before I regained my fortitude. At length, resignation and religion had their effect. I again attached myself to life. My son grew, and helped me in my work. Now the State has called him away to bear a musket. This is to me a loss indeed. I can work no more. I am old and weak ; and true it is, but for Mrs. Haller, I must have perished. Fra. Still, then, life has cnarms for you 1 Tob. Why not, while the world holds anything that's dear to me 1 Have not I a son ] Fra. Who knows that you will ever see him more 1 He may be dead, Tob. Alas ! he may. But as long as I am not sure of it, he lives to me. And, if he falls, 'tis in his country's cause. Nay, should I lose him, still I should not wish to die. Here is the hut in which I was born. Here is the tree that grew with me ; and, I am almost ashamed to con- fess it I have a dog which I love. [Stranger rises and advances, R. Fra. A dog ! Tob. Yes ! Smile, if you please : but hear me. My benefactress once came to my hut herself, some time be- fore you fixed here. The poor animal, unused to see the form of elegance and beauty enter the door of penury, growled at her. " I wonder you keep that surly, ugly ani- mal, Mr. Tobias," said she ; " you who have hardly food enough for yourself." " Ah, madam," I replied, " and if 14 THE STRANGER. [Acr I I part with him, are you sure that anything else will love me?" She was pleased with my answer. Fra. [To Stranger.} Excuse me, sir; but I wish you had listened. Stra. I have listened. [Crosses, c. Fra. Then sir, I wish you would follow this poor old man's example. Stra. Here; take this book and lay it on my desk. [Francis goes into the Lodge with the book.] How much has this Mrs. Haller given you 1 Tob. Oh, sir, she has given me so much that I can look towards winter without fear. Stra. No more 1 Tob. What could I do with more 1 Ah ! true ; I might Stra. I know it. You might buy your son's release. There ! [Presses a purse into /tis hand, and exit, R. Tob. What's all this 1 [Opens the purse, and finds it full of gold.] Merciful heaven ! Enter FRA.Ncisfrom the Lodge, just in time to see the Stran- ger give the purse. Now look, sir : is confidence in Heaven unrewarded ] Fra. I wish you joy ! My master gave you this ? Tob. Yes, your noble master. Heaven reward him ! Fra. Just like him. He sent me with his book, that no one might be witness to his bounty. Tob. He would not even take my thanks. He was gone before I could speak. Fra. Just his way. Tob. Now I'll go as quick as these old legs will bear me. What a delightful errand ! I go to release my Robert ! How the lad will rejoice ! There is a girl, too, in the vil- lage, that will rejoice with him. O, Providence, how good art thou ! . [Exit, L. SCENE II. An Antichamber in Wintersen Castle. Enter SUSAN, R. meeting GEORGE, L. Susan. Why, George ! Harry ! W"here have you been loitering 1 Put down these things. Mrs. Haller has been calling for you this half hour. THE STRANGER. 15 Geo. Well, here I am, then. What does she want with me ? Susan. That she will tell you herself. Here she comes Enter MRS. HALLER, witli a letter : HANNAH following, R. Mrs. H. Very well ; if those things are clone, let the drawing room be made ready immediately. [Exeunt Maids, R.] And, George, run immediately into the park, and tell Mr. Solomon I wish" to speak with him. [Exit George, L.j I cannot understand this. I do not learn whether their coming to this place be but. the whim of a moment, or a plan for a longer stay ! If the latter, fare- well, solitude ! Farewell, study '.farewell ! Yes, I must make room for gaiety, and mere frivolity. Yet could I willingly submit to all : but should the Countess give me new proofs of her attachment, perhaps of her respect, Oh ! how will my conscience upbraid me ! Or if this seat be visited by company, and chance should conduct hither any of my former acquaintance Alas ! alas ! how wretched is the being who fears the sight of any one fellow-creature I But, oh ! superior misery ! to dread still more the pi'esence of a former friend ! [Peter knocks, L.] Who's there 1 Enter PETER, L. Pet. Nobody. It's only me. Mrs. Jf. So soon returned 1 Pet. Slr*rp lad, an't I ! On the road I've had a bit of talk too, and Mrs. H. But you have observed my directions 1 Pet. Oh, yes, yes : I told old Tobias as how he would never know, as long as he lived, that the money came from you. Mrs. H. You found him quite recovered, I hope ? Pet. Ay, sure did I. He's coming out to-day, for the first time. Mrs. H. I rejoice to hear it. j Pet. He said that he was obliged to yc u for all ; and before dinner would crawl up to thank you. Mrs. H. Good Peter, do me another service. Pet. Ay, a hundred, if you : 11 only let me have a good long stare at you. Mrs. H. With all my heart ! Observe when old Tobiw 16 THE STRANGER. [ACT I- comes, send him away. Tell him I am busy, or asleep, or unwell, or what you please. Pet. I will, I will. Sol. [ Wit/tout.] There, there, go to the post-office. Mrs. H. Oh ! here comes Mr. Solomon. Pet. What ! Father 1 Ay, so there is. Father's a main clever man : he knows what's going on all over the world. Mrs. H. No wonder ; for you know he receives as ma ny letters as a prime minister and all his secretaries. Enter SOLOMON, L. Peter crosses behind, L. Sol. Good morning, good morning to you, Mrs. Haller. It gives me infinite pleasure to see you look so charmingly well. You have had the goodness to send for your hum- ble servant. Any news from-the Great City ] There are very weighty matters in agitation. I have had my let- ters, too. Mrs. H. (Smiling.} I think, Mr. Solomon, you must correspond with the four quarters of the globe. Sol. Beg pardon, not with the whole world, Mrs. Hal- ler ; but, [consequentially,] to be sure, I have correspond- ents, on whom I can rely, in the chief cities of Europe, Asia, Africa, and America. Mrs. H. And yet I have my doubts whether you know what is to happen this very day, at this very place. Sol. At this very place ! Nothing material. We meant to have sown a little barley to-day, but the ground is too dry ; and the sheep-shearing is not to be till to-morrow. Pet. No, nor the bull-baiting till Sol. Hold your tongue, blockhead ! Get about your business. Pet. Blockhead ! There again ! I suppose I'm not to open my mouth. [To Mrs. H.] Good bye ! [Exit, R. Mrs. H. The Count will be here to-day. Sol. How! What! Mrs. If With his lady, and his brother-in-law, Baron Stemfort. Sol. My letters say nothing of this. You are laughing at your humble servant. Mrs. H. You know, sir, I'm not much given . > jesting Sol. Peter! (Crosses, R.) Good lack-a-day ! /lis High ScEKBlI.] THE STRANGER. 17 Honourable Excellency the Count Wintersen, and her Honourable Excellency the Countess Wintersen, and his Honourable Lordship Baron Steinfort, and, Lord have mercy ! nothing in proper order ! Here, Peter ! Peter ! Enter PETER, n. Pet. Well, now, what's the matter again 1 Sol. Call all the house together, directly ! Send to the gamekeeper : tell him to bring some venison. Tell Re becca to uncase the furniture, and take the covering from the Venetian looking-glasses, that her Right Honourable Ladyship the Countess may look at her gracious counte- nance ; and tell the cook to let me see him without loss of time ; and tell John to*catch a brace or two of carp. And tell and tell and tell tell Frederick to friz my Sunday wig. Mercy on us tell There Go ! [Exit Peter, u.] Heavens and earth ! So little of the new furnishing of this old castle is completed ! Where are we to put his Honourable Lordship the Baron 1 Mrs. H. Let him have the little chamber at the head of the stairs ; it is a neat room, and commands a beautiful prospect. Sol. Very right, very right. [Crosses, L.] But that room has always been occupied by the Count's private secretary. Suppose Hold, I have it ! You know the little lodge at the end of the park : we can thrust the secretary in that. Mrs. H. You forget, Mr. Solomon ; you told me that the Stranger lived there. Sol. Pshaw! What have we to do with the Stranger? Who told him to live there 1 He must turn out. Mrs. H. That would be unjust ; for you said that you' let the dwelling to him, and by your own account he pays well for it. Sol. He does, he does. But nobody knows who he is. The devil himself can't make him out. To be sure, I lately received a letter from Spain, which informed mo that a spy had taken up his abode in this country, arid from the description Mrs. H. A spy ! Ridiculous! Everything I have heard bespeaks him to be a man who may be allowed to dwell where. His life is solitude and silence. Sol. So it is. 18 THE STRANGER. [Aci I Mrs. II. You tell me, too, he does much good. Sol. That he does. J\lrs. H. He hurts nothing : not the worm in his way. Sol. That he does not. Mrs. H. He troubles no one ? Sol. True, true ! Mrs. H. Well, what do you want more 1 Sol. 1 want to know who he is. If the man would only converse a little, one might have an opportunity of pump- ing ; but if one meets him in the lime walk, or by the river, it is nothing but " Good morrow ;" and off he mar- ches. Once or twice I have contrived to edge in a word : " Fine day" " Yes," " Taking a little exercise, I per- ceive 1" " Yes" and off again like a shot. The devil take such close fellows, say I. And, like master like man not a syllable do I know of that mumps, his servant, ex- cept that his name is Francis. Mrs. H. You are putting yourself into a passion, and quite forget who are expected. Sol. So I do mercy on us ! There now, you see what misfortunes arise from m.t knowing people. Mrs. II. 'Tis near twelve o'clock ! If his lordship has stolen an hour from his usual sleep, the family must soon be here. I go to my duty : you will attend to yourtv, Mr. Solomon. [Exit, R. Sol. Yes, I'll look after my duty, never fear. There goes another of the same class. Nobody knows who she is, again. However, thus much I do know of her, that her Right Honourable Ladyship the Countess, all at once, popped her into the house, like a blot of ink upon a sheet .of paper; but why, wherefore, or for what reason, not a soul can tell. " She is to manage the family within doors." She to manage ! Fire and faggots ! Havn't I managed every thing, within and- without, most reputably, these twenty years 1 I must own I grow a little old, and she does take a deal of pains ; but all this she learned of me. When she first came here mercy on us! she didn't know th;it linen was made of Rax ! But what was to bo expect- ed from one who has no foreign correspondence 1 [Exit, L, END OF ACT 1. * THE STRANGER. 19 ACT IT. SCENE I. A Drawing Room in the Castle, with Sefa and Chairs. Enter SOLOMON, L. Rural music heard :-,. without. Pet. [ Without, L.] Stop ; not yet, not yet ; but make way there, make way, my good friends, tenants, and villa- gers. John, George, Frederick ! Good friends, make way. Sol. It is not the Count : its only Baron Steinfort Stand back, I say ; and stop the music ! Enter BARON STEINFORT, L. ushered in by PETER, who mi- micks and apes his father. I have the honour to introduce to your lordship myself, Mr. Solomon, who blesses the hour in which fortune al- lows him to become acquainted with the Honorable Baron Steinfort, [Baron 2>asscs Solomon and throws himself on the Sofa,} brotheiMn-law of his Right Honourable Excellency Count Wintersen, my noble master. Pet. Bless our noble master ! \Peter is on R. of sofa. Bar. Old and young, I see they'll allow me no peace, [./foitfe.] Enough, enough, good Mr. Solomon, I am a sol- dier, I pay but few compliments, and require as few from others. Sol. I beg pardon, my lord We do live in the country to be sure, but we are acquainted with the reverence 'due to exalted personages. [Sitting beside the Baron, L. Pet. Yes We are acquainted with exalted personages. Bar. What is to become of me 1 Well, well, I hope we shall become better acquainted. You must know, Mr. Solomon, I intend to assist, for a couple of. months at least, iu attacking the well stocked cellars of Wintersen. Sol. Why not whole years, my lord ] Inexpressible would be the satisfaction of your humble servant. And, though I say it, well-stocked indeed are our cellars. ] have, in every respect, here, managed matters in so frugal and provident a way, that his Right Honorable Excellency the Count will be astonished. [Baron yawns.] Extremely sorry it is not in my power to entei lain your lordship. Pet. Extremely sorry. 20 THE STRANGER. [ ACT II Sol. Where can Mrs. Haller have hid heiself 1 Bar. Mrs. Haller ! Who is she 1 Sol. Why, who she is, I can't exactly tell your lordship. Pet. No, nor 1. Sol. None of any correspondents give any account of her. She is here in the capactity of a kind of a superior housekeeper. Methinks I hear her silver voice upon the stairs. [Crosses R., Peter crosses behind to L.] I will have the honour of sending her to your lordship in an instant. Bar. Oh ! don't trouble yourself. Sol. No trouble whatever ! I remain, at all times, your honorable lordship's most obedient, humble, and devoted servant. [Exit, bowing. R. Pet. Devoted servant. [Exit, bowing, L. Bar. Now for a fresh plague. Now am I to be tor- mented by some chattering old ugly hag, till I am stunned with her noise and officious hospitality. O, patience ! what a virtue art thou ! Enter MRS. HALLER, R. witJi a courtscy ; BA.RON rises, and returns a bow in confusion. [Aside.] No, old she is not. [Casts another glance at her.\ No, by Jove, nor ugly. Mrs. H. I rejoice, my lord, in thus becoming acquainted with the brother of my benefactress. Bar. Madam, that title shall be doubly valuable to me, since it gives me an introduction equally to be rejoiced at. Mrs. H. [ Without attending to thr. compliment^ This lovely weather, then, has enticed tb* Count from the city. Bar. Not exactly that. You know him. Sunshine or clouds are to him alike, as long as eternal summer reigns in his own heart and family. Mrs. H. The Count possesses a most Cheerful and ami- able philosophy. Ever in the same happy humor ; ever enjoying each minute of his life. But you must confess, my lord, that he is a favourite child of fortune, and has much to be grateful to her for. Not merely because she has given him birth and riches, but for a native sweetness of temper, never to be acquired ; and a graceful suavity of manners, whose school must be the mind. At:d, need I enumerate among fortune's favours, the hand and flec- tions of your accomp] : 6hed sister ? ] -THE STRANGER. 21 Bar. [More and more struck.] True, madam. My good easy brother, too, seems sensible of his happiness, and is resolved to retain it. He has quitted the service, to live here. I am yet afraid he may soon grow weary of Win- tersen and retirement. Mrs. H. I should trust not. They, who bear a cheerful and unreproaching conscience into solitude, surely must increase the measure of their own enjoyments. They quit the poor, precarious, the dependent pleasures which they borrowed from the world, to draw a real bliss from that exhaustless source of true delight, the fountain of a pure unsullied heart. Bar. Has retirement long possessed so lovely an advo- cate ! Mrs. H. I have lived here three years. Bar. And never felt a secret wish for the society you left, and must have adorned ] Mrs. H. Never. Bar. To feel thus, belongs either to a very rough or a very polished soul. The first sight convinced me in which class I am to place you. Mrs. H. \ With a sigh.] There may, perhaps, be a third class. Bar. Indeed, madam, I wish not to be thought forward ; but women always seemed to me less calculated for re- tirement than men. We have a thousand employments, a thousand amusements, which you have not. Mrs. H. Dare I ask what they are ] Bar. We ride we hunt we play read write Mrs. H. The noble -enjoyments of the chase, and the still more noble enjoyments of play, I grant you. Bar. Nay, but dare I ask, what are your employments for a day 1 Mrs. H. Oh, my lord ! you cannot imagine how quickly time passes, when a certain uniformity guides the minutes of our life. How often do I ask, " Is Saturday come again so soon V On a bright cheerful morning, my books and breakfast are carried out upon the grass-nlot. Then is the sweet picture of reviving industry, and eager inno- cence, always new to me. The Bird's notes so often heard, still waken new ideas : the herds are led into the fields : the peasant bends his eye upon" his plough. Every thing lives and moves ; and in every creature's mind, it seems 1 Z% THE STRANGER. [ACT II as it were morning. Towards evening, I begin to roam abroad : from the park into the meadows. And some- times, returning, I pause to look at the village boys and girls as they play. Then do I bless their innocence, and pray to Heaven those laughing thoughtless hours could be their lot for ever. Bar, This is excellent ! But these are summer amuse- ments. The winter ! The winter ! Mrs. H. Why for ever picture winter like old age, tor- pid, tedious, and uncheerful ? Winter has its own delights: this is the time to instruct and mend the mind by reading and reflection. At this season, too, I often take my harp, and amuse myself by playing or singing the little favorite airs that remind me of the past, or solicit hope for the fu- ture. Bar. Happy indeed are they, who cun thus create and vary their own pleasures and employments. Enter PETER, L. (Mrs. Haller crosses to Peter.) Pet. Well well Pray now I was ordered I can keep him out no longer 'Tis old Tobias: he will come in. Enter TOBIAS, L., forcing his way : Exit Peter, L. Tab. I must, good Heaven, I must. Mrs. H. \ Confused.] I have no time at present I I You see I am not alone. Tob. Oh ! this good gentleman will forgive me. Bar. What do you want ? Tob. To return thanks. Even charity is a burden if one may riot be grateful for it. Mrs. H. To-morrow, good Tobias ; to-morrow. Bar. Nay, no false delicacy, madam. Allow him to vent the feelings of his heart ; and permit me to witness a scene which convinces me, even more powerfully than your con- versation, how nobly you employ your time. Speak, old man. Tob. Oh, lady, that each word which drops from my lips, might call down a blessing on your head ! I lay for- saken and dying in my hut : not even bread or hope re- mained. Oh ! then you came in the form of an angel ; brought medicines to UK*; and your sweet consoling voice clIJ more than those [ am recovered. To-day, for the THE STRANGER. 23 first time, I have returned thanks in the presence of the sun : and now I come to you, noble lady. Let me drop iriy tears upon your charitable hand. For your sake, Hea- ven has blessed my latter days. The Stranger too, who lives near me, has given me a purse of gold to buy my son's release. I am on aiy way to the city : I shall pur- chase my Robert's release. Then I shall have an honest daughter-in-law. And you, if ever after that you pass our happy cottage, oh ! what must you feel when you say to yourself, " This is my work !" Mrs. If. [/ a tone of entreaty.} Enough, Tobias ; enough ! Tub. I beg pardon ! I cannot utter what is breathing in my breast. There is One who knows it.. May His bles- sing and your own heart reward you ! [Exit, i.. Mrs. H. [Endeavoring to bring about a conversation.] 1 suppose, my lord, we may expect the Count and Countess every moment now ] Bar. Not just yet, madam. He travels at his leisure. I am selfish, perhaps, in not being anxious for his spe.ed : the delay has procured me a delight which I never shall forget. Mrs. H. [Smiling.] You satirise mankind, my lord. Bar. How so ] Mrs. If. In supposing such scenes to be uncommon. Bar. I confess I was little prepared for such ah acquain- tance as yourself: I am extremely surprised. When So- lomon told me your name and situation, how could I sup- pose that Pardon my curiosity : You have been, or are married 1 Mrs. H. [Suddenly sinking from her cheerful raillery into mournful gloom.} 1 have been married, my lord. Bar. [ IV/tose enquiries evince curiosity, yet are restrained within the bounds of the nicest respect.} A widow, then ] Mrs. H. I beseech you There are strings in the hu- man heart, which, touched, will sometimes utter dreadful discord 1 beseech you Bar. I understand you. 1 see you know how to con- ceal every thing except your perfections. 'Mrs. H. My perfections, ala* ! [Rural music without, L.] But 1 hear the happy tenantry announce the Count's arrival. Your pardon, my lord ; I must attend them. [Exit, L. 24 THE STRANGEE. [ACT II Bar. Excellent creature ! What is she, and what can be her history ] I must seek my sister instantly. How strong arid how sudden is the interest I feel for her ! But it is a feeling I ought to check. And yet, why so 1 What- ever are the emotions she has inspired, 1 am sure they arise from the perfections of the mind ; and never shall be met by unworthiness in mine. [Exit, L. SCENE Il.-r-The Lawn. (Rural Music, i.J Enter SOLOMON and PETER, L. ushering in the COUNT, CHILD, COUNTESS WINTERSEN leading the Child; MRS. HALLER, the BARON, and SERVANTS following. Sol. Welcome, ten thousand welcomes, your Excellen- cies ! Count. Well ! here we are ! Heaven bless our advance and retreat ! Mrs. Haller, I bring you an invalid, who in future will swear to no flag but yours. Mrs. H. Mine flies for retreat and rural happiness. Covnt. But not without retreating Graces, and retiring Cupids too. Covfltesx. [ Who has in the meantime kindly embraced Mrs. Haller, and by her been welcomed to Winterscn.] My dear Count, you forget that I am present. Count. Why, in the name of chivalry, how can I do less than your gallant brother, the Baron, who has been so kind as nearly to kill my four greys, in order to be here five minutes before me 1 Bar. II I had known all the charms of this place, you should have said so with justice. Countess. Don't you think William much grown ? [Puts William over to Mrs. Haller. Mrs. II. The sweet boy ! [Stoops to Idss him, and deep melancholy overshadows her countenance. Retires witli the Child a little, L Count. Well, Solomon, you've provided a good dinner i Sol. As good as haste would allow, please your Right Honourable Excellency ! Pet. Yes. as good as [ Count retires a little n., with Solomon and Ptler. THE STRANGER. 26 Bar. Tell me, I conjure you, sister, what jewel you have thus buried in the country ? Countess. Ha ! ha ! What, brother, you caught at last ? Bar. Answer me. Countess. Well, her name is Mrs. Haller. Bar. That T know ; but Countess. But ! but I know no more myself. Bar. Jesting apart, I wish to know. Countess. And, jesting apart, I wish you would not plague me. I have at least a hundred thousand important things to do. Heavens ! the vicar may come to pay his respects to me before I have been at my toilet ; of course T must consult my looking glass on the occasion. Come, William, [crossing, R.J will you help to dress me, or stay with your father 1 Count. We'll take care of him. [Goes to the Child, c. Countess. Come, Mrs. Haller. [Jlfrs. Haller crosses to the Countess. [Exit with Mrs. Haller, Susan and Hannah following, R, Bar. [Aside, and going,] I am in a very singular humor. [Crosses, R. Count. Whither so fast, good brother 1 Bar. To my apartment : I have letters to I Count. Pshaw ! Stay. Let us take a turn in the park together. Bar. Excuse me. I am not perfectly well. I should be but bad company. I [Exit, R. Count. [Solomon and Peter advance bowing, R.J Well, Solomon, you are as great a fool as ever, [ see. Sol. Ha ! ha ! At your Right Honourable Excellency's service. Count. [Points to Peter.] Who is that ape at your el- Dow ] Sol. Ape ! Oh ! that is with respect to your Excel- lency be it spoken the son of my body ; by name, Peter. [Peter bows. Count. So, so ! Well, how goes all on ? Sol. Well and good ; well and good. Your Excellency will see how I've improved the park. You'll not know it again. A hermitage here ; serpentine walks there ; an obelisk ; a ruin ; and all so sparingly, all done with the most economical economy. 26 THE STRANGER. [ ACT II Count. We 1, I'll have a peep at your obelisk and ruins, while they prepare for dinner. Sol, 1 have already ordered it, and will have the honor of attending your Right Honourable Excellency. Count. Come, lead the way. [Solomon crosses, L.] Peter, attend your young master to the house ; [Gives the Child over to Peter, \\.\ we must not tire him. [Exeunt, L. u. E. conducted hy Solomon ; George and Harry follow. Pet. We'll go round this way, your little Excellency, and then we shall see the bridge as we go by ; and the new boat, wHi all the fine ribands and streamers. This way, your little Excellency. [Exit, leading the Child, R.U.E. SCEXE III. The Antichamber. Enter MRS. HALLER, R. Mrs. H. What, has thus alarmed and subdued me ? My tears flow ; my heart bleeds. Already had I apparently overcome my chagrin : already had I at least assumed that easy gaiety once so natural to me, when the sight of this child in an instant overpowered me. When the Countess called him William Oh ! she knew not that she plunged a poinard in my heart. I have a William too, who must be as tall as this, if he be still alive. Ah ! yes, if he be still alive. His little sister, too! Why, fancy, dost thou rack me thus '( Why dost thou image my poor children, fainting in sickness, and crying to their mother 1 To the mother who has abandoned them ] f Weeps.] What a wretched outcast am 1 ! And that just to-day 1 should be doomed to feel these horrible emotions ! Just to-day, when disguise was so necessary. Enter CHARLOTTE, R. Char. [Entering.] Very pretty, very pretty indeed ! Bet- ter send me to the garret at once. Your servant, Mrs. Haller. I beg, madam, 1 may have a room fit for a res- pectable person, Mrs. H. The chamber into which you have been shown is, I think, a very neat one. Char. A very neat one, is it "? Up the back stairs, and )ver the laundry ! I should never be able to close my eyc. Mrs, U. [ Very mild/y.] 1 slept there a whole year ScEicElII.] THE STRANGER. 27 Char. Did you ! Then I advise you to remove into it again, and the sooner the better. I'd have you to know, madam, there is a material difference between certain per- sons and certain persons. Much depends upon the man ner in which one lias been educated. 1 think, madam, ii would only be proper if you resigned your room to me Mrs. H. If the Countess desires it, certainly. Char. The Countess ! Very pretty, indeed ! Would you have me think of plaguing her ladyship with such trifles \ I shall order' my trunk to be carried wherever 1 please. Mrs. H. Certainly ; only not into my chamber. Char, Provoking creature ! but how could I expect to find breeding among creatures born of one knows not whom, and coming one knows not whence 1 Mrs. H. The remark is very just. Enter PETER, in haste, L. Pet. Oh lud ! Oh lud ! Oh lud ! Oh lud ! Mrs. H. What's the matter ! Pet. The young Count has fallen into the river ! His little Excellency is drowned ! Mrs. H. Who! What? Pet. His honour, my young master ! Mrs. H. Drowned ] Pet. Yes. Mrs. H. Dead ? Pet. No; he's not dead. Mrs, H. Well, well, then softly ; you will alarm the Countess. Pet. Oh lud ! Oh lud ! Enter the BARON, R. Bar. What is the matter ? Why all this noise ? Pet. Noise? Why Mrs. H. Be not alarmed, my lord. Whatever may have happened, the dear child is now at least safe. You said so, I think, master Peter 1 Pet. Why, to be sure, his little Excellency is not hurt ; but he's very wet, though : and the Count is taking him by the garden door to the house. Bar. Right, that the Countess may not be alarmed. But how could it happen 1 Pray tell us, young man 1 28 THE STRANGER. [ACT I, Pet. What f.'orn beginning to end ] \CrossingtoBaron. Mrs Jl >H'ir mind particulars. You attended the d^-t ~-u:u> ' P"i ' ue. "/> 77. Into the park? Pft. True. Mrs. H. And then you went to the river ] Pet. True. Why, rabbit it, I believe you're a witch. Mrs. H. Well, and what happened further? Pet. Why, you see, his dear little Excellency would- see the bridge that father built out of the old summer house; "and the streamers, and the boat, and all that. I only turned my head round for a moment, to look after a magpie Crush ! Down went the bridge with his little Excellency ; and oh, how I was scared to see him carried down the river ! Bar. And you drew him out again directly ? Pet. No, I did'nt. Mrs. H. No ; your father did ? Pet. No, he did'nt, Mrs. H. Why, you did not leave him in the water ] Pet. Yes, we did ! But we bawled as loud as we could ! You might have heard us down to the village. Mrs. H. Ay and so the people came immediately to his assistance 1 Pet. No, they did'nt ; but the Stranger came, that lives yonder, close to old Toby, and never speaks a syllable. Odsbodkins! What a devil of a fellow it is! With a single spring bounce he slaps into the torrent ; sails and dives about and about like a duck ; gets me hold of the little angel's hair, and, Heaven bless him ! pulls him safe and sound to dry land again. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Bar. Is the Stranger with them ? Pet. Oh, lud ! no. He ran away. His Excellency wanted to thank him, and all that ; but he was off; van- quished like a ghost. [Crosses to R. Enti:r SOLOMON, L. SoL Oh ! thou careless varlet ! I disown you ! What an accident might have happened ! And how you have terrified his Excellency ! \Crosses to J\Irs. Hallei\] But I beg pardon, [Bows.] His Right Honourable Excellency, the Count, requests your THR STRANGER. 29 Bar. We come, [drosses, and exit wifi Mrs Haller, L. Char. [Advances, u.\ Ha! ha! lia ! Why, Mr. Solomon, you scern to have a hopeful pupil. Sol. Ha! sirrah! Char. But Mr. Solomon, why were you not nimble enough to have saved his young lordship? Sol. Not in time, my sweet Miss. Besides, merry on us ! 1 should have sunk like a lump of lead; and I hap- pened to have a letter of consequence in my pocket, which would have been made totally illegible, a letter from Con- stantinople, written by Chevalier -What's his name ? \Draws a letter from his pocket, and putting it up again di- rectly, drops it. Peter takes it up slily and unobserved.} It contains momentous matter, I assure you. The world will be astonished when it comes to light ; and not a soul will suppose that old Solomon had a finger in the pie. Char. No, that I believe. Sol. But I must go and see to the cellar. Miss, your most obedient servant. Oh, sirrah, Oh ! \Exit, L. Char. [ With pride.} Your servant, Mr. Solomon. Pet. Here's the letter from Constantinople. I wonder what it can be about. Now for it ! [Opens it. Char. Aye, let's have it. Pet. [Reads.] " If so be you say so, Til never work for you, never no more. Considering as how your Sunday waist- coat 1ms been turned three times, it doesn't look amiss, and I've charged as little as any tailor of 'em all. You say 1 must pay for the buckram ; but I say, I'll be damn'd if I do. So no more from your loving nepliew, TIMOTHY TWIST." From Constantinople ! Why, Cousin Tim writ it. Cliar. Cousin Tim ! Who is he ? Pet. Good lack ! Don't you know cousin Tim 1 Why, he's one of the best tailors in all Char. A tailor ! No, sir, I don't know him. [Crosses L.] My father was a state coachman, and wore his Highness's livery. [Exit, L. Pet. [Mimicking.] " My father was a state coachman, and wore his Highness's livery." Well, and cousin Tim could have mad his Highness's livery, if you go to that. S*ate coachman, indeed ! [Exit, L. END OF ACT II. 30 THE STRANGER. [ ACT II ACT III. SCENE T. Tie Skirts of the Park and Lodge, Sfc. as before. The STRANGER is discovered on a seat, reading. Enter FRANCIS, from the Lodge. Fra. Sir, sir, dinner is ready. [ Comes forward, L. Stra. I want no dinner. Fra. I've got something good. Stra. Eat it yourself. Fra. You are not hungry 1 . Stra. No. [Ritet, Fra. Nor I. The heat does take away all appetite. Stra. Yes. Fra. I'll put it by ; perhaps at night Stra. Perhaps. Fra. Dear sir, dare 1 speak ? Stra. Speak. Fra. You have done a noble action. Stra. What? Fra. You have saved a fellow creature's life. Stra. Peace. Fra. Do you know who he was 1 Stra. No. Fra. The only son of Count Wintersen. Stra. Immaterial. Fra. A gentleman, by report worthy and benevolent as yourself. Stra. \Angry.} Silence ! Dare you flatter me ? Fra. As I look to Heaven for mercy, I speak from my heart. When I observe how you are doing good around you, how you are making every individual's wants your own, and are yet yourself unhappy, alas ! my heart bleeds tor you. Stra. I thank you, Francis. [Crosses L.] I can only thank you. Yet share this consolation with me ; my sufferings are unmerited. [Crosses, R. Fra. My poor master ! Stra. Have you forgotten what the old man said this morning ? " There is another and a better world !" Oh, 'tis true. Then let us hope with fervency, and yet endure with patience ! [Charlotte sings without.] What's here 1 .] . THE STRANGER. 31 Enter CHARLOTTE, [singing,] from the Park Gate, L. u. E. Char. I presume, sir, you are the strange gentleman that drew my young master out of the water? \T/te Stranger reads.} Or, [To Francis.] are you tyj ] [frauds makes a wry face.} Are the creatures both dumb ] [Looks at them by turns.] Surely, old Solomon has fixed two sta- tues here, by way of ornament ; for of any use there is no sign. [Approaches Frauds.] No, this is alive, and breathes; yes, and moves its eyes. [Bawls in his ear.] Good friend ! Fra. I'm not deaf. Char. No, nor dumb, I perceive at last. Is yon lifeless thing your master ? Fra. That honest, silent gentleman, is my master. Char. The same that drew the young Count out of the water 1 Fra. The same. Char. [To the Stranger.] Sir, my master and mistress, the Count and Countess, present their respectful compli- ments, and request the honour of your company at a fa- mily supper this evening. Stra. I shall not come. Char. But you'll scarce send such an uncivil answer as this. The Count is overpowered with giatitude. You saved his son's life. Stra. I did it willingly. Char. And won't accept of " I thank you," in return 1 Stra. No. Char. You really are cruel, sir, I must tell you. There are three of us ladies at the Castle, and we are all dying with curiosity to know who you are. [Exit Stranger, u.] The master is crabbed enough, however. Let me try what I can make of the man. Pray, sir [Francis crosses, R.J The beginning promises little enough. Friend, why won't you look at me ] Fra. I like to look at green trees better than green eyes. Char. Green eyes, you monster! Who told you that my eyes were green 1 Let me tell you, there have been sonnets made on my eye.s before now. Green eyes ! Fra. Glad to hear it. Ch-ar. To the point, then, at once. What is your mas- ter I 32 THE STRANGSR. [Act III Fra. A man. Char. I surmised as much. But what's his name 1 Fra. The same as his father's. Char. Not unlikely ; and his father was Fra. Married. Char. To whom ] Fra. To a woman. Char. [Enraged.] I'll tell you what ; who your master is, I see I shall not learn, and I don't care; but I know what you are. Fra. Well, what am 1 1 Char. A bear ! [Exit at gate. Fra. Thank you ! Now to see how habit and example corrupt one's manners. I am naturally the civilest spoken fellow in the world to the pretty prattling rogues ; yet, fol- lowing my master's humour, I've rudely driven this wench away. I must have a peep at her, though. [ Looking towards the Park Gate. Enter STRANGER, R. Stra. Is that woman gone I Fra. Yes. Stra. Francis ! Fra. Sir. Stra. We must be gone too. Fra. But whither ? Stra. I don't care. Fra. I'll attend you. Stra. To any place ? Fra. To death. Stra. Heaven grant it to me, at least ! There is peace. Fra. Peace is every where. Let the storm rage with- out if the heart be but at rest. Yet I think we are very well where we are : the situation is inviting ; and nature lavish of her beauties, and of her bounties too. Stra. But I am not a wild beast to be stared at, and sent for as a show. Is it fit I should be ] Fra. Another of your interpretations ! That a man, the life of whose only son you have saved, should invite you to his house, seems to me not very unnatural. Stra. I will not be invited to any house. Fra. For once, methinks, you might submit. You'll not be asked a second time. [Half aside. ] THE STRANGER. 33 Stra. Proud wretches ! They believe the most essen- tial service is requited, if one may but have the honour of .sitting at their table. Let us begone. [Crosses, L. Fra. Yet hold, sir ! This bustle will soon be over. Used to the town, the Count and his party will soon be tired of simple nature, and you will again be freed from observation. Stra. Not from your's. Fra. This is too much. Do I deserve your doubts ? Stra. Am I in the wrong 1 Fra. You are, indeed ! Stra. Francis, my servant, you are my only friend. Fra. That title makes amends for all. Stra. But, look ! look, Francis ! There are uniforms and gay dresses in the walk again. No, I must be gone. Here I'll stay no longer. [Crosses, R. Fra. Well, then, I'll tie up my bundle. Stra. The sooner the better ! They come this way. Now must I shut myself in my hovel, and lose this fine breeze. Nay, if they be your high-bred class of all, they may have impudence enough to walk into my chamber. Francis, I shall lock the door. [Goes into the Lodge, locks the door, and is fastening the shutters. Fra. And I'll be your sentinel. Stra. Very well. [Closes the shutters. Fra. Now, should these people be as inquisitive as their maid, I must summon my whole stock of impertinence. But their questions and my answers need little study. They can learn nothing of the Stranger from me ; for the best of all possible reasons I know nothing of him myself. Enter BARON and COUNTESS, from Gates. Countess. [ Comes down c.j There is a strange face. The servant, probably. Bar. (L.) Friend, can we speak to your master] Fra. (R.) No. Bar. Only for a few minutes. Fra.. He has locked himself in his room. Countess. Tell him a lady waits for him. F r a. Then he's sure not to come. Countess. Does he hate our sex ] 34 THE STRANGER. [Asr III Fra He hates the whole human race, but women parti- cularly, Countess. And why 1 Fra. He may have been deceived. Countess. This is not very courteous. Fra. My master is not over courteons ; but when he sees a chance of saving a fellow creature's life, he'll at- tempt it at the hazard of his own. Bar. You are right. Now hear the reason of our visit. The wife and brother-in-law of the man, whose child your master has saved, wish to acknowledge their obligations to him. Fra. That he dislikes. He only wishes to live unnoticed. Countess. He appears to be unfortunate. Fra. Appears ! Countess. An affair of honor, pethaps, or some unhappy attachment may have Fra. It may. Countess. Be this as it may, I wish to know who he is. Fra. So do* I. Countess. What ! Don't you know him yourself 1 ? Fra. Oh ! I know him well enough. I mean his real self His heart his soul his worth his honour ! Per- haps you think one knows a man, when one is acquainted with his name and person. Countess. 'Tis well said, friend ; you please me much. And now I should like to know you. Who are you ? Fra. Your humble servant. [Exit, R. Countess. This is affectation ! A desire to appear sin- gular ! Every one wishes to make himself distinguished. One sails round the world ; another creeps into a hovel. Bar. And the man apes his master ! Countess. Come, brother, let us seek the Count. He and Mrs. Haller turned into the lawn [Going. Bar. Stay. First, a word or two, sistei . 1 am in lovo. Countess. For the hundredth time. Bar. For the first time in my life. Countess. I wish you joy. Bar. Till now, you have evaded my inquiries. Who is she ? I beseech you, sister, be serious. There :.s a time for all things. Countess, Well, if I am to be serious, I obey, t do not SCEWE I.] THE STRANGER. 35 know who Mrs. Haller is, as I have already told you ; but what I do know of her, shall not lie concealed from you. It may now be three years ago, when, one evening, about twilight, a lady was announced, who wished to speak with me in private. Mrs. Haller appeared, with all that grace and modesty which have enchanted you. Her features, at that moment, bore keener marks of the sorrow and confu- sion which have since settled into gentle melancholy. She threw herself at my feet ; arid besought me to save a wretch who was on the brink of despair. She told me she had heard much of my benevolence, and offered herself as a servant to attend me. I endeavoured to dive into the cause of her sufferings, but in vain. She concealed her secret ; yet opening to me more and more each day a heart, chosen by virtue as her temple, and an understanding im- proved by the most refined attainments. She no lon- ger remained my servant, but became my friend, and, by her own desire, has ever since resided here. [Curtseying.] Brother, I have done. Bar. Too little to satisfy my curiosity ; yet enough to make me realize my project. Sister, lend me your aid I would marry her. Countess. You ! Bar. I. Countess. Baron Steinfort ! Bar. For shame ! If I understand you. .. Countess. Not so harsh, and not so hasty ! Those great sentiments of contempt of inequality in rank are very fine in a romance ; but we happen not to be inhabitants of an ideal world. How could you introduce her to the circle we live in ] You surely would not attempt to present her to Bar. Object as you will my answer is 7 love. Sister, you see a man before you, who Countess. Who wants a wife. Bar. No ; who has deliberately poised advantage against disadvantage ; domestic ease and comfort against the false traieties of fashion. lean withdraw into the country. I need no honours to make my tenants happy ; and my heart will teach me to make their happiness my own. With such a wile as this, children who resemble her, and fortune enough to spread comfort around me, what would the soul of man have more 1 36 THE STRANGER. [Acr III Countess. This is all vastly fine. I admire your plan . only you seem to have forgotten one trifling circumstance. Bar. And that is Countess. Whether Mrs. Haller will have you or not. Bar. There, sister, I just want your assistance. Good Henrietta. Countess. Well, here's my hand. I'll do all I can for you. St ! We had near been overheard. They are com- ing. Be patient and obedient. Enter at the Gates, COUNT, and MRS. HALLER leaning on his arm, L. Tliey advance, c. Count. Upon my word, Mrs. Haller, you are a nimble walker ; I should be sorry to run a race with you. Mrs. H. Custom, my lord. You need only take the same walk every day for a month. Count. Yes ; if I wanted to resemble my. greyhounds. Well, what says the Stranger 1 Countess. He gave Charlotte a flat ' dfusal ; and you see his door, and even his shutters are closed against us. Count. What an unaccountable being ! But it won't do. I must show my gratitude one way or other. [Crosses to Steinfort.] Steinfoit, we will take the ladies home, and then you shall try once again to see him. You can talk to these oddities better than I can. Bar. If you wish it, with all my heart. Count. Thank you, thank you. Come, ladies ; come Mrs. Haller. [Exeunt Countess Sf Mrs. H., Count fy Baron, thro 1 Gates. SCENE II. A Chamber in the Castle. Enter COUNTESS and MRS. HALLER, R. Countess. Well, Mrs. Haller, how do you like the man that just now left us ? Mrs. H. Who do you mean, madam ] Countess. My brother. Mrs. H. He deserves to be your brother. Countess. [Curtseying.] Your most obedient ! That shall be written in my pocket book. Mrs. H. Without flattery, then, madam, he appears to be most amiable. ScttJE II.] THE STRANGER. 37 Countess, Good ! And a handsome man ? Mrs. H. [ With indijfcrencc.\ Oh, yes. Countess. " Oh, yes !" It sounded almost like " Oh, no !" But I must tell you. that he looks upon you to be a handsome woman. [Mrs. Haller smiles.} You make no reply to this 1 .Mrs. II. What shall I reply ] Derision never fell from your lips ; and I am little calculated to support it. Count.e.ss. As little as you are calculated to be the cause of it. No ; I was in earnest. Now ? Mrs. H. You confuse me ! But why should I play the prude 1 I will own there was a time when I thought my- self handsome. 'Tis past, Alas! The enchanting beau- ties of a female countenance arise from peace of mind the look, which captivates an honorable man, must be re- flected from a noble soul. Countess. Then Heaven grant my bosom may ever hold as pure a heart as now these eyes bear witness lives in yours. Mrs. H. [ With sudden wildnuss]. Oh ! Heaven forbid ! Countess. [Astonished.] How! Mrs. H. [Checking her tears.} Spare me ! Tarn a wretch. The sufferings of three years can give me no claim to your friendship No, not even to your compassion. Oh ! Spare me ! [Going. Countess. Stay, Mrs. Haller. For the first time, I beg your confidence. My brother loves you. Mrs. H. [Starting and gazing full in the face of the Countess.} For mirth, too much for earnest, too mourn- ful ! Countess. I revere that modest blush. Discover to me who you are. You risk nothing. Pour all your griefs in- to a sister's bosorn. Am I not kind 1 And can I not be silent 1 Mrs. H. Alas ! But a frank reliance on a generous mind is the greatest sacrifice to be offered by true repen- tance. This sacrilice I will offer. [Hesitating.] Did you never hear pardon me did you never hear Oh ! how shocking is it to unmask a deception, which alone has re- commended me to your regard ! But it must be so. Ma- dam Fie, Adelaide ! Does pride become you 1 Did you ever hear of the Countess Waldbourg 1 38 THE STRANGER. [ACT 111 Countess. I think 1 did hear, at the neighboring court, of such a creature. She plunged an honourable husband into misery. She ran away with a villain. Mrs. H. She did indeed. [Falls at the fret of the Countess. \ Do not cast me from you. Countess. For Heaven's sake ! You are J\frs. H. I am that wretch. Countess. [Turning from her with horror.] Ha! Begone! [ Going, but her heart draws her Lack.\ Yet, she is unfortu- ntite : she is unfriended ! Her image is repentance Her life the proof. Be still awhile, remorseless prejudice, and let the genuine feelings of my soul avow they Jo not tru- ly honour virtue, who can insult the erring heart that would return to her sanctuary. [ Looking with sorroto on her.] Rise, I beseech you, rise ! My husband and my brother may surprise us. I promise to be silent. [Raising her. Mrs. H. Yes, you will be silent But, oh ! conscience ! conscience ! thou never wilt be silent. [Clasping her hands.} Do not cast me from you. Countess. Never! Your lonely life, your silent anguish and contrition, may at length atone your crime. And ne- ver shall you want an asylum, where your peuitence may lament your loss. Your fault was youth and inexperience! your heart never was, never could be concerned in it. Mrs. H. Oh ! spare me ! My conscience never re-, proaches me so bitterly, as when I catch my base thoughts in search of an excuse ! No, nothing can palliate my guilt ; and the only just consolation left me, is to acquit the man I wronged, and own I erred without a cause of fair complaint. Countess. And this is the mark of true repentance. Alas ! my friend, when superior sense, recommended, too, by superior charms of person, assail a young though wed- ded Mrs. H. Ah ! not even that mean excuse is left me. In all that merits admiration, respect, and love, he was fa)-, far beneath my husband. But to attempt to account for iny strange infatuation I cannot bear it. I thought my husband's manner grew colder to me. 'Tis true, I knew that his expenses, and his confidence in deceitful friends, had embarrassed his means, and clouded his spirits ; yet I thought he denied me pleasures and amusements still SCENE II.] THE STRANGER. 39 within our reach. My vanity was mortified ! My confi- dence not courted. The serpent tongue of my seducer promised every thing. But, never could such arguments avail, till, assisted by forged letters, and the treachery of a servant, whom I most confided in, he fixed my belief that my lord was false, and that all the coldness I complain- ed of was disgust to me, and love for another all his homo retrenchments but the means of satisfying a rival's luxury. Maddened with this conviction, (conviction it was. for arti- fice was most ingenious in its proof,) I left my children father husband, to follow a villain. Counters. But, with such a heart, my friend could not remain long in her delusion ] Mrs. H. Long enough to make a sufficient penitence impossible. Oh, what were my sensations when the mist .dispersed before my eyes ! I called for my husband, but in vain ! 1 listened for the prattle of my children, but in vain ! Countess. [Embracing her.] Here, here, on this bosom only shall your future tears be shed ; and may I, dear suf- ferer, make you again familiar with hope ! Mrs. H. Oh ! impossible ! Countess. Have you never heard of your children 1 Mrs. H. Never. Cm/Kf.css. We must endeavor to gain some account of them. We must Hold ! My husband and my brother ! Oh ! my poor brother ! I had quite forgotten him. Quick, dear Mrs. Haller, wipe your eyes. Let us meet them. Mrs. H. Madam, I'll follow. Allow me a moment to compose myself. [Exit Countess, R.] I pause! Oh! yes to compose myself! [Ironically.] She little thinks it is but to gain one solitary moment to vent my soul's remorse. Once, the purpose of my unsettled mind was self-destruc- tion. Heaven knows how I have sued for hope and resig- nation. I did trust my prayers were heard. Oh ! spare me further trial ! I feel, I feel my heart and brain can bear no m we. [Exit, R. - ENC OF ACT III 40 THE STRANGE*. [Acrll. ACT IV. -*-4 SCENE I. The Skirts of the Park, Lodge, Sfc., as before. A Table, spread with Fruits, Sfc. FRANCIS discovered placing the Supper. Fra, I know he !oves to have his early supper in the fresh air ; and, while he sups, not that I believe any thing can amuse him, yet I will try my little Savoyard's pretty voices. I have heard him speak as if he had loved music. [Music without, L.J Oh, here they are. Enter, L., ANNETTE and CLAUDINE, playing on their Guitars. Ann. To welcome mirth and harmless glee, We rambling minstrels, blithe and free, With song the laughing hours beguile, And wear a never fading smile : Where'er we roam, We find a home, And greeting, to reward our toil. Clau. No anxious griefs disturb our rest, Nor busy cares annoy our breast ; Fearless we sink in soft repose, While night her sable mantle throws. With grateful lay, Hail, rising day, That rosy health and peace bestows ! During the Duct, the STRANGER looks from the Lodge win- dow, and at the conclusion, comes out. Stra. (R.) What mummery is this ] Fra. (R. c.) I hoped it might amuse you, sir. Stra. Amuse me fool ! Fra. Well, then, I wished to amuse myself a little. I don't think my recreations are so very numerous. Stra. That's true, my poor fellow ; indeed they are not. Let them go on. I'll listen. [Retires and sits down, R. Fra. But to please you, my poor master, I fear it must be a sadder strain. Annette, have you none but these cheerful songs ? Ann. O, plenty. If you are dolefully given, we can be as sad as night. I'll sing you an air Mrs. Haller taught me, the first year she came to the Castle. 82EJTE1.J THE STRANGER. 41 Fra. Mrs. Haller ! I should like to hear that. Ann. I have a silent sorrow here, A grief I'll ne'er impart; It breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear, But it consumes my heart. This cheri*h'd woe, this loved despair, My lot for ever be, So, my soul's lord, the pangs I bear Be never known by thee ! And when pale characters of death Shall mark this alter'd cheek, When my poor wasted trembling breath My life's last hope would speak, I shall not raise my eyes to Heaven, Nor mercy ask for me ; My soul despairs to be forgiven, Unpardou'd, love, by thee. Stra. [Surprised and ?noced.[ Oh ! I have heart! that air before, but 'twas with other words. \Riscs.] Francis, share our supper with your friends I need none. [Enters tltc Lodge. Fra. So I feared. Well, [Crosses, c.] my pretty favour- ites, here are refreshments. [Leads tlicm to the table.} So, disturbed again ! Now will this gentleman call for more music, and make my master rnad ! Go, go, and re- turn when you observe this man is gone. [Exeunt, L., An- nette and Cf outline, singing. Francis sits and cats.] I was in hopes that 1 might at least eat my supper peaceably in the open air; but they follow at our heels like blood- hounds. Enter BARONS/TOOT Gates. Bar. (L.) My good friend, I must speak to your mas- ter. Fra. (R.) Can't serve you. Bar. Why not T Fra. It's forbidden. Bar. [Offers money \ There! Announce me. Fra. Want no money. Bar. Well, only announce me, then. Fra. [Rising.] I will announce you, sir ; but it won't avail ! I shall be abused, and you rejected. However, we can but try. [Going. Bat I only ask half a minute. [Francis goes into the 42 THE STRANGER. [ACT IV. Lodge.] But when he comes, how am I to treat him 1 I never encountered a misanthrope before. 1 have heard of instructions as to conduct in society; but how am I to be- have towards a being who loathes the whole world, and his own existence, I have never learned. Enter the STRANGKH., from Lodge. Stra. (R.) Now ; what's your will ? Bar. (L.) I beg pardon, sir, for [Suddenly recognizing him.\ Charles ! Stra. Steinfort ! [ They embrace. Bar. Is it really you, my dear friend ] Stra. It is. Bar. Merciful Heavens ! How you are altered ! Stra. The hand of misery lies heavy on me. But tow came you here? What want you ? Bar. Strange! Here was 1 ruminating how to address this mysterious recluse ; he appears, and proves to be my old and clearest friend. Stra. Then you were not in search of me, nor knew that I lived here 1 Bar. As little as I know who lives on the summit of Caucasus. You this morning saved the life of my brother- in-law's only son : a grateful family wishes to behold you in its circle. You refused my sister's messenger ; there- fore, to give more weight to the invitation, I was deputed to be the bearer of it. And thus has fortune restored to me a friend, whom my heart has so long missed, and whom my heart just now so much requires. Stra. Yes, I am your friend ; your sincere fviend. You are a true man ; an uncommon man. Towards you, my heart is still the same. But if this assurance be of any value to you go leave me and return no more. Bar. Stay ! All that I see and hear of you, is inexpli- cable. 'Tis you ; but these, alas ! are not the features which once enchanted every female bosom, beamed gaiety through all society, and won you friends before your lips were opened ! Why do you avert your face 1 Is the sight of a friend become hateful ? Or, do you fear that I should read in your eye what passes in your soul ? Where is that open look of fire, which at once penetrated into oveiy heart and revealed your own ] ] THE STRANGER. 43 Stra. | With asperity.] My look penetrate into eveiy heart ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Bar. Oh, Heavens ! Rather may I never hear you laugh, than in such a ton^ ! For Heaven's sake, tell me, Charles! tell me, I conjure you, what has happened to you ? Stra. Things that happen every day ; occurrences heard of in every street. Steinfort, if I am not to hate you, ask me not another question. If I am to love you, leave me. Bar. Oh, Charles ! awake the faded ideas of past joys. Feel thai, a friend is near. Recollect the days we passed in Hungary, when we wandered arm in arm upon the banks of the Danube, while nature opened our hearts, and made us enamored of benevolence and friendship. In those blessed moments, you gave me this seal as a pledge of your regard. Do you remember it 1 Sfra. Yes. Bar. Am I, since that time, become less worthy of your confidence ] Stra. No ! Bar. Charles ! it grieves me that I am thus compelled te enforce my rights upon you. Do you know this scar ] Stra. Comrade ! Friend ! It received and resisted the stroke aimed at my life. I have not forgotten it. You knew not what a present you then made me. Bar. Speak, then, I beseech you. Stra. You cannot help me. ftur. Then I can mourn with you. Stra. That T hate. Besides, I cannot weep. Bar. Then give me words instead of tears. Both re- lieve the heart. Stra. Relieve the heart ! My heart is like a close-shut sepulchre. Let what is within it, moulder and decay. Why, why open the wretched charnel-house lo spread a pestilence around ? Bar. How horrid are your looks ! For shame ! A man like you thus to crouch beneath the chance of fortune ! Stra. Steinfort ! I did think that the opinion of all man- kind was alike indifferent to me ; but I feel that it is not so. My friend, you shall nut quit me without learning how I have been robbed of every joy which life afforded. Listen Much misery rray be contained in few words ! 44 THE STRANGER [AcT IV Attracted by my native country, I quitted you and the service. What pleasing pictures did 1 form of a life em- ployed in improving society and diffusing happiness ! I fix- ed on Cassel to be my abode. All went on admirably. 1 found friends. At length, too, I found a wife ; a lovely, innocent creature, scarce sixteen years of age. Oh ! how 1 loved her ! She bore me a son and a daughter. Both were endowed by nature with the beauty of their mother. Ask me not how I loved my wife and children ! Yes ; ' then, then I was really happy. [ Wiping My eyes.] Ha ! a tear ! 1 could not have believed it. Welcome, old friends ! 'Twas long since we have known each other. Well, my story is nearly ended. One of my friends, for whom I had become engaged, treacherously lost me more than half my fortune. This hurt me. I was obliged to retrench my expenses. Contentment needs but little. I forgave him. Another friend a villain ! to whom I was attached heart and soul ; whom I had assisted with my means, and promoted by my interest, this fiend ! "seduced my wife, and bore her from me. Tell me, sir, is this enough to justify my hatred of mankind, and palliate my seclusion from the world 1 Kings, laws, tyranny, or guilt, can but imprison me, or kill me. But, O God ! O God ! Oh ! what are chains or death, compared to the tortures of a deceived, yet doting husband! [Crosses, L. Bar. To lament the loss of a faithless wife is madness. Stra. Call it what you please say what you please I love her still. Bar. And where is she 1 Stra. I know not, nor do I wish to know. Bar. And your children ? Stra. I left them at a small town hard by. Bar. But why did you not keep your children with you 1 They would have amused you in many a dreary hour. Stra. Amused me ! Oh, yes ! while their likeness to their mother, should every hour remind me of my past happiness ! No. For three years I have never seen them. I hate that any human creature should be near me, young or old ! Had not ridiculous habit made a servant neces- sary, I should never have engaged him, though he is not the worst among the bad. Bar. Such too often are the consequences of great alii- Scum I.] THE STRANGER. 45 ances. Therefore, Charles, I have resolved to take a wife from a lower rank of life. Stra. You marry ! Bar. You shall see her. She is in the house where you are expected. Come with me. Stra, What ! I mix again with the world ! Bar, To do a generous action without requiring thanks is noble and praiseworthy. But so obstinately to avoid those thanks, as to make the kindness a burthen, is affec- tation. Stra. Leave me ! leave me ! Every one tries to form a circle, of which'he may be the centre : so do I. As long as there remains a bird in these woods to greet the rising sun with its melody I shall court no other society. [ Crosses K. Bar. Do as you please to-morrow ; but give me your company this evening. Stra. No! Bar. Not though it were in your power, by this single visit, to secure the happiness of your friend for life 1 Stra. Ha ! Then I must. But how 1 Bar. You shall sue in my behalf to Mrs. Haller. You have the talent of persuasion. Stra. I ! my dear Steinfort ! Bar. The happiness or misery of your friend depends upon it. I'll contrive that you shall speak to her alone. Will you 1 Stra. I will ; but upon one condition. Bar. Name it. Stra. That you allow me to be gone to-morrow, and not endeavor to detain me. Bar. Go ! Whither 1 Stra. No matter. Promise this, or I will not come. Bar. Well, I do promise. Come. Stra. I have directions to give my servant. [Crosses, L. Bar. In half an hour, then, we shall expect you. Re- member, you have given your word. Stra. I have, f Exit Baron through gates. The. Stranger walks up and down, thoughtful and melancholy ] Francis ! Francis ! Enter FRANCIS, from Lodge. Stra. Why are you out of the way ] 46 THE STRANGER. fAcr IV Fra. Sir, I came when I heard you call, Stra. 1 shall leave this place to-morrow. Fra. With all my heart. Stra. Perhaps to go into another land. Fra. With all rny heart again. Stra. Perhaps into another quarter of the globe. Fra. With all my heart still. Into which quarter ? Stra. Wherever Heaven directs ! Away ! away ! from Europe ! From this cultivated moral lazaret! Do you hear, Francis 1 To-morrow, early. Fra. Very well. [Going. Stra. Come here, come here first, I have an errand for you. Hire that carriage in the village ; drive to the town hard by ; you may be back by sunset. I shall give you a letter to a widow who lives there. With her you will find two children. They are mine. Fra. [Astonished.] Your children, sir ] Stra. Take them and bring them hither. Fra. Your children, sir ! Stra. Yes, mine ! Is it so very inconceivable 1 Fra. That 1 should have been three years in your service, and never have heard them mentioned, is some- what strange. Stra. Pshaw ! Blockhead ! Fra. You have been married, then 1 Stra. Well go, go, and prepare for our journey. Fra. That I can do in five minutes. [Going. Stra. I shall come and write the letter directly. Fra. Very well, sir. [Exit, L. Stra. Yes, I'll take them with me. I'll accustom my- self to the sight of them. The innocents ! they shall not be poisoned by the refinements of society. Rather let them hunt their daily sustenance upon some desert island with their bow and arrow; or creep, like torpid Hottentots, in- to a corner, and stare at each other. Better to do nothing than to do evil. Fool that I was, to be prevailed upon once more to exhibit myself among these apes ! What a ridiculous figure shall I make ! And in the character of a suitor, too. He cannot be serious ! 'Tis but some friend- ly artifice to draw lie from my solitude. Why did I pro- mise him 1 Yet, my sufferings have been many : and to oblige a friend, why should I hesitate to add another pain- THE STRANGER. 47 'rill hour to the wretched calendar of my life ! I'll go, I'll o. [Exit into Lodge. SCENE II. The Antechamber. Enter CHARLOTTE, R. Char. No, indeed, my , lady ! If you choose to bury yourself in the country, I shall take my leave. I am not calculated for a country life. And, to sum up all, when I think of this Mrs. Haller Enter SOLOMON, L. Sol. [Overhearing her last words.} What of Mrs. Haller, my sweet Miss 1 Cliar. Why, Mr. Solomon, who is Mrs. Haller? You know everything ; you hear everything. Sol. I have received no letters from any part of Europe on the subject, Miss. Char. But who is to blame 1 The Count and Countess. She dines with them ; and at this very moment is drinking tea with them. Is this proper] Sol. By no means. Char. Should not a Count and Countess, in all their ac- tions, show a proper degree of pride and pomposity 1 Sol. To be sure ! To be sure, they should ! Char. No, I won't submit to it. I'll tell her ladyship, when I dress her to-morrow, that either Mrs. Haller or I must quit the house. Sol. \Sccing the Baron.} St ! Enter BARON, R. Bar. Did'nt I hear Mrs. Haller' s name here ? Sol. [Confused. ,] Why yes we we Bar. Charlotte, tell my sister I wish to see her as soon as the tea-table is removed. ^Crosses, i,. Char. Either she or I go, that I'm determined. [Exit, R. Jiar. May I ask what it was you were saying ? Sol. Why, ple;ise your Honourable Lordship, we weie talking here and there this and that Bar. I almost begin to suspect some secret. Sol. Secret ! Heaven forbid ! Mercy on us ! No ! I should have had letters on the subject if there had been a secret. 48 THE STRANGER. [Acx IV Bar. Well, then, since it was no secret, I presume I may know your conversation. So/ You do us great honour, my lord. Why, then, at first, we were making a few common-place observations. Miss Charlotte remarked we all had our faults. I said, ' Yes." Soon after, I remarked that the best persons in the world were not without their weaknesses. She said, " Yes." Bar. If you referred to Mrs. Haller's faults and weak- nesses, 1 am desirous to hear more. Sol. Sure enough, sir, Mrs. Haller is an excellent wo- man ; but she's not an angel, for all that. I am an old faithful servant to his Excellency the Count, and therefore it is my duty to speak when anything is done disadvanta geous to his interest. Bar. Well! Sol. For instance, now ; his Excellency may tnink he has at least some score of dozens of the old six-and-twenty hock. Mercy on us ! There are not ten dozen bottles left ; and not a drop has gone down my throat, I '11 swear. Bar. [Smiling.] Mrs. Haller has not drank it, I suppose 1 So/. Not she herself, for she never drinks wine. But if anybody be ill in the village, any poor woman lying-in, away goes a bottle of the six-and-tvventy ! Innumerable are the times that I've reproved her ; but she always an- swers me snappishly, that she will be responsible for it. Bar. So will I, Mr. Solomon. Sol. Oh! with all my heart, your Honourable Lordship. It makes no difference to me. I had the care of the cella?- twenty years, and can safely take my oath, that I never gave the poor a single drop in the whole course of my life. Bar. How extraordinary is this woman ! [ Crosses, R. Sol. Extraordinary ! One can make nothing of her To-day, the vicar's wife is not good enough for her. To- morrow, you may see *>er sitting with all the women in the village. To be sure, she and 1 agree pretty well; for be- tween me and your Honourable Lordship, she has cast an eye upon my son Peter. Bar. Has she ] Sol. Yes Peter's no fool, I assure you. The school- master is teaching him to write. Would your Honourable Lordship please to see a specimen ? I'll go for his copy- book. He makes his pot-hooks capitally. SCENE II.] THE STRANGER. 49 Another time, another time. Good bye for tho present, Mr. Solomon. [Solomon bows without attempting to go.] Good clay, Mr. Solomon. Sol. [Not understanding the 7tintJ\ Your Honourable Lordship's most obedient servant. Bar. Mr. Solomon, I wish to be alone. Sol. As yourjordship commands. If the time should seem long in my absence, and your lordship wishes to hear the newest news from the seat of war, you need only send for old Solomon. I have letters from Leghorn, Cape Horn, and every known part of the habitable globe. [Exit, L. Bar. Tedious old fool ! Yet hold. Did he not speak in praise of Mrs. Haller] Pardoned be his rage for news and politics. Enter COUNTESS, n. Well, sister, have you spoken to her 1 Countess. I have : and if you do not steer for another haven, you will be doomed t^ drive upon the ocean for ever. Bar. Is she man-led 1 Countess. I don't know. Bar. Is she of a good family ? Countess. I can't tell. Bar. Does she dislike me 1 Countess. Excuse my making a reply. Bar. I thank you for your sisterly affection, and the ex- plicitness of ytur communications. Luckily, I placed lit- tle reliance on either ; and have found a friend, who will sav your ladyship all further trouble. Countess. A friend ! Bar. Yes. The Stranger, who saved your son's life this morning, proves to be my intimate friend. Countess. What's his name 1 Bar. I .don't know. Countess. Is he of good family ] Bar. 1 can't tell. Countess. Will he come hither? Bar. Excuse my making a reply. Countess. Well, the retort is fair but insufferable. Bar. You can't object to the Da Capo of yOur awn coiri- position. SO THE STRANGER. [AcT IV Enter COUNT and MRS. HALLER, R. Count. Zounds ! do you think I am Xenocrates ; or like the poor sultan with marble legs ? There you leave me, tete-a-tete with Mrs. Haller, as if my heart were a mere flint. So you prevailed, brother. The Stranger will come then, it seems. Bar. I expect him every minute. Count. I am glad to hear it. One companion more, how- ever. In the country, we never can have too many. Bar. This gentleman will not exactly be an addition to your circle, for he leaves this place to-morrow. [Crosses behind Mrs. Haller, R. Count. But he won't, I think. Now, Lady Wintersen, summon all your charms. There is no art in conquering us poor devils : but this strange man who does not care a doit for you all together, is worth your efforts. Tiy your skill. I shan't be jealous. Countess. I allow the conquest to be worth the trouble. But what Mrs. Haller has not been able to effect in three months, ought not to be attempted by me. Mrs. H. Oh, madam, he has given me no opportunity of trying the force of my charms, for I never once happen- ed to see him. Count. Then he's a blockhead ; and you an idler. Sol. [ Without, L.] This way, sir ! This way ! Enter SOLOMON, L. Sol. The Stranger begs leave to have the honour Count. Welcome ! Welcome ! [Exit Solomon. [Runs to meet the Stranger, whom he conducts in by tht hand. My dear sir Lady Wintersen Mrs. Haller [Jllrs. Haller, as soon as she sees the Stranger, shrieks, and swoons in the arms of the Baron. The Stronger casts a look at her, and, struck with astonishment and horror, rushes out of the room, \.. The Baron and Countess Lear Mrs. Haller off, R. ; Count following in great sur prise. END OF ACT IV. Scvme I.] THE STRANGER. 51 AC T V. SCENE I. The Antickamler. Enter BARON, u. Bar. Oh ! deceitful hope ! Thou phantom of future happiness. To thee have I stretched out my arms, and thou hast vanished into air ! Wretched Stcinfort ! The mystery is solved. She is the wife of my friend ! I can- not myself be happy ; but I may, perhaps, be able to re- unite two lovely souls whom cruel fate has severed. Ha ! they are here. I must propose it instantly. Enter COUNTESS and MRS. HALLER, R. Countess. Into the garden, my dear friend ! Into the air ! Mrs. H. I am quite well. Do not alarm yourselves on my account. Bar. Madam, pardon my intrusion; but to lose a mo- ment may be fatal. He means to quit the country to-mor- row. We must devise means to reconcile you to the Stran- ger. Mrs. H. How, my lord ! You seem acquainted with my history 1 Bar. I am. Waldbourg has been my friend ever since wo were boys. We served together from the rank of ca- det. We have been separated seven years. Chance brought us this day together, and his heart was open to me. Mrs. II. How do I feel what it is to be in the presence of an honest man, when I dare not meet his eye. Bar. If sincere repentance, if years without reproach, do not give us a title to man's forgiveness, what must we expect hereafter] No, lovely penitent ! your contrition is complete. Error for a moment wrested frori slumbering virtue the dominion of your heart ; but she awoke, and, with a look, banished her enemy forever. I know my friend. He has the firmne.-s of a man ; but, with it, the gentlest feelings of your sex. 1 hasten to him. With the fire of pure, disinterested friendship will I enter on this work; that, when I look ba<;k upon my past life, I may 52 THE STRANGER. [ACT V derive from this good action consolation in disaj: pointment, and even resignation in despair. \Going, L. Mrs. H. [Crosses, c.] Oh, stay ! What would you do ? No ! never ! My husband's honour is sacred to me. I love him unutterably : but never, never can I be his wife again ; even if he were generous enough to pardon me. Bar. Madam ! Can you, Countess, be serious 1 Mrs. H. Not that title, I beseech you ! I am not a child who wishes to avoid deserved punishment. What were my penitence, if I hoped advantage from it beyond the consciousness of atonement for past offence 1 Countess. But 'f your husband himself I Mrs. H. Oh! be will not! he cannot! And let him rest assured I never would replace my honqur at the ex- pense of his. Bar. He still loves you. Mrs. H. Loves me ! Then he must not no he must purify his heart from a weakness which would degrade him ! Bar. Incomparable^woman ! I go to my friend per- haps for the last time ! Have you not one word to send him 1 Mrs. H. Yes, I have two requests to make. Often, when, in excess of grief, I have despaired of every conso- lation, I have thought I should be easier if 1 might behold my husband once again, acknowledge my injustice to him, and take a gentle leave of him forever. This, therefore, is my first request a conversation for a few short minutes, if he does not quite abhor the sight of me. My second request is Oil not to see, but to hear some account of my poor children. Ear. If humanity and friendship can avail, he will not for a moment delay your wishes. Countess. Heaven be. with you ! Mrs. H. And my prayers, f Exit Baron, L. Countess. Come, my friend, come into the air, till he returns with hope and consolation. Mrs. H. Oh, my heart ! how art thou afflicted ! My husband ! My little ones ! Past joys and future fears. Oh, dearest inadam, there are moments in which we live years ! moments which steal the roses from the cheek of health, and plough deep furrows in the brow of youth. SCENE II.] THE STRANGER. 53 Countess. Banish these sad reflections. [Crosses, L.j Come, let us walk. The sun will set soon ; let nature's beauties dissipate anxiety. Mrs. H. Alas ! Yes, the setting sun is a proper scene for me. Countess. Never forget that a morning will succeed. [Exeunt L. SCENE II. The Skirts of the Park, Lodge, Sfc., as before. Enter BARON, from Gates. Ear. On earth, there is but one such pair. They shall not be parted. Yet what I have undertaken is not so easy as I at first hoped. What can I answer when he asks me, whether I would persuade him to renounce his character, and become the derision of society 1 For he is right : a faithless wife is a dishonor ! and to forgive her, is to share her shame. What though Adelaide may be an exception; a young deluded girl, who has so long and so sincerely re- pented ; yet what cares an unfeeling world for this 1 The world ! He has quitted it, 'Tis evident he loves her still; and upon this assurance builds my sanguine heart the hope of a happy termination to an honest enterprise. Enter FEANCIS with two children, WILLIAM and AMELIA, R. Fra. (R. c.) Come along, my pretty ones come. Will, (u c.) Is it far to home ? Fra. No, we shall be there directly now. Bar. (L.) Hold ! Whose children are these ? Fra. My master's. Will. Is that my father 1 Bar. It darts like lightning through my brain. A word with you. \Francisputsthechildrcn a little back.} I know you love your master. Strange things have happened here. Your master has found his wife again. Fra. Indeed! Glad to hear it. Bar. Mrs. Haller Fra. Is she his wife ] Still more glad to hear it. Bar. But he is determined to go from her. Fra. Oh ! Bar. We must try to prevent it. Fra. Sirely. 54 THE STRANGER. [ACT V. Bar. The unexpected appearance of die children may perhaps assist us. Fra. How so ? Bar. Hide yourself with them in that hut. Before a quarter of an hour is passed, you shall know more. Fra. But Bar. No more questions, I entreat you. Time is pre- cious. Fra. Well, well : questions are not much in my way. Come, children. [Takes them in cock hand. Will. Why, I thought you told me I should see my fa- ther 1 Fra, So you shall, my dear. Come, moppets. [Goes into the Hut with the Children, L. u. E. Bar. Excellent ! I promise myself much from this little artifice. If the mild look of the mother fails, the innocent smiles of these, his own children, will surely find the way to his heart. [Taps at the Lodge door : I/IK Stranger comes out.] Charles, I wish you joy. Ktra. Of what] Bar. You have found her again. Stra. Show a bankrupt the treasure which he once pos- sessed, and then congratulate him on the amount ! Bar. Why not, if it be in your power to retrieve the whole ] Stra. I understand you : you are a negociator from my wife. It won't avail. Bar. Learn to know your wife better. Yes, I am a messenger from her ; but without power to treat. She, who loves you unutterably, who without you never can be happy, renounces your forgiveness ; because, as she thinks, your honour is incompatible with such a weakness. Stra. Pshaw ! I am not to be caught. Bar. Charles ! consider well Stra. Steinfort, let me explain all this. I have lived here three years. Adelaide knew it. Bar. Knew it ! She never saw you till to-day. Vtra. That you may make fools believe. Hear further: slit; knows, too, that I am not a common sort of man ; that my heart is not to be attacked in the usual manner. She, therefore, framed a deep-concerted plan. She played a charitable part ; but in such a way, that it always reached ScEKEll.] THE STRANGER. 56 my ears. She played a pious, modest, reserved part, in order to excite my curiosity. And, at last, to-day she plays the prude. Slie refuses my forgiveness, in hopes, by this generous device, to extort it from my compassion. Bar. Charles ! 1 have listened to you with astonishment. This is a weakness only to be pardoned in a man who has so often been deceived by the world. Your wife has ex- pressly and steadfastly declared, that she will not accept your forgiveness, even if you yourself were weak enough to offer it. Stra. What then has brought you hither 1 Bar. More than one reason. First, I am come in my own name, as your friend and comrade, to conjure you solemnly not to spurn this creature from you ; for, by my soul, you will not find her equal. Stra. Give yourself no further trouble. Bar. Be candid, Charles. You love her still ? Stra. Alas ! yea. Bar. Her sincere repentance has long since obliterated her crime. Stra. Sir ! a wife, once induced to forfeit her honour, must be capable of a second crime. Bar. Not so, Charles. Ask your heart what portion of the blame may be your own. Stra. Mine? Bar. Yours. Who told you to marry a thoughtless in- experienced girl ] One scarce expects established princi- ples at five-and-twenty in a man, yet you require them in a girl of sixteen ! But of this no more. She has erred ; she has repented ; and, during three years, her conduct has been so far above reproach, that even the piercing eye of calumny has not discovered a speck upon this radiant orb. Sfra. Now, were I to believe all this and 1 confess I would willingly believe it yet she can never again l;o mine. Ah ! what a feast would it be for the painted dolls and vermin of the world, when I appeared among them with my runaway wife upon my arm ! What mocking, whispering, pointing ! Never ! Never ! Never ! [Crosses, L. Bar. Enough! As a friend I have done my duty ; I now appear as Adelaide's ambassador. She requests one mo- 56 THE STRANGER. I Act V merit's conversation : she wishes once again to see you, and never more ! You cannot deny her this only, this last re-- quest. Stra. I understand this too : she thinks my firmness will be melted by her tears : she is mistaken. She may come. Bar. She will come to make you feel how much you mistake her. I go for her. Stra. Another word. Bar. Another word ! Stra. Give her this paper, and these jewels. They be- long to her. [Presenting tJicm. Bar. That you may do yourself. [Exit at Gate, c. Stra. The last anxious moment of my life draws near. I shall see her once again ; I shall see her on whom my soul doats. Is this the language of an injured husband ] What is this principle which we call honor 1 Is it a feel- ing of the heart, or a quibble in the brain 1 I must be re- solute : it cannot now be otherwise. Let me speak so- lemnly, yet mildly ; and beware that nothing of renroach escape my lips. Enter COUNTESS, MRS. HALLER, and BARON, from Gates. Yes, her penitence is real, it is real. She shall not be obliged to live in mean dependence : she shall be mistress of herself, she shall Ha ! they come. Awake, insulted pride ! Protect me, injured honour ! [Gets over to R. of Stage. Mrs. II. [Advances slowly, and in a trcmour, L. Countess attempts to support. her.[ Leave me now, I beseech you. [Baron and Countess retire into the hut, L. r. E. Approaches the Stranger, who, with averted countenance, and in extreme agitation, awaits her address. [ My lord ! Stra. [ With gentle tremulous utterance, and face still turn- ed away.] What would you with me, Adelaide 1 Mrs. H. [Much agitated.} No for Heaven's sake ! I was not prepared for this Adelaide ! No, no. For Heaven's sake ! Harsh words alone are suited to a cul- prit's ear. Stra. [Endeavoring to give Jiis voice Jirmncss.] Well, ma- dam ! Mrs. H. Oh ! If you will ease my heart, if you will spare ard pity me, use reproaches. SCEH II.] THE STRANGER. 57 Stra. Reproaches ; Here they are ; here on my sallow cheek here in my hollow eye here in my faded form. These reproaches 1 could not spare you. Mrs. H. Were I a hardened sinner, this forbearance would be charity : but 1 am a suffering penitent, and it overpowers me ! Alas ! then 1 must be the herald of my own shame. For where shall I find peace till I have eased my soul by siy confession. Stra. No confession, madam. I release you from every humiliation. I perceive you feel that we must part for- ever. * Jllrs. 13.. I know it. Nor come I here to supplicate your pardon ; nor has my heart contained a ray of hope that you would grant it. All I dare ask, is, that you will not curse my memory. Stra. No, I do not curse. you. I shall never curse you. Mrs. H. From the inward conviction that I am unworthy of your name, I have, during three years, abandoned it. But this is not enough ; you must have that redress which will enable you to choose another another wife ; in whose chaste arms may Heaven protect your hours of bliss ! This paper will be necessary for the purpose ; it contains a writ- ten acknowledgment of my guilt. [Offers it, trembling. Stra. [ Tearing it.\ Perish the record for ever ! No, Adelaide, you only have possessed my heart ; and I am not ashamed to own it, you alone will reign there forever. Your own sensations of virtue, your resolute honour, forbid you to profit by my weakness ; and even if this is beneath a man ! But never will another fill Adelaide's place here. Mrs. H. Then nothing now remains but that one sad, hard, just word farewell ! \G-oing, L. Stra. Stay a moment. For some months we Irive, with- out knowing it, lived near each other. I have learnt much good of you. You have a heart open to the wants of your fellow creatures. I am happy that it is so. You shall not be without the power of gratifying your benevolence. I know you have a spirit that must shrink from a state of obligation. This paper, to which the whole remnant of my fortune is pledged, secures y.ju independence, Ade- laide ; and lot the only recommendation of the gift be, that it will administer to you tihe means of indulging ir, charily, the divine propensity of your nature. 58 THE STRANGER, [Act V Mrs. H. Never ! To the labor of my hands alone will I owe my sustenance. A morsel of bread, moistened with the tear of penitence, will suffice my wishes, and exceed my merits. It would be an additional reproach, to think that I served myself, or even others, from the bounty of the man whom I had so deeply injured. Stra. Take it, madam ; take it. Mrs. H. I have deserved this. But I throw myself up- on your generosity. Have compassion on me ! Stra. [Aside.] Villain ! Of what a woman hast thou robbed me ! [Puts up thcpaper.] Well, madam, I respect your sentiments and withdraw my request ; but on condi- tion, that if ever you shall be in want of anything, I may be the first and only person in the world to whom you will make your application. Mrs. H. I promise it, my lord. Stra. And now I may, at least, desire you to lake back what is your own your jewels. [Gives her the casket. Mrs. H. \ Opens it, and weeps.] How well do I recollect t the sweet evening when jou gave me these ! __ That eve- ning my father joined our bands ; and joyfully I pronounc- ed the oath of eternal fidelity. It is broken. This locket you gave me on my birth-day. That was a happy day ! We had a country feast Ho\v cheerful we all were ! This bracelet I received after my William was born! No ! Take them take them I cannot take these, unless you wish that the sight of them .should be an incessant re- proach to my almost broken heart. [Gives them back. Stra. I must go. My soul and pride will hold no lon- ger. Farewell. Mrs. H. Oh ! But one minute more ! An answer to but one more question. Feel for a mother's heart ! Are my children still alive 1 ' Stra. Yes, they are alive. Mrs. H And Well 1 Sfra. Yes, they are well. .Mnt. H. Heaven be praised ! William must be much grown 1 Sfra. I believe so. Jlf ?. H. What ! Have you not seen them, then 1 And little Amelia, is she still your favorite ] [ The Stranger, who is in violent agitation throughout this scene, remains in silent THE STRANGER. 59 contention between honor and affection.] Oh ! generous man, allow me to behold them once again ! Let me once more kiss the features of their father in his babes, and I will kneel to you, and part with them forever. [S/te kneels 7i.e raises J;,er. Stra. Willingly, Adelaide ! This very night. I expect the children every minute. They have been brought up near this spot. I have already sent my servant for them. He might, ere this time, have returned. I pledge my word to send them to the Castls as soon as they arrive. There, if you please, they may remain till daybreak to- morrow : then they must go with me. \The Countess and Baron, having re-entered and listened to the whole conversation with the icarmest sympathy, exchange signals. Baron goes into the Hut, and soon returns with the Children. He gives the Girl to the Countess, who places herself behind the Stranger. He himself walks with the Boy behind Mrs. Haller. Mrs. II. In this world, then, we have no more to say ! [Seizing his hand.} Forget a wretch who never will forget you. Let me press this hand once more to my lips this hand which once was mine. And when my penance shall have broken my fieart, when we again meet in a better world Stra. There, Adelaide, you may be mine again. W^IL } 0h! Oh! {Parting [But, as they are going, she encounters the Boy, and he the Girl. Children. Dear father ! Dear mother ! \They press the Children in their arms with speechless of' fection ; then tear themselves away gaze at each other spread their arms and rush into an embrace. The Children run and cling round their parents. The Cur- tain falls. DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS AT THE FALL OP THE CURTAIN. COUNTESS. BARON. STRANGER. MRS. HALLER* THE END. University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. RECEIVED 1 6 1997 PRINTED IN U G A 000 831 904 8