/ s&eiiwMeoizs 
 
 "> >~i?."3'- 
 
 
 "iter"
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 {^s7/h<^ (j? at^<*^<*<£ 
 
 ^,r^^ /Jrya 
 
 

 
 THE 
 
 Miscellaneous Plays 
 
 of 
 
 Edwin Booth 
 
 •<" 
 
 Edited by 
 
 WILLIAM WINTER 
 
 Volume III 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 1899
 
 PR 124^ 
 
 Copyright 1899 by The Pcnn Publishing Company 
 
 vol. rn
 
 preface. 
 
 t / HIS volume contains the principal plays, aside from 
 those of Shakespeare, that were included by Edwin 
 Booth in his customary repertory, — namely, "Rich- 
 elieu," "The Fool's Revenge, 1 ' "Brutus," "Ruy Bias," 
 and "Don Ccesar de Bazan." In addition to these, he 
 occasionally presented "A New Way to Pay Old Debts," 
 ' ' The Iron Chest, " "The Apostate, " "The Lady of Lyons, ' ' 
 and "The Stranger," — impersonating Sir Giles Overreach, 
 Sir Edward Mortimer, Pescara, Claude Melnotte, and the 
 sad and cynical hermit husband of Mrs. Haller. He had, 
 in his lime, played scores of parts. Old records that I 
 possess name him as the representative of Wilford, Hemeya, 
 Titus, Graiiano, Cassio, Laertes, Edgar, Mr. Dombey, 
 Richmond, Charles II, Dazzle, Frank Heartall, Captain 
 Absolute, Charles Surface, Colonel Mannering, and Young 
 Marlowe. The list might be largely augmented. Edwin 
 Booth, essentially a tragedian, attained to greatness in the act- 
 ing of tragedy, but he reached that eminence by the practical 
 development and discipline of his faculties in the embodiment 
 of many and widely diversified parts as well as by the 
 power of his genius, the charm of his personality, and the 
 force of his character. One of his early embodiments was 
 that of Henry II, in a play on that king' s life by Messrs. 
 Hollister and Champlin, produced at New Orleans in i8jp. 
 This performance was not given elsewhere, and I never saw 
 it, but the record of it is cordial with admiration, and Booth 
 vol. in v
 
 VI PREFACE 
 
 mentioned the play to ?ne with sympathy and approval. 
 Another half-forgotten performance of his was that of 
 Eugene de Morny, in a drama called "Love 1 s Ordeal," by 
 Edmund Falconer : this was given in Boston. Booth? s 
 comedy 7uas not equal to his tragedy, but he liked to play 
 comedy parts, and he often said that a tragic actor ought 
 sometimes to act in comedy, for the sake of relief and for the 
 maintenance of a flexible manner. He 7vas very fond of 
 "Richelieu," and in my time he has never had an equal in 
 that part. The intellectual exaltation, the august loneliness, 
 the inherent majesty, the deep tenderness, the subtle, lambent 
 humour, the indomitable character, and the fiery and con- 
 suming passion of the old churchman were interblended 
 by him in a figure of perfect symmetry and of overwhelming 
 authoritative force. That impersonation alone would 
 have made him eminent and famous. To think of him in 
 only the respective leading characters that dominate the five 
 plays in this volume — Richelieu, Bertuccio, Brutus, Ruy 
 Bias, and Don CcBsar — is to perceive the image of an 
 actor of great elemental pozver and of astonishing versatility ; 
 and such an actor, indeed, was Edwin Booth. 
 
 W. W. 
 May ryth, j8qq. 
 
 VOL. Ill
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Richelieu 
 
 The Fool's Revenge 
 
 Brutus 
 
 Ruy Bias 
 Don Caesar de Bazan 
 
 vol. in
 
 RICHELIEU 
 
 VOL. Ill
 
 preface. 
 
 * 
 
 "T"" "HE full title of this piece is "Richelieu; or, The 
 ■*■ Conspiracy" It was written in the fall of 1838, and 
 it was first acted on March yth, iSjp. Macready — for 
 whom, and under whose counsel it had been made — 
 brought it out, at Covent Garden, London, of which theatre 
 he was then the manager, and himself personated Richelieu. 
 In Macreadf s "Reminiscences " there are several interesting 
 allusions to this subject, notable as showing in what maimer 
 the drift of the play was changed by the author, under the 
 actor's advice, and also as showing that the text was freely 
 cut, in the process of adapting it to the practical uses of the 
 stage. " When I developed the whole plan of alterations," 
 says Macready, the author " was in ecstacy." This, 
 evidently, was an instance in which the literary faculty 
 was happily guided by an experienced and just dramatic 
 instinct. In this drama, consequently, the story is told by 
 direct action, out of which the language naturally flows, — 
 tinged, it is true, with the romantic sentimentalism that 
 thoroughly saturated Rulwer's thought and style, — and to 
 which, for the most part, it is a spontaneous necessity. It 
 appears to have beeti Macready' s impression that Bulwer 
 had drawn, tinder the name of Richelieu, a character entirely 
 different from the historic original/ but he records that
 
 Bulwer at length satisfied him as to the justice of the 
 portrayal, from the evidence of history. There is no doubt, 
 however, that the poet has considerably — though neither 
 unjustly nor inartistically — idealized the character of Riche- 
 lieu. His own remarks upon it, in his essays upon "Self- 
 Controul" and "Posthumous Reputation," in " Caxtoniana," 
 illustrate this truth. "In Richelieu" he says, " there was 
 no genuine selfcontroul; because he had made his whole 
 self the puppet of certain fixed and tyrannical ideas." Yet the 
 Richelieu of this play is iron in his domination of self and of 
 circumstafice. In the play, moreover, the cruelty of the 
 Cardinal nowhere appears, while his craft and vanity are 
 much softened. He is made, i?i fact, the ideal hero of a 
 poetical work, and he should be regarded solely in this light. 
 TJie text of the original has been exit and arranged in accord- 
 ance with this idea, and with the pla?i of action pursued by 
 Edwin Booth. This version differs from those used by 
 Macready and Rorrest, and it also differs from all others in 
 print or in use. The purpose which has governed in the 
 editorial work was the purpose to give all possible prominence 
 to the poetical aspect of the character. As to particular 
 modifications : the long monologue that begins Act Third has 
 been shortened to a few carefully chosen lines ; several 
 minor scenes and several clusters of superfluous lines have 
 been omitted ; and the characters of the Governor and 
 Gaoler of the Bastile have been excised. The year of the 
 play is indicated by the reference, in Act Fifth, to the loss, 
 by Charles I, of u a battle that decides one-half his realm." 
 The earliest of the Parliamentary victories that could with 
 propriety be so designated was the battle of Marston Moor, 
 fought on July 2d, 1644. Bulwer, it must be assumed, 
 intended to take a poetic license with history, since, while no
 
 other battle than that is responsive to his allusion, both 
 Richelieu and Louis XIII. were dead before that battle 
 was fought, before any important battle had signalized 
 the strife betwixt Charles I. and the Puritans, and before 
 Cromwell had become known. Louis XIII., of France, 
 reigned from 1610 to 164J. Richelieu died in 1642, aged 
 57. Cromwell, even at Marston Moor, was but second in 
 command. Richelieu, it is probable, never heard of him. 
 This drama was first acted in America, September 4th, 1839, 
 at Wallaces National Theatre, in Leonard Street, New- 
 York. Edwin Forrest was then the representative of the 
 Cardinal. 
 
 " Vivet extento Proculeius aevo, 
 Notus infraies animiflaterni." 
 
 IV. w. 
 New- York, March pth, 1878.
 
 * 
 
 " The purest treasure mortal times afford 
 Is spotless reputation : that away, 
 Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. 
 A jewel in a ten-times barred-up chest 
 Is a bold spirit in a loyal breast. 
 Mine honour is my life ; both grow in one : 
 Take honour from me and my life is done." — SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 " To him the church, the realm, their power consign; 
 Through him the rays of regal bounty shine ; 
 Turned by his nod, the stream of honour flows : 
 His smile alone security bestows : 
 Still to new heights his restless wishes tower: 
 Claim leads to claim, and power advances power." 
 
 Dr. Johnson. 
 
 ' ' The brave man canes out his fortune, and every man is the son of his 
 cnvn works." — Cervantes. 
 
 "A fiery soul, which, working out its way. 
 Fretted the pigmy body to decay. 
 And d ' er-informed the tenement of clay." — Dryden. 
 
 'Conceal not Time's misdeeds, but on my brow 
 
 Retrace his mark ; 
 Let the retiring hair be silvery now. 
 
 That once was dark : 
 Eyes that reflected images too bright, 
 
 Let clouds o'ercast, 
 And from the tablet be abolished quite, 
 
 The cheerful past."— Landor. 
 
 "Old as I am, I know what passion is. 
 It is the summer s heat, sir, which in vain 
 We look for frost in." — Sheridan Knowi.es. 
 
 'Cardinal Richelieu s politics made France the terror of Europe. " 
 
 Addison. 
 
 "He who ascends to mountain-tops shall find 
 The loftiest peaks most wrapped in clouds and snow ; 
 He who surpasses or subdues mankind 
 Must look down on the hate of tlwse below. 
 Though high above the sun of glory glozv, 
 And far beneath the earth and ocean spread. 
 Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow 
 Contending tempests on his naked head, 
 And thus reward the toils which to those summits led." 
 
 Lord Byron.
 
 Louis XIII. , King of France. 
 Gaston, Duke of Orleans, brother to the King. 
 Cardinal Richelieu. 
 Baradas, the King's favourite. 
 
 Adrian de Mauprat, an officer in the French Army. 
 DE BERINGHEN, a courtier. 
 Joseph, a Capuchin, confidant to Richelieu. 
 HuGUET, an officer and a spy in Richelieu's service. 
 Franqois, a Page to Richelieu. 
 First Courtier. 
 First Conspirator. 
 Captain of the Guard. 
 
 First, Second, and Third Secretaries of State. 
 Julie de Mortemar, an orphan, ward to Richelieu. 
 Marion de LORME, a spy for Richelieu. 
 Courtiers, Pages, Conspirators, Officers, Soldiers, 
 Gentlemen, and Attendants. 
 
 $Iacc anti €imc» 
 
 SCENE. — Paris and Ruelle [Reuil], in France. 
 Period. —Middle of the Seventeenth Century. 
 Time of Action.— Four days. 
 
 Scenes Required. — First Act, two ; Second Act, two ; 
 Third Act, one ; Fourth Act, one ; Fifth Act, one. The 
 principal scene set for Act First is used again in Act 
 Second.
 
 RICHELIEU 
 
 §s>ctnt first, < 
 
 %tt fixgt. 
 
 FIRST DAY. 
 
 C Paris. A Room in the House of 
 Marion De Lorme. Baradas and 
 Orleans at table r. Marion De 
 Lorme conversing with a Court- 
 ier c. De Beringhen, De Mau- 
 prat, and Courtiers playing at 
 dice l. Courtiers looking on. 
 
 I 
 
 Here 's to our enterprize ! 
 Hush, sir! 
 
 Or/. [Drinking. 
 
 Bar. [Glancing at Marion. 
 
 Or/. [Aside. 
 
 Nay, count. 
 
 You may trust her ; she doats on me ; no house 
 
 So safe as Marion's. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Still, we have a secret; 
 
 And oil and water — woman and a secret — 
 
 Are hostile properties. 
 
 Or I. 
 
 Well — Marion, see 
 
 How the play prospers yonder. 
 
 [Marion goes to the tab/e L.
 
 IO RICHELIEU. 
 
 Bar. {Producing a parchment. 
 
 I have now 
 
 All the conditions drawn ; it only needs 
 
 Our signatures. 
 
 Bouillon will join his army with the Spaniard, 
 
 March on to Paris : there, dethrone the king ; 
 
 You will be regent; I, and ye, my lords 
 
 Form the new council. So much for the core 
 
 Of our great scheme. 
 
 Or/. 
 
 But Richelieu is an Argus; 
 
 One of his hundred eyes will light upon us, 
 
 And then — good-by to life. 
 
 Bar. 
 To gain the prize 
 
 We must destroy the Argus: — ay, my lord, 
 The scroll the core, but blood must fill the veins 
 Of our design : while this dispatched to Bouillon, 
 Richelieu dispatched to Heaven ! The last my charge. 
 Meet here to-morrow night. You, sir, as first 
 In honour and in hope, meanwhile select 
 Some trusty knave to bear the scroll to Bouillon : 
 'Midst Richelieu's foes, / 7/ find some desperate hand 
 To strike for vengeance, while we stride to power. 
 
 Or/. 
 
 So be it : — to-morrow, midnight. — Come, my lords. 
 
 [Exeunt Or/cans, and the courtiers in his train. 
 Those at the other tab/e rise, sa/ute Orleans, as 
 he passes out, and reseat themse/ves. Baradas 
 goes to tab/e L, and watches the game. 
 
 Be Ber. 
 
 Double the stakes. 
 
 De Maup. 
 Done.
 
 RICHELIEU, II 
 
 De Ber. 
 
 Bravo ; faith, it shames me 
 
 To bleed a purse already in extremis. 
 
 De Ma up. 
 
 Nay, as you 've had the patient to yourself 
 So long, no other doctor should dispatch it. 
 
 [De Mauprat throws and loses. 
 
 nines. 
 Lost ! Ha, ha — poor De Mauprat ! 
 
 De Ber. 
 One throw more ? 
 
 De Ma up. 
 No ; I am bankrupt : 
 
 There goes all except [Pushing gold. 
 
 My honour and my sword. 
 
 De Ber. 
 
 Ay, take the sword 
 
 To Cardinal Richelieu : — he gives gold for steel, 
 
 When worn by brave men. 
 
 De Muup. 
 
 [Rises and goes to table r. 
 Richelieu ! 
 
 De Ber. [ To Baradas. 
 
 At that name 
 
 He changes colour, bites his nether lip. 
 Ev'n in his brightest moments whisper " Richelieu," 
 And you cloud all his sunshine. 
 
 Bar. 
 I have marked it, 
 And I will learn the wherefore. 
 
 De Maup. 
 The Egyptian 
 
 Dissolved her richest jewel in a draught : l 
 Would I could so melt time and all its treasures, 
 And drain it thus. [Drinking.
 
 12 RICHELIEU. 
 
 De Ber. 
 
 Come, gentlemen, what say ye j 
 A walk on the Parade ? 
 
 Omnes. 
 Ay, come, De Mauprat. 
 
 De Maup. 
 Pardon me ; we shall meet again, ere night-fall. 
 
 Bar. 
 I '11 stay and comfort Mauprat. 
 
 De Ber. 
 
 Comfort ! — When 
 
 We gallant fellows have run out a friend, 
 
 There 's nothing left — except to run him through ! 
 
 There 's the last act of friendship. 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Let me keep 
 
 That favour in reserve ; in all beside 
 
 Your most obedient servant. 
 
 [Exeunt all but De Mauprat and Baradas. 
 
 [N. B. — The scene is sometimes changed, at this 
 ' point, to facilitate the setting of the room in 
 Richelieu's palace. \ 
 
 Bar. 
 
 You have lost — 
 Yet are not sad. 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Sad ! — Life and gold have wings, 
 
 And must fly one day ; — open then, their cages, 
 
 And wish them merry. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 You 're a strange enigma ; 
 
 Fiery in war and yet to glory lukewarm ; 
 
 All mirth in action ; in repose all gloom.
 
 RICHELIEU. I J 
 
 Fortune of late has severed us — and led 
 
 Me to the rank of courtier, count, and favourite, 
 
 You to the titles of the wildest gallant 
 
 And bravest knight in France : are you content ? 
 
 No; — trust in me — some gloomy secret 
 
 De Ma up. 
 
 Ay;- 
 
 A secret that doth haunt me, as of old, 
 
 Men were possessed of fiends: where'er I turn, 
 
 The grave yawns dark before me. — I will trust you : 
 
 Hating the Cardinal, and beguiled by Orleans, 
 
 You know I joined the Languedoc revolt — 
 
 Was captured — sent to the Bastile 
 
 Bar. 
 
 But shared 
 
 The general pardon, which the Duke of Orleans 
 
 Won for himself, and all in the revolt 
 
 Who but obeyed his orders. 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Note the phrase : 
 
 " Obeyed his orders." Well, when on my way 
 To join the duke in Languedoc, I (then 
 The down upon my lip — less man than boy), 
 Leading young valours, reckless as myself, 
 Seized on the town of Faviaux, and displaced 
 The royal banners for the rebel. Orleans, 
 Never too daring, when I reached the camp, 
 Blamed me for acting — mark — without his orders. 
 Upon this quibble, Richelieu razed my name 
 Out of the general pardon. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Yet released you 
 From the Bastile ■
 
 14 RICHELIEU. 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 To call me to his presence 
 
 And thus address me : — " You have seized a town 
 Of France, without the orders of your leader ; 
 And for this treason, but one sentence — Death." 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Death ! 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 " I have pity on your youth and birth, 
 
 Nor wish to glut the headsman : join your troop, 
 
 Now on the march against the Spaniards ; change 
 
 The traitor's scaffold for the soldier's grave : 
 
 Your memory stainless — they who shared your crime 
 
 Exiled or dead — your king shall never learn it." 
 
 Bar. 
 
 tender pity — O most charming prospect ! 
 Blown into atoms by a bomb, or drilled 
 Into a cullender by gunshot ! — Well ? 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 You have heard if I fought bravely. Death became 
 
 Desired, as Daphne by the eager Daygod. 2 
 
 Like him I chased the nymph — to grasp the laurel! 
 
 1 could not die ! 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Poor fellow ! 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 When the Cardinal 
 
 Reviewed the troops, his eyes met mine ; he frowned, 
 
 Summoned me forth: "How 's this?" quoth he: "you 
 
 have shunned 
 The sword — beware the axe! 't will fall one day!" 
 He left me thus; we were recalled to Paris, 
 And — you know all !
 
 RICHELIEU. 15 
 
 Bar. 
 
 And, knowing this, why halt you, 
 Spelled by the rattlesnake, while in the breasts 
 Of your firm friends beat hearts that vow the death 
 Of your grim tyrant ? — wake : be one of us ; 
 The time invites : the king detests the Cardinal, 
 Dares not disgrace, but groans to be delivered 
 Of that too great a subject: join your friends, 
 Free France, and save yourself. 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Hush ! Richelieu bears 
 
 A charmed life : to all who have braved his power 
 
 One common end — the block ! 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Nay, if he live, 
 
 The block your doom. 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Better the victim, count, 
 
 Than the assassin : France requires a Richelieu, 
 
 But does not need a Mauprat. Truce to this : 
 
 All time one midnight, where my thoughts are spectres : 
 
 What to me fame ? — what love ? — 
 
 Bar. 
 Yet dost thou not love? 
 
 De Maup. 
 Love ? — I am young 
 
 Bar. 
 
 And Julie fair ! [Aside.] It is so. 
 
 Upon the margin of the grave, his hand 
 
 Would pluck the rose that /would win and wear ! ? *, , 
 
 Thou lovest l AhwL 
 
 De Maup. [Gaily. 
 
 No more ! 
 
 I love : Your breast holds both my secrets : never 
 Unbury either ! — Come, while yet we may,
 
 l6 RICHELIEU. 
 
 We '11 bask us in the noon of rosy life ; 
 Lounge through the gardens, flaunt in the taverns, 
 Laugh, game, drink, feast : if so confined my days, 
 Faith, I '11 enclose the nights. Pshaw, not so grave ; 
 I 'm a true Frenchman ! — Vive la bagatelle ! 
 
 [Enter Huguet and guards L. 
 
 Hug. 
 
 Messire De Mauprat, — I arrest you! — Follow 
 To the lord Cardinal. 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 You see, my friend, 
 
 I 'm out of my suspense ; the tiger 's played 
 Long enough with his prey. Farewell ! Hereafter 
 Say, when men name me, " Adrian De Mauprat 
 Lived without hope, and perished without fear ! " 
 
 [Exeunt De Mauprat, Huguet, and guards, L. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Farewell! I trust forever! I designed thee 
 
 For Richelieu's murderer — but as well his martyr! 
 
 In childhood you the stronger, and I cursed you; 
 
 In youth the fairer, and I cursed you still; 
 
 And now my rival: while the name of Julie 
 
 Hung on thy lips, I smiled — for then I saw, 
 
 In my mind's eye, the cold and grinning Death, 
 
 Hang o'er thy head the pall ! Ambition, love, 
 
 Ye twin-born stars of daring destinies, 
 
 Sit in my house of life ! By the king's aid 
 
 I will be Julie's husband, in despite 
 
 Of my lord Cardinal. By the king's aid 
 
 I will be minister of France, in spite 
 
 Of my lord Cardinal; and then; what then? 
 
 The king loves Julie ; feeble prince ! false master ! 
 
 Then, by the aid of Bouillon, and the Spaniard, 
 
 I will dethrone the king; and all — ha ! — ha ! 
 
 All, in despite of my lord Cardinal. 
 
 [Scene changes.
 
 RICHELIEU. 17 
 
 . ( Paris. A Room in the Palace of 
 Scene &econ*. { cardinal Richelieu. 
 
 [E titer Richelieu and Joseph. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 And so you think this new conspiracy 
 
 The craftiest trap yet laid for the old fox ? 
 
 Fox ! well, I like the nickname : what did Plutarch 
 
 Say of the Greek Lysander ? 
 
 Jos. 
 I forget. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 That where the lion's skin fell short, he eked it 
 Out with the fox's ! A great statesman, Joseph, 
 That same Lysander. 
 
 Jos. 
 
 Orleans heads the traitors. 
 
 Rich. 
 A very wooden head, then ! Well ? 
 
 Jos. 
 The favourite, 
 Count Baradas — 
 
 Rich. 
 A weed of hasty growth. 
 
 First gentleman of the chamber, — titles, lands, 
 And the king's ear. It cost me six long winters 
 To mount as high as in six little moons 4 
 This painted lizard: but I hold the ladder, 
 And when I shake he falls : what more ? 
 
 Jos. 
 A scheme 
 
 To make your orphan-ward an instrument 
 To aid your foes. 
 Your ward has charmed the king.
 
 l8 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Out on you ! 
 
 Have I not, one by one, from such fair shoots, 
 
 Plucked the insidious ivy of his love ? 
 
 And shall it creep around my blossoming tree, 
 
 Where innocent thoughts, like happy birds, make music 
 
 That spirits in heaven might hear ? 
 
 The king is weak : whoever the king loves 
 
 Must rule the king ; the lady loves another ; 
 
 The other rules the lady : thus we 're balked 
 
 Of our own proper sway. The king must have 
 
 No goddess but the state : — the state ! that 's Richelieu ! s 
 
 Jos. 
 
 This is not the worst : Louis, in all decorous, 
 And deeming you her least compliant guardian, 
 Would veil his suit by marriage with his minion, 
 Your prosperous foe, Count Baradas ! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Ha! ha! 
 
 I have another bride for Baradas ! 
 
 Jos. 
 You, my lord ? 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Ay — more faithful than the love 
 Of fickle woman; when the head lies lowest, 
 Clasping him fondest : sorrow never knew 
 So sure a soother; and her bed is stainless ! 
 
 [Enter Francois c. 
 
 Fran. 
 Mademoiselle De Mortemar ! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Most opportune : admit her. [Exit Francois c. 
 
 In my closet 
 
 You '11 find a rosary, Joseph ; ere you tell
 
 RICHELIEU. 19 
 
 Three hundred beads, I'll summon you. Stay, Joseph; 
 
 I did omit an Ave in my matins, — 
 
 A grievous fault ; atone it for me, Joseph ; 
 
 There is a scourge within ; I am weak, you strong ; 
 
 It were but charity to take my sin 
 
 On such broad shoulders. 
 
 Jos. 
 
 I ! guilty of such criminal presumption 
 
 As to mistake myself for you! No, never! 
 
 Think it not ! [Aside.] Troth, a pleasant invitation ! 
 
 [Exit Joseph l. Enter Jalie De Mortemar c. 
 
 Rich. 
 That's my sweet Julie! 
 
 Julie. 
 
 Are you gracious ? [Placing herself at his feet. 
 
 May I say " Father ? " 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Now and ever ! 
 
 Julie. 
 
 Father ! 
 
 A sweet word to an orphan. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 No, not orphan 
 
 While Richelieu lives : thy father loved me well ; 
 
 My friend, ere I had flatterers : now I 'm great, 
 
 In other phrase, I 'm friendless : he died young 
 
 In years, not service, and bequeathed thee to me ; 
 
 And thou shalt have a dowry, girl, to buy 
 
 Thy mate amid the mightiest. Drooping? — sighs? — 
 
 Art thou not happy at the court ? 
 
 Julie. 
 Not often.
 
 20 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Rich. [Aside. 
 
 Can she love Baradas ? Ah ! at thy heart [ To Julie. 
 
 There 's what can smile and sigh, blush and grow pale, 
 All in a breath. Thou art admired — art young. 
 Does not his majesty commend thy beauty; 
 Ask thee to sing to him ? 
 
 He 's very tiresome, 
 Our worthy king. 
 
 Julie. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Fie ! Kings are never tiresome 
 Save to their ministers. What courtly gallants 
 Charm ladies most ? De Sourdiac, Longueville, or 
 The favourite, Baradas ? 
 
 A smileless man — I 
 Fear and shun him. 
 
 Yet he courts thee ! 
 
 Julie. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Jul is. 
 
 Then— 
 
 He is more tiresome than his majesty. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Right, girl; shun Baradas. Yet of these flowers 
 Of France, not one, in whose more honeyed breath 
 Thy heart hears summer whisper ? 
 
 [E?iter Huguet c. 
 
 Hug. 
 The Chevalier De Mauprat waits below. 
 
 Julie. [Starting ///>, in alarm. 
 De Mauprat!
 
 RICHELIEU. 21 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Hem ! 
 
 He has been tiresome too ! Anon. 
 
 [Exit Huguet c. 
 Julie. 
 What doth he ? 
 
 I mean — I — does your eminence — that is — 
 Know you Messire de Mauprat ? 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Well! — and you — 
 
 Has he addressed you often ? 
 
 Julie. 
 Often! No — 
 
 Nine times : nay, ten ; the last time by the lattice 
 Of the great staircase. [In a melancholy tone. 
 
 The court sees him rarely. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 A bold and forward roister! 
 
 Julie. 
 He? nay, modest, 
 Gentle and sad, methinks. 
 
 Rich. 
 Wears gold and azure ? 
 
 Julie. 
 No, sable. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 So, you note his colours, Julie ? 
 
 Shame on you, child, look loftier. By the mass, 
 
 I have business with this modest gentleman. 
 
 Julie. 
 You 're angry with poor Julie : there 's no cause. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 No cause ! you hate my foes ?
 
 22 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Julie. 
 I do. 
 
 Rich. 
 Hate Mauprat. 
 
 Julie. 
 
 Not Mauprat : no, not Adrian, father. 
 
 Rich. 
 Adrian ? \ Julie moves toward c. 
 
 Familiar! Go, child ; no, — not that way; wait 
 In the tapestry chamber: I will join you, — go. 
 
 Julie. [ Going r. 
 
 His brows are knit; I dare not call him father. 
 But I must speak. Your eminence — 
 
 Rich. \ Sternly. 
 
 Well, girl ! 
 
 Julie. 
 Nay, 
 
 Smile on me — one smile; there, now I 'm happy. 
 Do not rank Mauprat with your foes ; he is not ; 
 I know he is not ; he loves France too well. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Not rank De Mauprat with my foes ? 
 
 So be it. 
 
 I '11 blot him from that list. 
 
 Julie. 
 
 That's my own father. 
 
 [Exit Julie R. i. e. 
 
 Rich. [Ringing bell on tabic. 
 
 Huguet ! 
 
 [Eider Huguet c. 
 De Mauprat struggled not, nor murmured ? 
 
 Hug. 
 No : proud and passive.
 
 RICHELIEU. 23 
 
 Rich. 
 
 .Bid him enter. Hold : 
 
 Look that he hide no weapon. Humph ; despair 
 Makes victims sometimes victors. When he has entered, 
 Glide round unseen ; place thyself yonder ; watch him ; 
 If he show violence — (let me see thy carbine : 
 
 [ Takes, examines, and returns Huguefs carbine 
 So ; a good weapon) ; if he play the lion, 
 Why — the dog's death. 
 
 Hug. 
 I never miss my mark. 
 
 \Exit Huguet c. Richelieu slowly arranges papers 
 before him. Ruler De Maup)-at C, preceded by 
 RTtiguet, who re/ires r. and conceals himself. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Approach, sir. Can you call to mind the hour, 
 Now three years since, when in this room, methinks, 
 Your presence honoured me ? 
 
 De Ma up. 
 It is, my lord, 
 
 One of my most 
 
 Rich. [Dryly. 
 
 Delightful recollections. 6 
 
 De Maup. [Aside. 
 
 St. Denis ! doth he make a jest of axe and headsman ? 
 
 Rich. [Sternly. 
 
 I did then accord you 
 A mercy ill requited. 
 Messire de Mauprat, 
 
 Doomed to sure death, how have you since consumed 
 The time allotted you for serious thought 
 And solemn penance ? 
 
 De Maup. [Embarrassed. 
 
 The time, my lord ?
 
 24 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Is not the question plain ? I '11 answer for thee. 
 
 Thou hast sought nor priest nor shrine ; no sackcloth 
 
 chafed 
 Thy delicate flesh : the rosary and the death's head 
 Have not, with pious meditation, purged 
 Earth from the carnal gaze. What thou hast not done 
 Brief told ; what done, a volume ! Wild debauch, 
 Turbulent riot : for the morn the dice-box ; 
 Noon claimed the duel, and the night the wassail : 
 These your most holy, pure preparatives 
 For death and judgment. Do I wrong you, sir? 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 I was not always thus : if changed my nature, 
 
 Blame that which changed my fate. Alas, my lord, 
 
 Were you accursed with that which you inflicted — 
 
 By bed and board dogged by one ghastly spectre, 
 
 The while within you youth beat high, and life 
 
 Grew lovelier from the neighbouring frown of death — 
 
 The heart no bud, nor fruit, save in those seeds 
 
 Most worthless, which spring up, bloom, bear, and wither 
 
 In the same hour — were this your fate, perchance, 
 
 You would have erred, like me ! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 I might, like you, 
 
 Have been a brawler and a reveller ; not, 
 
 Like you, a trickster and a thief. 
 
 De Maup. [Advancing, threateningly. 
 Lord Cardinal, 
 Unsay those words ! 
 
 [Huguet emerges and raises his carbine. 
 
 Rich. [Raises his hand. 
 
 Not quite so quick, friend Huguet; 
 
 Messire de Mauprat is a patient man, 
 
 And he can wait. 
 
 You have outrun your fortune : [To De Mauprat.
 
 RICHELIEU. 25 
 
 I blame you not that you would be a beggar — 
 Each to his taste ; but I do charge you, sir, 
 That, being beggared, you would coin false moneys 
 Out of that crucible, called debt : to live 
 On means not yours ; be brave in silks and laces, 
 Gallant in steeds, splendid in banquets;-— all 
 Not yours ; ungiven, uninherited, unpaid for : 
 This is to be a trickster; and to filch 
 Men's art and labour, which to them is wealth, 
 Life, daily bread, — quitting all scores with — " Friend, 
 You 're troublesome ! " Why this, forgive me, 
 Is what — when done with a less dainty grace — 
 Plain folks call " Theft!" You owe ten thousand pis- 
 toles, 
 Minus one crown, two liards! 
 
 De Maup. {Aside. 
 
 The old conjurer ! 
 
 Rich. 
 This is scandalous, 
 
 Shaming your birth and blood. I tell you, sir, 
 That you must pay your debts. 
 
 De Maup. 
 With all my heart, 
 My lord : where shall I borrow, then, the money ? 
 
 Rich. [Aside, and smiling. 
 
 A humourous dare-devil : the very man 
 
 To suit my purpose ; ready, frank, and bold. 
 
 [ lb De Mauprat, and rising. 
 Adrian de Mauprat, men have called me cruel ; 
 I am not; I am just. I found France rent asunder; 
 The rich men despots and the poor banditti; 
 Sloth in the mart and schism within the temple ; 
 Brawls festering to rebellion ; and weak laws 
 Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths. 
 I have re-created France ; and from the ashes 
 Of the old feudal and decrepit carcass, 
 Civilization on her luminous wings
 
 ~° RICHELIEU. 
 
 Soars, phoenix-like, to Jove ! What was my art ? 
 
 Genius, some say ; some, fortune ; witchcraft, some : 
 
 Not so ; my art was justice ! Force and fraud 
 
 Mis-name it cruelty : you shall confute them ! 
 
 My champion you ! You met me as your foe. 
 
 Depart my friend. You shall not die: France needs 
 
 you. 
 You shall wipe off all stains ; be rich, be honoured ; 
 Be great : I ask, sir, in return, this hand, 
 
 [De Mauprat kneels. 
 To gift it with a bride, whose dower shall match, 
 Yet not exceed her beauty. 
 
 De Manp. {Hesitating. 
 
 I, my lord — 
 I have no wish to marry. 
 
 Rich. 
 Surely, sir, 
 To die were worse. 
 
 De Manp. [Rises. 
 
 Scarcely ; the poorest coward 
 
 Must die; but knowingly to march to marriage — 
 
 My lord, it asks the courage of a lion ! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Traitor, thou triflest with me. I know all. 
 Thou hast dared to love my ward — my charge. 
 
 De Manp. 
 
 As rivers 
 
 May love the sunlight — basking in the beams, 
 
 And hurrying on. 
 
 Rich. 
 Thou hast told her of thy love ?
 
 RICHELIEU. 27 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 My lord, if I had dared to love a maid, 
 
 Lowliest in France, I would not so have wronged her, 
 
 As bid her link rich life and virgin hope 
 
 With one, the deathman's gripe might, from her side, 
 
 Pluck at the nuptial altar. 
 
 Rich. 
 I believe thee : 
 
 Yet, since she knows not of thy love, renounce her ; 
 Take life and fortune with another. — Silent ? 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Your fate has been one triumph : you know not 
 How blessed a thing it was in my dark hour 
 To nurse the one sweet thought you bid me banish. 
 Love hath no need of words ; nor less within 
 That holiest temple, the heaven-builded soul, 
 Breathes the recorded vow. Base knight, false lover 
 Were he who bartered all that brightened grief 
 Or sanctified despair, for life and gold. 
 Revoke your mercy ; I prefer the fate 
 I looked for. 
 
 Rich. [ To Huguet, sternly. 
 
 Huguet, to the tapestry chamber 
 Conduct your prisoner. 
 
 [ To De Mauprat. 
 
 You will there behold 
 
 The executioner: — your doom be private — 
 
 [Crosses to R. 
 And heaven have mercy on you ! 
 
 De Maup. 
 When I 'm dead, 
 Tell her I loved her— 
 
 Rich . [ Hiding his face. 
 
 Keep such follies, sir, 
 For fitter ears. Go.
 
 28 RICHELIEU. 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Does he mock me ? 
 
 [Exeunt De Mauprat and Huguet r. i.e. 
 
 [Richelieu laughs. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Joseph, 
 Come forth. 
 
 [Enter Joseph L. i. E. 
 Methinks your cheek has lost its rubies, Joseph. 
 I fear you have been too lavish of the flesh ; 
 The scourge is heavy. 
 
 Jos. 
 Pray you, change the subject. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 You good men are so modest ! Well, to business. 
 Go instantly — deeds — notaries! — bid my stewards 
 Prepare my house by the Luzembourg — my house 
 No more ! — a bridal present to my ward, 
 Who weds to-morrow. 
 
 Weds ? with whom ? 
 De Mauprat. 
 
 A penniless husband. 
 
 Jos. 
 
 Rich. 
 Jos. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Bah ! the mate for beauty 
 Should be a man and not a money-chest ! 
 When her brave sire lay on his bed of death, 
 I vowed to be a father to his Julie; 
 And so he died — the smile upon his lips : 
 And when I spared the life of her young lover, 
 Methought I saw that smile again. Who else, 
 Look you, in all the court, who else so well,
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 29 
 
 Brave, or supplant the favourite ; balk the king, 
 
 Baffle their schemes ? I have tried him : he has honour 
 
 and courage. 
 Besides, he has taste, this Mauprat : when my pla) 
 Was acted — to dull tiers of lifeless gapers, 
 Who had no soul for poetry — I saw him 
 Applaud, in the proper places : trust me, Joseph, 
 He is a man of most uncommon promise 1 
 
 Jos. 
 And yet your foe. 
 
 Rich, 
 
 Have I not foes enow ? 
 
 Great men gain doubly when they make foes friends. 
 
 Remember my grand maxims : hrst employ 
 
 All methods to conciliate. 8 
 
 Jos. 
 Failing these ? 
 
 Rich. [Fiercely. 
 
 AW. means to crush ! as with the opening and 
 The clenching of this little hand I will 
 Crush the small venom of these stinging courtiers. — 
 So, so, we 've baffled Baradas. 
 
 Jos. 
 And when 
 Check the conspiracy ? 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Check ? check ? Full way to it. 
 
 Let it bud, ripen, flaunt i' the day, and burst 
 
 To fruit — the Dead Sea's fruit of ashes; ashes 
 
 Which I will scatter to the winds. 
 
 Go, Joseph ; 
 
 When you return I have a feast for you; 
 
 The last great act of my great play : the verses, 
 
 Methinks, are fine. 
 
 Come, you shall hear the verses now. [ Seating himselfi
 
 3° 
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Jos. 
 
 Worse than the scourge ! 
 Strange that so great a statesman 
 Should be so bad a poet. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 What dost thou say ? 
 
 Jos. 
 
 That it is strange so great a statesman should 
 Be so sublime a poet. 9 
 
 Rich. 
 O you rogue, you rogue! 
 But come, the verses now. 
 
 Jos. 
 My lord, 
 The deeds, the notaries. 
 
 [Aside, 
 
 Rich. 
 
 True, I pity you ! 
 
 But business first, then pleasure. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 [Exit Joseph c. 
 [Reading. 
 
 Ah, sublime! 
 
 [Enter De Mauprat a fid Julie R. i.e. 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 O, speal;, my lord ! I dare not think you mock me. 
 
 And yet [They kneel before him. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 This line must be considered. 
 
 Julie. 
 
 Are we not both your children ? 
 
 Rich. 
 
 O, sir — you live! 
 
 [Affecting now to see them for the first time.
 
 RICHELIEU. 31 
 
 De Maup. 
 Why, no ; methinks 
 Elysium is not life. 
 
 Julie. 
 He smiles ! you smile, 
 My father : from my heart forever, now, 
 I '11 blot the name of orphan. 
 
 Rich. 
 Rise, my children — 
 
 For ye are mine, mine both ; and in your sweet 
 And young delight, your love (life's first-born glory) 
 My own lost youth breathes musical. 
 
 De Maup. 
 I '11 seek 
 
 Temple and priest henceforward : were it but 
 To learn Heaven's choicest blessings. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Thou shalt seek 
 
 Temple and priest right soon : the morrow's sun 
 Shall see across these barren thresholds pass 
 The fairest bride in Paris. Go, my children : 
 Even J loved once: 10 be lovers while ye may. 
 
 [ To De Mauprat. 
 How is it with you, sir? You bear it bravely: 
 You know it asks the courage of a lion. 
 
 {Exeunt De Mauprat and Julie i \ 
 O, God-like power! woe, rapture, penury, wealth, 
 Marriage, and death, for cne infirm old man 
 Through a great empire to dispense — withhold — 
 As the will whispers! And shall things, like motes 
 That live in my daylight; lackeys of court wages; 
 Dwarfed starvelings; manikins, upon whose shoulders 
 The burden of a province were a load, 
 More heavy than the globe on Atlas, cast 
 Lots for my robes and sceptre ? — France, I love thee ! 
 All earth shall never pluck thee from my heart ! 
 My mistress, France ; my wedded wife, sweet France ; 
 Who shall proclaim divorce for thee and me 1 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 3ltt £ccont!. 
 
 second day. 
 
 ,. ( Paris. An Apartment in De Mauh 
 Scene Jin*, J RAT , S HouSE> 
 
 [Enter Baradas L. 
 
 Mauprat's new home: too splendid for a soldier! 
 
 But o'er his floors, the while I stalk, methinks 
 
 My shadow spreads gigantic to the gloom 
 
 The old, rude towers of the Bastile cast far 
 
 Along the smoothness of the jocund day. 
 
 Well, thou hast 'scaped the fierce caprice of Richelieu i 
 
 But art thou further from the headsman, fool ? 
 
 Thy secret I have whispered to the king: 
 
 Thy marriage makes the king thy foe : thou stand'st 
 
 On the abyss — and in the pool below 
 
 I see a ghastly, headless phantom mirrored, — 
 
 Thy likeness, ere the marriage moon hath waned. 
 
 Meanwhile — meanwhile — ha, ha! if thou art wedded, 
 
 Thou art not wived! 
 
 [Enter De Mauprat k 
 
 De Ma up. 
 
 Was ever fate like mine ? — 
 
 So blessed, and yet so wretched ! 
 
 Bar. 
 Joy, De Mauprat! 
 Why, what a brow, man, for your wedding-day ! 
 
 De Mai/p. 
 Jest not. Distraction!
 
 RICHELIEU. 33 
 
 Bar. 
 What! your wife a shrew 
 Already? Courage, man — the common lot. 
 
 De Maup. 
 O, that she were less lovely, or less loved 1 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Riddles again! 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 You know what chanced between 
 The Cardinal and myself. 
 
 Bar. 
 This morning brought 
 
 Your letter: faith, a strange account. I laughed 
 And wept at once for gladness. 
 
 De Maup. 
 We were wed 
 At noon : the rite performed, came hither — scarce 
 
 Arrived, when 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Well? 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Wide flew the doors, and lo ! 
 
 Messire de Beringhen, and this epistle. 
 
 Bar. 
 Tis the king's hand; the royal seal. 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Read — read ! 
 
 Bar. [Reading. 
 
 "Whereas Adrian de Mauprat, colonel and chevalier 
 in our armies, being already guilty of high treason, by the 
 seizure of our town of Faviaux, has presumed, without our 
 knowledge, consent, or sanction, to connect himself by 
 
 3
 
 -_^ RICHELIEU. 
 
 marriage with Julie de Mortemar, a wealthy orphan, 
 attached to the person of Her Majesty; we do hereby 
 proclaim and declare the said marriage contrary to law. 
 On penalty of death, Adrian de Mauprat will not com- 
 municate with the said Julie de Mortemar by word or 
 letter, save in the presence of our faithful servant, the 
 Sieur de Beringhen, and then with such respect and 
 decorum as are due to a demoiselle attached to the Court 
 of France : until such time as it may suit our royal pleas- 
 ure to confer Avith the Holy Church on the formal annul- 
 ment of the marriage, and with our Council on the punish- 
 ment to be awarded to Messire de Mauprat, who is 
 cautioned, for his own sake, to preserve silence as to our 
 injunction, more especially to Mademoiselle de Mortemar. 
 Given under our hand and seal, at the Louvre. 
 
 " Louis." 
 [Gives back letter to De Mauprat. 
 
 Amazement! Did not Richelieu say the king 
 
 Knew not your crime? 
 
 De Ma up. 
 He said so. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Poor de Mauprat! 
 
 See you the snare, the vengeance worse than death 
 
 Of which you are the victim? 
 
 De Maup. 
 Ha! 
 
 Snare? vengeance, 
 Worse than death ? Be plainer. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 What so clear? 
 
 Richelieu has but two passions. 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Richelieu !
 
 RICHELIEU. 35 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Ambition and revenge : in you both blended. 
 
 First for ambition: Julie is his ward; 
 
 Innocent, docile, pliant to his will; 
 
 He placed her at the court; foresaw the rest: 
 
 The king loves Julie ! 
 
 De Maup, 
 
 Merciful Heaven! The king! 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Such Cupids lend new plumes to Richelieu's wings: 
 
 But the court etiquette must give such Cupids 
 
 The veil of Hymen — Hymen but in name. 
 
 He looked abroad; found you his foe; thus served 
 
 Ambition — by the grandeur of his ward, 
 
 And vengeance — by dishonour to his foe. 
 
 De Maup. 
 Prove this. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 You have the proof — the royal letter; 
 
 Your strange exemption from the general pardon, 
 
 Known but to me and Richelieu : can you doubt 
 
 Your friend, to acquit your foe? The truth is glaring; 
 
 Richelieu alone could tell the princely lover 
 
 The tale which sells your life, — or buys your honour. 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 I see it all: mock pardon — hurried nuptials — 
 False bounty! — all! — the serpent of that smile: 
 O ! it stings home ! 
 
 Bar. 
 
 You shall crush his malice : 
 
 Our plans are sure; Orleans is at our head; 
 
 We meet to-night; join us and with us triumph.
 
 36 RICHELIEU. 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 To-night! — heaven! — my marriage night! — Revenge 
 But the king? but Julie? 
 
 Bar. 
 
 The king ? infirm in health, in mind more feeble, 
 
 Is but the plaything of a minister's will. 
 
 Were Richelieu dead, his power were mine; and Louis 
 
 Soon should forget his passion and your crime. 
 
 But whither now ? 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 I know not; I scarce hear thee; 
 A little while for thought: anon I '11 join thee; 
 But now, all air seems tainted, and I loathe 
 The face of man! 
 
 [Exit De Mauprat L, 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Start from the chase, my prey! 
 
 But as thou speed'st, the hell-hounds of revenge 
 
 Pant in thy track and drag thee down. 
 
 [Enter De Beringhen r. 
 
 De Ber. 
 
 Chevalier, 
 
 Your cook's a miracle: what, my host gone? 
 Faith, count, my office is a post of danger: 
 A fiery fellow, Mauprat! touch and go, — 
 Match and saltpeter, — pr-r-r-r! 
 
 Bar. 
 
 You 
 
 Will be released ere long. The king resolves 
 
 To call the bride to court this day. 
 
 De Ber. 
 
 Poor Mauprat! 
 
 Yet, since you love the lady, why so careless 
 
 Of the king's suit?
 
 RICHELIEU. 37 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Because the lady 's virtuous, 
 
 And the king timid : ere he win the suit 
 
 He '11 lose the crown; the bride will be a widow; 
 
 And 1 — the Richelieu of the Regent Orleans. 
 
 De Ber. 
 
 Is Louis still so chafed against the fox, 
 
 For snatching yon fair dainty from the lion ? 
 
 Bar. 
 
 So chafed that Richelieu totters. Yes, the king, 
 Is half conspiring against the Cardinal. 
 Enough of this. I 've found the man we wanted ; 
 The man to head the hands that murder Richelieu ; 
 The man whose name's the synonym for daring. 
 
 De Ber. [Alarmed. 
 
 He must mean me! No, count, I am, I own, 
 A valiant dog — but still — 
 
 Bar. 
 Whom can I mean 
 
 But Mauprat? Mark, to-night we meet at Marion's; 
 There shall we sign: thence send this scroll 
 To Bouillon. {Showing a paper. 
 
 You 're in that secret — one of our new council. 
 
 De Ber. 
 But to admit the Spaniard, France's foe, 
 Into the heart of France — dethrone the king — 
 It looks like treason, and I smell the headsman. 
 
 Bar. 
 O, sir, too late to falter : when we meet 
 We must arrange the separate, coarser scheme, 
 For Richelieu's death. Of this dispatch De Mauprat 
 Must nothing learn. He only bites at vengeance, 
 And he would start from treason. We must post him 
 Without the door at Marion's — as a sentry; 
 So, when his head is on the block, his tongue 
 Cannot betray our more august designs.
 
 j8 RICHELIEU. 
 
 De Ber. 
 
 I '11 meet you, if the king can spare me. [Aside.] No ! 
 I am too old a goose to play with foxes ; 
 I '11 roost at home. Meanwhile, in the next room 
 There's a delicious pate; let 's discuss it. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Pshaw ! a man filled with sublime ambition 
 Has no time to discuss your pates. 
 
 De Ber. 
 Pshaw. 
 
 And a man filled with a sublime pate, 
 Has no time to discuss ambition. — Gad, 
 I have the best of it ! 
 
 [Exit De Berbighen r. 
 
 Bar. 
 All is made clear; Mauprat must murder Richelieu — 
 Die for that crime : I shall console his Julie. 
 This will reach Bouillon ! — from the wrecks of France 
 I shall carve out — who knows — perchance a throne! 
 All in despite of my lord Cardinal. 
 
 [Enter De Mauprat L- 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Speak ! can it be ? — Methought that from the terrace 
 I saw the carriage of the king — and Julie ! 
 No ! No ! my frenzy peoples the void air 
 With its own phantom ! 
 
 Bar. 
 Nay, too true. — Alas! 
 
 Was ever lightning swifter, or more blasting, 
 Than Richelieu's forked guile ? 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 I '11 to the Louvre 
 
 Bar. 
 
 And lose all hope ! The Louvre ! — the sure gate 
 To the Bastile!
 
 RICHELIEU. 39 
 
 De Maup. 
 The king. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Is but the wax, 
 
 Which Richelieu stamps : break the malignant seal, 
 
 And I will raze the print. Come, man, take heart ! 
 
 Her virtue well could brave a sterner trial 
 
 Than a few hours of cold, imperious courtship. 
 
 Were Richelieu dust — no danger! 
 
 De Maup. 
 Ghastly vengeance ! 
 
 To thee and thine august and solemn sister, 
 The unrelenting death, I dedicate 
 The blood of Armand Richelieu ! When dishonour 
 Reaches our hearths, law dies. and murder takes 
 The angel shape of justice ! 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Bravely said ! 
 
 At midnight, Marion's! — Nay, I cannot leave thee 
 
 To thoughts that 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Speak not to me ! — 1 am yours ! 
 But speak not! There's a voice within my soul, 
 Whose cry could drown the thunder. O, if men 
 Will play dark sorcery with the heart of man, 
 Let them, who raise the spell, beware the fiend ! 
 
 {Exeunt l. Scene changes. 
 
 Paris. A Room in the Palace of Car- 
 dinal Richelieu. The same as in 
 Act tiRsr. Francois discovered 
 at table l. u. e. 
 
 {Enter Richelieu and Joseph. 
 
 Jos. 
 
 Yes ; — Huguet, taking his accustomed round, 
 Disguised as some plain burgher, heard these rufflers 
 Quoting your name ■ — he listened: " Pshaw," said one,
 
 4° RICHELIEU. 
 
 " We are to seize the Cardinal in his palace 
 
 To-morrow ! " — " How ? " the other asked ; — " You '11 
 
 hear 
 The whole design to-night : the Duke of Orleans 
 And Baradas have got the map of action 
 At their fingers' end." " So be it," quoth the other, 
 " I will be there, — Marion de Lorme's — at midnight: " 
 
 Rich. 
 I have them, man, I have them ! 
 
 Jos. 
 
 So they say 
 
 Of you, my lord : — believe me, that their plans 
 Are mightier than you deem : you must employ 
 Means no less vast to meet them ! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Bah! in policy 
 
 We foil gigantic dangers, not by giants, 
 
 But dwarfs: the statues of our stately fortune 
 
 Are sculptured by the chisel — not the axe. 11 
 
 Ah! were I younger — by the knightly heart 
 
 That beats beneath these priestly robes, Vi I would 
 
 Have pastime with these cut-throats ! Yea, as when, 
 
 Lured to the ambush of the expecting foe, 
 
 I clove my pathway through the plumed sea ! 
 
 Reach me yon falchion, Francois — not that bauble 
 
 For carpet warriors — yonder — such a blade 
 
 As old Charles Martel might have wielded, when 
 
 He drove the Saracen from France. 
 
 [Francois brings to Richelieu a long two-handed 
 sword. 
 With this 
 
 I, at Rochelle, did hand to hand engage 
 The stalwart Englisher: ,3 no mongrels, boy, 
 Those island mastiffs. Mark the notch, a deep one. 
 His casque made here. I shore him to the waist !
 
 RICHELIEU. 41 
 
 A toy — a feather, then ! 
 
 [ Tries to wield it, but sinks, overcome, into [hair. 
 You see, a child could 
 Slay Richelieu now. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 But now, at your command 
 
 Are other weapons, good my lord. 
 
 Rich . [Lifting a pen. 
 
 True, this ! 
 
 Beneath the rule of men entirely great 
 The pen is mightier than the sword. Behold 
 The arch enchanter's wand : itself a nothing ; 
 But taking sorcery from the master hand — 
 To paralyze the Caesars, and to strike 
 The loud earth breathless ! Take away the sword — 
 States can be saved without it ! 
 
 [Francois takes the sword back to its place. Clock 
 strikes. 
 ' Tis the hour — 
 Retire, sir. 
 
 [Exit Francois L. A knock. Joseph opens secret 
 door. Enter Marion de Lorme, through secret 
 door. 
 
 Jos. [Amazed. 
 
 Marion de Lorme ! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Hist! Joseph, 
 
 Keep guard. [Joseph closes door and retires c. 
 
 My faithful Marion ! 
 
 Marion. 
 
 Good, my lord, 
 
 They meet to night in my poor house : the Duke 
 
 Of Orleans heads them. 
 
 Rich. 
 Ves ; go on.
 
 4 2 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Marion. 
 His highness 
 
 Much questioned if I knew some brave, discreet, 
 And vigilant man, whose tongue could keep a secret, 
 And who had those twin qualities for service, 
 The love of gold, the hate of Richelieu. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 You 
 
 Marion. 
 
 Made answer, "Yes; my brother; bold and trusty; 
 Whose faith my faith could pledge:" the duke then 
 
 bade me 
 Have him equipped and armed, well mounted, ready 
 This night to part for Italy. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Ah! — 
 
 Has Bouillon too turned traitor ? — So methought. 
 
 What part of Italy ? 
 
 Marion. 
 
 The Piedmont frontier, 
 Where Bouillon lies encamped. 
 
 Rich. [Aside. 
 
 Now there is danger! 
 
 Great danger! If he tamper with the Spaniard, 
 And Louis list not to my council, as, 
 Without sure proof he will not, France is lost ! 
 What more ? [ To Marion. 
 
 Marion. 
 
 Dark hints of some design to seize 
 
 Your person, in your palace: nothing clear: 
 
 His highness trembled while he spoke ; the words 
 
 Did choke each other. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 So ! Who is the brother 
 
 You recommended to the duke ?
 
 RICHELIEU. 43 
 
 Marion. 
 
 Whoever 
 
 Your eminence may father. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Darling Marion ! u 
 
 [Goes to the table, and returns with a purse. 
 Marion affects to refuse, but presently accepts the 
 purse. 
 There — pshaw — a trifle! What an eye you have! 
 And what a smile! — Ah, you fair perdition — 
 T is well I 'm old ! 
 
 Marion. [Aside. 
 
 What a great man he is ! 
 
 Rich. 
 You are sure they meet ? — the hour ? 
 
 At midnight. 
 
 Marion. 
 Rich. 
 
 And 
 
 You will engage to give the duke's dispatch, 
 
 To whom I send ? 
 
 Marion. 
 
 Ay, marry ! 
 
 Rich. [Aside. 
 
 Huguet ? No : 
 
 He will be wanted elsewhere. Joseph ? — zealous, 
 But too well known — too much the elder brother. 
 Mauprat ? — alas ! it is his wedding day. 
 Francois ? — the man of men! unnoted, young: 
 Ambitious. [Strikes bell.] Francois ! 
 
 [Enter Francois l. i. e.
 
 44 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Follow this fair lady. 
 
 Find him the suiting garments, Marion : take 
 
 My ileetest steed : arm thyself to the teeth : 
 
 A packet will be given you, with orders, 
 
 No matter what ! The instant that your hand 
 
 Closes upon it, clutch it, like your honour, 
 
 Which death alone can steal, or ravish ; set 
 
 Spurs to your steed — be breathless, till you stand 
 
 Again before me. Stay, sir, you will find me 
 
 Two short leagues hence, at Ruelle, in my castle. 
 
 Young man, be blithe! for — note me — from the hour 
 
 I grasp that packet, think your guardian star 
 
 Rains fortune on you ! 
 
 Fran. 
 If I fail 
 
 Rich. 
 Fail — 
 
 In the lexicon of youth, which fate reserves 
 For a bright manhood, there is no such word 
 As fail ! — You will instruct him further, Marion. 
 Follow her — but at distance: speak not to her, 
 Till you are housed: farewell, boy! never say " Fail" 
 again. 
 
 Fran. 
 I will not! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 That's my young hero ! 
 
 [Fxeuni Francois and Marion R. u. E. 
 So, they would seize my person in this palace ? 
 I cannot guess their scheme: — but my retinue 
 Is here too large: a single traitor could 
 
 [Strikes bell. Joseph enters c. 
 Strike impotent the faith of thousands. — Joseph, 
 Art sure of Huguet ? — Think; we hanged his father. 

 
 RICHELIEU. 45 
 
 Jos. 
 But you have bought the son; heaped favours on him. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Trash! — favours past — that's nothing. In his hours 
 Of confidence with you, has he named the favours 
 To come he counts on ? 
 
 Jos. 
 Yes — a colonel's rank, 
 And letters of nobility. 
 
 Rich. 
 What, Huguet? 
 
 \Hugnct enters c, but is unseen by the Cardinal 
 and Joseph. 
 
 Hug. 
 My own name : soft ! [Hides himself. 
 
 Rich. 
 My bashful Huguet : that can never be ! 
 We have him not the less : we '11 promise it — 
 And see the king withholds. Yes, 
 We '11 count on HueTiet. 
 
 '^ i 
 
 Hug. {Aside. 
 
 To thy cost, deceiver. 
 
 {Huguet retires. 
 
 Rich. 
 You are right: this treason 
 Assumes a fearful aspect : but once crushed, 
 Its very ashes shall manure the soil 
 Of power, and ripen such full sheaves of greatness, 
 That all the summer of my fate shall seem 
 Fruitless, beside the autumn ! 
 
 Jos. 
 The saints grant it ! 
 
 [Huguet advances.
 
 4-6 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Hug. 
 
 My lord Cardinal, 
 
 Your eminence bade me seek you at this hour. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Did I ? — True, Huguet. — So, you overheard 
 Strange talk amongst these gallants : snares and traps 
 For Richelieu ? — Well, we '11 balk them ; let me think; — 
 The men at. arms you head — -how many? 
 
 Hug. 
 Twenty, 15 my lord. 
 
 Rich. 
 All trusty ? 
 
 Hug. 
 Yes, for ordinary 
 
 Occasions : if for great ones, I would change 
 Three-fourths at least. 
 
 Rich. 
 Ay, what are great occasions ? 
 
 Hug. 
 
 Great bribes. 
 
 Rich. {To Joseph 
 
 Good lack, he knows some paragons 
 Superior to great bribes ! 
 
 Hug. 
 
 True gentlemen, 
 
 Who have transgressed the laws, and value life, 
 
 And lack not gold ; your eminence alone 
 
 Can grant them pardon : ergo, you can trust them ! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Logic. So be it — let this honest twenty 
 
 Be armed and mounted. 
 
 They do not strike till morning,
 
 RICHELIEU. 47 
 
 Yet I will shift the quarter : bid the grooms 
 
 Prepare the litter — I will hence to Ruelle 
 
 While daylight lasts: and one hour after midnight 
 
 You and your twenty saints shall seek me thither. 
 
 You 're made to rise! You are, sir; — eyes of lynx, 
 
 Ears of the stag, a footfall like the snow : 
 
 You are a valiant fellow; yea, a trusty, 
 
 Religious, exemplary, incorrupt, 
 
 And precious jewel of a fellow, Huguet ! 
 
 If I live long enough, — ay, mark my words — 
 
 If I live long enough, you '11 be a colonel — 
 
 {Huguet bows very low. 
 Noble, perhaps! — One hour, sir, after midnight. 
 
 Hug. 
 
 You leave me dumb with gratitude, my lord : 
 I '11 pick the trustiest [aside] Marion's house can furnish. 
 
 [Exit Huguet n 
 Rich. 
 Good: all favours, 
 
 If Francois be but bold, and Huguet honest. 
 Huguet I half suspect; he bowed too low; 
 'T is not his way. 
 
 Jos. 
 This is the curse, my lord 
 Of your high state; suspicion of all men. 
 
 Rich. [Sadly. 
 
 True; true; my leeches bribed to poison, pages 
 
 To strangle me in sleep; my very king 
 
 (This brain the unresting loom, from which was woven 
 
 The purple of his greatness) leagued against me: 
 
 Old, childless, friendless, broken, all forsake — 
 
 All — all — but— 
 
 Jos. 
 What ? 
 
 Rich. 
 
 The indomitable heart 
 Of Armand Richelieu!
 
 48 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Jos. 
 And Joseph — — 
 
 Rich. {After a pause. 
 
 You — 
 
 Yes, I believe you— yes ; for all men fear you, 
 
 And the world loves you not : and I, friend Joseph, 
 
 I am the only man, who could, my Joseph, 
 
 Make you a bishop.' 6 {Joseph bows very low. 
 
 Come we '11 go to dinner, 
 
 And talk the while of methods to advance 
 
 [Joseph looks eagerly into the Cardinal's face, and 
 
 with disappointment, bows very low at " our 
 
 mother church." 
 
 Our mother church. 17 
 
 Ah, Joseph — Bishop Joseph! {Exeunt R. i. e. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 SECOND DAY: MIDNIGHT. 
 
 JRuelle. Richelieu's Castle. A 
 Gothic Chamber. Moonlight shin- 
 ing THROUGH THE WINDOW. BED, ON 
 
 [_ Dais c. 
 
 Rich. [Reading. 
 
 " In silence and at night the conscience feels 
 
 That life should soar to nobler ends than power." 
 
 So sayest thou, sage and sober moralist ! [In soliloquy. 
 
 But wert thou tried ? 
 
 Ye safe and formal men, 
 
 Who write the deeds, and with unfeverish hand 
 
 Weigh in nice scales the motives of the great, 
 
 Ye cannot know what ye have never tried. 
 
 Alas, I am not happy : blanched and seared 
 
 Before my time; breathing an air of hate, 
 
 And seeing daggers in the eyes of men; 
 
 Bearding kings, 
 
 And braved by lackeys 18 ; murder at my bed; 
 
 And lone amidst the mutitudinous web, 
 
 With the dread three — that are the fates who hold 
 
 The woof and shears — the monk, the spy, the headsman: 
 
 And this is power! Alas ! I am not happy. 
 
 [After a pause, during which he is convulsed with 
 pain. 
 Ah! here! that spasm, again! How life and death 
 Do wrestle for me momently ! 
 
 [ Turning again to his book. 
 Speak to me, moralist : I '11 heed thy counsel. 
 Were it not best — 
 
 [Enter Francois hastily L. 
 
 4
 
 5° RICHELIEU. 
 
 Philosophy, thou liest ! [Flinging away the book. 
 
 Quick — the dispatch ! — Power ! — Empire ! Boy — the 
 packet ! 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Kill me, my lord ! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 They knew thee — they suspected — 
 
 They gave it not 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Pie gave it — he — the Count 
 
 De Baradas— with his own hand he gave it! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Baradas ! Joy ! out with it ! 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Listen, 
 
 And then dismiss me to the headsman. 
 
 Rich. 
 Ha! 
 Go on. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 They led me to a chamber : there 
 Orleans and Baradas, and some half-score 
 Whom I knew not, were met 
 
 Rich. 
 Not more ! 
 
 Fran. 
 But from 
 
 The adjoining chamber broke the din of voices, 
 The clattering tread of armed men : at times 
 A shriller cry, that yelled out, "Death to Richelieu!" 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Speak not of me; thy country is in danger!
 
 RICHELIEU. 51 
 
 Fran. 
 Baradas 
 
 Questioned me close — demurred — until, at last, 
 O'er-ruled by Orleans, gave the packet — told me 
 That life and death were in the scroll : 
 And Orleans promised thousands, 
 When Bouillon's trumpets in the streets of Paris 
 Rang out shrill answer: hastening from the house, 
 My footstep in the stirrup, Marion stole 
 Across the threshold, whispering, " Lose no moment 
 Ere Richelieu have the packet : tell him, too, 
 Murder is in the winds of night, and Orleans 
 Swears, ere the dawn the Cardinal shall be clay." 
 She said, and trembling fled within : when lo ! 
 A hand of iron griped me ! Thro' the dark, 
 Gleamed the dim shadow of an armed man : 
 Ere I could draw, the prize was wrested from me, 
 And a hoarse voice gasped — "Spy, I spare thee, for 
 This steel is virgin to thy lord!" — with that 
 He vanished. — Scared and trembling for thy safety, 
 I mounted, fled, and kneeling at thy feet, 
 Implore thee to acquit my faith ; but not, 
 Like him, to spare my life. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Who spake of life ? 
 
 I bade thee grasp that packet as thine honour — 
 
 A jewel worth whole hecatombs of lives ! 
 
 Begone! Redeem thine honour! Back to Marion — 
 
 Or Baradas — or Orleans: track the robber: 
 
 Regain the packet — or crawl on to age — 
 
 Age and gray hairs like mine — and know thou hast lust 
 
 That which had made thee great and saved thy country 
 
 See me not till thou hast bought the right to see me. 
 
 Away! Nay, cheer thee! thou hast not failed yet 
 
 There 's no such word as " fail ! " 
 
 Fran. 
 Bless you, my lord, 
 
 For that one smile ! I '11 wear it on my heart 
 To light me back to triumph. 19 ' {Exit Francois, l.
 
 52 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 The poor youth ! 
 
 An elder had asked life. I love the young: 
 
 For as great men live not in their own time 
 
 But in the age to come, so in the young my soul 
 
 Makes many Richelieus. He will win it yet. 
 
 Francois? He 's gone. My murder; Marion's warning ; 
 
 This bravo's threat : O for the morrow's dawn ! 
 
 I '11 set my spies to work — I '11 make all space, 
 
 As does the sun, an universal eye. 
 
 Huguet shall track — Joseph confess — ha! ha! 
 
 Strange, while I laughed I shuddered, and e'en now 
 
 Thro' the chill air the beating of my heart 
 
 Sounds like the death-watch by a sick man's pillow. 
 
 If Huguet could deceive me! [Listens. Noise outside. 
 
 Hoofs without — 
 
 The gates unclose — steps, near and nearer! 
 
 [Enter Julie de Mortemar l. 
 
 Julie, 
 
 Cardinal ! My father ! Falls at his feet. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Julie! at this hour; and in tears. 
 What ails thee? 
 
 Julie. 
 I am safe with thee! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Safe ! why in all the storms of this wild world 
 What wind would mar the violet ? 
 
 Julie. 
 
 That man — 
 
 Why did I love him? — clinging to a breast 
 
 That knows no shelter ? 
 
 Listen : late at noon — 
 
 The marriage-day — ev'n then no more a lover, 
 
 He left me coldly. Well, I sought my chamber 
 
 To weep and wonder; but to hope and dream: 
 
 Sudden a mandate from the king, — to attend 
 
 Forthwith his pleasure at the Louvre.
 
 RICHELIEU. 53 
 
 Rich. 
 Ha! 
 
 You did obey the summons; and the king 
 Reproached your hasty nuptials. 
 
 Julie. 
 Were that all ! 
 
 He frowned and chid; proclaimed the bond unlawful; 
 Bade me not quit my chamber in the palace : 
 And there at night — alone — this night! all still, 
 He sought my presence — dared! — thou read'st the heart, 
 Read mine: I cannot speak it! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 He, a king! 
 
 You — woman ; well, you yielded ! 
 
 Julie. 
 Cardinal ! 
 
 Dare you say "yielded?" Humbled and abashed, 
 He from the chamber crept: this mighty Louis; 
 Crept like a baffled felon ! — yielded ! Ah ! 
 More royalty in woman's honest heart 
 Than dwells within the crowned majesty 
 And sceptered anger of a hundred kings! 
 Yielded! Heavens! — yielded! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 To my breast, — close — close! 
 
 The world would never need a Richelieu, if 
 
 Men — bearded, mailed men — the lords of earth — 
 
 Resisted flattery, falsehood, avarice, pride, 
 
 As this poor child, with the dove's innocent scorn, 
 
 Her sex's tempters, vanity and power! 
 
 He left you — well! 
 
 Julie. 
 
 Then came a sharper trial ! 
 At the king's suit, the Count de Baradas 
 Sought me, to soothe, to fawn, to flatter, while 
 On his smooth lip insult appeared more hateful
 
 54 RICHELIEU. 
 
 For the false mask of pity : letting fall 
 Dark hints of treachery, with a world of sighs 
 That heaven had granted to so base a lord 
 The heart whose coldest friendship were to him 
 What Mexico to misers! Stung at last 
 By my disdain, the dim and glimmering sense 
 Of his cloaked words broke into bolder light ; 
 And then — ah! then, my haughty spirit failed me; 
 Then I was weak — wept — O ! such bitter tears ! 
 For (turn thy face aside, and let me whisper 
 The horror to thine ear) then I did learn 
 That he — that Adrian — that my husband — knew 
 The king's polluting suit and deemed it honour ! 
 Then all the terrible and loathsome truth 
 Glared on me; coldness, waywardness, reserve, 
 Mystery of looks, words — all unravelled, and 
 I saw the impostor where I had loved the god. 
 
 Rich. 
 I think thou wrongest thy husband — but proceed. 
 
 Julie. 
 
 Did you say " wronged " him ? Cardinal, my father, 
 Did you say "wronged?" Prove it! and life shall glow 
 One prayer for thy reward and his forgiveness. 
 
 Rich. 
 Let me know all. 
 
 Julie. 
 To the despair he caused 
 The courtier left me ; but amid the chaos 
 Darted one guiding ray — to 'scape — to fly — 
 Reach Adrian, learn the worst: 'twas then near midnight ; 
 Trembling, I left my chamber ; sought the queen ; 
 Fell at her feet ; revealed the unholy peril ; 
 Implored her aid to flee our joint disgrace : 
 Moved, she embraced and soothed me ; nay, preserved. 
 Her words sufficed to unlock the palace gates;
 
 RICHELIEU. 55 
 
 I hastened home — but home was desolate — 
 No Adrian there! Fearing the worst, I fled 
 To thee, directed hither. As my wheels 
 Paused at thy gates, the clang of arms behind 
 
 The ring of hoofs 
 
 Rich. 
 
 T was but my guards, fair trembler. [Aside, 
 
 So Huguet keeps his word, my omens wronged him. 
 
 Julie. 
 O, in one hour what years of anguish crowd ! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Nay, there 's no danger now. Thou need'st rest. 
 Come, thou shalt lodge beside me. Tush ! be cheered ! 
 My rosiest Amazon, thou wrong'st thy Theseus. 
 All will be well yet; yet all well. 
 
 [During this speech the moonlight fades away, and 
 
 the scene is darkened. 
 [Exeunt l. u. e. Enter Huguet l. i. e. and De 
 Mauprat, in complete armour, his visor doicn. 
 
 Hug. 
 Not here! 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 O, I will find him; fear not: hence and guard 
 The galleries where the menials sleep; plant sentries 
 At every outlet. Chance should throw no shadow 
 Between the vengeance and the victim! Go! 
 Ere yon brief vapour that obscures the moon, 
 As doth our deed pale conscience, pass away, 
 The mighty shall be ashes. 
 
 Hug. 
 Will you not 
 A second arm ? 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 To slay one weak old man ? 
 
 Away! No lesser wrongs than mine can make 
 
 This murder lawful. Hence!
 
 56 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Hug. 
 A short farewell ! 
 
 [Exit Huguet l. i.e. Enter Ric/ielieu, l. u. e. not 
 perceiving E>e Mauprat. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 How heavy is the air ! the vestal lamp 
 Of the sad moon, weary with vigil, dies 
 In the still temple of the solemn heaven. 
 The very darkness lends itself to fear — 
 To treason 
 
 De Maup. 
 And to death! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Ha! 
 
 What art thou, wretch ? 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Thy doomsman ! 
 
 Rich. 
 Ho, my guards! 
 Huguet ! Montbrassil ! Vermont ! 
 
 De Maup. 
 Ay, thy spirits 
 
 Forsake thee, wizard; thy bold men of mail 
 Are my confederates. Stir not ! but one step, 
 And know the next — thy grave! 
 
 Rich. 
 Thou liest, knave! 
 
 I am old, infirm — most feeble — but thou liest! 
 Armand de Richelieu dies not by the hand 
 Of man: the stars have said it; 20 and the voice 
 Of my own prophet and oracular soul 
 Confirms the shining sybils! Call them all — 
 Thy brother butchers: earth hath no such fiend — 
 No ! as one parricide of his father-land, 
 Who dares in Richelieu murder France ! 

 
 RICHELIEU. 57 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Thy stars 
 
 Deceive thee, Cardinal: thy soul of wiles 
 
 May against kings and armaments avail, 
 
 And mock the embattled world; but powerless now 
 
 Against the sword of one resolved man, 
 
 Upon whose forehead thou hast written shame! 
 
 Listen : 
 
 In his hot youth, a soldier urged to crime 
 
 Against the State, placed in your hands his life; 
 
 You did not strike the blow — but o'er his head, 
 
 Upon the gossamer thread of your caprice, 
 
 Hovered the axe: your death 
 
 Had set him free : he purposed not nor prayed it. 
 
 One day you summoned — mocked him with smooth 
 
 pardon, 
 Showered wealth upon him, bade an angel's face 
 Turn earth to paradise. 
 
 Rich. 
 Well! 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Was this mercy ? 
 
 A Caesar's generous vengeance ? — Cardinal, no ! 
 
 Judas, not Caesar, was the model! You 
 
 Saved him from death, for shame. 
 
 Expect no mercy ! 
 
 Behold De Mauprat! 
 
 [Lifts his visor, 
 
 Rich. 
 
 To thy knees, and crawl 
 
 For pardon ; or, I tell thee, thou shalt live 
 
 For such remorse, that, did I hate thee, I 
 
 Would bid thee strike, that I might be avenged! 
 
 It was to save my Julie from the king, 
 
 That in thy valour I forgave thy crime. 
 
 It was, when thou — the rash and ready tool, 
 
 Yea, of that shame thou loath'st, didst leave thy hearth
 
 58 RICHELIEU. 
 
 To the polluter — in these arms thy bride 
 Found the protecting shelter thine withheld. 
 Julie de Mauprat — Julie! 
 
 \Enter Julie l. u. e. 
 
 Lo! my witness, sir! 
 
 De Manp. 
 
 What marvel's this? — I dream! My Julie — thou! 
 
 Julie. 
 
 Henceforth all bond 
 
 Between us twain is broken. Were it not 
 For this old man, I might, in truth, have lost 
 The right — now mine — to scorn thee. 
 
 Rich. 
 You hear her, sir. 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Thou, with some slander, hast her sense infected! 
 
 Julie. 
 
 No, sir; he did excuse thee in despite 
 
 Of all that wears the face of truth. Thy friend — 
 
 Thy confidant — familiar — Baradas — 
 
 Himself revealed thy baseness. 
 
 De Maup. 
 Baseness! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Ay; 
 
 That thou didst court dishonour. 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Baradas ! 
 
 Where is thy thunder, Heaven? Duped! snared! un- 
 done! 
 
 Thou — thou couldst not believe him! Thou dost love 
 me 1
 
 RICHELIEU. 59 
 
 Julie. 
 Love him ! Ah ! 
 
 Be still, my heart! Love you I did: how fondly, 
 Woman — if women were my listeners now — 
 Alone could tell! Forever fled my dream: 
 Farewell — all 's over ! 
 
 Rich. 
 Nay, my daughter, these 
 Are but the blinding mists of day-break love 
 Sprung from its very heat, and heralding 
 A noon of happy summer. Take her hand 
 And speak the truth with which your heart runs over — 
 That this Count Judas, this incarnate falsehood, 
 Never lied more than when he told thy Julie 
 That Adrian loved her not — except, indeed, 
 When he told Adrian Julie could betray him. 
 
 Julie. {Embracing De Mauprat. 
 You love me, then! you love me! and they wronged you! 
 
 De Maup. 
 Ah, couldst thou doubt? 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Why, man, the very mole 
 
 Less blind than thou ! Baradas loves thy wife : 
 
 Had hoped her hand ; hopes even now 
 
 To make thy corse his footstool to thy bed. 
 
 Where was thy wit, man? Ho! these schemes are glass! 
 
 The very sun shines through them. 
 
 De Maup. 
 O, my lord, [Kneels. 
 
 Can you forgive me ? 
 
 Rich. 
 Ay, and save you! 
 
 De Maup. 
 Save! — 
 
 Terrible word! O, save thyself! these halls 
 Swarm with thy foes: already for thy blood 
 Pants thirsty murder!
 
 60 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Julie. 
 
 Murder! 
 
 Rich. 
 Hush ! put by 
 
 The woman. Hush! a shriek — aery — a breath 
 Too loud would startle from its horrent pause 
 The swooping death ! Go to the door and listen ! 
 Now for escape! 
 
 [Julie goes to door l, 
 De Maup. 
 
 None — none! Their blades shall pass 
 This heart to thine. 
 
 Rich. {Dryly. 
 
 An honourable outwork, 
 But much too near the citadel. I think 
 That I can trust you now. 
 
 [S/o7v/y, and gazing on him intently. 
 Yes : I will trust you. 
 How many of my troop league with you? 
 
 All' — 
 
 We are your troop ! 
 
 And Huguet ? 
 Is our captain. 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Retributive Power! 
 
 This comes of spies. 
 
 All? The lion's skin too short to-night; 
 
 Now for the fox's. 
 
 Julie. 
 
 A hoarse gathering murmur! 
 Hurrying and heavy footsteps! 
 
 Rich. 
 Ha! the poster m!
 
 RICHELIEU 6l 
 
 De Maitp, 
 No egress where no sentry ! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 I have it! to my chamber — quick! Come, Julie! 
 Hush! Mauprat come! 
 
 Voices Outside. 
 Death to the Cardinal ! 
 
 Rich. 
 We will 
 Baffle them yet. 
 
 \ Exeunt De Mauprat, Julie, aud Richelieu c. 
 
 Hug. [Speaking outside. 
 
 This way — this way! 
 
 [Enter, in eager haste, Huguct and the Conspira- 
 tors L. De Mauprat, appearing, throws back 
 curtains c. disclosing Richelieu upon his bed, and 
 apparently dead. 
 
 De Maup. 
 Live the king ! 
 Richelieu is dead! 
 
 Omnes. 
 Dead ! 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 I watched him till he slept. 
 Heed me. No trace of blood reveals the deed: 
 Strangled in sleep : his health had long been broken: l 
 Found breathless in his bed. So runs our tale; 
 Remember! Back to Paris: Orleans gives 
 Ten thousand crowns, and Baradas a lordship, 
 To him who first gluts vengeance with the news 
 That Richelieu is in heaven! Quick, that all France 
 May share your joy! 
 
 I shall be noble! 
 
 Hug.
 
 62 RICHELIEU. 
 
 De Manp. 
 Away. 
 
 Omnes. 
 To horse ! to horse ! 
 
 {Exeunt Conspirators L. As they throng out 
 Julie enters, and De Mauprat goes to Richelieu., 
 who leaps up and exclaims : 
 
 Rich. 
 Bloodhounds, I laugh at you! 
 
 QUICK CURTAIN. 
 
 &% 
 
 w
 
 3tct fourth 
 
 third day. 
 
 ( Paris. The Gardens of the Louvre. 
 5?ccne JFtrst. < Orleans, Baradas, De Beringhen, 
 ( Courtiers, etc., discovered. 
 
 Or/. 
 How does my brother bear the Cardinal's death ? 
 
 Bar. 
 
 With grief when thinking on the toils of State; 
 With joy when thinking on the eyes of Julie. 
 At times he sighs, " Who now shall govern France ? " 
 Anon exclaims, " Who now shall baffle Louis ? " 
 
 \Enter Louis XIII. and Courtiers r. u. e. 
 
 Or/. 
 Now, my liege, now I can embrace a brother. 
 
 Louis. 
 
 Dear Gaston, yes. I do believe you love me : 
 
 Richelieu denied it — severed us too long. 
 
 A great man, Gaston ! Who shall govern France ? 
 
 Bar. 
 Yourself, my liege. That swart and potent star 
 Eclipsed your royal orb. He served the country ; 
 But did he serve, or seek to sway, the king ? 
 
 Louis. 
 
 You 're right — he was an able politician, 21 
 
 That's all. 
 
 He was most disloyal in that marriage. 
 
 [Queru/ous/y.\ He knew that Julie pleased me : — a clear 
 
 proof 
 He never loved me!
 
 64 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 O, most clear ! But now 
 
 No bar between the lady and your will. 
 
 This writ makes all secure : a week or two 
 
 [Shows a paper. 
 In the Bastile will sober Mauprat's love, 
 And leave him eager to dissolve a Hymen 
 That brings him such a home. 
 
 Louis. 
 
 See to it, count. 
 
 [Exit Bar a das R. i. E. 
 I '11 summon Julie back. A word with you. [To Orleaiis. 
 [King Louis takes aside Orleans, and passes, con- 
 versing, through the gardens, followed by court- 
 iers L. u. E. Enter Francois. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 All search, as yet, in vain for Mauprat : not 
 
 At home since yesternoon : a soldier told me 
 
 He saw him pass this way with hasty strides: 
 
 Should he meet Baradas they 'd rend it from him : 
 
 Benignant fortune smile upon me: 
 
 I am thy son : if thou desert'st me now, 
 
 Come death and snatch me from disgrace. 
 
 [Enter De Mauprat c. 
 
 Be Maup. 
 
 O, let me — 
 
 Let me but meet him foot to foot — I'll dig 
 The Judas from his heart ; albeit the king 
 Should o'er him cast the purple ! 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Mauprat ! hold : 
 Where is the 
 
 De Maup. 
 Well ! What wouldst thou ?
 
 RICHELIEU. 65 
 
 Fran. 
 
 The dispatch! 
 
 The packet. Look on me — I serve the Cardinal — 
 You know me. Did you not keep guard last night 
 By Marion's house ? 
 
 De Ma up. 
 
 I did: — no matter now! 
 They told me he was here ! 
 
 Fran. 
 Ojoy! quick — quick — 
 The packet thou didst wrest from me ? 
 
 De Maup. 
 The packet ? 
 
 What — art thou he I deemed the Cardinal's spy, 
 (Dupe that I was) and overhearing Marion — 
 
 Fran, 
 
 The same — restore it! haste! 
 
 De Maup. 
 I have it not : 
 Methought it but revealed our scheme to Richelieu. 
 
 \Entrr Baradas r. i. e. 
 Stand back! 
 
 Now, villain! now I have thee! 
 
 Hence, sir! [To Frangois. 
 
 Draw! To Baradas. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Art mad? the king's at hand! leave him to Richelieu. 
 Speak; the dispatch; to whom 
 
 De Maup. 
 
 [Dashing Frangois aside and rushing upon 
 Baradas. 
 Thou triple slanderer! 
 I'll set my heel upon thy cresi .! 
 
 [Mauprat and Baradas fight.
 
 66 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Fran. 
 Fly— fly! The king! 
 
 [Enter Louis, Orleans, De Beringhen, courtiers and 
 guards L. u. E. 
 
 Louis. 
 
 Swords drawn before our very palace ! 
 Have our laws died with Richelieu ? 
 
 Bar. 
 Pardon, sire, — 
 
 My crime but self-defence.' 2 [Aside to Louis.] It is 
 De Mauprat! 
 
 Louis. [Sits on garden seat l. 
 Dare he thus brave us ? 
 
 [Baradas goes to the guard and gives writ to the 
 Captain. 
 
 De Maup. [ To Louis. 
 
 Sire, in the Cardinal's name 
 
 Bar. [To Captain. 
 
 Seize him! disarm! to the Bastile! 
 
 [De Mauprat is arrested. The Cardinal's march 
 is heard. Then enter Richelieu and Joseph, 
 followed by the Cardinal's guard c. 
 
 All. 
 The Cardinal! 
 
 De Maup. [ To Richelieu. 
 
 Priest and hero — for you are both — 
 
 Protect the truth. [De Mauprat kneels. 
 
 Rich. 
 What is this ? [ Takes writ. 
 
 Bar. [In consternation. 
 
 The dead returned to life !
 
 RICHELIEU. 67 
 
 Louis. 
 
 What ! A mock death ! this tops 
 The infinite of insult. 
 
 De Ber. [Aside. 
 
 Fact in philosophy : foxes have got 
 Nine lives, as well as cats ! 
 
 Bar. 
 Be firm, my liege. 
 
 Louis. 
 
 I have assumed the sceptre; I will wield it! 
 
 Jos. \Aside. 
 
 The tide runs counter; there '11 be shipwreck somewhere. 
 [Baradas and Orleans keep close to the king — 
 whispering and prompting him, while Richelieu 
 speaks. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 High treason! Faviaux! still that stale pretence. 
 My liege, bad men (ay, count, most knavish men !) 
 Abuse your royal goodness. For this soldier, 
 France hath none braver : and his youth's hot folly, 
 Misled — by whom your highness may conjecture! — 
 
 [To Orleans. 
 Is long since cancelled by a loyal manhood. 
 I, sire, have pardoned him. 
 
 Louis. 
 And we do give 
 Your pardon to the winds. Sir, do your duty ! [ To officer. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 What, sire? You do not know — O, pardon me — 
 You know not yet, that this brave, honest heart, 
 Stood between mine and murder ! Sire ! for my sake — 
 For your old servant's sake — undo this wrong. 
 See, let me rend the sentence. 
 
 [ Offers as if he would tear the writ.
 
 CS RICHELIEU. 
 
 Louis. 
 At your peril ! 
 
 This is too much. — Again, sir, do your duty ! [ To officer. 
 
 [De Mauprat advances. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Speak not, but go : I would not see young valour 
 So humbled as grey service. 
 
 De Maup. 
 Fare you well ! 
 Save Julie, and console her. 
 
 [De Mauprat goes up with guard. Richelieu goes 
 r. to Joseph. The courtiers surround Louis, 
 who sits L. 
 
 Fran. [Aside to De Mauprat. 
 The dispatch ! 
 Your fate, foes, life, hang on a word ! to whom ? 
 
 De Maup. 
 To Huguet. 
 
 [Exeunt Mauprat and guard L. u. E. 
 
 Bar. [Aside to Fra?icois. 
 
 Has he the packet ? 
 
 Fran. [Aside to Baradas. 
 
 He will not reveal — 
 
 [Aside.] Work, brain ! beat, heart ! " There 's no such 
 word as fail." 
 
 [Exit Francois R. u. E. 
 Rich. [Fiercely. 
 
 Room, my lords, room ! The minister of France 
 Can need no intercession with the king. 
 
 [ Courtiers fall hack. The king rises. 
 
 Louis. 
 What means this false report of death, lord Cardinal ? 
 
 Rich. 
 Are you then angered, sire, that I still live ?
 
 RICHELIEU. 69 
 
 Louis. 
 
 No ; but such artifice — 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Not mine : look elsewhere. 
 
 L, ou i s — my castle swarmed with the assassins. 
 
 Bar. [Advancing L. 
 
 We have punished them already. Huguet now 
 In the Bastile. O ! my lord, we were prompt 
 To avenge you — we were 
 
 Rich. 
 
 We ? Ha ! ha ! you hear, 
 
 My liege ! What page, man, in the last court grammar 
 Made you a plural ? 23 Count, you have seized the hire- 
 ling : — 
 Sire, shall I name the master ? 
 
 Louis. 
 
 [Haughtily, to the Cardinal. 
 
 Enough ! 
 
 Your eminence must excuse a longer audience. 
 To your own palace : for our conference, this 
 Nor place, nor season. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Good my liege, for Justice, 
 
 All place a temple, and all season, summer! 
 
 Do you deny me justice ? Saints of heaven ! 
 
 He turns from me ! Do you deny me justice ? 
 
 My liege, my Louis, 
 
 Do you refuse me justice — audience even — 
 
 In the pale presence of the baffled Murder ? 2l [All start. 
 
 Louis. 
 
 Lord Cardinal, one by one you have severed from me 
 The bonds of human love; all near and dear 
 Marked out for vengeance, exile, or the scaffold. 
 You find me now amidst my trustiest friends, 
 My closest kindred ; you would tear them from me ;
 
 7° RICHELIEU. ' 
 
 They murder you forsooth, since me they love. 
 Enough of plots and treasons for one reign ! 
 Home ! home ! my lord, and sleep away these phantoms ! 
 
 [Louis and courtiers cross R. 
 
 Rich. 
 Sire 
 
 I — patience, heaven! sweet heaven! Sire, from the foot 
 Of that great throne, these hands have raised aloft 
 On an Olympus, looking down on mortals 
 And worshipped by their awe — before the foot 
 Of that high throne, spurn you the grey-haired man, 
 Who gave you empire, and now sues for safety ? 
 
 Louis. 
 
 No : — when we see your eminence in truth 
 At the foot of the throne, we '11 listen to you. 
 
 [Exit Louis followed by all the Courtiers R. 
 
 Orl. [As he goes out. 
 
 Saved ! 
 
 Bar. [As he goes out. 
 
 For this, deep thanks to Julie and to Mauprat ! 
 
 Jos. 
 If you had been less haughty 
 
 Rich. 
 No time for ifs and buts! 
 I will accuse these traitors. 
 Francois shall witness that De Baradas 
 Gave him the secret missive for De Bouillon, 
 And told him life and death were in the scroll. 
 I will— I will! 
 
 Jos. 
 
 Tush ! Francois is your creature ; 
 
 So they will say, and laugh at you : your witness 
 
 Must be that same dispatch.
 
 RICHELIEU. 71 
 
 Rich. 
 Away to Marion ! 
 
 Jos. 
 
 I have been there : she is seized, removed, imprisoned, 
 By the count's orders. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Goddess of bright dreams, 
 My country, shalt thou lose me now, when most 
 Thou need'st thy worshipper ? My native land ! 
 Let me but ward this dagger from thy heart, 
 And die but on thy bosom ! 
 
 [Enter Julie c. 
 
 Julie. 
 
 Heaven, I thank thee ! 
 
 It cannot be, or this all-powerful 
 
 Would not stand idly thus. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 What dost thou here ? 
 Home ! 
 
 Julie. 
 
 Home ? Is Adrian there ? you 're dumb, yet strive 
 For words ; I see them trembling on your lip, 
 But choked by pity. It was truth — all truth ! 
 Seized — the Bastile — and in your presence, too ! 
 Cardinal, where is Adrian ? Think ! he saved 
 Your life : your name is infamy, if wrong 
 Should come to his ! 
 
 Be soothed, child. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Julie. 
 
 Child no more ; 
 
 I love, and I am woman ! Hope and suffer : 
 
 Love, suffering, hope — what else doth make the strength 
 
 And majesty of woman ? Let thine eyes meet mine:
 
 7 2 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Answer me but one word : I am a wife : 
 I ask thee for my home, my fate, my all — 
 Where is my husband ? 
 
 Rich. 
 You are Richelieu's ward ; 
 A soldier's bride : they who insist on truth 
 Must outface fear : you ask me for your husband ? 
 There — where the clouds of heaven look darkest, o'er 
 The domes of the Bastile ! 25 
 
 Julie. 
 O, mercy ! mercy ! 
 
 Save him, restore him, father ! Art thou not 
 The Cardinal-king? the lord of life and death — 
 Beneath whose light, as deeps beneath the moon, 
 The solemn tides of empire ebb and flow ? — 
 Art thou not Richelieu ? 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Yesterday I was ! — 
 
 To-day a very weak old man : to-morrow, 
 
 I know not what ! [ Crosses to L. 
 
 Julie. [To Joseph, 
 
 Do you conceive his meaning ? 
 
 Alas ! I cannot. But, methinks my senses 
 
 Are duller than they were. 
 
 Jos. 
 The king is chafed 
 
 Against his servant. Lady, while we speak, 
 The lackey of the ante-room is not 
 More powerless than the minister of France. 
 
 [ Joseph goes to Richelieu. Enter First Courtier R 
 
 First Co:/:: 
 Madame de Mauprat ! 
 Pardon, your eminence — even now I seek 
 This lady's home, commanded by the king 
 To pray her presence.
 
 RICHELIEU. 73 
 
 Julie. [ Clinging to Richelieu. 
 
 Think of my dead father ! 
 Think, how, an infant, clinging to your knees, 
 And looking to your eyes, the wrinkled care 
 Fled from your brow before the smile of childhood, 
 Fresh from the dews of heaven ! Think of this, 
 And take me to your breast. 
 
 Rich. \ To Courtier. 
 
 To those who sent you ! 
 
 And say you found the virtue they would slay, 
 Here — couched upon this heart, as at an altar, 
 And sheltered by the wings of sacred Rome ! 
 Begone ! [ The Courtier uncovers and bows reverently. 
 
 First Cour. 
 
 My lord, I am your friend and servant. 
 Misjudge me not ; but never yet was Louis 
 So roused against you : shall I take this answer? — 
 It were to be your foe. 
 
 Rich. 
 All time my foe, 
 
 If I, a priest, could cast this holy sorrow 
 Forth from her last asylum ! 
 
 [Exit First Courtiers. Julie faints in the Cardi- 
 nal's arms. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 God help thee, child ! She hears not ! Look upon her ! 
 Her father loved me so ! and in that age 
 When friends are brothers ; she has been to me 
 Soother, nurse, plaything, daughter. Are these tears ? 36 
 O ! shame ! shame ! dotage ! 
 
 [Joseph assists to place Julie on seat \.. 
 
 Jos. 
 
 Tears are not for eyes 
 
 That rather need the lightning, which can pierce 
 Through barred gates and triple walls, to smite 
 Crime, where it cowers in secret ! The dispatch !
 
 74 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Set every spy to work ; the morrow's sun 
 Must see that written treason in your hands, 
 Or rise upon your ruin. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Ay — and close upon my corse. 
 Yes ! to-morrow, triumph or death. 
 Look up, child! Lead us, Joseph. 
 
 [As they are going c, enter Baradas and De Ber- 
 inghen r. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 My lord, the king cannot believe your eminence 
 So far forgets your duty, and his greatness, 
 As to resist his mandate. Pray you, madam, 
 Obey the king: no cause for fear. 
 
 Julie. [ To Richelieu. 
 
 My father! 
 
 Rich. [To Baradas. 
 
 She shall not stir! 
 
 Bar. 
 
 You are not of her kindred — 
 An orphan 
 
 Rich. 
 The country is her mother! 
 
 Bar. 
 The country is the king! 
 
 Rich. 
 Ay, is it so; 
 
 Then wakes the power, which in the age of iron 27 
 Burst forth to curb the great, and raise the low. 
 Mark where she stands: [He places Julie L. c. 
 
 Around her form I draw 
 The awful circle 28 of our solemn church ! 
 
 [Baradas and De Beringhen uncover. 
 Set but a foot within that holy ground, 
 And on thy head — yea, though it wore a crown — 
 I launch the curse of Rome ! 
 
 [All but Richelieu and Joseph kneel. Joseph dis- 
 plays the cross.
 
 RICHELIEU. 75 
 
 Bar. [Rises, 
 
 I dare not brave you ! 
 I do but speak the orders of my king. 
 The church, your rank, power, very word, my lord, 
 Suffice you for resistance : blame yourself, 
 If it should cost you power! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 That my stake. Ah! 
 
 Dark gamester ! what is thine ! Look to it well ! 
 Lose not a trick. By this same hour to-morrow 
 Thou shalt have France, or I thy head! 
 
 Bar. [Aside to De Beringhen. 
 He cannot have the dispatch ? 
 
 Jos. [Aside. 
 
 Patience! Patience! 
 
 Rich. 
 O! monk! 
 
 Leave patience to the saints — for I am human! 
 Did not thy father die for France, poor orphan ! 
 
 [ To Julie, embracing her. 
 And now they say thou hast no father. Fie! 
 Art thou not pure and good ? If so, thou art 
 A part of that — the beautiful, the sacred — 
 Which, in all climes, men that have hearts adore 
 By the great title of their mother country. 
 
 Bar. 
 He wanders ! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 So; cling close unto my breast: 
 
 Here where thou droop 'st lies France ! I am very feeble: 
 
 Of little use it seems to either now. 
 
 Well, well — we will go home. 
 
 Bar. 
 In sooth, my lord, 
 
 You do need rest; the burdens of the state 
 O 'ertask your health.
 
 76 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Rich. [To Joseph. 
 
 I 'm patient, see ! 
 
 Bar. 
 
 His mind 
 
 And life are breaking fast. 
 
 Rich . [ Oi vr hearing him . 
 
 Irreverent ribald! 
 
 If so, beware the falling ruins! Hark! 
 I tell thee, scorner of these whitening hairs, 
 When this snow melteth there shall come a flood! 
 Avaunt! my name is Richelieu — I defy thee! 
 Walk blindfold on : behind thee stalks the headsman. 
 Ha ! ha ! — how pale he glares ! Heaven save my country ! 
 
 [Falls back in Joseph's arms. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 %f
 
 %tt Jpifti). 
 
 Paris. Apartment of State in the 
 Scene HvBt. <J Louvre. Throne r. Baradas and 
 Orleans discovered. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 All smiles : the Cardinal's swoon of yesterday- 
 Heralds his death to-day: could he survive, 
 It would not be as minister — so great 
 The king's resentment at the priest's defiance. 
 All smiles! and yet should this accursed De Mauprat 
 Have given our packet to another — 'Sdeath ! 
 I dare not think of it! 
 
 Or/. 
 
 You've sent to search him? 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Sent, sir, to search? — that hireling hands may find 
 
 Upon him, naked, with its broken seal, 
 
 That scroll whose every word is death? No — no — 
 
 These hands afone must clutch that awful secret. 
 
 I dare not leave the palace, night or day, 
 
 While Richelieu lives: his minions, creatures, spies — 
 
 Not one must reach the king. 
 
 Or/. 
 What hast thou done? 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Summoned De Mauprat hither. 
 
 Or/. 
 Could this Huguet, 
 
 Who prayed thy presence with so fierce a fervour, 
 Have thieved the scroll ?
 
 7^ RICHELIEU. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Huguet was housed with us, 
 
 The very moment we dismissed the courier. 
 
 It cannot be: a stale trick for reprieve. 
 
 But, to make sure, I 've sent our trustiest friend 
 
 To see and sift him. Hist! here comes the king. 
 
 How fare you, sire ? 
 
 [Enter Louis c. 
 Louis. 
 In the same mind I have 
 Decided : yes, he would forbid your presence, 
 My brother, — yours, my friend: then, Julie, too: 
 Th warts — braves — defies — 
 
 [Suddenly turning to Baradas. 
 We make you minister. 
 Gaston, for you — the baton of our armies. 
 You love me, do you not ? 
 
 Orl 
 
 O, love you, sire! 
 
 [Aside.] Never so much as now. 
 
 Bar. 
 May I deserve 
 
 Your trust [aside] — until you sign your abdication. 
 My liege, but one way left to daunt De Mauprat, 
 And Julie to divorce. — We must prepare 
 The death-writ : what, tho' signed and sealed ? we can 
 Withhold the enforcement. 
 
 Louis. 
 Ah, you may prepare it: 
 We need not urge it to effect. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Exactly ! 
 
 No haste, my liege. [Aside.] He may live one hour 
 longer. 
 
 [Enter Courtier c.
 
 RICHELIEU. 79 
 
 Coin . 
 The Lady Julie, sire, implores an audience. 
 
 Louis. 
 
 Aha! repentant of her folly! — Well, 
 Admit her. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Sire, she comes for Mauprat 's pardon. 
 And the conditions 
 
 Louis. 
 You are minister, 
 We leave to you our answer. 
 
 [The Captain of the Guard enters L. and whispers 
 to Baradas, who has advanced to meet him. 
 
 Capt. 
 The Chevalier 
 De Mauprat waits below. 
 
 Bar. [Aside. 
 
 Now the dispatch ! 
 
 [Exeunt Baradas and Captain l. Enter Julie c 
 
 Julie. 
 
 My liege, you sent for me. I come where grief 
 Should come when guiltless, while the name of king 
 Is holy on the earth. Here, at the feet 
 Of power, I kneel for mercy. 
 
 Louis. 
 Mercy, Julie, 
 
 Is an affair of state. The Cardinal should 
 In this be your interpreter. 
 
 Julie. 
 Alas! 
 
 I know not if that mighty spirit now 
 Stoops to the things of earth. Nay, while I speak, 
 Perchance he hears the orphan by the throne
 
 So RICHELIEU. 
 
 Where kings themselves need pardon. — O, my liege, 
 Be father to the fatherless : in you 
 Dwells my last hope. 
 
 [Enter Baradas L. 
 Bar. [Aside. 
 
 He has not the dispatch; 
 
 Smiled while we searched, and braves me. 
 
 Louis. [Gently. 
 
 What wouldst thou ? 
 
 Julie. 
 
 A single life. You reign o'er millions; what 
 
 Is one man's life to you ? and yet to me 
 
 'Tis France — 'tis earth — 'tis everything! — a life, 
 
 A human life — my husband's. 
 
 Louis. 
 
 [Aside to Baradas, who has quietly approached r. 
 
 Speak to her. 
 
 I am not marble: give her hope — or [Exit Louis c. 
 
 Bar. [ To Julie. 
 
 Madam, 
 
 Vex not your king, whose heart, too soft for justice, 
 Leaves to his ministers that solemn charge. 
 
 Julie. 
 You were his friend. 
 
 Bar. 
 1 was, before I loved thee. 
 
 Julie. 
 Loved me! 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Hush, Julie! couldst thou misinterpret 
 
 My acts, thoughts, motives, nay, my very words, 
 
 Here — in this palace?
 
 RICHELIEU. 8 1 
 
 Julie. 
 Now I know I 'm mad: 
 Even that memory failed me. 
 
 Bar. 
 I am young, 
 
 Well-born and brave as Mauprat: — for thy sake 
 I peril what he has not — fortune — power; 
 All to great souls most dazzling. I alone 
 Can save thee from thy tyrant, now my puppet. 
 Be mine : annul the mockery of this marriage, 
 And, on the day I clasp thee to my breast, 
 De Mauprat shall be free. 
 
 Julie. 
 Thou durst not speak 
 Thus in his ear! 
 
 [Pom ting to Louis, who is seen, passing, at back, 
 with Orleans. 
 Thou double traitor! — tremble ! 
 I will unmask thee. 
 
 Bar. 
 I will say thou ravest. 
 
 And, see this scroll: its letters shall be blood! 
 Go to the king, count with me word for word: 
 And while you pray the life — I write the sentence! 
 
 [Goes to table R. 
 Julie. 
 
 Stay, stay. [Pushing to the king, who enters c. 
 
 You have a kind and princely heart, 
 Tho' sometimes it is silent : you were born 
 To power — it has not flushed you into madness, 
 As it doth meaner men. Banish my husband — 
 Dissolve our marriage — cast me to that grave 
 Of human ties, where hearts congeal to ice, 
 In the dark convent's everlasting winter 
 (Surely eno' for justice, hate, revenge), 
 But spare this life, thus lonely, scathed, and bloomless; 
 And when thou stand'st for judgment on thine own, 
 The deed shall shine beside thee as an angel. 
 6
 
 82 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Louis. [Mitch affected. 
 
 Go, go, to Baradas: and annul thy marriage, 
 
 And 
 
 Julie. 
 
 [Anxiously, and watching his countenance. 
 Be his bride? 
 
 Louis. 
 
 A form, a mere decorum; 
 Thou know'st I love thee. 
 
 Julie. 
 O, thou sea of shame, 
 And not one star. 
 
 [ The king goes up the stage, a?id passes out c. 
 in evident emotion. 
 
 Bar. [Advances. 
 
 Well, thy election, Julie: 
 This hand — his grave! 
 
 Julie. 
 
 His grave! and I 
 
 Bar. 
 Can save him. 
 Swear to be mine. 
 
 Julie. 
 
 That were a bitterer death ! 
 
 Avaunt, thou tempter ! I did ask his life 
 
 A boon, and not the barter of dishonour. 
 
 The heart can break, and scorn you : wreak your malice; 
 
 Adrian and I will leave you this sad earth, 
 
 And pass together hand in hand to heaven. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 You have decided. Listen to me, lady : 
 I am no base intriguer. I adored thee 
 From the first glance of those inspiring eyes : 
 With thee entwined ambition, hope, the future.
 
 RICHELIEU. 8$ 
 
 I will not lose thee ! I can place thee nearest — 
 Ay, to the throne — nay, on the throne, perchance: 
 My star is at its zenith. Look upon me; 
 Hast thou decided ? 
 
 Julie. 
 No, no ; you can see 
 How weak I am; be human, sir — one moment. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 [Signals by stamping. Enter De Mauprat, with 
 guards l. 
 
 Behold thy husband : shall he pass to death, 
 And know thou couldst have saved him ? 
 
 Julie. 
 Adrian, speak! 
 
 But say you wish to live! — if not your wife 
 Your slave : do with me as you will ! 
 
 De Maup. 
 Once more ! — 
 
 Why this is mercy, count! O, think, my Julie, 
 Life, at the best, is short — but love immortal! 
 
 Bar. [ Taking Julie's hand. 
 
 Ah, loveliest 
 
 Julie, 
 
 Go ! that touch has made me iron ! 
 We have decided — death! 
 
 Bar. [To De Mauprat. 
 
 Now, say to whom 
 Thou gavest the packet, and thou yet shalt live. 
 
 De Maup. 
 I '11 tell thee nothing. 
 
 Bar, 
 Hark, — the rack !
 
 84 RICHELIEU. 
 
 De Maup. 
 Thy penance 
 Forever, wretch ! — What rack is like the conscience ? 
 
 Par. 
 Hence to the headsman! 
 
 [Enter a Page c. He announces : 
 
 Page. 
 
 His Eminence, the Cardinal, Due de Richelieu. 
 
 [Enter Pic he lieu c, very feeble, leaning on Joseph, 
 attended by gentlemen, pages, etc., and followed by 
 three secretaries of state, with papers. 
 
 Julie. [Rushing to Richelieu. 
 You live — you live — and Adrian shall not die! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Not if an old man's prayers, himself near death, 
 Can aught avail thee, daughter! Count, you now 
 
 [ To Parados. 
 Hold what I held on earth: — one boon, my lord, 
 This soldier's life. 
 
 Par. 
 
 The stake — my head! — you said it. 
 
 I cannot lose one trick. Remove your prisoner. 
 
 [ To officer. 
 Julie. 
 No! — No! — 
 
 [Enter Louis and Courtiers c. 
 
 Rich. [ To officer. 
 
 Hold, sir. 
 
 [To the king 
 My liege, 
 
 Your worn-out servant, willing to spare you 
 Some pain of conscience, would forestall your wishes: 
 1 do resign mv office. 
 
 All. 
 You!
 
 All 's over. 
 
 RICHELIEU. 85 
 
 Julie. 
 Rich. 
 
 My end draws near. These sad ones, sire, I love them: 
 I do not ask his life ; but suffer justice 
 To halt, until I can dismiss his soul, 
 Charged with an old man's blessing. 
 
 Louis. 
 Surely! 
 
 Bar. 
 Sire 
 
 Louis. 
 
 Silence : small favour to a dying servant. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 You would consign your armies to the baton 
 
 Of your most honoured brother. Sire, so be it. 
 
 Your minister, the Count de Baradas; 
 
 A most sagacious choice ! Your secretaries 
 
 Of state attend me, sire, to render up 
 
 The ledgers of a realm. — I do beseech you, 
 
 Suffer these noble gentlemen to learn 
 
 The nature of the glorious task that waits them, 
 
 Here, in my presence. 
 
 Louis. 
 
 You say well, my lord. 
 
 [To secretaries, as he seats himself on throtie. 
 Approach, sirs. 
 
 [ The secretaries advance and kneel. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 I — I — faint! — air — air — 
 
 [De Mauprat assists Richelieu to a sofa L. 
 I thank you : draw near, my children.
 
 g6 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 He's too weak to question; 
 
 Nay, scarce to speak; all's safe. 
 
 [Julie kneels beside the Cardinal. Joseph stands 
 near Richelieu, watching the king. Bar a das 
 near the king's chair. A page takes papers fro?n 
 the secretaries and gives them to Louis. 
 
 First Sec. 
 The affairs of Portugal, 
 
 Most urgent, sire: — One short month since the Due 
 Braganza was a rebel. 
 
 Louis. 
 And is still. 
 
 First Sec. 
 
 No, sire; he has succeeded; he is now 
 
 Crowned king of Portugal; craves instant succour 
 
 Against the arms of Spain. 
 
 Louis. 
 [Louis looks carelessly at papers and gives them to 
 Baradas. 
 We will not grant it 
 Against his lawful king. Eh, count ? 
 
 Bar. 
 
 No, sire. 
 
 First Sec. 
 
 But Spain 's your deadliest foe : whatever 
 Can weaken Spain must strengthen France. The Car- 
 dinal 
 Would send the succours; — balance, sire, of Europe ! 
 
 Louis. 
 
 The Cardinal ! balance ! We '11 consider. Eh, count ? 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Yes, sire : [ To Secretary] fall back.
 
 But 
 
 O ! fall back, sir. 
 
 Humph ! 
 
 RICHELIEU. 87 
 
 First Sec. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 [ Secretary rises, and retires. 
 Jos. 
 Second Sec. 
 
 The affairs of England, sire, most urgent : Charles 
 
 The First has lost a battle that decides 
 
 One-half his realm; craves moneys, sire, and succour. 
 
 Louis. 
 He shall have both. — Eh, Baradas ? 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Yes, sire. 
 
 that dispatch! — my veins are fire! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 [Feebly, but with great distinctness. 
 My liege, 
 
 Forgive me; Charles's cause is lost: a man, 
 Named Cr'omwell, risen : a great man ! your succour 
 Would fail; your loans be squandered! Pause: reflect. 
 
 Louis. 
 Reflect. Eh, Baradas ? 
 
 Bar. 
 Reflect, sire. 
 
 Jos. 
 Humph ! 
 
 Louis. [Aside. 
 
 1 half repent ! No successor to Richelieu. 
 Round me thrones totter; dynasties dissolve: 
 The soil he guards alone escapes the earthquake.
 
 88 
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Jos. 
 
 Our star not yet eclipsed: you mark the king ? 
 O had we the dispatch ! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Ah ! Joseph ! — child — 
 Would I could help thee ! 
 
 Sir, fall back. 
 But 
 
 Pshaw, sir! 
 
 Bar. 
 
 Second Sec. 
 Bar. 
 
 Third Sec. 
 
 [ To Secretary, 
 
 [Secretary retires. 
 
 The secret correspondence, sire, most urgent: 
 Accounts of spies; deserters; heretics; 
 Poisoners; schemes against yourself. 
 
 Louis. 
 Myself! most urgent! 
 
 [Louis looks at this document eagerly. Enter Fran- 
 (ois c. He passes behind the Cardinal's attend- 
 ants, and, sheltered by them from the sight oj 
 Baradas, gives packet to Richelieu. 
 
 My lord ! 
 
 I have not failed ! 
 
 Hush ! 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 [Opens packet and looks at its contents. 
 Third Sec. [To the king. 
 
 Sire, the Spaniards 
 
 Have reinforced their army on the frontiers. 
 
 The Due de Bouillon
 
 RICHELIEU. 89 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Hold! [Secretary retires.} In this department, [To Louis. 
 
 A paper: here, sire, read yourself; then take 
 
 The count's advice in 't. 
 
 [Frangois takes packet and gives it to the king, 
 who rises and goes L. At same time enter De 
 Beringhen hastily, draws aside Baradas, and 
 whispers to him. 
 
 Bar. 
 
 [Starting wildly away from De Beringhen. 
 What ! and reft it from thee ? 
 Ha! — hold! 
 
 [Tries to intercept delivery of the packet. 
 
 Jos. [ To Baradas. 
 
 Fall back, son. It is your turn now ! 
 
 Bar. 
 Death ! — the dispatch ! 
 
 Louis. [Reading. 
 
 To Bouillon — and signed Orleans! 
 Baradas, too : league with our foes of Spain ! 
 Capture the king! — Saints of heaven ! 
 These are the men I loved ! 
 
 [Richelieu fills back, apparently fainting. 
 
 Jos. 
 See to the Cardinal ! 
 
 Bar. 
 
 He 's dying ! and I yet shall dupe the king. 
 
 Louis. [Rushing to Richelieu. 
 
 Richelieu ! Lord Cardinal ! 't is I resign ! 
 Reign thou ! 
 
 Jos. 
 Alas ! too late ! — he faints !
 
 90 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Louis. 
 Reign, Richelieu! 
 
 Rich. [Feebly. 
 
 With absolute power ? 
 
 Louis. 
 Most absolute! — O, live ! 
 If not for me — for France ! 
 
 Rich. [ With more animation. 
 France ! 
 
 Louis. 
 ! this treason ! 
 The army — Orleans — Bouillon — Heaven ! the Span - 
 
 iard ! 
 Where will they be next week ? 
 
 [As Louis turns toward the throne c. he encounters 
 Baradas, kneeling; he motions him away and 
 falls into his seat. Baradas rises and goes to R. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 [Starting up, and with force. 
 There, — at my feet! 
 
 [All show amazement at Richelieu's recovery. 
 [ To First and Second Secretaries. 
 Ere the clock strike — the envoys have their answer ! 
 
 [First and Second Secretaries exeunt. 
 [ To Third Secretary, with a ring. 
 This to De Chavigny : he knows the rest : 
 No need of parchment here: he must not halt 
 For sleep — for food. — In my name, — mine — he will 
 Arrest the Due de Bouillon at the head 
 Of his army ! — Ho ! there, Count de Baradas, 
 
 [Exit Third Secretary. 
 Thou hast lost the stake ! — Away with him ! 29 
 
 [Baradas draws sword; attempts to rush out ; is 
 arrested ; throws down sword; bows to the 
 king; and goes out guarded. 
 Embrace your husband ! [To Julie. 
 
 [ Dc Afaufrat and Julie embrace. 
 At last the old man blesses you !
 
 RICHELIEU. 91 
 
 Louis. [Jronically. 
 
 One moment makes a startling cure, lord Cardinal. 30 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Yes, Sire, for in that moment there did pass 
 
 Into this withered frame the might of France ! ■ 
 
 My own dear France ! I have thee yet : I have saved 
 
 thee ! 
 I clasp thee still ! it was thy voice that called me 
 Back from the tomb ! What mistress like our country ? 
 
 Louis. 
 
 For Mauprat's pardon — well ! But Julie, — Richelieu : 
 Leave me one thing to love ! 
 
 Rich. 
 A subject's luxury : 
 Yet, if you must love something, sire — love me! 
 
 Louis. 
 
 [Smiling, in spite of himself. 
 Fair proxy for a young, fresh demoiselle ! 
 
 Rich. 
 
 Your heart speaks for my clients : — kneel, my children, 
 And thank your king — 
 
 [De Mauprat and Julie kneel. De Beringhen 
 attempts to go out c, but is met by Joseph, who 
 prevents him. 
 
 Louis. 
 Rise — rise — be happy. 
 
 [De Beringhen advances and speaks. 
 
 De Ber. [Falteringly. 
 
 My lord — you are most happily recovered.
 
 9 2 
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 Rich. 
 
 But you are pale, dear Beringhen : this air 
 
 Suits not your delicate frame: I long have thought so: 
 
 Sleep not another night in Paris : go, — 
 
 Or else your precious life may be in danger. 
 
 Leave France, dear Beringhen. [ Orleans k?ieels to Louis. 
 
 De Ber. 
 St. Denis travelled without his head ! 
 Faith, I'm luckier than St. Denis! 
 I shall have time, 
 More than I asked for, to discuss the pate. 
 
 [Exit De Beringhen c. 
 
 Rich. [To Orleans. 
 
 For you, repentance, absence and confession. 
 
 [ Orleans goes out c. To Francois, who kneels L. 
 Never say fail again. Brave boy ! 
 
 [ To Joseph l. 
 He'll be — 
 A bishop first. 
 
 Jos. 
 Ah, Cardinal — 
 
 Rich. 
 Ah, Joseph. 
 
 [To Louis, as De Mauprat and Julie converse 
 apart. 
 See, my liege, through plots and counterplots, 
 Through gain and loss, through glory and disgrace, 
 Along the plains where passionate discord rears 
 Eternal Babel, still the holy stream 
 Of human happiness glides on. 
 
 Louis. 
 And must we 
 Thank, for that also, our prime minister ? 
 
 Rich. 
 No — let us own it: — there is One above 
 Sways the harmonious mystery of the world 
 Better than prime ministers. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 RICHELIEU. 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 I. — The Drama and Character of Richelieu. 
 
 it "l~v ICHELIEU " stands in the front rank of romantic dramas. It 
 f^ tells a story of perspicuous simplicity, yet of enthralling 
 interest. It presents clearly denned characters in natural 
 relations to each other. It is vitalized by a steady dramatic movement, 
 that increases in force and speed till it reaches an electrical climax and 
 a beautiful culmination. It is adequately freighted — without being 
 burdened — with situations that excite the imagination and touch the 
 heart. Its spirit is sympathetic with virtue and gentleness, and, there- 
 fore, it captivates the general instincts of human nature. Above all, it 
 is imaginative : it idealizes reality, and does not weary by presenting 
 character and experience in the garb of prosy fact. Viewed as an ideal 
 fabric, it is a drama without serious defect. Its salient blemish is one 
 of literary art: that is to say, there is some tinsel in its language — an 
 infusion of the paste-diamond element that is peculiar to most of Bulwer's 
 works. But, little faults dwindle to nothing alongside of great merits. 
 " Richelieu " is a play that constantly affords pleasure, by procuring and 
 extolling — under deeply interesting and highly picturesque conditions 
 of circumstance — the victory of good over evil. To have written a 
 drama which thus makes its spectators happier and better for their seeing 
 of it, is to have deserved the gratitude of the world. Considerate 
 judgment will not dwell with censure upon the slight defect of an occa- 
 sional tawdry line in a drama so radically powerful and brilliant. 
 
 The character of Richelieu, as it is herein portrayed, is higher and 
 finer — as it ought to be — than that of the historic Cardinal. Richelieu 
 was not, in actual life, the noble spirit that he is in this rosy fiction. 
 The dramatist has depicted him as just, wise, kind, gentle, tolerant of 
 weakness, sympathetic with virtue and innocence, superior to trials, 
 Steadfast in danger, sensitive to every sweet and poetic influence, and
 
 94 APPENDIX. 
 
 only hostile and bitter when confronted with tyranny and wrong. The 
 lower side of his nature, to be sure, is craft : but it is the craft of a 
 philosopher and not of a trickster. When Richelieu uses indirection, it 
 is such indirection as a deep knowledge of human nature and of worldly 
 affairs has taught him to be essential in the conduct of life and the 
 government of mankind. He never resorts to the skin of the fox till the 
 skin of the lion has proved too short. In this drama he is shown in the 
 expenditure of great powers upon small affairs — in the protection of a 
 pair of young lovers, and in the defeat of a political intrigue : but these 
 affairs are representative of what, in fact, were the prominent occupa- 
 tions of his life, and of what, equally in fact, are the universal occupa- 
 tions of the human race. Love, fame, wealth, power — these are at once 
 the squrces and the objects of all human action ; and these are the 
 elements upon which the force of Richelieu is seen to be expended. He 
 is presented as a man of potent intellect and pure sensibility ; and, 
 notwithstanding his little vanities and the pettiness of the designs amid 
 which he moves, his nature never declines from a stately and imperial 
 individualism. The charm of the character grows out of this relation of 
 it to its circumstances. Richelieu is the embodiment of virtuous power, 
 shown in its grandest phase and function as the protector of innocent 
 weakness. Seeing this aged priest, as he rises in the eye of the imagina- 
 tion, the observer instinctively feels, without pausing to reflect upon it, 
 that this is a grand and noble old man, in whom the affections live an 
 immortal life, who will be as true as steel to all that is good and pure, 
 who wears with authentic right the royal garb of power, and who must 
 as inevitably conquer and dominate as the sun must rise. W. W. 
 
 II. — Facts in the Life of Richelieu. 
 
 Armand Jean du Plessis, Cardinal, and Ducde Richelieu, was born, in 
 Paris, in 1585. He was a member of a noble family, and in early youth 
 was destined for the Army; but, upon his brother's resignation of the 
 See of Lu9on, he embraced an opportunity, then presented, to dedicate 
 himself to the service of the Church. Having studied theology, at the 
 college of Navarre, he was, in 1607, consecrated Bishop of Lucon. His 
 earlier priestly endeavours were devoted to the conversion of the 
 Huguenot Calvinists. In 1614 he was chosen Deputy to the State- 
 General. His eloquence attracted notice, and he was presently named 
 almoner to Marie de Medicis, widow of Henri IV. and mother to Louis 
 XIII. A little later he became Secretary of State for foreign affairs 
 and for war. He had enjoyed, for a time, at this period in his career,
 
 APPENDIX. 95 
 
 the protection of Marshal d'Ancre, the favourite of the queen ; but, in 
 the commotion which attended the ruin and murder of that minister, — 
 who was assassinated in the Louvre, April 24th, 1617, — the star of 
 his fortunes suffered a temporary eclipse. He was banished to 
 Lucon, and afterwards to Avignon, where he devoted his talents to 
 the writing of theological treatises. But he was presently fortunate 
 enough to effect a formal reconciliation between Louis XIII. and the 
 queen ; and in 1622, at the age of 37, he was created Cardinal. Two 
 years later he became Prime Minister of France. His government was 
 characterized by great power and splendour, and by marvellous success. 
 He waged a deadly war against the Huguenots, and utterly subdued 
 them. His siege and capture of Rochelle, in 1628, was an incident of 
 this war. In 1635 he founded the French Academy. The chief work 
 of his life was the maintenance of French supremacy in the affairs of 
 continental Europe, by resistance to the encroachments of the [Austrian] 
 House of Hapsburg. He built the Palais Cardinal, now called the 
 Palais Royal, — which is, in part, the scene of Bulwer's drama, — and he 
 rebuilt and beautified the College of Sorbonne. Several conspiracies 
 were formed against the Cardinal ; but his force of character, his 
 sagacity, and his tremendous energy of purpose and action thwarted 
 and subdued them all. The day on which Richelieu discomfited one of 
 the most formidable of these plots — in which the king was a participant 
 — was called the Day of Dupes ; from the fact that all the persons 
 concerned in it were duped by the sagacious and expeditious Cardinal. 
 Richelieu died on the 4th of December, 1642. He had named Cardinal 
 Mazarin as his successor. The student is referred to three lives of this 
 famous statesman: by Aubrey, 1660; by John Le Clerc, 1718; and by 
 Joy, 1806. W. W. 
 
 III.— The Author's Preface to Richelieu. 
 
 The administration of Cardinal Richelieu — whom, despite all his 
 darker qualities, Voltaire and history justly consider the true architect of 
 the French monarchy, and the great parent of French civilization — is 
 characterized by features alike tragic and comic. A weak king, an 
 ambitious favourite ; a despicable conspiracy against the Minister, nearly 
 always associated with a dangerous treason against the State; — these, 
 with little variety of names and dates, constitute the eventful cycle 
 through which, with a dazzling ease and an arrogant confidence, the 
 great luminary fulfilled its destinies. Blent together, in startling 
 contrast, we see the grandest achievements and the pettiest agents — the
 
 g6 APPENDIX. 
 
 spy — the mistress — the capuchin : — the destruction of feudalism — the 
 humiliation of Austria — the dismemberment of Spain. 
 
 Richelieu himself is still what he was in his own day — a man of two 
 characters. If, on the one hand, he is justly represented as inflexible 
 and vindictive, crafty and unscrupulous; so, on the other, it cannot 
 be denied that he was placed in times in which the long impunity 
 of every license required stern examples ; that he was beset by perils 
 and intrigues which gave a certain excuse to the subtlest inventions of 
 self-defense ; that his ambition was inseparably connected with a 
 passionate love for the glory of his country ; and that, if he was her 
 dictator, he was not less her benefactor. It has been fairly remarked, by 
 the most impartial historians, that he was no less generous to merit 
 than severe to crime ; that, in the various departments of the State, the 
 Army, and the Church, he selected and distinguished the ablest aspir- 
 ants; that the wars which he conducted were, for the most part, 
 essential to the preservation of France, and Europe itself, from the 
 formidable encroachments of the Austrian House ; that, in spite of 
 those wars, the people were not oppressed with exorbitant imposts ; and 
 that he left the kingdom he had governed in a more flourishing and 
 vigorous state than at any former period of the French history, or at the 
 decease of Louis XIV. 
 
 The cabals formed against this great statesman were not carried on 
 by the patriotism of public virtue nor the emulation of equal talent : 
 they were but court struggles, in which the most worthless agents had 
 recourse to the most desperate means. In each, as I have before 
 observed, we see combined the twofold attempt to murder the minister 
 and to betray the country. Such, then, are the agents, and such the 
 designs with which truth, in the drama as in history, requires us to 
 contrast the celebrated Cardinal ; not disguising his foibles or his vices, 
 but not unjust to the grander qualities — especially the love of country 
 — by which they were often dignified, and, at times, redeemed. 
 
 The historical drama is the concentration of historical events. In the 
 attempt to place upon the stage the picture of an era, that license with 
 dates and details which poetry permits, and which the highest authori- 
 ties in the drama of France herself have sanctioned, has been, though 
 not unsparingly, indulged. The conspiracy of the Due de Bouillon is, 
 for instance, amalgamated with the denouement of the Day of Dupes ; and 
 circumstances connected with the treason of Cinq-Mars — whose brilliant 
 youth and gloomy catastrophe tend to subvert poetic and historic justice, 
 by seducing us to forget his base ingratitude and his perfidious apostacy — 
 are identified with the fate of the earlier favourite, Baradas, whose
 
 APPENDIX. 97 
 
 sudden rise and as sudden fall passed into a provOrb. I ought to add 
 that the noble romance of " Cinq-Mars " suggested one of the scenes in 
 the fifth act ; and that for the conception of some portion of the intrigue 
 connected with De Mauprat and Julie, I am, with great alterations of 
 incident, and considerable if not entire reconstruction of character, 
 indebted to an early and admirable novel by the author of " Picciola." 
 London, March, 1839. E. L. B. 
 
 IV.— Historical Hints for Richelieu. 
 
 The Count de Soissons and the Duke de Bouillon had a good army, 
 and they knew how to use it ; and, for the greater certainty, resolved that, 
 whilst this army should advance, they would assassinate the Cardinal, 
 and stir up Paris to revolt. * * * The conspirators made a treaty 
 with Spain to introduce her troops into France, and to throw everything 
 into confusion by a Regency, which they thought would follow, and by 
 which each one hoped to profit. * *• * Richelieu had lost all his 
 favour, and retained only the advantage of being necessary. His good 
 fortune ordained, at the last, that the plot should be discovered, and 
 that a copy of the treaty should fall into his hands. — Voltaire. 
 
 V.— Notes to Richelieu. 
 
 1 Epistemon speaks of Cleopatra as a crier of onions in the other world. 
 " Her kingdom produced exceeding good ones, in the opinion of the 
 Israelites. Besides, of the two pearls of inestimable price which 
 that queen owned, she, having caused her lover Antony to swallow 
 one, dissolved in vinegar, intended to regale him with the second, if 
 she had not been hindered. Perhaps it was by way of punishment for 
 this prodigality that she is reduced to sell onions — that is, such fruit as 
 the Latins call unions, a sort of onions — as well as pearls." — Rabelais. 
 
 2 Daphne was loved and pursued by Apollo : when on the point of 
 being overtaken by him she prayed for aid, and was instantly metciraor 
 phosed into a laurel tree. 
 
 3 Olivares, Minister of Spain. 
 
 4 In six months the King made Baradas "First Esquire," "First 
 Gentleman of the Chamber," "Captain of St. Germain," and "Lieut, 
 of the King in Champagne." In still less time he was turned out of all, 
 and the ruins of his grandeur left him hardly enough to pay his debts. 
 His sudden rise and as sudden fall passed into a proverb, so that we say, 
 to signify a great fortune dissipated as soon as acquired, in common 
 parlance — " The fortune of Baradas." — Anquetil. 
 
 7
 
 98 APPENDIX. 
 
 s Richelieu did, in fact, so thoroughly associate himself with the State, 
 that, in cases where the extreme penalty of the law had been incurred, 
 Le Clerc justly observes, he was more inexorable to those he had 
 favoured — even to his own connections — than to other and more indif- 
 ferent offenders. As in Venice (where the favourite aphorism was, 
 "Venice first, Christianity next") so with Richelieu; the primary con- 
 sideration was, " what will be best for the country ? " On his death-bed 
 he was asked if he forgave his enemies. He replied, " I never had any 
 but those of the State." And this was true enough, for Richelieu and 
 the State were one. 
 
 6 There are many anecdotes of the irony, often so terrible, in which 
 Richelieu indulged. But he had a love for humour in its more hearty 
 and genial shape. He would send for Boisrobert " to make him laugh," 
 and grave ministers and magnates waited in the ante-room while the 
 great Cardinal listened and responded to the sallies of the lively wit. 
 
 7 The Abbe" Amaud tells us that the queen was a little avenged on the 
 Cardinal by the ill-success of the tragic comedy of " Mirame" — more than 
 suspected to be his own, though presented to the world under the foster 
 name of Desmarets. Its representation (says Pelisson), cost him 300,000 
 crowns. He was so transported out of himself by the performance that 
 at one time he thrust his person half out of his box to show himself to 
 the assembly ; at another time he imposed silence on the audience that 
 they might not lose the still more beautiful passages. He said after- 
 wards to Desmarets : " After all, the French will never have any taste — 
 they were not pleased with Mirame ! " 
 
 8 Vialart remarque une chose qui peut expliquer la conduite de 
 Richelieu en d'autres circonstances : c'est que les seigneurs a qui 
 leur naissance ou leur mdrite pouvoit permettre des pretensions, il avoit 
 pour systeme, de leur accorder au de la meme de leurs droits et de 
 leur esperances, mais, aussi une fois comble's — si, au lieu de reconnoitre 
 ses services ils se levoient contre lui, il les traitot misericorde. — Anque- 
 til. See also the "Political Testament," and the " Memoires de 
 Cardinal Richelieu," in Petitot's collection. 
 
 9 "So much a fanatic, so ?nuck a knave, founder of the 'Religieuses' of 
 Calvary, a maker of verses." Thus speaks Voltaire of Father Joseph. 
 His talents and influence with Richelieu, grossly exaggerated in his own 
 day, are now rightly estimated. He was, in fact, an indefatigable man ; 
 carrying with his enterprizes the activity, the suppleness, the stubborn- 
 ness necessary to make them succeed. — Anquetil. He wrote a Latin 
 poem called " La Turciade," in which he sought to excite the kingdoms 
 of Christians against the Turks. But the inspiration of Tyrtaeus was
 
 APPENDIX. 99 
 
 denied to Father Joseph. His hair was red ; but for fear of displeasing 
 the King, who detested red hair, he used leaden combs, which gave it a 
 dark color. 
 
 ,0 Richelieu was commonly supposed, though I cannot say I find 
 much evidence for it, to have been too presuming in an interview with 
 Anne of Austria (the Queen), and to have bitterly resented the contempt 
 she expressed for him. 
 
 11 Richelieu not only employed the lowest, but would often consult 
 men commonly esteemed the dullest. " He said that, in matters of the 
 greatest importance, he had found, by experiment, that the least wise 
 often suggested the best expedients." — Le Clerc. 
 
 12 Both Richelieu and Joseph were originally intended for the pro- 
 fession of arms. Joseph had served, before he obeyed the spiritual 
 inspiration to become a Capuchin. The death of his brother opened to 
 Richelieu the Bishopric of Lucon ; but his military propensities were as 
 strong as his priestly ambition. I need scarcely add that the Cardinal, 
 during his brilliant campaign in Italy, marched at the head of his troops, 
 in complete armour. It was under his administration that occurred the 
 last example of proclaiming war by the chivalric defiance of herald 
 and cartel. 
 
 "3 Richelieu valued himself much on his personal activity ; for his 
 vanity was as universal as his ambition. A nobleman at the house of 
 Grammont one day found him employed in jumping, and, with all the 
 savoir vivre of a Frenchman and a courtier, offered to jump against him. 
 He suffered the Cardinal to jump higher, and soon after found himself 
 rewarded by an appointment. Yet, strangely enough, this vanity did 
 not lead to a patronage injurious to the State ; for never before in France 
 was ability made so essential a requisite in promotion. He was lucky in 
 finding the cleverest men among his adroitest flatterers. 
 
 '4 Voltaire openly charges Richelieu with being the lover of Marion 
 de Lorme. The great poet of France, Victor Hugo, has sacrificed 
 History to adorn her with qualities which certainly were not added to her 
 personal charms. She was not less perfidious than beautiful. Le Clerc 
 properly refutes the accusation of Voltaire against the discretion of 
 Richelieu ; and says, very justly, that, if the great minister had the 
 frailties of human nature, he learnt how to veil them, — at least when 
 he obtained the scarlet. In earlier life he had been prone to gallantries 
 which a little prepossessed the King (who was formal and decorous, and 
 threw a singular coldness into the few attachments he permitted to 
 himself) against the aspiring intriguer. But these graver occupations 
 died away in the engagement of higher pursuits or of darker passions.
 
 IOO APPENDIX. 
 
 *5 The guard attached to Richelieu's person was, in the first instance, 
 fifty soldiers, afterward increased to two companies of cavalry and 
 two hundred musketeers. Huguet is, therefore, to be considered 
 merely as the lieutenant of a small detachment of this little army. 
 
 16 Joseph's ambition was not, however, so moderate ; he refused a 
 bishopric, and desired the Cardinal's hat, for which favour Richelieu 
 openly supplicated the Holy See, but contrived, somehow or other, 
 never to effect it, although two ambassadors applied for it at Rome. 
 
 *7 The peculiar religion of Pere Joseph may be illustrated by the 
 following anecdote : An officer, whom he had dismissed upon an expe- 
 dition into Germany, moved by conscience at the orders he had 
 received, returned for further explanations, and found the Capuchin 
 disant sa masse. He approached and whispered: "But, my father, if 
 
 these people defend themselves " " Kill all," (Qu'on tue tout,) 
 
 answered the good father, continuing his devotion. 
 
 18 Voltaire has a striking passage on the singular fate of Richelieu, 
 recalled every hour from his gigantic schemes to frustrate some miserable 
 cabal of the ante-room. Richelieu would often exclaim that " Six pieds 
 de terre (as he called the king's cabinet) lui donnaient plus de peine que 
 tout le reste de l'Europe." The death of Wallenstein, sacrificed by the 
 Emperor Ferdinand, produced a most lively impression upon Richelieu. 
 He found many traits of comparison between Ferdinand and Louis — 
 Wallenstein and himself. In the memoirs — now regarded by the best 
 authorities as written by his sanction, and in great part by himself — the 
 great Frenchman bursts (when alluding to Wallenstein's murder) into a 
 touching and pathetic anathema on the misere de cette vie of dependence 
 on jealous and timid royalty, which he himself, while he wrote, sustained. 
 It is worthy of remark, that it was precisely at the period of Wallenstein's 
 death that Richelieu obtained from the king an augmentation of his 
 guard. 
 
 J 9 The fear and hatred which Richelieu generally inspired were not 
 shared by his dependents and those about his person, who are said to 
 have adored him. His servants looked upon him as the best of 
 masters. — Le Clerc. In fact, although he was proud and choleric, he 
 was at the same time no less affable and generous to those who served, 
 than severe to those who opposed him. 
 
 20 In common with his contemporaries, Richelieu was credulous as 
 to the divinations of astrology. He was too fortunate a man not to be 
 superstitious. 
 
 21 Louis XIII. is said to have possessed some natural talents, and in 
 earlier youth to have exhibited the germs of noble qualities ; but a blight
 
 APPENDIX. IOI 
 
 seemed to have passed over his maturer life. Personally brave, but 
 morally timid, always governed, whether by his mother or his minister, 
 and always repining at the yoke, — the only affection amounting to a 
 passion that he betrayed was for the sports of the field. Yet it was his 
 crowning weakness (and this throws a kind of false interest over his 
 character) to wish to be loved. He himself loved no one. He suffered 
 the only woman who seems to have been attached to him to wither in a 
 convent ; he gave up favourite after favourite to exile or the block. When 
 Richelieu died he said, coldly, " There is a great politician dead !" And 
 when the ill-fated, but unprincipled Cinq-Mars, whom he called dear 
 friend, was beheaded, he drew out his watch at the fatal hour, and said, 
 with a smile: "I think at this moment the dear friend makes an ugly 
 face." Nevertheless, his conscience at times (for he was devout and 
 .superstitious), made him gentle, and his pride and his honour would often, 
 when least expected, rouse him into haughty but brief resistance to the 
 despotism under which he lived. 
 
 - One of Richelieu's severest and least politic laws was that which 
 made duelling a capital crime. Never was the punishment against the 
 offence more relentlessly enforced ; and never were duels so desperate 
 and so numerous. The punishment of death must be evidently ineffec- 
 tual so long as to refuse a duel is to be dishonoured, and so long as men 
 hold the doctrine, however wrong, that it is better to part with the life 
 that Heaven gave than with the honour that man makes. In fact, the 
 greater the danger he incurred, the greater was the punctilio of that 
 cavalier of the time in braving it. 
 
 2 3 In his Memoirs Richelieu gives an amusing account of the insolence 
 and arts of Baradas, and observes with indignant astonishment that the 
 favourite was never weary of repeating to the king that he (Baradas) would 
 have made just as great a minister as Richelieu. It is on the attachment 
 of Baradas to La Cressias, a maid of honour to the Queen-Mother, of 
 whom, according to Baradas, the King was enamoured also, that his 
 love for the Julie de Mortemar of the play has been founded. The 
 secret of Baradas' sudden and extraordinary influence with the King 
 seems to rest in the personal adoration which he professed for Louis, 
 with whom he affected all the jealousy of a lover, but whom he flattered 
 with the ardent chivalry of a knight. Even after his disgrace he placed 
 upon his banner, " Fiat voluntas tua." 
 
 24 Of the haughty and rebuking tone which Richelieu assumed in his 
 expostulations with the King, Montesquieu says: "He degraded the 
 King, but he made illustrious the reign." But however proud and 
 choleric in his disputes with Louis, the Cardinal did not always disdain
 
 t02 APPENDIX. 
 
 recourse to the arts of the courtier. Once, after an angry discussion 
 with the King, in which, as usual, Richelieu got the better, Louis, as 
 they quitted the palace together, said, rudely, "Go first — you are indeed 
 the King of France." " If I pass out first," replied the minister, after a 
 moment's hesitation, and with great adroitness, "it is only as the 
 humblest of your servants;" and he took a. flambeau from one of the 
 pages, to light the king as he walked before him. 
 
 z 5 According to the custom of Louis XIII., to cause the arrest of a 
 person for a State crime, and to have him put to death, was very nearly 
 the same thing. — Le Clerc. 
 
 26 Like Cromwell and Rienzi, Richelieu appears to have been easily 
 moved to tears. The Queen-Mother, who put the hardest interpretation 
 on that humane weakness which is natural with very excitable tempera- 
 ments, said: " He weeps whenever he chooses." It is recorded of him 
 that when his affairs did not succeed he was cast down and frightened, 
 and when he had obtained that which he desired he was proud and 
 insulting. 
 
 2 7 This alludes to Hildebrand (Gregory VII.), who carried his 
 authority so far as to send legates into all the kingdoms of Europe to 
 support his rights. 
 
 28 When Popilius Lenas was sent as ambassador to Antiochus, King 
 of Syria, whom the Roman Senate wished to restrain from hostilities 
 against Egypt, he gave the King the letter of the Senate, which he read, 
 and promised to take into consideration. Then, as Antiochus was 
 about marching upon Alexandria, Popilius described with his cane a 
 circle, in the sand, round the king, and ordered him not to stir out of it 
 until he had given a decisive answer, at the risk of Rome's displeasure. 
 This boldness so frightened Antiochus that he at once yielded to the 
 demand. 
 
 2 9 The passion of the drama requires this catastrophe for Baradas. 
 He, however, survived his disgrace, though stripped of all his rapidly 
 acquired fortunes ; and the daring that belonged to his character won 
 him distinction in foreign service. He returned to France after Riche- 
 lieu's death, but never regained the same court influence. He had taken 
 the vows of a Knight of Malta, and Louis made him a Prior. 
 
 3° The sudden resuscitation of Richelieu (not to strain too much on the 
 real passion which supports him in this scene) is in conformance with 
 the more dissimulating part of his character. The extraordinary mobility 
 of his countenance (latterly so death-like, save when the mind spoke in 
 the features), always lent itself to stage effect of this nature. The 
 Queen-Mother said of him that she had seen him one moment so feeble,
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 103 
 
 cast-down and " semi-mort," that he seemed on the point of giving up 
 the ghost ; and the next moment he would start up, full of animation 
 and energy. 
 
 Ruelle, or Reuil, is a town of France, situated at the foot of Mont 
 Valerien, about five miles from Paris. 
 
 Joseph, the Capuchin, was commonly called Father Joseph. He was 
 a wily intriguant, and rendered much service to Richelieu. He died, 
 of apoplexy, in 1638. 
 
 The author's dedication of "Richelieu," which, it may be assumed, 
 he wished should accompany every edition of the play, is in the follow- 
 ing words: "To the Marquis of Lansdowne, K. G., &c, &c, this 
 drama is inscribed, in tribute to the talents which command, and the 
 qualities which endear, respect." 
 
 The author of " Picciola " was Joseph Xavier Boniface Saintine. He 
 was born at Paris, July 10th, 1798, and died there, January 21st, 1865. 
 He published dramas, poems, and romances, a collection of philosophical 
 stories, called "Jonathan, the Visionary," and a " History of the Wars 
 in Italy." For "Picciola," his most popular work, he received the 
 Monthyon Prize, in 1837. This novel passed through ten editions 
 within eight years, and it has been translated into several languages. 
 
 The novel of "Cinq-Mars," which is mentioned in Bulwer's preface 
 to " Richelieu " as, in part, the basis of the piece, was written by Alfred 
 Victor, Count de Vigny, a native of France, born at Loche, in 1799. 
 " Cinq-Mars " was published in 1826, and it has been translated into 
 several languages. De Vigny won a bright distinction, both as a poet 
 and a novelist. He wrote several plays, one of which illustrates the 
 gloomy fate of Chatterton. De Vigny was a member of the French 
 Academy. He died in 1863. 
 
 Henry Coiffier de Ruze, Marquis de Cinq-Mars, was born in France, 
 in 1620. At the age of 18 he was presented at the court of Louis XIII., 
 by Cardina-1 Richelieu, and thereafter he soon became a favourite to the 
 king. Ambition, commingled with hatred of Richelieu, presently led 
 him to form a conspiracy against the Cardinal, in which the king 
 himself, and his brother Gaston, Due d'Orleans, participated. The 
 plot miscarried : the Cardinal prevailed : and Cinq-Mars was beheaded, 
 tcjether with his friend the Councillor de Thou, at Lyons, September 
 12th, 1642. 
 
 Tyrrasus, mentioned above, was a Greek poet of the 7th century, B. C. 
 He was a deformed man, blind of one eye, and was a school-master. 
 The Spartans, being at war with the Messenians, obeying an oracle,
 
 104 APPENDIX. 
 
 asked the Athenians for a leader. The Athenians sent to them Tyrtaeus, 
 as the most unfit captain that could be chosen ; but Tyrtaeus so inspired 
 the Spartans by his war-songs that they were victorious, and subdued 
 their foes. The fragments of the poems of Tyrtaeus are in Gaisford's 
 " Poetae Minores Greci," translated into English verse by Polwhele, 
 1786-92. 
 
 The Capuchins were a body of friars, of the order of St. Francis, 
 instituted by Matteo Baschi, in 1525, and established under Pope 
 Clement VII., in 1529. They were at first called Friars Hermits Minor. 
 Their order was confirmed, in 1536, by Pope Paul III., who named 
 them Capuchins of the Order of Friars Minor. Their name was 
 derived from the Latin designation [Caput/uni] of the cowl that they 
 wore. This head-gear was shaped like a sugar-loaf. The Capuchins 
 were introduced into France in 1573-74. 
 
 Marie de Medicis, the Queen-mother, was born at Florence, in 1573 ; 
 made mischief for everybody, all her days ; was exiled by Richelieu ; and 
 died, at Cologne, in destitution, in 1642. Louis XIII., her son, was 
 born at Fontainebleu, September 27th, 1601 ; came to the throne of 
 France in 1610 ; and died at St. Germaine, May 14th, 1643. 
 
 Many of the foregoing notes are by the author. Several of them have 
 been shortened and modified, and several useful new ones have been 
 introduced. There are, in the original, other notes, which relate to 
 passages not included in this version of the drama. — W. W. 

 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE 
 
 VOL. Ill
 
 preface. 
 
 *T^HE tragedy of The Pool's Revenge — one of the best 
 ■*■ works of the English dramatist and poet, Tom 
 Taylor — was first acted in 1859, at Sadler's Wells Theatre, 
 in London. Samuel Phelps — a tragedian much admired 
 on the English stage, equally as a scholar and an artist — 
 represented Bertuccio. Tn April, 1864, Edwin Booth brought 
 out this tragedy at JViblo's Theatre, New- York, — then under 
 the management of William Wheatley. His choice of the 
 text, his stage-directions, and certain alterations of the piece, 
 made by him, are seen in the present reprint. An important 
 change, which it is hoped will be thought an improvement, 
 has been made at the end — where, now, Bertuccio dies, while 
 Dell' A qui la, as a matter of poetic justice, is rewarded with 
 the hand of Eiordelisa. An effort has also been made, by 
 re-arrangement of stage business, to sharpen and heighten the 
 effect of the final catastrophe. The Author's Preface will be 
 found on another page. He defines his indebtedness to 
 Victor Hugo's "Le Roi s' Amuse" which is slight. The 
 subject of that drama, it will be remembered, is also treated 
 in the opera of "Rigoletio." An Appendix to this volume 
 presents a sketch of the Author, remarks on the costume for 
 this piece, thoughts on deformity as an element in art, and 
 the Editor's views of this tragedy. "The Pool's Revenge " is 
 to be considered as, almost exclusively, a work of the imagi-
 
 nation. History enters but slightly into its texture. The 
 depravity and the gaily profligate manners of the corrupt, 
 luxurious little Italian courts of the fifteenth century are, 
 however, shadowed forth in its incidents and text. Benti- 
 voglio is an historic name. John Bentivoglio was Lord of 
 Bologna, from about 1439 io I 5°^- Ccesar Borgia, to 
 whom there is an allusion in the text, died in 1307. The 
 action of this piece is assigned to 1488. Venice had then 
 passed the meridian of her greatness, and all Italy was 
 broken into petty states, and had become the prey of plotting 
 priests and turbulent nobles. The Middle Ages were coming 
 to an end. Louis XI had just finished his sanguinary reign 
 in Trance. Henry VII — Richard having fallen at Bos- 
 worth field — was on the throne of Tngland. The crowns 
 of Aragon and Castile had been united, and Spain, under 
 Ferdinand and Isabella, had become a great power. Thought 
 upo?i these and other actual surroundings of the time which 
 it is sought to illustrate will, of course, help to make this old 
 historic period more a reality to the imagination of the 
 student. Bertuccio, an impossibility now, does not seem 
 out of place in that age of cruelty, splendour, romance, 
 passion, change, and general upheaval and strife. The 
 character is, in some of its aspects, repulsive ; but it is 
 redeemed from the category of utterly abhorrent dramatic 
 creations by its vein of tenderness, and by the pathos of the 
 experience which is felt to have distorted its virtue, and 
 turned its gentleness to insane fury. 
 
 W. W. 
 
 New-York, October 27th, 18/8.
 
 * 
 
 'Good Thersites, come in and rail." — SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 "Deformity is daring. 
 It is its essence to o ' ertake mankind, 
 By heart and soul, and make itself the equal — 
 Ay, the superior of the rest." — Byron. 
 
 "No — let the eagle change his plume, 
 The leaf its hue, the flower its bloom: 
 But ties around this heart zvere spun 
 That could not, would not, be undone."— CAMPBELL. 
 
 "The smile upon her bo/inic check 
 Was sweeter than the bee ; 
 Her voice excelled the birdie s sang 
 Upon the birchen tree. 
 
 Old Scottish Ballad. 
 
 "For from that day, the day of my dishonour, 
 From that day have I cursed the rising sun, 
 Which never failed to tell me of my shame 
 Yet on I toiled, and groaned for an occasion 
 Of ample vengeance."— Young. 
 
 "How like a fawn — 
 Yet statelier. Hark ! no sound, however soft, 
 Nor gentlest echo, telleth when she treads ; 
 But every motion of her shape doth seem 
 Hallowed by silence." 
 
 Barry Cornwall. 
 
 "And if there be a human tear 
 From passion s dross refined and clear, 
 A tear so limpid and so meek 
 It would not stain an angel's check ; 
 T 'is that 7vhich pious fathers shed. 
 Upon a duteous daughter's head." — Scott. 
 
 ' 'And at evening evermore. 
 In a chapel on the shore. 
 Shall the chaunters, sad and saintly, 
 Yellow tapers burning faintly ; 
 Doleful masses chaunt for thee, 
 Miserere Domine ! ' ' 
 
 Coleridge.
 
 Sfiut&or'g preface to €J)c jfooi'£ illctocngc* 
 
 * 
 
 THIS drama is in no sense a translation, and ought not, I think, in 
 fairness, to be called even an adaptation of Victor Hugo's fine play, 
 " Le Roi s' Amuse." It originated in a request made to me by 
 one of our most popular actors, to turn the libretto of " Rigoletto " into a 
 play, as he wished to act the part of the jester. On looking at Victor Hugo's 
 drama, with this object, I found so much in it that seemed to me inad- 
 missible on our stage ; so much, besides, that was wanting in dramatic 
 motive and cohesion, and — I say it in all humility — so much that was 
 defective in that central secret of stage effect, climax, that I determined 
 to take the situation of the jester and his daughter, and to recast in my 
 own way the incidents in which their story was invested. The death of 
 Galeotto Manfredi at the hands of his wife, Francesca Bentivoglio, is 
 historical. It seemed to me that the atmosphere of a petty Italian court 
 of the Fifteenth Century was well suited, as a medium, for presenting 
 the jester's wrongs, his rooted purpose of revenge, and the miscarriage 
 of that purpose. I should not have thought it necessary to say thus 
 much, had not some of the newspaper critics talked of my work as a 
 simple translation of Victor Hugo's drama, while others described it, 
 more contemptuously, as a mere rifaciamento of Verdi's libretto. Those 
 who will take the trouble to compare my work with either of its alleged 
 originals will see that my play is neither translation nor rifaciamento. 
 The motives of Bertuccio, the machinery by which his revenge is 
 diverted from its intended channel, and the action in the court subse- 
 quent to the carrying off of his daughter, are my own, and I conceive 
 that these features give me the fullest right to call " The Fool's Revenge " 
 a new play, even if the use of Victor Hugo's " Triboulet " and "Blanche" 
 disentitle it to the epithet original — which is matter of opinion. 
 
 For the admirable manner in which the drama is mounted and repre- 
 sented at Sadler's Wells, and for the peculiarly powerful impersonation 
 of Bertuccio, I owe all gratitude to Mr. Phelps. I must extend that 
 feeling also to Miss Heath, Miss Atkinson, and the rest of the Sadler's 
 Wells company, engaged in the representation of "The Fool's Re- 
 venge." Tom Taylor.
 
 $cr£ott£ ftcpre^cntcti. 
 
 * 
 
 Galeotto Manfredi, Duke of Facnza. 
 
 Guido Malatesta, an old Military Commander and 
 Nobleman. 
 
 Baldassare Torelli, 
 
 J 
 
 ,• Noblemen and Courliers. 
 Gian Maria Ordelaffi 
 
 Bernardo Ascolti, a Florentine Ambassador. 
 
 Bertuccio, a Jester. 
 
 Serafino dell'Aquila, a Poet. 
 
 ASCANIO, a Page to Francesca. 
 
 Ginevra, Wife to Malatesta. 
 
 Francesca Bentivoglio, Wife to Manfredi, and Duchess 
 of Faenza. 
 
 FlORDELISA, Daughter to Bertuccio. 
 
 Brigitta, Servant to Bertuccio. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Chamberlains, Pages- and Attendants. 
 
 Scene. — Faenza, in Italy. 
 
 Period. — End of the fifteenth century [1488]. 
 
 Time of Action.— A little less than forty-eight hours.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 * 
 
 Jkene Jfirst < 
 
 First Night. 
 
 C Faenza. The Gardens of Manfredi's 
 Palace. Terrace at back. Garden, 
 etc., illuminated. festival music 
 at rise of Curtain. Moonlight over 
 the whole Scene. Nobles and 
 Ladies move through the Gardens. 
 Torelli and Ordelaffi discovered. 
 Enter, to them, Ascolti. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 Messer Bernardo, you shall judge between us: 
 Is Ordelaffi's, here, a feasting face ? 
 I say 't is fitter for a funeral. 
 
 Asc. 
 
 An Ordelaffi scarce can love the feast 
 
 That greets Octavian Riario, 
 
 Lord of Forli and Imola. {Music ceases. 
 
 Ord. 
 
 Because our line were masters there of old, 
 Till they were fools enough to get pulled down ! 
 I was born to no lordship but my sword. 
 Thanks to my stout, black bands, I look to win 
 New titles, and so grieve not over lost ones.
 
 10 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 My glove upon 't ! I '11 prove a lighter dancer, 
 A lustier wooer, and a deeper drinker, 
 Than e'er a landed lordling of you all. 
 Is it a wager ? 
 
 \Manfredi and Ginevra pass across the terrace, at 
 back. Then Malatesta appears, watching them. 
 They pass off^. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 My hand to that ! There 's Malatesta's wife, 
 The fair Ginevra. Let 's try lucks with her ? 
 
 Asc. 
 Ware hawk! Grey Guido 's an old-fashioned husband; 
 Look how he glares upon the Lord Manfredi : 
 Each of his soft words to the fair Ginevra 
 Is a dagger in the old fool's heart. 
 
 Ord. 
 
 Sublime ! ripe sixty wedded to sixteen, 
 
 And thinks to shut the foxes from his grapes ! 
 
 Tor. 
 The duke, too, for his rival ! Poor old man ! 
 
 Asc. 
 
 Let the duke look to it. Ginevra's smiles 
 May breed him worse foes than Count Malatesta. 
 The duchess ! [ Whispering. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 Faith, 't is ill rousing Bentivoglio blood. 
 
 Ord. 
 And she 's as jealous as her own pet greyhound. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 And sharper in the teeth. I wonder much 
 She leaves Faenza, knowing her Manfredi 
 So general a lover.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. II 
 
 Asc. 
 She leaves Faenza ? 
 
 Tor. 
 So they say : to-morrow 
 Rides to Bologna, to her grim old father, 
 Giovanni Bentivoglio. 
 
 Asc. 
 To complain 
 Of her hot-blooded husband ? 
 
 Tor. 
 Nay, I know not : 
 
 Enough, she goes, and — fair dame as she is — 
 A murrain go with her, say I. There never 
 Was good time in Faenza, since she came 
 To spoil sport with her jealousy. Manfredi 
 Will be himself again when she is hence. [Musk pp. 
 
 Asc. n 
 Hush ! here she comes ( [Looking off r. u. E. 
 
 Ord. ) 
 With that misshapen imp, 
 Bertuccio. Gibing devil ! I shall thrust 
 My dagger down his throat, one of these days ! 
 
 Tor. 
 Call him a jester ? he laughs vitriol. 
 
 Asc. 
 
 Spares nothing ; cracks his random scurril quips 
 Upon my master, great Lorenzo's self. 
 
 Ord. 
 
 Do the knave justice, he 's a king of tongue-fence ; 
 Not a weak joint in all our armours round 
 But he knows and can hit. Confound the rogue ! 
 I 'm blistered still from a word-basting he 
 Gave me but yesterday. Would we were quits !
 
 12 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 Wait ! I 've a rod in pickle that shall flay 
 
 The tough hide off his hump. A rare revenge ! 
 
 Asc. 
 They 're here : avoid ! 
 
 [Ascolti, Ordelaffi, and Torelli mingle with the 
 
 guests, and exeunt l. u. e. — Re-enter Manfredi, 
 
 and Ginevra, followed by Malatesta c. — 
 
 They cross and disappear. — Enter Francesca, 
 
 followed by Bertuccio. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 [Looking off, as if watching, and aside. 
 Still with her! 
 
 Changing hot palms and long looks ! 
 Hers for the dance, hers at the feast, all hers ! 
 Nothing for me but shallow courtesies, 
 And hollow coin of compliment that leaves 
 The craving heart as empty as a beggar 
 Bemocked with counters ! 
 
 [Music, forte, until Bertuccio speaks. 
 
 Ber. 
 [Counting on his fingers and looking at the moon. 
 Moon — Manfredi — moon! 
 
 Fran. 
 Ha, knave ! 
 
 Ber. 
 By your leave, Monna Cesca, I am cyphering. 
 
 [Note. — Monna is diminutive for Madonna, Dame, 
 or Mistress, and Cesca is diminutive for Fran- 
 cesca. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Some fool's sum ?
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 1 3 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Yes ; running your husband's changes 
 
 Against the moon's. Manfredi has it hollow. 
 
 It comes out ten new loves 'gainst five new moons ! 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Where do I stand ? 
 
 Ber. 
 
 First of the ten ; your moon was a whole honey one ; 
 Excluding that, it 's nine loves to four moons. 
 
 Fran. 
 You pity me, Bertuccio ? 
 
 Ber. 
 Not a whit ; 
 I pity sparrows, but not sparrow-hawks. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 I read your riddle, — I am strong enough 
 
 To right my own wrongs. So I am, while here. 
 
 Ber. 
 Then stay ! 
 
 Fran. 
 
 My father at Bologna looks for me. 
 
 Ber. 
 Then go ! 
 
 Fran. 
 
 And leave him here — with her — both free, 
 And not a friend that I can trust to watch 
 And give me due report how things go 'twixt them. 
 Had I one friend 
 
 Ber. 
 You have Bertuccio.
 
 14 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Men call you faithless, bitter, loving wrong 
 
 tor wrong's sake, Duke Manfredi's worst councillor, 
 
 Still prompting him to evil. 
 
 Ber. 
 How folks flatter ! 
 
 Fran. 
 
 How, then, am I to trust you ? 
 
 Ber. 
 Monna Cesca, 
 
 You know the wild beasts that your husband keeps 
 Down in the castle fosse ? There 's a she-leopard 
 I lie and gaze at by the hour together ; 
 So sleek, so graceful, and so dangerous ! 
 I long to see her let loose on a man. 
 Trust me to draw the bolt, and loose my leopard. 
 
 Fran. 
 I '11 trust your love of mischief, not of me. 
 
 Ber. 
 That 's safest ! 
 
 Fran. 
 
 I must know how fares this fancy 
 
 Of Duke Manfredi for yon pale Ginevra : 
 
 Mark him and her, their meetings, communings; 
 
 I know you 're private with my lord. 
 
 Ber. 
 He trusts me. 
 
 Fran. [ Giving- ring. 
 
 Here ! take my ring : your letters sealed with this, 
 My page Ascanio will bring me straight ; 
 'T is but three hours' hard riding — and in six 
 I 'm here again. Mark ! write not on suspicion :
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 1 5 
 
 Let evil thought ripen to evil act ; 
 That in the full flush of their guilty joys 
 I may strike sudden and strike home. 
 No Bentivoglio pardons ! 
 
 Ber. 
 Have a care ! 
 
 Faenza is Manfredi's. These court-flies, 
 Who flutter in the sunshine of his favour, 
 Have stings : the pudding-headed citizens 
 Love his free ways : he leaves their wives alone : 
 You play your own head, touching his. 
 
 Fran. 
 
 Give me my vengeance : then come what come may. 
 
 [Music p. 
 Enough ; I am resolved. Now for the dance ! 
 They shall not see a cloud upon my brow, 
 Though my heart ache and burn. I can smile too, 
 On him and her. Bertuccio, remember ! 
 
 [Exit France sea L. u. E. 
 
 Ber. [Looking at the ring, 
 
 A blood-stone — apt reminder! Does she think 
 
 That none but she has wrongs ? That none but she 
 
 Means to revenge them ? What ? " No Bentivoglio 
 
 Pardons." There is a certain vile Bertuccio, 
 
 A twisted, withered, hunchbacked, court buffoon, 
 
 A thing to make mirth, and to be made mirth of, 
 
 A something betwixt ape and man, that claims 
 
 To run in couples with your ladyship. 
 
 You hunt Manfredi, I hunt Malatesta : 
 
 Let 's try which of the two has sharper fangs . 
 
 [Manfredi and Ginevra re-appear in the back- 
 ground c, still followed by Malatesta. 
 
 The duke and Malatesta's wife ! [Retires. 
 
 [Manfredi and Ginevra come forward, Malatesta 
 watching them.
 
 1 6 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Man. 
 
 Not yet ! but one more round ! The feast is blank 
 For me when you are gone. The flowers lack perfume, 
 Missing your fragrant breath. The music sounds 
 Harsh and untunable, when your sweet voice 
 Makes no more under-melody. O, stay ! [Music ceases. 
 
 Gin. 
 I am summoned, sir ; my husband waits for me. 
 
 Man. [Aside. 
 
 What spoil-sports are these husbands 
 
 And these wives! 
 
 Per Bacco ! I could wish Count Malatesta 
 
 Would lend my duchess escort to Bologna, 
 
 So we were both well rid. [Malatesta beckons to Ginevra. 
 
 Gin. 
 Your pardon, sir, 
 
 My husband beckons. It is I, not you, 
 Must bear his moods to-night. I dare not stay. 
 
 Man. 
 
 I would not bring a cloud to your fair brow 
 For all Faenza. Fare you well, sweet lady ! 
 
 [He leads her to Malatesta. 
 I render up your jewel, Malatesta; 
 See that you guard it as befits its price. 
 
 Mai. 
 Trust me for that, my lord. 
 
 Man. [To Ginevra. 
 
 Sweet dreams wait on you. 
 
 Mai. [Aside. 
 
 This night sees her safe past Faenza's walls. 
 
 [Exeunt Malatesta and Ginevra R. i. E.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 1 7 
 
 Man. [SitsR. 
 
 A peerless lady ! 
 
 Ber. 
 [Comes forward, and crouches at Manfred? s feet. 
 And a churlish spouse ! 
 
 Man. 
 Bertuccio ! 
 
 Ber. 
 " At your elbow, sir," quoth Satanus. 
 
 Man. 
 Come, fool, let 's rail at husbands. 
 
 Ber. 
 Shall I call 
 Your wife to help us ? 
 
 Man. 
 
 Out on thee, screech-owl ! 
 
 [Kicks Bertuccio out of his way, rises, and crosses 
 to L. 
 Just when I felt my chains about to fall 
 Thou mind'st me of my jailer. Thank the saints, 
 I shall be free to-morrow, for a while. 
 I 'm thirsty to employ my liberty. 
 Come, my familiar, help me to some mischief; 
 Some pleasant deviltry, with just the spice 
 Of sin to make the enjoyment exquisite. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Let 's see ; throat-cutting 's pleasant, but that 's stale ; 
 Plotting has savour in it, but 't is too tedious : 
 Say, a campaign with OrdelaffVs band, 
 So you may feed all the seven sins at once. 
 
 Man. 
 
 Out, barren hound ! thy wits are growing dull. 
 
 [Strikes Bertuccio.
 
 1 8 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 A man can't always be finding out new sins ; 
 Think, they 're as hard to hit on as new pleasures. 
 My head on 't, Alexander had not run 
 So wide a round of pleasures as you of sins ; 
 And yet he offered kingdoms for a new one. 
 You must invoke Asmodeus, not Beelzebub. 
 
 Man. 
 What 's he ? 
 
 Ber. 
 
 The devil specially charged with love ; 
 He has more work than all the infernal legion. 
 There 's Malatesta's wife ; she 's young, and fair, 
 And good, they say ; rare matter for sin there, 
 Though 't is the oldest of them all. 
 
 Man. 
 But show me 
 
 How to win her ! She 's cold as she is fair. 
 I have spent enough sweet speech to have softened stone, 
 And all in vain. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 The monks say Hannibal 
 
 Melted the rocks with vinegar, not sugar. 
 
 Man. 
 But she is adamant. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 When all else fails 
 
 You 've still force to fall back on. Carry her off, 
 
 From under Guido's grizzled beard. 
 
 Man. 
 By Bacchus, 
 There 's mettle in thy counsel, knave ! I '11 think on 't. 
 
 [ Crosses to R. and sits.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 19 
 
 Ber. 
 
 It needs no brains, neither ; only strong hands 
 And hard hearts. Here come both. 
 
 [Enter Torelli, Ascolti, and Ordelaffi L. U. E. 
 
 Man. 
 What say you, gentlemen : may I trust your arms ? 
 
 Tor. 
 They 're yours in any quarrel. 
 
 Asc. 
 So are mine ! 
 
 Ord. 
 And mine ! 
 
 Ber. 
 
 One at a time. You said " arms ; " — of Torelli 
 
 You should ask legs ; his did such famous service 
 
 In carrying him out of danger at Sarzana, 
 
 I think they may be trusted. [All laugh, except Torelli 
 
 Tor. 
 Scurril knave ; 
 But I '11 be even with thee. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 That were pity. 
 
 A hump would be a sore disfigurement 
 
 Upon a back that you 're so fond of showing ! 
 
 Asc. 
 This rogue needs gagging. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 What, for speaking truth ? 
 
 I cry you mercy, I forgot how ugly 
 
 It must sound to a Florentine Ambassador. 
 
 [All laugh except Ascolti.
 
 20 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Man. 
 Well thrust, Bertuccio ! 
 
 Ord. 
 My lord, my lord ! 
 The slave is paid to find us wit 
 
 Ber. 
 Hold there. 
 
 No man is bound to impossibilities, 
 'T is a known maxim of the Roman law ; 
 How then can I find wit for Ordelaffi ? 
 
 [All laugh but Ordelaffi. 
 But look, there 's Serafino, big with a sonnet : 
 
 \DelV Aquila passes across the terrace c. and dis- 
 appears. 
 I must help him to reason for his rhymes [Going c. 
 
 Man. 
 Stay! 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Not I ! You 're for finding out new sins ; 
 With three such councillors, I am superfluous. 
 
 [ The three lords cross to Manfredi r. 
 The evil seed is sown ; 't will grow, 't will grow. [Aside. 
 
 [Exit Bertuccio c. 
 Tor. 
 Toad! 
 
 Asc. 
 Foul-mouthed scoffer ! 
 
 Ord. 
 Warped in wit and limb ! 
 
 Asc. 
 
 My lord, you give your monkey too much rope. 
 
 Man. 
 
 Nay, give the devil his due ; if he hits hard, 
 
 He hits impartially. I take my share 
 
 Of buffets with the rest. Best cure the smart
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 21 
 
 By laughing at your neighbour that smarts worse. 
 
 But, about this business, where your arms may help me. 
 
 Asc. 
 Is it an enemy to be silenced ? 
 
 Ord. 
 
 A castle 
 
 To be surprised ? A merchant to be squeezed ? 
 
 Asc. 
 
 Or aught in which ducats or brains of Florence 
 Can help? 
 
 Man. 
 
 No. Who was queen of the feast to-night ? 
 In your skilled judgment, Messer Gian Maria ? 
 
 Ord. 
 
 I ought to say your duchess, fair Francesca ; 
 But, if another tongue had asked the question 
 
 Man. 
 Speak out thy honest judgment ! 
 
 Ord. 
 
 Not a lady 
 
 In all Faenza 's worthy to compare 
 
 With proud Ginevra Malatesta ! 
 
 Tor. 
 I think I know a fairer, — but no matter ! 
 
 Man. 
 
 I hold with Ordelaffi. I have mounted 
 Ginevra's colours in my cap, and heart ; 
 But she 's too proud, or fearful of old Guido, 
 To smile upon my suit. 'T is the first time 
 I 've found so coy a dame.
 
 22 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Asc. 
 
 Trust one who knows them, 
 
 The coyest are not always chastest. 
 
 Man. 
 
 How say you, if I spared her shame of yielding 
 By a night escalade ? 
 
 Ord. [Shaking his head. 
 Carry her off? 
 A Malatesta ! Were it an enemy's town 
 
 Man. 
 
 Hear him ! how modestly he talks ! Why, man, 
 Since when shrank'st thou from climbing balconies, 
 And forcing doors without an invitation ? 
 
 Ord. 
 
 O, citizens', I grant you ; but a noble's, 
 One of ourselves 
 
 Asc. 
 Remember, Malatesta 
 Is cousin to the old lord of Cesena : 
 The affair might breed a feud, and so let in 
 The sly Venetian. 
 
 Tor. 
 Be advised, my lord ; 
 
 If you must breathe your new-fledged liberty, 
 Try safer game. Old Malatesta's horns 
 Might prove too sharp for pastime. 
 
 Man. 
 Out, you faint hearts, 
 
 Do you fall off? Then, by Saint Francis' bones, 
 I and Bertuccio will adventure it. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 Bertuccio ! My jewel to his hump, 
 
 'T was he put this mad frolic in your head.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 23 
 
 Man. 
 
 And if it were ? At least he '11 stand by me. 
 Perchance his wits may be worth all your brawn. 
 
 Asc. 
 
 Here comes one who may claim to be consulted 
 
 Upon this business. [Enter Malatesta r. i. e. 
 
 Man. 
 Guido Malatesta ! 
 
 Why, how now, count ? You left our feast so soon, 
 I thought you i' the sheets this good half hour. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 I had forgot my duty to your lordship ; 
 So now repair my lack of courtesy : 
 To-morrow I purpose riding to Cesena, 
 And would not go without due leave-taking. 
 
 Man. [Aside. 
 
 This jumps well with my project. 
 
 What, to-morrow ! [To Malatesta. 
 
 You ride alone ? 
 
 Mai. 
 No, with my wife. 
 
 Man. 
 The devil ! [Aside. 
 
 Why this is sudden ; she spoke no word of this 
 
 [ To Malatesta. 
 To-night. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 Tush ! women know not their own minds ; 
 How should they know their husbands' ? 
 
 Man. 
 But your reason ?
 
 24 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 Your air here in Faenza is too warm, 
 
 And scarce so pure as fits my wife's complexion ; 
 
 She '11 be better in my castle at Cesena ; 
 
 The walls are five feet thick, and from the platform 
 
 There 's a rare view. She '11 need no exercise. 
 
 Man. 
 The jailer ! {Aside 
 
 But what says the lady's will ? [To Malatesta. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 I never ask that ; and so 'scape all risk 
 Of finding it run counter to my own. 
 
 Man. 
 Faenza will have great miss of you both. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 O, fear not, I '11 return ; your wine 's too good 
 To be left lightly. I '11 be back to-morrow, 
 Before the gates are shut. Meanwhile accept 
 This leave-taking by proxy from my wife. 
 
 Man. 
 
 Not so ; I must exchange farewell with her 
 To-morrow. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 We shall start an hour ere dawn ; 
 You '11 scarce be stirring. 
 
 Man. 
 Plague upon the churl ! [Aside. 
 
 He meets me at all points. At least, I hope, 
 This absence of your wife will not be long ; 
 My duchess cannot spare her. 
 Saints forgive me ! [Aside.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 25 
 
 Mai. 
 
 When your fair lady wants her, she can send : 
 
 I '11 answer for her coming on that summons. 
 
 Good-night, sweet lords. 
 
 How crest-fallen he looks ! \Aside. 
 
 Mass ! 't is ill cozening an old campaigner ! 
 
 Did he think I had forgot to guard my baggage ? 
 
 I Exit Malatesta. 
 Man. 
 
 A murrain go with him ! May the horse stumble 
 That carries him, and break his old bull-neck ! 
 O, this is cruel ; with my hand stretched out 
 To have to draw 't back empty. I could curse ! 
 
 Tor. 
 
 What if I helped you to a substitute 
 
 For coy Ginevra ? passing her in beauty : 
 
 One, too, whose conquest puts no crown to risk, 
 
 And helps withal a notable requital 
 
 That we all owe Bertuccio, you included. 
 
 Man. 
 What mean you ? 
 
 Tor. 
 Guess what 's happened to Bertuccio. 
 
 Ord. 
 He 's grown good-natured. 
 
 Asc. 
 Or has dropped his hump. 
 
 Man. 
 He has found a monkey uglier than himself. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 No, something stranger than all these would be, 
 If they had happened. He has found a mistress ! 
 
 [All laugh.
 
 26 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Man. 
 
 My lady's pet baboon ? Bertuccio 
 
 Graced with a mistress ! [He laughs. 
 
 Asc. 
 She is blind, of course ? 
 
 Ord. 
 And has a hump, I hope, to match his own ? 
 
 Man. 
 
 Bertuccio with a mistress ! why the rogue 
 
 Ne'er yet made joke so monstrous, or so pleasant. 
 
 [All laugh. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 Laugh as you please, sirs ; on my knightly faith, 
 He has a mistress, and a rare one too. 
 Nay, if you doubt my word — here comes Dell' Aquila, 
 He knows as well as I. 
 
 Man. 
 We 11 question him. 
 
 [Enter Serafino Dell' Aquila c. 
 
 Man. 
 Good even to my poet — you walk late ! 
 
 Aqu. [Pointing to the moon. 
 
 I tend my mistress: poets and lunatics, 
 You know, are her liege subjects. 
 
 Man. 
 They are happy. 
 
 Aqu. 
 Why? 
 
 Man. 
 
 They have a new mistress every month. 
 But jesters can find mistresses, it seems, 
 As well as poets. There 's Torelli swears 
 Bertuccio has one, and that you know it.
 
 THE FOOLS REVENGE. 27 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 I know he has a rare maid, close mewed up, 
 But whether wife or daughter 
 
 Man. 
 Tell not me! 
 
 A mistress for a thousand ! But what of her ? 
 How did you find her out ? 
 
 Aqu. 
 'T was some weeks since, 
 Attending vespers in your house's chapel, 
 At San Costanza, I beheld a maiden 
 Kneeling before that picture of our lady, 
 By Fra Filippo : — ■ O, so fair, so rapt 
 In her pure passionate prayers ! — I tell you, sirs, 
 I was nigh going on my knees beside her, 
 And asking for an interest in her orisons : 
 Such eyes ! and such a brow — crowned with such wreaths 
 Of glossy hair ! and then, her cheeks of snow, 
 Flushed tenderly, as when the sunlight strikes 
 Upon an evening Alp ! and over all, 
 A grace of maiden modesty that lay 
 More still and snowy round her than the folds 
 Of her white veil ! And when she rose I rose 
 And followed her, like one drawn by a charm, 
 To a mean house, where entering, she was lost. 
 
 Man. 
 She was alone ? 
 
 Aqu. 
 Only a shrewish servant 
 That saw her to the church, and saw her home. 
 
 Man. 
 A most weak wolf-dog for so choice a lamb ! 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 Methought, my lord, she needed no more guard 
 Than the innocence that sat, dove-like, in her eyes,
 
 28 
 
 THE FOOLS REVENGE. 
 
 That shaped the folding of her delicate hands, 
 And timed the movement of her gentle feet. 
 
 Man. 
 You spoke to her ? 
 
 Aqa. 
 
 I dared not ; some strange shame 
 
 Put weight upon my tongue. I only watched her, 
 
 And sometimes heard her speak. That was enough. 
 
 Man. 
 Poets are easy satisfied. Well, you watched ? 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 And then I found that I was not alone 
 Upon my nightly post : there were two more ; 
 One stayed outside, like me, and one went in. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 True to the letter ! I was the outsider, 
 The third, and luckiest, was Bertuccio ! 
 
 Man. 
 The hump-backed hypocrite ! 
 
 Ord. 
 
 The owl that screeched 
 The loudest against women ! 
 
 Asc. 
 But, is 't certain 
 That 't was Bertuccio ? 
 
 Tor. 
 I can swear to that. 
 
 Aqu. 
 And I. 
 
 Asc. 
 How did you know him ?
 
 THE FOOL S REVENGE. 
 
 Tor. 
 By his hump, 
 
 His gait; who could mistake that crab-like walk? 
 I could have knocked my head against the wall 
 To think I had been fool enough to trust 
 A woman's looks for once. Dell' Aquila, 
 I know, holds other faith about the sex. 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 I would stake life upon her purity ; 
 
 Yet, 't is past doubt Bertuccio is the man, 
 
 The ugly jailer of this prisoned bird. 
 
 Man. 
 
 Why that 's enough to make it a mere duty 
 To break her prison-house, and shift her keeping 
 To fitter hands, — say mine. I 'm lord of the town; 
 None else has right of prison here but I. 
 
 Aqu. 
 What would you do ? 
 
 Man. 
 First see if she bears out 
 Your picture, Serafino ; if she do, 
 Be sure I will not wait outside to mark 
 Her shadow. Shadows may suit poets ; 
 I want substance. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 She is for Bertuccio's master, 
 
 Not for Bertuccio. When shall it be ? 
 
 Man. 
 To-morrow 
 I 'm a free man ! Meet me at midnight, here. 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 You would not harm her ? Only see her face, 
 You will not have the heart to do her wrong.
 
 30 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Man. 
 
 What call you " wrong " ? To save so choice a creature 
 
 From such a guardian as Bertuccio ? 
 
 He would have prompted me to play the robber 
 
 Of Malatesta's pearl : let him guard his own. 
 
 \Aquila goes up stage. 
 
 Ord. 
 
 If he resists, we '11 knock him o'er the sconce ; 
 Let me have that part of the business. 
 
 Man. 
 
 Nay, I 'd not have the rascal harmed ; he 's bitter, 
 But shrewedly witty, and he makes me laugh. 
 No, spare me my buffoon : who does him harm, 
 Shall answer it to me. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 'T were a rare plot to make the knave believe 
 Our scheme still held against old Malatesta : 
 That his Ginevra was the game we followed. 
 
 Ord. 
 
 So give him a rendezvous a mile away ; 
 
 And, while he waits our coming, to break open 
 
 The mew where he keeps close his tercel gentle. 
 
 Asc. [Aside to Manfredi. 
 
 Ne'er trust a poet. What if he betray us ? 
 
 Man. 
 
 He 's truth itself; and where he gives his faith, 
 'T is better than a bond of your Lorenzo's. 
 
 Asc. 
 Swear him to secrecy.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 31 
 
 Man. 
 
 \ To DelV Aquila, who adva7ices. 
 Your hand upon it. 
 
 You '11 not spoil our sport, by breaking to Bertuccio 
 What we intend ? 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 But think, O, think, my lord, 
 
 What if this were no mistress ; as, if looks 
 
 Have privilege to reveal the soul, she is none ? 
 
 Man. 
 
 Mistress, or maid, man, I will not be baulked; 
 'T is for her good. I know the sex ; she pines 
 In her captivity : I '11 find a cage 
 More fitting such a bird as you 've described. 
 Your hand on 't : not a whisper to Bertuccio ! 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 You force me. There 's my hand : I will not speak 
 A word to him. 
 
 Man. [ Taking his hand. 
 
 That 's like a trusty liegeman 
 
 Of blind Lord Cupid. 
 
 Hark, a word with you ! [ To the others. They retire c. 
 
 Aqu. [Aside. 
 
 I '11 save her from this wrong, or lose myself. 
 What tie there is betwixt these two I know not ; 
 How one so fair and seeming gentle 's linked 
 With one so foul and bitter, — a buffoon, 
 Who makes his vile vocation viler still, 
 By prompting to the evil that he mocks. 
 But I will 'gage my life that she is pure. 
 And still shall be so, if my aid avail ! 
 
 [Exit l. i . E.
 
 32 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Man. 
 
 [Advancing with his companions. 
 
 But how to get sight of Bertuccio's jewel ? 
 I 'd see before I 'd seize. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 Trust me for that ! 
 
 I am no poet. When I found the damsel 
 
 Admitted such a gallant as Bertuccio, 
 
 I thought it time to press my suit ; and so 
 
 Accosted her on her way from San Costanza — — 
 
 Man. 
 She listened ? 
 
 Tor. 
 
 Long enough — the little fool — 
 
 To learn my meaning; then she flushed, and fled; 
 
 I followed, when, as the foul fiend would have it, 
 
 Ginevra Malatesta, coming by 
 
 From vespers with her train, sheltered the pigeon, 
 
 And spoiled my chase. 
 
 Man. 
 You did not give it up ? 
 
 Tor. 
 
 I changed my plan ; the mistress being coy, 
 I spread my net to catch the maid. O, lord ! 
 The veriest Gorgon ! You might swear none e'er 
 Had given her chase before! no coyness there; 
 A small expense of oaths and coin sufficed 
 To make her think herself a misprized Venus, 
 And me the most discriminating wooer 
 In all Faenza. 'T will not need much art 
 For me to win an entrance to the house ; 
 And when I 'm in, it shall go hard, my lord, 
 But I '11 find means to get you access too.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 33 
 
 Man. 
 
 About it straight; at dusk to-morrow night 
 Be here, armed, masked and cloaked. 
 
 Ord. 
 
 While poor Bertuccio 
 
 Awaits our coming near San Stefano ! 
 
 A stone's throw from the casa Malatesta. 
 
 Asc. 
 He 's here ! 
 
 [Enter Bertuccio, c. — Manfredi in the cefitre, 
 Ascoltiat his left, Torelli at his right ; Ordelaffi 
 r. corner. 
 
 Ber. 
 Not yet a-bed ! 
 
 Since when were the fiend's eggs so hard to hatch ? 
 I left a pleasant little germ of sin 
 Some half an hour since : it should be full-grown 
 By this time. Is it ? 
 
 Man. 
 
 Winged, and hoofed, and tailed. 
 If proud Ginevra Malatesta sleep 
 To-morrow night beneath old Guido's roof, 
 Then call me a snow-water-blooded shaveling. 
 
 Ber. 
 Ha ! 'T is resolved, then ? 
 
 Tor. 
 
 We have pledged our faith 
 
 To carry off the fairest in Faenza 
 
 Asc. 
 Before the stroke of midnight. 
 3
 
 34 THE fool's revenge. 
 
 Ord. 
 'T was my plan 
 
 To gather one by one to the place of action; 
 Lest, going in a troop, we might awake 
 Suspicion, and put Guido on his guard. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 A wise precaution, although it was yours. 
 
 I wronged you, gentlemen ; I thought you shrunk 
 
 Even from sin, when there was danger in 't. 
 
 It seems there are deeds black enough to make 
 
 Even Torelli brave, Ascolti prompt, 
 
 And Ordelaffi witty. But the place ? 
 
 Beside San Stefano. 
 The hour of meeting ? 
 
 Man. 
 Ber. 
 
 Man. 
 
 Half an hour after vespers. There await us. 
 
 And now, good rest my lords ; the night wanes fast, 
 
 My duchess will be weary. [All laugh. 
 
 All. 
 Sir, good-night ! [Going. — Exit Ma?ifredi c. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Sleep well, Torelli. Dream of charging home 
 In the van of some fierce fight. 
 
 Tor. 
 My common dream. [Crosses to l. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 'T is natural ; dreams go by contraries. 
 And you, Ascolti, dream of telling truth ; 
 And, Ordelaffi, that you have grown wise.
 
 the fool's revenge. 35 
 
 Tor. 
 And you, that your back 's straight, your legs a match. 
 
 Asc. 
 And your tongue tipped with honey. 
 
 Ord. 
 Come, my lords, [Crosses to l. 
 
 Leave him to spit his venom at the moon, 
 As they say toads do ! 
 
 [Exeunt all but Bertuccio, laughing, L. i. e. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Take my curse among you, 
 Fair, false, big, brainless, outside shows of men ! 
 For once your gibes and jeers fall pointless from me. 
 My great revenge is nigh, and drowns all sense : 
 Vengeance swells out my veins, and lifts my head, 
 And makes me terrible ! Come, sweet to-morrow, 
 And put my enemy's heart into my hand, 
 That I may gnaw it ! 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 S»cene first. 
 
 %ct J>econfc« 
 
 Second Night. 
 
 '" Faenza. A Room in Bertuccio's House. 
 The Walls are hung with Tapestry, 
 which conceals a small recess and 
 also a Secret Door communicating 
 with a private Stair-way. A Win- 
 dow, opening on the Street, with a 
 Balcony. A Lute and Flowers on 
 Table. A Lamp, lighted. Bell 
 strikes the Quarter. Torelli and 
 Brigitta discovered. 
 
 Bri. 
 Hark, there 's the quarter! you must hence, fair signor. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 But a few moments more of your sweet presence ? 
 
 Bri. 
 
 Saint Ursula, she knows, 't is not my will 
 That drives you hence ; but if my master found 
 That I received a man into the house, 
 'T were pity of my place, if not my life. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 Your master is a churl, that would condemn 
 These maiden blooms to wither on the tree. 
 
 Bri. 
 
 Churl you may call him ! why he 'd have the house 
 
 A prison. If you heard the coil he keeps 
 
 Of bolts, and bars, and locks ! Lord knows the twitter
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 37 
 
 I 've been in all to-day, about the key 
 
 I lost this morning ; it unlocks the door 
 
 Of yonder stair that leads down to the street. 
 
 Tor. 
 'T was lucky I came by just when you dropt it. 
 
 Bri. 
 
 Dropt ! nay, signor, 't was whipped off by some cut-purse, 
 That thought to filch my coin. 
 
 Tor. 
 That 's a shrewd guess ! 
 
 He must have flung it from him where I found it, 
 Not knowing of what jewel it unlocked 
 The casket ! 
 
 Bri. 
 How can I pay your pains that brought it back ! 
 
 Tor. 
 
 By ever and anon giving me leave 
 
 To come and sun myself in your chaste presence. 
 
 Bri. 
 Alas, sweet signor ! 
 
 Tor. 
 O ! divine Brigitta ! 
 
 Bri. 
 
 But, I must say farewell. Vespers are over ; 
 My mistress will be waiting, she 's so fearful. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 As if her unripe beauties were in danger, 
 While your maturer loveliness can walk 
 The streets unguarded. 
 
 Bri. 
 
 Nay, I 'm a poor, fond, thing ! Lord knows the risk 
 I run to let you in.
 
 38 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Tor. 
 I warrant now 
 
 You 've some snug nook where, if your master came, 
 You could bestow me at a pinch. 
 
 Bri. 
 I know none, 
 Unless 't were here, behind the arras; look! 
 
 [Lifting arras from the recess 
 Here 's a hole too, whence you could peep to see 
 When the coast 's clear ! 
 
 Tor. 
 
 There 's room enough for two. [Aside. 
 
 Brigitta ! 
 
 Bri. 
 Signor! 
 
 Tor. 
 How if this had served 
 For hiding others, before me? 
 
 Bri. 
 I swear 
 By the eleven thousand virgins 
 
 Tor. 
 That 's 
 
 Too many by ten thousand and nine hundred 
 And ninety-nine ! Vouch but your virgin self, 
 And I am satisfied ! 
 
 Bri. 
 Alack, a-day ! 
 To be suspected after all these years. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 Pardon a lover's jealousy ; this kiss 
 
 Shall wipe away the memory of my wrong. 
 
 What will not loyalty drive a man to ? [Aside. 
 
 There ! [Kisses her.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 39 
 
 Bri. [Aside. 
 
 He has the sweetest lips ! And now begone, 
 Sweet signor, if you love me. 
 
 Tor. 
 " If," Brigitta ! 
 
 Banish me then to outer darkness straight ! 
 Farewell, my full-blown rose ! let others prize 
 The opening bud ; the ripe, rich flower for me ! 
 
 Bri. 
 
 O, the saints, how he talks ! This way, sweet signor. 
 
 [ Taking a key from her girdle. 
 The secret door ; the key you found and brought me 
 Unlocks it. [ Unlocking secret door, in recess. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 [ Taking another from his girdle — aside. 
 
 Else, why did I filch it from you, 
 
 And have this, its twin brother, forged to-day ? 
 
 Bri. [ Taking the lamp. 
 
 I '11 light you out, and lock the door behind you. 
 " Safe bind, safe find." 
 
 Tor. 
 
 Good-night, sweet piece of woman, 
 
 I leave my heart in pledge. 
 
 Now for the duke. [Aside. 
 
 [Brigitta holds open the door. — Exit Tore Hi. — 
 She lights him down and then closes and locks 
 the door. 
 
 Bri. 
 
 He 's gone, bless his sweet face ! To think what risks 
 Men will run that are lovers, and indeed 
 Weak women, too ! Lord ! if my master knew. 
 'T is lucky San Costanza is hard by, 
 I should be fearful else. Faenza 's full
 
 4-0 THE FOOLS REVENGE. 
 
 Of gallants, and who knows what might befall 
 A poor young woman like myself, with nought 
 Except her innocence to be her safeguard ! [Exit r. i.e. 
 
 [As soon as she has closed the door Torelli re- 
 enters, with Manfredi,from recess. 
 
 Tor. 
 This way, my lord : the dragon has departed. 
 
 Man. 
 'T is time ; I was aweary of my watch. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 You were alone, at least. Think of my lot, 
 That had to make love to a tough old spinster. 
 I would we had changed parts. Why, good my lord 
 I had to kiss her. Faugh ! when shall I get 
 The garlic from my beard ? But here 's the cage 
 That holds our bird. We must ensconce ourselves, 
 For they '11 be here anon ; vespers were over 
 Before we entered. 
 
 Man. 
 Thanks to your device 
 
 Of the forged key. Yet that was scarcely needed ; 
 I 've climbed more break-neck balconies than that 
 
 [Pointing to window. 
 Without a silken ladder. So, a lute, [Looking around. 
 A missal, flowers ! more tokens of a maid 
 Than of a mistress. Well, so much the better ; 
 I long to see the girl. Is she as fair 
 As Serafmo painted ? 
 
 Tor. 
 Faith, my lord, 
 
 She 's fair enough to justify more sonnets 
 Than e'er fat Petrarch pumped out for his Laura. 
 She is a paragon of blushing girlhood, 
 Full of temptation to the finger-tips.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 4 1 
 
 I marvel at myself, that e'er I yielded 
 This amourous enterprize, even to you ; 
 But that my loyalty outbears my love. 
 
 Man. 
 
 I will requite your loyalty, fear not ; 
 But where shall we bestow ourselves ? 
 
 Tor. 
 In here ; {Lifting the arras. 
 
 The old crone showed it me but now — there 's cover 
 And peeping-place sufficient. Hark! they come: 
 Stand close, my lord. [ They retire behind the arras. 
 
 {Enter Fiordelisa and Brigitta R. i. E. 
 
 Bri. 
 And he was there to-night ? 
 
 Fio. 
 
 yes ! He offered me the holy water 
 As I passed in. I trembled so, Brigitta, 
 
 When our hands met, I fear he must have marked it, 
 But that he seemed almost as trembling, too, 
 As I was. 
 
 Bri. 
 He ! a brazen popinjay, 
 
 1 '11 warrant me, for all his downcast looks ! 
 I wonder how my master would endure 
 To hear of such audacious goings on ! 
 
 Fio. 
 
 That makes me sad. My father is so kind, 
 I cannot bear to have a secret from him. 
 Sometimes I feel as I would tell him all ; 
 But then, I think, perhaps he would forbid me 
 From going out to church ; and 't is so dull 
 To be shut up here all the long bright day : 
 From morn till dark to mark the busy stir 
 Under the window, and the happy voices
 
 42 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Of holiday-makers, that go out and in 
 Just as they please. Look at the birds, Brigitta ! 
 Their wings are free, yet no harm comes to them; 
 I 'm sure they 're innocent ! And then to hear 
 Sometimes the trumpets, as the knights ride by, 
 
 And tramp of armed men, sometimes a lute 
 
 [A lute sounds outside. 
 Hark, 't is his lute ! I know the air ; how sweet ! 
 My good Brigitta, would there be much harm 
 If I touched mine — only a little touch — 
 To tell him I am listening ? 
 
 Bri. 
 Holy saints, 
 
 Was e'er such boldness ! I must have your lute 
 Locked up. These girls ! these girls ! 
 Bar them from court, 
 And they '11 find matter in church ; 
 Keep them from speech, 
 
 And they '11 make cat-gut do the work of tongue ! 
 Better be charged to keep a cat from cream, 
 Than a girl from gallants ! [Lute ceases. 
 
 Nay, but, good Brigitta, 
 This gentleman is none. 
 
 How do you know ? 
 
 Fio. 
 
 Bri. 
 
 Fio. 
 
 He never speaks to me, scarce looks, or if 
 He do, it is but to withdraw his gaze 
 As hastily as I do mine. I 've seen him 
 Blush when our eyes met ; not like yon rude man, 
 Who pressed upon me with such words and looks 
 As made me blush — you know the time — 
 When that kind lady, Countess Malatesta, 
 Scarce saved me from his boldness.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 43 
 
 Bri. 
 Tilly-vally ! 
 
 There are more ways of bird-catching than one ; 
 He 's the best fowler who least scares his quarry. 
 But I must go and see the supper toward. 
 Your father will be here anon. [Exit l. i. e. 
 
 Fio. 
 Dear father ! 
 
 Would he were here, that I might rest my head 
 Upon his breast, and have his arms about me ; 
 For then I feel there 's something I may love, 
 And not be chidden for it. [Lute sounds. 
 
 Hark ! again ! 
 If I durst answer ! 
 
 How sad he must be, out there in the dark, 
 Not knowing if I mark his music. 
 
 [ Takes her lute, then puts it away. 
 No! 
 
 My father would be angry : sad enough 
 To have one joy I may not share with him ; 
 Yet there can be no harm in listening. 
 I thought to-night he would have spoken to me, 
 But then Brigitta came, and he fell back. 
 I 'm glad he did not speak, and yet I 'm sorry ; 
 I should so like to hear his voice — just once! — 
 
 He comes in my dreams, now, but he never speaks 
 
 [Late ceases. 
 I 'm sure 't is soft and sweet ! [Listening. 
 
 His lute is hushed. 
 
 What if I touched mine, now that he is gone ? 
 I must not look out of the casement ! — Yes, 
 I 'm sure he 's gone ! [ Takes her lute and sings. 
 
 [Note. — Song may be given or omitted at pleasure. .] 
 
 Man. [Aside, lifting the arras. 
 She is worth ten Ginevras!
 
 44 THE FOOL S REVENGE. 
 
 Tor. [Holding him back. 
 
 Not yet ! 
 
 Man. 
 Unhand me, I will speak to her ! 
 
 Tor. 
 
 My lord ! It is Bertuccio ! In, quick ! 
 
 [Bertuccio appears at the door r. i . e. — His dress 
 is sober and his manner composed. — He stands 
 for a moment at the door fondly contemplating 
 Fiordelisa ; then steps quietly forward. 
 
 Ber. 
 My own ! 
 
 Bio. 
 
 [ Turning suddenly and flinging herself into his 
 arms — 
 My father ! 
 
 Ber. 
 Closer, closer yet ! 
 
 Let me feel those soft arms about my neck, 
 This dear cheek on my heart ! No, do not stir, 
 It does me so much good ! I am so happy ; 
 These minutes are worth years. 
 
 Bio. 
 My own dear father ! 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Let me look at thee, darling. Why, thou growest 
 More and more beautiful ! Thou 'rt happy here ? 
 Hast all that thou desirest, thy lute, thy flowers ? 
 She loves her poor old father ? Blessings on thee, 
 1 know thou dost, but tell me so. 
 
 [Bertuccio sits. Fiordelisa kneels beside him. 
 
 Bio. 
 I love you, 
 I love you very much ! I am so happy
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 45 
 
 When you are with me. Why do you come so late, 
 And go so soon ? Why not stay always here ? 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Why not ! why not ! O, if I could ! To live 
 Where there 's no mocking, and no being mocked, 
 No laughter, but what 's innocent ; no mirth 
 That leaves an after-bitterness like gall. 
 
 Fio. 
 
 Now you are sad ! There 's that black, ugly cloud 
 Upon your brow ; you promised, the last time, 
 It never should come when we were together. 
 You know when you 're sad I 'm sad too. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 My bird ! 
 
 I 'm selfish even with thee ; let dark thoughts come, 
 That thy sweet voice may chase them, as they say 
 The blessed church-bells drive the demons off. 
 
 Fio. 
 
 If I but knew the reason of your sadness, 
 
 Then I might comfort you ; but I know nothing, 
 
 Not even your name. 
 
 Ber. 
 I have no name for thee, 
 But " father." 
 
 Fio. 
 In the convent, at Cesena, 
 
 Where I was reared, they used to call me orphan. 
 I thought I had no father, till you came, 
 And then they needed not to say I had one; 
 My own heart told me that. 
 
 Ber. 
 I often think 
 
 I had done well to have left thee there, in the peace 
 Of that still cloister : but it was too hard — 
 My empty heart so hungered for my child ;
 
 4.6 the fool's revenge. 
 
 For those dear eyes that look no scorn for me, 
 
 That voice that speaks respect and tenderness, 
 
 Even for me. My dove, my lily-flower, 
 
 My only stay in life. O God ! I thank thee 
 
 That thou hast left me this at least. [He weep. 
 
 Fio. 
 Dear father ! 
 
 You 're crying now ; you must not cry, you must not, 
 I cannot bear to see you cry. 
 
 Ber. 
 Let be ! 
 'T were better than to see me laugh. 
 
 Fio. 
 But wherefore ? 
 
 You say you are so happy here, and yet 
 You never come but to weep bitter tears. 
 And I can but weep too, not knowing why. 
 Why are you sad ? O, tell me, tell me all ! , 
 
 Ber. 
 
 I cannot. In this house I am thy father; 
 Out of it what I am boots not to say ; 
 Hated, perhaps; or envied; feared, I hope, 
 By many ; scorned by more, and loved by none. 
 In this one innocent corner of the world 
 I would but be to thee a father ; something 
 August and sacred. 
 
 Fio. 
 And you are so, father. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 I love thee with a love strong as the hate 
 
 I bear for all but thee. [Fiordelisa starts in alarm. 
 
 Come, sit beside me, 
 
 With thy pure hand in mine, and tell me still, 
 
 " I love you," and " I love you ; " only that. 
 
 Smile on me — so! — thy smile is passing sweet!
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 4.7 
 
 Thy mother used to smile so once. O God ! 
 I cannot bear it. Do not smile, it wakes 
 Memories that tear my heart-strings. Do not look 
 So like thy mother, or I shall go mad ! 
 
 Fio. 
 O, tell me of my mother ! 
 
 Ber. 
 No, no, no 1 
 
 Fio. 
 She 's dead ? 
 
 Ber. 
 Yes. 
 
 Fio. 
 You were with her when she died ? 
 
 Ber. 
 
 No ! leave the dead alone, talk of thyself — 
 Thy life here. Thou heed'st well my caution, girl, 
 Not to go out by day, nor show thyself 
 There, at the casement. 
 
 Fio. 
 Yes ; some day, I hope, 
 
 You will take me with you, but to see the town ; 
 'T is so hard to be shut up here, alone. 
 
 Ber. 
 Thou hast not stirred abroad ? 
 
 Fio. 
 Only to vespers; 
 
 You said I might do that, with good Brigitta. 
 I never go forth or come in alone. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 That 's well. I grieve that thou shouldst live so close. 
 But if thou knew'st what poison 's in the air, 
 What evil walks the streets, how innocence
 
 48 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Is a temptation, beauty but a bait 
 
 For desperate desires: — no man, I hope, 
 
 Has spoken to thee ? 
 
 Fio. 
 Only one. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Ha ! who ? 
 
 Fio. 
 
 I know not ; 
 
 't was 
 
 against my will, 
 
 You gave 
 No answer ? 
 
 
 Ber. 
 
 No : I fled. 
 
 
 Fio. 
 
 He followed 
 
 you? 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Fio. 
 
 A gracious lady gave me kind protection, 
 And bade her train guard me safe home. O, father, 
 If you had seen how good she was, how gently 
 She soothed my fears — for I was sore afraid — 
 I 'm sure you 'd love her. 
 
 Ber. 
 Did you learn her name ? 
 
 Fio. 
 
 I asked it, first, to set it in my prayers, 
 And then, that you might pray for her. 
 
 Ber. 
 I pray ! [Aside. 
 
 Her name ? [ To Fiordelisa. 
 
 Fio. 
 
 The Countess Malatesta.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 49 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Count Malatesta's wife protect my child ! 
 
 [Fiordelisa starts up in alarm at his manner. 
 You have not seen her since ? 
 
 Fio. 
 No ; though she urged me 
 So hard to come to her ; and asked my name ; 
 And who my parents were ; and where I lived. 
 
 Ber. 
 You did not tell her ? 
 
 Fio. 
 Who my parents were ? 
 How could I, when I do not know it? 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Patience, my darling ; trust thy father's love, 
 That there is reason for this mystery. 
 The time may come when we may live in peace, 
 And walk together free, under free heaven : 
 But that cannot be here, nor now ! 
 
 Fio. 
 O, when, 
 When shall that time arrive ? 
 
 Ber. 
 When what I live for 
 Has been achieved. 
 
 What you live for ? 
 
 Ber. 
 Revenge ! [Rises and goes r. 
 
 Fio. 
 O do not look so, father ! 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Listen, girl: 
 
 You asked me of your mother ; it is time 
 You should know why all questioning of her 
 4 
 
 Fio.
 
 s° 
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Racks me to madness. Look upon me, child ; 
 Misshapen as I am, there once was one 
 Who, seeing me despised, mocked, lonely, poor, 
 Loved me, I think, most for my misery : 
 Thy mother, like thee, just so pure, so sweet. 
 I was a public notary in Cesena ; 
 Our life was humble, but so happy : thou 
 Wert in thy cradle then, and many a night 
 Thy mother and I sate hand in hand together, 
 Watching thy innocent smiles, and building up 
 Long plans of joy to come. 
 
 Fio. 
 Alas ! she died. 
 
 Ber. 
 Died! 
 
 There are deaths 't is comfort to look back on ; 
 Hers was not such a death. A devil came 
 Across our quiet life, and marked her beauty : 
 She scorned his offers, 
 But he, a noble, great and powerful, 
 Bore her — by force — away, and from that hour 
 I never saw her more : they brought me news 
 That she was dead ! 
 
 Fio. 
 Ah me ! 
 
 Ber. 
 And I was mad, 
 
 For years and years, and when my wits came back — 
 If e'er they came — they brought one haunting purpose, 
 That since has shaped my life — to have revenge : 
 Revenge upon her wronger and his order ! 
 
 Fio. 
 
 Father, 't is not for me to question with you : 
 But, think — revenge belongeth not to man; 
 It is God's attribute! usurp it not!
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 5 1 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Preach abstinence to him that dies of hunger; 
 Tell the poor wretch who perishes of thirst 
 There 's danger in the cup his fingers clutch ; 
 But bid me not forswear revenge. No word ! 
 Thou knowest now why I mew thee up so close ; 
 Keep thee out of the streets ; shut thee from eyes 
 And tongues of lawless men ; for, in these days, 
 All men are lawless. 'T is because I fear 
 To lose thee, as I lost thy mother. 
 
 Fio. 
 Father, 
 I '11 pray for her. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Do, and for me ; good-night ! 
 
 Fio. 
 
 O, not so soon ; with all these sad, dark thoughts, 
 These bitter memories. You need my love : 
 I '11 touch my lute for you, and sing to it. 
 Music, you know, chases all evil angels. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 I must go : 't is grave business calls me hence. 
 'T is time that I was at my post. [Aside. 
 
 My own, sleep in thine innocence. [To Fiordelisa. 
 
 Good-night ! good-night ! 
 
 Fio. 
 But let me see you to the outer door. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Not a siep further, then. [Music till they go out. 
 
 God guard this place, 
 
 That here my flower may grow, safe from the blight 
 
 Of look, or word impure, a holy thing 
 
 Consecrate to thy service, and my love ! 
 
 [Exeunt Bertuccio and Fiordelisa r. i. e. — Man- 
 fredi and Torelli come forward.
 
 S 2 
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Man. 
 
 His daughter ! That so fair a branch should spring 
 From such a gnarled and misshapen stock ! 
 
 Tor. 
 
 But did you mark how he raved of revenge 
 Upon our order ? 
 
 Man. 
 By the mass, I think 
 That Guido Malatesta is the man 
 That played him the shrewd trick he told the girl of. 
 'T was at Cesena, marked you ; the time fits. 
 That 's why he hounds me on after the countess. 
 What ! must I be the tool of his revenge ? 
 I '11 teach this scurril slave to strike at nobles ! 
 
 Hark! what's that? {Listening. 
 
 Man. 
 T is outside the window ! 
 
 Tor. 
 y es? {Listening. 
 
 By Bacchus, some one climbs the balcony ! 
 
 Man. 
 A gallant ? 
 
 Tor. 
 In, sir; see the play played out. 
 
 Man. 
 But I '11 not be forestalled ! 
 
 Tor. 
 We 've time enough. [ They retire into the recess.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 53 
 
 [Enter Aquila from the balcony. 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 Pardon, sweet saint, if 1 profane thy shrine. 
 
 I watched Bertuccio forth ; he passed me close ; 
 
 I feared he would have seen me. I have sworn 
 
 Not to betray their foul design to him. 
 
 And to warn her this means alone is left me. [Music. 
 
 Hark ! 't is her gracious step ; she comes this way. 
 
 [Enter Fiordelisa. 
 Fio. 
 
 Comfort of the afflicted, comfort him ! 
 Turn his revengeful purpose to submission, 
 And grant that I may grow to take the place 
 My mother has left empty in his heart ! 
 He 's gone ! And I had not the heart to speak 
 Of the young gentleman who follows me. 
 He asked if any spoke to me ; I told 
 The truth : he never spoke to me. 
 
 [Seeing Aquila. — Music ceases. 
 Who 's there ? Brigitta ! help ! 
 
 Aqu. 
 Silence ! but have no fear ; 
 I am not here to harm you ; do not tremble. 
 I would die, lady, rather than offend you. 
 
 Fio. 
 
 sir, how came you here ? 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 1 knew no other way 
 
 But by the balcony. Desperate occasions 
 Dispense with ceremony. My respect 
 Is absolute. Fear not : I am not here 
 To say " I love you," nor to tell you how 
 For months your face has been my beacon star. 
 My passion never would have found a tongue, 
 It is too reverent : but your safety, lady, 
 I can be bold for that.
 
 54 THE fool's revenge. 
 
 Fio. 
 My safety ! 
 
 Aqu. 
 Threatened 
 
 With desperate danger. Think you one so fair 
 Could even pray in safety in Faenza ? 
 You have been seen : your beauty hath been buzzed 
 In the court's amorous ear : there is a project 
 To scale your balcony to-night. 
 
 Fio. 
 
 father ! 
 
 Aqu. 
 He cannot save you; what were his sole strength 
 Against the bravos that the duke commands, 
 For any deed of ill ! My arm and sword 
 Are stronger than your father's, and are yours 
 As absolutely. And yet what were these ? 
 
 1 could die for you, but I could not save you. 
 
 Fio. 
 What shall I do . 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 Have you no friends, protectors 
 
 To whom you might betake yourself? 
 
 Fio. 
 Alas! 
 I am a stranger here. 
 
 Aqu. 
 Think, have you none ? 
 
 Fio. 
 Ha ! if the Countess Malatesta 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 What ? 
 
 You know her ?
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 55 
 
 Fio. 
 
 She once rescued me from insult 
 
 Of a rude man ; and promised help whene'er 
 
 I chose to seek it. 
 
 Aqu. 
 She is good, and pure, 
 And powerful moreover — that 's the chief. 
 Go to her straight ; you have no time to lose. 
 Midnight is fixed for their foul enterprize. 
 
 Fio. 
 
 But how to find the house ? And then the streets 
 Are dark and dangerous. I 've but our servant, 
 
 Brigitta 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 Not a word to her ! She 's false. 
 
 Can you trust me ? I '11 lead you to the countess. 
 
 Fio. [Aside. 
 
 Were this a stratagem ! 
 
 Aqu. 
 I see you doubt me : 
 
 I know you have good cause to doubt all men. 
 O, could I bare my heart, and show you there 
 Your image set amongst its holiest thoughts, 
 Beside my mother's well-remembered face ! 
 Could truth speak with the tongue, look from the eyes, 
 You would not doubt me. What can oaths avail ? 
 He who could cheat you would not fear to cheat 
 God and his saints ! Ladv, it is the truth 
 That I have spoken ! May heaven give you faith 
 To trust in me ; but if not, I will stay, 
 And die in your defence. 
 
 Fio. 
 Sir, I will trust you, 
 
 And heaven so deal with you as you with me. 
 Go with me to the Countess Malatesta; 
 I '11 seek the shelter of her roof to-night, 
 To-morrow must bring counsel for the future.
 
 56 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 O, bless you for this trust ! Come, quick, but soft. 
 Put on your veil ; fear not, I am your guard, 
 Your slave, your sentinel. I crave no guerdon, 
 Not even a look ! Enough for me to save you. 
 
 {Exeunt Fiordelisa and DeW Aquila R. i.e. 
 
 Man. 
 {Breaking from behind the arras, Torelli following 
 him. 
 Why did you hold me back ? Our project 's marred. 
 This moonstruck poet bears away the prize, 
 And I am fooled. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 Nay, trust my cooler brain. 
 
 I '11 follow him to Malatesta's. Sure 
 
 He '11 give her shelter ? 
 
 Man. 
 In his lady' s absence ? 
 
 Tor. 
 Even so. The old ruffian can be courteous 
 When there 's a pretty face in question ! 
 
 Man. 
 
 Let him ! 
 
 I '11 break his house, or any man's that dares 
 
 Set his locks in the way of my good pleasure ! 
 
 Tor. 
 Why not ? T will give a double pungency 
 To our revenge upon Bertuccio. 
 We only looked to keep the foul-mouthed knave 
 Out of the way while we bore off his pearl; 
 But now we '11 use him for the robbery. 
 He shall see us scale Malatesta's windows; 
 But she whom we bear thence, muffled and gagged, 
 Shall be the hunch-backed scoffer's pretty daughter.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 57 
 
 Man. 
 
 xi rare revenge ! and so this brain-sick poet 
 And my curst jester may console each other. 
 Watch them to Malatesta's ; I '11 to our friends 
 And find Bertuccio by San Stefano. 
 
 {Exit Manf redi by secret door. \Exit Torelft 
 
 R. I. E. 
 
 <a. a *. ( A Street in Faenza [First Grooves']. 
 
 Scene Secon*. { NlGHT< Bell st ^ ikes Nine _ 
 
 [Enter Bertuccio. 
 Ber. 
 
 The hour is struck, they will be here anon ; 
 
 Trust them to keep a tryst for a villanous deed. 
 
 I had need to whet the memory of my wrong, 
 
 Or my girl's angel face and innocent tongue 
 
 Had shaken even my steadfastness of purpose. 
 
 And Malatesta's wife has done her kindness : 
 
 I would she had not. But, what 's such slight service 
 
 To my huge wrong ? Let me but think of that ! 
 
 I grow too human near my child ; I lack 
 
 The sharp sting of court scorn to spur the sides 
 
 Of my intent. With her I 'm free to weep ; 
 
 With them I still must laugh, still be their ape 
 
 To mop, and mow, and wake their shallow mirth. 
 
 True, I can sometimes bite, as monkeys do. 
 
 They '11 make mirth of that too ! O, courtly sirs ! 
 
 Sweet-spoken, stalwart gallants ! if you knew 
 
 The hate that rankles underneath my motley, 
 
 The scorn that barbs my wit, the bitterness 
 
 That grins behind my laughter, you would start, 
 
 And shudder o'er your cups, and cross yourselves 
 
 As if the devil were in your company. 
 
 Once my revenge achieved, I '11 spurn my chain,
 
 58 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Fool it no more, but give what 's left of life 
 To thought of her I 've lost, and love of her 
 That yet is left me. 
 
 [Enter Manfredi, Ascolti, and Ordelaffi, masked 
 and cloaked, L. i. E. 
 
 Man. 
 Hist, Bertuccio! 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Here, gossip Galeotto ; you are punctual : 
 Ascolti too. Grave Signor Florentine, 
 We '11 show you how the gallants of Faenza 
 Treat greybeards who aspire to handsome wives. 
 Remember your beard 's grizzled, and beware. 
 
 Asc. 
 I will stand warned. You have the ladders here i 
 
 Ber. 
 
 The lackeys wait in charge of them hard by. 
 But where 's Torelli ? we shall want his help. 
 
 Ord. 
 Pshaw ! our three swords are plenty. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Cry you mercy ! 
 
 T is not Torelli's sword we want. 
 
 Ord. 
 What then ? 
 
 Ber. 
 
 His marvellous quick scent of danger, man. 
 Stick to his skirts, I '11 answer for 't you 're safe. 
 
 [All laugh. 
 Perhaps he smelt some risk of buffets here 
 And so has ta'en him home to bed.
 
 THE FOOLS REVENGE. 59 
 
 Man. 
 Away 
 
 Towards Malatesta's house; 't was there he promised 
 To meet us. Sirrah fool, be it thy post 
 To hold the ladder while we mount ; and see 
 Thou play'st us no jade's trick, or 'ware the whip ! 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Fear not, magnanimous gossip ; do your work 
 With as good will as I do mine. The countess 
 Sleeps in the chamber 
 
 That rounds the angle of the southern front ; 
 I came but now by the palace : all was quiet. 
 
 Man. 
 
 Set on then, cautiously : use not your swords 
 Unless on strong compulsion ; blood tells tales, 
 And I want no more feuds upon my hands. 
 
 \Exeunt r. i.e. 
 
 Exterior of Malatesta's Palace. A 
 ^•ctnt (£l)tr&. Window on the Second Floor, with 
 
 a Balcony. Moonlight. 
 
 \Enter Fiordelisa and Dell' Aquila, followed by 
 Torelli, at a distance, R. u. E. 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 Be of good cheer, this is the house ; I '11 knock 
 
 And summon forth the count. {Knocks. 
 
 Fio. 
 O, sir ! what thanks 
 Can e'er repay this kindness ?
 
 <3o THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Aqu. 
 But remember 
 Who 't was that did it, I am thanked enough. 
 
 Fio. 
 I '11 pray for you, after my father. Hark ! 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 They come ! [Enter a Servant fro/n house. 
 
 Two strangers who crave instant speech [ To Servant. 
 
 Of the Count Malatesta. [Exit Servant. 
 
 Aqu. 
 And should I see your father ? 
 
 Fio. 
 Then you know him ? 
 
 Aqu. 
 Yes. 
 
 Fio. 
 And his occupation ? [He bows. 
 
 'T is more than I do, sir, that am his child. 
 I do not even know his name. 
 
 Aqu. 
 What he 
 
 Keeps secret from you 't is not mine to tell ; 
 'T were well you should not question him too closely : 
 He shall learn you are safe. 
 
 Fio. 
 And tell him, too, 
 That 't was you saved me, sir. Promise me that. 
 
 [Enter Malatesta, and two servants with lights, 
 from house. 
 
 Mai. 
 Who is it would have speech of Malatesta ?
 
 You know me, count ? 
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 6 1 
 
 Aqu. 
 Mai. 
 
 Dell' Aquila, well met ! 
 
 But your companion ? 
 
 Ha! a petticoat! [A side to Aquila. 
 
 So ho, my poet ! 
 
 Aqu. 
 Pardon, if I pray 
 
 This lady's name may rest a secret, count ; 
 She is in grievous danger; one from which 
 Your house can shelter her. She owes already 
 Your countess much, for good help given at need, 
 So craves to increase the debt. 
 
 Mai. 
 My house is hers, 
 But she should know my countess is not here. 
 
 Fio. 
 Not here ! 
 
 Mai. 
 
 But, if she dare trust my grey hairs, 
 She shall have shelter. 
 
 Aqu. 
 Nay, she cannot choose. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 I '11 give her my wife's chamber, if she will ; 
 Her women to attend her. 
 
 Aqu. 
 All she needs 
 
 Is your roof's shelter for the night ; to-morrow 
 Must see her otherwise bestowed. 
 
 Mai. 
 Go in 
 
 Fair lady ; my poor house, with all that 's in it 
 Is at your service. Had my wife been here,
 
 62 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 You had had gentler tendance ; as it is 
 
 I '11 lead you to her chamber, and there leave you. 
 
 Tor. [Aside. 
 
 Now to the hunters : I 've marked down the deer. 
 
 [Exit R. U. E. 
 Mai. [ To Aquila. 
 
 You will not stay and crush a cup with me ? 
 
 Aqu. 
 No, not to-night. 
 
 Did you not well to trust me ? [To Fiordelisa. 
 
 Farewell ; think of me in your prayers. 
 
 Fio. 
 I cannot 
 
 Choose but do that, sir. 
 
 O, the thought of him [Aside. 
 
 Will come, henceforth, betwixt my prayers and heaven ! 
 
 [Exit Malatesta, leading in Fiordelisa. 
 
 Aqu. 
 His child ! Since when did grapes grow upon thistles ? 
 And yet I 'm glad to know the tie that binds 
 The two together such a holy one. 
 
 [ The scene gradually becomes dark. 
 Sweet angel, sister angels guard thy sleep ! 
 Now, to seek out Bertuccio, and tell him 
 The danger she has 'scaped, and thank the saints 
 That made me her preserver. [Exit l. i.e. 
 
 [Brief pause.— Music. — Enter Bertuccio, Man- 
 fredi, Ascolti, Ordelaffi, and Torelli, with ser- 
 vants carrying ladder r. u. e. — Music ceases as 
 they enter. 
 
 Man. 
 Softly, you knaves ! With velvet tread, like tigers ! 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Say rather, cats. [A light appears at the window.
 
 the fool's revenge. 63 
 
 Tor. 
 This is the balcony. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 I have noted in this summer weather 
 The window 's left unbarred. 
 
 Asc. 
 Ha, there 's a light ! 
 If she were stirring ? 
 
 Ber. 
 What an' if she were ? 
 
 A sudden spring — a cloak flung o'er her head — 
 If she have time to scream you are but bunglers. 
 
 Man. 
 My cloak will serve. [Takes off cloak. 
 
 Asc. 
 If she alarm the house 
 It might go hard with us. 
 
 Ber. 
 O, cats that long 
 
 For fish, yet fear to wet your feet ! I '11 shame you. 
 Let me mount first. 
 Give me your cloak, gossip ! [ To Manfredi. 
 
 Man. 
 
 By your leave, fool, I '11 net my own bird. Back ! 
 Hold thou the ladder ; that is lacquey's work, 
 And fits thee best. Ascolti and Torelli, 
 Guard the approaches. I and Ordelaffi 
 Will be enough to mount, and snare the game. 
 
 [The light is extinguished j the servants set up 
 
 ladder against the balcony. Ordelaffi mounts the 
 
 ladder first ; then Manfredi. 
 
 Ber. 
 All 's dark now. Up ! [Bertuccio holds ladder. 
 
 Man. [On ladder. 
 
 Why, rogue, how thy hand shakes] 
 Is 't fear ?
 
 64 the fool's revenge. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 'T is inward laughter, Galeotto, 
 
 To think how blank Guido will look to-morrow 
 
 To find the nest cold, and his mate borne off! 
 
 [Music pp. Manfred 'i and Ordelaffi enter the 
 house, through the window. — Moonlight till they 
 come dowfi the ladder. 
 
 Ber. [Listening. 
 
 Ha ! they are in by this time. Cautious fools ! 
 
 I had done 't myself in half the space ! So, Guido, 
 
 You love your young wife well, they say ; that 's brave. 
 
 Now, Malatesta, 
 
 Learn what it is to wake, and find her gone 
 
 That was the pride and joy of your dim eyes, 
 
 The comfort of your age. I welcome you 
 
 To the blank hearth, the hunger of the soul, 
 
 The long, dark days, and miserable nights ! 
 
 These you gave me ; I give them back to you ! 
 
 I, the despised, deformed, dishonoured jester, 
 
 Have reached up to your crown, and pulled it down, 
 
 And flung it in the mire as you flung mine ! 
 
 [A stifled cry within. — Manfredi and Ordelaffi re- 
 appear on the balcony, bearing Fiordelisa in their 
 arms, muffled in Maufredi's cloak. — They come 
 down the ladder. 
 
 Man. 
 
 Away all ; to my garden house, 
 There to bestow the prize ! 
 
 [Exeunt all but Bertuccio r. u. e., the servants 
 carrying off the ladder. 
 
 Ber. 
 'T is done ! 
 
 Now, murdered innocent, thou art avenged ! 
 I cannot sleep ! I '11 walk the night away ! 
 It is no night for me, my day has come ! [Music forte. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 Scene JFirst. < 
 
 Wtt €J)itb- 
 
 The Next Day. 
 
 {" Manfredi's House. A Room with 
 Doors l. i. e. and r. i. and 2. e., 
 communicating with an inner 
 Chamber. Tables and Chairs r. 
 and L. 
 
 {Enter Fiordelisa R. 1. E. 
 
 L 
 
 Fio. 
 
 Where am I ? What has happened ? Let me think. 
 
 Those men — that blinding cloak — the fresh night air 
 
 That struck upon my face — then a wild struggle, 
 
 In strong and mastering arms — then a long blank. 
 
 I must have fainted ; when I woke I lay 
 
 On a rich couch in that room. Has he brought me 
 
 Into the very danger that he said 
 
 He came to take me from ? O cruel ! No, 
 
 Falsehood could ne'er have found such words, such looks. 
 
 Father ! O, when he comes and finds me gone ! 
 
 I must go hence ! {Looking round 
 
 That door {She runs to door l. i.e. 
 
 'T is locked ! {Shaking door. 
 
 Help! help! 
 
 How dare they draw their bolts on me ? My father 
 Shall punish them for this ! I will go forth ! 
 
 {Shakes door again. — The door opens from within. 
 At last ! Whoe'er you are, sir, help me hence ! 
 
 [Enter Ma?ifredi\.. 1. e. 
 
 Take me back to my father ! He will bless you, 
 Reward you 
 
 5
 
 66 THE fool's revenge. 
 
 Man. 
 Nay, your own lips must do that. 
 
 Fio. 
 O, they shall bless you too, sir. 
 
 Man. 
 To be blessed 
 With that sweet mouth were well, yet scarce enough. 
 
 Fio. 
 
 O, sir, we waste time. Set what price you will 
 
 On the great service, I am sure my father 
 
 Will pay you. [Matifredi relocks the door l. i. e. 
 
 Man. 
 
 If we 're to discuss your ransom 
 'T were fairest we should do it with closed doors : 
 The terms can scarce be settled till you know 
 Your prison — jailer — in what risk you stand. 
 First, for your prison : know you where you are ? 
 
 Fio. 
 No. 
 
 Man. 
 
 In the Duke Manfredi's palace. Next : 
 Know you your jailer ? 
 
 Fio. 
 
 Who? 
 
 Man. 
 
 Manfredi's self. 
 
 Fio. 
 Woe 's me ! 
 
 Man. 
 
 What ? Is the news so terrible ? 
 
 Fio. 
 
 I 've heard Brigitta and my father, too, 
 Speak of the Duke Manfredi.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 67 
 
 Man. [Aside. 
 
 Here 's a chance 
 
 To hear a genuine judgment of myself! 
 
 They said 
 
 Fio. 
 
 That he was cruel, bold, unsated 
 
 In thirst for evil pleasures ; it was odds 
 
 Whether more feared or hated in Faenza. 
 
 Man. [Aside. 
 
 Trust the crowd's garlic cheers and greasy caps ! 
 The knaves shall know me worse ere they have done. 
 I thank you, pretty one j I am the duke. 
 
 Fio. 
 Then heaven have mercy on me ! 
 
 Man. 
 
 If report 
 
 Speak truth, your prayer were idle; but report 
 
 Is a sad liar. Do I look the ogre 
 
 They painted to you ? Nay, my fluttered dove, 
 
 Smooth but those ruffled feathers ; look around you. 
 
 Is this so grim a dungeon ? Was your couch 
 
 Last night so hard, your 'tendance so ungentle ? 
 
 I am your prisoner, fairest, not you mine. 
 
 Fio. 
 Then let me go. 
 
 Man. 
 
 Not till you know at least, 
 What you will lose by going. All Faenza 
 Is mine, and she I favour may command 
 Whate'er Faenza holds of wealth or pleasure ; 
 I '11 pour them at her feet, and after fling 
 Myself there too, to woo a gracious word. 
 What 's life ungraced by love ! a dismal sky 
 Without sun, moon, or starlight ! 'T is a cup
 
 68 THE FOOL S REVENGE. 
 
 Drained of the wine that reddened in its gold, 
 
 A lute shorn of its strings, a table stripped 
 
 Of all its festal meats, mere life in death. 
 
 A jewel like thy beauty is not meet 
 
 To be shut in a chest ; it should be set 
 
 To shine in princely robes, to grace a crown. 
 
 I would set thee in mine. [Approaching her. 
 
 Fio. 
 Stand back, my lord. 
 
 Man. [Halting. 
 
 Why, little fool, I would not harm a hair 
 On thy fair head. Think what thy life has been, 
 How dull, and dark, and dreary ! It shall be 
 As bright, and glad, and sunny, as the prime 
 Of summer flowers. Only repel not joy 
 Because it comes borne in the hand of love. 
 
 Fio. 
 
 O, you profane that name ! Is love the friend 
 Of night and violence and robbery ? 
 Let me go hence, I say. I have a father 
 Who '11 make you terribly aby this wrong, 
 Lord as you are ! 
 
 Man. 
 
 Your father ! By the mass, 
 
 She makes me laugh ! Your father, girl ! Bertuccio ! 
 
 Fio. 
 
 That I should learn my father's name from him ! 
 Yes, duke, my father ! 
 
 Man, 
 Why, he is my slave, 
 
 A thing that crouches to me like my hound, 
 To beg for food, or deprecate the lash, 
 My butt, my whipping-block, my fool in motley.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 69 
 
 Fio. 
 
 It is not true. This is a lie, like all 
 
 That you have said. Let me go forth, I say. 
 
 Man. 
 
 You 're in my palace. Here are none but those 
 To whom my will is law ; your calls for help 
 Will only bring more force — if I could stoop 
 To use force with a lady. 
 
 Fio. 
 Then you have 
 
 Some manhood in you. Look, sir, at us two : 
 You are a duke, you say ; your power but bounded 
 By your own will. I am a poor weak girl, 
 E'en weaker than I knew, if what you say 
 Touching my father, be the truth. What honour 
 Is to be won on me ? Yet, won it may be, 
 By yielding to my prayers to be set free, 
 To be sent home. O, let me but go hence, 
 As I came hither ; I will speak to none 
 Of this night's outrage ; not even to my father. 
 
 Man. 
 Ask anything but this. 
 
 Fio. 
 Nothing but this ! 
 You have a wife, my lord ; what if she knew ? 
 
 Man. 
 
 The more need to take care you tell her not. 
 
 Come, little one, give up these swelling looks, 
 
 Though they become you mightily. {Approaching her. 
 
 Fio. 
 Stand off! \He advances ; she retreats to r. 2. e. 
 
 Help! help! 
 A door ! ha 1 [She opens it and rushes in.
 
 7° 
 
 THE FOOL S REVENGE. 
 
 Man. 
 Deeper in the toils ! [Locking the door. 
 
 The lamb seeks shelter in the wolf's own den ! [Laughs. 
 
 ■ 
 
 Tor. [Outside, L. i. E. 
 
 My lord ! 
 
 Man. 
 Torelli's voice ! 
 How now, Torelli ? [ Unlocks the door l. i.e. 
 
 [Enter Torelli 
 Tor. 
 
 My lord, the duchess is returned. 
 
 Man. 
 
 Why, man, 
 
 Thy news is stale ; the duchess has been here 
 
 These five hours ; she arrived, post haste, ere sunrise. 
 
 She must have ridden in the dark. 'T was that 
 
 Prevented me from making earlier matins 
 
 Before my little saint here. 
 
 Tor. 
 Do you know 
 What brought the duchess back so suddenly ? 
 
 Man. 
 
 Some jealous fancy pricked her, as I judge 
 From her accost when we encountered first ; 
 And, as I gathered, she suspects contrivance 
 Betwixt me and the Countess Malatesta. 
 'T was a relief, for once, that I could twit her 
 With groundless fears. I told her Malatesta 
 Rode yesterday with his lady to Cesena, 
 And, for more proof, repeated what he said, 
 That on my wife's least summons she 'd return ; 
 So she has summoned her, in hopes, no doubt, 
 To catch me in a lie. Her messenger 
 Rode to Cesena just at daybreak. Soon 
 We may look for him back, bringing, I hope, 
 Ginevra Malatesta.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 7 I 
 
 1 
 
 Tor. 
 This is rare. 
 
 So falls she off the scent, and leaves you here 
 To follow up your game with Fiordelisa. 
 
 Man. 
 
 Even so. I excused me from her presence 
 
 By work of state, for which to this pavilion 
 
 I had summoned you and the Envoy of Florence, 
 
 Said work of state being no less a one 
 
 Than to lend me your presence at the banquet 
 
 I mean to offer our fair prisoner. 
 
 Bid Ordelaffi and Ascolti hither, 
 
 And send my men with fruits and wines and sweetmeats, 
 
 All that is likeliest to tempt the sense 
 
 Of this scared bird. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 How did you find her, sir ? 
 
 Man. 
 
 Beating her pretty wings against the bars ; 
 Still calling for her father. Shrewdly minded 
 To peck instead of kissing, silly fledgling ! 
 But I will tame her yet, till she shall come 
 To perch upon my finger. 
 
 Tor. 
 Where is she ? 
 
 Man. 
 
 In the inner room, whither she fled but now. 
 Fear not, I turned the key on her ; she 's safe. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 I '11 send what you command, and warn the rest 
 That you attend them. Good speed to your wooing. 
 
 [Exit l. 1. 1
 
 72 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 Man. 
 
 Now for my prisoner ! By gentle means 
 To gain her ear. Asmodeus, tip my tongue 
 With love's persuasion ! 
 
 [Exit into inner room r. 2. E. He locks the doof 
 within. — Enter the Duchess Erancesca, masked, 
 and Bertuccio, who has resumed his fooPs dress, 
 L. 1. e. 
 
 Era. [ Unmasking. 
 
 Was 't not Torelli went hence, even now ? 
 
 Ber. 
 I think it was. Be sure he saw us not. 
 
 Era. 
 
 Then you still bear me out my husband lies ? 
 That Malatesta's wife has not gone hence ? 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Trust a fool's eyes before a husband's tongue. 
 I say again, I was at hand last night 
 When your lord bore from Malatesta's house 
 Said Malatesta's wife. I saw the deed. 
 I heard the order given to bring her hither. 
 
 Era. 
 
 Then 't was by force, not by the lady's will, 
 She came ? 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Force? Quotha — force! How many ladies 
 
 Have had to bless the " force " that saved their tongue 
 
 An awkward " yes." See you not what an answer 
 
 " Force " finds for all ? It stops a husband's mouth ; 
 
 Crams its fist down the town's throat ; nay ; at a pinch 
 
 Perks its sufficient self in a wife's face : 
 
 Commend me still to " force." It saves more credits 
 
 Than e'er it ruined virtues. After foil}-, 
 
 I hold force the best mask that wit has found 
 
 To mock the world with ! [Goes to door r. 2. E.
 
 THE fool's revenge. 73 
 
 Fra. 
 
 There 's weight in that. 
 
 This violence would stand her in good stead, 
 
 Were she e'er called in question ! Then, what matter, 
 
 So I be wronged, if 't is by force or will. 
 
 Would I had certain proof! 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Ha ! You want proof? 
 
 Come here ; [ The Duchess approaches him. 
 
 Stand where I stand. Now listen — close. 
 
 Bra. [Listening at door. 
 
 My husband's voice, in passionate entreaty ! 
 
 Ber. 
 Only his voice ? 
 
 Fra. 
 
 An answering voice ! a woman's ! 
 
 These are your state affairs, my gracious duke ! 
 
 [Comes down. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 If you would have more proof, I '11 bring you where 
 You shall hear his humble tools in last night's business 
 Discuss the deed ; all noble gentlemen. 
 Who 'd pluck my hood about my ears if I 
 Durst hint a doubt of their veracity. 
 
 Fra. 
 Do so, and if they bear thy story out 
 I know my part. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 What, tears ? 
 
 Fra. 
 Tears ? Death to both ! 
 
 Ber. 
 Take care. His guards are faithful. Can you trust 
 A hand to do the deed ?
 
 74 the fool's revenge. 
 
 Fra. 
 I trust my own. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Women turn pale at blood. Your heart may fail you, 
 When the time comes to strike. 
 
 Fra. 
 Daggers for men. 
 I know a surer weapon. 
 
 Ber. [ Whispering. 
 
 Poison ? 
 
 Fra. 
 
 Hush ! 
 
 The Borgia's physician gave it me ! 
 
 It may be trusted ! {Goes to door r. 2. e. 
 
 Ber. [Aside. 
 
 My she-leopard's loosed at last! [Exit l. i. e. 
 
 Fra. [ Still at the door, listening. 
 
 Past doubt, a woman's tongue ! And now my husband's ! 
 
 How well I know the soft, smooth, pleading voice ! 
 
 The voice that drew my young heart to my lips, 
 
 When, at my father's court, I plighted troth 
 
 To him, and he to me. O bitterness ! 
 
 Now spurned for each new leman of the hour ! 
 
 O, he shall learn how terrible is hate 
 
 That grows of love abused. [Taking a vial from her bosom. 
 
 Come, bosom friend, 
 
 That hast lain cold, of late, against my heart, 
 
 As if to whisper to it, " Be thou stone, 
 
 When the time calls for me." [Looki?ig at the vial. 
 
 Each drop 's a death. 
 
 What matter who she be ? Enough for me 
 
 That she usurps the place that should be mine 
 
 In Galeotto's love. [Music.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 75 
 
 Hark! some one comes. 
 
 [She conceals the vial and resumes her mask. — 
 Enter two Chamberlains with white wands, 
 followed by Attendants bearing a banquet. They 
 pass into the inner roo?n. — After them Ascanio, 
 with wine in a golden flagon, on a salver l. i.e. 
 
 Hold, sir, set down your charge. [To Ascanio. 
 
 A scan. 
 By your leave, madam, 
 'T is for my lord. 
 
 Fra. 
 
 Since when was that an answer 
 
 To give thy lady ? [Removes her mask. 
 
 Ascan. 
 'T is the duchess ! [Aside. 
 
 Pardon ; I knew you not. [ To Francesca. 
 
 Fra. 
 
 Enough, sir, set it down, 
 
 And wait without till I bid thee bear in. 
 
 [Exit Ascanio L. 1. E. 
 
 What need of further proof? Is 't heaven or hell 
 
 That sends this apt occasion ? Galeotto, 
 
 I warned thee, in the spring-time of our loves, 
 
 This hand could kill as easy as caress ; 
 
 You laughed, and took it in your ampler palm, 
 
 And said that death were pleasant from such white 
 
 And taper fingers. Try it now ! 
 
 [She pours some of the contents of the vial into the 
 flagon of wine. 
 'T is done ! [Re-enter Bertuccio l. i.e. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Hide, here, Madonna; [Opening door r. i. e. 
 
 Here their lordships come ! 
 
 I met them on the way, so brave and merry !
 
 / 6 THE fool's revenge. 
 
 My gossip Galeotto bids them here — 
 To feast with him and her ! 
 
 [Exit Bcrtuccio l. i. e. — Francesea starts as if 
 stung j the?i rings bell on table r. — Re- enter 
 Ascanio L. i.e. — She signs to himj he bears 
 in the wine r. 2. E. 
 
 Fra. [Aside. 
 
 Their doom is sealed ! 
 
 \Exit Francesca R. 1. E. — Re-enter Bertuccio, with 
 Ascolti and Ordelajfi l. i.e. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 It is your due ; you that go out bat-fowling 
 Lack wine o' mornings to keep up your hearts. 
 
 Ord. 
 
 Why thou wert there, knave ; yet try thou to enter 
 Into the presence, and they '11 whip thee back. 
 His highness wants no fool to-day ! 
 
 Ber. 
 That 's true, 
 
 With you two for his company. But tell me, 
 How will the lady relish, o'er her wine, 
 The cut-throat faces that she saw last night ? 
 Methinks 't will mar her appetite. 
 
 Asc. 
 Be sure 
 
 She will not look so scared at us 
 As thou wouldst at the sight of her. 
 
 Ber. 
 Who, I ? 
 
 Nay, I but held the ladder : we poor knaves 
 Must take the leavings of your rogueries, 
 As of your feasts. But prithee, Ordelaffi, 
 How looked she ?
 
 the fool's revenge. 77 
 
 Ord. 
 
 Wouldst believe it ? 
 
 Methought she had a something of thy favour; 
 As, if so crooked a thing could have a daughter, 
 Thy daughter might have had. 
 
 [.•/// laugh. — Beriuccio starts. 
 
 Asc. 
 How now ! he winces. 
 Let 's in at once, my lord. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 I '11 marshal you ; who said that cap and bells 
 Should be shut out ? 
 
 Asc. 
 
 Stand back, Sir Fool, 't were best ; 
 
 You may repent your pressing on too far. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 I fain would see the lady ; 't is not often 
 That one can carry a beauty off at night, 
 And make her laugh i' the morning. 
 
 Ord. 
 
 Neither she, 
 
 Nor you, I think, are like to breed much mirth 
 
 Out of each other. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Say you so ? Here goes ! 
 
 f He runs up to the door R. 2. e. Ascanio opens it 
 and motions him back. The two Chamberlains 
 appear at the open door. 
 
 Ascan. 
 Stand back ! 
 
 Ber. 
 
 I ! why I 'm the Fool ! Free o' the palace ! 
 Every place except the council-chamber, 
 And in that I sit by proxy !
 
 78 the fool's revenge. 
 
 Ascan. 
 'T is the duke's strict order 
 
 You enter not this room. {Bertuccio presses forward. 
 
 Back ! or the grooms 
 Shall score thy hunch to motley. [Ascanio closes the door. 
 
 Asc. 
 How now, sirrah, 
 Call you this marshalling ? 
 
 Ber. 
 I am right served ! I forgot 
 That fools in silks should take the precedence 
 Of fools in motley ! Lead the way, my lords ! 
 
 Ord. 
 Look, here comes Malatesta. 
 
 Ber. 
 Ha ! but stay 
 
 To hear me gird at him ! You call me bitter; 
 Now you shall see how merciful I 've been. 
 
 Asc. [To Ordelaffi. 
 
 Waste not your ears on him, the duke awaits us 
 Beside his beauty — metal more attractive 
 Than this curst word-catcher. 
 
 Ord. 
 Aye, aye, let 's in. 
 
 \Exeunt Ordelaffi and Ascolti r. 2. e. — Enter 
 Francesca r. i. e. 
 
 Ber. 
 Now, now, Madonna, have you proof enough ? 
 
 Fra. 
 
 Mountains of proof on proof, if proof were needed; 
 But had disproof come with them, and not proof, 
 'T is all too late.
 
 the fool's revenge. 79 
 
 Ber. 
 How? 
 
 Bra. 
 
 I have drugged their wine. 
 
 They will sleep sound to-night. [She retires tip stage. 
 
 Ber. [As'de. 
 
 Choose woman's hands, 
 
 You that would have grim work nimbly dispatched. 
 Here 's Malatesta! — looking black as night. 
 So, lord, I hope you liked your waking news. 
 Now, now, to gloat over his agony ! 
 
 [Enter Malatesta L. i, E. 
 
 Mai. 
 Ha, knave ! I 'd see the duchess. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Marvellous ! 
 
 Mai. 
 How now ? 
 
 Ber. 
 
 To think that they can make such caps 
 To hide all trace of them. 
 
 Mai. 
 Of what, knave ? 
 
 Ber. 
 Horns. 
 
 Mai. 
 Rascal ! 
 
 Ber. 
 
 I hope your lordship had good rest ; 
 And that my lady, too, slept undisturbed. 
 
 Mai. 
 What mean you, sirrah ?
 
 80 THE fool's revenge. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Nay, strain not so hard 
 
 To keep it down ; you are among friends here. 
 
 A grievous loss, no doubt, — but at your age 
 
 You could scarce look to keep her to yourself. 
 
 Others have lost wives, too, — poor knaves who thought 
 
 To stick in their thrum-caps jewels that caught 
 
 The eyes of nobles ; needs were they must yield 
 
 Daughters — or wives. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 Art mad, or drunk, or both ? 
 
 My errand 's to thy mistress, not to thee. 
 
 Where is she ? 
 
 Fra. [ Coming forward. 
 
 Here, my lord ! [They talk apart. 
 
 Ber. 
 He bears it bravely. 
 
 But wounds will bleed under an iron corslet ; 
 And how his must be bleeding — for he loved her; 
 The whole court vouches it. 
 
 \Francesca and Mala testa come forward. 
 
 Fra. 
 
 You say your lady slept not here, last night, 
 But at Cesena ? 
 
 Mai. 
 Or the devil 's in 't. 
 
 I saw her safe bestowed there : I can trust 
 My own eyes, or still better, my own bolts. 
 
 Ber. [Aside. 
 
 Is this old man, too, of Manfredi's council, 
 To cheat his wife ? 
 
 Mai. 
 
 I little thought to bring her back so soon; 
 
 But, on your summons, I have straight recalled her.
 
 J UK FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 81 
 
 Ber. [Coming between them. 
 And she is here : hold him to that, Madonna. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 Malapert dog 
 
 Fra. 
 
 Pardon his licensed tongue. 
 I fain would see the lady. 
 
 Mai. 
 
 You shall see her ; 
 
 I have not far to fetch her. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 ' T is a lie ! — 
 
 A cursed lie, to hide his own foul shame ! 
 
 Believe him not ! 
 
 [Exit L. I.E. 
 
 But if he bring the lady ? 
 
 Fra. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Aye, if he bring the lady, then believe him ! 
 He robs me of my right, taking his wrong [Aside. 
 
 With outward show of calm. Mine turned my brain. 
 I looked to see him mad, or drive him so ! 
 
 Man. [ Within. 
 
 More wine, knave ! 
 
 [Ascanio enters R. 2. E., and goes out l. i. e. 
 
 Fra. 
 
 Ginevra, or another, what of that ? 
 
 The wrong 's the same, why not the same revenge ? 
 
 Ber. 
 
 The same to you, but not the same to me ! [Aside. 
 
 I tell you Malatesta's wife sits yonder — [To Francesca. 
 Sits at your husband's side. I saw her — I — 
 Borne off last night ! I saw. There is no faith 
 In eyes or ears or truth, if 't were not she ! 
 6
 
 82 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 [Re-enter Ma latesta, with Ginevra, l. i.e. Ber- 
 tuccio's back is toward them. 
 
 Mai. 
 Madam, my wife ! 
 
 Ber. [ Turning. 
 
 Ginevra here ! then who 
 
 Was that they carried from her bed last night ? 
 
 Who is 't sits yonder ? 
 
 Fra. 
 
 Tell me, gracious lady, 
 
 Where did you sleep last night ? 
 
 Gin. 
 
 Where I scarce thought 
 
 To leave so soon, your highness ; in Cesena, 
 
 Within my husband's castle. 
 
 Fra. 
 Pardon, madam, 
 
 That I have set you on a hurried journey ; 
 Still more that I have wronged you in my thoughts ! 
 
 [ Laughter heard within. 
 
 They laugh ! laugh on, my lord, while it is time. [Aside. 
 
 Gin. 
 
 Wilt please you grant me audience : you shall hear 
 To the minute how my hours went yesterday, 
 Down to this moment. 
 
 Fra. 
 
 Come out in the air ; 
 
 I stifle within hearing of their mirth. [Aside. 
 
 Stay here! see that the other 'scape me not. 
 
 [ To Bertuccio. 
 
 [Exeunt Franccsca and Ginevra L. i. E.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 83 
 
 Ber. 
 
 The other ! Not Ginevra ? Good, my lord, 
 
 [To Malatesta, who goes to door r. 2. E. 
 
 Your wife slept at Cesena, yet her chamber 
 Was not untenanted last night, I '11 swear ! 
 
 Mai. 
 And so thou mightst, yet break no oath. 
 
 Ber. 
 Who slept in 't ? 
 
 Mai. 
 
 I know not. Ask Dell' Aquila : 't was he 
 Brought me the lady, craving shelter for her 
 From some great danger. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 But you saw her face ? 
 
 Mai. 
 
 And if I did, think'st thou I 'd trust her name 
 
 To thy ass-ears ? [Strikes him. — Exit r. 2. E. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Fooled, mocked of my revenge ! 
 
 The sweetest morsel on 't whipped from my teeth ! 
 
 O, I could brain myself with my own bauble ! 
 
 [Enter DelV Aquila l. i.e. 
 Dell' Aquila ! He knows. [Aside. 
 
 Aqu. 
 Well met, Bertuccio ] 
 I 've sought thee since this morning, nay, since midnight. 
 
 Ber. 
 Ha!
 
 84 THE fool's revenge. 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 For a matter much concerns thy peace. 
 
 Thou hast a daughter. \Bertuccio starts. 
 
 How I know thou hast 
 
 Matters not to my story. 
 
 Ber. 
 Hush, hush, hush ! 
 
 If you know this, as you are Christian man 
 And poet, — poets should have softer hearts 
 Than courts and camps breed now-a-days, — O keep 
 The knowledge to yourself! 
 
 Aqu. 
 It is too late. 
 
 Torelli knew it : had set wolfish eyes 
 On her 
 
 Ber. 
 Well? well? 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 Had rung her beauty's praise 
 
 Here in the court — thou hast no friends here 
 
 Ber. 
 Well? 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 They plotted how to lure thee from the house ; 
 And in thy absence to surprise her window, 
 And bear her off! They bound me by an oath 
 To keep it secret from thee, not from her. 
 I swore to save her, or to lose myself; 
 So found a desperate means of speech with her, 
 And warned her of her danger. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Thanks, thanks, thanks, 
 But only warned her !
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 85 
 
 Aqu. 
 Placed her too in safety. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 heaven ! where ? 
 
 Aqu. 
 In the house of Malatesta. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 My child in Malatesta's house last night ? 
 
 Aqu. 
 Secure ; even in the countess's own chamber. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 My child ! My child ! — wronged, murdered ! 
 
 Aqu. 
 Ha ! by whom ? 
 
 Ber. 
 
 By me, by me ! Her father, her own father, 
 That would have grasped heaven's vengeance, 
 And has drawn 
 The bolt on my own head — and hers — and hers! 
 
 Aqu. 
 What do you mean ? 
 
 Ber. 
 
 1 counselled the undoing 
 
 Of Malatesta's wife ; I stood and watched, 
 
 And laughed for joy, and held the ladder for them, 
 
 And all the while 't was my own innocent child. 
 
 Look not so scared ! 't is true ! — I am not mad ! 
 
 She 's here — now — in their clutches ! [Laughter within. 
 
 Hark, they laugh ! 
 
 T is the hyenas o'er their prey — my child! 
 
 And I stand here and cannot lift a hand 1
 
 gft THE FOOLS REVENGE. 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 Here 's mine, and my sword, too ! 
 
 Ber. 
 0, what were that 
 Against their felon blades ? 
 
 Aqu. 
 True, true ! what aid ? 
 Ha ! there 's the duchess ! 
 
 Ber. 
 
 I had forgotten her ! [Drawing Aquila to him. 
 
 Man, she has drugged their wine, the bony Death 
 Plays cupbearer to them ; if she drinks, she dies. 
 
 [Enter Aseanio, with wine. 
 Look, look. Perchance that is the very wine. 
 
 [He assumes the Fool's manner. 
 Halt there, for the fool's toll. No wine goes in 
 But pays the fool's toll. 
 
 Ascan. 
 Out, knave, stand aside ! 
 
 [Bertuccio overthrows the flagon from the salver. 
 
 Ber. 
 'T is forfeit by the law ! 
 
 Ascan. 
 Thy back shall bleed 
 To make it up. [Takes flagon, and exit L. i. E. 
 
 Aqu. 
 
 Torelli comes : if he goes in, could we but enter with him ; 
 A word from you might save her from the poison. 
 
 [Enter Torelli L. i.e. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 Good day, Sir Poet; stand aside, Sir Fool. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 You are going in ? [ Gets between Torelli and Aquila.
 
 THE FOOL'S Rb'.VKNGiL. 87 
 
 Tor. 
 
 Aye. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 There 's a shrewd hiatus 
 Needs filling at the table. You have war 
 And love; but, lacking poetry and folly, 
 War is but butchery and love goes lame. 
 Tuck us beneath your wings, sweet Baldassare, 
 And you '11 be trebly welcome. 
 
 [Seizing him by one arm ; motions DelV AquHa to 
 take the other. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 The duke for once has shut his doors against 
 Both poetry and folly. He is cloistered 
 For grave affairs. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Tush, tell me not, sweet gossip. 
 
 Why, man, I know that there 's a petticoat; 
 
 And more, I know the wearer. 
 
 Tot. 
 Thou! 
 
 Ber. 
 You 've lost 
 
 The rarest sport. Ascolti and Ordelaffi 
 Have had their will of me. For once I '11 own 
 You 've turned the tables fairly on the fool ! 
 That our Ginevra should be Fiordelisa, 
 And poor Bertuccio not know ! Ha, ha ! 
 
 excellent! It was a sleight of hand 
 
 1 shall remember to my dying day. 
 
 Tor. 
 Nay, and thou tak'st it so ? 
 
 Ber. 
 How should I take it ? 
 
 Besides the pleasantness of it, there 's the honour. 
 Think, my poor daughter in the duke's high favour.
 
 88 THE fool's revenge. 
 
 Why, there are counts by scores 
 
 Had pawned their scutcheons 
 
 To come into such grace. I warrant now, 
 
 You thought I 'd swear and storm, and rend yOu all, 
 
 So shut me out. But, lo you, I am merry, 
 
 And so shall she be, if you '11 let me in ! 
 
 But let me in, I '11 school the silly wench ; 
 
 Teach her what honour she has come to ; thank 
 
 The gracious duke, and play the merriest antics. 
 
 You '11 swear you never saw me in such fooling ; 
 
 But take me in. 
 
 Tor. 
 
 Why now ; the fool 's grown wise ! 
 
 I '11 tell the duke, perchance he '11 let thee in. 
 
 [Exit Torelli R. 2. e. — Bertuccio, exhausted by his 
 emotions, falls into chair l. 
 
 Aqu. 
 Lives hang on minutes here. Said you the duchess 
 Had mixed the poison, or but meant to mix it ? 
 
 Ber. 
 
 There it is, man ; I know not which : even now 
 Death may be busy at her lips : once in, 
 In my mad antics I might spurn the board, 
 And spill the flagons as I did e'en now; 
 But here I 'm helpless. O, Beelzebub ! 
 Inspire them with desire to see a father 
 Make laughter of the undoing of his child ! 
 Ha ! some one comes : they '11 let me in ! 
 
 Tor. [At the door. 
 
 The duke will none of thy ape's tricks. 
 
 \He closes the door. Bertuccio falls. 
 
 Aqu. 
 What ho ! Torelli ! 
 
 And you, within, you, my lord duke, 'fore all, 
 I do proclaim you cowards, ruffians, beasts. 
 Come out, if you be men, and drive my challenge 
 Back in my throat, if you 've one heart among you !
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 89 
 
 Ber. 
 
 You speak to men ; they 're fiends ! 
 
 Aqu. 
 No hope, no hope ! 
 Yes ! here 's the duchess, she 's a woman still. 
 
 [Lifts Bertiiccio from the ground. 
 [Enter Francesco, L. 1. E. 
 
 Ber. [Rushing to her. 
 
 Madam, save my child ! 
 The daughter that I love more than my life ! 
 'T was she they seized last night, and she 's in there ! 
 
 Bra. 
 Your child ! 
 
 Ber. 
 
 From death, if not from wrong that 's worse than death, 
 You still may save her ! Have the doors burst open ! 
 You can command here next the duke. If not, 
 At least forbear the poison. [Aside, to her. 
 
 Bra. [Asule, to him. 
 
 'T is too late. 
 The wine was here. 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Then this alone remains. 
 
 Help me, Aquila ; help to burst the door ! 
 
 [ They break open the door and rush out, followed 
 by Francesca. Quick change to Banquet Hall. 
 Table c. Manfredi, Fiordelisa, Malatesta, 
 Ordelaffi, Ascolti, Torelli, and Attendants, dis- 
 covered. 
 
 Ber. and Aqu. [ Without. 
 
 Drink not, my lords ! 
 Your wine is poisoned ! 
 
 [Manfredi staggers from his seat and falls dead L. 
 Malatesta and others form group near him. 
 Fiordelisa screams, rushes toward r., and faints 
 in the arms of Dell' Aquila, tuho enters, with 
 Bertuccio,
 
 go THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 All the Nobles. 
 Who did this deed ? 
 
 I! 
 
 Ber. \Leaping upon the table. 
 
 [Ordelaffi and Ascolti stab Ber/uccio, iv ho plunges 
 forward and falls, but is not killed. — Entet 
 Francesca. 
 
 Era. 
 He lies ! 'T was I ! 
 Before all men I '11 answer this. 
 
 Ber. [ Crawling to his daughter. 
 
 Before heaven's judgment seat 
 
 How shall I answer this ? [Indicating his daughter. 
 
 Dead! dead! My bird — 
 
 My lily flower — gone to thy last account, 
 
 All sinless as thou wert ? My fool's revenge, 
 
 Ends but in this. Cold ! cold! 
 
 Ha ! a breath ! She lives ! she lives ! 
 
 Say some of you, " She drank not," and I '11 bless 
 
 The man that says so ; yea, so pray for him 
 
 As saints ne'er prayed ! 
 
 Fio. 
 Father ! 
 
 Tor. 
 
 She never drank ! Thou hast her pure as when 
 She kissed thy lips last night ! 
 
 Ber. 
 
 O, bless you, bless you ! 
 
 But, alas ! my child, I soon must leave thee ! 
 
 My life ebbs fast. To thee, Aquila, thee — 
 
 The one true heart in all Faeuza, 
 
 Do I bequeath my all ! 
 
 [Bertuccio joins the hands of DelP Aquila and 
 
 Eiordelisa. — They raise and support him to a 
 
 chair.
 
 THE FOOL'S, REVENGE. 91 
 
 Mai. 
 Madam, you are our prisoner [ To Francesco,. 
 
 Fra. {Interrupting him. 
 
 Prisoner ? 
 
 My father, Giovanni Bentivoglio, 
 Stands at your gates, in arms. Let who will question 
 Francesca Bentivoglio of this deed. [Exit r. u. e. 
 
 Mai. [ To Bertuccio. 
 
 Thou miscreant ! what urged thee on to this ? 
 
 Vengeance ! 
 Father ! 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Fio. 
 
 Ber. 
 Aye, vengeance. 
 Guido Malatesta — 
 
 In me behold the wretched man whose wife, 
 Long years ago, you stole — you murdered! — 
 Antonio Bordiga! 
 
 Mai. 
 
 [Falling, horror-stricken, into chair, and hiding his 
 face. 
 You! 
 
 Ber. 
 
 Ay: — thirsting for revenge, I moved the duke 
 
 To carry off your innocent Ginevra — 
 
 Yoiir wife ! 
 
 Though foiled, and slain, yet do I triumph here, 
 
 And thou shalt feel, at last, the Fool's revenge ! 
 
 Guido Malatesta, with my dying breath,
 
 92 THE FOOLS REVENGE. 
 
 Fio. 
 
 {Interrupting, and clinging to him. 
 No! no! Father! 
 
 Ber. 
 
 I I forgive thee. [He falls. 
 
 Ah, thou saidst well, my child : 
 
 Vengeance is God's prerogative — not man's: 
 
 I have usurped it. Pray, O, pray for me. 
 
 [Fiordelisa supports his head. 
 
 Fio. 
 Father ! [Bertuccio dies. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 I.— The Author of The Fool's Revenge. 
 
 TOM TAYLOR, the author of "The Fool's Revenge," was bom 
 at Sunderland, in England, in 1817. He received his education 
 at the Grange School in that place, and at Glasgow University 
 and at Trinity College, Cambridge ; and he was graduated with honours. 
 He subsequently held, for two years, the Professorship of English Lan- 
 guage and Literature, at the University College, London ; but in 1845 
 was called to the Bar of the Inner Temple. A few years later he entered 
 the Civil Service of Great Britain, with which for a long time he was 
 honourably connected, and from which he was finally retired with a 
 pension. Tom Taylor is the author of many plays, and the adapter of 
 many more. Prominent among the pieces with which his name is 
 associated are " Still Waters Run Deep," " An Unequal Match," " The 
 Ticket-of-Leave-Man," " Twixt Axe and Crown," "The Contested 
 Election," "The Overland Route," "Anne Boleyn," "Joan of Arc," 
 "New Men and Old Acres," " Clancarty," " Henry Dunbar," and " Our 
 American Cousin." 
 
 This author has likewise distinguished himself in other branches of 
 literature. He compiled and edited, in 1853, the "Autobiography of 
 B. R. Haydon ; " and, in 1859, the " Autobiography and Correspondence 
 of the late C. R. Leslie, R. A." He also completed, in 1865, Leslie's 
 unfinished work on "The Life and Times of Sir Joshua Reynolds." 
 He was one of the original staff of Once a Week, and he succeeded the 
 lamented Shirley Brooks as editor of Punch. His labours as a journalist 
 and a newspaper correspondent have been continuous, onerous, diversified 
 and successful. Few literary men of our time have worked as faithfully 
 and conscientiously, and none has better deserved the rewards of pros- 
 perity and honourable fame. W. W. 
 
 II.— Costume for The Fool's Revenge. 
 
 The following passage, indicative of the style of dress proper to be 
 used in the representation of this piece, is copied from Csesar Vecellio's
 
 91 APPENDIX. 
 
 book on Costume — " Habiti Antichi e Moderni," Venice, 1598. It 
 refers to usages in apparel, in Italy, in the period of this play. 
 
 " The ladies wore a balzo [head-dress], of various colours, composed 
 of a tissue of gold or of silk, and worked with a representation of flowers, 
 or with other designs. They also carried gold chains, girdles of great 
 value, and fans, with highly ornamented holders. Their shoulders were 
 covered with a sort of plaited collar, or neckerchief [barero], of linen or 
 of cambric. The gown was generally of damask, of a crimson or violet 
 colour, having a lower border, six inches wide. The sleeves were 
 slashed and puffed, permitting the chemise to show through. The 
 cuffs, in which the arms of the chemise ended, accorded in style with the 
 collar. The bodice, when worn, consisted of tissue of gold, and 
 was unusually long. Sometimes the robe was made so long as to trail 
 on the ground. 
 
 " The men wore on their heads a balzo similar to that of the women, 
 made of leather, and round like a diadem. Above this they placed a 
 head-dress composed of a tissue of gold or silk. The shirt had a plaited 
 bosom, and a low, ruffled collar. The waist of the coat was short, and 
 the skirt reached to the knees ; the sleeves were full, and extended to the 
 elbow ; the shirt-sleeves, which were provided with ruffled cuffs, covered 
 the rest of the arm. The coat was ornamented with broad, coloured 
 bands, made of cloth of gold, or velvet, or other material. The shoes 
 were of velvet." 
 
 It is further stated by Vecellio that the garment now known as an 
 "arm-hole cloak" was sometimes worn over the attire first described. 
 This was made of silk or velvet, and depended to the ankles. It was 
 embellished with a broad, turn-over collar, sometimes made of fur, and 
 with hanging sleeves, which might be worn over those of the coat and 
 shirt. The breeches were slashed and puffed, and were fastened below 
 the knee. The shoes were very broad at the toes. 
 
 Bertuccio should, of course, wear motley. The hood of the court 
 jester was garnished with ass's ears, and he commonly carried a bauble 
 in his hand. Bertuccio's position at the court of Manfredi is analogous 
 to that of Touchstone at the court of Frederick, in "As You Like It." 
 
 III.— The Element of Deformity. 
 
 "A jealous, misanthropical, and irritable temper was his prominent 
 characteristic. The sense of his deformity haunted him like a phantom, 
 and the insults and scorn to which this exposed him had poisoned his 
 heart with fierce and bitter feelings, which, from other points in his
 
 APPENDIX. 05 
 
 character, do not appear to have been more largely infused into his 
 original temperament than that of his fellow-men. * * * The heart 
 and the doors that are shut against every other earthly being shall open 
 to thee and to thy sorrows. * * * Look at every book which we 
 have read — those excepted of that abstract philosophy which finds no 
 responsive voice in our natural feelings. Is not personal form, such as 
 at least can be tolerated without horror and disgust, always represented 
 as essential to our ideas of a friend, far more a lover ? Is not such a 
 misshapen monster as I am excluded by the very fiat of Nature from her 
 fairest enjoyments ? * * * The scoff of the rabble and the sneer of 
 the yet more vulgar of his own rank were to him agony and breaking 
 on the wheel. * * * It was as if the last cable at which the vessel 
 rode had suddenly parted, and left her abandoned to all the wild fury of 
 the tempest." 
 
 Sir Walter Scott's Novel of "The Black Dwarf." 
 
 IV.— Substance and Drift of The Fool's Revenge. 
 
 The terror that subdues the mind and the pity that melts the heart 
 unite in elevating the moral and spiritual tone of humanity. They make 
 mankind more virtuous and more humane ; and therein they exert an 
 influence which blesses the world. Both these forces are aroused and 
 stimulated by the tragedy of "The Fool's Revenge." It is a gloomy 
 piece, but it is full of power. It is adroitly constructed, vigourously 
 written, and animated by a swift, exciting, propulsive, and indomitable 
 movement toward a climax ; and it tells a terrible story of good and 
 evil passions. Its main motive is to rebuke the wickedness of human 
 vengeance. Its literary and dramatic substance consists in the analysis 
 of an exceptional phase of human nature. It depicts the love, the 
 suffering, the rage, the hate, the frenzy, the mingling of angel and 
 demon, and— finally — the awful fate of a man of austere mind and 
 tender heart shut up in a deformed body, and burdened with a tremen- 
 dous experience of cruelty and anguish. 
 
 The tragedy, in its English transformation, is free from all the grossness 
 of Victor Hugo's " Le Roi s'Amuse," upon which, remotely, it is based. 
 Bertuccio, when first presented in it — as the Court Fool to Count 
 Maafredi, the Lord of Faenza,— has suffered a pathetic bereavement. 
 The poor creature remembers' a happy home, wherein he was blessed 
 with the love of an affectionate, faithful wife. That wife was torn from 
 him, by a ruthless noble ; and it is to avenge this outrage that Bertuccio 
 now lives and labours. He has been crazed ; but the cloud of lunacy 
 has lifted, and the wreck of deformed manhood that now remains is
 
 0.6 APPENDIX. 
 
 animated by one love, one hate, and one fearful purpose. The love is 
 for his daughter ; the hate is for his wronger ; the purpose is revenge. 
 The scheme that Bertuccio forms is to counsel his employer, Manfredi — 
 a wicked, powerful, unscrupulous man — to abduct the wife of his arch- 
 enemy, Count Malatesta. The first act of the drama shows the relations 
 of these persons and the unfolding of this plot. The second act shows 
 how, by a series of circumstances, strangely yet naturally contrived, the 
 daughter of Bertuccio was substituted for the Countess Malatesta, and 
 how the unfortunate Jester ignorantly became a party to the forcible 
 carrying off of his own child. The third act depicts, — first his demoniac 
 glee, in thinking over the consummation of his insane vengeance ; then 
 his paroxysms of anguish, consequent on the discovery of what has 
 really chanced ; and finally his rescue of his daughter, and his death. 
 
 Physical deformity has seldom been borne with patience. It reacts on 
 the nature that it incloses. It saddens or it embitters. A deformed man 
 is usually reticent and secretive. He shrinks from contact or observa- 
 tion. He suspects, on every hand, pity, contempt, aversion, or ridicule. 
 He is morbidly sensitive. He withdraws his life from the obvious and 
 sun-lit pathways of the world, and dwells in solitary and sequestered 
 places ; and there he nurses his emotions, whether of love or hate, till 
 they acquire intense strength. If he be a man of deep heart and proud 
 mind, and if his nature be illumined by the light of genius, he will 
 develop an amazing individuality. Pope and Byron come out of literary 
 history as ready examples of this truth. These, of course, are exponents 
 of an exceptional class ; but, as the same human nature runs through 
 all classes, the same general results are apparent in all the victims of 
 deformity. The deformed man is placed at a disadvantage, and the 
 cruel fact shapes and colours his whole experience. That experience, 
 accordingly, attracts the analytical student of life, and stimulates the 
 imaginative literary artist, by suggesting sharp dramatic contrasts. Sir 
 Walter Scott has delineated phases of it with great vigour of treatment, 
 and in a singularly beautiful atmosphere of romance, in his novel of 
 " The Black Dwarf." Other authors have touched upon it, with more or 
 less success ; but no other great writer seems to have brooded over it so 
 deeply as Victor Hugo has, for the purposes of art. To remind the 
 reader of his Quasimodo, is at once to illustrate this meaning and to 
 suggest a representative embodiment of this exceptional individuality. 
 Bertuccio is, in some respects, a companion portrait ; and certainly one 
 of the most affecting images in all literature of the misery that laughs. 
 
 New-York, October 26th, 1878. W. W.
 
 BRUTUS 
 
 VOL. Ill
 
 preface* 
 
 r I V//.V version of " Brutus " presents much alteration of 
 ■*■ the tragedy from the form in which it stands among 
 the authentic works of JoJm Howard Payne. The changes 
 originated, for the most part, with the once eminent and 
 honoured tragedian, James Stark — now dead and at rest 
 after many trials and sorrows. They were supplemented 
 with further emendations, ?nade by John McCullough, — 
 from whom the Editor of this volume has derived several 
 useful suggestions for the improvement of the piece, — and 
 by Edwin Booth, whose choice of the text and whose 
 stage-directions are herein pursued and embodied. In this 
 version the tragedy opens with what, in the author's book, 
 is the first scene of act second ; proceeds with the first scene 
 of act first and the third scene of act second ; and ends its first 
 act with the second scene of the first act of the original. 
 Act second opens with the third scene of act first, and 
 closes with the first scene — that of the imprecation upon 
 Sextus — of act third. The first two acts are thus made 
 to present all the important characters in clearly defined 
 relations to each other and to the dra?natic scheme; while 
 the crime against Lucretia and the masquerade practised by 
 Brutus are vividly displayed, and two endings are obtained, 
 of prodigious strength, in which Brutus is the predominant
 
 figure. The excisions include the second scene of the second 
 act, in which Brutus bids Titus to renounce Tarquinia; 
 the second scene of the fourth act, in which are explanatory 
 colloquies that prove superfluous ; and the latter part of the 
 first scene of act fifth, in which the lovers are slowly 
 parted, with lametitable and frantic words. Act third 
 begins with Lucretid's dying speech and suicide — restored 
 from the note to which they were banished by the author, 
 after the first representation of the tragedy, i?i deference to a 
 critical judgment of the time. "Brutus," the author 
 intimates, was built upon the basis of seven earlier plays, 
 illust)-ative of its subject. This Roma?i hero — if that be, 
 indeed, the right ivord to designate a father who destroys 
 his son for what, after all, was but a venial offence against 
 the State — has been glorified by Downman, Cumberland, 
 Lee, Dimcombe, and others — all anterior to Payne. The 
 world seems much to admire the virtue of which its 
 humanity is incapable. Payne's "Brutus " was first acted, 
 December j, 1818, at JDrury Lane, Lo?idon, with Edmutid 
 Keari in the chief part. Its first representation in America 
 occurred on March 13, i8ip, at the Park Theatre, New- 
 York, with James Pritchard as Brutus. Edwin Forrest, 
 Junius Brutus Booth, and others, have since been seen in 
 this character, oti the American stage. The piece is valu- 
 able for its tumultuous action, for its splendid pictorial 
 effects, for its moments of pathos, for its lofty ideal of 
 patriotism, and for the apt strength with which it inculcates 
 the awful holiness of chastity, the dignity of honour, and the 
 value of freedom. 
 
 W. W. 
 
 New- York, July 4th, 1878.
 
 prologue to 2£>mtu£. 
 
 Written by Rev. George Croly. Spoken by H. Kemble, +-t 
 Drury Lane, December 3, 1818. 
 
 * 
 
 Time rushes o'er us ; thick as evening clouds, 
 Ages roll back: — what calls them from their shrouds? 
 What in full vision brings their good and great, 
 The men whose virtues make the nation's fate, 
 The far, forgotten stars of humankind ? 
 The STAGE — the mighty telescope of mind ! 
 If later, luckless arts that stage profane, 
 The actor pleads — not guilty of the stain : 
 He but the shadow flung on fashion's tide: 
 Yours the high will that all its waves must guide: 
 Your voice alone the great reform secures : 
 His but the passing hour — the age is yours. 
 
 Our pledge is kept. Here yet no chargers wheel, 
 No foreign slaves on ropes or scaffolds reel, 
 No Gallick amazons, half naked, climb 
 From pit to gallery — the low sublime 1 
 In Shakespeare's halls shall dogs and bears engage? 
 Where brutes are actors be a booth the stage ! 
 And we shall triumph yet. The cloud has hung 
 Darkly above — but day shall spring — has sprung: 
 The tempest has but swept, not shook the shrine; 
 No lamp that genius lit has ceased to shine! 
 Still lives its sanctity. Around the spot 
 Hover high spirits — shapes of burning thought - 
 Viewless; but call them, on the dazzled eye 
 Descends their pomp of immortality :
 
 Here, at your voice, Rowe, Otway, Southern come 
 
 Flashing like meteors through the age's gloom. 
 
 Perpetual here — king of th' immortal band, 
 
 Sits Shakespeare crowned. He lifts the golden wand, 
 
 And all obey; — the visions of the past 
 
 Rise as they lived — soft, splendid, regal, vast. 
 
 Then Ariel harps along the enchanted wave, 
 
 Then the weird sisters thunder in their cave; 
 
 The spell is wound. Then shows his mightier art 
 
 The Moor's lost soul; the hell of Richard's heart; 
 
 And stamps, in fiery warning to all time, 
 
 "The deep damnation" of a tyrant's crime. 
 
 To-night we take our lesson from the tomb : 
 'T is thy sad cenotaph, colossal Rome ! 
 
 How is thy helmet cleft, thy banner low ; 
 Ashes and dust are all thy glory now ! 
 While o'er thy wreck a host of monks and slaves 
 Totter to "seek dishonourable graves." 
 The story is of Brutus : in that name 
 Towered to the sun her eagle's wing of flame ! 
 When sank her liberty, that name of power 
 Poured hallowed splendours round its dying hour. 
 The lesson lived for man; that heavenward blaze 
 Fixed on the pile the world's eternal gaze. 
 
 Unrivalled England ! to such memories thou 
 This hour dost owe the laurel on thy brow ; 
 Those fixed, when earth was like a grave, thy tread, 
 Prophet and warrior, 'twixt the quick and dead: 
 Those bade thee war for man ; those won the name 
 That crowns thee — famed above all Roman fame. 
 
 Now, to our scene — we feel no idle fear, 
 Sure of the hearts, the British justice here: 
 If we deserve it, sure of your applause — 
 Then, hear for Rome, for England, for "our cause."
 
 * 
 
 "Brutus, who plucked the knife from Lucrece" side, 
 
 Seeing such emulation in their woe, 
 Began to clothe his wit in state and pride, 
 
 Burying in Lucrece' zvound his folly's show. 
 
 He with the Romans was esteemed so 
 As silly, jeering idiots are 7vith kings, 
 For sportive words, and uttering foolish things. 
 
 "But now he throws that shallow habit by. 
 
 Wherein deep policy did him disguise; 
 And armed his long-hid wits advisedly. 
 
 To check the tears in Collatinus' eyes. 
 
 'Thou wronged lord of Rome,' quoth he, 'arise; 
 Let my unsounded self , supposed a fool, 
 Now set thy long-experienced wit to school. . 
 
 " 'Courageous Roman, do not steep thy heart 
 
 In such relenting dew of lamentations : 
 But kneel with me, and help to bear thy part. 
 
 To rouse our Roman gods with invocations, 
 
 That they will suffer these abominations, 
 [Since Rome herself in them doth stand disgraced], 
 By our strong arms from forth her fair streets chased. 
 
 " 'Now by the Capitol that toe adore, 
 
 And by this chaste blood so unjustly stained, 
 By heaven' s fair sun, that breeds the fat earth's store, 
 By all our country rights in Rome maintained, 
 And by chaste Lucrece' soul, that late complained 
 Her -wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife, 
 1 1 'e will revenge the death of this true wife.' 
 
 "This said, he struck his hand upon his breast, 
 And kissed the fatal knife, to end his vow, 
 And to his protestation urged the rest, 
 
 Who, -wondering at him, did his words allow : 
 Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow, 
 And that deep vow which Brutus made before, 
 He doth again repeat, and that they swore." 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 J&rr£ott£ ftqpregentcth 
 
 * 
 
 Sextus, ^| 
 
 Aruns, > Sons to Tarquin The Proud, King of Rome. 
 
 Claudius, J 
 
 Collatinus. 
 
 Lucius Junius, sumamed Brutus. 
 
 Titus, Son to Lucius Junius. 
 
 Valerius, ^ 
 
 LUCRETIUS, \ Roman Patricians. 
 
 HORATIUS, J 
 
 CORUNNA, a Roman General. 
 
 A Centurion. 
 
 A Messenger. 
 
 First Roman. 
 
 Second Roman. 
 
 Third Roman. 
 
 Tullia, Wife to Tarquin, and Queen of Rome. 
 
 Tarquinia, Daughter to Tullia. 
 
 LUCRETIA, Wife to Collatinus, and Daughter to Lucretius. 
 
 Lavinia, Maid to Lucretia. 
 
 Priestess of Rhea. 
 
 A Vestal. 
 
 Lictors, Soldiers, Citizens, Attendants, Vestals, 
 etc. 
 
 plate anti €imc. 
 
 Scene. — In Rome ; in Collatia ; and in the Camp before 
 
 Ardea. 
 Period.— 309 B. C. 
 
 Time of Action.— About four days.
 
 BRUTUS; 
 
 OR, THE FALL OF TARQUIN. 
 
 * 
 
 §>cene JFust. 
 
 f The Tent of Sextus, in the Camp, 
 before ardea. table spread for 
 Banquet. Sextus, Aruns, Claudius, 
 and collatinus discovered, feast- 
 ING. 
 
 Sex. 
 Come, then, here 's to the fairest nymph in Italy, 
 And she 's in Rome. 
 
 Aruns. 
 
 Here 's to the fairest nymph in Italy ; 
 And she is not in Rome. 
 
 Sex, 
 Where is she, then ? 
 
 Aruns. 
 Ask Collatine ; he '11 swear she 's at Collatia. 
 
 Sex. 
 
 His wife ! 
 
 Aruns. 
 Even so. 
 
 Clau. 
 Is it so, Collatine ? 
 
 Well, 't is praiseworthy, in this vicious age, 
 To see a young man true to his own spouse.
 
 IO BRUTUS. 
 
 O, 't is a vicious age ! When I behold 
 One who is bold enough to steer against 
 The wind of tide and custom, I behold him 
 With veneration. 'T is a vicious age ! 
 
 Col. 
 
 Laugh on, though I 'm the subject ! If to love 
 My wife 's ridiculous, I '11 join the laugh ; 
 Though I '11 not say if I laugh at, or with you ! 
 
 Aruns. 
 
 The conscious wood was witness to his sighs, 
 The conscious Dryads wiped their watery eyes, 
 For they beheld the wight forlorn, to-day, 
 And so did I ; — but I shall not betray. 
 Here now he is, however, thanks to me; — 
 That is, his semblance, for his soul dwells hence. 
 How was it when you parted ? She : " My love, 
 Fear not, good sooth, I '11 very constant prove." 
 
 [Spoken in satirical mimicry. 
 He: " So will I, for wheresoe'er I steer, 
 T is but my mortal clay ; my soul is here." 
 
 [All laugh except Collatinus. 
 
 Sex. 
 
 And prithee, Collatine, in what array 
 
 Did the god Hymen come to thee ? how dressed, 
 
 And how equipped ? I fear me much he left 
 
 His torch behind, so that thou couldst not see 
 
 A fault in thy beloved ; or was the blaze 
 
 So burning bright that thy bedazzled eyes 
 
 Have since refused their office ? 
 
 Col. 
 
 And doth Sextus 
 
 Judge by his own experience, then, of others ? 
 To him, I make no doubt, hath Hymen's torch 
 Discovered faults enough ; what pity 't was 
 He had not likewise brought i' th' other hand 
 A mirror, where the prince might read himself.
 
 BRUTUS. II 
 
 Sex. 
 
 I like thee now : thou 'rt gay, and I '11 be grave. 
 As to those dear, delicious creatures, women, 
 Hear what my own experience has taught me : 
 I 've ever found 'em fickle, artful, amorous, 
 Fruitful in schemes to please their changeful fancies, 
 And fruitful in resources when discovered. 
 They love unceasingly, they never change — 
 O, never ! — no ! — excepting in the object. 
 Love of new faces is their first great passion ; 
 Then love of riches, grandeur, and attention. 
 Knowing all this, I seek not constancy, 
 But, to anticipate their wishes, rove, 
 Humour their darling passion, and am blest. 
 
 Col. 
 
 This is the common cant — the stale, gross, idle, 
 Unmeaning jargon — of all those, who, conscious 
 Of their own littleness of soul, avoid 
 With timid eye the face of modest virtue ; 
 Who, mingling only with the base, and flushed 
 With triumphs over those they dare attack, 
 The weak, the forward, or depraved, declare — 
 And fain would make their shallow notions current — 
 That womankind are all alike, and hoot 
 At virtue, wheresoe'er she passes by them. 
 I have seen sparks like these, and I have seen 
 A little worthless village cur all night 
 Bay with incessant noise the silver moon, 
 While she, serene, throned in her pearled car, 
 Sailed in full state along : but Sextus' judgment 
 Owns not his words, and the resemblance glances 
 On others, not on him. 
 
 Sex. 
 
 Let it glance where and upon whom it will, 
 Sextus is mighty careless of the matter. 
 Now hear what I have seen. I 've seen young men, 
 Who, having fancied they have found perfection
 
 12 BRUTUS. 
 
 Col. 
 
 Sextus, no more — lest I forget myself, 
 
 And thee. I tell thee, prince [All rise. 
 
 Aruns. 
 Nay, hold ! 
 Sextus, you go too far. 
 
 Sex. 
 
 Why, pray, good sir, may I not praise the wife 
 Of this same testy, froward husband here, 
 But on his cheek offence must quivering sit, 
 And fancied insult? — the abortive child 
 Of misconstruction, whose near-sighted eye 
 Discerns not jest from real ! 
 
 Col. 
 
 I heed you not — jest on; I '11 aid your humour: 
 
 Let Aruns use me for his princely laughter, 
 
 Let Claudius deck me with ironic praise; 
 
 But when you touch a nearer, dearer subject — 
 
 Perish the man, nay, may he doubly perish, 
 
 Who can sit still, and hear, with skulking coolness, 
 
 The least abuse, or shadow of a slight, 
 
 Cast on the woman whom he loves! 
 
 Aruns. 
 
 If that a man might dare to ope his lips 
 When Collatinus frowns, I would presume 
 To say one word in praise of my own wife ; 
 And I will say, could our eyes stretch to Rome, 
 In spite of the perfections of Lucretia, 
 My wife, who loves her fireside, and hates gadding, 
 Would prove far otherwise employed — and better, 
 Ay, better, as a woman, than the deity 
 Residing at Collatia. 
 
 Sex. [Aside. 
 
 Well timed ! I '11 seize the occasion, 
 View this Lucretia ere I sleep, and satisfy
 
 BRUTUS. 13 
 
 My senses whether fame has told the truth. 
 
 I '11 stake my life on 't — let us mount our horses, 
 
 [ To Collatinus. 
 And post away this instant towards Rome — 
 That we shall find thy wife, and his, and his, 
 Making the most of this, their liberty. 
 Why, 't is the sex : enjoying to the full 
 The swing of licence which their husbands' absence 
 Affords. I '11 stake my life that this is true, 
 And that my own — ill as I may deserve it — 
 Knows her state best, keeps best within the bounds 
 Her matron duties claim ; that she 's at home, 
 While yours are feasting at their neighbours' houses. 
 What say'st thou, Collatine, on rioting at home ? 
 
 Col. 
 
 Had I two lives, I 'd stake them on the trial, 
 Nor fear to live both out. 
 
 Sex. 
 Let us away. 
 
 Come, come, my Collatinus, droop not thus, 
 Be gay. 
 
 Col. 
 I am not sad 
 
 Sex. 
 But fearful for th' event. 
 
 Col. 
 Not in the least. 
 
 Sex. 
 A little. 
 
 Col. 
 Not a whit : 
 You do not know Lucretia. 
 
 Sex. 
 But we shall. 
 Let 's lose no time. Come, brothers, let 's away ! 
 
 [ Exeunt. — Change. 
 
 2
 
 14 BRUTUS. 
 
 « ~ „ v (A Street in Rome. Enter Valerius 
 
 gctnt &econ5. { AND LucRETIUS . 
 
 Val. 
 
 Words are too feeble to express the horror 
 With which my soul revolts against this Tarquin. 
 By poison he obtained his brother's wife; 
 Then by a baser murder grasped the crown. 
 These eyes beheld the aged monarch thrown 
 Down from the Senate-House, his feeble limbs 
 Bruised by the pavement, his time-honoured locks, 
 Which from the very robber would have gained 
 Respect and veneration, bathed in blood : 
 With difficulty raised, and tottering homeward, — 
 The murderers followed — struck him — and he died. 
 
 Lucretius. 
 Inexpiable crime ! 
 
 Val. 
 
 High in her regal chariot Tullia came. 
 The corse lay in the street : the charioteer 
 Tugged back the steeds in horror. " On, slave, on! 
 Shall dead men stop my passage to a throne ? " 
 Exclaimed the parricide. The gore was dashed 
 From the hot wheels up to her diadem. 
 
 Lucretius. 
 
 And heaven's avenging lightnings were withheld. 
 Here rules this Tullia, while the king, her husband, 
 Wastes our best blood in giddy, guilty war. 
 Spirit of Marcus Junius ! would the gods 
 Deign to diffuse thy daring through the land, 
 Rome from her trance with giant spirit would start, 
 Dash off her fetters, and amaze the world. 
 
 Val. 
 
 Junius, didst say ? O, tyranny long since 
 Had sunk, chained — buried, in its native hell! 
 But Tarquin, trembling at his virtues, murdered
 
 BRUTUS. 15 
 
 Him and his elder son. The younger, Lucius, 
 Then on his travels, 'scaped the tyrant's sword, 
 Rut lost his reason at their fearful fall. 
 
 Lucretius. 
 Ay, the same Lucius, who now dwells with Tarquin, 
 The jest, the fool, the laughing-stock o' th' court— 
 Whom the young princes always carry with 'em 
 To be the butt of their unfeeling mirth. 
 
 Val 
 
 Hold ! I hear steps. Great things may yet be done, 
 If we are men and faithful to our country. 
 
 [Exeunt. — Change. 
 
 ICollatia. The House of Collatinus. 
 A Room, lighted. Lugretia, with 
 Lavinia and other attendant Ladies, 
 discovered. all are at work on 
 Embroidery, etc. 
 
 Lucretia. 
 
 How long is it, Lavinia, since my lord 
 
 Hath changed his peaceful mansion for the camp 
 
 And restless scenes of war ? 
 
 Lav. 
 
 Why, in my simple estimation, madam, 
 'T is some ten days or thereabout, for time 
 Runs as it should with me ; in yours, it may be 
 Perhaps ten years. 
 
 Lucretia. 
 
 I do not understand thee : 
 
 Say 'st thou with me time runs not as it should ? 
 
 Explain thy meaning : what should make thee think so ?
 
 1 6 BRUTUS. 
 
 Lav. 
 
 All that I mean is, that if I were married, 
 
 And that my husband were called forth to the wars, 
 
 I should not stray through the grove next my house, 
 
 Invoke the pensive solitude, and woo 
 
 The dull and silent melancholy ; brood 
 
 O'er my own thoughts, alone ; or keep myself 
 
 Within my house mewed up, a prisoner. 
 
 'T is for philosophers to love retirement. 
 
 Women were not made 
 
 To stand cooped up like statues in a niche, 
 
 Or feed on their own secret contemplations. 
 
 Lucretia. 
 
 Go to — thou know'st not what thou say'st, Lavinia. 
 I thank the gods, who taught me that the mind, 
 Possessed of conscious virtue, is more rich 
 Than all the sunless hoards which Plutus boasts ; 
 And that the chiefest glory of a woman 
 Is in retirement ; that her highest comfort 
 Results from home-born and domestic joys ; 
 The noblest treasure a deserving husband, 
 Who, not a prisoner to the eye alone, 
 A fair complexion or melodious voice, 
 Shall read her deeper; nor shall time, which palls 
 The rage of passion, shake his ardent love — 
 Increasing by possession. This, — again I thank 
 The gracious gods, — this husband too is mine ! 
 Soft — I hear footsteps. Hour of rapture ! look! 
 My love, my life, my Collatinus comes. 
 
 \Enter Collatinus, Claudius, A runs, and Sextus l. i. e. 
 
 My lord, most welcome ! 
 
 Col. 
 
 Welcome these, my friends, 
 Lucretia ! — our right royal master's sons. 
 Passing this way, I have prevailed with them 
 To grace our humble mansion.
 
 BRUTUS. 17 
 
 Lucretia. 
 
 Welcome yourself, 
 
 And doubly welcome, that you bring such friends. 
 
 Haste, maidens, haste, make ready for our guests ! 
 
 [Exeunt Lavinia, and other ladies R. 
 My heart is full of joy ! 
 
 Aruns. 
 Rather, fair lady, 
 
 You should be angry that unseasonably, 
 And with abrupt intrusion, we 've thus broke 
 Upon your privacy. 
 
 Lucretia. 
 No, my good lord; 
 
 Those to whom love and my respect are due 
 Can ne'er intrude upon me ; had I known 
 This visit, you, perhaps, might have been treated 
 With better cheer, not a more kind reception. 
 This evening little did I think my house 
 Would have possessed such lodgers. 
 
 Clau. 
 
 Rather, lady, 
 
 Such birds of passage ; we must hence to-night. 
 
 Lucretia. 
 To-night ? doth not my lord say no to that ? 
 
 Col. 
 
 I would, Lucretia ; but it cannot be. 
 If aught the house affords, my dearest love, 
 To set before your guests, I pray prepare it : 
 We must be at the camp ere morning dawn. 
 An hour or two will be the utmost limit 
 Allowed us here. 
 
 Lucretia. 
 
 With all the speed I can, 
 
 I '11 play the caterer ; though I am tempted,
 
 1 8 BRUTUS. 
 
 Would that delay your journey, to be tardy, 
 
 And prove a sluggish housewife. [Exit r. 
 
 Sex. 
 
 This is indeed a wife ! Here the dispute 
 
 Must end; 
 
 And, Collatinus, we must yield to thee ! 
 
 Aruns. 
 
 I will not envy thee ; but 't is a wife 
 
 Of wives, — a precious diamond, picked 
 
 From out the common pebbles. To have found her 
 
 At work among her maids at this late hour, 
 
 And not displeased at our rude interruption ! 
 
 Not to squeeze out a lame apology, 
 
 As, " I am quite ashamed — so unprepared — 
 
 Who could have thought — would I had known of it!" 
 
 And such like tacit hints, to tell her guests 
 
 She wishes them away ! Thou 'rt happy, Collatine. 
 
 Col. 
 Enough, enough ! 
 
 The gods forbid I should affect indifference, 
 And say you flatter me. I am most happy. 
 But Sextus heeds us not; he seems quite lost. 
 
 Sex. 
 Pray, pardon me : 
 
 My mind was in the camp. How wine could heat us 
 To such a mad exploit, at such a time, 
 Is shameful to reflect on : let us mount 
 This instant, and return. 
 
 Col 
 
 Now we are here, 
 
 We shall encroach but little on our time, 
 If we partake the slender fare together 
 Which will, by this, await us. Pray, my lords, 
 This way.
 
 BRUTUS. 19 
 
 Sex. 
 
 Along ! I '11 follow straight. 
 
 [Exeunt Collatinus, Aruns, and Claudius R. 
 Had she staid here till now, I should have done 
 Nothing but gaze. 
 But there 's no hope ! Her face, 
 Her look, her eye, her manners, speak a heart 
 Unknowing of deceit ; a soul of honour, 
 Where frozen chastity hath fixed her throne, 
 And unpolluted nuptial sanctity. 
 
 Peace, undigested thoughts! down, down — till ripened 
 By further time, ye bloom ! 
 
 [Exit r. — Scene changes. 
 
 §>cene JFottttl). — The Camp, before Ardea. 
 
 [Enter Claudius and Aruns, laughing. 
 
 Aruns. 
 
 There is no doctor for the spleen like Lucius. 
 What precious scenes of folly did he act 
 When, lately, through the glorious land of Greece, 
 He went with us to Delphi ! But behold, 
 Where, full of business, his wise worship comes. 
 
 [Enter Lucius Junius, surnamcd Brutus. — This 
 name is bestowed upon him by Tullia, in the 
 first scene of the Second Act. 
 
 Clan. 
 Whither so fast, good Junius, tell us whither ? 
 
 Luc. Jun. 
 
 To Rome, to Rome — the queen demands my presence. 
 The state needs aid, and I am called to court. 
 
 [Claudius and Aruns laugh.
 
 20 BRUTUS. 
 
 Am I a fool ? If so, you cannot say 
 
 I 'm the first fool graced by a monarch's favour. 
 
 Aruns. 
 
 Why, Junius, travel has improved thy wit. 
 Thou speakest shrewdly. 
 
 Luc. Jun. 
 Do I so, my lord ? 
 
 1 'm always glad when you and I agree ; 
 You have just such a wit as I should choose. 
 Would I could purchase such ! though it might split 
 My head, as confined air does — water bubbles! 
 
 Clan. 
 How say you ? Purchase ? Prithee, what wouldst give ? 
 
 Luc. Jun. 
 What would I give ? — ten acres of my land. 
 
 Aruns. 
 Thy land ! Where lies it ? 
 
 Luc. Jun. 
 
 Ask the king, my cousin : 
 
 He knows full well. I thank him, he 's my steward, 
 
 And takes the trouble off my hands. 
 
 Clan. 
 Who told thee so ? 
 
 Luc. Jun. 
 
 The king himself. Now twenty years are past, 
 
 Or more, since he sent for me from my farm. 
 
 " Kinsman," said he, with a kind, gracious smile, 
 
 " For the black crime of treason which was charged 
 
 Against thy father and thy elder brother, 
 
 Their lives have paid : for thee, as I love mercy, 
 
 Live and be happy; simple is thy mind "
 
 BRUTUS. 21 
 
 Aru ns. 
 True, kinsman, true — i' faith, 't is wondrous simple. 
 
 Luc. Jim. 
 
 " And that simplicity will be a pledge 
 
 That thou wilt never plot against thy sovereign." 
 
 Chiu. 
 Indeed, for that I '11 be thy bondsman, Junius. 
 
 Luc. Jim. 
 
 " Live in my house, companion of my children. 
 As for thy land, to ease thee of all care, 
 I '11 take it for thy use ; all that I ask 
 Of thee is gratitude." 
 
 Arum. 
 And art thou not 
 Grateful for goodness so unmerited ? 
 
 Luc. Jim. 
 
 Am I not ? Never, by the holy gods, 
 Will I forget it ! T is my constant prayer 
 To heaven, that I may one day have the power 
 To pay the debt I owe him. But stay, stay — 
 I brought a message to you from the king. 
 
 Aruns. 
 Thank the gods, then, for thy good memory, fool ! 
 
 Luc. Jim. 
 The king, your father, sends for you to council, 
 Where he debates how best to conquer Ardea. 
 Shall I before, and tell him ye are coming ? 
 
 Clau. 
 
 Ay, or behind, or with us, or stay here, 
 
 As thy wits prompt, as suits thy lofty pleasure. 
 
 [Exeunt Aruns and Claudius, laughing. 
 3
 
 2 2 BRUTUS. 
 
 Luc. Jun. 
 
 Yet, 't is not that which ruffles me : the gibes 
 
 And scornful mockeries of ill-governed youth, 
 
 Or flouts of dastard sycophants and jesters — 
 
 Reptiles, who lay their bellies in the dust 
 
 Before the frown of majesty : — all this 
 
 I but expect, nor grudge to bear ; the face 
 
 I carry courts it ! Son of Marcus Junius, 
 
 When will the tedious gods permit thy soul 
 
 To walk abroad in her own majesty, 
 
 And throw this vizor of thy madness from thee, 
 
 To avenge my father's and my brother's murder ? - 
 
 And sweet, I must confess, would be the draught ! - 
 
 Had this been all, a thousand opportunities 
 
 I 've had to strike the blow, and my own life 
 
 I had not valued as a rush ; but still 
 
 There 's something nobler to be done ! — My soul, 
 
 Enjoy the strong conception ! — O, 't is glorious 
 
 To free a groaning country — 
 
 To see Revenge 
 
 Spring like a lion from the den, and tear 
 
 These hunters of mankind. Grant but the time, 
 
 Grant but the moment, gods ! If I am wanting, 
 
 May I drag out this idiot-feigned life 
 
 To late old age, and may posterity 
 
 Ne'er hear of Junius but as Tarquin's fool ! 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 %tt &ctm\b. 
 
 a. jp. i Rome. An .Apartment of State in the 
 
 » ;eae Stttt | Palace of Tullia. 
 
 [Enter Tullia, preceded by Guards, Ladies, and 
 other Attendants, and followed by Valerius. 
 
 Tul. [Aside. 
 
 Why should the steady mind to shadows yield ? 
 And yet this vision shakes my frame with horror ! 
 I thought his spirit thundered in my ear, 
 " Remember when, with wild ambition's frenzy 
 And all Rome's empire in your view, you drove 
 Your chariot-wheels o'er your dead father's body, 
 Up to the shouting Forum ! " Why, my soul, 
 Dost thou not shun remembrance of that hour ? 
 'T was but the cause, the cause ; for this base clay, — 
 How differs it from the dull earth we tread on, 
 When the life 's gone ? But next, the Sibyl came, 
 Whose mystic book at such a price we bought, 
 And cried, " The race of Tarquin shall be kings 
 Till a fool drive them hence, and set Rome free ! " 
 Strange prophecy ! What fool ? It cannot be 
 That poor dolt, the companion of my sons ! 
 Hark thee, Valerius; know'st thou that same fool 
 
 [To Valerius, 
 Now in the camp ? 
 
 Val. 
 
 I know him well, — a man 
 
 Who, when he had a name, was Lucius Junius : 
 
 A braver citizen Rome never boasted, 
 
 And wise and learned withal ; now changed, alas ! — 
 
 A spectacle which humbles me to look on !
 
 24 BRUTUS. 
 
 Tul. 
 But is he harmless in his moody humours ? 
 
 Val. 
 
 Tame as my horse, which, though devoid of reason, 
 Shall turn, shall stop, and at my angry bidding 
 Shall kneel till I am throned on his back ! 
 And this shall Junius : the like instinct stirs 
 Junius and him; no more. 
 
 Tul. [Aside. 
 
 Hence, idle fears ! 
 
 Yet, when he went to Delphi, 't is given out 
 The oracle addressed him with strange portents ; 
 And each night since my dreams have been disturbed 
 By a wild form, too much resembling his, 
 Leading our soldiers forth with sword and flame, 
 Revolters from the camp, to storm the palace. 
 But he is sent from thence, and shall be watched. 
 
 [Enter Horatius L. 
 
 Horatius. 
 
 Your orders are obeyed : Lucius awaits. 
 
 Tul. 
 Set him before us. [Exit Horatius l. 
 
 Tell me, will he answer [ To Valerius. 
 
 If we do question him ? 
 
 Val. 
 I think he will : 
 
 Yet sometimes, when the moody fit doth take him, 
 He will not speak for days ; yea, rather starve 
 Than utter nature's cravings ; then, anon 
 He '11 prattle shrewdly, with such witty folly 
 As almost betters reason. 
 
 [Horatius returns with Lucius Junius L. 
 
 Tul. 
 Hark thee, fellow, 
 How art thou called ?
 
 BRUTUS. 25 
 
 Luc. Jun. 
 A fool. 
 
 Tul. 
 Fool, for thy nature 
 Thou answerest well ; but I demand thy name. 
 
 Luc. Jun. 
 Nothing but fool. 
 
 Tul. 
 His faculties are brutish. [Aside. 
 
 Brutus shall be thy name. [ To Lucius Junius. 
 
 Bru. 
 Thanks to your grace. 
 
 Horatius. 
 Dost like thy new name, gentle brute ? 
 
 Bru. 
 So well, 
 
 Who will may take the fool, I care not who — 
 Your highness, an' it like you. 
 
 Horatius. 
 I the fool ! 
 Sirrah, good words, or I will have thee beaten. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 A fool thou wilt not beat, a brute thou dar'st not, 
 For the dull ass will kick against his striker, 
 If struck too harshly. 
 
 Tul. 
 Let me hear no more-, 
 
 There 's mischief in his folly. Send him hence. 
 But stay, I '11 search him further. Hark thee, Brutus : 
 Thou wast at Delphi, with our sons the princes ; 
 Tell me what questions put they to Apollo ? 
 
 [All give eager attention to this.
 
 2 6 BRUTUS. 
 
 Bru. 
 Your sons did ask who should be chief in Rome. 
 
 Tul. 
 Ha ! What replied the oracle to that ? 
 
 Bru. 
 
 With pains and strugglings the prophetic dame 
 This destiny reported from her god : 
 " Great and most glorious shall that Roman be, 
 Who first shall greet his mother with a kiss." 
 
 Tul. 
 That is fulfilled by Sextus. 
 
 Horatius. 
 
 Ay, he straight 
 
 Hastened from thence and kissed the queen his mother. 
 
 Bni. 
 
 Woe for me, I have no mother ! 
 And yet I kissed her first. 
 
 Tul. 
 Thou kissed her ? Thou ? 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Yea, madam; for just then my foot did slip 
 
 In the fresh blood of a new-slaughtered victim, 
 
 And, falling, I did kiss my mother — earth. [All start. 
 
 Tul. 
 
 O, that the earth had swallowed thee outright 
 Till thou hadst kissed the centre ! I perceive, 
 The gods are leagued with folly to destroy us. 
 My very blood chills at my heart. Away ! 
 
 [Flourish. Exeunt Tullia and Attendants C.
 
 BRUTUS. 27 
 
 Horatius. 
 
 Hark thee, thou Brutus. I in part suspect 
 Thou ap'st this folly ; if I find thee trifling 
 Or juggling with the Pythia for predictions, 
 By all the gods, I '11 have thee flayed, thy skin 
 Stripped into thongs, to strangle thee withal. 
 Dissembling varlet! [Strikes Brutus, who seizes him. 
 
 [Horatius draws dagger. 
 Val. 
 Shame, my lord ! forbear ! 
 Threat'ning a fool, you do but wrong yourself. 
 
 Horatius. 
 
 But that the princes love his son, brave Titus, 
 
 My dagger should have pierced his throat ere now 
 
 And sent him to his mother earth forever ! 
 
 He shall be watched. Come, come with me, Valerius. 
 
 [Exit c. 
 Val. 
 
 The gods restore thee, Brutus, to thyself, 
 
 And us to thee ! [Exit c. 
 
 Brit. 
 
 A little longer, 
 
 A little longer yet support me, patience ! 
 The day draws on : it presses to the birth, 
 I see it in the forming womb of time, — 
 The embryo liberty. Ha, 't is my son ! 
 Down, rebel nature, down ! 
 
 [Enter Titus R. 1. e. 
 Tit. 
 Welcome to Rome ! 
 Would I might welcome thee to reason, too ! 
 
 Bru. 
 Give me thy hand — nay, give it me. 
 
 Tit. 
 What wouldst thou ? 
 Speak to thy son.
 
 28 BRUTUS. 
 
 Bru. 
 I had a thing to say, 
 But I have lost it. Let it pass ; no matter. 
 
 Tit. 
 
 Look not upon me with those eyes, but speak; 
 What is it that annoys thee ? tell thy friend : 
 How can I serve thee ? What dost lack ? 
 
 Bru. 
 Preferment. 
 Thou canst do much at court. 
 
 Tit. 
 
 Ah, this is nothing ! 
 
 Bru. 
 
 So much the fitter for a fool's petition, 
 And a court promise. 
 
 Tit. 
 
 O, this trifling racks me. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Lend me thine ear : I '11 tell a secret to thee 
 Worth a whole city's ransom. This it is — 
 Nay, ponder it, and lock it in thy heart — 
 There are more fools, my son, in this wise world, 
 Than the gods ever made. 
 
 Tit. 
 
 Say'st thou, my father? 
 
 Expound this riddle. If thy mind doth harbour 
 Aught that imports a son like me to know, 
 Or, knowing, to achieve, declare it. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Now, my son, 
 
 Should the great gods, who made me what thou see'st, 
 
 Repent, and in their vengeance cast upon me 
 
 The burden of my senses back again, 
 
 What wouldst thou say ?
 
 BRUTUS. 29 
 
 Tit. 
 
 O, my lamented father, 
 
 Would the kind gods restore thee to thy reason 
 
 Bru. 
 Then, Titus, then I should be mad with reason. 
 Had I the sense to know myself a Roman, 
 This hand should tear this heart from out my ribs, 
 Ere it should own allegiance to a tyrant. 
 If, therefore, thou dost love me, pray the gods 
 To keep me what 1 am. Where all are slaves, 
 None but the fool is happy. 
 
 Tit. 
 We are Romans, 
 
 Not slaves 
 
 Bru. 
 Not slaves ? Why, what art thou ? 
 
 Tit. 
 Thy son. 
 Dost thou not know me ? 
 
 Bru. 
 
 You abuse my folly. 
 
 I know thee not. Wert thou my son, ye gods, 
 Thou wouldst tear off this sycophantic robe, 
 Tuck up thy tunic, trim these curled locks 
 To the short warrior-cut, vault on thy steed ; 
 Then, scouring through the city, call to arms, 
 And shout for liberty ! 
 
 Tit. [Starts. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Defend me, gods ! 
 
 Ha ! does it stagger thee ? 
 
 Tit. 
 For liberty ? 
 
 Said'st thou for liberty ? It cannot be. 
 4
 
 3° BRUTUS. 
 
 Bru. 
 Indeed ! 'T is well — no more. 
 
 Tit. 
 
 What would my father ? 
 
 Bru. 
 Begone ! you trouble me. 
 
 Tit. 
 Nay, do not scorn me. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Said I, for liberty ? I said it not : 
 
 The awful word, breathed in a coward's ear, 
 
 Were sacrilege to utter. Hence, begone ! 
 
 Said I you were my son ? 'T is false; I 'm foolish; 
 
 My brain is weak, and wanders ; you abuse it. 
 
 Tit. 
 
 Ah, do not leave me; not in anger leave me. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Anger ? What 's that ? I am content with folly : 
 
 Anger is madness, and above my aim ! f Music heard. 
 
 Hark ! here is music for thee, — food for love, — 
 
 And beauty to serve in the rich repast. 
 
 Tarquinia comes. Go, worship the bright sun, 
 
 And let poor Brutus wither in the shade. [Exit l. i.e. 
 
 Tit. 
 
 O, truly said ! bright as the golden sun 
 Tarquinia's beauty beams, and I adore ! 
 
 [ Tarquinia enters, preceded by Women bearing a 
 crown of gold, together with palms for the cere- 
 monial of a dedication to Fortune. 
 
 What dedication, or what holy service, 
 Doth the fair client of the gods provide ? 
 In the celestial synod is there one 
 Who will not listen to Tarquinia's prayer ?
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Tar. 
 
 I go to Fortune's temple, to suspend 
 Upon the votive shrine this golden crown. 
 While incense fills the fane, and holy hymns 
 Are chaunted for my brother's safe return, 
 What shall I ask for Titus ? 
 
 lit. 
 Though the goddess 
 
 In her blind bounty should unthrone the world 
 To build me one vast empire, my ambition, 
 If by thy love unblest, would slight the gift : 
 Therefore of Fortune I have nought to ask ; 
 She hath no interest in Tarquinia's heart; 
 Nature, not Fortune, must befriend me there. 
 
 Tar. 
 Thy gentle manners, Titus, have endeared thee ; 
 Although a subject Roman, to Tarquinia. 
 My brother Sextus wears thee next his heart ; 
 The queen herself, of all our courtly youth, 
 First in her favour holds the noble Titus ; 
 And, though my noble father well may keep 
 A jealous eye upon thy Junian race, — 
 A race unfriendly to the name of king, — 
 Yet thee he cherishes : with generous joy 
 The monarch sees thy early virtue shoot, 
 And, with a parent's fondness, rears its growth, 
 
 Tit. 
 O, neither name, nor nature, nor the voice 
 Of my lost father, could he wake to reason, 
 Not all the wrongs that tyranny could pile 
 On my afflicted head, not all the praise 
 That patriot gratitude could shower upon me, 
 Can shake the faithful purpose of my soul, 
 To sever it from love and my Tarquinia. 
 
 Tar. 
 
 Approve that firmness in the shock of trial, 
 And, if my love can recompense thy virtue,
 
 3 2 BRUTUS. 
 
 Nor tortures, nor temptations, nor the wreck 
 Of Rome and empire shall divide me from thee. 
 To this I pledge my hand. Now to the temple. 
 
 [Music. — Exeunt c. — Scene changes. 
 
 ( Rome. The Capitol. Equestrian 
 Recite §>ccon&. < Statue of Tarquin the Proud, c. 
 ( Night. Thunder and Lightning. 
 
 [Enter Brutus. 
 Bru. 
 
 Slumber forsakes me, and I court the horrors 
 Which night and tempest swell on every side. 
 Launch forth thy thunders, Capitolian Jove ! 
 Put fire into the languid souls of men ; 
 Let loose thy ministers of wrath amongst them, 
 And crush the vile oppressor ! Strike him down, 
 Ye lightnings! Lay his trophies in the dust ! 
 
 [Storm increases. 
 Ha! this is well ! Flash, ye blue-forked fires ! 
 Loud-bursting thunders, roar ! and tremble, earth ! 
 
 [Loud peal of thunder. The statue of Tarquin is 
 struck by a fash of lightning, is shattered to 
 pieces, and falls in fragments. 
 
 What ! fallen at last, proud idol, struck to earth! 
 I thank you, gods ! I thank you ! When you point 
 Your shafts at human pride, it is not chance, 
 'T is wisdom levels the commissioned blow. 
 But I — a thing of no account — a slave — 
 I to your forked lightnings bare my bosom 
 In vain, for what 's a slave — a dastard slave — 
 A fool, a Brutus ? 
 
 [Sounds of tempest very loud. 
 Hark ! the storm rides on, 
 The scolding winds drive through the clattering rain,
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 33 
 
 And loudly screams the haggard witch of night. 
 
 Strange hopes possess my soul : my thoughts grow wild, 
 
 Engender with the scene, and pant for action. 
 
 With your leave, majesty, I '11 sit beside you, 
 
 And ruminate awhile. [Sits on a fragment of the statue. 
 
 O, for a cause ! A cause, ye mighty gods ! 
 
 Soft, what stir is this ? 
 
 [Enter Valerius, followed by a Messenger l. u. e. 
 
 Val. 
 What ! Collatinus sent for, didst thou say ? 
 
 Mess. 
 
 Ay, Collatinus, thou, and all her kinsmen, 
 To come upon the instant to Collatia ; 
 She will take no denial. Time is precious, 
 And I must hasten forth to bring her husband. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Ha! Collatinus and Lucretia's kinsmen! 
 There 's something sure in this. Valerius, too ! 
 Well met. Now will I put him to the test. 
 Valerius, ho ! 
 
 [Exit r. 
 [Aside. 
 
 Who calls me ? 
 Brutus. 
 
 Go, 
 
 Get thee to bed ! 
 
 Valerius ! 
 
 Val. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Val. 
 
 Bru. 
 Val. 
 
 [ Turning back. 
 
 [ Valerius is departing r. 
 
 Peace, 
 
 Thou foolish thing ! Why dost thou call so loud ? 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Because I will be heard ! The time may come 
 When thou may'st want a fool.
 
 34 BRUTUS. 
 
 Val. 
 Prithee, begone ! 
 I have no time to hear thy prattle now. 
 
 Bru. 
 By Hercules, but you must hear. [Seizing his arm. 
 
 Val. 
 You '11 anger me. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Waste not your noble anger on a fool ! 
 'T were a brave passion in a better cause. 
 
 Val. 
 Thy folly 's cause enough. 
 
 Bru. 
 Rail not at folly, 
 There 's but one wise, and him the gods have killed. 
 
 Val. 
 Killed? Whom? [Thunder. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 [Pointing to the shattered statue. 
 Behold ! 
 
 O, sight of pity ! Majesty in ruins ! 
 Down on your knees, down to your kingly idol ! 
 
 Val. 
 Let slaves and sycophants do that. Not I ! 
 
 Bru. 
 Wilt thou not kneel ? 
 
 Val. 
 Begone ; 
 Valerius kneels not to the living Tarquin. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Indeed ! Belike you wish him laid as low?
 
 BRUTUS. 35 
 
 Val. 
 What if I do? {Thunder. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Jove tells thee what to do! Strike ! 
 
 0, the difference 'tvvixt Jove's wrath and thine ! 
 
 He, at the crowned tyrant aims his shaft ; 
 
 Thou, mighty man, wouldst frown a fool to silence, 
 
 And spurn poor Brutus from thee. 
 
 Val. 
 What is this ? 
 
 Let me look nearer at thee. Is thy mind, 
 That long-lost jewel, found ? and Lucius Junius, 
 Dear to my heart, restored ? Or art thou Brutus, 
 The scoff and jest of Rome, and this a fit 
 Of intermittent reason ? 
 
 Bru. 
 I am Brutus ! 
 
 Folly, be thou my goddess ! I am Brutus, 
 If thou wilt use me so ; if not, farewell ! 
 Why dost thou pause ? Look on me ! I have limbs, 
 Parts and proportions, shoulders strong to bear, 
 And hands not slow to strike ! What more than Brutus 
 Could Lucius Junius do ? 
 
 Val. 
 A cause like ours 
 
 Asks both the strength of Brutus, and the wisdom 
 Of Lucius Junius. [Noise outside. 
 
 Bru. 
 No more — we 're interrupted. 
 
 Val. 
 
 Farewell. Hereafter, we '11 discourse. 
 
 And may the gods confirm the hope you 've raised ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 Bru. 
 
 My soul expands ! My spirit swells within me, 
 As if the glorious moment were at hand !
 
 36 BRUTUS. 
 
 Sure this is Sextus. Why has he left the camp — 
 Alone — and muffled ? 
 
 [Enter Sextus r. u. e., wrapped in a mantle. 
 Welcome, gentle prince ! 
 
 Sex. 
 
 Ha ! Brutus here ! — unhoused amid the storm ? 
 
 Bru. 
 Whence com'st thou, prince ? from battle ? from the camp ? 
 
 Sex. 
 
 Not from the camp, good Brutus — from Collatia — 
 The camp of Venus, not of Mars, good Brutus. 
 
 Bru. 
 Ha! 
 
 Sex. 
 
 Why dost thou start ? Thy kinswoman, Lucretia 
 
 Bru. 
 Well, what of her ? speak ! 
 
 Sex. 
 Ay, I will speak, 
 
 And I '11 speak that shall fill thee with more wonder 
 Than all the lying oracle declared. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Nay, prince, not so ; you cannot do a deed 
 To make me wonder. 
 
 Sex. 
 Indeed ! Dost think it ? 
 
 Then let me tell thee, Brutus : wild with passion 
 For this famed matron, — though we met but once, — 
 Last night I stole in secret from the camp, 
 Where, in security, I left her husband. 
 She was alone. I said affairs of consequence 
 Had brought me to Collatia. She received me 
 As the king's son, and as her husband's friend —
 
 BRUTUS. 37 
 
 jBru. [Aside. 
 
 Patience. O heart ! — a moment longer, patience ! 
 
 Sex. 
 When midnight came, I crept into her chamber 
 
 Bru. [Aside. 
 
 Inhuman monster ! 
 
 Sex. 
 
 Alarmed and frantic, 
 
 She shrieked out, " Collatinus ! Husband ! Help ! " 
 
 A slave rushed in — I sprung upon the caitiff, 
 
 And drove my dagger through his clamorous throat; 
 
 Then, turning to Lucretia, now half dead 
 
 With terror, swore, by all the gods, at once, 
 
 If she resisted, to the heart I 'd stab her ; 
 
 Yoke her fair body to the dying slave, 
 
 And fix pollution to her name forever ! 
 
 Bru. 
 And — and — the matron ? — 
 
 Sex. 
 Was mine ! was mine ! 
 
 Bru. 
 
 The furies curse you, then ! lash you with snakes ! 
 
 When forth you walk, may the red flaming sun 
 
 Strike you with livid plagues ! 
 
 Vipers that die not slowly gnaw your heart ! 
 
 May earth be to you but one wilderness ! 
 
 May you hate yourself, 
 
 For death pray hourly, yet be in tortures 
 
 Millions of years expiring ! 
 
 Sex. 
 Amazement ! What can mean this sudden frenzy ? 
 5
 
 38 BRUTUS. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 What ? Violation ! Do we dwell in dens, 
 In caverned rocks, or amongst men, in Rome? 
 
 [T/i under and lightning very loud. 
 Hear the loud curse of heaven ! 'T is not for nothing 
 The thunderer keeps this coil above your head ! 
 Look on that ruin ! See your father's statue 
 Unhorsed and headless ! Tremble at the omen ! 
 
 Sex. 
 
 This is not madness. Ha ! my dagger lost ! 
 
 Wretch ! thou shalt not escape me. Ho ! a guard ! 
 
 The rack shall punish thee. A guard, I say ! [Exit l. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 The blow is struck ! the anxious messages 
 
 To Collatinus and his friends explained : 
 
 And now, Rome's liberty or loss is certain ! 
 
 I '11 hasten to Collatia, join my kinsmen. 
 
 To the moon, folly ! Vengeance, I embrace thee ! 
 
 [Exit R. I. E. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 Collatia. Apartment in the House 
 
 Scene Jtret i 0F CoLLATINUS - Lucretia, Colla- 
 tinus, Lucretius, Valerius, Ladies 
 and Attendants, discovered. 
 
 Lucretia. 
 
 Bear witness, then, Lucretia's mind is guiltless ; 
 
 Yet never can Lucretia smile again. 
 
 Lost to herself, her husband, and her child ; 
 
 Lost to the world, her country, and her friends ; 
 
 The arms of love can pillow her no more, 
 
 And the sweet smile of her dear innocent babe 
 
 Would but awaken her to deeper anguish. 
 
 And shall she live, bereft of all life's treasures, 
 
 The spectre of the past forever rising 
 
 To fright her into madness ? Think not, countrymen, 
 
 Indignant virtue can survive pollution. 
 
 By her own hand a Roman wife can fall. [Stabs herself. 
 
 T is to the heart ! Tarquin, the blow was thine ! [Falls. 
 
 Col. 
 Beloved, unhappy wife ! What hast thou done ? 
 
 Lucretia. 
 
 A deed of glory. Now, my husband, now 
 
 With transport can I press thee to my bosom. 
 
 Father and kinsmen, ye can own me now ! 
 
 My pure soul springs from its detested prison ! 
 
 Virtue exults ! The gods applaud my daring ! 
 
 And to our dear, loved babe, I can bequeath 
 
 A mother's noblest gift — a spotless name ! [Dies.
 
 40 BRUTUS. 
 
 Lucretius. 
 
 Staff of my age — gone, gone, forever gone ! 
 
 A wretched father's last and only joy ! 
 
 Come, death, strike here ; your shaft were welcome now ! 
 
 Snatch me from earth to my poor, lost, loved child ! 
 
 Col. 
 
 My wife ! my wife ! Dear, dear, wronged, murdered wife ! 
 
 Let me be rooted here in endless sorrow. 
 
 Who, who shall dare to mourn her loss like me ? 
 
 [Enter Brutus l. i. e. 
 Bru. 
 I dare! [All start. 
 
 And so dare every honest Roman. 
 
 Lucretius. 
 Whence comes this mad intrusion ? Hence, begone ! 
 
 Bru. 
 The noble spirit fled ! How died Lucretia ? 
 
 Val. 
 By her own hand she died ! 
 
 Bru. 
 Heroic matron ! 
 
 Now, now the hour is come ! By this one blow 
 Her name 's immortal, and her country saved. 
 Hail ! dawn of glory ! [Snatching the dagger. 
 
 Hail, thou sacred weapon ! 
 Virtue's deliverer, hail ! 
 
 Hear, Romans, hear! did not the Sibyl tell you, 
 A fool should set Rome free ? I am that fool. 
 Brutus bids Rome be free ! 
 
 AIL 
 What can this mean ? 
 
 Bru. 
 
 It means that Lucius Junius has thrown off 
 The mask of madness, and his soul rides forth
 
 BRUTUS. 4 1 
 
 On the destroying whirlwind, to avenge 
 
 The wrongs of that bright excellence, and Rome. 
 
 Lucretius. 
 Can this be Lucius Junius ? 
 
 Val. 
 
 Ha ! the voice 
 
 Of inspiration speaks. 
 
 Col. 
 O glorious Brutus, 
 
 Let me in tears adore the bounteous gods 
 Who have restored thee to redress my woes ; 
 And, in my woes, my country. 
 
 Bru. 
 No more of this. 
 
 Stand not in wonder. Every instant now 
 Is precious to your cause. Rise ! Snatch your arms ! 
 
 [Kneels. 
 Hear me, great Jove ! and thou, paternal Mars, 
 And spotless Vesta ! To the death, I swear 
 My burning vengeance shall pursue these Tarquins. 
 Ne'er shall my limbs know rest till they are swept 
 From off the earth, which groans beneath their infamy. 
 This, from the bottom of my soul, I swear ! [Rises. 
 
 Valerius, Collatine, Lucretius, all, 
 Here I adjure ye by this fatal dagger, 
 All stained and reeking with her sacred blood, 
 Be partners in my oath, revenge her fall ! 
 
 All. 
 We swear ! [Placing their hands on dagger. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Well have ye said : and, O, methinks I see 
 The hovering spirit of the murdered matron 
 Look down and bow her airy head to bless you. 
 Summon your slaves, and bear the body hence,
 
 4 2 BRUTUS. 
 
 High in the view, through all the streets of Rome, 
 Up to the Forum. On ! The least delay 
 May draw down ruin, and defeat our glory. 
 On, Romans, on ! The fool shall set you free ! 
 
 [Exeunt, severally, all but Collatinus. — Scene 
 chatiges. 
 
 ~ ^ i Rome. Apartment in the Palace of 
 
 fttene fteconh. { TuLLIA . 
 
 [Enter Corunna, meeting Horatius. 
 
 Cor. 
 My lord, my lord ! Quick, tell me where is Tullia ? 
 
 Horatius. 
 Whence this alarm ? what wouldst thou ? 
 
 Cor. 
 
 Rebellion rages 
 Rebellion ? 
 
 Horatius. 
 Cor. 
 
 Lucretia, 
 
 The wife of Collatinus, is no more. 
 
 The furious multitude have borne her body 
 
 With shouts of vengeance through the streets of Rome, 
 
 And " Sextus Tarquin," is the general cry. 
 
 Horatius. 
 
 Where are thy troops ? why dost thou dally here, 
 When thou shouldst pay their insolence with death ? 
 
 Cor. 
 
 The soldiers join the throng, the gates are closed, 
 And the mad crowd exclaim, " We banish Tarquin." 
 Brutus is at their head, and leads them on.
 
 BRUTUS. 43 
 
 Horatius. 
 What miracle is this ? How say'st thou, Brutus ? 
 
 Cor. 
 
 Ay, the fool Brutus. Now before the rostrum 
 
 The body of Lucretia is exposed, 
 
 And Brutus there harangues assembled Rome. 
 
 He waves aloft 
 
 The bloody dagger; all the people hear him 
 
 With wildest admiration and applause : 
 
 He speaks as if he held the souls of men 
 
 In his own hand, and moulded them at pleasure. 
 
 They look on him as they would view a god, 
 
 Who, from a darkness which invested him, 
 
 Springs forth, and, knitting his stern brow in frowns, 
 
 Proclaims the vengeful will of angry Jove. 
 
 Horatius. 
 
 Fly through the city ; gather all the force 
 You can assemble, and straight hasten hither : 
 I '11 to the queen. Lose not a moment ! Hence ! 
 I tremble for Rome's safety! Haste! — begone! 
 
 [Exeunt. — Scene changes. 
 
 Recite ©IjtrtJ. 
 
 The Forum. — Brutus upon the 
 Forum. — The Dead Body of Lu- 
 cretia BEFORE HIM. COLLATINUS, 
 
 Lucretius, Valerius and others 
 discovered. the populace fill 
 the Stage. 
 
 Brn. 
 
 Thus, thus, my friends, fast as our breaking hearts 
 Permitted utterance, we have told our story; 
 And now, to say one word of the imposture, 
 The mask necessity has made me wear,
 
 44 BRUTUS. 
 
 When the ferocious malice of your king, — 
 
 King, do I call him? — when the monster, Tarquin, 
 
 Slew, as the most of you may well remember, 
 
 My father, Marcus, and my elder brother, — 
 
 Envying at once their virtues and their wealth, — 
 
 How could I hope a shelter from his power, 
 
 But in the false face I have worn so long ? \All shout. 
 
 First Rom. 
 Most wonderful ! 
 
 Second Rom. 
 
 Silence ! he speaks again. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Would you know why I summoned you together ? 
 
 Ask ye what brings me here ? Behold this dagger, 
 
 Clotted with gore ! Behold that frozen corse ! 
 
 See where the lost Lucretia sleeps in death ! 
 
 She was the mark and model of the time, 
 
 The mould in which each female face was formed, 
 
 The very shrine and sacristy of virtue ; 
 
 Fairer than ever was a form created 
 
 By youthful fancy when the blood strays wild, 
 
 And never-resting thought is all on fire, 
 
 The worthiest of the worthy. Not the nymph 
 
 Who met old Numa in his hallowed walks, 
 
 And whispered in his ear her strains divine, 
 
 Can I conceive beyond her. Such perfections 
 
 Might have called back the torpid breast of age 
 
 To long-forgotten rapture ; such a mind 
 
 Might have abashed the boldest libertine 
 
 And turned desire to reverential love 
 
 And holiest affection. O, my countrymen, 
 
 You all can witness when that she went forth, — 
 
 It was a holiday in Rome ; old age 
 
 Forgot its crutch, labour its task; all ran; 
 
 And mothers, turning to their daughters, cried, 
 
 " There, there 's Lucretia." Now, look ye, where she lies. 
 
 That beauteous flower, that innocent sweet rose, 
 
 Torn up by ruthless violence — gone, gone, gone !
 
 BRUTUS. 45 
 
 All. 
 
 Sextus shall die ! 
 
 Bra. 
 But then, the king, his father 
 
 First Rom. 
 What shall be done with him ? 
 
 Second Rom. 
 
 Speak, Brutus! 
 Tell us, tell us ! 
 
 All. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Say, would you seek instruction ? would ye ask 
 What ye should do ? Ask ye yon conscious walls, 
 Which saw his poisoned brother, saw the incest 
 Committed there, and they will cry, Revenge ! 
 Ask yon deserted street, where Tullia drove 
 O'er her dead father's corse ; 't will cry, Revenge ! 
 Ask yonder senate-house, whose stones are purple 
 With human blood, and it will cry, Revenge ! 
 Go to the tomb where lies his murdered wife, 
 And the poor queen, who loved him as her son ; 
 Their unappeased ghosts will shriek, Revenge ! 
 The temples of the gods, the all-viewing heavens, 
 The gods themselves, shall justify the cry, 
 And swell the general sound, — Revenge, Revenge ! 
 
 All. 
 Revenge ! Revenge ! 
 
 Bru. 
 
 And we will be revenged, my countrymen ! 
 Brutus shall lead you on ; Brutus, a name 
 Which will, when you 're revenged, be dearer to him 
 Than all the noblest titles earth can boast. 
 6
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 First Rom. 
 Second Rom. 
 Third Rom. 
 
 All speak 
 together. 
 
 46 
 
 Live, Brutus! 
 Valiant Brutus ! 
 
 Down with Tarquin ! 
 
 Second Rom. 
 We '11 have no Tarquins ! 
 
 First Rom. 
 We will have a Brutus ! 
 
 Third Rom. 
 Let 's to the Capitol, and shout for Brutus ! 
 
 All. 
 Brutus shall be king ! 
 
 Bru. 
 I your king ? 
 Brutus your king ? No, fellow-citizens ; 
 If mad ambition in this guilty frame 
 Had strung one kingly fibre, — yea, but one, — 
 By all the gods, this dagger which I hold 
 Should rip it out, though it entwined my heart. 
 
 Val. 
 
 Then I am with thee, noble, noble Brutus. 
 Brutus, the new restored, Brutus, by Sibyl, 
 By Pythian prophetess, foretold, shall lead us ! 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Now take the body up; bear it before us 
 
 To Tarquin 's palace ; there we '11 light our torches, 
 
 And in the blazing conflagration, rear 
 
 A pile for these chaste relics, that shall send 
 
 Her soul amongst the stars. On ! Brutus leads you ! 
 
 [The people rush out, shouting. 
 
 QUICK CURTAIN. 
 
 [Shouting. 
 [Descends.
 
 %tt tfourtjj. 
 
 C Rome. Tarquin's Palace. A Court. 
 ^>cene jFtvst. ) At back a Grand Entrance, with 
 ( Folding Gates. 
 
 [Enter Tullia. 
 
 Tul. 
 
 Gods ! whither shall a frantic mother fly ? 
 Accursed siege of Ardea ! Tarquin, Tarquin, 
 Where art thou ! Save thy wife, thy son, thy city ! 
 
 [Enter Titus R. 
 Tit. 
 Where is the prince, — where 's Sextus ? 
 
 Tul. 
 Where ? O heavens ! 
 
 His madness hath undone us ! Where is Sextus ? 
 Perhaps ev'n now the barbarous ruffians hurl him 
 Alive into the flames, or, piecemeal, drag 
 Along the rebel streets his mangled trunk 
 
 Tit. 
 No more ! I '11 save him, or avenge ! [Going l. 
 
 [Enter Horatius l, who meets Titus, and stops him. 
 
 Horalius. 
 
 Turn, noble Roman, turn ; 
 
 Set not your life upon a desperate stake. [Shouts within. 
 
 Hark ! they are at the gates ! 
 
 Tul. 
 Does my son live ?
 
 \8 BRUTUS. 
 
 Horatius. 
 
 Furious he sprang upon the rebel throng, 
 
 And hewed his desperate passage. But the time 
 
 Admits no further question. — Save yourself! 
 
 Till. 
 
 Who leads them on ? 
 
 Horatius. 
 Your new-named fool, your Brutus. 
 
 Tit. 
 
 Death ! my father ? 
 
 Tul. 
 Brutus in arms ! 
 
 O, Sibyl! O, my fate! Farewell to greatness! 
 I 've heard my doom. 
 
 Tit. 
 Earth, earth, enclose me! [Continued shouts within. 
 
 Tul. 
 Hark ! it bursts upon us ! 
 
 Horatius. 
 
 Ha ! nearer yet. Now be propitious, Mars ! 
 Now nerve my arm with more than mortal fury, 
 Till the dissembler sink beneath its vengeance. 
 
 [Exit L. U. E. 
 
 Tul. 
 
 Fly, save my child! save my — save your Tarquinia! 
 
 Tit. 
 Or die defending. \Exit l. u. e. 
 
 [ The tumult becomes very violent, and battering at 
 the gate and wall begins. 
 
 Tul. 
 
 Ah ! if amidst my legions I might fall, 
 
 Death were not then inglorious; but to perish
 
 BRUTUS. 49 
 
 By the vile scum of Rome — hunted by dogs — 
 Baited to death by brawling, base mechanics — 
 Shame insupportable ! [Loud clamour. 
 
 [ The gate and wall are shattered, and they fall, 
 i?iward, in a broken mass. The palaces behind 
 are seen inflames. — Enter Soldiers and Citizens, 
 rushing over the ruins ; Brutus appears amongst 
 them, and advances to the front. 
 
 Bru. 
 Seize the parricide ! [ They surround Tullia. 
 
 Tul. 
 Avaunt ! I am your queen ! 
 
 Bru. 
 Tarquins, we cast you from us. 
 
 Tul. 
 Give me a sword, and let me fall like Tullia. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 No, we reserve our swords for nobler uses 
 
 Than to make war with women ; to the Tarquins, 
 
 To your adulterous sons, we leave that shame. 
 
 Tul. 
 
 If then 't will better sate thy cruelty, 
 Precipitate me quick into those flames, 
 And with the wreck of empire mix my ashes. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Take her to Rhea's temple ; take her hence, 
 And Iodide her with her ancestors! 
 
 *&■>■ 
 
 Tul. 
 Ye gods ! 
 My father's sepulchre ! I '11 not approach it !
 
 [jO BRUTUS. 
 
 Bru. 
 'T will furnish wholesome recollection. Hence ! 
 
 Tul. 
 Not to that fatal place ! Send me not thither ! 
 
 Bru. 
 'T is fixed. 
 
 Tul. 
 
 Choose the most loathsome dungeon — there confine me, 
 Or give me death instead. My heart recoils 
 Against that temple. 
 
 Bru. 
 There, and only there, 
 By your dead father's tomb, you must abide 
 The judgment of the State. 
 
 Tul. 
 Then, by the gods, 
 Whom, for the last time, I invoke, 
 If no means else 
 
 Of ready death present themselves, 
 No particle of food shall pass these lips, 
 Till, in the void of nature, hungry madness, 
 With blank oblivion entering, shall confound 
 And cancel all perception. 
 
 [Exit R. Tullia, guarded. Brutus is following 
 Enter Titus l. u. e. 
 
 Tit. 
 Turn, O my father, 
 And look upon thy son ! 
 
 Bru. 
 
 What wouldst thou ? speak. 
 
 Tit. 
 
 If thou hast reason, O, have mercy also; 
 
 But if in madness thou hast done this deed
 
 BRUTUS. 51 
 
 Bru. 
 
 I am not mad, but as the lion is, 
 
 When he breaks down the toils that tyrant craft 
 
 Hath spread to catch him. Think not we will suffer 
 
 These monsters to profane the air of heaven. 
 
 Shall Titus, then, oppose our great design ? 
 
 Shall Brutus meet a recreant in his son ? 
 
 Banish this folly ! Have a care ! I know thee : 
 
 There is a lurking passion at thy heart, 
 
 Which leaves but half a soul for Rome and me. 
 
 Tit. 
 
 You wrong me. Like a Roman I exult 
 To see Lucretia's murder thus avenged, 
 Vnd like a son glory in such a father! 
 Yet hear me through ; nay, do not frown, but hear me. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Go on ; confess thy weakness, and dismiss it. 
 
 Tit. 
 
 'T was in the sleep of my dear father's reason, 
 When Tarquin's freedman, in a saucy mood, 
 Vented vile jests at thy unhappy weakness, 
 Stung to the quick, I snatched a weapon up, 
 And felled him to my foot. 
 
 Bru. 
 Why, 't was well done. 
 The knave was saucy, and you slew him. On ! 
 
 Tit. 
 
 'T was on this very spot Tarquinia stood, 
 
 And when the wrathful father had denounced 
 
 Immediate death on this my filial act, 
 
 She with the tongue of interceding pity, 
 
 And tears that streamed in concert with her suit, 
 
 Implored, prevailed, and gave me life — and love.
 
 5 2 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 'T is well. Behold, I give her life for life : 
 Rome may be free, although Tarquinia lives. 
 This I concede ; but more if thou attemptest, — 
 By all the gods ! — nay, if thou dost not take 
 Her image, though with smiling Cupids decked, 
 And pluck it from thy heart, there to receive 
 Rome and her glories in without a rival, — 
 Thou art no son of mine ! thou art no Roman ! 
 
 [Exit Brutus r., followed by soldiers and citizens. 
 Enter Tarquinia L. a. e. 
 
 Tar. 
 
 Save, save me, Titus ! O, amid the crash 
 
 Of falling palaces, preserve Tarquinia ! 
 
 Or, do I meet in thee a double rebel, 
 
 Traitor alike to me and to thy king ? 
 
 Speak, I conjure thee ! Will the son of Brutus 
 
 Now take me to his pity and protection, 
 
 Or stab with perfidy the heart that loves him ? 
 
 Tit. 
 
 Cruel suspicion ! O, adored Tarquinia, 
 I live but to preserve you ! You are free : 
 I have my father's sanction for your safety ! 
 
 Tar. 
 
 I scorn a life that is preserved by Brutus ! 
 I scorn to outlive parents, brothers, friends ! 
 I "11 die with those 
 Whom this dire night hath murdered ! 
 
 Tit. 
 Who are murdered ? 
 
 Whom hath the sword of Brutus slain ? Not one 
 Of all thy kindred 
 
 Tar. 
 Say'st thou ? Lives my mother ?
 
 BRUTUS. 53 
 
 Tit. 
 
 She lives, and Sextus, even he escapes 
 
 The storm which he has raised, and flies to Ardea. 
 
 Tar. 
 
 Speed him, ye gods, with eagle swiftness thither! 
 
 And may those thunders which now shake the walls 
 
 Of tottering Ardea, like a whirlwind burst 
 
 On this devoted city, 'whelm its towers, 
 
 And crush the traitorous hive beneath their ruins. 
 
 Now, Titus, where is now thy promised faith ? 
 
 Didst thou not swear no dangers should divide us ? 
 
 Tit. 
 
 I did ; and, constant to my oath, behold me 
 Thy faithful guardian in this night of terrors. 
 
 Tar. 
 
 Be still my guardian ; snatch me from these terrors, 
 Bear me to Ardea, be the friend of nature, 
 And give the rescued daughter to the arms 
 Of her protecting parent ; thus you gain 
 The praise of men, the blessings of the gods, 
 And all that honour, all that love can grant. 
 
 Tit. 
 Despair ! Distraction ! Whither shall I turn me ? 
 
 Tar. 
 
 Why do you waver ? Cast away this weakness ; 
 
 Be glorious in your cruelty, and leave me. 
 
 By all the demons who prepare the heart 
 
 To rush upon the self-destroying steel, 
 
 The same dire moment which gives thee to Brutus, 
 
 Gives me to death. 
 
 Tit. 
 Horror ! Tarquinia, hold ! 
 7
 
 54 BRUTUS. 
 
 Tar. 
 
 Lo ! I am armed. Farewell ! How I have loved you, 
 My death shall witness ; how you have deceived me, 
 Let your own conscience tell. Now to your father ! 
 Now go and mingle with the murderers ; 
 Go, teach those fiends what perjury can do, 
 And show your hands bathed in Tarquinia's blood : 
 The filial deed shall welcome you to Brutus, 
 And fill his gloomy soul with savage joy. 
 
 Tit. 
 
 Take, take me hence forever ! Let me lose, 
 In these dear arms, the very name of son, 
 All claims of nature, every sense but love ! 
 
 Tar. 
 
 The gods that guard the majesty of Rome, 
 
 And that sweet power, whose influence turns thy heart 
 
 To pity and compliance, shall reward 
 
 And bless thee for the deed. 
 
 Tit. 
 
 Can he be blest 
 
 On whom a father's direful curse shall fall ? 
 
 Tar. 
 A madman's imprecation is no curse. 
 
 Tit. 
 
 O, while thy love upholds me, I can stand 
 Against the world's contempt ; remember, only, 
 For whose dear sake I am undone ; remember, 
 My heart was honour's once 
 
 Tar. 
 And shall be ever ! 
 
 Come, I will show thee where bright honour grows, 
 Where thou shalt pluck it from the topmost branch, 
 And wear it in its freshest, fairest bloom. 
 
 [Exeu/it l. u. E.
 
 BRUTUS. 55 
 
 [Scene Second is sometimes omitted.] 
 
 f The Temple of Rhea. A large Door, 
 
 JsH-ew i^ecoiuJ. 
 
 leading to the Tomb of Servius 
 tullius, former klng of rome, 
 the Father of Tullia, visible, c. 
 
 [Enter the Priestess of Rhea, meeting the Vestal 
 Virgins of the Temple. 
 
 Pr. 
 
 Daughters of Rhea, since the lords of Rome 
 Have to your holy hands consigned the charge 
 Of their now captive queen, inform the Priestess 
 How your sad prisoner abides her durance. 
 Is her proud soul yet humbled, or, indignant, 
 Doth it still breathe defiance and contempt ? 
 
 Ves. Vir. 
 
 Sullen and silent, she resolves on death : 
 
 She will not taste of nourishment. She comes. 
 
 [Enter Tullia. 
 
 Pr. 
 
 I pray you, royal lady, be entreated 
 
 Tul. 
 I tell you, no ! 
 
 Pr. 
 
 Think what a train of weary hours have passed 
 Since you had taste of food. 
 
 Tul. 
 'T is well ! 
 The fewer are to come. 
 
 Pr. 
 
 How can you live to meet your royal husband, 
 To fold your children in your arms again, 
 If you resist support ?
 
 -ft BRUTUS. 
 
 Till. 
 
 Ha ! well remembered ! 
 
 What news from Ardea ? Will he march for Rome? 
 
 Hark ! Do you hear his trumpet ? Is he coming ? 
 
 Ay, this is hope, and worth the feeding. 
 
 'T is well, 't is well ! 
 
 But, tell me, doth the king know of this kindness ? 
 
 Pr. 
 
 What king ? 
 
 Tul. 
 
 What king ? 
 
 Brutus, the king of Rome. Knows he of this ? 
 
 Pr. 
 
 He does. 
 
 Tul. 
 
 And would he I should live ? 
 
 Pr. 
 
 He would. 
 
 Tul. 
 
 Merciful villain ! 
 
 Yes, he would have me live to grace his triumphs. 
 
 I know the utmost of his mercy. 
 
 Subtle traitor ! 
 
 I '11 not taste food, though immortality 
 
 Were grafted to each atom. — Hark ! What 's that ? 
 
 Heard you that groan ? 
 
 Pr. 
 It is your fancy's coinage. 
 
 Tul. 
 
 Again ! 'T is deep and hollow : 
 
 It issues from the vault ! Set the door open ! 
 
 Open, I say ! 
 
 Pr. 
 It is your father's sepulchre.
 
 BRUTUS. 57 
 
 Tul. 
 
 My father ! righteous gods ! 1 killed my father ! 
 Horrible retribution ! 
 
 Tr. 
 
 Wretched daughter, 
 
 If thou hast done this deed, prepare thy spirit, 
 
 By wholesome meditation, for atonement, 
 
 And let no passion interrupt the task 
 
 Of penitence and prayer. 
 
 Tul. 
 
 I '11 pray no more. 
 
 There is no mercy in the skies for murder; 
 
 Therefore no praying, none. 
 
 I have a plea for my impenitence — 
 
 Madness. 
 
 These groans have made me mad; all the night through 
 
 They howled distraction to my sleepless brain. 
 
 You 've shut me up with furies to torment me, 
 
 And starved me into madness. Hark! again ! 
 
 Unbar the door ! Unbar it! By the gods, 
 
 The voice is more than human which I hear! 
 
 I '11 enter there, I will be satisfied, 
 
 Although the confirmation should present 
 
 His awful form. 
 
 [She rushes forward. The Tries tess and Vestals, 
 in alarm, interpose, hut cannot withstand her. 
 She dashes against the tomb. The bars within, 
 fall, with a crash ; the doors fly open, and re- 
 veal a monumental figure of Servius Tullius. 
 Tullia recoils, shrieks, falls, and expires. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 C Rome. Before the Temple of Mars. 
 
 Brutus and Collatinus, as Consuls, 
 
 &trnc Jfiretf. «J with Lictors, Valerius, Lucretius, 
 
 AND NUMEROUS FOLLOWERS, DISCOV- 
 ERED. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 You judge me rightly, friends. The purpled robe, 
 The curule chair, the lictors' keen-edged axe, 
 Rejoice not Brutus ; 't is his country's freedom. 
 When once that freedom shall be firmly rooted, 
 Then, with redoubled pleasure, will your consul 
 Exchange the splendid miseries of power 
 For the calm comforts of a happy home. 
 
 [Enter a Messenger L. i.e. 
 
 Mess. 
 All health to Rome, her senate, and her consuls. 
 
 Bru. 
 Speak on ! What message hast thou to impart ? 
 
 Mess. 
 
 I bring intelligence of Sextus Tarquin, 
 Who, on arriving at a neighbouring village, 
 Was known, and by the people stoned to death. 
 
 | Messenger goes up stage. 
 
 Bru. 
 Now, Lucretia, 
 
 Thy ghost may cease to wander o'er the earth, 
 And rest in peace !
 
 BRUTUS. 59 
 
 Lucretius. 
 Heaven's ways are just ! 
 
 Col. 
 
 Yet I regret the villain should be slain 
 By any hand but mine. 
 
 f Enter a Centurion r. u. e. 
 
 Cent. 
 
 Health to Brutus! 
 
 Shame and confusion to the foes of Rome ! 
 
 Bru. 
 Now, without preface, soldier, to your business. 
 
 Cent. 
 
 As I kept watch at the Quirinal gate, 
 Ere break of day, an armed company 
 Burst, on a sudden, through the barrier guard, 
 Pushing their course for Ardea. Straight alarmed, 
 I wheeled my cohort round, and charged 'em home. 
 Sharp was the conflict for awhile, and doubtful, 
 Till on the seizure of Tarquinia's person, 
 A young patrician 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Ha ! patrician ? 
 
 Cent. 
 Such 
 His dress bespoke him, though to me unknown. 
 
 Bru. 
 Proceed I What more ? 
 
 Cent. 
 The lady being taken, 
 This youth, the life and leader of the band, 
 His sword high waving in the act to strike, 
 Dropt his uplifted weapon, and at once 
 Yielded himself my prisoner. — O, Valerius, 
 What have I said, that thus the consul changes ?
 
 6o 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Bru. 
 Why do you pause ? Go on. 
 
 Cent. 
 Their leader seized, 
 
 The rest surrendered. Him, a settled gloom 
 Possesses wholly, nor, as I believe, 
 Hath a word passed his lips, to all my questions 
 Still obstinately shut. 
 
 Bru. 
 Bring him before us. 
 
 [Exit Centurion r. u. e. 
 
 Val. 
 O, my brave friend, horror invades my heart. 
 
 Bru. 
 Silence, be calm. 
 
 Val. 
 
 I know thy soul 
 
 A compound of all excellence, and pray 
 The mighty gods to put thee to no trial 
 Beyond a mortal bearing. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 No, they will not — 
 
 Nay, be secure, — they cannot. Prithee, friend, 
 
 Look out, and if the worst that can befall me 
 
 Be verified, turn back and give some sign 
 
 What thou hast seen : thou canst excuse this weakness, 
 
 Being thyself a father. [Valerius gives a sign. 
 
 Ha ! Enough : 
 
 I understand thee. Since it must be so, 
 
 Do your great pleasure, gods ! Now, now it comes ! 
 
 [Titus and Tarquinia are brought in, guarded, 
 R. u. E. Titus advances. Tarquinia remains 
 behind. 
 
 Tit. 
 
 My father ! Give me present death, ye powers !
 
 BRUTUS. 6 1 
 
 Cent. 
 
 What have I done ? Art thou the son of Brutus ? 
 
 Tit. 
 
 No, Brutus scorns to father such a son ! 
 
 O, venerable judge, wilt thou not speak ? \ Titus kneels. 
 
 Turn not away ; hither direct thine eyes, 
 
 And look upon this sorrow-stricken form ; 
 
 Then to thine own great heart remit my plea, 
 
 And doom as nature dictates. 
 
 Val. 
 
 Peace, you '11 anger him ! 
 
 Be silent and await ! O, suffering mercy, 
 
 Plead in a father's heart, and speak for nature ! 
 
 [ Brutus turns away from his son, and waves his 
 hand to the Centurion to remove him to a little 
 distance. Titus rises and retires. 
 
 Bru. 
 Come hither, Collatinus. [Collaiinus advances L. 
 
 The deep wound 
 
 You suffered in the loss of your Lucretia 
 Demanded more than fortitude to bear : 
 I saw your agony, I felt your woe. 
 
 Col. 
 You more than felt it, you revenged it, too. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 But, ah ! my brother consul, your Lucretia 
 Fell nobly, as a Roman spirit should ; 
 She fell, a model of transcendent virtue. 
 
 Cot. 
 My mind misgives. What dost thou aim at, Brutus ? 
 
 Bru. 
 
 That youth — my Titus — was my age's hope; 
 I loved him more than language can express ; 
 I thought him born to dignify the world. 
 8
 
 62 
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 Col. 
 My heart bleeds for you ! He may yet be saved 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Consul — for Rome I live, not for myself: 
 I dare not trust my firmness in this crisis, 
 Warring 'gainst every thing my soul holds dear. 
 Therefore return without me to the senate ; 
 Haply my presence might restrain their justice. 
 Look that these traitors meet their trial straight, 
 And then despatch a messenger to tell me 
 How the wise fathers have disposed of Go! 
 
 \Collati tins goes out r., attended, and as Brutus is 
 departing l., Tarquinia rushes forward. 
 
 Tar. 
 
 Stop, — turn and hear the daughter of your king! 
 
 I speak for justice, — mercy, thou hast none, — 
 
 For him, your son. 
 
 By gratitude and love I drew him off. 
 
 I saved his life, — 
 
 Who shall condemn him for protecting mine ? 
 
 Bru. 
 
 We try the crime ; the motive heaven will judge. 
 
 My honour he hath stabbed, — I pardon that. 
 
 He hath done more, — he hath betrayed his country. 
 
 That is a crime which every honest heart 
 
 That beats for freedom, every Roman feels, 
 
 And the full stream of justice must have way. 
 
 Tar. 
 
 Because thy soul was never swayed by love, 
 Canst thou not credit what his bosom felt ? 
 
 Bru. 
 
 I can believe that beauty such as thine 
 
 May urge a thousand fascinating snares 
 
 To lure the wavering and confound the weak;
 
 BRUTUS. 6$ 
 
 But what is honour, which a sigh can shake ? 
 What is his virtue, whom a tear can melt ? 
 Truth, valour, justice, constancy of soul, — 
 These are the attributes of manly natures. 
 Be woman ne'er so beauteous, man was made 
 For nobler uses than to be her slave. 
 
 Tar. 
 
 Hard, unrelenting man ! Are these the fruits 
 
 Of filial piety, and hath thy son 
 
 Wearied the gods with prayers till they restored 
 
 A mind, and gave thee reason ? Would to heaven 
 
 They 'd given thee mercy, too! 't would more become thee 
 
 Than these new ensigns, Brutus; more than all 
 
 Thy lictors, haughty consul, or thy robes 
 
 Dipped in the blood — O horror! — of a son. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 No more ! By all the gods, I '11 hear no more! 
 
 [ Brutus goes L. 
 Tit. 
 A word, for pity's sake. [ Titus kneels. 
 
 Before thy feet, 
 
 Humbled in soul, thy son and prisoner kneels. 
 Love is my plea, a father is my judge, 
 Nature my advocate ; I can no more. 
 If these will not appease a parent's heart, 
 Strike through them all, and lodge thy vengeance here ! 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Break off ! I will not, cannot hear thee further ! 
 The affliction nature hath imposed on Brutus, 
 Brutus will suffer as he may. Enough 
 That we enlarge Tarquinia. Go, be free! 
 
 [ Titus rises. Tarquinia goes to him. 
 Centurion, j Centurion advances. 
 
 Give her conduct out of Rome. 
 Lictors, attend : secure your prisoner. 
 
 [Lictors advance one step.
 
 64 BRUTUS. 
 
 Point your axes ! 
 
 [Lie tors turn the edges of their axes towards Titus. 
 To the Senate ! [Lictors face to r. 
 
 On! [Exit Brutus iu. Picture. Scene closes in. 
 
 ifcecne §>cconto. — A Room in the House of Brutus. 
 
 [Enter Brutus. 
 Bru. 
 
 Like a lost, guilty wretch, I look around 
 And start at every footstep, lest it bring 
 The fatal news of my poor son's conviction. 
 
 O, Rome, thou little know'st no more — it comes. 
 
 [Enter Valerius L. i. e. 
 
 Val. 
 
 My friend, the senate have to thee transferred 
 The right of judgment on thy son's offence. 
 
 
 Bru. 
 
 To me ! 
 
 
 
 Val. 
 
 To thee alone. 
 
 
 
 Bru. 
 
 What of the rest ? 
 
 
 Val. 
 
 Their sentence is already passed. 
 
 E'en now, perhaps, the lictor's dreaded hand 
 
 Cuts off their forfeit lives. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Say'st thou the senate have to me referred 
 The fate of Titus ?
 
 BRUTUS. 65 
 
 Veil 
 
 Such is their sovereign will. 
 They think you merit this distinguished honour: 
 A father's grief deserves to be revered. 
 Rome will approve whatever you decree. 
 
 Bru. 
 And is his guilt established beyond doubt ? 
 
 Val. 
 Too clearly. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 O, ye gods ! ye gods ! Valerius ! 
 
 Val. 
 What wouldst thou, noble Roman ? 
 
 Bru. 
 
 'T is said thou hast pulled down thy house, Valerius, 
 The stately pile that with such cost was reared. 
 
 Val. 
 I have ; but what doth Brutus thence infer ? 
 
 Bru. 
 
 It was a goodly structure : I remember 
 How fondly you surveyed its rising grandeur ; 
 With what a fatherly delight you summoned 
 Each grace and ornament that might enrich 
 The child of your creation, till it swelled 
 To an imperial size, and overpeered 
 The petty citizens, that humbly dwelt 
 Under its lofty walls, in huts and hovels, 
 Like emmets at the foot of towering ./Etna ! 
 Then, noble Roman, then with patriot zeal, 
 Dear as it was, and valued, you condemned 
 And levelled the proud pile ; and, in return,
 
 66 BRUTUS. 
 
 Were by your grateful countrymen surnamed, 
 And shall to all posterity descend, — 
 Poplicola. 
 
 Val. 
 Yes, Brutus, I conceive 
 The awful aim and drift of thy discourse ; 
 But I conjure thee, pause ! Thou art a lather. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 I am a Roman consul ! What, my friend, 
 Shall no one but Valerius love his country 
 Dearer than house, or property, or children ? 
 Now, follow me, and in the face of heaven, 
 I '11 mount the judgment seat ; there, see if Brutus 
 Feel not for Rome as warmly as Poplicola. 
 
 [Exeunt l. 
 
 Before the Temple of Mars. A Tri- 
 bunal, with a Consular Chair upon 
 s>cnu- iMiru. «j IT Collatinus, Lucretius, Sena- 
 (_ tors, and Citizens discovered. 
 
 [Enter Brutus, followed by Valerius. — Brutus 
 ascends the Tribunal. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Romans, the blood which hath been shed this day 
 
 Hath been shed wisely. Traitors, who conspire 
 
 Against mature societies may urge 
 
 Their acts as bold and daring ; and though villains, 
 
 Yet they are manly villains ; but to stab 
 
 The cradled innocent, as these have done, 
 
 To strike their country in the mother-pangs 
 
 Of struggling childbirth, and direct the dagger 
 
 To freedom's infant throat, is a deed so black, 
 
 That my foiled tongue refuses it a name. [A pause.
 
 BRUTUS. 67 
 
 There is one criminal still left for judgment ; 
 Let him approach. 
 
 [Titus is brought in by the Lie tors R. 1. E. 
 
 Prisoner 
 
 Romans, forgive this agony of grief, 
 My heart is bursting, nature must have way : 
 I will perform all that a Roman should, 
 1 cannot feel less than a father ought. 
 
 [He gives a signal to the Lictors to fall back, and 
 then advances from the judgment-seal to Titus. 
 
 Well, Titus, speak, how is it with thee now ? 
 Tell me, my son, art thou prepared to die ? 
 
 Tit 
 Father, I call the powers of heaven to witness 
 Titus dares die, if so you have decreed. 
 The gods will have it so. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 They will, my Titus ; 
 
 Nor heaven nor earth can have it otherwise. 
 
 It seems as if thy fate were preordained 
 
 To fix the reeling spirits of the people, 
 
 And settle the loose liberty of Rome. 
 
 'T is fixed. O, therefore, let not fancy cheat thee: 
 
 So fixed thy death, that 't is not in the power 
 
 Of mortal man to save thee from the axe. 
 
 Tit. 
 The axe ! O, heaven, then must I fall so basely ? 
 What, shall I perish like a common felon ? 
 
 Bru. 
 
 How else do traitors suffer ? Nay, Titus, more, 
 
 I must myself ascend yon sad tribunal, 
 
 And there behold thee meet this shame of death, — 
 
 With all thy hopes, and all thy youth upon thee ; 
 
 See thy head taken by the common axe, 
 
 All, — if the gods can hold me to my purpose, — 
 
 Without one groan, without one pitying tear.
 
 68 BRUTUS. 
 
 Tit. 
 Die like a felon — ha, a common felon ! 
 But I deserve it all. Yet here I fail ; 
 This ignominy quite unmans me. 
 
 O, Brutus, Brutus ! Must I call you father, [Kneels. 
 
 Yet have no token of your tenderness, 
 No sign of mercy, — not even leave to fall 
 As noble Romans fall, by my own sword ? 
 Father, why should you make my heart suspect 
 That all your late compassion was dissembled ? 
 How can I think that you did ever love me ? 
 
 Bru. 
 Think that I love thee by my present passion, 
 By these unmanly tears, these earthquakes here, 
 These sighs that strain the very strings of life ; 
 Let these convince you that no other cause 
 Could force a father thus to wrong his nature. 
 
 [Goes up stage. 
 
 Tit. 
 O, hold, thou violated majesty! [Rises. 
 
 I now submit with calmness to my fate. 
 Come forth, ye executioners of justice, 
 Come, take my life, and give it to my country ! 
 
 Bru. 
 Embrace thy wretched father. May the gods 
 Arm thee with patience in this awful hour ! 
 The sovereign magistrate of injured Rome 
 Condemns 
 
 A crime, thy father's bleeding heart forgives. 
 The violated genius of thy country 
 Rears his sad head and passes sentence on thee. 
 Go, meet thy death with a more manly courage 
 Than grief now suffers me to show in parting; 
 And, while she punishes, let Rome admire thee ! 
 Farewell ! Eternally farewell ! 
 
 Tit. 
 O, Brutus ! O, my father !
 
 BRUTUS. 69 
 
 Bru. 
 
 What wouldst thou say, my son ? 
 
 Tit. 
 Wilt thou forgive me ? 
 When I shall be no more, forget not my Tarquinia. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Leave her to my care. 
 
 Tit. 
 
 Farewell, forever ! [Kneeling, slowly. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Forever! [Re-ascends the Tribunal, assisted by Colla- 
 
 tinus and Valerius. 
 Lictors, attend ! Conduct your prisoner forth ! 
 
 All. 
 Whither ? 
 
 Bru. 
 To death ! [Titus rises, ,] When you do reach the spot, 
 My hand shall wave your signal for the axe ; 
 Then, let the trumpet's sound proclaim it done ! 
 
 [Brutus sits. 
 [Titus is led oat by the Lictors. A dead march, 
 which gradually dies away. Brutus remains, 
 seated, on the Tribunal. 
 Poor youth ! Thy pilgrimage is at an end ! 
 A few sad steps have brought thee to the brink 
 Of that tremendous precipice whose depth 
 No thought of man can fathom. [Dead march ceases. 
 
 Justice now 
 
 Demands her victim ! A little moment, 
 And I am childless. One effort, and 't is past ! — 
 
 [He rises and waves his hand; three sounds of 
 the trumpet arc heard. 
 Justice is satisfied, and Rome is free ! 
 
 [Brutus falls. The characters group around him. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 BRUTUS. 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 I.— Sketch of the Author of Brutus. 
 
 JOHN HOWARD PAYNE was born on June 9, 1791, in a house 
 which formerly stood near the corner of Pearl and Broad streets, 
 New- York. Of his ancestry but little is known. His maternal 
 grandfather was a Hebrew, and, according to the legend on his 
 tombstone, — at East Hampton, Long Island, — "an Israelite, indeed, 
 in whom there was no guile." This accident of Hebrew lineage he 
 shares with some of the most distinguished players that have appeared. 
 His childhood was passed at East Hampton, Long Island, but at an 
 early age he was taken to live in Boston. While still a boy his 
 spirit was fired with emulation by the success, in England, of "The 
 Young Roscius," Master Betty. Not being permitted to act, however, 
 he became a writer upon acting, and discussed his favourite topic in the 
 newspapers. At this time he became acquainted with Samuel Wood- 
 worth, author of the "Old Oaken Bucket," who was then an appren- 
 tice in a printing office, and who chanced to be publishing, for 
 amusement, a child's paper, called "The Fly." In this young Payne 
 assisted ; till, after a while, he was sent to New- York and put into a 
 counting-house, with the special understanding that his employers 
 should, in their care of him, repress, and, if possible, destroy his taste 
 for the theatre. Under these restraints he clandestinely edited and 
 published [1806] a theatrical sheet, called "The Thespian Mirror," 
 —which was thought to display remarkable strength and maturity of 
 intellect. Attracted by the promise of the youthful editor, a practical 
 friend, Mr. John E. Seaman, offered to pay the expenses of his 
 education at a University. This offer was accepted, and Payne left 
 the counting-house forever. 
 
 It would not seem that his withdrawal from trade was a serious detri- 
 ment to the mercantile interest, nor that he suffered poignant regret at 
 the change of occupation. Fears were entertained, though, that he
 
 72 APPENDIX. 
 
 would be spoiled ; and much gratuitous advice — the cheap benevolence 
 of commonplace persons — was poured upon him from various sources. 
 He had but few friends, it appears, who were men of the world. One 
 of these — Charles Brockden Brown, the novelist — addressed him the 
 following wise and gracious words : " Were it possible for a miracle to 
 be wrought in your favour, and that the experience of a dozen years 
 could be obtained without living so long, there would be little danger 
 that a heart so unperverted as yours would mislead you. The experi- 
 ence of others will avail you nothing. They may talk, indeed ; but, 
 until you are as old as the counsellor, and have seen with your own 
 eyes as much as he has, his words are mere idle sounds, impertinent 
 and unintelligible. Fancy and habit are supreme over your conduct, 
 and all your friends have to trust to is a heart naturally pure and 
 tractable, and a taste, if I may so call it, for the approbation of the wise 
 and good." In pursuance of his benefactor's plan Payne was sent to 
 school at Schenectady, N. Y. He made a trip to Albany in company 
 with Mr. Brown. A journal which he kept, of this trip, and which 
 would have furnished an interesting study of his character, has been lost. 
 
 Payne did not remain long at college, nor was his experience there a 
 pleasant one. His friends, who were determined to overcome his 
 inclination for the stage, established over him a system of injudicious 
 espial. His allowance of money was limited, and his instructors were 
 admonished to "draw a tight rein " in the management of their pupil. 
 Two events soon occurred, which, sad as they were, so beneficially 
 affected his fortunes as to turn into its natural channel the current of a 
 life which otherwise might have been passed in uncongenial pursuits. 
 His mother died, and his father became bankrupt. 
 
 In this emergency Payne determined to fulfil his long cherished 
 ambition and become an actor. "A slow, reluctant and weeping leave " 
 was granted by his friends, and on February 24, 1809, being then seven- 
 teen, he made his first appearance on the stage — at the old Park 
 Theatre, New-York, in the character of Young Norval. "His face," 
 says Dunlap, "was remarkably handsome, his countenance full of 
 intelligence, and his manner fascinating." On April 3d, the same year, 
 he played, as Young Norval, in Boston, and was welcomed with enthu- 
 siasm. On the 17th of May he began a second engagement in New- 
 York, and played in succession Young Norval, Hastings, Octavian, 
 Frederick Fitsroy, Rolla, Edgar, and Hamlet. " Hamlet" was produced 
 for his benefit. The engagement lasted six nights ; the average receipts 
 were $500 a night ; his benefit cleared $755. He then went to Phila- 
 delphia and Baltimore, in both of which places he found the theatres
 
 APPENDIX. 73 
 
 closed against him. This reverse of fortune was attributed to the 
 influence of Stephen Price, the manager of the Park Theatre, 
 with whom he had quarrelled. His cause, however, was espoused by 
 good friends, and his reception by the warm-hearted citizens of Balti- 
 more proved entirely cordial. In a fortnight he had earned $1,500. 
 He also played successful engagements at Richmond, Charleston and 
 Washington. It is said that Henry Placide first attracted attention by 
 the imitations he, at this period, gave of the acting of Payne. From 
 Baltimore Payne returned to New- York, where he made the acquaintance 
 of George Frederick Cooke. " I thought him a polite, sensible youth," 
 says Cooke, "and the reverse of our young Roscius." On the 18th of 
 March, 1811, Cooke played Lear, and Payne Edgar, at the Park Theatre, 
 with much success. Payne then revisited Boston, Philadelphia, and 
 Baltimore, and played successful engagements in each city. His 
 early theatrical career in America was as short as it was brilliant. 
 As a young actor he won the applause of the people, the approbation of 
 competent judges, and a distinguished rank in his profession ; and, 
 when he departed, to pursue his fortunes in the old world, it was with 
 bright prospect of increasing excellence and fair renown. On January 
 17th, 1813, he embarked at Baltimore, in the ship " Catherine Ray," and 
 sailed for Liverpool. It was war time when he arrived in England, and 
 the policy with which American travellers should be treated had not yet 
 been determined by the Government. So the party of which he was a 
 member was imprisoned for two nights. After his release he wrote to 
 Whitebread, and procured an engagement at Drury Lane, where, on 
 June 4, 1813, he acted, in "Douglas." Mrs. Powell, from Covent 
 Garden, supported him in the part of Lady Randolph. To this lady he 
 wrote, next day, a letter of thanks. She answered: "If you saw any 
 merit in my playing Lady Randolph, it was entirely owing to a son I 
 felt proud of." On a later occasion he again played in "Douglas," 
 winning from one of the journals of London the following well-tempered 
 approval : " A little study under judicious instruction will soon correct the 
 trifling deficiencies which are discernible in his enunciation, while, by the 
 aid of a fencing and dancing master, he may acquire more graceful atti- 
 tudes than he now exhibits. In all other respects nature has endowed 
 him with every quality for a great actor. He possesses all the simplicity 
 which is the result of a fine taste, and he appears to have a chasteness 
 of feeling and a judiciousness of conception which never suffer him to run 
 into those vicious extravagances so common in blustering, half-formed 
 actors. He speaks at once to the sober senses, to the feelings, and to 
 the heart. In passages where no vehemence of feeling is required he
 
 74 APPENDIX. 
 
 is calm, temperate arid interesting. He never rants unnecessarily. 
 His own discretion is his tutor. Such is the character of this young 
 gentleman, who makes a fairer promise than any juvenile adventurer 
 we have ever seen." 
 
 His next appearance was in " Romeo." J. W. Wallack, the founder 
 of Wallack's Theatre, played the Prince on this night, and his 
 brother, Henry Wallack, appeared as Abram. A false report was at 
 this time circulated, that Payne was an illegitimate son of Thomas 
 Payne, author of "Common Sense," and the "Age of Reason." On 
 the 15th of July, 1813, at Liverpool, he played Hamlet, and on a subse- 
 quent evening he had a brilliant benefit there. From Liverpool he went 
 to Ireland, where he played successful engagements at Dublin and 
 Cork. The famous Miss O'Neill supported him in both, and when, at 
 Cork, he played for his benefit as Norval and as Petruchio, that brilliant 
 actress appeared as Lady Randolph and Katherine, and divided with him 
 the laurels of victorious effort. While in Ireland he made the acquaint- 
 ance of Daniel O'Connell and Charles Phillips, by both of whom he was 
 esteemed. In a speech at a dinner given in honour of Payne, on Innis- 
 fallen Island, Phillips remarked that, " to be associated with Mr. Payne 
 must be, to any one who regards private virtues and personal accom- 
 plishments, a source of peculiar pride." On leaving Ireland Payne 
 went to Paris, where he gained the good-will of Talma, and also frater- 
 nized with Lord Byron's friend, Sir John Cam Hobhouse, who happened 
 to be there. He had by this time satiated his fancy for acting, and he 
 appears to have determined to devote himself exclusively to dramatic 
 authorship. He first adapted a French piece and called it "The 
 Maid and the Magpie." This was sold to Harris, of Covent Garden, 
 for .£150. He then agreed with Douglass Kinnaird, manager of Drury 
 Lane, to reside in Paris and to furnish, for that Theatre, versions of 
 French novelties, as they should occur. Here began his career as a 
 dramatist. It is recorded by Dunlap, in his " History of the American 
 Theatre," that at the outset Payne declined a permanent situation in the 
 stock company of Drury Lane. "The charms of starring were pre- 
 ferred," says that historian, "and, finally, literary pursuits, particularly 
 those connected with the drama, withdrew him altogether from the 
 profession of an actor." 
 
 Payne's engagement with Drury Lane did not last long. He 
 then made a contract, both literary and theatrical, with Covent 
 Garden. The history of this part of his life is merely a record of wasting 
 struggles with misfortune. He seems to have been quite unable to 
 take care of himself. He wrote and produced a number of pieces; he
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 75 
 
 managed several theatres, in different parts of England ; and some of his 
 enterprizes were successful ; but he was almost always in difficulties. 
 One of his last efforts, in London, was for the establishment of a 
 theatrical paper, called the " Opera Glass," which he edited during a 
 part of the year 1826. It gave him continual anxiety, and at last brought 
 on a fever, from which he barely escaped alive. This sort of experi- 
 ence in foreign lands finally became monotonous, and he resolved to 
 return to the United States. He arrived in New-York, January 
 16th, 1833, having been absent twenty years. Most of Payne's plays 
 were written during his residence abroad, and nearly all of them were 
 first produced in English theatres. His tragedies are: "Brutus: 
 or, The Fall of Tarquin ; " "Romulus," written for Edwin Forrest, 
 but never performed; "Virginia; or, The Patrician's Perfidy;" 
 " Oswali, of Athens;" "Richelieu; or, The Broken Heart;" "The 
 Italian Bride;" " Lovers' Vows ; " and "The Wanderer" — writ- 
 ten when he was fourteen years of age. " Brutus" was first pro- 
 duced December 3d, 1818, at Drury Lane, with a prologue written by 
 Rev. Dr. Croly, and it ran fifty-one nights. The part of Brutus was 
 nobly acted by Edmund Kean. The tragedy of " Richelieu," which 
 was originally dedicated to Washington Irving, was also first produced 
 at Drury Lane. It seems to have been based on Duval's play, "La 
 jeunesse de Richelieu." In our day it has been somewhat modernized 
 by Mrs. Catherine Farren ; and it is still occasionally played, as "The 
 Bankrupt's Wife." Payne's dramas, twenty-one in number, are named 
 as follows : " The Spanish Husband ; " " Thdrese ; or, The Orphan of 
 Geneva;" " Norah ; or, The Girl of Erin;" "Adeline; or, Seduc- 
 tion ; " " The Two Galley Slaves ; " " The Rival Monarchs ; " " Paoli ; " 
 "The Solitary of Mount Savage;" "Ali Pacha;" "The Insepara- 
 bles;" " The Maid and Magpie ; " "Accusation ; " " The Guilty Mother ;" 
 " The Man of the Black Forest ; " " Madame De Barri ; " " The Festi- 
 val of St. Mark;" "The Bridge of Kehl ; " "The Judge and the 
 Attorney; " " The Mill of the Lake ; " " Mazeppa ; " and " Novido, the 
 Neapolitan." " The're'se " and "The Galley Slaves" are from the 
 French. 
 
 Payne also wrote five operas, namely : " Clari, the Maid of Milan ; " 
 "The White Maid" (or, "The White Lady"); "The Tyrolese 
 Peasant ; " " Visitandines ; " and " England's Good Old Days." " Clari, 
 the Maid of Milan," was the most popular of these pieces. It con- 
 tains the song of " Home, Sweet Home," for which the author re- 
 ceived $200. It was first produced at Covent Garden, under the man- 
 agement of Charles Kemble, on May 8th, 1823. The music was written
 
 j6 APPENDIX. 
 
 by Sir Henry Bishop, who, however, obtained the air to " Sweet Home" 
 from an old Sicilian melody. The original was found among his 
 papers, after his death, but the name of the author is not known. 
 Payne's farces are, " Fricandeau ; or, The Coronet and the Cook; " 
 " The Post Chaise ; " " 'T was I ; " " Mrs. Smith ; " " Love in Humble 
 Life ; " " The Lancers ; " " Grandpapa ; " " Peter Smink ; " and " Not 
 Invited." His comedies are, " Charles the Second; or, The Merry 
 Monarch ; " " Procrastination ; " " Married and Single ; " " Pilots at 
 Home;" "Woman's Revenge;" and "All for the Best." Of these 
 "Charles the Second" is still popular. Its incidents and situations are 
 identical with those of " La Jeunesse de Henri V. ; " but the dialogue 
 differs, especially in the part of " Captain Copp," a character original 
 with Payne. The piece was first produced at Covent Garden, in 1824, 
 with Mr. Kemble as Charles the Second. 
 
 On his return to America, Payne was received with the cordiality 
 naturally excited by the presence of a public favourite. Soon after his 
 arrival, a complimentary benefit was offered to him, at the Park Theatre, 
 where he played with distinguished success. He also received the tes- 
 timonial of a public dinner, where much good feeling was illustrated 
 with many speeches. Nor were the citizens of Boston less ardent in 
 friendly demonstrations than those of New-York. On April 3d, 
 1833, ne appeared there, by invitation, at the old Tremont Theatre, and 
 played, for his benefit, in selections from " Love in Humble Life," 
 " The're'se," "The Lancers," and " Charles the Second." This circum- 
 stance is noted by W. W. Clapp, in his excellent " Record of the 
 Boston Stage," as follows : "Although the selection of the pieces was 
 a very graceful compliment to the beneficiary, and very appropriate to 
 the occasion, it proved unfortunate, as they had been acted here a hun- 
 dred times. The night selected was also unpropitious, preceding, as 
 it did, the general Fast, when many families in the city unite in general 
 gatherings. These and other causes rendered the attempt — so far as 
 pecuniary reward was intended — a partial failure ; but the character of 
 the audience gave proof of the estimation in which Mr. Payne was held, 
 both as a man and as an author." Apiece of verse, written for this 
 occasion by Park Benjamin, was recited, as an "Address" by Mrs. 
 George Barrett. At its close the band played " Sweet Home," and 
 then, in answer to the general call, Payne made a speech of thanks. 
 
 Payne now established his residence in New- York, and issued pro- 
 posals for a new magazine. His enterprize was designed on a grand 
 scale, but it was never fulfilled. He also proposed to publish a " Life 
 of the Saviour," — as a sort of harmony of the Gospels, — but, finding
 
 APPENDIX. 77 
 
 that such a book was already in existence, he abandoned the intention. 
 Afterwards lie took to politics, and, in the Summer of 1841, 
 received from President Tyler, the appointment of U. S. Consul 
 at Tunis. Under Polk's administration he was recalled, but was re- 
 appointed to the same Consulate by Daniel Webster, in 1850. He died 
 at Tunis, April 9th, 1852. 
 
 It is impressive to reflect that the man who in writing the song of 
 "Sweet Home" set to music one of the strongest emotions which 
 agitate universal humanity should have been a wanderer most of his 
 life, having no home, and finding his grave, at last, after the ebb and 
 flow of sixty years, in a far off, foreign land. This circumstance, while 
 it heightens the romantic interest of his experience, affords an index to 
 his character. Refined, full of sensibility, guided by a true taste, and 
 impelled by earnest aspirations, pure-hearted, amiable, unselfish, 
 with the temperament of the philosopher and the poet, he was 
 unfitted for rough contact with the world ; and, having in many ways 
 been checked and disappointed, he was driven into that isolation of mind 
 and life which is the natural refuge of wounded sensibility and dejected 
 ambition. Payne's life was what is called unsuccessful. His abilities 
 did not, it is said, fulfil their early promise. He gained some reputa- 
 tion, indeed, and he wrote some good things, but he was always poor, 
 and he died poor. But, throughout his life, he did, faithfully and well, 
 whatever work there was for him to do, and he has left the pure 
 memory of a gentleman. These lines are on his tomb-stone, — in St. 
 George's cemetery, at Tunis, which overlooks the ruins of Carthage: 
 
 " Sure, when thy gentle spirit fled 
 
 To realms beyond the azure dome, 
 With arms outstretched God's angels said, 
 
 Welcome to Heaven's ' Home, Sweet Home!' " 
 
 William Winter. 
 
 II.— The Author's Preface to Brutus. 
 
 "This tragedy is submitted to the public with the most grateful sen 
 of the kindness with which it has been honoured. It was originally 
 intended to be published as sent to the Theatre ; but the omissions and 
 changes consequent on its being performed were numerous. The 
 reader will now find it in every respect a copy from the prompt-book.* 
 
 * This, of course, alludes to the original print of the tragedy. The present version, as 
 described in my preface, differs from it in many respects.— W. W.
 
 78 APPENDIX. 
 
 The imperfect lines which sometimes occur in the verse have arisen from 
 this determination to make the conformity complete. 
 
 " Seven plays upon the subject of Brutus are before the public. Only 
 two have been thought capable of representation, and those two did not 
 long retain possession of the stage. In the present play I have had no 
 hesitation in adopting the conception and language of my predecessors, 
 wherever they seemed likely to strengthen the plan which I had pre- 
 scribed. This has been so done as to allow of no injury to personal 
 feelings or private property. Such obligations, to be culpable, must be 
 secret ; but it may be observed that no assistance of other writers can 
 be available without an effort almost, if not altogether, as laborious as 
 original composition. 
 
 ** I am reluctant to select peculiar subjects of praise when I found zeal 
 and politeness so universal ; but I must be permitted to add my grati- 
 tude to the public admiration of Mr. Kean's most masterly and splendid 
 performance of the principal character. Mrs. Glover, too, has claims 
 on me which must not be forgotten. The play was introduced by her to 
 the theatre, and its share of public favour must be largely attributed to 
 the critical taste of this very amiable and intelligent woman. 
 
 " To the sub-committee and the manager I also beg to return my grate- 
 ful thanks. 
 
 John Howard Payne. 
 
 "Southampton Street, Covent Garden, London, Dec. 9, 1818." 
 
 III. — Historical Facts about Brutus. 
 
 " Lucius Junius Brutus figures in the legendary history of early 
 Rome as the hero who overturned the monarchical and established 
 the republican form of government. The legend runs that he was 
 the son of a rich Roman. On his father's death, Tarquin the 
 Proud took possession of the property, and put an elder brother to 
 death, and Brutus himself only escaped the same fate by feigning 
 idiocy. [Hence the name, Brutus — stupid.] The oracle of Delphi 
 foretold that he should govern in Rome. Remembering his own 
 wrongs, and gifted with the strength and wisdom of one who was 
 fulfilling the decrees of fate, Brutus — when the foul crime committed 
 by one of the royal family upon Lucretia had shocked the people- 
 convoked them, placed himself at their head, and drove the kings from 
 Rome. He is said to have been then elected one of the two first 
 Consuls (509 B. C.). That his character as a stern old Roman hero
 
 APPENDIX. 79 
 
 might be complete, the legend adds that he sacrificed to the new 
 republic his own sons, detected in a conspiracy to destroy it; and that, at 
 last, he fell in mortal combat, repelling an attack led on by one of the 
 sons of Tarquin. Little more, however, can be said to be established 
 upon sufficient historical evidence as to Brutus than that there existed 
 a person of that name, who held high office in Rome, at a very early 
 period."— Chambers's Encyclopedia, vol. ii., p. 390. 
 
 IV.— Costume, Weapons, and other Accessories for 
 
 Brutus. 
 
 The historic period of " Brutus" was one of remote antiquity, — 509 
 B. C, — and it may be assumed that the accessories of Roman life, in 
 his time, were less elaborate, sumptuous, and splendid than they became 
 in a later age. Absolute accuracy in the scenes and dresses for this 
 tragedy is impossible. A general conformity with the customs and attri- 
 butes of ancient Rome should be deemed sufficient. These models are 
 set forth in the following extract from Thomas Hope's " Costume of the 
 Ancients " [H. G. Bohn, London, 1841], Vol. i, page 39, et seq. : — 
 
 " The pre-eminent dress of the Romans, and which distinguished them 
 in the most marked way, as well from the Greeks as from the Barbarians, 
 was the toga. This they seem to have derived from their neighbours the 
 Etrurians ; and it may be called their true national garb. In the earliest 
 ages of Rome it appears to have been worn by the women as well as by 
 the men, by the lowest orders as well as by the highest, at home as well 
 as abroad, in the country as well as in town. Love of novelty probably 
 caused it first to be relinquished by the women ; next, motives of con- 
 venience, by the men in lower stations ; and afterwards, fondness of ease 
 and unconstraint, even by the men of higher rank, when enjoying the 
 obscurity of private life, or the retirement of the country. From the un- 
 successful attempts, however, first of Augustus, and afterwards of 
 Domitian, entirely to abolish a dress which still continued to remind the 
 people more forcibly than was wished of their ancient liberty, it appears 
 that the toga remained the costume of state and representation with the 
 patricians, nay, with the emperors themselves, unto the last days of 
 Rome's undivided splendour; and we may, I think, assert that not until 
 the empire was transferred to Constantinople did the toga become en- 
 tirely superseded by that more decidedly Grecian dress, the pallium. 
 
 " Infinite have been the queries of the learned, whether the toga of the 
 Romans was, like the peplum of the Greeks, a square piece of stuff;
 
 80 APPENDIX. 
 
 whether it was a round one ; or whether, preserving a medium between 
 these two extremes, it offered one side straight, and the other rounded off 
 in a semicircle. To judge from the numberless statues dressed in togas, 
 in none of which there appear any corners perfectly square, though in 
 all of them may be traced some hems or edges describing a straight, and 
 others, a curved line, I am inclined to think the semicircular to have 
 been the true form of the toga. 
 
 "Great pains have also been taken to discover whether the toga derived 
 its form on the body, like the pallium, from the mere spontaneous throw 
 of the whole garment, or, like modern dresses, from some studious and 
 permanent contrivance to model and to fasten together the different com- 
 ponent parts. No tacks or fastenings of any sort, indeed, are visible in the 
 toga, but their existence may be inferred from the great formality and 
 little variation displayed in its divisions and folds. In general the toga 
 seems not only to have formed, as it were, a short sleeve to the right 
 arm, which was left unconfined, but to have covered the left arm down 
 to the wrist. 
 
 "A sort of loop or bag of folds was made to hang over the sloped 
 drapery in front, and the folds were ample enough in the back to admit 
 of the garment being occasionally drawn over the head, as it was cus- 
 tomary to do during religious ceremonies, and also, probably, in rainy 
 weather. 
 
 "The material of the toga was wool. The colour, in early ages, its 
 own natural yellowish hue. In later periods this seems, however, only 
 to have been retained in the togas of the higher orders ; inferior persons 
 wearing theirs dyed, and candidates for public offices bleached by an 
 artificial process. In times of mourning the toga was worn black, or 
 was left off altogether. 
 
 " Priests and magistrates wore the toga pretexta, or toga edged with a 
 purple border, called pretexta. This toga pretexta was, as well as the 
 bulla, or small round gold box suspended on the breast by way of an 
 amulet, worn by all youths of noble birth, to the age of fifteen ; when 
 both these insignia of juvenility were deposed together, for the toga 
 without rim or border, called the togapura. 
 
 " The Knights wore the trabea, or toga striped with purple throughout ; 
 and the Generals during their triumphal entries were clad in a toga 
 entirely of purple, to which gradually became added a rich embroidery 
 of gold. 
 
 ' ' The tunic, of later introduction among the Romans than the toga, was 
 regarded as a species of luxury, and was discarded by those who dis- 
 played and affected humility, such as candidates and others. The tunic
 
 APPENDIX. 8l 
 
 of the men only reached half way clown the thigh; longer tunics being 
 regarded in the male sex as a mark of effeminacy, and left to women and 
 to eastern nations. The inferior functionaries at sacrifices wore the tunic 
 without the toga ; so did the soldiers, when in the camp. The tunic of 
 senators was edged round * with a broad purple border, called laticlavus; 
 and that of the knights with a narrow purple border, called angusticlavus. 
 
 " I shall here observe that the hue denominated purple by the ancients 
 seems to have run through all the various shades of colour intervening 
 between scarlet, crimson, and the deep reddish blue called purple at the 
 present day. 
 
 " The pallium, or mantle of the Greeks, from its being less cumbersome 
 and trailing than the toga of the Romans, by degrees superseded the 
 latter in the country and in the camp. When worn over armour, and 
 fastened on the right shoulder with a clasp or button, this cloak assumed 
 the name of paludamentum. 
 
 " The common people used to wear a sort of cloak made of very coarse 
 brown wool, and provided with a hood, which was called cucullus. This 
 hooded cloak, always given to Telesphorus, the youthful companion of 
 Esculapius, remains to this day the usual protection against cold and 
 wet with all the seafaring inhabitants both of the islands of the Archipel- 
 ago and the shores of the Mediterranean. 
 
 " The Roman ladies wore, by way of under garment, a long tunic 
 descending to the feet, and more peculiarly denominated stola. This 
 vestment assumed all the variety of modification displayed in the corre- 
 sponding attire of the Grecian females. Over the stola, they also adopted 
 the Grecian peplum, under the name of palla ; which palla, however, 
 was never worn among the Romans, as the peplum was among the 
 Greeks, by men. This external covering, as may be observed in the 
 statues of Roman empresses, displayed the same varieties of drapery or 
 throw at Rome as at Athens. 
 
 " The togati seem to have worn a sort of short boot or shoe, with straps 
 crossed over the instep, called calceus. The foot covering of the ladies 
 at first had the same shape ; but by degrees this latter assumed all the 
 varieties of form of the Grecian sandal. Like all other nations in whom 
 were combined great opulence wherewith to foment the exuberances 
 of fashion and little taste through which to check its pruriencies, the 
 Romans carried to a great pitch the shapeless extravagance of some 
 parts of their attire, as may be seen in the absurd head-dresses of the 
 busts of Roman matrons, preserved in the Capitol. 
 
 * Or striped down the front. The controversy respecting this mark of dignity will be endless, 
 unless some painting is discovered to settle the question.
 
 82 APPENDIX. 
 
 " The Romans, like the Greeks, had peculiar dresses appropriated to 
 peculiar offices and dignities. The Flamens, or priests of Jupiter, wore 
 a pointed cap or helmet, called apex, with a ball of cotton wound round 
 the spike. The priests that ministered to other deities wore the infula, 
 or twisted fillet, from which descended on each side, along the neck, 
 flowing ribands. 
 
 "Wreaths of various sorts were in use among the Romans, as well as 
 among the Greeks, and were chiefly given as rewards of military achieve- 
 ments. The corona castrensis, wrought in imitation of a palisado, was 
 presented to whoever had been the first to penetrate into an enemy's 
 camp. The corona muralis, shaped in the semblance of battlements, to 
 whoever had been the first to scale the walls of a besieged city. The 
 civic crown, formed of oak leaves, to whoever had saved the life of a 
 citizen ; and the naval crown, composed of the rostra, or beaks of gal- 
 leys, to whoever had been the first to board the vessel of an enemy. 
 
 " When the arts felLinto a total decline, glitter of materials became the 
 sole substitute for beauty of forms ; and hence the Grecian and Roman 
 portraits of the middle ages are loaded from head to foot with pearls and 
 precious stones, intermixed with large cameos. 
 
 " The armour of the Romans seems chiefly to have been that of the 
 Greeks of the same periods. The helmet with the fixed visor, and which 
 required being thrown back in its whole in order to uncover the face, 
 fell very early into disuse in the very heart of Greece itself, and never 
 appears on Roman figures. On these the cuirass, or lorica, when belong- 
 ing to distinguished personages, generally follows the outline of the ab- 
 domen, and appears hammered out into all the natural convexities and 
 concavities of the human body. It was often enriched, on the belly, with 
 embossed figures ; on the breast with a Gorgon's head by way of amu- 
 let; and on the shoulder-plates with scrolls, thunderbolts, etc. This 
 cuirass was made to open at the sides, where the breast and back plates 
 joined by means of clasps and hinges. One or more rows of straps, 
 richly adorned and fringed, descended by way of protection, not only 
 over the thighs, but also down the upper arms. The cuirass of the com- 
 mon soldiers often was cut simply round, and destitute of such straps. 
 Sometimes this latter was formed of metal hoops or plates, sliding over 
 each other; sometimes of small scales, equally pliant ; and sometimes of 
 a plain surface of metal or leather. The Roman soldiers wore no 
 greaves, but either used sandals tied with strings, or short boots laced 
 before, and lined with the skin of some animal, of which the muzzle and 
 claws were displayed as an ornamental finish. 
 
 " The Roman shield seems never to have resembled the large round
 
 APPENDIX. 8$ 
 
 buckler used by the Greeks, nor the crescent-shaped one peculiar to the 
 Asiatics ; but to have offered an oblong square, or an oval, or a hexa- 
 gon, or an octagon. The cavalry alone wore a circular shield, but of 
 small dimensions, called parma. Each different legion had its peculiar 
 device marked on its shields. 
 
 "As offensive weapons, the Romans had a sword, of somewhat greater 
 length than that of the Greeks; * a long spear, of which they never quit- 
 ted their hold; and a short javelin, which they used to throw to a dis- 
 tance. Their armies were moreover provided with archers and with 
 slingers. 
 
 " Infinite were the variety and magnificence of their military insignia. 
 These offered— fixed one over the other along the poles of spears — eagles, 
 figures of victory, laurel wreaths, banners, tablets inscribed with the 
 initials of the republic and the number of the legion, pateras for liba- 
 tions, consecrated fillets, and other civil, military, and religious em- 
 blems. 
 
 " The poops of the Roman galleys had for ornament the aplustrum; 
 their prows, spurs shaped like swords, with which they hit and destroyed 
 those of the enemy. 
 
 " The architecture of the Romans was only that of the Greeks when on 
 its decline,— that of the Greeks, divested of its primitive consistency, and 
 breadth, and chastity. From the circumstance, however, of all the wealth 
 and population of every other country flowing by degrees to Rome, cer- 
 tain descriptions of buildings, such as circuses, amphitheatres, triumphal 
 arches, aqueducts, and baths, seem to have become not only more 
 numerous but more splendid in that capital of the world than any that 
 could be erected in the small republics of Greece. The temples also at 
 Rome, from the greater variety of worships, assumed a greater diversity 
 of shapes. 
 
 " The altars of the Romans, as well as those of the Greeks, displayed a 
 vast variety both of purposes and forms. Some were intended for burn- 
 ing incense only ; others for receiving libations of milk or of wine ; others 
 for consuming the first-fruits of the earth ; others for the sacrificing of 
 victims. Many were only meant for show, and erected in commemora- 
 tion of some signal event, or in gratitude for some important benefit. 
 Of these altars some were round, some triangular, some square. They 
 displayed, by way of ornament, sculptured skulls of such animals and 
 wreaths of such fruits and flowers as were consecrated to the deity 
 which they served to worship, mixed with sacred fillets, instruments of 
 sacrifice, inscriptions, bas reliefs, etc. 
 
 * The Roman weapons were of steel.
 
 84 APPENDIX. 
 
 "Among the sacred instruments observable in the processions and 
 sacrifices of the Romans may be numbered the pastoral staff which Rom- 
 ulus made use of to mark out the different districts of his new city, and 
 which afterwards, under the name of lituus, became the distinctive badge 
 of honour of the augurs, who used it in the same way to mark out the 
 different regions of the heavens, when drawing their prognostics. This 
 lituus, together with the basin containing the lustral water, the aspergil- 
 lum to sprinkle it, the simpulum or ewer for holding the consecrated 
 wine, the cotton fillets for adorning the horns of the victim, the axe for 
 slaying, and the single and double knives for cutting it up, are frequently 
 represented in bas reliefs. 
 
 " In the decoration and furniture of their houses the Romans were very 
 sumptuous. Rich marbles and gay arabescoes decorated the walls, 
 elegant mosaic the floors of their apartments. On the ornaments of the 
 triclinia or couches, on which they reclined at their feasts, they bestowed 
 immense sums. The curule chairs or seats of state of the patricians 
 were wrought in ivory; and prodigious is the number of beautiful uten- 
 sils in marble and in bronze, richly chased and inlaid with silver, that 
 have been found among the ruins of that comparatively insignificant pro- 
 vincial city, Pompeii. Natives of Greece seem at all times to have been 
 employed to give and to execute the designs intended to display the 
 taste and opulence of the Romans. 
 
 " The writing of these latter were contained in two different sorts of 
 receptacles; namely, in rolls of papyrus or parchment, called volumina; 
 and on tablets of box, ivory, or metal, called codices. When travelling 
 they used to carry their manuscripts in a little round case, called 
 scrinium."
 
 RUY BLAS 
 
 VOL. Ill
 
 preface. 
 
 * 
 
 *T^HIS drama, though not, perhaps, impressive in the 
 ■*■ reading, has been found effective i?i the represetitation. 
 The present version of it is a free translation, — by an 
 unknown hand, — considerably altered from the original, and 
 furnished with Edwin Booth's stage directions. The French 
 piece, by Victor Hugo, is in five acts, and it incorporates into 
 the action the character of Don Cozsar de Bazan, the cousin, 
 and the victim, of Don Salluste. By excising that part, by 
 giving some slight prominence to the part of Gudiel, and by a 
 few transpositions and textual changes, the piece is made to 
 tell its story in three acts, as fully as it would otherwise do in 
 five. The original is i?i verse. An English translation of 
 it, also in verse, — but in four acts, — was produced at the 
 Princess's Theatre, London, on October 27th, i860, under 
 the auspices of Charles Fechter, who personated Ruy Bias ; 
 and this, in an adapted form, has been made known on the 
 American stage. The period of Ruy Bias is the end of the 
 ijth century — 1602. The monarch referred to in its text — 
 Charles II., of Spain — reigned over that country from 1661 
 to 1700, and was involved in several wars with Louis XIV., 
 of France, whose policy and force alike aimed at securing the 
 succession of the Spanish crown to the House of Bourbon.
 
 The ideal of love which the author has herein exhibited is 
 idolatrous — a passion like that of Wyatt for Anne Bullen, 
 or that of Chastelard for Mary Stuart ; a passion suggestive 
 of Sir Gallahad, in its lofty purity, and of the lover of 
 Byron's Dream, in its ecstatic abandonment. 
 
 " There was but one beloved face on earth, 
 And that was shining on him." 
 
 Ruy Bias was first produced on November 8th, 1838, 
 in Paris, at the Theatre de la Renaissance. Frederick 
 Lemaitre acted its hero. The reaction against the classic 
 drama in France, which Victor Hugo's genius had induced, 
 and which the great triumph of his Hemani had 
 signalized, ivas potent hi that period; a?id Ruy Bias, 
 accordingly, — notwithstanding its obvious faults of artifice, 
 exaggeration, and tumidity, — was received with enthusiasm. 
 The original representative of the Queen was Mme. Louise 
 Beaudoin, an actress not othenvise known to fame. The 
 original Don Cozsar de Bazan — a part which, in the French 
 play, is important, but has here been discarded — ivas 
 M. St. Firmin ; who divided zvith M. Lemaitre the success 
 of the Parisian representation. No Frefich actor of any note, 
 since Lemaitre, is remonbered in association with Ruy Bias. 
 Fechter's fame in the part was 7von in English. All 
 Victor Hugo's plays were, as is well known, banished from 
 the French stage, during the second empire — from 1852 to 
 1 87 1. Since the latter year, Ruy Bias has been acted in 
 Paris, at the Odeon, with M. Lafontaine as Ruy, and M 
 Melingue as Don Cozsar. 
 
 W. W. 
 
 New- York, October 30th, 1878.
 
 " There is a garden in her face. 
 
 Where roses and white lilies blow." — Old Song. 
 
 'A youth to fortune and to fame unknown."— Gray. 
 
 1 ' / thought of tales that by the winter hearth 
 Old gossips tell — how maidens sprung from kings 
 Have stooped from their high sphere: how love, like death, 
 Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook 
 Beside the sceptre." — Bulwer. 
 
 "/ will be 
 The sun o' thy life, faithful through every season ; 
 Attd thou shalt be my flower perennial. 
 My bud of beauty, my imperial rose. 
 My passion-flower ; and I will wear thee here, 
 Here on my heart, and thou shalt never fade ! 
 I'll love thee mightily, my queen." — Barry Cornwall, 
 
 ' ' If tlwu didst ever anything believe, 
 Believe how I love thee, believe how near 
 My soul is to its doom." — Keats. 
 
 "She loves, and she confesses too; 
 There's then at last no more to do." — Cowley. 
 
 " What can it tnatter, Margaret, 
 
 What songs below the waning stars 
 The lion-heart Platitagenet 
 
 Sang, looking through his prison-bars f 
 Exquisite Margaret, who can tell 
 
 The last wild thought of Chatelet, 
 
 yust ere the falling axe did part 
 
 The burning brain from the true heart. 
 Even it! her sight he loved so well?" — Tennyson. 
 
 " The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit. 
 The rest is silence."— SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 *
 
 $cr£on£ Hqpre^entefc* 
 
 * 
 
 Grandees of Spain. 
 
 Don Salluste, Marquis of Finlas, Prime Minister. 
 
 Don Basto. 
 
 Don Pedro. 
 
 Don Manuel. 
 
 Don Priego. 
 
 Count of Alba. 
 
 Count of Camporeal. 
 
 Gudiel, Secretary to Don Salluste. 
 
 Ruy Blas. 
 
 Marianne of Neuborg, called Queen of Spain. 
 
 Donna Casilda, Maid of Hotiour to the Queen. 
 
 Duchess of Albuquerque, Duenna to the Queen. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Pages, and other Attendants. 
 
 $Iace an& €imt. 
 
 SCENE. — Madrid, in Spain. 
 
 Period. — The Seventeenth Century [1692]. 
 
 Time of Action. — There is a lapse of six months behveen 
 the First and Second Acts, and of one day between the 
 Second and Third. The action is supposed to occupy but 
 a few hours.
 
 H>cene. 
 
 RUY BLAS. 
 
 %ct tfir£t- 
 
 Madrid. A Hall in the Royal Palace 
 Doors r. and l. u. e. Arch with cur- 
 tains, c. Large Chair, r. Table, with 
 Writing Materials, l. 
 
 [Enter Don Salluste and Gudiel, L. u. E. Don 
 Salluste gives his hat, cloak, and sword to 
 Gudiel, who, during Don Salluste' s first speech, 
 places them on chair, r. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 _ Close the door, Gudiel. The day has come, but my 
 night begins; my reign is over. The lazy household 
 sleeps — although the sun is up, and wakes the day to 
 witness my disgrace. 
 
 Gud. 
 Disgrace ! my lord ! 
 
 Sal. 
 
 Yes, Gudiel ; my reign is ended. 
 
 Gud. 
 My lord !
 
 g RUY BLAS. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 Yes, ended; degraded, exiled — in a day! My tower- 
 ing fortunes lie in ruins at my feet. 
 
 Gud. 
 May I ask the cause ? 
 
 Sal. 
 
 'Sdeath ! I'm ashamed to tell it. But listen — and be 
 secret. A love affair — ha ! ha ! A girl of some slight 
 beauty, but no birth — a follower of the queen's, as she 
 is called, — though she 's no queen as yet; she is but 
 betrothed, and wears the ring without the rights of mar- 
 riage. Well, I cast my eyes upon this girl — this silly 
 chit — about a year ago. This creature, Gudiel, rushes to 
 the queen, dragging her brat into the royal chamber, and 
 weeps, and wails, and howls — plebeian fool ! The queen, 
 sir, sends for me and says, forsooth, the wench being of 
 her suite, I must espouse her! Do you hear! — espouse! 
 I refused, flatly : for the which — I 'm banished ! You 
 hear — banished. Twenty years of labour, night and day, 
 my office, power, presidency of the high court of Alcades, 
 revenues, patronage, influence and trust, all ! which yes- 
 terday seemed within my grasp ; all that I possessed, and 
 all that felt assured of winning — all these have crumbled 
 into dust, amid the jeers and laughter of the court ! 
 
 Gud. 
 'T is not yet known ! 
 
 Sal. 
 
 It will be known before the night again descends. But 
 let us go. I will not hear the mocking of the crowd. 
 With pnde untamed, and crest erect, I will not stay to 
 
 fall, but vanish ere- O, I choke with rage! I '11 be 
 
 revenged. — I '11 lay a mine shall scatter all my foes. 
 
 Gud. 
 Our new queen hath struck this blow ?
 
 RUY BLAS. n 
 
 Sal. 
 
 The queen ! She is not, and never shall be queen. By 
 proxy married to the king. He, an animal that loves the 
 chase — and has a vulgar liason to boot — has again post- 
 poned the actual marriage. 
 
 Gud. 
 The people wonder at this strange delay. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 This delay will serve my turn. Although to me hateful, 
 she 'd fain do right, and has a loving, noble nature. She 'd 
 be a good wife to this brutish thing we honour as a king — 
 but she 's a woman — neglected, slighted, — feels it, — and 
 will, when tempted, fall: at least, I '11 set the snare and 
 place it in her path. \Sits at table, l. 
 
 Who can be trusted to remain here, in your stead ? I 
 shall need you near me. 
 
 Gud. 
 
 The orphan son of an old and valued friend. A youth, 
 discreet and brave I think ; subdued by some strange sor- 
 row ; he came to me, in rags, some three months since, and, 
 death depriving you of Sautalon, I gave the vacancy to 
 Ruy Bias. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 'T is well. I am satisfied. Your judgment, my trusty 
 Gudiel, never errs. Where is he ? 
 
 Gud. 
 
 My lord, he attends for what directions you may deem 
 needful. 
 
 Sal. [Music. 
 
 He may enter. 
 
 Gud. [ Goes to door and calls. 
 
 Ruy ! Ruy Bias ! [Enter Ruy. Exit Gudiel.
 
 IO RUY BLAS. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 My lord. 
 
 \Don Salluste, at table, carelessly looks up — then 
 starts. Music ceases. 
 
 Sal. [Aside. 
 
 Great heaven ! What fatality is this ? The very self 
 of my spendthrift cousin, Caesar ! Can he be moulded 
 to my will, and made the instrument ? Young, inex- 
 perienced, doubtless romantic ; time wanes ; I must be 
 quick, though cautious. \Aloud 
 
 Ruy Bias ! 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 My lord ! 
 
 Sal. 
 Were you ever until now in service ? 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Never, my lord, before I entered yours. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 You will find me a good master, if you serve me well. 
 I have but one lesson to give you. While with me, you 
 must have neither ears, eyes, nor thought, except at my 
 will ; you must have but one quality — obedience. 
 
 Ruy. 
 I '11 do my best, my lord. 
 
 Sal. 
 Has any one in Madrid yet seen you in that garb ? 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Save Gudiel. none, my lord.
 
 RUY BLAS. T i 
 
 Sal. 
 
 'T is well. During my absence you will hold his position 
 here ; if I find you competent and faithful, above all dis- 
 creet, you shall retain it. Call him hither. [Music. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Gudiel! [Enter Gudiel l. u. e. 
 
 [From Ruvs entrance- until this point Don 
 
 Salluste remains seated, closely examining Ruy, 
 
 but with apparent indifference — looking over 
 
 papers, etc. 
 
 Sal. [To Gudiel. 
 
 He may retire. [Music ceases. 
 
 [Exit Ruy, at sign from Gudiel, l. u. e. 
 
 Gudiel, 1 like that youth. You know him well ; is he 
 ambitious ? 
 
 Gud. 
 
 My lord, I have not questioned him, nor sought his 
 confidence; from his boyhood, until three months since 
 we have been strangers. Can he be of use to you ? 
 
 Sal. 
 
 Great use; if he is ambitious, brave, and wise. — Hold 
 conference with him here ; I will withdraw, and judge by 
 what I hear how capable he may be to aid me in the work 
 I have in hand; on which, perhaps, the fate of Spain 
 depends. So probe him well ; find the main-spring of his 
 heart's desire ; and if I find him what his appearance indi- 
 cates, honour and fortune shall be his. 
 
 Gud. 
 My lord, you shall be satisfied. 
 
 [Don Salluste retires. Gudiel goes to door l. u. e., 
 and calls ; 
 
 Ruy ! Come hither. [Enter Ruy l. u. e. 
 
 Young friend, ere I depart for Finlas with our master, 
 
 perhaps to be absent months, I 'd fain learn something 
 
 2
 
 12 RUY BLAS. 
 
 of you — your hopes and griefs — for tho' but yet a boy, 
 the sadness of your countenance tells of a canker at the 
 heart, to which youth should be a stranger. 
 
 [Don Salluste watches this scene from behind 
 curtains, showing himself but twice : once, ai 
 " Couldst thou see within," — then, at "I — I 
 madly love the queen." 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 O, Gudiel ! I have longed to speak, to open my heart 
 to some true, sympathizing friend, who would not sneer at 
 my despair ; for despair it was that drove me to your door, 
 a beggar for a menial post, at which my heart revolts, that 
 I might be near the delicious poisoned fount from which 
 my soul drinks madness. 
 
 Gud. 
 
 What is it ails thee, boy ? 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Dare I speak ? Yes. For in your eyes I see com- 
 passion — pity ; 't is all that I can hope for, and in your 
 heart I feel it is not coupled with contempt. Beneath this 
 sullying and dishonouring garb my soul chafes madly for 
 relief; and, pride and manhood crushed, like a peevish 
 child, I must give vent in words to this pent-up agony, or 
 else my heart will break. An orphan, reared by charity, 
 taught science and the pride that springs from knowledge, 
 instead of a mechanic I am a dreamer. Filled with 
 ambitious pride, I toiled and toiled — to what end? I 
 dreamed I marched to honours ! I had hope in fate, and 
 thought the future would repay the past. I built myself 
 an edifice of thoughts, ideas, chimeras, madness ! I pitied 
 Spain, and fancied I was born to rescue her. Poor fool ! 
 I thought the world had need of me ; lo ! the result you 
 see — I am a lacquey. 
 
 Gud. 
 
 Poor youth ! Hunger is indeed a tyrant ; and when by 
 necessity we are compelled to bow before him the grand-
 
 RUY BLAS. 
 
 J 3 
 
 est imagination stoops the lowest and suffers most. But 
 fortune hath its ebb and flow ; our master likes you, is dis- 
 posed to favour you ; deserve his confidence ; he will 
 advance you, perhaps, to the very point at which your 
 wildest fancy aims. Hope yet. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 No, no ; it is impossible ! Within my breast a serpent, 
 with breath of flame, winds round and round my heart 
 its coils of burning venom. Ah, couldst thou see within ! 
 
 [Don Salluste appears at back, for an instant. 
 
 Gnd. 
 I cannot understand. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Suppose, invent, imagine, dream! Rack thy brains 
 and search for something wild, incalculable, mad ; a daz- 
 zling fatality ; a passion that, like delicious poison, draws 
 my soul towards an abyss where crime and ruin wait ; 
 thou canst not guess, — who could ? Gudiel, into the 
 gulf towards which my dread fate drags me, plunge thine 
 eyes. I madly love the queen ! 
 
 \JDon Salluste appears for an instant, at back. 
 
 Gud. 
 
 Sal. [Aside, and withdrawing. 
 
 Gud. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Yes ! Despise me if you will, I love her with heart of 
 flame, with veins of fire ! So helpless, beautiful, and young ! 
 So wretched 'mid the vile intrigues of this polluted court! 
 O, I would give the jewel of my mind to be but one of 
 
 Great heaven ! 
 He 's mine ! 
 The queen!
 
 14 RUY BLAS. 
 
 those young cavaliers who are permitted to approach the 
 queen, with plumes upon their bonnets and pride upon 
 their brows — those living libels on humanity ! But to be 
 thus before her in livery — a — lacquey! Ah, pity me, 
 my friend ! Pity me, O heaven ! 
 
 Gud. 
 
 I do, my son ; but tell me, how grew this fatal passion, 
 and since when ? 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 I do not know. The madman cannot date the birth of 
 his insanity. I think of her as prisoners think of liberty ; 
 as the blind dream of the light. I love her, that 's all I 
 know — I love her. 
 
 Gud. 
 
 Stifle this hopeless passion. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 'T will die the day she weds the king. Like one con- 
 demned to death on a fixed day, who, yet, with pulse of 
 health full within his heart, enjoys the sense of life, so my 
 love is doomed, must perish or destroy me, when she weds; 
 but till then it is privileged to live, to enjoy ecstatic dreams. 
 
 Gud. 
 Has she e'er seen thee ? 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 No! Pardon me — you asked me, did you not, how 
 and when this passion first had being ? A month before 
 I learned that thou wert here — when all seemed hopeless, 
 and life had grown a torture more than I could bear — I 
 resolved on self-destruction. Hastening through the forest 
 with this intent I passed the convent of Rosara, as she 
 came forth from her devotions. My soul seemed hell ! 
 when suddenly her beauteous face, like some sad angel's,
 
 RUY BI.AS. 
 
 15 
 
 lighted all within, rekindled hope, and bade me live for 
 her — her slave! Unknown, — unseen, — yet still to live, 
 if but to breathe the air she breathes. To do her service, 
 haply, and be repaid by death in doing it. You see, my 
 friend, I'm mad — yes, mad! 
 
 Gud. 
 Since you came hither ? 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 I 've been debarred the joy of seeing her. The only 
 recompense I hoped for now seems further from my reach 
 than ever. My only solace is to seek in the woods a 
 rare blue flower 'tis said she loves ; a flower of Germany — 
 her native land. I go each day to gather them, and when 
 midnight falls I, like a thief, climb o'er her garden wall 
 and place them near a bank, on which — I learned from 
 one of her young pages — she oft reclines to read. Last 
 night I placed a letter 'mid the flowers — but why should 
 I recite these follies ? I know some night I may be 
 speared or shot by the palace guards ; but what care I ? I 
 shall die near her — the sweetest, holiest death for Ruy 
 Bias ! But go, my friend, and leave the miserable wretch 
 who dares to hide beneath a lacquey's garb the passions 
 of a king. 
 
 [Ruy falls in chair, L. A noise is heard at 
 back. 
 
 Gud. 
 
 Hark! Don Salluste comes — recover yourself. 
 
 [Dan Salluste enters hurriedly, not noting Ruy 
 Bias, who rises quickly and stands L. 
 
 Gud. 
 My lord. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 Gudiel, a word with you. [ Whispers. 
 
 Set forth at once — depart. [Exit Gudiel. 
 
 The very man I wan;. [Aside.
 
 jg ruy blas. 
 
 Ha! ha! [Aloud. 
 
 How lightly beats my heart to-day ! Ruy Bias, I need 
 your aid immediately; you shall be my secretary — doff 
 that livery — off with it at once, and take your station at 
 the table. 
 
 [Ruy Bias takes seat at table and writes as directed. 
 
 Ruy, I am in love with a little angel, fresh from 
 Paradise. Think you I am too stern and grim in look 
 to have a tender heart ? Ha ! ha ! Love ! the rascal, 
 hath hit even me — Salluste. I am about to dictate a 
 billet-doux. I have full faith in you and your discretion 
 • — write ! [Music, low and sad. 
 
 " My queen ! My heart's queen ! A doom of danger 
 hangs o'er my head — thou canst avert the blow, and only 
 thou. Come to me instantly — without thee I am lost. 
 My safety — fate — my life is in thy hands. O, come to 
 me, all powerful; I kiss thy hands and wait thee." 
 
 To touch the heart of woman it is best to swear there 
 is danger hovering o'er you. 
 
 "A private door that leads from the garden is open — 
 't will admit thee unobserved." [Music ceases. 
 
 Hast done ? 
 
 Ruy. 
 Your signature ? 
 
 Sal. 
 
 No — sign it " Caesar ! " 'T is the name she calls me. 
 
 Ruy. 
 Will not the hand betray it ? 
 
 Sal. 
 I '11 put my seal on 't. 
 
 Ruy. 
 Shall I address the letter ?
 
 RUY BLAS. ! -j 
 
 Sal. 
 
 No. I '11 do that. So give it me! \ Takes letter. 
 
 Ruy, I find you trustworthy, discreet, and faithful ; I 
 would mark my recognition of it. I 'd help to lift you 
 to a better fate — one worthier of you. Trust me, you 
 shall rise ! Now, write again. [Same music. 
 
 " I, Ruy Bias, servant to the Marquis of Finlas, here 
 engage, on all occasions, public or private, to render to 
 my master and my lord the humble service of a faithful 
 lacquey ! " [Music ceases. 
 
 So, sign it, — now the date — good! — give it me. 
 
 [ Takes letter. 
 
 Tis near the hour when the queen should pass yon gal- 
 lery, on her way to the royal chapel. You shall see her 
 gracious majesty, Ruy Bias : but first, hand me my sword. 
 
 [Ruy gets sword frotn chair, r. 
 
 T is handsome, is it not ? The hilt 's of gold, and set 
 with precious stones. Put it on — nay, put it on; I'd see 
 the effect : why, I vow ! you have the air of a true cava- 
 lier — a lord of noble birth and breeding. You, perhaps, 
 may wear a sword some day. [ Voices heard. 
 
 They come. 
 
 [ Two pages draw back the curtain from arch. Don 
 Pedro, Don Basto, Don Manuel, Don Priego, 
 and Courtiers are discovered, in conversation, in 
 the chamber. As they come forward, Don Sal- 
 luste quickly takes his cloak from chair and 
 envelopes Ruy before the lords observe him. 
 
 Gentlemen, permit me to present to your kindly notice, 
 my young cousin, Caesar de Bazan. 
 
 Don Caesar! 
 
 All. 
 
 
 Great Heaven ! 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 
 Silence ! 
 
 Sal. 
 
 [Aside, to Ruy
 
 i8 
 
 RUY BLAS. 
 
 We thought you dead 
 
 'Twas so reported ! 
 
 Pas. 
 
 Prie. 
 
 Man. 
 
 We are much honoured ! 
 
 All speak simul- 
 taneously, bowing 
 as they speak. 
 
 Sir, most welcome 
 My Lord ! 
 
 Ped. 
 
 Ruy. 
 Sal. 
 
 [To Sal. 
 
 Call me cousin, Caesar ! We are cousins, you know ; 
 the Bazans are sufficiently frank about their origin and 
 relatives. You are of Arragon — I of Portugal; your 
 branch is not less high than mine; I am the fruit of one, 
 you the flower of the other. 
 
 [Enter Alba. 
 Alba. 
 
 Ahem! What 's this — what 's this! of fruits and 
 flowers — what — what? I beg to inform you, Don Sal- 
 luste, that I, as Marquis de Santa Cruz, am the recognized 
 representative of our house, the head, the stem, the fruit, 
 the flower — yea, the very tree, root, branch and sap of 
 the stock Bazan. I can allow no error to creep abroad ; 
 I — I 
 
 Sal. 
 
 My dear Marquis, no one dare dispute your rights; I 
 was but presenting to these gentlemen our cousin, Caesar, 
 who has suddenly returned. 
 
 Alba. 
 What, from the other world ! 
 
 [All laugh.
 
 RUY BLAS. ig 
 
 Sal. 
 No, from the Indies. 
 
 Alba. 
 
 .Let me see. Yes, yes, indeed ; I recognize him. How 
 lixe his mother ! Your hand, my cousin. 
 
 Sal. 
 You recognize him ? 
 
 Alba. 
 
 I should think so ! I was one of the witnesses to his 
 
 birth. {All laugh. 
 
 I should not have known him. [Aside. 
 
 Sal. 
 Ten years abroad 
 
 Ruy. 
 My lord ! 
 
 Sal. \ A side to Ruy. 
 
 When your fortune rises does your spirit sink ? Be blind, 
 be dumb, be wise ! Trust all to me. 
 
 [Aloud. 
 
 Yes, here is the spendthrift. His rich inheritance — you 
 remember it, Marquis — scattered to the winds. In three 
 years, ruined ; but he had the heart of a lion, and set to 
 work to retrieve his fortunes, and lo ! here he is, fresh 
 from India, with a galleon filled with treasure ! 
 
 [All bow and exclaim at once. 
 
 All. 
 Sir! 
 
 Alba. 
 
 I had a great regard for your mother, sir ! 
 
 [Shaking hands with Ruy. 
 Gods! How like his mother! 
 
 3
 
 RUY BLAS. 
 20 
 
 Sal. 
 
 As I am now in disgrace and shall be absent from 
 Madrid, may I ask your interest, gentlemen, in his behalf? 
 
 All. 
 
 Assuredly — My voice is his — Decidedly. 
 
 [March pp. — After their assurances to Ruy, all 
 the lords put on their hats and turn towards back 
 of scene. 
 
 Ruy. [ To Don Salluste. 
 
 To what will this lead ? 
 
 Sal. 
 
 Ruy, be fearless ; walk blindfold on ; my eyes shall see 
 for thee, my hand direct. Be brave ! Ascend the hill at 
 whose high top thy fortune smiles, and woos thee to 
 embrace her. 
 
 [Music, louder. 
 Voice. [ Outside. 
 
 The queen ! 
 My lord ! 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 [Forcing his hat into Ruy's hand. 
 
 Put it on ; put it on. Use your right. 
 
 [Ruy mechanically puts on hat. 
 A grandee of Spain stands covered in the presence of the 
 queen. 
 
 All. 
 The queen ! 
 
 [The Queen enters, above, preceded and followed 
 by Lords and Ladies. Picture. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 ^ceiic Jurat. < 
 
 3£ct ^cconfc. 
 
 f Madrid. Another Hall in the Royal 
 Palace. Large Bow-window r. c. : sev- 
 eral Ladies seated near it. Queen 
 discovered at table r. duchess 
 of Albuquerque in large Chair, l., 
 reading. casilda sitting at feet 
 of the Queen. 
 
 Queen. [In soliloquy. 
 
 I cannot chase the image from my thoughts. I dream 
 of him by night ; I think of him by clay. I see him, grave 
 and joyless, as he bent o'er my hand, and took his leave. 
 Don Salluste hates me. Yes, his proud eye tells it ; and 
 I fear him. His smile of state but cloaks revenge, — a 
 poisoned dagger sheathed in courtesy. [She rises. 
 
 Duch. 
 Ladies ! [Rising. 
 
 Ladies, the queen has risen. 
 
 [ They all rise, languidly, and sit when the Queen 
 motions to them to do so. 
 
 Queen. [Still in soliloquy. 
 
 He is gone, and I should be at ease. Still, I have a 
 presentiment of ill. He is my evil genius ! I fancy the 
 demon lurks around the little paradise of my lone musings. 
 The flowers, the letter, the symbols of some unknown 
 heart's devotion — ah, should his malice pierce that mys- 
 tery, the solace of my wretched life were lost, destroyed, 
 defiled ! 
 
 [To Casilda. 
 
 Casilda, do my poor pensioners attend ? 
 
 21
 
 2 2 RUY BLAS. 
 
 Cas. 
 Madam, they do, beneath the balcony. 
 
 Duch. 
 
 [Each time the Duchess speaks, she rises, and at 
 conclusion of her remarks sits, very stiff and 
 stately. 
 
 Pardon, your majesty. The etiquette of this great 
 court of Spain does not permit the queen to show herself 
 unto the people, save on state occasions. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Very well! Throw them my purse, Casilda. Let us 
 play some game to pass away the tedious time. 
 
 Duch. 
 
 Pardon, your majesty. Etiquette forbids ! The queen 
 may not amuse herself, excepting with her equals, kings or 
 queens, or princes and princesses of the blood royal of the 
 kingdom. 
 
 Queen. [Irritated. 
 
 But none are here ! 
 
 Duch. 
 
 His majesty, alas ! has no relations. [Curtseys. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Casilda, Isabella, let us walk. 
 
 Duch. 
 
 Pardon, your majesty ! Etiquette of this great court of 
 Spain exacts that when the queen doth condescend to walk 
 each door is opened by a grandee, who holds the key. 
 Not one grandee is in the palace now; therefore, your 
 majesty must please remain.
 
 RUY BLAS. 23 
 
 Queen. 
 Am I a prisoner ? 
 
 Duch. 
 
 Pardon ; as mistress of the royal household, as duenna 
 to the queen of Spain, until the festal day that dawns upon 
 the marriage I fulfill my duty. 
 
 Queen. 
 Casilda, you pity me, do you not ? 
 
 Cas. 
 Your majesty 
 
 Queen. 
 
 No matter. Bring fruit and wine. Ladies, I invite 
 you. 
 
 Duch. 
 
 Pardon, your majesty ! Etiquette compels the queen of 
 Spain, unless the king is by, to eat alone. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 The king ! The king neglects me, even before we 're 
 wed. I never see him ! He 's always at the chase. For 
 the six months I 've been in Spain, I 've not seen him six 
 times. 
 
 Cas. [Aside. 
 
 Poor lady ! In this dreary court, condemned to pass 
 her days so drearily ; hemmed in by etiquette and stupid 
 forms ! 
 
 Madam ! [ To Queen, tvho is in a reverie. 
 
 Queen. 
 Casilda ! 
 
 Cas. 
 You seem sad.
 
 2 4 RUY BLAS. 
 
 Queen. 
 Sad ! E'en captives are allowed that liberty. 
 
 Cas. [ Whispering. 
 
 The secret door I told you of frees you to pass at 
 pleasure. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 True ; I 'd forgotten. I was thinking then of my dear 
 home in Germany — my sister ; and how we played to- 
 gether 'neath the trees ; and laughed and sang ; until one 
 sad, sad day, a man in black came up to me, and said : 
 " You are betrothed to the king of Spain ! " My father 
 triumphed and my mother wept. I think, in private, both 
 were sorry for it. I came here, to learn the duties of a 
 queen, ere I become the wife unto a king. 'T is a dull 
 place, your court : the little birds I brought from home 
 all died since they 've been here. I am a prisoner; bound 
 down by forms; for me the sun smiles not upon the 
 flowers ; for me the clouds find not a mirror in the stream. 
 Nature is lost to me ! 
 
 Cas. 
 
 Madam, look from this casement. 'T is a lovely view ; 
 the woods, the river — see. 
 
 [ Queen is going towards casement. 
 
 Bitch. 
 
 Pardon, your majesty ! Etiquette permits not the queen 
 of Spain to look out of a casement, opened or shut. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Am I forbidden, then, to gaze upon the liberty of others ? 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 No pastime but the dangerous one of weaving a romance 
 about the unknown being whose voiceless worship is 
 symbolized by my best loved flowers ! Ah, heaven shield 
 me from that temptation ! 
 
 \ Enter two pages, l. 2. E., ushering in Alba.
 
 RUV BLAS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 25 
 
 Count Alba. From the king. 
 
 [Exeunt pages. Alba produces letter. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Heaven has heard my prayer ! A letter of affectionate 
 remembrance, to recall me to my sense of duty — grati- 
 tude. Give it me quickly. [Duchess quickly interposes. 
 
 Duch. 
 Whence comes the letter? 
 
 Alba. 
 From Aranguez, madam, where the king is hunting. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 I thank his grace. He has had compassion on my 
 ennui, and doubtless sends me a letter full of pleasant 
 tidings. Give it me. 
 
 Duch. [Takes letter. 
 
 Pardon, your majesty ! The etiquette of this great 
 court of Spain demands that I, as mistress of the royal 
 household, in absence of the king, should first open and 
 read all letters addressed to the queen of Spain. 
 
 [Alba goes up to ladies at window. 
 
 Queen. 
 Again — Ah, well ! read it. 
 
 Duch. 
 
 [Slowly, after putting on spectacles. 
 
 " Madam. There 's a high wind. I have killed six 
 wolves. 
 
 (Signed) " Carlos."
 
 6 
 
 RUY BLAS, 
 
 Is that all ? 
 
 
 Queen. 
 Duch. 
 
 Yes, your majesty, 
 Alas ! 
 
 all 
 
 1 
 Queen. 
 
 Cas. • 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 He has " killed six wolves ! " What an agreeable piece 
 of information to forward to his betrothed bride — her 
 gentle heart longing for some kind word ! " Killed six 
 wolves ! " I wish the rest of the pack may revenge their 
 brethren, and kill him ! " It blows a high wind." I hope 
 it may blow him off his horse ! 
 
 Duch. [ Offering letter. 
 
 Does your majesty wish to read this victorious record 
 of his majesty's exploits ? 
 
 Queen. 
 No. 
 
 Cas. [Aside to Duchess. 
 
 Is that really all ? 
 
 Duch. 
 
 All. And a great deal, too ! Should there be more ? 
 The king was hunting ; he paused to write the number he 
 had killed, and the state of the weather. It is a very 
 important and royal letter indeed, and should be enrolled 
 in the archives of the state. [Examining letter. 
 
 Stay ! His majesty did not write this. He but dic- 
 tated. 
 
 Queen. [ Taking letter. 
 
 No, 't is not his hand ; the signature alone is his. 
 
 [Looking more curiously at letter, and aside. 
 
 Ah, is this some illusion ? This writing is the same as 
 that of the letter received with the flowers. What can 
 this mean ? Do they come then from a courtier ? [ To Alba. 
 
 Know you who it was that wrote this letter at the king's 
 dictation ?
 
 RUY BLAS. 27 
 
 Alba. 
 The Duke Olmedo. 
 
 Queen. 
 Duke Olmedo ? 
 
 Ditch. 
 The first minister. 
 
 Alba. 
 
 Who galloped hither, and now waits for me in the 
 council chamber. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Duke Olmedo ! [Queen sits at table, r., with letter. 
 
 Duch. 
 
 A scion of the great house of Bazan ; a perfect and 
 accomplished cavalier, his noble birth bursting through 
 every look. 
 
 Cas. 
 
 [ To one of the ladies, overheard by Alba. 
 
 The handsomest young gallant of them all. I loved 
 
 him at first sight, although, alas, I 've not changed word 
 
 with him ; but I 've a plan to send to-night to him by old 
 
 Paquita. I die with curiosity to hear how he makes love. 
 
 [Alba comes down, l., in rage. 
 
 Alba. [Aside. 
 
 Indeed. She loves him, then ! and he is my twenty- 
 third successful rival. I '11 pick a quarrel with, and kill 
 him. Yes, Olmedo 's dead. 
 
 Your majesty, may it please you I retire ? [To Queen. 
 [She bows. lie crosses, tvhile the Queen and 
 Duchess speak. 
 
 Queen. 
 The duke Olmedo. 
 
 Duch. 
 
 Don Caesar de Bazan, duke of Olmedo. 
 4
 
 „g RUY BLAS. 
 
 Alba. 
 
 Don Caesar de Bazan, duke of dead. [Exit. 
 
 [ Casilda speaks aside, to ladies, at Albans exit. 
 
 Cos. 
 
 The old count is jealous — furious. I must get him out 
 of the way — even if I 'm obliged to kiss him — or a duel 
 may ensue. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Is council held to-day ? 
 
 Duch. 
 Madam, it is. [March pp. 
 
 Cas. 
 
 See ! The duke is passing through the court-yard, 
 going to the council chamber. 
 
 [All the ladies crowd to window. 
 
 Queen. [Going toward window. 
 Ah, I would see him. [Ladies fall back from window. 
 
 Duch. 
 
 Pardon, your majesty ; but the etiquette of this great 
 court of Spain forbids 
 
 Queen. [Aside. 
 
 Etiquette ? O, how gladly would I exchange your 
 imperceptible fetters for the iron chains that weigh down 
 the malefactor ! [ To Duchess. 
 
 Who is the duke of Olmedo ? His title is a new one 
 to me. 
 
 Duch. 
 
 A young nobleman of the house of Bazan, recom- 
 mended to the king, and to me, by the Marquis de Santa 
 Cruz. He is a most accomplished gentleman, of rare 
 talent for government.
 
 RUY BLAS. 2 
 
 Queen. 
 You mean, I suppose, for intrigue. 
 
 Duck. 
 
 No, your majesty. He is distinguished by high bear- 
 ing and a great regard for decorum and etiquette. Since 
 I have been in office I have had the aid of his authority 
 in re-establishing all those ancient forms and strict rules 
 about egress and ingress to and from the palace which 
 prevent all chance of easy approach to the person of your 
 majesty. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 So, then, I have to thank him for all these restrictions 
 which have, of late, made life a burden to me. 
 
 Duck. 
 
 Which tend to elevate and make more sacred the maj- 
 esty of the queen of Spain. 
 
 Queen. [Aside. 
 
 I see the snare. Ah, is't possible that a noble — that a 
 man could lend himself to further a plot against a woman, 
 by such a vile system of petty torture ? 
 
 [Aloud. 
 I cannot believe it. 
 
 Duch. 
 
 Your pardon. As the officers and servants of the court 
 had fallen into habits of neglect in these matters, and were 
 difficult to reclaim, to enforce my directions, here is an 
 order of state commanding their observance ; written and 
 signed by the duke, with an abstract of the various rules 
 to be revived, and the watches to be kept by the guards 
 and pages. 
 
 Queen. [Aside, taking paper. 
 
 'T is the same hand. Ah, base 
 
 [ To Duchess. 
 Will you permit me to retain for a short time this
 
 30 RUY BLAS. 
 
 precious document, and leave me to peruse it at leisure 
 that I may obtain some knowledge of what I am free to 
 do, and what 's forbidden ? 
 
 Buck. 
 
 Willingly, your majesty. A queen of Spain should be 
 perfect mistress of court etiquette, and cannot be better em- 
 ployed than in its study. You will find it very edifying 
 and interesting reading, I am sure. Ladies, it is the festi- 
 val of Kunegunda, the patroness of decorum. Let us go 
 and make an obeisance at her shrine, in the royal chapel, 
 and I shall afterwards entertain you by reading her life. 
 
 Cas. [Aside. 
 
 In twenty-six chapters — what a treat! I should fall 
 asleep. 
 
 [ The Duchess makes a very stately curtsey, which 
 all the ladies mimic — hardly restraining their 
 laughter. Exeunt l. 2. e. Duchess, and all the 
 ladies except Casilda, who, ivhen Duchess has 
 turned away, runs to Queen, kneels, and kisses 
 her hand. 
 But now to pacify Count Alba. Exit Casilda. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 [Takes letter from her breast and compares it with 
 paper. 
 
 The same — the same. O, infamy ! 
 
 [Dashes letter on table. 
 
 Ah, heaven, thou hast punished me for cherishing in my 
 heart the vain dream of being loved ! These flowers, this 
 letter, these restrictions — all were portions of the same plot 
 to humble me. Annoyance — torture on the one hand, 
 temptation on the other. Did he not say he was of the 
 house of Bazan — a relative, no doubt, of Don Salluste ; 
 in league with him; perhaps his instrument. But I shali 
 defeat, nay, triumph over both. I shall meet this plotting —
 
 RUY BLAS. 
 
 3 1 
 
 this base courtier duke, and in full council denounce his 
 treason ; cast his flowers and his letter at his feet, and rend 
 his order too — nay, more, attach him as a traitor to his 
 sovereign ! For once, the queen of Spain, so called, shall 
 play, indeed, the queen, and vindicate the outraged woman 
 too. The means, thank heaven, I have at hand. Casilda 
 showed me a passage leading from this apartment to a 
 secret cabinet within the council chamber, — made by 
 Philip II., that he might overhear, while concealed in it, 
 his ministers debate : a mean design, but it will serve me 
 now to reach the council in despite the duke's high 
 mandate. Quick — the letter — order — and the flowers. 
 
 [Looks at flowers. 
 Of what sweet thoughts were they the types to me ; so 
 delicate and pure I deemed the mystic love they came to 
 represent! and was it all a dream, sad heart — a dream? 
 Base cunning ; that outrages the holiest symbols of true 
 love, — and calls for quick and bitter vengeance ! 
 
 [Exit L. 2. E. 
 
 gicenc &>econH.< 
 
 f Council Chamber in the Royal 
 Palace. Arch, with Steps and 
 Platform c. Large Table on 
 which are Papers, Books, Pens, 
 Ink, etc., etc., l. Several Large 
 Chairs around it. Smaller Table, 
 also furnished with writing 
 Materials, r. Chairs r. Large 
 Window r. 2. e. Secret Panel l. 
 Don Manuel, Camporeal, Don 
 Basto, Don Priego, Don Pedro, and 
 other Noblemen discovered, Seat- 
 ed, or Lounging about the Room. 
 
 Man. 
 His sudden rise is most mysterious.
 
 3 2 RUY BLAS. 
 
 Camp. 
 
 The order of the Golden Fleece; the office of state 
 secretary; minister of finance — prime minister; and now 
 made duke of Olmedo. 
 
 Man. 
 All in six months. 
 
 Camp. 
 
 A powerful influence supports and forwards all his wishes. 
 
 Man. [Cautiously. 
 
 Yes, the queen. 
 
 Camp. 
 
 Nay, although, neglected by her husband, she might 
 be well tempted to cast her eye upon our chivalrous min- 
 ister, they never meet. My suspicions at first took the 
 course that yours did ; but I have watched well, and can 
 find no trace or symptom of communication between 
 them. I do not think she has ever seen him. He lives, 
 when out of the council chamber, a secluded life, in the 
 palace that formerly belonged to his cousin, Don Salluste; 
 attended only by a couple of dumb servants. He receives 
 no visitors. 
 
 Man. 
 
 All this is very singular and suspicious. 
 
 [ Enter Alba c. 
 Bas. 
 
 Don Caesar is a man of great ambition and surpassing 
 genius. 
 
 Alba. [ Advancing. 
 
 He 's clever ; but, gentlemen, he owes a great deal to 
 my influence. I it was who recommended him to the 
 king; I it was who guided his policy by my advice, and 
 to me he owes nearly every advance of position he has 
 obtained ; and you are all wrong in supposing that he is 
 indebted to any other influence than mine. / made his 
 fortune. [Goes up
 
 RUV BLAS. 
 
 33 
 
 Camp. [ Aside to others. 
 
 True, and I rather think he regrets it now ; for Olmedo 
 shows him no favour in return ; but the patronage of the 
 old Duchess Alberquerque, the mistress of the household, 
 makes the duke independent. I have heard, from those 
 who knew him formerly, that Don Caesar, to-day our 
 master, was then one of the greatest fools under the moon 
 — a spendthrift, who dissipated his whole patrimony in a 
 few years. 
 
 Man. 
 
 A youth of folly sometimes makes an age of wisdom. 
 
 Bas. 
 I believe him to be a man of honour and probity. 
 
 Camp. 
 
 O, credulous Basto ! who takes seeming for reality : 
 The private purse of which he has the command annually 
 absorbs six hundred and sixty million ducats. 'T is an 
 obscure little Pactolus reserved for a particular fisherman, 
 but in which I should like to cast a net. 
 
 Prie. 
 
 You are not wise. Your present talk is, at least, 
 very imprudent. My late grandfather — an experienced 
 courtier — always gave this advice: — " bite the king but 
 kiss the favourite." 
 
 Alba. [ At table. 
 
 Gentlemen, gentlemen, let us turn our attention to 
 public affairs. 
 
 Camp. [ Aside. 
 
 His private interest he means — his avarice has some 
 new greed. [ All scat themselves at table. 
 
 Fed. [To Basto, in a low tone. 
 
 I want you to make my nephew an alcade or custodian 
 of the waifs and strays.
 
 34 R UY BLAS. 
 
 Bas. 
 
 You promised me to name, ere long, my cousin Mel- 
 choir bailie of the Ebro. 
 
 Ped. 
 
 You will ask me to dower your daughter next — one is 
 perpetually assailed. 
 
 Bas. 
 
 You shall have your alcade. 
 
 Ped. 
 
 And you your bailie. 
 
 Alba. 
 
 Gentlemen of the council, I must call your attention to 
 the fact that all are well provided for, except myself. 
 You have charge of the revenues upon tobacco, Basto. 
 Those upon indigo and musk are yours, my lord marquis 
 de Priego — nice picking for you both. Camporeal 
 receives the imposts upon salt, amber, jet, ivory, and other 
 profitable things. Manuel, why regard me with an 
 unquiet eye ? You are well off, I am sure ; getting as you 
 do, the duties upon arsenic, ice, lead, and rosewood, and 
 the fines paid by the citizen defaulters for the remission of 
 corporeal punishment. A vast sum — but I have nothing 
 — nothing. Gentlemen give me something. 
 
 Camp. [Aside. 
 
 O, the old cormorant ! He has the cleanest profits of 
 all : except the Indies — he has all the islands in both seas; 
 his wide wings stretch from Majorca to Teneriffe. 
 
 Alba. 
 I repeat — I have nothing. 
 
 Prie. [Laughing. 
 
 He has the negroes.
 
 RUY BT,A.-. ^5 
 
 Ped. 
 
 I have much more reason to complain. I want the 
 woods and forests. 
 
 Alba. 
 
 I want something — must have something. Give me 
 the arsenic and you shall have the negroes. 
 
 [All rise and talk at once. Ruy enters at back, 
 observing them. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 My lords ! . My lords ! [All start. 
 
 O, virtuous statesmen ! O, faithful senators, who took 
 an oath to serve your country. Corrupt servants ! 
 Traitors! False stewards, who rob your master when 
 asleep ! have you no interest in your native land except to 
 pillage, and to fly from her ? O, midnight plunderers, 
 breaking ope a grave — your mother's grave — to filch her 
 wedding ring! Gentlemen, for twenty years the wretched 
 people, whom you still would press, groaning beneath a 
 weight of taxes, have sweated full four hundred and some 
 thirty million crowns of gold, to pleasure you in riot, waste, 
 and luxury ! Spain totters to destruction, and you seek 
 the means to make her poorer, to enrich yourselves. 
 You, Spaniards, sack your homes as would a foreign foe ! 
 Threatened by war, what army can we oppose to the 
 invader ? None. Our barefoot soldiers are transformed 
 to robbers who plunder those they should protect. On 
 land starvation, on our seaboard menace; abroad a war, 
 and discontent at home. You count but what you '11 gain ; 
 as wreckers, when they see a vessel storm-tossed, laugh 
 with glee at prospect of the booty. Shame upon the 
 parricides who, in the dark, poniard their father ! O, ten 
 thousand shames fall upon those great lords who rack 
 their brains to plot the ruin of their native land ! 
 
 Alba. 
 
 This to me ! A Santa Cruz ! The head of the house 
 of Bazan! who placed him first in office — the in grate. 
 I '11 be revenged. — I withdraw my support from you — I 
 resign my office. What say you, sir, to that ? 
 
 5
 
 36 RUY BLAS. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 That it spares me the pain of your dismissal. You will 
 withdraw, my lord, and in three days leave Madrid, nor 
 return until recalled. 
 
 Alba. 
 
 Leave Madrid! Exile Santa Cruz! I '11 challenge 
 him — but hold, the heralds are in dispute about his coat 
 of arms — he referred them to me. I '11 send a design 
 with the bar sinister. Ha, ha ! I '11 be revenged. [Exit. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Gentlemen, you will please retire. In two hours we 
 will resume our labours. 
 
 [Exit all but Ruy. Enter a Page, with letter. 
 
 Page. 
 A letter for your excellency. 
 
 [ Gives letter to Ruy. 
 Ruy. 
 The king's seal. [£ ^ page 
 
 " To our trusty and well beloved cousin : — The subject 
 of which we wished to speak, and could not call to mind 
 this morning, was the immediate solemnization of our 
 marriage with the queen. You will see the necessary 
 preparations instantly made. Carlos, Rex." 
 
 My dream has reached its climax — the crisis of my fate 
 has come. 
 
 [Enter another Page. 
 Page. 
 
 Your excellency, the ambassador of France requests an 
 interview. 
 
 Ruy. 
 I cannot see him now. 
 
 Page. 
 
 The nuncio of the pope awaits your excellency in the 
 hall of audience.
 
 RUY BLAS. 37 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 At this hour, it is impossible. 
 
 [Exit Page. 
 O, that it should be my task to speed the preparations 
 for her nuptials : my hand must turn the knife already in 
 my heart. 
 
 [Queen enters, through secret panel. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Noble, yet sad — as I have dreamed of him — my heart's 
 ideal. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Great heaven — the queen! 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Yes, the queen; who for the first time greets the 
 minister. 
 
 Ruy. [Aside. 
 
 For six months I have avoided meeting her ; what fate 
 has sent her here — and at this moment too — O, misery! 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Yes, the queen, who came with purpose to upbraid, but 
 in thy presence asks thy pardon. 
 
 Ruy. 
 Upbraid ! Pardon ! 
 
 Queen. 
 
 I can speak to thee without fear ; thou art too noble to 
 misunderstand me, or to pass the bound high honour puts 
 between us. — My fate, a sad one — made harsher by 
 
 restrictions attributed to thee — led me to cherish a fond 
 dream of one unknown, who, shrouded in the mystery true 
 passion only can endure, had sung sad music to my soul — 
 invisible — yet living and beloved. Thou seest. 
 
 [ Shows flowers.
 
 3 8 RUY BLAS. .. ' 
 
 Rny. 
 My gift — its shrine her heart — O, joy ineffable! 
 
 Queen, 
 
 This order, in the same hand, for a moment palled all 
 the heaven of my dream ; and in the darker mirror of my 
 soul I saw a tempting, mocking demon, where before had 
 smiled an angel. I thought thy hidden love a snare — a 
 plot — and each restriction but another spur to urge me 
 onward to the toil. 
 
 Ruy. 
 O, heaven ! 'T was so you judged of me ! 
 
 Queen. 
 
 A moment only. I sought thee, to upbraid ; I came to 
 meet a mere intriguing courtier, and to confound with just 
 reproach his cruelty and baseness ; but, when I heard the 
 noble words that, bursting from a great and mighty heart, 
 swept down the towering pride and insolence of Spain's 
 most haughty and rapacious foes — her lords! Nay, when 
 I heard thy voice, and saw thy flashing eyes, that pierced, 
 like shafts of scorn, the breasts of those base peers, I felt 
 that I had wronged thee, and for that I come to ask thy 
 pardon. 
 
 Ruy. 
 Ah, madam, you were there ? [Motions toward panel. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Yes, I was there; unknown to thee, and have heard 
 all : you forgive me ? 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Forgive thee — I, thy slave — thy worshipper! Ah! 
 heaven, thou knowest how I have shunned this dread 
 temptation ; aid me to resist it.
 
 RUY BLAS. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 39 
 
 I knew not that such grandeur, both of thought and 
 speech, existed until now. You are young, but lately 
 raised to power, and yet you speak like one who might 
 give laws to kings. Whence comes this woman's tender- 
 ness of heart — this manly fearlessness of foes ? 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 It springs from love of thee. In serving Spain, I serve 
 the queen. Thy image lends me strength ! Strengthened 
 by love, I am all-powerful ! I love thee ! — hear me out. 
 Thou art another's — a king's — though not his bride, his 
 bride elect. I know it; knowing it, have shunned thy 
 presence, still loving while I shunned it. I have loved 
 thee as the mariner the star that guides him home. A 
 distant homage and an awe-struck worship ! Though low 
 to thee as is the earth from heaven, I love thee as the 
 blind may love the light he never hopes to look on ! Nay, 
 start not; thou art to me all sacred as saint to votary; 
 as was the muse to poet worshipper in olden times, or 
 nymphid forms, imagined purer e'en than Dian's self, 
 and cloistered deep in ocean's crystal caves. 
 
 Queen. 
 Dare I believe — have I the right to listen? 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 For six months, although consumed with longing to 
 behold, I have shunned — avoided thee — O with what 
 agony of self repression ! but now, I dare to gaze on, 
 worship, and avow my love to thee. I shrink back, lest 
 my shadow should profane. What is your wish ? Say to 
 me— die — and I am dead. O, have I offended ? Pity— 
 pardon me. 
 
 Queen. [Aside. 
 
 What music have mine ears drunk in ? This is indeed 
 the love that poets sing of — that, were I free to answer,
 
 4° RUY BLAS. 
 
 would make life a blessing, earth a paradise; and yet, 
 though mine and living but for me, I must, as he did, 
 shun it like a foe. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Thou dost not speak — O, heaven! I have offended 
 past thy power to pardon. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 No need of pardon; when no wrong has e'er been 
 done. May heaven have pity on us both, for both are 
 sadly doomed ! I will not wrong thy noble nature with a 
 doubt. Thou 'It not presume, though I confess to thee 
 my queenly life a miserable one. I tried to give my love 
 where duty told me 't would be one day due. It was 
 repulsed. All sense of tenderness was frowned into a 
 fonnal show of mere politeness. Surrounded but by pulse- 
 less beings, who moved and acted but as puppets do ; 
 assured affection could not live for me ; my sense of life 
 grew dull — and in the shade of cold court-etiquette, my 
 heart seemed withering, and I longed to die. 
 
 Ruy. 
 Alas! 
 
 Queen. 
 
 To shun despair I gave my soul to dreams ; and sought 
 for their indulgence the solitude of lonely walks. In one 
 of these I found, while resting for a moment in the park, 
 a bouquet of the flowers I most loved. I wondered 
 whence they came; but when the offering was renewed I 
 knew that some one cared to please me ; and with their 
 fragrances inhaled a sense of ecstasy — a thought that some 
 one loved me. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 O, my queen ! Kill me not with sense of too much joy. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 I knew not whom, and scarcely wished to know. My 
 fancy hardly sought to realize his form ; my heart was
 
 RUY BLAS. 4 1 
 
 satisfied to be but loved. At last this letter came — a terror 
 first — a treasure soon. Heaven pardon me — no doubt 
 'twas wrong — but my poor heart so hungered for affec- 
 tion, I could not in my loneliness deny it the deep bliss to 
 feel itself enthroned as queen of some pure soul. Imagi- 
 nation grew more bold and gave a bright ideal to my 
 heart, — which, noble, tender, pure, as I've found thee, I do 
 not shame to own that heart set up as idol, and enshrined. 
 
 Ruy. 
 My queen — O, spare me. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Alas ! What poverty of payment is this poor acknowl- 
 edgment to thee, who have so suffered but to solace my 
 sad solitude, who now must suffer more, since now we 
 ne'er again must meet. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Never. 'T is true ; the fatal hour is at hand. Well, I 
 accept, without complaint, my destiny. In dreams you 've 
 loved me — what other solace needs my heart? 
 
 Queen. 
 
 This one — since you so nobly think, and can so nobly 
 act, to know thyself for evermore the idol of my dreams. 
 Adieu. 
 
 [S/ie offers her hand. He is about to take it, but, 
 at sight of the betrothal ring upon her finger, 
 checks himself. 
 Nay, take my hand. [Kneels and takes her hand. 
 
 Ruy. 
 My queen 
 
 Queen. 
 
 We part forever. Heaven itself may smile on our fare- 
 well.
 
 42 RUY BLAS. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 'T is true : pure and enshrined as heaven thou art — 
 farewell forever. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Forever, here below, with hope to meet above. 
 
 [ Exit the Queen. 
 Ruy. 
 
 Can it be real? Loved, and by her! 'tis so! O! 
 Paradise that opens to my eyes and steeps my soul in 
 love's profound repose: loved — happy — powerful. 
 
 [ During this speech Don Salluste, dressed in livery, 
 enters, and sits on table, carelessly watching Ruy. 
 
 Duke Olmedo ; Spain at my feet ! its honour in my 
 hands — my country's honour! Teach me, O, heaven! 
 how to be worthy of my task ; make me worthy to offer 
 her as shield and sword — the queen, my arm; the woman, 
 my devotion. A love most pure, most loyal. My dream 
 is realized — my joy complete — I have no more to fear. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 Good day. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Great heaven ! — I 'm lost — the marquis ! 
 
 Sal. 
 
 It appears that you did n't expect me. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Your lordship has, indeed, taken me by surprise. 
 
 [ Aside. 
 My evil star again has risen. The angel gone, the 
 demon comes ! 
 
 Sal. 
 
 Well, how goes all with you ? 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 This livery
 
 RUY BLAS. 43 
 
 Sal. 
 
 O, it procured me an entrance to the palace. I find it 
 much to my taste, and most convenient. 
 
 Rny. 
 But, you are in danger 
 
 Sal. 
 Danger — what an absurd idea! 
 
 Ruy. 
 As an exile, you must be. 
 
 Sal. 
 Do you think that possible ? 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 What, if you should be recognized in the very court, 
 and in open day ? 
 
 Sal. 
 
 Bah ! The happy gentlemen in favour at court have no 
 remembrance of one in disgrace; their time is too pre- 
 cious to be wasted; besides, no one ever criticizes the 
 profile of a lacquey. Apropos, what is this I heard talked 
 of just now ? Is it true that, influenced by some patriotic 
 mania, you have exiled the grandee, Santa Cruz, through 
 whose influence you first obtained office ? That is very 
 ungrateful of you; you forget he is your relation, Don 
 Caesar. Look at your escutcheon ; you will find the 
 quarterings are similar. He 's certainly your relation. 
 Wolf should hunt with wolf. Your eyes, ears, hands 
 should open to him; close to all others. Every one for 
 his own. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 My lord, pardon me ; but these nobles were guilty, not 
 only of neglect in discharge of their official duties, but of 
 6
 
 44 RUY BLAS. 
 
 systematic plunder. The revenues of the State flowed not 
 into the treasury, but into their pockets. A great war 
 pending, they saw Spain without an army and still 
 
 thought 
 
 Sal. 
 
 There appears to be a draught from yonder window — 
 oblige me by closing it. 
 
 [ After a violent effort, Ruy obeys. Music mean- 
 while. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 As I was saying, your excellency, the safety of Spain 
 can only be ensured by the probity of its ministers. I 
 had flung down the gauntlet, and sent word to the 
 emperor that I should only answer his imperious demands, 
 in the field, at the head of an army. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 Give me my handkerchief. 
 
 [Same business and music as before. 
 
 You were saying 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 The safety of Spain is in our hands. Let us save the 
 people — let us dare to be just — let us drive selfish 
 intrigue from our councils, and treat as criminals these 
 lordly knaves. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 My good friend, let us have no more of this nonsense 
 — this patriotic froth: your ministerial cant of virtue, 
 probity, is a stale bait for popularity — a piece of faded 
 tinsel, that is out of date. You are really but a child in 
 these matters. Your globe is but a balloon which we 
 need but pierce with a pin to make collapse ; indeed, a 
 good hearty kick would burst it, and let out all the 
 vapourish vanity within. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 My lord
 
 RUY BLAS. 45 
 
 Sal. 
 
 I thought I should surprise you ; but let us occupy our- 
 selves with more serious and important matters. You 
 will wait my coming to-morrow evening in your palace — 
 the one that I have given you. My project nears accom- 
 plishment. Take care that you have no attendants. 
 
 Ruy. 
 My lord, I shall obey. I submit to everything. Do 
 but assure me that the object which you have in view does 
 not affect the safety of the queen. 
 
 Sal. 
 The queen? O — the princess de Neubourg. What 
 makes you think of her ? 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 You are a strange and fearful man. I have an instinct 
 of some dark design which makes my spirit tremble. I 
 feel that you would compel me to commit a crime against 
 the very religion of my heart — for I 
 
 Sal. 
 
 I know it — you love her. 
 
 Ruy. 
 You know it ? 
 
 Sal. 
 
 Yes; but what does that matter? You dream, my 
 master, truly ; in seeking to be serious, you only play the 
 buffoon. The goal to which I only know the way is much 
 nearer to your happiness than you can conceive. I lead 
 you. Be content and obey me. I have made a lord 
 of you — 't is a singular transformation — for the moment 
 you have all the semblance of one : but do not forget you 
 are my valet — my lacquey. You are a courtier by mere 
 chance ; your true place is behind my carriage. So, pray 
 be reasonable. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 O, heaven ! of what crime of mine is this the punish- 
 ment ? Do not permit me to be driven to despair. Must
 
 46 
 
 RUY BLAS. 
 
 I assist to torture the poor victim of another's hate — per- 
 chance the object of my own heart's love. I feel assured 
 his object is but revenge — vengeance on the queen, and am 
 I to aid in that ? become to her an object of affright and 
 horror? I shall go mad — my reason leaves me. O, have 
 pity; mercy on her — on me! You know I am a faith- 
 ful servant — you have confessed it, often. In humbleness 
 I pray — implore for mercy — mercy. 
 
 Sal. [Aside. 
 
 What a fool this fellow is ! he will not comprehend. 
 
 [To Ruy. 
 Let us have an end to this, my master. 
 You have closed that window badly. I feel still the 
 draught. [Don Salluste crosses to R. and doses window. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 O, this is past endurance ! I am the duke of Olmedo, 
 prime minister — all powerful; and I will crush beneath 
 my heel the tyrant that would tread on me. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 What say you ? Pray repeat that speech. Ruy Bias, 
 duke of Olmedo ! — quite blind with folly ! you forget that 
 upon the count of Bazan was conferred the dukedom of 
 Olmedo. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 I will arrest you. 
 And I denounce you. 
 Me? 
 
 Sal. 
 Ruy. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 Yes. I foresaw this, and took care to put your head 
 in equal jeopardy with mine. Ha — ha — you are too 
 quick to play the victor, sir. 
 
 Ruy. 
 I will deny all. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 Denial will not serve you.
 
 RUY BLAS. 47 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 You have no proofs. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 Thou hast no memory — fool. Hearken sir! and know 
 thyself as much my servant, slave, as is the glove to 
 the hand. If thou obeyest me not, if to-morrow thou dost 
 not have all in readiness as I've directed, at thy house, 
 and meet me there — if thou speakest one word of what 
 has passed between us, to a living being — if thy looks or 
 gestures should imply betrayal, she, for whom thou hast 
 most fear, will, as the object of thy senseless passion, be 
 publicly defamed, disgraced, nay — lost; she shall receive 
 under cover, a paper, which I treasure in a secure place 
 — written — thou shouldst know by whose hand — signed 
 — thou shouldst know with whose name — to this effect : — 
 
 [Hurried music. 
 
 " I, Ruy Bias, servant to his lordship, the marquis of 
 Finlas, do hereby engage, on every occasion, public and 
 private, to render him the obedience of a faithful lacquey." 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Enough ! I will do your bidding. [Sinks in chair. 
 
 [Murmurs heard within. 
 Sal. 
 
 They come. [Bowing low and hiding his face. 
 
 My lord duke, command your faithful valet. 
 
 [ Lords enter c. and advance r. Music ceases. 
 
 All. 
 Duke Olmedo, we tender our resignations. 
 
 Ruy. [Starting to his feet. 
 
 'T 's well ! You are no longer needed. Go ! 
 
 [ Some depart. 
 
 [ To those who remain. 
 
 For you, if you remain, know that my hand must hold 
 
 the helm and steer the vessel on a different course. You 
 
 all shall feel that I am master here. [All bow. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 3Uct Cfjitb. 
 
 A Room in the Palace of Ruy Blas. Plat- 
 « form c. at back, accessible by steps. 
 
 Stand of Arms on Platform. Ruy Blas 
 discovered. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 The night has fallen, and yet he does not come. The 
 base design he has in hand, no doubt, requires the veil of 
 darkness; but that concerns not me; for I shall be no 
 more his instrument. Reflection has brought calm and 
 resolution to my soul. My first unworthy fears I 've found 
 were for myself. I thought but of my own disgrace. He 
 threatened with exposure — death. I can brave both to 
 serve — save her, and my obedience ends when he exacts 
 the slightest service that approaches wrong. Nay, I will 
 arrest him in despite his threats. Let him denounce ! 
 His head, as well as mine, shall fall, and she can have no 
 other foe. Did she not buy my life — my heart and soul — 
 in one sweet word, when she said she loved me ? They 
 are but held to sacrifice them for her sake. Yet, when 
 she learns I was a mere impostor — will not her heart 
 revolt and loathe itself for having ever changed a thought 
 with mine ? But no ; unselfish love will joy to perish for 
 her sake, and in her own high-wrought and noble 
 nature she will have an instinct of my truth. Yes ; in the 
 sanctuary of her pure breast my memory will thenceforth 
 be shrined, and oft receive a votive tear. Who would not 
 die a thousand deaths for that sweet hope? Yes — yes; 
 all 's well ! She 's safe beyond the reach of harm. 
 
 [Enter Queen r. u. e. 
 
 Queen. 
 Don Csesar ! 48
 
 RUY BLAS. 49 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Great heaven! The queen — alone — and here — O, 
 fatal snare! Hell triumphs! She is lost — madam 
 
 Queen. 
 Wherefore, that fearful cry and start — Don Caesar? 
 
 Ruy. 
 What brought — who bade you to come here? 
 
 Queen. 
 You. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 I — In heaven's name ! when ? 
 
 Queen. 
 I received from you 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 O, speak ! Speak quickly. 
 
 Queen. 
 A letter. 
 
 Ruy. 
 From me ! 
 
 Queen. 
 Written certainly by you. 
 
 Ruy. 
 What mystery is this ? I wrote no letter 
 
 Queen. 
 Read that. Gives letter. 
 
 Ruy. [Reads. 
 
 " My queen My heart's queen ! a doom of danger 
 hangs o'er my head — thou canst avert the blow, and only 
 thou. Come to me instantly ! Without thee, I am lost." 
 — O hell-born plot! I had forgot that letter. Madam — 
 begone !
 
 5° 
 
 RUY BLAS. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Begone ! Don Caesar ! this indignity ? Have I been 
 summoned but for this — O, heaven ! are you then false? 
 If so, what have I done ? 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Ay — what indeed! Destroyed thyself ! 
 
 Queen. 
 For mercy — how ? 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 I cannot explain — there is no time — fly — hence — 
 begone ! 
 
 Queen. 
 
 I had some fear, and was about to send a mes- 
 senger 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 O, heaven ! with every fleeting moment seems to flow a 
 life drop from thy heart — away ! 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Hold, I understand — you do expect, and momently, 
 some dreadful blow, and would spare me the knowledge — 
 I may protect and will remain. 
 
 Ruy. 
 Remain — and here! — 
 
 Queen. 
 
 The letter was indeed from you ! but now the danger 
 
 you would brave alone • 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 No — understand 
 
 Queen. 
 
 I do — first impulse made you write that letter which 
 your after care for me would fain recall.
 
 RUY BLAS. -j 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 I wrote no letter to thee — I am a demon — Fly — O, it 
 is you, poor lady, whom the danger threatens ! It is you 
 that hell assails on every side — O! can I find no way to 
 convince you? Think how great my love — to save thee 
 from the snare — the pit of horror to the fatal verge of 
 which thou hast been lured — I would tear my heart from 
 out my breast. O, then believe me that thy presence here 
 imperils both. Go — O, go at once! 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Don Caesar 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Pause not — but fly — Thou wast not seen to enter ? 
 
 Queen. 
 Not to be recognized, I think — but seen I was. 
 
 Ruy. 
 O, heaven ! by whom ? 
 
 Queen. 
 
 A man, cloaked and masked, stood in the shadow of 
 
 the portico 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Masked ? Did he not speak ? Who was it, can you 
 guess ? 
 
 [Enter Don Salluste r. u. e. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 ' T was I ! [Dropping cloak. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 O, horror ! Fly, madam ! 
 
 Sal. 
 
 It is too late ; the Princess de Neubourg is no longer 
 queen of Spain. 
 
 7
 
 52 RUY BLAS. 
 
 Queen. 
 Don Salluste! 
 
 Sal. 
 Forever now the compeer of this man. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Gracious heaven! it is a snare indeed — and Don 
 Caesar 
 
 Ruy. 
 Alas, madam ! thou seest now what thou hast done. 
 
 Sal. [To Queen. 
 
 I hold you in the toils, but, as I am about to speak 
 without anger to your majesty, pray, listen calmly. I have 
 found you — we '11 not noise the matter — alone, with Don 
 Cassar, in his chamber, at night. This fact proven or 
 admitted will suffice to annul your contract and mock 
 marriage, made by proxy, with the king. That scandal of 
 inquiry may be avoided, sign for me this letter to his 
 majesty I shall have it transmitted by the grand usher 
 to the state chancellor. As for you, without is a carriage 
 prepared, in which I have placed a store of gold. Depart — 
 both of you — I shall aid your flight: without being 
 molested you can go by Toledo, and from Alcantara enter 
 Portugal. Go where you please — we will not seek you. 
 Obey in this, and I swear to you that no one, save myself, 
 shall know of this affair: refuse, and all Madrid shall ring 
 with it to-morrow. You have no alternative — you are in 
 my hand. See, madam — your signature to this is all you 
 have to write. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 I am in his power. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 I ask nothing but your written admission of the fact, to 
 give the king.
 
 RUY BLAS. 53 
 
 [To Ruy. 
 You see, my friend, how I toil to ensure your happiness. 
 
 [To Queen. 
 Your signature. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 What shall I do 
 
 Sal. 
 
 Sign. Do not hesitate. You lose nothing but a loveless 
 crown — you gain heart-happiness, for a joyless throne — a 
 good exchange. All the household are asleep ; no one 
 knows of this save our three selves. If you will not sign, 
 you subject yourself to public scandal — infamy — the 
 cloister, and it may be — death. 
 
 Queen. 
 Merciful powers ! 
 
 Sal. 
 
 You are really free — the princess of Neubourg still — 
 your marriage a state fiction; Don Caesar loves you — he 
 is worthy ; to that I pledge my honour. He is of a noble 
 house — almost a prince. He is duke of Olmedo — a 
 Bazan, and grandee of Spain. 
 
 Ruy. 
 Hold! 
 
 [Ruy rushes forward. 
 My name is Ruy Bias ! I 'm a lacquey ! 
 
 Queen. 
 What said he 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 I said my name is Ruy Bias — my station — this man's 
 valet. 
 
 [ To Don Salluste. 
 
 You and I make a vile and miserable pair : I have the 
 lacquey's garb — you the lacquey's soul.
 
 54 RUY BLAS. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 'T is true. This man is indeed my valet. 
 
 [ To Ruy, who goes up c. 
 Fall back, and silence, sir. 
 
 Queen. 
 Great heaven ! I am punished for my dream. 
 
 Sal. 
 
 He spoke too soon, and told too much ; but, no matter 
 now ; my vengeance is sufficiently complete. What think 
 you — is it not? How loudly will the court and city 
 laugh to-morrow! You degraded me — ha! ha! — I de- 
 throne you. You banished — drove me from Madrid; I 
 hunt you from society. You offered me your attendant 
 for a wife; I have given you my lacquey for a lover. 
 Ha — ha — ha! When the king divorces you, you had 
 better wed this valet. Take him to Neubourg and have him 
 made a duke, — that you may still, at least, be a duchess. 
 Ah, you debased and triumphed over me, yet dared to 
 
 sleep in peace — vain idiot that you were 
 
 [Ruy locks door, and then stealthily approaches 
 Don Salluste, and quickly takes his sword. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Villain ! You insult your queen 
 
 [Don Salluste goes towards door. 
 
 No need of that — the door is fast. No one can enter 
 here — nor friend, nor follower — none but the fiend him- 
 self — the fiend, who, until now, hath gratified thy every 
 wish ; but who, if he would save thee now, must in person 
 come and battle for the prize! 'T is now my turn — my 
 day ! I hold thee in a grasp of iron ! 
 
 [To Queen. 
 
 Your pardon, madam. This man has no soul — no 
 feeling; nothing human save the form. Yesterday, my 
 torture was his triumph — he trod on me — he mocked and 
 laughed at my despair — he struck me on the heart! He
 
 RUY BLAS. 55 
 
 made me play the menial in the council hall, where, but 
 an hour before, I was dictator. He saw me weep, and 
 smiled: he heard me pray, and sneered: I — I cannot 
 paint his savage triumph. 
 
 [ To Don Salhcste. 
 Fiend ! was 't not enough, but you must now insult your 
 queen ! Wretch ! to thy knees ; and kiss the dust before 
 her ! But no, approach her not ; we crush a serpent when 
 it hisses in our path ; and when a coward trickster plots, 
 not merely 'gainst a woman's life, but 'gainst her dearer 
 fame — intrigues to rob his sovereign, not of her diadem 
 alone, but of the chaplet crown which virtue consecrates — 
 to make suspicion's hot breath sear her stainless brow — be 
 he lord or hind, 't is each man's duty, first, to spit upon, 
 and then with dagger, sword — no matter what — destroy! 
 Lord ! marquis ! duke ! Thy lacquey triumphs ! In me 
 behold thy executioner ! 
 
 Sal. 
 
 Give me, at least, a sword, and let us meet on equal 
 terms. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 On equal terms ! Lord marquis, sure you jest ! What ! 
 A gentleman cross swords with his own valet. Fie! 
 Stoop to fight a duel with a slave ! a dog ! whom 't was 
 thy privilege to whip; but who, in turn will smite thee — 
 yea, smite thee, marquis, as the shepherd smites the 
 treacherous dog that seeks to wolf the lamb. 
 
 Queen. 
 Have mercy — spare him ! 
 
 Ruy. 
 Though an angel for the demon pleads, it is in vain. 
 
 Sal. 
 Assassin !
 
 56 RUY BLAS. 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 No! Avenger! There 's no escape — no help — no 
 hope ! I greet thee like thy destiny. 
 
 [ Queen throws her arms around Ruy, to restrain 
 him. 
 
 Sal. 
 His eye is terrible. 
 
 [Hurried music. Don Salluste rushes up steps c, 
 and seizes a sword from stand of arms on plat- 
 form above. 
 Ha! Ha! we 're equal now! 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Not so. Thy crimes weigh thee down, and heaven's 
 wrath is on my sword. 'T is fate decrees my arm thy 
 punishment ! 
 
 [Ruy releases himself from the Queen, as he speaks, 
 and follows Don Salluste. They fight and 
 Don Salluste is killed. Queen, overwhelmed, 
 sinks into chair r. Ruy covers the body of 
 Don Salluste with cloak. 
 Madam, you are saved. Your enemy lies dead. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 [Rising, and shrinking back. 
 O, heaven ! 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 O, have no fear! I'll not approach — I dare not. I 
 would but say I 'm not so guilty as you think. Love 
 made me weak — blind — foolish; but not base. Have 
 pity ! 
 
 Queen. 
 
 What would you, sir ? 
 
 Ruy. 
 Thy pardon. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Never !
 
 KUY blas. 57 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Never ? 'then I 've done with life. [Drinks poison. 
 
 Sad flame, expire. 
 
 Queen. 
 What said you ? 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 Nothing. My sins now end — nothing. You curse me 
 and I bless you — nothing more. 
 
 Queen. [ Troubled. 
 
 Don Caesar! What have you done — what would you 
 do — you do not speak — your cheek grows pale — 1 
 pardon — I believe — I — I love you, Caesar! 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 My name is Ruy Bias. 
 
 Queen. 
 
 Ruy Bias ! I pardon thee — I — I love thee, Ruy Bias! 
 
 — Paler and paler still! Thou diest! 1 might have 
 saved thee ! 
 
 Ruy. 
 
 No ! no ! my queen ! Had thine avowal bade me live 
 
 — it could not be! 'T was fated — and so best. Had I 
 indeed been duke, my life were still a curse to thee. The 
 lacquey's love to sadness added shame. Yet I may hope 
 for pardon — blessing thee for thy past love — and pity 
 now. Had I lived, my love had poisoned all thy happi- 
 ness. I am repaid. You forgive — you love me ! 'T is 
 all I lived for, and is worth dying for. Fly — fly, my 
 queen — O, fly, at once! Here, take the key — begone! 
 Thy secret 's safe ! The only witness of thy presence here 
 — now dies — dies most happy, in thy arms. My queen! 
 Adieu! [Music, very low and mournful. Picture. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 DON CAESAR DE BAZAN 
 
 VOL. Ill
 
 preface* 
 
 * 
 
 *T^HE French comedy of which this is an adapted trans- 
 ■*■ lation was written by MM. Dumanois and Dennery, 
 and was first presented at the Porte St. Martin Theatre, in 
 Paris. The original representative of Don Cozsar de Bazan 
 was Frederick Lemaitre. "Here" says Lewes ["Actors and 
 the Art of Acting" p. /j'J, " was the union of grace and tat- 
 ters, ofe/egance and low habits. The Spanish nobleman had 
 stained his ermine, and dragged his honour through the 
 wine-shop and the brothel ; but he had never wholly lost 
 himself, and had not perverted his original nature. Very 
 shortly you perceived the real nature of the man underneath — 
 the nature stained, not spoiled, by reckless dissipation ; and it 
 was, therefore, no surprise when, as the play proceeded, the 
 nobler elements of this nature asserted themselves, and Don 
 Ccesar claimed respect." — The comedy thus brilliantly vitalized 
 in Paris was speedily made known in London, and thence it 
 came to America. The first English translation of it — 
 which, with a few changes, is here reprinted — was made 
 by Gilbert A. A' Beckett and Mark Lemon, and was brought 
 out at the Princess's Theatre, Lotidon, on October 8th, 1844 — 
 Don CcBsar being played by James W. Wallack. "The play" 
 said N. P. Willis, — who there saw Wallaces performance, 
 and me?itioned it in a subsequent letter ["Life of Wallack" 
 P- 39\ — "seems conceived and written especially for this fine 
 actor 's peculiar powers. The high-born Spanish gentleman,
 
 in pride and rags, indomitably gay in his worst perils and 
 extremities, and preserving his elegance through all his trials 
 and tatters, could never be represented with ?nore adinirable 
 truth and attractiveness. The abandon 7vith which Wallack 
 plays, seemingly carried away by the gaiety of the part, yet 
 always true to nature and to the poet's meaning, gives his 
 performance, to me, a charm irresistible" — This personation 
 of Don Ccesar continued, for many years, to illustrate that 
 airy fancy, sparkling humour, and exquisite grace which were 
 so delightful in the acting of the always honoured and now 
 lamented Veteran. Two other versions of this cotnedy were 
 produced in London at about the same time with this ; one 
 by Dion Boucicault, at the Adelphi ; the other by Charles 
 Mathews, entitled "A Match for a King" at the Hay- 
 market. The piece first made its appearance in America, on 
 December pth, 1844, at Mitchell's Olympic Theatre, New- 
 York. The historic period of "Don Caesar de Bazan " is 
 the same as that of Victor Hugo's "Ruy Bias." Charles the 
 Second, of Spain — tvho, in the comedy, is not unlike the 
 popular ideal of Charles the Second, of England, though in 
 fad he was but little better than an idiot — reigned from 
 1661 to 1700. Neither "Don Caesar de Bazan " nor "Ruy 
 Bias," however, pretends to rest on a substantial historical 
 basis. In Don Ccesar we encounter a kind of profligate 
 Mercutio — a character towards which the old Spanish 
 writers displayed a pardonable partiality [see, for a hint, 
 Vincent de la Rosa, in chapter 47 of "Don Quixote"], and 
 which steadily finds favour with all who love laughter and 
 can sympathize with intrepid and comic audacity. 
 
 W. W. 
 New-York, November 2d, 1878.
 
 * 
 
 "In truth he was a strange and wayward wight." — Beattie. 
 
 '* When plate was at pawn, and yob at an ebb, 
 And stomach as empty as brain.' — Marvel. 
 
 " Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing, 
 Happier than the happiest king!" — COWLEY. 
 
 " It is the nature of rags to bear a kind of mock resemblance to finery, — 
 there being a sort of fluttering appearance in both, which is not to be distin- 
 guished at a distance, in the dark, or by short-sighted eyes ." — SWIFT. 
 
 " ' O, dark-eyed maid,' 
 
 The soldier said, 
 
 ' I 've been wounded in many a fray ; 
 
 But such a dart 
 
 As you shoot to my heart 
 
 ' I never felt till to-day ! ' "—Sydney Dobell. 
 
 ' ' And come he slow, or come he fast. 
 It is but death who comes at last." — SCOTT. 
 
 " There may be better things to do 
 
 Than watching the weathercocks for pastime."— R. B. Lytton. 
 
 Noblesse oblige. 
 
 *
 
 $cr£on£ ftcprcgentcti. 
 
 Charles II, King of Spain. 
 
 Don Jose de Santarem, his Favourite, ana J Prime Minister. 
 Don Cesar de Bazan. 
 Marquis de Rotundo. 
 Judge. 
 Lazarillo. 
 Pedro. 
 Lopez. 
 
 First Cavalier. 
 Second Cavalier. 
 Captain of the Guard. 
 Maritana, a Gypsy. 
 Marchioness de Rotundo. 
 
 Lords, Ladies, Alguazils, Guards, Gypsies and 
 Attendants. 
 
 fMace anD €ime. 
 
 * 
 
 SCENE. — Madrid in Spain. 
 
 Period. — Latter part of the Seventeenth Century. 
 
 Time of Action. — Indefinite, but brief .
 
 DON CESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 %tt fiz$t. 
 
 Madrid. A Public Place. Fountain 
 i^cene JFirfit. \ c. Wine-house l. 3. e. A Group of 
 
 ,J - ----- 
 
 ( Singers and Dancers discovered. 
 
 All. 
 Maritana ! [Music. 
 
 [Enter Maritana, l. u. e., gaily dressed as a street 
 dancer. The group make way for her. She is 
 following the King, who enters, preceding her, 
 disguised in a cloak, &fc. j he regards her atten- 
 tively. Enter also Don Jose, who follows at a 
 distance, watching them. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 A maravedi, sir ; only one ; ah ! I have lost the power 
 of charming coin from purses. 
 
 f The King drops money in her tambourine, and goes 
 out, hastily, l. 
 
 No, no ! what, gold ! a doubloon ! yes, and yet I feared 
 to approach that noble cavalier, he seemed so cross and 
 melancholy. 
 
 [She turns to group, and converses with them as 
 though narrating her good fortune.
 
 IO DON C/ESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Don J. [Looking off. 
 
 1 was not mistaken — it is the king! Thrice have I 
 found him watching this pretty wench, seemingly spell- 
 bound by her grace and beauty. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Yes, friends, it is my birthday : therefore I devote these 
 pieces to mirth and revelry. There ! [ Throws money to them. 
 Away with you ! I '11 join you presently. 
 
 [Music. Exeunt, r. u. e., all but Maritana and 
 Don Jose. 
 
 Marit. [ Going, pauses. 
 
 A doubloon ! neither song nor dance was worth so large 
 a recompense. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Your good fortune seems to have made you thoughtful. 
 
 Marit. 
 Signor ! O, no, no ! 
 
 Don J. 
 
 A golden piece, was it not ? Here is its fellow. 
 
 [Gives money. 
 
 Marit. 
 For me ? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Yes, pretty one, for you. 
 
 Marit. 
 Thank you, signor, but 
 
 Don J. 
 Well, what fear you ? 
 
 Marit. 
 
 The influence of this glittering tempter. [Holds up money. 
 
 When I was a child, my step was light, and my song 
 
 the tuneful echo of my merry heart ; but now, when the
 
 DON C/KSAR DE BAZAN. II 
 
 hopes and fears of womanhood have made both heart and 
 step less buoyant than of old, my reward is greater: should 
 1 not fear ? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 I do not understand you. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 You will not, signor. Think you that I am a woman, 
 and know not that I am fair? Men tell me so by words 
 and looks a hundred times a-day. Think you that I am a 
 woman and love not the incense that is offered to my 
 beauty ? or that I seek not to adorn the shrine that claims 
 so many worshippers ? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Go on. I see no cause for fear. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Ah ! again you will not. The songstress of the street, 
 the mime who treads the measures for the pleasure of the 
 crowd, knows well the worth men set upon her, signor; 
 she covets gold to free herself from bondage, and grows 
 ambitious of a higher sphere. Each word of praise is as a 
 breath to fan the sleeping flame ; each gift is fuel to the 
 growing fire. 
 
 Don J. [Aside. 
 
 The very instrument I need ! 
 
 Marit. 
 Have I not cause to fear the end ? 
 
 Don J. 
 No. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 No ! when thus I 'm tempted. [Shows money. 
 
 Haunted as I am by a vague presentiment, a secret 
 hope
 
 12 DON CESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Don J. 
 Indeed ! 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Yes, yes; since I attracted the gracious notice of the 
 queen, I have thought my ambition no longer criminal. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Let me be prophet of your future fortunes; confide in 
 me, and all you desire shall be accomplished. 
 
 Marit. 
 All accomplished ? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 I have the power to make your dreams realities. Your 
 wish shall be the law of nobles. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 [Aside and pleasantly excited. 
 I cannot breathe. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Come ! to-morrow shall see you the glory of Madrid. 
 
 [ Takes her hand. 
 Marit. 
 No, no ! 
 
 [Flourish heard L. u. e. 
 Voices. [ Within. 
 
 Long live the queen ! Long live the queen ! 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Ah ! the queen ! I will trust alone to her. 
 
 [Exit L. u. E. 
 Don J. 
 
 Indeed, fair maiden ! 1 have mastered more difficult 
 intrigues than the conquest of a woman. The king admires 
 this pretty piece of vanity ; hem ! The mistress of the
 
 DON CAESAR DE BAZAN. 1 3 
 
 king must care for him who raised her to dignity. One 
 obstacle alone presents itself: the humble origin of 
 Maritana. That must be concealed. The queen will learn 
 the wrong she has sustained, and, woman-like, resent it. 
 
 [Goes up. 
 O, dare I hope so full a consummation of my wildest 
 dreams ? 
 
 [A noise within, L. u. E., and cries of " Down 
 
 with him!" 
 
 What tumult 's this ? [Looks off. 
 
 The followers of Maritana ? Ah ! she appears amongst 
 
 them, and by her presence has silenced them. The object 
 
 of their anger comes this way; what strange fantastic 
 
 fellow have we here ? 
 
 [Enter Don Cozsar l. u. e., followed by a crowd, 
 murmuring, and Maritana, who interposes and 
 persuades them to retire. Crowd goes out L. U. E. 
 Exit Maritana with them. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 The curs ! but that it would have disgraced my sword, 
 I 'd have spitted them like larks. That black scoundrel's 
 stiletto would have found a sheath in the noble Don Caesar 
 de Bazan, but for yon pretty dancing girl. Where have I 
 seen her? Ah! I remember — at Seville, when I pinked 
 a coxcomb who thought that the cherries on her lips were 
 to be plucked gratis. 
 
 Don J. [Aside. 
 
 As I live, 't is Don Caesar de Bazan ; my old college 
 friend at Salamanca. 
 
 Don C. [Feeling in his pockets. 
 
 Not a maravedi ! By the aid of the dice box, the rogues 
 have cleaned me out as though they had been noblemen 
 and men of honour. I must now trust to the air and the 
 sky for board and lodging ; well, my supper will be light 
 and my room airy. 
 2
 
 14 DON CESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Am I mistaken in addressing you as Don Csesar de 
 Bazan ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Eh ! no, signor ; what, Don Jose de Santarem ? 
 
 Don J. [ Giving his hand. 
 
 The same. 
 
 Don C. [Aside. 
 
 His doublet is of three-pile velvet — what can he want 
 with me ? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 When last we met, you were young and prosperous. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Ah ! you perceive the alteration, 
 
 [Looks at his own dress. 
 But I was always fond of change. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 You inherited a noble name and a princely fortune. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 True ; I 've preserved the one and spent the other. Is 
 my name of any service to you ? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 1 thank you, no. I had hoped you would have done 
 great things, Don Caesar. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 So I have ; if you doubt me, ask my creditors. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 I thought your father paid your debts when you quitted 
 Salamanca.
 
 DON C.LSAR D£ BAZAN. 1 5 
 
 Don C. 
 
 So he did, worthy soul ! so he did ; but then, from the 
 force of habit, I acquired new ones. 
 
 Don J. 
 You have paid somewhat dearly for a life of pleasure. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Possibly; though 1 have freed myself now from all 
 anxieties. I 've no money, so I am not teazed by poor 
 relations. I 've no lands, so am without grumbling tenantry. 
 I 've no particular destination, so never take a wrong turn- 
 ing. I 've nothing to support but my sword [Points to broken 
 scabbard \, and that keeps a sharp look out for itself. 
 
 Don J. 
 Why have you visited Madrid ? 
 
 Don C. [Tenderly. 
 
 Madrid ! my native city ! why have I revisited thee ? 
 But for the hope, Don Jose, the sweet, though foolish hope, 
 that I should there find I had lost all, ay, all [Pauses. 
 
 Don J. 
 Your follies ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 No, all my creditors; but I was deceived; creditors 
 never die — their number is increased. 
 
 Don J. 
 Indeed ! how ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Most of them have children ; creditors will have chil- 
 dren, heirs to their ledgers ; and the amount of my debts 
 will mingle with their earliest recollections.
 
 1 6 DON CESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Don J. 
 What plans have you got for profit ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 None. [Shows empty pockets. 
 
 I 've not wherewithal to make stakes with a street 
 beggar. 
 
 Don J. 
 Your enjoyments, then, will be few ; for pleasure is costly. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Hem ! I must content me with what I can get ; a brisk 
 quarrel is easily procured ; so I will amuse myself with 
 fighting. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 There, too, fortune is against you. 
 
 Don C. 
 How? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 The carnival week commences to-day ; and the king has 
 issued an edict making it death to engage in a duel. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 What ! death for the thrust of a sword ? How human 
 nature has degenerated ! 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Nay, the restriction is but for one week, the carnival 
 week ; you will have the rest of the year to enjoy yourself. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 A whole week ! 't is hard for one who has nothing but 
 a hot temper to warm his thin blood; but you who are — 
 by the bye, Don Jose, what are you ?
 
 DON C7ESAR DE BAZAN. I 7 
 
 Don J. 
 
 I — I am nothing. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Nothing ! then we are still on an equality. 
 
 [Enter Lazarillo and Pacolo, a water carrier, L. 2. E. 
 
 Pac. 
 
 Nay, Signor Lazarillo, do not spurn my good offices; 
 you have been cruelly used, that 's the truth on 't. 
 
 Laza. 
 
 Thank you, comrade, thank you. Think me not proud 
 or ungrateful ; I have but one desire, and that is — to die. 
 
 Don C. 
 To die before your beard grows ? 
 
 Pac. 
 
 Ay, sir, he would drown himself. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 How ! drown ? In water ? Exchange this bright and 
 lovely earth for muddy water ! The thought on 't gives 
 one the ague; at your age to wish for death! you — you 
 can't be plagued by creditors ! 
 
 Laza. 
 
 No, signor ; I am an apprentice to the armourer who 
 has in charge the arquebusses of the royal guards. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Well, that 's no reason that you should drown yourself.
 
 1 8 DON C/ESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Laza. 
 
 No, signer; but this morning, under the pretext that the 
 arms were neglected, the captain ordered me to receive 
 fifty lashes. 
 
 Don C. [Indignantly. 
 
 Fifty ! 
 
 Laza. 
 
 It was not the number, signor ; I do not mind suffering, 
 but one blow is too much to bear. 
 
 Don C. [Crosses to Don Jose r. 
 
 The boy is a true Spaniard ; [Familiarly. 
 
 We — we must speak in his favour, Don Jose. 
 
 Laza. 
 My lieutenant interceded for me, but in vain, signor. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Possibly ; but he will not refuse the request of such noble 
 advocates as ourselves [Leaning on Don Jose's shoulder], 
 Don Jose. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Pardon me [Moving away from Don C&sar] ; but at 
 present, there are reasons for my non-interference. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 O, very well ! then the boy must be dependent upon my 
 influence alone. 
 
 [Drum within. Exit Pacolo l. 2. E. Footsteps 
 heard. 
 
 Laza. [Looks off l. u. e. 
 
 Ah ! I am pursued ! I shall be again degraded. [Going. 
 
 Don C. 
 Stay ! place yourself behind me ; we will defend you.
 
 DON CVESAR DE BAZAN. 19 
 
 Don J. 
 We! 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Yes, Don Caesar and his sword ! [About to draw. 
 
 Don J. 
 You forget the royal edict. 
 
 Don C. 
 The 
 
 [About to utter an imprecation — removes his hat. 
 But it is the carnival week. 
 
 [Drum. March. Enter Captain and Soldiers L. 
 u. E. They come down to L. 
 
 Cap. 
 There is your prisoner, secure him. [Points to Lazarillo. 
 
 Don C. [Interfering, humbly. 
 
 One moment, captain; allow me, suffer me, to hum- 
 bly intercede for this young delinquent. 
 
 Cap. 
 
 [ To Soldiers, who pause, and not regarding Don 
 Casar. 
 Soldiers ! why do you pause ? [ The Soldiers advance. 
 
 Laza. 
 O, mercy ! captain, mercy ! 
 
 Don C 
 
 You do not hear him, captain ; the poor lad sues for 
 mercy. Let me [Removing hat] join with him in suppli- 
 cating pardon.
 
 20 DON CMiSAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Cap. [ To Lazarillo. 
 
 Back to your duty, sirrah ! I heed neither your tears 
 nor the mouthings of this sottish mummer. 
 
 Don C. [Indignantly. 
 
 What ! [Recollecting himself. 
 
 That cursed edict ! O, if it were not the hanging week ! 
 
 [ Calmly. 
 
 But, captain, if he returns, no blows; see, tears ! they are 
 
 not easily wrung from so brave a heart. Pardon, captain. 
 
 [Detains him by the cloak. 
 
 Cap. [Snatching it away. 
 
 Unhand me! 
 
 Don C. [Indignantly. 
 
 Dare [Recollecting. 
 
 O, that edict ! that cursed edict ! 
 
 Don J. 
 [Aside to Don Casar, c, and going up. 
 Hard words, Don Caesar. 
 
 Don C. [To Captain. 
 
 One word more. You are a gentleman and a soldier; 
 so am I ; I have pledged my honour to protect this boy, 
 you understand. 
 
 Cap. 
 You have my answer. 
 
 Don C. 
 No : what I solicited in vain, I must now compel. 
 
 Cap. 
 Insolent ! 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Enough. In spite of the royal edict, I must have the 
 amende, my noble captain.
 
 DON CAESAR DE BAZAN. 21 
 
 Cap. 
 How? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 How ! with my sword, which will ennoble yours by the 
 contact. I am Don Caesar de Bazan {Replacing his hat\ ; 
 Count de Garofa, possessing the right to remain covered 
 in the presence of the king. I have sued to you, humbly 
 sued to you, and you have insulted me; and the royal 
 edict — 
 
 [Checks himself and draws sword. 
 
 Cap. 
 A challenge ! 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Yes, which you will accept, if you have either honour or 
 courage. 
 
 Cap. 
 You shall not doubt it. 
 
 [Captain motions Soldiers to retire ; they go off 
 L. u. E. Captain retires up. Exit Don Jose. 
 
 Laza. 
 You fight for me ; O, no ! I will return, Don Csesar. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 You shall, my gallant lad, to your lieutenant, who 
 would have spared you the ignominy of a blow : be 
 patient, and in ten minutes I will make him a captain. 
 
 [Don Ccesar and Captain fight. Populace rush in, 
 murmuring. Captain is wounded and falls. 
 Enter Soldiers and Alguazils. The latter arrest 
 Don Cozsar. Scene changes.
 
 22 DON OESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 ibtznt H>ecotilJ. — A Street in Madrid. [First Grooves.] 
 
 [Enter and cross over the stage the Alguazils and 
 Soldiers, conducting Don Ccesar .- Lazarillo fol- 
 lows. Then come Gypsies, &c, singing " Ah, 
 ha, ha, the ragged cavalier.' 1 '' After they have 
 gone out, enter Don Jose l. i. e. 
 
 Don. J. 
 
 My plans will soon have a happy consummation ; the 
 edict enforced, Don Caesar's reckless nature will make him 
 the easy means of Maritana's advancement. Ah ! here 
 comes the fair enslaver of the king. 
 
 [Enter Maritana l. i. e. ; she wears a scarf of 
 gaudy colors. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Again the queen has smiled upon me. It is no idle 
 phantasy that fills my brain; some lucky accident may 
 place me at the height of my ambition. [Sees Don Jose. 
 
 Ah ! signor. 
 
 Don. J. 
 
 I would fain know what pleasant thoughts gave birth to 
 such bright smiles, Maritana. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 The queen, signor, the queen! — You see I have not 
 been a niggard of your gift. [Shows scarf 
 
 Don J. 
 
 And you think yourself rich in the possession of such a 
 trifle. Confide in me, and ere long the gayest lady of the 
 court shall yield to you in splendour. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 I dare not listen to you. I dare not trust the longing 
 of my heart.
 
 DON CVESAR DE BAZAN. 23 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Wherefore ? 
 
 Marii. 
 
 My roving life has taught me truths beyond the com- 
 mon experience of my years. I have seen the rich man's 
 idol of to-day the outcast of to-morrow. No, no, my 
 destiny is known to me. [Mournfully. 
 
 Don J, 
 
 You do not believe your own prophecies ; you may gull 
 the dullards who bribe you to promise fortune, but know 
 yourself the cheat. I will show you my skill in palmistry 
 [Takes her hand] : to-morrow you shall be a countess. 
 
 Marit. [Delighted. 
 
 A countess ! [Pauses. 
 
 A countess but in name. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Nay, by right of honourable alliance. You know me 
 not, or you would not doubt my power to realize the 
 hopes I have awakened. You rescued but now a stranger 
 from the extortions of your band. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Yes, yes ; he saved me from insult, I but repaid the 
 debt I owed him. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Though now a ruined spendthrift, he is of noble lineage. 
 He loves you, Maritana. 
 
 Marit. [Appears affected 
 
 Indeed ! signor. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 I have promised to be his advocate ; should you con- 
 sent to share his name and fortunes, I will restore him to 
 position. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Have you the power ?
 
 24 DON C/ESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Don. J. 
 
 Don Jose, the favourite minister of Charles of Spain, 
 could do much more. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 And you are 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Don Jose, commissioned by the queen to raise Maritana 
 to the rank she covets. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Indeed ! then I have not dreamed ; I have not trusted 
 to phantom hopes. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Before to-morrow, I will prove their reality. 
 
 [Exeunt r. i. e. Clock c/iimes, and strikes Jive. 
 Scene changes. 
 
 f Madrid. A Prison ; Doors r. and l. 
 
 & fTThirTi J Clock c. A Table and two Stools. 
 as>«rnc winro. < Dqn Cmsar and Lazarillo dis . 
 
 (_ COVERED. 
 
 Laza. 
 
 Arrested, tried, and condemned, all within an hour ; he 
 has but two hours to live ! 
 
 Don C. [Looking at clock. 
 
 Two hours more; how the deuce am I to pass my time? 
 I shall die of ennui. [ Takes a stool and sits l. c. 
 
 Come hither, lad. [Lazarillo sits at Don Caisar 's feet. 
 
 If you were in my place, and had a couple of hours before 
 you, how would you employ them ?
 
 DON CESAR DE BAZAN. 25 
 
 Laza. 
 In recalling the errors of my past life. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 What, in two hours ? You must be very ignorant of 
 my biography. Recall my past errors — no, there is no 
 time for that. I '11 make my will ; no, that would not 
 consume two minutes. 
 
 Laza. 
 
 [ Taking his hand and sobbing. 
 
 O, signor ! I have been the cause of this ; it is for me 
 you are about to die. Is there no .service by which I 
 can show my regret, my gratitude ? 
 
 Don C. 
 Yes, you can oblige me materially. 
 
 Laza. 
 O, how ? say how ! [ Clinging to his hand. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 By showing a little more regard for my lace ruffle ; see 
 how you 've torn it ! 
 
 Laza. 
 
 Alas ! Is there no one to entreat your pardon from the 
 king ? No one has yet pleaded for you. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Nay, boy, all are not so indifferent to my fate. There 
 was one venerable old man who threw himself in the 
 path of the king, regardless of the wheels of the royal 
 carriage, or the hoofs of the royal mules; he stretched 
 forth his trembling hands, while tears bedewed his aged 
 cheeks, and, in accents broken by emotion, he implored 
 " Pardon, pardon, for Don Caesar ! "
 
 26 DON C7ESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Laza. 
 Ah ! \\ was the old count, your father ! 
 
 Don C. 
 
 No : it was one of my creditors : see how wrong you 
 were. 
 
 Laza. 
 
 But, of all your noble friends and companions not one 
 has come to visit you. 
 
 Don C 
 
 A mark of their good feeling, Lazarillo [Don Jose enters R.] ; 
 to see me in my present position would be more than they 
 could bear ; so out of kindness they keep away. 
 
 Don J. [ Coming down r. 
 
 Excepting me. 
 
 Don C. [Rising. 
 
 Don Jose ! 
 
 [At a sign from Don Jose, Lazarillo goes out R. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 You seem surprised ; you wrong me ; I was always 
 your friend ; and do I not prove my sincerity by coming 
 to you when all is over ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 If your friendship was to be of any practical service, 
 you might have made your visit a little earlier ; but I con- 
 fess if I had looked for sympathy yours would have been 
 the last I should have expected. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 I may yet be in time to serve you ; you have but two 
 hours to live. [Clock strikes the quarter.
 
 DON CvtSAR DE BAZAN. 27 
 
 Don C. 
 
 I beg your pardon [Looking at clock, which now marks a 
 quarter past Jive], it is an hour and three quarters ; the error 
 is of no consequence, but we may as well be right when we 
 can, for life is very short. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Yours may be long enough to enable us to understand 
 each other. Come : let us sit, I wish to speak with you. 
 
 Don C. 
 With pleasure, for my time is all your own. [ They sit. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Well, then, Don Caesar 
 
 Don C. 
 Well, Don Jose. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 If I had it in my power to grant any demand, what 
 Vvould be your dying request ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 My dying request ? to live, to be sure. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 As the king's favourite minister, and as your friend, if 
 you will accept the conditions I am about to propose, I 
 swear to grant whatever you ask, always excepting life — 
 that I cannot promise. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 It 's awkward, as that happens to be almost the only 
 thing I 'm likely shortly to want. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Is there nothing else ?
 
 28 DON CAESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Nothing — stay, you saw a boy, did you not, as you 
 entered ? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 The one to whom you owe your present position ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Yes : I believe I do owe him that. But, I owe some- 
 thing to everybody. I should not like him to be at the 
 mercy of the world when I am gone ; will you assist him ? 
 
 Don J. 
 Yes, I will provide for him. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 That is kind: I will pay you beforehand — with a 
 thousand thanks. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Have you nothing else to ask ? consider. 
 
 Don C. 
 Hum, no, I think that 's all. 
 
 Don. J. [Aside. 
 
 He will never accede to my plan, for such a trifling 
 recompense. [Aloud. 
 
 Don Caesar, have you thought of the manner of your 
 death ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Yes ! I know all [Rises] ; a rope ! would that death 
 came by sword or arquebuss ; but a rope ! Yes, I think I 
 have one request, Don Jose. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Name it. [Rises.
 
 DON CAESAR DE BAZAN. 29 
 
 Don C. 
 
 I would bequeath the gallows to my creditors ; but let 
 me be dispatched by the arquebusses of a dozen brave 
 fellows ; in short, let me die like a gentleman. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 You shall have your wish. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 You will not deceive ? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 I swear it, on the honour of a soldier. 
 
 Don. C. 
 
 You give me new life ; that is to say, you have taken 
 away half the inconvenience of death, if I receive it at 
 the hands of brave men. I should like to drink with the 
 worthy fellows. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Drink with them ! You, the Count de Bazan ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 I've drunk in worse company ere this; besides, if I am 
 their superior now, they will soon have the advantage of 
 me. You promised to grant my wish. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 And I will : a banquet shall be prepared for you, that 
 shall recall the revels of past times. Is that all ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Yes, that 's all ; and now for your conditions : what do 
 you require of me ? [Both sit. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Not much for a man in your position. I simply require 
 you to marry. [Clock, now at half -past Jive, strikes again. 
 
 4
 
 3<D DON C7ESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Hum ! to marry ! I don't see the use of that. What 
 can be the good of it for an hour and a half? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Thai is a mystery. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 A mystery, indeed ! It can't be for my fortune, because 
 I have nothing to leave, except my debts and my name. 
 Ah, my name has still some value. I see it all; some 
 woman wishes to be called a countess — is it not so ? 
 
 Don J. 
 It may be. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Well, she shall have it. It is nothing to me. I want 
 to fill up my time : marriage is an occupation, and one 
 may be as good as another ; it 's for so short a time, we 
 can't have many matrimonial differences. 
 
 Don J. 
 You agree to confer the title of Countess de Garofa. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Together with my interest in the county of Garofa, if 
 you can find I have any remaining. But, by the by, 
 what 's my wife's name ? is she young and pretty ? 
 
 Don J. 
 You must not ask me. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Ah, I understand. I'll wager my life [Rises] — no, 
 by the by, that's not mine — but the lady is at least 
 fifty! No matter! — the bargain's struck, and I 'II marry 
 with my eyes shut.
 
 DON C/ESAR DE BAZAN. 3 1 
 
 Don J. 
 
 You need not do that ; a thick veil will so effectually 
 shut out your face, that it will be unseen by the lady. 
 
 Don C. [Rises. 
 
 Thank you for your delicate consideration — it will 
 spare me from perceiving the full extent of my sacrifice ; 
 and the lady the pain of observing the condition of the 
 bridegroom. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Your attire is hardly suitable to a wedding. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 It is my travelling dress, somewhat frayed and stained : 
 I wear it as the last gift of my tailor. 
 
 Don J. [Rises. 
 
 1 have taken care to provide a costume more fitted for 
 the occasion ; and in the adjoining apartment you will 
 find all prepared. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Do as you please ; I am at your disnosal. Deck me as 
 
 gaily as you will ; crown me with roses, ere you lead me 
 
 to the altar ; I shall then seem more fitted for the sacrifice. 
 
 [Exit L. 2 . E. Clock strikes — now at a quarter to six. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Ordinary diplomatists would let that man be hanged, 
 and make no use of him. By superior tact, I shall make 
 him subject to the attainment of my fondest wishes. [Calls. 
 
 Ho ! Pedro ! [Pedro enters r. 
 
 Let a banquet be prepared in this apartment immediately ; 
 send Lazarillo to me; the boy in attendance on the prisoner. 
 
 \Exit Pedro r. 2. E. 
 
 At length, my fair Maritana, my prediction is about to he 
 fulfilled ; this step will bring you nearer to the kuu*. Tho**
 
 32 DON C7ESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 is now no barrier but this ruined spendthrift. The task to 
 win Maritana was more difficult than I anticipated, but 
 the name of the queen at last achieved my triumph. 
 
 [E)iter Lazarillo R. u. E. 
 Laza. 
 
 You sent for me, signor. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Yes. Come near me, my good lad. Are your parents 
 living ? 
 
 Laza. 
 Alas, sir, no. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 What friends have you ? 
 
 Laza. 
 
 None — at least but one, and he is condemned to die 
 to-day, and for me — for me. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 You mean Don Caesar ; he is, indeed, your friend. At 
 his request I have promised to take you at once into my 
 service. 
 
 Laza. 
 
 At once ! O, sir, while Don Caesar lives, let me tender 
 him my unworthy service. 
 
 Don J. [Aside. 
 
 Faithful boy ! he is one that may be trusted. [Aloud. 
 Be it so ; to-morrow, then, you will form a part of my 
 household. 
 
 Laza. 
 
 And to-morrow I shall be devoted to your service as 
 truly as I am to Don Caesar to-day.
 
 DON C.KSAR DE RAZAN. 33 
 
 Don ./. 
 
 Go, then, and send hither the soldiers that Don Caesar 
 has invited as guests. 
 
 [ Chime. Clock strikes six. Lazarillo bows and 
 goes out r. 2. e. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 [ Taking some papers from his pocket. 
 
 Hem ! a pardon for Don Caesar. Poor Charles ! It is 
 as well that he should do an occasional good action, par- 
 ticularly when his minister has the credit of it. A subject 
 is condemned to death — the king's heart is touched — of 
 course, on the advice of his minister — a pardon is signed, 
 of course dictated by the minister. By — by one of those 
 inexplicable accidents which occur — no one but the min- 
 ister knows how — the pardon arrives an hour too late. 
 It is a sad affair! Don Caesar is to be executed at seven — 
 the pardon will arrive at eight ; but king and minister will 
 be blessed for the exercise of clemency. 
 
 [Enter Lazarillo r. u. e. 
 
 Laza. [Announcing. 
 
 The guard, signor. 
 
 [Exit Don Jose l. Music. Enter Soldiers. 
 
 Chorus of Soldiers. 
 
 [Banquet table and four stools are brought on bv 
 Attendants, during song. The table is richly 
 spread. 
 
 Comrades ! when the martial drum 
 
 Wakes us from our slumbers, 
 And leaders cry, "The foe — they come!" 
 We charge, nor fear their numbers. 
 For then our path, tho' gory, 
 Is still the way to glory. 
 Comrades, who could fear, etc.
 
 34 DON C7ESAR DE BA2AN. 
 
 Comrades ! when the muffled drum 
 
 Sounds to mar our gladness, 
 And tells some mortal's hour is come, 
 Our hearts are filled with sadness. 
 Though his death be gory, 
 It has no ray of glory, etc., etc. 
 
 [ Clock at 6.15. At end of song Don Ccesar enters, 
 richly dressed. Re-enter Don Jose. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Well, Don Jose, are velvet and gold thrown away upon 
 me ? How do they become me ? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Famously. See, the banquet is prepared, and the guests 
 are assembled. 
 
 Do?i C. 
 
 Ah ! wine and gold ! The pleasures of my past life 
 seem to be brought back to me ! Everything but lovely 
 woman. _ Woman — that word reminds me of my approach- 
 ing marriage. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 True ; time wears. In a few minutes I shall have the 
 pleasure of presenting you to your bride. [Exit r. u. e. 
 
 Don C. [To Soldiers. 
 
 Now, friends, fall to. [Glances at clock. 
 
 I am compelled, by an appointment of some moment, to 
 limit our revel. f They all sit, and Jill their glasses. 
 
 Ah! wine! my old and early friend, [/-folding up his glass.} 
 'T is long since you and I have met. Pretenders to thy 
 name have often wooed and won me, but thou art the 
 true descendant of the vine. Thy rich breath floats about 
 my nostrils, and tempts me to embrace thee. Now, com- 
 rades, fill — each to the brim — and pledge me to the 
 health of the Countess de Bazan!
 
 DON CAESAR DE BAZAN. 35 
 
 All. 
 
 The Countess de Bazan ! [All rise. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 The Countess de Bazan and her happy widowhood. 
 
 \D rinks. 
 Music alone should sound the requiem of such a draught. 
 Come; the song! 
 
 [A suitable drinking song is introduced here. 
 [ Clock strikes for half -past six. Enter Lopez. 
 
 Lopez. [Announcing. 
 
 My lord, the judge ! 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Indeed ! admit him, by all means. [Music. 
 
 [Exit Lopez. — The Judge and four Alguazils enter, 
 R. Soldiers rise. Don Ccesar bows to Judge, 
 with great respect. 
 
 Judge. [Readvig from paper. 
 
 Don Caesar de Bazan. " The king graciously accords 
 to Don Caesar de Bazan, Count de Garofa, his royal 
 mercy ; the Count will not suffer by the hands of the com- 
 mon executioner, — his Majesty having been graciously 
 pleased to command that Don Caesar shall be led into 
 the barrack yard, and there shot by a detachment of the 
 royal guard." 
 
 [ The Judge gives paper to the Officer, and retires 
 solemnly. Don Ccesar offers him zaine, which 
 he haughtily declines. All laugh as Judge goes 
 out r. u. E. 
 
 Don C. [Sitting unconcernedly. 
 
 Now, comrades, we 've just time for the other verse. 
 
 [Another stanza is sung. Clock strikes 6.45. 
 Lazarillo, during the singing, carries off the guns, 
 and returns with them before its close.
 
 36 DON CAESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Soldiers. 
 
 Don Caesar de Bazan ! 
 
 [All rise and drink. Organ heard. 
 
 -Don C. [Rising. 
 
 My wife ! [To the Soldiers. 
 
 It is the Countess de Bazan. 
 
 [Clock now ten minutes to seven. The Soldiers 
 rise from table. Don Jose enters, leading in 
 Montana, closely veiled. The Soldiers take their 
 guns, salute Don Jose and Maritana, and go 
 out r. u. E. 
 
 Don J. [Aside to Don Ccesar. 
 
 Not a word, not a look. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 A look would be vain indeed ! 'T would be a piercing 
 glance that could penetrate that veil. 
 
 Don J. 
 Don Caesar, your bride waits your hand. 
 
 Don C. [ Takes her hand. 
 
 It 's tolerably soft, and gives me some curiosity to know 
 if so small a hand belongs to a wrinkled face. 
 
 [Tries to look through the veil. 
 I never saw a woman so muffled, in my life. 
 
 [Don Jose points to clock — aside. 
 True, what matter ? but ten minutes more. 
 
 [Aloud and gallantly. 
 Madam, to you I devote the rest of my existence. 
 
 [Organ music. Don Ccvsar leads Maritana out 
 l. u. E. 
 
 Don J. [ To Lazarillo. 
 
 Admit the Marquis de Rotondo and his wife. 
 
 [Exit Don Jose, following Don Casar. Enter the 
 Marquis and Marchioness de Rotondo R. U. E. 
 The Marquis and Marchioness look about them 
 with an air of amazement ; they then meet face 
 to face, and look at each other.
 
 DON Ci.bAR DE BAZAN. 37 
 
 Marq. 
 Where on earth can we be ? 
 
 March. 
 Is it a prison ? 
 
 Marq. 
 A prison ! [Looking round. 
 
 No, it can't be a prison, for this is n't prison fare ; a 
 fricandeau, or my nose deceives me. 
 
 March. 
 Is it a monastery ? 
 
 Marq. 
 
 Ah ! it 's more like a monastery. 
 
 [ Taking up a bottle of wine and looking at it. 
 Some wine still left ! Then it 's not a monastery ; your 
 true monk would n't leave enough to drown a thirsty 
 spider. 
 
 March. 
 What place can it be ? 
 
 Marq. 
 
 No matter, dearest, we have done as Don Jose desired 
 us, and that is enough ; he told us to get into a carriage, 
 and we did ; he said we should be taken somewhere, and 
 we are taken somewhere. 
 
 March. 
 
 That 's all very well ; but why are you the mere puppet of 
 Don Jose ? You can do nothing without him ; all you 
 possess seems to be at the disposal of Don Jose. 
 
 Marq. 
 
 Madam, do not despise that sacred sentiment which 
 goes by the euphonious name of gratitude ! What were 
 we until we knew Don Jose ? I rich, but obscure ; you 
 lovely, but unappreciated ; my merits were undiscovered, 
 
 5
 
 38 DON CAESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 your beauty nobody could ever see. Was it not Don Jose 
 who got me the appointment of governor general of his 
 majesty's poultry ? — aviary, I mean. 
 
 [Clock five minutes to sever- 
 
 March. 
 What has a marquis to do with hatching turkeys ? 
 
 Marg. 
 
 Marchioness, speak more reverently of incubation. Fo* 
 the honour Don Jose conferred on me, I have sworn to 
 devote myself to the wishes of Don Jose, and to comply 
 with all, however incomprehensible he may appear. 
 
 March. 
 
 But this blind obedience might affect your honour; it 
 
 might affect mine. 
 
 Marg. 
 
 Your honour ! Let any one attack your honour, and 
 this good sword, rusting in honourable repose, will leap 
 from its scabbard. Who has assailed my beautiful, my 
 best? 
 
 March. 
 
 Who would have dared — who would have looked me 
 in the face and spoken of love ? 
 
 Marg. 
 
 Ah ! you are ever the best protectress of your beauty. 
 Time treads upon your cheek without leaving a wrinkle ; 
 that face can never lose its charms ; your beauty 's still 
 the theme of all who share my dinners and my wine; how 
 they have praised your youthful air for the last thirty 
 years ! [Kisses her. 
 
 March. 
 
 Fie ! some one is coming : now, perhaps, we shall dis- 
 cover where we are. 
 
 [Enter Dor. Jose, leading Mart tana, L. u. E,
 
 DON C7KSAK DE BAZAN. 39 
 
 Don J. 
 
 I wish you joy, marquis. [Marquis bows. 
 
 You had better now return to your palace at Saint Fer- 
 nando, with the Countess de Bazan, your niece. 
 
 [Passes Marilana across to R. c. 
 
 Marq. [Aside. 
 
 My niece ? 
 
 March. [Aside. 
 
 What does all this mean ? 
 
 [Clock chimes the hour ; then begins to strike seven. 
 
 Don J. 
 You will return with your niece, whom you have not 
 seen for the lastyfw years. 
 
 Marq. 
 
 Five years ! yes, I think it rather longer than that. Shall 
 I have the honour of receiving my nephew the count, the 
 lady's husband ? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 The lady's husband is 
 
 [Seventh stroke of the bell. Loud volley 0/ mus- 
 ketry outside. 
 
 Matit. [Starts. 
 
 What 's that ? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Hum ! nothing. 
 
 Farewell, Don Caesar ! [Aside. 
 
 [Tableau — distant drum and trumpet. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 %tt ^CfOttit. 
 
 ibttnt liv&t. < 
 
 { Madrid. Summer Pavilion in the Pal- 
 ace of the Marquis de Rotondo. 
 Maritana, seated ; Don Jose, stand- 
 ing NEAR HER; THE MaRQUIS AND 
 
 Marchioness de Rotondo, paying 
 Attention to their various Guests, 
 discovered. also, lords and ladies 
 Promenading. 
 
 ist Cav. [ To Marquis. 
 
 Upon my honour, marquis, I never saw the marchioness 
 looking so well. 
 
 2nd Cav. 
 And so youthful. 
 
 March. 
 
 Really, gentlemen, your compliments overpower me. 
 
 Marq. [Aside. 
 
 How unanimous they all are ! [Aloud. 
 
 You must really come and dine with me to-morrow : I 
 want your opinion of some wine of a rare quality, and you 
 show so much taste in other matters, that I should value 
 your opinion very much. Women and wine, you know — 
 a judge of the one is generally a judge of the other. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Thoughtful and musing! 
 
 [Still gazing on Maritana. 
 Ah ! that 's well !
 
 DON C7ESAR DE BAZAN. 41 
 
 Man/. [G 'oing up to him. 
 
 Well, my lord, do you admire the fete ? The women 
 are lovely, are they not ? By the by, speaking of lovely 
 women, have you seen my marchioness ? Your lordship's 
 eyes seem fixed on — hem ! my niece. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Yes ; how well she sustains her new dignity ! I really 
 think that you and I have only rectified a little error of 
 destiny, in placing her in the position which is evidently 
 the one for which nature intended her : what is your 
 opinion 
 
 Mara. 
 
 My opinion is, that your lordship's opinion is my 
 opinion, and that you are perfectly right. 
 
 Dan J. 
 
 Ah, marquis, you are quite a courtier; your tact is 
 unrivalled. How go on his majesty's birds, of which you 
 are the governor ? 
 
 Mara. 
 
 I am proud to say that since I have been at the head 
 of the establishment, the royal birds have reached an 
 unprecedented plumpness. 
 
 Dan J. 
 
 By the by, Don Carlo is seriously ill, and if his appoint- 
 ment should become vacant, pray remind me of it. 
 
 Mara. 
 
 O, this is too much ! Don Carlo, grand master of the 
 royal lap-dogs ! O, could I ever aspire to such a dignity 
 — chief of the precious pets ! Can I be worthy of such a 
 position ?
 
 42 DON C/ESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Your peculiar talents design you for the situation. 
 
 [Pointing to Marchioness. 
 
 But, my dear marquis, do you see those two young tall 
 
 gallants paying attention to that lovely wife of yours ? 
 
 Upon my honour, I think she grows younger every day. 
 
 [He turns away and approaches Maritana. 
 
 Marq. 
 
 He, too, is struck with the beauty of my wife; poor 
 young creature, she little knows the havoc she is making 
 with her charms ! 
 
 Don J. [ To Maritana. 
 
 You seem thoughtful ; are you not pleased with the 
 fete ? There is all that wealth and taste could bring to- 
 gether; nothing is wanting. 
 
 Marit. [Partly aside. 
 
 Nothing is wanting but one whose absence leaves a void 
 within my heart, and makes me loathe the splendour which 
 surrounds me. 
 
 [A Servant comes down, c, and speaks aside to 
 Don Jose. 
 
 Ser. 
 
 The person whom your lordship expected has arrived. 
 
 [Goes up. 
 * Don J. 
 'T is well. [ Aside to Marquis. 
 
 Get rid of these people at once. 
 
 Marq. [Aside. 
 
 At once ! that 's rather unceremonious, but it must be 
 done. [Aloud. 
 
 Gentlemen, pray lead your partners to the adjoining 
 room ; there is something provided there, which 1 flatter 
 myself will gratify and astonish you. [Aside. 
 
 Sandwiches and wine !
 
 DON CAESAR DE BAZAN. 43 
 
 [ Music. All the Guests go off l. 
 
 It was necessary to get rid of them, as Don Jose desired 
 it ; that wine must do it. 
 
 \The Marquis and Marchioness are about to follow 
 Guests, when Don Jose stops them. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 The lovely countess had better remain here ; will you 
 also oblige me by doing so, my good host ? 
 
 Marq. 
 
 Certainly, it is we that are obliged; I am particularly 
 obliged. 
 
 Don J. [Aside to Maritana. 
 
 This fete shall be complete, even " to his presence whose 
 absence leaves a void, and makes this splendour nothing." 
 
 [Exit, leading Marchioness, L. 
 
 Marit. [To Marquis. 
 
 Did you hear his lordship's last words ? You are the 
 host — 'tis you that invite the guests — will it be as Don 
 Jose has promised ? 
 
 Marq. 
 
 I dare say it will. [Aside. 
 
 I did not hear what Don Jose said, but I think it was 
 my duty nevertheless to echo it. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 What does all this mean ? Why this mystery ? This 
 marriage, which I was told was the wish of the queen, 
 my gracious benefactress ? If I ask to see the queen, I 
 am told to wait. If I inquire where is the husband to 
 whom I was so mysteriously united — whether he is an 
 exile, whether he is alive, when he will return — I am told 
 to wait ; always the same reply. Tell me, marquis, am I 
 deceived ? has Don Jose been deceiving me ?
 
 44 DON C/ESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Marq. 
 
 I hope not ; for if he has deceived you, he is capable 
 of deceiving me, and my hopes with regard to the royal 
 lap-dogs would be blighted forever ; but have you never 
 seen your husband since you married him ? 
 
 Marit. 
 I did not see him then. 
 
 Marq. 
 
 Your love must have been particularly blind. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Not so : it was his generosity that I admired ; that 
 
 [Enter Don Jose c. 
 inspired in me the strongest interest towards him ; for 
 my sake he has suffered much, perhaps suffers now. I will 
 demand of Don Jose when shall I see the queen ? when 
 shall I see my husband ? 
 
 Don J. [ Coming down c. 
 
 I am glad I am just in time to answer the question, 
 lady ; you shall see your husband to-day. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 To-day ? 
 
 Marq. [Aside to Don Jose. 
 
 Is n't he dead, then, after all ? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Silence ! 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Surely, count, I must have misunderstood you. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Be calm, and listen to what I am about to say.
 
 DON C^iSAR DE BAZAN. 45 
 
 Marq. 
 
 Now I shall hear something — now, then. 
 
 [He is approaching to listen, when Don Jose makes 
 a sign to him to retire ; he does so, with an air 
 0/ disappointment, and goes out c. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 You wished us to be alone ; now let me hear of my 
 husband. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 He is at hand. [The King enters c. from r. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 He is compelled to keep himself concealed, being in 
 hourly danger from the law; for your sake, and for your 
 sake alone, he has ventured here. [ Crosses up L. 
 
 Marit. 
 O, we will find him a place of refuge ! where is he ? 
 
 Don J. 
 Here! 
 
 [The King advances and puts his cloak on chair. 
 Maritana recoils, with an exclamation. 
 
 King. 
 Lady ! Maritana ! Do you not recollect me ? 
 
 Marit. [Aside. 
 
 He! [To Don Jose. 
 
 That is not my husband. He to whom I gave my hand 
 was 
 
 Don J. [Aside. 
 
 Don Caesar de Bazan — behold him there ! 
 6
 
 46 DON C7ESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 No, no ! I never felt an interest but for one, and he. 
 you told me, was Don Caesar. 
 
 Don J. 
 I did but deceive you for your good. [Goes up c. 
 
 Marit. 
 O, wretched Maritana ! 
 
 King. 
 
 Do you not remember, in the public place, one whose 
 eyes followed you wherever you moved ; one who, of all 
 the multitude around, was alone charmed by the melan- 
 choly of your songs ? 
 
 Marit. 
 
 I remember you, signor. [Aside. 
 
 For I trembled whilst I sought his bounty. 
 
 King. 
 
 It was because I loved you ; it was because my happi- 
 ness was centred all in you, that I determined to raise you 
 to the station which you coveted. I resolved that you 
 should share my love and 
 
 Don J. [Interrupting. 
 
 But being then proscribed, Don Caesar could offer you 
 nothing but his name. 
 
 King. 
 
 But now we meet again under happier influences ; give 
 me but one word, one look, to bid me hope for your love, 
 and you shall be my sovereign mistress. I will live for 
 you, yes, for you alone. [Passionately. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Don Caesar, remember, some one may overhear.
 
 DON CESAR DE BAZAN. 47 
 
 King. 
 
 Lovely Maritana, my return must be unknown, but my 
 danger need not separate me from you ; we can be happy, 
 separated from the world. Let us hence together. 
 
 Marit. 
 Together ! 
 
 King. 
 
 A few miles from Madrid there is a retreat, where love 
 may revel in security ; thither let us fly. 
 
 Don J. [Looking off. 
 
 You must not delay ; the guests will soon grow weary 
 of the dance. 
 
 King. 
 
 My Maritana, come ! Why this ungenerous hesitation ? 
 
 Marit. {Aside. 
 
 O, heaven ? [Aloud. 
 
 But to leave thus suddenly, without even saying fare- 
 well to the marquis. 
 
 -Don J. [Aside. 
 
 The guests are returning. [Aloud. 
 
 Don Caesar, the countess is right. It might awaken sus- 
 picion if she were to quit the fete thus suddenly. She will 
 follow you. 
 
 King. 
 
 A carriage will be waiting at the door of yonder garden. 
 Remember, your lover — [Don Jose looks at him\ your hus- 
 band waits for you. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Some one comes ! quick, quick, begone ! 
 
 [Music. Don Jose takes King's cloak from chair 
 and puts it on him. Lords and Ladies cross 
 from l. to R.
 
 48 DON CAESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 O, I am justly punished ! how I hate these gauds, pur- 
 chased, as they must be, by days of misery ! 
 
 [Music. The King goes rapidly to c. and off R. 
 The Marchioness enters, and at a signal pom 
 Don Jose, leads out Maritana, who is in tears, 
 L. c. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 How every obstacle that stood between me and my 
 desire melts into air ! 
 
 [Don Cozsar enters, in the disguise of a monk. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 [Approaching Don Jose with great humility. 
 
 Alms for our monastery, son. [Don Jose crosses to L. 
 So, Don Jose, here I am once more ! 
 
 [ Throwing off disguise. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 You! Don Caesar! not dead! 
 
 Don C. 
 No ! Alive and kicking. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Who saved your life ? 
 
 Don C. 
 You did, by rescuing me from the gallows. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 But I saw you led out to execution ; I heard the 
 muskets.
 
 DON CVESAR DE BAZAN. 49 
 
 Don C. 
 
 So did I. [Aside. 
 
 And here are the bullets extracted in good time from 
 the guns by my faithful Lazarillo. 
 
 [ Shows bag containing bullets. 
 
 Yes, here they are, six in number; they're belter in my 
 pocket than in my body. I never expected to receive 
 them with so much satisfaction. 
 
 Don J. 
 But you fell. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Of course I did ; I could not do less when six gallant 
 soldiers took the trouble to make me their target ; I should 
 have wounded their pride if I had made them think they 
 had missed their aim. 
 
 Don J. 
 I have been deceived. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 And so have I ; the illusion was so perfect that I really 
 thought I was dead, and, consequently, all my creditors 
 paid, till I found myself among some of my old com- 
 panions with a dice-box in my hand and a flagon before 
 me. 
 
 Don J. 
 Who can have betrayed me ? 
 
 Don C. [Aside. 
 
 Thank heaven, he does not suspect the dear boy. 
 
 [ Sitting, unceremoniously — aloud. 
 There seems to be a fete here ? 
 
 Don J. 
 There is. You are in danger. Why did you come ?
 
 50 DON CESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 I '11 tell you, if you '11 have a little patience. I hap- 
 pened to see a carriage with my own arms upon it, and, 
 on inquiry, I found it belonged to the Countess de Bazan ; 
 so here I am. Where 's my wife ? for you know I 've not 
 much time to lose, if the sentence of that cursed edict is 
 to be respected. 
 
 Don J. [Aside. 
 
 He is not aware of his pardon. [Aloud, with dignity. 
 Tell me, Don Caesar, what are your plans ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 To see my wife ; she 's mine, and I may as well take 
 possession ; you gave her to me, and I have come to you, 
 therefore, to profit by your benevolence. 
 
 Don J. [Aside. 
 
 Must all my designs be thus o'erthrown ? No, it shall 
 not be. [Enter Marquis c. 
 
 Marq. 
 
 My guests are merry fellows, they do nothing but drink 
 to the Countess de Bazan. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 The deuce they do ! the Countess de Bazan ! my wife ! 
 where is she ? 
 
 Marq. 
 
 I beg pardon, are you Don Caesar ? Are you the gentle- 
 man that is — not dead ? 
 
 Don J. [Aside to Marquis. 
 
 Not a word, not another word ; evince no astonishment 
 at anything you hear or see. Do as I wish. 
 
 Marq. 
 And the lap-dogs ?
 
 DON C/ESAR DE BAZAN. 5 1 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Shall be yours. f Crosses to Don Ccesar. — Aloud. 
 
 Don Csesar, your rights arc sacred, and they shall be 
 respected ; your wife, the Countess de Bazan, is here, and 
 shall join you immediately. Wait for her. [Exit c. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 She comes, and I shall see her as I have seen her in my 
 dreams, radiant in youth and beauty. 
 
 [ The Marquis is going. 
 Stay near me, sir, and support me ; I am sure I shall 
 require it ; the rapture will be too much for me ; that soft, 
 white hand haunts me like a spectre. 
 
 [Enter Don Jose, leading in Marchioness, c. 
 
 Marq. [To Don Ccesar. 
 
 Don't agitate yourself; be calm. I know what it is to 
 await the coming of a lovely woman. I have a mar- 
 chioness ! 
 
 Don J. 
 
 [Looking significantly at Marquis. 
 
 Don Caesar, behold the Countess de Bazan ! 
 
 [Presents Marchioness. 
 Don C. 
 
 The countess — the devil ! 
 
 Marq. [Aside. 
 
 He 's giving him my wife ! [ The Marchioness smiles. 
 
 She likes it 
 
 Don C. 
 
 [Bows formally. — Aside. 
 
 No wonder she wore a veil ! sixty, by the mass ! 
 
 Marq. 
 He 's struck with her !
 
 g2 DON CESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Don C. [ To Marquis. 
 
 Will you — will you show me the nearest way to the 
 door ? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Don Cassar, the Countess de Bazan is prepared to fulfill 
 all the duties of a wife to him — who has the right to 
 demand them. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 I trust she will make no sacrifice on my account. 
 
 [To Don Jose. 
 
 You can make out another warrant for my execution ; I 
 should prefer it to this. [ To Marquis. 
 
 My good friend, did you ever see such a perfect Gor- 
 gon ? Frightful, is n't she ? 
 
 Marq. 
 
 Frightful, Don Caesar? [Aside. 
 
 The man's troubles have ruined his eyesight. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 The countess awaits your bidding. She is prepared to 
 share your state and fortunes. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Madam, I will not take advantage of the accident of 
 fate, charmed as I must be at the generosity of her who 
 would share the lot of so poor, so dunned, so desperate a 
 libertine as myself. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 She knew your position when she consented to the 
 union. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Did she ? Then I will not be outdone in generosity. 
 
 [ Crosses c. 
 Madam, I will not take you from those to whom you
 
 DON CVESAR DE BAZAN. 53 
 
 are endeared by years [Looks at her], long years of tender 
 association. At your age — I mean — that is — in fact, 
 madam, I free you from every tie; I am no longer a 
 husband. [ To Marquis. 
 
 Did you ever see such infernal wrinkles ? 
 
 Marq. 
 
 Dimples, sir, dimples ! [Aside. 
 
 I shall betray myself — and lose the lap-dogs. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Perhaps, madam, at some distant period — some very 
 distant period ■ No, I car, never venture. [ To Marquis. 
 
 As a reasonable man, marquis, I ask you, if, on any 
 consideration in the world, you would call that venerable 
 woman — wife ? 
 
 Marq. 
 
 Hem ! [Aside. 
 
 This is too bad. [Aloud. 
 
 If you don't like her yourself, you need n't make other 
 people dissatisfied. 
 
 [Marquis crosses at back to Marchioness. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Other people ! Is there any foo pray let me not stand 
 
 in anybody's way. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 [ Who has conversed apart with the Marchioness. 
 
 Come, let us end this business ; you know, Don Caesar, 
 that the object of this marriage was your title and not 
 yourself. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 I am willing to stand by that bargain. 
 
 Don J. 
 At your nuptials you had scarcely ten minutes to live.
 
 54 DON C7ESAR de bazan. 
 
 Don C. 
 Ah, I was happier then than I am now. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 The countess does not love you. 
 
 Don C. 
 What wonderful unanimity in man and wife ! 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Your chains may yet be golden ones ; your wife is rich, 
 you have nothing. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Your estimate of my property is singularly exact. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 You shall have a pension of six thousand piastres if you 
 quit Madrid forever. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Quit Madrid ? the city of my birth ! the home of my 
 creditors! — the last apostrophe has decided me; I '11 go. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 You must also renounce all right acquired by your 
 marriage. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Forego the bliss of [Peeps at the Marchioness. 
 
 It 's a bargain. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Will you sign a paper to that effect ? 
 
 Don C. [Hurries to table l. 
 
 Will I ? Dictate the terms — the more binding the 
 better.
 
 DON C/ESAR DE BAZAN. 55 
 
 Don J. [Dictating 
 
 Don Caesar, Count de Garofa, engages, on the honour 
 of a gentleman, to quit Madrid forever. 
 
 Don C. \ Pauses. 
 
 Forever ; my poor creditors ! 
 
 Don J. 
 And renounces the Countess de Bazan, his wife. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Six thousand piastres for that ! I would have sold out 
 for half the money ! [ Writes. 
 
 My wife. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Never to 
 
 claim 
 
 the 
 
 name of husband 
 Don C. 
 
 O, never, 
 
 never 
 
 1 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Sign. 
 
 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Don C 
 
 
 
 
 [A set vant enters at back. 
 Ser. \ Calls. 
 
 The carriage of the Countess de Bazan. 
 
 [Pauses. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Eh! 
 
 
 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Sign, 
 
 sign, 
 
 Don 
 
 Caesar 
 
 \ 
 
 Ser. 
 
 Make Avay for the Countess de Bazan. 
 
 \Maritana passes at back from l. to R., attended.
 
 56 DON CiESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 I have been deceived ; what do I see ? 
 
 [Exit Maritana r. Don Ccesar is about to follow, 
 when Don Jose interposes. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Stay, your signature ! you have pledged the honour of 
 a gentleman. 
 
 Don C. [ Tears the paper. 
 
 I see the trick. There ! 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Don Caesar, remember you are a condemned criminal ; 
 a word from me would be the signal of your death. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Ah ! at last you throw off the mask ; now we understand 
 each other. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Flight is still possible. I will aid you, on one condition. 
 
 Don C. 
 No ! no more shameful bargains. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Be warned ! Pursue your wife a single step, and it will 
 lead you to destruction. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 She is, then, my wife ? Give me free passage, or I shall 
 owe the law another life. Away ! 
 
 [Pushes him aside, and rushes offc. and R. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Ho ! guards ! 
 
 [Soldiers enter from L. 
 Pursue that man ; if he resist, fire upon him imme- 
 diately. 
 
 [Music. Volley of musket ty outside. Tableau. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 31ct Cijirti. 
 
 f A Chateau in the Woods, near Madrid. A 
 
 & I Gothic Saloon, furnished. Windows and 
 
 'j Balcony c. Doors r. and l. Lazarillo 
 
 DISCOVERED. 
 
 Laza. 
 
 All is prepared for the arrival of Don Jose. What can 
 be the meaning of these mysterious proceedings ? This 
 house so suddenly engaged ; this lady for whom he seems 
 to entertain so great a respect ? Ah ! he is here ! 
 
 \Enter Don Jose l. i.e. 
 
 Don J. 
 Has any one arrived ? 
 
 Laza. 
 
 Yes, my lord, the lady ; she is now in that chamber. 
 
 Don J. 
 The servants and horses ? 
 
 Laza. 
 
 Returned instantly to Madrid. Shall I announce your 
 lordship ? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 No. Do you remember the cavalier who addressed me 
 yesterday, near the Escurial ? 
 
 Laza. 
 Yes, my lord ; was it not the king ?
 
 5« 
 
 DON CESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Silence! He will be here to-night; he alone must be 
 admitted to this apartment. 
 
 Laza. 
 Should any others present themselves, my lord ? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Refuse them admittance. If they insist, you have your 
 arquebuss — use it. 
 
 Laza. 
 I will use it, my lord. 
 
 Don J. 
 Go ! [Exit Lazarillo L. i.e. 
 
 This Don Caesar, whom I thought dead — how did he 
 escape ? His presence at this moment would ruin all. I 
 will delay no longer ; to-night shall see my plans accom- 
 plished. The king will be here anon, and I have already 
 despatched a message to the queen, apprizing her of her 
 husband's infidelity. She comes to-night to the neighbour- 
 ing palace of Aranguez ; there will I seek her, and urge 
 a suit, which, in revenge, she may accord me. 
 
 [A horn at a distance. 
 Ah ! the signal of the king. 
 
 [Enter Maritana R. i.e. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 What means that ? Ah ! the Count de Santarem ! 
 
 Don J. [ With ceremony. 
 
 I trust that my orders have been punctually obeyed, 
 madam ; there is nothing you require ? 
 
 Marit. 
 Nothing, nothing, I thank you.
 
 DON CVESAR DE BAZAN. 59 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Then your bright dreams are realized ; you have title, 
 splendour, homage. Did I not prophesy rightly, madam ? 
 I have kept every promise. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 You have, Don Jose; though the Countess de Bazan 
 already regrets the wishes of Maritana. 
 
 Don J. 
 Wherefore ? why these tears ? 
 
 Marit. 
 
 O, think me not ungrateful to you and to the queen : 
 but 'midst the splendour which surrounds me, I often sigh 
 for the freedom and happy thoughts of the poor dancing 
 girl. 
 
 Don J. 
 Hush! 
 
 [ Enter Lazarillo L. i. E. 
 Laza. 
 He is here, my lord. 
 
 Marit. 
 Who? 
 
 Don J. 
 
 Your husband, madam. 
 
 Marit. 
 My husband ! 
 
 [ The King enters l. i.e. Don Jose salutes him 
 respectfully, and signs to Lazarillo, and both go 
 out L. I.E. 
 
 King. 
 
 At length we are together. [Aside. 
 
 Maritana ! [Aloud.
 
 60 DON CiESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Marit. \Aside. 
 
 Heaven ! how I tremble, even at his voice ! 
 
 King. 
 
 Why do you not answer me ? why do you not approach 
 me ? 
 
 Marit. 
 Pardon me, my lord, but 
 
 King. 
 
 Your lips are colourless [ Takes her hand] ; your hand is 
 icy as death. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 [ Withdrawing her hand. 
 I — I — [Aside. 
 
 I cannot speak. 
 
 King. 
 
 Wherefore this chilling welcome ? are you not happy ? 
 
 Marit. {Aside. 
 
 Happy ! [Aloud. 
 
 How shall I answer you ? Can you wonder at my 
 uneasiness ? Our strange marriage, the distance which 
 separates us, the noble and the beggar ; I still feel how 
 much you are my superior ; I dare not raise my eyes to 
 yours ; I — I fear you. 
 
 King. 
 
 Fear me ! [ With hauteur. 
 
 We would know [Pauses. 
 
 O, Maritana, how you wrong me by such feelings ! 
 I love you, and would sacrifice all to know my love 
 returned. [Kisses her hand, which she withdraws. 
 
 Marit. 
 O!
 
 DON CAESAR DE BAZAN. 6 1 
 
 King. 
 
 What ? Don Jose told me you waited my coming, with 
 impatience. He has deceived me. 
 
 Marit. 
 Not you alone, my lord ; I also have been deceived. 
 
 King. 
 
 How ? 
 
 Marit. . 
 
 By this union. The husband that he assigned me was 
 one proscribed and ruined ; but still both brave and noble. 
 His sword was ever the defender of the weak • his voice 
 the advocate of the oppressed ; where'er he went mirth 
 followed after. A wanderer like myself, I felt almost his 
 equal. I thought that he would know my heart, and 
 from his memory of the past forgive the errors of the 
 present. 
 
 King. 
 
 Nor shall you be deceived. Each luxury shall minister 
 to your desires. My love shall be so prodigal, that, in 
 despite of all, you shall return my passion. 
 
 [Attempts to embrace her. 
 Marit. [Recoiling. 
 
 Unhand me, count; unhand me. 
 
 King. [Enraged. 
 
 I understand. You love another, Maritana; your heart, 
 I thought, never beat with passion or desire. I am de- 
 ceived. For this I've made you what you are! Ingrate! 
 To your chamber, madam ; you must learn the duty you 
 owe your lord and husband. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 I obey you ; you have reason for your anger ; I obey 
 you, my lord and my master. [Exit r. i.e. 
 
 8
 
 62 DON CJESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 King. 
 
 Does she relent ? why should I hesitate ? 
 
 [ Going towards r. 
 She may yet be won. 
 
 [A shot heard. Don Ccesar enters, over balcony, c. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 That 's a villainous way to receive a guest. What the 
 devil have I done to be continually made a target ? 
 
 [Lazarillo enters, with an arquebuss in his hand. 
 
 Laza. [ Starts. 
 
 Ah ! Don Caesar ! [Exit Lazarillo c. 
 
 Don C. 
 Well ! [Sees the King. 
 
 Pardon, signor, I had not the honour of seeing you till 
 this moment. 
 
 King. 
 
 Why did you enter by that window ? 
 
 Don C. 
 Well, signor, because the door was shut ! 
 
 King. 
 I am in no humour for jesting : what is your motive ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 A pardonable one. By the light of the moon, I saw in 
 the next balcony a very pretty woman, and I wished to 
 speak to her. 
 
 What, sir ? 
 
 King.
 
 DON C7ESAR DE BAZAN. 63 
 
 Don C. 
 
 I knocked at the door ; the porter refused me admit- 
 tance : how was I to get in ? There was but one opening, 
 and that was this window ; I was about to ascend, when 
 whizz came a bullet through my hat. [Shows hole in hat. 
 
 Sacred hospitality, how you are insulted ! 
 
 King. 
 What is your business with this lady ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Pardon me, I never violate confidence; I merely wish — 
 to see her — that 's all. 
 
 King, 
 
 Impertinent ! 1 desire you to quit the room. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 After the trouble I 've had to get here ? Are you 
 
 King. 
 
 The master of this house. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 The master of this house — hum! this house, where I 
 have seen the Countess de Bazan ! 
 
 King. 
 You know her, then ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Very slightly; I 've only seen her. But, if she resides 
 here, may I ask your name ? 
 
 King. | Haughtily. 
 
 I am 
 
 [Pauses, and looks at the door of Afaritana's 
 eh aw her. 
 I am Don Caesar de Bazan. [The King sits.
 
 64 DON CESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Eh ! Don Caesar de Bazan ! [Aside. 
 
 Egad ! I excel the Phoenix, for two Don Caesars have 
 arisen from my ashes. 
 
 King. 
 
 Now that I have satisfied you, I demand to know your 
 name. 
 
 Don C. [Aside. 
 
 The unblushing rascal ! 
 
 [Enter Lazarillo l. i.e. 
 Laza. 
 
 [ J J 'hispers aside to Don Ccesar. 
 It is the king. 
 
 Don C. 
 Eh, Lazarillo. [Exit Lazarillo l. i. e. 
 
 King. 
 
 You hesitate, sir. 
 
 Don C. [Aside. 
 
 The king here ! I understand all. 
 
 King. 
 
 My question embarrasses you. I demand an answer. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Certainly. If you are Don Caesar de Bazan [Seats him- 
 self l. with dignity, and places his hat on his head], I am 
 the king of Spain. 
 
 A'ing. 
 
 What ! The king ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 The — king — of — Spain . 
 
 King. 
 
 You!
 
 DON C.VSAK DE BAZAN. 65 
 
 Don C. 
 
 \ Tauntingly and pleasantly. 
 
 As surely as you are Don Caesar de Bazan. Ah ! it 
 astonishes you to see majesty unattended, at this hour of 
 the night, at the door of a pretty woman who is not the 
 queen. There 's nothing surprising in it, I assure you. I 
 was out of spirits — kings require relaxation sometimes; 
 but, not a word of this royal folly ; though with you, Don 
 Caesar, I may rest satisfied. You will not betray our 
 secret ? 
 
 King. [Aside. 
 
 Insolent ! Who can he be ? 
 
 [T/w King rises and removes his hat. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Ha! by the by, I remember Don Caesar — I know all 
 my subjects — a witty, gallant fellow, somewhat of my own 
 humour. He wounded the captain of our guard, in a 
 duel, in spite of our royal edict. He was shot in the outer 
 court of the barrack. [Kises and advances to the King. 
 
 Be kind enough to answer me one question. — If you 
 are Don Caesar, what right have you to be alive ? If I 
 were to denounce you, every loyal Spaniard would be 
 ready to pink you. [Calmly. 
 
 But we will not betray you. 
 
 King. 
 Your majesty forgets 
 
 Don C. 
 
 'T is possible. The keeper of the king's memory has 
 gone hunting with the keeper of the king's conscience. 
 But what has our majesty forgotten ? 
 
 King. 
 
 You forget that Don Caesar received the pardon of the 
 king.
 
 66 
 
 
 
 DON 
 
 CVESAR DE 
 
 BAZAN. 
 
 
 Indeed ! 
 
 
 Don C. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 King. 
 
 
 
 At 
 
 eight 
 
 o'clock on 
 
 the night of his condemnation 
 
 
 
 
 
 Don C. 
 
 
 His pardon at eight ! [Aside. 
 
 But I was shot at seven. \Aloud. 
 
 I do remember; we did pardon Don Csesar — an hour 
 too late. [Aside. 
 
 Though I don't grumble. 
 
 King. 
 
 You see it would be useless to denounce me. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 As useless as for me to retain a title which does not 
 belong to me. 
 
 King. 
 
 Then you are not the king of Spain ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 No ; [Don Ccesar uncovers: King puts on hat. 
 
 You suspected as much, I suppose. Am I right ? 
 
 King. 
 
 And you are 
 
 [Enter Lazarillo L. i.e. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 A man who need not fear to meet a legion of alguazils. 
 I am 
 
 Laza. 
 
 Sire, a private messenger. 
 
 [Kneels and gives letter. Don Ccesar retires.
 
 DON CVESAR DE BAZAN. 67 
 
 King. 
 What is this ? {Reads. 
 
 Eh! treason! The queen knows of my absence ? Is 
 at the palace of Aranguez ? My horse, boy ; stay. 
 
 [Aside to Lazarillo. 
 You are attached to Don Jose ? 
 
 Laza. 
 Yes, sire. 
 
 King. 
 
 Keep close watch on that man. Let him be removed ; 
 and above all, learn his name. [Exit l. i. e. 
 
 Laza. 
 Don Caesar, is it you ? 
 
 Don C. ■ 
 Yes, me, whom you rescued from a dishonourable death. 
 
 Laza. 
 I had nigh performed the office of executioner myself. 
 
 Don C. [Shows hat. 
 
 True. 
 
 Laza. 
 But I knew not that it was you. I 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Psha ! could 1 doubt you, Lazarillo ? But tell me, am 
 I to leave this house ? 
 
 Laza. 
 Such are my orders. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 If I refuse — if I resist ?
 
 68 DON CjESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Laza. 
 
 Resist ! Who will oppose you ? I am the servant of 
 Don Cassar. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Good lad ! should I ever grow rich 
 
 Laza. 
 You will retain me in your service. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Service ! you shall have a dozen lacqueys to wait on 
 you ; but, Lazarillo, there is a lady in this house ? 
 
 Laza. 
 Yes. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 I wish to see her — you must take me to her. 
 
 [Enter Maritana r. 2. e. 
 
 Laza. 
 She is here, my lord. 
 
 Man/. 
 A stranger ! 
 
 Don C. 
 Leave us, Lazarillo. [Exit Lazarillo l. i. e. 
 
 Well, madam, we have met at last [Maritana starts and 
 listens intently ; as her recognition of him occurs, she evinces 
 pleasure] — not without some trouble and danger on my 
 part. I 've been hunted by a full pack of alguazils, and 
 fired at by a tolerably good marksman, and all for this 
 interview. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 That voice ! you are 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Your husband, Don Caesar de Bazan.
 
 DON GfliSAR DE HAZAN. 69 
 
 Marit 
 
 You. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Maritana, I know all. Vou thought my death was cer- 
 tain ; you paused not to acquire the title you coveted even 
 in a prison. When you left the altar, you listened for 
 the sounds that were to bring death to me and liberty to 
 you. 
 
 Marit. [Horror-stricken. 
 
 What say you ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Thus did you, to acquire title and a name which you 
 have consigned to infamy. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 'T is false ! I have never wronged my husband's honour, 
 even in thought. [Tenderly. 
 
 But are you indeed my husband ? another has claimed 
 the title of Don Cassar, and 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Mockery ! The king of Spain needs not the influence 
 of so poor a name. 
 
 Marit. 
 The king of Spain ! 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Ay, the king of Spain ! Royal wooers seldom sue in 
 vain. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Stay; prove to me your right to question, and I will 
 answer all. What proof have you to give that you are not 
 deceiving me — that you are my husband ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 What proof? My honour. 
 9
 
 70 DON OESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Ah ! you spoke to me but once. Do you ^member 
 the words you then addressed to me ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Perfectly, madam : " To you I devote the rest of my 
 existence." 
 
 Marit. 
 
 You are my husband ; those are the words you uttered ! 
 
 [She is advancing — he repels her. 
 
 Don C. 
 Your pardon, madam ; your royal lover brooks no rival. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 O, Don Caesar — husband ! let not my sufferings be thus 
 repaid. Hear me, and then condemn me if you can. On 
 the day — I — I saved you from the fury of the mob, fate 
 threw me in the way of one who professed an interest in 
 my welfare, and told me he was commissioned by the 
 queen to raise me to the station I coveted. The means 
 
 proposed were 
 
 Don C. [Sarcastically. 
 
 Most honourable. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Yes, most honourable ; for in marrying you, I believed 
 I wedded one who had professed a regard for me : 
 
 [ Tremulously. 
 One for whom I had felt a deeper interest than for any 
 other being. 
 
 Don C. 
 Are you deceiving ? 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Are these tears the offspring of deceit ? 
 
 [Seizes his hand and kneels.
 
 DON C/liSAR DE KAZAN. 71 
 
 O, husband ! I have suffered for my pride ; but be thou 
 the judge how I have preserved thy honour. And if you 
 find me faithless, kill me. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Fearful conditions, Maritana ! 
 
 Marit. 
 
 I dare abide them. O, Don Caesar! you know nol 
 what a thing of power that love has grown, which had its 
 birth almost at the altar. The hours of fear and self- 
 reproach which I have passed have made your image an 
 idol to my heart. 
 
 Don C. [Embracing her. 
 
 I must believe you, Maritana. Don Caesar, the advent- 
 urer, is no more; the Count Garofa will live worthy of 
 his name, since you must share it with him. [Drum heard. 
 
 Ah ! soldiers approach the house. 
 
 Marit. 
 Then fly ; save yourself. 
 
 Don C. 
 Fly, when the king is at your chamber door ? 
 
 Marit 
 
 Fear not for me ; go to the queen. She is at Aran- 
 guez ; tell her that Maritana is in danger. She will rescue 
 me. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Not whilst I have a sword to second a stout heart. 
 
 Marit. [Clinging to him. 
 
 I know how much I ask of you, who would rather trust 
 to your own arm than seek succour of a woman. But for 
 my sake — for her who will prove how deeply she adores 
 you — go to the queen.
 
 72 DON CESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Don C. [Kisses her. 
 
 To the queen ! 
 
 [Exit Don Cozsar c. 
 
 [Enter Lazarillo L. i. E. 
 Laza. 
 Madam, the king. 
 
 Marit. 
 "What is to be done ? Do not leave me, Lazarillo. 
 
 Laza. 
 He will order me to withdraw. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 True, you must obey him ; but at least let me have 
 some protection. [Takes a dagger from his girdle. 
 
 At the worst, this will free me from his power. 
 
 [ The King enters L. i . E. 
 King. [ To Lazarillo. 
 
 Where is the stranger that I left here ? 
 
 Laza. 
 Gone, sire. 
 
 King. 
 
 What brought him here ? 
 
 Laza. 
 
 He had escaped from prison, sire. 
 
 King. 
 
 Leave us. 
 
 [Lazarillo looks at Maritana. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Lazarillo, obey the orders of his majesty. 
 
 [Exit Lazarillo L. i.e.
 
 don Caesar de bazan. 73 
 
 King. 
 Majesty ! who has dared to betray me ? 
 
 Marit. 
 
 He that has betrayed you, sire, is the same who coun- 
 selled you to commit a meanness unworthy of a king. 
 
 King. 
 How, madam ? 
 
 Marit. 
 
 He who has made a mockery of the altar — who brought 
 you to me as my husband, the Count de Bazan. 
 
 King. 
 
 Maritana, I am the king. My pride has long revolted 
 at the deceit we practised on you. Now that you know 
 me for what I am, listen to me. 
 
 Marit. 
 Leave me, sire, I implore you. 
 
 King. 
 
 Leave you! you — the only one I have ever truly 
 
 loved ? 
 
 Marit. 
 
 O, sire ! in pity go. Be generous — be merciful. 
 
 King. 
 But one embrace — one. 
 
 Marit. [Draws dagger. 
 
 One step nearer, and I strike. 
 
 [ Offers at her own breast.
 
 74 CON CESAR DE EAZAN. 
 
 King. 
 
 What, Maritana, am I so loathsome to you ? 
 
 Marit. 
 
 No, sire; but I am wife of one who must find me 
 worthy of him, or find me no more. 
 
 King. 
 Of whom speak you ? 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Of my husband, Don Caesar de Bazan. 
 
 King. 
 He is dead. 
 
 [Don Ccesar enters c. 
 Don C. 
 
 Not yet, sire, thanks to your majesty's gracious pardon. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Ha ! [Crosses to him and throws down dagger. 
 
 My husband will protect me. 
 
 King. 
 
 Your husband ! 
 
 [Don Casar crosses L., locks door and takes out key. 
 What have you done, sir? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Locked the door, sire, that no one may enter — that no 
 pne may hear that to which we alone should listen. 
 
 Marit. [Aside. 
 
 What will be the end of this ?
 
 DON CAESAR DE BAZAN. 75 
 
 Don C. [Fiercely. 
 
 If the persecutor of my wife had been a gentleman and 
 soldier like myself, I fear that I should have denied him 
 even the chance of an encounter — I think that at once I 
 should have dispatched him ; for in such a case one does 
 not look for reparation, but revenge ; you, sire, are my 
 king [Kneels and presents his sword], and thus do I disarm 
 my vengeance. 
 
 King. 
 You are speaking, sir, to the king of Spain. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 To whom else should I speak ? We cannot always 
 subdue the will or restrain the hand. I will render both 
 powerless. [ Throws away sword. 
 
 But, reparation must be made. [Rises. 
 
 King. [ With effort. 
 
 Proceed, sir ; your audacity pleases me. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Remember, Don Caesar, it is your king. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Yes, it is my king. Sire, this poor, weak woman, against 
 whom such power has combined, has sought the protection 
 of our beloved queen. 
 
 King. 
 
 The queen ! 
 
 Don C. 
 Yes, sire, I was her messenger to the palace of Aranguez. 
 
 King. 
 Then you have seen the queen ?
 
 jf- DON CAESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Don C 
 
 You shall hear, sire. When I arrived at the palace, I 
 was denied admittance : but, regardless of the guns of the 
 
 sentinels 
 
 Marit. 
 
 Ah ! you have been in danger ! 
 
 Don C. 
 No ; you forget that I am bullet-proof. 
 
 King. 
 Well, well. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 I climbed the garden wall ; under the shadow of some 
 trees, I crept close to a pavilion, whence proceeded two 
 voices — those of a man and a woman. The woman, 
 though greatly moved, spoke proudly; the voice of the 
 man trembled with passionate emotion. I heard this — 
 "Madam, you are deceived — your husband meets his 
 mistress to-night. Some officers of the king shall follow 
 him to a secluded chateau in the forest, and bring you 
 proof of his infidelity." 
 
 King. 
 
 Who has dared to place a watch upon my actions ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 The man was Don Jose de Santarem, your favourite 
 minister; the lady was — the queen. 
 
 King. 
 'T is false ! if it were true 
 
 [Crosses towards door l. i. e. 
 
 Don C. [Coolly. 
 
 Your majesty forgets that I have locked the door. 
 
 King. 
 Traitor !
 
 DON CVESAR DE BAZAX. J-j 
 
 Don C. 
 
 I told you, sire, that reparation must be made; do you 
 understand me now ? The minister betrays his king; the 
 subject would dishonour his queen. 
 
 King. 
 
 Don Caesar, on your allegiance open that door. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 The wrong you would have inflicted on me, another 
 now practises towards you; yet you cannot leave this room. 
 
 [ The King falls in a chair. 
 
 Each moment is an age of agony, and yet you cannot 
 
 quit this place to satisfy your doubt. All that you made 
 
 me suffer you are now enduring ; and yet you cannot stir 
 
 but at my will. 
 
 King. [Points to door. 
 
 Don Caesar, at your peril hesitate a moment longer. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 This retribution is terrible, is it not ? 
 
 King. 
 Take up your sword. [Rises. 
 
 I am a king no longer; your treason forces me to 
 become your equal. Defend yourself, and save me from 
 becoming an assassin. 
 
 Marit. 
 
 [Crosses c. and is put back by Don Cccsar. 
 O, sire, for heaven's sake ! 
 
 King. 
 Take up your sword, or I will strike. 
 
 Don C. 
 You will be too late. 
 
 King. 
 
 Too late ! How ? 
 10
 
 yg DON CESAR DE BAZAN. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 When did a Spanish gentleman hesitate to avenge an 
 insult to his king ? Think you 1 have spared the man who 
 would have made my dishonour the stepping-stone to 
 yours ? No, sire, I have struck. Sire, your honour is 
 preserved. It is now your turn to deal with mine. 
 
 [Kneels and points to Mariiana. 
 
 King. [Raises him. 
 
 Rise, Don Caesar. 
 
 [Drum heard, and cries of " The King / The 
 King / " Don C. unlocks door. Lazarillo and 
 Nobles enter. 
 
 All. 
 It is the king. 
 
 King. 
 
 Yes, gentlemen, we have visited Don Caesar de Bazan, 
 one of our most faithful servants. Don Caesar de Bazan, 
 we have appointed you governor of Valencia. 
 
 Don C. 
 
 The government of Granada is vacant, sire. 
 
 King. 
 Why rather Granada than Valencia ? 
 
 Don C. 
 
 Granada is twice the distance from Madrid \Points to 
 Mariiana], and that doubles the obligation ; and besides, 
 there I 've no creditors. 
 
 King. 
 
 Be it as you wish. We appoint our faithful subject, 
 Don Caesar de Bazan, governor of Granada. 
 
 [Flourish. Picture. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 AA 000 609 909 7