Bar.And you drew him out again directly?
Pet.No, I didn't.
Mrs. H.No; your father did?
Pet.No, he didn't.
Mrs. H.Why you did not leave him in the water?
Pet.Yes, we did!—But we bawled as loud as we could; you might have heard us down to the village.
Mrs. H.Ay—and so the people came immediately to his assistance.
Pet.No, they didn't: but the Stranger came, that lives yonder, close to old Toby, and never speaks a syllable. Odsbodlikins! what a devil of a fellow it is! With a single spring bounces he slap into the torrent; sails and dives about and about like a duck; gets me hold of the little angel's hair, and, Heaven bless him! pulls him safe and sound to dry land again.—Ha! ha! ha!
Bar.Is the Stranger with them?
Pet.Oh lud! no. He ran away. His Excellency wanted to thank him, and all that; but he was off; vanquished like a ghost.
EnterSolomon.
Sol.Oh! thou careless varlet! I disown you! What an accident might have happened! and how you have terrified his Excellency! But I beg pardon, [Bows.] His Right Honourable Excellency, the Count, requests your—
Bar.We come.
[Exit, withMrs. Haller.
Char.Ha! ha! ha! Why, Mr. Solomon, you seem to have a hopeful pupil.
Sol.Ah! sirrah!
Char.But, Mr. Solomon, why were you not nimble enough to have saved his young lordship?
Sol.Not in time, my sweet Miss. Besides, mercy on us! I should have sunk like a lump of lead: and I happened to have a letter of consequence in my pocket, which would have been made totally illegible; a letter from Constantinople, written by Chevalier—What's his name? [Draws a letter from his pocket, and putting it up again directly, drops it.Petertakes it up, slily and unobserved.] It contains momentous matter, I assure you. The world will be astonished when it comes to light; and not a soul will suppose that old Solomon had a finger in the pye.
Char.No, that I believe.
Sol.But I must go and see to the cellar. Miss, your most obedient servant.
[Exit.
Char.[With pride.] Your servant, Mr. Solomon.
Pet.Here's the letter from Constantinople. I wonder what it can be about. Now for it!
[Opens it.
Char.Aye, let us have it.
Pet. [Reads.]If so be you say so, I'll never work for you, never no more. Considering as how your Sunday waistcoat has been turned three times, it doesn't lookamiss, and I've charged as little as any tailor of 'em all. You say I must pay for the buckram; but I say, I'll be damn'd if I do. So no more from your loving nephew,
Timothy Twist.
From Constantinople! Why, cousin Tim writ it.
Char.Cousin Tim! Who is he?
Pet.Good lack! Don't you know cousin Tim? Why, he's one of the best tailors in all—
Char.A tailor! No, sir, I do not know him. My father was state coachman, and wore his highness's livery.
[Exit.
Pet.[Mimicking.] "My father was state coachman, and wore his Highness's livery"—Well, and cousin Tim could have made his Highness's livery, if you go to that. State coachman, indeed!
[Going.
EnterSolomon.
Sol.Peter, you ninny, stay where you are. Is that chattering girl gone? Didn't I tell you we would have a practice of our dance? they are all ready on the lawn. Mark me; I represent the Count, and you the Baron.
[Exit, with affected dignity.Peterfollows, mimicking.
The Lawn.—Seats placed.—Rustic Music.—Dancers are discovered as ready to perform.
SolomonandPeterenter, and seat themselves.
A Dance, in which the Dancers pay their reverence toSolomonandPeteras they pass. At the end,SolomonandPeterstrut off before the Dancers.
The Skirts of the Park and Lodge, &c. as before. TheStrangeris discovered on a seat, reading.
EnterFrancis.
Fra.Sir, sir, dinner is ready.
Stra.I want no dinner.
Fra.I've got something good.
Stra.Eat it yourself.
Fra.You are not hungry?
Stra.No.
[Rises.
Fra.Nor I. The heat takes away all appetite.
Stra.Yes.
Fra.I'll put it by; perhaps at night—
Stra.Perhaps.
Fra.Dear sir, dare I speak?
Stra.Speak.
Fra.You have done a noble action.
Stra.What?
Fra.You have saved a fellow creature's life.
Stra.Peace.
Fra.Do you know who he was?
Stra.No.
Fra.The only son of Count Wintersen.
Stra.Immaterial.
Fra.A gentleman, by report, worthy and benevolent as yourself.
Stra.[Angry.] Silence! Dare you flatter me?
Fra.As I look to Heaven for mercy, I speak from my heart. When I observe how you are doing good around you, how you are making every individual's wants your own, and are yet yourself unhappy, alas! my heart bleeds for you.
Stra.I thank you, Francis. I can only thank you. Yet share this consolation with me:—my sufferings are unmerited.
Fra.My poor master!
Stra.Have you forgotten what the old man said this morning? "There is another and a better world!" Oh, 'twas true. Then let us hope with fervency, and yet endure with patience!—What's here?
EnterCharlotte,from the Park gate.
Char.I presume, sir, you are the strange gentleman that drew my young master out of the water?—[TheStrangerreads.] Or [ToFrancis.] are you he? [Francismakes a wry face.] Are the creatures both dumb? [Looks at them by turns.] Surely, old Solomon has fixed two statues here, by way of ornament; for of any use there is no sign. [ApproachesFrancis.] No, this is alive, and breathes; yes, and moves its eyes. [Bawls in his ear.] Good friend!
Fra.I'm not deaf.
Char.No, nor dumb, I perceive at last.—Is yon lifeless thing your master?
Fra.That honest silent gentleman is my master.
Char.The same that drew the young Count out of the water?
Fra.The same.
Char.[To theStranger.] Sir, my master and mistress, the Count and Countess, present their respectful compliments, and request the honour of your company at a family supper this evening.
Stra.I shall not come.
Char.But you'll scarce send such an uncivil answer as this. The Count is overpowered with gratitude. You saved his son's life.
Stra.I did it willingly.
Char.And won't accept of, "I thank you," in return?
Stra.No.
Char.You really are cruel, sir, I must tell you. There are three of us ladies at the Castle, and we are all dying with curiosity to know who you are. [ExitStranger.] The master is crabbed enough, however. Let me try what I can make of the man. Pray, sir— [Francisturns his back to her.] —The beginning promises little enough. Friend, why won't you look at me.
Fra.I like to look at green trees better than green eyes.
Char.Green eyes, you monster! Who told you, that my eyes were green? Let me tell you there have been sonnets made on my eyes, before now.
Fra.Glad to hear it.
Char.To the point then at once. What is your master?
Fra.A man.
Char.I surmised as much. But what's his name?
Fra.The same as his father's.
Char.Not unlikely;—and his father was—
Fra.Married.
Char.To whom?
Fra.To a woman.
Char.[Enraged.] I'll tell you what; who your master is I see I shall not learn, and I don't care; but I know what you are.
Fra.Well, what am I?
Char.A bear!
[Exit.
Fra.Thank you! Now to see how habit and example corrupt one's manners. I am naturally the civilest spoken fellow in the world to the pretty prattling rogues; yet, following my master's humour, I've rudely driven this wench away. I must have a peep at her though.
[Looking towards the Park gate.
EnterStranger.
Stra.Is that woman gone?
Fra.Yes.
Stra.Francis!
Fra.Sir.
Stra.We must be gone too.
Fra.But whither?
Stra.I don't care.
Fra.I'll attend you.
Stra.To any place?
Fra.To death.
Stra.Heav'n grant it—to me, at least! There is peace.
Fra.Peace is every where. Let the storm rage without, if the heart be but at rest. Yet I think we are very well where we are: the situation is inviting; and nature lavish of her beauties, and of her bounties too.
Stra.But I am not a wild beast, to be stared at, and sent for as a show. Is it fit I should be?
Fra.Another of your interpretations! That a man, the life of whose only son you have saved, should invite you to his house, seems to me not very unnatural.
Stra.I will not be invited to any house.
Fra.For once, methinks, you might submit. You'll not be asked a second time.
Stra.Proud wretches! They believe the most essential service is requited, if one may but have the honour of sitting at their table. Let us begone.
Fra.Yet hold, sir! This bustle will soon be over. Used to the town, the Count and his party will soon be tired of simple nature, and you will again be freed from observation.
Stra.Not from your's.
Fra.This is too much. Do I deserve your doubts?
Stra.Am I in the wrong?
Fra.You are indeed!
Stra.Francis, my servant, you are my only friend.
Fra.That title makes amends for all.
Stra.But look, Francis; there are uniforms and gay dresses in the walk again. No, I must be gone. Here I'll stay no longer.
Fra.Well then, I'll tie up my bundle.
Stra.The sooner the better! They come this way. Now must I shut myself in my hovel, and lose this fine breeze. Nay, if they be your highbred class of all, they may have impudence enough to walk into my chamber. Francis, I shall lock the door.
[Goes into the Lodge, locks the door, and fastens the shutters.
Fra.And I'll be your centinel.
Stra.Very well.
Fra.Now should these people be as inquisitive as their maid, I must summon my whole stock of impertinence. But their questions and my answers need little study. They can learn nothing of the Stranger from me; for the best of all possible reasons—I know nothing myself.
EnterBaronandCountess.
Countess.There is a strange face. The servant probably.
Bar.Friend, can we speak to your master?
Fra.No.
Bar.Only for a few minutes.
Fra.He has locked himself in his room.
Countess.Tell him a lady waits for him.
Fra.Then he's sure not to come.
Countess.Does he hate our sex?
Fra.He hates the whole human race, but woman particularly.
Countess.And why?
Fra.He may perhaps have been deceived.
Countess.This is not very courteous.
Fra.My master is not over courteous: but whenhe sees a chance of saving a fellow creature's life, he'll attempt it at the hazard of his own.
Bar.You are right. Now hear the reason of our visit. The wife and brother-in-law of the man, whose child your master has saved, wish to acknowledge their obligations to him.
Fra.That he dislikes. He only wishes to live unnoticed.
Countess.He appears to be unfortunate.
Fra.Appears!
Countess.An affair of honour, perhaps, or some unhappy attachment may have—
Fra.They may.
Countess.Be this as it may, I wish to know who he is.
Fra.So do I.
Countess.What! don't you know him yourself?
Fra.Oh! I know him well enough. I mean his real self—His heart—his soul—his worth—his honour!—Perhaps you think one knows a man, when one is acquainted with his name and person.
Countess.'Tis well said, friend; you please me much. And now I should like to know you. Who are you?
Fra.Your humble servant.
[Exit.
Countess.This is affectation! A desire to appear singular! Every one wishes to make himself distinguished. One sails round the world; another creeps into a hovel.
Bar.And the man apes his master!
Countess.Come, brother, let us seek the Count. He and Mrs. Haller turned into the lawn—
[Going.
Bar.Stay. First a word or two, sister. I am in love.
Countess.For the hundreth time.
Bar.For the first time in my life.
Countess.I wish you joy.
Bar.Till now you have evaded my inquiries. Who is she? I beseech you, sister, be serious. There is a time for all things.
Countess.Bless us! Why you look as if you were going to raise a spirit. Don't fix your eyes so earnestly. Well, if I am to be serious, I obey. I do not know who Mrs. Haller is, as I have already told you; but what I do know of her, shall not be concealed from you. It may now be three years ago, when, one evening, about twilight, a lady was announced, who wished to speak to me in private. Mrs. Haller appeared with all that grace and modesty, which have enchanted you. Her features, at that moment, bore keener marks of the sorrow and confusion which have since settled into gentle melancholy. She threw herself at my feet; and besought me to save a wretch who was on the brink of despair. She told me she had heard much of my benevolence, and offered herself as a servant to attend me. I endeavoured to dive into the cause of her sufferings, but in vain. She concealed her secret; yet opened to me more and more each day a heart, chosen by virtue as her temple, and an understanding improved by the most refined attainments. She no longer remained my servant, but became my friend; and, by her own desire, has ever since resided here. [Curtseying.] Brother, I have done.
Bar.Too little to satisfy my curiosity; yet enough to make me realise my project. Sister, lend me your aid—I would marry her.
Countess.You!
Bar.I.
Countess.Baron Steinfort.
Bar.For shame! If I understand you!
Countess.Not so harsh, and not so hasty! Those great sentiments of contempt of inequality in rank are very fine in a romance; but we happen not to beinhabitants of an ideal world. How could you introduce her to the circle we live in? You surely would not attempt to present her to—
Bar.Object as you will—my answer is—I love.Sister, you see a man before you, who—
Countess.Who wants a wife.
Bar.No; who has deliberately poised advantage against disadvantage; domestic ease and comfort against the false gaieties of fashion. I can withdraw into the country. I need no honours to make my tenants happy; and my heart will teach me to make their happiness my own. With such a wife as this, children who resemble her, and fortune enough to spread comfort around me, what would the soul of man have more?
Countess.This is all vastly fine. I admire your plan; only you seem to have forgotten one trifling circumstance.
Bar.And that is—
Countess.Whether Mrs. Haller will have you or not.
Bar.There, sister, I just want your assistance.—[Seizing her hand.] Good Henrietta!
Countess.Well, here's my hand. I'll do all I can for you. St!—We had near been overheard. They are coming. Be patient and obedient.
EnterCount,andMrs. Haller,leaning on his arm.
Count.Upon my word, Mrs. Haller, you are a nimble walker: I should be sorry to run a race with you.
Mrs. H.Custom, my lord. You need only take the same walk every day for a month.
Count.Yes; if I wanted to resemble my greyhounds.—But what said the Stranger?
Countess.He gave Charlotte a flat refusal; andyou see his door, and even his shutters, are closed against us.
Count.What an unaccountable being! But it won't do. I must show my gratitude one way or other. Steinfort, we will take the ladies home, and then you shall try once again to see him. You can talk to these oddities better than I can.
Bar.If you wish it, with all my heart.
Count.Thank you, thank you. Come, ladies: come Mrs. Haller.
[Exeunt.
A close walk in the Garden.
EnterCountess,andMrs. Haller.
Countess.Well, Mrs. Haller, how do you like the man that just now left us?
Mrs. H.Who?
Countess.My brother.
Mrs. H.He deserves to be your brother.
Countess.[Curtseying.] Your most obedient! That shall be written in my pocket-book.
Mrs. H.Without flattery then, madam, he appears to be most amiable.
Countess.Good!—And a handsome man?
Mrs. H.[With indifference.] Oh, yes.
Countess."Oh, yes!" It sounded almost like, "Oh, no!" But I must tell you, that he looks upon you to be a handsome woman [Mrs. Hallersmiles.] You make no reply to this?
Mrs. H.What shall I reply? Derision never fell from your lips; and I am little calculated to support it.
Countess.As little as you are calculated to be the cause of it. No; I was in earnest.—Now?
Mrs. H.You confuse me!—But why should I play the prude? I will own there was a time, when I thought myself handsome. 'Tis past. Alas! the enchanting beauties of a female countenance arise from peace of mind—The look, which captivates an honourable man, must be reflected from a noble soul.
Countess.Then Heaven grant my bosom may ever hold as pure a heart, as now those eyes bear witness lives in yours!
Mrs. H.[With sudden wildness.] Oh! Heaven forbid!
Countess.[Astonished.] How!
Mrs. H.[Checking her tears.] Spare me! I am a wretch. The sufferings of three years can give me no claim to your friendship—No, not even to your compassion. Oh! spare me!
[Going.
Countess.Stay, Mrs. Haller. For the first time, I beg your confidence.—My brother loves you.
Mrs. H.[Starting, and gazing full in the face of theCountess.] For mirth, too much—for earnest, too mournful!
Countess.I revere that modest blush. Discover to me who you are. You risk nothing. Pour all your griefs into a sister's bosom. Am I not kind? and can I not be silent?
Mrs. H.Alas! But a frank reliance on a generous mind is the greatest sacrifice to be offered by true repentance. This sacrifice I will offer. [Hesitating.] Did you never hear—Pardon me—Did you never hear—Oh! how shocking is it to unmask a deception, which alone has recommended me to your regard! But it must be so.—Madam—Fie, Adelaide! does pride become you? Did you never hear of the Countess Waldbourg?
Countess.I think I did hear, at the neighbouring court, of such a creature. She plunged an honourable husband into misery. She ran away with a villain.
Mrs. H.She did indeed. [Falls at the feet of theCountess.] Do not cast me from you.
Countess.For Heaven's sake! You are—
Mrs. H.I am that wretch.
Countess.[Turning from her with horror.] Ha!—Begone! [Going. Her heart draws her back.] Yet, she is unfortunate: she is unfriended! Her image is repentance—Her life the proof—She has wept her fault in her three years agony. Be still awhile, remorseless prejudice, and let the genuine feelings of my soul avow—they do not truly honour virtue, who can insult the erring heart that would return to her sanctuary. [Looking with sorrow on her.] Rise, I beseech you, rise! My husband and my brother may surprise us. I promise to be silent.
[Raising her.
Mrs. H.Yes, you will be silent—But, oh! conscience! conscience! thou never wilt be silent. [Clasping her hands.] Do not cast me from you.
Countess.Never! Your lonely life, your silent anguish and contrition, may at length atone your crime. And never shall you want an asylum, where your penitence may lament your loss. Your crime was youth and inexperience; your heart never was, never could be concerned in it.
Mrs. H.Oh! spare me! My conscience never martyrs me so horribly, as when I catch my base thoughts in search of an excuse! No, nothing can palliate my guilt; and the only just consolation left me, is, to acquit the man I wronged, and own I erred without a cause of fair complaint.
Countess.And this is the mark of true repentance. Alas! my friend, when superior sense, recommended too by superior charms of person, assail a young, though wedded—
Mrs. H.Ah! not even that mean excuse is left me. In all that merits admiration, respect, and love, he was far, far beneath my husband. But to attempt to account for my strange infatuation—I cannot bear it. I thought my husband's manner grew colder to me. 'Tis true I knew, that his expenses, and his confidence in deceitful friends, had embarrassed his means, and clouded his spirits; yet I thought he denied me pleasures and amusements still within our reach. My vanity was mortified! My confidence not courted. The serpent tongue of my seducer promised every thing. But never could such arguments avail, till, assisted by forged letters, and the treachery of a servant, whom I most confided in, he fixed my belief that my lord was false, and that all the coldness I complained of was disgust to me, and love for another; all his home retrenchments but the means of satisfying a rival's luxury. Maddened with this conviction, (conviction it was, for artifice was most ingenious in its proof,) I left my children—father—husband—to follow—a villain.
Countess.But, with such a heart, my friend could not remain long in her delusion?
Mrs. H.Long enough to make sufficient penitence impossible. 'Tis true that in a few weeks the delirium was at an end. Oh, what were my sensations when the mist dispersed before my eyes? I called for my husband, but in vain!—I listened for the prattle of my children, but in vain!
Countess.[Embracing her.] Here, here, on this bosom only shall your future tears be shed; and may I, dear sufferer, make you again familiar with hope!
Mrs. H.Oh! impossible!
Countess.Have you never heard of your children?
Mrs. H.Never.
Countess.We must endeavour to gain some account of them. We must—Hold! my husband and my brother! Oh, my poor brother! I had quite forgotten him. Quick, dear Mrs. Haller, wipe your eyes. Let us meet them.
Mrs. H.Madam, I'll follow. Allow me a moment to compose myself.—[ExitCountess.] I pause!—Oh! yes—to compose myself! [Ironically.] She little thinks it is but to gain one solitary moment to vent my soul's remorse. Once the purpose of my unsettled mind was self-destruction; Heaven knows how I have sued for hope and resignation. I did trust my prayers were heard—Oh! spare me further trial! I feel, I feel, my heart and brain can bear no more.
[Exit.
The Skirts of the Park, Lodge, &c. as before.—A Table, spread with Fruits, &c.
Francisdiscovered placing the supper.
Fra.I know he loves to have his early supper in the fresh air; and, while he sups, not that I believe any thing can amuse him, yet I will try my little Savoyards' pretty voices. I have heard him speak as if he had loved music. [Music without.] Oh, here they are.
EnterAnnetteandClaudine,playing on their guitars.
Ann.To welcome mirth and harmless glee,We rambling minstrels, blythe and free,With song the laughing hours beguile,And wear a never-fading smile:Where'er we roamWe find a home,And greeting, to reward our toil.Clau.No anxious griefs disturb our rest,Nor busy cares annoy our breast;Fearless we sink in soft repose,While night her sable mantle throws.With grateful lay,Hail rising day,That rosy health and peace bestows.
Ann.To welcome mirth and harmless glee,We rambling minstrels, blythe and free,With song the laughing hours beguile,And wear a never-fading smile:Where'er we roamWe find a home,And greeting, to reward our toil.
Clau.No anxious griefs disturb our rest,Nor busy cares annoy our breast;Fearless we sink in soft repose,While night her sable mantle throws.With grateful lay,Hail rising day,That rosy health and peace bestows.
During the Duet, theStrangerlooks from the Lodge window, and at the conclusion he comes out.
Stra.What mummery is this?
Fra.I hoped it might amuse you, sir.
Stra.Amuseme—fool!
Fra.Well then, I wished to amuse myself a little. I don't think my recreations are so very numerous.
Stra.That's true, my poor fellow; indeed they are not. Let them go on.—I'll listen.
Fra.But to please you, poor master, I fear it must be a sadder strain. Annette, have you none but these cheerful songs?
Ann.O, plenty. If you are dolefully given we can be as sad as night. I'll sing you an air Mrs. Haller taught me the first year she came to the Castle.
Fra.Mrs. Haller! I should like to hear that.
Ann.I have a silent sorrow here,A grief I'll ne'er impart;It breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear,But it consumes my heart;This cherish'd woe, this lov'd despair,My lot for ever be,So, my soul's lord, the pangs I bearBe never known by thee!And when pale characters of deathShall mark this alter'd cheek,When my poor wasted trembling breathMy life's last hope would speak;I shall not raise my eyes to Heav'n,Nor mercy ask for me,My soul despairs to be forgiv'n,Unpardon'd, love, by thee.
Ann.I have a silent sorrow here,A grief I'll ne'er impart;It breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear,But it consumes my heart;This cherish'd woe, this lov'd despair,My lot for ever be,So, my soul's lord, the pangs I bearBe never known by thee!
And when pale characters of deathShall mark this alter'd cheek,When my poor wasted trembling breathMy life's last hope would speak;I shall not raise my eyes to Heav'n,Nor mercy ask for me,My soul despairs to be forgiv'n,Unpardon'd, love, by thee.
Stra.[Surprised and moved.] Oh! I have heard that air before, but 'twas with other words. Francis, share our supper with your friends—I need none.
[Enters the Lodge.
Fra.So I feared. Well, my pretty favourites, here are refreshments. So, disturbed again. Now will this gentleman call for more music, and make my master mad. Return when you observe this man is gone.—[ExeuntAnnetteandClaudine.—Francissits and eats.]—I was in hopes, that I might at least eat my supper peaceably in the open air; but they follow at our heels like blood-hounds.
EnterBaron.
Bar.My good friend, I must speak to your master.
Fra.Can't serve you.
Bar.Why not?
Fra.It's forbidden.
Bar.[Offers money.] There! announce me.
Fra.Want no money.
Bar.Well, only announce me then.
Fra.I will announce you, sir; but it won't avail! I shall be abused, and you rejected. However, we can but try.
[Going.
Bar.I only ask half a minute. [Francisgoes into the Lodge.] But when he comes, how am I to treat him? I never encountered a misanthrope before. I have heard of instructions as to conduct in society; but how I am to behave towards a being who loathes the whole world, and his own existence, I have never learned.
Enter theStranger.
Stra.Now; what's your will?
Bar.I beg pardon, sir, for—[Suddenly recognizing him.] Charles!
Stra.Steinfort!
[They embrace.
Bar.Is it really you, my dear friend?
Stra.It is.
Bar.Merciful Heavens! How you are altered!
Stra.The hand of misery lies heavy on me.—But how came you here? What want you?
Bar.Strange! Here was I ruminating how to address this mysterious recluse: he appears, and proves to be my old and dearest friend.
Stra.Then you were not in search of me, nor knew that I lived here?
Bar.As little as I know who lives on the summit of Caucasus. You this morning saved the life of my brother-in-law's only son: a grateful family wishes to behold you in its circle. You refused my sister's messenger; therefore, to give more weight to the invitation, I was deputed to be the bearer of it. And thus has fortune restored to me a friend, whom my heart has so long missed, and whom my heart just now so much requires.
Stra.Yes, I am your friend; your sincere friend. You are a true man; an uncommon man. Towards you my heart is still the same. But if this assurancebe of any value to you—go—leave me—and return no more.
Bar.Stay! All that I see and hear of you is inexplicable. 'Tis you; but these, alas! are not the features which once enchanted every female bosom, beamed gaiety through all society, and won you friends before your lips were opened! Why do you avert your face? Is the sight of a friend become hateful? Or, do you fear, that I should read in your eye what passes in your soul? Where is that open look of fire, which at once penetrated into every heart, and revealed your own?
Stra.[With asperity.] My look penetrate into every heart!—Ha! ha! ha!
Bar.Oh, Heavens! Rather may I never hear you laugh than in such a tone!—For Heaven's sake tell me, Charles! tell me, I conjure you, what has happened to you?
Stra.Things that happen every day; occurrences heard of in every street. Steinfort, if I am not to hate you, ask me not another question. If I am to love you, leave me.
Bar.Oh, Charles! awake the faded ideas of past joys. Feel, that a friend is near. Recollect the days we passed in Hungary, when we wandered arm in arm upon the banks of the Danube, while nature opened our hearts, and made us enamoured of benevolence and friendship. In those blessed moments you gave me this seal as a pledge of your regard. Do you remember it?
Stra.Yes.
Bar.Am I since that time become less worthy of your confidence?
Stra.No!
Bar.Charles! it grieves me that I am thus compelled to enforce my rights upon you. Do you know this scar?
Stra.Comrade! Friend! It received and resistedthe stroke aimed at my life. I have not forgotten it. Alas! you knew not what a present you then made me.
Bar.Speak then, I beseech you.
Stra.You cannot help me.
Bar.Then I can mourn with you.
Stra.That I hate. Besides, I cannot weep.
Bar.Then give me words instead of tears. Both relieve the heart.
Stra.Relieve the heart! My heart is like a close-shut sepulchre. Let what is within it, moulder and decay.—Why, why open the wretched charnel-house to spread a pestilence around?
Bar.How horrid are your looks! For shame! A man like you thus to crouch beneath the chance of fortune!
Stra.Steinfort! I did think, that the opinion of all mankind was alike indifferent to me; but I feel that it is not so. My friend, you shall not quit me without learning how I have been robbed of every joy which life afforded. Listen: much misery may be contained in a few words. Attracted by my native country, I quitted you and the service. What pleasing pictures did I draw of a life employed in improving society, and diffusing happiness! I fixed on Cassel to be my abode. All went on admirably. I found friends. At length, too, I found a wife; a lovely, innocent creature, scarce sixteen years of age. Oh! how I loved her! She bore me a son and a daughter. Both were endowed by nature with the beauty of their mother. Ask me not how I loved my wife and children! Yes, then, then I was really happy. [Wiping his eyes.] Ha! a tear! I could not have believed it. Welcome, old friends! 'Tis long since we have known each other. Well, my story is nearly ended. One of my friends, for whom I had become engaged, treacherously lost me more than half my fortune. This hurt me. I was obliged to retrench my expenses. Contentment needs but little. I forgave him. Another friend—a villain! to whom I was attached heart and soul; whom I had assisted with my means, and promoted by my interest, this fiend! seduced my wife, and bore her from me. Tell me, sir, is this enough to justify my hatred of mankind, and palliate my seclusion from the world?—Kings—laws—tyranny—or guilt can but imprison me, or kill me. But, O God! O God! Oh! what are chains or death compared to the tortures of a deceived yet doting husband!
Bar.To lament the loss of a faithless wife is madness.
Stra.Call it what you please—say what you please—I love her still.
Bar.And where is she?
Stra.I know not, nor do I wish to know.
Bar.And your children?
Stra.I left them at a small town hard by.
Bar.But why did you not keep your children with you? They would have amused you in many a dreary hour.
Stra.Amused me! Oh, yes! while their likeness to their mother would every hour remind me of my past happiness! No. For three years I have never seen them. I hate that any human creature should be near me, young or old! Had not ridiculous habits made a servant necessary, I should long since have discharged him; though he is not the worst among the bad.
Bar.Such too often are the consequences of great alliances. Therefore, Charles, I have resolved to take a wife from a lower rank of life.
Stra.You marry!—Ha! ha! ha!
Bar.You shall see her. She is in the house where you are expected. Come with me.
Stra.What! I mix again with the world!
Bar.To do a generous action without requiring thanks is noble and praise-worthy. But so obstinately to avoid those thanks, as to make the kindness a burden, is affectation.
Stra.Leave me! leave me! Every one tries to form a circle, of which he may be the centre. As long as there remains a bird in these woods to greet the rising sun with its melody, I shall court no other society.
Bar.Do as you please to-morrow; but give me your company this evening.
Stra.[Resolutely.] No!
Bar.Not though it were in your power, by this single visit, to secure the happiness of your friend for life?
Stra.[Starting.] Ha! then I must—But how?—
Bar.You shall sue in my behalf to Mrs. Haller—You have the talent of persuasion.
Stra.I! my dear Steinfort!
Bar.The happiness or misery of your friend depends upon it. I'll contrive that you shall speak to her alone. Will you?
Stra.I will; but upon one condition.
Bar.Name it.
Stra.That you allow me to be gone to-morrow, and not endeavour to detain me.
Bar.Go! Whither?
Stra.No matter! Promise this, or I will not come.
Bar.Well, I do promise. Come.
Stra.I have directions to give my servant.
Bar.In half an hour then we shall expect you. Remember, you have given your word.
Stra.I have. [ExitBaron.—TheStrangerwalks up and down, thoughtful and melancholy.]—Francis!
EnterFrancis.
Fra.Sir!
Stra.Why are you out of the way?
Fran.Sir, I came when I heard you call.
Stra.I shall leave this place to-morrow.
Fra.With all my heart.
Stra.Perhaps to go into another land.
Fra.With all my heart again.
Stra.Perhaps into another quarter of the globe.
Fra.With all my heart still. Into which quarter?
Stra.Wherever Heaven directs! Away! away! from Europe! From this cultivated moral lazaret! Do you hear, Francis? To-morrow early.
Fra.Very well.
[Going.
Stra.Come here, come here first, I have an errand for you. Hire that carriage in the village; drive to the town hard by; you may be back by sun-set. I shall give you a letter to a widow who lives there. With her you will find two children. They are mine.
Fra.[Astonished.] Your children, sir!
Stra.Take them, and bring them hither.
Fra.Your children, sir!
Stra.Yes, mine! Is it so very inconceivable?
Fra.That I should have been three years in your service, and never have heard them mentioned, is somewhat strange.
Stra.Pshaw!
Fra.You have been married then?
Stra.Go, and prepare for our journey.
Fra.That I can do in five minutes.
[Going.
Stra.I shall come and write the letter directly.
Fra.Very well, sir.
[Exit.
Stra.Yes, I'll take them with me. I'll accustom myself to the sight of them. The innocents! they shall not be poisoned by the refinements of society. Rather let them hunt their daily sustenance upon some desert island with their bow and arrow; or creep, like torpid Hottentots, into a corner, and stare at each other. Better to do nothing than to do evil. Fool that I was, to be prevailed upon once more to exhibit myself among these apes! What a ridiculous figure shall I be! and in the capacity of a suitor too! Pshaw! he cannot be serious! 'Tis but a friendly artifice to draw me from my solitude. Why did I promise him? Yes, my sufferings have been many; and, to oblige a friend, why should I hesitate to add another painful hour to the wretched calendar of my life! I'll go. I'll go.
[Exit.
The Antichamber.
EnterCharlotte.
Char.No, indeed, my lady! If you chuse to bury yourself in the country, I shall take my leave. I am not calculated for a country life. And, to sum up all, when I think of this Mrs. Haller—
EnterSolomon.
Sol.[Overhearing her last words.] What of Mrs. Haller, my sweet Miss?
Char.Why, Mr. Solomon, who is Mrs. Haller? You know every thing; you hear every thing.
Sol.I have received no letters from any part of Europe on the subject, Miss.
Char.But who is to blame? The Count and Countess. She dines with them; and at this very moment is drinking tea with them. Is this proper?
Sol.By no means.
Char.Shouldn't a Count and a Countess, in all their actions, show a certain degree of pride and pomposity?
Sol.To be sure! To be sure they should!
Char.No, I won't submit to it. I'll tell her ladyship, when I dress her to-morrow, that either Mrs. Haller or I must quit the house.
Sol.[Seeing theBaron.] St!
EnterBaron.
Bar.Didn't I hear Mrs. Haller's name here?
Sol.[Confused.] Why—yes—we—we—
Bar.Charlotte, tell my sister I wish to see her as soon as the tea-table is removed.
Char.[Aside toSolomon.] Either she or I go, that I'm determined.
[Exit.
Bar.May I ask what it was you were saying?
Sol.Why, please your Honourable Lordship, we were talking here and there—this and that—
Bar.I almost begin to suspect some secret.
Sol.Secret! Heaven forbid! Mercy on us! No! I should have had letters on the subject if there had been a secret.
Bar.Well then, since it was no secret, I presume I may know your conversation.
Sol.You do us great honour, my lord. Why, then, at first, we were making a few common-place observations. Miss Charlotte remarked that we had all our faults. I said, "Yes." Soon after I remarked that the best persons in the world were not without their weaknesses. She said, "Yes."
Bar.If you referred to Mrs. Haller's faults and weaknesses, I am desirous to hear more.
Sol.Sure enough, sir, Mrs. Haller is an excellent woman; but she's not an angel for all that. I am an old faithful servant to his Excellency the Count, and therefore it is my duty to speak, when any thing is done disadvantageous to his interest.
Bar.Well!
Sol.For instance, now; his Excellency may think he has at least some score of dozens of the old six-and-twenty hock. Mercy on us! there are not ten dozen bottles left; and not a drop has gone down my throat, I'll swear.
Bar.[Smiling.] Mrs. Haller has not drank it, I suppose?
Sol.Not she herself, for she never drinks wine. But if any body be ill in the village, any poor woman lying-in, away goes a bottle of the six-and-twenty! Innumerable are the times that I've reproved her; but she always answers me snappishly, that she will be responsible for it.
Bar.So will I, Mr. Solomon.
Sol.Oh! with all my heart, your Honourable Lordship. It makes no difference to me. I had the care of the cellar twenty years, and can safely take my oath, that I never gave the poor a single drop in the whole course of my trust.
Bar.How extraordinary is this woman!
Sol.Extraordinary! One can make nothing of her. To-day, the vicar's wife is not good enough for her. To-morrow, you may see her sitting with all the women of the village. To be sure she and I agree pretty well; for, between me and your Honourable Lordship, she has cast an eye upon my son Peter.
Bar.Has she?
Sol.Yes—Peter's no fool, I assure you. The schoolmaster is teaching him to write. Would your Honourable Lordship please to see a specimen; I'll go for his copy-book. He makes his pothooks capitally.
Bar.Another time, another time. Good bye for the present, Mr. Solomon. [Solomonbows, without attempting to go.] Good day, Mr. Solomon.
Sol.[Not understanding the hint.] Your Honourable Lordship's most obedient servant.
Bar.Mr. Solomon I wish to be alone.
Sol.As your lordship commands. If the time should seem long in my absence, and your lordship wishes to hear the newest news from the seat of war, you need only send for old Solomon. I have letters from Leghorn, Cape Horn, and every known part of the habitable globe.
[Exit.
Bar.Tedious old fool! Yet hold. Did he not speak in praise of Mrs. Haller? Pardoned be his rage for news and politics.
EnterCountess.
Well, sister, have you spoken to her?
Countess.I have: and if you do not steer for another haven, you will be doomed to drive upon the ocean for ever.
Bar.Is she married?
Countess.I don't know.
Bar.Is she of a good family?
Countess.I can't tell.
Bar.Does she dislike me?
Countess.Excuse my making a reply.
Bar.I thank you for your sisterly affection, and the explicitness of your communications. Luckily, I placed little reliance on either; and have found a friend, who will save your ladyship all further trouble.
Countess.A friend!
Bar.Yes. The Stranger who saved your son's life this morning proves to be my intimate friend.
Countess.What's his name?
Bar.I don't know.
Countess.Is he of a good family?
Bar.I can't tell.
Countess.Will he come hither?
Bar.Excuse my making a reply.
Countess.Well, the retort is fair—but insufferable.
Bar.You can't object to theDa Capoof your own composition,
EnterCountandMrs. Haller.
Count.Zounds! do you think I am Xenocrates; or like the poor sultan with marble legs? There you leave metête-a-têtewith Mrs. Haller, as if my heart were a mere flint. So you prevailed, brother. The Stranger will come then, it seems.
Bar.I expect him every minute.
Count.I'm glad to hear it. One companion more, however. In the country we never can have too many.
Bar.This gentleman will not exactly be an addition to your circle, for he leaves this place tomorrow.
Count.But he won't, I think. Now, Lady Wintersen, summon all your charms. There is no art in conquering us poor devils; but this strange man, who does not care a doit for you all together, is worth your efforts. Try your skill. I shan't be jealous.
Countess.I allow the conquest to be worth the trouble. But what Mrs. Haller has not been able to affect in three months, ought not to be attempted by me.
Mrs. H.[Jocosely.] Oh, yes, madam. He hasgiven me no opportunity of trying the force of my charms, for I have never once happened to see him.
Count.Then he's a blockhead; and you an idler.
Sol.[Without.] This way, sir! This way!
EnterSolomon.
Sol.The Stranger begs leave to have the honour—
Count.Welcome! Welcome.
[ExitSolomon.
[Turns to meet theStranger,whom he conducts in by the hand.]
My dear sir—Lady Wintersen—Mrs. Haller—
[Mrs. Haller,as soon as she sees theStranger,shrieks, and swoons in the arms of theBaron.TheStrangercasts a look at her, and struck with astonishment and horror, rushes out of the room. TheBaronandCountessbearMrs. Halleroff;Countfollowing, in great surprise.]