The Corsican.This piece is most effective if given sitting by the right side of a table.Well, Michel, the luck seems against[595]you to-night,You do nothing but lose;—it may change? You are right,[596]For Dame Fortune’s a jade that one never can trust;She may smile on our labors, but one[597]always mustKeep both eyes wide open—your play,[598]—mine again,—Or he’ll pay[599]for his confidence, fifty to ten.Pshaw! don’t[600]be faint-hearted—another deal, try;Now don’t swear,—what’s the use? You may win by and by:Why! what are these?[601]Jewels? Your dead wife’s, you say?You’ll stake them against all I’ve won here to-day?You’ve nothing but these? All’s lost?—(the end’s near!)[602]Well, put the stones there;[603]why, how white you appear!You’re faint from reverses; ho![604]landlord! I say—A flask of your best without any delay:Come, drink, man; ’twill cheer you—tut![605]have no reserve;Here’s to your success![606]Ha! that strengthens one’s nerve.I’ll deal the cards first; ’tis your turn—come, begin;Just think of the stakes you will have if you win.Have you ever seen Paris? Were born there? Indeed!They say ’tis a place where a man must take heed[607]Lest his money and life be not taken awayIn a hurry,—one moment[608]—’tis my turn to play.A strange tale I’ve heard—no offence—of their mode,And the close-cutting rules of their well-prepared code;This narrative’s true;—at least, so I’ve been told.—A young Corsican noble, scarce twenty years old—A mere boy in years, but with wealth at command,And a title as proud as the best in the land—About twelve years ago to gay Paris repaired,To see life as ’tis there to be seen, and—get snared.[609]With some friends like himself,—young, thoughtless and gay,[610]He managed to while time and money away.[611]Among other places, the gossips all tell,—He was brought to a flash,[612]gilded gaming hell,Kept by a certain French Count—have a care![613]You play wildly; now put your best there;—By a certain French Count, De la Fontelle by name,And his wife, a bewitching, heart-damaging dame;As well-matched a pair for their devilish trade,As the fiend incarnate[614]had e’er till then made.Well, into this hell-trap of splendor and guilt,[615]Young Malletti—his name—was dragged;—see, you have spiltAll your wine;—you are nervous from play: fill once more;—And then like the rest,[616]I imagine, beforeHe well was aware or his own thoughts could tell,He madly in love with the fair Countess fell.He was handsome and rich, young, easily led—A most opportune prize, and so easily bled.She so skillfully—women, what devils[617]are ye!—Lured him on till no longer the power had heOr the will to resist;—I’ve just played the knave;—Till his honor and soul into her hands he gave—Heaven curse[618]her! It makes a man crazy to thinkHow these fair, smiling creatures will drag to the brinkOf destruction a poor, silly fool:—You are pale,And no wonder; the blood leaves the heart at the tale.But, mind you, the husband with eyes turned away—[619]Unconscious—ha! ha! of what passed every day,—To his own affairs kept, nor with her interfered;She could manage her own; but the end was soon neared.His money at last was all gone, and he thenTurned to her—to her love appealed,[620]but whenOn his two knees, with words full of fond love, the youngNoble knelt[621]with his proud heart and spirit sore wrung,—And abjectly—God! yes, abjectly[622]sued,—But your pardon; I feel so deeply imbuedWith the sense of this wrong, that the throats I could seize—A neck in each grasp—and complacently squeeze[623]Out the life of these two devils, breath after breath,Till my eager revenge would be stopped but by death.Well, in spite of his burning entreaties, this pair,With laughter and blows—ay, what wouldn’t they dare?—The young noble seized, and out[624]he was thrownLike a dog;—he who never till that time had knownThe harsh tone of insult. But come,[625]give me some wine;Such a tale would stir more than your feelings[626]and mine:[627]For all[628]who have souls and have hearts not of stoneCan judge of the tumult his soul must have known,When robbed of his money,[629]his honor,[630]his life,[631]By this Judas incarnate and syren-tongued wife,He found himself out on the streets,[632]treated worseThan the veriest menial or slave.[633]May the curseOf the injured their foul souls pursue![634]But, howe’er,Young Malletti that night to this house did repair,And in her own bed the fair serpent slew;—Drove his knife to the hilt in her heart;[635]—Wouldn’t you?[636]—And cut her white throat—ay! he left a grand mark,—But the husband escaped from the house[637]in the dark—The cowardly cur![638]But you suffer; your frameIs all trembling. Ah! Michel, your nature’s[639]the sameAs my own, full of tenderness, gentle and weak;As regards now its sympathy ’tis that I speak.But come, play again; ’tis the last trick; I drink[640]To your health and success! Ha! ha! One would thinkFrom your looks you were pale with some terrible fear.There’s nothing to dread,—there are none but us here,And the days of dark murder in secret are o’er:—Ace! King! I win. Though mine is the gain,It gives me, friend Michel, less pleasure than pain.But let us return to our sheep, as they sayIn la belle France, your land ever charming and gay.Young Malletti was captured, convicted I’m told,To the galleys[641]was sent,—a life sentence, too:Now I think ’twas too much for his just crime—don’t you?But mark![642]two years since—ay! this very day,—The convicts rebelled, and some few got away,And among them Malletti.—Why, man, how you shake!And what a strange, terrified look your eyes take!Well, Malletti had Corsican blood in his veins,—Such blood as ne’er cools while on earth[643]there remainsThe being or thing that had offered insult:He no rest, peace or happiness ever would know,Till dead[644]at his feet he the Count would lay low.He searched France from north to south,[645]England went through,[646]And at last of his old foe discovered a clue:He found him disguised both in feature and name;—Come, Michel, what ails you? Your drinking’s too tame.Here, fill up your goblet;[647]I’ll give you a toast;[648]Dios! man; what a face! It would frighten a ghost;Here’s success to all men who the life blood may spillOf such as the Count and his wife! But sit still,[649]And wait till my narrative ends. ’Tis a queerStory, take it in all, but true—never fear.I’m sorry you lost, Michel, sorry indeed,And feel that at my hands some succor[650]you need,Which you shall receive—ay! shall, on my life.These gems are superb![651]They belonged to your wife?’Tis the fortune of cards;—a full purse to-day;To-morrow like smoke-clouds it all melts away.[652]But, no doubt, you’re eager and anxious to knowWhat held back the young noble’s long-wished-for blow:Ah! he wished his revenge to be perfect, complete,A sort of a climax. Revenge must be sweet;That is, if we judge from Malletti’s standpoint.What unction with which his keen sword to anoint!Well, at the card table day following day,The two were engaged, and strangely to say,The Count lost every sou[653]in the world he possessed;And at last by reverses became so hard pressedThat he staked his wife’s jewels;—ha, ha! don’t stir yet![654]But wait, dearest Michel, my friend, till I getTo the end. Well, the jewels he staked andhe lost.Then Malletti uprose from his seat[655]and crossedTo the side of the Count,as I now do to you,—Keep your seat—we’re alone—none can hear:—Revenge is so sweet when the cost was so dear;—He drew a stiletto[656]—in this manner,—see!And plunged it with joy to the hilt—look at me!Ha! you know me, vile caitiff! What, mercy! Forgive!The seconds are numbered that you have to live:This moment takes out of my life all the pain,And wipes out the stain on my honor again.Thy struggles are useless,—’tisrevenge’sfell claspThat holds thee resistless within its close grasp.Look your last on my face, while thus with a blow[657]I send your black soul to the regions below;—[658]There[659]—Count de la Fontelle; now join your fair spouseIn the chambers of hell,[660]and keep your carouse—Ha! that twinge again;[661]—twice I felt it before,—And a drowsy sensation[662]seems now stealing o’erAll my frame;—God of heaven! what is this?[663]Can it be?Poisoned![664]Ha! slave![665]thou hast done too for me.—What pain darts across me![666]My blood is on fire!My brain reels,—Oh, mercy! is’t thus I expire![667]Help! help! Oh, will no one attend to my cry!Must I in my agony unaided lie,And suffer the torment the damned[668]only feel!Ha! no;—I’ve a friend left in thee, faithful steel:[669]Thou shalt end all and quickly;—thy virtue I’ll try;Ah, Count! thou art well avenged;—thus—thus![670]I die!—Thos. F. Wilford, A. M.Gestures.[595]H. O.[596]Con. V.[597]Ind. H. O.[598]In this and the passages following that speak of the play, imitate motions of card playing.[599]H. O.[600]V. H. O.[601]Sp.[602]Speak to left with L. hand in front of mouth.[603]Motion to table.[604]To left.[605]Con. V.[606]Sp.[607]Ind.[608]Con. V.[609]P. H. O.[610]B. H. O.[611]L. H. Sw.[612]A. O.[613]P. H. O.[614]Cli.[615]H. O.[616]B. H. O.[617]L. Cli. D.[618]B. Cli. D.[619]V. H. O.[620]B. H. F.[621]B. D. F.[622]B. P. D. F.[623]Sp.[624]B. Par. to L. H. O.[625]H. O.[626]H. O.[627]To self.[628]B. H. O.[629]H. O.[630],[631]Imp.[632]L. H. O.[633]L. D. O.[634]P. H. F.[635]Sp.[636]H. O.[637]L. H. O.[638]L. P. D. O.[639]H. O.[640]Sp.[641]L. H. L.[642]H. O.[643]Ind.[644]D. F.[645]D. F.[646]L. H. Sw.[647],[648]Sp.[649]P. H. O.[650]B. H. O.[651]Sp.[652]A. Sw.[653]Ind.[654]P. H. O.[655]Rise and cross in front of table.[656]Sp.[657]Sp.[658]Sheathe dagger.[659]P. D. O.[660]D. F.[661]Hand on breast.[662]Hand to head.[663]Take up wine glass.[664]Replace it.[665]D. O.[666]Strong dramatic action.[667]Sit.[668]B. Cli.[669]Draw dagger.[670]Stab.
The Corsican.This piece is most effective if given sitting by the right side of a table.Well, Michel, the luck seems against[595]you to-night,You do nothing but lose;—it may change? You are right,[596]For Dame Fortune’s a jade that one never can trust;She may smile on our labors, but one[597]always mustKeep both eyes wide open—your play,[598]—mine again,—Or he’ll pay[599]for his confidence, fifty to ten.Pshaw! don’t[600]be faint-hearted—another deal, try;Now don’t swear,—what’s the use? You may win by and by:Why! what are these?[601]Jewels? Your dead wife’s, you say?You’ll stake them against all I’ve won here to-day?You’ve nothing but these? All’s lost?—(the end’s near!)[602]Well, put the stones there;[603]why, how white you appear!You’re faint from reverses; ho![604]landlord! I say—A flask of your best without any delay:Come, drink, man; ’twill cheer you—tut![605]have no reserve;Here’s to your success![606]Ha! that strengthens one’s nerve.I’ll deal the cards first; ’tis your turn—come, begin;Just think of the stakes you will have if you win.Have you ever seen Paris? Were born there? Indeed!They say ’tis a place where a man must take heed[607]Lest his money and life be not taken awayIn a hurry,—one moment[608]—’tis my turn to play.A strange tale I’ve heard—no offence—of their mode,And the close-cutting rules of their well-prepared code;This narrative’s true;—at least, so I’ve been told.—A young Corsican noble, scarce twenty years old—A mere boy in years, but with wealth at command,And a title as proud as the best in the land—About twelve years ago to gay Paris repaired,To see life as ’tis there to be seen, and—get snared.[609]With some friends like himself,—young, thoughtless and gay,[610]He managed to while time and money away.[611]Among other places, the gossips all tell,—He was brought to a flash,[612]gilded gaming hell,Kept by a certain French Count—have a care![613]You play wildly; now put your best there;—By a certain French Count, De la Fontelle by name,And his wife, a bewitching, heart-damaging dame;As well-matched a pair for their devilish trade,As the fiend incarnate[614]had e’er till then made.Well, into this hell-trap of splendor and guilt,[615]Young Malletti—his name—was dragged;—see, you have spiltAll your wine;—you are nervous from play: fill once more;—And then like the rest,[616]I imagine, beforeHe well was aware or his own thoughts could tell,He madly in love with the fair Countess fell.He was handsome and rich, young, easily led—A most opportune prize, and so easily bled.She so skillfully—women, what devils[617]are ye!—Lured him on till no longer the power had heOr the will to resist;—I’ve just played the knave;—Till his honor and soul into her hands he gave—Heaven curse[618]her! It makes a man crazy to thinkHow these fair, smiling creatures will drag to the brinkOf destruction a poor, silly fool:—You are pale,And no wonder; the blood leaves the heart at the tale.But, mind you, the husband with eyes turned away—[619]Unconscious—ha! ha! of what passed every day,—To his own affairs kept, nor with her interfered;She could manage her own; but the end was soon neared.His money at last was all gone, and he thenTurned to her—to her love appealed,[620]but whenOn his two knees, with words full of fond love, the youngNoble knelt[621]with his proud heart and spirit sore wrung,—And abjectly—God! yes, abjectly[622]sued,—But your pardon; I feel so deeply imbuedWith the sense of this wrong, that the throats I could seize—A neck in each grasp—and complacently squeeze[623]Out the life of these two devils, breath after breath,Till my eager revenge would be stopped but by death.Well, in spite of his burning entreaties, this pair,With laughter and blows—ay, what wouldn’t they dare?—The young noble seized, and out[624]he was thrownLike a dog;—he who never till that time had knownThe harsh tone of insult. But come,[625]give me some wine;Such a tale would stir more than your feelings[626]and mine:[627]For all[628]who have souls and have hearts not of stoneCan judge of the tumult his soul must have known,When robbed of his money,[629]his honor,[630]his life,[631]By this Judas incarnate and syren-tongued wife,He found himself out on the streets,[632]treated worseThan the veriest menial or slave.[633]May the curseOf the injured their foul souls pursue![634]But, howe’er,Young Malletti that night to this house did repair,And in her own bed the fair serpent slew;—Drove his knife to the hilt in her heart;[635]—Wouldn’t you?[636]—And cut her white throat—ay! he left a grand mark,—But the husband escaped from the house[637]in the dark—The cowardly cur![638]But you suffer; your frameIs all trembling. Ah! Michel, your nature’s[639]the sameAs my own, full of tenderness, gentle and weak;As regards now its sympathy ’tis that I speak.But come, play again; ’tis the last trick; I drink[640]To your health and success! Ha! ha! One would thinkFrom your looks you were pale with some terrible fear.There’s nothing to dread,—there are none but us here,And the days of dark murder in secret are o’er:—Ace! King! I win. Though mine is the gain,It gives me, friend Michel, less pleasure than pain.But let us return to our sheep, as they sayIn la belle France, your land ever charming and gay.Young Malletti was captured, convicted I’m told,To the galleys[641]was sent,—a life sentence, too:Now I think ’twas too much for his just crime—don’t you?But mark![642]two years since—ay! this very day,—The convicts rebelled, and some few got away,And among them Malletti.—Why, man, how you shake!And what a strange, terrified look your eyes take!Well, Malletti had Corsican blood in his veins,—Such blood as ne’er cools while on earth[643]there remainsThe being or thing that had offered insult:He no rest, peace or happiness ever would know,Till dead[644]at his feet he the Count would lay low.He searched France from north to south,[645]England went through,[646]And at last of his old foe discovered a clue:He found him disguised both in feature and name;—Come, Michel, what ails you? Your drinking’s too tame.Here, fill up your goblet;[647]I’ll give you a toast;[648]Dios! man; what a face! It would frighten a ghost;Here’s success to all men who the life blood may spillOf such as the Count and his wife! But sit still,[649]And wait till my narrative ends. ’Tis a queerStory, take it in all, but true—never fear.I’m sorry you lost, Michel, sorry indeed,And feel that at my hands some succor[650]you need,Which you shall receive—ay! shall, on my life.These gems are superb![651]They belonged to your wife?’Tis the fortune of cards;—a full purse to-day;To-morrow like smoke-clouds it all melts away.[652]But, no doubt, you’re eager and anxious to knowWhat held back the young noble’s long-wished-for blow:Ah! he wished his revenge to be perfect, complete,A sort of a climax. Revenge must be sweet;That is, if we judge from Malletti’s standpoint.What unction with which his keen sword to anoint!Well, at the card table day following day,The two were engaged, and strangely to say,The Count lost every sou[653]in the world he possessed;And at last by reverses became so hard pressedThat he staked his wife’s jewels;—ha, ha! don’t stir yet![654]But wait, dearest Michel, my friend, till I getTo the end. Well, the jewels he staked andhe lost.Then Malletti uprose from his seat[655]and crossedTo the side of the Count,as I now do to you,—Keep your seat—we’re alone—none can hear:—Revenge is so sweet when the cost was so dear;—He drew a stiletto[656]—in this manner,—see!And plunged it with joy to the hilt—look at me!Ha! you know me, vile caitiff! What, mercy! Forgive!The seconds are numbered that you have to live:This moment takes out of my life all the pain,And wipes out the stain on my honor again.Thy struggles are useless,—’tisrevenge’sfell claspThat holds thee resistless within its close grasp.Look your last on my face, while thus with a blow[657]I send your black soul to the regions below;—[658]There[659]—Count de la Fontelle; now join your fair spouseIn the chambers of hell,[660]and keep your carouse—Ha! that twinge again;[661]—twice I felt it before,—And a drowsy sensation[662]seems now stealing o’erAll my frame;—God of heaven! what is this?[663]Can it be?Poisoned![664]Ha! slave![665]thou hast done too for me.—What pain darts across me![666]My blood is on fire!My brain reels,—Oh, mercy! is’t thus I expire![667]Help! help! Oh, will no one attend to my cry!Must I in my agony unaided lie,And suffer the torment the damned[668]only feel!Ha! no;—I’ve a friend left in thee, faithful steel:[669]Thou shalt end all and quickly;—thy virtue I’ll try;Ah, Count! thou art well avenged;—thus—thus![670]I die!—Thos. F. Wilford, A. M.Gestures.[595]H. O.[596]Con. V.[597]Ind. H. O.[598]In this and the passages following that speak of the play, imitate motions of card playing.[599]H. O.[600]V. H. O.[601]Sp.[602]Speak to left with L. hand in front of mouth.[603]Motion to table.[604]To left.[605]Con. V.[606]Sp.[607]Ind.[608]Con. V.[609]P. H. O.[610]B. H. O.[611]L. H. Sw.[612]A. O.[613]P. H. O.[614]Cli.[615]H. O.[616]B. H. O.[617]L. Cli. D.[618]B. Cli. D.[619]V. H. O.[620]B. H. F.[621]B. D. F.[622]B. P. D. F.[623]Sp.[624]B. Par. to L. H. O.[625]H. O.[626]H. O.[627]To self.[628]B. H. O.[629]H. O.[630],[631]Imp.[632]L. H. O.[633]L. D. O.[634]P. H. F.[635]Sp.[636]H. O.[637]L. H. O.[638]L. P. D. O.[639]H. O.[640]Sp.[641]L. H. L.[642]H. O.[643]Ind.[644]D. F.[645]D. F.[646]L. H. Sw.[647],[648]Sp.[649]P. H. O.[650]B. H. O.[651]Sp.[652]A. Sw.[653]Ind.[654]P. H. O.[655]Rise and cross in front of table.[656]Sp.[657]Sp.[658]Sheathe dagger.[659]P. D. O.[660]D. F.[661]Hand on breast.[662]Hand to head.[663]Take up wine glass.[664]Replace it.[665]D. O.[666]Strong dramatic action.[667]Sit.[668]B. Cli.[669]Draw dagger.[670]Stab.
This piece is most effective if given sitting by the right side of a table.
Well, Michel, the luck seems against[595]you to-night,You do nothing but lose;—it may change? You are right,[596]For Dame Fortune’s a jade that one never can trust;She may smile on our labors, but one[597]always mustKeep both eyes wide open—your play,[598]—mine again,—Or he’ll pay[599]for his confidence, fifty to ten.Pshaw! don’t[600]be faint-hearted—another deal, try;Now don’t swear,—what’s the use? You may win by and by:Why! what are these?[601]Jewels? Your dead wife’s, you say?You’ll stake them against all I’ve won here to-day?You’ve nothing but these? All’s lost?—(the end’s near!)[602]Well, put the stones there;[603]why, how white you appear!You’re faint from reverses; ho![604]landlord! I say—A flask of your best without any delay:Come, drink, man; ’twill cheer you—tut![605]have no reserve;Here’s to your success![606]Ha! that strengthens one’s nerve.I’ll deal the cards first; ’tis your turn—come, begin;Just think of the stakes you will have if you win.Have you ever seen Paris? Were born there? Indeed!They say ’tis a place where a man must take heed[607]Lest his money and life be not taken awayIn a hurry,—one moment[608]—’tis my turn to play.A strange tale I’ve heard—no offence—of their mode,And the close-cutting rules of their well-prepared code;This narrative’s true;—at least, so I’ve been told.—A young Corsican noble, scarce twenty years old—A mere boy in years, but with wealth at command,And a title as proud as the best in the land—About twelve years ago to gay Paris repaired,To see life as ’tis there to be seen, and—get snared.[609]With some friends like himself,—young, thoughtless and gay,[610]He managed to while time and money away.[611]Among other places, the gossips all tell,—He was brought to a flash,[612]gilded gaming hell,Kept by a certain French Count—have a care![613]You play wildly; now put your best there;—By a certain French Count, De la Fontelle by name,And his wife, a bewitching, heart-damaging dame;As well-matched a pair for their devilish trade,As the fiend incarnate[614]had e’er till then made.Well, into this hell-trap of splendor and guilt,[615]Young Malletti—his name—was dragged;—see, you have spiltAll your wine;—you are nervous from play: fill once more;—And then like the rest,[616]I imagine, beforeHe well was aware or his own thoughts could tell,He madly in love with the fair Countess fell.He was handsome and rich, young, easily led—A most opportune prize, and so easily bled.She so skillfully—women, what devils[617]are ye!—Lured him on till no longer the power had heOr the will to resist;—I’ve just played the knave;—Till his honor and soul into her hands he gave—Heaven curse[618]her! It makes a man crazy to thinkHow these fair, smiling creatures will drag to the brinkOf destruction a poor, silly fool:—You are pale,And no wonder; the blood leaves the heart at the tale.But, mind you, the husband with eyes turned away—[619]Unconscious—ha! ha! of what passed every day,—To his own affairs kept, nor with her interfered;She could manage her own; but the end was soon neared.His money at last was all gone, and he thenTurned to her—to her love appealed,[620]but whenOn his two knees, with words full of fond love, the youngNoble knelt[621]with his proud heart and spirit sore wrung,—And abjectly—God! yes, abjectly[622]sued,—But your pardon; I feel so deeply imbuedWith the sense of this wrong, that the throats I could seize—A neck in each grasp—and complacently squeeze[623]Out the life of these two devils, breath after breath,Till my eager revenge would be stopped but by death.Well, in spite of his burning entreaties, this pair,With laughter and blows—ay, what wouldn’t they dare?—The young noble seized, and out[624]he was thrownLike a dog;—he who never till that time had knownThe harsh tone of insult. But come,[625]give me some wine;Such a tale would stir more than your feelings[626]and mine:[627]For all[628]who have souls and have hearts not of stoneCan judge of the tumult his soul must have known,When robbed of his money,[629]his honor,[630]his life,[631]By this Judas incarnate and syren-tongued wife,He found himself out on the streets,[632]treated worseThan the veriest menial or slave.[633]May the curseOf the injured their foul souls pursue![634]But, howe’er,Young Malletti that night to this house did repair,And in her own bed the fair serpent slew;—Drove his knife to the hilt in her heart;[635]—Wouldn’t you?[636]—And cut her white throat—ay! he left a grand mark,—But the husband escaped from the house[637]in the dark—The cowardly cur![638]But you suffer; your frameIs all trembling. Ah! Michel, your nature’s[639]the sameAs my own, full of tenderness, gentle and weak;As regards now its sympathy ’tis that I speak.But come, play again; ’tis the last trick; I drink[640]To your health and success! Ha! ha! One would thinkFrom your looks you were pale with some terrible fear.There’s nothing to dread,—there are none but us here,And the days of dark murder in secret are o’er:—Ace! King! I win. Though mine is the gain,It gives me, friend Michel, less pleasure than pain.But let us return to our sheep, as they sayIn la belle France, your land ever charming and gay.Young Malletti was captured, convicted I’m told,To the galleys[641]was sent,—a life sentence, too:Now I think ’twas too much for his just crime—don’t you?But mark![642]two years since—ay! this very day,—The convicts rebelled, and some few got away,And among them Malletti.—Why, man, how you shake!And what a strange, terrified look your eyes take!Well, Malletti had Corsican blood in his veins,—Such blood as ne’er cools while on earth[643]there remainsThe being or thing that had offered insult:He no rest, peace or happiness ever would know,Till dead[644]at his feet he the Count would lay low.He searched France from north to south,[645]England went through,[646]And at last of his old foe discovered a clue:He found him disguised both in feature and name;—Come, Michel, what ails you? Your drinking’s too tame.Here, fill up your goblet;[647]I’ll give you a toast;[648]Dios! man; what a face! It would frighten a ghost;Here’s success to all men who the life blood may spillOf such as the Count and his wife! But sit still,[649]And wait till my narrative ends. ’Tis a queerStory, take it in all, but true—never fear.I’m sorry you lost, Michel, sorry indeed,And feel that at my hands some succor[650]you need,Which you shall receive—ay! shall, on my life.These gems are superb![651]They belonged to your wife?’Tis the fortune of cards;—a full purse to-day;To-morrow like smoke-clouds it all melts away.[652]But, no doubt, you’re eager and anxious to knowWhat held back the young noble’s long-wished-for blow:Ah! he wished his revenge to be perfect, complete,A sort of a climax. Revenge must be sweet;That is, if we judge from Malletti’s standpoint.What unction with which his keen sword to anoint!Well, at the card table day following day,The two were engaged, and strangely to say,The Count lost every sou[653]in the world he possessed;And at last by reverses became so hard pressedThat he staked his wife’s jewels;—ha, ha! don’t stir yet![654]But wait, dearest Michel, my friend, till I getTo the end. Well, the jewels he staked andhe lost.Then Malletti uprose from his seat[655]and crossedTo the side of the Count,as I now do to you,—Keep your seat—we’re alone—none can hear:—Revenge is so sweet when the cost was so dear;—He drew a stiletto[656]—in this manner,—see!And plunged it with joy to the hilt—look at me!Ha! you know me, vile caitiff! What, mercy! Forgive!The seconds are numbered that you have to live:This moment takes out of my life all the pain,And wipes out the stain on my honor again.Thy struggles are useless,—’tisrevenge’sfell claspThat holds thee resistless within its close grasp.Look your last on my face, while thus with a blow[657]I send your black soul to the regions below;—[658]There[659]—Count de la Fontelle; now join your fair spouseIn the chambers of hell,[660]and keep your carouse—Ha! that twinge again;[661]—twice I felt it before,—And a drowsy sensation[662]seems now stealing o’erAll my frame;—God of heaven! what is this?[663]Can it be?Poisoned![664]Ha! slave![665]thou hast done too for me.—What pain darts across me![666]My blood is on fire!My brain reels,—Oh, mercy! is’t thus I expire![667]Help! help! Oh, will no one attend to my cry!Must I in my agony unaided lie,And suffer the torment the damned[668]only feel!Ha! no;—I’ve a friend left in thee, faithful steel:[669]Thou shalt end all and quickly;—thy virtue I’ll try;Ah, Count! thou art well avenged;—thus—thus![670]I die!—Thos. F. Wilford, A. M.
Well, Michel, the luck seems against[595]you to-night,You do nothing but lose;—it may change? You are right,[596]For Dame Fortune’s a jade that one never can trust;She may smile on our labors, but one[597]always mustKeep both eyes wide open—your play,[598]—mine again,—Or he’ll pay[599]for his confidence, fifty to ten.Pshaw! don’t[600]be faint-hearted—another deal, try;Now don’t swear,—what’s the use? You may win by and by:Why! what are these?[601]Jewels? Your dead wife’s, you say?You’ll stake them against all I’ve won here to-day?You’ve nothing but these? All’s lost?—(the end’s near!)[602]Well, put the stones there;[603]why, how white you appear!You’re faint from reverses; ho![604]landlord! I say—A flask of your best without any delay:Come, drink, man; ’twill cheer you—tut![605]have no reserve;Here’s to your success![606]Ha! that strengthens one’s nerve.I’ll deal the cards first; ’tis your turn—come, begin;Just think of the stakes you will have if you win.Have you ever seen Paris? Were born there? Indeed!They say ’tis a place where a man must take heed[607]Lest his money and life be not taken awayIn a hurry,—one moment[608]—’tis my turn to play.A strange tale I’ve heard—no offence—of their mode,And the close-cutting rules of their well-prepared code;This narrative’s true;—at least, so I’ve been told.—A young Corsican noble, scarce twenty years old—A mere boy in years, but with wealth at command,And a title as proud as the best in the land—About twelve years ago to gay Paris repaired,To see life as ’tis there to be seen, and—get snared.[609]With some friends like himself,—young, thoughtless and gay,[610]He managed to while time and money away.[611]Among other places, the gossips all tell,—He was brought to a flash,[612]gilded gaming hell,Kept by a certain French Count—have a care![613]You play wildly; now put your best there;—By a certain French Count, De la Fontelle by name,And his wife, a bewitching, heart-damaging dame;As well-matched a pair for their devilish trade,As the fiend incarnate[614]had e’er till then made.Well, into this hell-trap of splendor and guilt,[615]Young Malletti—his name—was dragged;—see, you have spiltAll your wine;—you are nervous from play: fill once more;—And then like the rest,[616]I imagine, beforeHe well was aware or his own thoughts could tell,He madly in love with the fair Countess fell.He was handsome and rich, young, easily led—A most opportune prize, and so easily bled.She so skillfully—women, what devils[617]are ye!—Lured him on till no longer the power had heOr the will to resist;—I’ve just played the knave;—Till his honor and soul into her hands he gave—Heaven curse[618]her! It makes a man crazy to thinkHow these fair, smiling creatures will drag to the brinkOf destruction a poor, silly fool:—You are pale,And no wonder; the blood leaves the heart at the tale.But, mind you, the husband with eyes turned away—[619]Unconscious—ha! ha! of what passed every day,—To his own affairs kept, nor with her interfered;She could manage her own; but the end was soon neared.His money at last was all gone, and he thenTurned to her—to her love appealed,[620]but whenOn his two knees, with words full of fond love, the youngNoble knelt[621]with his proud heart and spirit sore wrung,—And abjectly—God! yes, abjectly[622]sued,—But your pardon; I feel so deeply imbuedWith the sense of this wrong, that the throats I could seize—A neck in each grasp—and complacently squeeze[623]Out the life of these two devils, breath after breath,Till my eager revenge would be stopped but by death.Well, in spite of his burning entreaties, this pair,With laughter and blows—ay, what wouldn’t they dare?—The young noble seized, and out[624]he was thrownLike a dog;—he who never till that time had knownThe harsh tone of insult. But come,[625]give me some wine;Such a tale would stir more than your feelings[626]and mine:[627]For all[628]who have souls and have hearts not of stoneCan judge of the tumult his soul must have known,When robbed of his money,[629]his honor,[630]his life,[631]By this Judas incarnate and syren-tongued wife,He found himself out on the streets,[632]treated worseThan the veriest menial or slave.[633]May the curseOf the injured their foul souls pursue![634]But, howe’er,Young Malletti that night to this house did repair,And in her own bed the fair serpent slew;—Drove his knife to the hilt in her heart;[635]—Wouldn’t you?[636]—And cut her white throat—ay! he left a grand mark,—But the husband escaped from the house[637]in the dark—The cowardly cur![638]But you suffer; your frameIs all trembling. Ah! Michel, your nature’s[639]the sameAs my own, full of tenderness, gentle and weak;As regards now its sympathy ’tis that I speak.But come, play again; ’tis the last trick; I drink[640]To your health and success! Ha! ha! One would thinkFrom your looks you were pale with some terrible fear.There’s nothing to dread,—there are none but us here,And the days of dark murder in secret are o’er:—Ace! King! I win. Though mine is the gain,It gives me, friend Michel, less pleasure than pain.But let us return to our sheep, as they sayIn la belle France, your land ever charming and gay.Young Malletti was captured, convicted I’m told,To the galleys[641]was sent,—a life sentence, too:Now I think ’twas too much for his just crime—don’t you?But mark![642]two years since—ay! this very day,—The convicts rebelled, and some few got away,And among them Malletti.—Why, man, how you shake!And what a strange, terrified look your eyes take!Well, Malletti had Corsican blood in his veins,—Such blood as ne’er cools while on earth[643]there remainsThe being or thing that had offered insult:He no rest, peace or happiness ever would know,Till dead[644]at his feet he the Count would lay low.He searched France from north to south,[645]England went through,[646]And at last of his old foe discovered a clue:He found him disguised both in feature and name;—Come, Michel, what ails you? Your drinking’s too tame.Here, fill up your goblet;[647]I’ll give you a toast;[648]Dios! man; what a face! It would frighten a ghost;Here’s success to all men who the life blood may spillOf such as the Count and his wife! But sit still,[649]And wait till my narrative ends. ’Tis a queerStory, take it in all, but true—never fear.I’m sorry you lost, Michel, sorry indeed,And feel that at my hands some succor[650]you need,Which you shall receive—ay! shall, on my life.These gems are superb![651]They belonged to your wife?’Tis the fortune of cards;—a full purse to-day;To-morrow like smoke-clouds it all melts away.[652]But, no doubt, you’re eager and anxious to knowWhat held back the young noble’s long-wished-for blow:Ah! he wished his revenge to be perfect, complete,A sort of a climax. Revenge must be sweet;That is, if we judge from Malletti’s standpoint.What unction with which his keen sword to anoint!Well, at the card table day following day,The two were engaged, and strangely to say,The Count lost every sou[653]in the world he possessed;And at last by reverses became so hard pressedThat he staked his wife’s jewels;—ha, ha! don’t stir yet![654]But wait, dearest Michel, my friend, till I getTo the end. Well, the jewels he staked andhe lost.Then Malletti uprose from his seat[655]and crossedTo the side of the Count,as I now do to you,—Keep your seat—we’re alone—none can hear:—Revenge is so sweet when the cost was so dear;—He drew a stiletto[656]—in this manner,—see!And plunged it with joy to the hilt—look at me!Ha! you know me, vile caitiff! What, mercy! Forgive!The seconds are numbered that you have to live:This moment takes out of my life all the pain,And wipes out the stain on my honor again.Thy struggles are useless,—’tisrevenge’sfell claspThat holds thee resistless within its close grasp.Look your last on my face, while thus with a blow[657]I send your black soul to the regions below;—[658]There[659]—Count de la Fontelle; now join your fair spouseIn the chambers of hell,[660]and keep your carouse—Ha! that twinge again;[661]—twice I felt it before,—And a drowsy sensation[662]seems now stealing o’erAll my frame;—God of heaven! what is this?[663]Can it be?Poisoned![664]Ha! slave![665]thou hast done too for me.—What pain darts across me![666]My blood is on fire!My brain reels,—Oh, mercy! is’t thus I expire![667]Help! help! Oh, will no one attend to my cry!Must I in my agony unaided lie,And suffer the torment the damned[668]only feel!Ha! no;—I’ve a friend left in thee, faithful steel:[669]Thou shalt end all and quickly;—thy virtue I’ll try;Ah, Count! thou art well avenged;—thus—thus![670]I die!—Thos. F. Wilford, A. M.
Well, Michel, the luck seems against[595]you to-night,
You do nothing but lose;—it may change? You are right,[596]
For Dame Fortune’s a jade that one never can trust;
She may smile on our labors, but one[597]always must
Keep both eyes wide open—your play,[598]—mine again,—
Or he’ll pay[599]for his confidence, fifty to ten.
Pshaw! don’t[600]be faint-hearted—another deal, try;
Now don’t swear,—what’s the use? You may win by and by:
Why! what are these?[601]Jewels? Your dead wife’s, you say?
You’ll stake them against all I’ve won here to-day?
You’ve nothing but these? All’s lost?—(the end’s near!)[602]
Well, put the stones there;[603]why, how white you appear!
You’re faint from reverses; ho![604]landlord! I say—
A flask of your best without any delay:
Come, drink, man; ’twill cheer you—tut![605]have no reserve;
Here’s to your success![606]Ha! that strengthens one’s nerve.
I’ll deal the cards first; ’tis your turn—come, begin;
Just think of the stakes you will have if you win.
Have you ever seen Paris? Were born there? Indeed!
They say ’tis a place where a man must take heed[607]
Lest his money and life be not taken away
In a hurry,—one moment[608]—’tis my turn to play.
A strange tale I’ve heard—no offence—of their mode,
And the close-cutting rules of their well-prepared code;
This narrative’s true;—at least, so I’ve been told.—
A young Corsican noble, scarce twenty years old—
A mere boy in years, but with wealth at command,
And a title as proud as the best in the land—
About twelve years ago to gay Paris repaired,
To see life as ’tis there to be seen, and—get snared.[609]
With some friends like himself,—young, thoughtless and gay,[610]
He managed to while time and money away.[611]
Among other places, the gossips all tell,—
He was brought to a flash,[612]gilded gaming hell,
Kept by a certain French Count—have a care![613]
You play wildly; now put your best there;—
By a certain French Count, De la Fontelle by name,
And his wife, a bewitching, heart-damaging dame;
As well-matched a pair for their devilish trade,
As the fiend incarnate[614]had e’er till then made.
Well, into this hell-trap of splendor and guilt,[615]
Young Malletti—his name—was dragged;—see, you have spilt
All your wine;—you are nervous from play: fill once more;—
And then like the rest,[616]I imagine, before
He well was aware or his own thoughts could tell,
He madly in love with the fair Countess fell.
He was handsome and rich, young, easily led—
A most opportune prize, and so easily bled.
She so skillfully—women, what devils[617]are ye!—
Lured him on till no longer the power had he
Or the will to resist;—I’ve just played the knave;—
Till his honor and soul into her hands he gave—
Heaven curse[618]her! It makes a man crazy to think
How these fair, smiling creatures will drag to the brink
Of destruction a poor, silly fool:—You are pale,
And no wonder; the blood leaves the heart at the tale.
But, mind you, the husband with eyes turned away—[619]
Unconscious—ha! ha! of what passed every day,—
To his own affairs kept, nor with her interfered;
She could manage her own; but the end was soon neared.
His money at last was all gone, and he then
Turned to her—to her love appealed,[620]but when
On his two knees, with words full of fond love, the young
Noble knelt[621]with his proud heart and spirit sore wrung,—
And abjectly—God! yes, abjectly[622]sued,—
But your pardon; I feel so deeply imbued
With the sense of this wrong, that the throats I could seize—
A neck in each grasp—and complacently squeeze[623]
Out the life of these two devils, breath after breath,
Till my eager revenge would be stopped but by death.
Well, in spite of his burning entreaties, this pair,
With laughter and blows—ay, what wouldn’t they dare?—
The young noble seized, and out[624]he was thrown
Like a dog;—he who never till that time had known
The harsh tone of insult. But come,[625]give me some wine;
Such a tale would stir more than your feelings[626]and mine:[627]
For all[628]who have souls and have hearts not of stone
Can judge of the tumult his soul must have known,
When robbed of his money,[629]his honor,[630]his life,[631]
By this Judas incarnate and syren-tongued wife,
He found himself out on the streets,[632]treated worse
Than the veriest menial or slave.[633]May the curse
Of the injured their foul souls pursue![634]But, howe’er,
Young Malletti that night to this house did repair,
And in her own bed the fair serpent slew;—
Drove his knife to the hilt in her heart;[635]—Wouldn’t you?[636]—
And cut her white throat—ay! he left a grand mark,—
But the husband escaped from the house[637]in the dark—
The cowardly cur![638]But you suffer; your frame
Is all trembling. Ah! Michel, your nature’s[639]the same
As my own, full of tenderness, gentle and weak;
As regards now its sympathy ’tis that I speak.
But come, play again; ’tis the last trick; I drink[640]
To your health and success! Ha! ha! One would think
From your looks you were pale with some terrible fear.
There’s nothing to dread,—there are none but us here,
And the days of dark murder in secret are o’er:—
Ace! King! I win. Though mine is the gain,
It gives me, friend Michel, less pleasure than pain.
But let us return to our sheep, as they say
In la belle France, your land ever charming and gay.
Young Malletti was captured, convicted I’m told,
To the galleys[641]was sent,—a life sentence, too:
Now I think ’twas too much for his just crime—don’t you?
But mark![642]two years since—ay! this very day,—
The convicts rebelled, and some few got away,
And among them Malletti.—Why, man, how you shake!
And what a strange, terrified look your eyes take!
Well, Malletti had Corsican blood in his veins,—
Such blood as ne’er cools while on earth[643]there remains
The being or thing that had offered insult:
He no rest, peace or happiness ever would know,
Till dead[644]at his feet he the Count would lay low.
He searched France from north to south,[645]England went through,[646]
And at last of his old foe discovered a clue:
He found him disguised both in feature and name;—
Come, Michel, what ails you? Your drinking’s too tame.
Here, fill up your goblet;[647]I’ll give you a toast;[648]
Dios! man; what a face! It would frighten a ghost;
Here’s success to all men who the life blood may spill
Of such as the Count and his wife! But sit still,[649]
And wait till my narrative ends. ’Tis a queer
Story, take it in all, but true—never fear.
I’m sorry you lost, Michel, sorry indeed,
And feel that at my hands some succor[650]you need,
Which you shall receive—ay! shall, on my life.
These gems are superb![651]They belonged to your wife?
’Tis the fortune of cards;—a full purse to-day;
To-morrow like smoke-clouds it all melts away.[652]
But, no doubt, you’re eager and anxious to know
What held back the young noble’s long-wished-for blow:
Ah! he wished his revenge to be perfect, complete,
A sort of a climax. Revenge must be sweet;
That is, if we judge from Malletti’s standpoint.
What unction with which his keen sword to anoint!
Well, at the card table day following day,
The two were engaged, and strangely to say,
The Count lost every sou[653]in the world he possessed;
And at last by reverses became so hard pressed
That he staked his wife’s jewels;—ha, ha! don’t stir yet![654]
But wait, dearest Michel, my friend, till I get
To the end. Well, the jewels he staked andhe lost.
Then Malletti uprose from his seat[655]and crossed
To the side of the Count,as I now do to you,—
Keep your seat—we’re alone—none can hear:—
Revenge is so sweet when the cost was so dear;—
He drew a stiletto[656]—in this manner,—see!
And plunged it with joy to the hilt—look at me!
Ha! you know me, vile caitiff! What, mercy! Forgive!
The seconds are numbered that you have to live:
This moment takes out of my life all the pain,
And wipes out the stain on my honor again.
Thy struggles are useless,—’tisrevenge’sfell clasp
That holds thee resistless within its close grasp.
Look your last on my face, while thus with a blow[657]
I send your black soul to the regions below;—[658]
There[659]—Count de la Fontelle; now join your fair spouse
In the chambers of hell,[660]and keep your carouse—
Ha! that twinge again;[661]—twice I felt it before,—
And a drowsy sensation[662]seems now stealing o’er
All my frame;—God of heaven! what is this?[663]Can it be?
Poisoned![664]Ha! slave![665]thou hast done too for me.—
What pain darts across me![666]My blood is on fire!
My brain reels,—Oh, mercy! is’t thus I expire![667]
Help! help! Oh, will no one attend to my cry!
Must I in my agony unaided lie,
And suffer the torment the damned[668]only feel!
Ha! no;—I’ve a friend left in thee, faithful steel:[669]
Thou shalt end all and quickly;—thy virtue I’ll try;
Ah, Count! thou art well avenged;—thus—thus![670]I die!
—Thos. F. Wilford, A. M.
Gestures.