^^l ^ -v |te -.>', ^.^m:-. -■-•■■;■'.■:. ^;y i' ♦ PLAYS j^f PEOSE AND POETRY. CHARLOTTE 1. S. BAKNES. I Tvrit, because it araased me. I corrected because it -was as pleasant to me to correct as to -write. I published, because I -was told I miglat please sucb. as it was a credit to please." — Pope. PHILADELPHIA: PUBLISHED BY E. H. BUTLER & Co. 1848. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1848, Bt Charlotte M. S. Barkes, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. King & Baird, Pnnbers, 9 George St. Philadelphia. PREFACE. The courtesy due to the public before whom this drama now first appears in print, demands some preface. Although a play, which has been per- formed more than fifty nights in the United States, and in London and Liverpool, and which has been elaborately criticised, (on either side of the Atlantic,) as an acting drama, requires little introductory com- ment. On its first representation, in New York, in November, 1837, (after which it was carefully and laboriously revised,) the ^^ extreme youth of the actress and authoress," and the interest attached to her parents' name, were important agents in its reception and in its subsequent successful career in the United States. That it was so well received in England, divested of these aids, was a result far more accordant with my wishes than with my ex- pectations. IV PREFACE. Most of the leading incidents of the play, viz : — Castelli's desertion of Octavia, his subsequent mar- riage, and also hers, the challenge, the slander, the murder at Octavia's instigation, her death, and that of Bragaldi, occurred in the city of Frankfort, (Ken. tucky,) in 1825. The false marriage of Octavia, her father's history, Rossano's confession, etc. are inter- polations of my own. The real Octavia expired before her husband, who was taken to execution while sinking under his self-inflicted wounds. To these well-known facts alone am I indebted. My delineations of the characters of the three pro- minent personages in the play, differ widely from the descriptions I have heard of the originals. The events, when related to me, on the scene of their occurrence, made a vivid impression : besides their dramatic fitness, they admirably illustrate the futile and lamentable results of revenge, even under cir- cumstances which in the world's opinion serve in some degree to palliate it. The little explanation necessary to the other con- tents of this book, will be appended to their several subjects. PREFACE. V In the laconic quotation selected, (I trust, without presumption,) as ray motto, I have, in better words than my own, explained my motive for introducing these fruits of girlhood and womanhood's leisure, to the reading public. From the Ark in which it has long rested in security, I now send forth my unpre- tending volume ; which, after it has passed over the wide waters of criticism, will, I hope, bring back to its mistress the olive branch of Peace. c. M. s. B. JVewj York, 1847. CONTENTS OCTAVIA BrAGALDI ', OR, THE CONFESSION Dedication, Persons of the Drama, Act First. — Scene First, Scene Second, Scene Third, Act SecoITI). — ^Scene First, Scene Second, Act Third. — Scene First, Scene Second, Scene Third, Act Fourth. — Scene First, Scene Second, Scene Third, Scene Fourth, Act Fifth. — Scene First, Scene Second. Scene Third, Fugitive Pieces, Introduction, The Night of the Coronation. — Victoria I., The Dead Geranium. — A domestic incident. An Address, spoken on the return of the Georgian teers from Florida, The Forest Princess, or two centuries ago. Introduction, .... Persons of the Drama, Volun 9 11 12 13 16 25 32 38 51 62 66 78 82 89 91 95 99 102 119 121 123 135 140 145 147 149 Vlll CONTENTS. First Period, 1607.— Act First— Scene First, Scene Second, Scene Third, Second Period, 1609. — Act Second — Scene First, Scene Second, Scene Third, Third Period, 1617. — Act Third — Scene First, Scene Second, Scene Third, Scene Fourth, Scene Last, Appendix, . . The Heart ? or the Soul ? . Introduction, . The Maiden Aunt, a Tale of Texas. Chapter I., . . . . . Chapter II., . Chapter III., . - Chapter IV., . Chapter V., . Chapter VI., . Chapter VII., . Chapter VIII., . The Sisters, a Tale of the Mississippi. Chapter I., . Chapter II., • Chapter III., . Chapter IV., Chapter V., . Chapter VI., . Chapter VIL, . Chapter VIIL, . The Marriage Vow, a Tale OF Florida. Part I., . Part II., . Part III., '. . First and Last Love, . Conclusion, . • . . . TO MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER, THIS TRAGEDY WAS OBIGINALLY DEDICATED, AS A TRIBUTE OF GRATEFUL RESPECT AND FERVENT AFFECTION. " New Tork, 133" 1»* OCTAVIA BRAGALDI. PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. Erstesto, Count di Castelli, Kinsman of the Duke of Milan. AXBEKTO LaKIKI."! TEBAtDo Orsani' y Nobles. Cosmo Loredano.J Francesco Bragaldi. ^^H GlUlIAN. 7 „. , . ^^H -_ <• His domestics. "^^K LiTIGI. J '^^H Officer. ^^^V c Castelli's attendants. I Carxo. 5 » Courier. Marco. 7 n > Fages. PlETRO. J Nobles, Ladies, Pages, Guards. OcTAViA Brag AID I, Francesco's wife. Clorinda, Francesco's sister. ScEBTE. — Milan supposed to be at the close of the fifteenth century. Time of the Action, comprised in three days and nights, and the ensuing morning. In the absence of adequate law, public opinion generally gives to a request the force of a prohibition. I therefore respectfully request all managers and actors not to perform either of the plays contained in this volume, for three years from this date. At the same time, I do myself the very great pleasure of ex- pressing my sincere acknowledgments to those ladies and gentle- men whose professional labours in the Theatres of England and America, have so greatly aided my efforts, and contributed to the success of my two dramas, and have been so justly recompensed by the applause of their auditors. Chahlotte M. S. Conner. New York, June, 1848. OCTAVIA BRAGALDI; OR THE CONFESSION, A TRAGEDY FOUNDED ON FACTS.' " Mixed characters, such as in fact we meet with in the world, afford the most proper field for displaying, without any bad effect on morals, the vicissitudes of life ; and they interest us the more deeply, as they display the emotions and passions of which we have all been conscious. When such persons fall into distress through the vices of others, the subject may be very pathetic ; but it is always more instructive when a person has been himself the cause of his misfortune, and when his misfortune is occasioned by the violence of passion, or by some weakness incident to human nature. Such subjects both dispose us to the deepest sympathy, and administer useful warnings for our own conduct." Kames' Elements of Criticism. ACT FIRST. SCENE FIRST. An Jipartment in BragaldVs Mansion near Milan. Enter Giulian, Meeting LuigL Giulian. Is all prepared for our master's return ? Luigi. It is. In truth thou art a careful steward. Giulian. I should be so. Our gentle mistress thinks me worthy of the trust ; and it is such happiness to serve her and to win her smile, that were my office ten times more laborious, I would perform it joy- fully. Luigi. And our fellows share that thought with thee- When will our master return ? 2 14 OCTAVIA BRAGALDl ; Giulian. Since last night we expect him. He has now been absent, as I think, some fifteen days. Our lady mourns each moment of his stay. Luigi. "Why did she not go to court along with him } Giulian. In truth I cannot say, unless it be that she doth love this mansion best. 'Tis strange that one so happy and so young should dwell so much secluded. Luigi. Thou know'st I am as yet a stranger here. Tell me, doth our master descend from noble ancestry ? Giulian. From ancestry ennobled in their deeds alone. For scores of years they have been held in high esteem by all the Milan nohles, who ever honour merit ; but to titled grandeur our master can lay no claim. Luigi. Does he love my lady ? OR, THE CONFESSION. 15 Giulian. Ay, indeed ; though they have been wedded now four months, 'twould seem they had not yet ended their honeymoon ; their love knows no abatement, nor will, I trust, for many years to come. {Look- ing off.) But here is our master's sister, the gay Lady Clorinda. lEnter Clorinda, and Exit Luigi. Clorinda. How now, good Giulian, where's my sister? Giulian. In the west chamber. Madam, she watches for our master's approach amidst the thick shades of the neighbouring forest. Clorinda. How happy is my brother in her love ! Giulian, thou long hast lived beneath his roof; Thy youthful locks have silvered in his service. He calls thee not his servant, but his friend. Giulian. Madam, the welfare of my Lord is as dear to me 16 OCTAVIA BRAGALDI ; as my own life's blood, and I rejoice to see him wedded unto one whose heart is pure, whose nature noble. Clorinda, And withal impassioned and devoted. All girlhood's budding freshness she retains — A child's simplicity, a queenly soul. To please Octavia is my only wish. Haste, Giulian, to the farthest turret, — there Thou mayst discern thy master's coming, while I go to seek my sister. [^Exeunt Clorinda and Giulian. SCENE SECOND. Another Apartment, \_Enter Octavia. Octavia, Not yet returned ! what can have thus delayed him ? Fie, fie, Octavia, be again thyself! I OR, THE CONFESSION. 17 Let me be calm, and still this beating heart That aching throbs with hope and fear. [Eiiter Clorinda. Clorinda ! Say quickly, sister, is Bragaldi come } Clorinda. No ; eagerly I've watched on yonder turret Since earliest day-break, but 't is all in vain. Some unexpected cause must have detained him. The road is long and perilous, 't is true ; But then his armed domestics follow him. Thou hast no cause for fear, in truth, Octavia. What ! mope and pine, because thou art a wafe, And count each moment that thy lord's away ! Trust me, so would not I. Octavia sits dejectedly, gazing at a cross which she wears. Come, cheer thee, sister. That jewel, (pointing to it) — Was my brother's gift — his first, think thou told'st me ? 2* 1° OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Octavia. Ay, it was his first, And since that day it has not left my side A single hour. Clorinda, smiling. Oh ! what constancy ! {Examining it. The fashion on't is strange and ancient too ; I doubt if Milan holds another like it. (She sits. Remember'st thou a merry tale, like those Which often have, since dear Francesco's absence, Enlivened the long dreary nights, that else Had been so full of loneliness ? Octavia. Oh no! Thy list'ning eagerness exhausted soon My memory's little store. Clorinda, 'playfully. I'll not release thee. I ask no poet's legendary tale Of knights and ladies, pilgrims and crusades. No ; tell n[>e one all faith and tender truth ; OR, THE CONFESSION. 19 (It will beguile the weary, anxious hour ;) Tell me a tale of love — thine own, Octavia. Octavia, Mine ! 'Tis, alas ! a history of wo, — A trite and oft-told tale of woman's love. I would not sadden thy young spirit — yet — Clorinda, Is't melancholy then ? Octavia. Listen, I pray thee. I was an infant when my mother died And left me to a father's care. Thy dear Francesco was my childhood's friend ; the wars Soon called him forth, a youth. — Ere sixteen years Had shed their glowing radiance o'er my head, The Count Castelli sojourned near our dwelling. While maids of rank, and dazzling beauty too, Vied for his love, he knelt and sued for mine. He won my girlish fancy, but my father — Clorinda, Did he oppose your love ? 20 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Odavia. He did ; he bade me Renounce one called by fame a libertine , — I disbelieved it all — Castelli sued — We fled together from my father's home. Clorinda. Oh fatal error ! Odavia, Ere we fled, at eve, (No vi^itness save a girl who lately died,) A priest pronounced the words that made us one : We fled to Milan. Ere a week had passed I sighed once more to see my aged father, Implore his pardon and receive his blessing. Clorinda, And didst thou then succeed ? Odavia, My father came, I yielded to the impulse of my heart — I flew to him ; in tearful supplication I clung — I prayed for pardon — ^long in vain. OR, THE CONFESSION. 21 At length his heart did melt ; when, as he blessed me, The fearful agony of this sad meeting, The deeper anguish of his lengthened search, O'ercame his aged, fast-decaying frame ; A shudder chilled his heart, and with a groan He fell upon the earth, before my eyes! He never rose again. Clorinda. Alas! Octavia, E'en while he pardoned, and was blessing thee ! How bitter was thy sorrow then ! Octavia^ starting up. In mercy Name it not, — oh ! name it not ! A life Cannot efface the memory of that hour. At first Castelli tended and consoled me. But when, amid his soothing words, my heart Refused all comfort, soon he spoke unkindly, And then declared I wearied him with grief. Clomida, Sure man can ne'er be guilty of such baseness. 32 OCTAVIA BRAGALDI J Odavia. My heart soon learned the hoUowness of passion Love's certain grave's indifference, contempt, Cold, biting sarcasm, that chills affection Sooner than anger, hate, or cruelty. At length Invasion's dread alarum sounding, He joined the forces, and repaired to battle. Clorinda. Didst thou go with him to the wars ? Odavia. With eagerness I sought to share his danger, But wearied by my presence once so loved, At night, in secret, he deserted me. Frantic I flew to seek for him — in vain ; A friendless stranger, houseless, penniless, I asked no mercy but to die unknown. Clorinda. E'en though thou say'st it, I can scarce believe So sad a history is thine, my sister. Odavia. 'Twas in this misery thy brother found me On his return, and bore me to my home. OR, THE CONFESSION. 23 Clorinda, And heard you naught, Octavia, of your husband? Odavia. Yes, ere a year had passed, the news arrived, (Too fully proved) that he had died in battle. Clorinda. And no farewell, no token sent to thee ? Octavia, None ; none. Five years of grief and prayer passed on; And soon thy brother told me of the love Which, like a lonely flower, he had reared Amidst the wintry gloom of war and battle. He called up all the golden memories Of childhood's happiness, that had entwined Their fond and clinging grasp around my soul: He asked my hand, and with my heart I gave it. Clorinda. And with no vain regret for thy first lord ? Octavia. No. Six long years had proved their Lethean skill To deaden girlhood's wild and giddy fancies. 24 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; The dream of passion past, I saw a mortal, Erring, nay heartless, — in my former deity, And in thy brother I beheld a being Whose love, for which a queen might humbly sue, And glory in entreaty, was all mine, His first, his only love, — his chosen bride ! Clorinda. Then thou wert blest in happy virtuous love. May thy past woes end all thy mis'ries here ! Octavia. When thou didst leave a convent's holy walls To come and dwell with me, I would have told My story to thee then, — but my loved lord From day to day, in kindness still delayed it. Now thou know'st all, pity me — pray for me ! \_Enter Giulian, Giulian. Madam, my master's now dismounting at the portal. Octavia. Returns in safety ! Clorinda. Holy Virgin, thanks ! OR, THE CONFESSION. 25 Odavia, Now haste to give him welcome. [Exit Giulian. Fly, Clorinda, A moment's pause will still these thoughts of wo. [Exit Clorinda, Oh! would kind Heav'n from recollection chase All bitter grief, my future life might be Worthy of him for whose dear sake I live ! Away at once with this unthankful sadness ! Oh ! let me haste to clasp him to my heart, And in his love forget all former sorrows ! [Exit Odavia. SCENE THIRD. The Hall of Entrance to Bragaldih Mansion, Giu- lian, Luigi, and other attendants precede Bragaldi and Alberto, All the attendants ^ except Giulian, Exeunt. Bragaldi to Alberto. You're w^elcome to my home. Methinks my heart 26 Doth beat more freely as I breathe this air, And tread each path wherein Content doth dwell With Happiness, two old and constant friends. lEnter Clorinda. My gentle sister! — Greet our cherished guest. Clorinda. My brother's welcome needs no aid from me To make its value greater ; yet, my lord, Your coming doth enhance the joy we feel At seeing him again. Alberto, Fair maiden, T Should be most happy, could my fancy deem Those courteous words sprung truly from thy heart, Not from thy lips alone. Say, is it so ? ( They confer, Bragaldi. Behold ! with light and eager step she comes, The angel of this earthly paradise ! [^Enter Ocfavia. My own Octavia ! OR, THE CONFESSION. 27 Odavia. Welcome, my husband ! Welcome to thy home ! What cause hath thus — BragaldL An accident befel my steed, Octavia ; I could not leave him on the road to perish. Octavia. No more ? I feared — in truth I know not what. Affection ever thus, amid its own Real bliss, creates imaginary wo. Bragaldi. But see, our guest. {Pointing to Alberto.) Octavia. E'en like the Persian wife I saw but one form when I entered here. Alberto and Clorinda advance. To Alberto. Deem it no lack of courtesy, my lord, That I was thus unmindful of thy presence. I pray thee pardon me, thou'rt truly welcome. 28 OCTAVIA BRAGALDI ; Alberto. Affection's impulse ne^er need ask for pardon. Bragaldi, I bring thee joyous tidings from the court. The demon War doth rest ; — unless he should Start up again, after a brief repose, With giant wrath, — my gentle bride, no fear Need shade thy heart that I should hence be called To shed my blood in Italy's defence. Alberto. And more than this, I bear a mandate, lady, By thee with cheerful haste to be obeyed. While Milan's Duke returns with glory decked, All hearts pour forth in gratitude to meet him. But in the gay masque and the mirthful dance Wherewith the Duchess graces his return, — Amid her lovely and attendant train Of fair Ausonia's dames, the eye of fame Hath marked thy absence, and my lips are charged To woo thee from thy peaceful solitude. Bragaldi. I know thou seest few charms in courtly pomp ; OR, THE CONFESSION. 29 But thou art yet too young to play the matron. Wilt thou consent awhile to leave thy home ? Odavia. Ever with thee and ever as thou wilt. To Clorinda. Thou goest too. Clorinda, May I indeed believe thee ? How best, my dearest sister, shall I thank thee ? Odavia, By being happy. Go, my own Clorinda, And bid them spread the cheer. These wayfarers Need other welcome than our words can give. Clorinda. I haste to do thy bidding. [Exit, followed by Giulian, Alberto. I am proud Indeed that thus my mission has succeeded. This very day we'll bear thee back in triumph. 3* 30 OCTAYIA BRAGALDi; An instant now, I pray, excuse me friends. I fain would seek my weary steed, that oft Amid the war, undaunted and untired, Hath borne me safe. — I'll join you soon again. Bragaldi. Thou'rt erer kind and thoughtful. As thou wilt. \_Exit Alberto. Once more I gaze upon thy face, and hear Thy gentle voice, sweet index of thy heart. Absence, Octavia, gives a double zest To all the quiet, flowing joys of home. Octavia, My brave Bragaldi ! I have much to tell : Trifles indeed, to all but those who love. Each little breeze that stirs the rivulet And makes it dance with joy, would pass Unheeded o'er the ocean's vast expanse. Bragaldi. How anxiously I've sighed for my return ! It seemed the lagging councils of the state Were lengthened only to detain me there. OR, THE CONFESSION. 31 I've equalled thy impatience. She appears to deny it. Dost thou then So dearly love me ? Odavia. Canst thou doubt it? 0! Before we wedded, woman's own reserve In conscious silence bade me hide my heart. But now thou art my own, my lord, my husband, My pride and glory centre in thy love. My only joy's to live on earth with thee — My earnest prayer, that we may die together — My fondest hope, that when our lives have ceased, United we may meet hereafter ! [Exeunt Bragaldi and Odavia. END OF ACT I. 32 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; ACT SECOND. SCENE FIRST. The Garden of BragaldV s Mansion in Milan, Enter Alberto and Clorinda conversing, Alberto. I grieve that I must say farewell, sweet maid. Clorinda, 'Tis pity that you've stayed so long in vain. My brother most sincerely will regret His absence to attend the Duke's command, For he hath marvelled at not seeing you. Alberto. Thou needst not doubt necessity alone Compelled my absence. There's a charm around Bragaldi's home that lures me to it ever. Know'st thou the charm I mean ? OR, THE CONFESSION. 33 Clorinda, The peaceful love, The music of their happy lives that flow In harmony, — all these are charms — Alberto, interrupting her. Nay, peace, I pray. Not such as these I mean. Full long I've sought Bragaldi's dwelling to behold A bright, rich jewel there, unowned as yet, Which I would seek to humbly win and wear, And worship as my guiding star : thyself! Clorinda. Such warm and honeyed words I must not hear. I pray you let me seek my sister. Going, Alberto. Detaining her. Stay! Though shrinking, pure, and guileless is thy soul, As the first budding flow'ret of the year. Woman's instinctive nature must have shown thee My true, but silent love. May I then hope } Clorinda^ smiling. Sure more than marble were that maiden's heart 34 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Who such sweet flatt'ries could hear unmoved. Yet I'll believe the speaker is sincere. And though a simple and untutored girl, Bred in a convent's loneliness, unused To veil a thought or wish from other eyes, I value such affection as I ought. When Time hath laid his seal upon your love, (If still you ask for a return from me,) The firm devotion of my hfe — my lord, What have I said ? I pray you, pardon me! Forget those words! This foolish, timid heart In seeking to conceal hath told its secret. Alberto, And made me happiest of the happy. Time, Time is my only rival ; and ere long I'll tell thy brother of this cherished news That fills me now with joy, with fervent rapture. Kissing her hand, Clorinda, Behold, the Lord Orsani. [Enter Tebaldo, OR, THE CONFESSION. 35 Tebaldo, Pardon me That I intrude thus hastily, fair maid ; I came to seek Larini : an affair Of state is my excuse. No less a cause, Believe me, could — Clorinda. Excuse, my lord, is needless ; My brother is from home ; but in his stead, From me receive your welcome. [Exit Clorinda. Alberto. Now, Orsani, Why come you thus in haste ? Tehaldo. Know you the news ? Jilherto. Of what ? TebaUo. A deputation has arrived ; And we are called to council with th^ Duke. 36 OCT AVI A BRAGALDi; 4 Alberto, Know you the import of this embassy ? Tehaldo. In sooth I do not. Say, what meant the crowd I saw but now assembled near the prison ? Alberto. To see one doomed this hour to suffer death. He is a soldier wild and rude, whose sword In private broils hath oft shed gentle blood. Tebaldo. His name ? Alberto. Rossano. And the Duke hath sent 'Tis said, to summon to the cell, Bragaldi. I hear this soldier hath made strange confessions ; Upon what theme I know not. Time will show. Tebaldo. You've known Bragaldi long ? Alberto. I have, indeed ; OR, THE CONFESSION. 37 And knowing, have revered him. Proud and noble, He, when a boy, as I remember me. Was formed all dignity and truth. His word Was ever sacred, and he gloried more In the unblemished honour of his name Than doth our Duke in his bright diadem. His sense of shame, integrity impeached. He held so exquisitely vulnerable. That calumny or censure undeserved Would send the angry blood into his cheeks, Lend fire to every word, and prompt his arm To silence the accuser. But if thwarted. On that one insult w^ould he feed alone, (When e'en the author had forgotten it,) And on the offender's head, when fortune favoured, He'd vent his fierce, but noble indignation. Tebaldo. A faithful chronicler ! Alberto. He is no man 38 OCTAVIA BRAGALDI ; Who does not honour virtue in his friend, And seek to make it honoured by the world. Tehaldo. Do not forget your duty in your zeal : We shall not hear the deputation. Come ; The Duke expects us now. Alberto. This way, my lord. Exeunt Alberto and Tebaldo. SCENE SECOND. Odavia^s Apartment in BragaldVs Milanese Man- sion, Octavia and Clorinda discovered seated. Clorinda embroidering. Clorinda. Say, sister, what so long detains my brother ? . Octavia. I know not; 'tis some business of great weight. OR, THE CONFESSION. 39 Clorinda. But nothing sad, I hope, to him or thee ? Odavia. None, none I trust ; and yet I'm eyer fearful. Clorinda. Do not despond. Thou hast had thy share of wo. Odavia. The measure is not full, I fear, Clorinda. Leave but a single avenue unguarded By which one guilty thought may reach the heart, Though all around be deemed impregnable, 'Twill enter there, 'twill gain despotic sway, And like all tyrants, steep in lasting sorrow The once pure kingdom over which it reigns. Clorinda. Thy first, thy only fault was disobedience ; That error too did spring from love alone. Odavia. No ; call it passion or idolatry ; Such words best paint the cause of all my wo. 40 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Love, gentle, pure, and calm in its security, Such as I bear unto my noble husband, Is like the sun's heat breathing on the soul, Warming and fertilizing. But wild passion, fierce, And e'en idolatrous, is but the desert whirlwind That scorches and destroys. Clorinda. IMy sister, Such holy love I fain would hope is felt By one who this day breathed his vows to me — The Lord Larini, who would ask — A step heard. Who comes ? Octavia, looking ojff-. Bragaldi. See, there's anger on his brow. Leave us, I pray thee. {Exit Clorinda. Sure some dreadful cause — [Enter Bragaldi. Bragaldi, to himself. Ye raging thoughts, sink deep into my soul. Revenge can ne'er be gained ; cease then to tear And rack me thus, thou craving fiend ! Pacing to and fro in great agitation. OR, THE CONFESSION. 41 Octavia. Bragaldi ! Bragaldiy to himself. And must I chill the warmth of innocence, And make her wretched ? No, I will be silent. Octavia, advancing to him-. Francesco ? Art not well ? What sad mischance Hath thus disordered thee ? Bragaldi. 'Tis nothing, A trifle scarcely worth a name. Octavia, gazing steadfastly at him. No more? Bragaldi, No more, indeed. — Why shouldst thou doubt ? Octavia. Nay, seek not to dissemble thus with me. No artifice can blind my eye. Thou'st heard — Thou hast — ay ! on my life ! some fearful news — Appalling news to stir thee thus. I am Thy wife to share thy wo, as well as joy. What is't ? 4* 43 OCTAVIA BRAGALDI ; Bragaldi. 'Tis vilest falsehood Thou shall know it. While I was here with thee, a summons came, — Thou heard'st it too, 't was from the Duke and council,) That I might hear a criminal's confession, Unasked for, — offered by the slave himself. Two courtiers, by the Duke's command, were pre- sent. The wretch was once a follower of Castelli. Odavia. Castelli ! how I tremble ! Speak, Francesco ! Bragaldi. Before the nobles, he unasked, confessed That thou, Octavia, who for years didst dwell In poor, but honourable widowhood — Octavia. Say on ! Bragaldi. The bare remembrance stifles me ! That thou, Octavia, my life's cynosure, Castelli's widow, ne'er had been a wife. OR, THE CONFESSION. 43 Octavia. Merciful Heav'n ! Bragaldi. Yes, he confessed, Octavia, That for a heavy bribe from Count Castelli, He had assumed the holy father's office, And their foul arts together had deceived thee. Octavia. Father ! thou art avenged ! Bragaldi. At first I deemed 'Twas a forged tale ; enraged I seized the wretch For the base lie, and dashed him to the earth. As he lay trembling at my feet he still Related it again, and loudly called On all the saints to witness 'twas the truth. That now when ignominious death was nigh, Amid his torturing remorse for this And other darker deeds, he sought to make Atonement for his guilt. 44 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Odavia, to herself. Castelli's mistress ! Then my betrayed affection was their jest ; And when I sought a husband's kindest care, "I was regarded as a whining mistress Whose power to charm her tears had wiped away- A tedious fool to be cast off at pleasure ! Bj'agaldi. Wherefore that look of sudden wild alarm ? Why dost thou tremble thus ? Odavia, rushing to him, Francesco, I was deceived — was guiltless of this crime. I knew^ it not. As I do hope for mercy, I swear I knew it not ! Falls on her knees. Bragaldi. I never doubted ! I know thy truth. The villains both are dead. Let not their guilt a moment cloud thy peace. Nay, rise. 1 OR, THE CONFESSION. 45 Odavia, Thou dost not doubt me then ? Thou think'st Vm worthy of thy name ? Thou lov'st me still ? BragaldL Fondly as ever ! Odavia. Bless thee ! Heaven bless thee ! In thought, in deed, the life and soul of honour, My brave Bragaldi ! — Should the world revile — Bragaldij raising her. Here is thy shelter in a husband's arms. No tongue dare whisper 'gainst Bragaldi's wife. Be happy then ; away with tears ; forget Thy grief: whene'er the malice of the world Assaileth thee, seek thou thy refuge here ! But see, our kind Alberto comes this way. Enter Alberto, hastily. Odavia retires to conceal her agitation. Welcome, Alberto. Alberto. Thanks. J am now in haste, And only come to greet thy gentle wife, 46 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; And tell the wondrous news. She advances. How fare you, madam ? Odavia. In sooth, not well. In this gay city here, I'm like a caged bird, and sigh for home. Bragaldi, What is this news ? Alberto, I scarce have time to tell, For state affairs now call me back to court. 'Tis briefly thus. — The unexpected news At which all tongues cry «« wonderful" is this : A noble warrior, whose early death Our armies long have mourned, still lives, 'tis said Wounded, a prisoner, in the foeman's power For years he languished, till, exchanging captives. We learned that Count Ernesto di Castelli — Odavia gasps, suppressing a shriek. Bragaldi. Almighty Heaven ! OR, THE CONFESSION. 47 Mherto, Supporting Octavia, who is fainting. Thy lady faints, Bragaldi ! Here lend thy aid ! Bragaldi hastens to her. Alberto brings a chair in which they place her as she revives. Madam, how fare you now ! Bragaldiy supporting her. Octavia, speak to me ! Thou need'st not fear — Octavia, hastily interrupting him. A momentary weakness — but 'tis past, — The — noontide heat. — Look not so sad, Francesco ; Thy face is but the mirror of my own. Bragaldi. Aside. Be still my just revenge. — Aloud to Alberto. Does he then live ? Alberto. He! Who? Octavia. The Count — the subject of the tale Which rudely we have interrupted.— Say, Does — Count Castelli live ? 48 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Alherio. Ay, so 'tis said ; But till our Duke can truly learn that 'tis No artifice our foes have framed, he still Must dwell a brief space in captivity. To Odavia. Thy shrinking form tells me thou still dost suffer. I will withdraw ; my presence brings restraint ; To both. I am your friend. Treat me not as a stranger. [Exit Alberto. Bragaldi. Burst from thy shackles now, my pent up rage ! Hear'st thou, Octavia ? the base traitor lives. In equal combat yet this arm may reach him. Yes — he who plunged thy youth in misery — Deserted thee in poverty and grief — Blackened thy pure name by his fiend-like art, Still lives, — and lives for dire punishment. Octavia. What wild and threatening words are these, Bragaldi? Heav'n grant the tale be false ! But e'en if true. OR, THE CONFESSION." 49 Let not that spectre of departed woe Rise up again to haunt our happy home ! It cannot be that our sweet dream of peace And bliss so soon must end. Bragaldi. Let that rash foe Who wakens us, beware ! Odavia. Bragaldi ! Husband ! Howe'er indignant rage may urge our hearts, Remember — in his hopeless, long captivity He hath received most ample retribution. Look on me ! — ^Nay, not thus, but with thy fond And wonted gaze, oh, smile once more upon met Bragaldi. Thy love can conquer all. I will be calm. No hate shall crush our peace ; but, once assured That justice may be gained, I will assert A husband's privilege 't avenge thy wrongs. And shelter thee from all impending ill. \_Exit Bragaldi. 5 50 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Octavia, All's lost ! My hopes destroyed ! My earthly peace For ever blasted by that slave's confession. I, — who amid my disobedience still Did proudly soar in consciousness of virtue, A wife — have been the poor dupe of Castelli, Who lives — I heard it ? yes ! Oh misery ! I will not curse him for my husband's sake. Mother of mercy ! If indeed your will Would further punish my first error, — oh, Spare him who loves me ! Let his honest heart Be free from agony ! — his age from shame ! On me alone let fall your deadly shafts, And I will bless their just, though with'ring wrath ! Retires, and casts herself upon a chair, resting her hands upon the table, and burying her face in them. END OF ACT II. OR, THE CONFESSION. 51 ACT THIRD. SCENE FIRST. An Apartment in CastelWs palace, hung with heraldic devices and warlike trophies. Casielli speaks within. Do as thou wilt — Lorenzo, Casielli enters richly dressed, followed by Lorenzo. Bear to Lord Loredano this reply : We will attend his festival to-night, And speak our thanks for his prompt courtesy. [Exit Lorenzo. Enter Tehaldo. Welcome. Tehaldo. My noble lord, thou see'st me here To add my greetings to the gen'ral joy 52 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; With which all Milan welcomes your return. To what surprising cause may we ascribe Your coming ? For this very morn we learned You languished in the dungeons of the foe. Castelli, Briefly I'll tell thee all, my friend. When last I left my home, a year I dwelt amidst The din of camps ; till at one fierce affray, When left for dead upon the battle-field, A peasant staunched my wounds and bore me home. Beneath his roof my wasted strength returned. The anxious hours passed in vain endeavours To reach my country's troops, who, as I heard Were then retreating with their lessened numbers. Tebaldo. By what misfortune did thy efforts fail ? Castelli. My messenger was captured by the foe. Whose armed bands discovered my retreat. And cast me in their dungeons, doomed to pass In solitary torture, the ripe noon Of an ambitious life that dawned in glory. OR, THE CONFESSION. 53 Tehaldo. Most fearful doom. Death were a blessing to it. Castelli. For near five years I pined within their cells. But our brave Duke soon forced the enemy To own, that when they triumphed over us^ 'Twas chance, and not their valour, that prevailed. To rescue back some captives of high rank, I was restored to light ; but while my fate Hung doubtful on the deputies' success. The noble prince Alfonso, our ally, Offered a ransom of such matchless price, My foes cupidity no longer wavered : I was released — was free ! and in the month That since hath waned, my benefactor's daughter. The fair Vitellia, hath become my bride. And not alone her beauty did she give, But her kind parent with her golden dower So heaped my coffers, that I doubt, Tebaldo, If e'en the Duke himself can vie in splendour With me, the Count Castelli. 5* 54 OCTAVIA BRAGALDl ; Tehaldo. Joy to you ! Your treasures now will life your power far Above the reach of that proud censor, who Commands the homage of our gaudy court. By his abundant riches. Castelli. Say, whom mean you ? Tehaldo, Th' untitled noble, as our gay gallants In mockery term him, for the honour and Respect which all ranks pay. — Bragaldi. Castelli. Ah! Francesco ? Tehaldo assents. What ? Is he still living ? Tehaldo, He lives esteemed and honoured by the Duke. He's wedded too. OR, THE CONFESSION. 55 Castelli, Indeed? To whom ? Tebaldo. To one Of humble birth, 'tis said, now called by fame Peerless : Octavia Velti. Castelli. (To himself.) Mighty Heaven ! I hoped e'er this a convent or the grave Had shrouded her from every living eye. She lives ! and wedded ! Can she yet have learned She never was my wife ? Aloud. Where do they dwell ? Tebaldo. A few miles from the city, but the throng And bright array detain them now at court. [Enter Lorenzo. Lorenzo. The princess bids me say it is the hour At which Lord Loredano gives his feast. 5(5 OCTAVIA BRAGALDI ; Castelli. I come. [Exit Lorenzo. Tebaldo, you will join us there ? Tebaldo. I will. Till then farewell, my lord. Castelli. Adieu. [Exit Tebaldo. Wedded ! in honour wedded, and to Mm, Whom e'en this moth doth praise ! We soon must meet I fear. — So let it be. Away regret ! no tongue Shall ever triumph over Count CastelH. One object — Power ! One feeling — vast Ambition ! Alone shall urge or stir my passions now. [Enter Carlo. Carlo. My lord, a stranger here would speak with you. Enter Bragaldi, (richly dressed for the fostival,) and exit Carlo. Castelli. [Douhtingly. A stranger ! sure I've seen — OR, THE CONFESSION. 57 Bragaldi. My lord Castelli ! Castelli. [Assured by the sound of his voice. Bragaldi ! Bragaldi. You recognize me ? Castelli. Ay, I do ; Although time in his onward course hath changed The youth's smooth face to man's stern lineaments. "What would you with me ? Bragaldi. I'm Octavia's husband, You are Castelli — I have spoke my errand. Your new won grandeur, borrowed from your wife, (For I have learned that you are nobly wedded,) Avails not here. I ask that reparation Insulted pride demands from man to man. Castelli. What mean you ? 58 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Bragaldi, That your hired slave, Rossano, The trusty agent of your hellish scheme, Dying, confessed it unto me this day. When by deceit and art you robbed Octavia Of her untainted fame, her only treasure, You snatched from mem'ry's cheerless waste forever The one green spot that she could call her own, On which her eye might rest amid the ills Of this dark world, and all her heart you left A parched and barren wilderness. Castelli. Bragaldi, I cannot now repair the wrong. Bragaldi. 'Tis true, Most sadly true. You never can recall The blessed days of youthful innocence, When she was happy as the warbling birds That charm us with their song. 'Tis true, you ne'er Can give her back unblemished rectitude Nor take from her the shame she feels e'en now OR, THE CONFESSION. 59 For her unworthy love. You cannot pay Her o'er six years in sorrow wasted, nor Raise from the grave her doting, aged father, And teach his lips to bless her once again. All this you cannot do, but you can give Revenge ! I'm here, the champion of my wife. Strong in a husband's dignity and honour, I challenge you to combat ! Castelli. How ? Bragaldi — Bragaldi. Accept my offer, or be deemed a coward ! Castelli. Coward ! — That threat is impotent and vain. I am no coward, as the trophies tell That now adorn these old ancestral halls. All Milan knows and can attest my valour. This arm hath crushed my country's foes too oft. To tremble at the coward's brand. My rank Forbids that I should fight with thee. 60 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Bragaldi. Thy rank ! Is it not blackened and disgraced By withering a maiden's hopes ? Vain worm ! Thy rank ! Defend thyself, — or lo ! my sword — Castelli. \After a pause. Be calm, Bragaldi, or thou dost a murder. My weapon still is sheathed. Bragaldi. Once more reflect — If thy base heart demands reflection here ; By all the fire and restless energy That actuates thy bold aspiring manhood — By that ne'er-glutted appetite for blood Which most men share in common with the tiger — By deadly hate, such as we bear each other— Again I call thee forth, or dread my rage ! Castelli, Thou canst not injure me. Bragaldi, Proud man ! 'tis true, I cannot open lay thy soul 'mongst men. OR, THE CONFESSION. 61 And make them see the heartless wretch thou art ; But thou wilt meet thy punishment. The power Who guides the zephyr and the hurricane, Will hurl his fearful doom upon thy head E'en at the height of all thy guilty splendour. Castelli. Cease this vain conflict. Thou hast heard my answer. As strangers let us dwell. Pursue revenge No more, nor further torture thy wife's peace. Bragaldi. The thought of her alone restrains my arm. Vengeance dies not, though it may sleep awhile. Proud man, now tow'ring in the plenitude Of power, and shielded by thy lofty rank. Beware of my revenge. [Exit Bragaldi, Castelli, Accursed fiends! My bride ! Thy rank and dower scarce repay The powerless raging of my shackled passion. Yet 'twas my sole resource, for had we fought, The cause of our combat reaching her, 62 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; So well I know Vitellia's jealousy, My hopes of greatness would at once have sunk To ruin. Thou'rt too noble for a murder, — I fear thee not, Bragaldi. {Enter Lorenzo.) Lorenzo. Gracious sir, The princess waits. Castelli. I come. Now art must veil Each trace of the commotion of my soul. Away with hate ; and welcome revelry. [^Exit followed hy Lorenzo. SCENE SECOND. An apartment in BragaldVs mansion. Odavia enters, richly dressed for the festival. Octavia. Not here ! O, sure he never will return ! I know too well his deadly aim. Those shouts, Those deaf'ning shouts that pierced my aching ear. OR, THE CONFESSION. 63 E'en through the walls of this vast mansion, seemed To ring my knell. Castelli hath arrived. — I hear he's wedded! Oh, could that man wed! Could he approach heaven's altar with his bride, Solemnly swear to cherish and protect her. Without the damning thought searing his brain. That those black perjuries he swore to me ? Brogaldi, without. Octavia! Odavia, 'Tis his voice ! I thank thee. Heaven ! Bragaldi, without. My wife ! where art thou ? [He enters. Octavia. Thou'rt here in safety ? Bragaldi. I have seen Castelli. Octavia, inquiringly. Oh! my husband? 64 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Bragaldi. His arrogance hath crushed my hopes. He hath Refused to meet this arm. His rank — (Base worm !) Forbids it ! His high rank ! Would I had struck Him to the earth ! Odavia. Oh ! take me, take me home ! Quick let us hence and leave this treach'rous court! To-morrow, not to-night. We must attend The festival of Loredano first. I cannot, will not, love, so ill requite The kindness of our Duke. To-night I'll speak E'en at the feast, my thanks, and say farewell. To-morrow we will go. Odavia. I thank thee, for, Oh ! Here there is no peace! And shouldst thou meet Again that arrogant and heartless noble — Should I lose thee, my only hope, Bragaldi, What has this world of comfort left for me ! OR, THE CONFESSION. 65 The wrong that's past, is past. The fire is quenched-^ Oh ! for my sake then seek not to relume it ! If he rest silent, and no longer breathe A thought of injury against our peace — If he molest us not, let us be dumb. Bragaldi, Dear monitress, to me thy wish is law. Thy pure affection, like a guardian angel, Drives from my heart all fierce and bitter spirits. It is the hour. We'll attend the feast. Odavia, The last, I trust, of courtly fantasies My eyes will see. Clorinda may remain With our kind friend, the noble dame Larini. For a brief space at least let sorrow rest, Our gloomy frowns must not disturb the joy Of that assembly. Come ! As she is going, she turns and sees Bragaldi standing moodily abstracted. She arouses him. My husband ! Come ! [Exeunt Bragaldi and Odavia. 66 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; SCENE THIRD. A splendidly illuminated anteroom^ {in the palace of Loredano,) opening by a flight of steps upon an ele- vated terrace^ which leads to the garden beyond. Moonlight. On one side is seen the entrance to the banqueting rooms. Music is heard. Loredano enters attended by two pages, from the inner rooms^ meeting a few of the later visitors to whom he speaks, Loredano, So my kind friends, though late, you're welcome. What? Fair madam, you indeed have honored me. Will you go join the dance, or wait the banquet ? They pass on and Exeunt. Enter Bragaldi and Octavia. Most truly, lady, I rejoice to see Your presence grace these halls. I trust you'll ne'er Indulge again the cruel wish of soon Retiring from your sphere, our brilliant court. OR, THE CONFESSION. 67 Bragaldi. Ah ! much I fear your arguments, my lord, Will prove in vain. Is't not so ? [To Odavia, Odavia. Ay, indeed. Advances to Loredano, I sigh e'en now for my secluded home. My fond dependents, and the humble poor, Books, music, tapestry, my well-tried friends, My sister and my husband, all are found Collected near that old and quiet mansion. Such happiness is there, I almost deem An angel once did dwell beneath its roof. And still, for memory's sake, presides above it. Loredano. Thy sister and thy husband both, are here, Odavia, 'Tis true ; but their beloved and happy converse I can enjoy in peace and fondness there, — While here, a gay crowd so surrounds us both, The whisper of affection scarce is heard Amidst the noisy revel. 68 OCTAYIA BRAGALDi; Loredano. Gentle lady, Could hermits plead in tones like thine, I fear All courts would be deserted. ^Pietro enters from the banqueting room, Pietro. Noble sir, The banquet now awaits your presence. Bragaldi. We Will follow you, my lord. Loredano. Your pardon then. [Exit ^ followed hy Pietro and pages to the banquet. Octavia. [suddenly. Francesco ! if Castelli should be here — Bragaldi. Here ! no, Octavia, he arrived since noon, He'll not attend a festival to-night. As they are goings Marco enters from a private apartment. OR, THE CONFESSION. 69 Marco, Our honoured Duke hath bid me seek you, sir. He fain would ask your counsel for a moment. Bragaldi. I come this instant. \_Exit Marco. Octavia, I'll remain, Francesco, Till thy return, here in this quiet spot. Do not detain the Duke. Bragaldi, I'll not delay. [_Exit Bragaldi, Octavia, Hark! now the merry laugh of thoughtless hearts Comes faintly on my ear. Till he returns I'll rest upon yon terrace girt with flowers, And 'mid the perfume of those shady groves. List to the warbHng of the birds, that with The sighing breeze forms one continuous melody. 70 OCTAVIA BRAGALDI ; She ascends the terrace and seats herself. Enter from the banquet Castelli, passionately, followed by Te- baldoy Loredano and Alberto. Castelli. A thousand curses on his meddling tongue Loredano. My lord, I do beseech you, be appeased ; Your agitation, which all eyes observe, Destroys the quiet of your anxious friends. Castelli. (Pacing to and fro. Your pardon ; but my rage will have its way. Accursed be the babbling fool whose mad Officious prating hath destroyed my hopes ! Tebaldo. 'Tis true, your bride did bitterly reproach And threaten to return unto her father ; But hearing you once loved Bragaldi's wife, You need not wonder that indignant pride Thus suddenly o'ercame her. OR. THE CONFESSION. 71 Loredano. I entreat You'll now return unto the banquet. Castelli. Yes. I will return. I will not be the gape And stare of fools. I will return and prove The utter falsehood of that babbler's tale. CastellVs loud tones here first attract Odavia^s atten- tion towards what passes. She gradually recog- nizes him, and risings is about to withdraw, if possible, to escape notice, when her ear is arrested by the ensuing dialogue. Loredano. Indeed! Methought the tale was true. Castelli. I say 'Tis false — a vile and politic falsehood, Told to excite my wife to jealousy. Lo7'edano. Sayst thou, my lord, it is not true that thou Didst secretly, but falsely, wed Octavia ? 72 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Castelliy passionately. Am I — a noble, to be questioned thus Like a dishonest slave ? I say 'tis false ; I ne'er did wed her — never loved her — no ! , I could not love a wanton. Alberto. How? Tehaldo. What? Loredano. Strange ! (Simultaneously. Castelli. Ay. Though so young, her name was even then A scorn and by-word 'mongst the peasantry. Could Count Castelli e'er love such a woman ? Alberto. Most wonderful indeed ! Castelli, My worthy friends, Haste to the banquet, I will follow you. OR, THE CONFESSION. 73 During these lines, Alberto, Tebaldo, and Loredano exeunt rapidly to the banquet. Castelli pauses to reflect. Yes ; that's the plea ; I could not love a wanton. As he is going, Odavia rushes down the stage. Octavia. Great Heav'n ! will thou not strike the liar dead ! Castelli, after a pause. Avenging fiends ! Octavia ! can it be ? That face — that voice — 'tis she! and she hath heard — Octavia. Is it a dream ? Did I indeed hear those Dark words ? Oh, let me drive away the thought ! {Perceiving Castelli. He there ! 'Tis true — 'tis horrible reality ! Castelli, aside. I feel so conscious of my guilt, I dare Not stir ; and yet — should some one come — I must — 7 74 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Odavia. Hold, slanderer ! Stay, and hear her you've de- stroyed ! You've crushed my heart, and worse, disgraced my fame. And I should curse — 't were just ; but be a man ; Revoke the foul aspersion, and I pardon. Castelli. Revoke it ! Odavia. Ay ! take back the fest'ring lie, — For such it is as thy foul heart doth know. To those who heard the falsehood, say 't is false, And I will pardon thee. Castelli. It is in vain. I cannot now retract. Odavia. Drive me not mad! Stay, sure my wildness angers thee. Then hear me! OR, THE CONFESSION. 75 He turns, and for the first time meets her eye. A pause. With shame I own it, thou didst love me once, — , Deceive — desert me ! We've not met since then ! {She falls at his feet. By all the memory of thy broken vows — By all the misery those vows have cost me— By my poor aged father's broken heart — (Broken by thee ! — ) I do implore — CastellL Peace — peace ! Octavia. I, here, a wife to one all honour, sue With tears and prayers as warm and far more true Than those with which thou once didst kneel to me — If, in thy long captivity, remorse E'er touched thy soul — if thou art not all fiend — Not for my sake, but for my husband's, hear me ! Castelliy relenting. I may not listen, or my long-framed plans Will fall beneath her tears. Let me begone. 76 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Octavia. Thou hast a wife, who, being wedded, guards Her husband's fame ; were she, like me, reviled — For her sake, hear me. Castelli. Rushing past her. No! Away! Away! Octavia, Starting up\ Art thou a demon ? Have I bent my knee, Forgot the honour of the name I bear, Bragaldi's wife — and sued to thee in vain^ Thou heartless marble ? Castelli, Nay, to grant thy prayer Were death. Vain are thy tears ! Octavia ! falling 07i her knee. Then hear my curses ! May thy wife's fame unjustly be destroyed. And thou be scorned, unable to refute The falsehood ! — Oh, may children bear thy name And break their father's heart, as I for thee Broke mine. May ev'ry plague, save madness, haunt OR, THE CONFESSION. 77 Thee ! Mayst thou pray, like me, for madness, as A blessing ! May death, though sought, long shun thee, And when he doth approach bring ling'ring anguish Great as the pangs that torture my brain now ! v3 pause. Bragaldi speaks within. Bragaldi. Now with your gracious leave I'll seek my wife. At the sound of her hushandh voice, Odaviaj shriek- ing his name. Jails senseless. At the same mo- ment Castelli exclaims. Bragaldi's voice ! He comes ! Away ! Away ! [Castelli rushes out. Bragaldi enters from within, and is going towards the terrace, when, seeing his wife. He exclaims. What can this mean ? Octavia ! And as he is raising her from the ground, the curtain falls. END OF ACT III. 7* 78 OCTAVIA BRAGALDI ACT FOURTH. SCENE FIRST. An Apartment in CastelWs Palace. [Enter Castelli and Tehaldo. Castelli. Then here we say good night, Tebaldo, while I thank thee for thy zealous friendship, thus With speed to bring these welcome news. In truth The favours, wherewith our Duke hath graced me, Demand my earnest gratitude. Tebaldo. It is Unto your bride these thanks are due, my lord. Her father's int'rest at our ducal court Is such, that for his sake, whate'er she asks Is granted instantly. OR, THE CONFESSION. 79 Castelli. Her father is Indeed my steadfast friend. 'Twas well I learned The falsehood which that empty fool had told her. Her indignation was so fierce and bitter I feared I could not sooth it. Tehaldo. You succeeded, And I rejoice to hear it. Yet 'twas strange ; Had other lips than yours pronounced the words I should have deemed them slander. Castelli. Doubt them not. Tehaldo. But tell me, fear you not Bragaldi's wrath? He keenly feels affront, and may revenge — Castelli. My lofty rank doth raise 'twixt him and me A bar which e'en his wrath cannot o'erleap. And foiled in honourable vengeance, he, In deep seclusion, with his loving wife. Will hide his anger from the world. Good night. 80 OCTAVIA BRAGALDI ; Tebaldo, Adieu, my lord ! [Exit Tebaldo. Castelli. How now ! who waits ? [Enter Lorenzo. Lorenzo My servants need not wait without. Affairs Of state demand my care. I go not forth To-night. You may retire. Lorenzo. I obey. \_Eddt Lorenzo. Castelli. Oh guilt ! didst thou not thrive so well, it were Beneath me to descend to such a scheme. 'Tis a base lie I told against Octavia, Who ne'er indulged unholy thought or wish, Whose virtue forced me to deceive. Well, well: Remorse is vain — retreat impossible ! The falsehood uttered, I must now maintain it. OR, THE CONFESSION. 81 [Enter Lorenzo. Lorenzo. Gracious sir, a courier from the Duke. Castelli. Admit him straight. [Lorenzo shows in the Courier. Courier. Giving papers to Castelli, My lord, these from his grace. — Castelli, {after examining them turns to Lorenzo.) Retire to rest; let none remain attending. I would be private. [Exit Lorenzo. To Courier. This way, follow me. [Exeunt Castelli and Courier, 82 OCTAVIA BRAGALDl ,* SCENE SECOND. Odaviah Apartment, Octavia discovered seated at a table on which half- consumed tapers are burning. Octavia, after a pause. No, no ; 'tis vain ! It will not be ! There is no rest, Starting up. There is no peace for me ! The very walls around me have a voice And cry — «' Revenge !" — But how ? No means — but blood. Oh horrible ! I've brooded on that wish Till I have craved to die, or else go mad. Belied, disgraced for ever, and by him Whom I had pardoned and prayed not to hate — But savagely to slay — oh, madd'ning thought ! Yet life without it is one cheerless void — Its only hope and stay, its honour, gone, — While he, my base accuser, soars to fame ! The world, whose pigmy souls do feed on slander, OR, THE CONFESSION. 83 Will still repeat the tale with added taunts ! And then his loife, his proudly spotless wife, Who, never being tempted, ne'er did wrong, Will speak of me — of me ! with chilling sneer, Or worse, will pity me. Her pity ! Oh! {Shuddering Must then Bragaldi's wife bear this? no, never! [Enter Bragaldi. Bragaldi. I'll think no more, for 'tis Promethean torture. The tale thou toldst me seems of leaden weight To crush e'en Atlas' strength. Am I not bound — My proud will fettered, and the gladd'ning hope Of reparation gone for ever from me ? He hath refused to meet my challenge once, And dost thou think he'll now retract refusal ? Octavia. Is not the dagger swifter than the sword ? Bragaldi^ after a pause. That thought from thee, so kind and gentle once ? Can this be thou, thus changed ? 84 Odavia. 'TisI, thy wife! We never know the strength of our passions Till time or circumstance doth draw them forth. Look on the plains of our own Italy — . See nature smiling in triumphant beauty As naught but Time could change it. Look again ! And in the passing of an hour, see That lovely spectacle one blackened ruin — The solid earth rocked to its very centre, And from the fierce volcano streams of fire Devouring and destroying all around. E'en such a change, so sudden and so blasting, Hath passed o'er me. Bragaldi. And yet to murder — No ! Although I seek revenge, I ne'er could so Belie my nature. Odavia. What !— Bragaldi, think ! If Heav'n should bless, or curse, — our union with OR, THE CONFESSION. 85 A child, destined hereafter to inherit The name and honour of thy house, then think Of the foul plague-spot that will haunt him ever, His mother's infamy ! Bragaldi. No more ! no more ! Odavia. Think of thy pure and guileless sister's wo. Shunned by the virtuous and nobly born, — Abandoned e'en by him who sought her hand. Doomed to live on heart-broken and unloved, For bearing our spotted name. Bragaldi. Oh torture ! Odavia. If that doth fail, think of thine own proud fame. Thy glory, as thou deem'dst it, now profaned ! Behold thy honour as a husband lost, And thou held in the world a tool and dupe ! If these do not suffice, think then thou seest My father burst the confines of the grave, 8 86 And with his trembling lips appeal to thee For vengeance on the sland'rer of his child. Bragaldi. Thou'lt madden me, Octavia ! Odavia. Madden thee ! What then am I ? Thou canst not feel as / do. Woman alone can know what woman feels When thus reviled and slandered. Bragaldi. Yes, by heaven ! It were indeed a glorious blow to strike The villain dead this very night ! — and yet — To stab him like a midnight murderer That slays for gold — like an assassin ! never ! Octavia. And canst thou hesitate to slay that man Who now in triumph smiles in scorn upon thee?- Or pities thee, the poor disgraced Bragaldi ! By whom, before th' assembled, list'ning nobles, Thy faithful w^ife, whose infamy thou shar'st, OR, THE CONFESSION. 87 Was loudly branded with the name of — wanton ! Doth not that word send lightning through thy veins ? Doth it not chase away all thought of judgment Here — all deeper dread of wrath hereafter ? Think On that one word — that burning, blistering word, And waver if thou canst ! Bragaldi. I pause no more. Here, by thy wrongs, behold me firmly swear This night, this very hour, Castelli dies ! Avenging Heaven ! hear — attest my oath ! Farew^ell. Fear not. E'en should I hesitate, That word alone would spur me to the blow. I go, Octavia. Doubt me not. I've sworn. [_Exit Bragaldi. Octavia, listening at the door. He's gone ! His tread sounds fainter, fainter still ! Soon wall Castelli's eyes be closed. In Ufe's Last agony his breath will curse his slayer With its blood-stifled gasp. Ah ! Shuddering. She totters to a chair. Then listens. Hush! Hark! now 88 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; That step — 'tis heard no more. A pause. E'en since last night Have I become so desperate and hardened That I can calmly listen to the tread Of one who goes to slay — and he my husband 1 Starting up. Oh ! that I were a child again, as blithe As when I knelt beside my father's knee And nightly breathed my guileless prayers to Heav'n ! And why not now pray thus to ease my heart? No, no, J dare not pray ! — Who's there ? Well, speak ! 'Tis no one. All is still. — I'll wake Clorinda, I cannot bear to be thus left alone. Yet not alone, — for eyes are gazing on me, And voices whisper me — and shadows move — Brain ! Brain ! Turn not with agony ! — I'll not Stay here — I'll follow him, ere I go mad And so forget his name. Bragaldi! Hear! I come ! I come ! Octavia rushes off. OR, THE CONFESSION. 89 SCENE THIRD. Another Apartment in BragaldPs Mansion. [Enter Clorinda and Giulian. Clorinda. Do then as I have told thee, faithful Giulian, And that despatched, get thee to rest, good friend. Giulian. I fear my lady is not well, sweet madam. Clorinda. The court's gay revelry exhausts her strength. The memory of her former woes still frights her, E'en as a shadow doth a timid child. And casts a partial gloom o'er all her peace. But once to-day I've seen her; 'tis her will That no one should disturb her privacy. Giulian. It is my duty to obey, but this seclusion bodes ill for my lady's health. \_T1ie hell tolls one. 8* 90 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Clorinda. An hour past midnight ! Hasten, Giulian : now Bid all retire to rest, and go thyself. Thine aged head requires repose far more Than my young eyes, and even they, in sooth, Are almost closed with weariness. Giulian. Shall I call thy maiden, madam ? Clorinda. Oh no ! Yonder she waits for me e'en now, and in Her heart, I doubt not, murmurs sadly at My long delay. Good night. Giulian. Good night, sweet madam ; peaceful sleep And happy dreams. attend you. Clorinda. Thanks. Though thy wish I trust is needless. Girlhood's bright content And a pure heart bring peace to any pillow. Be it of humble maid, or high-born dame. Good-night. [Exeunt Clorinda and Giulian. OR, THE CONFESSION. 91 SCENE FOURTH. The Court-yard of CastelWs Palace, with gates at the back, leading to the street. On one side is the entrance to the palace through a portico up a flight of steps. Moonlight. Castelli enters from the palace with papers in his hand, followed by the Courier, Castelli. This business wherewith our Duke hath charged me Indeed is weighty, and I marvel not That by this private summons he commands me So late to meet in secret at the palace. Go thou at once and say I'll follow quickly. I'll but inform my wife that I must leave her, Then instantly attend his grace's will. Courier. I shall repeat your message. ( Goes out through the centre gate. Castelli. So 'tis well. Chance seems to aid all my attempts at power. — 92 OCTAFIA BRAGALDi; My servants sleep, fatigued by late carousing ; I'll not awake them, for 'tis best they know not Whither I go. No time is to be lost. [Exit into palace. Enter Bragaldi with a cloak and mask through the gates. Bragaldi. All's silent now ; all nature is at rest; Ay ; e'en the city's busy stir is hushed. Yonder's his palace, where the tired menials Have left the door unguarded. Now to lure Him forth — I am resolved ; no power can move me. Ye poor disguises, aids to my design, {Putting on the mask and cloak. For this one deed I use ye ; but that done, With what exulting joy I'll cast ye off! One blow ! No pause — delay is ruin. Now Avenging powers, aid me! I am firm — He dies ! [ Castelli enters from the palace. Castelli. So, I am ready iVll is still. OR, THE CONFESSION. 93 Should I not take a single servant ? No ; There's no fear of robbers here in Milan. 'aldij advancing, 'Tishe! Castelli, drawing his sword. How now ! what seek you here ? Bragaldi, Your blood. Defend yourself! Rushes upon him, disarms and stabs him with the dagger. Castelli. Help there ! Beset by villains At my palace gate ! Whose arm hath struck — Bragaldi^ unmasking. Behold! Bragaldi ! Castelli. Ah ! Bragaldi ! Slain by thee ! Just Heav'n ! 94 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Odavia, speaking without. This must be the spot. Where art thou ? {She enters through the gates. \ Speak ! my husband ? Bragaldi. Octavia ! Look ! thou art avenged. Castelli. Octavia! Oh! Forgive my falsehood — retribution— Heav'n — Protect my wife. — and mercy — Dies. END OF ACT IV. OR, THE CONFESSION. 95 ACT FIFTH. SCENE FIRST. Odavia^s apartment. Odavia discovered leaning against the open window. Odavia. Night ! welcome night ! when wilt thou come again ! ! when man's villany first made me grieve, In my own heart I looked and hoped for peace, — Now dare I not appeal unto that Heav'n 1 have so far incensed. Jl Imocking heard. Who's there ! [Filter Clorinda. Clorinda. 'Tis I. I fear, sweet sister, that you are not well. Odavia. In my own thoughts I bear a gnawing grief That soon will be my death. 96 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Clorinda. One early fauli Alone has been the source of all this wo. Sad moral — ^learned too late ! But sure, if thou For that one error, by thy youth excused, Dost feel such deep regret, think ! what must those Endure, whose souls are burthened with a crime! Odavia. Aside. Oh agony ! Aloud. I tell thee, misery ! Clorinda. Why, thou couldst not more deeply grieve were thy Soul stained with blood. Odavia. Bood ! Name it not ! Away ! Rushes past her. Clorinda is approaching her. Nay, touch me not, for I shall poison thee ; There's such a pestilence doth cling to me I do infect the very air I breathe. Clorinda. I know the cause that thus alarms thee. Ay ! OR, THE CONFESSION. 97 Odavia. Tis false ! (Recollecting herself.) Nay, heed me not. Aside. Oh torture Clorinda. Yes. I know the cause. Castelli has returned. I've learned his treachery in wedding thee, But he'll not now molest thee. Octavia. Art thou sure ? Aside. Eternity, thou canst not have in store Worse agony than this ! Clorinda. Hast seen his wife ? Though he deserves her not, Alberto says So truly doth she love him, that his death Would break her heart. Octavia. Aside. And I have widowed her ! Aloud. How have I injured thee, that thou shouldst tear My heartstrings thus ? 98 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Clorinda. What have I said ? I spoke But to divert thy thoughts. Odavia. Ay, to divert ! Why how thou art alarmed. A word will fright thee. Indeed 'tis mirthful. Wildly. Clorinda. Sister, such strange mirth Is fearful. I will leave thee for awhile. Jipart. I'll meet Alberto ere he seeks my brother, For while this woful mystery exists There is no room for joy. Aloud. Heav'n bless thee, sister ! Octavittf shuddenng. Thou too art changed into a fiend to mock me ! Leave me ! Leave me ! Clorinda approaches to embrace her. She shrinks from her touch. Away ! I am unworthy ! [Exit Clonnda, sorrowfully. OR, THE CONFESSION. 99 Would heaven, in its mercy, drive me mad ! I know not what a hardened villain feels. But oh ! a once pure heart, sunk into guilt, Endures on earth all pangs condemned souls Hereafter suffer in perdition. — Could I rest — forgetfulness brings peace ! Oh then 'Tis surely not for me ! \_Exit Octavia, SCENE SECOND. Jin Apartment in Bragaldih Mansion. Enter Giulian meeting Alberto. Alberto^ hastily. Giulian, conduct me to Bragaldi, haste — Or to Clorinda, instantly. Giulian. My lord? Alberto. fyet there's time I'd warn him. Jfoise heard. 'Tis too late. 100 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Giulian^ looking off. What means that noise ? Soldiers here ! They Crowd the hall, and now surround each door. What can this mean ? Alberto retires dejectedly. \Enter Tebaldo. Tehaldo, How now, good Giulian, where's your master ? Giulian. In his own apartment. Has aught occurred, my lord ? Some danger to the state ? Tebaldo. None. Giulian. My lord, forgive me ; I am old, and have lived with my kind master since his birth. I know his noble heart, and his affection makes me think him my son and not my master. Therefore I pray you tell me why you come with these soldiers to seek him so hurriedly? Tebaldo. He is accused of murder. OU, THE CONFESSION. 101 Giulian. Murder ! Tehaldo. Yes. This morn at day-break the brave Count Castelli Was found before his palace entrance, slain. Giulian. And you suspect my master ? Tehaldo. Castelli uttered slander 'gainst Octavia : Thy master vowed revenge. Not on these grounds Alone do we suspect. Know'st thou this jewel .? Shows the cross worn by Octavia, and which Jell from her girdle in the last scene of Act IV. Giulian. 'Tis very like one that my lady wears. Tebaldo. 'Twas found beside Castelli's murdered corse. Giulian. Alas ! Alas ! 9* 102 OCTAVIA EIIAGALDI : Tehaldo. His death demands atonement. Ho ! within there ! [Enter Luigi. Conduct me to your lord. Alberto, follow ! [Exeunt Luigi and Tehaldo. Alberto^ advancing. Go, Giulian, to Clorinda ; bid her maidens Break gently to her the sad news, and sooth her ; But for the present, keep her from her brother. [Exit Giulian. Unlooked for wo ! Now then to seek my friend. Justice must be obeyed. Alas ! Bragaldi ! [Exit Alberto. SCENE THIRD. Another Apartment in BragaldVs mansion. Centr doors leading to an inner room. [Enter Bragaldi. Bragaldi. My poor Octavia ! now she sleeps in peace. OR, THE CONFESSION. 103 This respite from despair may aid her, else Her frame too sure will sink beneath the blow. Ere this 'tis known Castelli has been slain. Where will suspicion light? On me? There are No proofs; if asked, I can deny. What! lie To screen my life ! But will death be my doom ? A husband's honour dwells within his wife, And she once slandered, what man's heart could be So base and cold as not to seek atonement ! Yet midnight murder — such it is in truth, And I must bear the stain upon my soul. My wife ! Thy love has been my all on earth, Nor will I shrink from death itself for thee. ^Enter Luigi. Luigi. ' The Lord Orsani here would speak with you. [Enter Tebaldo and exit Luigi. Bragaldi. Thou'rt welcome, friend. Tebaldo. I bring unwelcome news. 104 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; {An officer and four guards enter ^ and after them, Alberto. The officer stations the guards 'at the different doors, and then goes off towards the other apartments.) I come on a most fearful errand. Bragaldi. Speak! Tebaldo. Castelli has been murdered. Bragaldi. Murdered! Tebaldo. Last night before his palace-door. Accuse me of the deed ? Ay And you Tebaldo. The public voice Accuses thee — not I ; and as thy friend OR, THE CONFESSION. 105 The Duke bade us in private tell thee this. In mem'ry of the high respect he bore thee. Bragaldi, I thank his mercy. Why am I accused ? Tehaldo, Thy story known did first suggest the thought To ev'ry mind ; but near the corse was found This curious jewel. [Giving it\ Bragaldi. Can it be ? Your wife Tebaldo. Wears one that much resembles it. Bragaldi. Not she. I have a jewel like it. She has none. It does resemble mine. {Returns it.) The officer re-enters with the cloak Bragaldi wore in the last scene of the Ath act. Tebaldo. How now ? 106 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Officer. My lord, Obeying your directions, we have searched Throughout the mansion, and have found this man- tle. 'Tis yours Tebaldo to Bragaldi. Bragaldi. It is. Officer^ unfolding it. Behold ! 'tis stained with blood. A pause. Bragaldi. Then be it so. Away all vain disguise ! The jewel is my own. I own it. Yes, I slew Castelli. I could stoop to murder, Commit a crime to satisfy revenge, But cannot stoop to lie. I slew Castelli. Tebaldo to officer, I'll to the palace. Guard the pris'ner well. \_Exit Tebaldo. OR, THE CONFESSION. 107 Alberto advancing. How could thy nature so debase itself? Bragaldi. Question me not, my friend. I will not answer. No commune on my motives will I hold But 'twixt my heart and heaven. I've confessed. My doom is death. Alberto. Soon as I heard the tale I came, (too late, alas!) to warn thee. Still A friend may sooth thy wo. Officer advancing to Bragaldi. Good sir — Alberto. I pray Let me perform thy duty. Officer assents and retires. Thanks! To Bragaldi, Your sword. Bragaldi, offering it. 'Tis here unstained. For my sake, wear it. 108 OCTAVIA BRAGALDI j He recoils. Nay, It hath been used but in my country's cause. Take it, and when thou hear'st my name reviled, Let it remind thee of a man whose honour Was never stained but by one fearful deed. Alberto. I take it, and will ever treasure it. Hast thou no other weapon ? Bragaldi. None. — My sister- How fares she ? doth she know ? — Alberto. She does, and weeps Bragaldi. When I am gone, protect In solitude. Her! Alberto. With my life. My mother shall be hers. OR, THE CONFESSION. 109 Bragaldi. Thanks — thanks ! I would not see her, but I pray Give her my heart's best wish, a brother's blessing. My poor domestics too — Alberto. They shall be cared for. Bragaldi. And for my wife — Odavia, within. Detain me not — I will — I must have entrance. She rushes in. Oh, Bragaldi, speak What mean these armed men around the door ? Bragaldi. ■ Castelli has been murdered. I'm accused. Odavia. Thou ! no ! who dares — Bragaldi. I have confessed. 10 110 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Odavia. 'Tis false. To Alberto and Officer. 'Twas I that murdered him — I say 'twas I. I urged my husband on — I swear 'twas I. If he is doomed, why I alike am guilty ; The partner of his crime should suffer with him. Rushing into his aims. Bragaldi. My friends, believe her not. She raves. I slew him. I saw my wife, — my honoured, faithful w^ife, Disgraced and slandered by the villain who First w^on her — then deceived her ! Could I pause ? Could I behold her thus deprived of all — The only pride of woman torn away — Her life, a life of shame and misery — Could I see this and tamely bear it ? No ; A true Italian spirit w^armed my heart, Keen to perceive affront, and as the lightning Swift to avenge a wrong. OR, THE COiMFESSION. Ill Odavia. Oh ! say not so ! My desp'rate passion urged thee on to guilt — Yet thou'lt forgive — Bragaldi. Forgive, and love thee ever ! Blame not thyself alone. Castelli's scorn Increased the flame thy woes had kindled here. Alberto, — yes ! his arrogant contempt Denied all reparation for his guilt. A soldier's pride — my honour as a husband — My happiness — my once untarnished name — All withered by his pois'nous breath : — I sought To crush the reptile ; nor observed the flower "Which that rash action trampled in the dust. Odavia. Mourn not for me ! Thou art the only tie That made me love the world. Thou gone, it would Be misery to live. Bragaldi. Still true ! still firm Thy love! I've lived for thee alone, Octavia ; For thy sake I'll gladly die. 112 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; The officer advances^ having examined the inner room. Officer, Good sir, My duty bids. You must retire hence To yonder chamber more securely guarded. Bragaldi. I go— Octavia. But not alone. No arm will tear A poor, heartbroken wife from her doomed lord. We will not part on earth. Officer. Then be it so. I would be merciful to the extent My orders grant. The guard shall here remain. Bragaldi, Octavia, come 1 In death alone thou'lt find The refuge which I cannot give thee now. Daughter of sorrow, in the grave at least Thou wilt be safe from persecuting slander — OR, THE CONFESSION. 113 It cannot reach thee there. — Alberto, I Had deemed my heart so fenced with iron pride That naught could reach it; but thy kindness has O'ercome me. I rejoice CasteUi's dead, And know his fate deserved. But when I see The gen'ral wreck I've caused around me here, J feel, — the blindness of man's puny will E'en in success destroys itself, and so Should leave revenge to Heaven's hand alone! He bids Alberto farewell. Then, extending his arms to Odavia! She rushes to him. They retire to the inner apartment and the doors are closed. A trumpet sounds without. Alberto. Say, what new alarm is this } [Enter Luigi, Luigi. The nobles with a mandate from the Duke. [Enter Loredana, and two other nobles, Loredano, We come with woful tidings. Speak, Larini Where are thy friends ? 10* 114 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Alberto. E'en now they left me in Such bitter anguish ! — In the battle's roar I've seen my truest friend struck down beside me, And heard his dying groan for those afar — I've seen the agony of her fond heart Who watched for his return, and flying swift To give him welcome, only met his corse! But oh ! their wo ne'er equalled this despair, For self-reproach had no part in their grief. Loredano, Is then Octavia and Bragaldi's love Still firm ? Alberto. Unchanging as the will of Heav'n ! Each seeks to save the other from the doom That threatens both. Their fate on earth is sealed. But midvSt the darkness of the tomb, one gleam Of sunshine lingers still with blessed power — Love, strongest e'en in death ! — no more, I pray ! [Enter Tebaldo, What brings you here ? OR, THE CONFESSION. 115 Tehaldo, It is the Duke's command That we should guard the pris'ner to the palace. A sound of something falling in the inner room. Hark ! What means that noise ? Where is Bragaldi.-^ Officer. In yonder room, my lord. His wife is with him. Tehaldo. Unclose the doors^ and bring them forth. The doors are opened, and as the officer is about to enter, Octavia appears. Octavia, wildly. Forbear ! Advance not nearer ! Strangers here ! Whom seek ye? Tehaldo. Thy husband, lady, he must hence with us. Octavia. Go, bring him forth. 116 OCTAVIA BRAGALDi; Alberto and officer enter the room immediately Alberto, within. Merciful Heaven! Tebaldo and Loredano. Speak ! Alberto, rushing out with a dagger. Bragaldi's dead ! All, Dead ! Alberto, Ay ! it is too true. He lies on yonder couch ; his life extinct, — This reeking dagger by his side — Tebaldo. Whence came it ? Octavia. From me ! Ha ! he hath foiled you — he defies you — He ne'er would lay his head upon the block. With wild exultation, ending in passionate grief, He's dead !— He's dead !— He's dead !— OR, THE CONFESSION. 117 Loredano. Unhappy man ! Dupe of mistaken vengeance.- — Art thou gone ! Let us bear hence his wife and bring her comfort. Odavia, waving him off still more wildly. Comfort ! I have it. I shall soon rejoin him. Poison now runs through my veins. Mherto. Call help ! Octavia, supported by Alberto. No ! Stay ! I urged — Bragaldi — to the murder. Oh brain ! Seeking for her cross and not finding it about her. That cross ! Tebaldo shows it to her. She presses it to her heart, 'Twas his first gift. Bury it with me, — and lay us in one grave. — Your prayers ! .Alberto. She's dying ! Help ! Octavia. Death's chill is on me now. My heart's all ice— my brain's all fire ! See, see — 118 OCTAVIA BRAGALDI. There's my father. Father ! my heart is broken — do not trample on it. Curse me not ! Mercy ! Mercy! Stay! — What flood rises round me.'' 'Tis dark and thick — 'tis blood — blood — blood! It rises, it chokes, it stifles me ! Help ! — Ah ! I'm free — •. I'm free. Alberto. Alas ! her reason's fled. Odavia. Bragaldi ! Hark ! Castelli speaks, yet lightning comes not from Heaven to blast him. Courage ! One blow ! Revenge ! Is't done ? — Yes, there the blood flows on — Hark ! he curses — curses ! Look ! is he alive ^ It is a spectre. Ah ! 'tis not Castelli. It is my father! Bragaldi! See! I've murdered my own father ! (She falls dead. Clorinda hastens ojiy followed by Giulian. Alberto raises Odavia in his arms : Clorinda assisting him; while the otiier characters group around them in silence. THE END. FUGITIVE PIECES. On the day on which the account of Queen Victoria's corona- tion arrived in New York, I wrote the ensuing metrical sketch. It derives extraneous interest from the fact of its having been read and accepted, nearly six years afterwards, by the Sovereign and her royal mother, who are its heroines. The gracious promp- titude of their acceptance of it, immediately upon my single and unadorned request, was doubly flattering, as it was a compliment far more to my nation, than to me as an individual. The " Dead Geranium" is a simple narration of minute family occurrences. The Address on the Return of the Volunteers was written in Augusta ; the Georgian Volunteers having returned from Florida, where they had endured severe and protracted hardships, and whither they had gone to protect their fellow-countrymen from the destructive incursions of the adjacent Indian tribes. These volunteers were among the most worthy and respectable citizens of Augusta, and left their professions and trades, their families and their substance, to befriend others without fee or reward. u THE NIGHT OF THE COKONATION. WRITTEN ON READING THE ACCOUNT OF THE CORONATION OF VICTORIA I. And all the people shouted and said God save the King /" I. Samuel. It is the dead of night, all London is at rest ; Save where from yonder wide, illuminated street, The hum of crowds, who seek with eager step their homes. Breaks on the watcher's ear. Anon, the broken laugh Of one o'ercome with wine, jars on the silent air. In that vast room the feast is spread ; the sparkling cup Is passed from hand to hand : and midst their glee, the shout 124 THE NIGHT OF THE CORONATION. <« Long live the Queen /" startles the neigh'bring dreamers. While Low crouching cold in yon recess, the beggar clasps Her tired child, and strives to wrap her in the rags That with each effort tear afresh. That babe's the last Of a once merry throng, whom want and foul dis- ease Have slain. The mother weeps in grief, but not despair ; She puts her trust in Him who answered Hagar's cry: Her longing eyes peer through the open window, where The festive board speaks plenty, while she starves without — The laugh, the toast, the song, alternate pass. — A guest Withdraws from that carouse, and stalking home- ward, meets The weeping outcast. " What ! In tears ? that must not be. No grief on such a night as this. Here, lone one, take THE NIGHT OF THE CORONATION. 125 These coins. Get thee a home, warm clothing, food and fire. To-night's a jubilee; go, — cry (■Long live the Queen. ^ " — The poor one sees the shining gold, and on the stones Falls trembling on her knees, and shrieks thanks- giving forth, — Praise unto Heav'n and gratitude to him who thus Hath saved tw^o lives. " God bless thee, and repay tenfold Thy bounty ! Soon this babe shall pray for thee— and though As yet, poor child of sorrow, nameless she hath been, I'll call her now, Victoria ! While the onward course Of years succeeding, marks this joyous day's re- turn. The name may nourish still in her young heart the thought Of charity to all, and trust in Heav'n. I now With happy heart indeed may cry, < Long live the Queen .'' " — 11* 126 THE NIGHT OF THE CORONATION. The lonely sentinel \\'ho paces near yon gate, Hearing the sound, unconsciously unites his shout With hers, — <' Long live the QueenV — Then as his measured round Brings him hard by that vast majestic pile,* his voice Low whisp'ring dies away, and slowly he stalks on. In yon rich chamber sits a girl o'er whose pure brow The suns of nineteen summers have not shed a care. Upon that bed, whose silken fringes sweep the floor, Is cast a crimson robe, with gold and ermine decked ; The crown lies near it, thrown impatiently aside. Clusters of gems, and broidered badges of her state Are scattered at her feet. Attendance irksome felt But now, she bade all leave her — she's alone with Heav'n. Her hair she hath unloosed to cool her fevered brain. Her face is passionless — not calm. A solemn act Hath left its impress ; tender feelings, anxious thoughts, Religious hopes, are struggling there. She is not now * Buckingham Palace. THE NIGHT OF THE CORONATION. 127 The queen of ocean's pride, fair Britain's rocky isle, — She is the young, pure, trusting, inexperienced girl, Launched on a sea as yet by her unknown, un- crossed. The commune Christians hold in solitude with Heav'n Bursts from her thoughtful soul. " Yes, it is past! The deed That binds me to a life of lofty destiny Is now fulfilled. I am a queen ! Have ta'en the oath! And felt poured on me the anointing oil that still Since Saul arose hath been the chosen sign to mark God's stewards on earth for good—but oh ! too oft for harm. What though each subject's heart was raised in love and trust Throughout the land this day towards me ! What though before My footstool knelt the patriot, statesman, warrior, sage, With white hairs bowed in homage to a timid girl I 128 THE NIGHT OF THE CORONATION. What though this day first saw a heathen envoy* come 111 peace to hail the crowning of a Christian king! What though two gen'rals,f who in strife had oft, as chiefs Of adverse armies, met, now both in friendship's bonds United, cheered me there ! Ah no ! it was not these, Though glad events they are, that filled me with deep thoughts : It was the awful charge that I this day have ta'en Upon myself.—" So mused the maid, when rising swift, As by a sudden impulse urged, upon her knees She sunk, and with clasped hands raised her ador- ing eyes To Him who still is present ev'ry where, unseen. The faith in w^hich she hath been reared doth fill her heart, And in its creed she offers up a queen's first prayer. '« Almighty God ! to Thee alone I look for aid. * Turkish Ambassador. t Wellington and Soult. THE NIGHT OF THE CORONATION. 129 Most Blessed Spirit ! pour the vials of Thy grace On me ! Oh, make me humble — grant me a new heart ! Father ! perfect the work the spirit shall begin ! Let me for Thy ten talents, twenty \.?i\Qn{s gain ; And let me hear advice — accept the good — eschew The evil; — make my kingdom prosper, and the poor, Neglected oft, my ceaseless care. Let flatt'ry's in- cense Have no pow'r to cloud Truth's image shrined within My soul. Grant me a mind, that like Ithuriel's spear. Bids vice start forth in its real hideous shape, that I May openly denounce and shun it. Chief of all My sex in rank, frame me its model bright — the shield Protecting female innocence. When lives Thou gav'st Are in my hand, let * mercy season justice,' nor Let misplaced clemency encourage vice. If I Must wed, then guide my girlish fancy to select 130 THE NIGHT OF THE CORONATION. One whose unspotted worth may prove the piibUc weal. Oh, aid me to remain Thy Faith's Defender still ! By me revered and practised, Omnipresent make Religion ! Help me so to live, that when within Thy balance weighed, I may not be found want- ing ! — Lord ! On her who faithfully Thy will hath ever done — Who, under Thee, hath made me what I am, — bestow Thy golden joys ; let her in life and death be blest, And feel her love for me hath not been unreturned. « Blessed Redeemer, at Thy feet I cast my weight Of sin ! Clothe me in faith, and with Thy precious blood. Shed for all sinners, w^ash me clean. Then, after death. Lead me to taste salvation, where the hours will pass In hymns of ceaseless praise unto the Triune God!—" Her prayer is o'er; she's happy: not upon herself She leans — a bruised reed; but on the Rock of Truth, THE NIGHT OF THE CORONATION. 131 Which to her thirsty lips doth yield its living streams. She rises. — Her young heart throbs quicker, and a smile Of warm, expecting love, lights up her face. A step, Gentle, yet eager, echoes on the night. A door Is softly opened. Lo ! a matron comes: her mien Majestic : beauty lingers o'er the ripened form As loath to lose its once loved resting-place, where time And care, and thought matured, have cast a mellow shade. " Mother !— " « 199 Apart. Father and brother, ye shall find me true : From these I'll hide my grief; but once alone, I'll quench my fire in tears. Going. Bale to Ratliffe. Now to send news To Powhatan touching the chance we've seized To twhart his treachery. At that worp. Pocahontas turns round hastily. Pocahontas. In a daughter's ear Who dares to breathe that word against her sire } To free his country from invaders' tread He tries the arts his rugged life has taught. Ye blame the red man, yet adopt his wiles. Why do ye practise treachery, deceit. Trampling on hospitable gratitude By thus constraining me ? Oh shame ! The stream Of patriot love flows in my father'' s heart, Though shadowed so* by dark enlacing woods, The Sun of mercy cannot always pierce 200 THE FOREST PRINCESS; Their thick unwholesome gloom. — No such excuse Is yours : for from the current of your souls The Tomahawk of Ages has hewn down All that impeded the pure light of heaven ! She is going in, while the Governor and his party stand in mute surprise. TJie doors are closed upon her. Dale and his friends exeunt. SGENE THIRD. The forest near James Town. In the distance the waters of the swamp are seen through the woods. Clumps of trees in the foreground at the foot of a declivity. Daylight^ Enter Hunt and Rolfe, Bolfe. Cruel mischance ! Hunt. Unfortunate, that ere we reached the bank, The boat was on her way. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 201 Rolfe. Ah ! much I fear Some ill is plotting, and the message giv'n, A deep-laid scheme. Hunt. Here's Francis. Francis enters hastily. Francis. In the fort You both are wanted. The young princess is Detained a hostage till her father comes To sign a peace. Rolfe. Oh shame and treachery ! Francis. You, Doctor Hunt, she'd speak with. Lose no time. ^Exit Francis. Rolfe. Base poHcy ! I'll go remonstrate with — 202 THE FOREST PRINCESS; Hunt, detaining him. Stay ! Even my grey hairs would fail to gain For me a hearing. How much less couldst thou ! Let old experience check thy youthful wrath. Calm thee, my son. Come on. They are going, Volday enters and intercepts them, Volday. Stay yet awhile. You pass not here, good youth. Rolfe. Who'll stay me ? Volday, drawing his sword, I! Resist not. I have those at hand whose darts Ne'er miss their aim. JRolfe. Thou art the traitor then ! Hunt is restraining him. Hold me not, worthy sir; forbearance now Were cowardice. Draws his sword. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 203 Volday sarcastically. Chivalrous youth ! Stand back : The odds are desperate — He gives a signal and a number of Indians ^ armed^ start forth from behind the trees and mounds. Behold ! Bolfe, Villain! Detain me not. He endeavours to pass Volday who rushes upon him — they fight. Hunt has drawn his swordj but has been almost instantly seized by two savages. Volday is about to slay Bolfe, when Powhatan appears followed by Opachisco and other savages. Powhatan. Desist ! Shed not the blood Of thine own people. Powhatan demands His scalp-lock. Approaches Rolfe with his toma- hawk to execute his i7itention when he sees the chain around Rolfe^s neck. Pale-face ! whence that token ? Speak ! No English hand hath wrought it. 204 THE FOREST PRINCESS J Rolfe. By thy child, If thou art Powhatan, 'twas given. Powhatan. Rise : Thou and thy friend pass free. The Indians release Hunt. That token is A pledge of faith, which by a red man ne'er Was broken or forgot. Volday advances menacingly. Molest them not. On peril of thy life. Rolfe. Thanks, savage chief! Powhatan. Return not to the fort, for there I plan Destruction. Hunt. Know you not your hopes are foiled ? Each outlet guarded, — food and arms supplied, By troops in ships now landed ? OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 205 Powhatan wonderstruck. What? Hunt pointing to Volday. I heard Sir Thomas Dale that villain charge To bear this news to thee. Rolfe. He speaks the truth Volday y sullenly. He does. I own it. Powhatan, Double traitor ! Yes, False to thy countrymen, and false to me. Volday. I sought revenge — as thou dost, Powhatan. Powhatan. The red man wars with strangers, enemies : But thou wouldst slay thy brothers. Such excuse Blackens still more thy deed. 18 206 THE FOREST PRINCESS; Volday is about to speak. Silence ! They most Who profit by a traitor's arts, despise, E'en while they use him. To Rolfe. Stranger, speak ! my child Has left her father's home. When did she give That pledge ? Rolfe. Last night within the fort, where now She is detained a hostage. Powhatan. There ! my child ! And but for thee might Powhatan ere this Have given signal for the darts to slay His daughter ! To Volday. Monster ! didst thou seek to wade Through Pocahontas' blood to vengeance ? To the Indians. Braves, Away with him to death ! Volday darts through the trees. Pursue him ! Though Your speed o'ertake him not, your arrows will. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 207 A party of Indians headed hy Opachisco rush in pur- suit of Volday^ shouting the warwhoop, Ratlife enters with white flag, Ratliffe, Virginia's king, of thy child's freedom now I come to treat. Powhatan. Inform the white man's chief How great soe'er the ransom, Powhatan Will pay it, and here offers all the arms In traffic bought — and seven pale-faced menj Captured near Orapaks, and pris'ners now, With corn five hundred measures, for his child. Ratliffe. I'll bear your message, chief. But say, are these Your pris'ners too ? Points to Rolfe and Hunt, Powhatan. No, they are free. Depart, Young brave, seek and protect my child. 208 THE FOREST PRINCESS ; Rolfe. While life Remains. Till in thy arms again she rests I'll guard her with a brother's jealous care. Exeunt Rolfe and Hunt, Itatliffe, With speed, great chief, I will return and bring The governor's reply. Powhatan. Here, Powhatan Will wait for thee. Exit Ratliffe. Opacliisco enters followed by the Indians, Opachisco. Great king ! we fast pursued The stranger. Thick our arrows round him flew. In the dark waters of the swamp he plunged, Nor could we trace him more. Powhatan. There let him drown, — Or starve, if he have reached the bank.. — 'Tis well. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 209 Opachisco retires up the stage. Reflecting. More ships — arms — food — more men! 'Tis vain to strive. Like swollen streams they gain upon the land, And one day will possess it. Yes, I hear My father's prophesying spirit speak In the low moanings of the forest trees : He bids me end a struggle useless now : The red man's portion is — decay ! Your voice, Brave father, whispers ! Powhatan obeys. Retires and leans against a tree, surrounded by the Indians, — some reposing, — others listening for the envoy^s returning footsteps. The scene closes. 18^ 210 THE FOREST PRINCESS J SCENE FOURTH. The interior of the Fort. Sir Thomas Dale enters attended by Rolfe^ Hunt, Francis, Todkill, and all the colonists, meeting Ratliffe who enters with a white flag. Dale. Returned so soon ? ^e. I gave the king your answer, That lasting peace alone could free his child. He answered not : with hundreds in his train, He followed, and now stands without the fort. He asks a pledge that if he enters here He may depart unharmed. Dale. Go, master Rolfe, And in our monarch's name a promise give Of safety, and with def'rence due, conduct Him here. Rolfe exits with Ratliffe and a guard of honour. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 211 To his attendants. From yon recess, bring forth the deeds And gifts prepared to please this forest king. They bring forth a large table on which are pens, ink and paper, A large deed closely written on parch- ment and sealed with the Royal arms of England. A sceptre. A crown upon a cushion. And a regal robe. 'Tis well. A flourish of trumpets. Behold, the savage chieftain comes. Enter Rolfe Ratliff^e, and the guard, escorting Pow- hatan, Opachisco, and other Indians. Virginia's king, we give thee greeting from Thy father, England's monarch. Powhatan. The red man Has come to seek his child. Dale, She's safe and well ; She'll come anon. Our royal master sends Across the^seas by me his greeting. 312 THE FOREST PRINCESS; Powhatan, looking round. Where Is he, called Captain Smith ? Bale, An accident Detains him in our ship ; no surgeon's aid, Though it may mitigate, can cure his wounds, Unless he should return to England's shores. Powhatan, Then Powhatan is sorry. Smith is brave : The red man honours a brave enemy. Bale, A friend, I trust, as we all soon shall be. We come in peace to settle in this land. Powhatan. And why ? Across the waters are there not Broad plains where you may dwell? The Great Spirit To his red children gave these hunting-grounds. There is not room for us and you. Ye will 1 OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 213 Extinguish our council-fires — destroy Our stony chronicles and trample down The mounds 'neath which our sage's bodies rest. The red men love their fathers' graves. Dale, Nor will Our nation reverence them less. We hope In amity to dwell. Our monarch doth Confirm thee in thy titles and thy state, — King of Virginia and its many tribes. In proof whereof these robes, this sceptre, and This crown, — Francis and an attendant advance with the robe and sceptre — Rolfe approaches with the crown. Symbols of rank with English kings He sends to thee, and representing him I'll place it on thy brow. All present except Sir Thomas, take off their hats. Sir Thomas takes the crown in his hands, and approaches Powhatan. Kneel, Powhatan ! Powhatan. Forbear ! Powhatan never bends his knee, 214 THE FOREST PRINCESS But standing, prays to Him Who, of all creatures, Made man, alone, erect. The crown doth give No rank to him who was a king before. I take these gifts as proofs of friendship from The white man's chief. Takes the crown and gives it to Opachisco. The other gifts are placed in the hands of the Indians. Such wealth as Powhatan Can give in gold, or pearls, or silver, and Whatever else the red man's skill can make, Bear to your king my brother back from me. W^here is my child. Suspiciously. Dale. We'll send for her anon. Powhatan. Let her come now. Virginia's chief will make No treaty till he sees his child. 1 Dale. Conduct The princess hither, worthy Master Rolfe. ORj TWO CENTURIES AGO. 215 Exit Rolfe, The treaty now, great chief. , Offers it, Powhatan, Still resolved. Powhatan waits To see his daughter. Bale. Look ! she comes ! Rolfe leads Pocahontas from the inner room. She runs to her father. r Powhatan. Together. ^ My child ! ' Pocahontas. Powhatan. ^ Yes, 'tis she unharmed, quite safe ! Pocahontas. Does Pocahontas see her father once Again ! Alone, imprisoned, terror filled Her heart. But all is well. He's here! Till now She never knew how much she loved her own Dear father. My father ! 216 THE FOREST PRINCESS; Powhatan^ rapturously. Powhatan's joy ! his treasure ! Recollecting himself. Stand from me, child. Let not men see a brave To woman turn. A tear had almost dimmed The warrior's sight. Hunt. Then check it not. My friends Will not revere thee less. The glist'ning tear Of sweet affection in a parent's eye Is jewel for an angel's diadem. Powhatan. Why came my child among the pale-faces ? Pocahontas. With one arm twined round her father ^ she lays her other hand upon his tomahawk, and looks appeal- ingly in his face. To blunt the tomahawk, points to Hunt. Much kindness has This good man shown. Turning to Rolfe. This youthful brave, the friend OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 217 Of Smith, preserved thy daughter when she lay Within the panther's spring. Powhatan. In deeds, not words, Her father thanks him. The young brave shall be A son to Powhatan. Giving his hand. Rolfe hows respectfully over it. Bale. Virginia's king, Now wilt thou make the treaty ? Powhatan^ with firm dignity. Yes.— Dale. 'Tis here, By England's monarch signed and sealed. To you It shall be given. Powhatan. Take this wampum belt. The pledge of faith. f< Around the council-fire 19 218 THE FOREST PRINCESS J We'll smoke the calumet of friendship — deep Inter the tomahawk, and o'er it plant The tree of peace, beneath whose spreading shade Our children's children fondly shall entwine Their arms together." Gives the belt and takes the treaty. We are brothers now. Dale, and all the colonists. Long live King James and long live Powhatan! Flourish of trumpets. Hunt, advancing. Now hear me. If this peace ye would cement, There is a way to make it last for aye. This youthful pair, by providential hap Together thrown, have read each other's hearts, And found the same fond characters in each. Let Powhatan his princess wed unto Young Master Rolfe, and in that marriage, strife Will die forever. Rolfe. It were happiness Too great for me to hope. OB, TWO CENTURIEri AGO. 219 Dale. Without demur I speak my sovereign's approbation. What Does Virginia's king reply ! Powhatan. The pale face Is brave and young — he saved my daughter's life. But he will take my child away, unto His wigwam o'er the waters. Pocahontas clings fondly to Powhatan. Powhatan Is no weak woman — he's a warrior brave — But Pocahontas is his dearest child, — He cannot spare her. Rolfe. 'Tis my wish to build My home beside Virginia's flowing streams. Powhatan. So be it then. The red man's king consents. The birds, when fledged, go forth — they meet their mates, 220 THE FOREST PRINCESS ; And ne'er unto the parent nest return — 'Tis nature's law. My child shall speak her thought. If Pocahontas loves the stranger — well — If not, she shall not wed him. Powhatan Will still keep faith with England. Dale, Then what says The princess ? Rolfe, advancing to her. Lady, speak ! Pocahontas, The red man's child Will ne'er desert her father's autumn days. Rolfe. E'en shouldst thou visit England, brief would be Our stay. For all my race are not like these In iron clad, embrowned by foreign suns, With voices striving 'gainst the billow's roar. No — there are hundreds skilled in graceful wiles To win a maiden's heart. Couldst thou with them OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 221 Compare my plain address, I fear thou wouldst Repent thy choice. Pocahontas. Such doubt wrongs Pocahontas. Whene'er a forest-maiden gives her heart, Around her the Great Spirit casts a spell ; Before her eyes, the husband of her soul, Even while absent, ever seems to stand. And from her sight shuts out all other men. Hunt. That faith is worthy of a holier creed. Retires and confers with Powhatan and Bale. Pocahontas. . 'Tis Pocahontas who has most to fear. Unlike the fair-haired maids, she has not learned Those small strange characters of wondrous power Pointing to the treaty in Powhatan^s hands. That speak without a voice. Thou'lt blush to shew The fair-faced dames an untaught bride. 19* 222 THE FOREST I'RINCESS ; Rolfe. Had I A soul so mean I should deserve to blush At my own baseness. I have little lore, Save what my parents early made me con : To use plain honesty in speech and act — To share my purse with those who want it. Still To love my native land and fight for her When needed — ne'er to yield, or triumph o'er The fallen — to protect woman whene'er Oppressed — and love her too. If thou canst prize Such simple precepts and a faithful heart I give them princess, with my hand. Oh speak ! Pocahontas. Powhatan's daughter will not hide her thought. No harm can surely dwell in that which gives Such happiness and joy. Stranger, thy wife Will Pocahontas be. Timidly laying her hand in his, Rolfe, My life shall speak My thanks. Kisses her hand. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 223 Hunt^ pointing to Pocahontas. To such a heart the Christian faith Must penetrate and spread conviction there. Virginia's king, and you who represent to Dale. The majesty of England, go with me. Within the humble Chapel of this fort Our Church's rites shall make these lovers one : The first of the two nations joined as yet In wedlock's sacred bonds. Dale. This deed unites In peace and love the Old World and the New. Powhatan. . Young brave, I give thee here my daughter's hand, Nor shalt thou take her dowerless. The king Of Powhatan's twelve tribes can send his child Well portioned to the stranger's wigwam. Thou Wilt love, protect her, when her father's eyes Are closed, her kindred driven from the earth, As soon they will be, 'neath the crushing strides Of thy vast nation. And when Powhatan, 224 THE FOREST PRINCESS; Like a true brave, his death-song calmly sings, Amid his greatest feats of war, he'll proudly boast His richest trophy was his daughter's love. Joins their hands. Rolfe and Pocahontas kneel. Powhatan lays his hand upon Pocahontas^s head. The other characters group around them. A flourish of trumpets^ as the curtain falls. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 225 I THIHD PERIOD. 1617. ACT THIRD. SCENE FIRST. A street in London j on one side a tavern, with the sign "The Arquebus." « Anas Todkill, Vintner." Enter Volday, miserably clad, and weak from priva- tion and fasting. Volday, Is this to be my doom ? Exhausted, faint, To die of want and poverty ! Abroad For months alone I lived amid the woods In sufF'ring, till an artful tale obtained My passage in a Spanish ship. Since then Each pang of wretchedness I've known ! 'Tis strange A will unscrupulous and stalwart arm Combined, should lack employment. Curses shrink 226 THE FOREST PRINCESS ; That child of fortune, Smith ! He ever was My bane. He hath at last recovered from His wounds, I hear, and is in London. Oh ! What pangs acute shoot through my heart ! Looking off. Who comes ? Enter Captain Smithy looking around him. Smith Sure, I have missed the street ; and yet he said — Seeing Volday, accosts him. Friend, canst thou guide me to — T^olday, apart. Great Heaven ! Smith surprised. What! Changed as he is, 'tis sure the Switzer, Volday. Volday. You know me, captain ? Smith, Though four years have passed I recognize thy face. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 227 Volday^ bitterly. Fra somewhat changed From what I w^as in wild America — For there I dared to brave thee, noble captain. Smith. Tut, man ! those days are past. I had forgot Thy mad rebellion. I no malice bear To living soul, and least of all to old Companions sunk into misfortune. Go, Forcing money into his hand, which Volday takes unwillingly. Supply thy wants ; soldiers should share their purse. Retires looking around him. Volday. What ! more humiliation ! But that weak, Tyrannous nature craves some sustenance, Pd hurl his alms in anger back. Looks off. Who's here ? The comely master Rolfe ! What, do I meet Each of my foes at once ! Curses o'ertake And cling to me if I forgive them ! Retires observing them. Smith advances to meet Rolfe as he enters. 228 THE FOREST PRINCESS ; Smith. Rolfe ! Rolfe. My honoured friend, a thousand welcomes. Smith, I Have loitered here to meet you, for I missed My way but now. How doth your gentle wife ? Rolfe, Well, I would hope ; and yet her slender form Daily more fragile grows. A life of bliss So radiant cannot last. — Much I rejoice At your return. Smith. I came to speed you on Your voyage to-morrow to Virginia's shores. Rolfe. Come, pledge our welcome meeting here. This house Affords good wine. Thou know'st the owner well : An honest vintner — our companion once. They ^o into the tavern. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 229 Volday, advancing. Returning to Virginia — wealthy— safe ! I yet may mar your projects. Exit into tavern. SCENE SECOND. Interior of the Arquebus, denoting 'wealth and comfort. A casement at the hack, through which passers-ly are seen, before they enter at the door. A long settle at the bach near the door. A cabinet between the door and window. On one side of the stage is a table with wine cups and flagons, at which four guests are seated carousing. On the other, are a table and two chairs. Todhill and two draivers are attending upon the guests. Todkill, bustling about. You say truly, neighbour Varney : it was desperate cold that night. I remember it well. Smith and Rolfe enter, Todkill bows. 20 230 THE FOREST PRINCESS; Smith, Ah ! well met, Master Todkill. Offers his hand, Todkill taking it with deference. Captain, your notice honours me. Rolfe, Well old friend, how fare you ? Todkill. Never better, master, never better. I'm more expert at chalking down reckonings than cutting down trees — can draw a cup of wine more easily than a sword, — and like loading my <« Arquebus" here, better than trying to shoot a live stag for my dinner. You take, Master Rolfe. Rolfe, smiling. I do. Smith. How's this ? No hostess yet ? Todkill. In good time, worthy Captain. Mistress Alice ^ OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 231 waits with all duty upon Lady Rolfe, and only delays our marriage till her departure. Smith. Much joy To you, old friend. TodkilL I thank you, Captain. During the previous dialogue^ Volday has entered. The drawer expostulates with him — he offers money — and after some hesitation^ the man taJces the coin, brings Volday a large cup of tuine — points out the settle — Volday sits and drinks observing Smith and Rolfe, Rolfe. Good Anas, here, a flagon Of your best wine. TodJdll. Directly, Master Rolfe. He brings a salver with flagon and cups, and places it on the vacant table. Rolfe and Smith seat themselves. The king, I say 232 THE FOREST PRINCESS; it with all reverence, drinks no better. What else, good gentlemen ? Rolfe. Naught else, my friend. Todhill sees Volday and appears to reprove the drawer for having ad7nitted Mm — then goes lusily among the other guests, still noticing Volday, Rolfe fills glasses. The King And royal Charles. Smith. No news from Raleigh yet ? Rolfe. A vessel from Guiana brought to-day Despatches to the king. Prince Henry's death Lost Raleigh a firm friend, whom he will need When he returns, I fear. Smith. Not if he thrives. Success is always faultless; most of all In royal eyes. Here's Raleigh's health. I I I OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 233 Rolfe, With all My heart. They drinks Smith. The Lady Pocahontas. Rolfe. Thanks. They drink again. Shall we ne'er see thee wedded, Captain ? Smith. No. Renown and arms are still my only love. When wrecked on Gallia's coast, a woman nursed And succored me. Enslaved in Tartary, A woman freed me. In America, The Lady Pocahontas twice preserved My life at peril of her own. None more Can honour woman than the man who thus In ev'ry clime finds her his guardian angel. Todhill advances to meet Newton ivho enters the tavern. 20* 234 TodkilL Welcome, neighbor, you are late. JYewton, Yes. I had great difficulty in making my way through the streets. Every one is out of doors listening to the news. TodkilL What news ? The group at the table listen eagerly, Newton. Very bad. Master TodkilL Sir Walter Raleigh's expedition has failed, his brave son has been killed, and Sir Walter is now on his way to answer for his conduct to the king. Rolfe^ rising. My friend, I pray, explain more fully. Speak ! Hast thou further tidings ? Smith rises also. JYewton. Nay, master. I know no more than this which I gathered from the gossip round me. Bows and goes up to talle. TodMll gives Mm a OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 235 vacant chair , and converses with him and the other guests. The drawer fills their cups- They drinh. Smith. Ah, poor Raleigh ! Rolfe. I dread the worst ; for Spain's ambassador, All potent now with James, will work his fall. My father honoured Raleigh, and his fame First roused adventure in my boyish heart. Smith. Be cautious in your words. King James, I know, With eye suspicious looks on you. Rolfe. The king ! Absurd ! What grounds — Smith. They take their hats. Are you not wedded to Virginia's princess "^ heir to crown and lands Of Powhatan ? 236 THE FOREST PRINCESS; Rolfe^ smiling. James has no cause for fear. Smith. Yet be more wary in thy praise of Raleigh. Rolfe. Fool-hardy is that man, 'tis true, who thrusts Unasked opinion in the ears of those Who wish him ill ; but 'tis a coward's heart That praises not his friend as cordially In peril as in triumph. Smith. Rolfe! thy hand!— Now farewell for awhile. They approach The door together. But at thy house We meet again at noon. Rolfe and Smith exeunt. Smith is seen to pass the casement. Volday is concealed by the open door as Todkill shews them out. Volday advances. Volday. Most fortunate. I have o'erheard enough. After long fasting, wine hath fevered me. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 237 No matter, if it gives me strength to work My plot. Now quick — here, Host, more wine. Todkill, advancing. What did you call for ! Volday. More wine ! Pen, ink, and paper. Never stand, man ! here, Fve that will pay the reck'ning. Gives money, Todkill You shall have it, although your money and your dress don't suit each other, friend. Volday. Make haste ! The drawer brings wine, Todkill brings writing implements from the cabinet. Volday sits at the table Rolfe has quitted ; and drinks fre- quently. Todkill. I'm coming, friend. There's a scrivener lives next door. Shall I send for him ? 238 THE FOREST PRINCESS J Volday, A scrivener ? No. Writes during TodJdlVs speech, TodkilL No ofTence I hope ; but one don't look for such accomplishments in your condition. Looking at him. You are a ready scribe ; and write as fair a hand as the young master who just now left us. Volday looks up. Well, you need not stare. You know him surely, for you watched him narrowly enough. Volday^ apart. The meddling fool ! did he Observe me ? Finishes and folds the letter. Pours out the last drop from the flagon. TodkilL Shall I send the letter ? Volday, No ! Rises and sinks hack, TodkilL What's the matter ? OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 239 Volday. Nothing. Drains the cup. Give me more wine. TodHlL My conscience won't let me. You look wild enough already. A hearty meal you shall have, and welcome, at my expense too : but no more wine. Volday^ seizing him. Thou babbler ! give me wine ! Releases him from exhaustion. Todkill, terrified. Stay! Stay! I'm a peaceable man. I'll get it you. Going slowly. I'll wager my new jerkin against his rags, it is that rascal Volday. Volday. The fool speaks truth : The fire is in my pulse and in my brain. Now let me read this o'er. Reads half aloud. « Raleigh's friend — 240 THE FOREST PRINCESS; Rolfe — seeks Virginia's crown — conspires 'gainst The throne — Raleigh's confederate"^so — Continues reading to himself, Todkilly apart. That letter bodes no good, I'll swear. I know him though he don't remember me — the sour-look- ing rogue. I'll follow and see where he goes to. And if I can spoil any villany he's after, I'll do it as sure as my name's Anas Todkill. Gives direc- tions to the drawer who brings him his hat. Volday, closing the letter, 'Twill do. This nameless missive to the king Shall go. Rolfe's ruin will involve his friend. Together must they fall. — My brain's on fire — My limbs scarce bear me onward, and my heart Irregularly leaps as hard as if 'Twould burst its bonds. Let me but be revenged ! No matter then what dunghill is my grave. Totters out, and is seen to pass the window, followed cautiously by Todkill. The scene closes. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 241 SCENE THIRD. An apartment in master Rolfe^s house in London Maud enters shewing in Hunt and Smith, Maud. So please you wait, I'll seek my mistress, sirs. \Exit Maud.'] Hunt to Smith. Poor fading flower, each day more near her end, Each day more fit for heaven ! Maud enters. Maud. My lady's here. Exit Maud, and enter Pocahontas. Pocahontas. My aged friend and monitor! Hunt. How fares My gentle lady ? 21 242 THE FOREST PRINCESS; Pocahontas. E'en more feeble still Than yesterday. Hunt. And yet you look not so. Pocahontas. So says my husband, and delusive hope Still cherishes. Hunt, Thy dear friend Smith now waits To greet thee. Look. Svfiith advances. Smith. Well met, dear lady ! She looks at him in silence^ then turns from him and hides her face. What ! Does my presence grieve thee ? Pocahontas recovering herself. Gives him her hand. No ; I joy To see thee, but a host of mem'ries speak Of home, and father, in thy well-known voice. 'Tis o'er. — My husband will rejoice to see — OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 243 Smith. We left Each other, lady, not an hour since. He tells me that to-morrow you return. You like not Britain then ? Pocahontas, Not like it! Yes! For beautiful is England ! with her groves, Her castles, palaces, and abbeys old ; Like fairy homes her vales and streams appear : Each landscape glows with history, and wears The sober perfectness of ripened age. No classic lore adorns my native land ; But rich redundant nature reigns alone. Great rivers, giant lakes, in silence sleep, And rushing torrents by their solemn voice Call man to praise his Maker. Insects steal The summer lightning there, and tiny birds Bring rainbow beauty from the Spirit land. There autumn forests on their leaves reflect The gorgeous colours of the setting sun. Whose throne, scarce vacant, night usurps, nor waits 244 THE FOREST PRINCESS; Strange twilight's mournful smile : my father's grave Will be ere long 'mid those familiar haunts. It is my home ! It is my native land ! Enter Todkill hastily ^ not seeing Pocahontas. Todkill, Oh Captain! Such dreadful news! Master Rolfe has just been arrested in the street yonder ! I saw a crowd, and asked what was the matter ; the constables told me they'd an order from the Secretary of State to take him prisoner to the Tower on a charge of treason. Pocahontas. The Tower! Treason? did my husband speak? Todkill, confused on seeing Pocahontas. No, madam — that is — he had no time — but he beckoned to me, and said one word — "Pocahon- tas," and threw this to me. Takes out the chain given by Pocahontas to Rolfe. I made no answ^er for I could'nt speak ; but I looked, as much as to say — « I understand ;" and then the dust flew in my eyes, I suppose, for I could'nt see any more. Gives her the chain. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO, 245 I Smith. Arrested! On what grounds ? Todklll. Conspiracy with Sir Walter Raleigh to establish an independent kingdom in Virginia. That was all I could learn amidst the confusion. Pocahontas, gazing on the chain. This chain he's worn Since first I gave it him. It calls me now To save him. Counsel me, what first to do. {Placing the chain around her neck, and pressing it to her lips.) Smith. Goj seek the king, while I trace out the source Whence flows this accusation, or they soon May plot thy peril too. Pocahontas. Mine ! With sudden thought. Ah ! My child ! 21* 246 THE FOREST PRINCESS; To Doctor Hunt, Good friend, to thee I give my boy. Depart For my sake to Sir Lewis Stukely ; he Loves well my husband, and will guard my child. At court he's high in favour. Wilt thou go ? Hunt. I will, dear lady, and will send to thee News of his safety. Pocahontas. Thanks. — ^Wilt thou, good friend, To TodMll Bid Alice deck him for his journey ! Go! Todkill goes off. I dare not clasp him to my heart once more ; 'Twould shake my purpose ; for I feel, I know I never shall behold my boy again ! My blessed child ! My only one ! Hunt. Yet hope ! The clouds will break — the sun will shine again. For Providence is with thee. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 247 Pocahontas. Best of friends ! Bear to my boy my blessing and farewell. Now go ! Exit Hunt. Todldll returns. 'Tis done ! Smith. Rebecca ! sure thy frame Will ill support this trial. Pocahontas. Heav'n implants In wom&n strength for all her duties. Now The mother's task is o'er ; the wife alone Remains. I go to seek the king. Again At Gravesend I will see thee — or in prison. Exit Pocahontas. Todkill advancing to meet Smith, I tell you, Captain, I see through the whole : Anas Todkill is no fool, I promise you. I traced Volday to the palace, which is, you know, hard by my house. Volday spoke to a lacquey who spurned him — then he offered money, and the man listened. 248 THE FOREST PRINCESS; I saw Volday give the coin and the letter. I saw the lacquey present the letter to a nobleman who was dismounting from his horse. He read the paper — muttered — " It is as I suspected," and beckoned to one of the king's messengers who was standing near. They went into the palace together. I dared not approach any nearer. But in a few minutes, out came the messenger and several constables. As luck would have it neighbour Newton passed me, and I bade him follow Volday, while I ran hither to warn Master Rolfe ; when as I came, I found the constables here before. Who would believe so much mischief could be done into a quarter of an hour. Smith. To Volday lead me first, and on my way I'll take two trusty friends in company As witnesses. How shall we thank thy zeal ? Todkill. Don't name it. It pleases me more to serve master Rolfe, than if the king and the whole court OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 249 had sat down to supper in the best room of the Arquebus. Smith. I do believe it worthy friend. Lead on. [Exeunt Smith and TodkilL] SCENE FOURTH. Gardens of the Palace at Whitehall. Enter Charles and Anne in conversation, Charles. Madam, I doubt these cruel whispers 'gainst The friends of Raleigh will involve them all In his approaching ruin. Anne. Much I fear 'Tis true. 250 THE FOREST PRINCESS J Charles. Oh ! could my influence protect The innocent, I'd use it freely. Enter Page. Well ? Page. May it please your royal highness, Lady Rolfe Most earnestly entreats an audience. Charles, surprised. What! Lady Rebecca ! Go conduct her here. [Exit Page.] Anne. It is the first sad pleader in the cause Of which thou spok'st but now, my son. But see, The mourner comes. Page shows in Pocahontas. Pocahontas. Most gracious, gentle queen ! And you, kind prince, oh, grant a wife's sad prayer. Your royal father will not hear my suit. To you I come for mercy. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 251 Charles. Lady speak ! But calm your grief. What would you ask ? Pocahontas, My life! For in my husband's life is mine involved. Oh ! deign to sue unto the king for him. His safety — nay, his life's unjustly perilled, For he hath done no wrong. Charles. Be of good cheer; Although thy husband is arrested, yet Tis on suspicion only. Pocahontas, A strong foe ! 'Tis like that reptile of our wilds, whose sting Is fatal, — and whose rattle shrill, the knell Of him who hears. But 'tis more merciless ; Suspicion gives no warning ere it stings. Anne advancing to her. Hope for the best, dear lady. 252 THE FOREST PRINCESS; Pocahontas. Hope alone Cannot obtain the boon I seek. Oh then, Kind lady, hearken to my prayer ! Mercy, The brightest gem in royal crowns, will gild Thy brow with greater lustre than the hues Of loveliness and splendour. Plead for me. Anne. My husband's will I scarcely hope to change. Yet his displeasure would I risk for thee. I'll seek him ; but I dare not promise aught. My heart's best wish, dear stranger, goes with thee Unto my husband's throne. Exit Anne. Charles. Rebecca, yet Droop not. A trial will exonerate Thy husband. Pocahontas. Not if Raleigh be condemned. Sweet prince ! since death hath claimed thy brother dear. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 253 Thou wilt be king. Then think. (For who can read The future !) Clouds may dim thy reign, and woes Arise, such as crowned heads but rarely know\ Should troubles swarm, and death close up thy path, The thought that thou hast e'er the wretched soothed, Redressed a wrong, protected virtue — cheered, Sustained the weak, will more avail thee then Than all the thousands who thy crowning hail With—" Long live Charles the First !" Charles, Cease, lady, cease ! Thy words prophetic seem and touch my soul. Should w^oes like these assail my dying hour, Thy pleading voice will echo in my ear. And bid my conscience answer the appeal. Farewell. Thou hast my royal word. I'll seek The king. If just entreaty can avail. Enforced with strongest arguments of truth,' And each appeal that filial love can make. Thy husband shall be free Thou faintest! Pocahontas. He supporis her. Yes! — The joy — the hope — my grateful heart o'ercharged 2-2 2o-4 THE FOREST PP.IXCESS ; A wife, a mother, and a stranger'' s thanks Call blessings on thy head ! Charles. Let me lead thee First to thy friends — then seek my father. Come, Look cheerily ! This way We'll save him yet. Leads her out. SCEXE LAST. Master Rolfe'^s house at Gravesend. The hack of the stage is nearly all occupied by a large casement^ vjhich being opened^ discovers a view of the banks of the Thames at Gravesend^ with the George lying at anchor. Sunset. JVear thewindoiva large antique chair with cushions. Enter Todkill. Todkill. I begin to find out ^YhaL a clever fellow I am : Opportunity is every thing. I took the captain OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 255 and his friends to that villain's den, and then came down here to meet Captain Smith on his return. Odso ! I should like to thrash Void ay myself. Enter Mice. Jllice. Ah, Master Anas ! Todkill. What, Mistress Alice, is that you ? Alice, What were you thinking of when I came in, clenching your fists, and looking so valiant ? Todkill. Valiant ! I believe I am valiant, Mistress Todkill that is to be. Alice. How came you here on such a busy day ? Who will take care of the <« Arquebus ?" I ^ Todkill^ pompously. The " Arquebus" must take care of itself. I have 256 THE FOREST PRINCESS; had important business. I've been rescuing the innocent, and exposing the guilty. Alice. You ! mercy on the man ! Todkill. At least I've helped to do it, which is the same thing. Alice. What do you mean ? Todkill. I've been assisting Captain Smith to save Master Rolfe. Alice. I rejoice to hear it. No man is better able to serve a friend than Captain Smith. Such a brave — Todkill. Brave! truly he is. Why years ago he was chosen out of a whole army to fight the Turkish champion. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 257 Alice. Was he indeed ? Todkill. Yes. Master Rolfe told me. The captain not only fought one but three; and killed them all! and ever since, he carries their heads on his shield. I've seen them. Alice, Shuddering. Oh ! how dreadful ! Todldll. FooHsh woman ! not the heathen Saracens them- selves. Don't you understand ! the heads are his arms, and he'll hand them down to posterity. He is a brave man, and so is Master Rolfe, and so am I ! Alice. What, Master Anas! you, brave? Todkill. Yes, you should have seen me in America. Nobody would believe how valiant I was there, among the wolves, and the bears, and the panthers. 22* 258 THE FOREST PRINCESS J Alice, Heaven's mercy ! And had you the courage to fight those terrible creatures ! Todkill Courage ! Why, Alice, I couldn't tell you how many I killed. Alice. What dangers there are abroad! Todkill. And at home too, of another sort. Look at this villany toward Master Rolfe. Alice, have they been here to search ? Alice. Yes— and ^placed huge seals on all the doors and presses. They ransacked every drawer and paper they could find, and cross-questioned me — Todkill. Indeed ? It's well I was not here. Alice. Then they went away muttering that their search had been unsatisfactory — OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 259 TodkilL To them, which means very satisfactory to us. They found nothing. Has Lady Rebecca returned from the palace yet ? Alice. Noj not yet, poor lady. I know not what I shall do when she is gone. Todkill, pompously. You will then be Mistress Todkill, hostess of the <* Arquebus," and will have enough to do in looking after the guests, and attending to your husband. Alice, Looking of. Hush ! here comes my lady. TodMXl. Then I'll go down to the river's bank, and wait for news from London. Alice. Bless thee, thou hast a kind heart, Anas. Todkill. To be sure I have : that's why I'm going away 260 THE FOREST PRINCESS; now. I've no consolation to offer the poor lady, and I'll not stay to stare at a sorrow I can't relieve. Good bye Alice. Exit Todkill. Alice. She comes. Alas ! how slow she moves ! Sorrow has shattered her enfeebled frame. Runs to meet her. Pocahontas is led in hy Alice and Maud. Pocahontas, No news from Captain Smith ? Maud brings down the chair, into which they place her, Alice, No, madam, none. Pocahontas, Nor of my child .'' Alice. Not yet, Pocahontas. I gasp ! More air" OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 261 Throw wide the casement ! Let me see the sun ; Maud throws open the window , while Alice adjusts the cushions and supports the head of Pocahontas. Its sinking beams will cheer my dying hour : And even now in splendour of noon-day It gilds my native land. Hark ! 'tis the tramp Of horses' feet. Run, girl, and see ! Exit Maud. My heart, Hold yet awhile. Maud re-enters with a letter. Now speak ! Maud. From Doctor Hunt. This letter, madam. Gives it. Pocahontas opening it eagerly and Attempting to read. Ah ! my sight is failing, — I cannot read it. Alice — Gives it to her and sinks back exhausted. Alice. Reads, << Dear lady. Sir Lewis bids me say, no harm shall reach Thy boy, beneath his roof, where now we rest In safety." — 262 THE FOREST PRINCESS; Pocahontas, having listened eagerly. Heav'n accept my thanks ! My son ! Thou'lt not forget thy mother's fond caress ! Father and brother, — are ye living yet ? There rides the ship that was to bear me home : My journey home will be more quickly made : I faint with weariness ! She relapses into a slumber, her attendants watching her. [In the performance of this drama, the stage thus illustrates the Vision of Pocahontas. A strain of invisible music is heard, and thin clouds obscure the view from the casement. The clouds gradually disperse and discover the open sea, across which the " George''^ is seen to sail. This view fades and gives place to the mouth of James River with its forest, its rude fort, and wigwams. On the bank stands Powhatan, awaiting his daughter'' s ariival in the ship which is seen approaching the shore. Clouds again obscure the scene, and through them a figure of Time passes, beckoning Peace who follows. The clouds partially disperse, and dis- OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 263 close in the distance^ the form of Washington — the Genius of Columbia stands near him. Time hovers near, and Peace encircles with her arms the Lion and the Eagle. A mist then conceals the allegorical group, and again dispersing, discovers the view of Gravesend, at sunset, with the ^^ George^'' at anchor, as it appeared previous to the vision. The music dies away. Pocahontas awakes suddenly, and exclaims — after gazing round her — No, 'tis no dream ! J3s if endowed with temporary strength she starts up clasping her hands in thankfulness. Souls of the prophet-fathers of my race, Light from the Land of Spirits have ye sent To paint the future on my mental sight. Like the Great River of far Western wilds, Improvement's course, unehhing, shall flow on. From that beloved soil where I drew breath Shall noble chiefs arise. But one o'er all, By heaven named to set a nation free, I hear the universal world declare. In shouts whose echo centuries prolong, <' The Father of his Country !" O'er the path 264 THE FOREST PRINCESS; Of Ages, I behold Time leading Peace. By ties of love and language bound, I see The Island-Mother and her Giant Child, Their arms extend across the narrowing seas, The grasp of lasting friendship to exchange ! As the prophetic enthusiasm dies away^ Pocahontas sinks exhausted in the arms of her wondering attendants. Smith enters hastily. Smith. Lady, hope on ! Led by an humble friend I sought the dying Switzer. By revenge And famine tortured, nature found relief In madness. Volday's ravings soon revealed His motives, and his slanders. Witnesses With me to royal Charles have borne the news, Which long ere this is laid before the king. Pocahontas falls on her knees. I stayed not to hear more, but hastened on To bring thee hope. The ivomen raise Pocahontas, and place her in the chair. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 265 Pocahontas, Oh ! take my fervent thanks ! The thanks of one whose name and race will die Together! Smith. No ! thy country's sons will task The sculptor's and the limner's art to pay Hereafter homage to thy memory. In Britain too, whole ages hence, the tale Of Pocahontas' noble life and death Will love and admiration claim from all. Thy name will live for ever ! Pocahontas, who has exhibited all the restlessness of approaching dissolution, now exclaims, Listen! Hark! A murmur heard without, Alice. A murmur in the hall and rapid steps. Rolfe, speaks without. Where is she ? speak ? 23 266 THE FOREST PRINCESS J Pocahontas, starting up and totienng forward. It is my husband's voice ! Rolfe rushes in exclaiming, My wife ! Pocahontas foils in his arms. Pocahontas. He's safe ! He's here ! Rolfe. Dearest! see, Restored to thee ! Look up I Smith. Acquitted ? Free ? Rolfe. My innocence confirmed. Prince Charles himself Brought me my prompt acquittal from the king. But say, dearest, why sink you thus ? I'm safe. Pocahontas raises her head and gazes at him. Great Heaven ! how changed thou art ! Pocahontas. Our child will be Thy stay in after years. My husband ! I — Must leave thee. OR, TWO CENTURIES AGO. 267 Rolfe. Say not so ! my wife ! my love ! Pocahontas. . I warned thee of this parting months ago. Our peaceful lives rob death of half its sting. Extends her hand which Smith presses reverentially to his lips. She then flings her arms around Rolfe, exclaiming. Bless thee ! Sinking hack in the women^s arms, Rolfe, in anguish falling on his knees. Live, Pocahontas ! Live ! Pocahontas, with a faint smile of joy. That name ! My own ! the first by which thou knew'st me, love ! 'Tis music to my soul. Her trembling hands vainly attempt to lift the little chain from her neck. Her women raise it for her, and Pocahontas with fading sight and uncertain action at length casts it round Rolfe' s neck. I lose thee now. My eyes behold Virginia's grassy turf— 268 THE FOREST PRINCESS. I hear my father — Husband, fare thee well. We part — but we shall meet — above ! Her right hand, (which has been momentarily pointed upwards,) falls, and she dies in the arms of her women. Rolfe still remains upon his knee, clasp- ing her hand and gazing upon her in utter despair. Smith bends over him in silence. APPENDIX. The incidents of this play are historical in their most minute details : but the unities of the stage required the condensation of events into days instead of months, and rendered several ana- chronisms necessary ; the reader of history will at once perceive them. Page 166, line 6. — .Pocahontas vi^as the title ; Matoka, or Matoax, the name. The Indians kept the latter a secret, lest the vv^hites should avail themselves of it to practise sorcery upon the forest princess. Page 180, line 16. — These are the words recorded as having been uttered by Smith on that occasion. Page 214, line 9. — Pearls were found in great profusion in North Carolina and Virginia, and were an important article of barter. Page 213, last line. — Powhatan's refusal to kneel is minutely dwelt upon by the historian ; but as no motive is assigned, I have given that which seemed most probable. Page 240, line 18. — ^Volday's fate is summed up in history in these words : " he perished miserably." Page 257, line 6. — The coat of arms of " Captain Smith" was confirmed by Garter King at Arms in London : three Turks' heads, on a shield. 23* 270 APPENDIX. Page 264,_line 5. — The belief in prophetic inspiration at the hour of death, was, and is, general among the American red men ; and although Pocahontas died a Christian, the new faith could not fail to be tinged by the hues of early association. The embodiment of her prophetic vision, by allegorical scenes and figures, was a necessity consequent upon the acting of the drama. All the names in the play, without exception, are historical. The speeches of Pocahontas, page 197, and of Powhatan/page 217, marked as quotations, are recorded specimens of Indian eloquence, and only paraphrased by me. The correct pronunciation of Fowhatan by the Indians them- selves, lays the emphasis on the last syllable. «| THE HEART? OE THE SOUL? A SERIES OF TALES. INTRODUCTION. Eeader, gentle and courteous reader, — have you ever travelled from Pittsburg to Philadelphia, by the canal route, passing over, beside, and through the Alleghany mountains 1 If you have, you knovy the delight of such a journey. If you have not, make it your first pleasure-trip ; for if, in these days of utilitarian inno- vation, it remains as it was some years ago, you will find it is an excursion unsurpassed in picturesque beauty. The travelling too, is, or was, delightful, — the boats, models of cleanliness, — the fare and style of the table excellent, — all combining to prove that the proprietors might justifiably add "Fulfilment," to their official announcement of " Good Intent." With books and needlework, (provided you are not like too many of us in this working-day world, running a race with time,) you will find the hours pass rapidly, when you are wearied with long gazing ; and firequent variety is offered by the ascent and descent of the locks, the bustle ever attendant upon the firequent cry of " Bridge," and all the other little incidents which on such occasions seem so great. Then the sociability ! None but the incurably sulky or stupid can resist the influence of the place, and sit silent and alone, and of them you say, " So much the better." If you have youth and health on your side, the cramped, out of the way accommodations for bed and toilet, are particularly amusing in the 274 INTRODUCTION. contrast they afford to your accustomed home. The manage- ment too, (is it not ingenious ?) whereby the odd little beds are packed away daily like magic, — with their coverings ticketed so as to be awarded to the "rightful owner," — does it not suggest, the comparing of yourself to a cup and saucer, which are care- fully laid by upon a shelf at night, and taken down again in the morning 1 Had you ever travelled on this route, you would have sympa- thized with the exclamations of dehght which broke unconsciously from the hps of Anna Clayton, as she stood one bright morning, gazing on the fair prospect before her. She turned round and called to her companions, — ^her cousin Emma Willis, and their mutual friends, Alice Hargrave and Jane Miller. Age and youth generally seek their kind, and the elder members of the party tacitly combined in their morning and evening consultations, while the four young ladies, whose names have just been chroni- cled, likewise formed an intimate little society. Anna was a bright, merry, beautiful girl, scarcely seventeen, taking her first excursion from home, in company with the parents whom she loved ; to her might be truthfully applied the words of our own poet: " The world is bright before thee. Its summer flowers are thine. Its bright blue sky is o'er thee. Thy bosom, pleasure's shrine." Emma was a few months older, amiable and intelligent, with poetry and sentiment enough to make her agreeable, but not sufficient to render her ridiculous. Jane had just entered the bright season of womanhood, and INTRODUCTION. 275 with the conscious dignity of one and twenty, and the sedateness of a promised bride, tamed the exuberance of her younger com- panions. Alice was the oldest of the party. Graceful and elegant in form, placid, thoughtful, and benign in feature, she possessed a remarkably energetic and intellectual character, which had been refined and perfected by education. If the first bloom and round- ness of youth had too early left her cheek at this her sixth and twentieth summer, the expression of lofty thought and pure reso" lution which supplied its place, was more fascinating than the brighter faces of her companions, as it spoke of a mind and heart disciplined by care, purified by trials. These girls would sit, clustered together — one reading aloud, while the others sewed — their joint labours repeatedly interrupted by frequent comments upon the beauty of the scenery, or the merits of the volume. Sometimes the elder of the party would disturb them most agreeably by informing them that the next two locks were only about two miles apart, and that the obliging cap- tain would allow them a brisk walk on shore. In a moment, shawls and bonnets were adjusted, and before the boat had risen half-way to the summit of the lock, these merry girls and their friends would be gaily walking along the banks, turning back to fling an inoffensive jest at their idle companions lefl in the boat. Exhilarated by the pure air, glowing with exercise, they would rejoin their fiiends at the " next lock,'' and expatiate upon the charms of their ramble and of the scenes around them. " I have travelled much," said Alice one day, " but I recollect no lovelier view than this in any part of our country. Look at those high mountains, their summits crowned with snow, their 276 INTRODUCTION. rugged sides mantled with forests, and at their base a carpet of soft verdure and flowers. And, whenever we leave the artificial canal, how gracefully does the boat wind among the meanderings of these mountain streams, the Juniata, the Alleghany, and Kis- kiminitis." " Such scenery as this would make any one a poet," cried Anna. " No," replied AUce ; " the poet's inspiration must be within. In circumstances most adverse, in scenes most uncongenial, have many of the finest poems been written. If the genius really exist, the sight of what is lovely in nature acts like the collision of flint with steel, and strikes out the fire from its native bed, — but that bed is the poet's soul." " Why are you so silent, Emma 1" said Anna. " I am thinking of the tale Alice has just been reading. I am so glad it ended happily." " So am I !" cried Anna. « I do not like heart-rending catastrophes : I love what is called poetic justice." " And I," rejoined Jane, " cannot describe the delight, (as Burke defines the word,) which a pathetic conclusion aflbrds me." " What diversity of opinion !" cried Anna, laughing. " And you, Alice, what do you say 1 Which do you side with 1" " With all," answered Alice. " How can that be "?" the three girls eagerly exclaimed. " For mere gratification, the state of the reader's mind decides the point. And for morals too, it is beneficial that in fiction the good should sometimes be happy ; otherwise the picture of life would be too discouraging. Yet as a general rule — But stay, I will give you a high authority for my opinion," said Alice, taking INTRODUCTION. 277 up a book which her uncle had cast upon the sofa, and reading therefrom the following passage: " To reward virtue with temporal prosperity is not the recom- pense which Providence has deemed worthy of suffering merit, and it is a dangerous and fatal doctrine to teach young persons, the common readers of romance, that rectitude of conduct and of principle are either naturally allied with, or adequately rewarded by, the gratification of our passions or the attainment of our wishes."* " How admirably expressed !" said Jane. " When I write a romance," she added laughing, « I will take that sentence as my motto." " Then I hope," cried Anna, " that you will not exclude love from your moral story, or I will not read it, I promise you." " Nor," continued Emma, "make your lovers so terribly pru- dent and reasonable that you feel assured they can never move except with mathematical precision : if you do, / will not read it." " Nor," remarked Alice, playfully, " must your heroine achieye perfection through the force of mental resolutioii only, unaided by religion, or I shall consider its moral purpose incomplete." " A thought has struck me," cried Anna, leaping from her chair, and clapping her hands in girlish glee. "My Aunt Bladgely has invited us all, you know, to spend next June at her lovely country house. Before we meet there, let us all write a story, based upon the excellent quotation Alice read to us, and the learned discussion which has followed it," she added demurely ; " and then read them, aloud, at my Aunt's to one another," * Walter Scott. 24 278 INTRODUCTION. " Delightful ! agreed !" cried Emma and Jane, while Alice smiled assent. "How dignified our literary party will be!" cried Emma. What a valuable collection of tales ! what shall we call them 1 Love Stories 1" " Oh no !" said Anna. " All people who pride themselves upon being very sensible, will curl up their noses at the very name." " Well then," exclaimed Alice, " as they are to illustrate the struggles of Love subdued by Religion, what do you think of The Heart? ox The Soul T The three younger maidens smiled and iterated their eager assent : the playful compact was ratified. ********* The month of June had arrived, and the happy party had been once more united at Mrs. Bladgely's delightful residence on the banks of the Hudson. Before retiring to rest one evening, Anna reminded them of their compact, and suggested that it should be fulfilled before the addition of many visitors should render privacy unattainable by the " literary club." The next morning was accordingly appointed, and when it came, the merry party sallied forth to a shady nook some distance fi:om the house, where the green sward and the trunks of old forest-trees afforded a natural couch, and the waving foliage spread a pleasant canopy. The bright sun peeped in through the branches, and smiled upon faces as fair as he had ever beamed upon ; while the hum of insects, and the chirping of the birds, seemed modulated as an accom- paniment to those sweet murmuring voices that one after the I INTRODUCTION. 279 other rose on the air, perusing their harmless fictions. By com- mon consent, Anna was to commence the lecture ; and the saucy- girl gravely unfolded her manuscript, and took from her reticule her grandmother's spectacles, which she adjusted with a mock seriousness that called forth a hearty laugh. " Do not laugh, young ladies," she exclaimed. " I am going to read a very serious story, all about an old maid, as I intend to be one myself. You may laugh, Alice — Mrs. Harvey, I mean ; but I am in earnest. And now young ladies, I claim your re- spectful attention." So saying, Anna commenced her story : The MAiBEisr Auxt. THE MAIDEN AUNT. A TALE OF TEXAS. CHAPTER I. She breathed more sweetness than the east, While every sentence was divine ; Her smiles could calm each jarring breast ; Her soul was a celestial mine "V^Tiere all the precious veins of virtue lay, — Too vast a treasure to be lodged in clay. ALLAIf EaMSAT. To Captai:s Ruspout, U. S. Ship U^fiox. Rusportville, March 16th, 1834. The design you have persevered in, my dear brother, of sending Gertrude to a boarding-school so far distant, though a plan frequently adopted by us, is by no means a judicious one. It is natural to conclude that where her home has been for eight 24* 283 THE MAIDEN AUNT. years, she would form attachments stronger than mere instinctive regard towards her own family whom she has so little known. Never having seen even her father but three times since her absence, it would not be extraordinary if to those of her own blood she were a comparative stranger. Besides, her instructors may have been common-place, though well-meaning persons, and their knowledge of the character of a scholar is necessarily superficial — the moral culture they impart, unavoidably limited. Their very position precludes that " perfect love which casteth out fear" — their many occupations prevent constant care for one individual. At an age when imagination is strong and judgment crude, the pupils can hold unreserved and unrestrained intimacy with their fellows only ; and the puerile romance, or premature worldliness, or selfish cunning, or unhealthy sentimentality of one, too frequently has its influence upon many who are not shielded by the armour of liome counsels and instruction. I do not blame you for a moment, my dear James, but as an only and lonely sister, older than yourself, you have always sought my candid opinion. Educated THE MAIDEN AUNT. 283 near me,— who would, God knows, have been a mother to her,— her principles, her mind, would have been equally adorned and cultivated, although, I acknowledge, some few fashionable accomplish- ments might have been wanting. However these are only my individual sentiments drawn from obser- vation. There are bright exceptions to this, as to every other general rule, and I hope and indeed believe our sweet girl is one of them. She has returned, as pure in heart and lovely in form as her dear mother was at eighteen. I shall give no account of her proficiency, that you may be the more delighted when you see her. I earnestly hope your adopted son may be worthy of such a treasure. If it pleases the Almighty to spare you many years, which I devoutly trust He may, you have a life of happiness in prospect in the society of such a darling girl. The letters 1 have received from her bespeak a gentle and amiable character, and if she is not frightened, by anticipation, at that terrible bug-bear, an old maid^ I doubt not she will love me so that I may in some degree replace the mother she has lost. This letter will greet you on your arrival at 284 THE MAIDEN AUNT. Norfolk, whither I trust you will soon return safe, and we shall eagerly look for you and Lieutenant Stansbury in a month at furthest. There is a gentle- manly, intelligent young man residing here just now named Greville Drayton. He is about two and twenty. I think you would be much pleased with him were you to meet. He is an old acquaintance of Ger- trude's who knew him at our friends the Williams' of Albany, where she spent her summer vacations. Gertrude sends best love and affectionate regards, with many kisses to her dear father. But when I asked what I should say to the Lieutenant, she answered — "Make my respects to him, if you please. Aunt." Oh, the dignity of eighteen ! We are going to Raleigh to our friends, the Leslies, in a fortnight ; you can meet us there as it is on your way home, and we will return to Rusportville together. I long to show you the improvements I have made. Gertrude is sure you will like them. That we may all be soon united in health and happiness, is the constant prayer, my dear James, of Your affectionate Sister, Agatha Rusport. THE MAIDEN AUNT. 285 To Miss CAHotijfE Williams, Nut Grove Academy, NewYork. Rusportville, March 24th, 1834. At last my dearest -Caroline, I reply to your letter, but I have been in such a continued whirl of excite- ment with every thing new around me, that I am scarcely able to write. I am as yet but half recon- ciled to the parting with our kind friends at Nut Grove. How happy we have been together for. so many years, and now perhaps I may never see them again ; from you at least I may often hear, and you would scarcely believe me w^re I to tell you of the deUght your letters afford me. Independent of my unchanging affection for you^ my associations and attachments are of course chiefly at Nut Grove. The friends I have met here are however exceedingly kind to me, more especially my aunt, whom you know^ I have dreaded to return to, as I expected to find her so cross and prudish. But I have been agreeably surprised ; she is not at all like an old maid, only that she is very particular. A thread upon the carpet makes her uneasy till it is removed ! But she is very sweet tempered and cheerful, in no 286 THE MAIDEN AUNT. way vain or austere. She is handsome for her years. She dresses elegantly, her whole appearance com- ports with her age, and is therefore dignified and admirable. Her manners are lady-like and affable in the extreme, she must be much over fifty, for she is older than my dear father; she must have been a charming woman. Is it not a pity she is an old maid .'*- My father will soon join us, for the papers an- nounce the arrival of the Union in Norfolk Harbour. But my joy at seeing him, will be marred by Lieu- tenant Stansbury's accompanying him as usual. Mr. Stansbury was my early playmate, and I liked him very well then. But unfortunately my dear father has determined that I shall marry him. It has been the favourite hope of both, (my aunt tells me,) since my childhood. I am in a painful dilemma ; for in- dulgent as my father is, I know, from what I have seen in the short visits he paid me at Nut Grove, he will not endure contradiction when determined. I dread opposing him, and yet I must do so or be miserable. Feel for me, my dearest Caroline ; the assurance of your sympathy \\411 be an alleviation THE MAIDEN AUNT. 287 to my distress. Let me soon hear from you, my sweet friend. Ever affectionately Yours, Gertrude. P. S. I had almost forgotten to tell you that Greville Drayton arrived here nearly as soon as I did, and has shewn my aunt and myself every atten- tion. Indeed we see him every day. He is*going to Raleigh next week when we do. He begged to be remembered to your family. He is now in the house, having just sent up his card and such lovely flowers ! I must therefore close my letter at once, for if I leave it unfinished till I come upstairs again, I shall lose the post, as Mr. Drayton generally spends the whole evening here. Adieu. 288 THE MAIDEN AUNT. CHAPTER 11. There are precipices at every rood on the highway of human life, over which our best intentions fall and dash themselves to pieces. • James. We make a ladder of our thoughts, where angels step, And sleep ourselves at the foot. L. E. LAifDoif. It was a fine evening late in April. The air, laden with the breath of the wild honey-suckles that bor- dered the road for miles, perfumed with its sweet odours the drawling-room of a charming residence at the extremity of Raleigh — one of the loveliest spots in the Carolinas. The windows were open, and two young persons stole forth from the merry group within, and stepped upon the piazza. Greville Drayton — (for it was he,) drew his companion Ger- trude's arm within his own, and led her towards a cluster of trees that shadowed one wing of the building. THE MAIDEN AUNT. 289 ««Here dearest Gertrude," said he, ^^we shall be unheard by even your watchful aunt. Within two days your father will return, and with him my rival. I know your gentle, yielding nature will not main- tain opposition to a father's commands, — will not dare to brave a father's anger. Wretched indeed will be my future fate when I see you the wife of another : and can you, dearest, after the sweet con- fession you have so lately made — can you look for- ward calmly to such a prospect ? You cannot — the timid pressure of that dear hand is a sufficient reply. Your father cannot object to my family or fortune, and when he finds his early project foiled, he will not long cherish indignation for what is irrevocable. As your suitor I maybe forbidden the house — I have no power to interpose. As your husband, I should be ever near you, with the right to shield you from every harshness — to sustain you in every trial. I w^ould not for the world propose a step so startling to your sensitive mind, but circumstances allow no alternative. Consent then, my own Gertrude, to fly with me." — None but a lover could have heard the fiiintly articulated assent, but it was enough for 25 290 THE MAIDEN AUNT. Greville. A delicate forbearance, arising from the peculiar circumstances of their relative situations, checked the ardour of his thanks : and only pressing his lips rapturously to her hand, he was about to detail his plans, when two or three guests issued from the drawing room, calling playfully for Ger- trude. " We are again interrupted," — he exclaimed — "but I will write. Adieu for a moment, dear girl." And he darted through the trees and was out of sight before the intruders approached. "My dear Gertrude," cried JuUa Leslie, "where have you hid yourself? my chattering, I suppose, drove you away. But you must return now, for we have all decided upon a dance as the evening is so cool — and we cannot spare you. A ball extempore is what I love beyond all things : Miss Agatha looks as though she would add ' except the sound of your own voice.' " "No, indeed," replied Agatha smiling, "no such sly satire was in my thoughts. Gertrude, my child, your face is flushed, and how your hand trembles! — you have stayed out too long." They returned to the house ; and the next two hours THE MAIDEN AUNT. 291 passed merrily enough with many. But Agatha could not account for her niece's agitation, except by a suspicion of the truth, which had crossed her mind more than once during the past week. The company were resting after their fatigue, when Miss Leslie perceived Gr-eville who had returned at the close of the dancing, and with playful curiosity inquired the cause of his absence. He replied in the same gay tone, and made his way towards the piano, round which many were assembled listening to some sweet melodies from others of the party. The strain ceased, and Gertrude in her turn was re- quested to sing. Miss Leslie approaching cried, << Do sing one of your plaintive airs, Gertrude dear. Now here is one every body will like — Bayly's — of course. His ballads are in every family circle, an unequivocal test of their natural pathos." "And what song is this?" asked another; Ger- trude replied ; "It is his last. It had just arrived from England, when I left New York." (The Ballad was, "We met:" and though its reign of popularity has been succeeded by newer strains, all 292 THE MAIDEN AUNT. can recollect the enthusiastic admiration its first appearance created.) In the bustle caused by. searching for the music, Greville, unseen by all except Agatha, slipped into Gertrude's hand a note which she hastily concealed. " The beauty of that song," said Greville, speaking quickly, so that Gertrude's momentary confusion, might pass unobserved, « arises as much from what it implies as from what it relates. I conveys a whole history of mutual love, of broken faith, parental tyranny, weak obedience, and una- vailing remorse." "I am always melancholy," said Julia Leslie, <'(■ for at least Jive minutes after I have heard that song — an extraordinary effect upon me by the by. Its tone of reproach is natural, but painful. I wdsh there was a third verse to complete the history, with less bitterness of feeling." " Somebody," remarked Gertrude, glancing archly but timidly, at her aunt, " has pencilled a few lines, (anticipating your wish, Julia,) on the cover of the Ballad." THE MAIDEN AUNT. 293 "Indeed !" cried Julia : <' then pray sing it !" " Do let us hear it !" broke from many voices at once. " Willingly ; if the letters are not quite effaced." So saying, with pathos and expression, Gertrude sang the ballad now so familiar to every ear, sub- joining the following lines as a third verse : But now — I am a wife — useless grief I must banish — My life, with love and hope, like a dream soon will vanish. My lot on earth is cast, no regret can avail me — But sad as is my fate, reproach ne'er shall assail me. When death prepares repose for the heart that is broken, These words to one afar, without shame may be spoken : " I loved but thee alone, though I wedded another 1 Farewell, and when I'm dead, thou wilt pardon my mother 1'^ Throughout the progress of the song, Agatha had observed Gertrude as well as Greville ; and the character of their feelings, which gave an uncon- scious intensity to her tones, and an additional ex- pression to the features of both, became evident to her scrutinizing eye. The party dispersed, Agatha and Gertrude w^nt up stairs together, and as the latter gave her accus- tomed kiss, Agatha said: "Gertrude, my child, 25* 294 THE MAIDEN AUNT. you are still feverish. Is there nothing I can do for you ?" «« Nothing, dear Aunt. Good night." Agatha sighed and entered her o^Yn room, leaving the door awhile ajar, hoping for a summons from Gertrude, but none came. She closed her door, and retired to bed — but not to rest. Her heart yearned towards Gertrude with a mother's yearning for her affection. She dreaded the jeopardy in w^hich her niece's happiness seemed to stand, and the night was passed in vain wishes for a confidence she felt was withheld. Quickly did Gertrude dismiss her maid, fasten her door, and draw forth Greville's note. Blushing at her own eagerness, she sat down, and tremblingly perused it. «' In haste dearest Gertrude," it began, " I write those details I have been prevented from telling you. If you will, my own love, be true to the promise which was scarcely given when I was forced to leave you, all shall be prepared the day after to-morrow. A carriage shall convey us to Goldsborough, w^here we may be united, and re- main till your father is reconciled. I have per- THE MAIDEN AUNT. 295 suaded our humble and respectable friend Mrs. Dawson to accompany us, thinking it would con- tribute to your comfort. All that remains is to confirm your consent, dearest, and name the hour on Thursday evening when I shall join you. I may not be able to speak to you unobserved. Write therefore your reply, and find an opportunity to give it me to-morrow evening, when I make my accus- tomed call. But if you cannot do so without suspicion, drop it into one of the vases in the piazza, where I will seek for it. I know this secrecy is repugnant to your nature as to mine, but we must yield to necessity. Remember, dearest, your promise has been given. All care, all delicacy and respect, shall attend you in this step, and the whole of my future existence shall study to repay, by every endearment and solicitude, this one inesti- mable blessing. Let your own heart prompt the reply to your ever devoted Greville." Gertrude pondered awhile upon this note, and then murmuring, "No, not to-night," she kissed it, placed it under her pillow, and retired to rest. Throughout the next day, her mind was in a 296 THE MAIDEN AUNT. pitiable state of anxiety and hesitation, and although she knew that her letter must be answered ; she delayed writing as if reluctant to give the fxnal de- cision. At last five o'clock struck. "He will be here directly," thought Gertrude. " This hesitation is folly. I will WTite ;" and she hastily left the drawing-room and ran up stairs. Her hand was on the lock of the door of her room, when she re- collected that Julia Leslie was seated there copying an intricate pattern of embroidery from a new dress Gertrude had brought from New York. Agatha's door opposite was ajar, and Gertrude, knowing that her Aunt was not at home, softly crossed the gal- lery, entered the room, and closed the door gently. The precise neatness every where visible in the apartments, told the character of its owner. On a small table near one of the windows stood a desk and writing materials. Gertrude sat down instantly and wrote her reply, but not without frequent pauses and great agitation. « I feel, dear Greville, that I am doing wrong, but I will not withdraw my promise. At seven to-morrow morning I will meet you, and trust in THE MAIDEN AUNT. 297 your noble heart and strong affection not to esteem me less hereafter for this one sacrifice of woman's pride. Gertrude." The closing of a door startled her. She listened, and heard Julia, whose step she recognized, leave the room opposite and descend the stairs. The note was folded and directed. Gertrude looked for a seal. There were several lying on the desk ; she took up one, and with a pre-occupied mind gazed vacantly upon it. But as she looked, some association made her of a sudden gaze more earn- estly. The setting was old fashioned — the device, quaint. It was a dove perched upon a branch, peering into a nest; the motto — "Look within!'' It was but a trifle it is true ; yet what memories does a trifle often recall ! It was a seal, she had been told a few days before, often used by her mother, and for that reason her aunt prized it. Her mother's sweet form arose in Gertrude's imagination, as she remembered being held up, a merry-hearted child, in the nurse's arms, to take a last kiss from that mother on her death-bed. That scene was imprinted 298 THE MAIDEN AUNT. on her infant mind, for she had wondered why every one looked so sad, and why the tears streamed from her mother's eyes while exclaiming — " God bless my child!" The motto on the seal assumed another meaning, and that same soft voice seemed now to murmur, in the more solemn signification of the phrase — " Loqk within !" She thought of her father, bereft of his chief comfort, having now only a daughter to cheer his lonely life, and his kind voice that ever breathed affection, seemed to send echoing from afar the admonition " look within !" Gertrude did look within — into that complicated recess — her own soul. She saw that the act she was about to complete would wring her father's heart : that the sweet ties of childhood and of filial love had power to strive against newer and more ardent feelings. She saw that selfishness, disguise it as she might, formed the basis of her present conduct. Onward and more powerful rushed the stream of pure affection and of infant memories coursing through every channel of her mind. She rose from her scat for the purpose of descending THE MAIDEN AUNT. 299 the stairs with the note, before her resolution should forsake her; but she felt unable to stir from the spot, and sinking again into the chair, buried her face in her hands upon the desk before her, and like the conscience-stricken disciple "wept bitterly." After some little time had elapsed, she w^as startled by an arm being gently wound round her, and her aunt's voice inquiring if she were ill. Stifling her tears, she muttered an excuse, and rose to go. But Agatha detained her, and drawing her into the chair again, sat down beside her. " Why, my dear child, do you avoid me ? If you are ill in body, my care may restore you ; if indisposed in mind, my sympathy may soothe you. If any little secret weighs upon you, confide in me, dear child. But first calm this passionate sorrow', and tell me, can I serve you." «< No, no : I am miserable : I do — I do want help. But not from you, aunt: not from you." — "And why not, Gertrude?" a I — I cannot tell you. Pray let me go." " Stay, my child, stay ;" Agatha resumed as she perceived the note lying on the desk. " What note 300 THE MAIDEN AUNT. is that you have been writing ? Is it not to Greville Drayton? You need not hide your face nor sob so piteously — confide in me, my love. As your dear father's representative — as the only relative near you — as one who loves you, darling, like a daughter — I am likely to prove as safe a counsellor as your, young school-mates, and certainly have a greater claim upon you. If you think the difference in our ages prevents my sympathizing with you, compose yourself and listen to me. You know I am not much given to egotism, therefore will for- give a narration of certain events in my own life. An old maid's romance may make you smile, per- haps, but recollect, I was not always old." So saying, she laid aside her bonnet and shawl. Gertrude dried her eyes, and resting her head upon her aunt's shoulder, gazed with a sad but eager look ■ in her face. Agatha kissed her fevered cheek, and smoothed the discomposed ringlets on her throbbing brow — then clasping her niece more closely in her arms, proceeded with the following narration : THE MAIDEN AUNT. 301 CHAPTER III. A noble fortitude in ills delights Heav'n, earth, ourselves, 'tis duty, glory, peace : As night to stars, wo lustre gives to man : Heroes in battle, pilots in the storm, And virtues in calamities, admire ! Young. ««Long years ago, most people — (forgive my re- trospective vanity, Gertrude,) — most people thought me an agreeable, pretty young woman. But there was one whose opinion to me, outweighed all the rest. He was about my own age, and we loved each other dearly. I will not describe Lewis Thornton. He was" — and she smiled as she spoke — " all that Greville Drayton is, or seems to you. His father lived in Albany, but Lewis spent most of his time with an uncle in New York, where we then resided. Our attachment was of some years' duration, and at last Lewis asked me to be his wife. I consented, having alas, no one's incli- nation to consider but my own, and only stipulated 26 302 THE MAIDEN AUNT. the necessity of his father's assent. Lewis wrote to him, and received his reply in the affirmative. Two weeks elapsed and we were most happy: when a letter arrived addressed to me from the elder Mr. Thornton. He said that upon reflection he consi- dered that my name coincided with that of a person he had long disliked ; and that if my late father was Richard Rusport of North Carolina, the husband of Agatha Walworth, (my mother's maiden name,) their child should never marry his son. That he had written to Lewis who refused to rescind his pledge, and that he now appealed to me to relin- quish Lewis, unless I wished him to be renounced and cursed by his father. I saw Lewas almost immediately after the receipt of this strange and cruel letter, and conjured him to reflect upon his father's threats. He continued firm in his adhe- rence, I intreated him to write again to his father ; he did so, but with no effect. Some time passed in this state of suspense. «I have now reached the object, Gertrude, for which I begun this story.^ — my trial and suffering. God knows how dearly we loved each other! THE MAIDEN AUNT. 303 Well, as I still delayed our marriage, Lewis deter- mined on making a final personal appeal to his father, and for that purpose bade me farewell. He was to write as soon as he had seen Mr. Thornton, as the mail conveyance w^ould arrive before him. Those were tedious days for travellers, and well I remember my agitation of mind during the interval. But that very absence proved a blessing. It afforded me time to reflect and resolve. I felt — Gertrude, mark me — that an unjust, and as it seemed, ground- less prejudice obscured my prospects of happiness, but I considered that I had no right to bring sorrow and family rancour upon any one, more especially on him I would have given my life to serve. I thought of the horror of a parent dying unrecon- ciled and unforgiving, and above all, I felt that as a christian woman, I ought not to prefer my own selfish happiness to another's future peace of mind. I knew that Lewis would not resign me, and there- fore I must make the sacrifice. As this conviction forced itself upon me, for whole days I could only sit and weep, as bitterly, my child, as you have 304 THE MAIDEN AUNT. done to day. But if I wept, Gertrude, I also prayed, and by degrees I gained resolution. The promised letter came, written in haste and agitation. It was brief: no wonder that I can repeat its contents now. " Agatha — my own Agatha," it began, " my father is inexorable — no matter. Our mutual affec- tion and my pledged honour are not to yield to an unfounded and cruel prejudice. In the sight of heaven you are my promised wife. Within twelve hours from the arrival of this letter I shall claim my bride." " My plan was formed. I requested my orphan brother who was a mere youth at home from sea — and your mother (then very young and lovely, Ger- trude,) to be with me on Lewis's arrival, that the presence of others might be a restraint to him, and a support to me. He came: long and earnestly he strove to persuade me, but in vain. At last, per- haps my efforts to maintain firmness made me seem cold, and he reproached me with want of affection. God grant, my child, you may never feel what I did then !— We parted friends at last, as friends part THE BIAIDEN AUNT. 305 who are never to meet again. The next day my brother told me, Lewis had left New York, and before night I was in a raging fever." "My dear, dear aunt," interrupted Gertrude, <^ did you indeed never meet again?" "By the blessing of heaven, and the kindness of my friends," Agatha continued, "I recovered, to pray for a christian resignation, a cheerful content, which, as time rolled on, by God's grace I obtained. About three years after, I went with a party of friends on a summer excursion, and on our return we stopped at Saratoga, where by a strange coincidence, Mr. Thornton" — <■<■ Lewis ?" eagerly ejaculated Ger- trude. " No, his father — came according to his annual custom to the springs, and of course to the only inn the then obscure village afforded." " Did he know you ?" " No, he had never seen me ; and probably, while at the inn, never heard my name. I knew it was he, for he had been pre-eminent at Albany in the practice of the law, and was now Judge Thorn- ton. I was aware that he had married late in life, but had not expected to see him so aged and infirm. 26* 306 THE MAIDEN AUNT. On the second night after his arrival, a fire broke out in the hotel. Its progress was arrested, but all efforts could not save the left wing, which the flames were rapidly investing. Every one had, it was supposed, left the building, and the last group, of which I was one, were descending the main staircase, which was yet free from danger, when one of the party cried, «I fear no one has thought to rouse Mr. Thornton, he will be suffocated.' I heard no more, but ran rapidly back towards the left wing, shouting forth his name. The first and second rooms, hghted by the adjacent flame, were empty. I opened the door of the third, the smoke drove me back, once more I advanced, while there was yet time to do so, without mad and useless risk. Lewis's father was lying, apparently senseless, across a small chest; I called to him and shook his arm violently. At last he heard me. The smoke was increasing, and grasping his hand as he rose to his feet, I dragged, rather than led him, into the air. We descended the main staircase rapidly and left the house in safety, when from the agitation I fainted." THE MAIDEN AUNT. 307 "And you saved him," cried Gertrude, « at the risk of your own life ?" " No, my dear child ; I ran little risk. What I did was the mere exertion of presence of mind. I had never known fear in any danger by fire." «« But to save hinij Aunt, who had so injured you!" "That was a thoughtless remark, my love," said Agatha impressively. " That being must in- deed be « desperately wicked' who, with even greater provocation, could coolly and wilfully suffer a fellow-creature to perish. I only obeyed the impulse of common humanity. I should not have related this egotistical event, but that you might understand the sequel. We were lodged in our neighbours' dwellings. All lives were saved. It appears that Mr. Thornton, (who had been carried to a physician's near us,) had on hearing the alarm of fire, hastily endeavoured to take down from a press, a small trunk of valuables ; but his strength failing, the box had slipped from his hands, and struck him to the ground. The hurt he had thereby received on his chest, was pronounced fatal. On 308 THE MAIDEN AUNT. the following afternoon, the physician, his host, brought me a letter dictated confidentially to him by Mr. Thornton. I will shew it to you, Gertrude.'" Agatha rose, and unlocking a small old-fashioned cabinet that stood near, took thence a little casket tied around with a faded ribbon. '« Undo the knot, Gertrude," she said, as she gave it. <'It has not been unfastened for eighteen years." Gertrude complied, and opening it, found two letters. Taking out one, Agatha gave it to her niece who read as follows : <« If you are the Agatha Rusport who was to have been the wife of my son, I beseech you to read these my dying words with patience. In my youth, I loved your mother, we were engaged ; a little dis- pute in which I own I was to blame, occurred between us, and to punish me, she encouraged the ■ attentions of Richard Rusport. It was a thoughtless but dangerous artifice. I remonstrated with her, and she declared she never would be my wife. She adhered to that resolution, and within a twelve- month married Mr. Rusport. I led a bhghted life fdr many dreary years, until I met Lewis's gentle THE MAIDEN AUNT. 309 mother ; about which time I lost sight of Agatha, who had buried two children since her marriage. I did not then know that Agatha had again been a parent. But the name made me anxious and inquiring,^ and hating your mother's memory, I vowed her child should suffer the pangs of disap- pointment and desertion, such as I had endured. On my death-bed I see the enormity of such feel- ings. I recall many circumstances that palliated your mother's conduct. You have saved my life : that deed, noble hearted woman, bespeaks your forgiveness. If you will confirm that pardon, I shall indeed bless you, but I ought not to ask it. Write to my son and tell him all this. As life is leaving me, such an act is no sacrifice of your pride for delicacy. I have not heard from Lewis for many months, he is in Mobile, write to him ; my blessing go with you and rest upon you both ! (Signed) Ezekiel J. Thornton." Gertrude put down the letter, and kissing Agatha, joyfully exclaimed, " Dear Aunt, then you w^ere happy, and yet, you never married — pray go on." 310 THE MAIDEN AUNT. Agatha smiled sadly at her niece's eagerness, and resumed. «' I went to Mr. Thornton, I forgave him ; he died in peace. A short time after his mter- ment I \Yrote to Lewis, enclosing a copy of his father's letter, and adding an encouragement, so worded as not to compromise my sense of womanly propriety or self-respect, implying that my affection remained unaltered. There is his answer. My child, read it." Gertrude did so. It was written in an agitated hand. " Common place thanks and gratitude would be an insult to you Agatha, noble-minded, self- abnegating as you are. A lifetime could not speak the overflowings of my admiration, of ray reverence for you. I will strive to imitate your generous self- denial and endurance. Heaven grant I may have strength to do so through life. How shall I tell you ? I cannot enter into detail — I know not how to explain by degrees. You were lost to me — for nearly three years I had not even heard your name. Your precious letter has arrived a month too late God for ever bless you, Agatha ! I am married ! Lewis Thornton." I THE MAIDEN AUNT. 311 Gertrude looked up as she concluded, with the tears glistening in her young eyes, and saw that Agatha was endeavouring to calm the emotion apparent only in the convulsive twitchings of her countenance. Gertrude laid down the letter and threw her arms around her. After a pause, Agatha partly regained her self-possession and said : " Since this recital has so affected me after a lapse of years, you may judge what my sufferings were in former times before my sense of duty — of rectitude — of submission to Providence, and above all, of grati- tude for the many blessings it has granted, taught me to lay aside sinful regret for the one blessing withheld." "And did you never see Lewis again?" <' Never." «f And did you never write to him ?" " Wherefore ? to affect an indifference he knew I did not feel — to offer congratulations which from me would have been an insult — or what would have been w^orse" — and her tones become more solemn as she spoke — " by perpetuating the remembrance of me, to have introduced repining into his heart — dis- 312 THE MAIDEN AUNT. trust and unhappiness into the bosom of his wife — and the sin oi mental adultery into my own soul." "Dear Aunt, I wronged you by the question," said Gertrude. "But you must have been mise- rable." "No, my dear girl, not miserable. Not perhaps as happy as in another sphere I should have been, but still resigned, and above all, contented. Rest assured, Gertrude, that when the first prostra- ting shock of grief is past, despair and misery rarely attend a mind at peace with itself. Look at that plant in the window, my child," she added, pointing to it, " which you thought destroyed by yesterday morning's storm ; the rain has bowed that yielding shrub to the earth, the wind has scattered its blossoms for a season, and even wrenched some branches away for ever ; but the root remains firm, Gertrude ! and when the glorious sun shall shed its warmth again, another spring will see that plant again thriving, erect and fragrant." THE MAIDEN AUNT. 313 CHAPTER IV. For while I sit with thee I seem in heaven, And sweeter thy discourse is to my ear Than fruits of palm-tree, pleasantest to thirst And hunger both, from labour, at the hour Of sweet repast ; they satiate, and soon fill, Though pleasant, but thy words with grace divine Imbued, bring to their sweetness no satiety. MlLTOS". "Our conversation, my dear girl, has been," Agatha continued, <' a long and serious one. Give me those letters, I will restore them to their case. I destroyed, as was my duty, all tokens or relics of Lewis's affection or my own, but I have retained these two letters lest I should one day need justifi- cation. My delicacy took a needless precaution, perhaps, for scarce any one remembers my trou- bles now." «' And have you never heard of Lewis .''" asked her niece. '' Never," she answered. "But remember, Gertrude, no one living except your father knows what I have this night told you. I should not have related it, (for such a detail of past 314 THE MAIDEN AUNT. affection is perhaps derogatory, or at least incon- sistent with the dignity that should attach to my years,) but that I hoped my own experience would more impress your mind than a whole volume of abstract principles and counsels." «< And you were right, dear Aunt. Painful as your frankness has been to you, it has wrought its end. Your disappointments have made mine seem lighter by comparison — your christian resignation and con- tent have shamed my repining heart, and made me blush for my lack of self-control. Dear Aunt," she continued, sinking on her knees before Agatha, and looking up in her face ; «« I place myself under your guidance — direct me — counsel me — support me f" " That is not enough, my darling girl. Prayer will bestow more fortitude than I can give. There is One Friend who never will desert — never will misguide you — apply to Him." <« I will, I do!" Gertrude murmured solemnly. *« Bless you, my child !" said Agatha, kissing the fair girl who knelt before her. And beautiful was the picture. Beautiful was the confiding inno- THE MAIDEN AUNT. 31 cence in the look of the younger : beautiful the affectionate benignity in the countenance of the elder. After a pause, Gertrude remarked: «< Dear aunt, he — Greville will soon be here. This is what I have written," and colouring deeply, she drew from her bosom the letter she had hastily concealed when Agatha before spoke of it. <« Read it," she continued, " don't blame me ! I know I deserve reproof, but don't blame me," and sobbing she hid her face in Agatha's lap. Agatha read the note, and raising her, said mildly—' You will not send this, Gertrude ?' " Oh, no !" she exclaimed, snatching and tear- ing it. " Then you will write another reply?" <«I will," she answered, still sobbing. ''But he will soon be here : it must be done at once ;" and she hastily placed herself at the desk before which she had sat with such different feelings two hours previous. "What shall I say?" << What your own heart dictates, my child." Gertrude took up the pen — laid it down. " Poor Greville !" 316 THE MAIDEN AUNT. she murmured. «« How can I tell him that" — A burst of tears came to her relief. Again she took up the pen, but her hand trembled so violently she could not trace a letter : then she paused to wipe away the tears that fell rapidly upon the paper. Agatha remained silent. She wished Ger- trude to acquire that inestimable blessing, the power to judge and act for herself. At last the note was written. Gertrude gave it to her aunt. Its contents w^ere these : "What can I say to you, dear Greville? I know you will think me capricious, vacillating ; I fear you w^ill be unhappy. I am so, indeed; but less • I wretched than before I made this resolution. Dear Greville, do not seek to persuade me again. Without my father's consent I can never be your wife, though never can I cease to love you." (These last words were almost blotted out with tears.) « Bless you, my dear, good girl," — said Agatha, laying down the note and lighting the taper. " Stay," cried Gertrude. «< Giv^e me the note again," and seizing the pen she added these words : < I act solely from myself, under a firm con- THE MAIDEN AUNT. 317 viction that I am at last doing right. Blame no one else. Forgive me.' "Aunt, you will give him this?" "No, my dear child, it is but just he should receive it as he expects from you." "No, I dare not see him. I know my own weakness. Let me at least be wise enough to shun temptation. If I see him," — and she smiled through her tears, "I fear I could not say no. That is his knock, I know it," she added : and as she spoke, " A thousand blushing apparitions started Into her face : a thousand innocent shames In angel whiteness bore away those blushes." Trembling with agitation, as her aunt offered her the light she folded the note, and sealed it with the same little seal she had before caught up. Agatha took the note and was leaving the room, when Gertrude said hesitatingly, "You will — that is — I mean, you will explain why I cannot see him. I would rather he should think me weak than heart- less. You can break all to him, but" — and she laid her hand on Agatha's arm, <« speak kindly to I 27* 318 THE MAIDEN AUNT. him even if he blames me, for indeed I alone am in fault." "I will, I will, my darling, innocent girl," said Agatha, leaving the room as a servant was ascend- ing the stairs to announce Mr. Drayton. Gertrude listened till her aunt entered the drawing-room, whence sounded the hum of many voices. Then seating herself and leaning her head upon her hand she seemed lost in thought. In a few mo- ments she raised her head, and clasping her hands, murmured: "Father in Heaven; do not desert me in my trouble !" After this brief prayer her eye fell upon a paper that lay near her feet ; she took it up ; it was in Agatha's hand writing, but the colour of paper and ink indicated its having been written many, many years before. As the day was closing, Gertrude seated herself at the desk, and by the light of the taper which had been left burning, read the following verses. Their tenor plainly shewed their date was immediately subsequent to Agatha's farewell interview with Lewis : " 'Tis o'er ! We've parted, love, at last ; One pressure of the hand was given, While eager eyes on ns were cast : 3 THE MAIDEN AUNT. 319 We ne'er shall meet again ! All's past — ■ The farewell said, the fond luik riven : Thou know'st I love thee ! The warm flush Of shame is spreading o'er my brow, But still thou canst not see the blush, Nor hear the rapid words that gush To hide what I have owned e'en now. Thy tongue, that day, in accents blest, Confirmed the hope so dear to me. — Thy frequent tenderness, expressed By daily tokens, then confessed That I had long been loved by thee. I feel thou then didst read my heai-t, For though half breathed in wliispers low, My faltering words did a// impart. And yet — while tears of pride now start. Those words, would I recall them ? no ! Thou ne'er shalt know of streaming tears, Of nights in sleepless anguish past. Of struggles twixt my hopes and fears. Of days whose agony seemed years, Ere I could say farewell at last. Forget me, if thy lot be bright : Or shouldst thou think upon me ever, Be it as Sister fled thy sight. But if sharp cares thy spirit blight, I would not from thy mem'ry sever. 320 THE MAIDEN AUNT. No. Then I'd be the distant star, To shine upon thy dreary way : No earthly stain my Hght should mar, I'd cheer thee on thy course afar, With kind but unimpassmied ray. Thou lov'st — (and thou deserv'st it well), A home with sweet endearments decked ; May. this, my first affection's knell. Turn to a joy fill marriage bell, And peal through all thy life unchecked. ****** Yet — though the love that I have borne for thee, Hath marred my future prospect of pure joy, I would not lose its sweet sad memory, That ever will my soul's chief solace be — No ! not for years of bliss without alloy ! I'll think of thee as of the sainted dead Passed into happiness beyond our view, From whom all mortal passions long have fled ; The wounds with which on earth our spirits bled Healed with faith, holy, changeless, pure and true. ***** If: Bless thee ! Oh Bless thee ! And farewell ! Each link in memory's chain I'll sever That could my love hereafter tell. With prayer I'll break the mighty spell. All's past ! Once more, adieu for ever ! THE MAIDEN AUNT. 33i CHAPTER V. II n'y a pas quelquefois moins d' habilete a savoir profiter d'un bon conseil, qu 'a se bien conseiller soi-meme. RoCHEFOUCATTIiD. Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! Let the dead past bury its dead : Act. — Act in the living Present : Heart within, and God o'erhead : LOBrGFELlOW At this moment Agatha returned. ''I have seen Greville, Gertrude. It is a sad shock to him ; but he says that perhaps you are right, and he will endeavour not to blame you. On entering the room, I remarked aloud that you were not well this evening, and in a few moments I went towards the window. Greville followed, asking if you were much indisposed; and we stepped out upon the piazza unnoticed by the company. I then gave your note and explained all. He was painfully agitated, but says he will go out of town for a few days, and hopes by that time to gain calmness enough to see you once more — but not again to 322 THE MAIDEN AUNT. persuade you, Gertrude — No ! I told him that a renewal of this struggle would endanger my dar- ling's health, and I believe him to be too generous to attempt it." Thank you : bless you, dear, dear aunt," said Gertrude, sadly, but firmly. " Here is a paper I found, it must have dropped from that casket. I ought not to have read it I confess, but I did so thoughtlessly. Pray forgive me." A faint tinge arose in Agatha's usually pale face as a cursory glance at the verses told her their sub- ject, and she remarked, «< I thought that had been destroyed with the rest. No matter," and she w^as about to tear it, but after a moment's thought, she folded it, saying, " I will place it in the casket again. It is only an epitaph on dead affection long ago entombed in the past." * * * "Now my dear girl, let me see you to your own room. I will send your maid thither, and account for your con- tinued absence," she said smiling, " by woman's f usual excuse — a head-ache ; that plea will prevent Julia's intrusion. Go early to rest, my child ;" and kissing her affectionately, she left her. When all THE MAIDEN AUNT. 323 the household were retiring for the night, Agatha tapped at Gertrude's door ; a faint voice inquired, "Is it you, Aunt ? come in." Gertrude was in bed. Agatha sat beside her, placing her candle on the table near, and its light shining full upon Gertrude's face, disclosed the colourless cheeks, the red and swollen eye-lids, the heavy drooping look, that all so plainly tell of hours spent in sorrow. "Gertrude," said Agatha, caressing her, «'>'A BaILLIE. Celui qui n'a point senti sa faiblesse et la violence de ses pas- sions, n'est point encore sage ; car il ne se connait point encore, et ne salt pomt se defier de soi. Fexi:lo:s-.- About this time, unfortunately for Adelaide, a party of friends offered to take Clara with them on a visit to Charleston, in which delightful city they were to pass the winter. The delicate health and subdued spirits of Clara induced her parents to yield a ready consent, and in some haste she departed. Adelaide was thus left v>'ithout a confi- dante or monitor, and her heart daily became more and more interested for George, whose more than brotherly regard, though not declared, was ta- citly manifested in his conduct. His attentions it is true, were not so marked as to be unequivocal; THE SISTERS. 369 but as we all know, there are in every-day inter- course a thousand little circumstances, almost too minute to be defined, pecuhar tones, looks, or man- ner, — that indescribably convey volumes either of affection, dislike, or total indifference. Mr. and Mrs. Gordon, as is not an uncommon case among parents, saw nothing; and even had it not been so, the injudicious fondness of the latter, long contin- ued, had flattered Adelaide into the belief that she was by nature and education such a superior being that advice or guidance from one whose ideas were as circumscribed as her mother's, was neither im- portant enough to be solicited, nor offered. At this period, George received a letter from his father, who had gone to Michigan to inspect some land he had lately purchased, requiring his son's immediate presence. The elder Mr. Stanley had been seized with a severe illness, and in alarm had instantly written to his son. Affectionately, tenderly, did George take leave of Adelaide ; his farewell to her was evidently of a more heartfelt nature than to his other friends. A few hours' notice saw him on his journey. For a 370 THE SISTERS. month after his arrival, his father lingered, and then left him an orphan. Deep was his grief, and like Rachel, he refused to be comforted. He remained absent from his friends, and when the first year of mourning had expired, Mr. Gordon received a letter from him stating that he had gone to Louisi- ana. Poor Adelaide was of course melancholy. Clara again gladdened the quiet fireside, her health restored, her heart resigned, — happy in the con- sciousness of duties performed and in the presence of tranquil hope. News at last came of George Stanley ; he was about to marry a young lady in New Orleans. Surprise was the predominant feeling of all. But what were Adelaide's thoughts ? She knew that she ought now to forget him. But could she do so ? She was now to act upon the bold assertion she had made. She was now to bid the troubled waves of passion roll back, but as with the Danish king, they obeyed not her commands. No eye witnessed the conflict. Pride withheld her from communing with her sister or her mother; thus like THE SISTERS. 371 the Spartan boy she concealed her tortures, prefer- ring to die rather than reveal them. The love which through mere revery and romance she had at first cherished, had gained new strength from the belief that it was returned. Report soon reach- ed the city that Mr. Stanley and his wife were coming thither, and the lady's reputed beauty and her husband's known wealth led to the supposition that she would be a bright star in the gay circles of fashion. She came. Report had not belied her. She was the reigning queen of the season. On their first arrival, George's friends crowded round to welcome and congratulate him. Mr. and Mrs. Gordon were most eager in their hospitality. They looked upon George almost as a son, and were anxious for his sake to show all kindness to his wife. On their first visit the sisters were, by the calling in of some acquaintances, prevented from accompanying them, but with all the warmth of that old-fashioned frankness now so seldom to be met with, they insisted upon Mr. and Mrs. Stanley's returning home with them to pass a quiet social 372 THE SISTERS. evening. As they entered the drawing-room, Clara advanced to George, who after pressing her offered hand w^ith respectful warmth to, his lips, turned with equal warmth to introduce his bride. <«I shall claim you as an old friend as well as George if you will permit me, my dear madam ;" said Clara with her habitual enthusiasm. Then as the bride grate- fully responded to this appeal, Adelaide approached. With some embarrassment, George took her hand, but raised it not to his lips, and bidding him wel- come in a firm tone, she withdrew it calmly, though the (■(• mantling blood in ready play," covered cheeks, and brow, and neck. Hastily she advanced to his wife and with trembling eagerness bade her welcome. The bustling kindness of Mrs. Gordon interposed, and unconsciously prevented the embar- rassing pause that must otherwise have followed. Agitated by the affectionate greetings she had receiv- ed, the bride saw not George's confusion nor Ade- laide's painful blush, and as other relatives assembled and the conversation became general, the evening passed happily. Mrs. Stanley and Clara seemed THE SISTERS. 373 to be mutually pleased, and from George's friend- ship with the family, felt as though they had long known each other. Who shall lift the veil from Adelaide's heart when that night she retired to her apartment ; who shall describe the woe that burst forth in smothered sobs as she buried her face in the pillow lest the sounds should pierce the thin partition that sepa- rated her from her sister ! * * This trial, if trial it was, was daily renewed. Constant and familiar intercourse was kept up betwixt the Stanleys and the Gordons. Adelaide strove to drown in gaieties, and the excitement of society, the feelings that oppressed her — but in vain ! she found it impos- sible to avoid the presence of him who was still too dear, and she feared to make her avoidance marked lest it should create suspicion of the truth. She tried to view Mrs. Stanley with sisterly regard, but a sort of loathing seemed to rise within her at the mere sound of her voice. Worse too, — amidst all George's scrupulous attentions to his wife, attentions too pointedly paid to be the outpourings of real affection, she saw that he had not forgotten times 32 374 THE SISTERS. long past, too well remembered by her. As the struggles between right and wrong became more vehement and their separating line less palpable in her mind, her spirits grew unequal, now wild w^ith mirth, now listless with sorrow. Clara often sought to speak with her, but with intuitive skill she would turn the conversation to merriest topics, and zeal- ously avoided being left alone with her for a moment. THE SISTERS. 375 CHAPTER IV. -Call up thy noble spirit, Rouse all the gen'rous energy of Virtue, And with the strength of heaven-endued mart, Repel the hideous foe. Be great : be valiant : if thou could'st ! e'en shrouded as thou art In all the sad infirmities of nature, What a most noble creature wouldst thou be I JOANITA BaILLIE. -To nobler worlds Repentance rears, With humble hope, her eye ; to her is given A power the truly contrite heart that cheers ; She quells the brand by which the rocks are riven — She move than merely softens, she rejoices Heaven. Then patient bear the sufferings you have earned, And by these sufferings purify the mind : Let wisdom be by past misconduct learried : Or pious die, with penitence resigned : And to a life more happy and refined, Doubt not you shall, new creatures, yet arise. Thompson. So months flew on. Mrs. Stanley was taken ill, and as Clara, who had been to visit her, announced the fact on her return, Adelaide trembled exces- 376 THE SISTERS. sively and sank upon a chair. Why did she so ? that question she asked herself, and as her wavering weak heart answered, the horror of the half framed thought within her made her unconsciously utter a shrill cry. All present ran to her assistance. Sud- denly and eagerly she accounted for what she called her folly, by an acute pain which had all day oppressed her heart, and which her emotion of regret at the news of Mrs. Stanley's illness had increased. This answer satisfied her unsuspecting parents, who attributed her indisposition to over fatigue during the day. With fond care she was comforted and nursed, and after an early and tempt- ing meal which Mrs. Gordon's own watchful hands prepared, but which poor Adelaide could not taste, she was taken to her room, to seek undisturbed rest. — ''Do not stay now, dear Mother, Clara and my maid are here. I shall be well to-morrow. Pray join the family below. Good night." Assured by her calm words, her mother kissed and left her, saying that she would go immediately to Mrs. Stanley's and offer her assistance. Ade- laide dismissed the maid, and then, turning to THE SISTERS. 377 Clara, said, " Sister, I feel I shall be better when alone. I have no wish to sleep, and shall read till I grow weary. I need no help: pray go down, Clara, you can do me no good, and are depriving yourself of pleasure. Good night." «-- '^