> N- XXVI. 
 
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 li DEAF AND DUMB, 
 
 
 AN HISTORICAL DRAMA J 
 
 BY 
 
 ^oltvoft 
 
 I boston: 
 
 I PUBLISHED BY WELLS Al^D LILLY,— COURT-STREET 
 
 I AJfD 
 
 I A. T. GOODRICH & CO. NEW- YORK. 
 
 I 1822, 
 
 t 
 
 i 
 
 t 
 i 
 
 = ! 
 
m^m 
 
 COJJTAINEB IX THIS EDITIOIf, AS FAR AS YET PUB- 
 LISHED im engijAnv, 
 
 No. 1 
 
 2 
 3 
 4 
 
 I 12 
 13 
 
 d^ 
 Vl5 
 
 1/16 
 
 ^^ 
 v<^24 
 
 \ 29 
 
 V<51 
 
 ^ 32 
 
 ^ 33 
 
 V 34 
 
 ,. 35 
 
 A New Way to Pay OlvfsG Country Girl. 
 
 Debts. K>7 Jane Shore. 
 
 Rivals. ^ 38 Critic. * 
 
 West Indian. 
 
 Hypocrite. j^i 
 
 Jealous Wife. ^^ 
 
 She Stoops to Conquer, 
 Richard III. 
 
 V^ 
 
 Beggar's Opera. 
 
 Wonder. 
 
 Duenna. ♦ > 
 
 Alexander the Great- » 
 
 Lionel and Clarissa. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Venice Preserved. 
 
 Is He Jealous ? * 
 
 Woodman's Hut. * 
 
 Love in a Village. 
 
 Way to Keep Him. 
 
 Castle Spectre. 
 
 Maid of the Mill. 
 
 39 Coriolanus. 
 
 40 Rosina. * 
 ^^1 Suspicious Husband. 
 
 42 Honest Thieves. * 
 
 43 Mayor of Garratt. 
 
 X 
 
 w ^44 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 45 Stranger. 
 
 46 Three Weeks alter Mar- 
 riage. * 
 
 47 King Lear. 
 i'48 Inconstant. 
 
 ^^49 Shipwreck. * 
 V/ 50 Rugantino. * 
 >^"51 Wild Oats. 
 %f52 Rule a Wife and Have a 
 / Wife. 
 
 53 Magpie. * 
 
 Distressed Mother. 
 Provoked Husband. 
 Deaf and Dumb. 
 Busy Body. 
 Belle's Stratagem. 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 Recruiting Officer. 
 
 ^^54 Quaker. * 
 Clandestine Marriage.V. 55 Merchant of Venice 
 Soldier's Daughter. \^'M Wheel of Fortune. 
 Othello. V 57 Rob Roy. 
 
 lf«8 Citizen. * 
 
 ^$9 Deserter. * 
 60 Miser. * 
 jv6l Guy Mannering. 
 >: 62 Cymbeline. 
 ^ 63 Lying Valet. * 
 \,%\ Twelfth Night. 
 
 Bold Stroke for a Wife^^5 The Confederacy 
 V^66 Douglas. 
 
 Road to Ruin 
 Beaux' Stratagem. 
 As you Like It. 
 King John. 
 
 , 67 Who's the Dupe ? * 
 ^ 68 Know Your own Mind. 
 
 O* Those marked thu^ * are Farces or Melo-drames ; iht 
 prices of which are 20 cents ; the Plays and Operas 25 cents. 
 
 Iliillli 
 
 "**"■■•'" — 
 
^trticcvs's 3S9(tian. 
 
 DEAF AND DUMB, 
 
 AN HISTORICAL DRAMAj 
 
 il2 ^fiomuB ^oltvott 
 
 WITH PREFATORY REMARKS. 
 
 THE ONLY EDITION EXISTING, WHICH IS FAITHFULLY 
 
 MARKED WITH THE STAGE BUSINESS, 
 
 AND STAGE DIRECTIONS, 
 
 AS IT IS PERFORMED AT THE 
 By W. OXBERRY, Comedian. 
 
 boston: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY WELLS AND LILLY — COURT-STREET 
 AI^D A, T. GOODRICH & CO. — NEW-YORIT, 
 
 1822. 
 

 
MtmuvUu. 
 
 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Iv HE Story of Deaf and Dumb is one of the most affecting 
 and romantic on the stage. The idea of the poor orphan 
 boy who is the subject of it, thrown out helpless and unpitied 
 on the world, torn by the cruelty of a relation from his place 
 in society, and deprived by niggard nature of the means of 
 appealing to the humanity of strangers, and yet returning 
 at last, after his forlorn wanderings and desolate hopes, 
 under the guidance of his kind instructor, to his birth-place, 
 his early friends and the home of his forefathers, excites 
 the purest and deepest interest. Deaf and Dumb is a sort of 
 sentimental pantomime, exquisitely happy in the construc- 
 tion of the fable and tender in the sympathy it inspires ; and 
 may be considered as a practical test how far situation and 
 feeling alone will go to the production of the most powerful 
 and even refined dramatic effect, without the help of poetry 
 or impassioned dialogue. For Julio, the injured heir of 
 Harancour, we certainly feel the true touches of pity. If 
 the lips are dumb, the heart speaks out ; and looks are 
 breathing eloquence. The description of him lost on the 
 Pont-neuf, at Paris, his re-appearance before the Palace of 
 Harancour at Toulouse, and the mute and rapturous joy 
 which be expresses, stir what is human in the breast. The 
 
.tear starts from the moistened eye, the sigh heaves from the 
 labouring bosom. We feel a greater interest and a greater 
 respect for human nature, from witnessing its hidden re- 
 sources, its capacities for pleasure or pain in this its ob- 
 truncated and half finished state, and learn the value of 
 human life from its privations. This play is a truly moral 
 drama, and purifies the affections by terror and pity. That 
 it is founded on fact, does not lessen the interest, nor, as it 
 ends happily, embitter the pleasure. The effect is greatest 
 on the stage, but it is not confined to it. In the reading, it 
 has all the effect of the most romantic novel. When it was 
 first brought out in this country, it had the singular ad- 
 vantages of having Mr. Kemble for the representative of 
 the accomplished and humane Abbe de VEpee, and Miss 
 De Camp as the representative of the speechless Julio. This 
 lady's acting of the part was one of the most finished exhi- 
 bitions of the art. Perhaps no one ever expressed sense or 
 feeling so well by gesticulation and manner alone. There 
 was a vivacity and tenderness equally delightful. In the 
 most trying scenes, her heart seemed at her mouth, though 
 the tongue denied its office. Her face was radiant with 
 meaning ; and in the words of an old poet, 
 
 " Her pure and eloquent blood distinctly wrought, 
 " That you might almost say her body thought." 
 
 The original play is in French, by Mr. Bouilly ; and Mr. 
 HoLCROFT has done a service to the English Stage, by his 
 excellent adaptation of it. 
 
 Thomas HoLeRorr, was born in Orange Court, Lei- 
 cester Fields, December 22, 1744. His father was a shoe- 
 maker ; a calling for which his son always retained a pe- 
 culiar respect. When Mr. Holcroft was in his teens, he 
 was a servant to the Hon. Mr. Vernon ; his chief employ- 
 ment was to ride his master's race-horses, which were in 
 
training to run at Newmarket, and he was afterwards 
 much devoted to the art of horsemanship. He was also 
 considerably attached to the study of music ; and some time 
 after applied much of his attention to connoisseurship in 
 painting. Mr. Holcroft had an active mind, and was no 
 sooner aware of any path that led to improvement and ex- 
 cellence, than he was anxious to enter that path. Notwith- 
 standing this, he persevered to the age of twenty-five years, 
 with some little interruption, in his father's trade of a shoe- 
 maker. 
 
 About the period of life above alluded to, Mr. Holcroft 
 conceived a passion for the stage, and offered his services 
 at the same time to Mr. Charles Macklin and Mr. Samuel 
 Foote. Foote encouraged him, but Macklin talked to him 
 in so specious a style, and held out to him so many tempta- 
 tions and prospects, which were never realized that he was 
 induced to decide for Macklin and Ireland ; a decision 
 which he continued long to repent. 
 
 In the profession of a player Mr. Holcroft continued, not 
 with the most flattering success, till after the production of 
 his play oi Duplicity^ in 1781. Im^jediately on the exhi- 
 bition of this comedy, he withdrew from the stage as an 
 actor, and for several years devoted his attention principal- 
 ly to dramatic composition. He died on Thursday March 
 23, 1809, at the age of 63. His Dramatic works are as fol- 
 lows. 
 
 *«The Crisis," CO. 1778.— N P. " Duplicity," C. 8vo. 
 1781.—" Noble Peasant," CO. 8vo. 1784.— " Follies of a 
 Day," C 8vo. 1784.—" The Choleric Fathers," CO. 8vo. 
 1785.— "Death of Adam," S.D. 8vo. 1786.— " Hagar in 
 the Wilderness," S.D. 8vo. 1786. — "Joseph made known 
 to his Brethren," S.D. 8vo. 1786.—" Return of Tobias," 
 S.D. 8vo. 1786."— "Ruth and Naomi," S.D. 8vo. 1786.— 
 
;^ Sacrifice of Isaac," S.D. 8vo. 1786.--" Widow of Serep- 
 ta,-' S.D. 8vo. 1786.— -"Seduction," C. 8vo. 1787.— " Louis 
 in the Elysian Fields," D. 8vo. 1789.—" The School of the 
 World," Com. trans. 8vo. 1789.— "Tantalus at law," Com. 
 trans. 1789.— "School for Arrogance," C. 8vo. 1792.— "Road 
 to Ruin," C. 8vo. 1792.—" Love's Frailties," C. 8vo. 1794.— 
 "Rival Queens," Prel. 1794.-N.P. "Deserted Daughter," C. 
 8vo. 1795.-" Man of Ten Thousand," C. 8vo. 1796.-"Force 
 of Ridicule," C. 1796.— N.P. " Knave or Not," C. 8vo. 
 1798.—" Deaf and Dumb," H.D. 8vo. 1801.— (Under the 
 name of Herbert Hill.) " Tale of Mystery," Mel. Dr. 
 8vo. 1802.—" Hear both Sides," C. 8vo. 1803.— "The Two 
 Friends," Dr. Prov. 4to. 1804.— "The Play is Over," D. 
 Prov. 4to. 1804.—" Lady of the Rock," Mel. Dr. 8vo. 1805. 
 — " Vindictive Man," C. 8vo. 1806.— The following have 
 likewise been ascribed to his pen ; — " The German Hotel," 
 C. 8vo. 1790. — (Under the name of Marshall.) " The 
 Inquisitor," P. 8vo. 1798.— "He's Much to Blame," C. 8vo, 
 1798. 
 
lirolofiue. 
 
 WRITTEir BY CHARLES MOORE, ESa. 
 
 SPOKEN BY MR. POWELL. 
 
 Just is the censure of the vent'rous wight 
 Who wings for novelty a lawless flight ; 
 Whose Muse, from rational restriction free, 
 Paints, what " nor was, nor is, nor e'er shall be." 
 Who thinks the probable too duly true, 
 And keep the dubious possible in view. 
 Though vainly he to fair applause pretends, 
 Whose art commences just where Nature ends; 
 Yet in the Drama's right, I must here claim 
 All natures offspring as our lawful game ; 
 Ours the free privilege to copy here. 
 Each varied form Humanity can wear, 
 To win the smile, or w^ake the moral tear. 
 
 Our Author aims at novelty, 'tis true ; 
 But is the picture false, because 'tis new? 
 Consents our age to imitate alone, 
 And build on no foundations of its own, 
 Tho' Nature still from her exhaustless stoie. 
 Pour forth new treasures, and still teem with more ? 
 Think not, we mean, in decency's neglect, 
 To sport with frailty, and to mock defect ; 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 To bid mean souls with selfish triumph see 
 
 Two wants, at least, from which themselves are free. 
 
 The sage yet lives whose toils immortal shew. 
 What human powers without these aids can do. 
 Taught by commanding genius to restrain 
 Their causeless pride — who hear and speak in vain. 
 To prove thatpertness wisely had resign'd 
 Her fluent utterance for a fluent mind ; 
 And changM for ears, with folly's jargon fraught, 
 The keener sense of uncorrupted thought. 
 
JSutloflur* 
 
 WRITTEN BY GEORGE COLMAW, ESa. 
 
 SPOKEN BY MISS DE CAMP. 
 
 Here's Dumby come to speak — 'twas ten to one 
 That I had talk'd before the play was done. 
 X)f all our authors, he is far most cunning 
 Who can ensure a woman's tongue from running. 
 Speech is our nature ; — if I err, convict me — 
 What Bachelor so rude to contradict me? 
 Talking'sour charter ;— more than life we prize it ; 
 I'm sure no married gentleman denies it. 
 Speech is our birth-right — ask the ladies whether :— 
 They'll all maintain it — and all talk together. 
 
 The woman who cried pippins on the ice 
 Fell in, and cut her head off in a trice ; 
 Her head slid on, still jealous of its power, 
 And bawl'd out " Pip, pip, pip," for half an hour. 
 *'Our charter prov'd, in my own right I come 
 To ask you how you like the Deaf and Dumb ? 
 Be not too noisy, gentlemen I Why need you ? 
 Our charter \ Women's voices supersede you. 
 Pray, ladies, tell them what they ought to say 1 
 You smile ! — I thank you. — And so speed our play- 
 One dumhy in our piece 'twas bold to try — 
 Strike not the talkers, all, as dumb as I ! 
 
 If here to-night our efforts be rejected, 
 For the first time, an Orphan's unprotected. 
 If to the summit of our wish we reach. 
 Then, unlike women, gratitude wants speech. 
 2 * 
 
ZTune of l^e])t:eisentatton. 
 
 The time this piece takes in representation, is tvvq 
 liours and twenty-seven minutes. The first act occupies 
 the space of thirty-two minutes — the second, twenty-two 
 — the third, thirty-one — the fourth, seventeen — and the 
 fifth, forty-five minutes. — The half-price commences, gene- 
 rally, at a quarter before nine o'clock. 
 
 Stage Directions. 
 
 By R.H. ----- is meant Right Hand. 
 
 L.H. ^ -- Left Hand, 
 
 S.E. ---.-.-- Second Entrance^ 
 
 u.E. - — ---- — Upper Entrance. 
 
 M.D. - Middle Door. 
 
 p.F. Door in Flat. 
 
 R.H.D. .--- Right Hand Door. 
 
 ?..H»I), -• Left Hand Door. 
 
(tontnmt. 
 
 JULIO. 
 Slate coloured coat and pantaloons, half boots, and white hat. 
 DE L'EPEE. 
 
 Suit of black cloth, slate coloured great coat, black velvet collar and 
 cuffs. 
 
 ST. ALME. 
 
 French grey regimental, faced with black, white waistcoat and breeches, 
 white sash, military hat with white feather. 
 
 DARLEMONT. 
 Embroidered court suit of brown velvet. Blue silk morning gown. 
 
 FRANVAL. 
 A suit of black, counsellor's gown, band, &c. 
 
 DOMINIQUE. 
 Old fashioned brown suit, and little cocked hat* 
 
 DUPRE. 
 An old gentleman's suit of brown cloth. 
 PIERRE. 
 
 A superb livery. 
 
 MADAME FRANVAL. 
 
 Green satin open dress, trimmed with gold, white crape petticoat 
 trimmed with gold. 
 
 MARIANNE. 
 White leno dress trimmed with white satin ribbon and flowers. 
 CLAUDINE. 
 
 Black silk open gown, blue stuff petticeat, white apron and black 
 ]iood* 
 
lierisons IXtpvtmntt'o. 
 
 As originally acted, 1802. 
 
 Julio ........ Miss De Camp. 
 
 Darlemont .-.-.- Mr. Wroughton. 
 
 St. Alme Mr. C. Kemble. 
 
 Franval ....... Mr. Barryraore. 
 
 De PEpee Mr. Kemble. 
 
 Dupre ........ Mr. Bannister, Jun. 
 
 Dominique -..-.- Mr. Suett. 
 
 Pierre Mr. Palmer. 
 
 Phiiippe .---.-- Mr. Trueman. 
 
 Etienne ..--..- Mr, Chippendale. 
 
 Charles ----... Mr. Maddocks. 
 
 Madame Franval - . . . Miss Pope. 
 
 Marianne ..-..-.- Mrs. Mountain. 
 
 Claudine IVIrs, Sparks. 
 
 1818. 
 Drury-lane, 
 
 Julio ...., Mrs, Hartley. 
 
 Darlemont .•..,.•. • • . • . Mr. Bengough. 
 
 St, Alme , • , . Mr. Stanley. 
 
 Franval Mr. Barnard. 
 
 De VEpee Mr. Holland. 
 
 Dupre , . Mr. Powell. 
 
 Dominique • • Mr. Oxberry. 
 
 Pierre Mr Kent. 
 
 Philippe ••••••.. Mr. Coveney. 
 
 Etienne *• «.• Mr, Ebsworth. 
 
 Charles Mr. Evans. 
 
 Madame Franvat .•.••• Mrs. Sparks. 
 
 Marianne Mrs. Robinson, 
 
 Claudine Miss Tidswell, 
 
 Servants. &c. 
 
DEAF AND DUMB; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in the Palace of Harancour. 
 A whole length portrait of a Boy hangs in the 
 centre of the Room. 
 
 Enter Dupre and Pierre, r.h. 
 
 Dup. Don't you be so inquisitive. 
 
 Pie, Don't you be so surly. 
 
 Dup. I won't be tormented. 
 
 Pie. Come, come, Dupre — fellow-servants 
 shouW be communicative, and tell one another 
 every thing that passes in the family. 
 
 Dup. And if they did — woe betide some fami- 
 lies. 
 
 Pie. Dupre — What is the meaning of all this 
 mystery ? 
 
 Dup. Why do you nail your eyes on me thus ? 
 
14 DEAF AND DUMB, 
 
 I won't be worm'd and sifted. What is it you 
 want to pick out of me ? 
 
 Pie. 1 want to know the meaning of your 
 private intei views with my master's father ; — 
 admitted to his closet — doors lock'd — caution- 
 ings — whisperings. — Take care, take care — ^I 
 have my suspicions. 
 
 Dup. Suspicions ! — Of what ? 
 
 Pie. Of no good, I promise you. 
 
 Dup. Why, what do you suspect ? 
 
 Pie. To be plain with you, that you are aiding 
 and abetting your old master, to make his son, 
 my young master, miserable : in short, you are 
 making a match for him with the First Presi- 
 dent's daughter, against his will. 
 
 Dup. Oh ! is that all you know ? 
 
 Pie. All ! and isn't that enough ? 
 
 Dup. Yes — no — I could almost wish the whole 
 world knew — Ah ! (^Looking at the portrait.) 
 
 Pie, Knew what ? — How you ^x your eyes 
 on that — 
 
 Dup. Do I ? 
 
 Pie. Yes ; — You never pass through the 
 room without pausing on that portrait. 
 
 Dup. Not half an hour ago, I saw him start 
 from his frame, and stand before me. 
 
 Pie. What do you mean ? Are you crazy ? 
 
 Dup. 1 believe, it was only a dream. — Per- 
 haps he lives. (^Crosses to l.h.) 
 
 Pie. Lives ! — W^hat lives ? — Why, look man, 
 'tis but a picture. 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 15 
 
 Enter Darlemont, l.h. in a morning dress. 
 
 Dar. How now ? — What are you doing ? 
 
 Pie Only looking at this picture, sir. 
 
 Dar. That picture ! — and why are you looking 
 at it? 
 
 Pie. By Dupre's account, it ought to be a 
 miracle ; he says, he saw it start from its 
 frame, and stand before him. 
 
 Dar. Fellow? 
 
 Pie. Why, didn't you say so, Dupre ? 
 
 Dar. Begone ! [Exit Pierre^ lh.] Are you 
 mad Dupre ? 
 
 Dup. Almost, I am. 
 
 Dar. How dare you hint at what must be 
 eternally concealed ? 
 
 Dup. Dare ? — The sinner dreads no tyrant, 
 but his own conscience. 
 
 Dar. Let that portrait be removed. 
 
 Dup. No, that it never shall be. 
 
 Dar. Ha! 
 
 Dup. Frown on : there it shall remain, and 
 daily haunt us. 
 
 Dar. Again this insolence ? Remember, villain, 
 that you are my slave. (^Crosses to r.h.) 
 
 Dup. 1 do, and I remember too that you are 
 mine : accomplices in guilt are of necessity the 
 slaves of each other. 
 
 Dar. 1 must contain myself {Jlside.) I see, 
 I see Dupre, that neither my gifts, nor my 
 promises, have satisfied you : — however, I have 
 been thinking of you : — Leave me. — You will 
 soon find that you are not forgotten. 
 
16 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Dup. I wish I were — but you and I can never 
 be forgotten ; even in the grave we shall be 
 remember'd, only to be curs'd, despised, and 
 hated. [Exit Dupre^ l.h. 
 
 Dar. Must I hold wealth, reputation, nay, 
 life itself, perhaps, at the disposal of this 
 dotard ! — His slave ! — While he spoke it, auda- 
 cious as the reptile toad, he dar'd to fix his 
 brazen eyes upon me. — Let him accuse. — Am I 
 not Darlemont, possessor of the fortune and the 
 power of Harancour ? — Where is the man who 
 will venture to support his accusation ? 
 
 {Crosses to l.h.) 
 
 Re-enter Pierre, l.h. 
 
 Besides, my son's marriage with the President's 
 daughter, will, I hope — Why are you loitering 
 there ? 
 
 Pie. Sir, I am only waiting till my master 
 comes in. 
 
 Dar. What, is he abroad so early ? — Some- 
 thing disturbs him. 
 
 Pie. Yes, sir — indeed, something or other 
 seems to disturb every soul in the house. 
 
 (^Going.y 
 
 Dar. What's that you say ? — Come hither, 
 Pierre — you know the deference due to your 
 master's father — be faithful, and you shall pro- 
 fit by it. I must have no prying — mark me — 
 no babbling — talk not of me, nor my afiairs. — 
 As for Dupre — at times, you see, he raves — 
 he has lost his senses — he grows old — 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 17 
 
 Pie. In your service, sir. 
 
 Dar. And therefore what would be punished 
 in another, 1 overlook in him. — Pay no regard 
 to his wanderings — except, observe me, should 
 you think them extraordinary, to inform me of 
 them — me alone — no other — not even my son. 
 (^Crosses to l.h.) I have my reasons ; which are 
 not for you to inquire into. — Obey me, and 
 depend on my bounty. [Exit Darlemont^ l.h. 
 
 Pie, Your bounty ? — Humph ! — That may be 
 well enough ; but the devil take your pride. 
 A few years ago, this grand signior was but a 
 petty merchant ; and now — 
 
 Enter St. Alme, r.h. 
 
 St. A. Was not that my father? 
 
 Pie. Yes, sir — ^you seem as much rufHed as 
 he was. 
 
 St. A. My soul is on the rack — yet Vm 
 resolv'd — this hated marriage never can, never 
 shall, take place. — No, never, never will I 
 renounce thee, my lovely Marianne ! — 
 
 [Crosses to l.h.) 
 
 Pie. Then, sir, you must renounce your 
 father's favour and fortune. 
 
 St. A. Unfeeling prejudice ! — Is she not the 
 daughter of a man, whose memory is honourM 
 and belov'd ? — The sister of a man of virtue 
 and of talents — of Franval ? — the most renown- 
 ed advocate of Toulouse ? 
 
 Pie. True, sir — but his talents are the only 
 dependence of her and her mother. 
 
 3 
 
18 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 St. A. While my father was but a merchant, 
 he would have thought himself honoured by my 
 marriage with the daughter of the Seneschal 
 Franval ; but, since he has inherited the estates 
 of his nephew atid ward, the unhappy Count of 
 Harancour, his nature seems changed ; and he 
 now listens only to the dictates of his ambition, 
 
 (Crosses to r.h.) 
 
 Pie. Ah ! the old servants of the family often 
 talk of the young Count of Harancour ; — they 
 say, he had the misfortune to be deaf and dumb, 
 
 St. A. 'Tis true, he had. — Poor boy ! my 
 father took him to Paris about eight years ago, 
 in hopes that this affliction might be removed ; 
 and, whether improper medicines were admi- 
 nister'd to him, or that his constitution sunk 
 under the efforts for his cure, I know not; — 
 but there, in a short time, he died in the arms 
 of Dupre, who accompanied my father on this 
 journey. 
 
 Pie. That's the secret — now I no longer 
 wonder, that I so often catch Dupre gazing on 
 that picture of the young count. 
 
 St. A. Do you ? — 'Tis only natural in him ; — 
 this youth was the last remaining branch of an 
 illustrious family, which Dupre had long faith- 
 fully served. — My poor Julio ! — He once saved 
 my life — how bravely he expos'd himself for 
 me ! — Never, never will his image quit my 
 heart. — I see him at the moment of his departure 
 — dumb as he was, his form spoke moving 
 eloquence every look was so affectionate, every 
 action so expressive. — Dear, dear, lamented 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 19 
 
 Julio ! He crush'd me into his very heart, as if 
 he had foreknown, and would have told me, 
 that that embrace was to be our last. — Ah ! 
 were he now alive, I should enjoy his tender 
 and endearing friendship, and my father, less 
 opulent, would not then oppose my union with 
 Marianne, 
 
 Pie. But you say, sir, you have never yet 
 told this lady that you love her — how then do 
 you know what her thoughts of you may be ? 
 
 St. A. I can't mistake 'em — our mutual tre- 
 mors when we meet — my faultering voice, her 
 downcast eyes— and other thousand, thousand 
 delicious proofs of sympathising thoughts. — 
 
 Pie You know best, sir ; but, for my part, I 
 should wish for more substantial proofs — besides, 
 her mother — 
 
 St. A. Born of a noble family, is, if possible, 
 more haughty than my father ; but her son has 
 a complete empire over her affections : he is 
 my friend ; he cannot but have discovered that 
 I love his sister ; and, as our intimacy daily 
 strengthens, I must presume that he approves 
 my pretensions. {Crosses to l.h.) 
 
 {Dominique without^ r.h.) 
 
 Dom. I'll just deliver my message myself 
 
 Pie. Hush ! — here comes their gossiping 
 footman, old Dominique — Now, sir, if you wish 
 to know the lady's real sentiments, only let me 
 . set his tongue running, and he will tell you, 
 j in his own chuckling talkative way, all that he 
 sees, and hears. 
 
20 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Enter Dominique, r.h. 
 
 Ha ! — Good morning, friend Dominique. What 
 brings you to our house ? 
 
 Dorn, Good day, good day, friend ! — So, sir ! 
 (To St. Alrne.) youVe an early stirrer. — Ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! ha ! — 1 saw you just now — 1 saw you — 
 ha ! ha ! ha ! — 
 
 St A. Saw me ? 
 
 Dom. Yes, I did — pacing backwards and for- 
 wards, under my young lady's window — Ha f 
 ha ! ha ! 
 
 St. A. I was only" taking the morning air, 
 I do assure you, Dominique. 
 
 Dom Hafha! ha! 
 
 Pie. Ha ! ha ! ha ! What do you mean, 
 Dominique ? 
 
 Dom VVhy, that Pd take the morning air 
 myself, old as I am, if I hoped to see a young, 
 blooming, lovely — ha ! ha ! ha ! — But, no — fast 
 as a church — she was up till two o'clock this 
 morning practising the song, that somebody 
 made on her recovery (^significantly.) — Ha ! ha f 
 ha ! and at last went to bed, I dare say, only to 
 dream of the author — Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 St. A. Your frankness and good humour forbid 
 dissimulation — yes, Dominique, I adore your 
 charming mistress. 
 
 Pie. Ay, that he does — the more's his misfor- 
 tune. 
 
 Do7n. Misfortune ! — and pray, sir, why so ? 
 
 Pie. Because 1 can see very well — and so 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 21 
 
 do you too, Dominique — that your young lady 
 doesn't care a straw for my master. 
 
 Dom. You can see it, can you ? — Lord ! what 
 a clear sighted wiseacre thou art ! — Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 St. A. Why, Dommique, do you believe she 
 loves me ? 
 
 Dom. No, I don't believe it ; I know it. — 
 Why, there was, in the first place — 
 
 Si. A. Ay, Dominique — 
 
 Pie. Let him go on, sir. — Well, but let's hear 
 what proofs — 
 
 Dora Proofs — a thousand — Why, when she 
 was recovering from her last illness, and 1 told 
 her how }ou had called to inquire after her — 
 *' Did he come himself, Dominique?" says she 
 — " and did he come often ?" — '^ Every minute 
 in the day, ma'am," — says I. " And did he look 
 concern'd ?" — ^^ Ma'am," says 1, " he looked 
 charmmgly: his eyes were as red as a ferret's; 
 his cheeks as white as a sheet ; he looked Hke 
 a perfect ghost — a sweet lover-like figure, in- 
 deed, ma'am." — '^ I think Im better," says she, 
 " Dominique : I'm a great deal better — I'm sure 
 I shall soon be wen." — Ha! ha! ha! — True 
 love is your best doctor. 
 
 Pie. O, Lord ! and is this all you know ? 
 
 Dom. No, sir — it is not all I know ; nor half I 
 know.^ — She gave me such a scolding about you 
 t'other day. 
 
 >S^. A. About me ? 
 
 Dom. Yes. — She was painting away at her lit- 
 tle desk, and took no notice of my coming in to 
 put the room to rights ; so I crept softly on tipr- 
 
 3* 
 
22 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 toe tow'rds her; and, peeping over her shoulder 
 — (I love to detect The sly rogues) — what should 
 I behold but the picture of a young gentleman. 
 
 St. A. What young gentleman ? 
 
 Pie. Yes — what young gentleman? 
 
 Doin What young gentleman ?— " How like 
 it is," — says I, pop, at once, without thinking of 
 it. — " Like," says she, starting up — '^ Like who? 
 — Do you think it is like my brother ?" — " Your 
 brother ! — Like a certain person, called captain 
 St. Alme, to be sure" — " St. Alme ?" says she^ 
 pouting and vex'd a little — '^ I desire Domir 
 nique," — you know her way — ^« I desire you 
 won't say any such thing — 1 beg and desire you 
 won't." — And away she went, blushing as red as 
 a rose, but all the while hiding somebody care- 
 fully in her bosom — Ha ! ha ! ha ! — But, lord, I 
 stand chattering here — 
 
 St. A. Thank you, thank you, Dominique — 
 you have made me happy beyond measure ! 
 
 Dorn. \ knew I should. — Doesn't care a straw 
 for my master !- — Ha ! ha ! ha ! 1 knew very 
 well I should make you happy : 1 love to make 
 people happy, and to be happy myself Bui I 
 must not forget my errands. [Takes out a paper.) 
 What with my old mistress, and my young 
 mistress, and my master— [Going.) O, lord I he 
 sent me here to tell you that he wants to speak 
 with you. — Now don't you blab one word of all 
 this for your life— these girls have such freaks 
 and vagaries ! — Tho' they're in love over head 
 and ears, and can't conceal it a moment; yet 
 they expect other folks to be bhnd, and see 
 nothing at all of the matter. {Going.) 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 23 
 
 St. A. Pray, say, Pll wait on your master, 
 Dominique. 
 
 Do7n. To be sure ! you'll wait on my master, 
 because you expect to see my young mistress. 
 Ha! ha! ha! — O, the turnings and twinings of 
 your true lovers ! — Yes, yes — she hid the pic- 
 ture in her fair bosom - 1 warrant as near as she 
 could to her heart ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 [Exit Dominique^ r.ii. 
 
 St. A, Now, Pierre, is there any cause for 
 doubt? 
 
 Pie, \ think not, sir. 
 
 St A, And would my father tear me from her ? 
 Never ! Run to the President's — inquire when 
 I may have the honour of seeing him. i^Exit 
 Pierre^ r.h.) Pll go to Franval's — avow to him 
 my passion for his sister — and openly declare 
 myself to her in her brother's presence. If I 
 obtain their consents, I'll instantly wait on the 
 President — acquaint him with my love for Mari- 
 anne — make him refuse me his daughter — and 
 thus, strike at once at the very root of my mis- 
 fortunes. [Exit^ R.H. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Square in the City of Toulouse. On 
 one side the Palace of Harancour^ on the other 
 the House of Franval^ Bridge^ Churchy 4^-0. 
 
 Enter De L'Epee and Theodore, over the bridge. 
 
 (^Theodore precedes De VEpee^ and advancing in 
 great agitation^ expresses by signs that he recollects 
 the spot they are in,) 
 
24 DEAF AND DtJMB. 
 
 De VE. This warm emotion — this sudden 
 change in all his features -convinces me that 
 he recollects this place. — Hadst thou the use of 
 speech ! 
 
 {Theodore^ looking round him^ observes a ch^rch^ 
 and gives signs more expressive of his knowing the 
 place.) 
 
 D VE. It is — it must be so — and am I then 
 at length arrived at the period of my long and 
 painful search ? — 
 
 {Theodore now sees the Palace of Harancour^ he 
 starts — rivets his eyes to it — advances a step or two 
 — points to the statues — utters a shriek — and drops 
 breathless into the arms of De VEpee.) 
 
 De VE. Ah, my poor wronged boy — for such 
 Fm sure you are — that sound goes to my very 
 heart ! — He scarcely breathes. — I never saw him 
 so much agitated. — There, there — Come, come 
 — Why was a voice denied to sensibility so elo- 
 quent ! 
 
 {Theodore makes signs zmth the utmost rapidity^ 
 that he was born in that Palace — that he li ed in 
 it when a child — had seen the statues — come through 
 the gate^ S^^c. ^c.) 
 
 De VE. Yes — in that house was he born. — 
 Words could not tell it more plamly. — The care 
 of heaven still wakes upon the helpless. 
 {Theodore makes signs of gratitude to De VEpee^ 
 and fervently kisses his hands. — De V Epee ex-- 
 plains thai it is not to him .^ but to Heaven^ that he 
 ought to pay his thanks -Theodore instantly drops 
 on his knee.^ and expresses a prayer for blessings on 
 his benefactor.) 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 25 
 
 De PE. (^Bare-'headed-rrbows, and says.) O, 
 thou, who guidest at thy will the thoughts of 
 men — thou, by whom I was inspired to this great 
 undertaking — O, power omnipotent ! — deign to 
 accept the grateful adoration of thy servant, 
 whom thou hast still protected, and of this 
 speechless orphan to whom thou hast made me 
 a second father ! — If I have uprightly discharged 
 ray duty — if all my love and labours for him 
 raay dare to ask a benediction — vouchsafe to 
 shed its dews on this forlorn one, and let his 
 good be all my great reward I — 
 
 {De VEpee raises Theodore^ and embraces him ) 
 We must proceed with caution : — and first, to 
 learn who is the owner of this house. 
 {Theodore is running to knock at the gate — De V 
 Epee stops him^ 4^c. 
 
 Enter Pierre, l.h. 
 
 Pie, Well — that President is the best natured 
 gentleman, — 
 
 De VE, O, here comes one that may, per- 
 haps, instruct me. {Sig)is to Theodore to attend.) 
 Pray, sir, can you tell me the name of this 
 square ? 
 
 Pie. {Aside.) Strangers, I perceive — It is 
 called St. George's square, sir.- — {Looking at 
 Theodore,) 
 
 DeVE. Thank you, sir. — Another word — Do 
 you know this superb mansion ? 
 
 Pie. {Observing De VEpee and Theodore more 
 
26 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 closely,) Know it I — I think I ought; — I've lived 
 here these five yi^ars. 
 
 D PE. i hat's fortunate. And you call it — ► 
 
 Pie, {Aside.) Plaguy inquisitive — A few years 
 ^go it was called the Palace of Harancour — 
 
 De PE, Of Harancour? 
 
 Pie. But at present it belongs to a gentleman 
 of the name of Darlemont. {Observing Theo* 
 dore.) ' ^ is odd -He seems to talk by signs: — Is 
 he dumb ? — {During the above dialogue^ Theo* 
 dore examines the gateway^ pillars.^ arms^ ^c, 
 of the Palace of harancour ; and explains to De 
 PEpee.^ hi'y recollection of the various objects^ <^c.) 
 
 De PE And who is this gentleman of the 
 name of Darlemont? {Theodore now turns 
 
 his face fairly towards Pierre.) 
 
 Pie. 'Gad, how hke it is!— sir?— Who is he ? 
 
 De PE. Yes ; — 1 mean, what is his rank, his 
 profession ? 
 
 Pie [Still looking at Theodore.) ProfeSvSion I — 
 He has no profession, sir; — He is one of the 
 richest men in Toulouse -(Locking at Theodore.) 
 — One might almost swear to it. — Your servant, 
 sir; — Pm wanted. — (Aside.) Very odd, all these 
 questions. — {Looking at Theodore,) — The strong- 
 est likeness I ever saw in my life. 
 
 \^Exit Pierre,^ into the Palace. 
 
 De PE. Ay, my friend ; — you little know the 
 motive of my questions. There's not a moment 
 to be lost. — 1 his house that once belong'd to so 
 distinguished a family — this Darlemont, the 
 present possessor of it — every circumstance re^ 
 lating to it — must be publicly known in Tou- 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 27 
 
 louse. I'll instantly away — seek out some lodg- 
 ing, and then — But for fear it should escape me 
 — (Writes in a note-book.) — Harancour — Darle- 
 mont. (Theodore^ as De PEpee zvrites^ runs to 
 him with eager curiosity — De VEpee presses him^ 
 in his arms,) 
 
 De VE. Yes, my poor mute Theodore, if 
 you belong to parents who can feel, no doubt, 
 they still lament your loss — and will with trans- 
 port hail your return ; — If, as I fear, you are the 
 victim of unnatural foul-play, grant me. Provi- 
 dence, to unmask and confound it ! So men shall 
 have another proof, that every fraud will soon 
 or late be detected, and that no crime escapes 
 eternal justice. [Exit^ De VEpee,, over the 
 bridge^ leading Theodore^ who looks back at the 
 Palace of Harancour^ ^c, 
 
 END OF ACT I. *' 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I — FranvaVs library. — Jl library table^ 
 
 with books y parchments., ^c. Vase with Jlow- 
 
 ers., ^"C. 
 
 Franval, discovered reading, 
 
 Fran, I shall never be happy, till I have ac- 
 
28 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 complish'd this task.~To reconcile mistakea 
 friends, is an employment as useful to society, 
 as it is honourably to my profession. 
 
 Enter Marianne, l.h. with a basket of Jiowers in 
 her hand. 
 
 Mar, Good morning, brother. 
 
 Fran, {Rises.) Good morning, Marianne. 
 
 Mar, Late and early — always at your studies. 
 
 Fran, The causes which a lawyer is expect- 
 ed to undertake, are frequently so disguised, 
 either by the passions, or the arts of men, that, 
 if he is honest, he can't consider them, too at- 
 tentively. 
 
 Mar. Ah ! your's must often be a painful em- 
 ployment. 
 
 Fran, 'Tis odious, indeed, to witness villany ; 
 — but ihen, to justify the innocent, is the noblest 
 and most gratifying duty of man. 
 
 Mar. True ; it is sweeter to the soul, than 
 these flowers to the sense. {She takes the Jiow- 
 ers out of vases^ and puts those which she has 
 brought into their places.) 
 
 Fran. Every morning fresh odorous flowers, 
 and a kind kiss from my dear sister, {He kisses 
 her,) — my thoughts must be clear and pure — 
 Ha, Marianne, delightful as these gifts are to 
 me, I have a young friend, to whom they would 
 be still more precious. 
 
 Mar. What do you mean, brother ? 
 
 Fran, Nay, — I would nt make you blush. 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 29 
 
 He leads her forward and looking steadfastly in 
 her face says.) — ^ister ! 
 
 Mar. ( With a downcast look.) Brother ! 
 
 Fran, Your presents are sweet, — your affec- 
 tion sweeter — yet both want of their true ^al- 
 iie, while you deny me your confidence. 
 
 Mar. Nay! 
 
 Fran. Besides, Marianne, you may as well 
 frankly own it ; for your heart is too innocent 
 and simple, to wear disguise gracefully. 
 
 Mar, Pray, forbear ! 
 
 Fran, And why this hesitation — Do not the 
 noble quahties of St. Alme make him worthy any 
 woman's love ? 
 
 Mar. I — I — believe they do. 
 . Fran. I won't speak of his person, — 
 
 Mar. Which is elegance itself 
 
 Fran. I won't speak of his countenance, — 
 
 Alar. Which is all comeliness and candour. 
 
 Fran. But, for his heart, and understanding, — ■ ^ 
 
 Mar. They are excellent and generous, in- 
 deed ! 
 
 Fran. What woman but must be happy with 
 such a husband ? 
 
 Mar. So I have often thought ! {Sighing) 
 
 Fran. In a word, Marianne, he loves you. 
 
 Mar. Why do you think so ? 
 
 Fran. Every look declares it. 
 
 Mar. Ah ! I'm afraid to trust to looks. 
 
 Fran. Are you so ? At last, Marianne, you're 
 caught — You own, then, that you love him in 
 return ? 
 
 Mar, Oh ! {Hides her face in his bosom.) 
 4 
 
30 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Enter St. Alme, l.h. (hastily.) 
 
 V 
 
 Fran. My friend, you come at a lucky mo- 
 ment. — You seem disturb'd — is any thing the 
 matter ? 
 
 St. A. Never stood I so much in need of your 
 friendship. (Takes FranvaPs hand.) 
 
 Mar. Heavens ! 
 
 Fran. Explain yourself 
 
 Mar. I'll leave you — (Going.) 
 
 St. A. (Crosses to centre.) No — stay a mo- 
 ment — I entreat you, stay — My father — Franval 
 — my father ! 
 
 Fran. What of him ? 
 
 St. A, His dreadful menaces still sound in my 
 ears — and wherefore were they utterM ? — Be- 
 cause I cannot second his ambition — had he re- 
 quir'd my blood, my life I would have given 
 them willingly — but to renounce her I love, the 
 tenderest and first affections of my soul ! 
 
 Mar. Ah! 
 
 St. A. Cruel parents ! — You cannot look with 
 our eyes — You cannot feel with our hearts !— 
 Are we your children, — only to become your 
 victims? 
 
 Fran. Be calm, and tell me what has passM. 
 
 St. A. My father has this morning informed 
 me, that the marriage I have so much dreaded, 
 must take place within these three days-^' Three 
 days ! ' — I exclaim'H, — •' No, sir ; never, never." 
 — > his reply, which burst from the very bottom 
 of my wounded heart, rouz'd his displeasure into 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 31 
 
 a rage too violent for all my excuses or prayers 
 to pacify — he insisted on my instantly giving him 
 a reason for my peremptory refusal — Hoping 
 the name of her I adore might disarm his fury, 
 — I at once declared, that my affections were 
 irrevocably devoted to — 
 
 Fra7i. To whom ? Speak out. 
 
 St. j3. To your sister. 
 
 Mar. Me ! 
 
 St. A. (Throwing himself at her feet,) — For- 
 give my rashness ! Yes, to you — 'tis you alone I 
 love, and ever, ever shall; — and, might 1 hope— 
 
 Mar. (Much agitated and raising him.) — What 
 said your father ? 
 
 St. A Embarrass'd at first, and overpowered 
 
 with confusion, he acknowledged your worth and 
 
 beauty ; but added, that he had disposed of me 
 
 t elsewhere, and enjoined me to forget you, — 
 
 • '^ Sooner forget to live.'' — At this, his wrath re- 
 
 doubled : he reprobated my audacious disobe- 
 
 i dience, -threatened me with his malediction, — 
 
 [and forbad me ever again to enter his presence, 
 
 but with repentance and submission. 
 
 Mar. A las I 
 
 St A. My whole frame shudder'd while he 
 (gpoke ; — yet I felt my heart revolt against this 
 tyranny. — Banish'd the bosom of a father, I come 
 to find a refuge in the arms of a friend. 
 
 Fran (Embracing him.) Of a friend, my dear 
 (St. Alme, whose first advice to you is, to calm 
 ilhis over eager sensibility ; and to remember, 
 jthat a parent is to be respected, even under his 
 Itnistakes. 
 
32 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 St. A, Ah ! were the heart of Marianne but 
 mine, — v 
 
 Fran, Of that you are secure. 
 
 Mar. O, brother ! 
 
 St. A. Am I so bless'd ? — Am I indeed ? 
 
 Fran. And why dissemble what will alleviate 
 his sufferings ? {To Marianne.) 
 
 Mar. And why reveal what may increase our 
 misery ? 
 
 St. A. O, no ; since I am that bless'd ; obsti- 
 nate and stern as my father is, I shall subdue, 
 I shall soften his inflexibility ; and he will here- 
 after rejoice in the happiness of his children. — 
 But 1 forget — I must away. {Crosses to l.h.) 
 
 Fran. Whither are you hurrying ? 
 
 St. A. To the President's ; — I cannot now tell 
 you more. We shall have every thing to hope, 
 if I can prevail on him to countenance my pro- 
 ject. — 1 shall, I will ! — Secure of thy heart, 
 my lovely Marianne, what can I not perform ? 
 
 [Exit^ L.ii. 
 
 Fran. St. Alme ! — my friend ! — Hear me one 
 moment. 
 
 Mar. I tremble, lest his ardent temper should 
 precipate him into — 
 
 Enter Dominique, r.h. with books under his arin. 
 
 Dom. Sir, your mother desires to know 
 whether you choose to have breakfast in your 
 study. 
 
 Fran. By all means, — as she pleases. 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 33 
 
 Alar. You have not been to pay her your 
 respects this morning. 
 
 (^Dominique lays f'le books on FranvaVs desk^ and 
 places a breakfast-table^ chairs^ (S^c.) 
 
 Fran. Come, let us wait on her — Cheer up, 
 Marianne ; all will go well yet. 
 
 JV/ar. You are very good, brother. — But, you 
 shouldn't have told. 
 
 [Exennt Franval and Marianne^ r.h. 
 
 Dom, I'm tired to death already. — I verily 
 believe, I have walked five miles this morning. 
 Let me see that I have done all my errands 
 though, or Madame Franval will be telling me 
 1 begin to grow old, and good for nothing. — 
 {Looks over a paper.) — '' Cards of invitation to 
 the Prior, and the Countess of — " — Both deli- 
 vered — " Books from the library.'" — There they 
 are — '•^ Go to the lawyer, and desire him to stop 
 proceedings against the poor officer, the rtioney 
 being ready to discharge the debt." — Paid by 
 my good master to save an unfortunate family 
 from prison — Ha ! ha ! ha ! — O, stop ! — Ah — 
 " And as I return, to leave six crowns with" — 
 sent by my young mistress, Marianne, to the 
 widow of the late porter of the Palace of Haran- 
 cour — That's because she's a favourite of Cap- 
 tain St. Alme's. — How the poor soul did bless 
 and pray for her lovely benefactress ! — Ha ! 
 jha ! ha ! I am tired ; but it's a pleasure to go on 
 such errands — ^Ha ! ha ! ha ! They're coming. 
 
 [Exit^ L.H. 
 
34 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Enter Madame Franval, r.h. leaning on Franval's 
 arm— ^Marianne following. 
 
 [Exit Dominique^ l.h. who returns immediately 
 with the breakfast^ which he places on the table 
 and Exit.) l.h.] 
 
 Mad, F, Yes, my son, there are few families 
 in Toulouse, more ancient than ours ; and, the' 
 but an advocate, 1 trust that you will shew 
 yourself worthy of the name of Franval. 
 
 Fran. My employment, madam, is an honour 
 to all who exercise it properly. {They sit — 
 Marianne prepares the Breakfast.) 
 
 Mad. F. The office of Seneschal had been, I 
 may say, for ages held by your ancestors — at 
 the death of your father, I was obliged to sell it, 
 and the degradation cuts me to the soul. 
 
 Fran. Yet, madam, this very circumstance 
 has stimulated me to attain by my own talents 
 that consideration in the world, for which I 
 should otherwise, in all probabiHty, have stood 
 indebted merely to accident and prejudice. 
 
 Enter Dominique, l.h. 
 
 jDom. A letter for you, madam. {Gives Madam 
 Franval a letter.) The servant waits for an 
 answer. 
 
 Mad. F. Have you been on those messages ! 
 
 Dom. Yes, madam. 
 
 Mad. F. {Reading.) " Darlemont .'" What oc- 
 casion can Darlemont have to write to me ? 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 35 
 
 Fran. ( With surprise^ and looking at Marianne.^ 
 Darlemont ! 
 
 Mad, F. (^Reads.) " Madam^ I take the freedom 
 of addressing myself to you^ in claim of the most sa- 
 cred rights^ — [To Dominique.) You may leave 
 us. [Exit Dominique^ l.h. 
 
 (Reads,) " Sacred rights of a father. ^'^ What does 
 he mean? [Reads.) '• Rights of a father— my son 
 loves your daughter.'^'' Indeed ! (Reads.) " I met 
 him this moment., and he assures me that his love is 
 returned.'''^ (They all rise, Alarianne starts. Ma- 
 dame Franval casis a severe look at her.) 
 
 Fran, (Diverting her attention from Marianne.) 
 Go on, madam ; I beseech you, go on. 
 
 Mad. F. (Reads.) " Be assured their union never 
 can take place.^"^ Ha ! ha ! ha ! — No, sir; be as- 
 sured their union never can take place. 
 
 Mar, What will become of me! 
 
 Mad. F. (Reads.) " I therefore trusty you will 
 forbid him your house ; and no longer encourage 
 him to contemn and brave the authority of a father. 
 Darlemont.'''^ Encourage ! I encourage ! Insup- 
 portable insolence ! (Crosses to r.h.) 
 
 Fran. Be calm, I beg you, madam. 
 
 Mad F. Who told this petty trader, this gen- 
 tleman of yesterday, that I should dream of an 
 alliance v^^ith his mushroom family ? — What, have 
 his riches made him forget the disparity of our 
 births ?— 'Daughter, I cannot believe this of you. 
 I hope, son Franval, after such an insult, you will 
 no longer honour this St. Alme with your no- 
 tice. Hs for the father, should he ever — Yes. 
 ^e shall have an answer. (Sits down to ix,'rite.) 
 
36 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Enter Dominique, l.h. 
 
 Dom. Sir, a stranger desires to speak^ with 
 you. 
 
 Fran, A stranger ? 
 
 Dom, Yes, sir ; a very good looking gentle- 
 man desires to see you — I believe he's a clergy- 
 man. 
 
 Fran. Desire him to walk in. [Exit Dom. l.h. 
 
 Mad, F. (^Reading the letter with vexation.) 
 '' Their union never can take placed Ha ! ha ! 
 ha! 
 
 Mar. My dreams of happiness are ended. 
 
 Fran. Madam, the gentleman comes : if you 
 please, we'll consider the letter another time. 
 
 Mad. F. {Rising.) No— I won't honour him 
 with an answer at all. 
 
 Enter the Abbe De L'Epee, introduced by 
 Dominique, l.h. 
 
 JDom. Walk in, sir ; pray walk in. 
 
 [Exit Dominique^ l.h, 
 
 De PE, [Salutes the Ladies ; then FranvaL) I 
 presume, sir, you are Monsieur Franval? 
 
 Fran. At your service. 
 
 De Z'E. Could you favour me with a few mo- 
 ments conversation ? 
 
 Fran. Very willingly. May I take the liberty 
 of asking, who — 
 
 De IE. — I am from Paris, — My name is De 
 FEpee. 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 37 
 
 Fran. De PEpee ! — The instructor of the 
 Deaf and Dumb? 
 
 De VE, {Bows.) 
 
 Fran. Madam, — sister, — you see before you 
 one who is an honour to human nature. 
 
 De VE. Sir, [Bows) — [The Ladies salute Dq- 
 VEpee with great respect.) 
 
 Fran. How often have I admired you as the 
 dispenser of the most valuable gifts of heaven ! 
 
 De VE. Then have 1 been fortunate indeed, 
 in applying myself to you. 
 
 Fran, How can 1 serve you ? 
 
 De PE, By aiding me to redress the injur'd. — 
 Your high reputation, sir, has brought me hither, 
 in order to communicate to you an affair of the 
 utmost importance. 
 
 Mad, F, Daughter, we'll retire. (Going.) 
 
 DeVE. If you have time to listen, ladies, pray 
 stay. — It is my earnest wish to interest every 
 virtuous and feeling heart in the cause I have 
 undertaken. 
 
 Mad, F, If we have your leave, sir, — 
 
 Fran. Be seated, pray, sir, C^'hey sit.) 
 
 De VE, Perhaps you will think my storj^ te- 
 dious: yet I must be particular. 
 
 Mar, How interesting an appearance ! 
 
 Fran. Pray, proceed. 
 
 De VE. [Bowing to the Ladies,) This, then, is 
 my business. About eight years ago, a boy, 
 deaf and dumb, found in the dead of night on 
 the Pont Neuf, was brought to me by an officer 
 of the Police. From the meanness of his dress, I 
 
38 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 supposed him of poor parents, and undertook to 
 educate and provide for him. 
 
 Fran, As 1 know you have done for many 
 others. 
 
 De VE^ I soon remarked an uncommon intel- 
 ligence in his eyes J a well-manner'd ease and 
 assurance in his behaviour; and, above all, a 
 strange and sorrowful surprise in his looks, 
 whenever he examined the coarseness of his 
 cloathing. — In a word, the more I saw, the more 
 1 was convinced, that he had been purposely 
 lost in the streets, I gave a public, full, minute 
 description of the unhappy foundling ; but in 
 vain. F^w will claim interest in the unfortu- 
 nate. 
 
 Fran. Ah! few indeed! 
 
 De IE. Plac'd among my scholars, he profited 
 so well by my lessons, that he was, at last, able 
 to converse with me by signs, rapid almost as 
 thought itself. One day, as we were passing the 
 High Court of Justice, a Judge alighted from his 
 carriage. — The sight gave Theodore — for so I 
 call'd him— an emotion, violent and instant. — 
 The tears ran down his cheeks in torrents, while 
 he explained to me, that, \^hen a child, a man, 
 who often wore similar robes of purple and er- 
 mine, had been accustomed to caress, and take 
 him in his arms. Observe— another time, a 
 grand funeral passed us in the streets ; — ( watch'd 
 the various changes in his colour, and learn'd 
 that he had himself, long ago, followed the coffin 
 of the very person, by whom he had been thus 
 fondly caress'd. — I could not be mistaken. — J 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 39 
 
 tbncluded, that he was probably the orphan 
 heir of some chief magistrate, purposely turned 
 adrift in a strange and populous city — defraud- 
 ed, robb'd, and even fortunate to have escap'd 
 with life. 
 
 Mar. Poor youth ! 
 
 De VE, These strong presumptions redoubled 
 all my hope and zeal. — Theodore grevsr every 
 day more and more interesting. He confirmed 
 to me many circumstances of his story. — Yet, 
 how proceed in his behalf? He had never heard 
 his father's name, he neither knew his family, 
 nor the place of his birth. Well, sir, — some 
 months ago, as we went through the Barriere 
 d'Enfer, observing a carriage stopp'd and exam- 
 ined, the recollection suddenly struck him, that 
 this was the very gate through which he enter- 
 ed Paris, and that the chaise, in which he travel- 
 led with two persons, whom he well remember- 
 ed, had, in this very spot, been thus visited. I 
 see, — ^I see it in your eyes, — you anticipate 
 my firm persuasion, that he came from some 
 city in the south of France, of which, in all 
 likelihood, his father had been the chief magis- 
 trate. 
 
 Fran. For heaven's sake, sir, go on. 
 
 De PE. Finding all my researches ineffectual, 
 I resolved at last to take my pupil with me, and 
 traverse, in person, and on foot, the whole of 
 the south of France. We embraced each other, 
 invoked the protection of heaven, and set for- 
 ward. After a journey — long — fatiguing — al- 
 most hopeless — we this morning-- bless d be the 
 
40 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Divine Providence ! arrived at the gates of Tou- 
 louse. 
 
 Fran. Good H»avens ! 
 
 De VE. He knew the place, he seiz'd my 
 hand, utter'd wild cries of joy, and led me quick- 
 ly, here and there, thro^ various quarters of the 
 city. At length we arrived at this square — he 
 stopped — pointed to the mansion opposite your 
 door — shrieked, and senseless dropp'd into my 
 arms. 
 
 Fran, The Palace of Harancour! 
 
 De VE. Yes, — and from the inquiries I have 
 already made, I am convinced that my poor boy 
 is the lawful heir of that family ; and that his 
 inheritance has been seized by his guardian and 
 maternal uncle. — Darlemont. 
 
 Mad. F. 1 don't doubt it,— O, the wretch. 
 
 (^She rises.) 
 
 De VE. To you, sir, I have been directed — 
 to your talents, — to your virtue. — And to you, in 
 the names of justice and humanity, I now address 
 myself for aid. — Earth, heaven, and all the bles- 
 sings it can promise, will second my petition. 
 O, let the voice of irresistible truth be rais'd in 
 his behalf!- Let not a noble orphan, denied the 
 precious bounties of nature, and quickened by 
 these privations into ten-fold sensibility — let him 
 not, I conjure you,~let him not fall the victim 
 of the ambitious and the base. 
 
 Fran. Sir, could i have listened to a tale like 
 this unmoved, 1 were unworthy the form and 
 na°Tie of man. (7'o Mad. F.) If ever I were 
 truly proud of my profession, Madam, it is at this 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 41 
 
 moment, when 1 am calPd upon to assault the 
 powerful, and defend the helpless. {To De PE) 
 Sir, the faculties of life, body, and soul, while I 
 possess them, shall be employed to serve him. 
 
 Mad. F, Thank heaven, I shall see him re- 
 duced to his original insignificance at last. 
 
 Mar. Ah ! Poor St. Alme ! — Brother, — 
 
 Fran I don't forget St. Alme. — Sir, I must 
 now acquaint you, that this Darlemont is the 
 father of my dearest friend. — Delicacy, duty, re- 
 quire me to try persuasion, gentleness, and every 
 milder method — should these fail with him, I 
 shall be driven to expose his guilt, and publicly 
 compel him to restore the rights, which I have 
 cause to fear, he has so unnaturally usurped. 
 Where is your pupil ? 
 
 De VE. I left him at our lodgings ; and his 
 anxiety, no doubt, makes my absence seem long. 
 
 Fran, Dear sir, why didn't you bring him 
 with you ? 
 
 Mar. How impatient I am to see him ! 
 
 Fran. Let me beg that you will use us like 
 old friends, and accept apartments here. 
 
 Be VE. 1 am afraid, — 
 
 Mad. F. Not, I hope to do us pleasure and an 
 honour ? 
 
 De VE. It is impossible to resist such good^ 
 ness. — Madam, I obey. {De VE. and Fran talk 
 together.) 
 
 Mad. F. Come, Marianne, we'll go and pre- 
 pare for our young guest, — Yes. yes^ you shall 
 have an answer ; my son shall be your corres- 
 pondent. — Come, Marianne. [^Exit^ r.h. 
 5 
 
42 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Mar. Brother, remember your friend. — Yoor 
 servant, sir. (^'o De VE.) [Exit r.h. 
 
 Fran. Yes, sir; we shall have great difficulties 
 to encounter in our way : the wealth and influ- 
 ence of Darlemont are formidable : his temper, 
 daring, haughty, and obstinate. Yet, in the First 
 President, we have so upright and wise a judge 
 to hear us, that, if truth and justice are on our 
 side, our triumph is certain. 
 
 De VE. 1 rely entirely on you, Let the result 
 ef our inquiry be what it may, — to have done 
 my duty, will be my consolation, — and to have 
 known you^ sir, my recompence. [Exeunt^ l.h. 
 
 END OF ACT II. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE II. — The same Room in the Palace of 
 Harancour. 
 
 Enter Darlemont, followed by Philip and 
 Etienne, to whom he gives his hat and cane^ and 
 they retire^ 
 
 Dar. My life is one continued scene of terror 
 and disappointment. This undutiful, this head- 
 strong boy ! To refuse the match I had provided 
 for him ! Thus to thwart my long labour'd plan 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 43 
 
 for our security ! — But let the rebel dreud the 
 consequence of his disobedience. 
 
 Enter Pierre, l.h. 
 
 Now, sir, where is your master ? 
 
 Pie. I don't know, sir : — but, indeed, I am 
 very much afraid — 
 
 Dar. Afraid!— Of what?— Speak. 
 
 Pie. That he'll soon lose his senses, poor 
 gentleman ! 
 
 Dar. Blockhead ! — 
 
 Pie. He had such a wild look, when you turn'd 
 away from him in the street just now, — Do, 
 good sir — pardon my boldness — do take this 
 wedding into a little consideration. 
 
 Dar, Silence ! — Who were they you were 
 chattering with so busily in the square, about an 
 hour ago ? 
 
 Pie. In the square ? — O ! — they were stran- 
 gers. 
 
 Par. How came they to examine, and point at 
 this house so often ? 
 
 Pie. I don't know, sir — but one of 'em ask'd 
 me whose that fine house was, and I said it had 
 been the Palace of Harancour. — 
 
 Dar. Yon said ? 
 
 Pie. Yes, sir — but that now it belong'd to — 
 
 Dar. Babbling dunce. {Crosses to l.h.) 
 
 Pie. I beg your pardon, sir ; if I had been a 
 babbler, I should have staid with them ; but, no; 
 I got away as fast as 1 could, that they might ask 
 me no questions about you, sir. 
 
44 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Da7\ About me ! — And why should you fear 
 any questions b^ing askM about me ? 
 
 Pie. I'm sure, I don't know, sir. 
 
 Dar. Don't know ! — Tell me this moment, 
 who put that thought into your head ? 
 
 Pie. Upon my life sir, you frighten me out of 
 my wits ! — Why, sir, it was — 
 
 Dar. Who, was it ? — 
 
 Pie. It was you yourself, sir — you ordered me 
 not to talk of you, nor your affairs, to any body. 
 
 Dar, Well — And, pray, what pass'd between 
 'em? 
 
 Pie. They kept that to themselves. — They 
 seemed to me -to talk by signs. 
 
 Dar. By signs! Why talk by signs? 
 
 Pie. I can't tell, sir ; — only I guess that the 
 young gentleman was dumb. 
 
 Dar. Dumb? 
 
 Pie. He surely was — at least I thought so. 
 
 Dar. Dumb — 'tis false. 
 
 Pie. No, indeed — you'll find it true, 1 believe, 
 sir. # 
 
 Dar. Impossible — Was it the youth, do you 
 say, that was dumb. 
 
 Pie. Yes, sir, the boy, and I was the more 
 sorry for him some how, because he is so very 
 like— 
 
 Dar. Like whom ? 
 
 Pie. So very like that picture of the young 
 count. And so — 
 
 Dar. And so ! — And what so ? — Officious fopl 
 — isn't the boy dead ? 
 
 Pie. So 1 have heard, sir. 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 45 
 
 Dar. Heard, reptile — Do you dare to doubt 
 sir ? 
 
 Pie. I sir ? No. — Only this morning Dupre 
 said that, perhaps, he was ahve. 
 
 Dar. When did he say so ? 
 
 Pie. While we were looking at the picture. 
 
 Dar, {To himself.) Flames devour the picture ! 
 {Aside.) Let that picture be removed mto my 
 apartment. 
 
 Pie. Yes, sir — So I thought, if it should hap- 
 pen to be him, it might turn out to be a lucky 
 discovery — my master thinks i — 
 
 Dar. Go ! Send them to remove that picture. 
 
 Pie. Yes, sir — It's very odd, all this. 
 
 [Exit Pierre^ l.h. 
 
 Dar. Here I am countermin'd again. — That 
 picture I had painted at the moment of our de- 
 parture, in order to impress an opinion of my 
 affiection for this boy, and so prevent suspicion. 
 My very precautions work towards my detection 
 — Like the picture ! — Dumb ! — No, no ; it can't 
 be» — And yet — 
 
 Enter Dupre, l.h. abruptly^ having a paper in 
 his hand. 
 
 Now, sir — Who sent for you ? What want you 
 here ? 
 
 Dup. I come to unburthen a loaded con- 
 science. 
 
 Dur» Pm busy — and can't be troubled. 
 
 Dup. I come to — {Holding out a letter.) 
 
 Dar, Did you hear me — I'm busy. 
 5* 
 
46 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Dup, Sir, sir, you waste your anger on me : 
 you have laid a* crime on my soul, that annihi- 
 lates the duties and distance of my calling : 1 
 cast off the servant, and assume the man. 
 
 Dar, What is it you mean by this insolence ? 
 
 Dup, First, sir, please to take back the annui- 
 ty you have sent me. 
 
 Dar, {Snatching the paper.) Take back — Is it 
 not yet sufficient? 1 thought it beyond your 
 hopes. Your conscience knows its price. 
 
 Dupf No, sir — ^you wrong me — 'twas when I 
 had no conscience, that I had a price. 
 
 Dar. LiarJ You come to practice on me.-^ 
 You, tattler! — Gossip of sworn secrets! Perjur- 
 er — Go— point, and pretend to start at pictures 
 —pernicious dotard ! Conscience ? 'Tis false — 
 No ; 'tis to wring my purse, you act remorse, 
 and feign this pity for a thing — who, say the 
 best, was but an idiot, an automaton 
 
 {Crosses to l.h.) 
 
 Dup, Of me, sir, think what you will ; 1 have 
 deserved it — but in behalf of that injur'd youth, 
 1 must retort the falsehood. 
 
 Dar. You ! 
 
 Dup, I.—- Though speech and hearing were 
 denied him, yet nature recompens'd him with a 
 mind that gljow'd with intelligence, and a heart 
 that ran over with benevolence. And you, sir — 
 is your heart so deadened by the injuries you've 
 done him, that you forget it was this ideot saved 
 the life of that most excellent young man, your 
 only son— did not Julio — regardless of danger 
 fo himself, and thoughtful only for St. Alme-^ 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 4? 
 
 when the fierce wolf had fastened on his throat, 
 did he not bravely rend asunder his bloodj jaws, 
 receiving in his own arm a wound, so deep and 
 dangerous, that the scar could never be effaced ? 
 
 Dar. Silence, I charge you ! 
 
 Dup When I call to mind his infancy — his 
 pretty looks — his fond kisses, when 1 have borne 
 him in my arms — and think how 1 yielded — 
 weak and wicked as I was ! — to your tempta- 
 tions, and abandon'd him to perish — poor help- 
 less babe ! — in a wide unpitying world — 1 could 
 call for curses on my head, proclaim my guilt, 
 and take delight in the abhorrence and punish- 
 ment, which men enraged, and the just laws, 
 would pursue me to destruction ! 
 
 Dar. Hence, raving visionary ! — The serpent 
 that stung the friend that foster'd him, paid with 
 his life the forfeit of his ingratitude. — 
 
 {^Puts his hand on his sword.J 
 Coward, beware I — Shall my honour stand in 
 danger from your treachery ? (^Crosses to r.h.) 
 
 Dup, Treachery has never enter'd my mind. 
 Julio is gone — and the crime cannot be repair- 
 ed — yet, the sincere repentance of a servant, 
 might claim respect from that master, who after 
 a blameless life of forty years, had seduc'd him 
 to viUiany. 
 
 Dar. VLlliany ! 
 
 Diip, My part was impious villiany — what 
 your's was — ask of the vexing thoughts, that 
 nightly take watch on the pillow of the wicked. 
 
 Dar, Urge me no further. — Lectured by my 
 slave !*— a worm that crawls at the mercy of my 
 
48 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 foot! — Because I have forborne presum'st thou 
 that I dare not? strike ? — Hence ! — Here, take 
 thy recompense — {Offering him the paper.) — 
 Be thankful, and obedient — Guard thy lips, or — 
 
 Dup. No ! — Vile as you think me, my silence 
 is not to be bought — my sins shall not be pen- 
 sioned. — Hitherto you are safe. Don't let your 
 insult drive me to disclose you. 
 
 Dar. Here, here — and have done — 
 
 {Offering him the paper.) 
 
 Dup. You are deceived — I was brib'd, not by 
 your gold, but by the wild vanity of sharing your 
 confidence— ^your familiarity — and becoming — 
 instead of him you call your slave — ^your friend. 
 
 Dar. Such you might have been. 
 
 Dup. No — there can be no friendship in guilt 
 — 'tis my doom to live in dread of you, and of 
 my own reflections — 'tis yours, to know, that 
 your honour and life are in the keeping of a 
 man stung in conscience, distracted in mind, and 
 by yourself render'd a wretch, infamous, and 
 never more to be trusted. \^Exit^ l.it. 
 
 Dar. Indeed! — Do you grow so fast on us? 
 Prevention or treachery — His life or mine — and 
 shall I hesitate ? A single blow will give me 
 peace. Whither am I going ? Peace ! No, no, 
 ^tis false ; peace dwells only with innocence ; 
 yet to be led — exposed — a pubHc malefactor — 
 help, heav'n — shield me from the phrenzy 0^ 
 these thoughts ! [Exit^ r.h. 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 49 
 
 SCENE TIL — FranvaVs Study ^ as before. 
 
 Enter Marianne, r.h. 
 
 Mar, Where can Dominique loiter all this 
 while ? When I told him too, how anxiously I 
 should wait for his return ! My dear father valu- 
 ed his honest simplicity of heart — and he has 
 liv'd among us so long", and so familiarly in- 
 dulged, that he treats me with as little ceremo- 
 ny, as if he were guiding me in my leading 
 strings again — Ah ! poor fellow !— -here he 
 comes, quite out of breath ! I beg his pardon — 
 
 Enter Dominique, l.h. 
 
 Well — my good, dear, Dominique — have you 
 seen St Alme ? 
 
 Dom. I was coming to tell you, ma'am — No, 
 ma'am, he has not been at home since 
 
 Alar, Unlucky ! — Never did I wish so earnest- 
 ly to see him. 
 
 Dom. Lord, lord, what a pity ! Where is he ? 
 Where can he be ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! — If he did but 
 know how you are fretting about him, he'd fly 
 on the wings of lo — 
 
 Mar. [Interrupting him.) I had forgot — Did 
 you go to the poor widow? 
 
 Dom. Yes, true, ma'am ; and gave *her your 
 present. Ha ! ha ! — poor Claudine ! — She kiss'd 
 the crowns because they had touch''d your hand 
 — and blest your sweet name a thousand and a 
 thousand times. 
 
50 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Mar. Surely, you didn't tell her that it came 
 from me ? 
 
 Dom. Lord7 ma'am, I couldn't help it. — To be 
 sure, nobody, though I say it myself, can keep a 
 secret better than I can : but then — Ha ! ha ! 
 poor soul ! — she begg'd, and pray'd, and laugh'd, 
 and cried — ^Ha ! ha ! I reckon she'll be here in 
 a minute to thank you. 
 
 Mar. I can't see her, Dominique — I'm too 
 much disturb'd — I'm not — It was very wrong, 
 indeed. 
 
 Dom. Well, then, she shan't come. And yet 
 why should you be so asham'd of going good ? 
 I'm sure, virtue should have somebody to show 
 it a little countenance now-a-days. Ah, poor 
 Claudine ! — Times are sadly chang'd with her 
 since her good man, Blaise, was porter at the 
 palace of Harancour — She wanted for nothing 
 then — Ah ! when Count Julio died, his uncle, 
 Darlemont, turn'd away all the old servants ; 
 and, but for the charity of his son, 1 believe, 
 some of them might have starved, poor things ! 
 He has been very good to Claudine too, and 
 would have done more, but for fear of his fa- 
 ther. 
 
 Mar. Yes ; the father is unlike the son. 
 
 Dom. Unlike ? The one is as proud as the — 
 and the other as mild as a May-morning. O, 
 he'd make an admirable master for one, he 
 would — an excellent head of a family — and, 
 above all, a most charming spouse — Don't you 
 think so, ma'am ? 
 
 Mar. Yes — I believe the woman of his 
 choice, — 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 51 
 
 D6m. That's done. His choice is made. 
 
 Mar, I've heard he's to be married to the 
 great heiress, the President's daughter. 
 
 Dom. So have I. 
 
 Mar. Have you ? 
 
 Doin, Yes — Ha ! ha ! ha ! — But he won't have 
 her. 
 
 Mar. Dominique ! 
 
 Dom, Lord, ma'am — ^you know very well, he 
 loves somebody else. 
 
 Mar, (Much agitated,) Are the apartments 
 ready for our two guests ? 
 
 Dom. lean do that in a minute, ma'am. — Yes^ 
 yes, he — 
 
 Mar. Go, go — make haste ; they are expect- 
 ed instantly — Go. 
 
 Dom. Weil, well — I'm gone. (Aside,) No, 
 never can make her own it. Ah 1 you cunning 
 little hypocrite ! Ha ! ha ! — A girl in love is for 
 all the world like the moon in a cloudy night ; 
 now out, now in — This moment clear as the 
 day ; and the next you're all in the dark again. 
 
 [Exit^ L.H. 
 
 Mar. One would think that this old man took 
 a pleasure in tormentmg me. If this scholar of 
 De I'Epee's should prove to be Count Julio, and 
 recover the possessions he has been depriv'd of, 
 St. Alme would then be only the equal of my 
 fortune, and his father no longer, perhaps, see 
 any distance between us — Ah, flattering Hope, 
 vou are too forward. 
 
»2 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 > 
 
 WRITTEN BY M. G. LEWIS, ESQ. 
 
 What iho^ Fate forbids me offer 
 Golden gifts from Fortune'' s store ; 
 
 All I have to Love I proffer^ 
 Fortune cannot offer more, 
 
 What^ tho'^ bright the jeweWd treasure^ 
 
 Which Peruvian mines supply ; 
 Brighter still the tear of pleasure^ 
 ^Sparkling in Affection'^s eye. 
 
 Hymen^ in his power for ever^ 
 
 Firm the God of Hearts would hold ; 
 
 Binding oft — aA, vain endeavour ! 
 Love with Interest'' s chains of gold. 
 
 Soon their weight his strength overpowers : 
 
 Soon they crush the petty elf; 
 Love can bear no chains but flowers^ 
 
 Light and blooming like himself 
 
 Mar. Ah, me ! Why is St. Alme out of the 
 way? He must be prepared for this discovery 
 — and yet, my mother ! Should Darlemont be 
 softened, will she consent ? 
 
 Enter Madame Franval and Franval, r.h. 
 
 Mad. F. Don't tell me, son — don't tell me. 
 This is my opinion — to hesitate to deUver up 
 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 53 
 
 this usurper to the vengeance of the laws — to 
 wink at such enormities — is to become an ac- 
 complice in 'em. 
 
 Fran. You will allow us first to prove them 
 on him, madam ! besides, can I forget, that he is 
 the father of my friend ? (^Madame Franval turns 
 azvay in great displeasure.) Has Dominique been 
 to St. Alme ? {To Marianrie.) 
 
 Mar. Yes — But he hadn't been at home. 
 
 Mad. F. {Comes down between them.) And to 
 tell you my opinion further, son — after this let- 
 ter, t very much disapprove of that young man's 
 visits here. 
 
 Fran. Ought we to make him responsible for 
 his father's faults ? 
 
 Mar, Which he is so far from sharing, that he 
 will devote his life to atone 'em. {^Madame 
 Franval gives her a look of disapprobation.) One 
 need only look in his face, to be sure of it. 
 
 Mad. F. Oh ! Had the Seneschal been living 
 now ! 
 
 Fran. If only Darlemont were concerned, 
 madam, I should, without regret, tear away his 
 specious visor and expose him bare-faced — such, 
 however, are the prejudices of the world, that 
 I cannot publish the guilt of the parent, without 
 reflecting the disgrace of his actions on his 
 blameless son. 
 
 Mad. F. What, then, he is to escape after all ? 
 
 {Crosses to l.h.) 
 
 Fran. Here's somebody coming. My dear 
 
 madam — {Crosses to l.h.) 
 
 Mar. Good mother — {Crosses ^o l.h.) 
 
 6 
 
54 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Mad. F. Nay, nay, — (^Crosses to r.h,) 
 
 Enter De L'Epee, l.h. introducing Theodore. 
 
 De VE» In obedience to your kind commands, 
 1 present to you my adopted child, my Theo- 
 dore. This, sir, is the orphan, whose stor}^ you 
 have heard, and whose wrongs you will redress. 
 (Theodore^ having saluted them with great vivaci- 
 ty fixes his eyes on Franval.) 
 
 Mar. How intelligent, and animated a look ! 
 
 Mad. f. The perfect image of his late father ! 
 
 De PE. [Earnestly.) Do you say so, madam ? 
 
 Mad. F. I see his iather in him, at his age, 
 as if he stood before me. 
 
 [Theodore [to whom De P Epee is attentive^) points 
 to Franval — lays the forefinger of his right hand 
 on his forehead^ and assumes an expression of ge- 
 nius ; then darts his arm forward with for ce^ gran- 
 deur .^ 4'C.) 
 
 De VE. Ay ! he tells nie, that he reads in 
 your countenance the certainty of triumphing, 
 and confounding his oppressor. 
 
 Fran. Yes ; I have given him my promise, 
 and will perform it. 
 
 [Theodore having touched his lips with a look of 
 regret^ seizes the hand of Franval — holds it to his 
 heart ; and^ with his other hand^ beats quickly and 
 often on the bosom of Franval.) 
 
 De VE. Ah I that he could speak his grati- 
 tude ! But, by the throbbings of his heart, he 
 bids you learn, that your goodness to him will 
 live there for ever. These are his true ex- 
 pressions. 
 
DEAF AND DUxMB. 55 
 
 Fran, Are you then so perfectly comprehen- 
 sible to each other ? 
 
 Mad. F, Are your signs so minutely accurate ? 
 
 De IE. As speech itself. 
 
 Mar. And does he understand every thingyou 
 desire to express ? 
 
 De VE. You shall have proof of it this mo- 
 ment. 
 
 (De VEpee taps Theodore on the shoulder^ to 
 make him observe.^ rubs his forehead^ then points to 
 Marianne^ and writes a line or two with his finger 
 on the palm of his left hand. Theodore nods to 
 De VEpee — runs to FranvaPs table — sits down^ 
 snatches up a pen^ and shews that he is ready to 
 write.) 
 
 De I E, Now, madam, make what inquiry you 
 please of him, he will copy it down from my ac- 
 tion, and immediately give you his reply. — He 
 waits for you. 
 
 Mar. [With timidity.) 1 really don't know 
 what to — 
 
 Fran. Any thing, — any thing. 
 
 Mad. F. Ay, ay, child ; the first thing that 
 comes into your head. 
 
 Mar. {After a momenfs reflection,) In your 
 opinion, — 
 
 De V E. Speak slowly, and repeat the ques- 
 tion, as if you were dictating to him yourself. 
 (^Theodore expresses that he attends to De VEpee/ s 
 signs.) 
 
 Mar. In your opinion, — 
 
 De VE. {Makes a sign^ Theodore writes.) 
 
 Mar. Who is the greatest genius,— 
 
56 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 De VE. {Makes a sign Theodore writes,) 
 
 Mar, That prance has ever produced ? 
 
 De VE. (Makes a sign^ Theodore writes.) 
 
 De VE. (Takes the paper from the table and 
 shews it to Franval ) You see he has written 
 the question distinctly. 
 
 (De PEpee returns the paper to Theodore^ zt'ho for 
 a moment sits motionless and meditating. 
 
 Mar, He seems a little at a loss. 
 
 De VE, I don't wonder at it,-~if s a delicate 
 question. {Theodore starts from his reverie—looks 
 affectionately at De VEpee — wipes his eyes^ and 
 writes with the utmost rapidity.) 
 
 Fran. Look, look, what fire sparkles in his- 
 eyes ! What animation in every turn ! I dare 
 promise you, this will be the answer of a feehng 
 heart, and an enlightened mind, {Theodore starts 
 up — presents the paper to Marianne — and desires 
 her to read it to the company, Madame Franval 
 and Franval look over Marianne as she reads ; — 
 Theodore runs to De VEpee^ and looks at him with 
 fond curiosity,) 
 
 Mar, {Reads,) " In your opinion, who is the 
 greatest genius that France has ever produced ?" 
 
 Mad. F. Ay — what does he say to that ? 
 
 Mar. {Reads.) "Science would decide for ^ 
 D'^Alemheri^ and Nature say, Buff on ; Wit and 
 Taste present Voltaire ; and sentiment pleads 
 for Rosseau ; but Genius and Humanity cry out 
 for De VEpee ; and him 1 call the best and great- 
 est of human creatures." {Marianne drops the 
 paper^ and retires to a chair in tears. Theodore 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 57 
 
 throws himself into De VEpee^s arms. M, Franval 
 and Franval look at each other in astonishment) 
 
 De VE. ( With an emotion which he strives to re- 
 press,) You must excuse him ; 'tis a great mis- 
 take ; but a very, very pardonable one 
 
 Fran. ( Takes up the paper ^ and examines it.) I 
 can hardly credit what I see. 
 
 Mad F. What do you thmk of this Darlemont 
 now ? {Theodore and Madame Franval go to 
 Marianne.) 
 
 Fran. This decision discovers an extent of 
 acquirements, and shews a purity of taste, that 
 — {To De PEpee) What study, what pains, must 
 it have cost you to accomplish such effects ! 
 
 De VE. 1 o tell you what it has cost me, were 
 impossible — but the bare thought of prompting 
 to the forgetfulness of nature — of calling forth 
 the faculties of mind — this one persuasion gives 
 strength, courage, and perseverance to accom- 
 plish miracles. If the laborious husbandman, 
 when he views rich harvest waving over the 
 lands he has fertilized, experiences a pleasure 
 proportioned to his toils — ^judge what are my 
 sensations, when, surrounded by my pupils, I 
 watch them gradually emerging from the night 
 that overshadows them, and see them dazzled 
 at the widening dawn of opening Deity, 'till the 
 full blaze of perfect intellect informs their souls 
 to hope and adoration This is to new-create 
 our brethren. What transport to bring man ac- 
 quainted with himself! — Enjoyments, 1 own, 
 there may be, more splendid, more alluring ;—- 
 
 6* 
 
58 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 but I am sure, that, in the wide round of our ca- 
 pacities, none ^ill be found more true. 
 
 Fran. They are the just reward of such be- 
 nevolence—and if my efforts — 
 
 {Claudine and Dominique^ without.^ 
 
 Dom, Come back, come back ; — I tell you, 
 Claudine, you can't see her. 
 
 Clau. I tell you I must and wall see her, if I 
 search the whole house after her. 
 ( Theodore, Madame Franval^ and Marianne con^e 
 forward.) 
 
 Enter (^LAViymE.^ followed by Dominique, r.h. 
 
 Clau. {To Madame Franval.) I beg pardon 
 for being so bold — 
 
 Dam. {To Marianne.) She slipp'd by, the 
 back way, and got the start of me. {Theodore 
 on the entrance of Claudine.^ appears struck with 
 recollection of her ; then falls in the most lively 
 agitation ; and signifies to De P Epee.^ that she was 
 wife to the porter of the house he lived in., and had 
 been his nurse. De PEpee answers him in signs of 
 surprise and joy.) 
 
 Clau. {To Franval.) Sir, I beg pardon ; yet, 
 when the heart is full — This dear young lady 
 has been so good — {Kisses Marianne'' s hand.) 
 
 Mad. F. What does all this mean Marianne ? 
 
 Mar. {Hesitating.) Madam — 
 
 Clau. Sweet saint ! — She blushes to speak her 
 own good deeds. Ah, madam, this angel of a 
 girl, heard 1 was in distress, and has been of a 
 long time my benefactress ; I never knew what 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 59 
 
 charitable hand was stretched to me, till this 
 morning Dominique told me — 
 
 Dom, No, I didn't tell you ; you coax'd it out 
 of me. Come away, come away — you're a rare 
 one to keep a secret ! (Signs to her to be gone,) 
 
 De PE. Good woman ! g-ood woman ! 
 
 Clau. Me, sir? {Curtseying,) 
 
 De VE. You lived formerly in the Palace of 
 Harancour ? 
 
 Clau. My husband was porter there nine and 
 twenty years. 
 
 De VE, Do you remember young count Julio, 
 your late master's son ? 
 
 Clau. Remember him ? — I had him in my arms 
 the very hour he was born. My lady died 
 in child bed ; I was his nurse — his mother, beg- 
 ging your pardon, I may say— and a sweet babe 
 he was. 1 shall never forget him. His death 
 was a hard pinch to us all. ^ {Weeping.) 
 
 {Theodore gazes on Claudine.^ in great agita^ 
 tion.) 
 
 De VE. {Takes Theodore by the hand^) Did 
 you ever see his face ? 
 
 Clau {Starting.) Merciful goodness I why 
 sure — {Theodore Jlings back the hair from his 
 forehead^ ^c.) 
 
 Clau. It is, it is he — it is young count Julio 
 himself! 
 
 {Theodore^ as she runs to him.^ and is falling 
 at his feet, immediately prevents and kisses her.) 
 
 Dom. Ha ! ha !— and there I had like not to 
 have let her in. 
 
 De VE, Providential encounter ! 
 
60 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Fran, This may lead to other proofs. — 
 
 Mad, F. AxvA confound the insolent Darlemont 
 — Now, son ! 
 
 Clau. If my poor Blaise were but alive ! — But 
 where has he been — the dear boy ! where has 
 he- 
 
 De VE. Hush ! — recollect yourself: are you 
 so thoroughly convinced, that this is JuHo of 
 Harancour, that you dare solemnly attest it — 
 
 Clau. To the whole world — to men and an- 
 gels — eatth and heaven. 
 
 Fran, CanH you immediately, without letting 
 'em knoV what has pass'd, bring hither some 
 others of the servants, who knew Count Julio in 
 his infancy ? 
 
 Clau. To be sure ; there's the coachman's 
 widow living still ; and there's — 
 
 Dom. Ay, so there is ; and there's Denys the 
 groom besides, and his old wife — they don't live 
 far off. 
 
 Mad, F, Fetch 'em this moment— fetch 'em 
 all. 
 
 Dom, Come along, Claudine — come along. 
 
 {Going.) 
 
 Fran. And — not a word, for your lives. 
 
 Dom. Oh !— I know better than to chatter 
 about what doesn't concern me. Long live 
 Count Julio ! 
 
 Fran. Dominique 
 
 Dom, Oh ! — come along, Claudine. 
 
 [Exeunt^ Dominique and Claudine^ r.h. 
 
 Mad F. There, there; make haste, make 
 haste ! 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. Gl 
 
 Mar. My dear madam, if they should disco- 
 ver — 
 
 Mad F. Daughter, daughter, he must be pun- 
 ished for his ambition — his insolence must be 
 humbled.~Son, we'll leave you together.~Come, 
 we'll shew the Count of Harancour his apart- 
 ment. — (^Signs to Theodore to go with her — he 
 takes her handS) 
 
 [Exeunt^ Madame Franval^ r.h. very ceremonious- 
 ly ; Theodore nodding to De VEpee ; S^ Marianne^ 
 with an imploring look to Franval. 
 
 Fran, I have already told you, the friendship 
 that binds me to St. Alme, imposes on me the 
 duty of proceeding by the gentlest steps. I now 
 propose, that we present ourselves at the Pal- 
 ace of Harancour — there, jointly, and in private, 
 we may attack this Darlemont ; you, with the 
 energy so good a cause inspires ; and I, with all 
 the terror of the laws. He must be more har- 
 dened and audacious than I think him, if he can 
 withstand us. 
 
 De VE. I agree : and a thought this instant 
 strikes me, which, if he is not quite a monster, 
 must insure our success. [Exeunt, l.h. 
 
 END OF ACT III. 
 
62 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 ^ ACT IV. 
 
 SCENE I. — The Room in the Palace of Harancour. 
 The Picture being removed. 
 
 Enter Darlemont and Pierre, r.h, 
 
 Dar. Go and inquire immediately. [Exit 
 Pierre^ l.h.] Vain, groundless apprehensions, 
 leave me ! — what an absurd propensity there 
 is in man to be his own tormentor — to conjure 
 up theiwildesl visions — to fancy the most fnght- 
 ful accidents — and shake the more, the more 
 preposterous the terrors are which his imagina- 
 tion creates ! 
 
 /Je-ew^er Pierre, r.h. 
 
 Pie, Sir, my master is not come in yet. 
 
 Dar. I suppose, he's at FranvaPs then. 
 
 Pie. No, sir, he's not — they sent here just 
 now to inquire for him. 
 
 Dar. {Aside.) My son opposing all my wishes 
 — my servant ready to betray me — whom can 
 I trust in ? — my ambition is my curse — the 
 moment I attam'd its object, my plagues began 
 — where is Dupre ? 
 
 Pie. Shut up in his own room. 
 
 Dar. {Alarmed.) Is any body with him ? 
 
 Pie. No, sir, I saw him go in alone, and 
 heard the door lock. {Going.) 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 63 
 
 Dar, Well ! — Pierre, — Have you seen any 
 thing more of these — 
 
 Pie. What, the strangers, sir ? 
 
 Dar. So very like the No, nothing. — 
 
 You may go. [Exit Pierre^ l.h.] Dumb ! — 
 Like the picture ! — Should he be still alive — 
 should some infernal accident have returned 
 him hither — well, how will he prove his story ? 
 — his death is registered : that testimony no 
 evidence but Dupre's can now invalidate ; and 
 him, too, 1 might set at defiance, and be at rest 
 for ever, could I but link my interest to the 
 President's by this marriage with his daughter ; 
 that would place me beyond the result of 
 danger. 
 
 Enter St. Alme, l.h. who stands at a distance as if 
 not daring to approach his father. 
 
 I am on the rack, till it is accomplished. 
 
 St. A. Am I permitted, sir, 
 
 Dar. {Alarmed.) Who's there ? 
 
 St. A. I was told, sir, you wish'd to see me, 
 
 Dar. I do — and let me warn you, sir, that 
 unless you come resolved to show a proper 
 sense of duty to your father, you have heard 
 that wish for the last time. Tell me, where 
 have you been all this morning ? 
 
 St. A. My father, it is not in my nature to 
 dissemble with you — I come from the Presi- 
 dent's. 
 
 Dar {Startled.) Ha ! What was your business 
 there, and without me. 
 
64 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 St. A. To lay open my whole soul before 
 him — to acquaint him from my own lips with 
 my engagements to Marianne. (Darlemont starts.) 
 pardon me, sir — O, think how resistless must he 
 the power that over-masters me, since it could 
 hurry me to make this declaration, even at the 
 risk of your displeasure. 
 
 Dar. (Stifling his rage.) Well, sir — what was 
 his answer ? 
 
 St. A. Noble, kind, and like himself. He 
 gently told me, it would have been the pride of 
 his heart, and the comfort of his declining years^ 
 to have seen me happy with his daughter ; but 
 that the choice I had made did me honour — 
 
 Dar. (^Gradually giving way to his fury.) How ? 
 
 Si. A. And that the ties by which I was 
 engaged to so worthy an object must be indisso- 
 luble. 
 
 Dar. {Bursting out.) Parricide ? You have 
 undone me. Vain empty schemes of human 
 foresight ! — I possess myself of my ne — of a 
 vast inheritance, — 1 devote it to your advance- 
 ment — employ it to ally you with the most 
 powerful and wealthy family in Languedoc — 
 and, when I have succeeded in removing every 
 prejudice, every obstacle, you dare to make a 
 mockery of my solicitudes, and audaciously 
 reject power, rank, fortune, for the interested 
 attractions of a beggar, the seductive arts of a — 
 
 St. A. O, no — that she has fix'd me her's, 
 and her's alone, 'tis true ; but, sir, 'twas without 
 artifices, as it was without design ; her enchant- 
 ing loveliness, my father, — her innocence, if 
 
DEAF AND DUMB, 65 
 
 possible, still more lovely — these are the seduc- 
 tions, these the arts, this virtuous girl has 
 practis d on me. 
 
 Dar, {Bursting into tears.) Short-sighted, fool- 
 ish parents ! for thankless children, thus to plunge 
 yourselves in guilt and danger. 
 
 St. A O, sir ! — {Affectionately.) - Surely, you 
 are in no danger ? 
 
 Dar. {Resolutely.) No ! I don't know what I 
 am. Yet, should the world once suspect — 
 
 S'^. A. Who can live fairer in the opinion of 
 the world ? 
 
 Dar. He who lives fair in his own mind. 
 
 St. A. For heaven's sake, sir, what labours in 
 your bosom ? 
 
 Dar. O, misery ! to think I have a son, and 
 want a friend ! 
 
 St. A. You rend my heart with these doubts. 
 Honour me as a friend ; shew me how I may 
 serve my father — and let man and heaven re- 
 nounce me, if I forget the duty of a son ! 
 
 Dar. {Eagerly.) Do you speak this from your 
 soul ? May I depend on you ? 
 
 St. A. Can it be a question, sir ? 
 
 Dar. {Solemn and earnest.) Then return to 
 the President — 
 
 St A Ha ! 
 
 Dar. Retrieve the mischief— apologize, plead, 
 obtain the daughter. 
 
 St. A. Sir!— 
 
 Dar. If you have the affection of a son, — if 
 you value the safety, life, and honour of your 
 father — go. 
 
m . DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 St. A. Your agitation terrifies me. Tell me, 
 I conjure you, tell me the cause of it. 
 
 Dar. Impossible ! — Think, 'tis no trivial cause 
 that could induce me to plead by dark hints for 
 a son's obedience. 
 
 St. A Speak, sir — O, speak ! 
 
 Dar. It is not to be told. Nothing but the 
 support of rank, wealth, office, can secure me : 
 the gulph of ruin gapes at my feet ; I call on 
 my son, — him to whom I have given life — for 
 whom I have risk'd life, infamy, and perdition — 
 1 once more call on him — save me, or never 
 ^ee me more. [Exit^ r.h. 
 
 St. A. Such guilt ! Such danger ! Can this be 
 real ? — Impossible !— 'Tis but a cruel artifice to 
 extort my consent to this hated marriage. Un- 
 kind father ! Thus with suborn'd emotions, to 
 practice on the affections of a son, who would 
 die for you. 
 
 Enter Pierre, l.h. 
 
 Pie. Sir, the porter says, Dominique was 
 here just now in a great hurry to ask for you. 
 
 ♦S^. A. 1 come. — Yes, Franval — my friend — 
 my brother ! — your advice and assistance are the 
 only reliance left me. [Exit.^ l.h. 
 
 Fie. And now for a little chat with Dupre 
 about this picture. [Exit^ r.h. 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 67 
 
 8CENE II. — FranvaVs Study as before. 
 
 Enter Madame Franval, Marianne, De L'Epee, 
 and Franval, r,h. with a paper in his hand. 
 
 Mad. F. Bless my soul ! — Where can they be ? 
 No news of these witnesses yet ? 
 
 De VE. We must have patience, madam. 
 
 Mad. F. This Dominique is so slow ! 
 
 Fran. {To De PEpee,) How severe is the 
 duty you have impos'd on me ! Must i present 
 the accusation of the father of St. Alme ? My 
 heart bleeds at the thought ! 
 
 De PE. Would he had been less criminal, and 
 Theodore less injur''d ! 
 
 Mad. F. No, no, his punishment cannot be 
 too sudden, nor too public. 
 
 Fran. Think of his virtuous son. 
 
 Mar. {M'ith the utmost tenderness.) Who, inno- 
 cent of his crimes, would share in his disgrace. 
 
 De VE. Besides, madam, we must remember 
 that he still is my poor boy's uncle — his mother's 
 brother. 
 
 Mad. F. How the Count of Harancour could 
 stoop to marry into such a family — and then, to 
 make this wretch his eventual heir ! 
 
 De VE. Integrity and honour, it may be, 
 governed his life, till this temptation over-power'd 
 him ; at least under that persuasion, madam, I 
 would first try, whether he mayn't still be re- 
 claimable by lenient means. 
 
 Fran, On that I am fix'd. 
 
68 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Mad. F. Remember, I tell you, he'll treat all 
 your sentiments, and your lenient means, with 
 contempt. 
 
 Enter St. Alme, l.h. in the deepest dejection, 
 
 Fran. Then, madam — St. Alme ! I wish'd to 
 see you. (i/e goes to St. Alme and they talk 
 together.) 
 
 De VE. Is this his son? {To Marianne.) 
 
 Mar. Yes, sir. 
 
 Mad. F. Daughter! [Exit Madame Franval^ 
 R.H. looking disdainfully at St. Alme.) 
 
 Mar. {To De VE.) O, sir, speak with him— 
 acquaint yourself with the virtues of his heart, 
 then ask your own, whether ignominy be his 
 desert ! [Exit in tears ^ r.h. 
 
 Fran. {To De VE.) My friend requests a 
 moment's conversation. 
 
 De VE. Honour and persuasion sit on his 
 brow ; trust him at once — his father will never 
 be able to resist him. 
 
 Fran. You judge him by yourself. 
 
 De VE. Try every thing. — Theodore shall 
 know that his cousin is here. [Exit^ r.h. 
 
 Fran. St. Alme, why are your looks so sad ? 
 
 St. A. My distresses double every moment, 
 and are inexplicable. The stern reserve, in 
 which my father has so long wrapp'd himself, is 
 suddenly chang'd to terrors that distract him, 
 
 Fran. {Aside.) Indeed ! 
 
 St. A. The horror of his thoughts seem ago- 
 nizing. To me he appeals for safety — yet 
 mysteriously hides from me the cause of his 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 69 
 
 alarm : by the sacred names of son and friend — 
 with prayers, with tears, and solemn warnings, 
 I am adjured to shield a father from perdition. 
 
 Fran. (^Aside.) Surely he can't have heard — 
 what are the means ? {To St. Alme.) 
 
 St. A. The means ? The sacrifice of friend- 
 ship, happiness, and love. O, heaven, can this 
 be just ?— And yet, he is my father. 
 Fran, Ay, would he were not ! 
 
 St. A. Hold, hold, Franval — If you are my 
 friend, no wish like that. 
 
 Fran, I am your friend — and have an office to 
 discharge, that might better suit your bitterest 
 enemy. 
 
 St. A. No word against my father ; or, here 
 for ever — 
 
 Fran. Be calm, and hear me. You had a 
 cousin, Julio Count of Harancour ! 
 
 St. A. You know, J had. 
 
 Fran, St. Alme, I can't proceed ; I cannot tell 
 you — yet you must know it, for all your sakes. 
 
 St. A. Speak out at once. 
 
 Fran. 1 want the courage to reveal it. 
 
 St. A. Speak— what of Juho ? 
 
 Fran. You lov'd him. 
 
 *S^. A. Dearly as my own life. 
 
 Fran. You would not see him wrong'd. 
 
 St. A. What mean you ?— Wrong'd !— Who 
 wrongs him ?— 'Tis eight years and more, since 
 Julio died in Paris. 
 
 Fran. Ay, in the report of guilt. 
 
 St. A. Sir, in the report of Darlemont — - 
 Wrong'd! He died in Paris. 
 
TO DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Fran, No, no. 
 
 St A, Whither would these dark insinuations 
 tend ? Merciful heaven, add not to my miseries, 
 that of hating the brother of Marianne ! — Julio- 
 Fran. Is still alive. 
 
 St. A. Franval — You are deceived — the at- 
 testation of his death is in my father's hands ; 
 Dupre was present in his last moments, and is a 
 surviving witness to it. 
 
 Fran. Indeed ? Then let your own eyes judge 
 between us. Look, who comes here. Darle- 
 mon! declares Count Julio dead — I, Franval, 
 present him living. There — 
 
 Enter De L'Epee and Theodore, r.h. 
 
 St. A. All gracious heaven ! Do my eyes de- 
 ceive me ? Risen from the dead ! It is, it is — 
 (Theodore.^ after they have gazed a moment on each 
 other^ utters a shriek of joy^ and rushes into St. 
 Alme'^s arms.) 
 
 De V E. No, you are not deceived. He calls 
 you friend — he speaks to you in smiles and 
 tears, the language of the heart — his only lan- 
 guage. 
 
 St. A. Can this be real ? I know not yet — 
 Speechless I — it must, it must be he — my long 
 lost, dear, lamented Julio ! — And yet^ stand off 
 awhile, and let me gaze till I have satisfied my 
 doui^ts. {Theodore affected at St. Aimers putting 
 him away^ hastily recollects himself bares his right 
 arm and points to the scar upon it. — ♦S'^ Alme 
 bursting into tears^ runs to him^ and kisses the 
 scar,) 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 71 
 
 St, A. That scar I 
 
 De VE. O, nature, nature, how resistless is 
 thy eloquence ! 
 
 Fran. St. Alme, compose yourself, I shudder 
 for the final close of this discovery. 
 
 St. A. It is, it is my Julio. Friend ! Com- 
 panion ! Preserver of my life ! I'm lost in joy 
 and wonder. To whom are we indebted for this 
 strange blessing* ? 
 
 Fran. To him — to the benevolence of De 
 PEpee. 
 
 St. A. De PEpee ! Has Julio been an object 
 of your generous pity ? O, sir, — I can't thank 
 you. {Kisses De PEpee^s hand.) Come, come, 
 my dear Julio — {To De V Epee.) my father's 
 gratitude shall bless 3^ou — how will he rejoice 
 at this event ! Let us haste to him — he has been 
 much altered since your loss ; your presence 
 shall dispel all gloom, and his heart dance with 
 transport to behold you. 
 
 Fran. Hold, hold, one moment. 
 
 {Madame Franval and Dupre within.) 
 
 Mad, F. {Within^ l h.) Come in, come in, 
 Dupre — he is here — it's all true. 
 
 Fran. Dupre ! {Looking at St Alme.) 
 
 Dup. {Within.) Where is he? Let me see 
 him, let me see him. 
 
 Enter Madame Franval and Dupre, l.h. 
 
 Fran. How has he learned — 
 Dup, No — Pierre was not mistaken. O, Julio, 
 Julio ! {Throws himself at Theodore'^s feet.) 
 
72 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Mad. F. We expect the other ssrvants every 
 moment. 
 
 St. A All overjoyed to hear of his return. 
 
 {Th:odore instantly recollects Dupre^ shrinks 
 from him^ and explains to De VEpee whom he is,) 
 
 Dup Now I have seen him once again, let 
 me but ask forgiveness, and expire at his feet. 
 
 De VE. (7'o St. A.) This man seems strange- 
 ly agitated, 
 
 St. A. Forgiveness! What does he mean? 
 He was his favourite servant, and attended Julio, 
 when my father carried him to Paris. 
 
 Dup. {Starting up.) Yes, I am that ungrateful 
 viper— that villain who became the accomplice 
 of an act-T-He lives, however, and I can now 
 substantiate the truth Drag me away — 1 am 
 ready— Deliver me and my seducer to the just 
 punishment of our crimes 
 
 De VE, You went with him to Paris about 
 eight years ago. 
 
 Dup, Yes, yes — with Darlemont, with Darle- 
 mont ! 
 
 St. A. With Darlemont ! What then ? 
 
 Fran, St. Alme ! St. Alme ! 
 
 St. A Rack me not thus, but speak. , 
 
 Dup. 1 must — and may my true confession and 
 remorse find acceptance there {Pointing to /tea- 
 ven.) towards the remission of my guilt ! 
 
 D VE, Be but sincere, it will. — Go on. 
 
 Dup. The very evening we reached Paris, 
 your father pointing to a small trunk, sternly 
 ordered me to dress his nephew in those clothes 
 f*— it contained a beggars wretched covering, 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 73 
 
 (^St. Alme starts back^ and turns away a moment^ 
 hiding his face.) 
 
 Mad F, The very rags they brought him to 
 you in. 
 
 Dup. Muffled in these tatters, shrouded by 
 midnight darkness, my master hurried him away 
 — and, till this moment, 1 never saw hira more, 
 
 St A, Strike me with deafness, heaven ! 
 
 Mad. F. Why didn't you immediately accuse 
 him? He might have murdered the poor child 
 for ought you knew. 
 
 Dup. At first, I fear'd it. PressM and over, 
 powered by my suspicions on his return alone, 
 he own'd that he had put in execution the de- 
 sign which brought him to Paris, and under 
 shelter of the night, had lost the disguised and 
 helpless innocent beyond recovery, in the inex- 
 tricable mazes of that wide city. 
 
 Mad. F, Thank heaven, he'll find himself 
 disappointed and detected ! 
 
 De VE. Madam— well, sir — 
 
 Dup, In order to possess himself of the es- 
 tates of the young count, it still was necessary 
 that he should prove his death. Two witnesses 
 were wanting : seduc'd by gold, one, since dead, 
 was the poor wretch we lodg'd with. 
 
 Fran, The other — was yourself: and by this 
 dark and perjured attestation — 
 
 St, A, His name annihilated, his rich inheri- 
 tance purloined, his death a forgery, and my 
 own father the perpetrator! — Saints of hea- 
 ven, guard my soul from desperation ! — Already 
 the licentious rabble point at me as I pass, — I 
 
74 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 hear them cry, there goes the monster, the un- 
 natural villain, who conspir'd to rob his noble 
 kinsman, the friend of his youth, the saviour of 
 his life, and turned him forth, naked and speech- 
 less on a desert and unpitying world ! — 
 
 De PE, Listen, sir, listen for a moment to a 
 stranger, who views the dignity of your sorrow 
 with reverence, and the severity of your fate 
 with compassion ; be just to yourself, you are 
 not guilty. 
 
 St, A. Compassion? O heaven ! Am I not his 
 son? Not guilty? I'll hear of no compassion. 
 Proclaim our crimes ; clothe us in the same in- 
 famy ; overwhelm us in one common ruin ; raise 
 monuments to perpetuate the villany of the 
 house of Darlemont ; let the name be recorded 
 as pestilential to virtue, and the race extermi- 
 nated from the world for ever ! (*S7. Ahne 
 throws himself in an agony on a chair, Theodore^ 
 to whom De PEpee has explained Dupre^s confes- 
 sion,^ endeavours by every means to console him.) 
 
 Dap. Since that fatal deed, my horj»or and 
 remorse have never given me one moment's 
 peace. But heaven is just ; it has preserved 
 this noble youth, and sends me to unload my 
 conscience at the tribunal of the laws. — Deliver 
 me this moment to them. — 1 know the punish- 
 ment that awaits me, and am resigned to it ; too 
 blest at last, if in confessing and expiating the 
 crimes to which I have been an accomplice, I 
 can repair the evils they have caus'd. 
 
 St. A (Starting up^ as if with a sudden thought^ 
 mid rushing forzfcard between De P Epee and Franz 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 75 
 
 val.) Yes, yes— they must be repaired. Fol- 
 low me, wretched old man. 
 
 Fran. St. A I me, where are you going. 
 
 *S^ A. Where despair calls me. 
 
 De VE. Look on your Julio. 
 
 St. A. The sight of him drives me to madness. 
 
 Fran. What is your design ? 
 
 St. A. To avenge him, or die. — Come, villain. 
 [Exit St. Alme^ l.h. dragging Dupre away with 
 him. Dupre looking back on Theodore. 
 
 Fran. 1 must follow and detain him ; or, in 
 this madness of conflicting passions, he may 
 publish his fathers crimes, and defeat our very 
 hope to save him from such dishonour. 
 
 [Exit^ L.H. 
 
 Mad. F. We follow you. Well, this St. Alme, 
 is a very good young man, upon my word ; and, 
 though he is Darlemont's son, I can't help being 
 concerned for him, i protest. 
 
 De PE. Franval speaks highly of his virtues 
 and his honour. Ah ! thou poor reed, shaken 
 so long by storms? How this eventful day may 
 end for thee, heaven knows ! But come my 
 Theodore — should an unfeeling uncle persist in 
 renouncing thee, should the laws reject thy ap- 
 peal — thou shall still find a warm, though hum- 
 ble, asylum, in the affection of De PEpee. 
 
 [Exeunt^ rh. 
 
 END OF ACT IV. 
 
76 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 SCENE I.— ne Room in the Palace of Haran- 
 cour. The Picture having been removed, 
 
 Enter Philippe, Pierre, Charles, and 
 Etienne, r.h. 
 
 Pie. Nay, nay, don't be in such a hurry. 
 Friends! fellow servants ! what have I done? 
 what have I done ? 
 
 f'hil. Nay, nay : no hanging back : — ^you must 
 come to my master. 
 
 Cha. Come along ; come along. 
 
 Pie. Let me go, I say. I am coming along ; 
 but you have a mind to strangle me before I 
 get there. Hands off, gentlemen ! {Disenga- 
 ges himself from them.) \ won't be dragged in 
 this manner, like a lamb to a slaughter-house. 
 What's the meaning of this ? what's the matter, 
 I say ? 
 
 Phil. O, poor innocent creature ! you'll know 
 vrhat the matter is, sooner than you desire, I 
 fancy. You must always act the great man ; 
 you must affect to be in all your young master's 
 secret's \ 
 
 Pie. I ! — f wrish I may be hanged if I know 
 any of his secrets. 
 
 Eti. Ay, ay ; so you say. You call us wretch- 
 ed plodders, you know. What do you think of 
 us now ? my master has been in a fine rage about 
 you and Dupre : you must be tatthng. 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 77 
 
 Pie. Tattling? 
 
 Eti. Ay ; you have been telling Dupre some- 
 thing or other. 
 
 Pie^ Me ! upon my soul ! 
 
 PhiL Well, well, it doesn't signify ; whatever 
 it was, it drove Dupre into the square, raving 
 like a madman, and my master has been raving 
 ever since. He has almost murdered the por- 
 ter, I can tell you, for letting Dupre out, — 
 against his express orders, it seems. 
 
 Pie. Letting him out ! and why not ? where 
 is he gone ? 
 
 Eti. 1 fancy, that's the very thing my master 
 wishes to know. 
 
 Pie. Is it ? I'm sure then he wishes to know 
 more than I can tell him. 
 
 Phil. Ay, ay, that's your business : but he'll 
 find a way to make you tell him, I believe. 
 
 Pie. Make me tell! None of your imperti- 
 nence, if you please, sir. 
 
 Eti. Don't make a fool of yourself, but come 
 quietly with us : we shall all be finely handled for 
 staying so long. 
 
 Pie. Handled, indeed ! Come, I like that too : 
 — handled ! 
 
 Phil. Don't be too flippant, friend Pierre ; 
 he's in a most unmerciful humour, I promise 
 you. 
 
 Pie. This is all about that confounded pic- 
 ture, I suppose. My cursed cariosity will be 
 the ruin of me at last. 
 
 Phil. Eti, Cha. Come away! come away! 
 8 
 
78 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Pie. Well, well ; friends, fellow-servants, gen- 
 tlemen ! . [Exeunt^ L.H. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Saloon in the Palace of Haran- 
 coiiVy in which the Picture is now placed. 
 
 Enter Darlemont, l.h. 
 
 Dar. Doubt 1 horror ! and distraction I Where 
 now can I look for support? my son estranged 
 from me ! Dupre a fugitive ! All torments that 
 disobedience, treachery, and self-condemnation 
 carj, conjure up, beleaguer and confound me ! 
 
 {A noise without r.h.) 
 
 Enter Phillippe, r.h.d. 
 
 Now, sir? 
 
 Phil. We have brought him, sir : Pierre is at 
 the door. 
 
 Dar. So! he's in the plot too. Bring him in. 
 — [Exit Philippe^ r.h.d.] Down, thronging ap- 
 prehensions, down ! I shall betray myself 
 
 Enter Pierre, Philippe, Etienne, and Charles, 
 
 R.H.D. 
 
 Tell me sirrah! whether is he fled? 
 
 Pie. Fled, sir! Who, sir? 
 
 Dar. No prevarication, rascal !— the hypo- 
 critical complotter of your schemes, — Speak ! — 
 Dupre, — where is he ? 
 
 Pie, If you'll believe me, sir, I can't tell. 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 79 
 
 Dar. I'll not believe you, villain! I'll have 
 the truth, though I tear it out of your heart, 1 
 know you went to him into his room : deny that 
 too. 
 
 Pie. Went to him in his — yes, yes, I did, I be- 
 lieve, — I did, sir. 
 
 Dar. {Seizing him.) What vras your business 
 with him, then ? 
 
 Pie. {Very much frightened.) As I hope for 
 mercy, sir, I only went, after you ordered me to 
 take away the young count's picture, just to — 
 
 Dar. {Perceiving the other Servants^ he recovers 
 himself.) Go ; I'll call you, when I have done 
 with him. [Exeunt Philippe^ Etienne^and Charles^ 
 R-H.D. {Darlemont pulls to the door very violently.) 
 
 Pie. Sir, I see I have done something that 
 alarms you, — 
 
 Dar. Alarms me ! 
 
 Pie, That displeases you ; I read it in your 
 looks: but, what it is, I protest I know no more, 
 than I do what has become of Dupre. 
 
 Dar. {Having composed himself) I'm not dis- 
 pleas'd; you are mistaken. Come, tell me ho- 
 nestly what pass'd between you. 
 
 Pie. Why, nothing, sir : — only, at first, when 
 I said something about your bidding me remove 
 the picture, he shook his head, with a deep 
 groan. So, to spirit him up a little, I told him, 
 — as I told you, sir, — that I had seen a young 
 gentleman in the morning, a stranger, who 
 seem'd deaf and dumb too, as like that picture. 
 as if he had sat for it. 
 
 Dar, {Very eagerly,) What did he say to that? 
 
m DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Pie. Not one single word, sir ; but all the 
 blood ilew into his face in a moment, and he 
 sunk on the table, weeping bitterly ; then he 
 wav'd his hand so, — and I left him 
 
 Dar. (^Aside.) Ha ! he has revealed nothing 
 yet. — You have seen nothing of him since, 
 then? 
 
 Pie. No, sir. 
 
 Dar. Nor of the strangers ? 
 
 Pie. Nothing, sir. 
 
 Dar. Leave me. (^In deep thought crosses to 
 L.H ) 
 
 Pie. (^Jiside.) And glad to be so cheaply quit 
 too. What is the meaning of all this rout? I 
 durst not own that I told Dupre the strangers 
 were at FranvaFs. {Going r.h.) 
 
 Dar. And — stay within call [Exit Pierre^ 
 R.H.D.] I know not what to think, nor what 
 coarse to take Is this fellow's account true, or 
 false ? am I betray'd, or not ? nor dare I tax him 
 too closely ! that would excite suspicion. Hor- 
 rible uncertainty ! O, let no man ever trust him- 
 self into the path of guilt! It is a labyrinth be- 
 set with dismay and remorse, and not to be re- 
 trod without a miracle ! Yet I think, — for his 
 own sake, I think, Dupre will not divulge me. 
 No, no, this sudden start is but the restlessness 
 of his sickly conscience. 
 
 Re-enter Pierre, r.h.d. 
 
 Pie. Sir, the Advocate Franval begs the fa- 
 vour of a few moments private conversation 
 with you. 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 81 
 
 Dar, Franval ! With me, or with my son ? 
 
 Pie. With you he said, sir. 
 
 Dar, Tell him, I beg his pardon, I'm particu- 
 larly engaged. [^Exit Pierre r.h.d.] He comes 
 to torture me on his side ; to prattle to me of 
 bis sister, and the match they have so craftily 
 settled with St. Alme : but I shall counterwork 
 their project. My son is good and dutiful, and 
 loves me ; and, though he could withstand my 
 commands, I know he can't long be proof to my 
 intreaties; and the alliance I have provided, is 
 the only imaginable means of securing me and 
 himself against all turns of fortune. 
 
 Re-enter Pierre, r.h.d. 
 
 Pie, I beg pardon, sir; the Advocate Franval 
 has sent me back to inform you, that he has im- 
 mediate business of the last importance, and that 
 the Abbe De TEpee, from Paris, is with him. 
 
 Dar. (Starts.) Who ? 
 
 Pie. The Abbe De PEpee. 
 
 Dar. What ! the instructor of the deaf and 
 dumb ? 
 
 Pie. I don't know, sir ; but I dare say it is; 
 for it's the very gentleman that stopp'd me with 
 the young stranger in the square this morning. 
 
 Dar. (Having paced once or twice across the 
 room in great agitation.) Desire 'em to walk 
 up. [Exit Pierre.^ r.HvD. 
 
 He in Toulouse ! accompanied by a youth, — 
 speaking by signs, — pointing out this house, — 
 and like the picture ! I'll not believe it. What ? 
 8 * 
 
82 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 after so many years ? Yet, wherefore should 
 this very man address himself to me? I must 
 command myself; and by a firm and calm exte- 
 rior baffle the keenest scrutiny of suspicion. I 
 hear 'em. Be their errand what it may, my re- 
 solution's fixed : Defiance is a champion whose 
 vig'our may be dreaded ; but Fear, a recreant 
 destin'd to fall by the very sword which he sur- 
 renders. They come ; I must withdraw one mo- 
 ment. [Exit^ L.H. 
 
 Re-enter Pierre, r.h.d. introducing Franval, and 
 De L'Epee. — Pierre places chairs^ and Exit^ 
 
 R.H.D. 
 
 Fran, Pray, sir, remember; not one word of 
 Dupre. I know him well ; to find his servant 
 his accuser, would rouse his pride to fury, and 
 render all our endeavours to serve him, and in 
 him my friend, ineffectual. No hint of Dupre's 
 evidence, unless he absolutely drives us to des-r 
 perate measures, I beg. 
 
 De VE, 1 shall observe. 
 
 Re-enter Darlemont, l.h. 
 
 (Darlemont and De PEpee eye each other sted- 
 fastly — Franval presents De VEpee.) 
 
 De VE, Your servant, sir. {Darlemont bows 
 to thern^ points to the chairs^ and they all sit — 
 Darlemont in the centre^ evidently struggling with 
 his alarm,) 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 83 
 
 Dar. You desire, I am told, to speak with me 
 in private. May I ask what motive — 
 
 be VE. The deep interest we both take in 
 the honour of the father of St. Alme, and the so- 
 lemn obligation, we are at the same time under 
 to fulfil an act of justice, — these, sir, are the 
 motives on which we judg'd it proper to request 
 this interview in private. 
 
 Dar, {Embarrassed.^ Does any man suppose 
 my honour then in question? 
 
 Fran, A moment's patience, sir. 
 
 Be PE. You are the uncle, and were left the 
 guardian, of Julio count of Haranccur. 
 
 Dar. (Shocked.) Well, sir ! 
 
 De VE. Of that unhappy youth, who was de^ 
 priv'd by death of the watchful affection of his 
 parents, and by nature left destitute of that dis- 
 tinctive prerogative of man, the power of ap- 
 pealing against injustice and oppression ! 
 
 Dar. (Haughtily.) Oppression? sir! 
 
 De VE. Ha! then you conceive my meaning? 
 
 Dar. (Checking himself.) If you have business, 
 state it plainly. 
 
 De VE. Do you desire it ? 
 
 Dar. What means — 
 
 De VE. Are you prepar'd for plain and honest 
 speaking ? 
 
 Dar, Vm not prepared for rude interrogation. 
 
 (Rises to go away ) 
 
 Fran. (Rises and stops him.) Listen one in- 
 stant, and perhaps, what he has spoken, will 
 hardly be construed thus. 
 
84 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Dar. Damnation! (^Aside.) To the point at 
 once. 
 
 De VE, (^Rises.) With all my sou). In one 
 plain word then, learn, that chance, or rather 
 that good Power that governs chance and the 
 destiny of man, first placed your nephew Julio, 
 in my hands. This defrauded orphan, whose 
 misfortunes should have doubled the tenderness 
 of his natural protector towards him ; this out- 
 cast, deaf and dumb, is still alive ; and by our 
 mouths now demands of you the restitution of 
 his name and fortune. 
 
 Dar. {After a convulsion of his whole frame.) 
 Lives, do you say ? still lives ? — You will not 
 wonder, if I am astonished, while 1 listen to fa- 
 bles such as these, 
 
 De VE. No^ sir : Struck as I see you are by 
 this discovery, my only wonder is, that your 
 emotions are not more terrible. 
 
 Dar. And who are you, who arrogantly pre- 
 sume to interpret looks ? You, who attribute the 
 crimes you first invent for sordid, selfish ends, 
 and dare pronounce men guilty in the face of 
 proof? 
 
 Fran. Not so ; the proofs are ours. 
 
 Dar. Away ? My nephew died in Paris. 
 
 Fran. Are you sure of that ? 
 
 De VE. Recollect, sir, that he is your ne- 
 phew, and let your conscience answer. Were 
 you present in his expiring moments? dare you 
 deliberately affirm you saw him dead ? 
 
 Dar. (^After another dreadful emotion., and a 
 pause before he can recover himself) And do you 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 85 
 
 know the man to whom you put these dishon- 
 ourable and malignant questions? 
 p Fran, Far otherwise : — ^we come not with ma- 
 lignity, but with sincere solicitude to save the 
 father of St. Alme, the uncle of Julio, from pub- 
 lic ignominy, and inevitat>le impendmg rum. 
 
 Dar, Begone ! And i^ you are vain enough to 
 think your brawling eloquence has power to 
 overthrow the cre(rit and character of Darle- 
 mont, to annul a legal act, a formal register of 
 death, exert that power : I huri detiance at you. 
 
 Fran. Rush not on your destruction ; confide 
 
 in us; and believe that, next to those just claims 
 
 of which 1 am the assertor, nothing, no nothing 
 
 j can be more sacred to me, than the honour of 
 
 the father of my friend. 
 
 Dar. My heart throws back the imputation. I 
 dare your malice to produce one proof, that this 
 suppositious foundling is the descendant of the 
 house of Harancour. 
 
 De VE, A thousand ! The time when he was 
 found ; his transport on re-entering this the 
 lov'd place of his nativity; his emotion on fin|t 
 seeing this house ; — 000 
 
 Fran, His infirmity; his striking Hkeness to 
 the late President his father ; the declaration of 
 poor Ciaudine ; — 
 
 De VE. His own declarations. 
 
 Dar. His declarations ! 
 
 De VE, His. — Be not too obstinately incredu- 
 ] lous. 
 
 Frail. Yes ; foster'd by his humanity, and guid- 
 ed by his lessons, Julio has fouad in De PEpee 
 
BQ DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 a more than father : genius has compensated 
 the wrongs that nature did him, and made him, 
 even in dumbness, eloquently intelligible. 
 
 Dar, Concerted fraud and artifice ! 1 know 
 my holds of safety, and despise your menace. 
 His death is registered. 
 
 De VE. Suppose that register a forgery. 
 
 Dar. [Aside ) So ; then the villain has be- 
 tray'd me ! 
 
 De VE. It staggers him ; we triumph. (^Aside 
 io Franval) — I see, your lips are ready to avow 
 the secret of your heart. O, for your own sake 
 listen to the charities of nature ! 
 
 Fran. Free yourself at once from the tor- 
 ments that too long have burrowed in your bo- 
 som. 
 
 Dar. Why do 1 submit to the ascendancy these 
 men assume over me? 
 
 Fran. {Taking his hand.) Yield to our friend- 
 ship. 
 
 De VE, {Taking his other hand.) Yield to our 
 prayers. 
 ^Dar. Leave me, I say — begone ! — Never will 
 lUSinowledge this impostor ! {Going.) 
 
 Enter St. Alme, r.h.d. 
 
 St. A. O, my father, have compassion on me ! 
 on yourself! my cousin JuHo — 
 
 Dar. What, you conspire against me ! St. 
 Alme ! St. Alme ! 
 
 St. A. If I was ever dear to you — 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 87 
 
 Dar, Peace, fool ! Join to calumniate your 
 father, and defraud yourself! (^DeVEpee sends 
 Franval out^ r.h. — he returns immediately.) 
 
 St. JL Do not, do not aggravate our dishonour ! 
 — Relent! relent! Let me not hate myself by 
 knowing that your affection for me led you into 
 crimes, at which your soul revolts. Have I not 
 witnessed the agonies of your despair — the hor- 
 rors of your self-accusation ? O, sir, do not make 
 it believed that you justify the deeds, which i 
 know you abhor. 
 
 Dar. Hence ! For ever leave me ! — I can 
 maintain my rights though I am deserted by an 
 unnatural son. 
 
 St. A. Since you will drive me from you, sir, 
 I go — Enjoy your riches ; but enjoy them in 
 cheerless solitude : no child, no friend to share 
 them. Where I shall hide this dishonoured 
 head, I know not. But to haunt with savages, 
 or dwell with lepers, will be paradise to that 
 board, where a son and father must daily meet, 
 blacken'd with mutual guilt, and consciously 
 living under each other's contempt. % 
 
 (Going m*^') 
 
 Dar. Stay, ruffian ! monster ! — No, begone — 
 league with the assassins of your father, and of 
 your own hopes ; 1 shall find means to confront 
 you all. {Going l.h.) 
 
 Enter Madame Franval, Theodore, and 
 Marianne, r.h.d. 
 
 St. A, Confront this witness too. {Points to 
 Theodore.) 
 
88 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 Dar. {Turns round and sees Theodore.") Hor- 
 ror ! madness ' — Hide me from his sight ! 
 
 Su A. Turn to him — take him to you : his 
 looks speak blessings and forgiveness. 
 
 Dar. To be disgraced — never ! This is the 
 very crisis of my fate, and J will stand the event. 
 I do look on him. Is this your instrument ? — I 
 know him not — And you at once decide your 
 choice — Him, or me, you must renounce this in- 
 stant. {To St Alme.) 
 
 St. A. Put me not to so severe a trial. 
 
 Dar, Enough — Tis past — Farewell for ever. 
 
 ( Going. \ 
 
 St. A, Falls on his knees^ and catches Darlemont.) 
 In the name of all that's sacred, my father ! — 
 You heed me not !— You fly me ! — Look on me, 
 father ! — For all our sakes — relent — relent ! 
 
 Dar. Never, never 
 
 St. A. O ! sir ! sir — I must be heard. [Exit 
 Darlemont l.h. in the greatest agony ^ dragging St, 
 Alme after him on his knees. — Theodore all this 
 while in the greatest agitation. 
 
 f De PE. Obdurate man ! — Be still, be still, poor 
 boy^ou shall have justice yet. 
 
 Mad. F. Now, son ; can you any longer hesi- 
 tate ? 
 
 Fran. No ; 1 should become criminal myself, 
 if I delayed the execution of the trust repos'd 
 in me ; this dreadful memorial must instantly 
 be preferred. {Takes the accusation from his 
 pocket.) 
 
 Mar. Then we are lost for ever ! 
 
 ■i 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 89 
 
 Enter Dominique and Claudine, r.h.d. 
 
 Mad. F. Well, Dominique ; well, Claudine ! 
 Heyday ! where are your companions ? — What, 
 have you brought none of the old servants with 
 you? 
 
 Dar. It isn't for want of searching for 'em, 
 madam. First, we called at Denys, the groom s ; 
 — he and his old wife went out early in the morn- 
 ing, nobody knows where 
 
 Clan. Then we went to the coachman's wi- 
 dow's. 
 
 Dom, She was gone to pass the day at her 
 cousin's in the country. However, we told all 
 the neighbours to be sure to tell 'em they were 
 wanted, the moment they came back. 
 
 Fran. You took care to conceal the motive of 
 our sending for them ? 
 
 Dom. O, to be sure. — You'll never catch me 
 blabbing, when Tm trusted with a secret. 
 
 Fra7i. 'Tis well ; wait without. 
 
 [Exeunt Dominique and Claudine^ r.h.d. 
 The facts this paper contains, will, I doubt not, 
 excite the immediate attention and zeal of the 
 magistrates. We must be gone. If St, Alme 
 returns in our absence, calm and console him, I 
 beseech you ! — You Marianne, particularly — 
 you, my sister, tell him what I undergo — But, 
 come ; a single moment of delay may — 
 
 [A noise within l.h.) 
 
 Mar. Hark ! hark ! What noise ! 
 
 9 
 
90 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 De VE, It is St. Alme.— Good heaven ! In 
 what agitation ! in what alarm ! 
 
 Enter St. Alme, l.h. 
 
 St A. O, sir!— My friend !— 
 
 {Falls 071 Franval) 
 
 Fran. St. Alme ! — Speak — speak — 
 
 St. A. My father- 
 Fran. Heavens ! 
 
 St. A. My father— 
 
 De VE. Go on. 
 
 St. A. Distracted hy Julio's wrongs — I ran, 1 
 hurst into the chamber with my father — Dupre 
 followed, and at once own'd he had reveal'd all to 
 you ; and was resolved (unless he did the young 
 count, justice) by a public confession to make 
 him the partner of his punishment. — My father 
 shudder'd — maddening and agoniz'd I drew my 
 sword, and vow'd, if he persisted to refuse his 
 acknowledgment of Julio, that moment to ex- 
 pire on its point before his eyes. — The dread 
 of indelible disgrace — the cry of my despair 
 — the horror of my death prevailed — nature 
 triumphed — my father relented — and with a 
 trembhng hand — there, there — {Gives De PEpee 
 a paper.) 
 
 De VE. {Reads.) " I do acknowledge Theodore, 
 the pupil of De VEpee., to be Julio^ the lawful 
 Count of Harancour ; and am prepared imme- 
 diately to reinstate him in all his rights. Darle- 
 MONT.") To thee, all-gracious heaven, be end- 
 less praise and thanks ! (Gives the paper to Thp.o- 
 dore. 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 91 
 
 Fran, {Tearing the accusation to pieces.) From 
 what a load is my heart relieved ! {Theodore^ 
 having read the paper ^ throws himself at De 
 VEpee'^s feet and kisses them ; rises transported^ 
 and embraces Franval : then running towards St, 
 Alme^ pauses^ as if struck by some sudden thought ; 
 looks stedfastly at him^ and runs to the table^ 
 where he writes something under DarlemonVs decla- 
 ration,) 
 
 Fran, What would he do ? What is his de- 
 sign ? 
 
 De VE. I know not. 
 
 Mad, F. He seems extremely mov'd. 
 
 Mar, How the tears stream from his eyes ! 
 {Theodore returns to St. Alme^ takes one of his 
 hands and places it on his hearty then gives what 
 he has been writing into his other hand^ and makes 
 signs to him to read it,) 
 
 St, A. {Reads,) " Half of my fortune%riust be 
 yours^ St» Alme — if you refuse me, / here vow again 
 to disappear^ and never more be heard of—from our 
 cradles we were accustomed to share every good^ like 
 brothers — and I can never be happy at the expense 
 of my friend.^'^ — Still the same, noble Julio! {Em- 
 braces Theodore.) 
 
 De VE, This single act overpays all I have 
 done for him. 
 
 Mad, F. The very spirit of the old count. — 
 He's his father's own son. 
 
 St, A, O, that I could efface the memory of 
 thy wrongs ! How shall I ever bear the weight 
 oi that recollection ! 
 
92 DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 De VE. [Looking at Marianne,) If this young 
 lady would but kindly condescend to take a title 
 to assist you, you might, perhaps — 
 
 Mad, F Nay, nay j reflect, sir, that such a 
 union would — 
 
 De VE. Bless, for ever bless, two virtuous 
 hearts, that heav n formed for each other, and 
 make the happmess of this fortunate day com- 
 plete. 
 
 Mad. F. 1 protest, 1 can't — really 1 don't 
 know — 
 
 Fran. I am sure, madam — 
 
 Mad. F. Upon my word, son, you seem to 
 persuade me to any thing. — (I'o St. Alme.) You 
 need not speak, sir. — (To Marianne.) No, nor 
 you, Mananne. 1 he matter has been settled 
 among you, 1 see, and now j^ou pretend to ask 
 my approbation : though, after that letter, I as- 
 sure yo», if you had not found a friend to whose 
 intercession nothing can be refused, I should not 
 have been prevailed with to give my consent. 
 (JFheodore., after a sign from De VEpee^ kisses Ma- 
 rianne^ and gives her hand to St. Alme.) 
 
 St, Jl. O, joy unutterable ! — 
 
 Mar How are we all beholden to your good- 
 ness !-• ■ 
 
 De VE. 'Tis to the prudence of your hrother, 
 and to the fortitude of St. Alme, we owe our 
 final triumph. {To St. Alme.) — ^^Consoled by love, 
 by friendship, and a father's return to virtue^ 
 all cause of regret may well be forgotten, sir 
 — And let us hope, that the example of this 
 
 i\ 
 
DEAF AND DUMB. 
 
 93 
 
 protected orphan, may terrify the unjust man 
 from the abuse of trust, and confirm the benevo- 
 lent in the discharge of all the gentle duties of 
 humanity. 
 
 Disposition of the Characters when the Curtain falls. 
 
 R.H. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 L.H. 
 
 I 
 
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