LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. -^"Mng^f In Slielf..4..^.irr/^ UNITED STATES OF Asft)RICA. JUN 3 1885 Imbroqlio Imbroqlio A DRAMA BV GEORGE ALLENDER SAN FRANCISCO SAMUEL CARSON & CO., Publishers I20 SUTTER STREET 1885 Copyris'ited, /SSj, By SAMUEL CARSON & CO., San Francisco, Cal. A/i KL-Ais Rescf-.>ed. Piuijic Press Publishing House, Oakland, CaL DRAMATIS PERSONS, Edmund Malone. Harold, ] Richard, | ^^"^ °^ ^^^°"^- Henchman. Glasco. Maurice Bourne. a white form. a black form. A MAN, and A WOMAN. Catherine, wife of Malone. Charlotte, | j;)^^ ^ters of Malone. Helen, ) HORTENS TECHNOR. SCENE OF PLAY: California. TO THEATRICAL MANAGERS. It is not imagined that any managej- would care to risk his reputatiofi by the production of this play. Nor that any one would ap- propriate it to his own use without the au- thor's consent. But if there be any one who has an inclination in these directions, he may be remi^ided that the copyright laws of the United States protect DRAMA TIC as well as other literary productions, and that the au- thor will insist on his rights. THE AUTHOR. IM:BF10e>I!xlO, ACT I. SCENE. — Malone's country house; a room looking out upon a park. Present^ Catherine Malone. O wretched woman I, in this great change ! Poor was I then, but not this poverty. Then was I not a wife, yet husbandless. What is my fault — what dreadful crime is mine — That he should hate me so, nor tell me why? Enter Malone (^Catherine approaches him and is repelled). O Edmund, do not turn me from you thus. If business cares, or any fault of mine, Have made you mingle with your silence sighs, And look at me in this mysterious way, Unbosom it to her you used to love. (He again repels her., sighing.) Ah me ! I am your wife in name alone. (Exit Catherine.) Malone. And would to Heaven you were not even that. 8 IMBROGLIO. Her very love grows hateful to my sense. . She is the murderer of my advancement, The thief who robs me of the vantage Of my wealth, steals my best occasions, Lays waste my fairest chances, stands me still; Till in my millions I am yet so poor There is no cheerful beggar but I envy. Enter Henchman. Henchman. I think I see your heart upon your face. Malone. I would I had your eyes to see the heart. Henchman. Eyes which see hearts are much preferred to hearts Which can be seen by eyes, as the world wags. But in the name of pills and physic, What means this melancholy eyeing.? Malone. Doctor, nothing is merry in my mood. Henchman. Tut, man ! has your liver or your broker Played you false ? I would think you sure in love. Malone. Would that I knew the sources of our loves. Henchman. They lie in dungeons where philosophers And fools alike are without eyes and ears. IMBROGLIO, 9 Betwixt two hearts in love there plays a force So gently fine that only love can note it. Malone. That is the hot love of our poet days; But for our winter wear must there not be A certain similarity in lovers' ways ? Henchman. I made a poem on that subject once. Malone. Can you recall it.? Henchman ( trying to recollect^. Humph ! — we will grow old — It has been an age since my brain labored In love's service — "Similitude of thoughts" — "Similitude of thoughts is love's main-sail, Of ways and tastes and likes, its peaceful stream, Of nature's gifts, its everchanging verdure. And hearts thus joined live in unending spring." — The rhyme is off— "live an unending dream." "But when a man, by nature mighty made, Is to a woman of inferior graces joined" — {^Pauses.) Malone. I think I could almost fill out the lines. Henchman. "Though for a time he make a toy of her. She, in the end, will bring him foul disgust." The rhythm is most monstrously awry. 10 IMBROGLIO, Malone. The sense can well forego the rhyme's presence. I know a friend who has a wife like that. What figure think you beauty cuts in love ? Henchman. No gentleman with fine aesthetic tastes Can ever love a merely ugly woman. Malone. What if she be ignorant and ugly, too .? Henchman. Heaven defend ! why, such a wretch should have A husband ignorant and ugly, too. Malone. If to those virtues you add jealousy .? Henchman. You were two holes in hell at last counting ! I would sooner summer with the devil Than winter with a jealous woman. But what occasion has this questioning ? Malone. Doctor, your merry mind but little knows That in the height of my apparent fortune I live in the very dregs of misery. Henchman (with apparent feeling). T beg your pardon for my levity. I thought that rich and happy were one word; For I have tramped so long in poverty I thought that it alone was misery. IMBROGLIO, 11 M ALONE. This hoard of wealth you see is as the sun That brings my hidden misery to light, Uncloaks the ghastly form of my despair, Strips off the gaudy furbelows from one Who entertained the unappreciative eye Of poverty, showing me to myself. You see these arbors, variegated flowers. These waving fields and picture landscapes: — They are but deserts of a common hue. Music — it is a humdrum monotone; The fairest food sickens my appetite. And all my feelings, thoughts, desires have slunk So low into my shrouded spirit's depths That, come these pleasures through whatever sense, They all are darkened by my mind's despair. Henchman. For this depression there must be grave cause. Malone. Yes, cause and cause enough — a spectre cause ! Uncalled it comes fawning o'er my shoulder, Stares in my face, follows me in my walk, Crawls to my bed, haunts me in my company, Till I am dead with chafing and chagrin. Henchman. Would that I had the skill to serve you here. Malone. I have known you better than I have known You long; but if these features, bearing the stamp 12 IMBROGLIO. Of honesty, be not a mockery Of nature, a man may place his troubles In your keeping. Henchman. Poor am I in the world, But honest in my heart. Malone. I believe you, And, if you will, shall make my cause your own. This wife of mine, if wife that may be named Which is a little something more than beast — Be not surprised, I know whereof I speak — This wifely incubus, which, shaming nature, Has, like a dismal fever, grown upon me; This wife-name of wifely attributes devoid — As love, refined desire, respect, esteem, In her not found, in me all uninspired. And in their stead disgust, foul as a toad, Shame and loathing, rendering all approach Unbearable, hatred without reprieve — This thing has come to be a ghastly shade, Haunting and dogging me unceasingly; One which in my poverty I had not, Not knowing that I had it, but, being rich. The skeleton is always in my eyes. Of all the beggary I ever heard. The meanest pauper in this world is he Who has a wife of whom he is ashamed. See, there she comes ! Oh, forty times a day Would scarce enumerate her cursed calls ! (Exit Malone, hurriedly.) IMBROGLIO, 13 Henchman. How timidly she comes, as though her tread Were o'er a grave; perhaps it is her own. — A spectre legacy of his dead life ! A ghastly skeleton he aptly called it. Well, you are wedded to your skeleton, And in the beaten ways of married life You must eat with it, must let it put Its hideous, tasteless lips upon your own, Must to your bosom hug its loathesome form, Must let it occupy your hated bed. And clank and rattle its disgusting bones Against your tender flesh ; or else, or else — Ho! Henchman, is not here a goodly chance To make a hard bed easy for your life ? Enter Catherine, to the door. Catherine. Is that you, Doctor Henchman ? Henchman. Madam, yes ; And is there ought that he can do for you? Catherine. Is not my husband here ? Henchman. A moment since Your husband left. (Aside.) Quack, lover, lawyer, priest — And first the last. Ah, lady, what grief is this 14 IMBROGLIO. That seems so trying to your tender heart ? Nay, do not sigh so deep; there is a hahii In (iilcad for every bruised breast, And dear confession for the soul is best. (^Aside) The devil take me ! that ice is venturesome. Catherine. Oh, Doctor, you are learned in all the things That great men know — Henchman [aside). A little more than fool. Catherine. Has not my husband some most dire disease ? Henchman (jvith importance'). Some little time ago your husband passed An era of most consecjuental illness ; But that he is entirely recovered I am convinced, at least I wholly think so. Catherine. You think so, Doctor? but, truly tell me, Is not that ailment lingering in him still ? Henchman. Perhaps, madam, in that relationship, So intimate, so tender, and so dear. That dwells between a husband and his wife, You have seen things which I, in chance ojsjrve Have let pass by unnoticed. Nay, madam, If you would have my aid, give confidence. Catherine. As you are his doctor I will tell you, IMBROGLIO. 15 Hoping that you may therefrom give him aid. Once he was gentle and so kind, but now ^ He is so harsh, alas, so cruel harsh! And unto me, who never did him wrong. Henchman. Such symptoms are, indeed, most dangerous; But I will watch him in his every mood, And do what lies within my scope to help him. Catherine. Then on you rest the blessings of a wife, Who loves her husband better than her life {goifig). Enter Maurice Bourne. Ah, Maurice! I thought you had forsaken us. Bourne. Korsakenyou? why, bless my life! what made you think so? I have been so monstrous busy in the mines of late I have not had the time to come, but, being at the bay — ah, doctor! Henchman. How are you, sir? Bourne, In a fair way for one who loves the world too much. As I say, being at the bay, 1 thought I would come down and spend a day or two in your new home. Are the children home from college yet ? Catherine. I knew it was the children you had come to see. They will be home to-day. 16 IMBROGLIO, Bourne. So Harold wrote me. How's Malone ? I should like to see him. Catherine. We will go and find him, Maurice. Bourne. Kate, it seems to me you are not looking well. Catherine. Never better, never better in my life. {Exeunt Catherine and Bourne.) Henchman. Something is here: — I recollect Malone Once told me that this fellow loved his wife Before he married her. A shadow's shadow's Food enough to fat an army of suspicions. Re-enter Malone. Malone {speaking of Bourne). I know that voice that always laughs at me, And with more quib than wit forever rails. Henchman. I warrant it; his ways are mean in that. But then you know, Malone, there are some men Who, being the cause of others' misery, Can well afford to be hilarious, And with a kind of caustic raillery Slabber their victims o'er. Oh, there are men, And men in plenty, in this world like that. Malone. 1 would the devil had all men like him. IMBROGLIO. n Henchman. I am warm in the merit of your cause; For I have watched the current married world To find the reason of its great disorder; And I have seen a host of wedded men, On whom kind nature heaped her richest stores, Who by a fault of their unthinking youth Have married women much beneath their grade. Then when the era of awakening came — Malone. Oh, when the era of awakening comes ! Henchman. And they behold their joindure thus awry, Their lives fall in a rot, these mighty ships Stripped sailless in mid ocean, where they float To chafe the waves and turn to water-logs. Malone. Oh, how my life fits in the die of your Description! Your wisdom, sir, is great. Henchman. Mere nothing, man! These are but facts which fools In the mad house, twenty to the score can see; But the value of all facts lies in their Inference. To be unhappy married Is one thing, but to know the cause thereof, And to provide a remedy, puzzles Philosophers and stands our legislators. Malone. In faith, I think, to do so must be so. 3 18 IMBROGLIO. Henchman. Unpleasant truths most oft to error lead; Distasteful facts are cunning to deceive; Mistaken marriage is the broad highway To desecrated homes and blasted lives. Yet wise men in their foolish wisdom hold That happiness is nurtured, vice made less, By keeping these distorted things in state; While I, poor fool! of foolish wisdom void, Would cure the evil in its primal cause — Unloose the band of each niismated pair, And set the tortured birds at liberty. Malone. Sir, I have heard you speak of poverty; And now I shame myself, that, being rich, In my lament I have not thought of yours. Henceforth my purse is open as my heart. Henchman {feigning). I have a sudden weakness overcomes me. Dear sir, I have no words to give you thanks. Malone. Nor need have none; kind actions best are thanks. Henchman. Oh, that I had the might to dress my thanks in acts. Malone. And so you have if you will but devise A plan to rid me of this incubus. Henchman. Ti.is is sudden like — I will think on it. IMBROGLIO, 19 Malone. There is no reason for concealment here; Give me your unpremeditated thoughts. Henchman. It were best the matter lay in the mind A night; I cannot think so suddenly. Malone {giving him his pocket book). Receive this in the name of friendship, sir; A pittance for kindness, not for service. Henchman. Ah, Malone, I, who have been kicked and cuffed By this cold, heartless world, appreciate The magnanimity of such a friend. Malone. To me the sum is nothing. Lift this load And I will give you such a sum as will. In its mere interest, keep you for your life In all the luxury your mind can wish. Henchman. You will do that? You will take this hungry wolf And strangle him.? You will brace these old legs While going down the declivity of time? You will do this.? — ah, then I bear my heart; I tell you what my eyes have seen; which, but For this and for your friendly misery, Had, for a woman's sake, been sealed forever. How this complex emotion stirs my soul ! {Laughs aside as if weepi?ig.') 20 IMBROGLIO. Malone {aside). I think the offer takes his conscience in. Henchman. There need be no invention for your cause, Where now too much reality exists; But, for the modesty of womanhood, Will not your wife consent to a divorce ? Malone. As masters free their slaves ! I am her serf, So mean that she will neither give nor sell Me liberty, slicking her tyranny With talk of the divinity of marriage, And p.U old proverbs, soaked in ignorance. Of children's rights, society's great claim, Of wives and husbands in the world to come, And all the priestly clap- trap she has learned. Henchman. And, if she had good cause, do you not think She would herself proceed for a divorce ? Malone. Not though I charged her nose with the foul stench Of all debauchery, and run the gamut Of every legal cause before her eyes. Henchman (aside). How vain these husbands are! The shameless thing! Then you yourself must take the plaintiff's part. Malone. In Heaven's name, upon what ground may I ? IMBROGLIO. t\ Henchman. If you had seen what I have seen, and what, I take it, any man with eyes might see, You would not ask, upon what ground may I. Did you not tell me that this fellow Bourne — Malone. Do you hear. Henchman, I have come to hate That much loved man, my partner though he be With hatred such as one dares scarcely own. Henchman. I doubt not you have ample cause for hate. Malone. Why, so I have : Malone is but the shade, Bourne the mighty sun of all we do. Henchman. Poh, man ! that is a ground for children's fights. You have a graver cause to hate this man. Malone. Do you think so? Henchman. As certainly as sin. Did you not tell me once that Maurice loved Your wife before you married her? (Aside.) Well, laugh ! Malone. Why, now, you make me laugh. Yes, so he did, But what has that to do with my dislike ? You think me jealous ? — now you make me laugh. 22 IMBROGLIO. Henchman. Turn! turn! there is much music that is never heard. Malone. Why, that was five and twenty years ago. Henchman. A good long period for secret work. — You won your wife spite of Maurice's wooing ? Malone. And would to Heaven he had drawn the prize. I would most willingly convey it to him By deed of gift. Henchman. Perhaps there is no need. That eldest son of yours has not your eyes. Malone (with interest). So ? — why, now, I never noticed that. Henchman. Your youngest daughter Helen's monstrous fair, With golden locks, for parents dark as hers. Malone. I have observed and often thought of that. Henchman. It is a marvelous phenomenon, A great perturbation in old nature, When children white are of black parents born Malone. Something is most mysterious in this. IMBROGLIO, 23 Henchman. Climate, sir, California climate. Malone. Indeed, doctor, this is a serious joke. Henchman. I used it to that purpose once. , Malone. You did ? Henchman. Your wife and this fair Bourne, Helen and I — You being away were once conversing. "Madam," said I, "how wondrous fair she is," Meaning Helen. Malone. You said that, what said she ? Henchman. Not a word. Malone. Not a word? — Dumfounded guilt! Henchman. But you had been amazed, if not amused, To see how crimsoned up her face became. Malone. You say she blushed ? Henchman. A sure indicative Of certain guilt — (aside) or beauteous modesty. H IMBROGLIO. M ALONE (aside). There's more than plotting here. — When took this place ? Henchman. You mean the blush ? Malone. Heaven and earth, how keen That dagger is ! Henchman. This does not hurt you, sir 1 Malone. You run me through and ask me, Does it hurt ? — No difference. Have you seen more than this ? Henchman. Oh, somewhat, with the eye of inference. Malone. Your thoughts are too much muffled, sir; speak plain. Henchman. Did you not say that, since your marriage, Bourne Has followed you about from place to place For all these years ? Malone. I said that he and I Had worked and gone together through these years. Henchman. Drown words; it is the substance that I seek. Malone. Think you that Maurice had a motive there ? IMBROGLIO. 25 Henchman. Motive ? oh, no, no motive ; motive ! no. Men do not act from motive in this world. Disinterested friendship moves this world. Ma LONE (aside). There's an apparent venom in that speech. — And think you these facts are inferential ? Henchman. Inferential ? oh, no ; nothing, it seems, To you is inferential ; but some one Grossly suspicious might draw conclusion — Malone. What conclusion, Henchman, what conclusion ? Henchman. That Maurice is a wondrous, curious man, Malone. How curious 7 That hollow laugh has meaning. Henchman. Meaningless as gnats, — monstrous credulity! Yet, in the trodden way of common sense. It is a little strange, or ludicrous. That Bourne should have followed you, or, rather, Shall I say your — ah! no difference — lived, Did you not say, in the same house, and slept In the same — ah ! pardon me ; I mean ate — Devilish brotherly!— at the same table ? Malone. Henchman, you have seen that you dare not tell. 26 IMBROGLIO, Henchman. I have seen that — Malone. You have seen what, Henchman? Henchman. How monstrous color-bUnd a husband is To that another man may see — with his nose. Malone. Ha! this interests me not. I care not For this woman, though one and all the men — Henchman. Nor for your children either, I suppose. Malone. Dare you cast suspicion on my children ? Henchman. / did not do it. Malone (aside). Fool to be thus touched ! — And think you this fellow still loves my wife ? Henchman. Loves, man? — think! O, villainous presumption That fish should lose their taste for water ways! Malone. O, doctor, these dark insinuations — Henchman. Insinuations ? IMBROGLIO. 27 Malone. And deep conclusions Are the very logic of unkindness, Do you imagine; lies it in fancy — Henchman. My dear sir, fancy is reason's ruin. When I became a doctor I buried My imagination with my first patient- — Till resurrection, requiescant in pace. I simply put together this and that, — Eyes, hair, complexion, love of long standing, Opportunity, and inclination. The general slothfulness of husbands; And from this matrix draw conclusion forth That all these years you have been made a dupe. Malone. Heaven and earth, how rises now the nightmare Of the hideous past in phases multiform To show me to mine own stupidity ! Henchman (aside). 'Tis very well; the argument sounds fair. Malone. Henchman, perhaps in honesty, perhaps In perfidy, perhaps in wicked league With these, my enemies, you put me on the rack. Henchman. But act this part, and you'll be rid of her. Malone. Act, man ! your logic has all act dismayed ; 28 IMBROGLIO, Henceforth I am in substance simply this: I care not for her, but to be the dupe Of their foul cunning, and have suspicion On my children cast ; to be the point for wits To shoot their venom at, the theme for jokes, — I will at once advise with my attorney. And bring this beastly marriage to an end. Henchman. Softly now ! be not in too much haste. Malone. Time treads a sluggard pace till I have put This woman where her acts condemn her. Henchman. Then if you will be gone thus hastily, When you return, fetch with you your attorney, That he may see his cause upon the ground, And I will show to you, or him, or any man, What neither you, nor he, nor any man should see. {Exit Malone.) Now for the very solace of his mind He wants a reason for his villainy. Shadows will do, but I will give him more ; For in this small, round compass of a brain There lives a being that possesses might To make a white-robed angel black as night. {Exit Henchman.) Re-enter Malone, with his hat and overcoat, Malone. et, if I but had the eyes of love IMBROGLIO. 29 To see these facts, what mountains would they be. His eyes, hair his, complexion his — nonsense! Still an array of most damnable facts — What made me laugh at first now makes me think, And with annoyance doubles up my hate. Enter Catherine. Why, now, I had not thought you cared so much For my poor company in these late days. Catherine. Oh, Edmund ! I have only come to say Our children will be home to-day, and beg you Save me in their presence from harsh treatment. Enter Harold to the door. Malone. Well, have you done. Catherine. Oh, will you not tell me — Malone. Still here ? Oh, you can cry, and cry, and cry. Harold {aside). What is't I hear ? Catherine. Oh, just one little word, And have I wronged you — Malone. Have you not wronged me ? Catherine. If so none knows but Heaven — 30 IMBROGLIO. Malone. Nor need know. And there are things which Heaven best know not. Catherine. If ever I have wronged you, tell me of my fault, And I will go upon these knees and beg Of you forgiveness, the humblest penitent In all this world of sinners; {kneels) speak, Ed- mund. Malone. That one should have the face of honesty! — No? you will not go? Then I will leave you. {Going.) Catherine. Please, Edmund, tell me, for our children's sake. {Exit Malone, y^//6>v\vt'^ /m' Catherine.) Harold. What ! what ! now what is this ? Did I see right? My father turned a brute —a husband beast ! Nor was he given to drinking. His mind Must be deranged to speak so to his wife. See where she kneels, still clinging to him, And still beseeching him to tell her why. Unseen I will observe their further acts. That I may catch the clue to tb.is offense. {ScLretes Jiimself.) Enter Richard. Richard! Richard! IMBROGLIO. 31 Richard. W hat's the matter, Harold ? You arc too much given to this way of late, Harold. Sec where our parents come, O Richard, see ! Our mother all in tears begging our father — Richard. Something is like offense in that; listen ! (^T/iev secrete themsches.') Re-enter ViM.o'nv. followed l)y Catherine. Catherine. Edmund, hear me. Ma LONE. No more, no more, I say: I will liave nothing more to do wilh you. Harold {to Richard). Do you mark that ! Now Heaven see those te.irs ! Catherine. But why, oh why, will you not tell me why? Malonic. Why ! why ! and so let why your answer be Until you ask yourself. Harold. He is turned iron, Catherine. Heaven well knows you hale me witiiout cause. 32 IMBROGLIO. Malone. Heaven well knows — O Kate ! Kate ! Oh, shame, shame ! Catherine. You have gone mad. This is the curse of riches. Malone. Riches, indeed ! Indeed, riches ! Away ! Out on this handy platitude of thieves! [Takes hold of her.) Can you look me in the face ? O Kate, shame ! {Exit hurriedly.) Catherine. Father in Heaven, open thou my heart To any wrong I ever did my husband. Oh, I thus harshly used could die, but that I live to once more see my darling ones. To me, O God, preserve my children's love; Oh, let them not forsake me in my woe ! {Exit Catherine.) Harold and Richard come forivard. Richard. You have eyes and ears; have you not a tongue.? Harold. I would I had not either eyes or ears. Richard. Why, then, most like, you would not have a tongue. Come, come; we have seen what children should not see. UIBROGLIO. 33 Harold. We did not see it; these things but seem to be. The world does not exist but in our minds. We are not here, but only think we are. Richard. Fling such philosophy to blmd puppies! This self-delusion is the beggar's trade. We have seen and seen, and now where lies the wrong .? Harold. Noted you how he sighed, as he would break His heart, when he exclaimed, O Kate! Oh shame! Richard. I tell you, Harold, I see these matters With the plain eyes of common sense. I say Our mother is imposed on by these acts. Harold. O God, that we should come to find it so ! Richard. Come, Harold, such things are not uncommon. Harold. Indeed, I think they must be very common. Richard. Well, we must find a way to heal this wrong. What can be done by children we must do. You are my elder, and have a gentler way; Besides, our father loves you with a warmer, But I do not say a better, love - As nature ofttimes will demear herself. 3 34 IMBROGLIO. Therefore to cure this matter rests with you; I will enforce you as lies in my power. Come, now, Harold; it may not be so bad. ^ Harold. Richard, I think I see much more in this Than you are willing that your mind should see. 1 hear our sisters; not a word to them. {They sta?id apart.') Enter Charlotte and Helen. Charlotte. What means this speaking silence ? O Harold, Is mother sick.? Helen. Some one is sick, I know. Richard, what is it ? What is it, Richard ? Harold. Are you not glad that you are home ? Is it not beautiful ? How changed From the barren hills we used to see ! Charlotte. No, no, Harold; what has happened? Tell me, Harold, what has happened. Richard {to Helen). There, there, you little imp — if you must know, Harold and I have had a little tilt. Harold. Yes, yes; your hand, Richard, your hand! Charlotte. Now this is not the case; for I well know IMBROGLIO. 35 That these unnatural ways and words are But assumed, and have a meaning of their own. If you love me, tell me why you act so. Harold. Take them away, Richard; it is no use — Nature thus injured cannot act a part. Go find your mother. Charlotte and Helen. Mother! Harold. No, no; go. In time I will relate it all to you. {^Exeunt Charlotte and Helen, excitedly^ followed by Richard.) Yet seemed she innocent of all offense — Heaven and earth how gross his manner was! And after all this age of happy life To treat her thus? And yet there seemed a kind Of madness in his acts, and, as it were, Offended lunacy, thrust into madness By some offensive cause; there must be cause. Enler Bourne. Bourne. Hello! home from college? Harold. Yes, I am here. Bourne. Here, Harold ! why this is not your manner. 36 IMBROGLIO. Harold. What is it? The cause, Maurice, the reason? I know that you will tell me what it is. Bourne. Cause? reason? cause for what, in Heaven's name? What have you seen to make you act this way? Harold. Seen, Maurice, seen! now what have I not seen? My father, Maurice, your friend, my father? Bourne. Well, what of him, Harold ? Is he not well ? Harold. Lately have you seen nothing strange in him? Has he forgot his friends? Sj)eaks he not To them crabbedly? Walks he not head-bowed, Brow-clouded, muttering? Does he attend Aswas his wont to business? Or has he — Bourne. Pardon me, Harold, concerning these things I am a stranger. If with your father You have had some trouble, go and mend it. (^x// .Bourne.) Harold. Then his complaint is special to his wife. Enter Henchman. Henchman. How's my young Cartesian ? Ah, Harold ! I am glad to see you back, for I have much to tell you. IMBROGLIO. 37 Harold. Yes, yes; has he been sick long ? Henchman. I hear you took high honors at the University — Harold. What is his affliction, Doctor ? Henchman. And dare say you are now prepared to revolu- tionize the world, particularly ^mmatters ethical {laughs), that being a prime theme with young col- legians. How I remember — Harold. Please you, sir, what ailment has my father? Henchman- Your father ? ailment ? Have you not seen him ? Harold. I have seen him, yet I have not seen him. Henchman. How strange you act ! Have you but just arrived ? Harold. I think I came a thousand years ago, If time be measured by events, not clocks. Is not my father mentally deranged? Henchman. Have you seen ought indicative of that ? 38 IMBROGLIO. Harold. I have seen, I have seen, and I have heard — But to be direct, sir, I saw in him Somewhat of harshness toward my mother, And I had not observed the thing before. Henchman. Indeed ! did he accuse her of any wrong ? Harold. None that I could catch; he came upon her As a fearful hurricane sweeps down upon An unoffending house of God. Henchman. Harold, I think your father a very honest man. Harold. Why, so did I. Henchman. A conscientious man, And that he would do no one an injustice. Harold. As such I always have esteemed my father. Henchman. One slow to anger, of a gentle heart, Having forgiveness strong implanted in him. Harold. Yet why acts he toward my mother thus? Henchman {half aside). Perhaps he has some cause. IMBROGLIO, 39 Harold. What said you, sir? Henchman. Nothing. FIarold. Yes, but you did though, about cause. Henchman. Oh ! that surely he could not have a cause. Harold. Think you that he is causeless utterly ? — Mere malice, deliberate cruelty ? Henchman. It is not meet that I should speak of this. Keep quiet, Harold, and closely observe. He who sees nothing, sometimes sees the most; Hear nothing, the better to hear it all; Keep your ears primed and keep your tongue silent. Withal, trust Henchman as your steadfast friend. i^Exit Henchman.) Harold. Now, if I find him so, which I hope not. If torture be his game, which I hope not — Enter Catherine. Catherine. My boy, my boy, you have come home at last ! No mother ever longed to see her son As 1 have longed to see you. Harold. 40 IMBROGLIO. Harold. Yes, I have come. Catherine. Oh, how the weary sun Has dragged along, making the minutes hours, And every hour a day, and every day a year 'I'ill you should come. Harold. Well, mother, I am here. Catherine. Why, Harold, how strange your voice! and your dear face Is by deep furrows and high ridges marred. Harold. Yes; I had a sudden sickness lately. Catherine. And did not let me know it? Harold. Well, mother, What's the news ? Have you written everything Wliich has importantly occurred since I, Some nine months past, left home? How is father? . Catherine. Well, Harold, I hope. Harold. Nay, hut how is father? Catherine. Why, Harold, I do not catch the meaning Of your strange manner. IMBROGLIO. 41 Harold. Now undeceive me, Mother; — who than I should know this trouble. Cathkrink. Of what trouble do you speak ? Harold. What trouble? No more ! no more ! I say Twill have tio thing more To do with you I Ha f can you look me in the face 1 O Kate, Kate ! O, shame, shame / What trouble God! Such as o'erthrows the sovereign majesty Of home, topples the universe of man And wife, flings children to the wolfish world, And to a cinder burns up holy love. Catherine. Harold, my heart is broke! Harold. There, mother, 1 overheard him. Now, what cause has he To thus belabor and demean his wife ? Catherine. If Heaven knows, it is a secret here. Harold. What ! will he assign no reason, mother? Catherine. What you have seen and heard is all I know; Beyond this step can no appeal extend him. 42 IMBROGLIO. Harold. When came and how grew on tliis disposition ? Catherine. A little after you had gone from home A kind of coohiess overcame your father; He seldom spoke to me; answered me yes And no, and grew impatient if I spoke Too frequently to him. Then he would sit As in a reverie, his mind away On distant objects, from which he waked To glance askance at me and mutter curses. Harold. You say he would do that ? Catherine. In company My presence seemed to give him great offense; Seeing which, I often on some trifle Excused myself; when, pleased, he went alone; Next, for long days he would remain away, At which, if I but hinted at the cause. He shortly snapi)ed me up; and then, at length, His manner changed — he would sigh like a moan. Then fiercely glare at me and shame me so As I had done some crime too bad for words. Harold. And can you not conjecture at the cause ? Catherine. Oh, I have thought and thought, till dazed my mind IMBROGLIO. 43 Would sink into bewilderment. Sometimes I think he has become deranged in mind; Again, suspicion seizes me that since his wealth He has outgrown me, Harold, and that now His great ambition seeks to travel ways Where Heaven never meant that I should follow. — That now he looks upon me as the relic, Much detested, of his departed state; And that he wants a fiiirer face than mine. Harold. Of such depravity, so monstrous grown, Think you the human heart is capable ? Catherine. No, Harold; those names you must not call it. But will you try some soft and gentle means To win your father back ? Harold. If such fair means Will the good end accomplish, mother. None of a grosser kind shall I employ. Catherine. Well, Harold, if the most gentle pleading Of his wife and son can make no movement In your father's passing strange estrangement. It is no use to try the other way. And if we fail — Harold. But, mother, we'll not fail. Catherine. Oh, Harold, you will not forsake me, then ! 44 IMBROGLIO. Harold. Unless this little dot of earth forsakes The mighty sun, you who are more to me Than sun to earth, can never be forsaken. 'Twould be as though I should forsake my heart, Forget to breathe, or put my own eyes out. Catherine. And if he will remain unmoved by us Then I can die. When I have passed that sphere Where I am worthy to be called his wife; When in his eyes I raise but foul disgust, When sight of me produces shame in him; When I become a stop to his ambition, — Oh, then I want to die, I want to die ! (yExii Catherine.) Harold. Raises disgust! — shames him! — unworthy! — she? A stop to his ambition ! — my mother? And withal his wife, who through so many years Of poverty and hardship followed him His wiUing slave ! — now when the years begin To fall upon her — is it conceivable ? — To be cast into the street, like a shoe In its owner's service now past service, — She, the mother of his children, his wife, In sickness who watch, for him denied herself — Oh, if I find it so, and he relent not, Farewell all gentle ways; wipe from my heart All love I bear him, if he prove callous I IMBROGLIO. 46 Now may eternal justice be my guide, And may the blackest fiends of darkness seize My blacker soul if I defend her not ! {Exit Harold.) 46 IMBROGLIO, ACT II. SCENE. — Malone's country house; a room. Enter Harold a7id Charlotte. Charlotte. Oh, act to nature foreign ! Poor mother ! — I scarcely can conceive how it could be. Harold. No more could I, had I not seen the sight. Charlotte. Oh, I am glad I did not witness it. Such awful discord — Harold. Discord? why, Charlotte, It was the clash of nature in rebellion. If all at once my body had been hurled Into a well of fierce up-pointed swords, I could not more have suffered than I did. Charlotte. And all your pain is imaged on my heart. In this distressful state what shall we do ? Harold. First, we must find the cause of father's acts. IMBROGLIO. 47 If they be motiveless, that argues madness. And so they may be; for these adventures Into which he has been thrust so quickly, The incident anxiety, and strain, The whirl and dizzy height of his new life, May have dethroned the guidance of his mind, Which might on mother, me, or any one Vent out its undirected, splceny thoughts; Perhaps, though buried in a mint of gold, He thinks he sees starvation's hungry form; Or any of the thousand fantasies Thai dwelling too much on a single thought Engenders. Charlotte. If we should find it so. How heavenly gentle must our actions be That we observe no strangeness in his ways; Attention paying that we disclose not Our opinion of his infirmity; For such things surely would increase his mood. Harold. And we must try by such inventive skill, As well considered ingenuity May devise — as lively, entertaining themes. Laughter, new company, diverting scenes, The theatre — but not the solemn play — To tide him from this single rocky reef Whereon his mind is strand, into the great And varied sea of thought; not argue him. For in these one-thought minds, upon their themes 48 IMBROGLIO, Reason being astray, to reason liim Would be the chief of fallacies. And next, It may be possible our father thinks, And not dishonestly, that our dear mother Has committed some grave fault, which, perhaps, May have some slight foundation in the fact. ClIARLOTTK. If that be so- Harolp. The remedy is plain : Knowing the fault, our mother will amend it. But there's the last dark inference, that stares Its monster head aloft above them all. Charlotte. Alas! what may that be? Harold. That he has come To hate our mother — Charlotte. Cruel, cruel thought! Harold. That in his wealth he longs for some f:iir one, Who will to more advantage show him off, And in a blaze of jewels dazzle out The eyes of rivalry the world over. Charlotte. To doff our mother for a younger wife? Oh, Heaven defend! I cannot think so. I rather would be dead than see that day. IMBROGLIO, 49 I Iarom). And so would T my licart is sick at but The thouLj,ht of it. Yet here our duty rests, 'I'o find the trouble's cause and weed it out; In tliis, dear sister, you must be my aid. CilARLOTI'i;. My mind is as your own, and you shall be The rudder of my acts ; but (), dear brother, Let no niistaken /eal of ours deei)en I'his trouble and increase our parents' ^Tief, As ofttimes over-/ealousness in children may {{:i;o. O Harold, look, look, where comes the winter Of our lives, that nine months i)ast we left In spring ! I Iarom ). C) (lod! my father, it is he. ClIARLOl'll-;. Sec how his form is drooped! how sad his face ! Harold. How slow he walks I I think that he has aged Ten years since two days i)ast I saw him here. CnARi,o'i"ii';. See how he stops, absently pondering ! Harolo. (io to him, Charlotte — I in the next room Will wait — converse with him, then haste to mc And tell me what he says and how he acts. (^Exii Charlotte.) 60 IMBROGLIO. Etiter HiCNCiBiAN. Hi:nciiman. llaroKl, has your father yet returned home? Haroi.d. Yonder is coming one who miglit be called My father. lIl'.NCIlMAN. Indeed, he has been called that. 1 lAKOl.n. Yet one would hardly think him to be such. Henchman. Indeed, one might or one might not think so, And yet to doubt it were a grievous doubt. HAROi.n. Your speech is too f:ir olT ; I i)ray you, sir — lllCNCllMAN. Be more direct and damn myself; speak })lain And be turned out. Honesty is a fool That begged, starved, and ended in a gutter For being too straightforward with his friend. Haroi,1). If there be any meaning in these words — Henchman. Oh, the fickleness of life, of life, and man, And women, too, for the matter of that ! Hakolu. By Heaven, you will olVentl me in this way ! IMliNUCLlO. 51 If youJi.'ivc .'iiiylliiiijj, to s;iy, sjjcak oiil. 1 1 I';n(IIMan. Oh, 1)(; r.'Uilious, ll.uold, he dclicilc Wlicn yon .-iddrcss your slri( ken f.idici. I I AI-.'OI.I). Sir, I shall so address him us hccomcs The reverend position that he holds. I I l',N( lliVIAN . Be much more dehcate. If your discourse Should hear upon his trouhlc, sj)eak to him As one in hcallli sp(,-;iks to a strirkcti m.in ; I'or troiihle nwikes a kind of wounded niind That takes offense where no offense is meant. I I AKOIJ). I shall in all things guard myself, and give (Jffense where nothing hut offense sh(;uld he. lil'lNCIIMAN. Yet it were hest you tou* h not on his grief I I Ai;oi,o. Sir, I shall therein he the judge; good day. {/Cxii IlAkoi-D.j I I KNTII^MAN. I la! the villainy of it is tor; great lie seemed not to catch my heastly meaning. It crooks the native straightness of my w;i,ys. 1 must see Malone and put liim on his j-nard. It slimes me over with a filtiiy ( o.it. Money is a frierjd, mf>»ney is a friend ! 52 IMBROGLIO, He must not conic ii])on liini unaware. — This money will i)rotcct me in my age. Ha ! a thought that might become a monarcli ! What if 1, having divorced Malonc, ShouUl marry his widow? - Sound old brain[)an ! It behooves me now to steer my fragile bark In the middle of possibilities. She seems to like me — I will think on it. But she would have no money when divorced. I might convince Malone — it argues well It is his moral duty to divide His money with his wife.— Sound old braini)an ! Ah ! here she comes, and while the notion's on me I will feel her inclination to mo. Enter Catherine. Catherine. Doctor, do you know why my husband left? Henchman. Alas! dear madam, I am in the dark. Cathi:rine. I thought, perhaps, that, from your knowledge of him, You might discern the motive of his acts. Henchman. True it is that every thought and act Is fountained in a cause, as true it is That all the movements of the universe Are motived in the bosom of sweet nature, IMBROGLIO. 63 WIio sometimes temptingly reveals herself; I5iit who can grasp the forces infinite 'i'hat focus in a sunbeam ! So, madam, Is il. wiih our ;iris ; motives do sometimes Play upon the face, but sometimes they defy Our cicjsest* scrutiny, laughing to scorn 'i'lie efforts of our lawyers and logicians To uncoil them, and so your husband's seem. O'J'IlICKfNK. JUit has he not let, fall soirx- little worrl I'Vom which you could discern his conduct's cause? MliNCMMAN. Your liusband is discreet, and knf>wing well My oft asserted friendship for his wife I le would be slow to do or say to mc Aught that would cast reproacli on you. CA'niKRiNi';. Rej^roach ! I am so ignorant of any cause Why he should cast reproach on me. HlCNCHMAN. And I; Vet there are those whr; from a. I.'i.ck of cause Do sometimes cast reproach. Catherine. I cannot think 1 Ic means me harm. Henchman. Yet by these fiendish acts — 54 IMBROGLIO. But jKirdon, madam, 1 may say too much. I only say that meaning good and acting bad Are very distant stars. Catherine. I am of wives The most unhappy in this world. Ah, me! Hknciiman. There, gentle lady, take it not to heart. Although your husband may dislike you There is another one esteems you greatly, Seeing in her whom Edmund so despises One whose mighty soul is ever filled With all the virtues of true womanhood. Catherine. Your kindness twice affects me: I thank you For your sympathy, yet there are daggers In it, which make me think that he has said Much more than you will tell in disrespect of me. Henchman. Alas ! madam, I fear — yet 1 would say No more, lest some unfeeling one might think I had between a wife and husband gone. Catherine. A thought so base is foreign to your soul. And I, who am deprived of him I love, Appreciate your kindness, though it pain my heart. Henchman. Ah, dearest lady, when the heart is robbed IMBROGLIO, 56 Of that without which it is an aching void, Sweet nature, by her suffering children pained, Does seek to fill the chasm with another love. Ah, lady, how his acts, unhusbandlike, Inflame my ire, and your too gentle ways Excite my pity ! Dear madam, I was born Neath the old regime, before the slime of greed Had blotted out the wealth of chivalry. Oh, that I might proclaim myself your slave! Here is my arm; but intimate the thought And it shall call your husband to account. Caiiikrine. Oh; no, no, no, oh, no; these savage ways Cannot bring back his love. Henchman. Yes, you are right : The sword is rusty and the pity's great. There is one only other weapon known— Catherine. Alas! dear sir, I wish no weapon used. Henchman. I mean the dart of love, and you yourself Must be the archer. To all his jeers, scoffs, And acts unhusbandlike, return you naught But love; which will melt down his icy hate. Catherine. That will I do, and Heaven grant it be Sufficient to the end. 66 IMBROGLIO. Henchman. I say, Amen. {Exit Catherine.) When I am rich I'll be the age's beau And teach these moneyheads the way to woo. Thus does the devil make good use of saints; For all the homely love she can pour on him Is so much fuel to his burning hate. Still am I slow to take the devil's part, And were I differently situated I would not do it. But here the wronged one comes. And with Charlotte. I must await near by And catch his ear before his son comes on him. i^Exit Henchman.) Enter Malone a;id Charlotte. Malone. O, guard it, (Charlotte, as you would your life. And as your hope of Heaven cherish it! Charlotte. Dear f^ither, no thought to virtue foreign Has ever tried the portal of my mind. Malone. It is a diamond of the rarest hue Set in the forehead of a woman's life; Alone by which her f;\iry form is seen. Which lights her eye, and beautifies her face, And taken away does leave her but a mass Black and misshapen. IMBROGLIO. 57 Charlottk. lUit why, dear father, Do you speak in this strange way ? Ma LONE. () Charlotte, What havoc can a woman make when she goes wrong ! CliARLOTTE. You have some mighty secret on your mind. Malonk. Of your companions, too, be very choice. Contamination breeds by vile companionship, And chiefly this in women. 1 pray you On these women mark your rejjrobation; Such as arc basely ignorant avoid; I'or knowledge is the forward foot in right, ■ And ignorance the foremost step in vice. Such as are frivolous and fast turn from, — Shun both, and seek the rich companionship Of those few women, rarest in esteem. Who, being not stupid, are yet learned, And being not fast, are yet vivacious. CHARLOnJC. These good instructi(;ns would be teachers twice If you will tell me why you give me them. Malonio. Go tell your brother Harold I would see him. {Exit Charlotte.) ^w/^r Henchman imobserved by Malone. 58 /MliKOii/.IO. Hl'lNl'IlM AN {(tsi(/(-). WluMi plaliliulcs ;iro nol ihc foods Of liypocritos, they die of fits. rU make my sorvi(\^ bii;. {SudJc'/iIy.^ Malonc, Malono! Arc you aware that Harold overheartl Voii si)eaking to your wife before you left? Mai,(in1';. What! No? is it possible? I rare nt)t, Heini:, aiuj^ly justified in what 1 said. lll'.NC IIMAN. Why, man — hist! why man you little know How close yoti stand upon a lit^hted mine. This premature affair has chanL:;ed the soul Of Harold to a boiliuLi, sprin;;, that now Vents forth itself in maladictions fierce, As it wouUl burst its hold, and then anon Sinks dmvn, with piteous moan, intt) his earth As it woulil cease to be. Maioni:. Poor b(\v, poor lH)y ! — Do you know how great 1 love my children? Let no consideration rob me o'i them. They must be made accpiaintcd, by some means Sure to convince them, oi this woman's i;uilt. 1 pity them as they should pity me. What is llaroUl doinj.;? what has he done? Ul'.NCllMAN. 1 think he has \\o\ slept since //)nJ':. You saw him so? 1 Il'lNCIIMAN. And yet about his mouth There was a firmness, felling me he ( ould do deeds Which, at the trying, ordinary mortals fail. Mai.onk. That is very strange, for from his childliofKl Il.uolil \v;is wont lo bo all ucntlcnoss. 'roiuhiui; liis ways what olso liavc you observed? 1 ll'NlllM AN. His constant od'ort to resolve your act. Questions lie everv one bis mother, Inuirne, The siMxanls, imlireetlv. nie jHtintedly — And I have guarded well your mystery. Then goes he into tlieory — this must be, And then it must be that, then goes again 'I'he whole course, like an inii^isoned bird, Mying tVom light lo light, and still walled in. Hut look vou. here \\c lomes, and with yvuu' wile. No, foolish man, to go now in their ("ace Would bo conclusive evidence ol" guilt. M.M.ONK. 1 have nu>re cause than willingness to stay. 1 IVNCHM AN. Th.U tune is right; maintain it to the end. {Exit Henchman.) Mai.onk. How sickly arc our wits when we are wrong. (/A- /urns asiJc so that Harold and his mother cfttir apparently unol>served by him.) />/rvllAKoi n «;/;./ rArinuiNr. Now, Harold, only by the gentlest means. No harshness either in vour wavs or words. IMIiKOCI.IO, I I AKOI.M. 1)1 N:iy, mollicr, li.ivc no Icir, I will do rij'lit. I Ic" st'cMHS .'ihsorlxd, yet I will spciik. I'.illicr! Ma I, ONI',. All, Il.iioid ! very }j,o()(l it sccins to luc To Ikivc yon home ;i}j,.iin. I I AN OLD. And to nx', sir, As yon well know, Iioinc is lli.it s.'i< red i^pot Where Ileiiven's ii^ht illunnn;ites the v.\\x\\\. 1 fear you are not well ? M Ai.oNi:. Ind.<'.l, ll.uold, I hilely h.ive heen vc-xrd ;nid nni< h disliv:,s<-d Hy mingled rarcs, whi( h soincwh.it hcii me down, or (hem no more, hcin;-, life's in( idcnis, Yonr ( omin-; is the < nic ol ;ill my woes. r,iit h.id i not Ihonj-Jil hcst to s;i< rilicc 'I'he |)rescnt plcjsinc lo lli<- Inture good, Your absence lor so lonj-, h.id heen unhc.niihle. I I AKOI.I). 'I'his is the summit of our ethics, sir, As ofttinies in our family state a|)j)ears, When i)arents for tlu: future of their younj', Forego the greener |)leasur(.-s of the hour. Mai.oni-;. A ha|)j)y illustration of my life. As efforts for your education sliow. 62 IMBROGLIO. Harold. For all your kindness and solicitude, Your sacrifices for your children's sake, We thank you, father, trusting our efforts At the schools have been some compensation For the untiring zeal, forbearance kind, ' And noble generosity of one Who so desires his family's welfare. Loving his children with such gentleness. Malone. Yes, Harold, dearly I love my children, On whose returning love my life depends. Oh, filial love does to parental love give life, And dying leaves the universe a void ! Alas ! I am grown dotard in this cause. Harold. Forgive me, father, if the early bloom Of my young judgment be too forward grown. But I with larger eyes have come to view This universe of love, wherein I see By five ascending plains its fair abode. The first is blazoned love of self; the next Is mottoed, love of man and wife; the third In golden letters, /lere is family love: Fourth plain and by the sovereign sculptor carved. Shines like a throne, the love of man for man; And on the last, in splendid characters. Here all loves equal meet, but none denied. Malone. Yet mark you, Harold, how the mighty base Of all our loves is love of self. IMBROGLIO. 03 Harold. Oh. rather, Mark you, father, how in each evolving plain The love of self by loving others is enriched, And by denying self, self is itself more loved. Malone. Yet all upon the love of self depend. Harold. No; each on its precedent one depends, The family, like a pendent world, Hangs on the happy love of man and wife. Malone. The love of self is as the mighty sun; All other loves are bat his satellites. Harold. You see this mighty archway of our state. This splendid firmament of freedom's stars. This rich society of happy men; As rests the ponderous mountain on the crust Of earth, so does our commonwealth repose Upon the bosom of the family. Malone. Yet rests the family on the love of self. Harold. Father, you push the love of self too far. The vast trihedron of connubial love Is by a triad of affections formed: That of the husband and the wife for each, 64 IMliKOGJJO. 'I'hat of the iKircnt ami tho cliiKl for oarli. That ot" the clukhcn tor one another; Where these in one harmonious whole exist They shape the beauteous figure ot" our tainily state. But eitlier side renuived, tliere then retrains Naught but an empty and misshajien thing. lSl.\i.c>Ni;. It has i;reatly pleased me, Harold, thus to test The depth and compass of your studies ethical. And, thougli your reasons somewhat bookish sound, And suKuk o{ inexi>erienee in lite, They show a mind and heart prone to the right. True, Harold, the family only is When all its luuts in u!utv aeeord. Uaroi i>. This is the very essence t)f our life, 'I'he key-note to existence, and the thing Vox which we live. Here in this charmed abode, — This little sovereignty where each is sovereign, — Here burns the lamp that lights the spacious world Making the dreary earth a tairy land; Here nations are conceived, emjMres are born, And all the dear relationships of life Bloom like that garden of which poets sing. Yet mark you, father, this most holy realm Has laws, whiih violated taints its blood. As tleath converts the iKMt'ume oi the rose Into the fetor of decomj)osition. The luisl)and m- the wife once gone astray IMIih'OGLiO. fl5 The viiUurc ruin jjreys uj;on the family. 'I'hus do Fome children with one parent side, Some with the other - so divide themselves. And thus the husband hates the wife, the wife The husband, the husband the following Of the wife, and the wife the following Of the husband, the children the parents Whom they follow not, and they cacb other Who go not together; and so the heavens A hell become, and pandemonium reigns. Malonic. Pleased am I, Harold, thus to see how you Have learned the ethics of the family, IIakoi.o. Why how sweet it is, how like to Heaven, How (iod-ai)pointed this relationship! Behold it in the stages of its life: At first a man and woman, young in years, Upon the very threshold of existence, Neither with worldly goods, experience, nor aught Save love and willingness, so join their lives; 'i'hen in their being comes the second period, When their united strength wages fierce combat Against the world's poverty and hardship; During whicli time, most like, and, as it were, Springing from their beings, baptized by their United love, to the world they give new lives. Third stage arrives when tliey have struck the middle Of their lives, and ff;rtune's slrm lias overtaken them. Smioinulod now With all the luxuries of wealth, loving l''aeh other, hv their ehiUiren iiloli/ed — C'aihkrink. I low sweet the pieture to niv longing eyes! 1 1aroi.i\ Then comes the last, when ehiUlren's ehiUlren Carry them to their very marriage, Making them li\e their past lives o'er again. Stripped oi all hartlships and privations. M.\roNi'. .•\ life of sueli rare, W(.)ntirous happiness Makes immortality hegin on earth. Uauoi.p. Ves, so it does, luit here I have o'erreaehed \"our patietue, and as a youthful playwrigiu Does morali/e his play away, so 1 With too much ethics have damped the pleasure Of our meeting. Have you seen Rieh.ird, sir? Mai.onk. No, Harold, nor yet seen Helen either. Haroi.i>. How selfish in me! let me go and fetch them. i^Exit H.VKOi.n. J/f nt ofur frturns afiJ secfr/cs /ii/NS('// behifid a screetiy but in view of the audiffhr.^ C A r n K R 1 N K {^tintidly') . Husband. 1 have much reuretted — IMnROGLIO. e? M ALONIC. Indeed! Oil, wondrous niitid tli;it c.'Ui at least regret! Wat( Ii your ( onsciencc and reuKjrsc may follow. ('aimikkine. ICdinuiid, my consc ience has no stain upon it. M AI-ONIC. I'vternal Justice, listen I What, no stain? Mow have you washed it in these two days past? (!a riii';RiNi';. liy sean hing it for any s|)ot of wrong 'I'oward y(ju, husband. M Ar.ONK. Oil, sj)e(:ious pretext! (lO fling it in the sea and let tlie waves Atteni|)t its cleansing. ( 'All IKK INK. Alas! I would that I Were there, but for my children and God's laws. What crime has my poor soul been guilty of? Is it my love for you ? If that be so I will ;/!(-s U ^nvard. ") Maione. Harold! Makoi n. Peace Id your soul's alarm ! For this unmannered watch, I jiardon beg; My love must furnish forth its good excuse. 1 have not stayed to (piarrel with you, sir. JMHKOCI.IO. 69 iMai.oni;. Harold, 1 am weary of this life, Which slowly draj^s its IVciL^htcd weight along Over the dreary world to immortality. IIaroli). Now, father, what great gulf is this between you And my mother ? Mai.onk. Ihe words would burn my tongue, That named ihem to you, Harold. Harold. And must 1, Who am the very growth, the primal limb. Of this most sacred trunk, be (juitc cut off. Denied all intercourse, an 1 left to die.-* Mai.onk. 1 cannot sj^eak; my heart an 1 yours would break. There is no justice in tliis world for me. Hai<^)IJ). No justice?— here on my knees —witness God! — Here 1 proclaim myself — if you are wronged An i she prove ob lurate — forevjr hence Upon your side demanding ecjuity. Make m • to see the stain of which you spoke, And here I swear into the raging sea To fling my love, and live for only you. Maf.onk. Have patience, son, crime will reveal itself. 70 IMBKOGLIO. Harold. By our common love I implore you. M ALONE. Harold. By our common taith I entreat you. Malonk. Harold. No. No. By the right of a .son I demand it; For the love of your wife deny me not; For your children's s;ike, if you love them. Malone. No. Harold. For the sake of mankind — Malone. No, Harold, no. Harold {^risin^). Then you love us none, but in the iron cloak Of self ensheathe vour ad.imantine soul, Loving not God, nor mm, nor wife, nor child, Nor anything e.xcept your stolid self. Malone. O H.irold, you have hereby pierced my heart, And I liave lived too long when tlius my child Demands a warrant tor his lather's death! /M/iA'Oa/./O. 71 Alas, for life when life is so awry! {lie sinks into a r/uiir, an'erini^ his face iciih his hands, braid my mother; For, if you were my father, surely you Would more the husband of my mother be. Mai.onk. God grant that blow tiiay ne'er return (m you. 1 Iakoi.o. You cannot thwart me by this subtle mien. The star of husband-fatherhood that burned In the zenith of my love has fallen. I have seen my t^racicnis mother Ix-g you, I have on my lowly knees imj)lored you, I'or that the docked criminal of right may have And justice to her meanest felon ne'er denies. 72 IMPKOGIJO. Wliat pitiful olTcnse is this tliat lives on sighs, And cl;iros not breathe in words! E'en were she wrong, And triple-plated justice on your side, A prosecution by such cruel means Would to a persecution change, the crime In the complainant growing greatest. Malonk. Is it for this that I have all my life In the hot caverns of the earth delvetl down, On frozen summits worked, in deserts lived, Foregone all pleasures, for my children's sake, And chietly you ? O you fathers, hear me 'I'o the wt)rld's remotest ends, never more I"'or your children labor, never more love them! Harold. 'I'here is tlie curse, the very curse of it. That any father should so love his son And with such rancor hate the mother of that son! Sure you are sane, which doubted I at first. For on all other themes you reason right, And monomania upon its fancied wrongs Would harp, where you keep closely j^risoned mind; And surely you have no just cause for blame Against your wite, or you would make that known- But mark you how betwixt the real ground And f;\ncied cause, stands up the crooked form. Sighing, yet tongueless, of hypocritic pretense! What! is the glass so jierfect that you see iMIiROGLIO. 19 The ghost of your own skeleton ? Why, sir, The air is reeky with the newH — it stinks In the nose of every beldam gossij) On the Coast, that shortly you shall put away Your wife and take a fresher one! Malonk. O God I Harold. O God, say I!— what! are you blind? See there Where on her knees, the crucifix in hand — Dare you not look? — my mother does implore Divinity to save her from this outrage. Mai,()NK. Well, have you done ? Harold. Your calmness comes too late. The V rdict, not the prison, makes the guilty (juake. Alas! .vl-.at monstrous crime is this, that from The due obedience of a loving son Converts me to a gross accuser of my sire ? Malone. Deeper remorse than this may seize you yet. Harold. To barter off my mother and your wife For such a twittering, painted, pasty, Hair-be-frizzled dot as underneath the name Of beauty sails in the air of our society! Malonk. O Harold, you are deaf to your own words! 74 IMBROGLIO. Harold. To fling your fair name into the foul stench Of the public slaughter-house! — Malone. No more of this. Harold. To drag your children through the filthy slums That a proceeding such as this must make! And all for what ? To bask for a brief day In the bought smiles of a purchased bride, Reek in the mulching of a fickle bed, Gape when she ambles in another's arms, And have the staring multitude cry, Lo^ How beautiful a wife he has! Malone. Harold! Harold. Beauty — the saying rusts — is but skin deep. Note you the proof: Here is the slab; here lies The form and f^ice of Venus; this is the knife And mine the hungry student's hand. An hour — Not half so long — the skin of beauty's stripped! See those eyes, which once like sparkling diamonds Had lit up the night, now bulging out Like two disgusting warts — beautiful eyes! And that nose, that chiseled piece of marble, See! 'tis a pretty piece of gristle now. And those tinted cheeks — yes, and that dimpled chin — IMBROGLIO. 75 Why, sir, they are naught but rapes of raw meat. And all those veins, which gave Aurora's color To the face, arc streaks of clotted gore. Ah, but those lips, for but one kiss from which You might have squandered half a fortune, Are taut upon the teeth drawn back into a grin Ghairtly as death itself! Do you now know In what great depths the seat of beauty lies ? And would you of it rather be possessed Than that impenetrable honor and virtue Which not a surgeon's knife can cut awa> Ma LONE. O Harold, you have frozen up my veins! Harold. Go warm them, father, at my mother's heart. Renounce this most unworthy scheme, and I In ashes will repent what I have said. Malone. This scheme is but the vintage of your mind. Harold. Let us not bandy words, — say it is so. Which Heaven grant it is. But, father, go, A decent pardon of my mother beg, And set her heart to rights; or, if that be More than you think your dignity becomes, Promise me this, that you will now put off This most mysterious demeanor, And treat your wife in all things as becomes The lofty station of a wife and mother. 70 IMBROGLIO. Malone. My treatment shall accord with her deserts. Harold. Why, that's to say you will not change your ways. Malone. You know not Avhat you ask. If you were me You would behold her through another eye. Harold. What hellish she has caught you in her web That you to honor, duty, family, are dead? Come, look you on this scene: Here is your home — The honored end of more than half a life — A domicile to house a prince, a fort Enclosing love; here is your wife, and she, With you, the joint producer of your wealth. Here are your children, entails of your name! A future that might dazzle monarchs' eyes! Now look on that: There is your house, not home, Blazed with the gaudy trappings of the hour; Your mistress there, pampered and puffed like sin, Decked in the gross embellishments of new reaped wealth, The magpie gossip of society. Childless you must remain, or children have That bear the mark of doubtful i)arentage, For we discarded oftspring will with mother go. Now what is this to that ? Home to brothel, Wife to bawd, love to lust, reality To myth, and decency to vanity. IMBROGLIO. 77 In Heaven's name what betterment can hope sug- gest To make you plunge from tliis fair i)aradise To that foul hell ? Maixjnk. You [)rattle idly. Harold. Prattle! call you this jjrattle.^ Then, if you will, Crack uj) this little world, against the wall Of justice fling yourself I in the breach Will guard my mother's rights; but press me not Too far, or else these hands — Mai.onic. Harold, my son ! Harold. Yes, these very hands may not remember That you are the father. Malonk. The day shall come — Harold. When my dear mother's rights are sacredly ob served. Mai-onk. When you shall beg upon your bended knees — Harolfj. Yes, and implore your wronged wife's mercy. Malonk. For this unkindness my forgiveness, son. 78 IMBROGLIO. Harold. Forgiveness ! and adds hypocrisy to crime ! {Exit Harold.) E?iter Henchman. Well done, Malone, marvelously well done. From yonder room I have observed it all. You waste your genius; turn actor and play The part of Tartuffe. Malone. You will oblige me By maintaining toward me in my grief A changed and more respectful demeanor. Henchman. Good, by Jupiter, excellently well 1 {Aside) A monkey playing a Jew's-harp. Malone. Henchman ! Henchman. Ay, sir — as one should say in tragedy. Malone. Have you no heart ? Henchman. One somewhat stuffed with brains. Malone. No feelins ? Shall I quiver.? Henchman. Oh ! 1 am all emotion IMBROGLIO. 79 Malone. No more of this, I say. Henchman. Why, hicss my life, Malone, are you in earnest ? Malone. Is it the proper thing to sport with one Whose wife has played him false } Henchman. Why, now, that's so. Ah, thoughtless me ! forgive me, dear Malone. Malone. Alas ! I fear my son has gone from me. Henchman. Fear not, these things are providential. Malone. I cannot see them so. Henchman. This way, mark you; The human mind is like a metal spring. The harder it is struck, being not snapped. The greater will the rebound be. So 'tis With Harold, whose elastic mind Has by the ponderous and depressing blow Of your apparent villainy been struck. Now, when he sees you are the injured one. The weight being removed, he will fly back to you With all his nature's fierce impetuosity. 80 IMBROCUO, M ALONE. Your jerky style imports a labored reason. I pray it may be so, yet greatly fear. {Exit M ALONE.) Henchman. He prays it may be so ! he prays 1 he prays ! {As tJwiigh praying to the devil.) O sweety devil, holy devil, Most pure devil, hear my supplication ! I'll turn a praying, too, if this continue long, It is such mirth to mock the hypocrite. Enter Catherine. Catherine. O sir, my troubles are grown mountain high. Harold has but increased his father's wrath, Who, by insinuations deep, attempts To turn my children from me. Henchman. Dear lady, What nature has these vile insinuations ? Catherine. Alas ! they take no form. Henchman. They therefore are More dangerous. An open charge is like A lion; it may at least be fought. But innuendoes are those subtle gerrr»s, Unseen, ungraspable, yet deadly, which slyly Creep into the body of a reputation. IMBROGLIO. 81 Which ere we know it dies. O dear lady, These innuendoes are very poison To your children's love — we must unearth their cause. Catherine. Ah me \ where shall I go for other help ? Since you and Harold fail, I have lost heart. Henchman. In all my feeble efforts in your dear behalf There has appeared before my watchful eyes The name of Maurice Uourne. Sure^ I have said, These men having for more than half a life Been close co?n_panions, if your husband gave His coftfidence to a?ty one^ that one is Bourne. Catherine. I, too, have thought of Maurice, and ofttimes Have pricked my courage on to tell him. But, oh, the shame of it ! — to have him know There is between myself and Edmund trouble; Besides it ill becomes my wifely modesty. Henchman. Modesty, and all her lovely sisterhood, Good madam, live in the mind, intention Being their very gist, substance and all. And when the heart is pure, the showy forms And outward manners of its tenement Are quite indifferent; but when the mind Is soiled by evil thoughts, no etiquette Can purify the act ; and what without 6 82 IMBROGLIO. A cause is gross indecency, becomes, When with a reason coupled, sweetest modesty; Therefore with a pure heart go to your friend, And lay your cause before him from the first. Catherine. Knowing I mean but good I will see Maurice. Henchman. Kind Heaven grant your cause prosperity. Where will you see him, madam ? Catherine. In this room, The parlor, sitting room, or any place. Henchman. What if your husband should o'erhear you? Catherine. I know not how it might affect him. Henchman. There it is, madam ; our worthiest acts Have this complexion; that howsoever good They be we should so do them as to bring no ill. We must be very prudent in our cause. For if your husband knew of your intent To query out the meaning of his acts It might increase his wrath. Therefore, meet Bourne At some place where your husband may not see you. IMBROGLIO. 83 Catherine. By your wise counsel will I be advised. What place would you suggest? Henchman. Now let me see. — There is a place about the center of the park, Close to the flower house, where a live oak Uplifts its canopy to shade the light. There ofttimes I have whiled the night away In solitary thoughts on immortality. It is a holy spot where anciently Old Father Serra blessed the Indians. There, madam, is the place to meet your friend. Catherine. I will do so. Henchman. 'Twere better done at once. I will invite your friend. At eight o'clock? Catherine. As you advise. Kind Heaven grant the end May justify the means. Henchman. Madam, amen. {^Exit Catherine.) The devil is master of ceremonies. Enter Glasco. Now who's his dignity? That is the remnant of a phiz that I have somewhere seen. 84 IMBROGLIO, Glasco. This is the fellow of whom Malone spoke. 'J must impress him. ( With dik:;nily.') Good evening, sir. Henchman {tjuitating Glasco). Good evening, sir. Glasco. A pleasant evening, sir. Henchman. A pleasant evening, sir. Glasco. I presume this is Doctor Henchman. Henchman. I presume this is Doctor Henchman. Glasco. I hope you are well, sir. Henchman. I hope you are well, sir. Glasco. I perceive you are from the South, sir. Henchman. I perceive you are from the South, sir. Glasco. Have you been out here long? Henchman. '49er. Have you been out here long? IMBROGLIO. 86 Glasco. I came in '50. Henchman. Where did you stop? Glasco. At — cr — at Old Calamity Hill. Where did you stop? Henchman. At — er — at Old Calamity Hill. Sir, your face has a distantly familiar contortion about it; and having run the parrot gamut of greeting, may I have the honor to know your name? Glasco. My name is Glasco, William Glasco, attorney-at- law, of San Francisco. Henchman. Glasco? Glasco? Glasco. Glasco, sir. Henchman And you came here in '49? Glasco. In '50, sir. Henchman. What was your name then ? Glasco. Sir? 86 IMBROGLIO. Henchman. Beg pardon, but a name is such a help to mem- ory. Glasco? Glasco? — Coglass! Glasco. Sir? Henchman. What ! Bill Coglass who ran a faro game in Jim McCrackin's saloon ? Glasco. Sir, I understand — Henchman. But I don't, how you are now Judge Glasco, the famous lawyer of San Francisco. Glasco. Sir, I understand that you are a witness in a certain case, that Mr. Malone is shortly to bring against his — er — er — against his — er. Henchman. Er — er — mother-in-law. Glasco. I have heard Malone speak very highly of you. Henchman. As he might speak of his dog! Thus, he scents well; is an excellent retriever; will follow or go before as you like ; will not bark when he should keep still, — a most excellent cur, that will do for his food what his master will have him do! IMBROGLIO, 87 Glasco. I have not heard him speak of you in this regard. Henchman. Oh, the shame of it, Glasco, the shame of it, that we who have the brains must play the lackey's part to they who have the wealth ! Are we lawyers? for their retainers we corrupt our judgments; Judges? for their influence we murder justice; legislators? for their bribes we make the laws they ask; editors ? for their subsi- dies they hold our pens; preachers ? for pew rent we give our consciences to the devil — and all for what ? A night's lodging and a full belly ! Glasco, Tut, tut! I have heard him praise you as a most excellent and trustworthy gentleman. Henchman. I had rather he had damned me for a common bawd. For I have fallen down so low beneath my own contempt that I have nothing left— except a tongue to own my villainy and make a sport of hypocrites. Glasco. I know nothing of this. Henchman. Bah ! Your nose is so used to the stench it fails to notice it. Most righteous and clear-conscienced, »» IMBROGLIO, my very dear sir Lawyer, what would you with me ? Drop slabbering and come to terms. Glasco. I understand you are working up this case? Henchman. Well, yes; I am looking after Malone's matrimo- nial interests. Glasco. Now, I understand that his wife and one Bourne have been guilty of — Henchman. Lord, yes ; you can see them any day in each other's arms — on the street, in the theater, in church. Oh ! believe me, they're a vile lot. Glasco. Well, sir, I will tell you what evidence I want and you will get it. Henchman. 1 will ? Would you prefer that I should make or buy it ? Glasco. No, sir ; you shall find it. Henchman. Tweedle dum and tweedle dee. Well, what evi- dence shall I find for your purity ? IMBROGLIO, 8» Glasco. Circumstantial evidence of matrimonial inconti- nency. Henchman. B-a-n-g ; and yet there is a short way of calling that bang ! I have run ahead of you and an- nounced you to my lady. What you mean is that you want me to find witnesses who will swear — Glasco. Pardon me, sir; a lawyer never cares to go too minutely into such things. All I ask is evidence showing that these parties had a previous liking for each other, clandestine correspondence, stolen in- terviews, passionate declarations, and the oppor- tunity for the consummiition of the offense. Hknchman. You have no doubt of the veritable existence of such evidence ? Glasco. Sir, the lawyer tries his case on the evidence submitted to him; the truthfulness of the evidence is a matter for the witness. Enter M alone. Malone. Gentlemen, this is a very sad occasion. Glasco. A very sad one, indeed, sir. 90 IMBROGLIO, Henchman. A very sad one, indeed, sir. Glasco. May I speak with you in private, Malone? {^Exit Malone and Glasco.) Henchman. By Heavens, I am the only villain ! Enrobe a crime in lawyers' gowns and it Becomes a virtue ; dress lawyers' virtue In laymen's rags and it becomes a crime. O virtuous, sweet, clear-conscienced villain, O law-protected villain, fare thee well ! So are we all villains in our way. {Exit Henchman.) IMBROGLIO. ^1 ACT III. SCENE.— Malone's mmtry place; a park 7vith a flower house; night. Enter Henchman and Glasco. Henchman. I am no lawyer such as you are, sir, Versed in the labyrinths of legal lore, But with a wider compass of my eye Review this mater of divorce. I see A man and woman married, but I see Him grown to hate, despise and loathe his wife. She, we will say, is virtuous and good — Gives him no legal cause for a divorce. Glasco. Of this I know, and care to know, nothing. Henchman. Well, well; you prattle with a lawyer's tongue. The vinculum of marriage here is broke, Yet the law affords the husband no relief. Glasco. The lawyer will, if you do well your part. 92 IMBROGLIO. Henchman. Yes, but that slimes the majesty of law. And yet, Glasco, the fault lies in the law, Which ofttimes turns the hangman of itself, When to a climax of ideal life It tries to force our human natures. Glasco {aside). Tiresome fool ! — But, sir, with the policy Of laws the advocate has naught to do. To evade the bad laws and to enforce Such as are good is the lawyer's business. Henchman {Jialf abstractedly). Something is rotten in the policy Of laws which force us mortals through a course Of villainy to reach our native rights (^pauses). Glasco (aside). The old fish is hooked, but must play it out Ere I can land him. Henchman. These serving laws, — Vain hour-long flatterers! — tickle the consciences That they seduce, then serve to bribe our courts, Corrui)t our juries, perjure our witnesses, Convert our lawyers into tricksters vile, And turn the native current of our acts Out from the channel of its probity. There's something rotten in our statute of divorce. IMBROGLIO, 93 Glasco {impatiently). But to this case. Henchman {suddenly). But to this case, indeed; And the problem is, to win or not to win. I would compare a lawyer's duty thus: Positive win, comparative wind, Superlative wind. Glasco {aside). Ha! a razor tongue. Henchman. I would I knew the tricks of your trade, for I suppose there is scarce one chance in a dozen for a shrewd lawyer to lose a case, however bad it be. Glasco {aside). He floats where I would have him.— Well, doc- tor, as to that, there are, betwixt the beginning and the ending of a bad law suit, many steps, appeals, and chances not mentioned in the codes. Henchman. Indeed ! Glasco. And as we are about to undertake a case of vast importance — Henchman. Wherein there must be tricks or no tricks. Glasco. You may as well be made acquainted with these — 94 IMBROGLIO, Henchman. Eccentricities of your profession. Glasco. Still, you must know that I have learned these things by observation, not experience. Henchman. Ah! it flies without wings. It is too bad that such a dear young innocent as you are should be set down unprotected in this immoral world, and how odd it is that 'mongst the dirty clothes of your trade you have kept your own linen so un- spotted ! But pardon me, let the magician begin his tricks — from faro to law is but a step. Glasco {aside). I must bear with him. — First, at the doorway of your suit lies your pocket appeal to the virtuous judge to quash the case. Your second step is a money application to the witnesses against you. Third chance is to manufacture witnesses out of coin. Fourth resort is a pocket appeal to the virt- uous sheriff to procure a jury of your inclining. Fifth step is at the door of honest jurymen. Sixth effort is a lucre application to the conscientious judge to undo what has gone before. Last effort, and by its nature topping all, is your appeal to the Court Supreme, where, I have heard, the sack is at times a great argument. IMBROGLIO. 95 Henchman. In the lovely name of Justice, do you lawyers do such things ? Glasco. A villainous, beastly presumption ! Henchman. Then, since your holiness does them not, who does them ? Glasco. Your client; or, if he be troubled with a tender conscience, he get some — particular— friend — to do them. Henchman. And therein lies the point; when the lawyer winks, the client buys; when the client squirms, the Henchman's turn arrives. ^^z/^r Catherine at a distance diffidently. Hist ! the devil is abroad to-night — get behind that tree or he will catch you. Glasco. Here, indeed, is the beginning of a case. Henchman. Out of which a pettifogger, or great lawyer, might make something. Glasco. What does she here .? 96 IMBROGLIO. Henchman. The devil knows, but may take his imp into confi- dence. Catherine. How dark it seems, — this is the place he named. Glasco. Remember that. Henchman. That's food for juror's brains. Catherine. Why does he not come ? Glasco. Mark that ! set it down. Enter Bourne at a distance. The paramour ! — a circumstance, indeed. Henchman. Yonder is more fortune — Harold, ghost-like. Stalking among the trees; quick, get away, And I will bring him within range of them. Glasco. Proof to convict a saint; be cautious, sir. {Exeunt Henchman and Glasco.) Catherine {seeing Bourne). Maurice, my old friend ! Bourne. Nay, but what is this ? What mean these broken words ? IMBROGLIO. 97 Catherine. A broken heart. Bourne. Sure this is strange ! Why must we, who have been Friends for more than twenty years, now meet, Like outlaws, here in this clandestine way ? Catherine. Do not chide me, Maurice. Bourne. Chide you, for what? Catherine. My husband hates me ! Bourne. In Heaven's name, for what? Enter Harold and Henchman. (Bourne and Catherine continue their conversa- tion in a low /one.') Henchman. What think you of Kant's Critique, my young friend ? Harold. Some other time, if it please you, Doctor. Now, as to this estrangement between My father and my mother, have you seen — Henchman. The book is an excellent subtlety — 98 IMBROGLIO, Harold. Please you, sir, speak of my parents' troubles. Henchman. Harold, I rather would not mention them. I am here in dual state, as doctor And as guest; either one should seal my lips. Harold. But you know, Doctor, I have been absent. Henchman. And I am sorry I have been present. I pray you, let us speak no more on this. Harold. But can you form no notion of the cause .^ Has not some word or act disclosed its source ? Henchman. Our married lives are full of small discords, Which night, Nature's blest court of equity Adjusting, tunes to sweeter harmony. But there are acts which soil and stain the face Of decency, and crimson modesty. Harold. Why, now, you make me think some such is here. (Henchman jtdmps quickly in f?'ontofYlkYL- old, and between hi?n and ivhere Cath- erine and Bourne are standing.') Henchman. Oh! look you yonder where the silver queen, IMBROGLIO, 99 Rising above the summit of the range, Unveils the night and throws a million kisses To the sleeping world. Harold. Why, what startled you ? Henchman. Nothing, I think, unless the queenly kiss Awaked my amorous love of nature. Harold. Why jumped you so before me ? even now Your actions are as frightened as a deer's. Henchman. And see; how every leaf becomes an eye! Harold. Doctor, do you see those people yonder ? Is the park become a lovers' hiding-place ? Henchman. Lovers, Harold ? — lovers ! — nay, watch them not, They are but some strollers wandered this way. Harold. Strollers, say you ? why, that's like my mother, Else am I blind; is that not Maurice Bourne } Henchman. Bourne ! your mother! Look what you say, Harold! Think you they would be here at such an hour.? I think your mother's virtue is too strong. 100 IMBROGLIO, Harold. My mother's virtue is as strong as steel. — I see but illy, yet it must be them. 11|',NCI1MAN. No, Harold, your mother would not — could not — Come, come, look on no more; let us go back. 1 I A KOI, 1). Nay, tug not so; I woukl see who they are. Hkncuman. See no more;— the air is chilly, sir. Let us go l)ack; this thing you see is naught, Your mother has not so lost her virtue — 'Tis but your fancy. Harold. Let mc go. Henchman. See, it is they ! Hl'.NCllMAN. Go back ! go back ! go back ! Harold. Go back ! — to hell, go back ! Your go-backs" mean Much more than mere go-back — I will not go. Look, she entreats him with outstretched arms, hark ! Their voices rise, listen ! Catherine. Oh, no, Maurice ! Tell ine not it is another woman — Anything but that. IMBROGLIO, 101 Henchman. Maybe she upbraids him For some other woman. (^Exeunt Cathkrine and Bourne.) Harold. I will kill you. Henchman. I only said, it may be, not it is. They have heard you and moved away. Harold {impetuously). Henchman, Tell me the truth of this — if you but swerve A hair's breadth on either side of fact, May you be damned! Is this a common thing? Henchman. Tut! Harold, speak not this way. She is your — Harold. Give me the truth direct — slur not a fact — Henchman. Why, why! Harold. Nor exculpate — Henchman. Am I a child To be frightened into telling truth? Harold. Oh, if you love justice, speak. Henchman, speak! 102 IMBROGLIO. HlCNCIIMAN. Take you me to be tlie retail mercliant Of all the gossip in the neighborhood? Harold. In Heaven's name, have you seen this thing before? HlCNCHMAN. It is not for me to say, nor will I. Harold. I beg you tell me — she is my mother. Henchman. I would rather be a snake and half my life Live coiled up dead than be the trumpeter Of every bastard rumor to which The pregnant air gives birth. I will not say. Harold. O God, this is the lightning's flash that brings To sight the black night of my father's deeds, And in a minute blazes forth their cause ! HENCH^L\N. This may be but an aberration, sir. Harold. Keep such sophistry for unread jurors. — If 'twere by itself it might be innocent; Joined witli my father's acts it grows a crime. Henchman. It were best vou think on this theme no more. I IMBROCLiO, i03 Harold. Then I shall cease to think. Henchman. If of her guilt Or innocence you would be quite convinced, Await developments. Harold. Ask me to wait The development of ruin, the world's end. Hp:nchman. But, Harold, it may not yet have come to — Harold. Chaos, desolation, the rot of time. Henchman. What we have seen with doubtful eyes may be But the appearance of unchastity. Harold. Ha! look how you speak ! she is my mother. Henchman. Now you speak right, and like a loving son. To basely say your mother is guilty When she but seems to be so, is to wrong her, Wrong your father, and, more, to wrong yourself. It is sure a crime to lay a baseless charge Of foul unchastity on any woman. How monstrous then becomes the crime when laid On your before-thought virtuous mother. 104 IMBROGLIO, Harold. Out on this seeming ! all the smooth words In Italy could only gloss this foulness. The world is a huge graveyard, and women Are but walking skeletons of sin, That need the lightning's flash to bare their bones. — This must be so. O Atlantean shoulders That must pack this world unto my father. {Exit Harold.) Henchman. I like not this business — it grows too serious- Had I seen its end, I had not begun it. I'll have no more to do with it. I'll wash my hands of it. I'll go on the woman's side and show these devils up. Then I'll not get the money. — What if I get the money ? Yes, but what if I get in jail for getting it, and what if I get in hell for false swear- ing.? I'll not do't — it's not right— Higho, Hench- man ! whence this spasm of your conscience ? A Voice. Conscience ! Henchman. Ha! ha! who said conscience ? A Voice. Hell! Henchman. Ha! ha! who said hell ? A Voice. Right! IMBROGLIO, 106 Ha! ha! who said right. ? Hknchman. ;ht.? A Voice. Wrong! Henchman. Ha! ha! who said wrong? And yet I do not this business from the pure love of wrong. A Voice. Wrong! Henchman. Damn the word! Wrong? What's wrong? What's right ? What's hell ? What's conscience ? There you are, old Conscience, there you are, old Devil, ever bobbing up before me arguing your sides. By Jupiter, I'll hold a court and pass judg- ment on this case ! Right and Wrong shall be the litigants; old Conscience and the Devil, lawyers; Henchman, the Judge. {A white form suddenly appears on one side, and a black form on the other side of Henchman.)* Wrong, alias Henchman, %is. Right, alias Hench- *To justify the introduction of these "forms," I am constrained to violate the rule which requirfs that the drama should be self-explana- tory. There is a speces of hrdlucination, to which even the soundest m nds are at times subject, whereby tiie person sees, in a shadowy sort of way, forms and images, which are, of course, but the embodiment of his own thoughts. While under the influence of such a spell, the hold- ing of imaginary conversations with such forms is not uncommon. The scene thereby created, is, I think, a proper subject for the drama; not because it has any existence, in fact, but because while it exists it is a reality to the one who thinks he sees if, and the only way to appreciate a character is to translate one's self into his position and condition. 106 IMBROGLIO, man's conscience. Are you ready for the plaintiff? Black Form. Please, your honor, I ask for a continuance. Henchman. There you are, old pettifogger, always asking for a continuance. What'U you do for a continuance at the day of Judgment. You'll take out your con- tinuance in purgatory. You can delay this case no longer. Ready for the defendant ? White Form. Ready, your honor. Henchman. Then at it, and damn formalities. White Form. It is not right that you should break this family up. Henchman. There you are, old Conscience, always speaking first. The plaintiff should begin. Black Form. This family has fallen apart of its own weight; it is not your honor does it. Henchman. Good point — well said — old Devil. White Form. This is a shallow subterfuge. IMBROGLIO. 107 Black Form. At least it is Malone and not your honor breaks it up. White Form. Your honor is a party to the act, and violates the rule infallible of right. Henchman. What say you to that, Mr. Devil ? Is there a rule infallible of right ? Black Form. Aye, one that changes with the moon, or each new edict of the church, or roams about following the whims of legislators, or spies itself in each fresh custom of society, or else, barring all these, lives in a caldron of well boiled reptiles. {Lattghs sardonically.') White Form. ril not argue with such a liar. Henchman. What, old Conscience, back out in this way • Come, at the devil in his own style. White Form. It is not my way. Your honor has allowed youj- love of money to bribe your better self. Henchman. Thou liest. Conscience ! It is not my love o money, but my hate of poverty. 108 IMBROGLIO. Black Form (aside). When the judge takes up the lawyer's side the lawyer may retire. White Form (faintly'). I pray, your honor, do not let the devil rule you. Henchman. What, old barrister, your voice is almost out of hearing. White Form {louder). If you do this act, I'll set a raging war agoing in you. Black Form. He tries to scare you. White Form. I'll pinch you in a thousand places. Black Form. He tries to scare you. White Form. I'll rack you with remorse. Black Form. He tries to scare you. White Form. I'll put you in the company of thieves. Black Form. He tries to scare you. Henchman. Order in this Court ! IMBROGLIO, 109 White Form. I'll make you hold your head down, so you'll not dare to look at honest men. Henchman. Thou liest ! Black Form. He tries to scare you. White Form. I'll damn your soul in hell. Black Form. H e tries to scare you. Henchman. Out on you both ! I'll have no more of you. This Court's adjourned. {Fonns vanish.') The devil take me if I ever hold another Court like that ! Why this is slinking dotage. It grows late, and it grows late with me. Pure fear, pure fear ! — Whoever called me coward ? Oh, I'll do't, I'll do't ! — the job is more than half done now. I think I see me in mine ease, my cares all flown, a rich old man with a book of philosophy in his hand, nod- ding his age away. Ah, for such an ease what should a man not do ? {Exit Henchman.) 110 IMBROGLIO. ACT IV. SCENE. — Malone's coimtry house; a room. Enter Harold. Yet does the logic of the eye outweigh The logic of the mind — Is't possible ? — Is't not impossible? Heaven and earth, The vulture glutton feeds not on himself! Yet often is the corporal sense awry. — Nature doth not so rip herself apart And cast her precious vitals to the dogs. — Ha! there be more illusions in the mind To make men fools than in the corporal sense. Her children's love, her honor, and her hope Of Heaven — could she do't and forfeit these ? It stands not to reason. — Saw I not her — Heard I not her voice, in love's position, And the plaintive tone } I think it cannot. That it ought not be, but that I see I know. Enter Ma lone. M ALONE. You desire to see me, Harold. -* Harold. Sir, I desire in that beggarly way IMBROGLIO, 11^ That words admit of, to apologize For my unfilial conduct to you. Oh! Malone. Harold, even as you spoke I pardoned, Knowing your acts were based on misconception- Harold. Fain would I plead exemption for those acts Upon the basis of my ignorance; But now my eyes are two full moons that glare From heaven's heights upon the wanton earth. A school-boy's piece!-0 God, that I might speak, Yet hear not my voice, know not its import. Malone. Harold, you are sick. Harold. Of a dread disease That knows no remedy; playmate of death; The skull and crossbone toy of this old world, The sport of quacks and jest of medicine. Where neath the sun grows that fair herb whose Can salve a breach in honor, cure wounded love, . Or heal the rent that patent bastardy Tears in a child's heart ? Malone. You are overwrought By study, Harold; 1 fear you have not slept. 112 IMBROGLIO. Harold. Slept! slept! why, sir, I saw a sight to-night That cried aloud to all the sleeping tombs, Awake! awake! the judgment is at hand, The world is done, sleep no more forever! Malone. This uncontrolled demeanor is foreign To your ways. Calm yourself, if you would speak. Harold. Why, I am as calm as a dead ocean. Sir, I have something of great importance To tell you, which, though it break your heart, I pray you allow it not to disturb you. Out on address! it is the bawd that comes In the pale smock of an injured wife And plants polluted kisses on a son. Malone. You shoot me through the heart. Harold. Sir, a problem Or two in the ethics of human conduct. If one should know a friend's wife had betrayed Her husband, would it be a friendly act To tell him of her infidelity? Malone. The acme of disinterested friendship; But, oh, I fear the question's import. IMBROGLIO, 113 Harold. One more: If a son should know his mother Had to his father been untrue, how now Would it be the part of filial duty To keep the secret locked up in his breast, Making his being putrid with its foulness ? Malone. I know too well the meaning of your words. Your mother, Harold, my wife, your mother } Harold. By the infinity of chances, sir; Excepting which I might have been an owl And hooted at the moon, a weed or tree, The deadly vapor of a tropic swamp, An atom to float in nihilism — The gaped at wonder of a race of fools. Malone. No, no, no, Harold, be not light at this. Harold. Light ? Oh, I am light! throw me overboard And I will rise down a million fathoms. Malone. What have you seen to throw you in this mood } Harold. Sir — for I dare not for the love of truth, Address you as my father any more — Have you observed in my mother's conduct 114 IMBROGLIO, Any act smacking of iiiii)roj)iicly With your friend Maurice? Malonk. Oh, I have feared it ! Inscrutable Trovidcnce whose great design Has thus to you unfolded that which I Had with my cold lips sealed forever from you ! — Take warning bawds ! though you be coy as snakes And seek the covert of a cave, your deeds Shall blaze like ^^2tnas to the gaping world. Harold. Have you known this thing and not redressed it? Malonk. Alas ! I fear that you have seen much more Than I have seen. Harold. I have seen, sir, and heard. M alone. What, what ? Harold. A woman with my mother's face Slink, like a wanton, under night's cover To meet her paramour. Malone. What ! no, Harold. Harold. Yes; and I heard her beg for her dishonor As a sucking child cries for its mother's breast. IMBROGLIO. 116 M ALONE. Where was that thunderbi-k of Jove that strikes — Harold. And then he packed her off into a place Wherein the modest stars might not behold Her infidelity, and shaming cease to shine. M ALONE. You are wrong, wrong; it has not gone so far. Harold. Have you known this thing and not redressed it ? Malone. I have but seen their winks, their knowing looks, Their lover's nods and smiles. Harold. Heaven and earth ! Malone. For nature could not these conditions hide; Yet ever this poor merit has she had That such a crime seemed quite impossible. Harold. It cannot be^ is the fool's argument. The dotard's recompense for lost love, The cuckold's o[)iate, that to the quietude Of self-deception, lulls us when we dare not look. And know that what is is. Out on such logic ! Malone. But to be certain of their crime and yet 116 IMBROGLIO, Not have the proof of it is to be damned Without redress. O Harold, this it is That to my patience gives the marks of sufferance. Harold. To have the rank stench in the nose and yet Wait till the brain is j)oisoned unto death ? Malonk. No, Harold, but to hold our patience reined Until we have the proof of that degree That not a loop is left for her escape. In this be governed by my judgment, son. Harold. But she may catch the scent, and leave us held Betwixt the certainty of guilt and lack Of evidence — a life of hanging. Malone. There's the redemption of pollution, that once The film of chastity is pierced, no power In Heaven or earth can e'er restore it. Unchastity is a sore that never cures; The proof we seek will come uncalled, yet come. Harold. Oh, that we centers of a lawgirt world Alone should be transgressors of its laws ! (JLxit Harold.) Malone. At night, did he not say ? — in the park — Clandestine meeting — begging dishonor ! — IMBROGLIO, 117 What means this ? Oh, if she be false to me ! — What do I care ? — And yet, that is a lie Told to me by myself, — for all the mines In the rich earth I would not have her false — With Bourne ? — the man I more than any hate — I am half convinced of it. His eyes, hair his — Oh, 'tis one thing to be false to one's wife. And another thing to have one's wife false ! Though I hate her as I do sin, and she Be ugly as an ape, dull as a worm. And tasteless as a stone, yet if she be False to me, she deserves a dozen deaths. This fellow Henchman is a subtle dog. He is under this, and would plot my wife Into crime and laugh at my discomfort. He shall explain this thing, and here he comes. Enter Henchman. Is my wife false to me ? Hknchman. S-s-s-h! certain, man, Unless you have esca])ed the common rule. Ma LONE. Are you a villain ? Henchman. If you think I am, Then to you I am. If you think I am not, Then to you I am not, for no one, sir. Is a liar, nor a thief, nor a villain Except as some one thinks him to be such. The reason is plain; will you hear it? 118 IMBROGLIO. Malone. Oh, you could reason a man into hell. Henchman. Yes, most men, without trouble; but trust me, I could never reason them out again. But what ails your holiness ? Malone. Is my wife false ? Henchman. The very incarnation of falseness, As you desired it. Malone. You lie, you villain! Henchman. First, you ask me if I am a villain, Now you answer yes, and add me liar. You hire me to prove the falseness of your wife, When 'tis done you pay me off in curses. You break my heart {laughing). Malone. Ha! Henchman. Hu! Malone. Devil ! Henchman. Devilettel IMBROGLIO. 119 M ALONE. Henchman! Henchman. Malonel Malone. Doctor, how came my wife — Henchman. By the grace of God. Malone. In the park at night — Henchman. You are answered. Malone. With this fellow Bourne ? Henchman. Oh, 'twas the foulest act in the whole play! Malone. Explain this, sir. Henchman. Thou me a little first. Malone. O doctor, have we not been bosom friends ? Has not my purse been open as my heart ? Henchman. Oh! now you melt me down. Edmund, come here — In confidence ? 120 IMBROGLIO, Malone. Yes. Henchman. Utter confidence ? And you will not allow your righteous wrath To vent itself on me for telling truth ? Malone. Oh, never! Henchman. Oh, beware of jealousy ! Edmund, has not your wife a handkerchief Spotted with strawberries? (Malone ^j,w;zi^). This day did I On such a one, see Maurice wipe his nose. {Exit Malone.) Oh, you will try again to make an ass of me ! I am not so old but I know grain from chaff. Yet whether he be honest in his villainy Or hypocritical in his virtue I am in doubt; for I have heard a lie Oft told becomes the truth to him who tells it. E71 ter C AT H E R I N 10 . Dear madam, if I may, I hope and trust Your interview with Maurice in the park Tended to your advantage. Catherine. As yet, sir, I do not know, Maurice will do for me What lies within his power. IMBROGLIO. 121 Henchman. Which God grant May be much. When do you next see Maurice ? Catherine. I know not, — when he shall see my husband. Henchman. What, did you not arrange the time ? Catherine. No, sir. Henchman. Nor the place either ? Catherine. I did not think of that. Henchman. Tut, tut! my injunctions have gone for naught. Catherine. Alas ! have I here made an error, sir ? Henchman. You should have set a time and place to get His answer. Catherine. Will you arrange it for me ? Henchman. With pleasure, madam; yet I think 'twere best — I have a kind of foolish backwardness In this affair, being but slightly known To Maurice — if you would simply write a note 122 IMBROGLIO. And let me take it to him, it would lend A kind of zest or impulse to his act — Make him dispatch it with more earnestness. Catherine. Why, so I will. {She sits to write.) Henchman. Slightly importune him, As that the time drags until you see him. Catherine. Heaven knows it has a moping pace. To-morrow night ? Henchman. At the same hour and place. And pray you, madam, pass a little further To the rearward of the garden house — The foliage there is denser. Catherine. Ah, doctor, How kindly you have always treated me. Henchman. Think not of me, dear lady; all my thoughts And services, though by old age enfeebled. Are as much at your command as though you were My sovereign queen and I your humblest servant. {Exit Henchman.) Enter Harold unobserved by Catherine. IMBROGLIO. 123 Catherine. O thou great Guardian of the world, To me be merciful, forgive my sins And to my mother's heart preserve my children's love. Here in the just hands of Heaven I place my cause. {Exit Catherine.) Harold. She has named Heaven her judge — a just Court. Shall I usurp the stern prerogative Of nature ? Is not a violated law Its own executor? Infinite Judge, Who can all mitigation see, shall I, Who am into confusion thrown to view A single point, and am but flesh and blood. At most her equal — shall I turn judge, And her presumptuously condemn to infamy ? May something not extenuate her guilt? A husband's coldness, her children's absence, The idleness of wealth, the heart's demands, — When nature strays shall nature's man condemn? — And, like a robber spotted in the act, Shall I, unwarranted, immure her, nor Let her these suspicious incidents explain ? Why, she is not unchaste, — 'twould make an end Of decency and murder modesty. Now I will call her back, lay bare my thought; Let her explain and set all things to right {going). Nay, I'll not do't, 'twould be indelicate; 124 IMBROGLIO, Why does she not herself make mention of it ? And yet I will recall her, and to her So distantly and indirectly speak That, being innocent, she shall not see My purpose, and being putrid guilty, Cannot conceal her guilt. Mother, mother ! Now I am not prepared to question her. Re-enter Catherine. Catherine. Harold, did you not call me ? Harold. Yes, mother, yes. {Aside) Heaven help me. — I know not how to broach it. Catherine. Harold, what can your mother do for you ? Harold {aside'). Why now, hear that — sure she is innocent. — Nothing, mother, nothing; I did not call. Catherine. You would speak, Harold, of your mother's grief. I know the gentle spirit you conceal. Harold f^aside). The very cunning of it. — O mother. My heart is sore. Catherine. Nay, is it not enough That I should grieve ? It will all come right. IMBROGLIO, 125 Harold. What think you, mother, of this thing called virtue ? Is it a substance; has it a being In itself apart from all utility Of time and place, surroundings and effects ? Or is it but a name, an airy ghost Culled from the visionary brains of fools. To fright the world from pleasure — how is this ? Catherine. Why, Harold, you know your mother is not versed In these great themes. Harold. 'Tis sure the chief sophism Of a brainless world to claim that any act Has virtue in itself? Catherine. I know not that. Harold. But if the time and circumstance be pat, Where lies the harm ? 'Tis done; 'tis deaf; all's well. Catherine. Sure I am mazed to know your meaning, son. Harold. But is there not a universal law Drawn from ten thousand years of life That bids defiance to empiric fools ? 126 IMBROGLIO. Catherine. Alas! your learning is beyond my grasp. Harold. Why look you here; is virtue not the essence Of a woman ? Catherine. It is her being's soul, The thing without which she would forfeit Heaven. Harold. But custom, mother, custom, nothing else. Had the world grown in loose licentiousness, To be unchaste would be most virtuous. Catherine. Why, Harold, you affright me with such words. Harold. Nay, mother, I was pretending, only. As the world waxed, unchastity has waned. Time was when men and women roamed like beasts; Came next the era when a humble man Would with a score of women be content, Or women with a dozen lovers; now — Mark how we advance! one man, one woman, Lovers none, — except it be the husband's friend. Of late the world has grown so monstrous good I hardly think there are above a score Of women on the earth who are not pure. IMBROGLIO. 127 Catherine. I cannot see, my son, how there is one. Harold. And yet I once saw one, and mark you well How outraged nature on her stamped his curse. The blush of innocence was painted out; The pretty eyes, which once for shyness Dared not lift their lids, into a steely glare Of brazen affrontery, were changed; And lips, which might have borne the early imprint Of a mother's kiss, had beastly commerce Sapped of all their meaning when she grinned a smile; And all her features so distorted were As she had gone to hell to make her visage up. Catherine. Oh, horrible! Harold. Yet see how chastity Does finer than a spider's silver web Upon a woman's visage draw his silken lines. Catherine. What think you, Harold, that you have spoken thus? Harold. I was thinking — I was thinking — thinking, Of my — father. Good-night, mother, good-night. I have some thoughts to think ere I retire. 128 IMBROGLIO, {He assists his mother hurriedly to the door.') {Exit Catherine.) Enter Henchman, unob sensed by Harold. Now either this be utter innocence Or the very cunning of practiced guilt, The which in action are twin born sisters. Mark how she shook when I described the bawd ! Yet one not guilty might have done that too. Why, look at her whole life of purity — Shall it not overweigh this ounce of doubt } It is a firmament of bright fixed stars, Whose light shall this suspicious meteor Extinguish never. She is not guilty. Henchman {aside). Wavering ? Then these be my arguments {holding up letters). (As Harold sees Henchman the latter pretends to attempt to conceal the letters in his pocket?) Harold. Henchman, what have you there ? Henchman. I ? Nothing, sir. Harold. Nothing, nothing ? Why, Henchman, should a man At the concealment of mere nothingness Make efforts such as these } You have something — IMBROGLIO. 129 I feel it — about — oh, heavens ! — about That woman. Give it me this instant. Henchman. I have nothing that is to your concern. Harold. It is a lie; you have that there concerns me In my birth, my life, my honor, my all. I saw letters but a short moment since, Which your attempt to hide convinces me I have a right to see, and now produce them. Henchman. Why, Heaven help me, are you void of shame ? Harold. Deliver them, or I will take them from you. Henchman. Are you my sovereign, I your subject bore, That you do dare command me in this way ? Tut! if you think so, you had better have At your address the means to execute Your mandate, as you speak so like a king. Harold. See you these hands.? Think you that they would pause At such a very pigmy as you are } Henchman. Boy, I have the age to be your father— Harold. I care not if you are old as Adam. 130 IMBROGLIO, Henchman. And though the white and black are mingled here- Harold. The letters. Dare you trifle ? Henchman. I have an oaken body — Harold. Henchman. I dare defend my rights. {They struggle for the letters,) Harold. It is my right. Henchman. Shame, shame! respect my age. Oh! oh! I am too old. Harold {taking the letter). Old man, forgive. Henchman. You have o'ercome me and taken the notes. I know not what they may contain, and 'twas For your sake I refused you sight of them. Now on your own head rest the consequence Of this rash act. Enter M alone. Oh ! oh ! I am near killed. IMBROGLIO, ' 131 Ma LONE. Why, what offense is here? Harold {reading the letter). Dear Maurice: The hours drag with a weary pace till I again shall see you. Meet me at the same time and place to-morrow night. — Catherine:. I will be there. — Maurice. There's the offense, sir, if you have the nose. Whence came these letters ? Whence came these letters.? Henchman. One from your mother — Harold. Hated appellate ! Use some other name. Henchman. Your father's wife — Harold. Nor that either — oh, world of sin ! — say she. Henchman {^picking up letters'). Then she — pure woman ! — who did write this one, Begged me to give it to your father's friend. And all unknowing that it held such vile Proposals, I took it to the gentleman. A certain mood with which he took and read it. An amorous blush that overspread his face As he perused and re-perused the letter, 132 IMBROGLIO. Roused my suspicions, and when he noted not I picked it up, intending to consign it To the flames. This is his answer; the two Speak for themsc-'ves; you know as much as I. {^Exit Harold.) Watch him close; for three nights he has not slept, And untold dangers live in such a brain. Re-e?iter Harold. Harold. There is no hell save earth, and devils none But wear clothes. Have you eyes that can behold The beasdy sight and not be blotted out? Malonk. We must prevent it. Harold. And live suspended Betwixt the past crime and a future chance. Let it go on — there's justice in our course — We will be there and trip them ere the act. {Exeunt omnes.) IMBROGLIO. 133 ACT V. Malone's country place; a park ivith a fiower- house; night. Enter a Man and a Woman. Man. It's curious how we were brought here from the city so suddenly. Woman. Tin half afraid. Do you know where we are? Man. Since we left the station in the carriage I can't tell exactly, but 1 know about the place. Enter Henchman. Henchman. What's that? — and what's that in me? To walk through the park — sure, 'tis nothing — but to walk with this thing by me 1 An infamous undertaking ! I'll quit it here. Avaunt, you devil 1 They were to be here at this hour. Man. Halloo! 134 IMBROGLIO, Henchman. Are you the man and woman who were sent from the city to meet a man here? Man. "^Ve were sent here by some one that we didn't know to meet a man. Are you the man, and what do you want ? Henchman. I want you to help me play a joke, ha ! ha ! ha ! — a devilish good joke ! Man. Well, for the best joke in the world we can't come here for nothing. Henchman. Certainly not. Here's a twenty for you each. Man. That's good ; now what's your joke ? Woman. It must be awful funny for so much money. Henchman. Ha! ha! — Well you see, my dear, I am one of those fellows who never cares for money when he can play a good joke. I am here visiting a country friend of mine — a regular dolt — and I have sworn to him that this house is haunted. {Laughing^ Man and Woman. Haunted ! IMBROGLIO. 135 Henchman. Yes; has spirits, ghosts, in it, you know. Man. Why, who the devil believes in ghosts ? Woman. Well, I'm not so sure. Henchman. Why, nobody believes in ghosts, of course. There's the joke of it, and that's why I have brought you here to play the joke. I've told my friend that I've seen the spirit of a man and woman in this house at night, and have laid him a bet that he can see them here to-night. Ha! ha! — you see? Man. Ha ! ha ! We're to be the ghosts, ha ! ha ! Henchman. Not so loud, you might raise the ghosts. Now I want you to put on these wigs and things {the man and woman put on disguises^ which make them resemble Bourne and Catherine) and then go into this house. By-and-by you will see a man and woman pass this way, and following them will be two men with me. When you see me lift my cane, so, you woman raise the window, put your head out and cautiously look around; then get back and put the window down. After that you sit in his lap — 136 IMBROGLIO, Woman. Is that the way ghosts do ? Henchman. That's the joke of it, for I've told this country lout that these ghosts act that way. When we look in at the window scream and run out the back way and make to the carriage quickly. Man. Capital joke this. Henchman. S-s-s-h ! Go in now. {They go in and Henchman locks the door^ The moon does muffle up her face to view An act so vile. Ha, 'tis a mucky deed ! — If I were out of it the wealth of earth Could not again entice me into it. {Exit Henchman.) Enter Bourne and Ckvwy.v.y^'s.^ followed at a distance by Malone, Harold and Henchman. Bourne and Catherine pass around the floiver-house by the door, which is so arranged that Harold cannot see it. Henchman lifts his cane and the Worlan raises the windoiv and follows Henchman's previous instructions. Henchman. Who would have thought her to have been so wise } IMBROGLIO, 137 Malone. That argues great experience. Harold. Oh, vile act ! Can they live ? Shall they live ? Shall they not die.? Malone. O Harold, let her conscience be her hangman. Death would to her be sweeter than remorse. {^They look in at the ivindo^v ; then Har- old suddenly tries the door ; screams in- side and exeunt Man afid Woman ; Henchman ^^-^///^j with Harold.) Henchman. Boy, boy, beware of rashness ! Harold. Let me go. Henchman. Help me, Malone ! Harold. Unloose me, sir; away! Malone. Have mercy on her. She is your mother. Harold. Justice demands death. Malone. 138 IMBROGLIO, Harold. 'Tis a beastly lie, — She is a harlot, and has lived too long. Oh, if you loose me not — Malone. Harold ! Harold ! Harold. Not though your arms were chains. Are you a man — Oh, shame, shame ! Where is your honor that you can On this act look and let the guilty live 1 Go boast of your dishonor, — away from me ! (^Breaks from them and exit?) Malone. He will kill them. Henchman. These are well on their way. If he escape the others 'tis a fortune. See ! they come, drawn hither by the noise. The time is yours ; now summon all your strength; Lay every nerve and muscle to your will. Wear you a face of thunder ; look fierce as hell, And when you strike leave terror in your wake ! So drive them hence, as out of Eden Jehovah drove the first great sinners. {Exit Henchman.) Enter Catherine and Bourne, running. Where was it ? IMBROGLIO, 139 Catherine. Bourne. Sure, near here. Catherine. 'Twas Harold's voice. He cried unloose jue, as though robbers had him. My husband ! Malone. How now, woman! throbs your heart? O Kate, that I should find you in this act! Catherine. Alas ! what act ? Malone. That vice should in such shape Enrobe itself! Bourne. Edmund, in Heaven's name — Malone. Oh, in the name of hell, rather say you ! Destroyer of my peace, my happiness. My home ; betrayer of my wife ; traitor To holy friendship's cause — you who for years Have lived upon my honor and my life — Catherine. Edmund, what mean you ? — I am stricken dumb. Malone. 'Tis time, 'tis time. O wretch unnamable ! 140 IMBROGLIO. Bourne. Sure you are mad, for this cannot be sport. Malone. The very cunning of a mind diseased — I am that fool who comes to beg of you The honor of my wife. I am grown old And my children need it. Can you not patch The rent made in a woman's virtue, piece up The broken fragments of a wife's honor, And to the husband make the scar unseen } Where is the honor of my wife ? Catherine. O Edmund ! Bourne. Thought I you sane, those words should be your last. Malone. The very thing : steal first the honor of the wife Then seek a pretext for the husband's murder. Here is my heart, come both of you and take The flesh, since you have stolen its immortal part. Oh, wring your hands as you have wrung my heart. Bourne. Mean you, Malone, I have betrayed your w ife } Malone. Witness the deliberate villainy ! The very hardened iciness of crime. Or do you mean to play upon the words } IMBROGLIO. 141 'Tis no matter if you say betrayed, Stolen, robbed, plundered or purchased, Honor, virtue, chastity or what not ; You have taken that which was neither mine Nor hers, nor any one's to give, but was A gift from Heaven, a loan at birth — To be returned at death — that without which A woman is a mass of rotten flesh — That you have stolen and left her what you see. B0U*RNE. Down on your knees ; for this gross insult beg The pardon of your wife, or else I kill you. Catherine. Hold ! stay ! Maurice, he is still my husband. Bourne. Am I a man, to see you so outraged ? Catherine. Mine honor's purity is not thus soiled. My fate is yonder and I fear him not. Malone. Out of my sight — you public shames, away ! Bourne. Ha ! public shames ! Catherine. Peace, Maurice, peace, — A word and I am gone — 'tis wondrous What a mighty calmness steals upon me. Edmund, I have endured your insults. 142 IMBROGLIO. Stood your taunts, by your disdain been withered, Crouched 'neath your formless charges and begged you Give them shape. — This, and more than tongue can tell, I have borne from you, hoping to win you back, And I as innocent of any crime As is the newest babe. It was the wife — The loving and obedient wife — Such as my mother taught me how to be, That bid me do all this. But now you have Impeached my chastity, and this shaft pierces Beyond the wife and strikes the woman, And 'gainst this last and heinous outrage Every atom of the woman in me Stands up in fierce rebellion. — Oh, witness thou Who art beyond the stars, how innocent I am ! — Enough. I leave you now as spotless As that day you took me as your wife. But going shall demand, if there be justice, In this world the rights which God has given me. {Exeunt Catherine and Bourne. ) Re-enter Henchman. Henchman. To dare to do the deed is one thing. x\ye. But to carve the bird through the joints — 'tis that, In faith, which tries the skilled anatomist. The devil bows and bids your holiness godspeed. Malone. Out. you dog ! IMBROGLIO, 143 Henchman. Dare you say so much ? Malone. Be gone ! Henchman. Ha ! ere the sun has tipped yon peaks with gold The wired spark shall to the globe's end have flashed Your infamy. Malone. Stay ! forgive me, Doctor. Henchman. Forgive, the devil ! Malone. But I meant it not. Henchman. Before you sleep to-night, put in this hand A hundred thousand dollar check on bank, Or, by my soul, I send you to perdition. Malone. So much } Henchman. Not a farthing less. Malone. Ah! I see. You are in some emergency for means. The check is yours. When one friend does re- fuse 144 IMBROGLIO, Another help, how meanly looks the act. Henchman. Indeed it does; and I have late observed How bad the old world is become, till now Virtue has laid aside her past white robe And wears the raiment of necessity, — Foul, tarnished garment, it makes the nose ill. Malone. Indeed, I greatly fear it is the case. i^Exit Malone.) Henchman. How unexpected fortune falls upon us! That his rash words have given me the chance To say the words at which I long have paused. This money in my hand, the devil take his cause. (^Exit Henchman.) Re-enter Catherine cmd Bourne. Bourne. No more, Catherine, no more. Catherine. I cannot go. It was the injured woman then that spoke; I am the wife and loving mother now. Maurice, will my children think my virtue gone.-* Heavenly powers, let them not think so! Madness is in that thought — I will go wild. I must look on my children ere I go; From their sweet lips the dear assurance have IMBROGLIO. 145 That they believe me pure. God in Heaven, Thou wilt not let me die and have them think I am unchaste ? O Father, let me live Till by some light from Heaven I prove How innocent I am. Bourne. Calmed be your mind — Catherine. They cannot think it, Maurice ? Bourne. No, no, no; You are their idol; your children worship you, And Nature's hand to your safe rescue coming. Will teach their love their mother's purity. Catherine. thank you, Maurice, — kind Heaven grant it. Alas ! to be discarded thus — turned out To go alone, or go along with him Who is with me accused of this foul crime, And make suspicion sure, — flee like a thief 1 know not where, in the dark, from my home; What crime is done that on me innocent This heavy visitation falls } Ah, me ! Bourne. Our innocence must be the armor of our course. Catherine. Our trust in Heaven. Fare thee well, Maurice, Till I see my children. Alas! that I Should like a traitor slink into my home And steal the kiss that should of right be mine. (^Exit Catherine.) 10 146 IMBROGLIO. Bourne. If it be true there is an unseen hand That guides the destiny of man, how stranger Than the world itself its movements are. 'Tis these that make me doubt; these snap the cord Of faith, making the universe an anarchy. Justice, hast thou no part in Divinity? {Exit Bourne.) Re-enter Harold followed J)y Catherine. Catherine (aside). 1 saw him come this way; yes, 'tis Harold Harold {soliloquizing). My mother? — no, not she, yes, even she — Even she whose labors gave to me birth — O God ! O God ! become a harlot ! Even she who suckled me at her breast — O murdered virtue ! how could any one Who from her body has sustained a life. Make of that body uses such as these ? And after five and twenty years to turn — Stopped be my breath that I speak not the word. 'Tis a curse — a curse of hell upon me That my poor heart can bear this and not burst. — When from her body the lascivious Had been robbed by age to turn a lewd ! When at her feet the world's wealth lay, and she Stripped of the shabby raiment of necessity That e'en the veriest bawd can blazon To the world as an excuse. — What is it ? IMBROGLIO. U7 A moment plunge from purity to this — After an age of virtue? — A fool's thought ! 'Tis the remembrance of a hot young love — This monster serpent was not born to-day. It has — it has— it has lived before ! And I — I — who am I ? Who is my father ? My face, these eyes, this nose, this mouth, these cheeks, And every lineament proclaims me bastard! Catherine. Harold ! Harold. Heavenly love, are your prayers said ? Where is your lover ? Catherine. I have no lover, Harold. Harold. Do you see yon hag } She was sent down there For lying. There's another; mark how she writhes ! She sold her body as a passion slave, And damned her soul. Yes, but see yonder wretch; She tore the family altar up And used its cloth to light the fire of lust. Made bastards of her children, her husband Drove to the grave, and flung her offspring out To the ravishment of wolves. 148 IMBROGLIO. Catherine. O Harold, I am not guilty! Harold. What hellish power Supports you in those words, when one short moment hence You shall behold the yawning depths of hell ? Think it ! one minute more and you shall stand — Your sins labeled upon your naked soul — Before that Judge who never errs. Can you Then say, / have committed no adultery ? Catherine. My soul has not that sin which makes me fear To meet my God — 1 am so innocent. Harold. O monstrous sin that can so stand undaunted In the face of Heaven ! Yet I'll not do't — Each rivulet that stained these hands would grow A bloody river on my soul, or rise Each one a snake, to fright me into hell For safety's sake — O coward that I am ! Catherine. You do not believe me guilty. Say it, O my son ! Harold. Son, son ! True you did^bear me. But can you name my father? Oh, cringing shame ! Remorse, if thou canst eat into a mothers heart. Here is thy food. IMBROGLIO, 149 Catherine. Oh! Harold. Who is my father ? Or, if you know not, say it, and I'll go Find him by his looks in the public ways. Catherine. Oh, do not kill me with these dagger words ! Harold. Avaunt, you thing ! your manner owns your guilt. Catherine. If there be any dot upon my life — Harold. 'Tis well if it be less than ulcer all. Catherine. Harold, can you think that this poor frame — Harold. This sacred tenement of flesh. Catherine. Oh, me ! Harold. 1 will hear your reason. Catherine. This poor body That gave you birth, that fed your life, And watched you grow from tiniest babyhood, That for so many years followed your father 150 IMBROGLIO, Through sickness and through poverty, could now Commit so great a crime against her God, Her children, husband, and against herself? Harold. Who could do acts like these, could say this, too. And it affects me not. I do not think I know. Catherine. Harold, I could have stood your father's taunts, His hatred, his disdain, his accusations; I could have borne the flings the world might cast Upon me, the smarting slaps from papers. The cruel gossip, the lies and calumnies; But to have you, my son, whose words come only From the deep convictions of your honest heart. Accuse me, your mother, who so loves you That she would give her life for yours, of lack Of chastity — O God, what have I done To cause this forfeit of my children's love ? Harold. You can make me weep — my eyes are used to tears. Catherine. O Harold, throw aside these shady doubts. And clearly peer into my life and heart. Come to me, Harold; look into my face. Do you see shame or guilt there } Do these lips Speak to you lies? Do these eyes look to you lies? Do I so act as one whose chastity is gone ? IMBROGLIO. 151 Harold. If I had not seen it — Catherine. Nay, but seen what ? If there be any speck upon my life — Harold. Why, what a slave am I ! — eyes damning eyes, Judgment with sense at war, reason and love Contesting — the dust of every passion's wind. Here is my only footing: I have seen Your guilt, yet spared your life — leave me forever. Enter Richard and Helen. Catherine O cruel, cruel son ! cannot these tears Plead with you, Harold.^ Let me upon my knees Before you, as you a little child were wont To come to me with all your little woes, And beg you do not think me gone to shame. Harold. O God ! away ! your presence makes me think Of naught but death, damnation, hell — away ! Helen. Oh, what is this } Richard. Harold, are you gone mad, That you thus dare insult my mother ? Harold. Cease, boy, you know not what you prate on. 152 IMBROGLIO. Richard. Where is that filial love that often you Have chidden me with lack of? Harold. Dare you question ? Helen. For shame, Harold, for shame to act so ! Harold. You too ? well, well, go follow in her track. Richard. Beware, Harold ! this lady is my mother. Catherine. Richard! Harold! Harold. Go keep her company. Helen. Fear you not God's vengeance to dishonor thus Your mother ? Harold. She is herself dishonored. Richard. Retract that ! Harold. Why, you puny imp, begone ! Richard. Harold, I brand you the paid defamer Of your own mother for your father's gold. IMBROGLIO, 153 Harold. Ha ! boy, I will tear you into pieces. Richard. If you can. Catherine. Hold, my sons {goes between iheni). Harold. Accursed name! Come on, Richard. Catherine. You shall not fight. Richard. Come on. Harold. I have a dagger that was meant for me — Richard. I fear you not. Catherine. I am your mother, both, And by that right command you to desist. Harold {bewildered). Richard— my father's gold — did you not say My father's gold bribed me ? I was dreaming. Father! father! — there they are— Oh, shame, shame ! Let it go on — I will be there with you. {Exit Harold.) Re-enter Malone on one side, Bourne on the other. 154 IMBROGLIO. Malone. Are you still here? Hell fattens on your stay — Get you gone, ere you have done a murder. Catherine. I am going now. Richard. Going, mother.? where.? Catherine. I do not know — your father drives me out. Richard. Why, then, he drives me out. Helen. And Helen, too. Re-enter Harold. Harold. Go get you to your beds — the night needs rest, The world is cracked and nature is at war. Come, ruin's dogs, and feast on this discord. The world's a graveyard; life's but a nightmare, And hell awaits us all — go to your posts. (^Exeunt Harold and Malone 07ie side, the rest on the other. ^ [In an age in which the patrons of the drama demand that their feel- ings be not too rudely shaken up, I am compelled to offer some sort of an apology for the introduction of a scene so wild as this. My purpose, of course, is to forcibly illustrate the breaking up of the family state, a civil war in the sovereignty of home. Those who can view this through the eyes of the chief character, and see in it something akin to the cracking up of a world, may appreciate my motive though they con- demn the execution. — The Author.] IMBROGLIO. 155 ACT VI. SCENE. — Malone's house hi San Francisco; a room. Enter Harold and Henchman opposite. Henchman. Harold, you are looking very ill; 1 fear me you are not so well to-day. Harold. Indeed ! Now what traitors our feelings are; And how warped our judgment on our own looks. I am that silly fool who courts himself For a beauty. Oh, I am grown the slave Of the mirror, and come to think myself The first of charmers. Henchman. I am glad to see How light your spirits are. Harold. Oh, heavens, yes! My spirits have that leaden buoyancy — 156 IMBROGLIO, And yet they have a most uncertain quality; That sometimes when I laugh I weep — as 'twere They slip the knot and fall a thousand miles Into the ocean of my soul. Henchman. For this You must take something. Harold. Indeed, I must, sir; Yet I know not what it should be, unless It be my life. Henchman. Tut, tut! some medicine. Harold. Sir, a little sport in the way of a conundrum: Can you tell me the greatest trade in the world ? Henchman. I have not thought. Harold. Why, 'tis that of giving medicine. Henchman. The proof? Harold. Its deeds. Henchman. How so } IMBROGLIO. 157 Harold. Why, you have outwitted the Almighty, and nature has succumbed before your efforts. Once men had sound minds in healthy bodies, and died, like other beasts, of old age. Now note the end of your herculean task: a sound mind, a healthy body, or a death by old age, is a museum wonder. Henchman. I think you lay too much to bad doctoring. Harold. Very well, very well, father it where you will, it's all one to mankind. There's not one of God's human creatures in a thousand but is deformed, crippled, or illshapen. Henchman. You are too sweeping. Harold. Not a whit. Take the face: the eyes— bleared, bold, squint, meaningless, villainous, shrewd, thriv- ing — a hundred such to one that's fit to look on; the nose — stub, hook, or crook, an outrage on the face; the mouth— flabby, open, gaping, loose, lascivious, long-lipped, short-lipped, grinning, or villainously taut; the head malformed and ugly generally. Henchman. Hold! 158 IMBROGLIO, Harold. Yourself. Look at the rest of your man! The body — fat, blubbery, or lean and cadaverous; dwarfs and giants; hunchbacks and swaybacks and deformities ad infinitum. Oh, when you see one man or woman perfect formed, behold a million malformed, illshapen eyesores I And where's your being but has some pain — a weak stomach, bad liver, disordered kidneys, aching bones, de- cayed lungs, affected hearing, fading sight? Lord, what a thing has man degenerated into — a sickly, illshapen man of dirt. Out on it ! the world had best begin again ! Henchman. But, Harold; you look at the outer man only — his mechanism merely. Behold the inner man, the mighty mind, the pure heart, the contrite — Harold. Sightless old idiot! Your inner man — your mental, moral, spiritual man ! Why, this thing that covers us is a perfect paragon of beauty by the side of the hideous devil that lurks inside. Out on your inner man ! He is a very mass of fallacy, corruption, dishonesty, and hypocrisy. His judgment — the spoiled instinct of the brute; his will — an arbitrary despot; his love — the coacher of his lust; his hate — the dictator of his interest; feelings, desires all, but purveyors to his appetites. Oh, your inner man is the most monstrous criminal IMBROGLIO, 159 in the world — a committor of all the crimes on the statute every day, a murderer when ruffled; an adulterer at sight of a woman; a grasping thief each minute; a secret blasphemer; a notorious liar, lying even to himself; and as for that other class of crimes called moral errors — hypocrisy, in- sinuation, and their thousand sisters and brothers — why, God save me! your inner man lives on them. Oh, your inner man is a fine villain, a sharp, shrewd villain, a villain who commits most of his murders, adulteries, and other crimes, in thought; for, mark you, his outer accomplice is as big a coward as your inner man is a villain ! What a splendid thing, indeed, is your man, your inner and outer deformity and outrage on nature ! Henchman. You look too much on the dark side of life. Harold. Life! what is life! The millionth hap of chance; The breathing stone; the cackle of a clod; • Earth lust endowed ; a feeling energy To sport a moment in the wind of time And then go back to nothing! Oh, woeful day That nature capped her work and stung Into unfeeling earth the power to suffer! Henchman. You see it through the dark glass of your own eye. Harold. Are you here.^ Oh, very well, very well, I would be alone; my mood is inward. 160 IMBROGLIO. {Exit Henchman.) And this is life, — the thing for which we're^born, — The output of divinity ? Why, no — Why, surely no — a fallacy of fools! Yet in a drop of life what pleasures thrive; To quaff the possibilities of which Outweighs the ending of its pains. 'Tis this — For this — we make our minds and bodies slaves, That lends tenacity to earthly stay. And cries a halt to e'en the crippled, blind, Despised misery and cracked old age. But what have I — besmerched by infamy, All purpose dead and hope beyond a hope. To hold me to a life that I despise } The fear of death ? a groundless apprehension ! Death is the well man's terror, nothing more {takes a dagger in his hand). 'Tis said, 'tis done, 'tis over, and oblivion Like a shroud falls on existence — Charlotte! Enter Charlotte. Charlotte. Harold, are you alone ? Harold. Alone, alone, — Even to the exclusion of myself. Charlotte. No, Harold, not so lonely; there is one Whose love, though it be sister's love, has yet That constant quality it rivals life. IMBROGLIO. 161 Harold. Oh, you avenging powers which sometimes burst Your wrath upon the wicked in their deeds,— If ever scornful finger point at this pure head, If ever viper whisper in her ear, If ever eye unchastely look at her, You forked fiery messenger of God, Burn up the body ere the act is done, And to perdition send his cursed soul ! Charlotte . O Harold ! Harold. If you are honest, fear not. Charlotte. You would not think me otherwise than pure .? Harold. No ; for the world I would not think so. O you minx, you can hug, kiss, and betray A man all in a minute. Charlotte. My brother ! Harold. 'Tis so ; for once — O Heaven, a hundred times ! — My mother came to me, her eyes o'erbrimmed With tears so sacred — yes, she — O God! — even she — Her visage primed so full of innocence It had drawn pity from a stone; and tlien — 11 162 IMBROGLIO. Even then — when on her knees she prayed Heaven To guard her from pretended wrong — O shame! Her inner eye was searching for a place, Her mind, that prayed, was planning out a way, To play her husband false. Charlotte. Would I were dead — Harold. It kills my tongue to tell you, as it does Your ear to hear this. Leave me now, Charlotte. Companionship with me has something deadly In it, that smothers up the love of life. I know the heart that throbs within your breast; It is my own; I can feel it in you Tugging and straining and trying to burst The solid flesh that holds it prisoner. {^Exii Charlotte.) There's sure a god in life that guides our acts. And stayed my hand which but a moment since Had hurried off my life and unprotected left My sister in the world. Oh, 'tis the curse Of fools, this thinking too much on themselves! Enter Hortens Technor. HORTENS. This is Harold, son of Edmund Malone? Harold. Indeed! Is it.^ Ah, madam, you little know Of what surpassing wisdom you are possessed. Who are you ? IMBROGLIO, 163 HORTENS. One, sir, who knows your father. Harold. Wise, very wise, mysteriously wise! I would change places with you, when I think You would be less informed than you are now. HORTENS. I have some knowledge of your parents' troubles. Harold. Ah ! think not that you surprise me, madam; Being a modest looker-on in the world, I have observed this characteristic Of your sex: that you take on the knowledge Of others' troubles as though the bearing Of the knowledge helped to bear the troubles. HORTENS. Peace, sir! Though in my manner there may lurk Suspicion — Harold. Pardon, madam, in your air There is a certain and majestic grace That makes, me think that you are carved from stone — Or should be — or should be — for flesh is weak. Hortens. I have come here as your friend — Harold. Ah, indeed! Good, friendly madam, friends are like gnats; 164 IMBROGLIO. In our summer time they swarm about us, But in our winter era, I am told, These insects do prefer the foulest dirt I'o our poor cor.vany. Yes, good madam, Friends are as abundant in this great world As other creeping things, and yet you might, With the finest comb, scrape the universe And ne'er catch one. Does not the homeliness Of my figures make you in love with them ? HORTENS. There is a kinship in our feelings there Which somewhat robs the language of its sting. I am here to help you and am not deterred. Harold. Really, your kindness is excessive; One of a mean and gross, suspicious turn. Which, Heaven helping, nature gave me not — Oh, I am soft as water, pliable As dough, but point your finger at my head And I will think your thoughts; yet, as I say, One tinctured with suspicion might have thought You had another object in this visit. HORTENS. I have seen the day those words had cost you ; But now I am so humbled in mine own Esteem, I have no motive in my thoughts Except to prove myself an honest woman. Harold. An honest woman? Now Heaven preserve you! IMBROGLIO. 165 How desolate and lonesome this world must seem. Die, lady, die, and I will have erected To your memory a monster monument In the most public place on this broad earth. A stately, solid column it shall be, O'er-topping all the petty works conceived^ — So tall that it shall do obeisance To the sun as o'er the earth his daily Concourse sweeps, and call the world to notice. You on the top, worked by the finest sculptor Of the age, shall stand, scorning the lustful earth, And converse holding none save with the stars. And yet you shall be made of hardest stone, Lest e'er immortalized you fall; for once — I knew a woman once, who fell when she Had all the props of earth to hold her up — woman, if that cold face belie you not. If you were but above the bribing power Of wealth, by beauty unseducible, Unswerved by lust, by honor only moved, 1 would translate you to the clouds and cry To all the world. Behold^ a woman has been born! Nay, note me not, — I am that rumbling fool Who follows o'er the marshy earth a spark, A fleeting nothing, that lives but in my brain, Till sickened nature calls me to a stop, And cries. Thou fool! Who are you, madam? speak. What want you? I have other things to do. HORTENS. You do my sex injustice. ^66 IMBROGLIO, Harold. Well, well, well. HORTENS. I am not the being you suppose me, Nor ye so bad as you might think me. Harold. To your theme. Hortens. My name is Hortens Technor. Harold. You should have been a Greek, and made of stone. Hortens. I am here to save your mother. Harold. Madam, You should go save the heathen. Hortens. To save her From an outrage cowardly and infamous. Harold. A very cunnmg and well-spoken lie. Hortens. May I speak? Harold. If you tell no lies. Go on; Though, pardon madam, my ears are crammed With such discord they may not hear you well. IMBROGLIO, 167 HORTENS. I, too, have had my wrongs. These I might store Down in my soul's deep solitude to sleep; But on my wrongs another woman's rights Repose; and here I swear, in telling this, My solitary motive is to lift From your unspotted mother that dark cloud With which two scoundrels have enveloped her. Harold. An object laudable and plausible, Yet methinks it sounds too well committed. HORTENS. May I speak? Harold. Conditioned as before. HORTENS. On the occasion of your father's visit To this city, when first his golden wealth Revealed him to the wondering world, I met him; He loved me from the first. Harold. If that be false, It has the merit of some interest. HORTENS. His honest way of wooing caused no thought That he was other than a single man. His hotly pressed affection by degrees Grew on me till at length I loved him With all the ardor of a nature deep. If not impulsive. 168 IMBROGLIO, Harold. I cry you pause ! — The unknown quantity in wedded life, The X in the equation of our married state. — Ha! you mistress — HORTENS. By heavens you wrong me ! Harold. Go, get you to your brothel — HORTENS. You wrong me — I am not wicked, as my acts will show. Harold. Then get to Heaven, or you will soon be. HORTENS. Alas ! you are mad to talk so. Harold. Alas! Are there no fathers left to prey upon, No families whole to break and quarter? HORTENS. I knew not he was married till too late. Harold. There's some redemption for you in that fact- Why, who am I, that have a mother like you, That I dare rail so loud at your disgrace ? IMBROGLIO. 169 HORTENS. I say you wrong me there; I loved him With the warranty of love, not lust Harold. I have it so; you loved him; he loved you; You knew not he was married — the tale drags. HORTENS. Then burst the meteor of his marriage On my cloudless sky — Harold. I am not critical. HORTENS. Post haste I charged him with his infamy, But his protesting love and cunning lie, Drove off determination from her throne And sat a foul usurper there. He said — Meanwhile heaving a thousand broken sighs — That his wife had broken her marriage vows, And that he was about to institute Proceedings for divorce; that for my love He wished it ended before I knew it, And when 'twas over we should be united. I listened, doubted, but love o'ercame me, And I believed him. Harold. And like the fable Of the cat and monkey — 170 IMBROGLIO. ' HORTENS. O, hear me, sir! 'Twas but a night ago he came to me Deep flushed with wine, and either from that cause, Or from that other one which makes a man Tell to a woman things which he would not To his own mind confess, with raillery He told me that a certain Doctor Henchman, Yourself, and he, had seen the faithlessness Of your mother, and the divorce would soon Be granted. Harold. On, on, on — stop not on that I HORTENS. The boldness of the act and its relator Abashed me, and led me on to discourse On the depravity of such a thing; Saying, above all things it passed wonder How any woman could to him be faithless. This seemed to touch him in a tender point, For straight a solemn aspect overcame His raillery; then he paused; then wavered; vVnd then, with a shrewd cunning in his eye. He winked, and said he would confess to me — To only me, for that in me he had Such confidence he knew I would not tell it, That it was naught but talk and balderdash About his wife's unfaithfulness to him. IMBROGLIO. 171 Harold. Oh, if I have wronged her, may Providence Put out these eyes to never see her more! — Woman, let what you speak be true or die. HORTENS. So is it word for word. And more, he said That the appearance of your mother's guilt Had been produced by this man Henchman, To furnish evidence for the divorce. Harold. This is a lie; I saw it all myself. Hortens. Nay, hold, and I will tell you of that, too. At such tremendous infamy I grew Indignant, and formed the resolution There and then to save your mother from it; To which end I gave him good encouragement To tell me all, with a pleased mien my purpose Well concealing. Then he related to me The dreadful story of that awful night When he led you, his son — O sovereign shame ! — To look into the window of some house There to behold your mother and the man. Harold. O kill, do not refresh my memory! Hortens. Wait, sir, — 'twas not your mother that you saw. Nor Bourne, but two masked bawds by Hench- man's hand Cunningly disposed there to deceive you. 172 IMBROGLIO. Harold. Go on, liar; tell me I am not here; Tell me the world is not; dispute my being; Show that the sun is but a red-hot pot, By the blowing of the cook's breath kept so. I am a little baby, to be told Of giants, goblins, fairies, devils, gods. — Come, be my nurse, fair lady, sing a song. HORTENS. And unto this my fair intentions come. Harold. Oh, now, if she be pure — HORTENS. And she is pure. Harold. What depth of hell can my accursed soul Find fit for punishment?- — Dare I again Behold her, see her piteous face ? — Oh, hers were tears which might have melted stone. Moved trees to weep, or anything save me I Hortens. She will forgive you. Harold. Oh, never, never! Hortens. I know ^he will — IMBROGLIO. 173 Harold. You know she will ? — Why, then, You come from her to work my feelings up. HORTENS. I never saw her. Harold. Away, away ! This is another scheme to murder truth. — I have too long been but the sport of plots, And whipped about by every wind that blows. HORTENS. sir, if there be any test of honesty Put me to it, and if I fail, then rest Upon me everlasting infamy. Harold. Will you face my father and say these things ? Hortens. 1 will face him, or any man, or place. Harold. Then I will do't. — These things can be no worse Than they are now. Madam, take yonder room; Anon I will explain my purpose to you. i^Exit Hortens.) Now will I send for them and fetch them all So facing one another as shall try Their several honesty of purpose. {Exit Harold.) 174 IMBROGLIO. Enter Henchman with a pocket book. Who would not rather have a hundred thousand dollars in his pocket, than twice that sum and have his body locked in jail ? Ah! my little bank notes, how arc you ? Henchman, come into Court ! — Henchman away in Germany among the mysteries. Henchman, come into Court ! — Henchman smiling at the sphynx. Henchman, come into Court ! — Hench- man snoozing in the land of Budda. Ah! my wiley lawyer, fare you well, My carpet bag is packed and I'm off to — Ciermany. Enter Glasco. CiLASCO. Is Malone in ? In where ? Henchman. (il.ASCO. Is Malone at home ? Henchman. That depends on the meaning of the word home. Glasco. Is Malone here } Henchman. Go ask his valet; if he knows not, try his harlot. Enter Malone. Malone. Sir, I would I had a better heart to bid you we! come. IMBROGLIO. 175 Henchman (Jiis handkerchief to his eyes). Sir, I would I had a better heart to bid you— farewell. Glasco. Your wife has answered your petition for divorce, and I have called to talk with you concerning it. Malone. It was very kind of you to come here. {^Exeunt Malone and Glasco.) Henchman. Oh ! he will charge you for it, never fear. {Exit Henchman.) Re-enter Harold and Hortens. Hortens. Will you not say what you expect of me } Harold. I have not dared allow my expectation bloom, But have nipped off each tender shooting bud And planted it all in soil most sterile. But should I tell you that of everything Which I would have you do, it would be this: Prove, O prove my mother that pure angel I was wont to think her ere damnation came. Hortens. To do this is the end and not the means. I thought you had laid out a course for me. 176 IMBROGLIO. Harold. You are the actress, woman, — not I; And howsoever good my plan might be, If you fail in the actins; it is naught. I have provided here a little instrument Of man's first inventive genius typical {^produces « dagger), HORTENS. O sir! Harold. What! shudder and draw back from this? Listen ! If all the men this litde devil And his brothers, long and short, have taken oflf Were in one mighty heap piled up, they'd make A pyramid of human skeletons Piercing the skies. Booming, noisy cannon They have made ashamed, and the smaller guns Hold but a lot in this great master's graveyard. And look at its bright and glistening sides. — Is it not wonderful how man can take The black and shapeless metal from the earth And make a thing of such exquisiteness ? How sharp its edges, that the keenest eye Scarcely can see them; and that little point ! Is it not a wonderful instrument Possessing a most wonderful record For killing kings, betrayers, seducers, And men in general ? — For, mark you well, When this blade cuts through the heart or the lungs, Or skull, or rips open the intestines IMBROGLIO. 177 Of a man, not all the quackery invented Can scarcely save him. What, do you draw back From such an honest, unassuming thing ? HORTENS. I am a woman, sir, and until now Am unaccustomed to such sights and words. I pray you nothing you expect from me Shall have in common anything with this. Harold. I did it but to try your honesty. Begone before you add the crime of failure To dishonesty and make a laughing stock Of me. HORTENS. I swear that I am honest, sir, Yet in my honesty but womanly. I never thought of taking life, which has A certain horror in it makes me shudder. Harold. No, woman, I would not have you, for the world, Crimson your hands with human blood, much less The sacred blood that courses in my veins. — Partly therein to test you have I done this, But ofttimes feigning force elicits truth. HORTENS. I see the import of your thought, and will With all my better judgment act upon it {takes the dagger). 178 IMBROGLIO. Harold. I like your looks ; — retire to yonder room, And when you hear me strike upon this stand, Enter and conduct you as you will. HORTENS. Sir, I would I might be more acquainted How I am to act in this strange meeting. Harold. If you be honest, you will act aright; Be guided by the moment's inspiration. (^Exit HORTENS.) time, from thy portentous womb What monster may these moments hence Not bring to birth ? No good can come, For either way lies infamy. Quiet, my soul, my mother comes. Enter Catherine, Bourne, Richard, and Helen. Catherine. Harold! Harold. No, madam, not another word; 'Twas for another that I sent for you. Bourne. What want you with me that you bring me here? Harold. In good time I hope you may find out. Behind yonder screen are places for you; 1 pray you take them and abide events. IMBROGLIO. 179 Bourne. As for myself, sir, you can see me here. Harold. Oh, be not presumptuous ; had I desired Especially to see you, I had found you. Bourne. Indeed you might ; I have not hid. Catherine. Maurice ! Richard. Harold, something is very strange in this. Helen. I know it can impart no good to us. Harold. Well, well, do as I bid you, or retire. Catherine. Have patience, Maurice; fear not my children. — No sparrow falls except God will it so. Harold, we will do your bidding, and trust To Providence for our protection. {They go behind the screen). Enter Henchman. Harold. Doctor, is my father disengaged? Henchman. He is in consultation with his lawyer. 180 IMBROGLIO, Harold (aside). The fortune of the hour. — Remain here, sir. {Exit Harold. Henchman. There was meaning in that, Remain here, sir — Remain ? — Some villainy is stewing here. How deadly calm his manner was !— Remain ? I think that should be spoken, run away {going). Re-enter Harold, M alone and Glasco. Malone. What want you, Harold, with us in such haste ? Harold. In short — nay. Doctor, pray you do not go. Henchman. My presence here — Harold. Nay, I would have you stay, — In short, to hold some counsel with you all Touching the matter of your impending suit. Not that the subject is a pleasant one, But since to meet and fight it we are compelled, 'Twere best we be prepared against the tricks Of the opposing counsel. What answers Your wife to your petition for divorce ? Malone. O Harold, I would we might avoid it ! Harold. Stuff, sir, — be rnan, not child; what says she.? IMBROGLIO. 181 Glasco. She denies her guilt and cross-complains against him For divorce upon the ground of cruelty. Harold. The very boldness of a denial Such as that covers one with amazement. What hope has she to miss the proof Of her repeated criminality } Malone. Harold, I pray, do not refer to it; It wrings my heart, and heaven knows how glad Would I be here to end it all forever, Did such a course not bring such infamy — Such foul infamy — upon my children. Harold. Sir, if you have not more manhood in you Than to talk of letting such dishonor Pass unnoticed, condoned, forgiven, I shall be justified in classing you Among the apes, gratefully thanking God My parentage is doubtful. Full, complete, s the evidence of her adultery. Catherine. O God ! no, no, no. Harold. What now; spies .^---what's here? {He knocks the screen auer.) 182 IMBROGLIO, By heavens, the very criminal themselves ! {strikes table.) Infamy, thou has reached thy highest tide When such things be. Enter Hortens. Malone. Hortens! why are you here? Harold. The uninvited guest that spoils our sport ! {Aside) Now let them work it out ; it's not my play. Hortens. The disappointment is most agreeable; I was afraid I had escaped your memory. Harold (aside). The start is fair. Catherine. Amazement strikes me dumb. Who are you, lady ? Maurice, who is she ? Bourne. Till now I never saw her. Harolj) (aside). Very well. Hortens. Fear not, I am, none would harm you, madam. But have come here to help you if you will. Well, have you speech, sir? (To Malone). IMBROGLIO, 183 Henchman {io Malone). Who is the woman ? Malone. I know her not. Harold. Ha! Henchman. I am a coward, Else a moment since you called her Hortens. Harold. Well said, old fool ; I heard as much myself. Hortens. So heard you all, and then he spake the truth, But this last moment mysteriously Has blotted me from out his memory. 'Tis possible, since he confessed to me Your villainous attempt to ruin Yonder woman, he has good reason To forget me. Harold (aside). See, how she strikes him home ! Henchman. I see it all ; you have ruined your cause By making a priest of your mistress. Hortens. Go, you hireling! 184 IMBROGLIO. Henchman {to Hortens). I have no case with you. Confessed to her ? Oh, you old imbecile ! — I would rather be a dog than a fool. {Exit Henchman.) Glasco. To entice a lawyer in a scheme so vile ! {Exit Glasco.) Harold. Let them be gone, — the whole includes the parts. What shall you say to this ? Malone. That all she says Is but a lie. Hortens. O you coward — liar! Catherine. Alas, that I have lived to see this day! Malone. O Harold, to be rich is to be cursed With such as these. They are the vampires vile That such the blackmail blood of all rich men, — Believe her not. Hortens. Do you see this dagger? Catherine. Stop! Richard! Harold! Look to her, Maurice! IMBROGLIO. 185 HORTENS. No, do not touch me, for my cause is here. Responsibility is overweighed in this. Catherine. O spare his life ; 'tis I am wronged, not you. HORTENS. Yes, you are wronged in me, and I in you. And for our common wrongs I will kill you. Malone. And this must be the payment for my love. Harold. Enough, enough, he has confessed enough ! Hortens. Madam, my work is done. (^Exit Hortens, hurriedly.) Enter Charlotte. Harold (Jo Catherine). And you are pure! Catherine. Oh, miserable of women that I am, — The day that proves me honest stabs me thus. Malone. Charlotte, they are all against me. Angel Of my life ! do not desert me, Charlotte. Harold. Is there no error here — no cunning scheme To draw my weakness out ? Where shall I look ? 186 IMBROGLIO, On you {to Catherine), and blind my eyes with purity ? On you {to Malone), and numb my soul with perfidy ? On me, and see the ghost of frailty, The poor deceived and tortured cause of this ? God, how useless seems my useless life ! Yet, if by any mighty act — some deed Surpassing human strength or bravery, Some action godlike in its virtue, 1 could convince you of my overwhelming love. And show that naught but honor has inspired My every word and thought and act, — oh, then This inward hell would burn with lesser heat. Catherine. I knew your honor, and for it honored you. Harold {to Malone). Have you words, — what devil made you do this ? Malone. I am more sinned against than I have sinned. We are not masters of our ways. Harold. Well, well, The reason savors of the vicious act. And is as good as any you could give. When you have learned the art to put the leaves That, broken, mock the beauty of the rose, Back in their cheerless sheathe and give them life, You may reanimate this shattered state. {All stand apart.')