)9J INNKEEPER OF ARBEVILLE OR, THE OSTLSR AND THE ROBBER: A DRAMA, I\ TWO ACTS, BY EDWARD FITZ-BALL, ESa Author of The riUn, The Fio'itinir Bencov, ThrDrriVs Elixir TJie Flying Butckman, Tlic Iiichcape Belt, S,x. PRINTED FROM THE ACTING COPY, WITH n E^ MARKS, BlOGRAPniCAL AND CRITICAL, BY D-G. To which are added, A DESCillPTrON OF THE COSTUME, CAST OF THE Cft ' RAC- TEnS, ENTRAx\CES AND EXITS. RELATIVE POSITIONS OF THE PERFORMERS OS THE STAGE.— AND THE V/HOLE Ol- THE STAGE BUSINESS. As now performed at t!ie PARK THEATRE. R. HOBBS PUBLISHER. 1831 REMARKS. THE IXXKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE, It is surprising with what complacency we sit and see a murder committed — how coolly we become accessories both before and after the act, " Leave thy damnable faces, and begin!''' we involuntarily exclaim, when the levelled pistol and drawn dagger indicate a deed of dreadful note, which, if dexterously done, how heartily we applaud! If it ever be our fate to melodramatize, ("^ to what base uses may we not return, Horatio?") the public may anticipate a rich feast of amusement in this way. Our scale of theatrical homicides is regularly laid down ; and it shall go hard if one of the dramatis personae outlive the scene, the author being resolved to reserve to himse/f the sole benefit of survivorship. Baron Idenderg and his sister, the Lady Emma, being on their way to Abbeville, stop at an inn, the Henri Q^uarlre, kept by Clauson, a veteran soldier, Ozzrand, an orphan boy in the service of Clauson. having been betrayed into evil courses by Dyrkile, a pilfering vaga- bond, who inherits the nimbleness of his fingers from his deceased grandmother, has entered into a plot to carry off the plate of his benefactor that very night, and share the spoil with his tempter. Dyrkile, in his rambles, seeing Charles (a young villager who is about to wed Louise, the daughter of Clauson) conducting two stran- gers, richly dressed, through the forest to the inn, per- suades his young protese to kill two birds with one stone, and rob the travellers into the bargain. Afier some he- sitation, Ozzrand consents : he enters at midnight the chamber where the baron reposes, seizes his sword, and i=: about to purloin a silver cnp from the c ihiriet, when Idenbersr, vviio had been between waking and sleeping, starts up, and seizes the robber. Dyrkile ruslies for- ward to the rescue of his accomplice, stabs the baron, wipes the bloody dagger on a cloak belonging to Clau- son, and effects his escape. Day breaks, and Louisa enters, to prepare coffee for tlie baroa — she recounts the violence of the late storm — ' = 1 heard the owls screari!, and the crickets cry." 4 REMARKS. The whole house had been fall of horrible imaginings. A scream is heard ; tlie Lady Emma rushes in, pale and tremblino-, and proclaims her brother murdered! At this monTent, the Marquis Romano arrives at the inn, ac- companied by Zyrtillo, the barons servant, \n\\o had been sent forward to apprise him of the cause of his mas- ter's delay. The dreadful story is revealed : suspicion fixes on Ciauson — his cloak stained with blood — his very dffu-o-er, too, the instrument employed by the assassin! He is borne off to prison, and tortured, to make him con- fess. The latter expedient has its efrect. Curl was wont to remark, that his traiislu/ors, in a hungry fit, would swear that they knew all the languages in Chris- tendom. In like manner, the poor innkeeper, when put to the rack {punch, says the medeciyi malgre lui. is a ca- pital thino- to make people talk !^) becomes loquacious, and confesses himself the murderer. He is condemned to die, and, as an act of grace^ the death of a soldier. Tiie word '' fire !" is given, when Dyrkile, most oppor- tunely, interposes himself between the soldiers and their intended victim, and is shot. We might detail the more minute parts of this drama — describe the loves of Charles and Louise — the villany of Dyrkile— the remorse of Ozzrand — with a word or two on that coiuical fellow, Zyrtillo, whose logic liardly serves liim to distino-uish the difference between two sup- pors. and supper for t)co ! We might bestow a paren- thesis on the Lady Emma, and her brother, the baron, who, after having been (as it would appear) mortally wounded, dragged into a barn, and then into a thicket, miraculously recovers — (" Shall T bear the bodv off?" " Ni), I thank you— /'ZZ walk off!") and, like Patridge, the almanack-maker, stands bolt up- right, and proclaims himself " Ail alive, O!" These, and other particulars, might have been discussed with our usual critical acumen ; but " brevity is the soul of wit,"— which no-body can deny. _ The acting at the Surrey Theatre was worthy of the piece : and the piece is worthy of its author, Mr. Fitz- Eall, whose muse, whether ii floats or ^ics, is, for the most part, terribly entertaining, [o= D — a COSTUME. MARaUIS ROMANO.— Blue regimental coat, wiih red cuffs and cellar — leailier breeclies— lailiiary boots — spurs — cross buU — cocked liat, with small feather — black stock — powdered hair. BAROIV IDENBERG.— Blue Huzzar uniform and pelisse, v/ith silver iace — red pantaloons — Hessian boots — Huzzar hat — sword —belt. CLAUSON. — Dark doublet, small cloatlies, and vest, trimmed witli blue binding — blue hose — russet shoes — collar — large grey mantle, or cloak — baldpaied oriron jiray wig. CH.UILES. — Gr-ay and black doublet and pantaloons — hat of ditto— coilai—russft bciots. OZZRAND — Buff-leather jacket — red breeches— stripped stock- ings — flowered waistcoat — loose coloured kerchief — red wig. DYRKILE. — Brown doublet, vest, and breeches — blue stock- ings — russet shoes — buft' belt — black bat and feather — black wig and ringlets— collar, occ. ZYRTILLO.— Undress Huz-zar uniform. (Vide Idenberg) OFFICER.— Vide the Tvlarquis. GUARDS. — Gens d'armerie of France: Blue coats — leather breeches — large boots — cocked hats — cross belts — large swords- LADY EMMA — LijL'ht blue dress, trimmed with silver lace — hat of same, and white ostrich feathi^r — scarf — bracelets, &c. LOUISE. — Bine stuff petticoat, with rows of black and red binding round the bottom — black body and tabs — white muslin French aporn — black ribbon and cross for neck — blue silk stock- ings, with red clocks — shoes and buckles — coloured French ker- chief on the head. STAGE DIRECTIONS The Stasre Directiovs are given from personal observations during the most recent performances. EXITS and ENTRANCES. R means Rio-ht ; L. I.cft. ; F. the Flat, nr Sceve ninning across the back of the^Stacre ; D. F. Door in Flat ; R. D. hight Door ; L. D. I.eft Door; S- E. Second Entrance; U. E- Upper Entrance ; C. D. Centre Door. RELATIVE POSITIONS. R. means Riffht : L. Deft; C Centre; R. C Right of Centre; L. C Deft of Centre R. RC. C. LC. L. %* The Reader is supposed to be on the Stage facing the .Audience o Oh as O g G ed . s . ^ '^ % ^^ o . o s I gl^^^l II -^"^ "^;s s ^ , . ^ , -^ ^ ^ ■« "^ ^ « ^ ^ s *^ =^ ^ -^ -^ a -S -^ ?^ ■'■=• '^^^ «-' 't^ =" , 1 THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. ACT I. SCENE h— Outside of the Inn of Abbeville, r., with a garden and forest in the background — the sign of Henri Quartre— fountain, cistern, and various imple- ments of husbandry. Music. Louise at tht window, r,, Charles below, dis- covered. Charles. [Looking up at the window. \ Ah, my dear Louise! make haste, and come down ; I've brought you such a delightful nosegay, almost as beautiful as yourself. Here are roses, from which I have divided all the thorns ; and here's some fresh hearts'-ease, to wear in your bosom. Louise. Tm glad you are here. I've such a deal to say, Charles. I've bought a new ballad of the old blind gipsy- woman — all about love. Charles. So much the better ; we'll study it togeth- er, before your father's return. Louise. Ah ! so we will — I'm coming. \She retires from the icindow^ enters, r., and receives the nosegay from Charles. Enter Clauson, r. u. e. Cla. [Advancing to c] Out upon it! together! is it for ever thus you seek to entertain yourselves rather than my customers ? — Marry, Louise, is it thus the old inn of Abbeville welcomes travellers during the landlord's absence? — Oh, for shame ! for shame! Charles. Indeed, it was all my fault — wasn't it, Louise? Lou. (r.,) No, it was all mine. [ Turns, and kisses Clauson. ] Indeed, father, it was all my fault. Cla. [ Laughing ] Ha, ha, ha ! Charles. No, it was all mine. I was at home asleep, and I thought I heard Louise say 8 THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. (aCT I. Louise. There, there, Charles, I'm sure you'd better be quiet — my father knows Cla. I I oh, I know nothing about it, Louise ; 'tis so long since 1 was in love. But I take it, you are, in this case, what my old master used to my ota besieged fortress. He used to say, that fortress yonder is made of loadstone, and somehow will attract us men of pol- ished steel. He meant by that, l^ouise, we were men of bright parts, not so rusty, perhaps, as honest Charles. However, I don't like him the less : many a rough scab- bard Avears a sharp swurd inside. [Laughing]bi\^ ha, ha ! Louise. Dear father, you are always so merry. Charles. [To Clausoii.] Ah I 'tis that makes Louise so gloomy and melancholy when you are not at home. In- deed, I often discover her in tears; but, when I arrive and we begin to talk about the old inn, you, nnu Cla. Love, I suppose : isn't tJiat what you intended to say .'' Charles. [Abashed.] You have, somehow, such a guess, like, Cla. Well, well, I believe you are a couple of good children, and there's an end of the matter. But v.here'a Ozzrand .'' not seeing to the horses. Louise. He's gone to take a ramble with Dyrkile in the forest. They w-ent out together. Cla. I wish you would not permit that fellow, Djt- kile, to entice Ozzrand so much abroad from his work. There's something about Dyrkile 1 don't like — he's ever at liberty. As my old commander had it, he that's too lazy to handle a musket, must needs be a skulker when the skirmish comes. Charles. I always understood Dyrkile's grandmoth- er bequeathed him Cla. What I the nimbieness of her own fingers — the pursuit of her own evil practices. Louise. Nay, father, don't speak thus of the dead. Cla. Louise, if those Avho do ill are to be as well spo- ken of when they are dead, as those who do well, Where's the rev/ard for departed virtue ? — Besides, didnH I detect the Jezebel, not three weeks before her end, robbing the red hen of her eggs ^ Didn't I — but SCENE I. ] THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 9 IVe said enough, Louise ; Ozziaad must either abandoa Dvi-kile or his master. Distant ihundtr. 'Charles. Then Tm sure it will be the former. 1 know- how truly the poor lad loves you. It was but yester- day he recounted to me your generosity in taking him, orphan that he was, under your kind protection. Cla. Well, well ; I promised his father, who, as you've often heard me say, was my fellow comrade — he fell gloriously by my side— [Dashing away a [ear.] I pro- missed to be a friend to his boy ; and it shall be his boy's own fault if I am not so. [Thunder. Charles. Why, it thunders ! Louise. And rains too a little, Cla. Well, I declare I thought I felt a drop in my eye just novi^, myself; so, so, we shall have a storm pre- sently, make the best of your way home, Charles; I heard the convent clock strike nine, as I came up the hollow way of the forest. Good night. [ Exit into the house, r. Charles. Good night, Clausen 1 Dear Louise, to-mor- row I go to Abbeville— I shall purchase there Louise. What? Charles. The wedding-ring. We will be married, Louise, and then Louise. L\ ! Charles, are you really in earnest? Charles. [ Kissing her.] by this fond kiss, I am. Good night. Both. Good night, good night. [Music. — Exeunt Louise into the house, r., Charles, L. Enter Zyrtillo, sofl.li/, l. s. e., with his finger on his lips^ and a cloak on his arm. Zyr. So, T suppose I spoil sport here. Well, so long as I am safe at the Inn of Abbeville, no matter. I won- der, now, how far the Baron and Lady Emma are be- hind in tliis storm ; I dare say they've taken refuge iu some honest woodman's chimney-corner, where they intend to pass the nig'ht. I may as well make myself comfortable and happy, as I always like to do. Now to summon the landlord with the true air of a man of fashion. [Pa/.? on the cloak.] They do say fine feathers make fine bird.s. What, ho, host 1 Deuce take this 10 THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE, [aCT I. master of mine, he affords me no opportunity for intel- lectual amusement Books form no part of my pursuits ; 'tis impossible : and then there's Chevalier Nimbletoes, his lessons, only that I can practise them a little as I pass along — they, too, would be quite forgotten. Let me recollect. La, ia, la. [ Waltzing. Enter Clauson, From the house, n., and runs against Zyrlillo., and almost knocks him doivn. Cla. (r.) Why, what the deuce — oh, this is some tra- velling dancing-master, I suppose. Good evening, monsieur — wfelcome to the Inn of Abbeville. Zyr. (c) r Dancing about ] La, ia la I can you cut i* Cla. Cut ! r Aside.\ Oh, he knows Fve been a soldier. Would your honour like to try me with the broad- sword ? Zyr. How ridiculous ! the broadsword ! psha 1 peo- ble cut in different ways now-a-days. 'Tis one thing to cut a figure ; another lo cut a reputation ; and another to cut with the heels ; of v/hich, but that my heels are rather chafed, Td convince you ; and where people talk of cutting with the broadsword, some don't care how soon they cut the conversation. What accommodation does your inn afford ? — Can I have refreshment ? — Have you beds for the Baron Idenberg — I must have two. Cla. I have two : one I call my red state bed, being only for the reception of betlermost gueits. Zyr. I bespeak that for myself. Cla. [ Jsolicing ZyrtiUo''s cloak, and hewing ] 1 beg pardon; you, then, are the J^aron Ideuberg : — sutler me, my lord, to conduct you in. Zyr. [ drawing himself up.] Vm glad he takes me for my master. Khum ! khum ! I'm fearful — Fm fearful the poor rece[_)iion you would be able to give — khum ! no matter ; I'm a soldier, and can sleep on a rough pil- low, in cases of emergency. Cla. I also am an old soldier, my lord, and shall be proud of the honour you confer. Zyr. Don't mention that, my honest fellow ; I shall be too happy— khum. Cla. Your lordship wishes for two beds .'' Zyr. The deuce ! Do I M forgot ; one for myself, and one for my honest, faiihful servant, Zyrtillo, whom 1 SCENE I.] THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 11 have just lost sight of. I believe he intends to pass the ni^ht in the lorest. Cla. If he's any where about these parts, I'll soon dis- cover him, my lord. Zyr. the devil you will ? Cla. Shall I take your lordship's cloak ? Zyr. [ jiside.] That would at once discover Zyrtillo. [ 7 u Clauso7i.] No, no, I thank you ; my limbs are agueish, and must not be exposed to the night air ; It might occasion a coolness — a change rather disagreeable. ( Aside.) Dear me, I did'nt think the character of a great man had been half so arduous to sustain. Lead ou. Cla, This way. What ho ! Loui«e ! (^Exil into the house, r. Zyr. Damn that fellow ! he's for all the world like a note of interrogation ; he makes me a lord, and then wants to know my authority. However, his mistake will insure me every attention, and the baron will never know any thingof the matter. Egad! I'll keep up the joke ; at all events, 'tis better than scrambling through the forest, and running the hazard of falling into the arms of a bear, as poor old Catharine did. SONG.— Zyrtillo, Old Catharine had reach'd three score years — A scold, in pure virginity ; But oft she'd shed unhappy tears, And curs'd her star's divinity. From sweet fifteen had Catharine pray'd She might not live to die a maid. Night after night she sigh'd the same — Day after day no lover came To pining Catharine's aid. Oil, poor Catharine ! Once, kneeling near her cottage door, Still the harsh Fates invoking — (To live unwed till sixty-four, Is surely most provoking—) Up starts the latch, to ease her care ; Kate thought young Cupid heard her prayer, And, trembling, sweet, in love's alarms, Receiv'd, in her extended arms — A wandering showman's bear. Oh, poor Catharine '. [Exif, L t2 THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. [aCT I. SCENE U— The Forest of Abbeville. Enter Ideneerg and Emma, r. Ide. (r.. c.) My dear Emma, I regret now that I per- mitted Zyrtiilo to leave us, in quest of some habitation. I fear the poor fellow must have lost his way in the forest. Let us hasten our steps. Emma. (r. c.) Alas I we must surely have wandered considerably from the main ro8,d. Why, it wanted only a league to Abberville, an hour since. It is extremely darl^ I begin to feel quite alarmed. Ide Believe me there's not the least occasion for apprehension. I'll look out for some peasant who will undertake to guide us. (^Thunder. Emma. You heard Ide. What? Emma. It thunders. Why, why did I permit you to send forward the carriage, and join me in this rash ro- mantic ramble ? Ide. It was only the wind howling amongst the trees. Lean on me; compose yourself. Emma. Would we were still at Cressy ! I've under- stood the way to Abbeville is the resort of banditti. ( Thunder and lightning. Ide. The friendly covering of yonder spreading tree — ^ hark ! SONG. — Charles, wilhout, l. One Midsummer eve, as he gave her a kiss, A gay gold ring, and a top knot blue, — " Dear Rosa," lie cried, " by Miis token, and this. Remember the vows of your lover true." Enter Charles, l. Ide. (d.) my worthy fellow, can you direct us to the nearest habitation, or to Abbeville? Charles. Tlie Inn nf Abbeville is within si^ht. Clau- son, the landlord, is an honest man, and will not fail to offer every accommodation. It is too late to set out for Abbeville ; in the morning, I'll conduct you with pleasure. Ide. Thanks! Now, dearest Emma, let us proceed. (Mirsic. — Exeunt^ l. SCENE III.] THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 13 SCENE III.— Outside of a Mill, near the Inn. Eater Ozzraxd, musing, l. Ozz. [c] What! robClauson! my benefactor — the parent of Louise — the friend of my noble father — for takinw me, outcast that I was, into the very bosom of his family! No, no, I can't do it! Wretched that I am, how have I degraded myself to think of it? I wish I had never seen Dyrkile ; he'il not be satisfied till he has brought me either to the grave or the scafFoli^ Ah, me ! [ Leaning against a tree, r. Enter Dyrkile, l. s, i:., observing him. Dyr. What the devil's all this skulking about? Rouse thee, lad, — rouse, and be a man, — ay, and a rich one, too, or I'm mistaiven. [Slapping him on the shoulder. Ozz. A rich one! Dyr. I've just observed that stripling, Charles, guid- ing a couple of strangers, richly dressed, towards the inn. Now, could we contrive to rob those wanderers, independently of carrying off Clausen's plate Ozz. But I've been thinkmg our's is a ^ad life, Dyr- kile; and after all, should we be detected Dyr. Detected! Psha! Let us but steal enough to bribe the judge, and depend on't, there will be no fear of execution. Ha, ha, ha ! Come. [ Ozzrand marks him with looks of suppressed abhorrence. — as he raises his eyes to heaven., Dyrkile forces him off, l. SCENE IV.— Interior of the Inn. Zyrtillo discovered at supper, at a table, l. c. — Clauson altending. Zyr. \_Adde.'\ Of all the comforts that ever blessed a hungry traveller, surely that of being taken for a ^reat manis the best. Here's atteiuion ! here's hospitality! To be styled baron does not include a barren tabic, at all events. [^To Clauson.] Come, honest Clauson, here's your health, and that of your pretty daughter ; [Driiiks.] and, egad! here's to your old master, Henri Quartre, You must drink that, Clauson. B ■ 14 THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. [ACT 1. Cla. Witli all my heart. Your lordship makes my old blood glow again. You are a true soldier, I'll be bound ; not like many of our modern nobility, seeming one thing and meaning another. Come, so please you, here's the old king's health. [ Drinks.] Ue was a good master, and 1 was proud to represent him. Zyr. Mine is a good master, and I'm proud to repre- sent him. Cla. When he heard of a glorious action, his heart was so full Zyr". [Withhismouth full.) Oh, very full, indeed, — very full. [Knocki7ig at the door. C7a. More guests! Will your lordship excuse?— a moment Zyr. Oh, certainly, certainly. [ Exit Clauson, v. f.J Ha, ha, ha ! [ Sitting his elbows on the table, eating and talking.] Nothing hke enjoyment .' 1 do hke enjoyment ; for what else do we live ? Sing hey, sing ho, sing derry ; A wanderer's life is merry. Ide. [Without.] What ho, Clauson ! [ Zyrtillo sinks back aghast, but, after a pause, comes forward. Zyr. Bless vis and save us, what is to be done ? May I die, if it isn't the baron's own voice ! If he come, and discover me at supper, I'm as good as hanged, drawn, and quartered. How shall I act? What shall I do? Ha ! a lucky thought ! [ Runs and gathers up the supper- things, and thrusts them out of the windoio.] There, at least, they will prevent some mischief. Now for one of my most innocentest-looking faces — one of my most in- teresting attitudes. [Draws a chair towards the fire, r., and, throwing off the cloak, binds up his head with the table cloth. Enter Clauson, Idenberg, Emma, and Charles, d. f. Cla. St. Mary! but there must be some mistake ; this new guest must be an impostor. Why, the Baron Iden- bere is here already. Ide. What mockery is it you mention ? the Baron Jdenberghere? SCENE IV.] THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 15 Cla. [Looking around.} Or Beelzebub in his shape. But he seems to have taken his flight, and the supper- things with him. Zyr. O — h! [Rockivg himself. Cla. Who have we here? How's this? Lie. Zyrt.llo? Zyr. [ Rising.] That voice ! My honoured master ! Cla. Amazement! yes, 'lis the same voice. What the deuce is become of the supper-things? Ide. How is it, after discovering this inn, you retur- ned not to apprise us? Zyr. My lord, I have but within these five minutes escaped the thicket ; and just before I reached this inn, I received such a bump, such a confusion on my fore- head, that when I entered Cla You were quite another person. Zyr. To be sure I was. You hear that my lord ? Ide. It seems, then, that you are wonderfully recover- ed. 'Tis well. Did you recollect my orders ? Zyr. I ordered two beds, my lord. Cla. [ /» ZrjrtiUo''s ear.] And did his lordship desire you'd ord'^r two suppers? Zyr. [ToHching Clnuson with his elbow.] to be sure — certainly — that is to sriy, supper for two. 'Tis done, my lord, [visile to Clauson.] Clausen, the fault was yours: if you bretray me, I'm a lost lamb, [ To Jdenberg.] All is as your lordship commanded. Clauson, why do you stand yaping there ? V/ine and refreshment for the Baron Idenber^I Cla. Why, you consumate, impudent — I'm half re- solved to Zyr. [To Clauson^ inl re alingly.] If ever you did a foolish thiijg — if ever y;ju said a wise one — that is, psha! by these looks of contrition and supplication — by these shoulders, which have a natural antipathy to castiga- tion. Cla. Truly, your shoulders do carry some weight. Ha, ha ! well, well, I remember you'd honour enough to drink the king's health, and so I won't report you. Zyr. My dear fellow 1 when we are alone, I'll drink as many healths as you please. I hope the royal family is numerous. [ClaJison sets wine on the tukle. 16 THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. [aCT 1. Ide. My sister, iMonsieur Clausoa, will retire: her fatigue demands repoi^e. Cla. My daug-hier shall attend. Louise I Enter Louise icilh a lamp, d. f Emma. [To Idenherg.^ Since, then, you insist on my retiring — and yet I teel so dejected — so melancholy — Ide. 'Tis ior that reason I hasten you to rest. Good night 1 [ They embrace — he conducts her to the door — she gazes cnfectima'ely upon him, and then, attended by Louise, rdires, b. — In reluniin^ to his chair, Idenberg lets: fall a rosary — Charles picks it up, and presents it to him. Ide. In sooth, her gloom seems to take equally pos- session of my mind. Is it true, Clauson, that these "woods are frequented by banditti? Cla. We hear of such things, my lord. lie. And fear no attack on your own property ? Cla. We muster pretty strong — the post-lads, the ostler, and myself — and seldom without logers. Charles. Shall I conduct you to Abbeville in the morning, my lord ? Lie. By all means, my honest lad. Zyr. {To Clauson.'] Since both the beds you mention- ed aro bespoke, wliere am I to sleep .'' Cla. I'll ask the baron. Zyr. Nonsense ! I can rest any where. Cla Well, then, the ostler has a truckle-bed, at your service ; or there's plenty of clean straw in the out- house. Zyr. Truckle-bed ! clean straw ! Oh, you infer But I must stifle my indignation. Perhaps, as the nights are short, for once, Clauson, 3-ou"ll sit up, by way of recreation, and so your bed He. Zyrtillo! Zyr. My loid ! Ide. You must proceed to the Marquis Romano's to night, and inform him of the cause of my delay. Zyr. I am so perfectly unacquainted with the road, that [rains. SC£NE v.] THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 17 Cla. ril undertake to furnish you with a guide and a horse. Look to it, Charles, The rain comes down a little ; but 'tis a poor soldier that can't stand some pelt- ing'. Monsieur Baron, ha ! that's the way. Good night. Zyr. Curse me, if ever I met with such an officious old tool before, in all my life. [To Idenherg.\ I fly to ex- ecute your lordship's commands. [Exit with Charles, d. f. Ide. You mentioned horses and post-boys : you, then, can accommodate me with a conveyance to Abbeville the mornmg .'' Cla. Certainly, my lord. Ho, Ozzrand ! Eiiler Ozzrand, l. Cla. A chase for Abbeville, in the morning. My lord wishes to rise early. He sleeps in the red bed, re- member. Osz. [As he goes out] Alas ! I must remember. [Exit, L. Jde. Clauson, you'll inform the youth who conduct- ed me hither, ot this arrangement. Now, conduct me to my chamber. Cla. Directly — this way. [Exeunt, Claxison hearing the light l. s. e. SCENK V. — A Bed-chamber in the Inn — Idenberg discovered asleep on the bed, c. f. — a door in flat, r. — an anliq'it Cabinet, l. Enter Ozzrand, loith a darJc lantern, r. d f-, hesitating and affected — he approaches Idenberg. — Music. Ozz. How's this ? asleep, and not undressed ! his sword still in his possession 1 unfortunate ! — Yonder stands the cabinet. Could I now be assured that the Baron would not awake, it would be no difficult matter to secure Cla uson's plate. [Going up to Idenberg, and speaking in a high but subdued tojie.] Ho, my lord I 'tis almost daybreak. He hears me not — he sleeps pro foundly. Ah, me ! when shall I sleep so ? I must not think thus. B 2 18 TSLE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. [ACT II. (Approaches thr, cab.n t, l — \iusic — Idtnberg observes him with aUsniion — the sword fads from the bed Oz- zrand starts — Idtnberg feigns to slap. Ozz. 'Tis almost daybreak, my lord. So, so, 'twas but the swcnl. 'Tis well. O — h ! {Deadpauae — Ozzravd takts up the sword, with a de- gree of exnltution, and returns to the cabinet, from which he purlonis a sHver cup — Idenber^ rises from hi^ hed^ rushes forward, and arrests his arm Ide. Traitor! what means this secret outrage ? [ They slrugglt — Idtnberg gains the sword. Enter Dyrkile ahrvphj, r. d. p., snatches it from hinh and forces him on one knee — he gives Ozzrand the suord, and presents a dagger to the Barons breast — Picture — Music. ^ end of act i. ACT II. SCENE I.— The Interior of the Tnn. Ozzrand discovered, making fast the door — a lamp bund- ing on a table, l. — Music. Ozz. Would I could shut out the recollection of this dreadful business, as I thus shut out the enemy of my peace! Oh, Dyrkile, Dyrki!e ! why have I sworn to you never to disclose this fatal secret? Or u hy did I ever consent to become the associate of an assassin? Thank Heaven, it was his dagaer, not mine, that did the deed; although this blood upon my hands is Idenberg's. Ah ! I heard a footstep — the footstep of Louise. Dear Louise ! innocent cause of ii 11 my misery ! had not my love for you been hopeless, perhaps — she comes. I must to bed — else, at the morning outcry, I shall not seem nnocent. [Music. — Eocil, l. Dyr. [Drawing back the window-curtain andlooking in.] So, all seems quiet. I may enter now. 'Tis well SCENE I.J THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 19 I thouffht of making- Ozzrand swear. He's too full of religion to break his vow. Enter Dyrkile, c. f., from the window. Now, to smear old Clauson's cloak with blood : I saw it, as we carried out Ideuberg's body. {Wipes his daager mi a cloak, tchich hangs on the settle.] There, that will fix suspicion. Sure, this is Ciausons dagger. [Taking up a dagger.'] A lucky thought ! Til lay it on Idenberg's bed. Ozzrand knows nothing' of this. \_Exit at the window., c. f. 3i^nter Louise, hearing a lamp — she places it on the table., after extinguishing the one already burning., r. d. f. Louise. Heigho ! methought last night the wind would liave shattered the very rafters of the inn. The owl •screamed in the cliimney-top, and tlie crickets did no- thing but cry. Methought, Charles knelt at my feet, pale and disconsolate. Heaven grant he has reached •his home in safety. Re-enter Dyrkile, l. Dyr. Louise here I what's to be done ? — Ha ! {Goes softly to l/ie table and extinguishes the light. Louise. The lamp gone out! and 1 have extinguished the other. What am I to do? — My father burns a light in his chamber. Where did I place the lamp? TMusic. — She searches for the lamp — Dyrkile stoops by the table — she unconsciously pursues Jiim round it., and. finding the lamp, she comes forward, while Dyr- kile hides under the table. Louise, First, I'll undraw the "curtain. Yet, stay, there's coffee to provide for the baron's breakfast ; and the fire must be kindled. {Exit, R. Dyr. {Advancing to the window.'] I've effected the evi- dence, however. — I must not leave Ozzrand to himself: his fears require a sentinel. \_Exit at tlie window, c. f. 20 THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. [acT TI. Knter Clauson and Louise, r. — Clauson puts on the cloak. Cla. Bat your's is a sad face, considering Charles is to purchase the wedding-ring to-day. As my old gene- ral used to say, folks don't wear long faces that have won a victory. But how slept your lady guest last night ? Louise. In sooth, but ill. I left her preparing to seek the apartment of her brother, in order to summon him from repose. Her dreams were full of horror — she cried out once in her sleep — I awoke, and was so agitated. Cla. {Adjusting his cloak.'] Psha, child ! there's nothing in dreams. [_A scream is heard without. Louise. Ah ! what's that? Cla. Something must have happened. Enter Emma, j^aZe and trembling, hastily, L. Emma. My brother ! oh, my brother ! Cla. Lady ! Emma. I saw the blood streaming on the floor. — He is not there — they have murdered him. Cla. ) ^ ( Louise. ) Murdered ! Cla. Murder committed in my house, without alarm I impossible ! [Hurries off, r. Emma. [Sinking into a chair.'] Too, too possible I Louise. [Assisting Emma — pursues Clauson with her eyes.] Yes, he ruturns — his cheek is deadly pale — his knees smite each other in terror. Father ! Re-enter Clauson, r. d. f. Cla. Basely, cruelly robbed ! The old cabinet, in which I deposited tlie little earnings of many years' hard service — all, all gone 1 Louise. And the stranger ! Cla. Gone, too. There are, indeed, marks of blood upon the floor. I'm unfortunate the baron should have SCENE I.] THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 21 slept here last niglit. Ha! the unposition of his ser- vant. Sure, this was the baron. Louise. You apprehend Emma. Cruel man ! what means this dark inference? Give me back my brother — at your hands I demand him. Cla. My hands! frantic words! I slew him not. Help ! Ozzrand ! ho ! the inn has been robbed ! murder has been committed. [^Knocking.'] Somebody knocks. [Claason goes to open the door., Louise hold his arm. Louise. The assassins will rush in and destroy us. [Knocking continued. Cla. What's to be done 1 Voice without. Unbolt the door to the Marquis Ro- mano. Emma. Romano ! thank heaven ! Enter Romano and Zyrtillo, r. d. f. — Emma rushes towards Romano. Rom. Emma, this wild confusion ! Emma. Alas ! v.'e have been betrayed into the hands of banditti — Ideriberg's murdered. Rom. Murdered ! by whomP — Clauson, why wasyour door so long fastened .■" — Conduct me to the baron. Cla. My lord, the stanger who slept here last night has disappeared. His chamber is stained with blood, for which heaven can best account. Rom. Think you 'tis Idenberg's blood .' Emma. Yes, yes ; his gold, his jewels, have destroyed him. I heard groans in the night — I started from my pillow, and would have quitted it; but Louise, the daughter of Clauson, pursuaded me I did but dream. Rom. Zyrtillo, search the chamber. There seems a mystery about this. [Exit Zyrtillo., l. s. e.] Why sliould Louise imagine it only a dream.'' — Heard you nothing, Clauson.' Cla. On my soul, nothing. s. E. — Ozzrand, Zyr. (r.) T found this on the floor, my lord. Wliy, Clauson, this very dagger was in your girdle last nighl. 22 THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. [ACT 11. Cla. (r. c.) Mine ! Qzs. His girdle ! impossible \ Rom. Why impossibie ? Osz. \_Much embarrassed.'] Because — my master never fails to place his poiiiard by liis bedside. Rom. (l.) The more sinffular it should be discovered in that chamber. 'Tis your's, Clauson. Louise. IWith uild terror.'] No, no, no ; 'tis not my fa- ther's dao-ger. Cla. iPrmidly.] Yes, it is my dagger ; Til not deny it. [Music. — Pause of consiernaiion and surprise. Zyr. Do but observe, there are spots of blood upon his cloak. Oss. On his cloak ! Emma. Y{oTror\ Rom. [to Clauson.] Account for this. Cla. It bewilders me — I cannot. Rom. You are not ignorant of my duty as an officer. These are dark circumstances. What boy is that.-* [Pointing to Ozzrand. Cla. A simple, honest lad— an orphan. Rom. He slept here last night? Cla. He sleeps here every night. He has no other liome. Rom. [to Ozsrand.] Heard you no alarm ? Osz. [Much agitated.] I was so fatigued ere I sought repose — besides, the night was so rough — so stormy. Rom. Cianson, till this business can be cleared up, you must submit yourself to become my prisoner. [7b Ozzrand] You must also follow. Louise. [Sinking at Romanovs feef.] Mercy ! mercy i [Music. — Exeunt Clauson., Zyrtillo, Emma, and Ro- mano, ■&.. followed by Louise, kneeling. Ozz. [Recovering from torpor.] 'Tis her voice ! she calls for mercy ; but they have flinty hearts. Ill follow, and save her father, that she may bless me. [Going., R.] Ho ! my lor Enter Dyrkile, d. f., meeting him abruptly. Dyr. Stay; there will be time enough to save Clau- Bon. We must remove the body from the barn into the thicket, or all will be discovered. SCENE II.] THE INNKEEPER OF ABBEVILLE. 23 Ozz. You'll save Clauson ? Dyr. Doubt not but I will. Follow. Ozz. On that assurance, T consent. Dyr. Let us away, or they'll return and arrest you— you heard what the man of power said. They grappled with us with an iron grasp, yet marvel that we wish for strength. iExeunt, l. SCENE II.— The Wood of Abbeville. Enter Charles, r. Char. How anxious, yet how delightful, are the cares of love! they have summoned me from my bed ere the sun himself is up. Dearest Louise ! I come once more beneath your window, to wake you with the song of affection. To-morrow, you will be mine for ever. Dyr. [Without.'] Ha, ha, ha ! Char. That voice, at this unusual hour, seems terri- ble to my ear. Should it be any of the banditti, un- armed as I am, to rush forward will be madness — to fly, cowardice. They draw nearer. I'll conceal myself in the hollow of yon cork tree, and observe what passes. [Climbs the tree. Enter Dyrkile, l. u. e. Dyr. There, he's secure now : but Ozzrand's heart is so tender — this remorse he speaks of, is unbearable. Char. Ozzrand ! gracious powers ! Dyr. Why, Ozzrand, I say ! — What the devil is the fellow about ? — You may leave the stranger — he'll not run away, ha, ha, ha I Enter Ozzrand, l. u. E.^tpale and haggard, with Idenberg''s bloody scarf in his hand. Ozz. Where shall I conceal myself from the form of my victim? — He pursues me — he is constantly present to my sight. [Covering his eyes with his hands. — Music. Dyr. Why, how now, Ozzrand ? are you not ashamed of this.? 24 THE INNKEEPES. OF ABBEVILLE [aCT II, Osz. Heaven knows I am. Dijr. Psha I why bring away tliat scarf? — Take it back. Ozs. Take it back ! I take it back ! what, to behold once more that bleeding corse ? — Sooner would I en-' counter a host of fiends, in vengeanc3 armed against me. Why did I mix my hand ia this deed I monster that I am ! Dyr. Is this your boasted valour? — V/hy, man, the stranger's dead — as weVe thrown him in that ditch, and covered him over with branches, nobody will find him ; and if they do find him — Fra glad, loo, I contrived to stain old Clauson's doublet. Oss. You contrived it — you ? Dyr. Give me the scarf; let me conceal it. [Snatches the scarf ferociously^ and hides il in the branches^ r. u. e.] Come, be a man ; we have gold to procure us every sa- tisfaction. Ozz. [ With inte?ise remorse.'] Not the satisfaction of a clear and upriofht conscience. Z)j/r. Conscience ! stuff! the rich villain's cant to hang us with. Ozz. But Clauson ! he must be saved. Di/r. I'll invent the means. At present, 'tis neces-^ sary we conceal ourselves. Ozz. If, indeed, there be an eye that sees all things^r. an ear tliat hears the dying cry of the assassin's victim, we must be lost. [Exeunt., u. Char. [Coming forward.'] Somebody is certainly mur- dered, and concealed in yonder ditch. Should I be ob- served searching for the body, I might be apprehended. Ha! the scarf! that may lead to detection. [Snatches out the scarf — discovers Idenberg\j/r. [Without.'] Silence ! You'll be overheard. [They are seen passing the crevice. Zyr. [Rising.] So soon intruded upon ! These fellows are cut-throats, by the nature of their habitations. A pretty babe in the wood I'm likely to prove. I'll recon- noitre a little, and retreat, should the enemy prove too powerful, and my valour permit. [Music. — Conceals himself behind one of the ridges, R. Enter DxRKiLK^from the opening in the rock,t.., support" ing OZZRAND. Dijr. There, sit you down upon that rock, and pluck up your heart a bit, while I look out from the mouth of the cave. If anybody think to surprise, damme, but it shall be through fire and smoke. [Drawing out anotiter pistol, and returning through the opening, l. Oss. [Seated on a fragment of rock, l.] But, Dyrkile, Dyrkile I He's gone, and left me here to die alone — unseen, unpitied. Unseen, did I say ? Does not heaven see me ;• Unpitied I have I deserved compassion ? Oh, Louise, I shall never more behold you I You will live virtuously, happily, and never again think of one who blesses you with his dying breath. [J] scream heard with-