- - -a Z;7X 412 2 -,-t ce kWJl —r Th nt -~ ~ ~ ~ & '44 I I THE LATER ENGLISH DRAMA I THE LATER ENGLISH DRAMA Ebitrb WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY CALVIN S. BROWN otubentot' CoEition NEW YORK A. S. BARNES AND COMPANY I898 Co~pyright, 1898, By A. S. BARNES & CO. JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, MASS., U. S. A. CONTENTS. PREFACE...... INTRODUCTION..... BIBLIOGRAPHY...... PAGE vii ix xix OLIVER GOLDSMITH. SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER..... RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. THE RIVALS......... THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL...... JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES. VIRGINIUS........ EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON. THE LADY OF LYONS....... RICHELIEU......... I 87 I87 289 375 437 APPENDIX........ 545 lb PREFACE. IT is the object of this book to present in convenient and accessible form what has been done best in the English drama from the time of Goldsmith to the present. For this purpose six plays, all of which still retain a place on the stage, have been selected, and, that the usefulness of the book might be increased, a number of notes have been added. The texts are given complete, including dedications, prefaces, prologues, and epilogues. Only one expurgation has been made and that is indicated in its proper place. For Goldsmith I have used the biographies by Prior, Irving, Forster, Black, and Dobson; for Sheridan those by Watkins, Moore, Sigmund, an Octogenarian, Mrs. Oliphant, Sanders, and Rae. Of Knowles no life has been written except that by his son, Richard Brinsley Knowles, which was printed privately and limited to twenty-five copies. To it I have not had access. The only biography of BulwerLytton is by his son, Edward Robert Bulwer-Lytton. It comes down however only to the year 1831, and consequently does not cover the period of his dramatic authorship. Livy and Dionysius of Halicarnassus have been drawn upon for Virginius, and Le Clerc, Voltaire, Anquetil, Petitot, Martin, Duruy, Guizot, and Kitchin for Richelieu. A number of annotated editions of the plays have been consulted, a complete list of which is given in the bibliography on page xix. This bibliography, which for conven viii PREFA CE. ience of reference is put into a tabulated form, includes only such books as I have examined; a few annotated editions which I have failed to see do not appear. I wish to express here my indebtedness to the editions given in this list. The English editions, such as those of Gibbs, Littledale, Dobson, Matthews, and Aitken, have been especially helpful. The foreign editions, prepared as they are for school use, have less interest for the English reader, yet some of them have given considerable aid. Making then this general acknowledgment for material assistance, I have not considered it necessary to make specific acknowledgments in the body of the notes except in the case of direct quotations, all of which are indicated. In the preparation of the Introduction I have consulted the usual authorities. The notes, intended for several classes of readers, have been made as short and concise as is consistent with the purpose of the book. Those of each play are as nearly independent of the others as could well be, cross-references being avoided wherever space would allow. The desire to make each play independent of every other will account for a few repetitions which occur in the volume. The authors' notes are indicated by asterisks, daggers, etc.; the editor's by numbers. The Appendix contains matter of a historical or critical nature too long to be included in the foot-notes. It is my hope that the material for the study of each play will be found sufficient for all ordinary purposes, and that the book may do something to increase the interest in this field of English literature. CALVIN S. BROWN. NASHVILLE, TENN., May, 1898. INTRODUCTION. A BRIEF OUTLINE OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA SINCE SHAKESPEARE. WHEN Shakespeare died in I616 the English drama was already in its decline. Ben Jonson had written Every Man in his Humour, Sejanus, Volpone the Fox, Epicene, and The Alchemist; Beaumont and Fletcher had written Philaster and The Maid's Tragedy, and their literary partnership had been ended by the death of Beaumont; Webster had written The White Devil and perhaps The Duchess of Mafi. During the next quarter of a century Massinger wrote his New Way to Pay Old Debts and The Duke of Milan, Ford his Perkin Warbeck and The Broken Heart, a number of minor playwrights ran their course, and the great age of English dramatic literature came to an end. In I642, through Puritan influence, the theaters were closed, and the drama lay dormant until the Restoration. When Charles II. came to the throne in I660 the drama revived, but it was not the same drama. Women appeared on the stage for the first time; a larger variety of movable scenery was used; and the French influence came to be largely felt. The stage partook of the character of the court and the people, and immorality and indecency came to be its chief characteristics. In all of this the reaction against Puritanism is to be seen. Dryden (1631-1700), more a satirist than a dramatist, wrote both tragedies and comedies, but in none of his twenty-five or thirty plays did he attain the highest excellence. In his first efforts in tragedy he followed the Earl of Orrery in what is X x INTRODUCTION. known as the heroic drama, a species of tragedy written in riming verse and abounding in high-flown sentiment. Under this inspiration he wrote The Indian Queen 1 (I664), The Indian Emperor (I665), and The Conquest of Grenada (I670). It was in the year I671 that the Duke of Buckingham produced his famous comedy of The Rehearsal, satirizing the heroic riming plays and holding Dryden up to ridicule under the character of Bayes. This play proved fatal to the heroic tragedy, and thenceforth Dryden passed more and more under the influence of Shakespeare. His later plays are A41 for Love2 (1678), The Spanish Friar (168 ), and Don Sebastian (1690). The Rival Queens (I677) by the unfortunate Nathaniel Lee is in a way an excellent tragedy and his Theodosius (I680) and Lucius Junius Brutus (i68i), though extravagant, have some merit. Thomas Otway produced two powerful tragedies full of intense passion in The Orphan (I680) and Venice Preserved (1682), the first of which is especially revolting in theme. Southerne's Fatal Marriage (r694) and Oroonoka (I696) appeal strongly to 4he feelings. They remained long popular. A new school of comedy, the comedy of manners, abounding in wit, indecency, and immorality, arose, with Wycherley, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and Farquhar as its chief representatives, and having Jeremy Collier as its chief opponent. Wycherley is represented by The Country Wzfe (1673?) and The Plain Dealer (I674); Congreve, by The Old Bachelor (1693), The Double Dealer (I693), Love for Love (I695), and The Way f /the World (1700); Vanbrugh, by The Relapse (I697) and The Provoked Wife (1697); Farquhar, by The Constant Coupil (I699), The Recruiting Officer (1706), and The Beaux' Stratagemn (1707). But this atmosphere reeks with filth and 0indecency and our nostrils gladly turn from it. It is pleasant to hear before the end of the century a voice raised in behalf of purity and morality. It was in 1698 that Jeremy Collier published his Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English Stage, which did so much to purify the moral tone of the drama. 1 Together with Sir Robert Howard. 2 After Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra. LVTRODUCTION.OIV xi Such is a brief outline of the English drama from Shakespeare to the close of the seventeenth century. Let us now look a little more closely at the succeeding drama. Nicholas Rowe marks the transition to the period of Queen Anne. He was born in 1673; studied law at the Middle Temple; turned his attention to literature; became poet-laureate upon the accession of George I. in 1714; and died in I718. His literary work consists of an edition of Shakespeare, a translation of Lucan's Pharsalia, and a number of plays. His Fair Penitent (1703), a tragedy in imitation of Massinger's Fatal Dowry, remained long on the stage. He achieved his greatest success, however, in Jane Shore (I714), a tragedy which portrays the repentance, suffering, and death of the woman whose name it bears. It was written professedly under the influence of Shakespeare, and though somewhat stilted, exhibits considerable grace of diction. Alicia's furious tirade on Hastings, "On eagle's wings my rage shall urge her flight, And hurl thee headlong from thy topmost height; Then, like thy fate, superior will I sit, And view thee fall'n and grov'ling at my feet; See thy last breath with indignation go, And tread thee sinking to the shades below," distantly recalls Camille's famous " Rome, l'unique objet de mon ressentiment! " but her madness is far from the madness of Gretchen or Ophelia. The fate of the unfortunate penitent crying for forgiveness and dying of hunger in the street touches our hearts to pity; but the interest of the play is not uniformly sustained, and we feel that the author has not made the most of his subject. The tragedy of this period which is best known in literature is Addison's Cato. Addison was by instinct a gentleman and by training a scholar. His poem on the victory of Blenheim and his celebrated Spectator papers had already appeared when Cato in 1713 took London and the English world by storm. " Cato was not so much the wonder of Rome in his days as he is of Britain in ours," wrote Alexander Pope. In this play the influence of the French classical school is clearly seen. The xii INTRODUCTION. tragedy is as cold and unbending as the philosophy of its hero; the unities are strictly observed; and no admixture of comedy is allowed. A stateliness of language is attempted throughout, but lines like " Sempronius is as brave a man as Cato" will attest that the poet did not always rise above the flat and prosaic. The delineation of character is not well done; Portius and Marcus, or Lucia and Marcia, might exchange parts by simply exchanging names. The stoic philosopher plays well his part, but after he has thrown himself upon his sword we begin to fear that he is going to send for Warwick to see how a Christian can die. The tragedy upon the whole is a worthy attempt and deserves all the consideration that it gets; but the English mind has never taken to the classical school and Cato has gone the way of every attempt of its kind. It is now known principally by a number of quotations which have passed into everyday use and by the celebrated soliloquy of Cato beginning, " It must be so; - Plato, thou reasonest well." Two writers more famous in another field of literature than in the drama followed Rowe and Addison. Edward Young, author of the Night Thoughts, produced in 1721 The Revenge, a tragedy after the order of Othello, the Iago of which, Zanga a Moor, wreaks vengeance for a blow on the cheek which he had received six years before. Leonora stabs herself; Zanga exults over his victory; and Alonzo gives himself the fatal blow. James Thomson, author of The Seasons, wrote among other tragedies of little value the unsuccessful Sophonisba (1730), concerning which the story goes that the absurdly flat lIffie7 " Sophonisba, Sophonisba, O!" lent itself so temptingly to parody that " Jemmy Thomson, Jemmy Thomson, O!" went the round of the town and the play was killed. Comedy was carried on through the reign of Queen Anne by Susanna Centlivre and Colley Cibber. Mrs. Centlivre's BusyBody (1709), The Wonder (I714), and A Bold Stroke for a Wizfe (I718) were all popular acting plays little influenced by INTRODUCTION. xiii the movement toward morality. Cibber was theatrical manager, actor, and playwright. He was made poet-laureate in 1730 and hero of The Dunciad in 1742. His plays were successful in their time but are now forgotten. Richard Steele must be mentioned here because of his influence on English comedy. He wrote with a pronounced moral purpose, and his Lying Lover (I703) and Tender Husband (I705) showed a decided improvement in point of decency. With The Conscious Lovers in 1722 the change was fully established and Steele became the founder of genteel or sentimental comedy, a perverted type from which the English stage was not to recover till the days of Goldsmith and Sheridan. The influence of Collier in reforming the morals of the stage has already been noted; so far his influence was good; but with Steele and his followers the movement went to the opposite extreme, and with the immorality perished also the higher art instincts of the stage. Sentiment took the place of wit and humor, and affectation and artificiality took the place of nature. The stage ceased to reflect the manners of real life and the plays developed into "do-me-good, lack-a-daisical, whining, make-believe comedies." 1 The Beggar's Opera (I728) is typical of another kind of theatrical performance. It consists of dialogue interspersed with a number of songs. The success of the piece was almost unparalleled, and favorite songs from it were in every one's mouth. The author of this play was John Gay and the manager under whom it was produced was Rich; so the phrase ran that the piece made Gay rich and Rich gay. Tragedy was represented in the middle of the century by Samuel Johnson, Edward Moore, and John Home. Dr. Johnson, who left no kind of writing untouched and touched nothing that he especially adorned, produced his Irene in I749. It is now remembered because of its author. Moore's Gamester (I753) is a didactic tragedy directed against the "pernicious vice of gaming." It met with but limited success. The third tragedy of this group is Home's Douglas (1756), which achieved great popularity, especially in Scotland. It is now known principally by the hero's declaration of himself beginning, 1 Hazlitt, English Comic Writers, Lecture IV. xiv I NTR OD UCTION. "My name is Norval: on the Grampian hills My father feeds his flocks." David Garrick exercised a wholesome influence at this time both as an actor by his return to nature and as a manager by his frequent production of Shakespeare. The sentimental type of comedy continued to prevail during the third quarter of the eighteenth century, the chief representatives being Colman, Cumberland, Murphy, and Kelley. The farce had also come to be an established form and was cultivated by Garrick and Foote in their double capacity of author and actor. With Goldsmith and Sheridan comedy was destined to have a temporary revival. They left aside the genteel or sentimental comedy and returned to the delineation of character and the portrayal of manners. Goldsmith was born in Pallas, Ireland, in I728. He graduated at Dublin, thought of the church, then of the law, and at length studied medicine at Edinburgh and Leyden. He wandered over the Continent playing his flute and getting that experience which he afterwards used to such good purpose. Returning to London he went through the drudgery of apothecary's assistant, usher in a school, poor physician, and literary hack, thus continuing his education in the world's greater school. Fortune ceased to frown so severely on him and he became the one author who has produced in our tongue works eminently successful in the three great branches of poetry, fiction, and the drama. Imprudence, simplicity, and charity marked his life, and the tears of the great and the humble fell alike on his grave as he was laid to sleep in the Temple burying-ground. Goldsmith's comedies abound in humor and hearty fun and are characterized by elegance and ease. There is a never-ending freshness and charm about them which, in spite of gross improbabilities of plot, make them a source of unfailing delight. The delineation of character is excellent and the purity of tone shows that decency is not incompatible with the drama of life and manners. The Good-Natured Man was produced in 1768 and contrary to the doleful anticipations of actors and management met with a fair degree of success. The sentimentalists, however, were greatly shocked at the performance and the INTROD UC TION. XV bailiff scene was considered so " low " that it had to be omitted after the first representation.' She Stoops to Conquer (1773) is without a trace of sentimentality and contains a well-directed blow at those who called his former play "low." It was produced under the greatest misgivings; yet it achieved decided success from the very first. Humor, vivacity, and good sense had prevailed. Sheridan was also a son of Ireland. Born of good family, he blazed into splendor and dazzled his nation. His wit and brilliancy unlocked all doors to him. In the face of a host of wealthy and titled suitors he bore off and married the beautiful singer of Bath. He threw the world into laughter by his delightful comedies before he was twenty-six. Before he was thirty he was sent to Parliament, where his oratory made him the peer of Burke and Pitt. Society bowed at his feet and honor and fame were his. Always improvident and extravagant, he finally fell into embarrassment and ruin. Death found him in the midst of misery, and princes and nobles followed him to Westminster Abbey. Sheridan's comedies followed immediately upon those of Goldsmith, The Rivals being presented in 1775 and The School for Scandal in I777, and they partake of the same spirit which pervades those of the poet. They make up in wit what they lack in originality and plot. Sheridan's brilliancy sparkles from beginning to end; wit flashes upon wit; and thrust parries thrust. Mrs. Malaprop's " nice derangement of epitaphs" and the situations and satire in The School for Scandal never fail. Besides these two masterpieces Sheridan produced several other plays, among which may be mentioned The Duenna (1775), a comic opera, and The Critic, or a Tragedy Rehearsed (1779), a piece after the manner of The Rehearsal. The songs of the opera were excellently adapted for their purpose and with the music of the author's father-in-law, Mr. Linley, the play attained success as great as that of Gay's better-remembered production. With Sheridan passed away the last great representative of the comedy of life and manners. 1 This scene (in Act III.) was, however, printed in the first edition and was afterwards restored to the stage. xvi INTROD UCTIOA. The story of the drama in the present century is quickly told. Very little has been produced that combines high literary merit with the qualities that go to make a good acting play. A number of men of genius have written dramas but very few of these have had more than temporary success on the stage. On the other hand, those pieces which have proved stage favorites have been written in most cases by men not possessed of any marked literary ability. The divorce between literature and the stage seems nearly complete. Walter Savage Landor's gloomy tragedy of Count Julian (1812) is a magnificent poem but is entirely unsuitable for representation. Coleridge's Remorse (1813) and Zaiolya (1817) are stage failures, and most people do not even know that Walter Scott ever wrote a tragedy. Byron's Marino Faliero (I820) and Sardanapfalus (I821) are forgotten. His Manfred (1817) is a mighty creation of the intellect and his Cain (1821) a valuable philosophical study, but neither was ever intended for the stage. Shelley's Cenci (1819) combines great poetic beauty with great dramatic power, but the theme is in itself so revolting that the piece is not available for representation. His Prometheus Unbound (1820) is an excellent closet drama of the lyric type. About this time appeared Knowles' tragedy of Virginius (1820). Sheridan Knowles, a relative of Richard Brinsley Sheridan, was born in Ireland, and began his career as soldier, teacher, and actor. Virginius attracted the notice of Macready and Knowles became at once popular. A number of plays followed, in some of which the author himself engaged as actor. In later life he abandoned the stage and entered the pulpit. Knowles was no poet, but he deserves our thanks for his honest efforts to elevate the stage. Virginius is a tragedy in which the situations are well chosen and which appeals powerfully to the sympathy, but the blank verse in which it is written is wretched. The theme is the old Roman story of the father who slays his daughter to save her honor. His William Tell is overshadowed by Schiller's play on the same subject. The Hunchback (1832) and The Love-Chase (1837) among his other plays deserve mention. Joanna Baillie, the friend of Sir Walter Scott, published a INTROD UCTION. Xvil series of plays on the stronger passions of the mind, and a number of others, both tragedies and comedies. Mary Russell Mitford's tragedy of Rienzi (1828) is still kept in remembrance by that impassioned bit of eloquence beginning, "I come not here to talk. Ye know too well The story of our thraldom " - lines dear to every schoolboy orator's heart. Douglas Jerrold's Black-Eyed Susan, put on the stage in I829, was acted four hundred times during that year. Talfourd's Ion privately printed in 1835 and produced by Macready at Covent Garden in 1836, is a charming dramatic poem, if such a description can be applied to a frigid classical tragedy which falls short of the masterpieces of this type. Two of the most successful dramas of the century have been The Lady of Lyons (1838) and Richelieu (I839). Their author, Edward Bulwer-Lytton, novelist, poet, dramatist, politician, and orator, was graduated at Cambridge, returned to Parliament, elected Lord Rector of the University of Glasgow, made colonial secretary, and raised to the peerage. He is best known as a writer of fiction, having published in all more than twenty novels. The Lady of Lyons was produced anonymously after Bulwer's first play had failed, and his name was not announced until the play had established itself in public favor on its own merits. The language inclines to the bombastic and the plot is extravagantly improbable. Richelieu contains I'me good work and makes a fine spectacle on the stage, but it is unequal and lacking in continuous interest. The plot is patched up out of historical events extending over a period of sixteen years and crowded into one great conspiracy requiring only four days for its development. Money (1840), a comedy by the same author, is also still seen on the stage. In later times Browning, Swinburne, and Tennyson have all written dramas, but either because they are lacking in dramatic power or because the poetic drama has become a thing of the past and audiences want something different, the poets are left aside and people go to hear the productions of such authors as T. W. Robertson, Tom Taylor, Dion Boucicault, and W. S. Gilbert. I BIBLIOGRAPHY. (See page vii.) OLIVER GOLDSMITH. BIOGRAPHIY. JAMES PRIOR, London, i837; Philadelphia, I837. WASHINGTON IRVING, New York (1844, 1849), i867. JOHN FORSTER, London (1848), 1854, 1871, 1890. WILLIAM BLACK (London, i878); New York, i879. AUSTIN DOBSON, London, 1888. SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. H. CROLL, Stuttgart, 1842. PETER CUNNINGHAM, London, 1854; New York, i881. J. SHORT, Paris, i866. J. W. M. GIBBS, London, 1884. HAROLD LITTLEDALE (London, 1884); New York [] AUSTIN DOBSON, London, 1891. A. MATTHIAS, 2nd ed., Berlin, 1891. JULES GUIRAUD, Paris, 1892. FRI~DfRic AIGRE, Paris, 1893. RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. BIOGRAPHY. JOHN WATKINS, London (1816), 1818. THOMAS MOORE (London, 1825); Philadelphia, 1825. G. G. S[IGMUND], London (1848), 1857. AN OCTOGENARIAN, London, i859. MRS. OLIPHANT, London, 1883. LLOYD C. SANDERS, London [ ] W. FRASIER RAE, New York, i896 THE RIVALS. J. SHORT, 3rd ed., Paris, 1861. F. H. AHN, Berlin, i882. L. RIECHELMANN, 2te Auf., Leipzig, 1883. BRANDER MATTHEWS, Boston, i885, 1891. F. FISCHER, Berlin, i889. xx BIBLIOGIRA PH Y. ARTHUR FRITZSCHE, Bielefeld und Leipzig, I894. REGINALD MILLER, Leipzig [ ]. G. A. AITKEN, London, 1897. THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. R. H. WESTLEY, Leipzig, i86I. OTTO DICKMANN, Leipzig, I873. J. SHORT, 5th ed., Paris, 1884. BRANDER MATTHEWS, Boston, I885, 1891. F. FISCHER, Berlin, 1885. A. W. KASTAN, 2nd ed., Berlin, 1890. CARL SCHMIDT, 6th ed., Leipzig [ ]. G. A. AITKEN, London, 1897. JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES. VIRGINIUS. TH. WEISCHER, Rostock, I88I. HISTORY OF VIRGINIUS. DIONYSIUS OF HALICARNASSUS, 'Pwcai'tK 'ApXatoAoyta. TITUS LIVIUS, Ab Urbe Condita Libri. EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON. BIOGRAPHY. HIS SON [Edward Robert Bulwer-Lytton], London, I883. THE LADY OF LYONS. FRITZ BISCHOFF, Leipzig, I886. C. TH. LION, 2nd ed., Berlin, 1891: A. FRITZSCHE, Bielefeld und Leipzig, I889. F. ARNDT, Berlin, I887. RICHELIEU. F. ARNDT, Berlin, 1884. HISTORY OF RICHELIEU. JEAN LE CLERC, Vie du Cardinal de Richelieu. VOLTAIRE, Du Ministere du Cardinal de Richelieu. LOUIS PIERRE ANQUETIL, Histoire de France. CLAUDE BERNARD PETITOT, Collection des Memoires. HENRI MARTIN, Histoire de France. VICTOR DURUY, Histoire de France. F. P. G. GUIZOT, Histoire de France. G. W. KITCHIN, History of France. SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER; OR, THE MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. A COMEDY. BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH. TO SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D. DEAR SIR,By inscribing this slight performance to you, I do not mean so much to compliment you as myself. It may do me some honour to inform the public, that I have lived many years in intimacy with you. It may serve the interests of mankind also to inform them, that the greatest wit may be found in a character, without impairing the most unaffected piety. I have, particularly, reason to thank you for your partiality to this performance. The undertaking a comedy, not merely sentimental,1 was very dangerous; and Mr. Colman,2 who saw this piece in its various stages, always thought it so.8 However, I ventured to trust it to the public; and, though it was necessarily delayed till late in the season,4 I have every reason to be grateful. I am, dear sir, Your most sincere friend And admirer, OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 1 See the Prologue and the accompanying note on sentimental comedy. 2 Manager of Covent Garden Theater, where the play was first produced. 8 " Goldsmith has a new comedy in rehearsal at Covent Garden, to which the manager predicts ill success. I hope he will be mistaken. I think it deserves a very kind reception." -JOHNSON to White, March 4, 1773. 4 March I5, 1773. DRAMATIS PERSON.AE. [As ORIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT GARDEN IN 1773.] MEN. SIR CHARLES MARLOW. MR. GARDNER. YOUNG MARLOW (his Son) MR. LEWES. HARDCASTLE.......MR. SHUTER. HASTINGS........MR. DUBELLAMY. TONY LuMPKIN......MR. QUICK. DIGGORY........MR. SAUNDERS. WOMEN. MRS. HARDCASTLE. Miss HARDCASTLE.. Miss NEVILLE MAID.......... MRS. GREEN. MRS. BULKLEY. MRS. KNIVETON. MISS WILLEMS. Landlords, Servants, &.'c., CO-C. PROLOGUE. BY DAVID GARRICK, ESQ. Enter MR. WOODWARD,1 dressed in black, and holding a Handkerchief to his Eyes. EXCUSE me, sirs, I pray - I can't yet speak I'm crying now- and have been all the week. 'Tis not alone this mourning suit, good masters; I've that within 2 -for which there are no plasters! Pray, would you know the reason why I'm cryingq The Comic Muse, long sick, is now a-dying! And if she goes, my tears will never stop; For as a player, I can't squeeze out one drop: I am undone, that's all - shall lose my bread - I'd rather - but that's nothing - lose my head. When the sweet maid is laid upon the bier, Shuter8 and I shall be chief mourners here. To her a mawkish drab of spurious breed, Who deals in sentimentals,4 will succeed! Poor Ned and I are dead to all intents; We can as soon speak Greek as sentiments! Both nervous grown, to keep our spirits up, We now and then take down a hearty cup. What shall we do? -- If Comedy forsake us! They'll turn us out, and no one else will take us. 1 Woodward was one of the Covent Garden actors. He played the r61e of Lofty in The Good-Natured Man. 2 A parody on Hamlet, I., ii., 77 and 85. 8 Ned Shuter, the actor who played the role of Hardcastle in this play and of Croaker in The Good-Natured Man. 4 In this play the prevailing sentimental or " genteel" comedy received a decisive blow. See the Dedication and the fourth Epilogue, and compare the second Prologue to The Rivals. See also Introduction and Appendix. 6 GOLDSMITH. [PROL. But why can't I be moral? - Let me try - My heart thus pressing-fix'd my face and eyeWith a sententious look, that nothing means (Faces are blocks, in sentimental scenes), Thus I begin - All is not gold that glitters, Pleasure seems sweet, but proves a glass of bitters. When ignorance enters, folly is at hand: Learning is better far than house and land. Let notyour virtue trip, who trips may stumble, And virtue is not virtue, if she tumble. I give it up -morals won't do for me; To make you laugh, I must play tragedL. One hope remains - hearing the maid was ill, A doctor 1 comes this night to show his skill. To cheer her heart, and give your muscles motion, He in five draughts prepar'd, presents a potion: A kind of magic charm - for be assur'd, If you will swallow it, the maid is cur'd. But desperate the doctor, and her case is, If you reject the dose, and make wry faces! This truth he boasts, will boast it while he lives, No poisonous drugs are mix'd in what he gives. Should he succeed, you '11 give him his degree; If not, within he will receive no fee The College, you, must his pretentions back, Pronounce him regular, or dub him quack. 1 Doctor Goldsmith. SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER; OR, THE MISTAKES OF A NIGHT.1 ACT I. SCENE I. -A Chamber in an old-fashioned House. Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE and MR. HARDCASTLE. Mrs. Hard. I vow, Mr. Hardcastle, you're very particular. Is there a creature in the whole country, but ourselves, that does not take a trip to town now and then, to rub off the rust a little? There's the two Miss Hoggs, and our neighbour Mrs. Grigsby, go to take a month's polishing every winter. Hard. Ay, and bring back vanity and affectation to last them the whole year. I wonder why London cannot keep its own fools at home. In my time, the follies of the town crept slowly among us, but now they travel faster than a stage-coach. Its fopperies come down, not only as inside passengers, but in the very basket.2 1 What now stands as the second title, The Mistakes of a Night, was originally the only one; but it was thought undignified for a comedy. The Old House a New Inn was suggested in place of it, but dismissed as awkward. Reynolds then... named it The Belle's Stratagem. This name was still under discussion, and had well-nigh been snatched from Mrs. Cowley, when Goldsmith (in whose ears perhaps Dryden's line may have lingered, But kneels to conquer, and but stoops to rise ') hit upon She Stoops to Conquer." - FORSTER. IV., xv. 2 The two back seats on the outside of a stage-coach. Compare page 72. 8 GOLDSMITH. [ACT I. Mrs. Hard. Ay, your times were fine times, indeed; you have been telling us of them for many a long year. Here we live in an old rumbling mansion, that looks for all the world like an inn,1 but that we never see company. Our best visitors are old Mrs. Oddfish, the curate's wife, and little Cripplegate, the lame dancing-master; and all our entertainment your old stories of Prince Eugene 2 and the Duke of Marlborough. I hate such old-fashioned trumpery. Hard. And I love it. I love everything that's old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine; and, I believe, Dorothy [taking her hand], you'll own I have been pretty fond of an old wife. Mrs. Hard. Lord, Mr. Hardcastle, you're for ever at your Dorothys and your old wifes. You may be a Darby, but I'll be no Joan,3 I promise you. I'm not so old as you'd make me, by more than one good year. Add twenty to twenty, and make money of that. Hard. Let me see; twenty added to twenty, makes just fifty and seven! Mrs. Hard. It's false, Mr. Hardcastle: I was but twenty when I was brought to bed of Tony, that I had by Mr. Lumpkin, my first husband; and he's not come to years of discretion yet. Hard. Nor ever will, I dare answer for him. Ay, you have taught him finely! Mrs. Hard. No matter; Tony Lumpkin has a good fortune. My son is not to live by his learning. I don't think a boy wants much learning to spend fifteen hundred a year. Hard. Learning, quotha! A mere composition of tricks and mischief. ALrs. Hard. Humour, my dear; nothing but humour. Come, Mr. Hardcastle, you must allow the boy a little humour. 1 Observe how the author is preparing the way for the mistake which follows. 2 Prince Eugene of Savoy, ally of Marlborough at Blenheim (1704), Oudenarde (1708), and Malplaquet (1709). 3 Darby and Joan, an old-fashioned couple, hero and heroine of the ballad of The Happy Old Couple, variously ascribed to Prior and to Henry Woodfall. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 9 Hard. I'd sooner allow him a horse-pond. If burning the footmen's shoes, frightening the maids, and worrying the kittens, be humour, he has it. It was but yesterday he fastened my wig to the back of my chair, and when I went to make a bow, I popt my bald head in Mrs. Frizzle's face.' Mrs. Hard. And am I to blame? The poor boy was always too sickly to do any good. A school would be his death. When he comes to be a little stronger, who knows what a year or two's Latin may do for him? Hard. Latin for him! A cat and fiddle! No, no, the alehouse and the stable are the only schools he'll ever go to. Mrs. Hard. Well, we must not snub the poor boy now, for I believe we shan't have him long among us. Anybody that looks in his face may see he's consumptive. Hard. Ay, if growing too fat be one of the symptoms. Mrs. Hard. He coughs sometimes. Hard. Yes, when his liquor goes the wrong way. Mrs. Hard. I'm actually afraid of his lungs. Hard. And truly so am I; for he sometimes whoops like a speaking-trumpet - [TONY hallooing behind the scenes.]Oh, there he goes - a very consumptive figure, truly! Enter TONY, crossing the stage. Mrs. Hard. Tony, where are you going, my charmer? Won't you give papa and I a little of your company, lovey? Tony. I'm in haste, mother; I cannot stay. Mrs. Hard. You shan't venture out this raw evening, my dear: you look most shockingly. Tony. I can't stay, I tell you. The Three Pigeons 2 expects me down every moment. There's some fun going forward. Hard. Ay; the alehouse, the old place: I thought so.,rs. Hard(. A low, paltry set of fellows. Tony. Not so low, neither. There's Dick Muggins the exciseman, Jack Slang the horse doctor, Little Aminadab that 1 "< The counterpart of a trick played on himself [Goldsmith] during his last visit at Gosfield by the daughter of Lord Clare." - FORSTER, IV., xv. 2 An alehouse. IO GOLDSMITH. [ACT I. grinds the music box, and Tom Twist that spins the pewter platter.1 Mrs. Hard. Pray, my dear, disappoint them for one night at least. Tony. As for disappointing them, I should not much mind; but I can't abide to disappoint myself. Mrs. Hard. [detaining him]. You shan't go. Tony. I will, I tell you. Mrs. Hard. I say you shan't. Tony. We'll see which is strongest, you or I. [Exit, hauling her out. HARDCASTLE so[lus. Hard. Ay, there goes a pair that only spoil each other. But is not the whole age in a combination to drive sense and discretion out of doors? There's my pretty darling Kate; the fashions of the times have almost infected her too. By living a year or two in town, she is as fond of gauze and French frippery as the best of them. Enter Miss HARDCASTLE. Hard. Blessings on my pretty innocence! Dressed out as usual, my Kate. Goodness! What a quantity of superfluous silk hast thou got about thee, girl! I could never teach the fools of this age, that the indigent world could be clothed out of the trimmings of the vain.2 Miss Hard. You know our agreement, sir. You allow me the morning to receive and pay visits, and to dress in my own 1 "One begged to be heard while he gave Death and the Lady in high taste; another sung to a plate which he kept trundling on the edges." GOLDSMITH, Essays, IV. (I.) Is a similar sport referred to in Whittier's Snow-Bound, 464? "The rustic party, with its rough Accompaniment of blind-man's-buff, And whirling plate, and forfeits paid, His winter task a pastime made." 2 "The nakedness of the indigent world might be clothed from the trimmings of the vain." - GOLDSMITH, Vicar of Wakefield, IV. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. II manner; and in the evening I put on my housewife's dress to please you. Hard. Well, remember, I insist on the terms of our agreement; and, by the bye, I believe I shall have occasion to try your obedience this very evening. Miss Hard. I protest, sir, I don't comprehend your meaning. Hard. Then, to be plain with you, Kate, I expect the young gentleman I have chosen to be your husband from town this very day. I have his father's letter, in which he informs me his son is set out, and that he intends to follow himself shortly after. Miss Hard. Indeed! I wish I had known something of this before. Bless me, how shall I behave? It's a thousand to one I shan't like him; our meeting will be so formal, and so like a thing of business, that I shall find no room for friendship or esteem. Hard. Depend upon it, child, I'll never control your choice; but Mr. Marlow, whom I have pitched upon, is the son of my old friend, Sir Charles Marlow, of whom you have heard me talk so often. The young gentleman has been bred a scholar, and is designed for an employment in the service of his country. I am told he's a man of an excellent understanding. Miss Hard. Is he? Hard. Very generous. Miss Hard. I believe I shall like him. Hard. Young and brave. Miss Hard. I'm sure I shall like him. Hard. And very handsome. Miss Hard. My dear papa, say no more [kissing his hand], he's mine, I'll have him! Hard. And, to crown all, Kate, he's one of the most bashful and reserved young fellows in all the world. Miss Hard. Eh! you have frozen me to death again. That word reserved has undone all the rest of his accomplishments. A reserved lover, it is said, always makes a suspicious husband. Hard. On the contrary, modesty seldom resides in a breast that is not enriched with nobler virtues. It was the very feature in his character that first struck me. 12 GOLDSMITH. [ACT I. Miss Hard. He must have more striking features to catch me, I promise you. However, if he be so young, so handsome, and so everything, as you mention, I believe he'll do still. I think I'll have him. Hard. Ay, Kate, but there is still an obstacle. It is more than an even wager, he may not have you. Miss Hard. My dear papa, why will you mortify one so?Well, if he refuses, instead of breaking my heart at his indifference, I'll only break my glass for its flattery, set my cap to some newer fashion, and look out for some less difficult admirer. Hard. Bravely resolved! In the meantime I'll go prepare the servants for his reception; as we seldom see company, they want as much training as a company of recruits the first day's muster. [Exit. MISS HARDCASTLE sola. Miss Hard. Lud, this news of papa's puts me all in a flutter. Young, handsome; these he put last; but I put them foremost. Sensible, good-natured; I like all that. But then, reserved and sheepish; that's much against him. Yet can't he be cured of his timidity, by being taught to be proud of his wife? Yes, and can't I - But I vow I'm disposing of the husband before I have secured the lover. Enter MISS NEVILLE. Miss Hard. I'm glad you're come, Neville, my dear. Tell me, Constance, how do I look this evening? Is there anything whimsical about me? Is it one of my well-looking days, child? Am I in face to-day? Miss Neville. Perfectly, my dear. Yet, now I look againbless me! - sure no accident has happened among the canary birds or the goldfishes? Has your brother or the cat been meddling? or has the last novel been too moving? Miss Hard. No; nothing of all this. I have been threatened - I can scarce get it out- I have been threatened with a lover. Miss Neville. And his name Miss Hard. Is Marlow. Miss Neville. Indeed! SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 13 Miss Hard. The son of Sir Charles Marlow. Miss Neville. As I live, the most intimate friend of Mr. Hasting's, my admirer. They are never asunder. I believe you must have seen him when we lived in town. Miss Hard. Never. Miss Neville. He's a very singular character, I assure you. Among women of reputation and virtue, he is the modestest man alive; but his acquaintance give him a very different character among creatures of another stamp: you understand me? Miss Hard. An odd character, indeed. I shall never be able to manage him. What shall I do? Pshaw, think no more of him, but trust to occurrences for success. But how goes on your own affair, my dear? Has my mother been courting you for my brother Tony, as usual? Miss Neville. I have just come from one of our agreeable tete-a-tetes. She has been saying a hundred tender things, and setting off her pretty monster as the very pink of perfection.' Miss Hard. And her partiality is such, that she actually thinks him so. A fortune like yours is no small temptation. Besides, as she has the sole management of it, I'm not surprised to see her unwilling to let it go out of the family. Miss Neville. A fortune like mine, which chiefly consists in jewels, is no such mighty temptation. But, at any rate, if my dear Hastings be but constant, I make no doubt to be too hard for her at last. However, I let her suppose that I am in love with her son, and she never once dreams that my affections are fixed upon another. Miss Hard. My good brother holds out stoutly. I could almost love him for hating you so. Miss Neville. It is a good-natured creature at bottom, and I'm sure would wish to see me married to anybody but himself. But my aunt's bell rings for our afternoon's walk through the improvements. Allons.2 Courage is necessary, as our affairs are critical. Miss Hard. Would it were bed-time and all were well.8 [Exeunt. 1 Compare Shakespeare's "pink of courtesy," Rom. and Jul., II., iv., 61. 2 Let us go. 3 <: I would 'twere bed-time, Hal, and all well." - I. Henry IV., V., i., 125. 14 GOLDSMITH. [ACT I. '4 GOLDS1ILTH. [ACT I. SCENE II. - An Alehouse Room. Several shabby fellows, with punch and tobacco. TONY at the head of the table, a little higher than the rest: a mallet in his hand. Omnes. Hurrea, hurrea, hurrea, bravo! First Fellow. Now, gentlemen, silence for a song. The Squire is going to knock himself down for a song.' Omnes. Ay, a song, a song! Tony. Then I'll sing you, gentlemen, a song I made upon this alehouse, the Three Pigeons. SONG. Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain, With grammar, and nonsense, and learning; Good liquor, I stoutly maintain, Gives genus 2 a better discerning. Let them brag of their heathenish gods, Their Lethes,3 their Styxes, and Stygians; 4 Their quis, and their quaes, and their quods,5 They're all but a parcel of pigeons.6 Toroddle, toroddle, toroll. When Methodist 7 preachers come down, A-preaching that drinking is sinful, I'll wager the rascals a crown, They always preach best with a skinful. 1 Call order with the mallet for his song. " My speculations were soon interrupted by the Grand, who had knocked down Mr. Spriggins for a song." - Essays, IV. (I.) 2 For genius. The landlord in The Lady of Lyons uses the same form. 8 " Lethe, the river of oblivion." - Paradise Lost, II., 583. 4 " Abhorred Styx, the flood of deadly hate." - Paradise Lost, II., 577. 5 Quis, ques, quods, English plural of the Latin relative pronoun qui, qule, quod. 6 The pigeon is the emblem of simplicity; in the second stanza the word is equivalent to unsuspecting victim. 7 The little band organized in 1729 at Oxford by John and Charles Wesley had now grown to be a large band, but it had not yet outlived the ridicule that was implied in the name Methodist. SCENE II.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. I5 But when you come down with your pence, For a slice of their scurvy religion, I'll leave it to all men of sense, But you, my good friend, are the pigeon. Toroddle, toroddle, toroll. Then come, put the jorum 1 about, And let us be merry and clever; Our hearts and our liquors are stout; Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever. Let some cry up woodcock or hare, Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons, But of all the birds in the air, Here's a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons. Toroddle, toroddle, toroll. Omnes. bravo, bravo! First Fellow. The Squire has got spunk in him. Second Fellow. I loves to hear him sing, bekeays he never gives us nothing that's low.2 Third Fellow. O damn anything that's low, I cannot bear it. Fourth Fellow. The genteel thing is the genteel thing at any time. If so be that a gentleman bees in a concatenation3 accordingly. Third Fellow. I like the maxum 8 of it, Master Muggins. What, though I am obligated to dance a bear, a man may be a gentleman for all that. May this be my poison if my bear ever dances but to the very genteelest of tunes; Water Parted,4 or the minuet in Ariadne.6 -1 A drinking vessel. 2 Goldsmith is here directing a blow at the sentimentalists who objected to the bailiff scene in The Good Natured MIan, - a scene in which Miss Richland finds Honeywood in the hands of," officers," whose language is not better than that of the "' fellows " in this scene. 3 These low fellows are here using big words which they could not themselves define. The bailiff referred to in the preceding note uses maxum. 4 Water Parted from the Sea, from Arne's opera Artaxerxes. 5 An opera by Handel. I6 GOLDSMITH. [ACT I. Second Fellow. What a pity it is the Squire is not come to his own.' It would be well for all the publicans within ten miles round of him. Tony. Ecod, and so it would, Master Slang. I'd then show what it was to keep choice of company. Second Fellow. 0 he takes after his own father for that. To be sure, old Squire Lumpkin was the finest gentleman I ever set my eyes on. For winding the straight horn, or beating a thicket for a hare, or a wench, he never had his fellow. It was a saying in the place, that he kept the best horses, dogs, and girls in the whole county. Tony. Ecod, and when I'm of age I'll be no bastard,2 I promise you. I have been thinking of Bet Bouncer and the miller's gray mare to begin with. But come, my boys, drink about and be merry, for you pay no reckoning. Well, Stingo, what's the matter? Enter LANDLORD. Landlord. There be two gentlemen in a post-chaise at the door. They have lost their way upo' the forest; and they are talking something about Mr. Hardcastle. Tony. As sure as can be, one of them must be the gentleman that's coming down to court my sister. Do they seem to be Londoners? Landlord. I believe they may. They look woundily3 like Frenchmen. Tony. Then desire them to step this way, and I'll set them right in a twinkling. [Exit LANDLORD.] Gentlemen, as they mayn't be good enough company for you, step down for a moment, and I'll be with you in the squeezing of a lemon. [Exeunt MOB. TONY solus. Tony. Father-in-law4 has been calling me whelp and hound this half year. Now, if I pleased, I could be so revenged upon the old grumbletonian.5 But then I'm afraid -afraid of what? 1 Come into possession of his estate. 2 I'll be a son of my father, follow his example. 3 Excessively, extremely. 4 Stepfather. 5 Grumbler. SCENE II.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 17 I shall soon be worth fifteen hundred a year, and let him frighten me out of that if he can! Enter LANDLORD, conducting MARLOW and HASTINGS. Marlow. What a tedious uncomfortable day have we had of it! We were told it was but forty miles across the country, and we have come above threescore. Hastings. And all, Marlow, from that unaccountable reserve of yours, that would not let us enquire more frequently on the way. Marlow. I own, Hastings, I am unwilling to lay myself under an obligation to every one I meet, and often stand the chance of an unmannerly answer. Hastings. At present, however, we are not likely to receive any answer. Tony. No offence, gentlemen. But I'm told you have been enquiring for one Mr. Hardcastle in these parts. Do you know what part of the country you are in? Hastings. Not in the least, sir, but should thank you for information. Tony. Nor the way you came? Hastings. No, sir; but if you can inform us - Tony. Why, gentlemen, if you know neither the road you are going, nor where you are, nor the road you came, the first thing I have to inform is, that - you have lost your way.. Marlow. We wanted no ghost to tell us that.' Tony. Pray, gentlemen, may I be so bold as to ask the place from whence you came? Marlow. That's not necessary towards directing us where we are to go. Tony. No offence; but question for question is all fair, you know. Pray, gentlemen, is not this same Hardcastle a crossgrained, old-fashioned, whimsical fellow with an ugly face, a daughter, and a pretty son? Hastings. We have not seen the gentleman, but he has the family you mention. 1 "There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave To tell us this." -Hamlet, I., v., 125-6. 2 I8 GOLDSIMITH. [ACT I. Tony. The daughter, a tall, trapesing, trolloping,' talkative maypole; the son, a pretty, well-bred, agreeable youth, that everybody is fond of. Marlow. Our information differs in this. The daughter is said to be well-bred and beautiful; the son, an awkward booby reared up and spoiled at his mother's apron-string. Tony. He-he-hem!- Then, gentlemen, all I have to tell you is, that you won't reach Mr. Hardcastle's house this night, I believe. Hastings. Unfortunate! Tony. It's a damned long, dark, boggy, dirty, dangerous way. Stingo, tell the gentlemen the way to Mr. Hardcastle's. [Winking upon the LANDLORD.] Mr. Hardcastle's, of Quagmire Marsh, you understand me. Landlord. Master Hardcastle's! Lack-a-daisy, my masters, you're come a deadly deal wrong! When you came to the bottom of the hill, you should have crossed down Squash Lane. MAarlow. Cross down Squash Lane! Landlord. Then you were to keep straight forward, until you came to four roads. Marlow. Come to where four roads meet? Tony. Ay; but you must be sure to take only one of them. Marlow. 0, sir, you're facetious. Tony. Then, keeping to the right,,you are to go sideways till you come upon Crack-skull common: there you must look sharp for the track of the wheel, and go forward till you come to farmer Murrain's barn. Coming to the farmer's barn, you are to turn to the right, and then to the left, and then to the right about again, till you find out the old mill2 -Marlow. Zounds, man! we could as soon find out the longitude!3 1 On these two words compare Tennyson's Owzd Rod, line 72: " Fur the gell was as howry a trollope as iver traapes'd i' the squad." 2 Launcelot's directions in the Merchant of Venice are equally lucid: " Turn up on your right hand at the next turning, but at the next turning of all, on your left; marry, at the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house." 3 Dobson says, " This was a popular inquiry in the last century, owing to the reward of ~20,000 offered by Parliament in 17I4 for the discovery of a means of accurately ascertaining the longitude at sea." SCENE II.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. I9 Hastings. What's to be done, Marlow? Marlow. This house promises but a poor reception; though perhaps the landlord can accommodate us. Landlord. Alack, master, we have but one spare bed in the whole house. Tony. And to my knowledge, that's taken up by three lodgers already. [After a pause, in which the rest seem disconcerted.] I have hit it. Don't you think, Stingo, our landlady could accommodate the gentlemen by the fire-side, with - three chairs and a bolster? Hastings. I hate sleeping by the fire-side. Marlow. And I detest your three chairs and a bolster. Tony. You do, do you?- then let me see - what if you go on a mile further, to the Buck's Head; the old Buck's Head on the hill, one of the best inns in the whole county? Hastings. 0 ho! so we have escaped an adventure for this night, however. Landlord [apart to TONY]. Sure, you ben't sending them to your father's as an inn, be you?l Tony. Mum, you fool you. Let them find that out. [To them.] You have only to keep on straight forward, till you come to a large old house by the roadside. You'll see a pair of large horns over the door. That's the sign. Drive up the yard, and call stoutly about you. Hastings. Sir, we are obliged to you. The servants can't miss the way? Tony. No, no; but I tell you, though, the landlord is rich, and going to leave off business; so he wants to be thought a gentleman, saving your presence, he! he! he! He'll be for giving you his company, and, ecod, if you mind him, he'll persuade you that his mother was an alderman, and his aunt a justice of the peace. Landlord. A troublesome old blade, to be sure; but a2 keeps as good wines and beds as any in the whole country. 1 The Mistakes of a Night is said to have been suggested by a blunder of Goldsmith's youth. Overtaken by nightfall in the town of Ardagh, he inquired for the "best house" and was sent by a wag to the private residence of Squire Featherston. See Appendix for Forster's account of the affair. 2 He. 20 GOLDSMITH. [ACT II. Marlow. Well, if he supplies us with these, we shall want no further connection. We are to turn to the right, did you say? Tony. No, no; straight forward. I'll just step myself, and show you a piece of the way. [To the LANDLORD.] Mum. Landlord. Ah, bless your heart, for a sweet, pleasant — damned, mischievous rascal.1 [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. - An old-fashioned House. Enter HARDCASTLE,followed by three or four awkward SERVANTS. Hard. Well, I hope you're perfect in the table exercise I have been teaching you these three days. You all know your posts and your places, and can show that you have been used to good company, without ever stirring from home. Omnes. Ay, ay. Hard. When company comes, you are not to pop out and stare, and then run in again, like frightened rabbits in a warren. Omnes. No, no. Hard. You, Diggory, whom I have taken from the barn, are to make a show at the side-table; and you, Roger, whom I have advanced from the plough, are to place yourself behind my chair. But you're not to stand so, with your hands in your pockets. Take your hands from your pockets, Roger; and from your head, you blockhead you. See how Diggory carries his hands. They're a little too stiff, indeed, but that's no great matter. Diggory. Ay, mind how I hold them. I learned to hold my hands this way, when I was upon drill for the militia. And so being upon drill - 1 The editor has substituted rascal for a phrase less agreeable to modern ears - the only expurgation in the volume. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 2[ Hard. You must not be so talkative, Diggory. You must be all attention to the guests. You must hear us talk, and not think of talking; you must see us drink, and not think of drinking; you must see us eat, and not think of eating. Diggory. By the laws, your worship, that's parfectly unpossible. Whenever Diggory sees yeating going forward, ecod, he's always wishing for a mouthful himself. Hard. Blockhead! Is not a bellyful in the kitchen as good as a bellyful in the parlour? Stay your stomach with that reflection. Diggory. Ecod, I thank your worship, I'll make a shift to stay my stomach with a slice of cold beef in the pantry. Hard. Diggory, you are too talkative. Then, if I happen to say a good thing, or tell a good story at table, you must not all burst out a-laughing, as if you made part of the company. Diggory. Then, ecod, your worship must not tell the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room; 1 I can't help laughing at that -he! he! he! for the soul of me. We have laughed at that these twenty years -- ha! ha! ha! Hard. Ha! ha! ha! The story is a good one. Well, honest Diggory, you may laugh at that - but still remember to be attentive. Suppose one of the company should call for a glass of wine, how will you behave? A glass of wine, sir, if you please [to DIGGORY] - Eh, why don't you move? Diggory. Ecod, your worship, I never have courage till I see the eatables and drinkables brought upo' the table, and then I'm as bauld as a lion. Hard. What, will nobody move? First Servant. I'm not to leave this pleace. Second Servant. I'm sure it's no pleace of mine. Third Servant. Nor mine, for sartain. Diggory. Wauns, and I'm sure it canna be mine. Hard. You numskulls! and so while, like your betters, you are quarrelling for places, the guests must be starved. 0, you 1 " Do we not owe an eternal debt of gratitude to honest Diggory for telling us about Ould Grouse in the gunroom, that immortal joke at which thousands and thousands of people have roared with laughter, though they never any one of them could tell what the story was about?" - BLACK, XVI. 22 GOLDSMITH. [ACT II. dunces! I find I must begin all over again. - But don't I hear a coach drive into the yard? To your posts, you blockheads! I'll go in the meantime and give my old friend's son a hearty reception at the gate. [Exit HARDCASTLE. Diggory. By the elevens, my pleace is gone quite out of my head. Roger. I know that my pleace is to be everywhere. First Servant. Where the devil is mine? Second Servant. My pleace is to be nowhere at all; and so I'ze 1 go about my business. [Exeunt SERVANTS, running about as if frighted, different ways. Enter SERVANT with Candles, showing in MARLOW and HASTINGS. Servant. Welcome, gentlemen, very welcome. This way. Hastings. After the disappointments of the day, welcome once more, Charles, to the comforts of a clean room and a good fire. Upon my word, a very well-looking house; antique but creditable. Marlow. The usual fate of a large mansion. Having first ruined the master by good house-keeping, it at last comes to levy contributions as an inn. Hastings. As you say, we passengers are to be taxed to pay all these fineries. I have often seen a good sideboard, or a marble chimney-piece, though not actually put in the bill, inflame a reckoning 2 confoundedly. Marlow. Travellers, George, must pay in all places. The only difference is, that in good inns you pay dearly for luxuries; in bad inns you are fleeced and starved. Hastings. You have lived pretty much among them. In truth, I have been often surprised that you, who have seen so much of the world, with your natural good sense, and your many opportunities, could never yet acquire a requisite share of assurance. Marlow. The Englishman's malady. But tell me, George, where could I have learned that assurance you talk of? My 1 I'll, I shall. 2 Increase a bill. Compare the Two Noble Kinsmen, III., v., 130. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 23 life has been chiefly spent in a college, or an inn, in seclusion from that lovely part of the creation that chiefly teach men confidence. I don't know that I was ever familiarly acquainted with a single modest woman - except my mother - But among females of another class, you knowHastings. Ay, among them you are impudent enough of all conscience. Marlow. They are of us, you know. Hastings. But in the company of women of reputation, I never saw such an idiot, such a trembler; you look for all the world as if you wanted an opportunity of stealing out of the room. Marlow. Why, man, that's because I do want to steal out of the room. Faith, I have often formed a resolution to break the ice, and rattle away at any rate. But I don't know how, a single glance from a pair of fine eyes has totally overset my resolution. An impudent fellow may counterfeit modesty, but I'll be hanged if a modest man can ever counterfeit impudence.1 Hastings. If you could but say half the fine things to them that I have heard you lavish upon the bar-maid of an inn, or even a college bed-maker - Marlow. Why, George, I can't say fine things to them.2 They freeze, they petrify me. They 8 may talk of a comet, or a burning mountain, or some such bagatelle; but to me, a modest woman, dressed out in all her finery, is the most tremendous object of the whole creation. Hastings. Ha! ha! ha! At this rate, man, how can you ever expect to marry? Marlow. Never; unless, as among kings and princes, my bride were to be courted by proxy. If, indeed, like an Eastern bridegroom, one were to be introduced to a wife he never saw before, it might be endured. But to go through all the terrors of a formal courtship, together with the episode of aunts, grand1 " There is not, perhaps, a more whimsical figure in nature than a man of real modesty who assumes an air of impudence." - Essays, I. 2 Women of reputation. 8 People, one. The pronouns are carelessly used. 24 GOLDSMITH. [ACT II. mothers, and cousins,l and at last to blurt out the broad, staring question of, Madam, will you marry me? No, no, that's a strain much above me, I assure you.2 Hastings. I pity you. But how do you intend behaving to the lady you are come down to visit at the request of your father? Marlow. As I behave to all other ladies: bow very low; answer yes or no to all her demands - But for the rest, I don't think I shall venture to look in her face, till I see my father's again. Hastings. I'm surprised that one who is so warm a friend can be so cool a lover. Marlow. To be explicit, my dear Hastings, my chief inducement down was to be instrumental in forwarding your happiness, not my own. Miss Neville loves you; the family don't know you; as my friend you are sure of a reception, and let honour do the rest. Hastings. My dear Marlow! But I'll suppress the emotion. Were I a wretch, meanly seeking to carry off a fortune, you should be the last man in the world I would apply to for assistance. But Miss Neville's person is all I ask, and that is mine, both from her deceased father's consent, and her own inclination. Marlow. Happy man! You have talents and art to captivate any woman. I'm doomed to adore the sex, and yet to converse with the only part of it I despise. This stammer in my address, and this awkward prepossessing3 visage of mine, 1 "I could submit to court my mistress herself upon reasonable terms; but to court her father, her mother, and a long tribe of cousins, aunts, and relations, and then stand the butt of a whole country church." GOLDSMITH, Citizen of the WIorld, LXXII. 2 " I can march up to a fortress and summon the place to surrender, But march up to a woman with such a proposal, I dare not." Courtship of Miles Standish, 170. "The poorest coward Must die, -but knowingly to march to marriage - My lord, it asks the courage of a lion! ' - Richelieu, I. ii. 3 Prepossessing seems to be used in a sense contrary to its accepted mean. ing; some later editions accordingly read unprepossessing. See note, page 484. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUE'R. 25 can never permit me to soar above the reach of a milliner's 'prentice, or one of the duchesses of Drury Lane!1 Pshaw! this fellow here to interrupt us. Enter HARDCASTLE. Hard. Gentlemen, once more you are heartily welcome. Which is Mr. Marlow? Sir, you're heartily welcome. It's not my way, you see, to receive my friends with my back to the fire. I like to give them a hearty reception in the old style at my gate. I like to see their horses and trunks taken care of. Marlow [aside]. He has got our names from the servants already. [ To him.] We approve your caution and hospitality, sir. [To HASTINGS.] I have been thinking, George, of changing our travelling dresses in the morning. I am grown confoundedly ashamed of mine. Hard. I beg, Mr. Marlow, you'll use no ceremony in this house. Hastings. I fancy, Charles, you're right: the first blow is half the battle. I intend opening the campaign with the white and gold. Hard. Mr. Marlow - Mr. Hastings -gentlemen- pray be under no constraint in this house. This is Liberty Hall, gentlemen. You may do just as you please here. Marlow. Yet, George, if we open the campaign too fiercely at first, we may want ammunition before it is over. I think to reserve the embroidery to secure a retreat. Hard. Your talking of a retreat, Mr. Marlow, puts me in mind of the Duke of Marlborough, when he went to besiege Denain.2 He first summoned the garrison - Marlow. Don't you think the ventre d'or3 waistcoat will do with the plain brown? 1 A euphemistic name for women of low character. Drury Lane is the name of a street in London and the theater upon it. In this connection see Macheath's speech in The Beggar's Opera, II., following the second song. See also the fourth line in the poem in Letter XXX. of the Citizen of the World. 2 In north France, the scene of a brilliant victory by Villars over Eugene, but never besieged by Marlborough. 3 With gold-embroidered front. 26 GOLDSMITH. [ACT II. Hard. He first summoned the garrison, which might consist of about five thousand men Hastings. I think not: brown and yellow mix but very poorly. Hard. I say, gentlemen, as I was telling you, he summoned the garrison, which might consist of about five thousand men - Marlow. The girls like finery. Hard. Which might consist of about five thousand men, well appointed with stores, ammunition, and other implements of war. "Now," says the Duke of Marlborough to George Brooks, that stood next to him —you must have heard of George Brooks —" I'll pawn my dukedom," says he, "but I take that garrison without spilling a drop of blood." SoMarlow. What, my good friend, if you gave us a glass of punch in the meantime; it would help us to carry on the siege with vigour. Hard. Punch, sir! [Aside.] This is the most unaccountable kind of modesty I ever met with. Marlow. Yes, sir, punch. A glass of warm punch, after our journey, will be comfortable. This is Liberty Hall, you know. Hard. Here's cup,1 sir. Marlow [aside]. So this fellow, in his Liberty Hall, will only let us have just what he pleases. Hard. [taking the cup]. I hope you'll find it to your mind. I have prepared it with my own hands, and I believe you'll own the ingredients are tolerable. Will you be so good as to pledge me, sir? Here, Mr. Marlow, here is our better acquaintance. [Drinks. Marlow [aside]. A very impudent fellow this! but he's a character, and I'll humour him a little. Sir, my service to you. [Drinks. Hastings [aside]. I see this fellow wants to give us his company, and forgets that he's an innkeeper, before he has learned to be a gentleman. Marlow. From the excellence of your cup, my old friend, 1 Cup is a drink made of wine sweetened and flavored. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 27 I suppose you have a good deal of business in this part of the country. Warm work, now and then, at elections, I suppose? Hard. No, sir, I have long given that work over. Since our betters have hit upon the expedient of electing each other,' there's no business "for us that sell ale." 2 Hastings. So, then, you have no turn for politics, I find. Hard. Not in the least. There was a time, indeed, I fretted myself about the mistakes of government, like other people; but, finding myself every day grow more angry, and the government growing no better, I left it to mend itself. Since that, I no more trouble my head about Hyder Ally,8 or Ally Cawn,4 than about Ally Croaker.5 Sir, my service to you. Hastings. So that with eating above stairs, and drinking below, with receiving your friends within, and amusing them without, you lead a good, pleasant, bustling life of it. Hard. I do stir about a great deal, that's certain. Half the differences of the parish are adjusted in this very parlour, Marlow [after drinking]. And you have an argument in your cup, old gentleman, better than any in Westminster Hall.6 1 In 1769 the House of Commons declared Luttrell the legal representative of Middlesex instead of Wilkes, who had been several times expelled from the House and each time reelected by Middlesex. 2 "His quotation, ' us that sell ale,' from some popular song, apparently, means ' us that give ale for votes '; though the others take it literally as referring to his trade." - LITTLEDALE. 3 Hyder Ali, Sultan of Mysore, " the most formidable enemy with whom the English conquerors of India have ever had to contend." (Macaulay.) 4 Khan is a mere title meaning prince or chief, and Ali is a proper name widely used in India. It is therefore difficult to know who, if any particular one, is meant here; Dobson says Cossim Ali Cawn, Subah of Bengal, and Littledale suggests four others. 5 Ally Croaker is the heroine of an Irish song of the same name. The first stanza and the refrain run: "There lived a man in Ballinacrasy Who wanted a wife to make him unasy; Long had he sighed for Ally Croaker, And thus the gentle youth bespoke her: Refrain. Will you marry me, dear Ally Croaker? Will you marry me, dear Ally, Ally Croaker?" 6 The historic hall in London, formerly the seat of the courts of justice. 28 GOLDSMITH. [ACT II. Hard. Ay, young gentleman, that, and a little philosophy. Marlow [aside]. Well, this is the first time I ever heard of an innkeeper's philosophy. Hastings. So then, like an experienced general, you attack them on every quarter. If you find their reason manageable, you attack it with your philosophy; if you find they have no reason, you attack them with this. Here's your health, my philosopher. [Drinks. Hard. Good, very good, thank you; ha! ha! Your generalship puts me in mind of Prince Eugene, when he fought the Turks at the battle of Belgrade.l You shall hear. Marlow. Instead of the battle of Belgrade, I believe it's almost time to talk about supper. What has your philosophy got in the house for supper? Hard. For supper, sir! [Aside.] Was ever such a request to a man in his own house! Marlow. Yes, sir, supper, sir; I begin to feel an appetite. I shall make devilish work to-night in the larder, I promise you. Hard. [aside]. Such a brazen dog sure never my eyes beheld. [To him.] Why, really, sir, as for supper, I can't well tell. My Dorothy and the cook maid settle these things between them. I leave these kind of things entirely to them, Marlow. You do, do you? Hard. Entirely. By the bye, I believe they are in actual consultation upon what's for supper this moment in the kitchen. Marlow. Then I beg they'll admit me as one of their privy council. It's a way I have got. When I travel, I always choose to regulate my own supper. Let the cook be called. No offence, I hope, sir. Hard. 0, no, sir, none in the least; yet, I don't know how; our Bridget, the cook maid, is not very communicative upon these occasions. Should we send for her, she might scold us all out of the house. Hastings. Let's see your list of the larder, then. I ask it as a favour. I always match my appetite to my bill of fare. Marlow [to HARDCASTLE, who looks at them with surprise]. Sir, he's very right, and it's my way too. 1 Prince Eugene won a victory over the Turks at Belgrade, Servia, in 1717. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 29 Hard. Sir, you have arightto command here. Here, Roger, bring us the bill of fare for to-night's supper. I believe it's drawn out. - Your manner, Mr. Hastings, puts me in mind of my uncle, Colonel Wallop. It was a saying of his, that no man was sure of his supper till he had eaten it. Hastings [aside]. All upon the high ropes! His uncle a colonel! We shall soon hear of his mother being a justice of peace.l But let's hear the bill of fare. Marlow [perusing]. What's here? For the first course; for the second course; for the desert. The devil, sir, do you think we have brought down the whole Joiners' Company,2 or the Corporation of Bedford,8 to eat up such a supper? Two or three little things, clean and comfortable, will do. Hastings. But let's hear it. Marlow [reading]. For the first course, at the top, a pig and prune sauce. Hastings. Damn your pig, I say. Marlow. And damn your prune sauce, say I. Hard. And yet, gentlemen, to men that are hungry, pig with prune sauce is very good eating. Marlow. At the bottom, a calf's tongue and brains. Hastings. Let your brains be knocked out, my good sir; I don't like them. Marlow. Or you may clap them on a plate by themselves. I do. Hard. [aside]. Their impudence confounds me. [To them.] Gentlemen, you are my guests, make what alterations you please. Is there anything else you wish to retrench or alter, gentlemen? Marlow. Item: a pork pie, a boiled rabbit and sausages, a florentine,4 a shaking pudding, and a dish of tiff -- taff - taffety cream! 1 Alluding to what Tony said in the preceding act, " He'll persuade you that his mother was an alderman, and his aunt a justice of the peace." 2 A London trade guild. 3 Presumably the town of Bedford in Bedfordshire, but why selected for mention in this connection I am unable to say. 4 A kind of meat pie. 6 Cream having the appearance of taffeta. 30 GOLDSMITH. [ACT II. Hastings. Confound your made dishes; I shall be as much at a loss in this house as at a green and yellow I dinner at the French ambassador's table. I'm for plain eating. Hard. I'm sorry, gentlemen, that I have nothing you like, but if there be anything you have a particular fancy to - Marlow. Why, really, sir, your bill of fare is so exquisite, that any one part of it is full as good as another. Send us what you please. So much for supper. And now to see that our beds are aired, and properly taken care of. Hard. I entreat you'll leave all that to me. You shall not stir a step. Marlow. Leave that to you! I protest, sir, you must excuse me; I always look to these things myself. Hard. I must insist, sir, you'll make yourself easy on that head. Marlow. You see I'm resolved on it. [Aside.] A very troublesome fellow this, as ever I met with. Hard. Well, sir, I'm resolved at least to attend you. [Aside.] This may be modern modesty, but I never saw anything look so like old-fashioned impudence. [Exeunt MARLOW and HARDCASTLE. HASTINGS so/us. Hastings. So I find this fellow's civilities begin to grow troublesome. But who can be angry at those assiduities which are meant to please him? Ha! what do I see? Miss Neville, by all that's happy! Enter Miss NEVILLE. Miss Neville. My dear Hastings! To what unexpected good fortune, to what accident, am I to ascribe this happy meeting? Hastings. Rather let me ask the same question, as I could never have hoped to meet my dearest Constance at an inn. Miss Neville. An inn! sure you mistake: my aunt. my 1 He refers presumably to the different colored sauces that cover the dishes. Guiraud is uncertain as to the meaning but supposes that the reference is to the colors of the liveries. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 31 guardian, lives here. What could induce you to think this house an inn? Hastings. My friend, Mr. Marlow, with whom I came down, and I, have been sent here as to an inn, I assure you. A young fellow whom we accidentally met at a house hard by directed us hither. Miss Neville. Certainly, it must be one of my hopeful cousin's tricks, of whom you have heard me talk so often; ha! ha! ha! ha! Hastings. He whom your aunt intends for you? he of whom I have such just apprehensions? Miss Neville. You have nothing to fear from him, I assure you. You'd adore him if you knew how heartily he despises me. My aunt knows it too, and has undertaken to court me for him, and actually begins to think she has made a conquest. Hastings. Thou dear dissembler! You must know, my Constance, I have just seized this happy opportunity of my friend's visit here to get admittance into the family. The horses that carried us down are now fatigued with their journey, but they'll soon be refreshed; and then, if my dearest girl will trust in her faithful Hastings, we shall soon be landed in France, where even among slaves the laws of marriage are respected.1 Miss Neville. I have often told you, that though ready to obey you, I yet should leave my little fortune behind with reluctance. The greatest part of it was left me by my uncle, the India Director,2 and chiefly consists in jewels. I have been for some time persuading my aunt to let me wear them. I fancy I'm very near succeeding. The instant they are put into my possession you shall find me ready to make them and myself yours. Hastings. Perish the baubles! Your person is all I desire. In the meantime, my friend Marlow must not be let into his 1 This was taken as an allusion to the Royal Marriage Act passed in 1772, and the Duke of Gloucester, present at the first representation, was warmly applauded. See Appendix. 2 A director in the East India Company. 32 GOLDSMITH. [ACT II. mistake. I know the strange reserve of his temper is such, that if abruptly informed of it, he would instantly quit the house before our plan was ripe for execution. Miss Neville. But how shall we keep him in the deception? Miss Hardcastle is just returned from walking; what if we still continue to deceive him? - This, this way - [They confer. Enter MARLOW. Marlow. The assiduities of these good people tease me beyond bearing. My host seems to think it ill manners to leave me alone, and so he claps not only himself but his old-fashioned wife on my back. They talk of coming to sup with us, too; and then, I suppose, we are to run the gauntlet through all the rest of the family. - What have we got here? Hastings. My dear Charles! Let me congratulate you!The most fortunate accident! - Who do you think is just alighted? Marlow. Cannot guess. Hastings. Our mistresses, boy, Miss Hardcastle and Miss Neville. Give me leave to introduce Miss Constance Neville to your acquaintance. Happening to dine in the neighbourhood, they called, on their return, to take fresh horses here. Miss Hardcastle has just stept into the next room, and will be back in an instant. Wasn't it lucky? eh! Marlow [aside]. I have just been mortified enough of all conscience, and here comes something to complete my embarrassment. Hastings. Well, but wasn't it the most fortunate thing in the world? Marlow. Oh! yes. Very fortunate - a most joyful encounter- But our dresses, George, you know, are in disorder — What if we should postpone the happiness till to-morrow?To-morrow at her own house - It will be every bit as convenient - and rather more respectful - To-morrow let it be. [ Offering to go. Miss Neville. By no means, sir. Your ceremony will displease her. The disorder of your dress will shew the ardour of your impatience. Besides, she knows you are in the house, and will permit you to see her. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 33 Marlow. 0! the devil! how shall I support it? Hem! hem! Hastings, you must not go. You are to assist me, you know. I shall be confoundedly ridiculous. Yet, hang it! I'll take courage. Hem! Hastings. Pshaw, man! it's but the first plunge, and all's over. She's but a woman, you know. Marlow. And of all women, she that I dread most to encounter! Enter Miss HARDCASTLE, as returned from walking, a Bonnet, &-c. Hastings [introducing them]. Miss Hardcastle, Mr. Marlow. I'm proud of bringing two persons of such merit together, that only want to know, to esteem each other. Miss Hard. [aside]. Now for meeting my modest gentleman with a demure face, and quite in his own manner. [After a 1pause, in which he appears very uneasy and disconcerted.] I'm glad of your safe arrival, sir — I'm told you had some accidents by the way. Marlow. Only a few, madam. Yes, we had some. Yes, madam, a good many accidents, but should be sorry - madam - or rather glad of any accidents - that are so agreeably concluded. Hem! Hastings [to him]. You never spoke better in your whole life. Keep it up, and I'll insure you the victory. Miss Hard. I'm afraid you flatter, sir. You that have seen so much of the finest company can find little entertainment in an obscure corner of the country. Marlow [gathering courage]. I have lived, indeed, in the world, madam; but I have kept very little company. I have been but an observer upon life, madam, while others were enjoying it. Miss Neville. But that, I am told, is the way to enjoy it at last. Hastings [to him]. Cicero never spoke better. Once more, and you are confirmed in assurance for ever. Marlow [to him]. Hem! Stand by me, then, and when I'm down, throw in a word or two to set me up again. 3 34 GOLDSMI TH. [ACT II. Miss Hard. An observer, like you, upon life, were, I fear, disagreeably employed, since you must have had much more to censure than to approve. Marlow. Pardon me, madam. I was always willing to be amused. The folly of most people is rather an object of mirth than uneasiness. Hastings [to him]. Bravo, bravo. Never spoke so well in your whole life. Well, Miss Hardcastle, I see that you and Mr. Marlow are going to be very good company. I believe our being here will but embarrass the interview. Marlow. Not in the least, Mr. Hastings. We like your company of all things. [To him.] Zounds! George, sure you won't go? how can you leave us? Hastings. Our presence will but spoil conversation, so we'll retire to the next room. [To him.] You don't consider, man, that we are to manage a little tete-a-tete of our own. [Exeunt. Miss Hard. [after a pause]. But you have not been wholly an observer, I presume, sir. The ladies, I should hope, have employed some part of your addresses. Marlow [relapsing into timidity]. Pardon me, madam, I I - I - as yet have studied - only - to - deserve them. Miss Hard. And that, some say, is the very worst way to obtain them. Marlow. Perhaps so, madam. But I love to converse only with the more grave and sensible part of the sex. But I'm afraid I grow tiresome. Miss Hard. Not at all, sir; there is nothing I like so much as grave conversation myself; I could hear it for ever. Indeed, I have often been surprised how a man of sentiment could ever admire those light airy pleasures, where nothing reaches the heart. Marlow. It's-a disease-of the mind, madam. In the variety of tastes there must be some who, wanting a relish-for -umr - a - um. Miss Hard. I understand you, sir. There must be some who, wanting a relish for refined pleasures, pretend to despise what they are incapable of tasting. Marlow. My meaning, madam, but infinitely better expressed. And I can't help observing - a - SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 35 Miss Hard. [aside]. Who could ever suppose this fellow impudent upon some occasions. [To him.] Youwere going to observe, sir - Marlow. I was observing, madam —I protest, madam, I forget what I was going to observe. Miss Hard. [aside]. I vow and so do I. [To him.] You were observing, sir, that in this age of hypocrisy- something about hypocrisy, sir. Marlow. Yes, madam. In this age of hypocrisy, there are few who upon strict enquiry do not - a - a - aMiss Hard. I understand you perfectly, sir. Marlow [aside]. Egad! and that's more than I do myself. Miss Hard. You mean that in this hypocritical age there are few that do not condemn in public what they practise in private, and think they pay every debt to virtue when they praise it. Marlow. True, madam; those who have most virtue in their mouths, have least of it in their bosoms. But I'm sure I tire you, madam. Miss Hard. Not in the least, sir; there's something so agreeable and spirited in your manner, such life and force - pray, sir, go on. Marlow. Yes, madam. I was saying-that there are some occasions -when a total want of courage, madam, destroys all the - and puts us - upon a- a - aMiss Hard. I agree with you entirely; a want of courage upon some occasions assumes the appearance of ignorance, and betrays us when we most want to excel.' I beg you'll proceed. Marlow. Yes, madam. Morally speaking, madam - But I see Miss Neville expecting us in the next room. I would not intrude for the world. Miss Hard. I protest, sir, I never was more agreeably entertained2 in all my life. Pray go on. 1 " It is not improbable that the writer of the comedy was thinking of some of his own experiences, when he made Miss Hardcastle say to her timid suitor: 'A want of courage,'" etc. - BLACK, II. 2 A rather doubtful compliment. 36 GOLDSMITH. [ACT II. Marlow. Yes, madam. I was - But she beckons us to join her. Madam, shall I do myself the honour to attend you? Miss Hard. Well then, I'll follow. Marlow [aside]. This pretty smooth dialogue has done for me. [Exit. MISS HARDCASTLE sola. Miss Hard. Ha! ha! ha! Was there ever such a sober, sentimental interview? I'm certain he scarce looked in my face the whole time. Yet the fellow, but for his unaccountable bashfulness, is pretty well too. He has good sense, but then so buried in his fears, that it fatigues one more than ignorance. If I could teach him a little confidence, it would be doing somebody that I know of a piece of service. But who is that somebody? That, faith, is a question I can scarce answer. [Exit. Enter TONY and Miss NEVILLE, followed by MRS. HARDCASTLE and HASTINGS. Tony. What do you follow me for, cousin Con? I wonder you're not ashamed to be so very engaging. Miss Neville. I hope, cousin, one may speak to one's own relations, and not be to blame. Tony. Ay, but I know what sort of a relation you want to make me, though; but it won't do. I tell you, cousin Con, it won't do; so I beg you'll keep your distance; I want no nearer relationship. [She follows, coquetting him to the back scene. Mrs. Hard. Well! I vow, Mr. Hastings, you are very entertaining. There's nothing in the world I love to talk of so much as London, and the fashions, though I was never there myself. Hastings. Never there! You amaze me! From your air and manner, I concluded you had been bred all your life either at Ranelagh,' St. James's,2 or Tower Wharf.3 1 A place of amusement, "the center of the wildest and showiest gaiety." See the descriptions in Smollett's contemporary novel, Humphrey Clinker, May 29 and May 31; and Miss Burney's Evelina, Letters XI I. and XXIII. For some of Goldsmith's experiences as a masquerader at Ranelagh, see Irving's Life of Goldsmith, Chapter XXXV., or Forster's chapter on A Round of Pleasures. 2 The reference is to St. James Park, or to the clubs of St. James Street. 3 A quarter near the Tower of London frequented by the lower classes. Hastings is here playing on Mrs. Hardcastle's ignorance of London. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 37 Mrs. Hard. 0! sir, you're only pleased to say so. We country persons can have no manner at all. I'm in love with the town, and that serves to raise me above some of our neighbouring rustics; but who can have a manner, that has never seen the Pantheon,1 the Grotto Gardens,2 the Borough,3 and such places where the nobility chiefly resort? All I can do is to enjoy London at second-hand. I take care to know every tetea-tete from the Scandalous Magazine,4 and have all the fashions, as they come out, in a letter from the two Miss Rickets of Crooked Lane.6 Pray how do you like this head, Mr. Hastings? Hastings. Extremely elegant and degagee,6 upon my word, madam. Your friseur is a Frenchman, I suppose? Airs. Hard. I protest, I dressed it myself from a print in the Ladies' Memorandum-book for the last year. Hastings. Indeed. Such a head in a side-box at the playhouse would draw as many gazers as my Lady Mayoress at a City Ball.7 Mrs. Hard. I vow, since innoculation began, there is no such thing to be seen as a plain woman; 8 so one must dress a little particular or one may escape in the crowd. Hastings. But that can never be your case, madam, in any dress. [Bowing. 1 A concert and masquerade hall on Oxford Street opened in 1772. See Miss Burney's Evelina, Letter XXIII., and Wright's Caricature History of the Georges, XIV. Johnson and Boswell visited it in 1772 and thought it inferior to Ranelagh. (Boswell's Life of Johnson.) 2 Finch's Grotto Gardens in St. George's Fields, a notorious place of entertainment. (Littledale.) 8 A district of London on the Surrey side of the river. 4 Compare Snake's speech in The School for Scandal, (I., i.): " Nay, I have more than once traced her causing a tete-h-tete in the Town and Country Magazine." The tete-hi-tetes were bust-portraits accompanied by satirical biographies. See numerous examples in the Town and Country Magazine of this period. 5 Mention is made in the Citizen of the World (LXXI.) of "the nobility and gentry from Thames Street and Crooked Lane," and in The GoodNatured Man (I.) of a "little broker in Crooked Lane." 6 Free and unconstrained. 7 Another doubtful compliment. 8 Since innoculation began, there is no such thing to be seen as a woman pitted by small-pox. Goldsmith, it will be remembered, bore through life the marks of that disease. 38 GOLDSMITH. [ACT II. Mrs. Hard. Yet, what signifies my dressing when I have such a piece of antiquity by my side as Mr. Hardcastle? All I can say will never argue down a single button from his clothes. I have often wanted him to throw off his great flaxen wig, and where he was bald, to plaster it over, like my Lord Pately, with powder. Hastings. You are right, madam; for, as among the ladies there are none ugly, so among the men there are none old. Mrs. Hard. But what do you think his answer was? Why, with his usual Gothic vivacity, he said I only wanted him to throw off his wig to convert it into a tte I for my own wearing. Hastings. Intolerable! At your age you may wear what you please, and it must become you. Mrs. Hard. Pray, Mr. Hastings, what do you take to be the most fashionable age about town? Hastings. Some time ago, forty was all the mode; but I'm told the ladies intend to bring up fifty for the ensuing winter. Mrs. Hard. Seriously? Then I shall be too young for the fashion. Hastings. No lady begins now to put on jewels till she's past forty. For instance, miss there, in a polite circle, would be considered as a child, as a mere maker of samplers. Mrs. Hard. And yet Mrs. Niece 2 thinks herself as much a woman, and is as fond of jewels, as the oldest of us all. Hastings. Your niece, is she? And that young gentleman, a brother of yours, I should presume? Mrs. Hard. My son, sir. They are contracted to each other. Observe their little sports. They fall in and out ten times a day, as if they were man and wife already. [To them.] Well, Tony, child, what soft things are you saying to your cousin Constance this evening? Tony. I have been saying no soft things; but that it's very hard to be followed about so. Ecod!. I've not a place in the house now that's left to myself but the stable. 1 A covering of false hair for the head. 2 Mistress (now Miss) Niece, here used ironically. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 39 Mrs. Hard. Never mind him, Con, my dear. He's in another story behind your back. Miss Neville. There's something generous in my cousin's manner. He falls out before faces to be forgiven in private. Tony. That's a damned confounded - crack.' Mrs. Hard. Ah! he's a sly one. Don't you think they're like each other about the mouth, Mr. Hastings? The Blenkinsop 2 mouth to a T.3 They're of a size, too. Back to back, my pretties, that Mr. Hastings may see you. Come, Tony. Tony. You had as good not make me, I tell you. [Measuring. Miss Neville. 0 lud! he has almost cracked my head. Mrs. Hard. 0, the monster! For shame, Tony. You a man, and behave so! Tony. If I'm a man, let me have my fortin.4 Ecod! I'll not be made a fool of no longer. Mrs. Hard. Is this, ungrateful boy, all that I'm to get for the pains I have taken in your education? I that have rocked you in your cradle, and fed that pretty mouth with a spoon! Did not I work that waistcoat to make you -genteel? Did not I prescribe for you every day, and weep while the receipt was operating? Tony. Ecod! you had reason to weep, for you have been dosing me ever since I was born. I have gone through every receipt in the Complete Housewife5 ten times over; and you have thoughts of coursing me through Quincy6 next spring. But, ecod! I tell you, I'll not be made a fool of no longer. Mrs. Hard. Wasn't it all for your good, viper? Wasn't it all for your good? Tony. I wish you'd let me and my good alone, then. Snubbing this way when I'm in spirits. If I'm to have any good, let it come of itself; not to keep dinging it, dinging it into one so. 1 Falsehood. 2 Mrs. Hardcastle's maiden name, presumably. The same name occurs in The Vicar of Wakefield, XVII. 3 Exactly. 4 Fortune. 5 I know nothing of this book, but the nature of it can be easily guessed. 6 John Quincy was the author of a number of medical works, including A Complete English Dispensatory, which ran through many editions. 40 GOLDSMITH. [ACT II. Mrs. Hard. That's false; I never see you when you're in spirits. No, Tony, you then go to the alehouse or kennel. I'm never to be delighted with your agreeable wild notes, unfeeling monster! Tony. Ecod! Mamma, your own notes are the wildest of the two. Mrs. Hard. Was ever the like? But I see he wants to break my heart, I see he does. Hastings. Dear madam, permit me to lecture the young gentleman a little. I'm certain I can persuade him to his duty. Mrs. Hard. Well! I must retire. Come, Constance, my love. You see, Mr. Hastings, the wretchedness of my situation. Was ever poor woman so plagued with a dear, sweet, pretty, provoking, undutiful boy? [Exeunt MRS. HARDCASTLE and Miss NEVILLE. HASTINGS. TONY. Tony [singing]. There was a young man riding by, And fain would have his will. Rang do didlo dee. Don't mind her. Let her cry. It's the comfort of her heart. I have seen her and sister cry over a book for an hour together, and they said they liked the book the better the more it made them cry. Hastings. Then you're no friend to the ladies, I find, my pretty young gentleman? Tony. That's as I find 'um. Hastings. Not to her of your mother's choosing, I dare answer? And yet she appears to me a pretty, well-tempered girl. Tony. That's because you don't know her as well as I. Ecod! I know every inch about her; and there's not a more bitter, cantankerous 1 toad in all Christendom. Hastings [aside]. Pretty encouragement this for a lover! Tony. I have seen her since the height of that. She has as 1 Perverse, contentious. Compare The Rivals, V., iii., " You won't be so cantanckerous as to spoil the party by sitting out." SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 41 many tricks as a hare in a thicket, or a colt the first day's breaking. Hastings. To me she appears sensible and silent. Tony. Ay, before company. But when she's with her playmates, she's as loud as a hog in a gate. Hastings. But there is a meek modesty about her that charms me. Tony. Yes, but curb her never so little, she kicks up, and you're flung in a ditch. Hastings. Well, but you must allow her a little beauty. — Yes, you must allow her some beauty. Tony. Bandbox! She's all a made up thing, mun.1 Ah! could you but see Bet Bouncer of these parts, you might then talk of beauty. Ecod, she has two eyes as black as sloes, and cheeks as broad and red as a pulpit cushion. She'd make two of she. Hastings. Well, what say you to a friend that would take this bitter bargain off your hands? Tony. Anon.2 Hastings. Would you thank him that would take Miss Neville, and leave you to happiness and your dear Betsy? Tony. Ay; but where is there such a friend, for who would take her? Hastings. I am he. If you but assist me, I'll engage to whip her off to France, and you shall never hear more of her. Tony. Assist you! Ecod, I will, to the last drop of my blood. I'll clap a pair of horses to your chaise that shall trundle you off in a twinkling, and may be get you a part of her fortin besides, in jewels, that you little dream of. Hastings. My dear Squire, this looks like a lad of spirit. Tony. Come along then, and you shall see more of my spirit before you have done with me. [Singing. We are the boys That fears no noise Where the thundering cannons roar. [Exeunt. 1 Man. 2 I beg your pardon. What did you say? 42 GOLDSMITH. [ACT III. 42 GOLDSMITH. [ACT IlL ACT III. [SCENE I.- The same.] Enter HARDCASTLE solus. Hard. What could my old friend Sir Charles mean by recommending his son as the modestest young man in town? To me he appears the most impudent piece of brass that ever spoke with a tongue. He has taken possession of the easy chair by the fireside already. He took off his boots in the parlour, and desired me to see them taken care of. I'm desirous to know how his impudence affects my daughter. She will certainly be shocked at it. Enter MIss HARDCASTLE, ilainly dressed. Hard. Well, my Kate, I see you have changed your dress as I bid you; and yet, I believe, there was no great occasion. Miss Hard. I find such a pleasure, sir, in obeying your commands, that I take care to observe them without ever debating their propriety. Hard. And yet, Kate, I sometimes give you some cause, particularly when I recommended my modest gentleman to you as a lover to-day. Miss Hard. You taught me to expect something extraordinary, and I find the original exceeds the description. Hard. I was never so surprised in my life! He has quite confounded all my faculties! Miss Hard. I never saw anything like it: and a man of the world, too! Hard. Ay, he learned it all abroad - what a fool was I, to think a young man could learn modesty by travelling. He might as soon learn wit at a masquerade. Miss Hard. It seems all natural to him. Hard. A good deal assisted by bad company and a French dancing-master. Miss Hard. Sure you mistake, papa! a French dancingmaster could never have taught him that timid look -that awkward address- that bashful manner N j SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 43 Hard. Whose look? whose manner, child? Miss Hard. Mr. Marlow's: his mauvaise honte,l his timidity, struck me at the first sight. Hard. Then your first sight deceived you; for I think him one of the most brazen first sights that ever astonished my senses! Miss Hard. Sure, sir, you rally! I never saw any one so modest. Hard. And can you be serious? I never saw such a bouncing swaggering puppy since I was born. Bully Dawson 2 was but a fool to him. Miss Hard. Surprising! He met me with a respectful bow, a stammering voice, and a look fixed on the ground. Hard. He met me with a loud voice, a lordly air, and a familiarity that made my blood freeze again. Miss Hard. He treated me with diffidence and respect; censured the manners of the age; admired the prudence of girls that never laughed; tired me with apologies for being tiresome; then left the room with a bow, and " Madam, I would not for the world detain you." Hard. He spoke to me as if he knew me all his life before; asked twenty questions, and never waited for an answer; interrupted my best remarks with some silly pun; and when I was in my best story of the Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene, he asked if I had not a good hand at making punch. Yes, Kate, he asked your father if he was a maker of punch! Miss Hard. One of us must certainly be mistaken. Hard. If he be what he has shown himself, I'm determined he shall never have my consent. Miss Hard. And if he be the sullen thing I take him, he shall never have mine. Hard. In one thing then we are agreed-to reject him. 1 Bashfulness. 2 A noted London bully and sharper in the reign of Charles II. Compare Spectator, No. 2: "Before this disappointment, Sir Roger was what you call a fine gentleman, had often supped with my Lord Rochester and Sir George Etherege, fought a duel upon his first coming to town, and kicked Bully Dawson in a public coffee-house, for calling him youngster." 44 GOLDSMITH. K [ACT III. Miss Hard. Yes; but upon canditions. For if you should find him less impudent, and I more presuming; if you find him more respectful, and I more importunate - I don't know - the fellow is well enough for a man - Certainly we don't meet many such at a horse race in the country. Hard. If we should find him so - But that's impossible. The first appearance has done my business. I'm seldom deceived in that. Miss Hard. And yet there may be many good qualities under that first appearance. Hard. Ay, when a girl finds a fellow's outside to her taste, she then sets about guessing the rest of his furniture. With her, a smooth face stands for good sense, and a genteel figure for every virtue. Miss Hard. I hope, sir, a conversation begun with a compliment to my good sense won't end with a sneer at my understanding. Hard. Pardon me, Kate. But if young Mr. Brazen can find the art of reconciling contradictions, he may please us both, perhaps. Miss Hard. And as one of us must be mistaken, what if we go to make further discoveries? Hard. Agreed. But depend on't, I'm in the right. Miss Hard. And depend on't, I'm not much in the wrong. [Exeunt. Enter TONY, running in with a casket. Tony. Ecod! I have got them. Here they are. My cousin / Con's necklaces, bobs and all. My mother shan't cheat the poor souls out of their fortin neither. 0! my genus, is that you? Enter HASTINGS. Hastings. My dear friend, how have you managed with your mother? I hope you have amused her with pretending love for your cousin, and that you are willing to be reconciled at last? Our horses will be refreshed in a short time, and we shall soon be ready to set off. Tony. And here's something to bear your charges by the way [giving the casket]; your sweetheart's jewels. Keep them; and hang those, I say, that would rob you of one of them. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 45 Hastings. But how have you procured them from your mother? Tony. Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no fibs.1 I procured them by the rule of thumb. If I had not a key to every drawer in mother's bureau, how could I go to the alehouse so often as I do? An honest man may rob himself of his own at any time. Hastings. Thousands do it every day. But to be plain with you, Miss Neville is endeavouring to procure them from her aunt this very instant. If she succeeds, it will be the most delicate way at least of obtaining them. Tony. Well, keep them, till you know how it will be. But I know how it will be well enough; she'd as soon part with the only sound tooth in her head. Hastings. But I dread the effects of her resentment, when she finds she has lost them. Tony. Never you mind her resentment, leave me to manage that. I don't value her resentment the bounce of a cracker.2 Zounds! here they are! Morrice, Prance! [Exit HASTINGS. TONY, MRS. HARDCASTLE, MISS NEVILLE. Afrs. Hard. Indeed, Constance, you amaze me. Such a girl as you want jewels! It will be time enough for jewels, my dear, twenty years hence, when your beauty begins to want repairs. Miss Neville. But what will repair beauty at forty, will certainly improve it at twenty, madam. Mrs. Hard. Yours, my dear, can admit of none. That natural blush is beyond a thousand ornaments. Besides, child, jewels are quite out at present. Don't you see half the ladies of our acquaintance, my lady Kill-daylight, and Mrs. Crump, 1 Often quoted, " Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies." 2 The noise or explosion of a firecracker. Guiraud finds here a double pun: bounce, spring (recoil) and falsehood; cracker, firecracker and liar [See crack above, page 39]; and cites Goldsmith's Haunch of Venison, 13-16: "But hold-let me pause- Don't I hear you pronounce This tale of the bacon a damnable bounce? Well, suppose it a bounce - sure a poet may try, By a bounce now and then, to get courage to fly." 3 The cry of the hobby-horse rider in the Morrice dances. 46 GOLDSIVMITH. [ACT III. and the rest of them, carry their jewels to town, and bring nothing but paste and marcasites 1 back? Miss Neville. But who knows, madam, but somebody that shall be nameless would like me best with all my little finery about me? Mfrs. Hard. Consult your glass, my dear, and then see if, with such a pair of eyes, you want any better sparklers. What do you think, Tony, my dear? does your cousin Con want any jewels, in your eyes, to set off her beauty? Tony. That's as thereafter may be. Miss Neville. My dear aunt, if you knew how it would oblige me. Mrs. Hard. A parcel of old-fashioned rose and table-cut2 things. They would make you look like the court of King Solomon at a puppet-show.8 Besides, I believe I can't readily come at them. They may be missing, for aught I know to the contrary. Tony [apfart to MRS. HARDCASTLE]. Then why don't you tell her so at once, as she's so longing for them? Tell her they're lost. It's the only way to quiet her. Say they're lost, and call me to bear witness. Mrs. Hard. [apart to TONY]. You know, my dear, I'm only keeping them for you. So if I say they're gone, you'll bear me witness, will you? He! he! he! Tony. Never fear me. Ecod! I'll say I saw them taken out with my own eyes.4 Miss Neville. I desire them but for a day, madam. Just to be permitted to show them as relics, and then they may be locked up again. 1 Marcasite is a mineral composed of iron and sulphur and somewhat resembling gold; fool's gold; common iron pyrites. The marcasite of the later mineralogists is white iron pyrites. 2 The rose diamond is flat beneath and has a number of small facets forming the convex upper surface; the table diamond has one large face surrounded by a number of smaller facets. 3 " My father designed to breed me up to his own employment, which was that of drummer to a puppet-show. Thus the whole employment of my younger years was that of interpreter to Punch and King Solomon in all his glory." - Essays, XXI. (VI.) 4 This speech is also said apart to Mrs. Hardcastle. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 47 Mrs. Hard. To be plain with you, my dear Constance, if I could find them, you should have them. They're missing, I assure you. Lost, for aught I know; but we must have patience wherever they are. Miss Neville. I'll not believe it; this is but a shallow pretence to deny me. I know they're too valuable to be so slightly kept, and as you are to answer for the lossMrs. Hard. Don't be alarmed, Constance. If they be lost, I must restore an equivalent. But my son knows they are missing, and not to be found. Tony. That I can bear witness to. They are missing, and not to be found; I'll take my oath on't. Mrs. Hard. You. must learn resignation, my dear; for though we lose our fortune, yet we should not lose our patience. See me, how calm I am. Miss Neville. Ay, people are generally calm at the misfortunes of others. Mrs. Hard. Now, I wonder a girl of your good sense should waste a thought upon such trumpery. We shall soon find them; and, in the meantime, you shall make use of my garnets till your jewels be found. Miss Neville. I detest garnets! Mrs. Hard. The most becoming things in the world to set off a clear complexion. You have often seen how well they look upon me. You shall have them. [Exit. Miss Neville. I dislike them of all things. You shan't stir. - Was ever anything so provoking? to mislay my own jewels, and force me to wear her trumpery! Tony. Don't be a fool. If she gives you the garnets, take what you can get. The jewels are your own already. I have stolen them out of her bureau, and she does not know it. Fly to your spark, he'll tell you more of the matter. Leave me to man;ge her. M[iss Neville. My dear cousin! Tony. Vanish. She's here, and has missed them already. [Exit Miss NEVILLE.] Zounds! how she fidgets and spits about like a Catherine wheel.1 1 A revolving firework. 48 GOLDSMI TH. [ACT III. Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE. Mrs. Hard. Confusion! thieves! robbers! We are cheated, plundered, broke open, undone! Tony. What's the matter, what's the matter, mamma? I hope nothing has happened to any of the good family! Mrs. Hard. We are robbed. My bureau has been broke open, the jewels taken out, and I'm undone! Tony. Oh! is that all? Ha! ha! ha! By the laws, I never saw it better acted in my life. Ecod, I thought you was ruined in earnest; ha, ha, ha! Mrs. Hard. Why, boy, I am ruined in earnest. My bureau has been broke open, and all taken away. Tony. Stick to that; ha, ha, ha! stick to that. I'll bear witness, you know; call me to bear witness. Mrs. Hard. I tell you, Tony, by all that's precious, the jewels are gone, and I shall be ruined for ever. Tony. Sure I know they're gone, and I am to say so. AMrs. Hard. My dearest Tony, but hear me. They're gone, I say. Tony. By the laws, mamma, you make me for to laugh; ha! ha! I know who took them well enough; ha! ha! ha! Mrs. Hard. Was there ever such a blockhead, that can't tell the difference between jest and earnest! I tell you I'm not in jest, booby. Tony. That's right, that's right: you must be in a bitter passion, and then nobody will suspect either of us. I'll bear witness that they are gone. Mrs. Hard. Was there ever such a cross-grained brute, that won't hear me! Can you bear witness that you're no better than a fool? Was ever poor woman so beset with fools on one hand, and thieves on the other? Tony. I can bear witness to that. Mrs. Htard. Bear witness again, you blockhead you, and I'll turn you out of the room directly. My poor niece, what will become of her? Do you laugh, you unfeeling brute, as if you enjoyed my distress? Tony. I can bear witness to that. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 49 Mrs. Hard. Do you insult me, monster? I'll teach you to vex your mother, I will! Tony. I can bear witness to that. [He runs off, she follows him. Enter Miss HARDCASTLE and MAID. Miss Hard. What an unaccountable creature is that brother of mine, to send them to the house as an inn; ha! ha! I don't wonder at his impudence. Maid. But what is more, madam, the young gentleman as you passed by in your present dress, asked me if you were the bar-maid? He mistook you for the bar-maid, madam! Miss Hard. Did he? Then, as I live, I'm resolved to keep up the delusion. Tell me, Pimple, how do you like my present dress? Don't you think I look something like Cherry in The Beaux' Stratagem? 1 Maid. It's the dress, madam, that every lady wears in the country, but when she visits or receives company. Miss Hard. And are you sure he does not remember my face or person? Maid. Certain of it. Miss Hard. I vow, I thought so; for though we spoke for some time together, yet his fears were such that he never once looked up during the interview. Indeed, if he had, my bonnet would have kept him from seeing me. Maid. But what do you hope from keeping him in his mistake? Miss Hard. In the first place, I shall be seen, and that is no small advantage to a girl who brings her face to market. Then I shall perhaps make an acquaintance, and that's no small victory gained over one who never addresses any but the wildest of her sex. But my chief aim is to take my gentleman off his guard, and, like an invisible champion of romance, examine the giant's force before I offer to combat. 1 Cherry is the daughter of Boniface, the landlord of the inn, in George Farquhar's comedy of The Beaux' Stratagem. Reynolds suggested The Belle's Stratagem as a name for She Stoops to Conquer, a title afterwards used by Mrs. Cowley. See note i, page 7. 4 50 GOLDSMITH. [ACT III. Maid. But you are sure you can act your part, and disguise your voice so that he may mistake that, as he has already mistaken your person? Miss Hard. Never fear me. I think I have got the true bar cant. - Did your honour call?- Attend the Lion there.Pipes and tobacco for the Angel. - The Lamb has been outrageous this half hour.1 Maid. It will do, madam. But he's here. [Exit MAID. Enter MARLOW. Marlow. What a bawling in every part of the house! I have scarce a moment's repose. If I go to the best room, there I find my host and his story; if I fly to the gallery, there we have my hostess with her curtsey down to the ground. I have at last got a moment to myself, and now for recollection. [ Walks and muses. Miss Hard. Did you call, sir? did your honour call? Marlow [musing]. As for Miss Hardcastle, she's too grave and sentimental for me. Miss Hard. Did your honour call? [She stillSplaces herself before him, he turning away. Marlow. No, child. [Musing.] Besides, from the glimpse I had of her, I think she squints. Miss Hard. I'm sure, sir, I heard the bell ring. Marlow. No, no. [Musing.~ I have pleased my father, however, by coming down, and I'll to-morrow please myself by returning. [Taking out his tablets and perusing. Miss Hard. Perhaps the other gentleman called, sir? Marlow. I tell you, no. Miss Hard. I should be glad to know, sir. We have such a parcel of servants. Marlow. No, no, I tell you. [Looks full in her face.] 1 She is here imitating a bar-maid and calling out the names of different apartments of her inn. Compare the landlady's speech in The Good-Natured Man, V: " What! Solomon; why don't you move? Pipes and tobacco for the Lamb there. Will nobody answer? To the Dolphin; quick. The Angel has been outrageous this half hour. Did your ladyship call, madam? " SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 5 Yes, child, I think I did call. I wanted - I wanted - I vow, child, you are vastly handsome. Miss Hard. 0 la, sir, you'll make one ashamed. Marlow. Never saw a more sprightly malicious eye. Yes, yes, my dear, I did call. Have you got any of your - awhat d'ye call it, in the house? Miss Hard. No, sir, we have been out of that these ten days. Marlow. One may call in this house, I find, to very little purpose. Suppose I should call for a taste, just by way of trial, of the nectar of your lips; perhaps I might be disappointed in that too. Miss Hard. Nectar! nectar! that's a liquor there's no call for in these parts. French, I suppose. We keep no French wines here, sir. Marlow. Of true English growth, I assure you. Miss Hard. Then it's odd I should not know it. We brew all sorts of wines in this house, and I have lived here these eighteen years. Marlow. Eighteen years! Why, one would think, child, you kept the bar before you were born. How old are you? Miss Hard. 0! sir, I must not tell my age. They say women and music should never be dated. Marlow. To guess at this distance, you can't be much above forty. [Aproaching.] Yet nearer, I don't think so much. [Approaching.] By coming close to some women they look younger still; but when we come very close indeed - [attempting to kiss her]. Miss Hard. Pray, sir, keep your distance. One would think you wanted to know one's age as they do horses', by mark of mouth. Marlow. I protest, child, you use me extremely ill. If you keep me at this distance, how is it possible you and I can be ever acquainted? Miss Hard. And who wants to be acquainted with you? I want no such acquaintance, not I. I'm sure you did not treat Miss Hardcastle, that was here awhile ago, in this obstropalous 1 Obstreperous. 52 GOLDSMITH. [ACT III. manner. I'll warrant me, before her you looked dashed, and kept bowing to the ground, and talked, for all the world, as if you was before a justice of peace. Marlow [aside]. Egad! she has hit it, sure enough. [To her.] In awe of her, child? Ha! ha! ha! A mere awkward, squinting thing; no, no! I find you don't know me. I laughed and rallied her a little; but I was unwilling to be too severe. No, I could not be too severe, curse me! Miss Hard. O! then, sir, you are a favourite, I find, among the ladies? Marlow. Yes, my dear, a great favourite. And yet, hang me, I don't see what they find in me to follow. At the Ladies' Club in town 1 I'm called their agreeable Rattle. Rattle, child, is not my real name, but one I'm known by. My name is Solomons. Mr. Solomons, my dear, at your service. [ Offering to salute her. Miss Hard. Hold, sir; you were introducing me to your club, not to yourself. And you're so great a favourite there, you say? Marlow. Yes, my dear. There's Mrs. Mantrap, Lady Betty Blackleg, the Countess of Sligo, Mrs. Langhorns, old Miss Biddy Buckskin,2 and your humble servant, keep up the spirit of the place. Miss Hard. Then it's a very merry place, I suppose. Marlow. Yes, as merry as cards, suppers, wine, and old women can make us. Miss Hard. And their agreeable Rattle; ha! ha! ha! Marlow [aside]. Egad! I don't quite like this chit. She looks knowing, methinks. You laugh, child! Miss Hard. I can't but laugh to think what time they all have for minding their work or their family. Marlow [aside]. All's well; she don't laugh at me. [To her.] Do you ever work, child? Miss Hard. Ay, sure. There's not a screen or a quilt in the whole house but what can bear witness to that. 1 The club here satirized was the Albemarle Street Club, of which Horace Walpole, Charles Fox, and many other prominent people were members. 2 Walpole said this was intended for Miss Rachael Loyd, an elderly member of the club: " Miss Loyd is in the new play by the name of Rachael Buckskin, though he has altered it in the printed copies." SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 53 Marlow. Odso! Then you must show me your embroidery. I embroider and draw patterns myself a little. If you want a judge of your work, you must apply to me. [Seizing her hand. Miss Hard. Ay, but the colours don't look well by candlelight. You shall see all in the morning. [Struggling. Marlow. And why not now, my angel? Such beauty fires beyond the power of resistance. - Pshaw! the father here! My old luck: I never nicked 1 seven that I did not throw ames ace2 three times following.a [Exit MARLOW. Enter HARDCASTLE, who stands in surprise. Hard. So, madam! So I find this is your modest lover. This is your humble admirer that kept his eyes fixed on the ground, and only adored at humble distance. Kate, Kate, art thou not ashamed to deceive your father so? Miss Hard. Never trust me, dear papa, but he's still the modest man I first took him for; you'll be convinced of it as well as I. Hard. By the hand of my body, I believe his impudence is infectious! Didn't I see him seize your hand? Didn't I see him haul you about like a milkmaid? and now you talk of his respect and his modesty, forsooth! Miss Hard. But if I shortly convince you of his modesty, that he has only the faults that will pass off with time, and the virtues that will improve with age, I hope you'll forgive him. Hard. The girl would actually make one run mad! I tell you I'll not be convinced. I am convinced. He has scarcely been three hours in the house, and he has already encroached on all my prerogatives. You may like his impudence, and call it modesty; but my son-in-law, madam, must have very different qualifications. 1 Threw, turned up, scored; or does it mean hazarded on, threw for? "Seven's the main." - COLMAN'S Epilogue to The School for Scandal. "Seven is my chaunce, and thyn is cink and treye." CHAUCER, Pardoner's Tale. 325. 2 Double aces, the lowest throw. Ames or Ambs is from Latin ambo, both. ' Your bagges been nat filled with ambes as." CHAUCER,,Man of Lawe, 124. 8 It was perhaps near this point in the play that Miss Hardcastle's song given in the Appendix was to be sung. 54 GOLDSMITH. [ACT IV. wMiss Hard. Sir, I ask but this night to convince you. Hard. You shall not have half the time, for I have thoughts of turning him out this very hour. Miss Hard. Give me that hour then, and I hope to satisfy you. Hard. Well, an hour let it be then. But I'll have no trifling with your father. All fair and open, do you mind me? Miss Hard. I hope, sir, you have ever found that I considered your commands as my pride; for your kindness is such, that my duty as yet has been inclination. [Exeunt. ACT IV. [SCENE I. - The Same.] Enter HASTINGS and MISS NEVILLE. Hastings. You surprise me! Sir Charles Marlow expected here this night? Where have you had your information? Miss Seville. You may depend upon it. I just saw his letter to Mr. Hardcastle, in which he tells him he intends setting out a few hours after his son. Hastings. Then, my Constance, all must be completed before he arrives. He knows me; and should he find me here, would discover my name,1 and perhaps my designs, to the rest of the family. Miss Neville. The jewels, I hope, are safe? Hastings. Yes, yes. I have sent them to Marlow, who keeps the keys of our baggage. In the meantime, I'll go to prepare matters for our elopement. I have had the Squire's promise of a fresh pair of horses; and, if I should not see him again, will write him further directions. [Exit. Miss Neville. Well! success attend you. In the meantime, I'll go amuse my aunt with the old pretence of a violent passion for my cousin. [Exit. 1 Goldsmith has here forgotten what he wrote in Act II. Marlow there said (page 25), "He [Hardcastle] has got our names from the servants already;" and both Marlow and Hastings were called by name throughout that act. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 55 Enter MARLOW, followed by a SERVANT. Marlow. I wonder what Hastings could mean by sending me so valuable a thing as a casket to keep for him, when he knows the only place I have is the seat of a post-coach at an inn-door. Have you deposited the casket with the landlady, as I ordered you? Have you put it into her own hands? Servant. Yes, your honour. Marlow. She said she'd keep it safe, did she? Servant. Yes, she said she'd keep it safe enough; she asked me how I came by it, and she said she had a great mind to make me give an account of myself. [Exit SERVANT. Marlow. Ha! ha! ha! They're safe, however. What an unaccountable set of beings have we got amongst! This little bar-maid though runs in my head most strangely, and drives out the absurdities of all the rest of the family. She's mine, she must be mine, or I'm greatly mistaken. Enter HASTINGS. Hastings. Bless me! I quite forgot to tell her that I intended to prepare at the bottom of the garden. Marlow here, and in spirits too! Marlow. Give me joy, George! Crown me, shadow me with laurels! Well, George, after all, we modest fellows don't want for success ambng the women. Hastings. Some women, you mean. But what success has your honour's modesty been crowned with now, that it grows so insolent upon us? Marlow. Didn't you see the tempting, brisk, lovely little thing that runs about the house with a bunch of keys to its girdle? Hastings. Well! and what then? Marlow. She's mine, you rogue you. Such fire, such motion, such eyes, such lips -but, egad! she would not let me kiss them though. Hastings. But are you sure, so very sure of her? Marlow. Why, man, she talked of showing me her work above-stairs, and I am to improve the pattern. Hastings. But how can you, Charles, go about to rob a woman of her honour? 56 GOLDSM3I TH. [ACT IV. Marlow. Pshaw! pshaw! we all know the honour of the bar-maid of an inn. I don't intend to rob her, take my word for it, there's nothing in this house, I shan't honestly pay for. Hastings. I believe the girl has virtue. Marlow. And if she has, I should be the last man in the world that would attempt to corrupt it. Hastings. You have taken care, I hope, of the casket I sent you to lock up? It's in safety? Marlow. Yes, yes; it's safe enough. I have taken care of it. But how could you think the seat of a post-coach at an inn-door a place of safety? Ah! numskull! I have taken better precautions for you than you did for yourself. I have Hastings. What? Marlow. I have sent it to the landlady to keep for you. Hastings. To the landlady? Marlow. The landlady. Hastings. You did? Marlow. I did. She's to be answerable for its forthcoming, you know. Hastings. Yes, she'll bring it forth with a witness.1 Marlow. Wasn't I right? I believe you'll allow that I acted prudently upon this occasion. Hastings [aside]. He must not see my uneasiness. Marlow. You seem a little disconcerted, though, methinks. Sure nothing has happened? Hastings. No, nothing. Never was in better spirits in all my life. And so you left it with the landlady, who, no doubt, very readily undertook the charge? Marlow. Rather too readily. For she not only kept the casket, but, through her great precaution, was going to keep the messenger too. Ha! ha! ha! Hastings. He! he! he! They're 2 safe, however. Marlow. As a guinea in a miser's purse. Hastings [aside]. So now all hopes of fortune are at an end, and we must set off without it. [To him.] Well, Charles, I'll 1 Hastings is punning on this phrase " with a witness." Compare "with a vengeance," The Rivals, V., iii., and The Lady of Lyons, III., i. 2 Hastings is off his guard when he says they instead of it. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 57 leave you to your meditations on the pretty bar-maid, and, he! he! he! may you be as successful for yourself as you have been for me. [Exit. Marlow. Thank ye, George: I ask no more. Ha! ha! ha! Enter HARDCASTLE. Hard. I no longer know my own house. It's turned all topsy-turvy. His servants have got drunk already. I'll bear it no longer; and yet, from my respect for his father, I'll be calm. [To him~.] Mr. Marlow, your servant. I'm your very humble servant. [Bowing low. Marlow. Sir, your humble servant. [Aside.] What's to be the wonder now? Hard. I believe, sir, you must be sensible, sir, that no man alive ought to be more welcome than your father's son, sir. I hope you think so? Marlow. I do, from my soul, sir. I don't want much entreaty. I generally make my father's son welcome wherever he goes. Hard. I believe you do, from my soul, sir. But though I say nothing to your own conduct, that of your servants is insufferable. Their manner of drinking is setting a very bad example in this house, I assure you. Marlow. I protest, my very good sir, that's no fault of mine. If they don't drink as they ought they are to blame. I ordered them not to spare the cellar. I did, I assure you. [To the side scene.] Here, let one of my servants come up. [To him.] My positive directions were, that as I did not drink myself, they should make up for my deficiencies below. Hard. Then they had your orders for what they do? I'm satisfied! Marlow. They had, I assure you. You shall hear from one of themselves. Enter SERVANT, drunk. Marlow. You, Jeremy! Come forward, sirrah! What were my orders? Were you not told to drink freely, and call for what you thought fit, for the good of the house? 1 A term of address to inferiors. 58 GOLDSMITH. [ACT IV. Hard. [aside]. I begin to lose my patience. Jeremy. Please your honour, liberty and Fleet Street1 for ever! Though I'm but a servant, I'm as good as another man. I'll drink for no man before supper, sir, dammy! Good liquor will sit upon a good supper, but a good supper will not sit upon - hiccup- upon my conscience, sir. Marlow. You see, my old friend, the fellow is as drunk as he can possibly be. I don't know what you'd have more, unless you'd have the poor devil soused in a beer-barrel. Hard. Zounds! He'll drive me distracted if I contain myself any longer. Mr. Marlow: sir; I have submitted to your insolence for more than four hours, and I see no likelihood of its coming to an end. I'm now resolved to be master here, sir, and I desire that you and your drunken pack may leave my house directly. MIarlow. Leave your house! - Sure you jest, my good friend! What, when I'm doing what I can to please you? Hard. I tell you, sir, you don't please me; so I desire you'll leave my house. Marlow. Sure, you cannot be serious? At this time of night, and such a night? You only mean to banter me. Hard. I tell you, sir, I'm serious; and, now that my passions are roused, I say this house is mine, sir; this house is mine, and I command you to leave it directly. Marlow. Ha! ha! ha! A puddle in a storm. I shan't stir a step, I assure you. [In a serious tone.] This your house, fellow! It's my house. This is my house. Mine, while I choose to stay. What right have you to bid me leave this house, sir? I never met with such impudence, curse me; never in my whole life before. Hard. Nor I, confound me if ever I did! To come to my house, to call for what he likes, to turn me out of my own chair, to insult the family, to order his servants to get drunk, and then to tell me, " This house is mine, sir." By all that's impudent, it makes me laugh. Ha! ha! ha! Pray, sir, [bantering] as 1 A street in London. Jeremy's "Liberty and Fleet Street for ever!" is in imitation of the cries " Wilkes and Liberty!" and " Wilkes and No. XLV. for ever!" See Wright's Caricature History of the Georges, VIII. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 59 you take the house, what think you of taking the rest of the furniture? There's a pair of silver candlesticks, and there's a fire-screen, and here's a pair of brazen-nosed bellows; perhaps you may take a fancy to them? Marlow. Bring me your bill, sir; bring me your bill, and let's make no more words about it. Hard. There are a set of prints, too. What think you of the Rake's Progress 1 for your own apartment? Marlow. Bring me your bill, I say; and I'll leave you and your infernal house directly. Hard. Then there's a mahogany table, that you may see your own face in. Alarlow. My bill, I say. Hard. I had forgot the great chair, for your own particular slumbers, after a hearty meal. Marlow. Zounds! bring me my bill, I say, and let's hear no more on't. Hard. Young man, young man, from your father's letter to me, I was taught to expect a well-bred, modest man as a visitor here, but now I find him no better than a coxcomb and a bully; but he will be down here presently, and shall hear more of it. [Exit. Marlow. How's this! Sure I have not mistaken the house! Everything looks like an inn. The servants cry " Coming;" the attendance is awkward; the bar-maid, too, to attend us. But she's here, and will further inform me. Whither so fast, child? A word with you. Enter MISS HARDCASTLE. Miss Hard. Let it be short, then. I'm in a hurry. [Aside.] I believe he begins to find out his mistake; but it's too soon quite to undeceive him. Marlow. Pray, child, answer me one question. What are you, and what may your business in this house be? Miss Hard. A relation of the family, sir. Marlow. What, a poor relation? 1 A series of pictures by Hogarth consisting of the following eight numbers: The Heir, The Levee, Orgies, The Arrest, The Marriage, The Gaming House, The Prison, The Madhouse. 60 GOLDSMITH. [ACT IV. Miss Hard. Yes, sir; a poor relation appointed to keep the keys, and to see that the guests want nothing in my power to give them. Marlow. That is, you act as the bar-maid of this inn. Miss Hard. Inn! 0 law!-what brought that in your head? One of the best families in the county keep an inn! Ha! ha! ha! old Mr. Hardcastle's house an inn! Marlow. Mr. Hardcastle's house! Is this house Mr. Hardcastle's house, child? Miss Hard. Ay, sure. Whose else should it be? Marlow. So then, all's out, and I have been damnably imposed on. 0, confound my stupid head, I shall be laughed at over the whole town. I shall be stuck up in caricatura in all the print-shops. The Dullissimo Macaroni.1 To mistake this house of all others for an inn, and my father's old friend for an inn-keeper! What a swaggering puppy must he take me for! What a silly puppy do I find myself! There again, may I be hanged, my dear, but I mistook you for the bar-maid. AMiss Hard. Dear me! dear me! I'm sure there's nothing in my behaviour to put me upon a level with one of that stamp. Marlow. Nothing, my dear, nothing. But I was in for a list of blunders, and could not help making you a subscriber. My stupidity saw everything the wrong way. I mistook your assiduity for assurance, and your simplicity for allurement. But it's over - this house I no more show my face in. 1 The dullest Macaroni, the dullest of fops. The name Macaroni commonly applied to dandies at this time was derived from the Italian dish, which was patronized by the Macaroni Club, a set of young men who were leaders in vice and foppery of all kinds. It was the custom at that time to satirize wellknown persons by caricatures set up in the print-shops and bearing the name of Macaroni, such as The Parade Macaroni and The Martial Macaroni. An account of the Macaronis with illustrations for 1772 and 1773 may be found in Wright's Caricature History, VII. The following lines, suggestive of another song to Americans, are from a song of the period: "With little hat, and hair dress'd high, And whip to ride a pony; If you but take a right survey, Denotes a Macaroni." SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 6i Miss Hard. I hope, sir, I have done nothing to disoblige you. I'm sure I should be sorry to affront any gentleman who has been so polite, and said so many civil things to me. I'm sure I should be sorry [pretending to cry] if he left the family upon my account. I'm sure I should be sorry people said anything amiss, since I have no fortune but my character. Marlow [aside]. By heaven, she weeps. This is the first mark of tenderness I ever had from a modest woman, and it touches me. [To her.] Excuse me, my lovely girl; you are the only part of the family I leave with reluctance. But to be plain with you, the difference of our birth, fortune, and education, make an honourable connexion impossible; and I can never harbour a thought of seducing simplicity that trusted in my honour, or bringing ruin upon one whose only fault was being too lovely. Miss Hard. [aside]. Generous man! I now begin to admire him. [To him.] But I'm sure my family is as good as Miss Hardcastle's; and though I'm poor, that's no great misfortune to a contented mind; and, until this moment, I never thought that it was bad to want fortune. Marlow. And why now, my pretty simplicity? Miss Hard. Because it puts me at a distance from one, that if I had a thousand pound I would give it all to. Marlow [aside]. This simplicity bewitches me, so that if I stay I'm undone. I must make one bold effort, and leave her. [To her.] Your partiality in my favour, my dear, touches me most sensibly; and were I to live for myself alone, I could easily fix my choice. But I owe too much to the opinion of the world, too much to the authority of a father; so that-I can scarcely speak it - it affects me. Farewell. [Exit. Miss Hard. I never knew half his merit till now. He shall not go, if I have power or art to detain him. I'll still preserve the character in which I stooped to conquer, but will undeceive my papa, who, perhaps, may laugh him out of his resolution. [ Exit. Enter TONY and MISS NEVILLE. Tony. Ay, you may steal for yourselves the next time. 1 have done my duty. She has got the jewels again, that's a sure thing; but she believes it was all a mistake of the servants. 62 GOLDSMITH. [ACT IV. Miss Neville. But, my dear cousin, sure you won't forsake us in this distress. If she in the least suspects that I am going off, I shall certainly be locked up, or sent to my aunt Pedigree's, which is ten times worse. Tony. To be sure, aunts of all kinds are damned bad things. But what can I do? I have got you a pair of horses that will fly like Whistle-jacket; 1 and I'm sure you can't say but I have courted you nicely before her face. Here she comes; we must court a bit or two more, for fear she should suspect us. [ They retire, and seem to fondle. Enter M.ts. HARDCASTLE. Mrs. Hard. Well, I was greatly fluttered, to be sure. But my son tells me it was all a mistake of the servants. I shan't be easy, however, till they are fairly married, and then let her keep her own fortune. But what do I see? Fondling together, as I'm alive. I never saw Tony so sprightly before. Ah! have I caught you, my pretty doves? What, billing, exchanging stolen glances and broken murmurs? Ah!: Tony. As for murmurs, mother, we grumble a little now and then, to be sure. But there's no love lost between us.2 Mrs. Hard. A mere sprinkling, Tony, upon the flame, only to make it burn brighter. Miss Neville. Cousin Tony promises to give us more of his company at home. Indeed, he shan't leave us any more. It won't leave us, cousin Tony, will it? Tony. O! it's a pretty creature. No, I'd sooner leave my horse in a pound, than leave you when you smile upon one so. Your laugh makes you so becoming. 1 Perhaps the name of a race-horse. 2 This expression, which is now used in a negative or ironical sense, was formerly used in a positive sense, as in the following lines from the ballad of the Children in the Wood: "No love between these two was lost, Each was to other kinde; In love they lived, in love they dyed, And left two babes behinde." Tony is playing on the two meanings. Another form occurs in Middleton's Witch, IV., iii: " There's no hate lost between us." SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUZER. 63 Miss Neville. Agreeable cousin! Who can help admiring that natural humour, that pleasant, broad, red, thoughtless [fatting his cheek] - ah! it's a bold face. irs. Hard. Pretty innocence! Tony. I'm sure I always loved cousin Con's hazel eyes, and her pretty long fingers, that she twists this way and that, over the haspicholls,1 like a parcel of bobbins. Mrs. Hard. Ah, he would charm the bird from the tree. I was never so happy before. My boy takes after his father, poor Mr. Lumpkin, exactly. The jewels, my dear Con, shall be your's incontinently.2 You shall have them. Isn't he a sweet boy, my dear? You shall be married to-morrow, and we'll put off the rest of his education, like Dr. Drowsy's sermons, to a fitter opportunity. Enter DIGGORY. Diggory. Where's the Squire? I have got a letter for your worship. Tony. Give it to my mamma. She reads all my letters first. i Diggory. I had orders to deliver it into your own hands. Tony. Who does it come from? Diggory. Your worship mun 8 ask that of the letter itself. Tony. I could wish to know, though. [Turning the letter, and gazing on it. Miss Neville [aside]. Undone, undone! A letter to him from Hastings. I know the hand. If my aunt sees it we are ruined for ever. I'll keep her employed a little if I can. [7o MRS. HARDCASTLE.] But I have not told you, madam, of my cousin's smart answer just now to Mr. Marlow. We so laughed - you must know, madam - this way a little, for he must not hear us. [They confer. Tony [stillgazing]. A damned cramp piece of penmanship, as ever I saw in my life. I can read your print hand very well. 1 " Goldsmith does not seem to have invented this delightful perversion, for Gray uses it in a letter to his friend Chute of 1746. He has ' not seen the face of a Haspical, since he came home.' Probably it was a popular vulgarism." - DOBSON. 2 Immediately. 8 Must. 64 GOLDSMITH. [ACT IV. But here there are such handles, and shanks, and dashes, that one can scarce tell the head from the tail. "To Anthony Lumpkin, Esquire." It's very odd, I can read the outside of my letters, where my own name is, well enough. But when I come to open it, it's all-buzz. That's hard, very hard; for the inside of the letter is always the cream of the correspondence. Mrs. Hard. Ha! ha! ha! Very well, very well. And so my son was too hard for the philosopher. Miss Neville. Yes, madam; but you must hear the rest, madam. A little more this way, or he may hear us. You'll hear how he puzzled him again. Mrs. Hard. He seems strangely puzzled now himself, methinks. Tony [still gazing]. A damned up and down hand, as if it was disguised in liquor. [Reading.] "Dear Sir." Ay, that's that. Then there's an M, and a T, and an S, but whether the next be an izzard or an R, confound me, I cannot tell. Mrs. Hard. What's that, my dear? Can I give you any assistance? Miss Neville. Pray, aunt, let me read it. Nobody reads a cramp hand better than I. [Twitching the letter from hitm.] Do you know who it is from? Tony. Can't tell, except from Dick Ginger, the feeder.1 Miss Neville. Ay, so it is. [Pretending to read.] Dear Squire, hoping that you're in health, as I am at this present. The gentlemen of the Shake-bag club has cut the gentlemen of Goose-green quite out of feather. The odds - um - odd battle - um - long fighting - um - Here, here, it's all about cocks and fighting; it's of no consequence; here, put it up, put it up. [Thrusting the crumnled letter upon hint. Tony. But I tell you, miss, it's of all the consequence in the world. I would not lose the rest of it for a guinea. Here, mother, do you make it out. Of no consequence! [Giving MRS. HARDCASTLE the letter. Mrs. Hard. How's this? [Reads. 1 Cock-feeder, presumably. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 65 DEAR SQUIRE, -I'm now waiting for Miss Neville, with a postchaise and pair, at the bottom of the garden, but I find my horses yet unable to perform the journey. I expect you'll assist us with a pair of fresh horses, as you promised. Dispatch is necessary, as the hag [ay, the hag], your mother, will otherwise suspect us. Yours, HASTINGS. Grant me patience! I shall run distracted! My rage chokes me! Miss Nevilee. I hope, madam, you'll suspend your resentment for a few moments, and not impute to me any impertinence or sinister design that belongs to another. Mrs. Hard. [curtseying very low]. Fine spoken, madam; you are most miraculously polite and engaging, and quite the very pink of courtesy 1 and circumspection, madam. [Changing her tone.] And you, you great ill-fashioned oaf, with scarce sense enough to keep your mouth shut; were you, too, joined against me? But I'11 defeat all your plots in a moment. As for you, madam, since you have got a pair of fresh horses ready, it would be cruel to disappoint them. So, if you please, instead of running away with your spark, prepare, this very moment, to run off with me. Your old aunt Pedigree will keep you secure, I'll warrant me. You too, sir, may mount your horse, and guard us upon the way. - Here, Thomas, Roger, Diggory. -I'll shew you that I wish you better than you do yourselves. [Exit. Miss Neville. So now I'm completely ruined. Tony. Ay, that's a sure thing. Miss Neville. What better could be expected from being connected with such a stupid fool, and after all the nods and signs I made him. Tony. By the laws, miss, it was your own cleverness, and not my stupidity, that did your business. You were so nice and so busy with your Shake-bags and Goose-greens, that I thought you could never be making believe. 1 This phrase is from Romeo and Juliet, II., iv., 6i. 5 66 GOLDSMITH. [ACT IV. Enter HASTINGS. Hastings. So, sir, I find by my servant that you have shown my letter and betrayed us. Was this well done, young gentleman? Tony. Here's another.l Ask miss there who betrayed you. Ecod, it was her doing, not mine. Enter MARLOW. Marlow. So, I have been finely used here among you. Rendered contemptible, driven into ill manners, despised, insulted, laughed at. Tony. Here's another.l We shall have old Bedlam2 broke loose presently. Miss Neville. And there, sir, is the gentleman to whom we all owe every obligation. Marlow. What can I say to him, amnere boy, an idiot, whose ignorance and age are a protection? Hastings. A poor contemptible booby, that would but disgrace correction. Miss Neville. Yet with cunning and malice enough to make himself merry with all our embarrassments. Hastings. An insensible cub. Marlow. Replete with tricks and mischief.8 Tony. Baw! damme, but I'll fight you both, one after the other, - with basket,.4 Marlow. As for him, he's below resentment. But your conduct, Mr. Hastings, requires an explanation. You knew of my mistakes, yet would not undeceive me. Hastings. Tortured as I am with my own disappointments, is this a time for explanations? It is not friendly, Mr. Marlow. 1 Mrs. Hardcastle has already entered, so Tony says upon the entrance of Hastings and again of Marlow, "Here's another [complainer]." 2 A lunatic asylum. The word is a contraction of Bethlehem, the name of a madhouse in London. 8 " A mere composition of tricks and mischief." See page 8. 4 Fencing-sticks with basket-work guards for the hand. "With basket-hilt that would hold broth, And serve for fight and dinner both." BUTLER, Hudibras, I., i., 353-4 - SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 67 Marlow. But, sirMiss Neville. Mr. Marlow, we never kept on your mistake, till it was too late to undeceive you. Be pacified. Enter SERVANT. Servant. My mistress desires you'll get ready immediately, madam. The horses are putting to. Your hat and things are in the next room. We are to go thirty miles before morning. [Exit SERVANT. Miss Neville. Well, well; I'll come presently. Marlow [to HASTINGS]. Was it well done, sir, to assist in rendering me ridiculous? To hang me out for the scorn of all my acquaintance? Depend upon it, sir, I shall expect an explanation. Hastings. Was it well done, sir, if you're upon that subject, to deliver what I entrusted to yourself, to the care of another, sir? Miss Neville. Mr. Hastings - Mr. Marlow - why will you increase my distress by this groundless dispute? I implore, I entreat you - Enter SERVANT. Servant. Your cloak, madam. My mistress is impatient. Miss Neville. I come. Pray be pacified. If I leave you thus, I shall die with apprehension. Enter SERVANT. Servant. Your fan, muff, and gloves, madam. The horses are waiting. Miss Neville. 0, Mr. Marlow! if you knew what a scene of constraint and ill-nature lies before me, I'm sure it would convert your resentment into pity. Marlow. I'm so distracted with a variety of passions, that I don't know what I do. Forgive me, madam. George, forgive me. You know my hasty temper, and should not exasperate it. Hastings. The torture of my situation is my only excuse. MAiss Neville. Well, my dear Hastings, if you have that esteem for me that I think, that I am sure you have, your constancy for three years will but increase the happiness of our future connexion. If 68 GOLDSMI TH. [ACT V. Mrs. Hard. [within]. Miss Neville. Constance, why, Constance, I say. Miss Neville. I'm coming. Well, constancy; remember, constancy is the word. [Exit. Hastings. My heart! how can I support this? To be so near happiness, and such happiness! Marlow [to TONY]. You see now, young gentleman, the effects of your folly. What might be amusement to you, is here disappointment, and even distress. Tony [from a reverie]. Ecod, I have hit it. It's here. Your hands. Yours and yours, my poor Sulky. My boots there, ho! Meet me two hours hence at the bottom of the garden; and if you don't find Tony Lumpkin a more goodnatured fellow than you thought for, I'll give you leave to take my best horse, and Bet Bouncer into the bargain. Come along. My boots, ho! [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.- Continues. Enter HASTINGS and SERVANT. Hastings. You saw the old lady and Miss Neville drive off, you say? Servant. Yes, your honour. They went off in a post-coach, and the young Squire went on horseback. They're thirty miles off by this time. Hastings. Then all my hopes are over. Servant. Yes, sir. Old Sir Charles is arrived. He and the old gentleman of the house have been laughing at Mr. Marlow's mistake this half hour. They are coming this way. Hastings. Then I must not be seen. So now to my fruitless appointment at the bottom of the garden. This is about the time. [Exit. Enter SIR CHARLES and HARDCASTLE. Hard. Ha! ha! ha! The peremptory tone in which he sent forth his sublime commands. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 69 Sir Charles. And the reserve with which I suppose he treated all your advances. Hard. And yet he might have seen something in me above a common innkeeper, too. Sir Charles. Yes, Dick, but he mistook you for an uncommon innkeeper; ha! ha! ha! Hard. Well, I'm in too good spirits to think of anything but joy. Yes, my dear friend, this union of our families will make our personal friendships hereditary; and though my daughter's fortune is but smallSir Charles. Why, Dick, will you. talk of fortune to me? My son is possessed of more than a competence already, and can want nothing but a good and virtuous girl to share his happiness and increase it. If they like each other, as you say they doHard. If, man! I tell you they do like each other. My daughter as good as told me so. Sir Charles. But girls are apt to flatter themselves, you know. Hard. I saw him grasp her hand in the warmest manner myself; and here he comes to put you out of your zfs, I warrant him. Enter MARLOW. Marlow. I come, sir, once more, to ask pardon for my strange conduct. I can scarce reflect on my insolence without confusion. Hard. Tut, boy, a trifle. You take it too gravely. An hour or two's laughing with my daughter will set all to rights again. She'll never like you the worse for it. Marlow. Sir, I shall be always proud of her approbation. Hard. Approbation is but a cold word, Mr. Marlow; if I am not deceived, you have something more than approbation thereabouts. You take me? Marlow. Really, sir, I have not that happiness. Hard. Come, boy, I'm an old fellow, and know what's what, as well as you that are younger. I know what has past between you; but mum. Marlow. Sure, sir, nothing has past between us but the 70 GOLDSMITH. [ACT V. most profound respect on my side, and the most distant reserve on hers. You don't think, sir, that my impudence has been past upon all the rest of the family? Hard. Impudence! No, I don't say that - not quite impudence - though girls like to be played with, and rumpled a little too, sometimes. But she has told no tales, I assure you. Marlow. I never gave her the slightest cause. Hard. Well, well, I like modesty in its place well enough. But this is over-acting, young gentleman. You may be open. Your father and I will like you the better for it. Marlow. May I die, sir, if I everHard. I tell you, she don't dislike you; and as I'm sure you like herMarlow. Dear sir-I protest, sirHard. I see no reason why you should not be joined as fast as the parson can tie you Marlow. But hear me, sirHard. Your father approves the match, I admire it; every moment's delay will be doing mischief, soMarlow. But why won't you hear me? By all that's just and true, I never gave Miss Hardcastle the slightest mark of my attachment, or even the most distant hint to suspect me of affection. We had but one interview, and that was formal, modest, and uninteresting. Hard [aside]. This fellow's formal modest impudence is beyond bearing. Sir Charles. And you never grasped her hand, or made any protestations? Marlow. As heaven is my witness, I came down in obedience to your commands. I saw the lady without emotion, and parted without reluctance. I hope you'll exact no further proofs of my duty, nor prevent me from leaving a house in which I suffer so many mortifications. [Exit. Sir Charles. I'm astonished at the air of sincerity with which he parted. Hard. And I'm astonished at the deliberate intrepidity of his assurance. Sir Charles. I dare pledge my life and honour upon his truth. SCENE I.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 7I Hard. Here comes my daughter, and I would stake my happiness upon her veracity. Enter Miss HARDCASTLE. Hard. Kate, come hither, child. Answer us sincerely, and without reserve: has Mr. Marlow made you any professions of love and affection? Miss Hard. The question is very abrupt, sir! But since you require unreserved sincerity, I think he has. Hard. [to SIR CHARLES]. YOU see. Sir Charles. And pray, madam, have you and my son had more than one interview? Miss Hard. Yes, sir, several. Hard. [to SIR CHARLES]. You see. Sir Charles. But did he profess any attachment? Miss Hard. A lasting one. Sir Charles. Did he talk of love? Miss Hard Much, sir. Sir Charles. Amazing! And all this formally? Miss Hard. Formally. Hard. Now, my friend, I hope you are satisfied. Sir Charles. And how did he behave, madam? Miss Hard. As most professed admirers do: said some civil things of my face; talked much of his want of merit, and the greatness of mine; mentioned his heart; gave a short tragedy speech; and ended with pretended rapture. Sir Charles. Now I'm perfectly convinced, indeed. I know his conversation among women to be modest and submissive. This forward, canting, ranting manner by no means describes him, and I am confident he never sat for the picture. Miss Hard. Then what, sir, if I should convince you to your face of my sincerity? If you and my papa, in about half an hour, will place yourselves behind that screen, you shall hear him declare his passion to me in person. Sir Charles. Agreed. And if I find him what you describe, all my happiness in him must have an end. [Exit. Miss Hard. And if you don't find him what I describe - I fear my happiness must never have a beginning. [Exeunt. 72 GOLDSMAITH. [ACT V. SCENE II. - Changes to the back of the Garden. Enter HASTINGS. Hastings. What an idiot am I, to wait here for a fellow who probably takes a delight in mortifying me. He never intended to be punctual, and I'll wait no longer. What do I see? It is he, and perhaps with news of my Constance. Enter TONY, booted and spattered. Hastings. My honest Squire! I now find you a man of your word. This looks like friendship. Tony. Ay, I'm your friend, and the best friend you have in the world, if you knew but all. This riding by night, by the bye, is cursedly tiresome. It has shook me worse than the basket of a stage-coach. Hastings. But how? Where did you leave your fellowtravellers? Are they in safety? Are they housed? Tony. Five and twenty miles in two hours and a half is no such bad driving. The poor beasts have smoked for it. Rabbit me,' but I'd rather ride forty miles after a fox, than ten with such varment.2 Hastings. Well, but where have you left the ladies? I die with impatience. Tony. Left them? Why, where should I leave them, but where I found them? Hastings. This is a riddle. Tony. Riddle me this, then. What's that goes round the house, and round the house, and never touches the house? Hastings. I'm still astray. Tony. Why, that's it, mon.3 I have led them astray. By jingo, there's not a pond or slough within five miles of the place but they can tell the taste of. Hastings. Ha! ha! ha! I understand: you took them in a round, while they supposed themselves going forward, and so you have at last brought them home again. 1 Confound me. Compare The Good-Natured Man, III., and The Rivals, I., i. (page Ioi). 2 A corruption of vermin. 8 Man. SCENE II.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 73 Tony. You shall hear. I first took them down Feather-bed Lane, where we stuck fast in the mud. I then rattled them crack over the stones of Up-and-down Hill. I then introduced them to the gibbet on Heavy-tree Heath; and from that, with a circumbendibus,1 I fairly lodged them in the horse-pond at the bottom of the garden. Hastings. But no accident, I hope? Tony. No, no. Only mother is confoundedly frightened. She thinks herself forty miles off. She's sick of the journey; and the cattle can scarce crawl. So, if your own horses be ready, you may whip off with cousin, and I'll be bound that no soul here can budge a foot to follow you. Hastings. My dear friend, how can I be grateful? Tony. Ay, now it's dear friend, noble Squire. Just now, it was all idiot, cub, and run me through the guts. Damn your way of fighting, I say. After we take a knock in this part of the country, we kiss and be friends. But if you had run me through the guts, then I should be dead, and you might go kiss the hangman.2 Hastings. The rebuke is just. But I must hasten to relieve Miss Neville; if you keep the old lady employed, I promise to take care of the young one. Tony. Never fear me. Here she comes. Vanish! [Exit HASTINGS.] She's got from the pond, and draggled up to the waist like a mermaid. Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE. Mrs. Hard. Oh, Tony, I'm killed! - shook! - battered to death! I shall never survive it. That last jolt, that laid us against the quickset hedge, has done my business. Tony. Alack, mamma, it was all your own fault. You would be for running away by night, without knowing one inch of the way. Mrs. Hard. I wish we were at home again. I never met so 1 A roundabout way, circuitous route. Tennyson put the word into the mouth of Little John in The Foresters, I., i. It occurs as early as I68I: " Let him alone: let him alone; I shall fetch him back with a circum-bendi. bus, I warrant him." - DRYDEN, The Spanish Friar, V., ii. 2 Kiss the hangman as a token of forgiveness just as you were going to be hanged. 74 GOLDSMITH. [ACT V. many accidents in so short a journey. Drenched in the mud, overturned in a ditch, stuck fast in a slough, jolted to a jelly, and at last to lose our way! Whereabouts do you think we are, Tony? Tony. By my guess we should be upon Crackskull Common, about forty miles from home. Mrs. Hard. 0 lud! 0 lud! the most notorious spot in all the country.' We only want a robbery to make a complete night on't. Tony. Don't be afraid, mamma, don't be afraid. Two of the five that kept here are hanged, and the other three may not find us. Don't be afraid. Is that a man that's galloping behind us? No; it's only a tree. Don't be afraid. Mrs. Hard. The fright will certainly kill me. Tony. Do you see anything like a black hat moving behind the thicket? Mrs. Hard. 0 death! Tony. No; it's only a cow. Don't be afraid, mamma, don't be afraid. Mrs. Hard. As I'm alive, Tony, I see a man coming towards us. Ah! I'm sure on't. If he perceives us, we are undone. Tony [aside]. Father-in-law, by all that's unlucky, come to take one of his night walks. [To her.] Ah! it's a highway1 " It was only on his friend's earnest representation of how useful his presence might be, should sudden alteration be found necessary in any scene, that he [Goldsmith] was prevailed on to go to the theatre [on the evening of the first performance]. He entered the stage-door at the opening of the fifth act, and heard a solitary hiss at the improbability of Mrs. Hardcastle, in her own garden, supposing herself forty miles off on Crackskull Common (a trick, nevertheless, which Sheridan actually played off on Madame de Genlis). 'What's that?' he cried out, alarmed not a little at the sound. ' Psha! Doctor,' said Colman, who was standing at the side-scene, doubtless well-pleased to have even so much sanction for all his original forebodings, ' don't be afraid of a squib, when we have been sitting these two hours on a barrel of gunpowder.' Cooke, who gives the best version of the anecdote, corrects assertions elsewhere made that it had happened at the last rehearsal; tells us that Goldsmith himself had related it to him; and adds that ' he never forgave it to Colman to the last hour of his life.'.. " This hiss seems to have been really a solitary one; for no difference is to be found in any reliable account, either public or private, as to the comedy's absolute success." - FORSTER, IV., xv. SCENE II.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 75 man, with pistols as long as my arm. A damned ill-looking fellow. Mfrs. Hard. Good heaven defend us! He approaches. Tony. Do you hide yourself in that thicket, and leave me to manage him. If there be any danger, I'll cough and cry hem. When I cough, be sure to keep close. [MRS. HARDCASTLE hides behind a tree in the back scene. Enter HARDCASTLE. Hard. I'm mistaken, or I heard voices of people in want of help. Oh, Tony, is that you? I did not expect you so soon back. Are your mother and her charge in safety? Tony. Very safe, sir, at my aunt Pedigree's. Hem. Mrs. Hard. [from behind]. Ah, death! I find there's danger. Hard. Forty miles in three hours; sure that's too much, my youngster. Tony. Stout horses and willing minds make short journeys, as they say. Hem. Mrs. Hard. [from behind]. Sure he'll do the dear boy no harm. Hard. But I heard a voice here; I should be glad to know from whence it came. Tony. It was I, sir, talking to myself, sir. I was saying that forty miles in four hours was very good going. Hem. As to be sure it was. Hem. I have got a sort of cold by being out in the air. We'll go in, if you please. Hem. Hard. But if you talked to yourself, you did not answer yourself. I am certain I heard two voices, and am resolved [raising his voice] to find the other out. Mrs. Hard. [from behind]. Oh! he's coming to find me out. Oh! Tony. What need you go, sir, if I tell you? Hem. I'll lay down my life for the truth -hem - I'll tell you all, sir. [Detaining him. Hard. I tell you I will not be detained. I insist on seeing. It's in vain to expect I'll believe you. Mrs. Hard. [running forward from behind]. 0 lud! he'll murder my poor boy, my darling! Here, good gentleman, whet 76 GOLDSzMITH. [ACT V. your rage upon me. Take my money, my life, but spare that young gentleman; spare my child, if you have any mercy. Hard. My wife! as I'm a Christian. From whence can she come? or what does she mean? Mrs. Hard. [kneeling]. Take compassion on us, good Mr. Highwayman. Take our money, our watches, all we have, but spare our lives. We will never bring you to justice; indeed we won't, good Mr. Highwayman. Hard. I believe the woman's out of her senses. What, Dorothy, don't you know me? Mrs. Hard. Mr. Hardcastle, as I'm alive! My fears blinded me. But who, my dear, could have expected to meet you here, in this frightful place, so far from home? What has brought you to follow us? Hard. Sure, Dorothy, you have not lost your wits? So far from home, when you are within forty yards of your own door! [To him.] This is one of your old tricks, you graceless rogue you. [To her.] Don't you know the gate, and the mulberrytree? and don't you remember the horse-pond, my dear? Mrs. Hard. Yes, I shall remember the horse-pond as long as I live; I have caught my death in it. [To TONY.] And is it to you, you graceless varlet, I owe all this? I'll teach you to abuse your mother, I will. Tony. Ecod, mother, all the parish says you have spoiled me, and so you may take the fruits on't. Mrs. Hard. I'll spoil you, I will. [Follows him off the stage. Exit. Hard. There's morality, however, in his reply. [Exit. Enter HASTINGS and MISS NEVILLE. Hastings. My dear Constance, why will you deliberate thus? If we delay a moment, all is lost for ever. Pluck up a little resolution, and we shall soon be out of the reach of her malignity. Miss Aeville. I find it impossible. My spirits are so sunk with the agitations I have suffered, that I am unable to face any new danger. Two or three years' patience will at last crown us with happiness. SCENE III.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 77 Hastings. Such a tedious delay is worse than inconstancy. Let us fly, my charmer. Let us date our happiness from this very moment. Perish fortune! Love and content will increase what we possess beyond a monarch's revenue. Let me prevail. Miss Neville. No, Mr. Hastings, no. Prudence once more comes to my relief, and I will obey its dictates. In the moment of passion, fortune may be despised, but it ever produces a lasting repentance. I'm resolved to apply to Mr. Hardcastle's compassion and justice for redress. Hastings. But though he had the will, he has not the power to relieve you. Miss Neville. But he has influence, and upon that I am resolved to rely. Hastings. I have no hopes. But since you persist, I must reluctantly obey you. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Changes [back to the House]. Enter SIR CHARLES and Miss HARDCASTLE. Sir Charles. What a situation am I in! If what you say appears, I shall then find aguilty son. If what he says be true, I shall then lose one that, of all others, I most wished for a daughter. Miss Hard. I am proud of your approbation; and to show I merit it, if you place yourselves as I directed, you shall hear his explicit declaration. But he comes. Sir Charles. I'll to your father, and keep him to the appointment. [Exit SIR CHARLES. Enter MARLOW. Marlow. Though prepared for setting out, I come once more to take leave; nor did I, till this moment, know the pain I feel in the separation. Miss Hard. [in her own natural manner]. I believe these sufferings cannot be very great, sir, which you can so easily remove. A day or two longer, perhaps, might lessen your uneasiness, by showing the little value of what you think proper to regret. 78 GOLDSMITH. [ACT V. Marlow [aside]. This girl every moment improves upon me. [To her.] It must not be, madam. I have already trifled too long with my heart. My very pride begins to submit to my passion. The disparity of education and fortune, the anger of a parent, and the contempt of my equals, begin to lose their weight; and nothing can restore me to myself but this painful effort of resolution. Miss Hard. Then go, sir. I'll urge nothing more to detain you. Though my family be as good as hers you came down to visit, and my education, I hope, not inferior, what are these advantages without equal affluence? I must remain contented with the slight approbation of imputed merit; I must have only the mockery of your addresses, while all your serious aims are fixed on fortune. Enter HARDCASTLE and SIR CHARLES from behind. Sir Charles. Here, behind this screen. Hard. Ay, ay; make no noise. I'll engage my Kate covers him with confusion at last. Marlow. By heavens, madam, fortune was ever my smallest consideration. Your beauty at first caught my eye; for who could see that without emotion? But every moment that I converse with you steals in some new grace, heightens the picture, and gives it stronger expression. What at first seemed rustic plainness, now appears refined simplicity. What seemed forward assurance, now strikes me as the result of courageous innocence and conscious virtue. Sir Charles. What can it mean? He amazes me! Hard. I told you how it would be. Hush! Marlow. I am now determined to stay, madam, and I have too good an opinion of my father's discernment, when he sees you, to doubt his approbation. Miss Hard. No, Mr. Marlow, I will not, cannot detain you. Do you think I could suffer a connexion in which there is the smallest room for repentance? Do you think I would take the mean advantage of a transient passion to load you with confusion? Do you think I could ever relish that happiness which was acquired by lessening yours? Marlow. By all that's good, I can have no happiness but SCENE III.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 79 what's in your power to grant me. Nor shall I ever feel repentance, but in not having seen your merits before. I will stay, even contrary to your wishes; and though you should persist to shun me, I will make my respectful assiduities atone for the levity of my past conduct. Miss Hard. Sir, I must entreat you'll desist. As our acquaintance began, so let it end, in indifference. I might have given an hour or two to levity; but seriously, Mr. Marlow, do you think I could ever submit to a connexion, where I must appear mercenary, and you imprudent? Do you think I could ever catch at the confident addresses of a secure admirer? Marlow [kneeling]. Does this look like security? Does this look like confidence? No, madam, every moment that shews me your merit, only serves to increase my diffidence and confusion. Here let me continueSir Charles. I can hold it no longer. Charles, Charles, how hast thou deceived me! Is this your indifference, your uninteresting conversation? Hard. Your cold contempt -your formal interview? What have you to say now? Marlow. That I'm all amazement! What can it mean? Hard. It means that you can say and unsay things at pleasure; that you can address a lady in private, and deny it in public; that you have one story for us, and another for my daughter. Marlow. Daughter! - this lady your daughter? Hard. Yes, sir, my only daughter - my Kate; whose else should she be? Marlow. Oh, the devil! Miss Hard. Yes, sir, that very identical tall squinting lady you were pleased to take me for [curtseying]; she that you addressed as the mild, modest, sentimental man of gravity, and the bold, forward, agreeable Rattle of the Ladies' Club; ha! ha! ha! Marlow. Zounds! there's no bearing this; it's worse than death! Miss Hard. In which of your characters, sir, will you give us leave to address you? As the faltering gentleman, with looks on the ground, that speaks just to be heard, and hates 80 GOLDSMITH. [ACT V. hypocrisy; or the loud confident creature, that keeps it up 1 with Mrs. Mantrap, and old Miss Biddy Buckskin, till three in the morning? ha! ha! ha! Marlow. O, curse on my noisy head! I never attempted to be impudent yet, that I was not taken down. I must be gone. Hard. By the hand of my body, but you shall not. I see it was all a mistake, and I am rejoiced to find it. You shall not, sir, I tell you. I know she'll forgive you. Won't you forgive him, Kate? We'll all forgive you. Take courage, man. [ They retire, she tormenting him, to the back scene. Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE, TONY. Mrs. Hard. So, so, they're gone off. Let them go, I care not. Hard. Who gone? Mrs. Hard. My dutiful niece and her gentleman, Mr. Hastings, from town. He who came down with our modest visitor here. Sir Charles. Who, my honest George Hastings? As worthy a fellow as lives, and the girl could not have made a more prudent choice. Hard. Then, by the hand of my body, I'm proud of the connexion. Mrs. Hard. Well, if he has taken away the lady, he has not taken her fortune; that remains in this family to console us for her loss. Hard. Sure, Dorothy, you would not be so mercenary? Mrs. Hard. Ay, that's my affair, not yours. Hard. But you know if your son, when of age, refuses to marry his cousin, her whole fortune is then at her own disposal. Mrs. Hard. Ay, but he's not of age, and she has not thought proper to wait for his refusal. Enter HASTINGS and MIss NEVILLE. Mrs. Hard. [aside]. What, returned so soon! I begin not to like it. 1 Compare The Rivals, I., i. (page loT): " Mr. Faulkland's gentleman and I keep it up a little in private parties." SCENE III.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 8I Hastings [to HARDCASTLE]. For my late attempt to fly off with your niece, let my present confusion be my punishment. We are now come back, to appeal from your justice to your humanity. By her father's consent, I first paid her my addresses, and our passions were first founded in duty. Miss Neville. Since his death, I have been obliged to stoop to dissimulation to avoid oppression. In an hour of levity, I was ready even to give up my fortune to secure" my choice. But I'm now recovered from the delusion, and hope from your tenderness what is denied me from a nearer connexion. Mrs. Hard. Pshaw, pshaw! this is all but the whining end of a modern novel. Hard. Be it what it will, I'm glad they're come back to reclaim their due. Come hither, Tony, boy. Do you refuse this lady's hand whom I now offer you? Tony. What signifies my refusing? You know I can't refuse her till I'm of age, father. Hard. While I thought concealing your age, boy, was likely to conduce to your improvement, I concurred with your mother's desire to keep it secret. But since I find she turns it to a wrong use, I must now declare you have been of age these three months. Tony. Of age! Am I of age, father? Hard. Above three months. Tony. Then you'll see the first use I'll make of my liberty. [Taking MIss NEVILLE'S hand.] Witness all men by these presents, that I, Anthony Lumpkin, Esquire, of BLANK place, refuse you, Constantia Neville, spinster, of no place at all, for my true and lawful wife. So Constance Neville may marry whom she pleases, and Tony Lumpkin is his own man again. Sir Charles. O brave Squire! Hastings. My worthy friend! Mrs. Hard. My undutiful offspring! Marlow. Joy, my dear George; I give you joy sincerely. And could I prevail upon my little tyrant here to be less arbitrary, I should be the happiest man alive, if you would return me the favour. Hastings [to Miss HARDCASTLE]. Come, madam, you are now driven to the very last scene of all your contrivances. I 6 82 GOLDSMITH. [ACT V. know you like him, I'm sure he loves you, and you must and shall have him. Hard. [joining their hands]. And I say so too. And, Mr. Marlow, if she makes as good a wife as she has a daughter, I don't believe you'll ever repent your bargain. So now to supper. To-morrow we shall gather all the poor of the parish about us, and the mistakes of the night shall be crowned with a merry morning. So, boy, take her; and as you have been mistaken in the mistress, my wi~h is, that you may never be mistaken in the wife. [Exeunt omnes. EPIL.] SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 83 EPILOGUE. BY DR. GOLDSMITH. SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY IN THE CHARACTER OF MISS HARDCASTLE. WELL, having stoop'd to conquer with success, And gain'd a husband without aid from dress, Still, as a bar-maid, I could wish it too, As I have conquer'd him, to conquer you: And let me say, for all your resolution, That pretty bar-maids have done execution. Our life is all a play, compos'd to please; "We have our exits and our entrances." The first act shows the simple country maid, Harmless and young, of everything afraid; Blushes when hired, and with unmeaning action, " I hopes as how to give you satisfaction." Her second act displays a livelier sceneTh'unblushing bar-maid of a country inn, Who whisks about the house, at market caters, Talks loud, coquets the guests, and scolds the waiters. Next the scene shifts to town, and there she soars, The chop-house toast of ogling connoisseurs. On squires and cits she there displays her arts, And on the gridiron broils her lovers' hearts - 1 Adapted from As You Like It, II., vii., 14i. The five acts of this Epilogue are in imitation of Shakespeare's famous Seven Ages, the introduction of which, including the line just cited, runs: "All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances." 84 GOLDSMITH. [EPIL. And as she smiles, her triumphs to complete, E'en common-councilmen forget to eat. The fourth act shows her wedded to the squire, And madam now begins to hold it higher; Pretends to taste, at operas cries caro,l And quits her Nancy Dawson 2 for Che Faro; 8 Doats upon dancing, and in all her pride, Swims round the room, the Heinel 4 of Cheapside; Ogles and leers with artificial skill, Till, having lost in age the power to kill, She sits all night at cards, and ogles at spadille.6 Such, through our lives, the eventful historyThe fifth and last act still remains for me. The bar-maid now for your protection prays, Turns female barrister, and pleads for Bayes.7 1 Italian for dear, used in applauding, like bravo. "One swore it was inimitable; another said it was damn'd fine; and a third cried out in a rapture, 'Carissimo!' " — Citizen of the World, XXX. 2 A popular song beginning: "Of all the girls in our town, The black, the fair, the red, the brown, That dance and prance it up and down, There's none like Nancy Dawson!" A complete copy may be found in Notes and Queries, 2nd Series, Vol. X., page X o. Compare the line in the second Epilogue printed in the Appendix: " Quits the ballet and calls for Nancy Dawson." 8 Che farb senza Euridice, the lament of Orpheus in Gluck's opera of Orfeo ed Euridice. 4 Anna Friederike Heinel, a beautiful and celebrated German dancer at this time in London. 5 A street in London. 6 The ace of spades, the strongest card in the old game of ombre - here used for the game itself. See Pope's Rape of the Lock, Canto II. 7 Bayes was the poet and principal character in the Duke of Buckingham's Rehearsal, and was intended as a caricature of Dryden. Here the word is used for dramatist and makes a pun with bays. Compare the Epilogue to The School for Scandal, 5. EPIL. SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. 85 EPILOGUE.* BY J. CRADOCK, ESQ.2 TO BE SPOKEN IN THE CHARACTER OF TONY LUMPKIN. WELL - now all's ended - and my comrades gone, Pray what becomes of mother's nonly son? A hopeful blade! - in town I'll fix my station, And try to make a bluster in the nation. As for my cousin Neville, I renounce her; Off - in a crack — I'll carry big Bet Bouncer. Why should not I in the great world appear? I soon shall have a thousand pounds a year! No matter what a man may here inherit, In London- 'gad, they've some regard to spirit. I see the horses prancing up the streets, And big Bet Bouncer bobs to all she meets; Then hoiks3 to jigs and pastimes ev'ry nightNot to the plays - they say it an't polite; * This came too late to be spoken. 1 " I thank you sincerely for your Epilogue, which however could not be used, but with your permission shall be printed." - GOLDSMITH to Cradock. " The Epilogue, as Dr. Goldsmith terms it, was a mere jeu d'esprit, returned to him, with the copy of his comedy, as a ludicrous address to the town by Tony Lumpkin, but not intended to be spoken." -CRADOCK, Memoirs, I. "The Epilogue and Song were intended for Mr. Quick. He would, if any one, have carried them both through. The Epilogue was thought too personal, and occasioned some dissension, though not with my friend Goldsmith. That curtailed and printed at the end of the comedy was without either my knowledge or consent." - CRADOCK, Memoirs, IV. 2 Joseph Cradock, author of the tragedy of Zobeide, friend of Goldsmith. 8 This is presumably the same as hike, to hasten, to go rapidly, as in the expression hike out. Is it related to the hunting cry? 86 GOLDSMITH. [EPIL. To Sadler's-Wells1 perhaps, or operas go, And once by chance to the roratorio.2 Thus here and there, for ever up and down, We'll set the fashions too, to half the town; And then at auctions - money ne'er regard, Buy pictures like the great, ten pounds a yard: Zounds, we shall make these London gentry say, We know what's damned genteel as well as they.8 1 A popular pleasure garden. The old " Musick House " was pulled down in 1765 and a theater erected in its place. See Baker's London Stage for a chapter on Sadler's Wells. 2 Oratorio. Compare yelocution for elocution. 8 For Goldsmith's letter to Cradock giving the story of the Epilogues and for two additional Epilogues, see Appendix. THE RIVALS. A COMEDY. By RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 1 2 I PREFACE. A PREFACE to a play seems generally to be considered as a kind of closet-prologue, in which - if his piece has been successful -the author solicits that indulgence from the reader which he had before experienced from the audience: but as the scope and immediate object of a play is to please a mixed assembly in representation (whose judgment in the theatre at least is decisive), its degree of reputation is usually as determined as public, before it can be prepared for the cooler tribunal of the study. Thus any farther solicitude on the part of the writer becomes unnecessary at least, if not an intrusion: and if the piece has been condemned in the performance, I fear an address to the closet, like an appeal to posterity, is constantly regarded as the procrastination of a suit, from a consciousness of the weakness of the cause. From these considerations, the following comedy would certainly have been submitted to the reader, without any farther introduction than what it had in the representation, but that its success has probably been founded on a circumstance which the author is informed has not before attended a theatrical trial, and which consequently ought not to pass unnoticed. I need scarcely add, that the circumstance alluded to was the withdrawing of the piece, to remove those imperfections in the first representation which were too obvious to escape reprehension, and too numerous to admit of a hasty correction. There are few writers, I believe, who, even in the fullest consciousness of error, do not wish to palliate the faults which they acknowledge; and, however trifling the performance, to second their confession of its deficiencies, by whatever plea seems least disgraceful to their ability. In the present instance, it cannot be said to amount either to candour or modesty in me, to acknowledge an extreme inexperience and want of judgment on matters, in which, without guidance from practice, or spur from success, a young man should scarcely boast of being an adept. 3 9o SHERIDAN. [PREF. If it be said, that under such disadvantages no one should attempt to write a play, I must beg leave to dissent from the position, while the first point of experience that I have gained on the subject is, a knowledge of the candour and judgment with which an impartial public distinguishes between the errors of inexperience and incapacity, and the indulgence which it shows even to a disposition to remedy the defects of either. It were unnecessary to enter into any farther extenuation of what was thought exceptionable in this play, but that it has been said, that the managers should have prevented some of the defects before its appearance to the public - and in particular the uncommon length of the piece as represented the first night. It were an ill return for the most liberal and gentlemanly conduct on their side, to suffer any censure to rest where none was deserved. Hurry in writing has long been exploded as an excuse for an author; - however, in the dramatic line, it may happen, that both an author and a manager may wish to fill a chasm in the entertainment of the public with a hastiness not altogether culpable. The season was advanced when I first put the play into Mr. Harris's 1 hands: it was at that time at least double the length of any acting comedy. I profited by his judgment and experience in the curtailing of it - till, I believe, his feeling for the vanity of a young author got the better of his desire for correctness, and he left many excrescences remaining, because he had assisted in pruning so many more. Hence, though I was not uninformed that the acts were still too long, I flattered myself that, after the first trial, I might with safer judgment proceed to remove what should appear to have been most dissatisfactory. Many other errors there were, which might in part have arisen from my being by no means conversant with plays in general, either in reading or at the theatre..Yet I own that, in one respect, I did not regret my ignorance; for as my first wish in attempting a play was to avoid every appearance of plagiary, I thought I should stand a better chance of effecting this from being in a walk which I had not frequented, and where, consequently, the progress of invention was less likely to be interrupted by starts of recollection; for on 1 Manager of Covent Garden Theater. 4 PREF.] THE RIVALS. 91 subjects on which the mind has been much informed, invention is slow of exerting itself. Faded ideas float in the fancy like halfforgotten dreams; and the imagination in its fullest enjoyments becomes suspicious of its offspring, and doubts whether it has created or adopted.1 With regard to some particular passages which on the first night's representation seemed generally disliked, I confess, that if I felt any emotion of surprise at the disapprobation, it was not that they were disapproved of, but that I had not before perceived that they deserved it. As some part of the attack on the piece was begun too early to pass for the sentence of judgment, which is ever tardy in condemning, it has been suggested to me, that much of the disapprobation must have arisen from virulence of malice, rather than severity of criticism; but as I was more apprehensive of there being just grounds to excite the latter than conscious of having deserved the former, I continue not to believe that probable, which I am sure must have been unprovoked. However, if it was so, and I could even mark the quarter from whence it came, it would be ungenerous to retort; for no passion suffers more than malice from disappointment. For my own part, I see no reason why the author of a play should not regard a first night's audience as a candid and judicious friend attending, in behalf of the public, at his last rehearsal. If he can dispense with flattery, he is sure at least of sincerity, and even though the annotation be rude, he may rely upon the justness of the comment. Considered in this light, that audience, whosefiat is essential to the poet's claim, whether his object be fame or profit, has surely a right to expect some deference to its opinion, from principles of politeness at least, if not from gratitude. As for the little puny critics, who scatter their peevish strictures in private circles, and scribble at every author who has the eminence of being unconnected with them, as they are usually spleen-swoln from a vain idea of increasing their consequence, 1 " I never wrote a ' good' line in my life, but the moment after it was written it seemed a hundred years old. Very commonly I had a sudden conviction that I had seen it somewhere." - HOLMES, Autocrat, II. "I never wrote a line of verse that seemed to me comparatively good, but it appeared old at once, and often as if it had been borrowed." -Idem, VI. 5 92 SHERIDAN. [PREF. there will always be found a petulance and illiberality in their remarks, which should place them as far beneath the notice of a gentleman, as their original dulness had sunk them from the level of the most unsuccessful author. It is not without pleasure that I catch at an opportunity of justifying myself from the charge of intending any national reflection in the character of Sir Lucius O'Trigger. If any gentlemen opposed the piece from that idea, I thank them sincerely for their opposition; and if the condemnation of this comedy (however misconceived the provocation) could have added one spark to the decaying flame of national attachment to the country supposed to be reflected on, I should have been happy in its fate; and might with truth have boasted, that it had done more real service in its failure, than the successful morality of a thousand stage-novels will ever effect. It is usual, I believe, to thank the performers in a new play, for the exertion of their several abilities. But where (as in this instance) their merit has been so striking and uncontroverted, as to call for the warmest and truest applause from a number of judicious audiences, the poet's after-praise comes like the feeble acclamation of a child to close the shouts of a multitude. The conduct, however, of the principals in a theatre cannot be so apparent to the public. I think it therefore but justice to declare, that from this theatre (the only one I can speak of from experience) those writers who wish to try the dramatic line will meet with that candour and liberal attention which are generally allowed to be better calculated to lead genius into excellence, than either the precepts of judgment, or the guidance of experience. THE AUTHOR. 6 DRAMATIS PERSONA. [As ORIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT GARDEN IN 1775.] SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUTE..... MR. SHUTER. CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE....... MR. WOODWARD. FAULKLAND......... MR. LEWIS. ACRES.......... MR. QUICK. SIR LUCIUS O'TRIGGER...... MR. LEE. FAG.......... MR. LEE LEWES. DAVID.......... MR. DUNSTAL. THOMAS......... MR. FEARON. MRS. MALAPROP....... MRS. GREEN. LYDIA LANGUISH....... MISS BARSANTI. JULIA.......... MRS. BULKLEY. LUCY........ MRS.LESSINGHAM. Maid, Boy, Servants, &Sc. SCENE BATH. Time of Action - Five Hours. I PROLOGUE. BY THE AUTHOR. SPOKEN BY MR. WOODWARD AND MR. QUICK. Enter SERJEANT-AT-LAW, and ATTORNEY following, and giving a paper. Serj. What's here! - a vile cramp hand! I cannot see Without my spectacles. Att. He means his fee. Nay, Mr. Serjeant, good sir, try again. [Gives money. Serj. The scrawl improves! [More.] 0 come, 'tis pretty plain. Hey! how's this? Dibble! - sure it cannot be!1 A poet's brief! a poet and a fee! Att. Yes, sir! though you without reward, I know, Would gladly plead the Muse's cause. SerI. So! -so! Att. And if the fee offends, your wrath should fall On me. Serj. Dear Dibble, no offence at all. Att. Some sons of Phoebus 2 in the courts we meet, Serj. And fifty sons of Phoebus in the Fleet!3 Att. Nor pleads he worse, who with a decent sprig Of bays adorns his legal waste of wig. Serj. Full-bottom'd heroes thus, on signs, unfurl A leaf of laurel in a grove of curl! Yet tell your client that, in adverse days, This wig is warmer than a bush of bays. 1 For lines which afterwards replaced lines 5-o1 see Appendix. 2 Sons of Phoebus, poets. 3 Fleet Prison, which Pope called the " haunt of the Muses." (Dunciad, II., 428.) 96 SHERIDAN. [PROL. Att. Do you, then, sir, my client's place supply, Profuse of robe and prodigal of tie - Do you, with all those blushing powers of face, And wonted bashful hesitating grace, Rise in the court, and flourish on the case. [Exit. Serj. For practice then suppose - this brief will show it, Me, Serjeant Woodward, -counsel for the poet. Used to the ground, I know, 'tis hard to deal With this dread court, from whence there's no appeal; No tricking here, to blunt the edge of law, Or, damn'd in equity, escape by flaw: But judgment given, your sentence must remain; No writ of error lies- to Drury Lane! Yet when so kind you seem, 'tis past dispute We gain some favour, if not costs of suit. No spleen is here! I see no hoarded fury; - I think I never faced a milder jury! Sad else our plight! where frowns are transportation, A hiss the gallows, and a groan damnation! But such the public candour, without fear My client waves all right of challenge here. No newsman from our session is dismiss'd, Nor wit nor critic we scratch off the list; His faults can never hurt another's ease, His crime, at worst, a bad attempt to please: Thus, all respecting, he appeals to all, And by the general voice will stand or fall. 10 PROLOGUE. BY THE AUTHOR. SPOKEN ON THE TENTH NIGHT, BY MRS. BULKLEY. GRANTED our cause, our suit and trial o'er, The worthy serjeant need appear no more: In pleasing I a different client choose, He served the Poet - I would serve the Muse: Like him, I'll try to merit your applause, A female counsel in a female's cause. Look on this form,* -where humour, quaint and sly, Dimples the cheek, and points the beaming eye; Where gay invention seems to boast its wiles In amorous hint, and half-triumphant smiles; While her light mask or covers satire's strokes, Or hides the conscious blush her wit provokes. Look on her well - does she seem form'd to teach? Should you expect to hear this lady preach? Is grey experience suited to her youth? Do solemn sentiments 1 become that mouth? Bid her be grave, those lips should rebel prove To every theme that slanders mirth or love. Yet, thus adorn'd with every graceful art To charm the fancy and yet reach the heart - Must we displace her? And instead advance The goddess of the woful countenanceThe sentimental Muse!- Her emblems view, The Pilgrim's Progress, and a sprig of rue! View her- too chaste to look like flesh and blood - Primly portray'd on emblematic wood! * Pointing to the figure of Comedy. 1 Goldsmith and Sheridan led the revolt from sentimental comedy. See the Prologue to She Stoops to Conquer and references, page 5. 7 II 98 SHERIDA N. [PROL. There, fix'd in usurpation, should she stand, She'll snatch the dagger from her sister's hand; And having made her votaries weep a flood, Good heaven! she'll end her comedies in blood Bid Harry Woodward 1 break poor Dunstal's crown; Imprison Quick, and knock Ned Shuter down; While sad Barsanti, weeping o'er the scene, Shall stab herself - or poison Mrs. Green. Such dire encroachments to prevent in time, Demands the critic's voice - the poet's rhyme. Can our light scenes add strength to holy laws! Such puny patronage but hurts the cause: Fair virtue scorns our feeble aid to ask; And moral truth disdains the trickster's mask. For here their favourite stands,* whose brow, severe And sad, claims youth's respect, and pity's tear; Who, when oppress'd by foes her worth creates, Can point a poniard at the guilt she hates. * Pointing to Tragedy. 1 The names in this and the following three lines are those of the original actors in this play. See the Dramatis Persons. 12 THE RIVALS. ACT I. SCENE I.- A Street in Bath. Enter THOMAS; he crosses the Stage; FAG follows, looking after him. Fag. What! Thomas! — Sure'tis he! - What! Thomas! Thomas! Thos. Hey! - Odd's life! Mr. Fag! give us your hand, my old fellow-servant. Fag. Excuse my glove, Thomas: - I'm devilish glad to see you, my lad. Why, my prince of charioteers, you look as hearty! - but who the deuce thought of seeing you in Bath? Thos. Sure, master, Madam Julia, Harry, Mrs. Kate, and the postillion, be all come. Fag. Indeed! Thos. Ay, master thought another fit of the gout was coming to make him a visit; so he'd a mind to gi't the slip, and whip! we were all off at an hour's warning. Fag. Ay, ay, hasty in every thing, or it would not be Sir Anthony Absolute! Thos. But tell us, Mr. Fag, how does young master? Odd! Sir Anthony will stare to see the captain here! Fag. I do not serve Captain Absolute now. Thos. Why sure! Fag. At present I am employed by Ensign Beverley. Thos. I doubt, Mr. Fag, you ha'n't changed for the better. Fag. I have not changed, Thomas. Thos. No! Why didn't you say you had left young master? 13 I00 SHERIDAN. [ACT I. Fag. No. -. Well, honest Thomas, I must puzzle you no farther: — briefly then - Captain Absolute and Ensign Beverley are one and the same person. Thos. The devil they are! Fag. So it is indeed, Thomas; and the ensign half of my master being on guard at present - the captain has nothing to do with me. Thos. So, so! - What, this is some freak, I warrant!Do tell us, Mr. Fag, the meaning o't - you know I ha' trusted you. Fag. You'll be secret, Thomas? Thos. As a coach-horse. Fag. Why then the cause of all this is - Love, - Love, Thomas, who (as you may get read to you) has been a masquerader ever since the days of Jupiter.' 7hos. Ay, ay; — I guessed there was a lady in the case: — but pray, why does your master pass only for ensign? - Now if he had shammed general indeed Fag. Ah! Thomas, there lies the mystery o' the matter. Hark'ee, Thomas, my master is in love with a lady of a very singular taste; a lady who likes him better as a half-pay ensign than if she knew he was son and heir to Sir Anthony Absolute, a baronet of three thousand a year. Thos. That is an odd taste indeed! - But she has got the stuff, Mr. Fag? Is she rich, hey? Fag. Rich! why, I believe she owns half the stocks! Zounds! Thomas, she could pay the national debt as easily as I could my washerwoman! She has a lap-dog that eats out of gold, she feeds her parrot with small pearls, and all her threadpapers are made of bank-notes! Thos. Bravo, faith! - Odd! I warrant she has a set of thousands at least; but does she draw kindly with the captain? Fag. As fond as pigeons. Thos. May one hear her name? Fag. Miss Lydia Languish. - But there is an old tough aunt in the way; though, by the by, she has never seen my 1 Jupiter assumed various disguises to meet the objects of his love. 14 SCENE I.] THE RIVALS. I01 master, for we got acquainted with miss while on a visit in Gloucestershire. Thos. Well - I wish they were once harnessed together in matrimony. - But pray, Mr. Fag, what kind of a place is this Bath? 1- I ha' heard a deal of it —here's a mort2 o' merrymaking, hey? Fag. Pretty well, Thomas, pretty well -'tis a good lounge; in the morning we go to the pump-room 8 (though neither my master nor I drink the waters); after breakfast we saunter on the parades, or play a game at billiards; at night we dance; but damn the place, I'm tired of it: their regular hours stupify me - not a fiddle nor a card after eleven! - However, Mr. Faulkland's gentleman and I keep it up 4 a little in private parties;-I'll introduce you there, Thomas —you'll like him much. Thos. Sure I know Mr. Du-Peigne - you know his master is to marry Madam Julia. Fag. I had forgot. - But, Thomas, you must polish a little - indeed you must. - Here now - this wig! - what the devil do you do with a wig, Thomas? none of the London whips 5 of any degree of ton wear wigs now. Thos. More's the pity! more's the pity, I say. - Odd's life! when I heard how the lawyers and doctors had took to their own hair, I thought how 'twould go next:- odd rabbit it! 6 when the fashion had got foot on the bar,7 I guessed 'twould mount to the box 8 -but 'tis all out of character, believe me, Mr. Fag: and 1 For an answer to this question see Anstey's satirical poem The New Bath Guide (1766), and Smollett's Humphry Clinker (I771) and other novels. Foote's Maid of Bath was put on the London stage in 1771. Goldsmith's Life of Richard Nash, who was known as "' King of Bath," gives a view of the place at a period a few years before the time of this play, and Jane Austen's story of Northanger Abbey and letters at a period later than the play. See also Frances Bunley's Diary and Letters. 2 Great amount. 3 The room where the waters are drawn and drunk. 4 Compare page 80. 5 Coachmen. 6 Confound it. Compare page 72. 7 Observe the pun on bar. 8 The driver's seat; by metonymy, the driver. Observe that these whips take their figures from their occupation, as when they speak of the couple drawing kindly together. 15 102 SHERIDAN. [ACT I. look'ee, I'll never gi' up mine- the lawyers and doctors may do as they will. Fag. Well, Thomas, we'll not quarrel about that. Thos. Why, bless you, the gentlemen of the professions ben't all of a mind -for in our village now, thoff 1 Jack Gauge the exciseman has ta'en to his carrots,2 there's little Dick the farrier swears he'll never forsake his bob,3 though all the college should appear with their own heads! Fag. Indeed! well said, Dick! - But hold- mark! mark! Thomas. Thos. Zooks! 'tis the captain. - Is that the lady with him? Fag. No, no, that is Madam Lucy, my master's mistress's maid. They lodge at that house - but I must after him to tell him the news. Thos. Odd! he's giving her money! - Well, Mr. Fag - Fag. Good-bye, Thomas. I have an appointment in Gyde's Porch 4 this evening at eight; meet me there, and we'll make a little party. [Exeunt severally. SCENE II.- A Dressing-room in MRS. MALAPROP'S Lodgings. LYDIA sitting on a sofa, with a book in her hand. LucY, as just returnedfrom a message. Lucy. Indeed, ma'am, I traversed half the town in search of it: I don't believe there's a circulating library in Bath I ha'n't been at. Lydia. And could not you get The Reward of Constancy? 5 Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am. Lydia. Nor The Fatal Connexion? 6 Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am. 1 Though. 2 Red hair. 3 Short wig. 4 The Lower Assembly Rooms, kept by Mr. Gyde. 5 I have been unable to trace this work. A romance entitled El Premio de la Constancia, by Jacinto de Espinel Adorno, was published in Madrid in 1620. 6 By Mrs. Fogerty. " Fresh materials for the trunk-makers." (Town and Country Magazine, 1773.) i6 SCENE II.] THE RIVALS. I03 Lydia. Nor The Mistakes of the Heart? 1 Lucy. Ma'am, as ill luck would have it, Mr. Bull said Miss Sukey Saunter had just fetched it away. Lydia. Heigh-ho!- Did you inquire for The Delicate Distress? 2 Lucy. Or The Memoirs of Lady Woodford? Yes, indeed, ma'am. I asked every where for it; and I might have brought it from Mr. Frederick's, but Lady Slattern Lounger, who had just sent it home, had so soiled and dog's-eared it, it wa'n't fit for a Christian to read. Lydia. Heigh-ho! - Yes, I always know when Lady Slattern has been before me. She has a most observing thumb; and, I believe, cherishes her nails for the convenience of making marginal notes.- Well, child, what have you brought me? Lucy. Oh! here, ma'am. [Taking books from under her cloak andfrom her pockets.] This is The Gordian Knot,2 -and this Peregrine Pickle 4 Here are The Tears of Sensibility,5 and Humfihrey Clinker.4 This is The Memoirs of a Lady of Quality, written by herself,6 and here the second volume of The Sent imen al Journeyz.7 Lydia. Heigh-ho! — What are those books by the glass? Lucy. The great one is only The Whole Duty of Man,8 where I press a few blonds,9 ma'am. 1 By Peter Henry Treyssac Devergy, a French adventurer who died in I774. " We might recommend it to the ladies, if there were not some scenes too luxuriant for the eye of delicacy." (T. and C. Mag., 1769.) 2 The Delicate Distress and The Gordian Knot, companion novels by Elizabeth and Richard Griffith. 8 Anonymous. London, 1771. 4 Novels by Smollett. 5 By Francois Thomas Marie de Baculard d'Arnaud, translated by J. Murdock. 6 Memoirs of the notorious Lady Vane, inserted in Peregrine Pickle. 7 By Laurence Sterne, 8 An anonymous religious and moral work that was very popular. 9 Blond-laces. Chrysale in Moliere's Les Femmes savantes (II., vii., 5I), employs Plutarch for a similar purpose: '( Vos livres eternels ne me contentent pas; Et, hors un gros Plutarque a mettre mes rabats, Vous devriez bruler tout ce meuble inutile, Et laissez la science aux docteurs de la ville." '7 104 SHERIDAN. [ACT I. Lydia. Very well -give me the sal volatile. Lucy. Is it in a blue cover, ma'am? Lydia. My smelling-bottle, you simpleton! Lucy. Oh, the drops! - here, ma'am. Lydia. Hold! - here's some one coming - quick, see who it is. -[Exit LucY.] Surely I heard my cousin Julia's voice. Re-enter LucY. Lucy. Lud! ma'am, here is Miss Melville. Lydia. Is it possible? [Exit LucY. Enter JULIA. Lydia. My dearest Julia, how delighted am I! [Embrace.] How unexpected was this happiness! Julia. True, Lydia,-and our pleasure is the greater.But what has been the matter?- you were denied to me at first! Lydia. Ah, Julia, I have a thousand things to tell you!But first inform me what has conjured you to Bath? - Is Sir Anthony here? Julia. He is - we are arrived within this hour - and I suppose he will be here to wait on Mrs. Malaprop as soon as he is dressed. Lydia. Then before we are interrupted, let me impart to you some of my distress!- I know your gentle nature will sympathize with me, though your prudence may condemn me! My letters have informed you of my whole connection with Beverley; but I have lost him, Julia! My aunt has discovered our intercourse by a note she intercepted, and has confined me ever since! Yet, would you believe it? she has absolutely fallen in love with a tall Irish baronet she met one night since we have been here, at Lady Macshuffle's rout. Julia. You jest, Lydia! Lydia. No, upon my word. She really carries on a kind of correspondence with him, under an feigned name though, till she chooses to be known to him; but it is a Delia or a Celia, I assure you. Julia. Then, surely, she is now more indulgent to her niece. 18 SCENE II.] THE RIVALS. IO5 Lydia. Quite the contrary. Since she has discovered her own frailty, she is become more suspicious of mine. Then I must inform you of another plague! That odious Acres is to be in Bath to-day; so that I protest I shall be teased out of all spirits! Julia. Come, come, Lydia, hope for the best. Sir Anthony shall use his interest with Mrs. Malaprop. Lydia. But you have not heard the worst. Unfortunately I had quarrelled with my poor Beverley, just before my aunt made the discovery, and I have not seen him since, to make it up. Julia. What was his offence? Lydia. Nothing at all! But, I don't know how it was, as. often as we had been together, we had never had a quarrel, and, somehow, I was afraid he would never give me an opportunity. So, last Thursday, I wrote a letter to myself, to inform myself that Beverley was at that time paying his addresses to another woman. I signed it "your friend unknown," showed it to Beverley, charged him with his falsehood, put myself in a violent passion, and vowed I'd never see him more. Julia. And you let him depart so, and have not seen him since? Lydia. 'Twas the next day my aunt found the matter out. I intended only to have teased him three days and a half, and now I've lost him for ever. Julia. If he is as deserving and sincere as you have represented him to me, he will never give you up so. Yet consider, Lydia, you tell me he is but an ensign, and you have thirty thousand pounds. Lydia. But you know I lose most of my fortune if I marry without my aunt's consent, till of age; and that is what I have determined to do, ever since I knew the penalty. Nor could I love the man, who would wish to wait a day for the alternative. Julia. Nay, this is caprice! Lydia. What, does Julia tax me with caprice?- I thought her lover Faulkland had inured her to it. Julia. I do not love even his faults. 19 io6 SHERIDAN. [ACT I. Lydia.. But apropos- you have sent to him, I suppose? Julia. Not yet, upon my word - nor has he the least idea of my being in Bath. Sir Anthony's resolution was so sudden, I could not inform him of it. Lydia. Well, Julia, you are your own mistress (though under the protection of Sir Anthony), yet have you, for this long year, been a slave to the caprice, the whim, the jealousy of this ungrateful Faulkland, who will ever delay assuming the right of a husband, while you suffer him to be equally imperious as a lover. Julia. Nay, you are wrong entirely. We were contracted before my father's death. That, and some consequent embarrassments, have delayed what I know to be my Faulkland's most ardent wish. He is too generous to trifle on such a point. And for his character, you wrong him there too. No, Lydia, he is too proud, too noble to be jealous; if he is captious, 'tis without dissembling; if fretful, without rudeness. Unused to the fopperies of love, he is negligent of the little duties expected from a lover - but being unhackneyed in the passion, his affection is ardent and sincere; and as it engrosses his whole soul, he expects every thought and emotion of his mistress to move in unison with his. Yet, though his pride calls for this full return, his humility makes him undervalue those qualities in him which would entitle him to it; and not feeling why he should be loved to the degree he wishes, he still suspects that he is not loved enough. This temper, I must own, has cost me many unhappy hours; but I have learned to think myself his debtor, for those imperfections which arise from the ardour of his attachment. Lydia. Well, I cannot blame you for defending him. But tell me candidly, Julia, had he never saved your life, do you think you should have been attached to him as you are?- Believe me, the rude blast that overset your boat was a prosperous gale of love to him.' Julia. Gratitude may have strengthened my attachment to Mr. Faulkland, but I loved him before he had preserved me; yet surely that alone were an obligation sufficient. 1 In Otway's Venice Preserved Jaffier rescues Belvidera from the Adriatic, and from that hour she loves him. 20 SCENE II.] THE RIVALS. Io7 Lydia. Obligation! why a water spaniel would have done as much! - Well, I should never think of giving my heart to a man because he could swim. Julia. Come, Lydia, you are too inconsiderate. Lydia. Nay, I do but jest. - What's here? Re-enter LUCY in a hurry. Lucy. O ma'am, here is Sir Anthony Absolute just come home with your aunt. Lydia. They'll not come here. - Lucy, do you watch. [Exit LUCY. Julia. Yet I must go. Sir Anthony does not know I am here, and if we meet, he'll detain me, to show me the town. I'll take another opportunity of paying my respects to Mrs. Malaprop, when she shall treat me, as long as she chooses, with her select words so ingeniously misapplied, without being mispronounced. Re-enter LUCY. Lucy. O Lud! ma'am, they are both coming up stairs. Lydia. Well, I'll not detain you, coz. Adieu, my dear Julia; I'm sure you are in haste to send to Faulkland. - There - through my room you'll find another staircase. Julia. Adieu! [Embraces LYDIA and exit. Lydia. Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books. Quick, quick.- Fling Peregrine Pickle under the toilet-throw Roderick Random 1 into the closet - put The Innocent A dulteyy 2 into The Whole Duty of Man-thrust Lord Aimworth3 under the sofa -cram Ovid4 behind the bolster - there — put The Man of Feeling 6 into your pocket - so, so - now lay 1 A novel by Smollett. 2 Original title of Southerne's tragedy The Fatal Marriage, now known as Isabella; or, The Fatal Marriage. 3 The History of Lord Aimworth and the Honourable Charles Hartford, Esq. By the Author of Dorinda Catesby and Ermina; or, The Fair Recluse. London, 1773. 4 The Latin poet, author of Amores, Ars Amatoria, Remedia Amoris, etc. 6 A novel by Henry Mackenzie. 21 Io8 SHERID AN. [ACT I. Mrs. Chapone 1 in sight, and leave Fordyce's Sermons 2 open on the table. Lucy. O burn it, ma'am, the hair dresser has torn away as far as Proper Pride. Lydia. Never mind —open at Sobriety.- Fling me Lord Chesterfield's Letters.3 - Now for 'em. [Exit LUCY. Enter MRS. MALAPROP 4 and SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUTE. Mrs. AMal. There, Sir Anthony, there sits the deliberate simpleton who wants to disgrace her family, and lavish herself on a fellow not worth a shilling. Lydia. Madam, I thought you once - Mrs. Mal. You thought, miss! I don't know any business you have to think at all -thought does not become a young woman. But the point we would request of you is, that you will promise to forget this fellow - to illiterate him, I say, quite from your memory. Lydia. Ah, madam! our memories are independent of our wills. It is not so easy to forget. Mrs. Mal. But I say it is, miss; there is nothing on earth so easy as to forget, if a person chooses to set about it. I'm sure I have as much forgot your poor dear uncle as if he had never existed - and I thought it my duty so to do; and let me tell you, Lydia, these violent memories don't become a young woman. Sir Anth. Why sure she won't pretend to remember what she's ordered not! - ay, this comes of her reading! 1 Mrs. Chapone's Letters on the Improvcment of the Mind. 2 James Fordyce (I720-1796), Sermons to Young Women. 3 Letters to his son, first published in 1774. 4 The name is derived from the French mal a propos, ill-timed. The two Gobbos in The Merchant of Venice, Dogberry in lMuch Ado About Nothing-, and Elbow in Measure for Measure, are Mrs. Malaprop's most distinguished ancestors in the " nice derangement of epitaphs." As an example from the second may be quoted. " villain! thou wilt be condemned into everlasting redemption for this." (IV.,ii.) In the creation of the character it seems, however, that Sheridan owed most to Mrs. Tryfort, in his mother's unpublished comedy of A Journey to Bath, who is described as the " vainest poor creature, and the fondest of hard words, which, without miscalling, she always takes care to misapply." See note 2, page Ilo. 22 SCENE II.] THE RIVALS. o109 Lydia. What crime, madam, have I committed, to be treated thus? Mrs. Mal. Now don't attempt to extirpate yourself from the matter; you know I have proof controvertible of it. But tell me, will you promise to do as you're bid? Will you take a husband of your friends' choosing? Lydia. Madam, I must tell you plainly, that had I no preference for any one else, the choice you have made would be my aversion. Mrs. Mal. What business have you, miss, with preference and aversion? They don't become a young woman; and you ought to know, that as both always wear off, 'tis safest in matrimony to begin with a little aversion. I am sure I hated your poor dear uncle before marriage as if he'd been a blackamoor- and yet, miss, you are sensible what a wife I made! -and when it pleased heaven to release me from him, 'tis unknown what tears I shed! But suppose we were going to give you another choice, will you promise us to give up this Beverley? Lydia. Could I belie my thoughts so far as to give that promise, my actions would certainly as far belie my words. Mrs. Mal. Take yourself to your room. You are fit company for nothing but your own ill-humours. Lydia. Willingly, ma'am - I cannot change for the worse. [Exit. Mrs. Mal. There's a little intricate hussy for you! Sir Anth. It is not to be wondered at, ma'am, - all this is the natural consequence of teaching girls to read. Had I a thousand daughters, by heaven! I'd as soon have them taught the black art as their alphabet! Mrs. Mal. Nay, nay, Sir Anthony, you are an absolute misanthropy. Sir Anth. In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop, I observed your niece's maid coming forth from a circulating library! She had a book in each hand - they were half-bound volumes, with marble covers! From that moment I guessed how full of duty I should see her mistress! Mrs. Mal. Those are vile places, indeed! Sir Anth. Madam, a circulating library in a town is as an 23 IIO SHERIDAN. [ACT I. evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge!1 It blossoms through the year! And depend on it, Mrs. Malaprop, that they who are so fond of handling the leaves, will long for the fruit at last. Mrs. Mal. Fie, fie, Sir Anthony! you surely speak laconically. Sir Anth. Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in moderation, now, what would you have a woman know? Mrs. Mal. Observe me, Sir Anthony. I would by no means wish a daughter of mine to be a progeny of learning;2 I don't think so much learning becomes a young woman; for instance, I would never let her meddle with Greek, or Hebrew, or algebra, or simony, or fluxions, or paradoxes, or such inflammatory branches of learning; neither would it be necessary for her to handle any of your mathematical, astronomical, diabolical instruments. But, Sir Anthony, I would send her, at nine years old, to a boarding-school, in order to learn a little ingenuity and artifice. Then, sir, she should have a supercilious knowledge in accounts; and as she grew up, I would have her instructed in geometry, that she might know something of the contagious countries;2 but above all, Sir Anthony, she should be mistress of orthodoxy, that she might not misspell, and mispronounce words so shamefully as girls usually do; and likewise that she might reprehend the true meaning of what she is saying. This, Sir Anthony, is what I would have a woman know; and I don't think there is a superstitious article in it. Sir Anth. Well, well, Mrs. Malaprop, I will dispute the point no further with you; though I must confess, that you are a truly moderate and polite arguer, for almost every third word you say is on my side of the question. But, Mrs. Malaprop, to the more important point in debate-you say you have no objection to my proposal? 1 "Most of the popular novels which preceded Evelina were such as no lady would have written; and many of them were such as no lady could without confusion own that she had read... Sir Anthony Absolute, two or three years before Evelina appeared, spoke the sense of the great body of sober fathers and husbands, when he pronounced the circulating library an evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge."- MACAULAY, Madame D'Arblay. 2 Two of several blunders which Sheridan seems to have taken, by right of inheritance, let us suppose, from his mother's Journey to Bath. See note 4, page o18. 24 SCENE II.] THE RIVALS. III Mrs. Mal. None, I assure you. I am under no positive engagement with Mr. Acres, and as Lydia is so obstinate against him, perhaps your son may have better success. Sir Anth. Well, madam, I will write for the boy directly. He knows not a syllable of this yet, though I have for some time had the proposal in my head. He is at present with his regiment. Mrs. Mal. We have never seen your son, Sir Anthony; but I hope no objection on his side. Sir Anth. Objection! - let him object if he dare!- No, no, Mrs. Malaprop, Jack knows that the least demur puts me in a frenzy directly. My process was always very simple - in their younger days 'twas "Jack, do this; "- if he demurred, I knocked him down; and if he grumbled at that, I always sent him out of the room. Mrs. MAal. Ay, and the properest way, o' my conscience! - nothing is so conciliating to young people as severity. - Well, Sir Anthony, I shall give Mr. Acres his discharge, and prepare Lydia to receive your son's invocations; and I hope you will represent her to the captain as an object not altogether illegible. Sir Anth. Madam, I will handle the subject prudently.Well, I must leave you; and let me beg you, Mrs. Malaprop, to enforce this matter roundly to the girl. Take my advice - keep a tight hand: if she rejects this proposal, clap her under lock and key; and if you were just to let the servants forget to bring her dinner for three or four days, you can't conceive how she'd come about. [Exit SIR ANTHONY. Mrs. Mal. Well, at any rate I shall be glad to get her from under my intuition. She has somehow discovered my partiality for Sir Lucius O'Trigger - sure, Lucy can't have betrayed me! No, the girl is such a simpleton, I should have made her confess it. - Lucy! — Lucy! [Calls.] - Had she been one of your artificial ones, I should never have trusted her. Re-enter LUCY. Lucy. Did you call, ma'am? Mrs. Mal. Yes, girl.- Did you see Sir Lucius while you was out? 25 I I2 SHERIDAN. [ACT I. Lucy. No, indeed, ma'am, not a glimpse of him. Mrs. Mal. You are sure, Lucy, that you never mentioned - Lucy. Oh Gemini! 1 I'd sooner cut my tongue out. AMrs. Mal. Well, don't let your simplicity be imposed on. Lucy. No, ma'am. Mrs. Mal. So, come to me presently, and I'll give you another letter to Sir Lucius; but mind, Lucy —if ever you betray what you are entrusted with (unless it be other people's secrets to me), you forfeit my malevolence for ever; and your being a simpleton shall be no excuse for your locality. LExit MRS. MALAPROP. Lucy. Ha! ha! ha! - So, my dear simplicity, let me give you a little respite. - [Altering her manner.] Let girls in my station be as fond as they please of appearing expert, and knowing in their trusts; commend me to a mask of silliness, and a pair of sharp eyes for my own interest under it! Let me see to what account have I turned my simplicity lately. - [Looks at a paper.] "For abetting Miss Lydia Languish in a design of running away with an ensign! - in money, sundry times, twelve pound twelve; gowns, five; hats, ruffles, caps, &c. &c., numberless! - From the said ensign, within this last month, six guineas and a half." - About a quarter's pay! - Item, "from Mrs. Malaprop, for betraying the young people to her" - when I found matters were likely to be discovered -" two guineas, and a black paduasoy." 2 Item, "from Mr. Acres, for carrying diverse letters " — which I never delivered - " two guineas, and a pair of buckles." - Item, "from Sir Lucius O'Trigger, three crowns, two gold pocket-pieces, and a silver snuff-box! "- Well done, simplicity!- Yet I was forced to make my Hibernian believe that he was corresponding, not with the aunt, but with the niece: for though not over rich, I found he had too much pride and delicacy to sacrifice the feelings of a gentleman to the necessities of his fortune. [Exit. 1 An oath or exclamation by the Twins, Castor and Pollux. 2 A strong silk stuff, deriving its name from Padua + soie (Fr. for silk). 26 SCENE I.] THE RIVALS. II3 ACT II. SCENE I. - CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE'S Lodgings. CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE and FAG. Fag. Sir, while I was there Sir Anthony came in: I told him you had sent me to inquire after his health, and to know if he was at leisure to see you. Abs. And what did he say, on hearing I was at Bath? Fag. Sir, in my life I never saw an elderly gentleman more astonished! He started back two or three paces, rapped out a dozen interjectural oaths, and asked what the devil had brought you here. Abs. Well, sir, and what did you say? Fag. Oh, I lied, sir- I forget the precise lie; but you may depend on't, he got no truth from me. Yet, with submission, for fear of blunders in future, I should be glad to fix what has brought us to Bath, in order that we may lie a little consistently. Sir Anthony's servants were curious, sir, very curious indeed. Abs. You have said nothing to them? Fag. Oh, not a'word, sir, —not a word. Mr. Thomas, indeed, the coachman (whom I take to be the discreetest of whips) - Abs. 'Sdeath!- you rascal! you have not trusted him! Fag. Oh, no, sir - no - no - not a syllable, upon my veracity! He was, indeed, a little inquisitive; but I was sly, sir - devilish sly! My master (said I), honest Thomas, (you know, sir, one says honest to one's inferiors,) is come to Bath to recruit - Yes, sir, I said to recruit -and whether for men, money, or constitution, you know, sir, is nothing to him, nor any one else. Abs. Well, recruit will do -let it be so. Fag. Oh, sir, recruit will do surprisingly - indeed, to give the thing an air, I told Thomas, that your honour had already enlisted five disbanded chairmen, seven minority waiters, and thirteen billiard-markers. Abs. You blockhead, never say more than is necessary. 8 27 II4 SHERIDA N. [ACT II. Fag. I beg pardon, sir -- I beg pardon - but, with submission, a lie is nothing unless one supports it. Sir, whenever I draw on my invention for a good current lie, I always forge indorsements as well as the bill. Abs. Well, take care you don't hurt your credit, by offering too much security. — Is Mr. Faulkland returned? Fag. He is above, sir, changing his dress. Abs. Can you tell whether he has been informed of Sir Anthony's and Miss Melville's arrival? Fag. I fancy not, sir; he has seen no one since he came in but his gentleman, who was with him at Bristol.1 I think, sir, I hear Mr. Faulkland coming down - Abs. Go tell him I am here. Fag. Yes, sir. - [Going.] I beg pardon, sir, but should Sir Anthony call, you will do me the favour to remember that we are recruiting, if you please. Abs. Well, well. Fag. And in tenderness to my character, if your honour could bring in the chairmen and waiters, I should esteem it as an obligation; for though I never scruple a lie to serve my master, yet it hurts one's conscience to be found out. [Exit. Abs. Now for my whimsical friend. If he does not know that his mistress is here, I'll tease him a little before I tell him Enter FAULKLAND. Faulkland, you're welcome to Bath again; you are punctual in your return. Faulk. Yes; I had nothing to detain me, when I had finished the business I went on. Well, what news since I left you? how stand matters between you and Lydia? Abs. Faith, much as they were; I have not seen her since our quarrel; however, I expect to be recalled every hour. Faulk. Why don't you persuade her to go off with you at once? Abs. What, and lose two-thirds of her fortune? you forget 1 Twelve miles northwest of Bath. 28 SCENE I.] THE RIVALS. I I5 that, my friend. No, no, I could have brought her to that long ago. Faulk. Nay then, you trifle too long - if you are sure of her, propose to the aunt in your own character, and write to Sir Anthony for his consent. Abs. Softly, softly; for though I am convinced my little Lydia would elope with me as Ensign Beverley, yet am I by no means certain that she would take me with the impediment of our friends' consent, a regular humdrum wedding, and the reversion of a good fortune on my side: no, no; I must prepare her gradually for the discovery, and make myself necessary to her, before I risk it. — Well, but Faulkland, you'll dine with us to-day at the hotel? Faulk. Indeed I cannot; I am not in spirits to be of such a party. Abs. By heavens! I shall forswear your company. You are the most teasing, captious, incorrigible lover! Do love like a man. Faulk. I own I am unfit for company. Abs. Am not I a lover; ay, and a romantic one too? Yet do I carry everywhere with me such a confounded farrago I of doubts, fears, hopes, wishes, and all the flimsy furniture of a country miss's brain! Faulk. Ah! Jack, your heart and soul are not, like mine, fixed immutably on one only object. You throw for a large stake, but losing, you could stake and throw again; but I have set my sum of happiness on this cast, and not to succeed were to be stripped of all. Abs. But, for heaven's sake! what grounds for apprehension can your whimsical brain conjure up at present? Faulk. What grounds for apprehension, did you say? Heavens! are there not a thousand! I fear for her spirits - her health - her life. My absence may fret her; her anxiety for my return, her fears for me may oppress her gentle temper. And for her health, does not every hour bring me cause to be alarmed? If it rains, some shower may even then have chilled her delicate frame! If the wind be keen, some rude blast may 1 Mixture, confusion. 29 ii6 SHERIDAXN. [ACT II. have affected her! The heat of noon, the dews of the evening, may endanger the life of her, for whom only I value mine O Jack! when delicate and feeling souls are separated, there is not a feature in the sky, not a movement of the elements, not an aspiration of the breeze, but hints some cause for a lover's apprehension! Abs. Ay, but we may choose whether we will take the hint or not. — So, then, Faulkland, if you were convinced that Julia were well and in spirits, you would be entirely content? Faulk. I should be happy beyond measure - I am anxious only for that. Abs. Then to cure your anxiety at once - Miss Melville is in perfect health, and is at this moment in Bath. Faulk. Nay, Jack- don't trifle with me. Abs. She is arrived here with my father within this hour. Faulk. Can you be serious? Abs. I thought you knew Sir Anthony better than to be surprised at a sudden whim of this kind. Seriously, then, it is as I tell you - upon my honour. Faulk. My dear friend! - Hollo, Du Peigne I my hat. - My dear Jack -now nothing on earth can give me a moment's uneasiness. Re-enter FAG. Fag. Sir, Mr. Acres, just arrived, is below. Abs. Stay, Faulkland, this Acres lives within a mile of Sir Anthony, and he shall tell you how your mistress has been ever since you left her. - Fag, show the gentleman up. [Exit FAG. Faulk. What, is he much acquainted in the family? Abs. Oh, very intimate: I insist on your not going: besides, his character will divert you. Faulk. Well, I should like to ask him a few questions. Abs. He is likewise a rival of mine —that is, of my other self's, for he does not think his friend Captain Absolute ever saw the lady in question; and it is ridiculous enough to hear him complain to me of one Beverley, a concealed skulking rival, whoFaulk. Hush! - he's here. 30 SCENE I.] THE RIVALS. II7 Enter ACRES. Acres. Ha! my dear friend, noble captain, and honest Jack, how do'st thou? Just arrived, faith, as you see. - Sir, your humble servant. - Warm work on the roads, Jack! - Odds whips and wheels!1 I've travelled like a comet, with a tail of dust all the way as long as the Mall.2 Abs. Ah! Bob, you are indeed an eccentric planet, but we know your attraction hither. Give me leave to introduce Mr. Faulkland to you; Mr. Faulkland, Mr. Acres. Acres. Sir, I am most heartily glad to see you: sir, I solicit your connections. - Hey, Jack - what, this is Mr. Faulkland, whoAbs. Ay, Bob, Miss Melville's Mr. Faulkland. Acres. Odso! she and your father can be but just arrived before me. I suppose you have seen them. Ah! Mr. Faulkland, you are indeed a happy man. Faulk. I have not seen Miss Melville yet, sir. I hope she enjoyed full health and spirits in Devonshire? Acres. Never knew her better in my life, sir- never better. Odds blushes and blooms! she has been as healthy as the German Spa.3 Faulk. Indeed! I did hear that she had been a little indisposed. Acres. False, false, sir- only said to vex you: quite the reverse, I assure you. Faulk. There, Jack, you see she has the advantage of me; I had almost fretted myself ill. Abs. Now are you angry with your mistress for not having been sick? Faulk. No, no, you misunderstand me: yet surely a little trifling indisposition is not an unnatural consequence of absence 1 Acres' theory of swearing is that " the oath should be an echo to the sense." For a full account of this " oath referential or sentimental swearing," see page 122. 2 The reference is presumably to the Mall in Bath rather than to the better known London Mall. 3 Spa is a watering-place in Belgium not far from the German frontier. The word has become in English a common noun meaning a resort where there are mineral springs. 31 I 8 SHERIDAN. [ACT II. from those we love. Now confess -isn't there something unkind in this violent, robust, unfeeling health? Abs. Oh, it was very unkind of her to be well in your absence, to be sure! Acres. Good apartments, Jack. Faulk. Well, sir, but you was saying that Miss Melville has been so exceedingly well - what then, she has been merry and gay, I suppose? - Always in spirits - hey? Acres. Merry, odds crickets! she has been the belle and spirit of the company wherever she has been - so lively and entertaining! so full of wit and humour. Faulk. There, Jack, there. Oh, by my soul! there is an innate levity in woman that nothing can overcome. - What! happy, and I away! Abs. Have done. How foolish this is! Just now you were only apprehensive for your mistress's spirits. Faulk. Why, Jack, have I been the joy and spirit of the company? Abs. No indeed, you have not. Faulk. Have I been lively and entertaining? Abs. Oh, upon my word, I acquit you. Faulk. Have I been full of wit and humour? Abs. No, faith, to do you justice, you have been confoundedly stupid indeed. Acres. What's the matter with the gentleman? Abs. He is only expressing his great satisfaction at hearing that Julia has been so well and happy-that's all-hey, Faulkland? Faulk. Oh! I am rejoiced to hear it —yes, yes, she has a happy disposition! Acres. That she has indeed -then she is so accomplished - so sweet a voice - so expert at her harpsichord - such a mistress of flat and sharp, squallante, rumblante, and quiverante!1 - There was this time month -odds minims and crotchets!2 how she did chirrup at Mrs. Piano's concert. 1 Musical terms invented by Acres after the analogy of andante from squall/ rumble, and quiver. 2 Half-notes and quarter-notes. 32 SCENE I.] THE RIVALS. II9 Faulk. There again, what say you to this? you see she has been all mirth and song - not a thought of me! Abs. Pho! man, is not music the food of love? 1 Faulk. Well, well, it may be so. - Pray, Mr. -- what's his damned name? - do you remember what songs Miss Melville sung? Acres. Not I indeed. Abs. Stay now, they were some pretty melancholy purlingstream airs, I warrant; perhaps you may recollect; did she sing, When absent from.my soul's delight f 2 Acres. No, that wa'n't it. Abs. Or, Go, gentle gales; go, gentle gales.3 [Sings. Acres. Oh, no! nothing like it. Odds! now I recollect one of them - My heart's my own, my will is free.4 [Sings. Faulk. Fool! fool that I am! to fix all my happiness on such a trifler! 'Sdeath! to make herself the pipe and balladmonger of a circle! to soothe her light heart with catches and glees! - What can you say to this, sir? Abs. Why, that I should be glad to hear my mistress had been so merry, sir. Faulk. Nay, nay, nay- I'm not sorry that she has been happy - no, no, I am glad of that - I would not have had her 1 " If music be the food of love, play on." - Twelfth Night, I., i., i. "Give me some music; music, moody food Of us that trade in love." - Antony and Cleopatra, II., v., I. 2 Probably some imitation of Allan Ramsay's " When absent from the nymph I love." 8 The song is from Pope's Autumn: "Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away, To Delia's ear the tender notes convey," etc. 4 This is from Bickerstaff's opera Love in a Village and is as follows: "My heart's my own, my will is free, And so shall be my voice; No mortal man shall wed with me, Till first he's made my choice. "Let parents rule, cry nature's laws; And children still obey; And is there then no saving clause, Against tyrannic sway?" 33 120 SHERIDAN. [ACT II. sad or sick- yet surely a sympathetic heart would have shown itself even in the choice of a song - she might have been temperately healthy, and, somehow, plaintively gay;- but she has been dancing too, I doubt not! Acres. What does the gentleman say about dancing? Abs. He says the lady we speak of dances as well as she sings. Acres. Ay, truly, does she —there was at our last race ball Faulk. Hell and the devil! There! -there - I told you so! I told you so! Oh! she thrives in my absence!- Dancing! but her whole feelings have been in opposition with mine; I have been anxious, silent, pensive, sedentary; my days have been hours of care, my nights of watchfulness. She has been all health! spirit! laugh! song! dance! Oh! damned, damned levity! Abs. For heaven's sake, Faulkland, don't expose yourself so! Suppose she has danced, what then? - does not the ceremony of society often oblige - Faulk. Well, well, I'll contain myself - perhaps as you say -for form sake. - What, Mr. Acres, you were praising Miss Melville's manner of dancing a minuet- hey? Acres. Oh, I dare insure her for that - but what I was going to speak of was her country-dancing. Odds swimmings! she has such an air with her! Faulk. Now disappointment on her! - Defend this, Absolute; why don't you defend this? - Country-dances! jigs and reels! am I to blame now? A minuet I could have forgiven - I should not have minded that - I say I should not have regarded a minuet -but country-dances! - Zounds! had she made one in a cotillion - I believe I could have forgiven even that- but to be monkey-led for a night! - to run the gauntlet through a string of amorous palming puppies! -to show paces like a managed filly! - Oh, Jack, there never can be but one man in the world whom a truly modest and delicate woman ought to pair with in a country-dance; and, even then, the rest of the couples should be her great-uncles and aunts! Abs. Ay, to be sure! -grandfathers and grandmothers! 34 SCENE I.] THE RI VALS. 121 Faulk. If there be but one vicious mind in the set, 'twill spread like a contagion - the action of their pulse beats to the lascivious movement of the jig - their quivering, warm-breathed sighs impregnate the very air -the atmosphere becomes electrical to love, and each amorous spark darts through every link of the chain! — I must leave you - I own I am somewhat flurried- and that confounded looby 1 has perceived it. [Going. Abs. Nay, but stay, Faulkland, and thank Mr. Acres for his good news. Faulk. Damn his news! [Exit. Abs. Ha! ha! ha! poor Faulkland five minutes since" nothing on earth could give him a moment's uneasiness! " 2 Acres. The gentleman wa'n't angry at my praising his mistress, was he? Abs. A little jealous, I believe, Bob. Acres. You don't say so? Ha! ha! jealous of me — that's a good joke. Abs. There's nothing strange in that, Bob; let me tell you, that sprightly grace and insinuating manner of yours will do some mischief among the girls here. Acres. Ah! you joke —ha! ha! mischief- ha! ha! but you know I am not my own property; my dear Lydia has forestalled me. She could never abide me in the country, because I used to dress so badly - but odds frogs and tambours!3 I shan't take matters so here, now ancient madam 4 has no voice in it: I'll make my old clothes know who's master. I shall straightway cashier the hunting-frock, and render my leather breeches incapable. My hair has been in training some time. Abs. Indeed! Acres. Ay- and thoff 5 the side curls are a little restive, my hind-part takes it very kindly. Abs. Oh, you'll polish, I doubt not. Acres. Absolutely I propose so - then if I can find out this 1 Awkward, clumsy fellow. Some old editions read booby. 2 See page ii6. 8 Frog is a kind of cloak button, tambour a kind of embroidery work. 4 Acres' mother. 5 Though. 35 122 SHERIDAN. [ACT II. Ensign Beverley, odds triggers and flints! I'11 make him know the difference o't. Abs. Spoke like a man! But pray, Bob, I observe you have got an odd kind of a new method of swearingAcres. Ha! ha! you've taken notice of it —'tis genteel, isn't it! I didn't invent it myself though; but a commander in our militia, a great scholar, I assure you, says that there is no meaning in the common oaths, and that nothing but their antiquity makes them respectable; because, he says, the ancients would never stick to an oath or two, but would say, by Jove! or by Bacchus! or by Mars! or by Venus! or by Pallas! according to the sentiment: so that to swear with propriety, says my little major, the oath should be an echo to the sense;1 and this we call the oath referential or sentimental swearing -ha! ha! 'tis genteel, isn't it? 2 Abs. Very genteel, and very new, indeed! and I dare say will supplant all other figures of imprecation. Acres. Ay, ay, the best terms will grow obsolete. - Damns have had their day. Re-enter FAG. Fag. Sir, there is a gentleman below desires to see you. Shall I show him into the parlour? Abs. Ay - you may. Acres. Well, I must be goneAbs. Stay; who is it, Fag? Fag. Your father, sir. Abs. You puppy, why didn't you show him up directly? [Exit FAG. Acres. You have business with Sir Anthony. I expect a message from Mrs. Malaprop at my lodgings. I have sent also to my dear friend Sir Lucius O'Trigger. Adieu, Jack; we must meet at night, when you shall give me a dozen bumpers to little Lydia. Abs. That I will with all my heart. - [Exit ACRES.] Now for a parental lecture. I hope he has heard nothing of the busi1 " The sound must seem an echo to the sense." - POPE, Es. on Crit., 365. 2 In this speech is found the keynote to Acres' reformed swearing. 36 SCENE I.] THE RIVALS. 123 ness that has brought me here. I wish the gout had held him fast in Devonshire, with all my soul! Enter SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUTE. Sir, I am delighted to see you here, and looking so well! your sudden arrival at Bath made me apprehensive for your health. Sir Anth. Very apprehensive, I dare say, Jack. What, you are recruiting here, hey? Abs. Yes, sir, I am on duty. Sir Anth. Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, though I did not expect it, for I was going to write to you on a little matter of business. Jack, I have been considering that I grow old and infirm, and shall probably not trouble you long. Abs. Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look more strong and hearty; and I pray frequently that you may continue so. Sir Anth. I hope your prayers may be heard, with all my heart. Well then, Jack, I have been considering that I am so strong and hearty I may continue to plague you a long time. Now, Jack, I am sensible that the income of your commission, and what I have hitherto allowed you, is but a small pittance for a lad of your spirit. Abs. Sir, you are very good. Sir Anth. And it is my wish, while yet I live, to have my boy make some figure in the world. I have resolved, therefore, to fix you at once in a noble independence. Abs. Sir, your kindness overpowers me-such generosity makes the gratitude of reason more lively than the sensations even of filial affection. Sir Anth. I am glad you are so sensible of my attention-and you shall be master of a large estate in a few weeks. Abs. Let my future life, sir, speak my gratitude; I cannot express the sense I have of your munificence. Yet, sir, I presume you would not wish me to quit the army? Sir Anth. Oh, that shall be as your wife chooses. Abs. My wife, sir! 37 124 SHERIDAN. [ACT II. Sir Anth. Ay, ay, settle that between you- settle that between you. Abs. A wife, sir, did you say? Sir Anth. Ay, a wife - why, did not I mention her before? Abs. Not a word of her, sir. Sir Anth. Odd so! - I mustn't forget her though. — Yes, Jack, the independence I was talking of is by a marriage- the fortune is saddled with a wife- but I suppose that makes no difference. Abs. Sir! sir! -you amaze me! Sir Anth. Why, what the devil's the matter with the fool? Just now you were all gratitude and duty. Abs. I was, sir, - you talked to me of independence and a fortune, but not a word of a wife. Sir Anth. Why - what difference does that make? Odds life, sir! if you have the estate, you must take it with the live stock on it, as it stands.1 Abs. If my happiness is to be the price, I must beg leave to decline the purchase. - Pray, sir, who is the lady? Sir Anth. What's that to you, sir? - Come, give me your promise to love, and to marry her directly. Abs. Sure, sir, this is not very reasonable, to summon my affections for a lady I know nothing of! Sir Anth. I am sure, sir, 'tis more unreasonable in you to object to a lady you know nothing of. Abs. Then, sir, I must tell you plainly that my inclinations are fixed on another -my heart is engaged to an angel. Sir Anth. Then praylet it send an excuse. It is very sorry -but business prevents its waiting on her. Abs. But my vows are pledged to her. Sir Anth. Let her foreclose, Jack; let her foreclose; they are not worth redeeming; besides, you have the angel's vows in exchange, I suppose; so there can be no loss there. Abs. You must excuse me, sir, if I tell you, once for all, that in this point I cannot obey you. 1 " Would you refuse an estate because it happened to be a little encumbered? you must consider the man in the case as a kind of mortgage." FOOTE, Maid of Bath, II. i. 38 SCENE I.] TH.lE RIVALS. 125 Sir Anth. Hark'ee, Jack; - I have heard you for some time with patience - I have been cool- quite cool; but take careyou know I am compliance itself - when I am not thwarted; - no one more easily led - when I have my own way; - but don't put me in a frenzy. Abs. Sir, I must repeat it -in this I cannot obey you. SirAnth. Now damn me! if ever I call you Jack again while I live! Abs. Nay, sir, but hear me. Sir Anth. Sir, I won't hear a word - not a word! not one word! so give me your promise by a nod; and I'll tell you what, Jack - I mean, you dog - if you don't, by - Abs. What, sir, promise to link myself to some mass of ugliness! to - Sir A nth. Zounds! sirrah!1 the lady shall be as ugly as I choose: she shall have a hump on each shoulder; she shall be as crooked as the Crescent; 2 her one eye shall roll like the bull's in Cox's Museum; 8 she shall have a skin like a mummy, and the beard of a Jew -she shall be all this, sirrah! yet I will make you ogle her all day, and sit up all night to write sonnets on her beauty. Abs. This is reason and moderation indeed! Sir Anth. None of your sneering, puppy! no grinning, jackanapes! Abs. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humour for mirth in my life. Sir Anth. 'Tis false, sir, I know you are laughing in your sleeve; I know you'll grin when I am gone, sirrah! Abs. Sir, I hope I know my duty better. Sir Anth. None of your passion, sir! none of your violence, if you please! - It won't do with me, I promise you. 1 A term of address to inferiors. 2 ", Tuesday morning we spent in walking all over the town, viewing the beautiful Circus, the company-crowded Pump-room, and the exquisite Crescent, which, to all the excellence of architecture that adorns the Circus, adds all the delights of nature that beautify the Parades." FR. BURNEY, Diary, Bath, April 9, 1780. 3 James Cox had a museum of natural and mechanical curiosities in Spring Gardens, London. See Miss Burney's Evelina, Letters XIX. and XXIII. 39 126 SHERIDAN. [ACT II. Abs. Indeed, sir, I never was cooler in my life. Sir Anth. 'Tis a confounded lie! - I know you are in a passion in your heart; I know you are, you hypocritical young dog! but it won't do. Abs. Nay, sir, upon my wordSir Anth. So you will fly out! can't you be cool like me? What the devil good can passion do?- Passion is of no service, you impudent, insolent, overbearing reprobate! - There, you sneer again! don't provoke me! -but you rely upon the mildness of my temper -you do, you dog! you play upon the meekness of my disposition! - Yet take care - the patience of a saint may be overcome at last! - but mark! I give you six hours and a half to consider of this: if you then agree, without any condition, to do every thing on earth that I choose, why - confound you! I may in time forgive you. If not, zounds! don't enter the same hemisphere with me! don't dare to breathe the same air, or use the same light with me; but get an atmosphere and a sun of your own! I'll strip you of your commission; I'll lodge a five-and-threepence in the hands of trustees, and you shall live on the interest. - I'll disown you, I'll disinherit you, I'll unget you! and damn me! if ever I call you Jack again! [Exit SIR ANTHONY. Abs. Mild, gentle, considerate father- I kiss your hands! - What a tender method of giving his opinion in these matters Sir Anthony has! I dare not trust him with the truth. I wonder what old wealthy hag it is that he wants to bestow on me! Yet he married himself for love! and was in his youth a bold intriguer, and a gay companion! Re-enter FAG. Fag. Assuredly, sir, your father is wrath to a degree; he comes down stairs eight or ten steps at a time-muttering, growling, and thumping the banisters all the way: I and the cook's dog stand bowing at the door-rap! he gives me a stroke on the head with his cane; bids me carry that to my master; then kicking the poor turnspit into the area, damns us all, for a puppy triumvirate!2 Upon my credit, sir, were I in 1 Wroth. 2 Absolute, Fag, and the dog. 40 SCENE II.] THE RIVALS. I27 your place, and found my father such very bad company, I should certainly drop his acquaintance. Abs. Cease your impertinence, sir, at present. - Did you come in for nothing more? - Stand out of the way! [Pushes him aside, and exit. Fag. Soh! Sir Anthony trims my master; he is afraid to reply to his father -then vents his spleen on poor Fag! When one is vexed by one person, to revenge one's self on another, who happens to come in the way, is the vilest injustice! Ah! it shows the worst temper - the basest Enter ERRAND BOY. Boy. Mr. Fag! Mr. Fag! your master calls you. Fag. Well, you little dirty puppy, you need not bawl so!The meanest disposition! theBoy. Quick, quick, Mr. Fag! Fag. Quick! quick! you impudent jackanapes! am I to be commanded by you too? you little, impertinent, insolent, kitchenbred - [Exit kicking and beating him. SCENE II. - The North Parade. Enter LucY. Lucy. So —I shall have another rival to add to my mistress's list - Captain Absolute. However, I shall not enter his name till my purse has received notice in form. Poor Acres is dismissed! Well, I have done him a last friendly office, in letting him know that Beverley was here before him. Sir Lucius is generally more punctual, when he expects to hear from his dear Dalia, as he calls her: I wonder he's not here! I have a little scruple of conscience from this deceit; though I should not be paid so well, if my hero knew that Delia was near fifty, and her own mistress. 1 The North and South Parades " are two elegant rows of houses,... elevated on arches, and uniformly built, with paved terraces in front, fifty-two feet wide." 41 128 SHERIDAN. [ACT II. Enter SIR Lucius O'TRIGGER. Sir Luc. Hah! my little ambassadress - upon my conscience, I have been looking for you; I have been on the South Parade' this half hour. Lucy [speaking simply]. 0 Gemini! and I have been waiting for your worship here on the North. Sir Luc. Faith! may be that was the reason we did not meet; and it is very comical too, how you could go out and I not see you - for I was only taking a nap at the Parade Coffeehouse, and I chose the window on purpose that I might not miss you. Lucy. My stars! Now I'd wager a sixpence I went by while you were asleep. Sir Luc. Sure enough it must have been so - and I never dreamt it was so late, till I waked. Well, but my little girl, have you got nothing for me? Lucy. Yes, but I have - I've got a letter for you in my pocket. Sir Luc. 0 faith! I guessed you weren't come empty-handed. Well, let me see what the dear creature says. Lucy. There, Sir Lucius. [Gives him a letter. Sir Luc. [Reads.] SIR, -there is often a sudden incentive impulse in love, that has a greater induction than years of domestic combination: such was the commotion I felt at the first superfluous view of Sir Lucius O'Trigger. - [Very pretty, upon my word.]- Female punctuation forbids me to say more; yet let me add, that it will give me joy infallible to find Sir Lucius worthy the last criterion of my affections. DELIA. Upon my conscience! Lucy, your lady is a great mistress of language. Faith, she's quite the queen of the dictionary! -for the devil a word dare refuse coming at her call, though one would think it was quite out of hearing. Lucy. Ay, sir, a lady of her experience - Sir Luc. Experience! what, at seventeen? 1 0 the charming parties made! Some to walk the South Parade." ANSTEY, New Bath Guide, IX. 42 SCENE II.] THE RIVALS. I29 Lucy. O true, sir - but then she reads so - my stars! how she will read off hand! Sir Luc. Faith, she must be very deep read to write this way - though she is rather an arbitrary writer too - for here are a great many poor words pressed into the service of this note, that would get their habeas corpus 1 from any court in Christendom. Lucy. Ah! Sir Lucius, if you were to hear how she talks of you! Sir Luc. Oh, tell her I'll make her the best husband in the world, and Lady O'Trigger into the bargain! But we must get the old gentlewoman's consent, and do every thing fairly. Lucy. Nay, Sir Lucius, I thought you wa'n't rich enough to be so nice! Sir Luc. Upon my word, young woman, you have hit it:I am so poor, that I can't afford to do a dirty action. If I did not want money, I'd steal your mistress and her fortune with a great deal of pleasure. However, my pretty girl [Gives her money.], here's a little something to buy you a ribbon; and meet me in the evening, and I'll give you an answer to this. So, hussy, take a kiss beforehand to put you in mind. [Kisses her. Lucy. O Lud! Sir Lucius- I never seed such a gemman! My lady won't like you if you're so impudent. Sir Luc. Faith she will, Lucy. That same- pho! what's the name of it? — modesty -is a quality in a lover more praised by the women than liked; so, if your mistress asks you whether Sir Lucius ever gave you a kiss, tell her fifty, my dear. Lucy. What, would you have me tell her a lie? Sir Luc. Ah, then, you baggage! I'll make it a truth presently. Lucy. For shame now; here is some one coming. Sir Luc. Oh, faith, I'll quiet your conscience! [Exit, humming a tune. 1 The words, being innocent of the meanings given to them, would get their release from any court. Habeas Corpus is construed by Samuel Weller in the Pickwick Papers as have-his-carcase. 9 ~ I30 SHERIDAN. [ACT III. Enter FAG. Fag. So, so, ma'am. I humbly beg pardon. Lucy. 0 Lud! now, Mr. Fag-you flurry one so. Fag. Come, come, Lucy, here's no one by —so a little less simplicity, with a grain or two more sincerity, if you please. You play false with us, madam. I saw you give the baronet a letter. My master shall know this -and if he don't call him out, I will. Lucy. Ha! ha! ha! you gentlemen's gentlemen are so hasty. That letter was from Mrs. Malaprop, simpleton. She is taken with Sir Lucius's address. Fag. How! what tastes some people have! Why, I suppose I have walked by her window a hundred times.- But what says our young lady? any message to my master? Lucy. Sad news, Mr. Fag. A worse rival than Acres! Sir Anthony Absolute has proposed his son. Fag. What, Captain Absolute? Lucy. Even so - I overheard it all. Fag. Ha! ha! ha! very good, faith. Good-bye, Lucy, I must away with this news. Lucy. Well, you may laugh; but it is true, I assure you. [Going.] But, Mr. Fag, tell your master not to be cast down by this. Fag. Oh, he'll be so disconsolate! Lucy. And charge him not to think of quarrelling with young Absolute. Fag. Never fear! never fear! Lucy. Be sure, bid him keep up his spirits. Fag. We will, we will. [Exeunt severally. ACT III. SCENE I. - The North Parade. Enter CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE. Abs. 'Tis just as Fag told me, indeed. Whimsical enough, faith! My father wants to force me to marry the very girl I 44 SCENE I.] THE RIVALS. I31 am plotting to run away with! He must not know of my connection with her yet awhile. He has too summary a method of proceeding in these matters. However, I'll read my recantation instantly. My conversion is something sudden, indeed -but I can assure him it is very sincere. So, so —here he comes. He looks plaguy gruff. [Steps aside. Enter SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUTE. Sir Anth. No- I'll die sooner than forgive him. Die, did I say? I'll live these fifty years to plague him. At our last meeting, his impudence had almost put me out of temper. An obstinate, passionate, self-willed boy! Who can he take after? This is my return for getting him before all his brothers and sisters! - for putting him, at twelve years old, into a marching regiment, and allowing him fifty pounds a year, besides his pay, ever since! But I have done with him; he's any body's son for me. I never will see him more- never - nevernever. Abs. [aside, coming forward]. Now for a penitential face. Sir Anth. Fellow, get out of my way! Abs. Sir, you see a penitent before you. Sir Anth. I see an impudent scoundrel before me. Abs. A sincere penitent. I am come, sir, to acknowledge my error, and to submit entirely to your will. Sir Anth. What's that? Abs. I have been revolving, and reflecting, and considering on your past goodness, and kindness, and condescension to me. Sir Anth. Well, sir? Abs. I have been likewise weighing and balancing what you were pleased to mention concerning duty, and obedience, and authority. Sir Anth. Well, puppy? Abs. Why then, sir, the result of my reflections is - a resolution to sacrifice every inclination of my own to your satisfaction. Sir Anth. Why now you talk sense - absolute sense - I never heard any thing more sensible in my life. Confound you! you shall be Jack again. Abs. I am happy in the appellation. 45 132 SHERIDAN. [ACT III. Sir Anth. Why then, Jack, my dear Jack, I will now inform you who the lady really is. Nothing but your passion and violence, you silly fellow, prevented my telling you at first' Prepare, Jack, for wonder and rapture -prepare. What think you of Miss Lydia Languish? Abs. Languish! What, the Languishes of Worcestershire? Sir Anth. Worcestershire! no. Did you never meet Mrs. Malaprop and her niece, Miss Languish, who came into our country just before you were last ordered to your regiment? Abs. Malaprop! Languish! I don't remember ever to have heard the names before. Yet, stay- I think I do recollect something. Languish! Languish! She squints, don't she? A little red-haired girl? Sir Anth. Squints! A red-haired girl! Zounds! no! Abs. Then I must have forgot; it can't be the same person. Sir Anth. Jack! Jack! what think you of blooming, lovebreathing seventeen? Abs. As to that, sir, I am quite indifferent. If I can please you in the matter, 'tis all I desire. Sir Anth. Nay, but Jack, such eyes! such eyes! so innocently wild! so bashfully irresolute! Not a glance but speaks and kindles some thought of love! Then, Jack, her cheeks! her cheeks, Jack! so deeply blushing at the insinuations of her tell-tale eyes! Then, Jack, her lips! O Jack, lips smiling at their own discretion; and if not smiling, more sweetly pouting; more lovely in sullenness! Abs. That's she indeed. Well done, old gentleman. [Aside. Sir Anth. Then, Jack, her neck! 0 Jack! Jack! Abs. And which is to be mine, sir, the niece or the aunt? Sir Anth. Why, you unfeeling, insensible puppy, I despise you! When I was of your age, such a description would have made me fly like a rocket! The aunt, indeed! Odds life! when I ran away with your mother, I would not have touched any thing old or ugly to gain an empire. Abs. Not to please your father, sir? Sir Anth. To please my father! Zounds! not to pleaseOh, my father- Odd so! - yes - yes; if my father indeed had desired - that's quite another matter. Though he wa'n't the indulgent father that I am, Jack. 46 SCENE I.] THE RIVALS. I33 Abs. I dare say not, sir. Sir Anth. But, Jack, you are not sorry to find your mistress is so beautiful? Abs. Sir, I repeat it -if I please you in this affair, 'tis all I desire. Not that I think a woman the worse for being handsome; but, sir, if you please to recollect, you before hinted something about a hump or two, one eye, and a few more graces of that kind. Now, without being very nice, I own I should rather choose a wife of mine to have the usual number of limbs, and a limited quantity of back; and though one eye may be very agreeable, yet as the prejudice has always run in favour of two, I would not wish to affect a singularity in that article. Sir Anth. What a phlegmatic sot it is! Why, sirrah, you're an anchorite! - a vile, insensible stock. You a soldier! - you're a walking block, fit only to dust the company's regimentals on! Odds life! I have a great mind to marry the girl myself Abs. I am entirely at your disposal, sir: if you should think of addressing Miss Languish yourself, I suppose you would have me marry the aunt; or if you should change your mind, and take the old lady —'tis the same to me - I'll marry the niece. Sir Anth. Upon my word, Jack, thou'rt either a very great hypocrite, or - but, come, I know your indifference on such a subject must be all a lie - I'm sure it must- come, nowdamn your demure face!-come, confess, Jack-you have been lying- ha'n't you? You have been playing the hypocrite, hey! - I'll never forgive you, if you ha'n't been lying and playing the hypocrite. Abs. I'm sorry, sir, that the respect and duty which I bear to you should be so mistaken. Sir Anth. Hang your respect and duty! But come along with me, I'll write a note to Mrs. Malaprop, and you shall visit the lady directly. Her eyes shall be the Promethean torch to you - come along. I'll never forgive you, if you don't come back stark mad with rapture and impatience -if you don't, egad, I will marry the girl myself! [Exeunt. 47 134 SHERIDA V. [ACT III. '34 SHERIDAN. [ACT III. SCENE II. - JULIA'S Dressing-room. FAULKLAND discovered alone. Faulk. They told me Julia would return directly; I wonder she is not yet come! How mean does this captious, unsatisfied temper of mine appear to my cooler judgment! Yet I know not that I indulge it in any other point; but on this one subject, and to this one subject, whom I think I love beyond my life, I am ever ungenerously fretful and madly capricious! I am conscious of it- yet I cannot correct myself! What tender honest joy sparkled in her eyes when we met! how delicate was the warmth of her expressions! I was ashamed to appear less happy - though I had come resolved to wear a face of coolness and upbraiding. Sir Anthony's presence prevented my proposed expostulations: yet I must be satisfied that she has not been so very happy in my absence. She is coming! Yes! - I know the nimbleness of her tread, when she thinks her impatient Faulkland counts the moments of her stay. Enter JULIA.I Julia. I had not hoped to see you again so soon. Faulk. Could I, Julia, be contented with my first welcomerestrained as we were by the presence of a third person? Julia. 0 Faulkland, when your kindness can make me thus happy, let me not think that I discovered something of coldness in your first salutation. Faulk. 'Twas but your fancy, Julia. I was rejoiced to see you - to see you in such health. Sure I had no cause for coldness? Julia. Nay then, I see you have taken something ill. You must not conceal from me what it is. Faulk. Well, then, shall I own to you that my joy at hearing of your health and arrival here, by your neighbour Acres, was somewhat damped by his dwelling much on the high spirits you had enjoyed in Devonshire - on your mirth - your singing - dancing, and I know not what! For such is my 1 It is generally said that Sheridan introduced the characters of Faulkland and Julia as a concession to the sentimentalists. 48 SCENE II.] THE RIVALS. 135 temper, Julia, that I should regard every mirthful moment in your absence as a treason to constancy. The mutual tear that steals down the cheek of parting lovers is a compact that no smile shall live there till they meet again. Julia. Must I never cease to tax my Faulkland with this teasing minute caprice? Can'the idle reports of a silly boor weigh in your breast against my tried affection? Faulk. They have no weight with me, Julia: no, no - I am happy if you have been so - yet only say that you did not sing with mirth -say that you thought of Faulkland in the dance. Julia. I never can be happy in your absence. If I wear a countenance of content, it is to show that my mind holds no doubt of my Faulkland's truth. If I seemed sad, it were to make malice triumph, and say that I had fixed my heart on one who left me to lament his roving and my own credulity. Believe me, Faulkland, I mean not to upbraid you, when I say that I have often dressed sorrow in smiles, lest my friends should guess whose unkindness had caused my tears. Faulk. You were ever all goodness to me. Oh, I am a brute, when I but admit a doubt of your true constancy! Julia. If ever without such cause from you, as I will not suppose possible, you find my affections veering but a point, may I become a proverbial scoff for levity and base ingratitude. Faulk. Ah! Julia, that last word is grating to me. I would I had no title to your gratitude! Search your heart, Julia; perhaps what you have mistaken for love is but the warm effusion of a too thankful heart. Julia. For what quality must I love you? Faulk. For no quality! To regard me for any quality of mind or understanding, were only to esteem me. And for person - I have often wished myself deformed, to be convinced that I owed no obligation there for any part of your affection. Julia. Where nature has bestowed a show of nice attention in the features of a man, he should laugh at it as misplaced. I have seen men, who in this vain article, perhaps, might rank above you; but my heart has never asked my eyes if it were so or not. Faulk. Now this is not well from you, Julia. I despise 49 I36 SHERIDAN. [ACT III. person in a man - yet if you loved me as I wish, though I were an AEthiop, you'd think none so fair. Julia. I see you are determined to be unkind. The contract which my poor father bound us in gives you more than a lover's privilege. Faulk. Again, Julia, you raise ideas that feed and justify my doubts. I would not have been more free - no - I am proud of my restraint. Yet - yet - perhaps your high respect alone for this solemn compact has fettered your inclinations, which else had made a worthier choice. How shall I be sure, had you remained unbound in thought and promise, that I should still have been the object of your persevering love? Julia. Then try me now. Let us be free as strangers as to what is past: my heart will not feel more liberty! Faulk. There now! so hasty, Julia! so anxious to be free! If your love for me were fixed and ardent, you would not lose your hold, even though I wished it! Julia. Oh! you torture me to the heart! I cannot bear it. Faulk. I do not mean to distress you. If I loved you less I should never give you an uneasy moment. But hear me. All my fretful doubts arise from this. Women are not used to weigh and separate the motives of their affections: the cold dictates of prudence, gratitude, or filial duty, may sometimes be mistaken for the pleadings of the heart. I would not boast yet let me say, that I have neither age, person, nor character, to found dislike on; my fortune such as few ladies could be charged with indiscretion in the match. 0 Julia! when love receives such countenance from prudence, nice minds will be suspicious of its birth. Julia. I know not whither your insinuations would tend; but as they seem pressing to insult me, I will spare you the regret of having done so. - I have given you no cause for this! [Exit in tears. Faulk. In tears! Stay, Julia: stay but for a moment.The door is fastened! - Julia!- my soul - but for one moment! - I hear her sobbing!- 'Sdeath! what a brute am I to use her thus! Yet stay. - Ay - she is coming now: - how little resolution there is in woman! - how a few soft words can turn them!- No, faith! - she is not coming either.- Why, so SCENE III.] THE RIVALS. I37 Julia - my love - say but that you forgive me - come but to tell me that —now this is being too resentful. Stay! she is coming too — I thought she would —no steadiness in any thing: her going away must have been a mere trick thenshe shan't see that I was hurt by it. I'll affect indifference - [ Hums a tune: then listens.] No- zounds! she's not coming!- nor don't intend it, I suppose. This is not steadiness, but obstinacy! Yet I deserve it. What, after so long an absence to quarrel with her tenderness! - 'twas barbarous and unmanly! I should be ashamed to see her now. I'll wait till her just resentment is abated- and when I distress her so again, may I lose her for ever! and be linked instead to some antique virago, whose gnawing passions and long hoarded spleen shall make me curse my folly half the day and all the night.1 [Exit. SCENE III. — MRS. MALAPROP'S Lodgings. MRS. MALAPROP, with a letter in her hand, and CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE. Mrs. Mal. Your being Sir Anthony's son, captain, would itself be a sufficient accommodation; but from the ingenuity of your appearance, I am convinced you deserve the character here given of you. Abs. Permit me to say, madam, that as I never yet have had the pleasure of seeing Miss Languish, my principal inducement in this affair at present is the honour of being allied to Mrs. Malaprop; of whose intellectual accomplishments, elegant manners, and unaffected learning, no tongue is silent. Mrs. Mal. Sir, you do me infinite honour! I beg, captain, you'll be seated. [They sit.] Ah! few gentlemen, now-a-days, 1 These last lines fall into verse: Be linked instead to some antique virago, Whose gnawing passions and long hoarded spleen Shall make me curse my folly half the day And all the night. There is considerable tendency toward meter in the play. See, for instance, Faulkland's preceding speech. See also pages I41, 142, 159, 160, and I84. 5i 138 SHERIDAN. [ACT III. know how to value the ineffectual qualities in a woman! few think how a little knowledge becomes a gentlewoman! Men have no sense now but for the worthless flower of beauty! Abs. It is but too true, indeed, ma'am; yet I fear our ladies should share the blame-they think our admiration of beauty so great, that knowledge in them would be superfluous. Thus, like garden-trees, they seldom show fruit, till time has robbed them of the more specious blossom. Few, like Mrs. Malaprop and the orange-tree, are rich in both at once! Mrs. IMal. Sir, you overpower me with good-breeding. — He is the very pine-apple of politeness! - You are not ignorant, captain, that this giddy girl has somehow contrived to fix her affections on a beggarly, strolling, eaves-dropping ensign, whom none of us have seen, and nobody knows any thing of. Abs. Oh, I have heard the silly affair before. I'm not at all prejudiced against her on that account. Mrs. Mal. You are very good and very considerate, captain. I am sure I have done every thing in my power since I exploded the affair; long ago I laid my positive conjunctions on her, never to think on the fellow again; I have since laid Sir Anthony's preposition before her; but, I am sorry to say, she seems resolved to decline every particle'that I enjoin her. Abs. It must be very distressing, indeed, ma'am. Mrs. Mal. Oh! it gives me the hydrostatics to such a degree. I thought she had persisted from corresponding with him; but, behold, this very day, I have interceded another letter from the fellow; I believe I have it in my pocket. Abs. Oh, the devil! my last note. [Aside. Mrs. Mal. Ay, here it is. Abs. Ay, my note indeed! O the little traitress Lucy. [Aside. Mrs. Mal. There, perhaps you may know the writing. [Gives him the letter. Abs. I think I have seen the hand before —yes, I cerainly must have seen this hand beforeMrs. Mal. Nay, but read it, captain. Abs. [Reads.] "My soul's idol, my adored Lydia! "- Very tender indeed! 52 SCENE III.] THE RIVALS. 139 Mrs. Aal. Tender! ay, and profane too, o' my conscience! Abs. [Reads.] " I am excessively alarmed at the intelligence you send me, the more so as my new rival "Mrs. Mal. That's you, sir. Abs. [Reads.] "has universally the character of being an accomplished gentleman and a man of honour." - Well, that's handsome enough. Mrs. Mal. Oh, the fellow has some design in writing so. Abs. That he had, I'll answer for him, ma'am. Mrs. Mal. But go on, sir-you'll see presently. Abs. [Reads.] "As for the old weather-beaten she-dragon who guards you "- Who can he mean by that? Mrs. Mal. Me, sir! -me! - he means me! - There - what do you think now? - but go on a little further. Abs. Impudent scoundrel!- [Reads.] "it shall go hard but I will elude her vigilance, as I am told that the same ridiculous vanity, which makes her dress up her coarse features, and deck her dull chat with hard words which she don't understand " - Mrs. Mal. There, sir, an attack upon my language! what do you think of that?-an aspersion upon my parts of speech! was ever such a brute! Sure, if I reprehend any thing in this world, it is the use of my oracular tongue, and a nice derangement of epitaphs! Abs. He deserves to be hanged and quartered! Let me see - [Reads.] " same ridiculous vanity " - Mrs. Mal. You need not read it again, sir. Abs. I beg pardon, ma'am. - [Reads.] "does also lay her open to the grossest deceptions from flattery and pretended admiration "- an impudent coxcomb! — "so that I have a scheme to see you shortly with the old harridan's consent, and even to make her a go-between in our interview." - Was ever such assurance! Mrs. Mal. Did you ever hear any thing like it?- He'll elude my vigilance, will he- yes, yes! ha! ha! he's very likely to enter these doors:- we'll try who can plot best! Abs. So we will, ma'am-so we will! Ha! ha! ha! a conceited puppy, ha! ha! ha! Well, but Mrs. Malaprop, as the girl seems so infatuated by this fellow, suppose you were to 53 I40 SHERIDAN. [ACT III. wink at her corresponding with him for a little time - let her even plot an elopement with him - then do you connive at her escape —while I, just in the nick, will have the fellow laid by the heels, and fairly contrive to carry her off in his stead. Mrs. Mal. I am delighted with the scheme; never was any thing better perpetrated! Abs. But, pray, could I not see the lady for a few minutes now? I should like to try her temper a little. Mrs. Mal. Why, I don't know - I doubt she is not prepared for a visit of this kind. There is a decorum in these matters. Abs. O Lord! she won't mind me-only tell her BeverleyMrs. Mal. Sir! Abs. Gently, good tongue. [Aside. Mrs. Mal. What did you say of Beverley? Abs. Oh, I was going to propose that you should tell her, by way of jest, that it was Beverley who was below;she'd come down fast enough then - ha! ha! ha! Mrs. Mal. 'Twould be a trick she well deserves; besides, you know the fellow tells her he'll get my consent to see her ha! ha! Let him if he can, I say again. Lydia, come down here! [Calling.] He'll make me a go-between in their interviews! -ha! ha! ha! Come down, I say, Lydia! I don't wonder at your laughing, ha! ha! ha-! his impudence is truly ridiculous. Abs. 'Tis very ridiculous, upon my soul, ma'am; ha! ha! ha! Mrs. Mal. The little hussy won't hear. Well, I'll go and tell her at once who it is - she shall know that Captain Absolute is come to wait on her. And I'll make her behave as becomes a young woman. Abs. As you please, ma'am. Mrs. Mal. For the present, captain, your servant. Ah! you've not done laughing yet, I see - elude my vigilance! yes, yes; ha! ha! ha! [Exit. Abs. Ha! ha! ha! one would think now that I might throw off all disguise at once, and seize my prize with security: but 54 SCENE III.] THE RIVALS. I41 such is Lydia's caprice, that to undeceive were probably to lose her. I'll see whether she knows me. [ Walks aside, and seems engaged in looking at the pictures. Enter LYDIA. Lydia. What a scene am I now to go through! surely nothing can be more dreadful than to be obliged to listen to the loathsome addresses of a stranger to one's heart. I have heard of girls persecuted as I am, who have appealed in behalf of their favoured lover to the generosity of his rival; suppose I were to try it - there stands the hated rival - an officer too! - but oh, how unlike my Beverley! I wonder he don't begin - truly he seems a very negligent wooer! - quite at his ease, upon my word! I'll speak first. Mr. Absolute. Abs. Ma'am. [Turns round. Lydia. 0 heavens! Beverley! Abs. Hush! -hush, my life! softly! be not surprised! Lydia. I am so astonished! and so terrified! and so overjoyed! For heaven's sake! how came you here? Abs. Briefly, I have deceived your aunt-I was informed that my new rival was to visit here this evening, and, contriving to have him kept away, have passed myself on her for Captain Absolute. Lydia. 0 charming! And she really takes you for young Absolute? Abs. Oh, she's convinced of it. Lydia. Ha! ha! ha! I can't forbear laughing to think how her sagacity is overreached! Abs. But we trifle with our precious moments —such another opportunity may not occur; then let me now conjure my kind, my condescending angel, to fix the time when I may rescue her from undeserving persecution, and with a licensed warmth plead for my reward. Lydia. Will you then, Beverley, consent to forfeit that portion of my paltry wealth? - that burden on the wings of love? Abs. Oh, come to me-rich only thus-in loveliness! 1 Observe the tendency toward meter in this and Absolute's following speech. 55 I42 SHERIDAN. [ACT III, Bring no portion to me but thy love - 'twill be generous in you, Lydia; for well you know, it is the only dower your poor Beverley can repay. Lydia. How persuasive are his words! how charming will poverty be with him! [Aside. Abs. Ah! my soul, what a life will we then live! Love shall be our idol and support! we will worship him with a monastic strictness; abjuring all worldly toys, to centre every thought and action there. Proud of calamity, we will enjoy the wreck of wealth; while the surrounding gloom of adversity shall make the flame of our pure love show doubly bright. By heavens! I would fling all goods of fortune from me with a prodigal hand, to enjoy the scene where I might clasp my Lydia to my bosom, and say, the world affords no smile to me but here. [Embracing her.] If she holds out now, the devil is in it! [Aside. Lydia. Now could I fly with him to the antipodes! but my persecution is not yet come to a crisis. [Aside. Re-enter MRS. MALAPROP, listening. Mrs. Mal. I am impatient to know how the little hussy deports herself. [Aside. Abs. So pensive, Lydia! - is then your warmth abated? Mrs. Mal. Warmth abated! —so! she has been in a passion, I suppose. [Aside. Lydia. No - nor ever can while I have life. Mrs. Mal. An ill-tempered little devil! She'll be in a passion all her life, will she? [Aside. Lydia. Think not the idle threats of my ridiculous aunt can ever have any weight with me. Mrs. Mal. Very dutiful, upon my word! [Aside. Lydia. Let her choice be Captain Absolute, but Beverley is mine. Mrs. Mal. I am astonished at her assurance! - to his face -this is to his face! [Aside. Abs. Thus then let me enforce my suit. [Kneeling. Mrs. Mal. [aside]. Ay, poor young man! down on his knees entreating for pity! I can contain no longer. [Coming forward.] Why, thou vixen! - I have overheard you. 56 SCENE IV.] THE RIVALS. I43 Abs. Oh, confound her vigilance! [Aside. Mrs. Mal. Captain Absolute, I know not how to apologize for her shocking rudeness. Abs. [aside]. So all's safe, I find. - [Aloud.] I have hopes, madam, that time will bring the young lady - Mrs. Mal. Oh, there's nothing to be hoped for from her! she's as headstrong as an allegory on the banks of Nile. Lydia. Nay, madam, what do you charge me with now? Mrs. Mal. Why, thou unblushing rebel, didn't you tell this gentleman to his face that you loved another better? - didn't you say you never would be his? Lydia. No, madam - I did not. Mrs. Mal. Good heavens! what assurance!- Lydia, Lydia, you ought to know that lying don't become a young woman! Didn't you boast that Beverley, that stroller Beverley, possessed your heart? Tell me that, I say. Lydia. 'Tis true, ma'am, and none but Beverley - Mrs. Mal. Hold!- hold, Assurance! you shall not be so rude. Abs. Nay, pray, Mrs. Malaprop, don't stop the young lady's speech: she's very welcome to talk thus; it does not hurt me in the least, I assure you. Mrs. Mal. You are too good, captain - too amiably patient - but come with me, miss. - Let us see you again soon, captain. Remember what we have fixed. Abs. I shall, ma'am. Mrs. Mal. Come, take a graceful leave of the gentleman. Lydia. May every blessing wait on my Beverley, my loved BevMrs. Afal. Hussy! I'll choke the word in your throat Come along-come along. [Exeunt severally, CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE kissing his hand to LYDIA, MRS. MALAPROP stop5ping her from speaking. SCENE IV. - ACRES' Lodgings. ACRES, as just dressed, and DAVID. Acres. Indeed, David - do you think I become it so? David. You are quite another creature, believe me, master, 57 144 SHE RIDA IV. [ACT III. by the mass! an' we've1 any luck we shall see the Devon monkerony2 in all the print-shops in Bath! Acres. Dress does make a difference, David. David. 'Tis all in all, I think. - Difference! why, an' you were to go now to Clod-hall, I am certain the old lady 3 wouldn't know you: master Butler wouldn't believe his own eyes, and Mrs. Pickle would cry, " Lard presarve me!" our dairy-maid would come giggling to the door, and I warrant Dolly Tester, your honour's favourite, would blush like my waistcoat. Oons! I'll hold a gallon, there an't a dog in the house but would bark, and I question whether Phillis would wag a hair of her tail! Acres. Ay, David, there's nothing like polishing. David. So I says of your honour's boots; but the boy never heeds me! Acres. But, David, has Mr. De-la-grace4 been here? I must rub up my balancing and chasing and boring.5 David. I'll call again, sir. Acres. Do; and see if there are any letters for me at the post-office. David. I will. - By the mass, I can't help looking at your head! - if I hadn't been by at the cooking, I wish I may die if I should have known the dish again myself! [Exit. Acres [practising a dancing step]. Sink, slide-coupee - Confound the first inventors of cotillons! say I - they are as bad as algebra to us country gentlemen - I can walk a minuet easy enough when I am forced! -and I have been accounted a good stick in a country-dance. - Odds jigs and tabors! I never valued your cross-over to couple -figure in — right and left-and I'd foot it with e'er a captain in the county! -but these outlandish heathen allemandes and cotillons are quite beyond me!- I shall never prosper at 'em, that's sure - mine are true-born English legs- they don't understand 1 If we have. 2 Devonshire macaroni, Acres. On setting up Macaronies in the printshops, see She Stoops to Conquer IV., i. (page 60), and note. In the present instance no satire is intended. 3 Acres' mother. 4 The dancing-master. 5 Dancing terms. A play between boree (Fr., bourree, a dance) and bore. 58 SCENE IV.] THE RIVALS. I45 their curst French lingo! - their fas1 this, and ias that, and pas t'other! Damn me! my feet don't like to be called paws! no, 'tis certain I have most anti-Gallican 2 toes!3 Enter SERVANT. Servant. Here is Sir Lucius O'Trigger to wait on you, sir. Acres. Show him in. [Exit SERVANT. Enter SIR Lucius O'TRIGGER. Sir Luc. Mr. Acres, I am delighted to embrace you. Acres. My dear Sir Lucius, I kiss your hands. Sir Luc. Pray, my friend, what has brought you so suddenly to Bath? Acres. Faith! I have followed Cupid's Jack-a-lantern, and find myself in a quagmire at last. In short, I have been very ill used, Sir Lucius. I don't choose to mention names, but look on me as on a very ill-used gentleman. Sir Luc. Pray what is the case? I ask no names. Acres. Mark me, Sir Lucius; I fall as deep as need be in love with a young lady -her friends take my part- I follow her to Bath-send word of my arrival; and receive answer, that the lady is to be otherwise disposed of. This, Sir Lucius, I call being ill used. Sir Luc. Very ill, upon my conscience. Pray, can you divine the cause of it? Acres. Why, there's the matter; she has another lover, one Beverley, who, I am told, is now in Bath. Odds slanders and lies! he must be at the bottom of it. Sir Luc. A rival in the case, is there? - and you think he has supplanted you unfairly? Acres. Unfairly! to be sure he has. He never could have done it fairly. Sir Luc. Then sure you know what is to be done! 1 French for step. 2 Anti-French. 3 Philocleon in Aristophanes' 24iKes (II64-5) hesitates to draw on the Laconian shoes because one of his toes is a Laconian-hater: Mi8aIAui TO0TO y', e1rel irdaow JLoAitKWv aVTrov '0aTCr eL5 TOWv SaKTVAWv. 10 59 I46 SHERIDAN. [ACT III. Acres. Not I, upon my soul! Sir Luc. We wear no swords here, but you understand me. Acres. What! fight him! Sir Luc. Ay, to be sure: what can I mean else? Acres. But he has given me no provocation. Sir Luc. Now, I think he has given you the greatest provocation in the world. Can a man commit a more heinous offence against another than to fall in love with the same woman? Oh, by my soul! it is the most unpardonable breach of friendship. Acres. Breach of friendship! ay, ay; but I have no acquaintance with this man. I never saw him in my life. Sir Luc. That's no argument at all - he has the less right then to take such a liberty. Acres. Gad, that's true. I grow full of anger, Sir Lucius! I fire apace! Odds hilts and blades! I find a man may have a deal of valour in him, and not know it! But couldn't I contrive to have a little right of my side? Sir Luc. What the devil signifies right, when your honour is concerned? Do you think Achilles, or my little Alexander the Great, ever inquired where the right lay? No, by my soul, they drew their broad-swords, and left the lazy sons of peace to settle the justice of it. Acres. Your words are a grenadier's march to my heart! I believe courage must be catching! I certainly do feel a kind of valour rising as it were -a kind of courage, as I may say. Odds flints, pans, and triggers! I'll challenge him directly. Sir Luc. Ah, my little friend, if I had Blunderbuss-Hall here, I could show you a range of ancestry, in the O'Trigger line, that would furnish the New Room; 1 every one of whom had killed his man! For though the mansion-house and dirty acres have slipped through my fingers, I thank heaven our honour and the family pictures are as fresh as ever.2 Acres. 0, Sir Lucius! I have had ancestors too! - every man of 'em colonel or captain in the militia! Odds balls and barrels! 1 The New Assembly Rooms in Bath, opened in 177I. 2 "Why the land and mansion-house have slipped thro' our fingers, boy; but, thank heaven, the family pictures are still extant." MRS. SHERIDAN, A Trip to Bath. 6o SCENE IV.] THE RIVALS. I47 say no more - I'm braced for it. The thunder of your words has soured the milk of human kindness 1 in my breast. Zounds! as the man in the play says, I could do such deeds! 2 Sir Luc. Come, come, there must be no passion at all in the case - these things should always be done civilly. Acres. I must be in a passion, Sir Lucius- I must be in a rage. Dear Sir Lucius, let me be in a rage, if you love me. Come, here's pen and paper. [Sits down to write.] I would the ink were red! Indite, I say, indite! How shall I begin? Odds bullets and blades! I'll write a good bold hand, however. Sir Luc. Pray compose yourself. Acres. Come, now, shall I begin with an oath? Do, Sir Lucius, let me begin with a damme. Sir Luc. Pho! pho! do the thing decently, and like a Christian. Begin now - SirAcres. That's too civil by half. Sir Luc. 7o prevent the confusion that might arise - Acres. WellSir Luc. from our both addressing the same lady - Acres. Ay, there's the reason - same lady - well - Sir Luc. I shall expect the honour ofyour company - Acres. Zounds! I'm not asking him to dinner. Sir Luc. Pray be easy. Acres. Well then, honour of your company - Sir Luc. to settle our pretensions - Acres. Well. 1 Thunder is popularly said to turn milk. The phrase " the milk of human kindness" is from Macbeth, I., v.: " Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o' the milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way." Compare Schiller's Wilhelm Tell, IV., iii. 13-4: " In gahrend Drachengift hast du Die Milch der frommen Denkart mir verwandelt." 2 Does he have in mind Hamlet's " Now could I drink hot blood, And do such bitter business as the day Would quake to look on"? (III., ii.) 6x 148 SHERIDAN. [ACT IV. Sir Luc. Let me see, ay, King's-Mead-Field will do - in King's-Mead-Fields. 1 Acres. So, that's done. Well, I'll fold it up presently; my own crest, a hand and dagger, shall be the seal. Sir Luc. You see now this little explanation will put a stop at once to all confusion or misunderstanding that might arise between you. Acres. Ay, we fight to prevent any misunderstanding. Sir Luc. Now, I'll leave you to fix your own time. Take my advice, and you'll decide it this evening if you can; then let the worst come of it, 'twill be off your mind to-morrow. Acres. Very true. Sir Luc. So I shall see nothing more of you, unless it be by letter, till the evening. I would do myself the honour to carry your message; but, to tell you a secret, I believe I shall have just such another affair on my own hands. There is a gay captain here, who put a jest on me lately at the expense of my country, and I only want to fall in with the gentleman to call him out. Acres. By my valour, I should like to see you fight first! Odds life! I should like to see you kill him, if it was only to get a little lesson. Sir Luc. I shall be very proud of instructing you. Well for the present - but remember now, when you meet your antagonist, do every thing in a mild and agreeable manner. Let your courage be as keen, but at the same time as polished, as your sword. [Exeunt severally. ACT IV. SCENE I. - ACRES' Lodgings. ACRES and DAVID. David. Then, by the mass, sir! I would do no such thing - ne'er a Sir Lucius O'Trigger in the kingdom should make me fight, when I wa'n't so minded. Oons! what will the old lady say, when she hears o't? 1 King's Mead Fields, on the west side of the city, formed part of the ancient royal demesne." - AITKEN. 62 SCENE I.] THE RI VA LS. 149 Acres. Ah! David, if you had heard Sir Iucius! Odds sparks and flames! he would have roused your valour. David. Not he, indeed. I hate such bloodthirsty cormorants. Look'ee, master, if you'd wanted a bout at boxing, quarter-staff, or short-staff, I should never be the man to bid you cry off: but for your curst sharps and snaps, I never knew any good come of 'em. Acres. But my honour, David, my honour! I must be very careful of my honour. David. Ay, by the mass! and I would be very careful of it; and I think in return my honour couldn't do less than to be very careful of me. Acres. Odds blades! David, no gentleman will ever risk the loss of his honour! David. I say then, it would be but civil in honour never to risk the loss of a gentleman.' Look'ee, master, this honour seems to me to be a marvellous false friend: ay, truly, a very courtier-like servant. Put the case, I was a gentleman (which, thank God, no one can say of me); well -my honour makes me quarrel with another gentleman of my acquaintance. So -we fight. (Pleasant enough that!) Boh! - I kill him (the more's my luck.) Now, pray who gets the profit of it? Why, my honour. But put the case that he kills me! - by the mass! I go to the worms, and my honour whips over to my enemy.2 1 " The clumsy valet makes remarks as witty as Sheridan himself." TAINE, III., i., 10. In this connection see what Macaulay says of Congreve and Sheridan in his essay on Machiavelli: " The whole is lighted up with an universal glare. Outlines and tints are forgotten in the common blaze which illuminates all. The flowers and fruits of the intellect abound; but it is the abundance of a jungle, not of a garden, unwholesome, bewildering, unprofitable from its very plenty, rank from its very fragrance. Every fop, every boor, every valet, is a man of wit. The very butts and dupes, Tattle, Witwould, Puff, Acres, outshine the whole Hotel of Rambouillet." 2 " Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then? No. What is honour? A word. What is in that word honour? what is 63 I50 SHERIDAN. [ACT IV. Acres. No, David - in that case!- odds crowns and laurels! your honour follows you to the grave. David. Now, that's just the place where I could make a shift to do without it. Acres. Zounds! David, you are a coward! It doesn't become my valour to listen to you. What, shall I disgrace my ancestors? Think of that, David -think what it would be to disgrace my ancestors! David. Under favour, the surest way of not disgracing them, is to keep as long as you can out of their company. Look'ee now, master, to go to them in such haste -with an ounce of lead in your brains -I should think might as well be let alone. Our ancestors are very good kind of folks; but they are the last people I should choose to have a visiting acquaintance with. Acres. But, David, now, you don't think there is such very, very, very great danger, hey? Odds life! people often fight without any mischief done! David. By the mass, I think 'tis ten to one against you! Oons! here to meet some lion-headed fellow, I warrant, with his damned double-barrelled swords, and cut-and-thrust pistols! - Lord bless us! it makes me tremble to think o't! Those be such desperate bloody-minded weapons! Well, I never could abide 'em- from a child I never could fancy 'em! I suppose there an't been so merciless a beast in the world as your loaded pistol! Acres. Zounds! I won't be afraid! - Odds fire and fury! you shan't make me afraid Here is the challenge, and I have sent for my dear friend Jack Absolute to carry it for me. that honour? Air. A trim reckoning! - Who hath it? He that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. 'Tis insensible then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I'll none of it: honour is a mere scutcheon." - Falstaff in I. Henry IV., V., i. In the same act he sets forth that " the better part of valour is discretion." " Honour's a fine imaginary notion, That draws in raw and unexperienced men To real mischiefs, while they hunt a shadow." ADDISON, Cato, II., v., 38-40. 64 SCENE I.J THE RIVALS. I 5 David. Ay, i' the name of mischief, let him be the messenger. For my part, I wouldn't lend a hand to it for the best horse in your stable. By the mass! it don't look like another letter! It is, as I may say, a designing and malicious-looking letter; and I warrant smells of gunpowder like a soldier's pouch! - Oons! I wouldn't swear it mayn't go off! Acres. Out, you poltroon! you ha'n't the valour of a grasshopper. David. Well, I say no more - 'twill be sad news, to be sure, at Clod-Hall! but I ha' done. How Phillis will howl when she hears of it! - Ay, poor bitch, she little thinks what shooting her master's going after! And I warrant old Crop, who has carried your honour, field and road, these ten years, will curse the hour he was born. [Wh impering. Acres. It won't do, David- I am determined to fight - so get along, you coward, while I'm in the mind. Enter SERVANT. Servant. Captain Absolute, sir. Acres. Oh! show him up. [Exit SERVANT. David. Well, Heaven send we be all alive this time tomorrow. Acres. What's that? - Don't provoke me, David! David. Good-bye, master. [Whimpering. Acres. Get along, you cowardly, dastardly, croaking raven! [Exit DAVID. Enter CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE. Abs. What's the matter, Bob? Acres. A vile, sheep-hearted blockhead! If I hadn't the valour of St. George 2 and the dragon to boot - Abs. But what did you want with me, Bob? Acres. Oh! - there - [Gives him the challenge. Abs. [aside]. "To Ensign Beverley." — So, what's going on now?- [AAloud.] Well, what's this? Acres. A challenge! 1 Grant. 2 The patron saint of England, slayer of the huge dragon in Libya. 65 152 SHERIDAN. [ACT IV. Abs. Indeed! Why, you won't fight him, will you, Bob? Acres. Egad, but I will, Jack. Sir Lucius has wrought me to it. He has left me full of rage, and I'll fight this evening, that so much good passion mayn't be wasted. Abs. But what have I to do with this? Acres. Why, as I think you know something of this fellow, I want you to find him out for me, and give him this mortal defiance. Abs. Well, give it to me, and trust me he gets it. Acres. Thank you, my dear friend, my dear Jack; but it is giving you a great deal of trouble. Abs. Not in the least —I beg you won't mention it. No trouble in the world, I assure you. Acres. You are very kind. - What it is to have a friend! You couldn't be my second, could you, Jack? Abs. Why no, Bob - not in this affair - it would not be quite so proper. Acres. Well, then, I must get my friend Sir Lucius. I shall have your good wishes, however, Jack? Abs. Whenever he meets you, believe me. Re-enter SERVANT. Servant. Sir Anthony Absolute is below, inquiring for the captain. Abs. I'll come instantly. - [Exit SERVANT.] Well, my little hero, success attend you. [Going. Acres. Stay-stay, Jack. If Beverley should ask you what kind of a man your friend Acres is, do tell him I am a devil of a fellow; will you, Jack? Abs. To be sure I shall. I'll say you are a determined dog hey, Bob! Acres. Ay, do, do - and if that frightens him, egad, perhaps he mayn't come. So tell him I generally kill a man a week; will you, Jack? Abs. I will, I will; I'll say you are called in the country Fighting Bob. Acres. Right- right -'tis all to prevent mischief; for I don't want to take his life if I clear my honour. Abs. No! - that's very kind of you. 66 SCENE II.] THE RIVALS. 153 Acres. Why, you don't wish me to kill him, do you, Jack? Abs. No, upon my soul, I do not. But a devil of a fellow, hey? [Going. Acres. True, true -but stay- stay, Jack- you may add that you never saw me in such a rage before - a most devouring rage! Abs. I will, I will. Acres. Remember, Jack - a determined dog! Abs. Ay, ay, Fighting Bob! [Exeunt severally. SCENE II. - MRS. MALAPROP'S Lodgings. MRS. MALAPROP and LYDIA. Mrs. Mal. Why, thou perverse one! - tell me what you can object to him? Isn't he a handsome man? -tell me that. A genteel man? a pretty figure of a man? Lydia [aside]. She little thinks whom she is praising![Aloud.] So is Beverley, ma'am. Mrs. Mal. No caparisons, miss, if you please. Caparisons don't become a young woman.1 No! Captain Absolute is indeed a fine gentleman! Lydia. Ay, the Captain Absolute you have seen. [Aside. Mrs. Mal. Then he's so well bred;- so full of alacrity and adulation! - and has so much to say for himself: - in such good language too! His physiognomy so grammatical! Then his presence is so noble! I protest, when I saw him, I thought of what Hamlet says in the play: - "Hesperian curls - the front of Job himself - An eye, like March, to threaten at command!A station, like Harry Mercury, new " 2 1 It was Dogberry who perverted the proverb " Comparisons are odious" into " Comparisons are odorous." (Much Ado About Nothing, III., v.) 2 " Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill." Hamlet, III., iv., 56-59. 67 154 SHERIDAN. [ACT IV. Something about kissing - on a hill - however, the similitude struck me directly. Lydia. How enraged she'll be presently, when she discovers her mistake! [Aside. Enter SERVANT. Servant. Sir Anthony and Captain Absolute are below, ma'am. Mrs. Mal. Show them up here. - [Exit SERVANT.] Now, Lydia, I insist on your behaving as becomes a young woman. Show your good breeding, at least, though you have forgot your duty. Lydia. Madam, I have told you my resolution! I shall not only give him no encouragement, but I won't even speak to or look at him. [Flings herself into a chair, with herface from the door. Enter SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUTE and CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE. SirAnth. Here we are, Mrs. Malaprop; come to mitigate the frowns of unrelenting beauty, - and difficulty enough I had to bring this fellow. I don't know what's the matter; but if I had not held him by force, he'd have given me the slip. Mrs. Mal. You have infinite trouble, Sir Anthony, in the affair. I am ashamed for the cause! - [Aside to LYDIA.] Lydia, Lydia, rise, I beseech you! -pay your respects! Sir Anth. I hope, madam, that Miss Languish has reflected on the worth of this gentleman, and the regard due to her aunt's choice, and my alliance. - [Aside to CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.] Now, Jack, speak to her. Abs. [aside]. What the devil shall I do! —[Aside to SIR ANTHONY.] You see, sir, she won't even look at me whilst you are here. I knew she wouldn't! I told you so. Let me entreat you, sir, to leave us together! [Seems to expostulate with his father. Lydia [aside]. I wonder I ha'n't heard my aunt exclaim yet! sure she can't have looked at him!- perhaps their regimentals are alike, and she is something blind. Sir Anth. I say, sir, I won't stir a foot yet! 68 SCENE I1.] THE RIVALS. I55 Mrs. Mal. I am sorry to say, Sir Anthony, that my affluence over my niece is very small. - [Aside to LYDIA.] Turn round, Lydia; I blush for you! SirAnth. May I not flatter myself, that Miss Languish will assign what cause of dislike she can have to my son - [Aside to CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.] Why don't you begin, Jack? Speak, you puppy- speak! Mrs. Mal. It is impossible, Sir Anthony, she can have any. She will not say she has. - [Aside to LYDIA.] Answer, hussy! why don't you answer? Sir Anth. Then, madam, I trust that a childish and hasty predilection will be no bar to Jack's happiness. - [Aside to CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.] - Zounds! sirrah! why don't you speak! Lydia [aside]. I think my lover seems as little inclined to conversation as myself. How strangely blind my aunt must be! Abs. Hem! hem! madam - hem! [Attempts to speak, then returns to SIR ANTHONY.] - Faith! sir, I am so confounded! - and - so - so - confused! - I told you I should be so, sir- I knew it. - The - the - tremor of my passion entirely takes away my presence of mind. Sir Anth. But it don't take away your voice, fool, does it? Go up, and speak to her directly! [CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE makes signs to MRs. MALAPROP to leave them together. Mrs. Mal. Sir Anthony, shall we leave them together?[Aside to LYDIA.] Ah! you stubborn little vixen! Sir Anth. Not yet, ma'am, not yet! -[Aside to CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.] What the devil are you at? unlock your jaws, sirrah, orAbs. [aside]. Now Heaven send she may be too sullen to look round! I must disguise my voice. - [Draws near LYDIA, and speaks in a low hoarse tone.] Will not Miss Languish lend an ear to the mild accents of true love? Will notSir Anth. What the devil ails the fellow? Why don't you speak out? - not stand croaking like a frog in a quinsy! Abs. The - the - excess of my awe, and my - my - my modesty, quite choke me! 69 I56 SHERIDAN. [ACT IV. Sir Anth. Ah! your modesty again! I'll tell you what, Jack; if you don't speak out directly, and glibly too, I shall be in such a rage!- Mrs. Malaprop, I wish the lady would favour us with something more than a side-front. [MRS. MALAPROP seems to chide LYDIA. Abs. [aside]. So all will out, I see! -[Goes up to LYDIA, speaks softly.] Be not surprised, my Lydia, suppress all surprise at present. Lydia [aside]. Heavens! 'tis Beverley's voice! Sure he can't have imposed on Sir Anthony too! -[Looks round by degrees, then starts up.] Is this possible! - my Beverley! - how can this be? - my Beverley? Abs. Ah! 'tis all over. [Aside. Sir Anth. Beverley! - the devil - Beverley! - What can the girl mean? - This is my son, Jack Absolute. Mrs. Mal. For shame, hussy! for shame! your head runs so on that fellow, that you have him always in your eyes! Beg Captain Absolute's pardon directly. Lydia. I see no Captain Absolute, but my loved Beverley! Sir Anth. Zounds! the girl's mad! - her brain's turned by reading.1 Mrs. Mal. O' my conscience, I believe so!- What do you mean by Beverley, hussy? You saw Captain Absolute before to-day; there he is -your husband that shall be. Lydia. With all my soul, ma'am-when I refuse my Beverley - Sir Anth. Oh I she's as mad as Bedlam! 2 or has this fellow been playing us a rogue's trick!- Come here, sirrah, who the devil are you? Abs. Faith, sir, I am not quite clear myself; but I'll endeavour to recollect. 1 See page Iro and note i, and compare the closing lines of Colman's Polly Honeycomb: "This comes of cordials and novels! Zounds, your stomachicks are the devil; and a man might as well turn his daughter loose in Covent-Garden, as trust the cultivation of her mind to a circulating library 1" 2 The word is a contraction of Bethlehem, the name of a madhouse in London. 70 SCENE II.] THE RIVALS. I 5 7 Sir Anth. Are you my son or not?- answer for your mother, you dog, if you won't for me. Mrs. Mal. Ay, sir, who are you? 0 mercy! I begin to suspect! — Abs. [aside]. Ye powers of impudence, befriend me![Aloud.] Sir Anthony, most assuredly I am your wife's son; and that I sincerely believe myself to be your's also, I hope my duty has always shown. - Mrs. Malaprop, I am your most respectful admirer, and shall be proud to add affectionate nephew. - I need not tell my Lydia, that she sees her faithful Beverley, who, knowing the singular generosity of her temper, assumed that name and a station which has proved a test of the most disinterested love, which he now hopes to enjoy in a more elevated character. Lydia. So! - there will be no elopement after all! 1 [Sullenly. Sir Anth. Upon my soul, Jack, thou art a very impudent fellow! to do you justice, I think I never saw a piece of more consummate assurance! Abs. Oh, you flatter me, sir-you compliment; 'tis my modesty, you know, sir, -my modesty that has stood in my way. Sir Anth. Well, I am glad you are not the dull, insensible varlet you pretended to be, however!- I'm glad you have made a fool of your father, you dog- I am. So this was your penitence, your duty and obedience! I thought it was damned sudden! You never heard their names before, not you! - What, the Languishes of Worcestershire, hey? - if you could please me in the affair, it was all you desired! - Ah! you dissembling villain! - What! [pointing to LYDIA] she squints, don't she? -- a little red-hairedgirl!2 hey? - Why, you hypocritical young rascal! - I wonder you an't ashamed to hold up your head! Abs. 'Tis with difficulty, sir. - I am confused —very much confused, as you must perceive. 1 The romantic Lydia has much in common with the Niece in Steele's Tender Husband and Polly in Colman's Polly Honeycomb. 2 See pages 13I and I32. 7i SHERIDAN. [ACT IV. Mrs. Mal. 0 Lud! Sir Anthony! - a new light breaks in upon me! - hey! - how! what! captain, did you write the letters then? - What - am I to thank you for the elegant compilation of an old weather-beaten she-dragon,l hey! - O mercy! was it you that reflected on my parts of speech? Abs. Dear sir! my modesty will be overpowered at last, if you don't assist me. I shall certainly not be able to stand it! Sir Anth. Come, come, Mrs. Malaprop, we must forget and forgive; odds life! matters have taken so clever a turn all of a sudden, that I could find in my heart to be so good-humoured! and so gallant! hey! Mrs. Malaprop! Mrs. Mal. Well, Sir Anthony, since you desire it, we will not anticipate the past; so mind, young people, our retrospection will be all to the future. Sir Anth. Come, we must leave them together; Mrs. Malaprop, they long to fly into each other's arms, I warrant!- Jack - isn't the cheek as I said, hey? - and the eye, you rogue! -- and the lip, hey? Come, Mrs. Malaprop, we'll not disturb their tenderness -theirs is the time of life for happiness! - Youth's the season made for joy 2 [Sings.] - hey! Odds life! I'm in such spirits, - I don't know what I could not do! - Permit me, ma'am. [Gives his hand to MRS. MALAPROP.] [Sings.] Tolde-rol-'gad, I should like to have a little fooling myselfTol-de-rol! de-rol. [Exit, singing and handing MRS. MALAPROP. - LYDIA sits sullenly in her chair. Abs. [aside]. So much thought bodes me no good. - [Aloud.] So grave, Lydia! Lydia. Sir! Abs. [aside]. So! - egad! I thought as much! that damned monosyllable has froze me!-[Aloud.] What, Lydia, now that we are as happy in our friends' consent, as in our mutual vows - 1 See page I39. 2 This song is from Gay's Beggar's Opera, II., i.: "Youth's the season made for joys, Love is then our duty; She alone, who that employs, Well deserves her beauty," etc. 72 SCENE II.] THE RIVALS. 159 Lydia. Friends' consent, indeed! [Peevishly. Abs. Come, come, we must lay aside some of our romance -a little wealth and comfort may be endured after all. And for your fortune, the lawyers shall make such settlements as - Lydia. Lawyers! I hate lawyers! Abs. Nay, then, we will not wait for their lingering forms, but instantly procure the licence, andLydia. The licence! -I hate licence! Abs. Oh my love! be not so unkind!-thus let me entreat- [Kneeling. Lydia. Pshaw! what signifies kneeling, when you know I must have you? Abs. [rising]. Nay, madam, there shall be no constraint upon your inclinations, I promise you. If I have lost your heart, I resign the rest- [Aside.] 'Gad, I must try what a little spirit will do. Lydia [rising]. Then, sir, let me tell you, the interest you had there was acquired by a mean, unmanly imposition, and deserves the punishment of fraud. What, you have been treating me like a child! humouring my romance! and laughing, I suppose, at your success! Abs. You wrong me, Lydia, you wrong me - only hearLydia. So, while I fondly imagined we were deceiving my relations, and flattered myself that I should outwit and incense them all —behold my hopes are to be crushed at once, by my aunt's consent and approbation —and I am myself the only dupe at last! [walking about in a heat]. But here, sir, here is the picture - Beverley's picture! [taking a miniature from her bosom] which I have worn, night and day, in spite of threats and entreaties! There, sir [Flings it to him.]; and be assured I throw the original from my heart as easily. Abs. Nay, nay, ma'am, we will not differ as to that. Here [taking out a picture], here is Miss Lydia Languish. What a difference! - ay, there is the heavenly assenting smile that first gave soul and spirit to my hopes! those are the lips which sealed a vow, as yet scarce dry in Cupid's calendar! and there the half-resentful blush, that would have checked 73 i6o SHERIDAN. [ACT IV. the ardour of my thanks! 1 Well, all that's past! - all over indeed! There, madam, in beauty, that copy is not equal to you, but in my mind its merit over the original, in being still the same, is such - that - I cannot find in my heart to part with it. [Puts it zip again. Lydia [softening]. 'Tis your own doing, sir - I - I - I suppose you are perfectly satisfied. Abs. 0, most certainly -sure, now, this is much better than being in love! -ha! ha! h ha - there's some spirit in this! What signifies breaking some scores of solemn promises: all that's of no consequence, you know. - To be sure people will say that miss don't know her own mind -but never mind that! Or, perhaps, they may be ill-natured enough to hint that the gentleman grew tired of the lady and forsook her - but don't let that fret you. Lydia. There is no bearing his insolence. [Bursts into tears. Re-enter MRS. MALAPROP and SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUTE. Mrs. Mal. Come, we must interrupt your billing and cooing awhile. Lydia. This is worse than your treachery and deceit, you base ingrate [Sobbing. Sir A nt. What the devil's the matter now- Zounds! Mrs. Malaprop, this is the oddest billing and cooing I ever heard! - but what the deuce is the meaning of it? -I am quite astonished! Abs. Ask the lady, sir. Mrs. Mal. Oh mercy! I'm quite analysed, for my part!Why, Lydia, what is the reason of this? Lydia. Ask the gentleman, ma'am. Sir Anth. Zounds! I shall be in a frenzy! - Why, Jack, you are not come out to be any one else, are you? 1 There is the heavenly assenting smile That first gave soul and spirit to my hopes! Those are the lips which sealed a vow, As yet scarce dry in Cupid's calendar! And there the half-resentful blush, That would have checked the ardour of my thanks. 74 SCENE III.] THE RI VALS. I6i Mrs. Mal. Ay, sir, there's no more trick, is there? - you are not like Cerberus, three gentlemen at once, are you? Abs. You'll not let me speak — I say the lady can account for this much better than I can. Lydia. Ma'am, you once commanded me never to think of Beverley again- there is the man - I now obey you; for, from this moment, I renounce him for ever. [Exit. Mrs. lal. O mercy! and miracles! what a turn here is - why sure, captain, you haven't behaved disrespectfully to my niece. Sir Anth. Ha! ha! ha!-ha! ha! ha!-now I see it. Ha! ha! ha! - now I see it - you have been too lively, Jack. Abs. Nay, sir, upon my word - Sir Anth. Come, no lying, Jack - I'm sure 'twas so. Mrs. Mal. O Lud! Sir Anthony! - 0 fie, captain! Abs. Upon my soul,.ma'amSir Anth. Come, no excuses, Jack; why, your father, you rogue, was so before you: the blood of the Absolutes was always impatient. Ha! ha! ha! poor little Lydia! why, you've frightened her, you dog, you have. Abs. By all that's good, sirSir Anth. Zounds! say no more, I tell you; Mrs. Malaprop shall make your peace. - You must make his peace, Mrs. Malaprop; you must tell her 'tis Jack's way - tell her 'tis all our ways — it runs in the blood of our family! - Come away, Jack - Ha! ha! ha! Mrs. Malaprop - a young villain! [Pushes him out. Mrs. Mal.! Sir Anthony! -- fie, captain! [Exeunt severally. SCENE III. - The North Parade. Enter SIR Lucius O'TRIGGER. Sir Luc. I wonder where this Captain Absolute hides himself! Upon my conscience! these officers are always in one's way in love affairs: I remember I might have married lady Dorothy Carmine, if it had not been for a little rogue of a major, who ran away with her before she could get a sight of 11 75 I62 SHERIDAN. [ACT IV. me! And I wonder too what it is the ladies can see in them to be so fond of them- unless it be a touch of the old serpent in 'em, that makes the little creatures be caught, like vipers, with a bit of red cloth. Ha! isn't this the captain coming? - faith it is! There is a probability of succeeding about that fellow, that is mighty provoking! Who the devil is he talking to? [Steps aside. Enter CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE. Abs. [aside]. To what fine purpose I have been plotting! a noble reward for all my schemes, upon my soul! -a little gipsy! I did not think her romance could have made her so damned absurd either. 'Sdeath, I never was in a worse humour in my life! I could cut my own throat, or any other person's, with the greatest pleasure in the world! Sir Luc. Oh, faith! I'm in the luck of it. I never could have found him in a sweeter temper for my purpose - to be sure I'm just come in the nick! Now to enter into conversation with him, and so quarrel genteelly. - [Goes up to CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE.] With regard to that matter, captain, I must beg leave to differ in opinion with you. Abs. Upon my word, then, you must be a very subtle disputant; because, sir, I happened just then to be giving no opinion at all. Sir Luc. That's no reason; for give me leave to tell you, a man may think an untruth as well as speak one. Abs. Very true, sir; but if a man never utters his thoughts, I should think they might stand a chance of escaping controversy. Sir Luc. Then, sir, you differ in opinion with me, which amounts to the same thing. Abs. Hark'ee, Sir Lucius; if I had not before known you to be a gentleman, upon my soul, I should not have discovered it at this interview: for what you can drive at, unless you mean to quarrel with me, I cannot conceive! Sir Luc. I humbly thank you, sir, for the quickness of your apprehension. - [Bowing.] You have named the very thing I would be at. Abs. Very well, sir; I shall certainly not balk your inclina76 SCENE III.] THE RIVALS. I63 tions. But I should be glad you would please to explain your motives. Sir Luc. Pray, sir, be easy; the quarrel is a very pretty quarrel as it stands; we should only spoil it by trying to explain it. However, your memory is very short, or you could not have forgot an affront you passed on me within this week. So, no more, but name your time and place. Abs. Well, sir, since you are so bent on it, the sooner the better; let it be this evening-here by the Spring Gardens.1 We shall scarcely be interrupted. Sir Luc. Faith! that same interruption in affairs of this nature shows very great ill-breeding. I don't know what's the reason, but in England, if a thing of this kind gets wind, people make such a pother, that a gentleman can never fight in peace and quietness. However, if it's the same to you, captain, I should take it as a particular kindness if you'd let us meet in King's-Mead-Fields, as a little business will call me there about six o'clock, and I may despatch both matters at once. Abs. 'Tis the same to me exactly. A little after six, then, we will discuss this matter more seriously. Sir Luc. If you please, sir; there will be very pretty small-sword light, though it won't do for a long shot. So that matter's settled, and my mind's at ease! [Exit SIR Lucius. Enter FAULKLAND. Abs. Well met! I was goingto look for you. 0 Faulkland! all the demons of spite and disappointment have conspired against me! I'm so vexed, that if I had not the prospect of a resource in being knocked o' the head by and by, I should scarce have spirits to tell you the cause. Faulk. What can you mean? Has Lydia changed her mind? I should have thought her duty and inclination would now have pointed to the same object. 1 " There is, moreover, another place of entertainment on the other side of the water, opposite to the Grove, to which the company cross over in a boat. It is called Spring Gardens; a sweet retreat, laid out in walks, and ponds, and parterres of flowers; and there is a long room for breakfasting and dancing." SMOLLETT, Humphry Clinker, April 26. 77 I64 SHE RIDAN. [ACT IV. Abs. Ay, just as the eyes do of a person who squints: when her love-eye was fixed on me, t'other, her eye of duty, was finely obliqued; but when duty bid her point that the same way, off t'other turned on a swivel, and secured its retreat with a frown! Faulk. But what's the resource you Abs. Oh, to wind up the whole, a good-natured Irishman here has [mimicking SIR Lucius] begged leave to have the pleasure of cutting my throat; and I mean to indulge himthat's all. Faulk. Prithee, be serious! Abs. 'Tis fact, upon my soul! Sir Lucius O'Trigger -you know him by sight - for some affront, which I am sure I never intended, has obliged me to meet him this evening at six o'clock: 'tis on that account I wished to see you; you must go with me. Faulk. Nay, there must be some mistake, sure. Sir Lucius shall explain himself, and I dare say matters may be accommodated. But this evening did you say? I wish it had been any other time. Abs. Why? there will be light enough: there will (as Sir Lucius says) " be very pretty small-sword light, though it won't do for a long shot." Confound his long shots! Faulk. But I am myself a good deal ruffled by a difference I have had with Julia. My vile tormenting temper has made me treat her so cruelly, that I shall not be myself till we are reconciled. Abs. By heavens! Faulkland, you don't deserve her! Enter SERVANT, gives FAULKLAND a letter, and exit. Faulk. Oh, Jack! this is from Julia. I dread to open it! I fear it may be to take a last leave! -perhaps to bid me return her letters, and restore- Oh, how I suffer for my folly! Abs. Here, let me see. - [Takes the letter and ofiens it.] Ay, a final sentence, indeed! -'tis all over with you, faith! Faulk. Nay, Jack, don't keep me in suspense! Abs. Hear then. - [Reads.] 78 SCENE III.] THE RIVA LS. I65 As I am convinced that my dear Faulkland's own reflections have already upbraided him for his last unkindness to me, I will not add a word on the subject. I wish to speak with you as soon as possible. Yours ever and truly, JULIA. There's stubbornness and resentment for you! [Gives him the letter.] Why, man, you don't seem one whit the happier at this. Faulk. O yes, I am; but- but Abs. Confound your buts you never hear any thing that would make another man bless himself, but you immediately damn it with a but! Faulk. Now, Jack, as you are my friend, own honestlydon't you think there is something forward, something indelicate, in this haste to forgive? Women should never sue for reconciliation; that should always come from us. They should retain their coldness till wooed to kindness; and their pardon, like their love, should " not unsought be won." 1 Abs. I have not patience to listen to you; thou'rt incorrigible! so say no more on the subject. I must go to settle a few matters. Let me see you before six, remember, at my lodgings. A poor industrious devil like me, who have toiled, and drudged, and plotted to gain my ends, and am at last disappointed by other people's folly, may in pity be allowed to swear and grumble a little; but a captious sceptic in love, a slave to fretfulness and whim, who has no difficulties but of his own creating, is a subject more fit for ridicule than compassion I [Exit ABSOLUTE. Faulk. I feel his reproaches; yet I would not change this too exquisite nicety for the gross content with which he tramples on the thorns of love! His engaging me in this duel has started an idea in my head, which I will instantly pursue. I'll use it as the touchstone of Julia's sincerity and disinterestedness. If her love prove pure and sterling ore, my name will rest on it with honour; and once I've stamped it there, I lay aside my doubts for ever! But if the dross of selfishness, the alloy of pride, predominate, 'twill be best to leave her as a toy for some less cautious fool to sigh for. [Exit FAULKLAND. 1 "That would be wooed, and not unsought be won." Paradise Lost, VIII., 503. 79 166 SHERIDAN. [ACT V. ACT V. SCENE I. - JULIA'S Dressing-Room. JULIA discovered alone. Julia. How this message has alarmed me! what dreadful accident can he mean? why such charge to be alone? - 0 Faulkland! - how many unhappy moments - how many tears have you cost me! Enter FAULKLAND. Julia. What means this? - why this caution, Faulkland? Faulk. Alas! Julia, I am come to take a long farewell. Julia. Heavens! what do you mean? Faulk. You see before you a wretch, whose life is forfeited. Nay, start not! - the infirmity of my temper has drawn all this misery on me. I left you fretful and passionate- an untoward accident drew me into a quarrel - the event is, that I must fly this kingdom instantly. O Julia, had I been so fortunate as to have called you mine entirely, before this mischance had fallen on me, I should not so deeply dread my banishment! Julia. My soul is oppressed with sorrow at the nature of your misfortune: had these adverse circumstances arisen from a less fatal cause, I should have felt strong comfort in the thought that I could now chase from your bosom every doubt of the warm sincerity of my love. My heart has long known no other guardian. I now entrust my person to your honourwe will fly together. When safe from pursuit, my father's will may be fulfilled - and I receive a legal claim to be the partner of your sorrows and tenderest comforter. Then on the bosom of your wedded Julia, you may lull your keen regret to slumbering; while virtuous love, with a cherub's hand, shall smooth the brow of upbraiding thought, and pluck the thorn from compunction. Faulk. 0 Julia! I am bankrupt in gratitude! but the time is so pressing, it calls on you for so hasty a resolution. Would you not wish some hours to weigh the advantages you forego, 80 SCENE I.] THE RIVALS. I67 and what little compensation poor Faulkland can make you beside his solitary love? Julia. I ask not a moment. No, Faulkland, I have loved you for yourself: and if I now, more than ever, prize the solemn engagement which so long has pledged us to each other, it is because it leaves no room for hard aspersions on my fame, and puts the seal of duty to an act of love. But let us not linger. Perhaps this delay Faulk. 'Twill be better I should not venture out again till dark. Yet am I grieved to think what numberless distresses will press heavy on your gentle disposition! Julia. Perhaps your fortune may be forfeited by this unhappy act. - I know not whether 'tis so; but sure that alone can never make us unhappy. The little I have will be sufficient to support us; and exile never should be splendid. Faulk. Ay, but in such an abject state of life, my wounded pride perhaps may increase the natural fretfulness of my temper, till I become a rude, morose companion, beyond your patience to endure. Perhaps the recollection of a deed my conscience cannot justify may haunt me in such gloomy and unsocial fits, that I shall hate the tenderness that would relieve me, break from your arms, and quarrel with your fondness! Julia. If your thoughts should assume so unhappy a bent, you will the more want some mild and affectionate spirit to watch over and console you: one who, by bearing your infirmities with gentleness and resignation, may teach you so to bear the evils of your fortune. Faulk. Julia, I have proved you to the quick! and with this useless device I throw away all my doubts. How shall I plead to be forgiven this last unworthy effect of my restless, unsatisfied disposition? Julia. Has no such disaster happened as you related? Faulk. I am ashamed to own that it was pretended; 1 yet 1 In The Nut-Brown Maid, a poem of about the year 1500, the lover invents a similar story to try his mistress and finds her ready to flee with him at all hazard. The nut-brown Maid, unlike Julia, however, is joyful when she learns that all is but a trick. This poem has been imitated by Prior in his Henry and Emma and the device employed elsewhere in literature. 81 168 SHERIDA N. [ACT V. in pity, Julia, do not kill me with resenting a fault which never can be repeated; but sealing, this once, my pardon, let me to-morrow, in the face of Heaven, receive my future guide and monitress, and expiate my past folly by years of tender adoration. Julia. Hold, Faulkland! that you are free from a crime, which I before feared to name, Heaven knows how sincerely I rejoice! These are tears of thankfulness for that! But that your cruel doubts should have urged you to an imposition that has wrung my heart, gives me now a pang more keen than I can express! Faulk. By heavens! Julia - Julia. Yet hear me. My father loved you, Faulkland! and you preserved the life that tender parent gave me; in his presence I pledged my hand -joyfully pledged it- where before I had given my heart. When, soon after, I lost that parent, it seemed to me that Providence had, in Faulkland, shown me whither to transfer, without a pause, my grateful duty, as well as my affection: hence I have been content to bear from you what pride and delicacy would have forbid me from another. I will not upbraid you by repeating how you have trifled with my sincerityFaulk. I confess it all! yet hearJulia. After such a year of trial, I might have flattered myself that I should not have been insulted with a new probation of my sincerity, as cruel as unnecessary! I now see it is not in your nature to be content or confident in love. With this conviction- I never will be yours. While I had hopes that my persevering attention, and unreproaching kindness, might in time reform your temper, I should have been happy to have gained a dearer influence over you; but I will not furnish you with a licensed power to keep alive an incorrigible fault at the expense of one who never would contend with you. Faulk. Nay, but, Julia, by my soul and honour, if after thisJulia. But one word more. As my faith has once been given to you, I never will barter it with another. I shall pray for your happiness with the truest sincerity; and the 82 SCENE I.] THE RIVALS. I69 dearest blessing I can ask of Heaven to send you will be to charm you from that unhappy temper, which alone has prevented the performance of our solemn engagement. All I request of you is, that you will yourself reflect upon this infirmity, and when you number up the many true delights it has deprived you of, let it not be your least regret, that it lost you the love of one who would have followed you in beggary through the world! [Exit. Faulk. She's gone! - for ever! There was an awful resolution in her manner, that riveted me to my place. - O fool! - dolt! - barbarian! Cursed as I am, with more imperfections than my fellow wretches, kind fortune sent a heavengifted cherub to my aid, and, like a ruffian, I have driven her from my side! I must now haste to my appointment. Well, my mind is tuned for such a scene. I shall wish only to become a principal in it, and reverse the tale my cursed folly put me upon forging here. O love! - tormentor! - fiend! - whose influence, like the moon's, acting on men of dull souls, makes idiots of them, but meeting subtler spirits, betrays their course, and urges sensibility to madness [Exit. Enter LYDIA and MAID. Maid. My mistress, ma'am, I know, was here just nowperhaps she is only in the next room. [Exit MAID. Lydia. Heigh-ho! Though he has used me so, this fellow runs strangely in my head. I believe one lecture from my grave cousin will make me recall him. Re-enter JULIA. O Julia, I am come to you with such an appetite for consolation. Lud! child, what's the matter with you? You have been crying! I'll be hanged if that Faulkland has not been tormenting you! Julia. You mistake the cause of my uneasiness!- Something has flurried me a little. Nothing that you can guess at.[Aside.] I would not accuse Faulkland to a sister! Lydia. Ah! whatever vexations you may have, I can assure you mine surpass them. You know who Beverley proves to be? 83 170 SHERIDAN. [ACT V. Julia. I will now own to you, Lydia, that Mr. Faulkland had before informed me of the whole affair. Had young Absolute been the person you took him for, I should not have accepted your confidence on the subject, without a serious endeavour to counteract your caprice. Lydia. So, then, I see I have been deceived by every one! But I don't care I'll never have him. Julia. Nay, Lydia - Lydia. Why, is it not provoking? when I thought we were coming to the prettiest distress imaginable, to find myself made a mere Smithfield1 bargain of at last! There, had I projected one of the most sentimental elopements! -so becoming a disguise! - so amiable a ladder of ropes! - conscious moon - four horses - Scotch parson 2 - with such surprise to Mrs. Malaprop- and such paragraphs in the newspapers! 8 -Oh, I shall die with disappointment! Julia. I don't wonder at it! Lydia. Now - sad reverse! what have I to expect, but, after a deal of flimsy preparation with a bishop's licence, and my aunt's blessing, to go simpering up to the altar; or perhaps be cried three times in a country church, and have an unmannerly fat clerk ask the consent of every butcher in the parish to join John Absolute and Lydia Languish, spinster! Oh, that I should live to hear myself called spinster! Julia. Melancholy indeed! Lydia. How mortifying, to remember the dear delicious shifts I used to be put to, to gain half a minute's conversation with this fellow! How often have I stole forth, in the coldest night in January, and found him in the garden, stuck like a dripping statue! There would he kneel to me in the snow, and sneeze and cough so pathetically! he shivering with cold and I with apprehension! and while the freezing blast numbed our joints, 1 The cattle market in London. 2 Runaway couples fled to Scotland to be married; hence the fame of Gretna Green. 3 The Niece in Steele's Tender Husband (IV., i.) thinks " It looks so ordinary to go out at a door to be married. Indeed, I ought to be taken out of a window, and run away with." See note i, page 157. 84 SCENE I.] THE RIVALS. I7I how warmly would he press me to pity his flame,1 and glow with mutual ardour! Ah, Julia, that was something like being in love. Julia. If I were in spirits, Lydia, I should chide you only by laughing heartily at you; but it suits more the situation of my mind, at present, earnestly to entreat you not to let a man, who loves you with sincerity, suffer that unhappiness from your caprice, which I know too well caprice can inflict. Lydia. 0 Lud! what has brought my aunt here? Enter MRS. MALAPROP, FAG, and DAVID. Mrs. Mal. So! so! here's fine work! here's fine suicide, parricide, and simulation, going on in the fields! and Sir Anthony not to be found to prevent the antistrophe! Julia. For heaven's sake, madam, what's the meaning of this? Mrs. Mal. That gentleman can tell you -'twas he enveloped the affair to me. Lydia. Do, sir, will you, inform us? [To FAG. Fag. Ma'am, I should hold myself very deficient in every requisite that forms the man of breeding, if I delayed a moment to give all the information in my power to a lady so deeply interested in the affair as you are. Lydia. But quick! quick, sir! Fag. True, ma'am, as you say, one should be quick in divulging matters of this nature; for should we be tedious, perhaps while we are flourishing on the subject, two or three lives may be lost! Lydia. 0 patience!- Do, ma'am, for heaven's sake! tell us what is the matter! Mrs. Mal. Why, murder's the matter! slaughter's the matter! killing's the matter! -but he can tell you the perpendiculars. Lydia. Then, prithee, sir, be brief. Fag. Why then, ma'am, as to murder, I cannot take upon me to say; and as to slaughter, or manslaughter, that will be as the jury finds it. 1 Compare Captain Absolute's situation as described here by Lydia with that of the lover in Horace's ode Ad Lycen (III., x.). 172 SHERIDA TN. [ACT V. Lydia. But who, sir —who are engaged in this? Fag. Faith, ma'am, one is a young gentleman whom I should be very sorry any thing was to happen to —a very pretty behaved gentleman! We have lived much together, and always on terms. Lydia. But who is this? who? who? who? Fag. My master, ma'am - my master - I speak of my master. Lydia. Heavens! What, Captain Absolute! Mrs. Mal. Oh, to be sure, you are frightened now! Julia. But who are with him, sir? Fag. As to the rest, ma'am, this gentleman can inform you better than I. Julia. Do speak, friend. [To DAVID. David. Look'ee, my lady —by the mass! there's mischief going on. Folks don't use to meet for amusement with firearms, firelocks, fire-engines, fire-screens, fire-office, and the devil knows what other crackers beside! This, my lady, I say, has an angry favour. Julia. But who is there beside Captain Absolute, friend? David. My poor master- under favour for mentioning him first. You know me, my lady - I am David - and my master of course is, or was, Squire Acres. Then comes Squire Faulkland. Julia. Do, ma'am, let us instantly endeavour to prevent mischief. i Mrs. Mal. O fie! - it would be very inelegant in us; we should only participate things. David. Ah! do, Mrs. Aunt, save a few lives —they are desperately given, believe me. Above all, there is that bloodthirsty Philistine,' Sir Lucius O'Trigger. Mrs. Mal. Sir Lucius O'Trigger? O mercy! have they drawn poor little dear Sir Lucius into the scrape?- Why, how you stand, girl! you have no more feeling than one of the Derbyshire petrifactions! 2 1 The Philistines were a warlike people hostile to the Israelites. Compare the use of the name in Judges, XVI., " The Philistines be upon thee, Samson." 2 Some editions, sustaining Mrs. Malaprop's reputation, read pjutrefactions. In 1793 William Martin published a work entitled Figures and Descrit86 SCENE II.] THE RIVALS. I73 Lydia. What are we to do, madam? Mrs. Mal. Why fly with the utmost felicity, to be sure, to prevent mischief!- Here, friend, you can show us the place? Fag. If you please, ma'am, I will conduct you.- David, do you look for Sir Anthony. [Exit DAVID. Mrs. Mal. Come, girls! this gentleman will exhort us.Come, sir, you're our envoy; lead the way, and we'll precede. Fag. Not a step before the ladies for the world! Mrs. Mal. You're sure you know the spot? Fag. I think I can find it, ma'am; and one good thing is, we shall hear the report of the pistols as we draw near, so we can't well miss them; never fear, ma'am, never fear. [Exeunt, he talking. SCENE II.- The South Parade. Enter CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE, putting his sword under his great coat. Abs. A sword seen in the streets of Bath would raise as great an alarm as a mad dog. How provoking this is in Faulkland! -never punctual! I shall be obliged to go without him at last. Oh, the devil! here's Sir Anthony! how shall I escape him? [Muffles up his face, and takes a circle to go of. Enter SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUTE. Sir Anth. How one may be deceived at a little distance! only that I see he don't know me, I could have sworn that was Jack!- Hey! Gad's life! it is. - Why, Jack, what are you afraid of? hey!-sure I'm right.- Why Jack-Jack Absolute! [Goes up to him. Abs. Really, sir, you have the advantage of me: I don't remember ever to have had the honour- my name is Saunderson, at your service. Sir Anth. Sir, I beg your pardon - I took you -hey?why, zounds! it is- Stay- [Looks up to his face.] So, so tions of Petrifactions collected in Derbyshire and in 1809 another entitled Petriicata Derbiensia. 87 174 SHEIRIDA N. [ACT V. -your humble servant, Mr. Saunderson! Why, you scoundrel, what tricks are you after now? Abs. Oh, a joke, sir, a joke! I came here on purpose to look for you, sir. Sir Anth. You did! well, I am glad you were so lucky: — but what are you muffled up so for? - what's this for? - hey! Abs. 'Tis cool, sir; isn't it? —rather chilly somehow:but I shall be late - I have a particular engagement. Sir Anth. Stay! Why, I thought you were looking for me? Pray, Jack, where is't you are going? Abs. Going, sir! Sir Anlh. Ay, where are you going? Abs. Where am I going? Sir Anth. You unmannerly puppy! Abs. I was going, sir, to- to- to - to Lydia - sir, to Lydia -- to make matters up if I could; - and I was looking for you, sir, to- to - Sir A nth. To go with you, I suppose. Well, come along. Abs. Oh! zounds! no, sir, not for the world! I wished to meet with you, sir, - to - to - to - You find it cool, I'm sure, sir - you'd better not stay out. Sir Anth. Cool! -not at all. Well, Jack, and what will you say to Lydia? Abs. Oh, sir, beg her pardon, humour her —promise and vow: but I detain you, sir - consider the cold air on your gout. Sir Anth. Oh, not at all! - not at all! I'm in no hurry.Ah! Jack, you youngsters, when once you are wounded here [putting his hand to ABSOLUTE'S breast] - Hey! what the deuce have you got here? Abs. Nothing, sir-nothing. Sir Anth. What's this?- here's something damned hard. Abs. Oh, trinkets, sir! trinkets!- a bauble for Lydia! Sir Anth. Nay, let me see your taste. [Pulls his coat open, the swordfalls.] Trinkets! - a bauble for Lydia! - Zounds! sirrah, you are not going to cut her throat, are you? Abs. Ha! ha! ha!- I thought it would divert you, sir, though I didn't mean to tell you till afterwards. Sir Anth. You didn't?- Yes, this is a very diverting trinket, truly. 88 SCENE II.] THE RIVALS. I75 Abs. Sir, I'll explain to you. - You know, sir, Lydia is romantic -devilish romantic, and very absurd of course: now, sir, I intend, if she refuses to forgive me, to unsheath this sword, and swear I'll fall upon its point, and expire at her feet! Sir Anth. Fall upon a fiddlestick's end! —why, I suppose it is the very thing that would please her. Get along, you fool! Abs. Well, sir, you shall hear of my success-you shall hear. - " 0 Lydia! forgive me, or this pointed steel," says I. Sir Anth. "0, booby! stab away and welcome," says she. - Get along! and damn your trinkets! [Exit CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE. Enter DAVID, running. David. Stop him! stop him! Murder! Thief! Fire!Stop fire! Stop fire! - O Sir Anthony —call! call! bid'm stop! Murder! Fire! Sir Anth. Fire! Murder! where? David. Oons! he's out of sight! and I'm out of breath! for my part! O Sir Anthony, why didn't you stop him? why didn't you stop him? Sir Anth. Zounds! the fellow's mad!- Stop whom? stop Jack? David. Ay, the captain, sir! - there's murder and slaughterSir Anth. Murder! David. Ay, please you, Sir Anthony, there's all kinds of murder, all sorts of slaughter to be seen in the fields: there's fighting going on, sir -bloody sword-and-gun fighting! Sir Anth. Who are going to fight, dunce? David. Every body that I know of, Sir Anthony: - every body is going to fight, my poor master, Sir Lucius O'Trigger, your son, the captainSir Anth. Oh, the dog! I see his tricks. - Do you know the place? David. King's-Mead-Fields. Sir A nth. You know the way? David. Not an inch; but I'll call the mayor - aldermen - 89 I76 SHER IDN iv. [ACT V. constables -churchwardens - and beadles- we can't be too many to part them. Sir Anth. Come along -give me your shoulder! we'll get assistance as we go - the lying villain! Well, I shall be in such a frenzy! - So - this was the history of his trinkets! I'll bauble him! [Exeunt. SCENE III. - King's-Mead-Fields. Enter Sir Lucius O'TRIGGER and ACRES, with pistols. Acres. By my valour! then, Sir Lucius, forty yards is a good distance. Odds levels and aims! I say it is a good distance. Sir Luc. Is it for muskets or small field-pieces? Upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, you must leave those things to me.Stay now —I'll show you. [Mieasures paces along the stage.] There now, that is a very pretty distance -a pretty gentleman's distance. Acres. Zounds! we might as well fight in a sentry-box! I tell you, Sir Lucius, the farther he is off, the cooler I shall take my aim. Sir Luc. Faith! then I suppose you would aim at him best of all if he was out of sight! Acres. No, Sir Lucius; but I should think forty or eightand-thirty yards - Sir Luc. Pho! pho! nonsense! three or four feet between the mouths of your pistols is as good as a mile. Acres. Odds bullets, no! - by my valour! there is no merit in killing him so near: do, my dear Sir Lucius, let me bring him down at a long shot: - a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me! Sir Luc. Well, the gentleman's friend and I must settle that. But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an accident, is there any little will or commission I could execute for you? Acres. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius; but I don't understand - Sir Luc. Why, you may think there's no being shot at without a little risk - and if an unlucky bullet should carry a 90 SCENE III.] THE RIVALS. 177 quietus with it - I say it will be no time then to be bothering you about family matters. Acres. A quietus! Sir Luc. For instance, now, if that should be the case, would you choose to be pickled and sent home? - or would it be the same to you to lie here in the Abbey?1 I'm told there is very snug lying in the Abbey. Acres. Pickled! - Snug lying in the Abbey! - Odds tremors! Sir Lucius, don't talk so! Sir Luc. I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were engaged in an affair of this kind before? Acres. No, Sir Lucius, never before. Sir Luc. Ah! that's a pity! - there's nothing like being used to a thing.2 Pray now, how would you receive the gentleman's shot? Acres. Odds files! I've practised that - there, Sir Lucius - there. [Puts himself in an attitude.] A side-front, hey? Odd! I'll make myself small enough: I'll stand edgeways. Sir Luc. Now, you're quite out; for if you stand so when I take my aim- [Levelling at him. Acres. Zounds! Sir Lucius - are you sure it is not cocked? Sir Luc. Never fear. Acres. But - but - you don't know - it may go off of its own head!3 Sir Luc. Pho! be easy. Well, now if I hit you in the body, my bullet has a double chance; for if it misses a vital part of your right side, 'twill be very hard if it don't succeed on the left! Acres. A vital part! 1 The Abbey Church in Bath. 2 " It has a strange quick jar upon the ear, That cocking of a pistol, when you know A moment more will bring the sight to bear Upon your person, twelve yards off, or so; A gentlemanly distance, not too near, If you have got a former friend for foe; But after being fired at once or twice, The ear becomes more Irish, and less nice. BYRON, Don Juan, IV., xli. 8 Of its own accord. 12 9L 178 SHERIDAN. [ACT V. Sir Luc. But, there - fix yourself so [placing him] -let him see the broad-side of your full front -there- now a ball or two may pass clean through your body, and never do any harm at all. Acres. Clean through me! —a ball or two clean through me! Sir Luc. Ay, may they; and it is much the genteelest attitude into the bargain. Acres. Look'ee! Sir Lucius - I'd just as lieve be shot in an awkward posture as a genteel one; so, by my valour! I will stand edgeways. Sir Luc. [looking at his watch]. Sure they don't mean to disappoint us - Hah! - no, faith — I think I see them coming. Acres. Hey! - what! - coming! - Sir Luc. Ay. Who are those yonder getting over the stile? Acres. There are two of them indeed! -well -let them come - hey, Sir Lucius! - we - we - we - won't run. Sir Luc. Run! Acres. No - I say - we won't run, by my valour! Sir Luc. What the devil's the matter with you? A Acres. Nothing - nothing - my dear friend - my dear Sir Lucius -- but I - I - I don't feel quite so bold, somehow, as I did. Sir Luc. 0 fie! -consider your honour. Acres. Ay - true - my honour. Do, Sir Lucius, edge in a word or two every now and then about my honour. Sir Luc. Well, here they're coming. [Looking. Acres. Sir Lucius, if I wa'n't with you, I should almost think I was afraid. - If my valour should leave me! - Valour will come and go. Sir Luc. Then pray keep it fast, while you have it. Acres. Sir Lucius - I doubt it is going - yes - my valour is certainly going! -it is sneaking off - I feel it oozing out as it were at the palms of my hands! Sir Luc. Your honour --- your honour. - Here they are. Acres. 0 mercy! - now - that I was safe at Clod-Hall! or could be shot before I was aware! 1 1 Among the illustrious Fighting Bobs may be mentioned Sir Andrew Aguecheek in Twelfth Night and Mr. Winkle in the Pickwick Papers. 92 SCENE III.] THE RIVALS. I79 Enter FAULKLAND and CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE. Sir Luc. Gentlemen, your most obedient - Hah!- what, Captain Absolute!- So, I suppose, sir, you are come here, just like myself, to do a kind office, first for your friend, then to proceed to business on your own account. Acres. What, Jack! - my dear Jack! - my dear friend! Abs. Hark'ee, Bob, Beverley's at hand. Sir Luc. Well, Mr. Acres - I don't blame your saluting the gentleman civilly.- [To FAULKLAND.] So, Mr. Beverley, if you'll choose your weapons, the captain and I will measure the ground. Faulk. My weapons, sir! Acres. Odds life! Sir Lucius, I'm not going to fight Mr. Faulkland; these are my particular friends. Sir Luc. What, sir, did you not come here to fight Mr. Acres? Faulk. Not I, upon my word, sir. Sir Luc. Well, now, that's mighty provoking! But I hope, Mr. Faulkland, as there are three of us come on purpose for the game, you won't be so cantanckerous 1 as to spoil the party by sitting out. Abs. O pray, Faulkland, fight to oblige Sir Lucius. Faulk. Nay, if Mr. Acres is so bent on the matterAcres. No, no, Mr. Faulkland; I'll bear my disappointment like a Christian.- Look'ee, Sir Lucius, there's no occasion at all for me to fight; and if it is the same to you, I'd as lieve let it alone. Sir Luc. Observe me, Mr. Acres- I must not be trifled with. You have certainly challenged somebody - and you came here to fight him. Now, if that gentleman is willing to represent him, I can't see, for my soul, why it isn't just the same thing. Acres. Why no, Sir Lucius, I tell you, 'tis one Beverley Those interested in the study of cowards may read Guy de Maupassant's Un Ldche. It will be remembered that Sheridan was himself acquainted with dueling, having had two encounters with Mathews. Miss Linley was the woman in the case. 1 Contentious. Compare She Stools to Conquer, II. i. (page 40). 93 i8o SHERIDAN. [ACT V. I've challenged —a fellow, you see, that dare not show his face! If he were here, I'd make him give up his pretensions directly! Abs. Hold, Bob - let me set you right - there is no such man as Beverley in the case. The person who assumed that name is before you; and as his pretensions are the same in both characters, he is ready to support them in whatever way you please. SirLuc. Well, this is lucky. Now you have an opportunityAcres. What, quarrel with my dear friend Jack Absolute? not if he were fifty Beverleys! Zounds! Sir Lucius, you would not have me so unnatural. Sir Luc. Upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, your valour has oozed away with a vengeance! Acres. Not in the least! Odds backs and abettors! I'll be your second with all my heart, and if you should get a quietus, you may command me entirely. I'll get you snug lying in the Abbey here; or pickle you, and send you over to Blunderbuss-Hall, or any thing of the kind, with the greatest pleasure. Sir Luc. Pho! pho! you are little better than a coward. Acres. Mind, gentlemen, he calls me a coward; coward was the word, by my valour! Sir Luc. Well, sir? Acres. Look'ee, Sir Lucius, 'tisn't that I mind the word coward-coward may be said in joke- But if you had called me a poltroon, odds daggers and ballsSir Luc. Well, sir? Acres. I should have thought you a very ill-bred man. Sir Luc. Pho! you are beneath my notice. Abs. Nay, Sir Lucius, you can't have a better second than my friend Acres. He is a most determined dog- called in the country Fighting Bob. He generally kills a man a week - don't you, Bob? Acres. Ay - at home! Sir Luc. Well, then, captain, 'tis we must begin —so come out, my little counsellor [Draws his sword.], and ask the gentleman, whether he will resign the lady, without forcing you to proceed against him? 94 SCENE III.] THE RIVALS. I8i Abs. Come on then, sir [Draws.]; since you won't let it be an amicable suit, here's my reply. Enter SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUTE, DAVID, MRS. MALAPROP, LYDIA, and JULIA. David. Knock 'em all down, sweet Sir Anthony; knock down my master in particular; and bind his hands over to their good behaviour! Sir Anth. Put up, Jack, put up, or I shall be in a frenzyhow came you in a duel, sir? Abs. Faith, sir, that gentleman can tell you better than I; 'twas he called on me, and you know, sir, I serve his majesty. SirAnth. Here's a pretty fellow! I catch him going to cut a man's throat, and he tells me he serves his majesty! - Zounds! sirrah, then how durst you draw the king's sword against one of his subjects? Abs. Sir, I tell you! that gentleman called me out, without explaining his reasons. Sir Anth. Gad! sir, how came you to call my son out, without explaining your reasons? Sir Luc. Your son, sir, insulted me in a manner which my honour could not brook. Sir Anth. Zounds! Jack, how durst you insult the gentleman in a manner which his honour could not brook? Mrs. Mal. Come, come, let's have no honour before ladies Captain Absolute, come here. How could you intimidate us so? Here's Lydia has been terrified to death for you. Abs. For fear I should be killed, or escape, ma'am? Mrs. Mal. Nay, no delusions to the past — Lydia is convinced; speak, child. Sir Luc. With your leave, ma'am, I must put in a word here. I believe I could interpret the young lady's silence. Now markLydia. What is it you mean, sir? Sir Luc. Come, come, Delia, we must be serious now; this is no time for trifling. 1 David is here confusing two different things, "bind his hands" and "bind him over to his good behavior." 95 I82 SHERIDAN. [ACT V. Lydia. 'Tis true, sir; and your reproof bids me offer this gentleman my hand, and solicit the return of his affections. Abs. 0! my little angel, say you so? -.Sir Lucius, I perceive there must be some mistake here, with regard to the affront which you affirm I have given you. I can only say that it could not have been intentional. And as you must be convinced that I should not fear to support a real injury-you shall now see that I am not ashamed to atone for an inadvertency - I ask your pardon. But for this lady, while honoured with her approbation, I will support my claim against any man whatever. Sir Anth. Well said, Jack, and I'll stand by you, my boy. Acres. Mind, I give up all my claim - I make no pretensions to any thing in the world; and if I can't get a wife without fighting for her, by my valour! I'll live a bachelor. Sir Luc. Captain, give me your hand: an affront handsomely acknowledged becomes an obligation; and as for the lady, if she chooses to deny her own hand-writing, here - [ Takes out letters. Mrs. Mal. 0, he will dissolve my mystery! - Sir Lucius, perhaps there's some mistake —perhaps I can illuminateSir Luc. Pray, old gentlewoman, don't interfere where you have no business. - Miss Languish, are you my Delia, or not? Lydia. Indeed, Sir Lucius, I am not. [Walks aside with CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE. WMrs. Mal. Sir Lucius O'Trigger-ungrateful as you are - I own the soft impeachment 1 pardon my blushes, I am Delia. Sir Luc. You Delia —pho! pho! be easy. Mrs. Mal. Why, thou barbarous Vandyke 2 - those letters are mine - When you are more sensible of my benignity — perhaps I may be brought to encourage your addresses. Sir Luc. Mrs. Malaprop, I am extremely sensible of your condescension; and whether you or Lucy have put this trick on me, I am equally beholden to you. - And, to show you I am not 1 This is Mrs. Malaprop's own property, and not "a quotation from Shakspere," as one editor says. 2 A celebrated portrait-painter. Mrs. Malaprop means vandal. 96 SCENE III.] TIE RIVALS. 183 ungrateful, Captain Absolute, since you have taken that lady from me, I'll give you my Delia into the bargain. Abs. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius; but here's my friend, Fighting Bob, unprovided for. Sir Luc. Hah! little Valour-here, will you make your fortune? Acres. Odds wrinkles! No. - But give me your hand, Sir Lucius, forget and forgive; but if ever I give you a chance of pickling me again, say Bob Acres is a dunce, that's all. Sir Anth. Come, Mrs. Malaprop, don't be cast down -you are in your bloom yet. Mrs. Mal. O Sir Anthony -men are all barbarians. [All retire but JULIA and FAULKLAND. Julia [aside]. He seems dejected and unhappy -not sullen; there was some foundation, however, for the tale he told me - O woman! how true should be your judgment, when your resolution is so weak! Faulk. Julia! how can I sue for what I so little deserve? I dare not presume-yet Hope is the child of Penitence. Julia. Oh! Faulkland, you have not been more faulty in your unkind treatment of me, than I am now in wanting inclination to resent it. As my heart honestly bids me place my weakness to the account of love, I should be ungenerous not to admit the same plea for yours. Faulk. Now I shall be blest indeed! Sir Anth. [coming forward]. What's going on here?So you have been quarrelling too, I warrant! Come, Julia, I never interfered before; but let me have a hand in the matter at last. All the faults I have ever seen in my friend Faulkland seemed to proceed from what he calls the delicacy and warmth of his affection for you- There, marry him directly, Julia; you'll find he'll mend surprisingly! [The rest come forward. Sir Luc. Come, now, I hope there is no dissatisfied person, but what is content; for as I have been disappointed myself, it will be very hard if I have not the satisfaction of. seeing other people succeed better. Acres. You are right, Sir Lucius. - So Jack, I wish you joy - Mr. Faulkland the same. — Ladies, -come now, to show you I'm neither vexed nor angry, odds tabors and pipes! 97 184 SHERIDAN. [ACT V. I'll order the fiddles in half an hour to the New Rooms and I insist on your all meeting me there. Sir Anth. 'Gad! sir, I like your spirit; and at night we single lads will drink a health to the young couples, and a husband to Mrs. Malaprop. Faulk. Our partners are stolen from us, Jack - I hope to be congratulated by each other - yours for having checked in time the errors of an ill-directed imagination, which might have betrayed an innocent heart; and mine, for having, by her gentleness and candour, reformed the unhappy temper of one, who by it made wretched whom he loved most, and tortured the heart he ought to have adored. Abs. Well, Jack, we have both tasted the bitters, as well as the sweets of love; with this difference only, that you always prepared the bitter cup for yourself, while I Lydia. Was always obliged to me for it, hey! Mr. Modesty? But, come, no more of that - our happiness is now as unalloyed as general. Julia. Then let us study to preserve it so; and while Hope pictures to us a flattering scene of future bliss, let us deny its pencil those colours which are too bright to be lasting. When hearts deserving happiness would unite their fortunes, Virtue would crown them with an unfading garland of modest hurtless flowers; but ill-judging Passion will force the gaudier rose into the wreath, whose thorn offends them when its leaves are dropped!1 [Exeunt omnes. 1 Parts of this speech also run into meter. 98 EPIL.] THE RIVALS. I85 EPILOGUE. BY THE AUTHOR. SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY. LADIES, for you - I heard our poet say - He'd try to coax some moral from his play: " One moral's plain," cried I, " without more fuss; Man's social happiness all rests on us: Through all the drama - whether damn'd or notLove gilds the scene, and women guide the plot. From every rank obedience is our due D'ye doubt? - The world's great stage shall prove it true." The cit, well skill'd to shun domestic strife, Will sup abroad; but first he'll ask his wife: John Trot, his friend, for once will do the same, But then - he'll just step home to tell his dame. The surly squire at noon resolves to rule, And half the day - Zounds! madam is a fool! Convinced at night, the vanquish'd victor says, Ah, Kate! you women have such coaxing ways! The jolly toper chides each tardy blade, Till reeling Bacchus calls on Love for aid: Then with each toast he sees fair bumpers swim, And kisses Chloe 1 on the sparkling brim! Nay, I have heard that statesmen - great and wise - Will sometimes counsel with a lady's eyes! The servile suitors watch her various face, She smiles preferment, or she frowns disgrace, Curtsies a pension here - there nods a place. 1 A shepherdess beloved by Daphnis in Longus' Daphnis and Chloe. The name has since passed into a kind of general name for sweetheart. 99 I86 SHERIDAN. [EPIL. Nor with less awe, in scenes of humbler life, Is view'd the mistress, or is heard the wife. The poorest peasant of the poorest soil, The child of poverty, and heir to toil, Early from radiant Love's impartial light Steals one small spark to cheer this world of night: Dear spark! that oft through winter's chilling woes Is all the warmth his little cottage knows! The wandering tar, who not for years has press'd, The widow'd partner of his day of rest, On the cold deck, far from her arms removed, Still hums the ditty which his Susan loved; And while around the cadence rude is blown, The boatswain whistles in a softer tone. The soldier, fairly proud of wounds and toil, Pants for the triumph of his Nancy's smile; But ere the battle should he list her cries, The lover trembles - and the hero dies! That heart, by war and honour steel'd to fear, Droops on a sigh, and sickens at a tear! But ye more cautious, ye nice-judging few, Who give to beauty only beauty's due, Though friends to love - ye view with deep regret Our conquests marr'd, our triumphs incomplete, Till polish'd wit more lasting charms disclose, And judgment fix the darts which beauty throws! In female breasts did sense and merit rule, The lover's mind would ask no other school; Shamed into sense, the scholars of our eyes, Our beaux from gallantry would soon be wise; Would gladly light, their homage to improve, The lamp of knowledge at the torch of love! THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. A COMEDY. BY RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. I A PORTRAIT; ADDRESSED TO MRS. CREWE,2 WITH THE COMEDY OF THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. BY R. B. SHERIDAN, ESQ. TELL me, ye prim adepts in Scandal's school, Who rail by precept and detract by rule, Lives there no character, so tried, so known, So deck'd with grace, and so unlike your own, That even you assist her fame to raise, Approve by envy, and by silence praise! Attend! - a model shall attract your viewDaughters of calumny, I summon you! You shall decide if this a portrait prove, Or fond creation of the Muse and Love. Attend, ye virgin critics, shrewd and sage, Ye matron censors of this childish age, Whose peering eye and wrinkled front declare A fix'd antipathy to young and fair; By cunning, cautious; or by nature, cold, In maiden madness, virulently bold!Attend, ye skill'd to coin the precious tale, Creating proof, where innuendos fail! Whose practised memories, cruelly exact, Omit no circumstance, except the fact! - Attend, all ye who boast, - or old or young, - The living libel of a slanderous tongue! 1 " Sheridan presented the beautiful Mrs. Crewe with a revised copy of his drama, together with a poem, to which he attached the title of a portrait; there does not exist in the English language a more perfect model of elegant flattery clothed in suitable language, neither fulsome nor overstrained." G. G. S[IGMUND]. 2 Frances Anne Crewe, a well-known beauty of her time, daughter of Fulke Greville. In 1776 she married John Crewe, who later became Lord Crewe. I90o SHERIDAN. [PORT. So shall my theme as far contrasted be, As saints by fiends, or hymns by calumny. Come, gentle Amoret 1 (for 'neath that name In worthier verse is sung thy beauty's fame); Come - for but thee who seeks the Muse? and while Celestial blushes check thy conscious smile, With timid grace and hesitating eye, The perfect model, which I boast, supply:Vain Muse! couldst thou the humblest sketch create Of her, or slightest charm couldst imitate - Could thy blest strain in kindred colours trace The faintest wonder of her form and facePoets would study the immortal line, And Reynolds 2 own his art subdued by thine; That art, which well might added lustre give To Nature's best, and Heaven's superlative: On Granby's 8 cheek might bid new glories rise, Or point a purer beam from Devon's 4 eyes! Hard is the task to shape that beauty's praise, Whose judgment scorns the homage flattery pays! But praising Amoret we cannot err, No tongue o'ervalues Heaven, or flatters her! Yet she by fate's perverseness - she alone Would doubt our truth, nor deem such praise her own. Adorning fashion, unadorn'd by dress, Simple from taste, and not from carelessness; Discreet in gesture, in deportment mild, Not stiff with prudence, nor uncouthly wild: No state has Amoret; no studied mien; She frowns no goddess, and she moves no queen.5 1 A character in Spenser's Faerie Queene, the type of female loveliness and wifely affection. 2 Sir Joshua Reynolds, the English portrait painter (1723-1792). 8 The Marchioness of Granby, a famous beauty of her day, several times painted by Reynolds. 4 The accomplished Duchess of Devonshire, personal and political friend of Fox. She was also painted by Reynolds. 5 " She moves a goddess, and she looks a queen." POPE'S HOMER, Iliad, III., 208. 4 PORT.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. I9g The softer charm that in her manner lies Is framed to captivate, yet not surprise; It justly suits the expression of her face,'Tis less than dignity, and more than grace! On her pure cheek the native hue is such, That, form'd by Heaven to be admired so much, The hand divine, with a less partial care, Might well have fix'd a fainter crimson there, And bade the gentle inmate of her breastInshrined Modesty-supply the rest. But who the peril of her lips shall paint? Strip them of smiles- still, still all words are faint, But moving Love himself appears to teach Their action, though denied to rule her speech; And thou who seest her speak, and dost not hear, Mourn not her distant accents 'scape thine ear; Viewing those lips, thou still may'st make pretence To judge of what she says, and swear 'tis sense: Clothed with such grace, with such expression fraught, They move in meaning, and they pause in thought! But dost thou farther watch, with charm'd surprise, The mild irresolution of her eyes, Curious to mark how frequent they repose, In brief eclipse and momentary close Ah! seest thou not an ambush'd Cupid there, Too tim'rous of his charge, with jealous care Veils and unveils those beams of heavenly light, Too full, too fatal else, for mortal sight? Nor yet, such pleasing vengeance fond to meet, In pard'ning dimples hope a safe retreat. What though her peaceful breast should ne'er allow Subduing frowns to arm her alter'd brow, By Love, I swear, and by his gentle wiles, More fatal still the mercy of her smiles! Thus lovely, thus adorn'd, possessing all Of bright or fair that can to woman fall, The height of vanity might well be thought Prerogative in her, and Nature's fault. 5 192 SHERIDAN. [PORT. Yet gentle Amoret, in mind supreme As well as charms, rejects the vainer theme; And, half mistrustful of her beauty's store, She barbs with wit those darts too keen before:Read in all knowledge that her sex should reach, Though Greville, 1 or the Muse, should deign to teach, Fond to improve, nor timorous to discern How far it is a woman's grace to learn; In Millar's 2 dialect she would not prove Apollo's priestess, but Apollo's love, Graced by those signs which truth delights to own, The timid blush, and mild submitted tone: Whate'er she says, though sense appear throughout, Displays the tender hue of female doubt; Deck'd with that charm, how lovely wit appears, How graceful science, when that robe she wears! Such too her talents, and her bent of mind, As speak a sprightly heart by thought refined: A taste for mirth, by contemplation school'd, A turn for ridicule, by candour ruled, A scorn of folly, which she tries to hide; An awe of talent, which she owns with pride! Peace, idle Muse! no more thy strain prolong, But yield a theme, thy warmest praises wrong; Just to her merit, though thou canst not raise Thy feeble verse, behold th' acknowledged praise Has spread conviction through the envious train, And cast a fatal gloom o'er Scandal's reign! And lo! each pallid hag, with blister'd tongue, Mutters assent to all thy zeal has sung - Owns all the colours just - the outline true, Thee my inspirer, and my model — CREWE! 1 Mrs. Frances Greville, Mrs. Crewe's mother, to whom Sheridan dedicated his Critic. 2 Anna Miller (or Millar), who made some pretensions to letters. She and her famous antique vase at Batheaston became the objects of much sport. 6 DRAMATIS PERSONA. [As ORIGINALLY ACTED AT DRURY LANE IN I777.] SIR PETER TEAZLE... SIR OLIVER SURFACE SIR HARRY BUMPER. SIR BENJAMIN BACKBITE JOSEPH SURFACE.... CHARLES SURFACE... CARELESS.... SNAKE.... CRABTREE.. ROWLEY....... MOSES.... TRIP... LADY TEAZLE.. LADY SNEERWELL.. MRS. CANDOUR... MARIA.... M.R. KING. MR. YATES. MR. GAWDRY.. MR. DODD. M.R. PALMER.. MR. SMITH... MR. FARREN. M... PACKER. MR. PARSONS. MR. AICKIN. M.R. BADDELEY. MR. LAMASH. MRS. ABINGTON. MISS SHERRY. MISS POPE. MISS P. HOPKINS. Gentlemen, Maid, and Servants. SCENE- LONDON. 7 a PROLOGUE. BY MR. GARRICK. A SCHOOL for Scandal! tell me, I beseech you, Needs there a school this modish art to teach you? No need of lessons now, the knowing think; We might as well be taught to eat and drink. Caused by a dearth of scandal, should the vapours' Distress our fair ones - let them read the papers; Their powerful mixtures such disorders hit; Crave what you will —there's quantum suffcit.2 " Lord!" cries my Lady Wormwood (who loves tattle, And puts much salt and pepper in her prattle), Just risen at noon, all night at cards when threshing Strong tea and scandal -" Bless me, how refreshing! Give me the papers, Lisp - how bold and free! [SiZs. Last night Lord L. [Sips.] was caught with Lady D. For aching heads what charming sal volatile! [SiZs. If Mrs. B. will still continue flirting, We hope she'll DRAW, or we'll UNDRAW the curtain. Fine satire, poz -in public all abuse it, But, by ourselves [Sips.], our praise we can't refuse it. Now, Lisp, read you- there, at that dash and star." " Yes, ma'am - A certain lord had best beware, Who lives not twenty miles from Grosvenor Square; 4 For, should he Lady W. find willing, Wormwood is bitter " " Oh! that's me! the villain! Throw it behind the fire, and never more Let that vile paper come within my door." 1 The blues, melancholy. 2 A sufficient quantity. 8 Positively. See the Spectator, No. 135. 4 In western London near Hyde Park. 9 I96 SHERIDAN. [PROL. Thus at our friends we laugh, who feel the dart; To reach our feelings, we ourselves must smart. Is our young bard so young, to think that he Can stop the full spring-tide of calumny? Knows he the world so little, and its trade? Alas! the devil's sooner raised than laid. So strong, so swift, the monster there's no gagging: Cut Scandal's head off, still the tongue is wagging. Proud of your smiles once lavishly bestow'd, Again our young Don Quixote' takes the road; To show his gratitude he draws his pen, And seeks this hydra,2 Scandal, in his den. For your applause all perils he would through - He'll fight - that's write - a cavaliero 8 true, Till every drop of blood - that's ink - is spilt for you. 1 The hero of Cervantes' Don Quixote, who goes forth in behalf of chivalry. 2 A many-headed monster slain by Hercules; hence, a multifarious evil. 8 Cavalier. One old edition reads cavalier so. 10 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. ACT I. SCENE I. - LADY SNEERWELL'S Dressing-room. LADY SNEERWELL discovered at her toilet; SNAKE drinking chocolate. Lady Sneer. The paragraphs, you say, Mr. Snake, were all inserted? Snake. They were, madam; and, as I copied them myself in a feigned hand, there can be no suspicion whence they came. Lady Sneer. Did you circulate the report of Lady Brittle's intrigue with Captain Boastall? Snake. That's in as fine a train as your ladyship could wish. In the common course of things, I think it must reach Mrs. Clackitt's ears within four-and-twenty hours; and then, you know, the business is as good as done. Lady Sneer. Why, truly, Mrs. Clackitt has a very pretty talent, and a great deal of industry. Snake. True, madam, and has been tolerably successful in her day. To my knowledge, she has been the cause of six matches being broken off, and three sons being disinherited; of four forced elopements, and as many close confinements; nine separate maintenances, and two divorces. Nay, I have more than once traced her causing a tete-d-tete in the Town and Country Magazine, 1 when the parties, perhaps, had never seen each other's face before in the course of their lives. 1 See note on " I take care to know every t^te-h-tete from the Scandalous Magazine " in She Stoops to Conquer, II., i. (page 37). I98 SHERIDAN. [ACT I. Lady Sneer. She certainly has talents, but her manner is gross. Snake. 'Tis very true. She generally designs well, has a free tongue and a bold invention; but her colouring is too dark, and her outlines often extravagant. She wants that delicacy of tint, and mellowness of sneer, which distinguish your ladyship's scandal.' Lady Sneer. You are partial, Snake. Snake. Not in the least; every body allows that Lady Sneerwell can do more with a word or look than many can with the most laboured detail, even when they happen to have a little truth on their side to support it. Lady Sneer. Yes, my dear Snake; and I am no hypocrite to deny the satisfaction I reap from the success of my efforts. Wounded myself, in the early part of my life, by the envenomed tongue of slander, I confess I have since known no pleasure equal to the reducing others to the level of my own reputation. Snake. Nothing can be more natural. But, Lady Sneerwell, there is one affair in which you have lately employed me, wherein, I confess, I am at a loss to guess your motives. Lady Sneer. I conceive you mean with respect to my neighbour, Sir Peter Teazle, and his family? Snake. I do. Here are two young men, to whom Sir Peter has acted as a kind of guardian 2 since their father's death; the eldest possessing the most amiable character, and universally well spoken of; the youngest, the most dissipated and extravagant young fellow in the kingdom, without friends or character; the former an avowed admirer of your ladyship, and apparently your favourite; the latter attached to Maria, Sir Peter's ward, and confessedly beloved by her. Now, on the face of these circumstances, it is utterly unaccountable to me, 1 This artistic talk about scandal reminds one of De Quincey's manner in Murder as a Fine Art. 2 No authorized edition of The School for Scandal was ever printed by Sheridan. Rae affirms that he has found among some old papers two acts of the comedy prepared by the author for publication. See his Life of Sheridan, IX., for certain points of difference in the first scene between this version and the current one. A kind of guardian reads simply guardian. 12 SCENE i.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. I99 why you, the widow of a city knight, with a good jointure, should not close with the passion of a man of such character and expectations as Mr. Surface; and more so why you should be so uncommonly earnest to destroy the mutual attachment subsisting between his brother Charles and Maria. Lady Sneer. Then, at once to unravel this mystery, I must inform you that love has no share whatever in the intercourse between Mr. Surface and me. Snake. No! Lady Sneer. His real attachment is to Maria, or her fortune; but, finding in his brother a favoured rival, he has been obliged to mask his pretensions, and profit by my assistance. Snake. Yet still I am more puzzled why you should interest yourself in his success. Lady Sneer. Heavens! how dull you are! Cannot you surmise the weakness which I hitherto, through shame, have concealed even from you? Must I confess that Charles-that libertine, that extravagant, that bankrupt in fortune and reputation - that he it is for whom I am thus anxious and malicious, and to gain whom I would sacrifice every thing? 1 Snake. Now, indeed, your conduct appears consistent: but how came you and Mr. Surface so confidential? Lady Sneer. For our mutual interest. I have found him out a long time since. I know him to be artful, selfish, and malicious- in short, a sentimental knave; while with Sir Peter, and indeed with all his acquaintance, he passes for a youthful miracle of prudence, good sense, and benevolence. Snake. Yes; yet Sir Peter vows he has not his equal in England; and, above all, he praises him. as a man of sentiment. 1 " As it now stands this intimation of her ladyship's purpose is far too important for anything that follows, and is apt to mistify the spectator, who finds little in the after scenes to justify it - a confusion at once explained when we are made aware that this was the original motif of the entire piece, the object of which was to separate, not Charles Surface, but a sentimental hero called Clarimont [Clerimont], Florival, and other pastoral names, from the Maria whom he loves." - MRS. OLIPHANT, III. For a full account of the weaving together in The School for Scandal of two entirely distinct plots, that of the scandalous society and'that of the Teazles and Surfaces, see Moore's Life of Sheridan, V. For Mrs. Oliphant's summary of this account see Appendix. 13 200 SHERIDAN. [ACT I. Lady Sneer. True; and with the assistance of his sentiment and hypocrisy he has brought Sir Peter entirely into his interest with regard to Maria; while poor Charles has no friend in the house- though, I fear, he has a powerful one in Maria's heart, against whom we must direct our schemes. Enter SERVANT. Servant. Mr. Surface. Lady Sneer. Show him up. [Exit SERVANT.] - He generally calls about this time. I don't wonder at people giving him to me for a lover. Enter JOSEPH SURFACE.1 Jos. Surf. My dear Lady Sneerwell, how do you do to-day? Mr. Snake, your most obedient. Lady Sneer. Snake has just been rallying me on our mutual attachment; but I have informed him of our real views. You know how useful he has been to us; and, believe me, the confidence is not ill placed. Jos. Surf. Madam, it is impossible for me to suspect a man of Mr. Snake's sensibility and discernment. Lady Sneer. Well, well, no compliments now; but tell me when you saw your mistress, Maria - or, what is more material to me, your brother. Jos. Surf. I have not seen either since I left you; but I can inform you that they never meet. Some of your stories have taken a good effect on Maria. Lady Sneer. Ah, my dear Snake! the merit of this belongs to you. But do your brother's distresses increase? Jos. Surf. Every hour. I am told he has had another execution in the house yesterday. In short, his dissipation and extravagance exceed any thing I have ever heard of. Lady Sneer. Poor Charles! Jos. Surf. True, madam; notwithstanding his vices, one can't help feeling for him. Poor Charles! I'm sure I wish it were in my power to be of any essential service to him; for the man who 1 Surface is the name of a female scandal-monger who hates scandal in Mrs. Sheridan's unpublished comedy A Journey to Bath. 14 SCENE I.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 201 does not share in the distresses of a brother, even though merited by his own misconduct, deservesLady Sneer. 0 Lud! you are going to be moral, and forget that you are among friends. Jos. Surf. Egad, that's true! I'll keep that sentiment till I see Sir Peter. However, it is certainly a charity to rescue Maria from such a libertine, who, if he is to be reclaimed, can be so only by a person of your ladyship's superior accomplishments and understanding. Snake. I believe, Lady Sneerwell, here's company coming: I'll go and copy the letter I mentioned to you. Mr. Surface, your most obedient. Jos. Surf. Sir, your very devoted. -[Exit SNAKE.] Lady Sneerwell, I am very sorry you have put any farther confidence in that fellow. Lady Sneer. Why so? Jos. Surf. I have lately detected him in frequent conference with old Rowley, who was formerly my father's steward, and has never, you know, been a friend of mine. Lady Sneer. And do you think he would betray us? Jos. Surf. Nothing more likely: take my word for't, Lady Sneerwell, that fellow hasn't virtue enough to be faithful even to his own villany. Ah, Maria! Enter MARIA. Lady Sneer. Maria, my dear, how do you do? What's the matter? Maria. Oh! there's that disagreeable lover of mine, Sir Benjamin Backbite, has just called at my guardian's, with his odious uncle, Crabtree; so I slipped out, and ran hither to avoid them. Lady Sneer. Is that all? Jos. Surf. If my brother Charles had been of the party, madam, perhaps you would not have been so much alarmed. Lady Sneer. Nay, now you are severe; for I dare swear the truth of the matter is, Maria heard you were here. But, my dear, what has Sir Benjamin done, that you should avoid him so? Maria. Oh, he has done nothing -but 'tis for what he 15 202 SHERIDA N. [ACT I. has said: his conversation is a perpetual libel on all his acquaintance. Jos. Surf. Ay, and the worst of it is, there is no advantage in not knowing him; for he'll abuse a stranger just as soon as his best friend: and his uncle's as bad. Lady Sneer. Nay, but we should make allowance; Sir Benjamin is a wit and a poet. Maria. For my part, I own, madam, wit loses its respect with me, when I see it in company with malice. What do you think, Mr. Surface? Jos. Surf. Certainly, madam; to smile at the jest which plants a thorn in another's breast is to become a principal in the mischief. Lady Sneer. Psha! there's no possibility of being witty without a little ill nature: the malice of a good thing is the barb that makes it stick. What's your opinion, Mr. Surface? Jos. Surf. To be sure, madam; that conversation, where the spirit of raillery is suppressed, will ever appear tedious and insipid. Maria. Well, I'll not debate how far scandal may be allowable; but in a man, I am sure, it is always contemptible. We have pride, envy, rivalship, and a thousand motives to depreciate each other; but the male slanderer must have the cowardice of a woman before he can traduce one. Re-enter SERVANT. Servant. Madam, Mrs. Candour is below, and, if your ladyship's at leisure, will leave her carriage. Lady Sneer. Beg her to walk in. - [Exit SERVANT.] Now, Maria, here is a character to your taste; for, though Mrs. Candour is a little talkative, every body allows her to be the bestnatured and best sort of woman. Maria. Yes - with a very gross affectation of good nature and benevolence, she does more mischief than the direct malice of old Crabtree. Jos. Surf. I' faith that's true, Lady Sneerwell: whenever I hear the current running against the characters of my friends, I never think them in such danger as when Candour undertakes their defence. Lady Sneer. Hush! here she is! 16 SCENE I.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 203 Enter MRS. CANDOUR. Mrs. Can. My dear Lady Sneerwell, how have you been this century?- Mr. Surface, what news do you hear?-though indeed it is no matter, for I think one hears nothing else but scandal. Jos. Surf. Just so, indeed, ma'am. Mrs. Can. Oh, Maria! child, -what, is the whole affair off between you and Charles? His extravagance, I presumethe town talks of nothing else. Maria. I am very sorry, ma'am, the town has so little to do. Mrs. Can. True, true, child; but there's no stopping people's tongues. I own I was hurt to hear it, as I indeed was to learn, from the same quarter, that your guardian, Sir Peter, and Lady Teazle have not agreed lately as well as could be wished. Maria. 'Tis strangely impertinent for people to busy themselves so. Mrs. Can. Very true, child; but what's to be done? People will talk - there's no preventing it. Why, it was but yesterday I was told that Miss Gadabout had eloped with Sir Filigree Flirt. But, Lord! there's no minding what one hears; though, to be sure, I had this from very good authority. Maria. Such reports are highly scandalous. Mrs. Can. So they are, child -shameful, shameful! But the world is so censorious, no character escapes. Lord, now who would have suspected your friend, Miss Prim, of an indiscretion? Yet such is the ill nature of people, that they say her uncle stopped her last week, just as she was stepping into the York mail with her dancing-master. Maria. I'll answer for't, there are no grounds for that report. Mrs. Can. Ah, no foundation in the world, I dare swear; no more, probably, than for the story circulated last month, of Mrs. Festino's affair with Colonel Cassino - though, to be sure, that matter was never rightly cleared up. Jos. Surf. The licence of invention some people take is monstrous indeed. 17 204 SHERIDAN. [ACT I. Maria. 'Tis so; but, in my opinion, those who report such things are equally culpable. Mrs. Can. To be sure they are; tale-bearers are as bad as the tale-makers -'tis an old observation, and a very true one: but what's to be done, as I said before? how will you prevent people from talking? To-day, Mrs. Clackitt assured me, Mr. and Mrs. Honeymoon were at last become mere man and wife, like the rest of their acquaintance. She likewise hinted that a certain widow, in the next street, had got rid of her dropsy and recovered her shape in a most surprising manner. And at the same time Miss Tattle, who was by, affirmed that Lord Buffalo had discovered his lady at a house of no extraordinary fame; and that Sir Harry Bouquet and Tom Saunter were to measure swords on a similar provocation. But, Lord, do you think I would report these things? No, no! tale-bearers, as I said before, are just as bad as the tale-makers. Jos. Surf. Ah! Mrs. Candour, if every body had your forbearance and good nature! Mrs. Can. I confess, Mr. Surface, I cannot bear to hear people attacked behind their backs; and when ugly circumstances come out against our acquaintance I own I always love to think the best. By the by, I hope 'tis not true that your brother is absolutely ruined? Jos. Surf. I am afraid his circumstances are very bad indeed, ma'am. Mrs. Can. Ah! I heard so - but you must tell him to keep up his spirits; every body almost is in the same way: Lord Spindle, Sir Thomas Splint, Captain Quinze, and Mr. Nickit - all up, I hear, within this week; so, if Charles is undone, he'll find half his acquaintance ruined too, and that, you know, is a consolation. Jos. Surf. Doubtless, ma'am - a very great one. Re-enter SERVANT. Servant. Mr. Crabtree and Sir Benjamin Backbite. [Exit. Lady Sneer. So, Maria, you see your lover pursues you; positively you shan't escape. I8 SCENE I.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 205 Enter CRABTREE and SIR BENJAMIN BACKBITE. Crab. Lady Sneerwell, I kiss your hand. Mrs. Candour, I don't believe you are acquainted with my nephew, Sir Benjamin Backbite? Egad, ma'am, he has a pretty wit, and is a pretty poet too. Isn't he, Lady Sneerwell? Sir Ben. Oh, fie, uncle! Crab. Nay, egad it's true; I back him at a rebus or a charade against the best rhymer in the kingdom. Has your ladyship heard the epigram he wrote last week on Lady Frizzle's feather catching fire? - Do, Benjamin, repeat it, or the charade you made last night extempore at Mrs. Drowzie's1 conversazione. Come now; your first is the name of a fish, your second a great naval commander, andSir Ben. Uncle, now - pr'ythee - Crab. I' faith, ma'am, 'twould surprise you to hear how ready he is at all these sort of things. Lady Sneer. I wonder, Sir Benjamin, you never publish any thing. Sir Ben. To say truth, ma'am, 'tis very vulgar to print; and as my little productions are mostly satires and lampoons on particular people, I find they circulate more by giving copies in confidence to the friends of the parties. However, I have some love elegies, which, when favoured with this lady's smiles, I mean to give the public. [Pointing to MARIA. Crab. [to MARIA]. 'Fore heaven, ma'am, they'll immortalize you! —you will be handed down to posterity, like Petrarch's Laura,2 or Waller's Sacharissa.a Sir Ben. [to MARIA]. Yes, madam, I think you will like them, when you shall see them on a beautiful quarto page, where a neat rivulet of text shall meander through a meadow of margin. 'Fore Gad! they will be the most elegant things of their kind! 1 " We '11 put off the rest of his education, like Dr. Drowsy's sermons, to a fitter opportunity." - She Stoops to Conquer, IV., i. (page 63). 2 Laura is the name of the lady whom the Italian poet Petrarch immortalized in his sonnets and canzoni. 3 The name given by the poet Waller to Lady Dorothea Sidney, for whose hand he was an unsuccessful suitor. 19 206 SHERIDAN. [ACT I. Crab. But, ladies, that's true - have you heard the news? Mrs. Can. What, sir, do you mean the report ofCrab. No, ma'am, that's not it. — Miss Nicely is going to be married to her own footman. Mrs. Can. Impossible! Crab. Ask Sir Benjamin. Sir Ben. 'Tis very true, ma'am; every thing is fixed, and the wedding liveries bespoke. Crab. Yes - and they do say there were pressing reasons for it. Lady Sneer. Why, I have heard something of this before. Mrs. Can. It can't be -and I wonder any one should believe such a story of so prudent a lady as Miss Nicely. Sir Ben. 0 Lud! ma'am, that's the very reason 'twas believed at once. She has always been so cautious and so reserved, that every body was sure there was some reason for it at bottom. Mrs. Can. Why, to be sure, a tale of scandal is as fatal to the credit of a prudent lady of her stamp as a fever is generally to those of the strongest constitutions. But there is a sort of puny sickly reputation, that is always ailing, yet will outlive the robuster characters of a hundred prudes. Sir Ben. True, madam; there are valetudinarians in reputation as well as constitution, who, being conscious of their weak part, avoid the least breath of air, and supply their want of stamina by care and circumspection. Mrs. Can. Well, but this may be all a mistake. You know, Sir Benjamin, very trifling circumstances often give rise to the most injurious tales. Crab. That they do, I'll be sworn, ma'am. Did you ever hear how Miss Piper came to lose her lover and her character last summer at Tunbridge? - Sir Benjamin, you remember it? Sir Ben. Oh, to be sure!- the most whimsical circumstance. Lady Sneer. How was it, pray? Crab. Why, one evening, at Mrs. Ponto's assembly, the con1 A famous watering place thirty or thirty-five miles southeast of London. 20 SCENE I.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 207 versation happened to turn on the breeding Nova Scotia sheep in this country. Says a young lady in company, I have known instances of it; for Miss Letitia Piper, a first cousin of mine, had a Nova Scotia sheep that produced her twins. " What! " cries the Lady Dowager Dundizzy (who you know is as deaf as a post), " has Miss Piper had twins? " This mistake, as you may imagine, threw the whole company into a fit of laughter. However, 'twas the next morning every where reported, and in a few days believed by the whole town, that Miss Letitia Piper had actually been brought to bed of a fine boy and a girl; and in less than a week there were some people who could name the father, and the farm-house where the babies were put to nurse. Lady Sneer. Strange, indeed! Crab. Matter of fact, I assure you. 0 Lud! Mr. Surface, pray is it true that your uncle, Sir Oliver, is coming home? Jos. Surf. Not that I know of, indeed, sir. Crab. He has been in the East Indies along time. You can scarcely remember him, I believe? Sad comfort, whenever he returns, to hear how your brother has gone on! Jos. Surf. Charles has been imprudent, sir, to be sure; but I hope no busy people have already prejudiced Sir Oliver against him. He may reform. Sir Ben. To be sure he may: for my part, I never believed him to be so utterly void of principle as people say; and, though he has lost all his friends, I am told nobody is better spoken of by the Jews. Crab. That's true, egad, nephew. If the Old Jewry was a ward, I believe Charles would be an alderman: no man more popular there, 'fore Gad! I hear he pays as many annuities as the Irish tontine; and that, whenever he is sick, they have prayers for the recovery of his health in all the synagogues. Sir Ben. Yet no man lives in greater splendour. They tell me, when he entertains his friends he will sit down to dinner with a dozen of his own securities; have a score of tradesmen waiting in the antechamber, and an officer behind every guest's chair. 1 A street in London, formerly inhabited by Jews. 21 208 SHERIDA N. [ACT I. Jos. Surf. This may be entertainment to you, gentlemen, but you pay very little regard to the feelings of a brother. Maria. [aside]. Their malice is intolerable!-[Aloud.] Lady Sneerwell, I must wish you a good morning: I'm not very well. [Exit. Mrs. Can. 0 dear,! she changes colour very much. Lady Sneer. Do, Mrs. Candour, follow her: she may want your assistance. Mrs. Can. That I will, with all my soul, ma'am. - Poor dear girl, who knows what her situation may be! [Exit. Lady Sneer. 'Twas nothing but that she could not bear to hear Charles reflected on, notwithstanding their difference. Sir Ben. The young lady's penchant 1 is obvious. Crab. But, Benjamin, you must not give up the pursuit for that: follow her, and put her into good humour. Repeat her some of your own verses. Come, I'll assist you. Sir Ben. Mr. Surface, I did not mean to hurt you; but depend on't, your brother is utterly undone. Crab. 0 Lud, ay! undone as ever man was -can't raise a guinea! Sir Ben. And every thing sold, I'm told, that was movable. Crab. I have seen one that was at his house. Not a thing left but some empty bottles that were overlooked, and the family pictures, which I believe are framed in the wainscots. Sir Ben. And I'm very sorry also to hear some bad stories against him. [Going. Crab. Oh, he has done many mean things, that's certain. Sir Ben. But, however, as he's your brother - [Going. Crab. We'll tell you all another opportunity. [Exeunt CRABTREE and SIR BENJAMIN. Lady Sneer. Ha! ha! 'tis very hard for them to leave a subject they have not quite run down. Jos. Surf. And I believe the abuse was no more acceptable to your ladyship than Maria. Lady Sneer. I doubt her affections are farther engaged than we imagine. But the family are to be here this evening, so 1 French for inclination, leaning. 22 SCENE II.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 209 you may as well dine where you are, and we shall have an opportunity of observing farther; in the meantime, I'll go and plot mischief, and you shall study sentiment. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A Room in SIR PETER TEAZLE'S House. Enter SIR PETER TEAZLE. Sir Pet. When an old bachelor marries a young wife, what is he to expect? 'Tis now six months since Lady Teazle made me the happiest of men -and I have been the most miserable dog ever since! We tift a little going to church, and fairly quarrelled before the bells had done ringing. I was more than once nearly choked with gall during the honeymoon, and had lost all comfort in life before my friends had done wishing me joy. Yet I chose with caution - a girl bred wholly in the country, who never knew luxury beyond one silk gown, nor dissipation above the annual gala of a race ball. Yet she now plays her part in all the extravagant fopperies of fashion and the town, with as ready a grace as if she never had seen a bush or a grass-plot out of Grosvenor Square! I am sneered at by all my acquaintance, and paragraphed in the newspapers. She dissipates my fortune, and contradicts all my humours; yet the worst of it is, I doubt I love her, or I should never bear all this. However, I'll never be weak enough to own it. Enter ROWLEY. Row. Oh! Sir Peter, your servant: how is it with you, sir? Sir Pet. Very bad, Master Rowley, very bad. I meet with nothing but crosses and vexations Row. What can have happened since yesterday? Sir Pet. A good question to a married man! Row. Nay, I'm sure, Sir Peter, your lady can't be the cause of your uneasiness. Sir Pet. Why, has any body told you she was dead? Row. Come, come, Sir Peter, you love her, notwithstanding your tempers don't exactly agree. 1 Other readings, tiffed, tifted. 14 23 2IO SHERIDAN. [ACT I. Sir Pet. But the fault is entirely hers, Master Rowley. I am, myself, the sweetest-tempered man alive, and hate a teasing temper; and so I tell her a hundred times a day. Row. Indeed! Sir Pet. Ay; and what is very extraordinary, in all our disputes she is always in the wrong! But Lady Sneerwell, and the set she meets at her house, encourage the perverseness of her disposition. Then, to complete my vexation, Maria, my ward, whom I ought to have the power of a father over, is determined to turn rebel too, and absolutely refuses the man whom I have long resolved on for her husband; meaning, I suppose, to bestow herself on his profligate brother. Row. You know, Sir Peter, I have always taken the liberty to differ with you on the subject of these two young gentlemen. I only wish you may not be deceived in your opinion of the elder. For Charles, my life on't! he will retrieve his errors yet. Their worthy father, once my honoured master, was, at his years, nearly as wild a spark; yet, when he died, he did not leave a more benevolent heart to lament his loss. Sir Pet. You are wrong, Master Rowley. On their father's death, you know, I acted as a kind of guardian to them both, till their uncle Sir Oliver's liberality gave them an early independence: of course, no person could have more opportunities of judging of their hearts, and I was never mistaken in my life. Joseph is indeed a model for the young men of the age. He is a man of sentiment, and acts up to the sentiments he professes; but, for the other, take my word for't, if he had any grain of virtue by descent, he has dissipated it with the rest of his inheritance. Ah! my old friend, Sir Oliver, will be deeply mortified when he finds how part of his bounty has been misapplied. Row. I am sorry to find you so violent against the young man, because this may be the most critical period of his fortune. I came hither with news that will surprise you. Sir Pet. What! let me hear. Row. Sir Oliver is arrived, and at this moment in town. Sir Pet. How! you astonish me! I thought you did not expect him this month. Row. I did not; but his passage has been remarkably quick. 24 SCENE I.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 211 Sir Pet. Egad, I shall rejoice to see my old friend. 'Tis sixteen years since we met. We have had many a day together:- but does he still enjoin us not to inform his nephews of his arrival? Row. Most strictly. He means, before it is known, to make some trial of their dispositions. Sir Pet. Ah! there needs no art to discover their merits -however he shall have his way; but, pray, does he know I am married? Row. Yes, and will soon wish you joy. Sir Pet. What, as we drink health to a friend in a consumption! Ah! Oliver will laugh at me. We used to rail at matrimony together, but he has been steady to his text. Well, he must be soon at my house, though - I'll instantly give orders for his reception. But, Master Rowley, don't drop a word that Lady Teazle and I ever disagree. Row. By no means. Sir Pet. For I should never be able to stand Noll's jokes; so I'll have him think, Lord forgive me! that we are a very happy couple. Row. I understand you: - but then you must be very careful not to differ while he is in the house with you. Sir Pet. Egad, and so we must- and that's impossible. Ah! Master Rowley, when an old bachelor marries a young wife, he deserves - no - the crime carries its punishment along with it. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. - A Room in SIR PETER TEAZLE'S House. Enter SIR PETER and LADY TEAZLE. Sir Pet. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll not bear it! Lady Teaz. Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it or not, as you please; but I ought to have my own way in every thing, and, what's more, I will too. What! though I was educated in the country, I know very well that women of fashion in London are accountable to nobody after they are married. 25 212 SHERIDAN. [ACT II. Sir Pet. Very well, ma'am, very well; so a husband is to have no influence, no authority? Lady Teaz. Authority! No, to be sure: - if you wanted authority over me, you should have adopted me, and not married me: I am sure you were old enough. Sir Pet. Old enough! -ay, there it is. Well, well, Lady Teazle, though my life may be made unhappy by your temper, I'll not be ruined by your extravagance! Lady Teaz. My extravagance! I'm sure I'm not more extravagant than a woman of fashion ought to be. Sir Pet. No, no, madam, you shall throw away no more sums on such unmeaning luxury. 'Slife! to spend as much to furnish your dressing-room with flowers in winter as would suffice to turn the Pantheon 1 into a greenhouse, and give afete champetre2 at Christmas. Lady Teaz. And am I to blame, Sir Peter, because flowers are dear in cold weather? You should find fault with the climate, and not with me. For my part, I'm sure I wish it was spring all the year round, and that roses grew under our feet! Sir Pet. Oons! madam - if you had been born to this, I shouldn't wonder at your talking thus; but you forget what your situation was when I married you. Lady Teaz. No, no, I don't; 'twas a very disagreeable one, or I should never have married you. Sir Pet. Yes, yes, madam, you were then in somewhat a humbler style -the daughter of a plain country squire. Recollect, Lady Teazle, when I saw you first sitting at your tambour, in a pretty figured linen gown, with a bunch of keys at your side, your hair combed smooth over a roll, and your apartment hung round with fruits in worsted, of your own working. Lady Teaz. Oh, yes! I remember it very well, and a curious life I led. My daily occupation to inspect the dairy, superintend the poultry, make extracts from the family receipt-book, and comb my aunt Deborah's lap-dog. Sir Pet. Yes, yes, ma'am, 'twas so indeed. 1 A concert and masquerade hall on Oxford St., London, opened in 1772. See Miss Burney's Evelina, Letter XXII., Boswell's Life of Johnson, 1772, and Wright's Caricature History of the Georges, XIV. 2 A rural or open-air festival. 26 SCENE I.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 213 Lady Teaz. And then you know, my evening amusements! To draw patterns for ruffles, which I had not materials to make up; to play Pope Joan 1 with the curate; to read a sermon to my aunt; or to be stuck down to an old spinet to strum my father to sleep after a fox-chase. Sir Pet. I am glad you have so good a memory. Yes, madam, these were the recreations I took you from; but now you must have your coach - vis-d-vis 2 and three powdered footmen before your chair; and, in the summer, a pair of white cats to draw you to Kensington Gardens.8 No recollection, I suppose, when you were content to ride double, behind the butler, on a docked coach-horse.4 Lady Teaz. No -I swear I never did that: I deny the butler and the coach-horse. Sir Pet. This, madam, was your situation; and what have I done for you? I have made you a woman of fashion, of fortune, of rank - in short, I have made you my wife. Lady Teaz. Well, then, and there is but one thing more you can make me to add to the obligation, and that isSir Pet. My widow, I suppose? Lady Teaz. Hem! hem! Sir Pet. I thank you, madam - but don't flatter yourself; for, though your ill conduct may disturb my peace of mind, it shall never break my heart, I promise you: however, I am equally obliged to you for the hint. Lady Teaz. Then why will you endeavour to make yourself so disagreeable to me, and thwart me in every little elegant expense? Sir Pet. 'Slife, madam, I say, had you any of these little elegant expenses when you married rne? Lady Teaz. Lud, Sir Peter! would you have me be out of the fashion? 1 A game at cards. 2 Carriage seating persons face to face. 3 A fashionable park in London adjoining Hyde Park on the west. 4 "( Make you ready straight, And in that gown which you first came to town in, Your safe-guard, cloak, and your hood suitable, Thus on a double gelding shall you amble, And my man Jaques shall be set before you." FLETCHER, The Noble Gentleman, II., i. 27 214 SHERIDA N. [ACT II. Sir Pet. The fashion, indeed! what had you to do with the fashion before you married me? Lady Teaz. For my part, I should think you would like to have your wife thought a woman of taste. Sir Pet. Ay - there again - taste! Zounds! madam, you had no taste when you married me! Lady Tear. That's very true, indeed, Sir Peter! and, after having married you, I should never pretend to taste again, I allow.1 But now, Sir Peter, since we have finished our daily jangle, I presume I may go to my engagement at Lady Sneerwell's. Sir Pet. Ay, there's another precious circumstance - a charming set of acquaintance you have made there! Lady Teaz. Nay, Sir Peter, they are all people of rank and fortune, and remarkably tenacious of reputation. Sir Pet. Yes, egad, they are tenacious of reputation with a vengeance; for they don't choose any body should have a character but themselves! Such a crew! Ah! many a wretch has rid on a hurdle who has done less mischief than these utterers of forged tales, coiners of scandal, and clippers of reputation. Lady Teaz. What, would you restrain the freedom of speech? Sir Pet. Ah! they have made you just as bad as any one of the society. Lady Teaz. Why, I believe I do bear a part with a tolerable grace. Sir Pet. Grace, indeed! Lady Teaz. But I vow I bear no malice against the people I abuse. When I say an ill-natured thing, 'tis out of pure good humour; and I take it for granted they deal exactly in the same manner with me. But, Sir Peter, you know you promised to come to Lady Sneerwell's too. Sir Pet. Well, well, I'll call in, just to look after my own character. 1 Matthews quotes Saxe's epigram, Too Candid by Half: "As Tom and his wife were discoursing one day Of their several faults, in a bantering way, Said she: ' Though my wit you disparage, I'm sure, my dear husband, our friends will attest This much, at the least, that myjudgment is best.' Quoth Tom: ' So they said at our marriage! '" 28 SCENE ii.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCAND~AL. 215 Lady Teaz. Then, indeed, you must make haste after me, or you'll be too late. So good-bye to ye. [Exit. Sir Pet. So - I have gained much by my intended expostulation! Yet with what a charming air she contradicts every thing I say, and how pleasantly she shows her contempt for my authority! Well, though I can't make her love me, there is great satisfaction in quarrelling with her; and I think she never appears to such advantage as when she is doing every thing in her power to plague me. [Exit. SCENE II.- A Room in LADY SNEERWELL'S House. LADY SNEERWELL, MRS. CANDOUR, CRABTREE, SIR BENJAMIN BACKBITE, and JOSEPH SURFACE, discovered. Lady Sneer. Nay, positively, we will hear it. Jos. Surf. Yes, yes, the epigram, by all means. Sir Ben. 0 plague on't, uncle! 'tis mere nonsense. Crab. No, no; 'fore Gad, very clever for an extempore! Sir Ben. But, ladies, you should be acquainted with the circumstance. You must know, that one day last week, as Lady Betty Curricle was taking the dust in Hyde Park,1 in a sort of duodecimo 2 phaeton, she desired me to write some verses on her ponies; upon which I took out my pocket-book, and in one moment produced the following: - Sure never were seen two such beautiful ponies; Other horses are clowns, but these macaronies: 8 To give them this title I'm sure can't be wrong, Their legs are so slim, and their tails are so long.4 1 A large park in wvestern London. 2 Very small. 3 Dandies or fops were called Macaronies in the latter part of the eighteenth century. See She Stoops to Conquer, IV., i. (page 60), and note. 4 These lines are from some earlier verses by Sheridan, an extract from which is here given: "Then I mount on my palfrey as gay as a lark - And followed by John take the dust in high Park... But sometimes when hotter I order my chaise, And manage myself my two little greys - Sure never were seen two such sweet little ponies, Other horses are clowns, these macaronies. And to give them this title I'm sure isn't wrong, Their legs are so slim and their tails are as long." 29 216 SHERIDAN. [ACT II. Crab. There, ladies, done in the smack of a whip, and on horseback too. Jos. Surf. A very Phaebus, mounted - indeed, Sir Benjamin! Sir Ben. Oh dear, sir! trifles - trifles. Enter LADY TEAZLE and MARIA. Mrs. Can. I must have a copy. Lady Sneer. Lady Teazle, I hope we shall see Sir Peter. Lady Teas. 1 believe he'll wait on your ladyship presently. Lady Sneer. Maria, my love, you look grave. Come, you shall sit down to piquet with Mr. Surface. Maria. I take very little pleasure in cards - however, I'll do as your ladyship pleases. Lady Teaz. I am surprised Mr. Surface should sit down with her; I thought he would have embraced this opportunity of speaking to me before Sir Peter came. [Aside. Mrs. Can. Now, I'll die, but you are so scandalous, I'll forswear your society. Lady Teaz. What's the matter, Mrs. Candour? Mrs. Can. They'll not allow our friend Miss Vermilion to be handsome. Lady Sneer. Oh, surely she is a pretty woman. Crab. I am very glad you think so, ma'am. Mrs. Can. She has a charming fresh colour. Lady Teaz. Yes, when it is fresh put on. Mrs. Can. Oh, fie! I'll swear her colour is natural: I have seen it come and go! Lady Teaz. I dare swear you have, ma'am: it goes off at night, and comes again in the morning. Sir Ben. True, ma'am, it not only comes and goes; but, what's more, egad, her maid can fetch and carry it! Mrs. Can. Ha! ha! ha! how I hate to hear you talk so! But surely, now, her sister is, or was, very handsome. Crab. Who? Mrs. Evergreen? 0 Lord! she's six-and-fifty if she's an hour! Mrs. Can. Now positively you wrong her; fifty-two or fiftythree is the utmost - and I don't think she looks more. 30 SCENE II.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 217 Sir Ben. Ah! there's no judging by her looks, unless one could see her face. Lady Sneer. Well, well, if Mrs. Evergreen does take some pains to repair the ravages of time, you must allow she effects it with great ingenuity; and surely that's better than the careless manner in which the widow Ochre caulks her wrinkles. Sir Ben. Nay, now, Lady Sneerwell, you are severe upon the widow. Come, come, 'tis not that she paints so ill-but, when she has finished her face, she joins it on so badly to her neck, that she looks like a mended statue, in which the connoisseur may see at once that the head is modern, though the trunk's antique. Crab. Ha! ha! ha! Well said, nephew! Mrs. Can. Ha! ha! ha! Well, you make me laugh; but I vow I hate you for it. What do you think of Miss Simper? Sir Ben. Why, she has very pretty teeth. Lady Teaz. Yes; and on that account, when she is neither speaking nor laughing (which very seldom happens), she never absolutely shuts her mouth, but leaves it always ajar, as it were - thus. [Shows her teeth. Mrs. Can. How can you be so ill-natured? Lady Teaz. Nay, I allow even that's better than the pains Mrs. Prim takes to conceal her losses in front. She draws her mouth till it positively resembles the aperture of a poor's-box, and all her words appear to slide out edgewise, as it were - thus: How do you do, madam? Yes, madam. [Miznics. Lady Sneer. Very well, Lady Teazle; I see you can be a little severe. Lady Teaz. In defence of a friend it is but justice. But here comes Sir Peter to spoil our pleasantry. Entter SIR PETER TEAZLE. Sir Pet. Ladies, your most obedient.- [Aside.] Mercy on me, here is the whole set! a character dead at every word,' I suppose. 1 " At every word a reputation dies." - POPE, Rape of the Lock, III., 16. 31 2I8 SHERIDAN. [ACT II. Mrs. Can. I am rejoiced you are come, Sir Peter. They have been so censorious-and Lady Teazle as bad as any one. Sir Pet. That must be very distressing to you, indeed, Mrs. Candour. Mrs. Can. Oh, they will allow good qualities to nobody; not even good nature to our friend Mrs. Pursy. Lady Teaz. What, the fat dowager who was at Mrs. Quadrille's last night? Mrs. Can. Nay, her bulk is her misfortune; and, when she takes so much pains to get rid of it, you ought not to reflect on her. Lady Sneer. That's very true, indeed. Lady Teaz. Yes, I know she almost lives on acids and small whey; laces herself by pulleys; and often, in the hottest noon in summer, you may see her on a little squat pony, with her hair plaited up behind like a drummer's and puffing round the Ring 1 on a full trot. Mrs. Can. I thank you, Lady Teazle, for defending her. Sir Pet. Yes, a good defence, truly. Mrs. Can. Truly, Lady Teazle is as censorious as Miss Sallow. Crab. Yes, and she is a curious being to pretend to be censorious - an awkward gawky, without any one good point under heaven. Mrs. Can. Positively you shall not be so very severe. Miss Sallow is a near relation of mine by marriage, and, as for her person, great allowance is to be made; for, let me tell you, a woman labours under many disadvantages who tries to pass for a girl at six-and-thirty. Lady Sneer. Though, surely, she is handsome still- and for the weakness in her eyes, considering how much she reads by candlelight, it is not to be wondered at. Mrs. Can. True, and then as to her manner; upon my word I think it is particularly graceful, considering she never had 1 A circular space in Hyde Park, London, often mentioned in the literature of the eighteenth century; for instance, The Rape of the Lock, the Spectator, and Cadenus and Vanessa. 32 SCENE II.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 219 the least education; for you know her mother was a Welsh milliner, and her father a sugar-baker at Bristol. Sir Ben. Ah! you are both of you too good-natured! Sir Pet. Yes, damned good-natured! This their own relation! mercy on me! [Aside. Mrs. Can. For my part, I own I cannot bear to hear a friend ill spoken of. Sir Pet. No, to be sure! Sir Ben. Oh! you are of a moral turn. Mrs. Candour and I can sit for an hour and hear Lady Stucco talk sentiment. Lady Teaz. Nay, I vow Lady Stucco is very well with the dessert after dinner; for she's just like the French fruit one cracks for mottoes - made up of paint and proverb. Mrs. Can. Well, I will never join in ridiculing a friend; and so I constantly tell my cousin Ogle, and you all know what pretensions she has to be critical on beauty. Crab. Oh, to be sure! she has herself the oddest countenance that ever was seen; 'tis a collection of features from all the different countries of the globe. SirBen. So she has, indeed- an Irish frontCrab. Caledonian1 locks - Sir Ben. Dutch noseCrab. Austrian lips — Sir Ben. Complexion of a SpaniardCrab. And teeth a la Chinoise 2 -Sir Ben. In short, her face resembles a table d'hdte8 at Spa 4 - where no two guests are of a nationCrab. Or a congress at the close of a general warwherein all the members, even to her eyes, appear to have a different interest, and her nose and chin are the only parties likely to join issue.5 Mrs. Can. Ha! ha! ha! 1 Scotch (red). 2 Chinese (black). 3 A common table for guests at a hotel. 4 A watering-place in Belgium. The word has become in English a common noun meaning mineral springs. 5 Compare Portia's description of Falconbridge, Mt. of Ven., I., ii.: "How oddly he is suited! I think he bought his doublet in Italy, his round hose in France, his bonnet in Germany, and his behaviour every where." 33 220 SHERIDAN. [ACT II. Sir Pet. Mercy on my life!- a person they dine with twice a week! [Aside. Mrs. Can. Nay, but I vow you shall not carry the laugh off so - for give me leave to say that Mrs. Ogle - Sir Pet. Madam, madam, I beg your pardon; there's no stopping these good gentlemen's tongues. But when I tell you, Mrs. Candour, that the lady they are abusing is a particular friend of mine, I hope you'll not take her part. Lady Sneer. Ha! ha! ha! well said, Sir Peter! but you are a cruel creature - too phlegmatic yourself for a jest, and too peevish to allow wit in others. Sir Pet. Ah, madam, true wit is more nearly allied to good nature than your ladyship is aware of. Lady Teaz. True, Sir Peter; I believe they are so near akin that they can never be united.' Sir Ben. Or rather, suppose them man and wife, because one seldom sees them together. Lady Teaz. But Sir Peter is such an enemy to scandal, I believe he would have it put down by parliament. Sir Pet. 'Fore heaven, madam, if they were to consider the sporting with reputation of as much importance as poaching on manors, and pass an act for the preservation of fame, as well as game, I believe many would thank them for the bill. Lady Sneer. 0 Lud! Sir Peter; would you deprive us of our privileges? Sir Pet. Ay, madam; and then no person should be permitted to kill characters and run down reputations, but qualified old maids and disappointed widows. Lady Sneer. Go, you monster! Mrs. Can. But, surely, you would not be quite so severe on those who only report what they hear? Sir Pet. Yes, madam, I would have law merchant 2 for them 1 "'Cause grace and virtue are within Prohibited degrees of kin; And therefore no true saint allows They shall be suffer'd to espouse." BUTLER, Hudibras, III., i., 1293-6. 2 Commercial law. 34 SCENE II.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 221 too; and in all cases of slander currency, whenever the drawer of the lie was not to be found, the injured parties should have a right to come on any of the indorsers. Crab. Well, for my part, I believe there never was a scandalous tale without some foundation. Lady Sneer. Come, ladies, shall we sit down to cards in the next room? Enter SERVANT, who whispers SIR PETER. Sir Pet. I'll be with them directly. - [Exit SERVANT.] I'll get away unperceived. [Aside. Lady Sneer. Sir Peter, you are not going to leave us? Sir Pet. Your ladyship must excuse me; I'm called away by particular business. But I leave my character behind me. [Exit. Sir Ben. Well- certainly, Lady Teazle, that lord of yours is a strange being: I could tell you some stories of him would make you laugh heartily if he were not your husband. Lady Teaz. Oh, pray don't mind that; come, do let's hear them. [Exeunt all but JOSEPH SURFACE and MARIA. Jos. Surf. Maria, I see you have no satisfaction in this society. Maria. How is it possible I should? If to raise malicious smiles at the infirmities or misfortunes of those who have never injured us be the province of wit or humour, Heaven grant me a double portion of dullness! Jos. Surf. Yet they appear more ill-natured than they are; they have no malice at heart. Maria. Then is their conduct still more contemptible; for, in my opinion, nothing could excuse the intemperance of their tongues but a natural and uncontrollable bitterness of mind. Jos. Surf. Undoubtedly, madam; and it has always been a sentiment of mine, that to propagate a malicious truth wantonly is more despicable than to falsify from revenge. But can you, Maria, feel thus for others, and be unkind to me alone? Is hope to be denied the tenderest passion? Maria. Why will you distress me by renewing this subject? Jos. Surf. Ah, Maria! you would not treat me thus, and 35 222 SHIERIDA N. [ACT II. oppose your guardian, Sir Peter's will, but that I see that profligate Charles is still a favoured rival. Maria. Ungenerously urged! But, whatever my sentiments are for that unfortunate young man, be assured I shall not feel more bound to give him up, because his distresses have lost him the regard even of a brother. Jos. Surf. Nay, but, Maria, do not leave me with a frown: by all that's honest, I swear- [Kneels. Re-enter LADY TEAZLE behind. [Aside.] Gad's life, here's Lady Teazle. - [Aloud to MARIA.] You must not- no, you shall not- for, though I have the greatest regard for Lady Teazle - Maria. Lady Teazle! Jos. Surf. Yet were Sir Peter to suspect - Lady Teaz. [coming forward]. What is this, pray? Does he take her for me? - Child, you are wanted in the next room. - [Exit MARIA.] What is all this, pray? Jos. Surf. Oh, the most unlucky circumstance in nature! Maria has somehow suspected the tender concern I have for your happiness, and threatened to acquaint Sir Peter with her suspicions, and I was just endeavouring to reason with her when you came in. Lady Teaz. Indeed! but you seemed to adopt a very tender mode of reasoning -do you usually argue on your knees? Jos. Surf. Oh, she's a child, and I thought a little bombast- But, Lady Teazle, when are you to give me your judgment on my library, as you promised? Lady Teaz. No, no; I begin to think it would be imprudent, and you know I admit you as a lover no farther than fashion requires. Jos. Surf. True - a mere Platonic cicisbeo,1 what every wife is entitled to. Lady Teaz. Certainly, one must not be out of the fashion. However, I have so many of my country prejudices left, that, though Sir Peter's ill humour may vex me ever so, it never shall provoke me to1 Spiritual or passionless gallant of a married woman. 36 SCENE III.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 223 Jos. Surf. The only revenge in your power. Well, I applaud your moderation. Lady Teaz. Go -you are an insinuating wretch! But we shall be missed -let us join the company. Jos. Surf. But we had best not return together. Lady Teaz. Well, don't stay; for Maria shan't come to hear any more of your reasoning, I promise you. [Exit. Jos. Surf. A curious dilemma, truly, my politics have run me into! I wanted, at first, only to ingratiate myself with Lady Teazle, that she might not be my enemy with Maria; and I have, I don't know how, become her serious lover. Sincerely I begin to wish I had never made such a point of gaining so very good a character, for it has led me into so many cursed rogueries that I doubt I shall be exposed at last. [Exit. SCENE III.- A Room in SIR PETER TEAZLE'S House. Enter SIR OLIVER SURFACE and ROWLEY. Sir Oliv. Ha! ha! ha! so my old friend is married, hey? - a young wife out of the country. Ha! ha! ha! that he should have stood bluff to old bachelor so long, and sink into a husband at last! Row. But you must not rally him on the subject, Sir Oliver; 'tis a tender point, I assure you, though he has been married only seven months. Sir Oliv. Then he has been just half a year on the stool of repentance! - Poor Peter! But you say he has entirely given up Charles- never sees him, hey? Row. His prejudice against him is astonishing, and I am sure greatly increased by a jealousy of him with Lady Teazle, which he has industriously been led into by a scandalous society in the neighbourhood, who have contributed not a little to Charles's ill name. Whereas the truth is, I believe, if the lady is partial to either of them, his brother is the favourite. Sir Oliv. Ay, I know there are a set of malicious, prating, prudent gossips, both male and female, who murder characters to kill time, and will rob a young fellow of his good name before 37 224 SHERIDAN. [ACT II. he has years to know the value of it. But I am not to be prejudiced against my nephew by such, I promise you! No, no: if Charles has done nothing false or mean, I shall compound for his extravagance. Row. Then, my life on't, you will reclaim him. Ah, sir, it gives me new life to find that your heart is not turned against him, and that the son of my good old master has one friend, however, left. Sir Oliv. What! shall I forget, Master Rowley, when I was at his years myself? Egad, my brother and I were neither of us very prudent youths; and yet, I believe, you have not seen many better men than your old master was? Row. Sir, 'tis this reflection gives me assurance that Charles may yet be a credit to his family. But here comes Sir Peter. Sir Oliv. Egad, so he does! Mercy on me! he's greatly altered, and seems to have a settled married look! One may read husband in his face at this distance! Enter SIR PETER TEAZLE. Sir Pet. Ha! Sir Oliver —my old friend! Welcome to England a thousand times! Sir Oliv. Thank you, thank you, Sir Peter! and i' faith I am glad to find you well, believe me! Sir Pet. Oh! 'tis a long time since we met- sixteen years, I doubt, Sir Oliver, and many a cross accident in the time. Sir Oliv. Ay, I have had my share. But, what! I find you are married, hey, my old boy? Well, well, it can't be helped; and so - I wish you joy with all my heart! Sir Pet. Thank you, thank you, Sir Oliver. - Yes, I have entered into -the happy state; but we'll not talk of that now. Sir Oliv. True, true, Sir Peter; old friends should not begin on grievances at first meeting. No, no, no. Row. [aside to SIR OLIVER]. Take care, pray, sir. 1 Later editions read fifteen; but compare Act I., Scene ii. (page 211). 38 SCENE II.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 225 Sir Oliv. Well, so one of my nephews is a wild rogue, hey? Sir Pet. Wild! Ah! my old friend, I grieve for your disappointment there; he's a lost young man, indeed. However, his brother will make you amends; Joseph is, indeed, what a youth should be -every body in the world speaks well of him. Sir Oliv. I am sorry to hear it; he has too good a character to be an honest fellow. Every body speaks well of him! Psha! then he has bowed as low to knaves and fools as to the honest dignity of genius and virtue. Sir Pet. What, Sir Oliver! do you blame him for not making enemies? Sir Oliv. Yes, if he has merit enough to deserve them. Sir Pet. Well, well - you'll be convinced when you know him. 'Tis edification to hear him converse; he professes the noblest sentiments. Sir Oliv. Oh, plague of his sentiments! If he salutes me with a scrap of morality in his mouth, I shall be sick directly. But, however, don't mistake me, Sir Peter; I don't mean to defend Charles's errors: but, before I form my judgment of either of them, I intend to make a trial of their hearts; and my friend Rowley and I have planned something for the purpose. Row. And Sir Peter shall own for once he has been mistaken. Sir Pet. Oh, my life on Joseph's honour! Sir Oliv. Well - come, give us a bottle of good wine, and we'll drink the lads' health, and tell you our scheme. Sir Pet. A lons,l then! Sir Oliv. And don't, Sir Peter, be so severe against your old friend's son. Odds my life! I am not sorry that he has run out of the course a little: for my part, I hate to see prudence clinging to the green suckers of youth; 'tis like ivy round a sapling, and spoils the growth of the tree. [Exeunt. 1 Let us go. 15 39 226 SHERIDAN. [ACT III. 2IA ACT III. SCENE I. - A Room in SIR PETER TEAZLE'S House. Enter SIR PETER TEAZLE, SIR OLIVER SURFACE, and ROWLEY. Sir Pet. Well, then, we will see this fellow first, and have our wine afterwards. But how is this, Master Rowley.? I don't see the jet1 of your scheme. Row. Why, sir, this Mr. Stanley, whom I was speaking of, is nearly related to them by their mother. He was once a merchant in Dublin, but has been ruined by a series of undeserved misfortunes. He has applied, by letter, since his confinement, both to Mr. Surface and Charles: from the former he has received nothing but evasive promises of future service, while Charles has done all that his extravagance has left him power to do; and he is, at this time, endeavouring to raise a sum of money, part of which, in the midst of his own distresses, I know he intends for the service of poor Stanley. Sir Oliv. Ah! he is my brother's son. Sir Pet. Well, but how is Sir Oliver personally toRow. Why, sir, I will inform Charles and his brother that Stanley has obtained permission to apply personally to his friends; and, as they have neither of them ever seen him, let Sir Oliver assume his character, and he will have a fair opportunity of judging, at least, of the benevolence of their dispositions: and believe me, sir, you will find in the youngest brother one who, in the midst of folly and dissipation, has still, as our immortal bard expresses it, - " a heart of pity, and a hand, Open as day, for melting charity." 2 Sir Pet. Psha! What signifies his having an open hand or purse either, when he has nothing left to give? Well, well, 1 Drift, aim; in old editions, jest. 2 "t He hath a tear for pity, and a hand Open as day for melting charity," II. King Henry IV., IV., iv., 31-2. 40 SCENE I.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 227 make the trial, if you please. But where is the fellow whom you brought for Sir Oliver to examine, relative to Charles's affairs? Row. Below, waiting his commands, and no one can give him better intelligence. - This, Sir Oliver, is a friendly Jew, who, to do him justice, has done every thing in his power to bring your nephew to a proper sense of his extravagance. Sir Pet. Pray let us have him in. Row. Desire Mr. Moses to walk up stairs. [Calls to SERVANT. Sir Pet. But, pray, why should you suppose he will speak the truth? Row. Oh, I have convinced him that he has no chance of recovering certain sums advanced to Charles but through the bounty of Sir Oliver, who he knows is arrived; so that you may depend on his fidelity to his own interests. I have also another evidence in my power, one Snake, whom I have detected in a matter little short of forgery, and shall shortly produce to remove some of your prejudices, Sir Peter, relative to Charles and Lady Teazle. Sir Pet. I have heard too much on that subject. Row. Here comes the honest Israelite. Enter MOSES. - This is Sir Oliver. Sir Oliv. Sir, I understand you have lately had great dealings with my nephew Charles. Moses. Yes, Sir Oliver, I have done all I could for him; but he was ruined before he came to me for assistance. Sir Oliv. That was unlucky, truly; for you have had no opportunity of showing your talents. Moses. None at all; I hadn't the pleasure of knowing his distresses till he was some thousands worse than nothing. Sir Oliv. Unfortunate, indeed! But I suppose you have done all in your power for him, honest Moses? Moses. Yes, he knows that. This very evening I was to have brought him a gentleman from the city, who does not know him, and will, I believe, advance him some money. 4I 228 SHERI(DAN.V [ACT III. Sir Pet. What, one Charles has never had money from before? Moses. Yes; Mr. Premium, of Crutched Friars,' formerly a broker. Sir Pet. Egad, Sir Oliver, a thought strikes me! Charles, you say, does not know Mr. Premium? Moses. Not at all. Sir Pet. Now then, Sir Oliver, you may have a better opportunity of satisfying yourself than by an old romancing tale of a poor relation: go with my friend Moses, and represent Premium, and then, I'll answer for it, you'll see your nephew in all his glory. Sir Oliv. Egad, I like this idea better than the other, and I may visit Joseph afterwards as old Stanley. Sir Pet. True- so you may. Row. Well, this is taking Charles rather at a disadvantage, to be sure. However, Moses, you understand Sir Peter, and will be faithful? Moses. You may depend upon me. [Looks at his watch.] This is near the time I was to have gone. Sir Oliv. I'll accompany you as soon as you please, Moses - But hold! I have forgot one thing -how the plague shall I be able to pass for a Jew? Moses. There's no need - the principal is Christian. Sir Oliv. Is he? I'm very sorry to hear it. But, then again, an't I rather too smartly dressed to look like a moneylender? Sir Pet. Not at all; 'twould not be out of character, if you went in your own carriage - would it, Moses? Moses. Not in the least. Sir Oliv. Well, but how must I talk? there's certainly some cant of usury and mode of treating that I ought to know. Sir Pet. Oh, there's not much to learn. The great point, as I take it, is to be exorbitant enough in your demands. Hey, Moses? Moses. Yes, that's a very great point. 1 A street in London. 42 SCENE I.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 229 Sir Oliv. I'll answer for't I'll not be wanting in that. I'll ask him eight or ten per cent on the loan, at least. Moses. If you ask him no more than that, you'll be discovered immediately. Sir Oliv. Hey! what, the plague! how much then? Moses. That depends upon the circumstances. If he appears not very anxious for the supply, you should require only forty or fifty per cent; but if you find him in great distress, and want the moneys very bad, you may ask double. Sir Pet. A good honest trade you're learning, Sir Oliver! Sir Oliv. Truly, I think so - and not unprofitable. Moses. Then, you know, you haven't the moneys yourself, but are forced to borrow them for him of a friend.1 Sir Oliv. Oh! I borrow it of a friend, do I? Moses. And your friend is an unconscionable dog: but you can't help that. Sir Oliv. My friend an unconscionable dog, is he? Moses. Yes; and he himself has not the moneys by him, but is forced to sell stock at a great loss. Sir Oliv. He is forced to sell stock at a great loss, is he? Well, that's very kind of him. Sir Pet. I' faith, Sir Oliver - Mr. Premium, I mean - you'll soon be master of the trade. But, Moses, would not you have him run out a little against the annuity bill? 2 That would be in character, I should think. Moses. Very much. Row. And lament that a young man now must be at years of discretion before he is suffered to ruin himself? Moses. Ay, great pity! Sir Pet. And abuse the public for allowing merit to an act whose only object is to snatch misfortune and imprudence from the rapacious gripe of usury, and give the minor a chance 1 Shylock in The Merchant of Venice (I., iii.) says he has to borrow of Tubal, and the money-lender in L 'Avare (II., i.) is himself constrained to borrow of another. 2 "In 1777... a bill was brought in and passed, providing that all contracts with minors for annuities shall be void, and that those procuring them and solicitors charging more than ten shillings per cent shall be subject to fine or imprisonment." -MATTHEWS. 43 230 SHERIDAN. [ACT III. of inheriting his estate without being undone by coming into possession. Sir Oliv. So, so - Moses shall give me farther instructions as we go together. Sir Pet. You will not have much time, for your nephew lives hard by. Sir Oliv. Oh, never fear! my tutor appears so able, that though Charles lived in the next street, it must be my own fault if I am not a complete rogue before I turn the corner. [Exit with MOSES. Sir Pet. So, now, I think Sir Oliver will be convinced: you are partial, Rowley, and would have prepared Charles for the other plot. Row. No, upon my word, Sir Peter. Sir Pet. Well, go bring me this Snake, and I'll hear what he has to say presently. I see Maria, and want to speak with her. -[Exit ROWLEY.] I should be glad to be convinced my suspicions of Lady Teazle and Charles were unjust. I have never yet opened my mind on this subject to my friend Joseph - I am determined I will do it - he will give me his opinion sincerely. Enter MARIA. So, child, has Mr. Surface returned with you? Maria. No, sir; he was engaged. Sir Pet. Well, Maria, do you not reflect, the more you converse with that amiable young man, what return his partiality for you deserves? Maria. Indeed, Sir Peter, your frequent importunity on this subject distresses me extremely- you compel me to declare that I know no man who has ever paid me a particular attention whom I would not prefer to Mr. Surface. Sir Pet. So-here's perverseness! No, no, Maria, 'tis Charles only whom you would prefer. 'Tis evident his vices and follies have won your heart. Maria. This is unkind, sir. You know I have obeyed you in neither seeing nor corresponding with him: I have heard enough to convince me that he is unworthy my regard. Yet I cannot think it culpable, if, while my understanding severely 44 SCENE i.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 231 condemns his vices, my heart suggests some pity for his distresses. Sir Pet. Well, well, pity him as much as you please; but give your heart and hand to a worthier object. Maria. Never to his brother! Sir Pet. Go, perverse and obstinate! But take care, madam; you have never yet known what the authority of a guardian is: don't compel me to inform you of it. Maria. I can only say, you shall not have just reason. 'Tis true, by my father's will, I am for a short period bound to regard you as his substitute; but must cease to think you so, when you would compel me to be miserable. [Exit. Sir Pet. Was ever man so crossed as I am? every thing conspiring to fret me! I had not been involved in matrimony a fortnight, before her father, a hale and hearty man, died, on purpose, I believe, for the pleasure of plaguing me with the care of his daughter. [Lady Teazle sings without.] But here comes my helpmate! " She appears in great good humour. How happy I should be if I could tease her into loving me, though but a little! Enter LADY TEAZLE. Lady Teaz. Lud! Sir Peter, I hope you haven't been quarrelling with Maria? It is not using me well to be illhumoured when I am not by. Sir Pet. Ah, Lady Teazle, you might have the power to make me good-humoured at all times. Lady Teaz. I am sure I wish I had; for I want you to be in a charming sweet temper at this moment. Do be goodhumoured now, and let me have two hundred pounds, will you? Sir Pet. Two hundred pounds! What, an't I to be in a good humour without paying for it? But speak to me thus, and i' faith there's nothing I could refuse you. You shall have it; but seal me a bond for the repayment.1 Lady Teaz. Oh, no -there - my note of hand will do as well. [Offering her hand. 1 In the old editions the stage directions indicate that Sir Peter pulls out his pocket-book, gives her the money, and is about to kiss her. 45 232 SHERIDAN. [ACT III. Sir Pet. And you shall no longer reproach me with not giving you an independent settlement. I mean shortly to surprise you: but shall we always live thus, hey? Lady Teaz. If you please. I'm sure I don't care how soon we leave off quarrelling, provided you'll own you were tired first. Sir Pet. Well - then let our future contest be, who shall be most obliging. Lady Teaz. I assure you, Sir Peter, good nature becomes you. You look now as you did before we were married, when you used to walk with me under the elms, and tell me stories of what a gallant you were in your youth, and chuck me under the chin, you would; and ask me if I thought I could love an old fellow, who would deny me nothing -didn't you? Sir Pet. Yes, yes, and you were as kind and attentive - Lady Teaz. Ay, so I was, and would always take your part, when my acquaintance used to abuse you, and turn you into ridicule. Sir Pet. Indeed! Lady Teaz. Ay, and when my cousin Sophy has called you a stiff, peevish old bachelor, and laughed at me for thinking of marrying one who might be my father, I have always defended you, and said I didn't think you so ugly by any means. Sir Pet. Thank you. Lady Teaz. And I dared say you'd make a very good sort of a husband. Sir Pet. And you prophesied right; and we shall now be the happiest couple - Lady Teaz. And never differ again? Sir Pet. No, never! - though at the same time, indeed, my dear Lady Teazle, you must watch your temper very seriously; for in all our little quarrels, my dear, if you recollect, my love, you always began first. Lady Teaz. I beg your pardon, my dear Sir Peter: indeed, you always gave the provocation. Sir Pet. Now see, my angel! take care -contradicting isn't the way to keep friends. Lady Teaz. Then don't you begin it, my love! Sir Pet. There, now! you - you are going on. You don't 46 SCENE I.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 233 perceive, my life, that you are just doing the very thing which you know always makes me angry. Lady Teaz. Nay, you know if you will be angry without any reason, my dear — Sir Pet. There! now you want to quarrel again. Lady Teaz. No, I'm sure I don't; but if you will be so peevish - Sir Pet. There now! who begins first? Lady Teaz. Why, you, to be sure. I said nothing —but there's no bearing your temper. Sir Pet. No, no, madam; the fault's in your own temper. Lady Teaz. Ay, you are just what my cousin Sophy said you would be. Sir Pet. Your cousin Sophy is a forward, impertinent gipsy. Lady Teaz. You are a great bear, I'm sure, to abuse my relations. Sir Pet. Now may all the plagues of marriage be doubled on me, if ever I try to be friends with you any more! Lady Teaz. So much the better. Sir Pet. No, no, madam; 'tis evident you never cared a pin for me, and I was a madman to marry you —a pert, rural coquette, that had refused half the honest squires in the neighbourhood. Lady Teaz. And I am sure I was a fool to marry you -an old dangling bachelor, who was single at fifty, only because he never could meet with any one who would have him. Sir Pet. Ay, ay, madam; but you were pleased enough to listen to me: you never had such an offer before. Lady Teaz. No! didn't I refuse Sir Tivy Terrier, who every body said would have been a better match? for his estate is just as good as yours, and he has broke his neck since we have been married. Sir Pet. I have done with you, madam! You are an unfeeling, ungrateful - but there's an end of every thing. I believe you capable of every thing that is bad. Yes, madam, I now believe the reports relative to you and Charles, madam. Yes, madam, you and Charles. are, not without groundsLady Teaz. Take care, Sir Peter! you had better not in47 234 SHERIDAN. [ACT Im. sinuate any such thing! I'll not be suspected without cause, I promise you. Sir Pet. Very well, madam! very well! A separate maintenance as soon as you please. Yes, madam, or a divorce! I'll make an example of myself for the benefit of all old bachelors. Let us separate, madam. Lady Teaz. Agreed! agreed! And now, my dear Sir Peter, we are of a mind once more, we may be the happiest couple, and never differ again, you know; ha! ha! ha! Well, you are going to be in a passion, I see, and I shall only interrupt youso, bye, bye! LExit. Sir Pet. Plagues and tortures! can't I make her angry either? Oh, I am the most miserable fellow! But I'll not bear her presuming to keep her temper: no! she may break my heart, but she shan't keep her temper. [Exit. SCENE II. - A Room in CHARLES SURFACE'S House. Enter TRIP, MOSES, and SIR OLIVER SURFACE. Trip. Here, Master Moses! if you'll stay a moment, I'll try whether -what's the gentleman's name? Sir Oliv. Mr. Moses, what is my name? [Aside to MosES. Moses. Mr. Premium. Trip. Premium -very well. [Exit, taking snuff. Sir Oliv. To judge by the servants, one wouldn't believe the master was ruined. But what! - sure,'this was my brother's house? Moses. Yes, sir; Mr. Charles bought it of Mr. Joseph, with the furniture, pictures, &c., just as the old gentleman left it. Sir Peter thought it a piece of extravagance in him. Sir Oliv. In my mind, the other's economy in selling it to him was more reprehensible by half. Re-enter TRIP. Tripf. My master says you must wait, gentlemen: he has company, and can't speak with you yet. Sir Oliv. If he knew who it was wanted to see him, perhaps he would not send such a message? 48 SCENE ii.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 235 Trip. Yes, yes, sir; he knows you are here -I did not forget little Premium; no, no, no. Sir Oliv. Very well; and I pray, sir, what may be your name? Trip. Trip, sir; my name is Trip, at your service. Sir Oliv. Well, then, Mr. Trip, you have a pleasant sort of place here, I guess? Trip. Why, yes - here are three or four of us pass our time agreeably enough; but then our wages are sometimes a little in arrear - and not very great either - but fifty pounds a year, and find our own bags 1 and bouquets. Sir Oliv. Bags and bouquets! halters and bastinadoes! [Aside. Trzi. And d propos,2 Moses, have you been able to get me that little bill discounted? Sir Oliv. Wants to raise money too! - mercy on me! Has his distresses too, I warrant, like a lord, and affects creditors and duns. [Aside. Moses. 'Twas not to be done, indeed, Mr. Trip. Trip. Good lack, you surprise me! My friend Brush has indorsed it, and I thought when he put his name at the back of a bill 'twas the same as cash. Moses. No, 'twouldn't do. Trip. A small sum - but twenty pounds. Hark'ee, Moses, do you think you couldn't get it me by way of annuity? Sir Oliv. An annuity! ha! ha! a footman raise money by way of annuity! Well done, luxury, egad! [Aside. Moses. Well, but you must insure your place. Trip. Oh, with all my heart! I'll insure my place, and my life too, if you please. Sir Oliv. It's more than I would your neck. [Aside. Moses. But is there nothing you could deposit? Trip. Why, nothing capital of my master's wardrobe has dropped lately; but I could give you a mortgage on some of his winter clothes, with equity of redemption before November- or you shall have the reversion of the French velvet, or a post-obit 1 For the hair. 2 By the way. 8 A bond payable upon the death of a certain person from whom the obligor has expectations. 49 236 SHERIDAN. [ACT I II. on the blue and silver; -these, I should think, Moses, with a few pair of point ruffles, as a collateral security - hey, my little fellow? Moses. Well, well. [Bell rings. Trip. Egad, I heard the bell! I believe, gentlemen, I can now introduce you. Don't forget the annuity, little Moses! This way, gentlemen. I'll insure my place, you know..Sir Oliv. [aside]. If the man be a shadow of the master, this is the temple of dissipation indeed! [Exeunt. SCENE III. -Another Room in the same. CHARLES SURFACE, SIR HARRY BUMPER, CARELESS, and GENTLEMEN, discovered drinking. Chas. Surf 'Fore heaven, 'tis true! there's the great degeneracy of the age. Many of our acquaintance have taste, spirit, and politeness; but, plague on't, they won't drink. Care. It is so, indeed, Charles! they give into all the substantial luxuries of the table, and abstain from nothing but wine and wit. Oh, certainly society suffers by it intolerably! for now, instead of the social spirit of raillery that used to mantle over a glass of bright Burgundy, their conversation is become just like the Spa-water they drink, which has all the pertness and flatulency of champagne, without its spirit or flavour. First Gent. But what are they to do who love play better than wine? Care. True! there's Sir Harry diets himself for gaming, and is now under a hazard regimen. Chas. Surf. Then he'll have the worst of it. What! you wouldn't train a horse for the course by keeping him from corn? For my part, egad, I am never so successful as when I am a little merry: let me throw on a bottle of champagne, and I never lose. All. Hey, what? Chas. Surf. At least I never feel my losses, which is exactly the same thing. Second Gent. Ay, that I believe. 50 SCENE III.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 237 Chas. Surf. And then, what man can pretend to be a believer in love, who is an abjurer of wine? 'Tis the test by which the lover knows his own heart. Fill a dozen bumpers to a dozen beauties, and she that floats at the top is the maid that has bewitched you. Care. Now then, Charles, be honest, and give us your real favourite. Chas. Surf. Why, I have withheld her only in compassion to you. If I toast her, you must give a round of her peers, which is impossible - on earth. Care. Oh! then we'll find some canonised vestals or heathen goddesses that will do, I warrant! Chas. Surf. Here then, bumpers, you rogues! bumpers! Maria! Maria! Sir Har. Maria who? Chas. Surf. Oh, damn the surname! -'tis too formal to be registered in Love's calendar - Maria! All. Maria! Chas. Surf. But now, Sir Harry, beware, we must have beauty superlative. Care. Nay, never study,' Sir Harry: we'll stand to the toast, though your mistress should want an eye, and you know you have a song will excuse you. Sir Har. Egad, so I have! and I'll give him the song instead of the lady. [Sings. Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen; Here's to the widow of fifty; Here's to the flaunting extravagant quean; And here's to the housewife that's thrifty. Chorus. Let the toast pass, - drink to the lass, I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass. Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize; Now to the maid who has none, sir: Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes; And here's to the nymph with but one, sir. Chorus. Let the toast pass, &c. 1 Don't hesitate, never fear. 5x 238 SHERIDAN. [ACT III. Here's to the maid with a bosom of snow; Now to her that's as brown as a berry: Here's to the wife with a face full of woe; And now to the damsel that's merry. Chorus. Let the toast pass, &c. For let 'em be clumsy, or let 'em be slim, Young or ancient, I care not a feather; So fill a pint bumper quite up to the brim,1 And let us e'en toast them together. Chorus. Let the toast pass, &c.2 All. Bravo! bravo! Enter TRIP, and whispers CHARLES SURFACE. Chas. Surf. Gentlemen, you must excuse me a little. - Careless, take the chair, will you? Care. Nay, pr'ythee, Charles, what now? This is one of your peerless beauties, I suppose, has dropped in by chance? Chas. Surf. No, faith! To tell you the truth, 'tis a Jew and a broker, who are come by appointment. Care. Oh, damn it! let's have the Jew in. First Gent. Ay, and the broker too, by all means. Second Gent. Yes, yes, the Jew and the broker. Chas. Surf. Egad, with all my heart! - Trip, bid the gentlemen walk in. - [Exit TRIP.] Though there's one of them a stranger, I can tell you. Care. Charles, let us give them some generous Burgundy, and perhaps they'll grow conscientious. Chas. Surf. Oh, hang 'em, no! wine does but draw forth a man's natural qualities; 3 and to make them drink would only be to whet their knavery. 1 Some later editions insert an extra line after the third: " So fill up your glasses, nay, fill to the brim." 2 This song seems to have been suggested by a drinking song in Suckling's Goblins (III., i.), although the resemblance is very slight: "A health to the nut-brown lass, With the hazel eyes: let it pass," etc. 3 Compare the proverb, " In vino veritas," and Horace's "Aperit pra. cordia Liber." (Sat., I., iv., 89). 52 SCENE III.] THE SCHIOOL FOR SCANDAL. 239 Re-enter TRIP, with SIR OLIVER SURFACE 1 and MOSES. Chas. Surf So, honest Moses; walk in, pray, Mr. Premium -that's the gentleman's name, isn't it, Moses? Moses. Yes, sir. Chas. Surf. Set chairs, Trip. - Sit down, Mr. Premium. - Glasses, Trip. -[TRIP gives chairs andglasses, and exit. ] Sit down, Moses. - Come, Mr. Premium, I'll give you a sentiment; here's Success to usury! - Moses, fill the gentleman a bumper. Moses. Success to usury! [Drinks. Care. Right, Moses -usury is prudence and industry, and deserves to succeed. Sir Oliv. Then here's- All the success it deserves! [Drinks. Care. No, no, that won't do! Mr. Premium, you have demurred at the toast, and must drink it in a pint bumper. First Gent. A pint bumper, at least. Moses. Oh, pray, sir, consider-Mr. Premium's a gentleman. Care. And therefore loves good wine. Second Gent. Give Moses a quart glass - this is mutiny, and a high contempt for the chair. Care. Here, now for't! I'll see justice done, to the last drop of my bottle. Sir Oliv. Nay, pray, gentlemen —I did not expect this usage. Chas. Surf. No, hang it, you shan't; Mr. Premium's a stranger. Sir Oliv. Odd! I wish I was well out of their company. [A side. Care. Plague on 'em then! if they won't drink, we'll not sit down with them. Come, Harry, the dice are in the next room. - Charles, you'll join us when you have finished your business with the gentlemen? Chas. Surf. I will! I will! - [Exeunt SIR HARRY BUMPER and GENTLEMEN; CARELESS following.] Careless! 1 The return of Sir Oliver resembles that of Warner in Mrs. Sheridan's Sidney Biddzilh - a hackneyed incident, however. See note, page 265. 53 240 SHERIDAN. [ACT III. Care. [returnitng]. Well! Chas. Surf. Perhaps I may want you. Care. Oh, you know I am always ready: word, note, or bond, 'tis all the same to me. [Exit. Moses. Sir, this is Mr. Premium, a gentleman of the strictest honour and secrecy; and always performs what he undertakes. Mr. Premium, this isChas. Surf. Psha! have done. Sir, my friend Moses is a very honest fellow, but a little slow at expression: he'll be an hour giving us our titles. Mr. Premium, thd plain state of the matter is this: I am an extravagant young fellow who wants to borrow money; you I take to be a prudent old fellow who has got money to lend.l I am blockhead enough to give fifty per cent sooner than not have it; and you, I presume, are rogue enough to take a hundred if you can get it. Now, sir, you see we are acquainted at once, and may proceed to business without farther ceremony. Sir Oliv. Exceeding frank, upon my word. I see, sir, you are not a man of many compliments. Chas. Surf. Oh, no, sir! plain dealing in business I always think best. Sir Oliv. Sir, I like you the better for it. However, you are mistaken in one thing; I have no money to lend, but I believe I could procure some of a friend; but then he's an unconscionable dog - isn't he, Moses? Moses. But you can't help that. Sir Oliv. And must sell stock to accommodate youmustn't he, Moses? Moses. Yes, indeed! You know I always speak the truth, and scorn to tell a lie! Chas. Surf. Right. People that speak truth generally do. But these are trifles, Mr. Premium. What! I know money isn't to be bought without paying for't! 1 "' He has been tempted by an antithesis into an inversion of phrase by no means idiomatic. ' The plain state of the matter is this - I am an extravagant young fellow who want money to borrow; you, I take to be a prudent old fellow who have got money to lend.' In the Collection of his works this phrase is given differently - but without authority from any of the manuscript copies." MOORE, V. 54 SCENE II.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 241 Sir Oliv. Well, but what security could you give? You have no land, I suppose? Chas. Surf. Not a mole-hill, nor a twig, but what's in the bough-pots out of the window! Sir Oliv.. Nor any stock, I presume? Chas. Surf. Nothing but live stock - and that's only a few pointers and ponies. But pray, Mr. Premium, are you acquainted at all with any of my connections? Sir Oliv. Why, to say truth, I am. Chas. Surf. Then you must know that I have a devilish rich uncle in the East Indies, Sir Oliver Surface, from whom I have the greatest expectations? Sir Oliv. That you have a wealthy uncle, I have heard; but how your expectations will turn out is more, I believe, than you can tell. Chas. Surf. Oh, no! -there can be no doubt. They tell me I'm a prodigious favourite, and that he talks of leaving me every thing. Sir Oliv. Indeed! this is the first I've heard of it. Chas. Surf. Yes, yes, 'tis just so. Moses knows 'tis true; don't you, Moses? Moses. Oh, yes! I'll swear to't. Sir Oliv. Egad, they'll persuade me presently I'm at, Bengal. [Aside. Chas. Surf Now I propose, Mr. Premium, if it's agreeable to you, a post-obit on Sir Oliver's life: though at the same time the old fellow has been so liberal to me, that I give you my word, I should be very sorry to hear that any thing had happened to him. Sir Oliv. Not more than I should, I assure you. But the bond you mention happens to be just the worst security you could offer me —for I might live to a hundred and never see the principal. Chas. Surf. Oh, yes, you would! the moment Sir Oliver dies, you know, you would come on me for the money. Sir Oliv. Then I believe I should be the most unwelcome dun you ever had in your life. Chas. Surf What! I suppose you're afraid that Sir Oliver is too good a life? i6 55 242 SHERIDAN. [ACT III. Sir Oliv. No, indeed I am not: though I have heard he is as hale and healthy as any man of his years in Christendom. Chas. Surf. There again, now, you are misinformed. No, no, the climate has hurt him considerably, poor uncle Oliver. Yes, yes, he breaks apace, I'm told -and is so much altered lately that his nearest relations would not know him. Sir Oliv. No! Ha! ha! ha! so much altered lately that his nearest relations would not know him! Ha! ha! ha! egad-ha! ha! ha! Chas. Surf. Ha! ha! - you're glad to hear that, little Premium? Sir Oliv. No, no, I'm not. Chas. Surf. Yes, yes, you are -ha! ha! ha! -you know that mends your chance. Sir Oliv. But I'm told Sir Oliver is coming over; nay, some say he is actually arrived. Chas. Surf. Psha! sure I must know better than you whether he's come or not. No, no; rely on't he's at this moment at Calcutta- isn't he, Moses? Moses. Oh yes, certainly. Sir Oliv. Very true, as you say, you must know better than I, though I have it from pretty good authority -haven't I, Moses? Moses. Yes, most undoubted! Sir Oliv. But, sir, as I understand you want a few hundreds immediately, is there nothing you could dispose of? Chas. Surf. How do you mean? Sir Oliv. For instance, now, I have heard that your father left behind him a great quantity of massy old plate. Chas. Surf. O Lud! that's gone long ago. Moses can tell you how better than I can. Sir Oliv. [aside]. Good lack! all the family race-cups and corporation-bowls! - [Aloud.] Then it was also supposed that his library was one of the most valuable and compact. Chas. Szuf. Yes, yes, so it was -vastly too much so for a private gentleman. For my part, I was always of a communicative disposition, so I thought it a shame to keep so much knowledge to myself. Sir Oliv. [aside]. Mercy upon me! learning that had run 56 SCENE II.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 243 in the family like an heir-loom!-[Aloud.] Pray, what are become of the books? Chas. Surf: You must inquire of the auctioneer, Master Premium, for I don't believe even Moses can direct you. Moses. I know nothing of books. Sir Oliv. So, so, nothing of the family property left, I suppose? Chas. Surf. Not much, indeed; unless you have a mind to the family pictures. I have got a room full of ancestors above; and if you have a taste for old paintings, egad, you shall have 'em a bargain. Sir Oliv. Hey! what the devil! sure, you wouldn't sell your forefathers, would you? Chas. Surf. Every man of them, to the best bidder. Sir Oliv. What! your great-uncles and aunts? Chas. Surf. Ay, and my great-grandfathers and grandmothers too. Sir Oliv. [aside]. Now I give him up! - [Aloud.] What the plague, have you no bowels for your own kindred? Odd's life! do you take me for Shylock in the play,' that you would raise money of me on your own flesh and blood? Chas. Surf. Nay, my little broker, don't be angry: what need you care, if you have your money's worth? Sir Oliv. Well, I'll be the purchaser: I think I can dispose of the family canvas. - [Aside.] Oh, I'll never forgive him this! never! Re-enter CARELESS. Care. Come, Charles, what keeps you? Chas. Surf. I can't come yet. I'faith, we are going to have a sale above stairs; here's little Premium will buy all my ancestors! Care. Oh, burn your ancestors! Chas. Surf. No, he may do that afterwards, if he pleases. Stay, Careless, we want you: egad, you shall be auctioneerso come along with us. 1 Shylock in The Merchant of Venice lends Antonio money on condition that Antonio shall give him a pound of his flesh in case he fails to pay the debt within a specified time. 57 244 SHERIDAN. [ACT IV. Care. Oh, have with you,1 if that's the case. I can handle a hammer as well as a dice-box! Going! going! Sir Oliv. Oh, the profligates! [Aside. Chas. Surf. Come, Moses, you shall be appraiser, if we want one.. Gad's life, little Premium, you don't seem to like the business? Sir Oliv. Oh, yes, I do, vastly! Ha! ha! ha! yes, yes, I think it a rare joke to sell one's family by auction - ha! ha! - [Aside.] Oh, the prodigal! Chas. Surf. To be sure! when a man wants money, where the plague should he get assistance, if he can't make free with his own relations? [Exeunt. Sir Oliv. I'll never forgive him; never! never! ACT IV. SCENE I.- A Picture Room in CHARLES SURFACE'S House. Enter CHARLES SURFACE, SIR OLIVER SURFACE, MOSES, and CARELESS. Chas. Surf. Walk in, gentlemen; pray walk in; - here they A are, the family of the Surfaces, up to the Conquest. 2 Sir Oliv. And, in my opinion, a goodly collection. Chas. Surf. Ay, ay, these are done in the true spirit of portrait-painting; no volontiere grace 8 or expression. Not like the works of your modern Raphaels 4 who give you the strongest resemblance, yet contrive to make your portrait independent of you; so that you may sink the original and not hurt the picture. No, no; the merit of these is the inveterate likeness - all stiff and awkward as the originals, and like nothing in human nature besides. 1 I'll go with you. 2 The Norman Conquest of England by William the Conqueror in o166. 8 For volontaire grace, which is still not good French. He means gratuitons effect. 4 The great Italian painter Raphael lived from 1483 to 1520. 58 SCENE I.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 245 Sir Oliv. Ah! we shall never see such figures of men again. Chas. Surf. I hope not. Well, you see, Master Premium, what a domestic character I am; here I sit of an evening surrounded by my family. But come, get to your pulpit, Mr. Auctioneer; here's an old gouty chair of my grandfather's will answer the purpose. Care. Ay, ay, this will do. But, Charles, I haven't a hammer; and what's an auctioneer without his hammer? Chas. Surf Egad, that's true. What parchment have we here? Oh, our genealogy in full. [Taking pedigree down.] Here, Careless, you shall have no common bit of mahogany; here's the family tree for you, you rogue! This shall be your hammer, and now you may knock down my ancestors with their own pedigree. Sir Oliv. What an unnatural rogue! - an ex post facto parricide! 1 [Aside. Care. Yes, yes, here's a list of your generation indeed;faith, Charles, this is the most convenient thing you could have found for the business, for 'twill not only serve as a hammer, but a catalogue into the bargain. Come, begin - A-going, a-going, a-going! Chas. Surf. Bravo, Careless! Well, here's my great uncle, Sir Richard Raveline, a marvellous good general in his day, I assure you. He served in all the Duke of Marlborough's wars, and got that cut over his eye at the battle of Malplaquet.2 What say you, Mr. Premium? look at him -there's a hero! not cut out of his feathers, as your modern clipped captains are, but enveloped in wig and regimentals, as a general should be. What do you bid? Sir Oliv. [aside to MOSES]. Bid him speak. Moses. Mr. Premium would have you speak. Chas. Surf. Why, then, he shall have him for ten pounds, and I'm sure that's not dear for a staff-officer. Sir Oliv. [aside]. Heaven deliver me! his famous uncle 1 A murderer of one's dead ancestors. Ex post facto or ex postfacto, from what is done afterwards, retrospective. An ex post facto law punishes for an offense committed before the law was passed. 2 Won by Marlborough and Prince Eugene against the French in 1709. 59 246 SHERIDAN. [ACT IV. Richard for ten pounds! - [Aloud.] Very well, sir, I take him at that. Chas. Surf. Careless, knock down my uncle Richard.Here, now, is a maiden sister of his, my great-aunt Deborah, done by Kneller in his best manner, and esteemed a very formidable likeness. There she is, you see, a shepherdess feeding her flock.2 You shall have her for five pounds ten the sheep are worth the money. Sir Oliv. [aside]. Ah! poor Deborah! a woman who set such a value on herself! - [Aloud. Five pounds ten -she's mine. Chas. Surf. Knock down my aunt Deborah! - Here, now, are two that were a sort of cousins of theirs. - You see, Moses, these pictures were done some time ago, when beaux wore wigs, and the ladies their own hair. Sir Oliv. Yes, truly, head-dresses appear to have been a little lower in those days.3 Chas. Surf. Well, take that couple for the same. Moses. 'Tis a good bargain. Chas. Surf. Careless! - This, now, is a grandfather of my mother's, a learned judge, well known on the western circuit.What do you rate him at, Moses? Moses. Four guineas. Chas. Surf. Four guineas! Gad's life, you don't bid me the price of his wig. - Mr. Premium, you have more respect for the woolsack;4 do let us knock his lordship down at fifteen. Sir Oliv. By all means. Care. Gone! Chas. Surf. And there are two brothers of his, William and Walter Blunt, Esquires, both members of parliament, and noted speakers; and, what's very extraordinary, I believe, this is the first time they were ever bought or sold. 1 A German portrait-painter resident the greater part of his life in England. 2 In Dr. Primrose's historical family piece " Sophia was to be a shepherdess, with as many sheep as the painter could put in for nothing." (Vicar of Wakefield, XVI.) 8 For descriptions and illustrations of the enormous head-dresses of the period see Wright's Caricature History, VII. 4 The seat of the Lord Chancellor as presiding officer of the House of Lords. 60 SCENE I.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 247 Sir Oliv. That is very extraordinary, indeed! I'll take them at your own price, for the honour of parliament. Care. Well said, little Premium! I'll knock them down at forty. Chas. Surf. Here's a jolly fellow - I don't know what relation, but he was mayor of Norwich:l take him at eight pounds. Sir Oliv. No, no; six will do for the mayor. Chas. Surf. Come, make it guineas, and I'll throw you the two aldermen there into the bargain. Sir Oliv. They're mine. Chas. Surf. Careless, knock down the mayor and aldermen. But, plague on't! we shall be all day retailing in this manner; do let us deal wholesale: what say you, little Premium? Give me three hundred pounds for the rest of the family in the lump. Care. Ay, ay, that will be the best way. Sir Oliv. Well, well; any thing to accommodate you; they are mine. But there is one portrait which you have always passed over. Care. What, that ill-looking little fellow over the settee? Sir Oliv. Yes, sir, I mean that; though I don't think him so ill-looking a little fellow, by any means. Chas. Surf. What, that? Oh; that's my uncle Oliver! 'twas done before he went to India. Care. Your uncle Oliver! Gad, then you'll never be friends, Charles. That, now, to me, is as stern a looking rogue as ever I saw; an unforgiving eye, and a damned disinheriting countenance! an inveterate knave, depend on't. Don't you think so, little Premium? Sir Oliv. Upon my soul, sir, I do not; I think it is as honest a looking face as any in the room, dead or alive. But I suppose uncle Oliver goes with the rest of the lumber? Chas. Surf. No, hang it! I'll not part with poor Noll. The old fellow has been very good to me, and, egad, I'll keep his picture while I've a room to put it in. Sir Oliv. [aside]. The rogue's my nephew after all!1 In Norfolk, England. 6z 248 SHERIDAN. [ACT IV. [Aloud.] But, sir, I have somehow taken a fancy to that picture. Chas. Surf. I'm sorry for't, for you certainly will not have it. Oons, haven't you got enough of them? -Sir Oliv. [aside]. I forgive him every thing! - [Aloud.] But, sir, when I take a whim in my head, I don't value money. I'll give you as much for that as for all the rest. Chas. Surf. Don't tease me, master broker; I tell you I'll not part with it, and there's an end of it. Sir Oliv. [aside]. How like his father the dog is! - [Aloud.] Well, well, I have done. -[Aside.] I did not perceive it before, but I think I never saw such a striking resemblance. - [Aloud.] Here is a draught for your sum. Chas. Surf. Why, 'tis for eight hundred pounds! Sir Oliv. You will not let Sir Oliver go? Chas. Surf. Zounds! no! I tell you once more. Sir Oliv. Then never mind the difference; we'll balance that another time. But give me your hand on the bargain; you are an honest fellow, Charles - I beg pardon, sir, for being so free. - Come, Moses. Chas. Surf. Egad, this is a whimsical old fellow! - But hark'ee, Premium, you'll prepare lodgings for these gentlemen? Sir Oliv. Yes, yes, I'll send for them in a day or two. Chas. Suff. But hold;- do now send a genteel conveyance for them, for, I assure you, they were most of them used to ride in their own carriages. Sir Oliv. I will, I will - for all but Oliver. Chas. Surf. Ay, all but the little nabob. Sir Oliv. You're fixed on that? Chas. Surf. Peremptorily. Sir Oliv. [aside]. A dear extravagant rogue! [Aloud.] Good day!- Come, Moses. - [Aside.] Let me hear now who dares call him profligate!1 [Exit with MosEs. 1 "The scene in which Charles sells all the old family pictures but his uncle's, who is the purchaser in disguise, and that of the discovery of Lady Teazle when the screen falls, are among the happiest and most highly wrought that comedy, in its wide and brilliant range, can boast." HAZLITT, English Comic Writers, VIII. 62 SCENE I.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 249 Care. Why, this is the oddest genius of the sort I ever met with. Chas. Surf. Egad, he's the prince of brokers, I think. I wonder how the devil Moses got acquainted with so honest a fellow. - Ha! here's Rowley. — Do, Careless, say I'll join the company in a few moments. Care. I will —but don't let that old blockhead persuade you to squander any of that money on old musty debts, or any such nonsense; for tradesmen, Charles, are the most exorbitant fellows. Chas. Surf. Very true, and paying them is only encouraging them. Care. Nothing else. Chas. Surf. Ay, ay, never fear. - [Exit CARELESS.] So! this was an odd old fellow, indeed. Let me see; two-thirds of this, five hundred and thirty odd pounds, are mine by right. 'Fore heaven! I find one's ancestors are more valuable relations than I took them for! - Ladies and gentlemen, your most obedient and very grateful servant. [Bows ceremoniously to the lpictures. Enter ROWLEY. Ha! old Rowley I egad, you are just come in time to take leave of your old acquaintance. Row. Yes, I heard they were a-going. But I wonder you can have such spirits under so many distresses. Chas. Surf. Why, there's the point! my distresses are so many, that I can't afford to part with my spirits; but I shall be rich and splenetic, all in good time. However, I suppose you are surprised that I am not more sorrowful at parting with so many near relations; to be sure, 'tis very affecting; but you see they never move a muscle, so why should I? Row. There's no making you serious a moment. Chas. Surf. Yes, faith, I am so now. Here, my honest Rowley, here, get me this changed directly, and take a hundred pounds of it immediately to old Stanley. Row. A hundred pounds! Consider onlyChas. Surf. Gad's life, don't talk about it! poor Stanley's 63 250 SHERIDA N. [ACT IV. wants are pressing, and, if you don't make haste, we shall have some one call that has a better right to the money. Row. Ah! there's the point! I never will cease dunning you with the old proverb - Chas. Surf. Be just before you're generous. - Why, so I would if I could; but Justice is an old, hobbling beldame, and I can't get her to keep pace with Generosity, for the soul of me. Row. Yet, Charles, believe me, one hour's reflection Chas. Surf. Ay, ay, it's very true; but, hark'ee, Rowley, while I have, by heaven I'll give; so, damn your economy! and now for hazard.1 [Exeunt. SCENE II. Another Room in the same. Enter SIR OLIVER SURFACE and MOSES. Moses. Well, sir, I think, as Sir Peter said, you have seen Mr. Charles in high glory; 'tis great pity he's so extravagant. Sir Oliv. True, but he would not sell my picture. Moses. And loves wine and women so much. Sir Oliv. But he would not sell my picture. Moses. And games so deep. Sir Oliv. But he would not sell my picture. Oh, here's Rowley. Enter ROWLEY. Row. So, Sir Oliver, I find you have made a purchaseSir Oliv. Yes, yes, our young rake has parted with his ancestors like old tapestry. Row. And here has he commissioned me to re-deliver you part of the purchase-money - I mean, though, in your necessitous character of old Stanley. Moses. Ah! there is the pity of all; he is so damned charitable. Row. And I left a hosier and two tailors in the hall, who, I'm sure, won't be paid, and this hundred would satisfy them. Sir Oliv. Well, well, I'll pay his debts, and his benevolence 1 Gaming. See Moses' third speech following. 64 SCENE III.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 251 too. But now I am no more a broker, and you shall introduce me to the elder brother as old Stanley. Rlow. Not yet awhile; Sir Peter, I know, means to call there about this time. Enter TRIP. Tript. Oh, gentlemen, I beg pardon for not showing you out; this way. - Moses, a word. [Exit with MOSES. Sir Oliv. There's a fellow for you! Would you believe it, that puppy intercepted the Jew on our coming, and wanted to raise money before he got to his master! Row. Indeed! Sir Oliv. Yes, they are now planning an annuity business. Ah, Master Rowley, in my days servants were content with the follies of their masters, when they were worn a little threadbare; but now they have their vices, like their birthday clothes, with the gloss on. [Exeunt. SCENE III. -A Library in JOSEPH SURFACE'S House. Enter JOSEPH SURFACE and SERVANT. Jos. Surf. No letter from Lady Teazle? Servant. No, sir. Jos. Surf. [aside]. I am surprised she has not sent, if she is prevented from coming. Sir Peter certainly does not suspect me. Yet I wish I may not lose the heiress through the scrape I have drawn myself into with the wife; however, Charles's imprudence and bad character are great points in my favour. [Knocking heard without. Servant. Sir, I believe that must be Lady Teazle. Jos. Surf. Hold! See whether it is or not, before you go to the door: I have a particular message for you if it should be my brother. Servant. 'Tis her ladyship, sir; she always leaves her chair at the milliner's in the next street. Jos. Surf. Stay, stay; draw that screen before the window - that will do; - my opposite neighbour is a maiden lady of so curious a temper. - [SERVANT draws the screen, and exit.] I have a difficult hand to play in this affair. Lady Teazle 65 252 SHERIDAN. [ACT IV. has lately suspected my views on Maria; but she must by no means be let into that secret, -at least, till I have her more in my power. Enter LADY TEAZLE. Lady Teaz. What, sentiment in soliloquy now? Have you been very impatient? 0 Lud! don't pretend to look grave. I vow I couldn't come before. Jos. Surf 0 madam, punctuality is a species of constancy very unfashionable in a lady of quality. [Places chairs, and sits after LADY TEAZLE is seated. Lady Teaz. Upon my word, you ought to pity me. Do you know Sir Peter is grown so ill-natured to me of late, and so jealous of Charles too -that's the best of the story, isn't it? Jos. Surf. I am glad my scandalous friends keep that up. [Aside. Lady Teaz. I am sure I wish he would let Maria marry him, and then perhaps he would be convinced; don't you, Mr. Surface? Jos. Surf. [aside]. Indeed I do not. -[Aloud.] Oh, certainly I do! for then my dear Lady Teazle would also be convinced how wrong her suspicions were of my having any design on the silly girl. Lady Teaz. Well, well, I'm inclined to believe you. But isn't it provoking, to have the most ill-natured things said of one? And there's my friend Lady Sneerwell has circulated I don't know how many scandalous tales of me, and all without any foundation too; that's what vexes me. Jos. Surf. Ay, madam, to be sure, that is the provoking circumstance -without foundation; yes, yes, there's the mortification, indeed; for, when a scandalous story is believed against one, there certainly is no comfort like the consciousness of having deserved it. Lady Teaz. No, to be sure, then I'd forgive their malice; but to attack me, who am really so innocent, and who never say an ill-natured thing of any body - that is, of any friend; and then Sir Peter, too, to have him so peevish, and so suspicious, when I know the integrity of my own heart —indeed 'tis monstrous! 66 SCENE III.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 253 Jos. Surf. But, my dear Lady Teazle, 'tis your own fault if you suffer it. When a husband entertains a groundless suspicion of his wife, and withdraws his confidence from her, the original compact is broken, and she owes it to the honour of her sex to endeavour to outwit him. Lady Teaz. Indeed! So that if he suspects me without cause, it follows that the best way of curing his jealousy is to give him reason for't? Jos. Surf. Undoubtedly - for your husband should never be deceived in you: and in that case it becomes you to be frail in compliment to his discernment. Lady Teaz. To be sure, what you say is very reasonable, and when the consciousness of my innocence Jos. Surf. Ah, my dear madam, there is the great mistake! 'tis this very conscious innocence that is of the greatest prejudice to you. What is it makes you negligent of forms, and careless of the world's opinion? why, the consciousness of your own innocence. What makes you thoughtless in your conduct, and apt to run into a thousand little imprudences? why, the consciousness of your own innocence. What makes you impatient of Sir Peter's temper, and outrageous at his suspicions? why, the consciousness of your innocence. Lady Teaz. 'Tis very true! Jos. Surf. Now, my dear Lady Teazle, if you would but once make a trifling faux pas 1 you can't conceive how cautious you would grow, and how ready to humour and agree with your husband. Lady Teaz. Do you think so? Jos. Surf. Oh, I am sure on't; and then you would find all scandal would cease at once, for -in short, your character at present is like a person in a plethora, absolutely dying from too much health. Lady Teaz. So, so; then I perceive your prescription is, that I must sin in my own defence, and part with my virtue to preserve my reputation? 2 1 False step, mistake. 2 " This sentence seems to have haunted him [Sheridan] - I find it written in every direction, and without any material change in its form, over the pages of his different memorandum-books." - MOORE, V. 67 254 SHERIDAN. [ACT IV. Jos. Surf Exactly so, upon my credit, ma'am. Lady Teaz. Well, certainly this is the oddest doctrine, and the newest receipt for avoiding calumny! Jos. Surf. An infallible one, believe me. Prudence, like experience, must be paid for. Lady Teaz. Why, if my understanding were once convincedJos. Surf. Oh, certainly, madam, your understanding should be convinced. Yes, yes- Heaven forbid I should persuade you to do any thing you thought wrong. No, no, I have too much honour to desire it. Lady Teaz. Don't you think we may as well leave honour out of the argument? [Rises. Jos. Surf. Ah, the ill effects of your country education, I see, still remain with you. Lady Teas. I doubt they do, indeed; and I will fairly own to you, that if I could be persuaded to do wrong, it would be by Sir Peter's ill usage sooner than your honourable logic, after all. Jos. Surf. Then, by this hand, which he is unworthy of[ Taking her hand. Re-enter SERVANT. 'Sdeath! you blockhead - what do you want? Servant. I beg your pardon, sir; but I thought you would not choose Sir Peter to come up without announcing him. Jos. Surf. Sir Peter! - Oons - the devil! Lady Teaz. Sir Peter! O Lud! I'm ruined! I'm ruined! Servant. Sir, 'twasn't I let him in. Lady Teaz. Oh! I'm quite undone! What will become of me? Now, Mr. Logic - Oh! mercy, sir, he's on the stairsI'll get behind here - and if ever I'm so imprudent again - [Goes behind the screen. Jos. Surf. Give me that book. [Sits down. SERVANT pretends to adjust his chair. 1 It has been observed that when Lady Teazle goes behind the screen she is in full view of the maiden lady of so curious a temper who is Joseph Surface's opposite neighbor. 68 SCENE III.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 255 Enter SIR PETER TEAZLE. Sir Pet. Ay, ever improving himself - Mr. Surface, Mr. Surface - [Pats JOSEPH on the shoulder. Jos. Surf. Oh, my dear Sir Peter, I beg your pardon. [Gaping, throws away the book.] I have been dozing over a stupid book. Well, I am much obliged to you for this call. You haven't been here, I believe, since I fitted up this room. Books, you know, are the only things I am a coxcomb in. Sir Pet. 'Tis very neat indeed. Well, well, that's proper; and you can make even your screen a source of knowledgehung, I perceive, with maps. Jos. Surf. Oh, yes, I find great use in that screen. Sir Pet. I dare say you must, certainly, when you want to find any thing in a hurry. Jos. Surf Ay, or to hide any thing in a hurry either. [Aside. Sir Pet. Well, I have a little private business Jos. Surf. You need not stay. [To SERVANT. Servant. No, sir. [Exit. Jos. Surf. Here's a chair, Sir Peter- I begSir Pet. Well, now we are alone, there is a subject, my dear friend, on which I wish to unburden my mind to youa point of the greatest moment to my peace; in short, my good friend, Lady Teazle's conduct of late has made me very unhappy. Jos. Surf. Indeed! I am very sorry to hear it. Sir Pet. Yes, 'tis but too plain she has not the least regard for me; but, what's worse, I have pretty good authority to suppose she has formed an attachment to another. Jos. Surf. Indeed! you astonish me! Sir Pet. Yes! and, between ourselves, I think I've discovered the person. Jos. Surf. How! you alarm me exceedingly. Sir Pet. Ay, my dear friend, I knew you would sympathize with me! Jos. Surf. Yes, believe me, Sir Peter, such a discovery would hurt me just as much as it would you. Sir Pet. I am convinced of it. Ah! it is a happiness to have 69 256 SHE RIDAN. [ACT IV. a friend whom we can trust even with one's family secrets. But have you no guess who I mean? Jos. Surf. I haven't the most distant idea. It can't be Sir Benjamin Backbite? Sir Pet. Oh, no! What say you to Charles? Jos. Surf. My brother! impossible! Sir Pet. Oh, my dear friend, the goodness of your own heart misleads you. You judge of others by yourself. Jos. Surf. Certainly, Sir Peter, the heart that is conscious of its own integrity is ever slow to credit another's treachery. SirPet. True; but your brother has no sentiment-you never hear him talk so. Jos. Surf. Yet I can't but think Lady Teazle herself has too much principle. Sir Pet. Ay; but what is principle against the flattery of a handsome, lively young fellow? Jos. Surf. That's very true. Sir Pet. And then, you know, the difference of our ages makes it very improbable that she should have any great affection for me; and if she were to be frail, and I were to make it public, why the town would only laugh at me, the foolish old bachelor, who had married a girl. Jos. Surf. That's true, to be sure - they would laugh. Sir Pet. Laugh! ay, and make ballads, and paragraphs, and the devil knows what, of me. Jos. Surf. No, you must never make it public. Sir Pet. But then again- that the nephew of my old friend, Sir Oliver, should be the person to attempt such a wrong, hurts me more nearly. Jos. Surf. Ay, there's the point. When ingratitude barbs the dart of injury, the wound has double danger in it. Sir Pet. Ay - I, that was, in a manner, left his guardian; in whose house he had been so often entertained; who never in my life denied him - my advice! Jos. Surf. Oh, 'tis not to be credited! There may be a man capable of such baseness, to be sure; but, for my part, till you 1 See Act I., Scene i. (page I98), and note 2, and Scene ii. (page 210). 70 SCENE III.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 257 can give me positive proofs, I cannot but doubt it. However, if it should be proved on him, he is no longer a brother of mineI disclaim kindred with him: for the man who can break the laws of hospitality, and tempt the wife of his friend, deserves to be branded as the pest of society. Sir Pet. What a difference there is between you! What noble sentiments! Jos. Surf. Yet I cannot suspect Lady Teazle's honour. Sir Pet. I am sure I wish to think well of her, and to remove all ground of quarrel between us. She has lately reproached me more than once with having made no settlement on her; and, in our last quarrel, she almost hinted that she should not break her heart if I was dead. Now, as we seem to differ in our ideas of expense, I have resolved she shall have her own way, and be her own mistress in that respect for the future; and, if I were to die, she will find I have not been inattentive to her interest while living. Here, my friend, are the drafts of two deeds, which I wish to have your opinion on. By one, she will enjoy eight hundred a year independent while I live; and by the other, the bulk of my fortune at my death. Jos. Surf. This conduct, Sir Peter, is indeed truly generous. -[Aside.] I wish it may not corrupt my pupil. Sir Pet. Yes, I am determined she shall have no cause to complain, though I would not have her acquainted with the latter instance of my affection yet awhile. Jos. Surf. Nor I, if I could help it. [Aside. Sir Pet. And now, my dear friend, if you please, we will talk over the situation of your hopes with Maria. Jos. Surf. [softly]. Oh, no, Sir Peter; another time, if you please. Sir Pet. I am sensibly chagrined at the little progress you seem to make in her affections. Jos. Surf. [softly]. I beg you will not mention it. What are my disappointments when your happiness is in debate![Aside.] 'Sdeath! I shall be ruined every way. Sir Pet. And though you are averse to my acquainting Lady Teazle with your passion, I'm sure she's not your enemy in the affair. I7 71 258 SHERIDAN. [ACT IV. Jos. Surf. Pray, Sir Peter, now oblige me. I am really too much affected by the subject we have been speaking of to bestow a thought on my own concerns. The man who is entrusted with his friend's distresses can never - Re-enter SERVANT. Well, sir? Servant. Your brother, sir, is speaking to a gentleman in the street, and says he knows you are within. Jos. Surf. 'Sdeath! blockhead, I'm not within - I'm out for the day. Sir Pet. Stay- hold- a thought has struck me:-you shall be at home. Jos. Surf. Well, well, let him up. -[Exit SERVANT.] He'll interrupt Sir Peter, however. [Aside Sir Pet. Now, my good friend, oblige me, I entreat you. Before Charles comes, let me conceal myself somewhere; then do you tax him on the point we have been talking, and his answer may satisfy me at once. Jos. Surf Oh, fie, Sir Peter! would you have me join in so mean a trick? - to trepan 1 my brother too? Sir Pet. Nay, you tell me you are sure he is innocent; if so, you do him the greatest service by giving him an opportunity to clear himself, and you will set my heart at rest. Come, you shall not refuse me: [going up], here, behind the screen will be - Hey! what the devil! there seems to be one listener here already - I'll swear I saw a petticoat! Jos. Surf. Ha! ha! ha! Well, this is ridiculous enough. I'll tell you, Sir Peter, though I hold a man of intrigue to be a most despicable character, yet, you know, it does not follow that one is to be an absolute Joseph 2 either! Hark'ee, 'tis a little French milliner, a silly rogue that plagues me; and having some character to lose, on your coming, sir, she ran behind the screen. Sir Pet. Ah, Joseph! Joseph! Did I ever think that you - But, egad, she has overheard all I have been saying of my wife. 1 Insnare, trapan. 72 2 See Genesis, XXXIX., 7-12. SCENE iii.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 259 Jos. Surf. Oh, 'twill never go any farther, you may depend upon it. Sir Pet. No! then, faith, let her hear it out. Here's a closet will do as well. Jos. Surf. Well, go in there. Sir Pet. Sly rogue! sly rogue! [Goes into the closet. Jos. Surf. A narrow escape, indeed! and a curious situation I'm in, to part man and wife in this manner. Lady Teaz. [peeping]. Couldn't I steal off? Jos. Surf. Keep close, my angel! Sir Pet. [peeping]. Joseph, tax him home. Jos. Surf. Back, my dear friend! Lady Teaz. [peeping]. Couldn't you lock Sir Peter in? Jos. Surf. Be still, my life! Sir Pet. [peeping]. You're sure the little milliner won't blab? Jos. Surf. In, in, my dear Sir Peter! - 'Fore Gad, I wish I had a key to the door. Enter CHARLES SURFACE. Chas. Surf. Holla! brother, what has been the matter? Your fellow would not let me up at first. What! have you had a Jew or a wench with you? Jos. Surf. Neither, brother, I assure you. Chas. Surf. But what has made Sir Peter steal off? I thought he had been with you. Jos. Surf. He was, brother; but, hearing you were coming, he did not choose to stay. Chas. Surf. What! was the old gentleman afraid I wanted to borrow money of him? Jos. Surf. No, sir: but I am sorry to find, Charles, you have lately given that worthy man grounds for great uneasiness. Chas. Surf. Yes, they tell me I do that to a great many worthy men. But how so, pray? Jos. Surf. To be plain with you, brother, he thinks you are endeavouring to gain Lady Teazle's affections from him., Chas. Surf. Who, I? 0 Lud! not I, upon my word.Ha! ha! ha! ha! so the old fellow has found out that he has 73 260 SHERIDA N. [ACT IV. got a young wife, has he? - or, what is worse, Lady Teazle has found out she has an old husband? Jos. Surf. This is no subject to jest on, brother. He who can laugh - Chas. Surf. True, true, as you were going to say -then, seriously, I never had the least idea of what you charge me with, upon my honour. Jos. Surf. Well, it will give Sir Peter great satisfaction to hear this. [Raising his voice. Chas. Surf. To be sure, I once thought the lady seemed to have taken a fancy to me; but, upon my soul, I never gave her the least encouragement. Besides, you know my attachment to Maria. Jos. Surf. But sure, brother, even if Lady Teazle had betrayed the fondest partiality for you - Chas. Surf. Why, look'ee, Joseph, I hope I shall never deliberately do a dishonourable action; but if a pretty woman was purposely to throw herself in my way - and that pretty woman married to a man old enough to be her fatherJos. Surf. Well! Chas. Surf. Why, I believe I should be obliged to - Jos. Surf. What? Chas. Surf. To borrow a little of your morality, that's all. But, brother, do you know now that you surprise me exceedingly, by naming me with Lady Teazle; for, i' faith, I always understood you were her favourite. Jos. Surf. Oh, for shame, Charles! This retort is foolish. Chas. Surf. Nay, I swear I have seen you exchange such significant glances - Jos. Surf. Nay, nay, sir, this is no jest. Chas. Surf. Egad, I'm serious! Don't you remember one day when I called hereJos. Surf. Nay, pr'ythee, CharlesChas. Surf. And found you together - Jos. Surf. Zounds, sir, I insist - Chas. Surf. And another time when your servant - Jos. Surf. Brother, brother, a word with you! - [Aside.] Gad, I must stop him. Chas Surf. Informed, I say, that74 SCENE III.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 26I Jos. Surf. Hush! I beg your pardon, but Sir Peter has overheard all we have been saying. I knew you would clear yourself, or I should not have consented. Chas. Surf. How, Sir Peter! Where is he? Jos. Surf. Softly, there! [Points to the closet. Chas. Surf Oh, 'fore heaven, I'll have him out. - Sir Peter, come forth! Jos. Surf No, noChas. Surf. I say, Sir Peter, come into court. - [Pulls in SIR PETER.] What! my old guardian!- What! turn inquisitor, and take evidence incog.? Oh, fie! Oh, fie! Sir Pet. Give me your hand, Charles - I believe I have suspected you wrongfully; but you mustn't be angry with Joseph -'twas my plan! Chas. Surf. Indeed! Sir Pet. But I acquit you. I promise you I don't think near so ill of you as I did: what I have heard has given me great satisfaction. Chas. Surf. Egad, then, 'twas lucky you didn't hear any more - wasn't it, Joseph? Sir Pet. Ah! you would have retorted on him. Chas. Surf. Ah, ay, that was a joke. Sir Pet. Yes, yes, I know his honour too well. Chas. Surf. But you might as well have suspected him as me in this matter, for all that- mightn't he, Joseph? Sir Pet. Well, well, I believe you. Jos. Surf. Would they were both out of the room! [Aside. Sir Pet. And in future, perhaps, we may not be such strangers. Re-enter SERVANT, and whispers JOSEPH SURFACE. Servant. Lady Sneerwell is below, and says she will come up. Jos. Surf. Lady Sneerwell! Gad's life! she must not come here. [Exit SERVANT.] Gentlemen, I beg pardon — I must wait on you down stairs: here is a person come on particular business. I Incognito, secretly. 75 262 SHERIDAN. [ACT IV. Chas. Surf. Well,. you can see him in another room. Sir Peter and I have not met a long time, and I have something to say to him. Jos. Surf. [aside]. They must not be left together. - [Aloud.] I'll send Lady Sneerwell away, and return directly. — [Aside to SIR PETER.] Sir Peter, not a word of the French milliner. Sir Pet. [aside to JOSEPH SURFACE]. I! not for the world! — [Exit JOSEPH SURFACE]. Ah, Charles, if you associated more with your brother, one might indeed hope for your reformation. He is a man of sentiment. Well, there is nothing in the world so noble as a man of sentiment. Chas. Surf. Psha! he is too moral by half; and so apprehensive of his good name, as he calls it, that I suppose he would as soon let a priest into his house as a wench. Sir Pet. No, no, - come, come, - you wrong him. No, no! Joseph is no rake, but he is no such saint either, in that respect. - [Aside.] I have a great mind to tell him - we should have such a laugh at Joseph. Chas. Surf. Oh, hang him! he's a very anchorite, a young hermit! Sir Pet. Hark'ee —you must not abuse him: he may chance to hear of it again, I promise you. Chas. Surf. Why, you won't tell him? Sir Pet. No - but - this way. - [Aside.] Egad, I'll tell him. - [Aloud.] Hark'ee -have you a mind to have a good laugh at Joseph? Chas. Surf. I should like it of all things. Sir Pet. Then, i' faith, we will! I'll be quit with him for discovering me. He had a girl with him when I called. [ Whispers. Chas. Surf. What! Joseph? you jest. Sir Pet. Hush! - a little French milliner and the best of the jest is - she's in the room now. Chas. Surf. The devil she is! Sir Pet. Hush! I tell you. [Points to the screen. Chas. Surf. Behind the screen! 'Slife, let's unveil her! Sir Pet. No, no, he's coming - you shan't, indeed! Chas. Surf. Oh, egad, we'll have a peep at the little milliner! 76 SCENE III.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 263 Sir Pet. Not for the world!- Joseph will never forgive me. Chas. Surf. I'll stand by youSir Pet. Odds, here he is! [CHARLES SURFACE throws down the screen.1 Re-enter JOSEPH SURFACE. Chas. Surf. Lady Teazle, by all that's wonderful. Sir Pet. Lady Teazle, by all that's damnable! 2 Chas. Surf. Sir Peter, this is one of the smartest French milliners I ever saw. Egad, you seem all to have been diverting yourselves here at hide and seek, and I don't see who is out of the secret. Shall I beg your ladyship to inform me? Not a word!- Brother, will you be pleased to explain this matter? What! is Morality dumb too?- Sir Peter, though I found you in the dark, perhaps you are not so now! All mute!- Well - though I can make nothing of the affair, I suppose you perfectly understand one another; so I'll leave you to yourselves. - [Going.] Brother, I'm sorry to find you have given that worthy man grounds for so much uneasiness. -Sir Peter! there's nothing in the world so noble as a man of sentiment! [Exit. Jos. Surf. Sir Peter - notwithstanding - I confess - that appearances are against me -if you will afford me your patience - I make no doubt -but I shall explain every thing to your satisfaction. Sir Pet. If you please, sir. Jos. Surf. The fact is, sir, that Lady Teazle, knowing my pretensions to your ward Maria- I say, sir, Lady Teazle, 1 " On the first night of the School for Scandal, returning from Lincoln's Inn about nine o'clock, and passing through the pit passage,... I heard such a tremendous noise over my head, that, fearing the theatre was proceeding to fall about it, I ran for my life: but found the next morning that the noise did not arise from the falling of the house, but from the falling of the screen in the fourth act; so violent and tumultuous were the applause and laughter." FR. REYNOLDS. 2 " The scene is frequently acted as if it were tragedy, and then it becomes simply absurd." - SANDERS, IV. 3 Charles is here giving back their own words to Joseph (page 259) and Sir Peter (page 262). 77 264 SHiERIDAN.. [ACT IV. being apprehensive of the jealousy of your temper - and knowing my friendship to the family -she, sir, I say -called here - in order that - I might explain these pretensions - but on your coming - being apprehensive -as I said -of your jealousy - she withdrew - and this, you may depend on it, is the whole truth of the matter. Sir Pet. A very clear account, upon my word; and I dare swear the lady will vouch for every article of it. Lady Teaz. For not one word of it, Sir Peter! Sir Pet. How! don't you think it worth while to agree in the lie? Lady Teaz. There is not one syllable of truth in what that gentleman has told you. Sir Pet. I believe you, upon my soul, ma'am! Jos. Surf. [aside to LADY TEAZLE]. 'Sdeath, madam, will you betray me? Lady Teaz. Good Mr. Hypocrite, by your leave, I'll speak for myself. Sir Pet. Ay, let her alone, sir; you'll find she'll make out a better story than you, without prompting. Lady Teaz. Hear me, Sir Peter! - I came here on no matter relating to your ward, and even ignorant of this gentleman's pretensions to her. But I came, seduced by his insidious arguments, at least to listen to his pretended passion, if not to sacrifice your honour to his baseness. Sir Pet. Now, I believe, the truth is coming, indeed! Jos. Surf. The woman's mad! Lady Teaz. No, sir; she has recovered her senses, and your own arts have furnished her with the means. - Sir Peter, I do not expect you to credit me-but the tenderness you expressed for me, when I am sure you could not think I was a witness to it, has so penetrated to my heart, that had I left the place without the shame of this discovery, my future life should have spoken the sincerity of my gratitude. As for that smooth-tongued hypocrite, who would have seduced the wife of his too credulous friend, while he affected honourable addresses to his ward, I behold him now in a light so truly despicable, that I shall never again respect myself for having listened to him. [Exit. 78 SCENE I.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 265 Jos. Surf. Notwithstanding all this, Sir Peter, Heaven knows Sir Pet. That you are a villain! and so I leave you to your conscience. Jos. Surf. You are too rash, Sir Peter; you shall hear me. The man who shuts out conviction by refusing to - Sir Pet. Oh, damn your sentiments! 1 [Exeunt SIR PETER and JOSEPH SURFACE, talking. ACT V. SCENE I.- The Library in JOSEPH SURFACE'S House. Enter JOSEPH SURFACE and SERVANT. Jos. Surf. Mr. Stanley! and why should you think I would see him? you must know he comes to ask something. Servant. Sir, I should not have let him in, but that Mr. Rowley came to the door with him. Jos. Surf. Psha! blockhead! to suppose that I should now be in a temper to receive visits from poor relations!- Well, why don't you show the fellow up? Servant. I will, sir.- Why, sir, it was not my fault that Sir Peter discovered my lady1 Much has been written about the source of Sheridan's characters and plot in this play. Taine goes to the extent of saying that Sheridan took two characters from Fielding, Blifil and Tom Jones, two plays of Moliere, Le Misanthrope and Tartuffe; and from them with admirable cleverness constructed the most brilliant firework imaginable. No doubt there are certain general resemblances. Blifil is a hypocrite and Tom Jones a generous fellow, and so are the contrasted brothers in The School for Scandal. Tartuffe is a religious hypocrite as Joseph Surface is a moral hypocrite. Celimene in Le Misanthrope is a slanderer. There are also slander scenes in Wycherley's Plain Dealer and Congreve's Double Dealer; and the return of Sir Oliver recalls that of Warner in Mrs. Sheridan's Sidney Biddulph. It is difficult to say just how much Sheridan owed to these sources; but we can safely say that Taine's statement is entirely too strong, and that Sheridan's greatest indebtedness is for suggestions of a general nature. 79 266 SHERIDAAN. [ACT V. Jos. Surf. Go, fool!- [Exit SERVANT.] Sure Fortune never played a man of my policy such a trick before! My character with Sir Peter, my hopes with Maria, destroyed in a moment! I'm in a rare humour to listen to other people's distresses! I shan't be able to bestow even a benevolent sentiment on Stanley. - So! here he comes, and Rowley with him. I must try to recover myself, and put a little charity into my face, however. [Exit. Enter SIR OLIVER SURFACE and ROWLEY. Sir Oliv. What! does he avoid us? That was he, was it not? Row. It was, sir. But I doubt you are come a little too abruptly. His nerves are so weak, that the sight of a poor relation may be too much for him. I should have gone first to break it to him. Sir Oliv. Oh, plague of his nerves! Yet this is he whom Sir Peter extols as a man of the most benevolent way of thinking! Row. As to his way of thinking, I cannot pretend to decide; for, to do him justice, he appears to have as much speculative benevolence as any private gentleman in the kingdom, though he is seldom so sensual as to indulge himself in the exercise of it. Sir Oliv. Yet he has a string of charitable sentiments at his fingers' ends. Row. Or, rather, at his tongue's end, Sir Oliver; for I believe there is no sentiment he has such faith in as that Charity begins at home.1 Sir Oliv. And his, I presume, is of that domestic sort which never stirs abroad at all. Row. I doubt you'll find it so;- but he's coming. I mustn't seem to interrupt you; and you know, immediately as you leave him, I come in to announce your arrival in your real character. 1 "Proximus sum egomet mihi." -TERENCE, Andria, IV., i., 12. "Charit6 bien ordonn6e commence par soi-meme." - Fr. Proverb. "Jeder ist sich selbst der Nachste." - Ger. Proverb. 80 SCENE I.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 267 Sir Oliv. True; and afterwards you'll meet me at Sir Peter's. Row. Without losing a moment. [Exit. Sir Oliv. I don't like the complaisance of his features. Re-enter JOSEPH SURFACE. Jos. Surf. Sir, I beg you ten thousand pardons for keeping you a moment waiting. - Mr. Stanley, I presume. Sir Oliv. At your service. Jos. Surf. Sir, I beg you will do me the honour to sit down - I entreat you, sir. Sir Oliv. Dear sir - there's no occasion. - [Aside.] Too civil by half! Jos. Surf. I have not the pleasure of knowing you, Mr. Stanley; but I am extremely happy to see you look so well. You were nearly related to my mother, I think, Mr. Stanley? Sir Oliv. I was, sir; so nearly that my present poverty, I fear, may do discredit to her wealthy children, else I should not have presumed to trouble you. Jos. Surf. Dear sir, there needs no apology;- he that is in distress, though a stranger, has a right to claim kindred with the wealthy. I am sure I wish I was one of that class, and had it in my power to offer you even a small relief. Sir Oliv. If your uncle, Sir Oliver, were here, I should have a friend. Jos. Surf. I wish he was, sir, with all my heart: you should not want an advocate with him, believe me, sir. Sir Oliv. I should not need one - my distresses would recommend me. But I imagined his bounty would enable you to become the agent of his charity. Jos. Surf. My dear sir, you Were strangely misinformed. Sir Oliver is a worthy man, a very worthy man; but avarice, Mr. Stanley, is the vice of age. I will tell you, my good sir, in confidence, what he has done for me has been a mere nothing; though people, I know, have thought otherwise, and, for my part, I never chose to contradict the report. Sir Oliv. What! has he never transmitted you bullion — rupees - pagodas? 1 1 Pagoda, an Indian coin. 268 SHERIDAIVN. [ACT V. Jos. Surf. Oh, dear sir, nothing of the kind. No, no; a few presents now and then - china, shawls, congou tea, avadavats,2 and Indian crackers - little more, believe me. Sir Oliv. Here's gratitude for twelve thousand pounds! - Avadavats and Indian crackers! [Aside. Jos. Surf. Then, my dear sir, you have heard, I doubt not, of the extravagance of my brother: there are very few would credit what I have done for that unfortunate young man. Sir Oliv. Not I, for one [Aside. Jos. Surf. The sums I have lent him! Indeed, I have been exceedingly to blame; it was an amiable weakness; however, I don't pretend to defend it -and now I feel it doubly culpable, since it has deprived me of the pleasure of serving you, Mr. Stanley, as my heart dictates. Sir Oliv. [aside]. Dissembler! -[Aloud.] Then, sir, you can't assist me? Jos. Surf. At present, it grieves me to say, I cannot; but, whenever I have the ability, you may depend upon hearing from me. Sir Oliv. I am extremely sorry - Jos. Surf. Not more than I, believe me; to pity, without the power to relieve, is still more painful than to ask and be denied. Sir Oliv. Kind sir, your most obedient humble servant. Jos. Surf. You leave me deeply affected, Mr. Stanley.William, be ready to open the door. [Calls to SERVANT. Sir Oliv. Oh, dear sir, no ceremony. Jos. Surf. Your very obedient. Sir Oliv. Your most obsequious. Jos. Surf. You may depend upon hearing from me, whenever I can be of service. Sir Oliv. Sweet sir, you are too good! Jos. Surf. In the meantime I wish you health and spirits. Sir Oliv. Your ever grateful and perpetual humble servant. Jos. Surf. Sir, yours as sincerely. Sir Oliv. [aside]. Now I am satisfied. [Exit. 1 Avadavat, an Indian song-bird. 82 SCENE I.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 269 Jos. Surf. This is one bad effect of a good character; it invites application from the unfortunate, and there needs no small degree of address to gain the reputation of benevolence without incurring the expense. The silver ore of pure charity is an expensive article in the catalogue of a man's good qualities; whereas the sentimental French plate I use instead of it makes just as good a show, and pays no tax. Re-enter ROWLEY. Row. Mr. Surface, your servant: I was apprehensive of interrupting you, though my business demands immediate attention, as this note will inform you. Jos. Surf. Always happy to see Mr. Rowley, - a rascal. [Aside Reads the letter.] Sir Oliver Surface I - My uncle arrived! Row. He is, indeed; we have just parted -quite well, after a speedy voyage, and impatient to embrace his worthy nephew. Jos. Surf. I am astonished! - William, stop Mr. Stanley, if he's not gone. [Calls to SERVANT. Row. Oh! he's out of reach, I believe. Jos. Surf. Why did you not let me know this when you came in together? Row. I thought you had particular business. But I must be gone to inform your brother, and appoint him here to meet your uncle. He will be with you in a quarter of an hour. Jos. Surf. So he says. Well, I am strangely overjoyed at his coming.-[Aside.] Never, to be sure, was any thing so damned unlucky. Row. You will be delighted to see how well he looks. Jos. Surf Oh! I'm overjoyed to hear it. - [Aside.] Just at this time! Row. I'll tell him how impatiently you expect him. Jos. Surf. Do, do; pray give my best duty and affection. Indeed, I cannot express the sensations I feel at the thought of seeing him. - [Exit ROWLEY.] Certainly his coming just at this time is the cruellest piece of ill fortune. [Exit. 83 270 SHERIDA N. [ACT V. 270 SHERIDAN [ACT V. SCENE II. A Room in SIR PETER TEAZLE'S House. Enter MRS. CANDOUR and MAID. Maid. Indeed, ma'am, my lady will see nobody at present. Mrs. Can. Did you tell her it was her friend Mrs. Candour? Maid. Yes, ma'am; but she begs you will excuse her. AMrs. Can. Do go again; I shall be glad to see her, if it be only for a moment, for I am sure she must be in great distress. -[Exit MAID.] Dear heart, how provoking! I'm not mistress of half the circumstances! We shall have the whole affair in the newspapers, with the names of the parties at length, before I have dropped the story at a dozen houses. Enter SIR BENJAMIN BACKBITE. Oh, dear Sir Benjamin! you have heard, I suppose Sir Ben. Of Lady Teazle and Mr. Surface - Mrs. Can. And Sir Peter's discovery - Sir Ben. Oh, the strangest piece of business, to be sure! Mrs. Can. Well, I never was so surprised in my life. I am so sorry for all parties, indeed. Sir Ben. Now, I don't pity Sir Peter at all: he was so extravagantly partial to Mr. Surface. Mrs. Can. Mr. Surface! Why, 'twas with Charles Lady Teazle was detected. Sir Ben. No, no, I tell you; Mr. Surface is the gallant. Mrs. Can. No such thing! Charles is the man. 'Twas Mr. Surface brought Sir Peter on purpose to discover them. Sir Ben. I tell you I had it from one Mrs. Can. And I have it from one Sir Ben. Who had it from one, who had it - Mrs. Can. From one immediately. But here comes Lady Sneerwell; perhaps she knows the whole affair. Enter LADY SNEERWELL. Lady Sneer. So, my dear Mrs. Candour, here's a sad affair of our friend Lady Teazle! Mrs. Can. Ay, my dear friend, who would have thought84 SCENE II.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 271 Lady Sneer. Well, there is no trusting appearances; though, indeed, she was always too lively for me. Mrs. Can. To be sure, her manners were a little too free; but then she was so young! Lady Sneer. And had, indeed, some good qualities. Mrs. Can. So she had, indeed. But have you heard the particulars? Lady Sneer. No; but every body says that Mr. Surface - Sir Ben. Ay, there; I told you Mr. Surface was the man. Mrs. Can. No, no; indeed the assignation was with Charles. Lady Sneer. With Charles! You alarm me, Mrs. Candour! Mrs. Can. Yes, yes; he was the lover. Mr. Surface, to do him justice, was only the informer. Sir Ben. Well, I'll not dispute with you, Mrs. Candour; but, be it which it may, I hope that Sir Peter's wound will not - Mrs. Can. Sir Peter's wound! Oh, mercy! I didn't hear a word of their fighting. Lady Sneer. Nor I, a syllable. Sir Ben. No! what, no mention of the duel? Mrs. Can. Not a word. Sir Ben. Oh, yes: they fought before they left the room. Lady Sneer. Pray, let us hear. Mrs. Can. Ay, do oblige us with the duel. Sir Ben. "Sir," says Sir Peter, immediately after the discovery, "you are a most ungrateful fellow-" Mrs. Can. Ay, to Charles - Sir Ben. No, no -to Mr. Surface- "a most ungrateful fellow; and old as I am, sir," says he, " I insist on immediate satisfaction." Mrs. Can. Ay, that must have been to Charles; for 'tis very unlikely Mr. Surface should fight in his own house. Sir Ben. Gad's life, ma'am, not at all- " giving me immediate satisfaction."- On this, ma'am, Lady Teazle, seeing Sir Peter in such danger, ran out of the room in strong hysterics, and Charles after her, calling out for hartshorn and water; then, madam, they began to fight with swords 272 SHERIDA NV. [ACT V. Enter CRABTREE. Crab. With pistols, nephew - pistols! I have it from undoubted authority. Mrs. Can. Oh, Mr. Crabtree, then it is all true! Crab. Too true, indeed, madam; and Sir Peter is dangerously wounded - Sir Ben. By a thrust in segoon quite through his left side - Crab. By a bullet lodged in the thorax. Mrs. Can. Mercy on me! Poor Sir Peter! Crab. Yes, madam; though Charles would have avoided the matter, if he could. Mrs. Can. I told you who it was; I knew Charles was the person. Sir Ben. My uncle, I see, knows nothing of the matter. Crab. But Sir Peter taxed him with the basest ingratitudeSir Ben. That I told you, you know - Crab. Do, nephew, let me speak! - and insisted on immediate Sir Ben. Just as I saidCrab. Odds life, nephew, allow others to know something too! A pair of pistols lay on the bureau (for Mr. Surface, it seems, had come home the night before late from Salthill, where he had been to see the Montem 2 with a friend, who has a son at Eton), so, unluckily, the pistols were left charged. Sir Ben. I heard nothing of this. Crab. Sir Peter forced Charles to take one, and they fired, it seems, pretty nearly together. Charles's shot took effect, as I tell you, and Sir Peter's missed; but, what is very extraordinary, the ball struck against a little bronze Shakspeare that stood over the fire-place, grazed out of the window at a right angle, and wounded the postman, who was just coming to the door with a double letter from Northamptonshire. 1 Second (a fencing term). 2 A triennial procession of the boys of Eton College to Salt Hill (ad montem) to exact money from persons present and from passers-by to pay the expenses of the head boy at the university. The custom was abolished in 1847. For a late account see Benjamin Disraeli's Coningsby, I., xi. 86 SCENE II.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 273 Sir Ben. My uncle's account is more circumstantial, I confess; but I believe mine is the true one, for all that. Lady Sneer. [aside]. I am more interested in this affair than they imagine, and must have better information. [Exit.' Sir Ben. Ah! Lady Sneerwell's alarm is very easily accounted for. Crab. Yes, yes, they certainly do say-but that's neither here nor there. Mrs. Can. But, pray, where is Sir Peter at present? Crab. Oh! they brought him home, and he is now in the house, though the servants are ordered to deny him. Mrs. Can. I believe so, and Lady Teazle, I suppose, attending him. Crab. Yes, yes; and I saw one of the faculty enter just before me. Sir Ben. Hey! who comes here? Crab. Oh, this is he: the physician, depend on't. Mrs. Can. Oh, certainly! it must be the physician; and now we shall know. Enter SIR OLIVER SURFACE. Crab. Well, doctor, what hopes? Mrs. Can. Ay, doctor, how's your patient? Sir Ben. Now, doctor, isn't it a wound with a small-sword? Crab. A bullet lodged in the thorax, for a hundred! Sir Oliv. Doctor! a wound with a small-sword! and a bullet in the thorax! Oons! are you mad, good people? Sir Ben. Perhaps, sir, you are not a doctor? Sir Oliv. Truly, I am to thank you for my degree, if I am. Crab. Only a friend of Sir Peter's, then, I presume. But, sir, you must have heard of his accident? Sir Oliv. Not a word! Crab. Not of his being dangerously wounded? Sir Oliv. The devil he is! Sir Ben. Run through the bodyCrab. Shot in the breast Sir Ben. By one Mr. SurfaceCrab. Ay, the younger. i8 87 274 SHERIDAN. [ACT V. Sir Oliv. Hey! what the plague! you seem to differ strangely in your accounts: however, you agree that Sir Peter is dangerously wounded. Sir Ben. Oh, yes, we agree in that. Crab. Yes, yes, I believe there can be no doubt of that. Sir Oliv. Then, upon my word, for a person in that situation, he is the most imprudent man alive; for here he comes, walking as if nothing at all was the matter. Enter SIR PETER TEAZLE. Odds heart, Sir Peter! you are come in good time, I promise you; for we had just given you over! Sir Ben. [aside to CRABTREE]. Egad, uncle, this is the most sudden recovery! Sir Oliv. Why, man! what do you out of bed with a smallsword through your body, and a bullet lodged in your thorax? Sir Pet. A small-sword and a bullet! Sir Oliv. Ay; these gentlemen would have killed you without law or physic, and wanted to dub me a doctor, to make me an accomplice. Sir Pet. Why, what is all this? Sir Ben. We rejoice, Sir Peter, that the story of the duel is not true, and are sincerely sorry for your other misfortune. Sir Pet. So, so; all over the town already! [Aside. Crab. Though, Sir Peter, you were certainly vastly to blame to marry at your years. Sir Pet. Sir, what business is that of yours? Mrs. Can. Though, indeed, as Sir Peter made so good a husband, he's very much to be pitied. Sir Pet. Plague on your pity, ma'am! I desire none of it. Sir Ben. However, Sir Peter, you must not mind the laughing and jests you will meet with on the occasion. Sir Pet. Sir, sir! I desire to be master in my own house. Crab. 'Tis no uncommon case, that's one comfort. Sir Pet. I insist on being left to myself: without ceremony, I insist on your leaving my house directly! Mrs. Can. Well, well, we are going; and depend on't, we'll make the best report of it we can. [Evit. 88 SCENE II.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 275 Sir Pet. Leave my house! Crab. And tell how hardly you've been treated. [Exit. Sir Pet. Leave my house! Sir Ben. And how patiently you bear it. [Exit. Sir Pet. Fiends! vipers! furies! Oh! that their own venom would choke them! Sir Oliv. They are very provoking indeed, Sir Peter. Enter ROWLEY. Row. I heard high words; what has ruffled you, sir? Sir Pet. Psha! what signifies asking? Do I ever pass a day without my vexations? Row. Well, I'm not inquisitive. Sir Oliv. Well, Sir Peter, I have seen both my nephews in the manner we proposed. Sir Pet. A precious couple they are! Row. Yes, and Sir Oliver is convinced that your judgment was right, Sir Peter. Sir Oliv. Yes, I find Joseph is indeed the man, after all. Row. Ay, as Sir Peter says, he is a man of sentiment. Sir Oliv. And acts up to the sentiments he professes. Row. It certainly is edification to hear him talk. Sir Oliv. Oh, he's a model for the young men of the age!But how's this, Sir Peter? you don't join us in your friend Joseph's praise, as I expected. Sir Pet. Sir Oliver, we live in a damned wicked world, and the fewer we praise the better. Row. What! do you say so, Sir Peter, who were never mistaken in your life? 1 1 Rowley and Sir Oliver are rallying Sir Peter with his own words: " No person could have more opportunity of judging of their hearts, and I was never mistaken in my life. Joseph is indeed a model for the young men of the age. He is a man of sentiment, and acts up to the sentiments he professes." I., ii. (page 210). "'Tis edification to hear him converse; he professes the noblest sentiments." II., iii. (page 225). It may be observed in passing that Sir Oliver did not hear the conversation from which he is quoting. 89 276 2S HERIDAN. [ACT V. Sir Pet. Psha! plague on you both! I see by your sneering you have heard the whole affair. I shall go mad among you! Row. Then, to fret you no longer, Sir Peter, we are indeed acquainted with it all. I met Lady Teazle coming from Mr. Surface's so humbled, that she deigned to request me to be her advocate with you. Sir Pet. And does Sir Oliver know all this? Sir Oliv. Every circumstance. Sir Pet. What of the closet and the screen, hey? Sir Oliv. Yes, yes; and the little French milliner. Oh, I have been vastly diverted with the story! ha! ha! ha! Sir Pet. 'Twas very pleasant. Sir Oliv. I never laughed more in my life, I assure you; ah! ah! ah! Sir Pet. Oh, vastly diverting! ha! ha! ha! Row. To be sure, Joseph with his sentiments! ha! ha! ha. Sir Pet. Yes, yes, his sentiments! ha! ha! ha! Hypocritical villain! Sir Oliv. Ay, and that rogue Charles to pull Sir Peter out of the closet; ha! ha! ha! Sir Pet. Ha! ha! 'twas devilish entertaining, to be sure! Sir Oliv. Ha! ha! ha! Egad, Sir Peter, I should like to have seen your face when the screen was thrown down; ha! ha! Sir Pet. Yes, yes; my face when the screen was thrown down; ha! ha! ha! Oh, I must never show my head again! Sir Oliv. But come, come, it isn't fair to laugh at you neither, my old friend; though, upon my soul, I can't help it. Sir Pet. Oh, pray don't restrain your mirth on my account; it does not hurt me at all! I laugh at the whole affair myself. Yes, yes; I think being a standing jest for all one's acquaintance a very happy situation. Oh, yes; and then of a morning to read the paragraphs about Mr. S-, Lady T —, and Sir P-, will be so entertaining! Row. Without affectation, Sir Peter, you may despise the ridicule of fools. But I see Lady Teazle going towards the next room; I am sure you must desire a reconciliation as earnestly as she does. 90 SCENE I.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 277 Sir Oliv. Perhaps my being here prevents her coming to you. Well, I'll leave honest Rowley to mediate between you; but he must bring you all presently to Mr. Surface's, where I am now returning, if not to reclaim a libertine, at least to expose hypocrisy. Sir Pet. Ah, I'll be present at your discovering yourself there with all my heart; though 'tis a vile unlucky place for discoveries. Row. We'll follow. [Exit SIR OLIVER SURFACE. Sir Pet. She is not coming here, you see, Rowley. Row. No, but she has left the door of that room open, you perceive. See, she is in tears. Sir Pet. Certainly a little mortification appears very becoming in a wife. Don't you think it will do her good to let her pine a little? Row. Oh, this is ungenerous in you! Sir Pet. Well, I know not what to think. You remember the letter I found of hers evidently intended for Charles? Row. A mere forgery, Sir Peter; laid in your way on purpose. This is one of the points which I intend Snake shall give you conviction of. Sir Pet. I wish I were once satisfied of that. She looks this way. What a remarkably elegant turn of the head she has! Rowley, I'll go to her. Row. Certainly. Sir Pet. Though, when it is known that we are reconciled, people will laugh at me ten times more. Row. Let them laugh, and retort their malice only by showing them you are happy in spite of it. Sir Pet. I' faith, so I will! and, if I'm not mistaken, we may yet be the happiest couple in the country. Row. Nay, Sir Peter, he who once lays aside suspicionSir Pet. Hold, Master Rowley! if you have any regard for me, never let me hear you utter any thing like a sentiment; I have had enough of them to serve me the rest of my life. [Exeunt, 91 278 SHERIDAN. [ACT V. 278SHERIDAN.[AT. SCENE III. -The Library in JOSEPH SURFACE'S House. Enter JOSEPH SURFACE and LADY SNEERWELL. Lady Sneer. Impossible! Will not Sir Peter immediately be reconciled to Charles, and of course no longer oppose his union with Maria? The thought is distraction to me. Jos. Surf. Can passion furnish a remedy? Lady Sneer. No, nor cunning either. Oh, I was a fool, an idiot, to league with such a blunderer! Jos. Surf. Sure, Lady Sneerwell, I am the greatest sufferer; yet you see I bear the accident with calmness. Lady Sneer. Because the disappointment doesn't reach your heart; your interest only attached you to Maria. Had you felt for her what I have for that ungrateful libertine, neither your temper nor hypocrisy could prevent your showing the sharpness of your vexation. Jos. Surf. But why should your reproaches fall on me for this disappointment? Lady Sneer. Are you not the cause of it? Had you not a sufficient field for your roguery in imposing upon Sir Peter, and supplanting your brother, but you must endeavour to seduce his wife? I hate such an avarice of crimes; 'tis an unfair monopoly, and never prospers. Jos. Surf. Well, 1 admit I have been to blame. I confess I deviated from the direct road of wrong, but I don't think we're so totally defeated neither. Lady Sneer. No! Jos. Surf. You tell me you have made a trial of Snake since we met, and that you still believe him faithful to us? Lady Sneer. I do believe so. Jos. Surf And that he has undertaken, should it be necessary, to swear and prove that Charles is at this time contracted by vows and honour to your ladyship, which some of his former letters to you will serve to support? Lady Sneer. This, indeed, might have assisted. Jos. Surf. Come, come; it is not too late yet. - [Knocking at the door.] But hark! this is probably my uncle, Sir Oliver. Retire to that room; we'll consult farther when he is gone. 92 SCENE II.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 279 Lady Sneer. Well, but if he should find you out too? Jos. Surf. Oh, I have no fear of that. Sir Peter will hold his tongue for his own credit's sake; and you may depend on it I shall soon discover Sir Oliver's weak side! Lady Sneer. I have no diffidence of your abilities; only be constant to one roguery at a time. Jos. Surf. I will, I will! — [Exit LADY SNEERWELL.] So! 'tis confounded hard, after such bad fortune, to be baited by one's confederate in evil. Well, at all events, my character is so much better than Charles's, that I certainly - hey! - what - this is not Sir Oliver, but old Stanley again. Plague on't that he should return to tease me just now! I shall have Sir Oliver come and find him here - andEnter SIR OLIVER SURFACE. Gad's life, Mr. Stanley, why have you come back to plague me at this time? You must not stay now, upon my word. Sir Oliv. Sir, I hear your uncle Oliver is expected here, and though he has been so penurious to you, I'll try what he'll do for me. Jos. Surf. Sir, 'tis impossible for you to stay now, so I must beg - Come any other time, and I promise you, you shall be assisted. Sir Oliv. No: Sir Oliver and I must be acquainted. Jos. Surf. Zounds, sir! then I insist on your quitting the room directly. Sir Oliv. Nay, sirJos. Surf Sir, I insist on't!- Here, William; show this gentleman out. Since you compel me, sir-not one momentthis is such insolence. [Going to push him out. Enter CHARLES SURFACE. Chas. Surf. Heyday! what's the matter now? What the devil, have you got hold of my little broker here? Zounds, brother, don't hurt little Premium. What's the matter, my little fellow? Jos. Surf. So! he has been with you too, has he? 93 280 SHERIDAN. [ACT V. Chas. Surf To be sure, he has. Why, he's as honest a little - But sure, Joseph, you have not been borrowing money too, have you? Jos. Surf Borrowing! no! But, brother, you know we expect Sir Oliver here every - Chas. Surf. 0 Gad, that's true! Noll mustn't find the little broker here, to be sure. Jos. Surf. Yet Mr. Stanley insists - Chas. Surf. Stanley! why his name's Premium. Jos. Surf. No, sir, Stanley. Chas. Surf. No, no, Premium. Jos. Surf. Well, no matter which - but - Chas. Surf. Ay, ay, Stanley or Premium, 'tis the same thing, as you say; for I suppose he goes by half a hundred names, besides A. B.1 at the coffee-house. [Knocking. Jos. Surf. 'Sdeath! here's Sir Oliver at the door.- Now I beg, Mr. StanleyChas. Surf. Ay, ay, and I beg, Mr. Premium - Sir Oliv. Gentlemen - Jos. Surf. Sir, by heaven you shall go! Chas. Surf. Ay, out with him, certainly Sir Oliv. This violenceJos. Surf. Sir, 'tis your own fault. Chas. Surf. Out with him, to be sure. [Both forcing SIR OLIVER out. Enter SIR PETER and LADY TEAZLE, MARIA, and ROWLEY. 'Sir Pet. My old friend, Sir Oliver -hey! What in the name of wonder - here are dutiful nephews -assault their uncle at a first visit! Lady Teaz. Indeed, Sir Oliver, 'twas well we came in to rescue you. Row. Truly it was; for I perceive, Sir Oliver, the character of old Stanley was no protection to you. Sir Oliv. Nor of Premium either: the necessities of the former could not extort a shilling from that benevolent gen 1 His coffee-house address. 94 SCENE III.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 28i tleman; and with the other I stood a chance of faring worse than my ancestors, and being knocked down without being bid for. Jos. Surf. Charles! Chas. Surf. Joseph! Jos. Surf. 'Tis now complete! Chas. Surf. Very. Sir Oliv. Sir Peter, my friend, and Rowley too -look on that elder nephew of mine. You know what he has already received from my bounty; and you also know how gladly I would have regarded half my fortune as held in trust for him: judge then my disappointment in discovering him to be destitute of truth, charity, and gratitude. Sir Pet. Sir Oliver, I should be more surprised at this declaration, if I had not myself found him to be mean, treacherous, and hypocritical. Lady Teaz. And if the gentleman pleads not guilty to these, pray let him call me to his character. Sir Pet. Then, I believe, we need add no more: if he knows himself, he will consider it as the most perfect punishment, that he is known to the world. Chas. Surf. If they talk this way to Honesty, what will they say to me, by and by? [Aside. [SIR PETER, LADY TEAZLE, and MARIA retire. Sir Oliv. As for that prodigal, his brother, there - Chas. Surf. Ay, now comes my turn; the damned family pictures will ruin me. [Aside. Jos. Surf. Sir Oliver-uncle, will you honour me with a hearing? Chas. Surf. Now, if Joseph would make one of his long speeches, I might recollect myself a little. [Aside. Sir Oliv. I suppose you would undertake to justify yourself? [To JOSEPH SURFACE. Jos. Surf. I trust I could. Sir Oliv. [to CHARLES SURFACE]. Well, sir! -and you could justify yourself too, I suppose? Chas. Surf. Not that I know of, Sir Oliver. Sir Oliv. What! - Little Premium has been let too much into the secret, I suppose? 95 282 SHERIDAN. [ACT V. Chas. Surf. True, sir; but they were family secrets, and should not be mentioned again, you know. Row. Come, Sir Oliver, I know you cannot speak of Charles's follies with anger. Sir Oliv. Odds heart, no more I can; nor with gravity either. Sir Peter, do you know the rogue bargained with me for all his ancestors; sold me judges and generals by the foot, and maiden aunts as cheap as broken china. Chas. Surf. To be sure, Sir Oliver, I did make a little free with the family canvas, that's the truth on't. My ancestors may rise in judgment against me, there's no denying it; but believe me sincere when I tell you - and upon my soul I would not say so if I was not - that if I do not appear mortified at the exposure of my follies, it is because I feel at this moment the warmest satisfaction in seeing you, my liberal benefactor. Sir Oliv. Charles, I believe you. Give me your hand again: the ill-looking little fellow over the settee has made your peace. Chas. Surf. Then, sir, my gratitude to the original is still increased. Lady Teaz. [advancinz]. Yet, I believe, Sir Oliver, here is one whom Charles is still more anxious to be reconciled to. [Pointing to MARIA. Sir Oliv. Oh, I have heard of his attachment there; and, with the young lady's pardon, if I construe right - that blush Sir Pet. Well, child, speak your sentiments! Maria. Sir, I have little to say, but that I shall rejoice to hear that he is happy; for me, whatever claim I had to his attention, I willingly resign to one who has a better title. Chas. Surf. How, Maria! Sir Pet. Heyday! what's the mystery now? While he appeared an incorrigible rake, you would give your hand to no one else; and now that he is likely to reform, I'll warrant you won't have him! Lairia. His own heart and Lady Sneerwell know the cause. C/has. Surf. Lady Sneerwell! Jos. Surf. Brother, it is with great concern I am obliged to 96 SCENE III.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 283 speak on this point, but my regard to justice compels me, and Lady Sneerwell's injuries can no longer be concealed. [Opens the door. Enter LADY SNEERWELL. Sir Pet. So! another French milliner! Egad, he has one in every room in the house, I suppose. Lady Sneer. Ungrateful Charles! Well may you be surprised, and feel for the indelicate situation your perfidy has forced me into. Chas. Surf. Pray, uncle, is this another plot of yours? For, as I have life, I don't understand it. Jos. Surf: I believe, sir, there is but the evidence of one person more necessary to make it extremely clear. Sir Pet. And that person, I imagine, is Mr. Snake. — Rowley, you were perfectly right to bring him with us, and pray let him appear. Row. Walk in, Mr. Snake. Enter SNAKE. I thought his testimony might be wanted. However, it happens unluckily, that he comes to confront Lady Sneerwell, not to support her. Lady Sneer. A villain! Treacherous to me at last! Speak, fellow, have you too conspired against me? Snake. I beg your ladyship ten thousand pardons: you paid me extremely liberally for the lie in question; but I unfortunately have been offered double to speak the truth. Sir Pet. Plot and counter-plot, egad! I wish your ladyship joy of your negotiation. Lady Sneer. The torments of shame and disappointment on you all! [Going. Lady Teaz. Hold, Lady Sneerwell; before you go, let me thank you for the trouble you and that gentleman have taken, in writing letters from me to Charles, and answering them yourself; and let me also request you to make my respects to the scandalous college, of which you are president, and inform them that Lady Teazle, licentiate, begs leave to return the 97 284 SHERIDA N. [ACT V. diploma they granted her, as she leaves off practice, and kills characters no longer. Lady Sneer. You too, madam! - provoking - insolent! May your husband live these fifty years! [Exit. Sir Pet. Oons! what a fury! Lady Teaz. A malicious creature, indeed! Sir Pet. What! not for her last wish? Lady Teaz. Oh, no! Sir Oliv. Well, sir, and what have you to say now? Jos. Surf. Sir, I am so confounded, to find that Lady Sneerwell could be guilty of suborning Mr. Snake in this manner, to impose on us all, that I know not what to say; however, lest her revengeful spirit should prompt her to injure my brother, I had certainly better follow her directly. For the man who attempts to - [Exit. Sir Pet. Moral to the last! Sir Oliv. Ay, and marry her, Joseph, if you can. Oil and vinegar! - egad, you'll do very well together. Row. I believe we have no more occasion for Mr. Snake at present? Snake. Before I go, I beg pardon once for all, for whatever uneasiness I have been the humble instrument of causing to the parties present. Sir Pet. Well, well, you have made atonement by a good deed at last. Snake. But I must request of the company, that it shall never be known. Sir Pet. Hey! what the plague! are you ashamed of having done a right thing once in your life? Snake. Ah, sir, consider - I live by the badness of my character; and, if it were once known that I had been betrayed into an honest action, I should lose every friend I have in the world. Sir Oliv. Well, well; we'll not traduce you by saying any thing in your praise, never fear. [Exit SNAKE. Sir Pet. There's a precious rogue! Lady Teaz. See, Sir Oliver, there needs no persuasion now to reconcile your nephew and Maria. Sir Oliv. Ay, ay; that's as it should be, and, egad, we'll have the wedding to-morrow morning. 98 SCENE II.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 285 Chas. Surf. Thank you, dear uncle. Sir Pet. What, you rogue! don't you ask the girl's consent first? Chas. Surf. Oh, I have done that a long time- a minute ago - and she has looked yes. Maria. For shame, Charles!- I protest, Sir Peter, there has not been a wordSir Oliv. Well, then, the fewer the better; may your love for each other never know abatement. Sir Pet. And may you live as happily together as Lady Teazle and I intend to do! Chas. Surf. Rowley, my old friend, I am sure you congratulate me; and I suspect that I owe you much. Sir Oliv. You do, indeed, Charles.l Sir Pet. Ay, honest Rowley always said you would reform. Chas. Surf. Why, as to reforming, Sir Peter, I'll make no promises, and that I take to be a proof that I intend to set about it. But here shall be my monitor - my gentle guide. - Ah! can I leave the virtuous path those eyes illumine? Though thou, dear maid, shouldst waive thy beauty's sway, Thou still must rule, because I will obey: An humble fugitive from Folly view, No sanctuary near but Love and you: [ To the audience. You can, indeed, each anxious fear remove, For even Scandal dies, if you approve.2 [Exeunt omnes. 1 After this speech stands in other editions the following or an equivalent speech from Rowley: "' If my efforts to serve you had not succeeded, you would have been in my debt for the attempt; but deserve to be happy, and you overpay me." 2 Moore says that the manuscript of the last five scenes bears evident marks of haste in finishing, and that on the last leaf there is the following curious specimen of doxology, written hastily, in the hand-writing of the author and prompter respectively: " Finished at last, thank God! R. B. Sheridan. Amen I W. Hopkins." 99 286 SHERIDAN. [EPIL. 28 SHRDN.[_L EPILOGUE. BY MR. COLMAN.1 SPOKEN BY LADY TEAZLE. I, WHO was late so volatile and gay, Like a trade-wind must now blow all one way, Bend all my cares, my studies, and my vows, To one dull rusty weathercock - my spouse! So wills our virtuous bard — the motley Bayes2 Of crying epilogues and laughing plays! Old bachelors, who marry smart young wives, Learn from our play to regulate your lives: Each bring his dear to town, all faults upon herLondon will prove the very source of honour; Plunged fairly in, like a cold bath it serves, When principles relax, to brace the nerves: Such is my case; and yet I must deplore That the gay dream of dissipation's o'er. And say, ye fair! was ever lively wife, Born with a genius for the highest life, Like me untimely blasted in her bloom, Like me condemn'd to such a dismal doom? Save money - when I just knew how to waste it! Leave London - just as I began to taste it! Must I then watch the early crowing cock, The melancholy ticking of a clock; 1 George Colman, the elder, author of Polly Honeycombe, The Jealous Wife, and a number of other plays. 2 The poet and principal character in the Duke of Buckingham's Rehearsal, intended as a caricature of Dryden. The word soon passed into literature as a general name for poet or dramatist. See Goldsmith's Epilogue to She Stoops to Conquer, last line (page 84), and note 7. 100 EPIL.] THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 287 In a lone rustic hall for ever pounded, With dogs, cats, rats, and squalling brats surrounded? With humble curate can I now retire, (While good Sir Peter boozes with the squire,) And at backgammon mortify my soul, That pants for loo, or flutters at a vole?1 Seven's the main!2 Dear sound that must expire, Lost at hot cockles 3 round a Christmas fire; The transient hour of fashion too soon spent, Farewell the tranquil mind, farewell content!4 Farewell the plumed head, the cushion'd thte, That takes the cushion from its proper seat! That spirit-stirring drum! - card drums I mean, Spadille 5 - odd trick - pam6 - basto7 - king and queen! And you, ye knockers, that, with brazen throat, The welcome visitors' approach denote; Farewell all quality of high renown, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious town! Farewell! your revels I partake no more, And Lady Teazle's occupation's o'er! All this I told our bard; he smiled, and said 'twas clear, I ought to play deep tragedy next year. Meanwhile he drew wise morals from his play, And in these solemn periods stalk'd away; " Bless'd were the fair like you; her faults who stopp'd And closed her follies when the curtain dropp'd! No more in vice or error to engage, Or play the fool at large on life's great stage." 1 A winning of all the tricks at cards in one deal. 2 The highest throw at dice. Compare She Stoops to Conquer, III., i. (page 53), and note I. 3 " A play in which one kneels, and covering his eyes lays his head in another's lap and guesses who struck him." -STRUTT, quoted in Cent. Diet. 4 This line and the ten following are a parody on the passage beginning, "Farewell the tranquil mind," in Othello, III., iii. 5 Ace of spades. 6 Knave of clubs. 7 Ace of clubs. 101 I VIRGINIUS. A TRAGEDY. BY JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES. I 2 TO WILLIAM MACREADY, ESQ. MY DEAR SIR,What can I do less than dedicate this Tragedy to you? This is a question which you cannot answer; but I can - I cannot do less; and if I could do more, I ought, and would. I was a perfect stranger to you: you read my play, and at once committed yourself respecting its merits. This, perhaps, is not saying much for your head -but it says a great deal for your heart; and that is the consideration which, above all others, makes me feel happy, and proud, in subscribing myself, Your grateful Friend and Servant, JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES. LONDON, May 20,1 820. PREFACE. THIS Play was written in great haste, and, no doubt, abounds in defects; but it is a question whether it would have been less imperfect, had I taken a year to compose it. It was resolved and executed in about three months, in the midst of very numerous and arduous avocations. To a distinguished individual who suggested to me the idea of writing it, I shall ever feel grateful. I owe the public an apology for the last act; and this is my apology - History gives two accounts of the manner of Appius's death: one, that he committed suicide; the other, that he was destroyed privately by the Tribunes.l Had I selected for my catastrophe the latter incident, the character of the tyrant had stood too prominent; by adopting the former, I should have violated the respect due to a Christian audience. After having excited such an interest for Virginius, it would have been indecent to represent him in the attitude of taking the law into his own hands. I therefore adopted the idea of his destroying Appius in a fit of temporary insanity, which gives the catastrophe the air of a visitation of Providence. I am most sensible of the great degree in which I am indebted to the Ladies and Gentlemen of the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden; and I beg them to believe that I feel more than I can very readily express. To forget what I owe to the Theatre where my Play was first performed,2 would be ungrateful; and, under any circumstances, to omit the acknowledgment of it would be unprincipled and mean. I take, therefore, this opportunity of thanking also the Company of the Glasgow Theatre. 1 The first account is that of Livy, the second is recorded by Dionysius of Halicarnassus as being a general suspicion. 2 Virginius was played in Glasgow before it came into Macready's hands. DRAMATIS PERSONAE. [As ORIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT GARDEN IN 1820.] Applus CLAUDIUS (MR. ABBOTT. SPURIIJS OPPIUS ~ Decemvirs... MR. WHITE. VIBULANUS.. ) MR. JEFFERIES. HONORIUS Patricians.. MR. NORRIS. VALERIUSMR. VEDY. CAIUS CLAUDIUS Cinst fis. MR. CONNOR. MARCUS.. A.iu MR. CLAREMONT. DENTATUS. A Veteran. MR. TERRY. VIRGINIUS. A Centurion. MR. MACREADY. NUMITORIUS.- His Brother-in-law. MR. EGERTON. ICILIUS.. In love with Virginia. MR. C. KEMBLE. Lucius... Brother of Icilius. MR. COMER. PUBLIUS... MR. MEARS. DECIUS... Soldiers.. MRi. TREBY. SEXTUS... MR. CRUMPTON. TITUS... (MR. FAUCIT. SERVIUS.. Citizens.... MR. ATKINS. CNEIUS.. MR. KING. VIRGINIA.. Daughter of Virginius. Miss FOOTE. SER VIA. Her Nurse.... MRS. FAUCIT. FEMALE SLAVE.........MRS. CHIPP. Citizens (male andjfemale), Soldiers, Lictors, i-'c. SCENE - CHIEFLY ROME. 6 PROLOGUE. BY J. H. REYNOLDS, ESQ.1 SPOKEN BY MISS BOOTH.2 [Speaking behind.] Nay, Mr. Fawcett,3 give me leave, I pray: The audience wait, and I must have my way. [Enters. What! curb a woman's tongue! - as I'm alive, The wretch would mar our old prerogative! Ladies, by very dint of pertinacity, Have I preserved the glory of loquacity! Oh! could you gaze, as I am gazing now, And see each man behind, with gathered brow, And clenched hand (though naught my spirit damps), Beckoning, with threats, my presence from the lamps: Each, as I broke my way, declared'how well His art could woo you-to be peaceable! One is well robed - a second greatly shines In the nice balance of cast-iron lines; A third can sing - a fourth can touch your tearsA fifth -" I'll see no more! "4 - a fifth appears, Who hath been once in Italy, and seen Rome; In short- there's quite a hubbub in the Green-Room. But I - a very woman - careless, light - Fleet idly to your presence this fair night; And, craving your sweet pardon, fain would say A kind word for the poet and his play. 1 John Hamilton Reynolds, poet and lawyer. 2 Sarah Booth. 3 John Fawcett, actor and dramatist. 4 Macbeth, IV., i., II8. She is here parodying Macbeth. 296 KNO WLES. [PROL. To-night, no idle nondescript lays waste The fairy and yet placid bower of taste; No story, piled with dark and cumbrous fate, And words that stagger under their own weight; But one of silent grandeur -simply said, As though it were awakened from the dead! It is a tale- made beautiful by years - Of pure, old Roman sorrow -old in tears! And those you shed o'er it in childhood may Still fall - and fall- for sweet Virginia! Nor doth a crowned poet of the age Call the sweet spirits from the historic page! No old familiar dramatist hath spun This tragic, antique web, to-night - but one, An unknown author, in a sister land,l Waits, in young fear, the fiat of your hand. 1 Knowles was an Irishman. 8 VIRGIN IUS.' ACT I. SCENE I. - A Street in Rome. Enter SERVIUS and CNEIUS. Servius. Carbo denied a hearinog! Cne. Ay, and Marcellus cast into prison, because he sued a friend of one of the decemvirs for a sum of money he had lent him. Servius. And Appius resisted not? Appius, that in the first decemvirate was a god to the people! Cne. Resisted not! Nay, was most loud in favour of the decree; but hither comes Virginius, who interested himself so much in Carbo's affair. He looks a little heated. Is not that Titus he is speaking to? Stand aside, master, and listen. 1 The story of Virginia is told by Livy (III., 44-49) and Dionysius of Halicarnassus (XI., 28-38). The former account is given in the Appendix. The story has been often treated in English literature. Chaucer put it into the mouth of the physician in the Canterbury Tales. Gower related it in the seventh book of the Confessio Amantis. An author styled R. B. wrote a play with the title Appius and Virginia which was printed in 1575 but acted perhaps as early as 1563. (See Dodsley's 0. E. P., IV.) Webster's play of Alppius and Virginia was printed in I654. John Dennis' Appiius and Virginia appeared in 1709. Crisp's Virginia was acted in 1754. Moncrieff's Appius was acted in 1755. Frances Brooke's Virginia was published in 1756. Bidlake's Virginia or the Fall of the Decemvirs was published in I8oo. Knowles' tragedy was produced in 1820. Macaulay's poem appeared in I842. Of the many foreign tragedies on this subject, suffice it to mention the Virginia of Alfieri. 298 KNO WLES. [ACT L Enter VIRGINIUS and TITUS. Virginius. Why did you make him decemvir, and first decemvir too? Titus. We had tried him, and found him honest. Virginius. And could you not have remained content? Why try him again to find him dishonest? Knew ye not he was a patrician, and of the Claudian family? Titus. He laid down the consulateVirginius. Ha! ha! ha! to be elected into the decemvirate, and he was so; and he laid down his office of decemvir to be re-elected into the decemvirate,l and he is so; ay, by Jupiter! and to the exclusion of his late colleagues! Did not Titus Genutius lay down the consulate? Titus. He did. Virginius. Was he not next to Appius in the decemvirate? Titus. He was. Virginius. Did you not find him honest? Titus. We did find him honest. Virginius. As honest as Appius Claudius? Titus. Quite as honest. Virginius. Quite as honest! And why not re-elect him decemvir? Most sapient people! You re-elect Appius into the decemvirate for his honesty, and you thrust Titus out of the decemvirate -I suppose for his honesty also! Why, Appius was sick of the decemvirate. Servius. I never heard him say so. Virginius. But he did say so-say so in mry hearing; in presence of the senators Valerius and Caius C laudius, and I don't know how many others. 'Twas known to lhe whole body 1 For the year 451 B.C., ten men (decemviri) were elecead to carry on the government and to form a code of laws. They were to te supreme magistrates for the year. Their rule was wise and their laws inet the approval of the people. In order to complete the work it was decided to have deceinvirs for another year. Appius Claudius caused himself to be re-elected and affairs soon took a different turn. The new decemvirs proved tyrants and dissatisfaction spread among the people. At the end of the second year they refused to give up their office. The murder of Siccius Dentatus hastened the crisis; and the affair of Virginia put an end to the decemvirate. SCENE I.] VIRGINIUS. 299 of the senate - not that he was sick, but that he said so. Yes, yes; he and his colleagues, he said, had done the work of the republic for a whole year, and it was now but just to grant them a little repose, and appoint others to succeed them. Titus. Well, well, we can only say he changed his mind. Virginius. No, no, we needn't say that neither; as he had laboured in the decemvirate, perhaps he thought he might as well repose in the decemvirate. Titus. I know not what he thought. He is decemvir, and we made him so, and cannot h, ' 'nrshJv^s. Fare you well, Virginius. Come, let's to the Forum.1 LExeunt TITUS, SERVIUS, and CNEIUS. Vihginius. You cannot help yourselves! Indeed you cannot: You help'd to put your masters on your backs: They like their seat, and make you show your paces. They ride you - sweat you - curb you - lash you - and You cannot throw them off with all your mettle! But here comes one whose share in giving you To such unsparing riders, touches me More nearly, for that I've an interest In proving him a man of fair and most Erect integrity. Good day, Icilius. Enter ICILIUS.2 Icil. Worthy Virginius! 'tis an evil day For Rome, that gives her more convincing proof, The thing she took for hope is but a base And wretched counterfeit! Our new decemvirs Are any thing but friends to justice and Their country. Virginius. You Icilius, had a hand In their election. You applied to me To aid you with my vote in the comitia:8 I told you then, and tell you now again, 1 The market-place and place of meeting for popular assemblies and for courts of justice. 2 " Vir acer et pro causa plebis expertae virtutis." - LIVY, III., 44. 8 Assembly of the people. II 300 KNOWLES. [ACT 1. I am not pleased when a patrician bends His head to a plebeian's girdle. Mark me! I'd rather he should stand aloof, and wear His shoulder high - especially the nephew Of Caius Claudius. Icil. I would have pledg'd my life - Virginius. 'Twas a high gage, and men have staked a higher On grounds as poor as yours - their honour, boy! Icilius, I have heard it all - your plans - Tbe-u~nder.%ta-.di'g 'txixy +.:eids of the people (Of whom, Icilius, you are reckon'd one, and Worthily) and Appius Claudius - all'Twas every jot disclosed to me. Icil. By whom? Virginius. Siccius Dentatus. Icil. He disclosed it to you? Siccius Dentatus is a crabbed man. Virginius. Siccius Dentatus is an honest man:1 There's not a worthier in Rome. How now? Has he deceived me? Do you call him liar? My friend! my comrade! honest Siccius, That has fought in six-score battles? Icil. Good Virginius, Siccius Dentatus is my friend - the friend Of every honest man in Rome - a brave manA most brave man. Except yourself, Virginius, I do not know a man I prize above Siccius Dentatus - yet he's a crabbed man. V/irginius. Yes, yes; he is a crabbed man. 1 " L. Sicciumn Dentatumn, qui tribunus plebi fuit, Sp. Tarpeio, A. Aterio consulibus, scripturn est in libris annalibus plus quam credi debeat strenuumn bellatorem fuisse nornenque ei factumn oh ingentemn fortitudinemn appellatumque esse Aclifilern Ronianurn. Is pugnasse in bosten- dlicitur centurn et viginti pnreeiis, cicatricern aversamn nullairi, adversas quinque et quadraginta tulisse, coronis esse danatus aureis octo, obsidionali una, muralibus tribus, civicis quattuordecim, torquibus tribus et octoginta, armillis plus centumn sexaginta, hastis duodevigenti; phaleris item donatuis est quinquies viciesque; spolia militaria habuit multijuga, in his provocatoria pleraque; triumphavit corn imperatoribus suis triumphos novemn." - GELLIus, Noct. Ah'ic., II., is. 12 SCENE I.] VIRGIVIUS. 30I fcil. A man Who loves too much to wear a jealous eye. Virginius. No, not a whit, where there is double dealing. You are the best judge of your own concerns; Yet, if it please you to communicate With me upon this subject, come and see me. I told you, boy, I favour'd not this stealing And winding into place. What he deserves, An honest man dares challenge 'gainst the world - But come and see me. Appius Claudius chosen Decemvir, and his former colleagues, that Were quite as honest as himself, not chosen - No, not so much as named by him who named Himself, and his new associates! Well, 'tis true, Dog fights with dog, but honesty is not A cur doth 1 bait his fellow - and e'en dogs, By habit of companionship, abide In terms of faith and cordialityBut come and see me. [A shout. Icil. Appius comes! The people still throng after him with shouts, Unwilling to believe their Jupiter Has mark'd them for his thunder. Will you stay, And see the homage that they render him? Virginius. Not I! Stay you; and, as you made him, hail him; And shout, and wave your hand, and cry: "Long live Our first and last decemvir, Appius Claudius!" For he is first, and last, and every one! Rome owes you much, Icilius - Fare you well - I shall be glad to see you at my house. [Exit VIRGINIUS. Enter APPIUS CLAUDIUS, CLAUDIUS, SICCIUS DENTATUS, LUCIUS, TITUS, SERVIUS, MARCUS, and CITIZENS, shouting. Titus. Long live our first decemvir! Long live Appius Claudius! Most noble Appius! Appius and the decemvirate for ever. [CITIZENS shout. 1 Knowles is fond of omitting the relative. 13 302 KNTO WLES. [ACT I. App. My countrymen, and fellow-citizens, We will deserve your favour. Titus. You have deserved it, And will deserve it. Afp. For that end we named Ourself decemvir. Titus. You could not have named a better man. Den. For his own purpose. [Aside. Ap/. Be assured, we hold Our power but for your good. Your gift it was; And gifts make surest debtors.1 Fare you well — And, for your salutations, pardon me If I repay you only with an echo - Long live the worthy citizens of Rome! [Exeunt APPIUS, etc., the people shouting. Den. That was a very pretty echo! - a most soft echo. I never thought your voices were half so sweet! A most melodious echo! I'd have you ever after make your music before the patricians' palaces; they give most exquisite responses!especially that of Appius Claudius! A most delicate echo! Titus. What means Dentatus? Servius. He's ever carping —nothing pleases him. Den. O! yes -you please me -please me mightily, I assure you. - You are noble legislators, take most especial care of your own interests, bestow your votes most wisely too - on him who has the wit to get you into the humour; and, withal, have most musical voices - most musical - if one may judge by their echo. Titus. Why, what quarrel have you with our choice? Could we have chosen better? - I say they are ten honest decemvirs we have chosen. Den. I pray you name them me.2 Titus. There's Appius Claudius, first decemvir. Den. Ay, call him the head; you are right. Appius Claudius, the head. Go on! 1,, Munera, credi mihi, capiunt hominesque deosque." OvID, Art. Am., III., 653. 2 For the list which follows see Livy, III., 35, and Dionysius, X., 58. I4 SCENE I.] ' -TRGINWIUS. 303 Titus. And Quintus Fabius Vibulanus. Den. The body, that eats and drinks while the head thinks. Call him Appius's stomach. Fill him, and keep him from cold and indigestion, and he'll never give Appius the headache! Well?- There's excellent comfort in having a good stomach! Well? Titus. There's Cornelius, Marcus Servilius, Minucius, and Titus Antonius. Den. Arms, legs, and thighs! Titus. And Marcus Rabuleius. Den. He'll do for a hand, and, as he's a senator, we'll call him the right hand. We couldn't do less, you know, for a senator! Well? Luc. At least, you'll say we did well in electing Quintius Petilius, Caius Duellius, and Spurius Oppius, men of our order! sound men! known sticklers for the people - at least you'll say we did well in that! Den. And who dares say otherwise? "Well"! one might as well say " ill " as " well." "Well" is the very skirt of commendation; next neighbour to that mire and gutter, "ill." "Well," indeed! you acted like yourselves. Nay, e'en yourselves could not have acted better. Why, had you not elected them, Appius would have gone without his left hand and each of his two feet! Servius. Out! you are dishonest. Den. Ha! Servius. What would content you? Den. A post in a hot battle. Out, you cur! Do you talk to me? Citizen [from behind]. Down with him, he does nothing but insult the people. [The crowd approach DENTATUS, threateningly. Icil. Stand back! Who is't that says down with Siccius Dentatus? Down with him! 'Tis what the enemy could never do; and shall we do it for them? Who uttered that dishonest word? Who uttered it, I say? Let him answer a fitter though less worthy mate, Lucius Icilius. Citizens. Stand back, and hear Icilius! Icil. What! haven't I voted for the decemvirs, and do I 15 304 KNO WLES. [ACT I. snarl at his jests? Has he not a right to jest? the good, honest Siccius Dentatus, that, alone, at the head of the veterans, van-' quished the Aqui1 for you. Has he not a right to jest? For shame! get to your houses! The worthy Dentatus! Cheer for him, if you are Romans! Cheer for him before you go! Cheer for him, I say! [Exeunt CITIZENS, shouting. Den. And now,what thanks do you expect from me, Icilius? Icil. None. Den. By Jupiter, young man, had you thus stepped before me in the heat of battle, I would have cloven you down - but I'm obliged to you, Icilius - and hark you! There's a piece of furniture in the house of a friend of mine, that's called Virginius, I think you've set your heart upon - dainty enough; yet not amiss for a young man to covet. Ne'er lose your hopes! He may be brought into the mind to part with it. As to these curs, I question which I value less,2 their fawnings or their snarlings. I thank you, boy. Do you walk this way? I am glad of it. Come! 'Tis a noble decemvirate you have chosen for us! Come. [Exeunt. SCENE II. - VIRGINIUS'S House. Enter VIRGINIUS and SERVIA. Virginius. And is this all you have observed? I think There's nothing strange in that. An L and an I Twined with a V. Three very innocent letters To have bred such mischief in thy brain, good Servia. Come, read this riddle to me. Servia. You may laugh, Virginius; but I'll read the riddle right. The L doth stand for Lucius; and the I, Icilius; which, I take it, will compose Lucius Icilius. Virginius. So it will, good Servia. Servia. Then, for the V; why, that is plain Virginia. Virginius. And now, what conjuration find you here? 1 A warlike people of Italy east of Rome. 2 Many editions read more. I6 SCENE II.] VIRGINIUS. 305 Servia. What should I find, but love? The maid's in love; And it is with Icilius. Look, the wreath Is made of roses, that entwines the letters. Virginius. And this is all? Servia. And is it not enough? You'll find this figuring where'er you look: There's not a piece of dainty work she does - Embroidery or painting - not a task She finishes, but on the skirt or border, In needle-work or pencil, this, her secret, The silly wench betrays. Virginius. Go, send her to me. Stay! Have you spoken to her of it? Servia. I! Not I, indeed; I left that task to youThough once I asked her what the letters meant. She laugh'd, and drew a scratch across them; but Had scarce done so, ere her fair visage fell, For grief that she had spoiled the cyphers -and A sigh came out, and then almost a tear; And she did look as piteous on the harm That she had done, as she had done it to A thing had sense to feel it. Never after She let me note her at her work again. She had good reason! Virginius. Send her to me, Servia. [Exit SERVIA. There's something here that looks as it would bring me Anticipation of my wish. I think Icilius loves my daughter- nay, I know it; And such a man I'd challenge for her husband; - And only waited till her forward spring Put on, a little more, the genial likeness Of colouring into summer, ere I sought To nurse a flower, which, blossoming too early, Too early often dies; but if it springs Spontaneous, and, unlooked for, woos our hand To tend and cherish it, the growth is healthful; And 'twere untimely, as unkind, to check it. I'll ascertain it shortly -soft, she comes. 17 306 KNOWLES. [ACT I. Enter VIRGINIA. Virginia. Well, father, what's your will? Virginius. I wish'd to see you To ask you of your tasks - how they go on - And what your masters say of you - what last You did. I hope you never play the truant? Virginia. The truant! No, indeed, Virginius. Virginius. I am sure you do not- kiss me! Virginia. O my father! I am so happy when you're kind to me! Virginius. You are so happy when I'm kind to you! Am I not always kind? I never spoke An angry word to you in all my life, Virginia! You are happy when I'm kind! That's strange; and makes me think you have some reason To fear I may be otherwise than kindIs't so, my girl? Virginia. Indeed, I did not know What I was saying to you! Virginius. Why, that's worse And worse! What! when you said your father's kindness Made you so happy, am I to believe You were not thinking of him? Virginia. I - [Greatly confused. Virginius. Go fetch me The latest task you did. [Exit VIRGINIA.] It is enough. Her artless speech, like crystal, shows the thing 'Twould hide, but only covers. 'Tis enough! She loves, and fears her father may condemn. VIRGINIA re-enters with a painting. Virginia. Here, sir. Virginius. What's this? Virginia. Of great Achilles parting from Briseis.1 'Tis Homer's history 1 Briseis (Hippodameia), daughter of Briseus, was taken from Achilles by Agamemnon. See the Iliad, I. 18 SCENE II.] VIRGINIUS. 307 Virginius. You have done it well. The colouring is good, The figures well design'd. 'Tis very well! - Whose face is this you've given to Achilles? Virginia. Whose face? Virginius. I've seen this face! Tut! tut! I know it As well as I do my own, yet can't bethink me Whose face it is! Virginia. You mean Achilles' face? Virginius. Did I not say so! 'Tis the very face Of - No! no! Not of him. There's too much youth And comeliness, and too much fire, to suit The face of Siccius Dentatus. Virginia. 0! You surely never took it for his face! Virginius. Why, no; for now I look again, I'd swear You lost the copy ere you drew the head; And, to requite Achilles for the want Of his own face, contrived to borrow one From Lucius Icilius. Enter DENTATUS. My Dentatus, I am glad to see you! Den. 'Tis not for my news, then. Virginius. Your news! What news? Den. More violence and wrong from these new masters of ours, our noble decemvirs - these demigods of the good people of Rome! No man's property is safe from them. Nay, it appears we hold our wives and daughters but by the tenure of their will. Their liking is the law. The senators themselves, scared at their audacious rule, withdraw themselves to their villas and leave us to our fate. There are rumours, also, of new incursions by the Sabines.l Virginius. Rome never saw such days. Den. And she'll see worse, unless I fail in my reckoning. Is that Virginia? I saw her not before. How does the fair Vir1 A people of central Italy northeast of Rome. 19 308 KNO WLES. [ACT I. ginia? Why, she is quite a woman. I was just now wishing for a daughter. Virginius. A plague, you mean. Den. I am sure you should not say so. Virginia. Indeed he should not; and he does not say so, Dentatus - not that I am not a plague, But that he does not think me one, for all I do to weary him. I am sure, Dentatus, If to be thought to do well is to do well, There's nothing I do ill; but it is far From that! for few things do I as I oughtYet every thing is well done with my father, Dentatus. Virginius. That's well done, is it not, my friend? [Aside. But if you had a daughter, what would you do with her? Den. I'd give her to Icilius. I should have been just now torn to pieces, but for his good offices. The gentle citizens that are driven about by the decemvirs' lictors, like a herd of tame oxen, and, with most beast-like docility, only low applauses to them in return, would have done me the kindness to knock my brains out: but the noble Icilius bearded them singly, and railed them into temper. Had I a daughter worthy of such a husband, he should have such a wife, and a patrician's dower along with her. Virginius. I wish to speak with you, Dentatus. Icilius is a young man whom I honour, but so far only as his conduct gives me warrant. He has had, as thou knowest, a principal hand in helping us to our decemvirs. It may be that he is what I would gladly think him; but I must see him clearly, clearly, Dentatus. If he has acted with the remotest understanding, touching the views of these new tyrants that we are cursed withal, I disclaim him as my friend! I cast him off for ever! [Exeunt VIRGINIUS and DENTATUS. Virginia. How is it with my heart? I feel as one That has lost every thing, and just before Had nothing left to wish for! He will cast Icilius off! - I never told it yet; But take of me, thou gentle air, the secretAnd ever after breathe more balmy sweet — 20 SCENE II.] VIRGINIUS. 309 I love Icilius! Yes, although to thee I fear to tell it, that hast neither eye To scan my looks, nor voice to echo me, Nor e'en an o'er-apt ear to catch my words; Yet, sweet invisible confidant, my secret Once being thine - I tell thee, and I tell thee Again- and yet again, I love Icilius I He'll cast Icilius off!- not if Icilius Approve 1 his honour. That he'll ever do; He speaks, and looks, and moves a thing of honour, Or honour never yet spoke, looked, or moved, Or was a thing of earth. 0, come, Icilius! Do but appear, and thou art vindicated. Enter ICILIUS. Icil. Virginia! sweet Virginia! sure I heard My name pronounced. Was it by thee, Virginia? Thou dost not answer! Then it was by thee - 0! wouldst thou tell me why thou nam'dst Icilius I Virginia. My father is incensed with thee. Dentatus Has told him of the new decemvirate, How they abuse their office. You, he knows, Have favour'd their election, and he fears May have some understanding of their plans. Icil. He wrongs me then! Virginia. I thank the gods! Icil. For me! Virginia? Do you thank the gods for me? Your eye is moist - yet that may be for pity; Your hand doth tremble - that may be for fear; Your check is cover'd o'er with blushes! What, O what can that be for? Virginia. Icilius, leave me! Icil. Leave thee, Virginia! 0, a word - a word Trembles upon my tongue, which, if it match The thought that moves thee now, and thou wilt let me 1 Prove, vindicate. 3IO KNOWLES. [ACT I. Pronounce that word, to speak that thought for thee, I'll breathe, though I expire in the ecstasy Of uttering it. Virginia. Icilius, will you leave me? Icil. Love! Love! Virginia! Love! If I have spoke Thy thought aright, ne'er be it said again, The heart requires more service than the tongue Can, at its best, perform. My tongue hath served Two hearts- but lest it should o'erboast itself, Two hearts with but one thought.1 Virginia! Virginia, speak. [VIRGINIA covers her face with her hands. 0, I have loved thee long: So much the more ecstatic my delight, To find thee mine at length. Virginia. My secret's yours. Keep it and honour it, Icilius. Enter VIRGINIUS and DENTATUS behind. Virginius. Icilius here! Virginia. I ask thee now to leave me! Icil. Leave thee! who leaves a treasure he has coveted So long, and found so newly, ere he scans it Again, and o'er again; and asks and answers, Repeats and answers, answers and repeats, The half-mistrustful, half-assured questionAnd is it mine indeed? Virginia. Indeed! indeed! Now leave me. Icil. I must see thy father first, And lay my soul before him. 1 Compare Friedrich Halm's verses of a later date: Zwei Seelen und ein Gedanke, Zwei Herzen und ein Schlag." Der Sohn der Wildnis, II. Maria Lovell's translation runs: "Two souls with but a single thought, Two hearts that beat as one." Ingomar the Barbarian, II. Compare also Tennyson's Princess, VII., 304: "The two-cell'd heart beating with one full stroke." 22 SCENE II.] VIRGINIU-S. 3I I Virginia. Not to-night. Icil. Now worse than ever, dear Virginia, Can I endure his doubts; I'll lay my soul Naked before him —win his friendship quite, Or lose myself for ever? [Going, is met by VIRGINIUS. Virginius. Stop, Icilius! Thou seest that hand? It is a Roman's, boy; 'Tis sworn to liberty - It is the friend Of honour. Dost thou think so? Icil. Do I think Virginius owns that hand? Virginius. Then you'll believe It has an oath deadly to tyranny, And is the foe of falsehood! By the gods, Knew it the lurking place of treason, though It were a brother's heart, 'twould drag the caitiff Forth. Dar'st thou take that hand? Icil. I dare, Virginius. Virginius. Then take it! Is it weak in thy embrace? Returns it not thy gripe? Thou wilt not hold Faster by it than it will hold by thee! I overheard thee say, thou wast resolved To win my friendship quite - Thou canst not win What thou hast won already! You will stay And sup with us to-night? Den. To be sure he will! Virginius. And, hark you, sir, At your convenient time, appoint a day Your friends and kinsmen may confer with me - There is a bargain I would strike with you. Come, to the supper-room. Do you wait for me To lead Virginia in, or will you do it? Come on, I say; come on. Your hand, Dentatus. [Exeunt. 23 312 KNO WLES. [ACT II. 31~N LE.[C II ACT II. SCENE I.- A Street. Enter PUBLIUS and SEXTUS. Pub. This way! We muster at the Flaminian gate.1 Sext. Shall we not wait for Decius? Pub. No; were he ten times Decius. — They'll have already begun their march. Come on! Enter NUMITORIUS. Num. Do you belong to the fourth legion? Pub. We do. Num. They are upon their march, then. Pub. I told you so - Come on! come on! [Exeunt SOLDIERS. Enter LucIus. Luc. Numitorius, what soldiers were those that just now parted from you? NVum. Soldiers hastening to overtake the army that's now upon its march. Luc. 'Tis all confirmed, then; the Sabines2 are in force upon our borders. Num. I pray you tell me something new! Know you not the senate has met, and the decemvirs have come off triumphant in spite of all opposition? Luc. Should they have been opposed in such a strait as this? 1 The Porta Flaminia, a northern gate of Rome near the river Tiber. 2 t" Huic [Q. Fabio] bellum in Sabinis, M'. Rabuleio et Q. Poetilio additis collegis, mandatum. M. Cornelius in Algidum missus cum L. Minucio et T. Antonio et Caesone Duilio et M. Sergio. Sp. Oppium Ap. Claudio adjutorem ad urbem tuendam aequo omnium decemvirorum imperio decernunt." LIVY, III., 4I. 24 SCENE II.] VIRGINIUS. 313 Num. Aye, should they. They dared not have armed a single citizen without the order of the senate; which, had they not obtained, the country would have been left naked to the foe, and then they had been forced to make room for more popular magistrates. Luc. Why were they not opposed, then? Num. Did not I tell you they were opposed? Caius Claudius, Appius's own uncle, and Honorius, that noble senator, opposed them; and it was like to go against them, but for the brawling insolence of Spurius Oppius, and the effrontery of the head decemvir, backed by the young patricians. Luc. So they are empowered to take up arms? Num. To be sure they are; and they have done so. One body has already marched, and by this time, no doubt, has come to blows with the enemy. The levy is still proceeding. All the decemvirs, but Appius, take the field.1 He remains in Rome to keep good order, that is the violator of all order. Why, where have you been, Lucius, to have felt no movement of so great and wide a stir? Your brother meets Virginius at his house to-day. Come with me thither, for you, I know, are bid. Lucius, there's no huzzaing for your decemvirs now. Come on, we have outstaid the hour. [Exeunt. SCENE II. - VIRGINIUS'S House. Enter VIRGINIUS, ICILIUS, NUMITORIUS, LUCIUS, and others. Virginius. Welcome, Icilius! Welcome, friends! Icilius, I did design to speak with you of feasting And merriment, but war is now the word; One that unlovingly keeps time with mirth, Unless war's own - whene'er the battle's won, And safe carousing, comrades drink to victory! Icil. Virginius! have you changed your mind? Virginius. My mind? What mind? How now! Are you that boy, Icilius, You set your heart so earnestly upon 1 See the preceding quotation from Livy. 25 314 KNO HWLES. [ACT IL A dish of poor confections, that to balk you Makes you look blank! I did design to feast you Together with your friends. The times are changedThe march, the tent, the fight becomes us now! Icil. Virginius! Virginius. Well! Icil. Virginius! Virginius. How the boy Reiterates my name. Icil. There's not a hope I have but is the client of Virginius. Virginius. Well, well! I only meant to put it off! We'll have the revel yet! the board shall smoke! The cup shall sparkle, and the jest shall soar And mock us from the roof! Will that content you? Not till the war be done though - Yet, ere then, Some tongue, that now needs only wag to make The table ring, may have a tale to tell So petrifying, that it cannot utter it! I'll make all sure, that you may be my guest At any rate -although you should be forced To play the host for me and feast yourself. Look here. [Shows a parchment to ICILIUS.] How think you? Will it meet the charge? Will it not do? We want a witness though! I'll bring one; whom if you approve, I'll sign The bond. I'll wait upon you instantly. [Exit. Luc. How feel you now, Icilius? Icil. Like a man Whom the next moment makes or quite unmakes. With the intensity of exquisite Suspense, my breathing thickens, and my heart Beats heavily, and with remittent throb, As like to lose its action - See! my hope Is bless'd! I live! I live! Enter VIRGINIUS conducting VIRGINIA, with NUMITORIUS. Virginius. You are my witnesses That this young creature I present to you, 26 SCENE II.] VIRGINIUS. 315 I do pronounce my profitably cherish'd And most deservedly beloved child; My daughter, truly filial- both in word And act - yet even more in act than word; And -for the man who seeks to win her loveA virgin, from whose lips a soul as pure Exhales, as e'er responded to the blessing Breathed in a parent's kiss [kissing her]. Icilius! [ICILIUS rushes towards VIRGINIUS and kneels. Since You are upon your knees, young man, look up; And lift your hands to heaven - You will be all Her father has been- added unto all A lover would be! Icil. All that man should be To woman, I will be to her! Virginius. The oath Is register'd! Didst thou but know, young man, How fondly I have watch'd her, since the day Her mother died,' and left me to a charge Of double duty bound - how she hath been My ponder'd thought by day, my dream by night, My prayer, my vow, my offering, my praise, My sweet companion, pupil, tutor, child! - Thou wouldst not wonder, that my drowning eye, And choking utterance, upbraid my tongue That tells thee, she is thine! Icilius, I do betroth her to thee; let but the war Be done -you shall espouse her. Friends, a word! [VIRGINIUS and the rest retire. Icil. Virginia! my Virginia! I am all Dissolved - o'erpower'd with the munificence Of this auspicious hour - and thou, nor mov'st - Nor look'st - nor speak'st - to bless me with a sign Of sweet according joy! - I love thee, but 1 The mother is one of the characters in the old Atius and Virginia and in Alfieri's tragedy. Dionysius says directly and Livy by implication that she was dead. 27 316 KNOWLES. [ACT II. To make thee happy! If to make thee so, Be bliss denied to me - lo, I release The gifted 1 hand -that I would faster hold, Than wretches, bound for death, would cling to life. If thou wouldst take it back- then take it back. Virginia. I take it back - to give it thee again! Icil. O help me to a word will speak my bliss, Or I am beggar'd- No! there is not one! There cannot be; for never man had bliss Like mine to name. Virginia. Thou dost but beggar me, Icilius, when thou mak'st thyself a bankrupt; Placing a value on me far above My real little worth. - I'd help thee to A hundred words; each one of which would far O'er-rate thy gain, and yet no single one Rate over high! Icil. Thou couldst not do it! No; Thou couldst not do it! Every term of worth Writ down and doubled, then the whole summ'd up, Would leave with thee a rich remainder still! - Pick from each rarer pattern of thy sex Her rarest charm, till thou hast every charm Of soul and body that can blend in woman, I would out-paragon the paragon With thee! Virginia. And if thou wouldst, I'd find thee, for Thy paragon, a mate- if that can be A mate which doth transcend the thing 'tis ta'en To match - would make thy paragon look poor, And I would call that so o'ermatching mate Icilius. Icil. No! I will not let thee win On such a theme as this! Virginia. Nor will I drop The controversy that the richer makes me The more I lose. 1 Given. 28 SCENE II.] VIRGINIUS. 317 Icil. My sweet Virginia, We do but lose and lose, and win and win; Playing for nothing but to lose and win. Then let us stop the game - and thus I stop it. [Kisses her. Re-enter VIRGINIUS, and the others. Virginius. Witness, my friends, that seal! Observe, it is A living one! It is Icilius' seal; And stamp'd upon as true and fair a bond - Though it receive the impress blushingly - As ever signet kiss'd! Are all content? Speak else! She is thy free affianced wife, Thou art her free affianced husband! Come, We have o'erdrawn our time - Farewell, Virginia; Thy future husband for a time must be Bellona's.' To thy tasks again, my child; Be thou the bride of study for a time. Farewell! Virginia. My father! Virginius. May the gods protect thee. Virginia. My father! Virginius. Does the blood forsake thy cheek? Come to my arms once more! Remember, girl, The first and foremost debt a Roman owes Is to his country; and it must be paid, If need be, with his life 2 - Why, how you hold me! Icilius, take her from me! Hoa! Within! Within there! Servia! Enter SERVIA. Look to your child! Come, boy. Icil. Farewell, Virginia. Virginius. Take her in! 1 The goddess of war. Compare Macbeth, I., ii., 54. 2 " Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori." HORACE, Odes, III., ii., 13. "Thy life is not thine own, when Rome demands it." ADDISON, Cato, IV. 29 3I8 KNO WLES. [ACT II. Virginia. The gods be with thee, my Icilius! Father, The gods be with thee- and Icilius. Virginius. I swear a battle might be fought and won In half the time! Now, once for all, farewell! Your sword and buckler, boy! The foe! The foe! Does he not tread on Roman ground! Come on! Come on, charge on him! drive him back! or die! [Exeunt. SCENE III. - APPIUS'S House. Enter APPIUS. Ap,. It was a triumph, the achieving which O'erpaid the risk was run1 - and that was great. They have made trial of their strength, and learn'd Its value from defeat. The senate knows Its masters now; and the decemvirate, To make its reign eternal, only wants Its own decree, which little pains will win. Ere this, the foe has, for his mad invasion, Been paid with chastisement. Retired within His proper limits, leisure waits upon us To help us to the recompense, decreed To our noble daring, who have set ourselves In such high seats, as at our feet array The wealth, and power, and dignity of Rome In absolute subjection! Tyranny! How godlike is thy port! Thou giv'st and tak'st, And ask'st no other leave, than what thy own Imperial will accords. Jove does no more! Now Claudius Enter CLAUDIUS.2 Claud. We have suffer'd a defeat! App. What! The decemvirs fly! Claud. The soldiers fight 1 Some editions read we ran. 2 Knowles puts Caius Claudius for the Marcus Claudius of the historians. 30 SCENE III.] VIRGINIUS. 319 With only half a heart.' The other half Looks on, and cares not which side proves the winner. Api. Then decimate them. Traitors! Recreants! Why, we shall have them at our very doors! Have we lost ground, my Claudius? Claud. None, except What we've retraced in fame. We strove to teach The enemy their road lay backwards, but They would not turn their faces for us. Each Retains his former line. Enter MARCUS. App. What news? Marc. The Equi Still press upon us. Rumours are afloat Of new disasters, which the common cry, Be sure, still multiplies and swells. Dentatus, That over-busy, crabbed veteran, Walks up and down among the people, making Your plans his theme of laughter. Naught he stints That may reflect you in an odious light, And lower the decemvirate. App. A dungeon Would do good service to him! Once within, Strangling were easy! We must stop his mouth - Unwholesome food - or liquor - Where was he When last you heard him? Marc. In the Forum. App. So! He is past service, is he not? Some way To clear the city of him. Come, we'll hear him, And answer him, and silence him! 'Tis well The dog barks forth his spleen; it puts us on Our guard against his bite. Come, to the Forum! [Exeunt. 1 Nihilo militae quam domi melius respublica administrata est. Illa modo in ducibus culpa, quod ut odio essent civibus fecerant: alia omnis penes milites noxa erat, qui, ne quid ductu atque auspicio decemvirorum prospere usquam gereretur, vinci se per suum atque illorum dedecus patiebantur. Fusi et ab Sabinis ad Eretum et in Algido ab iEquis exercitus erant. - LIVY, III., 42. 3I 320 KNO WLES. [ACT II. SCENE IV. - The Forum. Enter DENTATUS, with TITUS, SERVIUS, and CITIZENS. Titus. What's to be done? Den. We'll be undone- that's to be done. Servius. We'll do away with the decemvirate. Den. You'll do away with the decemvirate? - The decemvirate will do away with you! You'll do away with yourselves! Do nothing - The enemy will do away with both of you. In another month a Roman will be a stranger in Rome. A fine pass we are come to, masters! Titus. But something must be done. Den. Why, what would you have? You shout and clap your hands, as if it were a victory you heard of; and yet you cry-Something must be done! Truly, I know not what that something is, unless it be to make you General. How say you, masters? Servius. We'd follow any man that knew how to lead us, and would rid us of our foes, and the decemvirate together. Den. You made these decemvirs! You are strangely discontented with your own work! And you are over-cunning workmen too —You put your materials so firmly together, there's no such thing as taking them asunder! What you build, you build - except it be for your own good. - There you are bunglers at your craft. Ha! ha! ha! I cannot but laugh to think how you toiled, and strained, and sweated, to rear the stones of the building one above another, when I see the sorry faces you make at it! Titus. But tell us the news again. Den. Is it so good? Does it so please you? Then prick your ears again, and listen. We have been beaten again - beaten back on our own soil. Rome has seen its haughty masters fly before chastisement, like slaves - returning cries for blows - and all this of your decemvirs, gentlemen. First Cit. Huzza for it again! [ The peopble shout. Second Cit. Hush! Appius comes. Den. And do you care for that? You that were, just now, within a stride of taking him and his colleagues by the 32 SCENE IV.] VIRRGIiVUS. 321 throat? You'll do away with the decemvirs, will you! And let but one of them appear, you dare not for your life, but keep your spleen within your teeth! Listen to me, now! I'll speak the more for Appius. Enter APPIUS CLAUDIUS and MARCUS, preceded by LICTORS. I say, to the eternal infamy of Rome, the foe has chased her sons, like hares, on their own soil, where they should prey like lions - and so they would, had they not keepers to tame them. Api. What's that you are saying to the people, Siccius Dentatus? Den. I am regaling them with the news. App. The news? Den. Ay, the news -the newest that can be had; and the more novel because unlooked for. Who ever thought to see the eagle 1 in the talons of the kite? App1. It is not well done in you, Dentatus, to chafe a sore. It makes it rankle. If your surgery has learned no better, it should keep its hands to itself! You have very little to do, to busy yourself after this fashion. Den. I busy myself as I like, Appius Claudius. Api. I know you do, when you labour to spread disaffection among the people, and bring the decemvirs into contempt. Den. The decemvirs bring themselves into contempt. App. Ha! dare you say so? Den. Dare! I have dared cry "Come on!" to a cohort of bearded warriors - Is it thy smooth face should appal me? Dare! it never yet flurried me to use my arm - Shall I not, think you, be at my ease when I but wag my tongue? Dare, indeed! App. Your grey hairs should keep company with honester speech! Den. Shall I show you, Appius, the company they are wont to keep? Look here! and here [uncovering his forehead and showing scars]. These are the vouchers of honest deeds 1 The emblem of ancient Rome. 21 33 322 KANO WLES. [ACT II. such is the speech with which my grey hairs keep company. I tell you, to your teeth, the decemvirs bring themselves into contempt. App. What, are they not serving their country at the head of her armies? Den. They'd serve her better in the body of her armies!' I'd name for thee a hundred centurions would make better generals. A common soldier of a year's active service would take his measures better. Generals! Our generals were wont to teach us how to win battles. - Tactics are changed; your generals instruct us how to lose them. App. Do you see my lictors? Den. There are twelve of them.' App. What if I bid them seize thee? Den. They'd blush to do it. App. Why now, Dentatus, I begin to know you; I fancied you a man that loved to vent His causeless anger in an under breath, And speak it in the ear - and only then When there was safety! Such a one, you'll own, Is dangerous; and to be trusted, as A friend or foe, unworthy. But I see You rail to faces. Have you not so much Respect for Appius as to take him by The hand, when he confesses you have some Pretence to quarrel with his colleagues' plans, And find fault with himself? Which yet, you'll own, May quite as well be kindly done, Dentatus, As harshly. Had you only to myself Declared your discontents, the more you had rail'd, The more I should have thank'd you. Desn. Had I thoughtAftlp. And have you been campaigning, then, so long, And prosperously - and mistrust you, Siccius, That a young scarless soldier, like myself, Would listen to your tutoring? See, now, 1 Each of the decemvirs now had twelve lictors, whereas in the first year of the decemvirate each took the twelve lictors in turn. SCENE IV.] VIRGINIUS. 323 How much you have mistaken me! Dentatus, In a word - can you assist the generals, And will you? Den. I have all the will -but as For the ability App. Tut! tut! Dentatus, You vex me now. This coyness sits not well on you. You know as well as I, you have as much Ability as will. I would not think you A man that loved to find fault, but to find fault! Surely the evil you complain of, you Would lend a hand to remedy! See, now, 'Tis fairly put to you - what say you? Den. Appius! You may use me as you please. App. And that will be, As you deserve. I'll send you, as my legate, To the army. [Shouts from the people.] Do you hear your friends, Dentatus? A lucky omen, that! Away! away! Apprise your house - prepare for setting out. I'll hurry your credentials. Minutes now Rate high as hours! Assist my colleagues with Your counsel; if their plans displease you, why Correct them - change them - utterly reject them. And if you meet obstruction, notice me, And I will push it by. There, now! Your hand! Again! away! All the success attend you That Appius wishes you! Den. Success is from The gods,2 whose hand soe'er it pleases them To send it by. I know not what success 'Tis Appius' wish they send; but this I know, I am a soldier; and, as a soldier, I 1 Notify. See page 336. 2 " 'Tis not in mortals to command success, But we'll do more, Sempronius; we'll deserve it." ADDISON, Cato, I. 35 324 KNVOWLES. [ACT II. Am bound to serve. All the success I ask, Is that which benefits my country, Appius. [Exit DENTATUS. App. You've served her overlong! [Aside.] Now for our causes. [APPIUS ascends the tribunal. Claud. [to Marcus]. Do you see the drift of this? Marc. I cannot guess it. Claud. Nor I. App. [to a Plebeian]. Are you the suitor in this cause? Speak! Plebeian. Noble Appius, if there's law in Rome, To right a man most injured, to that law Against yon proud patrician I appeal. App. No more of that, I say! Because he's rich And great, you call him proud! 'Tis not unlike Because you're poor and mean, you call yourself Injured. Relate your story; and, so please you, Spare epithets. Plebeian. Grant me a minute's pause, I shall begin. [VIRGINIA at this moment crosses the stage with her Nurse, and is met by NUMITORIUS, who holds her in conversation; APPIUS rivets his eyes upon her. Num. You have heard the news? Virginia. What news, dear uncle? Nuim. Step Aside with me, I'll tell you. [ Takes her a little farther from the tribunal. App. Can it be A mortal that I look upon? Virginia. They are safe! I thank the gods! App. Her eyes look up to heaven, Like something kindred to it - rather made To send their glances down, and fill the earth With worship and with gratulation. What A thrill runs up and down my veins, and all Throughout me! Plebeian. Now, most noble Appius - 36 SCENE IV.] VIRGINIUS. 325 Ap/. Stop! Put off the cause; I cannot hear it now. Attend to-morrow. An oppressive coseness Allows me not to breathe. Lictors! make clear The ground about the rostrum! [Descends and approaches CLAUDIUS with precipitation. Claudius! Claudius! Marcus, go you and summon my physician To be at home before me. [Exit MARCUS.] Claudius! Claudius! There! there! Virginia. You send a messenger to-night? App. Paint me that smile! I never saw a smile Till now. My Claudius, is she not a wonder? I know not whether in the state of girlhood Or womanhood to call her. 'Twixt the two She stands, as that were loth to lose her, this To win her most impatient. The young year Trembling and blushing 'twixt the striving kisses Of parting spring and meeting summer, seems Her only parallel! Num. 'Tis well! I'll send Your father word of this. But have you not A message to Icilius? App. Mark you, Claudius? There is a blush! I must possess her. Virginia. -Tell him, I think upon him. Farewell, Numitorius! [Exit with SERVIA. Num. Farewell, Virginia. Claud. Master, will you tell me The name of that young maiden? Num. She is call'd Virginia, daughter of Virginius; A Roman citizen, and a centurion In the army. Claud. Thank you; she is very like The daughter of a friend of mine. Farewell. [Exit NUMITORIUS. App. I burn, my Claudius! brain and heart -there's not A fibre in my body but's on fire! 37 326 KNO WLES. [ACT Il. With what a gait she moves! Such was not Hebe,1 Or Jupiter had sooner lost his heaven Than changed his cup-bearer. A step like that The rapture-glowing clouds might well bear up, And never take for human! Find me, Claudius, Some way to compass the possession of her. Claud. 'Tis difficult -her father's of repute; The highest of his class.2 App. I guessed it! Friends Are ever friends, except when friends are needed. Claud. Nay, Appius! - App. If thou canst not give me hope, Be dumb! Claud. A female agent may be used With some success. App. How? how? Claud. To tamper with The woman that attends her. AOp. Set about it. Claud. Could she but be induced to help you to A single meeting with her. App. Claudius! Claudius! Effect but that! Claud. I'll instantly about it. App. Spare not my gold - nor stop at promises. I will fulfil them fast as thou canst make them. To purchase such a draught of ecstasy I'd drain a kingdom - Set about it, Claudius! Away! I will not eat, nor drink, nor sleep, Until I hear from thee! Claud. Depend upon me! App. I do, my Claudius, for my life - my life! [Exeunt severally. 1 The goddess of youth, dismissed from the office of cup-bearer to the celestial gods and superseded by Ganymede. 2 " Vir exempli recti domi militaeque."- LIVY, III., 44. 38 SCENE I.] VIRGINIUS. 327 SCENE i.] VIRGINHIS. 327 ACT III. SCENE I. - APPIUS'S House. Enter APPIUS. App. It is not love, if what I've felt before And call'd by such a name be love - a thing That took its turn - that I could entertain, Put off, or humour- 'tis some other thing; Or if the same, why in some other state - Or I am not the same - or it hath found Some other part of sensibility More quick whereon to try its power, and there Expends its all! Now, Claudius, your success? Enter CLAUDIUS. Claud. Nothing would do, yet nothing left undone! She was not to be purchased. App. Did she guess - Claud. She could not, So guarded was my agent; who described you A man of power, of noble family, And regal fortune - one that ask'd not what His pleasures cost -no further made disclosure. App. And did it nothing move her, Claudius? Claud. Nothing. The more my agent urged, the more the shrunk And wither'd hag grew callous; further press'd, And with more urgent importuning, ire And scorn, in imprecations and invectives, Vented upon the monster (as she call'd him) That would pollute her child, compell'd my advocate To drop the suit she saw was hopeless. A.tfi. Now Had I a friend indeed! Claud. Has Appius need To search for such a friend, and Claudius by him? 39 328 KNOWLES. [ACT III. App. Friends ever are provisionally friends Friends for so far - friends just to such a point And then " farewell! " - friends with an understanding - As " should the road be pretty safe "-" the sea Not over rough," and so on - friends of ifs And buts - no friends! 0 could I find the man Would be a simple, thorough-going friend! Claud. I thought you had one, Appius. App. So thought Appius, Till Appius thought upon a test of friendship, He fears he would not give unto himself, Could he be Appius' friend. Claud. Then Appius has A truer friend than Appius is to Appius. I'll give that test! App. What! you'd remove her father And that Icilius whom you told me of! Claud. Count it as done. App. My Claudius, is it true? Can I believe it? Art thou such a friend, That, when I look'd for thee to stop and leave me, I find thee, keeping with me, step by step; And even in thy loving eagerness Outstriding me? I do not want thee, Claudius, To soil thy hand with their plebeian blood. Claud. What wouldst thou, then? Apip. I was left guardian to thee - Claud. Thou wast. App. Among the various property Thy father left were many female slaves. Claud. Well? App. It were easy for thee (were it not?) To invent a tale that one of them confess'd She had sold a female infant (and of course Thy slave) unto Virginius' wife, who pass'd it Upon Virginius as his daughter, which Supposititious offspring is this same Virginia. Claud. I conceive you. 40 SCENE II.] VIRGINIUS. 329 ApA. To induce The woman to confirm your tale Would ask But small persuasion. Is it done? Claud. This hour. I know the school, my Appius, where Virginia Pursues her studies; thither I'll repair, And seize her as my slave at once. Do thou Repair to thy tribunal, whither, should Her friends molest me in the attempt, I'll bring her, And plead my cause before thee. App. Claudius! Claudius! How shall I pay thee? O, thou noble friend! Power, fortune, life, whate'er belongs to Appius, Reckon as thine! Away, away, my Claudius! [Exeunt severally. SCENE II. - A Street in Rome. Enter LUCIUS, meeting TITUS, SERVIUS, and CNEIUS. Luc. Well, masters, any news of Siccius Dentatus from the camp, how he was received by the decemvirs? Titus. He was received well by the decemvirs. Cne. It wasn't then for the love they bear him. Titus. But they expect he'll help them to return the cuffs they have gotten from the enemy. Servius. Do you wish for a victory? Luc. Yes, if Dentatus wins it. 'Tis to our credit, mastersHe's one of us. Servius. And is not Spurius Oppius one of us? Luc. He is; but he is in league with the patricians- that is, the patrician decemvirs. He is but half a plebeian, and that is the worst half. The better half he threw away 1 when he became half a patrician. I never liked your half-and-half gentry; they generally combine the bad of both kinds, without the good of either. Servius. Well, we shall have news presently. Your brother, Icilius, has just arrived with dispatches from the camp. I met 1 An echo from Hamlet, III., iv., 157-8. 4I 330 KNOWLES. [ACT III.. him passing through the Forum, and asked him what news he brought? He answered, none; but added, we might look for news of another kind than what we had been lately accustomed to hear. [A shriek without. Cne. What's that? Titus. Look yonder, masters! See! Servius. 'Tis Appius's client dragging a young woman along with him. Titus. Let us stand by each other, masters, and prevent him. Enter CLAUDIUS, dragging along VIRGINIA, followed by SERVIA and others. Servia. Help! help! help! Luc. Let go your hold! Claud. Stand by! She is my slave! Servia. His slave? Help! help! His slave? He looks more like a slave than she! Good masters! Protect the daughter of Virginius! Luc. Release the maid. Titus. Forbear this violence. Claud. I call for the assistance of the laws; She is my slave. Servia. She is my daughter, masters, My foster-daughter; and her mother was A free-born woman - and her father is A citizen, a Roman - good Virginius, As I said before - Virginius, the centurion, Whom all of you must know. - Help! help! I say. You see she cannot speak to help herself; Speak for her, masters - help her, if you're men! Titus. Let go your hold. Claud. Obstruct me at your peril. Luc. We'll make you, if you will not. Claud. Let me pass. Servius. Let go your hold, once more. Claud. Good masters! patience - Hear me, I say - She is my slave - I wish not 42 SCENE III.] VIRGINI US. 33I To use this violence, my friends; but may not A master seize upon his slave? - Make way, Or such of you as are dissatisfied, Repair with me to the decemvir. - Come, I only want my right! Titus. Come on then! Servius. Ay, To the decemvir! Servia. Run, run for Numitorius -alarm our neighbours! - Call out Icilius' friends! - I shall go mad! Help! help! help! [Exeunt. SCENE III.- The Forum. Enter APPIUS, preceded by LICTORS. Api. Will he succeed? — Will he attempt it? - Will he Go through with it? - [Looking out.] No sign- I almost wish He had not undertaken it; yet wish, More than I wish for life, he may accomplish What he has undertaken. O! the pause That precedes action! It is vacancy That o'erweighs action's substance. What I fear Is that his courage can't withstand her tears, That will be sure to try and succour her, Pointing, as 'twere, to every charm, and pleading With melting eloquence. I hear a sound As of approaching clamour- and the rush Of distant feet- He comes! I must prepare For his reception. [APPIUS ascends the tribunal. CLAUDIUS enters, still holding VIRGINIA, followed by SERVIA, WOMEN, and CITIZENS. Claud. Do not press upon me; Here's the decemvir -he will satisfy you, Whether a master has a right or not To seize his slave when he finds her. Servia. She is no slave Of thine! She never was a slave! Thou slave! To call her by that name - Ay! threaten me! She is a free-born maid, and not a slave, 43 332 KNO WLES. [ACT III. Or never was a free-born maid in Rome! O! you shall dearly answer for it! App. Peace! What quarrel's this? Speak, those who are aggrieved. Enter NUMITORIUS. Num. Where is Virginia - Wherefore do you hold That maiden's hand? Claud. Who asks the question? Num. I! Her uncle Numitorius! Claud. Numitorius, You think yourself her uncle - Numitorius, No blood of yours flows in her veins, to give you The title you would claim. Most noble Appius! If you sit here for justice, as I think You do, attend not to the clamour of This man, who calls himself this damsel's uncle. She is my property -was born beneath My father's roof, whose slave her mother was, Who (as I can establish past dispute) Sold her an infant to Virginius' wife, Who never had a child, and heavily Revolved her barrenness. My slave I have found And seized -as who that finds his own (no matter How long so ever miss'd) should fear to take it? If they oppose my claim, they may produce Their counter-proofs and bring the cause to trial! But till they prove mine own is not mine own - (An undertaking somewhat perilous) Mine own I shall retain - yet giving them, Should they demand it, what security They please for re-producing her. App. Why, that Would be but reasonable. Num. Reasonable! Claudius! [With much vehemence -recollects himself. He's but a mask upon the face Of some more powerful contriver [aside]. Appius, 44 SCENE III.] VIRGINIUS. 333 My niece's father is from Rome, thou know'st, Serving his country. Is it not unjust, In the absence of a citizen, to suffer His right to his own child to be disputed? Grant us a day to fetch Virginius, That he himself may answer this most foul And novel suit - Meanwhile to me belongs The custody of the maid -her uncle's house Can better answer for her honour than The house of Claudius. 'Tis the law of Rome, Before a final sentence, the defendant In his possession is not to sustain Disturbance from the plaintiff. Titus. A just law. Servius. And a most reasonable demand. All the Citizens. Ay! Ay! Ay! Ap4. Silence, you citizens; will you restrain Your tongues, and give your magistrate permission To speak? The law is just - most reasonable - I framed that law myself - I will protect That law! Titus. Most noble Appius! Servius. A most just decree! A I the Citizens. Ay! Ay! App. Will you be silent! Will you please to wait For my decree, you most untractable And boisterous citizens! I do repeat it, I framed that law myself, and will protect it. But are you, Numitorius, here defendant? That title none but the reputed father Of the young woman has a right to - How Can I commit to thee what may appear The plaintiff's property; and if not his, Still is not thine? I'll give thee till to-morrow Ere I pass a final judgment - But the girl Remains with Claudius, who shall bind himself In such security as you require To re-produce her at the claim of him Who calls her daughter - This is my decree. 45 334 KNO PVLE S. [ACT III. Num. A foul decree. - Shame! Shame! Servius. Ay, a most foul decree. Cne. A villainous decree. Servius. Most villainous. Servia. Good citizens, what do you with our weapons When you should use your own? Your hands! - your hands! - He shall not take her from us. Gather round her, And if he touch her, be it to his cost; And if ye see him touch her, never more Expect from us your titles - never more Be husbands, brothers, lovers, at our mouths, Or any thing that doth imply the name Of men -except such men as men should blush for. App. Command your wives and daughters, citizens, They quit the Forum. Servia. They shall not command us That care not to protect us. App. Take the girl, If she is yours. Claud. Stand by. Virginia. O help me! help me! Icil. [entering]. Virginia's voice! - Virginia! [Rushes to her. Virginia. 0, Icilius! [Fallsfainting in his arms. Icil. Take her, good Numitorius. App. You had better Withdraw, Icilius; the affair is judged. Claud. I claim my slave. Icil. Stand back, thou double slave! Touch her, and I will tear thee limb from limb, Before thy master's face.- She is my wife, My life, my heart, my heart's blood. - Touch her With but a look Appf. My lictors, there, advance! See that Icilius quits the Forum. - Claudius, Secure your slave. Icil. Lictors, a moment pause For your own sakes. Do not mistake these arms; Think not the strength of any common man Is that they feel. They serve a charmed frame, 46 SCENE III.] VIRGINIUS. 335 The which a power pervades which ten times trebles The natural energy of each single nerve To sweep you down as reeds. App. Obey my orders! Icil. Appius! before I quit the Forum, let me Address a word to you. App. Be brief, then! Icil. Brief! Is't not enough you have deprived us, Appius, Of the two strongest bulwarks to our liberties, Our tribunes and our privilege of appeal 1 To the assembly of the people? Cannot The honour of the Roman maids be safe? Thou know'st this virgin is betroth'd to me, Wife of my hope - Thou shalt not cross my hope And I retain my life- attempt it not! I stand among my fellow-citizens - His fellow-soldiers hem Virginius round, Both men and gods are on our side; but grant I stood alone, with naught but virtuous love To hearten me- alone would I defeat The execution of thy infamous Decree! I'll quit the Forum now, but not Alone - my love! my wife! my free-born maid The virgin standard of my pride and manhood, Of peerless motto! - rich, and fresh, and shining, And of device most rare and glorious, I'll bear off safe with me -unstain'd- untouch'd! Apfp. Your duty, lictors - Claudius, look to your right. Icil. True citizens! Titus. Down with the traitor! Servizus. Down with him - slay him! [The LICTOlS and CLAUDIUS are drivenl back: CLAUDIUS takes refuge at APPIus's feet, who has descended and throws up his arms as a signal to both parties to desist- whereupon the people retire a little. 1 The office of tribune and the right of appeal were suspended during the decemvirate. 47 336 KNO WL ES. [ACT III. APif. So, friends! we thank you that you don't deprive us Of every thing; but leave your magistrates At least their persons sacred - their decrees, It seems, you value as you value straws, And in like manner break them. Wherefore stop When you have gone so far? You might, methinks, As well have kill'd my client at my feet As threaten him with death before my face! Rise, Claudius! I perceive Icilius' aim: - He labours to restore the tribuneship By means of a sedition. We'll not give him The least pretence of quarrel. We shall wait Virginius's arrival till to-morrow. His friends take care to notice himl - The camp's But four hours' journey from the city. Till To-morrow, then, let me prevail with you To yield up something of your right, and let The girl remain at liberty. Claud. If they Produce security for her appearance, I am content. Titus. I'll be your security. Servius. And I. Citizens. We'll all be your security. [ They hold uj their hands. Icil. My friends, And fellow-citizens, I thank you; but Reserve your kindness for to-morrow, friends, If Claudius still persist - To-day I hope He will remain content with my security And that of Numitorius, for the maid's Appearance. A5p. See she do appear! and come Prepared to pay the laws more reverence, As I shall surely see that they receive it. [Exeunt APPIUS,2 CLAUDIUS, and LICTORS. 1 Give him notice. See page 323. 2,( Domum se recepit, collegisque in castra scribit, ne Virginio commeatum dent atque etiam in custodia habeant." - LIVY, III., 46. 48 SCENE III.] VIRGIVNIUS. 337 Icil. Look up! look up! my sweet Virginia, Look up! look up! you will see none but friends. O that such eyes should e'er meet other prospect! Virginia. Icilius! Uncle! lead me home! Icilius, You did not think to take a slave to wife? Icil. I thought and think to wed a free-born maid; And thou, and thou alone, art she, Virginia! Virginia. I feel as I were so - I do not think I am his slave! Virginius not my father! Virginius, my dear father, not my father! It cannot be; my life must come from him; For, make him not my father, it will go From me. - I could not live an 1 he were not My father. Icil. Dear Virginia, calm thy thoughtsBut who shall warn Virginius? Num. I've ta'en care Of that; no sooner heard I of this claim, Than I dispatch'd thy brother Lucius, Together with my son, to bring Virginius With all the speed they could; and cautioned them (As he is something over-quick of temper, And might snatch justice rather than sue for it) To evade communication of the cause, And merely say his presence was required, Till we should have him with us. Come, Virginia; Thy uncle's house shall guard thee, till thou find'st Within thy father's arms a citadel Whence Claudius cannot take thee. Icil. He shall take A thousand lives first. Titus. Ay, ten thousand lives. Icil. Hear you, Virginia! Do you hear your friends? Virginia. Let him take my life first, I am content To be his slave then- if I am his slave. Icil. Thou art a free-born Roman maid, Virginia; All Rome doth know thee so, VirginiaAll Rome will see thee so. 1 If. 22 49 338 KNO WLES. [ACT III. Citizens. We will! We will! Icil. You'll meet us here to-morrow? Citizens. All! all! Icil. Cease not to clamour 'gainst this outrage. Tell it In every corner of the city; and Let no man call himself a son of Rome Who stands aloof when tyranny assails Her fairest daughter. Come, Virginia. 'Tis not a private, but a common wrong; 'Tis every father's, lover's, freeman's cause; To-morrow! fellow-citizens, to-morrow! Citizens. To-morrow! [Exeunt severally, SCENE IV. - The Camp. Enter OPPIUS and Q. F. VIBULANUS. Of5p. Has he set out? Vibul. He has, my Oppius, And never to return! His guard's instructed To take good care of him. There's not a man But's ten times sold to us, and of our wishes Fully possessed. Dentatus will no more Obstruct us in our plans. He did not like The site of our encampment. He will find At least the air of it was wholesome. Op55. What Report are they instructed to bring back? Vibul. They fell into an ambush -he was slain. Opp. But should the truth, by any means, come out? Vibul. Imprison them, and secretly dispatch them, Or ope the dungeon doors, and let them 'scape. Opy5. I should prefer the latter method. Vibul. Well, That be our choice. But when it is determined To spill blood otherwise than as it may Be spill'd, to hesitate about some drops Is weakness, may be fatal. - Come, my friend, Let us be seen about the camp, and ready, so SCENE V.] VIRGINIUS. 339 With most admiring ear, to catch the tidings Will be the wonder of all ears but ours.1 Here's one anticipates us! Enter MARCUS. Well, your news? Marc. Dentatus is no more! but he has dearly sold his life. The matter has been reported as you directed. By few it is received with credence - by many with doubt; while some bold spirits stop not at muttering, but loudly speak suspicion of foul play. A party that we met, a mile beyond the lines, no sooner heard our story than they set off to bring the body to the camp. Others have followed them. Fabius, we have your gage for safety. Vibul. You have. - Come, let us show ourselves. - Guilt hides, And we must wear the port of innocence, That more than half way meets accusal. - Come. [Exeunt. SCENE V. - A Mountainous Pass. The body of DENTATUS discovered on a bier2- SOLDIERS mourning over it. - Trumpets. Enter VIRGINIUS and SOLDIERS. Virginius. Where is Dentatus? Where is the gallant soldier? Ah, comrade! comrade! warm! yet warm! So lately Gone, when I would have given the world, only To say farewell to thee, or even get A parting look! 0 gallant, gallant soldier, The god of war might sure have spared a head Grown grey in serving him! My brave old comrade! The father of the field! Thy silver locks 1 The Routledge editions read: " Which all ears, save our own, will wonder at." 2 For an account of the murder of Siccius Dentatus see Livy, III., 43 (quoted in the Appendix), and Dionysius, XI., 25-27. 5' 340 KNO WLES. [ACT III. Other anointing should receive than what Their master's blood could furnish! First Soldier. There has been treachery here! Virginius. What! First Soldier. The slain are all our own. None of the bodies are stripped - These are all Romans. There is not the slightest trace of an enemy's retreat - And now I remember they made a sudden halt when we came in sight of them at the foot of the mountain - Marked you not, too, with what confused haste they told their story, directed us, and hurried on to the camp? Virginius. Revenge! The decemvirs! Ay, the decemvirs! For every drop of blood thou shalt have ten, Dentatus! Luc. [without]. What hoa! Virginius! Virginius! Virginius. Here! here! Luc. [entering]. 'Tis well you're found, Virginius! Virginius. What makes you from the city? Look! My Lucius, what a sight you've come to witness! My brave old comrade! Honest Siccius! Siccius Dentatus, that true son of Rome, On whose white locks the mother look'd more proudly Than on the raven ones of her youngest and Most hopeful sons, is nothing now but this, The sign and token of himself! Look, comrades, Here are the foes have slain him! Not a trace Of any other - not a body stripp'd - Our father has been murder'd - We'll revenge him Like sons! Take up the body! Bear it to The camp; and as you move your solemn march, Be dumb - or, if you speak, be it but a word, And be that word - Revenge! [The SOLDIERS bear off the body: VIRGINIUS following. is stopped by Lucius. Luc. Virginius! Virginius. I did not mind thee, Lucius! Uncommon things make common things forgot. Hast thou a message for me, Lucius? Well, I'll stay and hear it - but be brief; my heart Follows my poor Dentatus. 52 SCENE V.] VIRGINIUS. 341 Luc. You are wanted In Rome. Virginius. On what account? Luc. On your arrival You'll learn. Virginius. How! is it something can't be told At once? Speak out, boy! Ha! your looks are loaded With matter - Is't so heavy that your tongue Cannot unburthen them? Your brother left The camp on duty yesterday - hath aught Happen'd to him? Did he arrive in safety? Is he safe? Is he well? Luc. He is both safe and well. Virginius. What then? What then? Tell me the matter, Lucius. Luc. I have said It shall be told you. Virginius. Shall! I stay not for That " shall," unless it be so close at hand It stop me not a moment. - 'Tis too long A coming. Fare you well, my Lucius. Luc. Stay, Virginius; hear me then with patience. Virginius. Well, I am patient. Luc. Your Virginia - Virginius. Stop, my Lucius! I'm cold in every member of my frame! If 'tis prophetic, Lucius, of thy news, Give me such token as her tomb would, LuciusI'll bear it better- Silence. Luc. You are still Virginius. I thank thee, Jupiter! I am still a father! Luc. You are, Virginius; yet - Virginius. What, is she sick? Luc. No. Virginius. Neither dead nor sick? All well! No harm! Nothing amiss! Each guarded quarter safe, That fear may lay him down and sleep, and yet 53 342 KANO WLES. [ACT III. This sounding the alarm! I swear thou tell'st A story strangely. Out with't! I have patience For any thing, since my Virginia lives, And lives in health! Luc. You are required in Rome, To answer a most novel suit. Virginius. Whose suit? Luc. The suit of Claudius. Virginius. Claudius! Luc. Him that's clip To Appius Claudius, the decemvir. Virginius. What! That pander! Ha! Virginia! you appear To couple them. What makes my fair Virginia In company with Claudius? Innocence Beside lasciviousness! His suit! What suit? — Answer me quickly! -quickly! lest suspense, Beyond what patience can endure, coercing, Drive reason from his seat! Luc. He has claim'd Virginia. Virginius. Claim'd her! Claim'd On what pretence? Luc. He says she is the child Of a slave of his who sold her to thy wife. Virginius. Go on, you see I'm calm. Luc. He seized her in The school, and dragg'd her to the Forum, where Appius was giving judgment. Virginius. Dragg'd her to The Forum! Well! I told you, Lucius, I would be patient. Luc. Numitorius there Confronted him. Virginius. Did he not strike him dead? True, true, I know it was in presence of The decemvir. O! had I confronted him! Well! well! the issue? Well! o'erleap all else, And light upon the issue. Where is she? Luc. I was dispatch'd to fetch thee, ere I could learn. 54 ent her! SCENE I.] VIRGII US. 343 Virginius. The claim of Claudius, Appius' client - Ha! I see the master cloud - this ragged one, That lowers before, moves only in subservience To the ascendant of the other- Jove With its own mischief break it and disperse it, And that be all the ruin! Patience! Prudence! Nay, prudence, but no patience. Come! a slave, Dragg'd through the streets in open day! my child! My daughter! my fair daughter, in the eyes Of Rome! Oh! I'll be patient. Come! The essence Of my best blood in the free common ear Condemn'd as vile! 0! I'll be patient. Come! O! they shall wonder- I will be so patient. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I.- NUMITORIUS'S House. VIRGINIA discovered, supported by SERVIA. Virginia. Is he not yet arrived? Will he not come? Servia. He surely will. Virginia. He surely will! More surely He had arrived already, had he known How he is wanted - They have miss'd him, Servia! Don't tell me, but I know they have, or surely We had not now been looking for him. Where's My uncle? Servia. Finding you had fallen asleep After such watching he went forth to hear If there were any tidings of Virginius. He's here. Enter NUMITORIUS; VIRGINIA looks at him inquisitively for some time. Virginia. Not come! not come! I am sure of it! He will not come! Do you not think he'll come? Will not my father come? What think you, uncle? 55 344 KNOWLES. [ACT IV. Speak to me, speak - 0 give me any words, Rather than what looks utter. Num. Be composed! I hope he'll come! Virginia. A little while ago You were sure of it - from certainty to hope Is a poor step. You hope he'll come - One hope, One little hope to face a thousand fears! Do you not know he'll come? O uncle, wherefore Do you not know he'll come? Had I been you I had made sure of it. Num. All has been done That could be done. Virginia. Poor all that does so little! One would imagine little needs be done To bring a father to the succour of His child! 'Tis near the time! Num. It is indeed! Virginia. Must I go forth with you? Must I again Be dragg'd along by Claudius as his slave, And none again to succour me? Icilius! Icilius! Does your true betrothed wife Call on you, and you hear not? My Icilius! Am I to be your wife or Claudius' slave? Where- where are you, Icilius? Icil. [entering]. My Virginia! What's to be done, my friend? 'tis almost time. [ To NUMITORIUS. Virginia. I hear what you are saying - it is time - 0, who could have believed it, that Icilius Should ever say 'twas time to yield me to Another's claim- And will you give me up? Can you devise no means to keep me from him? Could we not fly? [ICILIUS looks earnestly at NUMITORIUS, who fixes his eyes steadfastly on the ground: ICILIUS droops his head. I see! - your pledge Must be redeem'd, although it cost you your Virginia. 56 SCENE I.] VIRGINIUS. 345 Virginius [without]. Is she here? Virginia. Ah! [Shrieks and rushes into her father's arms, who enters at the moment. Virginius. My child! My child! Virginia. I am! I feel I am! I know I am! My father! my dear father. I despair'd Of seeing you! You're come! and come in time. And, 0! how much the more in time, when hope Had given you up. 0! welcome, welcome foot, Whose wished step is heard when least expected! Virginius. Brother! Icilius! thank you! thank you.- All Has been communicated to me. Ay! And would they take thee from me? Let them try it! You've ta'en your measures well - I scarce could pass Along, so was I check'd by loving hands Ready to serve me - hands with hearts in them! So thou art Claudius' slave? And if thou art, I'm surely not thy father! Blister'd villain! You have warn'd our neighbours, have you not, to attend As witnesses? To be sure, you have. A fool To ask the question. Dragg'd along the streets too! 'Twas very kind in him to go himself And fetch thee - such an honour should not pass Without acknowledgment. I shall return it In full! In full! Num. Pray you be prudent, brother. Virginia. Dear father, be advised - will you not, father? Virginiius. I never saw you look so like your mother In all my life! Virginia. You'll be advised, dear father? Virginius. It was her soul- her soul, that play'd just then About the features of her child, and lit them Into the likeness of her own. When first She placed thee in my arms - I recollect it As a thing of yesterday! -she wish'd, she said, That it had been a man. I answer'd her, It was the mother of a race of men, And paid her for thee with a kiss. Her lips 57 346 KNOW LES. [ACT IV. Are cold now - could they but be warm'd again, How they would clamour for thee! Virginia. My dear father! You do not answer me! Will you not be advised? Virginius. I will not take him by the throat and strangle him But I could do it! I could do it! Fear not: I will not strike while any head I love Is in the way. It is not now a time To tell thee - but, wouldst thou believe it! - honest Siccius Dentatus has been murder'd by them. Icil. Murder'd! Num. Dentatus murder'd! Virginia. O! how much Have we to fear. Virginius. We have the less to fear. I spread the news at every step - A fire Is kindled that will blaze at but a breath Into the fiercest flame! Num. 'Tis time. Let's haste To the Forum. Virginius. Let the Forum wait for us! Put on no show of fear, when villany Would wrestle with you! It can keep its feet Only with cowards! I shall walk along Slowly and calmly, with my daughter thus In my hand: though with another kind of gripe Than that which Claudius gave her. Well, I say, I'll walk along thus, in the eyes of Rome. Go you before, and what appeal soe'er You please, make you to rouse up friends. For me, I shall be mute -my eloquence is here - Her tears - her youth - her innocence - her beauty! If orators like these can't move the heart, Tongues surely may be dumb. Icil. A thousand hearts Have spoke already in her cause! Virginius. Come on! Fear not! it is your father's grasp you feel. O he'll be strong as never man was, that 58 SCENE II.] VIR GINI US. 347 Will take thee from it. Come, Virginia; We trust our cause to Rome and to the gods! [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The Forum. Enter APPIUS and LICTORS. App. See you keep back the people! Use your fasces1 With firmer hands, or hearts. Your hands are firm Enough, would but your hearts perform their office, And leave your hands at liberty, not hang Upon them with unseemly fears and clamours! Look to it! Time! hadst thou the theme that I have For speed, thou wouldst not move this cripple's gait: But there's no urging thee, and thou wast ever Dull fellow-traveller to young Impatience, Dragging him back upon the road he pants To run, but cannot find without thee. Enter MARCUS. Well? Marc. News has arrived that speaks as if Dentatus Was murder'd by the order of your colleagues! There's not a face I meet but lowers with it: The streets are filled with thronging groups that, as You pass, grow silent, and look sullen round on you, Then fall again to converse. App. 'Tis ill-timed. Marc. What say you, Appius? App. Murder's ill-timed, I say, Happen when 'twill; but now is most ill-timed, When Rome is in a ferment, on account Of Claudius, and this girl he calls his slave; For come when evil will, or how it will, All's laid to our account! Look out and see 1 The ax, signifying the power of life and death, had been removed by Valerius Publicola from the rods when carried before the consuls in the city. Now in the second decemvirate the lictors suddenly appeared with the axes restored to the fasces. 59 348 KniO WLES. [ACT IV. If Claudius be approaching yet. [Exit MARCUS.] My wish, Like an officious friend, comes out of time To tell me of success. I had rather far It had miscarried- they run high enough; They wanted not this squall on squall to raise them Above their present swell -the waves run high Enough through which we steer — but such a haven, If won, can never be too dearly won! Marc. [entering]. Claudius is here! Enter CLAUDIUS. Api. Well, Claudius, are the forces At hand? Claud. They are, and timely too; the people Are in unwonted ferment. App. I have heard Word has arrived of old Dentatus' death; Which, as I hear, and wonder not to hear it, The mutinous citizens lay to our account. Claud. That's bad enough; yet - App. Ha! what's worse? Claud. 'Tis best At once to speak what you must learn at last, Yet last of all would learn. Afp. Virginius! Claud. Yes! He has arrived in Rome. Marc. They are coming, Appius. Claud. Fly, Marcus, hurry down the forces! [Exit MARCUS. Appius, Be not o'erwhelm'd! App. There's something awes me at The thought of looking on her father! Claud. Look Upon her, my Appius! Fix your gaze upon The treasures of her beauty, nor avert it Till they are thine. Haste! Your tribunal! Haste! [APPIUS ascends his tribunal. 6o SCENE II.] VIRGINIUS. 349 Enter NUMITORIUS, ICILIUS, LUCIUS, CITIZENS, VIRGINIUS leading his Daughter, SERVIA, and CITIZENS. A deadsilence prevails. Virginius. Does no one speak? I am defendant here. Is silence my opponent? Fit opponent To plead a cause too foul for speech! What brow Shameless gives front to this most valiant cause, That tries its prowess 'gainst the honour of A girl, yet lacks the wit to know that they Who cast off shame should likewise cast off fearAnd on the verge o' the combat wants the nerve To stammer forth the signal? App. You had better, Virginius, wear another kind of carriage: This is not of the fashion that will serve you. Virginius. The fashion, Appius! Appius Claudius, tell me The fashion it becomes a man to speak in, Whose property in his own child - the offspring Of his own body, near to him as is His hand, his arm- yea, nearer- closer far, Knit to his heart - I say, who has his property In such a thing, the very self of himself, Disputed -and I'll speak so, Appius Claudius; I'll speak so - Pray you tutor me! Apf. Stand forth, Claudius! If you lay claim to any interest In the question now before us, speak; if not, Bring on some other cause. Claud. Most noble Appius - Virginius. And are you the man That claims my daughter for his slave?- Look at me, And I will give her to thee. Claud. She is mine, then: Do I not look at you? Virginius. Your eye does, truly, But not your soul. - I see it through your eye Shifting and shrinking - turning every way 61 350 KN'O WLES. [ACT IV. To shun me. You surprise me, that your eye, So long the bully of its master, knows not To put a proper face upon a lie, But gives the port of impudence to falsehood, When it would pass it off for truth. Your soul Dares as soon show its face to me. - Go on, I had forgot; the fashion of my speech May not please Appius Claudius. Claud. I demand Protection of the decemvir! Afi. You shall have it Virginius. Doubtless! App. Keep back the people, lictors! What's Your plea? You say the girl's your slave - Produce Your proofs. Claud. My proof is here, which, if they can, Let them confront. The mother of the girl — [VIRGINIUS, stepping forward to speak, is withheld by N UMITORIUS. Num. Hold, brother! Hear them out, or suffer me To speak. Virginius. Man, I must speak, or else go mad! And if I do go mad, what then will hold me From speaking? Wer't not better, brother, think you, To speak and not go mad than to go mad And then to speak? She was thy sister, too! Well, well, speak thou. - I'll try, and if I can, Be silent. [Retires. Num. Will she swear she is her child? Virginius [starting forward ]. To be sure she will! -a most wise question that! Is she not his slave! Will his tongue lie for him - Or his hand steal- or the finger of his hand Beckon, or point, or shut, or open for him? To ask him if she'll swear - Will she walk or run, Sing, dance, or wag her head; do any thing That is most easy done? She'll as soon swear! What mockery it is to have one's life In jeopardy by such a bare-faced trick! 62 SCENE II.] VIRGINIUS. 35I SCENEII.]VIRGN! U. 35 Is it to be endured? I do protest Against her oath! App. No law in Rome, Virginius, Seconds you. If she swear the girl's her child, The evidence is good, unless confronted By better evidence. Look you to that, Virginius. I shall take the woman's oath. Virginia. Icilius! Icil. Fear not, love; a thousand Will answer her. Ap,. You swear the girl's your child, And that you sold her to Virginius' wife, Who pass'd her for her own. Is that your oath? Slave. It is my oath. App. Your answer now, Virginius. oaths Virginius. Here it is! [Brings VIRGINIAforward. Is this the daughter of a slave? I know 'Tis not with men, as shrubs and trees, that by The shoot you know the rank and order of The stem. Yet who from such a stem would look For such a shoot? My witnesses are theseThe relatives and friends of Numitoria,l Who saw her, ere Virginia's birth, sustain The burden wich a mother bears, nor feels The weight, with longing for the sight of it. Here are the ears that listen'd to her sighs In nature's hour of labour, which subsides In the embrace of joy - the hands, that when The day first look'd upon the infant's face, And never look'd so pleased, help'd them up to it, And bless'd her for a blessing - Here, the eyes That saw her lying at the generous And sympathetic fount, that at her cry Sent forth a stream of liquid living pearl To cherish her enamell'd veins. The lie Is most unfruitful then, that takes the flower1 Sister of Numitorius and wife of Virginius. 63 352 KNOWLES. [ACT IV. The very flower our bed connubial grew To prove its barrenness! Speak for me, friends; Have I not spoke the truth? Women and Citizens. You have, Virginius. App. Silence! keep silence there! No more of that! You're very ready for a tumult, citizens. [Troops appear behind. Lictors, make way to let these troops advance. We've had a taste of your forbearance, masters, And wish not for another. Virginius. Troops in the Forum! App. Virginius, have you spoken? Virginius. If you have heard me, I have; if not, I'll speak again. App. You need not, Virginius; I have evidence to give Which, should you speak a hundred times again, Would make your pleading vain. Virginius. Your hand, Virginia! Stand close to me. [Aside. App. My conscience will not let me Be silent. 'Tis notorious to you all That Claudius' father, at his death, declared me The guardian of his son. This cheat has long Been known to me. I know the girl is not Virginius' daughter. Virginius. Join your friends, Icilius, And leave Virginia to my care. [Aside. App. The justice I should have done my client unrequired, Now cited by him, how shall I refuse? Virginius. Don't tremble, girl! don't tremble. [Aside. App. Virginius, I feel for you; but, though you were my father, The majesty of justice should be sacredClaudius must take Virginia home with him. Virginius. And if he must, I should advise him, Appius, To take her home in time, before his guardian Complete the violation which his eyes 64 SCENE II.] VIRGINIUS. 353 Already have begun - Friends! Fellow-citizens! Look not on Claudius; look on your decemvir! He is the master claims Virginia! The tongues that told him she was not my child, Are these - the costly charms he cannot purchase, Except by making her the slave of Claudius, His client, his purveyor, that caters for His pleasures- markets for him picks, and scents, And tastes, that he may banquet- serves him up His sensual feast, and is not now ashamed, In the open, common street, before your eyesFrighting your daughters' and your matrons' cheeks With blushes they ne'er thought to meet - to help him To the honour of a Roman maid! my child! Who now clings to me, as you see, as if This second Tarquin 1 had already coil'd His arms around her. Look upon her, Romans! Befriend her! succour her! see her not polluted Before her father's eyes! - He is but one! Tear her from Appius and his lictors, while She is unstain'd. Your hands! your hands! your hands! Citizens. They're yours, Virginius. App. Keep the people back! Support my lictors, soldiers! Seize the girl, And drive the people back. Icil. Down with the slaves! [ The people make a show of resistance, but, ufpon the advancing of the soldiers, retreat, and leave ICILIUS, VIRGINIUS, and his daughter, &-c., in the hands of APPIUS and his party. Deserted!- Cowards! Traitors! Let me free But for a moment! I relied on you; Had I relied upon myself alone, I had kept them still at bay! 2 I kneel to you - 1 For the story of the rape of Lucretia by Sextus Tarquinius see Livy and Dionysius of Halicarnassus. Shakespeare's Rape of Lucrece is based on the legend. Compare page 357 and note i. 2 " Ah! che pur troppo Non ponno i detti (e sien pur caldi e forti) 23 65 354 KNO WLES. [ACT IV. Let me but loose a moment, if 'tis only To rush upon your swords! Virginius. Icilius, peace! You see how 'tis, we are deserted, left Alone by our friends, surrounded by our enemies, Nerveless and helpless. Afip. Away with him! Icil. Virginia! Tyrant! My Virginia! App. Away with him! [ICILIUS is borne off Separate them, lictors! Virginius. Let them forbear awhile, I pray you, Appius: It'is not very easy. Though her arms Are tender, yet the hold is strong by which She grasps me, Appius. Forcing them will hurt them, They'll soon unclasp themselves. Wait but a little: You know you're sure of her! App. I have not time To idle with thee; give her to my lictors. Virginius. Appius, I pray you, wait! If she is not My child, she hath been like a child to me For fifteen years. If I am not her father, I have been like a father to her, Appius, For even such a time. They that have lived So long a time together, in so near And dear society, may be allow'd A little time for parting. Let me take The maid aside, I pray you, and confer A moment with her nurse; perhaps she'll give me Some token, will unloose a tie, so twined And knotted round my heart, that if you break it, My heart breaks with it. Api. Have your wish. Be brief! Lictors! look to them. Virginia. Do you go from me? Do you leave? Father! Father! Scuoter davver popol, che in lacci geme; Ne ad opre maschie risentite trarlo: Le ingiurie estreme, e il sangue solo, il ponno." ALFIERI, Virginia, III., iii. 66 SCENE II.] VIRGINIUS. 355 Virginius. No, my child; No, my Virginia- come along with me. Virginia. Will you not leave me? Will you take me with you? Will you take me home again? 0, bless you, bless you! My father! my dear father! Art thou not My father! [VIRGINIUS, perfectly at a loss what to do, looks anxiously around the Forum; at length his eye falls on a butcher's stall with a knife upon it. Virginius. This way, my child - No, no! I am not going To leave thee, my Virginia! I'll not leave thee. App. Keep back the people, soldiers! Let them not Approach Virginius! Keep the people back! [VIRGINIUS secures the knife. Well, have you done? Virginius. Short time for converse, Appius; But I have. App. I hope you are satisfied. Virginius. I amI am -that she is my daughter! App. Take her, lictors! [VIRGINIA shrieks, and falls half dead upon her father's shoulder. Virginius. Another moment, pray you. Bear with me A little - 'Tis my last embrace. 'Twon't try Your patience beyond bearing, if you're a man! Lengthen it as I may, I cannot make it Long! My dear child! My dear Virginia I [Kissing her. There is one only way to save thine honour - 'Tis this! - [Stabs her, and draws out the knife. ICILIUS breaks from the SOLDIERS that held him, and catches her. " Hoc te uno quo possum modo, filia, in libertatem vindico." LIvY, III., 48. "Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me one more kiss; And now, my own dear little girl, there is no way but this." MACAULAY, Virginia. 67 356 KANO WLES. [ACT IV. Lo! Appius! with this innocent blood, I do devote thee to th' infernal gods! 1 Make way there! App. Stop him! Seize him! Virginius. If they dare To tempt the desperate weapon, that is madden'd With drinking my daughter's blood, why, let them: thus It rushes in amongst them. Way there! Way! 2 [Exit through the SOLDIERS.8 Enter HONORIUS4 and VALERIUS. Honor. What tumult's this? - The fair Virginia Kill'd by her father's hand, to save her from The lust of Appius Claudius? Most foul cause That makes so dark a deed look fair! Afp. Remove The body, lictors. Icil. At the peril of Their lives! Death is abroad, at work, and most In earnest when with such a feat as this He opens his exploits! App. Obey me, slaves! Honor. Defend the body, freemen. There's a spark Remaining still, which, though not strong enough To light it up with its own beauteous life, May yet rekindle liberty, and save Expiring Rome! Citizens. It shall not be removed! App5. Seize it, I say! Valer. Back, slaves! Give place to freemen! 1 " Te, Appi, tuumque caput sanguine hoc consecro." - LIVY, III., 48. " 0, dwellers in the nether gloom, avengers of the slain, By this dear blood I cry to you, do right between us twain; And even as Appius Claudius hath dealt by me and mine, Deal you by Appius Claudius and all the Claudian line I" MACAULAY, Virginia. 2 Alfieri's tragedy closes with the death of Virginia. 8 The remainder of the act is usually omitted in representation. 4 His name was Horatius, not Honorius. 68 SCENE I;] VIRGINIUS. 357 [A tumult ensues; the people deprive the LICTORS of their fasces, and drive them, with the SOLDIERS, with APPIUS CLAUDIUS, &Cc., off the stage, then return shouting. Icil. Ay, shout, and shout: a far more glorious cause Call'd for your voices, and you had not then The breath to whisper. How that ear had thank'd you, Had you as tender been of the jewel of Its precious sense as of the empty casket! Honor. A litter, citizens, to lift the body, And bear it through the streets; the spectacle Will fill all eyes with tears, all hearts with fire! Icil. No hand but mine shall touch it: I will be Its living bier. Honor. Icilius, listen to me! Thou art not now' thyself, and knowest not There is a sweeter strain than that of grief - Revenge, that drowns it. Suffer us to bear Thy bride along the streets; a second, but Unstain'd Lucretia,' buying with her blood The life of Rome and freedom! Icil. Rome and freedom! There is your ransom! such a costly one - 0, you are dear, to be so dearly won! [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.- A Street. Enter APPIUS and MARCUS.2 App. I do abjure all further league with them: They have most basely yielded up their power, 1 "Two fair, but ladies most unfortunate, Have in their ruins rais'd declining Rome, Lucretia and Virginia." WEBSTER, Apfius and Virginia, V., iii. 2 The stage directions seem to be somewhat confused here. Marcus is made to enter twice. 69 358 KNO WLES. [ACT V. And compromised their glory. Had they died In their high seats, they had lived demi-gods; But now they live to die like basest men! Power gone, life follows! Well! 'tis well we know The worst! The worst? - The worst is yet to come; And, if I err not, hither speeds a messenger Whose heel it treads upon. Enter VIBULANUS, hastily, and other DECEMVIRS, with MARCUS. Vibul. Honorius and Valerius are elected To the consulate.2 - Virginius is made tribune.8 App. No doubt they'd fill their offices, when ours Were laid so poorly down. You have acted wisely! Vibul. Who could resist Virginius, raving at The head of the revolted troops, with all The commons up in arms?4 Waste not dear time! Look to your safety, Appius. 'Tis resolved To cite you instantly before the consuls. App. Look to my safety, say you? You would bid A man that's tumbling from a precipice A hundred fathoms high, and midway down, Look to his safety! What has he to snatch at? Air!- E'en so much have I! Vibul. Withdraw awhile From Rome. We shall recall you with applause And honours. 1 An echo from Macbeth, II., iii., 96-7. 2 " Per interregem deinde consules creati L. Valerius, M. Horatius, qui extemplo magistratum occeperunt. Quorum consulatus popularis sine ulla patrum injuria nec sine offensione fuit." - LvY, III., 55. 8 Virginius, Numitorius, and Icilius were all elected tribunes of the people. 4 After the fatal blow Virginius mounted a horse and returned at full speed to the camp covered with blood and still bearing in his hand the bloody knife. He told his story and there was a general cry to arms; the army snatched up their standards, marched to Rome, and posted themselves on the Aventine Hill. The army among the Sabines also seceded from the decemvirs and joined the other on the Aventine. 70 SCENE I.] VIRGINI US. 359 App. Yes! You saw me on the brink - Beheld it giving way beneath my feetAnd saw me tottering o'er the hideous leap, Whose sight sent round the brain with madd'ning whirl, With but a twig to stay me, which you cut, Because it was your friend that hung by it - Most kindly. Vibul. Nay, employ the present time In looking to your safety - that secured, Reproach us as you will. App. I am in your hands, Lead me which way you please. Icil. [without]. Hold! Stand! ICILIUS enters, with HONORIUS and VALERIUS as Consuls, NUMITORIUS and LICTORS. Did I not tell you 'twas the tyrant? Look, Was I not right? I felt that he was present Ere mine eye told it me. - You are our prisoner. App. On what pretence, Icilius? Icil. Ask of poor Virginius, tottering between despair And madness, as he seeks the home, where once He found a daughter! App. I demand due time To make up my defence. Icil. Demand due time! Appius!- Assign the cause, why you denied A Roman maid, of free condition, Her liberty provisionally, while Her plea remained unjudged. No answer, Appius? Lictors, lay hold upon him - to prison with him! Look to him well. To prison with the tyrant! [Exeunt APPIUS and LICTORS on one side, ICILIUS and NUMITORIUS on the other. Vibul. Let all his friends that their own safety prize, Solicit strait for his enlargement; doff Their marks of station, and to the vulgar eye 71 360 KNVO WLES. [ACT V. Disguise it with the garb of mourning; 'twill Conciliate the crowd. We know them well: But humour them, they are water soon as fire! [Exeunt severally. SCENE II.- VIRGINIUS'S iHouse. Enter Lucius and SERVIA. Luc. Is he not yet come home? Servia. Not since her death. I dread his coming home, good Lucius. Luc. A step! 'Tis Numitorius and Virginius. Servia. Gods! how he looks! - See, Lucius, how he looks! Enter VIRGINIUS, attended by NUMITORIUS and others. Virginius. 'Tis ease! 'Tis ease! I am content! 'Tis peace, 'Tis any thing that is most soft and quiet. And after such a dream! - I want my daughter; Send me my daughter! Numn. Yes, his reason's gone. Scarce had he come in sight of his once sweet And happy home, ere with a cry he fell As one struck dead. - When to himself he came, We found him as you see. How is it, brother? Virginius. How should it be but well? Our cause is good. Think you Rome will stand by, and see a man Robb'd of his child? We are bad enough, but yet They should not so mistake us. We are slaves, But not yet monsters. - Call my daughter to me. What keeps her thus? I never stept within The threshold yet, without her meeting me With a kiss. She's very long a-coming. Call her! Nzumn. Icilius comes! See, my Icilius, see! 1 See what Lucius says further on in Scene ii., page 362. " The fickle crowd that change with every change." Compare Phocylides, Sententiae: Aao il 7fr icTeve 7ro^vTpO7rO6 ea;Tv o/AV jXo. Aao TOL Kal vSop Kai 7rvp, aKaTadLrXeTa trVTa. 72 SCENE II.] VIRGINIUS. 36I SCEN H.]VIRGN/US 36 Enter ICILIUS. Virginius. Come, come, make ready. Brother, you and he Go on before: I'll bring her after you. cil. Ha! Num. My Icilius, what a sight is there! Virginius' reason is a wreck, so stripp'd And broken up by wave and wind, you scarce Would know it was the gallant bark you saw Riding so late in safety! Icil. [taking VIRGINIUS'S hand]. Father! Father! Thou art no more a father! Virginius. Ha! what wet Is this upon my hand? A tear, boy! Fie, For shame! Is that the weapon you would guard Your bride with? First essay what steel can do! Num. Not a tear has bless'd his eye since her death! No wonder. The fever of his brain, that now burns out, Has drunk the source of sorrow's torrents dry. Icil. You would not have it otherwise? 'Twas fit The bolt that struck the sole remaining branch, And blasted it, should set the trunk on fire! Num. If we could make him weepIcil. I have that will make him, If aught will do it. 'Tis her urn. 'Twas that Which first drew tears from me. I'll fetch it. But I cannot think you wise, to wake a man Who's at the mercy of a tempest. Better You suffer him to sleep it through. [Exit ICILIUS. Virginius. Gather your friends together: tell them of Dentatus' murder. Screw the chord of rage To the topmost pitch.1 Mine own is not mine own! [Laughs. That's strange enough. Why does he not dispute My right to my own flesh, and tell my heart Its blood is not its own? He might as well. [Laughs. But I want my child. 1 Another echo from Macbeth (I., vii., 60). See pages 317 and 358. 73 362 KNO WLES. [ACT V. Enter Lucius. Luc. Justice will be defeated! Virginius. Who says that? He lies in the face of the gods! She is immutable, Immaculate, and immortal! And though all The guilty globe should blaze, she will spring up Through the fire, and soar above the crackling pile, With not a downy feather ruffled by Its fierceness! Num. He is not himself! What new Oppression comes to tell us to our teeth, We only mock'd ourselves to think the days Of thraldom past? Luc. The friends of Appius Beset the people with solicitations. The fickle crowd that change with every change,1 Begin to doubt and soften. Every moment That's lost, a friend is lost. Appear among Your friends, or lose them! Num. Lucius, you Remain, and watch Virginius. [Exit,followed by all but LucIus and SERVIA. Virginius. You remember, Don't you, nurse? Servia. What, Virginius? Virjginius. That she nursed The child herself. Inquire among your gossips,2 Which of them saw it; and, with such of them As can avouch the fact, without delay Repair to the Forum. Will she come or not? I'll call myself! - She will not dare! - 0 when Did my Virginia dare - Virginia! Is it a voice, or nothing answers me? I hear a sound so fine - there's nothing lives 'Twixt it and silence. Such a slender one 1 See Scene i. of this Act (page 360) and note. 2 Intimate acquaintances. 74 SCENE III.] VIRGINIUS. 363 I've heard when I have talk'd with her in fancy! A phantom sound! Aha! She is not here! They told me she was here - they have deceived me And Appius was not made to give her up, But keeps her, and effects his wicked purpose, While I stand talking here, and ask you if My daughter is my daughter! Though a legion Sentried that brothel which he calls his palace, I'd tear her from him! Luc. Hold, Virginius! Stay! Appius is now in prison. Virginius. With my daughter! He has secured her there! Hold me not, Or I will dash you down, and spoil you for My keeper. My Virginia, struggle with him! Appal him with thy shrieks; ne'er faint, ne'er faint! I am coming to thee! I am coming to thee! [VIRGINIUS rushes out, followed by Lucius, SERVIA, and others. SCENE III. -A Dungeon. APPIUS discovered. App. From the palace to the dungeon is a road Trod oft - not oft retrod. What hope have I To pace it back again? I know of none. I am as one that's dead! The dungeon that Encloses fallen greatness, may as well Be called its tomb. I am as much the carcass Of myself, as if the string were taken from My neck. Their hands long for the office. Oh, 'Tis worth the half of a plebeian's life To get his greasy fingers on the throat Of a patrician! But I'll balk them. Come! Appius shall have an executioner No less illustrious than himself. [He is on the point of swallowing poison, when VIBULANUS enters. Who's there? 75 364 KANOWLES. [ACT V. Vibul. Your friend! App. My Vibulanus! Vibul. Appius, what Was that you hid in such confusion as I enter'd? App. 'Tis a draught for life which, swallow'd, She relishes so richly, that she cares not If she ne'er drink again! Here's health to you! Vibul. Not out of such a cup as that, my Appius. Despair, that bids you drink it, as the cure Of canker'd life, but lies to you, and turns Your eyes from hope, that even now stands ready With outstretch'd arms to rush to your embrace. Your friends are busy for you with your foesYour foes become your friends. Where'er a frown Appears against you, nothing's spared to make The wearer doff it, and put up a smile In its stead. Your colleague Oppius is in prison.1 Your client too. Their harm's your safety: it Distracts the appetite o' the dogs. They drop The morsel they took up before, as soon As a new one's thrown to them. App. Thou giv'st me life Indeed! Vibul. That I may give thee life indeed, I'll waste no longer time with thee; for that Already taken to assure thee of Thy fast-reviving fortunes, cheats them of Thy aid should help to re-establish them. Farewell, my Appius! If my absence takes A friend from thee, it leaves one with thee - Hope! [Exit. App. And I will clasp it to me! Never friend Made sweeter promises. But snatch me from 1 " Oppius quoque ductus in vincula est, et ante judicii diem finem ibi vita fecit. Bona Claudii Oppiique tribuni publicavere. Collega eorum exsilii causa solunl verterunt: bona publicata sunt. Et M. Claudius, assertor Virginiae die dicta damnatus, ipso remittente Virginio ultimam pcenam, dimissus Tiber exsulatam abiit. Manesque Virginiae, mortuae quam vivae felicioris, per tot domos ad petendas poenas vagati, nullo relicto sonte tandem quieverunt." LIVY, I1I., 58. 76 SCENE III.] VIRGINIUS. 365 Beneath the feet of the vile herd, that's now Broke loose and roams at large, I'll show them who They'd trample on. Hope! Hope! They say of thee, Thou art a friend that promises, but cares not To keep his word. This once keep thine with Appius, And he will give thee out so true a tongue, Thy word is bond enough! - At liberty! Again at liberty! 0 give me power As well, for every minute of my thraldom I'll pick a victim from the common herd Shall groan his life in bondage. Liberty! 'Tis triumph, power, dominion, every thing! Are ye not open yet, ye servile gates? Let fall your chains, and push your bolts aside! It is your past and future lord commands you! Virginius [rushing in]. Give me my daughter! App. Ha! Virginius. My child! my daughter! My daughter! my Virginia! Give her me! App1. Thy daughter! Virginius. Ay! Deny that she is mine And I will strangle thee, unless the lie Should choke thee first. App. Thy daughter! Virginius. Play not with me! Provoke me not! Equivocate, and lo! Thou sport'st with fire. I am wild, distracted, mad! I am all a flame -a flame! I tell thee once For all, I want my child, and I will have her; So give her to me. App. Caged with a madman! Hoa! Without there! Virginius. Not a step thou stirr'st from hence, Till I have found my child. Attempt that noise Again, and I will stop the vent, that not A squeak 1 shall pass it. There are plugs for you 1 " All your suggestions I have attended to; I believe so, and if I have not, I fully proposed to attend to them, except so far as the word ' squeak' is con77 366 KNOWLES. [ACT V. Will keep it air-tight [showing his fingers]. Please you, give me back My daughter. App. In truth, she is not here, Virginius; Or I would give her to thee. Virginius. Would! Ay, should! Though would were would not. Do you say, indeed, She is not here? You nothing know of her? App. Nothing, Virginius! good Virginius, nothing. Virginius. How if I thrust my hand into your breast, And tore your heart out, and confronted it With your tongue? I'd like it. Shall we try it? Fool! Are not the ruffians leagued? The one would swear To the tale o' the other. App. By the gods, Virginius, Your daughter is not in my keeping. Virginius. Well, Then I must seek her elsewhere. I did dream That I had murder'd her - 'Tis false! 'twas but A dream - She isn't here, you say - Well! well! Then I must go and seek her elsewhere - Yet She's not at home - and where else should I seek her But there or here? Here! here! here! Yes, I say, But there or here- I tell you I must find herShe must be here, or what do you here? What, But such a wonder of rich beauty could Deck out a dungeon so as to despoil A palace of its tenant? Art thou not The tyrant Appius? - Did'st thou not decree My daughter to be Claudius' slave, who gave her To his master? Have you not secured her here cerned; that word I know not how to lose, for want of a fit substitute - the smallest possible sound."- KNOWLES to Macready. Icilius uses the word in Webster's play (III., i.): "I made him that he durst not squeak, Nor move an eye, nor draw a breath too loud, Nor stir a finger." 78 SCENE III.] VIRGINIUS. 367 To compass her dishonour, ere her father Arrives to claim her? App. No. Virginius. Do you tell me so? Vile tyrant! Think you, shall I not believe My own eyes before your tongue? Why, there she is! There, at your back - her locks dishevell'd and Her vestment torn! Her cheeks all faded with Her pouring tears, as flowers with too much rain! Her form no longer kept and treasured up By her maiden-pride, like a rich casket, cast Aside, neglected and forgot, because The richer gem was shrined in it is lost! Villain! is this a sight to show a father? And have I not a weapon to requite thee? [Searches about his clothes. Ha! here are ten! App. Keep down your hands! Help! help! Virginius. No other look but that! Look on! look on! It turns my very flesh to steel - Brave girl! Keep thine eye fix'd - let it not wink - look on! [Exeunt, struggling. Enter NUMITORIUS, ICILIUS, LUCIUS, GUARD, and SOLDIER, bearing VIRGINIA'S urn. Num. Not here I Luc. Is this the dungeon?- Appius is not here, Nor yet Virginius. You have sure mistaken. Guard. This is the dungeon - Here Virginius entered. Num. Yet is not here! - Hush! The abode of death Is just as silent. Gods! should the tyrant take The father's life, in satisfaction for The deed that robb'd him of the daughter's charmsHush! hark! A groan! There's something stirs! Luc. 'Tis this way! Num. Come on! Protect him, gods, or pardon me If with my own hand I revenge his death. [Exeunt. 79 368 KNO WLES. [ACT V. SCENE IV. - Another Dungeon. VIRGINIUS discovered on one knee, with APPIUS lying dead before him. Enter NUMITORIUS, ICILIUS, LucIus, CITIZENS, and others. Num. What's here? Virginius! with the tyrant prostrate and dead!1 Luc. His senses are benumbed; there is no adit to his mind by which our words can reach it. Help to raise him: the motion may recall perception. Num. His eye is not so deathlike fixed: it moves a little. Luc. Speak to him, Numitorius; he knows your voice the best. Num. Virginius! Luc. I think he hears you; speak again. Num. Virginius! Virginius. Ah! Luc. That sigh has burst the spell which held him. Num. Virginius! my dear brother! Virginius. Lighter! lighter! My heart is ten times lighter! What a load it has heaved off! Where is he! I thought I had done it. Num. Virginius! Virginius. Well, who are you? What do you want? I'll answer what I've done. Num. Do you not know me, brother? Speak, Icilius, try if he knows you. Icil. Virginius! Num. Try again. Icil. Virginius! Virginius. That voice - that voice - I know that voice! It minds me of a voice was coupled with it, 1 According to Livy (III., 58), Appius took his own life. Dionysius (XI., 46) says many suspected that he was put to death by order of the tribunes; but that some, desirous of wiping off this aspersion, gave out that he hanged himself. In the Preface (page 293) Knowles gives his reasons for following neither of these stories. 80 SCENE IV.] VIRGINIUS. 369 And made such music, once to hear it was Enough to make it ever after be Remember'd! [ICILIUS places the urn in his hand.] Ha! what's this? Icil. Virginia. [VIRGINIUS looks alternately at ICILIUS and the urn -looks at NUMITORIUS and Lucius - seems particularly struck by his mourning — looks at the urn again -bursts into a passion of tears, and exclaims, " VIRGINIA! "- Falls on ICILIUS'S neck. Curtain drops.' 1 Macready writing of the first representation of Virginius says: "With the progress of the play the rapt attention of the audience gradually kindled into enthusiasm. Long-continued cheers followed the close of each succeeding act; half-stifled screams and involuntary ejaculations burst forth when the fatal blow was struck to the daughter's heart; and the curtain fell amidst the most deafening applause of a highly excited auditory. The play was an unquestionable triumph, which Knowles had sat in the pit to witness and enjoy." 24 8I 370 KNO WLES. [EPIL. EPILOGUE. BY BARRY CORNWALL, ESQ.' SPOKEN BY MISS BRUNTON.2 LEAVING the common path, which many tread, We will not wake with jokes our poet's dead; Nor shame the young creations of his pen By bidding all who've perish'd be again. The pale Virginia, in her bloody shroud, Lies like a shrined saint. - Oh! then, aloud Shall we break scurril jests, and bid depart Those thoughts of her, which fill and teach the heart? No moral now we offer, squared in form, But Pity, like the sun-light, bright and warm, Comes mix'd with showers; and, fading, leaves behind A beauty and a blossom on the mind. We do not strain to show that " thus it grows," And " hence we learn " what every body knows: But, casting idle dogmas (words) aside, We paint a villain in his purple pride; And, tearing down a power that grew too bold, Show-merely what was done in days of old. Leaving this image on the soul, we go Unto our gentler story touch'd with woe (With woe that wantons not, nor wears away The heart), and love too perfect for decay. But whatsoe'er we do, we will not shame Your better feeling, with an idle game Of grin and mimicry (a loathsome task); Or strip the great Muse of her mighty mask, 1 Bryan Waller Procter. 2 Elizabeth Brunton, afterwards Mrs. Yates. 82 ~ EPIL.] VIRGINIUS. 37I And hoot her from her throne of tears and sighs, Until from folly and base jest she dies. No; let her life be long, her reign supreme - If but a dream, it is a glorious dream. Dwell then upon our tale; and bear along With you deep thoughts - of love - of bitter wrongOf freedom - of sad pity - and lust of pow'r The tale is fitted for an after hour. 83 I THE LADY OF LYONS; OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. A PLAY By EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON. Jr2 TO THE AUTHOR OF "ION," WHOSE GENIUS AND EXAMPLE HAVE ALIKE CONTRIBUTED TOWARDS THE REGENERATION OF THE NATIONAL DRAMA, THIS PLAY IS INSCRIBED. 3 4 a. PREFACE. AN indistinct recollection of the very pretty little tale, called The Bellows-Mender,' suggested the plot of this Drama. The incidents are, however, greatly altered from those in the tale, and the characters entirely re-cast. Having long had a wish to illustrate certain periods of the French history, so, in the selection of the date in which the scenes of this play are laid, I saw that the era of the Republic was that in which the incidents were rendered most probable, in which the probationary career of the hero could well be made sufficiently rapid for dramatic effect, and in which the character of the time itself was depicted by the agencies necessary to the conduct of the narrative. For during the early years of the first and most brilliant successes of the French Republic, in the general ferment of society, and the brief equalization of ranks, Claude's high-placed love, his ardent feelings, his unsettled principles (the struggle between which makes the passion of this drama), his ambition, and his career, were phenomena that characterized the age, and in which the spirit of the nation went along with the extravagance of the individual. The play itself was composed with a twofold object. In the first place, sympathizing with the enterprise of Mr. Macready, as Manager of Covent Garden, and believing that many of the higher interests of the Drama were involved in the success or failure of an enterprise equally hazardous and disinterested, I felt, if I may so presume to express myself, something of the Brotherhood of Art; and it was only for Mr. Macready to think it possible that I might serve him in order to induce me to make the attempt. 1 In the original preface, which was much longer than the present one, this title stood Perouse, or the Bellows-Mender. I know nothing further of the tale. 378 B UL WER-L YTTON. [PREF. Secondly, in that attempt I was mainly anxious to see whether or not, after the comparative failure on the stage of The Duchess de la Vallire, certain critics had truly declared that it was not in my power to attain the art of dramatic construction and theatrical effect. I felt, indeed, that it was in this that a writer, accustomed to the narrative class of composition, would have the most both to learn and unlearn. Accordingly, it was to the development of the plot and the arrangement of the incidents that I directed my chief attention;- and I sought to throw whatever belongs to poetry less into the diction and the "felicity of words" than into the construction of the story, the creation of the characters, and the spirit of the pervading sentiment. The authorship of the play was neither avowed nor suspected until the play had established itself in public favour. The announcement of my name was the signal for attacks, chiefly political, to which it is now needless to refer. When a work has outlived for some time the earlier hostilities of criticism, there comes a new race of critics to which a writer may, for the most part, calmly trust for a fair consideration, whether of the faults or the merits of his performance. DRAMATIS PERSONAE. [As ORIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT GARDEN IN 1838.] BEAUSEANT, a rich gentleman of) Lyons, in love with, and refused MR. ELTON. by, Pauline Descha5iPelles... GLAVIS, his friend, also a rejected MR. MEADOWS. suitor to Pauline.... COLONEL (afterwards General) DAMAS, cousin to Mine. Deschafpelles, and MR. BARTLEY. an officer in the French army. ) MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES, a Lyon-. STRICKL nese merchant,father to Pauline MR STRICKLAND LANDLORD OF THE GOLDEN LION. MR. YARNOLD. GASPAR......... MR. DIDDEAR. CLAUDE MELNOTTE..... MR. MACREADY. FIRST OFFICER....... MR. HOWE. SECOND OFFICER....... MR. PRITCHARD. THIRD OFFICER....... MR. ROBERTS. Servants, Notary, S&c. MADAME DESCHAPPELLES... MRS. W. CLIFFORD. PAULINE, her daughter..... MISS HELEN FAUCIT. THE WIDOW MELNOTTE, mother to MRS. GRIIT Claude MRS. GRIFFITH. JANET, the innkeeper's daughter.. MRS. EAST. MARIAN, maid to Pauline.... MISS GARRICK. SCENE -LYONS AND THE NEIGHBOURHOOD. Time - 1795-I798. 7 THE LADY OF LYONS; OR, LOVE AND PRIDE. ACT I. SCENE I. - A room in the house of M. DESCHAPPELLES, at Lyons. PAULINE reclining on a sofa; MARIAN, her maid, fanning her - Flowers and notes on a table beside the sofa - MADAME DESCHAPPELLES seated- The gardens are seen from the open window. Mme. Deschap. Marian, put that rose a little more to the left. [MARIAN alters the position of a rose in PAULINE'S hair.] Ah, so! -that improves the hair, - the tournure,' the je ne sais quoi! 2 - You are certainly very handsome, child! - quite my style; - I don't wonder that you make such a sensation! - Old, young, rich, and poor, do homage to the Beauty of Lyons! - Ah, we live again in our children, -especially when they have our eyes and complexion! Pauline [languidly]. Dear mother, you spoil your Pauline! - [Aside.] I wish I knew who sent me these flowers! Mme. Deschap. No, child! - If I praise you, it is only to inspire you with a proper ambition. You are born to make a great marriage. Beauty is valuable or worthless according as you invest the property to the best advantage.- Marian, go and order the carriage! [Exit MARIAN. 1 The whole appearance, look; the full force of tournure is not easily expressed by one English word. 2 I know not what. 9 382 B UL WER~EI-L YTTO.IV. [ACT I. Pauline. Who can it be that sends me, every day, these beautiful flowers? - how sweet they are! Enter SERVANT. Servant. Monsieur Beauseant, madam. Mme. Deschap. Let him enter. Pauline, this is another offer! - I know it is! - Your father should engage an additional clerk to keep the account-book of your conquests. Enter BEAUSEANT. Beau. Ah, ladies, how fortunate I am to find you at home! - [Aside.] How lovely she looks! - It is a great sacrifice I make in marrying into a family in trade! - they will be eternally grateful! -[Aloud.] Madam, you will permit me a word with your charming daughter. [Approaches PAULINE, who rises disdainfully.] - Mademoiselle, I have ventured to wait upon you, in a hope that you must long since have divined. Last night, when you outshone all the beauty of Lyons, you completed your conquest over me! You know that my fortune is not exceeded by any estate in the province, - you know that, but for the Revolution,l which has defrauded me of my titles, I should be noble. May I, then, trust that you will not reject my alliance? I offer you my hand and heart. Pauline [aside]. He has the air of a man who confers a favour! -[Aloud.] Sir, you are very condescending - I thank you humbly; but, being duly sensible of my own demerits, you must allow me to decline the honour you propose. [Curtsies, and turns away. Beau. Decline! impossible!- you are not serious!Madam, suffer me to appeal to you. I am a suitor for your daughter's hand —the settlements shall be worthy her beauty and my station. May I wait on M. Deschappelles? Mine. Deschap. M. Deschappelles never interferes in the domestic arrangements, -you are very obliging. If you were still a marquis, or if my daughter were intended to marry a commoner, - why, perhaps, we might give you the preference. 1 The French Revolution of 1789-95, in which all titles of nobility were swept away. The time of this play is the period immediately following, while France is under the Directory. IO0 SCENE 1.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 383 Beau. A commoner! - we are all commoners in France now. Mme. Deschap. In France, yes; but there is a nobility still left in the other countries in Europe. We are quite aware of your good qualities, and don't doubt that you will find some lady more suitable to your pretensions. We shall be always happy to see you as an acquaintance, M. Beauseant! - My dear child, the carriage will be here presently. Beau. Say no more, madam!-say no more!-[Aside.] Refused! and by a merchant's daughter - refused! It will be all over Lyons before sunset! - I will go and bury myself in my chateau, study philosophy, and turn woman-hater. Refused! they ought to be sent to a madhouse! - Ladies, I have the honour to wish you a very good morning. [Exit. Mine. Deschagp. How forward these men are! - I think, child, we kept up our dignity. Any girl, however inexperienced, knows how to accept an offer, but it requires a vast deal of address to refuse one with proper condescension and disdain. I used to practise it at school with the dancing-master. Enter DAMAS. Damas. Good morning, cousin Deschappelles. - Well, Pauline, are you recovered from last night's ball? - So many triumphs must be very fatiguing. Even M. Glavis sighed most piteously when you departed; but that might be the effect of the supper. Pauline. M. Glavis, indeed! Mme. Deschap. M. Glavis? - as if my daughter would think of M. Glavis! Damas. Hey-day! - why not? - His father left him a very pretty fortune, and his birth is higher than yours, cousin Deschappelles. But perhaps you are looking to M. Beauseant, - his father was a marquis before the Revolution. Pauline. M. Beauseant! - Cousin, you delight in tormenting me! Mme. Deschap. Don'tmindhim, Pauline!- Cousin Damas, you have no susceptibility of feeling, - there is a certain indelicacy in all your ideas. - M. Beauseant knows already that he is no match for my daughter! II 384 B UL WER-Lt YTTON.. '[ACT I. Damas. Pooh! pooh! one would think you intended your daughter to marry a prince! Mme. Deschap. Well, and if I did? -what then? - Many a foreign prince - Damas [interrupting her]. Foreign prince! - foreign fiddlestick! — you ought to be ashamed of such nonsense at your time of life. Mine. Deschap. My time of life!- That is an expression never applied to any lady till she is sixty-nine and three-quarters; - and only then by the clergyman of the parish. Enter SERVANT. Servant. Madame, the carriage is at the door. [Exit. Mme. Deschap. Come, child, put on your bonnet —you really have a very thorough-bred air- not at all like your poor father. —[Fondly.] Ah, you little coquette! when a young lady is always making mischief, it is a sure sign that she takes after her mother! Pauline. Good day, cousin Damas -and a better humour to you. —[Going back to the table and taking the flowers.] Who could have sent me these flowers? [Exeunt PAULINE and MADAME DESCHAPPELLES. Damas. That would be an excellent girl if her head had not been turned. I fear she is now become incorrigible! Zounds, what a lucky fellow I am to be still a bachelor! They may talk of the devotion of the sex —but the most faithful attachment in life is that of a woman in love - with herself. [Exit. SCENE II.-The exterior of a small Village Inn -sign, the Golden Lion -a few leagues from Lyons, which is seen at a distance. Beau. [behind the scenes]. Yes, you may bait the horses; we shall rest here an hour. Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. Gla. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have promised to spend a day or two with you at your chateau, -that I 12 SCENE II.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 385 am quite at your mercy for my entertainment, - and yet you are as silent and as gloomy as a mute at a funeral, or an Englishman at a party of pleasure. Beau. Bear with me -the fact is that I am miserable. Gla. You -the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons? Beau. It is because I am a bachelor that I am miserable. Thou knowest Pauline -the only daughter of the rich merchant, Mons. Deschappelles? Gla. Know her?- who does not?-as pretty as Venus, and as proud as Juno. Beau. Her taste is worse than her pride. - [Drawing himself up.] Know, Glavis, she has actually refused me! Gla. [aside]. So she has me! —very consoling! In all cases of heart-ache, the application of another man's disappointment draws out the pain and allays the irritation.[Aloud.] Refused you! and wherefore? Beau. I know not, unless it be because the Revolution swept away my father's title of Marquis, -and she will not marry a commoner. Now, as we have no noblemen left in France, -as we are all citizens and equals, she can only hope that, in spite of the war, some English Milord or German Count will risk his life, by coming to Lyons, that this fille du roturierl may condescend to accept him. Refused me, and with scorn! - By Heaven, I'll not submit to it tamely: — I'm in a perfect fever of mortification and rage. - Refuse me, indeed! Gla. Be comforted, my dear fellow, - I will tell you a secret. For the same reason she refused ME! Beau. You!-that's a very different matter! But give me your hand, Glavis, — we'll think of some plan to humble her. Mille diables! 2 I should like to see her married to a strolling player! Enter LANDLORD and his DAUGHTER from the Inn. Land. Your servant, citizen Beauseant, - servant, sir. Perhaps you will take dinner before you proceed to your chateau; our larder is most plentifully supplied. I Daughter of a (the) commoner. An exclamation meaning literally thousand devils. 25 13 386 BUL WER-L YTTOA. [ACT I. Beau. I have no appetite. Gla. Nor I. Still it is bad travelling on an empty stomach. What have you got? [ Takes and looks over the bill offare. [Shout without.] "Long live the Prince! - Long live the Prince!" Beau. The Prince! — what Prince is that? I thought we had no princes left in France. Land. Ha, ha! the lads always call him Prince. He has just won the prize in the shooting-match, and they are taking him home in triumph. Beau. Him! and who's Mr. Him? Land. Who should he be but the pride of the village, Claude Melnotte? - Of course you have heard of Claude Melnotte? Gla. [giving back the bill offare]. Never had that honour. Soup-ragout of hare- roast chicken, and, in short, all you have! Beau. The son of old Melnotte, the gardener? Land. Exactly so - a wonderful young man. Beau. How wonderful?- are his cabbages better than other people's? Land. Nay, he don't1 garden any more; his father left him well off. He's only a genus.' Gla. A what? Land. A genus! - a man who can do everything in life except anything that's useful; - that's a genus. Beau. You raise my curiosity; - proceed. Land. Well, then, about four years ago, old Melnotte died, and left his son well to do in the world. We then all observed that a great change came over young Claude: he took to reading and Latin, and hired a professor from Lyons, who had so much in his head that he was forced to wear a great full-bottom wig to cover it. Then he took a fencing-master, and a dancingmaster, and a music-master; and then he learned to paint; and at last it was said that young Claude was to go to Paris, and set up for a painter. The lads laughed at him at first; but he is a stout fellow, is Claude, and as brave as a lion, and soon 1 The landlord does not use the best language. Tony Lumpkin pronounces genius in the same way in his song (page 14). '4 SCENE II.] THE LADY F0' LYONS. 387 taught them to laugh the wrong side of their mouths; and now all the boys swear by him, and all the girls pray for him. Beau. A promising youth, certainly! And why do they call him Prince? Land. Partly because he is at the head of them all, and partly because he has such a proud way with him, and wears such fine clothes -and, in short, looks like a prince. Beau. And what could have turned the foolish fellow's brain? The Revolution, I suppose? Land. Yes - the revolution that turns us all topsy-turvythe revolution of Love. Beau. Romantic young Corydon! And with whom is he in love? Land. Why - but it is a secret, gentlemen. Beau. Oh! certainly. Land. Why, then, I hear from his mother, good soul! that it is no less a person than the Beauty of Lyons, Pauline Deschappelles. Beau. and Glavis. Ha, ha! - Capital! Land. You may laugh, but it is as true as I stand here. Beau. And what does the Beauty of Lyons say to his suit? Land. Lord, sir, she never even condescended to look at him, though when he was a boy he worked in her father's garden. Beau. Are you sure of that? Land. His mother says that Mademoiselle does not know him by sight. Beau. [taking GLAVIS aside]. I have hit it, -I have it;here is our revenge! Here is a prince for our haughty damsel. Do you take me? Gla. Deuce take me if I do! Beau. Blockhead! -it's as clear as a map. What if we could make this elegant clown pass himself off as a foreign prince? - lend him money, clothes, equipage for the purpose? - make him propose to Pauline? - marry Pauline? Would it not be delicious? Gla. Ha, ha! -Excellent! But how shall we support the necessary expenses of his highness? 1 A love-sick swain. See Theocritus' Idyls and Virgil's Eclogues. I5 388 B UL IWER-L YTTON. [ACT I. Beau. Pshaw! Revenge is worth a much larger sacrifice than a few hundred louis;-as for details, my valet is the trustiest fellow in the world, and shall have the appointment of his highness's establishment. Let's go to him at once, and see if he be really this Admirable Crichton.' Gla. With all my heart;- but the dinner? Beau. Always thinking of dinner! Hark ye, landlord; how far is it to young Melnotte's cottage? I should like to see such a prodigy. Land. Turn down the lane, then strike across the common, and you will see his mother's cottage. Beau. True, he lives with his mother. -[Aside.] We will not trust to an old woman's discretion; better send for him hither. I'll just step in and write him a note. Come, Glavis. Gla. Yes, - Beauseant, Glavis, and Co., manufacturers of princes, wholesale and retail, - an uncommonly genteel line of business. But why so grave? Beau. You think only of the sport, - I of the revenge. [Exeunt within the Inn. SCENE III.- The interior of MELNOTrE'S cottage; flowers placed here and there; a guitar on an oaken table, with a portfolio, &cc.; a picture on an easel, covered by a curtain; fencing-foils crossed over the mantelpiece; an attempt at refinement in spite of the homeliness of the furniture, d&c.; a staircase to the right conducts to the upper story. [Shout without.] "Long live Claude Melnotte!" "Long live the Prince! " The Widow Mel. Hark! -there's my dear son;-carried off the prize, I'm sure; and.now he'll want to treat them all. Claude Mel. [opening the door]. What! you will not come in, 1 James Crichton (born I56o) was surnamed the Admirable on account of his remarkable memory and linguistic facility. He was made the hero of a story by W. H. Ainsworth a short while before the appearance of this play. 16 SCENE III.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 389 my friends! Well, well,- there's a trifle to make merry elsewhere. Good day to you all, - good day! [Shout.] " Hurrah! Long live Prince Claude!" Enter CLAUDE MELNOTTE, with a rife in his hand. Met. Give me joy, dear mother! —I've won the prize!never missed one shot! Is it not handsome, this gun? Widow. Humph!- Well, what is it worth, Claude? Mel. Worth! What is a riband worth to a soldier? Worth! everything! Glory is priceless! Widow. Leave glory to great folks. Ah! Claude, Claude, castles in the air cost a vast deal to keep up! How is all this to end? What good does it do thee to learn Latin, and sing songs, and play on the guitar, and fence, and dance, and paint pictures? All very fine; but what does it bring in? Mel. Wealth! wealth, my mother! Wealth to the mind — wealth to the heart - high thoughts - bright dreams - the hope of fame -the ambition to be worthier to love Pauline. Widow. My poor son! - The young lady will never think of thee. Mel. Do the stars think of us? Yet if the prisoner see them shine into his dungeon, wouldst thou bid him turn away from their lustre? Even so from this low cell, poverty, I lift my eyes to Pauline and forget my chains. [Goes to the picture and draws aside the curtain.] See, this is her image - painted from memory. Oh, how the canvas wrongs her! [Takes up the brush and throws it aside.] I shall never be a painter! I can paint no likeness but one, and that is above all art. I would turn soldier-France needs soldiers! But to leave the air that Pauline breathes! What is the hour?-so late? I will tell thee a secret, mother. Thou knowest that for the last six weeks I have sent every day the rarest flowers to Pauline? - she wears them. I have seen them on her breast. Ah, and then the whole universe seemed filled with odours! I have now grown more bold - I have poured my worship into poetry - I have sent the verses to Pauline -I have signed them with my own name. My messenger ought to be back by this time. I bade him wait for the answer. Widow. And what answer do you expect, Claude? 17 390 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT I. AMel. That which the Queen of Navarre sent to the poor troubadour: - " Let me see the Oracle that can tell nations I am beautiful!" She will admit me. I shall hear her speak - I shall meet her eyes- I shall read upon her cheek the sweet thoughts that translate themselves into blushes. Then -then, oh, then - she may forget that I am the peasant's son! Hfidow. Nay, if she will but hear thee talk, Claude! Mel. I foresee it all. She will tell me that desert is the true rank. She will give me a badge - a flower - a glove! Oh rapture! I shall join the armies of the Republic - I shall rise - I shall win a name that beauty will not blush to hear. I shall return with the right to say to her -" See, how love does not level the proud, but raise the humble! " Oh, how my heart swells within me! - Oh, what glorious prophets of the future are youth and hope! 2 [Knock at the door. Widow. Come in. Enter GASPAR. Mel. Welcome, Gaspar, welcome. Where is the letter? Why do you turn away, man? where is the letter? [GASPAR gives him one.] This! This is mine, the one I intrusted to thee. Didst thou not leave it? Gaspar. Yes, I left it. Mel. My own verses returned to me. Nothing else! Gaspar. Thou wilt be proud to hear how thy messenger was honoured. For thy sake, Melnotte, I have borne that which no Frenchman can bear without disgrace. Mel. Disgrace, Gaspar! Disgrace? 1 Clement Marot was long at the court of Margaret of Navarre, a patroness of men of letters, but I do not find this story related of him. Bischoff thinks that perhaps Bulwer has made a mistake, and quotes the following concerning Jean Marot and Anne of Bretagne from Colletet's Notices biographiques sur les trois Marots: " Quelques-unes de ses rymes s'estant espandues a la cour parvinrent jusques au cabinet de la royne Anne, duchesse de Bretagne, qui les leut avec plaisir et qui en voullut cognoistre l'autheur, et son bonheur voullut que ceste vertueuse princesse prist tant de goust a son entretien, aussy bien qu'a ses vers, qu'elle l'arresta des lors a son service en qualit6 de son poete, ou de son escrivain ordinaire, et luy ordonna pour cela de bons gages." 2 Compare Richelieu, III., i. (page 495). i8 SCENE III.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 391 Gaspar. I gave thy letter to the porter, who passed it from lackey to lackey till it reached the lady it was meant for. Mel. It reached her, then; —you are sure of that! It reached her, - well, well! Gasfar. It reached her, and was returned to me with blows. Dost hear, Melnotte? with blows! Death! are we slaves still, that we are to be thus dealt with, we peasants? Mel. With blows? No, Gaspar, no; not blows! Gaspar. I could show thee the marks if it were not so deep a shame to bear them. The lackey who tossed thy letter into the mire swore that his lady and her mother never were so insulted. What could thy letter contain, Claude? Mel. [looking over the letter]. Not a line that a serf might not have written to an empress. No, not one. Gaspar. They promise thee the same greeting they gave me, if thou wilt pass that way. Shall we endure this, Claude? Mel. [wringing GASPAR'S hand]. Forgive me, the fault was mine, I have brought this on thee; I will not forget it; thou shalt be avenged! The heartless insolence! Gaspar. Thou art moved, Melnotte; think not of me; I would go through fire and water to serve thee; but, -a blow! It is not the bruise that galls, - it is the blush, Melnotte. Mel. Say, what message?- How insulted? - Wherefore?- What the offence? Gaspar. Did you not write to Pauline Deschappelles, the daughter of the rich merchant? Mel. Well? Gaspar. And are you not a peasant - a gardener's son. that was the offence. Sleep on it, Melnotte. Blows to a French citizen, blows! [Exit. Widow. Now you are cured, Claude! Mel. [tearing the letter]. So do I scatter her image to the winds - I will stop her in the open streets - I will insult herI will beat her menial ruffians - I will - [ Turns suddenly to WIDOW.] Mother, am I humpbacked -deformed - hideous? Widow. You' Mel. A coward - a thief - a liar? Widow. You! Mel. Or a dull fool - a vain, drivelling, brainless idiot? 19 392 B UL WER-L YTTON.. [ACT I. Widow. No, no. Mel. What am I then - worse than all these? Why, I am a peasant! What has a peasant to do with love? Vain revolutions, why lavish your cruelty on the great? Oh that we - we, the hewers of wood and drawers of water 1- had been swept away, so that the proud might learn what the world would be without us! - [Knock at the door. Enter SERVANT from the Inn. Servant. A letter for Citizen Melnotte. Mel. A letter! from her perhaps - who sent thee? Servant. Why, Monsieur —I mean Citizen —Beauseant, who stops to dine at the Golden Lion, on his way to his chateau. Mel. Beauseant! -[Reads.] Young man, I know thy secret — thou lovest above thy station: if thou hast wit, courage, and discretion, I can secure to thee the realization of thy most sanguine hopes; and the sole condition I ask in return is, that thou shalt be steadfast to thine own ends. I shall demand from thee a solemn oath to marry her whom thou lovest; to bear her to thine home on thy wedding night. I am serious — if thou wouldst learn more, lose not a moment, but follow the bearer of this letter to thy friend and patron, CHARLES BEAUSEANT. Ael. Can I believe my eyes? Are our own passions the sorcerers that raise up for us spirits of good or evil? I will go instantly. Widow. What is this, Claude? Mel. "Marry her whom thou lovest "-" bear her to thine own home."- Oh, revenge and love; which of you is the stronger?- [Gazing on the picture.] Sweet face, thou smilest on me from the canvas: weak fool that I am, do I then love her still? No, it is the vision of my own romance that I have worshipped: it is the reality to which I bring scorn for scorn. Adieu, mother: I will return anon. My brain reels -the earth swims before me. - [Looks again at the letter.] No, it is nct a mockery; I do not dream! [Exit. 1 SeeJoshua. IX., 21, 23, 27. 20 SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 393 ACT II. SCENE I. - The gardens of M. DESCHAPPELLES' house at Lyons - the house seen at the back of the stage. Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. Beau. Well, what think you of my plot? Has it not succeeded to a miracle? The instant that I introduced his Highness the Prince of Comol to the pompous mother and the scornful daughter, it was all over with them: he came - he saw -he conquered,2 and, though it is not many days since he arrived, they have already promised him the hand of Pauline. Gla. It is lucky, though, that you told them his Highness travelled incognito, for fear the Directory8 (who are not very fond of princes) should lay him by the heels; for he has a wonderful wish to keep up his rank, and scatters our gold about with as much coolness as if he were watering his own flowerpots. Beau. True, he is damnably extravagant; I think the sly dog does it out of malice. However, it must be owned that he reflects credit on his loyal subjects, and makes a very pretty figure in his fine clothes, with my diamond snuff-box. Gla. And my diamond ring! But do you think he will be firm to the last? I fancy I see symptoms of relenting: he will never keep up his rank, if he once let out his conscience. Beau. His oath binds him! he cannot retract without being forsworn, and those low fellows are always superstitious! But, as it is, I tremble lest he be discovered: that bluff Colonel Damas (Madame Deschappelles' cousin) evidently suspects him: we must make haste and conclude the farce: I have thought of a plan to end it this very day. Gla. This very day! Poor Pauline: her dream will be soon over. I A city and province on Lake Como in northern Italy. 2 Cesar's a Veni, vidi, vici." See Suetonius, Vite Ccsarutm, I., 37. 8 France was under the Directory from 1795 to 1799. 394.B UL WER-L YFTON. [ACT II. Beau. Yes, this day they shall be married; this evening, according to his oath, he shall carry his bride to the Golden Lion, and then pomp, equipage, retinue, and title, all shall vanish at once; and her Highness the Princess shall find that she has refused the son of a Marquis, to marry the son of the gardener. - Oh, Pauline! once loved, now hated, yet still not relinquished, thou shalt drain the cup to the dregs, - thou shalt know what it is to be humbled! Enterfrom the house, MELNOTTE, as the Prince of Como, leading in PAULINE; MADAME DESCHAPPELLES, fanning herself; and COLONEL DAMAS. [BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS bow respectfully. PAULINE and MELNOTTE walk apart. Mme. Deschap. Good morning, gentlemen; really I am so fatigued with laughter; the dear Prince is so entertaining. What wit he has! Any one may see that he has spent his whole life in courts. Damas. And what the deuce do you know about courts, cousin Deschappelles? You women regard men just as you buy books-you never care about what is in them, but how they are bound and lettered. 'Sdeath, I don't think you would even look at your Bible if it had not a title to it. Mme. Deschap. How coarse you are, cousin Damas!quite the manners of a barrack - you don't deserve to be one of our family; really we must drop your acquaintance when Pauline marries. I cannot patronize any relations that would discredit my future son-in-law, the Prince of Como. Mel. [advancing]. These are beautiful gardens, madame, [BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS retire.]- who planned them? Mme. Deschap. A gardener named Melnotte, your Highness - an honest man who knew his station. I can't say as much for his son - a presuming fellow, who - ha! ha! actually wrote verses - such doggerel! - to my daughter. Pauline. Yes, how you would have laughed at them, Prince! -you, who write such beautiful verses! Mel. This Melnotte must be a monstrous impudent person! Damas. Is he good-looking? 22 SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 395 Mmie. Deschap. I never notice such canailleI -an ugly, mean-looking clown, if I remember right. Damas. Yet I heard your porter say he was wonderfully like his Highness. Mel. [taking snuff]. You are complimentary. Mme. Deschap. For shame, cousin Damas! - like the Prince, indeed! Pauline. Like you! Ah, mother, like our beautiful Prince! I'll never speak to you again, cousin Damas. Mel. [aside]. Humph! —rank is a great beautifier! I never passed for an Apollo while I was a peasant; if I am so handsome as a prince, what should I be as an emperor! [Aloud.] Monsieur Beauseant, will you honour me? [Offers snuff. Beau. No, your Highness; I have no small vices. Mel. Nay, if it were a vice, you'd be sure to have it, Monsieur Beauseant. Mmne. Deschap. Ha! ha! - how very severe! - what wit! Beau. [in a rage and aside]. Curse his impertinence! Mme. Deschap. What a superb snuff-box! Pauline. And what a beautiful ring! Mel. You like the box- a trifle - interesting perhaps from associations - a present from Louis XIV.,2 to my great-greatgrandmother. Honour me by accepting it. Beau. [plucking him by the sleeve]. How! - what the devil! My box -are you mad? It is worth five hundred louis. Mel. [unheeding him, and turning to PAULINE]. And you like this ring? Ah, it has, indeed, a lustre since your eyes have shone on it [placing it on her finger]. Henceforth hold me, sweet enchantress, the Slave of the Ring.3 Gla. [pulling him]. Stay, stay -what are you about? My maiden aunt's legacy -a diamond of the first water. You shall be hanged for swindling, sir. 1 Low people. 2 King of France from 1643 to I715. 3 An allusion to the story of Aladdin and his ring in the Arabian Nights. By rubbing the ring the bearer of it could summon to his service the genius of the ring. 23 396 B ULWER~-L YTTONV. [ACT II. Mel. [pretending not to hear]. It is curious, this ring; it is the one with which my grandfather, the Doge of Venice, married the Adriatic! 1 [MADAME and PAULINE examine the ring. Mel. [to BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS]. Fie, gentlemen! princes must be generous. — [Turns to DAMAS, who watches them closely.] These kind friends have my interest so much at heart, that they are as careful of my property as if it were their own! Beau. and Gla. [confusedly]. Ha! ha! —very good joke that! [Appear to remonstrate with MELNOTTE in dumb show. Damas. What's all that whispering? I am sure there is some juggle here: hang me, if I think he is an Italian after all. Gad, I'll try him. Servitore umilissimo, Eccellenza.* Mel. Hum-what does he mean, I wonder? Damas. Godo di vedervi in buona salute.t Mel. Hem- hem! Damas. Fa bel tempo - che si dice di nuovo? Mel. Well, sir, what's all that gibberish? Damas. Oh, oh!-only Italian, your Highness!- The Prince of Como does not understand his own language! Mel. Not as you pronounce it; who the deuce could? Mine. Deschap. Ha! ha! cousin Damas, never pretend to what you don't know. Pauline. Ha! ha! cousin Damas; you speak Italian, indeed! [Makes a mocking gesture at him. Beau. [to GLAVIS]. Clever dog! -how ready! * Your Excellency's most humble servant. f I am glad to see you in good health. $ Fine weather. What news is there? 1 This ceremony, celebrated every Ascension Day, was instituted early in the fourteenth century. The Doge of Venice in a vessel called Bucentaur went in great pomp upon the Adriatic and performed a marriage ceremony with the sea by casting a ring into the water. The ceremony has been discontinued since the beginning of the present century. "The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord; And, annual marriage now no more renewed, The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored, Neglected garment of her widowhood! " BYRON, Childe Harold, IV., xi. 24 SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 397 Gla. Ready, yes; with my diamond ring!- Damn his readiness! Damas. Laugh at me! -laugh at a colonel in the French army! -the fellow's an impostor; I know he is. I'll see if he understands fighting as well as he does Italian. - [Goes uf to him, and aside.] Sir, you are a jackanapes! - Can you construe that? Mel. No, sir; I never construe affronts in the presence of ladies; by-and-by I shall be happy to take a lesson —or give one. Damas. I'll find the occasion, never fear! Mme. Deschap. Where are you going, cousin? Damas. To correct my Italian. [Exit. Beau. [to GLAVIS]. Let us after, and pacify him; he evidently suspects something. Gla. Yes! - but my diamond ring! Beau. And my box! - We are over-taxed fellow-subjects! - we must stop the supplies, and dethrone the prince. Gla. Prince!- he ought to be heir-apparent to King Stork.1 [Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. Mine. Deschap. Dare I ask your Highness to forgive my cousin's insufferable vulgarity? Pauline. Oh yes!-you will forgive his manner for the sake of his heart. Mel. And the sake of his cousin. - Ah, madam, there is one comfort in rank, -we are so sure of our position that we are not easily affronted. Besides, M. Damas has bought the right of indulgence from his friends, by never showing it to his enemies. Pauline. Ah! he is, indeed, as brave in action as he is rude in speech. He rose from the ranks to his present grade, and in two years! Mel. In two years! - two years, did you say? Mme. Deschap. [aside]. I don't like leaving girls alone with 1 An allusion to YEsop's fable of the Frogs Asking for a King. Jupiter at last sent them a stork, which devoured them. In Phaedrus' version (I., 2) of the fable it was a water snake and in La Fontaine's (III., 4) a crane that was sent. 25 398 BULWER-LYTTON. [ACT II. their lovers; but, with a prince, it would be so ill-bred to be prudish. [Exit. Mel. You can be proud of your connection with one who owes his position to merit, - not birth. Pauline. Why, yes; but still - Mel. Still what, Pauline! Pauline. There is something glorious in the heritage of command. A man who has ancestors is like a representative of the past. Mel. True; but, like other representatives, nine times out of ten he is a silent member. Ah, Pauline! not to the past, but to the future, looks true nobility, and finds its blazon in posterity. Pauline. You say this to please me, who have no ancestors; but you, prince, must be proud of so illustrious a race! Mel. No, no! I would not, were I fifty times a prince, be a pensioner on the dead! I honour birth and ancestry when they are regarded as the incentives to exertion, not the titledeeds to sloth! I honour the laurels that overshadow the graves of our fathers; - it is our fathers I emulate, when I desire that beneath the evergreen I myself have planted my own ashes may repose! Dearest! couldst thou but see with my eyes! Pauline. I cannot forego pride when I look on thee, and think that thou lovest me. Sweet Prince, tell me again of thy palace by the Lake of Como; it is so pleasant to hear of thy splendours since thou didst swear to me that they would be desolate without Pauline; and when thou describest them, it is with a mocking lip and a noble scorn, as if custom had made thee disdain greatness. Mel. Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint The home to which, could love fulfil its prayers, This hand would lead thee, listen! * - A deep vale * The reader will observe that Melnotte evades the request of Pauline. He proceeds to describe a home, which he does not say he possesses, but to which he would lead her, " could Love fufil its prayers." This caution is intended as a reply to a sagacious critic who censures the description because it is not an exact and prosaic inventory of the characteristics of the Lake of Como!- When Melnotte, for instance, talks of birds " that syllable the name of Pauline" (by the way, a literal translation from an Italian poet), he is not thinking of ornithology, but probably of the Arabian Nights. He is venting the extravagant, but natural, enthusiasm of the poet and the lover. 26 SCENE I.] THE LADY OF L YONS. 399 Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world; Near a clear lake, margined by fruits of gold And whispering myrtles; glassing 1 softest skies, As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows, As I would have thy fate! Pauline. My own dear love! Mel. A palace lifting to eternal summer Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower Of coolest foliage musical with birds, Whose songs should syllable thy name! At noon We'd sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder Why Earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens Still left us youth and love! We'd have no friends That were not lovers; no ambition, save To excel them all in love; we'd read no books That were not tales of love - that we might smile To think how poorly eloquence of words Translates the poetry of hearts like ours! And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens We'd guess what star should be our home when love Becomes immortal; while the perfumed light Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps, And every air was heavy with the sighs Of orange-groves and music from sweet lutes, And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth I' the midst of roses! - Dost thou like the picture? Pauline. Oh, as the bee upon the flower, I hang Upon the honey of thy eloquent tongue! Am I not blest? And if I love too wildly, Who would not love thee like Pauline? iMel. [bitterly]. Oh, false one! It is the prince thou lovest, not the man.If in the stead of luxury, pomp, and power, I had painted poverty, and toil, and care, Thou hadst found no honey on my tongue; - Pauline, That is not love! Pauline. Thou wrong'st me, cruel Prince! 1 Reflecting. Compare III, ii. (page 411) and Richelieu, I., i. (page 450). 27 400 1 UL IVE R-nL YTTON.IV [ACT II. At first, in truth, I might not have been won, Save through the weakness of a flattered pride; But now, - oh! trust me, - couldst thou fall from power And sinkMel. As low as that poor gardener's son Who dared to lift his eyes to thee?Pauline. Even then, Methinks thou wouldst be only made more dear By the sweet thought that I could prove how deep Is woman's love I We are like the insects, caught By the poor glittering of a garish flame; 1 But, oh, the wings once scorch'd, the brightest star Lures us no more; and by the fatal light We cling till death! Mel. Angel! [Aside.] 0 conscience! conscience! It must not be; - her love hath grown a torture Worse than her hate. I will at once to Beauseant, And - ha! he comes. Sweet love, one moment leave me. I have business with these gentlemen - I - I Will forthwith join you. Pauline. Do not tarry long! [Exit. Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. Mel. Release me from my oath, -I will not marry her! Beau. Then thou art perjured. Mel. No, I was not in my senses when I swore to thee to marry her! I was blind to all but her scorn! - deaf to all but my passion and my rage! Give me back my poverty and my honour! Beau. It is too late, -you must marry her! and this day. I have a story already coined, and sure to pass current. This Damas suspects thee,- he will set the police to work;- thou wilt be detected-Pauline will despise and execrate thee. Thou wilt be sent to the common gaol as a swindler. Mel. Fiend! 1 Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare." BYRON, Childe Harold, I., ix., 8. 28 SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 401 lqeau. And in the heat of the girl's resentment (you know of what resentment is capable) and the parents' shame, she will be induced to marry the first that offers -even perhaps your humble servant. Mel. You! No; that were worse -for thou hast no mercy! I will marry her — I will keep my oath. Quick, then, with the damnable invention thou art hatching; -quick, if thou wouldst not have me strangle thee or myself. Gla. What a tiger! Too fierce for a prince; - he ought to have been the Grand Turk.1 Beau. Enough - I will despatch; be prepared. [Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. Enter DAMAS with two swords. Damas. Now, then, sir, the ladies are no longer your excuse. I have brought you a couple of dictionaries; let us see if your Highness can find out the Latin for bilbo.2 Mel. Away, sir! I am in no humour for jesting. Damas. I see you understand something of the grammar; you decline the noun-substantive "small-sword" with great ease; but that won't do -you must take a lesson in parsing.3 Mel. Fool! Damas. Sir, as sons take after their mother, so the man who calls me a fool insults the lady who bore me; there's no escape for you - fight you shall, orMel. Oh, enough! enough! take your ground. [They fight; DAMAS is disarmed. MELNOTTE takes up the sword and returns it to DAMAS respectfully. A just punishment to the brave soldier who robs the State of its best property - the sole right to his valour and his life. Damas. Sir, you fence exceedingly well; you must be a man of honour - I don't care a jot whether you are a prince; but a man who has carte and tierce 4 at his fingers' ends must be a gentleman. Mel. [aside]. Gentleman! Ay, I was a gentleman before 1 The Sultan of Turkey. 2 A fine sword, named from Bilbao, Spain. 3 A pun on the grammatical term parsing and the fencing term passing. 4 Fencing terms. 26 29 402 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT II. I turned conspirator; for honest men are the gentlemen of Nature! Colonel, they tell me you rose from the ranks. Damas. I did. Mel. And in two years! Damas. It is true; that's no wonder in our army at present. Why, the oldest general in the service is scarcely thirty, and we have some of two-and-twenty. Mel. Two-and-twenty! Damas. Yes; in the French army, now a days, promotion is not a matter of purchase. We are all heroes, because we may be all generals. We have no fear of the cypress, because we may all hope for the laurel. Mel. A general at two-and-twenty! [turning away] - Sir, I may ask you a favour one of these days. Damas. Sir, I shall be proud to grant it. It is astonishing how much I like a man after I've fought with him. [Hides the swords. Enter MADAME DESCHAPPELLES and BEAUSEANT. Mme. Deschap. Oh,- prince, - prince! - What do I hear? You must fly - you must quit us! Mel. I! Beau. Yes, prince: read this letter, just received from my friend at Paris, one of the Directory; they suspect you of designs against the Republic: they are very suspicious of princes, and your family take part with the Austrians. Knowing that I introduced your Highness at Lyons, my friend writes to me to say that you must quit the town immediately, or you will be arrested, —thrown into prison, perhaps guillotined! Fly!I will order horses to your carriage instantly. Fly to Marseilles; there you can take ship to Leghorn.1 Mmie. Deschap. And what's to become of Pauline? Am I not to be mother to a princess, after all? Enter PAULINE and MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES. Pauline [throwing herself into MELNOTTE'S arms]: You must leave us! - Leave Pauline! 1 English name for Livorno, Italy. 30 SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 403 Beau. Not a moment is to be wasted. M. Deschap. I will go to the magistrates and inquireBeau. Then he is lost; the magistrates, hearing he is suspected, will order his arrest. Mmne. Deschap. And I shall not be a princess dowager!1 Beau. Why not? There is only one thing to be done:send for the priest - let the marriage take place at once, and the prince carry home a bride. Mel. Impossible! - [Aside.] Villain! Mmze. Deschap. What, lose my child? Beau. And gain a princess! Mmie. Deschap. Oh, Monsieur Beauseant, you are so very kind, it must be so, - we ought not to be selfish, my daughter's happiness at stake. She will go away, too, in a carriage and six! Pauline. Thou art here still, - I cannot part from thee, - my heart will break. Mel. But thou wilt not consent to this hasty union? - thou wilt not wed an outcast - a fugitive? Pauline: Ah! if thou art in danger, who should share it but Pauline? Mel. [aside]. Distraction! - If the earth could swallow me! M. Deschap. Gently! gently! The settlements - the contracts- my daughter's dowry! Mel. The dowry! - I am not base enough for that; no, not one farthing! Beau. [to MADAME]. Noble fellow! - Really your good husband is too mercantile in these matters. Monsieur Deschappelles, you hear his Highness: we can arrange the settlements by proxy; 'tis the way with people of quality. M. Deschap. ButMine. Deschap. Hold your tongue! - Don't expose yourself! Beau. I will bring the priest in a trice. Go in all of you and prepare; the carriage shall be at the door before the ceremony is over. Mine. Deschap. Be sure there are six horses, Beauseant! 1 She means mother of a princess. 3x 404 B UL ER-L ]E;TTOIV [ACT II. You are very good to have forgiven us for refusing you; but you see - a prince! Beau. And such a prince! Madam, I cannot blush at the success of so illustrious a rival. - [Aside.] Now will I follow them to the village, enjoy my triumph, and to-morrow, in the hour of thy shame and grief, I think, proud girl, thou wilt prefer even these arms to those of the gardener's son. [Exit. Mme. Deschap. Come, Monsieur Deschappelles, give your arm to her Highness that is to be. M. Deschap. I don't like doing business in such a hurry; 'tis not the way with the house of Deschappelles and Co. Mme. Deschap. There, now, you fancy you are in the counting-house, don't you? [Pushes him to PAULINE. Mel. Stay, stay, Pauline - one word. Have you no scruple, no fear? Speak - it is not yet too late. Pauline. When I loved thee, thy fate became mine. Triumph or danger - joy or sorrow - I am by thy side. Damas. Well, well, prince, thou art a lucky man to be so loved. She is a good little girl in spite of her foibles - make her as happy as if she were not to be a princess [slhpping him on the shoulder]. Come, sir, I wish you joy - young - tender -lovely; - zounds, I envy you! Mel. [who has stood apart in gloomy abstraction]. Do you?* * On the stage the following lines are added: - Do you? Wise judges are we of each other. " Woo, wed, and bear her home! " So runs the bond To which I sold myself, - and then - what then? Away! - I will not look beyond the hour. Like children in the dark, I dare not face The shades that gather round me in the distance. You envy me - I thank you - you may read My joy upon my brow - I thank you, sir! If hearts had audible language, you would hear What mine would answer when you talk of envy! 32 SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 405 ACT III. SCENE I. - The exterior of the Golden Lion - time, twilight. The moon rises during the scene. Enter LANDLORD and his DAUGHTER from the Inn. Land. Ha- ha -ha! Well, I never shall get over it. Our Claude is a prince with a vengeance now. His carriage breaks down at my inn - ha - ha! Janet. And what airs the young lady gives herself! "Is this the best room you have, young woman? " with such a toss of the head. Land. Well, get in, Janet; get in and see to the supper: the servants must sup before they go back. [Exeunt. Enter BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. Beau. You see our princess is lodged at last-one stage more, and she'll be at her journey's end - the beautiful palace at the foot of the Alps! - ha- ha! Gla. Faith, I pity the poor Pauline - especially if she's going to sup at the Golden Lion. [Makes a wry face.] I shall never forget that cursed ragout. Enter MELNOTTE from the Inn. Beau. Your servant, my prince; you reigned most worthily. I condole with you on your abdication. I am afraid that your Highness's retinue are not very faithful servants. I think they will quit you in the moment of your fall -'tis the fate of greatness.1 But you are welcome to your fine clothes- also the diamond snuff-box, which Louis XIV. gave to your great-greatgrandmother. Gla. And the ring, with which your grandfather the Doge of Venice married the Adriatic.2 Mel. I have kept my oath, gentlemen - say, have I kept my oath? 1 "Authority forgets a dying king." TENNYSON, Passing of Arthur, 289. 2 See Act II., Scene i. (page 396), and note. 33 406 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT III. Beau. Most religiously. Mel. Then you have done with me and mine - away with you! Beau. How, knave? Mel. Look you, our bond is over. Proud conquerors that we are, we have won the victory over a simple girl - compromised her honour- embittered her life- blasted, in their very blossoms, all the flowers of her youth. This is your triumph, - it is my shame! [Turns to BEAUSEANT]. Enjoy thy triumph, but not in my sight. I was her betrayer-I am her protector! Cross but her path - one word of scorn, one look of insult - nay, but one quiver of that mocking lip, and I will teach thee that bitter word thou hast graven eternally in this heart - Repentance! Beau. His Highness is most grandiloquent. Mel. Highness me no more! Beware! Remorse has made me a new being. Away with you! There is danger in me. Away! Gla. [aside]. He's an awkward fellow to deal with: come away, Beauseant. Beau. I know the respect due to rank. Adieu, my prince. Any commands at Lyons? Yet hold - I promised you 200 louis on your wedding-day; here they are. Mel. [dashing the purse to the ground]. I gave you revenge, I did not sell it. Take up your silver, Judas; take it. - Ay, it is fit you should learn to stoop. Beau. You will beg my pardon for this some day. [Aside to GLAVIS.] Come to my chateau- I shall return hither tomorrow, to learn how Pauline likes her new dignity. Mel. Are you not gone yet? Beau. Your Highness's most obedient, most faithful — Gla. And most humble servants. Ha! ha! [Exeunt BEAUSEANT and GLAVIS. Mel. Thank Heaven I had no weapon, or I should have slain them. Wretch! what can I say? Where turn? On all sides mockery - the very boors within - [Laughterfrom the Inn.] - 'Sdeath, if even in this short absence the exposure should have chanced. I will call her. We will go hence. I have already sent one I can trust to my mother's house. There, at least, 34 SCENE 1.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 407 none can insult her agony-gloat upon her shame! There alone must she learn what a villain she has sworn to love. As he turns to the door, enter PAULINE from the Inn. Pauline. Ah! my lord, what a place! I never saw such rude people. They stare and wink so. I think the very sight of a prince, though he travels incognito, turns their honest heads. What a pity the carriage should break down in such a spot! You are not well - the drops stand on your brow - your hand is feverish. Mel. Nay, it is but a passing spasm; the air - Pauline. Is not the soft air of your native southHow pale he is! - indeed thou art not well. Where are our people? I will call them. Mel. Hold! I -I am well. Pauline. Thou art!- Ah! now I know it. Thou fanciest, my kind lord - I know thou dost - Thou fanciest these rude walls, these rustic gossips, Brick'd floors, sour wine, coarse viands, vex Pauline; And so they might, but thou art by my side, And I forget all else. Enter LANDLORD, the SERVANTS peeping and laughing over his shoulder. Land. My lord - your HighnessWill your most noble Excellency chooseMel. Begone, sir! [Exit LANDLORD laughing. Pauline. How could they have learn'd thy rank? One's servants are so vain! - nay, let it not Chafe thee, sweet prince! — a few short days and we Shall see thy palace by its lake of silver, And- nay, nay, spendthrift, is thy wealth of smiles Already drained, or dost thou play the miser? Mel. Thine eyes would call up smiles in deserts, fair one. Let us escape these rustics: close at hand There is a cot, where I have bid prepare Our evening lodgment - a rude, homely roof, But honest, where our welcome will not be 35 408 BUL WER-L YTTON. [ACT III. Made torture by the vulgar eyes and tongues That are as death to Love! A heavenly night! The wooing air and the soft moon invite us. Wilt walk? I pray thee, now, - I know the path, Ay, every inch of it! Pauline. What, thou / methought Thou wert a stranger in these parts? Ah, truant, Some village beauty lured thee; - thou art now Grown constant? Mel. Trust me. Pauline. Princes are so changeful! Mel. Come, dearest, come. Pauline. Shall I not call our people To light us? Mel. Heaven will lend its stars for torches! It is not far. Pauline. The night breeze chills me. Mel. Nay, Let me thus mantle thee;- it is not cold. Pauline. Never beneath thy smile! Mel. [aside]. O Heaven! forgive me! [Exeunt. SCENE II. - MELNOTTE'S cottage- WIDOW bustling abouta table spreadfor supper. Widow. So, I think that looks very neat. He sent me a line, so blotted that I can scarcely read it, to say he would be here almost immediately. She must have loved him well indeed to have forgotten his birth; for though he was introduced to her in disguise, he is too honourable not to have revealed to her the artifice, which her love only could forgive. Well, I do not wonder at it; for though my son is not a prince, he ought to be one, and that's almost as good. [Knock at the door.] Ah! here they are. Enter MELNOTTE and PAULINE. Widow. Oh, my boy —the pride of my heart!-welcome, welcome! I beg pardon, ma'am, but I do love him so! 36 SCENE II.] THE LADY OF LYOAS. 409 Pauline. Good woman, I really -why prince, what is this? - does the old lady know you? Oh, I guess, you have done her some service. Another proof of your kind heart; is it not? Mel. Of my kind heart, ay! Pauline. So you know the prince? Widow. Know him, madam? - Ah, I begin to fear it is you who know him not! Pauline. Do you think she is mad? Can we stay here, my lord? I think there's something very wild about her. Mel. Madam, I-no, I cannot tell her; my knees knock together: what a coward is a man who has lost his honour! 1 Speak to her —speak to her [to his mother] -tell her thatO Heaven, that I were dead! Pauline. How confused he looks!-this strange place!this woman - what can it mean? - I half suspect - Who are you, madam! - who are you? can't you speak? are you struck dumb? Widow. Claude, you have not deceived her? — Ah, shame upon you! I thought that, before you went to the altar, she was to have known all. Pauline. All! what? - My blood freezes in my veins! Widow. Poor lady! - dare I tell her, Claude? [MELNOTTE makes a sign of assent.] Know you not then, madam, that this young man is of poor though honest parents? Know you not that you are wedded to my son, Claude Melnotte? Pauline. Your son! hold - hold! do not speak to me.[Approaches MELNOTTE, and lays her hand on his arm.] Is this a jest? is it? I know it is, only speak - one word - one look - one smile. I cannot believe I who loved thee so - I cannot believe that thou art such a - No, I will not wrong thee by a harsh word - Speak! A/el. Leave us - have pity on her, on me: leave us. Widow. Oh, Claude, that I should live to see thee bowed by shame! thee of whom I was so proud! [Exit by the staircase. Pauline. Her son - her son! Mel. Now, lady, hear me. 1 " Thus conscience does make cowards of us all." - Hamlet, III., i., 83. 37 410 B ULW~tER-L YTTON. [ACT III. Pauline. Hear thee! Ay, speak — her son! have fiends a parent? speak, That thou mayst silence curses - speak! Mel. No, curse me: Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness. Pauline [laughing wildly]. "This is thy palace, where the perfumed light Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps, And every air is heavy with the sighs Of orange-groves, and music from sweet lutes, And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth I' the midst of roses! " Dost thou like the picture? This is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom. O fool - O dupe- O wretch! - I see it allThe by-word and the jeer of every tongue In Lyons. Hast thou in thy heart one touch Of human kindness? if thou hast, why, kill me, And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot - It cannot be: this is some horrid dream: I shall wake soon.- [Touching him.] Art flesh? art man? or but The shadows seen in sleep? It is too real. What have I done to thee? how sinn'd against thee, That thou shouldst crush me thus? Mel. Pauline, by pride Angels have fallen ere thy time: 2 by prideThat sole alloy of thy most lovely mould - The evil spirit of a bitter love, 1 She is quoting from Claude's description in Act II., Scene i (page 399). 2 "In pride, in reas'ning pride, our error lies; All quit their sphere, and rush into the skies. Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes, Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell, Aspiring to be angels, men rebel." POPE, Essay on Man, I., 123-8. "Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that sin fell the angels." SHAKESPEARE, Henry VIII., III., ii., 440-I. 38 SCENE II.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 4 I And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. From my first years my soul was fill'd with thee: I saw thee midst the flow'rs the lowly boy Tended, unmark'd by thee - a spirit of bloom, And joy, and freshness, as if Spring itself Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape! I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man Enter'd the breast of the wild-dreaming boy. And from that hour I grew -what to the last I shall be -thine adorer! Well, this love Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became A fountain of ambition and bright hope; I thought of tales that by the winter hearth Old gossips tell - how maidens sprung from kings Have stoop'd from their high sphere; how love, like death, Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home In the soft palace of a fairy Future! My father died; and I, the peasant-born, Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise Out of the prison of my mean estate; And, with such jewels as the exploring mind Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom From those twin gaolers of the daring heart - Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright image, Glass'd in my soul, took all the hues of glory, And lured me on to those inspiring toils By which man masters men! For thee I grew A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages. For thee I sought to borrow from each grace, And every muse, such attributes as lend Ideal charms to love. I thought of thee, And passion taught me poesy - of thee, And on the painter's canvas grew the life Of beauty! Art became the shadow Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes! Men call'd me vain -some mad - I heeded not; But still toil'd on - hoped on - for it was sweet, If not to win, to feel more worthy thee. 39 412 BUL WER-L YTTON. [ACT III. Pauline. Has he a magic to exorcise hate? Mel. At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour The thoughts that burst their channels into song, And sent them to thee -such a tribute, lady, As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. The name - appended by the burning heart That long'd to show its idol what bright things It had created -yea, the enthusiast's name, That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn! That very hour - when passion, turn'd to wrath, Resembled hatred most - when thy disdain Made my whole soul a chaos - in that hour The tempters found me a revengeful tool For their revenge! Thou hadst trampled on the wormIt turn'd and stung thee! Pauline. Love, sir, hath no sting. What was the slight of a poor powerless girl To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge? Oh, how I loved this man!- a serf! - a slave! Mel. Hold, lady! No, not slave! Despair is free I I will not tell thee of the throes - the strugglesThe anguish - the remorse: no, let it pass! And let me come to such most poor atonement Yet in my power. Pauline![Approaching her with great emotion, and about to take her hand. Pauline. No, touch me not! I know my fate. You are, by law, my tyrant; And I - 0 Heaven! a peasant's wife! I'll workToil - drudge - do what thou wilt - but touch me not; Let my wrongs make me sacred! Mel. Do not fear me. Thou dost not know me, madam: at the altar My vengeance ceased - my guilty oath expired! Henceforth, no image of some marble saint, Niched in cathedral aisles, is hallow'd more From the rude hand of sacrilegious wrong. I am thy husband- nay, thou need'st not shudder;Here, at thy feet, I lay a husband's rights. 40 ____ _ ___ __ _______ SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 413 A marriage thus unholy - unfulfill'd A bond of fraud - is, by the laws of France, Made void and null. To-night sleep - sleep in peace. To-morrow, pure and virgin as this morn I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the shrine, Thy father's arms shall take thee to thy home. The law shall do thee justice, and restore Thy right to bless another with thy love. And when thou art happy, and hast half forgot Him who so loved - so wrong'd thee, think at least Heaven left some remnant of the angel still In that poor peasant's nature! Ho! my mother! Enter WIDOW. Conduct this lady - (she is not my wife; She is our guest, - our honour'd guest, my mother) To the poor chamber, where the sleep of virtue Never, beneath my father's honest roof, Ev'n villains dared to mar! Now, lady, now, I think thou wilt believe me. Go, my mother! Widow. She is not thy wife! Mel. Hush, hush! for mercy's sake! Speak not, but go. [WIDOW ascends the stairs; PAULINE follows weeping- turns to look back. Mel. [sinking down]. All angels bless and guard her! ACT IV. SCENE I. - The cottage as before - MELNOTTE seated before a table - writing implements, &-c. - (Day breaking.) Mel. Hush, hush!-she sleeps at last!-thank Heaven, for a while she forgets even that I live! Her sobs, which have gone to my heart the whole, long, desolate night, have ceased! -all calm - all still! I will go now; I will send this letter to 41 414 BUL WER-L YTTON. [ACT IV. Pauline's father: when he arrives, I will place in his hands my own consent to the divorce, and then, 0 France! my country! accept among thy protectors, thy defenders-the Peasant's Son! Our country is less proud than custom, and does not refuse the blood, the heart, the right hand of the poor man. Enter WIDOW. Widow. My son, thou hast acted ill; but sin brings its own punishment. In the hour of thy remorse, it is not for a mother to reproach thee. Mel. What is past is past. There is a future left to all men who have the virtue to repent and the energy to atone. Thou shalt be proud of thy son yet. Meanwhile, remember this poor lady has been grievously injured. For the sake of thy son's conscience, respect, honour, bear with her. If she weep, console - if she chide, be silent. 'Tis but a little while more - I shall send an express fast as horse can speed to her father. Farewell! I shall return shortly. Widow. It is the only course left to thee —thou wert led astray, but thou art not hardened. Thy heart is right still, as ever it was when, in thy most ambitious hopes, thou wert never ashamed of thy poor mother. Mel. Ashamed of thee! No, if I yet endure, yet live, yet hope —it is only because I would not die till I have redeemed the noble heritage I have lost - the heritage I took unstained from thee and my dead father-a proud conscience and an honest name. I shall win them back yet - Heaven bless you! [Exit. Widow. My dear Claude! How my heart bleeds for him. PAULINE looks down from above, and after a pause descends. Pauline. Not here!-he spares me that pain at least: so far he is considerate -yet the place seems still more desolate without him. Oh, that I could hate him -the gardener's son! - and yet how nobly he - no - no - no, I will not be so mean a thing as to forgive him! Widow. Good morning, madam; I would have waited on you if I had known you were stirring. 42 SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 415 Pauline. It is no matter, ma'am - your son's wife ought to wait on herself. Widow. My son's wife-let not that thought vex you, madam-he tells me that you will have your divorce. And I hope I shall live to see him smile again. There are maidens in this village, young and fair, madam, who may yet console him. Pauline. I dare say —they are very welcome —and when the divorce is got - he will marry again. I am sure I hope so. [ Weeps. Widow. He could have married the richest girl in the province, if he had pleased it; but his head was turned, poor child! he could think of nothing but you. [ Weeps. Pauline. Don't weep, mother. Widow. Ah, he has behaved very ill, I know, but love is so headstrong in the young. Don't weep, madam. Pauline. So, as you were saying-go on. Widow. Oh, I cannot excuse him, ma'am -he was not in his right senses. Pauline. But he always —always [sobbing] loved —loved me then? Widow. He thought of nothing else. See here - he learnt to paint that he might take your likeness. [Uncovers the picture.] But that's all over now - I trust you have cured him of his folly; - but, dear heart, you have had no breakfast! Pauline. I can't take anything - don't trouble yourself. Widow. Nay, madam, be persuaded; a little coffee will refresh you. Our milk and eggs are excellent. I will get out Claude's coffee-cup - it is of real Sevres; 1 he saved up all his money to buy it three years ago, because the name of Pauline was inscribed on it. Pauline. Three years ago! Poor Claude!- Thank you; I think I will have some coffee. Oh! if he were but a poor gentleman, even a merchant: but a gardener's son -and what a home! - Oh no, it is too dreadful! [They seat themselves at the table, BEAUSEANT opens the lattice and looks in. 1 Porcelain made at Sevres near Paris. 43 416 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT IV. Beau. So - so- the coast is clear! I saw Claude in the lane - I shall have an excellent opportunity. [Shuts the lattice and knocks at the door. Pauline [starting]. Can it be my father? - he has not sent for him yet? No, he cannot be in such a hurry to get rid of me. Widow. It is not time for your father to arrive yet; it must be some neighbour. Pauline. Don't admit any one. WIDOW opens the door, BEAUSEANT pushes her aside and enters. Ha! Heavens! that hateful Beauseant! This is indeed bitter! Beau. Good morning, madam! 0 widow, your son begs you will have the goodness to go to him in the village —he wants to speak to you on particular business; you'll find him at the inn, or the grocer's shop, or the baker's, or at some other friend's of your family- make haste. Pauline. Don't leave me, mother! - don't leave me. Beau. [with great respect]. Be not alarmed, madam. Be-' lieve me your friend -your servant. Pauline. Sir, I have no fear of you, even in this house! Go, madam, if your son wishes it; I will not contradict his commands whilst, at least, he has still the right to be obeyed. Widow. I don't understand this; however, I shan't be long gone. [Exit. Pauline. Sir, I divine the object of your visit - you wish to exult in the humiliation of one who humbled you. Be it so; I am prepared to endure all - even your presence! Beau. You mistake me, madam - Pauline, you mistake me! I come to lay my fortune at your feet. You must already be disenchanted with this impostor; these walls are not worthy to be hallowed by your beauty! Shall that form be clasped in the arms of a base-born peasant? Beloved, beautiful Pauline! fly with me - my carriage waits without - I will bear you to a home more meet for your reception. Wealth, luxury, station - all shall yet be yours. I forget your past disdain - I remember only your beauty and my unconquerable love! Pauline. Sir! leave this house - it is humble; but a hus44 SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 417 band's roof, however lowly, is, in the eyes of God and man, the temple of a wife's honour! Know that I would rather starveyes —with him who has betrayed me, than accept your lawful hand, even were you the prince whose name he bore!Go. Beau. What, is not your pride humbled yet? Pauline. Sir, what was pride in prosperity in affliction becomes virtue. Beau. Look round: these rugged floors - these homely walls -this wretched struggle of poverty for comfort - think of this! and contrast with such a picture the refinement, the luxury, the pomp, that the wealthiest gentleman of Lyons offers to the loveliest lady. Ah, hear me! Pauline. Oh! my father! - why did I leave you? - why am I thus friendless? Sir, you see before you a betrayed, injured, miserable woman! - respect her anguish! [MELNOTTE opens the door silently, and pauses at the threshold. Beau. No! let me rather thus console it; let me snatch from those lips one breath of that fragrance which never should be wasted on the low churl thy husband. Pauline. Help! Claude! - Claude! - Have I no protector? Beau. Be silent! [showing a pistol]. See, I do not come unprepared even for violence. I will brave all things - thy husband and all his race - for thy sake. Thus, then, I clasp thee! Mel. [dashing him to the other end of the stage]. Pauline - look up, Pauline! thou art safe. Beau. [levelling his pistol]. Dare you thus insult a man of my birth, ruffian? Pauline. Oh, spare him -spare my husband! - Beauseant -Claude - no - no - [Faints. Mel. Miserable trickster! shame upon you! brave devices to terrify a woman! Coward! - you tremble - you have outraged the laws -you know that your weapon is harmless - you have the courage of the mountebank, not the bravo! - Pauline, there is no danger. Beau. I wish thou wert a gentleman —as it is, thou art 27 45 418 B UrL WER-L-l YTTO.IV. [ACT IV. beneath me.- Good day, and a happy honey-moon. - [Aside.] I will not die till I am avenged. [Exit. A/el. I hold her in these arms - the last embrace! Never, ah never more, shall this dear head Be pillow'd on the heart that should have shelter'd And has betray'd! - Soft - soft! one kiss - poor wretch! No scorn on that pale lip forbids me now! One kiss- so ends all record of my crime! It is the seal upon the tomb of hope, By which, like some lost, sorrowing angel, sits Sad memory evermore; - she breathes - she moves - She wakes to scorn, to hate, but not to shudder Beneath the touch of my abhorred love. [Places her on a seat. There - we are strangers now! Pauline. All gone - all calm - Is every thing a dream? thou art safe, unhurt - I do not love thee; but- but I am woman, And - and - no blood is spilt? Mel. No, lady, no; My guilt hath not deserved so rich a blessing As even danger in thy cause. Enter WIDOW. Widow. My son, I have been everywhere in search of you; why did you send for me? Mel. I did not send for you. Widow. No! but I must tell you your express has returned. Mel. So soon! impossible! Widow. Yes, he met the lady's father and mother on the road; they were going into the country on a visit. Your messenger says that Monsieur Deschappelles turned almost white with anger when he read your letter. They will be here almost immediately. Oh, Claude, Claude! what will they do to you? How I tremble! Ah, madam! do not let them injure him -if you knew how he doted on you. Pauline. Injure him! no, ma'am, be not afraid; - my father! how shall I meet him? how go back to Lyons? the scoff of the 46 SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 419 whole city! Cruel, cruel Claude. [In great agitation.] Sir, you have acted most treacherously. Mel. I know it, madam. Pauline [aside]. If he would but ask me to forgive him!I never can forgive you, sir. Mel. I never dared to hope it. Pauline. But you are my husband now, and I have sworn to - to love you, sir. Mel. That was under a false belief, madam; Heaven and the laws will release you from your vow. Pauline. He will drive me mad! if he were but less proud - if he would but ask me to remain - hark, hark - I hear the wheels of the carriage - Sir - Claude, they are coming; have you no word to say ere it is too late? Quick - speak. Mel. I can only congratulate you on your release. Behold your parents! Enter MONSIEUR and MADAME DESCHAPPELLES and COLONEL DAMAS. M. Deschap. My child! my child! Mme. Deschap. Oh, my poor Pauline! -what a villanous hovel this is! Old woman, get me a chair - I shall faint - I certainly shall. What will the world say? Child, you have been a fool. A mother's heart is easily broken. Damas. Ha, ha! most noble Prince- I am sorry to see a man of your quality in such a condition; I am afraid your Highness will go to the House of Correction. Mel. Taunt on, sir; I spared you when you were unarmed - I am unarmed now. A man who has no excuse for crime is indeed defenceless! Damas. There's something fine in the rascal, after all! Mf. Deschap. Where is the impostor? - Are you thus shameless, traitor? Can you brave the presence of that girl's father? Mel. Strike me, if it please you -you are her father. Pauline. Sir-sir, for my sake;-whatever his guilt, he has acted nobly in atonement. Mmie. Deschap. Nobly! Are you mad, girl? I have no 47 420 BUL WER-L YTTON. [ACT IV. patience with you -to disgrace all your family thus! Nobly! Oh you abominable, hardened, pitiful, mean, ugly villain! Damas. Ugly! Why, he was beautiful yesterday! Pauline. Madame, this is his roof, and he is my husband. Respect your daughter, 6r let blame fall alone on her. Mme. Deschap. You- you- Oh, I'm choking. M. Deschap. Sir, it were idle to waste reproach upon a conscience like yours - you renounce all pretensions to the person of this lady? Mel. I do. [Gives a paper.] Here is my consent to a divorce - my full confession of the fraud which annuls the marriage. Your daughter has been foully wronged - I grant it, sir; but her own lips will tell you that, from the hour in which she crossed this threshold, I returned to my own station, and respected hers. Pure and inviolate, as when yestermorn you laid your hand upon her head and blessed her, I yield her back to you. For myself — I deliver you for ever from my presence. An outcast and a criminal, I seek some distant land, where I may mourn my sin, and pray for your daughter's peace. Farewell -farewell to you all, for ever! Widow. Claude, Claude, you will not leave your poor old mother? She does not disown you in your sorrow-no, not even in your guilt. No divorce can separate a mother from her son. Pauline. This poor widow teaches me my duty. No, mother, - no, for you are now my mother also! - nor should any law, human or divine, separate the wife from her husband's sorrows. Claude - Claude- all is forgotten -forgiven - I am thine for ever! Mme. Deschap. What do I hear? - Come away, or never see my face again. M. Deschap. Pauline, we never betrayed you! - do you forsake us for him? Pauline [going back to her father]. O no- but you will forgive him too; we will live together - he shall be your son. M. Deschap. Never! Cling to him and forsake your parents! His home shall be yours- his fortune yours - his fate yours: the wealth I have acquired by honest industry shall never enrich the dishonest man. 48 SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 42I Pauline. And you would have a wife enjoy luxury while a husband toils! Claude, take me; thou canst not give me wealth, titles, station - but thou canst give me a true heart. I will work for thee, tend thee, bear with thee, and never, never shall these lips reproach thee for the past. Damas. I'll be hanged if I am not going to blubber! Mel. This is the heaviest blow of all! - What a heart I have wronged! - Do not fear me, sir; I am not all hardened - I will not rob her of a holier love than mine. Pauline!angel of love and mercy! -your memory shall lead me back to virtue! - The husband of a being so beautiful in her noble and sublime tenderness may be poor -may be low-born; — (there is no guilt in the decrees of Providence!) - but he should be one who can look thee in the face without a blush, -to whom thy love does not bring remorse, -who can fold thee to his heart, and say, -" Here there is no deceit! "- I am not that man! Damas [aside to MELNOTTE]. Thou art a noble fellow, notwithstanding; and wouldst make an excellent soldier. Serve in my regiment. I have had a letter from the Directory-our young general takes the command of the army in Italy, - I am to join him at Marseilles, - I will depart this day, if thou wilt go with me. Mel. It is the favour I would have asked thee, if I dared. Place me wherever a foe is most dreaded, - wherever France most needs a life! Damas. There shall not be a forlorn hope without thee! Mel. There is my hand! - Mother, your blessing. I shall see you again, - a better man than a prince, - a man who has bought the right to high thoughts by brave deeds. And thou! -thou! so wildly worshipped, so guiltily betrayed, -all is not yet lost! - for thy memory, at least, must be mine till death! If I live, the name of him thou hast once loved shall not rest dishonoured; - if I fall, amidst the carnage and the roar of battle, my soul will fly back to thee, and love shall share with death my last sigh! - More - more would I speak to thee! - to 1 Napoleon received command of the army in Italy early in 1796 and set out from Paris in March. 49 422 BUL WERE-L Y~TTON. [ACT V. pray!- to bless! But no; —when I am less unworthy I will utter it to Heaven!- I cannot trust myself to - [Turning to DESCHAPPELLES.] Your pardon, sir; - they are my last words - Farewell! - [Exit. Damas. I will go after him. - France will thank me for this. [Exit. Pauline [starting from her father's arms]. Claude!Claude! - my husband! M. Deschap. You have a father still! ACT V. (Two years and a half from the date of Act IV.). SCENE I. - The Streets of Lyons. Enter FIRST, SECOND, and THIRD OFFICERS. First Officer. Well, here we are at Lyons, with gallant old Damas: it is his native place. Second Officer. Yes; he has gained a step in the army since he was here last. The Lyonnese ought to be very proud of stout General Damas. Third Officer. Promotion is quick in the French army. This mysterious Morier, -the hero of Lodi,1 and the favourite of the commander-in-chief, - has risen to a colonel's rank in two years and a half. Enter DAMAS, as a General. Damas. Good morrow, gentlemen; I hope you will amuse yourselves during our short stay at Lyons. It is a fine city: improved since I left it. Ah! it is a pleasure to grow old,when the years that bring decay to ourselves do but ripen the prosperity of our country. You have not met with Morier? First Officer. No: we were just speaking of him. Second Officer. Pray, general, can you tell us who this Morier really is? 1 The bridge at Lodi, Italy, was forced by Napoleon on May o1, 1796. 50 SCENE I.] THEE LADY OF LYONVS. 423 Damas. Is! - why a colonel in the French army. Third Officer. True. But what was he at first? Damas. At first? Why a baby in long clothes, I suppose. First Officer. Ha, ha! Ever facetious, general. Second Officer [to THIRD]. The general is sore upon this point; you will only chafe him. — Any commands, general? Damas. None. Good day to you. [Exeunt SECOND and THIRD OFFICERS. Damas. Our comrades are very inquisitive. Poor Morier is the subject of a vast deal of curiosity. First Officer. Say interest, rather, general. His constant melancholy, the loneliness of his habits, - his daring valour, his brilliant rise in the profession, - your friendship, and the favours of the commander-in-chief, - all tend to make him as much the matter of gossip as of admiration. But where is he, general? I have missed him all the morning. Damas. Why, captain, I'll let you into a secret. My young friend has come with me to Lyons in hopes of finding a miracle. First Officer. A miracle! Damas. Yes, a miracle! in other words, - a constant woman. First Officer. Oh! an affair of love! Damas. Exactly so. No sooner did he enter Lyons than he waved his hand to me, threw himself from his horse, and is now, I warrant, asking every one who can know anything about the matter, whether a certain lady is still true to a certain gentleman! First Officer. Success to him! - and of that success there can be no doubt. The gallant Colonel Morier, the hero of Lodi, might make his choice out of the proudest families in France. Damas. Oh, if pride be a recommendation, the lady and her mother are most handsomely endowed. By the way, captain, if you should chance to meet with Morier, tell him he will find me at the hotel. First Officer. I will, general. [Exit. Damas. Now will I go to the Deschappelles, and make a re51 424 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT V. port to my young Colonel. Ha! by Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, Virorum,l — here comes Monsieur Beauseant! Enter BEAUSEANT. Good morrow, Monsieur Beauseant! How fares it with you? Beau. [aside]. Damas! that is unfortunate; -if the Italian campaign should have filled his pockets, he may seek to baffle me in the moment of my victory. [Aloud.] Your servant, general, - for such, I think, is your new distinction! Just arrived in Lyons? Damas. Not an hour ago. Well, how go on the Deschappelles? Have they forgiven you in that affair of young Melnotte? You had some hand in that notable device, - eh? Beau. Why, less than you think for! The fellow imposed upon me. I have set it all right now. What has become of him? He could not have joined the army, after all. There is no such name in the books. Damas. I know nothing about Melnotte. As you say, I never heard the name in the Grand Army.2 Beau. Hem!- You are not married, general? Damas. Do I look like a married man, sir?- No, thank Heaven! My profession is to make widows, not wives. Beau. You must have gained much booty in Italy! Pauline will be your heiress- eh? Damas. Booty! Not I! Heiress to what? Two trunks and a portmanteau, - four horses, - three swords, - two suits of regimentals, and six pair of white leather inexpressibles! A pretty fortune for a young lady! Beau. [aside]. Then all is safe! [Aloud.] Ha! ha! Is that really all your capital, General Damas? Why, I thought Italy had been a second Mexico3 to you soldiers. 1 Damas is absurdly quoting from the rule for the masculine gender in the Eton Latin Grammar: " Propria que maribus tribuuntur, mascula dicas; Ut sunt Divorum; Mars, Bacchus, Apollo: Virorum; Ut, Cato, Virgilius: Fluviorum; ut, Tibris, Orontes: Mensium; ut, October: Ventorum; ut, Libs, Notus, Auster." 2 The name La Grande Armree was given later to Napoleon's army in Russia, never to the army in Italy. 3 Referring to the rich silver mines of Mexico. Compare Richelieu, III., i. 52 SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 425 Damas. All a toss-up, sir. I was not one of the lucky ones! My friend Morier, indeed, saved something handsome. But our commander-in-chief took care of him, and Morier is a thrifty, economical dog, - not like the rest of us soldiers, who spend our money as carelessly as if it were our blood. Beau. Well, it is no matter! I do not want fortune with Pauline. And you must know, General Damas, that your fair cousin has at length consented to reward my long and ardent attachment. Damas. You! - the devil! Why, she is already married! There is no divorce! Beau. True; but this very day she is formally to authorize the necessary proceedings,- this very day she is to sign the contract that is to make her mine within one week from the day on which her present illegal marriage is annulled. Damas. You tell me wonders! - Wonders! No; I believe anything of women! Beau. I must wish you good morning. As he is going, enter DESCHAPPELLES. M. Deschap5. Oh, Beauseant! well met. Let us come to the notary at once. Damas [to DESCHAPPELLES]. Why, cousin! M. Deschap. Damas, welcome to Lyons. Pray call on us; my wife will be delighted to see you. Damas. Your wife be-blessed for her condescension! But [taking him aside] what do I hear? Is it possible that your daughter has consented to a divorce - that she will marry Monsieur Beauseant? M. Deschajn. Certainly! What have you to say against it! A gentleman of birth, fortune, character. We are not so proud as we were; even my wife has had enough of nobility and princes! Damas. But Pauline loved that young man so tenderly! M. Deschap. [taking snuff]. That was two years and a half ago! Damas. Very true. Poor Melnotte! M. Deschap. But do not talk of that impostor; I hope he is dead or has left the country. Nay, even were he in Lyons at 53 426 B UL WER-L YTTOV. [ACT V. this moment, he ought to rejoice that, in an honourable and suitable alliance, my daughter may forget her sufferings and his crime. Damas. Nay, if it be all settled, I have no more to say. Monsieur Beauseant informs me that the contract is to be signed this very day. M. Deschap. It is; at one o'clock precisely. Will you be one of the witnesses? Damas. I? - No; that is to say - yes, certainly! - at one o'clock I will wait on you. A. Deschap. Till then, adieu - come, Beauseant. [Exeunt BEAUSEANT and DESCHAPPELLES. Damas. The man who sets his heart upon a woman Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air; From air he takes his colours - holds his life, - Changes with every wind, - grows lean or fat, Rosy with hope, or green with jealousy, Or pallid with despair - just as the gale Varies from north to south - from heat to cold! Oh, woman! woman! thou shouldst have few sins Of thine own to answer for! Thou art the author Of such a book of follies in a man, That it would need the tears of all the angels To blot the record out! Enter MELNOTTE, pale and agitated. I need not tell thee! Thou hast heard Mel. The worst! I have! Damnas. Be cheer'd; others are fair as she is! Mel. Others! - The world is crumbled at my feet! She was my world; fill'd up the whole of beingSmiled in the sunshine - walk'd the glorious earthSate in my heart - was the sweet life of life. The Past was hers; I dreamt not of a Future That did not wear her shape! Mem'ry and Hope Alike are gone. Pauline is faithless! Henceforth The universal space is desolate! Damas. Hope yet. 54 SCENE 1.] THE LA DY OF L YONVS. 427 Mel. Hope, yes! — one hope is left me still - A soldier's grave! Glory has died with love. I look into my heart, and, where I saw Pauline, see Death! [After afause]. - But am I not deceived? I went but by the rumour of the town; Rumour is false, - I was too hasty! Damas, Whom hast thou seen? Damas. Thy rival and her father. Arm thyself for the truth. - He heeds not - Mel. She Will never know how deeply she was loved! The charitable night, that wont to bring Comfort to day, in bright and eloquent dreams, Is henceforth leagued with misery! Sleep, farewell, Or else become eternal! Oh, the waking From false oblivion, and to see the sun, And know she is another's! Damas. Be a man! Mel. I am a man! - it is the sting of woe Like mine that tells us we are men! Damas. The false one Did not deserve thee. Mel. Hush! - No word against her I Why should she keep, through years and silent absence, The holy tablets of her virgin faith True to a traitor's name! Oh, blame her not; It were a sharper grief to think her worthless Than to be what I am! To-day, - to-day! They said ' To-day!" This day, so wildly welcomedThis day, my soul had singled out of time And mark'd for bliss! This day! oh, could I see her, See her once more unknown; but hear-her voice, So that one echo of its music might Make ruin less appalling in its silence. Damas. Easily done! Come with me to her house; Your dress - your cloak - moustache - the bronzed hues Of time and toil - the name you bear - belief In your absence, all will ward away suspicion. Keep in the shade. Ay, I would have you come. 55 428 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT V. There may be hope! Pauline is yet so young, They may have forced her to these second bridals Out of mistaken love. Mel. No, bid me hope not! Bid me not hope! I could not bear again To fall from such a heaven! One gleam of sunshine, And the ice breaks and I am lost! Oh, Damas, There's no such thing as courage in a man; The veriest slave that ever crawl'd from danger Might spurn me now. When first I lost her, Damas, I bore it, did I not? I still had hope, And now I - I - [Bursts into an agony ofgrief. Damas. What, comrade! all the women That ever smiled destruction on brave hearts Were not worth tears like these! Mel. 'Tis past - forget it. I am prepared; life has no further ills! The cloud has broken in that stormy rain, And on the waste I stand, alone with Heaven. Damas. His very face is changed; a breaking heart Does its work soon! - Come, Melnotte, rouse thyself: One effort more. Again thou'lt see her. Mel. See her! There is a passion in that simple sentence That shivers all the pride and power of reason Into a chaos 1 Damas. Time wanes; - come, ere yet It be too late. Mel. Terrible words " Too late!" Lead on. One last look more, and thenDamas. Forget her! Mel. Forget her, yes! - For death remembers not. [Exeunt. SCENE II. -A room in the house of MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES; PAULINE seated in great dejection. Pauline. It is so, then. I must be false to Love, Or sacrifice a father! Oh, my Claude, My lover, and my husband! Have I lived 56 SCENE II.] THE LADY OF L YONS. 429 To pray that thou mayst find some fairer boon Than the deep faith of this devoted heart,Nourish'd till now -now broken? Enter MONSIEUR DESCHAPPELLES. AM. Deschap. My dear child, How shall I thank - how bless thee? Thou hast saved, I will not say my fortune - I could bear Reverse, and shrink not - but that prouder wealth Which merchants value most- my name, my creditThe hard-won honours of a toilsome life:These thou hast saved, my child! Pauline. Is there no hope? No hope but this? Al. Deschap. None. If, without the sum Which Beauseant offers for thy hand, this day Sinks to the west-to-morrow brings our ruin! And hundreds, mingled in that ruin, curse The bankrupt merchant! and the insolent herd We feasted and made merry cry in scorn, " How pride has fallen! - Lo, the bankrupt merchant! " My daughter, thou hast saved us! Pauline. And am lost! M. Deschap. Come, let me hope that Beauseant's lovePauline. His love! Talk not of love. Love has no thought of self!1 Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold The loathsome prostitution of a hand Without a heart! Love sacrifices all things To bless the thing it loves! He knows not love. Father, his love is hate - his hope revenge! My tears, my anguish, my remorse for falsehood - These are the joys that he wrings from our despair! 1 Und was ist reine Liebe? Die ihrer selbst vergisst." FRIEDRICH HALM. "Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight." TENNYSON, Locksley Hall, 33-4. 57 430 B UL WER/E-L YITTON.. [ACT V. M. Deschap. If thou deem'st thus, reject him! Shame and ruin Were better than thy misery; - think no more on't. My sand is well-nigh run - what boots it when The glass is broken? We'll annul the contract: And if to-morrow in the prisoner's cell These aged limbs are laid, why still, my child, I'll think thou art spared; and wait the Liberal Hour That lays the beggar by the side of kings! Pauline. No-no-forgive me! You, my honour'd father,You, who so loved, so cherish'd me, whose lips Never knew one harsh word! I'm not ungrateful; I am but human! - hush! Now, call the bridegroom - You see I am prepared- no tears- all calm; But, father, talk no more of love! M. Deschap. My child, 'Tis but one struggle; he is young, rich, noble; Thy state will rank first 'mid the dames of Lyons; And when this heart can shelter thee no more, Thy youth will not be guardianless. Pauline. I have set My foot upon the ploughshare - I will pass The fiery ordeal.1 [Aside.] Merciful Heaven, support me! And on the absent wanderer shed the light Of happier stars- lost evermore to me! Enter MADAME DESCHAPPELLES, BEAUSEANT, GLAVIS, and NOTARY. Mme. Deschap. Why, Pauline, you are quite in deshabille2 -you ought to be more alive to the importance of this joyful occasion. We had once looked higher, it is true; but you see, after all, Monsieur Beauseant's father was a Marquis, and that's a great comfort. Pedigree and jointure!-you have 1 The figure is drawn from the old ordeal of walking over red-hot ploughshares. Compare Bulwer's Money, II., iv.: " I would lay this hand upon the block-I would walk barefoot over the ploughshare of the old ordeal -to save Alfred Evelyn one moment's pain." 2 Undress, negligee. 58 SCENE II.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 43I them both in Monsieur Beauseant. A young lady decorously brought up should only have two considerations in her choice of a husband: first, is his birth honourable? secondly, will his death be advantageous? All other trifling details should be left to parental anxiety. Beau. [approaching and waving aside MADAME]. Ah, Pauline! let me hope that you are reconciled to an event which confers such rapture upon me. Pauline. I am reconciled to my doom. Beau. Doom is a harsh word, sweet lady. Pauline [aside]. This man must have some mercy —his heart cannot be marble. [Aloud.] Oh, sir, be just -be generous! Seize a noble triumph - a great revenge! Save the father, and spare the child. Beau. [aside]. Joy -joy alike to my hatred and my passion! The haughty Pauline is at last my suppliant. [Aloud.] You ask from me what I have not the sublime virtue to granta virtue reserved only for the gardener's son! I cannot forego my hopes in the moment of their fulfilment I I adhere to the contract - your father's ruin or your hand. Pauline. Then all is over.1 Sir, I have decided. [The clock strikes one. Enter DAMAS and MELNOTTE. Damas. Your servant, cousin Deschappelles. Let me introduce Colonel Morier. Mme. Deschap. [curtsying very low]. What, the celebrated hero? This is, indeed, an honour! [MELNOTTE bows, and remains in the background. Damas [to PAULINE]. My little cousin, I congratulate you. What, no smile - no blush? You are going to be divorced from poor Melnotte, and marry this rich gentleman. You ought to be excessively happy! Pauline. Happy! Damas. Why, how pale you are, child!- Poor Pauline! Hist - confide in me! Do they force you to this? Pauline. No! 1 Compare the situation with that in Tennyson's Flight. 59 432 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT V. Damas. You act with your own free consent? Pauline. My own consent -yes. Damas. Then you are the most - I will not say what you are. Pauline. You think ill of me - be it so - yet if you knew allDamas. There is some mystery- speak out, Pauline. Pauline [suddenly]. Oh, perhaps you can save me! you are our relation-our friend. My father is on the verge of bankruptcy - this day he requires a large sum to meet demands that cannot be denied; that sum Beauseant will advance - this hand the condition of the barter. Save me if you have the means- save me! You will be repaid above! Damas [aside]. I recant - Women are not so bad after all! [Aloud.] Humph, child! I cannot help you — I am too poor. Pauline. The last plank to which I clung is shivered. Damas. Hold -you see my friend Morier: Melnotte is his most intimate friend- fought in the same fields- slept in the same tent. Have you any message to send to Melnotte? any word to soften this blow? Pauline. He knows Melnotte - he will see him - he will bear to him my last farewell - [Approaches MELNOTTE.] - He has a stern air -he turns away from me -he despises me! - Sir, one word I beseech you. Mel. Her voice again! How the old time comes o'er me! Damas [to MADAME]. Don't interrupt them. He is going to tell her what a rascal young Melnotte is; he knows him well, I promise you. Mine. Deschap. So considerate in you, cousin Damas! [DAMAS approaches DESCHAPPELLES; converses apart with him in dumb show - DESCHAPPELLES shows him a paper; which he inspects and takes. Pauline. Thrice have I sought to speak; my courage fails me. - Sir, is it true that you have known - nay, are The friend of- Melnotte? Mel. Lady, yes! - Myself And misery know the man! 60 SCENE II.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 433 Pauline. And you will see him, And you will bear to him - ay - word for word, All that this heart, which breaks in parting from him, Would send, ere still for ever? Miel. He hath told me You have the right to choose from out the world A worthier bridegroom; -he foregoes all claim, Even to murmur at his doom. Speak on! Pauline. Tell him, for years I never nursed a thought That was not his;- that on his wandering way, Daily and nightly, poured a mourner's prayers. Tell him ev'n now that I would rather share His lowliest lot, -walk by his side, an outcast, Work for him, beg with him, - live upon the light Of one kind smile from him, -than wear the crown The Bourbon1 lost! Mel. [aside]. Am I already mad? And does delirium utter such sweet words Into a dreamer's ear? [Aloud.] You love him thus, And yet desert him? Pauline. Say, that, if his eye Could read this heart,- its struggles, its temptations,His love itself would pardon that desertion! Look on that poor old man, - he is my father; He stands upon the verge of an abyss! - He calls his child to save him! Shall I shrink From him who gave me birth? - withhold my hand, And see a parent perish? Tell him this, And say - that we shall meet again in Heaven! Mel. Lady - I - I - what is this riddle?- what The nature of this sacrifice? Pauline [pointing to DAMAS]. Go, ask him! Beau. [from the table]. The papers are prepared - we only need Your hand and seal. Mel. Stay, lady - one word more. Were but your duty with your faith united, Would you still share the low-born peasant's lot? 1 Louis XVI., beheaded January 21, 1793. 28 6x 434 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT V. Pauline. Would I? Ah, better death with him I love Than all the pomp - which is but as the flowers That crown the victim! - [Turning away.] I am ready. [MELNOTTE rushes to DAMAS. Damas. There This is the schedule -this the total. Beau. [to DESCHAPPELLES, showing notes]. These Are yours the instant she has signed; you are Still the great House of Lyons! [ The NOTARY is about to hand the contract to PAULINE, when MELNOTTE seizes it and tears it. Beau. Are you mad? M. Deschap. How, sir! What means this insult? Mel. Peace, old man! I have a prior claim. Before the face Of man and Heaven I urge it; I outbid Yon sordid huckster for your priceless jewel [Giving a pocket-book. There is the sum twice told! Blush not to take it: There's not a coin that is not bought and hallow'd In the cause of nations with a soldier's blood! Beau. Torments and death! Pauline. That voice! Thou artMe. Thy husband! [PAULINE rushes into his arms. Look up! Look up, Pauline -- for I can bear Thine eyes! The stain is blotted from my name. I have redeem'd mine honour. I can call On France to sanction thy divine forgiveness! Oh, joy! -Oh, rapture! By the midnight watchfires Thus have I seen thee! thus foretold this hour! And 'midst the roar of battle, thus have heard The beating of thy heart against my own! Beau. Fool'd, duped, and triumph'd over in the hour Of mine own victory! Curses on ye both! May thorns be planted in the marriage-bed! And love grow sour'd and blacken'd into hate - Such as the hate that gnaws me! Damas. Curse awav!........ j - 62 SCENE II.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 435 And let me tell thee, Beauseant, a wise proverb The Arabs have, -" Curses are like young chickens, [Solemnly.] And still come home to roost! " 1 Beau. Their happiness Maddens my soul! I am powerless and revengeless! [TO MADAME. I wish you joy! Ha! ha! the gardener's son! [Exit. Damas [to GLAVIS]. Your friend intends to hang himself! Methinks You ought to be his travelling companion! Gla. Sir, you are exceedingly obliging! [Exit. Pauline. Oh! My father, you are saved,- and by my husband! Ah, blessed hour! Mel. Yet you weep still, Pauline! Pauline. But on thy breast! -these tears are sweet and holy! M. Deschap. You have won love and honour nobly, sir! Take her! - be happy both! Mme. Deschap. I'm all astonish'd! Who, then, is Colonel Morier? Damas. You behold him! Mel. Morier no more after this happy day! I would not bear again my father's name Till I could deem it spotless! The hour's come! Heaven smiled on conscience! As the soldier rose From rank to rank, how sacred was the fame That cancell'd crime, and raised him nearer thee! 1 I do not know that Damas was serious in ascribing this proverb to the Arabs. I have not been able to trace it to an Arabic origin. It occurs however in a variety of forms in the European languages: "De vloek keert weder in zijn' eigen hoek." "Der Fluch hat einen guten Sinn; Wo er ausfihrt, da fahrt er wieder hin." "Der Fluch, der aus dem Munde dringt, In die Nase wieder zuriickspringt." " Le bestemmie fanno come le processioni, ritornano donde partirano." "But curses are like arrows shot upright, That oftentimes on our own heads do light." 63 436 BUL WER-L YTTON. [ACT V. Mie. Deschap. A colonel and a hero! Well, that's something! He's wondrously improved! I wish you joy, sir! Mel. Ah! the same love that tempts us into sin, If it be true love, works out its redemption; And he who seeks repentance for the Past Should woo the Angel Virtue in the future. 64 RICHIELIEU; OR, THE CONSPIRACY. A PLAY By EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON. 1-2 I TO THE MARQUIS OF LANSDOWNE, K.G., &c., &c., THIS DRAMA IS INSCRIBED, IN TRIBUTE TO THE TALENTS WHICH COMMAND, AND THE QUALITIES WHICH ENDEAR, RESPECT. " Le Comte de Soissons et le Duc de Bouillon avaient une bonne armee, et ils savaient la conduire; et pour plus grande surete, tandis que cette arm6e devait s'avancer, on devait assassiner le Cardinal et faire soulever Paris.... Les Conjures faisaient un traite avec l'Espagne pour introduire des troupes en France, et pour y mettre tout en confusion dans une Regence qu'on croyait prochaine, et dont chacun esp6rait profiter.... Richelieu avait perdu toute sa faveur, et ne conservait que l'avantage d'etre n6cessaire. Le bonheur du Cardinal voulut encore que le complot fut decouvert, et qu'une copie du traite lui tombat entre les mains." - VOLTAIRE, Hist. Gen. 4 PREFACE. THE administration of Cardinal Richelieu, whom (despite all his darker qualities) Voltaire and history justly consider the true architect of the French monarchy, and the great parent of French civilization, is characterized by features alike tragic and:omic. A weak king - an ambitious favourite; a despicable:onspiracy against the minister, nearly always associated with a Dangerous treason against the State -these, with little variety )f names and dates, constitute the eventful cycle through which, Aith a dazzling ease, and an arrogant confidence, the great lumilary fulfilled its destinies. Blent together, in'startling contrast, ve see the grandest achievements and the pettiest agents;- the;py- the mistress- the capuchin;- the destruction of feudalsm;-the humiliation of Austria; -the dismemberment of 3pain. Richelieu himself is still what he was in his own day- a nan of two characters. If, on the one hand, he is justly repre-;ented as inflexible and vindictive, crafty and unscrupulous;;o, on the other, it cannot be denied that he was placed in imes in which the long impunity of every licence required;tern examples -that he was beset by perils and intrigues, vhich gave a certain excuse to the subtlest inventions of selflefence - that his ambition was inseparably connected with a )assionate love for the glory of his country - and that, if he vas her dictator, he was not less her benefactor. It has been airly remarked, by the most impartial historians, that he was lo less generous to merit than severe to crime- that, in the,arious departments of the State, the Army, and the Church, ie selected and distinguished the ablest aspirants - that the vars which he conducted were, for the most part, essential to he preservation of France, and Europe itself, from the formidLble encroachments of the Austrian House - that, in spite of 5 442 BUL WER-L YTTON. [PREF. those wars, the people were not oppressed with exorbitant imposts- and that he left the kingdom he had governed in a more flourishing and vigorous state than at any former period of the French history, or at the decease of Louis XIV. The cabals formed against this great statesman were not carried on by the patriotism of public virtue, or the emulation of equal talent; they were but court struggles, in which the most worthless agents had recourse to the most desperate means. In each, as I have before observed, we see combined the twofold attempt to murder the minister and to betray the country. Such, then, are the agents, and such the designs with which truth, in the drama as in history, requires us to contrast the celebrated Cardinal; - not disguising his foibles or his vices, but not unjust to the grander qualities (especially the love of country), by which they were often dignified, and, at times, redeemed. The historical drama is the concentration of historical events. In the attempt to place upon the stage the picture of an era, that licence with dates and details, which Poetry permits, and which the highest authorities in the Drama of France herseli have sanctioned, has been, though not unsparingly, indulged. The conspiracy of the Duc de Bouillon 1 is, for instance, amalgamated with the denouement of The Day of Dupes; * and circumstances connected with the treason of Cinq Mars 2 (whose brilliant youth and gloomy catastrophe tend to subvert poetic and historic justice, by seducing us to forget his base ingratitude * "Le Cardinal se croit perdu, et prepare sa retraite. Ses amis lui conseillent de tenter enfin aupres du Roi un nouvel effort. Le Cardinal va trouvel le Roi i Versailles. Le Roi, qui avait sacrifi6 son ministre par faiblesse, s( remit par faiblesse entre ses mains, et il lui abandonne ceux qui l'avaient perdu Ce jour, qui est encore a pr6sent appelle La Journee des Dupes, fut celui dL pouvoir absolu du Cardinal." - VOLTAIRE, Hist. Gen. 1 " Le Duc de Bouillon, a la tete des forces de France en Italie, fut 1I second example, sous ce regne, d'un g6neral arrete au milieu de l'armee qu'i commandoit. On le renferma dans la citadelle de Casal." - ANQUETIL, 2,, Cinq-Mars se perdit en signant un trait6 d'alliance avec les Espagnols Richelieu, alors malade, presque mourant, se procura, a prix d'argent, un( copie du traite et l'envoya a Louis XIII. Livre, suivant lhabitude du cardinal a une commission extraordinaire, Cinq-Mars fut condamne, puis decapit6e Lyon (sept. I642). Ce hardi conspirateur n'avait pas vingt-deux ans. Avec lui perit de Thou, fils de l'historien." - DURUY, XLVI1I. PREF.] RICHELIEU. 443 and his perfidious apostasy) are identified with the fate of the earlier favourite Baradas, *1 whose sudden rise and as sudden fall passed into a proverb. I ought to add, that the noble romance of Cinq Mars2 suggested one of the scenes in the fifth act; and that for the conception of some portion of the intrigue connected with De Mauprat and Julie, I am, with great alterations of incident, and considerable if not entire reconstruction of character, indebted to an early and admirable novel by the author of Picciola.t 8 LONDON, March, 1839. * " En six mois il [le Roi] fit [Baradas] premier Ecuyer, premier Gentilhomme de la Chambre, Capitaine de St. Germain, et Lieutenant de Roi, en Champagne. En moins de temps encore, on lui 8ta tout, et des debris de sa grandeur, a peine lui resta-t-il de quoi payer ses dettes: de sorte que pour signifier une grande fortune dissip6e aussi qu'acquise on disait en commun proverbe, Fortune de Baradas." - ANQUETIL. t It may be as well, however, to caution the English reader against some of the impressions which the eloquence of both the writers I refer to are calculated to leave. They have exaggerated the more evil, and have kept out of sight the nobler qualities of the Cardinal. 1 For a full account of the historical events in the career of Richelieu the reader is referred to the histories cited in the bibliography (page xx). For a fuller account than is here given in the short notes of the author and the editor the reader may consult the extracts in the Appendix on Baradas (I626), the Day of Dupes (I630), and Cinq Mars and Bouillon (I642). 2 By Alfred de Vigny. See Act V., Scene iii. 8 Picciola is by Saintine (Joseph Xavier Boniface). NOTE. THE length of the play necessarily requires curtailments on the stage - the principal of which are enclosed within brackets. Many of the passages thus omitted, however immaterial to the audience, must obviously be such as the reader would be least inclined to dispense with -viz., those which, without being absolutely essential to the business of the stage, contain either the subtler strokes of character, or the more poetical embellishments of description. An important consequence of these suppressions is, that Richelieu himself is left, too often and too unrelievedly, to positions which place him in an amiable light, without that shadowing forth of his more sinister motives and his fiercer qualities, which is attempted in the written play. Thus, the character takes a degree of credit due only to the situation. To judge the author's conception of Richelieu fairly, and to estimate how far it is consistent with historical portraiture, the play must be read. DRAMATIS PERSONA. [As ORIGINALLY ACTED AT COVENT GARDEN IN 1839.] LOUIS THrE THIRTEENTH.... MR. ELTON. GASTON, DUKE OF ORLEANS, brotherMR. DIDDR. to Louis XII...MR.DIDDEAR. BARADAS,faVourite of the King, First) Gentleman of the Chamber, Pre- MR. WARDE. mier Ecuyer, &Sc.... CARDINAL RICHELIEU..... MR. MACREADY. THE CHEVALIER DE MAUPRAT..MR. ANDERSON. THE SIEUR DE BERINGHEN, in attend-) ance on the King,* one of the Con- \ MR. VINING. spirators........) JOSEPH, a Capiuchin, Richelieu's con- M P fidant......... HUGUET, an officer of Richelieu's house- G holdguard- a Spy MR.. BENNETT. FRANCOIS, First Page to Richelieu. MR. HOWE. FIRST COURTIER....... MR. C. J. SMITH. CAPTAIN OF THE ARCHERS... MR. T. MATHEWS. FIRST SECRETARY OF STATE. MR. TILBURY. SECOND SECRETARY OF STATE..MR. YARNOLD. THIRD SECRETARY OF STATE.. MR. W. H. PAYNE. GOVERNOR OF THE BASTILE... MR. WALDRON. GAOLER.......... MR. AYLIFFE. Courtiers, Pages, Conspirators, Officers, Soldiers, &-c. JULIE DE MORTEMAR, an Orphan, MI HELEN FUCI ward to Richelieuss HELEN FAUCT. MARION DE LORME, Mistress to Or- i CHRLE. leans, but in Richelieu's pay.. MISS CHARLES * Properly speaking, the King's First Valet de Chambre —a post of great importance at that time. 9 I RICHELIEU; OR, THE CONSPIRACY. ACT I. FIRST DAY. SCENE I. -A room in the house of MARION DE LORME; a table towards the front of the stage (with wine, fruits, &c.), at which are seated BARADAS, FOUR COURTIERS, splendidly drest in the costume of I641-2;- the DUKE OF ORLEANS, reclining on a large fauteuil; - MARION DE LORME standing at the back of his chair, offers him a goblet, and then retires. At another table, DE BERINGHEN, DE MAUPRAT, playing at dice; other COURTIERS, of inferior rank to those at the table of the DUKE, looking on. Orle. [drinking]. Here's to our enterprise! Bar. [glancing at MARION]. Hush, sir! Orle. [aside]. Nay, Count, You may trust her; she doats on me; no house So safe as Marion's. * [At our statelier homes The very walls do play the eaves-dropper. There's not a sunbeam creeping o'er our floors But seems a glance from that malignant eye Which reigns o'er France; our fatal greatness lives * The passages enclosed in brackets are omitted in representation. II 448 BUL WER-L YTTOV. [ACT I. In the sharp glare of one relentless day. But Richelieu's self forgets to fear the sword The myrtle 1 hides; and Marion's silken robe Casts its kind charity o'er fiercer sins Than those which haunt the rosy path between The lip and eye of beauty. - Oh, no house So safe as Marion's.] Bar. Still, we have a secret, And oil and water- woman and a secretAre hostile properties. Orle. Well - Marion, see How the play prospers yonder. [MARION goes to the next table, looks on for a few moments, then exit. Bar. [producing a parchment]. I have now All the conditions drawn; it only needs Our signatures: upon receipt of this, (Whereto is joined the schedule of our treaty With the Count-Duke,* the Richelieu of the Escurial,2) Bouillon will join his army with the Spaniard, March on to Paris, -there, dethrone the King: You will be Regent; I, and ye, my Lords, Form the new Council. So much for the core Of our great scheme. Orle. But Richelieu is an Argus; One of his hundred eyes will light upon us, And then- good-bye to life. Bar. To gain the prize We must destroy the Argus:- ay, my Lords, The scroll the core, but blood must fill the veins, Of our design; -while this despatched to Bouillon, Richelieu despatched to heaven!- The last my charge. Meet here to-morrow night. You, sir, as first In honour and in hope, meanwhile select Some trusty knave to bear the scroll to Bouillon; * Olivares, Minister of Spain. 1 The myrtle was sacred to Venus. See the author's note on page 484. 2 The palace of Philip II. lying some twenty miles northwest of Madrid. 12 SCENE I.] RICHELIE U. 449 Midst Richelieu's foes I'l find some desperate hand To strike for vengeance, while we stride to power. Orle. So be it; - to-morrow, midnight. Come, my Lords. [Exeunt ORLEANS, and the COURTIERS in his train. Those at the other table rise, salute ORLEANS, and reseat themselves. De Ber. Double the stakes. De JMau. Done. De Ber. Bravo; faith, it shames me To bleed a purse already in extremis.l De Mau. Nay, as you've had the patient to yourself So long, no other doctor should despatch it. [DE MAUPRAT throws and loses. Omnes. Lost! Ha, ha!- poor De Mauprat! De Ber. One throw more? De Mau. No; I am bankrupt [pushing gold]. There goes all-except My honour 2 and my sword. [They rise. De Ber. Long cloaks and honour Went out of vogue together, when we found We got on much more rapidly without them; The sword, indeed, is never out of fashion,The devil has care of that. First Gamester. Ay, take the sword To Cardinal Richelieu: - he gives gold for steel, When worn by brave men. De Man. Richelieu! De Ber. [to BARADAS]. At that name He changes colour, bites his nether lip. Ev'n in his brightest moments whisper " Richelieu," And you cloud all his sunshine. Bar. I have mark'd it, And I will learn the wherefore. De Mau. The Egyptian3 1 At the point of exhaustion. 2 Perhaps he has in mind the celebrated quotation from the letter of Francois I. to his mother, which tradition has preserved in the form, " Tout est perdu fors l'honneur." 8 Cleopatra. 29 I3 450 BU U- WERE-L YTTON.. [ACT I. Dissolved her richest jewel in a draught: Would I could so melt time and all its treasures, And drain it thus. [Drinking. De Ber. Come, gentlemen, what say ye, A walk on the parade? Omnnes. Ay; come, De Mauprat. De Mau. Pardon me; we shall meet again ere nightfall. Bar. I'll stay and comfort Mauprat. De Ber. Comfort!- when We gallant fellows have run out a friend, There's nothing left - except to run him through! There's the last act of friendship. De Mau. Let me keep That favour in reserve; in all beside Your most obedient servant. [Exeunt DE BERINGHEN, &'C. Manent DE MAUPRAT and BARADAS. Bar. You have lost You are not sad. De Mazu. Sad!- Life and gold have wings, And must fly one day: open, then, their cages And wish them merry. Bar. You're a strange enigma:Fiery in war - and yet to glory lukewarm; All mirth in action - in repose all gloom - These are extremes in which the unconscious heart Betrays the fever of deep-fix'd disease. Confide in me! our young days roll'd together In the same river, glassing 1 the same stars That smile i' the heaven of hope; - alike we made Bright-winged steeds of our unform'd chimeras, Spurring the fancies upward to the air, Wherein we shaped fair castles from the cloud. Fortune of late las sever'd us -and led Me to the rank of Courtier, Count and Favourite, You to the titles of the wildest gallant 1 Reflecting; a favorite word of Bulwer's. See The Lady of Lyons, II.,. i. (page 399), and note, and III., ii. (page 411) I4 SCENE I.] RICHELIEU. 45 I And bravest knight in France;- are you content? No; - trust in me - some gloomy secret - De Mau. Ay:A secret that doth haunt me, as, of old, Men were possess'd of fiends!- where'er I turn, The grave yawns dark before me!- I will trust you; - Hating the Cardinal, and beguiled by Orleans, You know I join'd the Languedoc 1 revolt - Was captured -sent to the Bastile 2 - Bar. But shared The general pardon, which the Duke of Orleans Won for himself and all in the revolt, Who but obey'd his orders. De Mau. Note the phrase; — "Obey'd his orders." Well, when on my way To join the Duke in Languedoc, I (then The down upon my lip-less man than boy) Leading young valours - reckless as myself, Seized on the town of Faviaux,8 and displaced The royal banners for the rebel. Orleans (Never too daring,) when I reach'd the camp, Blamed me for acting - mark -without his orders: Upon this quibble Richelieu razed my name Out of the general pardon. Bar. Yet released you From the BastileDe Mau. To call me to his presence, And thus address me: -" You have seized a town Of France, without the orders of your leader, And for this treason, but one sentence - DEATH." Bar. Death! De Mau. " I have pity on your youth and birth, Nor wish to glut the headsman; - join your troop, Now on the march against the Spaniards;- change The traitor's scaffold for the soldier's grave; - 1 A province in Southern France. The Huguenot rebels under Rohan were reduced in I629. 2 The celebrated Paris prison, destroyed by the rabble in I789. 3 This town is fictitious, as is also the character De Mauprat. 15 452 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT I. Your memory stainless- they who shared your crime Exiled or dead -your King shall never learn it." Bar. O tender pity! - O most charming prospect! Blown into atoms by a bomb, or drill'd Into a cullender by gunshot!- Well? - De Mau. You have heard if I fought bravely.- Death became Desired as Daphne by the eager Daygod. Like him I chased the nymph- to grasp the laurel! I could not die! Bar. Poor fellow! De Mau. When the Cardinal Review'd the troops, his eye met mine; - he frown'd, Summon'd me forth -" How's this?" quoth he; "you have shunn'd The sword - beware the axe! - twill fall one day!" He left me thus -we were recall'd to Paris, And- you know all! Bar. And, knowing this, why halt you, Spell'd by the rattle-snake,- while in the breasts Of your firm friends beat hearts, that vow the death Of your grim tyrant? - Wake! - be one of us; The time invites - the King detests the Cardinal, Dares not disgrace -but groans to be deliver'd Of that too great a subject -join your friends, Free France, and save yourself. De Mau. Hush! Richelieu bears A charmed life; -to all, who have braved his power, One common end-the block. Bar. Nay, if he live, The block your doom; — De Mau. Better the victim, Count, Than the assassin. - France requires a Richelieu, But does not need a Mauprat. Truce to this;All time one midnight, where my thoughts are spectres. What to my fame?- What love? - 1 Daphne, beloved by Phcebus, fled from him and was changed into a laurel. SCENE I.] RICHELIEU. 453 Bar. Yet dost thou love not.? De Mau. Love? - I am youngBan. And Julie fair! [Aside.] It is so, Upon the margin of the grave - his hand Would pluck the rose that I would win and wear! [Aloud. ]- [Thou lov'st - De Mau. Who, lonely in the midnight tent, Gazed on the watch-fires in the sleepless air, Nor chose one star amidst the clustering hosts To bless it in the name of some fair face Set in his spirit, as that star in Heaven? For our divine affections, like the spheres, Move ever, ever musical. Bar. You speak As one who fed on poetry. De Mau. Why, man, The thoughts of lovers stir with poetry As leaves with summer-wind. - The heart that loves Dwells in an Eden, hearing angel-lutes, As Eve in the First Garden. Hast thou seen My Julie, and not felt it henceforth dull To live in the common world- and talk in words That clothe the feelings of the frigid herd? Upon the perfumed pillow of her lips - As on his native bed of roses flushed With Paphianl skies - Love smiling sleeps:- her voice The blest interpreter of thoughts as pure As virgin wells where Dian 2 takes delight, Or fairies dip their changelings! - In the maze Of her harmonious beauties - Modesty (Like some severer grace that leads the choir Of her sweet sisters) every airy motion Attunes to such chaste charm, that Passion holds His burning breath, and will not with a sigh Dissolve the spell that binds him! - Oh those eyes That woo the earth - shadowing more soul than lurks 1 Paphos, in Cyprus, was famed for the worship of Venus. 2 Diana, the goddess of chastity, who dwelt in forests and near fountains. '7 454 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT I. Under the lids of Psyche! 1 - Go! - thy lip Curls at the purfled phrases of a loverLove thou, and if thy love be deep as mine, Thou wilt not laugh at poets. Bar. [aside]. With each word Thou wak'st a jealous demon in my heart, And my hand clutches at my hilt. - ] De aau. [gaily]. No more! - I love! - Your breast holds both my secrets! — Never Unbury either! - Come, while yet we may, We'll bask us in the noon of rosy life: — Lounge through the gardens, - flaunt it in the taverns;Laugh, - game, - drink, - feast: - if so confined my days, Faith, I'll enclose the nights. - Pshaw! not so grave; I'm a true Frenchman! - Vive la bagatelle.' 2 As they are going out, enter HUGUET and four ARQUEBUSIERS.3 Huguet. Messire4 De Mauprat, - I arrest you! - Follow To the Lord Cardinal. De Mau. You see, my friend, I'm out of my suspense! -the tiger's play'd Long enough with his prey. - Farewell! - Hereafter Say, when men name me, " Adrien de Mauprat Lived without hope, and perished without fear!" [Exeunt DE MAUPRAT, HUGUET, &C. Bar. Farewell! - I trust for ever! I design'd thee For Richelieu's murderer-but, as well his martyr! In childhood you the stronger -and I cursed you; In youth the fairer-and I cursed you still; And now my rival!- While the name of Julie Hung on thy lips - I smiled - for then I saw, In my mind's eye, the cold and grinning Death Hang o'er thy head the pall!- Ambition, Love, 1 A beautiful girl, the personification of the soul, beloved by Cupid. 2 Success to trifles. 3 The arquebus was an old form of gun. 4 A title, applied in the middle ages to the nobility of the highest rank, afterwards less strictly applied. i8 SCENE II.] RICHELIEU. 455 Ye twin-born stars of daring destinies, Sit in my house of Life!- By the King's aid I will be Julie's husband- in despite Of my Lord Cardinal! - by the King's aid I will be minister of France -in spite Of my Lord Cardinal! - And then - what then? The King loves Julie -feeble prince - false master[Producing and gazing on the parchment. Then, by the aid of Bouillon and the Spaniard, I will dethrone the King; and all - ha 1 - ha - All, in despite of my Lord Cardinal! [Exit. SCENE II. - A room in the Palais Cardinal, the walls hung with arras. A large screen in one corner. A table covered with books, papers, &c. A rude clock in a recess. Busts, statues, book-cases, weapons of different periods and banners suspended over RICHELIEU'S chair. RICHELIEU and JOSEPH. Rich. And so you think this new conspiracy The craftiest trap yet laid for the old fox?Fox! - Well, I like the nickname! What did Plutarch Say of the Greek Lysander? Joseph. I forget. Rich. That where the lion's skin fell short, he eked it Out with the fox's! 2 A great statesman, Joseph, That same Lysander! Joseph. Orleans heads the traitors. Rich. A very wooden head then! Well? Joseph. The favourite, Count Baradas Rich. A weed of hasty growth; First gentleman of the chamber- titles, lands, And the King's ear! - It cost me six long winters 1 Richelieu's residence, afterwards the Palais Royal. 2 Plutarch makes the Spartan general Lysander say, O7rov yap, Aeovrj pi7 e4LKveL-ra, Trpoo'paT7rT'ov EKKe T7V aAwreKiv. (AiaavSpos, vii.) '9 456 BUL WER-L YTTON. [ACT I. To mount as high, as in six little moons This painted lizard 1 But I hold the ladder, And when I shake -he falls! What more? Joseph. A scheme To make your orphan-ward an instrument To aid your foes. You placed her with the Queen, One of the royal chamber, -as a watch I' th' enemy's quarters Rich. And the silly child Visits me daily, - calls me " Father," - prays Kind Heaven to bless me - And for all the rest As well have placed a doll about the Queen! She does not heed who frowns -who smiles; with whom The King confers in whispers; notes not when Men who last week were foes, are found in corners Mysteriously affectionate; words spoken Within closed doors she never hears; - by chance Taking the air at keyholes - Senseless puppet! No ears - nor eyes! - and yet she says, " She loves me! " Go on Joseph. Your ward has charm'd the KingRich. Out on you! Have I not, one by one, from such fair shoots Pluck'd the insidious ivy of his love? And shall it creep around my blossoming tree Where innocent thoughts, like happy birds, make music That spirits in Heaven might hear? They're sinful, too, Those passionate surfeits of the rampant flesh, The church condemns them; and to us, my Joseph, The props and pillars of the church, most hurtful. The King is weak - whoever the King loves Must rule the King; the lady loves another, The other rules the lady - thus we're balked Of our own proper sway - The King must have No goddess but the State:- the State - that's Richelieu! 2 1 See the quotation from Anquetil on page 443 and in the Appendix. 2 As to Richelieu's identification of himself with the State see page 487 and note. Richelieu (Bulwer) has in mind the celebrated " L'etat c'est moi," usually attributed to Louis XIV. 20 SCENE II.] RICHELIEU. 457 Joseph. This not the worst; — Louis, in all decorous, And deeming you her least compliant guardian, Would veil his suit by marriage with his minion, Your prosperous foe, Count Baradas! Rich. Ha! ha! I have another bride for Baradas. Joseph. You, my lord? Rich. Ay- more faithful than the love Of fickle woman: -when the head lies lowliest, Clasping him fondest; - sorrow never knew So sure a soother, - and her bed is stainless! Joseph [aside]. If of the grave he speaks, I do not wonder That priests are bachelors! Enter FRANCOIS. Fran. Mademoiselle de Mortemar. Rich. Most opportune - admit her. [Exit FRANCOIS. In my closet You'll find a rosary, Joseph; ere you tell Three hundred beads, I'll summon you. Stay, Joseph; I did omit an Ave in my matins, - A grievous fault; - atone it for me, Joseph; There is a scourge within; I am weak, you strong. It were but charity to take my sin On such broad shoulders. Exercise is healthful. Joseph. I! guilty of such criminal presumption As to mistake myself for you - No, never! Think it not! [Aside.] Troth,1 a pleasant invitation! [Exit JOSEPH. Enter JULIE DE MORTEMAR. Rich. That's my sweet Julie - why, upon this face Blushes such daybreak, one might swear the morning Were come to visit Tithon.2 Julie [placing herself at his feet]. Are you gracious?May I say " Father?" 1 In truth, indeed. 2 Tithonus was a beautiful youth beloved by Aurora. He was granted immortality but not perpetual youth. See Tennyson's poem Tithonus. 21 458 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT I. Rich. Now and ever! Julie. Father! A sweet word to an orphan. Rich. No; not orphan While Richelieu lives; thy father loved me well; My friend, ere I had flatterers (now, I'm great, In other phrase, I'm friendless) - he died young In years, not service, and bequeath'd thee to me; And thou shalt have a dowry, girl, to buy Thy mate amidst the mightiest. Drooping?-sighs? Art thou not happy at the court? Julie. Not often. Rich. [aside]. Can she love Baradas? Ah! at thy heart There's what can smile and sigh, blush and grow pale, All in a breath? Thou art admired - art young; Does not his Majesty commend thy beautyAsk thee to sing to him? -and swear such sounds Had smooth'd the brows of Saul? Julie. He's very tiresome, Our worthy King. Rich. Fie! kings are never tiresome, Save to their ministers. What courtly gallants Charm ladies most? - De Sourdiac, Longueville, or The favourite Baradas? Julie. A smileless man - I fear and shun him. Rich. Yet he courts thee? Julie. Then He is more tiresome than his Majesty. Rich. Right, girl, shun Baradas. Yet of these flowers Of France, not one, in whose more honied breath Thy heart hears summer whisper? Enter HUGUET. Huguet. The Chevalier De Mauprat waits below. 1 Saul was troubled by an evil spirit and had David to play before him on the harp. See I. Samuel, XVI., 14 et seq. See also Browning's poem Saul. 22 SCENE II.] RICHELIEU. 459 Julie [starting uz]. De Mauprat! Rich. Hem! He has been tiresome too! - Anon.l [Exit HUGUET. Julie. What doth he? I mean - I - Does your Eminence - that is - Know you Messire de Mauprat? Rich. Well! - and youHas he address'd you often? Julie. Often! - NoNine times; nay, ten; the last time, by the lattice Of the great staircase. [In a melancholy tone.] The Court sees him rarely. Rich. A bold and forward royster! Julie. He? nay, modest, Gentle, and sad, methinks. Rich. Wears gold and azure? Julie. No; sable. Rich. So you note his colours, Julie? Shame on you, child; look loftier. By the mass, I have business with this modest gentleman. Julie. You're angry with poor Julie. There's no cause. Rich. No cause - you hate my foes? Julie. I do! Rich. Hate Mauprat? Julie. Not Mauprat. No, not Adrien, father. Rich. Adrien! Familiar! - Go, child; no, not that way; wait In the tapestry chamber; I will join you, -go. Julie. His brows are knit; I dare not call him father! But I must speak - Your Eminence - Rich. [sternly]. Well, girl! Julie. Nay, Smile on me -one smile more; there, now I'm happy. Do not rank Mauprat with your foes; he is not, I know he is not; he loves France too well. Rich. Not rank De Mauprat with my foes? So be it. I'll blot him from that list. 1 This word is addressed to Huguet. 23 46o B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT I. Julie. That's my own father. [Exit JULIE. Rich. [ringing a small bell on the table]. Huguet! Enter HUGUET. De Mauprat struggled not, nor murmured? Huguet. No; proud and passive. Rich. Bid him enter.- Hold: Look that he hide no weapon. Humph, despair Makes victims sometimes victors. When he has enter'd Glide round unseen; -place thyself yonder [pointing to the screen]; watch him; If he show violence - (let me see thy carbine; So, a good weapon;) - if he play the lion, Why - the dog's death. Huguet. I never miss my mark. [Exit HUGUET; RICHELIEU seats himself at the table, and slowly arranges the papers before him. Enter DE MAUPRAT, pfreceded by HUGUET, who then retires behind the screen. Rich. Approach, sir. - Can you call to mind the hour, Now three years since, when in this room, methinks, Your presence honour'd me? De Mau. It is, my Lord, One of my most - Rich. [drily]. Delightful recollections.* De Mau. [aside]. St. Denis!1 doth he make a jest of axe And headsman? Rich. [sternly]. I did then accord you A mercy ill-requited - you still live? De Mau. To meet death face to face at last. * There are many anecdotes of the irony, often so terrible, in which Richelieu indulged. But he had a love for humour in its more hearty and genial shape. He would send for Boisrobert "to make him laugh," -and grave ministers and magnates waited in the ante-room, while the great Cardinal listened and responded to the sallies of the lively wit. 1 The patron saint of France. 24 SCENE II.] RICHELIE U. 46I [Rich. Your words Are bold. De Mau. My deeds have not belied them. Rich. Deeds! O miserable delusion of man's pride! Deeds! cities sack'd, fields ravaged, hearths profaned, Men butcher'd! In your hour of doom behold The deeds you boast of! From rank showers of blood, And the red light of blazing roofs, you build The rainbow glory, and to shuddering conscience Cry, - Lo, the bridge to Heaven! De Mau. If war be sinful, Your hand the gauntlet cast. Rich. It was so, sir. Note the distinction: - I weigh'd well the cause Which made the standard holy; raised the war But to secure the peace. France bled - I groan'd; But look'd beyond; and, in the vista, saw France saved, and I exulted. You - but you Were but the tool of slaughter - knowing nought, Foreseeing nought, nought hoping, nought lamenting, And for nought fit - save cutting throats for hire. Deeds, marry, deeds! De Aau. If you would deign to speak Thus to your armies ere they march to battle, Perchance your Eminence might have the pain Of the throat-cutting to yourself. Rich. [aside]. He has wit, This Mauprat- [Aloud.] Let it pass; there is against you What you can less excuse.] Messire de Mauprat, Doom'd to sure death, how hast thou since consumed The time allotted thee for serious thought And solemn penitence? De Mau. [embarrassed]. The time, my lord? Rich. Is not the question plain? I'll answer for thee. Thou hast sought nor priest nor shrine; no sackcloth chafed Thy delicate flesh. The rosary and the death's-head Have not, with pious meditation, purged Earth from the carnal gaze. What thou hast not done 25 462 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT I. Brief told; what done, a volume! Wild debauch, Turbulent riot; - for the morn the dice-box - Noon claim'd the duel - and the night the wassail;1 These, your most holy, pure preparatives For death and judgment. Do I wrong you, sir? De Mau. I was not always thus: - if changed my nature, Blame that which changed my fate. - Alas, my lord, [There is a brotherhood which calm-eyed reason Can wot 2 not of betwixt despair and mirth. My birth-place mid the vines of sunny Provence,8 Perchance the stream that sparkles in my veins Came from that wine of passionate life which, erst, Glow'd in the wild heart of the troubadour: And danger, which makes steadier courage wary, But fevers me with an insane delight; As one of old who on the mountain crags Caught madness from a Manad's 4 haunting eyes. Were you, my lord, - whose path imperial power, And the grave cares of reverent wisdom, guard From all that tempts to folly meaner men, -] Were you accursed with that which you inflictedBy bed and board, dogg'd by one ghastly spectreThe while within you youth beat high, and life Grew lovelier from the neighbouring frown of deathThe heart no bud, nor fruit - save in those seeds Most worthless, which spring up, bloom, bear, and wither In the same hour - Were this your fate, perchance, You would have err'd like me! Rich. I might, like you, Have been a brawler and a reveller; - not, Like you, a trickster and a thief. - De Mau. [advancing threateningly]. Lord Cardinal! Unsay those words![HUGUET deliberately raises the carbine. 1 Drinking bout, carousal; from Anglo-Saxon wes hal, be whole, be well. 2 Know. This form of the verb could never have been used as an infinitive. 8 A province in southern France. 4 The Manads were priestesses of Bacchus. 26 SCENE II.] RICHELIEU. 463 Rich. [waving his hand]. Not quite so quick, friend Huguet; Messire de Mauprat is a patient man, And he can wait - You have outrun your fortune; — I blame you not, that you would be a beggar - Each to his taste! - But I do charge you, sir, That, being beggar'd, you would coin false moneys Out of that crucible, called DEBT. - To live On means not yours - be brave in silks and laces, Gallant in steeds - splendid in banquets; - all Not yours - ungiven - uninherited - unpaid for; — This is to be a trickster; and to filch Men's art and labour, which to them is wealth, Life, daily bread, - quitting all scores with -" Friend, You're troublesome! " - Why this, forgive me, Is what - when done with a less dainty gracePlain folks call " Theft " You owe eight thousand pistoles, Minus one crown, two liards!De Mau. [aside]. The old conjurer! 'Sdeath, he'll inform me next how many cups I drank at dinner! Rich. This is scandalous, Shaming your birth and blood. I tell you, sir, That you must pay your debts. De Mau. With all my heart, My lord. Where shall I borrow, then, the money? Rich. [aside and laughing]. A humorous dare-devil!The very man To suit my purpose - ready, frank, and bold! [Rising and earnestly. Adrien de Mauprat, men have called me cruel; — I am not;- I am just!- I found France rent asunder,The rich men despots, and the poor banditti; — Sloth in the mart, and schism within the temple; Brawls festering to rebellion; and weak laws Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths. I have re-created France; and, from the ashes Of the old feudal and decrepit carcase, Civilization on her luminous wings 27 464 B UL H-7ER -L Y TTON. [ACT I. Soars, phoenix-like, to Jove!1 What was my art?2 Genius, some say, - some, fortune, - witchcraft, some. Not so; - my art was JUSTICE! - Force and fraud Misname it cruelty-you shall confute them! My champion You? You met me as your foe, Depart my friend- You shall not die.- France needs you. You shall wipe off all stains,- be rich, be honour'd, Be great. - [DE MAUPRAT falls on his knee - RICHELIEU raises him. I ask, sir, in return, this hand, To gift it with a bride, whose dower shall match, Yet not exceed, her beauty. De Mau. I, my lord, - [hesitating] I have no wish to marry. Rich. Surely, sir, To die were worse. De Mau. Scarcely; the poorest coward Must die, - but knowingly to march to marriageMy lord, it asks the courage of a lion!3 Rich. Traitor, thou triflest with me! I know all! Thou hast dared to love my ward - my charge. 1 " II laissait la France partout victorieuse; la maison d'Autriche abattue; le royaume agrandi de quatre provinces: Lorraine, Alsace, Artois et Roussillon; la Catalogne et le Portugal souleves contre l'Espagne, les Suedois et nos soldats presque aux portes de Vienne. I avait donc tenu la promesse qu'il avait faite a Louis XIII. en entrant au ministere: il avait, au dehors, relev6 le nom du roi au point oh il devait etre parmi les nations etrangeres; il avait, a l'interieur, tout fait plier sous son autorite." - DURUY, XLVIII. 2 "Indeed Richelieu was a politician rather than a statesman: his mind, singularly acute and intelligent, was neither deep nor broad: ambition for his country, a desire to raise her among the nations, a consciousness that unity would bring her strength, these were the ideas which ennobled his career. This gives harmony to his life: his marvellous tenacity of purpose, his patience, fearlessness, sleepless vigilance, unscrupulousness in use of any means to win his ends, all these qualities were bent on one object - the abasement of Austria, the exaltation of France: for this he lived, defending with one hand his hard-won and precarious footing at home, while with the other hand he guided negociations or led armies abroad against the great foes who in 1628 had seemed to be almost absolute masters of Europe."- KITCHIN, 1642. 3 Compare She Stoops to Conruer, II., i. (page 24), and note 2. 28 SCENE II.] RICHELIE U. 465 De AMau. As rivers May love the sunlight -basking in the beams, And hurrying on! - Rich. Thou hast told her of thy love? De Mau. My lord, if I had dared to love a maid, Lowliest in France, I would not so have wronged her, As bid her link rich life and virgin hope With one, the deathman's gripe might, from her side, Pluck at the nuptial altar. Rich. I believe thee; Yet since she knows not of thy love, renounce her; Take life and fortune with another! -- Silent? De Mau, Your fate has been one triumph 1-you know not How bless'd a thing it was in my dark hour To nurse the one sweet thought you bid me banish. Love hath no need of words; - nor less within That holiest temple -the Heaven-builded soulBreathes the recorded vow. Base knight,- false lover Were he, who barter'd all, that brighten'd grief, Or sanctified despair, for life and gold. Revoke your mercy; - I prefer the fate I look'd for! Rich. Huguet! to the tapestry chamber Conduct your prisoner. [To MAUPRAT.] You will there behold The executioner: -your doom be private - And Heaven have mercy on you! De Mau. When I am dead, Tell her, I loved her. Rich. Keep such follies, sir, For fitter ears;- go - De Mau. Does he mock me? [Exeunt DE MAUPRAT, HUGUET. Rich. Joseph, Come forth. 1 " Cardinal Richelieu is one of those men in whose favour the tide of affairs always seems to turn at the critical moment, and who also have skill and courage to take it at the turn. Vigilant, cool sagacious, and absolutely fearless, he never throughout his life missed a single point in the great game he played; and, even with dramatic force, knew how to snatch a triumph out of the very clutches of defeat." -KITCHIN, 1635. 30 29 466 BUL WER-L YTTON. [ACT I. Enter JOSEPH. Methinks your cheek hath lost its rubies; I fear you have been too lavish of the flesh; The scourge is heavy. Joseph. Pray you, change the subject. Rich. You good men are so modest! - Well, to business! Go instantly - deeds - notaries! - bid my stewards Arrange my house by the Luxembourg 1- my house No more! - a bridal present to my ward, Who weds to-morrow. Joseph. Weds, with whom? Rich. De Mauprat. Joseiph. Penniless husband! Rich. Bah! the mate for beauty Should be a man, and not a money-chest! When her brave sire lay on his bed of death, I vow'd to be a father to his Julie: - And so he died- the smile upon his lips!And when I spared the life of her young lover, Methought I saw that smile again!- who else, Look you, in all the court - who else so well Brave or supplant the favourite - balk the King - Baffle their schemes?- I have tried him: -he has honour And courage;-qualities that eagle-plume Men's souls, and fit them for the fiercest sun, Which ever melted the weak waxen minds That flutter in the beams of gaudy Power! Besides, he has taste, this Mauprat: -when my play Was acted to dull tiers of lifeless gapers,* * The Abbe Arnaud tells us that the Queen was a little avenged on the Cardinal by the ill success of the tragi-comedy of Mirame - more than suspected to be his own - though presented to the world under the foster-name of Desmarets. Its representation (says Pelisson) cost him 300,000 crowns. He was so transported out of himself by the performance, that at one time he thrust his person half out of his box to show himself to the assembly; at another time he imposed silence on the audience, that they might not lose "des endroits encore plus beaux!" He said afterwards to Desmarets:" Eh bien, les Francais n'auront donc jamais de gout. Ils n'ont pas ete charmls de Mirame.!" Arnaud says pithily, -" On ne pouvoit alors avoir 1 The Luxembourg Palace in Paris. 30 SCENE II.] RICHELIEU. 467 Who had no soul for poetry, I saw him Applaud in the proper places: - trust me, Joseph, He is a man of an uncommon promise' Joseph. And yet your foe. Rich. Have I not foes enow? 1 Great men gain doubly when they make foes friends. Remember my grand maxims: - First employ All methods to conciliate.* Joseph. Failing these? Rich. fiercely]. All means to crush: as with the opening and The clenching of this little hand, I will Crush the small venom of these stinging courtiers. So, so, we've baffled Baradas. Joseph. And when Check the conspiracy! Rich. Check, check? Full way to it. Let it bud, ripen, flaunt i' the day, and burst To fruit, -the Dead Sea's fruit of ashes; 2 ashes d'autre satisfaction des offenses d'un homme qui etoit maitre de tout, et redoutable i tout le monde." Nevertheless, his style in prose, though not devoid of the pedantic affectations of the time, often rises into very noble eloquence. * " Vialart remarque une chose qui peut expliquer la conduite de Richelieu en d'autres circonstances: - c'est que les seigneurs i qui leur naissance ou leur merite pouvoit permettre des pretensions, il avoit pour systeme, de leur accorder au-deli meme de leurs droits et de leurs esperances, mais, aussi, une fois combl6s - si, au lieu de reconnoitre ses services ils se levoient contre lui, et ils traitoit sans misericorde." - ANQUETIL. See also the Political Testament, and the Memoires de Cardinal Richelieu, in Petitot's Collection. 1 Enough. 2 Dead Sea apples, apples of Sodom, " which fruits have a colour as if they were fit to be eaten, but if you pluck them with your hands, they dis. solve into smoke and ashes." (Josephus, Wars of the Jews; IV.. viii.) Compare Tacitus, Hist., V., vii. Our early English traveler, Sir John Mandeville, has the following to say (Voiage and Travaile, IX.): " And yif a man caste iren therein, it wole flete aboven; and yif men caste a fedre therein, it wole synke to the botme... And there besyden growen trees, and beren fulle faire apples, and faire of colour to beholde; but whoso brekethe hem or cuttethe hem in two, he schalle fynde within hem coles and cyndres, in tokene that, be wrothe of God, the cytees and the lond weren brente and sonken into helle." 31 468 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT I. Which I will scatter to the winds. Go, Joseph; When you return, I have a feast for you; The last great act of my great play: the verses, Methinks, are fine, - ah, very fine. - You write Verses!* -[aside] such verses! - You have wit, discernment. Joseph. [aside]. Worse than the scourge! Strange that so great a statesman Should be so bad a poet. Rich. What dost thou say? Joseph. That it is strange so great a statesman should Be so sublime a poet. Rich. Ah, you rogue; Laws die, books never. Of my ministry I am not vain! but of my muse, I own it. Come, you shall hear the verses now. [Takes up a MS. Joseph. My lord, The deeds, the notaries! Rich. True, I pity you; But business first, then pleasure. [Exit JOSEPH. Rich. [seats himself and reading]. Ah, sublime! Enter DE MAUPRAT and JULIE. De Mau. Oh, speak, my lord - I dare not think you mock me. And yet - Rich. Hush - hush - This line must be considerd! Julie. Are we not both your children? Rich. What a couplet!How now! Oh, sir - you live! * "C Tantot fanatique, tant6t fourbe- fonder les r6ligieuses de Calvaire - faire des vers." Thus speaks Voltaire of Father Joseph. His talents and influence with Richelieu, grossly exaggerated in his own day, are now rightly estimated. "C'etoit en effet un homme infatigable - portant dans les entreprises, l'activit6, la souplesse, l'opiniatrete propre i les faire reussir." - ANQUETIL. He wrote a Latin poem, called La Turciade, in which he sought to excite the kingdoms of Christendom against the Turks. But the inspiration of Tyrtaeus was denied to Father Joseph. 32 SCENE II.] RICHELIEU. 469 De Mau. Why, no, methinks, Elysium is not life! Julie. He smiles! - you smile, My father! From my heart for ever, now, I'll blot the name of orphan! Rich. Rise, my children, For ye are mine - mine both; - and in your sweet And young delight - your love (life's first-born glory) - My own lost youth breathes musical! De Mau. I'll seek Temple and priest henceforward, were it but To learn Heaven's choicest blessings. Rich. Thou shalt seek Temple and priest right soon; the morrow's sun Shall see across these barren thresholds pass The fairest bride in Paris. - Go, my children; Even I loved once - Be lovers while ye may! How is it with you, sir? You bear it bravely: You know, it asks the courage of a lion.' [Exeunt JULIE and DE MAUPRAT. Rich. Oh godlike Power! Woe, Rapture, Penury, Wealth, Marriage and Death, for one infirm old man Through a great empire to dispense - withhold - As the will whispers! And shall things - like motes That live in my daylight - lackeys of court wages, Dwarf'd starvelings - manikins, upon whose shoulders The burthen of a province were a load More heavy than the globe on Atlas,2 - cast Lots for my robes and sceptre? France! I love thee! All Earth shall never pluck thee from my heart! My mistress France - my wedded wife, - sweet France, Who shall proclaim divorce for thee and me! [Exit RICHELIEU. 1 Richelieu is repeating Mauprat's own words; see page 464. 2 Atlas was condemned by Zeus to uphold the heavens with his shoulders and hands. He is usually represented as supporting a globe on his shoulders. 33 470 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT II. ACT II. SECOND DAY. SCENE I. -A splendid apartment in MAUPRAT'S new House. Casements opening to the Gardens, beyond which the domes of the Luxembourg Palace. Enter BARADAS. Bar. Mauprat's new home:- too splendid for a soldier! But o'er his floors -the while I stalk -methinks My shadow spreads gigantic to the gloom The old rude towers of the Bastile cast far Along the smoothness of the jocund day. - Well, thou hast 'scaped the fierce caprice of Richelieu; But art thou farther from the headsman, fool? Thy secret I have whisper'd to the King; Thy marriage makes the King thy foe. - Thou stand'st On the abyss - and in the pool below I see a ghastly, headless phantom mirror'd; - Thy likeness ere the marriage moon hath waned. Meanwhile - meanwhile - ha - ha, if thou art wedded, Thou art not wived. Enter MAUPRAT (splendidly dressed). De Mau. Was ever fate like mine? So blest and yet so wretched! Bar. Joy, De Mauprat!Why, what a brow, man, for your wedding-day! De Mau. Jest not!- Distraction! Bar. What, your wife a shrew Already? Courage, man - the common lot! De Mau. Oh! that she were less lovely, or less loved! Bar. Riddles again! De Mau. You know what chanced between The Cardinal and myself. 34 SCENE I.] RICHELIEU. 47I Bar. This morning brought Your letter:- faith, a strange account! I laugh'd And wept at once for gladness. De Mau. We were wed At noon; -the rite perform'd, came hither! - scarce Arrived, whenBar. Well?De Mau. Wide flew the doors, and lo, Messire de Beringhen, and this epistle! Bar. 'Tis the King's hand! - the royal seal! De Mau. Read - read Bar. [reading]. Whereas Adrien de Mauprat, Colonel and Chevalier in our armies, being already guilty of High Treason, by the seizure of our town of Faviaux, has presumed, without our knowledge, consent, or sanction, to connect himself by marriage with Julie de Mortemar, a wealthy orphan, attached to the person of Her Majesty, without our knowledge or consent - We do hereby proclaim and declare the said marriage contrary to law. On penalty of death, Adrien de Mauprat will not communicate with the said Julie de Mortemar by word or letter, save in the presence of our faithful servant, the Sieur de Beringhen, and then with such respect and decorum as are due to a demoiselle attached to the Court of France, until such time as it may suit our royal pleasure to confer with the Holy Church on the formal annulment of the marriage, and with our Council on the punishment to be awarded to Messire de Mauprat, who is cautioned, for his own sake, to preserve silence as to our injunction, more especially to Mademoiselle de Mortemar. Given under our hand and seal at the Louvre.1 Louis. Bar. [returning the letter]. Amazement! - Did not Richelieu say, the King Knew not your crime? De Mau. He said so. Bar. Poor De Mauprat!See you the snare, the vengeance worse than death, Of which you are the victim? De Mau. Ha! 1 A magnificent palace in Paris, now used as a museum and art gallery. 35 472 B ULWER-L YTTON.r [ACT II. Bar. [aside]. It works! [JULIE and DE BERINGHEN in the Gardens. You have not sought the Cardinal yet to - De Mau. No! Scarce yet my sense awaken'd from the shock; Now I will seek him. Bar. Hold, beware! - Stir not Till we confer again. De Mau. Speak- out, man! Bar. Hush! Your wife! - De Beringhen! - Be on your guard - Obey the royal orders to the letter. I'll look around your palace. By my troth A princely mansion! De Mau. StayBar. So new a bridegroom Can want no visitors; - Your servant, madam! Oh! happy pair - Oh, charming picture! [Exit through a side door. Julie. Adrien, You left us suddenly - Are you not well? De Mau. Oh, very well - that is - extremely ill! Julie. Ill, Adrien? [Taking his hand. De Mau. Not when I see thee. [He is about to lift her hand to his lips when DE BERINGHEN coughs and pulls his mantle. MAUPRAT drops the hand and walks away. Julie. Alas! Should he not love me? De Ber. [aside]. Have a care; I must Report each word - each gesture to his Majesty. De MAau. Sir, if you were not in his Majesty's service, You'd be the most officious, impudent, Damn'd busy-body ever interfering In a man's family affairs. De Ber. But as I do belong, sir, to his Majesty - De Mau. You're lucky! - Still, were we a story higher, 'Twere prudent not to go too near the window. 36 SCENE I.] RICHELIEU. 473 Julie. Adrien, what have I done? Say, am I changed Since yesterday?-or was it but for wealth, Ambition, life - that - that - you swore you loved me? De Maeu. I shall go mad! - I do, indeed I doDe Ber. [aside]. Not love her! that were highly disrespectful. Julie. You do - what, Adrien? De Mau. Oh! I do, indeed - I do think, that this weather is delightful! A charming day! the sky is so serene! And what a prospect!-[to DE BERINGHEN]. Oh! you popinjay! Julie. He jests at me! - he mocks me! - yet I love him, And every look becomes the lips we love! Perhaps I am too grave? - You laugh at Julie; If laughter please you, welcome be the music! Only say, Adrien, that you love me. De Mau. [kissing her hand]. Ay; With my whole heart I love you! - Now, sir, go, And tell that to his Majesty! - Who ever Heard of its being a state offence to kiss The hand of one's own wife? Julie. He says he loves me, And starts away, as if to say " I love you " Meant something very dreadful. - Come, sit by me, I place your chair! - fie on your gallantry! [They sit down; as he pushes his chair back, she draws hers nearer. Why must this strange Messire de Beringhen Be always here? He never takes a hint. Do you not wish him gone? De AMau. Upon my soul I do, my Julie! - Send him for your bouquet, Your glove, your - anything. Julie. Messire de Beringhen, I dropp'd my glove in the gardens by the fountain, Or the alcove, or - stay, no, by the statue Of Cupid; may I ask you to - 37 474 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT II. De Ber. To send for it? Certainly [ringing a bell on the table]. Andr6, Pierre, (your rascals, how Do ye call them? ) Enter SERVANTS. Ah - Madame has dropp'd her glove In the gardens, by the fountain, - or the alcove; Or - stay - no, by the statue - eh? - of Cupid. Bring it. De Mau. Did ever now one pair of shoulders Carry such waggon-loads of impudence Into a gentleman's drawing-room? Dear Julie, I'm busy - letters - visitors - the devil! I do beseech you leave me- I say - leave me. Julie [weeping]. You are unkind. [Exit. [As she goes out, MAUPRAT drops on one knee and kisses the hem of her mantle, unseen by her. De Ber. Ten millions of apologies De Mau. I'll not take one of them. I have, as yet, Withstood all things - mny heart -- my love - my rights. But Julie's tears! - When is this farce to end? De Ber. Oh! when you please. His Majesty requests me, As soon as you infringe his gracious orders, To introduce you to the Governor Of the Bastile. I should have had that honour Before, but, gad, my foible is good-nature; One can't be hard upon a friend's infirmities. De Mau. I know the King can send me to the scaffold - Dark prospect! - but I'm used to it; and if The Church and Council, by this hour to-morrow, One way or other settle not the matter, I willDe Ber. What, my dear sir? De Mau. Show you the door, My dear, dear sir; talk as I please, with whom I please, in my own house, dear sir, until His Majesty shall condescend to find A stouter gentleman than you, dear sir, 38 SCENE 1.j RICHELIEU. 475 To take me out; and now you understand me, My dear, most dear - oh damnably dear sir! De Ber. What, almost in a passion! you will cool Upon reflection. Well, since Madame's absent, I'll take a small refreshment. Now, don't stir; Be careful; - how's your Burgundy? - I'll taste it - Finish it all before I leave you. Nay, No form;- you see I make myself at home. [Exit DE BERINGHEN. De Mau. [going to the door through which BARADAS had passed]. Baradas! Count! Enter BARADAS. You spoke of snares - of vengeance Sharper than death - be plainer. Bar. What so clear? Richelieu has but two passions - De Mau. Richelieu! Bar. Yes! Ambition and revenge - in you both blended. First for ambition - Julie is his ward, Innocent - docile - pliant to his willHe placed her at the court- foresaw the restThe King loves Julie! De Mau. Merciful Heaven! The King! Bar. Such Cupids lend new plumes to Richelieu's wings: But the court etiquette must give such Cupids The veil of Hymen - (Hymen but in name). He look'd abroad - found you his foe: - thus served Ambition - by the grandeur of his ward, And vengeance - by dishonour to his foe! De Mau. Prove this. Bar. You have the proof - the royal Letter: — Your strange exemption from the general pardon, Known but to me and Richelieu; can you doubt Your friend to acquit your foe? The truth is glaring - Richelieu alone could tell the princely lover The tale which sells your life, - or buys your honour! De Mau. I see it all! Mock pardon - hurried nuptials39 476 B UL W~/ER-L YTTON.. [ACT II. False bounty! - all! - the serpent of that smile! Oh! it stings home! Bar. You yet shall crush his malice; Our plans are sure:- Orleans is at our head; We meet to-night; join us, and with us triumph. De Mau. To-nigh? - Oh, Heaven! - my marriage night! - Revenge! Bar. [What class of men, whose white lips do not curse The grim, insatiate, universal tyrant? We, noble-born - where are our antique rights Our feudal seigniories - our castled strength, That did divide us from the base Plebeians, And made our swords our law - where are they? Trod To dust - and o'er the graves of our dead power Scaffolds are monuments - the kingly house Shorn of its beams - the Royal Sun of France 'Clipsed by this blood-red comet.l Where we turn, Nothing but Richelieu! - armies - church - state - laws, But mirrors that do multiply his beams. He sees all - acts all - Argus and Briaraeus 2 -Spy at our boards - and deathsman at our hearths; Under the venom of one laidley 8 nightshade, Wither the lilies 4 of all France. De Mau. [inmpatiently]. But JulieBar. [unheeding him]. As yet the Fiend that serves hath saved his power From every snare; and in the epitaphs Of many victims dwells a warning moral That preaches caution. Were I not assured That what before was hope is ripen'd now Into most certain safety, trust me, Mauprat, I still could hush my hate and mark thy wrongs, And say " Be patient!" Now, the King himself 1 The King eclipsed by the Cardinal. See the quotation from Montesquieu on page 512. 2 Argus had a hundred eyes and Briaraeus a hundred hands. 8 Laidly, loathsome. 4 The lily, or rather the fleur-de-lis, was the emblem of the royal family of France. 40 SCENE I.] RICHELIEU. 477 Smiles kindly when I tell him that his peers Will rid him of his priest. You knit your brows: Noble impatience!- Pass we to our scheme!] 'Tis Richelieu's wont, each morn, within his chapel (Hypocrite worship ended), to dispense Alms to the Mendicant-friars, -in that guise A band (yourself the leader) shall surround And seize the despot. De Mau. But the King? - but Julie? Bar. The King, infirm in health, in mind more feeble, Is but the plaything of a minister's will. Were Richelieu dead - his power were mine; and Louis Soon should forget his passion and your crime. But whither now? De Mau. I know not; I scarce hear thee; A little while for thought: anon I'll join thee; But now, all air seems tainted, and I loathe The face of man! [Exit DE MAUPRAT through the Gardens. Bar. Start from the chase, my prey, But as thou speed'st the hell-hounds of revenge Pant in thy track and dog thee down. Enter DE BERINGHEN, his mouth full, a napkin in his hand. De Ber. Chevalier, Your cook's a miracle, - what, my host gone? Faith, Count, my office is a post of dangerA fiery fellow, Mauprat! touch and go,Match and saltpetre, - pr - r - r - r -! Bar. You Will be released ere long. The King resolves To call the bride to court this day. De Ber. Poor Mauprat! Yet, since you love the lady, why so careless Of the King's suit? Bar. Because the lady's virtuous, And the King timid. Ere he win the suit, He'll lose the crown,- the bride will be a widow,And I - the Richelieu of the Regent Orleans. 41 478 BUrL WER-L YTTON. [ACT II. De Ber. Is Louis still so chafed against the Fox For snatching yon fair dainty from the Lion? Bar. So chafed, that Richelieu totters. Yes, the King Is half conspirator against the Cardinal. Enough of this. I've found the man we wanted, The man to head the hands that murder Richelieu, - The man, whose name the synonym for daring. De Ber. He must mean me! No, Count; I am, I own, A valiant dog - but still - Bar. Whom can I mean But Mauprat? - Mark, to-night we meet at Marion's. There shall we sign; thence send this scroll [showing it] to Bouillon. You're in that secret [affectionately]- one of our new Council. De Ber. But to admit the Spaniard - France's foeInto the heart of France - dethrone the KingIt looks like treason, and I smell the headsman. Bar. Oh, sir, too late to falter: when we meet We must arrange the separate, coarser scheme, For Richelieu's death. Of this despatch De Mauprat Must nothing learn. He only bites at vengeance, And he would start from treason. - We must post him Without the door at Marion's - as a sentry. [Aside.] - So, when his head is on the block- his tongue Cannot betray our more august designs! De Ber. I'll meet you if the King can spare me. - [Aside.] No! I am too old a goose to play with foxes, I'll roost at home. Meanwhile, in the next room There's a delicious pAte, -let's discuss it. Bar. Pshaw! a man fill'd with a sublime ambition Has no time to discuss your pates. De Ber. Pshaw! And a man fill'd with as sublime a pAtd Has no time to discuss ambition.- Gad, I have the best of it! Enter JULIE hastily with first COURTIER. Julie [to COURTIER]. A summons, sir, To attend the Louvre?- On this day too? 42 SCENE I.] RICHELIEU. 479 Cour. Madame, The royal carriage waits below. - Messire [to DE BERINGHEN], You will return with us. Julie. What can this mean?Where is my husband? Bar. He has left the house, Perhaps till nightfall -so he bade me tell you. Alas, were I the lord of such fair treasure - Julie [impatiently]. Till nightfall? - Strange — my heart misgives me! Cour. Madame, My orders will not brook delay. Julie [to BARADAS]. You'll see him - And you will tell him! Bar. From the flowers of Hybla1 Never more gladly did the bee bear honey, Than I take sweetness from those rosiest lips, Though to the hive of others! Cour. [to DE BERINGHEN]. Come, Messire. De Ber. [hesitating]. One moment, just to - Cour. Come, sir. De Ber. I shall not Discuss the pate after all. 'Ecod, I'm puzzled now. I don't know who's the best of it! [Exeunt JULIE, DE BERINGHEN, and COURTIER. Bar. Now will this fire his fever into madness! All is made clear: Mauprat must murder RichelieuDie for that crime: - I shall console his JulieThis will reach Bouillon!- from the wrecks of France I shall carve out - who knows - perchance a throne! All in despite of my Lord Cardinal.Enter DE MAUPRATfrom the Gardens. De Mau. Speak! can it be? - Methought that from the terrace I saw the carriage of the King -and Julie! 1 A mountain in Sicily famous in antiquity for its flowers and honey. 43 480 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT II. No! - no!- my frenzy peoples the void air With its own phantoms! Bar. Nay, too true. - Alas! Was ever lightning swifter, or more blasting, Than Richelieu's forked guile? De Mau. I'll to the Louvre Bar. And lose all hope! - The Louvre!- the sure gate To the Bastile! De Mau. The King - Bar. Is but the wax, Which Richelieu stamps! Break the malignant seal, And I will rase the print. Come, man, take heart! Her virtue well could brave a sterner trial Than a few hours of cold imperious courtship. Were Richelieu dust-no danger! De Mau. Ghastly Vengeance I To thee, and thine august and solemn sister, The unrelenting Death, I dedicate The blood of Armand Richelieu! When Dishonour Reaches our hearths Law dies and Murther takes The angel shape of Justice! Bar. Bravely said! At midnight, - Marion's! - Nay, I cannot leave thee To thoughts thatDe Mau. Speak not to me! - I am yours!But speak not! There's a voice within my soul, Whose cry could drown the thunder. - Oh! if men Will play dark sorcery with the heart of man, Let them who raise the spell beware the Fiend! [Exeunt. SCENE II. -A room in the Palais Cardinal (as in the First Act). RICHELIEU and JOSEPH. FRANCOIS writing at a table. Joseph. Yes; — Huguet, taking his accustom'd round, Disguised as some plain burgher, - heard these rufflers Quoting your name: - he listen'd, - " Pshaw," said one, 44 SCENE II.] RICHELIE U. 481 " We are to seize the Cardinal in his palace To-morrow! "- " How? " the other ask'd:-" You'll hear The whole design to-night: the Duke of Orleans And Baradas have got the map of action At their fingers' end." - " So be it," quoth the other, "' I will be there, - Marion de Lorme's - at midnight! " Rich. I have them, man, - I have them! Joseph. So they say Of you, my lord; - believe me, that their plans Are mightier than you deem. You must employ Means no less vast to meet them! Rich. Bah! in policy We foil gigantic danger, not by giants, But dwarfs. - The statues of our stately fortune Are sculptured by the chisel- not the axe! * Ah! were I younger - by the knightly heart That beats beneath these priestly robes, t I would Have pastime with these cut-throats! - Yea, - as when Lured to the ambush of the expecting foe, I clove my pathway through the plumed sea! Reach me yon falchion, Francois, - not that bauble * Richelieu not only employed the lowest, but would often consult men commonly esteemed the dullest. "Ii disait que dans des choses de tres grande importance, il avait experimente, que les moins sages donnaient souvent les meilleurs expediens." - LE CLERC. t Both Richelieu and Joseph were originally intended for the profession of arms. Joseph had served before he obeyed the spiritual inspiration to become a Capuchin. The death of his brother opened to Richelieu the bishopric of Lugon; but his military propensities were as strong as his priestly ambition. I need scarcely add that the Cardinal, during his brilliant campaign in Italy, marched at the head of his troops in complete armour. It was under his administration that occurs the last example of proclaiming war by the chivalric defiance of herald and cartel. Richelieu valued himself much on his personal activity, -for his vanity was as universal as his ambition. A nobleman of the house of Grammont one day found him employed in jumping, and with all the savoir vivre of a Frenchman and a courtier, offered to jump against him. He suffered the Cardinal to jump higher, and soon after found himself rewarded by an appointment. Yet, strangely enough, this vanity did not lead to a patronage injurious to the state; for never before in France was ability made so essential a requisite in promotion. He was lucky in finding the cleverest fellow among his adroitest flatterers. 31 45 482 BUL WER-L YTTON. [ACT II. For carpet-warriors,1 - yonder - such a blade As old Charles Martel might have wielded when He drove the Saracen from France.2 [FRANCOIS brings him one of the long two-handed swords worn in the Middle Ages: With this I, at Rochelle,8 did hand to hand engage The stalwart Englisher, - no mongrels, boy, Those island mastiffs, - mark the notch - a deep one His casque made here, - I shore him to the waist! A toy - a feather - then! [ Tries to wield, and lets it fall. You see, a child could Slay Richelieu now. Fran. [his hand on his hilt]. But now, at your command Are other weapons, my good lord. Rich. [who has seated himself as to write, lifts the pen]. True, - THIS! Beneath the rule of men entirely great The pen is mightier than the sword.4 Behold The arch-enchanter's wand! - itself a nothing! - But taking sorcery from the master-hand To paralyse the Caesars - and to strike The loud earth breathless! - Take away the sword - 1 Effeminate warriors; compare carpet-knight. 2 Charles Martel, grandfather of Charlemagne, broke the invasion of the Saracens (Mohammedans) in 732. 8 "At last, after fourteen months of siege, and eleven of blockade, La Rochelle capitulated, 30 October, I628. The church of S. Margaret was reconsecrated, and Richelieu performed Mass there on All Saints' Day: the King had already made his triumphal entry. In the siege fifteen thousand had died of famine; hardly a man at the end had strength to lift a pike: it is said that there were only one hundred and thirty-six men in the place able to bear arms. The dead lay unburied in the streets; for none had strength to carry them out; the living were like 'forpined ghosts;' 'everywhere, in a word, La Rochelle presented the sad image of death.' - KITCHIN, 1628. 4 " Tu me defendas gladio, ego te defendam calamo," said Occam in 1328 when he went to the court of Ludwig of Bavaria for protection. "Scholars are men of peace; they bear no arms, but their tongues are sharper than Actius's razor; their pens carry further and give a louder report than thunder. I had rather stand in the shock of a basilisk than in the fury of a merciless pen." - SIR TH. BROWNE, Religio Medici, II., iii. 46 SCENE Ii.] RICHELIEU. 483 States can be saved without it! [Looking on the clock. 'Tis the hour, - Retire, sir. [Exit FRANCOIS. [A knock is heard. A door concealed in the arras opens cautiously. Enter MARION DE LORME. Joseph [amazed]. Marion de Lorme! 1 Rich. Hist! Joseph! Keep guard. [JOSEPH retires to the principal entrance. My faithful Marion! Marion. Good my Lord, They meet to-night in my poor house. The Duke Of Orleans heads them. Rich. Yes, go on. Marion. His Highness Much question'd if I knew some brave, discreet, And vigilant man, whose tongue could keep a secret, And who had those twin qualities for service, The love of gold, the hate of Richelieu. - Rich. You? - Marion. Made answer, "Yes - my brother;- bold and trusty; Whose faith my faith could pledge." - The Duke then bade me Have him equipp'd and arm'd- well mounted- ready This night to part for Italy. Rich. Aha!Has Bouillon too turn'd traitor? - So, methought!What part of Italy? Marion. The Piedmont 2 frontier, Where Bouillon lies encamp'd. Rich. Now there is danger! Great danger! - If he tamper with the Spaniard, And Louis list not to my counsel, as, Without sure proof, he will not, - France is lost. 1 Marion de Lorme is the subject of a drama by Victor Hugo. 2 Piedmont lies in northwest Italy. 47 484 P UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT II. What more? Marion. Dark hints of some design to seize Your person in your palace. Nothing clearHis Highness trembled while he spoke - the words Did choke each other. Rich. So! - Who is the brother You recommended to the Duke? Marion. Whoever Your Eminence may father! - Rich. Darling Marion!* [Goes to the table, and returns with a large bag of gold. There- pshaw - a trifle! - What an eye you have! And what a smile - child I - [Kisses her.] Ah! you fair perdition 'Tis well I'm old! Marion [aside and seriously]. What a great man he is! Rich. You are sure they meet? - the hour? Marion. At midnight. Rich. And You will engage to give the Duke's despatch To whom I send? Marion. Ay, marry! Rich. [aside]. Huguet? No; He will be wanted elsewhere. - Joseph? - zealous, But too well known - too much the elder brother! Mauprat? - alas! it is his wedding-day! - Francois! - the Man of Men! - unnoted - young Ambitious - [Goes to the door.] - Francois! * Voltaire openly charges Richelieu with being the lover of Marion de Lorme; and the great poet of France, Victor Hugo, has sacrificed History to adorn her with qualities which were certainly not added to her personal charms. She was not less perfidious than beautiful. Le Clerc, properly, refutes the accusation of Voltaire against the discretion of Richelieu, and says, very justly, that if the great minister had the frailties of human nature, he learnt how to veil them, - at least when he obtained the scarlet. In earlier life he had been prone to gallantries which a little prepossessed the King (who was formal and decorous, and threw a singular coldness into the few attachments he permitted to himself) against the aspiring intriguer. But these gayer occupations died away in the engagement of higher pursuits or of darker passions. 48 SCENE II.] RICHELIEU. 485 Enter FRANCOIS. Rich. Follow this fair lady; (Find him the suiting garments, Marion,) take My fleetest steed: — arm thyself to the teeth; A packet will be given you- with orders, No matter what! - The instant that your hand Closes upon it -- clutch it, like your honour, Which Death alone can steal, or ravish - set Spurs to your steed - be breathless, till you stand Again before me. - Stay, sir! - You will find me Two short leagues hence - at Ruelle,1 in my castle. Young man, be blithe! - for - note me - from the hour I grasp that packet - think your guardian Star Rains fortune on you! - Fran. If I fail Rich. Fail fail! In the lexicon of youth, which Fate reserves For a bright manhood, there is no such word As -fail! - (You will instruct him further, Marion.) Follow her - but at distance; - speak not to her, Till you are housed. - Farewell, boy! Never say "Fail" again. Fran. I will not! Rich. [iatting his locks]. There's my young hero! - [Exeunt FRANCOIS, MARION. Rich. So, they would seize my person in this palace?I cannot guess their scheme; - but my retinue Is here too large! - a single traitor could Strike impotent the faith of thousands;- Joseph, Art sure of Huguet? - Think - we hang'd his father! Joseph. But you have bought the son; - heap'd favours on him! Rich. Trash! - favours past - that's nothing. - In his hours Of confidence with you, has he named the favours To come - he counts on? Joseph. Yes: - a Colonel's rank, 1 Rueil, a town west of Paris. 49 486 BUL WER-L YTTON. [ACT II. And Letters of Nobility. Rich. What, Huguet!Here HUGUET enters, as to address the CARDINAL, who does not perceive him. Huguet. My own name, soft - [Glides behind the screen.] Rich. Colonel and Nobleman! My bashful Huguet - that can never be - We have him not the less - we'll promise it! And see the King withholds!- Ah, kings are oft A great convenience to a minister! No wrong to Huguet either; - Moralists Say, Hope is sweeter than Possession! - Yes!We'll count on Huguet! Favours past do gorge Our dogs! leave service drowsy - dull the scent, Slacken the speed; - favours to come, my Joseph, Produce a lusty, hungry gratitude, A ravenous zeal, that of the commonest cur Would make a Cerberus. - You are right, this treason Assumes a fearful aspect:- but once crush'd, Its very ashes shall manure the soil Of power; and ripen such full sheaves of greatness, That all the summer of my fate shall seem Fruitless beside the autumn! [HUGUET holds up his hand menacingly, and creeps out. Joseph. The saints grant it! Rich. [solemnly]. Yes - for sweet France, Heaven grant it! -0 my country, For thee - thee only - though men deem it notAre toil and terror my familiars!- I Have made thee great and fair - upon thy brows Wreath'd the old Roman laurel:- at thy feet Bow'd nations down. - No pulse in my ambition Whose beatings were not measured from thy heart! [In the old times before us, patriots lived And died for liberty - Joseph. As you would live And die for despotryRich. False monk, not so, 50 SCENE II.] RICHELIEU. 487 But for the purple and the power wherein State clothes herself. - I love my native land Not as Venetian, Englisher, or Swiss, But as a Noble and a Priest of France; "All things for France "- lo, my eternal maxim! The vital axle of the restless wheels That bear me on! With her I have entwined My passions and my fate - my crimes - my virtues Hated and loved,* and schemed, and shed men's blood, * Richelieu did in fact so thoroughly associate himself with the State, that in cases where the extreme penalty of the law had been incurred, Le Clerc justly observes that he was more inexorable to those he had favoured- even to his own connections- than to other and more indifferent offenders. It must be remembered, as some excuse for his unrelenting sternness, that before his time the great had been accustomed to commit any disorder with impunity, even the crime of treason; — "auparavant on ne faisoit poser les armes aux rebelles qu'en leur accordant quelque recompense." On entering into the administration, he therefore laid it down as a maxim necessary to the existence of the State, that " no crime should be committed with impunity." To carry out this maxim, the long-established license to crime made even justice seem cruel. But the victims most commiserated, from their birth or accomplishments, as Montmorenci, or Cinq Mars, were traitors in actual conspiracy against their country, and would have forfeited life in any land where the punishment of death existed, and the lawgiver was strong enough to vindicate the law. Richelieu was, in fact, a patriot unsoftened by philanthropy. As in Venice (where the favourite aphorism was — " Venice first, Christianity next," *) so, with Richelieu, the primary consideration was, " What will be best for the country? " He had no abstract principle, whether as a politician or a priest, when applied to the world that lay beyond the boundaries of France. Thus he, whose object was to found in France a splendid and imperious despotism, assisted the Parliamentary party in England, and signed a treaty of alliance and subsidies with the Catalan rebels, for the establishment of a republic in Barcelona: to convulse other monarchies was to consolidate the growing monarchy of France. So he, who completely crushed the Protestant party at home, braved all the wrath of the Vatican, and even the resentment of the King, in giving the most essential aid to the Protestants abroad. There was, indeed, a largeness of view in his hostility to the French Huguenots, which must be carefully distinguished from the intolerance of the mere priest. He opposed them, not as a Catholic, but as a statesman. The HIuguenots were strong republicans, and had formed plans for dividing France into provincial commonwealths; and the existence of Rochelle was absolutely incompatible with the integrity of the French monarchy. It was a second capital, held by the Huguenots, claiming independent authority and the right * "Pria Veneziana, poi Christiane." 5' 488 B UL WtER-L YTTON. [ACT II. As the calm crafts of Tuscan Sages 1 teach Those who would make their country great. Beyond The map of France - my heart can travel not, But fills that limit to its farthest verge; And while I live - Richelieu and France are one.] We Priests, to whom the Church forbids in youth The plighted one -to manhood's toil denies The soother helpmate - from our wither'd age Shuts the sweet blossoms of the second spring That smiles in the name of Father- we are yet Not holier than Humanity, and must Fulfil Humanity's condition - Love! Debarred the Actual, we but breathe a life To the chill Marble of the Ideal — Thus, In thy unseen and abstract Majesty, My France, my Country, I have bodied forth A thing to love. What are these robes of state, This pomp, this palace? perishable baubles! In this world two things only are immortalFame and a People! Enter HUGUET. Huguet. My Lord Cardinal, Your Eminence bade me seek you at this hour. Rich. Did I? - True, Huguet.- So- you overheard Strange talk amongst these gallants? Snares and traps For Richelieu? - Well - we'll balk them; let me thinkThe men-at-arms you head - how many? Huguet. Twenty,* My Lord. Rich. All trusty? to treat with foreign powers. Richelieu's final conquest was marked by a humanity that had nothing of the bigot. The Huguenots obtained a complete amnesty, and had only to regret the loss of privileges and fortifications which could not have existed with any security to the rest of France. * The guard attached to Richelieu's person was, in the first instance, fifty arquebusiers, afterwards increased to two companies of cavalry and two hundred musqueteers. Huguet is therefore to be considered merely as the lieutenant of a small detachment of this little army. In point of fact, the subdivisions of the guard took it in turns to serve. 1 Machiavelli especially. See page 495 and note i. 52 SCENE II.] RICHELIEU. 489 Huguet. Yes, for ordinary Occasions - if for great ones, I would change Three-fourths at least. Rich. Ay, what are great occasions? Huguet. Great bribes! Rich. [to JOSEPH]. Good lack, he knows some paragons Superior to great bribes! Huguet. True Gentlemen Who have transgress'd the laws - and value life And lack not gold;- your Eminence alone Can grant them pardon. Ergo,l you can trust them! Rich. Logic! - So be it -let this honest twenty Be arm'd and mounted. -[Aside.] So they meet at midnight, The attempt on me to-morrow - Ho! we'll strike 'Twixt wind and water.2- [Aloud.] Does it need much time To find these ornaments to Human Nature? Huzget. My Lord - the trustiest of them are not birds That love the daylight. - I do know a haunt Where they meet nightly - Rich. Ere the dawn be grey, All could be arm'd, assembled, and at Ruelle In my old hall? Huguet. By one hour after midnight. Rich. The castle's strong. You know its outlets, Huguet? Would twenty men, well posted, keep such guard That not one step - (and Murther's step is stealthy)Could glide within - unseen? Huguet. A triple wall — A drawbridge and portcullis - twenty men Under my lead, a month might hold that castle Against a host. Rich. They do not strike till morning, Yet I will shift the quarter - Bid the grooms Prepare the litter - I will hence to Ruelle While daylight last -and one hour tfter midnight You and your twenty saints shall seek me thither! You're made to rise! -You are, sir; -eyes of lynx, 1 Therefore. 2 A nautical term meaning at the water line, where a breach is most effective. 53 490 B~3ULWE.'R-L YTTON.. [ACT II. Ears of the stag, a footfall like the snow; You are a valiant fellow; - yea, a trusty, Religious, exemplary, incorrupt, And precious jewel of a fellow, Huguet! If I live long enough, - ay, mark my wordsIf I live long enough, you'll be a Colonel - Noble, perhaps! - One hour, sir, after midnight. Huguet. You leave me dumb with gratitude, my Lord; I'll pick the trustiest- [Aside.] Marion's house can furnish! [Exit HUGUET. Rich. How like a spider shall I sit in my hole, And watch the meshes tremble. Joseph. But, my Lord, Were it not wiser still to man the palace, And seize the traitors in the act? Rich. No; Louis, Long chafed against me - Julie stolen from him, Will rouse him more. He'll say I hatch'd the treason, Or scout my charge: - He half desires my death; But the despatch to Bouillon, some dark scheme Against his crown -there is our weapon, Joseph! With that, all safe - without it, all is peril! Meanwhile to my old castle; you to court, Diving with careless eyes into men's hearts, As ghostly churchmen should do! See the King, Bid him peruse that sage and holy treatise, Wherein 'tis set forth how a Premier should Be chosen from the Priesthood - how the King Should never listen to a single charge Against his servant, nor conceal one whisper That the rank envies of a court distil Into his ear to fester the fair name Of my - I mean his Minister! - Oh! Joseph, A most convincing treatise.* GOOD - all favours, * This tract, on the " Unity of the Minister." contains all the doctrines, and many more to the same effect, referred to in the text, and had a prodigious influence on the conscience of the poor King. At the onset of his career, Richelieu, as deputy of the clergy of Poitou, complained in his harangue to the King that ecclesiastics were too rarely summoned to the royal councils, and invoked the example of the Druids. 54 SCENE II.] RICHELIEU. 491 If FranCois be but bold, and Huguet honest. Huguet - I half suspect - he bow'd too low - 'Tis not his way. Joseph. This is the curse, my Lord, Of your high state;- suspicion of all men. Rich. [sadly]. True; - true; - my leeches bribed to poisoners; - pages To strangle me in sleep. - My very King (This brain the unresting loom, from which was woven The purple of his greatness) leagued against me. Old - childless - friendless - broken - all forsake - All -all- butJoseph. What? Rich. The indomitable heart Of Armand Richelieu! Joseph. Nought beside? Rich. Why, Julie, My own dear foster-child, forgive me; - yes; This morning, shining through their happy tears, Thy soft eyes bless'd me! - and thy Lord, - in danger, He would forsake me not. Joseph. And JosephRich. [after a pause.] YouYes, I believe you -yes -for all men fear you And the world loves you not. And I, friend Joseph, I am the only man who could, my Joseph, Make you a Bishop.* Come, we'll go to dinner, And talk the while of methods to advance Our Mother Church.t Ah, Joseph, -Bishop Joseph! * Joseph's ambition was not, however, so moderate; he refused a bishopric, and desired the cardinal's hat, for which favour Richelieu openly supplicated the Holy See, but contrived somehow or other never to effect it, although two ambassadors applied for it at Rome. t The peculiar religion of Pere Joseph may be illustrated by the following anecdote: —An officer, whom he had dismissed upon an expedition into Germany, moved by conscience at the orders he had received, returned for further explanations, and found the Capuchin disant sa messe. He approached and whispered, " But, my father, if these people defend themselves -" " Kill all " ( Qu'on tue tout), answered the good father, continuing his devotions. 55 492 B UL W/ER-L YTTON., [ACT III. 492 BUL WER-L YTTON. [ACT III. ACT III. SECOND DAY (MIDNIGHT). SCENE I.- RICHELIEU'S Castle at Ruelle. A Gothic Chamber. Moonlight at the window, occasionally obscured. Rich. [reading].* " In silence, and at night, the Conscience feels That life should soar to nobler ends than Power." So sayest thou, sage and sober moralist! 1 But wert thou tried? Sublime Philosophy, Thou art the Patriarch's ladder,2 reaching heaven, And bright with beck'ning angels - but, alas! We see thee, like the Patriarch, but in dreams, By the first step - dull-slumbering on the earth. I am not happy! - with the Titan's lust I woo'd a goddess, and I clasp a cloud.8 When I am dust, my name shall, like a star, Shine through wan space, a glory - and a prophet Whereby pale seers shall from their aery towers Con all the ominous signs, benign or evil, That make the potent astrologue of kings. But shall the Future judge me by the ends * I need not say that the great length of this soliloquy adapts it only for the closet, and that but few of the lines are retained on the stage. To the reader, however, the passages omitted in representation will not, perhaps, be the most uninteresting in the play, and may be deemed necessary to the completion of the Cardinal's portrait, - action on the stage supplying so subtly the place of words in the closet. The self-assured sophistries which, in the text, mingle with Richelieu's better-founded arguments, in apology for the darker traits of his character, are to be found scattered throughout the writings ascribed to him. The reader will observe that in this self-confession lies the latent poetical justice, which separates happiness from success. 1 Whether he really has in mind a particular moralist I am unable to say. 2 "d And he [Jacob] dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven; and behold the angels of God ascending and descending on it." - Genesis, XXVII I., 12. 3 An allusion to the story of Ixion and Hera. 56 SCENE I.] RICHELIEU. 493 That I have wrought - or by the dubious means Through which the stream of my renown hath run Into the many-voiced unfathomed Time? Foul in its bed lie weeds - and heaps of slime, And with its waves - when sparkling in the sun, Ofttimes the secret rivulets that swell Its might of waters - blend the hues of blood. Yet are my sins not those of CIRCUMSTANCE, That all-pervading atmosphere, wherein Our spirits, like the unsteady lizard, take The tints that colour, and the food that nurtures? *0! ye, whose hour-glass shifts its tranquil sands In the unvex'd silence of a student's cell; Ye, whose untempted hearts have never toss'd Upon the dark and stormy tides where life Gives battle to the elements, - and man Wrestles with man for some slight plank, whose weight Will bear but one - while round the desperate wretch The hungry billows roar- and the fierce Fate, Like some huge monster, dim-seen through the surf, Waits him who drops; -ye safe and formal men, Who write the deeds, and with unfeverish hand Weigh in nice scales the motives of the Great, Ye cannot know what ye have never tried! History preserves only the fleshless bones Of what we are -and by the mocking skull The would-be wise pretend to guess the features! Without the roundness and the glow of life How hideous is the skeleton! Without The colourings and humanities that clothe Our errors, the anatomists of schools Can make our memory hideous! I have wrought Great uses out of evil tools - and they In the time to come may bask beneath the light Which I have stolen from the angry gods,1 * Retained in representation. 1 An allusion to the story of Prometheus' stealing fire from heaven. 57 494 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT III. And warn their sons against the glorious theft, Forgetful of the darkness which it broke. I have shed blood -but I have had no foes Save those the State had*- if my wrath was deadly, 'Tis that I felt my country in my veins, And smote her sons as Brutus smote his own.t 1 And yet I am not happy - blanch'd and sear'd Before my time - breathing an air of hate, And seeing daggers in the eyes of men, And wasting powers that shake the thrones of earth In contest with the insects - bearding kings And braved by lackies $ - murder at my bed; And lone amidst the multitudinous web, With the dread Three -that are the Fates who hold The woof and shears - the Monk, the Spy, the Headsman. And this is power? Alas I I am not happy. [After a pause. And yet the Nile is fretted by the weeds Its rising roots not up; but never yet Did one least barrier by a ripple vex My onward tide, unswept in sport away. * It is well known that when, on his death-bed, Richelieu was asked if he forgave his enemies, he replied, "I never had any, but those of the State." And this was true enough, for Richelieu and the State were one. t Richelieu's vindication of himself from cruelty will be found in various parts of Petitot's Collection, vols. XXI. XXX. (bis). $ Voltaire has a striking passage on the singular fate of Richelieu, recalled every hour from his gigantic schemes to frustrate some miserable cabal of the ante-room. Richelieu would often exclaim, that " Six pieds de terre," as he called the King's cabinet, " lui donnaient plus de peine que tout le reste de lEurope." The death of Wallenstein, sacrificed by the Emperor Ferdinand, produced a most lively impression upon Richelieu. He found many traits of comparison between Ferdinand and Louis - Wallenstein and himself. In the Memoirs - now regarded by the best authorities as written by his sanction, and in great part by himself - the great Frenchman bursts (when alluding to Wallenstein's murder) into a touching and pathetic anathema on the misere de ceite vie of dependence on jealous and timid royalty, which he himself, while he wrote, sustained. It is worthy of remark, that it was precisely at the period of Wallenstein's death that Richelieu obtained from the King an augmentation of his guard. 1 Lucius Junius Brutus, the hero of the affair of Lucretia, had his own sons put to death for conspiring against the new government. 58 SCENE I.] RICHELIEU. 495 Am I so ruthless then that I do hate Them who hate me? Tush, tush! I do not hate; Nay, I forgive. The Statesman writes the doom, But the Priest sends the blessing. I forgive them, But I destroy; forgiveness is mine own, Destruction is the State's! For private life, Scripture the guide- for public, Machiavel.1 Would fortune serve me if the Heaven were wroth? For chance makes half my greatness. I was born Beneath the aspect of a bright-eyed star, And my triumphant adamant of soul Is but the fix'd persuasion of success. Ah! - here! - that spasm! - again! - How Life and Death Do wrestle for me momently! And yet The King looks pale. I shall outlive the King! And then, thou insolent Austrian - who didst gibe At the ungainly, gaunt, and daring lover,* Sleeking thy looks to silken Buckingham, Thou shalt - no matter! - I have outlived love. 0! beautiful - all golden - gentle youth! Making thy palace in the careless front And hopeful eye of man 2 -ere yet the soul Hath lost the memories which (so Plato dream'd) Breathed glory from the earlier star it dwelt in Oh! for one gale from thine exulting morning, Stirring amidst the roses, where of old Love shook the dew-drops from his glancing hair I Could I recall the past - or had not set The prodigal treasures of the bankrupt soul In one slight bark upon the shoreless sea! * Richelieu was commonly supposed, though I cannot say I find much evidence for it, to have been too presuming in an interview with Anne of Austria (the Queen), and to have bitterly resented the contempt she expressed for him. The Duke of Buckingham's frantic and Quixotic passion for the Queen is well known. 1 Machiavelli (I469-I527), the renowned Italian statesman, totally disregarded political morality in The Prince, " an analysis of the methods whereby an ambitious man may rise to sovereign power." 2 Compare The Lady of Lyons, I., iii. (page 390). 59 496 B UL WER~E-L Y/TTON.~' [ACT III. The yoked steer, after his day of toil, Forgets the goad, and rests - to me alike Or day or night - Ambition has no rest! Shall I resign? - who can resign himself? For custom is ourself; as drink and food Become our bone and flesh -the aliments Nurturing our nobler part, the mind -thoughts, dreams, Passions, and aims, in the revolving cycle Of the great alchemy - at length are made Our mind itself; and yet the sweets of leisureAn honour'd home- far from these base intriguesAn eyrie on the heaven-kiss'd heights of wisdom - [ Taking up the book. Speak to me, moralist I - I'll heed thy counsel.1 Were it not best Enter FRANCOIS hastily, and in part disguised. Rich. [flinging away the book]. Philosophy, thou liest! Quick - the despatch! Power - Empire! Boy - the packet! Fran. Kill me, my Lord. Rich. They knew thee - they suspectedThey gave it not - Fran. He gave it - he - the Count De Baradas - with his own hand he gave it! Rich. Baradas! Joy! out with it! Fran. Listen, And then dismiss me to the headsman. Rich. Ha! Go on. Fran. They led me to a chamber - There Orleans and Baradas, and some half-score, Whom I know not -were metRich. Not more! Fran. But from The adjoining chamber broke the din of voices, The clattering tread of armed men; at times A shriller cry, that yell'd out, " Death to Richelieu!" 1 Bulwer has apparently forgotten Tomlinson's maxim in Paul Cliford, "Life is short! Why should speeches be long?" 60 SCENE I.] R.ICHELIEU. 497 Rich. Speak not of me: thy country is in danger! The adjoining room - So, so - a separate treason! The one thy ruin, France! - the meaner crime, Left to their tools, my murder! Fran. Baradas Questioned me close - demurred - until, at last, O'erruled by Orleans, -gave the packet- told me That life and death were in the scroll - this gold - Rich. Gold is no proof - Fran. And Orleans promised thousands, When Bouillon's trumpets in the streets of Paris Rang out shrill answer. Hastening from the house, My footstep in the stirrup, Marion stole Across the threshold, whispering, " Lose no moment Ere Richelieu have the packet: tell him too Murder is in the winds of Night, and Orleans Swears, ere the dawn the Cardinal shall be clay." She said, and trembling fled within; when, lo! A hand of iron griped me; through the dark Gleam'd the dim shadow of an armed man: Ere I could draw - the prize!was wrested from me, And a hoarse voice gasp'd -" Spy, I spare thee, for This steel is virgin to thy Lord! " with that He vanish'd. - Scared and trembling for thy safety I mounted, fled, and kneeling at thy feet, Implore thee to acquit my faith - but not, Like him, to spare my life. Rich. Who spake of life? I bade thee grasp that treasure as thine honourA jewel worth whole hecatombs of lives! Begone! - redeem thine honour - back to Marion Or Baradas - or Orleans - track the robberRegain the packet - or crawl on to Age — Age and grey hairs like mine - and know, thou hast lost That which had made thee great and saved thy country. - See me not till thou'st bought the right to seek me.Away! - Nay, cheer thee, thou hast not fail'd yet, There's no such word as "fail". Fran. Bless you, my Lord, 32 - 6i 498 B UL WERX-L YTTON.V [ACT III. For that one smile! - I'll wear it on my heart To light me back to triumph.* [Exit. Rich. The poor youth! An elder had ask'd life! - I love the young! For as great men live not in their own time, But the next race, - so in the young, my soul Makes many Richelieus. He will win it yet. Francois! — He's gone. My murder! Marion's warning! This bravo's threat! Oh for the morrow's dawn! I'll set my spies to work - I'll make all space (As does the sun) a Universal Eye - Huguet shall track - Joseph confess - ha I ha! Strange, while I laugh'd I shudder'd - and ev'n now Through the chill air the beating of my heart Sounds like a death-watch by a sick man's pillow; If Huguet could deceive me - hoofs without - The gates unclose -steps near and nearer! Enter JULIE. Julie. Cardinal! My father! [Falls at his feet. Rich. Julie at this hour! - and tears! What ails thee? Julie. I am safe; I am with thee!Rich. Safe! why in all the storms of this wide world What wind would mar the violet? Julie. That man - Why did I love him? - clinging to a breast That knows no shelter? Listen late at noonThe marriage-day - ev'n then no more a loverHe left me coldly, - well, - I sought my chamber * The fear and the hatred which Richelieu generally inspired were not shared by his dependants and those about his person, who are said " to have adored him."-"Ses domestiques le regardaient comme le meilleur des maitres." - LE CLERC. In fact, although " L/ loit orgteilleux et colcre," -- he was " en meme temps, affable ct icin de dozuceur danss 'abord; " and he was no less generous to those who served than severe to those who opposed him. 1 Receive confessions. 62 SCENE I.] RICHEL IEU. 499 To weep and wonder - but to hope and dream. Sudden a mandate from the King- to attend Forthwith his pleasure at the Louvre. Rich. Ha! You did obey the summons; and the King Reproach'd your hasty nuptials. Julie. Were that all! He frown'd and chid; proclaim'd the bond unlawful: Bade me not quit my chamber in the palace, And there at night - alone - this night - all still - He sought my presence - dared - thou read'st the heart, Read mine! - I cannot speak it! Rich. He a king,You - woman; well, - you yielded! Julie. CardinalDare you say " yielded "? - Humbled and abash'd, He from the chamber crept- this Mighty Louis; Crept like a baffled felon! - Yielded! Ah! More royalty in woman's honest heart Than dwells within the crowned majesty And sceptred anger of a hundred kings! Yielded! - Heavens! - yielded! Rich. To my breast, - close -close; The world would never need a Richelieu, if Men - bearded, mail'd men - the Lords of Earth Resisted flattery, falsehood, avarice, pride, As this poor child with the dove's innocent scorn Her sex's tempters, Vanity and Power! - He left you - well! Julie. Then came a sharper trial! At the King's suit the Count de Baradas Sought me to soothe, to fawn, to flatter, while On his smooth lip insult appear'd more hateful For the false mask of pity: letting fall Dark hints of treachery, with a world of sighs' That Heaven had granted to so base a Lord The heart whose coldest friendship were to him 1 An echo from Othello, I., iii. 63 50o B' UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT III. What Mexico 1 to misers! Stung at last By my disdain, the dim and glimmering sense Of his cloak'd words broke into bolder light, And THEN - ah! then, my haughty spirit fail'd me! Then I was weak- wept - oh! such bitter tears! For (turn thy face aside and let me whisper The horror to thine ear) then did I learn That he - that Adrien - that my husband - knew The King's polluting suit, and deem'd it honour! Then all the terrible and loathsome truth Glared on me;- coldness - waywardness, reserveMystery of looks - words - all unravell'd, - and I saw the impostor, where I had loved the god! Rich. I think thou wrong'st thy husband - but proceed. Julie. Did you say, " wrong'd " him? - Cardinal, my father, Did you say " wrong'd "? Prove it, and life shall grow One prayer for thy reward and his forgiveness. Rich. Let me know all. Julie. To the despair he caused The courtier left me; but amid the chaos Darted one guiding ray - to 'scape - to fly - Reach Adrien, learn the worst -'twas then near midnight: Trembling I left my chamber - sought the QueenFell at her feet- reveal'd the unholy peril - Implored her aid to flee our joint disgrace. Moved, she embraced and soothed me; nay, preserved; Her word sufficed to unlock the palace-gates: I hasten'd home - but home was desolate, - No Adrien there! Fearing the worst, I fled To thee, directed hither. As my wheels Paused at thy gates - the clang of arms behind - The ring of hoofs - Rich. 'Twas but my guards, fair trembler. (So Huguet keeps his word, my omens wrong'd him.) Julie. Oh, in one hour what years of anguish crowd! Rich. Nay, there's no danger now. Thou needest rest. Come, thou shalt lodge beside me. Tush! be cheer'd, On account of its silver. Compare The Lady of Lyons, V., i. (p. 424). 64 SCENE II.] RICHELIEU U 50o My rosiest Amazon - thou wrong'st thy Theseus.' All will be well - yes, yet all well. [Exeunt through a side door. SCENE II. Enter HUGUET - DE MAUPRAT, in complete armour, his vizor down. The moonlight obscuredat the casement. Huguet. Not here! De Mau. Oh, I will find him, fear not. Hence and guard The galleries where the menials sleep - plant sentries At every outlet - Chance should throw no shadow Between the vengeance and the victim! Go! - Ere yon brief vapour that obscures the moon, As doth our deed pale conscience, pass away, The mighty shall be ashes. Huguet. Will you not A second arm? De Mau. To slay one weak old man?Away! No lesser wrongs than mine can make This murder lawful. Hence! Huguet. A short farewell! [Exit HUGUET. Re-enter RICHELIEU (not perceiving DE MAUPRAT). Rich. How heavy is the air! - the vestal lamp Of the sad moon, weary with vigil, dies In the still temple of the solemn heaven! The very darkness lends itself to fear - To treason - De AMau. And to death! Rich. My omens lied not! What art thou, wretch? De Mau. Thy doomsman! Rich. Ho, my guards I Huguet! Montbrassil! Vermont! 1 Theseus, victorious over the Amazons (a race of warlike women), took their queen Antiope for his wife. 65 502 BUL WER-L YTTON. [ACT III. De Mau. Ay, thy spirits Forsake thee, wizard; thy bold men of mail Are my confederates. Stir not! but one step, And know the next- thy grave! Rich. Thou liest, knave! I am old, infirm - most feeble - but thou liest! Armand de Richelieu dies not by the hand Of man - the stars have said it * - and the voice Of my own prophet and oracular soul Confirms the shining Sibyls! 2 Call them all, Thy brother butchers! Earth has no such fiend - No! as one parricide of his father-land, Who dares in Richelieu murder France! De Mau. Thy stars Deceive thee, Cardinal; thy soul of wiles May against kings and armaments avail, And mock the embattled world; but powerless now Against the sword of one resolved man, Upon whose forehead thou hast written shame! Rich. I breathe; he is not a hireling. Have I wrong'd thee? Beware surmise - suspicion - lies! I am Too great for men to speak the truth of me! De Mau. Thy acts are thy accusers, Cardinal! In his hot youth, a soldier, urged to crime Against the State, placed in your hands his life;You did not strike the blow - but o'er his head, Upon the gossamer thread of your caprice, Hover'd the axe.8 His the brave spirit's hell, The twilight terror of suspense; - your death Had set him free; he purposed not, nor prayed it. One day you summoned - mocked him with smooth pardon - Showered wealth upon him - bade an angel's face Turn Earth to Paradise * In common with his contemporaries, Richelieu was credulous in astrology and less lawful arts. He was too fortunate a man not to be superstitious. 1 Perhaps a recollection of Hamlet's " 0 my prophetic soul! " 2 In mythology, women endowed with the spirit of prophecy. 8 An allusion to the story of Damocles and the sword. See Cicero's Tusculanc Disputationes, V. 21. 66 SCENE II.] RICIHELIEU. 503 Rich. Well! De Mau. Was this mercy? A Caesar's generous vengeance? - Cardinal, no! Judas, not Caesar, was the model! You Saved him from death for shame; reserved to grow The scorn of living men- to his dead sires Leprous reproach - scoff of the age to comeA kind convenience- a Sir Pandarus 2 To his own bride and the august adulterer! Then did the first great law of human hearts, Which with the patriot's, not the rebel's, name Crown'd the first Brutus, when the Tarquin fell,3 Make Misery royal - raise this desperate wretch Into thy destiny! Expect no mercy! Behold De Mauprat! [Lifts his vizor. Rich. To thy knees, and crawl For pardon; or, I tell thee, thou shalt live For such remorse, that, did I hate thee, I Would bid thee strike, that I might be avenged! It was to save my Julie from the King, That in thy valour I forgave thy crime; - It was, when thou - the rash and ready toolYea, of that shame thou loath'st - didst leave thy hearth To the polluter - in these arms thy bride Found the protecting shelter thine withheld. [Goes to the side door. Julie de Mauprat - Julie! Enter JULIE. Lo! my witness! De Mau. What marvel's this?- I dream! my Julie- thou! This, thy beloved hand? 1 " His enemies confess The virtues of humanity are Caesar's." ADDISON, Cato, IV. 2 Pandarus is represented in later literature as having procured for Troilus the possession of Cressida; hence the English word pander. See Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde and Shakespeare's Troilus and Cressida. 8 The overthrow of Tarquinius Superbus after the affair of Lucretia was due largely to Lucius Junius Brutus. 67 504 B UL WE~ER-L YT TONNI [ACT III. Julie. Henceforth all bond Between us twain is broken. Were it not For this old man, I might, in truth, have lost The right -now mine- to scorn thee! Rich. So, you hear her? De Mau. Thou with some slander hast her sense infected! Julie. No, sir; he did excuse thee in despite Of all that wears the face of truth. ThyfriendThy confidant - familiar - Baradas Himself reveal'd thy baseness. De Mau. Baseness! Rich. Ay; That thou didst court dishonour. De Mau. Baradas! Where is thy thunder, Heaven? — Duped! - snared!undone! Thou - thou couldst not believe him! Thou dost love me! Love cannot feed upon falsehoods! Julie [aside]. Love him!- Ah! Be still, my heart! [Aloud.] Love you I did:- how fondly, Woman - if women were my listeners now Alone could tell!- For ever fled my dream: Farewell- all's over! Rich. Nay, my daughter, these Are but the blinding mists of day-break love Sprung from its very light, and heralding A noon of happy summer. - Take her hand And speak the truth, with which your heart runs over That this Count Judas - this Incarnate Falsehood Never lied more, than when he told thy Julie That Adrien loved her not - except, indeed, When he told Adrien, Julie could betray him. Julie [embracing DE MAUPRAT]. You love me, then! you love me! - and they wrong'd you! De Mau. Ah! couldst thou doubt it? Rich. Why, the very mole Less blind than thou! Baradas loves thy wife;Had hoped her hand -aspired to be that cloak To the King's will, which to thy bluntness seems 68 SCENE II.] RICHELIE U. 5o5 The Centaur's poisonous robe 1- hopes even won To make thy corpse his footstool to thy bed! Where was thy wit, man? - Ho! these schemes are glass! The very sun shines through them. De Mau. 0, my Lord. Can you forgive me? Rich. Ay, and save you! De MAau. Save! Terrible word! - 0, save thyself; - these halls Swarm with thy foes: already for thy blood Pants thirsty Murder! Julie. Murder! Rich. Hush! put by The woman. Hush! a shriek- a cry -a breath Too loud, would startle from its horrent pause The swooping Death! Go to the door, and listen!Now for escape! De Mau. None - none! Their blades shall pass This heart to thine. Rich [drily]. An honourable outwork But much too near the citadel. I think That I can trust you now [slowly, andgazing on him]:- yes; I can trust you. How many of my troop league with you? De Mau. All - We are your troop! Rich. And Huguet? De Mau. Is our captain. Rich. A retributive Power! - This comes of spies! All? then the lion's skin's too short to-night,Now for the fox's! 2 Julie. A hoarse, gathering murmur!Hurrying and heavy footsteps! Rich. Ha!- the posterns? 1 Nessus, a centaur, tempted the honor of Deianira, wife of Hercules, and was shot with a poisoned arrow by the hero. The centaur for revenge deceived Deianira into making a philter of his poisoned blood, with which she prepared a robe for Hercules. By this robe he lost his life. 2 See Act I., Scene ii. (page 455), and note 2. 69 506 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT III. De Mau. No egress where no sentry! Rich. Follow me I have it! - to my chamber - quick! Come, Julie! Hush! Mauprat, come! [Murmur at a distance.] - Death to the Cardinal! Rich. Bloodhounds, I laugh at ye! - ha! ha! - we will Baffle them yet.- Ha! -ha! [Exeunt JULIE, MAUPRAT, RICHELIEU. Huguet [without]. This way-this way! SCENE III. Enter HUGUET and the CONSPIRATORS. Huguet. De Mauprat's hand is never slow in battle;Strange, if it falter now! Ha! gone! First Con. Perchance The fox had crept to rest; and to his lair Death, the dark hunter, tracks him. Enter MAUPRAT, throwing open the doors of the recess, in which a bed, whereon RICHELIEU lies extended. De Mau. Live the King! Richelieu is dead! Huguet [advancing towards the recess; MAUPRAT following, his hand on his dagger]. Are his eyes open? De Mau. Ay, As if in life! Huguet [turning back]. I will not look on him. You have been long. De Mau. I watch'd him till he slept. Heed me. - No trace of blood reveals the deed;Strangled in sleep. His health hath long been brokenFound breathless in his bed. So runs our tale, Remember! Back to Paris- Orleans gives Ten thousand crowns, and Baradas a lordship, To him who first gluts vengeance with the news That Richelieu is in heaven! Quick, that all France May share your joy! 70 SCENE IV.] RICHELIEU. 507 Huguet. And you? De Mau. Will stay, to crush Eager suspicion - to forbid sharp eyes To dwell too closely on the clay; prepare The rites, and place him on his bier- this my task. I leave to you, sirs, the more grateful lot Of wealth and honours. Hence! Huguet. I shall be noble! De Mau. Away! First Con. Five thousand crowns! Omnes. To horse! - to horse! [Exeunt CONSPIRATORS. SCENE IV. —Still night -A room in the house of COUNT DE BARADAS, lighted, &Ac. ORLEANS and DE BERINGHEN. De Ber. I understand. Mauprat kept guard without: Knows nought of the despatch- but heads the troop Whom the poor Cardinal fancies his protectors. Save us from such protection! Orle. Yet, if Huguet, By whose advice and proffers we renounced Our earlier scheme, should still be Richelieu's minion, And play us false - De Ber. The fox must then devour The geese he gripes (I'm out of it, thank Heaven!) And you must swear you smelt the trick, but seem'd To approve the deed - to render up the doers. Enter BARADAS. Bar. Julie is fled:- the King, whom now I left To a most thorny pillow, vows revenge On her - on Mauprat - and on Richelieu! Well; We loyal men anticipate his wish Upon the last - and as for Mauprat, - [Showing a writ. 71 508 B UL WE RX-L YT TON.. [ACT III. De Ber. Hum! They say the devil invented printing! 1 Faith, He has some hand in writing parchment- eh, Count? What mischief now? Bar. The King, at Julie's flight Enraged, will brook no rival in a subject So on this old offence- the affair of Faviaux Ere Mauprat can tell tales of us, we build His bridge between the dungeon and the grave. Orle. Well; if our courier can but reach the army, The cards are ours! -and yet, I own, I tremble. Our names are in the scroll - discovery, death! Bar. Success, a crown! De Ber. [apart to BARADAS]. Our future Regent is No hero. Bar. [to DE BERINGHEN]. But his rank makes others valiant; And on his cowardice I mount to power. Were Orleans Regent - what were Baradas? Oh! by the way - I had forgot, your Highness, Friend Huguet whisper'd me, " Beware of Marion: I've seen her lurking near the Cardinal's palace." Upon that hint, I've found her lodging elsewhere. Orle. You wrong her, Count. Poor Marion! - she adores me. Bar. [ apologetically]. Forgive me, but - Enter PAGE. Page. My Lord, a rude, strange soldier, Breathless with haste, demands an audience. Bar. So!The archers? Page. In the ante-room, my Lord, As you desired. Bar. 'Tis well - admit the soldier. [Exit PAGE. Huguet! - I bade him seek me here. 1 Printing was at first classed among the black arts. 72 SCENE IV.] RIICHELIEU. 509 Enter HUGUET. Huguet. My Lords, The deed is done. Now, Count, fulfil your word, And make me noble. Bar. Richelieu dead? - art sure? How died he? Huguet. Strangled in his sleep: - no blood, No tell-tale violence. Bar. Strangled? - monstrous villain! Reward for murder! Ho, there! [Stamping. Enter CAPTAIN with five ARCHERS. Huguet. No, thou durst not! Bar. Seize on the ruffian- bind him - gag him! Off To the Bastile! Huguet. Your word- your plighted faith! Bar. Insolent liar! ho, away! Huguet. Nay, Count; I have that about me, whichBar. Away with him! [Exeunt HUGUET and ARCHERS. Now, then, all's safe; Huguet must die in prison, So Mauprat: -coax or force the meaner crew To fly the country. Ha, ha! thus, your Highness, Great men make use of little men. De Ber. My Lords, Since our suspense is ended - you'll excuse me; 'Tis late - and, entre nous,1 I have not supp'd yet! I'm one of the new Council now, remember; I feel the public stirring here already; A very craving monster. Au revoir! 2 [Exit DE BERINGHEN. Orle. No fear, now Richelieu's dead. Bar. And could he come To life again, he could not keep life's life - His power, - nor save De Mauprat from the scaffold, 1 Inter nos, between us, in confidence. 2 Auf Wiedersehen, adieu until we meet again. 73 5Io 5BUL WER-L YTTON. [ACT III. Nor Julie from these arms -nor Paris from The Spaniard- nor your Highness from the throne! All ours! all ours! in spite of my Lord Cardinal! Enter PAGE. Page. A gentleman, my Lord, of better mien Than he who lastBar. Well, he may enter. [Exit PAGE. Orle. Who Can this be? Bar. One of the conspirators: Mauprat himself, perhaps. Enter FRANCOIS. Fran. My LordBar. Ha, traitor! In Paris still? Fran. The packet-the despatch Some knave play'd spy without, and reft it from me, Ere I could draw my sword. Bar. Play'd spy without! Did he wear armour? Fran. Ay, from head to heel. Orle. One of our band. Oh, Heavens! Bar. Could it be Mauprat? Kept guard at the door- knew nought of the despatchHow HE? - and yet, who other? Fran. Ha, De Mauprat! The night was dark - his vizor closed. Bar. 'Twas he! How could he guess? - 'sdeath! if he should betray us. His hate to Richelieu dies with Richelieu- and He was not great enough for treason. Hence! Find Mauprat - beg, steal, filch, or force it back, Or, as I live, the halter - Fran. By the morrow I will regain it, [aside] and redeem my honour! [Exit FRANCOIS. 74 SCENE I.] RICHELIEU. 5 I Orle. Oh, we are lostBar. Not so! But cause on cause For Mauprat's seizure - silence - death! Take courage. Orle. Should it once reach the King, the Cardinal's arm Could smite us from the grave.1 Bar. Sir, think it not! I hold De Mauprat in my grasp. To-morrow, And France in ours! Thou dark and fallen Angel, Whose name on earth's AMBITION- thou that mak'st Thy throne on treasons, stratagems, and murder, - And with thy fierce and blood-red smile canst quench The guiding stars of solemn empire - hear us (For we are thine)- and light us to the goal! ACT IV. THIRD DAY. SCENE I. - The Gardens of the Louvre. ORLEANS, BARADAS, DE BERINGHEN, COURTIERS, &C. Orle. How does my brother bear the Cardinal's death? Bar. With grief, when thinking of the toils of State; With joy, when thinking on the eyes of Julie:At times he sighs, "Who now shall govern France?" Anon exclaims -" Who now shall baffle Louis? " 2 Enter LoUIs and other COURTIERS. They uncover. Orle. Now, my liege, now, I can embrace a brother. Louis. Dear Gaston, yes.- I do believe you love me; - Richelieu denied it - sever'd us too long. A great man, Gaston! Who shall govern France? 1 " Le Cardinal disposa souverainement du ministere, de la faveur du roi, de sa confiance, lui indiqua ceux qu'il devait prefrer; et le monarque docile ne s'carta en rien de ces volont6s: de sorte qu'on peut dire que Richelieu regna mneme apres sa mort." - ANQUETIL, 1642. 2 "( When Richelieu died Louis XIII. seemed to be neither sorry nor glad. Doubtless the burden had been heavy on him; yet from what toil and responsibilities the great Minister had saved him! '- KITCHIN, I643. 75 512 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT IV. Bar. Yourself, my liege. That swart and potent star Eclipsed your royal orb. He served the country, But did he serve, or seek to sway, the King? 1 [Louis. You're right - he was an able politician - That's all: - between ourselves, Count, I suspect The largeness of his learning - specially In falcons - a poor huntsman, too! Bar. Ha-ha! Your Majesty remembers - Louis. Ay, the blunder Between the greffier and the souillard2 when - [Checks and crosses himself. Alas! poor sinners that we are! we laugh While this great man - a priest, a cardinal, A faithful servant -out upon us! - Bar. Sire, If my brow wear no cloud, 'tis that the Cardinal No longer shades the King. * Louis XIII. is said to have possessed some natural talents, and in earlier youth to have exhibited the germs of noble qualities; but a blight seems to have passed over his maturer life. Personally brave, but morally timid,- always governed, whether by his mother or his minister, and always repining at the yoke. The only affection amounting to a passion that he betrayed was for the sports of the field; yet it was his craving weakness (and this throws a kind of false interest over his character) to wish to be loved. He himself loved no one. He suffered the only woman who seems to have been attached to him to wither in a convent;-he gave up favourite after favourite to exile or the block. When Richelieu died, he said coldly, ' Voila un grand politique mort! " and when the ill-fated but unprincipled Cinq Mars, whom he called " le cher ami," was beheaded, he drew out his watch at the fatal hour, and said with a smile, " I think at this moment that le cher ami fait une vilaine mine." Nevertheless, his conscience at times (for he was devout and superstitious) made him gentle, and his pride and honour would often, when least expected, rouse him into haughty but brief resistance to the despotism under which he lived. 1 " Richelieu fit jouer a son monarque le second rang dans la monarchie, et le premier dans l'Europe; il avilit le roi, mais illustra le regne." MONTESQUIEU, Pensees diverses. 2 Greffier is a hunting-hound and souillard a wallowing-place for the wild boar. What the blunder was I am unable to say, unless we suppose Richelieu so ignorant as actually to confuse the two words. 76 SCENE I.] RICHELIEU. 5 13 Louis [looking ufp at the skies]. Oh, Baradas I Am I not to be pitied? - what a day For - Bar. Sorrow?- No, Sire. Louis. Bah! for hunting, man, And Richelieu's dead; 'twould be an indecorum Till he is buried -[ Yawns.] - life is very tedious. I made a madrigal on life last week: You do not sing, * Count?- Pity; you should learn. Poor Richelieu had no ear- yet a great man. Ah! what a weary weight devolves upon me! These endless wars -these thankless ParliamentsThe snares in which he tangled States and Kings, Like the old fisher of the fable, Proteus, Netting great Neptune's wariest tribes, and changing Into all shapes when Craft pursued himself: Oh, a great man Bar. Your royal mother 1 said so, And died in exile. Louis [sadly]. True: I loved my mother.t Bar. The Cardinal dies. Yet day revives the earth; The rivers run not back. In truth, my liege, Did your high orb on others shine as him, Why, things as dull in their own selves as I am Would glow as brightly with the borrow'd beam.: * Louis had some musical taste and accomplishment, wherewith he often communicated to his favourites some of that wearisome ennui under which he himself almost unceasingly languished. t One of Louis's most bitter complaints against Richelieu was the continued banishment of the Queen Mother. It is impossible, however, not to be convinced that the return of that most worthless intriguante was wholly incompatible with the tranquillity of the kingdom. Yet, on the other hand, the poverty and privation which she endured in exile are discreditable to the generosity and the gratitude of Richelieu; she was his first patron, though afterwards his most powerful persecutor.: In his Memoirs, Richelieu gives an amusing account of the insolence and arts of Baradas, and observes, with indignant astonishment, that the favourite was never weary of repeating to the King that he (Baradas) would have made just as great a minister as Richelieu. It is on the attachment of Baradas to La Cressias, a maid of honour to the Queen Mother, of whom, 1 Marie de Medicis. 33 77 _ ___ ___ _ _ ___I_ __ r 514 B UL WER-L YTTON. LACT IV. Louis. Ahem! - He was too stern. Orle. A very Nero.1 Bar. His power was like the Capitol of old Built on a human skull.2 Louis. And, had he lived, I know another head, my Baradas, That would have propp'd the pile: I've seen him eye thee With a most hungry fancy. Bar. [anxiously]. Sire, I knew You would protect me. Louis. Did you so? of course! And yet he had a way with him -a something That always -- But no matter - he is dead. And, after all, men call his King " The Just," * And so I am. Dear Count, this silliest Julie, I know not why, she takes my fancy. Many As fair, and certainly more kind; but yet It is so. Count, I am no lustful Tarquin, And do abhor the bold and frontless vices Which the Church justly censures; yet, 'tis sad On rainy days to drag out weary hours t - Deaf to the music of a woman's voiceBlind to the sunshine of a woman's eyes. according to Baradas, the King was enamoured also, that his love for the Julie de Mortemar of the play has been founded. The secret of Baradas' sudden and extraordinary influence with the King seems to rest in the personal adoration which he professed for Louis, with whom he affected all the jealousy of a lover, but whom he flattered with the ardent chivalry of a knight. Even after his disgrace he placed upon his banner, " Fiat voluntas tua." * Louis was called The Just, but for no other reason than that he was born under the Libra. t Louis XIII. did not resemble either his father or his son in the ardour of his attachments; if not wholly platonic, they were wholly unimpassioned: yet no man was more jealous, or more unscrupulously tyrannical when the jealousy was aroused. 1 Emperor of Rome, noted for his cruelty. Among his victims were his mother and his wife. The burning of Rome in 64 A. n. was charged to him. 2 "Caput humanum integra facie aperientibus fundamenta templi dicitur apparuisse; quxe visa species haud per ambages arcem eam imperil caputque rerum fore portendebat." - LivY, I., 55. 78 SCENE I.] RICHELIEU. 515 It is no sin in Kings to seek amusement; And that is all I seek. I miss her muchShe has a silver laugh - a rare perfection. Bar. Richelieu was most disloyal in that marriage.] Louis [querulously]. He knew that Julie pleased me:- a clear proof He never loved me! Bar. Oh, most clear! - But now No bar between the lady and your will! This writ makes all secure: a week or two In the Bastile will sober Mauprat's love, And leave him eager to dissolve a hymen That brings him such a home. Louis. See to it, Count. [Exit BARADAS. I'll summon Julie back. A word with you. [Takes aside FIRST COURTIER and DE BERINGHEN, and passes, conversing with them, through the Gardens. Enter FRANCOIS. Fran. All search, as yet, in vain for Mauprat! Not At home since yesternoon - a soldier told me He saw him pass this way with hasty strides; Should he meet Baradas - they'd rend it from himAnd then -benignant Fortune smiles upon me - I am thy son! - if thou desert'st me now, Come, Death, and snatch me from disgrace. But, no, There's a great Spirit ever in the air That from prolific and far-spreading wings Scatters the seeds of honour - yea, the walls And moats of castled forts the barren seas The cell wherein the pale-eyed student holds Talk with melodious science - all are sown With everlasting honours, if our souls Will toil for fame as boors for breadEnter MAUPRAT. De Mau. Oh, let meLet me but meet him foot to foot - I'll dig The Judas from his heart; - albeit the King 79 5 6 BUL WER-L YTTON. [ACT IV. Should o'er him cast the purple! Fran. Mauprat! hold:Where is the De Mau. Well! What wouldst thou? Fran. The despatch! The packet. - LOOK ON ME - I serve the Cardinal — You know me.- Did you not keep guard last night By Marion's house? De Man. I did; - no matter now! They told me, he was here!Fran. O joy! quick - quick - The packet thou didst wrest from me? De Mau. The packet? What, art thou he I deem'd the Cardinal's spy (Dupe that I was) —and overhearing MarionFran. The same -restore it! haste! De Mau. I have it not: Methought it but reveal'd our scheme to Richelieu, And, as we mounted, gave it to - Enter BARADAS. Stand back! Now, villain! now- I have thee! [To FRANCOIS.] Hence, sir - Draw! Fran. Art mad? -the King's at hand leave him to Richelieu! Speak - the despatch - to whomDe Mau. [dashing him aside, and rushing to BARADAS]. Thou triple slanderer! I'll set my heel upon thy crest! [A few passes. Fran. Fly -fly! The King! Enter at one side Louis, ORLEANS, DE BERINGHEN, COURTIERS, &'C.,- at the other, the GUARDS hastily. Louis. Swords drawn - before our very palace! Have our laws died with Richelieu? Bar. Pardon, Sire,80 SCENE I.] RICHELIEU. 517 My crime but self-defence.* [Aside to KING.] It is De Mauprat! Louis. Dare he thus brave us? [BARADAS goes to the GUARD, andgives the writ. De Mau. Sire, in the Cardinal's name - Bar. Seize him — disarm- to the Bastile! [DE MAUPRAT seized, struggles with the GUARD - FRANTOIS restlessly endeavouring to paczfy and speak to him - when the gates open. Enter RICHELIEU - JOSEPH -followed by ARQUEBUSIERS. Bar. The Dead Return'd to life I Louis. What a mock death! this tops The Infinite of Insult. De Mau. [breaking from the GUARDS]. Priest and hero!For you are both - protect the truth! Rich. [taking the writ from the GUARD]. What's this? De Ber. Fact in Philosophy. Foxes have got Nine lives, as well as cats! Bar. Be firm, my liege. Louis. I have assumed the sceptre - I will wield it! Joseph. The tide runs counter -there'll be shipwreck somewhere. [BARADAS and ORLEANS keep close to the KING, whispering andfprompting him when RICHELIEU speaks. Rich. High treason - Faviaux! still that stale pretence I My liege, bad men (ay, Count, most knavish men!) Abuse your royal goodness. For this soldier, France hath none braver - and his youth's hot folly, Misled - (by whom your Highness may conjecture!) - * One of Richelieu's severest and least politic laws was that which made duelling a capital crime. Never was the punishment against the offence more relentlessly enforced; and never were duels so desperate and so numerous. The punishment of death must be evidently ineffectual so long as to refuse a duel is to be dishonoured, and so long as men hold the doctrine, however wrong, that it is better to part with the life that Heaven gave than the honour man makes. In fact, the greater the danger he incurred, the greater was the punctilio of the cavalier of that time in braving it. 5 18 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT IV. Is long since cancelled by a loyal manhood.I, Sire, have pardon'd him. Louis. And we do give Your pardon to the winds. Sir, do your duty I Rich. What, Sire? -you do not know- Oh, pardon meYou know not yet, that this brave, honest heart, Stood between mine and murder! - Sire! for my sake - For your old servant's sake - undo this wrong. See, let me rend the sentence. Louis. At your peril! This is too much:- Again, sir, do your duty I Rich. Speak not, but go:- I would not see young Valour So humbled as grey Service. De Mau. Fare you well! Save Julie, and console her. Fran. [aside to MAUPRAT]. The despatch! Your fate, foes, life, hang on a word! -to whom? De Mau. To Huguet. Fran. Hush - keep counsel! - silence- hope I [Exeunt MAUPRAT and GUARD. Bar. [aside to FRANCOIS]. Has he the packet? Fran. He will not reveal [Aside.] Work, brain - beat, heart! - " There's no such word as fail! " [Exit FRANCOIS. Rich. [fiercely]. Room, my Lords, room!- the Minister of France Can need no intercession with the King. [They fa back. Louis. What means this false report of death, Lord Cardinal? Rich. Are you then anger'd, Sire, that I live still? Louis. No; but such artifice - Rich. Not mine:- look elsewhere! Louis -my castle swarm'd with the assassins. Bar. [advancing]. We have punish'd them already. Huguet now In the Bastile. - Oh! my Lord, we were prompt To avenge you - we were - Rich. WE? - Ha, ha! you hear, My liege! What page, man, in the last court grammar 82 SCENE I.] RICHELIE U. 5I9 Made you a plural? Count, you have seized the hireling:Sire, shall I name the master? Louis. Tush, my lord, The old contrivance: - ever does your wit Invent assassins, - that ambition may Slay rivals - Rich. Rivals, Sire, in what? Service to France? I have none! Lives the man Whom Europe, paled before your glory, deems Rival to Armand Richelieu? Louis. What, so haughty! Remember, he who made, can unmake.' Rich. Never! Never! Your anger can recall your trust, Annul my office, spoil me of my lands, Rifle my coffers, - but my name - my deeds, Are royal in a land beyond your sceptre! Pass sentence on me, if you will; from kings, Lo! I appeal to time! [Be just, my liegeI found your kingdom rent with heresies And bristling with rebellion; lawless nobles And breadless serfs; England fomenting discord; Austria - her clutch on your dominion; Spain Forging the prodigal gold of either Ind 2 To armed thunderbolts. The Arts lay dead, Trade rotted in your marts, your Armies mutinous, Your Treasury bankrupt. Would you now revoke 1" Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made." GOLDSMITH, The Deserted Village, 53-4. "Princes and lords are but the breath of kings." BURNS, Cot. Sat. Night, 147. "A prince can mak a belted knight, A marquis, duke, an' a' that; But an honest man's aboon his might, *Gude faith, he mauna fa' that! " BURNS, For a' That, 25-8. 2 India and the West Indies. 83 B UL WER-L YTTON. 520 [ACT IV. Your trust, so be it! and I leave you, sole Supremest Monarch of the mightiest realm, From Ganges to the Icebergs: 1 Look without; No foe not humbled - Look within; the Arts Quit for your schools their old Hesperides, The golden Italy 1 2 while through the veins Of your vast empire flows in strengthening tides TRADE, the calm health of nations! Sire, I know Your smoother courtiers please you best - nor measure Myself with them,- yet sometimes I would doubt If statesmen rock'd and dandled into power Could leave such legacies to kings! [Louis appears irresolute. Bar. [passing him whispers]. But Julie, Shall I not summon her to court?] Louis!motions to BARADAS, and turns haughtily to the CARDINAL.] Enough! Your Eminence must excuse a longer audience. To your own palace: - For our conference, this Nor place - nor season. Rich. Good my liege, for Justice All place a temple, and all season, summer! - Do you deny me justice? - Saints of Heaven! He turns from me! - Doyou deny me justice? For fifteen years, while in these hands dwelt Empire, The humblest craftsman - the obscurest vassal - The very leper shrinking from the sun, Though loathed by Charity, might ask for justice! - Not with the fawning tone and crawling mien Of some I see around you - Counts and Princes Kneeling forfavours;- but, erect and loud, As men who ask man's rights! -my liege, my Louis, 1 " Richelieu, ce prelat de qui toute lenvie Est de voir ta grandeur aux Indes se borner, Et qui visiblement ne fait cas de sa vie Que pour te la donner." MALHERBE, Ode our le Roy, Xl. 2 Italy is here compared to the garden of the Hesperides, which, according to the old legend, bore golden fruit. 84 SCENE II.] RICHELIEU. 52I Do you refuse me justice- audience even - In the pale presence of the baffled Murther? * Louis. Lord Cardinal-one by one you have sever'd from me The bonds of human love. All near and dear Mark'd out for vengeance -exile or the scaffold. You find me now amidst my trustiest friends, My closest kindred; -you would tear them from me; They murderyou forsooth, since me they love! Eno' of plots and treasons for one reign! Home! - home! and sleep away these phantoms! Rich. Sire! I - patience, Heaven! - sweet Heaven! Sire, from the foot Of that great throne, these hands have raised aloft On an Olympus, looking down on mortals And worshipp'd by their awe - before the foot Of that high throne, - spurn you the grey-hair'd man Who gave you empire - and now sues for safety? Louis. No:- when we see your Eminence in truth At the foot of the throne - we'll listen to you. [Exit LouiS. Orle. Saved! Bar. For this, deep thanks to Julie and to Mauprat! Rich. My Lord de Baradas - I pray your pardonYou are to be my successor! - your hand, sir! Bar. [aside]. What can this mean? Rich. It trembles, see! it trembles! The hand that holds the destinies of nations Ought to shake less! - poor Baradas - poor France I Bar. Insolent- [Exeunt BARADAS and ORLEANS. SCENE II. Rich. Joseph -did you hear the King? Joseph. I did -there's danger! Had you been less haughty t - * For the haughty and rebuking tone which Richelieu assumed in his expostulations with the King, see his Memoirs (passim) in Petitot's Collection, vols. 22-30 (bis). Montesquieu, in one of his brilliant antitheses, says well of Richelieu, " I1 avila le roi, mais il illustra le regne." [See page 512, note i.] t However, " orgueilleux " and " coelre " in his disputes with Louis, the Cardinal did not always disdain recourse to the arts of the courtier; once, after 85 522 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT IV. Rich. And suffer'd slaves to chuckle -" See the CardinalHow meek his Eminence is to-day" - I tell thee This is a strife in which the loftiest look Is the most subtle armour - Joseph. But - Rich. No time For ifs and buts. I will accuse these traitors! Francois shall witness that De Baradas Gave him the secret missive for De Bouillon, And told him life and death were in the scroll. I will- I will Joseph. Tush! Francois is your creature; So they will say, and laugh at you! -your witness Must be that same despatch. Rich. Away to Marion I Joseph. I have been there - she is seized — removed- imprisoned - By the Count's orders. Rich. Goddess of bright dreams, My country - shalt thou lose me now, when most Thou need'st thy worshipper? My native land! Let me but ward this dagger from thy heart, And die - but on thy bosom 1 Enter JULIE. Julie. Heaven! I thank thee I It cannot be, or this all-powerful man Would not stand idly thus. Rich. What dost thou here? Home! Julie. Home! - is Adrien there? - you're dumb - yet strive For words; I see them trembling on your lip, an angry discussion with the King, in which, as usual, Richelieu got the better, Louis, as they quitted the palace together, said rudely, " Sortez le premier; vous etes bien le roi de France." "Si je passe le premier," replied the minister, after a moment's hesitation, and with great adroitness, " ce ne peut etre que comme le plus humble de vos serviteurs;" and he took a flambeau from one of the pages to light the King as he walked before him- "I en reculant et sans tourner le dos." 86 SCENE II.] RICHELIEU. 523 But choked by pity. It was truth -all truth I Seized - the Bastile - and in your presence, too 1 Cardinal, where is Adrien? - Think-he saved Your life:- your name is infamy, if wrong Should come to his! Rich. Be soothed, child. Julie. Child no more; I love, and I am woman! Hope and suffer - Love, suffering, hope, - what else doth make the strength And majesty of woman? - Where is Adrien? Rich. [to JOSEPH]. Your youth was never young- you never loved:Speak to herJoseph. Nay, take heed- the King's command, 'Tis true - I mean- the Julie [to RICHELIEU]. Let thine eyes meet mine; Answer me but one word- I am a wife I ask thee for my home - my FATE - my ALL I Where is my husband? Rich. You are Richelieu's ward, A soldier's bride: they who insist on truth Must out-face fear; - you ask me for your husband? There - where the clouds of Heaven look darkest, o'er The domes of the Bastile! Julie. I thank you, father; You see I do not shudder. Heaven forgive you The sin of this desertion! Rich. [detaining her]. Whither wouldst thou? Julie. Stay me not. Fie I I should be there already. I am thy ward, and haply he may think Thou'st taught me also to forsake the wretched! Rich. I've fill'd those cells -with many - traitors all. Had they wives too? - Thy memories, Power, are solemn I Poor sufferer! - think'st thou that yon gates of woe Unbar to love? Alas! if love once enter, 'Tis for the last farewell; between those walls And the mute grave* -the blessed household sounds * " Selon lusage de Louis XIII., faire arreter quelqu'un pour crime d'6tat, et le faire mourir, l'etait a peu pres la meme chose." - LE CLERC. 87 -524 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT IV. Only heard once - while, hungering at the door, The headsman whets the a. Julie. 0, mercy! mercy! Save him, restore him, father! Art thou not The Cardinal-King?- the Lord of life and deathBeneath whose light, as deeps beneath the moon, The solemn tides of Empire ebb and flow? Art thou not Richelieu? Rich. Yesterday I was!To-day, a very weak old man! - To-morrow, I know not what! Julie. Do you conceive his meaning? Alas! I cannot. But, methinks, my senses Are duller than they were! Joseph. The King is chafed Against his servant. Lady, while we speak, The lackey of the ante-room is not More powerless than the Minister of France. [Rich. And yet the air is still; Heaven wears no cloud; From Nature's silent orbit starts no portent To warn the unconscious world; albeit this night May with a morrow teem which, in my fall, Would carry earthquake to remotest lands, And change the Christian globe. What wouldst thou, woman? Thy fate and his, with mine, for good or ill, Are woven threads. In my vast sum of life Millions such units merge.] Enter FIRST COURTIER. First Cour. Madame de Mauprat! Pardon, your Eminence -even now I seek This lady's home - commanded by the King To pray her presence. Julie [clinging to RICHELIEU]. Think of my dead father! - Think, how, an infant, clinging to your knees, And looking to your eyes, the wrinkled care Fled from your brow before the smile of childhood, Fresh from the dews of heaven! Think of this, And take me to your breast. 88 SCENE II.] RICHELIEU. 525.. Rich. To those who sent you!And say you found the virtue they would slay Here - couch'd upon this heart, as at an altar, And shelter'd by the wings of sacred Rome! Begone! First Cour. My Lord, I am your friend and servant - Misjudge me not; but never yet was Louis So roused against you: - shall I take this answer?It were to be your foe. Rich. All time my foe, If I, a priest, could cast this holy sorrow Forth from her last asylum! First Cour. He is lost! [Exit FIRST COURTIER. Rich. God help thee, child! - she hears not! Look upon her! The storm, that rends the oak, uproots the flower. Her father loved me so! and in that age When friends are brothers! She has been to me Soother, nurse, plaything, daughter. Are these tears?* Oh! shame, shame! - dotage! 1 Joseph. Tears are not for eyes That rather need the lightning, which can pierce Through barred gates and triple walls, to smite Crime, where it cowers in secret!- The despatch! Set every spy to work; - the morrow's sun Must see that written treason in your hands, Or rise upon your ruin. * Like Cromwell and Rienzi, Richelieu appears to have been easily moved to tears. The Queen Mother, who put the hardest interpretation on that humane weakness, which is natural with very excitable temperaments, said that "i il pleurait quand il voulait." I may add, to those who may be inclined to imagine that Richelieu appears in parts of this scene too dejected for consistency with so imperious a character, that it is recorded of him that " quand ses affaires ne reuississoient pas, il se trouvoit abattu et 6pouvant6, et quand il obtenoit ce qu'il souhaitoit, il etoit fier et insultant." 1 " When man weeps he should be alone - not because tears are weak, but because they should be sacred. Tears are akin to prayers." BULWER, What will He do with It? II., vi. 89 526 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT IV. Rich. Ay - and close Upon my corpse! - I am not made to live - Friends, glory, France, all reft from me; - my star Like some vain holiday mimicry of fire, Piercing imperial Heaven, and falling down, Rayless and blacken'd, to the dust -a thing For all men's feet to trample! Yea! - to-morrow Triumph or death! Look up, child!- Lead us, Joseph. As they are going out, enter BARADAS and DE BERINGHEN. Bar. My Lord, the King cannot believe your Eminence So far forgets your duty, and his greatness, As to resist his mandate! Pray you, madam, Obey the King - no cause for fear! Julie. My father! Rich. She shall not stir! Bar. You are not of her kindred - An orphanRich. And her country is her mother! Bar. The country is the King! Rich. Ay, is it so?Then wakes the power which in the age of iron Burst forth to curb the great, and raise the low. Mark, where she stands! - around her form I draw The awful circle of our solemn Church! Set but a foot within that holy ground, And on thy head- yea, though it wore a crown - I launch the curse of Rome! Bar. I dare not brave you! I do but speak the orders of my King, The Church, your rank, power, very word, my Lord, Suffice you for resistance: - blame yourself, If it should cost you power! Rich. That my stake. - Ah! Dark gamester! what is thine? Look to it well! - Lose not a trick. - By this same hour to-morrow Thou shalt have France, or I thy head! Bar. [aside to DE BERINGHEN]. He cannot Have the despatch? 90 SCENE II.] RICHELIEU. 527 De Ber. No: were it so, your stake Were lost already. Joseph [aside]. Patience is your game:1 Reflect, you have not the despatch! Rich. O! monk! Leave patience to the saints - for I am human! Did not thy father die for France, poor orphan? And now they say thou hast no father!- Fie! Art thou not pure and good? - if so, thou art A part of that - the Beautiful, the Sacred - Which, in all climes, men that have hearts adore, By the great title of their mother country! Bar. [aside]. He wanders! Rich. So cling close unto my breast, Here where thou droop'st lies France. I am very feeble - Of little use it seems to either now. Well, well -we will go home. Bar. In sooth, my Lord, You do need rest - the burthens of the State O'ertask your health! Rich. [to JOSEP]. I'm patient, see! Bar. [aside]. His mind And life are breaking fast! Rich. [overhearing him]. Irreverent ribald! If so, beware the falling ruins! Hark! I tell thee, scorner of these whitening hairs, When this snow melteth there shall come a flood! Avaunt! my name is Richelieu - I defy thee! Walk blindfold on; behind thee stalks the headsman. Ha! ha! - how pale he is! Heaven save my country! [Falls back in JOSEPH'S arms. [BARADAS exit,followed by DE BERINGHEN, betraying his exultation by his gestures. 1 Observe the pun. 9i 528 B UL WER-L~-l YTTONV, [ACT V. BN ACT V. FOURTH DAY. SCENE I. - The Bastile - a Corridor; in the back-ground the door of one of the condemned cells. Enter JOSEPH and GAOLER. Gaoler. Stay, father; I will call the Governor. [Exit GAOLER. Joseph. He has it, then - this Huguet; - so we learn From Francois. - Humph! Now if I can but gain One moment's access, all is ours! The Cardinal Trembles 'tween life and death. His life is power; Smite one - slay both! No JEsculapian 1 drugs, By learned quacks baptized with Latin jargon, E'er bore the healing which that scrap of parchment Will medicine to Ambition's flagging heart. France shall be saved - and Joseph be a bishop. Enter GOVERNOR and GAOLER. Gov. Father, you wish to see the prisoners Huguet And the young knight De Mauprat? Joseph. So my office And the Lord Cardinal's order warrant, son! Gov. Father, it cannot be: Count Baradas Has summon'd to the Louvre Sieur de Mauprat. Joseph. Well, well! But Huguet - Gov. Dies at noon. Joseph. At noon! No moment to delay the pious rites Which fit the soul for death. Quick - quick - admit me! Gov. You cannot enter, monk! Such are my orders! Joseph. Orders, vain man! - the Cardinal still is minister. His orders crush all others! 1:Esculapius was the god of medicine. 92 SCENE I.] RICHELIEU. 529 Gov. [lifting his hat]. Save his King's! See, monk, the royal sign and seal affix'd To the Count's mandate. None may have access To either prisoner, Huguet or De Mauprat, Not even a priest, without the special passport Of Count de Baradas. I'll hear no more! Josepjh. Just Heaven! and are we baffled thus? Despair! Think on the Cardinal's power - beware his anger. Gov. I'll not be menaced, Priest! Besides, the Cardinal Is dying and disgraced - all Paris knows it. You hear the prisoner's knell! [Bell tolls. Joseph. I do beseech you - The Cardinal is not dying. But one moment, And - hist! - five thousand pistoles! - Gov. How! a bribe! And to a soldier, grey with years of honour! Begone!Joseph. Ten thousand - twenty! - Gov. Gaoler, put This monk without our walls. Josefph. By those grey hairsYea, by this badge [touching the cross of St. Louis,l worn by the GOVERNOR] - the guerdon of your valour - By all your toils - hard days and sleepless nights - Borne in your country's service, noble son - Let me but see the prisoner! - Gov. No! Joseph. He hath Secrets of state - papers in which - Gov. [interrupting]. I know - Such was his message to Count Baradas: Doubtless the Count will see to it! Joseph. The Count! Then not a hope! - You shall - Gov. Betray my trust! Never - not one word more. You heard me, gaoler! 1 Louis IX. of France. He died in Tunis is 1270 and was canonized by Pope Boniface VIII. in 1297. 34 93 530 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT V. Joseph. What can be done? - Distraction! Richelieu yet Must —what? - I know not! Thought, nerve, strength, forsake me. Dare you refuse the Church her holiest rights? Gov. I refuse nothing - I obey my orders. Joseph. And sell your country to her parricides! Oh, tremble yet! - Richelieu - Gov. Begone! Joseph. Undone! [Exit JOSEPH. Gov. A most audacious shaveling - interdicted Above all others by the Count. Gaoler. I hope, sir, I shall not lose my perquisites. The Sieur De Mauprat will not be reprieved? Gov. Oh, fear not: The Count's commands by him who came from Mauprat Are to prepare headsman and axe by noon; The Count will give you perquisites enough - Two deaths in one day! Gaoler. Sir, may Heaven reward him! Oh, by the way, that troublesome young fellow, Who calls himself the prisoner Huguet's son Is here again -implores, weeps, raves to see him. Gov. Poor youth, I pity him! Enter DE BERINGHEN, followed by FRANOIS. De Ber. [to FRANCOIS]. Now, prithee, friend, Let go my cloak; you really discompose me. Fran. No, they will drive me hence: my father! Oh! Let me but see him once - but once - one moment! De Ber. [to GOVERNOR]. Your servant, Messire; this poor rascal, Huguet, Has sent to see the Count de Baradas Upon state secrets, that afflict his conscience. The Count can't leave his Majesty an instant: I am his proxy. Gov. The Count's word is law! Again, young scapegrace! How com'st thou admitted? De Ber. Oh! a most filial fellow: Huguet's son! 94 SCENE I.] RICHELIEU. 53I I found him whimpering in the court below. I pray his leave to say good-bye to father, Before that very long, unpleasant journey, Father's about to take. Let him wait here Till I return. Fran. No; take me with you. De Ber. Nay; After me, friend - the Public first! Gov. The Count's Commands are strict. No one must visit Huguet Without his passport. De Ber. Here it is. Pshaw! nonsense! I'll be your surety. See, my Cerberus, He is no Hercules!1 Gov. Well, you're responsible. Stand there, friend. If, when you come out, my Lord, The youth slip in, 'tisyour fault. De Ber. So it is! [Exit through the door of the cell, followed by the GAOLER. Gov. Be calm, my lad. Don't fret so. I had once A father, too! I'll not be hard upon you, And so, stand close. I must not see you enter: You understand! Between this innocent youth And that intriguing monk there is, in truth, A wide distinction. Re-enter GAOLER. Come, we'll go our rounds; I'll give you just one quarter of an hour; And if my Lord leave first, make my excuse. Yet stay, the gallery's long and dark: no sentry Until he reach the grate below. He'd best Wait till I come. If he should lose the way, We may not be in call. Fran. I'll tell him, sir. [Exeunt GOVERNOR and GAOLER. 1 The twelfth labor of Hercules was to bring up from the lower world the three-headed watch-dog Cerberus. 95 532 B UL WER-L YTTONV. [ACT V. He's a wise son that knoweth his own father.1 I've forged a precious one! So far, so well! Alas! what then? this wretch hath sent to Baradas Will sell the scroll to ransom life. Oh, Heaven! On what a thread hangs hope! [Listens at the door.] Loud words - a cry! [Looks through the keyhole. They struggle! Ho! - the packet!!! [Tries to open the door. Lost! He has itThe courtier has it- Huguet, spite his chains, Grapples! -well done! Now-now! [Draws back.] The gallery's long And this is left us! [Drawing his dagger, and standing behind the door. Re-enter DE BERINGHEN with the packet. Victory! Yield it, robberYield it - or die - [A short struggle. De Ber. Off! ho! there!Fran. [grappling with him]. Death or honour! [Exeunt struggling. SCENE II. - The KING'S closet at the Louvre. A suite of rooms in perspective at one side. BARADAS and ORLEANS. Bar. All smiles! the Cardinal's swoon of yesterday Heralds his death to-day. Could he survive, It would not be as minister - so great The King's resentment at the priest's defiance! All smiles!- And yet, should this accursed De Mauprat Have given our packet to another- 'Sdeath! I dare not think of it! Orle. You've sent to search him? Bar. Sent, sir, to search? - that hireling hands may find Upon him, naked, with its broken seal, That scroll, whose every word is death! No - No These hands alone must clutch that awful secret. I dare not leave the palace, night or day, 1 " It is a wise father that knows his own child." -Mt. of Ven., II., ii. 96 SCENE II.] RICHELIEU. 533 While Richelieu lives - his minions - creatures - spies - Not one must reach the King! Orle. What hast thou done? Bar. Summon'd De Mauprat hither, Orle. Could this Huguet, Who pray'd thy presence with so fierce a fervour, Have thieved the scroll? Bar. Huguet was housed with us, The very moment we dismiss'd the courier. It cannot be! a stale trick for reprieve. But, to make sure, I've sent our trustiest friend To see and sift him. - Hist! - here comes the King - How fare you, Sire? Enter Louis. Louis. In the same mind. I have Decided! - Yes, he would forbid your presence, My brother - yours, my friend, - then Julie, too! Thwarts - braves - defies - [Suddenly turning to BARADAS] We make you minister. Gaston, for you - the baton of our armies. You love me, do you not? Orle. Oh,love you, Sire? [Aside.] Never so much as now. Bar. May I deserve Your trust [aside] until you sign your abdication! My liege, but one way left to daunt De Mauprat, And Julie to divorce. - We must prepare The death-writ; what, though sign'd and seaPd? we can Withhold the enforcement. Louis. Ah, you may prepare it; We need not urge it to effect. Bar. Exactly! No haste, my liege. [Looking at his watch and aside.] He may live one hour longer. Enter COURTIER. Cour. The Lady Julie, Sire, implores an audience. Louis. Aha! repentant of her folly! - Well, Admit her. 97 534 BUL W/ER-L YTTON.V [ACT V. Bar. Sire, she comes for Mauprat's pardon, And the conditionsLouis. You are ministerWe leave to you our answer. [As JULIE enters, the CAPTAIN OF THE ARCHERS by another door, and whispers BARADAS. Capt. The Chevalier De Mauprat waits below. Bar. [aside]. Now the despatch! [Exit with OFFICER. Enter JULIE. Julie. My liege, you sent for me. I come where Grief Should come when guiltless, while the name of King Is holy on the earth! Here, at the feet Of Power, I kneel for mercy. Louis. Mercy, Julie, Is an affair of state. The Cardinal should In this be your interpreter. Julie. Alas! I know not if that mighty spirit now Stoop to the things of earth. Nay, while I speak, Perchance he hears the orphan by the throne Where kings themselves need pardon; O my liege, Be father to the fatherless; in you Dwells my last hope! Enter BARADAS. Bar. [aside]. He has not the despatch; Smiled, while we search'd, and braves me. - Oh! Louis [gently]. What wouldst thou? Julie. A single life. - You reign o'er millions. - What Is one man's life to you? - and yet to me 'Tis France- 'tis earth- 'tis everything! - a lifeA human life - my husband's. Louis [aside]. Speak to her, I am not marble, - give her hope - or - 98 SCENE II.] RICHELIE U. 535 Bar. Madam, Vex not your King, whose heart, too soft for justice, Leaves to his ministers that solemn charge. [Louis walks up the stage. Julie. You were his friend. Bar. I was before I loved thee. Julie. Loved me! Bar. Hush, Julie: couldst thou misinterpret My acts, thoughts, motives, nay, my very words, Here-in this palace? Julie. Now I know I'm mad; Even that memory fail'd me. Bar. I am young, Well-born and brave as Mauprat! - for thy sake I peril what he has not - fortune - power; All to great souls most dazzling. I alone Can save thee from yon tyrant, now my puppet! Be mine; annul the mockery of this marriage, And on the day I clasp thee to my breast De Mauprat shall be free. Julie. Thou durst not speak Thus in his ear [pointing to Louis]. Thou double traitor! - tremble! I will unmask thee. Bar. I will say thou ravest. And see this scroll! its letters shall be blood! Go to the King, count with me word for word; And while you pray the life - I write the sentence! Julie. Stay, stay [rushing to the KING]. You have a kind and princely heart, Though sometimes it is silent: you were born To iower - it has not flush'd you into madness, As it doth meaner men. Banish my husband - Dissolve our marriage - cast me to that grave Of human ties, where hearts congeal to ice, In the dark convent's everlasting winter(Surely eno' for justice - hate - revenge) - But spare this life, thus lonely, scathed, and bloomless; And when thou stand'st for judgment on thine own, The deed shall shine beside thee as an angel. 99 536 BUL WER-L YTTOiV. [ACT V. Louis [much affected]. Go, go, to Baradas: annul thy marriage, And - Julie [anxiously, and watching his countenance] Be his bride! Louis. A form, a mere decorum; Thou know'st I love thee. Julie. O thou sea of shame, And not one star! [The KING goes up the stage, and passes through the suite of rooms at the side, in evident emotion. Bar. Well, thy election, Julie; This hand - his grave! Julie. His grave! and I - Bar. Can save him.Swear to be mine. Julie. That were a bitterer death! Avaunt, thou tempter! I did ask his life A boon, and not the barter of dishonour. The heart can break, and scorn you: wreak your malice; Adrien and I will leave you this sad earth, And pass together hand in hand to Heaven! Bar. You have decided. [ Withdraws to the side scene for a moment, and returns. Listen to me, Lady; I am no base intriguer. I adored thee From the first glance of those inspiring eyes; With thee entwined ambition, hope, the future. I will not lose thee! I can place thee nearest — Ay, to the throne- nay, on the throne, perchance; My star is at its zenith. Look upon me; Hast thou decided? Julie. No, no; you can see How weak I am: be human, sir -one moment. Bar. [stamping his foot, DE MAUPRAT appears at the side of the stage guarded]. Behold thy husband! - Shall he pass to death, And know thou couldst have saved him? Julie. Adrien, speak! But say you wish to live! - if not, your wife, Your slave, - do with me as you will. 100 SCENE II.] RICHELIEU. 537 De Mau. Once more! Why this is mercy, Count! Oh, think, my Julie, Life, at the best, is short, -but love immortal! Bar. [taking JULIE'S hand]. Ah, loveliest - Julie. Go, that touch has made me iron. We have decided- death! Bar. [to DE MAUPRAT]. Now say to whom Thou gavest the packet, and thou yet shalt live. De Mau. I'll tell thee nothing! Bar. Hark, -the rack! De Mau. Thy penance For ever, wretch! - what rack is like the conscience? Julie. I shall be with thee soon. Bar. [giving the writ to the OFFICER]. Hence, to the headsman! [The doors are thrown opien. The HUISSIER announces "His Eminence the Cardinal Duke de Richelieu." Enter RICHELIEU, attended by GENTLEMEN, PAGES, &C., pale, feeble, and leaning on JOSEPH, followed by three SECRETARIES OF STATE, attended by SUB-SECRETARIES with papers, S&c. Julie [rushing to RICHELIEU]. You live - you live - and Adrien shall not die! Rich. Not if an old man's prayers, himself near death, Can aught avail thee, daughter! Count, you now Hold what I held on earth: - one boon, my Lord, This soldier's life. Bar. The stake, - my head! - you said it. I cannot lose one trick. - Remove your prisoner. Julie. No! No! - Enter LOUISfrom the rooms beyond. Rich. [to OFFICER]. Stay, sir, one moment. My good liege, Your worn-out servant, willing, Sire, to spare you Some pain of conscience, would forestall your wishes. I do resign my office. De Mau. You! Julie. All's over! 101 538 BUL WER-L YTTON. [ACT V. Rich. My end draws near. These sad ones, Sire, I love them. I do not ask his life; but suffer justice To halt, until I can dismiss his soul, Charged with an old man's blessing. Louis. Surely! Bar. SireLouis. Silence - small favour to a dying servant. Rich. You would consign your armies to the baton Of your most honoured brother. Sire, so be it! Your minister, the Count de Baradas; A most sagacious choice! - Your Secretaries Of State attend me, Sire, to render up The ledgers of a realm. I do beseech you, Suffer these noble gentlemen to learn The nature of the glorious task that waits them, Here, in my presence. Louis. You say well, my Lord. [To SECRETARIES, as he seats himself. Approach, sirs. Rich. I- I -faint! - air air! [JOSEPH and a GENTLEMAN assist him to a sofa, placed beneath a window. I thank you - Draw near, my children. Bar. He's too weak to question. Nay, scarce to speak; all's safe. SCENE III. - Manent RICHELIEU, MAUPRAT, and JULIE, the last kneeling beside the CARDINAL; the OFFICER OF THE GUARD behind MAUPRAT. JOSEPH near RICHELIEU, watching the KING. LOUIS. BARADAS at the back of the KING'S chair, anxious and disturbed. ORLEANS at a greater distance, careless and triumphant. The SECRETARIES. As each SECRETARY advances in his turn, he takes the portfolios from the SUB-SECRETARIES. First Sec. The affairs of Portugal, Most urgent, Sire: One short month since the Duke Braganza was a rebel. 102 SCENE III.] RICHELIEU. 539 Louis. And is still! First Sec. No, Sire, he has succeeded! He is now Crown'd King of Portugal1 - craves instant succour Against the arms of Spain. Louis. We will not grant it Against his lawful king. Eh, Count? Bar. No, Sire. First'Sec. But Spain's your deadliest foe: whatever Can weaken Spain must strengthen France. The Cardinal Would sendthe succours: - [solemnly] balance, Sire, of Europe! Louis. The Cardinal! balance!- We'll consider.Eh, Count? Bar. Yes, Sire;- fall back. First Sec. ButBar. Oh! fall back, sir. Joseph. Humph! Second Sec. The affairs of England, Sire, most urgent: Charles The First has lost a battle 2 that decides One half his realm, - craves moneys, Sire, and succour. Louis. He shall have both. - Eh, Baradas? Bar. Yes, Sire. (Oh that despatch! -my veins are fire!) Rich. [feebly, but with great distinctness]. My liege - Forgive me - Charles's cause is lost! A man, Named Cromwell,8 risen, - a great man! - your succour Would fail - your loans be squander'd! - Pause - reflect.* Louis. Reflect. - Eh, Baradas? Bar. Reflect, Sire. Joseph. Humph! * See in Cinq Mars, Vol.V., the striking and brilliant chapter from which the interlude of the Secretaries is borrowed.. In December, 1640, the Portuguese threw off the yoke of Spain and placed John, Duke of Braganza, on the throne as John IV. 2 The fight at Edgehill, October 23, 1642, was rather a drawn battle than a decisive one. It was not until after the death of Richelieu that Charles' real losses began. 8 Oliver Cromwell, afterwards Lord-Protector of the Commonwealth. 0o3 540 B UL WER-L YTTON. [ACT V. Louis [aside]. I half repent! No successor to Richelieu! Round me thrones totter! - dynasties dissolve! - The soil he guards alone escapes the earthquake! Joseph. Our star not yet eclipsed! - you mark the King? Oh! had we the despatch! Rich. Ah! Joseph! - Child - Would I could help thee! Enter GENTLEMAN, whispers JOSEPH, who exit hastily. Bar. [to SECRETARY]. Sir, fall back. Second Sec. But Bar. Pshaw, sir! Third Sec. [mysteriously]. The secret correspondence, Sire, most urgent, - Accounts of spies - deserters - hereticsAssassins - poisoners - schemes against yourself!Louis. Myself! - most urgent! - [looking on the documents]. Re-enter JOSEPH with FRANCOIS, whose pourpoint is streaked with blood. FRANCOIS passes behind the CARDINAL'S ATTENDANTS, and, sheltered by them from the sight of BARADAS, &c.,falls at RICHELIEU'S feet. Fran. 0! my Lord! Rich. Thou art bleeding! Fran. A scratch - I have not fail'd - [Gives the packet. Rich. Hush![Looking at the contents. Third Sec. [to KING]. Sire, the Spaniards Have reinforced their army on the frontiers. The Due de BouillonRich. Hold! - In this department - A paper — here, Sire, - read yourself - then take The Count's advice in't. Enter DE BERINGHEN hastily, and draws aside BARADAS. [RICHELIEU to SECRETARY, giving an open parchment. Bar. [bursting from DE BERINGHEN]. What! and reft it from thee! Ha! -hold! 104 SCENE III.] RICHELIEU. 54I Joseph. Fall back, son, it is your turn now! Bar. Death! - the despatch! Louis [reading]. To Bouillon - and sign'd Orleans 1 -Baradas, too! - league with our foes of Spain!Lead our Italian armies -what! to Paris!Capture the King- my health requires reposeMake me subscribe my proper abdication - Orleans, my brother, Regent!- Saints of Heaven! These are the men I loved! [BARADAS draws, - attemfpts to rush out, - is arrested. - ORLEANS, endeavouring to escape more quickly, meets JOSEPH'S eye and stops short. RICHELIEU falls back. Joseph. See to the Cardinal! Bar. He's dying! and I yet shall dupe the King I Louis [rushing to RICHELIEU]. Richelieu! - Lord Cardinal! - 'tis I resign!Reign thou! Joseph. Alas! too late! - he faints! Louis. Reign, Richelieu! Rich. [feebly]. With absolute power? - Louis. Most absolute! - Oh! live! If not for me- for France! Rich. FRANCE! Louis. Oh! this treason!The army - Orleans - Bouillon - Heavens! - the Spaniard!Where will they be next week? - Rich. [starting up]. There, - at my feet! [To FIRST and SECOND SECRETARY. Ere the clock strike I - the Envoys have their answer! [To THIRD SECRETARY, with a ring. This to De Chavigny 1 - he knows the restNo need of parchment here - he must not halt For sleep - for food. - In my name, - MINE! - he will Arrest the Duc de Bouillon at the head Of his army 12- Ho there, Count de Baradas, 1 A creature of Richelieu, afterward secretary of state. 2 See the quotation from Anquetil on page 442. o05 542 BUL WER-L YTTON. [ACT V. Thou hast lost the stake! - Away with him! * [As the GUARDS open the folding-doors, a view of the ante-room beyond, lined with COURTIERS. BARADAS passes through the line. Ha!-ha![Snatching DE MAUPRAT'S death-warrant from the OFFICER. See here De Mauprat's death-writ, Julie!Parchment for battledores! - Embrace your husband! - At last the old man blesses you! Julie. 0 joy! You are saved; you live - I hold you in these arms. Mau. Never to part - Julie. No - never, Adrien - never I Louis [peevishly]. One moment makes a startling cure, Lord Cardinal.t 1 Rich. Ay, Sire, for in one moment there did pass Into this wither'd frame the might of France!My own dear France- I have thee yet- I have saved thee I I clasp thee still! - it was thy voice that call'd me Back from the tomb! - What mistress like our country? * The passion of the drama requires this catastrophe for Baradas. He however survived his disgrace, though stripped of all his rapidly-acquired fortunes; and the daring that belonged to his character won him distinction in foreign service. He returned to France after Richelieu's death, but never regained the same court influence. He had taken the vows of a Knight of Malta, and Louis made him a Prior. t The sudden resuscitation of Richelieu (not to strain too much on the real passion which supports him in this scene) is in conformance with the more dissimulating part of his character. The extraordinary mobility of his countenance (latterly so deathlike, save when the mind spoke in the features) always lent itself to stage effect of this nature. The Queen Mother said of him, that she had seen him one moment so feeble, cast down, and " semi-mort," that he seemed on the point of giving up the ghost - and the next moment he would start up full of animation, energy, and life. 1 Martin, speaking of Richelieu's making his will on the 23rd of May, x642, says: " Richelieu ne se croyait pas si pres de sa fin que semblait l'indiquer cet acte solennel. Le vieux lion faisait le mort pour mettre ses ennemis hors de garde, mais il avait toujours l'ceil et l'oreille aux aguets, et ressemblait le reste de ses forces en silence." Io6 SCENE III.] RICHELIEU. 543 Louis. For Mauprat's pardon - well 1 But Julie,- Richelieu, Leave me one thing to love I - Rich. A subject's luxury I Yet, if you must love something, Sire, - love me! Louis [smiling in spite of himself]. Fair proxy for a young fresh demoiselle!1 Rich. Your heart speaks for my clients:- Kneel, my children, And thank your King, - Julie. Ah, tears like these, my liege, Are dews that mount to Heaven. Louis. Rise - rise - be happy. [RICHELIEU beckons to DE BERINGHEN. De Ber. [falteringly]. My lord - you are - most - happily - recover'd. Rich. But you are pale, dear Beringhen: -this air Suits not your delicate frame - I long have thought so:Sleep not another night in Paris: - Go,Or else your precious life may be in danger. Leave France, dear Beringhen 1 De Ber. I shall have time, More than I ask'd for -to discuss the pat. [Exit DE BERINGHEN. Rich. [to ORLEANS]. For you, repentance- absence -and confession! [To FRANCOIS. Never sayfail again. - Brave boy! [To JOSEPH. He'll be A Bishop first. Joseph. Ah, Cardinal - 2 1 Damsel, young woman. 2 See the author's note on page 491. As a matter of fact, Father Joseph died several years before Richelieu. Upon his death the Cardinal is said to have made use of such expressions as: "J'ai perdu mon bras droit," and " J'ai perdu ma consolation et mon appui." Martin (I638) writes as follows of the two men: " Si considerables qu'aient ete ses services, on a exagere outre mesure sa valeur reelle en l'elevant au niveau ou meme au-dessus de Richelieu, qui, suivant certains ecrivains, n'aurait agi que d'apres ses inspirations. Apres la 107 544 BUL WER-L YTTON. [ACT V. Rich. Ah, Joseph I [ To Louis -as Du MAUPRAT and JULIE converse apart. See, my liege- see through plots and counterplots Through gain and loss - through glory and disgraceAlong the plains, where passionate Discord rears Eternal Babel - still the holy stream Of human happiness glides on! Louis. And must we Thank for that also - our prime Minister? Rich. No - let us own it: - there is ONE above Sways the harmonious mystery of the world, Ev'n better than prime ministers! - Alas! Our glories float between the earth and heaven Like clouds which seem pavilions of the sun, And are the playthings of the casual wind; Still, like the cloud which drops on unseen crags The dews the wild flower feeds on, our ambition May from its airy height drop gladness down On unsuspected virtue; - and the flower May bless the cloud when it hath pass'd away!* 2 * The image and the sentiment in the concluding lines are borrowed from a passage in one of the writings attributed to the Cardinal. mort de Joseph, la politique du cardinal ne faiblit sur aucun point, et rien ne parut change en France. Richelieu, sans Joseph, eut toujours ete le grand Armand; Joseph, sans la haute et patriotique impulsion qu'il recut de Richelieu, n'eut peut-etre ete qu'un brouillon ultra-catholique de plus." 1 For the story of the confusion of languages at Babel see Genesis, XI. 2 For an account of the development and the reception of Richelieu see Macready's diary from Oct. 24, 1838, to March 14, 1839. io8 APPENDIX. APPENDIX. -4 ---e — SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. Page 5. Goldsmith on Sentimental Comedy. THE author submits it to the reader in his closet; and hopes that too much refinement will not banish humour and character from ours, as it has already done from the French theatre. Indeed, the French comedy is now become so very elevated and sentimental that it has not only banished humour and Moliere from the stage, but it has banished all the spectators too. Preface to The Good-Natured Man (1768). Which deserves the preference-the weeping sentimental comedy, so much in fashion at present, or the laughing and even low comedy, which seems to have been last exhibited by Vanbrugh and Cibber? If we apply to authorities, all the great masters in the dramatic art have but one opinion. Their rule is, that as tragedy displays the calamities of the great, so comedy should excite our laughter by ridiculously exhibiting the follies of the lower part of mankind. Boileau, one of the best modern critics, asserts that comedy will not admit of tragic distress: "Le comique, ennemi des soupirs et des pleurs, N'admet point dans ses vers de tragiques douleurs." Nor is this rule without the strongest foundation in nature, as the distresses of the mean by no means affect us so strongly as the calamities of the great... Yet notwithstanding this weight of authority, and the univer3 548 APPENDIX. [GOLD sal practice of former ages, a new species of dramatic composition has been introduced under the name of sentimental comedy, in which the virtues of private life are exhibited, rather than the vices exposed; and the distresses rather than the faults of mankind make our interest in the piece. These comedies have had of late great success, perhaps from their novelty, and also from their flattering every man in his favourite foible. In these plays almost all the characters are good, and exceedingly generous; they are lavish enough of their tin money on the stage; and though they want humour, have abundance of sentiment and feeling. If they happen to have faults or foibles, the spectator is taught not only to pardon but to applaud them, in consideration of the goodness of their hearts; so that folly, instead of being ridiculed, is commended, and the comedy aims at touching our passions, without the power of being truly pathetic.... But there is one argument in favour of sentimental comedy which will keep it on the stage in spite of all that can be said against it. It is of all others the most easily written. Those abilities that can hammer out a novel are fully sufficient for the production of a sentimental comedy. It is only sufficient to raise the characters a little; to deck out the hero with a ribbon or give the heroine a title; then to put an insipid dialogue, without character or humour, into their mouths; give them mighty good hearts, very fine clothes; furnish a new set of scenes; make a pathetic scene or two, with a sprinkling of tender melancholy conversation through the whole; and there is no doubt but all the ladies will cry and all the gentlemen applaud. Humour at present seems to be departing from the stage; and it will soon happen that our comic players will have nothing left for it but a fine coat and a song. The Westminster Magazine, 1773. Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts, The Terence of England, the mender of hearts; A flattering painter, who made it his care To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are. His gallants are faultless, his women divine, And comedy wonders at being so fine. Retaliation, 6i-66 (1774). SMITH.] THE MISTAKES OF A NIGHT. 549 Page 19. Goldsmith at Squire Featherston's. AT the close of his last holidays, then a lad of nearly seventeen, he left home for Edgeworthstown, mounted on a borrowed hack which a friend was to restore to Lissoy, and with store of unaccustomed wealth, a guinea, in his pocket. The delicious taste of independence beguiled him to a loitering, lingering, pleasant enjoyment of the journey; and instead of finding himself under Mr. Hughes's roof at nightfall, night fell upon him some two or three miles out of the direct road, in the middle of the streets of Ardagh. But nothing could disconcert the owner of the guinea, who, with a lofty, confident air, inquired of a person passing the way to the town's best house of entertainment. The man addressed was the wag of Ardagh, a humorous fencingmaster, Mr. Cornelius Kelly, and the school-boy swagger was irresistible provocation to a jest. Submissively he turned back with horse and rider till they came within a pace or two of the great Squire Featherston's, to which he respectfully pointed as the " best house " of Ardagh. Oliver rang at the gate, gave his beast in charge with authoritative rigour, and was shown, as a supposed expected guest, into the comfortable parlour of the squire. Those were days when Irish inn-keepers and Irish squires more nearly approximated than now; and Mr. Featherston, unlike the excellent but explosive Mr. Hardcastle, is said to have seen the mistake and humoured it. Oliver had a supper which gave him so much satisfaction that he ordered a bottle of wine to follow; and the attentive landlord was not only forced to drink with him, but, with a like familiar condescension, the wife and pretty daughter were invited to the supper-room. Going to bed, he stopped to give special instructions for a hot cake to breakfast; and it was not till he had dispatched this latter meal, and was looking at his guinea with pathetic aspect of farewell, that the truth was told him by the good-natured squire.- FORSTER, I., i. Page 31. The Royal Marriage Act. THE Duke of Cumberland had been forbidden the Court on his marriage with a handsome widow, Mrs. Horton (Lord 5 550 APPENDIX. [GOLD Carhampton's, better known as Colonel Luttrell's sister), a year before; but on the Duke of Gloucester's subsequent avowal of his marriage with another and more charming widow, Lady Waldegrave (Sir Edward Walpole's natural daughter), the King's indignation found vent in the Royal Marriage Act; which was hotly opposed by the Whigs as an edict of tyranny, Lords Rockingham and Camden contesting it at every stage in the Lords, and Goldsmith (perhaps for Burke's sake) helping to make it unpopular with the people. " We'll go to France," says Hastings to Miss Neville, "for there even among slaves the laws of marriage are respected." Said on the first night, this had directed repeated cheering and popular applause to the Duke of Gloucester, who sat in one of the boxes. FORSTER, IV., xvi. Page 53. SONG. INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN She Stoops to Conquer. AH, me! when shall I marry me! Lovers are plenty, but fail to relieve me: He, fond youth, that could carry me, Offers to love, but means to deceive me. But I will rally, and combat the ruiner: Not a look, not a smile, shall my passion discover: She that gives all to the false one pursuing her, Makes but a penitent, loses a lover. To 'rIHE EDI'rO OF The London Alagaazine. SIR, - I send you a small production of the late Dr. Goldsmith, which has never been published, and which might perhaps have been totally lost had I not secured it. He intended it as a song in the character of Miss Hardcastle, in his admirable comedy, She Stoops to Conquer; but it was left out, as Mrs. Bulkley, who played the part, did not sing. He sung it himself in private companies very agreeably. The tune is a pretty Irish 6 SMITH.] LETTER TO CRADOCK. 551 air, called The Humours of Balamagairy, to which, he told me, he found it very difficult to adapt words; but he has succeeded very happily in these few lines. As I could sing the tune, and was fond of them, he was so good as to give me them about a year ago, just as I was leaving London, and bidding him adieu for that season, little apprehending that it was a last farewell. I preserve this little relick in his own handwriting with an affectionate care. I am, Sir, Your humble Servant, JAMES BOSWELL. Page 86. Goldsmith's Letter to Cradock. MY DEAR SIR, - The Play has met with a success much beyond your expectations or mine. I thank you sincerely for your Epilogue, which, however, could not be used, but with your permission shall be printed. The story, in short, is this: Murphy sent me rather the outline of an Epilogue than an Epilogue, which was to be sung by Mrs. Catley, and which she approved. Mrs. Bulkley, hearing this, insisted on throwing up her part, unless, according to the custom of the theatre, she were permitted to speak the Epilogue. In this embarrassment I thought of making a quarrelling Epilogue between Catley and her, debating who should speak the Epilogue, but then Mrs. Catley refused, after I had taken the trouble of drawing it out. I was then at a loss indeed; an Epilogue was to be made, and for none but Mrs. Bulkley. I made one, and Colman thought it too bad to be spoken; I was obliged, therefore, to try a fourth time, and I made a very mawkish thing, as you'll shortly see. Such is the history of my stage adventures, and which I have at last done with. I cannot help saying that I am very sick of the stage; and though I believe I shall get three tolerable benefits, yet I shall upon the whole be a loser, even in a pecuniary light; my ease and comfort I certainly lost while it was in agitation. I am, my dear Cradock, Your obliged and obedient servant, OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 7 552 APPENDIX. [GOLD 552 APPEND ZX. [GOLD EPILOGUE. INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN FOR She Stoops to Conquer. Enter MRS. BULKLEY, who curtsies very low, as beginning to speak. Then enter MISS CATLEY, who stands full before her, and curtsies to the audience. Mrs. Bulkley. Hold, ma'am, your pardon. What's your business here? Miss Catley. The Epilogue. Mrs. Bulkley. The Epilogue? Miss Catley. Yes, the Epilogue, my dear. Mrs. Bulkley. Sure you mistake, ma'am. The Epilogue, I bring it. Miss Catley. Excuse me, ma'am. The Author bid me sing it. Recitative. Ye beaux and belles, that form this splendid ring, Suspend your conversation while I sing. Mrs. Bulkley. Why, sure the girl's beside herself! an Epilogue of singing? A hopeful end indeed to such a blest beginning. Besides, a singer in a comic set - Excuse me, ma'am, I know the etiquette. Miss Catley. What if we leave it to the house? Mrs. Bulkley. The house! - Agreed. Miss Catley. Agreed. Mrs. Bulkley. And she, whose party's largest, shall proceed. And first, I hope you'll readily agree I've all the critics and the wits for me. They, I am sure, will answer my commands: Ye candid judging few, hold up your hands. 8 SMITH.] A THIRD EPILOGUE. 553 What! no return? I find too late, I fear, That modern judges seldom enter here. Miss Catley. I'm for a different set, - old men, whose trade is Still to gallant and dangle with the ladies; Recitative. Who mump their passion, and who, grimly smiling, Still thus address the fair with voice beguiling: Air - Cotillon. Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever Strephon caught thy ravish'd eye; Pity take on your swain so clever, Who without your aid must die. Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu! Yes, I must die, ho, ho, ho, ho! [Da caipo. Mrs. Bulkley. Let all the old pay homage to your merit; Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit. Ye travell'd tribe, ye macaroni train, Of French friseurs, and nosegays, justly vain, Who take a trip to Paris once a year To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here,Lend me your hands. - Oh! fatal news to tell: Their hands are only lent to the Heinel. Miss Catley. Ay, take your travellers - travellers indeed! Give me my bonny Scot, that travels from the Tweed. Where are the chiels? Ah, ah, I well discern The smiling looks of each bewitching bairn. Air- A bonny young lad is my Jockey. I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day And be unco merry when you are but gay; When you with your bagpipes are ready to play, My voice shall be ready to carol away With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey, With Sawney, and Jarvie, and Jockey. Mrs. Bulkley. Ye gamesters, who, so eager in pursuit, Make but of all your fortune one va toute: 554 APPENDIX. [GOLD Ye jockey tribe, whose stock of words are few, " I hold the odds. - Done, done, with you, with you:" Ye barristers, so fluent with grimace, " My Lord, -your Lordship misconceives the case;" Doctors, who cough and answer every misfortuner, " I wish I'd been call'd in a little sooner;" Assist my cause with hands and voices hearty, Come end the contest here, and aid my party. Air - Ballinamony. Miss Catley. Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack, Assist me, I pray, in this woful attack; For sure I don't wrong you, you seldom are slack, When the ladies are calling, to blush, and hang back. For you're always polite and attentive, Still to amuse us inventive, And death is your only preventive: Your hands and your voices for me. Mrs. Bulkley. Well, madam, what if, after all this sparring, We both agree, like friends, to end our jarring? Miss Catley. And that our friendship may remain unbroken, What if we leave the Epilogue unspoken? Mrs. Bulkley. Agreed. Miss Catley. Agreed. Mrs. Bulkley. And now with late repentance, Un-epilogued the poet waits his sentence. Condemn the stubborn fool who can't submit To thrive by flattery, though he starves by wit. [Exeunt. SMITH.] A FOURTH EPILOGUE. 555 EPILOGUE. INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY FOR She Stoops to Conquer. THERE is a place, so Ariosto sings, A treasury for lost and missing things; Lost human wits have places there assign'd them, And they, who lose their senses, there may find them. But where's this place, this storehouse of the age? The Moon, says he; -but I affirm the Stage: At least in many things, I think, I see His lunar, and our mimic world agree. Both shine at night; for, but at Foote's alone, We scarce exhibit till the sun goes down: Both prone to change, no settled limits fix: And sure the folks of both are lunatics. But in this parallel my best pretence is, That mortals visit both to find their senses. To this strange spot, rakes, macaronies, cits, Come thronging to collect their scatter'd wits. The gay coquette, who ogles all the day, Comes here at night, and goes a prude away. Hither the affected city dame advancing, Who sighs for operas, and dotes on dancing, Taught by our art her ridicule to pause on, Quits the ballet, and calls for Nancy Dazeson. The gamester too, whose wit's all high or low, Oft risks his fortune on one desperate throw, Comes here to saunter, having made his bets, Finds his lost senses out, and pay his debts. The Mohawk too, with angry phrases stored, As ' Dam'me, sir,' and ' Sir, I wear a sword,' Here lesson'd for a while, and hence retreating, Goes out, affronts his man, and takes a beating. It 556 A PPENDIX. [SHER Here come the sons of scandal and of news, But find no sense-for they had none to lose. Of all the tribe here wanting an adviser Our Author's the least likely to grow wiser; Has he not seen how you your favour place, On sentimental queens and lords in lace? Without a star, a coronet or garter, How can the piece expect or hope for quarter? No high-life scenes, no sentiment:- the creature Still stoops among the low to copy nature. Yes, he's far gone: - and yet some pity fix, The English laws forbid to punish lunatics. THE RIVALS. Page 95. Lines Substituted in the Prologue. AFTER the second production of the play it was temporarily withdrawn from the stage for improvements. When it was again performed the following lines took the place of lines 5-IO in the first Prologue: How's this! the poet's brief again! Oh ho! Cast, I suppose? Att. Oh pardon me - No - No. We found the Court o'erlooking stricter laws, Indulgent to the merits of the cause; By judges mild, unused to harsh denial, A rule was granted for another trial. Serj. Then hark'ee, Dibble, did you mend your pleadings? Errors, no few, we've found in our proceedings. Att. Come, courage, sir, we did amend our plea, Hence your new brief, and this refreshing fee. 13 IDAN.] THE TWO PLOTS. 557 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. Page 199. The Two Plots. MOORE'S account of the growth of Sheridan's powers, and of the steps by which he ascended to the mastery of his art, are interesting and instructive. The Rivals sprang into being without much thought, with that instinctive and unerring perception of the right points to recollect and record, which makes observation the unconscious instrument of genius, and is so immensely and indescribably different from mere imitation. But the Schoolfor Scandal- a more elaborate performance in every way - required a different handling. It seems to have floated in the writer's mind from the moment when he discovered his own powers, stimulating his invention and his memory at once, and prompting half a dozen beginnings before the right path was discovered. Now it is one story, now another, that attracts his fancy. He will enlist those gossiping circles which he feels by instinct to be so serviceable for the stage, to serve the purpose of a scheming woman and separate a pair of lovers. Anon, departing from that idea, he will employ them to bring about the catastrophe of a loveless marriage, in which an old husband and a young wife, the very commonplaces of comedy, shall take a new and original development. Two distinct stories rise in his mind like two butterflies circling about each other, keeping him for a long time undecided which is the best for his purpose. The first plot is one which the spectator has now a little difficulty in tracing through the brilliant scenes which were originally intended to carry it out, though it is distinctly stated in the first scene between Lady Sneerwell and Snake which still opens the comedy. As it now stands, this intimation of her ladyship's purpose is far too important for anything that follows, and is apt to mystify the spectator, who finds little in the after scenes to justify it - a confusion at once explained when we are made aware that this was the original motif of the entire piece, the object of which was to separate, not Charles 13 558 APPENDIX. [KNOWLES. Surface, but a sentimental hero called Clarimont [Clerimont,] Florival, and other pastoral names, from the Maria whom he loves, and who is the ward, niece, or even step-daughter of Lady Sneerwell, a beautiful widow and leader of scandal, who loves him. But while the author is playing with this plot, and designing fragmentary scenes in which to carry it out, the other is tugging at his fancy - an entirely distinct idea, with a group of new and individual characters: the old man and his wife, the two contrasted brothers, one of whom is to have the reputation of being her lover, while the other is the real villain. At first there is no connection whatever between the two. MRS. OLIPHANT, III. VIRGINIUS. Pages 297 and 339. The Murder of Dentatus and the Affair of Virginia. To the calamities received from the enemy, the decemvirs add two flagitious deeds, one abroad, and the other in the city. In the Sabine district. Lucius Siccius, who, during the unpopularity of the decemvirs, introduced, in secret conversation with the common soldiers, mention of electing tribunes and of a secession, was sent forwards to select a place for a camp: instructions were given to the soldiers whom they had sent to accompany him in that expedition, to attack him in a convenient place and slay him. They did not kill him with impunity; for several of the assassins fell around him resisting them, whilst, possessing great personal strength and with a courage equal to that strength, he was defending himself against them, now surrounded as he was. The rest bring an account into the camp that Siccius, when fighting bravely, had fallen into an ambush, and that some soldiers were lost with him. At first the narrators were believed; afterwards a cohort, which went by permission of the decemvirs to bury those who had fallen, when they observed that none df the bodies there were stripped, that 14 KNOWLES.] MURDER OF DENTA TUS. 5 59 Siccius lay in the middle with his arms, all the bodies being turned towards him, whilst there was neither any body of the enemy, nor even any traces of them as going away; they brought back his body, saying that he had certainly been slain by his own men. The camp was now filled with indignation, and it was being determined that Siccius should be forthwith brought to Rome, had not the decemvirs hastened to perform a military funeral for him at the public expense. He was buried amid the great grief of the soldiery, and with the worst possible reputation of the decemvirs among the common people. Another atrocious deed follows in the city, originating in lust, attended with results not less tragical than that deed which drove the Tarquins from the city and the throne through the injured chastity and violent death of Lucretia: so that the decemvirs not only had the same end as the kings had, but the same cause also of losing their power. Appius Claudius was seized with a criminal passion for violating the person of a young woman of plebeian condition. Lucius Virginius, the girl's father, held an honourable rank among the centurions at Algidum, a man of exemplary good conduct both at home and in the service. His wife had been educated in a similar manner, as also were their children. He had betrothed his daughter to Lucius Icilius, who had been a tribune, a man of spirit and of approved zeal in the interest of the people. This young woman, in the bloom of youth, distinguished for beauty, Appius, burning with desire, attempted to seduce by bribes and promises; and when he perceived that all the avenues (to the possession of her) were barred by modesty, he turned his thoughts to cruel and tyrannical violence. He instructed a dependent of his, Marcus Claudius, to claim the girl as his slave, and not to yield to those who might demand her interim retention of liberty; considering that, because the girl's father was absent, there was an opportunity for committing the injury. The tool of the decemvir's lust laid hands on the girl as she was coming into the forum (for there in the sheds the literary schools were held); calling her "the daughter of his slave and a slave herself," he commanded her to follow him; that he would force her away if she demurred. The girl being stupified with terror, a crowd collects at the cries of the girl's nurse, who besought the protection of the citizens. '5 560 APPENDIX. [KNOWLES. The popular names of her father, Virginius, and of her spouse, Icilius, are in the mouths of every one. Their regard for them gains over their acquaintances, whilst the heinousness of the proceeding gains over the crowd. She was now safe from violence, when the claimant says, " that there was no occasion for raising a mob; that he was proceeding by law, not by force." He cites the girl into court. Those who stood by her advising her to follow him, they now reached the tribunal of Appius. The claimant rehearses the farce well known to the judge, as being the author of the plot, "that a girl born in his house, and clandestinely transferred from thence to the house of Virginius, had been fathered on the latter. That he stated a thing ascertained by certain evidence, and would prove it to the satisfaction even of Virginius himself, whom the principal portion of that loss would concern. That it was but just that in the interim the girl should accompany her master." The advocates for Virginia, after they had urged that Virginius was absent on business of the state, that he would be here in two days if word were sent to him, that it was unfair that in his absence he should run any risk regarding his children, demand that he adjourn the whole matter till the arrival of the father; that he should allow the claim for her interim liberty according to the law passed by himself, and not allow a maiden of ripe age to encounter the risk of her reputation before that of her liberty. Appius prefaced his decree by observing that the very law, which Virginius's friends were putting forward as the ground of their demand, clearly showed how much he favoured liberty. But that liberty would find secure protection in it on this condition, that it varied neither with respect to cases or persons. For with respect to those individuals who were claimed as free, that point of law was good, because any person may proceed by law (and act for them); with respect to her who is in the hands of- her father, that there was no other person (than her father) to whom her master need relinquish his right of possession. That it was his determination, therefore, that her father should be sent for: in the mean time, that the claimant should suffer no loss of his right, but that he should carry off the girl with him, and promise that she should be produced on the arrival of him who was called her father. When many rather x6 KNOWLES.] AFFAIR OF VIRGINIA. 56I murmured against the injustice of this decision than any one individual ventured to protest against it, the girl's uncle, Publius Numitorius, and her betrothed spouse, Icilius, just come in; and way being made through the crowd, the multitude thinking that Appius might be most effectually resisted by the intervention of Icilius, the lictor declares that "he had decided the matter," and removes Icilius, when he attempted to raise his voice. Injustice so atrocious would have fired even a cool temper. " By the sword, Appius," says he, " I must be removed hence, that you may carry off in silence that which you wish to be concealed. This young woman I am about to marry, determined to have a lawful and chaste wife. Wherefore call together all the lictors even of your colleagues; order the rods and axes to be had in readiness; the betrothed wife of Icilius shall not remain without her father's house. Though you have taken from us the aid of our tribunes, and the power of appeal to the commons of Rome, the two bulwarks for maintaining our liberty, absolute dominion has not therefore been given to you over our wives and children. Vent your fury on our backs and necks; let chastity at least be secure. If violence be offered to her, I shall implore the protection of the citizens here present in behalf of my spouse; Virginius will implore that of the soldiers in behalf of his only daughter; we shall all implore the protection of gods and men, nor shall you carry that sentence into effect without our blood. I demand of you, Appius, consider again and again to what lengths you are proceeding. Let Virginius, when he comes, consider what conduct he should pursue with respect to his daughter. Let him only be assured of this, that if he yield to the claims of this man, he will have to seek out another match for his daughter. As for my part, in vindicating the liberty of my spouse, life shall leave me sooner than my honour." The multitude was now excited, and a contest seemed likely to ensue. The lictors had taken their stand around Icilius; nor did they, however, proceed beyond threats, when Appius said, "that it was not Virginia that was defended by Icilius, but that, being a restless man, and even now breathing the spirit of the tribuneship, he was seeking an occasion for a disturbance. That he would not afford him material on that day; but in order that he. may now know that the concession has been made 36 17 562 APPENDIX. [KNOWLES. not to his petulance, but to the absent Virginius, to the name of father and to liberty, that he would not decide the cause on that day, nor interpose a decree: that he would request of Marcus Claudius to forego somewhat of his right, and suffer the girl to be bailed till the next day. But unless the father attended on the following day, he gave notice to Icilius and to men like Icilius, that neither the founder would be wanting to his own law, nor firmness to the decemvir; nor would he assemble the lictors of his colleagues to put down the promoters of sedition; that he would be content with his own lictors." When the time of this act of injustice was deferred, and the friends of the maiden had retired, it was first of all determined, that the brother of Icilius and the son of Numitorius, both active young men, should proceed thence straightforward to the gate, and that Virginius should be brought from the camp with all possible haste. That the safety of the girl depended on his being present next day at the proper time, as her protector from injury. They proceed according to directions and with all speed carry the account to her father. When the claimant of the maiden was pressing Icilius to become defendant, and give sureties, and Icilius said that that was the very thing he was doing, designedly spinning out the time, until the messengers sent to the camp might gain time for their journey, the multitude raised their hands on all sides, and every one showed himself ready to go surety for Icilius. And he with tears in his eyes says, It is very kind of you; on to-morrow I will avail myself of your assistance; at present I have sufficient sureties. Thus Virginia is bailed on the security of her relations. Appius having delayed a short time, that he might not appear to have sat on account of the present case, when no one applied, all other concerns being given up by reason of their solicitude about the one, betook himself home, and writes to his colleagues to the camp, "not to grant leave of absence to Virginius, and even to keep him in confinement." This wicked scheme was late, as it deserved to be; for Virginius, having already obtained his leave, had set out at the first watch, while the letter regarding his detention was delivered on the following morning to no purpose. But in the city, when the citizens were standing in the i8 KNOWLES.] AFFAIR OF VIRGINIA. 563 forum erect with expectation, Virginius, clad in mourning, by break of day conducts his daughter, also attired in weeds, attended by some matrons, into the forum, with a considerable body of advocates. He then began to go round and to solicit individuals; and not only to entreat their aid as a boon to his prayers, but demanded it as due to him: "that he stood daily in the field of battle in defence of their children and wives, nor was there any other man, to whom a greater number of brave and intrepid deeds in war can be ascribed than to him. What availed it, if, whilst the city was still secure, their children would be exposed to suffer the severest hardships which would have to be dreaded if it was taken?" Delivering these observations like one haranguing in an assembly, he solicited them individually. Similar arguments were used by Icillus: the female attendants produced more effect by their silent tears than any language. With a mind utterly insensible to all this, (such a paroxysm of madness, rather than of love, had perverted his mind,) Appius ascended the tribunal; and when the claimant began to complain briefly, that justice had not been administered to him on the preceding day through a desire to please the people, before either he could go through with his claim, or an opportunity of reply was afforded to Virginius, Appius interrupts him. The preamble with which he prefaced the sentence, ancient authors may have handed down perhaps with truth; because I no where find any one that was likely (to have been used) on so scandalous a business, it seems, that the naked fact should be stated as being a point which is agreed on, viz. that he passed a sentence consigning her to slavery. At first all were astounded with amazement at so heinous a proceeding; then silence prevailed for some time. Then when Marcus Claudius proceeded to seize the maiden, the matrons standing around her, and was received with piteous lamentation of the women, Virginius, menacingly extending his hands towards Appius, says, " To Icilius, and not to you, Appius, have I betrothed my daughter, and for matrimony, not prostitution, have I brought her up. Do you wish men to gratify their lust promiscuously, like cattle and wild beasts? Whether these persons will endure such things, I know not; '9 564 A PPENDIX. [KNOWLES. I hope that those will not who have arms in their hands." When the claimant of the girl was repulsed by the crowd of women and advocates who were standing around her, silence was commanded by the crier. The decemvir, engrossed in mind by his lustful propensities, states that not only from the abusive language of Icilius yesterday, and the violence of Virginius, of which he had the entire Roman people as witnesses, but from authentic information also he ascertained that cabals were held in the city during the whole night to stir up a sedition. Accordingly that he, being aware of that danger, had come down with armed soldiers; not that he would molest any peaceable person, but in order to punish suitably to the majesty of the government persons disturbing the tranquillity of the state. It will, therefore, be better to remain quiet. " Go, lictor," says he, "remove the crowd; and make way for the master to lay hold of his slave." When, bursting with passion, he had thundered out these words, the multitude themselves voluntarily separated, and the girl stood deserted a prey to injustice. Then Virginius, when he saw no aid any where, says, " I beg you, Appius, first pardon a father's grief, if I have said any thing too harsh against you: in the next place, suffer me to question the nurse before the maiden, what all this matter is? that if I have been falsely called her father, I may depart hence with a more resigned mind." Permission being granted, he draws the girl and the nurse aside to the sheds near the temple of Cloacina, which now go by the name of the new sheds: and there snatching up a knife from a butcher, "In this one way, the only one in my power, do I secure to you your liberty." He then transfixes the girl's breast, and looking back towards the tribunal, he says, " With this blood I devote thee, Appius, and thy head." Appius, aroused by the cry raised at so dreadful a deed, orders Virginius to be seized. He, armed with the knife, cleared the way whithersoever he went, until, protected by the crowd of persons attending him, he reached the gate. Icilius and Numitorius take up the lifeless body and exhibit it to the people: they deplore the villany of Appius, the fatal beauty of the maiden, and the dire necessity of the father. The matrons who followed exclaim, 20 KNOWLES.] AFFAIR OF VIRGINIA. 565 "Was this the condition of rearing children? were these the rewards of chastity?" and other things which female grief on such occasions suggests, when their complaints are so much the more affecting, in proportion as (their grief) is more intense from the natural tenderness of their minds. The voice of the men, and more especially of Icilius, entirely turned on the tribunitian power, on the right of appeal to the people which had been taken from them, and on the indignities thrown upon the state. The multitude was excited partly by the atrocious nature of the deed, partly by the hope of recovering their liberty through a favourable opportunity. Appius now orders Icilius to be summoned before him, now on refusing to come to be seized; at length, when an opportunity of approaching him was not afforded to the beadles, he himself proceeding through the crowd with a body of young patricians, orders him to be taken into confinement. Now not only the multitude, but Lucius Valerius and Marcus Horatius, the leaders of the multitude, stood around Icilius: who, having repulsed the lictor, stated, that " if he meant to proceed by law, they would protect Icilius from one who was but a private citizen; if he desired to employ force, that they would be no bad match for him even then." Hence arises a furious scuffle. The decemvir's lictor attacks Valerius and Horatius: the fasces are broken by the people. Appius ascends the tribunal; Horatius and Valerius follow him. To them the assembly pays attention, they drown with clamour the voice of the decemvir. Now Valerius authoritatively ordered the lictors to depart from one who was but a private citizen: when Appius, whose spirits were now broken, being alarmed for his life, betook himself into a house in the vicinity of the forum, unknown to his enemies, with his head covered up. LIvY, III., 43-49, Spillan's trans. 21 566 A PPENDIX. [BULWER RICHELIEU. Pages 443 and 456. BARADAS. IL etoit ne en Bourgogne, gentilhomme, et fut d'abord page de la petite dcurie. On ne sait comment Baradas vint a bout de plaire a Louis XII I; mais il y r6ussit tellement que ce prince ne pouvoit se passer de sa compagnie: il etoit meme jaloux des politesses qu'on pouvoit faire a son favori, et vouloit qu'il n'acceptat rien d'autre personne que de lui. En six mois il le fit premier 6cuyer, premier gentilhomme de la chambre, capitaine de Saint-Germain, et lieutenant de roi en Champagne. En moins de temps encore on lui 6ta tout; et, des debris de sa grandeur, k peine lui resta-t-il de quoi payer ses dettes: de sorte que, pour signifier une grande fortune dissipee aussi promptement qu'acquise, on disoit en proverbe: fortune de Baradas. I1 etoit peu souple, peu complaisant, et montroit trop ouvertement son degout pour fa vie molle de la court, sur-tout pour les amusements pudrils de Louis XIII. On dit aussi qu'il 6toit fier et peu endurant, et qu'il eut un jour la hardiesse de faire un appel au marquis de Souvre, en prdsence du roi, ce qui occasiona sa disgrace: mais la veritable cause, c'est que, voyant la r6pugnance du monarque i souffrir le mariage de son frere, en bon courtisan, il conseilla i son maitre de ne le pas permettre: par-la il se trouva lie avec la cabale contraire a Richelieu, quoiqu'il fut ennemi personnel de Chalais, son rival dans la faveur. Louis XIII fut quelque temps sans r6vdler au cardinal la conduite de son favori: mais enfin, dans un moment d'humeur, ce secret lui echappa; et le ministre, qui n'avoit pas pu plier ce jeune homme i d6pendre de lui, et qui voyoit dans son caractere altier un 6loignement invincible pour la soumission, le fit cong6dier. - ANQUETIL, 1626. Page 443. The Day of Dufpes. THE Queen Mother, Mary de' Medici, steadfastly holding by the high-Catholic and Spanish party, had determined to have 22 LYTTON.] THE DA Y OF DUPES. 567 one great and final struggle with Richelieu, and to overthrow him. She was supported by a formidable coalition: Gaston of Orleans, contemptible enough in himself, was yet the heir of the throne, and no one thought that Louis would live long. Besides him she had at her back the great House of Guise, ~pernon, Bassompierre, Cr6qui, and the two Marillacs, the Marshal, and the Keeper of the Seals. The relief of Casale and peace in Italy had brought things to a point. Nevers, her foe, was to be secured in Mantua by the Emperor's hand: the renown of the Cardinal was daily growing, as success attended the French arms and negociations. But Casale being out of peril, Louis XII I. could now no longer allege that the Cardinal was essential for him and for France: Richelieu's very success, they thought, might be turned to his ruin. The Queen Mother, however, though she held the place of Catherine de' Medici, had little or nothing of her finesse, her self-control, her high intelligence: she was a brutal and violent woman, a fanatic and a partisan. Her means were singularly ill-chosen: she thought she could overbear the weak King by violence; - she had heard Richelieu scold him like a boy; and had observed that the Cardinal's influence had not suffered from his plain speaking. She determined that she too would speak out, and did so with emphasis and oaths. The King seemed to yield to her fierce invectives, to the storm of passion with which she overwhelmed the Cardinal in his absence. Louis retired from her presence in great agitation: and the Queen Mother, following up her advantage, made him sign the first of the two despatches, which was instantly sent off to Casale. No sooner had Louis signed the document than he rode off to Versailles to hunt, hoping thereby to find calm for his troubled spirit, and to be rid of the turmoil in the quiet of the woods, doubtless also thinking in the excitement of the chase to forget his own weakness and ingratitude towards his faithful servant. Catherine de' Medici would never have lost sight of one of her sons for a moment; but Mary, blinded by triumph, stayed behind in Paris, that she might enjoy her success: it cost her dear. The obsequious friends who thronged to pay her court at the Luxembourg heard how the Cardinal was down: how the dreadful scheme of the Cardinal's party, which embraced not only the marriage of 23 568 APPENDIX. [BULWER Madame de Combalet, Richelieu's niece, to the Count of Soissons, but the deposition of Louis XIII., the seizure of the throne and the setting thereon of the Count and his new spouse, had been defeated by the plain speaking of the Queen Mother: how the two Marillacs should now rule the state, the one at home, the other in the field: how the Spanish alliance should flourish and carry all before it: how the despatch had been already sent off to Italy: how the proud Cardinal had hastily packed up his valuables and was perhaps even now on his way to Havre. Swift couriers sped with the tidings to all the hostile Courts, to Brussels and Madrid, to Vienna, even to Turin. But while the two Queens thus lived in this pleasant buzz of falsehoods and fatal hopes, the vigilant Cardinal had already followed his master to Versailles, and in a single interview had smitten down all their cardboard fabric. The King, who had seen clearly enough that their triumph would be his own overthrow and reduction to nothingness, threw himself entirely into Richelieu's hands: and the Queens woke up next morning to find themselves and their party the silly victims of ' The Day of Dupes.' Nor was their punishment leaden-footed. The despatch to Marshal Marillac was recalled: Gaston of Orleans thought it well to yield; the Marshal's staff was granted to Montmorency and Toiras, to reward or to secure them: the Queen Mother was forced to bow her head and be silent; Queen Anne for the moment was curbed. - KITCHIN, I630. See the fuller and somewhat different account of The Day of Dupes in Martin's Histoire de France under the year I630. The story of the interviews with the Queen is vividly told by Anquetil in the following: Le II novembre, fete de Saint Martin, jour fameux dans les fastes de l'histoire de ce temps, et qu'on a nomme a journee des dupes, est fix6 pour cette explication, qui devoit tout raccommoder et qui brouilla tout. Madame de Combalet est admise, en pr6sence du roi, a l'audience de la reine, qui demuroit au Luxembourg: elle se jette h ses pieds et lui demande pardon de lui avoir deplu. Marie la recoit froidement, et 24 LYTTON.] GZNQ MARAS AND BOUILLON. 569 biento't, lasse de se retenir, elle se laisse aller ht toute la fougue de son caracte're, l'accable de reproclhes et d'injures, la traite d'ambitieuse, d'ingrate, de fourbe, de femme d6borde'e, et avec tante de petulence, que le monarque ne peut la contenir, et est oblige' de faire signe ht cette dame de se retirer. Ii ta~che de calmer sa mare, la conjure de se mod~rer; et, croyant avoir trouv6 un moment favorable, il appelle le cardinal. Celui-ci, qui avoit vu sortir sa ni~ce toute en larmes, entre lui-me'me en tremblant. Cette sce~ne commence et finit comme l'autre. La reine, plus irrit~e qu'adoucie par les excuses de Richelieu, qu'elle traite de soumission hypocrite, pleure, sanglote, s'6crie que le cardinal est un perfide, un sce'l6rat, l'homme le plus m~chant et le plus detestable du royaume. "1Vous ignorez ses projets, dit-elle h son fils; il n'attend que le moment oiui le comte de Soissons aura dpous6 sa ni&e, pour lui mettre votre couronne sur la te'te." -"1 Mais, madame, lui disoit le roi attendri et 6mu, madame, que dites-vous la? A quel exce's vous transporte votre col're? C'est un homme de bien et d'honneur; il m'a toujours servi fide'lement; je suis tre's satisfait de lui; vous me de'sobligez, vous me mettez?h la gene; j'aurai de la peine h revenir du chagrin que vous me faites." Peu touch~e de l'tat violent oii elle mettoit son fils, dont peu de choses alte'roit la sant6, elle persdv~re dans son emportement; il est oblig6, pour mettre fin?h une sc~ne aussi d~sagr6able, d'ordonner brusquement au cardinal de sortir. Celui-ci se croit perdu; il se retire constern6, et peu apre's le roi sort lui-me'me, profond~ment bless6 de la double offense de sa mare, qui lui manquoit si ouvertement de parole et d'e6gards. - ANQUETIL, 1 630. Page 443. Cinq Mfars and Bouillon. THE exiles in the north had been smitten back in 1641; the foes at Court, in spite of Richelieu's most rigorous exclusion of all but persons supposed to be devoted to himself, were still active and mischievous. One of these, Cinq Mars, the Grand Equerry, a mere boy, observing that the King chafed under the Cardinal's rule, and weary of the dulness of Court-life, entered on a wide circuit of intrigues with the Queen Mother, with Gaston, with the Duke of Bouillon, and. at last with the Spanish 2 5 570 APPENDIX. [BULWER Court. He also imparted his plans to young De Thou, his friend, son of the historian 'Thuanus,' who tried to dissuade him from the attempt, and refused to take any part in it. Richelieu, suspecting mischief - for he had a thousand ears -thought well to take steps to defeat the plot; he confined the war elsewhere to the defensive, while he persuaded the King to take the command of a strong army on the Spanish frontier, threatening to penetrate into Catalonia, and perhaps to dictate peace at Madrid. The King and his Minister, invalids alike, moved to the south by different roads: and Cinq Mars, thinking all things favourable, the Cardinal absent, the Court drawing near to the Spanish borders, where there were greater facilities for communication and a refuge in case of stress, redoubled his efforts, and seemed to carry the King completely with him. Strange is this last struggle over the dying King and the dying Cardinal. Richelieu had scarcely strength to continue his journey: while the King commanded at the siege of Perpignan, the Minister lay at Tarascon, within reach, if things finally went wrong, of Avignon or even of Italy. Louis XIII., selfish and ungrateful though he might be, knew, as by instinct, that he could not stand a single day in the midst of the bewildering entanglements and risks of European politics without the support of Richelieu's iron hand: to be free was to be miserable; no caged bird escaping in wintry weather would have more lamented his release; and Louis knew also that if Richelieu were gone he would only exchange a nobler for a baser dependence. It must in justice be added that there was this good point in the King's character, that he really desired to advance the honour and dignity of France, little as he himself had done for it: the knowledge of this gives us now, as on the Day of Dupes, the clue to the King's conduct, and made it possible for Richelieu to outwit his enemies and secure his final triumph. When the moment came at which the plot against the great Minister was to take effect, and Louis should have shaken himself free, the King, instead of deposing Richelieu, sent Chavigny, one of the Cardinal's most trusted adherents, to Tarascon, where he was lying, with a friendly message. The Cardinal answered by placing in Chavigny's hands a copy of the secret treaty between Cinq Mars and 26 LYTTON.] CINQ MARS AND BOUILLON. 57I Spain. This quite decided the King's action: he ordered Cinq Mars and De Thou to be arrested; the Duke of Bouillon, who was commanding in Piedmont, was seized, even at the head of his army, and shut up in Casale; the Duke of Orleans was a prisoner at Blois. Then the King rejoined his great Minister at Tarascon, and named him ' Lieutenant-General of the realm with full powers.' Having thus finally placed all authority in Richelieu's hands, he returned to Paris, while the Cardinal slowly made his way up the Rhone. It was a strange sight to see the dying Minister, as cold and hard as ever, a soul of steel in a body of ice, lying in his barge, scarcely strong enough to move, while towed behind in another boat were the two state-prisoners, whom he was dragging to their execution at Lyons. It was a gloomy triumph, ' in the manner, but not with the glory, of the Roman consuls who entered the eternal city with their captives bound behind their chariot; an act more pagan than Christian.' Richelieu was stern and relentless; all France, now on his side, condemned as traitors the conspirators who would have sold their country to the foreigner. Gaston of Orleans, scared by the overthrow, this time more complete than ever, of all his unpatriotic schemes, fled from Blois to Bourbon, and thence sent to the Cardinal a full and abject submission, buying once more after his contemptible fashion his own pardon by a mean and cowardly abandonment of his accomplices. He supplied the actual proofs on which Cinq Mars and De Thou were condemned and decapitated at Lyons in the autumn of 1642. Like some great hero of antiquity, Richelieu had sent worthy victims before him to the shades; he now made ready to follow. He returned to Paris, carried in a great litter with the utmost care: as he went none came forth to bless him: France seemed to rega.rd him with fear, amazement, admiration, as something scarcely human. He had now not long to live: these last three months, however, saw his chief ambitions for the State fulfilled: and as no man ever identified himself more distinctly with his country, we may believe that the late autumn months of 1642 brought the dying Minister some sense of happiness, and some reward for all the manifold toils and perils of his life. - KITCHIN, 1642. 27 I