THE DRAMATIC WORKS OF OLIVER S. LELAND.-NO. 3. BEATRICE; -R, THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. A. PLI.A.T, IN FIVE ACTS. BY OLIVER S. LELAND, &TLBOI OF "TX BgETIS Of L" —" 0PBIaC3X" -- "UB UlI BUimiA" 0 I-S BOSTON: WILLIAM V. SPENCEICT, 128 WASRHIXTON ST. (COR. OF WATER.) 1858. Entered, aeordin to Act of Congress in the year 188, by OLIVR 8. LLLAD, I th Clerk's Ofilce of the Dirfict Oourt of the Distriet of MSLacheustt Arch Street Theatre, Philadelphia, 1857. COUNT RAMIRO DI PESCHIERA, (an Italian exile,)............... Mr. E. L. Davenport LORD WALTER COURTENAY, (his friend,)......................... " Wm. Wheatley LORD LANDSMERE, (an old nobleman,)........................ " John Dolman REV. MR. HOFFMAN, (President of the Society,)................. " A. Fisher MARK BELLAMY, (an old gardener,) " W. S. Fredericks RICHARDS, (secr'y to Landsmere,) " M'Cullough WILLIAM, (servant to Landsmere,) " D. Reilly BEATRICE DI NEGRA, (an Italian adventuress,).................... Mrs. E. L. Davenport LADY EDITH BELLENDEN, (niece to Lord Landsmere,)............. " M. Elmore CLARA BELLENDEN, (her daughter,).......................... Miss Emma Taylor MRS. FANNY FITZHERBERT, (COnfidant of Beatrice,)............... Mrs. Thayer FRANCESCA, (maid-to Beatrice,)... Miss Clara Reed SCENE - London. TIME - Present day. COSTUMES - Modern. TIME OF REPRESENTATION-Three hours. NOTICE. - Any manager permitting this work to be performed in his theatre, without the written permission of the author, is liable to a penalty of not less than ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS for each performance -in conformity with the new Copyright Act. / /'BE / RICE; /^ BEATRICE, OR, THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. ACT I. SCENE I.- Lodgings of the COUNT DI PESCHIERA, 1 G. Doors L. H. 1 E. - E. H. 1 E., a handsome table; c., chairs,,c. COUNT DI PESCHIERA, L. H., and LORD WALTER COURTENAY, R. H., discovered seated at table, on which are wine and glasses. Lord Walter. By Jove, count, I give you fair notice, if you don't move your lodgings a little more earthward, you'll not see much of me this winter. What a strange whim this is of yours! - this affected contempt of ground floors. Peschiera. Affected! 0 Walter! nothing is less natural for the human soul than a ground floor. We are quite far enough from heaven, mount as many stairs as we will, without grovelling through preference. Lord W. But according to your symbolical view of the subject, you should lodge in an attic. Pes. So I would; but I abhor new slippers, and have an affection for my hair brush. Lord W. And what have slippers and hair brushes to do with attics? Pes. Try. Make your bed in an attic, and the next morning you will have neither. Lord W. And what will I have done with them? Pes. Done? Per Bacco. Shied them at the cats, to be sure. Lord W. Ah, count, I see you have not changed. I had hoped better things of you, when, two years since, I heard that you had taken up your abode in London. I could not presuppose that you would shun society, and be as great a hermit here as under the vines of Como. Pes. My dear Walter, I have sat in your stranger's gallery, and heard your great speakers; I have been in the pit of the Opera, ald 1* (,5) 6 BEATRICE, OR [ACT 1. seen your fine ladies; I have walked your streets, I have lounged in your parks, and I say that I can't fall in love with a faded dowager, because she fills up her wrinkles with rouge and powder. Lord W. Dowager! What dowager? Pes. One who has many names. Some call her Fashion, others Politics; it is all one: I mean London life. No, I can't fall in love with her, the old harridan. Lord W. I wish you could fall in love with something. Pes. I wish I could, with all my heart; but women, nowadays, are so knowing that one is a fool to become their dupe. If they marry you, it is on pure algebraical principles; you are but the x or y that represents a certain amount of goods matrimonial - pedigree, title, rent roll, diamonds, opera box, et cetera. They cast you up with the help of mamma, and you wake some morning to find that plus wife, minus affection equals the devil. Lord IV. Nonsense, count; you are too cynical. I grant you that it is man's misfortune to be married often for what he has, rather than what he is; but you are tolerably penetrating, and not likely to be deceived in the woman you marry. Pes. Cospetto, woman is a changeable thing, as'our Virgil informed us when at school, and her one great change is from the fairy you woo to the brownie you wed. You marry a girl for her accomplishments, she paints charmingly, and plays like St. Cecilia. Clap a ring on her finger, and she never draws again, except, perhaps, your caricature on the back of a letter, and never opens the piano after the honeymoon. You marry her for her sweet temper, and the first time you contradict her, look out for a storm of hysterics. You marry her because she hates balls and likes quiet, and, ten to one, she becomes a patroness at Almack's or a lady in waiting. No, Walter, I'm not vet old enough to marry. Besides, who would accept me, an exiled prince, a count without a coin, a duke without a ducat? But let us talk no more of this: to gayer subjects. You, then, my Walter, have at last given over wandering, and come back to settle down in London? Lord W. Yes, at last. Dear old England; no clime I yet have seen can win me from thee, not even thy fair land, my Peschiera. Pes. 0 Walter, Walter, I fear it's not so much your love of country as some other love that brings you back at last. Lord TV. Well, well, perhaps you're right; but of that anon. But tell me what news in London; for while I've been wandering in your land, here have you become a denizen of mine. Tell me who is your fair country woman of whose beauty, charity, and wealth the whole city talks? Pes. What! Beatrice de Negra. Did you not know her when in Italy? Lord IV. No, at least I do not recollect her. Of all the fair dames I knew in Italy, there was but one Beatrice, a Beatrice Franzini - the fairest outside, but at heart a monster. Pes. And you knew her? Lord W. Alas, would that I had not! But of this Madame di Negra? You know her? Pss. I do, indeed, and better than most men in London. She SCENE I.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 7 passes for the widow of the Count di Negra - of the Genoese branch of the family. Lord VW. The Count di Negra? I knew him well; but knew not he was ever married. Pes. (Aside.) Nor he either, poor fellow! It was only after his death his widow conceived the idea of marrying him. - (Very seriously.) Walter, I will say that to you I would not say to any other man. You are my friend, and to you alone of these cold island lords has my heart ever warmed. Beware of Beatrice di Negra! She is not what she seems, and, should you meet her, shun her as you would a viper. Young, rich, and beautiful, formed, as it seems, expressly to ensnare the heart of man, in her very fascination lies the danger. But beneath that glittering mask, gilded by youth and beauty, beneath this world of pleasure, gayety, and love, there lurk the deepest crimes, and there is preparing the most bitter expiation. More I cannot say now, for I am bound to her by ties I cannot break; but beware; avoid her as you would avoid a pestilence. Lord W. Ah, count, fear ndt for me; against the magic of all woman's smiles I am fully armed, for my heart and faith are plighted to another. Listen. Last autumn Pes. (Interrupting.) Ah, that's a dangerous season for the heart, especially in the country where the solitude gives full career to the imagination, where each falling leaf is an elegy ready made, and where you feel the need of falling in love to avoid falling into a consumption. Lord W. And I chose love as the least dangerous. Last October I first met her, a fair young English girl, her heart pure as the flowers of her virgin crown, as yet uncorrupted by a knowledge of the world. She came up to London; I followed: you know the tradition. I am engaged, and in three weeks shall be a husband. To-day we meet to sign the contract. (They rise.) But I must be off; I have so much to do preparing for my wedding, that I can hardly call an hour mine own. Come, my carriage is at the door. Can I set you down any where? Pes. Do you go near Curzon Street? Lord W. Curzon street! Why, that's the residence of this fair Italian. Ah, count, I fear you are not so much a woman-hater as you pretend. Pes. Hate women! Not so, amigo mio! Vomen I look upon as I do upon pictures - excellent embellishments of a finely furnished house. But first obtain your house; then, and not till then, think of your pictures. Yet when you would select that rarest work of art, your wife, avoid false colors, and beware of Beatrice di Negra. (They go out, L. H.; scene changes.) 8 BEATRICE, OR [ACT I. SCENE II. - The Boudoir of BEATRICE DI NEGRA. L. H. 2 E., a fireplace; side doors,.. H. 1. and L. H. 1 E.; large doors inflat, open, and disclosing inner room; a table, L. H., with toilet glass; a sofa on R. H., and opposite second entrance a prie-dieu; up stage in c. a work table; complete and elegant appointments; scene closed in, and carpet down. BEATRICE discovered alone, seated L. H., arranging her hair before the toilet glass. Bea. How badly my hair is dressed! That Francesca is so stupid; but then had she more wit, she would be more clear-sighted. We must bear with her as she is. (She continues to arrange her hair and the folds of her dress; a bell is heard.) Ah, some one is coming! I must to my devotions. (Kneels before the prie-dieu.) Enter PESCHIERA, C. D. F. Pes. (Smiling.) It is only I. You need not play the devotee. Bea. (Rising. Aside.) This man again! But patience, good heart. (Goes up to PESCHIERA.) Well, have you seen the earl? Pes. Yes, I saw him yesterday. Bea. (R. H.) And how fares he? Pes. (L. H.) Badly. Bea. Does he suffer much? Is he very lonely? Pes. Not so much as you hope. Bea. Ah! His niece, then, Lady Bellenden, is always with him. Does she ever speak of me? Pes. Before me, no; at least I don't recollect it. Ah, cospetto! What am I saying! Yesterday she remarked that she did not like hypocrites. Bea. And you call that speaking of me! Mother and daughter visit him then every evening? Pes. Yes, unfortunately. Bea. And why unfortunately? Pes. Because in listening to his niece, who is very entertaining, the good, gouty old man forgets his loneliness and your ingenious absence Bea. My ingenious absence Pes. Is not so much remarked. All day yesterday the earl was playing with his little niece. She is going to be married, too, I hear. Bea. (Astonished.) Married! that little thing! (Significantly.) That may not be so easy. (Sits on sofa, R. H.) Pes. And why not? Bea. There is a certain story in regard to her - Pes. What! Clara, so young, so innocent! Has the breath of slander already poisoned her fair life? Bea. What could you expect? A young girl so lightly educated. Pes. Lightly? Her mother has never left her for a day. Bea. A day, perhaps. But the story does not say it was by day. SCENE II.] THE PALSE AND THE TRUE. 9 Pes. (Leaning on chair, R.) Ah, a nocturnal meeting! What nonsense! At her age we sleep at night; a serenade, a charivari even, would not awaken us. It is impossible. But beware, beware! if this charming girl is always near to amuse the old earl's weariness, he may forget to marry you. Bea. That troubles me little. Pes. Her influence increases every day. He finds her charming, and I am of his mind. Bea. 0, you are always of his mind. You repeat every thing he says. You are a perfect echo. Pes. Cospetto! and do you reproach me with it, when it is through your orders that I have thus sacrificed myself in becoming the echo of a tiresome old man? Bea. But the earl is not a tiresome old man. He is well read, and has travelled much. Pes. His travels —yes; I know them all by heart. They fatigued him less than they have me. Bea. The story of his diplomatic missions is to me very interesting. Pes. And to me very stupid. I can never forgive him for having entrapped me in that style - an earl, an old soldier, too, who talks of nothing but protocols and parchments, and who, instead of gathering around him a jolly set of aides-de-camp, with whom he might laugh, drink, and smoke, is surrounded by grave old secretaries, who, with pen behind the ear, talk nothing but Latin. Bea. You regret, then, the noise of battle? Pes. Yes, I prefer it to the whisperings of diplomacy. Bea. Ah, that tires you. Pes. It puts me to sleep; and of what use are my hours of admiring patience, if I lose, in a moment's sleeping, the fruit of all my vigils? Bea. You are ever jesting. Pes. Well, then, let us speak seriously. Two years ago, when you came to London with the intention of marrying the Earl of Landsmere, you waited six months before you visited him: that was a stroke of genius. But now to absent yourself eight days is the height of imprudence. When do you return to him? Bea. Not for two days. Pes. Two days! Beatrice, you are wrong. In two days your place will be usurped, and you forgotten. You count, perhaps, on the gout to fix this wounded butterfly. Believe me, it is a false calculation. A woman of wit ought never to seem to flee from a man unless he can pursue her; and to fly a man who has the gout, is the very infancy of art. But I am not your dupe. There is another reason. You have not told me all. Ben. You have guessed rightly. Yes, a meeting, a recognition which troubles me. Yesterday, as I was going out very early to visit the poor Pes. Ah! it is not worth while for you to tell me all that. Ben. How, sir? Do you not believe that I went out early yesterday? Pes. 0, I believe that you went out early, very early, if you please, only I don't believe in your poor; that'sall. 10 BEATRICE, OR [ACT I. Bea. (Rising angrily, and crossing.) Count, this tone which you have of late assumed with me has at last become unbearable. Pes. 0, I have no doubt, signora, that it must be excessively annoying, when we wish to pass for an immaculate virtue, to have for a confidant a cynic philosopher, who is always disarranging the decorous gravity of our pose. Bea. (Angrily.) Count — Pes. A free talker like myself, who is always reminding you of a certain secret. Bea. ( With emotion.) Hush, hush. Have you not promised never to recall that frightful souvenir. I do not remind you of your past life. (Sits upon the sofa.) Pes. Per Bacco, I think not, indeed. I do not lie. I am with you as I really am. Were I indeed to descant to you upon my wisdom, upon the extreme order of my affairs, would you not impatiently exclaim, "But, sir, your wisdom did not prevent you from ruining yourself at play, from losing all your money and all your credit, and from contracting debts to the amount of five thousand pounds, which I have loaned you, and which you owe me still." Well, when I see you affect the prude with me, and pretend to so much sanctity and charity, it makes me nervous; it exasperates me. I would rather be insulted. Bea. Ramiro, you are mistaken. In hearing you discourse of your prudence and wisdom, I should not be exasperated. I should believe you. Pes. Good! now you are practising hypocrisy on my account. Cospetto, what a woman! Bea. And as for my five thousand pounds, I have no uneasiness upon that score. I know you will repay me. Pes. Doubtless. I don't happen to have them at present, but I have an uncle who represents them. You loaned me this sum; that is, you discounted my uncle. It was a great service, which I shall not forget. So, do with me as you please. I will serve you, and your secret, which I know too well, I will keep. Bea. But what do you call my secret? It is a mournful memory. Pes. A memory! say rather a remorse. Bea. Peschiera! Pes. Ah, there you begin again. You are as skilful in deceiving yourself as you are in deceiving others. But I know the truth. Bea. The truth? Pes. Yes, the truth, and, once for all, let us clearly establish it. Five years ago you were travelling in Scotland. Sir Douglas Malcolm saw and loved you. You yielded to his suit, and granted him a rendezvous in the pavilion of Redcastle. But you were watched, and, at the sound of voices, Malcolm, fearing to compromise you, leaped from the window. Bea. (Almost fainting.) 0, hush, hush! Pes. His gun caught in the sill, and exploded. He fell, bathed in blood. Bea. Could I help him? Pes. At least, yog need not have fled- have abandoned him. SCENE n.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 11 But no! you left him there alone to die - him who loved you! Yes! you left him there to die, because the fear of shame had seized upon your soul; because to call for help was to denounce yourself; because you played the prude, and, for a prude, a man's life is nothing to a woman's reputation. Bea. (With anger.) But I weep for him; I weep for him. Do you not see my tears? Pes. And so I pity you. But you know I am not the sole possessor of this secret. That bouquet of violets forgotten by you, and left in the pavilion, has served as an index Bea. Yes, that fatal bouquet! Some one must have seen me gather it; and every year, on the anniversary of Malcolm's death - Pes. You receive another. The day after to-morrow it will be five years. Bea. Who can send it to me? Pes. Do you suspect no one? Bea. Yes. Just now I spoke to you of a meeting - a recognition. It was he! Pes. He! Who? Bea. This young Englishman - Malcolm's friend- Lord Courtenay. Pes. (Astonished.) What! Lord Walter Courtenay? Bea. Yes. Do you know him? Pes. Know him? He is my best friend. I saw him this morning. He has just come up to London for his marriage. Bea. His marriage? He- Walter - to be married! O, no! it cannot, must not be! And whom does he marry? Pes. He did not tell me; but, if you care to know - Bea. (With gredt emotion.) 0, yes, yes! Go quickly! haste, and let me know! 0, it cannot be! (Recollecting herself; more calmly.) Some other time I will explain to you why it so interests me. Pes. (Aside.) This emotion! What can it mean? - (Aloud as he is going.) I will soon return. Shall I find you here? Bea. Yes: to-day, you know, is the meeting of our society. Pes. Ah, yes - our Society for the Amelioration of the Condition of Youthful Epileptics. But you will have company; I shall have no opportunity of speaking with you. Bea. You will have but a name to tell me. Pes. True. Well, then, au revoir, my would-be lady countess. (Exit PESCHIERA, C. D. F.) Bea. (Alone.) For the last year I thought I had forgotten him; but I have seen him, and, alas! I love him still. O Walter, Walter, had you but loved me, Malcolm would not now be dead. Rage, fury, spite, would not have given me to his arms. I should not then have caused his death, and should not now be haunted by his fatal spectre. 0, how heavy is remorse! In vain do I seek refuge in the feverish agitation of a life of intrigue: the pale face of Malcolm still pursues me. I see him now, stretched on that cold, damp ground, with livid lips, his eyes so wildly fixed, his brow concealed by matted, tangled hair; and so must I see him ever. By day, by night, awake, asleep, turn where I will, still there is no escape. And that bouquet, those 12 BEATRICE, OR [ACT I. accusing flowers, which every year denounce me as his murderess! 0, I shall go mad - mad - mad! - (Suddenly calming herself as FRANCESCA enters, c. D. r.) Well, girl, what do you here? Francesca. Mr. Hoffman, signora, is below. Bea. Ah, the president of our society! I will receive him here. Enter MR. HOFFMAN, c. D. F. Bea. My dear Mr. Hoffman! Mr. Hoffman. (Saluting.) Madam! Fran. (Returning.) Ah, I forgot. Here, signora, is the little uniform. Mr. H. The uniform? Fran. Yes - a coat for the monkey of the little Savoyard. I have just sewed on the buttons. Bea.'Tis well, Francesca; leave it there; he is coming for it, and I will give it him. Thank you. (FRANCESCA places the uniform on the table, R. H., and exit, c. D. F.) Mr. II. Ever most charitable! Your touching generosity is a fortune to the little Savoyard. (Examining the coat.) You are an angel! Bea. Do not let us speak of that, but rather of our society. Do you think it will be accepted by the government? Mr. H. I am still in doubt. For that we need the patronage of some one high in authority —(archly) the Earl of Landsmere, for instance. Enter FRANCESCA, announcing. Fran. Lady and Miss Clara Bellenden! Bea. (With dignity to MR. HOFFMAN.) Here is his niece; you can inquire of her. (Goes to meet LADY BELLENDEN and CLARA, who itter, c. D. F.) Ah, madam, this visit is indeed an unexpected honor. Lady Bellenden. For which you are not entirely indebted to me. I come on the part of the earl, my uncle. He is very desirous of seeing you to-day. Bea. Indeed! and why? Enter FRANCESCA, C. D. P., announcing. Fran. The Count di Peschiera! (Exit, c. D. F.) Lady B. For a reason that I will tell you when you have fewer visitors. (BEATRICE conducts LADY BELLENDEN and CLARA to sofa, R. H.) Enter PESCHIERA, C. D. F. Pes. (Aside.) Attention! Now to weigh well my words, and play my part of a virtuous fool! - (To BEATRICE.) Yesterday, madam, you were suffering. I hope your health is morq satisfactory to-day. Bea. Thank you; I am better. Pes. Take care, madam, take care! If you do not pay more SCENE II.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 13 attention to your health, you will become seriously ill. -(To LADY BELLENDEN.) And the earl? How fares he to-day? Lady B. Better. He expects you this evening. Pes. Doubtless he has something to relate to me. Bea. (To LADY BELLENDEN.) The count is his favorite listener. Pes. (Aside.) That is his preferred victim. Enter FRANCESCA, C. D. F., announcing. Fran. Mrs. Fitzherbert! (PESCHIERA and ladies converse apart.) Enter MRs. FITZHERBERT, C. D. P. Mrs. Fitzherbert. (Coming down, and speaking with BEATRICE apart, L. H.) My dear Beatrice, I have such a favor to ask of you - a very great favor indeed. I know you won't refuse me, and I am almost ashamed to trouble you again so soon; but the truth is, my dear, I am very much in want of a hundred pounds, and there is no one else I can ask. I need it very much indeed; for there is an execution in my house, and, if I don't pay it to-day, I shall be sold out under the hammer to-morrow. Bea. An execution! But, my dear Fanny, why did you not come to me before (Goes to her escritoire.) Here is the money. But you had better haste, and discharge the officers. Mrs. F. 0, any time during the day will do. I am so much obliged to you! You have relieved me of so much anxiety! 0, I never can repay you! (Goes up.) Bea. (Aside.) Repay me! No, I don't expect you will! That woman is a perfect cormorant. But she knows the secret of my life, and I must submit. (Goes up, L. H.) Clara. (Perceiving the uniform on the table, R. H.) Ah! what is that? A little uniform! -(To BEATRICE.) Will you permit me, madam? Mr. H. (Going to CLARA.) That! That is a deed of charity. Clara. (Holding it up in centre of stage.) It is a greyhound's coat. Mr. H. No, it is a soldier's unifbrm. Clara. For a doll? Mr. H. No, for a monkey - the sole support of a little Savoyard, of whom Madame di Negra is the benefactress. She has protected the child of the mountains, and encourages his modest industry. Pes. (With comic tenderness.) Ah, how well I recognize her goodness! Madame di Negra extends her charity even uponLady B. Monkeys! Pes. The smallest creatures. How this poor little musician will bless you! Clara. But mother has other ideas upon these things. She does not wish these children to run about the streets; and when, three years ago, one of these little Savoyards came to her for assistance, she made him sell his monkey, and placed the child at school. Mr. H. That also was true charity. Education is the greatest of blessings. (All up stage but PESCHIERA and HOFFMAN.) 2 14 BEATRICE, OR [ACT I. Pes. Excuse me. For the higher classes, that is true; but education is'often fatal to the children of the poor. They learn to read, and they read dangerous books. They learn to write, and they become forgers. Now, if they did not know how to write, they could not commit forgery. Mr. H. But, sir, you go a little too far. Pes. What I advance, sir, is true; it cannot be contradicted. According to some statistics which I have been, sir, at the pains of collecting, it is conclusively proved that, of all those now in prison for the crime of forgery, every one knew how to write. Mr. H. 0 sir, there is no arguing against your statistics! (Goes up to join ladies, L. H.) Pes. (Aside.) Come, come! It is not so difficult, after all, to play the fool. With a little practice, I shall be nearly a match for this gentleman. - (Goes up to the ladies, L. H.) Ah, my dear Mrs. Fitzherbert, what is the matter with your eyes? Mrs. F. My eyes? Pes. Yes; around the lids they are quite black. Bea. Nonsense! He only wishes to annoy you. Pes. Not at all! And, now I look, yours are just the same. Ah! I see it is only paint. AMrs. F. You are like all the rest.. I declare, it is really scandalous! Only think - one half of my acquaintance believe that I wear paint! Pes. Yes, and the other half are sure of it. (He continues talking with the ladies.) Bea. (Aside to LADY BELLENDEN.) We shall never be alone. (LADY BELLENDEN, CLARA, and BEATRICE come down to the extreme right.) But tell me, madam, why the earl so earnestly desires to see me to-day. Lady B. He has commissioned me to invite you to dinner. He wishes that you should share in the joy and happiness of his family. He will not accept a regret. Bea. He has then some good news to tell me? Lady B. Yes - the marriage of my daughter. He wished me to announce it to you in person. Bea. Does she marry already? Why, she is but a child! Clara. 0, no, I'm not! I shall be sixteen next month! Lady B. My intended son-in-law will dine with us to-day. I am sure that you will like him, for, though young, he is not one of your town rakes. But perhaps you may have heard of him - Lord Courtenay. Bea. (Starting.) Lord Courtenay! (Calming herself.) Which Lord Courtenay? I know one. Lady B. Lord Walter Courtenay. There are two. Is he the one you know? Bea. (With difficelty restraining her agitation.) Walter! Yes; it is indeed he. Lady B. You know him then? Bea. And you teach me nothing in telling me he is one of the most distinguished young men of the day. It is an excellent match, SCENE II.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 16 and I am indeed rejoiced at this good news. You will make my compliments to the earl, and (giving her hand) you will accept them for yourself Ah! my dear Clara. (She crosses to CLARA, and embraces her. - To CLARA.) And have you known him long? Clara. Only two months. Bea. You cannot love him then. Clara. O, yes, I do; very much indeed. Bea. What, so soon? Clara. Love is not always the work of time. We love at once, or never. Bea. But how do you know that you are suited to each other? Clara. 0, that knowledge comes by inspiration. (Pointing to PESCHIERA.) I have no need of time to know that I should never love that gentleman. Bea. And yet he is Lord Walter's dearest friend. But does he love you? Clara. 0, that's another matter. No; I'm afraid he don't love me yet. He is always laughing; and when I say something very silly, he exclaims,," How charming! " No; that is not love. Bea. But how is it that I have never met him at the earl's? Clara. He has been abroad, and has just returned. Besides, he is in mourning, and does not go into society. Bea. And when is the wedding? Clara. Ah, that I don't know yet. Lady B. (Drawing near.) The wedding? —in three weeks. Bea. (Aside.) Three weeks! It shall be never, if I can prevent it! Lady B. But this evening we sign the contract. Good-by, then, till to-night. You will not fail to come? Bea. Are you already going? Lady B. Forgive me for leaving you so soon; but we have so much to do, preparing for this marriage. Clara has an appointment to-day with her milliner. Clara. (With childish glee.) Yes; and I am going to have a new hat, with beautiful green feathers! Lady B. Good-by, then. I will announce to my uncle the success of our embassy. Bea. Goodly till evening. (BEATRICE conducts them into the inner room, and disappears for a few moments.) Mrs. F. Who is that lady? Mr. H. The niece of the'Earl of Landsmere. Mrs. F. How magnificently she dresses! Did you notice her dress? and that bonnet? With its cost we might support a hundred of our poor. Pes. Ah, ladies, you are too partial. You are interested only in your epileptics. The labor on that dress has already given support to a hundred men. Reenter BEATRICE; PESCHIERA meets her as she comes down. Pes. (Aside.) I have nothing now to tell you. 18 BEATRICE, OR [ACT I. Bea. (Aside.) No. Pes. (Aside.)'Tis she whom Walter is to marry. Bea. (Aloud, to the company.) What a charming girl she is! Do you not think so? Mr. H. She is very pretty. Pes. But her great charm is that air of artless innocence which seems so natural. Bea. Her looks alone are sufficient to give the lie to all these wicked tongues. 0, I am very glad she is to be married. These villanous reports will at last be hushed. Mrs. F.'hese reports? Bea. Yes; but they are too absurd! But come, Mr. President, let us to the business of the society. Mr. H. A moment, madam, a moment! I wish - Bea. (Interrupting, and taking some papers from table.) Here is the reply of our physician. He consents to attend gratuitously upon our epileptics. Mr. H. But these reports about Clara? —(Aside.) 0, this indeed concerns me! - (Aloud.) What, madam, is their nature? Bea. 0, an impossible story, and very absurd! But here, Mr. President, is an application for admission. A poor woman wishes that her son should be received into our care. Mrs. F. But he has not the requisite conditions. Pes. Is he not an epileptic? Mrs. F. No; he has only a nervous tic! Bea. But, my dear Fanny, we should be indulgent. Pes. We must close our eyes. —(Aside.) A charitable meeting seasoned with calumny is slightly piquant. Mr. H. But, madam, is Clara Bellenden already accused of intrigues? Bea. Of intrigues? No; only one, and that is quite enough. When it was mentioned to me, I, who know her so well, was quite indignant. But you see the odious calumny has done her no harm, as she is now on the eve of an excellent marriage. The slanderers will have their trouble for their pains. Pes. (Aside.) Diavolo! She undertakes her defence! Does she mean to ruin her? Mr. H. But perhaps, madam, these suspicions arAnot as light as your good heart makes you believe. Bea. My good heart makes me believe that a young girl so well brought up as Clara Bellenden would never grant an interview at night to a young man. Mr. H. A nocturnal interview! Bea. In vain might you tell me that the father of Mr., Mr., Mr. - I forget the name - ah, Mr. Charles Beverley. Mr. H. Charles Beverley! — Bea. Was the enemy of her family, - that if they loved, they could only meet in secret. I would never believe it. Pes. 0, it must be some mistake that has been noised abroad. Mr. H. But, sir, a name mentioned - a meeting granted at night it is a serious matter. SCENE II.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 17 Bea. But if it be a lie, what matter, though a name be cited? Is it not even said that Mark, the gardener of the old Marchioness of Bellenden, had himself surprised them in the garden? IMrs. F. Surprised them in the garden? Mr. H. Surprised them in the garden? Bea. And does it not clearly prove the story to be false? Mr. H. But what, madam, proves the falsehood of the tale? Bea. Her very innocence. You have seen her and remarked it. Mr. H. Your pardon, madam; but there are certain reasons why I cannot calmly hear these reports and rumors which Bea. But, sir, you are not her guardian! Mr. H. No, madam; but I am the friend Bea. Of Lady Bellenden? Mr. H. No, madam. Bea. Of the earl then? Mr. H. I have not that honor. Bea. Then, sir, by what right are you in such haste to receive these base suspicions? Mr. H. By the right of honor, madam, which orders me to warn those interested of the impending danger. Bea. 0, sir, you frighten me! Before whom, then, have I had the misfortune to speak? Mr. H. Before the friend of the marquis, Lord Walter's father. (Goes up c.) Bea. Lord Walter's father! O sir, I conjure youMr. H. (Taking his hat from a chair up stage.) I know my duty, madam. The scutcheon of the Courtenays shall yet be saved fiom stain! Bea. But what, sir, do you intend? Mr. H. I know my duty, and I know what there remains for me to do. (Exit, c. D. F.) Mrs. F. What scandal! So young, and yet so depraved! Pes. (Aside to BEATRICE.) Imprudent! Are you mad? That old man will repeat the tale to Walter's father! Bea. I am very sorry. Pes. You knew it. But this story? Bea. Alas! that is true. Pes. True? No. It is a lie! Bea. Soon all will be revealed. The story, you will find, is true. (Sits, R. H.) Pes. She knew it! she knew it! thus, then, her plot begins! SITUATIONS. BEATRICE. PESCRIERA. MRS. FITZHERBERT. R. H. L. H. Quick Curtain. END OF ACT I. 2* 18 BEATRICE, OR [ACT 1I. ACT II. SCENE. - The Library of the EARL OF LANDSMERE' Doors, R. H. 2 E., and L. H. 2 E. Large centre arch in flat. Tables on R. H. and L. H. Chairs, sofas, ottomans, Sc. Through centre doors, which are open, is seen a large and handsome conservatory. The EARL OF LANDSMERE discovered seated on R. H. A secretary, writing at table, R. H. Lord L. (Dictating to the secretary.) "It was then, that, struck by the vigor of my reasoning, the mediative Congress resolved to free from all territorial vicissitudes the boundaries agreed upon by the high contracting powers." There, my good Richards, we will rest now for the day. I will read over that chapter. (The secretary hands him the paper.) Ah! this pleases me. I have worked this up, and it was necessary. The exact fact was too bare. Ah! the pen so carries us away! if we did not restrain it, the traitor might drag us into telling the truth. The truth in history That would be pretty business, indeed! It would hardly be worth our while to write memoirs if we were to state facts exactly as they are. The public would never believe them; they must be first made over into probabilities. Go now, my good Richards, and rest yourself. Ah, here comes my little Clara. After this heavy labor, her gentle prattle will divert me. (He rises.) (Exit the secretary, c. door in fiat.) CLARA appears at door, R. H. 1 E. Clara. (Hesitating to enter.) May I come in? Lord L. Yes, come; come, my little pet. Clara. (Running in.) What! are you up? How glad I am! And coming to meet me too? O, you must have a kiss for that! And the gout? All gone? And you don't need my arm any more? 0, my dear uncle, how happy I am! Lord L. (Taking her hand and sitting down.) Then you love your poor old uncle? Clara. O, yes, indeed; it is so good to love. And then it amuses me so much to caress him. When I see every body trembling before him, treating him with the greatest ceremony, addressing him as " My Lord" here, and " His Excellency" there, not daring to sit down in his presence, and whispering softly in his parlor, as if it were a church,when I see all this pompous respect, it amuses me to talk without ceremony to this very great man,- to throw my arms around his neck, so, - to kiss " My Lord " on this cheek, and " His Excellency " on that, and to sit down upon his knee, so, without permission. 0, it's great fun! (Sits on his knee.) Lord L. Ah! I'm afraid you're a spoiled child. (Kisses her.) Fortunately, a good husband will restore you to reason. Clara. My husband! 0, no, he won't. He'll spoil me too. I saw that immediately. Lord L. Indeed! and how did you see that? SCENE I.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 19 Clara. 0, in the way he looked at me. Nobody ever looked at me in that way before. Lord L. He looked at you kindly and tenderly, as I do? Clara. Yes; but it was not the same thing. 0, no! Lord L. And what difference was there in his manner of looking at you, and in mine? Clara. 0, it was not a bit like it. And then it does not have the same effect. When you look at me, I look back at you. But when he fixes his eyes on me, 0, then I don't know what to do with mine. I am very happy, and yet I want all the time to run away. It's very singular! Lord L. But you don't run away? Clara. No; I am embarrassed and awkward. I tremble all over, just like Madame di Negra when she is with you. 0 uncle! is it true that you are going to marry her? Lord L. No, my child. Who told you that silly story? And would you be sorry if I did marry her? Clara. I? 0, no, indeed. I love her so much! She is so good and kind! and so devoted to you, too! 0, we would take such good care of you, between us! Lord L. But what makes you think she is so devoted to me? Clara. 0, she's always talking about you; always thinking of you and of your sufferings. She has had three masses said for your gout. She is such a fervent Catholic, you know. And I think that is what has cured you; for you are cured, uncle? Lord L. (Rising.) Yes; and now I am going to take a long walk with you. Clara. No; I won't allow it. It is imprudent, and you must not go. Lord L. Well, well; we won't go far; not out of the house. I want to show you your new apartments. Clara. 0, yes ( I know; those opening on the garden, that you have just fitted up for me and Walter. Lord L. What! you know it! And I wanted to surprise you! Clara. (Confsfsed.) Ah, true! How silly I am! I forgot to be astonished! Lord L. And who told you my secret? Not your mother? Clara. No; it was your old secretary; and I promised him that I would be astonished just the same. 0, you must not scold him; it is ll my fault. Lord L. That proves you don't know how to tell a lie. Clara. 0, yes, I do. I tell a great many- little ones. But this time I forgot it. I am so thoughtless! But you won't scold Richards? Lord L. No, no; don't be uneasy; there is no harm done. But come! let me show you your boudoir. I have arranged it all myself, and I give you all the furniture for your wedding present. Clara. 0, what a good, kind uncle! I shall never love any uncle as I do you. (Kisses him.) 20 BEATRICE, OR [ACT II. Enter SERVANT, C. D., announcing. Serv. Madame di Negra. Clara. Ah! good-by, uncle. Lord L. What! are you going to leave me already? Clara. Yes; mother told me to come away if any one called. Lord L. Well, then, we will go see the boudoir to-morrow. Meanwhile, here is something for your dressing table. (Gives her a casket.) Clara. (Opening the casket.) 0! what a splendid necklace! what magnificent pearls! 0! it's too handsome! Mother won't let me wear it! (BEATRICE appears at C. D. F.) Lord L. Too handsome, perhaps, for my little Clara, but not for Lady Courtenay. Ben. (Aside, overhearing.) Lady Courtenay! Not yet! not yet! Clara. I- Lady Courtenay! So that's my new name - Lady Courtenay! It seems as if I were in fairy land. Ah! Madame di Negra! (Aside to LORD LANDSMERE, indicating BEATRICE.) Look at her! See how embarrassed she seems! Well, that's just the way I am with Walter. (Runs out, t. H. 1 E.) Bea. (Advancing hesitatingly.) My dear LordLord L. Ah, madam! you would not force a poor gouty old man to come to you! Bea. I fear that I disturb you. You were with your niece. Lord L. And does little Clara frighten you? Why, she adores you. Bea. (Feigning emotion.) Dear child! I have come early this morning, my lord, that I might see you for a moment alone. Lord L. (Leading her to the sofa on i. H.) You have some favor to ask of me for one of your protegds? You have so many. Bea. No, I have nothing to ask of you; but I had so strong a wish to see you when free from all this world of business and fashion — Lord L. I am rejoiced to see you. I thought you had forgotten me. You have not been near me for eight days. But you have been ill; and they told me you could not come to-day - that you were suffering. Bea. (Smilinzg, yet seemingly troubled.) Indeed, I am not well, and ought not to have ventured out; but I have taken courage, and-I am here. Lord L. And I am so grateful! You see I am half cured. Bea. (Trembling, not daring to raise her eyes.) 0! I know it! I was indeed sad that I could not be here to nurse you; but I heard from you every day. 0! I could not sleep till I had heard from you! But now you are well again. Heaven be praised! Lord L. Yes; and Clara says I owe my health to your prayers - that you have had masses said for my cure. Bea. (Feigning anger.) And has she told you that? the little fool! This is really too bad! Clara, I know, is very charming; and no one loves her more than I; but these continual indiscretions are very dangerous. SCENE I.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 21 Lord L. (Tenderly.) But for this one I cannot find it in my heart to be angry with her. So long as she betrays only your kindness and interest in me, I shall easily forgive her. Yes; and you must forgive her, too. (BEATRICE shakes her head.) Ah! if you do not, I shall think she has deceived me! (Takes her hand.) You are not angry with her? Bea. Yes - but I am, and very angry, too. Lord L. But that is to deny the sentiments she ascribed to you. Surely you do not wish to do that? Bea. (Feigning embarrassment.) No -but we'll say no more about it. Ah! you are pitiless!! Lord L. And do you then give me a ray of hope, only to take it back so quickly? Bea. My lord! Lord L. Well! Bea. What do you ask? Lord L. (Very tenderly.) Am I, then, the only one of your unfortunates on whom you will not take pity? Will you not, then, deign Enter a SERVANT, quickly, R. H. 1 E. Well, what do you want? Servant. The lord chancellor desires a moment's interview with your lordship. Lord L. Conduct him to the drawing room. (Exit SERVANT.) I will receive him there. Bea. My lord, do not let me detain you. Lord L. If you will excuse me, madam, for a moment, I will soon return.- (Aside.) How agitated she is! My lord chancellor has come too soon! (Exit LORD LANDSMERE, R. H. 1 E.) Bea. (Alone, watching him go out.) Never have I seen him so tender. He is then caught at last! Yes; every thing aids me. Clara compromised -a refusal, an insulting refusal, from Lord Walter's family - a scene, and the disgrace attendant on it - what refuge has he but in my love? Yes, disgraced, dishonored, in his darling niece, he must indeed seek consolation in my arms. Enter PESCHIERA, L. H. 2 E. Pes. Ah, signora! you here alone! And the earl! (Lowering his voice.) Do you dispense the honors of the house already? Bea. The earl is with the lord chancellor; he will return in a moment. Pes. But how magnificently you are looking to-day! And what an air of triumph, too! Ah — capisco! I understand! Has the bomb burst? Has the shell exploded? Bea. Not yet. Pes. How? This noble family not yet reduced to despair? What, then, can make you so happy? Bea. The sight of suffering always afflicts me; and, did not my conscience sustain me, I should not have the courage to wound so 22 BEATRICE, OR [ACT II. deeply those I so much love. But it is my duty, and, however painful, it must be done. Pes. And is it your duty to dishonor a noble family by the ruin of a young girl? Bea. On the contrary, I save a noble family from the disgrace of adopting a daughter lost to honor. Pes. Cospetto! That's a different point of view. In this world, every thing depends upon the point of view. But let us clearly understand each other. I am a good-for-nothing, indolent, lazy man of the world. I laugh at rogues and villains; they amuse me; but I am not of their brotherhood. Naturally, I have a liking for the good and beautiful. Now, whither are you leading me? I must understand your object. If Clara is guilty, it is not my business to defend her honor, and I care not what you do. But, if she is innocent, - remember! mark it well! - though I am your confidant, I will not be your accomplice. Bea. Reassure yourself; I have the positive proof of her frailty. Pes. You mean the evidence of Charles Beverley. But he will defend her. He is a man of honor. Per Bacco, you should beware of him. Bea. Charles Beverley is abroad. —(Aside.) I know not what I am doing. Pes. But he may return; they may write to him. Bea. And when he shall return - Pes. Capisco! I understand; you will have married the earl. You have seen him, then? You have told him that you loved him? Bea. I! No, indeed! It is not for me to tell him that. Pes. And for whom, then? It is not for me, I suppose. Bea. That might, perhaps, be better. Pes. What! Corpo di Bacco! You wish that I should make a love confession for you to the earl? that I should tell him that you love him? But what will you tell him, then? Bea. O! I will tell him the contrary. Pes. The contrary? And why? Bea. That he may believe it. Pes. What? that he may believe the contrary? Bea. No, no! How stupid you are! I will tell him that I don't love him, to make him believe I do. Now do you understand? Pes. Yes; I understand. It is very ingenious. Bea. And it would not be a bad idea for you to speak of me with coldness, as of a person with whose character and opinions you had no sympathy. Pes. (Aside.) Ah! that won't be very difficult. Bea. You might even tell him that I have many faults - one, among others, which unfits me to be his wife. Pes. And what is this one fault which you will condescend to have? You must confess it yourself; for I should never find the right one. Bea. And is it not a fault to be too romantic? to love solitude and silence? to fly the noise and gayeties of the world, and to have for an idealPes. Love in a cottage! You are right. What is the surest way SCENE I.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 23 to become the wife of a proud English earl? To profess contempt for grandeur. What is the surest means of captivating a gouty old Almavira, who wishes to be loved for himself alone? To declare that you will marry only for love. Ah! che bestia! you are worthy of the grande ecole!' Bea. (Rises.) He is coming. He loves me; but I would know his intentions. Try to discover them. I leave you with him. Pes. Already! What! you are going? Bea. (u. c.) I have to speak to the gardener; he can tell me what has become of Mark BellamY. Pes. Mark Bellamy? Who is he? Bea. The former gardener of Lady Bellenden, who discovered Clara and Charles Beverley together in the garden. Pes. Ah! Then you are in haste to ruin her. Bea. I must find out this witness. Pes. (Aside.) And so must I. Alas! poor Clara! Bea. You will report to me your conversation with the earl. I will wait for you in the conservatory. Pes. Beware! In the conservatory there are violets. Bea. ( Vith a look of hate.) Violets! Wretch! why have I need of him? (Exit, c. D. F., into conservatory.) Pes. (Alone.) Hypocrite! Why have I need of her? Accursed be the day on which she saved me. I hate her, yet must I serve her; yet must I, the proud descendant of a race of dukes, look calmly on, and even aid the schemes of her I know so base! and all for the want of a few thousand pounds! Well, let her marry this old earl; I care not; but let her beware how she plots the ruin of that young girl! Corpo di Bacco! I know the secrets of her life!'Let her beware! Ah! here comes the earl! Now, to be guilty of my tender indiscretions! (He goes up stage, L. H.) Enter LORD LANDSMERE, R. H. 1 E. Lord L. At last, dear lady, I am free. (Perceiving PESCHIERA.) Ah! you here, count? And where is your fair countrywoman? Pes. She is walking in your fine conservatory. It is truly marvellous! Lord L. Ah! With my niece, I suppose. Pes. Yes; I perceive several ladies there. Lord L. Count, you will dine with us to-day? Pes. (Preoccupied.) My lord, the honor -(Aside.) I don't know how to approach thesubject. Lord L. But what is the matter, count? You seem preoccupied. Pes. I am so. I have a great interest in discovering an important secret, - a secret which I can tell to none, and which I must contrive some method, delicate and ingenious, of discovering. Ah, my lord! you would find it out immediately! Lord L. (Pompously.) I see you know me, count. Yes, that is my specialty. Hold! In my last mission to Austria? for I have had several missions to that country. Pes. Ah, my lord! your fame is known in Italy! 24 BEATRICE, OR [ACT II Lord L. Sir, you flatter me. Well, in my last mission to Austria I met with an adventure which may, perhaps, throw some light upon your embarrassment. Pes. (Aside.) An adventure! and I must listen to it! Lord L. And, since the ladies are talking together, I will relate.it to you. Pes. (Aside.) I am caught! Well, I deserve it. Lord L. But, my dear count, pray be seated. Pes. (Aside.) If I sit down, I shall go to sleep. Lord L. (R. c.) Take this arm chair. Pes. Thank you - will stand. - (Aside.) That way I may, perhaps, keep awake. Lord L. Then listen. (Sits, R. c.) It was necessary to penetrate a secret - a state secret - which that sly old fox, Prince Metternich, had confided to but one person. Pes. To but one! that was just one too many. Lord L. Right, as you will see. This only confidant was called the Baron de Turstenstauffen von Schnitzenstein. Pes. The Baron de Turs —echo would have some difficulty to repeat that name. The Baron de Lord L. Turstenstauffen von Schnitzenstein. Pes. That secret must have been well kept. A man with such a name as that should be silent as the tomb. Lord L. And he did keep his secret safe. Unfortunately, he was not so successful in keeping safe his wife. Pes. (Aside.) Ah, ha! a feminine adventure! Basta! I will slip in my confessions, and I will not hear his story. - (Aloud.) His wife! Ah! I see she could not resist you! The women all adore you. Lord L. (Conceitedly.) Yes; I believe I was something of a favorite with the ladies in times gone by; but now -- Pes. Now more than ever. —(Aside.) The old coxcomb! how quickly he swallows the bait! - (Aloud.) I know one whose trouble cannot have escaped you. Lord L. What nonsense are you talking! What? in spite of my age, of my gray hair? Explain yourself. Pes. Well, then, my lord, during my residence in England, I have had the honor to be received with the most flattering distinction by a noble lord whose pen is only envious of his sword. To this illustrious statesman the world for some time attributes thoughts of matrimony; and on this subject, from my well-known devotion, I am continually questioned. I do not ask him to eveal to me his intentions; I only ask him to inspire me - to let me know what should be my answer. Lord L..And to whom, may I ask, does the world wish to marry him? Pes. To a woman of incontestable superiority, but of romantic temper. Had I the right to counsel, I should not advise an ambitious man to marry her. Lord L. Ah! she is romantic! Pes. She might, perhaps, insure his happiness by her love, her SCENE 1.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 25 tenderness, and her watchful care; but he would be a man lost to the world, to ambition, and to glory. She would be jealous of us all; she would have but one idea, one thought, -to live with him in some sequestered home, where trellised flowers smile out from amid the lonely cliffs in which it is embedded, - to live alone with love, and lovers still, though wedded long, - to wander with him through the flowery meads, listening to the sweet music of the rippling stream. (Aside.) There! I flatter myself that will do for a touch of the romantic! Lord L. Well, well. (Ie rises.) I would not altogether dislike such a life. But reassure yourself, I do not think of marriage; I do not even ask the name of her you mean. The only marriage that occupies my mind is that of my dear little niece. Ah, here she comes! Believe me, count, that is the age of romance. (LORD WALTER and CLARA appear at c. D. r.) Pes. (Aside.) An old man's modesty! He is in love, and that will make him dream. Lord L. But, count, I owe you the history of the baron. Pes. Turstenstauffen von Schnitzenstein? I will claim it some other time. - (Aside.) Shall I never escape him? Lord L. (Aside.) He is not clever, this Peschiera; but he is a good listener. (LORD WALTER comes down; LADY BELLENDEN enters, and remains up stage with CLARA.) Ah, my dear Walter, are you alone? And where is the marquis, your father? Lord W. I thought I should find him here. (WALTER and PESCHIERA greet each other cordially.) Lord L. Ah, count, you know my son-in-law? for I consider Clara as my child, and her husband will be my son. Come here, come, my child. (CLARA, R. H., and LADY BELLENDEN, L. H., come down.) I marry you to the most worthy man I know. If you are not happy, you will have to account to me. Clara. (Looking tenderly at WALTER.) It shall not be my fault, uncle, if I am not. Lady B. Ah, my lord, I have some good news for you. Lord L. I know it already. Madame di Negra will give us the pleasure of her company. But where is she? I left her here a few moments since. (MADAME DI NEGRA appears at c. D.) Ah, she is here. Lord W. (Starting. Aside.) Beatrice, Beatrice Franzini! Pes. (To LORD WALTER.) Be not surprised. She is the same you know. Wait till she recognizes you. Lord WZ.'Tis she, indeed! Lady B. Do you know her? Lord W. Yes. (Bitterly, and with contempt.) Her name is Beatrice. Lady B. To which she hopes to add the title of a countess. (BEATRICE comes down, R. H., andperceives WALTER.) Bea. (With evident emotion.) Walter! Lord L. (Who goes tip and takes her hand.) But you seem ill. What is the matter? (WALTER and CLARA go up and sit on L. H.) Bea. (Still with emotion.) With me? nothing. 3 26 BEATRICE, OR [ACT II. Lord L. But your hands are like ice. Bea. Nothing is the matter, I tell you. I am quite well. Lord L. (Aside.) Can Peschiera have been right? Can my powers of fascination, indeed, have proved so irresistible? Well, poor creatures, they can't help it. We must take pity on them. They are not to blame. Bea. Shall you have many guests this evening? Lord L. This evening? yes. But for dinner we only wait the marquis, Walter's father. Ah, I forgot. Allow me to present the son. Bea. No, not now; by and by. (Pointing to WALTER and CLARA.) Don't disturb their happiness. Lord L. (Regarding them with affection.) You are right; they are so happy! Bea. It is really charming to watch them. Are they so much in love already? Lord L. Yes, certainly. Clara is so pretty, Lord Walter is crazy about her. Bea. Ah, indeed! (Looking around the room.) The marquis, it seems, is late. Lord W. (To CLARA.) Come, let us make friends. Give me your hand. (CLARA offers her hand, and then withdraws it.) Coquette! Clara. Ah! to offer one's hand, and then not give it, is to be a coquette, then? Lord VW. Precisely. Clara. Well, then, I don't wish to be a coquette. (Gives him her hand.) Pes. (In c. of stage, to LADY BELLENDEN.) Touching tableau! - the representatives of Love and Friendship. Lady B. Ah, count, you well know that parody (points to L.) is not Friendship. Pes. Then I would qualify them as the two types of Love -of Love young and smiling, and of Love serious though serene. Lady B. Or still more truly, count, may we not call them the representatives of THE FALSE and THE TRUE? Bea. (To LORD LANDSMERE.) You flatterer! I do not believe you. Clara. (To WALTER.) You are always laughing. I do not believe you. Lord L. (To BEATRICE.) The marquis will soon be here. I must introduce you to Lord Walter. Walter, (WALTER rises and comes to LORD LANDSMERE,) allow me to present you to my very dear friend, Madame di Negra. (WALTER bows, and remains silent.) Bea. Lord Courtenay does not, then, recognize me. In two years am I indeed so changed? Lord W. Madam, I awaited your commands. Lord L. (To CLARA.) Well, miss, you do not seem to value my gifts. Why do you not wear my necklace? Clara. Mamma said I might wear it on the wedding day; that is the usual custom. SCENE I.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 27 Lord L. The usual custom! What do I care for the usual custom? Go put it on immediately! Clara. Yes, uncle, if mother will permit me. Lady B. Go, my child, if your uncle wishes it. (Exit CLARA, R. H. 1 E.) Pes. That girl has been admirably brought up. She will make an excellent wife. She is so obedient! Bea. (Aside.) She is their idol! The marquis is very late. Ah, who comes here? Enter a SERVANT with a letter, c. D. F. Ser. (R. H., handing letter to LORD LANDSMERE.) From the marquis. Lord WV. From my father? Bea. (Aside.) At last! at last! Lord L. A letter? Is he not coming, then? (Opens letter.) You will excuse me. (Reads letter.) Lady B. (To WALTER.) Can he be ill? Lord W. No. Be not alarmed. I have just left him. Lord L. Yes;'tis from the marquis. (Reading.) "My dear Laadsmere, do not wait for me this evening. It is with the deepest regret." Edith. Lady B. What is the matter? Lord L. (Troubled.) The marquis cannot come. Lord WI. What has happened? Lord L. Nothing - nothing! Lady B. But then, what reason? Lord L. I cannot - I ought not - some other time I will explain to you. Lady B. Explain to me? But what? Explain what? Lord L. An obstacle - a passing obstacle; it cannot be serious. Lady B. An obstacle? Lord L. Yes- a mistake. Lord TV. A mistake? Lord L. Which can be explained, - I am sure of it, - but which may delay this marriage. Lady B. (In agony of suspense.) Delay this marriage? Lord IV. My lord, what mean you? Lady B. (With resolution.) Uncle, give me that letter! Lord L. No; I must first make inquiries. Lady B. (Firmly.) Uncle, give me that letter. I must read it. Lord L. Take it, then; but be calm, be calm, I beg you. Lady B. ( With a look of terror.) You terrify me! (She takes the letter from LORD LANDSMERE'S hands.) Bea. (Who has been watchilg this scene with an expression of malignant triumph, aside.) Let us see how she will ward off this blow! Pes. (Aside.) Poor mother! poor mother! Lady B. (Reads the letter rapid'y; a pause; all eyes are fixed on her; calmly and proudly she returns the letter to LORD LANDSMERE.) It is absurd! 28 BEATRICE, OR [ACT III. Lord L. Absurd Lord WV. What is it, then? A calumny? Lady B. No, not even that —a stupidity, to which your father will be the first to do justice. Lord L. I cannot understand it. Lord W. (Fixing his eyes uponl BEATRICE.) But I can. Ah, bitterly shall she rue this day! Lord L. (To LADY BELLENDEN.) But what answer can I send the marquis? Lady B. I will take charge of that. Lord L. But here comes Clara. We can ask her. Lady B. (Proudly.) Clara! I, her mother, forbid you to breathe to her a word of this foul slander. Lord W. My lord, Clara shall be my wife. It is for me to defend her purity and honor. Bea. (Sinking in despair upon the sofa.) He loves her, then! He loves her. Lady B. ( With a look of gratitude to WALTER.) 0, noble, noble heart! Lord W. (His eyes on BEATRICE.) My wife and friend! Both sacrificed by her. - They shall be avenged! SITUATIONS. BEATRICE. LANDSMERE. LADY BELLENDEN. PESCHIERA, iup stage. LORD WALTER, BR H, L. H. Quick Curtain. END OF ACT II. ACT III. SCENE - The Boudoir of BEATRICE DI NEGRA, same as in Act First. BEATRICE discovered seated on R. H. FRANCESCA standing near; BEATRICE seems lost in thought. Bea. (As if starting from a reverie.) Well, girl, why do you wait? Fran. I am waiting the signora's orders. Bea. My orders? Fran. Yes, signora. Lord Courtenay desires to know at what hour the signora will receive him. Bea. Lord Courtenay? The marquis? Fran. No, signora, not the old lord, but the young one; not the father, but the son. SCENE I.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 29 Bea. I will receive him at three o'clock. I expect Lord Landsmere at noon. Remember well, Francesca, I am at home only to the earl and to Lord Walter. lie comes to see me on business. Fran. 0! doubtless, signora, such a young gentlemanBea. You understand; the earl will be here very soon. If he has not gone whene Lord Walter calls, beg him to wait; then inform me of his coming. Fran. Your orders, signora, shall be obeyed. (Goes towards D. L.H.) Ah! Signora, the earl is coming up. Bea. (Starting up.) The earl! This hour shall decide my life! Enter LORD LANDSMERE, L. H. 1 E. lxit FRANCESCA, L. H. 1 E. (Running to meet him.) 0, my dear, dear lord!'Tis a hard trial; but cheer up; my heart weeps for your sufferings. Lord L. For me, indeed, the blow was terrible. I loved that child as though she were my own. She was my pride, my hope, the joy of my declining years. Bea. (R. H.) And now all gone! Lord L. Poor Clara! I would not have believed it. Who would have thought that little thing was capable of intrigue? Tell me, in her conduct did you ever see the least appearance of a- I cannot speak the word. Bea. I know so little of the great outside world, that my opinion is of little worth. Yet to me she seemed as innocence itself. Lord L. The poor child must have been entrapped. But what am I going to do with her? After this exposure I can no longer think of marrying her. If indeed this Mr. Beverley were here, the matter might be arranged. It would be a pitiable match; but we have no choice. Bea. Charles Beverleyis in France. You might write, and hasten his return. Lord L. But in the mean time Bea. Are you not her guardian - the head of the family? You have but one course to pursue - to send her to the country. Lord L. But Edith, my niece, adores her child; indeed, she has no other passion. Maternal affection has preserved her from all other love. Bea. 0, I know she is the kindest and most excellent of mothers; but persuade her to retire for a time into the country, to take Clara with her, and place her at some school. Lord L. She will never consent. Besides, what school would receive a young girl who Bea. 0, we will not place her with the other boarders. If you wish I will arrange it all. Lord L. Ah, thanks, dear lady! you will, indeed, render me a service. I would not dare to speak of it to my niece. Bea.'Twill not be long ere she will thank us for our kindly aid. But how pale you are! How this sorrow has changed your looks (She conducts him to the sofa, R. H.) The wretches! they will make you ill again. It is, indeed, worth while to have made a name so 3* 30 BEATnICE, OR [ACT III. famous in your country's history; to have gained so much glory; to have reached the foremost rank of statesmen, only to see all this grandeur withered in a single day through the imprudence of a silly child. 0! it vexes me; it makes me rebel! I know I have no right to be so much afflicted by your sorrow; but I know so well what you must suffer, that I can no longer restrain my indignation. Lord L. Dear lady, since you share my sorrow, already does its weight appear less burdensome. Bea. Indeed! I wish I could believe it. (She sits by his side. LORD LANDSMERE looks at her with affection. She feigns embarrassment.) But do not let us talk of them. Let us speak of yourselfyour projects. Ah! these people will kill you yet. You can no longer live with them in peace. Lord L. And yet, if I abandon them, do I not confirm these suspicions? Bea. Suspicions? Alas! they are no more suspicions, but hideous certainties. The old gardener, who, it was said, surprised the young girl in the garden with this Mr. Beverley, is now living in Richmond, where, since he had left the service of Lady Bellenden, he had established a large nursery; and, mark it well, it was Lady Bellenden herself who paid the expenses of this establishment. A messenger was sent to him at once; and this man, so generously patronized, could find no word to justify the daughter of his benefactress: he became troubled and confused; he stammered and hesitated; and finally answered that he would come himself and give his explanation of the adventure, but he would give it to Lady Bellenden alone. Lord L. These particulars indeed surprise me. Poor Clara! if ever I believed in woman's innocence it was in hers. Should I discover that you were an adventuress, an intrigante, a hypocrite, I should not be more surprised. To simulate innocence to such a point -'tis infamous! (Ile rises and crosses to L. H.) Bea. (Also rising.) Were I in your place I would not be thus embarrassed: I would make up my mind to be very happy. Lord L. Advise me then, dear lady, advise me - you who are wisdom itself- I promise to obey your counsels. Bea. But, perhaps, I do not wish you to obey them. Lord L. Are they then so bad? Bea. ( With a sadness which she seemingly tries to overcome.) Yes, they are very bad - for me, but very good for you. Were I in your place. were I so sad and lonely as you soon will be, firmly and boldly would I take my resolution. I would no longer shun society; I would go out into the world, and meeting there with some young and beauteous woman, rich, pure, and noble, her would I ask in marriage. Lord L. (Somewhat piqued.) And do you wish me then to marry? — (Aside.) The count was mistaken. (Sits, L. H.) Bea. (Wlatching him closely.) Yes, marriage alone can cause you to forget this shameful story and recompense your future. It is in your own interest I counsel you, and not in mine. Frankly, for me, for your humble friend, it would be far better that you should be free. When you are alone, she can come to you; when you are suffering, she can nurse you tenderly: but if you were with a beautiful SCENE I.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 31 young wife, she would no longer dare to importune you; she would still have the same desire to give you all her cares, but she would no longer have the right.'Tis sad to say it, but in my own interest, I would ever have you lonely and unfortunate, for then, you would belong to me, you would have need of me, and you would sometimes wish for me to come to you - would you not? Thus you will see, my lord, how wrong you are to be vexed with me, when in my very love for you I find the strength to counsel you a thing which will cause me so much sadness. You ought rather to think kindly of me for this conquest of myself; for, to make such a sacrifice, one must need love you very, very dearly. Lord L. (Very tenderly.) But cannot you love me without this sacrifice? Bea. 0! I would ask no happier fate! But what will become of you in your solitude? for (smiling) I cannot be always with you. Lord L. (Taking her hand.) And why not? Bea. (Rising and withdrawing her hand with a look of wounded dignity.) My lord! Lord L. (Also rising.) And what then think you that I mean? I know well your principles, dear Beatrice, and I mean nothing unworthy of your dignity. You understand me wrongly! Bea. (Smiling.) I do not understand at all. But explain yourself: I will try not to be displeased. Lord L. (Aside.) She suspects nothing! She has not the least idea, and yet she loves me- I am sure of it! Bea. Reflecting, my lord? Is it then so difficult to explain? Lord L. Yes, but with a little addressBea. So profound a diplomatist cannot be at loss for that! Lord L. Well then, plainly, your plan has given me the idea of another. Bea. Another! Lord L. Yes, another, which - is - the same. Bea. 0! that is not at all clear- another which is the same! I cannot understand it: it is too diplomatic for my poor little brain. Lord L. I mean, yours with a slight change. Yes, you have so well described the sweets of matrimony, that I am persuaded - I am tired of my single blessedness. Yes, I will marry; but it is with one whose tastes are in unison with my own - with one whom I have long loved, and one to whom I hope I am not wholly indifferent. Can you not understand me now? Bea. (Sadly.) No, my lord. Lord L. Then, it is because you will not. You seek excuses Bea. (With a look of joy.) Ah! can it be? (Sadly again.) No, no, it would be follyLord L. Folly? Is it then a folly to love you - to wish you for my wife? you, an angel of goodness, my consolation, my devoted friend! Bea. 0! yes,*indeed, indeed devoted! You are right to think so. But it would be to give the lie to this devotion, were I to abuse it to entrap you into a folly- yes, a folly- for which the world never would forgive you. 32. BEATRICE, OR [ACT TII. Lord L. But, dear lady Bea. (Forced gayety.) No, I will not give my consent. Ah! my brain whirls! He marry me! he, the proud English peer, the gifted statesman, to think of me - me, Beatrice di Negra, the poor Italian, a wanderer from her home! The idea is absurd -extravagant! But it matters not: I am very happy that he should have thought of me; yes, very, very happy! ( Violent emotion, which she pretends to subdue.) Lord L. And why is it impossible? Ah! if you do not love me Bea. (With a modest and tender glance.) 0, that is not the obstacle! Lord L. (Enchanted.) But why, then, do you refuse me? Bea. Because I am not suited to you: I- I hate the world, its gayeties and pleasures; I love solitude - peace - retirement. Ah! should you say to me, "Come with me to the country - there will we live alone, alone with love," then I would answer, " Let us go - go this instant- for I am thine, thine forever! " Lord L. (Eagerly.) Then come- let us depart. This life of love and solitude is, too, the life I' dream. Come, we will go where you will. We will leave London: we will go down to Landsmere, to my old castle, which I'm sure you will like; there we will be married, there will we live, each for the other, far from the noise and bustle of the world. It is no proud and brilliant destiny I offer you; it is a calm retreat, a quiet, peaceful life with an old man who loves you, who will be your slave, and who, in your dear presence, will forget his sorrows. Bea.'Tis a sweet thought! to be your wife, your comforter. I can no more resist. I do not wish to seem indelicate; yet must I listen to the promptings of my heart, which tells me that I love you. (Gives him her hand, which he presses to his lips.) There, I am yours - I, whose only wish was to sacrifice myself for you. Lord L.' Dear Beatrice! - (Aside.) How much she loves me! Bea. (With emotion.) It seems to me a dream! This unexpected happiness; after so many years of solitude and weariness, now all at once this joy! O! I cannot bear it! Forgive me this emotion; I am not mistress of myself. O! how much I love you! (She weeps.) Lord L. Beatrice! my own! what happiness! And I, who came here with a sad and broken heart! What magic power is yours! And you are weeping: these tears, they are the pearls of love! Thus let me dry them. (Attempts to embrace her.) Bea. (Gently repulsing him.) No, they are tears of joy: let them flow on. But leave me now. If visitors should come and see you here, they would divine the cause of my emotion. (Very tenderly.) Then leave me; you may soon return. (LORD LANDSMERE goes towards the door, but forgets his cane.) Ah! my lord, you forget your cane! Lord L. (Smiling.) You've made the old man young again: he forgets his staff! (Again goes to the door.) Bea. And your gloves! Why, what a boy you are! Lord L. (Returning.) I am a happy man! (He takes her hand and wishes to press a kiss upon her brow. BEATRICE gently repels him, SCENE I.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 33 and he kisses her hand.) Ah! I shall soon return! (He goes out, L. H. 1 E., BEATRICE lovingly conducting him. She waits till he is well gone, then comes down front, with an air of triumph.) Bea. (Alone. Burst of pride.) Countess of Landsmere! At last! at last! At last I am to breathe the air of rank and station; that air for which my soul hath sighed so long. Countess of Landsmere! I knew it; I knew I was not born to live in the shoal waters of plebeian life, nor tread the mean though glittering paths of vulgar opulence. No, this brow was made to wear a coronet, this form to grace the circles of nobility. Ah now my dream is realized: at last I am a countess. Yes, I, the adventuress, the intrigante, the hypocrite, the poor, despised Italian —at whom all sneered, and laughed, and jeered- I am a countess now, the chosen wife of England's proudest peer. But hush, my heart: yet for a little while must you be still. There's need of caution yet, and the deep joy of my great triumph must not yet be seen. Walter will soon be here - Walter! - and I must see him, talk to him calmly; he, the only man I ever yet have loved. Ah! he comes: no,'tis Peschiera. (Crosses to R. H. and sits.) Enter the COUNT DI PESCHIERA, L. H. Pes. (Entering.) Yes, it's me again. Bea. (Aside.) I must get rid of him. He must not know my triumph, for much I doubt his faith. I will deceive him. Pes. (Aside.) She is embarrassed: she wishes me away; I will know why. - (Aloud.) Francesca, your silly maid, would not let me up; but I insisted, for I have-to report to you my conversation with the earl. Prepare yourself for disappointment: he does not think of marriage. Bea. Are you sure? Pes. Yes. But he has just left you: is there any thing new? Bea. (Very naturally.) Nothing, that I know. Pes. But you have received him. How is he to-day? Bea. Very sad, as you may suppose. Pes. The stronger reason why you should be prodigal of your attentions; you may win him yet. Bea. No, count; listen to me. I have renounced my project; I was too ambitious. Pes. (Aside.) That's a lie. -(Aloud.) What, you give up this marriage? Bea. Yes, although he loves me and has offered me his hand. Listen. I have not the courage to accept that hand which was my whole ambition. To fear each moment lest the fatal past should rise and crush me; to prop up life each morning with a new lie, to be denied at night - 0, it is impossible; I have not strength to do it. Pes. Beatrice, do you speak truth? Bea. You, Ramiro, are the only one to whom I never lie. Pes. And this marriage will not take place? Bea. No, I keep my liberty. In a few days I return to Italy. There, where a woman is not asked from whence she comes, and where, if she have fortune and be not too ugly, she is well received, 34 BEATRICE, OR [ACT III. there will I buy a villa by the Lake of Como, change my name, wear rouge and powder like your English dames, write sonnets to the moon, sail by the clear starlight o'er the beauteous lake, receive and protect artists, and wed —if I must absolutely marry —with some poor, ruined prince, who'll spend my fortune, and perhaps beat me, into the bargain. Am I not right? or am I still too ambitious Pes. And you are really going? Bea. In three or four days. Pes. Alone? Bea. Alone, with my maid Francesca. Pes. And the earl is in ignorance of your departure? Bea. Completely. Pes. And you will not tell him where you go? Bea. Why should I? If I still wished to see him, I would remain in London. If I depart, it is to break off this connection, which, impossible for the present, is still more so for the future. Pes. (Aside.) I don't believe a word of it. -(Aloud.) Beatrice, I congratulate you on your resolution. Your good sense has counselled you what necessity would have soon compelled. But let me give you another counsel. Beware of this little Clara: her innocence is perfectly overwhelming; it will confound all calumnies. Bea. I do not fear her: she is guilty. Pes. She guilty! Are you mad I would answer for her innocence with my life! Bea. And whence comes this excess of chivalry? - you, too, who do not believe in virtue. Pes. -Not in virtue, no, but I do believe in innocence; that's a very different matter! Innocence is ignorance. As long as woman knows nothing, it is possible; but when once they are informed, Corpo di Bacco! it's all up with them. Bea. (Aside.) Will he never go! (Goes to door, R. H. 1 E.) Pes. But you are not listening; do you leave me thus? Bea. (Going.) Yes, I must go out. Farewell; you may return this evening; I may have something to tell you. (Exit BEATRICE, R. H. 1 E.) Pes. (Alone.) No, she is not going out. She expects some one; who can it be? Ah! she mistrusts me, she deceives me! She breaks the alliance! So much the better. To the devil with her protection; I refuse it, I renounce it, to save this little Clara. Ah! but can I? This cursed debt, which I must first discharge. O for a poor five thousand pounds, that I might be again an honest man; while, without it, I, Count di Peschiera, Duke de Serrano, must remain the accomplice of a viper. Ah! who comes here Enter WALTER and FPANCESCA, i. H. 1 E. Francesca. This way, sir, this way. I will inform the signora. (Going.) - (Aside.) 0! what a handsome young man! (Exit, R. H. 1 E.) Pes. What! Walter, you here in this house? Walter. Yes, count, I come on business. (Goes up and sits, R. H.) Pes. (Aside.)'Twag he, then, she expected! My suspicions were SCENE I.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 30 correct. There was a motive for this calumny! - (Looking at WALTER.) How sad he is! Alas! with five thousand pounds I could dissipate his sorrow. Ah! an idea! If I should ask him for them? I'll do it! do itr! - (Aloud.) Walter! Lord W. What, my dear count? (Rises, and comes down.) Pes. Hush! I am gone; I have been dismissed. Let us speak low and fast. What would you give to have Clara justified —justified to the whole world? Lord W. (Rising.) Give? All that I possess! Then you don't think her guilty? Pes. I'm not such a fool. Lord W. (Seizing his hand.) My dear, dear count! Pes. What would you give to make a rogue an honest man, to change a dangerous adversary into a faithful friend? Lord W. I would give all that adversary asked of me. Pes. Then lend me five thousand pounds, which I absolutely need, - why I will explain some other time, - and Clara is saved. Lord TV. The truth for five thousand pounds! Why, it is almost nothing! Ah, my friend, you know it then? Pes. Not yet; but I will help you to discover it. It is a mixture of the false and the true. Try you to find the true; I will unravel the falsehood. Lord W. But Beatrice knows all? Pes. Yes; but she will not tell it. You will learn nothing from her. Trust in me. To-night I leave town. I must travel in your cause. This afternoon, at five, I will be at your hotel. Lord W. You shall have the five thousand pounds, and my best wishes with it. Pes. And I shall be again an honest man! To-day at five o'clock, thirty-three minutes, in the evening, eclipse of the rogue - total eclipse! O virtue, thou art worth more than gold! She is here! Farewell! I'm off! (Exit, c. D. F.) Lord W. (Alone.) She comes! Courage! I must try to lie like her! Enter BEATRICE, R. E. 1 E. (Approaching her.) Excuse me, madam, if I seem importunate. Bea. (Supporting herself by the back of a chair.) I was expecting you, my lord. (Aside.) I thought that I was stronger! Lord W. (Aside.) How! This emotion? What can it mean? Bea. (Aside.) This love will be my ruin! (She sits.) Lord W. Perhaps you are surprised at my demand? Bea. No. In your proceeding there is nothing which surprises me. You have seen your father; he has told you that the story of this sad intrigue was told by Tne, here in my house; and you have come to know why I have told it. My lord, I will tell you. (IWith real passion.) I have denounced Clara Bellenden because I do not wish that you should marry her; and I do not wish that you should marry her because I love you, and the idea of this marriage drives me mad. Yes; for the last four years I have loved you, madly loved you; and now I will not that this young girl, who loves you only 36 BEATRICE, OR [ACT II. through obedience, shall rob me of that heart which, like me, she has not bought with tears. Lord I. (Joyfully.) What, madam! those few months we passed together at Redcastle Bea. Can you not see it all? Lord W. How could I hope for so much happiness? For, indeed, I know not why you tell me this with so terrible an air. You say " I love " as you would say " I hate," as though I should be angry. No, no; I am not angry that you love me; I forgive your long suffering for your humble slave; and I confess this love you think so mad and fatal makes me most happy. Bea. ( With irony, rising.) 0, I believe you! It makes you happy, most happy, but not as you would have me think. She loves me, you say; and, to prevent my marriage, she has slandered Clara. But Clara, then, is innocent; and'tis that thought that renders you so happy. You love her then? Lord W. I! I marry her! It was my father who arranged this union. She is a charming girl, and interests me much. But now, when I know that she is compromised by you, and for my sake, - now you will see that she must interest me more, and that my honor bids me do all that I can to clear her fame. Madame di Negra, in this generous task, I count on you to aid me. You have done the wrong; repair it. Bea. I would indeed do so; but how? The story is, unfortunately, true. Lord W. (Quickly.) True! Impossible! Bea. (Aside.) How pale he is! He must adore her. Lord W. (Restraining himself.) And this story —how did you know it? Bea. That I cannot tell to-day. This story is the secret of another woman, the secret of her honor. I had forgotten it; but, when I heard the unexpected news of your approaching marriage, ah! then I recalled it all; memory came back to me, as if it were inspiration; all the details of that night of romance were again most vivid in my mind; and, carried on by the blind fury of a jealous love, I have revealed all. Lord W. (Restraining himself with a great effort.) Ah! if the story is indeed true, I cannot reproach you. I can only pray that she nay marry this Mr. Beverley. Ah! is he married? Bea. I do not know; but, to aid you, I will this evening see this woman whose honor is concerned in this affair, and all that she permits I will reveal. Are you content? Lord W. (Tenderly.) You are not so wicked as I thought; and the motive for your cruelty is so flattering to me! When will you permit me to return to receive this new information? May I come back to-morrow? Bea. (Crossing to R. H.) No; I do not wish you to return. Lord TV. And why? Bea. Because, should I receive you twice, I would be lost. No; here I receive none but grave old men. Lord W. (Laughing.) Ah! it is a regimen, and a severe one. SCENE I.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 37 Bea. No; it is a system, and a good one. To it I owe my reputation. Lord W. But that is now so well established. At first,'tis true, some doubts were hazarded; but they were soon repulsed. Bea. (With bitterness.) Ah, with the world'tis ever thus! It asks to be deceived. If I were simply honest, it would'calumniate me. I am a hypocrite; it knows it, and it respects me with hypocrisy. The world respects not virtue, but the comedy of virtue; and the admiration which it yields to it is not real admiration, but the comedy of admiration, played for the comedy of virtue. Lord W. You are too profound; you frighten me. But tell me, why is it that you disdain to play for me this comedy that you play so well for all the world? Bea. (With exaltation.) Why? Because I cannot. I know not what empire you have over my soul; but near you I feel the want, the need, of truth. Is it your loyalty which appeals to mine? is it my better nature, stifled by the rough contact of the world, that you revive? or is it love, love, which so changes me? I know not; but I do know that there is an unspoken charm in speaking thus, for the first time, with frankness. My mask has fallen, and with delight I feel the pure, fresh air of truth upon my brow; my voice, freed from its constraint, charms me with artless accents; my eyes are raised with pride to give free utterance to my thoughts; I soar above the shoals of falsehood; I swim in the clear stream of truth. O Walter, Walter, this is the force of love! Lord W. You love me, and yet you will not see me! Bea. Here, no; but elsewhere, yes! Lords W. (Smiling and bowing.)'Tis better - Bea. Walter, do not mar the one pure emotion of my life.'Tis with the man I love I wish to be sincerely virtuous. With him I will be in reality what I pretend to be with others. With you, Walter, with you, I will be noble, frank, and worthy. This will be my joy. Lord W. (Aside.) What a strange being! — (Aloud.) Where then will you permit me to see you? Bea. In a few aays, I leave London; but, before I go, I have to call upon my friend the Duchess of Cleveland. Lord W. My rooms are in the same hotel. They adjoin hers. Bea. I know it. I will mistake the door. Expect me! Lord W. You in my rooms! But if you should be seen —be recognized? Bea. Who would dare to recognize me? Lord W. But if you should be stopped; if by some unlucky chance - Bea. And if it pleases me to risk for you my reputation? if this great peril has for me a charm? Alas! you will protect it better than myself; for to compromise me would be to engage yourself, and - you do not love me! Lord IV. It is true. Against you I have serious prejudices. I do not love you; but - Bea. (Confidently.) But you will love me. 4 38 BEATRICE, OI [ACT III. Lord W. Do you think so? Bea. I know it; I feel it here. My love, so violent, must be sympathetic. It has changed me; it will change you. It is my master, and it will be yours. But now leave me. Visitors may come. I wish them not to find you here. Lord W. You will give me, as you have promised, all the information you receive? Bea. Yes. Lord W. And soon? (Going.) Bea. Yes, soon. Farewell! (Exit WALTER, L. H. BEATRICE looks after him with tenderness, then sinks exhausted into a chair.Alone.) How I love that man! Most strange! most strange! that I, who, through cowardice, through fear of being compromised, have caused the death of one who loved me, now compromise myself for one I love! 0, how I love him! (LORD LANDSMERE appears in the inner room.) Ha! the earl! Lord L. (Entering.) Here I am! I bring Clara with me. Bea. And her mother? Lord L. She knows nothing; but we must be quick, as she may hasten after us.' I have told Clara she is going to the country to see her cousin. She is all ready; but you must make haste. Bea. I am with you. Enter CLARA, running in. Clara. What! you are not ready yet? And my uncle told me I would be late. Bea. I am ready in a moment. - (Calling.) Francesca! Clara. 0, I'll run and get your hat and shawl. My cousin will be so glad to see me! I will tell her of my marriage. (Exit CLARA, R. H.) Lord L. Her marriage! I have given orders for my departure. In three days I leave London. And you? Bea. I will be ready then. Lord L. But now make haste. I fear that Bea. Yes, you are right. I go. (Goes towards the door. LADY BELLENDEN appears in the inner room. The EARL and BEATRICE stop, disconcerted.) Lady B. (With authority.) My lord, where is my child? I was told that she was here with you. I do not see her. Where is my child? Bea. She is here, madam. Reassure yourself. Lady B. This is no place for her. Lord L. I am taking her into the country. Lady B. To the country? Bea. Yes; the earl, her guardian, has thought that, after this scandal, it were prudent Lady B. The earl, madam, has not thought it.'Tis you who have given him this idea, which is infernal! No! she shall not go to the country! To-morrow- to-day I have wept too much- tomorrow I will take her out into the world; to-morrow all this base falsehood shall be exposed. SCENE I.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 89 Bea. I can understand all that a mother's heart must suffer; but beware, madam, lest your imprudent zeal may ruin all. Charles Beverley will soon return from France; and then, doubtless, a marriage may be arranged. Lady B. Charles Beverley! Why do you speak of Charles Beverley? I do not know him. Bea. (Wickedly.) But your daughter does. Lady B.'Tis false! My daughter has never seen that man! Lord L. (Indignantly.) Niece, do not insult a woman whom I love, whom I have chosen for my wife, who is to bear my name, and whom, at least in my presence, you must henceforth respect. Lady B. What! you are going to marry! marry her! Ah, now all is explained! My child is slandered that she may profit by your loneliness and grief Ah, madam, you have played well your part; but (to the EARL) you must know Lord L. (Interrupting.) I know that Madame di Negra is worthy of my name, and that for her I shall never have to blush. Would that I could say as much of all my household! Lady B. So you accuse me too! I too must be guilty that this hypocrite may alone be innocent! But I will unmask her yet! and woe to her who has wronged my child! Lord L. What! threats? when you should bow your head in shame, imprudent mother! Bea. (Interposing.) My lord, my lord, I beg of you! You are in my house. Lorgd L. And are you not already of my house? Your very goodness makes her seem more unworthy. - (To LADY BELLENDEN.) Do you wish me to take Clara to the country? Lady B. Never! I will not lose my child! Lord L. Well, then, take her away! Let me never see her again! I do not wish my house filled with ingrates whom I have loved, but who now dishonor and disgrace me. Lady B. You drive us from your house? Lord L. Yes, go! Let me never see you more! Enter CLARA, running in from L. H. Clara. Here is Francesca. - (Perceiving LADY BELLENDEN.) Ah! mother! Lady B. Come, my child, we must return. Clara. And am I not going to the country? Lord L. No; your mother has chosen; you remain with her. Henceforth we are strangers! - (To BEATRICE.) You alone are left me now! Bea. ( With tenderness.) My lord! Clara. (To LADY BELLENDEN, with emotion.) Mother! SITUATIONS. BEATRICE. LANDSMERE. LADY BELLENDEN. CLARA. R. H. TABLEAU. L. H. Quick Curtain. 40 BEATRICE, OR [ACT IV. ACT IV. SCENE I. - Boudoir of BEATRICE, as in last Act. FRANCESCA discovered arranging room. Fran. Heigh-ho! How I wish that-I were back again in Italy! my own beautiful Italy, with your bright, sunny skies, and your fresh, green fields! How I do miss you! Every thing is so different here! Even the signora herself is so changed one would scarcely know her. There we used to have such good times! crowds of handsome young cavaliers, and gay and beautiful ladies, thronging the house from morning till night! But here every thing is so gloomy! No visitors but that old earl, and that stupid minister, and grave old men belonging to the Society. It is not natural for the signora to change so all at once. There is some plot, some secret, beneath all this, which I must find out. I can't live in a house where there's a secret which I don't know; and I won't, either. The other day, Mr. Hoffman told me that ignorance was sin; and I'm sure I don't want to be sinful, when I can help it. Thank Heaven, I haven't lived in England these two years without learning the use of keyholes! and, the very first good chance I get, I'll put that knowledge into practice; that I'm resolved upon. Enter PESCHIERA, C. D. F. Pes. Ah, Francesca! Where is the signora? Fran. She has gone out, signor; but she'll soon return. Pes. Very well; I will wait. Let her know that I am here as soon as she returns. Fran. Yes, signor. (Exit FRANCESCA, R. F.) Pes. (Alone.) Free- at last I'm free! Ere this she has received her five thousand pounds, and now I am free to plot against her. (Taking a package of letters from his pocket.) Here are her letters. I have brought them back to her; for, as a man of honor, I can no longer keep them. (Sits at table, R. H., and writes.) Let us place the epitaph on this dead past - and then, to prove Clara's innocence! (Writing.) "For Madame di Negra" There! May the earth rest lightly upon this episode of love! Enter LORD LANDSMERE, C. D. P. Comes down, L. H. The earl here! The devil! Lord L. Ah, my dear count, I am glad to meet you! I was just speaking of you. But are you going? Pes. Yes; Madame di Negra is not at home. Lord L. Well, then, if you please, we will await her together. Pes. Excuse me; I have not the time. Another visit Lord L. Is there any message I can give her for you? SCENE 1.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 41 Pes. Tell her, if you please, I have brought her this package. She will understand you. Lord L. Ah, some mysterious commission!-(Aside.) I hope she will be done with them when she becomes Lady Landsmere. - (Aloud.) But wait a moment, count. I have a word to say to you. To you I owe my present happiness. The seed which you dropped yesterday has fallen on good ground. The hints you gave me have borne fruit. Yes, I am going to marry. In three days I marry Madame di Negra. Pes. Beatrice - (Recollecting himself.) Madame di Negra? Lord L. Yes. Pes. You are jesting! Lord L. I jest not; I am serious. But you seem astonished. Pes. I confess it. I suspected, yesterday, though you would not acknowledge it, that you loved her. But I did not think you would be so precipitate. Lord L. On the contrary, my dear count, I think that when we meet with happiness we should not be slow to seize it. I am tdo old to wait. I am free. I have no family. I have never loved. Madame di Negra is also free; she is a widow, and a splendid woman - in a word, all that the Countess of Landsmere should be. I love her; she loves me; and so we marry. It seems to me very natural. Pes. 0, yes! And when do you marry? Lord L. As soon as possible; in three days, I think. She loves retirement and solitude. I, too, am weary of the world, and, after this sad scandal, am but too glad to quit it. So we pass the honeymoon on my estate of Landsmere. But, my dear count, what is the matter? You appear embarrassed. Pes. My lord, take my advice. Delay this marriage, if there is yet time. Lord L. What do you mean? Pes. I mean that, however much in love a man may be, it is useless to marry Beatrice di Negra. Lord L. Count, when telling you that I loved Madame di Negra, I probably forgot to add that I respected her -- Pes. 0, then we'll say no more about it! I only wished, as a friend, to give you my advice. I thought it my duty to do so. But, presto! you stop me with one of those cold, marble replies peculiar to you Englishmen. We children of a sunnier clime are not used to them. You frighten me! Lord L. And think you she does not love me? Pes. I do not say that. Love her if you please; she is worth It; but do not marry her. Lord L. What do you mean? Pes. I will explain. My lord, do you like peaches? Lord L. Peaches? Yes. Pes. Well, then, go you, some day, into a fruit shop, and ask for the best peaches. The shopman will show you a basket full of manificent fruit, arranged regularly, slightly apart, and separated by leaves, that they may not touch and be corrupted by the contact. Ask him the price, and he will say, perhaps, one shilling. Look 4* 42 BEATRICE, OR [ACT IV. around you. Near by this basket you will see another, full of peaches, to ail appearance precisely like the first, only more closely packed together, showing but one half the surface, and which the merchant has not offered you. Say to him, "How much are these? " and he will answer, " Sixpence." Naturally you will wish to know why this fruit, as large, as beautiful, as ripe, as appetizing, as the others, are but half their price. Then he will take one up, as softly as possible, and, turning it around, will show you a little black spot, the cause of its inferior price. Well, my lord, Madame di Negra is a sixpenny peach. Lord L. You know something against her character? Pes. No; only, to be a widow there should be a husband; a dead husband, it is true; but a dead husband is sometimes more difficult to find than a live one. Lord L. Then she is not a widow? Pes. No; she has never been a wife. Lord L. Are you sure? Pee. I am sure. I have known her many years; and, when the Count di Negra died, she was known only as Beatrice Franzini. This, perhaps, I should have told you before; but I was bound to her by ties that kept me silent. To-day I am free, and have done you a friend's service. Farewell, and don't'betray me. I do not care to have her find me here; she would suspect something; and she must not know of this conversation. Lord L. O, of course not! But you do not wish me, then, to take charge of your commission for her? Pes. What commission? Lord L. That package that you wished me to hand to her. Pes. 0, say nothing about it! Lord L. What is it, then? Pes. Only some papers. Lord L. Business papers? Pes. Yes, that's it; business papers. Good by. (Going.) Lord L. My dear count, you are not frank with me. These papers are not business papers; they are letters. Come, confess it. The more you tell me, the better will I be armed against her. Pes. (After a pause.) Well, then, they are letters — Lord L. That she has written to you, and that now, when she is about to marry, she wishes to have returned? Count, prove that you are my friend. Pes. What shall I do? Lord L. Give me these letters. Pes. To you? Lord L. Yes. Pes. You know that is impossible. Lord L. And why? Pes. Because the letters of any woman, however criminal she may be, should yet be sacred. Lord L. It is a little late, my dear count, to talk heroics. In the name of justice and truth, give me those letters. Pes. I tell you, my lord, it is impossible. You ask a thing alike Imworthy of yourself and me. SCENE I.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 43 Lord L. I simply ask the proof of what you have told me. Pes. You are at liberty to doubt it. Lord L. I would do for you that which I ask you to do for me. Pes. Swear it upon the honor of an English peer. Lord L. I- (He hesitates and stops.) Pes. You see it is impossible Lord L. You are right. Well, I pledge you my honor not to read these letters. Give them to me, and I will give them to Madame di Negra - Pes. Hold, my lord! I came here to give up to Madame di Negra, or to leave for her, should she not be at home, certain papers to which I no longer have a right. They are here, sealed and enveloped. Madame di Negra is not at home. I place them on this table, that she may find them on her return; and I will come in half an hour, to learn if she has received them. Now, my lord, of this situation make what use you please. I have acted only as your friend; and such will I be as long as you may please to have me so. Farewell, or au revoir. (Exit, c. D. F.) Lord L. (Alone.) Count- count — (Takes up the letters.) After all, the past of this woman belongs to me, since I give to her my name. I will read these letters. (Putting them back.) No; he was right. It is impossible — Enter BEATRICE, C. D. F. Bea. Ah, my dear lord! have you been waiting long? Lord L. No; and I have not been alone. Bea. Not alone! And who has been with you? Lord L. The Count di Peschiera. Bea. (Aside.) Peschiera! Can he have betrayed me? —(Aloud.) And why did he not wait? Lord L. He had not time. Bea. Will he return? Lord L. In half an hour, he said. But, my dear Beatrice, where have you been? Bea. 0, I have been to so many tiresome places! But, as it was for you, I do not care. Lord L. For me? Bea. Yes, sir, for you. Before I can become your wife, I must put all my affairs in order; and I have been to my lawyers, looking over deeds and papers. Here is the exact amount of my fortune. As my husband, you have the right to know it. Lord L. (Putting back the paper.) That's of no consequence. Well? Bea. Here is the register of my birth. Ah, I am almost thirty! quite an old woman, I declare! - (Reading.) "Born, on the 4th of February, 1828, a child of the female sex, daughter of Giulio, Marquis Stdfani." Ah, you see I am of good family! And here (giving another paper) is my marriage contract; and here, the certificate of my husband's death; that is, my right to love you in the face of all 44 BEATRICE, OR [ACT IV. the world. As you see, I've been a widow for the past eight years. But what is the matter? You seem preoccupied. Lord L. 0, ho! But is that all you have done this morning? Ben. Yes; only I called on the president of our society, to see about the admission, of a poor boy, in whom I am much interested. I was not successful; and I am really sorry, for the poor child is coming for his answer in an hour, and I don't know how to tell it him. Lord L. There is one way. Bea. What is it? Lord L. To write before he comes. Is not that the best way to tell bad news? And I have never seen your handwriting. Bea. You have n-t lost much. My penmanship is frightful. Lord L. That we will soon see. Bea. You really wish, then, I should write this letter? Well, to oblige you; I can refuse you nothing. (Sits and writes, R. H.) "My Poor Child: I have been to see the president of the society, as I promised you, but unfortunately" -0, what a horrid pen! —(To the EARL, who has been watching her.) You can't read it, it is so bad. (She rises.) Lord L. Beatrice, give me that piece of a letter. Ben. This piece! Nonsense! What can you want with it? Lord L. No matter. A keepsake - a gage d'amour. Bea. Well, take it; though what you can want it for I can't imagine. (LORD LANDSMERE looks at the writing attentively.) Lord L. Ah, I forgot to tell you that the cpunt left a package for you! Bea. For me? A package? Do you know what it contains? Lord L. Letters, I believe. Bea. Letters? Whose letters? Lord L. Why, your letters, to be sure. Bea. My letters! I don't understand you to-day, my dear lord. What can you mean? My letters! Where are they Lord L. Here they are. Bea. Give them to me. Lord L. Forgive me, Beatrice; but I must break this seal. Bea. And did the count leave these letters for me? Lord L. I have already told you he did. Bea. Then break the seal, and read them, if you please. Whatever is mine belongs alike to you. If you wished to see anything in those letters, you need not have waited for my return. But I must ask you, when you have gratified your curiosity, to explain what all this means; for I can't understand a word of it, I assure you. Lord L. All shall be explained, I promise you. (He unseals the package, and takes out a letter, which he compares with the piece of writing BEATRICE has given him.) Bea. Well? Lord L. Beatrice, there is some devilish mystery here. Bea. I should think so; for I can't read a word of this enigma. Lord L. Look at these letters. (Gives her the letters.) Bea. They are a woman's letters. SCENE I.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 45 Lord L. Read them. Bea. (Looking them over.) They are love letters, or almost so; though the expressions are not very tender. Yet they will pass for love letters. Well? Lord L. You do not know who wrote those letters? Bea. How should I know? There is no signature. Lord L. This, then, is not your writing? Bea. What, my writing! Are you mad Ah! did the count say that I wrote those letters? Lord L. Yes. Bea. But then, he must have been my lover. Lord L. So it appears. Bea. And did he tell you that? Lord L. He gave me to understand that such had been the case. Bea. Count Peschiera tell you that! Nonsefse! He must have been jesting. Lord L. On the contrary, he was never more serious. Bea. He must have been laughing at you. I have known him much longer than you, and I know him to be incapable of such baseness. Years ago he loved me, and paid me his court; and I have thought that he did not like the idea of my marrying, because it deprived him of all hope; but that he should have endeavored to prevent it by such a calumny, I say again is utterly impossible. Lord L. That we shall see. Beatrice, swear to me, by all you hold most sacred in your creed, that the count's words were false! Bea. An oath! Ah, I see, indeed, that it is something more than a mere jest! It is a treachery, and from you - Lord L. From me? Bea. Yes. I see you regret, already, the engagement you yesterday contracted with me; but, my lord, it would have been far more simple to have frankly told me so, than to have had recourse to such a stratagem, which does more honor to your ingenuity than to your delicacy. Lord L. Beatrice, do you accuse me of this infamy? Bea. And of what, then, do you accuse me? Lord L. The count will soon be here. I will demand an explanation before you. Bea. And do you, then, need the count's authority to believe in my honor? My lord, I loved you, and, when you asked me, frankly told you so; for I thought, at least, that you esteemed me. I seek neither the reason nor the cause of this your conduct. But you have submitted me to a trial humiliating to my love and to my self-respect. You have suspected me. Henceforth all is at end between us. Lord L. But, Beatrice, my jealousy is only proof of my great love; and I love you so fondlyBea. I do not wish to be thus loved. Lord L. I swear to you Bea. Enough! Lord L. Beatrice, hear me - (BEATRICE turns away.) 46 BEATRICE, OR ACT IV. Enter FRANCESCA, C. D. F. Fran. Mrs. Fitzherbert desires to know if the signora is visible. Bea. Yes; always, to her. - Enter MRS. FITZHERBERT, C. D. F., in travelling dress. Ah, my dear Fanny, you are very welcome. My lord, I pray you to excuse me, but we have private business. Lord L. When may I have the honor of seeing you again? Bea. I do not know. To-morrow I shall leave town, and till then shall receive no visitors. (Exit LORD LANDSMERE, C. D. F., expressing sorrow.) Bea. —(To FRANCESCA.) If the earl call again to-day, you will say that I am not at home. Fran. Yes, Signora. (Going- Aside.) Now for the keyhole! (Exit R. H. 1 E.) Mrs. F. Ah, you and the earl already quarrelling! I fear your honeymoon will not be a happy one. Bea. 0, never fear. I know what I am doing. In an hour he will be at my feet. Poor old man! He is very much in love; but to-day he has taken it into his head to be jealous. Mrs. F. Jealous? and about what, pray? Not Lord Walter, I hope? Ah, Beatrice! I always told you your mad love for that young man would be your ruin. Bea. Thank heaven; of him the earl has not the least suspicion. But, look! do you recognize these letters? (Shows her the letters.) Mrs. F. What! my letters! those letters I wrote to Count Peschiera, at your dictation, when we were at Baden? But how came they here? Bea. 0, Peschiera has lately resolved to turn an honest man. He has become my enemy; and, delicate as ever upon a point of honor, thought proper to return what he supposed my letters, ere he declared against me. Calling here this morning, as usual, he met the earl, and plainly told him I was an imposter- in a word, all the secrets of my life. To substantiate his words, he left these letters; which, on my return, the earl begged permission to read. Of course I granted it; and in the midst of the old fool's astonishment that they were not in my handwriting, I told him the count was laughing at him; and, affecting indignation, dismissed him more in love than ever. Mrs. F. Cleverly played, indeed. The count is no match for you in diplomacy. And how comes on the affair of Clara Bellenden? Bea. There, too, all is well. Beverley cannot return to proclaim hef innocence, for he is detained abroad. Ere his business is ended, I shall be a countess. Mrs. F. But the old gardener, Bellamy, has been sent for. He will tell the truth. Bea. Yes, far as he knows it; but all he says will but confirm her guilt. He knows not the motive nor the cause of that nocturnal meeting; he only knows that they were seen alone at night, together. That night Charles Beverley was saved from death by Clara. SCENE I.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 47 Mrs. F. And you will ruin her? Bea. (With passion.) I will. Has she not dared to come between me and my love? Has she not dared to love Walter - the one sole object of my heart's idolatry? Has she not filched from me his heart? Has she not made to me the world one sea of black despair? And shall I spare her now? No! her love shall be the winding sheet of her fair fame, as it is my heart's shroud. (Crosses R. H.) But enough of this. Let us speak of other things. What means this dress? Mrs. F. I am going abroad. Bea. Abroaa! when do you start? Mrs. F. In an hour. I am going to Paris, Belgium, Germany. I don't know when I shall return, but I could not go without bidding you farewell. And then I want you to do me a little favor. The preparations for travelling, you know- the thousand little expenses, have used up all my funds. Can you not let me have a hundred pounds? I will send it to you as soon as I reach Paris. Bea. (Interrupting.) Say no more; my purse, you know, is ever at your service. (Goes to escritoire and takes money.) Here is the amount. Is that all you want? Mrs. F. 0, yes; and I am so much obliged to you. But it is getting late, and I must go. It seems so strange to leave London; but it can't be helped; for, to tell you the truth, I am running away from my creditors. Good-by. Ben. But I shall hear from you. Mrs. F. 0 yesi you shall have news o, me. And you must write to me at Paris. I shall so long to hear from you, and of your plans. But I must go, or I shall be late. Good-by. I'm so much obliged to you for the money. (Exit c. D. F.) As she goes out, enter PESCHIERA, who salutes her, and comes down. Bea. Farewell; and may it be forever. We meet no more when I shall be a countess. -(To PESCHIERA.) Ah, count! I was impatient to see you. (Sits R. H.) We have an account to settle, have we not? Pes. (L. H.) An account! What account? Boa. (R. H.) Do not pretend to misunderstand me. This morning you betrayed me to the earl. Pes. True. Bea. You told him he was wrong to marry me, and why he was wrong. Pes. True. Bea. You have at least the merit of frankness; but you have none the less been guilty of a - Ah, how do you call such a proceeding? Pes. A foolishness. Is that the word you seek? Bea. No. Pes. A treachery, perhaps? Bea. No, nor that; aPes. A cowardice. Why do you not speak it? The word is trembling on your lips. 48 BEATRICE, OR [ACT IV. Bea. Exactly —a cowardice. (She rises.) Pes. And how have I been guilty of this cowardice? Bea. Because a man of honor keeps such secrets locked in his own breast; and it is a cowardice to betray them! Pes. That only proves that you and I have different ideas of honor; besides, I had only promised to be your friend, and not your accomplice. Bee. But do you know that your treachery has turned out to my advantage? Really, count, I am surprised that you, a thorough man of the world, did not see the snare in which you are caught. Pes. The snare? Bea. Yes, and verynaturally, mypoorfriend. And so youwished to strive against a woman! Learn now from me, Ramiro, that the most simple woman, and surely I am not she, is a hundred times more skilful than the most cunning man. I believed yesterday that your great friendship would not last me long, and that your sense of honor would soon declare war against me; so, this morning, as the time approached for your usual visit, I went out purposely, that you might be alone with the old earl. As I expected, you met him; you revealed to him my past life; you left with him my letters; I returned; he did not know my writing; he made me write before him; he compared the two. Pes. Well? Bea. And, as there was not the least resemblance, he was convinced that I am the victim of a foul calumny, and only thinks of calling you out. I dismissed him for his suspicions; told him that I would never see him again; that I would not be his wife - in a word, all that a woman of wit would do in a similar situation. Well, in less than ten minutes he will be here; he will sue for forgiveness; I will be merciful; and in two days we will be married. Pes. And have you then two handwritings? Bea. No, only one; and that, indeed, is quite enough. Pes. But the letters that I received from you? Bea. Were written by Mrs. Fitzherbert. You know we were inseparable at Baden, and she it was who answered all your letters. So, my dear friend, you have been in correspondence with Fanny. She leaves England within the hour, or I would not have told you. You would have bribed her to speak the truth; and she is not proof against the power of gold. For the rest, you may be at ease. I won't tell her husband, or he might seek your life - English husbands are so revengeful. Pes. I know not what to say. Enter FRANCESCA, R. H. 1 E. Fran. The earl, signora, is below. Bea. Have you forgotten my orders? Fran. No, Signora; but he insisted, and declared he would not leave the house till he had seen you. Bea. (To PESCHIERA.) You see, he is already at my feet. Well, I will see him. Farewell, Ramiro! and beware when next you plot against a woman. (Exit BEATRICE, R. H. 1 E.) SCENE 1.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 49 Pes. (Aside.) Well, this is a scrape! The tables are turned upon me with a vengeance. The earl will no longer believe me, and all my efforts for poor little Clara will be of no avail. The old Arab proverb is indeed true, that "Speech is of silver, but silence is of gold." Cos petto! I had better have held my tongue. Fra.n (Aside.) O, what a horrid plot I have found out! I never knew before the virtue of an English keyhole. What a dreadful woman the signora is! I am afraid to stay any longer in the same house with her. 0, I must tell somebody, or this secret will be more than I can bear. - (To PESCHIERA.) Signor! count! Pes. Ah, Francesca, you want me? Fran. Yes, signor. Are you Lord Walter's friend? Pes. Yes. Fran. What would you give me if I could prove Miss Clara's innocence? Pes. Give you to prove her innocence? Give you? Any thing you want; -a kiss and twenty guineas. Fran. Ah, signor, the kiss has spoiled the rest. The gold would have sufficed without the kiss - the kiss without the gold. But will you send me back to Italy? Pes. (Very excitedly.) Yes; to Italy, Spain, Kamschatka- where you will. But, speak! tell me, what do you know? We will settle the account afterwards. Fran. 0, signor! such a horrid plot! Miss Clara is innocent; she exposed herself to save Mr. Beverley's life. The signora knows it all, but she loves Lord Walter; and because Miss Clara loves him too, she has sworn to ruin her. Mr. Beverley is detained abroad, and cannot come home to tell the truth. Besides, he knows nothing of this plot, and that is why the signora is so sure. 0, she is a monster! and I thought she was such an angel! Pes. Ah, Francesca, you must not judge by appearances. But how did you learn all this? Fran. (Pointing to the door.) There. Pes. There? how? Fran. The keyhole. Pes. The keyhole? Fran. Yes, I listened there. I knew there was some secret, and I could not live in a house with a secret, and not know it. Pes. Ah, Francesca, it was very wrong to listen. And you heard all this? Fran. Yes; and a great deal more too. The signora was talking with her friend, Mrs. Fitzherbert. She's another monster! And they were laughing about how nicely they had deceived you with the letters. But you know all about that, for the signora told you herself. Pes. 0 ho! so then, you were listening to my conversation, too, were you? Well, there's no harm done, and I'll forgive you. But will you tell all this to the old earl, if called upon? Fran. Indeed I will; for I cannot bear to see Miss Clara so wronged. But you must send me back to Italy. 5 50 BEATRICE, OR [ACT IV. Pes. I will take care of that. And now tell me, Francesca, which will you have - the kiss, or the twenty guineas? Fran. (A little embarrassed.) Well, signor, if it is all the same to you, I should prefer the gold. Pes. Here is my purse, my child; but you shan't be the loser by your choice, for here is the kiss, too. (Kisses her.) Fran. Thank you, sir. (Exit R. H. 1 E.) Pes. (Alone.) Clara innocent! My own truth proved to the earl! How happy I shall make Walter! Ah, I see it all. Beverley must be sent for. No, I'll go myself. This very night I'll go to Paris. (Going.) Ah, Beatrice! you have played most skilfully, but the game is not yet won. (Exit c. D. F. Scene closes in.) SCENE II. - (In 2 G.) The apartments of LADY BELLENDEN. Doors R. and L. Table and two chairs R. H. Sofa and chairs L. H. Enter LADY BELLENDEN, L. H., weeping. Lady B. (Entering.) Alas! all, I fear, is lost. The earl refuses to hear- even to see me. Mark has not yet arrived. Clara is still in ignorance, but she must soon learn all; and then, poor child, her heart will break; and I must see her suffer, and be unable to disprove her guilt. I shall go mad! 0, Beatrice di Negra, thou fiend in woman's shape, fearful indeed will be thy punishment if equal to thy crimes! Ah, some one comes! they must not see me weep. (Dries her eyes.) Enter A SERVANT, R. H. 1 E., bearing books and papers. Has Mark come yet? Serv. No, my lady. He cannot be here before five o'clock. Lady B. (Aside.) 0, this agony of doubt! (To the Servant.) Send him to me as soon as he arrives. Serv. Yes, my lady. (Places books and papers on table, R. H. Goes to door, R. H., and turning, announces) Lord Courtenay, my lady! (Exit R. H. 1 E.) Enter LORD WALTER, R. H. 1 E. Lady B. (Anxiously.) You have seen your father? Lord W. Yes. He is inflexible. And the earl? Lady B. He refuses to see me. He is resolved upon his marriage, and has ordered me to leave his house. Lord W. Patience! And Clara! Lady B. As yet knows nothing. I cannot believe her guilty. Lord IT. Guilty! She is an angel. I would stake my life upon her innocence. But Madame di Negra's confidence in her assertions terrifies me. There is some fearful mystery beneath all this. Perhaps some imprudence of Clara's. Can you recall nothing? Lady B. I was very ill -almost dying and delirious. Those SCENE II.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 51 were the only days in my life that I have not watched over my child; but I know her: I will answer for her. Enter SERVANT, R. H. Serv. My lady, Mark is here. Lady B. Ah! Lord W. At last - at last! Enter MARK BELLAMY, R. H. Lady B. Come, Mark, come in. Mark B. My service, my lady, - service, sir. Lady B. (To SERVANT.) Leave us, and remember I am at home to none. (Exit SERVANT, R. H.) Mark, I am very glad you are come. I must have troubled you sadly. lMark B. I am always at the service of your ladyship. Lady B. Mark, we have some questions to ask you. Mark B. Some questions, my lady? Lady B. Yes; a very strange story has been told us. We wish to know the truth from you. It is your duty to tell it to us. Mark B. If you mean what happened down in Warwickshire, I can explain it only to your ladyship alone. Lady B. This gentleman is Lord Courtenay. You may speak without fear before him. Mark B. Ah, is he Lord Courtenay?- Miss Clara's intended husband? 0, no! before him I would not dare Lord Tt. I will withdraw. Lady B. No, Walter, remain; you must know all. I make this sacrifice to your honor: you will respect mine. Lord W. Your cause is mine. Whatever I may learn, you may rely upon my silence. Lady B. (Taking his hand.) Noble heart! Alas! (She sits upon the sofa, L. H.) Walter! (Leans upon the back.) Well, my good Mark. Mark B. Heaven is my witness, madam, that I would have given my fairest plants rather than have come here to-day. Lady B. Speak - speak quickly, I conjure you. Mark B. Your ladyship knows that for the twenty years I was in the service of your family, I always respected my masters. Lady B. (Anxiously.) Yes, Mark, yes. Mark B. Your ladyship will not think that I wish to offend; and if what I am going to say Lady B. 0, I well know your devotion, Mark. But conceal nothing. I must know all. It was last AugustMark. Yes, my lady, it was in the month of August -a year ago, on the evening of the 28th. I had gone to bed early, for I had to rise before day. You, my lady, were very ill, and they had given me a prescription to take to the apothecary in the next town. You did not have confidence in our village doctor, though he was a very honest man. About three o'clock I was suddenly aroused. 62 BEATRICE, OR [ACT IV. The dog was barking furiously; but I thought it was all the better, for I would the sooner be ready to set out. So I got up, took my gun, and went out to see what was the matter. I slipped along behind the hedge, listening attentively, but I heard nothing more; but the next moment I saw the white dress of a woman glistening in the moonlight as it shone on the broad avenue. I looked again, and recognized the graceful form of Miss Clara. I could not be mistaken. To see her in the garden at that hour of the night surprised me. I thought that something terrible must have happened; and I was hastening after her, when I saw that she was not alone, and that, instead of being troubled and agitated, she was walking slowly and cautiously like one who does not wish to be seen. I stopped, and tried to make out whom she was with; but the groups of dahlias and the tall altheas were blended at that distance with the dark clothes of the young man. At first I thovght, I hoped, it was the doctor who had been with your ladyship all night, and whom Miss Clara was letting out by the garden gate, so as not to awaken the whole house by opening the large door, which is so difficult to shut; and then I ran to meet them, to see if I was still to go to the apothecary. But as I approached I saw it could not l:e the doctor, for he is a short, stout man, and this was a tall, fine-locking young fellow, with moustaches and beard. But I had so much trcuble to believe what I saw that I said to myself, "It is one of the doctor's students, whom he has left to watch in case of accident, ai.d now Miss Clara is conducting him out." But —but that as not the way she would have treated a stranger, - a young physician, - whom she saw for the first time. 0, no, that was not! -(In great trouble.) 0, my lady, my dear lady, do not ask me to go on! Lady B. Yes, Mark, you must proceed. I must know all. Mark B. It was- 0 Heaven! it burns my tongue to denounce this poor child who used to play atout me when I was at work, and whom I loved, saving your respect, your ladyshipwhom I loved as my own child. 0, I love her still! I cannot help loving her; but from that time it has not been the same. Lady B. Mark, my good old Mark, you see my agony. For Heaven's sake proceed! Mark. Ah, my lady, you will suffer greater agony when I shall have told you all; and to denounce her, to injure her, who has always been so kind to me! 0, it will break my heart! Lady B. (Rising in agony.) Think not of us, Mark; think not of us. Speak; I must provide against new dangers. Speak, I have strength to hear you. Mark B. 0, my lady, a mother has not strength to hear such things of her only child. Lady B. But, perhaps, Mark, you were right; perhaps it was one of the doctor's students who had watched with me, and, in her gratitude, Clara treated him like an old friend. Mark B. 0, I could have understood that. But she was not only affectionate —she was familiar, tender, and loving. She leaned her head upon his shoulder, she caressed him as my old wife caresses me when I return, or when I bid her farewell. 0, one must love, and love very dearly, to caress another in that way! SCENE II.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 03 Lady B. (Almost fainting.) But —he —the young man - Mark B. Ah, he; from the position I was in, I could not see him well; so, wishing to find out who he was, when I heard Miss Clara open the little garden gate, I jumped over the wall to catch him when he should come out into the road; and when I saw it was Charles Beverley, all was explained to me. But what troubled me most was the thought that perhaps I was not the only one who had seen them; and I quickly returned to the garden. At the same moment I heard the noise of a window being closed, in the hotel which is on the left of the garden, by the old poplars. This window has always troubled me; and so, as I thought this story would sooner or later become known, I asked my discharge of your ladyship, that I might not be there when it was talked about. I do not know how to lie, and this secret has always weighed upon my mind. I have only obeyed your prayers and commands in speaking thus. I have told you the whole truth, and now I hope that your ladyship will forgive me. (Dries his eyes.) Lady B. I thank you, Mark; you have only done your duty. Wait, now, below, till I send for you. You must not go back tonight: we may have further need of you. Leave us, now, good Mark, and wait below. (MARK sadly goes out, R. H., after saluting; as soon as he is gone, LADY BELLENDEN falls upon the sofa, sobbing bitterly.) Lord IV. (Earnestly, seeing her weep.) And do you, then, believe all that? Lady B. Lord Walter, I give you back your promise plighted to my child. You are free. Lord W. (Indiqnantly.) But I will not accept my freedom! I tell you, madam, that your child is innocent; and I do not understand how you, her mother, can for a moment doubt. But I- I who have not known her childhood, I who have not watched her cradle, I who have not seen (as you) the budding of her beauty, or the unfolding of her pure and noble mind, I declare her, I judge her to be innocent. Lady B. You love her, and love - Lord IV. Love is not blind to jealousy. On the contrary, it is eager for suspicion; and yet I who, of all others, ought to doubt, have faith despite the evidence. Send for her now, and hear her explanation. Lady B. I will do so. (She rings, and crosses to L. H ) But how can I question her? I know not how to address her; I fear to. Lord W. (Eagerly.) Ah, you see you do not think her guilty. Enter SERVANT, R. H. 1 E. Lady B. (To SERVANT.) Tell Miss Clara I wish to see her. (SERVANT crosses and exit, L. H.) She is in her chamber, trying on the new dresses of her trousseau. How shall I commence this sad examination? How approach this painful subject? Lord W. Ask her first if she knows this Mr. Beverley. Lady B. No! 0, no; that would warn her of the importance 5 * 54 BEATRICE, OR [ACT IV. we attach to her reply. No; here, take this book, and pretend that we were talking of its contents. I hear her. She is coming. 0, how my heart beats! WALTER, seated at the table, R. H.; LADY BELLENDEN 0on the sofa.) Enter CLARA, L. H., dressed for dinner in a white robe; as she enters, she is arranging her knots and bracelets. Clara. (Gayly.) I have tried on all my new dresses. There are two of velvet, one green and one black; and they suit me exactly, especially the green one. Madame Malhube herself said it made me look two inches taller, and ten years older. I look like a real lady. 0, when I have that dress on they won't call me little Clara any more, and I'm very glad of it. I was getting tired of it. But you sent for me, mamma. (Goes up to her mother.) But how pale you are! Are you ill? Lady B. No, my child, I am not ill. Clara. But you look as if something troubled you. Lady B. No. Clara. (To WALTER.) HOW sad mamma is! Has any thing happened to me? Lord [W. No; but you are soon to be married, you know, and it is always somewhat sad for a mother to lose, as it were, an only child. Clara. Why? Is it true, dear mother, that you are sad because I am going to be married? Then, I will wait. Lady B. (Making her sit down by her side, L. H.) It is a sorrow that I desire, my dear child; but marriage is a serious thing. Clara. And ought I to be sad and serious? Lord W. No; you see that I am very happy. Clara. (Pointinq to her mother.) But she - Lady B. To give one's child to a husband is to part with her, and the separation Clara. (Quickly.) But we won't be separated: we will all live together. Won't we, Walter? Lady B. If it is not a complete separation, it is at least a division. You have loved but us, and now another is going to take away from us the half of your affection. Clara. 0, as for that, you must be prepared. I shall love my husband; on that I am decided. But I shall always love you just the same. You will find no difference. Lady B. (Aside to WALTER.) When I listen to her, I am reassured Lord IV. (Aside to LADY BELLENDEN.) I have no longer any fear. Quick, ask her about this Beverley. Lady B. (The same.) Yes; do you observe her? —(Aloud to CLARA.) HOW pretty you look to-day! Why have you dressed so much? Clara. To dine with my uncle. Have you forgotten to-day is Wednesday? and we always dine with him on Wednesdays. Lady B. I had, indeed, forgotten to tell you that we would not SCENE II.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 66 dine with the earl to-day. He is suffering, and receives no one to-day. Clara. Poor uncle! Then we must go and see him after dinner. Lady B. No; he wishes to be alone. (She makes a sign to WALTER.) Clara. What! all alone? Lady B. No; he wishes to talk quietly with one of his old friends — a Mr. Beverley. You remember him; he used to live in Warwickshire, and often passed by our house on horseback with his son. - (Aside to WALTER.) She seems troubled.- (Aloud.) you remember Charles Beverley,- a tall, fair young man, —who had some pretensions to your hand. You were particularly kind to him. Clara. Ah! Did he say that? Lady B. And I have heard it said that when I was so ill, so very ill - which perfectly explains his conduct - he came to ask news of me, and that you received him. Clara. (Embarrassed.) No, mother, Charles Beverley never came to ask news of you. Lady B. I was sure of it, else you would have told me; and see, my dear Clara, how these stories are invented. I have been assured that you were seen one night alone together in the garden. Clara. (Quickly, and rising.) We were seen! Lady B. (Also rising.) Ah, is it then true? Clara. -And who could have seen us? Lady B. But it is true, then; it is true, unhappy girl! Lord W. (Who has risen; aside to LADY BELLENDEN.) Calm yourself. - Hush! Lady B. (More gently.) Why have you not told me this before, my child? Clara. (Seriously.) Because, mother, it was very bad. Lady B. Ah, you know, then, you were guilty of imprudence? Clara. What imprudence? He made me promise secresy, and I have kept my word. Lady B. You are right, my child, you should always keep your promises. But explain this story to me, for I do not well understand it. I must have heard it badly. Let me see. I think they said you were seen alone in the garden with Charles Beverley, one night last August. The date even was mentioned - the 28th of August. Clara, No, mamma, it was not that. Lady B. (Joyfully.) 0, I knew it could not be. Clara. It was the 29th. Lady B. That you were seen in the garden with Charles Beverley! You opened the little gate for him that leads out into the road, and he, on leaving you, as if to thank you for the service you had rendered him, was very affectionate. Clara. (Interrupting.) He? No; he only kissed my hand. It was I who was very affectionate with him. Lady B. You! you! But why? Clara. 0, it was necessary. If I had not, we should have been lost. Lady B. (Aside to WALTER.) 0, she will drive me mad! 66 BEATRICE, OR [ACT IV. Lord W. (Aside to LADY BELLENDEN, trying to calm her.) Be calm. Look at her. See how sure she is of herself. - (LADY BELLENDEN goes up stage, and comes down again on L. H. of CLARA.) Come, miss, explain to us why you treated this young fellow so affectionately. Clara. 0, you jealous man! But I will explain it all; it is very simple. It was because I wished to prevent -~ But no; I must tell you the whole story from the beginning. I have already told you it was the 29th of August. Mother had been ill for three weeks- 0, very ill! and for the last two days she had been delirious, and did not know any of us. Her large black eyes stared wildly at us; and, when I came near her, she cried out, " Go away! go away! I hate you! go away!" Only think how ill she must have been! The doctors had all given her up; they raised their eyes to heaven; they spoke so low before me, and murmured, " Poor child! how will she bear it?" O, it was terrible! But, just before night on that day, she grew a little calmer, and the good doctor who saved her told us that if that calm continued, and she could get two or three hours good sleep, he would answer for her life. After so many days of despair, that good news gave us all new courage. The doctor went away, and in a few minutes mother went softly to sleep. Then, without speaking a word, almost without daring to breathe, old Fanny and I made our preparations for the night - Fanny, who had been up with mamma for fifteen nights, and who never recovered from that fatigue. As soon as mamma recovered, she was taken ill, and forced to leave us Lady B. (Interrupting.) But no matter about Fanny! Go on with your story. Clara. Fanny went to sleep in the armchair, and I began to pray. 0, I never prayed before as I did that night! There was nothing to distract my attention as there is in church. The silence was so great that I could plainly hear the ticking of the clock. Then the idea struck me that it would soon strike the hour, and the noise echoing in that profound silence might awake the sleeper. So I arose, and, walking on tiptoe, went to the chimney, and stopped the clock. But scarcely had I done so when I heard Caesar, our large watch dog, at the bottom of the garden, barking furiously. He was yet far off, but I knew by the sound that he was approaching the house. 0, heavens! I thought, if he makes this noise under mother's window, she will awake, and all this good sleep will be lost. Without thinking what I was doing, I took the little lamp off the table; I looked at Fanny - she had heard nothing, besides Caesar did not like her, and would not have listened to her; and quickly I ran down stairs. I thought perhaps there were robbers; but I was not afraid. 0, I would have braved any thing for mother! I opened the door, and looked out upon the terrace. There was Caesar struggling with a tall young man. As long as he should bite him, there was no danger; but the young man had a big stick, and struck hard, and I saw that Caesar would soon let go, and then his barking would awake the whole house. There was not a moment to lose. So I ran up to Mr. Beverley, - I had recognized him, - and said to him,," Quick, sir! take SCENE II.j THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. &7 hold of my hand, and caress me! quick! " Mr. Beverley understood at once that I had come to save him. He seized hold of my hand; and thefn I spoke to him very tenderly, caressing him in this way. (She seizes WALTER'S hand, and leans her head upon his shoulder; then, becoming confused and blushing, leaves him.) With you I do not dare; it is singular. With you, mother! (She lays her hand on her mother's shoulder, and caresses her.) In this way, saying, " This is Mr. Beverley, Caesar; I know him; he is one ofmy friends; we love him very much; and you must not hurt him'or bark at him, that's a good Caesar! There, don't be angry; you see he is my friend! "- in fact, all sorts of nonsense, which made so great an impression upon Caesar's mind that at last he let him go. Then I ran to get the key of the garden gate, and conducted Mr. Beverley out, still holding him by the hand, and treating him very affectionately, for that ugly Caesar still looked very suspicious, and I feared that he would bark; and then I hastened quickly back to the house. 0, how anxious I was as I ran up stairs! How I trembled! for I was so afraid that I should hear your voice, and find you awake. Softly I opened your chamber door; I stole up to your bed. O mamma, what happiness! Heaven had heard my prayer; you were still asleep! (Kneels at her mother's feet. LADY BELLENDEN clasps her to her breast.) TABLEAU. Quick Curtain. ACT V. SCENE. - The Apartments of LORD WALTER. An elegantly-furnished sitting room, c. doors in flat; R. H. 2 E., a fireplace, with fire; L. H. 1 E., a small door; L. H. 3 E., a window, with curtains; a sofa, a pier table, armchairs, 50. Scene closed in, and tormentors on. LORD WALTER discovered seated on R. H., in thought. Enter a SERVANT, bringing a bouquet of violets. Serv. The bouquet of violets that you ordered, sir. Lord W.'Tis well. (Takes the bouquet.) You may go. (Exit SERVANT. WALTER places the bouquet in a vase upon the table; then looks at his watch.) Twelve o'clock! Five years ago to-day, poor Malcolm perished - a victim of this woman's pride! Five years ago to-day! But now the hour of reparation comes; and you, my friend, shall be indeed avenged. Our plan is well laid. Let me see: have I forgotten any thing? No! There (pointing to R. H.) is the boudoir of the Duchess of Cleveland, where Lady Bellenden is concealed. In a moment, Madame di Negra will enter through this door, (points to c. D. F.) I will snatch from her the secret on which hangs Clara's 68 BEATRICE, OR [ACT V. honor; or, if I obtain nothing from her, her presence here will suffice to ruin and destroy her! (A knock heard at the door, L. H. 1 E.) Ah! some one at this door! It is Lady Bellenden. (He unlocks and opens the door.) Lady B. (On the threshold of the door.) We are here! Lord VW. And Clara? Lady B. She is with the daughter of the duchess. Lord W., And the earl? Lady B. Hb is coming. He no longer curses us; but he is resolved upon his marriage. Lord W. Then he no longer doubts of Clara's innocence? Lady B. No; but he doubts that we can prove it to the world. Lord W. He shall not doubt it long. You will appear at my signal? Lady B. What signal? Lord W. At the proper moment, I will open the curtain of this window. Lady B. Which is opposite the boudoir of the duchess. Good! Lord W. One word more. Does Madame di Negra know of Clara's explanation? Lady B. She knows all. Lord W. Then she will not come. Lady B. She will come. O Walter, you do not know these prudes! Their passions only burn the fiercer from their long subjection. If their veil is thick, it is because there is so much to conceal. Beware this woman! Lord W. And do you too doubt me? Lady B. She is very artful, and you are very young. Lord W. Fear not. I will think of Clara, and I will be strong. But hark! she is coming! Quick; return, and wait the signal. (Exit LADY BELLENDEN. WALTER for a moment alone.) And now, Beatrice di Negra, the hour of your doom is come. (BEATRICE opens the door, c. F., rushes in, and precipitately closes it behind her.) Bea. (Quickly.) No one has seen me? (She listens at the door.) Lord TV. (Advancing and reassuring her.) The hall is very dark. Ben. Beside, I have my excuse. Lord W. (With a feigned tenderness throughout this scene.) At last you've come! Bea. I am not late? Lord W. No, but I was waiting so impatiently. It is so cold today. Come, sit down by the fire. What frightful weather! Bea. (Betraying agitation, but trying to laugh.) 0, I like this weather; this thick, heavy fog, in which you can see nothing, nor be seen. I'm not cold; I walked so rapidly. Lord W. Ah! then you must be too warm. Come, take off your mantle and your bonnet. (Approaches to assist her.) Bea. (Gently repulses him, removes her mantle and her bonnet, which WALTER places upon a chair up stage.) Walter, I wish to speak to you. Lord W. (Admiring her hair.) 0, what glorious hair! Bea. (Going up to fire-place and warming her feet.) I wish to speak seriously with you, Walter. SCENE I.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 59 Lord W. What a delicious foot! Bea. (Still at fire-place, taking off her gloves.) Why try to deceive me, Walter Why all this falsity of tenderness? I know well your sentiments towards me; and if I am come here to-day, to your rooms, it is not to give myself up blindly to your love, but to yield voluntarily to your hate. Try not to deceive me: I know all. This rendezvous is a snare, a trap; I know it, and because I know it, am I come. Lord W. (Aside.) Can she have discovered all? - (Aloud.) Ah, madam, can you think Ben. Hush, Walter, you are going to lie, and I wish not that you should be false, - you, the one sincerity of my life. Fear nothing then: frankly avow your hate; I deserve it, and it does you honor. I have wished to ruin a young girl whom you love - Lord W. Clara! I forbid you to breathe that name. She is already justified, and she is innocent. It only remains to know with whom Charles Beverley passed that fatal night. This you have promised to tell me, and it is for that I have consented to receive you. Bea. Ah! now you are yourself again; now you are my true Walter. I liked not to see you play the hypocrite. It may do for me - a woman - but a man, a man who can brave the world, and who is free, has no right to dissimulate. Lord W. You are right: I cannot play the cheat. I seek for vengeance, and I hate you. Bea. A little less already? - am I not right? Lord W. But why, why do you offer yourself to my vengeance? why do you come to seek it? Bea. To take away its pang - to disarm it by self-sacrifice! Had I received you at my house, you would have been implacable; but here, in your rooms —drawn here by you, entrapped by you -I am no more your enemy, I become your victim. Lord W. (Aside.) She is skilful; but I will not falter. - (Aloud) But that name; I am waiting. Quick! speak it. Bea. (Seating herself, R. H., away from WALTER.) Well, listen to me. Lord IV. (Without moving, his eyes fixed on the curtains.) I am listening. Bea. (Very artfully - with a strange look.) You dare not look at me: you mistrust me? Lord W. (Raising his eyes, encounters her look, and quickly turns away his head.) Yes, but not as you imagine. (Gets a chair, and sits apart, L. H.) Bea. You fear that you shall pity me, in seeing what I suffer; but I don't want your pity. I seek to interest you, not in my past, which is accursed, but in my future, which may be grand and noble, and which depends on you. Lord W. What, madam?-your destiny and mine can have naught in common. Bea. I have already told you, Walter, that I love you, but I have not yet told you why I love. I love you because you are so good and noble; I love you for your pure heart and lofty soul; I love you be, cause you are a man! 60 BEATRICE, OR [ACT V. Lord W. (Aside.) Flattery already! we shall have tears soon. Bea. Ah! how I rejoiced at the discovery of your brave and independent character! With what interest did I follow you throughout the world! At the mere mention of your name I was moved and softened; at the relation. of your deeds I was enraptured; and then my anxiety, my sufferings, when I heard that you were ill; yes, during that long illness - unseen, unknown by you- I was ever near you, ever by your side. Lord It. You? Bea. Yes; in your hours of fever and delirium,'twas I who smoothed your pillow,'twas I who bathed your brow. Lord W. You? Bea. Yes, I! It was my sole joy, the only occupation of my soul. To wait for you, to see you, to speak to you in my dreams - to evoke your memory as some cherished shadow - this was my existence; this was all my life! But when I heard you had departed for the East - 0, then my strength abandoned me; I gave myself up to the current which engulfed me; my evil instincts, for a time repressed by love, again resumed their fatal influence. I am made up of contrasts. Virtue, though not my reality, is yet my dream! Is it my fault if my dream be beautiful, when my nature is so wretched? Is it a crime to dream of heaven, when we are condemned to hell? At times I think, too, I am really saved, and then I take new courage; when, suddenly, a breath, a silly thought, an air sung with emotion, a word, a look, a smile, and again the infernal fever seizes me; my imagination becomes wild again, my blood boils like a volcanic fire; a vertigo of love drags me to the abyss; and, spite of myself, spite of my struggles, my tears, my prayers, I fall again - and each time lower fall! Lord IV. (Much moved.) Beatrice! calm, calm yourself; these memories are too painful. Bea. No, I must tell you all. A word from you and I am changed. One word from you and this demon of hate and cunning dwelling in my breast is driven out forever. My love will regenerate me! 0, repulse me not! Beware! other women are but women - you may leave them without a thought; but I am a pestilence, a terrible pestilence which you alone may allay. Be my good genius! My evil you can change to good; my faults to noble qualities. I shall be so happy- so proud of this my noble love; I ask not thine in return - mine alone is enough. I ask you not to assist, or to console me; I only ask you to watch me live, and my life will of itself grow pure beneath your gaze. (Kneels to him.) Lord W. (Pale, and with the greatest agitation.) Is it a dream? Spite of myself, this emotion - Bea. (With the utmost passion.) Why do you turn away your eyes? why this pallor? why this agitation? Speak, Walter; what, what is the matter? Lord W. (Deliriously.) I fear you; your syren voice bewilders me —your lying eyes fascinate me. 0, rage! I hate you, I hate you! and yet I feel my hate escape. Ah! (Uttering a cry, he seizes the boquet of vioets front the table.) No! this will restore it to me, SCENE I.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 61 This is the aegis which will protect me from thy charms. See this boquet - look - do you know it? Bea. (With a cry of despair.) Ah! Lord IV. To-day I should have sent it to you.'Tis not my fault that you have come to seek it here. (Throws it at her feet.) Bea. (In agony.) 0, God! then it was he! He! 0, horror! (She sinks into a chair.) Lord W. Yes, it was I, I! For four years has my avenging memory pursued you. I was the friend of Malcolm; can I be your good genius? Speak. I wished that this remorse should frighten you, that these threatening flowers should say to you, s" I know and watch you! at your first crime I will appear." Bea. (Rising.) Well, then, denounce me! Why do you wait? Call in my enemies; let them all come! Why care I to be proclaimed the mistress of Lord Walter, when he thinks me the murderer of Malcolm. Ah! all is over now. He, my sole hope; he, my repentance, my new-found conscience; he, who might have given back to me my purity and candor; he curses me - he leaves me to myself; he whom I loved for his courage and his loyalty- 0, by this agony, all the evil of my life is expiated. This love- I feel it here - you cannot tear it from me: death alone will end it. My brain is bursting - my tears burn in my eyes - I cannot see - 0, heaven, I strangle - death! death! 0, heaven send me death and end my suffering! (Falls fainting on the floor.) Lord W. (Aiding her to rise.) Rise! rise! calm yourself- these tears! - this agony! - no, I cannot do it; it would be too base! I might have given up to them a proud and haughty foe - I cannot yield to them a suffering penitent. Quick! depart- leave me - your enemies are there. Bea. My enemies - let them come - I care not; for you - you hate me! Lord W. (Kindly.) No, I believe in your remorse and pity you. Bea. O, thanks! thanks! Lord W. (Handing her mantle.) But depart. Go quickly - go! Bea. And he saves me! Lord W. Haste, haste! they may come. Bea. Walter, I shall never see you more. Lord W. (Listening at door in F.) You may go without danger. No, by this door- come. (He opens the little door, L. H. 1 E. BEATRICE, who has put on her bonnet and mantle, goes towards door. At this moment LADY BELLENDEN appears.) Lady B. No, you shall not go. Bea. (With rage.) Lady Bellenden! Madam! Lady B. Walter, you would betray us! (To BEATRICE.) Yes, by your lying tears, base hypocrite, you may deceive a credulous youth, but not so can you deceive a mother. (To WALTER.) 0, I knew you would not give the signal; but you, (to BEATRICE) yOU shall not leave this room till, in the eyes of the whole world, my child is justified. (Runs and throws open the centre doors in flat.) Come, then, my lord, come and be touched at this most tender eagerness. (LORD LANDSMERE enters C. door r.) The lady Beatrice is indeed in haste to 6 62 BEATRICE, OR [ACT V. join our family. I find your future wife locked in the chamber of my intended son. Lord L. (Stupefied.) Beatrice! Madame di Negra here alone with Lord Walter! By what chance Bea. ((almly and proudly.) By no chance, my lord. I came hither - mysteriously, if you will - to give Lord Walter proof of his bride's innocence. Lady B. What says she? Ah! then even you confess it was a calumny? Bea. This proof is a secret, on which depends another's reputation. Your niece, by this publicity, has ruined all; for now I am forced to hold my peace. Lord L. Speak, madam, speak, and rely on my discretion. Lady B. O, speak! speak! Prove my child's innocence, and I forgive you all. Bea. (Contemptuously to LADY BELLENDEN.) Your forgiveness! -(To LORD LANDSMERE.) My lord, I cannot speak: my honor bids me be silent. Enter COUNT PESCHIERA, C. D. F., in his hand some papers. Pes. And my honor bids me speak. (General movement.) All. (Surprised.) Peschiera! Bea. (In terror. Aside.) Peschiera! here? What can he mean? (To PEScHIERA.) 0, hush: speak not; expose me not, and I will be all, any thing you wish. Lady B. Speak, sir. The truth! the truth! Pes. The truth, madam: (pointing to the papers in his hand) it is here. Lord W. There! what is that? Pes. The sworn statement of Charles Beverley - Lady B. (With breathless anxiety.) Well- well Pes. A statement which explains with whom he passed that night, on which he was discovered in your garden. Lord L. And this person wasBea. (Quickly advancing and interrupting PESCnIERA, who is on the point of speaking.) My lord,'twas I. Lord L. (In astonishment.) You? Impossible! Bea.'Twas I. I say it. It matters not if you believe me. Pes. (To LADY BELLENDEN.) Ever the same. She confesses that she may seem innocent. But I will unmask her yet. Lord L. No, no. You denounce yourself to save another. Noble woman! Bea. Appearances are against me, and I forgive you your suspicions. Your niece wells knows a woman may be compromised, and yet be innocent. Yesterday her daughter was accused; to-day she is justified. Patience! the time will come when I, in my turn, will be justified. Till then I accept the accusation which purifies your niece. Each great injustice sooner or later finds some great reparation; and this reparation, which shall be dazzling, I await calmly and with faith. And now, my lord, farewell! I wished to give to you my life; I give you now my honor. (Goes towards the door, c. D. F.) Lady B. (To PESCHIERA.) She falls boldly, but she is lost. SCENE I.] THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. 63 Pes. No. Look: you mistake. The earl is in her wiles. Lord L. Madame di Negra! Beatrice! (G(oes up and brings her down.) No, this must not be: this sacrifice 1 will not accept. Yesterday, when you were flted and caressed by all, in all the glory of your youth and beauty, you gave up all to be the old man's wife; and now, when all accuse you, shall he too abandon you? No! now, as yesterday, I offer you my hand. Beatrice, you shall be my wife. Bea. My lord, my life is yours; do with it as you will. ( With a look of pride.) Ah! and I yet shall be a countess! (LANDSMEJRE and BEATRICE retire up a little.) Lord W. And shall I suffer this? No! In her hour of remorse I pitied and forgave her; but now, in her triumphant joy, she shall be punished. Malcolm and Clara, you shall be avenged! (Crosses, R. H., to LORD LANDSMERE.) My lord, pause ere you espouse that woman. (LANDSMERE and BEATRICE come down.) Bea. (Imploringly. Aside to WALTER.) Walter! Spare me! P'es. Yes, my lord, pause ere you marry with a wanton. Bea. (To PESCHIERA, with a look of hate.) You, too! Lord L. (Indiynantly.) Wanton! for that insult, sir, you must atone to me. Old as I am, yet can I protect the cause of injured innocence. Know, sir, that I am not your dupe. The letters you gave me yesterday the hand of Beatrice never penned. Pes. True; but her tongue dictated them, that by her hand she should not be exposed. Aye, madame, your maid Francesca overheard the plot, and has confessed it all. She is at hand. Shall I call her in? Bea. (Overwhelmed.) No, no. Lord L. Can it be true? But the marriage papers —the certificate? Pes. All false, and forgeries. Lord L. And her fortune? Pes. The product of her baseness. Lord W. Yes, my lord, you are not the only man who, loving her, has too late found he was her dupe. For in her behold Beatrice Franzini, the destroyer of Sir Douglas Malcolm! Bea. (Rushing wildly forward.) Enough! enough! No more! With your tongue you have said it. You, Walter, have at once proclaimed my shame and crime.'Tis just. But 0, Walter, that it had come from any one but you! You have denounced me; you have avenged your friend. It is my fate, and I obey. To-morrow I leave England, and forever - a broken wreck on the dark sea of life, with nothing left to cling to.- (To LADY BELLENDEN.) Yet, ere I go, I will avow your daughter pure and spotless. I wished her ruin; and to have compassed it, I would have sold my very soul; for she - she robbed me of the only heart I ever prized; and in my love, my hot Italian blood would brook no rivalry. Yes, Walter, I did love you - fondly, fiercely love you - a love more deep and passionate than poets yet have sung. In that, at least, I was no hypocrite. But it is all gone now - all gone. My heart is stone; dead to you, dead to all else forever. (Crosses to LORD LANDSMERE.) My lord, farewell. Lord L. But, Beatrice, do you leave me thus? And our betrothal? Can it be? Do you not love me? 64 BEATRICE, OR THE FALSE AND THE TRUE. [ACT V. Bea. No, Englishman! I never loved you. I had no heart to give. To another, it might have been as wax; to you,'twas granite. Granite! and broken now. Farewell! (Goes to c. door fiat, and tur-ns to PESCHIERA with a look of hate.) But as for you, Iamiro di Peschiera, the hour of my vengeance will surely come. Beware! I hate you! hate you as I loved him! Beware! You know the sure, unfailing vengeance of my race; and till my dying hour will I pursue you. By day will I dog your footsteps, by night will I haunt your couch. When you sleep, the knife shall glitter before your eyes; when you drink, the thought of poison shall overtake you. Never more shall you know repose. I shall be ever near you, for I hate and curse you. Again I say, beware! Beware of Beatrice di Negra! (She rushes out, c. door flat. - General stupor.) Lord L. And can such fearful passions in so fair a form be hid? Hers is the fascination of the serpent, which poisons while it charms. Enter CLARA, Zrunning in, L. H. 1 E. Clara. Mother! mother! I've been looking for you every where. What are you all doing here? Lord W. We are fixing the day of our marriage. There is no longer any obstacle. Clara. Then there have been obstacles? I thought so; but I knew very well we should be married, and so have never known a moment's fear or doubt. Lady B. That word is my recompense for all. (Embraces CLARA.) Lord L. Be mine to join your hands. (Joins the hands of CLARA and WALTER.) There, take her, Walter; she is worthy you. You are the old man's only comfort now. To you he fondly looks for all his joy. Desert him not as in your hour of trial he deserted you. Forgive him. Clara. Forgive you, uncle? I'm sure I have nothing to forgive you for. But I will love you -love you very much; and we will be so happy now together - won't we, Walter? Lord W. Dear Clara! - (To PESCHIERA.) And you, my friend, how much we owe to you! Pes. O, nothing! I see your future opening bright before me beneath those steadfast stars. Hope, Love, and Truth! You will gain happiness because you will deserve it. Fair maiden, it is prophecy! (Turns to the audience.) And now, freed from the dark trammels of deceit, With hope, trust, confidence, we turn to greet From you, our fate. 0, may it not be said That all our fears with hypocrites are fled; " THE FALSE" has vanished with the dark night's dew, And with the morning's beams we hail " THE TRUE." SITUATIONS. WALTER. CLARA. PESCHIERA. LADY B. LORD L. RL. H. B. H. H.. Curtain.