 | Eugenia |  |
62
ACT V.
Clerval. Mercour.Mercour.
What is the Meaning, Clerval, you must know,
My Uncle will not see me? What's my Crime?
Who my Accusers? This his boasted Firmness
Where he profess'd to love? These light Suspicions?
Unheard to be condemn'd? Is this his Justice?
Clerval.
Whate'er it be, I would not have you meet
His first Displeasure; even in Pity to him;
For he has Griefs, without one added Sigh,
To sink his Age for ever.
Mercour.
How! not vindicate
My Innocence? Not tell him he has wrong'd me?
Let me not think that Clerval means me falsely.
Clerval.
I mean you falsely!
Mercour.
By this Advice it seems so.
A Brother, jealous of a Brother's Honour,
Sure would not thus advise him; would himself
Believe him innocent.
Clerval.
Mercour, farewel;
In this distemper'd Warmth it were not safe
To hear, or answer you.
63
Yet tell me, Clerval,
How I've offended? Is it then a Crime
To keep a painful Secret from his Heart,
And bend my swelling Spirit, for his Sake,
To wed this foundling Girl?
Clerval
, (aside.)
O Patience, Heaven!
Mercour.
To taint our Blood, which has thro' Ages flow'd
Unmixt and pure; to stain it with Dishonour.
Clerval.
Can Virtue stain it?
Mercour.
Yes, the vulgar Virtue,
Which low-born Spirits practise. This Orphisa—
This Governess—and well she fill'd her Station,
For she was equal to it—Say, what Virtues
Can take their Rise from her? Is the Source foul,
And can the Stream be pure? But you're a Lover,
And Love can change th' unerring Course of Nature.
Clerval.
And yet, till this unhappy Morn, your Heart,
Your Tongue, at least, confess'd Eugenia's Merit.
Like me, you saw her with a Lover's Eye.
But the perverse and haughty Maid, it seems,
From some unnatural Spirit, with Contempt
Look'd down on Mercour's Greatness.
Mercour.
With Contempt
Look'd down upon me?
Clerval.
No; with th' inborn Pride,
And Dignity of Virtue.
64
Clerval, hold.
Lest, in my Rage—I see who 'tis supports
Her Insolence—Contempt! I may forget
That Nature made us Brothers.
Clerval.
Rash, light Man.
Ruin like yours is privileg'd to rail,
And when it raves, tho' impotent of Harm,
Prudence will shun its Walks, or hear regardless,
Nor answer to its Frenzy.
[Exit Clerval.
Mercour.
Yet, my Soul,
Suppress thy Rage: make sure of your Revenge,
Then burst in Horrors on them. Ha! My Uncle!
Enter Dorimond.
Dorimond.
So, Sir; it seems you will be justified,
And with the Front of Innocence demand it.
But I am ill at Ease to hear th' Harangues
Of practis'd Art.
Mercour.
I'll not disturb your Quiet.
And Heaven, I doubt not, in its own good Time,
Will clear my injur'd Name.—May all its Blessings
Pour'd with abundant Hand, dwell ever round you.
[Pretending to go.
Dorimond
, (aside)
Who would not think him innocent! Stay, Mercour.
You will be heard? Will vindicate your Honour?
Mercour.
I know not, Sir, of what I am accus'd;
How I've offended. If it was a Crime,
That, in Obedience to the sacred Will
Of her who is no more; or that, in Justice
To her repentant Sorrows, I discover'd
65
How long did I conceal it? Why conceal it,
But for your Peace of Mind? Or may I own,
In pity—No—I'll own the softer Motive—
In love to poor Eugenia.
Dorimond.
Love! Eugenia!
Mercour.
She was the first, the only of her Sex,
Who ever fill'd my Heart with Hopes, with Wishes.
From thence, unpractis'd in the Lovers' Arts,
(Whose Bosoms beat with Passions, which they feel not)
I told, with Nature's pure Simplicity,
My artless Tale. She heard me with Disdain.
While I, to Reason lost, in my Impatience,
In Impotence of Rage, and mad Revenge,
Gave Way to my Resentment, and with Threats—
—I know not what—but I am punish'd for it—
Detested, hated, scorn'd—yet still I love.
Dorimond.
My poor undone Æmilia! How could Innocence,
Like thine, escape the Snares of this bad Man!
Mercour
aside.
Æmilia!
Dorimond.
Yes, Æmilia; Hadst thou heard
(But thou hast lost all Feelings of Humanity)
The generous Maid, amidst her Soul's Despair,
Amidst the Shame and Blushes of her Frailty,
Tell the black Story of her own undoing
To save Eugenia from thy Baseness. Heavens!
Is't possible! How would he talk of Virtue—
Angels might listen to him with Delight.
O Hypocrite, thy Boldness strikes at Heaven,
And makes its fervid Saints appear Impostors.
66
[Aside.
Curse on my Folly, that could risque my Fortune
Upon the wayward Spirit of a Girl.
Dorimond.
Be it one Pang to such a Heart, as thine,
To know that she is happy; reconcil'd
To her sweet Peace of Mind, by holy Vows,
That consecrate her future Life to Heaven,
A Sister of the Saints. Oh! could your Heart
Repent the Crimes, the Horrours, it was forming,
That Heaven may pardon you. 'Till then let Shame,
Let Rage, Despair, your disappointed Schemes,
And Poverty, which, worse than Death, you dread,
Be long your Punishment.
Mercour.
Welcome my Fate,
With all its Horrours, welcome; even with Poverty.
Repentance—no—my haughty Soul disclaims it.
Your Goodness—Weakness—might, perhaps, forgive me,
I will not be forgiven—will not bend
To the upbraiding Insolence of Pardon.
Let me have any Torment, but your Pity.
And since we part for ever, I'll no longer
Dissemble or disguise me. I'm, by Nature,
What you call Villain. I'll enjoy the Title;
Enjoy that ardent Spirit, which can rise
Above the Terrours, form'd for lower Beings,
The senseless Fears, that awe the Fools of Virtue.
[Exit.
Dorimond.
Where are thy Terrours, Conscience? Where thy Justice?
That this bad Man dare boldly own his Crimes,
Insult thy sacred Power, and glory in it.
But 'tis the Frenzy of Despair, and Heaven
Shall yet o'ertake him in his Hours of Thinking.
67
Clerval.
Eugenia, Sir—
Dorimond.
How fares the lovely Mourner?
Clerval.
In Tears; but with such Dignity of Sorrow—
Sir, she implores you, by each tender Thought,
Which melts the Goodness of our Hearts to Pity,
That she may throw her at your Feet, and take
A last, sad, parting Blessing from her Father.
Dorimond.
I am a weak, old Man, by Years enfeebled,
By these Misfortunes more. If, at this Distance,
The Thought of parting with her wound my Life,
Oh! how shall I divide my Soul from hers,
When mixt in nearer Sorrows! How I dread
This cruel, tender Parting! But I must
Yes, I will see her—'tis her Fate and mine.
Clerval
[Aside, seeing Eugenia.
How, thro' her Tears, with pale and trembling Radiance;
The Eye of Beauty shines, and lights her Sorrows!
As rises o'er the Storm some silver Star,
The Seaman's Hope, and Promise of his Safety.
Enter Eugenia, Orphisa.
Eugenia.
Receive my last Farewell; my Friend, my Father,
And with it every tenderest Sentiment
Of filial Love, of Gratitude, and Duty.
I never shall forget I was your Daughter,
Nor shall you blush, that you were once my Father.
Dorimond.
Child of my Love; my sole Delight and Joy,
Think not my Heart unfeeling of thy Loss;
For still you hold a bosom'd Interest here.
68
Nature has none, more exquisitely tender.
Clerval.
[Aside.
Now Pity, Love, and Grief, unite your Powers;
Let them not part—make it impossible.
Dorimond
, to Orphisa.
Orphisa, I have wrong'd you. Pray, forgive me.
Suspicion is the Frailty of old Age.
The Weakness of my Heart—
Orphisa.
No, Sir, its Goodness,
Its unsuspecting Confidence deceiv'd you.
Clerval,
[to Dorimond.
How noble, Sir, how generous!
Dorimond.
Well, Orphisa.
To make you some Amends for such an Insult,
Take, to your Care, my lov'd, my dear Eugenia,
My Daughter and your own.
Orphisa.
Your Daughter, Sir!
Dorimond.
The Daughter of my Choice; of my Esteem;
If not by Nature, yet by Law, my Daughter.
Eugenia, I adopt you. Enter, Child,
Into your Rights; nay, more; here take Possession
Of a fond Father's Love.
Eugenia.
The tender Treasure!
My grateful Heart pours forth its best Affections,
Thro' every Vein, to meet and to receive—
Oh! may I, Sir, deserve it. Thus restor'd
To all the sacred Charities of Nature,
Of Father, Mother, Child, where shall my Wonder,
Where shall my Joy begin—Oh! where my Gratitude!
69
, turning to Dorimond, with great Agitation.
While your full Hand is dealing Blessings round you,
Oh! bless me too, my Uncle. Give my Soul
Its only Wish of Happiness hereafter.
Dorimond.
Whence are these Transports!
Clerval.
Was it possible,
Conversing with her Loveliness, and gazing
On Beauty's perfect Form to gaze uncharm'd?
Dorimond.
Form'd as ye are to make each other happy,
How shall I joy to see your Loves united!
[to Orphisa.
Here, Madam, join with mine a Mother's Blessing,
And make my Nephew happy.
Clerval.
O my Uncle!
Dorimond.
And, if I judge aright, a kind Consenting
Kindles its Blushes on Eugenia's Cheek.
Orphisa.
What Language can refuse this offer'd Bounty,
Yet speak me not ungrateful. There were Days,
The happiest of my Life, when to have seen
My Daughter wedded to your Nephew's Merit,
Had been my highest Pride. But now my Fate
Permits me to receive, of all your Goodness,
Only that promis'd, kind Retreat.
Dorimond.
Refus'd!
At such a Time, and in such Circumstances!
Clerval.
Fal'n from my Wishes' Height, a Lover's Hope,
When I had rais'd Imagination high—
70
to Clerval.
Sir, you may break my Heart, not bend its Purpose.
I will not offer you a useless Pity,
And more I cannot give.
[turning to Dorimond.
Sir, if I've robb'd
My Child of Riches, Titles, Friends, Alliance,
(Oh! judge me in the Goodness of your Heart)
Must there not be some Cause, some wond'rous Motive?
Dorimond.
Indeed 'tis Wonder all.
Orphisa.
I own your Goodness
Deserves much more than mere Acknowledgment;
Demands my utmost Confidence, as far
As Duty will permit me. Can I, Sir,
Dispose of her in Marriage? Is she mine?—
Dorimond.
Not yours!
Orphisa.
Not mine alone. Or can I violate
A Father's Right to give away his Child?
Eugenia.
My Father living!
Orphisa.
Yes, he lives, Eugenia,
And the sweet Hope comes smiling to my Heart,
That Heaven, whose Mercy thus restores my Child,
Will give him to my Vows, my Tears, my Hopes—
To my Despair, will give him.
Eugenia.
Where, where is he?
Oh! teach my Love, my Piety to find him.
Orphisa.
Where-e'er he is, ye Heavenly Host protect him.
Ye Angels, ye, who with Delight behold him
71
And ye, our ministring Spirits here on Earth,
Honour and Virtue, strongly hover round him,
For where he is ye dwell. Oh! pardon me
[to Dor.
This Rapture of involuntary Praise.
Delville
behind the Scenes.
Come, Clerval, come; direct me, guide me to her,
The sweet Support, and Hope, of my Misfortunes.
Orphisa
starting.
Ye Powers, what Voice was there!
Clerval
to Dorimond.
That noble Friend,
Of whose Misfortunes, Sir—
Enter Delville.
Orphisa.
All gracious Providence
That giv'st to Things unreal such strong Seemings,
Still, still continue the belov'd Illusion—
It is too strong a Joy to bear, and live.
[Fainting.
Delville.
'Tis she; 'tis she; her Heart confesses me.
Thanks to our Woes, this first Embrace is theirs,
[Catching her in his Arms.
And I'll enjoy their Bounty. See, my Clerval,
Like a kind Master, absent long from home,
The Soul with Smiles returns to its fair Dwelling;
Flows through the purple Chambers of the Heart,
Where Life resides, to see that all is well,
And wakes her kindling Beauties to their Lustre.
Orphisa.
Lord of my Life; then Heaven declares its Power
In doing Acts of Mercy. How the Joys,
That should, for Years, have fill'd the Arms of Love,
Collected, pour their Transports on my Heart.
Unutterable Bliss! Come, my Eugenia,
Here pay the Duty, that a Father claims.
72
kneeling.
Accept it, Sir, in Tears of Love and Rapture.
Delville.
Eugenia mine! my Daughter! This the Offspring,
Thus wondrous fair, of our unhappy Loves,
Thus excellent, thus amiable in Virtue?
What can a Father's Fondness Wish you more,
Than to continue what you are? O Clerval,
Thou excellent young Man, to whom I owe
My Friends, my Country, and my Sovereign's Favour,
And these more heart-felt Blessings, Love and Nature,
What Gratitude can thank you?
[Turning to Orphisa and Eugenia.
Clerval.
If to be
A willing Instrument of Providence
Deserve your Thanks—
Dorimond.
Let me, my Lord, assist
His speechless Wishes.
Delville.
Sir, I understand them.
Come, my Eugenia, you shall pay him for me,
Such Thanks as he deserves; for I have prov'd it
That Woman, [pointing to Orphisa]
tender, amiable, and constant,
Is Virtue's best Reward.
Clerval.
Blest to my Wish,
Beyond my warmest Hope—Eugenia's mine.
Eugenia.
And mine, without a Blush, to own my Happiness.
Delville
to Dorimond.
But, Sir, to you, the guardian Friend of Innocence
(For here she dwells, and Dorimond protects her)
What Thanks are due?
73
This Gush of Joy, these Tears
This Rapture, that o'erflows my Heart, let them,
For they alone can tell you, how I feel
This Hour of Happiness— [embracing Eugenia.]
Once more, my Child,
Indulge an old Man's Love, whose Weakness thus
Pours his Heart's Blessings on thee.
Eugenia.
Thus I meet
With equal, grateful Joy, the tender Transport.
Delville.
Here let us pause; with humble Adoration
Behold the Maze, thro' which th' eternal Mercy
Hath guided us to Happiness. Orphisa,
When for my Crime—Oh! could no other Punishment
Attone its Guilt!—The Law, with rigorous Hand,
Turn'd out thy Softness to Despair and Anguish—
Dorimond.
Nobly she scorn'd to bend her Dignity,
And your great Name, to the World's proud Compassion.
Then chose this humble Station; this Retreat—
Delville.
And you, my generous Youth, whose Love of Virtue
Woo'd my Eugenia's Beauties, even in Ruin—
A Father's Thanks are thine.
Clerval.
Not mine, my Lord.
Give them to her, who taught me how to love;
All Praise was made for her; all Joy and Transport.
Delville.
Praise is the sacred Attribute of Heaven.
'Tis ours alone, with humble, grateful Hearts
T'employ the gracious Instincts it bestows
To our own Honour, Happiness and Virtue;
For Happiness and Virtue are the same.
The END.
| Eugenia | |