University of Virginia Library

[FIRST ACT.]

SCENE THE FIRST.

A banqueting room. Table spread with a dessert; bottles, glasses, &c.
Courtenaye, Despard, Doricourt, and De Valville, afterwards the Duke D'Ormond.
DORICOURT.
WHAT a changed man is D'Ormond!

COURTENAYE.
Changed? What mean you?

DE VALVILLE.
It is most easy to conceive his meaning.

COURTENAYE.
That which my duller faculties conceive not,
To your more quick ones may be obvious.

DORICOURT.
Well acted, on my life! Why, Courtenaye, how
When pupil to so finished an instructor,
Should D'Ormond not be changed?

COURTENAYE.
Good gentlemen,
I do not quite conceive your aim.

DE VALVILLE.
“Not quite!”
By this “not quite” you only mean to say,
That you somewhat too pointedly conceive it.

COURTENAYE.
A truce with such equivocating phrase:
Explain.

DORICOURT.
Aye freely! When Duke D'Ormond first
Came hither, his deportment was most solemn,
His air was more unbending and mysterious,
Than that of any man I e'er conversed with.
If to a jest you utterance gave, he must
With metaphysic argument reply to't.
Was there a hint of raillery on our part,
'Twas followed up on his with a discussion
In formal terms, all marshalled as a corps
Of engineers, storming a garrison.
Were he new garmented, it cost his friends
A hundred theories on the blest exemption
Of Paradise, from all disguise of art.
And this or that costume, as learnedly
Discussed he, as he were fit nomenclature
Adapting to some new discovered science.
Not without syllogism could he eat;
Drink sans hypothesis; or e'en make love
Till he had weigh'd the motives on each side,
Eked out with speculative subtleties
From free-will, and necessity derived,
“Fixed fate, free-will, fore-knowledge absolute.”

DE VALVILLE.
What is he now? Good heaven! why Paris has not
A more accomplished cavalier than he!
Who is arrayed with most magnificence?—
'Tis he. Who in his public exhibition
Supports most pomp of train and equipage?—
Still he. Who, in the most elaborate style,
Gives banquets, such as might make pale with envy
Apicius or Lucullus?—Still 'tis he!—
Of these things now,—not “reasoning their need,”
But frankly, carelessly, with easy air,—
He does acquit himself. He now can feed
Without declaiming that, for man's delight
Since bodily appetites as much were given
As highest instincts, 'tis deserving praise
In the same sense,—though lower in degree,
The same in kind,—to have a nice discernment
In a fricandeau, as to be possessed
Of pious and benevolent desires.
Without discoursing of the immortal thirst
Of spirits, he the goblet now can drain:
And like a sparkling eye, or pouting lip,
Nor of inevitable sympathies,
Or appetence, pedantically prate.—
—And who has taught him this?

DORICOURT.
Aye, who has taught him?

COURTENAYE.
I cannot say, I see the change you speak of.
At least to-day he gave no proof of it,
Or ere he parted hence. Seemed he not, sirs,
Most splenetic and unconversible?

DORICOURT.
Granted.—Yes, if his manners of to-day
Were specimen of that which he is always,
I should agree with you; but my remarks
To his more prevalent mood of late referred.

DESPARD
(aside to Doricourt and De Valville).
Drop you this theme! You see in Courtenaye's breast
It jars some secret string.

COURTENAYE.
Here D'Ormond comes.
(To D'Ormond as he enters).
Where, in the name of all the cheersome spirits,
Which love to hover o'er the social board
Free hearted mirth inspiring, have you been
Thus truant from your friends? I did suspect
That you designed to play the recreant part
Of treacherous and unwarning absentee
For the remaining hours 'twixt this and night.

DUKE D'ORMOND.
'Twas not my aim. A cursed, officious priest,
Would speak with me; and here perhaps had kept me
Till morrow's dawn, had I not had the plea
Of your expectance to cut short his prate.

COURTENAYE.
Thou hast trespassed, hast thou, in thy nightly rounds
Warm from our festal orgies, o'er the threshold,
Or by a ladder of ropes more likely scaled
The wall, of monastery consecrate
To female chastity? The priest, I'll warrant,
Held not such tedious parley for light cause.
Was she of rank? Father, or brother, has she
To vindicate her honour? But what needs he,
Who claims the Tabouret to heed such trifles?

DUKE D'ORMOND.
Hold thy licentious tongue! I was detained,
But by a cause of interest more profound,
Than suits this moment's utterance.

COURTENAYE
(aside).
This to me
May be of mighty import. I must probe him;
But now is not the time.
(To Duke D'Ormond).
Whate'er the cause
That robbed us of your presence, I assure you,
You were detained much longer than we wished.
This moment we were talking of you.

DUKE D'ORMOND.
Were you?
Better had I absent myself once more.
To-day all mirth is jarring to my spirits.
I may afford you daintier amusement
By opportunity of talking of me,
Than by conversing with me.
(To Courtenaye).
You excel
In subjecting your dear friends' characters,
I know it, to the anatomizing edge
Of subtle scrutiny. I baulk your hearers.

COURTENAYE.
Duke, you are splenetic. Sit down, I pray you,
Remember the round dozen of champaigne
You pledged to me, and forfeited last night.
Let these contribute to this evening's mirth.

DUKE D'ORMOND.
Agreed.

ALL.
Agreed.

[At a signal given, the table is supplied with fresh wine. Each of the party, except the Duke, here exchange significant looks.]
COURTENAYE
(aside to Despard).
Note well his countenance.
(Addressing the company).
Come, let me season, with the name of one,—
Whose voice, compared with it, to discord turns
The most delicious melody, whose looks,
To ugliness, most lovely forms,—the juice
Which mantles in our goblets. Come, I say,
I will invoke a beauteous patroness
To grace,—far more than brighest saint, the shrine
Most bright,—our mirth; her spirit to infuse,
Though unseen, 'mid the pleasures of the hour.

ALL
(except the Duke).
With all our hearts.

COURTENAYE.
The Marchioness de Mielcour.
And may she find a heart as warm and true,
As peerless and resistless are her charms.

DUKE D'ORMOND,
(Starting from his chair, and advancing to the front of the stage).
The Marchioness de Mielcour! Curse the lips
Which thus her name could recklessly profane!
Shall it be used familiarly, nor I
The oracle to dictate it? The means
Shall it be made to give more pungent relish
To midnight banquets, and inebriate revels?
I cannot bear it! 'Tis all hell let loose
To torture me to madness.

COURTENAYE.
Duke, did you
Not hear the pledge? What agitates you thus?
The Marchioness de Mielcour, I'll warrant,
Likes the insuppressive fervour of a soul
Fiery and ardent as this sparkling beverage!
One that can revel in the ecstacy,
When its rich fumes elicit from the brain,
And thrilling blood, high phantasies of bliss,
Far better than the sons of sentiment
Sighing in sonnets, and quaint madrigals.

DESPARD.
Aye, by the holy rood, that does she, 'faith!
And if you would that lady woo, and win,
Badge of success, and emblem of your fealty,
You must entwine the vine-leaf with the myrtle.

DUKE D'ORMOND
(aside).
Hell and perdition! Must these wassailers
Thus band about that name, and I not be
The master spirit to controul their license?

DESPARD,
(Looking out of a window, opposite to which is a balcony, from the pillars of which are suspended lamps, and along which a young lady slowly paces to a carriage, in waiting for her, in the court of the banqueting-house, opposite to the end of the balcony).
What have we here? A delicate creature, 'faith!
Young, fresh, and fair! Alone, and unprotected!
I'm off—there is no time for parleying here.

[Vanishes suddenly through a porte-fenêtre which opens into the balcony.]
DORICOURT.
Where can that hair-brained Provençal be going?

COURTENAYE.
He is embarked in some love enterprize!
His match he has not for a quick discernment
Where skill in such adventures may be tried,
Nor for possession of that skill when wanted.
Woe to the damsel, if she virtuous be,
Within his gripe! The lamb in eagle's talons
Is not more sure a victim than is she!
Except indeed, chusing to imitate
The preux chevaliers of the good old times
Of chivalry, we sally to a rescue.

DUKE D'ORMOND.
With all my heart! Let us be gone this instant!

COURTENAYE.
Fie, Duke, fie, fie! Would you a friend's sport spoil?
I thought, that, by an intercourse with us,
You were with better principles imbued.

DUKE D'ORMOND
(aside).
Confound them, and their principles! I wish
I knew as little of the first, as once
I, of the latter knew! I can no more
Endure this! Gentlemen, hold me excused.
Elsewhere my presence is of urgent need.

DESPARD.
But see, six bottles yet remain unbroached.

DUKE D'ORMOND.
You broach them! Wine ne'er comes to you amiss.

[Exit.
COURTENAYE.
Why, now—do you call this being so much changed?
Was ever mortal more untractable
Than he? What think you of his mood to-night?
He's absolutely savage with the spleen:
Ombrageux as a moody Englishman!

DE VALVILLE.
This so far does surpass all that I've seen
Of his past humours, that it baffles quite
All probable surmise. Or he's in love,
Or vexed at heart by some untoward event.
By whom, do you know, was he called from hence
Some half hour since? I'll of our host enquire.

[Rings. The master of the banqueting-house enters.]
DE VALVILLE.
That gentleman who now goes forth from hence,
Who was it sought for him some half hour past?

HOST.
He was a priest: a friar mendicant.
Le Charier he is called.

COURTENAYE
(aside).
This solves at once
The mystery! I will plot his ruin hence!
He is dispatched to D'Ormond, as I've learned,
On frequent embassies, by that lean foe
To our good mother church, that hugenot,
The canting Colville. 'Tis a shrewd discovery,
And notably may work my purposes.

DE VALVILLE.
Who is this priest? This same Le Charier? Who?
And what connection has he with Duke D'Ormond?

COURTENAYE.
'Tis a long tale! too long now to be told!
He is the emissary of a man
Who was, in former times, the confidant
Of an adventure of the amorous kind,
That D'Ormond had in La Vendée, or ere
He came to Paris. He would fain persuade him
Faithful to be to his affianced love;
If so, he is a lost man to ourselves.
But I have hitherto successfully
His projects contravened; nay more, contrived
All intercourse to interrupt between them.
The which with overtures to recommence,
Le Charier by his patron is dispatched
To D'Ormond, as I think.
[Ruminating.
This must not be!
This visit of Le Charier's is portentous!
D'Ormond, I track thy steps.
(To Doricourt and De Valville).
To you, good sirs,
I presently return! Then let us pass,
At least, some portion of the waning day
In pastime meetest to refresh our spirits.