University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A garden in the rear of the house of Norman Maurice. Walk through a thick shrubbery. Enter Robert Warren and Mrs. Jervas.
Warren.
So! So! You heard it all, then?

Mrs. J.
Every syllable.

Warren.
Glorious! But how did you conceal yourself?

Mrs. J.
An ante-room conducts us to the hall
Where they were secretly at conference;
Thither, when she descended from my chamber,
I softly follow'd. The convenient key-hole
Gave me the means, at once to hear and see them.

Warren.
Your foresight shames my thought! And so, this Maurice,
Denies that you shall harbor in his dwelling?
But this you must do! Your security
Lies in his household only! He might promise you
Your lodging in St. Louis,—board and clothing—
Ample provision for your state in future—
But once you free his household of your presence,
He whistles you down the wind. No obligation
Would bind him to the care of you hereafter!

Mrs. J.
What then? He's very stubborn in his spirit!

Warren.
Why, to be sure! The very thing, dear madam—
Your sickness will not suffer your removal:
Fatigue of travel, grief, anxiety,
Will have their penalties; and your prostration
Is such, that all the world would say 'twas monstrous
To drive you,—you, a stranger in the country,—
The home of the one kinswoman that's left you!
Your notion is a good one! Norman Maurice
Is not the man to urge the matter on you—
An invalid,—with feeble frame,—hot fever—
Confined to bed,—mind somewhat wandering!—
You're right! Methinks you need no counsel, madam.

Mrs. J.
I see! 'Twill do!

Warren.
'Tis excellent! So, Maurice
Accepts the Senatorial nomination,
Though still his pride revolts at working for it.
Well! He's not Senator yet. The widow's case
Will bring its perils too; and, at the finish,
I'll interpose to blight his growing glories,
And show him—Hark! a footstep—

Mrs. J.
Here she comes!

Warren.
Auspicious! Here, away; and, while you leave us, open a brief conference with her.
Meanwhile, 'tis well you put your scheme in progress;
Take to your bed, and get your nostrums ready;
Spare not your groans and sighs—a little faintness
Might well arrest you suddenly in your speech!
And—but enough. The thicket! Here, away!

[They retire behind the copse.
Enter Clarice.
Clarice.
Now all my sorrows sink into the sea,
Since Norman rises to such noble height,
The first in his desert and his desire!
Methinks, till now, I doubted of his fortune,
Nor ever felt secure from sad mischance;
The gibe of envious tongues, the jeer of malice,
The snares of bitter foes, and those dark meshes,
That still the treacherous hands of Warren spread!
These do not fright me now, and, though his presence,
So apt with coming hither of my aunt,
Would seem to shadow forth some evil purpose,
Yet can I not esteem it cause of fear,
Since it were vain for such as he to struggle
Against the noble fortunes of my husband.

Warren,
[coming out behind her.]
Indeed! and yet the shaft that slew the lion,
Was but a reed beside the sedgy stream!

Clarice,
[seeing him and starting.]
Ah!

Warren.
The little scorpion issuing from the rock,
First slew the steed whose skull he 'habited.

Clarice.
Thou here again!

Warren.
If but to teach thee in philosophy!—
A pebble in the hand of shepherd slinger,
Smote, so we learn from Sacred History,
The proudest giant in Philistia's ranks.

Clarice.
And he whose presence still offends a woman,
But little dreams what champion she may call.

Warren.
I knew your champion absent ere I ventured.
Your highest pitch of voice, and greatest need,
Would never bring him timely to your succor.

Clarice.
What means this threat?

Warren.
It is no threat, Clarice;—
You will not need a champion when I'm near you.

Clarice.
And if I did, methinks, in Robert Warren
I should be loth to seek one! Why come hither,
My husband's foe, pursuing still his fortunes,
And mine, with bitter malice!

Warren.
Thee with love!

Clarice.
Who wrongs the husband, cannot love the wife!

Warren.
Clarice, 'twas in my passionate love for thee,
First grew the passionate hate I bear thy husband!
'Till thou, with fatal beauty, came between us,
He was the twin companion of my pleasures.—
My first associate in each boyish frolic,
We still together went, by hill and valley,
Beside the stream, and through th' untrodden forest,
Having no faith but in our youthful friendship,
No joy, but in the practice shared together.
'Twas thou that changed my kinsman to a rival—
'Twas thou that changed our friendship into hate;
We fell apart, suspecting both, and loathing,
When first our mutual hearts inclined to thee!

Clarice.
He did not hate thee—had no jealousy,
But still confided to thee, even his passion;
And thou—alas! audacious that thou art,
How canst thou still forget that I too know thee,
A traitor to his trust!

Warren.
Have I denied it?
I would have won thee from my dearest kinsman.
My treachery to him was truth to thee!

Clarice.
And yet 'twas fruitless! Was it not enough
That thou shouldst fail? Why now—

Warren.
Enough!
Was every passion to be wreck'd forever,
In that which had denial in thy scorn?
With love denied, was vengeance—

Clarice.
Vengeance! Ha!
Is it his life thou aim'st at now, or mine?

Warren.
Neither!

Clarice.
What then? We're separate forever,—
Our lots are cast apart,—our lives divided,—
Why, when no profit comes to thee—no pleasure,
To us, at this dark crossing of our footsteps—
Why art thou here?—Why vex us with thy presence,
To thy own deep defeat?

Warren.
In your own thoughts,
Look for the answer to this teeming question.
You know me well—enough of me to know,
Whate'er my vices or deficiencies,
I am no simpleton, but have a cunning
That scarce would keep me profitlessly working,
Still drawing fruitless waters in a sieve!
That I should press upon your husband's footsteps,
Would prove I still had hope of my revenge!
That I should seek thee in thy secret bower,
Would show me still not hopeless of thy love!

Clarice.
Oh! vain and insolent man!

Warren.
Hold, a little!
If hopeful still of you, 'tis through the prospect
Of vengeance on your husband.

Clarice.
Face him then!

Warren.
You but increase my eager thirst for vengeance,
When you remind me of the frequent struggle,
Which ended in my overthrow and shame.

Clarice.
Is't not enough, thus baffled and defeated?—
Why thus encounter still the shame and danger?

Warren.
And if my hope lay only in my fortune—
If still my triumph waited on my strength,
And, to the skill and vigor of mine arm,
I looked to win the vengeance that I covet—
I should forego the conflict, as you counsel,
And leave your world in peace, concealing mine!

Clarice.
Well, sir—you pause!

Warren.
I would have had your thought
Supply the words of mine; but, as it does not—
Know that I look to other means of vengeance;
Not through my strength, but in his feebleness—
Not in my virtue, but your husband's vices!

Clarice.
Oh! hence!

Warren.
Yet, hear me! at this very moment
Your husband seeks the pinnacle of power;
He stands conspicuous in the public eye;
The highest place awaits him in the state—
The highest in the nation! At a word,
I can o'erthrow him from his eminence,
Can make his name a by-word and a mock,
Degrade him from his rank, and, with a secret—

Clarice.
Shallow and impotent, as base and worthless!—
Hence with your secret! Me can you delude not,
Though you delude yourself. I know this secret!

Warren.
What! Your husband's forgery?

Clarice.
Your forgery?
Think not to cheat me with your foul contrivance.
You prated of his skill in penmanship—
Defied it,—placed examples in his eye—
And he, confiding—dreaming not that one,
The kinsman who had shared his home and bosom,
Could meditate a falsehood or a crime—
Wrote, at your bidding, sundry names of persons;
And, with these names, without his privity,
Your hand devised the drafts which got the money—
Your hand expended what your guilt procured,
On your own pleasures, in his grievous wrong—
And he hath paid the debt. The fatal papers,
Which might have been a means of his undoing,
Were burned before mine eyes!

Warren.
Your eyes deceived you.
I'll not deny your story of the fraud;
But, for the papers—let me whisper you—
They were not burn'd—they live for evidence—
Are now in my possession—damning proofs,
For the conviction still of Norman Maurice.

Clarice.
Oh, false as hell! These eyes beheld them burning.

Warren.
Hark, in your ear! What you beheld destroyed,
Were but the copies of originals,
The neatly written forgeries of forgeries:
The originals are mine!

Clarice.
Have mercy, heaven!
What will you do with them?

Warren.
What you determine.

Clarice.
What mean you?

Warren.
What! can you not conjecture?

Clarice.
No, as I live!

Warren.
What should I do with them?
Appease my hatred, pacify my vengeance,—
Wait till this still triumphant enemy
Puts foot upon the topmost ring of the ladder,
Then cut away the lofty props that raise him,
And let him down to scorn and infamy.
Another day would make him senator,
But that I step between, and show these papers,
And then the thousand voices in his honor,
Pursue him with their hiss!

Clarice.
Hellish malice!
Oh, if there be a human nature in thee,
Forbear this vengeance.

Warren.
If it pleases thee!

Clarice.
How, if it pleases me?

Warren.
See you not yet?
The alternative is yours to let him perish,
Or win the eminence that still he seeks.

Clarice.
Tell me!

Warren.
Be mine!

Clarice,
[recoiling.]
Thine!

Warren.
Ay! for nothing less
Than the sweet honey dew that lines thy lips,
The heaven that heaves in thy embracing bosom,
Will I forego this vengeance.

Clarice.
God have mercy!
Yet no! I'll not believe this cruel story;
Thou hast no papers! I must see—

Warren.
Thou shalt!
Meet me, Clarice, at sunset, in yon thicket.

Clarice.
I dare not. In yon thicket—

Warren.
Dare you, then,
Behold your husband perish?

Clarice.
You but mock.

Warren.
Wilt have me swear?

Clarice.
What oath would bind a wretch
So profligate in sin? I will not come!
My husband's honor still defies your arts,
And mine defies your passion.

Warren.
You have doom'd him!

Clarice.
Oh, say not so! You would not have me madden.

Warren.
I swear it! what I tell you is the truth.—
I have these papers, own this fearful power
Upon his fame and fortune, and will use it—

Clarice.
And—if I come?

[Looking vacantly.
Warren.
And yield you to my passion,
The papers, with the fatal evidence,
Shall all be yours.

Clarice,
[aside.]
Be resolute, my soul!
Heaven help me in this strait and give me courage.
[Aloud.]
Bring you the papers, Robert Warren; and—

Warren,
[eagerly.]
You'll come?

Clarice.
If I have strength and courage, I will come.

[Exit Clarice, slowly.
Warren.
Then mine's a double triumph! Fool!—these papers
Shall serve a twofold purpose: win the treasure,
And yet confound the keeper when he wakes!
[Exit Warren.