University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

An Apartment in Stolberg Castle.
Enter Baron Stolberg and Agatha.
BARON.
Come, stir about, good Agatha, there's much
Yet to be done. We have no time to lose.
The ev'ning's far advanc'd, and I protest
The priest and all our noble company
Will arrive here to-morrow ere we're ready.

AGATHA.
I'm sure, Saint Bridget help me, I have toil'd
And bustled to and fro, up stairs and down,
And looking after ev'ry thing—Why Housdorff—
See there now, what's become of him?—If I
Am not the most unfortunate old woman
In Hungary!—Will no one hear?—Why Housdorff!

Enter Housdorff.
HOUSDORFF.
How now, good dame, what news is come to town,
That makes thee thus obstreperous?

AGATHA.
Good Housdorff,
Look to the furbishers in the great chamber,
See that the tap'stry hangings are brush'd up,
The carpets spread, and all the covers taken
From the best chairs and couches; and just peep
Into the banquet hall, see that the tables
Are all set out, and the chac'd family plate
Display'd upon the side-board—

HOUSDORFF.
All is done.

AGATHA.
Well, I must go incontinently to
The bridal chamber—

HOUSDORFF.
Fie, good Agatha,
Incontinently, say'st thou?

AGATHA.
Aye, gibe on—
I have no time to answer you.—See there now,
I almost had forgotten—Would your lordship
Have the new curtains fitted to the bed,
Or have the hangings from the oriel chamber
Remov'd?

BARON.
Oh! have the new ones by all means.
There—set about it—go along.
[Exeunt Agatha and Housdorff.
Enter Ida.
What, Ida!
So late, my love? Not yet retir'd to rest?
Heyday! What means this sadness? Surely, love,
Thou hast been weeping.

IDA.
I have cause enough
To be distress'd, when thus you cast me from you,
Force me to leave my first, my best protector—

BARON.
Nay, be not such a simpleton—cheer up—
We were all busied here, in preparations
For thee, my love, and for to-morrow's bus'ness.
I am a foolish weak old fellow, child,
And, if I don't keep moving, I'm afraid
I hardly shall have courage to go through
My parting with thee. Thou hast been my pride,
My Ida, the sole darling of my heart,
My only hope since my poor boy was lost.
I'm growing old apace—when thou art gone,
No one will care for me—Nay, do not weep—

IDA.
Ah! do not make me quit you; suffer me
Still to attend upon you, still to watch
On your declining age, and minister
With dutiful affection to your wishes.
You love your Ida, uncle?

BARON.
Love thee, child?
Aye, better than my life.

IDA.
Why then compel me
To leave you, when my services may most
Promote your happiness? Indeed, indeed,
It is not kind of you.

BARON.
Nay, now thou'rt foolish,
To talk to an old fellow in this way,
When a brisk bridegroom courts thee to his arms.

IDA.
D'you know, my good dear uncle, that I think you
Ten thousand times more pleasant and more charming
Than this fine gentleman, whose sole concern
Seems his own darling self!

BARON.
Why, to say truth,
He has a way with him, a disregard
For other people's sentiments and wishes—
But he means nothing by it—he'll turn out
An excellent good husband.

IDA.
Do, dear uncle,
Consent to let me still remain with you.
I'll be so good, and so obedient to you,
Take so much care of you—

BARON.
Go—thou'rt a coaxer—
Thou'lt speak another sort of language soon.
The Count may seem perhaps a little cool,
Not quite so ready to pick up thy glove,
Or run on errands for thee, as some others;
But then thou must consider, my dear child,
He is a man of rank, a courtier, child,
Who has a name and station to keep up.

IDA.
With all my heart—he has my free permission
To be as proud and stupid as he pleases,
Provided I am not oblig'd to have him.

BARON.
Why how now, niece! Not have him?

IDA.
Don't be angry—
I do detest him mortally.

BARON.
So, so—
A pretty bus'ness we should make of it—
Pray, madam, tell me, is not he a noble
Of prime distinction, high in royal favour,
And, what's still more important, is he not
My choice?

IDA.
And my aversion! Dearest sir,
Do pardon your poor Ida, but indeed,
Sooner than marry him, I'd try to gain
My livelihood by labour. 'Twere more honest,
And ten times pleasanter—

BARON.
Heav'n grant me patience!
Hark'ee, young madam—But I will be calm—
Tell me—is this a trick to try my temper?

IDA.
Alas! I love you better than myself,
But you will break my heart.

BARON.
No, never fear;
Young women's hearts are not so quickly broken—

IDA.
I would do any thing to please you, sir,
But—

BARON.
That's the way of all of you—“I'd do
“Any thing, sir, to please you, but”—yes, truly,
That “but” comes opportunely in—But what?

IDA.
Would my death please you?

BARON.
No—thou know'st it wouldn't—
Thou know'st I love thee—

IDA.
I implore forgiveness—
I feel unwell—Let me retire, I pray.

BARON.
No, no, ma'am, that excuse sha'n't serve your turn—
[Ida staggers to a chair.
Why what's the matter with the child? You tremble,
And grow so pale—

IDA.
Indeed I'm very ill—

BARON.
Nay, thou art ill indeed—Why Agatha!
So, so, my love—Why Agatha, I say!—
Nobody come!
Enter Agatha.
See, see, good Agatha!

AGATHA.
Let me come to her—Now the saints be good—
Why, Ida!—What's to do here—give her air—
Untie her corset—so—raise her a little—
There—now she's better—

IDA.
Let me go, I pray,
To my own chamber.

BARON.
Aye, love, we'll conduct thee.
So, lean on me. Good Agatha, make haste,
And get things ready for her.—Now, my dear—
How could I have the heart to treat her thus!
A curs'd, ill-temper'd puppy!—Softly, love!

[Exeunt.