University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Jerome's house. A large old-fashioned chamber.
Jer.
(speaking without).
This way, good masters.
Enter Jerome, bearing a light, and followed by Manuel, and servants carrying luggage.
Rest your burthens here.
This spacious room will please the marquis best.
He takes me unawares; but ill prepar'd:
If he had sent, e'en though a hasty notice,
I had been glad.

Man.
Be not disturb'd, good Jerome;
Thy house is in most admirable order;
And they who travel o' cold winter nights
Think homeliest quarters good.

Jer.
He is not far behind?

Man.
A little way.
(To the servants.)
Go you and wait below till he arrive.

Jer.
(shaking Manuel by the hand).
Indeed, my friend, I'm glad to see you here;
Yet marvel wherefore.

Man.
I marvel wherefore too, my honest Jerome:
But here we are; pri'thee be kind to us.

Jer.
Most heartily I will. I love your master:
He is a quiet and a lib'ral man:
A better inmate never cross'd my door.

Man.
Ah! but he is not now the man he was.
Lib'ral he'll be. God grant he may be quiet.

Jer.
What has befallen him?

Man.
I cannot tell thee;
But, faith, there is no living with him now.

Jer.
And yet, methinks, if I remember well
You were about to quit his service, Manuel,
When last he left this house. You grumbled then.

Man.
I've been upon the eve of leaving him
These ten long years; for many times he is
So difficult, capricious, and distrustful,
He galls my nature—yet, I know not how,
A secret kindness binds me to him still.

Jer.
Some who offend from a suspicious nature,
Will afterwards such fair confession make
As turns e'en the offence into a favour.

Man.
Yes, some indeed do so; so will not he:
He'd rather die than such confession make.

Jer.
Ay, thou art right; for now I call to mind
That once he wrong'd me with unjust suspicion,
When first he came to lodge beneath my roof;
And when it so fell out that I was prov'd
Most guiltless of the fault, I truly thought
He would have made profession of regret.
But silent, haughty, and ungraciously
He bore himself as one offended still.
Yet shortly after, when unwittingly
I did him some slight service, o' the sudden
He overpower'd me with his grateful thanks;
And would not be restrain'd from pressing on me
A noble recompense. I understood
His o'erstrain'd gratitude and bounty well,
And took it as he meant.

Man.
'Tis often thus.
I would have left him many years ago,
But that with all his faults there sometimes come
Such bursts of natural goodness from his heart,
As might engage a harder churl than I
To serve him still.—And then his sister too;
A noble dame, who should have been a queen:
The meanest of her hinds, at her command,
Had fought like lions for her, and the poor,
E'en o'er their bread of poverty, had bless'd her—
She would have griev'd if I had left my lord.

Jer.
Comes she along with him?

Man.
No, he departed all unknown to her,
Meaning to keep conceal'd his secret route;
But well I knew it would afflict her much,
And therefore left a little nameless billet,
Which after our departure, as I guess,
Would fall into her hands, and tell her all.
What could I do! O 'tis a noble lady!

Jer.
All this is strange—something disturbs his mind—
Belike he is in love.

Man.
No, Jerome, no.
Once on a time I serv'd a noble master,
Whose youth was blasted with untoward love,
And he, with hope and fear and jealousy
For ever toss'd, led an unquiet life:
Yet, when unruffled by the passing fit,
His pale wan face such gentle sadness wore
As mov'd a kindly heart to pity him.
But Monfort, even in his clamest hour,
Still bears that gloomy sternness in his eye
Which powerfully repels all sympathy.
O no! good Jerome, no, it is not love.

Jer.
Hear I not horses trampling at the gate?
[Listening.
He is arrived — stay thou — I had forgot —
A plague upon't! my head is so confus'd—
I will return i' the instant to receive him.

[Exit hastily.
[A great bustle without. Exit Manuel with lights, and returns again, lighting in De Monfort, as if just alighted from his journey.
Man.
Your ancient host, my lord, receives you gladly,
And your apartment will be soon prepar'd.

De Mon.
'Tis well.

Man.
Where shall I place the chest you gave in charge?
So please you, say, my lord.

De Mon.
(throwing himself into a chair).
Wheree'er thou wilt.

Man.
I would not move that luggage till you came.

[Pointing to certain things.
De Mon.
Move what thou wilt, and trouble me no more.

[Manuel, with the assistance of other servants, sets about putting the things in order, and De Monfort remains sitting in a thoughtful posture).
Enter Jerome, bearing wine, &c. on a salver. As he approaches De Monfort, Manuel pulls him by the sleeve.
Man.
(aside to Jerome).
No, do not now; he will not be disturb'd.

Jer.
What! not to bid him welcome to my house,
And offer some refreshment?

Man.
No, good Jerome.
Softly a little while: I pri'thee do.

[Jerome walks softly on tiptoe, till he gets behind De Monfort, then peeping on one side to see his face.
Jer.
(aside to Manuel).
Ah, Manuel, what an alter'd man is here!
His eyes are hollow, and his cheeks are pale—
He left this house a comely gentleman.

De Mon.
Who whispers there?

Man.
'Tis your old landlord, sir.

Jer.
I joy to see you here—I crave your pardon—
I fear I do intrude—

De Mon.
No, my kind host, I am obliged to thee.

Jer.
How fares it with your honour?

De Mon.
Well enough.

Jer.
Here is a little of the fav'rite wine
That you were wont to praise. Pray honour me.

[Fills a glass.
De Mon.
(after drinking).
I thank you, Jerome, 'tis delicious.

Jer.
Ay, my dear wife did ever make it so.

De Mon.
And how does she?

Jer.
Alas, my lord! she's dead.

De Mon.
Well, then she is at rest.

Jer.
How well, my lord?

De Mon.
Is she not with the dead, the quiet dead,
Where all is peace? Not e'en the impious wretch,
Who tears the coffin from its earthy vault,
And strews the mould'ring ashes to the wind,
Can break their rest.

Jer.
Woe's me! I thought you would have griev'd for her.
She was a kindly soul! Before she died,
When pining sickness bent her cheerless head,
She set my house in order—
And but the morning ere she breath'd her last,
Bade me preserve some flaskets of this wine,
That should the Lord de Monfort come again
His cup might sparkle still.
[De Monfort walks across the stage, and wipes his eyes.
Indeed I fear I have distress'd you, sir;
I surely thought you would be griev'd for her.

De Mon.
(taking Jerome's hand).
I am, my friend. How long has she been dead?

Jer.
Two sad long years.

De Mon.
Would she were living still!
I was too troublesome, too heedless of her.

Jer.
O no! she lov'd to serve you.

[Loud knocking without.
De Mon.
What fool comes here, at such untimely hours,
To make this cursed noise? (To Manuel.)
Go to the gate.
[Exit Manuel.
All sober citizens are gone to bed;
It is some drunkards on their nightly rounds,
Who mean it but in sport.

Jer.
I hear unusual voices—here they come.

Re-enter Manuel, showing in Count Freberg and his lady, with a mask in her hand.
Freb.
(running to embrace De Mon.)
My dearest Monfort! most unlook'd for pleasure!
Do I indeed embrace thee here again?
I saw thy servant standing by the gate,
His face recall'd, and learnt the joyful tidings!
Welcome, thrice welcome here!

De Mon.
I thank thee, Freberg, for this friendly visit,
And this fair lady too.

[Bowing to the lady.
Lady.
I fear, my lord,
We do intrude at an untimely hour:
But now, returning from a midnight mask,
My husband did insist that we should enter.

Freb.
No, say not so; no hour untimely call,
Which doth together bring long absent friends.
Dear Monfort, why hast thou so slily play'd,
Coming upon us thus so suddenly?

De Mon.
O! many varied thoughts do cross our brain,
Which touch the will, but leave the memory trackless;
And yet a strange compounded motive make,
Wherefore a man should bend his evening walk
To th' east or west, the forest or the field.
Is it not often so?

Freb.
I ask no more, happy to see you here
From any motive. There is one behind,
Whose presence would have been a double bliss:
Ah! how is she? The noble Jane De Monfort.

De Mon.
(confused).
She is—I have—I left my sister well.

Lady.
(to Freberg).
My Freberg, you are heedless of respect.
You surely mean to say the Lady Jane.

Freb.
Respect! No, madam; Princess, Empress, Queen,
Could not denote a creature so exalted
As this plain appellation doth,
The noble Jane De Monfort.

Lady.
(turning from him displeased to Mon.)
You are fatigued, my lord; you want repose;
Say, should we not retire?

Freb.
Ha! is it so?
My friend, your face is pale; have you been ill?

De Mon.
No, Freberg, no; I think I have been well.

Freb.
(shaking his head).
I fear thou hast not, Monfort—Let it pass.
We'll re-establish thee: we'll banish pain.
I will collect some rare, some cheerful friends,
And we shall spend together glorious hours,
That gods might envy. Little time so spent
Doth far outvalue all our life beside.
This is indeed our life, our waking life,
The rest dull breathing sleep.

De Mon.
Thus, it is true, from the sad years of life
We sometimes do short hours, yea minutes strike,
Keen, blissful, bright, never to be forgotten;
Which, through the dreary gloom of time o'erpast,
Shine like fair sunny spots on a wild waste.
But few they are, as few the heaven-fir'd souls
Whose magic power creates them. Bless'd art thou,
If, in the ample circle of thy friends,
Thou canst but boast a few.

Freb.
Judge for thyself: in truth I do not boast.
There is amongst my friends, my later friends,
A most accomplish'd stranger: new to Amberg;
But just arriv'd, and will ere long depart:
I met him in Franconia two years since.
He is so full of pleasant anecdote,
So rich, so gay, so poignant is his wit,
Time vanishes before him as he speaks,
And ruddy morning through the lattice peeps
Ere night seems well begun.

De Mon.
How is he call'd?

Freb.
I will surprise thee with a welcome face:
I will not tell thee now.

Lady.
(to Mon.)
I have, my lord, a small request to make,
And must not be denied. I too may boast
Of some good friends, and beauteous country-women:
To-morrow night I open wide my doors
To all the fair and gay: beneath my roof
Music, and dance, and revelry shall reign:
I pray you come and grace it with your presence.

De Mon.
You honour me too much to be denied.

Lady.
I thank you, sir; and in return for this,
We shall withdraw, and leave you to repose.

Freb.
Must it be so? Good night—sweet sleep to thee!

(to DeMonfort.)
De Mon.
(to Freb.)
Good night.
(To lady.)
Good night, fair lady.

Lady.
Farewell!

[Exeunt Freberg and lady.
De Mon.
(to Jer.)
I thought Count Freberg had been now in France.

Jer.
He meant to go, as I have been inform'd.

De Mon.
Well, well, prepare my bed; I will to rest.

[Exit Jerome.
De Mon.
(aside).
I know not how it is, my heart stands back,
And meets not this man's love.—Friends! rarest friends!
Rather than share his undiscerning praise
With every table-wit, and book-form'd sage,
And paltry poet puling to the moon,
I'd court from him proscription, yea abuse,
And think it proud distinction.

[Exit.