The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie Complete in One Volume |
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 | The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie |  |
SCENE I.
Countess Freberg' s dressing-room. Enter the Countess dispirited and out of humour, and throws herself into a chair: enter, by the opposite side, Theresa.Ther.
Madam, I am afraid you are unwell:
What is the matter? does your head ache?
Lady
(peevishly).
No,
'Tis not my head: concern thyself no more
With what concerns not thee.
Ther.
Go you abroad to-night?
Lady.
Yes, thinkest thou I'll stay and fret at home?
Ther.
Then please to say what you would choose to wear:—
One of your newest robes?
Lady.
I hate them all.
Ther.
Surely that purple scarf became you well,
With all those wreaths of richly-hanging flowers.
Did I not overhear them say, last night,
As from the crowded ball-room ladies pass'd,
How gay and handsome, in her costly dress,
The Countess Freberg look'd?
Lady.
Didst thou o'erhear it?
Ther.
I did, and more than this.
Lady.
Well, all are not so greatly prejudic'd;
All do not think me like a May-day queen,
Which peasants deck in sport.
Ther.
And who said this?
Lady
(putting her handkerchief to her eyes).
E'en my good lord, Theresa.
Ther.
He said it but in jest. He loves you well.
Lady.
I know as well as thou he loves me well.
But what of that! he takes in me no pride:
Elsewhere his praise and admiration go,
And Jane De Monfort is not mortal woman.
Ther.
The wondrous character this lady bears
For worth and excellence: from early youth
The friend and mother of her younger sisters,
Now greatly married, as I have been told,
From her most prudent care, may well excuse
The admiration of so good a man
As my good master is. And then, dear madam,
I must confess, when I myself did hear
How she was come through the rough winter's storm,
To seek and comfort an unhappy brother,
My heart beat kindly to her.
Lady.
Ay, ay, there is a charm in this I find:
But wherefore may she not have come as well
Through wintry storms to seek a lover too?
Ther.
No, madam, no, I could not think of this.
Lady.
That would reduce her in your eyes, mayhap,
To woman's level.—Now I see my vengeance!
I'll tell it round that she is hither come,
Under pretence of finding out De Monfort,
To meet with Rezenvelt. When Freberg hears it,
'Twill help, I ween, to break this magic charm.
Ther.
And say what is not, madam?
Lady.
How canst thou know that I shall say what is not?
'Tis like enough I shall but speak the truth.
Ther.
Ah, no! there is—
Lady.
Well, hold thy foolish tongue.
[Freberg's voice is heard without. After hesitating.
I will not see him now.
[Exit.
[Enter Freberg by the opposite side, passing on hastily.
Ther.
Pardon, my lord; I fear you are in haste.
Yet must I crave that you will give to me
The books my lady mention'd to you: she
Has charg'd me to remind you.
Freb.
I'm in haste.
[Passing on.
Ther.
Pray you, my lord: your countess wants them much:
The Lady Jane De Monfort ask'd them of her.
Freb.
(returning instantly).
Are they for her? I knew not this before.
I will, then, search them out immediately.
There is nought good or precious in my keeping,
That is not dearly honour'd by her use.
Ther.
My lord, what would your gentle countess say,
If she o'erheard her own request neglected,
Until supported by a name more potent?
Freb.
Thinkst thou she is a fool, my good Theresa,
Vainly to please herself with childish thoughts
Of matching what is matchless—Jane De Monfort?
Thinkst thou she is a fool, and cannot see,
88
Though far apart?
[Re-enter lady with great violence.
Lady.
I am a fool, not to have seen full well,
That thy best pleasure in o'er-rating so
This lofty stranger, is to humble me,
And cast a dark'ning shadow o'er my head.
Ay, wherefore dost thou stare upon me thus?
Art thou asham'd that I have thus surpris'd thee?
Well mayst thou be so!
Freb.
True; thou rightly sayst.
Well may I be asham'd: not for the praise
Which I have ever openly bestow'd
On Monfort's noble sister; but that thus,
Like a poor mean and jealous listener,
She should be found, who is Count Freberg's wife.
Lady.
Oh, I am lost and ruin'd! hated, scorn'd!
[Pretending to faint.
Freb.
Alas, I have been too rough!
[Taking her hand and kissing it tenderly.
My gentle love! my own, my only love!
See, she revives again. How art thou, love?
Support her to her chamber, good Theresa.
I'll sit and watch by her. I've been too rough.
[Exeunt; lady supported by Freb. and Ther.
| The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie | |