University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A very splendid apartment in Count Freberg's house, fancifully decorated. A wide folding-door opened, shows another magnificent room lighted up to receive company. Enter through the folding doors the Count and Countess, richly dressed.
Freb.
(looking round).
In truth, I like those decorations well:
They suit those lofty walls. And here, my love,
The gay profusion of a woman's fancy
Is well display'd. Noble simplicity
Becomes us less, on such a night as this,
Than gaudy show.

Lady.
Is it not noble then? (He shakes his head.)
I thought it so;
And as I know you love simplicity,
I did intend it should be simple too.

Freb.
Be satisfied, I pray; we want to-night
A cheerful banquet-house, and not a temple.
How runs the hour?

Lady.
It is not late, but soon we shall be rous'd
With the loud entry of our frolic guests.

Enter a Page, richly dressed.
Page.
Madam, there is a lady in your hall,
Who begs to be admitted to your presence.

Lady.
Is it not one of our invited friends?

Page.
No, far unlike to them; it is a stranger.

Lady.
How looks her countenance?

Page.
So queenly, so commanding, and so noble,
I shrunk at first in awe; but when she smil'd,
For so she did to see me thus abash'd,
Methought I could have compass'd sea and land
To do her bidding.

Lady.
Is she young or old?

Page.
Neither, if right I guess; but she is fair:
For Time hath laid his hand so gently on her,
As he too had been aw'd.

Lady.
The foolish stripling!
She has bewitch'd thee. Is she large in stature?

Page.
So stately and so graceful is her form,
I thought at first her stature was gigantic;
But on a near approach I found, in truth,
She scarcely does surpass the middle size.

Lady.
What is her garb?

Page.
I cannot well describe the fashion of it.
She is not deck'd in any gallant trim,
But seems to me clad in the usual weeds
Of high habitual state; for as she moves
Wide flows her robe in many a waving fold,
As I have seen unfurled banners play
With a soft breeze.

Lady.
Thine eyes deceive thee, boy;
It is an apparition thou hast seen.

Freb.
(starting from his seat, where he has been sitting during the conversation between the lady and the page).
It is an apparition he has seen,
Or it is Jane De Monfort.

[Exit, hastily.
Lady
(displeased).
No; such description surely suits not her.
Did she inquire for me?

Page.
She ask'd to see the lady of Count Freberg.

Lady.
Perhaps it is not she—I fear it is—
Ha! here they come. He has but guess'd too well.

Enter Freberg, leading in Jane De Monfort.
Freb.
(presenting her to lady).
Here, madam, welcome a most worthy guest.

Lady.
Madam, a thousand welcomes! Pardon me;
I could not guess who honour'd me so far;
I should not else have waited coldly here.

Jane.
I thank you for this welcome, gentle countess.
But take those kind excuses back again;
I am a bold intruder on this hour,
And am entitled to no ceremony.
I came in quest of a dear truant friend,
But Freberg has inform'd me—
(To Freberg.)
And he is well, you say?

Freb.
Yes, well, but joyless.

Jane.
It is the usual temper of his mind;
It opens not, but with the thrilling touch
Of some strong heart-string o' the sudden press'd.

Freb.
It may be so, I've known him otherwise:
He is suspicious grown.

Jane.
Not so, Count Freberg; Monfort is too noble.
Say rather, that he is a man in grief,
Wearing at times a strange and scowling eye;
And thou, less generous than beseems a friend,
Hast thought too hardly of him.

Freb.
(bowing with great respect).
So will I say;
I'll own nor word nor will, that can offend you.

Lady.
De Monfort is engag'd to grace our feast:
Ere long you'll see him here.

Jane.
I thank you truly, but this homely dress
Suits not the splendour of such scenes as these.

Freb.
(pointing to her dress).
Such artless and majestic elegance,
So exquisitely just, so nobly simple,
Will make the gorgeous blush.

Jane
(smiling).
Nay, nay, be more consistent, courteous knight,
And do not praise a plain and simple guise
With such profusion of unsimple words.
I cannot join your company to-night.

Lady.
Not stay to see your brother?

Jane.
Therefore it is I would not, gentle hostess.
Here will he find all that can woo the heart
To joy and sweet forgetfulness of pain;
The sight of me would wake his feeling mind
To other thoughts. I am no doating mistress;
No fond distracted wife, who must forthwith
Rush to his arms and weep. I am his sister:
The eldest daughter of his father's house:
Calm and unwearied is my love for him;
And having found him, patiently I'll wait,
Nor greet him in the hour of social joy,
To dash his mirth with tears.—
The night wears on; permit me to withdraw.

Freb.
Nay, do not, do not injure us so far!
Disguise thyself, and join our friendly train.

Jane.
You wear not masks to-night.

Lady.
We wear not masks, but you may be con-ceal'd
Behind the double foldings of a veil.

Jane
(after pausing to consider).
In truth, I feel a little so inclin'd.
Methinks unknown, I e'en might speak to him,
And gently prove the temper of his mind;
But for the means I must become your debtor.

[To lady.
Lady.
Who waits? (Enter her woman).
Attend this lady to my wardrobe,
And do what she commands you.

[Exeunt Jane and waiting-woman.
Freb.
(looking after Jane, as she goes out, with admiration).
Oh! what a soul she bears!
See how she steps!
Nought but the native dignity of worth
E'er taught the moving form such noble grace.

Lady.
Such lofty mien, and high assumed gait,
I've seen ere now, and men have call'd it pride.

Freb.
No, 'faith! thou never didst, but oft indeed
The paltry imitation thou hast seen.
(Looking at her.)
How hang those trappings on thy motley gown?
They seem like garlands on a May-day queen,
Which hinds have dress'd in sport.

[Lady turns away displeased.
Freb.
Nay, do not frown; I spoke it but in haste;
For thou art lovely still in every garb.
But see, the guests assemble.

Enter groups of well-dressed people, who pay their compliments to Freberg and his lady; and, followed by her, pass into the inner apartment, where more company appear assembling, as if by another entry.
Freb.
(who remains on the front of the stage with a friend or two).
How loud the hum of this gay-meeting crowd!
'Tis like a bee-swarm in the noonday sun.
Music will quell the sound. Who waits without?
Music strike up.

[Music, and when it ceases, enter from the inner apartment Rezenvelt, with several gentlemen, all richly dressed.
Freb.
(to those just entered).
What, lively gallants, quit the field so soon?
Are there no beauties in that moving crowd
To fix your fancy?

Rez.
Ay, marry are there! men of ev'ry fancy
May in that moving crowd some fair one find
To suit their taste, though whimsical and strange,
As ever fancy own'd.
Beauty of every cast and shade is there,
From the perfection of a faultless form,
Down to the common, brown, unnoted maid,
Who looks but pretty in her Sunday gown.

1st gent.
There is, indeed, a gay variety.

Rez.
And if the liberality of nature
Suffices not, there's store of grafted charms,
Blending in one the sweets of many plants,
So obstinately, strangely opposite,
As would have well defied all other art
But female cultivation. Aged youth,
With borrowed locks, in rosy chaplets bound,
Clothes her dim eye, parch'd lips, and skinny cheek
In most unlovely softness:
And youthful age, with fat round trackless face,
The downcast look of contemplation deep
Most pensively assumes.
Is it not even so? The native prude,
With forced laugh, and merriment uncouth,
Plays off the wild coquette's successful charms
With most unskilful pains; and the coquette,
In temporary crust of cold reserve,
Fixes her studied looks upon the ground,
Forbiddingly demure.

Freb.
Fy! thou art too severe.

Rez.
Say, rather, gentle.
I 'faith! the very dwarfs attempt to charm
With lofty airs of puny majesty;
While potent damsels, of a portly make,
Totter like nurslings, and demand the aid
Of gentle sympathy.
From all those diverse modes of dire assault,
He owns a heart of hardest adamant,
Who shall escape to-night.

Freb.
(to De Mon., who has entered during Rezenvelt' s speech, and heard the greatest part of it).
Ha, ha, ha, ha!
How pleasantly he gives his wit the rein,
Yet guides its wild career!

[De Mon. is silent.
Rez.
(smiling archly).
What, think you, Freberg, the same powerful spell
Of transformation reigns o'er all to-night?
Or that De Monfort is a woman turn'd,—
So widely from his native self to swerve,
As grace my folly with a smile of his?

De Mon.
Nay, think not, Rezenvelt, there is no smile
I can bestow on thee. There is a smile,
A smile of nature too, which I can spare,
And yet, perhaps, thou wilt not thank me for it.

[Smiles contemptuously.
Rez.
Not thank thee! It were surely most ungrateful
No thanks to pay for nobly giving me
What, well we see, has cost thee so much pain.
For nature hath her smiles of birth more painful
Than bitt'rest execrations.

Freb.
These idle words will lead us to disquiet:
Forbear, forbear, my friends! Go, Rezenvelt,
Accept the challenge of those lovely dames,
Who through the portal come with bolder steps
To claim your notice.

Enter a group of ladies from the other apartment, who walk slowly across the bottom of the stage, and return to it again. Rez. shrugs up his shoulders, as if unwilling to go.
1st gent.
(to Rez.)
Behold in sable veil a lady comes,
Whose noble air doth challenge fancy's skill
To suit it with a countenance as goodly.

[Pointing to Jane De Mon., who now enters in a thick black veil.
Rez.
Yes, this way lies attraction.
(To Freb.)
With permission—
[Going up to Jane.
Fair lady, though within that envious shroud
Your beauty deigns not to enlighten us,
We bid you welcome, and our beauties here
Will welcome you the more for such concealment.
With the permission of our noble host—

[Taking her hand, and leading her to the front of the stage.
Jane.
(to Freb.)
Pardon me this presumption, courteous sir:
I thus appear (pointing to her veil),
not careless of respect
Unto the generous lady of the feast.
Beneath this veil no beauty shrouded is,
That, now, or pain, or pleasure can bestow.
Within the friendly cover of its shade
I only wish, unknown, again to see
One who, alas! is heedless of my pain.

De Mon.
Yes, it is ever thus. Undo that veil,
And give thy count'nance to the cheerful light.
Men now all soft and female beauty scorn,
And mock the gentle cares which aim to please.
It is most damnable! undo thy veil,
And think of him no more.

Jane.
I know it well: e'en to a proverb grown,
Is lovers' faith, and I had borne such slight:
But he, who has, alas! forsaken me,
Was the companion of my early days,
My cradle's mate, mine infant play-fellow.
Within our op'ning minds, with riper years,
The love of praise and gen'rous virtue sprung:
Through varied life our pride, our joys were one;
At the same tale we wept: he is my brother.

De Mon.
And he forsook thee?—No, I dare not curse him:
My heart upbraids me with a crime like his.

Jane.
Ah! do not thus distress a feeling heart.
All sisters are not to the soul entwin'd
With equal bands; thine has not watch'd for thee,
Wept for thee, cheer'd thee, shar'd thy weal and woe,
As I have done for him.

De Mon.
(eagerly).
Ah! has she not?
By heav'n the sum of all thy kindly deeds
Were but as chaff pois'd against massy gold,
Compar'd to that which I do owe her love.
Oh, pardon me! I mean not to offend—
I am too warm—but she of whom I speak
Is the dear sister of my earliest love;
In noble, virtuous worth to none a second:
And though behind those sable folds were hid
As fair a face as ever woman own'd,
Still would I say she is as fair as thou.
How oft amidst the beauty-blazing throng,
I've proudly to th' inquiring stranger told
Her name and lineage! yet within her house,
The virgin mother of an orphan race
Her dying parents left, this noble woman
Did, like a Roman matron, proudly sit,
Despising all the blandishments of love;
While many a youth his hopeless love conceal'd,
Or, humbly distant, woo'd her like a queen.
Forgive, I pray you! O forgive this boasting!
In faith! I mean you no discourtesy.

Jane
(off her guard, in a soft natural tone of voice).
Oh, no! nor do me any.

De Mon.
What voice speaks now? Withdraw, withdraw this shade!
For if thy face bear semblance to thy voice,
I'll fall and worship thee. Pray! pray undo!

[Puts forth his hand eagerly to snatch away the veil, whilst she shrinks back, and Rezenvelt steps between to prevent him.
Rez.
Stand off: no hand shall lift this sacred veil.

De Mon.
What, dost thou think De Monfort fall'n so low,
That there may live a man beneath heav'n's roof,
Who dares to say, he shall not?

Rez.
He lives who dares to say—

Jane
(throwing back her veil, much alarmed, and rushing between them).
Forbear, forbear!

[Rezenvelt, very much struck, steps back respectfully, and makes her a low bow. De Monfort stands for a while motionless, gazing upon her, till she, looking expressively to him, extends her arms, and he, rushing into them, bursts into tears. Freberg seems very much pleased. The company then advancing from the inner apartment, gather about them, and the scene closes.