 | Eugenia |  |
1
ACT I.
Mercour crosses the Stage; sees Æmilia; endeavours to avoid her. She looks at Him some Time; then speaks.Æmilia.
Ah! what a Look was there! How his Eye started
As from a Thing of Horrour! I am lost;
Abandon'd to an unavailing Penitence,
To the Upbraidings of my own weak Heart,
[Looking after him.
To Virtue's keen Reproaches. Mercour, Mercour—
For all the promis'd Joys of Love and Constancy,
Oh! teach me not to feel what now I am,
Or to forget what late I was, how bless'd
With Innocence—Alas! now lost for ever.
2
speaking as he enters.
It was the Musick of Æmilia's Voice,
Tho' much untun'd from its delightful Sounds
When harmonis'd by Love. Tell me, my Heart,
Why did Æmilia call me?
Æmilia.
Did I call you?
Mercour.
Repeatedly; with Accent most alarming.
Æmilia.
It was the Voice of Sorrow and Despair,
Not mine.
Mercour.
Despair! But how can it approach you,
By Friendship guarded in the Arms of Love?
Yet whence those Startings of the Soul, that rend
The labouring Breast? Why melts your Eye upon me?
Whence is that Paleness on my Fair-one's Cheek,
Where rosy Love, with Pleasure's Blushes glowing.
Was wont to dwell, amidst the Smiles of Beauty?
Æmilia.
And sure—forbid it Love—you're alter'd too.
Are you the same? as constant to our Friendship—
Mercour.
As you are beautiful. Why doubts Æmilia
Her wondr'ous Power of charming?
Æmilia.
Yet even now
Your Eye meets mine with Pain. Some secret Purpose
Turns it aside, and that once dear Protesting,
(Which Love was wont to warm with his own Language,)
Falls feebly from your Tongue. Yet treat me nobly.
For such a Waste of Tenderness and Truth,
Is it too much—for all that I have suffer'd,
3
A little kind Sincerity?
Mercour.
Æmilia!
Can she suspect the Heart, that she has form'd;
Where sits her Image, in the Power of Beauty,
To rule its Passions, and inspire its Wishes?
Æmilia.
Tell me my Fate; nor fear, that I'll upbraid you.
Nor shall my Rage, nor shall my Tears upbraid you,
Nor even my Love. I'll find a thousand Reasons
To justify your Change. I'll tell my Heart,
'Midst its resenting Beatings, that your Passions
Are not your own; that Love's inconstant Pleasures
Are sacred to your lordly Sex; that Men,
However just to Honour with each other,
Should scorn their fond Engagements with a Woman.
Mercour.
I would be just to both. For some Days past,
I own my Thoughts have been perplex'd, confus'd;
A thousand varying Projects for your Happiness—
Æmilia.
My Happiness!
Mercour.
Oh! my Soul's highest Pride,
Does it become the Dignity of Love,
To steal into your Arms; to hide our Joys
In Darkness and Concealment? I'll no longer
Bear these uncertain, casual Hours of Bliss,
But let the World behold and envy me
The rich Possession of Æmilia's Beauties—
I'll make you mine for ever.
Æmilia.
Your's for ever!
4
Forgive th' unkind Suspicions; the Reproaches—
Mercour.
They were Suspicions, that arose from Love.
But will you hear?
Æmilia.
My Soul is listening to you.
Mercour.
My Father, to support his Country's Honour,
And his own noble Birth, in foreign Embassies
Consum'd a fair Estate, and left his Sons,
(My Brother and myself) dependant vilely
Upon my Uncle's Bounty.
Æmilia.
Oh! how nobly
Has he discharg'd the sacred Trust of Friendship,
And Duty of a Parent!
Mercour.
True; his Duty;
Then how are we oblig'd? Curse on the Name
Of Obligation. How my Soul disdains
This Insolence of Goodness, that enslaves
The free-born Mind! Is not his every Act,
An Insult on our Wants? Has he not gain'd,
From our Distress, the Name he most delights in,
The Name of Good? Methinks a rich Return
For trivial Benefits, without the Slavery
Of endless Gratitude.
Æmilia.
Surely you mean
T'insult my Understanding. As for me,
He took me in Distress of Infancy,
The Orphan of his Friend. With every Tenderness,
Even of a Parent's Care, he form'd my Youth,
Alas! in vain, to Sentiments of Virtue.
5
'Twas innate Goodness, and my grateful Soul
Through all its Feelings thanks him. But forgive me;
I interrupted you.
Mercour.
The fair Eugenia,
His much lov'd Daughter—
Æmilia
, aside
Ah! what means my Heart
By its tumultuous Beating!
Mercour.
Vain and haughty,
Bred in the virtuous Principles of Pride
By her affected Governess—
Æmilia.
Orphisa?
Mercour.
Ay, she, who even in Poverty assumes
An Insolence, that treats me with Disdain,
And has refus'd a Bribe, which might have purchas'd
A wealthier Honesty.
Æmilia.
A Bribe! For what?
Mercour.
I would have gain'd her to befriend my Purpose
On her fair Pupil; 'midst the solemn Lessons,
(With which, forsooth, she forms her Heart to Wisdom)
To steal a kindly Mention of my Love
Into her Breast, and mix me with its Passions.
Æmilia.
Wildness and Horrour! Passions! Love! Eugenia!
Yet, yet, be kind, and ease my tortur'd Heart.
Mercour.
This Morn, I mean to ask her of her Father,
And if he, easy Man, should grant her to me,
6
Hath long amass'd, when a few Days are spent
In the cold Duties of the nuptial Bed,
We'll fly, Æmilia, to some distant Realm;
Enjoy each other; be a present Wonder,
And leave to future Times a bright Example
Of Constancy in Love.
Æmilia.
A breathless Horrour
Heaves, panting, at my Heart. Outcasts of Virtue,
What Nation will receive us? Whither fly?
Where-e'er the Sun drives round the various Day,
'Tis the same Sun, that here beheld our Guilt.
In vain, the Midnight Cloud shall fall upon us,
Nor shall the Grave's eternal Darkness hide it;
'Twill rise to future Worlds. Oh! could we fly
Far from all human Converse; from ourselves,
From Conscience and from Memory—
Mercour.
Æmilia,
I have no Time to waste in idle Arguments
On visionary Subjects. Let me rather,
Demand your Aid; th' Assistance of your Friendship
With this fond Girl. It is your Interest, Fair-one;
And Interest, our best Wisdom, should instruct you
To try your Sex's Arts to win her for me.
You know their softest Moments.
Æmilia.
Yes; 'tis just.
Most exquisitely just, this purpos'd Insult.
And mark it, ye unhappy Ones, like me,
Thus shall it ever prove, who first betrays,
Will first insult our Weakness. Hear me, Sir,
Fall'n as I am from Honour, lost to Fame,
And hateful to myself, yet dare not think,
7
Be wise, and dread the Wildness of my Temper,
Lest it start out in Madness to destroy
Myself and Thee, with Horrours worthy both.
[Exit.
Mercour.
There goes the Sex's Virtue, and their Spirit.
But that I know her Pride, her Sense of Shame
(These too are female Virtues) I might fear
The Wildness of her Threats. But soft, my Uncle!
Now for a soothing Tale of Love and Rapture
For my fair Cousin. Yet—I think—I love her;
Not like my Brother, for (I know not what)
Some sentimental Merit. Mine are Ardours,
Kindling by Nature at the Sight of Beauty.
But now my other Face; dear, dear Dissembling.
Enter Dorimond.
Mercour.
Joy to the Morning, Sir, whose Light restores
Your Power of doing Good, your sole Delight.
Dorimond.
Thanks, gentle Nephew; for methinks I feel
Your pious Wish. My Soul sits light within me,
As conscious of some happier Hours approaching.
Mercour.
'Tis Heaven, in Bounty to the Good and Virtuous,
That gives this Fore-taste of approaching Happiness,
And dashes the presumptuous Villain's Hopes
With visionary Boadings.
Dorimond
, turning a little from Mercour.
Truly said.
How nobly just are all his Sentiments!
Mercour.
No wonder, Sir; I learn'd them all from you.
Your Converse, and Example—
8
Stop we here;
The rest were Flatt'ry. Let us change the Subject.
When you and my fair Ward, Æmilia, meet,
I have observ'd (nor think me grown too curious)
Your Eyes maintain a gentle Correspondence
Of many a tender Meaning.
Mercour
, aside.
Then I'm ruin'd.
Dorimond.
Her Father was my Friend, brave, wise, and honest;
You were his Favourite; he much esteem'd you,
And made me first observe that open Nature,
For which I since have lov'd you.
I know he gladly would have seen his Daughter
The happy, wedded Partner of your Merit.
Mercour
, aside.
This Stroke has Thunder in it.
Dorimond.
Therefore think,
If a full Third of all that I possess
Can make you happy—
Mercour.
Sir, enjoy it long—
Dorimond.
I shall enjoy it; if I make you happy.
Mercour.
Nor me alone. I long have known your Bounty,
(My very Being your's) let it extend
In doing Acts of Charity, Compassion,
And universal Love. Open the Gates
Of Liberty to Wretches, lost in Dungeons;
Relieve th' Opprest, assert the Orphan's Rights,
And teach the Widow's Heart to sing for Joy.
9
And make the Virtuous happy.
Dorimond.
Nor shall these,
(The Duties of our Being) be neglected.
But let me ask your Heart, how it approves
Of my Proposal.
Mercour.
Sir, my Will is yours;
And my Obedience—
Dorimond.
No; speak freely to me.
Mercour.
Sir, if I must obey you—Let me own
Æmilia has her Charms; my Eye confesses them;
But not the Charm of Looks, the frail Delight
Of Beauty can subdue a Heart like mine.
Superior Sense, the Beauties of the Soul,
That Dignity of Sex, which can chastise
The Wishes it inspires, tho' pure as Innocence;
—Such are Eugenia's Charms.
Dorimond.
Eugenia's!
Mercour.
Sir!
Dorimond.
You stand amaz'd. What can this Transport mean?
Mercour.
Oh! give me back the dear, the fatal Name,
That my Distraction utter'd. Wild it started
From the quick Pantings of my Heart.
Dorimond.
Surprizing!
In one of your cool Temper! Knows Eugenia
Your Passion for her?
10
Sir, you hold me honest,
Nor would I lose my own, my Self-Esteem,
Or bear the Woundings of a secret Baseness,
Even for Eugenia's Beauties. Then imagine,
Whether I could presume, without your Leave,
To talk to her of Love.
Dorimond.
Still truly just.
I own, I meant to give her to your Brother.
His Gayety of Youth, I thought, might charm
The fancy of a Girl; but as ye both
Divide my Heart, and share my best Esteem,
It is to me indifferent, who gains her.
I will propose you to her, and shall plead
Your elder Claim of Birth-right, as of Love.
Mercour.
May Love's own Eloquence inspire your Tongue.
Paint the pure Passion of my Love, refin'd
From sordid Interests, as from sensual Meanings,
And with a Parent's soft Authority,
Oh! win her to Obedience.
Dorimond.
No; I dare not.
I must disclaim all other Influence,
Than that of tender and persuasive Reason.
Mercour.
Let me disclaim it too. Ungenerous thought!
In which my honest Heart had no Concernment.
Dorimond
going.
I do believe it.
Myrcour
aside.
Yes, in Truth, you may.
Th' unlucky Thought escap'd me.
11
returning.
But Æmilia—
My second Care—I think, your Brother's Heart
Is not insensible, and she has Beauty—
My Age rejoices in the Hope. This Moment—
Yes—I'll propose her to him, for their Union,
And yours with my Eugenia, are alone
My earnest Prayer to Heaven.
[Exit.
Mercour.
What easy Creatures
Are these same honest Men! so credulous,
They're hardly worth deceiving. But this Governess—
My Uncle must discharge her, though her Pride
Will scorn to own, I could suspect her Honesty.
Æmilia wed my Brother!—Honour! Conscience!
I feel ye not; then why should I believe
An Idiot's Tale about ye. But—impossible—
'Tis beyond Hope—He never can consent—He comes.
And with him—Arm in Arm—a common Soldier!
Who can it be? At Sight of me, they start.
'Tis Guilt; 'tis Fear; at least it is Suspicion,
Well-manag'd, to produce most precious Mischief.
Enter Clerval.
Clerval.
Good morrow, Brother; is our Uncle risen?
Mercour.
He is, since early Morning, and desires
Impatiently to see you.
Clerval.
I could wish,
He might not know you told me.
Mercour.
As you please.
12
I had engag'd to do an Act of Kindness,
This Morning, for a brave Unfortunate,
Whom highly I esteem.
Mercour.
Perhaps the Person,
Whom now you parted with?
Clerval.
The same. His Story
(Which yet I'm not at Liberty to tell you)
Is full of Wonders, mix'd with such Misfortunes—
Mercour.
Has he been long at Paris?
Clerval.
He arriv'd,
But lately from our Settlements in India.
Last Night I brought him with me from the Army,
Where, though conceal'd beneath that mean Disguise,
Yet his great Spirit, through the Ranks of War,
Diffus'd a Soldier's Warmth—The Warmth of Glory.
Mercour.
May I not know him? I, perhaps, can serve him.
Why may not I be trusted with this Secret?
Clerval.
It is the Secret of my Friend, not mine.
Mercour.
I'm satisfied. It is most noble in you
To succour the Distress'd. Yet your own Happiness
Might well employ a youthful Lover's Cares
So near his nuptial Day.
Clerval.
My nuptial Day!
Mercour.
You seem surpriz'd. Has not my Uncle told you,
13
The fair—
Clerval.
Eugenia!
Mercour.
No, the fair Æmilia;
In every real Tenderness of Heart,
As much his Daughter, as the young Eugenia.
Clerval.
O my deluded Soul! How swift was Hope
To catch th' imaginary Joy! Oh! Brother!
Mercour.
Now for a Strain of Rapture. [aside.]
Speak, good Brother.
Clerval.
In vain would I conceal my Soul's Confusion;
I am untaught to hide the rising Passion.
Tell me for whom, the happiest of his Kind,
Is the dear Maid, her Sex's Pride and Envy,
For whom design'd?
Mercour.
Is she, indeed, this Wonder?
Clerval.
Sure she was form'd in some indulgent Hour,
Which bless'd the Works of Nature with Perfection,
That Truth and Honour might with Beauty dwell,
And Virtue with the chaste Delights of Love.
Mercour.
Such are the Dreams of Lovers. As for me,
Who think, perchance, with less mysterious Reverence,
As with less Rapture, of a Woman's Worth,
I take her—
Clerval.
Brother!
14
For some wiser Reasons;
Some truer Merit. To deal frankly with you,
The Father's Fortune is the Daughter's Beauty.
Clerval.
Be wiser still. Enjoy my Uncle's Fortune.
Let me possess—Oh! give her to my Arms,
Rich in herself, in her own native Wealth
Of Youth and Beauty, give the charming Maid,
And make your Brother happy.
Mercour.
Clerval, hold.
These Transports, if I thought Eugenia knew them,
Much more encourag'd them—We yet are Brothers,
But learn to think less warmly of the Woman,
Whom you, perhaps to-morrow, may call Sister.
[Exit.
Clerval.
To-morrow, and my Sister! What! no more!
Only a Day, and such a Day of Horrour,
Between my Fate and me!
Enter Delville.
Clerval.
Come now, my Lord,
And after fifteen Years of Banishment,
(While every Clime had its peculiar Sorrows)
Behold a new Distress.
Delville.
Sure I have seen
Affliction's various Forms. Is there a Grief,
That saddens human Life, I have not known?
Clerval.
Eugenia—
[Delville starting.
Ha! that Start has Meaning in it.
Then you have heard, you know,—Let me conjure you
Give me each Circumstance.—
15
By holy Friendship,
My Wonder was to hear that Name pronounc'd
In Accents of Despair.
Clerval.
Oh! it was once—
'Twas Music tun'd by Love. 'Tis lost for ever.
My Brother's Wife, my Sister; these are Names
My Tongue must learn. Eugenia's is no more.
Pass but a few short Hours—I dare not think on't.
My Sister's Lover! Misery and Horrour!
Delville.
Fly to your Uncle; pour your Heart before him;
The Heart has a peculiar Eloquence
To plead the Cause of Love.
Clerval.
Has not my Brother
The Aids of Art to paint th' unconscious Passion?
Eugenia's Virtues, tho' he feel them not,
Her Beauties, though he gaz'd insensible,
Are ample Themes for counterfeited Rapture.
But why—my Lord, your Day of Happiness,
Tho' long o'ercast, again is opening on you,
Why should I cloud it o'er?
Delville.
And can you think,
That I'll enjoy the Blessings you restore me,
My Sovereign's Pardon, Honours, Friends, and Fame,
Till you are happy? Nor despair, my Clerval,
For, if without Presumption to high Heaven,
The Virtuous must be happy.
Clerval.
Whence, my Lord,
Are your Misfortunes then?
16
From Guilt and Justice.
Did I not break the Laws of Earth and Heaven?
When for a Point of Honour, false, false Honour,
I kill'd the Partner of my Soul; my Friend—
I lov'd him, I esteem'd him—and I kill'd him.
Clerval.
The King, the Judge of Honour, as of Justice,
Declares you innocent.
Delville.
But in that Court,
Where Conscience, Heaven's Vice-gerent, sits supreme,
Who shall acquit me there?
Clerval.
You think too deeply.
Delville.
The King is gracious; but in vain his Mercy,
Till I can find that dear, that bosom'd Bliss,
For whom alone I live. Driven from her Arms
To hopeless Banishment; from the pure Joys,
That bless the nuptial Bed.—
Clerval.
And yet, my Lord,
Until your Pardon pass the usual Forms,
(For you have powerful Enemies) this Habit,
For a few Hours, (no more) must still conceal you.
Delville.
I will repress these Longings of the Heart,
And wait, my Clerval,—think with what Impatience,
For News of your Eugenia.
Clerval.
My Eugenia!
O Sounds, how charming to the Hopes of Love.
Come Love, and Virtue come; unite your Powers,
Inspire my Heart, with Honour how to gain her,
Or teach it—Oh!—without a Crime to lose her.
| Eugenia | |