University of Virginia Library

SCENE I

—A handsome Antichamber in the Castle.
Enter Teresa and Blaise, talking.
TERESA.
I cannot think it: sure your former lady
Was far less lovely than my charming mistress!

BLAISE.
It may be so in any eyes but mine.
Train'd, from a boy, by her protecting hand;
Taken from poverty, and rais'd to honor;
Trusted by her, and by my noble lord;
My eyes can never see their equals more!
But yet, Teresa, I confess the countess
Reminds me of the beauty now laid low;
And bears such grace and dignity about her,
As I did never think to see again.

TERESA.
Well, worthy Blaise, your gratitude I honor,
Tho' I may doubt your taste.—But the late count?—

BLAISE.
O! my dear master!—Pray excuse these tears!—
Was goodness, honor, kindness, past my speaking!

TERESA.
When did he die?

BLAISE.
About four years ago.
His death was sudden; and a sudden change—
To me a sad one, who was wont to think
That all his wisdom order'd was most right—
Then happen'd here.

TERESA.
What change, my worthy friend?

BLAISE.
Excess and revelry, for tranquil state:
The noonday frolic, and the midnight feast,
For sober chearfulness, and sober hours;
For hospitality, whose even course
Flow'd always full, yet never ran to waste.
But I am old: fashions and times are alter'd:
I shou'd not blame, because I cannot relish
What my young lord, impell'd by health and spirits,
Thinks fit to do—And I've a confidence
That by your lady much will be reform'd
That seem'd amiss.—O! may his actions honor
His noble parents, and his noble wife!

TERESA.
And so I trust they will: now Heav'n forbid
Such excellence as her's were thrown away.—

BLAISE
(interrupting her):
What have I said?—Young woman do not think it!
Wrest not my words; I pray you wrest them not
Beyond their meaning!—He is gay and young,
And youth is lavish, when the tide of fortune
Draws flatt'rers round; a base and busy train!
But I am wrong again:—we'll hope the best.
No more! for see my lady's noble friends.

[Exeunt.
Enter Matilda and the Marquis.
MARQUIS.
My dear Matilda, let the precious moments
Which fortune offers, be employ'd to speak
My constant love and overflowing rapture,
At meeting thus again!—At meeting thus,
After so many tedious months of absence,
With full allowance from your noble father,
To urge my wishes and express my joy.

MATILDA.
What shall I answer worthy you and me?
Believe my heart responsive to your own;
Tho' female delicacy makes my tongue
Bashful to speak the language it inspires.

MARQUIS.
Long, long I lov'd, without one ray to cheer me!
Then spare not to enchant a faithful lover,
Whose thoughts and passion you, for years, have known
So fervently devoted to your charms!

MATILDA.
You know enough to know what I cou'd say;
And feel enough to know what are my feelings.
Content with this, press my fond heart no further!
But tell me, how you like the charming countess?
Tho' short your knowledge, in one transient day,
To penetrate the virtues of her heart.

MARQUIS.
Enough that knowledge to discern her merit.
To say she's worthy my Matilda's friendship,
Speaks all that eloquence cou'd say to praise her.

MATILDA.
From longer intimacy you must learn
Her high perfections.—In her noble soul
A graceful fortitude, that dares all trial,
Lives with a tenderness that's all her own.
Nothing in her, in person or in mind,
But greatly excellent, and greatly fair.
Her beauty has a something of divine!
A dignity, that shews all others mean.
Was ever such a majesty of eye!
Such bright effulgence blended with such softness!
And thus her lofty soul superior shines,
Among the best and noblest of her sex!
Attach'd from childhood, and allied by blood,
My admiration still acquires new force;
And while I love her tenderly, I feel
An awe and wonder, mingled with affection!—
But looking all, and more than all, I've said.—
The lovely countess comes!

(As Matilda is speaking, the folding Doors of a magnificent Saloon are thrown open, and the Count and Countess, attended by Lapont, advance through them to the Front of the Stage.)
COUNT.
My good Lapont,
I pray you see that ev'ry thing's in order
For my departure.

LAPONT.
All shall be prepared.

[Exit.
COUNTESS.
Join me, my noble friends, join to persuade
My dearest lord from quitting this fair mansion!

MATILDA.
Quitting this mansion!—We had fondly hop'd
That many happy weeks wou'd glide away,
Before our friendly party knew division!

COUNT.
With grief of heart, alas! I'm forc'd to leave
These tranquil joys for hateful occupations.
Hateful, alike, to friendship, and to love!

COUNTESS.
Indeed, Montval, I cannot take it kind
You thus desert me!

COUNT.
Why, my soul's delight,
Why blame what hard necessity requires?

COUNTESS.
What sudden business, thus, shou'd force you back
From these calm shades, to that detested Paris?
The seat of every vice and every crime!
Why cannot letters, or some trusty agent?—

COUNT.
If it cou'd be—if pers'onal application,
In the great cause, you know, I have in hand,
Were not demanded—think you I wou'd leave—
“Look at your face reflected from that mirror,”
Then think if I wou'd leave those heav'nly charms,
For aught of pleasure that the world can give!

COUNTESS.
'Tis ever so!—Money's the bane of bliss!—
The base alloy of honor, duty, love.

COUNT
(agitated.)
Why speak you thus?—Has it corrupted me?—
But I will hasten to thy arms again,
And recompence the languishings of absence,
On thy dear bosom!—

COUNTESS.
Well! I am your wife:
A poor weak woman; doom'd to acquiesce,
By duty, as by nature.—

COUNT.
Take it not so,
My best beloved!—Mine is the cruel task,
Whose only earthy joy is in thy smiles.
Your charming friend, and her deserving marquis,
Shall soothe your widow'd hours.

MATILDA.
The lovely countess,
At all times, may command my services;
The willing tribute of my just devotion.

MARQUIS.
And mine.—And if my pow'r but mate my will,
Your absence, count, tho' not, perhaps, forgotten,
Shall not awaken such severe regret,
To banish mirth, and frown the smiles away.

COUNTESS.
My noble friends, I know your gen'rous hearts,
And have a full reliance on your kindness.
Well, well! if you must go, I'll do my best
To soften solitude till your return.—
The proud ancestral oaks that wave around
This tow'ring castle shall assist my musing.
The awful rocks shall tempt my wand'ring feet,
To visit their recesses; and the torrents
Shall deafen my complaints, as they arise.—
But ere you go, allow, at least, the time
To visit every corner of this mansion;
Its gloomy grandeur is in unision
With the sad temper of my pensive mind.

COUNT.
(embarrassed.)
At my return!—Time presses—

COUNTESS.
Then old Blaise
Shall be my guide thro' all its labyrinths.

COUNT.
(earnestly.)
Not so, my dearest love!—Wait my return!
I pray you wait!—Deny me not this pleasure!

COUNTESS.
Nay, in the absence of my honor'd lord,
It were a scrutiny I shou'd little taste.

COUNT.
My soul's best treasure! take, in this embrace,
My stock of pleasure, till we meet again!

COUNTESS.
Beware the syrens of that hateful Paris!
I have a soul that cannot brook a rival,
Nor cou'd descend to a degenerate husband.
My love goes only hand in hand with virtue;
And tho' my heart shou'd burst in the attempt,
I'd tear it from the man I cou'd not honor!

COUNT.
Ah! why this earnestness?—You cannot doubt me!
By this! and this! I'm your's—

COUNTESS
(embracing him).
My dear Montval!
My heart can know no joy till your return!
[Exit Count.
I'm strangely mov'd!

MATILDA.
I pray compose your spirits!
Why shou'd you take this journey thus to heart?
Business must sometimes interfere with love:
This transient absence will increase your pleasure,
And zest affection, when the count returns.

COUNTESS.
O! my dear friend, my trembling heart assures me,
It is too tender for my lasting peace.—
Wou'd it were calmer!—

MARQUIS.
Say not so, dear lady!
This sensibility so well becomes you,
That it new lustre gives to ev'ry charm.

COUNTESS.
I know your gallantry, and feel your friendship.
But weary as my soul was grown of Paris,
And all its giddy round of dissipation,
I can't endure—when, at my earnest suit,
The count was hardly won to leave its magic,
And visit once again—with me—his bride—
His native shades—I can't endure to see him,
Impatient, thus to hurry back again.—

MARQUIS.
Remember, urgent business calls him thither,
Of great importance to your future state;
Else were he much to blame.—

COUNTESS.
I know it not.
I heard of no express! I saw no letters!
This sudden recollection does not please me.
But two short days have I enjoy'd him here
(And those have seen him restless, gloomy, absent!)
I! whose fond hopes had pictur'd so much bliss
From this retreat, by nature form'd to charm;
And which to him, if rightly turn'd his mind,
Shou'd wake a thousand, thousand fond ideas,
From time foregone, and fond habitual feelings!

MATILDA.
No doubt the count, with equal pride and pleasure,
Will haste to join you in his native castle,
And wander, with the idol of his heart,
Thro' the romantic scenery around.

MARQUIS.
Believe he will! He cannot be so cold,
So slow of pulse, amidst his native shades,
To feel no fervor, and express no joy:
Far different is the ardor of his mind.

COUNTESS.
You do him friendly justice—Die the thought
That wou'd debase him!—But, my noble friend,
Can you inform me who is this Lapont?

MARQUIS.
As I have heard, a tenant's orphan son,
Who foster'd by the hand of the late count,
Took root within his bosom,
And made, from early youth, the humble friend,
Of your dear lord, now claims that honor'd title.

COUNTESS.
He looks unworthy of so high a place.
His fair demeanour, and obsequious bendings,
Delight not me.—I like more simple manners.
Malignant meanings play about his lips;
While, ever and anon, upon his brow,
Bushy and black, dark fraud and passions lour,
Spite of his caution to conceal their workings.
How like you him?—

MARQUIS.
In truth I know him not.
Yet, I am free to think, and free to say,
He never shou'd have been my chosen friend.

COUNTESS.
Nor shall be Montval's.—Nothing that's ignoble
Shall win his confidence, or gain his ear,
I can influence. But more of this
As time shall serve.—To you, without reserve,
I pour out the emotions of my soul.

Enter Blaise.
The Count of Colmar, madam, waits your presence.

COUNTESS.
I come, good Blaise. (Exit Blaise.)
But pray inform me, marquis,
Who is this visitor?

MARQUIS.
The chosen friend
Of the late count, and worthy well the title.

COUNTESS.
Then go we to him, for I reverence age,
When dignified with honorable virtues.

[Exeunt.
SCENE—Changes to the great gothic Hall of the Castle.
Enter the Count and Lapont, in close Conference.
COUNT.
My good Lapont, remember what I've said!
You know its consequence.

LAPONT.
Count, do not doubt me!
My stake is great as your's. But now the money.—
I have an urgent purpose for that sum.

COUNT.
How can that be, Lapont? It is not long
Since you receiv'd a liberal supply.
Retain'd, and almost master in this castle,
What pressing wants—

LAPONT.
Ask you, my lord, what wants?
Have I not passions, think you, like your own,
That call, and loudly too, for gratification?
Shall I, for ever, eat dependent bread?
Nor while your power with your life remains,
Lay up some store, for my declining years?

COUNT.
Nay, my good friend, this heat becomes you not!
There is the money; giv'n with free good-will;
Tho', think not, if an earthly tomb awaits me,
That I shou'd leave thy fortunes destitute!

LAPONT.
I dare not run the hazard.

COUNT.
Dare not run!—

LAPONT.
Come, come, my lord, we know each other well:
But on such knowledge grows not confidence.
As far as mutual secrets may affect
Our mutual safety, we may trust each other.

COUNT.
“The villain!” (aside)
Well, Lapont, no more of this.
What have I done to waken such suspicion?
My gen'rous kindness merits better thoughts.—
But I must go.—This house to me is hateful,
Tho' it contains the object I adore.—

LAPONT.
Why did you come, then, if your timid heart,
Relax'd of nerve, starts at its own emotions,
And dares to do, what it not dares to think of?
Have you quite lost the firmness of your temper?

COUNT.
I scorn my abject soul, yet can't command it;
Deride its childish fears, yet feel them still:
Absent from hence, I never know these terrors;
Nor here shou'd know them, if but one event—
You guess my meaning—set my heart at rest.

LAPONT.
'Tis marvellous it happen'd not long since!
But it must happen soon. Why, then, meanwhile,
Why came you hither, to disturb your peace,
And wake the sleeping torment in your bosom?

COUNT.
The countess, whom I worship—for did ever
Such grace and beauty meet thy dazzled eyes?—
The countess wou'd not be denied this boon.
Romantic, ardent, visionary, fond,
She sigh'd to quit the gay and splendid world,
And wander with me, thro' my native shades;
Seeing her bent, past hope, to quit the court,
I press'd a visit to the duke her father,
And feign'd a strong desire to see his castle,
Fam'd for its grandeur, and its wide domain.

LAPONT.
Feign'd a desire, where you may well command?
What, does a woman govern thus your reason,
And lead her puppet as her fancy leads?
For shame! for shame!—remember you're a man!

COUNT.
Form'd to command, and captivate all hearts,
I own, her talents, aided by her charms,
Make me a ready slave to all her wishes:
What once has got possession of her mind,
She follows with such fervency of passion,
As cannot brook controul.—Here, then, she is;
But here, tho' sick at heart, to tear me from her,
The world shou'd not induce my longer stay!
She soon shall follow me:—I will contrive
To draw her back, by some pretence, to Paris.
While she is here, I shall not know repose.
There are the keys; and never may these hands
Feel their cold touch, or know their office more!
[Throws down a bunch of keys on a table, and exit hastily; Lapont as hastily following and calling after him, leaving the keys behind—
Stay, count!—I must intreat some private converse,
On matters of great moment, ere we part!—