University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The interior of St. Evermont's Cottage.
Enter Madame St. Evermont and the Count.
Madame.
I cannot trust thee, Julia. Married! no:
The proud relentless heart of that bad man
Would never stoop to wed an emigrant.
Thou dost but feed a hope that will not live.
Thou sleepest: happy they who can forget
That they have been—or are. Alas! my child.—

St. Ever.
I wish that I could weep as easily
As thou dost weep. My sorrow will not melt:
'Tis here and here—the cold that chills my heart:
The heat that fires my brain.

Mad.
My child! my child!

St. Ever.
Child, child! I pray you do not speak that word;
It is a very arrow in my soul,
That deeply rankles here; and when 'tis touched
By memory's hand, oh then the barbed shaft
Doth quiver with a pang most exquisite.

Mad.
There's not a name of melting melody,
A soft harmonious concourse of sweet sounds,
To speak the love with which I doated on her.
Her saddest smile chased sternest grief away;
And all her offices of filial care
Were moss upon the rocks of misery.
Do you remember?

St. Ever.
Aye, I well remember:
And would I could forget, that infamy
Has laid its rottenness upon my name:
That she, my child—'Twill make me mad again.
If the great power, that punishes hereafter,
Did stretch his hand across the burning gulf,
Grasping the writhing soul of that black villain,
I'd cry ‘plunge, plunge!’ though I should follow for it.
Hell would be heaven, if I beheld him damned.

Mad.
She was more dear than all: her artless talk,
Her beauty, and her winning tenderness,
Had made me feel a mother's deeper joy.
To leave me, Adelaide, to break the tie
That very feebly held me back to life!

St. Ever.
But I will throw, I'll blot thee from my heart!

Mad.
And is it then so easy to forget?
The rest were ta'en away, but she was left me!
Have I not often in the dead of night
Started in frenzied horror from my dream,
And rushed to catch her in my yearning arms,
To be persuaded by my very senses
She had not perished too. She yet was left me,
And I was blest!

St. Ever.
To filch me of my child!
Load with disgrace the stooping of my age,
Make infamy my epitaph! Damnation!

[Enter Adelaide, with her hair dishevelled.]
Adel.
My father! (she sinks at his feet)


Mad.
It is Adelaide! Ye heavens!
And do I hold thee here? Art thou returned
To fill the dreadful void within my heart?
For, when thou didst abandon my misfortune,
I spread my arms, and closed them round my breast,
And found no daughter there.

Adel.
I come to die.
But, ere I go to that eternal rest,
Here let me kneel, and with a bursting bosom
Implore one look of mercy. I am dying.

Mad.
And hast thou then restored her back to me,
That I might see her perish in my arms,
Watch the slow fading of this livid cheek,
The eyelids close upon the beamless sight,
Till every pulse and stir of life has ceased,
Then clasp a cold and senseless heaviness?

St. Ever.
(wildly)
Let me observe that woman's countenance:
She's very like my daughter—
And yet it is not she: for, look you here,
The blush upon the cheek of Adelaide
Was beautiful as summer's evening skies;
But here's a face more pallid than the shroud
Of one that's newly dead. Not Hesperus,
Seen in the quiet of a ripless lake,
Beamed with more radiant meekness than her eyes;
And they were made of smiles. Nor this the hair,
Whose ringlets the soft breathing of the south
Scarce dared to kiss with too much wantonness.
The warmth of youthful life was in my child!

Mad.
Alas! distraction lingers in his eye.
Oh! look upon her, for she is our child.

St. Ever.
I'll know that straight; and take her in my arms,
And feel if she's my daughter Adelaide.
By heavens! it is! the throbbing of her heart!
Now it beats quicker: now it heaves with life.

Adel.
It is my father's voice, and on his bosom!
Let, let me go, unloose me from your clasp,
That I may throw myself upon the earth,
Lie prostrate in the dust, and, at your feet,
In anguish weep my wasting sight away:
For never, never more shall I be pressed
Against the bosom where I used to slumber.
This is the place for me: here will I lie,
And wring my hands in grief. I'll gaze intent,
Until I see you turn an eye of pity;
Then will I raise me thus from off the ground,
Make one last effort of exhausted life,
And, clinging round about your parent knees,
Unloose the filial hold at last, and die.

St. Ever.
Are you my child?

Adel.
I am that wretched one;
But now I am not worthy of the name:
For I am she than whom upon the earth
There's not a thing more vile; the finger-mark
Of bitter scorn; opprobrium's cruel jest;
Who left a father's for a traitor's arms,
Nor pitied your calamity. But oh!
I am not half the guilty thing I seem.
To trust a man, to believe a perjury,
This is my crime; for, with religion's rite,
Count Lunenberg deceived me.

St. Ever.
(addressing himself to heaven)
Dost thou hear it?
The morning dawns, and nature's glorious priest,
The mighty sun, collecting from the earth
The perfumed dew, makes sacrifice to God.
But I have incense will ascend above,
A fitter offering; 'tis a father's curse.
Make him unfortunate, but leave him still
A daughter beautiful and innocent:
Give him a child in whom his heart may joy:
Then find a friend to tear her from his heart,
And steep her in pollution—

Adel.
He will curse me:
Oh! save me from his curse.

Mad.
St. Evermont!
Give not an utterance to the dreadful sound!

St. Ever.
Curse her! what father ever cursed his child?

Adel.
Lay me for ever in that bed of peace
Where sleep, untroubled by a dream, shall close
My eyelids in oblivious happiness.
My weary spirit will be laid in rest;
Nor will the withering of a father's prayer
Blast the green sod upon my lowly grave.

St. Ever.
My tears begin to flow: at length I weep.

Adel.
And can you speak so very tenderly?
Can you indeed forgive me?

St. Ever.
Adelaide!
How, Adelaide, could'st thou abandon me?

Adel.
Alas! Count Lunenberg—

St. Ever.
Count Lunenberg!
Thou smiling cold and marble-hearted villain,
Whose soul came reeking from the pools of hell,
A vapour from its blue sulphureous gulf!
I weep, and yet he lives: he breathes the air,
He grins, and mocks, and triumphs in my ruin:
Where is my sword? I perish, or avenge.

[Exit.
Mad.
St. Evermont, my husband! hear me! hear!
He goes to die!

Adel.
To die!

Mad.
For you.

Adel.
O God!

[Exeunt.