University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—The Picture-Room.
The Count concealed behind his Portrait.
Enter Volante.
Volante.

Confess that I love the Count!—A woman
may do a more foolish thing than fall in love with
such a man, and a wiser one than to tell him of it.—
(Looks at the picture.)
'Tis very like him;—the hair
is a shade too dark,—and rather too much complexion
for a despairing inamorato. Confess that I love
him?—Now there is only his picture, I'll see if I can't
pray the confessor a little better than he did.—
“Daughter, they tell me you are in love?”—“Well,
father, there is no harm in speaking the truth.”—
“With the Count Montalban, daughter?”—“Father,
you are not a confessor but a conjuror!”—“They add,
moreover, that you have nam'd the day for your marriage?”
—“There, father, you are misinformed; for,
like a discreet maiden, I have left that for him to do.”
—Then he should throw off his disguise—I should gaze
at him with astonishment—he should open his arms,
whilst I sunk gently into them.— (The Count catches her in his arms.)

—The Count! (Balthazar comes forward.)

My father, too! Nay, then, I am fairly
hunted into the toil. There, take my hand, Count!
while I am free to give it!—

A Servant enters with a Letter.
Servant,
A letter, sir.

[Exit.
Balthazar.
From Juliana! (Opens the letter.)


Volante.
Well, what says she, sir?

Count.
This will spoil all. (Aside.)


Volante.
It bears untoward news:—
Is she not well, sir?

Balthazar.
'Tis not that!

Volante.
What then, sir?—
See how he knits his brow!

Balthazar.
Here must be throats cut.

Volante.
What moves you thus, sir?

Balthazar.
That, would stir a statue!—
Your friend's a villain, sir! (To the Count.)
Read, read it out.—
And you, if I mistake not, are another!

Volante.
What can this mean?

Balthazar.
Peace! Hear him read the letter.

Count.
(Reads.)
“Dearest father! I am deceived, betrayed, insulted!
The man whom I have married is no Duke!—”

Volante.
No Duke!

Balthazar.
I'll be revenged!—Read, sir, read.

Count.
(Reads.)
—“He has neither fortune, family, nor friends—”

Balthazar.
You must have known all this, sir.—But proceed!

Count.
(Reads.)

—“He keeps me prisoner here, in
a miserable hovel; from whence, unless I am speedily
rescued by your interference, you may never hear
more of your forlorn, abused

“Juliana.”

Balthazar.
What answer you to this, sir?

Count.
Nothing.

Volante.
How!

Balthazar.
'Tis plain you are a partner in the trick
That robb'd a doating father of his child.

Count.
Suspend your anger but a few short days,
And you shall find, though now a mystery
Involves my friend—

Balthazar.
A mystery! What mystery?
There are no mysteries in honest men:
What mystery, I say, can salve this conduct?
Is he a Duke?

Count.
I cannot answer that.

Balthazar.
Then he's a villain!

Count.
Nay, upon my soul,
He means you fairly, honourably, nobly.

Balthazar.
I will away to-night.—Olmedo! Perez!
Perhaps your Countship means me fairly too,
Nobly and honourably!— (Enter Servants)
—Get my horses! (Exeunt.)

You have some mystery! but, ere I set
My sole surviving hope on such an hazard,
I'll look into your Countship's pedigree:
And for your noble, honourable duke,
I'll travel night and day until I reach him!
And he shall find I am not yet so old
But that my blood will flame at such an insult,
And my sword leap into my grasp. Believe me,
I will have full revenge!

Count.
You shall.

Balthazar.
I will, sir!
And speedily!

Count.
Proceed, then, on your journey.
With your good leave, I'll bear you company:
And as the traveller, perplex'd awhile
In the benighting mazes of a forest,
Breaks on a champain country, smooth and level,
And sees the sun shine glorious; so shall you, sir,
Behold a bright close, and a golden end,
To this now dark adventure.

Volante.
Go, my father!

Balthazar.
You speak in riddles, sir; yet you speak fairly.

Count.
And, if I speak not truly, may my hope
In this fair treasure be extinct for ever!

Balthazar.
Then quickly meet us here, prepar'd for travel.
If, from the cloud that overhangs us now,
Such light should break as you have boldly promised,
My daughter and my blessing still are yours, sir.

Count.
Blest in that word, I quit you.—

[Exit.
Manent Balthazar and Volante.
Balthazar.
Come, girl!
This shall be sifted thoroughly: till then
You must remain a fresh ungather'd flow'r.

Volante.
Well, sir; I am not yet so overblown
But I may hang some time upon the tree,
And still be worth the plucking.

Balthazar.
True, my girl.
And better 'twere to wither on thy stem,
And scatter on the earth thy maiden blowings,
Than graft thee where thy sweetnees and thy beauty
Would all be wasted.—Come, we must prepare.

[Exeunt.