University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

—A Room in Lafont's House.—Writing materials and papers on a table, C.
Friar Dominic and Lafont discovered, seated.
Laf.
Yes, she will come. I have her letter here.
And when all's done, depend on't, holy Father,
For your assistance in this pious work,
I will enrich your convent to your wish.

Friar.
I am content. Yet tell me why the hate
You bear to Elmore, shapes itself to love
Thus to pursue his daughter?

Laf.
Saintly father,
Your appetites are mortified—and yet,
In your vocation, you have heard, perhaps,
Of carnal passion? She is beautiful.
You pardon injuries—but common men
Nurse a deep-hoarded treasure called revenge.
She is the one child of my enemy.
Your vows are poverty—but we poor laymen
Find some delight in riches. She is rich.
You see, at once, I've beauty for my toying,
My enemy's best jewel for my prize,
And gold to pay me for enjoying it!
Ha! ha!—Is there not reason in my love?

Friar.
True. I will make no further waste of breath
In seeking to dissuade you.

Laf.
Learned Father,
I could expect no other from your wisdom!

Friar.
A footstep!—Hark!

[Rises.
Laf.
My Margaret herself!
[Rises, and advances to meet her.
Enter Margaret, L.
Sweet lady! This is kind to come to me.
I might show more gallant waiting on you,
But we are safer here from interruption.
You will forgive me?—In this holy man
You see the priest who shall unite our hands.

Mar.
[Murmurs.]
The executioner.—Well, what's to do, sir?

Friar.
[Pointing to the table.]
The contract, there prepared, must first be signed.
But wherefore, maiden, are you come alone?
The meanest peasant, in an hour like this,
Brings troops of smiling friends to grace her nuptials.
Have you no kin?—no brother?—father?

Mar.
[Passionately.]
Man—
I charge thee, by a breaking heart's deep grief,
Do not insult my wretchedness! To you—
To you I owe this lonely desolation.
'Twas you who raised this storm where we are wrecked.

Friar.
Thy father's guilt, my child—

Mar.
My father's guilt!
What was a moment's unforethought offence
To the calm baseness of a plot like this!
My father's guilt!—Oh blush to use the word,
Thou trebly guilty priest! Thou know'st my lips
Dare make no cry to man for my redress,
But before listening angels I denounce thee
As leagued in craft with yonder heartless wretch—
A shame to thy great office!

Friar.
Daughter—peace!

Mar.
I will not peace!—for peace and I are now
Parted for ever. No—I will not peace!
And, when this poor turmoil of life shall end,
As soon it will for me—nor late for thee—
Then—when we meet before another bar—
Still, still I will no peace—but charge on thee
Crushed hearts—a ruined home—a soul perhaps
Lost by despair—till thou shalt agonize
And writhe as I do now!

Laf.
Sweet Margaret,
There will be time enough for this hereafter.
The holy man and contract both are waiting.

[Leads her to the table.
Mar.
[Hesitating.]
Yet, tell me, is there no alternative?
Will all our wealth—

Laf.
Naught but thy lovely self:
I would not do such shame to your rare value,
To barter it for gold! Your father, too—

Mar.
Father—ay, there's the word! Father! Where is it?
Give me the paper—

[Snatches a pen.
Friar.
Stay awhile, my child—
Formalities like this are of great weight,
And must have further witnessing. Without, there!
Enter Servant, L.
Are those I sent for come?

Ser.
They are.

Friar.
Admit them.

[Exit Servant, L.
Enter Eugene and Herminie, L.
Mar.
Eugene!

Laf.
[Angrily.]
What's this?

Friar.
To make your triumph full.
[To Eugene.]
Well, boy! we meet again—I said we should.
And this should be your sister? [Regarding Herminie earnestly.]
She is fair—

Her.
Then more unfitted for so foul a place,
And doubly foul a deed! We have learned your purpose.

Eug.
Yet, Margaret, tell me, 'tis not with your will
That I am summoned here to undergo
Insult on outrage added! Ha! you weep!
Is this, which seems consent, extorted from you?
Margaret! confide in me! My sword—my life—
Shall guard thee yet! Do they constrain thee? Speak!

Friar.
Speak, maiden!—Shall your promise be retracted?

Mar.
[Looks timidly to Lafont—then shrinking back.]
No—do not torture me, Eugene!—This act
Is of my free, deliberate will.

Her.
[Indignantly.]
'Tis false!
Thy will was ever holy, pure, and honest—

Laf.
The contract waits—we really lose our time.

Mar.
[Suddenly.]
Quick!—Give it to me!—Quick!

[Goes to the table.
Elmore.
[Without.]
I know she's here!

Mar.
[Looking round wildly.]
My father's voice!

Elmore.
[Without.]
Away! I tell you, knaves,
I'd reach my child through twenty thousand such!
Enter Elmore, L.
Where is she?—Is it done?—My Margaret!
Why dost thou hide thy face upon my breast?
Am I too late?—Speak, some one! Is it done?

Friar.
Nothing is done that with a breath as light
May not be yet undone again.

Laf.
We waited
For our dear father. Hm! [Apart.]
Elmore, be wise!

Elm.
I will be wise! Thy power only lives
In my concealed offence—and with a breath
I rob thee of it—thus! Without there! Ho!
You officers of justice!

Mar.
[Breaking from him.]
Ha!

Elm.
This way!

Mar.
One moment!

[Springs to the table, and writes.
Elm.
[Stamping.]
Hither!

Mar.
[Handing to Lafont the contract, and throwing herself into Elmore's arms.]
Father, it is done!
You're now too late!

Enter Morluc, Du Viray, and others, as exempts, L.
Elm.
[Pressing her to his heart.]
My poor, devoted girl!
But 'tis all vain—the spell is broken now.
He did but seek thy wealth—he will not wed
A felon's child!

Eug., & Her.
A felon's!

Elm.
Ay, Eugene—
Ay, Herminie! To you, the worst of felons!

Mar.
Oh, do not heed him!

Elm.
Yes, heed to me, all?

Mar.
He's mad!

Elm.
A sentenced felon!

Mar.
Father!

Elm.
Yes—
The long proscribed Du Barré—the assassin
Of Count de Lorme!

Mar.
Oh, no, no!

Elm.
I am he!

[Margaret sinks on a seat.
Eug.
My father's murderer!

Her.
Elmore? Oh, no!

Elm.
[To Margaret.]
And now, poor child, thou'rt beggared with that word,
And thou must seek thy future sustenance
Where the young ravens do—from heaven's garners.
But thou art rescued from his foul pollution.

Laf.
But not from my revenge! That's left me still.
Officers, seize your prisoner!

Elm.
I am ready—
Yet first one word. My Herminie—Eugene—
Do not shrink from me! I have wronged you deeply,
But I have loved you, too; and in that love,
Seeking to make atonement for that wrong,
I ventured here, and thus have lost myself.
I would not boast, as asking thanks; and yet
Something I would ask:—my poor, helpless child—
Let her not want!

Mar.
[Clinging to him.]
Father, I'll die with thee!

Elm.
She has been guiltless!

Eug.
[While Herminie presses Margaret's hand.]
Would my life itself
Could be the sacrifice to win her peace!

Laf.
[Impatiently.]
Your prisoner, sirs!

Elm.
I go—

Friar.
[To Lafont.]
And yet, my son,
Ere pressing forward to a public sentence,
Lacks there not yet some proof?

Laf.
Of what?

Friar.
The death
Of Count de Lorme. His body was not found.

Laf.
The law was satisfied. I don't pretend
To be more hard of credence than the law.

Eug.
[To the Friar.]
What would'st thou say?

Her.
Oh, speak! Can any doubt
Be found to build a hope on?

Friar.
Hear and judge.
Upon the night when it was thought he died,
Two monks of a small solitary convent
That stood upon the river's further bank,
Hearing a cry, ferried across the stream,
And found a bleeding man—

Laf.
[Starting.]
A trick! a trick!
Thou wouldst turn traitor, monk! Thou'rt bought!

Eug.
Peace, villain!

Enter St. Lo, softly, behind.
Friar.
They staunched his wound and bore him to their house.

Her.
But did he live?

Friar.
He did.
His name unknown, he joined their brotherhood,
Forswore the world, and in his deep concealment
Laughed with malicious glee to see his foe
Denounced his murderer.

Her.
Yet he had children?

Friar.
He had—but bitter thoughts were in his soul,
That elsewhere fathered them—and he denied them.

Eug.
Beware! Oh, do not tempt my mother's child
To curse my father's memory!

Friar.
His fault
Bore its stern punishment along with it:
Unloving and unloved, he lingered on,
A miserable man. But years at length
Shed freshening dews upon him. First he wept
For that pure angel he had wronged so foully;
And then his children's images rose up,
Like a soft dream;—and still the longing grew,
Until he pined to see them. He had learned,
A knave—a subtle knave—his servant once—
Had seized their wealth. He hastened then to Paris—

Her.
To Paris!

Eug.
Here!

Friar.
And found his ancient foe
Was now his child's protector. For a moment,
His former jealousy revived—he judged
The two confederate together, plotting
To hold the boy a passive tool between them,—
And he resolved to pierce their secret plans—
For he had seen and loved his child—

Eug.
Who art thou?
Speak! speak!

Her.
Thy name! thy name!

Friar.
[To Elmore.]
Wilt thou, like them,
Require my name?

Elm.
[Who has been listening with breathless eagerness.]
The features all are changed—
But the voice grows familiar on my ear;
Oh, do not mock me, if I dare to call thee—

Friar.
De Lorme!

[Eugene and Herminie spring to him.
Mar.
[Shrieks.]
De Lorme! Alive! [Sinks on her knees.]
My own, own father!

Laf.
[Aside.]
What devil's here, dragging the dead to life,
To overthrow me?—Yet the contract's safe!
I have them there! Ha! ha! Her name is to it—
It only wants my own. Soft! soft!

[Moves stealthily to the table, spreads the paper on it, and is about to write, when St. Lo lays another paper over it.
St. Lo.
[Mocking him.]
Soft! soft!

Laf.
[Starting back.]
Ha! I am robbed! My private papers!

St. Lo.
Ay,
Some half a score or so! [To Friar.]
Look, holy father!
Most dear, revivified, and welcome father—
For so I hope to call you before long—
This writing names Lafont your children's guardian:
I doubt you never saw the deed before!

Friar.
[Looking at it.]
A forgery!

St. Lo.
I thought so. Here's another—
And here another—and another yet—
[Producing papers.
Mortgages, bonds, assignments—

Friar.
False—all false!
Oh, thou most daring knave! Ho! officers,
Arrest that man!

St. Lo.
Psha! they are of no use—
They're only sham ones! Oh, I'd give my hand
To have a real exempt here! Run and fetch one,
Whoever loves me!

Laf.
Curses on you all!
I'll hang myself, and never see their triumph!

[Exit, L.
Friar.
Follow him, some one—let him not escape!
[Exeunt, Du Viray, Morluc, and others, L.
Du Barré, we have something, each, to pardon—
Can you forgive?

Elm.
As I would be forgiven!
I'm yet too dazzled with this sudden joy,
To find the words I seek—

Friar.
I ask no more.
I now am grown unfitted for the world,
And I am bound by vows to higher service—
Yet ere I go, Eugene, one gift, to prove
The father's love, the penitent's atonement.
[To Margaret.]
Maiden, thou lovest this boy?

Mar.
When first he asked me—when my sunny heart
Had never known a cloud—I told him so;
And when that trial came, which seemed to part us,
Oh, then I felt how truly I had spoken!
I may not, now our sky is bright again,
Deny what storm and sunshine both have vouched.

Friar.
[Joining their hands.]
Be happy!—Though he were the best on earth,
Thou'rt more than worthy of him.

Her.
Honoured father—
Have you no gift for me?

Friar.
What would'st thou, girl?

Her.
Hm! Can't you guess?—A husband.

Friar.
Thou hast had one!

Her.
That was an old one that my guardian found,
Who took me cheap.

St. Lo.
[To Friar.]
Should not you like to have
A second brood of little grandchildren?

Friar.
[Smiling.]
What is't to thee?

St. Lo.
Hm! I'm to be their father!

Friar.
Thou, rattler!

St. Lo.
I!—I've earned her honestly.
It's the first honest earning of my life—
I must not, now, be cheated of my wages!

Her.
But all your vices?

St. Lo.
Mended!—every one!

Her.
You will not swear?

St. Lo.
Only my love for you!

Her.
Nor drink?

St. Lo.
Except the brightness of your eyes!

Her.
Nor keep bad company?

St. Lo.
No—only yours!

Her.
Nor play?—Take care!

St. Lo.
No—only with the babies!

Friar.
These are fair promises. What say'st thou, girl?

Her.
Why, had the world no other man, I think
I'd take him, rather than go husbandless.
And, since there seems no other man for me,
Why—even let me have him!

Friar.
Be content.
Thy father's coming shall not thwart thy will.
Be happy, all!

Mar.
Happy!—Oh, may I dare
Apply the word?—Shall all this world of care,
These struggling hopes and fears that have possest
To-night poor Margaret's anxious, fluttering breast,
Conclude in joy?—Nay, then, encouraged so,
She's ready all again to undergo:
Braving each trial—and repeating, still,
Her Sacrifice—as often as you will!

[Curtain falls.

DISPOSITION OF THE CHARACTERS AT THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN.

   

Eug.	Mar.	Elm.	Friar.	Her.	St. Lo.
R.]	[L.