University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

—Picture Gallery in the Castle of Otranto.—Portrait of Manfred's Grandfather, in a massive frame, adorns the wall.
Manfred discovered, pacing the apartment.
Man.
I wonder if she'll come—or if she wont—
What if she does?—but ah! what if she don't?
My stern command can never be withstood.
Suppose she shouldn't—ah! but if she should?
Enter Isabella, preceded by servant, with a light, L.
Ha! she is here! (to servant.)
Hence! worst of Goths and Vandals!
Out with that light!—I didn't ring for candles.
[Dismisses servant unceremoniously, who retires hastily.—He then speaks to Isabella with much confusion.]
Young lady, I believe—that is—you know,
I begged you'd come—or rather—yes—just so—
I wish'd to have this meeting, you're aware—
But apropos of meeting, take the chair.

[hands her to the only seat.
Isa.
My lord, I'm here at your request.

Man.
(confused)
That's true:
And I would say—that is—pray—how d'ye do?

Isa.
While others mourn, I must of course be sad.

Man.
What! still lamenting that unhappy lad?
But tears are vain! You act a foolish part,
Making yourself a human water cart.
If you persist, your eyes I may compare
To certain fountains in a certain Square;
If they were black, the simile, pet of pets,
Would hold, because they'd be a pair of jets.

Isa.
My lord, this seems like levity.

Man.
What folly!
Besides, if I am jovial, you're tres jolie.
Conrad was quite unworthy of your love.

Isa.
That was a point which time alone could prove.

Man.
He was a sickly, weakly, puny spoony;
His frame was fragile, and his mind was moony.

Isa.
My lord, your words, to say the least, are funny;
What's moony?

Man.
Moony! anything but sunny.
His health was wretched: twice a day he quaffed
Two table-spoonfuls of a tonic draft;
In fact, of labels I could shew a score,
Marked, “Master Conrad, powder as before.”
Why should you love an urchin, who had raley
Become so weakly he was dying daily?

Isa.
This consolation is no doubt well meant.
On my lost beau my mind was not much bent:
In you, and in Hippolita, your wife,
I see, my lord, kind parents all thro life.

Man.
Hippolita! I beg you'll never name,
To me, at least, that venerable dame.
She's been a splendid creature in her day,—
But that, you see, has long since passed away.
I can no more regard her as my wife—
I shall dismiss her into private life.

Isa.
(astonished, rising.)
I never knew a nobleman like this is—
Oh! 'tis too bad, thus to dismiss his missus!

Man.
Your grief for Conrad's loss will end in time,
And you shall have a husband in his prime:
No brat, like Conrad, with a hacking cough,
Whose constant hacking would have cut him off;
But one of those robust and healthy fellows,
Whose lungs are equal to a blacksmith's bellows.
(Aside.)
To indicate myself, sure that's enough,
The bellows gave completeness to the puff.

Isa.
Altho' your words I don't quite understand,
I shall be ready with my heart and hand,
When my papa comes home, and is content
To wed me to an eligible gent.
Till then permit me to devote my life
In comforting Hippolita, your wife.

Man.
Hippolita! I think I made it clear,
That woman's name I never wish to hear;
She's passé, or, as some would term her, slow:
Would she were somewhat faster on the go!
In fact, I mean to lay her on the shelf,
And, for a husband, offer you myself.

DUET.
Isa.
I'm all surprise!

Man.
Oh! hear my vows!

Isa.
They all are vain! I'm all surprise!—
If thus you treat the wife you've got,
I must expect no better lot—no better lot.

Man.
Come, be my spouse—
Oh, hear my vows!
She is no treat, the wife I've got;
I wish to change so bad a lot—so bad a lot.

Isa.
You must excuse—I must depart.

Man.
Do not refuse this bursting heart.

Isa.
I'm all surprise!
I must expect no better lot—no better lot—no, no, no, no better lot—no better lot!

Man.
Change so bad a lot—so bad a lot—yes, yes, yes, yes, so bad a lot—yes, yes, so bad a lot!

Isa.
Can I believe my ears?—these words from you—
Conrad's papa, Hippolita's husband too.

Man.
Hippolita, I hereby do divorce:
I'll give her separate maintenance, of course.
Of shabby treatment she shall ne'er complain—
All my French railway shares she shall retain!
I'll settle on her too—nor ask for thanks—
My money in the Paris Savings' Banks.
Such liberal conduct must, as clear as day,
Atone to her for being put away.
And then I claim thee as my bride by right—
Yes, yes, thou shalt be mine this very night.

[The plumes of the helmet rise to the window, and are fearfully agitated.
Isa.
Behold, my lord, that sign!

Man.
Fiddle-de-dee!
Think'st thou that feathers ever weigh with me?
Because some demon power attempts to fright one
With a black feather, shall I show the white one?
On being able Manfred's heart to scare,
That plume shall never plume itself, I swear!

[Isabella runs out L., and Manfred is in the act of running after her, when the picture of his grandfather utters a deep sigh.
Man.
What moan was that? it fills me with surprise—
It was a sigh of most unusual size.
[The picture begins to move.
It moves and sighs again! Why should it grieve?
Oh! can my painted ancestor believe,
That I intend to lower his position,
By sending him to this year's exhibition?
He shows displeasure! I despise his strictures—
I'll not stand to be canvass'd by old pictures.
[The Spectre advances slowly along the gallery, towards a door, R.—Manfred follows, and would enter after the Spectre, but the door is slammed in his face.
This rudeness to a person in my station
Completely shuts the door to explanation.
Shade of my ancestor! thou canst not boast
That thou dost make a gentlemanly ghost.
[Kicks the door
I'll after Isabella, nor neglect her,
She's a much better spec. than that old Spectre!

[Rushes out, L.