The Heart and the World A Play in Five Acts |
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| 1. | SCENE I. |
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 | The Heart and the World |  |
SCENE I.
—GROUNDS IN FRONT OF SIR G. HALLERTON'S COUNTRY MANSION. RUSTIC CHAIRS ARE PLACED IN THE PRINCIPAL WALK.Enter Temple and Florence.
TEMPLE
(looking back).
Hist! Are we observed?
FLORENCE.
There are none near; but were there—dost thou
fear observation? Art thou ashamed of the love
which thou hast told me was thy pride?
TEMPLE.
'Tis my pride in thy love which prompts this concealment.
We are not in thy native grange, though
so near it; but the guests of a man of fashion at his
country seat.
FLORENCE.
And does the heart change with the scene?
TEMPLE.
No, sweet; but the manners do. We are surrounded
by those who would jest at thy devotion.
FLORENCE.
Except Laura Hallerton!
TEMPLE.
I would not tempt her by admitting her to our
secret.
(Earnestly.)
FLORENCE.
Nay, love; you guard me too tenderly. I could
brave a laugh for you. But trust me, Laura would
not laugh. She too much values and admires thee.
What!—nay—you would play upon my vanity!
admire me!
FLORENCE.
Is it so strange? Do not I? But see, she comes.
Enter Laura and Sir George, followed by Osborne and Thornton, Lady Parabout, Miss Parabout, and other guests.
LAURA.
Ah, ma mignonne! the favourite spot.
FLORENCE.
I have ever loved it, the quiet valley circled by the
hills—Strength guarding Beauty!
OSBORNE.
Ecod, George, you're a happy fellow—
SIR GEORGE.
Am I?—A mortgage to two-thirds of their value,
considerably qualifies a man's pride in his estates.
(Aside.)
LAURA.
The view pleases you?
(To Temple.)
TEMPLE.
Nature, Madam, dreamed of your coming, and exhausted
her beauty for your reception.
MISS PARABOUT.
La; how I envy Miss Hallerton! No one compliments
me.
(Apart to Lady Parabout.)
LADY PARABOUT.
Poh, child! What are you, or she either, but June
peaches? Young men now-a-days, have a perfect
mania for green fruit. Their forefathers preferred the
ripe flavour of autumn.
MISS PARABOUT.
But, Aunt Parabout!
LADY PARABOUT.
Lady Parabout, child.
MISS PARABOUT.
I thought you would like Aunt better. It sounds
such a ripe autumn word.
Hush, malapert! It's a bad world. Keep your
eyes open and tell me what you observe. Ah, I suspect!
—If I chose!—It's a dangerous world.
(During this dialogue between Lady Parabout and her niece, the rest converse in the back; Temple with Laura, Thornton with Florence, who receives him graciously, but eventually turns from him with hauteur.)
LAURA.
Nay; I dare not hazard discourse with you in this
vein.
(To Temple.)
Ladies!
(All go out but Temple, to whom, as she retires, Laura turns with a gracious inclination.)
TEMPLE
(looking after her).
The subtle spirit, fascination, dwells
In every movement and infects with grace
The meanest thing she touches! Robe, plume, nay
The very glove she casts aside, retain
The witchery of her form. But, this is ill.
Where hearts are pledged, the eye should not be free.
My lot is cast, nor will I e'er repent
The vow that binds me to thine excellence,
My simple, faithful Florence! There's no joy
But comes to earth enveloped in a dream
Which, though it leave a solid good behind,
Is in itself more fair. “Could we but grasp
“Those evanescent glories! But of life
“The law is change, and each recurrent sun
“Dawns on decayed delights and new desires!”
Enter Sir George, Osborne, Thornton and Temple.
OSBORNE.
Her mien, though gentle in repose, is at times
more like that of a duchess than a dependant. With
what dignity she repulsed thee. The Preux Chevalier
of the day—repulsed by a semptress.
THORNTON.
Repulsed by her publicly! She shall atone my disgrace.
I will learn whether she be invincible.
(Aside.)
A sempstress! She might have amassed a fortune
had she remained one, and manufactured ruffles for
gallants. Imagine those roseate fingers spanning one's
wrist for a measure!—Eh, Temple?
TEMPLE.
I could strike him. Yet to expose my secret!
(Aside.)
Is it your custom in the presence of the host
to insult his guests?
THORNTON.
Oh! the lady's ear has been pampered already. No
wonder 'tis fastidious.
(Aside.)
SIR GEORGE.
Fie, fie, Sir! You should temper your mirth with
discretion.—Such agitation proves too deep an interest
for friendship. His love for this girl were death to
my hopes; I have staked all on my project of uniting
him to Laura!
(Aside.)
OSBORNE.
Vivian loathes, I know, to hear beauty commended.
Frigid himself, he censures fire in others. Prithee
now, what is thine idea of a woman?
TEMPLE.
She's a riddle—Nature's paragon, and the burthen
of an epigram; the priestess who consecrates life;
and an idler's pastime. By her beauty—the brave
man's inspiration; by her helplessness—the coward's
jest. You can vouch, I think, for the truth of the
definition.
OSBORNE.
Oblige me by repeating it. That enchanting Florence
distracted my thoughts.
TEMPLE.
Name her less familiarly! you speak to her friend.
OSBORNE.
Thyself!
THORNTON.
A disinterested friend—doubtless!
Virtue and Beauty are the friends of all men who
have feeling and honour.
OSBORNE.
Give me Beauty by herself, who is the friend of all
men without exception.
THORNTON
(aside).
Could I shame him from his passion, the great barrier
to my success were surmounted.
(Aloud.)
Disinterested
friend! Get a lawful title, man, to be her
champion. Pay the penalty of wedlock for monopoly.
Ha, ha, ha!
OSBORNE.
And we will subscribe to have them wrought in
embroidery. They shall hang over our grandmothers'
mantel-pieces. Damon and Chloe—the faithful Swain
and Shepherdess; or, the Pattern for Lovers!
TEMPLE.
That I were free from this restraint.
(Aside.)
You
presume on our acquaintance.
OSBORNE.
Come, Thornton! A man who can't be witty in his
ill-humour wants the only excuse for it.
THORNTON.
Have with you!
[Exeunt Thornton and Osborne.
TEMPLE.
I marvel you endure this!
SIR GEORGE.
Nay, you are too impatient; they did but jest.
Marry my sister's pretty dependant! Ha, ha, ha!
TEMPLE.
Ran my will so, who should thwart it?
SIR GEORGE.
A busy-body that always interferes, and can never
be called to account—The World, my friend.
TEMPLE.
Why? How? By what right? But I can meet its
frown.
SIR GEORGE.
It will not indulge thee with a frown. Thou must
brave what is worse—its sneer.
What is its title to dictate?
SIR GEORGE.
Its power.
TEMPLE.
Why should I dread it? The World! Private selfishness
kept in countenance by numbers. A machine that
patents a new morality for every fresh generation. An
impostor even on itself! It creates its own echo; and
believes in the lie that is constantly reverberated.
Severe on the failings of the humble, to preserve the
name of virtue, it is satirical upon the excellencies of
the good, because it hates the spirit. I have a heart,
and scorn it!
SIR GEORGE.
Have a brain, and rule it. Come! thou art ambitious
—wouldst achieve distinction—bequeath a name
remembered for great service? Be honest.
TEMPLE.
I would rise by desert—the only star of a worthy
ambition.
SIR GEORGE.
But one so exalted, that it is only visible through
a telescope. The kind glass that brings it near is influence.
To rule society, you must first court it.
TEMPLE.
Yet I would not even for success play the part of a
puppet.
SIR GEORGE.
Bah! Is the mariner the puppet of the winds, because
he shifts his sail to their changes, and makes
harbour by their very caprices. Would'st thou bear
down on the rocks by choice?
TEMPLE.
Not by choice.
SIR GEORGE.
That's rational. Thy course is open: thy future,
brilliant. Wealth thou hast,—energy, talent! There
wants but one ingredient, influence, to complete the
in men's eyes. That's thy card.
TEMPLE.
You put it seriously.
SIR GEORGE.
And it began in a jest. But I love thee, and my
sister's interest in thee—
TEMPLE
(involuntarily).
Thy sister's interest!
SIR GEORGE.
Beshrew my tongue! But you will not expose her
weakness?
TEMPLE.
Her weakness?
SIR GEORGE.
Worse and worse! My caution plays the traitor.
My sister, sir, is proud and counts her reserve her
honour. She would not forgive me this imprudence.
TEMPLE.
Gracious lady! Wastes she kind thoughts on one
so humble?
SIR GEORGE.
She might not deem them wasted on thee. But no
more of this; let us seek our friends. I have a wager
with Osborne. Come! Are his thoughts on Laura?
(Aside.)
What! absorbed.
TEMPLE.
Oh! pardon me; the beauty of the prospect.
[They go out.
| The Heart and the World | |