Canst bring me to him? Ors. To the very spot. Sir E. Do it. Ors. Nay-softly. Sir E. I'll reward you amply Insure your fortunes. Ors. First insure my neck; "Twill do me little good else. I've no heirs, And, when I die, 'tis like the law will bury me At its own charge. Sir E. Be brief and to your purpose. Sir E. Where lies their haunt? To the old abbey ruins; you will find Sir E. What, so near me? In some few minutes, then, he's mine! [Crossing Now for his lurking-place; hope dawns again! [Aside.] Õh, I will weave a web so intricate Let me secure thee, bright and spotless, now, [Exit R. Ors. There may be danger in my stay here; I will e'en slink off in the confusion I have raised. I value not reward; I hang all my acquaintance, and that shall content me. [Exit R. And Spleen and Sickness are the household gods Ors. Then to the business which concerns your Who can out-grin a griffin, or the head office Here in the forest. Sir E. Nay, of that anon; First of my servant. Ors. Well, e'en as you please, But "Tis no rare thing; let public duty wait Sir E. Be quick then. While we talk This slave escapes me. Ors. Little fear of that; He's in no plight to journey far to-day. Sir E. Where is he hid ? Ors. Hard by-with robbers. Sir E. Robbers! [Aside.] Well, I'm glad on 't; 'twill suit my purpose best. [Aloud.] What, has he turned to plunder? Ors. No, not so; Plunder has turned to him. He was knocked Last night here in the forest, flat and sprawling Sir E. It seems, then, thou'rt a thief. ; Carved on the prow of the good ship, the Gorgon. Enter SAMSON RAWыOLD, R. So, heaven bless you! Fitz. Well, well; bustle-stir; Do as I bid thee. Sam. Aye, sir; I shall lean Upon your worship in my time of need. Heaven reward you! [Aside.] Here's a friend to make! [Exit L. Fitz. I have a kind of movement still for Wilford I cannot conquer. What can be this charge Sir Edward brings against him? Should the boy Prove guilty! Well, why should I pity guilt? Philosophers would call me driveler. Let them. I cannot hoop my heart about with iron, Like an old beer-butt. I would have the vessel What some call weak-I'd have it ooze a little. Better compassion should be set abroach, Till it run waste, than let a system-monger Bung it with logic; or a trencher-cap Bawl out his ethics on it, till his thunder Turns all the liquor sour. So! here he comes. Enter WILFOrd, l. Wil. I am informed it is your pleasure, sir, To speak with me. Fitz. Aye, Wilford. I am sorryFaith, very sorry-you and I meet thus. How could you quit my brother thus abruptly? Wil. I was unfit to serve him, sir. He accuse me? Oh, monstrous! Oh, look down, You who can read men's hearts! A charge against me! [Much agitated.] Ha! ha! I'm innocent! I'm innocent! Fitz. Collect your firmness; you will need it all. Wil. I shall, indeed. I pray you, tell me, sir, What is the charge? Fitz. I do not know its purport; I would not hear on 't; for on my voice rests Wil. Let me recall my actions. My breast is unclogged with crime; then why should I fear? Let him inflict his menaces upon me in secret; he shall not, cannot touch my good name. Enter BARBARA RAWBOLD, L. Bar. [falling on his neck.] Oh, Wilford! Wil. Barbara! At such a time, too! Bar. To be brought back thus, Wilford! and to go away without seeing me-without thinking of me! Wil. It was not so; I was hastening to your cottage, Barbara, when a ruffian in the forest encountered and wounded me. Bar. Wounded you! Wil. When I was dragged hither, the whole troop escaped, or they had vouched for the truth on't. Bar. Bethink you, Wilford: the time is short; I know your heart is good; but if, in a hasty moment, you have done aught to wrong Sir Edward, throw yourself on his mercy-sue for pardon. Wil. For pardon! I shall go mad! Pardon! I am innocent-heaven knows I am innocent ! Bar. Heaven be thanked! The family is all summoned. Oh, Wilford! my spirits sink within me! Wil. I am now but a sorry comforter. Be of good cheer; I go armed in honesty, Barbara. This charge is to be open in the eyes of the world of and of the laws; then wherefore should I fear? I am native of a happy soil, where Justice guards equally the life of its richest and poorest inhabitant. [Exit R. Bar. Alas! I tremble for his safety. Should they tear him from me! Fitz. "Twere better, now, you conjured up your friends; For I must tell you-no, there is no need; SONG. BARBARA RAWBOLD. Down by the river there grows a green willow, When bleak blows the wind, and tempests are beating, Maids, come in pity, when I am departed, When dead on the bank I am found, broken-hearted, And all for my true love, etc. Make me a grave, all while the wind's blowing, Close to the stream, where my tears once were flowing, And over my corse keep the green willow growing, 'Tis all for my true love, etc. [Exit L. SCENE III.-An Apartment in the Lodge— table, chairs, etc. FITZHARDING, L., WILFORD, R., and various DOMESTICS, behind, discovered. Fitz. Is not Sir Edward coming? Oh, here he is. Enter SIR EDWARD MORTIMER, L. Now, brother; you look pale, And faint with sickness. Here's a chair. [Sits L. Sir E. [c.] No matter; to our business, brother. Wilford, You may well guess the struggle I endure you My heart bleeds drops of pity for your youth, Whose rashness plucks the red destruction down, And pulls the bolt upon you. Wil. [R.] You know best The movements of your heart, sir. Man is blind, Sir E. Thus it is, then. I do suspect by heaven! the story lingers, Sir E. That he has-robbed me! Fitz. Pray, tell me, brother, How ground you this suspicion? Sir E. Briefly, thus: You may have noticed in my library Wilford conversing with you; like a snake, Fitz. I witnessed that with wonder. You little thought while you so gently schooled me For my harsh bearing toward him, on what ground That harshness rested. I had made my search You met him in the library? Sir E. [rising.] Oh, never Can he forget that solemn interview! Wil. Aye, speak to that, it was a solemn interview. Sir E. Observe, he does acknowledge that we met. Guilt was my theme, he cannot now deny it. Sir E. He pleaded innocence; While every word he spake belied his features, And mocked his protestation. Fitz. What said you to him? Sir E. "Regulate your life In future better. I now spare your youth, A chest. [WILFORD starts.] You see he changes ('Tis a soft penance) that you tarry here; at the word. Wil. [aside.] And well I may ! Sir E. Where I have told you, brother, Fitz. You oftentimes have said so. Chance called me suddenly a vay. I left Fixed o'er the chest, upon his knees, intent, Fitz. Did you not search Your papers on the instant? Sir E. No; for first (Habit so long had fixed my confidence) Attempt not flight; Flight ripens all my doubt to certainty, Fitz. [rising and coming down, L.] Trust me, brother, This charge is staggering, yet accidents Here is his trunk; 'twas brought here at my order. "Tis fit it be inspected. Wil. Take the keyE'en take it freely. You'll find little there I value, save a locket, which my mother Fitz. [crossing and unlocking the box.] How now? What's here ? The very watch Sir Edward's father wore, And here our mother's jewels! Wil. I am innocent! Just heaven hear me I am innocent! [SIR EDWARD MORTIMER sits, R. C. Fitz. Make it appear so. [Pointing to the trunk.] But look there! look there! Wil. Do you not know— Sir E. What? Wil. 'Tis no matter, sir; But I could swear Sir E. [rising.| Nay, Wilford, pause awhile; Reflect that oaths are sacred. Weigh the force Of these asseverations-mark it well, "I swear by all the ties that bind a man, Divine or human!" Think on that and shudder. Wil. [aside.] The very words I uttered! I am tongue-tied! Fitz. Wilford, if there be aught that you can argue To clear yourself, advance it. Wil. Oh, I could- Justice has thus far struggled with my pity, I would unmask a hypocrite-lay bare The front of guilt, that men may see and shun it. "Tis done, and I will now proceed no further. Fitz. Look ye, brother; this act Is so begrimed with black, ungrateful malice, Sir E. I will not have it thus. Look on these jew Look at this picture 'twas our mother's. Stay, Let me inspect this nearer. [Examining the trunk.] What are here? Parchments! Sir E. Oh, look no further. They are deeds, Which, in his haste, no doubt, he crowded there, Not knowing what, to look o'er at his leisure. Family deeds; they all were in my chest. Wil. [aside.] Oh, 'tis deep laid! These, too, to give a color! Fitz. What have we here? Here is a paper Of curious enfolding; slipt, as 'twere Sir E. [starting up.] What? Sir E. Touch it not! throw it back! bury it! sink it! Oh, carelessness and haste! Give me that paper! Darkness and hell! Give back the paper! [SIR EDWARD rushes down R., and attempts to snatch it. WILFORD runs between the two brothers, falls on his knees and prevents him, clinging to FITZ HARDING. Wil. [rapidly.] No! I see-I see! Preserve it; you are judge. Foil me at my own game! Fate! [Laughing hysterically.] Ha, ha, ha! Sport, Lucifer! He struck me— [MORTIMER is fainting and falling. WILFORD runs and catches him. Wil. [c.] I'll support him. Read! read! read! Fitz. What is this? My mind misgives me; It is my brother's hand. [Reading.] “To be destroyed at or before my death. Narrative of my murder of—” "Oh, great heaven! [Reading.] 'If, ere I die, my guilt should be disclosed, May this contribute to redeem the wreck I have been wandering with the damned, sure! And-aye, 'tis Wilford! Oh! thought flashes on I will be firm; one struggle, and 'tis over. Sir E. More. I feared this boy; He knew my secret, and I blackened him, Green in her damning record. Oh! I had- SIR EDWARD MORTIMER.-Black velvet slashed jacket, | trimmed with silver buttons and silver lace, white satin vest, buff tights, handsomely trimmed, crimson scarf, russet boots, point lace collar and ruffles. FITZHARDING.-Crimson velvet doublet, trunk and cloak, slashed with white satin, and trimmed with silver bell buttons, velvet hat, and white ostrich feathers, point lace collar, gray hairs, red hose, russet shoes and rosettes, belt, sword and walking cane. cap WILFORD.-Buff tunic and pantaloons, russet boots, black and collar. SAMSON.-First dress: Brown doublet and trunks, red hose, russet shoes, red wig. Second dress: Yellow doublet, trunks and cloak, hat to match, trimmed with red and blue binding, collar. red and black, fleshings, hat to match, with black feathers, ORSON.-Dark brown ditto, without pistols or carbine. ROBBER'S BOY.-Brown tunic, &c. HELEN.-White satin, trimmed with point lace and silver, white DAME RAWBOLD.-Flowered gown, white night cap, white BOY.-Brown tunic and trunks, belt, gray hose, hat to match. JUDITH.-Bottle-green petticoat and jacket. trimmed with red This play was quite unsuccessful on its first representation, which took place at Covent Garden in 1796. The author attributed its failure to the apathy and inattention of John Philip Kemble, who is said to have walked through the part of Sir Edward Mortimer without an effort to impart to it that tragic effect of which it is undoubtedly capable. By way of revenging himself upon the actor, Mr. Colman wrote a vituperative and sarcastic preface, in which he gave full expression to his discontent; but he lived to repent this hasty ebullition of bad temper, and tried to suppress the edition of his play which contained it-an effort which he found rather difficult to accomplish. It seems to be admitted that Kemble did not come up to his usual standard of excellence in his performance of Sir Edward. He was indisposed at the time, and perhaps did not enter into the spirit of the character with sufficient promptitude of appreciation. But what probably contributed more than his inefficiency to the bad reception of the play, was the immoderate length of the part of the garrulous old man, Adam Winterton, which even the congenial talents of Dodd could not save from becoming wearisome. This fault has since been rectified. The play was originally produced, with appropriate music, by Stephen Storace, a composer, who had been educated in the reformed Italian school at the close of the last century, and whose models of style were the works of Pacini, Sacchini and Paesiello. He possessed a strong and capacious mind, was well versed in literature, and, like Mozart, was, when a boy, distinguished for his powers of calculation. Sheridan is said to have once remarked of Storace, that had he been bred to the law he must have become Lord Chancellor. His health was always delicate, and he died in consequence of his exertions in bringing out this play of "The Iron Chest," in the success of which he had become much interested. "On the first rehearsal," says Kelly. "though laboring under a severe attack of gout and fever, after having been confined to his bed for many days, he insisted on being wrapped up in blankets, and carried in a sedan chair to the cold stage of the play-house. The entreaties and prayers of his family were of no avail-go he would; he went, and remained to the end of the rehearsal. He returned to his bed, whence he never rose again." He died on the 19th of March, 1795, in the thirty-third year of his age. Undaunted by a first failure, Colman reproduced "The Iron Chest" at his own theatre, in the Haymarket. Mr. Elliston, then a young and aspiring actor, was the hero; and on this occasion the tables were turned in favor of the author and the play. The audience were vehement in their applause. Mr. Rae afterwards became a favorite in the character of Sir Edward; and at length Edmund Kean achieved a joint triumph for himself and Colman. A true interpreter of the author's conception was found in him and the play was revived often with marked success. Mr. Charles Kean's personation of the same part is spirited and bold; and with Mrs. Kean as Wilford, he has frequently performed it to the satisfaction and pleasure of American audiences. The plot of The Iron Chest" is partially founded upon the well-known novel of Caleb Williams," by Godwin; the character of Sir Edward corresponding to that of Falkland in the latter. Mr. Colman has, we think, made the most of his materials, and produced a play which, if it does not rank among the first of a similar class, has that dramatic merit which will keep it long from sinking into abandonment. |