way, and got the start of me. (Theodore, on the entrance of Claudine, appears struck with recollection of her; then falls in the most lively agitation; and signifies to De l'Epée, that she was wife to the porter of the house he lived in, and had been his nurse. De l'Epée answers him in signs of surprise and joy.) Clau. (To Franval.) Sir, I beg pardon; yet, when the heart is full-This dear young lady has been so good. (Kisses Marianne's hand.) Mad. F. What does all this mean, Marianne? Mar. (Hesitating.) Madam Clau. Sweet saint! She blushes to speak her own good deeds. Ah! madam, this angel of a girl, heard I was in distress, and has been for a long time my benefactress; I never knew what charitable hand was stretched to me, till this morning Dominique told me Dom. No, I didn't tell you; you coaxed it out of me. Come away, come away; you're a rare one to keep a secret! (Signs to her to be gone.) De l' E. Good woman! good woman! Clau. Me, sir? (Curtsying.) humbled. Son, we'll leave you together. Come, we'll shew the Count of Harancour his apartment. [Signs to Theodore to go with her; he takes her hand. Exeunt Madame Franval, very ceremoniously; Theodore nodding to De 'Epée; and Marianne, with an imploring look to Franval. Fran. I have already told you, the friendship that binds me to St. Alme, imposes on me the duty of proceeding by the gentlest steps. I now propose, that we present ourselves at the palace of Harancour; there, jointly, and in private, we may attack this Darlemont; you, with the energy so good a cause inspires; and I, with all the terror of the laws. He must be more hardened and audacious than I think him, if he can withstand us. De l'E. I agree and a thought this instant strikes me, which, if he is not quite a monster, must insure our success. [Exeunt. ACT IV. De l'E. You lived formerly in the palace of SCENE I.-The Room in the palace of Harancour. Harancour? Clau. My husband was porter there nine-andtwenty years. De l'E. Do you remember young Count Julio, your late master's son? Clau. Remember him? I had him in my arms the very hour he was born. My lady died in childbed: I was his nurse; his mother, begging your pardon, I may say; and a sweet babe he was. I shall never forget him. His death was a hard pinch to us all. (Weeping-Theodore gazes on Claudine, in great agitation.) De l'E. (Takes Theodore by the hand.) Did you ever see his face? Clau. (Starting.) Merciful goodness! why sure-(Theodore flings back the hair from his forehead, &c.) Clau. It is, it is he! it is young Count Julio himself! (Theodore, as she runs to him, and is falling at his feet, immediately prevents, and kisses her.) Dom. Ha, ha! and there I had like not to have let her in. earth and heaven. Fran. Can't you immediately, without letting them know what has passed, bring hither some others of the servants, who knew Count Julio in his infancy? Clau. To be sure; there's the coachman's widow living still; and there's Dom. Ay, so there is; and there's Denys the groom besides, and his old wife; they don't live far off. Mad. F. Fetch them this moment; fetch them all. Dom. Come along, Claudine; come along. (Going.) Fran. And-not a word, for your lives. Dom. Oh! I know better than to chatter about what doesn't concern me. Long live Count Julio! Fran. Dominique Dom. Oh! come along, Claudine. [Exeunt Dominique and Claudine. Mad. F. There, there! make haste, make haste! Mar. My dear madam, if they should discoverMad. F. Daughter, daughter, he must be punished for his ambition; his insolence must be The picture being removed. Enter DARLEMONT and PIERRE. Dar. Go and inquire immediately. [Exit Pierre.] Vain, groundless apprehensions, leave me! what an absurd propensity there is in man to be his own tormentor; to conjure up the wildest visions; to fancy the most frightful accidents; and shake the more, the more preposterous the terrors are which his imagination creates ! Dar. (Aside.) My son opposing all my wishes; my servant ready to betray me; whom can I trust in? my ambition is my curse; the moment I attained its object, my plagues began. Where is Dupré? Pie. Shut up in his own room. Dar. (Alarmed.) Is anybody with him? the door lock. (Going.) Pie. No, sir, I saw him go in alone, and heard Dar. Well! Pierre, have you seen anything more of these Pie. What, the strangers, sir? Dar. So very like the-No, nothing. You may go.[Exit Pierre.] Dumb! Like the picture! Should returned him hither. Well, how will he prove his he be still alive; should some infernal accident have story? His death is registered: that testimony no evidence but Dupré's can now invalidate; and bim, too, I might set at defiance, and be at rest for ever, could I but link my interest to the President's by this marriage with his daughter; that would place me beyond the result of danger. Enter ST. ALME, who stands at a distance, as if not daring to approach his father. I am on the rack, till it is accomplished. St. A. I was told, sir, you wished to see me. Dar. I do; and let me warn you, sir, that unless you come resolved to shew a proper sense of duty to your father, you have heard that wish for the last time. Tell me, where have you been all this morning? St. A. My father, it is not in my nature to dissemble with you-I come from the President's. Dar. (Startled.) Ha! What was your business there, and without me? St. A. To lay open my whole soul before him, Dar. (Stifling his rage.) Well, sir; what was his answer? St. A. Noble, kind, and like himself. He gently told me, it would have been the pride of his heart, and the comfort of his declining years, to have seen me happy with his daughter; but that the choice I had made did me honour Dar. (Gradually giving way to his fury.) How! St. A. And that the ties by which I was engaged to so worthy an object must be indissoluble. Pie. And now for a little chat with Dupré about SCENE II.-Franval's Study as before. No news of these witnesses yet? Dar. (Bursting out.) Parricide! You have unDe l'E. We must have patience, madam. done me. Vain, empty schemes of human foresight! Mad. F. This Dominique is so slow! I possess myself of my ne-of a vast inheritance: Fran. (To De l'Epée.) How severe is the duty I devote it to your advancement; employ it to allysation of the father of St. Alme? My heart bleeds you have imposed on me! Must I present the accuyou with the most powerful and wealthy family in Languedoc; and, when I have succeeded in removing every prejudice, every obstacle, you dare to make a mockery of my solicitudes, and audaciously reject power, rank, fortune, for the interested attractions of a beggar, the seductive arts of a St. A. O, no; that she has fixed me her's, and her's alone, 'tis true; but, sir, 'twas without artifices, as it was without design. Her enchanting loveliness, my father-her innocence, if possible, still more lovely; these are the seductions, these the arts, this virtuous girl has practised on me. Dar. (Bursting into tears.) Short-sighted, foolish parents! for thankless children, thus to plunge yourselves in guilt and danger. St. A. O, sir! (Affectionately.) Surely, you are in no danger? Dar. (Resolutely.) No! I don't know what I am. Yet, should the world once suspect St. A. Who can live fairer in the opinion of the world? Dar. He who lives fair in his own mind. St. A. For heaven's sake, sir! what labours in your bosom? Dar. O, misery! to think I have a son, and want a friend! St. A, You rend my heart with these doubts. Honour me as a friend; shew me how I may serve my father; and let man and heaven renounce me, if I forget the duty of a son! Dar. (Eagerly.) Do you speak this from your soul? May I depend on you? St. A. Can it be a question, sir? at the thought! De l'E. Would he had been less criminal, and Theodore less injured! Mad. F. No, no; his punishment cannot be too sudden, nor too public. Fran. Think of his virtuous son. Mar. (With the utmost tenderness.) Who, innocent of his crimes, would share in his disgrace. that he still is my poor boy's uncle; his mother's De l'E. Besides, madam, we must remember brother. Mad. F. How the Count of Harancour could stoop to marry into such a family; and then, to make this wretch his eventual heir! De l'E. Integrity and honour, it may be, governed his life, till this temptation overpowered him; at least, under that persuasion, madam, I would first try, whether he may not still be reclaimable by lenient means. Fran. On that I am fixed. Mad. F. Remember, I tell you, he'll treat all your sentiments, and your lenient means, with contempt. Enter ST. ALME, in the deepest dejection. Mad. F. Daughter! [Exit Mad. F. looking disdainfully at St. Alme. Mar. (To De l'E.) O, sir, speak with him; ao Dar. (Solemn and earnest.) Then return to the quaint yourself with the virtues of his heart, then President Dar. If you have the affection of a son-if you value the safety, life, and honour of your father-go. St. A. Your agitation terrifies me. Tell me, I conjure you, tell me the cause of it. Dar. Impossible! Think, 'tis no trivial cause that could induce me to plead by dark hints for a son's obedience. St. A. Speak, sir; O, speak! Dar. It is not to be told. Nothing but the support of rank, wealth, office, can secure me: the gulph of rain gapes at my feet. I call on my son; him to whom I have given life; for whom I have risked life, infamy, and perdition. I once more call on him; save me, or never see me more. [Exit. St. A. Such guilt! Such danger! Can this be real? Impossible! 'Tis but a cruel artifice to extort my consent to this hated marriage. Unkind father! Thus with suborned emotions, to practise on the affections of a son, who would die for you. ask your own, whether ignominy be his desert! De l'E. Honour and persuasion sit on his brow; trust him at once; his father will never be able to resist him. Fran. You judge him by yourself. De l'E. Try every thing. Theodore shall know that his cousin is here. [Exit. Fran. St. Alme, why are your looks so sad? St. A. My distresses double every moment, and are inexplicable. The stern reserve, in which my father has so long wrapped himself, is suddenly changed to terrors that distract him. Fran. (Aside.) Indeed! St. A. The horror of his thoughts seem agonizing. To me he appeals for safety; yet mysteriously hides from me the cause of his alarm: by the sacred names of son and friend; with prayers, with tears, and solemn warnings, I am adjured to shield a father from perdition. Fran. (Aside.) Surely he cannot have heardWhat are the means? (To St. Alme.) St. A. The means? The sacrifice of friendship, Fran. No, no. St. A. Whither would these dark insinuations tend? Merciful heaven! add not to my miseries, that of hating the brother of Marianne! JulioFran. Is still alive. St. A. Franval! you are deceived; the attestation of his death is in my father's hands. Dupré was present in his last moments, and is a surviving witness to it. Fran. Indeed! Then let your own eyes judge between us. Look, who comes here. Darlemont declares Count Julio dead; I, Franval, present him living. There Enter DE L'EPEE and THEOdore. St. A. All gracious heaven! Do my eyes deceive me? Risen from the dead! It is, it is-Theodore, after they have gazed a moment on each other, utters a shriek of joy, and rushes into St. Alme's arms.) De l'E. No, you are not deceived. He calls you friend; he speaks to you in smiles and tears, the language of the heart; his only language. St. A. Can this be real? I know not yet. Speechless! it must, it must be he-my long lost, dear, lamented Julio! And yet, stand off awhile, and let me gaze till I have satisfied my doubts. (Theodore affected at St. Alme's putting him away, hastily recollects himself, bares his right arm, and points to the scar upon it. St. Alme bursting into tears, runs to him, and kisses the scar.) St. A. That scar! De l'E. O, nature, nature, how resistless is thy eloquence! Fran. St. Alme, compose yourself; I shudder for the final close of this discovery. St. A. It is, it is my Julio. Friend! companion! preserver of my life! I'm lost in joy and wonder. To whom are we indebted for this strange blessing? Fran. To him; to the benevolence of De l'Epée. St. A. De l'Epée! has Julio been an object of your generous pity? O, sir; I cannot thank you. (Kisses De l'Epée's hand.) Come, come, my dear Julio; (to De l'Epée) my father's gratitude shall bless you; how will he rejoice at this event! Let us haste to him; he has been much altered since your loss; your presence shall dispel all gloom, and his heart dance with transport to behold you. Fran. Hold, hold, one moment. (Madame Franval and Dupré within.) Mad. F. (Within.) Come in, come in, Dupré; he is here-it's all true. Fran. Dupré! (Looking at St. Alme.) St. A. All overjoyed to hear of his return. (Theodore instantly recollects Dupré, shrinks from him, and explains to De l'Epée who he is.) Dup. Now I have seen him once again, let me but ask forgiveness, and expire at his feet. De l'E. (To St. A.) This man seems strangely agitated. St. A. Forgiveness! What does he mean? He was his favourite servant, and attended Julio, when my father carried him to Paris. Dup. (Starting up.) Yes, I am that ungrateful viper; that villain who became the accomplice of an act. He lives, however, and I can now substantiate the truth. Drag me away; I am ready. Deliver me and my seducer to the just punishment of our crimes. De l'E. You went with him to Paris about eight years ago? Dup. Yes, yes-with Darlemont, with Darle mont! St. A. Rack me not thus, but speak. Dup. I must; and may my true confession and remorse find acceptance there (pointing to heaven) towards the remission of my guilt. Del E. Be but sincere, it will. Go on. Dup. The very evening we reached Paris, your father, pointing to a small trunk, sternly ordered me to dress his nephew in those clothes; it contained a beggar's wretched covering. (St. Alme starts back, and turns away a moment, hiding his face.) Mad. F. The very rags they brought him to you in. Dup. Muffled in these tatters, shrouded by midnight darkness, my master hurried him away; and, till this moment, I never saw him more. St. A. Strike me with deafness, heaven! Mad. F. Why didn't you immediately accuse him? He might have murdered the poor child for aught you knew. Dup. At first, I feared it. Pressed and overpowered by my suspicions on his return alone, he owned that he had put in execution the design which brought him to Paris, and under shelter of the night, had lost the disguised and helpless innocent beyond recovery, in the inextricable mazes of that wide city. Mad F. Thank heaven, he'll find himself disappointed and detected. De l'E. Madam-Well, sir Dup. In order to possess himself of the estates of the young Count, it still was necessary that he should prove his death. Two witnesses were wanting; seduced by gold, one, since dead, was the poor wretch we lodged with. Fran. The other was yourself; and by this dark and perjured attestation St. A. His name annihilated, his rich inheritance purloined, his death a forgery, and my own father the perpetrator! Saints of heaven, guard my soul from desperation! Already the licentious rabble point at me as I pass; I hear them cry,-“There goes the monster, the unnatural villain, who conspired to rob his noble kinsman, the friend of his youth, the saviour of his life, and turned him forth, naked and speechless, on a desert and unpitying world." Del E. Listen, sir, listen for a moment to a stranger, who views the dignity of your sorrow with reverence, and the severity of your fate with compassion; be just to yourself, you are not guilty. St. A. Compassion? O heaven! Am I not his son? Not guilty? I'll hear of no compassion. Proclaim our crimes; clothe us in the same infamy; overwhelm us in one common rain; raise monuments to perpetuate the villany of the house of Darlemont; let the name be recorded as pestilential to virtue, and the race exterminated from the world for ever. (St. Alme throws himself in an agony on a chair. Theodore, to whom De l'Epée has explained Dupré's confession, endeavours by every means to console him.) Dup. Since that fatal deed, my horror and remorse have never given me one moment's peace. But heaven is just; it has preserved this noble youth, and sends me to unload my conscience at the tribunal of the laws. Deliver me this moment to them. I know the punishment that awaits me, and am resigned to it; too blest at last, if in confessing and expiating the crimes to which I have been an accomplice, I can repair the evils they have caused. St. A. (Starting up, as if with a sudden thought, and rushing forward between De l'Epée and Franval.) Yes, yes-they must be repaired. Follow me, wretched old man. Fran. St. Alme, where are you going? De E. Look on your Julio. St. A. The sight of him drives me to madness. Fran. What is your design? St. A. To avenge him, or die.-Come, villain. [Exit St. Alme, dragging Dupré away with him.-Dupré looking back on Theodore. Fran. I must follow and detain him; or, in this madness of conflicting passions, he may publish his father's crimes, and defeat our very hope to save him from such dishonour. [Exit. Mad. F. We follow you. Well, this St. Alme is a very good young man, upon my word; and, though he is Darlemont's son, I can't help being concerned for him, I protest. De l'E. Franval speaks highly of his virtues and his honour. Ah! thou poor reed, shaken so long by storms! How this eventful day may end for thee, heaven knows! But come, my Theodore, should an unfeeling uncle persist in renouncing thee, should the laws reject thy appeal, thou shalt still find a warm, though humble, asylum, in the affection of De l'Epée. [Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I.-The Room in the palace of Harancour. The picture having been removed. Enter PHILIPPE, Pierre, CHARLES, and ETIENNE. Pie. Nay, nay, don't be in such a hurry.Friends! fellow-servants! what have I done? what have I done? Phil. Nay, nay, no hanging back :-you must come to my master. Cha. Come along, come along. Pie. Let me go, I say. I am coming along; but you have a mind to strangle me before I get there. Hands off, gentlemen! (Disengages himself from them.) I won't be dragged in this manner, like a lamb to a slaughter-house. What's the meaning of this? What's the matter, I say? Phil. O, poor innocent creature; you'll know what the matter is, sooner than you desire, I fancy. You must always act the great man; you must affect to be in all your young master's secrets. Pie. I! I wish I may be hanged if I know any of his secrets. Eti. Ay, ay; so you say. You call us wretched plodders, you know. What do you think of us now? My master has been in a fine rage about you and Dupré; you must be tattling. Pie. Tattling? Eti. Ay, you have been telling Dupré something or other. Pie. Me! upon my soul, I— Phil. Well, well, it doesn't signify; whatever it was, it drove Dupré into the square, raving like a madman, and my master has been raving_ever since. He has almost murdered the porter, I can tell you, for letting Dupré out,-against his express orders, it seems. Pie. Letting him out! and why not? where is he gone? Eti. I fancy, that's the very thing my master wishes to know. Pie. Is it? I'm sure then he wishes to know more than I can tell him. Phil. Ay, ay, that's your business; but he'll find a way to make you tell him, I believe. Pie. Make me tell! None of your impertinence, if you please, sir. Eti. Don't make a fool of yourself, but come quietly with us; we shall all be finely handled for staying so long. Pie. Handled, indeed! Come, I like that, too: handled! Phil. Don't be too flippant, friend Pierre; he's in a most unmerciful humour, I promise you. Come. Pie. This is all about that confounded picture, I suppose. My cursed curiosity will be the ruin of me at last. Phil. Eti. Cha. Come away! come away! Pie. Well, well; friends, fellow-servants, gentlemen! [Exeunt. SCENE II.-A Saloon in the palace of Harancour, in which the picture is now placed. Enter DARLEMONT. Dar. Doubt, horror, and distraction! Where now can I look for support? my son estranged from me! Dupré a fugitive! All torments that disobedience, treachery, and self-condemnation can conjure up, beleaguer and confound me! (A noise without.) Enter PHILippe. Now, sir. Phil. We have brought him, sir: Pierre is at the door. Dar. So he's in the plot, too. Bring him in. [Exit Philippe.] Down, thronging apprehensions, down! I shall betray myself. Enter PIERRE, PHILIPPE, ETIENNE, and Tell me, sirrah! whither is he fled? Dar. No prevarication, rascal!-the hypocritical complotter of your schemes.-Speak!-Dupré, -where is he? Pie. If you'll believe me, sir, I can't tell. Dar. I'll not believe you, villain! I'll have the truth, though I tear it out of your heart. I know you went to him into his room: deny that too. Pie. Went to him in his—yes, yes, I did, I believe,—I did, sir. Dar. (Seizing him.) What was your business with him, then? Pie. (Very much frightened.) As I hope for mercy, sir, I only went, after you ordered me to take away the young Count's picture, just to— Dar. (Percewing the other servants, he recovers himself.) Go; I'll call you, when I have done with him. [Exeunt Philippe, Etienne, and Charles; Darlemont pulls the door very violently. Pie. That displeases you; I read it in your looks but, what it is, I protest I know no more than I do what is become of Dupré. : Dar. (Having composed himself.) I'm not displeased; you are mistaken. Come, tell me honestly what passed between you. Pie. Why, nothing, sir; only, at first, when I said something about your bidding me remove the picture, he shook his head, with a deep groan. So, to spirit him up a little, I told him,-as I told you, sir, that I had seen a young gentleman in the morning, a stranger, who seemed deaf and dumb, too, as like that picture, as if he had sat for it. Dar. (Very eagerly.) What did he say to that? Pie. Not one single word, sir; but all the blood flew into his face in a moment, and he sunk on the table, weeping bitterly; then he waved his hand so, and I left him. Dar. (Aside.) Ha! he has revealed nothing yet. You have seen nothing of him since, then? Pie. No, sir. Dar. Nor of the strangers? Pie. Nothing, sir. Dar. Leave me. Pie. (Aside.) And glad to be so cheaply quit, too. What is the meaning of all this rout? durst not own that I told Dupré the strangers were at Franval's. (Going.) I Dar. And-stay within call. [Exit Pierre.] know not what to think, nor what course to take. Is this fellow's account true, or false? am I betrayed, or not? nor dare I tax him too closely; that would excite suspicion. Horrible uncertainty! O, let no man ever trust himself into the path of guilt! it is a labyrinth beset with dismay and remorse, and not to be retrod without a miracle! Yet I think, for his own sake, I think, Dupré will not divulge me. No, no, this sudden start is but the restlessness of his sickly conscience. Re-enter PIERRE. Pie. Sir, the Advocate Franval begs the favour of a few moments' private conversation with you. Dar. Franval! With me, or with my son? Pie. With you he said, sir. Dar. Tell him, I beg his pardon, I'm particularly engaged. [Exit Pierre.] He comes to torture me on his side; to prattle to me of his sister, and the match they have so craftily settled with St. Alme: but I shall counterwork their project. My son is good and dutiful, and loves me; and, though he could withstand my commands, I know he cannot long be proof to my intreaties; and the alliance I have provided, is the only imaginable means of securing me and himself against all turns of fortune. Re-enter PIERRE. Pie. I beg pardon, sir; the Advocate Franval has sent me back to inform you, that he has immediate business of the first importance, and that the Abbé D l'Epée, from Paris, is with him. Dar. (Starts.) Who? Pie. The Abbé De l'Epée. Dar. What! the instructor of the deaf and dumb? Pie. I don't know, sir; but I dare say it is; for it's the very gentleman that stopped me with the young stranger in the square this morning. Dar. (Having paced once or twice across the room in great agitation.) Desire them to walk up. [Exit Pierre.] He in Toulouse! accompanied by a youth, speaking by signs, pointing out this house, and like the picture! I'll not believe it. What! after so many years? Yet, wherefore should this very man address himself to me? I must command myself; and by a firm and calm exterior, baffle the keenest scrutiny of suspicion. I hear them. Be their errand what it may, my resolution's fixed. Defiance is a champion whose vigour may be dreaded; but Fear, a recreant destined to fall by the very sword which he surrenders. They come; I must withdraw one moment. [Exit. Re-enter PIERRE, introducing FRANVAL and DE L'EPEE. Pierre places chairs, and exit. Fran. Pray, sir, remember; not one word of Dupré. I know him well; to find his servant his accuser, would rouse his pride to fury, and render all our endeavours to serve him, and in him my friend, ineffectual. No hint of Dupré's evidence, unless he absolutely drives us to desperate measures, I beg. De l'E. I shall observe. Re-enter DARlemont. (Darlemont and De l'Epée eye each other stedfastly. Franval presents De l'Epée.) De l'E. Your servant, sir. (Darlemont bows to them, points to the chairs, and they all sit; Darkmont in the centre, evidently struggling with his alarm.) Dar. You desire, I am told, to speak with me in private. May I ask what motive De l'E. The deep interest we both take in the honour of the father of St. Alme, and the solemn obligation we are at the same time under to fulfil an act of justice; these, sir, are the motives on which we judged it proper to request this interview in private. Dar. (Embarassed.) Does any man suppose my honour, then, in question? Fran. A moment's patience, sir. De l'E. You are the uncle, and were left the guardian of Julio, Count of Harancour. Dar, (Shocked.) Well, sir! De l'E. Of that unhappy youth, who was de prived by death of the watchful affection of his parents, and by nature left destitute of that distinctive prerogative of man, the power of appealing against injustice and oppression! Dar. (Haughtily.) Öppression, sir? Del E. Ha! then you conceive my meaning? Dar. (Checking himself.) If you have business, state it plainly. Del E. Do you desire it? Dar. What means De l'E. Are you prepared for plain and honest speaking? Dar. I'm not prepared for rude interrogation. (Rises to go away.) Fran. (Rises and stops him.) Listen one instant, and perhaps, what he has spoken, will hardly be construed thus. Dar. Damnation! (Aside.) To the point st |