PART II.

SCENE.—_Same as before. Enter_ FESTUS, C.

_Festus._ It _is_ astonishing how much a little borrowed plumage becomes a bashful man. The ice once broken by the inspiring thoughts and words of the love-sick “Raphael,” I feel now almost equal to the composition and delivery of an energetic and passionate appeal that shall carry the heart of the lady by storm; but then, having once been refused, I dread a second attempt. “A burnt child fears the fire;” and a singed lover trembles before the blazing eyes of the object of his adoration. I have yet a short time before the expiration of my hour of trial, and the character of “Sir Thomas Clifford” from which to borrow courage. (_Enter_ STELLA, C.)

_Stella._ Well, mysterious “Festus,” what new fancy is agitating your fertile brain?

_Festus._ Madam, to tell you the truth, I was—thinking—of you.

_Stella._ Of me, or of your future salary?

_Festus._ Both.

_Stella._ What of me?

_Festus._ (_Very awkward and confused._) That I think—I think—that you—you—are—are—

_Stella._ Well, what am I?

_Festus._ (_Abruptly._) A very fine reader.

_Stella._ Oh! is that all?

_Festus._ All worth mentioning.

_Stella._ Sir!

_Festus._ That is all I am at liberty to mention.

_Stella._ What if I should grant you liberty to say more?

_Festus._ Oh! then—then I should say—I should say—

_Stella._ Well, what would you say?

_Festus._ It’s your turn to read.

_Stella._ (_Aside._) Stupid! (_Aloud._) Well, sir, what shall I read?

_Festus._ Oh! oblige me by making your own selection.

_Stella._ There’s “The Bells,” by Poe. Do you like that?

_Festus._ Oh, exceedingly!

_Stella._ But I don’t know how to read it: it’s very difficult.

_Festus._ Perhaps I can assist you. (_Aside._) I’ll provoke her a bit; see if she has a temper.

_Stella._ Well, you are very kind. (_Aside._) I’ll see if I can make him talk.

_Festus._ Well, then, you take the book, and read. (_Hands her copy of Poe._) When I think you need correcting, I will speak.

_Stella._ Very well. (_They sit,_ C. STELLA _reads in a very tragic tone, emphasizing the words in Italics._)

“Hear the sledges with the _bells_, Silver _bells_!”

_Festus._ Oh, stop, stop, stop! Dear me! that’s not the way to read. There’s no silver in _your_ bells. Listen:—

“Hear the sledges with the bells, _Sil_-ver bells!”

Very silvery, don’t you see?

_Stella._ Oh, yes! excuse me. (_Reads in a very silly tone._)

“Hear the sledges with the bells, Sil———verbells!”

_Festus._ Oh, no, no! that’s too _sil_ly.

_Stella._ Sir!

_Festus._ I mean, there’s too much of the _sil_ in _silver_. (_Repeats his reading. She imitates it._)

_Festus._ Ah! that’s better. Thank you: you are charming. (_She looks at him._) That is, a charming reader. Go on.

_Stella._ (_Reads._)

“What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle”—

_Festus._ (_Interrupting._) I beg your pardon: “twinkle.”

_Stella._ No, sir: “tinkle.”

_Festus._ But I am sure it is “twinkle.”

_Stella._ Can’t I believe my own eyes?

_Festus._ Not unless they “twinkle.”

_Stella._ Look for yourself. (_Shows him the book._)

_Festus._ My stars! it is “tinkle.” I beg your pardon. Go on.

_Stella._

“How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air”—

_Festus._ No, no: frosty,—frosty air.

_Stella._ No, sir: it’s icy air.

_Festus._ You are mistaken: “frosty.”

_Stella._ Am I? Look for yourself.

_Festus._ Well, I declare! It is, _I see, icy_. I beg your pardon. Go on.

_Stella._ I see, I see. You are bent on interrupting me. What do you mean, sir?

_Festus._ What can you expect, if you don’t know how to read?

_Stella._ Sir, this is provoking. I don’t know how to read?

_Festus._ Not “The Bells,” I know.

_Stella._ Oh! do you? Well, sir, I know you are no gentleman; and I know, if you want “The Bells” read (_starts up, and throws book at him_), read it yourself.

_Festus._ Madam, what am I to understand by this?

_Stella._ That your presence is no longer agreeable to me.

_Festus._ Oh, very well, very well! I understand you wish me to go.

(STELLA _stands_, R., _with her back to him_.)

You wish me to go. I will intrude no longer. (_Very loud._) Since you—wish—me—to—go—(_Aside._) Confound it, I believe she does! (_Aloud._) Very well, madam, very well. Good-evening. (_Exit_, L.)

_Stella._ He’ll be back in three minutes. (_Enter_ FESTUS, L.)

_Festus._ I forgot my hat. You’ll excuse me if I take my—(_Aside._) Confound it, she won’t speak! (_Stands irresolute a moment, and then approaches her._) Madam,—Stella,—I was wrong. You can read “The Bells” divinely. I hear them ringing in my ears now. I beg your pardon. Read “The Bells” in any manner you please: I shall be delighted to listen.

_Stella._ Oh, very well! Since you have returned, I will read.

_Reading. “The Bells,” Poe._ STELLA.

_Festus._ Splendid, splendid!

_Stella._ Now, sir, I shall be happy to listen to you once more.

_Festus._ Your “Bells” have stirred the fires of patriotism within my heart; and I will give you, as my selection, “Sheridan’s Ride.”

_Reading. “Sheridan’s Ride,” Reid._ FESTUS.

_Stella._ Excellent! Mr. Festus, you are a very spirited rider,—I mean reader. Now, suppose, for variety, we have another scene.

_Festus._ With all my heart. What shall it be?

_Stella._ Oh! you select. Pray. Mr. Festus, did you have any design in selecting the scene from “The Marble Heart”?

_Festus._ Well, I like that. You selected it yourself.

_Stella._ But the play was your selection; and you were very perfect in the part of “Raphael.”

_Festus._ Well, I selected what I thought I should most excel in.

_Stella._ You excel in love-making! That’s good. But I must say, you act it well.

_Festus._ Yes—that is—I think that circumstances—occurring—which would make—circumstances—perfectly—that is, I mean to say that—circumstances—indeed—what were you saying?

_Stella._ Ha, ha, ha! O mighty Festus! you’ve lost your place; but, as you have a partiality for love-scenes, what is your next?

_Festus._ What say you to a scene from “The Hunchback”? “The secretary of my lord”? You know the scene,—“Julia” and “Sir Thomas Clifford.”

_Stella._ Oh, yes! I am familiar with it; but I think, as an applicant for a situation, you are making me perform more than my share of work.

_Festus._ Oh! if you object—

_Stella._ Oh! but I don’t object. Proceed. (_Sits_, L. _of table_. FESTUS _exits_, L.)

SCENE FROM “THE HUNCHBACK.”

(_Arranged for this piece._)

_Julia_, STELLA. _Sir Thomas Clifford_, FESTUS.

_Jul._ (_Alone._) A wedded bride? Is it a dream? Oh, would it were a dream! How would I bless the sun that waked me from it! I am wrecked By mine own act! What! no escape? no hope? None! I must e’en abide these hated nuptials! Hated!—ay, own it, and then curse thyself That mad’st the bane thou loathest for the love Thou bear’st to one who never can be thine! Yes, love! Deceive thyself no longer. False To say ’tis pity for his fall,—respect Engendered by a hollow world’s disdain, Which hoots whom fickle fortune cheers no more! ’Tis none of these: ’tis love, and, if not love, Why, then, idolatry! Ay, that’s the name To speak the broadest, deepest, strongest passion That ever woman’s heart was borne away by! He comes! Thoud’st play the lady,—play it now! (_Enter_ CLIFFORD, L.) Speaks he not? Or does he wait for orders to unfold His business? Stopped his business till I spoke, I’d hold my peace forever! (CLIFFORD _kneels, presenting a letter_.) Does he kneel? A lady am I to my heart’s content! Could he unmake me that which claims his knee, I’d kneel to him,—I would, I would! Your will?

_Clif._ This letter from my lord.

_Jul._ Oh, fate! who speaks?

_Clif._ The secretary of my lord. (_Rises._)

_Jul._ I breathe! I could have sworn ’twas he! (_Makes an effort to look at him, but is unable._) So like the voice!— I dare not look lest there the form should stand. How came he by that voice? ’Tis Clifford’s voice If ever Clifford spoke! My fears come back. Clifford, the secretary of my lord! Fortune hath freaks, but none so mad as that. It cannot be!—it should not be! A look, And all were set at rest. (_Tries to look at him again, but cannot._) So strong my fears, Dread to confirm them takes away the power To try and end them. Come the worst, I’ll look. (_She tries again, and is again unequal to the task._) I’d sink before him if I met his eye!

_Clif._ Wilt please your ladyship to take the letter?

_Jul._ There, Clifford speaks again! Not Clifford’s breath Could more make Clifford’s voice: not Clifford’s tongue And lips more frame it into Clifford’s speech. A question, and ’tis over! Know I you?

_Clif._ Reverse of fortune, lady, changes friends: It turns them into strangers. What I am I have not always been.

_Jul._ Could I not name you?

_Clif._ If your disdain for one, perhaps too bold When hollow fortune called him favorite, Now by her fickleness perforce reduced To take an humble tone, would suffer you—

_Jul._ I might?

_Clif._ You might.

_Jul._ O Clifford! is it you?

_Clif._ Your answer to my lord. (_Gives the letter._)

_Jul._ Your lord!

_Clif._ Wilt write it? Or, will it please you send a verbal one? I’ll bear it faithfully.

_Jul._ You’ll bear it?

_Clif._ Madam, Your pardon: but my haste is somewhat urgent. My lord’s impatient, and to use despatch Were his repeated orders.

_Jul._ Orders? Well (_takes letter_), I’ll read the letter, sir. ’Tis right you mind His lordship’s orders. They are paramount. Nothing should supersede them. Stand beside them! They merit all your care, and have it! Fit, Most fit, they should. Give me the letter, sir.

_Clif._ You have it, madam.

_Jul._ So! How poor a thing I look! so lost while he is all himself! Have I no pride? If he can freeze, ’tis time that I grow cold. I’ll read the letter. (_Opens it, and holds it as about to read it._) Mind his orders! So! Quickly he fits his habits to his fortunes! He serves my lord with all his will! His heart’s In his vocation. So! Is this the letter? ’Tis upside down, and here I’m poring on’t! Most fit I let him see me play the fool! Shame! Let me be myself! (_She sits a while at table, vacantly gazing on the letter, then looks at_ CLIFFORD.) How plainly shows his humble suit! It fits not him that wears it. I have wronged him! He can’t he happy—does not look it—is not! That eye which reads the ground is argument Enough. He loves me. There I let him stand, And I am sitting! (_Rises, and points to a chair._) Pray you, take a chair. (_He bows as acknowledging and declining the honor. She looks at him a while._) Clifford, why don’t you speak to me? (_Weeps._)

_Clif._ I trust You’re happy.

_Jul._ Happy? Very, very happy! You see I weep I am so happy. Tears Are signs, you know, of naught but happiness. When first I saw you, little did I look To be so happy. Clifford!

_Clif._ Madam?

_Jul._ Madam! I call thee Clifford, and thou call’st me madam!

_Clif._ Such the address my duty stints me to. Thou art the wife elect of a proud earl Whose humble secretary sole am I.

_Jul._ Most right! I had forgot! I thank you, sir, For so reminding me, and give you joy That what, I see, had been a burthen to you Is fairly off your hands.

_Clif._ A burthen to me? Mean you yourself? Are you that burthen, Julia? Say that the sun’s a burthen to the earth! Say that the blood’s a burthen to the heart! Say health’s a burthen, peace, contentment, joy, Fame, riches, honors, everything that man Desires, and gives the name of blessing to!— E’en such a burthen Julia were to me Had fortune let me wear her.

_Jul._ (_Aside._) On the brink Of what a precipice I’m standing! Back, Back! while the faculty remains to do’t! A minute longer, not the whirlpool’s self More sure to suck thee down! One effort! (_Sits._) There!

(_Recovers her self-possession, takes up the letter, and reads._)

To wed to-morrow night! Wed whom? A man Whom I can never love! I should before Have thought of that. To-morrow night. This hour To-morrow,—how I tremble! At what means Will not the desperate snatch! What’s honor’s price? Nor friends, nor lovers,—no, nor life itself! Clifford, this moment leave me! (CLIFFORD _retires up the stage out of her sight_.) Is he gone? Oh, docile lover! Do his mistress’ wish That went against his own! Do it so soon, Ere well ’twas uttered! No good-by to her! No word, no look! ’Twas best that so he went. Alas the strait of her who owns that best Which last she’d wish were done! What’s left me now? To weep, to weep!

(_Leans her head upon her arm, which rests upon the table, her other arm hanging listless at her side._ CLIFFORD _comes down the stage, looks a moment at her, approaches her, and, kneeling, takes her hand._)

_Clif._ My Julia!

_Jul._ Here again? Up, up! By all thy hopes of heaven go hence! To stay’s perdition to me! Look you, Clifford! Were there a grave where thou art kneeling now, I’d walk into’t and be inearthed alive Ere taint should touch my name! Should some one come And see thee kneeling thus! Let go my hand!— Remember, Clifford, I’m a promised bride— And take thy arm away! It has no right To clasp my waist! Judge you so poorly of me As think I’ll suffer this? My honor, sir! (_She breaks from him, quitting her seat._)

I’m glad you’ve forced me to respect myself: You’ll find that I can do so.

_Clif._ There was a time I held your hand unchid; There was a time I might have clasped your waist: I had forgot that time was past and gone. I pray you, pardon me.

_Jul._ (_Softened._) I do so, Clifford.

_Clif._ I shall no more offend.

_Jul._ Make sure of that. No longer is it fit thou keep’st thy post In’s lordship’s household. Give it up! A day, An hour, remain not in it.

_Clif._ Wherefore?

_Jul._ Live In the same house with me, and I another’s? Put miles, put leagues, between us! The same land Should not contain us. O Clifford, Clifford! Rash was the act, so light that gave me up, That stung a woman’s pride, and drove her mad, Till in her frenzy she destroyed her peace! Oh, it was rashly done! Had you reproved, Expostulated, had you reasoned with me, Tried to find out what was indeed my heart, I would have shown it, you’d have seen it, all Had been as naught can ever be again.

_Clif._ Lov’st thou me, Julia?

_Jul._ Dost thou ask me, Clifford?

_Clif._ These nuptials may be shunned—

_Jul._ With honor?

_Clif._ Yes.

_Jul._ Then take me! Hold!—hear me, and take me, then! Let not thy passion be my counsellor; Deal with me, Clifford, as my brother. Be The jealous guardian of my spotless name. Scan thou my cause as ’twere thy sister’s. Let Thy scrutiny o’erlook no point of it, And turn it o’er not once, but many a time, That flaw, speck, yea, the shade of one,—a soil So slight not one out of a thousand eyes Could find it out,—may not escape thee; then Say if these nuptials can be shunned with honor!

_Clif._ They can.

_Jul._ Then take me, Clifford—

* * * * *

_Festus._ Stop one moment. (_Looks at watch._) Time’s up.

_Stella._ So soon?

_Festus._ The tone of your voice expresses regret. What is your decision?

_Stella._ My decision?

_Festus._ Upon my application for the situation of reader. Shall I have it?

_Stella._ Perhaps the terms will not suit.

_Festus._ Madam, I am willing to serve you on any terms. Allow me to throw off the mask of “Festus,” which of course you have seen through, and offer myself for a situation under the name of—

_Stella._ Stop: you are not going to pronounce that name before all these good people?

_Festus._ Of course not. But what shall I do? Stella, I feel that “Raphael” and “Sir Thomas Clifford” have inspired me to attempt love-making on my own account. Grant me the opportunity to make application for the situation made vacant by my unceremonious exit the other night. Let “Festus” apply once more.

_Stella._ What shall I say? (_To audience._) Would you? He seems to have found his tongue; and who knows but what he may make an agreeable beau? I think he had better call again; for to have a lover who can make love by borrowing, is, at least,—under the circumstances—under the circumstances—what is it, Festus?

_Festus._ Circumstances? Why, under the circumstances, I should say it was “_An Original Idea_.”

_George M. Baker._

NOTE. The “Readings” and “Scenes” maybe varied to suit the taste of the performers. “The Garden Scene” in “Romeo and Juliet,” scenes from “Ingomar,” “The School for Scandal,” etc., have been used with good effect.

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