Chapter 8

Enter _Longueville_ and _Bertrand_.

_Long._ Traitor! infamous, unblushing traitor! Florian has arrived, arrived in safety: every way I have been betrayed; and now to screen your perfidy from punishment, you dare insult my ear with forgeries too monstrous and too gross for patience.

_Bert._ Hear me, my lord! as I have life, as I have a soul, so have I spoken truly, the grave yawned asunder to forbid the blow, it was no vision of my cowardice--I saw--distinctly saw-it was _Eugenia_! as in her days of nature, entire and undecayed, the spectre-form stood terribly before me, it moved--it gazed--it frowned me into madness!

_Long._ Villain! still would you deceive me!

_Bert._ Ah, my lord, you would deceive yourself. I swear it was Eugenia, her shadowy arms were stretched between the lifted dagger and the prostrate youth; while her swift dark eye flashed on mine with brightness insupportable: such was her dreadful look, when, with her bleeding infant clinging to her breast, she sprang into the flames, and--

_Long._ Hush! [_the doors of an inner chamber open, and De Valmont appears conversing with Florian and Geraldine._] We are interrupted; quick! change those ruffled features into smiles, quick! mark me, wretch!

_De Val._ (_coming forward_) My boy, your preservation was indeed a miracle. Ascribe not to the vague results of chance, that which belongs to Providence alone. Ah, here is my kinsman--one, whose anxious fears on your account, have held him a sleepless watcher through the night.

_Long._ (_with affected fervency_) Florian! a thousand welcomes: the return of friends at all times is a joy, but when they come through dangers to our arms, there's transport in the meeting. Tell me--what strange tale is this I catch imperfectly from every lip? can it be possible you were assailed last night by ruffians in the wood?

_Flor._ Yes, my dear baron, yes! but morning has chased away night, and I am out of the wood now; therefore let us banish gloomy retrospections, and yield the present hour to bliss without alloy.

_De Val._ Not so: in this your friends must claim an interest dearer than your own: these men of blood shall be pursued to justice, if Alsace yet hold them.

_Long._ Be that my task. (_to Flor._) Should you recognize their persons?

_Flo._ Positively no--their disguises were impenetrable.

_Ger._ But their voices, Florian, you heard them speak?

_Flo._ True, sweet Geraldine, a few broken sentences; but their accents were not framed like thine, to touch the ear but once, yet vibrate on the memory forever.

_Long._ Indulge my curiosity, how were you preserved?

_Flo._ Well, baron, since you will force me to act the hero in my own drama, thus runs my story: I was defenceless, helpless, hopeless: two sturdy knaves had mastered my struggling arms, and the dagger of a third gleamed against my throat, when suddenly a female form appeared before us; in an instant, as if by magic, the murderers relaxed their hold, shuddered, recoiled, uttered cries, and fled the spot, the female mute and motionless remained.

_Bert._ (_aside to Longueville._) You mark.

_Long._ (_repulsing him._) Silence!

_Flo._ Cowardice is ever found the mate of Cruelty: this stranger was doubtless regarded by the villains as a preternatural agent, she proved however, a mere mortal, frail and palpable as ourselves.

_Bert._ (_listening with tremulous attention._) God! living!

_Long._ (_not regarding Bertrand, who has drawn behind._) Whence came this woman? What was she?

_Flo._ Alas! the most pitiable object in nature--an unhappy maniac; she resides at the same cottage where I found shelter from the storm.

_Bert._ (_as if electrified by a sudden thought._) Direct me, heaven!

[He glides silently out of the gallery unobserved by all.]

_Long._ Were not any other circumstances linked with this adventure?

_Flo._ None of consequence: but I suspect one of the ruffians was known to this wretched woman; her incoherent words implied that she recognized in him an ancient enemy; but her frail remains of intellect, were, for a time, quite unsettled by the terror of the scene; she fled from me to her chamber in dismay, and at daybreak I left the cottage without a second interview.

_Long._ Florian! it is necessary this woman should be interrogated further-- (_with much emotion_) not a moment must be lost--dear count, excuse me for an hour, my anxiety admits not of delay. I will myself visit this cottage instantly. [_Exit._

_Ger._ (_half aside to De Valmont_) Uncle, if the baron tarries beyond the hour, we must not wait for his return, recollect it is to be at noon exactly.

_Flo._ (_overhearing._) And what at noon, dear Geraldine?

_De Val._ (_smiling_) Florian, you are destined to be our hero in peace as well as war--my niece has planned a little fete in compliment to the conquerors of Nordlingen.

_Ger._ Fy, uncle, Florian was not to have known of it till the moment, you have betrayed my secret, now as a due punishment for the treason, I impose upon you to appear at our fete in person.

_De Val._ What a demand! --I, who never--

_Ger._ Nay, if it be only for a minute, positively you must come among us--nay, I will not be denied.

_De Val._ Well, you reign a fairy sovereign for the day, and if it be your will to play the despot, your subjects, though they murmur, must obey.

_Ger._ (_embracing him_) There's my kindest uncle! thanks! Florian I warn you not to stir towards the terrace till I summon you, beware of disobedience, I have the power to punish.

_Flor._ And to reward also.

_Ger._ Ah! at least I have the inclination, it will be your own fault if ever my actions and my wishes dissociate, or Geraldine refuse a boon when Florian is the suitor. [_Exit._

_Flor._ (_looking after her_) Geraldine! too kind, too lovely Geraldine, ah! sir, is she not admirable?

_De Val._ She has been accounted so by many in your absence. I cannot estimate her beauty, but I know her virtue; and the last fond wish left clinging to this heart is Geraldine's felicity. I shall endeavour to secure it, by uniting her in marriage with a worthy object.

_Flor._ Sir!--marriage did you say? Gracious heaven! Marriage!

_De Val._ What is it that surprizes you? I can assure you, Geraldine already has been addressed by lovers.

_Flor._ To doubt it were a blasphemy against perfection. Oh! Sir, it is not that--oh! no.

_De Val._ Wherefore, my dear Florian, so much emotion? Does the idea of Geraldine's marriage afflict you?

_Flor._ I am not such an ingrate--her happiness is the prayer of my soul to heaven, and I would perish to insure it.

_De Val._ (_after a pause, during which he regards the agitated Florian with tender earnestness._) Young man, I have long since determined to address you with a brief recital of circumstances necessary to your future decisions in life. Every word of that recital must draw with it a life-drop from my heart, for I shall speak to you of the past, and recollection to me is agony. The trial we once have considered as inevitable, it is fruitless to defer. Draw yourself a seat, and afford me for a few minutes your fixt attention.

(_Florian_ presents a chair to the _Count_, and then seats himself.)

_De Val._ Florian, you now behold me, such as I have seemed, even from your infancy--a suffering, querulous, cheerless, hopeless, broken-hearted man--one who has buried all the energies of his nature, and only preserves a few of its charities tremblingly alive. It was not with me always thus--I once possessed a mind and a body vigorously moulded, a heart for enterprize, and an arm for achievement. Grief, not time, has palsied those endowments. Born to exalted rank, and luxuriously bread, like the new-fledged eaglet rushing from his nest at once against the sun, eager, elate, and confident, I entered upon life.

_Flor._ Ah! that malignant clouds should obscure so bright a dawn!

_De Val._ My spirit panted for a career of arms--civil war then desolated France, and, at the age of twenty, I embraced the cause of my religion and my king. Fortune, prodigal of her flatteries, twined my brow with clustering laurels, and at the close of my first campaign, my sovereign's favor and the people's love already hailed me by a hero's title. Fatigued with glory--then--ah! Florian! then it was I welcom'd love!--a first, a last, an only and eternal passion! (_Pauses with emotion._)

_Flor._ Nay, sir, desist--these recollections shake your mind too strongly.

_De Val._ No, no--let me proceed. I can command myself--Florian! I wooed and won an angel for my bride--my expression is not a lover's rhapsody--at this distant period, seriously I pronounce it--Eugenia approached as closely to perfection as the Creator has permitted to his creature! Such as she was, to say I loved her were imperfect phrase! my passion was enthusiasm--was idolatry! Our marriage-bed was early blessed with increase--and as my lip greeted with a father's kiss the infant, my heart bounded with a new transport towards its mother.--My felicity seemed perfect! Now, Florian, mark! My country a second time called me to her battles; I left my kinsman, Longueville, to guard the dear-ones of my soul at home, then sped to join our army in a distant province. I was wounded and made prisoner by the enemy. When I recovered health and liberty, I found a rumour of my death had in the interval prevailed through France. I trembled lest Eugenia should receive the tale, and flew in person to prevent her terrors. It was evening when I reached the hills of Languedoc, and looked impatiently towards my cheerful home beneath. I looked--the last sunbeam glared redly upon smoking ruins! Oh! oh! the blood now chills and curdles round my heart--the wolves of war had rushed by night upon my slumbering fold--fire and sword had desolated all. I called upon my wife and my infant. I trembled on their ashes while I called! (_he sinks back exhausted in his chair._)

_Flo._ Tremendous hour! so dire a shock might well have paralized a Roman firmness.

_De Val._ (_resuming faintly._) Florian, there is a grief that never found its image yet in words. I prayed for death--nay, madness! but heaven, for its own best purposes, denied me either boon. I was ordained still to live, and still be conscious of my misery. For many weeks I wandered through the country, silent, sullen, stupified! My people watched, but dared not comfort me. Abjuring social life, I plunged into the deepest solitudes, to shun all commerce with my kind. 'Twas at the close of a sultry day, the last of August, that I entered a forest at the foot of the Cevennes, and worn with long fatigue and misery, stretched myself upon the moss for momentary rest. On the sudden, a faint and feeble moan pierced my ear; instinctively I moved the branches at my side, and at the foot of a rude stone-cross beheld a desolate infant, unnaturally left to perish in the wilderness! It was famishing--expiring. I raised it to my breast, and its little arms twined feebly round my neck Florian! thou wert heaven's gracious instrument to reclaim a truant to his duties! Welcome! I cried to thee, young brother in adversity!--"thou art deserted by thy mortal parents, and my heavenly father has forsaken me!" From that moment I felt I had a motive left to cherish life, since my existence could be useful to a fellow-being--my wanderings finished, and I settled in Alsace. Eighteen years have followed that event; but I shall not comment on their course.

_Flor._ (_with energy._) Yet, sir, those years must not, shall not pass forgotten. Deeds of generous charity have made them sacred, and an orphan's blessing wafts their eulogy to heaven--_he casts himself at De Valmont's feet_). Friend! protector! more than parent! the beings who had called me into life denied my claim, and you performed the duties nature had renounced. Ah! sir, I am thoughtless, volatile, my manners wild--but, from my inmost soul, I love, I reverence, I bless my benefactor!

_De Val._ Rise young man! your virtues have repaid my cares. Here let us dismiss the past, and advert to the future. Geraldine is my heiress; my niece and my vassals must receive the same master: both are objects of my care, and I would confide them only to a man of honor. Florian! let Geraldine become your wife--be you hereafter the protector of my people.

_Flor._ Merciful powers! what is it that I hear? I?--the child of accident and mystery: a wretched foundling: I?

_De Val._ Young man, your sentiments and your actions have proved themselves the legitimate offspring of honor, and I require no pedigree for limbs and features. Fortune forbade you to inherit a name, but she has granted you a prouder boast: you have founded one. Common men vaunt of the actions of their forefathers, but the superior spirit declares his own! Nay, no reply--I never form or break a resolution lightly. I know your heart: I am acquainted with Geraldine's; they beat responsive to each other--your passion has my consent: your marriage shall receive my blessing. Farewell. [_He exits suddenly, and prevents Florian by his action from any reply._]

_Flor._ Heard I aright? Yes, he pronounced it--"Geraldine is thine." Earth's gross substantial touch is felt no more: I mount in air, and rest on sunbeams! Oh! if I dream now--royal Mab! abuse me ever with thy dear deceits; for in serious wakeful hours, truth ne'er can touch my senses with a joy so bright. O! I could sing, dance, laugh, shout; and yet methinks, had I a woman's privilege, I'd rather weep; for tears are pleasure's oracles as well as grief's.

Enter _L'Eclair_.

_L'Ec._ So, Captain! you are well encountered. I have sad forebodings that our shining course of arms is threatened with eclipse. If I may use the boldness to advise, we shall strike our tents, and file off in quick march without beat of drum. Our laurels are in more danger here than in the midst of the enemy's lines.

_Flor._ How now! my doughty 'squire: what may be our present jeopardy?

_L'Ec._ Ah! captain, the sex--the dear seductive sex; this house is the modern Capua, and we are the Hannibals of France, toying away our severe virtues amid its voluptuousness. One damsel throws forward the prettiest ancle in anatomy, and cries, "Mr. L'Eclair, I'm your's for a Waltz": a second languishes upon me from large blue melting eyes, and whispers, "Mr. L'Eclair, will you take a stroll by moonlight in the grove?" while a third, in all the ripe round plumpness of uneasy health, calls the modest blood to my fingers' ends, by requesting me "to adjust some error in the pinning of her 'kerchief." O! captain, captain, heros are but men, men but flesh, and flesh is but weakness; therefore, let us briefly put on a Parthian valor, and strive to conquer by a flight!

_Flor._ Knave! prate of deserting these dear precious scenes again, and I'll finish your career myself by a coup-de-main. No, no; change churlish dreams and braving trumpets to mellifluous flutes. I am to be married. Varlet, wish me joy.

_L'Ec._ Certainly, captain, I _do_ wish you joy; when a man has once determined upon matrimony he acts wisely to collect the congratulations of his friends beforehand, for heaven only knows, whether there may be any opportunity for them afterwards. May I take the freedom to inquire the lady?

_Flor._ 'Tis _she_--L'Eclair, 'tis _she_, the only she, the peerless, priceless Geraldine.

_L'Ec._ "_Peerless_" I grant the lady, but as to her being "_priceless_," I should think for my own poor particular, that when I bartered my liberty for a comely bedfellow, I was paying full value for my goods, besides a swinging overcharge for the fashion of the make.

_Flor._ Tush! man, 'tis not by form or feature I compute my prize. Geraldine's _mind_, not her beauty, is the magnet of my love. The _graces_ are the fugitive handmaids of youth, and dress their charge with flowers as fleeting as they are fair; but the _virtues_ faithfully o'erwatch the couch of age, and when the flaunting rose has wither'd, twine the cheerful evergreen, crowning true lovers freshly to the last! [_Exit._

_L'Ec._ "True lovers!" well, now I love Love, myself, particularly when 'tis mix'd with brandy! like the loves of the landlady of Lisle, and the bandy-legg'd captain.[*]

SONG.

A landlady of France, she loved an officer, 'tis said, And this officer he dearly loved her brandy, oh! Sigh'd she, "I love this officer, although his nose is red, And his legs are what his regiment call bandy, oh!"

2

But when the bandy officer was order'd to the coast; How she tore her lovely locks that look'd so sandy, oh! "Adieu my soul!" said she, "if you write, pray pay the post, But before we part, let's take a drop of brandy, oh!"

3

She fill'd him out a bumper, just before he left the town, And another for herself, so neat and handy, oh! So they kept their spirits up, by their pouring spirits down, For love is, like the cholic, cured with brandy, oh!

4

"Take a bottle on't," said she, "for you're going into camp; In your tent, you know, my love, 'twill be the dandy, oh!" "You're right," says he, "my life! for a tent is very damp; And 'tis better, with my tent, to take some brandy, oh!"

[Footnote: For this speech, and the song that follows, the author is indebted to the pen of George Colman, Esq.]