Chapter 3

wing the gates of the town of Corbey; at the left wing the chateau of baron_ Ravensburg.

_Enter countess_ Roland _and_ Ulrica, _from the chateau._

_Countess._ So, this is grateful; this is graceful. Answer me. Who has maintained you? who has educated you? and from whom did you get these fine clothes and fine manners? From me! you took your manners from me!

_Ulrica._ Took your manners! Lord, aunt! and yet you call me ungrateful!

_Coun._ And last summer, who took a fine house for you at Aix-la-Chapelle? and, starting you on a matrimonial speculation, so dazzled and decoyed old baron Ravensburg, that he not only invited us to his chateau here, but selected you to be his son's wife, the wife to the hero of Palestine. And yet, though I told you, modern friends followed new houses as naturally as rats run from old ones, you were for my laying out my last florin on a cottage, a cheap paltry cottage.

_Ul._ And why, aunt? Because I thought we should both most like what we were most used to.

_Coun._ Most used to!

_Ul._ To be sure. Till a few years ago, when you went to live at Roland castle, did'nt you keep such a snug little cot in Franconia, that you might have packed it up and taken it with you?

_Coun._ My Franconia cottage! mercy on me!

_Ul._ Yes. Don't I still wish myself in that cot? I do, I do: for it's all very well if a person have the misfortune to be born a fine lady--but to be made one; to be taught to talk without thinking, stare without looking, and be red without blushing! Lord, who'd go and waste money at fairs and carnivals, when they might see curiosities in every great house for nothing!

_Coun._ If you dare hint to baron Ravensburg--

_Ul._ Not I! I dare no more tell baron Ravensburg what you once were, than I dare tell your rural relations what you now are: for if he knew you were once Winifred Winbuttle, and they knew--Lord! Lord! if those I so long lived with, if aunt Alice, and her son Christopher--dear darling cousin Christopher!

_Countess_ (_who has been walking about in a rage_). Jade! Jezabel! how often must I remind you, that I no longer acknowledge this Franconia relationship? That I am, and have been, since last winter, of pure, noble, Norman extraction, and widow of the great count Roland, madam, who, struck with my charms, soon married me, madam, and being married, soon died, madam.

_Ulrica._ Very, very soon. And you may well take it to heart; for, alas! his estate went with his title--went to his nephew, young count Roland, who, after an absence of many years, returned from his travels on that most melancholy day. (_half crying._)

_Countess_ (_weeping._) He did; and grief, grief prevented my seeing him; but you saw him Ulrica, and by what I heard of the tender interview, if the count hadn't been suddenly called away again----Oh! 'tis a sweet estate? one third of it would be consolation for any loss.

_Ulrica._ There! You think I'm to exterminate the whole German nobility, whilst I think there are even doubts about the young baron Ravensburg. Again, from my window this morning, again I saw him in close conversation with the sweet interesting Agnes--and if he love an humble orphan, and I love the humble Christopher--Now, do, aunt, do let me tell him, and every body, you're become a fine lady: if I don't, they'll never find it out, aunt.

_Countess._ Talks of your cousin, Christopher! whom I hav'n't seen for years, and never mean to see again! Peace, I insist! And for Ravensburg--your betroth'd's--loving Agnes, the Baron's dread of that marriage will hasten yours; or if it don't, and this string snaps, in young count Roland we've perhaps a better. But see--our host--hush! for your life not one word of Franconia.

_Baron_ (_speaks without._) Now, prepare yourselves to receive our illustrious visiter with the honour due to his rank.

_Enters._

Why countess, I've been looking for you every where. What do you think? The prince Palatine means to copy your example; like you, he means to be a visiter at my chateau, and be present at the celebration of my son's nuptials. His train has already pass'd the aqueduct. (_A strain of music._) Hark! he approaches. (_Calls on the servants._) Come along all of you, and make your best bows and curtsies.

_The procession enters._

(_After procession._) Now, Ulrica, as I am not one of your silver-toned orators, do you give to the warriors from the holy land a most harmonious greeting.

RECITATIVE--_Ulrica._

With well-earn'd laurels in the Christian cause, Receive, great chief, your native land's applause.

AIR.

Fam'd crusaders! just as brave, Form'd a nation's right to save! Now repose on tranquil plains, Listen to our dulcet strains. Peace inviting, Joy exciting, 'Till the foe again assail, Then the glorious contest hail.

_Prince._ Delightful! exquisite! (_To Ravensburg who looks dejected._) Nay, Ravensburg, the die is cast, the solemn oath is sworn, and should your altered looks create the least suspicion of what's past, beware! beware! for 'tis a secret that was ne'er divulged--not e'en your chosen partner must suspect that you're invested with a free knight's rank.

_Rav._ 'Tis sworn--'tis secret.

_Baron_ (_advancing with all respect towards the prince_). My liege, this honour to a poor old simple baron----

_Prince._ Sir, you've a title that surpasses pedigree. You are the father of the gallant Ravensburg; and since he comes to claim the soldier's brightest, best reward, fair woman's love, I trust to find you have selected one who richly merits such an envied prize.

_Baron_ (_introducing Ulrica._) This is the lady, your highness; and she not only boasts great rank, and, as you see great beauty; but she has nothing of what destroyed my matrimonial happiness--no distant relations, no poor cousins, nephews, nieces, and grandchildren, who, on a rich man marrying into a family, actually treat him as private property, and go on getting more cousins.

_Prince_ (_to Ravensburg._) She seems as artless as if trained in humble unsophisticated life; and I prognosticate, will yield that calm content which I, alas! can never hope to taste--never!--Come let us in, and on tomorrow be the nuptials solemnized. (_Ravensburg appeals._)

_Enter_ Agnes.

_Agnes._ Madam--the----(_countess stops her_.)

_Prince._ Ay, Ravensburg, tomorrow; for, harassed as we are by foul conspiracy, our stay's precarious; and 'till we're summon'd to the scene of danger, let loud festivity and outward show dismiss our inward grief.

_Ravens._ My liege, may I suggest----

_Baron._ Suggest nothing--'tis all settled--the prince has said it. I've said it; and tomorrow the priest, shall say it. Lead on--away--and yet, bless me, how rude I am. I have introduced your highness only to Ulrica. That, entering the chateau, is her aunt, the countess Roland. (_Countess curtsies to the prince, and exit_). That next to her is Agnes, the poor orphan Agnes.

_Ravens._ The poor! My liege, though rank nor fortune smil'd upon her birth, she is so rich in more substantial charms, that you, her sovereign, might be proud to boast a daughter of such peerless worth.

_Prince_ (_starting, and gazing on Agnes with great emotion._) That form, those eyes! that mark'd, majestic, ne'er to be forgotten mien! (_Agnes curtsies, and exit._) Merciful powers! Whence came she, Ravensburg? Fly, swift recall her! yet hold! for if it prove----Impossible, it cannot be!--and the dread vision past, we are ourselves, and hail the festive scene.

[_Music. Exeunt into the chateau; the baron and Oliver remaining to usher the party in. The baron is following; Oliver stops him._

_Oliver._ One word, only one word from your faithful old Oliver, who can't help reminding you, that he became your servant this day thirty years.

_Baron._ I know you can't. You are always reminding me; and if you go on presuming upon long service, and making honesty so very troublesome--give me a civil downright rascal! And so follow, and assist in preparing for the glorious union of the Rolands and the Ravensburgs--of two families who boast pedigrees.

_Oliver._ Granted: but I've seen what you might, have seen. Your son don't love Ulrica: he loves my poor dear Agnes!

_Baron._ Granted. Thanks to the countess, I've seen it ever since he came from the wars; and if Agnes had seen it, she had never seen my house again; but as she chose to be discreet, she shall now see an union that will blazon our family hall with Norman, Saxon, Spanish, Danish--in short, with heraldry never yet seen or heard of.

_Oliver._ Stop--one word. (_Baron breaks from him, and exit._) So this is love of pedigree: this is because he reckons by titles, not by character. And if a certain lady, whose name I won't mention, were not countess Roland, he'd see she was no more than a deep, decoying, match-making----Plague on't! I hope she won't next hook him into the noose; for if she had a husband every morning, my life on't, she'd be a widow before night. Oh lord! poor Agnes, poor young master, and poor old Oliver. (_Remains in a thoughtful posture._)

_Enter_ Christopher _through the gates._

_Chris._ (_looking round._) Dear, dear, what a nice, sweet, pretty place! Well, I declare when travellers used to talk of their fine sights, I used to wink and nod, as much as to say, I believe it's all bounce. But when I go back, and describe that object (_pointing to the abbey in the distance_) and this object (_turning round, and running against Oliver_)--Sir, I beg pardon for calling you an object. But you see I am just come from the woods, Sir--from the woods about six leagues off, Sir, where I was hawking with my lord, when he--he--he--od'rabbit it!--Hit or miss, it will be rare sport.

_Oliver._ What sport? And who are you? (_angrily._)

_Chris._ Why, that's it. I want to know who I am; and perhaps you can tell me. (_Gets close to him._) Little Solomon, you see, one of our under falconers, and who has seen all my relations, come t'other day to this town for a basket of provisions for my lord and his hawking-party; and as he was staring about, who shou'd he see ushered into a fine house, and hear being call'd by a fine name, but my aunt Winifred--old Winifred Winbuttle, the housekeeper! Very well--I cou'dn't say or unsay this, you know; so I directly gets leave of my lord to come myself, and stare about; for thinks I, if I _am_ made a fool of, I'm only where I was, you know. (_With affected simplicity._)

_Oliver._ Certainly, or worse; for to suppose I'll stay chattering here about Solomon and Winifred, proves, if not quite, that you are very near an idiot! (_going._)

_Chris._ (_taking his arm._) Very--I'm very near an idiot! And yet, do you know, upon my honour, Solomon described every thing!--from aunt Winifred, and her great title, down to the Gothic latch'd gate, and the little twaddling old butler who open'd it: he did--and if I could but once--(_looking about_)--only just once--(_seeing the chateau_)--Why that's it! by Solomon's description, that must be the very house, that the gate, and you--he! he! he!--Come, I'm no fool now! Icod, I see who you are.

_Oliver_ (_standing before the door._) Dolt, booby! I leave you to your folly! But I would have you know, there are none in this house, none but the marchioness Alberti, the countess of Roland--

_Chris._ Who?

_Oliver._ The countess of Roland, and her niece Ulrica; so that's your final answer from the little twaddling old butler. [_Exit into the chateau._

_Chris._ (_strutting, &c._) 'Tis she!--Aunt Winifred, by law, takes a countess's title; and I--pshaw! I'm like other great people, I'll take any thing!--Not so--some three score hungry, ragged relations, they'll take possession of that beautiful tenement (_pointing to the chateau_) and Ulrica--sweet Ulrica--will take possession of this beautiful tenement (_himself._) And then--Oh, my dear Christopher! how you do long for the wedding day!

SONG--_Christopher._

I.

I'll tap at her door when the morning shall break, And with the first lark I'll be singing; I'll whisper quite soft, "Now, my dear love, awake, For the church bells are merrily ringing. The bridegroom, impatient, no longer can rest: The bridemen and bridemaids quite smartly are drest; The drums and the fifes so cheerily play, The shepherds all chant a gay roundelay; With garlands of roses fair damsels advance, The young and the old partake in the dance; Such mirth and such rapture never were known; I'm surpris'd that so long you will tarry: I prithee, Ulrica--prithee, come down; For the sport of all sports is--to marry."

II

When home we return, we'll sit down to feast, Our friends shall behold us with pleasure; She'll sip with my lord--I'll drink with the priest, We'll laugh and we'll quaff without measure. The toast and the joke shall go joyfully round, With love and good humour the room shall resound. The slipper be hid--the stocking let fall, And rare blindman's-buff shall keep up the ball; Whilst the merry spinette, and the sweet tambourine, Shall heighten and perfect the gay festive scene. Such mirth and such rapture never were known, I'm surprised that so long you will tarry; I prithee, Ulrica--prithee, come down; For the sport of all sports is--to marry.

[_Exit into the chateau._