Chapter 9

_The Skirts of the Park, Lodge, &c. as before.--A Table, spread with Fruits, &c._

_FRANCIS discovered placing the supper._

_Fra._ I know he loves to have his early supper in the fresh air; and, while he sups, not that I believe any thing can amuse him, yet I will try my little Savoyards' pretty voices. I have heard him speak as if he had loved music. [_Music without._] Oh, here they are.

_Enter ANNETTE and CLAUDINE, playing on their guitars._

Ann. _To welcome mirth and harmless glee,_ _We rambling minstrels, blythe and free,_ _With song the laughing hours beguile,_ _And wear a never-fading smile:_ _Where'er we roam_ _We find a home,_ _And greeting, to reward our toil._

Clau. _No anxious griefs disturb our rest,_ _Nor busy cares annoy our breast;_ _Fearless we sink in soft repose,_ _While night her sable mantle throws._ _With grateful lay,_ _Hail rising day,_ _That rosy health and peace bestows._

_During the Duet, the STRANGER looks from the Lodge window, and at the conclusion he comes out._

_Stra._ What mummery is this?

_Fra._ I hoped it might amuse you, sir.

_Stra._ Amuse _me_--fool!

_Fra._ Well then, I wished to amuse myself a little. I don't think my recreations are so very numerous.

_Stra._ That's true, my poor fellow; indeed they are not. Let them go on.--I'll listen.

_Fra._ But to please you, poor master, I fear it must be a sadder strain. Annette, have you none but these cheerful songs?

_Ann._ O, plenty. If you are dolefully given we can be as sad as night. I'll sing you an air Mrs. Haller taught me the first year she came to the Castle.

_Fra._ Mrs. Haller! I should like to hear that.

Ann. _I have a silent sorrow here,_ _A grief I'll ne'er impart;_ _It breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear,_ _But it consumes my heart;_ _This cherish'd woe, this lov'd despair,_ _My lot for ever be,_ _So, my soul's lord, the pangs I bear_ _Be never known by thee!_

_And when pale characters of death_ _Shall mark this alter'd cheek,_ _When my poor wasted trembling breath_ _My life's last hope would speak;_ _I shall not raise my eyes to Heav'n,_ _Nor mercy ask for me,_ _My soul despairs to be forgiv'n,_ _Unpardon'd, love, by thee._

_Stra._ [_Surprised and moved._] Oh! I have heard that air before, but 'twas with other words. Francis, share our supper with your friends--I need none. [_Enters the Lodge._

_Fra._ So I feared. Well, my pretty favourites, here are refreshments. So, disturbed again. Now will this gentleman call for more music, and make my master mad. Return when you observe this man is gone.--[_Exeunt ANNETTE and CLAUDINE.--FRANCIS sits and eats._]--I was in hopes, that I might at least eat my supper peaceably in the open air; but they follow at our heels like blood-hounds.

_Enter BARON._

_Bar._ My good friend, I must speak to your master.

_Fra._ Can't serve you.

_Bar._ Why not?

_Fra._ It's forbidden.

_Bar._ [_Offers money._] There! announce me.

_Fra._ Want no money.

_Bar._ Well, only announce me then.

_Fra._ I will announce you, sir; but it won't avail! I shall be abused, and you rejected. However, we can but try. [_Going._

_Bar._ I only ask half a minute. [_FRANCIS goes into the Lodge._] But when he comes, how am I to treat him? I never encountered a misanthrope before. I have heard of instructions as to conduct in society; but how I am to behave towards a being who loathes the whole world, and his own existence, I have never learned.

_Enter the STRANGER._

_Stra._ Now; what's your will?

_Bar._ I beg pardon, sir, for--[_Suddenly recognizing him._] Charles!

_Stra._ Steinfort! [_They embrace._

_Bar._ Is it really you, my dear friend?

_Stra._ It is.

_Bar._ Merciful Heavens! How you are altered!

_Stra._ The hand of misery lies heavy on me.--But how came you here? What want you?

_Bar._ Strange! Here was I ruminating how to address this mysterious recluse: he appears, and proves to be my old and dearest friend.

_Stra._ Then you were not in search of me, nor knew that I lived here?

_Bar._ As little as I know who lives on the summit of Caucasus. You this morning saved the life of my brother-in-law's only son: a grateful family wishes to behold you in its circle. You refused my sister's messenger; therefore, to give more weight to the invitation, I was deputed to be the bearer of it. And thus has fortune restored to me a friend, whom my heart has so long missed, and whom my heart just now so much requires.

_Stra._ Yes, I am your friend; your sincere friend. You are a true man; an uncommon man. Towards you my heart is still the same. But if this assurance be of any value to you--go--leave me--and return no more.

_Bar._ Stay! All that I see and hear of you is inexplicable. 'Tis you; but these, alas! are not the features which once enchanted every female bosom, beamed gaiety through all society, and won you friends before your lips were opened! Why do you avert your face? Is the sight of a friend become hateful? Or, do you fear, that I should read in your eye what passes in your soul? Where is that open look of fire, which at once penetrated into every heart, and revealed your own?

_Stra._ [_With asperity._] My look penetrate into every heart!--Ha! ha! ha!

_Bar._ Oh, Heavens! Rather may I never hear you laugh than in such a tone!--For Heaven's sake tell me, Charles! tell me, I conjure you, what has happened to you?

_Stra._ Things that happen every day; occurrences heard of in every street. Steinfort, if I am not to hate you, ask me not another question. If I am to love you, leave me.

_Bar._ Oh, Charles! awake the faded ideas of past joys. Feel, that a friend is near. Recollect the days we passed in Hungary, when we wandered arm in arm upon the banks of the Danube, while nature opened our hearts, and made us enamoured of benevolence and friendship. In those blessed moments you gave me this seal as a pledge of your regard. Do you remember it?

_Stra._ Yes.

_Bar._ Am I since that time become less worthy of your confidence?

_Stra._ No!

_Bar._ Charles! it grieves me that I am thus compelled to enforce my rights upon you. Do you know this scar?

_Stra._ Comrade! Friend! It received and resisted the stroke aimed at my life. I have not forgotten it. Alas! you knew not what a present you then made me.

_Bar._ Speak then, I beseech you.

_Stra._ You cannot help me.

_Bar._ Then I can mourn with you.

_Stra._ That I hate. Besides, I cannot weep.

_Bar._ Then give me words instead of tears. Both relieve the heart.

_Stra._ Relieve the heart! My heart is like a close-shut sepulchre. Let what is within it, moulder and decay.--Why, why open the wretched charnel-house to spread a pestilence around?

_Bar._ How horrid are your looks! For shame! A man like you thus to crouch beneath the chance of fortune!

_Stra._ Steinfort! I did think, that the opinion of all mankind was alike indifferent to me; but I feel that it is not so. My friend, you shall not quit me without learning how I have been robbed of every joy which life afforded. Listen: much misery may be contained in a few words. Attracted by my native country, I quitted you and the service. What pleasing pictures did I draw of a life employed in improving society, and diffusing happiness! I fixed on Cassel to be my abode. All went on admirably. I found friends. At length, too, I found a wife; a lovely, innocent creature, scarce sixteen years of age. Oh! how I loved her! She bore me a son and a daughter. Both were endowed by nature with the beauty of their mother. Ask me not how I loved my wife and children! Yes, then, then I was really happy. [_Wiping his eyes._] Ha! a tear! I could not have believed it. Welcome, old friends! 'Tis long since we have known each other. Well, my story is nearly ended. One of my friends, for whom I had become engaged, treacherously lost me more than half my fortune. This hurt me. I was obliged to retrench my expenses. Contentment needs but little. I forgave him. Another friend--a villain! to whom I was attached heart and soul; whom I had assisted with my means, and promoted by my interest, this fiend! seduced my wife, and bore her from me. Tell me, sir, is this enough to justify my hatred of mankind, and palliate my seclusion from the world?--Kings--laws--tyranny--or guilt can but imprison me, or kill me. But, O God! O God! Oh! what are chains or death compared to the tortures of a deceived yet doting husband!

_Bar._ To lament the loss of a faithless wife is madness.

_Stra._ Call it what you please--say what you please--I love her still.

_Bar._ And where is she?

_Stra._ I know not, nor do I wish to know.

_Bar._ And your children?

_Stra._ I left them at a small town hard by.

_Bar._ But why did you not keep your children with you? They would have amused you in many a dreary hour.

_Stra._ Amused me! Oh, yes! while their likeness to their mother would every hour remind me of my past happiness! No. For three years I have never seen them. I hate that any human creature should be near me, young or old! Had not ridiculous habits made a servant necessary, I should long since have discharged him; though he is not the worst among the bad.

_Bar._ Such too often are the consequences of great alliances. Therefore, Charles, I have resolved to take a wife from a lower rank of life.

_Stra._ You marry!--Ha! ha! ha!

_Bar._ You shall see her. She is in the house where you are expected. Come with me.

_Stra._ What! I mix again with the world!

_Bar._ To do a generous action without requiring thanks is noble and praise-worthy. But so obstinately to avoid those thanks, as to make the kindness a burden, is affectation.

_Stra._ Leave me! leave me! Every one tries to form a circle, of which he may be the centre. As long as there remains a bird in these woods to greet the rising sun with its melody, I shall court no other society.

_Bar._ Do as you please to-morrow; but give me your company this evening.

_Stra._ [_Resolutely._] No!

_Bar._ Not though it were in your power, by this single visit, to secure the happiness of your friend for life?

_Stra._ [_Starting._] Ha! then I must--But how?--

_Bar._ You shall sue in my behalf to Mrs. Haller--You have the talent of persuasion.

_Stra._ I! my dear Steinfort!

_Bar._ The happiness or misery of your friend depends upon it. I'll contrive that you shall speak to her alone. Will you?

_Stra._ I will; but upon one condition.

_Bar._ Name it.

_Stra._ That you allow me to be gone to-morrow, and not endeavour to detain me.

_Bar._ Go! Whither?

_Stra._ No matter! Promise this, or I will not come.

_Bar._ Well, I do promise. Come.

_Stra._ I have directions to give my servant.

_Bar._ In half an hour then we shall expect you. Remember, you have given your word.

_Stra._ I have. [_Exit BARON.--The STRANGER walks up and down, thoughtful and melancholy._]--Francis!

_Enter FRANCIS._

_Fra._ Sir!

_Stra._ Why are you out of the way?

_Fran._ Sir, I came when I heard you call.

_Stra._ I shall leave this place to-morrow.

_Fra._ With all my heart.

_Stra._ Perhaps to go into another land.

_Fra._ With all my heart again.

_Stra._ Perhaps into another quarter of the globe.

_Fra._ With all my heart still. Into which quarter?

_Stra._ Wherever Heaven directs! Away! away! from Europe! From this cultivated moral lazaret! Do you hear, Francis? To-morrow early.

_Fra._ Very well. [_Going._

_Stra._ Come here, come here first, I have an errand for you. Hire that carriage in the village; drive to the town hard by; you may be back by sun-set. I shall give you a letter to a widow who lives there. With her you will find two children. They are mine.

_Fra._ [_Astonished._] Your children, sir!

_Stra._ Take them, and bring them hither.

_Fra._ Your children, sir!

_Stra._ Yes, mine! Is it so very inconceivable?

_Fra._ That I should have been three years in your service, and never have heard them mentioned, is somewhat strange.

_Stra._ Pshaw!

_Fra._ You have been married then?

_Stra._ Go, and prepare for our journey.

_Fra._ That I can do in five minutes. [_Going._

_Stra._ I shall come and write the letter directly.

_Fra._ Very well, sir. [_Exit._

_Stra._ Yes, I'll take them with me. I'll accustom myself to the sight of them. The innocents! they shall not be poisoned by the refinements of society. Rather let them hunt their daily sustenance upon some desert island with their bow and arrow; or creep, like torpid Hottentots, into a corner, and stare at each other. Better to do nothing than to do evil. Fool that I was, to be prevailed upon once more to exhibit myself among these apes! What a ridiculous figure shall I be! and in the capacity of a suitor too! Pshaw! he cannot be serious! 'Tis but a friendly artifice to draw me from my solitude. Why did I promise him? Yes, my sufferings have been many; and, to oblige a friend, why should I hesitate to add another painful hour to the wretched calendar of my life! I'll go. I'll go. [_Exit._