THE BLACK DOCTOR.

Front matter

Enlarge this image.

Dramatis Personæ.

First Performed at the City of London Theatre, July, 1841.

Servants, Soldiers, Citizens, &c.

COSTUME.

FABIAN.—1st Dress: (That of a planter) breeches and gaiters—short white coat or jacket—straw hat. 2nd Dress: A Court suit—powder—sword, &c. Fabian is not a black man, but a handsome Mulatto, yellow and brown.

The other dresses are in accordance with the French costume of the period, 1793, when the toilet was incomplete without powder. A change of dress is indispensable for the leading characters between each act.

STAGE DIRECTIONS.

EXITS AND ENTRANCES.—R. means Right; L. Left; D. F. Door in Flat; R. D. Righ Door; L. D. Left Door; S. E. Second Entrance; U. E. Upper Entrance; M. D. Middle Door; L. U. E. Left Upper Entrance; R. U. E. Right Upper Entrance; L. S. E. Left Second Entrance; P. S. Prompt Side; O. P. Opposite Prompt.

RELATIVE POSITIONS.—R. means Right; L. Left; C. Centre; R. C. Right of Centre; L. C. Left of Centre.

R           RC           C.           LC.           L.

The Reader is supposed to be on the Stage facing the Audience.

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Main text

ACT I.

SCENE I.

—The Wine-shop of Hannibal Grimaud, at the town of St. Louis, in the Isle of Bourbon.

Enter GRIMAUD, LIZETTE, and SUSANNE, R.

Grim.

Don't talk, woman, but hear me! I'm Commander-in-Chief; as the great Louis said, “I'm France”—which means, I'm everything and everybody.

Liz.

But now, husband, consider—

Grim.

Don't waste your breath by husbanding me! I'm firm, inflexible! a solid square! there's no breaking through me.

Susan.

But, dear father—

Grim.

Don't father me, you jade; or rather, don't get anybody else to father me. I tell you, when you do marry, it shall be to a man of my choosing. Do you imagine that I, Hannibal Grimaud, who have served seventeen campaigns, will condescend to marry my daughter to a common barber?

Liz.

Pierre Briquet isn't a common barber; he keeps as good a shop as any in the town, and is well to do in the world beside.

Grim.

Not a common barber! look at my chin; how dare you contradict me? didn't he shave me yesterday with his own hand?

Susan.

That was out of friendship; for, you know, your own hand shook so with—

Grim.

Silence, you impudent baggage, or I'll shake you. Once for all, I tell you I'm not to be shaved into any such connections; and as for that other suitor of yours—that threadpaper fellow, Jacques Fils, why, he's a fool.

Liz.

He's as good a young man as any in town.

Grim.

Good! good for nothing.

Liz.

Sober, steady, and industrious.

Susan.

And an excellent workman.

Liz.

Two such suitors are not to be despised.

Susan.

And I'm sure men are scarce enough in the colony, unless you'd have me marry a blackamoor.

Grim.

You shall marry whom I please, you jade, and he shall be as black as I like. I tell you Pierre Briquet and Jacques Fils are very well in their way; but be prudent, girl; give your best smiles to the best customers. Remember you're a soldier's daughter; and though your post may be a wine-shop, let your heart be surrounded with a chevaux de frize of pride, which shall render it impervious to the puffs of a barber, or all the fine-drawn compliments of a tailor.

Liz.

I'm sure Susanne has all the proper pride of her mother's family.

Grim.

Lather and soapsuds, what do you mean? why, you were only a laundress when I raised you to the honourable distinction of a soldier's wife! Her mother's family indeed—she has little to boast of on that score.

Liz.

Score, indeed! your washing-score was long enough when I married you, and you were only a—

Grim.

Silence, woman!

(Looking round.)

Here come some neighbours; order, to your post. And remember, I'm commander.

Enter PIERRE BRIQUET and JACQUES FILS, L.

Welcome, neighbours, welcome.

Bri.

Good morning, friend Grimaud; I've some news for you; so just step in, though I'm in a terrible hurry.

Grim.

Ay; good, I hope?

Bri.

For me, at any rate; but first, some wine; my throat's as dry as the high road.

Jac.

And so is mine.

Grim.

Susanne, some wine. Ah, this is a fine country.

Bri.

Do you say so?

Grim.

Ay, for wine's cheap, and one's always thirsty—ha, ha!

All.

Ha, ha! very good.

(Susanne brings wine.)

Grim.

Well, Master Briquet, now for your news.

Bri.

Well, first and foremost, my shop's to let.

Susan.

Your shop?

Bri.

Yes, my shop, pretty one; I'm this day engaged by the Chevalier St. Luce, as his valet and confidential attendant.

Susan.

What! Mademoiselle de la, Reynerie's cousin, and who they say is to be her husband?

Bri.

So they say; and now she's her own mistress, the death of her mother having removed all restraint.

Grim.

But is the death of the Marchioness authenticated?

Bri.

Why, seeing the vessel she was to have sailed to France in was wrecked, and every soul has perished, there's very little doubt of the matter. Ah, poor Mademoiselle de la Reynerie! she has had two narrow escapes, for grief and anxiety had nearly killed her.

Grim.

Ay, but the Black Doctor saved her both times.

Liz.

Only to think, now, that a mulatto, and a slave, should have become the most eminent physician in all the island!

Grim.

The Black Doctor isn't a slave.

Liz.

Well, but he was before he was free.

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Grim.

Don't you run down people, wife of mine. Remember what you were before I married you.

Bri.

But the strangest thing of all is, that after the Black Doctor had saved the life of Mademoiselle de la Reynerie, and become domiciled in the family, he should suddenly disappear, and now nearly six months have elapsed since he was seen here in St. Louis, though some of the negroes say he has been observed wandering on the cliffs, but always avoiding anyone who appeared to seek him.

Grim.

Well, everybody likes the Black Doctor, and so they should, if it were only for the services he has rendered Mademoiselle de la Reynerie; she'll be a treasure to the man that wins her.

Bri.

And she's so rich, too; plenty of gold and jewels; plantations here, and estates in Fraace.

Grim.

Unexceptionable and desirable plunder, friend Briquet, and worth leading a forlorn hope for.

Susan.

I suppose we may look soon, then, for a wedding?

Bri.

Why, can't exactly say, though the Chevalier will shortly honour me with his entire confidence, and I'll let you know as soon as we arrange affairs.

Grim.

(Goes up the stage, Lizette follows.)

We, indeed.

Bri.

I say, Susanne, what pleasure I should have in curling you up for a certain day.

Susan.

Curling me up, indeed! what do you mean?

Bri.

Though art couldn't improve you, Susanne. Macassar oil, bergamot, and eau de Cologne would be only adding perfumery to the violet.

Susan.

La! Briquet, how you do talk?

Jac.

(Aside, very melancholy.)

I see my suit cut on the cross; soft soap carries it.

Susan.

What's the matter, Jacques? you seem dull to-day.

Jac.

(Very spoony.)

Not particular.

Bri.

It's only the thoughts of losing my company, Susanne; quite natural, you know! the needle always inclines to the pole—but I must be off.

Jac.

(Joyfully.)

What! are you going?

Bri.

Yes, and I'm going to take you with me; you don't think I'd leave you here with Susanne?

Jac.

(Going up.)

Heigho!

Bri.

Besides, I must attend the Chevalier; he will be expecting me. Good bye, Susanne, I shall see you again soon; good day, Grimaud; good day, Madame Grimaud.

Grim.

If you hear any news of the Black Doctor, mind you let us now.

Bri.

It's likely I shall; for little Lia, the foster sister of Mademoiselle de la Reynerie, is very ill; and as he can't have left the island, no doubt he'll be found to attend upon her; but I must say good bye once more, Susanne.

(Aside.)

I shall see you again this evening. Come along, Jacques.

Jac.

(Sorrowfully.)

Good bye all.

(Looking at Susanne.)

Heigho!

                                         [Exit at the door.

Grim.

That Briquet's a greater puppy than ever; and as for the other, why, he's a perfect idiot. Come, bustle about, it's near dinner-time.

Susan.

Puppy, indeed! I'm sure Briquet's not at all a puppy.

Liz.

Nor poor Jacques half such a fool as he looks to be; but nobody is good enough for you.

Grim.

Yes, you're good enough for me, but don't dare dispute with me; I'll teach you to mutiny; to the right about, march!

                                         [They go off, he follows, R.

SCENE II.

—Fabian's Hut, constructed of bamboo an opening R., facing the audience, and leading to a garden. In the garden is seen a green bank, another opening at the back, which is the entrance to the hut, from which wild rocky scenery is visible. Second entrance, L., a door leading to the interior of the hut; at the back, R. of the entrance, a small trunk—a hatchet hanging on a nail just over it. Rude couch, covered with tiger skin—a few wooden chairs L., and facing the audience. As scene opens. CHRISTIAN, an old Negro, is seen watching at the entrance, as if looking for some one.

Chris.

How long he stays! well, I must prepare his meal, though I fear he will not taste it.

(Looking out.)

Ah! he comes at last; how unhappy he looks; when he's that way, my presence here seems to oppress him; so I'll retire, and wait till he calls me.

                                         [Exit, L.

Enter FABIAN slowly, R., holding in his hand a little cross of gold, hanging from his neck; places his hat on the little trunk, and his gun near the entrance.

Fab.

Sacred relic worn by my mother, and which, after I had closed her eyes in death, I took from her cold breast—when evil thoughts cross me, I press you to my lips, and all my anger is absorbed in tears. Can this little relic, so powerful against evil, avail nothing to my sufferings? in vain I place it on my burning heart; it cannot quench the passion that consumes it. To it alone I breathe my fearful secret; that I, a mulatto, and late a slave, dare to love the daughter of a white man—the daughter of him who was my master! it is madness—madness!

(Falls on his knees, his hand on the foot of the couch.)

Pray, for me, my mother!

CHRISTIAN appears at the entrance, looks in, and signs to PAULINE to enter. She enters with LIA, who is leaning on her arm, and appears ill; places her on a seat near the entrance, and comes down alone.

Paul.

(After an effort to speak.)

Monsieur Fabian!

Fab.

(Quickly turning at the sound of her voice.)

Heavens!

                                         (Rises.)

Paul.

(Advancing.)

Monsieur Fabian!

Fab.

Is it indeed you, mademoiselle; and here?

Paul.

(With great gentleness.)

When death threatened, you came to my assistance; when life and health returned, you left me; but you did not impose on me forgetfulness nor ingratitude.

                                         (Offers a purse.)

Fab.

(With emotion.)

And it is for this you are here? Oh, mademoiselle, I thought you good—generous—

Paul.

The gold I have brought you, I wish you to distribute amongst your poor patients—

Fab.

(Taking the purse.)

You are an angel.

(Looking at Lia with happiness.)

I bless heaven for seconding my endeavours; again I see you,

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whom death has twice so nearly snatched away—I am happy, I am proud!

Paul.

Good Fabian! but this mystery that causes me to—

Fab.

Mystery!

Paul.

Yes, which perhaps you can help me to unravel. Since you have ceased to come to the Reynerie, a man has been seen at night wandering about the dwelling, near my window; he has eluded all search—all pursuit; one night the negro on duty fired at him quite at random, and next morning, at the foot of a large tree, traces of blood were found. Fabian, I cannot tell you my feelings at the sight of that blood.

(Looking earnestly at him.)

You had not always that scar on your forehead.

Fab.

That scar? a fall I had on the rock.

Paul.

(Aside, agonized.)

'Twas his blood!

Fab.

Mademoiselle, what is the matter?

Paul.

Fabian, the desire to thank you was not the only motive that brought me here; I have come to claim your assistance for my poor foster-sister, Lia.

Fab.

Lia! once so happy, and so gay!

Paul.

But now so ill, so spirit-broken! Yes, Fabian, poor Lia is sinking beneath sorrows I am ignorant of; she will die if you do not save her.

(Brings Lia forward.)

Look at her. Courage, dear Lia; he restored me, and will give you health and strength.

Fab.

(Gives her a seat, takes her hand, and looks at her.)

What is the matter, Lia?

Lia.

(Without raising her head.)

Nothing.

Paul.

Dear Lia, tell Fabian the cause of your suffering.

Lia.

I do not suffer.

Paul.

(To Fabian.)

Always the same answer; you cannot assist, if she persist in the silence; she will die, and none will ever know the grief that killed her.

Fab.

Yes, I know it.

Lia.

(Alarmed.)

Heavens!

Fab.

I know her malady, but cannot save her.

Paul.

(Alarmed.)

What do you say?

Fab.

The sickness that oppresses her is of the heart.

Lia.

(Rising in terror.)

Fabian, Fabian! Oh, be silent.

                                         (Falls back in her seat.)

Paul.

(Aside.)

This mystery!

Fab.

You love.

Lia.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

Fab.

Do not try to deceive me; the budding passion which brightened to your eyes during your mistress's convalescence, since then I see has grown, and consumed the heart in which you strived to stifle it.

Lia.

(Hiding her face in her hands.)

Have pity, Fabian, have pity!

Fab.

And this love, pure and chaste, you would hide from all, as if it were a shame for you to love one whom you have no right to love, and who despises you.

Paul.

Oh, no! 'tis impossible.

Fab.

Because he is not of your accursed race; because he is a European.

Paul.

What do I hear?

Fab.

And yet is Monsieur Bertrand a good and worthy young man.

Lia.

Do not mention that name.

Paul.

Bertrand, the young Frenchman? Mr. Barbantine's clerk?

Fab.

Yes, mademoiselle, yes! he is a good and worthy young man; but his skin is white

(To Lia.),

and yours is dark as mine; therefore you have not the right to love him. Suffer, poor sister, suffer, and despair, for yours is a malady for which there is no remedy.

Paul.

Oh, heavens! ought I to understand?

Lia.

(Weeping.)

I wish to die; 'tis all I desire.

Paul.

Unhappy girl, but you must not, shall not; I will save you.

(Looking at Fabian.)

You say he is not of her race; what is that to me, since she loves him—would die for him? You hear me, Fabian; I say she shall live, she shall be his wife.

Lia.

(Joyfully.)

His wife!

Fab.

(Astonished.)

'Tis impossible.

Paul.

It shall be my work, my secret care, known only to us three; he loves you?

Lia.

But if he marries me, he is lost.

Fab.

Yes, he will be proscribed, driven out by the man who has fostered him.

Paul.

No matter, I am rich; I know it now, and for the first time feel proud of it. He shall be free, and you shall be happy.

(Looking at Fabian.)

I know not what gives me strength and resolution, before unknown to me; by-and-by we will go to Barbantine's residence; I will see Bertrand, he shall hear me, he will understand; but you, Lia, weak and suffering, must not go with me, and I will not confide our secret to another

(With firmness);

I will go alone.

Fab.

(Sorrowfully.)

Alone!

Paul.

(With gentleness.)

No, Fabian, you shall go with me; when it strikes three at St. Louis, be at the end of the avenue of palms. Come, Lia, my sister, look cheerfully, all will be well. Look, Fabian, she is better already; her eyes are brighter; thanks to you, she feels the blessing of hope, and hope is life. Come, Lia, come.

[Exit hurriedlp; Lia kisses his hand, and exit after her.

Fab.

He is of another race—what is that to me? she loves him—would die for him! She said so, here but now, and to me, who would die for her. Oh, mother, mother, bless you; I asked you, you prayed for me, and in an instant heaven has sent me a moment of joy—of bliss.

(The report of a gun heard, and St. Luce calling without.)

St. L.

(Without.)

Help! help!

CHRISTIAN appears at the entrance, and points, L.

Chris.

Master! master! yonder a hunter! a serpent!

                                         (Takes down hatchet, is going.)

Fab.

You are not strong enough; give me the weapon.

(Takes hatchet from him, and rushes out.)

Chris.

(Following to entrance.)

No, master, no, let me go; my life is worthless, but your—

                                         (As he is going.)

Enter ST. LUCE, conducted by FABIAN.

Ha, he was in time.

Fab.

(To St. Luce.)

Lean on me, sir.

St. L.

(A gun in his hand.)

No, thank you, Doctor; I am not much hurt.

(Christian takes St. Luce's hat and gun, and places them in a corner.)

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Fab.

(Gives the hatchet to Christian, who replaces it.)

Some water.

[Exit Christian. Fabian gives St. Luce a seat.

St. L.

I have many times seen death as near, but have never been on such intimate terms with a serpent before; 'tis an indigenous produce which does little honour to your country.

(Christian returns with cocoanut-shell full of water, and gives it to Fabian, who hands it to St. Luce.)

St. L.

(Returns it to Fabian, after drinking.)

Thank you.

Fab.

(Looking at his left hand.)

You are wounded.

St. L.

O, 'tis nothing.

Fab.

Allow me.

(Taking from the little trunk the necessaries to dress the wound.)

What could bring you to this isolated spot?

[Exit Christian, who returns immediately with more water; Fabian washes and dresses St. Luce's wounded hand.)

St. L.

Only curiosity! you must know I was stretched under a banana tree, enjoying that dreamy repose, which, while it transports us to an ideal world, still allows us to hear what is passing in this. I dreamt I was hunting at Marly, when suddenly the foliage near me became agitated, and, thinking it was a rabbit, I seized my gun, and fired, as near as I could judge, upon the spot of his hiding-place, when all of a sudden I saw the grey head of an enormous serpent rise up before me; so I called out lustily for help, and my kind stars sent you to my assistance, when there was no more space between me and my enemy than just enough for your hatchet. By my faith, Doctor, you are a wonderful man, and your exact manner of amputation is complete.

Fab.

Sir, if you seek rest, this miserable dwelling is at your service; but if you desire to return to St. Louis, allow me to offer a guide.

St. L.

(Rising.)

A thousand thanks for your proffered hospitality; but I must not give my sister time to be uneasy at my absence; therefore will only accept the guide you offer me.

Fab.

(To Christian.)

Prepare to conduct the Chevalier by the road through St. Hane.

St. L.

Doctor, you are decidedly the good genius of our family; without your assistance, lovely eyes might this night have been drowned in tears; yes, my cousin would again have hid her sweet face in the grief of mourning, which is so soon to smile on her affianced husband.

Fab.

(At the back of stage, turns suddenly round.)

Affianced husband! of whom do you speak?

St. L.

Of my cousin, who is to—

Fab.

Of Mademoiselle de la Reynerie?

St. L.

Certainly.

Fab.

No, it is impossible.

St. L.

Impossible! and why?

Fab.

(Embarrassed.)

Because I known no one in Bourbon worthy to possess such a treasure.

St. L.

True; but then I do not belong to the Isle.

Fab.

You!

St. L.

Yes, I am in love, my dear sir—seriously in love; you are astonished to hear it, they would not believe it at Versailles; but, I repeat it, I'm in love, and intend to marry; our union was first projected by Madame de la Reynerie, and Pauline but waited the end of her mourning, in order to obey her mother's wish.

Fab.

(Overpowered.)

She!

St. L.

And though the aristocracy of Bourbon should blame me ever so, I shall insist on your presence at my marriage, which, but for you, death had twice prevented. Farewell, Doctor, or rather, good-bye for the present.

(To Christian, who is standing at the entrance, and presents Chevalier with hat and gun.)

Go on before me, friend, and heaven protect us from sun and serpents! Good-bye, Fabian.

                                         [Exit St. Luce and Christian.

Fab.

(With a sudden burst.)

She loves that man, he will be her husband! and yet but now I saved him! I have allowed him to go from me with life.

(Seizes his gun, is about to rush out, and suddenly stops.)

Kill him! assassinate him! no, no, 'tis not he who should die! it is, ah—I; water! air! I shall suffocate!

(Falls at the end of the couch, his hand falls on his chest, he seizes the little cross suspended round his neck.)

Again that dreadful idea crossed my brain, and my hand unintentionally falls on this little relic—O, my mother, 'tis your voice I hear, 'tis heaven commands I should avoid a crime, and still drag on this wretched life of suffering!

(Three o'clock strikes.)

Three o'clock; she is waiting for me—she, St. Luce's bride!

(Rises with a sudden burst.)

No, no, it shall not be! I will not die alone.

(Throws away cross.)

Mother, I hear you not, you shall not save her—together, together, we will die together!

                                         [Rushes out.

SCENE III.

—The High Road near Reynerie.

Enter BRIQUET and JACQUES, R.; they are both a little elevated.

Bri.

Capital stuff that, wasn't it, Jacques? that's the house to live in! Long life to the Chevalier and his intended bride! I say, Jacques, my boy, why don't you laugh?

Jac.

I can't laugh, Briquet; I'm melancholy.

Bri.

It's a professional failing; tailors are naturally melancholy; sedentary employment naturally produces thoughts, therefore it's natural.

Jac.

You've called me a natural three times.

Bri.

Don't interrupt me, Jacques, but listen,—what was I saying? O, I remember: long life to the Chevalier and his intended bride! Talking of brides, I intend to be married myself shortly.

Jac.

You be married! and pray who is to be the bride?

Bri.

Who's to be the bride? why, whom do you think but Susanne, the lovely charming little Susanne?

Jac.

Have you got her consent?

Bri.

Not yet.

Jac.

Have you got her father's consent?

Bri.

Not exactly, but I've got the consent of one party.

Jac.

What, her mother?

Bri.

No

(Hiccup),

myself.

Jac.

Well, that's something towards it, but I should like to see you propose it to old Grimaud, he'd—

Bri.

What do I care about old Grimaud? do you think I'm afraid of old Grimaud? I'm afraid of nobody, when my blood's up, I fear neither man nor—

(Turning round.)

the devil!

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Enter CHRISTIAN, the old negro, R.

Chris.

Your master waits for you at the Reynerie.

Bri.

What do you know about my master?

Chris.

But little! I have just acted as his guide—he met with a slight accident in the woods.

Bri.

An accident!

Chris.

Yes, which delayed him beyond the time appointed for his return. But all danger is past, thanks to the timely assistance of my master.

Bri.

And who is your master?

Chris.

The Black Doctor.

                                         [Exit, R.

Bri.

(Turns from him as he speaks.)

I say, Jacques.

(Looks round, finds Christian gone.)

Why, he's gone; so the Black Doctor's come to hand at last. I was going down to Grimaud's, but as my new master wants me I can't, so do you tell him. Do you hear that the Black Doctor's still in the land of the living? none of your nonsense now with Susanne. I feel rather queer, but the Chevalier will attribute that to my anxiety on his account. Good-bye, Jacques; keep steady, my boy; I shall see you to-morrow; keep steady—and keep me always in your eye as an example.

                                         [Exeunt differently.

SCENE IV.

—Enormous rocks, L. A rock, R., forming a grotto; near which, on one side, is a stone bench, a rock in which steps are rudely cut, descending to the sea, in the centre of the stage; with a rock in which a seat appears rudely cut out. A pathway L., a little elevated, and overhanging the steep cliffs. The whole scene is wild and gloomy in the extreme; the sea at back. As the scene opens PAULINE and FABIAN appear at the very top of the the rock, R.

Paul.

This path seems unfrequented; why have we come this way?

Fab.

Because it shortens the distance of your dwelling.

Paul.

'Tis well.

(Looking round.)

I have never seen this part of the island before—where are we?

Fab.

The inhabitants rarely visit this bay, which they have called the mulatto's grotto; there is a popular legend attached to it.

Paul.

Shall we reach the Reynerie before Bertrand? I wish to be first, to tell Lia of the success of our enterprise.

Fab.

He is going round in the boat; the wind and tide will be against him, so we have the advantage. Rest yourself here a moment, to recruit your strength.

Paul.

(Sits on rock, C. of stage.)

This is a wild and gloomy spot.

Fab.

Did you not desire me to take the most retired route? Mademoiselle de la Reynerie wished to avoid any one whilst walking beside the mulatto Fabian. 'Twas otherwise in your childhood; then you did not disdain to lean on my arm.

Paul.

(After a moment's silence, as if to change the conversation.)

Fabian, I think you have my fan.

Fab.

(Takes it from his bosom, and presents it to her respectfully.)

'Tis here, mademoiselle.

Pau.

But, you too must be tired, Fabian, for your hand trembles so as it did just now; are you ill?

Fab.

No, lady.

Paul.

Ah, I shall be so happy to tell Lia the obstacles that separated her from Bertrand no longer exist; in a month she shall leave the colony with her affianced husband; they shall live in a country where prejudice will not condemn their union—will not crush their mutual affection; Lia, my sister, you at least shall be happy.

(Sighing.)

Fab.

Happy! Yes, in the love of her husband! for without his love of what avail would have been my penetration or your generous friendship?

Paul.

Bertrand has a noble heart.

Fab.

He loves her.

Paul.

He was not born under your sky; had he been a creole, he would have hid his passion in the inmost depths of his heart.

Fab.

And Lia would have perished; and had Bertrand been a creole he dared not have shed one tear to her memory; is it not so?

Paul.

(Rising with calm dignity.)

Fabian, we will continue our walk; the Countess and her brother will be waiting for me.

Fab.

(Endeavouring to contain himself.)

He loves you, lady.

Paul.

(Embarrassed.)

He has told me so.

Fab.

He is to be your husband.

Paul.

'Twas my mother's dearest wish.

(Fabian staggers against the rock, R.; Pauline is going, turns round and looks at him.)

Fabian, I am waiting for you.

(He passes his hand across his forehead, appears to be looking attentively at two crosses carved in one of the rocks.)

Fab.

Those two crosses carved in the rock, and which appertain to the legend I told you of just now.

Paul.

What legend?

Fab.

Shall I tell it you?

Paul.

Yes, tell me the history of this legend.

Fab.

(Goes back, looks at the sea, which is seen gradually to rise, then returns to Pauline.)

Listen, then. There lived in St. Louis, a poor mulatto—a slave, who

(I have forgotten for what good service rendered to his master)

received his freedom! the generous gift should have made him happy, but it was otherwise; for once free he was compelled to leave his master's dwelling, and under that roof dwelt his better angel. At length he went forth, more wretched in his freedom than in his slavery! for he loved—yes, madly loved—adored that master's daughter.

                                         (Wind heard.)

Paul.

(Alarmed.)

How dreadfully the wind howls.

Fab.

(Not heeding her.)

He would have buried his love in his heart, though it had crushed it; but the young and noble lady, who used to converse with him, in few kind words completed the delusion. He thought himself beloved—and though respect to the pride of her race forbade her to be his, he thought at least she would never be another's. The fool was dreaming; one word awoke him, she was about to marry—to marry! she had deceived him, had sported with his agony; she should not have done so—it was imprudent, for then the wretched man took an oath to unite himself to her by the solemn, dreadful, awful tie of death.

Paul.

(Rising agitated, looks at the sea, which is

[Page 8]

gradually surrounding them.)

Fabian! Fabian! not now; the sea rises.

(Going.)

Let as go. Come, come, Fabian!

Fab.

(Detains her.)

Go!

(Smiles.)

No, the mulatto had calculated every chance; in his turn he had deceived the young girl—he had led her into a snare—they both stood here—on the spot we now occupy; the tide was rising fast, one only path was free—but the sea continued to gain on them.

(Seizes both her hands.)

The young girl entreated the mulatto to try to save her; but he, without pity for her terror or her tears, held her with hands of iron. At last he told her he loved her.

(Looking round.)

Still the sea was gaining ground; every chance of escape was gone, and yet death has less of horror for the young girl than the mulatto's love.

Paul.

(In much terror.)

Fabian, for pity's sake, save me!

Fab.

Save you! and is it not possible you guess I love you?

Paul.

You!

Fab.

Did I not say death was less terrible than his love?

Paul.

(Struggling with her feelings.)

No, no! you are deceiving me; you would not—could not see me die here before your eyes!

Fab.

(Pointing to sea.)

Look, Pauline, before we should reach the rocks which we but now descended together, the sea would dash us to atoms against their rugged points! I feared my own weakness, and closed every avenue to the road of repentance or pity; death surrounds us, but we shall perish together! How! you no longer tremble, will you not call down heaven's curses on your destroyer's head?

Paul.

(Solemnly.)

Fabian!

Fab.

(Pointing to sea.)

No earthly power can save us!

Paul.

(Rushing to pathway, which the sea has not yet reached.)

Then let me beg my mother's forgiveness, and pray to heaven for you.

                                         (Falls on her knees against the rock.)

Fab.

For me!

Paul.

Yes, for you! now I am sure of death, I may acknowledge, without shame or remorse, that I understand you, Fabian, and I forgive you, for I have long, long loved you!

Fab.

Did I hear aright? love me! and I—I am her murderer! Oh, heavens

(rushes to her, and supports her in his arms),

you will not allow it! kill me! but save her!

(Looks around.)

Ah! 'tis too late! she is already dying.

(Carries her up the rock, lays her down, takes off his vest, waves it, shouting for help. The sea reaches them, curtain falls as he is still struggling with her in the water. Bertrand is seen at the back in a boat, &c.

END OF ACT I.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

—A Handsome Drawing-room in the Marchioness's House in Paris, elegantly furnished. At the back, large folding doors, opening to a gallery; on each side, at the back, a large window, with hangings, a door L. and R.; handsome book-case and bureau on each side; canopy. L., armchairs R. and L.; a hand-bell on the book-case.

Enter BRIQUET and JACQUES, very handsomely and foppishly dressed, and rather grotesquely.

Bri.

And so, friend Jacques, you have followed us to Paris?

Jac.

Yes, I felt so dull when you left, that I made up my mind to come too; but what a grand house to be sure!

Bri.

(Offers snuff.)

Yes, we are pleasantly situated. Do you still operate?

                                         (Makes sign of cutting with shears.)

Jac.

Yes, I cut out.

Bri.

Ah, you rogue, you have cut me out; and how does Madame Fils?

Jac.

Oh, she's quite well.

Bri.

Delighted to hear it—shall be still more delighted to see her. I bear no ill-will; but how the deuce you managed it, I never could guess.

Jac.

Why, you see, I didn't talk of marrying until I got more than my own consent in the business.

Bri.

Ha, ha, I recollect; but really, in Paris, a wife is rather an incumbrance, and you see my situation brings me so much in contact with the fashionable world, that one don't miss the little comforts, as they are termed, of matrimony; strange things have happened since we rusticated in St. Louis.

Jac.

Strange, indeed, to think that the Marchioness, whom we all supposed drowned, should be alive after all!

Bri.

Yes, and she is gone to Versailles, to present her daughter, Madame Pauline, to her Majesty the Queen, upon her return from the colonies; she'll be back in an hour.

Jac.

And the Black Doctor?

Bri.

Oh, he's with us—couldn't do without him; though, by-the-bye, the Marchioness doesn't much relish his being here; but the circumstance of his having twice saved her daughter's life, and her still delicate health, in some way reconcile her to his presence.

Jac.

That was a fearful business, too, when Monsieur Bertrand saved them both; there was a sort of mystery in that affair!

Bri.

No doubt, no doubt, friend Jacques; there are more mysteries than we can fathom in this world; it was, as you say, a close shave.

Jac.

Rather too fine-drawn an affair for me, I own; and the marriage with the Chevalier!

Bri.

Why, there seems some reluctance on her part, but the Marchioness is positive. I suppose, eventually, she must marry; but come into my room, and we will take a glass to old times, and our future acquaintance.

(As they are going, enter ANDRE at the door in back, which is open.)

And what do you want, friend?

And.

The Doctor, if you please.

Bri.

This is not a doctor's shop, friend; you are in the house of the Marchioness de la Reynerie.

[Page 9]

And.

Yes, I know; but he I seek lives here.

Bri.

Who is it you mean?

And.

The Doctor; the good worthy man I have come to thank; he's well known in our quarter, ever since he attended my poor mother; everybody gave her up, even the hospital doctors; and to-day, thanks to him, she's quite well again! Oh, he's got plenty of practice; but he always gives the poor the preference; and when he passes our way, men, women, and children bless the Black Doctor.

Bri.

The Black Doctor! Oh, now I know whom you mean. He means Fabian.

And.

Is that his name?

Bri.

Yes, he's a mulatto, an enfranchised slave, whom Mademoiselle de la Reynerie brought over from Bourbon, a curiosity.

FABIAN appears at door, dressed in court suit, sword, &c.

And.

A curiosity, indeed! Goodness and charity are, no doubt, a curiosity to you; take care how you speak about him before me!

Fab.

(Comes down.)

Noble heart!

And.

Ah, is that you, Doctor?

Bri.

Come along, Jacques.

And.

Why, Doctor, how dares that powdered monkey—

Fab.

(Calmly.)

How is your mother, to-day, Andre?

And.

Well, quite well; she sent me, though strong enough to come herself, but she was afraid—

Fab.

Afraid!

And.

This is how it is, Doctor; we took it into our heads that, as everybody must live by their trade, a doctor can't give away his time to everybody for nothing; so I worked double tides, and have brought you a fortnight's wages; it isn't much, but such as it is there it is.

Fab.

I accept your offer, good friend, but you must be my banker, and when you meet with a fellow-creature who needs it more than yourself, give it him.

And.

From you?

Fab.

As you please.

And.

I'll do as you desire! Farewell, Mr. Fabian; don't forget Andre. In a few months I am going to my brother in Bretagne—'tis our country.

Fab.

Bretagne?

And.

Yes, if you should ever come there you shall have the best place at our fireside, as you already have in our hearts. Farewell, Mr. Fabian.

                                         [Exit at door, first shaking Fabian's hand.

Fab.

(Seats himself, and finishes reading a letter, which he has in his hand.)

“Yes, Fabian, with Bertrand, my husband, who loves me more than ever, in the bosom of his family, who welcomed me as another child; I am happy, very happy; when you hear of this, ah, let us hear of your happiness too.”

(Refolds the letter ironically.)

Happy! yes, my good Lia, I live in a noble house, am head lacquey to the Marchioness de la Reynerie—distinguished honour! True, I am waited on by my fellow servants, in my own apartment. Oh, yes, I am happy, very happy!

(Rising.)

Heavens! whence comes this patience, this resignation? For six long months have I endured this, and yet I have not roused my sleeping energies, and cried aloud to them all. She whom you surround with such homage, such flattery, she is mine, my own, my wife! No, I am silent. Shut up the live-long day, I endeavour to forget my condition in study, and only when I hear the carriage which conveys the Marchioness from the door, do I venture to exchange a look—a word with Pauline, than a stranger comes, and I must needs retire, a smile and a tear—

(Noise of carriage, he runs to window, and looks out.)

'Tis she! I shall see her, I shall see her. Oh, this is the secret of my resignation.

(A Servant opens the folding-doors, the CHEVALIER, in court dress, enters, conducting PAULINE, who is also in court-dress. St. Luce does not notice Fabian, who stands aside, and is not seen by Pauline.)

Fab.

(Aside.)

Still that man for ever at her side!

St. L.

Now, cousin! cannot the gracious reception you met with at Versailles, raise a smile in that beautiful face? for my part, like the Marchioness, I was delighted as I observed the looks of our charming Queen wander from yourself to rest on me—she doubtless guessed what I could poorly conceal.

Paul.

Your pardon, Chevalier, my mother, I believe, is waiting for you.

St. L.

May I not be excused for forgetting her, when by your side?

(Aside.)

Ever cold and constrained! I cannot understand it. Adieu, for the present, my lovely cousin! Do try to think a little of me until I see you again, I shall think of no one else.

(He is about to kiss her hand, she withdraws it, he signifies his mortification; as he is going, stops on seeing Fabian.)

So, you were here, were you?

Paul.

(Surprised.)

Fabian!

St. L.

In the drawing-room, we may readily discern we are not in Bourbon, and are making rapid strides towards equality, as the commons have it.

(Aside.)

This is very strange, but doubtless you come for mademoiselle's order—you should have knocked, sir. If there are no longer slaves in Paris, I believe we still have lacqueys.

                                         [Exit at door.

Fab.

True, a slave in Bourbon! here a lacquey.

Paul.

(In a supplicating voice.)

But the slave! the lacquey! is he not my lord—my husband, in the sight of heaven, and in mine, who lives for him? Is he not great, is he not noble, has he not a right to be proud of himself? Do you not bear next your heart a sacred deed, signed by a minister of heaven—a deed that plainly says, “That the lacquey—the slave—is my master?”

Fab.

Our marriage, blessed by an unknown minister, in an isolated corner in the Isle of Bourbon, your mother will have power to break, by a simple motion of her fan.

(Drawing a paper from his breast.)

Since this may not be the passport to happiness for either, at least it can be made the instrument of revenge.

Paul.

(Calmly.)

Yes, Fabian, you can show it to my mother; you can say to her, your daughter has changed her proud name of La Reynerie for that of Fabian; your daughter has given herself to me. You can do all this, and I should forgive you; but my mother would curse the memory of her child!

Fab.

Oh, forgive me, Pauline, forgive me; you know not what I suffer, you know not my wretchedness; but fear not, I will bear up against

[Page 10]

the grief that is killing me, against the jealousy that consumes me.

Paul.

What, Fabian! jealousy?

Fab.

No, no doubt ever entered my heart, it would kill me at once. Pauline, I will be confiding, calm! I shall see you daily go to these fêtes, where so many temptations surround you, but I will be silent; you will accept his arm for your escort, that man who is ever at your side, that man who loves you, I shall see him, as I did but now, gaze on you with admiration, raise that hand to his lips, which is mine—I say, I shall see all this, and yet I shall be silent.

Reyn.

(Without.)

Pauline, 'tis I, open the door.

Paul.

My mother, and she will find me here, and with you.

Fab.

(Rushes to window.)

No, though I should be dashed to atoms on the pavement below.

Paul.

Stay!

(Pointing to the chamber.)

There, in that room, by the back staircase, hasten.

Reyn.

(Without.)

Pauline! Pauline, I say!

Fab.

(Going by direction, R.)

You see I am obedient. I am going; I shall be silent.

                                         [Exit, R. D.

Enter the MARCHIONESS, C. D.

Reyn.

(Looking round.)

Were you alone, Pauline?

Paul.

(Embarrassed.)

Yes, yes, mother, alone.

Reyn.

When the Chevalier left you, Fabian was here.

Paul.

He was.

Reyn.

How did the man presume to enter here, without your express order?

Paul.

(Hesitating.)

He came to tell me of a visit he had paid to some poor pensioners of mine, as I had desired him.

Reyn.

(Haughtily.)

And I desire you may have no such explanations to give me in future; to-morrow he shall leave this house, and in three days he will quit France.

Paul.

He! Fabian?

Reyn.

I am about to send him back to the colony, there he will henceforth enjoy independence. I will reward him, as I ought, for his faithful servitude to you; but let us speak no more of the man, but come at once to the business that brings me here now. The Queen was pleased with you, my daughter, and in order to have you one of her ladies of honour, her Majesty wishes you to marry.

Paul.

What do I hear?

Reyn.

The Chevalier St. Luce will this evening receive letters patent that will confer on him the title of Count, and to-morrow the King will add to the obligations I already owe him, by himself signing your contract.

Paul.

No, no, I did not hear aright; mother, 'tis impossible!

Reyn.

Impossible! listen to me, Pauline; I have determined to leave you a noble protector, and a defender; I could not confide my child to one more noble or more worthy than St. Luce, already almost my son. I repeat, 'tis my determination you should marry him, and by the memory of your father, it shall be as I say.

                                         (Goes to bookcase and rings bell.)

Paul.

(Aside.)

Then 'tis heaven's will I should die!

Enter SERVANT, C. D.

Reyn.

Tell Fabian I have an important command for him; show all visitors into this apartment, I will receive him here.

[Exit servant.—(To Pauline.)

You will for the future receive the Chevalier as your intended husband.

(Pauline kneels to her kisses her hand, and weeps.)

Pauline, you cannot make me alter my determination! your resistance would be as useless as your prayers.

Paul.

Mother, heaven is my witness, I would have devoted to you the life you gave me. I asked I sought, but to live in your heart, and you drive me from you!

Reyn.

To give you to the arms of a husband.

Paul.

Before your will excludes me, and separates us, my mother, gaze on me as you used to do; when a child, I looked for and found all, all my joys in your eyes; bless me as you used to do, when I prayed to heaven that I might live and die for my mother's love.

Reyn.

(Raising her.)

To-morrow, Pauline, at the altar, I will bless both my children.

Paul.

(Aside.)

To-morrow, you will have no daughter!

                                         (Servant opens door at back.)

Reyn.

Calm yourself, Pauline; we are no longer alone.

Servant announces the following ladies and gentlemen:—The COUNTESS DE RESADEUC, MDLLE. and CHEVALIER DE ST. LUCE, MADAME DE BEAUOMEAL, MONSIEUR and MADAME DE LA FRERAGE, the MARCHIONESS L'AMBERVILLE, COUNCILLOR OMMISSOR. All the company is received by the Marchioness, who presents them to Pauline as they enter; she curtsies to them all; the Marchioness conducts the ladies to the canopy, and places herself in an arm-chair beside it; Pauline, struggling with emotion, conducts one of the ladies, R; one chair remains unoccupied between her and the lady; the gentlemen remain standing in groups behind the ladies R. and L; the Countess de Resadeuc alone remains standing for a moment by the Marchioness.

Aur.

My good aunt, at length the dearest wish of my heart will be fulfilled. St. Luce has just told me—

Reyn.

(Smiling.)

That I am a very humble and obedient subject. It is my intention it should be known at Versailles this very evening, that I have presented the Countess de St. Luce, lady of honour to her Majesty the Queen, to all my friends.

All.

Lady of honour!

                                         (The gentlemen compliment St. Luce.)

Aur.

At length, then, you are my sister.

                                         (Taking Pauline's hand.)

Paul.

(Aside.)

Heaven! give me one hour more of strength and courage!

St. L.

My dear aunt, I know not how to thank you; but believe me, I will prove worthy of the treasure you confide to me.

(Kisses the hand of Reynerie, approaches Pauline, who remains motionless.)

How! not one look?

Enter SERVANT, C.

Ser.

Monsieur Fabian, madam.

Paul.

Fabian!

St. L.

She starts at the name!

Reyn.

Very well, tell him to wait.

[Page 11]

Aur.

(To Reynerie.)

Poor Fabian, I have scarcely seen him since his arrival, and I have talked so much about him to these ladies that they are as anxious to see him as I was at the Isle of Bourbon.

Reyn.

In this apartment! you forget.

Aur.

(Laughing.)

O, they won't know of it in Bourbon.

Paul.

(Aside.)

Before so many he will betray himself:

St. L.

(Aside.)

Pale, trembling, 'twas the same this morning, and always so at the mention of his name! By heaven! I will know how far she is interested for this man. My dear aunt, allow me to join in my sister's entreaty; besides, I owe Fabian a debt.

Reyn.

You!

St. L.

Yes, of honour.

Reyn.

Well, dear Count, to-day I cannot refuse you anything.

(To Servant.)

Tell Fabian he may come in.

                                         [Exit Servant.

Paul.

(Aside.)

We are lost!

St. L.

(Laughing.)

Quite a presentation, I declare.

Enter FABIAN; at sight of company he stops; upon a sign from the Marchioness bows and addresses her.

Fab.

You sent for me, madam; what are your commands?

Aur.

(To a lady.)

What do you think of him?

Reyn.

You are about to quit my house; to leave France.

Aur.

Why? where is he going?

Reyn.

To Bourbon.

Fab.

(Quickly.)

Madam, I—

                                         (Catches Pauline's eye; stops.)

St. L.

(Aside.)

How she watches him!

Fab.

When am I to depart, madam?

Reyn.

To-morrow; the steward has received my orders. You will find that I have not forgotten past services, nor been unmindful of your future welfare; you may now retire.

St. L.

(To Marchioness.)

Not yet, my dear aunt; you must allow me to beg you will delay his departure for a few days. Fabian, we are no longer at Bourbon; therefore I can and will reward you for the service you there rendered me; the invitation I there gave you I hold good here, and repeat, I wish you to be present at my marriage with Mademoiselle de la Reynerie

(looks from Fabian to Pauline),

which will be celebrated in three days.

(Fabian suddenly starts. Pauline instantly rises, and takes her eyes from him. Fabian, struggling with his feelings, endeavours to be calm and silent.)

St. L.

(Aside.)

Again! at all hazard I will know the worst.

Reyn.

You will grant my brother's request, will you not, dear aunt? Fabian, you do not thank my brother.

St. L.

(Smiles contemptuously.)

No, I remember; 'tis, very natural; he does not like to own himself so bad a prophet. Fabian has declared all marriage impossible for Mademoiselle de la Reynerie.

Reyn.

He!

St. L.

Yes, my dear aunt; doubtless he was afraid of losing so profitable and unexpected a source of patronage and favour.

(Looks at Pauline.)

What other motive could there be? I am afraid our cousin's protection has been thoughtless, and perhaps may be fatal to our Doctor.

Reyn.

How?

St. L.

No doubt, in Bourbon 'twill be necessary to doff these trappings of the gentleman, which appear rather strange; here 'tis only laughed at, but in Bourbon 'twould be otherwise; there this insolence would be chastised, particularly the sword, which sits but ill on a mulatto, who could not dare to raise it even to ward off the planter's whip!

Paul.

(Without taking her eyes from Fabian,)

Ah!

Aur.

Brother, you are cruel!

St. L.

(Haughtily.)

No, sister; 'tis not I, but reason that says, every man in his station. Look! Fabian already pays dearly for the ridiculous dreams to which an imputed benevolence has given birth; he suffers, for he cannot forget what he was—what he is! See how he plays with the hilt of his sword! That hand, which still wears the impression of the chain—

Fab.

(In a fury.)

Ah!

(Draws the sword and with a sudden expression breaks it, throws it at his feet, and, covering his face with his hands, weeps.)

St. L.

Why, what's the matter!

Aur.

(Coming between them.)

Brother, you are very cruel; you have wounded his feelings.

Paul.

(Rushing forward.)

I can endure this no longer; 'tis cowardly—infamous!

(Goes to her mother, and speaks in a voice choked with passion and sobs.)

Mother, dismiss these people; I must speak to you alone!

Reyn.

(Rising.)

This agitation!

Paul.

Have pity on me—on yourself! dismiss them!

Reyn.

(Aside to her.)

You alarm me, Pauline! Friends, my daughter is ill; it alarms me!

Aur.

Indeed!

(To Pauline.)

Are you ill?

Reyn.

Leave us to ourselves! Chevaliers, adieu till to-morrow!

                                         [Exit Guests.

St. L.

(Aside.)

If you have indeed favoured this unruly rival, cousin, I have at least paid your insult by insult. Come, sister.

[Takes her hand; as he is leading her off gives a look of scorn at Fabian, who is following him.

Paul.

No, no—stay, Fabian!

Reyn.

Why do you detain him?

Paul.

Because if you drive him forth, you must also drive me forth; because if he goes, 'tis my duty to follow him.

Reyn.

To follow Fabian!

Paul.

Yes, mother, my love—my lord—my husband!

Reyn.

He!

Paul.

(To him.)

Look up, loved and injured lord; heaven, that gives you resignation, has at last given me courage; can you forgive me?

Reyn.

Fabian's wife! no, you did not say that?

Paul.

I have said it, mother, and my husband shall not be dishonoured.

Reyn.

Wretched girl, take then—

[Page 12]

Fab.

(Coming between them.)

Be not in such haste to curse, lady! your malediction would be impious, and could not reach to heaven. She, who now humbles herself, who weeps, is pure as the angels. True, she loved me, a poor slave—because I had risked my life to save her mother's; but I tell you, your blood runs in her veins. She was ashamed of her love, and only on the brink of a precipice, death surrounding us, when help appeared impossible, as with her last breath, her secret escaped her.

Reyn.

Heavens, was I restored to life but to be witness of this dishonour? This infamous marriage shall be dissolved.

Fab.

Dissolve my marriage! you cannot do it, madam; call your servants—they shall make way for your daughter's husband; recall the Chevalier St. Luce, who so insolently crushed me with his aristocracy, and whom, but for Pauline's imploring look, I would have annihilated as I did that weapon; call him, and I will tell my insolent rival 'tis now his turn to feel the torments of jealousy and rage, for his betrothed is my lawful wedded wife!

Reyn.

I will invoke the judge, the magistrate, the King himself!

Fab.

All slaves who set foot on European ground are free; therefore am I, before affranchised, now doubly so; and the law makes no distinction of rank or colour!

Reyn.

(To Pauline.)

You hear him—you hear this man proclaim our shame! If your father could rise from his grave, he would strike you dead! he would rather see you in your grave than so degraded, so dishonoured!

Paul.

(Takes a small phial from her bosom.)

Then let him judge me! Father, I come!

(Fabian rushes to her, seizes phial, throws it away.)

Fab.

Pauline!

Reyn.

What does this mean?

Fab.

It means, madam, that she was about to swallow poison.

Reyn.

Poison!

Fab.

Yes, which she had concealed, that your curse might fall upon her corpse!

Reyn.

(Sinking overpowered into a chair.)

Pauline!

Paul.

(Kneeling.)

I cannot live under my mother's malediction.

Fab.

Then 'tis for me to complete this act of devotion. What neither your king nor your laws can do, Fabian himself will act. This marriage—consecrated by a holy minister of heaven, who will reveal the secret to no one—this inviolable—this indissoluble marriage, I myself will annul.

Paul.

You!

Reyn.

How say you?

Fab.

(Struggling with his grief.)

Madam, I restore to you your daughter. Pauline, this one act has repaid me hours of grief, and misery, and anguish; you would have died for me, you shall live for your mother!

(Forces her to Reynerie.)

Farewell, Pauline; you cannot be mine till we meet again in heaven!

(At the door.)

Not mine, Pauline, but never another's! farewell!

                                         [Exit.

Paul.

Mother, he leaves me but to seek comfort in death!

                                         (Tries to follow him, Reynerie detains her.)

Reyn.

(To servants, who enter.)

Follow Fabian, see you do not let him leave the house. Should it be necessary, use force; but on no account let him depart.

END OF ACT II.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

—The stage is divided horizontally in two parts, each part again divided into two portions. The portion R., above, forms a well-lighted apartment, splendidly furnished; at back, a window with curtains; L., a toilet-table, dressing-glass, &c.; a table with an arm-chair on each side; a door leading to bed-room; L., a door leading to staircase, which forms L. of upper portion; at foot of staircase, a trap-door leading to dungeon below. The staircase is not seen, but forms L, lower portion; lower portion, R., is the dungeon; a large stone pillar, behind which is straw; in front of and R. of pillar, a stone bench; L. of pillar, at back, a window, with iron bars; on front pillow, on block of stone, a lighted lamp. BRIQUET is discovered in the upper apartment reading a newspaper.

Bri.

14th of July—then I have beeu an inhabitant of the Royal Chateau, the Bastille, two months and six days exactly, and why? “Briquet,” said my master, Monsieur de St. Luce, “you are my valet, I give you twelve hundred francs a year to wait upon me, shave me, dress me and powder my wig, in whatever corner of France I may be. The King sends me to the Bastille, therefore, you must follow me, to dress, shave, and powder me, in the Bastille.”

(Rises.)

And here we are, lodged in the tower of the chapel, just above the moat. This apartment is not so bad, nor the bed-room either; the furniture is good, I may say elegant; in short, 'tis a gentlemanly prison, but still it is a prison!

(Drums without.)

Hallo! what does that mean? first time I've heard them since we've been here; perhaps the King's coming to see us and give us our liberty.

                                         (Drums again.)

St. L.

(From inside room.)

Briquet!

Bri.

Oh, here's my master!

Enter ST. LUCE, in dressing-gown, R. D.

St. L.

Briquet! what, rascal! didn't you hear me?

Bri.

Yes, sir; did you say the carriage, sir?

St. L.

Eh?

Bri.

I beg your pardon, sir; I'm always forgetting we are in statu quo.

St. L.

(Laughing).

We must accustom ourselves to it, Briquet.

(Sits.)

Come, dress my hair.

Bri.

(Getting comb, &c.).

But, sir, ain't you going to try to get out of here?

St. L.

(Looking in an hand-mirror).

I beg pardon? Never! I've done the King great service, and he has punished me! so much the worse for him.

Bri.

(Combing his hair).

And me too! I beg your pardon, but it seems to me you did—

St. L.

My duty, sir! I was breakfasting at the café de joie; facing me sat three citizens. I should have known the plebeians a mile off, by the smell of them.

(Take care what you are about.)

They were members of the new assembly of deputies of the States General, chatting on public affairs.

(Looks in glass.)

A little more powder on that side.

[Page 13]

At the mention of a proposition, which I did not approve of, I rose and addressed them, and flatly told them I thought everything of the aristocracy, very little of the clergy, and nothing of the people; so we warmed upon the subject until we quarrelled. I offered to fight one of them; he accepted! “My name,” said I, “is the Chevalier de St. Luce.” “Sir,” says the fellow, “my name is Barnaby.” “Never heard of it,” said I. Then the bystanders threw themselves between us, and separated Barnaby and me; but the adventure reached the ears of the court. Well, thinks I, Barnaby will be arrested; but instead of that they arrested me.

Bri.

Yes, sir, I understand; but I never offended Barnaby, so I—

St. L.

What do you complain of? The lodging's well enough, the table is well served, the wine excellent, and the air of captivity a fine thing for the appetite. Ring for my dinner.

Bri.

(Taking glass from St. Luce.)

Yes, sir, but then you didn't leave your heart at the gate of the Bastille, while I—but, perhaps I haven't told you I was just going to be married?

St. L.

Oh, yes, you did; I thought it a capital joke.

Bri.

Not for my intended, though—poor little Runnette, I appointed to meet her by the third tree on the left hand side of the park, and she's been waiting there two months and six days exactly; how impatient she must be.

St. L.

(Laughing).

Oh, don't make yourself uneasy; she's found amusements, I dare say; a great many of the national guards pass through the park.

Bri.

Sir, don't talk in that way, or I shall be capable of setting fire to the Bastille.

St. L.

Well, I won't prevent you; but first see after the dinner.

Bri.

Yes, sir, I'll get the table ready. Poor Runnette, how tired she must be.

                                         [Exit, R. D.

St. L.

Poor fellow! he also is jealous. My suspicion is right. Pauline loved Fabian, and must have owned it to her mother; for when I presented myself at the house I was informed he had departed for the Isle of Bourbon, and would never return to France. The Marchioness had left Paris, taking Pauline with her; she was to become a nun! By my faith, to be trifled with, deceived, and sacrificed, for a mulatto! I know not where to hide my shame; fortunately, the King came to my assistance, and hid me and my blushes in the Bastille

(Drums heard.)

What the devil's the matter to-day? Briquet!

Bri.

(Entering.)

Here I am, sir.

St. L.

Why, they are beating to arms in the Bastille.

Bri.

Perhaps it is some fête-day.

(Heavy bell heard.)

Hark to the great bell of Notre Dame!

                                         (Both, look out of window.)

Enter JAILOR, L. D., followed by Cook with the dinner. They place it on the table. Cook exits, L. D., and Jailor locks it.

St. L.

(At window.)

Oh, here's my dinner.

(To Jailor.)

What have you brought me?

Jai.

(Giving Briquet a basket.)

Everything we could get of the best, Chevalier, and, as usual, wine from the governor's cellar.

St. L.

You are a capital fellow, and full of little delicate attentions.

(Looks into basket.)

What! no ice? I must have some ice, or I shall send a complaint to the King.

Bri.

Dine without ice! impossible!

Jai.

It isn't our fault, sir; an express was sent off this morning to procure some, but it isn't come yet. The parks and public places are crowded with people, and every place is very difficult of access.

St. L.

What's their difficulty of movement to me?

Bri.

Certainly not, we see not so mach room to move about.

[Exit R., with basket. Jailer goes to the window.)

St. L.

They ought to have an ice-house in the place, but they have no consideration for state prisoners. By-the-bye, I sent a request to the ministers; I have asked for a room where I can have better air. Can anything be more scandalous than to lodge a gentleman even with the moat, in the very celler, for I suppose there can be nothing underneath us?

Jai.

(At window.)

No, sir, nothing underneath.

St. L.

What are you staring at, eh?

Jai.

(Leaving window quickly.)

Me, sir!

St. L.

(At window.)

I am not mistaken—they are arranging cannon on the ramparts to the left.

Jai.

Possibly.

St. L.

Can these plebeians have begun their system?

(Drum.)

Yes, that's the call to arms! By heaven, if I were but free, I could wish for nothing better than the command of a company of musqueteers to sweep the path clean of these rascals!

Bri.

(At door.)

Dinner ready, sir.

St. L.

Bravo! let but the King give these gentlemen of Paris a good lesson, and the minister send them a few leaden sugar plums, I'll forgive them both for making me dine like a beggar, without ice!

                                         [Exit, R. D.

Enter 2d JAILOR, L. D., from staircase.

2d Jai.

The storm threatens! they are only waiting for the cannon from the Invalids, to attack the Bastille. The governor fears the insurgents may gain some communication with the prisoners! come, quick!

                                         [Exit both, L. D., and lock it.

(The straw behind the pillar in dungeon, compartment R., is seen to move, and Fabian, pale and haggard, raises himself, passes his hand over his forehead, and rises with difficulty; takes the lamp, approaches window, looks out, listens, then retires discouraged; puts lamp on stone.)

Fab.

(Shaking his head.)

Nothing! still nothing!

(Shivering.)

The damp has penetrated my very limbs! I asked them for a little fresh straw, and they said it would cost too much! Straw! Your hatred and revenge are well obeyed here, proud Marchioness! it would have been more merciful to let me die than bury me alive! While I thought to purchase Pauline's pardon by my exile, they threw me into this tomb! Why should I complain? death will come quicker here; but Pauline, what has become of her?

(Warms his hands over

[Page 14]

lamp.)

My limbs are frozen, but, here,

(Places hand on heart.)

here, I am on fire! Kind heaven, preserve my reason till Andre's return! but why should I expect him? may not what I fancy to be recollection, be but a dream? for now I doubt everything! my memory, my thoughts, my existence; and yet, no, I remember well, yesterday I was sitting there—there, when a voice struck upon my ear, and that voice was Andre's; yes, Andre, who was at work in that gloomy gallery. I called, whispered my name, but he could not understand that the voice of a man proceeded from the bowels of the earth!

(Listens again.)

Nothing! nothing!

(Falls overwhelmed.)

Andre will not come!

(A stone falls at this moment through window, a letter attached to it.)

What's that?

(Picks up letter.)

A letter from him; yes, yes, it is; thanks Andre! thank heaven!

                                         (Weeps, at last he opens letter.)

(At this moment, Jailor is seen descending staircase; he opens trap, carries a loaf and jug of water. Fabian reads letter by lamp, while Jailor descends into L. division, below.)

Fab.

(Reads letter.)

“My dear benefactor, I know not if I shall be fortunate enough to see you; all Paris is in arms, and they are firing on all who approach the Bastille; but you shall have the letter, though they take my life.” My good Andre! “I have been to the Marchioness's house, and it was filled with mourning; the hall was hung with black.

(He is almost choked with emotion.)

A priest was in prayer beside an escutcheoned coffin, covered with velvet. I asked who was dead in the house, and they answered—

Enter JAILOR quickly; Fabian has just time to hide the letter.

Jai.

(Puts bread and water on stone.)

Here!

Fab.

Thank you.

Jai.

Yesterday, while a man was at work in that gallery

(Pointing to window.),

you approached that opening; the sentinel saw the light from your lamp, and also your signs.

(Seizes lamp.)

You won't do it again!

Fab.

What are you going to do?

Jai.

Takes away the lamp; 'tis the governor's order.

Fab.

(On his knees.)

O, no, no, not now, for mercy's sake!

Jai.

We know nothing here but obedience.

                                         [Puts out lamp, exits, and locks door.

Fab.

(Still on his knees.)

Heavens! I cannot see, and my letter!

(Goes to window, and then to place where lamp stood.)

All is darkness, all is night; the coffin—those mourners! who, who could it be?

(With a cry of despair.)

Ah, she—she is dead!

                                         (Falls senseless on the straw.)

(The cannonading begins: noise of musketry. JAILER appears through trap—gets on staircase.)

Jai.

They have commenced the attack! luckily the Bastille is impregnable.

(Goes up stairs, and exit, L. D. Reports of cannon to the end of the scene.)

Enter BRIQUET, R.

Bri.

The cannon! merciful powers! why, it's the cannon.

Enter ST. LUCE, R.

St. L.

(Going to window.)

Yes, the artillery of the fortress are firing on the Place St. Antoine; but, by heaven! the place St. Antoine answers them in their own way!

Bri.

Heavens! is it possible?

(Shouts without.)

St. L.

This is becoming serious! Listen! those confused cries—that dreadful clamour!

Bri.

(At window.)

And yonder on the ramparts, what a crowd! O, sir they are no longer soldiers—it is the people!

                                         (Shouts without, “Victory! victory!”

St. L.

'Tis impossible! why, they'll never take the Bastille like a cockle—shell!

(Shouts without, “Victory! Victory!” last discharge of musketry; and the doors are beat in with hatchets: the one at top of stairs falls—several men and soldiers hurry in, some carrying torches, all shouting “Victory!”

St. L.

(Listening at door.)

They are coming to us!

(The doors are broken in, and several persons enter the Chevalier's apartments; a soldier of the French Guard is at the head of them.)

St. L.

What is this?

All.

Liberty! liberty!

St. L.

How long has it been the fashion to enter the Bastille thus?

Sol.

There is no longer a Bastille; to-morrow it will be levelled to the ground; citizen, you are free!

St. L.

(Astonished.)

Nonsense!

Bri.

(Quickly.)

Free! the people fought for us; hurra for the people!

Sol.

Citizens, you are free!

All.

Liberty, liberty!

                                         (All leave room, and remain outside.)

St. L.

Certainly, I shall go out, but not this figure! Briquet, quick, my coat and hat!

(Briquet enters inner room, St. Luce takes off dressing-gown; Briquet reenters with necessaries for toilet.)

Bri.

Here they are, sir.

                                         (Dresses him.)

Enter ANDRE down staircase, gets amongst crowd, looks about.

And.

Yes, I'm sure it was in this tower.

Sol.

Who are you looking for?

And.

A poor prisoner.

Sol.

There is no one else here; there's nothing beneath. Come, let us go.

All.

Ay, ay.

And.

Nay, stay; I'm sure I'm not mistaken; I am sure beneath our feet a wretched man in perishing, for whom but now I risked my life.

Sol.

Look yourself, and be satisfied.

And.

(Pointing to trap.)

This trap, perhaps it may be raised; let us try.

All.

Yes, yes.

                                         (They all assist with hatchets, &c.)

[Page 15]

And.

Pull it up.

(They raise it.)

There, look!

Sol.

And do you mean to say there is a living being down there?

And.

Yes, a fellow-creature; a good and worthy man.

(Goes down, followed by others; one bears a torch.)

St. L.

Now my gloves and my hat.

(Briquet gives them.)

My sword—ha! I haven't one. Now then, I'll soon to Versailes.

Bri.

And I to the Park.

[Both exit up staircase; Briquet shouting, “Hurrah for the people!” At this moment Andre and others break into dungeon below, and, by the torchlight, discover FABIAN.

And.

Fabian! Fabian! 'tis I, Andre!

                                         (Raises him.)

Fab.

(Reviving.)

Andre! Andre! are you, too, a prisoner?

And.

No, no; you are free.

Fab.

(Joyfully.)

Free!

(Rises, is rushing out, suddenly returns to Andre.)

Fool that I am! If they have restored my liberty it is because she is dead—Pauline is dead!

And.

No, no; it was not she—'tis the Marchioness.

Fab.

And I am free?

All.

Yes, you are—you are!

(Shouts.)

Liberty—liberty!

(Fabian rushes to staircase, then stops suddenly, looks at Andre and those who surround him; then breaks into a loud fit of laughter; they look sorrowfully at him. 'Tis apparent his reason is gone. At last he falls senseless and exhausted. He is raised by Andre. Cannon again. The whole back of upper part of scene falls in, and discovers the city, the ramparts, and various groups with torches, &c. Women, citizens, and soldiers; red fire, &c.)

END OF ACT III.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

—An immense Gothic Apartment in the old Castle of Resadeuc, in Bretagne; at the back a high and vast fire-place; L. of fire-place, a large window, opening on a balcony; R. of fire-place, a gallery, which is lighted by two painted windows; doors R. and L. 2 E., by side of which hang portraits of the Marquis and Marchioness de la Reynerie, that of the Marchioness R.; L., a small table with writing materials, beside it an arm-chair; R., a sofa; at back, by fire—place, a Gothic stool.

BRIQUET watching at window, ST. LUCE standing by fire-place; AURELIA and PAULINE seated, warming themselves.

St. L.

(To Briquet.)

Do you see anything strange or suspicious about the chateau.

Bri.

No, sir, I see nothing but the snow and ice.

(Through open window snow is seen falling.)

If you will allow me, sir, I'll close the window.

(Shuts it.)

Oh, dear! what a precious year is the year 1793!

St. L.

Go, hasten to the fisherman who promised to let me have his boat to cross to Normonliere. Once at sea, either by his own will or by force, he shall take us to England. My sister and my cousin Pauline will not be safe until then. Quick! quick!

Bri.

I'm gone, sir.

                                         [Exit.

Aur.

(Rising.)

Why take us from this asylum, which the devotion of our tenantry has hitherto rendered so secure.

Paul.

(Rising.)

My dear friends, why did you expose yourselves for me? why did you not leave me to die?

Aur.

Pauline, we may await death in a cell or at the foot of the cross; but to die on a scaffold, exposed to insult from an enraged mob—to die by the hand of the executioner—O, 'tis too dreadful to think of!

Paul.

Those tortures would be but momentary aud my life is one continued agony—you know that my dying mother never forgave poor Fabian, who suddenly disappeared, since when we could never learn if he still lived or had ceased to suffer.

St. L.

When my sister confided your secret to me, I did all in my power to discover him; I wrote to Bourbon, but none had seen or heard of him; the enraged people disbelieve your marriage, and consider Fabian was sacrificed through your connivance.

Aur.

O, could the late Marchioness see death thus hovering around you, she would call on Fabian to preserve her child; for the proof of the marriage, which is in his possession would now save her life!

St. L.

Yes, that certificate, signed by the Abbé L'Audrey, who performed the ceremony, would prove her innocence.

Enter BRIQUET.

Bri.

I could not find the fisherman, sir; but I have brought his brother, who knew all about it.

St. L.

(To Aurelia.)

Till I have tested this man's fidelity, it would be imprudent to let him see our cousin.

Aur.

(Pointing to door.)

We will wait in the library. Come, Pauline.

St L.

Bring the man in.

                                         [Exit Briquet.

Paul.

(Looking at portrait.)

Mother, mother! why should we separate again? Here, at the feet of this dear but dreadful image, I would be content to die.

                                         [Exit with Aurelia, R. D.

Enter BRIQUET with ANDRE; he points to ST. LUCE.

Bri.

There is the gentleman.

                                         [Exit at back.

St. L.

(At table with papers.)

Why is it your brother has not come?

And.

He is on a jury at Nantz; I am informed of the business. Bless you, sir, I soon got my hand in again to the old trade; I'll take you quite as safely as my brother.

St. L.

You are sure of that?

And.

I shall have a steady comrade.

St. L.

Discret, and silent.

And.

Poor fellow, he never speaks to anyone never remembers anyone! His complaint is all in his brain, and in his heart—so, at least, the doctor

[Page 16]

says; but his arms are stiff and strong, and the sea breeze does him good. He often spends whole days in the boat, and loves to be rocked by the waves in the clear sunshine; it brings his own country to his recollection. He is very wretched, and I have often heard him mention the names of those who have caused all his sorrows. Then at times he weeps over, and hides again in his bosom, a time-worn discoloured paper, which he treasures as a precious relic.

St. L.

(Busy with papers, and scarce hearing the latter part of Andre's speech.)

You will be answerable for this man?

And.

As for myself, sir.

St. L.

(Putting papers in pocket.)

'Tis well: have you brought him with you?

And.

Yes, sir; he was delighted when he saw me prepare the boat, and I told him we were going for a sail as soon as the tide served.

St. L.

Where is he?

And.

Sitting yonder, under the chestnut tree.

St. L.

Now I'll give you the sum agreed for by your brother.

And.

I am at your service, sir.

St. L.

Follow me, then.

                                         [Exit, L. D., followed by Andre.

[Enter FABIAN, from gallery, R., walks slowly, looking on all sides; speaks vacantly.

Fab.

Andre! Andre! the tide is up; we must go. It is still rising—rising!

(Fancying himself surrounded by the waves.)

O, save her! save her! leave me to perish, I ought to perish—the Abbé L'Audrey! yes, the poor mulatto will love you—cherish you, even as the mariner does his distant home!

(Sees portrait of Marchioness.)

There—there is your mother!

(Supplicating.)

Do not curse! no—no, do not curse her! I will go, I will leave her!

(Holds out his arms.)

Take her, bind me—send me to a dungeon—to the Bastille, ha!

(A pause.)

Hark! the cannon—they are coming! Free! yes—yes, I am free—free!

(Puts hand to head, closes his vest.)

How I tremble! I am very cold—ha! some fire, fire!

                                         (Sits by fire.)

Enter ST. LUCE and ANDRE, L. D.

St. L.

Well, then, now we understand each other I'll fetch the ladies,

                                         [Exit, R. D.

And.

And I'll bring my comrade.

(Going, sees Fabian.)

Ha! there he is, poor fellow!

(Speaks kindly to him.)

We are coming on board—don't you hear me? Ha! I see, he has forgotten me again. Come, 'tis I, Andre!

Enter AURELIA and PAULINE, R. D.

Aur.

Courage, Pauline, courage!

Enter ST. LUCE, R. D.

St. L.

Come, let us be quick.

Enter BRIQUET, in terror.

Bri.

O, sir! O, my lady!

St. L.

What's the matter?

Bri.

It's all over with us!

All.

What?

Bri.

I was keeping a look-out as you desired me, sir, when on a sudden I saw a number of armed men coming by the Nantz road.

All.

Nantz!

Bil.

They are led on by two ill-looking fellows, one of whom I heard say to the rest, pointing to the chateau, “'Tis there she is hid—there you will find the ci-devant Marchioness de la Reynerie!”

And.

(Suddenly.)

Reynerie!

St. L.

They cannot enter but by force. Come, come—we may yet escape!

                                         (They are going.)

And.

(Aside.)

'Tis she, then, the Marchioness, I was about to save!

St. L.

(To Andre.)

Why do you pause?

And.

(Comes down centre.)

Take back your money—I recall my promise!

St. L.

How say you?

And.

(Throws down purse.)

I say that for a million of gold I would not guide you!

Paul.

Heavens! what do you mean?

And.

I mean, lady, I will not aid in the escape of Mademoiselle de la Reynerie—I will not save her whom I have denounced.

St. L.

You, wretch!

And.

Justice is for all.