Si. Without the smallest doubt. What says our little bride to that? I must confess, the more I look at these bright eyes, the more I can excuse my brother; for, to say the truth, this marriage did not please me quite: but now I find his purpose very natural-It goes with him as with a person looking at the sun-he can't refrain from sneezing. Al. Well, we'll make a bow, and say, God bless him. May he live as blessed as I with my dear wife. Si. (aside) I do not join you there. (aloud) So you're as happy as a man can be? Al. Yes, that I am, and every one would be so in my place, whose heart is sound. A spacious house, a pretty fortune, lucrative employment, and, what is more than all, a wife who loves me tenderly. Si. Yes, that I have remarked. Al. She is so prudent, she divides my years by my affection, and in the quotient finds me always young. And when you know her better, you will see, how good, how faithful, kind and complaisant, how active and— Car. O stop, my friend, praise pleases; but we should not hear our praise. Our guest has just been travelling, and probably would like repose. I'll go and put a room to rights. Come, Sophy, come along with me. When I am gone, bestow a little praise, if you think proper. [Exit with Sophia, SCENE XIII. Al. Well, you see, for ever gay, for ever cheerful, ever full of love and patience, notwithstanding all my freaks and humours,—then her sense, her sense. Si. I am convinced of it. Al. But after all, I'm master in my house. Si. So? Yes, yes, such a marriage is a heaven on earth. But even the best of marriages has still a but or if. Al. It may be so. Si. Unpleasant things occur, of which one never dreamt. At. That I believe. Si. Dear Mr Albert, it is hard to know the women well: In any point whatever, one has always trusted them too little or too much. Al. Are you a married man? VOL. VI. Si. I? I? Yes, I am married. Al. So-so-(aside) he has certainly a cross at home. Si. (with significant pantomine.) There are especially unpleasant things Al. I understand-No help for that, indeed; but patience,-(taking his hand) patience, friend. (aside) Poor devil! Si. But suppose one loves his wife? Al. Why, he must cease to love her from that moment. Si. But, Sir, honour ?-honour? Al. Does our honour, pray, depend upon a person who has none? Si. When one suspects such things as little as yourself Al. I pity you with all my heartbut that is fate! 'tis fate. Si. You pity me? Al. I do, with all my soul. Si. But hear me, dearest Sir, I am not here concerned. Al. No? Pardon me, I thought you were the happier man are you. Si. And you the more unhappy. Al. I? Si. You-for, to speak without disguise, you are the person to be pitied. Al. My worthy man, what is it you can mean? Si. I mean-I mean-your wife: Well, that your wife-Now don't you understand me? Well, the deuce! that she is carrying on a love-affair in secret, with a young-young man. Al. You must be crazy, Sir. Si. Have patience-only listen to me coolly. Al. I repeat it, Sir, you must be crazy: That is false, it is not possible. Si. Possible it must be, for the thing has happened. Al. How were you informed? who saw it? Si. I myself-have patience and I'll tell you all. Al. No, do not tell me all is false but yes, do tell me in the devil's name, say on-I'm on the rack. Si. Have patience; half an hour ago, as I was on the staircase, I observed a handsome youth who left this Al. You heard some talking? Si. Yes, I did, and when I entered Al. Well, what then? Si. I did not find a living soul. Al. You want to make a fool of me. Si. Have patience, I beseech you; curiosity now worked-I hid myself below a table-not long after came a woman, and behold, it was your wife -she went up to the bed-room, called, and somebody came out, and only think, it was the same young Al. Ah! and so heartily I loved her. Si. Courage, courage, friend, a man should show a force above misfortune. Al. To betray me so! Si. There is no remedy but patience, patience. Al. No, it is not true, Sir, you're a fool---you're raving mad---it can't be true. Si. I should be pleased to think so, but my ears know better---how it is, you can convince yourself this evening. Al. Evening! so this evening is the meeting? Si. Yes. Al. I shall be there, by heaven! I shall be there; but where's the man? the monster, devil, where is he? I'll search him out. I'll kill him. No, no. I will to her, to her. I'll dash her to the ground. With my contempt I will annihilate her. I'll--Si. O what she would deny the whole. All you would gain would be to put her more upon her guard. Wait rather till their interview. You'll be convinced yourself, and she SCENE XIV. Ca. Now, if you please to follow, Sir, I'll show you to your room. Si. At your command. (to Al.) Once more, have patience; patience is the word. Adieu. Al. (who, at his wife's entrance, flew up to her and walked round her, now when she is going, says,) Madam. Ca. Pray, are you calling me? Ca. I'll come directly. (Exit with Sirillo.) Al. (stands a while in a reverie.) 0 that this man had never set a foot within my house. I was so happy when in ignorance! But no, I'm pleas ed, the film is taken from my eye, even though the light should kill me! O'tis dreadful! it is hideous! the serpent! in what human face can one put trust, since her's deceived? I'll leave the place---I will away---I'll far away from all mankind---I'll to the woods, and live among wild beasts! they but devour you---don't deceive you. (walks violently up and down.) Ca. (entering.) Here I am again, my dear, what do you wish? (Albert pays no attention.) Good God! what is the matter? Only speak---you make me quite uneasy---do stand still and speak---is any thing a-wanting? Al. Wanting? No, there's nothing wanting---there is only here too much. Ca. Good heaven! what can it be? Pray, Albert, are you ill? have you again your toothache? Al. Headache! headache! Ca. Well, the doctor must be sent for-don't you think so? Al. Stand there opposite to me, and fix your eyes on mine. Ca. Well, here I am. Al. It is not possible! all lies, all lies. (is walking up to her, but suddenly stops short.) No, go, go, turn away from me those faithless eyes. They shall no more impose on me. Ca. O Albert, Albert, tell me what it is. Al. A trifle, a mere trifle. Some few grains of rank hypocrisy, deceit, abomination, shameful deeds, foul murder. That is something old, however happens every day-whose wonder does it raise? An honest, aged fool, is, for his confidence and love, most cruelly betrayed. He has, however, what he well deserves. Why was the fool so very foolish? Ca. Albert, I conjure you, speak more plainly. Not a word I under stand. Al. You do not understand me, Ma'am? O you do right, Ma'am, to put on that innocent and simple manner-it becomes you mighty well. Ca. I vow, at last, you'll make me angry, if you don't explain yourself. Al Ay, make you angry y! very right, Ma'am, bravo! fall into a passion-that's the usual artifice of women, when they're caught in their Ca. You now become uncivil, Sir. Al. Uncivil! O yes, certain other people may show you more civility. Ca. If you continue talking in that tone, I shall not answer you. Al. Not answer me, not answer me! 'tis well, Ma'am-very soon shall all be so arranged, that I shan't need to speak, nor you to answer. Ca. Do, pray, what you cannot leave undone. Al. As sure as I'm alive, I'll do it. I no longer love you. Ca. That afflicts and grieves me much. Al. O, it shall grieve you. Yes, by all that's sacred, it shall grieve you. (a pause, during which he looks at her sidewise; then, with a milder tone,) You'll never find a man to love you with his heart and soul, as I have done, no, never. Ca. Who knows that, Sir? Al. What! who knows? who knows? 'tis very well then, Ma'am, who knows? But I give you to know, that not only do I no more love you, I abhor, detest you. The same house shall no more harbour us. This day I go, this hour, this very moment I set out. (he goes hastily away; his steps, however, become slower, the nearer he is to the door; at last he stops and turns about.) How? (approaches again, with a harsh voice.) How? what were you saying? Ca. Nothing. a word? you will not speak? you turn your eyes away from me? Ca. (stands irresolute and anxious.) Al. So it is over then? all over! fare ye well. My Caroline, my Cary, angel, serpent, devil, never do you see me more. Adieu, for ever. (Éxit hastily.) Ca. What? really gone? my God! he is away! I must go after him. (she follows him in haste; Sophia meets her at the door.) So. Dear aunt! dear aunt! (Caroline runs past her, without attending to what she says.) SCENE XV. SOPHIA alone, afterwards SIRILLO. So. She neither hears nor sees; and out my uncle rushes furiously against me; almost runs me down upon the stairs. There must have been another quarrel---that I'm used to; but, before the sun is down, they will be reconciled. I don't know how it happens. Since Sirillo's brother came, I feel fresh hope. He seems to me a man of sense and breeding, could not he be used to settle matters? Neither with his brother nor the mar riage is he fully pleased. If I, without reserve, confess the whole, perhaps he will assist us. There he comes. Now, courage only; I will make a trial-I will beat about the bush. Si. (enters.) Ay, ay, there is our little bride, and quite alone. Where are Albert and his lady then? So. O they're gone a walking. Si. Walking? so? well, I am glad to find you all alone, my pretty maid, for I have something to confide to you. So. Oh, then, wits meet according to the saying, for I have also something to confide to you. Si. To me? Oh, come then, let me hear. I'm all attention, speak. So. We women are accused of using prefaces, but to you I'll speak quite openly, without the smallest preface. The first look I had of you inspired me with a confidence I cannot well explain. Si. Indeed! continue. So. 'Tis my uncle's pleasure I become your brother's wife. Si. And you would wish to make Al. (going nearer.) Nothing? not him happy, would you not? So. Yes, probably he's very near. Si. And did he not arrive to-day? So. (aside.) He must have seen my Heimfeld. (aloud.) Yes. So. I know not, if possessing me would make him happy; he deserves a better wife than I could be to him. I value, I esteem him, but I scarce dare utter it to you, I do not love him. Si. You do not love him! and why? if I may ask. So. Can we command our hearts? and then, to say the truth, he took but little pains to gain this heart of mine. Si. Ay, ay. So. I am convinced you will not tell him that; I would do nothing to offend him. Si. No, no, I shall never mention it. So. You'll think it strange that, after an acquaintance of an hour, I come to you with this confession; but your look, as I have told you, gave me confidence. I felt myself attracted to you all at once. You did not seem a stranger, but I felt as if we had been old acquaintances. Si. Really? In truth? (aside.) I verily believe this new edition of myself has charmed the little innocent. So. I had obeyed, perhaps, my uncle's will, although I do not love your brother; your arrival has, however, changed my mind, and opened up new hopes. Si. Since you saw me then-me--you no more wish my brother? So. (taking him by the hand.) To your hands I now commit myself and destiny. On you it shall depend, on you alone, to make me happy. Si. (aside.) Oh, as sure as death she is in love with me, and thinks she loves my brother; that's a funny story. So. Sir, my situation admits of no delay; it forces me to overcome reserve, all slyness of my sex, and freely to confess to you, that I---but you already understand me. Si. Yes, yes, my pretty dove, I can imagine all, but out with it; one likes to hear such things. So. Well, then, I own to you I love another. Si. And that happy other? How? Don't redden, angel. I will spare your blushes. Do not name him, for I know the whole. Your eyes were prompter than your mouth. So, How, Sir, you know? Si. Be calm, sweet little innocence. A girl can no more hide such things than fire its heat. That other is at present near you, is he not? Si. He's dressed in blue? So. Yes, yes, quite right. Si. His hair is black? So. With fine black eyes. Si. They're greyish, child, withal he has a most engaging look. So. He's elegant. Si. (surveying himself.) Yes, yes, very tolerable. he's So. And in a word, a lovely man. Si. Yes, and in love, in love. So. I clearly see you know the whole; now, do I need to tell you what I want of you? Si. Oh, all the rest is understood. (aside.) How rapidly she goes to work. So. So you are really inclined to make me happy? Si. Angelic maid, 'tis you make me a happy man from top to toe. So. But then your brother, what will he say to it?" Si. As we so cordially agree, my brother will be pleased with all we do. I promise you that he'll be satisfied, completely satisfied. I have a paper in my pocket, with which I wanted to surprise your uncle; you have heard about his wager with my brother? The surprise is double now. Ha, ha, ha! delightful! So. Well, the paper? Si. That I give to you, and then this evening, when we're all together, you will give it to the happy some one whom you love, and who returns your love most tenderly---whose dress is blue, whose eyes are black or grey, and then the plot's unravelled to the wish of every body, ha, ha, ha! How funny, O how funny! adieu, my gentle maid. There's some one in the drawing room, I hear; they must not know that we have laid our heads together. Angel fair, adieu, adieu. (as he goes off) What eyes will Albert make! what eyes! (while Sirillo goes out by the one side-door, Caroline ens ters by the other.) SCENE XVI, Car. (throwing herself upon a chair.) Alas! I cannot stand it longer. So. What's the matter, aunt? How out of breath you are! Car. I have been running after him ---a quarter---of an hour. So. And after whom? my uncle ! Car. Oh yes, up and down the stairs ---up to the garret---to the courtyard---everywhere---he foremost, and I always after him---the doors fly up and to---the servants stand and gaze ----I ask, I beg him, I conjure him to stand still at least---at last he does stand still a moment, casts a sideglance at me---then flies off like lightning. Never did I see him so before. So. What is the reason then? what has he in his head? Car. God knows! The best will be to let his rage boil out, and wait till he is calm and rational. Yet I conjecture somebody has told him of our little plot, and that your lover Heimfeld is among us. So. That I also fear. Sirillo's brother knows, at least, the footing I am on with Heimfeld. Car. What! Sirillo's brother? So. Yes, he left me now. I thought he might be serviceable, as he does not seem to like his brother or this marriage much; so I took heart, and told him all. Car. You did? So. But all was known to him be fore I spoke. The oddity seemed highly pleased-he promised me the plot should be unravelled to the wish of every one. This paper I'm to give. to Heimfeld in the evening-'tis connected with the bet, and, probably, contains this same unravelling of his. Car. Most singular! I-only wish no mischief may ensue. So. We soon shall see-this evening clears it up. SCENE XVII. ALBERT, with HEIMFELD, the former. Al. Walk in, Sir; pray walk inwe'll find society. So. Oh, dreadful! Heimfeld and my uncle !-we're undone. Al. (to Caroline,) I bring you, Ma'am, a guest I happened to fall in with in the garden. He's probably an amateur in gardening-I found him near the new-ingrafted cherrytrees, concealed among the bushes. Is it not delightful to see how, in the spring, all sprouts, and buds, and rises high? It is the devil's own delight! Is that not true, young friend? Why stand you there like a repentant sinner? I hope you do not fear the women? Come, step up.-(To Caroline.)-Pray, Madam, do you know this gentleman? Car. I do, dear husband-I Al. I don't know how I come to such an honour, but now I beg him earnestly and kindly to explain his visit. Car. My dear Albert- Heim. Mr Albert, you'll allow me Al. You two women, hold your tongues; and you will speak, young gentleman. Again I ask you what you want? what you are doing here? Car. He probably willAl. Silence, Ma'am ! So. Beyond a doubt he———— Al. Be you silent too, young lady. Now, young gentleman, your answer please begin. Heim. I beg you, Mr Albert, not to think that consciousness of guilt or views dishonourable have made me dumb or disconcerted-'twas surprise alone, and fear of giving you offence. My view in coming here is pure, unspotted Al. Curse upon its purity! Heim. And I need not blush to mention it aloud and franklyAl. (aside,) Devil take the fellow's impudence! Heim. The only error I am conscious of is this, that I have acted hitherto in silence, and behind your back. We long ago should have divulged the whole to you, and you for certain had consented to our wish. Al. The devil! Sir, are you beside yourself? Consented to your wish! Heim. I know that many things oppose our love; but I have great reliance on your goodness, on your wisdom and I think you'll listen to the voice of love and reason. Al. Reason, and my patience too, are almost quite exhausted. Heim. One thing only I shall name, which favours me with heart and soul I love her, and I have the pleasing certainty that I am loved again. Al. What, Sir, you have the insolence to say so to my face! Heim. Why should a sentiment that glows within my breast not pass my lips? Our love don't need to shun the eyes of any one. Al. Now, Sir, I beg that you will have the complaisance to get you gone. |