Classic Poem

ACT I

Scene I — A Wood near the Walls of Old Paris .

Enter two soldiers, looking about.

1st Soldier . I'll swear I heard some one hereabouts. He was singing, as if he was going to his mistress.
2nd Soldier . Or coming from her, mayhap, covered with love and glory.
1st Sol. Stand aside a bit. Devil 's in it, if we don't nab a purse or two, now that the general has pushed so much nearer the city than the enemy looks for. I haven't had a booty these three days, but market butter. Damn butter!
2nd Sol. And furiously damn eggs, hard or soft! We made the last fellow we met with 'em dance through a basketful, in his wooden shoes.
1st Sol. Hush! Now hear him.
2nd Sol. Coming this way, too, full butt.
1st Sol. I see him. Stand aside, man. Saw you ever a singing-bird hop into a snare as he will? He 's very pretty plucking too, if I'm not mistaken; a gentleman, every louis of him. It 's a pleasure to rob such a man.
2nd Sol. He does it as easily as if he was going to be shaved; or to buy a ribbon of a pretty milliner. How d'ye do, sir?

Enter D E T ORCY , the soldiers going on each side of him .

1st Sol. Hope you're well, sir. Hope your mistress admires your singing as much as we do, sir.
2nd Sol. Hope your hat 's well, sir, and your pockets.
1st Sol. And your boots, dear sir. Hope they come off easy. Shall be happy to refresh you that way.
De Torcy ( aside ). Boots and pockets! Freebooters, by this light! or do they belong to the Prince's army? Here 's a couple of easy companions for you! And so near the city gates! ( Drawing his sword and backing .) Gentlemen, may I crave your modest names and wishes? You have the advantage of me.
1st Sol. We have the advantage of you, sir, thank Heaven; and, please Heaven, we mean to keep it. Your hat is a most engaging hat, and your gloves — —
2nd Sol. Are loves. We have the honour to take you prisoner, sir, that 's all.
1st Sol. You needn't go to head-quarters with us, provided you come down with the money handsomely, and make no noise.
De Tor. Noise, you fools! Off, you scoundrels, or I'll tap your drunken bloods for you!
2nd Sol. All the devils! He has broken my head!
2st Sol. I've the damn'dest cut o' the knuckles! Hollo there! Hollo!
Both . Hoy! a hoy! Help for the Prince!

Enter C APTAIN L A R OUSSE .

La Rousse ( drawing his sword ) Oh, I must help you, must I, you shambling rascals? fellows that had your bones broken when you were footmen. Stand aside, and leave the gentleman to me. Now, sir, if you please.
De Tor. You may as well let 'em fight; for I shan't give in. Come on, every shabby sword of you.
La Rou. Nay, honest friend, civil war is civil war, and prisoners are prisoners; but if you, being a Parliament man, and not so well off in that matter, as you might be, are so hungry for a dab in the chops this morning. I flatter myself I can serve you well enough. ( They fight. Soldiers interfere .) Get back, ye thieves, and let decent people have their way. ( He ejaculates like a fencer ) Aha! aha! Sa! sa! Stop a moment. You fight devilish well, that's the truth; but you'll gain nothing, come what will; for my whole troop has invested the spot by this time; so, as you can't escape, look about you as you may, and are such a ferocious fellow as to give me a respect for you, and above all, as I haven't finished my breakfast, why you might as well come quietly along with me, Armand de la Rousse, captain of the guard, instead of losing your hat and purse among these gentlemen. You can tap a bottle of the right claret with me, instead of the wrong; and after breakfast, send for your ransom comfortably; for I guess you don't happen to have it by you. Off, ye superfluous dogs.
De Tor. ( aside, and clasping his hands ). The happiest path I ever trod, thus crossed
By knaves and fools! myself a prisoner!
And of my purse he guesses but too well.
La Rou. ( aside ). This fellow now, by his black looks and oaths,
(For he is swearing devilishly) is bound
On some affair of love; or honour; going
To kiss some pretty girl, or fight some friend.
I pity him. — Sir, my claret's devilish good,
And what else I can do for you —
De Tor. Fight me,
And let me go, if I fight best. That's all
That you can do for me; but that were every thing.
Oh! grace me thus, and give me a chance of going,
And I'll for ever count you my best friend; —
Next to my best
La Rou. ( aside ). Ay, see! he fights 'em all, —
All his best friends! Faith, an attractive fellow;
And I could find it in my heart to oblige him;
But then my tailor's bill! ( Aloud .) My good sir, fighting's
A pretty settlement in its way; I own it;
But to be plain with you, it helps no rents
One cannot fight those inconsiderate dogs,
One's draper and one's wine-merchant. I'm sorry,
And that's the truth. I never met a man
Whom I would sooner pink in the way of friendship,
And let a little blood with, this hot weather,
Than — who, pray, is my prisoner? Favour me
With your most fiery and respectable name.
De Tor. Hold — there is one way more — one way to oblige me
To do me the greatest favour, sir, on earth,
And yet not lose me for your captive. Ay,
Hear me — you'll find it so. You are a gentleman,
And think me one. Think me so truly one,
And like yourself, who count your word an oath,
As to deserve to have one brief hour's grace,
And I'll return; — in one hour I'll return,
By all that 's brave and honourable in man,
And blazon you for noble.
La Rou. With the ransom?
De Tor. With my heart's blood, man, if you choose to have it,
Until the ransom come.
La Rou. Is it a duel?
It must be a duel, you speak with so much pathos:
And if it is, by Heaven, as I'm a Christian,
And feel for others, I think I'll let you go:
Upon your word, you know: and you may take
One hour, or two, or four if you need surgery,
And must return in scarfs, or in a litter,
Which I'll hope not. And if you're killed, — I mean,
In case you should be, — you'll be good enough
To write a scrap for me, before you go,
Upon your banker, father, or what not;
Though I prefer a banker to a father.
De Tor. ( aside ). Is there a man on earth — ( Aloud .) 'Tis no such thing
I have a business on my hands, I swear,
More serious, far, than that; such an engagement,
As injures more than one, if I lose time;
And therefore I would beg you — —
La Rou. Oh, some girl:
Faith, by your blushing, and your head-shaking,
I'm very much afraid it's some weak girl —
Some pretty girl; well, if you like, some plain one;
Plain ones are often devilish piquantes .
Well, I'd not be offensive; but consider —
Nobody blushes that is going to fight;
There 's nothing to be ashamed of in that matter:
But as to girls!
De Tor. 'Sdeath, man! wilt hear me speak,
And set you right?
La Rou. Then they detain men so.
That makes a difference — oh! a horrible difference.
A man can get away in decent time
From a man's sword; there's reason in a sword;
But from a girl! — I put it to yourself; —
You see it forces me to some perplexity;
Some delicate thoughts.
De Tor. ( aside and impatiently walking about ) Was ever baulk like this! —
And she! — great Heavens!
La Rou. You go now to some girl,
One, whom you love — for that's the word you know —
A pretty, laughing, sighing, sidling thing,
Chuckling as fiddle-strings before a dance,
And it's four o'clock and you're to leave at six,
And you hear neither six strike, seven, nor eight,
But about two in the morning, cry, " God bless me,
I fear it's late!"
De Tor. Come, Captain, you're too cheerful
To baulk an honest wish, though it be serious.
I'll tell you all frankly; and you shall hear
This voice again, in one brief hour, as sure
As your next call to horse. There is a lady — —
La Rou. Ah! I knew how it was!
De Tor. There is a lady,
Whom I have promised within half an hour
To meet again, and see to her own house
In Paris, where, before the week is out,
She will be mine.
La Rou. Your wife? and is she rich?
De Tor. As good and fair.
La Rou. ( aside ) Unconscionable dog!
Rich, good, and fair, and all for his own eating!
Well, he can't wonder if it stretch his ransom
Two or three tradesmen further.
De Tor. An attack,
Unlooked for in a road held safe till now,
Swept from her side two elders of her kin,
With purse and passport, and had borne off her,
But for this sword, blest beyond all desert.
Sir, in their dread to lose their star, these eyes
Had hung upon her track from south to north;
And having thus been fortunate, and seen her
Housed in a village where she meant to rest
Hard by, I quitted her to seek new passports,
And was returning with them, when I fell
Into these bonds; which, but for one short hour
I do — —
La Rou. ( interrupting him ). Honour me with the hand that every day
Cracks some new skull, and for such loving reasons.
May it be never met by a worse foe,
Than a poor devil of a younger brother,
Whose tailors are so base, they will not take
Sentiments for their bills. Two hours I'll give you;
Three — four — if you would have it so. No? well,
Do as you will, or as the lady pleases,
One thing provided; which is, that you'll let me
Help you to see her safely through these lines, —
Her shortest way; that is, I mean to set them
Free to you both, not trespass on your company.
De Tor. 'Twill turn ill-luck itself to glad account,
And pay for my lost time.
La Rou. Enough; and if — —
If I might catch one glimpse of her, one twinkle —
Just have a little bit of peep at her eyebrow,
In this damned dull campaign, why 'twould be kind of you;
That 's all.
De Tor. You shall. She is as frank as good,
And will not grudge to thank you. But, good Captain,
Not the least — you conceive me — —
La Rou. Oh, dear sir.
De Tor. Not the remotest atom —
La Rou. Oh! oh! never.
My dear sir! Have you not met heartily
My lighter moods, and shall I not respect
Your gravest?
De Tor. Well, well. In all likelihood
Even my one hour will be less. But hold —
My name — you must know that — 'tis the Chevalier —
But stay — I'll write it down.
La Rou. Never mind now.
Speed to the lady. Names, another time.
Suffice it, meanwhile, I shall see a gentleman.
Scene II. — A drawing-room. The C OUNTESS M ONTALAIS discovered in a travelling dress, sitting, and reading a letter .
Countess ( reading ). " Do not say anything about me to your friend, the Chevalier, till I speak further. Don't mention my name to him, for good and innocent reasons, which I will tell you when we meet. Though in full action as a Sister of Charity, I am at present only a novice, and shall probably not be among the good ladies much longer, for reasons which I will also tell you. Suffice to say, till then, that while I do remain with them, I wish to be very private, unknown to all but my dear, ever-generous school-fellow, whose greater purse shall do as it desires, and help my small one to comfort the poor and sick. Since we last met, I have had troubles that she would little suspect; and these have made me sympathetic"
Not they. The sympathy was ready-made,
Sweetest Louise! only you knew it not,
You had a heart so merry.
( She proceeds with the letter .) " I regret to say — — "
What is this?
" I regret to say that what you feared respecting the rumour is true. The good Sisters have heard it. But this, dearest Gabrielle, should only hasten you all the quicker to make it of no importance to the Chevalier, by disclosing the poor little amount of truth which is in it."
Would I had done so! But he looked so sad,
He looked so scornful (so at least it seemed)
Of all that might belie discernment in me,
Yet with a hope so bent to become rapture,
Could but my scorn trample the truth itself,
That I did trample it; and ever since,
Mine eyes, when they meet his, look anxiously
To see if they behold love or disdain.
So then, it seems, there has been talk of me!
Some feasters in the camp have talked of me
Over their cruel wine; one, most of all,
That should have most been dumb; or, if he spoke
Have spoken noblest. And De Torcy thus . . .
Has had the cause to doubt me, which I feared.
Cause? No cause. Though, alas! women and men
Have different measures dealt them by the world,
E'en of the right to a misplaced good-will.
Oh, why did a weak fear of that false judgement
Make my lips guilty in disowning all?
He comes! — I hear his voice at the hall-door,
Happy and loud. No danger, then, comes yet;
And I, too, will be happy, and be loud,
And meet his triumph worthily. Oh, all
Will still go well. Love comes to lead me forth,
And Charity shall bless me as I go
And what care I for this base fop, De L'Orme?
No more than for the dust beneath my feet,
On which I walk to meet felicity.

Enter D E T ORCY , to whom the C OUNTESS holds out her hands .

De Tor. ( taking and clasping them ). You look as high and happy as the pride
You give this heart. So cunning without craft,
So exquisite in bounteous artifice,
Is all you do.
Countess . In artifice?
De Tor. In kindness:
In making what you give seem giv'n to you;
The only privileged artifice.
Countess. Not except
A word of comfort to the sorrowful?
De Tor. Oh, ever that. — I'll tell you presently
What has delayed me somewhat. Nothing serious.
The passport is renewed; a fresh good horse,
Found for me here, instead of the poor beast
Slain in these thievish wars; and two as dull,
Nice, acquiescent, glorified old gentlewomen,
Prepared to fill the places in the coach
Till you reach home, as ever took the hand
Of an old Duke at cards. Oh, I'm all insolence,
Laughing at great and small; and yet, not so,
But loving all things for the sake of you;
For let me once again, ere I speak more,
Thank you, and thank again, and again yet,
For that most blessed answer which you gave me
About this fop De L'Orme; — no, no; not answer;
You know I never questioned you. How could I,
On such a score as that? But when I think
With what a heavenly fire upon your cheek
You withered it, with what sweet leaping breath
And generous eyes, and how you deigned to tell me,
Not only that you scarcely knew the man,
But never listened to love talk but mine, —
Oh, this makes me so proud, so blest, so grateful,
Such a partaker of your own born triumphs
O'er all the ills and chances of the earth,
That I seem raised into some bright-eyed air,
Where none can live but such as love exalts,
And heaped with gifts as I would have heaped you,
Had I been lord of all things, and you nothing
Countess . Men like not women to have loved before,
Nor even to have been supposed to love;
Altho' themselves may have loved many times
De Tor. Not I. How could I, having had a dream
Of such as you, and searching till I found you?
True 'tis, that custom giving fancy license
On the men's side, I sometimes let it loose;
But those I thought of were but prophecies
Of you, or portions rather; here an eye,
And there a lip, and there a pleasant manner;
So that with one, I could grow critical;
With this, dissatisfied; with that, e'en angry;
A thing unknown to true love's humbleness,
And marking but a passion in the blood,
Where anger keeps rude house with appetite:
But loving you, I knew I loved indeed,
Because, had you rejected me, I felt
I should have mourned, but bowed as to the heavens.
Countess . I have been anxious; and, I think, am scarcely
Strong enough yet, e'en to say thanks. The air
And journey will revive me.
De Tor. Let us move.
These terrors on the road — yet look now, sweet;
You must be strong enough, not for more terror, —
No, but a jest — a pastime; strictly such,
And food for pleasant memory.
Countess . What is it?
De Tor. It will but give me business during yours,
And for a day or so, and in blithe company;
But I'm a prisoner.
Countess . Prisoner!
De Tor. To your eyes
At one end of the chain; and at the other,
To a most merry Captain, one La Rousse;
Who stretching his rash nets here with his fowlers
To the very skirts of the wood and the town-gates,
Caught me, a careless singing-bird of love,
Whose claws availed not numbers.
Countess . And the ransom?
You must be pressed — I'll write for it this instant.
De Tor. ( arresting her ). Nay — —
Countess . Nay! what nay? haven't I right?
De Tor. Sweet soul!
But there 's a certain set of cold third persons,
Lawyers to-wit, and drawers up of contracts,
Who, for the sake of the poor proud blessed man,
Must know him, ere she part with any thing
Besides, the ransom must be paid at once,
And I've a friend who has it. There 's not time
To send to my own poor dismantled home,
And if there were — Well, 'faith, I'm almost sorry
I may not bankrupt you; nay, by those eyes,
I fancy I could wish myself still poorer,
That I might pull down on my blessed head
The heaven of all your virtues
Countess . And I too.
A woman may confess she has dreamt that, —
Just that; and how you would have welcomed me
Barefooted at your door, and wrapped me round
With worship for my want. Life were too blest,
Did not some little jar, like this, break in,
To show our music earthly.
De Tor. No jar yet,
Being not only pastime in your absence,
But for yourself good-luck, and roads made short;
For this my new friend-enemy, La Rousse,
Who, being Captain, guessed what made me desperate,
And, being gentleman, had it owned to him,
Has set the outposts open for your sake;
Tho', like the bold man that he is, he dared,
And I dared too, being bolder, and you generous,
To hope, in passing, that the unknown face
Might, from its veil, show him one beam to grace him.
Countess . What is his name, you say? " La Rousse"?
De Tor. La Rousse
Countess . And he will be alone?
De Tor. Of course he will.
Countess . Come; and perhaps your Captain may discern
Reasons for — —
De Tor. Faiths, which he has yet to learn.
Scene III. — L A R OUSSE'S apartments at head-quarters. He is discovered sitting after breakfast, and stretching himself .

La Rousse . Well; I've made breakfast last as long as possible,
And what the devil shall I do now? No soul
Will love; nobody fight; Parmentieres, Villars,
Rohan, Beauvais, all gone with little Franc,
To the next town; my old Lieutenant sick;
My Cornet, poor boy, with a face and wit
Fit to chuck half the sex under the chin,
Staring all day at the tall Notary's daughter,
Because he saw her tie her shoe in a door-way;
And so I've nothing left me, not a cast
Of dice, nor e'en a wager on two blue-bottles,
To give a poor curst Captain a sensation.
I've read the Army List , — the Rondeau Book , —
The Adventures of the Nun ; — nay, the old Sermon
Which the poor lad brought here with him, because
She copied it, — all in such a sweet bad hand;
And half the corners of her manuscript
Are drenched with oil, which makes a sort of pity
In love, and shows how above circumstance
Th' admirer's feelings are! — If that tall girl, —
That sallow girl, — doesn't take pity on him,
And treat him like a Christian, I see plainly
He'll marry her! — he will! — entreat the father,
Down on his knees, to be so noble-minded
As let him wed her poverty, and raise her
From figs and cheese to be a marchioness —
I know that sort of thing; I mean, the notion
Of being seriously in love; though never —
I never thought — I'll do myself that justice —
Of matrimony ungilded; otherwise
Louise La Motte had been the wife for me;
She had, — had there been any reason for it, —
Poor little soul, — shaking you by the hand
So honestly, with eyes so thanking yours;
So witty, too, had she but known the world
A little better, and waived all that fuss
About her " feelings", and her " friends", and " father".
She was a sole heiress, for that matter;
Very small; and my father says, he'd pay
My debts, and rescue this estate of mine,
Would I but marry the least gentlewoman,
That might be shown at court. Louise La Motte
Might be shown anywhere, and grace the shower.
I wonder what's become of her? she cried
Somewhat too much; but that was when I left; —
And had the prettiest warble. — Well, she has gone
The way of all eternal constancies
By this time; — oh, of course; — dried up her eyes;
Married some gentleman in snuff-colour,
Not very amusing, but of great integrity;
And got a house full of children, and bread and butter.
I hate that sort of man. — Yes, 'faith, I loved her;
And yet it vexed me horribly to miss
The Countess Montalais, for she enraged me;
So rich as well as beautiful; the widow,
At twenty, of a Craesus of fourscore,
Who married but a week before he died
On purpose to complete her maddening charms;
And yet to jilt me as she did; profess,
After permitting half a year's warm suit,
And suffering me to send her books and letters,
That there was some " mistake"; some " misconstruction",
Some " fancy", which my natural gallantry
Had " flattered her too far with!" Faith, there was;
A fancy that she had some decency,
And was not a mere face, cold as the devil;
A marble face; a spout; fit to turn fountain,
And chuck cold water on us. Devil take her!
I'll think of something else. Oh, ho! the sun
Carves this way, does it? takes a slice o' the floor
Tow'rds noon? my prisoner must be here anon,
And with him, zounds! a lady. How do I look?
That curl will never sit well when I want it;
And here's my lace all crushed! Well, never mind;
A little philosophy and the last new tune
Cures all. ( Sings .) It would be devilish funny though,
If the lady took a fancy to the Captain.
Prisoner's a grave sound. Conquerors have advantages.

Enter the Captain's Servant

Serv. The Chevalier de Torcy to wait on you, sir, with a lady.
La Rou. Entreat his presence. ( Exit Serv. ) Torcy! the Chevalier
De Torcy! why! that's he, they say, succeeded
To my lost throne with Madame Montalais.
Well, — this is — —

Enter D E T ORCY , bringing in the C OUNTESS .

De Tor. Madame Montalais, good sir,
Permits me to unite her thanks with mine
To Captain De La Rousse.
La Rou. ( aside ). By heaven and earth,
'Tis she, her very self!
Countess ( aside and despairingly ). De L'Orme! De L'Orme!
De Tor. ( introducing them ). My generous captor, madam. My fair friend,
The Countess Montalais.
La Rou. The Countess honours
An old acquaintance, sir, beyond all hope,
And all expression. 'Twere superfluous
To hope her health is good, with that bright cheek.
De Tor. You know the lady?
La Rou. ( sarcastically ). Well, — I have that honour.
De Tor. And you, madam, of course, know the good Captain?
You've changed your name then, Captain, for I see
Our fair friend knew not of your present one.
La Rou. The poor estate of a relation, sir,
Has, to La Rousse, changed — —
Countess . Oh, I see sir; — yes, —
And Monsieur was not then an officer.
La Rou. No, Madam; I was then simple De L'Orme.
De Tor. ( aside ). De L'Orme! — She seems confused to see the man
That bragged of her acquaintance; that still brags it,
Saying he knew her well. — 'I faith, good Captain,
Well as you know the lady, let us hope
You'll know her some day better. She admires — —
Countess . A gentleman ever, and the kindest, most.
La Rou. ( aside ). He's ignorant, I see, and so she'd keep him. —
( Aloud ) I must not boast a knowledge of you, madam,
Equal to his that speaks so handsomely;
But I were the most thankless man alive,
To pride me not, for ever and a day,
Upon those happy visits and blest walks,
When I breathed air whose heaven was envied me.
De Tor. ( aside ). Blushed she not so at bay, and heaved a bosom
So vexed in its tumultuous loveliness
(What ocean for such tempest!) doubt unutterable
Would rack me not. But she must not stay thus.
( Aloud .) Our time is short, dear lady; and the Captain
Will pardon our abruptness. Let me thank him
Once more, instead of your quick travelling breath
Unused to such road-whirlwind, — and so beg
He'll think you have said all things, old and new,
Which ladies say to compliments from Captains.
Countess . I am not well, and blush to have spoke no better
To one so more than flattering. Fare you well, sir!
De Tor ( aside to L A R OUSSE in going out ). You had no right to pain a lady thus,
Fancied you what you might.
La Rou. Nor shall you beard me,
Gulled as you are.
De Tor. ( fiercely ). I shall be back
La Rou. ( as fiercely ). I look for it.