THE TRAVELLERS IN SWITZERLAND. A COMIC OPERA, IN THREE ACTS: AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN.
By Mr. BATE DUDLEY.
LONDON. Printed for J. DEBRETT, oppoſite Burlington-Houſe, Piccadilly. 1794.
THE TRAVELLERS in their Dramatic Tour through SWITZERLAND, have derived ſo conſiderable a ſhare of their celebrity from your judicious guidance—and their Author owes ſo much to your zealous friend⯑ſhip on all occaſions, that it were impoſſible to inſcribe this OPERA to any other perſon than yourſelf, with⯑out violating thoſe feelings, which have ſo invariably repreſented you, as the object of his regard, and eſteem.
THE STORY on which the following DRAMA is founded, however defective, is not borrowed—Various curtailments, and tranſpoſitions of Scenes, have unavoidably deranged the unities of the Piece, for the convenience of Stage repreſen⯑tation. Several of the AIRS, and all the CHORUSES having been written to compiled Muſic, the critical reader will make a ſuitable indulgence for ſome irregular, and uncouth numbers, which he will neceſſarily meet with.
The AUTHOR has too high a ſenſe of the zealous exer⯑tions of his whole DRAMATIS PERSONAE, to make any diſtinction in that general tribute of thanks, which he gratefully pays to their united merit. To Mr. SHIELD, he is indebted on this occaſion, for every thing that friend⯑ſhip, and profeſſional talent, could contribute.—
The Paſſages omitted on the Stage, are marked with inverted Commas.
Swiſs Soldiery, Shepherds, &c. &c.
Having nothing to eat, I perceive, is one of the luxuries we get by travelling into foreign parts!
Take care of the baggage, Cazelle, and ſee that the trunk with my family arms upon it, is particularly ſecured.
Oui Madame.
The honeſt fellow,
that ſo gallantly preſerved your daughter's life at the hazard of his own, will not be found deficient in the common offices of fidelity, depend on't.
What, news have you picked up, Daniel? are there any people of rank, or old families beſide myſelf, on the road?
Not that I know of, my Lady; I've only heard of two ſurprizing things; one is, that young 'Squire Dalton, paſſed this way a few weeks ago, on his travels.
That is ſtrange, indeed!
But the other is much more wonder⯑ful.
What can that be?
Why, my Lady, a fine bewitched Caſtle, only two leagues off! now, that in my notion, is a ſight, worth going all the world over to ſee!
Poh! this nonſenſe of witches and enchanted caſtles, will one day or other turn your brain, Daniel.
Oh, what a noble ſight an en⯑chanted caſtle muſt be!
Such a pair of ridiculous lovers, as Dalton and Miſs Somerville, romance itſelf has never recorded—both quarrelling with each other on a punctilio of falſe pride, when neither of their families have ſo much as a pedigre to be proud of—though, I think, we heard enough of her antient Chateau, which ſhe went abroad to take poſſeſſion of.
Julia and Sir Leinſter ſeem inclined to breakfaſt on a proſpect; they have diſcovered a diſtant country through the teleſcope, which ſhe contends, is the cliffs of Dover; while Sir Lein⯑ſter, to be a match for her in geography, declares it to be the Mangerton mountains, near the lake of Killarney.
Now I muſt conjure you, Mr. Sidney, to lay aſide your coarſe jokes, and to deport yourſelf for the remainder of the tour, as may become the dignity of my family in a fo⯑reign clime.
You know, my Lady Philippa, that the ruling object of my life, is to make you happy.
For ſhame, Mr. Sidney! pray let me aſk, in what ſingle inſtance have you ſhewn it? name one!
Compoſe yourſelf, my dear, and I will—Did I not forbid our neighbour, young Dorimond, my houſe, becauſe the poor fellow could not prove his deſcent from one of the twelve Caeſars?
Don't name the upſtart in my pre⯑ſence—a creature without a coat of arms to his family.
But having honour and private worth, I ſhould have given him up with reluctance, tho' he had been without a coat to his back.
I think, Mr. Sidney, you might pay a little more reſpect to the memory of my anceſtors.
Come, come, my Lady Philippa, [...]et us drop this ſubject, or you'll worry yourſelf [13] about the antiquity of your anceſtors, till you grow as old as the beſt of 'em!
Very well, Sir,—vaſtly well!
Have I ever uttered a ſingle e⯑monſtrance on our carriage being overloaded with your quarterings, and ſcutcheons, like a country hearſe?
I ſee through your cruel deſign, Sir,—you intend to break my heart in a foreign country.
And did not I take the advertiſe⯑ment for your Swiſs valet to the newſpaper with my own hands, and procure you one to attend upon my perſon, with whiſkers as long as a pole cat?
Go on, Sir! go on! diſhonour me through life, and when I am no more, perſevere in your barbarity, and let no family trophies fol⯑low me to my tomb!
Oh, my dear Lady Philippa!
Oh, you monſter of a man! you would bury me alive! get me a glaſs of Eau de Cologne, or I ſhall faint!
Here's a letter, I fancy for your Ladyſhip, with a coat of arms on it, as big as a waterman's badge.
Coat of arms!
So then, go which way I will, I am croſſed at every turn, by ſome new fangled no⯑tions of falſe grandeur!
Field ſable, three panthers paſſant, gorged with ducal collars chained, armed, creſted, tufted, and hoofed.
And horned too, I ſuppoſe, to compleat the impreſſion of modern heraldry.
From ſome illuſtrious perſonage, my life on't!
Yes, my Lady; I'm ſure by what his ſervant ſays, he's a foreign Lord at the leaſt.
And yet its rather ſingular, that he ſhould not know my name!
‘"A Meſdames—Meſdames Angloiſes."’
yes, he muſt be a man of faſhion, for he writes, I perceive, in all the languages
‘"Comte Friponi—les belles Angloiſes—his de⯑voirs in perſon—and chaperon them through Geneva and its environs"’ Delightful! Fri⯑poni? That's ſurely a very old name.
Yes, my Lady, one of the antient families, no doubt which the deluge had not time [15] to ſweep away. This muſt be the fellow that I ſaw in cloſe conference with our Swiſs.
Notwithſtanding your ſneers, Mr. Sydney, I ſhall not, you perceive be entirely deſerted in your abſence, if you ſhould purſue your commercial ſcheme to Straſburg—who's there? does the Courier wait?
Yes, my Lady.
Give me the port feiulle, that I may write an anſwer immediately.
Travel, ſo far from correcting, ſeems but to increaſe her romantic malady! This artificial weakneſs bears down all the amiable qualities of her nature; and the infa⯑tuation, if not checked, will deſcend, I fear even to the unaffected Julia! ſerious remon⯑ſtrance has been of no avail; the force of ri⯑dicule is my laſt reſource, and the object is too valuable, to leave the moſt painful experi⯑ment untried for its recovery.
What the devil, Mr. Sidney, have you done to my Lady Philippa this morning? yeſterday, ſhe graciouſly told me, ſhe could find no blot in my 'ſcutcheon—now, this mi⯑nute, ſhe whiſked as ſpitefully by me, as a bullet from a croſs bow!
Come come, ſtand my friend with Miſs Julia, and tell her once for all how clever, a huſband I'll make her!
Look ye, Sir Leinſter, as old friends, dont let you and I talk ſeriouſly when we can [16] avoid it.
Julia has declared never to favour the addreſſes of any one, without my approba⯑tion; in no caſe therefore but that of extreme neceſſity, ſhall a father's authority controul her inclination.
The future happineſs of her life will probably depend on her own choice—let the man of her heart, then win her, and wear her, ſay I.
My dear fellow, give me your hand, and is that what you ſay? Win her and wear her! Oh! ſay no more, only leave me alone for that.
Well, Mr. Sidney, we can part with you now as ſoon as you pleaſe, for Count Friponi in his note, has recommended to me an Engliſh guide, who lives juſt at the foot of the mountain—tho' he knows but little of the man himſelf, he is reckoned the clevereſt creature in the world, who can tell us every body, and every thing.
An Engliſh guide recommended to you by a foreign Count?—there muſt be ſome miſchief on foot!
Yes; and dont you think this an act of great courteſy, and condeſcenſion in a man of high family?
Without doubt my everlaſting love.
If ſuch a device were practi⯑cable!
What are you proſing about?
I'm thinking, my Lady Philippa, that in my abſence, is it not poſſible that you may thus ſubject yourſelf to ſome impoſition?
Impoſition! I know you deem me a weak creature! ſhew me the man, Mr. Sidney, that can impoſe upon me.
Its worth the experiment at all events.
But dont you perceive that this will be an unneceſſary increaſe of your expences?
Poh! what ſignifies expence when the honour of a family is concerned! the larger the ſuite, you know, the more dignified! be⯑ſides, he'll be a better interpreter than Cazelle, the Swiſs, who is far too reſerved.
I ſhould be ſorry to withhold my conſent, even in—
Your conſent? now, Mr. Sidney, you have made it an object of too much im⯑portance for me to diſpenſe with—ſo have him I will, and there's an end of it.
Then all I have to do, is, I ſup⯑poſe, as uſual, to acquieſce?
To be ſure.
Well ſaid, my Lady Philippa!
There can be no great difficulty in defeating [18] the probable raſcalities of the Count, who, from what I can learn of our landlord, is little better than a deſperado after all—This ſame Guide, intended no doubt for ſome ſecret ſervice of that faſhionable impoſtor, may, with a little dexterity, be managed, ſo as to anſwer a better purpoſe of mine
—I ſhall ſatisfy myſelf at leaſt, whe⯑ther the regard ſhe pays to other opinions in preference to mine, be a turn towards natural depravity, or merely the coquettiſh folly of family pride. If only the affection of vice, ſhe may yet be ſhamed out of it—ſhould it prove worſe, the painful alternative my own honour muſt ſuggeſt.
Who knows but I may be received as her guide by ſtratagem, tho' refuſed it thro' life on the ſcore of long tried af⯑fection
—I remember to have enacted Davus before the grave dons of Weſtminſter, with to⯑lerable ſucceſs.
—How ſhall I manage my voice? but there can be no great difficulty in that; for Lady Philippa has paid too little regard to its natural key, to be ſtruck with it under any diſguiſe it may now aſſume.
Dear ma'am, why ſhould we deſpair? I hope we are not doomed to live alone for ever!
I wonder who that could be, I ſaw juſt now through the glaſs from the turret? perhaps he's near enough by this time to be obſerved with the naked eye.
This completes the firſt year of my ſelf-baniſhment from an object which I find is ſtill dearer to me even than my country! How devoted is that affection, which neither time can alter, nor diſtance remove! In vain have I en⯑deavoured to reproach my own heart, for per⯑mitting me to fly from all it values! Oh, Dalton! if I ſtill beheld thee at the feet of another, my pride would take the ſame alarm, and again in⯑form thee, that I muſt diſpenſe with thoſe ad⯑dreſſes, which I owed more to my fortune than my perſon. Had I wronged him by a groundleſs ſuſpicion, he could not have withdrawn himſelf with that cold reſpect, without attempting the ſmalleſt explanation of his conduct. Though my mind approves the ſacrifice it has made, it cannot recollect it with indifference.
That enquiry after [] Dalton will betray a womanly weakneſs to others, and a want of reſolution to myſelf—It muſt not be
Yet how vain to eraſe him here, when he is imprinted on my heart for ever.
Why not? he ſeems a countryman of our own, and may tell us all the news of dear England!
Prythee, Nerinda, do not trifle with me—I have addreſſed a pacquet to my agent—you muſt ſee it ſafely delivered to the mulateer when he next paſſes the mountains.
He looked a charming man from the turret! and as I happen to have the key of the abbey gate, I'll take a nearer peep at him pre⯑ſently, if I die for't! Heigho!
Heyday, Nerinda, why that deep ſigh?
In pity, ma'am, that two ſuch crea⯑tures as you and I, ſhould be ſo unhandſomely concealed from the world.
Oh, I know the world a little bet⯑ter than you, and believe me, that unprotected woman is never ſo happy as in ſecluſion.
Well now, I don't think, that ever I ſhould have found that out.
Bred a recluſe, Nerinda, don't you prefer the peaceful freedom of this manſion, to the dull auſterities of a convent?
Oh, dear ma'am, the nunnery was cer⯑tainly the moſt ſprightly thing of the two! for there, one had the privilege of peeping at a man through the grate, on a red-letter day; but as to this dreary caſtle of your great grandfather's, nothing human will approach it! the ſhepherds run away from us, for fear of being bewitched; and the laſt time Margery went to market, they were about to ſwim her, poor ſoul, for a wizard!
Come, a truce to raillery.
You know that I have impoſed upon myſelf this penance, and the prejudices of the world ſhall not move me from my reſolve.
If you, Nerinda, feel it a reſtraint any longer to remain with me, I will gladly endeavour to provide you a ſituation more ſuitable to the natural gaiety of your temper!
O dear, ma'am, indeed I did but joke—I would not quit you for the whole world—I was more anxious to ſhorten your ſerious moments, I aſſure you, than my own.
Amiable girl!
However, ma'am, its neceſſary that ſomething ſhould be done with the other part of your houſehold, for I left it in a ſtate little ſhort of mutiny: but here comes a pair of them to ſpeak for themſelves.
Well, pray what are your com⯑plaints?
Not for want of good living, my Lady, for no one roaſts, or boils every day better than our Margery!
Nor for more wages—for and pleaſe your Ladyſhip, I am ſure we are as well paid, as fed!
What is it then you want?
Why, if I may be zo bold as to ſpeak my mind, Madge and I here, have laid our heads together for ſometime in this diſmal country, and begin to think, we ſhould like to taſte what true liberty is in our own!
And is this really the caſe, Mar⯑gery?
And pleaſe you my Lady, Robin has promiſed to make me his lawful ſpouſe, as ſoon as we ſet foot in old England again!
Poor creature! and that's the way ſhe would ſecure her liberty?
Well; but Margery, can't you con⯑trive to be married here?
Yes, ma'am, in a botching kind of a way—but if the knot was to come azunder, and let her down in her old days, I ſhould never forgive myſelf!
[23]As your affections ſeem mutual, at the end of three months, your further ſervices ſhall be diſpenſed with, and a paſſport procured for your conveyance to England.
Heaven bleſs you, and ſend your Ladyſhip a good huſband in your turn, and that ſpeedily!
How happy you have made 'em!
Drop another curtſy, do'e, Madge, and now live in hopes, a little longer like a rea⯑ſonable woman.
Heaven be praiſed, your father has taken his departure for Straſburgh.
You muſt excuſe me, my Lady, if I cannot rejoice at the loſs of his ſociety.
No great loſs, child; for now I can ſee good company, without the fear of being checked by the coarſeneſs of his Engliſh jokes
—Let me expect, Julia, that before the men you are properly reſerved; and if you ſee me con⯑deſcend occaſionally to be a little more gracious to them, you ſhould conſider who I am, and that you child, in the line of precedence, are only the daughter of Mr. Sidney.
A diſtinction, my Lady, ſufficiently honourable in my mind, I can aſſure you.
In a word, no more love fits!
You muſt know I expect an immediate viſit from a Count Friponi, who is ſaid to be rather a poliſhed creature.
Probably he may.
With a ſomething ſo eaſy in his addreſs, and familiar at firſt ſight, that I thought it neceſſary to put you on your guard—beſides, ſhould you think to find a wealthy admirer on the Continent, which was probably your fa⯑ther's object in coming abroad, you'll both be much diſappointed, believe me!
The mules are put to the carriages, my Lady, and it's only four leagues to Geneva—oh, I'd like to have forgot; here's an odd kind of man with only one eye, who ſays he came by your Ladyſhip's order.
By my order? oh then, it muſt be the Engliſh guide that the Count recom⯑mended—ſhew him in: he is juſt in time to go along with us.
You are the perſon recommended to be our guide?
The ſame at your Ladyſhip's eternal command! now I'm launched, my fears begin to vaniſh!
How had you the misfortune to loſe an eye?
Merely by intenſe ſtudy, illuſtrious Lady.
What might that ſtudy be?
The Heraldry of antient Greece.
How fortunate to meet with ſo illumined a creature! why you muſt have ſeen better days!
I have indeed, my Lady; and am lineally deſcended from the firſt race of Picts, who made, you know, no ſmall figure in the world, before cloaths came into faſhion!
Take care of this perſon, Daniel, he's a clever creature, and has known better days.
Take care of my little ſtock of linen!
Now I look at him again, I can plainly perceive the man of conſequence in him.
What is your name?
Lopez is my travelling name, my Lady.
Well, then, Lopez, you may now recite the curioſities that are moſt worthy our ſeeing.
It's well I picked up a ſlice or two of the marvellous, along with my new jacket.
Firſt of all, moſt noble Lady, you have no doubt, paid a viſit to the immenſe Glacieres!
No, we have not.
No? why, one of them wears his ſnowy nightcap two thouſand toiſes above the common clouds.
Phew!
That muſt be nobly tremendous!
On our right about a league and a half, ſtands—the enchanted caſtle of the moun⯑tains.
Aye, that's the very ſame caſtle, my Lady, I told you of; and a ſight worth travelling to ſee indeed! Oh, he's a much cleverer fellow than I took him for.
Who is the poſſeſſor?
A lucky thought—I'll give it to the Comte—'Tis one of the antient poſſeſ⯑ſions of the Comte Friponi.
Indeed!
Yes my Lady—But I muſt requeſt you to be on your guard, as he is unwilling to acknowledge this part of his domain, from [27] the awful family circumſtance which led to his preſent celebrity.
What family circumſtance? pro⯑ceed!
Ay, pray, Sir, do tell us all about it!
About a century and a half ago, a Knight of Charlemagne, one of the Comte's illuſtrious progenitors, was ſlain there, within the antient Hall of Arms, in a tilting match, gallantly defending the honour of his fair miſtreſs. Immediately on hearing this, ſhe threw herſelf headlong from the lofty battlements, and falling upon the foot of the Drawbridge, heroicly daſhed her lovely ſelf to atoms!
Poor ſoul!
She acted, indeed, like an antient woman of honour.
At four periods in the year, about twilight, ſhe has ſince been ſeen to paſs through the illumined Hall, ſometimes in white, at others in blue and fire.
Bleſs me—blue and fire!
But who inhabits it now?
Two ladies, who had quarrelled with the world, are ſaid to have got there, but for what purpoſe is not known.
I am all impatience to behold the Hall of Arms.
I can ſhew your Ladyſhip that, and the caſtle throughout, without the Comte's de⯑licacy being hurt by the knowledge of it.
Oh, it will be well worth your ſeeing my Lady—Suppoſe I was to go forward myſelf, and enquire a little about it firſt?
I don't think that would be amiſs, Daniel; and bring me ſome further account of it to Geneva. But be careful, for curioſity, you know, has always been your particular failing; ſo take care Daniel, that it does not run you into too much danger.
Oh, never fear me, my Lady, for ſpirits and wizzards you know, were always my delight from a child. What a comical world it is that we odd folks live in! nothing delights my curioſity ſo much as a touch of the marvel⯑lous! now and then it fancies a bit of the doleful! tho' a little ſimple mirth after all it finds the eaſieſt of digeſtion.
Let me turn from the diſtreſſing ſcenes of memory, to thoſe of nature, ſo beauti⯑fully ranged around me—how unruffled is this expanſe of water!
How contradictory are all the accounts I can col⯑lect! my retreat in this truſty creature's hut, will at leaſt enable me to avoid the Sidney family, who would only trifle with my diſtreſs. And yet I would gladly learn the better fate of Do⯑rimond and his Julia, in whoſe cauſe I have ſo ſeverely ſuffered.—Though I have at length found out the ſolitary abode of my crue fugitive, how can I approach it, while her laſt words weigh ſo heavily on my heart?
Her wealth the object of my addreſs, while the perſon of another engaged my affection! 'twas a charge, which my pride can never condeſcend to refute—had ſhe been inferior to me in for⯑tune, [30] a ſingle prejudice of her mind againſt me, my whole life ſhould have been devoted to remove.
—But here comes my honeſt fiſher⯑man, whoſe buſy ſcenes afford me ſome amuſe⯑ment.
Come, lads, buſtle, buſtle, and I'll be with you by the time you've ſhot the big⯑geſt trowl in the bay.
Torment us how ſhe may—woman, dear woman, muſt ſtill be the ſolace of our lives!
As the only lady in company, that com⯑pliment muſt belong to me—
I fear, Sir, as a ſtranger, you flatter me!
I muſt firſt learn how to do juſtice to ſo charming a creature! but ſay, my pretty one, who are you? and how came ſo lovely an Engliſh woman in theſe rude mountains?
Well, how delightful it is, to hear our native tongue, now and then ſo charmingly ſpoken!
Where do you inhabit?
Hard by! I ſaw you from our battle⯑ments, ſtraying, as I thought, in a melancholy mood; ſo I ran to aſk you, if you ſtood in need of any thing.
Charitable ſoul! ſhe certainly be⯑longs to the caſtle!
Pray, Sir, inform me,—how left you our native country?
Bearing herſelf ſtill proudly, as be⯑comes the firſt of nations; and ſolicitous, like you, to ſuccour thoſe around her in diſtreſs! but you'll allow me to attend you back—I've a thou⯑ſand things to ſay to you!
Oh no, that can't be—we keep a very ſtrict houſe, I aſſure you! And yet he ſeems a good creature, that might aſſiſt me in comfort⯑ing my poor lady!
Do you ſee that diſ⯑mal manſion?
Not long ſince I paſſed near it!
Then, if you muſt know, two ſpinſters of us inhabit it.
Indeed! the companion, no doubt, of my Louiſa
One facinated by the ſpells of her own mind, from which I would fain relieve her—and [32] the other eſcaped from a convent—and as you ſee, not exactly calculated for ſuch ſolitary confine⯑ment.
But your companion—is ſhe an En⯑gliſhwoman, and as charming as yourſelf?
Every way my ſuperior, I aſſure you—but you muſt not be too particular at preſent—a thought has juſt ſtruck me, that you might per⯑haps aſſiſt me in rallying her out of this ſelf cap⯑tivity.
By all means! command me this in⯑ſtant!
Oh no! not quite ſo violently: for I can only gain you admittance by an innocent ſtratagem—but indeed, how dare I confide in a ſtranger?
Why ſhould you doubt me?
That's true; for you are an Engliſh⯑man, and the ſervice I require of you, is the kind relief of a woman!
Then let me fly with you this moment.
I tell you, that's impoſſible; but ſhould I happen to ſee you a little before ſun-ſet where the view opens from the caſtle to the Glacieres, there, if my courage fail me not, I may, perhaps haps, give you further inſtructions, till then, adieu!
I'll certainly attend you—But ſurely you will not leave me thus uninformed, to return to ſolitude?
The Comte come with my lady, and ſhe aſk Mademoiſelle for you—I beg pardon—but I hope you not forget, that de foreign Comtes are never the moſt honourable lover.
You are determined, I find Cazelle, to make me every hour more your debtor.
Oh, Miſs, you honour too great my humble fidelité.
Come hither, Cazelle—I owe you much more than this ſmall tribute of gratitude for my preſervation.
Oh, no, Miſs
I have been pay for it here, over, and over again!
Noble minded creature!
My tranſport had nearly betrayed me.
There is ſomething in the mild manners of this faithful Cazelle, which indicates, that fortune has been unmindful of his deſerts—his kind attention to my ſafety, brings to my mind the painful recollection of the friend, if nothing more, I loſt, in Dorimond!
Ah, ma chere Dame; comme vous aime!
Riſe, Comte, I intreat you!
Surely this can't be the old family way.
How I you adore!
I muſt not allow even of this travelling familiarity.
Nor I, or we ſhall make the grand tour too ſoon.
Riſe, Comte, I conjure you!
How can I riſe, without your fair hand?
I'll ſhew you
As you ſeem to have made a ſlip, ſir, ſuppoſe you make ſhift with mine?
Mercy, how the man alarm'd me!
Lopez, how can you be ſo dam a fool?
Mademoiſelle come dis way? Oh, vous avez ràiſon.
My lady, je vous demande pardon.
My doubts increaſe, if not my dangers—but being undiſcovered, I am in a fair way of ſatisfying the one, tho' I may not prevent the other! at all events I ſhall reſcue my child from the contagion of ſuch travelling examples.
Oh, here ſhe comes—Julia, child, you have kept us waiting for you.
I intreat your pardon Lady Philippa.
Let me introduce you to the Comte Friponi, the head of one of the moſt antient houſes in the circle—ſhe has a mauvaiſe honte, you'll perceive, Comte, which travel will in time correct.
Certainment
Ma foi! elle eſt aſſez jolie! Upon my word, how can I know which is Madame, and which is Mademoiſelle?
You are right, Comte, for ſhe's ſometimes taken for my elder ſiſter.
En verité! I'm not at all ſurprize!
But you ſhou'd know, Monſieur le Comte, that I was a very young and ſilly girl indeed, when I condeſcended to give my hand to Julia's father.
I'll juſt ſtep and finiſh my diſpatches, and return to you immediate⯑ly.
Bon! Now I make de littel love to Miſs.
Dat is ver drole! But ſhe have de bonne fortune—ſo, de next time I run wid her away ſans ceemonie! Till one of de dear creature come back, what will I do pour paſſer le temps?
Ridiculous child! Now your affec⯑tation carries you as far the other way!
He is a man of high birth; ſo that if he had been hurried into an indiſcretion, it wou'd not have been with a ſubordinate branch of the family.
Eh bien, Mademoiſelle, how you fly comme de littel bird upon de wing!
To be driven from the man I love, and obliged to ſolicit protection of another in the abſence of my father, from the wretch I hate, is a deſtiny ſevere indeed!
What delightful muſic.
Une petite ſerenade, I command pour paſſer le temps!
How extremely well bred.
A packet my lady, from England.
What a charming buſtle will travel afford!
Oh, de travaille! Oui! It is le plus jolie choſe du monde.
Come Julia, you promiſed to throw aſide your Engliſh ennui.
True Madam! But how hard to feign a merriment to which the heart's a ſtranger!
THERE goes the Comte's raſcally ſpy—our guide, plotting every poſſible miſchief againſt the peace of a worthy man! had Mr. Sidney's family no other claims on my ſervice, I am bound to protect it in his abſence, even by the common duties of humanity! Never yet have I alarmed her delicacy by an abrupt avowal of my paſſion. Had I revealed myſelf when I ſnatched her from the waves, I might have miſinterpreted her emo⯑tions of gratitude, for thoſe of love! Oh no! my mind muſt firſt receive ſome better aſſurance that her abſent Dorimond ſtill lives in her regard.
I begin to think this confounded curioſity of mine, will carry me a little too far! If I ſhou'd be ſurpriz'd in theſe lonely moun⯑tains, what wou'd become of me?
Hey day, what have we here? Troth, and ſo it is—one of the Shepherd's hurdy-gurdies, with [39] which he charms his mountain laſſes. I'll ſee if it will ſay a ſoft thing or two to me
yes, yes,
'tis a common prattling fool, that we wiſe men can always play upon!
well, that ever I ſhou'd turn out ſuch a maſter of muſic! Why, I do it better than the fam'd thrummer of old; he only caper'd the ſtones out of rocks—now ſee how I tickle even fleſh and blood from the mountains!
Ecod, but their fellows are along with them! I've heard theſe long whiſker'd ſparks are now and then given to jealouſy! I'll hide up a little!
I'm ſure I heard him near this glen—which way can he have taken?
I'm not ſorry they are gone! two or three of them were furious looking dogs—Fh! that was civil enough tho', to leave one of their nymphs behind 'em.
Davio!
Ah! no! 'tis ſome ſtranger!
Come, come, my pretty laſs, you are rather ſupriz'd at my ſkill—but that's nothing to what I can do.
No, I did not meet any ſuch tramper; but you are in luck, my little graſs-hopper, in popping upon the cleverer fellow of the two! come, can't I do as well?
Ah! no!
Bleſs your little innocent heart, then if that's the caſe, I wont diſtreſs you by tarrying—I'll look for him as I go on, and if I find him, be ſure I'll ſend him to you.
La! where did you get that ſavoyard?
Found it on the green-ſward here!
Lay it down again directly, for fear you ſhou'd be ſeen with it.
Seen with it—why?
It belongs to the ſhepherd who keeps the watch this day on the mountain—the tune to which it is ſet, calls them altogether, and if they caught you laughing at them, they'd puniſh you, by ſhutting you up in one of the caves.
Lord a' mercy! you don't ſay ſo?
what a narrow eſcape I've had! I'll begone! But hark ye, little one; is this the way to the old caſtle, that they ſay is enchanted?
Yes; you'll ſee it on your left when you have paſs'd this Mountain.
Well, that's lucky however—but are you certain it's bewitched?
So my grandmother ſays—but I'm ſure I don't know: two or three of our Shepherds have been there on a Sunday, and they never got any harm—good b'ye!
Well then—good bye!
Come now, little DAN, as we are alone, anſwer me one queſtion fairly; an't you a bit of a coward at the bottom after all? No, that I am not!
and ſuppoſe I was, you don't believe I ſhou'd be ſuch a fool to own it, even to myſelf:—if I have a fault, 'tis bearing a little too much to the deſperate ſide of valour.
Ah, ah! mon ami, Lopez, you muſt help me to make de love to de dear ladies Ang⯑loiſes.
What, both, your honor?
Oui, both to be ſure. You make Madame in love wid the antiquitè of mon famille; [42] and Madamoiſelle in love auſſi, wid my youth and bon eſprit!
Here's a complete ſcoundrel for you! But could not the Swiſs lend a hand, your honor upon a pinch?
To be ſure—he will do what I com⯑mand.
I thought ſo—ingrate, thus to cancel the obligations I owed him.
The confederates I ſee, are met in knaviſh council.
Here, mon ami, take de l'argent comp⯑tant, and if you do my buſineſs tres bien, by gar I vill enrichè vous for life.
So—the compact of villainy is fully ratified.
Now am I in the high road to prefer⯑ment, or the devil's in't! But it was rather ſhort ſighted in me to enter on ſuch a ſervice with only one eye, which required all the vigilance of him, who in wiſer times, cou'd hardly make ſhift with a hundred.
Oh, here comes his new aſſociate, Mr. Whiſkers—why not tax him with his knavery at once?
I cannot with-hold my indignation any longer.
Why, now, as fellow ſervants ſhou'd you take the trouble of going to loggerheads, when I've a little ſnug quarrel ready made to your hands? Here it is
‘Win her, and wear her’—oh, to be ſure and I won't do that.
What can all this mean?
Some new family miſchief on foot, my life on't!
Come, as neither of you can write, I'll read this to myſelf, that you may both under⯑ſtand it, d'ye ſee together.
Mr. Count
The Count!
Faith, and you have both made a good gueſs of it;—
Now do you perceive that this ſame Count—
But who has he inſulted, Sir?
Ay, pray, Sir, only tell us that.
Why, who ſhou'd it be, to be ſure, but the dear little Julia her own ſweet ſelf?
Miſs Julia?
In what manner? my agitation, I fear will diſcover me.
Only by his impertinent familiarities, and propoſing to the ſweet ſoul to run off with him, and leave me, d'ye ſee Sir Leinſter, diſ⯑conſolate behind.
Conſummate ſcoundrel!
Oh, if that be all, Sir, her own good ſenſe and honor will protect her.
To be ſure and I won't ‘"win her and wear her."’ Here—which of you two lacquies will take—
I fly vid de letter, Sir!
No, your honor, pray entruſt it to me—this is not the kind of correſpondence that the Swiſs uſually conveys to the Count.
Well—ſee that he has it ſpeedily be⯑twixt you, while I get my little Wogdons ready. I hope this ſame Cypreſs Grove is a ſnug place—that if one of us ſhou'd happen to be kilt, he may not bother the other, with a hue and cry after the ſurvivor.
But how you know de Comte, Sir, as you never ſee him?
Oh, let me alone for that—I think I have travell'd far enough to find out a raſcal in any part of the world—and how to puniſh him into the bargain.
Monſieur guide—tell me—for vhat I ſee de Comte give you dat money juſt now?
To make your mouth water for a ſhare of it—look ye, Mr. Swiſs, our ſuſpicions of each [45] other, if ill founded, may now be removed—by entruſting you with this letter I prove at leaſt that I have no deſire to ſcreen a villain.
This is more myſterious than all the reſt.
Convince me by the punctual delivery of it, that you are equally faithful, and we ſhall ſoon come to a better underſtanding, my life on't.
Were it not for that purſe of money, I ſhou'd think it poſſible, that this fellow might ſtill be honeſt—but I begin to ſuſpect every thing around me.—Hitherto I have avoided diſcovery! To be baniſhed the family as a friend, and recalled into it as a domeſtic, are tranſitions which fortune in the height of her caprice, does not often diſ⯑play. Yet the ſervice is ſtill hazardous, for with my dialect, I muſt continue to diſguiſe thoſe feel⯑ings alſo, which the preſence of her I love ſo na⯑turally inſpires!—Poor Dalton! harder ſtill is his fate, to looſe his own miſtreſs in the kind en⯑deavour to ſecure mine! When in compaſſion to my natural diffidence, he was prevailed upon to convey my ſentiments of affection to JULIA, I little thought it could afford to Miſs Somerville the ſlighteſt ground, for jealouſy or ſuſpicion. Had I ſeen her before ſo abrupt a departure to ſhut herſelf in a family caſtle on the Continent, I might have convinced her at leaſt, that Dalton's interviews with my Julia, were merely to pro⯑mote the addreſſes of his friend.
Yes, yes! this muſt be it! chuck full of wizards and hobgoblins I'll warrant it—and there's the drawbridge, upon which the poor knight's miſtreſs daſh'd her pretty ſelf to pieces!—I wiſh my lady had come along with me, for my courage, like my wit, always appears to moſt advantage in good company! I thought I heard one of the ruſty caſements grate on the hinges!
That's no ghoſt however!—hip!
Who's there?
Only one come to aſk how you are, coop'd up in this diſmal place?
Pack off! or I muſt unmuzzle the wolf-dog at you!
I'd rather hear your own ſweet voice—pray come down, good Sir, and prattle here.
Lud—lud—how it does grieve a body!
Hallo! what are you about? hip!—I zay, is that the way you grieve? what have you got there?
Nothing—no—it don't ſignify! theſe are hard times, when a poor fellow like myſelf, can't get a friend to lend him a hand with a ſtoop of old wine.
Old wine!—I ha been taſting a little good ſtuff myſelf, in our cellar—but I dont like tippling alone—zo ztop—and I'll ztep ſoftly down to you.
I gueſs'd this muſt fetch him, if any thing cou'd.
What a tremendous draw-bridge!
I thought you were zorely grieved about zomewhat!
So I am.
Then dont'e take it to heart too much—but leave a little for me to grieve along with'e!
With all the pleaſure in life—
—Take a hearty pull at it—it wont hurt you!
Ecod, it's a clever notion ſure enough!
Come, now to buſineſs—I've a meſſage of compliment to your caſtle.
Lord love'e, we never receive any meſ⯑ſages, or compliments.—Mum! dont'e talk quite ſo loud.
Now ſhall I hear all about it!
to be ſure I have heard an odd character of your fa⯑mily—come, among friends—who, and what are you? and are you enchanted or not?
It's more than my life's worth!
Indeed! now the more frighten'd I am, the more do I want to ſee the inſide of this caſtle.
Only let me take a peep at the an⯑tient Hall of Arms!
I be zworn to zecrecy!
The devil you are! in a ſpell, I ſuppoſe, with a circle made round you with charcoal?
he ſucks it in kindly! I'll ply him cloſer, and if an open hearted fellow like myſelf, the good creature will ſoon ſoften him.
Should not ſmile!—what a pity! poor zervants! what a—
Yes! now I have done it with a ven⯑geance! for I have made him ſpeechleſs, by way of getting the ſecret out of him! if I go [49] back without ſome account of this place, I ſhall neither ſatisfy my lady's curioſity, nor my own.
The drawbridge in⯑deed is down, and the key of the palliſadoe he put into his left hand pocket. But no—I can't bear the petty larceny of picking pockets—ſo I'll e'en change garments with him at once—mine will keep him warm in his nap—and his may ſerve me both for a paſs, and protection.
My heart begins to miſgive me ſorely—but what have I to fear? I don't know that ever I wronged man, woman, or child—ſo, with a good conſcience, I don't ſee what's to harm me.
Lord! where be I? why, our caſtle goes round like a whirligig!
where be the chap? I be ſorry he's gone—he was a kind hearted vellow—for he loved the good ſtuff dearly
Why! how now? plague take'n, he has been too know⯑ing for me zure enough!
—what a pity; what a pity
—the devil take his pity!—the cunning rogue muſt be one of the mountain banditti! he's got my key of the drawbridge, and, as zure as I'm alive, let the gang in while I was a little dizzey! mercy on us, what mun I do? Why the Swiſs guards be quartered not far off—zo I'll run and vetch ſome of them, and they'll match'n for it, I warrant'e!
How punctual I am—only a quarter of an hour before my own appointment—To be ſure, and it's not a mark of very ill breeding to keep a jontleman waiting in an affair of honour! but, Sir Leinſter, you may as well, my dear, be getting things in readineſs, and take out your little family.
I always take off my outer garment on theſe oc⯑caſions; for there is, I think, Rothing ſo beg⯑garly, as for a jontleman to wear a fine coat with a hole in it.
Let the guard be relieved regularly, that the peace of the city may be duly preſerved.
The two deareſt friends in the whole creation could not wiſh to fight at a prettier diſtance!
What man is this playing ſuch anticks?
Oh! and are you come at laſt? I thought you did not intend to let me ſee your odd face again.
I am miſtaken, if ever I ſaw your's be⯑fore.
That's all one—the fewer words, you know, the better—ſo you may ſtick yourſelf up at once by my cane, if you pleaſe.
This muſt be ſome man deranged in his mind!
Oh, if you prefer it a pace or two nearer its all one to Sir Leinſter.
Armed! this poor creature may en⯑danger his own life, if not that of others—what ho!
Secure this unfortunate man, but treat him with lenity, till you hear further from me.
Seize me! for what? oh, you pro⯑digious coward! this is a new faſhion'd way of giving a jontleman ſatisfaction indeed!
Peace!
Only wait a moment, and ſee if I don't wing him at leaſt.
I have no grand inclination pour le combat!
but I ſave mon repu⯑tation if poſſible—no body here but moi meme! courage, mon ami.
Ma foi, he no come at all!
la, la, la! aw, aw! voila! de laquais vid one apologé!
Sir Leinſter not here? this fellow's triumph will be inſupportable.
Eh Bien! vere be votre maitre?
I come, Monſieur, from—
No Sir—no apologé will do—my honor will have de ſatisfaction inſtament.
And that damn'd Swiſs of ours to be his ſecond after all!
But Monſieur a little patience.
No Sir—I will have no littel patience.
What a furious dog this turns out! why, where the devil is Sir Leinſter? he has miſ⯑taken the place—I'll run and ſee for him.
I vill proclaim votre maitre un grand poltroon—if he no come, vy he not ſend ſome [53] depute?—I fight le diable himſelf, if he ſend to me!
‘"Malbrook il va ton guerra!"’
Den Sir accept de humble endeavour of de ſervant to appeaſe you.
Quelle outrage! fight vid de Valet and de Swiſs—no Sir—I no condeſcend to kill à you en veritè!—
Pitiful evaſion! behold the man who is now oppos'd to you and ſee, if in any lineament of his face, you can read diſhonour!
Oh miſerable—un diable Anglois!
Come, Sir—
Ay, ay! Why, here's a new turn to the game.
No wonder that the aſſailant of a woman's honor ſhou'd want the ſpirit to defend his own.
Well done, our Swiſs! he's an honeſt fellow after all!
You wear in that hat a military emblem, which you muſt no longer diſgrace—give it to me.
Cette pettite ribbon la? Oh, wid all mon coeur!
One thing more—depart this city im⯑mediately—if you are found within a league of it an hour hence, your diſgrace ſhall be the more exemplary.
Eh! ſurely that voice is familiar to my ear!
La capitulation—let me conſidere!
ma foi, as I intend to get into de Caſſel bewitch dis ver night, in ſearch of de beauty, and [54] beaucoup de l'argent—why not, I ſet off to recon⯑noitre dis ver moment?
Come, Sir—
Monſieur, to do you de obligation, I ſhall go a la campagne avec beaucoup de plaiſir! and ſo, bon jour, mon ami! you have got my little ribbon—you are von comical man upon my honor.
My honeſt fellow, give me your hand.
Why de man ſtare ſo amaze?
'Tis he, as I live!—why you muſt know I was rather ſurpriz'd to hear a Swiſs diſcourſe in ſuch excellent Engliſh. The dog has taken us all in, and I'm heartily glad of it!
My indignation, I own, has got the better of my prudence; but as I now begin to think I have done you injuſtice, by ſuſpecting you to be in league with this contemptible count—I'll atone for it by owning to you, that I am not what I ſeem, but—an unfortunate Engliſhman in diſguiſe.
Indeed? How my boſom labours to acknowledge him for one of my own!
you have follow'd this family then, I preſume, Sir, in friendſhip for its maſter?
Not ſo—tho' no one can revere that wor⯑thy man more than myſelf—I have attended them in this diſguiſe with fear and trembling.
For what?
Leſt I ſhould loſe all that makes life deſirable, in his lovely daughter!
I ſhrewdly ſuſpect then, that you love her, good Sir!
Adore her! now have I imparted to you the deareſt ſecret of my heart. Should you at⯑tempt to betray me, you ſhall not ſurvive it.
That's one way of making a man keep a ſecret ſure enough! but depend on me, Sir—and accept of a little advice into the bargain. Loſe no more time in your diſtant adoration—tell the young lady that you muſt, and will have her, and ſhe has too great a regard for truth, I am ſure, to let ſo clever a Gentleman as you break his word.
No poor ſinner ever ſuffered more in his pilgrimage of conſcience, than I in this penance of unrequited love.
But a truce to this fruitleſs complainng.—Where, I wonder, is my Mountain Nymph? The time of her appointment is near—But what fantaſtical being have we here?
[56]Ah! ah! un bon Garcon. Bon jour, mon ami!
Pray, Sir, to what accident may I aſcribe the honour of this viſit?
For what I come here? Oh, I ſhall tell you dans un moment.—I am de Comte Friponi, who was juſt oblige to fly from Geneve pour un little affaire d'honeur.
Something of the duel kind, I preſume?
Oui; a littel rencontre! Une belle Angloiſe, ſhe attract with ma perſoné, and mon canto bello
ſhew to me ſome little civilitè d'amour.
Very flattering, no doubt!
Ver flattere to be ſure: But her Lover, bien impoli, reſent it! call a me out! and I was ſo malheureuſe to run him thro' de body.
Ah mio core, &c.
Killed him?
Oui; dead at my feet! But dat is not all; de pauvre Lady herſelf die for love of me at dis ver moment!
Quick work, indeed, with both ſexes. I ſuppoſe, Sir, you never fail?
Oh nevere! Jamais! nevere.
Oh dear, as ſure as I am alive there are two of them; and that's more than I bargain'd for! But one ſeems a Frenchman.
How am I to get rid of this fellow?
What can there be in an Engliſhman, that makes him ſo ſuperior a creature all the world over? When a countryman's by, there's no danger, ſo I'll e'en venture. Good day, gentlemen.
Ah ma chere—Vous etes belle comme.—
By gar, une jolie dame of de Caſtle! Ah! ma foi I make her let me in by love, which is ſo mcuh better than de force.
Hark ye, Sir, I have the vanity to think that this viſit was not intended for you; [59] and therefore to avoid giving you the trouble, either of killing another unhappy lady, or running me through the body, I muſt requeſt the favour of you to retire.
Well, how charming it is to be made ſo much of!
Retire? Sir, I muſt know what you mean by retire.
This inſtant retire!
Well, Sir, to oblige you I will retire. I take my conge. But by gar, I muſt know a little more of this petit rendezvous to oblige myſelf.
Now, my pretty incognita, for the remainder of your hiſtory.
No, not a tittle of intelligence reſpecting the ſtrength or weakneſs of our garriſon, till you are on actual ſervice. In the mean time can you venture to confide in me?
Moſt fully.
Ah! ah! here come the denouement!
I may put it in your power then, to do an act with which your heart can never reproach you.
Command me in what way you pleaſe.
And me ſo too—if it be de way I like.
Be near the Ivy Turret then, about Sun⯑ſet, where I will endeavour to meet you.
I will certainly attend you.
Ma foi, and I ſo too!
[60]It's aſtoniſhing how much I'm made of in my new character: but this is not the firſt time that the ſervant has been pre⯑ferr'd to his maſter! Where I ſhall find my friend, Sir Leinſter, I know not; for no ſooner had I procured his liberty, than out he ſallied after the Count, in ſearch of a freſh adventure. Now for this fam'd Caſtle, which Lady Phi⯑lippa, ſtill thinking it the Count's, is ſo impa⯑tient to behold: no improper ſcene for an appeal to her pride, from the detection of an impoſtor: there my day's experiments will terminate; ſhould they fail in the reformation of a wife, they will enable me at leaſt to ſecure, in honeſt Dorimond, the happineſs of my child.
I have collected the few flowers this country wou'd afford; ſcanty as they are, I can trace among them, emblems of my own miſery with thoſe of Julia's charms! yet I dare not pre⯑ſent them in my own perſon. To live in this per⯑petual anxiety, fearful of alarming her by my diſcovery, yet dreading to loſe her for ever, is [62] that alternate wretchedneſs I cannot endure! But ſhe comes this way, and ſeemingly more penſive than before!
This excurſion to the Caſtle is no doubt intended to expoſe me to ſome new mortification.
Miſs Julia—! you ſeem indiſpoſe.
Oh Cazell, is it you?
I have bring de flowers, Miſs, you aſk for.
Lay them on the table, Cazell. I ſhall ſoon recover my ſpirits!
Oh! Dorimond!—is it poſſible?
[63]What is all this?
We are undone!
Heyday, why here's another knee ſcene—Mr. Whiſkers is now at his devotions!
One hope remains
—as you have the opportunity Cazell—ſolicit her ladyſhip now ſelf.
No bad hit for a young one!
What can ſhe poſſibly mean?
But what is it he wiſhes?
If I don't lend a hand, it's all over with them, I ſee.
Why, my lady, the poor fellow, from what I can learn of the matter, thinks he is likely to loſe his place, on account of your having retained me:—ſo on his bended knee
down! down!
as you again behold, he ſolicits the honour to remain in your ladyſhip's ſervice.
Oh, now I underſtand him per⯑fectly—and do not diſapprove the creature's humility—
Admirable invention!
Well, then, you have no great reaſon to fear, young man, after preferring your ſuit with ſo much decorum.
Nor are you leſſened in my eſteem, Cazell, for this mark of your attachment to the family.
My life is devote to your ſervice!
how fortu⯑nate the eſcape!
And who young ſpark, may you thank for it?
Have you no tidings of the Count, Lopez?
None, my lady—that you'll like to hear at preſent.
He has not withdrawn himſelf, I hope, in chagrin, at the coolneſs of my reception? Hearing of my intended viſit to the caſtle, who knows but he may be gone thither, to prepare for our reception?
Nothing more likely, my lady!
You, Lopez, who underſtand the neceſſary appendages to a woman of faſhion, would not adviſe me to neglect ſo elegant a chaperon, would you?
Oh, by no means!
Take this letter then, and deliver it immediately to the Count, if he remains in Ge⯑neva—It only appoints an explanatory rendez⯑vous at the caſtle, to convince him, I meant not to treat him with diſreſpect:
but return as ſoon poſſible, that we may fly to behold the antient beauties of the Hall of arms!
I am at laſt, in the high road to family honours, or the devil's in it!
The Pariſians, you know, Lopez—apropos, you ſpeak french like a native, no doubt?
There, I fear, ſhe'll have me.
As to modern French, my lady, it has been ſome time on the decline, and is evidently growing more barbarous every day—ſo that I ſeldom uſe more than two words, which I find ſufficient paſſports where-ever I go.
I have cooped myſelf up theſe three hours, in this diſmal wing of the caſtle, and now only venture out like a bat at duſk, for a mouth⯑ful of freſh air! This curſed curioſity of mine, I fear, will bring me to an untimely end!—here may I be hang'd like a ſcarecrow out of the watch tower, or rolled down the battlements by a pair of witches in a butt full of ſpiked nails! All my hope is, that ſome good chriſtian will come this way before it's quite dark to relieve me—Where have I got my unfortunate ſelf?
As ſure as I'm alive, I have ſtumbled into ſome lady's bedchamber! what have we here, I fancv a looking glaſs, though none of the neweſt faſhion—I thought I heard a [66] footſtep! this has ſhewn many a nob in its time, perhaps now it may contrive to hide one.
Oh, that my ſcheme may ſucceed! aſſiſted by this honeſt Engliſhman—who knows but I may prevail upon Miſs Somerville to return to England—at any rate the attempt muſt be⯑guile her of ſome ſad moments, and that will make me happy—But what ſhall I call him? couſin? oh no, that won't do—for methinks one might have no great objection to be nearer re⯑lated to him! I would fain put on my beſt looks, ſo I'll e'en take a peep how my bonnet ſits
and yet, my old friend, you and I, are almoſt tired of each other, an't we?
Oh lud! a man! whence came you, and how got you here?
Now, for pity's ſake, miſs, don't be ſo violent! I'm more frightened than you, a thou⯑ſand times over, and yet you don't hear me cry out!
Tell me, this inſtant, who, and what are you?
An out of the way kind of travelling gentleman—whoſe curioſity, as you may ſee, now and then gets him into a ſcrape.
Oh dear ma'am! what's the matter?
Secure this ruffian, who by ſome means has broke in with an intent to murder us all, and plunder the caſtle!
My poor, dear Robin! look! ſee!
And ſo he has ſure enough—mur⯑dered poor Robin, and got on his very cloaths!
Convey him inſtantly to the dungeon, till I learn your lady's pleaſure.
Only hear me, fair lady—as I hope for mercy!—
My deareſt Robin—then they have not killed thee quite!
Oh, you treacherous knave! only bear witneſs, he's got my jacket on at this very moment.
If I had known, I would not have been in your coat for a hundred ducats.
Where have you been, Robin?
Ay, where?
I hardly knowz where I'a been—or what I 'a been about!—that rogue, there, gave me zweet poizon in a ſkin of wine, and I 'a been azleep—or out of my zenſes ever zince.
Oh, the mercileſs villain!
He be one of the mountain banditti, and the reſt of the gang will zoon be after 'n!—he ſtripped me o' my coat, and the key of the drawbridge in a whif—and I cou'd only get back to 'e Margery, by ſwimming over the moat like a water-rat—but there be they a coming, will teach'n better, I'll warrante.
Indeed, and indeed, I'm as innocent as—
Away with him, and confine him cloſely till further orders.
Though the affections of Miſs Somerville may have been eſtranged from me, by the caſual in⯑heritance of theſe domains, I feel, as I approach yon caſtle, that my heart muſt ſtill pay a con⯑ſtant homage to its cruel poſſeſſor.—How digni⯑fied its turrets riſe, graceful even in decay!—Time was, a chief no doubt it boaſted, whoſe ſun of glory ſmiled on ages paſt;—whether his vir⯑tues have deſcended with his name, the moulder⯑ing manſion ſeems to queſtion.
If d'ye zee I'd know'd there was but only he, I zhould not have thought it worth while to vetch ſo many zoldiers for one rogue. Certain, howzever, I've placed the whole tribe of the Switz guards at the foot of the mountain.—But, mum, Robin, not a zyllable about the zoldier volk, for fear my lady ſhou'd be angry.
And what does the ruffian ſay for himſelf, Robin?
Why, an' pleaſe you, my lady, he zays but little—but as I took a peep at'n thro' the iron lattice, he zeem'd to pay it away wi' thinking!
I hope you let him want for no⯑thing?
'Oh, no my lady; I took'n two ribs of roaſt beef, and a zlice of baked pudding myzelf—but the zulky toad woud 'na feed.'
'Poor wretch—perhaps he may be unwell.'
'Unwell?—oh, he's a rum little chap!—but he ſhall give me my dry coat back again, howzever—When I clapp'd the beef down on the ztool before 'n, what now, my lady, do you think the cunning rogue zaid?—Iz thiz the way you treat your ztate prizoners, zays he—virzt and voremozt to take away their ztomachs, and then to zet good cheer before 'n?'
'Well, Nerinda!'
'He'll confeſs nothing, ma'am, but that curioſity compell'd him to play this de⯑vice upon Robin.'
'Yez, gad rat 'n!'
'Of what country is he?'
'I believe he's an Engliſhman.'
'Some poor frantic wanderer—enquire of him further, and anon I'll ſee him myſelf.'
'Lord, my lady, hez as cunning a little villain, with a tongue—'
'As nimble as your own. Come, fol⯑low me.'
'Calm is this parting ſcene of na⯑ture—how ſoft her whiſpers of repoſe! Even the voice of ſorrow now is ſtill, ſave from that love⯑lorn bird, whoſe ſtrains I hear.'
Oh dear, ma'am, a body of armed men, no doubt the whole gang, are halted towards the weſt tower.
Impoſſible! and in a country ſo fam'd for peace and freedom?
Indeed, and indeed its true!
Tho' few in number, let our do⯑meſtics then inſtantly arm!
But what ſhall we do with our pri⯑ſoner?
Order him in the front of the bat⯑tlement, as a fit ſacrifice to the lawleſs rage of his confederates. Let us even forget the weak⯑neſs of our ſex, and arm ourſelves, Nerinda.
Oh dear, ma'am, you wont pretend to fight: what can ſuch helpleſs creatures as we do?
Wonders, in a juſt cauſe! at leaſt, Nerinda, we can expoſe to abhorrence that ſa⯑vage licentiouſneſs, which even women are com⯑pell'd to reſiſt.
'How unfortunate, as well as alarm⯑ing—for this is the very time I was to admit [72] my good natured mountain acquaintance:—and why not even now, when we ſtand more in need of a gallant man than ever!'
'De place of rendezvous—it was luck I meet la petite fille de chambre!—At⯑tendez—ven I go in—keep cloſe to my per⯑ſon, for fear of me ſurprize.'
'We'll follow your honour cloſe, rely upon it.'
'For why ſhe not appear?—prenez garde—voila, le diable Anglois!'
This is ſtrange! I muſt have miſtaken the gate, for why ſhould ſhe deceive me?
Miſs Somerville!
Impoſſible! and arm'd againſt my life?—
Oh no! led hither by our better ſtars to defend the perſon of her, who too unkindly fled from his protection!
Am I to believe thoſe ſenſes which have ſo cruelly deceived me?
Why, dear heart, my Lady, this is the ſtrange Gentleman that wou'd a vit for dear life to defend you.
And do I find in Dalton my gallant defender?
Advance!
Now dont'e fight no more about my blunders; for I vancy they be all vriends and neighbours, except a few rogues that I a' got ſnug in a corner.
Why, are not theſe our rude aſſail⯑ants whom I ſaw from the Battlement?
We are guards of the Republic, Lady, marched here to preſerve it's peace, and the pro⯑perty of this Caſtle.
All this is wond'rous ſtrange!
How came I thus deceived?
Why, my lady, it was all along o' I! for when that comical chap ſtript me, and got the key of the drawbridge, I took'n for one o' the Mountain robbers that I dreamt on laſt Sunday, who like a rogue, meant to let in all his com⯑rades; zo what did I, but run and vetch theſe honeſt zoldier gentry to zave you from murder, or mayhap zomewhat worſe.
Your zeal rather outran your diſcre⯑tion.
But it was faithfully intended.
Come, Charles, attend me now in ſearch of a moſt amiable, and affectionate com⯑panion.
What doings does he mean?
I ſuppoſe, Miſs, de rejoice, and fire⯑work we hear juſt now.
Fireworks! I am ſorry he in⯑formed them of my coming, I ſhould like to have been received incog; without any particular regard to my rank or diſtinction! but come, which is the entrée, Daniel?
Stop a little, my lady, and in the midſt of the buſtle; I'll try to ſtep down, and let you all in, if I die for it!
Surely the fellow's mad, Lopez.
Oh, no, only bewitched, I ſuppoſe, like the reſt of the caſtle.
Oh! it was all my unfortunate doing! I found out my miſtake, juſt time, enough to fly and force my poor lady, out of their barbarous reach for a moment! Beſet by a hoſt without, and aſſail'd by ruffians within, what hope I of protecting her further?
Softly, comrade! here ſhe is, and luckily all alone!
Why then, no ceremony.
No uproar, madam, I charge you, to diſturb the peace of the manſion.
What is it you would have?
The pleaſure of conveying you, and all your valuables into our mountain for protection, fair lady of the caſtle, that's all!
Lady of the caſtle! indeed, indeed! gentlemen, you are much miſtaken—I am only an humble domeſtic, and therefore every way unworthy of the honour you intend me!
This inſtant then, ſhew us where ſhe is, and all her treaſure.
Something leſs than that, gentlemen, I hope will appeaſe you?
No—diſpatch!
The monſter that ſo deceived me!
Eh bien, ma petite guide! vite! vite! my mules are at de gate to car votre maitreſſe, yourſelf, and all your treaſure to mon chatteau!
But, Sir, as I had the honour to in⯑troduce you, indulge me at leaſt in one ſmall requeſt!
Oh, certainment qu'eſt que ca?
Only, Sir, as they are of ſuch conſide⯑rable value, that you will have the goodneſs to take charge of my poor lady's jewels your⯑ſelf!
Aſſurement! and de lady auſſi, if ſhe be prett comme vous!
Oh, quelle grand coup! ſhew me to de dear creature dis moment!
Up this ſtaircaſe of the tower, is an an⯑tichamber to the right—there, alas! too ſoon you'll find her!
Wid de jewels, and beaucoup de l'ar⯑gent?
Alas! all!
Bon! come, you ſhew de way allons!
Not a word, I entreat you, Sir, that you were directed by me.
Oh! jamais! jamais!
There, monſter, I have out generall'd you for the preſent, however; where now is my faithful countryman?
Oh, Robin! I'm glad you're come!
Fleſh and blood cannot hold out this way much longer!
Courage, man, I have ſecured three of the ring leaders within here!
But pray ye madam Nerinda, how did you contrive to nab them ſo nicely?
Why, as they ſtumbled up the old dark ſtaircaſe, in ſearch of my lady and her jewels, I turned the bolt, and have them all ſafe together.
Ecod you nick'd 'em there for once, howzever.
Now you muſt guard the door, without ſaying one word to any body about it, till I re⯑turn with ſuccour.
But how mun I manage to keep three ſuch deſperate toads, only under two bolts? I'll try my beſt howzever, till you get more help.
Ay, do, my honeſt Robin.
Ecod, then it's lucky enough I've juſt let in the Zwiſs Guard; come now what will, my Lady cannot blame me for vetching 'em, for there's a Banditti zure enough, in the Caſtle now, or the devil's in't.
The chaps do zeem pretty quiet tho' in their new lodgings, and they'd beſt keep zo
I be not over fond of your deviliſh pop-guns, vor they lay many a vine fellow flat before he's on his guard. If I'd had but my quarter-ſtaff from the weſt, I'd a crack'd moſt of their noddles myſelf before this time, or know'd the reaſon why—ecod here comes another on 'em!
Which way could the ruffians fly?
Now dont'e come no nigher, or I mun down wi ye!
Why, how is all this?
Dear heart and zo you be! our true Engliſh friend that paſſed me juſt now, and ax'd ſo kindly about the poor Ladies.
Where are the ſuffering captives?
Confin'd within that Tower; let me inſtantly behold them!
Can't—I be zet, d'ye zee, as guard over 'en; zo neither vriend nor voe ſhall let 'en out! beſides you're but a youngſter, and they'd be too many for you all to nothing.
The devils own-zelf be in them zurely! vor here's two more! now mun we ztand ztout by one ano⯑ther.
Ah! ah! ſhe no come to Monſieur Anglois! now I try my canto bello!
I'm glad they're all marched off to the other ſide of the caſtle! I'll ſtay here and take breath a little! I only turned my back on the cowardly dogs for a minute, and ſpank they had me in an awkward place.
There—ſhe's at it again pell mell?
Eh! yes, but it is—my dear Lady com⯑ing! and my deliverance I hope along with her!
Yes, yes, we are right enough—for ſee your ladyſhip's truſty courier on the bat⯑tlement.
Looking out to announce our ar⯑rival! I hope we are not too late, Daniel?
Oh! no, my Lady, you're time enough to have a ſhare of it. Here have been warm doings, I promiſe you!
Now, Mr. Serjeant, only be you zo good as to mount guard a little at this door—and I'll vetch you a bottle or two of old Engliſh ſtingo to whet your whiſkers with!—'after that we'll rummage the ſtair-caſe, when madam Nerinda comes, and zee whether we a got vriends, or foes there; vor we've been at ſuch croſs purpoſes o' late, that I don't know which they may turn out after all.'—One thing now, however's zertain—that my lady's old zweet heart be come to vetch her home—zo I'll go and let our Madge out of the cellar, and bid her pack up her duds for Old England!
You have told me many ſtrange things to be ſure, child; but reſpecting the feudal inheritance of this caſtle, I fancy I know a little more than you. Indeed, how you became its reſident at all, is matter of great ſurprize to me.
To receive your ladyſhip within its walls on any terms, is an honour I little ex⯑pected.
'I always ſaid that you and Dal⯑ton wou'd come together; and a very decent alliance for two young families on both ſides—you cou'd not deceive me, child.'
'No, Lady Philippa; I fear that I have been too buſily employed in deceiving myſelf.'
Let me contemplate the antient ban⯑ners, and armorial bearings! near this ſpot, no doubt, the gallant Knight of Charlemagne, true to his plighted vow, fell in the preſence of a beloved miſtreſs
and honourably died!
Fit ſcene for a more humble KNIGHT of Love, to claim the hand of her—for whom he fondly lives!
I'm all amazement! Dorimond!
Dear madam, allow me to declare, that tho' I knew not of Dorimond's diſguiſe, my heart, adopting his ſentiments, naturally tri⯑umphs in its ſucceſs!
'Oh, your ladyſhip will excuſe it all, when you obſerve, that the rogue, Dori⯑mond, has deceived even me, his beſt friend, by the metamorphoſis.—Now Louiſa, I truſt you behold Miſs Sidney in her real character.'
I do—as a rival created only by own ſuſpicions.
Who waits? where is my guide, Lopez!
I left him, my lady, in the court⯑yard, paying due reſpect to the Count Friponi.
The Comte?—oh, I'm rejoiced that he is arrived!
'What, my chaunting, woman-kil⯑ling hero?'
'Why, do you know this vaunting braggart, Charles?'
'Perfectly!'
But where is he? I'm impatient to welcome his arrival.
He's in his own apartments, my lady, but rather in a diſhabille.
I'm ſorry this wretch is return'd to torment us.
What can all this mean?
Why, ma'am, the plain matter of fact is, that like other great men, ſome of the Count's enterprizes have miſcarried: his laſt de⯑ſign was to diſpoſſeſs you of this caſtle; but fail⯑ing in this attempt, he has modeſty enough, as a freebooter, to put up with one of its dun⯑geons!
The leader of the banditti!
The Count diſgraced, and in a dungeon? Oh, that Mr. Sidney were returned!
Lopez ſhall inſtantly depart for Straſ⯑burgh!
On what errand, my lady?
In ſearch of Mr. Sidney, the only perſon in whom I can ſafely confide.
A ſingle wiſh of your's reſtores him back to happineſs, as well as ſight!—
I am petrified, aſtoniſhed, and every way deceived.
Not ſo my Lady Philippa, if I have at laſt but the good fortune to prove—the man to your mind!
Mr. Sidney!
My dear father in faithful Lopez!
'Where's the wonder, Lady Phi⯑lippa, that I, an old friend, ſhould have pro⯑cured you a more truſty guide than your new faſhion'd acquaintance?'
And can it be poſſible, Sir?
Yes, your fellow-ſervant in diſ⯑guiſe.—But once or twice, young ſpark, we had nearly been too cunning for each other.
'You have contrived Sir, to hit off an admirable character in this travelling maſ⯑querade.'
'The ſhaft of ridicule has reached me. I perceive but too late, that to perſiſt, even in a family prejudice, is unworthy of a great, or a good mind.'
'
Oh, never too late to renounce an error, which an amiable [77] heart muſt have long diſclaim'd! This billet, which I confeſs to have peruſed, has removed all my ſerious apprehenſions. I return it, therefore, as an harmleſs, tho' unguarded do⯑cument of faſhionable levity.'
Twice has this gallant adventurer ſaved our only child: join with me then, Lady Philippa, in beſtowing her hand upon him, and thus ſecure the faithful ſervices of an honeſt fel⯑low thro' life.
Moſt chearfully.
How ſhall I ever repay—
Not by long ſpeeches, Dorimond—You have won her by no feats of anceſtry, but your own natural deſerts; if ſhe prove a bleſſing therefore, long may you live to wear it.
Oh! Mr. Sidney, you have taught me at length to feel, that to contribute to the happineſs of thoſe around us, is far more honour⯑able than all the pomp that heraldry can boaſt.
'Then have I neither toil'd, nor travell'd in vain!'
I perceive you generally contrive that Sir Leinſter ſhou'd be front rank, where there's a priſon; and always in the rear, when there's either love, or fair fighting! But I'm in luck that the Comte has got his deſerts, tho' I have loſt mine! And what a mighty pretty ſiege you have had, where you've mann'd all your works with women!
'Palliluh! why, is the devil's ſelf come to you all, that you ladies ſhou'd turn ſoldiers, and your lacquies become fine gentlemen? I dare ſay, now, it's all very funny, if one could but find out the reaſon why?'
O yes, Sir, I've heard of all your pranks, and find I am the only ſufferer, by keeping my own countenance.
All ſhall be explained, Sir Leinſter, to your ſatisfaction.
But its time we muſter our little garriſon, to get a return of our miſſing, and wounded.
Where is poor Daniel?
Having properly diſpoſed of the ruf⯑fianly Comte, who baſely ſurprized me, I thought in my duty to adminiſter the beſt comfort in my power to one, who has ſuffered a little too ſe⯑verely from his own curioſity, and my miſtake.
You have an odd way here of re⯑warding merit, that's certain; for you open your gates to a banditti, and throw your beſt friends, neck and heels into a dungeon!
'And is this your arch valet, that put us all in ſuch a fright?'
'The very ſame; and as inoffenſive a creature as ever breath'd.'
'What a rare thing my curioſity has prov'd to all except myſelf! It was rather hard, after eſcaping the caniſter-ſhot of theſe ladies tongues, to be ſtuck upon the battlements, to be pelted with double-round, and grape!'
'Poor creature!'
Where are you wounded, Daniel?
Not where its likely to disfigure me much, my lady—being as it were—in a place a little out of ſight!
We'll find the means of a ſpeedy cure; but you don't ſeem to recollect your old friends, Dan?
But here, Dalton, I owe more than I can expreſs.
I am much her debtor alſo; for ſhe was the guiding ſtar, that led me, a diſconſolate wanderer, to this ſpot.
'Is that ſo, Nerinda?'
'Nearly, Ma'am, and one time or other, perhaps you may do me as good a turn.'
'The day ſeems to have been devoted to ſtrange myſteries, and as the night is too far advanc'd to allow of your departure, I truſt the new poſſeſſor of this caſtle will allow me to give you welcome.'
Moſt welcome all! for thus our lovely hoſteſs bids me ſay; and though we have no feats of chivalry to boaſt, we may, at leaſt, as good⯑natured travellers, amuſe ourſelves with recount⯑ing our various adventures.
But when you do that, you'll re⯑member, if you pleaſe, to forget mine.
Firſt accept my open recantation! for here do I renounce the vain parade, and follies of falſe grandeur, convinced, that the juſt diſtinc⯑tions of honourable rank, are beſt ſupported by their own intrinſic merit!
Then am I raiſed to the enviable dig⯑nity of a happy man. Come, you young deſtined brides, ere you ſet out on your nuptial travels, will you deign to accept of a hint from one, who has gone this crooked road before you?
Certainly, Sir.
Oh, with pleaſure!
Then build not too much on convert⯑ing a man into a huſband, unleſs you can conde⯑ſcend at the ſame time—to create that huſband your GUIDE thro' life!